Have your cake and eat it (Chicklit contest finalist)

Chapter ten

Today is no ordinary weekday as there is a third person in the house along with Tamsin and I: Joshua, who is poorly and currently supine on the sofa, wrapped in a duvet and watching cartoons. It would make a nice change if only I weren't on permanent standby to make him marmite toast soldiers and dispense doses of lurid purple Calpol at regular intervals. Although I suppose this is preferable to scrubbing the toilet in which he threw up all night. The invalid has banned me from hoovering, which I can’t say I’m too upset about. He says it hurts his head but what he really means is he can’t hear the television over the noise.

Tamsin has taken on the role of nurse and keeps bringing Joshua tissues and comics, bless her. She reminds me of Joshua himself; always so eager to help. Although perhaps a little too eager, as I’ll never forget the look on my mother-in-law’s face when a younger Joshua had toddled to the fridge, retrieved a bottle opener and bottle of beer, and had taken them to Steve. I can only imagine the field day she would have had criticizing our parenting if she had also witnessed a six-year-old Jessica taking one of her liqueur chocolates, making a face and spitting it under the sofa.

Tamsin finally stops tending to Joshua - putting her little hand on his forehead, tucking a blanket round him like she does to one of her dolls – to curl up next to him like Pom Pom might do if he were still with us. I decide to snatch the opportunity to finally start seriously looking into this cake baking idea of Rachel’s.

After a quick browse of a couple of luxury property websites – give me property porn over Fifty Shades of Grey any day – I ask Google how to start up a cake making business from home and start scrolling though forums.

Suddenly, I notice that a whole hour has passed without me realising and without a peep out of the convalescent. I look over at Tamsin and Joshua to see them snuggled up against one another, sound asleep on the sofa. I gently throw another blanket over them and pick up the phone to call Rachel.

I'm about to punch in her number when the phone starts ringing in my hand.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Bella!" Rachel's voice comes down the line. "I'm so glad you're in, I was worried you'd be out with Tamsin or something. Great, that means you can get started straight away!"

"No, I'm stuck in the house I'm afraid, as Joshua is off school with a tummy upset." I pause. "Wait. What do you mean I can get started straight away? Get started on what?" I ask suspiciously.

"You can thank me later," trills Rachel, "but I have a superb opportunity for you. There is a space at the craft fair and I've bagged it for you. It's the perfect event to show off your cakes!"

"The craft fair?" I ask stupidly. "But that's like in two days. Not even. In one and a half!" My voice rises in shrill panic.

"Alright, keep your knickers on," says Rachel. I can imagine her rolling her eyes at the other end.

“I've cleared my diary and I'm coming round to help. Now in the meantime, why don't you go get Steve to set you up a website. Nothing complicated, just somewhere where you can introduce yourself and your cakes," she tells me bossily.

I tune out as she starts barking instructions at me. I think Rachel and my sister would get along like a house on fire if they ever met.

"Wait Rachel," I say curiously.  “When you say 'a space', do you really mean they need someone to fill it?"

"Oh all right," she admits grudgingly. "Someone dropped out just as I went to sign up and they asked me if I knew anyone."

"Oh right I see," I say slowly. I could give the space back then couldn't I? I mean, its not like I've put a deposit down for it is it?

"You've got a nine-foot table and I've already put a deposit down, " Rachel informs me. "But you can pay me in fairy cakes. No, in chocolate brownies," she changes her mind. "Make sure you put white chocolate chips in them."

Oh crap.

"It's an impossible task!" I hiss as forcefully as one can when communicating in a fierce whisper so as to not wake the kids. Why is this phone not cordless, I curse, glaring at it.

"Didn't you once say you thrived under pressure?" she demands.

I suck in my breath. For such a flaky hippy Rachel has a pretty good memory.

"Well, yes, but..." I begin, before being somewhat rudely cut off.

"We'll I'm piling on the pressure,” Rachel says firmly. “It’s a fantastic opportunity. Word travels fast and pretty soon everyone in a 30-mile radius will know you are the woman who bakes better than Nigella Lawson and Mary Berry combined. Come on, Bella. Aren't you going to show the world you can have your cake and eat it?"

“Alright, I’ll do it,” I agree, smiling. If it works it could be the start of my own little business, and if it doesn’t, well, we’ll just have to move to the other side of the country or something.