The Cake Factory Visit

Helena and Marina were putting on their aprons. Overnight the assembly lines had been deep-cleaned, the grimy factory entrance jet-washed. ‘Even the bogs have had a lick of paint’ said Marina.

‘Snitch’ Cavendish, the general manager, wearing his best suit, pulled them aside. ‘During the royal visit I want the pair of you to keep your gobs firmly shut, understand ? Her worshipfulness won’t want to speak to the likes of you, so don’t even try.’

‘Prick’ whispered Marina when Cavendish was out of earshot.

Against the general-manager’s advice the royal guest stopped and watched in fascination as Helena and Marina worked on the assembly line, dribbling syrup onto the raspberry doo-dahs and squirting cream into the apple surprises. She asked Marina her name and said ’Oh, how delightfully pretty!’ when she was told. ‘Yeah, mum and Dad owned a grotty boat when I was born’ said Marina ‘so they named me after the place where I was conceived.’

Helena sniggered. Cavendish turned red. The royal guest roared with laughter.

Helena and Marina continued to chat with the royal visitor. They told her how badly paid their job was and that there were no opportunities for advancement. ‘And the bloody management are worse than useless’ said Helena. ‘They couldn’t organise a 69 in a brothel!’

More raucous laughter. Cavendish, lurking in the background, tried to put on a brave face.

The following day Helena and Marina were sacked. They giggled as Cavendish handed them their P45s. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing’ he said. ‘You should be ashamed of yourselves.’

They didn’t bother to answer. The royal visitor, impressed by Helena and Marina’s abilities and good humour, had offered them positions in the royal kitchens. And as for ‘Snitch’ Cavendish, well, they no longer spoke to the likes of him.