Back on my feet.
Those words played on a loop in my head, like a mantra. It was the only way I could keep moving forward.
I stood on the pavement and took a deep shuddery breath, adjusting the container I was holding. Looking up at the foreboding building at the top of the steps, I gulped. Two stories of dark brick, and soulless windows glared back at me, daring me to enter. The busy streets of Westport buzzed behind me with vehicles and pedestrians bustling about their day as the threat of rain loomed dark overhead. A bus pulled to a stop at the traffic light, horns blared, and in the distance a siren screamed someone’s pain. But it all fell into the background as the brass sign on the high gloss black door in front of me alerted me to the fact that I had reached my destination.
Blackburn & Associates
Attorneys at Law
I’d received a call two days ago from the secretary of Gregory Blackburn the Third, requesting an appointment with me. I did tell her when she called that I thought she had the wrong person, but she confirmed she was after Matilda Mary Lockhart of 76 Ivy Road, Westport. I was only Matilda on my birth certificate, and it was technically my parents who lived at 76 Ivy Road. I was just staying there while I got back on my feet, but there was no doubt that she had the right person and so the appointment was set up.
My stomach contracted with anxiety as the events of the recent past played through my mind. One month ago, today, I had closed the door on my beloved cupcake shop. The shop that had held all my hopes and dreams, where I belonged and where I could help people.
Sure, my cupcakes didn’t cure the world of disease, or end wars but they definitely made people happy. I loved seeing the smiles of my regular customers light up when I kept a stash of their favorites aside, just for them. I loved seeing the mums call in after school to buy their children a treat for getting a good report card, and I loved those special occasions like Christmas and Valentine’s Day which gave me the opportunity to create the most amazing, sugar filled delights. To see it all fall in a heap because I sucked at business had broken my heart.
Baking cupcakes was what I was good at, and I wasn’t good at much. I had a list of failed careers behind me as a testament to that, but hey, no one could say that I hadn’t tried.
“Look out!”
I spun on my heel at the sound of a bicycle bell. A Lycra clad cyclist with a beer belly, cursed loudly as he swerved around me, causing me to squeal. My heart missed a beat and the plastic container I was holding slipped from my grasp, my hands fumbling to catch it before it hit the ground.
“Bugger, that was close!” My entire body shook as I clutched the container tight. Like I wasn’t anxious enough. I did not need to destroy the one thing that may put me on Mr. Blackburn’s good side.
I’d spent hours last night baking this batch of cupcakes to give to him in the hope that he would go easy on me. I hadn’t been told what this meeting was about, but I was certain that it was to do with my looming bankruptcy which was why I’d decided to sweeten him up with sugar. My plan may not have been perfect, but it was the only one I had.
I stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows inside Gregory Blackburn the Third’s high spec office, watching the rain pelt the glass. Smoothing a few stray locks, I looked around. The glass topped desk glistened under the overhead lights; a high-backed leather chair pushed neatly under it. Dark oak shelving holding many intimidating looking books lined the wall, and the plush white carpet felt luxurious under my feet.
I slipped off my high heeled pumps and dug my toes into the soft carpet using it like a stress ball. My stomach rumbled. I’d missed lunch, and low sugar levels didn’t help my anxious mood. I loved sugar in all its forms. To be low on it was a terrible, terrible thing.
My gaze fell to the container of cupcakes that sat on the chair. Moving to it, I pulled back the lid and peeked inside to double check they were all safe. Gratitude swept over me as I eyed the rows of deluxe Butterfinger cupcakes with the ganache filling, their red icing balancing the fondant legal scrolls I’d spent hours making.
The scent of chocolate and sugar filled my senses and a calm enveloped me. My creations were safe.
Smiling, I adjusted one of the cakes slightly to the left in order for the rows to line up perfectly, just as the door behind me abruptly opened.
I jumped and the container slipped from my hands. It fell through the air as I fumbled after it. But alas the Gods of coordination had already favored me once today, so instead of an Olympic worthy save, my fingers slipped against the smooth plastic, flipping it upside down. It landed perfectly with a thump. Urgh.
Mr. Blackburn walked toward me, his made to measure expensive suit molding to his body perfectly, his hand extended for me to shake. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” His eyes dropped to the mess on the floor.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I stammered, dropping to my knees. The red icing and dark rich ganache were oozing their way into the fibers of the white carpet, and the world spun as the blood drained from my face.
“What on earth...?” His voice faded.
“They were cupcakes,” I mumbled, hurriedly attempting to scoop the mess back into the container. “I made them for you, but...”
I looked up and our eyes connected.
His jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. I could see how as a lawyer he could intimidate his opposition.
“That was very thoughtful of you,” he said, tersely.
I flicked a dollop of icing from my fingers, ready to scoop some more.
“Leave it! You’re just making it worse.”
I wasn’t sure it could be worse.
I sat back on my heels and gulped.
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get my secretary to clean it up after our meeting.”
“Please send me the bill for the cleaning.” Or add it to the cumulative total, more like.
“Really, don’t worry about it. It’s not a big drama.” He waved his hand dismissively, yet his eyes belied the truth. “Why don’t you take a seat and I can fill you in on why you’re here.”
My stomach did a little flip with apprehension.
He unbuttoned his navy jacket and moved fluidly around the desk, sidestepping my shoes that I’d left near the window.
Mr. Blackburn wasn’t at all what I was expecting. To be honest I’d been imagining a man who was about to retire and had lots of nose hair. This guy was definitely not old and from what I could see, his nasal hairs were perfectly well-groomed. Just like the rest of him.
Sitting back on my chair, I licked my fingers to remove the mix of cake and icing, regret momentarily displacing my anxiety. These cakes tasted as good as they looked. Not that Mr. Blackburn would ever know.
He sat behind the desk, his nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed studying me, before he opened a drawer and offered me a box of tissues.
“Thank you.”
He stared at me for a bit before his finger moved to the edge of his lip. “You have ummm, you have some there.”
Oh geez.
I swiped at my lip. “You’re younger than I expected,” I blurted out before my brain could stop my mouth.
He smiled, flashing a perfect set of dimples. “You were probably expecting my grandfather. He retired a few months ago and passed the business to me.”
I tried to remember to think before speaking next time. But nerves did that to me.
“I’ve just finished the remodel. Brought it into the twenty first century so to speak.”
“So, the carpet was new?” Heat flushed my cheeks as I cringed.
“Ah, yes. Laid just last week.”
“Did I mention that I’m sorry?” I whispered.
“Yes, but don’t worry about it. Now, let’s get on to business, shall we? Do you mind if I call you Matilda?”
“It’s Tilly, actually. But really, I’m not fussy. Just don’t call me late for dinner.” I nervously laughed.
Gregory Blackburn the Third didn’t seem to get my joke. Oh well, I tried.
He opened a folder on his desk. “Now you’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here today?”
That was an understatement. “Am I in trouble?” My stomach tightened as I prepared myself for what was to come.
“No.”
Huh?
“Quite the opposite, in fact.” He shuffled the papers in front of him and cleared his throat. “You’re here for me to read you the last will and testament of your great aunt, Matilda Mary Lockhart.”
“You can just call me Tilly.”
“Pardon?”
“You can just call me Tilly. You don’t need to keep saying Matilda Mary Lockhart.”
“I was referring to your great aunt.”
“Huh?”
“Your great aunt,” he repeated on a sigh. “She passed away a few months ago.” His brows furrowed. “You didn’t know?”
“Sorry, but I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, let me start at the beginning, then. Your great aunt passed away and we’re here today to read her last will and testament.”
“How am I related to this great aunt exactly?”
“Well, it appears that she and your great grandfather on your father’s side were siblings.”
“And she kept the Lockhart name?”
“She never married.”
“Oh. How old was she?”
“Ninety-five.”
“Geez,” I chewed my thumb nail. “You said she passed away a few months ago?”
“Yes, she passed on October 8th, about ten weeks ago. Probate holds these things up.”
“How did she die?”
“Please be assured she passed peacefully in her sleep.” Sincerity shone from his eyes. “She’d had good health and it was old age catching up with her in the end.”
“Okay. Well, that’s good at least. But why am I the one who’s been called here? Why didn’t you tell my dad or his cousin, Tony?” I pushed my back into the chair and crossed my legs, my foot jiggling.
“I was instructed to call you as the sole beneficiary of her estate.”
I sat up straight. Did he just say estate? And sole beneficiary? Now he really had my attention.