Page 40 of The Three of Us
‘See you later then, Molly. The Sunshine Café. You can’t miss it. Nab a couple of tables in the window if you get there first.’
As it turns out, they are there before her. A group of five women, so surrounded by bags and buggies, and all holding babies from newborn to toddler and at various stages of feeding, sleeping and crying, that they are spread over three tables and still don’t seem to have room.
‘Hello, Molly.’ Rosie spots her as she opens the door, the delicious smell of good coffee and freshly baked cake instantly drawing her in. ‘Come on over and find a seat.’
Rosie makes the introductions and Molly answers questions about her plastered wrist and how her accident happened. ‘It should be healed pretty soon. Then this can come off. To be honest, I’ve sort of got used to it. I forget it’s there sometimes, and it’s surprising how you adapt and start doing things with the other hand, or gripping things differently.’
There is laughter and she realises that probably came across as a bit smutty. It all helps to break the ice though and, although she can feel her face reddening, she laughs too.
Molly has a look at the menu, and a waitress bustles over with a notepad and pen. The others have ordered and some are eating already.
‘Just a latte, please. And a lemon cupcake.’
‘Coming right up.’
‘They do fantastic cakes here,’ Rosie whispers. ‘A bit pricey, but worth every penny.’
The others, Molly notices, already have coffees and various cakes and pastries in front of them, and are tucking in as they chat. If she is looking for her first customers, this is probably a pretty good place to start – with young mums so clearly fond of cake, and not afraid to pay well for it if the occasion warrants.
‘First baby?’ a blonde woman she thinks is called Jo asks, leaning across the table and blowing on the surface of her coffee.
Molly nods.
‘Husband not with you today then?’ She glances at Molly’s left hand as if checking she hasn’t slipped up. ‘Only, I know they usually want couples at those antenatal classes. Not that mine ever came with me, the lazy so-and-so.’ She laughs and rolls her eyes as she undoes a couple of buttons on her dress and eases a baby onto her breast in full view of the window.
‘He’s at work. And they said he wasn’t really needed until later on, when we practise the breathing and talk about how he can support me at the birth.’
‘Ha! The birth!’ Jo laughs. ‘That’s the bit most men want to avoid like the plague! But, seriously though, Molly, classes are all well and good but anything else you need to know, just ask one of us. We’ve all been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Not much we can’t tell you about or help you with. We’ve had all the scans, gallons of gas and air, epidurals, forceps, episiotomies, two Caesareans, and…’ she looks around, as if counting in her head, ‘thirteen babies between us. Ten of them twins. Not much we don’t know!’
‘Thanks. I haven’t lived here long so I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about any of this stuff.’
‘No mum?’
‘Oh, yes, but she’s miles away, so it will have to be just phone calls for now.’
‘Not quite the same, is it? I don’t know how I’d cope without my mum.’ Jo shakes her head and switches her attention to trying to eat her cake over the baby snuffling at her chest, carefully flicking away a few crumbs as they land on top of his head.
‘So, Molly, what do you do?’ Rosie asks. ‘I bet you can’t wait for maternity leave and a chance to put your feet up, eh?’
Here’s her chance. She swallows. She may be a brilliant baker but she’s no saleswoman and she’s not quite sure how to broach the subject. ‘Like I said, we haven’t lived here long, and I don’t work at the moment. Well, I don’t go out to work, I should say. I’m working from home, trying to build my own business.’
‘Oh, that sounds interesting. What is it you do?’
‘I bake cakes.’
Suddenly, it feels as if the room has gone strangely quiet. They are all listening, as they probably have been all along.
‘Wonderful. We like cakes, don’t we, girls?’ They all laugh as Miranda, a small brunette who hasn’t said a lot up until now, licks her lips seductively and makes what can only be described as a Harry Met Sally orgasm sound.
‘Lemon cupcake,’ the waitress announces as she plonks a plate down in front of Molly and backs away, clearly unsure of what everyone is finding so funny.
‘Tart,’ Jo says, and everybody laughs again, looking at a shocked Miranda, before Jo quickly adds, ‘I meant the lemon. I’ve had it before. It can be a bit tart.’
Once the noise has subsided and everyone is either dealing with a troublesome child or enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet before their own wakes up again, Molly pulls out a small pile of the business cards she has made on the computer at home and printed off onto sheets of white card. They look a bit on the amateur side, especially as she hasn’t cut them all as evenly as she should, but they will do for now.
‘If anyone’s interested…’ she says, hesitantly. ‘I can do most things. Kids’ birthday cakes, wedding cakes, christenings, although I don’t have a very big kitchen so I’m keeping it small for now. And the new project I’m just starting up is gender reveals. Little cupcakes with coloured sponge or hidden middles. Blue or pink, or maybe both if it’s one-of-each twins. A bit late for all of you, but maybe some of the pregnant women in the antenatal class might…’
‘They’d love it!’ Jo says, reaching for a card. ‘Honestly, Molly, mums are always in need of cake. You should have asked them. Do it at the next session. You’ll be surprised. I bet you get lots of takers. Actually, you couldn’t manage something shaped like a rocket, could you? My eldest is five in a couple of weeks and mad about space. I couldn’t find anything in Sainsbury’s, and there’s no way I have time to make one myself. If I even knew how!’