Page 47 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bram notices too because he reaches overto slip his fingers around mine and give them a squeeze. ‘Every silver lining has a cloud and every cloud has a soft and squishy centre.’
He lets go of my hand and turns to make an announcement to the rest of the diners. ‘Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlehamsters. Just a little Wonderland magic gone wrong. Jaffa Cake brownies are off the menu for today while we gather up the gremlins that have got into the kitchen. If anyone would like a refill of sparkly tea to calm their nerves, it’s on the house.’
I raise an eyebrow at him, and he leans over the counter again. ‘The longer they stay and enjoy something, the more likely they are to forget about that… interruption.’
I think the redness of that poor man’s face will be imprinted in everyone’s minds forever, as will his scathing review, because that will undoubtedly be on the internet for the rest of eternity and no one will need to use their mind’s eye to remember it.
I do a couple of teapot refills as customers take up the offer, although most of them peer warily at the display cabinet like a cake might be about to leap forth and bite them, and unsurprisingly, absolutely no one wants another cake, and probably never will again after that incident.
‘Well, that was fun. Haven’t enjoyed myself so much since I tried plucking my eyebrows with a lawnmower.’ Bram clears their table and when he returns to the counter, he gets the plate of brownies out of the display case, breaks one apart with a fork and takes a mouthful.
His face turns red and his eyes start watering. ‘Flipping ’eck.’ It makes him cough. ‘Someone’s put hot sauce or chilli or something in the Jaffa Cake brownies. Don’t try them.’
I ignore him and take a forkful, and immediately regret it. My mouth blazes so hot that it feels like my teeth try to retreat back inside my gums. Sweat prickles my forehead, myeyes are streaming, and even spitting the cake out isn’t enough to stop the burning sensation.
‘This is ridiculous! No one’s been alone with the cakes today! We set everything out and then we locked up when we went to the meeting. What have we got, a ghost who’s good at sleig—’ I cut myself off abruptly and cover it by choking on my burning tongue again. I was going to suggest a ghost who’s good at sleight of hand, but while I don’t think we’ve got any haunting issues, wehavegot a magician who’s an expert at it. If anyone could have snuck a bottle of something in, concealed up a sleeve, and doused the brownies with it when no one was watching…
I bite my burning lip as I watch him bending over the sink, trying to run tap water through his mouth. He couldn’t have… He wouldn’t… Why would he? If The Wonderland Teapot goes, so does the Mad Hatter. He’d have nothing to gain, unlike Tabby, who despite her acting ability, I’msuremust be the person who Mr Hastings considered to take over this shop before me. And Tabby was suspiciously early this afternoon. She was waiting outside when we got back from the shopkeeper meeting. If there’s one thing Tabbyneveris, it’s early. She’s got the hen night to demonstrate to Mrs Hastings how wonderful a wellness retreat on Ever After Street would be – is she trying to ensure that the tearoom has got a few scathing reviews beforehand to give her extra ammunition?
‘What have I missed?’ The Queen of Hearts in question reappears at the bottom of the stairs. ‘What was all the shouting about? So much for peace and quiet on my tea break.’
I go to tell her but Bram gets in first. ‘I’m sure you know exactly what that was all about. I’m surprised you didn’t come down to revel in your win.’
‘Oh, let me guess,someonehas donesomethingto… whatever those things were.’ She gestures to the plate of smashed up brownies on the counter in front of us. ‘And you’re trying to blame me, even though I haven’t been alone with your silly cakes for a moment today. I got here after you, remember?’ She locks eyes with me. ‘Let’s hopesomeof us aren’t stupid enough to fall for your… embellishments. Trusting you, Bram, is a mistake that any woman only makesonce. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do. We can’talltoss around playing cards and call it a job.’
‘I don’t—’ He goes to protest, but there’s a child measuring their height against one of the wooden chess pieces and she’s looking at Tabby’s ballgown and red bouffant wig with wide, adoring eyes, and Tabby swishes over to say hello.
He makes a noise of frustration and then schools his face and pastes his Hatter grin back on. ‘I think it’ll take a week for the skin on my lips to regrow. Note to self – buy lip balm. Are you okay?’
I’m surprised by the question. I don’t know if he means the hot brownie or the scene the man made, and the answer to both is… yesandno. I nod instead, and then even though I shouldn’t, I reach out and let the back of my hand brush over the soft T-shirt covering his chest, right where the angry man jabbed his finger. ‘Are you?’
‘Me? I’m fine. Been intimidated by plenty of people worse than that in my life.’
I get the feeling he means his father, but before I have a chance to think about how much I want to hug him, his hand covers mine and he lifts it to his mouth to press a kiss to my fingers. ‘Thank you though.’
He doesn’t drop eye contact and the intensity in his dark eyes makes my knees feel wobbly and I’m glad I’m standing near enough to the counter to brace my hip against it. My heart is suddenly pounding again, and I’m feeling flushed for an altogether different reason this time.
‘Why did you take responsibility for that?’ You wouldn’t think my mouth could be dry when I’ve just swallowedso much water, but it comes out hoarse and I have to clear my throat and try again. ‘Webothmade them.’
‘He seemed angry enough to complain to someone, somewhere, so better for me to get in trouble than you. Don’t worry about it.’ He drops my hand again when a customer comes in, and goes to greet them with a levitating playing card trick.
‘He’s so good, isn’t he?’ Mrs Moreno says as she comes up to the counter and orders a cup of sparkly tea and her usual toasted teacake.
‘He’s as mad as a box of frogs,’ I say with a smile, trying to forget everything else and concentrate on the customers whohaven’tjust witnessed a potential poisoning on the premises.
‘And you wouldn’t have him any other way, right?’ She looks over her shoulder to where Bram is now with another customer and has produced a playing card from nowhere and turned it into a rose with a snap of his fingers, only for it to vanish and then turn up again on the other side of the table moments later.
‘Right,’ I say. Because heisas mad as a box of frogs in the best way possible, and he’s many other things too, and yet the only question I keep coming back to is him taking responsibility for the brownies. Is it because he’s kind… or because heisresponsible?
15
‘You okay, Bram?’
‘Fine.’ He lifts a hand to reassure me without looking up, probably because he knows that if he looks at me, I’ll see how ill he looks. It’s 4p.m. on a Wednesday, just over a week after the fiery brownie incident, and for the past hour or so, Bram has not been looking good. And although he insists he’s fine, he’s gone from Mad Hatter to Quiet Hatter. He’s been getting paler and paler until his face is so white, a ghost would look healthier, and he seems to be using the backs of chairs or the walls to keep himself upright as he moves around the tearoom.
It’s the after-school rush time. There’s always an increase in customers when the school day finishes. Parents and kids come up to the counter, picking out baked goods from the display case and tea or the soft drinks we’ve started offering for youngsters, squash or lemonade, served in mason jars with ‘Drink Me’ tags tied around them. Bram loves kids, he thrives on making them gasp in awe, but at the moment, he’s leaning listlessly against the back wall, looking like he’s having trouble staying vertical.
‘Bram?’ I say again, between customers, not wanting to draw attention to him.
