Tart

Half an hour after she’s arrived, she hands me this little parcel with cake in it. Like it’s no big deal, in fact she almost looks embarrassed. It’s not just any cake, it’s a pink box with a ribbon around it, from that posh place, Pâtisserie Valérie on old Compton street. The other day I was leering at the chocolate creations in the window. After I’ve done my little dance and squealed like a girl, I grab a spoon. It’s perfect: a light pastry casing with the thinnest layer of chocolate, fluffy cream, huge juicy raspberries. It shuts me up for five minutes.
As if she needed to get me cake to get into my pants…