A Spoonful of Sugar (3 page)

The woman was older – in her sixties, I guessed. She had shoulder-length dark hair, flicked out at the ends and she was dressed in an unflattering wrap dress that made her boobs look enormous. She wasn’t the judge I’d expected – the one who was normally on the show.

‘I thought the female judge was that other woman,’ I hissed to Harry. ‘Martha whatsit. The one with the sharp platinum bob and the fabulous jackets.’

‘Martha Rowan,’ Harry whispered back. ‘She’s gone to Hollywood, would you believe? They’re making a film about her. This Lizzie is her replacement. I think she does some daytime cookery show, but I’ve never seen it.’

Portia overheard.

‘We were devastated to lose Martha,’ she said in a low voice. ‘She’s a national treasure and she’s brilliant for publicity. Everyone loves her so she goes on all the chat shows when we’re recording.’

A shadow crossed her face.

‘I’ve got to be honest, I’m not sure Lizzie’s got the same appeal.’

We all looked over to where the female judge was staring fiercely down the lens of the camera.

‘She presents
Lunch Club
,’ Portia carried on. ‘Have you seen it?’

Harry and I both shook our heads.

‘Nah, didn’t think you would have,’ Portia said. ‘Its fan base is mostly much older viewers. It’s actually where Martha started about twenty years ago, but she moved on to bigger and better shows and, erm, Lizzie stayed.’

She glanced round to make sure no one was listening.

‘Between you, me and the gatepost, Lizzie was the only presenter who was available at short notice.’

Harry gave Portia a reassuring smile.

‘She looks nice enough,’ she said. ‘I bet she’ll be great.’

‘I bloody well hope so,’ Portia said. Then, spotting that the judges were ready, she cleared her throat again.

‘Everyone,’ she said. ‘This is Peter Houston and Lizzie Cotton, your judges.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amelia stand up a bit straighter. She was beginning to annoy me.

The judges both smiled at us all. No one smiled back.

‘I’m Peter,’ the man said. He had an Essex twang to his accent that made him seem just a normal person.

‘We know,’ said Amelia under her breath. Like I said, annoying.

‘And I’m Lizzie,’ said the woman with a friendly smile that lit up her whole face and made her look far less frumpy.

I relaxed slightly. They were very nice, really. Maybe we were all on the same side.

‘Are you all looking forward to getting baking?’ Lizzie carried on.

We all stood in silence.

‘No need to be so nervous,’ Peter said with a gruff laugh. ‘It’ll be fun.’

No one spoke.

This time Lizzie laughed too.

‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Maybe we should get started?’

I didn’t see how that was going to help us feel less nervous but it seemed I didn’t have much choice.

‘Here’s how it’s all going to work,’ Peter said. ‘It’s cake week, as you all know. So we’ll go into the marquee and you can familiarise yourselves with the equipment while we record some links. Then we’ll get started on the first challenge – which is a skills test. Later you’ll do your Great Bake challenge, which is your chance to really wow us.’

‘I know you’ve all been practising,’ Lizzie said with a warm smile. I scowled at my feet. I had intended to practise, but with a small child, a demanding job and an enormous bump, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. ‘You’ve all worked really hard to get here so let’s see what you can do.’

Amelia clapped and on the other side of her, June gave a small, determined nod. I kept staring at my feet. It’s just one day, I told myself. One day, then I can go home to Jamie, paint the baby’s room and forget this ever happened.

‘Follow me,’ trilled Portia, pulling open the entrance to the marquee and we all trailed inside.

It was incredible, I had to admit. An enormous, sturdy structure with a proper floor and windows overlooking the loch. There were six long wooden workbenches – three on each side of the tent – groaning with every kind of baking equipment you could imagine. There was bunting everywhere, and – scarily – lots of cameras. At the front of the tent was another big wooden table where the judges sat down. I was relieved to see my name on a bench right at the back, next to Wilf. Ronald was in front of me, next to Amelia, and June and Harry were at the front, closest to the judges.

We all filed into the tent and stood behind our benches. It was very warm and I wondered what it would be like once all the ovens were on.

‘Everyone’s got stools to sit on,’ Portia said in my ear, making me jump. I hadn’t realised she was so close to me. ‘But if you want a proper chair, give me a shout. It gets very warm in here and I don’t want you to faint. And there’s lots of water in your fridge. Drink it.’

She gave my arm a squeeze.

‘Don’t look so scared,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun.’

I gave her a grateful smile.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m so nervous.’

‘Oh god, so am I,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be fine. You’ll be great, Lizzie will be great, it’ll all be great.’

She dashed off, leaving me hoping she was right.

While Lizzie and Peter recorded some links, the rest of us played with the mixers, located spoons and scales, and worked out how the ovens switched on. Everyone seemed very calm. I was just hoping my hands stopped shaking.

Eventually, the cameras rolled and Peter stood up at the front.

‘You’ve got an hour and a half for this test,’ he said. ‘We want you to make a traditional Victoria sponge, filled with cream and homemade strawberry jam. Every week we’ll give you a recipe for the first challenge, then expect you to come up with your own for the second test. This morning’s recipe is on your bench. Good luck.’

Around me, everyone whirled into action. I perched on my stool and read my recipe. It seemed straightforward enough, except for the jam. I’d never made jam in my life. But how hard could it be?

In front of me, Amelia was already weighing out butter. I made a face at her back, feeling only slightly ashamed of myself for taking such a dislike to a child. She was so confident, I thought. It would probably do her good if she got knocked out first. Maybe I could be the underdog who sent home the favourite. Stranger things had happened.

I slid off my stool and started gathering my ingredients. I could do this, I thought. Baking was in my blood.

I worked my socks off for the next hour, weighing, mixing, spreading and keeping a close eye on what my competitors were doing.

Next to me, Wilf had created chaos. He had flour all over his bench, a smear of butter on his cheek, he’d dropped an egg on the floor and had to scoop it up, and he almost threw his whole cake in the air when he was getting it out of the oven.

‘Oh shit,’ he kept saying. ‘Sorry, Esme.’

I was enjoying his apparent incompetence. He was making me laugh and that meant I wasn’t worrying about my own cake. Which, actually, wasn’t looking too bad. I mean, it wasn’t great. But it wasn’t a disaster. Unlike my jam, which at the moment was a congealed mess in the bottom of my pan.

I stared at it in dismay.

‘How are you getting on?’ Lizzie and Peter appeared by my bench. Just what I needed.

I showed them my pan, wordlessly. They both looked stern.

‘Oh dear,’ said Lizzie. ‘Did you have the heat too high?’

‘Apparently,’ I said, making a face. ‘I think I need to start again.’

‘Might be an idea,’ Peter said with an arched eyebrow. I revised my opinion of him as a nice chap and instead decided he was a horrible man.

There was a loud clang next to me.

‘Oh shit,’ Wilf said, dropping his pan and splattering jam all over himself. ‘Sorry, Esme.’

Like sharks scenting blood, Peter and Lizzie looked round.

‘Start again,’ Lizzie said as they moved off to bother Wilf.

I dumped my pan in the sink and ran water into it, then headed to the fridge to get some more strawberries but the shelves were empty.

‘Did someone use my strawberries?’ I asked, confused.

‘Oh sorry, pet,’ June said. It was the first time I’d heard her speak though I’d seen her and Harry huddled together discussing something while their cakes cooked. ‘I used them. I did ask if they belonged to anyone – did you not hear me?’

Oh that was all I needed.

‘I’ve got no jam,’ I said hysterically. ‘I’ve got no jam.’

Four

I stared round at my fellow competitors, who all studiously ignored my cries for help.

‘I’m really sorry,’ June said again. Her Geordie accent grated on my frayed nerves. ‘I just didn’t know.’

I opened the fridge door again and stared inside. It was empty – no strawberries to be seen.

Harry came to the rescue.

‘I saw some more in the bottom bit,’ she said. She stuck her head inside the fridge and I felt the slight disturbance in the air that meant there was magic being done.

Harry reappeared, clutching a paper bag full of strawberries.

‘They were right at the back,’ she said. ‘No wonder you couldn’t see them.’

She winked at me and headed back to her bench to finish her cake.

Crisis averted. Sort of. I made my jam, but there wasn’t really enough time for it to set, so when I stuck the layers of my cake together it looked amazing for about thirty seconds and then started to slide, slowly, to one side.

I stared at it in dismay, wishing Harry had waggled her fingers and produced a jar of jam instead of just some raw ingredients, and righted it just as Lizzie and Peter appeared at the front of the room.

‘Time’s up,’ they called. ‘Step away from your cakes.’

We all carefully took our cakes up to the front and then perched on our stools waiting for the axe to fall.

For all his mess, Wilf’s cake looked amazing. He presented it proudly to the judges and listened with a grin as they praised him to the skies. Harry, June and Amelia also came in for lots of praise, especially Amelia, which made me scowl though I remembered just in time that there were cameras everywhere and fixed a smile to my face instead.

Ronald’s cream was over-whipped and his cake slightly caught round the edges, but Lizzie said it was beautifully presented – he’d cut out a stencil of a British flag and shaken icing sugar over the top, leaving the recognisable silhouette on top of his cake.

And then there was me. The top layer of my cake had almost completely slid off by the time Peter and Lizzie got round to trying it. My icing sugar topping had melted because I’d put it on when the cake was still warm. It wasn’t a bake to be proud of.

‘It tastes good,’ said Lizzie kindly.

‘You had a problem with your jam, didn’t you?’ Peter added. ‘I can see that’s where it’s gone wrong.’

I nodded, trying to look stoic and knowledgeable.

‘I had to do it twice,’ I said. ‘But there wasn’t enough time for it to set.’

Peter nodded grimly.

‘Watch your timekeeping,’ he said.

I shot June a frosty glance but she wasn’t looking at me.

And that was it. Round One done. As soon as the cameras stopped, I raced to the loo and then I joined Harry outside the marquee where she was waiting with a cup of tea for me.

‘This is a nightmare,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you’d not found those strawberries.’

‘You’d have found some,’ she said calmly. ‘It would have been fine.’

I sipped my tea and looked out over the loch, turning my face up to the sun.

‘It’s really warm,’ I said. ‘What a beautiful day.’

‘It’ll be roasting in the tent after lunch,’ Harry said. ‘It was pretty warm this morning.’

I nodded.

‘I don’t remember it ever being so hot up here,’ I said. ‘Not since we were kids anyway. Can’t say I’m happy about it.’

Harry looked sympathetic, which was unusual for her.

‘Must be uncomfortable,’ she said. ‘Being so fat.’

I gave her a thump on her lean arm, which she was showing off to perfection in a black vest top.

‘Shut up,’ I said, affectionately. I carefully lowered myself onto the wall outside the cafe and closed my eyes.

‘This is nice,’ I said.

‘So are you ready for the next round?’ Harry asked.

‘Don’t spoil it,’ I said. ‘I was just beginning to relax.’

Harry chuckled.

‘No time for relaxing this weekend,’ she said.

‘Oh well, this time tomorrow it’ll all be over,’ I said. ‘I can go home and forget about stupid cakes and you can carry the flag for the McLeod family in
Britain Bakes
.’

‘You might get through,’ Harry pointed out. ‘Don’t write yourself off yet.’

‘My cake fell apart,’ I said, not caring too much. ‘I hardly think I’m a contender.’

‘You never know,’ said Harry. ‘It’s all still to play for.’

The next round was cupcakes. We’d been given a few days to come up with ideas.

‘We’d like you to make twenty-four cupcakes suitable for a baby shower,’ said Peter when we all filed back into the tent after lunch.

He winked at me and the camera closest to me swooped round to capture my reaction. Dutifully I smiled in a Mother Earth fashion and rubbed my bump.

I’d planned to make twelve blue cupcakes and twelve pink cupcakes with a question mark piped on top. Hardly ground-breaking stuff, but I thought I should show willing.

I began gathering my ingredients, but just as I opened the fridge, the generator – which had been buzzing away in the background all day – made a strange choking sound and shut off. Everyone went quiet and we all looked at each other.

‘Oh goodness,’ said Amelia. ‘No electricity means no fridges and no ovens.’

There was a hubbub of noise as we all contemplated the consequences of having no electricity.

Did that mean the bake-off was over for today? I crossed my fingers behind my back. Maybe that would be it.

A flustered Portia appeared in the door of the marquee.

‘Don’t panic,’ she cried.

‘We’re not,’ I said under my breath.

‘We’ve had a bit of an issue with overheating,’ Portia said. ‘We can get things going again, but we can’t overload the generator. We’re going to hook up the ovens but turn the fridges off – we think that’s the best way to do it.’