The Baking Life of Amelie Day by Vanessa Curtis Read Free Book Online Page A

eat these. They’re too good. But of course, I will.’
    Then he leaves me, still laughing to himself. I let the nurse clean me up and prepare me for going home.
    ***
    Dad calls round to see me after I get home from hospital.
    I’m in the kitchen making mini carrot cakes with buttercream frosting. I’ve cut some carrot shapes out of my leftover fondant icing and coloured them orange and I’m just sticking these on top of the finished cakes. There’s a pile of homework upstairs with my name on it, but after a day spent in the hot, disinfectant-smelling air of the hospital, I fancied letting my creative vision run riot so I’ve ditched the idea of doing maths until later.
    â€˜There,’ I say, standing back to admire my handiwork. The little square cakes stand to attention in neat lines on the rack, each one covered in fluffy buttercream which I’ve run a fork through to make peaks that look a bit like snowdrifts.
    â€˜Oh yes!’ says Dad, heading towards the rack with a purposeful look in his eye. ‘I reckon you need a second opinion on those from your Chief Taster.’
    I sigh.
    â€˜Harry is Chief Taster,’ I say. ‘You can be Back-up Taster, if you like.’
    Dad frowns.
    â€˜I’ve been relegated to the sidelines,’ he says. ‘Wow. And I’m your favourite Dad and all that.’
    I let him pick out a cake and bite into the rich sponge.
    â€˜Good?’ I say. ‘I added some lemon juice just to make it a bit different.’
    â€˜Mm,’ says Dad with his cheeks bulging. ‘Excellent. And I would love to see what you can do with a courgette.’
    I smile and click the kettle on. Mum comes downstairs and gives Dad a peck on the cheek.
    â€˜Thought I heard you,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you come outside and admire my petunias?’
    â€˜Oh, right,’ says Dad. ‘How much more excitement can one man take?’
    He winks at me and then heads off outside with Mum and they walk around our back courtyard garden, staring into pots and tubs and chatting avidly all the time.
    I make the tea and bang on the window and they wave but don’t come in.
    I’m about to bang again and then I realise what they’re doing. Why Dad has come over, in fact. They’re discussing the London question. They’re talking about me.
    For a moment I feel a surge of anger. Then I bite it down again. I know it’s only because they care. But if they’re discussing something about my future, then really I should be out there taking part in the discussion with them.
    I put the three mugs on a tray and add three of my mini carrot cakes and I head out the back. Mum and Dad have stopped looking at plants. Mum is now facing Dad with her hands on her hips which can’t be a good thing, as that’s the position she adopts when she’s telling me off about something. Dad is staring at his feet and shuffling them about which is also not good.
    I sigh and offer the tray.
    â€˜I know you’re talking about me,’ I say. ‘Which is why I’ve come out here. Plus I can’t actually lip-read through the window which is kind of annoying.’
    Dad smiles when I say this. Mum doesn’t.
    â€˜Sometimes your father and I need to talk about stuff in private,’ she says. ‘You could have given us another minute, surely?’
    I look at Dad. He shrugs and reaches for a mug of tea.
    â€˜Your mother’s in charge here,’ he says. ‘What she says, goes.’
    He says this in a mechanical way, like he’s rehearsed it. I look at him more closely. He doesn’t look very pleased. I’m not sure whether he’s annoyed with Mum or with me for coming outside and interrupting.
    â€˜Dad,’ I say. ‘What do YOU think about me going to London? Honestly?’
    Dad glances at Mum. She gives him an imploring sort of look, like she’s trying to affect what he’s about to say,