Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “I’m the kid at Christmas, not you.”
Esme laughed. “Yes, you’re quite right. Then let’s get on. No time to waste.”
Three hours later they were stacking 168 choux buns (Scarlet having gobbled several during the baking process for necessary quality control checks) filled with cinnamon-nutmeg crème pâtissière into a croquembouche tower bound by caramel threads. Every bun was iced silver or gold, dusted with icing sugar, and sprinkled with glitter.
Esme had dipped each bun in hot caramel, placing it with precision on the rising spire of sugar and spice. When the last bun was set atop the rest, Scarlet fixed gingerbread stars, crystallized snowdrops, and tiny chocolate owls to their tower. Finally, Esme pierced the syrupy steeple with six long sparklers to light on Christmas Eve.
They stepped back to critique their creation.
“It’s definitely taller than last year.” Scarlet folded her arms. “More stars too. I think it’s . . .” She searched her vocabulary for a suitable adjective and, failing to find one fitting, borrowed from her grandma’s. “. . . really rather splendid.”
“I agree.” Esme smiled. “I do think we’ve outdone ourselves this year.”
Already, a large crowd had gathered outside the café’s bay window, gazing up at the sugar sculpture with wide eyes and wet tongues. A few tested the door, hoping to warm their fingers on mugs of tea and fill their bellies with slices of cake, before they saw the sign, closed on mondays, and turned away.
“Mum should be here.”
Esme pulled her granddaughter into a hug. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. She won’t miss this.”
Scarlet nodded, allowing the lies to lift into the air and settle among the gingerbread stars.
Liyana
Everyone in the playground was laughing and pointing at her. At least, that was how it seemed to Liyana. Even her so-called friends were joining in. Why had she said it? What was she thinking? Christine Bradley had never kept a secret in her life, despite being Liyana’s best friend. She’d told Olivia Greene, who’d told Rosie Bailey, who told the entire school. So now everyone thought that Liyana was delusional, claiming that she could fly. She wanted to disappear; she wanted to die. She wanted to unravel time, go back, and keep her mouth shut. It was such a monumentally stupid thing to do since she couldn’t fly, not here. Here she couldn’t do anything at all.
If only Liyana could take them to Everwhere, then she’d show them. But she didn’t even know how she got there herself. And, if Bea was to be believed, most people weren’t able to get there anyway. Liyana had no idea why this might be so, but since Bea seemed to know everything else about Everwhere, there seemed no reason she wouldn’t be right about that too.
Either way, Liyana was in intractable amounts of trouble. This story of humiliation would enter school lore. And the memory of a school was long. She would become the Girl Who Thought She Could Fly. She would never be allowed to forget. And the story would be passed down through the classes like the legend of the Boy Who Drowned Himself in the School Swimming Pool from twenty years ago.
Then, as Liyana was descending into absolute despair, a miracle occurred. Someone started shouting from the top of the climbing frame and everyone turned to look. A boy, about Liyana’s age, stood astride the metal bars proclaiming in insistent tones that he too could fly. A snigger rippled through the crowd.
“I can,” he shouted. “Watch and see!”
The laughter ceased and the children held a collective breath, waiting, breath and hope suspended, to see if the boy would come good on his promise. Liyana watched with them, deeply grateful for the distraction and wondering how on earth he’d extricate himself gracefully from the situation.
Instead, he did the unthinkable. He jumped.
Liyana watched as the boy seemed to fall through the air in slow motion before hitting the tarmac with a thud. Nobody moved. Not the boy, not a single child in the crowd. Until, like a magician performing a trick, he stood and bowed. For a single, stretched second, the air was still. In the next, the crowd erupted in an arm-waving, whistle-whooping cacophony of cheers and applause.
Liyana exhaled. She was safe. No one would remember her ridiculous claim now; they’d only remember the boy who said he could fly and then leapt from the climbing frame to prove it. She could fade into the background again.