Don’t Go Baking My Heart. Cressida McLaughlin

a mind-numbing shock followed quickly by practicalities as his condition worsened and he needed more care – but at least she had been able to spend time with him, to let him know how much she loved him and how much he had shaped her life. And she would always have his letter. It was bittersweet, but so much better than the irreversible cut-off of losing someone suddenly.

      She was still lost in thought when she heard a woman calling her name, followed by a high-pitched yelp. Charlie ran down Gertie’s narrow staircase and out of the open doorway.

      ‘How are you doing?’ Juliette asked. Before Charlie had time to reply, Marmite raced up to her, his extendable lead whirring noisily, and put his tiny front paws on Charlie’s shins. Charlie scooped the Yorkipoo puppy into her arms and closed her eyes while he licked her chin. However miserable some aspects of life had been recently, Marmite never failed to bring a smile to her face. He was six months old, and more of a terror with every passing day.

      ‘OK, I think,’ Charlie said. ‘But don’t look at the outside, come and see what we’ve done inside. Dad’s getting someone to take a proper look at her, and in the meantime we’ve been giving her a polish. He’s just gone to get lunch.’

      ‘I know,’ Juliette said, unclipping Marmite’s lead and following Charlie onto the bus. ‘I saw him on my way here. He’s getting me a sandwich, too.’

      ‘So you can stay for a bit, before you go back to Cornwall this afternoon?’

      Juliette nodded. ‘It’s been so good seeing everyone. But I’m still not sure, Char, how you’re really doing. What’s going on up here?’ She tapped Charlie’s forehead. ‘You’re putting on this amazing front, but I need to know before I go home that you’re OK.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Charlie said. ‘This morning has helped a lot. Dad was concerned that Gertie wouldn’t be salvageable, but just look at her! She might need a bit of work under the bonnet, some patching up, but it’s given me hope.’

      Juliette surveyed their morning’s work, the metal uprights gleaming, the walls clean, the seats vacuumed to within an inch of their lives. ‘She looks great, Char, almost as good as new. But I’m not as convinced about you. Since I’ve been back you’ve been so busy, working at The Café on the Hill, helping with the catering for the funeral. You haven’t stopped, even for a day. You should be taking some time out.’

      Charlie groaned. ‘Why does everyone think that’s best for me? Keeping busy is what helps in this kind of situation.’ She led Juliette to a seat halfway down the bus. Some of the chairs were sagging dangerously, but this one, she had discovered earlier, was still fairly firm.

      ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Juliette said after a minute. Her voice was low, her slight French accent always adding a seriousness to her words, though in this case it was probably intentional.

      Charlie remembered the first time she had heard Juliette speak, on a packed train from London to Cheltenham; she’d been chatting with someone on the other end of her mobile, and had occasionally slipped into French. Charlie had been sitting next to her, and after Juliette had finished her call and offered some expletives in both languages, Charlie had asked her those same words: Are you OK? Juliette had been reserved, embarrassed that she’d been entertaining the whole carriage, and so Charlie had told her how she’d had a no-holds-barred telephone row with her then-boyfriend in a hotel doorway, not realizing that a wedding party were waiting to get past her into the ballroom, and how some of the guests had looked quite shocked when she’d finally noticed that they were watching her.

      She’d made Juliette laugh, and by the time the train had pulled up in Cheltenham, they had swapped numbers and agreed to meet up. That had been almost seven years ago, and their friendship was still strong despite Juliette’s move to Cornwall two years before, with her boyfriend Lawrence. Charlie was still touched that Juliette had come back for Hal’s funeral, staying for a couple of weeks to catch up with friends in the area. She had been on Gertie countless times when she’d lived in Cheltenham, and Charlie hadn’t asked her if she was OK.

      ‘I’m not doing too badly,’ she said now. ‘I’ve been getting on with stuff, which is better than wallowing in the empty flat, or at Mum and Dad’s. Dad’s so cut up about losing Hal. Today is the first time I’ve seen him smile in what feels like for ever.’

      ‘I know you’re worried about Vince, but you have to think about yourself, too.’ Juliette put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Because it isn’t just Hal, is it? It’s only been a couple of months since you and Stuart … finished. And you’re in the flat, hosting viewings, unsure where you’re going to go once it’s sold. I know you don’t want to go back to living with your parents, and you can’t live on Gertie, as tempting as it is.’ She laughed softly.

      ‘That’s looking like one of the better options, actually,’ Charlie said, chuckling. ‘What am I going to do with her, Jules? I can’t be a tour guide. I’m a baker, a caterer. I don’t have the gift of the gab like Hal did. But, despite what he said in his letter, I can’t sell her.’ She rubbed her hands over her eyes, realizing too late that they were covered in cleaning spray.

      ‘This is why you need time,’ Juliette pressed. ‘You need to stop thinking for a bit, give yourself some space before you make any big decisions. The place in Newquay wasn’t brilliant, but our new house in Porthgolow, it’s perfect, Char. It’s so close to the sea. It’s beautiful and quiet, and the people in the village are friendly. Come and stay for a couple of weeks. Bea would give you the time off, wouldn’t she? The hours you’ve put into that café, you’re probably owed months back in overtime.’

      ‘Working is good for me,’ Charlie insisted but, even as she said it, the thought of returning to the café in Ross-on-Wye, even with its spring-themed window display and the ideas she had for seasonal cakes and sandwiches, didn’t fill her with as much joy as it should. There were too many other thoughts crowding her mind.

      ‘Take a break,’ Juliette continued. ‘Come and stay with Lawrence and me. I’m sure Marmite would get on fine with Ray and Benton. They’re easy-going cats, and Marmite’s still so small. And the most adorable dog in the world, by the way. I’m so glad you’ve got him to look after you.’

      Marmite was sitting on the seat in front of them, scrabbling at the back of the cushion as if there might be a treat hidden somewhere in the fabric. Charlie picked him up and settled him on her lap, rubbing his black-and-tan coat. She pictured the two of them walking along a sandy beach with crystal blue water beyond, to a soundtrack of seagulls and crashing waves. It was certainly a better image than this bland, functional garage or the flat she had shared with Stuart, now empty and soulless. She didn’t want to run away from the hard things in life, but she knew her friend was right.

      ‘Let me talk to Bea,’ she said decisively. ‘I’ll see if I can get a couple of weeks off.’

      Juliette’s face lit up. She ruffled Charlie’s hair, which had been enhanced from its natural reddish hue into a vibrant copper at the same time as the drastic haircut. ‘The next time you’re in the café, you promise me you’ll ask her?’

      ‘I will, I—’

      ‘Room for a little one?’ Her dad appeared in the doorway, along with the salty tang of bacon.

      ‘Thanks so much, Vince,’ Juliette said, accepting her baguette and a coffee.

      ‘You convinced Charlie to come and stay with you yet?’ he asked, taking the seat in front and turning to face them.

      ‘Almost,’ Juliette said. ‘She’s agreed to ask Bea for some time off.’

      ‘Bloody hell! You’ve actually got her considering a holiday? Or have you tempted her down with some sort of Cornish cooking competition?’

      ‘No competition,’ Juliette said through a mouthful of cheese sandwich. ‘No work. An actual holiday.’

      ‘I am here, you know,’ Charlie said, lifting her baguette out of Marmite’s reach. The dog put