Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
VANESSA
Vanessa sat in bed. It had been a tiring day. Her limbs ached from the hours she’d spent in the hot bakery, but her heart glowed.
She smiled as she remembered the success of the Victoria sponge.
She was so relieved it had gone well. In the back of her mind, there had been a nagging doubt.
Was this just another random business scheme, doomed to failure?
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d baked anything, and she hadn’t worked in a cafe of any description since she was at university.
She packaged up her doubt, filed it away in her brain, and pulled out her grandmother’s recipe book.
She could see there were recipes that had been well-used and well-loved. One was for Napolitanas, which involved pastry and chocolate. It sounded a bit like a pain-au-chocolat, but the recipe looked different, somehow. She made a note to ask Joey about them next time she saw her.
There was a page for what was described as a local favourite, Crema Catalana.
While not strictly a cake or a pastry, it piqued Vanessa’s curiosity.
She googled it and found a description which explained it was very similar to the crème br?lée, a famous French dessert.
But although the French equivalent was far better known, the text went onto explain that the Catalan dish had come first, and was subsequently adopted and subtly adapted by the French. This was news to Vanessa.
As she turned the page, it cracked with age.
There was a complex-looking recipe on the next page, but that wasn’t what grabbed Vanessa’s attention.
She brought her face closer to the book.
There, in the seam of the book, was clear evidence of a page that had been torn out.
The tear was jagged and old. The edges had browned and softened over the years.
Vanessa frowned. Was this a special recipe, perhaps?
Something that had to be shared with a loved one?
She flipped back to the contents page of the book and matched up the missing page with the heading.
‘Coca de Sant Joan’, read the words on the yellowy paper.
She reached for her phone to find out more about the recipe, but before she could, it pinged.
It was Dani, confirming the details of the party the next evening.
Vanessa smiled, sent a quick response, and put the book away.
The recipe could wait another day. It had evidently waited many years so far.
She tucked the book away and settled herself to sleep, dreaming of doughs and batter and icing.
The following evening found Vanessa attempting to choose which outfit to wear for the party.
She didn’t want to be overdressed, but she didn’t want to look like she’d made no effort at all, either.
She didn’t know these people, and was keen to make a good impression.
In the end she opted for a light blue, cotton knee-length skirt, paired with a dark blue asymmetrical top that draped across her front.
She took a long look in the mirror. Yes, that would work.
It wasn’t too much but still looked like she’d made an effort.
She put in some long earrings that sparkled in the light, but chose not to adorn herself with any more accessories.
She checked herself in the mirror and smiled.
This was going to be ok. She could deal with Joey’s grumpiness.
And she was sure Dani’s friends would be as lovely as she was.
She went out to the balcony to retrieve her phone from the table.
“Nice top,” said Joey, who was lounging on her solitary chair on the balcony opposite.
“Oh,” said Vanessa, feeling more surprised than she ought to, given Joey lived there.
“Thank you.” She smiled and paused by her table.
Joey looked freshly showered, and wore a burnt orange t-shirt and a pair of denim cut-offs.
Vanessa couldn’t help but admire her brown legs, but limited herself to saying, “Yours is nice, too.”
Joey smirked. “I’m not really a party girl. But for Dani, I make an exception. I suppose we should walk there together, as Dani suggested, seeing as you probably don’t know your way.”
“Only if it’s not putting you out,” Vanessa replied, her face heating as if Joey had asked her to the school prom, which she most certainly had not.
Joey shrugged. “See you downstairs in two.” She got up and disappearing into her apartment.
“See you,” said Vanessa, but Joey had already gone.
She looked at her watch. It wouldn’t do to dash down the stairs immediately, especially given Joey appeared to be doing this under sufferance.
She forced herself to move slowly as she closed her balcony doors, locked them and gathered the small items she needed in her little bag.
She checked her watch again. It had been about ninety seconds.
She estimated it would take around a minute to get down the stairs, so she locked the front door and made her way down to the street.
The heat hit her anew, even though sunset wasn’t far off. It warmed her skin, or at least, something did, as Joey grinned at her from her position, leaning against the wall by their shared front door. Vanessa hadn’t seen much evidence of Joey smiling so far.
“It’s not too far away,” said Joey, pushing herself off from the wall and heading down the narrow street. Vanessa walked beside her guide, smiling, although Joey barely made eye contact.
It was going to be a good night. She could just feel it.
“Have you known Dani long?” Vanessa tried to make conversation in spite of herself.
“A few years,” said Joey with a shrug. “Once Dani decides to be friends with you, you have no choice but to go along with it.”
“I got that impression,” said Vanessa, “but she seems really nice.”
Joey turned into an even narrower lane, old gothic buildings towering above them on either side.
“She is,” said Joey, simply. It felt to Vanessa like that was high praise from the somewhat taciturn woman.
She wondered for a moment how Joey might describe her, but she suspected it would be a lot less glowing than ‘really nice’.
“You seem very much at home here in Barcelona,” said Vanessa, keen to find out more about the mysterious baker.
“It’s my home.” There was that shrug, the gesture Joey seemed to use so liberally. She strode forward confidently.
“You’ve been here fifteen years, right? I can’t imagine living anywhere for that long,” said Vanessa, as much to herself as to Joey. She’d lived in various parts of England before returning to her home town of Birmingham.
“Figures,” said Joey.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Vanessa, sounding more indignant than she’d intended.
Joey paused under a spot where washing and flags hung from balconies, and turned to look at Vanessa. “It’s not a criticism,” she said. “Just an observation, really.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” said Vanessa, more gently this time. It irked her that Joey thought she knew her so well.
“You came to Barcelona unable to speak the language, with a plan to research Spanish baking for a cafe in the UK, even though you have no knowledge of Spanish baking.” Joey took a breath. “I’m just saying that you seem like a person who jumps into things quickly.”
“Unlike you, I suppose,” said Vanessa, following Joey around a corner into a small square.
“That’s probably fair to say,” said Joey. They walked on in silence for a few more minutes. “It’s just through here.”
She led Vanessa through an archway and then to a scruffy-looking door. To the side of the door were a number of doorbells. She rang one, and immediately a sound came through the tinny intercom to confirm their entry.