Page 81 of The Cake Fairies
Chapter Thirty-Seven
POLLY
“I
had intended for you to service the infamous Wimbledon queues in June, but my timings have been rather up the spout. Pop into Legoland instead as you make your way back up the M4 to London, and be a couple of darlings – well, a trio… I sense Ivy might just tag along for the ride and help the parents in a tailspin in the queues for the rides,” Amber Magnolia had ordered them. “You’ll be in their situation one day and you’ll fondly remember it. Then back to Kensington Mews for some downtime. You’re going to need it for what’s coming next.”
“What?”
Polly’s heart raced at the implications of returning to the capital. Not that Alex had been in touch. She quailed at the fleeting memory of Annabelle dashing up the stairs in that hideous flapping trench coat. It was enough to scare anybody away. And Polly hadn’t exactly been brave enough to instigate communication herself, either.
“Legoland sounds hideous!” Annabelle was reeling at the notion. “She’s damned right about her timing. All’s fair in love so long as she gets her piece of the coconuty pie… she could have let us enjoy a side helping of Djokovic in action to go withourstrawberries and cream. Think of the cake inspiration we could have used for that.”
“At best we’d have caught Cliff Richard in the crowd. I hear he once broke out into spontaneous song when it rained there. Seems it’s all about eyeing up Bradley Cooper and pals nowadays,” said Polly.
At least Ivy had been in her element, deciding where to position her very own Lego-bricked layer cake in the theme park. They’d constructed (and there was no other word for it, thanks to the dinky moulds Amber Magnolia had provided) their megaliths individually, each Fairy solely responsible for their own choice of distribution. Polly had the good sense to walk the short distance to the official site shop, plonking her offering there; her body aching from almost a year of intense baking and lugging that’d left her feeling more pack horse than person. Annabelle, on the other hand, thought the ‘poor sods’ and their perpetual re-enactment of the theme park’s pirate show were more in need of sustenance than any waiting parent. Only Ivy unknowingly delivered to brief, much to the delight of the frayed and screen-clutching adults waiting patiently in the coiling snake of a queue for the decidedly popular Lego Friends ride.
They’d been back on the pavement outside Kensington Mews for officially less than a minute when the unthinkable came to pass.
“Well, I haven’t missed this snooty residence. That useless upstart couldn’t as much as look me in the eye then when he opened the door and I took your cases to the lifts.”
Hardly surprising, when Nigel had his sunglasses welded to his face.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you told us your backstory… and why you hate Cecil so much?” Polly said, gently closing the limo door so as not to further aggravate their chauffeur, cementing her teeth together in readiness for his reply.
“He’s been nothing but extraordinarily kind to us,” Annabelle added.
Although, in fairness to Nigel (who clearly knew Cecil of old) perhaps their month in London hadn’t been enough time to judge the pages of Cecil’s book, except by its impeccable front cover and dust jacket. And Nigel himself had certainly provided a competent transportation service over the past year, even if his people skills often left much to be desired.
“Huh, making up for lost time, is he?”
Polly detected the spite in his eyes even beneath the black-out.
“Surely, whatever the bone of contention between you, you could try to forgive and forget? What is he to you? Former taxi-driving rival? Or were you once a doorman duet at The Dorchester?” Heck. Nigel’s mouth was pressing itself into a quivering and unimpressed line. “Come in with us for a cuppa,” Annabelle steamrolled on, taking her time to emerge from the back of the limo. “I’m sure Cecil could take half an hour off, ring for some cover.”
“Never!”
Polly bit her lip. Well, that was probably that then.
“Aren’t you going to get out?” he huffed at Annabelle who remained stubbornly seated. “I’ve got stuff to do, ’slebs to take places… well, a Peter Andre aftershave launch.” He shrugged as if that was supposed to mean anything to either woman. “The world doesn’t revolve around cake for all of us.”
“Right. I guess this is it then.”
Polly outstretched her hand for a shake, unsure that Nigel would be one for kisses – on the cheek or in the air – but they had to mark the parting of their ways with some kind of gesture.
“Yeah, it’s been quite the adventure,” Nigel returned the limpest of handshakes.
“So… maybe we’ll see you around some time?”
Annabelle was on the verge of uncharacteristic tears as Polly sped to the other side of the limo to help her cousin out.
In true Nigel form, he and the limo had evaporated before either Fairy could wave a hand, or a magic wand.
***
“What if he doesn’t work here anymore?”
Polly’s eyes remained transfixed by her sensible cushioned Birkenstocks. If she took her eyes off their black patent shine to look at The Toadstool’s equally shiny cherry-red and white spotted front it would make this real.
