Just get over yourself, ya div, Sarah thought as she got close to Sissy’s. It’s not like you’ve had plastic surgery. All the way over on the train she’d fantasised about Sissy’s reaction at seeing her looking, well, not too shabby, if she did say so herself.
Each day it got a little easier to put on the make-up she’d bought. Now she hardly stabbed herself in the eye at all. And she’d keep wearing it too, considering what it cost.
Not that it was only about the money. As much as she hated to admit it, people seemed to like her painted face. At first she thought it was just her imagination that smiles were a little brighter and more forthcoming.
But no. There was definitely a difference. The dresses that she’d chosen with Rachel circled her waist and even gave her a bit of a bust. Judging by the number of glances that lingered, she must look good.
And that made her feel amazing.
Her boss, Harry, had asked if she’d been somewhere sunny. Just Costa del Clapton, she’d joked. Even Maria-Therese, who hated everything about her, conceded a grudging compliment.
For the first time in years, she felt wonderful.
‘All right, Sissy!’ she called as her sister waved from the doorway. ‘Ready to bake?’
‘Yes.’ She stared at Sarah. That wasn’t unusual. As long as Sarah kept quiet, Sissy would eventually say what she was thinking. If she asked, her sister would clam up.
‘You look like Mum,’ she finally said.
Tears sprang to Sarah’s eyes. She didn’t expect that. After all the time she’d spent in front of the mirror in the past few weeks, she hadn’t seen it. ‘Do I? Is that okay?’
Sissy considered the question. ‘It’s okay. I like it.’ With that, she threw herself into Sarah’s arms. Sarah tried not to cry into her fine blonde hair.
God how she missed her mother. Though it wasn’t in that constant grating way that shredded her emotions in the days after she died. And she’d never felt those tides of grief she’d read about either. A tide implied some kind of rhythm, a predictability. That would have been better. At least she could prepare herself, shore herself up against it. But this grief hit her randomly. She might be sitting in a meeting, or on a bus or in the loo, lying in bed or whipping cream or talking on the phone or laughing with her housemates. It didn’t matter where or when or whom she was with. The longing that hit her always went through her like a mortar passing through her middle, leaving a hole she could see through. A hole where she wasn’t whole.
She didn’t have the luxury of going away to lick her wounds though. There was Sissy to think about. She was just as much an orphan and she needed her.
She unpacked her shopping bags and laid out all the baking ingredients on the worktop in the communal kitchen. Sissy stood beside her, rearranging the packets and tins into her own design. When she’d finished, Sarah noticed the symmetry she’d managed to find amongst the jumble of sizes, shapes, labels and colours. That girl had a good eye.
Not for the first time, Sarah wondered where their artistic skills came from. Their mum couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler. Had the arty gene skipped a generation on that side? Or had both their fathers been creative? It wasn’t like she had anyone to ask. Those details were buried three years ago in the cemetery.
‘Right,’ she said, pushing aside the dark thoughts. ‘I thought we’d make a pound cake today and some biscuits if there’s time. I’ve brought chocolate, vanilla and almond. Which should we use?’
‘Chocolate and vanilla.’
‘Both?’
‘Why not?’
‘In one cake? How would we do that?’
‘Half and half,’ she said. ‘You’re the baker. Figure it out.’
Sarah laughed. ‘You’re right, I can do that.’ After all, she was auditioning for The Great British Bake Off, wasn’t she?
She still couldn’t believe it. She’d talked to the producer a few days after her makeover at Fenwick’s. He had mostly just wanted to have a chat about baking but then he rang back again to ask all kinds of technical questions about working with yeast and hand-raising pies and making choux pastry. She’d got the giggles in the middle of it, thinking how nuts it was to try to describe baking. It was like getting a feel for a porn film using the audio description for the visually impaired.
She had to guess at some of the answers but she must have done okay because he had invited her to audition in March! Half of her wanted to squeal with joy. The other half wanted to ring him up and say it was all a big mistake. She just had to figure out which half would go to the audition.
‘Hey Sissy. Do you know the programme, The Great British Bake Off?’
She shook her head.
‘Oh, well. It’s a baking competition on telly where they make beautiful cakes and biscuits and things each week.’
‘Sounds boring to watch someone bake.’
‘But you watch me bake.’
‘I eat the cakes.’
‘Well anyway. They’ve chosen me to audition for the programme. So I might be on national telly in the summer. Would you watch me?’
‘When’s it on?’
‘On Wednesday nights starting in August.’
‘Not during EastEnders?’
‘No. Would you watch?’
‘Uh huh. What will you bake?’
‘That’s what I have to figure out. I need to have two things for the audition. What do you think I should make?’
Sissy didn’t answer.
They worked together, creaming the butter, cracking eggs and sifting flour to make the cake batter. Then Sarah divided the mixture in half and Sissy set to work sprinkling cocoa into one bowl and vanilla extract into the other. When they finished, Sissy wiped every inch of the tin’s interior with a thin, even layer of butter.
Then she glanced up from the tin. ‘I remember Mum,’ she said. ‘Her dresses.’
Of course. Their mum always wore day dresses, usually with Converse hi-tops in summer and biker boots in winter, always with bare legs. They were a little plainer than the one Sarah wore, but similar enough for Sissy to notice.
‘Do you remember baking with her?’
‘Yes. Morning muffins.’
They shared a smile. That’s what their mum called the carrot cakes she made them for breakfast. Sarah’s gran disapproved of cake for breakfast, so their mum devised a ‘healthy’ muffin instead. It was just carrot cake in another form.
They decided on a marbled effect for their own cake, then popped it in the oven and waited for the delicious baking smell to waft out.
Sarah noticed a young man lurking in the doorway just as Sissy did.
‘Ben!’ Sissy shouted, stomping across the kitchen to drag the boy by his arm towards Sarah. ‘This is my sister, Sarah. This is my boyfriend.’
Sarah smiled. ‘All right Ben.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too.’
He had a mop of blond hair and a round face, with a wide, gap-toothed smile and gentle brown eyes. And Sissy was right, he was fat.
‘Do you like cake as much as Sissy does?’ Sarah asked, noticing him sniffing the air as their marble cake finished baking.
‘I don’t know how much Sissy likes cake.’
Sarah stifled a laugh. Even after sixteen years with Sissy she sometimes forgot to frame her questions logically. ‘Well that’s true. Do you like cake?’
‘I love it. When’s it ready?’
‘Ben! Don’t be rude,’ Sissy said, smiling at him. ‘You can’t have any until we say. It has to cool first. And then have icing. And then decoration. It’ll be hours.’
Ben looked disappointed to hear this.
‘I’m afraid she’s right, Ben, but we could make some chocolate chip cookies now and it’d be okay to eat a bit of the raw dough before they’re baked, if you’d like?’
‘But you can’t eat any unless you help,’ Sissy said.
Ben washed his hands and together they got to work.
A little later, Kelly stuck her head in the kitchen doorway. ‘Sarah, could we have a quick word before you go?’
‘Is that a hint? Are you trying to get rid of me?’
She laughed. ‘Not at all.’
‘I’ll come now. Sissy, six minutes till the cookies come out, okay? Can you please time it?’
Sissy saluted and peered at her watch.
Ben said, ‘Sissy, can we—’
‘Sssh, Ben. I’m timing.’
‘What’s up?’ Sarah asked as she followed Kelly down the hallway.
‘Let’s go outside.’
That sounded serious. Sarah began to worry for Sissy. Was it about her and Ben? Had something happened between them? How was she going to tell Robin? He’d kill the poor boy and start lecturing Sissy about vaginas.
Kelly took a deep breath when they were well away from any of the residents. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news. It’s not about Sissy, so don’t worry. But it’s about Whispering Sands. We’ve lost our funding and it looks like we may not be able to carry on.’
‘You’re skint?’
‘It looks that way.’ Her eyes darted to the doorway. ‘Nothing is ever final until the last minute. And then everything just shuts down. That’s why I thought you should know now, in case you wanted to start thinking about another arrangement for Sissy.’
‘How much time do you think we’ve got?’
‘It’s hard to say. It could be three months, or six or more. But if the facility does close, there’ll be a lot of people looking for an alternative in the area. There aren’t that many options. Do you see what I mean? I want to make sure Sissy gets into another good facility.’
Sarah smiled. ‘Thanks, Kelly. You’ve always been so great about looking out for her. But what’ll happen to you?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll find another job. Everyone is short-staffed so it’ll be easier for me than it will be for the residents to find other homes. Do you understand what I’m saying?’ Her hooded grey eyes bored into Sarah’s.
She nodded. ‘We should think about jumping instead of waiting to be pushed. Yes, I understand. But there is a chance that the home won’t close, right? I’d hate to move Sissy if it’s not necessary. She’d be gutted. All of her friends are here. And she loves you all.’
‘I know, and it’s not an easy decision for you. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear any more. We’re having a staff meeting on Friday about it. I’m really sorry, Sarah. I wish we didn’t always have to worry about where our money was coming from.’
Sarah saw Ben waving from the conservatory doorway.
‘Do you need me, Ben?’ she called.
‘Sissy says it’s been six minutes and where are you?’
‘Thanks, I’ll be right in. We’re freezing out here anyway. She’s got you running messages for her now, has she?’
‘She’s kind of bossy.’
‘Is that okay?’
‘Yes. She’s still nice and she shares her toast with me.’
Sarah was glad that Ben seemed to like her sister so much.
Maybe, she thought as she went inside to check the cookies, soon she’d find a Ben for herself online.
She was chatting with a few guys that she wouldn’t mind meeting in person, but she was so out of practice! Twice Rachel had had to draft her messages for her. She was like her flirty fairy godmother, waving her wand and working her magic.
‘I know what you should make for your show,’ Sissy said as she blew on a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven. The chocolate was still liquid. ‘Mum’s morning muffins.’
Sarah smiled. She was hardly likely to win over the judges with such a simple recipe. She’d be up against the country’s best bakers – people who could spin sugar in their sleep and hand-raise a pie. Carrot cake muffins weren’t very impressive.
On the other hand … some kind of wonderful cake that was inspired by the memory of her mother’s muffins might be exactly what they were looking for. There were six weeks before the audition. She’d just have to create and perfect the recipe by then.
‘Sissy, that’s a good idea.’
‘I know,’ she said, daintily dabbing her lips with a serviette. ‘May I please have another one?’