The Cosy Little Cupcake Van

by Annette Hannah

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

'A charming, heartwarming romance with a serious feel-good factor' Helen J Rolfe 'Brimming with friendship and romance, this lovely book will charm your heart' Milly Johnson on Wedding Bells at the Signal Box Cafe Camilla's delicious cakes are the talk of her little village. If you need a perfectly iced mouthful of joy, Camilla 'Cupcake' is your woman. But after losing her mother, she finds her home and her business in jeopardy. She needs a little helping hand... Thankfully her friends are always there for her, and when she is given an old ice cream van, Camilla's dream of a cupcake delivery service is born. Now she can bring happiness - and buttercream frosting - to the whole town. But when her ex Blake appears back on her doorstep, Camilla must decide if she can trust him again or if her heart might belong to someone else... Bursting with romance and sprinkled with humour, this is a deliciously feel-good story about one woman putting her life back together, one cupcake at a time. Perfect for fans of Cathy Bramley, Ali McNamara and Rebecca Raisin! Readers are loving The Cosy Little Cupcake Van! 'A wonderfully uplifting story where friendship and the idea that new beginnings are possible is the overriding message throughout' Brook Cottage Books 'Essentially, this is the warm hug we all need right now! A gorgeous, uplifting story that leaves you feeling you can do whatever you want to!' Bookish Lara ' The Cosy Little Cupcake Van is a wonderfully uplifting and comforting read, written by a very talented author' My Reading Corner 'Soothing, comforting and oh so enjoyable. I loved it and think some of those well-established, award-winning romantic fiction novelists need to look out. Annette Hannah is after their crowns' Linda's Book Bag 'Uplifting, positive and absolutely charming... the literary equivalent of comfort food' The Curious Ginger Cat

Release date: March 22, 2021

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 288

Sample

‘Make everything you do a happy future memory to look back on and be proud of.’ Camilla Lockley embraced her mum’s wise words, which had convinced her to enter the competition, despite her lack of confidence. Now, though, she was halfway through the final challenge of ‘The Wedding Cakeathon’ – The Great British Bake Off’s closest rival – which was being filmed by a new streaming network.

The competition had been fierce, and Camilla had fought off incredibly strong rivals. Previous rounds had included musical instruments, for which the judges had declared her Fender Ukulele tribute world class. They especially loved the sound effects from the music box she’d hidden inside which played a rock version of ‘Here comes the Bride’.

The animals round had been an easy choice for her; she had always been fascinated with sloths ever since she was a child and found out that the two-toed sloth actually had three toes, well on their back feet anyway. Her masterpiece had consisted of a thick tree trunk with a whole sloth family on it. The mummy sloth hanging upside down with a baby on her chest and the proud daddy hanging off the side of the trunk, the right way up. This one was awarded with gasps from the judges. The baby sloth had really stolen the show.

Some rounds had been quite hair-raising as she hadn’t done so well in them. She’d chosen to make a tractor in the unusual wedding vehicles round and the judges said the wheels were as rubbery as real tyres. She scraped through by the skin of a rice pudding only because another opponent’s aeroplane somehow tasted like feet. She thought she was going to be saying au revoir that week, but she’d survived another day.

Filming of the main group had stopped for lunch and Camilla was called for her piece to camera in the beautiful gardens of the French chateau where the competition was being held.

The make-up girl patted her face with some powder whilst one of the crew spoke to her.

‘Okay, Camilla, once we start rolling we just want you to tell us how you came to be in the competition, your hopes and dreams and what you would do with the prize money if you win. Is that all right?’

‘Err, yes that’s fine,’ she replied trying to fight off the sudden need for a nervous wee and an incredible urge to giggle uncontrollably.

‘Hi, my name is Camilla and the reason I’m here is because my mum nominated me to enter. I suppose she was bound to believe in me though, seeing as she was the one who taught me how to bake before I could even talk. She has a recipe book at home, which is covered in eggs, flour and cake mix from years gone by, which I still follow to this day. I think the thing I love most about baking is that it’s so emotive isn’t it? The rolling up of the sleeves and washing of hands, using ancient wooden spoons that hold a thousand memories. Traditions and methods are passed down from generation to generation. Baking together is a perfect way to bond. My mum could ease any problems I may have had at school out of me just by saying the words: “Let’s bake a cake.”

‘My mum always talks about me with a mother’s pride, but I want her to know how proud I am of her. She’s an amazing woman who has gone through so much. She brought me up single-handedly and made so many sacrifices through her life. We’re so close that people often mistake us for sisters and she is undoubtedly my best friend. If I win the ten-thousand-pound prize money I would like to fulfil her lifelong wish by taking her on holiday to Hawaii and I would use the rest to set myself up with some proper business premises so I can make even more sweet creations.’

‘And cut. That’s great thank you, Camilla. We’ll see you back in the chateau after lunch,’ said Suzy the camera operator.

‘Was that okay? I was so nervous I felt like I was stumbling over my speech.’

‘No, you were brilliant. Good luck for tomorrow.’

‘Thank you so much.’

After lunch Camilla joined the other two finalists as they continued to work on their masterpieces. They still had all day tomorrow to work on them and the judging would be at the end. The final theme was dream wedding venues and Camilla had chosen a Hawaiian wedding scene, complete with a beach hut, beach scene and the ocean and topped with a hula bride, which would spin around to the sound of a ukulele playing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow.’ She knew her mum would love it as it was her favourite song. As she worked on trying to stop her hands from shaking after cutting out pieces of coloured fondant to decorate the five-tier structure, she thought about how far she’d come.

She’d been baking for family and friends forever and had just about worked on every theme known to man, starting with Teletubbies that looked like they’d been murdered and a wonky Thomas the Tank Engine that looked like he was on acid. She was amazed that the children who received these cakes hadn’t burst into tears and run off screaming in terror, but they’d seemed to love them. She had worked her way through various themes, improving tremendously as she did so, and was now really well known for her cakes in her local area. Thanks to collaborating with a wedding planner who was now her good friend, she had become hugely popular on the wedding cake scene, but there was only so much she could do on her own. She was ready to expand the business.

The atmosphere in the chateau was now fraught with anxiety as the three remaining contestants raced around trying to do too many things at once. The time seemed to go ten times quicker in there than it did anywhere else.

With two hours still to go, one of the judges appeared in the kitchen and made her way over to Camilla. The judge, a comedienne who had starred in many hilarious sitcoms, normally joked with the contestants, but her face looked serious.

‘Camilla, could you come with me a minute please.’

‘Oh, it’s okay,’ she replied smiling. ‘I’ve done my piece to camera.’

‘You probably should wash your hands, my love,’ she said. Camilla looked down at the vivid stains on her fingers from the food colouring then up to see sympathy shining in the tears that welled up in the other lady’s eyes.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Camilla Lockley?’ asked the heavyset man who towered over her, blocking out the light as she placed the second of the boxes in the back of the car.

‘Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?’ She slammed the boot shut and made her way to the driver’s seat.

‘I’m from Bingley and Dobbs and I’m afraid we are repossessing this vehicle due to non-payment. The details are all here.’ He shoved a couple of scary-looking legal documents into her hand.

She tried to make sense of them, but the words seemed to dart around the page like ants on a pavement as her nerves got the better of her. The red stamp saying ‘Repossession’ across it though made it quite clear.

‘Can I have the keys please?’

‘Look, there must be some misunderstanding. I’ll be getting paid for this wedding cake in a couple of hours, so I’ll be able to pay this month’s instalment.’

‘I’m afraid it’s gone beyond that, miss, so can I just have the keys and I’ll be on my way?’

Resigned to the fact that this was a fight she couldn’t possibly win she lifted the two square white boxes from the boot, one by one, and carefully rested the heavier one on a sturdy hedge with the smaller one next to it.

‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could give me a lift is there?’ She gave him an exaggerated smile that she imagined made her look more delirious than friendly. He didn’t bother to respond and closed the boot with a slam. ‘Would you consider a cake in lieu of payment?’ she shouted to what used to be her little pink Fiat 500 as it sped off.

Trying not to panic she checked her watch, pulled out her phone and dialled her friend Lucy’s number. ‘Oh come on please answer, Lucy.’ Her foot tapped on the floor as she waited for her to pick up. She hung up when Lucy’s answerphone came on. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ She desperately needed to get this cake to its destination pronto and had no money for a taxi.

As she racked her brains for an answer, the solution came heaving round the corner in the form of a double decker bus. She grabbed the top tier of the cake and ran to the nearby bus stop, hoisted one leg up to rest the cake on it and thrust her arm out, the overall effect resembling the crane kick that the karate kid had spent a whole movie trying to achieve. Mr Miyagi would be so proud, she thought as she jumped on the bus and placed the cake box on the luggage rack.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ she called as she fought her way through a few more passengers. She ran to the hedge to rescue the heavier of the cakes, and with sweat dripping down her back she made her way back to the bus.

‘Noooo!’ she cried as the door closed in her face with a loud hiss. She couldn’t even knock at the door as her hands were full. ‘What the hell?’ she shouted.

‘Don’t worry, love, another will be along in a minute,’ said an old man behind her. ‘That one is usually late because it gets too full but the other one flies along and soon catches up.’

Camilla could feel herself burning up. She looked up to the sky and prayed to her mum that the other bus would hurry. Having not been able to face making cakes – especially wedding cakes – since losing her mum so suddenly, she’d finally taken the plunge as her friend Lucy was desperate after another baker had let her down. Now she seriously wished she’d stuck to her guns. Who needed all this stress? Not her that’s for sure. If she hadn’t been faffing around baking cakes in France, she wouldn’t have missed saying that final goodbye to her beloved mum and she would never forgive herself for that. The producers of the competition had been amazing and paid for her to get back home but she was too late. The show had aired a couple of months ago and she and her Auntie Edie had watched every episode together raising a glass or two of bubbly for her mum. They had shed many a tear on that last episode. Even though she’d had to drop out of the show the producers had awarded her third prize and a mini break which her Auntie Edie said she should think of as a present from her mum.

She shuffled from one foot to the other, trying to evenly distribute the weight of the cake, and now to top it all she needed a wee. Within a couple of minutes, the virtually empty bus rolled up. Camilla jumped on and placed the cake on the luggage rack.

‘Follow that bus,’ she said to the driver in a tone quite a few octaves higher than usual.

‘What bus?’ he asked confusion etched on his face.

‘Sorry I was joking; you know how they always say, “Follow that cab!” on the films. I’ve always wanted to do that.’

The driver chuckled.

‘But seriously do you think you can catch it up because I’ve left something on it?’

‘Oh no, what was it?’

She gestured to the box on the luggage rack. ‘It’s like that box but smaller.’

He looked in the rear-view mirror. ‘A cake?’

She put her face in her hands. ‘Yes. It’s someone’s wedding cake and I’ve left the top layer on the other bus. Can you speed up please?’

‘I can’t speed up, but I can go one better than that.’

She peeped through her fingers and saw he was waggling a radio at her. Her mouth opened wide into a hopeful smile.

‘What stop are you getting off,’ he asked.

‘Bramblewood.’ She held her hands as if in prayer as he spoke to the bus depot and asked them to pass a message to leave the cake at the stop.

‘Thank you so much,’ she gushed. ‘I owe you a cake, a really big one, shaped like a bus.’

He laughed and saluted her.

After what seemed like the longest journey ever but what was probably only five minutes, her heart leapt for joy on turning the corner and seeing the cumbersome vehicle still at the stop. She waited until her bus came to a standstill and carefully lifted the heavy box.

‘Good luck,’ said the driver.

‘Thank you so much.’ She walked as quickly as possible bearing in mind she was carrying a ton of what used to be sugar, eggs, flour and butter.

A passenger stepped off the bus holding the cake like Rafiki with a new-born Simba in both hands. Camilla breathed a sigh of relief; maybe good things do happen to people sometimes. Then as though in slow motion the woman caught her shoe on the step, the box flew through the air and landed with a splodge upside down on the bus stop seat. The woman righted herself, an apologetic look on her face.

Camilla stood open-mouthed. She could see her driver facepalming with his head in his hands and the passengers on both buses wore horrified expressions.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We did our best. We really did.’ Then whispered quietly to herself, ‘What actually is the point?’

The buses pulled away with heavy groans and puffs of black smoke when a little red Mini appeared as if by magic as the smoggy cloud dispersed.

‘Are you okay, Camilla?’ asked her friend Lucy, her blonde curls bouncing round her shoulders as she got out of the car. ‘Ah good you’ve got the cake. Let me help you. Where’s the other one?’

Camilla couldn’t quite find the words to answer her as she placed the heavy box in the boot. She gestured her head to the squashed box still lying upside down on the seat and watched as Lucy’s jaw dropped and eyes widened in horror.

‘There was a bit of a bus-tastrophe I’m afraid,’ said Camilla thinking she’d found the perfect word to describe what had happened. Together they rescued the box, turned it the right way up and lifted the lid to survey the damage.

‘It’s not too bad,’ said Lucy, biting her lip as she peered at the mixture of smashed-up sponge and cracked pieces of delicately piped icing. A pigeon swooped down and pecked at the groom’s head, which had rolled onto the ground. ‘I’ve heard of Eton mess so do you think they’ll go for Beaten mess?’

Camilla’s eyes filled up. ‘I’m so sorry. Lucy, I feel like a disaster area lately.’ She sniffed.

‘Don’t worry we’ll work it out. Come on let’s go.’

Five minutes later they were in the Signal Box Café and the destroyed cake was safely in the bin.

‘Right, at least we’ve got one layer and we’ve got two hours before the bride and groom get here. Tell me what you need, and I’ll pop to the shop and get it,’ said Lucy.

‘It’s impossible, Lucy. There’s no way I can do that intricate icing in such a small space of time.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll manage something. You make us some coffees and I’ll grab the ingredients. Just text me what you think you’ll need.’

Camilla put the kettle on, typed a shopping list into her phone and sent it to Lucy. Her heart was pounding. This was meant to be the cake that would get her business started again. She hadn’t felt like baking since losing her mum; her heart just wasn’t in it anymore and she’d let Lucy down a lot. She’d forced herself to make this one as she didn’t want to disappoint her again and she desperately needed the money – but now look what had happened. This was surely a sign that she should give up, move on and find something else with less responsibility.

She could hear the hustle and bustle of the staff in the café as they decorated it with flowers and bunting ready for the wedding. Normally she would be a part of it, setting up her fabulous creations with huge pride. But she was at a loss as to how to get out of this mess. She would have to put her thinking cap on and come up with a suitable plan. Lucy was back in a flash with the ingredients and cake tins, they quickly whipped up a fresh lemon sponge and Camilla – despite shaking hands – managed to create a replica fondant bride and groom.

‘Now I know you can’t possibly ice it as intricately as before, so I thought what about a quilted effect with this rolling pin and these little edible pearls? And look at this.’ She opened a tiny pot of powder, which when brushed onto the icing gave a pearlised shimmer. She rubbed some on the back of her hand and turned it from side to side to admire the lustre of it.

‘That will look amazing. Okay we can give it a go and see what it looks like. I was wondering whether it would be worth asking Flossie out there whether she has any leftover flowers we could use too. To make it a little more dramatic.’

‘I think that’s a great idea, and then I’ll put the kettle on whilst you get rolling.’

Camilla was relieved to hear that, as her throat was so dry from panicking. She sprinkled icing sugar on the worktop and set to work.

‘So now we’ve got a chance to breathe what happened to your car?’ asked Lucy as she plonked the coffee cups down.

‘Well it’s embarrassing really but it’s been repossessed for non-payment. They had emailed me a few times, but I was kind of turning a blind eye to it.’

‘Oh, I wish you’d said. I could have helped you out.’

‘That’s really kind of you but it’s my problem and I need to deal with it. I’ve been fighting to get my mum’s house back but the legal fees are crippling, I had to use all my savings to pay them a lump sum up front after them saying I stood a good chance of winning. But after so many letters, various searches and a few meetings with them the money has dwindled away. It’s cost thousands and I’ve got nowhere. I really don’t know what to do.’ She swiped away an errant tear, determined not to shed any more than she had already. ‘The other thing is I’ve only got a couple of days left on the lease of the flat, as I thought I would have been moving back home to Mum’s by now.’

‘But how can her husband have the house when your mum left it all to you?’

‘Because he’s underhanded. He tricked me into thinking he was sorting everything out for me, but he actually destroyed my mum’s will and I’ve since found out he transferred the house into his own name. I wish she’d never met him.’ Camilla went quiet as she expertly wrapped the icing around the cake.

‘He sounds like a right scumbag,’ said Lucy, her face curled in disgust. ‘Excuse me, I won’t be a minute.’ She grabbed her bag and left the kitchen.

Camilla hardly noticed she’d gone as she concentrated on placing the tiny pearls in the crosses of the quilted icing.

‘Right that’s sorted, then.’ Lucy burst back into the kitchen and tore a sheet of paper from her notebook. ‘Dom has made an appointment for you with a solicitor tomorrow.’

Camilla went to object, but Lucy held her hand up.

‘Don’t worry, it’s free of charge. He said to email any documentation you have to him and that this guy is the best in the business. I’m not going to lie; he doesn’t think there’s anything you can do without a will, but at least he will tell you the truth and you won’t get ripped off anymore.’

Camilla managed a weak smile; maybe tomorrow would be a better day. Lucy joined her and they worked together on the cake.

In less than an hour their creation stood resplendent on the cake stand surrounded by a colour burst of fresh flowers. Camilla’s heart had stopped pounding.

‘Oh, Lucy, dare I say that looks even better than before. Thank you so much for your help. I’ve never made a cake so quickly. My hands are still shaking. I’m finished though – I really can’t take the stress at the moment. I’m looking for a new job.’

‘I think it will be such a shame to lose you from our little wedding business family but ultimately you have to do what’s right for you, and we are always here waiting for you if you ever change your mind.’

‘That looks just like a photo from a wedding magazine,’ said one of the caterers as they walked past it.

Camilla smiled as her eyes met Lucy’s. Her mind was made up though.

Just when Camilla thought things couldn’t get any worse, fate threw another rotten egg into the mixing bowl of her life.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Lockley, I only wish we could give you better news. But without your mother’s will then I’m afraid legally the house belongs to her surviving husband – whilst morally wrong, from what you’ve told me. Without any proof that he destroyed the will, he’s well within his legal rights to have sold it.’

She looked at the portly solicitor. Camilla’s mouth was moving but no words were coming out. She cleared her throat and slowly shook her head from side to side. His grey eyes alternated between peeking at her over the top of his round, wire-rimmed glasses and looking through the lenses to read the paper he held at arm’s length. He continued, ‘Mr Twuncatt has already arranged for the contents of your bedroom to be boxed up and delivered to your neighbour—’ he checked his notes again, chewing on his bristly grey moustache as he did so ‘—a Mrs Edith Kelly?’ He looked over his glasses at Camilla who gave a nod of confirmation.

‘Yes, Auntie Edie, she is…was my mum’s dearest friend.’ She bowed her head and looked down at the shreds of a tissue in her hands; she would never get used to talking about her mum in the past tense.

With eyes full of sympathy, he continued in as gentle a tone as he could muster, ‘But as for other items in the house, he has claimed they belonged to his wife and therefore now belong to him.’ He shook his head and tutted as he uttered the final words: ‘Unless you can provide a receipt.’ He shuffled his papers together noisily and Camilla could sense the distaste he had for this unpleasant-sounding man.

‘But I don’t understand how this could have happened.’ Camilla’s brow furrowed. ‘Roger, I mean Mr Twuncatt, had promised me he was sorting everything out. He told me he had her will and he would arrange to find somewhere else to live as soon as possible so that I could move back in; his plan was to move back to Scotland. He knew my mum wanted me to have the house. She bought it, on her own as a single parent. He was just the lodger, until she married him that is.’ She reached into her bag for a folder. ‘What about the evidence I showed you, the deeds of the house in my mum’s name when she first bought it all those years ago. Surely that’s proof enough that it was never his?’ Her throat ached as angry tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She gratefully accepted the tissue he offered and dabbed underneath her eyelashes.

‘I’m afraid in that time he transferred the deeds of the house into his own name and without a physical will he can just say it’s your word against his. I take it you’ve tried all the local solicitors to check whether she stored her will anywhere.’ Camilla nodded. He spoke kindly: ‘To be honest even if you found your mum’s will now, it would cost you at least ten thousand pounds to even begin a court case at this stage. In the absence of a will your mum’s estate goes to probate and unfortunately because she married him, it’s legally his. Had the house been worth more you would have been entitled to half of anything over 270,000 pounds.’

‘Is there absolutely nothing else I can do to stop the sale?’ she pleaded.

‘I’m sorry but no. The house is sold and as there is no proof that there ever was a will there’s nothing we can do. This isn’t the worst case I’ve come across unfortunately. I’ve seen young children be made homeless in these circumstances. The law does not favour stepchildren at all.’

The words of the solicitor were still ringing in her ears as she stepped out of the offices into the busy high street. She exhaled slowly as if by doing so she could release all the negativity she’d just heard. Her chest ached from holding her breath for most of the appointment. She breathed in deeply; the cool air filled her lungs. Her head felt woozy as though she were about to faint. She leant her forehead against the cold glass of the door until the burning subsided. Her phone buzzed with a text. She fished it out of her bag to see a message from Auntie Edie.,

‘Have you finished yet? I’ve got us a table in the Signal Box Café like you asked. It’s lovely in here isn’t it? Your friend Lucy is looking after me well. Come on, I’m dying to know what he said. What do you want to drink? When do you get to move back home?’

‘I’m on my way. Can I have a cappuccino please with loads of chocolate on the top – and when I say loads, I literally mean whole bars of chocolate on the top.’

‘Roger that,’ replied Edie, who still treated phones like walkie-talkies.

‘That word is banned from our vocabulary forever now,’ Camilla responded as she made her way to the other end of the high street.

‘Rog— oops, I mean okay see you soon.’

Camilla signed off with a kiss and was about to put the phone in her bag when it bleeped again.

‘ffffnnnnnzzznzn,’ replied Edie as she so often did without realising, usually when shoving her phone back in her bag. Camilla smiled at the familiarity of the regular occurrence. She braced herself to let her friend know that as of tomorrow not only was she motherless and carless, but she would also be homeless. Her mum always did say that things came in threes.

Grey clouds accompanied her to the Signal Box Café. Even the river looked dreary as she walked across the bridge. Canada geese honked and chased ducks away from the scraps of bread thrown by parents and children.

‘Typical,’ she muttered, as she approached the railway station just as the barriers were coming down, blocking her way with a fanfare of . . .