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Cake

 


 I decided to make a cake for Vanya.  It would be the Cup Of Tea Cake that my grandmother had made for us every Sunday and which I in turn made for her when I was old enough.  Later still, I'd learned it was a kind of Bara Brith, which was intriguing since I didn't know what the Welsh connection might be.


It would take me two days;  First, I would soak the mixed dried fruit and muscovado sugar in the hot tea and leave it over night;  The next day, I would bake the cake in a loaf tin and this would take an hour in the oven and then some to cool. Once cool, I would warm some honey, prick the top of the cake and pour the honey over as a glaze. In the evening, I'd wrap the cake, ready to put in my haversack next day and take to the room.

I delighted myself with this plan, imagining giving her the tea loaf and explaining what it was and how you could put butter on it if you liked, which made me think I should take some best butter too and resolved to buy some on the way. I wondered what kind of tea or coffee she might brew to go with it, then, thinking I could be robbing her of some precious, expensive commodities that would be amongst her few luxuries, planned to include some tea and coffee too. Come the day, my nap sack might be quite heavy at this rate, so I thought I would take my shopping trolley on wheels. It would be hard to get it up the steps, but worth that final effort for the effort saved in not having to carry the items. 

                                                                        *

The allotted day dawned drizzly, but nothing could dampen my spirits, high on the prospect of my happy mission. I'd fantasised about conversations Vanya and I might have, that she might learn more English naturally in this way, that I might help her with some admin, our systems are often quite opaque I know, and that maybe just in small ways this could bring a little light into our lives. 


I was there before I knew it and standing at the bottom of the steps, deciding I could bump the trolley easily if I went up backwards, the steps were not too steep.


One final bump at the top and I turned, possibly with a look of triumph on my face, to see a young, lanky lad in ripped jeans, dirty trainers, a cotton hoody inadequate for the weather, with only a scruffy baseball cap  between him and the icy drizzle, leaning against the wall beside the door, smoking a smelly spliff. 

Oh. Hullo, I said, my expression changing rapidly to something no doubt resembling suspicion and gloominess. He, looking straight at me and grinning mischievously, said Yo glad to see ya, you can let me in grandma.  I no doubt scowled at his cheek, and, looking at his spliff, asked Do you live here ?  Na, my girlfriend does, but she's not here yet. I don't wanna wait out here in this wevver do I.  I had some sympathy for him but I was very much on my guard and replied firmly as I put my key in the door, Now you know I can't do that don't you love. It has been shocking weather and I'm sorry but I don't know who you are and I don't live here I'm just dropping something off for a friend.  I reached into my pocket where I always keep a few pound coins and offered them to him. There's a cafe at the end of the road. Why don't you wait for her there - I'll treat you to a coffee ?  He looked with disgust at the coins and pushed himself off the wall. Keep it for the meter grandma. I'll come back later. At which, he nipped through a gap in the hedge I hadn't noticed previously and disappeared in a trail of rancid smelling smoke. 


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