The Midnight Bakery

Just when you think things can't get any worse, life has a way of heading off in an entirely different direction

- ELLIE HOLMES

The heat from the oven hit Stella's face, giving her a jolt even though the tray of cottage loaves, she slid it inside before closing the door and setting the nearest of the six timers.

Her gaze drifted to the wall clock. Five minutes to midnight. She'd been hard at it making various breads and pastries since eight o'clock and knew she wouldn't finish until four the next morning when the last batch of croissants would be ready to come out of the oven. She stifled a yawn. It was a hard work, harder than it had been in her youth, but somehow she had to power through it. She owed it to her daughter. If she cracked, the whole thing would be over.

She poured himself a strong black coffee, scalding her mouth as she drank, too eager for the rush of adrenaline it would give her. One of the timers on the worktop started to bleep. Stella knew she should be used to it by now but the sound still made her jump. She looked from the timer to the note stuck in front of it: Sausage Rolls-bottom left oven.

Her notes had become essential.

On the edge of a sleep-deprived haze most of the time, she'd courted disaster on a number of occasions. The loaves that had gone unbaked because she had forgotten to turn on the oven. The smoke detector shrieking when she'd neglected to set a timer. Burning the Chelsea buns to a crisp. The wholesale order she'd got disastrously wrong.

And every time she made a mistake all she could think of was the lost revenue.

Turning off the timer, she opened the oven door and lifted out the tray of sausage rolls, placing them on the cooling rack.

The face was clearly visible in the reflection of the oven door as she shut it.

Shouting in dismay, she wheeled around.

The face and the person to whom it belonged was gone.