She’s back! Roxy Collins and her diary entries have returned for a third series.
Before I kick off with Roxy’s latest diary entry, here’s a quick Q&A for new readers and a much-needed refresh for Roxy fans.
Who is Roxy Collins?
Roxy is a thirty something, single mother, looking for love fourth time around.
Her first partner Jon and father to Matilda ran off with a butcher, called Paul. Her second partner, Rob The Fish, had an affair with a blonde barmaid and Marcus, her third love, was caught in the act with her cousin, Mags.
Roxy is still hoping she can find her Prince Charming.
She has four kids (Matilda, 18, Harry, 12, Toby 10 & Hope 18 months), some wobbly bits on her hips and thighs, which no diet can get rid of and they all live with her mother, Lynn.
What do I need to know?
Time has moved on since series two. Her kids are older and baby Hope has joined the fun. This is a new stage in Roxy’s life.
Her best mates are still Shaz, Orange Lorna (addicted to fake bakes) and Useful Kim (ex-convict). They were going to open a beauty salon, but things did not go entirely to plan.
In series two Roxy entered, ‘Search For a Star’ TV Singing competition’ and got through to the semi finals. She pulled out of fulfilling her life dream, because she fell pregnant with Marcus’s daughter, Hope.
Lynn, Roxy’s mother has opened a cafe, ‘Coffee and a Cwtch‘.
For noting, ‘Cwtch’ is Welsh for cuddle or hug. It’s pronounced ‘kutch’ and rhymes with ‘butch.’
Roxy and Matilda both work at ‘Coffee and a Cwtch.’
Here is today’s diary entry:
Earlier Mystic Clive, my favourite astrologer, tweeted to say, ‘Gemini, you will get a satisfying result to an unexpected challenge.’
I text back a few eye roll emojis. All I have to look forward to is another day in ‘Coffee and a Cwtch.’
Nothing unexpected due here.
Currently stood staring at the unexpected challenge of the day; a tray of fluffy cloud fairy cakes from my mother’s new cake supplier – Marge Pimpton.
I didn’t realise my mother had sorted out a cake supplier. Marge has just cheerfully dropped them off saying my mother thinks she can shift her fluffy white cloud cakes in a few days. My mother is not here at the moment. A regular told me he saw her standing outside the electrical shop, eyeing up a new kettle in the window. A spot of early morning stalking, me thinks.
The icing on each cake looks more like a fat dollop of lard than a fluffy white cloud. I am not sure what sort of clouds hang over Marge’s house.
“Ugh, they look like clouds after a nuclear war,” whispers Matilda, peering over my shoulder.
I don’t know which is more surprising, Marge’s attempt at cake making or Matilda’s knowledge of the world after a nuclear war. Considering she barely attended school, this description has made my jaw drop.
Ignore ridiculous thought about Matilda being a secret genius and dismiss idea that re-sitting five GCSES was just Matilda’s way of hiding her super intelligent boffin brain from the world.
“Why did Mam choose Marge for a cake supplier?” I shake my head in bewilderment at the odd looking cakes.
Matilda coughs, whilst saying. “Useful Kim.”
I spin round on my pink stiletto heel. “Please tell me, she didn’t turn to Useful Kim?”
My daughter casts me an awkward look and returns to serving a group of giggling students.
“Nana was desperate,” whispers Matilda, turning to froth some milk. “Useful Kim appeared at her moment of need.”
I can relate to this. My friend Useful Kim has always come to my rescue in dire situations, but for some reason things have never worked out. Supplying mermaid fancy dress outfits for a hen do, which made Shaz and I look like a pair of rough looking trouts, a tight, blood restricting leather biker chick outfit, which made an older silver haired man ask how much I charged for a night, a dodgy looking baby’s cot and the sun bed in the beauty salon, which gave Shaz’s dream business a warm, golden glow… and took ten fire fighters to put out. Useful Kim is far from useful.
The students stop giggling at the sight of the cakes and then hurry away with concerned looks on their faces.
“What has Marge used for that cloud icing?” I peer at the cakes. “Smells like medicine.”
Another unexpected challenge has cropped up. Marcus has text me to say he’s back from Greece and would like to take his daughter, Hope, out for the afternoon.
Hope is eighteen months old and has seen her father four times since she was born.
Marcus claims flights back from Greece to the U.K. are expensive and difficult to arrange. We both know he can’t drag himself away from the person who I struggle to name, the person who I used to call my cousin, before she bedded and ran off with Marcus and the person who made me stick her photo to my dart board and chuck darts at her every night, so this should be interesting.
Matilda and I are stood staring at my mother hug the life out of the bloke, who runs the electrical shop.
Nana Lynn struggles to admit it, but she has a huge crush on Mr Electrical Shop and spends most of her spare time, buying kettles from him or stood looking into his shop.
He came in ten minutes ago and ordered a complicated and new trendy coffee.
When he first said it, I had to get him to repeat it a few times and then write it down on a scrap of paper. Matilda looked over my shoulder and her initial reaction was, ‘what the hell?’
Without any formal training on the coffee machine, we all struggle with anything other than simple black coffee.
So, this is another unexpected challenge. Mystic Clive is on form today.
My mother reassured both Matilda and I about the coffee making, by saying people keep coming in to buy our coffee, even though we make a lot of it with sachets in the back room and pretend to work the machine. She thinks we must be doing something right.
Matilda chipped in with, ‘or, our customers are stupid,’ but my mother ignored her.
Whilst Matilda scratched her head at his complicated coffee order, I started rummaging through the instant coffee sachets under the counter and my mother offered him a big cwtch.
They still have their arms wrapped around each other. He’s trying to release himself, but my mother is not giving up so easily. She’s now clinging into him for dear life.
“Awkward,” hisses Matilda, rolling her eyes and grabbing the instant coffee sachet from me.
It has taken Matilda and I ages to make this drink. After some nifty Google searching we mixed two instant coffee sachets together and Matilda frothed some milk.
I tap my mother on the shoulder, show her the coffee and gesture over to the long queue of customers waiting. She frowns and pulls the bloke from the electrical shop closer.
“What a treat, Mrs Edwards!” gushes my mother, handing a fairy cake, to a worried looking old lady. “They are yummy!”
“Just looking at them gives me sick burps,” whispers Matilda, as we both watch the little old lady, stare at the cake.
“Doesn’t smell like cake,” mutters Mrs Edwards, sticking her nose against the icing.
My mother lets out a nervous laugh and points to a spare table. “A taste sensation, Mrs Edwards. I guarantee after eating our cakes you will be…”
“Dead,” whispers Matilda.
After glaring at her granddaughter, my mother smiles at Mrs Edwards. “You will be desperate for more.”
Mrs Edwards shuffles away carrying her cake. We all stand and watch her prod it with a finger.
“It’s a miracle Marge can create such exquisite cakes, seeing as her eye sight isn’t all that great,” explains my mother.
Matilda mutters something under her breath and starts to clean the counter.
My mother taps me on the arm. “Your friend, Kim, has really come up trumps with Marge. I am so glad we have useful business connections, Roxy.”
I shake my head. “You should have spoken to me first, something always goes wrong with Useful Kim’s plans.”
“Oh come on, Roxy,” says my mother giving me a playful swipe. “Thanks to Useful Kim and Marge we have a stunning range of beautiful cakes.”
I am busy serving one of our regulars, Pat. We all like Pat as she knows all the town gossip.
“You selling cakes now?” Pat runs her eyes over the cakes.
I nod and hand her a large latte. “Marge Pimpton’s cakes.”
Pat’s pencil drawn eyebrows rise sharply. “Really? That woman, Marge is having a good run of luck lately.”
“Oh, why do you say?”
Leaning close Pat speaks in a quiet voice. “Her Frank’s condition has cleared up. Miracle cure found online.”
“Condition?” Matilda has joined the conversation.
Pat nods. “Marge found this cream on the World Wide Web. Frank’s a new man. Pity they can’t find a cure for Marge’s dodgy eyesight but I am sure they will.”
“What condition?” I hiss, recalling the odd smell earlier coming from one of the cakes.
“Piles, Roxy. Frank’s piles were out of control.”
Blood drains from my face. My eyes are drawn to Marge’s odd looking cakes. I am going to kill Useful Kim when I see her.
Matilda has a similar lightbulb moment, races out from behind the counter and over to Mrs Edwards, whipping away the plate with the fairy cake on it. Luckily Mrs Edwards has not touched it.
I have gone into panic mode. Marge Pimpton’s cakes could be made from her husband’s pile cream after a terrible baking mix up. Oh god – what are we going to do?
Mystic Clive is going to get one hell of a tweet from me in a minute. Once he predicts unexpected challenges my life turns to chaos.
The coffee shop door flies open and we all look up to see Marcus AND… the person who I struggle to name, the person who I used to call my cousin, the person who went behind my back, the person who I trusted and the person who stole my boyfriend!
Oh no, Mags is here.
My mother rushes out from the kitchen as Matilda sprints back to protectively stand in front of me.
I haven’t seen Mags since I caught her half naked and snogging Marcus on his sofa. At the time he played it down as just a ‘kiss’ but I later learned it had been part of their sordid affair.
“Hello, Roxy.” Marcus is stood at the counter, dabbing his glazed brow with a silk handkerchief.
His girlfriend has gone to sit by the window. The sight of her is filling my veins with anger.
Combined with this is the fact that Marcus did not explain he would have company when taking out our daughter.
I have seen Marcus four times in the flesh since I gave birth to Hope. Each time stinging tears have pricked my eyes. He broke my heart. He knew how much Rob hurt me when he ran off with the blonde barmaid. Marcus knew all this and still slept with my cousin.
Today, things are different. My tear ducts have just sent me an internal body memo which reads, ‘he and she who I struggle to name will not have the satisfaction of seeing me get upset.’
“Two coffees please, Roxy,” he says, giving his grey flecked hair a scratch. I know he’s nervous because the vein in his neck is bulging.
Matilda exhales loudly and proceeds to make as much noise as possible with the coffee machine.
My mother steps forward. “Marcus, nice to see you. Can I interest you in a cake or two?” Her voice is sickly sweet. She waves a manicured hand over Marge’s cakes.
He stares at them for more than a few seconds.
“They are fluffy cloud cakes, Marcus,” explains my mother.
We are all now looking at the cakes and questioning the use of the word ‘cloud.’
In my head I am willing him to take one of Marge’s husband’s Haemorrhoid cream cakes.
“Okay, yes two please.”
Matilda stifles a giggle as my mother plates up the cakes. “Roxy will bring the coffee and cakes over to you…” She pauses and looks at Mags. “To you both.”
Shaz has entered the coffee shop with a buggy, containing her son, Little Spike and Hope. Both are red faced and screaming their heads off.
“Hope is very grumpy,” moans Shaz, “I pity the poor person who has her this afternoon.”
I catch Mags giving Marcus a worried look at the sound of Hope’s upset.
“Here you are, Roxy, coffee and cake for two,” gushes my mother, gesturing towards Marcus and she who I used to call my cousin.
Shaz follows my mother’s gaze and grins. “Be a good waitress, Roxy.”
“Hello, Roxy, how have you been?”
Why didn’t she stay silent? An angry red filter slides across my eyes. “You had an affair with my boyfriend, leaving me pregnant, depressed and broken. How do you think I have been?”
She fumbles with the sleeve of her designer black leather jacket and it’s then I catch sight of her huge engagement ring, glistening in the light.
A volcano of rage erupts inside of me. Months of sadness and frustration pour out. Shoving one of Marge Pimpton’s pile cream cakes in her annoyingly symmetrical face gives me so much satisfaction.
Hearing her gag on Marge’s unusual icing ingredient is …well…the icing on the cake!
Marcus leaps to her defence. “There’s no need for that, Roxy!”
I grab the other and quickly shove it in his face too. Making sure it goes in his sculptured hair is easy.
“Do not bring her in here ever again!” I roar as they both spit out bits of Marge’s icing.
Turning on my heel, I smile and walk back to the counter.
I have broken into song for the regulars of ‘Coffee and Cwtch’.
Getting cake revenge has been the highlight of my week, actually the highlight of my year. So satisfying and I must remember to thank Marge and Frank for those special cakes.
Just tweeting Mystic Clive, ‘#whydoIeverdoubtyou’
More Roxy next week!