Page 1 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
1
‘Is it currently your birthday?’
‘No.’ The man in the smart suit who is interviewing me looks bemused by my question.
‘Then “Happy Unbirthday” to you.’ I take a cupcake off the platter I’m carrying and place it on the desk in front of him, poke a candle into the icing, lean across to light it with a long-reach lighter, and breathe a sigh of relief when the flame dances into life with no incendiary incidents. Hurrah. That had all the potential to go horribly wrong. Open flames and me are never a good mix.
‘It’s fromAlice in Wonderland,’ I continue when the interview board look at me blankly. ‘The Mad Hatter and the March Hare celebrate every day thatisn’ttheir birthday. Why should you only get to celebrate on your birthday itself? Isn’t life worth celebrating every day?’
Mr Hastings, the smart-suited man who’s leading the interview, flicks a fingernail at the swirl of icing atop the cupcake and then peers down at the bit he’s flicked off. The three interviewers are all wearing sharp suits and have stern looks on their faces, but his is the sharpest and sternest of them all. Their table is on a platform atthe end of a big meeting room in the council offices, and I feel like they’re all looking down at me, and I wish that, like Alice, I had a piece of cake I could nibble to make me grow tallerandbe less intimidated by their sophisticated stares. It feels like going for an audition, except they have a big heavy desk in front of them with lots of important-looking papers laid out on it, and I just have a row of plastic chairs at the other end of the room where I had to dump my bag and wonkily balance my platter of cupcakes while I smoothed my hair down and tried to get myself prepared for this interview.
‘That’s what I’ll do if you let me take over the tearoom on Ever After Street. I’ll theme it after Wonderland – lots of red and black, chequerboard flooring, card suits and clocks everywhere, and Mad-Hatter-style tables piled high with decorative teacups and teapots. We’ll do tea parties and Alice-themed afternoon teas where we serve dainty finger sandwiches and cupcakes and tarts, and I’ll offer “Unbirthday parties” every day of the year. Children and adults alike will be able to celebrate a Wonderland-style “Unbirthday” on any day they want.’
They don’t seem very impressed.
Maybe putting on the blue Alice dress and black headband was overkill. I thought I was being fun and quirky, but I feel more like a child, auditioning for a part in a school play while the headmaster watches on thinking, ‘Who is this overgrown toddler, and why does she keep swinging around a cake stand?’
I’ve been pacing as I talk and on a particularly sharp turn, the cakes nearly go flying off my cake stand, so I put it down on the desk in front of them. Even their desk is severe and intimidating. If inanimate objects can frown, it is definitely frowning at me.
‘Well, I can see the exploitative potential in daily birthday parties…’ Mr Hastings huffs as he talks and accidentally blows out the candle in the cupcake. I could’ve done with that to make a wish. Iwish for them to say yes. I wish for this tearoom. It feels like a second chance – a chance to start undoing everything that’s gone wrong in my life lately.
Exploitative potential doesn’t sound like a good thing. ‘It’s something they do in the Lewis Carroll books. I think it would be nice for children to be able to have a tea party on any day of the year simply because itisn’ttheir birthday.’
‘And there’s definite money to be made. Our previous owner only earned money from birthday parties on one day a year from any singular customer, but here you are with a solution that makeseveryday a potential birthday party.’ The man on the left never introduced himself, and now he elbows Mr Hastings with a chuckle and gets a glare for his troubles. ‘This “Unbirthday” thing is quite a clever concept, no?’
I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to agree or not. Maybe it’s better if they think I’m some kind of business-minded entrepreneur, who should be appearing onDragon’s Denrather than letting them see my knees knocking under my white knee-length socks. I’ve dreamed of owning a tearoom my entire life, like my family did many moons ago, and I want this interview to go right more than I’ve ever wanted anything to go right before.
The interview board is made up of the two men and a woman who has introduced herself as Mrs Willetts, and she leans forward and takes a cupcake off the stand. She holds it by the paper case and turns it around in her hand, admiring the pink and yellow swirls of rose-shaped icing piped on top. ‘And these are homemade, yes?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I gulp and try to cover it by sounding easy-breezy and laidback.
It’s not a lie.
Theyarehomemade.
By the bakery I passedon my way here.
But who needs to know that teeny-tiny detail? They haven’t asked me to specifywhosehome they were made in, have they?
It wasn’t planned, but I drove past a little family-run bakery on my way to the council offices and thought it would be an icebreaker if I brought a platter of cupcakes with me. God knows what the poor woman in the bakery must’ve thought when I ran inside, dressed as Alice, spotted her rose cupcakes and begged her to let me pay an extra tenner and take her display cake stand with me too.
It’s only in that moment that I realise they thinkImade the cakes myself. I wasn’t intending to mislead them, but Mrs Willetts actually looks very impressed with the cake, and nothing I’ve done so far has made any impression whatsoever, and this dream is sure to die if I admit that I bought them on the way here, and it’s notexactlythe sample of the cakes I’d make if I took over the tearoom.
I mean, it’s notthatmuch of a lie. If they let me rent the tearoom on Ever After Street, Iwillbe making my own cupcakes to serve to customers. Icando it. My nan and my mum ran a family teashop together when I was growing up, until my mum walked out on us, so it was just my nan and me, keeping it ticking over, hoping that Mum would come back one day…
And now I know that she never will, and my nan has gone too. And I have always wanted to step into their shoes. Tearoom ownership is in my blood. From the moment I heard the rumours at the end of last autumn about the tearoom on Ever After Street needing a new owner, I felt like it was meant for me, and now it’s mid-March, Lilith who used to own the tearoom has retired, and it’s up to the council to fill the empty space on our fairy-tale-themed shopping street in the heart of the Wye Valley.
I can’t let this opportunity pass by because of some unfortunate baking incidents in recent years. My ex-landlord’s angry face flashesbefore my eyes. The blue strobe lights of the fire engine. The soot-blackened kitchen and the eviction notice that soon followed.
I still love baking… It just hasn’t loved me back lately. And all right, the last time I tried to bake, I promised the fire brigade that I never would again, but this is different. I have something to bakefornow, a renewed purpose, actually a double dream – both owning a teashop and working on Ever After Street. I’ve barely been outside for the past couple of years, and I need to do something to shake my life up, take back control, and claw back the shattered pieces from the last time I tried to make this dream a reality.
Mrs Willetts contemplates the cupcake for a few moments before peeling back the paper case and taking a bite.
I hold my breath.Please let it be as good as it looks.
‘Oh wow.’ She holds a hand up to cover her mouth. ‘That is delightful. Truly delightful.’
She looks at both the men pointedly, and Mr Hastings peers down at the cupcake already in front of him, while the other man eagerly reaches over to pluck one from the stand and gobbles it down in three large bites.
