My first job had been a summer job, working at my grandparents' restaurant on the French Riviera when I was fourteen. Mum and Dad insisted that we all learned what it meant to 'work' and 'earn' so that we never took anything for granted. We never had an allowance so if there was anything we wanted, we had to work hard in order to pay for those things. Sophie chose to follow in our mother's footsteps and enter the fashion world, as did Emma eventually, but I was always drawn to the hospitality side of our family's enterprises.
Those summers I spent in Cannes, waiting tables, washing dishes, learning to cook, were some of the best days of my life and instilled in me a work ethic that I hadn't lost, even after I opened my own business. That's why I never shunned from hard work- if Joanne, Lauren or Aimee- or even Nate- called in sick, I put on my staff shirt, tied an apron around my waist and stepped up to fill the void in my workforce.
That's what happened today. Lauren had phoned early this morning to let me know that she wouldn't be in; her two-year-old son, Tristan, had been up all night with a fever and whenever Lauren tried to leave the house, he screamed the place down. Apparently, he didn't want to go to his dad's place and the option of spending all day with Nana was also a no-no for little Tristan. I told Lauren that I understood and that she would still get paid for the shift before I determinedly went to the staff room to find a spare shirt. I quickly regretted wearing a pair of McQueen slim-leg ankle grazers today, as well as four-inch Gianvito Rossi pumps. Nevertheless, I tied my hair up, grabbed a black apron and descended into the shop to greet my staff.
Naturally, they all frowned at my appearance, taking note of the La Petite Pâtisserie emblem on the dark shirt. After quickly explaining the situation, it was determined that Aimee would man the coffee machines while Joanne kept on eye on the pâtisserie side of the shop. With Nate and Arnaud in the kitchen, that left me to be the waitress and collect the dishes and wipe down the tables. If I was going to spend the day in heels, I'd rather keep busy so that I didn't notice the pain emanating from the balls of my feet.
"So, what's wrong with Tristan?" Nate tried to casually ask as he ushered me into the kitchen to taste a new recipe that he and Arnaud had been working on. We all knew about Nate's little crush on Lauren and you could see the concern on his face as he thought about her son. Sometimes, if Lauren wanted to go out with friends but was stuck for a babysitter, Nate would step in and he absolutely loved spending time with The Dude, as he called Tristan. "Do you think some treats would cheer him up? I could stop by Lauren's place on the way home."
I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't you live thirty minutes in the opposite direction to her?" I asked. When Nate blushed, I turned to the dessert that was sat in the middle of the stainless steel table. It was an old recipe that the younger of the two pâtisserie chefs was trying to master and I have to say, I've seen worse looking Croquembouche. Yes, it was leaning somewhat, but you could still tell what it was. "Impressive, Nate. It's even better than any of my attempts."
"Yeah?" Nate's eye widened with pride as he looked back on his creation. "I mean, I know it's not up to Arnaud standards but it isn't half bad is it?!"
I laughed at the way his face lit up and was about to give him some more words of encouragement but I was interrupted by Aimee, who sauntered through the door with arms full of dishes. She glared at me, muttered something about being a skivvy and then huffed as she returned to the shop front. Behind me, I heard Arnaud grumble, his distinctive French drawl muttering, "Conne." I tutted at him for name-calling Aimee but he didn't seem to care.
"Can you make me a crepe cake, please?" I sweetly ask the two men. I'd recently been craving sweet treats, which would explain the bloated stomach as well as the constant nausea I felt. I wasn't one to overindulge but in the past week or two, I literally cannot walk by the pâtisserie stands without drooling. Naturally, the drooling was followed by the rapid consumption of far too much dessert. "Oh, can you make the rainbow ones? With chocolate sauce? No, wait! Maple syrup. No... chocolate sauce. And maple syrup. Both, I'll have both. I want a big stack of them."
They both stared at me like I'd grown two heads. Realising that I hadn't added any pleasantries, I smiled and said, "Thanks!" before returning to the shop. There were a few empty tables that needed clearing and I quickly set about work- towering the dishes together, taking them into the kitchen and stacking the washer, before wiping the tables down and resetting the chairs neatly.
I was cleaning another table when I heard someone behind me laugh. "Well, I never thought I'd see Charlotte Delaney working up a sweat like this," I heard Clark Reiss say. Turning, I see him shaking his head at me, amusement lighting up his face. "I thought you had staff that did this kind of thing."
Rolling my eyes, I ignored Clark and went back to cleaning more tables. It didn't surprise me that he was here, after all, he was trying to steal my business from under me. Until he'd taken what he'd come to London to get, Clark was staying put and that meant having to see his ugly but oh so gorgeous face at least once a day. He was the only person who spent more time at La Petite Pâtisserie than I did.
Five minutes after Clark's arrival, the morning rush was over and I finally had time to sit and take a break. With the coffee side of the shop quieter, I tasked Aimee and Joanne to share Lauren's responsibilities while I sat with Clark and devoured my chocolate sauce and maple syrup covered crepe cake.
"Whatever that is," Clark frowned as he pointed at my dessert. "It looks disgusting."
"Looks can be deceiving," I stated as I brought the forkful of gooey goodness up to my mouth. When the taste sensation hits my tongue, I couldn't help but moan at how good it tasted. I didn't realise just how pornographic I sounded until I saw Clark's eyebrows quickly rise up to meet his hairline. Unabashed, I pointed at my plate and smiled. "Honestly, there was nothing in this world better than everything Arnaud makes. The man is a genius. I would offer you some of it but I'm too selfish to share right now."
While I ate, Clark set his MacBook on the table and scattered some paperwork. In stark black and white, I could see the figures for my business since its inception and the changes that Clark wanted to make. Some of the plans he had were elaborate- one even included moving the business to another location in London. I couldn't help but baulk at that idea because one of the selling points of La Petite Pâtisserie is that it's not in the most obvious, accessible areas of the city.
Yes, he could up his profits by getting a new building but the exclusivity of LPP would be lost. All those women who come in here to buy their weekly treat after nipping into Harrods wouldn't dare step foot inside if it was bustling with hipster types. All those wealthy mothers-in-name-only wouldn't purchase their bouncing baby's birthday cake from us, either, if all the other glamorous mummies at the school gates were also flaunting their LPP cakes, either. Clark may now how to crunch numbers but I know my customer base and if there's one thing I know about them, it's this- they would pay a hundred times over to get an Arnaud creation what anyone on the street would pay.
"You know you've eaten the entire thing, right?" Clark's unique blend of accents cuts through my thoughts. Registering his words, I look down at my plate to see that there isn't a single morsel of the crepe cake left. Clark sends me a look that's a mixture of disgust and amazement. "I haven't seen anyone devour that much food in so little time since my sister was pregnant."
"Well, I'm not pregnant," I countered with an irritated lilt in my words. Feeling insulted by his words, I push the plate away and glare at him. "You know your plans for this place sucks, don't you?"
Without waiting for a smart-arse reply, I gather the dish and storm back into the kitchen, disposing of the plate in the dishwasher and putting it to go. Arnaud and Nate sensed the commotion and they both wisely didn't say a word, simply going back to their work as if nothing had happened. Standing by the sink, I felt my stomach twist, the undeniable sign that my body was on the verge of purging. Placing a hand over my mouth, I rush out of the kitchen and towards the nearest bathroom, barely making it in time.
Sinking on the floor, I felt exhausted and could barely stand. I could feel the heat on my face as embarrassment took over; usually, I was unflappable at work and nothing would get in my way but this was something new, and I didn't like it. After ten minutes, I heard the door of the bathroom open and footsteps approach the cubicle, a soft rap knocking on the door.
"You ok in there, boss?" Joanne asked.
"Yeah," I managed to mutter in response. Depleted of energy, I managed to get to my feet and brush my hair from my face before I unlocked the door and pulled it open. I sent Joanne a brief smile as I made my way to the sink, washing my hands and splashing cold water on my face. I could still taste the bile on my tongue and I winced from the taste. "I hate being sick. I think I'm coming down with something."
Joanne smiled wryly. "I'm sure that's what it is. You should go home, Charlotte. Arnaud can keep the kitchen going, I can manage out the front and one of us will lock up tonight."
"But-"
"No!" Joanne cut me off. Grabbing my arm, she took me up to my office and started to gather all my belongings. "Don't argue with me, Charlotte. Go home but do me a favour first- go buy a pregnancy test. You've been complaining of fatigue, you're spewing in the mornings like there's no tomorrow and you're retaining water. Now, I'm no doctor, but those symptoms only add up to one thing. Get a test."
Too stunned to argue, I took my bag and coat from Joanne and quickly left the shop by the rear entrance. I blindly walked the streets of London for a few hours, trying to think of reasons why I was feeling like I am, without the answer being, 'You're pregnant.' Still, there was nothing that made sense. I was tired, I had morning, day and night sickness, I was bloated and my period was two weeks overdue. Despite the flashing signs of a diagnosis for my symptoms, I didn't want to believe it.
Eventually, I found myself stood outside a Boots Pharmacy, trying to gather enough courage to go inside. It took a while but after twenty minutes, I was in and out, harbouring a pregnancy test in my handbag.
"Hey, Char, is that you?" Sam yelled from somewhere deep inside the flat. "I was thinking of ordering a takeaway. Fancy it?"
"Sure," I shout back. "I just need a minute."
Instead of heading towards the living room as I usually would, I scampered to my bedroom and dashed to the bathroom. Taking the Clearblue box out, I read the instructions and followed them, one by one, until it came to the waiting game.
"Hey, Char, where are you?" Sam's voice neared. Seconds later, the bathroom door swung open and his body filled the doorway. "I'm about to order, so what do you- whoa!"
His eyes had settled on the white stick in my hand as I sat on the side of the bath, numbly staring at it. "There's still a minute left," I find myself explaining as I look down at my watch. "If you're staying, sit down, will you? You're making me nervous just stood there."
Immediately, he took his place next to me and reached out a hand to hold one of mine. It was weirdly comforting but it didn't detract from the sickening feeling that was building up in my chest. My heart was racing a million miles an hour as I processed this turn of events. In less than a minute, my whole life could change and all because a moment of weakness had seen me fall into bed with a man that would never take responsibility for this whole mess.
A stray tear ran down my face as the wait came to an end. "I can't look, Sam," I cried, my words coming out in stammers. He moved to take the test from me but I quickly pulled it away, out of his reach. "What if it's positive?"
"What if it's not?" Sam smiled at me. When I levelled him a cold stare, he sighed. "If it's positive, it's not like it's the end of the world, is it?"
"I'll have to be a single mum!" My words flowed almost as quickly as the tears that now escaped my eyes.
"No, you won't" Sam attempted to reassure me. "Fletch will step up, Char, I know he will. Plus, with your crazy family, do you really think that you'll be in this all alone? No, give me that test so we can see what's really going on."
Despite my better judgement, I handed the test to Sam and waited with baited breath to see what the result was. In the seconds it took for Sam to tell me the outcome, my thoughts were consumed by what my family would say. I'm sure they'd support me eventually but in the near future, they'd be bitterly disappointed. My paternal grandmother will have the strongest opinion on the matter; when Sophie got pregnant, Harlow was all for sending her away. 'No granddaughter of mine has a bastard child,' she'd muttered. Her response would be much more colourful this time around, I was sure of it. I was her favourite, after all.
Dad would be hurt but Mum would be excited at the prospect of having a grandchild. Sophie would no doubt be jealous that I beat her to motherhood. Emma would instantly get broody and think it'd be a good idea to have babies so close in age so they could grow up as best friends. Lucas would spend the entire length of my pregnancy worrying about the possibility of my baby inheriting genetic abnormalities.
Oh, God, what if there's something wrong with my baby?!
"Charlotte, did you hear me?" Sam shook my shoulder to gain my attention. When my eyes flickered to him, I saw that he watched me with a carefully guarded gaze. "Shall I tell you again?"
I nodded. "Please."
"You're pregnant, Char," he said, infusing his words with happiness that almost felt forced. "Congratulations?"
"Oh, fuck."
The fun begins next week!
Updates for BoB will be every weekend, most likely on Saturdays but sometimes on Sunday. Until next Saturday!
Sarah, xx