CHAPTER 51
He looked up from his till, mouth open slightly, and I could see him trying to make sense of what was in front of him. After a couple of seconds, he shook himself and offered up a slightly puzzled smile.

“Debbie?”

I tried not to grimace, keeping my own smile as genuine as I could manage.

“How are you keeping?”

“Fine… how…”

He paused once more.

“How did you know this was my place? I don’t really believe in magic coincidences”

“Called at your own place, your old place, that is. Saw it was closed, asked in the little convenience shop. He told me where you’d gone”

He looked down for another couple of seconds, checking his till drawer was shut properly, before once more raising his eyes, looking at me in a far more direct manner.

Debbie, please don’t think I am being rude”

“You were never, ever rude, Frank. Far from it”

“It’s going to sound like it, though. Why are you here? Now?”

I started to shrug, and he caught himself.

“No. Never rude, isn’t it? Hang on a minute, please”

He came round from the end of the counter and went to the shop door, which he locked, turning round the little sign to read ‘Closed’. I got a more natural smile then, as he admitted that it wasn’t exactly a busy day, and he wouldn’t lose much trade by closing early.

“Come into the kitchen, woman. Warmer in there, and I’ll do you a cuppa, if you like”

He showed me to the back of the shop, where he clearly did his baking. There was a little table with a couple of wooden chairs beside it, and as he filled the kettle I settled myself into the seat nearer the door.

“How do you take it now? Still white without?”

“You remember”

Another pause. Still looking away from me, he started speaking once more.

“Never forgotten, have I? Never forgotten you. Never stopped asking myself what on Earth I did wrong that night. Thought it was going so well, and…”

He turned around, passing me a mug of tea, a small chip out of the rim.

“Have to take us as you find us, Debbie. Cheap and cheerful here, we are. I will leave that subject, for now, aye? But I still have to ask: why this afternoon, after so many years?”

I blew across the top of the mug, trying to delay my words, but I had no real alternative.

“Frank, there is an awful lot of my background you don’t know. Lot of it isn’t nice, okay? One day… Anyway, I have a real reason to be here, and this time it isn’t about me. I am doing two jobs now”

“Still driving for old Bert Fratelli?”

“Yes, still doing the wagons. To be honest, though, I am looking towards dropping out of that game. Getting older, now. One of my girls called me ‘Nana’ the other day”

“You got married in the end, then? How many do you have?”

I shook my head, my smile coming more and more easily as the man I remembered so well did his best.

“Me? Not a bloody chance, mate! No; I foster. Girls only, ones off the streets, runaways, that sort of thing”

“Decent woman, you are, doing that. I always knew that, though, decent woman, I mean. Any of them give you any problems?”

I have no idea why, but a dam suddenly broke, and as my tears fell he moved round the table, hesitantly reaching out to hold me as everything about Andrea, and the girls in Splott, and all the other shit seized my mind with filthy fingers.

He didn’t push it, though, and when I found my self-control once again, he simply shuffled his chair back around the table.

“Want to talk?”

I shook my head, but not sharply enough to offend, or at least I hoped not.

“I lost a girl the other day. Overdose, body found in a skip by a… by a friend of a friend. Lots of crap flying around the social services about her, but she was with me, so it was my slip”

“Are the SS saying that?”

“Not really”

“How long did you have her?”

“Three days or so. Skipped out one night with our telly”

“Not your fault, then. This tied in with why you are here?”

I nodded. Careful how you put this, Debbie Petrie Wells.

“Got a new girl in, was on a catering course over in Newport. Kicked out by her Dad, dumped in the middle of Cardiff. Nice kid. She’s a pastry chef. Done us some meals already, and she’s okay at the mains, really good at the puds, and amazing at the fiddly stuff. Found out what my oven’s for, I have”

“Ah. And you thought you’d see if I could use her?”

“Yeah. To be honest. With her dad, she can’t really go back where she came from”

“Well, I feel you might not be being completely honest just now, but why not? Where is she, outside?”

“She’s at the House. Not really a biker”

“Want to give her a shout, then?”

“You sure?”

“Not taking someone on without some idea of what they can do, am I?”

“Shit. Hadn’t really thought this through, had I?”

“Obviously not”

I rang the Grove and got Ruth.

“Hiya; Kim with you?”

“Hang on, love. Kim! For you. Debbie”

There was a rustle as the phone was passed across, then Kim’s voice.

“What’s up, Nana?”

“Don’t you bloody start! Can you spare five minutes?”

“You okay for a few, Ruth? Yeah, she’s nodding. What do you need?”

“I have a possible job for Gemma, love, but she needs to come over to Cathays for a bit of a demo. Can you get her into a cab to Crwys Road… By the Methodist place would be easy to find. I’ll sort out the fare when she gets here. Can you let me know if she feels safe doing that; if not, try and find a lid to fit her, and I’ll pop back and collect”

“Will do. She need anything with her?”

“Just her patisserie skills, tell her, and anything special she’s got in the larder that would help”

Five minutes later, Kim gave me the confirmation that a nervous girl was on her way, and I went out a short while later to pay a slightly unpleasant taxi driver and lead mu charge to the shop. Frank unlocked the door to let us in, and I saw his eyes widen as he took in Gemma’s height and bulk.

“Ah. I see. This home of yours, Deb: little selective in the girls you take in?”

Gemma turned on her heel, heading for the door again, and I grabbed her arm as Frank called after us.

“No, love! I didn’t mean it like that! Just, I see now why Deb is looking for a favour. Now, please come back with us. I need you to show me what you are best at”

His choice of words jumped out at me. Not ‘See if you can bake’, but ‘See what you do best’, with the implication that he accepted she was already competent. I started to relax again, and as they went into a long and far too detailed account of pastry-making, I zoned out, until Gemma called my name.

“You are on kettle duty, Nana!”

“Oh bollocks, not you as well! Frank, one titter and you are toast”

He grinned.

“I am actually hoping for some Danish pastries, Debbie. Gemma here sounds as if she knows what she is talking about, which hopefully means she knows what she’s doing. I hate to say this, but if you want to shoot off home, I can see her into a cab later. Don’t need to know the address for that, she can direct the driver”

Another grin.

“Going to take a flyer here. Do a load of stuff for tomorrow, see how it goes. Road test, in essence. You got a curfew?”

“Not really, but not too late, please”

I knew I could trust him, but, well, Andrea’s loss was still smacking me in the chops on a regular basis, so while I left them to it, I didn’t stop worrying, surrounded by the other girls, until Kim brought her back from Ruth’s.

“How did it go, Gemma?”

She gave us all the soppiest of grins.

“You are speaking to a professional patissière! Got a box of spare stuff in the kitchen for you to try, but not many, so we’ll have to cut them all in half. And there’s a bus stop not far from the shop, as well”

Maisie looked puzzled.

“Bus stop?”

“Yeah. I start my job in two days’ time; Frank wants to see how the stuff sells first, and it means I can get to and from work on my own. Got a job!”

She was mobbed by the others, and of course we had to try out her samples, and they were excellent indeed. Two days later, and she was off to work, this time in some chef’s whites that Rachel and Emma had bought for her, and I found my mood lifting at last. I made a point, on my next day off from the wagons, of stopping by the shop, and to my surprise, the place was almost full. Frank waved to me as I entered, and ushered me straight into the kitchen area, where my girl was putting a tray of somethings or other into one of the big ovens.

“Hiya, Gem! How is it going?”

The happiest of smiles lit up her face, and she pointed to the front of the shop.

“That man is a genius! Did my first set of stuff for him, and next thing I know it’s outside on the little table with a sign saying ‘free samples’. Next thing after that, well, look at the queue!”

I lowered my voice.

“Any problems? Anyone been an arsehole?”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“Yeah, a couple. Frank just threw them out, couple of real idiots. Some others, he just says to them, ‘This is the woman that’s made what you are queuing up to buy, so if you like what she does, be nice to her’. Worked, as well. Look”

She pointed out a pile of cardboard sheets with the shop name printed on, which I realised were cardboard boxes, ready to assemble.

“Frank took some more samples out, down by the student hall, and we’ve got them coming in, and there’s the copshop as well, got a regular order from them. Really busy, we are”

Frank put his head round the corner.

“Got any of the cream horns ready yet? Been a bit of a rush on them”

He lowered his own voice, almost to a whisper.

“And can you sort out some paperwork for us, Debbie? Need to get her properly onto my PAYE records. Don’t care what name she’s officially under, because we will sort that when she hits eighteen”

His voice rose once more.

“Get with the programme, serf! I don’t pay you to gossip! Flaky pastry, now!”

I left her to her giggling, him to his teasing, and what seemed like an awful lot of customers to their treats.

Another one that I had got right. It would never balance my books, but it was helping. I found myself singing as I rode home, for the first time in ages.