Read Online Meet Me at the Cupcake Café by Jenny Colgan - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenny Colgan
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marched into the sitting room. Issy was sitting in the gloomy light, eating dry Crunchy Nut Cornflakes out of a bowl in her pig pyjamas.
‘Darling. You have to get out of the flat.’
‘This is my flat though.’
‘I mean it. You have to do something, otherwise you’ll turn into one of those shut-ins that sit in their bedrooms in their pyjamas weeping and eating beef curry.’
Issy stuck out her bottom lip. ‘I don’t see why.’
‘Because you’ve put on two pounds in a week?’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘I mean, why don’t you volunteer for a charity or something?’
Issy gave her a hard stare.
‘How is this meant to make me feel better exactly?’
‘It’s not about making you feel better. It’s about being a friend to you right now; the kind of friend you need.’
‘A nasty one.’
‘The best you’re going to get, I’m afraid.’
Helena glanced at the pink-striped see-through plastic bag beside Issy, filled with Smarties.
‘Have you been out ? Did you go to the corner shop?’
Issy shrugged, embarrassed.
‘You went to the corner shop in your pyjamas?’
‘Hmm.’
‘But what if you’d bumped into John Cusack, hmm? What if John Cusack had been standing right there, thinking, I’m sick of all these Hollywood actresses, why can’t I find a real girl with real home values? Who can bake? Someone like her, only not wearing her pyjamas, because obviously that makes her a crazy person .’
Issy swallowed. Behave like you might meet John Cusack at any minute was a prevailing mantra of Helena’s and had been since 1986, which was why she never went out without her hair and make-up done absolutely perfectly, dressed in her best. Issy knew better than to dispute it.
Helena looked at her. ‘Graeme hasn’t called, I take it?’
Of course, they both knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t just about the job. But for Issy, it hurt so much to own up to the truth. That actually what she had thought was love and real and something special might just, when all was said and done … might just have been a stupid office romance after all. It was awful, unbearable to think about. She was getting no sleep, next to no sleep. How could she have been so stupid? All that time, when she thought she was so professional, coming into work every day in her little dresses and cardigans and smart shoes, thinking she was keeping her private life so separate, thinking she was being so clever. When in fact everyone was sniggering because she was shagging the boss – and worse, it obviously wasn’t even a serious relationship. That thought made her bite her own fist in anguish. And that nobody even thought she was any good at her job, she was just some cheery idiot who could make cakes. Oh God, that was almost worse. Or just as bad. It was all bad. It was awful. There didn’t seem to be the least point in getting out of her pyjamas. Everything was shit, and that was the end of it.
Helena reckoned there was patience, then there was submission.
‘Well, fuck ’im,’ she heard herself saying. ‘So what, your life is over now because your boss no longer requires personal services?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Issy quietly. It hadn’t been, had it? She tried to think of some moments of tenderness; some sweetness or kindness he’d done for her. Some flowers maybe, or a trip away. Annoyingly, in eight months, all that came to mind was him telling her not to come over one night, he was tired from work, or getting her to help him file his management reports (she’d been so pleased, she recalled, to be able to take some of the strain off him; exactly, she thought, why she’d make him a perfect wife. Oh God, what an idiot).
‘Well, whatever it was like,’ said Helena, ‘it’s been weeks and frankly you’ve done enough wallowing in your pit. It’s time to get out and claim the world again.’
‘I’m not sure the world wants me,’ said Issy.
‘Well, that is total bullshit and you know it,’ said Helena. ‘Do
‘Darling. You have to get out of the flat.’
‘This is my flat though.’
‘I mean it. You have to do something, otherwise you’ll turn into one of those shut-ins that sit in their bedrooms in their pyjamas weeping and eating beef curry.’
Issy stuck out her bottom lip. ‘I don’t see why.’
‘Because you’ve put on two pounds in a week?’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘I mean, why don’t you volunteer for a charity or something?’
Issy gave her a hard stare.
‘How is this meant to make me feel better exactly?’
‘It’s not about making you feel better. It’s about being a friend to you right now; the kind of friend you need.’
‘A nasty one.’
‘The best you’re going to get, I’m afraid.’
Helena glanced at the pink-striped see-through plastic bag beside Issy, filled with Smarties.
‘Have you been out ? Did you go to the corner shop?’
Issy shrugged, embarrassed.
‘You went to the corner shop in your pyjamas?’
‘Hmm.’
‘But what if you’d bumped into John Cusack, hmm? What if John Cusack had been standing right there, thinking, I’m sick of all these Hollywood actresses, why can’t I find a real girl with real home values? Who can bake? Someone like her, only not wearing her pyjamas, because obviously that makes her a crazy person .’
Issy swallowed. Behave like you might meet John Cusack at any minute was a prevailing mantra of Helena’s and had been since 1986, which was why she never went out without her hair and make-up done absolutely perfectly, dressed in her best. Issy knew better than to dispute it.
Helena looked at her. ‘Graeme hasn’t called, I take it?’
Of course, they both knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t just about the job. But for Issy, it hurt so much to own up to the truth. That actually what she had thought was love and real and something special might just, when all was said and done … might just have been a stupid office romance after all. It was awful, unbearable to think about. She was getting no sleep, next to no sleep. How could she have been so stupid? All that time, when she thought she was so professional, coming into work every day in her little dresses and cardigans and smart shoes, thinking she was keeping her private life so separate, thinking she was being so clever. When in fact everyone was sniggering because she was shagging the boss – and worse, it obviously wasn’t even a serious relationship. That thought made her bite her own fist in anguish. And that nobody even thought she was any good at her job, she was just some cheery idiot who could make cakes. Oh God, that was almost worse. Or just as bad. It was all bad. It was awful. There didn’t seem to be the least point in getting out of her pyjamas. Everything was shit, and that was the end of it.
Helena reckoned there was patience, then there was submission.
‘Well, fuck ’im,’ she heard herself saying. ‘So what, your life is over now because your boss no longer requires personal services?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Issy quietly. It hadn’t been, had it? She tried to think of some moments of tenderness; some sweetness or kindness he’d done for her. Some flowers maybe, or a trip away. Annoyingly, in eight months, all that came to mind was him telling her not to come over one night, he was tired from work, or getting her to help him file his management reports (she’d been so pleased, she recalled, to be able to take some of the strain off him; exactly, she thought, why she’d make him a perfect wife. Oh God, what an idiot).
‘Well, whatever it was like,’ said Helena, ‘it’s been weeks and frankly you’ve done enough wallowing in your pit. It’s time to get out and claim the world again.’
‘I’m not sure the world wants me,’ said Issy.
‘Well, that is total bullshit and you know it,’ said Helena. ‘Do
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