The Little Bakery on Rosemary Lane: The best feel-good romance to curl up with in 2018. Ellen Berry

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СКАЧАТЬ spotted in the window of a vintage shop, a size too small as it happened, but heck, she had managed to cram her feet into them and they’d eventually stretched enough so as not to be completely agonising.

      She stopped abruptly and tugged them off. Damn Sean and his practical trainers.

      ‘You’re not going to run home barefoot?’ he gasped.

      ‘It’s fine …’

      ‘It’s not fine. You’ll cut your feet or stand in something disgusting. Come on, darling, put your sandals back on and let’s just walk …’ She glared at him, then realised he was probably right and slipped them back on. Sean took her hand as they fell into a brisk walking pace. ‘I still can’t believe you were baking something for me,’ he added, throwing her a fond glance.

      ‘Hmm. Well, I probably won’t again.’

      ‘No, it’s really sweet of you. But it’s not very … you, is it?’

      ‘Obviously not,’ she muttered.

      ‘I mean, it seems more like something your sister would do. Didn’t she send you that tin of edible tree decorations at Christmas?’

      ‘Yes. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hadn’t got it together to buy a tree …’ In fact, Roxanne had taken the delicious snowflake-shaped butter cookies into the office, and everyone had swooped upon them over drinks one afternoon. This was when Cathy was still editor and it was possible to have fun at work, in the days when there were frequent gales of laughter and the sound of a cork being popped.

      ‘I’d never have thought of you as a baker,’ he added.

      ‘Yes, okay, Sean …’

      ‘It’s quite sexy actually,’ he added, grinning now.

      Despite the turn of events, she couldn’t help smiling. ‘I knew it. You actually want a wifey type in an apron, don’t you? That’s what you’ve been holding out for …’

      ‘God, yes,’ he teased. ‘Floury hands and lipstick on, waiting for your man to come home …’ He fell silent as they turned the corner into Roxanne’s tree-lined street.

      ‘Sean, look!’ They both stared. A fire engine was parked outside her block.

      ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said quickly, taking hold of her arm. ‘It might not be your place. It could be another flat …’ But this time, she shook him off and broke into an actual sprint. Despite her unsuitable footwear, she clattered towards the vehicle. She quickly spotted Isabelle, who was looking her usual elegant self – chic silver bob, simple navy blue dress – and hovering at the main door.

      ‘It was Henry who called them, love,’ she announced. ‘I told him it’d be nothing – that you’re always burning toast. A waste of resources, I said! I phoned your mobile a couple of times but it just rang—’

      ‘Sorry, Isabelle, I didn’t realise …’ Roxanne hurried past her and charged upstairs. She always put her phone on silent when she was out on a date with Sean.

      ‘I said you once burnt your fringe off the gas ring,’ Isabelle called after her, ‘when you were lighting a cigarette …’ The elderly woman’s voice faded, to be replaced by strident male tones on Roxanne’s landing on the top floor: ‘Sounds like someone’s coming now – finally. Christ, what a bloody waste of time …’

      Sean had lagged behind. Roxanne could hear him being accosted by Henry, the boorish thirty-something solicitor who must have sprung out of his flat on the first floor, one short flight of stairs below hers. ‘Sorry if I called them over nothing but the smell’s awful. Emma’s worried that her clients will complain. I mean, it’s hardly conducive …’ Never mind Emma, Henry’s wife, and her psychotherapy clients. What about Roxanne’s irreplaceable French wardrobe? She reached the top floor to find two firemen emerging from her flat.

      ‘How bad is it?’ she gasped.

      The younger man frowned. ‘This is your place?’

      ‘Yes, it is …’ Sean appeared at her side, catching his breath as she took in the damage. Her door was splintered, having been smashed open, and an acrid stench hung in the air.

      ‘You’re very lucky,’ the fireman remarked as his companion made his way back downstairs. ‘Your neighbour smelt smoke but there hasn’t actually been a fire.’

      ‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’ Roxanne felt like hugging him.

      ‘But there could have been.’

      ‘Yes, I know …’ Impatient now, she peered behind him into her flat but this young man – this boy, who looked barely old enough to have any sort of paid job – was blocking her way.

      ‘You need to understand that it’s very dangerous to go out and leave something in the oven.’

      She rearranged her expression so as to look suitably chastised. ‘I do realise that, and I’m very sorry for taking up your time.’

      He squinted at her, seemingly not done with lecturing her yet. ‘You won’t believe how many fires I’ve seen that have started this way. It’s the fat, you see. Grease spits over the edge of the tray and then ignites …’ He frowned. ‘What were you making anyway?’

      ‘Brandy snaps,’ she replied, at which he looked baffled; well, of course he did, they belonged to a bygone era. This child before her had probably cooked nothing more taxing than a microwaveable pouch of Uncle Ben’s rice – but then, neither had she.

      He stepped aside to let Roxanne and Sean pass. ‘Well, just make sure, any time you’re baking in future …’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ she said quickly, ‘there won’t be any baking in future, I can promise you that.’

      She and Sean stood for a moment as the fireman clumped downstairs to join his colleagues.

      ‘Okay up there, Roxanne? Need any help?’ Isabelle called up from the hallway.

      ‘We’re fine here, thanks,’ she shouted back brightly.

      Sean shook his head and frowned. ‘Bit of an over-reaction from Henry, wasn’t it, calling the fire brigade? Look at the damage to your door …’

      ‘Oh, it can be fixed. It’s not the end of the world.’ In fact, she surmised as they strode through to her kitchen, perhaps she had got off lightly. Apart from a terrible stench and the urgent need for a joiner, there was really nothing to worry about. The oven was open; the blackened tray of brandy snap mixture having being dumped in the sink and water poured onto it. The kitchen window had been opened, and a cool breeze was wafting in. She met Sean’s gaze. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This isn’t quite how I imagined your fiftieth would turn out.’

      ‘Hey, darling, it’s okay.’ He kissed her forehead softly, then wound his arms around her waist and held her close to his chest. ‘I’m just relieved your place didn’t burn down.’

      She nodded and stepped away. ‘I’d better see if I can find a joiner …’

      ‘Yes, of СКАЧАТЬ