Page 52 of The Cake Fairies
“I beg your pardon?”
“Or a pop: take your pick.”
“You do realise, madam; that you can’t just come here selling food without a licence. Does look good though; I’ll give you that,” the bouncer sniffed uncouthly. Polly could practically hear his stomach growling, too.
“Oh, it’s free,’ Annabelle said. “We thought we’d give you a helping hand. We run a bakery, so this little number has only been thrown together with the daily off-cuts. No big deal. It’s just, we’ve heard about all of the…incidents,” she mouthed the word as if they were both in the secret service. “I’m sure we can make a difference tonight. If you’ll give us your blessing.”
The security guard sniffed again, then visibly softened. “Here: Bryn, Jonno; come yonder. Might have a little wager for you to partake in.”
And that was that. Annabelle’s swagger had attracted not three, but six of the club’s burly doormen, and one pound coin bets had been placed; Jonno, the most optimistic of the bunch, was set to win enough for a kebab if the Cake Fairies delivered.
It looked dicey at first. A trickle, then a mob, of perspiring bodies burst out of the doors and onto the broad steps of the club; virtually every one of them clutching a phone, nobody going anywhere very fast as they checked up on the social media activity they’d missed over the last few hours, yet everyone moving in a wild and disorienting fug – with more than a tidal wave of the aforementioned shreddedLevis. Polly could barely watch the scene unfold for fear that all their hard work would get trampled on. But amidst the growing crowd, Jonno winked and cocked his head. Revellers were starting not only to notice, but to graze. No mean feat in itself, since all the utensils they’d been provided with were plastic, as per Amber Magnolia’s exacting – and in this case, sensible – instructions.
The blissful feeling was fleeting, though. The lemon and mascarpone masterpiece was surrounded, like the centre piece of a birthday party where Musical Chairs had just ended and a flock of four-year-olds needed to refuel, ready for Pin the Tail on the Donkey. And a fight had already broken out. And of course, now those very mobile phones were poised to broadcast live to Facebook and Twitter. Not forgetting Instagram TV.
“Flip. I knew this was a mistake.” Polly covered her mouth, aghast, wishing Alex was there. She missed the air of protection that he exuded. She was in half a mind to call for Nigel, so they could scarper to safety.
The security guards squared up assertively to the ruckus but did little to control the crowd. Then Polly spotted Jonno running through the masses, holding high a posy of cake pops. The effect was nothing short of a miracle. Little by little, spats broke up, and Polly would have liked to say that every gadget was relegated to its owner’s back pocket. But what was captured on camera was a joy. Jonno was a balloon man; the magician making sausage dogs and flowers at rich kids’ birthday parties. His audience was captivated, all the more so when he asked everyone to kindly step back and revel in the star attraction: a quintuple-tiered Easter-chick hued cake.
Mellow yellow. Ivy had been right.
Within moments, the once-threatening scene before them had transformed itself to the bonhomie of an afternoon tea party. Hits had become hugs, evil glances were now ecstatic whoops at the taste bud-tingling delivery of Annabelle’s cake pops, and chaos was replaced by chatter of the most convivial.
“Our work here is done.” Polly sighed in relief, gut instinct telling her they should leave the party while it was still on the right kind of high. The kind that would ripple out with good deeds, just as the Swedish summer cake had.
Deliver they had. And it was nice to think that Jonno had probably also secured himself some pudding to go with his kebab.
***
Today’s task, in comparison, seemed a whole lot easier, if not more than a little heart-wrenching: a cake drop for the homeless. And now Polly was relieved that they’d kept the churros layer cake back, thanks to Ivy’s Eureka moment. Yes, they’d have to make a fresh batch of the crisp yet doughy churro sticks and reconstruct their meticulous birds’ nest on top of the towering sponges, but this would make the perfect gift for those who were genuinely hungry.
It would also take Polly’s mind off the worrying fact that Alex had gone AWOL. Annabelle had called him again last night, leaving a message on his voicemail to get in touch about the Fortnum’s date. Polly had been sitting apprehensively by her side on the couch, nursing yet another glass of cava – well, a little fizz was most definitely due in celebration of surviving the Fe Fi Fo-dom. Butterflies, and seemingly every other species of winged insect, took hostage of her stomach, as her cousin suggested he get on with the booking.
“Polly can do Monday through to Friday next week,” she’d asserted into the phone as if she were her cousin’s PA, once they were snug and settled in their pyjamas, Ivy having crashed out in the guest room. “She’ll meet you there at the tearooms. We get that you’re busy, but please call back to confirm day and time. She’s looking forward to it… though I’m willing to bet we’re talking about the cake a little more than the company.” Annabelle paper-clipped on a chuckle and briskly rang off.
“I can’t believe you said that!”
And, for the briefest of moments, Polly wished she’d learnt the ins and outs of mobile phone operation, when Cecil had tagged it onto their computer tuition. But frankly the Internet was taxing enough. The only reason she was interested in any of this pioneering techie stuff was the access it gave her to recipes – okay, and the modern dictionary. All right, and then there was that goosebump-inducing YouTube clip from thatGhostmovie, when Patrick conducted magic with his hands as well. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t watched it half a dozen times already.
She quickly blinked her fluster away.
“I’m only telling the truth,” Annabelle had protested.
Polly had smiled a tired but happy smile. There was sure to be a good reason for Alex’s lack of contact; a good reason like work. His commitment to cake radiated enough energy to light up all of London. That much she could tell from the short time she’d known him. She couldn’t wait for this date. Eyes half-closed, she’d relegated her glass to the table beside the couch and let sleep have its restorative way with her, and for once didn’t even worry when she realised she hadn’t brushed the day’s tangles from her hair.
***
A weary Ivy slid across the coffee pot, snapping Polly out of her 11am daydream. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be? Surely, he’d have called by now. If only to acknowledge that he’d listened to Annabelle’s message. If only to assure her he was making the reservation. He couldn’t have seemed keener the other night. It didn’t make sense.
“WhereisAnnabelle?”
“Hmm?” Polly blinked fast in a bid to focus on Ivy’s question. Another caffeine fix was the only way forward. “Sorry. Miles away there. My cousin said she needed some fresh air, and we’ve run out of cake ingredient staples. Two birds, one stone.” Polly guessed that proverb was still in use today, anyway.
But it turned out to be three birds. Or rather two and a half magpies. When Annabelle finally returned to the apartment, cheeks flushed with the kind of glow that suggested there might be a brand new man inherlife, she wasn’t quite flanked with the bevvy of brown paper deli and market carriers that Polly had imagined. Instead, she skipped to the island and hefted a deluge of posh boutique bags onto its surface instead, beaming at her catch.
“Riiight. What’s all this? I thought you were getting the lemons… and the eggs… the butter… and the milk…” Polly wrinkled her brow in dismay.
“Eek. Looks like I forgot,” Annabelle pressed her palm to her forehead, showcasing a new and exquisite piece of costume jewellery in the process. At least, Polly assumed it wasn’t a real emerald trying its best to knock her out with its dazzle.
