Page 23

23. Charlie :

(At this rate I could put Mary Berry out of a job … but not the Poet Laureate)

‘So let me get this straight,’ Brooks swept his arm around the kitchen, ‘all these are for my sister? All of them? All?’

I put the spatula down and wiped my hands on the apron I was wearing, though as it was already covered in three days’ worth of icing sugar, chocolate, dried batter and violet frosting, it was hard to find a clean spot.

‘No,’ I replied, peering over to where Brooks was standing next to the long kitchen table, and nodded to the tray loaded up with the defects of my baking marathon. ‘Those ones you can have.’

He bent down until his nose was almost touching the piled-up cupcakes, broken pieces of cookies and the attempts at glazed doughnuts – I don’t want to talk about the glazed doughnuts – and took a long deep sniff. ‘What’s wrong with these?’

I picked up the spatula again, and ran it around the bowl of cookie dough I was mixing. ‘They’re not perfect.’

‘They look pretty perfect to me.’ He picked up the tray and moved to the kitchen island – the only surface as yet untouched by any form of baking. ‘Come on, Daddy will find you a home.’

‘Daddy?’

‘Yup,’ he replied, smiling down at the piece of cookie in his hand, in a way I hoped I’d never see him smile again, before throwing it into his mouth. He chewed for a second, then stopped.

I wish I hadn’t witnessed the way he rolled his tongue around until a lump of chewed-up cookie fell out, but I had.

‘What flavour is this?’

I peered over to where he’d picked it up from; an assorted selection of red velvet, double chocolate chip, regular chocolate chip, white chocolate chip, and peanut butter.

‘Peanut butter.’

‘Ugh. I hate peanut butter.’ He grabbed a bottle of sports drink I’d left on the side when we’d returned from training this morning and downed it in one, before picking up a tea towel and aggressively wiping his tongue.

I stood there watching the entire dramatic spectacle, my lips curled in disgust. I’d like to say it was one of the more revolting things I’d ever seen him do, but I couldn’t. Brooks, meanwhile, calmly sat back on the stool like nothing had happened, though he was eyeing the rest of the rejects tray with much more suspicion than before.

‘Are you done?’

‘Yeah, you need to warn a guy when peanut butter is involved. It’s worse than liquorice,’ he grumbled as he picked up another cookie, sniffed it, licked it, then took the tiniest bite. ‘Chocolate chip. Much better.’

I pointed to the tongue-wiped tea towel, ‘Go and put that in the laundry.’

The oven timer went off as Brooks got up, and I turned to grab the newest batch of my efforts – the original chocolate chip cupcakes. Violet’s favourite. I already had the frosting prepared on the side, and instead of shortbread letters, I’d found some little red heart decorations in a baking shop I’d passed the day before. Shifting up a batch of cookies to make space on the kitchen top, I placed them down and stood back.

There was a small chance I’d lost it.

It had been five days since Violet had gone home and left me here. Five days of not speaking to her. Five days of missing hearing her voice or seeing my phone flash with a message. Five of the longest days of my life. I’d spoken to her every day for the past two months, so to say I missed her would be an understatement.

I’d woken up the morning after she’d gone, and my chest had ached so deeply I thought I was having a heart attack.

For three elite athletes living together, who pushed their bodies to the limit on a near-daily basis, it had taken me far longer than it should have to find a box of painkillers. They hadn’t helped. It was only when Oz kept asking me why I was rubbing my chest that he told me the tight, suffocating agony that felt like my ribs were cracking was actually because of Violet.

I thought I’d experienced heartache before, but it was nothing like this constant dull ache in my chest.

That evening, after a full day’s water training, the baking started.

It began small – a batch of chocolate chip cookies – but they led to the double chocolate chip cookies, which led to white which led to red velvet, and so forth. Somewhere along the way my brain kicked into gear, while I tried to decide how I could prove my love to Violet.

I’d looked around at my baking exploits and figured as I’d asked her to be my Valentine with cupcakes, therefore I could tell her I loved her with them too. I even tried to create a violet flavour especially for her, but that was soon scrapped when I realized they’d probably end up tasting like soap.

Back to the trusty chocolate chip with violet frosting I went.

But ‘Proving My Love’ cupcakes were different from Valentine’s cupcakes, and they had to be absolutely perfect. The first attempt hadn’t turned out quite the way I’d hoped, so I made some more … and more … and more.

You see where I’m going.

After two trips to the supermarket on my bike, I decided to take Oz’s car and load up the boot with ingredients so I wouldn’t have to go back again.

The ones I’d just made space for were my thirteenth effort. I was standing in the epicentre of a sugar explosion. I glanced down at the bowl of cookie dough and slumped back against the stove.

Yup. It was official. I’d lost it.

Maybe we could have an impromptu bake sale, because even Brooks couldn’t eat all these. Not that he wasn’t trying hard. However, he was sniffing everything before he ate it.

‘You didn’t make any peanut butter cupcakes, did you?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope.’

‘When is this house no longer going to resemble the inside of Willy Wonka’s factory?’ asked Oz, walking into the kitchen and sliding onto the stool next to Brooks, only to jump back off and flick the kettle on.

I scrubbed a hand down my face with a deep sigh at the new job I had to add to my list.

‘Today. Maybe tomorrow.’

Probably tomorrow as three solid days of baking would take longer than an afternoon to dismantle. I didn’t want to count how many cookies there were.

‘And explain to us again, why all this?’

‘Well,’ I began, trying to come up with something that didn’t make me sound crazy. ‘It was helping me think.’

‘About Violet?’

I nodded, ‘Yes. I need to prove that I love her for her, and that my feelings aren’t because of an accident or because of Evie. I think.’ To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d kind of lost track of everything amidst all the sugar. I was still largely confused at how I’d gotten into this mess. I just heard the ‘prove it’ part, and that’s exactly what I intended to do. Though I’m not sure how close I was.

‘How do you fall in love with someone by accident?’ asked Oz, which was the question I’d been asking myself.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I mean, you can’t control who you love. The entire notion is absurd,’ he grumbled, again repeating my exact sentiments. ‘Love isn’t accidental. It’s purposeful. It has meaning.’

I nodded, I was in total agreement.

‘Do you want to send any of these to Kate?’ I interrupted before we fell down another rabbit hole of Oz’s attempts to get Kate back, and while I really really wanted to be empathetic and a great friend, I also had my own shit to deal with. Namely how to get rid of/pack up/eat enough baked goods to have McVitie’s worried.

‘Um … no, she’ll never believe I made them,’ he replied, removing three large mugs from the cupboard and throwing a tea bag into each. ‘Have you heard from her?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope. She wanted no contact. Have you heard from Kate?’

His response was the same – a long, slow shake of his head. I’d only been dealing with it for a matter of days. Oz was going on six weeks. At least now I understood why he’d nearly killed us in training every day. For the first time I was thankful Oz couldn’t cook. There’s no way this kitchen could handle baking from both of us.

We turned to Brooks, munching away on another chocolate chip cookie, and I raised my eyebrows at the little pile of peanut butter ones he’d pushed to the side on the counter.

‘I haven’t heard from her either, if that’s why you’re looking at me like that. And I’m not getting involved. Consider me the Switzerland of the house.’ He threw the rest of the cookie into his mouth. ‘She doesn’t text me about stuff like that anyway.’

‘Wonder why,’ Oz mumbled.

‘Mate, I think you’re going to be fine. Keep baking like this and I’ll go out with you, if you’re not too fussy about which Brooks you want.’

That had me cracking a real smile, the first one all week. ‘Sorry, I kind of have my heart set on the one with the purple hair. Plus, you snore.’

‘Fair enough,’ he muttered, this time stuffing one of the rejected cupcakes into his mouth, whole. ‘I’d end up seriously fat if you fed me like this every day, anyway. You and Violet can be drama queens together.’

I didn’t point out that I hadn’t actually fed him at all, or that I wasn’t a drama queen, and instead picked up the tea Oz had pushed in front of me and slurped in a boiling mouthful.

‘So, what’s the plan then? And what have we got here?’ He peered over the rejects tray which Brooks seemed to be hugging. His hand was slapped away as he reached for a double chocolate chip. ‘Oi. You were just complaining about getting fat.’

Brooks lifted his shirt and gave his stomach a hard pat. ‘No chance. This six pack’s not going anywhere.’

‘Give. Me. A. Cupcake.’

Brooks scanned the tray, his eyes slowly moving back and forth before he reached for the smallest one and placed it Oz’s open palm.

‘I hope you get fat,’ Oz grouched, before shoving the entire thing in his mouth.

‘Here.’ The pile of peanut butter cookies was pushed over to him. ‘You can have these ones.’

Oz’s frown deepened but he stayed silent as he picked one up. At least this time it wasn’t spat out.

‘So, what’s your plan?’ asked Brooks. ‘Apart from giving my sister enough cavities to keep every dentist in business forever.’

‘My plan?’

‘Yeah. You have a plan to get her back, right? To prove your love, or whatever?’

‘I mean … yeah. I’m working on it. Kind of.’

‘Well …’ Brooks pinned me with a stare, his eyes wide with expectation. ‘What is it?’

I was about to answer when Oz bent down and picked up something he’d spotted on the floor by his stool.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, holding a piece of paper in the air.

Shit.

‘Give me that.’ I reached over, only I was too slow and Brooks snatched it before I could.

‘What is it?’

I sighed. I mean, I was already fairly close to rock bottom, and if the current scene was anything to go by, there was no reason why I couldn’t make it a little further down.

While I’d definitely gone overboard with the sugar, it had provided me with a little thinking space … not enough, but some. Somewhere between the double chocolate chip and the peanut butter flavours a couple of ideas had popped into my head. Though I’m not sure they were any more solid or thought out than the ‘Proving my Love’ cupcakes.

Last night, in lieu of sleep, I’d spent four hours recording every character Violet’s character had dialogue with in Twelfth Night . I’d made an MP3 which I planned to send her, so she could still rehearse without me. On a more selfish note, I hoped she’d hear my voice and miss me so much it felt like she was also having a heart attack.

I didn’t feel I should be the only one.

The second thing was the piece of paper my two housemates were currently reading with ill-concealed amusement.

‘I’m writing Violet a poem,’ I said, with all the confidence I could summon. It wasn’t much, I tell you.

‘Twenty-one chocolate Valentine’s cupcakes. I knew my heart would never be the same,’ Brooks read aloud, though I wished he wasn’t frowning so deeply. ‘Hmm. I think you need to work on this, it doesn’t rhyme.’

‘It’s not supposed to. It’s a sonnet.’

‘A what?’

‘A sonnet.’

His eyes flicked back to mine, bulging wide as his finger snapped loudly, ‘Hang on a minute, Valentine’s cupcakes … Those cupcakes you made with the purple frosting weeks ago, were they for Violet too?’

Oz groaned, while I rolled my eyes.

‘Yes, why do you think I’m making all these?’

‘Honestly, no idea. I just thought you liked baking and decided to send her some.’ He looked back down at the paper, ‘It says here chocolate, just chocolate, but I distinctly remember those ones being chocolate chip. I still think about them.’

He reached across the counter where a lone biro was resting on the side, and I watched him scribble across my piece of paper.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Adding in the chip. You need to get it right even if you’re not rhyming.’

‘No!’ This time I successfully snatched up the paper from his grip. ‘Chocolate chip doesn’t fit.’

‘What?’

‘Each line has to be ten syllables.’

‘Why?’

My shoulders jerked up, ‘I dunno, it’s the rules.’

‘Of what?’

‘Sonnets.’

‘Says who?’

‘Shakespeare?’ I snapped back, wondering what was with the twenty questions. ‘Look it up.’

This entire time Oz had been watching the back and forth like he was sitting centre court at Wimbledon, only with an expression of amusement I hadn’t seen on him in a long time. His grin widened even further as Brooks pushed out of his stool, rounded the counter and roped me into a big hug.

‘Oh mate. Shakespeare?’ he cried, holding me in a grip I couldn’t escape from. ‘Is this what my sister’s turned you into? You poor bastard. I’m so sorry. It’ll be okay. There, there.’

I eventually managed to push myself free, and the laugh which barrelled up my chest worked to dislodge some of the tension sitting there, especially when he tried to stroke my head. ‘It’s fine. But thank you for the sympathy.’ I put my arm back around him, ‘I’m sorry I’ve fucked up so much.’

‘Nah, you won’t have done,’ he grinned. ‘She’s just doing that thing that girls do, you know … they like to prove a point. She’ll calm down.’

‘Not on all this sugar she won’t,’ Oz laughed, his mouth full of the cookie he’d grabbed after Brooks left the tray unguarded.

I threw down the tea towel I was holding, groaning as I glanced around the kitchen. ‘I probably shouldn’t send all of this, right?’

Oz’s eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. ‘Um … there’s enough here to last her all year.’

‘So … no, then?’

‘Pick your best twelve and send those,’ he suggested.

Yeah. I could do that. Twelve made more sense than several hundred. Thank God I never pressed order on the three dozen cupcake boxes I’d found on Amazon.

‘Sure you don’t want to send any to Kate? There’s plenty,’ I laughed.

‘No, she’s the chef of the two of us,’ he replied, and the sadness in his tone was so profound I pulled him into a Brooks-style hug. ‘God, we’re a mess aren’t we?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Now we’ve sorted Violet, there’s something else we need to discuss.’ Brooks downed the remainder of his tea, as Oz and I turned to him. ‘What are we doing about Evie?’

I leaned back against the counter.

One thing I’d learned through this mess I’d created, rubbing your fingers against your temples did absolutely nothing to ease the pressure. Or maybe it was that I had too much. Either way, every time I thought of Evie my blood boiled so quickly my brain was on the verge of exploding. My head simply did not have the space to figure out how to prove to Violet I loved her while also coming up with a solution to get Evie out of my life for good. Therefore, as Violet was my priority, I’d concentrated all my remaining brain cells on her.

‘I haven’t got that far.’

‘Well, I’d say as she’s trying to ruin your life, you could always ruin hers.’

Oz got up to flick the kettle on again. ‘Remind me never to get on your wrong side.’

‘I’m serious, you could fuck with her grades or something. What’s the point of being able to hack the university servers if you don’t use it when you need to?’

‘But what would that solve?’ I crossed my arms over my chest, ‘She’s leaving in a few months anyway when she graduates. And now term is over we no longer have class together.’

‘To be fair, failing grades isn’t going to stop her fucking with Charlie,’ Oz replied and looked over at me, ‘Why don’t you call Olly, he might be able to offer some advice.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s reading law. You never know, he might have some words of wisdom.’

I mean, one more brain added to the mix couldn’t do any harm.

Oz put three more steaming mugs of tea on the counter and sat back on his stool. Brooks’ chin was propped on his fist as I hit dial. Olly answered on the third ring.

‘Charles? What’s up? How’s training going?’

‘Yeah, good thanks, mate. Hope you’ve got the tissues ready, because Cambridge is going down.’

‘I’d rather you lost, if I’m honest. I’ve bet a lot of money on Cambridge winning now we have a new Blue Boat Cox.’

There was a sharp intake of breath to my right, followed by a loud tut. We hadn’t talked much about the fact we’d be racing directly against Kate. Outwardly Oz seemed more determined than ever to win this year – his final year as president – but I knew he wasn’t happy that winning would mean Kate would lose her first race in Blue Boat.

‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t seen her for a week or so, but she seemed okay. Always with that hot friend of hers.’

‘Imogen,’ added Brooks, helpfully, because he may or may not have a huge crush on her.

He definitely did.

‘Ol,’ I interrupted before we got into a debate about the hotness of Imogen, ‘I need some advice about Evie.’

‘How someone hasn’t strangled that girl yet is beyond me.’

Next to me, Brooks and Oz mumbled their agreement.

‘Well, yes, anyway. Long story short, since she moved into my philosophy class and I started dating Violet, she’s become even more of a pain in the arse than usual.’

For a second I thought he’d been cut off, ‘Hang on … Violet? Violet Brooks? You’re dating? When did that happen?’

Ah. And there was the problem with grand plans and keeping secrets. Because when they all fell apart you had to start from the beginning to explain yourself, again. Which meant you realized how totally and utterly you’d ballsed things up.

I’d just opened my mouth when Brooks jumped in. ‘Evie joined Charlie’s class. Charlie needed a fake girlfriend to protect him, and asked Violet. Evie’s been tormenting them because now Charlie’s decided he loves Violet. Something happened with Evie and the race last weekend, Violet’s in a mood. Charlie needs to sort his shit out and now our kitchen currently looks like the next season location for The Great British Bake Off .’ He looked at me and shrugged, ‘Did I miss anything?’

I picked up my tea. ‘No, think you got it all.’

‘Great. Thought it would be quicker if I told it.’

There was silence on the line and the three of us leaned in, waiting to see if Olly was going to speak. Unless he’d stopped listening and disconnected. I wouldn’t blame him.

‘Well, that’s quite a predicament, isn’t it?’ he said, eventually.

‘Yeah. You don’t say.’

‘You could try a restraining order.’

My eyes flicked left and right. Based on their expressions both Oz and Brooks seemed to think a restraining order was a viable option. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered, though probably should have. If it was just me, I’d have left it because a restraining order felt too serious. Too over the top, like I couldn’t deal with problems myself.

But now my problem was affecting Violet, I was quickly reconsidering.

‘How long does that take?’

‘I dunno, d’you want me to ask my mum? She’ll be much better at this than me. She might have more ideas too.’

My face screwed tight as a cringe slithered up my spine until my shoulders were practically touching my ears. I wasn’t sure which was worse, that Oz and Brooks both snickered either side of me, or that Olly was being deadly serious.

Olly’s mum, or Lady Greenwood of St James as she was known professionally, was President of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom. Therefore, was so far above the pay grade of any problems I was having with my ex-girlfriend, even the thought of her knowing the broad details was mortifying enough for me to stop this conversation dead.

‘No, Ol. Absolutely not.’

‘Are you sure? She’d probably quite enjoy it,’ he replied, which didn’t make me feel any better.

‘I’m sure. I’ll figure it out.’

‘Okay. Now what was this about The Great British Bake Off ?’

‘Charlie’s been thinking again.’

‘That’s what I like to hear … hang on.’ There was a muffled sound down the line, though none of us could make out what was happening. ‘Hey, I need to go. Send me some of Charlie’s baking thoughts, will you? I need something to get me through the mountain of holiday work I have.’

‘Sure, no problem. Thanks, Ol …’ but the line had already gone dead.

For the first time all week I felt like I’d achieved something. What that achievement was, I didn’t know. But at least the hopelessness churning in my stomach had disappeared.

Oz clapped his hands together. ‘So, the plan of action is research restraining orders. You’ll send your sonnet poem thing to Violet with her purple cupcakes, and Olly can have two dozen of the rest of these.’ He turned, pointing to the mountains of trays and cooling racks.

‘That will still leave us with approximately four hundred cookies and God knows how many cupcakes.’ I rubbed my head, hard. ‘What do I do with the rest?’

I hadn’t finished my question before Brooks was on the phone calling in the cavalry, loosely translated as the entire crews from Blue Boat and Isis. I just caught my phone before the two dozen message notifications in ten seconds almost buzzed it off the counter.

It flashed up with the last message.

Bitters:

I’ll bring the milk.