anytime is good for cake, of course, but this time of year, there’s a tiny bit more than usual in this household: october is the kid’s birthday, and then mine in november, and two weeks ago, right at the start of december, the boy’s.

i’d been wondering out loud a few days prior such things as “would you like a chocolate passionfruit tart?” and “what about an old skool cream sponge from the vietnamese bakery? what about a lamington cream sponge??”, but on the day, he requested a pavlova, with passionfruit, and that was that.

except it sort of wasn’t. monday morning, i set the refrigerated eggs on the kitchen counter so they’d be perfect room temperature when the time came for the beating. i took the kid to music class; we went out for birthday dimsum. and then mid-afternoon, we returned home, and i discovered that the eggs had been returned to the fridge. such callous and violent efficiency makes me want to weep. (and maybe i did weep? i can’t remember.)

a couple hours later, back on the bench, the eggshells were still cool to the touch, and i made the fool decision to proceed anyway. the beating of the eggwhites was not a success. well, it was a partial success, but the peaks to which we aspired did not eventuate. and then the hour and a half of baking, and the instructions to cool completely in the oven… as time went by, it became painfully and sorrowfully clear that there would be no birthday pavlova.

but there was day-after-birthday pavlova. and that turned out ok. better than, even. the meringue was a bit spongier than i’d like, but covered in a big, fluffy doona of whipped cream, a couple of sliced-up mangoes and a drizzle of passionfruit, it had no reason to feel a lesser cake. truly, a golden moment.

here’s what you might do with your cream, if you make a mango pavlova. whip your cream as normal, perhaps adding some vanilla extract along the way. when it reaches optimum consistency, gently fold in a small tub of peach and mango yoghurt. hell, beat some more, if you like. the yoghurt gives a fresh tang to the cream, and a little voluptuous body, and the bits of fruit — bells and whistles, sure, but who doesn’t like a little jingle-jangle from time to time.

this was the first pavlova i’d made since acquiring an electric mixer — how could it have been so long since the last one? — and it made me feel like i should be whipping them up every couple of weeks from now on.

but not for the boy. no longer. over the last few weeks, he’s packed his stuff, moved it all into a corner in the loungeroom. it’s a large corner, which shrank substantially this morning when his dad loaded a portion of it into a trailer, and drove off into the country with it. the rest goes after xmas, with the boy. there is sadness hanging over us, and regret. and relief, and warmth. ten years is a long time, but god, it went by quick. so clear, the memory of exchanging numbers on the train back to the city on mardi gras night, and sitting at the base of the rusted metal pubic art on the hill at sydney park, looking at my sneakers… a headphone bud, bursting with accordians from “amelie”, being slipped into my ear on an overnight bus from hue.