Page 40 of The Cake Fairies
“Am I to do a circuit or will you find your own way back? I can’t exactly park around here, else I’ll set off God knows how many security cameras and land myself slap bang in the middle of the six o’clock freakin’ news.”
“You’re all right, Nige. We’ve got our Oyster cards.”
He sped off into the dusk without a backward glance, and Polly and Annabelle tentatively descended into the Underground once more, balancing boxes with an acrobatic skill they hadn’t known they possessed.
“I wish you’d listened to me when I said we should stop at five layers. Eight is plain idiocy,” Polly struggled to keep up with an over-jazzed Annabelle, who was almost breaking into a treacherous sprint with her part of the load. “I’ve no idea how we’re going to assemble these at the speed of light and then do a runner before anyone questions us. We’re going to look so blinking suspicious. Not to mention ridiculous.”
“Alex seemed sure it would work.”
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?”
For a moment, Polly wished she could have been a sneaky fly on the wall, howling with laughter as Alex put his own money (Swedish cake) where his mouth was, and carried out drop number one on their behalf.
But that wasn’t happening. She caught up with her cousin just as a robotic ‘mind the gap’ warning welcomed them. It was now or never. They could sit on a bench and deliberate the pitfalls of their plan, or they could suck it up and get it over and done with.
“Let’s be brave. I’ll hop on first,” said Annabelle.
With the image of a king-sized bath, bed, and fluffy dressing gown waiting to reward her in the apartment, Polly needed little persuasion.
The carriage was remarkably uncrowded, compared to her first experience on the Tube. She wasn’t sure if this was preferable to the cushioning of a little hustle and bustle, or not. But it was the hand they’d been dealt. Now they had to get savvy and play it.
Men in suits talked inanely to themselves while scrolling fingers and thumbs across screens of various sizes, although on closer inspection they had wires dangling out of their ears so Polly guessed this must be part and parcel of the latest technological advance in phone calling. Mid-carriage, a vicar fiddled with his dog collar, engrossed in the words of whoever was on the end of his phone, while a row of shoppers had forgotten all about their goodie bags, enrapt by the contents of their mobile phones instead, and so robotically in sync that Polly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Further along a trio of girls chewed rhythmically on gum as their thumbs expertly padded at their gadget keys; the middle girl intermittently glancing across the carriage at the boy sitting opposite. Sadly, he was nowhere near as smitten; eyes only for his phone, ears only for the incessant drumbeat thrusting out of his headphones.
“Where’s the neighbourly spirit?” Annabelle whispered, her thoughts mirroring Polly’s. “Everyone’s so wrapped up in a world of their own. It actually feels a little hostile.”
Annabelle gestured at some empty seats at the end of the carriage just as another monotone Tannoy announcement informed them that,due to an incident at Embankment, the Piccadilly line is experiencing a fifteen-minute delay. We do apologise for any inconvenience and service will resume shortly.
A unanimous groan filled the compartment and Polly imagined it echoing its way along the length of the train to the poor driver. On the other hand, this might work in their favour. From the seats in the distance that they’d set their sights on, Polly could turn her back on most of the passengers, assemble the layers of sponge, and deftly scarper – with Annabelle, of course, in tow.
She followed her cousin’s lead, surprised that nobody was remotely interested in their cardboard juggling act, or the fact that their noses and mouths were obscured by ramshackle stacked boxes.
But somebody saw their wild and terrified eyes. A woman standing by the doors, dressed head to toe in a riot of colour, with a large yellow flower secured at the side of her head, greeted them both with an exuberant smile as they flumped, as gently as possible, into seats near her.
“Looks can be deceiving,” the Hispanic-looking woman took it upon herself to inform them. “Everyone is equal in this place for a snippet of time, and that changes everything: Just watch what happens next.”
Polly and Annabelle set their boxes aside on another couple of empty seats, and, as if she’d been waiting especially for them to show up, the stunning female struck up an emotive piece of music from the stereo resting next to her – Polly guessed it must be flamenco – twisted her arms and her hands this way and that above her head, stamped her feet, then pulled a fan out from between her breasts, and spooled her way up the carriage like a serpent to the hypnotic beat.
“Did you just see…?”
“You can keep your Costa Blanca, Kitty,” Annabelle cheered. “Spain comes to London town!”
At first, Polly couldn’t help but gawp as the passengers’ eyes remained stubbornly transfixed by their various forms of personal entertainment. If loud colours and music couldn’t distract them, what chance did she and her cousin have with cake? But, gradually, curiosity got the better of people, smiles breaking out on the least likely faces, earphones temporarily removed. Two of the teenage girls stood to join in, swishing imaginary skirts and twirling around, their joy infectious – the third capturing everything (for YouTube’s benefitno doubt). The vicar patted his knees, bobbing his head in sync with the beat, and now teen number three had relegated her phone to her seat, unwrapping and rewrapping her scarf around her shoulders like a makeshift flamenco shawl, she began to do the Charleston (each to their own) with her hands. Even the businessmen struggled to keep their train of thought, eyes lighting up at the unexpected burst of late afternoon entertainment; one of them had even started to clap in that brittle, business-like Andalucian style.
The woman curtsied amidst a riotous applause, and after anoléof glorious gusto, she picked her way fairy-like back to her seat, switched off her stereo and moved closer to Polly and Annabelle as if none of it had even happened.
“Wow. That was something else!” Polly said.
“Do you… er… do this all the time?” chirped an incredulous Annabelle.
“I’m quite a newbie to The Big Smoke. But I’ve done my fair share of shows back inEspaña, so you could say that, yes.” She emitted a husky chuckle.
“It certainly brightens up the commute,” said Polly.
“What about you two? I hope you don’t mind me saying you don’t look like you’re from these parts yourselves.”
“Well, who is?” giggled Annabelle nervously. “London’s one giant melting pot, after all.”
“Very true,miquerida.”
