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busy, busy, four wedding cakes and what seems like a thousand cupcakes to bake by close of play on Friday. If it’s this busy in winter, I’ll need to expand my team by summer. I’m run off my feet.’
    I recognised Lucinda; she was the lady who had served me in the baker’s yesterday, the one who gave me the delicious chocolate flapjack. That flapjack was to die for; even Paddy the rooster could vouch for that.
    Lucinda was of average height, not too small and not too tall. Her face was pretty and her blonde hair sported the tightest corkscrew curls I had ever set eyes on. Her fringe was pinned back by a diamanté love-heart clip, which added a touch of glamour. Her make-up was au natural – well, maybe just the hint of black mascara to accentuate her lashes – and I guessed she was in her early-thirties.
    â€˜Lucinda, let me introduce you to Kitty.’ Tom smiled, turning towards me. ‘Kitty is the new boss, started today.’
    â€˜Hello, yes, I recognise you; you came into the shop yesterday. How’s the first morning going?’
    â€˜So far so good, I think.’
    â€˜Lucinda bought the cake shop on the high street a couple of years ago; everything is home-made in there, mouth-watering and delightfully delicious. She uses our eggs – the best free-range eggs in Staffordshire,’ Tom continued.
    â€˜Wow, everything is home-made? You must never sleep.’
    â€˜Yep, everything is baked or prepared by me. Every day I’m up at the crack of dawn, all my ovens switched on by 5 a.m. and the first pastries in by 5.20,’ she said proudly.
    â€˜That’s a bit like someone else we know, up at the crack of dawn,’ joked Tom, teasing me again. ‘They also have a sandwich delivery service – if we remember to ring our lunch orders through by 11.30, the lovely Lucinda will send up one of her assistants with our food. If we forget, we starve,’ he continued.
    â€˜Where are you staying?’ Lucinda enquired.
    â€˜I’ve moved into a little flat just up the road from the baker’s.’
    â€˜Mother Goose’s old place?’
    â€˜I believe that’s the one,’ I said, remembering Tom saying that had been my grandmother’s pet name.
    â€˜Right, less of this gassing, let’s go and get your order, Lucinda, and you pair, meet me in barn two in five minutes.’
    Tom had interrupted our conversation quite abruptly and seemed keen to move Lucinda on, or was it just my imagination? I suppose he wanted to get some work underway today and more than likely we had wasted enough time.
    Tom and Lucinda marched off up the yard and disappeared around the corner, leaving Jeannie and I to rinse the mugs and make our way to barn two, wherever that may be.
    â€˜This way.’
    â€˜I’m following. What delights will I find in barn two?’
    â€˜Barn two is the hub of the deliveries across the county. When Tom says you’re on the early shift that’s what we call bright and early – a 5 a.m. start. We take turns, usually a week about. This week it’s my week. It’s a little scary travelling up the lane in the pitch black of the early morning but once you’re the other side of the tarmac drive, Tom has the lights switched on in the yard and there’s plenty of light that shines from Brambleberry Cottage. It reminds me of a floodlit football pitch.’
    â€˜Is that Tom’s place then, Brambleberry Cottage?’
    â€˜Yes, that’s where he lives.’
    â€˜Very handy for work,’ I replied.
    â€˜Yes, very handy. Here we are – barn two.’
    Swinging open the rusty old ramshackle barn door, I stood staring in amazement. I had never seen so many eggs; there were trays and trays stacked up. Not just brown eggs but blue, white, speckled and light brown, an array of magnificent colours. Each table not only contained different coloured eggs but they were also sorted into