She slipped down to the basement. This she did on occasion when the bakery was closed, usually in the dead of night when sleep proved elusive and always with the snap of excitement at her heels as she did so, covertly. Her alarm would not pip-pip for another three hours, yet instead of resting her head on her plump, feather pillow there she was, wandering along corridors and punching alarm codes into locked doors, looking over her shoulder and tip-toeing like a thief. Using only minimal lighting, eschewing the wealth of machinery around her and the complicated recipes that she and Milly had honed over the years, she set about doing what she always did on these night time jaunts, running up a batch of fairy cakes using a wooden spoon and a ceramic bowl, just as she had been taught. Pru fastened the apron around her waist before laying her ingredients and tools in a row on the counter top. She felt the familiar jolt of happiness, knowing that she was about to begin and had everything she needed to execute her plan.
