Image description: The YeastEnders village of Walnutford, with baked-goods characters gathered in Almond Square outside The Queen Victoria Sponge.
Roxy Rhubarb stared at the white envelope.
Nobody in Almond Square seemed particularly keen to open it.
“Well?” said Peggy Cherry Bakewell.
Roxy looked at her.
“Well what?”
“It’s got your name on it.”
“That’s generally how threatening letters work.”
Fatbread peered over Ryan Rye’s shoulder.
“Could be a birthday card.”
“It’s September,” said Roxy.
“Belated?”
Rye-vita held out her hand.
“Give it to me.”
Roxy snatched the envelope first.
“No.”
She tore it open.
Inside was a small piece of brown baking paper. Two flour-white letters had been pressed into one corner.
BB.
Roxy read the message silently.
Her face changed.
Dotty Crumble stepped closer.
“What does it say?”
Roxy folded the paper.
“Nothing.”
Peggy folded her arms.
“Your nothing looks remarkably like something.”
Rye-vita took the paper from Roxy’s hand and opened it.
Three words were written across the centre.
COME BACK HOME.
Underneath:
MIDNIGHT. THE MILL.
Dotty swallowed.
“They want you at the old flour mill?”
“They can want.”
Rye-vita studied Roxy.
“You’re not going.”
Roxy didn’t answer.
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Crumbs Blunt gave a quiet laugh.
“You don’t know Roxy very well.”
“And you do?” asked Rye-vita.
Crumbs’ smile faded.
“Used to.”
Roxy glared at him.
“Don’t.”
Peggy looked from one to the other.
“There are more secrets round here than raisins in a Christmas pudding.”
Across Almond Square, the Queen Victoria Sponge notice board rattled in the breeze.
Fatbread wandered over and straightened a poster.
FRIDAY NIGHT AT THE QUEEN VICTORIA SPONGE
THE ROLLING SCONES
LIVE FROM EIGHT
PLEASE DO NOT REQUEST BROWN FLOUR
Fatbread nodded approvingly.
“Big night, bruv.”
Peggy appeared behind him.
“They’d better be better than the last lot.”
“The Yeastie Boys?”
“One of them left a baguette in the ladies.”
Back inside, Rye-vita had placed Roxy’s note beside the scrap from the old flour mill.
“The BB mark matches.”
Grant the Spotted Dick leaned over the table.
“So we go to the mill.”
“No,” said Rye-vita.
Phil the Pudding frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because whoever sent this wants Roxy there. We don’t know how many people are involved or what they’re expecting.”
Dotty looked at Roxy.
“And my dad?”
Roxy stared at the note.
“If Nick’s involved, he’ll be there.”
Dot Crumble put down her tea.
“Then perhaps somebody should ask Nicholas what exactly he thinks he’s playing at.”
“Gran, no,” said Dotty.
Dot adjusted her icing-sugar glasses.
“I changed his nappies, dear. I’m not frightened of him.”
Roxy suddenly stood.
“I’m going home.”
Crumbs watched her leave.
“You believe that?” asked Ryan.
“No.”
Neither did Rye-vita.
Just before midnight, the old flour mill stood dark beneath the Walnutford sky.
A figure moved quietly along Crumble Lane.
Roxy.
She reached the mill door.
It opened before she touched it.
A tall, sharp-edged pastry stepped into the moonlight. His worn golden crust, familiar craggy top and crooked smile gave away the family resemblance immediately.
Sticky Nick smiled.
“Hello, Roxy.”
Roxy froze.
Nick opened the door wider.
“You took your time.”
Behind him, several figures waited in the darkness.
And on the wall above them, marked in white flour, were two enormous letters.
BB.