A Spoonful of Sugar (10 page)

Stupid. Now she’d want to know what I was thinking and I wouldn’t be able to lie. It was impossible to lie to Harry.

‘What were you thinking?’ she said, predictably.

I took a breath.

‘I was just thinking about you and Lou and the kids and what a nice family you are,’ I said.

Harry gave me a smile that reminded me of my most sadistic games teacher at school and made me believe she knew perfectly well what I’d been thinking. Which she probably did.

‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘Now tell me what you were really thinking.’

I thought desperately of a way to make my thoughts sound better. Had I been wondering who was behind the accidents? Or if one of the competitors was responsible? Was there a way to make it sound like I wasn’t accusing Harry?

‘I think you made the accidents happen,’ I said.

Brilliant.

Harry, Mum and Suky all stopped eating and stared at me. A piece of lettuce fell off Mum’s fork, which was halfway to her mouth.

Oh now I’d done it.

Seventeen

Harry smiled again, looking even more like that mean teacher.

‘Why would you think that?’ she said.

Be calm, I told myself. Don’t babble.

‘Well, you said yourself it’s been good for business and things have turned out exactly like you told me they would, only better, and you were so determined to get into the competition in the first place and maybe you had this planned all along, and you were nowhere near Amelia, and you knew where Ronald was, and you could have greased June’s tin or even made her do it herself and it just all makes sense …’ The words fell out of my mouth in a rush.

There was a pause while everyone obviously tried to make sense of what I’d just said. And then Mum, Suky and Harry all burst into laughter.

‘Oh, Esme, you are funny,’ said Mum when she’d gathered herself enough to speak.

I was mildly affronted.

‘I wasn’t trying to be funny,’ I pointed out. ‘It just all fits.’

Harry giggled, sounding just like Clemmie when she watched Peppa Pig.

‘No it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘You’d know if I’d used magic – you’d have felt it. I felt it when you moved Wilf’s empty jar. I know you’re not the most accomplished witch but even you can feel magic.’

I nodded, pointedly ignoring her insult.

‘And I wouldn’t ever try to hurt anyone with spells,’ Harry went on. ‘For a start, there’s the rule of three – I’m not going to risk something coming back on us three times as bad.’

I nodded again, beginning to feel a bit silly. It must be hormones, I thought. Baby brain.

Harry was still talking.

‘And it’s not just the rules,’ she said. ‘It’s that I’m not a horrible person.’

‘Well,’ I began. Harry shot me a hurt look so I stopped.

‘I would never injure Ronald – he’s an old man, for goodness sake,’ she said, tossing her hair back. ‘And Amelia’s just a kid, even if she is terrifying.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

Harry’s mouth twitched as she tried to stop herself laughing again.

‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘At least you gave us all a good giggle.’

‘Glad to be of service,’ I said, a bit put out that everyone was getting their entertainment from me. ‘I still think someone did it, though. Even if it wasn’t you.’

In fact, now I was convinced someone was behind the accidents. And I couldn’t shake the thought all evening and well into the night.

I was at the stage of pregnancy when it’s hard to sleep. My bump, the fact that I needed the loo every hour, and the thunder that was still rattling the windows, meant I found myself sitting up in bed that night, writing a list of people who could have caused the accidents to happen. I wished I had a incident board like you saw in crime dramas and for a moment I thought about conjuring one up, then I thought better of it. That was perhaps taking my Miss Marple act too far.

I wrote down the remaining competitors – me, Harry and Wilf. The judges – Peter and Lizzie. Portia and her assistants. Millicent. Mum, Suky and their business partners Eva and Allan. The bigwigs at the production company. But no one had a good enough motive, did they? Really? It seemed so extreme.

I crossed off Harry and myself and, after a moment’s thought, I also crossed off Wilf – he was such a sweetheart, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. I crossed off Lizzie, who was adorable and had helped everyone in their time of need. Plus she didn’t have anything to gain from hurting contestants. I also scored out Portia. She wasn’t in the marquee when we were baking so she simply didn’t have the opportunity. Nor did the bigwigs at the production company. So that left Peter.

He was definitely a prickly character, he had delighted in everyone else’s misfortune, and – I thought, remembering the conversation I’d overheard in the tent – he had a new solo show to promote. This was bound to help.

‘Ah ha,’ I said out loud, Hercules Poirot style. But my eyes were drooping, so I put my pen and paper to one side, resolving to watch him carefully the next day.

Sunday was crazy. The scandal at
Britain Bakes
had hit the front page of lots of the Sunday tabloids, it was in some of the broadsheets, too, and one of the supplements had a three-page interview with Amelia.

Peter and Lizzie were in Edinburgh first thing, doing a live video link to one of the Sunday morning current affairs shows. Mum, Doug and I watched it while we ate breakfast.

‘We just really hope everyone’s okay,’ Lizzie said, sounding close to tears. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened before.’

‘Some people are saying it’s a set-up, Peter,’ said the presenter, fixing a steely glare at the screen that showed the two judges on a backdrop of Edinburgh Castle. ‘They’re saying there were no accidents, and that this is just a bid to boost ratings.’

‘Oh there were accidents,’ Peter said coolly. ‘This is nothing to do with ratings.’

‘Nice try,’ I said, scooping up a forkful of scrambled egg. ‘You don’t fool me.’

‘Do you think he had something to do with it?’ Doug said. ‘Really?’

‘I do,’ I said. ‘I’m convinced.’

‘But last night you thought Harry was to blame,’ Mum pointed out.

I glared at her.

‘Well I was wrong about that,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m right about this.’

Mum made a face.

‘He doesn’t seem the type,’ she said. ‘He’s very handsome.’

Doug shot her an injured glance and she gave him an affectionate pat on the arm.

‘He just doesn’t strike me as someone so dishonest,’ she said.

I finished my scrambled eggs and sat back in my chair, feeling the baby wriggle.

‘Well he is,’ I said. ‘And maybe he’s very good at hiding it, but I can easily find out the truth.’

Mum nodded.

‘I suppose you can,’ she said. ‘Just be careful. It’s not polite to go rooting about in other people’s thoughts.’

There was a strange atmosphere in the tent as we gathered to record some extra bits that would explain yesterday’s abrupt ending on screen. It all felt a bit staged and unnatural and I felt uneasy about tricking the audience. But Lizzie was relaxed about it.

‘Peter and I often re-record links and judges’ comments,’ she said, giving her co-judge an accusing look over her shoulder. ‘He makes so many mistakes and it would just look clunky and unprofessional. So we normally take a few minutes to make sure we get it right. It’s not cheating, it’s practical.’

I gave her a weak smile. She and Peter clearly didn’t get on at all. I was impressed by how they presented a united front to the cameras.

We all stood in front of our benches with our half-finished pies in front of us, wearing the same clothes as we wore yesterday so it all looked like the same day on TV.

‘Unfortunately, we have some bad news,’ Lizzie began. As she explained that June’s foot was too badly injured for her to continue in the competition, we all arranged our faces into suitably sad and shocked expressions, as though we were hearing it all for the first time. I zoned out of what she was saying and focused on Peter instead. He added his disappointment to Lizzie’s – we had to film that bit twice because he messed it up – and then stayed quiet again as she told us we were all through to the semi-final. With Peter seemingly listening intently to what Lizzie was saying, I saw my chance. I concentrated hard with the witchy part of my mind and, ignoring the hubbub of thoughts from others in the tent – ooh, one of the cameramen had a crush on Wilf. I wondered if I should tell him he wasn’t gay – I swooped over and into Peter’s. Harry was absolutely brilliant – terrifyingly brilliant – at listening in to what other people thought. I wasn’t so good, though I had pulled it out of the bag every now and then. I hoped today would be one of those times. As I passed over Harry, she shivered.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked me wordlessly.

‘Nothing,’ I replied in my head, not wanting her to distract me. ‘Shhh.’

And then I could hear Peter. I concentrated hard on listening in case he gave me some evidence that he was to blame for the accidents.

‘She’s very beautiful,’ he was thinking. I leaned slightly to the side so I could see who he was looking at. Unsurprisingly, it was Harry. What a sleazebag he was, eyeing up the competitors.

‘She reminds me of Jenny when we were younger,’ Peter was thinking. Who was Jenny? ‘She had hair like that when we got married.’ Ah, she was his wife. Maybe he wasn’t such a sleaze after all. ‘Jenny’s got curves though,’ Peter thought. ‘That Harry’s a bit too thin.’

Okay, so he was measuring Harry up against his wife and finding her lacking. That was quite sweet in a weird way, I supposed.

I listened in again, hoping this time I’d hear something more useful. But I was out of luck. Peter thought about cakes – a lot. He thought about bread, which was the following week’s challenge, and he thought about Lizzie and whether all this was tiring her out because she wasn’t as young as she used to be. He was disappointed that June hadn’t finished her pies because he liked the sound of them, and he hoped we’d get finished in time for him to watch the football later. That was it. Just normal, average, boring, everyday thoughts.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t behind the accidents, I thought. He wasn’t off the hook yet.

Eighteen

I was so pleased to get home to Edinburgh that afternoon that I burst into tears as soon as Harry dropped me off.

Jamie and Clemmie gave me huge hugs, then Jamie made me a cup of tea and for a little while I forgot all about
Britain Bakes
.

I was so happy to be back with my family that I pushed it all away and instead concentrated on spending time with Clemmie, giving her a bath and putting her to bed, and then admiring the nursery that Jamie had finished decorating.

‘It won’t be long until you’re here,’ I told my bump as we stood in the small room and admired the animal wallpaper.

Jamie patted my stomach fondly.

‘Maybe just stay in there until Mummy’s won the baking competition,’ he said.

‘Oh I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ I said with a giggle. ‘Not even with half the contestants being taken out.’

Jamie gave me a funny look.

‘It’s not you, is it?’ he said, only half joking. ‘You’re not making these things happen?’

I gasped.

‘Jamie!’ I said, sinking down into the nursing chair that was positioned next to the as-yet-empty cot. ‘How could you think that?’

He gave me an apologetic grin that made him look like a cheeky schoolboy.

‘I know what you’re like when you want to win something,’ he said. ‘Remember the mums’ race at Clemmie’s nursery sports day?’

‘I wasn’t going to let that gym bunny beat me,’ I grumbled. ‘Just because she’s got loads of Sweaty Betty gear it doesn’t make her a good runner.’

Jamie looked at me, waiting for me to answer his question.

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not me …’

Jamie slid down the wall and sat on the floor, his long legs bent.

‘But?’ he said.

‘But nothing,’ I said, picking at an invisible thread on the chair cushion.

‘There was definitely a but there. Do you know who’s doing it?’ Jamie said. Then he groaned. ‘Oh it’s not bloody Harry, is it? She’ll kill someone the way she’s carrying on.’

I giggled.

‘No, it’s not Harry,’ I said. ‘But I did suspect her for a while. Now I think it could be Peter, the judge.’

‘Nah!’ Jamie said. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘He’s horrible,’ I said. ‘He laughed at Amelia when she got caramel in her hair, he fancies Harry and he’s got a new show starting in a few weeks – this publicity is brilliant. It’s really raising his profile.’

Jamie looked thoughtful.

‘Seems a bit unfair to base your suspicions on the fact that he fancies Harry,’ he pointed out. ‘Everyone fancies Harry.’

‘You don’t.’

Jamie grinned again.

‘That’s because I’ve met her,’ he said.

I gave him a fierce look.

‘And because my wife is the only woman I’m interested in,’ he said hurriedly.

‘Well saved,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Peter actually fancies Harry because she reminds him of his wife. Which is kind of sweet.’

Jamie raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘And how would you know that?’

Oops.

‘I listened in,’ I admitted. ‘But he didn’t think anything incriminating.’

‘Did he think anything about what your challenge would be next week?’ Jamie asked, barely containing his smile.

‘He might have done,’ I said.

‘And?’

‘And it’s going to be a plaited loaf,’ I said. ‘I think they’re pretty complicated.’

‘And what are you going to do about knowing that?’ Jamie asked. ‘You’re surely not going to practise plaiting your bread?’

I heaved myself up out of the chair.

‘Of course I bloody am,’ I said. ‘You know I like to win …’

And boy did I practise. I kneaded and plaited all week, until my fingers were aching. And when I wasn’t plaiting, I was practising my own recipe for iced buns – we were all expected to make twelve sweet buns.

Along with all the baking, I finished work and started my maternity leave. I was so relieved to be finishing, but a bit annoyed that I couldn’t just put my feet up and get ready for my baby’s imminent arrival. I had just three weeks before my due date and I’d never considered still being in the competition this close to giving birth.