Читать книгу A Spoonful Of Sugar: A Novella - Kerry Barrett - Страница 11

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.

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.’