A Recipe for Disaster: A deliciously feel-good romance. Belinda Missen
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‘What are you looking for?’ I asked, my eyes following the direction of her gaze.
‘I was hoping someone had abandoned their smokes.’ She nodded in the direction of the jumping castle. ‘Let’s go talk.’
‘Oh, I have been eyeing this up since I arrived.’ I kicked off my shoes and raced for the entrance.
‘I’m playing counsellor now. How do you feel about the Oliver situation?’ Zoe climbed in behind me. The cake had been cut, kids had spun out, and almost everyone had gone home. All that remained was the night sky, Zoe, me, and Peter trying to wrangle the kids inside.
We wibbled and wobbled about, teetering on the edge of collapse while yellow, red, and blue plastic warped and moulded to our bodies. Bouncing around distorted my vision like an acid trip in a kaleidoscope. I swayed, feeling somewhat disconnected from everything, while Zoe poured out some shaky plastic cups full of soft drink.
‘I’m angry.’ I sank back against the wall. ‘My thoughts have consumed me these past twenty-four hours. It’s wonderful for him because yay for success, but it just seems like such a … taunt. Like he’s rubbing his success in my face. Look what you could have had, Lucy.’
‘And?’ Her glance snapped up to me, her expression angry. ‘That’s not all.’
‘Well, why here?’ I asked. ‘Of all the sites he could have picked in the world.’
‘It’s almost like dangling the carrot?’
‘Exactly,’ I squeaked. ‘I mean, you’re still my wife, but you’re not because I ran away, but, hey, look, I’m back in town. By the way, I still have a fantastic cock.’
‘Well, he’s not wrong about that.’ Zoe glanced up quickly. ‘Not that I know about his cock, because I don’t.’
Cola fizzed in my nose as I tried to hold back a laugh. ‘I mean, I’m so ragey right now.’
The castle shuddered with her bounce. ‘Me, too.’
I joined her. ‘On the plus side, I had a few queries today.’
‘Good.’
‘I’d love to make more cakes like Thomas,’ I said. ‘But the idea of getting back into the fiddly, fancy patisserie stuff is so tempting, too.’
‘I just want to see you happy.’ Zoe tossed the cola bottle out of the jumping castle. It fizzed so hard the lid spat off and sprayed sugary drink everywhere. ‘If that’s with cakes, it’s with cakes. If it’s you and Oliver all over again, then Godspeed.’
‘What is happy, do you think?’ I asked.
‘Happy is having four crazy kids and a ridiculous husband who still doesn’t understand that cleaning the toilet is more involved than putting a Duck disc in it.’
I laughed. ‘Jesus. Olly wasn’t much better, and I’m sure Seamus didn’t know how to use the washing machine. He forgot clothes need to come out once you’ve hit the go button.’
‘I think you know you’re not fulfilled right now, but I’m worried about the slippery slide that having Oliver back might become, and you know I say that because I love you.’
‘Thank you.’ I tossed my cup aside and waited for her to do the same. ‘But, you’re right. I need to just move on and create my own success.’
‘That’s my girl!’ She threw her arms up in a cheer. ‘You’re opening a cake shop!’
I looked across at her. ‘I don’t know. Right now, I think no.’
‘What do you truly love?’ She pushed me over in a squealing mess. ‘Besides me, of course.’
‘Memes.’ I rolled about the floor laughing.
‘Penis, yes, good answer.’
‘No, I said memes.’ I laughed.
‘Oh.’
‘But, seriously …’ I wriggled about and looked up at the sky. It could have been a shooting star; it could have been a satellite, the International Space Station, or David Bowie floating about in space. Whatever it was, a tiny blip hurtled across my line of sight. ‘I need to get back to me.’
‘I think you know what you need to do, then.’ Zoe slid down the wall, bouncing once, twice, three times into stillness.
In complete contrast to my marriage, my parents had been married for forty-five years, even though they were chalk and cheese. Dad was drier than the Simpson Desert. His humour often flew over most people, including Mum, who was fruitier than an apple orchard in spring. The important thing was, it worked for them.
Their home, in an overpriced Geelong suburb, was a forty-minute drive from me. It overlooked a football stadium with lights so bright anyone within a ten-kilometre radius could perform surgery at midnight. Photos of grandchildren in mismatched frames clung to every surface, often competing with random biscuit tins for attention. My high-school photos still graced the desk in their study, as did a pocket-sized photo of Oliver and me at my eighteenth birthday party. Why? It was the awkward braces and ponytail phase. Why did anyone need to be reminded of that?
As much as I didn’t want to keep talking about the mess my life had become, Mum managed to squeeze all the juicy bits out of me before I’d so much as smelt my first whiff of roast dinner. Yes, Seamus was gone. Yes, I had seen Oliver. No, there was nothing happening there.
‘But isn’t it wonderful he’s back? And a new café! I want to be there on opening day.’ She hugged me with way more excitement than was warranted.
Dad and my older brother, Iain, looked at her like it was time to have her committed. For the record, I didn’t disagree. I unpeeled myself from her clutches and dropped my bag behind the couch. Barrel the cat, named so for resembling a keg on legs, lifted a sneering face in my direction before curling back in on himself.
While I had been busy learning to bake, Iain had set himself up with a web design and social media business. When I left the food industry, Mum had tried to get him to give me a job, but it wasn’t something I was interested in, and he was dead against the idea anyway. It was his business, not mine. What was my business was stopping his kids climbing on me like I was a Ferris wheel. I offered the three of them cupcakes I stole from Zoe’s in exchange for being left alone. It worked, and they were soon nattering away in the next room.
‘They love you.’ Iain offered me a stern “please be nice to my children” look.
‘Yeah, well they scare me.’ I grabbed a seat at the dining table. ‘I don’t want my own, let alone anyone else’s.’
‘They’re family.’ Sat next to me, he stretched out like a cat, overly long typist’s fingers scratching at his blond hair.
‘And a very lovely family.’ I smiled. ‘I love them, very much, from a distance.’
‘Wait until you have your own.’ Mum dithered about and slammed the door of the oven.
If I rolled my eyes any harder, they would’ve popped out of my head and made like marbles across the floor. ‘I’m not having any. Quite happy as I am.’
‘Good choice.’ Iain craned his neck towards the wine rack and plucked out a bottle of red, which he offered me with a look that begged for approval. I gave him two very parched thumbs-up signs.
‘See, he says that, and he has the little crotch goblins.’ I couldn’t uncork the bottle quickly enough. Every single time there was a family gathering, which happened about as often as politicians tweeting sense, the topic of my lack of childbearing ambition was raised, and ended up with Mum crying about wanting more