Page 2 of The Pop-Up Cake Shop

At that moment, she looked over, saw the pair of us and waved frantically. Then the trolley was being steered swiftly in our direction.

‘Is everything okay, Mrs Aitken?’ I asked.

‘Not really,’ squeaked a hot and flushed-looking Mrs Aitken. ‘I’ve got a hoard of ten-year-olds at home and I’ve got nothing to feed them.’ She glanced round in agitation. ‘Harold’s supposed to be helping. He’s parking the car. Where on earthishe?’

‘You – um – lost your ears.’ Ellie pointed. ‘I’ll go and get them for you.’

‘Oh. Thank you, dear.’ Mrs Aitken flumped over the trolley handle with a big sigh. ‘It’s my granddaughter Bella’s birthday today and we promised her a fabulous party.’

‘Bella’s okay now?’ I asked. I knew the family had been through hell over the past year, little Bella having been diagnosed with leukaemia.

‘Yes. She’s good. She got the all-clear a fortnight ago.’

‘Oh, that’s brilliant.’

‘Thank you, Katja. Yes, it’ssucha relief. So anyway, Harold had the great idea of organising a Mad Hatter’s tea party for her birthday this afternoon. All very last-minute, but that’s Harold for you!’ She grinned ruefully. ‘So we managed to get a marquee in the garden, invited twenty or so of her little friends – and then would you believe the bloomin’ caterer let us down. A mix-up with the booking, apparently. Not sure if it was their fault orours. It was all done in such a hurry. But now we’ve got a party withzero cake.’

‘Oh, no.’ Automatically, I glanced at my watch. ‘When are the children arriving?’

‘They’re there already,’ she said faintly, looking as if she was about to break down and weep over the contents of her trolley. ‘The party started ten minutes ago. But thankfully, we hired a Taylor Swift look-alike to provide the entertainment and there’s face-painting afterwards. But the actual tea party is at four o’clock, and all I’ve got in the cupboard is the remains of the sad-looking Christmas cake my sister-in-law made and some stale Jammy Dodgers.’

Ellie came back with the ears, and a fed-up Mrs Aitken thanked her and jammed them back on her head. People were walking past us, nudging each other and trying to hide their smiles at the sight of a giant, depressed-looking white rabbit flumped dejectedly over a supermarket trolley.

I quickly explained the situation to Ellie and she frowned down at the dozens of individual portions of strawberry cheesecake we’d watched Mrs Aitken shovelling in from the shelf.

‘I think we can do better than that,’ she said.

Mrs Aitken looked up at her. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. And it won’t cost you a fortune, either.’

Mrs Aitken stared in wonder from Ellie to me and back again. ‘Oh, my goodness, do you happen to be a couple of superheroes in disguise?’

Ellie grinned. ‘Yeah, our capes are in the wash. No, Katja and I were just talking about food wastage in the café and how much surplus we have left over every week that we often don’t know what to do with. The food bank has rules and regulations around fresh food donations, so that can be tricky. Fen and Maddy will be baking lots of fresh stuff tomorrow morning, but the cakeswe’ve got left over are still perfectly good.So...’ Ellie frowned. ‘Sorry, I’m just trying to think what we’ve got.’ She looked at me.

I nodded. ‘There’s a good selection of muffins – chocolate and blueberry and salted caramel – and a couple of Victoria sandwich cakes. Maybe three. And there’s some traybakes that could be cut up into small portions?’

Mrs Aitken’s eyes had lit up with hope. ‘Your cakes and pastries are always so gorgeous.’

‘The Brambleberry Manor Café has the same problem with waste,’ murmured Ellie, looking at me. ‘They might be able to help as well.’

‘We could give Fen a call and whizz over there if they’ve got anything we can have.’

‘Don’t you have to get back to pack for New York?’ Ellie glanced at her watch.

‘Oh, there’s plenty of time for that.’ I smiled at Mrs Aitken. ‘I’ve never been a superhero before. I quite fancy the idea.’

‘Well, you’d be saving our bacon, that’s for sure. And helping to make a brave little girl very happy on her birthday.’ Tears had sprung to Mrs Aitken’s eyes. ‘Ah, here’s Harold now,’ she announced, as a burly-looking man dressed as the Mad Hatter strode towards us. The costume looked several sizes too small for his big frame, the buttons of his fancy waistcoat straining dangerously, but he looked in good spirits nonetheless.

Mrs Aitken patted her husband’s arm. ‘Ellie and Katja were saying they might be able to help, Harold.’ She brushed her tears away and beamed at us. ‘You must call me Maggie, by the way.’

*****

‘Fen says that would be no problem at all,’ I reported to Ellie after phoning our friend – whose family owned the Brambleberry Manor Café – and explaining the problem. ‘She’sgot a surplus of gingerbread men, French fancies and a whole Bakewell tart, and we’re welcome to have them for Bella’s party.’

‘That’s brilliant.’ Ellie smiled as she drove into Sunnybrook and took a left along the street towards the Little Duck Pond Café.

‘She’s going to pack them all up and have them ready for us when we arrive.’

---