Page 84 of The Cake Fairies
Amazingly, both brothers seemed to grasp within seconds that resistance was absolutely futile.
***
Polly looked up from the sofa and gasped, berating herself inwardly for only applying a slick of mascara that morning, not to mention leaving the apartment door off the catch amidst the frenzy of holding two grown men and a layer cake hostage.
Well, how could she possibly have predicted this?
“I heard you were back… and I… wondered if you’d seen any of these?” Alex tapped at the bundle of DVDs lodged under his arm, hovering uncertainly at the living-room’s entrance. “Well, possibly not with all the baking and stuff.”
A thousand words floated around Polly’s head, and yet attempting to catch a syllable in a net so she could set it free and express it on her tongue was like trying to herd a swarm of hummingbirds.
“Iseeyourdoormanisenjoyingwhatlookslikesomekindofgingersnaplatticecakebytheway.” The man standing before her wittered on so fast that his own words began to fuse together, and it was all she could do to extract and decipher them. “Plus, some idiot who thinks he’s an eighties popstar,” he added breathlessly, and Polly gasped again, feet willing her to do a hokey cokey down the stairs. Things certainly weren’t looking quite as healthy as that between brothers when Annabelle had finally relinquished control of the door and they’d both pegged it back to the penthouse to flee the backdraught of fury. This she had to see! And yet the sight of Alex welded her buttocks helplessly to the spot. “Anyway, I’ll just leave them here… and you to it. Unless?”
Her second chance couldn’t have been packaged more enticingly before her in a gift box complete with satin bow.
But what was the point, now he’d bagged himself a girlfriend? Polly couldn’t face the all-consuming feeling of rejection again, or the prospect of two-timing. Evidently, the invite that lingered in the doorway was his way of having his cake and eating it. Well, he could damn well forget that. Frankly, she’d rather be a spinster.
“I haven’t changed my mind. My cousin set you straight about that.”
She tacked on the latter. And one hell of a tacky addition it was. As cheap as the version of Annabelle who’d embarrassingly handed herself to Alex on a plate that day. Why did she have to stoop equally low?
“All right. I can see I’ve been defeated. And I know I’m no match for your decision-making. I had been offered an extension on my contract here. I was debating it, living in wild hope that you’d come back. But now you’ve made my mind up, so I guess I ought to thank you for that bit at least. There’s nothing left for me in London. Not without you, Polly Williams.”
“It would never work.”
Her voice rang out in a hideous monotone which she hoped filled his eardrums with a little more sweetness than it did hers. Or maybe not. For if he heard it the way she did, it’d make this whole thing so much easier to wrap up.
“It would never work.”
He whispered it back to her, sounding less than convinced of the affirmation, feet planted resolutely on the living-room floor anyway. But that stupid Taz colleague of his had said what he’d said. What choice did Polly have, unless she wanted to be a doormat? She’d be going home to play that role for her brothers as it was. It made little sense to stay here, suck up Alex’s fake proposal and do the same.
With wobbly limbs and trembling hands, Polly took the top DVD from the impressive pile Alex had placed on the coffee table between them, slipping it into the player opposite the sofa, unsure what would be waiting for her.
A fuzzy screen quickly became an animated news reporter holding a futuristic mic that looked like one of the Queen’s soldiers’ hats. He stood outside an electronics megastore on a non-descript trading estate beneath a duvet of slate-grey clouds; cars and people whipping past him to find spaces and – presumably – bargains.
“It’s the phenomenon that’s leaving psychologists and consumer experts completely baffled: mobile phone sales are in decline for the first time in twenty-five years.”
“What’s all the commotion down there? I thought we said we’d watch a movie tonight?” a booming female voice cut through the reportage.
Oh God. Now things were going to get very awkward.
“There’s seemingly no rhyme or reason,” store manager Kiltie Jackson, armed with the cutest of tabby cats, elaborated upon the situation in a delightful semi-Scottish and Brummie accent as the camera panned the wide range of goodies available in her shop. “It’s hitting us for six though. We’ve gotta stay positive and hope it’s just another weird kind of reaction to Brexit.” Her cat colleague miaowed its agreement. “Y’know, people saving their pennies and only buying what’s essential in case of fluctuations with the exchange rate, trade, all that sort of stuff.”
Polly could barely tear her eyes away from the dapple-grey haired reporter in his smart suit as he nodded sagely at the attractive female and her cascade of dark locks.
Annabelle bounced down the stairs and into the living-room like an anthropomorphic Tigger.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Alex replied, thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, whistling silently and wandering over to concentrate on the city views at the window. As ridiculous as it was, Polly had actually forgotten he was there.
“Um… Annabelle, come take a s… s… seat. This is… well, it’s probably all just a dream to be honest,” Polly’s vocals had gone from monotone to high pitch petrified, and now she added a languorous nervous laugh. “Because we didn’t really do anything, did we? They were only ever cakes. But this is… sort of… suggesting we might have, erm, or that we… d… did.”
“Oh my God!This is too freaky.”
Annabelle made an eccentric dart and grapple for the doorframe.
“I can’t watch anymore… but I want to watch it all…what I mean is I definitely can’t watch it alone!”
