18. Faye
18
FAY E
They tumbled into the kitchen for a late breakfast, discarding hats and scarves and extra layers like ducks shedding feathers behind them. Eager beavers for food, finally, when?—
“Mortimer!” Michèle shrieked.
Eight pairs of de-booted feet scuffed to a stop and Faye choked on her own breath at the sight they were greeted with. This was not good at all …
“That was for the party tomorrow night!”
“Oh … sorry Shelly.” Sat on a stool at the island, Uncle Mortimer pushed away a plateful of chocolatey crumbs. “I didn’t know this was supposed to be for a get-together.”
Beneath a glass dome on the counter sat two thirds of the perfectly decorated Yule log cake Michèle had made, a crumb and buttercream coated knife discarded lazily beside.
Disappointment sank the enjoyment Faye’d been feeling, not for herself, but for Michèle. Mortimer would’ve known not to help himself to the cake if he’d bothered to ask, or at least waited until they’d come home.
Someone was about to snap – it was in the fizzle of the air. Faye moved her hand and found Bash’s balled fist like she’d expected, giving it a firm squeeze by her side.
Crossing the kitchen straight for the cupboards, Michèle looked as though she were about to have a fit. “It’s … okay. There is time to make another.”
There have been times when accidents had happened at Baked – a dropped tray, an ingredient somehow swapped for another – warranting batches of doughnuts to be thrown out. And the irritation, the thoughts of what a waste , were so overpowering. Those thoughts were all in the taut lines of Michèle’s face and jerky movements as she got to work again. She’d gone through all of that prep-work and time for it to be ruined.
When could she ever relax?
Faye had to do something. The poor woman was stressed enough trying to make this Christmas special.
“Why don’t we make doughnuts?” she suggested, making the two girls spring up eagerly.
Arthur’s eyes pinned her with a gleam of hope and a heavy dash of guilt. “You can do that?”
“All we need is ingredients. And a pot or something to fry them in.”
Michèle’s actions at grabbing mixing bowls and various utensils slowed. She looked over her shoulder pensively as their eyes connected.
Please, Faye tried to convey, let me do this for you.
Michèle let go of what she’d grabbed and said, “The larger supermarket is fifteen minutes away.”
Faye silently breathed a sigh of relief.
“I can drive you.” Bash squeezed her hand that still held his and she suspected he just wanted to get out of the house before he blew a fuse.
They took Matt’s car already loaded with the girls’ car seats to bring them for the quick drive to the supermarket. Everyone seemed to be needing a break, and this might be the only hour of daylight for the next few days where Matt and Saira could have some time to themselves.
On the drive, Faye checked the messages and comments on Baked ’s social media pages, then swiped over to the bakery’s email account. Seeing how many same-day orders had come through last minute since yesterday unwound spools and spools of anxiety in her stomach. She would call Chandra later and make sure everything had gone okay, feeling guilty enough that she wasn’t even remotely nearby to be able to help.
Shopping with two excitable girls under the age of eight, as it turned out, was like trying to keep a hold of ten headless chickens when you only had two hands. Bash had laid down the law as soon as they’d entered through the sliding doors.
“Right, you two. You stay where we can see you. No wandering off.”
Instructions which were abandoned after thirty seconds.
In typical Christmas Eve eve fashion, there was a rush of shoppers, which for a village in the middle of English nowhere wasn’t as bad compared to if Faye braved the storm of her local supermarket in London. If Bash was at home, it’d be the one time he would make use of a ridiculously overpriced delivery service just to guarantee his own sanity. He’d done it every year for the past several for their New Year’s Eve party.
They made their way through the aisles. Imara pointed out everything she could see, reading packaging as they passed one syllable at a time. Maya was more inclined to touch everything that she could reach and Bash thwarted her attempts to slide things into their trolley when she didn’t think either of them were looking.
“Saira asked us to get some cold relief sachets to put in hot water,” he said as though to remind himself, “in case either of the girls started to g et sick from the walk earlier. Imara was snuffling on the way home.”
So they stopped by that aisle too.
Faye didn’t know there were so many different options of colourful medicine boxes for children. “Which one do we get?”
Bash’s creased brow looked just as lost. “I’m not sure … ”
“Shouldn’t they all be the same?”
“Girls—” He called them over and held up two boxes which looked about right. “Do you like orange flavour or blackcurrant?”
“Orange,” was one answer. “Purple,” was the other.
That solved that problem then.
“I guess we’re getting both.” Bash dropped both boxes into the trolley alongside a singular lemon and block of butter. “What else?”
Faye scanned down her list on her phone and then at the rest of the aisle. “I think the baking things are somewhere else.”
“We can just keep going along,” Bash said. “We’ve got time.”
So they did.
“I bet your brother is happy you said the girls could come with us,” Faye mused a minute later.
Bash glanced at her sideways. “If you ever hear him say I’m not a good brother, then remind him of this.”
Faye picked up her favourite face wash, saw it was half price, and dropped it in the trolley too. “I’m sure he appreciates you giving him an excuse for some … ‘alone time .’” Because of the little ears waddling in front of them, she chose her quietened words carefully, sure that Bash would be thinking the same thing.
Though what compelled her to steer the meaning behind this conversation towards somewhere that wasn’t safe for work, let alone a supermarket, she had no idea.
The countryside air must have gotten to her head.
“You really think that’s what they’re doing?” Bash gave her a side-eyed smirk one could class as smouldering .
Faye wouldn’t mind doing that right about now too; her body had been neglected for far too long.
She shrugged. “I would.”
“Uh huh. In our parents’ house.” The shiver that ran through Bash didn’t like the idea. “It’s just like when we were teenagers again. At least this house is bigger and we aren’t sharing a wall.”
They wheeled the trolley along as though they really did have all of the time in the world.
“Was it awkward? To bring home a girl?” Why Faye asked, she didn’t know. Bash bringing home girls wasn’t exactly a picture she wanted in her mind.
“Not really. Matt was good at being careful. And I wasn’t … ” He cut himself off, a flush creeping up his neck to his ears.
“Spooning?” That nugget of unspoken truth was too amusing to let it slide. Bash gave her a dead glare and Faye had to laugh.
“ Active .” He went for, though there was something of embarrassment in his pinkish cheeks. “Not until university anyway.”
“Wait.” Faye grabbed the trolley. “ Kiera was your first girlfriend?”
Bash looked across at her again more blankly. “Why’s that surprising?”
She held up her hands. “I was only clarifying.”
Though she remembered with crystal clarity the first time she’d seen him – how attractive his presence and personality had been. It was strange to find out only now that he’d been a bit of a late bloomer like her in the romance department.
In a bid to not lose track of time completely, they marched towards the next aisle; homewares and toys, evidently. Right up Bash’s street. Faye lost him to the decorative vases of fake feathery flowers and vanity mirrors. It happened everywhere they went, as if he didn’t ever stop seeking out inspiration. Often she found herself trying not to ask what he thought of her flat – if her messiness and lack of any kind of design concept made his skin crawl.
She lifted a series of candles and sniffed at them, shoving the ones she liked under Bash’s nose for his opinion. He didn’t like vanilla. Too sweet. Or anything resembling ‘washed cotton’ or ‘fresh linen’. Too sickly.
“Smells like baby powder,” he said, his face crumpling. Faye agreed the candle was to neither of their tastes – she just wanted to have seen him make that face.
As she replaced the glass on the shelf, she caught the stare of an older woman only a couple of strides away. Now, she had nothing against the elderly, but there was something almost cruel in this woman’s sharp frown that curled an uncomfortable feeling down Faye’s spine.
Her hand travelled to Bash’s coat by his waist and tugged.
A rumbling, “Hm?” was all she received.
“Why are we being watched?” she asked from the corner of her mouth, giving the staring woman her back.
Bash peered around and found what she’d found. “Can I help you?”
“Are these children with you?” The woman who was half Faye’s height flicked a pale hand – so nearly translucent that her veins coloured her skin purple – at Maya and Imara who pushed fingers into stacks of folded blankets down the aisle.
Faye felt Bash’s feathers ruffle with how much they agitated the air.
“Yes,” he said, and left it at that.
The girls trotted on towards the toys and Bash followed with a white-knuckled grip on the trolley.
“Are you okay?” Faye dared to ask quietly, forgetting to unclasp her fingers from his coat.
“Fine. It’s just … that’s happened before, even to Matt. People see the different colours of our skin and make assumptions. I took the girls to a farm park once, and a security guard thought I’d stolen them on our way out. Maya was still tiny.” He lowered his voice out of reach of the girls’ ears. “It pisses me off.”
Faye wanted to touch him more than she held herself back from – to curl her hand around his arm and feel the tension ease off of him.
“Anyone who thinks those things, that’s their problem, not yours,” she promised. “Please don’t work yourself up over it.”
Bash hung his head low, exhaling, “It’s hard not to.”
“Uncle Bash, can we get this please?” Imara’s bright persuasively grinning face snapped Faye out from under Bash’s dark cloud.
“It’s Christmas in two days. You’ll be getting presents soon.” He pulled up a smile as if nothing had bothered him at all. “How do you know that toy isn’t one of them?”
The girl’s mouth twisted for a long moment as she examined the toy, before putting it back on the shelf.
“Is it?” Faye asked quietly.
Bash lowered his voice as well. “No idea. I’ll drive back and get it after they’ve gone to bed.”
“Or I can distract them for long enough so that you can dash to hide it in the car now?”
Excitement gleamed in Bash’s eyes at the challenge. “Game on.”