the others went into Delia Smith mode. (I’m not going to bore you with all the details. Baking a cake isn’t the most exciting thing in the world. I’ll just give you ‘Kenny’s edited highlights’ of the afternoon, which is all you really need to know.)
After the others had weighed out the butter and sugar and put them into a bowl, Lyndz asked her mum if we could use the electric whisk.
“Yes, but be careful. Are your hands dry?” She felt all our hands. “OK. Turn it on at the mains, then turn the whisk on gently to start with and keep the beaters in the bowl. Whilst one of you does that, someone else can be breaking those two eggs into a bowl. Careful not to let any shells in. When you’ve done that give them a good whizz together with a fork. Now that’s you lot sorted, you haven’t seen Spike anywhere have you?”
Spike is Lyndz’s baby brother. I think even I would have noticed if a baby had been crawling around the kitchen floor.
“Let me have a go! Please can I use the whisk?” begged Fliss.
“What are you like Fliss?” asked Frankie. “Is using an electric whisk the biggest thrill of your life?”
Fliss does tend to get a bit excited about weird stuff like whisks!
“This is cool!” she laughed.
Lyndz’s mum disappeared again on the track of Spike. It’s usually quite easy to find him: you just follow the trail of biscuit crumbs.
I was getting a bit bored. Fliss looked very serious. The temptation was too much. I sneaked up behind her and, yelling “Gotcha!”, I tickled her under the arms. Fliss jumped a mile and forgot that she was holding the whisk. She lifted it out of the bowl and mixture flew everywhere.
“Turn it off!” yelled Frankie, who almost dropped the bowl of eggs she was beating.
“I can’t!” shouted Fliss who seemed to have completely lost control.
The whisk suddenly stopped whizzing. Lyndz had turned it off at the mains.
“You stupid idiot!” yelled Fliss, turning on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
We looked round the kitchen. Everything was covered in tiny splatters of creamed sugar and butter.
“We ought to try and clean some of this up before your mum comes back,” said Frankie. She grabbed a dishcloth and started to wipe up the worst of the mess. The rest of us grabbed kitchen roll and started to do the same. I couldn’t help grinning to myself: an electric whisk was a pretty cool weapon.
By the time Lyndz’s mum reappeared, the worst of the mess was gone and the others were dropping tiny bits of egg into the mixture and giving it a good stir. Yawn, yawn, how boring!
Next we sieved the flour. I hadn’t helped with the baking at all so Frankie made me hold the sieve. She said that even I couldn’t get that wrong. And it really wasn’t my fault when I covered everyone in flour. It was Spike’s! He charged right into me and the sieve flew out of my hand. It was like a snowstorm! Fortunately Lyndz’s mum knew it wasn’t my fault.
But that didn’t stop the others from having a go at me – especially Fliss. Her hair was covered in flour. She looked like someone’s granny!
“If you’re not doing anything Kenny,” said Frankie, “you might as well make a start on the washing-up!” Charming!
“Right sir!” I shouted like a soldier and saluted to her. Frankie grinned.
I was up to my elbows in dirty dishes and bubbles when Lyndz’s brother Ben appeared. I didn’t see him dropping pieces of Lego into the cake mixture. I didn’t see him trying to feed it to Buster, the dog. But I did feel it on the back of my neck when he threw a handful at me.
“Oi! What are you doing you horror?” I shouted.
The others were already yelling and fishing the Lego out of the cake. They were not happy bunnies.
“Go to Mum!” Lyndz shouted. Even she can lose her cool sometimes.
The last thing we had to do was pour the mixture into the two tins. That was not as easy as it sounds, but we managed it in the end. And Buster ate all the dollops that fell onto the floor, so they didn’t really matter.
“Mum! We’re ready to put them into the oven now!” yelled Lyndz. She’s another who could be a sergeant major!
Stuart appeared.
“Mum says I’ve to put them into the oven for you,” he said. He stuck his finger into one of the tins. “Hmm. Not bad!”
“Aw Stuart!” moaned Lyndz. “We took ages smoothing the top of that. Now we’ll have to do it again.”
“Well hurry up,” grumbled her brother. “I’ve got to leave for the farm in a minute.”
“Be careful they don’t mistake you for one of the pigs, won’t you!” laughed Lyndz.
“Ha, ha!” said Stuart. “Do you want these in the oven or not?” He took the tins from Lyndz and put them on the middle shelf in the oven.
“Save me a bit of cake won’t you?” he called as he left. “I did play a vital role in making it!”
We ignored him.
“The recipe book says ‘25–30 minutes cooking time’,” read out Lyndz. “Who can remember that? What time is it now?” Lyndz is hopeless at telling the time, so we all looked at our own watches.
“Ten past four,” we all said together.
“So we should look at the cake at twenty-five to five then,” said Frankie.
Lyndz looked very confused, but the rest of us agreed.
When we’d finished the rest of the washing-up and had cleared away, we messed about with Spike and Ben. Then we went out into the garden.
“How’s your cake doing?” Mrs Collins called out to us. We all looked at each other. The cake! We’d forgotten all about it! It was almost ten to five. We raced inside. The kitchen was filled with sort of a thick, not quite a burnt smell.
“Quick! Mum! We’ll have to get the cakes out now!” yelled Lyndz.
“Don’t panic!” laughed her mum, opening the oven door. “There now. They look great!”
They didn’t look great exactly. But they didn’t look too bad. And when they’d cooled and we’d sandwiched them together with jam and put icing on top, the birthday cake looked all right.
We all shared the icing bit. It read:
Now we were all set for the party.
I woke up really early on Saturday morning. It wasn’t just excitement that woke me, it was something else as well – rain. It was pouring down. Not only that, but it was windy too. I couldn’t believe it! Until then every day had been warm and sunny. Now it felt more like November than the middle of July! Miserable or what?
“Your stupid sleepover party’s going to be a bit of a washout. What a pity!” laughed Molly-the-Monster peeping out from her duvet.
“Shut up!” I yelled and hit her with my pillow. She’s only jealous because I go to more sleepovers than she does.
“Ouch! That hurt!” she screamed and thwacked me with her own pillow. “At least I’ll be able to get some peace and quiet in my own