Meet Me at the Cupcake Café by Jenny Colgan

event, this was clearly not going to be necessary. By the time she headed out to meet Mr Barstow, the landlord of Pear Tree Court, Helena had given her a quick pep talk. She would convince him with her level of organization and research. Or fell him with her secret-weapon Grampa cakes. They should have met near the property, but of course, Issy thought smugly, there were no coffee shops to sit down in, so they met in Des’s office. Des had had a shocking night with Jamie. His wife was refusing to get up any more, so he’d sat with the wee blighter as he howled his guts up, his face a furious red and his little chunky legs contracted up to his chest. Des stroked his hot brow, gave him Calpol and eventually, holding him close, soothed the little lad off to a wriggling, uncomfortable sleep. But he’d had two hours, max. He felt like death in a cup.
    The blonde woman was there, looking incredibly sleek and expensive in two-hundred-quid jeans, spiky heels and a ludicrously soft-looking leather jacket. Issy narrowed her eyes. This woman didn’t need to earn a living, surely. She probably spent more than Issy’s old salary on highlights alone.
    ‘Caroline Hanford,’ she said without smiling, extending a hand. ‘I don’t know why we’re having this meeting, I put my offer in first.’
    ‘And we’ve had a counter-offer,’ said Des, pouring repulsive sticky black coffee from a push-button machine into three cups, the first of which he gulped down like medicine. ‘And Mr Barstow wanted us all to meet to discuss the offers in more detail.’
    ‘Didn’t you used to have cafetières in here?’ said Caroline, briskly. She could do with a proper coffee; she hadn’t been sleeping properly. Those homeopathic sleeping pills she’d bought at enormous expense didn’t seem to be working as well as she’d been assured they would. She’d have to go and see Dr Milton again soon. He was expensive too. She grimaced to think of it.
    ‘Cutbacks,’ muttered Des.
    ‘Well, anyway, I’ll match the counter-offer,’ said Caroline, hardly bothering to look at Issy. ‘Whatever it is. I’m starting this business off on the right foot.’
    A short, bald man marched into the room and grunted at Des.
    ‘This is Mr Barstow,’ said Des unnecessarily.
    Caroline let forth a very toothy grin, impatient for this to be over. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Can I call you Max?’
    Mr Barstow grunted, which didn’t seem to indicate an answer one way or the other. Issy didn’t think he looked like a Max at all.
    ‘I’m here to offer you the best deal I can,’ said Caroline. ‘Thanks so much for agreeing to see me.’
    Hang on, Issy wanted to say. Don’t you mean to say ‘see us ’? Issy knew if Helena were there she would make some remark about this being business, and tell her to get tough. Instead she just said, ‘Hello,’ then felt cross with herself for not being more assertive. She clasped her favourite cake tin – decorated with a Union Jack – to her side.
    Mr Barstow looked at both of them.
    ‘I’ve got thirty-five properties in this city,’ he said in a strong London accent. ‘Bloody none of them have given me as much trouble as this one. It’s been one damn lady thing after another.’
    Issy was taken aback by his bluntness, but Caroline looked totally unfazed. ‘Thirty-five?’ she cooed. ‘Wow, you are successful.’
    ‘So I don’t just care about the money,’ said Mr Barstow. ‘I care about bloody not having someone move out without warning leaving the back rent unpaid every bloody five minutes, do you understand?’
    Both women nodded. Issy fingered her notes. She’d done research into what made a nice café, and how a good bakery could add value to surrounding houses, and hopefully how many cakes they’d sell every day (admittedly, she’d plucked this figure out of thin air, but pasted into a spreadsheet it looked quite good. This way of working had been reasonably successful in property management so she