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

but Dad sits down on the edge of a tub full of pink begonias and takes a gulp of his tea.
    â€˜Honestly?’ he says. ‘I think it’s a cracking idea.’
    â€˜John!’ says my mother in a shocked tone of voice. ‘I thought we just agreed?’
    Dad rubs his eyes and blinks.
    â€˜I didn’t agree anything,’ he says. ‘You told me not to say something, but Mel has asked me a direct question and I’m going to give her a direct answer.’
    I look at my Dad with new eyes full of respect, love and a bit of fear. Does he know that disagreeing with Mum can be like throwing a lit match into a room full of petrol? Oh yeah – he does. That’s why they got divorced.
    â€˜Oh, Gordon Bennett,’ says Mum. She often mentions Gordon. Neither of us has ever worked out exactly who he is. ‘Thanks a bunch. You’ve just made my next few weeks a hell of a lot harder.’
    She looks really upset, like she’s going to cry. I get up and offer her the cake plate.
    â€˜Cake is not the answer to everything,’ she snaps. Then she looks at the tiny orange carrots with their green stems and relents. ‘Oh go on then – just one.’
    She eats it with an angry look on her face.
    â€˜For what it’s worth,’ says Dad. ‘I happen to think that Mel doing this competition is a fantastic idea. Our beautiful, talented and creative daughter has been offered an exciting opportunity which she’d be a fool to pass up on. Surely this is what her life should be like? Shouldn’t we be supporting this? Don’t you remember what the counsellor at the CF centre said?’
    I remember full well what the counsellor said, because I was there too and it was the first thing that anybody at the centre had ever said to me that made perfect, total sense.
    The counsellor said that, now I was in my teens, Mum ought to stop acting so much like ‘the CF Police.’ They meant that she was trying too hard to control what I did because she was so anxious about my health. The counsellor reckoned that stopping me doing things I really wanted to do was having a far worse effect on me than just skipping a treatment or forgetting to take a pill.
    Mum gets a folding chair out of the shed and sits down with a sigh.
    â€˜Of course I remember,’ she says. ‘I love the fact that Amelie has got through to the quarter-finals. I’m as excited by that bit as you are, John. But the fact remains that a week in Central London is going to be detrimental to her overall health. And isn’t THAT our main concern? Damn, this carrot cake is good!’
    I allow myself a small, victorious smile at that.
    Mum locks eyes with my dad and they have a kind of stare-off, like the black cat and the Siamese who are always passing through our garden in a flurry of teeth, eyes, yowls and spits.
    In the end Dad gets up and puts his cup and plate back on the tray.
    â€˜I don’t think we’re going to agree, are we?’ he says. ‘You’re more concerned with her physical health and I’m concerned with the mental. How do we meet in the middle?’
    Mum shakes her head.
    â€˜We don’t,’ she says in a tired voice. ‘I’m the one who lives with her. So I will make the decision. OK?’
    Dad nods, but his face looks sad. It mirrors my own. I can see my fabulous baking opportunity slipping even further into the great mixing bowl of life, to be lost in a mess of eggs, flour and butter.
    He gets up and walks back over to the cobbles and out of the garden gate towards his car.
    â€˜See you, kiddo,’ he says, blowing me a kiss.
    He blows one to Mum, as well but she pretends not to see.
    Wow. Parents can be so stressful. I feel worn out from witnessing their conversation and I have to have another fortifying carrot cake and cup of tea.
    â€˜I guess that’s it then,’ I say to Mum as we tidy up in the kitchen. ‘I should forget about