The last lesson was art. Miss Lovejoy showed us a painting of people in a park – when you looked closely, you could see that they were all made of little coloured dots.
Then we had to do our own dotty pictures.
‘I bet you do a butterfly, Little Bug,’ said Selma. She still called me that, but it was just a habit now.
‘You bet wrong, Big Bug,’ I said. ‘I’m going to draw a dotty sponge cake. And dotty cupcakes. And dotty chocolate brownies. And dotty cookies. And dotty flapjacks.’
‘Are you extra hungry or something?’
‘No, I’m making plans. We’re going to have a cake sale to raise money for compost and plants. Are you any good at making cakes, Selma?’
‘Don’t know. Never tried,’ she said.
‘I made a cake out of a packet once. Phil and Maddie and me did. And we get to stir the mixture when Mum makes cupcakes. And lick out the bowl – that’s the best bit. Let’s make lots and lots of cakes and cookies,’ I said.
‘Where are we going to make them?’
‘At home,’ I said. ‘I’ll make some and you make some too.’
Selma hesitated. ‘Can’t be bothered,’ she said.
‘Oh go on, Selma! I can’t make enough for everyone, even with Phil and Maddie helping,’ I said.
‘Tough,’ said Selma, and she wouldn’t talk to me any more, even though I kept leaning across Alistair to try to persuade her.
‘If you don’t mind my saying, it’s extremely annoying having a person talking right through me,’ he said. ‘And you keep jogging me, Tina, and turning my dots into splodges. But I’ll make you a date and walnut loaf for your cake sale. Daddy and I often make one. As a matter of fact, Mummy says my date loaves are better than Daddy’s. She says she’s one hundred per cent certain of it.’
‘We don’t need you to do your weirdo date loaves,’ said Selma rudely. ‘This cake sale is just for Tina and me.’
‘But I thought you didn’t want to be bothered, Selma,’ I said. ‘And we need all the cakes we can get. Thank you very much, Alistair. We’d love to have one of your date and walnut loaves.’
I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d seen Alistair eating buttered slices of his date and walnut loaf at lunch time and it looked very dark and treacly, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘I like walnuts,’ I said politely.
‘On second thoughts, maybe I’ll leave out the walnuts, because some children have nut allergies,’ said Alistair.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Alistair,’ I managed to say.
I looked at Selma. ‘Are you sure you won’t even make one cake, Selma? What about chocolate crispy cakes – they’re ever so easy-peasy.’
‘I’m not messing around making stupid cakes,’ she said. ‘Now shut up about it.’
So I did.
When we were going home, I told Mum and Phil and Maddie all about Miss Lovejoy’s cake sale suggestion.
‘I can make some cakes, can’t I, Mum?’ I asked.
‘Of course.’
‘And do you want us to make cakes too? Or is this just for you and Selma?’ asked Phil.
‘Your new bestie Selma?’ Maddie mocked.
‘Selma isn’t my best friend, silly! And of course I want you to make the cakes too,’ I said, giving Maddie and Phil a poke. ‘Especially as Selma can’t be bothered – which I think is very mean of her. She’s weird. She can be almost nice, especially when we’re digging in our garden, but then she suddenly goes back to being mean. And imagine not wanting to make cakes when it’s such fun, especially when you can lick out the bowl afterwards.’
‘Maybe Selma never makes cakes at home,’ said Mum. ‘Tell you what – would you like to invite her to tea, Tina, and then she can make cakes with you? What about this Thursday? Then you could have your cake sale on Friday.’
‘Mum! Have you gone crazy!’ said Phil.
‘We don’t want Selma Johnson to come to tea! She’s still our worst enemy,’ said Maddie.
‘I wasn’t asking you two, I was asking Tina,’ said Mum. ‘Would you like Selma to come to tea, Tina?’
I thought about it for a few seconds, walking with one foot in the gutter and one on the pavement to help me concentrate.
Selma wasn’t really my worst enemy any more, even though she certainly wasn’t my best friend. But I wasn’t at all sure about inviting her to tea. What if she came into our bedroom? She’d tease terribly about our china dolls. That made me think about Baby and all the old pain came back.
‘No, of course I don’t want Selma to come to tea! No one ever, ever, ever asks Selma to tea,’ I said.
‘Then maybe that’s all the more reason to invite her,’ said Mum. ‘I think it would be a good idea, Tina.’
I started wavering.
‘That’s not really fair, Mum,’ said Phil. ‘Why can Tina have Selma to tea – I kept asking if I could have Neera and all our club to tea and you said you were too busy.’
‘All right, you ask Neera to tea on Thursday. I’m sure she’d like to make cakes too. But not all those other girls or it’ll turn into a proper party and I really am too busy for that.’
‘It’s not fair if Phil and Tina have people to tea and I can’t,’ said Maddie.
‘You can. Who would you like to invite?’ Mum asked.
‘Harry!’
‘You can’t ask Harry!’ said Phil. ‘This is going to be a girls’ cake-making party.’
‘It’s not a party,’ said Mum. ‘And Maddie can invite Harry if she likes.’
‘Boys don’t make cakes,’ said Phil.
‘They do, actually,’ I said. ‘Alistair is going to make me a date loaf for my cake stall.’
‘Look, if you invite Alistair too, I’ll know you’ve gone nuts,’ said Phil.
‘Not nuts. Alistair is leaving the walnuts out of his date loaf in case some children have nut allergies,’ I said. ‘And I’m not inviting Alistair because he’d boss us about and tell us we weren’t doing it properly.’
‘But you think you’d like to invite Selma?’ Mum asked.
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Let me think about it a bit more.’
Chapter Sixteen
I INVITED SELMA to tea. Her face screwed up, and I thought at first that she was going to say something really horrid, maybe even hit me. Then I wondered if she might be going to cry – though of course that was silly. Selma never ever cried. She just made other people cry.
‘Can you come? I know you don’t really like making cakes, but perhaps we could make some together so we can have a cake sale on Friday. I’ll let you lick out the bowl,’ I said, making a supremely generous offer.
Selma didn’t thank me. She didn’t say I was very kind. She didn’t say anything at all. She just shrugged her shoulders and nodded.
Phil invited Neera to tea. Neera squealed and threw her arms round Phil.
Maddie invited Harry to tea. He said, ‘Yay!’ and did keepy-uppies with his football.
Selma didn’t look too happy to hear that Neera and Harry were coming. ‘I thought it was going to be just us,’ she said, frowning.
‘Yes, but Phil invited Neera because she’s her friend. And Maddie invited Harry because he’s her friend. And I invited you,’ I said.
‘Because I’m your friend?’ asked Selma.
‘Well. Sort of,’ I said, wondering if she’d object.
But weirdly she didn’t object at all. She smiled.
For once we didn’t do gardening at playtime and lunch time. We made a poster about our Friday cake sale instead. I drew lots of cakes and buns and cookies, properly this time, not with funny little dots. Selma coloured part of it in, and I let her do the lettering too. She went over the lines a bit and her printing went sideways, but it didn’t really matter.
Miss Lovejoy let us pin it up on the big notice board by the school entrance.
I was still rather worried about tea and the cake-making session. We were such a weird mixture. I thought Neera might want to go off with Phil and
do their club stuff together. I thought Harry might want to mess about and play footie indoors. I thought Selma might try to boss everyone about and be mean.
It was strange coming home from school, the three of us with Selma and Neera and Harry. We were a bit of a squash on the pavement.
When we got home, Gran and Grandad were there!
‘We’re going to have three cake-making teams,’ said Mum. ‘I’m going to have Phil and Neera in my team. Gran’s going to have Maddie and Harry in her team. And Grandad’s having Tina and Selma in his team. Then, when the girls’ dad gets home from work, he can be the chief judge and decide which team has made the best cakes.’
‘Just like The Great British Bake Off,’ said Neera. ‘I love that programme!’
‘First of all you’d better rush straight upstairs and wash your hands really well. Then we’ll have a snack to keep us going. And then it’s Ready, Steady, Bake!’ said Mum.
We had banana sandwiches and hot chocolate with a marshmallow floating on the frothy cream.
‘I love the way you do hot chocolate, Mrs Maynard,’ said Harry.
‘Yes, it’s truly yummy,’ said Neera.
Selma didn’t say anything, but she drank her hot chocolate right down to the last drop and had three helpings of banana sandwiches.
‘I like a girl with an appetite,’ said Grandad. ‘I’m glad you’re in my team, Selma.’
Mum had laid out the kitchen table very carefully. She’d borrowed extra scales and basins and jugs from Gran and Mrs Richards next door. Phil and Maddie and I already had our own aprons, but Mum had made three more out of old dish towels and tape. These were for Selma and Neera and Harry.
Mum wore her pretty flowery apron, Gran wore a frilly check apron, and Grandad wore a very rude apron.
‘Grandad!’ said Phil, very embarrassed, but Maddie and Neera and Harry and Selma and I all laughed, especially when Grandad did a little dance.
‘He’s a right laugh, your grandad,’ said Selma.
So then we all set about baking. We measured and mixed and stirred and rolled and filled all the tins and pans, and then we put our first batch in the oven. While the cakes were cooking, we measured and mixed and stirred and rolled and filled more tins and pans, ready to go into the oven as soon as the first batch was done. Then, when the first batch had cooled, we spread the sponges with jam and cream, and decorated all the cakes with icing and silver balls and rainbow sprinkles. While we waited for the second batch to cook, we licked out the bowls (the best bit of all!).
Then we did the washing-up while Mum and Gran made spaghetti bolognese for tea and Grandad had a beer, because he said baking was thirsty work. Dad came home just in time for the spaghetti.
‘Don’t eat too much of it!’ said Mum. ‘You’ve got lots of cake sampling to do afterwards.’
‘I want to eat lots!’ said Harry. ‘Spag bol’s my absolute favourite.’
‘Mine too,’ said Neera.
‘Don’t you have Indian food at home?’ Gran asked her.
‘Yes, but when we eat out we go to the Italian restaurant.’
‘Do you like spaghetti, Selma?’ asked Grandad.
Selma was looking rather worried. ‘It’s a bit . . . wormy,’ she said.
‘Haven’t you ever had spaghetti before?’ said Maddie.
‘Yeah, course I have,’ said Selma. She stuck her fork into her spaghetti. She didn’t know how to wind it up – she munched and slurped and got sauce all over herself.
‘Oh, Selma, you’re making an awful mess!’ said Phil.
‘No, she’s eating it the way I like to eat spaghetti – with enthusiasm!’ said Grandad. ‘You’re a girl after my own heart, Selma.’ He munched and slurped and got sauce all over his face as well.
Harry roared with laughter and copied him. So I did too. It was great fun.
Mum frowned, but she couldn’t really tell me off or she’d have to tell Selma and Harry and Grandad off too.
‘Right, we’d better wash our mucky faces,’ said Grandad when we’d finished. ‘Come here, young Selma. My goodness, you’ve got sauce right round your ears!’
He scrubbed at her with a clean J-cloth while she wriggled and giggled. When we were all clean, we led Dad to the worktop where all our cakes were on display. Mum and Phil and Neera had made cupcakes and a jam and cream sponge. Gran and Maddie and Harry had made fairy cakes and a lemon drizzle cake. Grandad and Selma and I had made butterfly cakes and a chocolate cake.
I especially liked our butterfly cakes, even though they didn’t look like real butterflies.
‘My goodness me, how can I possibly judge?’ said Dad. ‘They all look so splendid.’
He could only judge the sponge and lemon drizzle and chocolate cake by their appearance, because it would spoil them to cut into them.
‘But I can sample a cupcake and a fairy cake and a butterfly cake!’ he said.
He ate a mouthful of each, going ‘Mmmm, yummy, absolutely delicious,’ each time.
‘Well, Dad?’
‘Which do you like best?’
‘Is it the butterfly cake?’
‘I’ll have to have another bite to make up my mind,’ said Dad.
He had another careful munch of all three.
‘Do you know, it’s almost impossible to choose. So I declare . . . all three teams number one winners!’
So we all got a prize – a tiny teddy wearing a chef’s hat and a T-shirt with NUMBER ONE CHEF on it.
There were only six teddies, so Mum and Gran and Grandad didn’t get one, but they didn’t seem to mind.
‘We’ll have a prize drink instead,’ said Grandad.
Phil and Neera and Maddie and Harry and Selma and me all tried a crumb of each cake. I secretly thought the butterfly cakes were by far the best. Selma thought so too. But we just whispered it to each other.
Neera’s dad came to take her home.
Then Harry’s big brother came to take him home.
No one came to take Selma home for ages and ages. We didn’t mind. I showed her my butterfly book. I’d added lots more butterflies to it now. I was a bit worried she might turn back into Mean Selma and say nasty things or even scribble on the pages, but she just looked at all the pictures and read the words.
‘So we’ve definitely got to plant this buddleia in our garden,’ she said.
‘Yep. Let’s make a list of all the plants that British butterflies like.’
We made a long list, and I added fruit too, though I wasn’t sure we could wait for an apple tree to grow, and I knew it wasn’t warm enough to grow an orange tree unless we had a proper greenhouse.
‘Even so, we’ll need lots of cake sales to afford this lot,’ I said. ‘But Miss Lovejoy says we can have a stall at the Christmas fete. And I’ve got to do this rubbish sponsored spelling test!’
‘I’ll help you with your spellings,’ said Selma.
Her spelling was only a little bit better than mine. Maddie looked as if she was about to point this out, but I glared at her.
It got to way past our bedtime, and still no one came for Selma.
‘Tell you what – we can run young Selma home in our car,’ said Grandad. ‘We’ll have to be setting off soon.’
‘Oh yeah, please!’ said Selma. She liked my grandad.
But then there was a knock at the door, and it was Selma’s mum at last.
‘Sorry. Got held up. You know how it is,’ she said. She looked as if she’d been to a party.
‘Come on, Selma. You been making these cakes then?’ she asked.
‘Here, Selma, I’ll pop a couple of your butterfly cakes in a bag and you can take them home with you,’ said Mum.
I felt a bit irritated. The cakes weren’t supposed to be given away!
‘Oh, they look fancy!’ said Mrs Johnson. ‘You never made them yourself, Selma!’
‘She did. More or less. She’s an excellent little baker, your daughter,’ said Grandad.
Selma gave him a big grin.
�
��Say thank you nicely to everyone then,’ Mrs Johnson told her.
Selma mumbled something, and then did the most extraordinary thing. She put her arms round me and gave me a big hug!
Phil and Maddie didn’t half tease me afterwards when we were in bed.
‘She is your best friend now!’ said Phil.
‘Fancy having Selma Johnson for a best friend!’ said Maddie.
‘She’s not a best friend. You’re my best friends,’ I said. ‘Selma’s just a friend friend. Sometimes. When she’s not being mean.’
‘Aren’t you still a bit scared of her?’ Phil asked.
‘You would tell us if she was still being horrid?’ Maddie asked.
I thought hard about it. ‘I don’t think I’m scared now. And she isn’t really horrid any more. Well, she’s still a bit bossy with me, but I don’t mind.’
Selma’s bossiness came in very useful at the cake sale.
Miss Lovejoy let us set out all the cakes on paper plates ten minutes before the bell went for playtime. We cut the big cakes into neat slices and displayed the cupcakes and fairy cakes and butterfly cakes in pretty patterns.
We cut Alistair’s date loaf into squares. There was no way we could make it look pretty, but I suppose it did look very healthy.
We decided to charge 50p per cake, to make it easy to do the adding up and giving change. Miss Lovejoy gave us an old Quality Street tin to keep the money in.
We weren’t prepared for the rush the minute the bell went. It wasn’t just our class. Lots of other children crammed themselves into our classroom – even some of the Year Sixes. And the teachers all came too! We had so many people barging into our table and asking for cakes and waving their money that it almost got scary.
‘Stop pushing, everyone!’ Selma yelled. ‘Form a proper queue! No shoving, no mucking about or I’ll thump you one!’ She sounded so fierce that even the big Year Sixes stopped pushing and waited meekly.
Miss Lovejoy had a little word with Mrs Brownlow, the head teacher, and we had ten minutes longer at playtime, so we could sell all our cakes. Alistair bought three slices of his own date loaf. Nobody else bought it until Miss Simpson, our music teacher, saw it.
The Butterfly Club Page 11