Finger Food by Helen Lederer Page A

and making table displays to show it off. This was her passion and when she had no outlets for it she was lost. And hungry.
    Still juggling her bag and umbrella she kicked open the door of Carmel’s Cake Emporium and felt a wave of relief wash over her. Out of the rain and in range of cake she was safe.
    The rain had plastered her pudding-cut hairstyle to her face, giving her the look of a wet seal. Her eyeliner had leaked on to her over-rouged cheeks and her streaked highlights were sadly now almost as dark as the rest of her hair. Bella caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored cake counter and wished she hadn’t. She released the tight belt of her old raincoat (Harrods sale) from around her largish middle and was pleased to note that at least the new floral smock top (Top Shop) and khaki three-quarter trousers had survived the dampness. She hadn’t been sure about the trousers. They had slightly annoying ties around the hems. And after months of cake-eating they were also getting a bit snug ‘around the la la’, as Sharon would say. But they could pass as stylish leisure wear on a budget, which was the look she was adopting.
    Bella tapped her fingers on the counter to make sure Carmel knew she was hungry and that she was there. She could see Carmel’s back in the inner kitchenette area, shaking with the effort of buttering another customer’s scones.
    Bella coughed. She wanted to say ‘Hurry up, Carmel. I’m very depressed. I need cake urgently’. Instead she called out a casual, ‘Morning!’ trying to make the single word sound bold and important. Surely Carmel would understand the urgency of serving her rather than some other less needy customer who’d had the bad manners to order scones?
    Bella turned to view the rest of the tea room, checking if her usual seat was vacant. She hoped she hadn’t left it too late. Ever since she’d got sacked, Bella had become more superstitious and a bit obsessive. It was taking her longer and longer to get out of the house. She’d checked the light switch five times that day, which was one more time than the day before.
    There was one other customer, seated in the corner. An old lady who must have ordered the scones.
    Bella was in luck. The window seat was vacant. From there, she’d have a clear view of The Dress, still shimmering and glinting across the road in the window of Bride 2 B. This was no ordinary dress. It was not an A-line everyday shift dress that you might pick up in a charity shop. This was a dress that spoke to Bella.
    The rose and crystal clasp sewn on to the neckline was surely a sign. The diamante sparkle of the brooch and pretty satin rose entirely echoed the crystal and rose theme of the three-tiered wedding cake that Bella had triumphantly designed on the fateful day of her sacking.
    The dress and the cake could have been made for each other. The cake had been designed for Yvonne’s last-minute demand for another programme. The audience had even written in for the recipe. Bella would never have guessed that this particular dress would have the same features as her cake. Let alone be winking at her from across the road when she sat in the window seat in Carmel’s Cakery.

Chapter 2
    Carmel finally left the kitchen with a plate of scones and a warm freshly baked carrot cake.
    â€˜Hello you!’ she said to Bella, and proudly placed the cake on a display stand on the counter. Bella moved in for a closer look. She could almost lick the icing from here. This was her absolute, most favourite cake in the land. Surely a happy day lay ahead. A cosy carroty scent enveloped her like spring rain. She decided she could quite happily die from carrot cake inhalation.
    If Carmel found it unusual for a customer to be crouched over the counter and smiling at cake, she didn’t show it. Instead she and the buttered scones headed over to the lady in the corner with the shopping trolley.
    Bella felt her