Ivy Lane: Winter: Read Online Free PDF Page A

success of my first committee fund-raiser. It would be awful if no one turned up.
    She rolled her eyes and chuckled. ‘I take it you haven’t looked outside recently. Go on, away with you, I need to start pouring cups of tea.’
    I scurried to the door to open up but Nigel caught hold of my arm as I passed.
    He cleared his throat and shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Tilly, before you open the doors, I just wanted to thank you for putting on this event.’
    I smiled at him. Nigel had been the most sceptical member of the committee, not that that had stopped him working his socks off for me this morning. But I was delighted to see his change of heart, nonetheless. ‘Let’s hope you’re still saying that at the end of the day, Nigel. We might not make any money if we don’t get any entrants!’
    ‘Well, I’m entering a cake, so that’s one at least,’ he said proudly. ‘And anyway, that’s not what I wanted to thank you for,’ he added, lowering his voice. ‘Spending a morning with Liz, in her kitchen . . . Well, let’s just say that a bit of female company, not to mention a most informative baking lesson, has done me the power of good.’
    Was it my imagination or had his face gone a bit pink?
    I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks, Nigel. Now, battle stations, I need you selling those raffle tickets as if your life depends on it.’
    ‘Roger that,’ said Nigel with a salute and he marched off to his position.
    I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and took a deep breath. The moment of truth.
    I opened the door a sliver and squinted through it with one eye. Oh my word! A queue of people all bearing cake tins, boxes or plastic tubs snaked back as far as the end of the car park.
    ‘I think we’re going to need more tables,’ I said to the rest of the committee tremulously.
    I swallowed an anxious squeal and flung back the door with a flourish.
    ‘Come in, everyone, and welcome to the Ivy Lane Allotments Great Cake Competition,’ I cried. ‘Only one pound to enter!’
    Unless anyone looked very closely, I doubted they would have seen my legs trembling at all.
    An hour later, the Quality Street tin was heavy with coins, the pavilion was humming with the sound of people chatting and the tables were positively groaning under the weight of the competition cakes. I had been so busy welcoming everyone in and handing out entry forms that I’d not even moved from my seat at the front door.
    ‘Where on earth are these people coming from?’ whispered Roy incredulously as he raided the tin for money. He was off on a second trip to buy more milk for the tea stall. Christine was on permanent duty at the tea urn.
    ‘W-e-ll, Mia and I might have gone a bit overboard on the leafleting,’ I admitted sheepishly. ‘And at the last minute yesterday, I invited all the staff from my school to take part too, just in case we didn’t get enough entries. Which in hindsight . . .’ I looked over my shoulder at the packed pavilion and cringed at Roy.
    ‘You’re doing grand, girl,’ he chuckled and patted my head as he squeezed past my little table to make his way outside. ‘Oh and here’s all the family!’ he cried, holding the door open to let Gemma, Mia and Mike in.
    I stood up to hug them, touched that they had all come to support us.
    ‘Pink cheeks suit you,’ said Gemma, pretending to burn her fingers on my skin, ‘very English rose.’
    ‘Oh no! Do I look hot and sweaty?’ I tried to see my reflection in the window but it was too steamed up. I pressed my hands to my cheeks instead.
    As well as being flushed with the event’s success, my high colour was due in no small part to the fact that I appeared to be semi-famous. ‘I recognize you from the
Green Fingers
show!’ being the most common observation, with my least favourite being: ‘You look much thinner in real life.’ Although I supposed looking fatter in real life would be marginally worse.
    ‘You look gorgeous, Tilly, as