Page 6 of The Cake Fairies
Chapter Five
POLLY
Annabelle had been bouncy all morning, unable to contain her joy. She was just like one of those irksome kids on a pogo stick who sometimes catapulted themselves into the bakery, leaving Polly with her heart in her mouth.
It rankled as Polly, as ever, remained calm and neutral. Many were the times she’d wanted to suggest that they trade names. She’d gladly gift her cousin the name Polly, which would suit her buoyant and bubbly outlook perfectly. And then, of course, Polly herself would become just Belle; the French for simply beautiful. But that could only happen in her dreams. Her cousin would always be the one with the glamorous gilded edge.
“Did you win on the football pools, or something?” Sarcasm spilled unbidden from her lips.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I don’t do sport,” said Annabelle, fluffing up her already perfectly coiffured golden locks.
“What then? ’Cos from where I’m standing,something’sclearly happened.”
There it was again, a grin expanding so quickly it could rival the Cheshire Cat’s. Yes, their bakery extracted oohs and ahhs from the gloomiest of characters, but this mile-wide smile of Annabelle’s was extra-sunny even for her. This morning, Polly’s kindred spirit cake cousin had morphed into a bottle of champagne that’d been lit by a box of fireworks.
For a moment Polly wondered if Annabelle had somehow pulled off an evening of weed, campfire, caravans and The Rolling Stones in her bedroom. But no; her parents were so overprotective – and Aunt Jemima’s sense of smell was as acute as a Basset Hound, so that put paid to that.
“Why does anything have to happen for me to feel like life is wonderful – positively overflowing with opportunities?”
Polly put her hands on her hips. Okay then, Annabelle had been possessed by a demon. It was the only explanation. She looked on in dismay, eyebrows scraping the ceiling, as the blond vision before her took to prancing about on the customer side of the bakery with the broom, swaying it this way and that as if she were about to take to the stage in a rock ‘n’ roll band.
“Aha. It’s a man. I knew it.”
And then Polly’s brain caught up with the implications of that very notion. She’d be all on her tod.
Annabelle stopped immediately, composing herself within seconds as if she could read Polly’s mind. “It’s anythingbuta bloke, if you must know,” she said, and Polly believed her instantly. “And don’t you see what you did right there? My God, Kitty would adopt you if she didn’t have kids of her own.” Annabelle gasped at the unchecked flurry of her own words, pressing a hand to her mouth too late. “I’m sorry… that came out all wrong, I didn’t mean—”
Polly ignored the wallop to her solar plexus. It wasn’t a body part many were generally clued up to, but that was a perk of living so close to the spiritual town of Glastonbury and inadvertently reading about all manner of new-age ideas in local publications. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t.” She continued to zigzag bright pink royal icing onto her tray of finger buns, hoping they’d sell out when the usual throngs of children marched in at twenty-to-four on the dot.
The stark contrast between her family and Annabelle’s suddenly stood out as strongly as her luminous glaze. She felt the familiar regret that she’d not had more years with her mother and father. Despite their harsh exteriors, they’d furnished her with financial security, even if their idea of parental love had been a puzzle. She had to be grateful for that.
“No, it’s not okay,” Annabelle pushed forward with the broom, then glanced at the clock, evidently as mindful as Polly that they were just ten minutes away from opening to the usual stream of early morning shoppers, wicker baskets and tartan shopping trolleys at the ready. “It’s not okay at all… but it will be, very soon.”
