'Cake?' Miss Hardbroom sniffed, her opinion of such an extravagance made crystal clear. 'Does one need such a huge confection?'

'It's your birthday. What do you normally get, a bunch of carrots?' Asked Miss Drill in exasperation.

'I would think that more than one would be considered excessive' commented Miss Bat with a giggle. She was rewarded with a piercing glare and shrank back.

'Every child has cake' persevered Imogen. 'My mum made a chocolate fudge cake for each one of us on our birthdays.'

Constance raised her eyebrows in a way that suggested no more explanation of indulgence was needed.

'What did you get for your birthdays when you were a child?' Enquired Miss Cackle, balancing a plate of cheesecake on her knee and a newspaper.

'Books.'

'Just books?' Imogen made a face.

'They were very good books.'

Imogen exchange a look with the headmistress. Constance's idea of very good books was not the same as anyone else's. The woman had been born in a mausoleum.

'Agatha and I always had a bigger cup of cocoa on our birthdays' mused Amelia. 'She always finished hers first and tried to siphon off some of mine. She always was one for instant gratification. I tried to tell her first girlfriend that but she wouldn't listen. To her later regret.'

Imogen shuddered at the thought of Agatha's exploits.

'My parents gave me a bouquet every year' Davina piped up.

'That is sweet' said Amelia approvingly.

'They picked it on the banks of the river where we used to go for a birthday swim. We would all slather up with goose grease and splash around for an hour. Then they would compete with each other to gather the best one for me. They both won so they combined it into one big bunch. Then we went to the café for rosemary frog spawn juice.' Davina sighed, remembering idyllic times.

They all stared at her. To admire the parental devotion was one thing but no wonder Davina was decidedly odd. Imogen was thinking uncharitable thoughts about people who grew up as only children but then remembered that Constance was one too. Better say nothing.

'Sounds marvellous' said Amelia valiantly. 'What a precious time they created for you to cherish.'

And that Constance thought, was the reason why Amelia made an excellent headmistress. The patience to deal with such nonsense. She busied herself with deciding on which books to take to her room.

'Is there nothing we can make for your birthday breakfast?' Amelia's gentle persistence was wearing on her.

'My aunt made treacle toast' said Constance abruptly.

Davina perked up. She loved treacle.

'Sounds like something Mrs Tapioca could make. Do go on.'

Constance detailed the butter and treacle lavishly marbled onto the granary bread, a sprig of lemon thyme embedded before toasting in the fire. Any leaves left in the bread was a sign of good luck.

'We used to eat in the conservatory' she said wistfully. 'She grew gooseberries and blackcurrants.'

Amelia nodded, looking thoughtful. They guessed that the aunt had been a guiding light in a lonely childhood. Constance had never spoken of an aunt.

That Friday, a plate of treacle thyme toast was presented to the deputy headmistress of Cackles Academy. Beautifully marbled, deliciously smoky with a sprig artfully baked in. The plate was prettily engraved with gooseberries and blackcurrants.

'Perfect crockery for a spot of custard creams and a cocoa' explained Miss Cackle. 'Tradition is a fine thing' she reminded her right-hand woman, indicating that treacle toast was to be expected every year without fail.

Constance smiled slightly and thanked her. She wasn't willing to admit it but she had missed this.