A Spoonful of Sugar (2 page)

‘Spongecakes,’said Harry. ‘Easy bloody peasy.’
‘Fine,’ I said, perking up at the thought of scoffing cake for days on end. ‘I’ll do some practice this week. Are you taking the kids?’

Harry and her wife Louise had twins – Fiona and Finlay – who were three years old, adorable, and, in my opinion, out of control.

‘No way,’ she said. ‘Louise will be fine at home with them. Jamie can look after Clemmie on his own, can’t he? She’s no trouble.’

I wasn’t so sure about that, not now my cute Clemmie had started experimenting with her new-found witching skills. But the thought of an unbroken night’s sleep was too good to resist.

‘He’ll love it,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it.’

Two

‘Are you trembling?’ Harry looked at my hands in suspicion. ‘You are, you’re all shaky.’

‘I’m nervous,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been on television before, I can’t bake, I’m too fat to do up my own shoelaces and, altogether, this is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done.’

Harry gave me a look that suggested I’d just grown an extra head.

‘It’s going to be fun,’ she said.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s just my idea of fun is normally very different from yours. Can we drive down? I’m not walking.’

We had arrived in Claddach, the tiny town where we’d grown up, super-early that morning after driving up in Harry’s car. The competition was taking place down in the town, on the shores of the loch and close to Mum’s cafe. I was keen to see what it would be like after Harry’s talk of marquees and what not. We’d not seen anything yet as the road from Edinburgh skirted Claddach itself and wound up into the Cairngorms where our house was perched in the foothills and where we now stood, contemplating the road in front of us.

It was a beautiful day but the walk into Claddach was pretty steep and I knew that while I might manage to waddle down the slope, the chances of me waddling back up again were slim.

I sighed heavily and stuck my bump out, and Harry rolled her eyes.

‘Okay, fatso,’ she said. She beeped the car doors and I, rather inelegantly, wedged myself into the passenger seat.

‘So what should I expect?’ I asked as Harry pulled out on to the main road.

‘Nothing fancy,’ she said. ‘There’s going to be the marquee, like I said but, honestly, it’s all going to be fairly understated. It’s not the
X Factor
.’

‘So it’s just a fun way of promoting Claddach?’ I asked, hoping for reassurance. ‘No pressure?’

‘No pressure,’ Harry said, glancing at me as she turned off the main road into Claddach centre. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s a tiny show on a tiny channel – it’s not a big set-up.’

She indicated, then spun the wheel to go round the corner into the lane that led to the café. I was thrown forward as she slammed on the brakes.

‘Harry!’ I said in annoyance, giving her a filthy look. But she wasn’t listening.

‘Oh. My. God,’ she breathed. ‘Oh. My. God.’

I looked up from adjusting my seatbelt over my bump.

‘Ohhhhh,’ I said, horrified.

This was no small set-up. This was huge.

It was a gorgeous June day and Claddach was at her most stunning. The inky-black waters of the loch were, for once, a deep blue, the sky was bright with sunshine and tiny puffs of cloud skipped along in the breeze. On the distant hills gorse burned vibrant yellow, and the trees shone their greenest green. It would have been quite a view anyway, but add
Britain Bakes
to the mix and it took my breath away.

A beautiful white marquee billowed on the shores of the loch, close to the cafe, like the sails on a pirate ship. There was bunting strung along the outside of the cafe and forming a sort of corridor between the cafe’s front door and the entrance to the marquee. And there were people everywhere.

There were cameras being set up all over the place, and lots of people wearing black trousers and T-shirts speaking into headsets running around. There were some young women with swishy hair clutching clipboards and shouting into mobile phones and two huge trucks with HTV emblazoned along the side parked like exclamation marks across the road.

The Claddach pipe band was playing a little way along the beach, and lots of locals were drifting about, watching what was going on. I saw several people I recognised – my best friend Chloe, who was with her kids and her husband, was easily spotted because of her bright-red hair. I saw another friend, Kirsty, looking like an off-duty rock star in shiny black leggings and an oversized vest top that showed off her tattoos. Millicent Fry was bustling around organising everyone and everything – as always – and it looked like just about the whole town had turned out.

Harry and I stared at the action through the windscreen. She turned the engine off.

‘Shall we go and introduce ourselves?’ she said.

I folded my arms over my bump protectively.

‘We could,’ I said. ‘Or, we could turn the car round, drive back to Edinburgh and pretend this never happened.’

For a second I thought Harry was going to agree and my heart lifted.

‘I admit this is a bit bigger than we thought it was going to be,’ she said.

‘Harry, I was imagining a couple of old women in a tent,’ I said, my voice shrill. ‘Not the whole town showing up to watch me make a mess of a Victoria sponge on national television.’

Harry swallowed.

‘
Britain Bakes
is a bit more popular than I thought it was,’ she said. She looked through the windscreen again and took a breath, then she threw her shoulders back, shook her super-shiny hair, and gave me her most dazzling smile.

‘But this is good,’ she said.

‘It is?’

‘Yes. It’s good. It’s great, in fact. All this fuss means the whole country will be looking at Claddach. It will really put the town on the map. Business will go through the roof. See how amazing it all looks – the tourist board will be going wild.’

If I’d been trembling before, I was shaking violently now.

‘But look at all the people,’ I said. ‘Look at how many people there are. Everyone’s going to be watching me make a huge mess of this.’

Harry patted my hand. I pulled it away.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

But I wasn’t convinced.

Harry unclipped her seatbelt and got out of the car. I followed, far less elegantly.

‘Where do we have to go?’ I asked, hoiking up my maternity leggings.

Harry glanced at me over her shoulder. She was wearing sunglasses and, with her Mulberry bag on her arm, she looked like a film star.

‘Make-up, I think,’ she said.

‘Really?’ That was good news. Perhaps they could make me look like a film star too.

We walked down the path towards the cafe. I was expecting things to be frantic with Mum and Suky running around like mad things. But instead we found them standing outside with their business partner Eva having their photographs taken for the local paper.

‘Check you out,’ Harry said as we kissed them hello. ‘You’re like local celebs.’

Mum kissed my bump and then my cheek.

‘Are you okay?’ she said, taking my chin in her hand and studying me closely. ‘You look tired.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said. I angled myself away from Harry so she couldn’t hear what I was saying. ‘Just a bit nervous. I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’

I nodded back over my shoulder to where the action was happening and lowered my voice.

‘It’s more of a thing than I expected,’ I whispered. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to it.’

Mum gave me a sympathetic hug.

‘Just do your best,’ she said. ‘That’s all anyone’s asking of you.’

‘I’d feel better if my best included a bit of magic,’ I said, making a face.

Mum chuckled.

‘That’s not like you,’ she said. ‘It’s normally Harry who’s desperate to cast a spell.’

‘No magic, Esme,’ I said, in my best impression of Harry’s voice. ‘It just doesn’t work with baking.’

Mum laughed again.

‘She’s right, though,’ she pointed out. ‘Plus it’s a bit too risky, what with all these people and cameras everywhere.’

I opened my mouth to argue that I was perfectly capable of being discreet when one of the clipboard-wielding women appeared at my shoulder so I shut up. Mum gave me a smug look and I rolled my eyes.

‘Esme and Harmony?’ the woman said in a frighteningly over-friendly fashion.

‘I’m Harmony,’ Harry said. ‘Call me Harry.’

The woman made a note on her clipboard.

‘And you’re Esme?’ she said to me. ‘Oh! You’re pregnant, how fab. When are you due? Not this weekend I hope.’
She giggled madly and I stared at her, speechless in the face of such perkiness.

‘I’m Portia,’ she carried on, flicking the end of her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. ‘I’m one of the crew and I’m the person you need to speak to if you need anything. Anything at all.’

She giggled again, showing very straight, very white teeth.

‘The other competitors are all here already – they’re just in Make-up. So if you’re ready, I’ll take you up and introduce you. Ready?’

She looked at us in expectation. Harry and I looked back in silence.

‘Ready?’ she said again.

‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ Harry said. ‘Ready.’

Portia spun round and raced round the side of the cafe with Harry and I scuttling along in her wake. I shot Harry a filthy look but she stared resolutely ahead. I wondered if she was as nervous as I was.

We followed Portia up the stairs to what was normally the gallery. It was a brilliant room, used for exhibitions, art classes, writing groups, concerts – all sorts. Jamie and I had got married there so it had a special place in my heart. It was a long, rectangular room with two huge windows – with stunning views over the loch – at each of the short ends, and two long white walls perfect for hanging pictures.

Today it had been transformed into a beauty parlour. Its long walls were now hung with long mirrors. In front of two of the mirrors were narrow tables, covered in hairbrushes, tubes of foundation and eyeliner pencils, and a chair. Two make-up artists were busy powdering the noses of the person in each chair. Some other people stood around chatting, clutching paper cups of coffee emblazoned with the Claddach Cafe logo. That was good.

Portia cleared her throat as though she was about to make an announcement.

‘Everyone,’ she said. ‘These are our final two competitors, Esme and Harmony.’

‘Harry,’ said Harry, flashing her most dazzling smile at everyone in the room. ‘Hello.’

I was overwhelmed with fear once more, so I simply raised my hand and croaked, ‘Hi.’

‘So,’ said Portia. ‘That’s Wilf, having his nose done.’ In the chair furthest away from where we stood, was a young man in his mid twenties. He had dark-rimmed glasses and a sort of messy afro that the make-up artist wasn’t even attempting to control. He grinned at us showing slightly crooked teeth and Harry smiled back. My smile was more like a grimace – but I tried.

‘Next to him,’ Portia continued. ‘Is June.’

‘Hi,’ Harry and I chorused. June was around sixty with greying curly hair and a sizeable bosom. I found myself wishing I could rest my head on her chest and have her tell me it was all going to be okay. But I changed my mind sharpish when she gave me a frosty glare. Ooh, what had rattled her cage?

‘I’m Amelia,’ a frighteningly young girl stuck her hand out for me to shake.

‘Are you in the competition?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Is there a children’s event?’

Amelia giggled. She was quite sweet, with mousy hair pulled back into a ponytail and a crop of spots on her chin.

‘I’m seventeen,’ she said. ‘I’m one of the bakers.’

‘Amelia’s our youngest competitor ever,’ said Portia proudly. ‘She’s just done her A levels.’

‘And I’m afraid I’m one of the oldest,’ said the man Amelia had been chatting to. ‘I’m Ronald.’

I took in Ronald’s straight back, shiny shoes and close-cropped hair and grinned.

‘Navy?’ I said.

Ronald roared with laughter.

‘That obvious, eh?’ he said.

‘My dad was in the RAF,’ I admitted. ‘I grew up surrounded by military types.’

Ronald beamed at me.

‘We shall have to compare stories later,’ he said.

I smiled back, relieved to have met at least one person who seemed nice and normal.

‘Okay, people,’ said Portia, sending me back into spasms of terror again. ‘We’re almost ready to get going. Harry and Esme just need to have their faces done, then we can head out to the marquee to meet the judges. They’ll introduce themselves. Don’t worry, they’re really nice – not nearly as frightening as they seem on TV.’

That was a relief. I’d watched a few clips of the show on YouTube and, frankly, the judges seemed marginally more brutal than the prison officers in
Orange is the New Black
. Hopefully they just put that on for the cameras.

‘They’ll explain how the competition is going to work,’ Portia carried on. ‘And then we’ll get cracking on the first round. Exciting!’

She squealed and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder again.

Next to me, Amelia bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get on with it. I rubbed my bump and wondered if I could fake going into labour just to escape.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Harry, giving me a poke in the side.

‘Ow,’ I hissed. ‘Stay out of my head.’ I hated it when she used her witchcraft to listen in to my thoughts.

Harry shrugged, unconcerned by my crossness.

‘Any questions before we start?’ said Portia.

‘Can we go home?’ I whispered.

Harry poked me again.

‘Lighten up, fatty,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun, honest.’

‘Okay then,’ said Portia. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

Three

The judges, of course, were completely terrifying. But at first, they seemed very nice. We lined up in front of them, outside the marquee, like children waiting to start detention. Which, in a way, I thought to myself, we were.

Up ahead of us, the two judges were chatting to a cameraman, who was explaining something about angles and close-ups, which gave us a chance to check them out before they came to check us out.
The male judge was in his forties, very tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair, a neat moustache and soft brown eyes. I’d watched him on television, of course, but he was much more handsome in the flesh than I had expected him to be and that unsettled me.