Kathryn Littlewood - Sweet

Lily again. This time she was on the set of a talk show, wearing a different fitted black cocktail dress. “The secret to my success?” she said, coyly batting her eyelashes. “Why, my passion for baking, of course!”

“Turn on the news!” Purdy yelled, and Rose changed the channel yet again.

“In entertainment today,” said the newsreader, “a new record has been broken: Lily’s 30-Minute Magic has become the highest-rated daytime cooking show in the history of television broadcasting. Its ratings have actually exceeded the number of televisions in America, a statistic that continues to baffle authorities.”

Rose and Purdy were busy ogling the television screen when Leigh waddled into the kitchen. “I want lunch, Mummy.”

“Lunch is in half an hour, Leigh.” Without looking down, Purdy reached a hand to tousle Leigh’s head. “I see you’ve had a haircut.” Since she’d turned four, Leigh had insisted on cutting her own hair. This resulted in a mop of shaggy black chunks of every conceivable length. “Why don’t you go get your bow, and I’ll tie up your hair.”

“Okay!” Leigh said, and turned to go.

But she didn’t go far. Mesmerised by the Lily-a-thon on the TV, Rose and her mother didn’t notice as Leigh reached atop the counter and gobbled down the entirety of Lily’s foot-long Pound-for-Pound Cake.

Leigh sat on the ground for a minute, licked her fingers, then stood and cleared her throat.

“Wow, that’s tremendous!” she said in a voice far too deep and gravelly and sophisticated to be coming from such small lips. “That was just a tremendous pound cake. So sweet – but not cloyingly so; velvety, rich, moist. . . Who is responsible for this confectionary delight?”

Rose and Purdy spun around and stared at the little girl, who, a moment before, had hardly known what a pound cake was, let alone the meaning of the word cloyingly.

Oh no, Rose thought.

Leigh looked up at the TV and saw Lily sitting on the set of the news show, her long, tanned legs crossed. “Of course! It’s Lily, of Lily’s 30-Minute Magic, hostess of the most highly-rated television programme in American history! Lily, the doyenne of Danish, the priestess of parfait, the grande dame of graham crackers! It’s a shame that her charisma should be confined to the realm of baking – she should run for public office!” Leigh stopped a moment, savouring this new idea. “Yes! Lily should be the first female president of the United States! She’s the centaur of cinnamon buns! The sultan of—”

Purdy clapped a hand over Leigh’s mouth and looked at Rose in horror.

Leigh’s irises had widened so much that her pupils were an endless vortex of shimmering black.

Rose sank into the red-leather booth of the dining table, stunned. “If Lily gets people to eat this mix,” Rose said gravely, “she’ll have the country in the palm of her hand.” Rose pulled the worn fleece hood of her green sweatshirt over her eyes. Not only did Lily want fame, but now it seemed she wanted power, too.

Leigh broke loose from Purdy’s grip and marched towards the back door. “I’ll not be chained like chattel! I’m off to find Lily and tell her how magnificent she is in person!” She shut the back door behind her, leaving Rose and Purdy among the mess of pans and tainted baked goods, sweaty and covered with flour and splatters of yellow batter.

“Our first order of business,” said Purdy, “is to turn Leigh back to normal. Then we clean this kitchen. And then—”

But Rose didn’t need to be told what the third order of business was. The country was in serious danger, and it was all Rose’s fault. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she knew she would have to steal back the Bliss Cookery Booke.

LILY BALANCED PRECARIOUSLY on a pair of high-heeled shoes as she pulled a tray of steaming pumpkin muffins from the convection oven in the wall of her studio kitchen. She turned to the audience and displayed the muffins, which looked slightly out of place in the hands of a woman wearing a short black cocktail dress and five-inch stilettos. “Have you ever seen anything more gorgeous in your life?”

Lily set the tray down on the countertop and raised both her arms. “Can you smell it, folks?”

Everyone in the audience hopped to their feet and chorused, “Cinnamon! Cinnamon! Cinnamon!”

Everyone, that is, except for Rose and Ty.

“Cheater! Cheater! Cheater!” Rose whispered to her older brother as they sank down into their back-row seats.

Lily’s studio kitchen had bright yellow walls, sunny orange cabinets, and an island in the centre covered with turquoise tiles. A window in the back of the kitchen opened on to a New York City skyline.

Fake, Rose thought, her fists clenched. Just like her. This studio’s in Connecticut!

Rose looked out at the rows and rows of giddy audience members, at the hundreds of bright lights hanging from a grid on the ceiling above, and at the cameras, five in total. Rose tried to imagine how important Lily must feel standing in front of all those doting eyes, and the millions more watching at home. So this was the glamour that Rose had turned down when she told Aunt Lily that she wouldn’t be going with her to New York.

Rose knew she’d made the right decision. If she’d gone with Lily, her family would right now be sitting around the kitchen table, sensing that something was missing but with no memory that Rose or the Booke had ever existed. Rose would never be able to see them again, not even in a photograph. No amount of fame or acclaim was worth losing the love of her family.

And yet, where had love gotten the Blisses? These days the streets of Calamity Falls felt cold and grey, even in the springtime. Mrs Havegood’s fibs had become far less inventive, the League of Lady Librarians had retired their tour bus, and Mr Bastable and Mrs Thistle-Bastable had lost their burning passion for each other. There was no laughter, no magic. The soul of Calamity Falls had shrivelled like a dead leaf, and it was all her fault.

Even Devin Stetson had lost his lustre. Since Lily had stolen the book, Rose had worked up the courage to speak to Devin Stetson on five separate occasions, about two things: twice in the hallway about the difficulty of algebra, twice at the counter of Stetson’s Doughnuts and Automotive Repair about the difficulty of algebra again, and once at the counter of the Bliss Bakery.

“How are you?” she’d said, her right eye twitching nervously, as it always did in his presence.

“Oh, fine, I guess.” Devin sighed. His floppy bangs, formerly the colour of spun gold, were now just pale, dull blond. “The Calamity Falls Community Chorus disbanded. No one felt like singing any more.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose had replied. She had wanted to reach out and touch his sullen cheek, but she was too afraid, and too guilty.

Rose sighed at the memory, and glared out at Lily. As much as Rose hated her aunt, the person she was most angry with was herself. If she had just been a little wiser, if she hadn’t trusted Aunt Lily and fallen for her flattery, everyone she loved in her town would be happy and healthy. But as it stood, every time Rose traipsed down the grey streets of Calamity Falls, she was reminded of the grim mess she’d caused.

“This beard itches,” Ty whined, tugging at the long, grey beard their father, Albert, had glued to his face hours before. “And the beard glue smells like a chemical-processing plant. I might pass out.” Ty shifted in his white linen robe. “Why did I have to wear the skirt?”

“It’ll be over soon,” Rose said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure the Question-and-Answer portion is next.”

Rose spoke as calmly as she could, but her hands were shaking. Appearing on television for the first time was nerve-racking enough, but Rose was about to appear on television for the first time and do something crazy.