17. Stephen
STEPHEN
“Custard tarts.” My eyes snapped open.
It was one AM, but a vision of my grandmother’s custard tarts hovered in front of me. Clyde stirred and flung an arm over me, mumbling I should go back to sleep. And I tried. But those images peeked under my eyelids and refused to go away.
I thought back to when I was a kid and I’d come home from school to the sweet aroma of Gran’s baking. She’d make me change out of my uniform and wash my hands before I was allowed a custard tart.
I’d take a small bite, just to taste the flaky pastry crust that shattered if you took a big one. Wiggling the tart gently, the custard filling would jiggle, making my mouth water.
My fox turned his nose up when I ate a custard tart, saying eggs were meant to be eaten raw, but he enjoyed the aroma, and when I swallowed the custard, he said his body tingled.
“Clyde, wake up.”
My mate shot up, and his eyes scanned the room. “What is it?”
“I need a custard tart, or two, or maybe three.”
“Okay.” He got up and moved zombie-like toward the door.
I followed because where was he going and did he even know what a custard tart looked like and where you could get them?
Posy popped her head out of her room. “Papa, what’s wrong with Daddy?”
“He’s getting me something to eat, sweetheart.”
She didn’t go back to bed but padded over the floor and down the stairs with me. My mate turned on the pantry light and scanned the shelves.
“Ta-da.” Both Posy and I jumped, and she grabbed my arm as her father strode out of the pantry brandishing a packet. “Success.”
“Huh?” my daughter and I said at the same time.
“It’s not a tart.” He read the packet label. “And it doesn’t say anything about custard, but look here.” He pointed to the ingredient list where sugar was the second item. “It’s sweet.”
Oh my darling Clyde. He was so misguided thinking this could pass for my middle-of-the-night craving.
“This is shortbread, love.”
He looked at our daughter who was shaking her head. My darling girl understood there was no substitute for a perfect custard tart.
“Won’t this do?” His expression was so cute because I guessed he longed to go back to bed.
“No, Daddy.” Posy tucked her arm in mine. It was us against Clyde.
Without saying a word, he slipped on his shoes and took his coat from the hook along with the car keys.
“Stay here.”
“No way. I’m coming, and we can’t leave Posy here.”
Posy put her shoes on the wrong feet and tore out behind her father, leaving me to lock the door.
As we drove through the neighborhood where everyone else seemed to be in bed, my mate pulled into a gas station. I leaned over and checked the gas gauge. Clyde leaped out and raced into the mini mart. Posy and I scrambled out, though she was having a hard time running because of her shoes.
I blinked in the bright light and cradled my bump as I walked up and down the shelves.
“Can I have this?” Posy held up a gigantic bar of peppermint-cream-filled chocolate. “My friends told me chocolate tastes different in the middle of the night.”
I gave her a look, and she replaced the large bar for a smaller one. “Please?”
“Mmmm, but you can’t eat it until tomorrow.” I scanned the shelves, getting more desperate for my craving. “We need to focus, sweetheart. Custard tarts and nothing but custard tarts.”
My mate appeared with his arms full of candy, chocolate, ice cream, and crackers. He was such a darling wanting to help, but none of those things could match a custard tart.
I was almost in tears as I climbed into the car, and Clyde tossed his purchases into the back seat. Turning my face to the window, I didn’t want him to see my disappointment.
He pulled onto the street. “There's a tiny Asian all-night bakery across town that might have them.”
“Look at the buildings lit up. They’re so pretty.” Posy had her face pressed on the window. “Daddy, that’s a red light. You have to stop.”
My mate and I shared a glance. “Thank you, darling.”
“Daddy, that man wants to cross the street.” Posy pointed out a guy waiting at the pedestrian crossing. “Don’t hit him.”
My mate pulled up in front of a tiny bakery that was still open. But as we got out of the car, the place went dark.
“What? No.” Posy raced to the front door and read the “closed” sign.
“It’s supposed to open 24/7.” Clyde joined her, and I stood to his right. The three of us cupped our hands around our eyes and peered into the shop.
He raced around to the back door with Posy and me at his heels and knocked. The door opened, and my mate said he’ll double or triple the price if we can buy all their custard tarts.
“I’m so sorry,” the owner said. “We sold the last one ten minutes ago.”
Posy took my arm as a sob escaped me.
“But come back in the morning and I’ll have plenty.”
We thanked him and walked back to the car. But I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Damn these pregnancy hormones.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
Clyde took my hand, and Posy leaned over the seat and gave me a kiss.
“I think I’m a little homesick and a custard tart just means home, being comfortable and safe.” I turned to face my mate and daughter. “Not that you aren’t my family and you are all of those things.”
“Do you fancy an hour’s drive to your skulk?” Clyde kissed my palm. “Tomorrow or rather today is Saturday.
Our daughter voted yes, saying there was no work or school.
“But that’s a little bonkers, driving an hour and expecting my grandmother to bake for me.” But I so wanted to do it. “And besides, Gran won’t be awake at this hour.”
Clyde checked the time and said by the time we got there it’d be light. My fox sighed and told me my mate was one in a million. But he also wanted to spend time in the skulk.
“Let’s go.” Posy yawned and was asleep on the back seat five minutes later.
I drifted off too, and Clyde placed a hand on my lap, letting me know he was always at my side.
“Hey, sweetheart, we’re here.”
I awoke with a start. My passenger door was open, but my mate was standing back on the sidewalk. Faces peered at me. Gran, my folks, aunts, uncles, and cousins were all here. Posy was already playing in my family’s front garden with my cousins’ kids.
“I hear you’re having cravings.” Strong hands helped me out of the car.
“You don’t have to bake just for me, Gran.”
Posy leaned over the fence and piped up. “You should eat your breakfast first, Papa, before you have your special treat.”
Everyone laughed, and Gran said we could ignore that rule just this once. Posy asked if that applied to her chocolate, and my family chorused, “No.”
We sat on the back porch while Gran and others baked.
“Thank you.” I pulled Clyde down for a kiss. “Family plus my favorite baked treat plus you and our daughter. This is the best morning.”
And when they were done, Gran brought them out on a tray.
There were satiny fillings of eggy custard that didn’t need to be chewed because it slid down your throat.
The tops were caramel brown, and I anticipated putting them in my mouth and enjoying that burnt-sugar taste that contrasted with the custard.
I sniffed, and we toasted the occasion with a tart. Clyde told me it was worth the drive and even he might wake up with a craving for creamy custard tart.
“It’s better than chocolate,” Posy declared.
We spent the day in the skulk, and Posy slept the whole way home.
Gran had given me two containers of tiny tarts which I’d freeze.
They wouldn’t be quite as good as fresh, but one mouthful would send me back to the place I grew up.
When Posy asked why she didn’t give all the ones she’d baked to us, Gran winked, saying that was to make sure I came back often.
“I don’t think I’ll ever eat sugar again.” Posy collapsed on the couch.
“Hmmm, we’ll see.” I sat beside her and put her legs over my lap.
“When the baby comes, I can tell them how we went on an adventure all night and all day just so papa could have something to eat.”
I loved that idea. Maybe she’d weave a few extra details in and it’d sound like a fairy tale.
“Perhaps next time you get a craving, love, it can be for pickles, like the ones in the pantry.” There was my mate’s famous smirk, and I tossed a cushion at his head.
“Oh no, Daddy, that’d be so boring.”