Page 37 of The Pop-Up Cake Shop

‘Oh.’ Rosie looked alarmed. ‘Here.’ She closed the box and scrabbled in her bag for her purse.

‘No, no. We’re doing two for the price of one today,’ Ellie told her with a smile.

‘Really?’

I nodded. ‘Enjoy!’

We said goodbye and got back in the van, and they were both smiling and waving as we drove off.

I glanced at Ellie as I drove along. ‘That was really nice of you.’

She smiled. ‘They deserve it. I hope I can be as good a mum as Rosie is when this little one arrives.’ She patted her bump wistfully. ‘It must be hard being a single mum.’

‘She’s making the best of it, by the sounds of things.’

‘I guess she won’t be able to go back to work until Amelie is at school full-time.’

I nodded. ‘Even then, it’ll be difficult because her job will have to fit around school hours.’

We lapsed into silence, absorbed in our own thoughts as we drove along, until finally we arrived – almost an hour later than the previous week – at the farmers’ market in Lockley Meadow.

As we pulled into our allotted space and got out of the van, I glanced around warily, hoping that a certain pair of building site workers hadn’t noticed us arriving. With a bit of luck, they might already have been round the market.

I had a vision of them back at the site with their lunch: man-mountain Ivan tucking into a couple of his favourite meat and potato pies, while the slightly more discerning planet-saving Caleb opted for a vegetarian bap with hummus and salad.

‘I wonder if we’ll see Ivan and Caleb this week,’ said Ellie, looking around her with a grin. ‘I think you’ve got a fan there.’

My heart gave a jolt of surprise. ‘Who?’

‘Well, the lovely Ivan, of course.’

‘Oh, right.’ I felt my heart tumble a little.

‘Stall holders get more attractive all the time?’ she reminded me with a grin. ‘He was looking at you when he said it.’

‘Ivan probably says that toallthe stall-holders. Even the women in their eighties. Even themenin their eighties.’

She laughed. ‘He’s funny, though. And quite attractive in a big friendly giant sort of a way.’

‘You think so?’ I stared at her in disbelief. ‘He wasn’t exactly friendly that day he almost obliterated us with his bulldozer.’

‘No. But losing out on the lottery and having a beef with your ex about it are surely extenuating circumstances? He’s obviously not that grumpy as a rule. If he was, he’d have been locked up for his own safety long ago!’

‘Maybe.’ I shrugged, not as willing to forgive him quite as easily as Ellie apparently was.

I took another look across at the building site, just in case danger should appear. Then I turned back and smiled at an older couple who’d wandered up to the van and were asking about our individual Bakewell tarts.

‘Are they fresh?’ asked the woman, peering at them suspiciously. ‘We got your leaflet and it says you’re doing your bit to save food being wasted. But does that mean it’s all past its sell-by date?’

‘Well, no. They were actually all baked in the last two days, and bakes like these are more likely to have a ‘best before’ date than a ‘sell-by’ date.’

‘As long as they’re stored correctly,’ added Ellie, ‘cakes can stay fresh for quite a while.’

‘Really?’ The woman didn’t look at all convinced.

‘Yes. Some cakes actually improve with age. Like ginger cake, for instance, or golden syrup cake,’ explained Ellie with a smile. ‘We happen to have one of each today, if you’re interested?’ She held up the ginger loaf cake, wrapped in its cellophane and priced at one pound.

The man grinned. ‘You’re so fussy, Carol. You do realise you can probably make two Christmas cakes and store one away for the following year and it would still taste good when you came to eat it?’

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