If only this was a film…

9 Jun

” A young blonde haired woman, S meets and falls in love with a dark haired young man, K. They go for walks in the country, stroll along park lanes, they wine and dine, they laugh and cry. At times, they are uncertain about their love for one another, at other times, they tell each other how truly, deeply and passionately they feel. 

To show his love and affection to S, K bakes her a cake. Just a simple little cake. She smiles affectionately and is swayed by his token of love. They hug, kiss and feed each other a piece of cake. Soon, the baking  of cakes becomes associated with commitment, a gesture of acceptance, a form of giving and whole lot of love.   Then, the wedding day approaches and the simple cake becomes an elaborate wedding cake.

They are a couple in love. They marry. They spend time together. Days turn into weeks, weeks become months. They live in a modest accommodation, a small rented flat rented in a small part of suburbia. It’s okay, just needs some work on it, they decide. Years go by, the baking stopped in the early years because work, looking after the home, socialising with others and engaging in other outdoor activities soon takeover. They purchase a house… Dinner parties come and go, Special Occasions are celebrated with others, holidays are extended…

In later life, when they are very successful, they purchase a very large house and decorate it with exquisite taste. It is full vases of flowers, fine art, modern art, mirrors, original lighting, ornate objects, antiques, collectibles from all over the world…

Illnesses take over…

The woman is dying and her husband is beside himself in turmoil, anger, pain and hurting inside. She asks him about the cakes. But darling, he says, you know I don’t have the time anymore…what with work, being busy with projects, friends visiting… She looks at him and with sadness in her voice, she says I understand. I’ll bake it for you one day, he says, just not now. That’s okay. I understand she says. Then, she closes her eyes, sighs and is gone forever.

The husband is in pieces and is lost without her. He sits, mourning the loss of the love of his life and his guiding star. He is in tears and it seems that the light has gone out of his eyes, and his anchor has drifted away…

A week later, a friend visits and finds the husband in the kitchen, baking. He looks as if he is holding his emotions in check and the friend daren’t  say anything to him except I’m sorry. The husband asks his friend to leave him in peace. The friend is ushered out, but before he is  about to leave, the husband hands him an item, a silver ornate frame that his friend always admired. Here, take this, I know you always liked it, so have it as a gift from me. But it cost you a fortune, says his friend. I know but it doesn’t matter as long as I can bake. The friend is baffled by the response but soon leaves.

The husband goes back into the kitchen and bakes cakes. Small ones, large ones, cupcakes, fairy cakes, iced cakes, and chocolate cakes. In the early hours of the morning, he breaks down and weeps and weeps, tears roll down his flour dusted face and the cloth in his hand is wrung into a noose…

Some time later, the door bell rings. It is a beggar woman at the door. She asks him if he can spare any money. He checks himself. No, I don’t have anything on me…He looks around… there is a white china vase on his console table, I don’t have anything except this. He snatches the vase and hands it to her. She looks at it with disdain. It’s worth £500 he says. Really? She looks at him as if he has gone mad. Take it, he says. I want you to have it. Sell it if you have to…what do you want? She asks him. To bake in peace he says. She gives him a blank expression, shrugs and leaves.

Soon, there are people at his home, beggars, volunteers, charity staff, strangers, neighbours, friends. Knocking on the door, ringing the doorbell, dropping leaflets, making enquiries about his generosity. He is either giving things away or selling them to people who collect items of value. The husband realises that the more valuable  items he gives away in his home, the better he feels. He feels he can spend the money on baking equipment and therefore more time baking. He bakes and gives to churches, schools, fetes, neighbours, friends, beggars, soup kitchens, the homeless, the vulnerable in the community. The more he gives, the better he feels. Word gets out and he is happy to oblige to bake for free.

There is nothing left in his home. It is empty of all his valuables, the collectibles, the antiques, the paintings, the state of the art entertainment equipment, the gloss, the sheen, the wow factor has all but disappeared and is now covered with dust.

The husband is in the kitchen, baking. He looks gaunt, frail, almost starved. His once handsome face is covered in sores, blisters, pimples, postules and red rash like hives.  There is no itch, there is no cure.

His friends and family have now deserted him. He doesn’t realise he is now alone. But he is happy.

This cake is for you, my love,  he says as he bakes his last creation. A small simple cake that he proudly takes out of the oven, sifts fine icing sugar over the top, and takes it to his late wife’s bedroom. He places it on her side of the bed. He walks around to his side, removes his apron, folds it neatly on the side and lies down. He looks at the cake. All for you, my love. A small tear forms in the corner of his eye and he closes them tight…He sighs.”

The Learned Kat

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