Page 23 of The Pop-Up Cake Shop

Over the following few weeks, we leafleted all five villages we were planning to visit to let people know we’d be there at a certain time each week. We figured that after that first announcement through villagers’ letterboxes, word of mouth would probably be enough to sustain interest in the cake van, week after week.

With everything organised, I couldn’t wait for the following Wednesday.

Our first cake run . . .

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That morning, Fen drove over early with her mouth-watering contribution: a large baker’s tray full of Danish pastries, shortbread biscuits and a few gingerbread men, plus a couple of jam-filled doughnuts, some raspberry and white chocolate muffins, and two lemon drizzle loaf cakes.

We transferred the tray straight from Fen’s boot to the van, ready to get on the road. Ellie had already produced a list of goodies which she’d stuck on the inside of one of the back doors so that when they were open, customers could see the prices at a glance.

‘I did these for you as well,’ Fen said, collecting a box from the passenger seat of her car. And Ellie and I chuckled with delight when she lifted the lid to reveal a dozen cupcakes with two words in pink icing on top, clearly baked specially for our first day on the road.

She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t fit “travelling” on there as well, so I had to make do with “cake van”.’

‘Fen, they’re fabulous!’ Beaming, Ellie placed them carefully next to the tray in the van.

I nodded in agreement. ‘My stomach’s rumbling just looking at all these gorgeous bakes but I guess we’d better save them for our customers.’

Maddy was going to be in charge while we were away and we were due at our first stop, the village of Henley Green, by ten o’clock. So, after loading the van with our own selection of cakes and pastries – which included chocolate chip brownies, iced ginger cake, half a dozenpains au chocolatand some individual slices of Victoria sandwich cake at the bargain price of 30p each – we were finally ready to set off.

We’d plotted our route the night before, and the drive would take in all five villages in a rough circle, eventually ending back at Sunnybrook, the starting point.

The village of Henley Green – the first ever stop for the Travelling Cake Van – was six miles away, and I lapsed into silence as I drove along.

Would anyone actually turn up at the van when we arrived?

‘You okay?’ Ellie smiled across at me. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. I was... well, I was just trying to think whatmyreaction would be to getting a leaflet through the door advertising cakes at knock-down prices sold from an old, but beautifully decorated, van.’

‘And howwouldyou react?’

I chuckled. ‘To be honest, I’d probably be first in the queue. Especially knowing that the cakes were from the Little Duck Pond Café and the Brambleberry Manor Café.’

‘Well, there you are, then. It’s going to be a great success.’ She grinned at me. But then her face changed to an anxious grimace and she crossed the fingers on both hands. ‘We can but try, Katja. And if it doesn’t work, we haven’t lost anything.’

‘Except the cost of the leafleting. And the rust work on the van.’

‘True. But itwillwork. I’ll recoup the outlay eventually. I’m sure of it. Well, I’malmostsure.’

We exchanged a rueful grin.

‘I suppose it’s the same with every business,’ I remarked. ‘You had no idea the café would be a success when you started it. Or the bakery. Or the baking school. Or the glamping site.’

Ellie smiled. ‘True. It’s always a gamble. But you have to take a risk in business – a calculated risk, at any rate – otherwise you’d never get anywhere. But so far, it seems to have paid off for me. Thank goodness.’

I glanced at Ellie, suddenly aware that she was looking quite business-like in her black maternity trousers, sombre loafers, dark green top and black gilet. By contrast, I probably looked as if I was off for a day by the sea in my jeans and white trainers, little pink top and my best winter white puffa jacket.

‘Do you think I’m dressed appropriately?’ I asked her, doubtfully. ‘To meet customers, I mean.’

She looked over and frowned. ‘You’re fine. You look lovely.’

‘Are you sure? I just wish I’d worn something a bit less revealing.’ I pinged the lowish scooped neckline of my top. I’d worn my best clothes to give me a bit of confidence. But now I wished I’d given my outfit more thought. We’d be visiting a farmers’ market in Lockley Meadow and a smart white puffa jacket was hardly appropriate for tramping around a potentially muddy village green! ‘I’ll choose something buttoned up to the neck next time.’

Ellie chuckled. ‘We’re not Victorians. You can dress how you like.’

When we drew into the village, I let out a gasp. ‘Oh, heavens, look!’ Five women were clustered in a group at the edge of the village green. ‘Are those people waiting for a bus? Or are they actually waiting forus?’

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