SIX

Fabian turned away from the window’s panoramic view and headed down the linear stair rails to his kitchen, his mind still lost in a web of memories from yesteryear.

“Good morning sir,” a sprightly voice called out from a lone white illuminated box that sat unobtrusively in the middle of his marble benchtop, bringing Fabian’s mind back to the present. It was the only presence he allowed in his house.

“Morning V,” Fabian opened his mirrored double-doored fridge and pulled out a glass of orange juice. V was his ubiquitous virtual assistant - the brainchild of Fabian Williams and one of Virtuex Holdings’ top selling innovations.

“What would you like to have for breakfast today?” the voice quipped. V had access to every part of the two-tone modern house, from Fabian’s master bedroom all the way to his garage in the basement and was, therefore, able to cater to all of Fabian’s commands.

He did not feel like eating. Not after answering the phone call earlier.

“The juice will suffice,” he took a big gulp, feeling the cold savoury juice flow down this throat before settling into his stomach. That was much better.

“Make up the bed, wash the cup and prepare the car. I’m going to shower.”

“Yes sir. By the way, Mrs Williams calling you again.”

At the mentioning of ‘Mrs Williams’, Fabian felt enraged. He slammed the glass of juice against the marbled top, causing droplets of tangerine to spill out. Suddenly the juice no longer held any temptation for him.

His thick eyebrows furrowed and his lips tightened into a thin line.

“Reject all her calls,” he said through gritted teeth and marched angrily back upstairs for a quick shower.

Contrary to Amber’s tiny little bathroom, Fabian’s washroom was a large and spacious one. A sunken bathtub lay in the middle of the bathroom with a spectacular view of the outdoors, but instead of submerging himself in a warm tub of bubbles, he stepped into a monochrome tiled enclosure and turned on the rain shower.

Needles of water from the warm stream massaged him as he stood motionless - hunched over with his head facing down, and an outstretched hand pressed against the wet wall. And as water flowed down his hair and splashed onto his bare back, his mind started to wander.

Mrs Williams. Wife to the great CEO of Williams Towers, the woman who was revered and respected by the community was not his mother.

His birth mother had been driven away by Mrs Silverman long ago, and try as he might, he could not find her. The sly fox had erased all traces of his mother.

All he could remember of his mother were her cinnamon scents and her last embrace before she was forcefully dragged away, begging and crying. He was only four then, but he remembered every heartbreaking detail. His father did nothing to stop the separation, and for that, he was filled with nothing but hatred for them.

Fabian left home for an ivy league boarding school at the age of eight and though he owed much of his luxurious upbringing to his father, he had worked his way up the success ladder by himself. Virtuex Holdings was his sweat and blood and he would die before he let anyone lay a finger on his baby.

***

“Amber!’

“Yes Margaret?” a breathless Amber popped her flour sprinkled head up from under the kneading table, banging her head in the process. Ma’s Bakery bread and pastries were handmade fresh every day.

“Sweetheart! What are you doing under the table?” Margaret rushed in from the bright blue wooden door and helped pull Amber up. There was also flour on Amber’s nose and cheeks.

“The rolling pin dropped,” she grinned, holding up her prize. Margaret laughed and tousled Amber’s hair.

“Silly girl. You can set that down, I’ll take over. I’ll need you to make a delivery to the convention centre. They’ve ordered thirty of our assorted pastries.”

Thirty! That was a lot! But she wasn't complaining, in any case, Amber was glad to see Margaret busy. Her pastries were the best and Amber loved her cinnamon rolls the most. Maybe she would grab one on the way to the convention centre.

“Is there a party?” she asked, wiping off the flour from her apron.

“Oh no, “ laughed Margaret, the woman loved to laugh, everything was funny to her. “From what I know, there’s a talk about teddies going on.”

Amber blinked and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Teddies?”

“Yes, yes,” the older woman said, her attention turning towards the large wooden desk in front of her. She started to knead into the dough, “A teddy talk or ted talk…something like that.”

Oh…a TED talk. Amber nodded with a little smile. She loved listening to people share their ideas. The speakers always seemed so wise, so knowledgable, unlike herself. She wondered if she would be able to stand on stage one day and give a presentation to thousands of spectators.

Get a grip, Amber Banks. You’re just a high school drop out on the way to make a delivery! She shook her head, mentally scolding herself as she quickly went to the counter to check the order. And as she started to load the goodies into the delivery bag, she wondered who the lucky speaker was.

***

Fabian ended his speech to rousing applause from the audience.

“Thank you all for being here this afternoon. Have a pleasant day everyone.”

More applause and soon, the bottom of the stage was filled with people, young and old, all clamouring to get his autograph. Fabian had grown up in the public eye and as such, he was used to the adulation.

“Fabian, I love you!” a busty brunette screamed, waving her iPhone in the air. He smiled and winked at her, eliciting a scream so ecstatic from the young woman that if people didn’t know better, they would have thought he was a rockstar. Women loved him.

“Fabian! Here! Look here!” Lights flashed in his face and the audience tried to take selfies with him. It was a good twenty minutes before he was successfully ushered out of the auditorium.

At the back of the auditorium, the chairman invited Fabian to their lounge. Refreshments had been prepared in advance, but Fabian did not feel like mingling around. Giving a speech was one thing – it would help boost the image of his company, but having to sit, eat and entertain a bunch of people were not his thing. The chairman, a balding middle-aged man looked like he was about to cry but Fabian being Fabian remain unmoved, so the poor man had to concede. He patted Fabian’s broad shoulder and passed him a paper bag filled with pastries.

“At least eat something, my staff were really hoping to get to meet you face to face,” the man smiled sadly, pushing his rimmed glasses back up his thick nose.

Fabian forced a smile, thanked the chairman and made a beeline for his dark grey Aston Martin which was parked just at the back of the convention centre, hidden behind some bushes. He had to shoo away a few kids who were peering into his car in awe before he managed to crawl into his vehicle.

Just as he was just about to start the engine, a motorcycle zoomed by and he thought he saw a redhead riding on it. He smiled, shaking his head, “I must be daydreaming.” Then a growl came from his stomach, he hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. Luckily the chairman, whatever his name was, had given him some food. Fabian randomly fished for a bun from within the paper bag and stuffed it into his mouth, only to freeze.

He had eaten a cinnamon roll and an extremely tasty one at that. But what struck him what how familiar the roll tasted to him – like he had eaten it before. He grabbed the brown paper bag and peered at the logo that was printed on it.

The logo showed a single framed window with an awning over it and right below the window was the name of the shop. It read ‘Ma’s Bakery.’