Page 20 of Christmas Every Day
‘A billion?’ Jonno squealed. ‘A billion little cakes! No! Three billion, one billion for me and one billion for Mish and one billion for Billy and one cake each for Maddie and Mummy and Daddy and Jenny and—’
‘That’s more than three billion already,’ Maddie said. ‘And don’t be stupid. A billion cakes wouldn’t fit in this house.’
‘It would if I ate them all up really fast!’ Jonno mimed shovelling cakes into his mouth.
‘Well, what about cooking them? The baking trays make twelve cakes each. That’s, like, millions of times we’d have to use each tray.’
‘So?’ Jonno frowned. ‘I can do it really fast.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘I can!’ He lowered his head, prepared to charge.
‘Right!’ I put one hand on his shoulder. ‘We are making thirty-six fairy cakes, because that’s how many the ingredients will make.’
‘I don’t wanna make fairy cakes,’ Hamish said. ‘Wanna make monster-cakes.’
‘That sounds about right.’ I pulled Ellen’s apron strings a little tighter round my waist, wondering if a biohazard suit would be more appropriate.
Oh, boy.
* * *
Three utterly exhausting hours later, my pores clogged with icing sugar, having left behind three boys in the bath, a pile of very monstrous-looking cakes, and Maddie reading her microbiology book to calm herself down, I cycled carefully back home, balancing an old biscuit tin in the bike basket.
Reaching the cottage as twilight crept beneath the forest, I peered inside the tin, hoping somehow the effects of three rambunctious boys and their fretful sister would seem less prominent in the dusk.
No. I felt tempted to leave the squishy, lopsided, shall we sayenthusiasticallydecorated lump on his doorstep and make a run for it. But that would defeat the purpose. Plucking off one of the chocolate fingers sticking haphazardly out of the top, I chomped it down, marching up to Mack’s front door.
Several knocks later, he warily eyed me on the doorstep.
‘Can I come in?’
‘I’m in the middle of something.’
‘A nap, by the looks of things.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want?’
‘I brought you this.’ I held out the tin. ‘I had some, um, help, so it isn’t quite how I planned, but it should still taste good.’
He looked at me, waiting a few moments before slowly taking the tin.
‘It’s to say thanks. And that, well, I really appreciate you fixing my bike, and lending me the saw, and sorting the roof, not hassling me about the broken window and everything…’ I was still too embarrassed to mention the bed. ‘But, as I said before, I’m fine sorting myself out. I don’t need help. I feel horrible that I won’t be able to pay anything back for ages. So, please stop.’
‘I had to fix the roof – it was damaging my office.’
‘Yes, well. That won’t happen again.’
He quirked one eyebrow. I ignored my pathetic fluttering heart.
‘It won’t! And I could have fixed it if you’d given me the chance.’
Mack leant on the doorframe, still holding the tin. I resisted the urge to poke his bicep and see if it felt as solid as it looked.
‘I could have! Look, I said I appreciate it, but I really don’t need help.’
‘I disagree.’
