Page 63 of The Cake Fairies
“Two words: Schools and parents.”
“You do worry me sometimes, Polly. Perhaps you should let me be in charge of the measuring scales for this cake: that was actually three…”
“Sarcastic. You know what I mean.”
She did. It was just another chance to deflect, another chance to defer the inevitable.
No, Annabelle couldn’t do it today, as it turned out. But tomorrow was sure to feel right. Just like embarking on a diet. Always best to put it off until tomorrow.
***
Even as they approached the bolted school gates, it couldn’t have been clearer that the woman donning a stunning black and white, Ghanaian, demi-brava head wrap was feeling left out. Cliques would never cease to exist, as long as there were human beings walking the earth. But it didn’t make them any easier to handle. And Annabelle guessed that parental cliques were up there in a league of their very own.
“I don’t think we can call this a racist thing,” Polly muttered as they observed from a distance, bottoms parked on a thoroughly uncomfortable stone wall across the road, cake boxes balanced on their laps while their owners snuggled as far as was physically possible into the warm depths of their scarves and coats. Parents from a kaleidoscope of ethnicities were wittering away in large pockets and smaller clusters. It wasn’t that at all. It was simply that, for whatever reason, this mother was an outsider; new to the area perhaps, nobody giving her a second glance.
Annabelle could sense Polly felt an affinity with the female in their sights – not in an obvious way. Polly wasn’t scared to mix in social situations, but her underlying anxiety had always been palpable.
But then, as more parents gathered and school spill-out time inched closer, it was obvious the mother was far from alone. At the other edge of the central gathering, another lone female cast her eyes about, surreptitiously scanning the crowd and pushing herself and her evergreen duffle coat into the tall trees at the gate’s edge, in a bid to stay camouflaged. Predictably, she pulled out her phone and immersed herself in its screen.
As the minutes ticked by, half a dozen males dotted the perimeter of the waiting crowd, pacing about, hands thrust into pockets, heads pointed down to avoid eye contact with anyone living or breathing and glued to screens instead; as if chancing conversation might instigate civil war. Annabelle couldn’t really blame them. It was often easier that way. For one thing, it helped you avoid mistakes.
“When do you think I should press the button?”
She drummed her fingertips gently against her chin. She was dubious about this drop. It didn’t seem ethical that Amber Magnolia had managed to get hold of the number for the surely confidential school-to-parent WhatsApp group, and it was all rather hypocritical when their mission was about luring everybody away from their gadgets.
Polly looked about as decisive as a sheep unsure of its herd. There was nothing for it. Annabelle pressed SEND on the message, sensing the mass of deet-deets as parents grappled for their gadgets. Many didn’t even to do that, as they were already engrossed in their miniature worlds, amidst so-called group discussions.
But would everyone follow the cake crumbs to the local park? Would the solitary mums and dads join them? It was hardly model weather for a picnic. In fact, just about the last thing Annabelle would bother to do, if she were in any of these parents’ shoes – or boots/expensive-looking trainers – was to hang out in a park for a piece of cake while the ominous pale grey clouds threatened to chuck it down with snow. Then again, this was inner-city Manchester. Maybe these parents would be glad of the opportunity for their kids to let off steam? Particularly when many families didn’t have gardens of their own.
Today’s cake drop was a triple-chocolate, multi-tiered, raspberry and cream concoction, adorned with garlands of snowdrops; perfect for the weather, perfect to pair up with a hot cocoa… if they were offering those. They weren’t.
“We should wander to the set-up scene at the play park. It’s ten past three. The kids will be out in another twenty minutes. We’ll need time to hide.”
Annabelle was too cold to move, even if movement would bring more warmth than hugging at a cake box and dreaming it was a hot water bottle. But she stood anyway, and the pair traipsed their way over to the tiny park they’d passed on the way to the school.
A billow of brilliant white stopped them in their tracks, as they neared what they’d thought was the cake’s destination.
“Great! We’re lost,” Polly sulked, and with good reason, for she was carrying the heavier of the components.
“But we can’t be. We’ve carried on straight, taken a right, and we’re back on Parabola Road, the one Nigel dropped us at so as to familiarise oursel—”
“Annabelle?” Polly interrupted, astonished at what she was seeing.
Little could surprise either of them these days, thought Annabelle. And yet her breath hitched in her throat, causing her to rasp at the incredible sight before them.
“When you do your bit for the benefit of those around you, the universe conspires to deliver in the most extraordinary ways.” Polly stopped too, trance-like, reeling off Amber Magnolia’s words from the morning. Time seemed to suspend itself completely and the Cake Fairies did several double takes at the vision playing out before them across the street.
The park had been transformed into a winter wonderland. There were no other words for it. Snowy-white and silver marquees circled a mini outdoor ice rink, flanked with shelves of shiny kiddie-sized skates hanging over its candy-cane striped edges. It was like a festive cake top made manifest. Christmas tunes (a little premature in November, admittedly) pumped out of the fairy-lit canvas domes and Santa’s little helpers – at least from this distance they looked suspiciously like elves – marched to and fro; some laden with sacks of what the cousins could only presume were presents, others clutching steaming hot vats of what might be hot cocoa for the little ones, and mulled wine for their elders.
“I don’t think they’ll need this anymore.” Annabelle gestured sadly at the boxes they were lugging.
But then, as if their conversation had been eavesdropped upon from afar, a snow bear clocked them, bounded out of the park on all fours, and came to collect them. Annabelle and Polly mouthed perfect letter ‘O’s. The queuing motorist in a souped-up Vauxhall Astra was less polite.
Staggered, they ambled over to the scene of enchantment, with their bear friend, assembled their cake in the tent that had been pointed out to them with his (well, Annabelle was intent that inside the costume was a guy) fluffy (and now decidedly greying) paw; grabbed at a much-needed and thoroughly delicious cup of mulled wine, and hoofed it back to Nigel’s limo, whose arrival and hideously loud horn-blowing threatened to spoil the spectacular tableau before the children had even arrived on the scene.
A comfortable and expectant silence fell on the trio as they waited with bated breath to catch the procession of kiddies, their parents eventually flailing happily after their rocket-propelled legs, and then a whole lot more excitedly, picking up speed themselves, presumably having caught the whiff of hot alcohol skittering through the air. The woman in the head wrap had a massive smile on her face, her visible tension from earlier having melted away. She was still alone; her son had sprinted ahead with his friends. But there was no doubt that what they’d helped to orchestrate that afternoon would not only ensure everyone had their phones switched off for a couple of hours – at least – but it would encourage the blossoming of new friendships too. Some things you didn’t need the visual proof of. Because how could this kind of magic ever backtrack on itself? While they couldn’t take the credit for the props surrounding their cake, seeing something so delightful in the flesh, being part of this bigger team, it was impossible to deny the power in all of that to multiply and do an immense amount of good, wherever its merry momentum travelled.
“Just when I thought I’d seen it all, chauffeuring you two about. I must admit, I was ready to jump in if things got sticky with this one. The angst-fuelled energy of school parents makes them a threat bigger than World War Three.”
