Mavis entered the village cake competition with a plain sponge.
Her neighbour Colin saw it cooling on the rack and asked whether she had forgotten the icing.
“No.”
“What about the filling?”
“Jam.”
“That isn’t much of a showpiece.”
Mavis put the cake in a tin and said it would travel well.
The competition was part of the summer fête. The first prize was a silver cup and the honour of providing cakes for next year’s event. Second prize was a hamper from the grocer. Every entrant could attend the judges’ tasting after the results.
Mavis made one trial sponge and served it to Colin with tea. He liked it, but recommended a layer of buttercream, some piped flowers and perhaps a little village hall made of marzipan. She asked whether he would help wash the icing bag. He said he was offering creative direction rather than labour. Mavis made a note of that distinction.
Colin thought she should aim higher. He had seen pictures of cakes shaped like cottages, flowerbeds and a working windmill. Mavis asked whether the windmill was edible. Colin said nobody knew because the winner had taken it home.
At the fête, she found a table of elaborate entries. One cake had sugar roses. Another had three tiers and a little edible ladder. Mavis set her sponge between them, wrote her name on the card and went to look at the secondhand books.
The judges tasted everything. They asked her about the sponge. She said she had used the same recipe for years and had never thought to put a roof on it. One judge laughed. Another took a second slice.
Colin arrived with a camera. He wanted a picture of her beside the entries. Mavis asked him to stand closer to the sugar roses. If she was going to lose, she wanted the photograph to include something impressive.
At the announcement, the judge praised the quality of the competition. Third prize went to the rose cake. Second went to the sponge.
Colin cheered so loudly that Mavis looked around for someone else he knew.
She accepted the hamper. It contained tea, biscuits, marmalade and a small box of chocolates. She asked whether she could take the tasting plate too. The judge said it was for the entrants, and she picked a piece of chocolate cake.
First prize went to the three-tier cake. Its baker, Julia, held up the cup. Then the fête organiser handed her a sheet listing how many cakes they would need next summer.
Julia’s smile faltered.
“That’s rather a lot,” she said.
Colin whispered that Mavis had been very close to winning.
Mavis offered Julia a biscuit from the hamper.
After the tasting, several people told Mavis that her sponge was the cake they would most like to eat at home. Colin said that if she had added icing, she might have won.
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Mavis pointed to Julia, who was already negotiating oven space for next year.
“I read the prize notice,” she said.
Colin looked at the hamper, the tasting plate and the volunteer list in Julia’s hand.
“So you wanted second place?”
Mavis took another bite of chocolate cake.
“I came for dessert. She won the catering job.”