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Fashion cakes?

In spite of myself, I have to hurry over – and I can’t help gasping in delight. It’s a whole plate of dinky little cakes in the shape of shoes and bags.Advertisement

‘Each one is inspired by a different fashion item.’ Luke looks pleased. ‘I thought you’d like them. Have one.’ He hands me an iced over-the-knee boot.

It’s scrummy. I almost want to cry. This is the most perfect evening, and I’ve got to drag him away from it …

Maybe I’ll just have one more cake.

‘More champagne?’ Now he’s refilling my glass.

And one more glass of champagne. Just a quick one.

‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ Luke pulls me against him and I nestle into his chest, feeling lulled into relaxation; feeling his heart beat against my skin. ‘This has been quite a day.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ I take a deep gulp of champagne.

‘Losing all my technology has been weirdly liberating. I’ve been forty-eight hours now without emails or internet or even a proper phone. And you know what? I’ve survived.’

‘I knew it.’ I turn my head to look at him. ‘I think you should have a BlackBerry-free day every week. It’d be good for your health.’

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‘Maybe I will,’ says Luke, his hand edging up the inside of my leg again. ‘Maybe we’ll come here every week. That would be great for my health.’

‘Yes, definitely!’ I giggle. ‘Here’s to that!’ As I lift my champagne glass my own BlackBerry rings, and I stiffen.

‘Ignore it,’ says Luke comfortably.

‘But it’s Mum,’ I say quickly, glancing at the display as I grab it. ‘It might be about Minnie. I’d better get it … Hello?’

‘Becky!’ Mum’s voice is so high-pitched and anxious, I jump. ‘Janice has just seen a traffic alert! Terrible snarl-up on the A3. How are you doing? Have you left yet?’

I feel a jolt of panic.

Oh God. What I am doing, drinking champagne and eating cakes? I glance at Luke. He’s lying back on the sofa in his robe, his eyes closed. He looks like he could stay there all night.

‘Er, not yet …’

‘Well, I’d get cracking, love! You don’t want to get stuck!’

‘I will! We’re on our way. See you soon.’

‘What’s up?’ Luke opens one eye as I put down the BlackBerry. I have about ten seconds to think of a fully fledged, convincing story.

OK. Got it.

‘Luke, we need to go, right now,’ I say urgently. ‘Minnie’s hysterical because neither of us kissed her goodnight. So we need to go back to Oxshott, kiss her goodnight, make sure she’s settled and come back. Quick! Get dressed!’ I’m already pulling on my underwear.

‘Go back?’ Luke hauls himself to a sitting position and peers at me. ‘Becky, are you crazy? We’re not going back!’

‘Minnie’s in a terrible state! Mum said she was going to make herself ill. We can’t just leave her!’

‘She’ll be fine. She’ll fall asleep and she’ll be fine.’ He calmly takes a sip of champagne and I feel a stab of indignation. I mean, OK, so Minnie isn’t really in a state, but what if she was?

‘How can you say that? She’s our child!’

‘And we’re having a night off! It’s not a crime, Becky. If we go back to Oxshott I guarantee she’ll be asleep before we even get there.’

‘But I won’t be able to relax! I won’t be able to enjoy myself! How can I sit here and drink champagne when my little girl’s having …’ My mind roams wildly. ‘… convulsions?’

‘Convulsions?’

‘Mum said she was seriously worried for Minnie’s health. She said she’d never seen anything like it.’ I stare defiantly at Luke. ‘I’m going, even if you’re not!’

For a frozen moment I’m petrified he might say, ‘Fine, you go, see you later.’ But at last he puts his glass down heavily and sighs.

‘Fine. Whatever. We’ll go and kiss her goodnight.’

‘Great! Perfect!’ I can’t hide my relief. ‘It’s still early, we can still have a good evening. Let’s take the cakes and the champagne,’ I add casually. ‘Just in case we’re hungry on the way.’

No way am I leaving those gorgeous little cakes behind. And as soon as I’m dressed I hurry into the bathroom and scoop all the toiletries into my bag. I’m not leaving those behind either.

I’m just about ready to go and Luke is putting on his overcoat when my BlackBerry bleeps with a text. pqdm.com