Page 9 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
‘Nah. I don’t like heights. Or flying. Or spicy food, for that matter. I’m quite boring really.’
Nowthat, I do not believe.
At my lack of response, he disappears through the doorway into the back room and I hear the kettle click on. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Tea?’ His voice sounds confused from the food preparation room.
‘It’s…’ I glance at the many clocks on the wall. The clocks were a terrible idea. Each one says a slightly different time. I take an average and guess. ‘…8.57a.m.!’
‘Always time for tea!’ he calls back in that cheery, high-pitched Hatter voice again.
‘There’s no one here.’
‘It’s not for the no one who’s not here.’
By the time I’ve tried to untangle that riddle of a sentence, he’s returned to the shop floor and he puts a mug on the counter in front of me.
‘Oh. Thanks.’ I hadn’t realised he was making tea formeand I feel guilty for being so hard on him, although my benevolent feelings don’t last long when he opens the display case and helps himself to a red velvet cupcake. ‘Oi!’
‘I’m making them look popular.’ A dimple dents only his left cheek as he gives me a grin and bites into the cake, and then lifts his mug to cover his mouth and carries on talking. ‘Think of how many people will come in and go “they’re going fast, they must bereallygood, I’ll have to try one of those!”’
‘That’s not how it works,’ I huff in annoyance. Eating the stock before opening time does not equate with his aforementioned promise of not knowing he’s here.
He swallows the mouthful and slurps down more tea. ‘Look, there’snopoint in working in a tearoom if I can’t have tea and cake for breakfast. You can always nip home and make more if we run out.’
No. No, I can’t. But I can’t tell him that, of course.
‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ he says after another mouthful. ‘That tastes like?—’
‘It doesn’t tastelikeanything. It’s original.’ Knowing my luck, he will have eaten those cupcakes from the supermarket before and will recognise the taste.
He raises both eyebrows at the tone in my voice, and finishes the rest of the cupcake in merciful silence, and guilt needles at me for being too harsh. The last thing I needed was someone taste-testing the stock, and my fear of being found out is growing by the minute. How could I ever explain to someone that I’veforgottenhowto bake? How could I expect anyone to understand that I don’t have a kitchen to even be able to try?
He downs the last of his tea at the same time as I finish the last apple rose, sprinkle the custard tart with glitter and put it into the display case, closing the door with a pointed click in case he gets any ideas about eating more of my limited stock.
‘Nearly opening time.’ He looks around the clocks on the wall. ‘Well, by three of the clocks anyway. They don’t all agree. You know what they say – a person with one clock knows the time, a person with seventy-two is always late.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s ever said that.’
‘Well, I like to be different.’ He does that happy shrug again. ‘You want to do the honours?’
He’s standing by the door, inviting me to open it, and I can’t help thinking that it’s quite considerate to let me open the doors on the first day. I just hope it’s the first of many.
4
Far from hordes of Gryphons and Mock Turtles waiting outside at opening time, customers have been trickling in over the course of the morning. It started off with a couple of old ladies wanting hot buttered toast and being quite alarmed at the changes since the last time they were here, then came harried parents having dropped kids off at school, and curious people who had seen my Cheshire Cat advertising signs or heard about The Wonderland Teapot in other ways. I didn’t expect to be fending off armies of customers clamouring for tea, and for a first morning, the shop hasn’t been empty once, although it hasn’t been full either.
A couple come in with a young boy, probably around the age of four. He’s got eyes that are red from crying and a frowny face that looks like he might be mid-tantrum, but from the moment they open the door, he can’t take his eyes off Bram. The parents order sandwiches, and the young lad jabs angrily at a cupcake in the display unit, and Bram notices the extra attention. They sit down as I make their cheese and ham sandwiches, and he goes over to introduce himself. The boy stares at him in awe, and Bram kneels on the floor to be at the same height, shaking the boy’s hand, keeping up aconstant conversation, flitting between talking to the kid and the adults with ease. When I’ve put their sandwiches on a tray and added the pot of tea they ordered, he scrambles up and comes to get it with a conspiratorial wink.
He carries the tray over and unloads the teapot, cups, and sandwiches onto the table, but when he gets to the little boy’s cake, his hands move so fast that I barely see them move at all, but the plate he puts down is empty. The boy stares at it open-mouthed and then at Bram, who matches his open-mouthed shock.
‘You’ve eaten it already!’ It’s his squeakyish Hatter voice again, the one that sounds childlike and unthreatening.
‘You!’ The boy points at Bram, clearly knowing he’s done something with the cake.
‘It was right there!’ Bram consults the parents. ‘You saw it, right?’
The parents play along and Bram scratches his head. Well, his hat. ‘Now, where could it have gone?’ He looks around the tearoom like someone might’ve taken it. ‘If you haven’t eaten it, maybe the White Rabbit took it? Did anyone see a Mad March Hare running off with it?’
