ONE
HOLLY
Hot air billows from the oven door as I tug it open to inspect my latest creation. My hair is going to be a frizzy mess thanks to the humidity in here, but unfortunately that’s just part of the job when you’re a baker. Blinking to clear the steam from my eyes, I raise my brows at what greets me.
Lopsided, the cake leans drastically to one side. Not to mention that it looks a little deflated, as though someone’s poked it with a pin. In fact, it matches my current mood so aptly that I almost laugh aloud. Almost. There’s nothing amusing about my situation or how I’m feeling - deflated. Even so, I plaster on a smile and take it over to my bench in the corner of the room, skirting around the large metal workstation in the centre of the kitchen. The other bakers move around me, all working on their own tasks, not paying attention to me or my disastrous creation.
As a co-owner of the bakery, I have more freedom to experiment and create new desserts than the others who work here. They are all focused on baking the cakes for our regulars, slicing and packing the bread for our catering customers and the other necessary jobs to keep the small but busy bakery going.
Hinton Grove is a small town settled in the middle of the English countryside. Although pretty and the locals friendly, there isn’t much to be said for it beside the prestigious boarding school at the edge of town which specialises in the arts and humanities. Many musical geniuses have come from the Hinton Institute over the years. Thanks to this, our town attracts a certain type of person, the type that enjoys artisan breads and cakes from independent bakeries rather than from the large-chain supermarkets.
“Morning, Holly!” A familiar cheery voice echoes through the room. Lifting both my spirits and head, I glance towards the front of the bakery. Sure enough, standing on the other side of the glass counter is Mrs Lemond, collecting her daily order of currant buns.
Smiling, I leave my wonky cake and walk over to greet her, wiping my hands on my apron. “Mrs Lemond, how is Deric?”
Celia Lemond and her husband, Deric, have been customers for as long as I’ve co-owned the bakery, and for decades before that. She was a regular back when my parents owned the shop and has been a constant presence in my life.
“He’s doing well!” she exclaims with her wide, familiar smile. “Although the doctor has said that he needs to cut down on the sweet stuff and lose some weight.” Her eyes track over my face as she speaks, no doubt noticing the wrinkles on my forehead that weren’t there before.
Deric is short and stout, but he’s always been active. Now that age is catching up with him, he struggles to get around, so it’s no surprise to me that the doctor is telling him this. My eyes flick down to the paper package in her hands that I know contains the very sugary currant buns. Following my line of sight, she laughs. “Cake doesn’t count.” Her eyes crinkle at the sides as she smiles, and I can’t help but laugh too.
“If only!” I’ve always had a weakness for cakes and bread, as can be seen from my rounded hips, curvy belly and ample bosom. A hazard of the job. After all, I have to taste my creations to make sure they’re up to standard, right?
Celia glances around the bakery surreptitiously, taking a step towards the counter and leaning towards me. “Still no news from Jake?” She whispers the name like it’s a swear word, while her expression drops to one of sympathy, her head tilting to one side.
The whole bakery seems to fall silent as all attention turns to me. In reality, I’m sure it doesn’t, but that is sure how it feels in this moment. My heart lurches painfully at the mention of my boyfri– No, myex-boyfriend, and I attempt to keep my expression neutral. However, the pain of our break-up is still too much for me to contain. Despite trying my hardest, I can’t pretend that I’m fine when, in reality, I’m not. My heart has been ripped out of my chest and stomped on, all of my future plans torn to shreds.
I’m about to cry in the middle of the bakery in front of everyone. How fucking embarrassing.
If only I could say this was the first time it’s happened.
My eyes burn as tears try to force their way out, but I bite down and attempt to blink them away. At this point, I’m surprised I haven’t got permanent grooves in my face from how often my tears now roll down them. Shaking my head, I open my mouth to try to tell her that I’ve not heard anything from him since he left, but all that escapes my throat is a croak that makes me sound like a choking walrus.
“Oh, Holly, dear,” she coos, her wrinkly face crinkling even more as she reaches across the counter and takes my hand. Her palms are warm and the touch comforting. This only seems to make things worse, though, her understanding and kind behaviour making me cry more. Choking out a laugh thatturns into a sob, I use my free hand to gesture at myself and the absolute mess that I find myself in. I should apologise for behaving this way, especially in front of all my customers and staff, but opening my mouth is only going to result in further uncomprehensible gibberish and dying animal impressions.
“I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand, her expression becoming adorably cross on my behalf. “He’s a fool if he thinks he can find anyone as wonderful as you in the big city.”
These are words that have been repeated to me over and over during the last couple of months. I’ve become adept at smiling and nodding when offered these condolences, and one day, I might actually believe them. While I appreciate them, it doesn’t lessen the sting or change what happened.
On top of all this, thanks to living in such a small rural area, the entire town knows about my deepest pain. You see, one of the other things that everyone in Hinton Grove knows is that Jake and I are childhood sweethearts and have been the town’s poster couple for the last decade.
Only, that’s no longer true.
Jake, a talented musical student from the Hinton Institute, was recently picked up by a record company and left for the city. This was his fresh start and second chance, and as such, he didn’t want anything to hold him back – including his relationship with me. I was tossed aside, and the entire town was there to witness my life being torn apart and my little mental breakdown that followed. Not much happens in Hinton Grove, and everyone was so sure Jake and I were the real deal, that our split was major news in the small town.
Mrs Lemond is staring up at me with sad eyes, clearly waiting for me to say something, but I have nothing to say. Breath catching in my throat, I force myself to take a shuddering inhale, tears still rolling down my cheeks. Pulling my hand from hergrip, I pat the back of hers in thanks and quickly turn away, heading to the back of the bakery.
One of the bakers looks up as I pass, calling out to me, but I just give them a watery smile and wave them off, hurrying to my office. A sob is building up inside me, I can feel it: the pressure in my chest as it attempts to force its way out and consume me with my anguish. Falling apart in front of my staff and customers is not something I will do today; I am stronger than this. Sure, in those early days I couldn’t stop crying, but I have to try to creature a future for myself in the ashes of my life that Jake left me.
I practically rip the office door off the hinges with how hard I open it, slamming it behind me and giving me the privacy I need. Closing my eyes, I press my forehead against the wooden door, the cool surface helping to sooth my burning face. The sob finally rips its way from me, opening the floodgates as a torrent of tears stream down my face.
Unending, that’s what this feels like. That this pain will never end. I’ve already cried enough to create a tsunami, and now I’m waiting for it to wash me away. It’s completely obliterating, and all I can do is sink to the floor and let the agony consume me.
How has my life led to this, and more importantly, how am I going to survive it?
TWO
HOLLY