A Little Love (13 page)

Would Bunny appreciate it? she wondered. She and Milly had savoured every mouthful of their own childhood birthday cakes – always a giant Victoria sponge, the middle filled with raspberry jam and buttercream frosting. They only ever received a single gift, of course – something useful like socks, mittens or knitting wool.

Guy knocked and entered and gave a sweeping bow in the direction of their customer. ‘I am so very sorry to interrupt—’

‘Oh, no, don’t worry a jot. We haven’t got down to the detail yet.’ Lady Miriam sprayed Guy with scone. Pru saw him give an almost imperceptible flinch.

‘But I am afraid Madame is needed upstairs in a rather urgent fashion.’ He held his hands in front of his chest as though cupping a small bird inside his finger cage.

Sometimes the way Guy spoke drove Pru mad; this was one of those times. She wished he would be a bit more to the point. It was hard to tell from his demeanour and tone whether the building was on fire or they had run out of soap in the Ladies’ loo.

‘Do excuse me, Miriam; I’ll be as quick as I can. Guy, if you could fetch our guest another coffee.’ She knew this would sweeten her absence.

They walked outside and into the corridor. ‘What on earth’s wrong, Guy?’

‘There’s a girl upstairs that says she needs to talk to you. She refuses to come inside and is sitting in your private doorway, but she can be seen from the café, hunched on the floor like a vagrant.’ His nose wrinkled slightly.

Pru held her tongue. It was more important to deal with the issue than stand and debate his lack of empathy. ‘Is she blonde-ish, small, pregnant?’

‘Yes, yes and yes.’ He nodded, looking up to his right as though picturing her.

Pru let out a breath that she had not realised she had been holding. ‘Thank God. That’s Megan. You’ll have to take over for me with Miriam.’

Pru hurried upstairs and walked out on to the Curzon Street pavement. It was late afternoon and a busy day like any other. Businessmen walked briskly, barking into mobile phones, arranging where to go for a drink or shouting instructions to their PAs. Ladies that lunched tripped along arm in arm with their doppelgangers, sporting matching designer handbags slung over their bony décolletages and seemingly in no hurry to get home. Tourists ambled along with cameras around their necks, clogging the narrow walkways and causing much irritation to the lunching ladies and the businessmen.

In their midst Pru spied the slender back of Megan, in the same T-shirt she had seen her in twice before. Her hair was loose and hung to her shoulders. She was bending forward as if resting on her knees. Pru approached cautiously, eager not to frighten her off again. She came to a standstill a foot away from her.

‘Hello there, Megan.’

The girl turned slowly and in obvious pain. ‘Hello.’

Pru gasped, and tried her best not to show her shock and distress. Megan’s bottom lip was swollen to twice its normal size, with a vertical split along it that oozed blood when she spoke. Her left eye was entirely bloodshot and encircled by a dark blue bruise. The lid itself was purple, shiny and swollen. She had to tip her head back slightly to get a full view.

‘Oh my God, what happened to you?’

‘My cousin’s flatmate, he—’

‘A man did this to you?’ Pru interrupted, unable to keep the anger from her voice or hide the shock on her face that anyone could do this to a young, pregnant girl.

Megan shook her head vigorously and then held her jaw, regretting the ill-considered movement. ‘No, Rocky is as good as gold; he lives with my cousin, Liam. I’ve known him a long time. It was his girlfriend.’

Pru crouched down on the pavement and put her hand on the girl’s back. ‘Oh, Megan. Do you need to see a doctor or go to the hospital? I can take you.’

She shook her head, more gently this time. ‘No, it’s just my face.’

‘But we should still get you checked out, just in case.’

‘I don’t want to. I’m okay, honestly.’ Her words were slurred, issued through her freshly misshapen mouth.

‘But you’re clearly not okay, love. Why did she do this? When?’

Megan spoke slowly. ‘She came back to the flat last night, pissed up, and said she was sick of sleeping on the sofa while I was in Rocky’s room. The two of them were arguing in the hallway and I just lay under the covers, listening. Rocky said he felt sorry for me, that he didn’t mind me having his room and that was it. She went mental, said he was probably shagging me.’ She closed her eyes. ‘It was horrible and I felt really sorry for Rocky, he was getting all that grief just because he was doing me a favour. So I went out into the hallway, to try and tell her there was nothing going on and that they could have the room and I’d sleep on the sofa, but before I got a chance to say a word, she went crazy. She head-butted my face and punched my mouth. I think I blacked out a bit; I managed to get back in the bedroom and when it had all calmed down, I packed up my stuff and I left. I can’t take any more hassle.’

‘When did you leave?’

‘About four o’clock this morning.’

Pru looked at her watch: it was nearly 5 p.m. ‘Have you been walking around all this time?’

Megan nodded. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have anywhere else to go and then I remembered what you said and so I came here. I don’t have to stay, I just didn’t know what else to do.’

‘I’m glad you thought of me, Megan. Come inside, come on.’ Pru reached inside her pocket for her door key.

Megan stood and seemed to weigh up her options. She prodded her bottom lip with her thumbnail until it bled, then licked the warm trickle back up into her mouth. ‘I probably shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what to do.’ She bit the inside of her cheek, which reminded Pru so much of Bobby that her stomach cramped.

‘It’ll be okay, Megan. Trust me. You can come and stay with me, there’s lots of room and it’ll give you a bit of space, time to get straight.’ Pru hoped Milly would be kind.

‘How can I trust you? I don’t even know you.’

‘That’s true, but I know what it’s like to need a break. And besides, I don’t think you’ve got too many options at the moment, have you?’

‘It still feels weird.’

‘Yes, it is a bit, but this whole situation is weird. And here’s the thing, Megan: you look like you are in a bit of a pickle, and I want to help you. I haven’t always been as lucky as I am now, and the one thing I can tell you is that there are certain times in your life when people will offer to help you, often when you need it the most, and you should always, always take that help.’

‘I’m not sure.’ Megan’s glance was nervous, flicking between Pru and the street, her means of escape.

Pru could see her indecision. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you come inside with me and have a good think about it. There are no bars on the windows, you are free to leave the second you want.’

‘I wish I hadn’t bothered you now, I feel really awkward. This is all bollocks – you were that girl’s aunty and finding out about her is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.’ Her tears fell. ‘I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to him properly because you arrived and I hadn’t finished. It was like you chucked me out and you didn’t really have the right. All I wanted was five minutes to tell him what I would do with our baby, that I’d keep all the promises we made, but I never got the chance.’

Pru patted her shoulder. ‘I didn’t chuck you out, Megan, you ran away. And he knew how you felt. Don’t you worry. He loved you and he knew.’ She swallowed the bile of disloyalty that rose in her throat.

Megan hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘What can I do with my stuff?’

‘How much have you got?’ Pru pictured the wardrobes, chest of drawers and closet in the spare room of the flat.

‘Just that.’ Megan pointed to the pavement and a shallow plastic box that took up no more space than a couple of large books.

Pru’s heart lurched in sympathy. ‘You can bring it upstairs.’ The sort of women she dealt with at the patisserie every day would be busy stocking up on baby essentials at this stage of their pregnancy and ordering towers of cupcakes in pale pink or sky blue for their baby shower. She doubted Megan even had a change of clothes. Pru resolved there and then to order her a range of stuff, from maternity wear to smart clothes. She’d have it delivered and Megan could pick what she liked.

On top of the box sat a photograph of Megan and William. They were lying on a pebble beach; Megan’s head was resting on his chest and William, with one arm keeping her close and the other holding the camera at arm’s length, had clearly taken the photo. They were both smiling. It shocked Pru to see him in this environment and with this girl. Where had Bobby thought he was? What lie had he told? Pru studied William’s face: he looked happy. She inhaled sharply, squinting to better analyse his expression. He didn’t just look happy, he looked happier than she had ever seen him. Slotted into the corner of the frame was a black and white picture, only a couple of inches in diameter but unmistakeably a scan of a baby, their baby.

‘That was at Brighton. We liked it there. It’s where we met – I was wandering along, minding my own business and he nearly ran me over on the seafront, that’s how we first got talking.’ She sniffed up her tears and her mouth twitched. ‘After that we’d go in all weathers, go for a walk and then get fish and chips and eat it in the car.’

Pru absorbed this new chunk of information. Megan sitting in the car that Bobby drove, the car in which she collected him from the barracks, visited his mother, sang along to their favourite songs and planned her wedding. The car in which they had died.

‘How long were you and William seeing each other?’

‘A year and four months.’ Megan’s face crumpled.

Pru did the maths: three months longer than he had been with Bobby.

‘I should have known someone like me was never going to end up with someone like him. I mean, look at me, I’m just nothing.’

Pru shivered to hear the familiar words that she herself had uttered throughout her childhood. It was more than she could bear. ‘You are not just nothing, Megan.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ Megan looked Pru in the eye. ‘Can you not call me Megan? No one calls me that. I’m Meg. When you say Megan it makes me feel like I’m in trouble and I’m nervous enough as it is.’ Her mouth lifted with the beginnings of a smile.

Pru nodded as she pushed her key into the shiny brass lock and turned to her guest. ‘How you doing, Meg?’

The girl gripped her plastic box tightly. ‘I’m okay.’ Her knuckles were white against the lid. She was petrified. ‘Do you own the whole building then?’

‘Yes. We have the bakery, kitchens, workroom and office in the basement; the showroom and café are on the ground floor; and there are two flats above – mine and Milly’s, and Bobby’s. And a room in that is yours for as long as you need it.’

Meg stepped forward and touched her fingers to the glass as she stared at the tall bow window. Its shock of red velvet fabric fell in a cascade of waves from the ceiling and over a table on which sat the most incredible cake she had ever seen. It was illuminated by dozens of flickering candle bulbs in antique brass lanterns. The cake was eight tiers high and each tier was separated by minute pillars of faux marble. The pristine white icing was covered on one side in tiny red sugar-paste rosebuds and petals that looked so real you could almost smell them. Green leaves with intricate vein detailing and lifelike jagged edges had been scattered here and there. Some poked from behind clusters of buds, others appeared to have withered and fallen. The tiny blooms looked as if they had been thrown and landed against the sponge; some looked as if they were about to fall to the tier below. They reminded Meg of confetti that had been gathered up by the wind and blown somewhere new. It was a work of art.

She was transfixed. ‘Is that really a cake?’

Pru nodded.

‘Can you eat it?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes, every bit!’

‘Even the petals and leaves?’

‘Yes, Meg, all of it. And when it’s cut, you see the red velvet sponge inside. It looks stunning.’

‘It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Like a Disney cake for a wicked princess.’

Pru chortled, delighted by Meg’s description. Yes, that was exactly what it looked like. She recalled Guy’s presentation – it had taken him half an hour to deliver and at the final slide he had described the motif as ‘gothic horror meets vintage bordello with a twist of blood-red erotica’. Meg had managed to sum it up in half a dozen words.

‘It’s massive, but really beautiful and a bit scary. I think it’s incredible. How much would a cake like that cost?’ A drip of blood ran down Meg’s chin from where she had inadvertently pulled open the wound on her mouth.

Pru hesitated, conscious of the girl’s T-shirt and worn espadrilles and her entire worldly belongings that fitted inside a small plastic box. She pictured the cherished Bunny, who would celebrate the incredible milestone of reaching fourteen with a grand bash, and her stomach tensed. The cake would cost nine thousand pounds, but how could she explain to this girl about the man-hours and craftsmanship, the finest cochineal and celebrity-endorsed design. It would sound, in the words of Meg, like it was all bollocks.

‘I’m not sure,’ she lied.

‘I like making cakes.’

‘Do you?’

Meg nodded. ‘Yeah, I used to make fairy cakes with my nan and decorate them. I was quite good at it.’

Pru nodded. ‘Hey, well, that’s how Milly and I got started, baking with our nan in a little kitchen. Baking is a bug and when you catch it, it takes over. I used to dream of recipes and cake designs, night after night, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d got up and scribbled them down, just in case I forgot them.’

‘What do you dream about now then?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Well, you said you used to dream about cakes and I wondered what you dream about now?’ Meg rested her box on the brass lip of the windowsill.

‘Oh, I don’t really dream much any more.’ Pru smiled and pushed open the front door. She stood back to let her guest walk in first.

‘I tell you what, I wouldn’t mind catching that baking bug if I ended up with a swanky place like this.’ Meg flicked her head in the direction of the window.