Fran
Heather
‘And you’re absolutely sure you’re okay?’
‘Gem, I’m fine. Honestly.’
‘Because I know that Mother’s Day can be tricky.’
‘When you’re an orphan?’ asked Heather in a squeaky little-girl-lost voice.
‘You know what I mean, Heth. Remember the year you went AWOL.’
‘That was three years ago. I was in a funny place.’
‘Croydon, wasn’t it?’ teased Gemma.
‘Exactly. You were selfishly on your honeymoon…’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘…and so you should be. I was single, living in a dodgy flat in Thornton Heath, working at that school with the violent kids and depressed teachers. To be honest, it would have been some kind of miracle if I hadn’t ended up falling-down drunk in the Wetherspoon’s on George Street.’
‘The police had to take you home.’
‘And they were utterly charming. I’m not the first sad and lonely person to dance on a bar in Croydon and I doubt I’ll be the last.’
‘So you’re not planning to jump on a tram and head over there today?’
‘Gemma, those were pre-Luke, pre-engagement, pre-job in bakery, pre-lovely house on Hope Street days. I’m happy now. H-A-P-P-Y. Plus I’m planning to make the perfect New York cheesecake to welcome my perfect fiancé home from his perfect business trip.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘You better believe it, baby.’
‘So you’re sure you don’t want me to come over?’
‘Gemma. This is your first Mother’s Day as an actual mother. I appreciate you worrying about me and I love you dearly but you deserve to enjoy it with Freddy Fruitcake. How is my nutty godson by the way?’
‘Absolutely bonkers,’ laughed Gemma. Heather smiled as she heard the adoration in her voice. ‘I meant to say, we’re thinking of booking the christening for mid-May – does that sound all right?’
‘Sounds great and now you need to bugger off and enjoy your family time. I’ll catch up with you in the week.’
‘Okay. What time’s luscious Luke back?’
‘Around eight. Now stop worrying and get lost, loser.’
‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
Heather knew that New York Cheesecake was a risky thing to make for Luke – the self-proclaimed world cheesecake authority and a native New Yorker to boot. She had decided to seek advice from Pamela Trott, who made cakes for Taylor-made – the café and bakery owned by Caroline and Oliver Taylor, where Heather worked. Pamela was an incredible baker, whilst also being one of the nosiest people Heather had ever met.
‘I remember your nan,’ Pamela had said, beaming at her when they first met six months earlier. ‘Used to live two streets over from Hope Street. Lovely lady. Terrible gout. So you’ve decided to come back to your roots? That’s wonderful. And you’re engaged to that nice American fellow?’
Heather was astonished by Pamela’s insight. From the look on her face she was about to explode with joy at the prospect of Heather getting married.
‘Awww, your mum would be so proud if she could see you now, God rest her soul. I was very sad to hear about your parents passing away. Your mum and I used to play out together sometimes when we were little,’ said Pamela fondly. ‘Let me know if you need someone to bake the wedding cake – I’d be only too happy to help!’
Heather had given a polite smile and made a mental note never to tell Pamela anything she didn’t want the entire Hope Street community to know. She was, however, very keen to get her advice on baking. She’d practically swooned when she tasted Pamela’s mango and passion fruit cheesecake.
‘The trick to the perfect New York cheesecake is patience,’ said Pamela sagely. ‘You have to leave it to cool in the oven for two hours with the door shut and then leave it with the door ajar for another hour before you chill it.’
Heather did as she was told and felt a thrill later that day as she peered into the oven at the pleasingly honey-coloured crust. She left the oven door open a fraction and went into the living room to distract herself with another episode of Orange Is the New Black.
She felt as restless as a child waiting for Christmas. Luke had been away in New York for five days now. These trips were becoming increasingly frequent but he assured her that it was a good thing. He worked for an American drinks company and the stakes were high; soda was a serious business but Luke was doing well, with two promotions in the past twelve months. If he put in the hours, he was on track for the top. Heather understood. Of course, she’d like to see more of him but she wanted him to achieve the success he deserved.
Meanwhile, she had a job she enjoyed and a house she loved – an Edwardian mid-terrace with dark wood floors, original fireplaces and self-cleaning skylights. She had bought it six months ago with money inherited from her parents – an extravagant engagement present of which they would have certainly approved.
Heather settled on the sofa and caught sight of the last photograph of her with her parents. They were sitting at a café in Cornwall during the summer, her father grinning, her mother laughing and Heather smiling at them because
