Great-Grandma returned from the village to find conkers by her front door. There were conkers going up the stairs and conkers in the sitting room. In the kitchen, there were conkers on top of the cupboards.
“What are all these conkers doing around the cottage, Mincemeat? I thought they were for your cake.”
Mincemeat was Great-Grandma’s cheerfully chubby, baking-mad ginger cat.
“Ooh no, Great-Grandma, the sweet chestnuts are for my cake,” he said, pointing to the oven, where the cake was baking.
He’d collected the chestnuts from the sweet chestnut tree in the cottage garden that morning. At the same time, he’d collected conkers from the horse chestnut tree. He’d taken great care to ensure he didn’t get the two mixed up.
“Conkers are poisonous if you eat them,” he said. “I made small holes in each one to keep the spiders away. They hate the smell. And you know I don’t like spiders, especially the ones with the long, tickly legs!”
“You’re really very clever, Mincemeat. I’ve learnt something new today.”
Great-Grandma and Mincemeat were going to visit Great-Grandma’s Aunty Noshi, who lived in the countryside at Fieldmouse Meadows. Mincemeat was busy organising a scrumptious picnic to take with them. He’d inherited his love of baking from his Grandma Twinkle, who now lived in Flossie Feline’s Old Age Home for Cats. As Grandma Twinkle was too old to bake and sew anymore, she’d given Mincemeat her precious recipe book, along with her sewing machine.
Mincemeat loved sewing almost as much as he loved baking. He always wore his “I Love Cooking” apron whenever he was busy baking in the kitchen. As the sweet chestnut cake baked in the oven, a buttery, caramel smell wafted up Mincemeat’s nose.
The radio happened to be playing one of his favourite tunes. Closing his eyes and with outstretched paws, he swayed to the music while breathing in the luscious smell.
When the timer on the oven pinged, Mincemeat put on his oven gloves. Then he carefully lifted the cake out of the oven and set it on a wire rack. While he waited for it to cool, Mincemeat fried dandelions and nettles until they were extremely crispy – one of Great-Grandma’s favourites – and mashed up some mackerel for himself.
The cooking done, Mincemeat packed everything into a wicker picnic basket on top of a red-and-green-checked cloth. The following morning, before they left for the station, he packed the final items: a bottle of cherryade, a bottle of cat milk and lastly, some cheese-flavoured chocolate for Great-Grandma. Although he loved cheese, Mincemeat knew he must never eat chocolate. It could make him very ill indeed.
Mincemeat handed Great-Grandma her crash helmet. Then he helped her climb into the sidecar of his motorbike, giving her the picnic basket to hold. After putting on his own crash helmet and black biker suit, he jumped onto the driver’s seat and revved up the engine.
The nearest station to the village of Howdoyoudo, where Great-Grandma and Mincemeat lived, was Muddlewich. It was called Muddlewich because everything at the station was so muddled up. To buy your ticket, you had to climb a ladder, as the ticket office was on the roof of the station building. The waiting room was outside the station in the bus stop. The pointed hands on the large-faced clock on the main concourse often got stuck, which meant passengers ran all over the place thinking they had missed their trains. And when it got to six o’clock, the hands of the clock whizzed round and round so fast that nobody could tell the time at all!
They arrived at Muddlewich station and Mincemeat parked up in the bike bay. He found a seat for Great-Grandma in the waiting room in the bus stop. Then he went to buy the tickets, climbing the ladder to the ticket office and waiting his turn. The train was due to leave Candy Floss Central at just after ten minutes to nine that morning – 8.52 a.m. to be precise. The first stop would be Muddlewich at half past nine.
Approaching the ticket booth, Mincemeat said, “Two tickets to Fieldmouse Meadows, please.”
It was the last stop on the line.
