The Twelve Little Cakes by Dominika Dery Page A

listening to my mum and Klara turn the pages of their books on either side of me. Around sunrise, I would hear my dad return home and crawl under the piano. The strings reverberated as he slumped beside the pedal stand, and the warm hum of the piano always made me feel safe. We had a great piano. It was the Red Countess’s German Steinway grand, and was very rare, as most of the German Steinways had been destroyed during the war. After the court case, my mother expected the Red Countess to reclaim it, but moving the piano was too much trouble for her. So she left it in our villa, and it was the one expensive thing we owned. We were very poor when I was growing up, and selling the piano would have solved a lot of problems, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. It was the piano she had practiced on as a child, and was the one remaining link between her and her parents. She played it beautifully and sadly.
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    I HAD SUCH A GOOD TIME cleaning bricks with my hammer, I didn’t want to stop. I worked at the pile every day for a week, and was so determined to clean every brick that my mother eventually had to send me out to play.
    â€œI was just talking to Mrs. Liskova,” she said one morning. “And she tells me that the ladies have baked you a cake. But they’re worried that you might not want to come around and eat it. They’re afraid that you might be too busy to see them.”
    â€œThey baked me a cake?”
    â€œYes. They miss you,” my mother smiled. “They also said they would be happy to read you a story, but they’re afraid that you might be too old for them to read to.”
    â€œI’m not too old,” I exclaimed. “I’d love to go!”
    â€œWell, you can,” she said. “I’ve told your father you’re taking the day off, and Mrs. Liskova’s expecting you.”
    I collected my big book of fairy tales and walked down the street. It was a windy day and the trees were changing color. Summer was coming to an end.
    I trotted past Mr. Hasek’s garden, said hello to his dog Alf, and was about to cross the street to Mrs. Liskova’s gate, when a head popped up from behind Mr. Acorn’s fence. The head belonged to a little boy who couldn’t have been much older than me.
    â€œHello,” I said. “Who are you?”
    â€œI’m Petr Acorn,” the boy replied. “Are you the girl who ran away from home?”
    â€œI didn’t run away from home,” I told him. “I went for a walk in the forest. My name is Dominika Furmanova.”
    The boy ducked behind the fence. A moment later, he reappeared with a little girl beside him. The girl had a round face and frizzy hair, and she giggled when she saw me.
    â€œMy name is Mary Hairy. Petr and I have been watching you for ages!”
    â€œYou’ve been watching me?” I was surprised. “How come I haven’t seen you?”
    â€œWe were inside the house,” Petr said. “Whenever we saw you, you were with the old lady with the stick and we were too frightened to come out and say hello.”
    â€œIs she your grandmother?” Mary asked.
    â€œShe used to be, but now she isn’t,” I explained. “She became too tired and had to have a rest. But now I have three grandmothers! They’ve baked me a cake and I’m on my way to eat it.”
    â€œThey baked you a cake!” Petr exclaimed. “What kind of cake is it? Do you know?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe you could come and have a look. I bet Mrs. Sokolova would let you have a piece.”
    â€œMrs. Sokolova can’t be your real grandmother,” Mary pointed out. “If she was, she would live in your house.”
    â€œI would like her to live in my house, but we don’t have a roof at the moment,” I told her. “So I go and visit her in her apartment instead. Would you like to come with me?”
    Petr looked at