That afternoon, it’s all going too well… until a customer starts screaming and clawing at his mouth. ‘Hot! Hot! Hot!’
There’s a couple who have come in and ordered sparkly tea; the wife has had a lavender and thyme scone with lemon curd, and the husband has just taken a bite of his Jaffa Cake brownie. He spits it back onto the plate and tries to scrape the remainder off his tongue.
‘Water! Get us some water!’ the wife shouts.
‘Yes, of course!’ I was on the other side of the tearoom chatting about Alice in Wonderland with a curious customer, and my heart is racing as I dash into the food prep room, grab a jug, and turn the cold tap on.
‘Milk,’ Bram shouts after me, having gone over to find out what’s going on. ‘It’s better at taking heat away.’
I fill another jug with milk and race over with them both, trying to ignore the watchful gazes of every other eye in the tearoom, and of course, it’s busy this afternoon so there are a lot of eyes watching this poor man having a terrible experience with his Jaffa Cake brownie.
The man guzzles milk straight from the jug, his face bright red and sweating, as his wife fans her hand in front of him, trying to cool him down.
It’s happened again, hasn’t it? Someone must have put something hot in the brownies. Bram and I made those brownies last night, and we ate a couple together, and there was nothing spicy about them. Just warm, fudgy, orangey gorgeousness. And after Tabby’s warning the other day, I made sure that I was the one who loaded them into cake tins ready to bring in this morning.
The customer is panting, blowing out air through pursed lips, and his wife is mopping sweat from his brow with a napkin. She asks if he’s okay and he nods. My panic recedes. Although I still have an underlying fear that I will one day accidentally kill a customer, today is not that day.
‘What are you playing at, you idiots?’ The angry man stands up and pokes a finger into Bram’s chest. ‘I could have been killed!’
‘Tad dramatic?’ Bram tries to diffuse the situation with humour, but the man is furious. ‘What if I was allergic? Chilli wasn’t mentioned on the ingredients when it’s clearly the main one!’
‘It’s not supposed to be!’ I edge closer because I’m concerned by how much angrier he could get.
‘This is an accident, I assure you.’ If Bram is disturbed by the man jabbing a finger into his chest, he doesn’t show it. ‘They’re not meant to be spicy in any way. The responsibility is mine alone.’
‘Bram…’ I say, because we made them together.
‘No. I made them. I obviously made a mistake somewhere. I’m very sorry. I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘We made a mistake in coming to this dreadful place! Our feelings will be reflected in a review and a very stern letter to your boss!’ The man has every right to be angry, of course he does, but his level of anger is really quite scary.
‘We will, of course, give you a full refund, and a—’ I was going to offer them a voucher for their next visit, but they look like they’d rather visit the surface of the sun than come here again, so I leave it. The wife gives me her debit card to refund while the man gathers up their shopping bags and stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.
‘Sorry,’ the wife apologises as I hand her card back. ‘It really was a very nice scone.’
Bram hears it too and can’t hold back the giggle. When she leaves, he leans over and whispers to me. ‘My money’s on her being the culprit because she wanted to see him suffer.’
The laugh relieves some of the blinding panic and gives me a moment to take a breath, which I haven’t done since the man’s first screech. When I hold my hands out in front of me, they’re shaking.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bram notices too because he reaches over to 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, my eyes 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, we have got 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’m sure must 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 Tabby never is, 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, someone has done something to… 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 hope some of us aren’t stupid enough to fall for your… embellishments. Trusting you, Bram, is a mistake that any woman only makes once. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do. We can’t all toss 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… yes and no. 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.
