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“I like vanilla cupcakes so I’m sure I’ll like that.” Elsie stirred the dry ingredients together. There was flour on her dress, on the table and on the cat.
“Not-A-Cat is all floury.” Poppy giggled and Crumpet gave a disdainful flick of his tail and disappeared under the table for protection.
The other three cats had vacated the kitchen the moment the children had entered, showing a greater sense of self-preservation than Crumpet.
Brooke eyed the mess. She knew that if they’d been at her mother’s she would have been stressed out of her mind, rushing round clearing it up and trying to keep the place tidy so that her mother didn’t make a comment.
She almost laughed at herself. No. That wasn’t what would have happened. If they’d been at her mother’s, there was no way the girls would have been in charge of making pancakes. It was far too messy.
Her mother would have cracked the egg herself rather than let Poppy do it. Stirred the flour and sugar herself rather than risk Elsie flicking flour onto the table and the floor. If pancake making had happened (and that was doubtful), it all would have been neat, tidy and regimented. And nowhere near as much fun.
It was funny how something simple could bring such pleasure. She noticed things about the children that she hadn’t noticed before. Little things, like how careful Elsie was and how Poppy’s enthusiasm made her do everything too quickly.
“You could write a story about this.” Elsie kept stirring while Mabel poured in the wet ingredients. “Tripalot and the Pancake Calamity.”
Mabel paused while Elsie stirred. “Calamity. That’s a good word.”
“Mummy uses it a lot. It means disaster.”
Brooke blushed. “I need to be more careful what I say.”
“I like that word.” Elsie looked up. “It sounds nice.”
“It does sound nice. Probably a lot nicer than the event it’s describing.” Mabel added more liquid. “Now you need to fold, rather than stir. Be gentle.”
“Can I stir?” Poppy was right by her elbow and Mabel gave her a turn before declaring that the batter now needed to rest.
“As do we all.” She glanced up and looked at Brooke, who laughed.
“I’m ready to go back to bed after all that excitement. I’m sure you are, too.” She looked for signs that Mabel had had enough of occupying the children, but she saw nothing to indicate that. If anything, Mabel seemed relaxed.
Elsie wiped her hands on her dress. “Why don’t you write anymore? Did you run out of stories?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“Elsie, Mabel might not want to talk about that,” Brooke said gently. “Let’s go to the library and pick a book to read together while we’re waiting for the next stage of pancake making.”
“I think we’d better clean the cat,” Izzy said, crawling under the table. “He looks like a walking pancake. Poppy?”
Poppy joined her while Elsie helped Mabel clear up.
Poppy seemed to be wherever Izzy was, but Elsie had formed a bond with Mabel and didn’t want to leave her side.
Mabel seemed equally attached to the little girl, but now each interaction held new meaning. Watching them together, Brooke knew that Mabel had to be thinking of her own granddaughter. The granddaughter she’d never met. She had to be wondering what she was doing now. What sort of person she was. She had to be wondering how it would be if she was making pancakes with her, rather than Elsie.
“I wrote a story about my guinea pig,” Elsie said. “I can show you if you like. Mummy packed it to show Granny.”
“I’d like to read it. Has your guinea pig had an interesting life?”
Elsie thought about it. “Interesting for a guinea pig. He escaped a few times. Once we found him in the cellar.”
“That sounds like an adventure worthy of a story.”
“I made a cover out of wallpaper. Your covers are nicer. I can draw, but not very well. I tried to draw a cat last week but it looked like a lizard. Will you teach me to draw?”
“Yes. Perhaps we could do that after breakfast,” Mabel suggested.
“If that pancake mixture is resting, this might be a good time to forage in the attic for decorations.” Matt loaded the dishwasher and Jason suppressed another yawn.
