Image description: The YeastEnders village of Walnutford, with baked-goods characters gathered in Almond Square outside The Queen Victoria Sponge.
Raisin Roxy stood in the doorway of the old flour mill.
Sticky Nick stood opposite her, smiling.
Behind him, several shadowy pastries watched from amongst the abandoned flour sacks.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” said Nick.
Roxy stared at him.
“You sent me an invitation.”
“Could’ve ignored it.”
“You knew I wouldn’t.”
Nick’s crooked smile widened.
“Still know you, then.”
Roxy glanced at the flour-white BB on the wall.
“Are you one of them?”
Nick’s smile disappeared.
“Careful.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No. It’s advice.”
A floorboard creaked somewhere behind him.
Roxy took a step backwards.
“What are the Buttered Bunch doing in Walnutford?”
Nick leaned closer.
“Go home, Roxy.”
“This is my home.”
“Then start acting like you want to keep it.”
The mill door slammed shut.
By breakfast, everyone at the Queen Victoria Sponge knew Roxy had disappeared during the night.
Everyone except Dot Crumble seemed worried.
“He’ll bring her back,” said Dot, buttering toast.
Dotty Crumble stared at her grandmother.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because Nicholas always did enjoy making an entrance.”
The pub door opened.
Sticky Nick walked in.
Dotty froze.
Nick stopped when he saw her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
“Hello, Dad.”
Nick’s expression softened.
“Dotty.”
Dot put down her toast.
“Nicholas.”
Nick looked towards her.
“Hello, Ma.”
Dot adjusted her icing-sugar glasses.
“You look dreadful.”
“Nice to see you too.”
“You’ve got a crack down your left side.”
“I’ve had a difficult few years.”
“So have I. I moisturise.”
Peggy Cherry Bakewell emerged from behind the bar.
“Where’s Roxy?”
Nick’s smile vanished.
“Safe.”
Rye-vita appeared from the corner table.
“That’s an interesting word.”
Nick turned.
“And you are?”
“The person who’s been following your flour deliveries.”
For the first time, Sticky Nick looked genuinely surprised.
Rye-vita placed her crumb notebook on the table.
“Crumbford. Three bakeries. Two wholesalers. Deliveries with false paperwork. Then the old Walnutford flour mill.”
Nick said nothing.
“And everywhere I look,” Rye-vita continued, “your name isn’t far away.”
Dotty stepped forward.
“Dad, are you with the Buttered Bunch?”
Nick looked at his daughter.
“No.”
Rye-vita watched him carefully.
“But you know who is.”
Nick glanced towards the windows.
Across Almond Square, life carried on as normal. Terry Teacake’s van coughed past. Someone outside Ye Olde Crumb and Butter dropped a tray.
Nick lowered his voice.
“You lot have no idea what you’ve stumbled into.”
Peggy folded her arms.
“Then enlighten us.”
Nick shook his head.
“The Buttered Bunch aren’t a few bakers shifting dodgy flour. They’re organised. Suppliers, deliveries, storage. Favours owed all over the place.”
“And the mill?” asked Rye-vita.
“A storage point.”
“For what?”
Nick looked at her.
“You don’t want the answer.”
Dot slammed her hand on the table.
“Oh, stop being dramatic, Nicholas. You were exactly the same when you broke Mrs Battenberg’s greenhouse.”
Nick stared at his mother.
“I was twelve.”
“And you blamed the cat.”
“It was a very large cat.”
Dotty almost smiled.
Then Nick’s expression changed.
He looked through the window.
A plain white van had stopped across Almond Square.
Nick went pale.
“Get away from the windows.”
Rye-vita turned.
“Why?”
The van door opened.
Nick grabbed Dotty’s arm.
“Because they know I’m here.”
On the side of the van, almost invisible against the white paint, someone had dusted two letters in flour.
BB.
DUFF DUFF DUFF.
Blindman Makes 