Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

He pushed his hands through his hair in that way that suggested he was a little coy. “Luca Brands have a corporate box at the Royal Opera House. One of my important clients loves the opera. But no one ever uses it when the ballet is on. You should go.” He pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and then slid a business card onto the work surface. “Just call my PA if you want to go. Take a friend. Go by yourself. Anytime.”

I took a step away from the counter and closer to the oven. “Thanks.” I’d perfected the art of not thinking about ballet and now Joshua was here saying I could attend the performances of one of the best ballet companies in the world whenever I wanted. For the old me, it would have been the perfect gift. But I wasn’t the old me anymore.

“I guess I should take it out,” I said, pulling on the oven gloves. “You think it’s done?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never baked a cake in my entire life. Apple pie prep was as far as my cooking education went.”

“It’s the blind leading the blind.” I pulled down the oven door and took out the first tin. Well, the mixture didn’t move like it had when it was going in. I took out the other tin and then referred back to the recipe. “We need to turn them out onto the wire rack.”

“I’m not sure they look right. Aren’t they supposed to get bigger?” Joshua reached out and poked one of them, his face contorted like he was considering an important chess move.

“I’m going to follow the recipe and turn them out.” I did exactly what the recipe said and turned out the sponges onto the rack.

“They’ve not risen at all,” Joshua said. “We must have missed something.”

“No, I checked. We did what it said.” He was right though. The cake didn’t look right and it felt heavy as I’d turned it out.

“Stella is a good baker.” Joshua rubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand as he stared at the flat discs like they were a problem to be solved. “Maybe you should give her a call and she might give you some lessons.”

Now he was being ridiculous. “I don’t even know Stella.”

“Two birds with one stone. You can get to know her and learn how to bake. Maybe you end up being friends. Maybe you don’t. But your baking can’t get worse.”

“Hey,” I prodded the sponge again to see if the cool air was loosening it up any. “You were right here alongside me.”

“Shit!”

I spun around to find Joshua holding his arm in the air. A quick assessment of the still-hot tins on the side told me precisely what had happened.

“You burnt your arm?”

His screwed-up face was all the answer I needed. I pulled him over to the sink and turned on the tap. “Put it under here.” The skin was angry and red. I held his arm under the cool water, reaching to add a little more hot to ensure the water wasn’t too cold.

“It’s fine,” he said, trying to pull away.

“It’s not fine. We need to keep it under here for longer than you think.” I wasn’t about to tell him how long. If he was impatient after ten seconds, he’d be climbing the walls after ten minutes.

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

“That red welt would say otherwise. I’d forgotten what a bad patient you are.” Joshua was usually so cool and calm; if he wasn’t in pain, it would be funny to see him so irritated. “Did I ever tell you that you inspired me to become a doctor?” I adjusted his arm to make sure the water was covering the entire burn and continued my story in order to distract him. “You and Patrick were playing tennis when you were home from uni for Easter and you sprained your ankle.”

He frowned at me, clearly not remembering the moment that had so completely transformed my life.

“You went for this crazy shot and fell.” I could still see the awkward fall and the way his foot had given way as he went down.

“When I sprained my ankle and had to go to hospital? You were there?”

I gave a half-laugh at the idea that he didn’t even remember my presence, let alone that I’d nursed him straight after the fall. It had happened exactly nineteen weeks after the accident, when pining after Joshua had changed my life forever. I’d been a shadow to even myself. No wonder he didn’t remember.

That afternoon had been another turning point for me. I’d barely eaten or spoken since my accident. My crush on Joshua had been dead nineteen weeks. My place at ballet school had been lost. The only reason I’d been watching Patrick and Joshua that morning—and not lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling—was because it was mildly less annoying than listening to my mum and dad argue about whether I should be sent to counselling. My father had been firmly against it, said I’d snap out of it. My mother had been trying to help. I knew counselling wouldn’t make a difference. Nothing would. My own stupidity had lost me my future, and I’d never be the same again. I was content to lie in bed for the rest of my life.