Christmas At The Cupcake Cafe Read Free Page A

that even as a small child she was already used to being let down by the person who ought to be there for her the most.
    She’d looked up at him, eyes shining as she flipped over a pancake.
    ‘Merry Christmas, my darling,’ he had said, kissing her gently on the head. ‘Merry Christmas.’

    Austin had his own reasons for hating Christmas. He’d never really bothered since that first one after their parents died, when a tiny Darny hadn’t cried, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t moaned, had simply sat in silence, staringbewildered at the ridiculous number of presents from everyone he had ever met cluttering up the corner of the room. He hadn’t wanted to open a single one. Austin hadn’t blamed him. In the end, they’d unplugged the phone from the wall (after Austin had turned down endless invites, everyone rang to coo pitying noises at them, and it was unbearable) and gone back to bed to watch
Transformers
on the computer whilst eating crisps. Somehow, watching ludicrous gigantic machine robots smashing lumps out of everything was as close to their mood as they could get, and they’d done something similar every year since.
    But last year, he and Issy had been so new together, so wrapped up in one another, and it had been thrilling. He’d thought for ever about what presents to get her, and she had been utterly delighted: a going-out dress from her favourite little Stoke Newington vintage shop, and a fancy pair of shoes that she couldn’t walk in. Oddly, it wasn’t the fact that he’d bought them so much as what they represented: nights out, and fun, which could be hard to come by when you were working all hours.
    ‘I thought you’d get me a pinny,’ she’d said, trying on the blue dress, which made her eyes a vivid bluey-green and fitted her perfectly. ‘Or a mixer or something. Everyone else always does! If I get one more cupcake jar, I’m going to start selling them on the side.’
    And in the bottom of the bag, bought with his bonus– he had been the only person in the entire bank to get a bonus that year, he seemed to recall – a small, but immaculately cut, pair of diamond earrings. Her eyes had gone all big and wide and she had been completely unable to speak.
    She had worn them every single day since.
    And they had spoiled Darny horribly with games (Austin) and books (Issy), and watched telly in their pyjamas and had smoked salmon and champagne at eleven, and the weather was too disgusting outside for anyone to mention a walk, and Issy had cooked an amazing lunch … Issy had … she had made it all right again. She had made it fun; made it their own Christmas. She hadn’t tried to gussy it up, or push them into party games or silly hats or church or long walks, like the aunties would have done. She understood and respected entirely their right to watch
Transformers
all day in their pyjamas and had sweetly been there with them whilst they did so.
    ‘I can’t wait till Christmas,’ said Austin at the airport. ‘But I wish you were coming to New York.’
    ‘One day,’ said Issy, who longed to visit more than almost anything. ‘Go and be clever and impressive and wow them all, and then come straight back home to us.’

    And now here he was in the middle of Manhattan, Darny back in London with Issy. A year ago, the idea of leaving his headstrong, hyper-intelligent, super-cunning eleven-year-old brother with anyone otherthan an armed response team and a team of vets with tranquilliser guns would have seemed utter madness. Darny had bounced from school to school and run rings around his elder brother since their parents’ death in an accident. Austin had immediately given up his college course and taken a banking job in order to keep a roof over their heads and prevent his brother being taken away by social services, or any number of well-meaning aunties. Darny had not repaid this by being particularly grateful.
    Yet somehow, after being frankly abominable to all Austin’s other girlfriends –