Cake

Cake

The time of the annual junior sea scout jamboree was approaching. Lara
felt her headaches starting again.

"It doesn't matter mum," said Carl. He spooned a spoonful of the mush
on his plate into his mouth.

"It matters to me," said Lara. "What will people think?"

"You told me not to care what people think," said Carl.

"This is different," said Lara.

"Oh," said Carl. He pushed a burnt potato over to one side of the
plate with his fork and then skewered a carrot. "How?"

Lara pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. "It's difficult
to explain," she said.

"I'm not a child," said Carl. "I'm nine."

Lara smiled. She placed her hands on the table. She was quiet for a
minute.

"Yes?" said Carl.

"Well," she said, "you only don't care what people think if you're
doing something right. If you're doing something wrong then it's
different. You have to care." Lara reached out and touched her son's
hand. "Understand?"

"I think so," said Carl.

Lara smiled again and stood up.

"I think I understand," said Carl. "But why is it wrong that you can't
cook? Why is it wrong that you don't stand a chance of winning the cake
baking competition?"

Lara's smile disappeared. She looked at Carl.

"Sorry mum," said Carl. He looked down at his plate. He ate one of the
potatoes.

Lara went over to her son and placed a hand on his head. She tried to
flatten a tuft of hair that was always sticking up at the back. Every
time she pushed it down, it bounced back up. Eventually she gave up and
sat down again. She watched Carl eat.

"It'll be OK, mum," said Carl.

From the hall came the sound of someone knocking at the front door.
Lara stood and went to answer it. It was Terry. He wanted to know if
Carl would like to come out to play.

"He hasn't finished his tea," said Lara.

"I have," said Carl. He had appeared behind Lara. "I've finished. Can
I go? Please."

Lara looked down the corridor. She saw the plate on the kitchen table.
It was still half full.

"The food was lovely," said Carl. "But I'm stuffed. You make excellent
cauliflower cheese."

Lara was about to say that it wasn't cauliflower cheese when she
noticed the two boys giggling.

"I love you mum," said Carl. "You're the best mum in the whole
world."

"Go!" said Lara.

She watched Terry and Carl run down the street and then she closed the
door.

***

The day before the competition Lara got up early. By the time Carl was
ready for school she had already scrubbed the oven, washed the cake
tins thoroughly. Then, after he had left, she went upstairs, had a
shower and put on her best clothes. The best clothes she had. She
slipped on her pair of high-heeled shoes. She went back down to the
kitchen. She was ready.

She reached up for her cookery book and pulled it down. She put it on
the kitchen table and spent half an hour looking at recipes. She
eventually chose the one that sounded the easiest. She didn't hope to
win, but she wanted something that would at least be presentable.

She measured out the ingredients precisely. There wasn't a gram too
much baking power, a tablespoon too much lemon curd. Then she carefully
read the appropriate section on how to beat the mixture, taking careful
note of the warning not to overbeat. She preheated the oven, she
greased and based the two cake tins. She transferred the mixture to the
tins and put them in the oven.

The recipe said twenty-five minutes. Lara sat down at the kitchen
table. She took off her watch and placed it in front of her. She
waited. In her best dress and only pair of nice shoes she waited for
success. Carl would be proud of her.

As the second hand completed its twenty-fifth revolution she stood up.
She turned towards the oven, knelt and pulled open the door.

She'd done it.

Success.

She'd successfully cooked a prototype for a new style Olympic
discus.

Lara put on her oven gloves and emptied the contents of the two cake
tins into the bin. She washed them in soapy water and then put them on
the draining-board to dry. She looked at the kitchen clock. It was
still early. She still had plenty of time.

At two o'clock she ran out of flour.

She collected her keys from the peg in the hall and rushed out to the
local supermarket. Her heels clicked loudly on the pavement.

There were so many kinds of flour, so many different brands. She
picked up one bag and then another. Then she picked up the same bag
again. She weighed it in her hand and looked carefully at the picture
on the front.

"Can I help you?"

Lara looked to her left. There was an old woman there. She was wearing
a herringbone coat that reached down to the floor and she was holding a
basket. In the basket was a half litre of milk, an individual yoghurt
and a single banana torn from a bunch.

"Can I help you?" said the old woman again. She was looking at
Lara.

Lara put the flour back and then picked it up again. She ran her hand
through her hair. She said, "I'm making a cake."

The old woman smiled. She bent and took a packet from the bottom
shelf. "Here," she said. "Try this one. It never fails."

Lara read the label. It was the very same flour she had been using
earlier. She laughed out loud.

"What?" said the old woman and Lara told her.

***

The old woman's house was full of cats, cats and photographs. The
photographs were black and white and the cats were colourful.
"They're my company," said the old woman, following Lara's eyes. "The
pictures are my memories and the cats my life." She shooed a ginger tom
off the kitchen table. "You watch and I'll show you how it's done. Sit
down."

Lara moved another cat and sat at a chair.

The old woman didn't use scales, she didn't do any measuring at all.
She poured everything with a flourish into a big old mixing bowl, one
packet after another.

"Now," she said. She rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan to reveal
skinny wrinkled arms. "The secret," she said, "is in the beating. You
have to think of someone you really don't like. That's the secret. I
think of Mussolini. But it can be anybody. As long as you hate
them."

"Oh," said Lara.

Lara watched for a while and then the old woman passed her the bowl
and told her to have a go. Lara thought of Delia Smith and after a
couple of minutes the old woman told her to stop, that that was quite
enough. She took the bowl back.

"That's all there is to it," said the old woman pouring the mixture
into a cake tin. "You see?"

"Yes," said Lara. "I see." A cat jumped on her lap and nuzzled its
head under her chin. It was purring loudly.

The old woman put the cake tin in the oven and turned to Lara. She
smiled and then put her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said, "I
haven't even offered you a cup of tea. I'm so sorry. It's been such a
long time since I've had any company."

***

"Wow," said Carl. "Did you make it? Wow. It's amazing, mum.
Cool."

Lara looked at the cake in the centre of the table. The old woman had
cut the pieces of the sponge and then rearranged them. She had iced the
pieces in four different colours. The cake no longer resembled a cake.
It resembled a seventeenth century schooner.

The old woman had said that Lara should give the cake to her son. She
had said that all boys loved boats and Lara had said she was right. She
had told the old woman her son was a sea scout.

"Wow," said Carl again. "Is this for tomorrow? You'll win easily. My
friends will be so jealous."
Lara looked at the cake again.

"Did you really make this?" said Carl.

The cake on the table looked perfect.

"Yes," said Lara. "I made it. I've been at it all day."

Carl grinned. "I didn't think you could do it."

Lara felt her skin going red. "Go and wash your hands. We'll be having
tea soon."

Carl rushed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and then Lara
heard the spurt of the water. She looked for the plastic bag from the
supermarket. She had bought ready-made meals. She couldn't see the bag.
And then she remembered. She had left it at the old woman's house. She
heard Carl coming down the stairs.

"What are we having?" said Carl. He wiped his wet hands on his
trousers. "I'm starving."

Lara looked over to the fridge. "Fish and chips," she said. "We're
going out for fish and chips."

"Hooray!" said Carl.

***

The next day, despite Lara's prayers, there were no earthquakes, no
tornadoes. There was no meteorite hurtling towards the Earth. It was
not even raining. There was no need to cancel the jamboree.

As she put down her cake on the long row of tables she felt the eyes
of the other competitors on her.

"Very nice," said Terry's mother. She was looking at Lara through a
pair of Chanel sunglasses. "But a de trop, a bit over the top."

Lara looked at her cake. The night before she and Carl had added some
embellishments. Carl had found some plastic pirates and toy cannons and
had stuck them in the icing. She had made masts out of chopsticks and
rigging out of cotton thread.

"We like it," said Carl and then he stared at Terry's mother's cake
and put his head on one side. "It has style."

Terry's mother picked up her own brightly coloured sponge and moved
off further down the tables.

"You shouldn't have said that," said Lara.

"She deserved it," said Carl. "She always looks at me like I'm
so....so...."

"What?" said Lara.

"Poor," said Carl.

"Oh," said Lara, "I didn't know."

And then the judge was on the way. The judge was Mrs Reece. She was
married to Mr Reece who owned three butcher's shops in the town. They
took two foreign holidays every year. Mrs Reece stopped in front of
every competitor, looked at the cake, tasted a piece with a long silver
spoon and then moved on.

"She looks like the Queen," said Carl.

"Shhh," said Lara.

"She does," said Carl and then they both giggled.

"Shhh," said Lara again. "She's coming."

Mrs Reece stopped in front of their cake. She bent to look more
closely and then straightened. She had a certain way of talking. She
said, "we like it very much, we are very impressed," and then she asked
Carl if his daddy had helped with the design, with the rigging.

"I don't have a dad," said Carl. "It's just me and the cook."

"Really," said Mrs Reece, and dug in her spoon, right in the poop
deck. "Lovely," she said and then moved on.

The result was to be given at five o'clock.

Lara talked to the other parents and kept looking at her watch. She
went from one person to another. At five to five Carl came back from
playing with his friends and stood next to her.

"It doesn't matter if you don't win, mum," he said.

Lara squeezed his shoulder.

The results were to be announced in reverse order. "Like Miss World,"
said Mrs Reece and everybody laughed.

In third place was Mrs Withers. Hers was a chocolate cake. It was
shaped like a chocolate bar. Everybody clapped.

In second place was Mrs Havers. Mrs Havers was the cookery and art
teacher at Carl's school. Her cake, she had explained to Lara earlier,
was a pastiche of Damien Hurst's formaldehyde sheep. She didn't look
very happy when her name was read out. She had been the winner for the
previous five years.

"Nearly there," said Carl and moved closer to Lara. Lara put an arm
around his shoulder. "Only the winner to go," he said.

"And the winner is...." said Mrs Reece. She paused and looked around
at the crowd. She put a hand on her hat to stop it blowing off in the
wind.

Carl squeezed his mother's hand.

Lara looked behind her at the cake on the table and then over at
Terry's mother. Terry's mother was twisting a ring around and around
her finger.

"....the winner is," said Mrs Reece....

***

The next day Lara went to the park. She sat by the oval pond and tore
chunks of stale bread off an old loaf and threw them to disinterested
ducks. When the bread was finished and the pond crowded with bobbing
pieces she stood up and started to walk home. She listened to the birds
in the trees, the wind in the branches.

Later that night, after Carl had watched Batman on video and had
cleaned his teeth and was lying in bed, Lara knocked on his door and
walked into his room. She knelt by the bed.

"I have a confession," she said.

Carl sat up on one elbow. "About the cake?" he said. "I know you
didn't make it."

"You know?" said Lara. She tucked in the edge of the blanket. "It was
too good for me?"

"No," said Carl. He sat up properly now. "The old woman told me.
Joyce."

"What?" said Lara. She stood and then sat on the edge of the
bed.

"She came round while you were at the park. She brought your shopping.
You left it at her house."

Lara put her head in her hands. "Oh my god."

Carl reached out one of his arm's and took his mother's wrist. Lara
noticed that his Star Wars pyjamas were too small for him now.

"It doesn't matter mum," he said.

"I lied," said Lara. "I pretended I'd made that cake."

"That old woman," said Carl, "I told her her cake had won a
competition and she was so happy. She had to sit down. I made her a cup
of tea. I told her there's a biscuit competition at the school fete
next Tuesday. She wants to make biscuits. For us. She's lonely."

Lara stood up again. She went to the window. "It was wrong," she said.
"It'd be more wrong to do it again."

Carl pulled down the sleeve of his pyjama top and wiped his nose with
it. "I'm happy," he said, "and the old woman, she's happy. You made her
happy. Is that wrong?"

"But if people find out," said Lara. "What will they think of
me?"

Carl put his head on one side and then the other. "I think it doesn't
matter what people think," he said. "It doesn't matter what anybody
thinks if you do the right thing. Right?"

Lara smiled. "How old are you Carl?" she said.

"I'm nine," he said. He lay down on the bed. "Now goodnight mum, I'm
tired. Sleep well."

Lara switched out the light and left the room.