The Gingerbread Cake Incident

Part 3 - Cakes

Andy looked at where she pointed. In front of them was a hole roughly two feet in diameter. That wasn't all. There was the stink of... well, he didn't want to think of what the source of the stink was. It was, after all, a cesspit. And, going by the smell, it probably hadn't been cleared out very recently.

"There used to be a cover here and the hole it covered used to be much smaller," Mrs Broomfield helpfully informed him. "I think it's fallen in."

Andy bent down to try and see into the darkness of the pit. He pulled a hanky from a pocket and held it over his mouth and nose as his head got closer to the hole. Inside, it was pitch black.

"I'm going to have to get the torch," he said, once clear of the hole. The fumes had already made his eyes start to water.

As they passed the area that used to be the vegetable patch Mrs Broomfield said, "I've put the kettle on. Would you and the young lad like a cup of tea? I just finished baking some cakes as well. You are both welcome to have some."

"That's very kind of you," Andy said. "Yes, please." He knew Great Al wouldn't be able to resist cake. Then again, Great Al had trouble preventing his hands from stuffing anything resembling food into his mouth.

Equipped with the torch and a full face mask that was normally used when they were spray painting things, Andy returned to the cesspit. The echoes from inside suggested it was cavernous, far bigger than normal for a cottage of that size. It looked as if it was one of those ancient brick-built affairs. He suspected that the whole thing was collapsing in on itself though he couldn't be sure without sticking his head down the hole and he wasn't going to attempt that without the security of a length or two of rope. He was hoping the whole thing was beyond repair so he could recommend that it be dug up and replaced with a more modern prefabricated unit. And that, he was glad to say, was way beyond him and his accomplice's capabilities. They could safely leave it to someone else to shovel up all that shit!

"Tea's up," came Mrs Broomfield's voice from the direction of the cottage.

Andy left the cover of the trees, noting that the drizzle had stopped. He doubted the day would get away without a downpour or two, though. He stopped to inspect how Great Al was getting on. He had already cleared the area and had made a start on digging a shallow foundation ditch.

"That looks good," he said, patting Al on the shoulder.

"Thanks, boss."

Andy had given up trying to stop Great Al calling him boss. The conversation had usually gone: "Please don't call me boss, Al. Remember, we're cousins." which was followed by "Oh yeah, cousins. Sorry, boss."

Great Al had been with Andy for around three years now. He'd taken him on as an apprentice when the boy had turned seventeen. There hadn't been any point to him staying on at school after failing most of his GCSEs. It hadn't been his idea to have him as an apprentice but, let's face it, no one else in their right mind would have employed Great Al. The family had convinced him to "give him a try out because he's good with his hands." The amazing thing was, they weren't wrong. Great Al took to painting and brick laying like the proverbial duck to water. So, here he still was.

"Looks like it's going to chuck it down before the day's out," Mrs Broomfield said as she stood just inside her back door. Andy couldn't disagree.

"Sugar?"

"Thanks. Three for me and a small one for the lad. Is it okay if we wash our hands?"

She glanced at their hands and then at the mud on their boots and said, "Might be best if you use the tap just outside the door. Here's a towel."

After they had cleaned up a bit, she handed their cups to them and they looked inside while sipping. The air was thick with the smell of cooking, which wasn't surprising given the assortment of freshly baked cakes piled on the trays that were spread out over the large wooden table that dominated the kitchen.

"Cakes," Great Al said, his mouth hanging open in wonder and anticipation.

"Yes, young man," said Mrs Broomfield. "Gingerbread, lemon, carrot and lots of other flavours. I'll be icing some of them once they've cooled off a bit. Hold on, if you don't mind them hot, I'll get you some."

Great Al's mouth drooled.

She picked a couple of plates from a cupboard and loaded each with a teetering consumable mountain, whose peak was crowned with a gingerbread cake in the shape of a house. Great Al's eyes were almost bursting from their sockets as he took the offering.

"Watch it," she warned. "They're still a bit hot."

"You do a lot of cooking?" Andy asked, looking in at the kitchen. The walls were decorated, if that's the right word, with recipes chopped out of magazines.

"Oh, a little here and there. Got a large, um, meeting here tomorrow. That's why I wanted the barbecue built – I hope it will be finished in time."

"Oh yes, Great Al is a miracle worker – it will be done just after lunch and should be set fine by tomorrow in time for you to use it. That's if you get the chance," Andy said, pointing his thumb up at the ominous darkness above them.

"Oh, it will be fine tomorrow. We've made sure of that," Mrs Broomfield chuckled, tapping her temple with a finger.

"What is it? Women's Institute meeting or something?"

She laughed again, "Not quite – just a bunch of us old 'uns getting together for a spell of, er, nattering and a spot of dinner. It's my turn to host this year."

Andy munched through the house-shaped cake, it was delicious. Great Al had devoured three cakes already.

"Right, help yourselves to a few more cakes if you want. I need to go into town and pick up a few odds and ends for tomorrow."

Mrs Broomfield picked a jacket off a hook on the back door and put it on. She walked over to the rusty Mini, wrenched the door open and slid herself in. To Andy's amazement, it fired up instantly and zoomed off, throwing several stones from the driveway up into the air.

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