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It wasn’t an official committee meeting, Mia had decided, because she couldn’t possibly call another meeting on top of the three they already had planned that week. On the other hand, she was sitting in StarFish with four other committee members, eating sandwiches and making last minute adjustments to the stall plan, so there wasn’t a great deal to choose between them.
“I’m still worried we don’t have enough games.” Mia stared at the plan until the lines started to blur, and she sighed. “We need something to entertain the kids. If they get bored, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”
Susan Hamilton turned the plan around to suit her and began ticking items off on her notepad. “Well, what have we got so far? Coconut shy, bran tub, guess the number of shells, hook-a-duck...”
Before Mia could expire from the boredom of hearing about the games, let alone having to play them, the door opened and everyone at the table turned to look and see who was coming in. Anything was more interesting than hearing about Reverend Davies’s fruit tombola.
George Page let the door shut behind him, making Charlie grab it before it hit him in the face, and Mia winced as she realized he was heading right for their table. Really not the time, Dad, she thought. Glancing around the table, she saw her committee members felt quite differently. It had to beat discussing the fruit tombola, she supposed.
Mia got to her feet, hoping to intercept him. “Dad...”
George slapped a stack of twenty-pound notes down onto the table. “Contribution to the war effort,” he said with a crooked grin. “Thought it might come in handy.”
Mia stared at the money, only realizing moments later that her father had pulled up a chair and was helping himself to their sandwiches.
“Where did it come from?” she asked, dropping down into her seat.
Pausing mid-bite, George glanced up at Charlie. Mia followed his gaze, but Charlie merely lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence, and said, “I waited in the car,” before disappearing off toward the kitchen.
Mia turned her attention to her father, who was chewing happily. “Tell me.”
George swallowed, then shrugged. “Just sold off an antique or two I had lying around.” He gave a charming smile to the other ladies at the table. “Figured your need was greater.” Mia had more questions, but George was already reaching for another sandwich and asking, “So, anything else I can do for you girls?”
“Well,” April Havers said, looking a lot less suspicious than she had when George had arrived, “we do need some more games. Something to keep the kids entertained.”
The smile that crossed her father’s face didn’t exactly fill Mia with confidence. “I might just be able to do something to help out,” he said. “You girls just leave it with me.”
* * * *
Two days before the festival, the Mothers’ Union invaded the kitchen at StarFish.
“We thought if we’re going to be selling these cakes, we should take the opportunity to do it professionally,” Heather Jenkins said, strapping on a pink and white candy striped apron.
“Um,” Charlie said, watching the others don their uniforms as if following an unspoken order.
“You’re welcome to stay,” Heather added, in a tone that suggested he might enjoy the experience more if he wasn’t actually there.
“I’d better go check on Magda,” he said, edging toward the door. “Make sure she’s got everything under control out there.” And check there weren’t any more customers expecting him to be able to cook them food in his own kitchen.
Heather nodded, but the other women were already engrossed in unpacking tins and Tupperware filled with flour and sugar and butter and didn’t even notice when he slipped out through the kitchen doors.
Luckily, it was midafternoon, and StarFish was pretty much empty. Except for one surprisingly persistent customer.
In the corner by the fireplace, Joe was finishing up a full three course lunch. For the second time in a week.
Which was weird, because until a few weeks ago, he’d only ever eaten there once in all the time StarFish had been open. And even then it was a freebie from Charlie when he was negotiating a better rate on the fish.
“Magda?”
His assistant detoured on her way from Joe’s table to the kitchen and asked, “What now?”
“What’s the deal with Joe? Did his oven break or something?” Charlie asked.
Magda rolled her eyes. “Of course you’re only just noticing. Idiot. He’s been eating here three times a week for the last month and a half.”
“And why, exactly, is he our new best customer?” Charlie pressed.
“Because he knows I’m worried about my job,” Magda answered with a shrug. “This is his way of supporting me. I think it might be the only thing he eats all day, when he’s here.”
Charlie was stunned into silence for a moment. Joe couldn’t afford that any more than he could, Charlie knew. “You could do a lot worse than Joe, you know.”
“I know,” Magda said, her eyes serious, and headed back to the kitchen.
Maybe he should look at developing some sort of regular diner discount. Or maybe he should just warn Magda about the bake-a-thon going on in the kitchen.
* * * *
Mia nudged open the door to StarFish with her hip, shifting her hold on the box of programs, and silently cursing the printer who, yes, had given her a great deal on the actual printing, but hadn’t mentioned she’d still need to fold and staple everything when he was done.
It was gone eight o’clock in the evening, and Mia had expected to find the restaurant deserted except for Charlie and possibly Magda. Instead, when she stepped inside she found the place lit up by every lamp in the place, plus occasional candles, and every single table occupied.
Just not by customers.
“What’s with all the cakes?” she asked Magda as the Polish woman slipped through the kitchen doors into the restaurant. From the brief burst of noise Mia heard while the doors were open, it sounded like Charlie was throwing a party back there.
Magda glanced around the restaurant, and Mia followed her gaze, taking in the long table full of loaf cakes, the three round tables covered in fairy cakes, and the four solid square tables holding variations on the classic Victoria sponge. The bar counter, it seemed, was the new home for all the biscuits in Aberarian.
“Yeah, I think they got a bit carried away,” Magda said. “Just don’t try to eat them. I’ve already had my hand slapped twice.”
“They’re for the festival?” Mia wondered if it might not be worth a hand slap to taste one of the butterfly cakes. Then she frowned. “Who got carried away?”
Magda smirked. “Why don’t you head on in and see?”
Leaving her box of programs on an empty chair, Mia headed for the kitchen, getting hit by a burst of warm, cakey air the moment she stepped inside. Letting the door shut behind her, she leaned against it and held in a giggle.
>
Charlie stood in front of one of the ovens, flour in his hair, and a yellow and pink floral apron reminiscent of Ditsy’s tea dresses wrapped around his waist. On his hands were turquoise oven gloves, and he proudly lifted a tray of cupcakes out from the oven. Around him, the core members of the Mothers’ Union and Mia’s festival committee clapped wildly. Enid Jones even gave out what could only be described as a whoop.
“Those smell good,” Mia said, pushing away from the door.
Charlie turned to her, baking tray still in hand, and she spotted an adorable smudge of chocolate frosting on his cheek. “I’ve just been, um, helping get the cakes ready for the festival. You know, using my chef skills...”
“He’s come along marvelously since this morning.” Heather Jenkins patted his cheek, then pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “We’re all very proud of him,” she said, rubbing away the chocolate frosting.
“How long have you been at this?” Mia asked, reaching out for one of the cakes Charlie was resting on a cooling tray.
Charlie smacked her hand, and said, “Hours,” in a mournful voice.
“But we’re just about done,” April said. “This is the last batch, and everything but the tray is already in the dishwasher.”
“They’re very efficient,” Charlie said in a tone that suggested he had been very efficiently managed for most of the day. Mia would have to fetch him a glass of wine, once the ladies were gone, but before she broke the news about the folding and stapling they’d be doing all evening.
Heather clapped her hands together and said, “Right then, ladies. Time to get home.” And, within moments, they were gone, in a whirr of floral aprons and a sniff of vanilla.
Out in the restaurant, Charlie flipped the sign on the door over to Closed, bolted it for good measure then turned to stare balefully at all the cakes.
“A suggestion, boss?” Magda said from where she was loitering close to the biscuits. Mia was sure the pocket of her apron had some suspicious, cookie-shaped bulges in it.
“Eat them?” Charlie guessed.
Magda shook her head. “Let’s just shift them to the back tables and put up a chair cordon. Cover them all with foil and tablecloths and they’ll be perfectly safe until festival day.”
