I’ve painted the wall on the left red and stood a row of black and white wooden chess pieces along it, each one about five-foot high, apart from the king and queen, which are suitably taller, and there are the giant paper flowers I’ve been making. They’re all the height of an adult, with stick-on googly eyes in an array of bright colours like the talking flowers Alice encounters in the Disney movie. The counter is along the far side of the shop floor, and I’ve painstakingly stencilled my favourite Wonderland quote on the wall behind it – Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible – and it’s surrounded by a hotch-potch of different size flowers in a rainbow of colours, and on the other side of the counter is the door to the customer bathroom, where I’ve added pieces of wood around the handle and painted them with a face, so it looks like the talking doorknob Alice first meets when she falls down the rabbit hole.
On the right-hand side of the room, I’ve shifted the nearest tables inwards and created a space for a game of flamingo croquet. There’s a strip of artificial grass, and pink plastic flamingo-shaped clubs for little ones to have a go at knocking the hedgehog-shaped balls through the playing card arches.
I’ve turned broken teacups and teapots into decorative planters at every opportunity, and the display case at the front of the counter will be filled with delicious, dainty treats… that I made.
Okay, that I made if anyone asks.
The reality is that I’ve been so busy with making the tearoom look like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee have exploded in it that practising any kind of baking has had to come second, and it’s very hard to bake anything with the single hob in the caravan.
Which is why it’s now 11 p.m. and I’m walking around the local supermarket, desperately looking for things to serve my customers on opening day, which is in… approximately ten hours.
It’s not like I haven’t tried. The other night in the caravan, I followed a child’s recipe to make chocolate fairy cakes and took the results up to the house for Marnie and Darcy to try. Darcy wasn’t brave enough, and Marnie took one tiny nibble and politely suggested that the caravan stove might be on the blink. I used to be able to make fairy cakes, and now… no matter how hard I try, something always goes wrong. My tearoom dream depends on me being able to get it right, and I’m just… not.
So I’ve had an idea. I can buy things from the supermarket, unpack them, decorate them for my own unique Wonderland twist, and serve them in the tearoom, and no one will be any the wiser.
I’m not proud of it, but needs must. And it’s not like the local supermarket is going to mind, is it? And it’s only temporary – until I can afford to rent another flat with a kitchen. Until then, absolutely no one is going to know, and if I add my own spin to things, it’s not exactly like taking someone else’s work and passing it off as my own.
I fill a trolley with the regular things I’ll need to buy anyway. Loaves of bread and tubs of butter and other sandwich fillings, and then I add a few boxes of cupcakes with swirls of icing on top, traybake brownies that I can cut up, packages of scones, crumpets, and custard tarts.
‘Ooh, someone’s having a party,’ the checkout woman exclaims as I pile my goodies onto the checkout belt.
I give her a tight grin and make a mental note to use the self-service checkouts in future. She might get suspicious if she sees me buying this amount of stuff again.
I lug home bags of shopping and pass one of my Cheshire Cat signs in a tree on the way. I bought wooden outlines of the cat’s face and tail, painted them in pink and purple stripes, and strategically placed them in trees and hedges around Ever After Street and the surrounding area, intended to look like the cat has started to disappear, like he does in the films. I’ve attached laminated tags to them, advertising the opening of The Wonderland Teapot. I got posters printed up and every shop has got one displayed in their windows for me, and I also got some postcards printed and every shopkeeper took a handful and promised to pop them into the bags with every customer’s purchase.
I just hope it will be enough because I’ve never wanted anything to be a success more than I want this to. This opportunity is perfect for me – I just need to be perfect for it.
3
It’s opening day and I’ve been here since 7 a.m., unpacking everything I bought last night and decorating it. There are the trays of brownies that I’ve cut into individual squares and affixed rice paper ‘Eat Me’ tags to. Red velvet cupcakes with swirls of cream cheese icing on top that I’ve showered with red heart sprinkles. The scones have been given a dusting of edible glitter. I got circle-shaped shortbread biscuits, added cat ears made out of pretzels, and iced them in pink and purple stripes.
As I finish each item, I arrange them on my homemade cake stands, made by gluing upside-down teacups between plates that decrease in size as they go upwards, and display them in the glass case in front of the counter where I’ve stood many times and chosen which of Lilith’s treats to devour that day.
A part of the wall beside the counter is painted with chalkboard paint, and I’ve added sandwich options in a rainbow of colourful chalk writing, alongside tearoom staples like toasted teacakes, crumpets, hot buttered toast, and scones with clotted cream.
I’m cutting apples into thin slices to form a rose shape to put on top of each custard tart, when there’s a knock at the door. It’s half past eight. Who on earth is that going to be? Early customers? I can see a flash of colour standing outside the frosted glass panels in the door, and I pull it slightly ajar and peer out.
‘Twinkle twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you’re at.’ Standing on the cobblestones outside is the Mad Hatter, who winks at me with a grin that’s as bright as the rest of his exceptionally bright outfit.
I recognise the quote from Wonderland immediately, and the costume the man is wearing is unmistakably inspired by the Hatter, from his lime green jacket to his blue spiky hair and the stack of top hats sitting on his head. What on earth is this? Are eager customers dressing up now? I hadn’t considered others might embrace the Alice theme with such dedication.
Unfortunately this one is a bit too eager and I’m going to have to put him off. ‘I’m sorry, we’re not open yet. If you could come back in half an hour…’
‘’ello! Mad Hatter reporting for duty.’ He salutes me by raising a hand to the second of the stack of three top hats balanced on his very bright head of hair.
I’m unsure of what he’s going on about but I try to be as polite as possible as I close the door. I really need to get those apple rose tarts finished, I can’t let a customer in at this time of day. ‘As I said, we’re not open ye—’
His hand shoots out and holds the door. His voice, which was high-pitched and childlike, drops to a more normal tone. ‘I’m not a customer. I’m supposed to be starting work here today? I’m the Mad Hatter, in case it wasn’t obvious.’
Work here? What? He must be confused. Or the ‘mad’ bit of Mad Hatter is alarmingly appropriate. ‘I’m the owner. I think I’d know if I’d hired a Mad Hatter. You must be in the wrong place.’ Even as I say it, I wonder how many Alice in Wonderland-themed establishments there are in the area. It’s not like he’s going to be starting at another Alice-themed tearoom, is it? It sets off an uneasy feeling in my stomach because this is a bit too much of a coincidence.
‘Oh, for the good ferret’s sake, don’t tell me they didn’t tell you?’ He throws his hands up and looks skywards, annoyed at an unknown someone.
‘Tell me what?’ The uneasy feeling grows.
‘The council. They’re getting behind your Alice in Wonderland theme and thought The Wonderland Teapot needed more than just Alice.’ He indicates to what little he can see of me through the gap in the door, which I’m still holding ajar because it’s quite scary to see someone so bright at this time in the morning. And unexpected. And I’m not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of elaborate joke, or possible robbery attempt. Although what a potential burglar would expect to get before opening time is debateable, and burglars tend to go for more understated costumes than this guy, who can almost definitely be seen from space, if not further. Also, knocking on the front door would be a new approach to burglary.
‘They’ve hired me to play the Hatter. I’m also a magician.’ He holds a hand up and clicks his fingers, and a playing card appears between them, ostensibly from thin air but clearly from a hidden pocket in his sleeve or something similar. ‘I’m here to entertain the diners and help to give them a real mind-boggling experience, complete with Wonderland-style bonkersness.’ He hands the card to me. ‘You can keep that.’
I look down at the card in my hand. The Queen of Hearts. How fitting.
Taking the card has meant I’ve opened the door further and I can’t help looking at him. He’s got on black cargo trousers with an array of pockets all around them, and a button-down shirt with a pattern so loud you can almost hear it screaming underneath the green faux-leather jacket. His hair is the brightest shade of electric blue, sticking out in hairsprayed spikes, almost like you’d see on a cartoon character who’d just been electrocuted. There are silver hoops through each of his pierced earlobes, and his eyes are outlined with thick black eyeliner. I thought I’d done well with my blue short-sleeved Alice dress and white pinafore with card suits painted on it, and my hair is blonde and past my shoulders anyway, so all I had to do was add a black bow headband, but his outfit really is impressive.
‘Am I allowed to come in?’ His question makes me realise I’ve been staring at him for an abnormally long time.
‘Oh. I… er…’ Am I supposed to take his word for it? Let this stranger into my tearoom? While I’m debating internally, he must realise how uneasy this has made me because he’s pulled his phone from one of the many pockets of his trousers.
‘Ahh, I get it. Who the heck would let this weird bananagram into their shop without some kind of confirmation, right?’ He’s already putting a number into the phone. ‘Just a tick, we can get this straightened out with a quick call.’
I stand in the doorway watching him, the stack of hats on his head bouncing around every time he looks down at the phone. The three top hats are in Disney’s animated Hatter colours. The biggest one that rests on top of his blue hair is dark green and the Hatter’s infamous ‘In this style, 10/6’ is written on a card and tucked into the wide yellow ribbon that runs around the brim. On top of that hat is a smaller top hat in a light green colour, and on top of that one is a smaller one again, in bright yellow this time.
‘’ello, treacle,’ Hatter says into the phone when it’s answered. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Can you patch me through?’ There’s a pause and then it sounds like he interrupts the person on the other end. ‘I don’t care if he’s in a meeting, this is important. Yes, important. No, not my usual kind of “important”.’ His brown eyes meet mine and he rolls them at the phone and turns around to face the street, and I can hear faint hold music coming through the handset.
Eventually the music clicks off and there are the strains of an angry voice on the other end.
‘Good morning to you too,’ Hatter says into the phone with a cheery-sounding voice. ‘Yeah, I’ve just arrived at the tearoom and the poor woman who works here…’ He turns back to me. ‘It’s Cleo, isn’t it?’
I nod. How does he know my name? Is that a sign that this is legit?
