Page 23 of The Cake Fairies
“Why is she making us follow her pedantic instructions to a T?” Annabelle stood with her hands on her hips as Polly reeled off the Oyster card instructions slowly this time. This so-called swanky apartment had better be worth it. Annabelle had read about the 60s squalor of Old Kent Road-style living conditions in the grimy capital; workers so desperate to live closer to the office that they’d co-exist together all bunched up in a studio flat, their golden-paved Dick Whittington dreams but the wisp of a long-lost memory, the reality as grim as the meagre contents of Dick’s spotted knapsack. “As if we haven’t got enough nonsense to deal with already.”
A bunch of hooded youths snickered at them. “Fuckin’ tourists,” one of them flung his disdain. “Why don’t you crawl back to your own hole if you can’t handle the heat of the big city?” They barged their way past Polly, smartphones moulded into their palms as if they were an extension of their anatomies.
“Yeah? You think our predicament’s funny, do you? I’d love to know how you’d cope if the tables were turned and you’d been zapped forward!”
Annabelle couldn’t help it, the elbowing from Polly coming too late. After a seriously prolonged day, all she wanted to do was find the address that irksome woman had sent them to on this wild and fantastical goose chase, let her head hit the pillow and wake up tomorrow morning in her own sweet eiderdown, in her own sweet bed in Middle Ham, to find this had been nothing more than a dream.
A very bad dream.
A nightmare whose dark clouds could only be erased with a mug of hot cocoa.
But the ringleader’s snarl was looking pretty hostile as he pushed his face up into hers. She caught a stomach-churning whiff of tobacco and alcohol-tinged breath. Mercifully, the lout retreated after a couple of scary seconds, spitting on the floor instead of taking things further.
“Note to self: leave all further action to my level-headed cousin,” said Annabelle through chattering teeth, furious with herself for putting them both in danger all over again.
“I’d have to agree with you there. As much as he deserved both sets of our knuckles, you’ve been quite the liability today. Come on,” Polly wrapped her arm around her. “Let’s get to the apartment so we can sit in this supposed lap of luxury before anything else happens.”
Annabelle scowled and dug her hands into her pockets, a sign that she was willing, at last, to toe the line. She caressed her bundle of notes and vowed to squirrel it away for safekeeping at the first opportunity. It sounded as if Amber Magnolia had their expenses more than covered.
“Kensington Mews is our home from home, according to the folder,” Polly wittered on. “And A M wanted us to familiarise ourselves with the Underground because, while we’re in the capital, it’ll be the setting for a few of our drops, apparently. This mysterious Oyster card is the most efficient way to travel like a local, she says.”
“Fabulous. It just gets better and better.”
