The Great Kitten Cake Off

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Yeah, see ya.’ Mads got out. ‘I will pay you back,’ she added.

  I nodded and shut the car door.

  Don’t forget the cakes! she mouthed through the window.

  As if I could forget anything to do with cakes for more than five minutes of my life, I thought.

  ‘I’m home!’ I shouted, as I pushed open the front door.

  ‘About time, too,’ said Mum, who was coming down the hall (in her running gear, of course) like a neon-pink bat out of hell.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Whassup?’

  ‘I’ll tell you “whassup”, madam,’ she said. ‘In fact, I will show you “whassup”.’ She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen. ‘THIS,’ she said with a dramatic sweep of her free hand, ‘is “whassup”.’

  I was stunned for the second time that afternoon. The sight before me was a million times more alarming that Mads’s freaky fake-bake. The kitchen looked as though someone had picked it up, turned it upside down and given it a good shake. The contents of the cupboards were all over the work surfaces: spilt food was smeared over the floor, walls and table, and there were boxes, sachets and tins everywhere. One tin in particular caught my eye. I tried very hard not to look at it. Maybe if I pretended I hadn’t seen it, it wouldn’t be real.

  ‘I go out an hour for my morning run, and I come home to find the kitchen looking like a bomb has hit it! What were you thinking? I thought I asked you to tidy up after your baking?’ Mum snarled. I was pretty sure actual steam was coming out of her ears and her face was dangerously red. Not a great accessory to the pink sports kit.

  ‘I – I’ve been out,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done any baking today.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mum. ‘So I suppose the fairies did this?’

  She pointed to the chaos.

  ‘It . . . it could have been Charlie,’ I said. I realized how lame I sounded, but seriously? Mum must have known I wouldn’t leave the kitchen in this kind of state.

  ‘Charlie has been at Gran’s,’ said Mum. ‘He’s still there. So, no, I don’t think this could have been Charlie.’ She scowled at me for a beat before throwing her hands in the air. ‘Well, don’t just stand there!’ she cried. ‘Get the broom and some cloths and get cleaning. I will be in the shower.’

  I waited until Mum had stomped upstairs, muttering under her breath, and then I walked very slowly to the tin which was worrying me the most.

  It was the tin Mads had put the cupcakes in.

  Please don’t let them be ruined, I prayed helplessly. It was upside down, though, and the lid appeared to have come off.

  This did not bode well.

  I lifted the tin, feeling as though everything was happening in slow motion.

  ‘NO!’

  I sat there, staring at the mess before me. Our once beautiful Mint-Choc-Chip Butterfly Cupcakes stared back at me. They were certainly not beautiful any more. They were not even cupcakes any more. They were a congealed sludgy mess of smeared icing, squashed cake and destroyed decorations. Completely unsalvageable.

  I was too shocked to even shed a tear. ‘How on earth . . . ?’I said aloud. ‘They were inside a tin, inside a cupboard, for heaven’s sake . . .’

  Then, as if in answer, there came a tiny ‘Meeooow’, from right inside the very cupboard where the cake tin had been placed.

  ‘No,’ I said again. ‘No-no-no-no-no-no-no, this is NOT happening.’

  ‘Miaaaaoooow!’ said Kitkat again, louder this time.

  I tiptoed around the mess on the floor and made my way towards the cupboard.

  ‘Where are you?’ I felt around inside, behind the few packets and tins that were still there, until I caught hold of something soft and furry. And sticky.

  ‘Eeuw!’ I pulled my kitten out and held him up by the scruff of the neck. ‘Why?’ I cried. ‘What are you trying to do to me?’ He was covered in blue and white icing and smelt pretty bad. Holding on to him more firmly as he started to wriggle, I peered again into the cupboard.

  ‘You’ve been sick,’ I said. ‘That’s just great. GREAT! Well, I can’t say I am surprised. What were you doing eating cake?’

  ‘It was probably the butter in the icing,’ said a voice behind me.

  I whirled around, Kitkat swinging precariously in my hand.

  ‘Chazzer . . .’ I growled.

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ said my little brother. He threw his hands up in defence. ‘I wasn’t even here. Dad’s just brought me back from Gran’s. You should have checked the cupboards were shut properly. Kitkat got in there before, didn’t he . . . ?’

  ‘OK, thanks for the advice,’ I sneered. ‘Bit late in the day now.’

  ‘Raaow.’ Kitkat had started lashing out with his claws and was struggling hard.

  ‘Put him down,’ said Charlie. ‘He doesn’t like being held like that.’

  ‘And I don’t like having my hard work destroyed!’ I yelled. ‘What is Mads going to say? She’ll go crazy.’

  Charlie took a step towards me and grabbed Kitkat.

  I was going to have to start a whole new batch of cakes. On my own.

  ‘Just get out,’ I said to Charlie. ‘And take that rank animal with you. I don’t want him in the kitchen ever again. I don’t care if he murders Mumbles. He can stay in your room from now on.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Charlie said. He stuck his tongue out. I must have looked as though I meant business, however, because he backed out of the room and took Kitkat with him.

  He had to have the last word, though.

  ‘Actually, this is good experience,’ he called out over his shoulder.

  ‘Oh yeah? And how did you work that one out?’ I said.

  ‘You’ll need to learn how to “Turn Disasters Into Triumphs” if you get on The Cake Off,’ he said. ‘That’s what Milly Barry always says.’

  Then he shot me a cheeky grin and disappeared up the stairs.

  By the time I had finished cleaning up I had worked myself into a right state. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Mads would react once I told her what had happened.

  Even if I explained that it was actually Kitkat’s fault, she would definitely flip. She was already so upset because of the fake-tan disaster. Now I had made things worse by mucking up our chances at the school Cake Off, which meant I had also probably trashed her chances with Ted.

  There was only one thing for it. I needed to fix this mess, and I was going to have to do it on my own.

  I grabbed Mum’s iPad and flicked through page after page of Milly Barry’s website in a panic, trying to find the right recipe.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to myself. ‘You have got to make this right. If you can’t do this, then there’s no way you can succeed on the real Cake Off.’

  At last I found the recipe.

  I took a deep breath. ‘First things first. Bake the cakes.’

  I thought hard about everything Mads had told me about mixing together the butter and the sugar, and soon I was into the swing of it. I scooped the mixture into the cupcake cases, feeling very proud. It looked just like the mix I had made with Mads.

  I checked the oven was at the right temperature, put the cakes in and sat back to relax with a glass of juice to watch them through the glass door.

  Wow, they are rising fast, I thought, as I sipped my drink. I don’t remember them doing that last time. I wonder if I should get them out and . . .OH!

  One of the cakes suddenly exploded and fell in on itself like a reverse volcano.

  ‘No! NO!’ I cried, leaping up from my chair and waving my hands as though the cakes could hear me.

  I turned the oven off just as two more cupcakes exploded.

  ‘What shall I do?’ I hopped from one foot to the other.

  POP! POP! POP! SPLAT!

  The remaining cakes burst out of their cases and covered the glass door of the oven with a gloopy mess.

  Charlie had come running at the sound of my screams.

  ‘Ah . . . Too much baking soda,’ he said, shaking his hea
d sadly.

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘It’s half a teaspoon of soda. You must have used half a tablespoon,’ he pointed out, showing me the recipe.

  I had, but there was no way I was going to admit this to my know-it-all brother.

  ‘How on earth am I supposed to know that?’ I said.

  Charlie gave a condescending smile. ‘ “Tspn” means teaspoon and “tbspn” means tablespoon,’ he said. ‘Everyone knows that. You need to “GET A GRIP!” as Sam and Sid would say.’

  ‘I’ll get a grip on you if you’re not careful – around YOUR NECK,’ I shouted.

  But Charlie was not taking the hint. ‘I am getting my camera for this,’ he said, beaming. ‘It’s better than “Doughgate”.’

  ‘What the flip is “Doughgate”?’ I snarled.

  ‘Don’t you remember? It was a moment of TV gold! One of The Cake Off contestants stole another baker’s dough and Sam and Sid said—’

  ‘Chazzer. Shut. Up. Now. Before I do something we will both regret,’ I warned.

  Charlie made a Woooooo-sound and ran off, laughing.

  ‘IDIOT,’ I shouted after him.

  I huffed and puffed as I got to work cleaning up, determined to make the cakes work the second time around.

  Once the cupcakes were in the oven I turned my attention to finding the peppermint essence. Mads and I had only used a small quantity before, so there ought to have been loads left over.

  However, I couldn’t find it anywhere.

  Kitkat must have spilt it in his rampage around the kitchen, I thought. Or maybe I chucked it in the bin with the other stuff I threw away when I was clearing up?

  I was despairing now. I looked at the bin. There was no way I was going to empty that and sort through it.

  ‘Maybe it doesn’t matter if I don’t make them peppermint-flavoured,’ I said to myself. ‘Mads isn’t going to taste them, so she’ll never know.’

  Deep down, however, I knew this was not the case: Mads would find out when she entered them for the contest as ‘Mint-Choc-Chip’ cakes. The judges would comment on the fact that they tasted just like normal, boring cupcakes, and then I would have to admit what had happened and Mads would be even more furious with me.

  ‘I shall just have to improvise,’ I muttered.

  ‘Talking to yourself, big sis?’

  Charlie was back. With his flipping camera.

  I was about to yell at him to GET OUT when I realized that, for once, I could put his ridiculous obsession with The Cake Off to good use.

  ‘Seeing as you are such a genius know-it-all nerd,’ I said, ‘you are going to have to think of a way to flavour these cakes with peppermint when there’s no peppermint essence left.’

  ‘Say please,’ Charlie demanded, pointing the camera right into my face.

  ‘Please, Charlie,’ I said.

  He gave me a smug grin and said, ‘I’ll get my thinking cap on!’

  Why I ever thought I could rely on my brother to give me advice, I do not know.

  I would certainly live to regret it.

  Luckily Mads was in a great mood after the weekend. She had had the whole of Sunday to hide away from the world and shower for England, which meant that by Monday morning her streaky creosote fake-bake had faded, but secretly I thought she still looked as though she had fallen into a swimming pool full of brown sauce. Not that I would have dared say so. In any case, I was a bundle of nerves about the replacement cakes.

  ‘Oh good, you remembered them,’ she said, noticing the tin. (I had been careful to put them in the same one we had used before.)

  ‘I could hardly forget with you texting me every five minutes yesterday,’ I pointed out. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t come round and watch me pick them up this morning.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I needed a last minute shower-and-exfoliate session, just to be on the safe side,’ she said. She checked the skin tone of her arms for the millionth time that morning. ‘It looks great now, doesn’t it?’ she asked.

  I recognized a tiny note of anxiety in her voice, so I beamed and said, ‘You look gorgeous.’ What are best mates for?

  ‘Thanks, Ells. And if anyone says anything, I’ll just tell them I went on a mini-break over the weekend.’

  ‘Yeah.’ It was all I could trust myself to say. The more I looked at her, the more I noticed that her eyes and teeth were so white against the tone of her skin that they looked radioactive. No one would believe it was a natural tan.

  I have to admit, I was selfishly rather relieved that Mads was so preoccupied with her looks. It meant that she hadn’t once thought to check the cakes: I had spent all weekend worrying that she would. I was convinced she would be able to tell right away that they weren’t the originals.

  As soon as we got to school I put the cakes in my locker and made myself forget about them.

  By the afternoon I was actually feeling quite calm.

  Mads, in total contrast, was a jittery bag of nerves. She kept rushing into the cloakrooms to check her make-up and fuss with her hair every chance she got.

  ‘You are so not interested in the cake part of this contest, are you, Mads?’ I teased, hoping this was true.

  ‘What?’ Mads asked. She put on her most innocent expression.

  ‘Well, put it this way: it’s not our baking you’re hoping to impress the judges with, is it?’ I said. ‘Or rather, one judge in particular . . .’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Mads. She didn’t deny it, though.

  The minute the bell went for the end of the day, Mads was off at top speed in the direction of the school hall. She reminded me of Kitkat skittering around the place when he has one of his funny five minutes.

  My journey to the hall, on the other hand, was tortuous. I was carrying the cakes and had to try to avoid being jostled while crowds of pupils headed for the school exit. They streamed out at top speed, like caged animals released into the wild.

  I wished I could join them.

  When I finally arrived in the hall, Mads had already disappeared into the throng. I stopped in the doorway and scanned the room.

  There was a huge banner slung across the top of the stage which read: ‘Welcome to the Oakwood High Charity Cake Off’. It was decorated with silver stars and glitter.

  ‘See? Our cakes tie in with the theme,’ said a giddy voice behind me.

  ‘Flip! Where did you spring from?’ I said, as the cakes rattled in the tin. ‘You scared the life out of me, Mads – I nearly dropped everything.’

  ‘Never mind that.’ Mads leaned in. ‘Have you seen him?’ She nudged me, knocking the cake tin, and nodded towards the stage.

  A couple of people parted at that moment to reveal the person Mads was talking about.

  Ted Watson. Officially the hottest guy in Year 9. If you are into that kind of thing. Which I most definitely was not.

  ‘Oh. Oh. I am going to die. Right here. On. The. Spot,’ said Mads.

  The object of Mads’s death wish was completely unaware of the commotion he was causing. He was engrossed in setting up the baking-display tables with a bunch of his mates and his twin sister Georgie.

  ‘I am dying, it is official,’ cried Mads. She was flapping her hands in front her face, the way people do on telly when they are trying not to get over-emotional.

  Yeah, and anyone who eats these cakes will probably die too, I thought to myself. My nerves were getting the better of me again, fluttering around my stomach like the butterfly decorations on the stupid cupcakes. I was beginning to think that, not only did they not look as great as the originals had done, they were probably not going to taste that marvellous either, what with Charlie’s ‘genius’ idea at improvising the peppermint flavouring.

  ‘Don’t die, Mads,’ I joked, to cover my own nerves. ‘It’s against Health and Safety to die when there’s food around.’

  ‘Shhh! You’re embarrassing me,’ Mads said in a low voice. Then she caught Ted’s eye – and he only went and smiled. ‘Oh, he’s soooo fit,’ she said in a g
ooey whisper. ‘You see he’s had his hair cut? It makes him look just like Larry Files from Wrong Direction! And his eyes – I swear they’re extra blue today,’ she swooned.

  ‘Great. They’ll match the icing on our cupcakes then,’ I quipped.

  Inwardly, I was cursing Ted’s new Larry Files looky-likey haircut. It would mean Mads would fall even more hopelessly head-over-heels than she already had. Mads ADORES Larry Files. Her bedroom is literally plastered with his face and stupid floppy hair and she plays Wrong Direction’s greatest hits on a loop until I feel ready to commit grievous bodily harm on her iPod.

  I sighed. I was going to have to tread carefully here.

  ‘Mads,’ I said. ‘Do you really think Ted’s going to notice – I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, but, don’t you worry that he might be a bit . . . out of your league? No, um, what I mean is . . . he’s in Year 9 . . .’ I tailed off. Wow, that went well, I thought.

  Mads had stopped in her tracks. Her face was thunderous. ‘Out of my league?’ she spat. ‘Why don’t you tell me exactly what you “mean”, Ellie?’

  ‘No, what I meant was: Oh no! We really are going to be judged by the Year 9s. That’s way out of our league . . .’ I was so not handling this well. ‘I mean, I thought it would be the teachers judging it.’ I bit my lip and decided to shut up.

  Mads scrutinized me before saying, ‘You know what they say about being in a hole? If you dig any deeper, you’ll fall right in and they’ll have to send out a search party.’

  Not a bad idea, in the circumstances, I thought.

  Then Ted smiled at us again and Mads seemed to forget I had insulted her. She flashed him an insane grin back.

  ‘Just remember, Ells,’ she muttered through her smile. ‘We’re here to win: eyes on the prize!’

  ‘OK,’ I muttered. I think I know what prize you’re talking about, I thought.

  Then she grabbed the tin from me and with a purposeful flick of hair she announced, ‘Our cakes are glitzy and sparkly and glam. We will wow the judges.’