Cathy Cassidy - Angel Cake

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First published 2009

Text copyright Cathy Cassidy, 2009

Illustrations copyright Sara Flavell, 2009

The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

All rights reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

ISBN: 978-0-14-193136-4

Readers love to ask me where my ideas come from, and the answer is anywhere and everywhere!

A while ago in Ireland, someone told me a story about a young Dublin boy who wandered about the city after dark, wearing angel wings. Nobody seemed to know who he was, or why he wore the wings and a few months later he vanished, leaving nothing behind him but mystery. That story captured my imagination and set me dreaming.

When I decided to write about the experiences of a Polish girl who comes to settle in Britain, the angel boy idea somehow sneaked its way in too. The world needs more boys with angel wings!

The Polish girl in my story, Anya, was inspired by a real-life Polish reader I met at an event. She handed me a description shed written of her first ever day at school in Britain, and although her English wasnt good her feelings just about jumped off the page at me. For the first time, I began to see how scary it must be to move countries and start again in a place where you dont even know the language and the idea for Angel Cake was born.

Angel Cake is a story about dreams and how they dont always work out the way you imagine, and also about falling for the wrong boy who might just turn out to be the right boy, after all.

Where does the cake come in? Well, I guess cake has been a pretty big inspiration of mine over the years too, so why not? I hope you enjoy Angel Cake - and remember: life is sweet!

Cathy Cassidy xxx

DIZZY

DRIFTWOOD

INDIGO BLUE

SCARLETT

SUNDAE GIRL

LUCKY STAR

GINGERSNAPS

ANGEL CAKE

DREAMS & DOODLES DAYBOOK

To my lovely, patient husband, Liam, and my fab kids, Calum and Caitlin, for endless hugs, and also to Mum, Joan, Andy, Lori and all my family far and wide. Hugs to all my brilliant friends: Sheena, Helen, Fiona, Mary-Jane, Magi, Zarah, Jessie and the whole crew for keeping me sane well, almost. Thanks to Catriona for helping with the website, organizing my life and being generally all-round fab; to Martyn for looking after the adding-up bits; and to Darley and his angels at the agency for well, everything! Thanks to Amanda, the worlds sweetest, smartest and most patient editor; and to Sara, the worlds best cover-artist/illustrator; also to Adele, Francesca, Emily, Sophie, Sara, Kirsten, Tania, Sarah, Jennie and the whole Puffin team.

Special thanks to Ana, who started me dreaming and inspired the story, and to Polish girls Agatha, Klaudia and Kasia for helping with research; also to Andrew B. and Zosia for the same; and to Scratchy for the pyjamas-in-the-park story; and Sinead for the angel-boy one! Thanks to the two best cafes in the universe, for their inspiration and help with the cake research Designs in Castle Douglas and Kittys Tearoom in New Galloway, which actually has a cake called Angels Wings sigh.

Finally, thanks to my brilliant readers, whose feedback, support and enthusiasm make all the hard work worthwhile. Youre the best!

The last few bits and pieces are packed. Mum is running around the flat with a duster, trying to make it all perfect for the next tenants, and Kazias sitting on her suitcase hugging the old rabbit Gran knitted for her and trying not to cry.

I know how she feels. Im excited about moving, but scared as well. Ive tried so many times to picture this day, but now that its finally here I feel numb, shaky. My stomach is full of butterflies, some of them in hobnailed boots.

Gran and Grandad arrive to take us to the airport, and then it all moves too fast. The worst bit is saying goodbye. Gran and Grandad hug me so hard it feels like they are trying to memorize the shape of me in their arms, and both of them are crying fat, salty tears even while they are telling us to be brave, to think of the future, to make the most of the new life thats waiting for us in Liverpool.

Well write, and phone, and email, I promise. And well visit, and you can come over at Christmas and visit us

Of course, Gran says, but I know they wont. They will be with Uncle Zarek and Aunt Petra and the cousins this Christmas, in their big flat with the log fire crackling and the festive table always set with an extra place in case a lonely traveller should come knocking at the door.

By the time we get through security, Mum is crying too, and Kazia, and even I have to take a deep breath in and wipe the tears away. It is hard to leave Krakow, to leave Poland, and step into the unknown. It is hard to leave my family, my friends, the place I once called home.

Its hard, but its what Ive dreamt of too, for years.

Dad went away to work in Britain when I was nine. He could earn better money there, Mum explained, and one day, maybe soon, he would send for us. In Britain, we would have a better life. I didnt know I needed a better life, back then. The one I had seemed good enough, until Dad went away.

I missed him. Id sit by my bedroom window, looking out beyond the city rooftops to the big, blue sky where the swallows that nested in the eaves just above our apartment swooped and soared in the late summer sun. I wondered if there were swallows in Britain, if Dad could look up, as I did, and see them dip and glide through the blue.

I wished I could fly south for the winter, like the swallows, to a place where the sun always shone. I wished we could all be together again.

In Krakow, the winters are cold thick snow lies on the ground for months at a time. The rooftops are dusted with white sugar-frosting, and you have to wear two pairs of socks inside your boots just to stop your toes from turning blue.

Does it snow in Britain? my little sister, Kazia, wanted to know, when Dad came home that first Christmas.