Kellie Hailes - The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams

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‘It’s boring here at Christmas time. All my friends go away and don’t come back for ages. I have five friends. All girls, ’cause boys are yuck.’ Mia stuck out her tongue, then took another bite of her cake, its crumbs catching at either side of her mouth. ‘Do you have friends, Josie? Do you have five like me?’

‘Not five like you. You must be pretty special to have that many.’

Josie took a sip of tea then set it down on the saucer, with a slight rattle, Callan noticed.

Why would Mia’s grilling be making Josie touchy? Or maybe Josie hadn’t had lunch so had a case of the lack-of-food shakes. Which would make far more sense. Especially as it looked like she hadn’t taken a break since the moment she’d walked in that morning. The floors were swept. The counter gleamed. The dishes were done and packed away. She’d sold a fair bit of his average – below average, if he were honest with himself – baking, and had time to make two cakes.

He’d teased her about not being able to sit still, but from the jiggle of her leg under the table, he may have been on to something.

‘Why not five friends?’ Mia’s interrogation continued. ‘It’s not like you smell. You don’t. You’re not stinky.’

Josie’s leg stilled as a laugh escaped. The sound filled the space with a light-heartedness he’d not heard in a long time.

‘I’m glad I’m not stinky. I appreciate you saying that. I like to shower twice a day to keep myself stink-free.’ Josie speared a piece of cake, dipped it in the Greek yoghurt she’d served it with, and popped it in her mouth, her eyes closing for a second as she enjoyed the zesty, sweet flavour, enhanced by the tartness of the yoghurt.

Callan envied her enjoyment. The cake was obviously delicious. Abigail had fed him enough cake for him to know what was good, but since she’d gone, all food – no matter savoury or sweet – tasted like cardboard. Something to be chewed until he could get it down his gullet and into his stomach. Food kept him going, but it didn’t give him life.

‘Daddy? Can Josie make a cake every day? Hers is better than yours.’

Callan shoved his maudlin moment away. He didn’t need food to give him life, he had his life sitting next to him, her little foot nudging his as her leg swung back and forth.

‘I think your daddy likes making cake, Mia. And I bet it’s just as good as this.’ Josie half-smiled at Callan.

‘Nope. It’s not.’ Mia took another mouthful of cake, putting a momentary stop to any further insults.

‘She’s not lying.’ Callan pushed a chunk of the cake, its crumb light but rich with moisture, around the plate. ‘This is better than mine.’

‘Told ya.’ A spray of crumbs flew from Mia’s mouth.

‘Don’t eat with your mouth full.’ Callan tapped Mia’s hand, then turned his attention to Josie. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to keep you out of the kitchen. An old business mentor of mine once said the key to success is to allow people to do what they’re good at and not get in their way. And you’re good at baking.’ He paused. Good? She was great. But so had Abigail been, and putting Josie on par with Abigail felt wrong. Like putting another baker on the same pedestal as Abigail was a betrayal of her memory. ‘Really good. Better than I am, hands down.’

‘Well, I didn’t pay good money to learn how to bake, then spend years bettering myself, for nothing.’ Josie shrugged.

‘And it would be wrong of me to waste such a talent.’ Callan pushed his plate away. ‘So if you’d like to take on some of the cooking, then that’s fine with me. It would mean an early start but also an early finish.’

‘Really?’ A smile lit up Josie’s eyes. ‘Because I’d love to.’

‘Really.’ Callan confirmed his decision with a nod.

‘Yay!’ Mia’s chubby fists pumped up and down above her head. ‘And can we have afternoon tea every day as well?’

Callan shook his head. ‘You’ve got your mum’s sweet tooth.’

‘And Josie’s.’ Mia pointed to Josie’s empty plate.

A pretty pink flush lit up Josie’s cheeks. Pretty? Callan gave himself a mental shake. It was just a flush, there was nothing pretty about it.

Just as there was nothing sweet about the way Mia had evacuated her chair and was now sliding onto Josie’s lap. Josie held her hands aloft, her eyes wide, looking for Callan’s advice, or permission, to let Mia snuggle in.

He went to reprimand Mia, to pull her away from Josie, but stopped himself. Her small body had cushioned into Josie’s, her cheek was settled upon Josie’s chest. Her thumb had found its way into her mouth.

All at once his heart restricted in pain, while filling with love. How many times had he seen Mia snuggle into Abigail in the same way? Seeking comfort from not just the warmth of her body, but the warmth of her nature. Her goodness. Her ability to heal a bad day with a few well-thought-out words. To ease a bad day with a hug. To fix an ouchie with a kiss.

He caught the questioning look in Josie’s eyes, and gave a nod. Permission to wrap her arms around his daughter. To bring her close. To hold her tight. To treasure her.

‘Daddy, can Josie please come upstairs and help us decorate the new tree?’ Mia’s head tipped up to Josie’s. ‘Please, Josie? Can you?’

Callan’s breath caught in his throat. Regret rolled through him as protectiveness reared its head. Was it right to let Mia become close to Josie? To risk Mia’s heart being splintered further should Josie leave.

Sure, Josie said she had no plans to up and go anytime soon, but neither had Abigail. One moment his wife had been smiling and laughing her way through life, lighting up all those she touched with her humour and sweetness, the next he’d found her on the floor. Eyes open. Unseeing. And no amount of saying her name, of pleading or crying, brought her back. Even Mia’s tears, dripping on her mother’s face, couldn’t work their fairy-tale magic and awaken Abigail from her slumberous domain.

Josie looked to Callan for an answer, the shadows in her eyes darkening the longer he took to answer.

The polite thing, and what would make Mia happy, would be to say yes. But being a parent meant setting boundaries and sticking to them. In this case he needed to provide a boundary between Mia and Josie. For Mia’s heart’s own good.

‘I think not, Mia. Sorry, sweetie, but I’m sure Josie’s busy doing other things.’

‘But I want her to.’ Mia’s bottom lip pushed out as she tipped her head to look up at Josie. ‘Make him say yes, Josie, pleeease?’

‘Sorry, lovely, no can do.’ Josie took Mia’s hand and ran her thumb over the soft, still-dimpled, skin. ‘You have to do what your daddy says. He knows best.’

Callan didn’t miss the flatness to her tone, but neither did he miss the lightening of her eyes, the forward slump of shoulder that, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear was relief.

That made two of them.

Gone was the Callan who’d let Abigail soften the stiff upper lip that his emotionless family had instilled in him. Who’d allowed himself to embrace a new community, to become part of it.

Allowing others in, letting them close, no longer seemed like a good idea. It no longer felt safe.

It was better to keep people at arm’s length. To keep things professional, detached. Because the moment you cared was the second you opened yourself up to the possibility of pain.

And he had no plans to go through the kind of agony Abigail’s death had brought – even a tenth of it – ever again.