Page 2 of Just for the Season

I consider, fast. If the man hadn’t patronisingly offered to buy me every other cake in the shop, if he hadn’t been so high-handed, if he hadn’t been so rude, if he’d bothered to explain why he wants the cake, and, crucially, if I hadn’t had a spectacularly bad day, I might have considered his offer.

‘No,’ I state. ‘I got here first and I want the carrot cake.’

‘Or,’ suggests Simon pleadingly, ‘take all the rest of the cakes in the shop instead? I’ve gone extremely autumnal with my specials this week. Look at this pumpkin and mixed spice one, finished with apple icing. It’s delicious, even if I say so myself.’ He does jazz hands towards a green-topped cake. ‘Marcus—’ he indicates Queue Man ‘—means it. You can have them all.’

‘That’s right,’ agrees Marcus.

And then, unbelievably, he reaches around me and picks up my cake.

I whip round to face him and, as I go, my (currently very full) tote knocks his arm, and the cake sails into the air before splatting mascarpone-icing-side down onto the floor.

‘Nooooo,’ I moan.

‘No,’ yells Marcus.

We both stand and stare at the cake, and then at each other.

‘That was entirely unnecessary,’ Marcus tells me.

‘What? Do you actually think I did that on purpose?’ I ask. ‘Why would I do that? It was an accident. What was entirely unnecessary was you stealing my cake in the first place.’

‘It was an accident,’ Simon confirms. He’s come round our side of the counter, brandishing a dustpan and brush, some Dettol spray and a sponge.

‘Noooo,’ I scream, as he bends down to sweep my cake away. ‘I can still eat it.’

Simon stands up slowly and looks at me with concern. ‘Honey, no, you can’t.’

‘Give me a fork and spoon,’ I say, remembering the Friends episode with Chandler and Rachel and the cheesecake. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll eat it off the floor.

‘No.’ Simon shakes his head like I’ve gone mad.

‘Get. The. Cutlery. Please,’ I say, my voice pure steel. I should not be messed with any further today.

Simon scrambles back round the counter before returning with a fork, spoon and a plate.

‘You can scoop it onto there,’ he says, ‘but you are not eating it off the floor. Health and safety. I could get closed down.’ He suddenly looks panicked, and says in a loud voice, like some Health and Safety inspectors might be hovering at the back of the café, ‘I would like to make it very clear that my floors are thoroughly cleaned at least once a day.’

I’m not fully paying attention because I’m busy dolloping all the cake that didn’t touch the floor onto the plate.

Marcus is standing watching me, hands on hips, shaking his head.

I smile at him, magnanimous in my victory, and ask Simon if I can have a takeaway box.

‘I am prepared to share the ruined cake. Half each,’ Marcus says. ‘Final offer.’

Final offer? Is he mad? I’m the one with the power here, because I’m the one holding the cake. Plus, it’s my cake. I got here first.

‘I have carrot cupcakes, also iced,’ Simon says, sounding a lot more reasonable than Marcus. ‘And, Frankie, remember you love my lemon drizzle and my raspberry and pistachio cakes. I have both available.’ He does jazz hands again, in the direction of the counter, and then squirts Dettol at the floor.

I consider. I could share. I could eat half this carrot cake mess (which will taste divine no matter how squashed it is, even without the mascarpone layer) and Ellie could take her pick from some of the other cakes. However. I don’t want to share. I can’t think of any cake emergency that Marcus could possibly be having that could top mine. And I am over being Mrs Nice Guy. So, no.

Simon manoeuvres himself so that he’s in front of me with his back to Marcus and whispers, ‘Please. He owns the lease on this building and we’re renegotiating.’

I sigh. A very big sigh. I love Simon and obviously I can’t be the cause of his rent suddenly being hiked.

‘Fine,’ I say reluctantly. ‘Only for you.’

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ he says, still whispering.