How depressing.
In order for that not to happen any time soon I would need sustenance and I could smell the chocolate cake on the shelf, right next to my head. I carefully felt for the silver tray that it was sitting on and pulled it out to place it gently on the floor. There was no doubt that this cake was for some kind of occasion or event – Chef wouldn’t just be keeping a cake in here for no reason. I would have to make sure I didn’t spoil it. I remembered that when I’d seen it from the door, there had been some kind of message on the top layer, spelled out in small white chocolate buttons. With my eyes adjusting to the dark, I could make out the white buttons scattered across the top. I began to pick a few off, careful not to take too many, confident that Chef wouldn’t notice a few less chocolate buttons. They were delicious.
Suddenly the door swung open and light poured into the room. ‘And in here, Boss, is the polo team cake itself?!’
I heard gasps and then my mum’s voice broke the silence. ‘Flick?’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Chef, aghast. ‘Some things never change.’
I blinked up at them. ‘Finally! I was running out of oxygen.’
I scrambled to my feet.
‘Someone needs to fix that light,’ I instructed. ‘And what is the point of having ugly washing-up gloves for health and safety, if you have dodgy doors that lock people in pantries?’
‘You just turn the handle,’ Chef explained, looking confused.
I glanced down at the door handle. I could have sworn it hadn’t been there before. But then I didn’t remember searching the door, just pushing against it. Whoops. Oh well, I’d better run with it.
‘It’s broken,’ I insisted. ‘Anyway, I’ll get back to my washing-up now. I was really getting into it.’
I darted past Mum to the sink and began to battle with the washing-up gloves again. After a few moments, I heard footsteps behind me.
‘Flick, would you mind turning round for a moment, please?’
I grimaced at Mum’s stern tone and slowly swivelled to face her.
The cake had been placed on top of the work surface and Mum was standing on one side of it with her arms crossed and Chef was standing on the other with his hands on his hips, a team of young chefs gathering behind him.
‘Hey, everyone.’ I waved my glove slightly overenthusiastically, spraying Chef with water. ‘Oops, sorry.’ I laughed. Chef did not laugh back. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.
‘What’s up?’ I asked innocently.
‘Well, you see, Chef and his pastry team have been toiling long and hard to create this splendid cake for Great Britain’s polo team. They have an important tournament coming up and they’re holding a party for it this evening here at the Royale, in the ballroom.’
‘Cool.’ I nodded. ‘Good luck to them.’
‘Interesting choice of words,’ Mum said calmly. ‘Chef, would you be so kind as to inform my daughter what the top of the cake said after you painstakingly arranged mini chocolate buttons to spell it out in an intricate calligraphy style?’
‘“Good Luck, Polo Team”,’ Chef grumbled.
‘Thank you, Chef. Flick, did you, by any chance, help yourself to some of the chocolate buttons when you were stuck in the pantry for all of five minutes?’
‘I may have had a few,’ I admitted. ‘I didn’t know how long I was going to be in there! I thought I might starve!’
Sasha let out a giggle and I smiled at her gratefully. Anything to lighten the atmosphere. She stopped quickly though after a sharp look from Chef.
Mum continued. ‘Could you come over here and read what it now says on top of Chef?’s “Good Luck, Polo Team” cake?’
I began to pull off the washing-up gloves. ‘Actually,’ Mum said quickly, ‘I wouldn’t bother taking those off. Come on, come over here and read it out.’
I shuffled towards them and leaned over the cake to see what all this fuss was about. When I saw what had happened, I burst out laughing. Mum and Chef shared a look of irritation.
‘Well?’ Mum prompted, as I clutched my stomach from laughing so hard. ‘Read it out.’
I attempted to stifle the overwhelming giggles. ‘Good lu–’ I couldn’t hold the laughter back. ‘Good luck, p–’ I couldn’t breathe I was laughing too hard. ‘Good luck, p–’ Tears were now streaming down my face.
‘Felicity.’
