I frown, racking my brains to come up with a solution. Poppy seems really nice. I can’t just leave her here in bits like this.
‘I’ve got flour at home that you can have,’ I say, in a burst of inspiration. ‘And I only live along the road.’
She glances at me, round-eyed and hopeful. ‘That’s so nice of you to offer, but I couldn’t possibly …’
‘No, really, it’s fine. Come on.’
After paying for my groceries, we head back along the street and Poppy tells me all about her catering company. Apparently she’s just won a contract to supply mince pies and festive gingerbread men to a local pop-up ice rink during the fortnight leading up to Christmas Day.
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say, although I can’t help noticing that Poppy doesn’t seem overjoyed.
‘Well, it is. But the problem is, my friend, Erin, who normally helps out, is off to Mexico on holiday.’
‘So you’ve got to manage yourself.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I’m just here.’ I indicate our blue front door and we turn in at the gate.
Poppy frowns. Then she peers at me. ‘I don’t suppose you bake?’ She smiles. ‘The fact that you’ve got flour is a promising sign.’
I laugh. ‘Oh well, the last time I made a chocolate cake—’
‘Does she bake?’ says a loud voice. ‘Oh Lord, yes!’
We swing round and there stands my neighbour, Edna, wrapped up to go out, handbag over her arm. At eighty-two, she’s a little deaf, hence the shouting.
Addressing Poppy, she says in her plummy voice, ‘Dear Roxanne baked a chocolate cake for the church hall Christmas fayre last week and all I’d say is, Nigella, eat your heart out! Soft. Moist. Simply chocolate heaven!’
She beams at me.
I laugh. ‘No, no, it was—’
‘Now, don’t be modest.’ Edna wags a finger at me. ‘It was utterly mouth-watering, believe me! My friend Celia bought it and made me try a slice because she thought it was just as good as a Marks & Spencer cake. And that’s no exaggeration!’ She taps the side of her nose at Poppy, smiles and walks off with a little wave.
I shake my head apologetically at Poppy. ‘Really, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’
‘Oh.’ Poppy’s face falls. ‘The thing is, I really need some help, otherwise this whole event is going to be a complete disaster.’ She shrugs. ‘People need mince pies at Christmastime.’
I nod solemnly. ‘And festive gingerbread men. Although shouldn’t that be ginger people these days?’
She laughs. Then her chin wobbles and her pretty face crumples. ‘Oh, God, sorry about this. It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, of course people don’t need mince pies. It’s just, if I want the business to succeed, I’ve got to nail this contract.’
I fish out a hanky, which mercifully seems unused. I can’t believe I actually have any clean ones left after my sobbing marathon of the past few days.
‘Thank you, Roxy.’ Poppy dabs her eyes, streaking her mascara. ‘Sorry about this.’
‘Hey, it’s no problem. And if you need some help … well, I’m in between jobs at the moment, so …’
‘Really?’ Her dark brown eyes open wide. ‘God, you have no idea how grateful I would be for an extra pair of hands.’ She peers at me anxiously. ‘Is it weird hiring someone I’ve only just met? Sorry, just thinking out loud. I mean, I wouldn’t even be thinking of offering you the job if I didn’t have a good feeling about you.’ Her eyes light up. ‘Perhaps you could do the desserts as well! I’ve said I’ll cook for my boyfriend’s family and friends at Christmastime, too, you see.’
‘Oh, no.’ I shake my head in horror. ‘I couldn’t possibly do anything like that.’ I could probably throw a handful of stuff into a pan to make mincemeat, as long as I had specific directions – but make desserts? I don’t think so.
‘That chocolate cake you baked sounded fab!’ There’s more than a hint of desperation in her tone. ‘And there’d be no set menu. You could just make the sort of puddings you normally do.’
Her face is a study in pleading. I can’t bear to tell her the cake was a fake, and my pudding-making skills stretch only to opening up the box and cutting the contents into slices. On the other hand, I’m going to need a pretty hefty distraction if I’m planning to get over Jackson Cooper this side of the next millennium. And I suppose there’s always YouTube if I get stuck.
‘So I wouldn’t have to make anything complicated?’
‘Oh, no, no. Just simple things, like maybe a cherry chocolate mousse? Or a delicious cheesecake? Or a basic but wonderful lemon meringue pie?’
Simple things?
‘Or cranberry cranachan?’ Poppy laughs. ‘Actually, now I’m insulting your abilities. I saw the recipe for that the other day and it’s so simple, even a five-year-old could make it!’
My face performs a cross between a smile and a grimace. I’d better steer clear of the cranberry cranach-thingy, then!
‘And obviously, you’ll be a dab hand at making sweet shortcrust pastry,’ Poppy rushes on. ‘For the mince pies.’
I remember my efforts from my schooldays. ‘It’s been a while,’ I say cagily, not wanting to spoil her mood because she’s looking so much more cheerful than she was earlier.
‘Oh, you’ll be fine, Roxy. As you well know, there’s just one big golden rule of pastry-making you need to remember …’ She smiles, confidently expecting me to be able to answer the question that’s now hanging in the air.
‘Ah, yes.’ My mind races. ‘That big golden rule. The one that many people forget when they’re making pastry.’ Or didn’t know in the first place. Like me.
She nods. ‘Precisely. So they get a horrible result you’d break your teeth on!’
‘Ha-ha, yes!’ I shake my head to show I’m definitely not one of those ignorant people who bakes rocks.
‘Oh, Roxy, that’s brilliant.’ Poppy’s whole body seems to slump with relief. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to help.’
I smile, thinking maybe I should enlighten her as to the full extent of my lack of baking know-how. But I have a feeling that even if I said, Last time I made mince pies, I set myself and the entire street on fire, she’d probably wave it away and say, Oh, these things happen!
She frowns anxiously. ‘It would just be for the fortnight before Christmas, though. Would that be okay for you?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. Where’s the ice rink, by the way?’
‘On the shores of a lake about ten miles from here.’
‘Oh yes, I know where you mean.’
She nods. ‘I’ll be staying at my boyfriend’s place which is right nearby. It’s lovely. It’s called the Log Fire Cabin and is set among fir trees on the banks of the lake. Really picturesque. Especially when it snows, which hopefully it will.’ She glances up at the sky.
I rub my arms. ‘It’s definitely cold enough for snow.’
‘It is, isn’t it? I keep imagining snow drifting down on the skaters. So romantic.’ Her expression turns wistful and sort of sad.
‘It sounds lovely,’ I agree.
‘So you’re definitely up