“Hello,” she says to Flo with a broad, friendly smile. “I’m Suze, a friend of Bex’s. Would you like some tea or coffee? The blue cups are tea and the white cups are coffee. Milk’s in the jug.”
“Oh,” says Flo. “Well. Goodness.” She looks around the room uncertainly, as though searching for a second opinion. “Yes. Please. If it’s not too much trouble…But really it doesn’t matter. Don’t mind me.”
“It’s right here on the tray,” says Suze, looking a bit flummoxed by her speech. “Tea or coffee? Please do help yourself.”
“Whatever’s easiest,” says Flo with a helpless smile.
“Well, we’ve got both, so they’re both easy.” Suze holds out the tray of cups. “Tea? Coffee?”
“I really don’t mind,” says Flo with a little gasp. “Either way.”
“You decide,” says Suze pleasantly.
“Oh…” Flo extends a hand, then withdraws it. “I’m not sure….”
I can see Suze starting to lose patience, and I’m not surprised. All the tea and coffee’s getting cold while Flo stands there peering at it.
“Well!” Suze says briskly. “Why not have tea, then? Bex, why don’t you take a cup of tea for Flo?”
We exchange brief looks as I take the cup, then usher Flo toward the sofa.
“Please have a seat,” I say politely.
“Oh. Goodness.” Flo looks at the empty sofa as though it’s a minefield. “Where should I sit down?”
“Anywhere!” I say, trying to sound as friendly as I can.
“I see.” Flo edges to the corner of the sofa, then stops as though marooned. “Where does everyone else want to sit? Please don’t let me get in the way.” She gives her helpless smile again, and I quell a desire to say, “Just sit down, you drip!”
“I’ll put your tea here,” I say kindly, placing the cup on the coffee table, “and you can decide.”
Then I feel bad at calling Flo a drip, even inside my head. Maybe she’s feeling awkward in a new crowd of people. As she finally takes a seat, I make another effort.
“So, did you see the new Poirot on TV, Flo?”
“Yes, I did,” says Flo in über-cautious tones, as though she suspects I might use her answer somehow against her in court.
“And what did you think of the adaptation?”
“I don’t really know,” says Flo, looking blank. “It’s up to the experts, isn’t it?”
“Right. Well…did you enjoy it?” I persevere.
“I couldn’t say, really.” She gives me that helpless smile again.
Oh my God. I was right the first time. She is a drip. How can Janice hang out with her?
As though reading my thoughts, Janice comes over to the sofa with her own cup of tea and sits beside Flo. A moment later, Mum sits down opposite, and everyone sips their tea without talking. Everyone’s just staring into the middle distance. It’s all so awkward, I can’t bear it.
“Cake!” I say shrilly. “Let’s have Minnie’s birthday cake!”
I dash into the safety of the kitchen, carefully put the candles on the birthday cake, light them, and carry it back into the room, calling out to the children to gather. We sing “Happy Birthday,” and Minnie looks beside herself with joy as she blows out her candles. Then I set the cake on the coffee table to cut it, while Luke goes for some plates and forks.
“What a large cake!” says Janice as I start cutting into it. “And what an interesting shape, Becky. Did you use a dome-shaped baking tin?”
“Er…no…” I can’t answer properly, because I’m too preoccupied by trying to cut the cake. It’s weird. My knife keeps going through the buttercream without seeming to slice anything.
“Is there a problem, love?” says Mum, watching me. “Let me try.”
She takes the knife from me, briskly slices through the buttercream, then peers at it, puzzled. “Love, where’s the cake?”
“It’s in there somewhere,” I say desperately, taking the knife back from her and prodding at it. “I know there’s a cake in there. I saw it. I made it!”
“What proportion of buttercream to cake did you use?” inquires Jess, which is so like her.
“You might need a spoon,” says Suze helpfully. “And we could eat it with spoons too. We could think of it as…a mousse?”
“Here,” says Luke, handing me a spoon. “Serve it with this.”
“I can’t serve everyone solid buttercream!” I whisper desperately to Luke. “They’ll all have heart attacks! I don’t know what’s happened.”
“Cake!” says Minnie, holding up her plate, and all the other children join in, yelling, “Cake! Cake!”
I stare anxiously at the cake—or, rather, mound of