Bella's Christmas Bake Off (20 page)

A
fter pouring herself a black coffee
, Bella sloped off to make-up and I was left in blissful silence once more to contemplate my future.

Had I ever really contemplated an alternative to the life I’d been given? Had I ever really looked at other possibilities until now? I hadn’t, and yet somehow my conversation with Bella the previous evening (when I’d given advice about facing the truth and changing her future – advice I should have perhaps taken myself) was making me reconsider everything. In its own way, my marriage had been like Bella’s – the snow had covered everything in white and sparkle, then melted to reveal the dark earth and the imperfections underneath. Once the snow had melted and we’d fallen out of love there was no going back for Neil and I – my only regret was not ending it sooner. And the only difference between mine and Bella’s marriage was that she had been lying to the world – and I’d only been lying to myself.

F
ilming started slightly later
than planned that day, partly due to Bella’s dress dilemma and Tim’s bowels – it seemed the smoothie had ‘ripped through’ him ‘like a tsunami.’ As if that wasn’t enough to contend with on set, Keith – or Pussy Galore II was being ‘un co-operative,’ and very ‘actor-y’ according to Fliss. He was eventually brought on set sporting his ra-ra skirt with matching accessories looking like a disgruntled drag queen.

‘For God’s sake isn’t it enough I have my own fresh hell to contend with below stairs?’ Tim announced, referring to his bowels. ‘Now we have an unpredictable pussy on board... you don’t get this with Dame Maggie Smith. Oh let’s just go with it and see what it brings,’ he sighed theatrically.

Meanwhile Bella was oblivious to it all, she was in character and positively smouldering over her dried fruits.

‘Today my lovely new friend Amy and I are going to bake figgy pudding,’ she said, moving towards the camera lens like she was about to kiss it. ‘I have to tell you Amy,’ she said, ‘one year I pounded the streets looking for the right figs... I needed the Portuguese fig, nothing else would do. Its scarlet flesh is so Christmassy plus it’s sweet and rich and so soft it melts in the mouth. I was desperate and at my wits’ end when a specialist grower in Portugal contacted me to say he was flying some over. Crisis averted, and a one way ticket to fig heaven.’

‘Portugal? Really?’ I smiled.

She did a double-take; ‘Yes, and before you say anything – they are worth every penny. Since then only the red Portuguese fig has passed through these lips – there are no other figs, people,’ she said, puckering up for the camera, a ripe fig pressed to those red lips.

‘And a word to the wise,’ she beckoned for the camera to come closer, like she had a great secret to impart. ‘If you want your cheese plate to be the best this Christmas, you must get onto that website now and have a crate flown over... worth every penny.’

She took a deep bite and Tim demanded a close-up. ‘Divine,’ she breathed, coming up for air.

I gave it a few seconds then said; ‘They look lovely.’ She nodded doubtfully, knowing there would be a caveat.

‘But is there an alternative for those of us who don’t have access to a plane to fly figs over for us at short notice?’

‘Oh didn’t I just KNOW you’d say that,’ she sighed, hugging a large glass jar of brown sugar. ‘I suppose you would use supermarket sugar too? Not real, sugarcane molasses?’

‘Of course I’d use supermarket sugar – probably muscovado... or brown, it was good enough for my mum’s figgy Christmas pudding,’ I said, pointedly.

‘Let’s see,’ she suddenly said; ‘Let’s both bake a Christmas figgy pudding and see whose comes out tops... we’ll let the residents of St Swithin’s decide. ’ This was a bit of a surprise to everyone – most of all me. It was also amazing that Bella wasn’t using the autocue and had come up with this idea herself.

‘Okay,’ I said, nodding; ‘bring it on Bella – the oven gloves are OFF!’

And so we began, various helpers were dispatched by Fliss to buy ‘Amy’s working class’ ingredients, while Bella’s ‘flown in’ ‘organic’ ‘high end’ stuff waited in the wings for its moment.

Once we had everything we needed we set off – both using breadcrumbs, brandy, sugar, butter, dried and fresh figs – but all with quite different origins and prices. Off camera Crimson worked it out and Bella’s figgy pudding cost ten times the price of mine, and that was without the first class fig flights. Throughout filming we argued and teased, but the atmosphere wasn’t the same icy enmity of the day before. We carried on through our playful taunting on screen and it had gone down a storm, Fliss and Tim were delighted as I made fun of Bella’s extravagance and privilege and she teased ‘little Amy’ about my ‘boring frugality.’ The best bit was – we actually did some baking – and it was just like old times in my mother’s kitchen, arguing about who was the best, and fighting for the top shelf of the oven – which was fun until Bella pointed out she had two! Ultimately we both created what looked like very similar Christmas figgy puddings to be judged on Christmas Day by the residents of St Swithin’s.

‘I just know mine will taste better and win,’ Bella trilled as we packed everything away later.

‘That’s funny, because I know it’ll be mine,’ I giggled. The truth was neither of us really minded because we’d had such a great time and both produced what looked like wonderful puddings – and I knew mine was the best – and she knew it was hers.

I
t was late
when we finished filming and as we had an early start everyone was keen to get to bed. I wanted to practise my tin foil table crackers and make sure I packed enough tinfoil and holly for decorating the hostel when we arrived. Sylvia called, very excited to tell me she’d finished all the runners, and on my text instructions had collected empty jam jars from everyone she knew. ‘I am sooo excited for tomorrow,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I’ve been this excited about Christmas since... ooh, my divorce.’

I laughed, Sylvia was good for me, she was a reminder that there was a real world still out there. I was beginning to enjoy being in ‘Bella land’ but I would be ready to go back to reality soon.

Everyone had gone to bed but I wanted to make some crackers for Christmas day at the hostel – and I wanted to stick around and enjoy my last night at Dovecote. It was a wonderful house in a beautiful village and I knew whatever happened between Bella and I in the future it would always be a place of fond memories for me. I was sitting on a kitchen stool twisting tinfoil when I was suddenly aware of someone else in the room. I looked up to see Mike standing in the doorway covered in snow. ‘It’s still coming down,’ he said, shaking the flakes from his shoulders. ‘I’ve just loaded the van with some of the camera stuff for tomorrow, I like to be ready – I find it all a bit frustrating the way everyone takes their time around here and are so disorganised?’ He said ‘disorganised’ with a question mark and looked at me for confirmation, as if to say ‘are you with me? Or one of them?’

I smiled. ‘Oh it’s bloody infuriating. I hate that we have to wait for Bella to have a bloody shower before each scene and then she’s spritzed and powdered and then she has to have a drink or a lie-down – it’s like working with Elizabeth Taylor in her heyday, not some daytime cook on a food channel.’ I said this with affection, and Mike knew where I was coming from, as we’d shared a few smiles and nods during filming and he knew I loved Bella really.

He laughed. ‘Yes, she does have an air about her,’ he leaned on the worktop, ‘but I have to say, you’ve been good for Bella.’

‘Do you think? I hope so, but I wasn’t sure if it was me or she was just, somehow happier.’

‘No, Bella doesn’t really know “happy”, from what I’ve seen she seems to equate happiness with the new Missoni collection, or something like that.’

‘I’ve never heard of Missoni, I don’t wear designer clothes or make-up normally,’ I said, gesturing towards the designer jacket that had been thrust at me earlier. ‘It’s all from wardrobe and Billy’s tool bag.’

‘Well, it looks good on you,’ he smiled, making me feel quite warm and tingly. As for Missoni – I worked on a fashion programme,’ he smiled, ‘I didn’t know my designers either until then, and to be honest it isn’t knowledge that’s changed my life.’

We both smiled at this and he asked what I was doing and when I explained I was making cut price crackers he offered to help.

‘Thanks,’ I said, handing him a half-made one and showing him how to complete it.

‘Today was good...’ he said, rolling pieces of card into a barrel-shape for the cracker body as I’d shown him. ‘You and Bella going for it, but your flushed cheeks gave you away,’ he smiled and I felt myself flush again. I think he was flirting with me, but having not been flirted with for many years I wasn’t really sure.

I didn’t know what to say and I was aware that if I looked at him my red cheeks would give me away, so I continued to twist the tinfoil into a cracker shape and within a few minutes we were sitting side by side on kitchen stools and had settled into a comfortable rhythm. ‘It’s a production line,’ I said as he passed the barrel of the cracker to me and I rolled the foil around it.

‘I heard you’re separated, Amy?’ he suddenly said, ignoring my inane waffle about a production line.

‘Yes...I am,’ I stammered, surprised. Had he asked someone about me?

‘Not easy is it? I divorced three years ago, broke my heart, I felt like such a failure.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘We just grew apart, I suppose, but not before she’d found someone more handsome, with more money – that kind of helped the split.’ He looked up from the cracker he was holding and pulled his mouth downwards. My heart went out to him, he seemed like such a genuine guy, I found it hard to understand how someone could leave him.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, I can smile about it now – and you will too, Amy, you just need a bit of time,’ he said gently, and reaching out to hand me the cracker, he touched my hand. I felt electricity go through me, and I wondered if he felt it too. Was he just being kind and understanding or were the looks we’d shared over raw turkey and dripping giblets more meaningful? I didn’t have to wait long to find out, because when he handed me the next cracker our eyes met and a few seconds later he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. At first it was just soft, tentative, he wasn’t sure how I would react, and neither was I, but we were soon swept up in the moment and holding onto each other precariously, sitting on kitchen stools surrounded by tinfoil crackers, kissing.

I hadn’t kissed anyone other than Neil for twenty years and for me this was earth-shattering. Neil had never kissed me like this, he’d never made me feel so beautiful, so loved. Mike held my face in both hands and looked into my eyes with such intensity I almost melted. I loved the feel of his hands under my suit jacket, up and down my back, his lips now on my neck, and I didn’t want it to ever stop. A little later I heard myself ask if he was staying nearby and when he said no, I invited him to my room. I’d never done anything like this before in my life but with him it just felt right, I felt like I’d known him for ever – at the same time he felt like a stranger. He smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, softer and sweeter than Neil and his face was stubbly, excitingly prickly, unlike Neil’s smooth shaven skin. As we entered the Mary Berry room together, he stripped off my beautiful scarlet suit and I lay naked on that huge, beautiful bed feeling like a supermodel. He told me I was beautiful and I believed him as he kissed me from my toes upwards. Surreptitiously, I turned Mary Berry’s picture to the wall – the poor woman didn’t need to see me in flagrante at Christmas with a man I hardly knew – and groaned in ecstasy.

T
he following morning
I woke feeling a strange sense of happiness and peace I hadn’t felt for a long, long time. It was Christmas Eve and remembering what had happened the night before reached out for Mike to tell him, but he’d gone. I wasn’t sure what this meant, perhaps he just needed an early start, or perhaps I was just a one-night stand? I really hoped this was the beginning of something, my mind going over what had happened as I was in the shower, letting the hot water kiss me all over – just like Mike had. He was a wonderful lover, I had never felt such passion, such deep pleasure before – even if I was just a one-night stand, it was worth it. This was a different Amy than the one who’d arrived at Dovecote all anxious and insecure in a big rust cardigan. This Amy wore scarlet, she took chances and had a one-night stand with a man she fancied because she could – and as I gazed at myself in the mirror that morning I thought as much as Bella needed to become a bit more like me and care about people, I needed to become a bit more like her and care more about myself – and last night I did. And it had been amazing.

D
riving back
through the Cotswolds on Christmas Eve morning was magical. The air was refrigerating the landscape to keep the snow perfect so excited children could wake up to a white Christmas. I missed those Christmas mornings with the kids – five a.m. starts as they squealed their way into our bedroom and leaped on the bed. Neil usually managed to stay asleep – or at least pretend to – while I was as excited as the kids and all three of us would go downstairs together to see what Santa had left for them.

I couldn’t wait to see the kids on Boxing Day, there were times over the last week when it was the only thing keeping me going. And what a week it had been! I felt more confident, not to mention blonder, more stylish, and I was even wearing a little make-up. But of course the biggest events that happened for me were getting back with Bella – and last night with Mike. I had no idea if Mike and I would ever even see each other again after all this – but it was a wonderful memory and the final push I needed to free myself mentally from my marriage. I didn’t feel like an abandoned wife any more – I felt like a single woman – and it felt so good.

As for Bella, I hoped she and I had a future, even if it was just a Christmas card each year – and not just me sending one to her.

Arriving at the hostel I felt a sense of relief; things were coming together at last and we were going to do this. The TV crew had left earlier and as I was travelling a little later with Tim and a hundred hand-made silver foil crackers, I hadn’t seen anything of Mike. But as I got out of the car and saw no sign of Bella and Fliss – who’d set off before us – my worries bubbled up to the surface. It had been chaos at Dovecote that morning when we left and as usual nothing had been organised and Bella had taken ages to get ready. Consequently we all set off later than planned and I was cross to think she was taking her time today of all days – she could be so selfish. And now she was ‘fashionably late’ again, and I had no idea where she’d got to. All she had to do was go from Dovecote to St Swithin’s, I just hoped she hadn’t done a runner.

There was one thing worse than not having this live show go out... and that was failing to get Christmas lunch on the table at St Swithin’s Hostel live on air. I was no expert, but even I knew that disappointment and hunger in a homeless hostel would not play well on Christmas Day to viewers at home. Bella would be a laughing stock and the sheer embarrassment and sense of failure on mine and Bella’s part would be horrific and no doubt cause another twenty year rift. On top of all this we both had a lot to lose: Bella her show and celebrity status and I could lose the faith of Sylvia and the residents – not to mention my new-found faith in myself.

Climbing out of the car I was cheered by the Christmas tree covered in fairy lights – Sylvia and Beatrice had been worried they wouldn’t be able to have a tree this year, but it looked like a local garden centre had come good. As we staggered across the icy pavement, Sylvia and Beatrice appeared in the doorway, and Sylvia screamed when she saw me and ran out into the Christmas dawn, her arms open wide. I was so pleased to see her – here was someone who wanted what I wanted and was prepared to put in the time, the love and the effort – and not just for the cameras – though I noted she’d had her hair done and was wearing a new sparkly top.

‘You look fabulous,’ I said.

‘Wow, not as fabulous as you, Amy.’

‘Yeah, you look mighty fine, girl,’ Beatrice said, hugging me. ‘Like you been on one of them makeovers.’

‘Thanks, it’s been quite a time,’ I rolled my eyes and Sylvia smiled.

‘I look forward to hearing ALL about it,’ she said. ‘By the way, the camera crew have arrived,’ she gave me a wink. I had managed to fill her in on some of the past couple of days’ ‘highlights’ by text, but I couldn’t wait to tell her everything.

‘Sorry we’re a bit later than we’d hoped,’ I said, linking arms with her as we both held each other up on the ice, walking into the hostel.

‘Oh, you’re here now and that’s what matters – we thought perhaps the TV people had changed their minds,’ Sylvia said, looking behind me. ‘So where’s Bella Bradley?’

‘I don’t know, I suspect she’s broken a nail and gone back home for a lie-down – or a bubble bath,’ I said, trying to make light of things while genuinely worried she’d jumped on a flight to somewhere warm instead.

‘Don’t worry, she’ll turn up eventually – it will give us time to get set up,’ Sylvia squeezed my arm. ‘It’s so exciting!’ she said, she was like a little girl.

Then Mike appeared at my side and gave me what I think was a secret smile. Sylvia couldn’t contain her excitement at a real-live telly person – even if he was behind the camera - and she almost curtseyed.

‘Can I help you with your... equipment?’ she asked, glancing at me in a mischievous way. Honestly, it was like being back at school; she might have been a teacher but sometimes she behaved more like the pupils.

‘Thank you but I can manage my equipment,’ Mike smiled indulgently, taking a sideways glance at me.

I could feel my face burning up as flashes of the previous night popped into my brain so I gave him a big smile and dragged Sylvia off before she could say anything else that could be misconstrued... or he could.

‘He’s a bit of all right,’ she was saying. ‘Big strong arms, twinkly blue eyes. Oooh, he could come down my chimney any time.’

‘Sylvia calm down, he’s a cameraman not Father Christmas, he’s not coming down anyone’s chimney.’

‘Really – from your texts I thought he might be coming down yours.’

‘Okay, okay there was a bit of ... oh I’ll tell you all about it later... and you’re right, he has the twinkliest, bluest eyes,’ I giggled. I breathed in as we entered the dining hall, no fancy air fresheners of a Dickensian Christmas here – just the earthy warmth of porridge and burnt toast – and it was delicious.

There were no Christmas flower arrangements, no fancy furniture, no drama queens... just hugs and a genuine welcome.

‘We’re on air just after the Queen’s Speech at 3.30, so we don’t have a lot of time. They’re going through the running order then doing a technical rehearsal first while we just have to cook around them,’ I said to Sylvia like I was a TV veteran.

‘I just can’t wait,’ Sylvia squealed and we headed for the kitchen, where I would try not to be too distracted by gorgeous Mike and throw myself into making Christmas Dinner for 100 people.

I knew the kitchen at St Swithin’s was relatively small and ill-equipped, but after Bella’s high-tech state-of-the-art kitchen it looked even worse. I was quite depressed at what we had to work with. There was no Aga, no American-style fridge containing only wine and champagne, no high-end artisan mixers or liquidisers. It’s funny how quickly you get used to things, and if I felt like this after just a few days at Dovecote, I dreaded Bella’s reaction.

‘Bella’s used to having stuff done for her and even if she does have to actually pretend to cook something she has all the best ingredients weighed out ready and the kitchen utensils to work with,’ I sighed to Sylvia.

Sylvia raised an eyebrow as she hauled a huge bag of spuds along the floor; ‘Well, she’s going to have quite a shock,’ she sighed. Sylvia and Beatrice began to wash the breakfast crockery along with the other volunteers, and I went into the dining hall to see if I could at least try and make it look Christmassy with the holly I had picked from Dovecote.

Wearing my thick gloves, I dragged the holly along the floor so I didn’t have to carry it and ruin my outfit. Ruth had suggested I wear a midnight blue sparkly dress for filming, so I’d put it on before we left and covered it now with a large apron. I tried not to move too vigorously as the dress was very fitted and I didn’t want to split it or spoil the line of it. I had to laugh at myself, I’d arrived at Dovecote in something Fliss described as ‘Amish’, and here I was less than a week later in a glitzy bodycon dress worrying about ‘the line’.

My biggest concern was transforming the shabby hall into a dining room fit for Christmas with what little time and decorations we had. I’d brought bunches of holly, the silver foil crackers and some dreaded ‘shop bought’ baubles that Bella had rejected for Dovecote - but it wouldn’t be nearly enough. I walked into the dining hall backwards, using my bum to open the double doors, dragging the holly through. When I turned round, the room was in semi-darkness and it took me a while to work out where the light switch was, tutting and swearing under my breath as I groped in the dark, eventually finding it and turning it on.

‘Let there be light,’ shouted one of the older men who was sitting on one of the benches at a table finishing off his porridge in the dim morning. And when I looked round, all the tables were set with tea lights in Sylvia’s jam jars and fairy lights strung around the hall. There was also cutlery and glasses on the tables, and Sylvia’s beautiful table runners in silver added the finishing festive touch. I stood for a while speechless, delighted – and relieved. Not only did it look lovely, the fact that it was already decorated gave us more time to cook.

Then suddenly someone came up behind me and grabbed me round the waist, I thought (hoped) it might be Mike, and my heart leaped. I turned around expectantly only to be faced with a smiling Neil. My face must have dropped, especially when I saw he was holding a great bush of mistletoe over us.

‘You don’t have to look so pleased to see me,’ he said, in a forced jokey way.

I wanted to cry.