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ON A CRISP FEBRUARY afternoon in the kitchen of 9 Elmwood Road—the home of Des and Sylvie Harper—Megan Fallon picked up a fork to tackle the slice of decadent white chocolate and raspberry wedding cake in front of her. Guiding a generous bite into her mouth, followed by another and another, she closed her eyes and let out a blissful sigh.
“Well?” Her Uncle Des, baker extraordinaire, turned down the volume on Radio 2 and fidgeted in the chair beside her, fixing her with a green-eyed stare and drumming impatient thumbs on the table. “Don’t leave me sitting here like a lemon. What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict,” said Megan, dabbing a napkin against her lips before reaching across to give her uncle’s hand a squeeze, “is that it tastes even better than it looks.”
Des blew out a breath so long, it made his lips vibrate. Picking a raspberry from the top of the chocolate encasing a rich vanilla sponge, he popped it into his mouth. “D’you think Jack’ll like it?”
“He’ll love it.” Megan opened her ‘Wedding Day Countdown’ folder at one of its many lists and crossed off ‘Cake tasting’ with an air of satisfaction. “Thank you for all the work you’ve done to make it so special.”
“Aaw, it was nothing.” Des waved away the compliment, looking very pleased with himself nonetheless as a smile further creased his already craggy features. “Mind you, it took weeks of fine tuning. You know, a tweak here and a tweak there,” he said, scratching his thick, more-salt-than-pepper mop of hair. “And it’s okay now it’s January and the weather’s cool, but if we have a heatwave in five months’ time, the chocolate will slide off and end up in a pool around the cake stand.” He shook his head. “June weddings and chocolate cakes are not necessarily a good match, y’know.”
The rasping of a key in the lock of the front door interrupted their conversation, announcing the arrival of Megan’s aunt Sylvie and her friend, Dora Pickles.
“Ooh, is there cake?” Dora trudged into the kitchen, her eyes lighting up as they homed in on Megan’s empty plate, and her cheeks flushing at the prospect of an unexpected treat.
“Not for you, there isn’t,” said Des, with a grin, getting up from the table and planting a kiss on his wife Sylvie’s cheek. “I only made a small one for Megan and Jack to taste.”
“Hmph.” Dora sniffed and lowered herself into a chair with a groan, smoothing her newly-washed, tinted pastel pink, and set-under-the-dryer curls with a gentle hand. “I thought you might have made enough for all of us.”
“Oh, come on, Dora, you know I’d normally share with you,” said Megan, “but I’d quite like me and Jack to taste the cake before anyone else.”
“Quite right, too,” said Sylvie, easing off her shoes and letting out a sigh of contentment as she wiggled her toes. “Don’t be such a grump, Dora. You can have a slice of Des’s marble cake instead. It’s chocolate and banana. We’ll have some with a cup of tea.”
Dora’s expression brightened and she sat up a little straighter in her chair. “That’d be smashing. And I could do with a cuppa—I’m wilting after being under that dryer for so long. Sweating buckets, I was,” she said, giving Megan an emphatic nod. “Good thing I don’t wear mascara or I’d look like a panda. I’m sure I must have lost ten pounds.” She gestured to the open folder on the table, bursting with to-do lists in various stages of completion. “And so will you if those are all the things you have to do before the big day. I know you’re used to rushing around, being an event organiser and all, but don’t overwork yourself, will you? We don’t want you wasting away.”
Megan chuckled. “There’s no chance of that, Dora. And, actually, there’s not as much to do as you’d think. Most of the things can’t be crossed off until nearer the time, but they’re all organised. And I always drop a little weight in the run up to an event—must be the nervous energy—but I put it all back on once everything’s done.”
“Much less to organise this time around, though, isn’t there?” said Sylvie, running a hand through her silver-threaded hair. “Do you remember your first wedding? Good grief, your mother and I thought the guests would never fit in the church.”
“Well I remember, even if Megan doesn’t,” said Des, grumbling as he took his marble cake from its tin to cut two slices. “Bloody bedlam it was with all those bridesmaids and pageboys running around. It was like the old woman who lived in a shoe.”
“I’m surprised you remember anything,” muttered Dora. “You were blotto by midday.”
“Ah, yes, but that was in the old days when I used to be partial to a snifter to get the day started,” Des retorted, indignantly, “but I don’t touch the stuff now, as you well know.”
“Well, this wedding won’t be anything like the last one,” said Megan firmly, closing the folder. “This wedding will be the significantly scaled down version with only close family and friends invited.”
“I don’t blame you, love,” said Dora. “When Archie and I got married, we didn’t know half the people who were there. Our parents invited relatives we’d never even met. Good for you and Jack for doing things your way.” She took the plate Des handed her and inhaled the rich aroma of chocolate and the unmistakably sweet scent of ripe bananas. Taking a bite, she gave a murmur of approval. “Oh, that’s heaven on a plate, that is, Des. You really do bake like an angel.”
She swallowed her mouthful and flapped a hand. “And speaking of angels, before I forget, Archie asked me to find out if you’re taking anything to the antiques show on Sunday to be valued? He’s taking that marble cherub someone left by the recycling bins.” She rolled her eyes. “I keep telling him that if it was valuable, its previous owner wouldn’t have thrown it out, would they? But he won’t listen—you know how stubborn he is. Anyway, are you taking anything, or not?”
Des rubbed his chin as he pondered the question. “Well, you know me and Sylv don’t go in for fancy stuff, so I’m not sure we’ve got anything that’s worthy of appearing on a TV antiques show.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Sylvie. “We might not have any fancy stuff, but we’ve got more old stuff than we know what to do with. I’ll have a sort through some things later, so you can tell Archie I’m sure we’ll come up with something, Dora. It’ll be fun.” She turned to her niece. “What about you and Jack, love?”
Megan shrugged. “I haven’t looked yet, but Jack has a lot of sports memorabilia, and Mum’s got a couple of pieces of jewellery she’s taking along. It’d be a shame to have an episode of Value My Treasure filmed here and not get involved.”
“I can’t wait to meet Davina Davidson,” said Dora. “Archie and me are going to have a picture taken with her. We think she’s fabulous.”
“If you ask me, she’s too bossy for her own good,” said Des. “I bet she likes to have a say in everything that happens on that show.”
“Well, bossy or not, I can’t wait,” Dora repeated. “Who’d have thought they’d choose Bliss Bay as the location for their 3000th programme? And live, too!” She popped the last piece of cake into her mouth and rubbed her hands together with glee. “Just think, we could be on TV. Good thing we’ve had our hair done, Sylvie. You’re looking a little dishevelled, though, Des.”
“If you think I’m going to the barbers, you can think again. I had a haircut two years ago and I’m not due for another one yet. I manage perfectly well in-between with my poultry shears, thank you very much, so don’t start nagging me, woman. Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be...” Des trailed off, his gazed fixed on a small, pale-blue dish next to the hob.
Dora followed his eyeline. “What are you gawping at?”
“This!” Des exclaimed, waving the dish above his head. “This is what I’m taking to be valued. Job done.”
Sylvie’s eyebrows arched dramatically. “Oh, Des, not that old thing, for heaven’s sake! Surely you can come up with something a little better than your mum’s old spoon rest? You’ll be laughed out of the village hall!”
“I don’t care,” Des replied, defiantly. “I gave that to Ma after I broke the one she’d had for years, and she used it every day. And when she passed away, I kept it as a memento and I’ve used it every day since then. These TV shows love a bit of backstory, don’t they? Especially if there’s an emotional connection.”
“Well, it certainly has that,” said Megan, rising from her chair and gathering her things. She cast an eye over the plain, nothing-to-write-home-about dish with its crackled glaze in her uncle’s hand. “I’m sure they’ll love it. Anyway, I’d better be off. Things to do, places to be, people to see, and all that.” She gave her aunt and uncle a hug. “And thanks again for the gorgeous cake.”
“You’ll let me know what Jack thinks of it, won’t you?” said Des, handing Megan a box from the fridge.
“I won’t have to. He’ll call you himself as soon as he tastes it. If I don’t see you before, I’ll see you all on Sunday morning.”
