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He left late, because the cake had taken so long. But the cake was a disaster, too, an eggy, unrisen mess in the tin. It didn't even taste good with his eyes closed. So he was late and cakeless, except for the smear of it unnoticed on his trousers. By the time he arrived he was sweaty and stressed and falling over his tongue trying to apologise, and nobody understood why, because nobody had needed a cake from him, or punctuality. He went into the toilets to mop his brow with paper towels, and saw the stain on his leg, and left early.