Page 34 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

I wake up to a screaming fire alarm and wish I could jump out of bed.

‘Sorry, I burnt my toast! Go back to sleep, Penny,’ CJ calls through my door. ‘The flat isn’t burning down.’

I look at the bedside clock. Ten past six. And on my birthday as well. No, thank you.

I reach over to grab the earplugs and sleeping mask I saved from the plane.

The place better not burn down now, I think, as I trap myself inside my head.

For a brief second, I consider waking up properly to have breakfast with him, but the bed is so comfy and, realistically, I know I wouldn’t be able to get up in time anyway.

Plus, he knows that. I was pretty clear about what my illnesses are like in the morning.

If he wanted to have breakfast with me, he would have waited, I tell myself as I drift back off.

When I open my bedroom door a couple of hours later, there’s a note on the floor. I pick it up.

Good morning, Penny Lane

There’s grass sketched under the writing and a yellow sun in the top right corner. Dog toys in matching colours are laid out on the floor, leading to more notes and more toys. What in the world?

Happy Birthday!

Multicoloured fireworks burst around the words. Corresponding dog toys litter the floor. I clean up as I go, eagerly picking up the next note. I really hope this isn’t going to lead to what I think it is.

Since you insisted I didn’t get you a present ...

Here, the toys lead into the bathroom, so I sit on the side of the bath, glancing over at the next message.

I thought you’d like to give these toys and treats to the dogs at Dogs Trust sometime when we get back.

Phew. Okay, so not a puppy, thank goodness. Or a fully fledged dog, for that matter. Neither would have been ideal, but you can never be too sure with CJ. But this I can definitely get on board with . Feeling a lot more relaxed, I follow the path into the living room, where I find the next note.

I was going to tell you to pick them up in the first note so you wouldn’t have to backtrack, but it rather lowered the jolly happy birthday vibes. And if I know you well enough, you’ve been picking them up anyway.

I giggle an embarrassingly girly giggle, looking at them in my hand.

And now you’re smiling because I was right. Or laughing? I hope I managed a laugh.

I set them down on the sofa, leaving my hands free to collect the rest, as I make my way to the open-plan kitchen. I pick up the next Post-it note.

Anyway, sorry about the smoke detector this morning ...

The toys trail over the floor towards the counter and balance on the drawer handles like rungs of a ladder.

I hope these are worth it.

PS – Did you really believe I can’t make toast?

I spot what he’s referring to right away but judging by the formation of treats, I wasn’t supposed to. No worries, my guy, I mouth, as I quickly tear my eyes away, thanking my lucky stars he’s not here to question why on earth I just said that.

And then I start again. Following the trail with my gaze, just like he planned, until the carefully placed arrangement forms an arrow, pointing upwards.

And there, right in front of me, is a rather bare-looking cake stand topped with six cupcakes, even though the tiers could’ve easily held twelve (which begs the question, what happened to the other six?

Did he burn them? Or eat them?). And while they do look a bit measly on such a big stand (three on the bottom, two in the middle and one on top), he’s gone all out decorating them.

Each one is covered with sprinkles and iced within an inch of its life, yet no two cupcakes look the same.

There’s a Mr Whippy-inspired one with white icing piped in the classic swirl (complete with a mini Flake), a pink rosette, blue ruffles, a yellow sunflower (although it might not be, looks like he struggled a bit with that one.

He even tried to hide it on the bottom tier behind the others) and my personal favourite, a plain brown blob with fondant eyes and a semi-circle smile.

Notes peek out between each layer, so I carefully remove them, making a small stack in my hands. I read through them slowly, putting each one to the back to reveal the next.

Life is like a batch of cupcakes – you never know what you’re going to get.

Expect the unexpected.

Choose wisely

Love, CJ

I roll my head back. This is CJ’s doing – I should have known there’d be a catch. He could’ve at least done a worse job of the icing, so they didn’t look so – damn – good.

I pick them up one by one to get a closer look. They all smell as delicious as you’d expect, but I’m not giving in to whatever nightmare lurks inside them just yet. No chance, CJ.

There’s another note by the fruit bowl saying he’s gone for a run but will be back soon.

So, I find some coconut yoghurt in the fridge and make a fruit salad to go with it while I wait for him.

Normally I love this sort of thing, but sitting opposite the cake stand, it tastes too fresh.

Too healthy. One of those soft, sugary cakes would be so perfect with a cup of tea right now.

Especially since each mouthful of fruit seems to be getting more sour and watery than the last.

I stand up, making my chair squeak as it skids backwards, and look at them again.

As if on autopilot, my hand reaches out and switches the sad, wilted-looking sunflower (which looks like it has a chocolate sprinkle headlice infestation) with the pretty, show-offy rosette cupcake sitting proudly on the top.

I sit back down, feeling mildly better. One, because the nicest-looking cupcake isn’t staring me in the face anymore and two, because CJ will be annoyed I’ve spotted his ugly duckling and given it pride of place at the top.

I’m still pondering over what could be wrong with them when Delilah calls, hoping we can be the first to wish each other happy birthday like we usually are. I turn the camera around to break the bad news, cycling through all the notes so she can get the full picture.

‘ Love , CJ.’ She winks. ‘I think he likes you more than he lets on, Pen.’

I re-read the note.

‘No, he doesn’t. It’s meant to be sarcastic. Like, “good luck burning your throat with chilli or garlic. Love, CJ”,’ I say in a fake-cheery voice. ‘That makes more sense, doesn’t it? Cos he’s not really wanting me to choose wisely or have good luck, is he?’

‘He might,’ CJ says, coming into the living room, making Lilah frantically wave and hang up.

‘They’re not all bad. You didn’t think I’d be that mean, did you?’ he says, just as his eyes dart over to the top tier. ‘Hey! I knew you’d spot that.’ He races to switch the nit-fest and the delicate rosette back.

‘Hands!’ I shout before I can stop myself, sounding a lot like Amy.

‘You don’t have to tell me how to do everything,’ he says, making an exaggerated point of only touching their cases with his unwashed hands.

‘Just the easy stuff.’ I smirk. ‘And what happened to no presents, like we agreed?’

‘I took a vote on it afterwards, and since you were the only person who voted no, my vote won. Obviously, cos I’m older, mine had that little bit more power.’

I gawk at him. ‘You can’t vote when there are only two people.’

‘Are you not excited to go back to see the doggos?’ he says, like that’s even a question. ‘Well, for their sake, hopefully new doggos by now.’

‘That’s not the point,’ I say, giving him a hug to say thank you before pulling out the closest chair for myself. He leans back on the counter, smiling down at me, infuriatingly smug.