She scoffs. ‘What, like he is?’
I glance over at her and her eyes are trained on Bram, who has put the slices of Battenberg on their table, thrown a playing card into the air and turned it into a rose, which he presents to Mrs Willetts with a bow and backs away. ‘We’ll leave you to discuss how well things are going. The Wonderland Teapot defies expectations, I’m sure. Not a complaint to be found anywhere.’ It’s his falsely bright Mad Hatter voice again, but I do not like the stone that Tabby’s words have caused to settle in my stomach. What is she implying? That Bram is somehow not on our side?
…My side?
I go to question her further, but there’s a commotion as the child on the flamingo croquet sends the hedgehog ball flying across the room, hitting a lady’s shoe and disappearing beneath her shopping bags under the table, and Bram springs into action. He retrieves the ball with his foot while using his hands to juggle three tangerines he’s just pulled out of one of his many pockets, swiftly preventing the tantrum that’s nanoseconds away from starting, while the child’s parents eat their sandwiches obliviously.
He can juggle. Of course he can juggle. And he carries tangerines around in his pocket for no good reason. I’m constantly impressed by his level of dedication to his craft, and how he handled that as only he could. No matter who Mr Hastings is, no one could be a better Mad Hatter in this tearoom, and I’m about to say something to that effect, when the door crashes open.
‘Dad! Sadie said I’d find you he— Oh my God.’ The woman who has just burst in comes to an abrupt halt and looks around in awe.
‘Laura!’ Tabby squeals at a pitch usually only audible to small rodents.
Bram shuffles up to the counter and inclines his head so I lean over from my side. ‘My little sister, Laura.’
I pull back to meet his eyes and raise an eyebrow. ‘How many more Hastings are coming to visit today? Is there, perhaps, a slew of first and second cousins about to appear from the basement? Great-uncles three times removed coming down the chimney? Your great-aunt’s hairdresser’s neighbour shimmying in from up the drainpipe?’
Tabby has raced over to the new arrival and now they’re both squealing and exchanging air kisses. I didn’t think it was possible to hear the word ‘mwah’ so many times in one morning. ‘Oh my gawd, it’s so good to see you, Laur! Thank you so much for inviting me to the wedding! I’ve narrowed my dress down to three choices! And I’m so excited about the hen night! I’ve got so much planned for all us girlies!’
‘Yes, why is my ex invited to your wedding?’ Bram asks loudly.
‘Because she’s my ex-sister-in-law, Bram.’ Laura glares at him across the shop.
‘We were never—’
‘It’s not my fault that you ended things. We grew close when we were related, that doesn’t end because you snap your fingers and turn a playing card into a rabbit.’
‘I don’t believe in using animals for entertainment.’ He gives her a mocking glare.
‘You can’t expect me to give up my friend just because you decide you don’t want to play with her any more,’ Laura fires back.
‘Customers, please!’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Can we keep the family disputes for elsewhere?’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles to me, and then addresses the rest of the café in his Mad Hatter tone. ‘Sorry, ladies and gentlefrogs, please forgive us, we’ve had a bit too much jam roly-poly today.’ He takes his hats off and scruffs his hair up and puts them back on.
Mr Hastings has stood up and is looking worried. ‘Everything all right, my dear?’
‘Daddy, no! Disaster! I need that!’ Laura takes the slice of Battenberg that Mr Hastings hasn’t eaten yet and shoves it into her mouth. ‘Oh my God. That’s so good. Is this where you’re working now?’ She turns to Bram. ‘Why didn’t you tell me how amazing it is here?’
‘Because it’s not a law office and I don’t carry a briefcase so you’re generally not interested?’ Bram replies sweetly, and I frown at him because this has got all the makings of another family spat.
Laura ignores him and turns back to her father. ‘The caterer’s pulled out! They had a double-booking, would you believe? Sadie has gone through all her back-up caterers and every single one of them is booked solid. Where are we supposed to find another caterer for four weeks’ time?’ She takes another mouthful of the Battenberg slice and her face shifts. At first I think it’s into revulsion and I wonder what she can taste that no one else has complained about so far today, but I soon realise she’s smiling a Cheshire Cat-style cake-filled smile. ‘Oh my God! You could do it!’
She turns to me. Why is she turning to me? I glance at Bram. He’s standing near me, she must be turning to him. Maybe she’s got some kind of eye condition or the lighting in here is a bit dodgy. She obviously meant to turn to him. She must know what an incredible baker he is. Of course he could cater her wedding.
Except her eyes stay trained on me as she approaches the counter, tapping the empty plate. ‘That was amazing. Tabs, can I have…’
Tabby instantly dashes behind the counter and throws the display case open, ready to serve Laura, who’s peering in from the front.
‘You choose something for me. I know everything will be equally delicious,’ she says as Tabby grabs a plate and tongs and considers it for a moment and then picks out a shop-bought chocolate-cherry cupcake and hands the plate to Laura, who rams it into her mouth like she’s been on a diet and this is her first sugary thing in six months.
She takes a second bite, which finishes the cake off altogether. Definitely more than six months.
‘It’s perfect!’ she shouts, spraying the counter with crumbs. ‘This is fate! We’d just been to see the venue this morning, and then Daddy had to come here on the way back to work, and the caterer called to cancel while he was still on Ever After Street, in a shop themed after my favourite book, no less! Did my dad tell you how much I love Alice in Wonderland?’
‘He did actually.’ What a weird throwback to the interview, a day seven weeks ago that feels like it was simultaneously seven months ago and about seven days ago. If only I could’ve foreseen that the daughter whose love of Alice helped me get this job in the first place would later rock up and expect me to… cater a wedding? She can’t really be suggesting that, can she?
‘See? It’s fate! We were meant to meet! Today of all days! And you…?’
‘Cleo,’ I fill in because she’s obviously waiting for my name. We’ve skipped anything as banal as introductions.
‘Aww, such a pretty name. You’re brilliant. This place is brilliant. These cakes are brilliant. You’re exactly what we need, right here in front of me. I’m getting married in a month and the reception is being held in the castle, and the caterers have just let us down at the last minute. I don’t know where else to turn. We just need someone to—’
‘Look, Cleo is brilliant.’ Bram can see where this is going as well as I can and interrupts before Laura can get any further. ‘But she’s not a wedding caterer. We’ve got—’
‘We don’t need a wedding caterer. We just need someone to knock together a few sandwiches, a bit of finger food, and some delicious cakes and goodies. It’ll be no trouble at all. It’s a tiny wedding. Only a hundred and fifty guests!’
‘A hundred and fif…’ Maybe I’ve fainted and this is some sort of unconscious hallucination. I’ll probably come round to being revived by a paramedic in a minute and this will all be a terrifying dream.
I hold my very shaky hands up. ‘I’m flattered, really, but this is so far beyond my level of expertise that it’s not in the same stratosphere. I can’t—’
‘But you made all these, didn’t you?’ Laura waves a hand to the cakes on display in the cabinet.
‘Er…’ I gulp. Bram and I made some of them, but I can’t come clean about the ones we didn’t now, can I? Mr Hastings has started stalking towards us and it feels like he’s bearing down on me. He would no doubt love to hear that I have, in fact, been lying from the start and can’t bake to save my life.
‘Exactly that.’ Bram waves a hand towards the cakes in the glass cabinet. ‘She makes all of these every day. She’s incredibly busy here.’
‘The wedding is on a Sunday. You’re not open on Sundays, are you?’ Laura’s hands are on her hips and there’s a steely set to her mouth. I know she’s a solicitor, and I get the impression that this is what her opponents see in court. ‘We’ll pay you. The other guy isn’t getting a penny from me – you can have his fee and extra on top!’
