A Sprinkle of Sabotage by Fiona Leitch (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

I briefly surfaced in time to serve up lunch – Tony popping by for a plate of the yummy cheesy pasta and to check I hadn’t tried to set fire to myself again – and then I was left to my own devices. Sam, the director, had apparently been cracking the whip today in a bid to get filming back on schedule, and instead of the leisurely, drawn-out lunches of the last couple of days, with cast and crew wandering in and out of the canteen area as they were free, it was a case of fill up with carbs and get back on the horse – in some cases literally.

I rifled through the cupboards in the food truck and was relieved to see that Gino had already bought in some Japanese ingredients; he’d obviously had the same thoughts as me. I was pleased to see jars of umeboshi (pickled Japanese ume plums) and fukujinzuke (or ‘lucky god’ pickles, containing seven types of vegetables to represent the seven gods of fortune), as, according to Google, pickled veg was a must at a Japanese feast, and all of the recipes I could find for it took at least two days to prepare. I only had a few hours. There were several packets of soba noodles and some miso paste, so I earmarked them too, and a small bottle of sake; the rice wine, when mixed with soy sauce, garlic, ginger, and lots of black pepper, would make a great marinade for fried karaage chicken, and I could do something similar with tofu for Kimi, leaving out the sake because of her rice allergy. And I could make a tempura batter and fry up lots of different vegetables in it, to serve with the noodles.

I was so intent on my research that I didn’t see who left the box on the food truck counter. I didn’t even know it was there until I turned round to make myself a cup of tea. It was a plain white cardboard cake-box, no decoration, no card. I looked round but there was no one about, so I carefully lifted the lid. Inside were ten cupcakes in shiny gold paper cases, all topped with a swirl of snow-white frosting. Each was beautifully decorated with the palest pink hand-crafted, sugar-paste cherry blossoms, sprinkles of red, pink, and black picking out the colours of the flowers. Sugar jewels studded the centre of each bloom, and a fine, powdery red glitter dusted the ridges of frosting. Each one was slightly different, all equally stunning and delicate but unique works of edible art.

‘Whoa…’ I said out loud, in awe of whoever had made these amazing and no doubt delicious treats. There was no card or message inside the box, but the Japanese cherry-blossom theme made it obvious who these cakes were intended for. I just wished I knew who they were from.

‘Wow, those are amazing!’ Daisy was as impressed as I was.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Did you finish early? The taxi—’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s half past three. What are you like?’ I looked at my phone (not that I doubted her), and was amazed to realise that I’d spent the last two hours planning Zack’s Japanese feast. I’d only really done it to keep myself busy and avoid thinking about Nathan, and it had worked, only now I was thinking about him. Goddammit. Every time I thought about him leaving it made my tummy feel funny, like I’d eaten a live eel and it was slithering around inside me. It’s bizarre when you think about it, the way they (whoever ‘they’ are) always talk about the heart when it comes to love, because as far as I can tell the stomach is the true seat of the emotions. When I’m happy I celebrate by eating cake or ice-cream or chocolate (or all three); when I’m unhappy, I smother it with, well, more cake and ice-cream and chocolate. And when I’m in love, it feels like it’s full of butterflies. Or eels… Not that I was in love with Nathan or anything daft like that. Ha! As if. Hmm…

Daisy was looking hungrily at the cakes. I sighed.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ I said, ‘but I assume they’re for the dinner party tonight. Someone dropped them off.’ I put an arm round her shoulder. ‘But I know where there are some chocolate biscuits, and I know where one Zack Smith is filming.’

‘Really?’ That made up for not being able to eat a cupcake.

‘Yup. Dump your school bag in the truck and let’s go and watch.’

We wandered around to the other side of the house, munching chocolate biscuits (I had to quieten that eel down somehow) and chatting about our days. Daisy’s best friend Jade had mentioned going to the pictures, something I normally wouldn’t allow on a school night, but I was going to be busy with Zack’s party and I wasn’t sure when I’d be finished. Mum was planning to stay the night at mine so she could babysit Daisy (not that I was allowed to use the word ‘babysit’ anymore, not when she was going to be a teenager in a week or so), but I was prepared to admit that an evening with her nana watching The Chase and playing Scrabble probably wasn’t that enticing a prospect. Jade was going to ask her mum Nancy, and if she agreed to take them, and if it was an early enough showing, I was happy to allow it.

We reached the edge of the shoot and stood watching from a distance. They were filming outside this afternoon, as Zack had said earlier, and there was a huge number of cast and crew milling around. The film’s time period was somewhat confusing. Half the time they looked like something out of Jane Austen (that image of Tony dressed like Mr Darcy flashed across my mind again and