‘How’s life at The Wonderland Teapot, Cleo?’ Ali from the 1001 Nights restaurant asks.
It’s a Monday morning and it’s my first Ever After Street meeting as a shopkeeper, even though I’ve got to know everyone throughout the months of helping Marnie. Lilith, who used to own the tearoom, would provide tea and cake for all the shopkeepers, so Bram and I have brought along a plateful of Cherry Bakewell cupcakes – vanilla sponge with chopped almonds and cherries in it, with a white peak of almond flavoured icing and a cherry on top. It’s really a test to see if our twist on the classic will go down well with Cherry Bakewell lovers, and the meeting is constantly interrupted by moans of pleasure whenever anyone tries one.
We’re gathered in the clearing in the middle of Ever After Street, surrounded by little white fences and flower beds, with seating and verges of grass for picnicking on. I glance at Bram, who is reclining along one of the picnic benches with his yellow boots up on the table and he grins at me.
I try to ignore the little flutter of butterflies flashing around inside and answer Ali. ‘It’s really good.’
‘You have plenty of customers going in and out,’ Mickey, who runs The Mermaid’s Treasure Trove, says.
‘I have people warning me that I’ll have to let their wedding dresses out if they eat any more of your cakes,’ Sadie, the seamstress from The Cinderella Shop adds. She makes wedding dresses for all the brides who have flocked to get married at the castle since she and Witt opened it up for weddings and receptions.
I can’t help blushing. I’ve been working so hard, practising at Bram’s every night, making batches of anything we can think of to incorporate well-loved British treats, and selling them in the tearoom the next day, gradually reducing the amount of supermarket-bought goods on offer and increasing the number of genuinely homemade ones.
‘Children are always talking excitedly about it. At the carousel, I’ve seen a huge increase in kids happy because they’re about to go in.’ Joshy is the new carousel operator, a young lad of about twenty who’s taken on Bram’s old job. He’s more of a balloon-animals type of children’s entertainer than his predecessor, and also impresses both children and adults by singing made-up songs in his extraordinarily deep voice. ‘And lots of nans and granddads warning them that they’ve got to have their ride first and then eat cake. The other way around tends not to end well.’
‘Tell them about the wedding,’ Marnie prompts me. ‘It’s totally unfair. Someone should tell that awful Mr Hastings where to shove his bullyish ultimatums.’
She’s the only person I’ve told about the wedding catering job and how I can’t get out of it without losing the tearoom, and I hadn’t intended to tell the others because I feel small for not refusing and standing my ground, but how can I run the risk of Mr Hastings following through on his threats?
‘Bullyish?’ Lissa, the curator of Ever After Street’s fairy-tale museum, can’t hide her ears pricking up at the hint of a good cause to get behind.
‘Ultimatums?’ Imogen, a middle-aged lady who runs Sleeping Beauty’s Once Upon A Dream – a lovely little shop full of all your nighttime needs, like sleepover kits, fancy pyjamas, bath bombs, soft and cosy blankets – sits forward, clearly wondering what’s been going on when words like that are thrown around.
I sigh and tell them everything about Laura’s caterer drop-out and Mr Hastings’ threat. ‘I don’t have any choice. He made it clear that if I don’t do it, my time at The Wonderland Teapot will be terminated, and I don’t want to lose that. I love it. I’ve always loved Alice in Wonderland and I love getting to share that, I love how many people ask me about it and how many have said they’re going to read it because of me, I love Bram, I—’ I choke on my own words. ‘I love working with Bram,’ I amend as quickly as possible. ‘Everyone who comes in loves the madness of the Hatter. I feel like I’ve been waiting all my life for this job.’
I’m trying not to meet his eyes, but I can’t resist a peek to see if he heard the unintentional blunder that I’m hoping no one heard. His cheeks have gone as red as mine, and the twinkle in his eyes looks like he’s trying not to smile but he can’t quite stop himself.
‘That’s totally unfair.’ Lissa folds her arms. ‘Complain to someone higher up. He can’t be allowed to treat employees like his own personal minions. That’s preposterously unprofessional.’
‘There is no one higher up. Mrs Willetts saw it happen, but no one has any authority over him. Speak out against him and you get fired. He’s a one-man power-hungry inflated walking ego.’ Bram gives me a nod at the throwback to what I said before I knew who he was.
‘Of all people, I don’t think you can say that.’ Lissa fixes him with a look that answers my unspoken question of whether I was the only one who didn’t know Bram’s surname.
‘You don’t need to get out of it. You need to show him that you won’t bow down to his coercive tactics.’ That’s Franca, who works at The Nutcracker Shop on Christmas Ever After. ‘Why don’t we help? Mr Hastings didn’t specify that you have to do every little thing, did he?’
I shake my head.
‘Well, why don’t we all chip in? I make a great lemon meringue pie. My colleague from the festive clothing shop is a whizz with Christmas cookies, she makes them for us year-round. I’m sure she’d be delighted to make some wedding-themed ones instead.’
A few others from the festive end of the street murmur agreement. They’re a little bit separated, and not all of them join us for the Ever After Street meetings, especially at this time of year, although we join forces when Christmas comes. Last year, they held the first Christmas market at the castle and it was unexpectedly popular, like a fairy-tale winter wonderland.
‘We can all help.’ Ali claps his hands together. ‘I own a restaurant. If anyone can help with wedding catering, I can. You should have come to me straight away!’
Mickey whisks a pen and a notepad from her bag. ‘Right, let’s make a list of what’s needed and then divvy it up between us. It won’t be so overwhelming then. Having to cater an entire wedding is outrageous, but if everyone makes a batch or two of something, it’ll be much easier, and Mr Hastings need never know.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t… You’d all deserve credit where it’s due.’
‘Cleo.’ Marnie wraps an arm around my shoulders. ‘You deserve to keep your place on this street, and we deserve to have you and The Wonderland Teapot. Let us all show that horrible Mr Hastings that nobody puts our baby in the corner.’
I’m not sure if it’s just a good moment for a Dirty Dancing reference, or if she means I’m the baby of the street as the newest arrival, but I can’t help feeling flushed with warmth that they’re even offering.
‘You know what they say – many hands make the sticky-fingered skeletons in the closet dance for joy.’ Bram has pulled his feet off the table and sat upright, and I look over at him, silently asking if he thinks this is a good idea, and he gives me a nod like he understands what I’ve managed to convey with my eyes.
Within five minutes, Ali has agreed to make a vast selection of salads and pasta salads. Mickey is doing vol-au-vents and Lissa is on mini sausage roll and mini cheese roll duty. Imogen has volunteered for mini quiches. Franca is making a few lemon meringue pies and arranging for her colleague to make love-themed shortbread cookies. The Cherry Bakewell cupcakes have convinced everyone that Bram and I are the best choice to stick with cakes and other baked goods made from Laura’s favourite things, and Marnie and Darcy have agreed to help us with those. I’m so overwhelmed with how easy they’ve made it that my eyes are welling up. This absolutely crushing thing that’s been hanging over me in the week since Mr Hastings’ visit is suddenly so greatly reduced that I can feel myself sagging in relief, even though I also have to make enough sandwiches to give a hundred and fifty people plenty of options.
Bram comes to stand next to me and slings an arm around my shoulder. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask for help. I should’ve known this lot would spring into action at the first sign of difficulty.’
‘Do you think Laura will mind?’
‘Not at all. No one need ever know.’ He’s left the stack of hats in the shop, and he tilts his head until his blue hair is leaning against mine, the hairsprayed spikes catching on my loose blonde strands. ‘And if anyone did ever know, then no, she wouldn’t mind. Her original caterer wouldn’t have done it alone, he’d have worked with a team of people. Even my father couldn’t object to us bringing in help. A 150-guest wedding is a lot to dump on anyone. And you have friends here who want The Wonderland Teapot to stay as much as I do. You don’t have to do everything alone. It’s okay to share the burden.’ He squeezes my shoulders pointedly, holding me against him for a long moment, and I exhale and tell myself to breathe, because it feels like I haven’t since Mr Hastings walked in the other day.
Bram’s head turns until his lips touch my hair, not a kiss, just a reassuring gesture that makes me feel good and turfs out the doubts that have been lingering since I spoke to Tabby last week. There’s no way he’s anything but genuine.
Seeing as he’s the one person who knows what Laura likes, he’s in-demand, and Mickey asks him about allergies, and then Lissa comes over to ask him about cheese preferences, and he drops his arm from around me and steps away to fend off enquiries, reaching over to scribble things on everyone’s sheets, so popular that it’s like he’s signing autographs.
‘Haven’t had this much fun since I won third place at the last tea tossing competition,’ Bram says when he’s started to look like he needs some space.
‘What’s a tea tossing competition?’ Ali asks, sounding as confused as everyone else looks.
‘You know when you spill a cup of tea and it sploshes so far across the unit that you couldn’t throw it any further if you tried? Well, I like to consider it a competition. How far can I toss the tea today? One point for covering the oven. Three points if it goes under the microwave. Bonus points for the floor too. People still talk fondly of the great tea toss of 1983.’
Our co-workers think he’s lost the plot. Imogen is looking at him like he’s barking mad, but I think about what he said about being shy. He got uncomfortable being the focal point then and said something daft to deflect attention. I can see him playing up his character and hiding behind his Hatter shield. ‘You really are a nuthatch, aren’t you?’
‘I am a handsome blue and orange bird with awesome eyeliner skills, yes. Thank you for the compliment.’ He takes a bow and then stands back up and winks at me.
‘Surprisingly it was.’ I can’t help smiling as our eyes meet and his mouth tips up lopsidedly, making his dimple dip his left cheek, and making me feel warmer than the spring sunshine heating the back of my neck.
When the last of the cupcakes are gone, Bram goes to collect the cake cases and plates.
‘Is he always like that?’ Imogen whispers to me as I start gathering up empty cups and teapots and loading them onto one of the trays we brought with us.
‘He is.’
‘I don’t know how you put up with it. Every conversation is one-third normal and two-thirds nonsense. It’s like spiralling down a rabbit hole and wondering what the heck he’s going on about.’
I laugh out loud. It’s one of the most accurate descriptions of Bram I’ve heard so far, and it makes me remember how I felt about his unique approach to conversations at first. ‘Surprisingly, you get used to it. You even grow accustomed to it.’
As if he can sense we’re talking about him, he looks over and grins at me and my stomach does that fluttery thing again.
‘Very, very accustomed to, hmm?’ Imogen’s eyes flit between us, and I walk into a table because I’m too busy smiling at him to watch where I’m going.
He’s the personification of Wonderland. Slightly mad, quite nonsensical, and… somewhere you want to go back to again and again.
* * *
That afternoon, it’s all going too well… until a customer starts screaming and clawing at his mouth. ‘Hot! Hot! Hot!’
There’s a couple who have come in and ordered sparkly tea; the wife has had a lavender and thyme scone with lemon curd, and the husband has just taken a bite of his Jaffa Cake brownie. He spits it back onto the plate and tries to scrape the remainder off his tongue.
‘Water! Get us some water!’ the wife shouts.
‘Yes, of course!’ I was on the other side of the tearoom chatting about Alice in Wonderland with a curious customer, and my heart is racing as I dash into the food prep room, grab a jug, and turn the cold tap on.
‘Milk,’ Bram shouts after me, having gone over to find out what’s going on. ‘It’s better at taking heat away.’
I fill another jug with milk and race over with them both, trying to ignore the watchful gazes of every other eye in the tearoom, and of course, it’s busy this afternoon so there are a lot of eyes watching this poor man having a terrible experience with his Jaffa Cake brownie.
The man guzzles milk straight from the jug, his face bright red and sweating, as his wife fans her hand in front of him, trying to cool him down.
It’s happened again, hasn’t it? Someone must have put something hot in the brownies. Bram and I made those brownies last night, and we ate a couple together, and there was nothing spicy about them. Just warm, fudgy, orangey gorgeousness. And after Tabby’s warning the other day, I made sure that I was the one who loaded them into cake tins ready to bring in this morning.
The customer is panting, blowing out air through pursed lips, and his wife is mopping sweat from his brow with a napkin. She asks if he’s okay and he nods. My panic recedes. Although I still have an underlying fear that I will one day accidentally kill a customer, today is not that day.
‘What are you playing at, you idiots?’ The angry man stands up and pokes a finger into Bram’s chest. ‘I could have been killed!’
‘Tad dramatic?’ Bram tries to diffuse the situation with humour, but the man is furious. ‘What if I was allergic? Chilli wasn’t mentioned on the ingredients when it’s clearly the main one!’
‘It’s not supposed to be!’ I edge closer because I’m concerned by how much angrier he could get.
‘This is an accident, I assure you.’ If Bram is disturbed by the man jabbing a finger into his chest, he doesn’t show it. ‘They’re not meant to be spicy in any way. The responsibility is mine alone.’
‘Bram…’ I say, because we made them together.
‘No. I made them. I obviously made a mistake somewhere. I’m very sorry. I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘We made a mistake in coming to this dreadful place! Our feelings will be reflected in a review and a very stern letter to your boss!’ The man has every right to be angry, of course he does, but his level of anger is really quite scary.
‘We will, of course, give you a full refund, and a—’ I was going to offer them a voucher for their next visit, but they look like they’d rather visit the surface of the sun than come here again, so I leave it. The wife gives me her debit card to refund while the man gathers up their shopping bags and stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.
‘Sorry,’ the wife apologises as I hand her card back. ‘It really was a very nice scone.’
Bram hears it too and can’t hold back the giggle. When she leaves, he leans over and whispers to me. ‘My money’s on her being the culprit because she wanted to see him suffer.’
The laugh relieves some of the blinding panic and gives me a moment to take a breath, which I haven’t done since the man’s first screech. When I hold my hands out in front of me, they’re shaking.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bram notices too because he reaches over to slip his fingers around mine and give them a squeeze. ‘Every silver lining has a cloud and every cloud has a soft and squishy centre.’
He lets go of my hand and turns to make an announcement to the rest of the diners. ‘Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlehamsters. Just a little Wonderland magic gone wrong. Jaffa Cake brownies are off the menu for today while we gather up the gremlins that have got into the kitchen. If anyone would like a refill of sparkly tea to calm their nerves, it’s on the house.’
I raise an eyebrow at him, and he leans over the counter again. ‘The longer they stay and enjoy something, the more likely they are to forget about that… interruption.’
I think the redness of that poor man’s face will be imprinted in everyone’s minds forever, as will his scathing review, because that will undoubtedly be on the internet for the rest of eternity and no one will need to use their mind’s eye to remember it.
I do a couple of teapot refills as customers take up the offer, although most of them peer warily at the display cabinet like a cake might be about to leap forth and bite them, and unsurprisingly, absolutely no one wants another cake, and probably never will again after that incident.
‘Well, that was fun. Haven’t enjoyed myself so much since I tried plucking my eyebrows with a lawnmower.’ Bram clears their table and when he returns to the counter, he gets the plate of brownies out of the display case, breaks one apart with a fork and takes a mouthful.
His face turns red and his eyes start watering. ‘Flipping ’eck.’ It makes him cough. ‘Someone’s put hot sauce or chilli or something in the Jaffa Cake brownies. Don’t try them.’
I ignore him and take a forkful, and immediately regret it. My mouth blazes so hot that it feels like my teeth try to retreat back inside my gums. Sweat prickles my forehead, my eyes are streaming, and even spitting the cake out isn’t enough to stop the burning sensation.
‘This is ridiculous! No one’s been alone with the cakes today! We set everything out and then we locked up when we went to the meeting. What have we got, a ghost who’s good at sleig—’ I cut myself off abruptly and cover it by choking on my burning tongue again. I was going to suggest a ghost who’s good at sleight of hand, but while I don’t think we’ve got any haunting issues, we have got a magician who’s an expert at it. If anyone could have snuck a bottle of something in, concealed up a sleeve, and doused the brownies with it when no one was watching…
I bite my burning lip as I watch him bending over the sink, trying to run tap water through his mouth. He couldn’t have… He wouldn’t… Why would he? If The Wonderland Teapot goes, so does the Mad Hatter. He’d have nothing to gain, unlike Tabby, who despite her acting ability, I’m sure must be the person who Mr Hastings considered to take over this shop before me. And Tabby was suspiciously early this afternoon. She was waiting outside when we got back from the shopkeeper meeting. If there’s one thing Tabby never is, it’s early. She’s got the hen night to demonstrate to Mrs Hastings how wonderful a wellness retreat on Ever After Street would be – is she trying to ensure that the tearoom has got a few scathing reviews beforehand to give her extra ammunition?
‘What have I missed?’ The Queen of Hearts in question reappears at the bottom of the stairs. ‘What was all the shouting about? So much for peace and quiet on my tea break.’
I go to tell her but Bram gets in first. ‘I’m sure you know exactly what that was all about. I’m surprised you didn’t come down to revel in your win.’
‘Oh, let me guess, someone has done something to… whatever those things were.’ She gestures to the plate of smashed up brownies on the counter in front of us. ‘And you’re trying to blame me, even though I haven’t been alone with your silly cakes for a moment today. I got here after you, remember?’ She locks eyes with me. ‘Let’s hope some of us aren’t stupid enough to fall for your… embellishments. Trusting you, Bram, is a mistake that any woman only makes once. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do. We can’t all toss around playing cards and call it a job.’
‘I don’t—’ He goes to protest, but there’s a child measuring their height against one of the wooden chess pieces and she’s looking at Tabby’s ballgown and red bouffant wig with wide, adoring eyes, and Tabby swishes over to say hello.
He makes a noise of frustration and then schools his face and pastes his Hatter grin back on. ‘I think it’ll take a week for the skin on my lips to regrow. Note to self – buy lip balm. Are you okay?’
I’m surprised by the question. I don’t know if he means the hot brownie or the scene the man made, and the answer to both is… yes and no. I nod instead, and then even though I shouldn’t, I reach out and let the back of my hand brush over the soft T-shirt covering his chest, right where the angry man jabbed his finger. ‘Are you?’
‘Me? I’m fine. Been intimidated by plenty of people worse than that in my life.’
I get the feeling he means his father, but before I have a chance to think about how much I want to hug him, his hand covers mine and he lifts it to his mouth to press a kiss to my fingers. ‘Thank you though.’
He doesn’t drop eye contact and the intensity in his dark eyes makes my knees feel wobbly and I’m glad I’m standing near enough to the counter to brace my hip against it. My heart is suddenly pounding again, and I’m feeling flushed for an altogether different reason this time.
‘Why did you take responsibility for that?’ You wouldn’t think my mouth could be dry when I’ve just swallowed so much water, but it comes out hoarse and I have to clear my throat and try again. ‘We both made them.’
‘He seemed angry enough to complain to someone, somewhere, so better for me to get in trouble than you. Don’t worry about it.’ He drops my hand again when a customer comes in, and goes to greet them with a levitating playing card trick.
‘He’s so good, isn’t he?’ Mrs Moreno says as she comes up to the counter and orders a cup of sparkly tea and her usual toasted teacake.
‘He’s as mad as a box of frogs,’ I say with a smile, trying to forget everything else and concentrate on the customers who haven’t just witnessed a potential poisoning on the premises.
‘And you wouldn’t have him any other way, right?’ She looks over her shoulder to where Bram is now with another customer and has produced a playing card from nowhere and turned it into a rose with a snap of his fingers, only for it to vanish and then turn up again on the other side of the table moments later.
‘Right,’ I say. Because he is as mad as a box of frogs in the best way possible, and he’s many other things too, and yet the only question I keep coming back to is him taking responsibility for the brownies. Is it because he’s kind… or because he is responsible?