There were two open evenings that week at Esther’s, so I was too busy to see either Rosie or Suzanne until the following weekend. The open evenings fell on the Wednesday and Thursday evenings, and were the stressful highlight of the Esther’s calendar. Everyone in Year 11 was expected to be there, polished and preened to perfection. Kesh and I were tasked with looking after a group of Year 9s, awkward and bolshie, in the English block.
When I got home that evening, exhausted and dry-mouthed from all the talking, I opened Facebook to see a long conversation underway between Suzanne and Rosie. They were making plans for the weekend. Rosie wanted to go somewhere; Suzanne wanted to stay put. I read through the messages until I was up-to-date and back down to earth, away from the Esther’s bubble. They’d agreed to go out on Friday – a friend from school’s birthday party, to which I was clearly (thankfully) not invited – and then stay in on Saturday evening. Suzanne suggested baking at her house, because that way Sarah could go out for the evening without worrying. The idea of baking on a Saturday evening was so unexpected it was almost charming.
This was the point when they stopped jabbering at each other and resorted to variants of ‘Caddy? Are you in? CADDY!’ until I typed my agreement, beaming to myself alone in my room.
When I got to Suzanne’s on Saturday Rosie was already there, and the two of them were huddled together at the kitchen table, poring over the cookbook.
‘You’ve got everything you need, Suzie?’ Sarah asked for what can’t have been the first time, judging by the look on Suzanne’s face. It was weird to hear her be called Suzie. It just didn’t fit right.
‘Yes, we have everything we need,’ Suzanne confirmed. She smiled at me and said, in a much brighter voice, ‘Hey! Ready to bake?’
‘That’s a nice jacket,’ Rosie said to me when I sat on the stool next to her. ‘Tarin’s?’
‘Tarin’s.’ I leaned over and tilted the book so I could see it. ‘What are we making?’
‘Macaroons,’ Suzanne said happily. ‘The best things ever.’
‘MacaRONS,’ Sarah corrected distractedly, striding past us and poking her head into what had to be the pantry. ‘Where’s my purse?’
‘Macaroooooooons,’ Suzanne said, unruffled. She was grinning. ‘Your purse is probably still on your bed.’
‘Could you grab it for me?’ Sarah reached into the pantry and pulled out, of all things, her car keys.
Suzanne went without complaint.
‘You girls have fun, and feel free to call me any time if there’s a problem. My number’s on the fridge,’ Sarah said to Rosie and me. She was smiling, but her eyes seemed anxious. She lowered her voice slightly. ‘Make sure you don’t leave Suzanne on her own for too long, particularly in the kitchen.’
She said this last point just as Suzanne walked back into the kitchen, brandishing the purse. For a moment I thought she hadn’t heard, but then she looked at me and Rosie and said, head slightly cocked, completely deadpan, ‘I’m not allowed to be left alone with the oven in case I stick my head in it.’
This was so clearly meant to be a joke that I laughed out loud, but I was the only one who did. Rosie looked confused and Sarah exasperated.
‘You are a piece of work,’ Sarah said, taking the purse from Suzanne and putting it into her bag. She sounded like she couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused.
‘Caddy thinks I’m funny,’ Suzanne replied. She flashed a grin at me.
‘Caddy doesn’t have to live with you,’ Sarah said, but she was smiling now.
‘Neither do youuuu,’ Suzanne sang.
Throughout this exchange, which ended with Sarah draping a tea towel over Suzanne’s head, Rosie alternated between looking from me to them with the same confused expression on her face. She would later ask me if I thought it was normal to joke about such horrible topics, a question that had never occurred to me. There was no ‘normal’, just Suzanne, who was spiky and self-deprecating and sardonic. It made sense to me that she dealt with her heartaches by making light of them, any time it was possible to do so. And really, what was the alternative?
By the time Sarah finally left – ‘Please don’t burn the house down!’ – it had started to get dark. Suzanne turned the kitchen light on and then flipped open the laptop that had been left on the counter.
‘Music?’ she asked, tapping a few keys.
‘Oh my God,’ Rosie said in response. She was peering at the recipe for the macarons, her eyes widening with each step. ‘I thought we were going to bake something easy! Can’t we just make brownies?’
‘But music.’ Suzanne pointed at the laptop. ‘Music first.’
‘We have to whisk egg whites.’ Rosie said to me, pointing. ‘And pipe stuff.’
‘It’s really easy,’ Suzanne promised. ‘Is it OK if I play the Lucksmiths?’
‘Who?’ Rosie and I said at the same time.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ The music started, bouncy and cheerful. ‘OK, so . . . what’s the first step, Roz?’
Rosie looked at her, her eyes narrowing. ‘Haven’t you made these before?’
‘Nope,’ Suzanne said cheerfully.
‘Suze!’ Rosie practically wailed.
‘What? They’re really easy, honest. Sarah said so, and I’ve watched her make them.’