Page 37 of The Cake Fairies
Chapter Twenty
ANNABELLE
Annabelle knew that fireworks would be par for the course. The crackle in the air was palpable when she opened the front door. But she hadn’t expected that she and Ivy would walk back into a full-on food fight.
Cake mixture dotted the walls in psychedelic patterns, as if Polly was trying to transport kitsch cool to the land of the contemporary. It pooled on the floor and it dripped from her (there was no other word for it this morning) total birds’ nest of a hairdo, too. It was all Annabelle could do not to laugh.
Polly stood alone in the kitchen, eyes glaring red. The final peals of what must’ve been quite a strenuous burst of laughter rang out from the vicinity of the living-room.
“Stay here, Ivy, help Polly clean up.” Annabelle dumped several punnets of flower-topped strawberries, as well as blueberries, on top of the island. You never saw bounty like this in the village. You’d be lucky to see bounty at all! “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, won’t be a minute.”
A sheepish Alex peeped out at her from behind the shield of a fluffy cushion as she marched into the next room. He couldn’t have looked more adorable, but Polly was the only family she had in this time and space, and from now on she simply had to put the girl’s feelings ahead of her own. Despite the fact she wanted nothing more than to slam the door, put on a little sexy music, take off her clothes, jump on the guy in front of her, and snog his face off.
And that was just for starters.
“Hey, did you get the berries? Listen, I swear I didn’t do it.”
She marvelled at the freak sensation that was fancying someone yet pretending not to fancy them. All at the very same time. She should be an actress, not a sodding Cake Fairy.
“Well somebody clearly did something. She’s incandescent out there,” she said. “What the hell happened, Alex? And what is with you constantly setting off accidents? That’s the third in three days – not including my own, of course.”
“I was only trying to help. She didn’t, couldn’t,wouldn’tlisten to me.”
He let the cushion drop to his thoroughly gorgeous lap and held his hands up in surrender. Annabelle silently thanked him profusely for a timely distraction. Alex didn’t need to say another word, because in that very moment, everything became clear.
“She didn’t fix the top on the food mixer, did she?” Annabelle shouldn’t join in, really, she shouldn’t, but this was so pig-headedly typical of Polly that any guilt at running away – again – dissipated in a heat haze. All of which meant she could no longer quell her bubbling chortles. Her cousin just wouldn’t be told, no matter the subject. The same result, different sets of ingredients, had come to pass umpteen times back in Middle Ham. It was exasperating but Polly insisted she knew best when it came to her trial and error approaches with the bread maker, electric whisk and the deep fat fryer – the latter mercifully sparing her face.
Alex scrunched up his own face then. It looked painful: “Er… no… I mean yes, I mean…”
Annabelle grabbed a cushion, too, pressing it to her mouth to contain her giggles, and Alex bit into his. How were they ever going to get this mammoth cake constructed, and drop one completed? How was she ever going to keep up this façade?
***
Half an hour later, Polly was back in the kitchen in adeja vuthat had a now composed Annabelle rubbing her eyes. Evidently Ivy had shared some of her pearls of wisdom with Polly, on what a catch Alex was. It was the only explanation. She’d said much the same to Annabelle when they’d been out getting the fruit.
“He’s just so freakin’ Chris Martin-ish… well, a younger version thereof, and with longer hair. I’ddohim anyway…”
Her words floated around the bejewelled wonders of the fruit stall, where such exoticisms as Sharon fruit, custard fruit and papaya had vied for Annabelle’s attention.
Perhaps Annabelle should keep her eyes peeled for a Chris Martin of her own. There was a cake to tempt everyone, and she’d soon reel him in with one of her exclusive creations…
The morning’s chaos was soon forgotten, and Annabelle and Ivy had a gas of an afternoon. It was fascinating to watch Adonis in action. If the Swedish summer cake was a Christmas tree, it would have taken pride of place in Trafalgar Square. Tonight’s recipients couldn’t fail to be impressed. Alex’s simple yet elegant decoration screamed all things less-is-more. Nobody would be able to resist a slice – and, they hoped, take the perfect opportunity to silence their phones for a little millennial mindfulness.
Ivy had floated off on cloud nine as the decadent layers of fairy-light sponge, rich vanilla, freshly whipped cream, and super-sweet berries mingled on her tongue. They’d constructed a miniature version of the Scandi cake just for her, succeeding in prising her away from her technological notifications for all of half an hour. While Annabelle wasn’t sure this was ground-breaking enough for celebration, Ivy assured them she couldn’t recall the last time in her waking moments when she’d done so much cold turkey.
“Find me something on Instagram and I’ll magic it up,” Alex tempted her back to her virtual reality, and Ivy was in her element, sifting and sorting through cake accounts at such an electrifying speed that Annabelle now understood how the undeniable bend in her fingers had come to pass.
“I’ve got it. Cake pops!” she whooped, and Annabelle couldn’t help but join in, once she’d snatched a glimpse of the intriguing little pastel-coloured cake balls balanced atop what appeared to be lollipop sticks.
“That’s such an inventive idea,” she cooed. “I can’t wait to taste them. Are they quick to make?”
“I spotted some doweling rods in the cupboard when I was hunting down the sugar. Make me lunch and I’ll show you a little wizardry.”
“I really don’t want Ivy’s taste buds confused with all of that before she’s tried the rest of our London bakes,” Polly party pooped. “There is such a thing as sugar-overload, and the assignment has to take priority.”
“Sounds like somebody’s running scared of the competition,” Alex said.
“Like I said, I run a bakery.”
