be fine,’ Deirdre said, ‘people buy anything at these bake sales. They’re not fussy.’
Clara didn’t rise. Much like the chocolate cake in the corner hadn’t. It was as flat as a pancake.
‘Who brought that in?’ Clara asked, pointing at the paper-thin cake.
‘Oh, that was Joe,’ Deirdre said with a laugh. ‘I don’t think he’s much of a baker. Bless him for trying, though, eh?’
‘It’s not so bad,’ Clara said, surprised at how quickly she jumped to defend Joe’s efforts. The cake was thin, but the chocolate buttercream smothering it still looked tasty and tempting. ‘And, like you said, people aren’t fussy. They’d buy anything if they thought it’d support the youth club.’
‘I hope you’re right, because if we don’t raise some money fast we’ll have to cancel the Christmas disco.’
‘We’ll find the money somehow,’ Clara said optimistically. ‘There’s been a Christmas disco every year since the club opened. We’re not going to start letting the kids down now.’
‘You’re right,’ Deirdre agreed, as she opened a tin. The tempting waft of chocolate brownie flooded out and Clara’s mouth started to water in response. ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’
Clara rummaged in her bag for her purse. It was buried at the bottom, beneath a pile of crumpled receipts, an empty chocolate-bar wrapper and a couple of emergency tampons. Wasn’t that always the way? She took her rubbish and posted it in the bin, and removed the present for Joe, placing it on the work surface until she found the purse. Unzipping it, she took out a newly-minted coin.
‘Well, for starters, can you bag me up a piece of that brownie? And make it a large one. It looks amazing.’ She placed the pound coin in the margarine tub, the two-tone disc mingling in with the float of silvers and coppers.
‘Brianna Moore’s mum made it, so you know it’s going to be good.’
‘Ah, that explains why it smells amazing,’ Clara replied, inhaling deeply to get another hit from the sweet aroma. Mrs Moore had started up a small bakery on the same row as The Club on the Corner, and apparently the orders had been flooding in. She’d been especially busy over the summer with wedding cakes, and Clara imagined she’d be in demand over the Christmas period too, for those who had neither the time nor skills to cobble together a Christmas cake.
‘I’m going to buy the ginger loaf she contributed,’ Deirdre said with a wry smile. ‘And she’s donated a voucher for a celebration cake too as a raffle prize. I was going to ask if you’d stand on the door as people arrive to encourage them to buy a strip or two.’
Clara snorted. ‘Encourage? Bully them into it, more like.’
‘It’s a fantastic prize. Everyone likes cake. We could take a lot of money on that raffle, if we’re lucky.’ She picked up a bag and peered into it, looking most dissatisfied by the contents. ‘French Fancies,’ she said, with a disparaging shake of her head. ‘Shop-bought.’
‘Mr Kipling’s?’
Clara licked her lips. She loved French Fancies. They reminded her of childhood birthday parties, the bright icing drizzled with purest white zig-zagged lines brought back happy memories.
Deirdre shook her head. ‘Own brand.’
‘Oh.’
Clara was momentarily disappointed, until Joe strode into the room, a woven jute bag in each hand.
He held them up proudly. ‘More supplies!’ he announced.
Deirdre smiled half-heartedly. ‘You been busy doing more baking, Joe? You shouldn’t have.’
‘Oh no,’ Joe laughed. ‘It took me hours to make that chocolate monstrosity, there was no chance I was going to do any more baking. I got Mum to make something instead. She hadn’t realised the cake sale was tonight until I told her – she’d written it in the wrong space on the calendar.’
‘Oh, she’s a star finding time to bake like that.’
‘She appreciates the work the club does so she’ll always make time to support it as best she can. Plus, she’s the vicar’s wife. Baking’s what she does best,’ he joked.
‘I’d better go and look for that book of raffle tickets,’ Clara said, picking up her handbag. She didn’t fancy her chances of finding them, though. The stationery cupboard was a disaster area. ‘Are they where they were left after the summer fun day?’
‘In the box with the receipt book,’ Deirdre confirmed. ‘And make sure people buy plenty,’ she added. ‘Don’t let anyone get away with single tickets, make them buy a strip. Channel your inner sales girl.’
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