Bella's Christmas Bake Off (23 page)

‘It is – because I have Cressy. I had to run away to keep her and it was hard, but it was worth every moment of pain and struggle. We always spend Christmas Day – her birthday – together... and if I’m honest, it’s the only day of the year I’m truly happy.’

‘Tell her that,’ I said.

‘She knows... I’m sure she does.’

‘Well, tell her anyway.’

She nodded. ‘I will, thank you, Amy. It’s good to have you back.’

‘It’s good to be back,’ I smiled.

I
was still
in shock about Crimson and Bella and I still had so much to say when Fliss popped her head round the office door and asked if ‘Madam’ was ready to do a pre-recording. This involved making short five-minute films of Bella and I and the rest of the team that could be slotted into the live action.

‘Yes, I’m ready,’ Bella said. ‘I’ll work in the kitchen – I’ve told Amy why I was being such a diva about working in a hostel.’

Fliss raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, equipment and decor aside it won’t be easy dahling, but you’re a tough Christmas cookie – so let’s get going.’

We gathered ourselves together and both walked numbly into the awful kitchen. It had been decided that Bella and I record the Christmas Eve show that afternoon to go out later that night. It was a programme illustrating our two very different approaches to food and cooking and Tim told us to be ‘brutal, raw and honest.’ Good old Fliss did her bit to fan the flames just before recording by commenting on how ‘gorgeous Amy looks’, without referring to Bella at all. She wasn’t trying to reignite our old feud, nor could she now we’d made up, but she was keen to set off that playful teasing between us, which was apparently TV gold.

And it wasn’t long before we were both elbow-deep in raw turkeys arguing over the price of stuffing. Secret daughters, gay husbands and real lives now lost to the cameras, as we played it to the hilt.

‘You do not need Tuscan truffles with turkey,’ I was saying as the cameras rolled and I delved inside the turkey to remove the giblets. Tim thought it would be good to have us both side by side, with a turkey each and Bella ‘coaching’ me, which was hilarious as she probably hadn’t cooked a turkey for years. ‘It’s ridiculous to pay out loads of money for expensive ingredients just to shove up a turkey’s backside - you’ll never taste the truffles with all the sage you put in,’ I was saying as I jammed the turkey innards into a pan for gravy.

‘Ew, what are you doing?’ she gasped.

‘Gravy...why?’

‘That’s not gravy, it’s a cry for help! I NEVER make my gravy like that – I always use a good red wine and a good poultry stock.’

‘I’m making poultry stock from the giblets,’ I said, ‘some of us can’t afford wine to drink, let alone make gravy out of it.’

‘I’m sorry, but do you live in the 60s, Amy? Hostesses today are working women who don’t need to come home from the boardroom to do something vile with turkey innards. And why ruin just manicured Christmas Day nails by delving around in giblets when one can buy perfectly good stock and keep one’s acrylics intact,’ she smiled, flirting with the camera while caressing the bird. ‘What you seem to forget, Amy, is that my way means not only does the table and the food look good – but so does the cook...’ she sighed, breathlessly, then she licked her lips and pouted for the camera.

I waved the giblets at her, blood oozing from my fingers. ‘This is real cooking, not buying stock cubes and doing your nails.’

‘Yes Amy, but no one wants Carrie at their Christmas table.’

And so it went on. Yet in between comments and insults, we both managed to make a turkey dinner.

Tim had set up two tables in a separate room to film our Christmas Cook Off and my table was set simply using the tinfoil crackers Mike and I had made and sprigs of holly from Bella’s garden. My Christmas dinner was made with a turkey from a local butcher, vegetables from a nearby allotment, with a home-made Christmas pudding for dessert. Meanwhile Bella’s Christmas dinner was an elaborate, elegant affair involving organic turkey, cut glass and a table runner that cost a month’s wages. Both tables had their pros and cons and Bella’s whole concept cost about a hundred times more than mine, but the idea would be that the viewer could mix and match. But for us both, the real fun would be with the figgy puddings we’d made the day before that had been brought up from Dovecote. They both looked very similar sitting on their respective tables – it would be interesting to see which one of us won the ultimate figgy ‘Christmas Bake Off.’

‘You may want to spend more on a turkey but less on the table and vice versa,’ Bella breathed, her heaving bosoms displayed in a low cut little black dress.

‘Or you might want to have a go at making a Christmas figgy pudding costing a few quid, like mine,’ I said, gesturing towards the rich, treacle-dark pudding. ‘Or you might prefer to make Bella’s identical one costing an arm and a leg,’ I smiled serenely.

‘Bella’s like a tempest... a Christmas snowstorm, and Amy is like a calm, beautiful Angel,’ Tim whispered.

‘Less of the beautiful or I’ll have you sacked,’ Bella shouted and for a moment everyone looked round wondering if she meant it, until she gave a little snigger. She was like the old Bella again and I hoped perhaps I’d played a part in that by being honest and making her look at herself. Until now she’d been lost in this crazy sycophantic TV world where everyone told her she was right all the time. She’d also changed me too – I would never take anyone or anything at face value again – and I certainly wouldn’t envy someone for having what I considered to be a ‘better’ life than me. You never really know what goes on in other people’s lives – and you never know what people have been through – even your oldest, best friend.

Filming the Christmas Eve show together proved the old dynamic was slowly returning, our bickering was playful, funny and it provided an outlet for our real feelings about how different we were. I disapproved of her decadence and she frowned at my ‘make-do-and-mend’ approach to life – and that would never change. But this way we could actually say whatever we were feeling – it made us laugh – and we stayed friends. It was like being ten years old again and arguing about who had the best cupcakes, which was ridiculous – because as I pointed out, everyone knew mine were the best!

‘Just try my gravy,’ she said, halfway through filming, force-feeding me with a large spoon.

‘I hate to say this,’ I started, ‘but it’s quite delicious,’ and it was. Bella still had a talent for taste and later – when we’d finished filming the Christmas Eve show and the cameras were off – I told her she really should start cooking and baking again.

‘You used to make the most amazing lemon meringue pie,’ I said.

‘Mmmm I did, didn’t I? I still bake at home for me and Cressy... in fact Cressy’s started baking too and she’s really good.’

‘I feel a mother/daughter cookbook coming on,’ I smiled.

‘That’s a fabulous idea, I’ll talk to Fliss,’ she said, genuinely excited. The idea seemed to light a fire in her eyes I hadn’t seen since we were kids.

‘Cressy loves it here,’ I said. ‘She’s eager to help, I’ve never seen her more animated, happier. She isn’t glued to her iPhone, she’s working and chatting – I saw her laugh earlier.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ she smiled.

Walking back into the kitchen, she linked arms with me. ‘Hey Ames, I think I’ll book a trip to Paris just for me and Cressy – a birthday and Christmas present combined... and while we’re there I’ll talk to her about what she wants to do with her life.’

‘That’s wonderful, Bella,’ I smiled, opening the door of the kitchen and gesturing her through.

‘Well, tomorrow’s not going to be easy – it’s more shabby than chic,’ she said, faced once more with the prospect of the dreaded kitchen.

‘There ain’t no pretending, love,’ Beatrice piped up, without looking up from behind a mountain of unpeeled potatoes. ‘It’s damn shabby and that’s for sure.’

The door flew open and in came Mike with his camera, guided by Tim and a soundman. ‘This is marvellous, just keep rolling,’ Tim was saying to Mike. ‘Let’s get everyone in, we need to show all this preparation on tomorrow’s show, we’ll insert it in between the big lunch.’

‘You want some music? Beatrice asked.

‘Oh darling that would be magical... do you play?’ Tim asked.

‘No but my man over there sings,’ she smiled, and called Stanley over to give us a song. Then Maisie talked to the camera about what it was like to be homeless at Christmas and in the corner of my eye I saw Bella put her arm around Crimson.

That night when Bella and the crew went to a hotel, I went home to my own bed. I arrived back and it was late and cold but I felt the warmth of my home as I walked in and despite it being so small and my kitchen being a quarter the size of Bella’s – it felt good to be home for Christmas.

The following day – Christmas Day – I woke early and went downstairs to find a card posted through my door and when I opened it I was delighted to see a beautiful, sparkly snow scene. I opened it and tears sprung to my eyes. ‘To my oldest and dearest friend, Happy Christmas, love from Bella xxx’

A
rriving
at the shelter was pure Christmas, the turkeys were cooking, potatoes almost peeled, so I started on the carrots and found peeling them to be quite therapeutic. It reminded me of being with Mum in the kitchen at Christmas. From the moment Mum died I’d had to take all the memories, all the knowledge and advice she’d passed down to me and whenever I was unsure or worried and needed advice I’d think ‘what would Mum do?’ It was like having a big box of ideas, random thoughts and wise words – and thinking about her now I knew Mum would have allowed Bella to use those recipes without any mention of their provenance. I also understand now that for Bella using the recipes wasn’t an insult to mum’s memory or stealing her legacy. It was remembrance of the only time she’d ever been truly happy and safe – because my mum in her kitchen was the nearest thing to a mother Bella had ever had. In a way this was Bella’s tribute to my mum.

‘So, when are the kitchen designers arriving to sort the kitchen out for filming?’ she asked. We all looked horrified until she started laughing. ‘I’m only joking!’ And I knew the old Bella was back for good…

Later, Tim explained the concept behind filming ‘warts and all’, and admitted he didn’t know if it would work, but was, as always, diplomatic in his way. ‘If someone with pots of cash and oodles of style tunes in they’ll want Bella’s Christmas,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘On the other hand there are those poor wretches who live on council estates... do they still have those?’ he asked as an aside. I couldn’t believe he was serious but he was looking around expectantly, so I nodded. ‘Oh good... so yes those poor damned souls who’ve never even heard of a bloody organic turkey and work their fingers to the bones in mills and down mines will LOVE Amy’s sweet little ideas with jam jars and tinfoil.’

I tried not to be offended by his patronising, he didn’t mean it – Tim was just trying to be nice – but the lights inside my jam jars cost nothing and they weren’t sweet – they were stunning. As for the home-made crackers, not sure they would look as good as any fancy bought ones on the Christmas tables... but they’d do the same job.

Before Bella had the chance to peel the carrot in her hand, Billy appeared with his huge box of make-up tricks.

‘Oh sorry, Ames,’ she sighed, putting down the carrot and wiping her hands on a tea towel in disgust. ‘I have to have my face done if we’re going to film more preparation scenes.’

‘You think you’re so fine,’ Beatrice huffed. ‘You don’t need no damn make-up girl, you need to get peelin them carrots, now jump to it.’

Bella looked shocked. ‘Oh I’m sorry, I don’t peel carrots... Mrs... erm.’

‘The name’s Beatrice and you damn well do peel carrots, Missy,’ she said, thrusting the discarded carrot at her in a threatening manner.

Bella looked uncomfortable, she wasn’t used to this and looked at me for help. ‘Will you explain to Mrs Beatrice that I don’t actually do anything in the kitchen...’

‘You don’t do...? What you tellin’ me now, “Mrs High and Mighty I got my own telly show”... if I’d told my mammy I don’t help in the kitchen she’d have cuffed my ear!’

‘Come on, get your potato peeler, we’ve got a million potatoes to peel, then we’re starting on the mince pies!’ Crimson added.

Bella softened at this and I saw the pride in her eyes as she went to hug her daughter. ‘Oh Cressy... you’re so much better than me. I’m proud of you.’

Cressida was the antithesis of all the drama around her, she’d developed a shell of heavy make-up, tattoos and piercings to hide the soft and caring woman she really was. There would never be loud declarations of love or elaborate gestures of kindness from Cressida – but the love and kindness was all in there.

‘Okay, okay there’s loads to do, Mum – that’s enough, let’s get on,’ Crimson rolled her eyes and returned to potato peeling.

Bella looked at me. ‘She called me “Mum”,’ she mouthed, and I smiled, knowing how much that meant to Bella.

‘Dahling, you’re busy little fingers are already at work?’ Fliss said, sweeping into the kitchen.

‘No, my busy little fingers are getting ready to wring your little neck for getting me into this.’

‘Now now, my little Christmas fairy – we need you cooking and frolicking around the kitchen.’

‘Frolicking... pissing frolicking? I don’t frolic. I’m wearing a fabulous suit from Armani’s new season collection, sent from Paris in time for my Christmas special. I’ve got a crate of vintage Krug at Dovecote – and I’m standing in a kitchen that’s like the set of a horror movie. Frolicking is NOT on my agenda.’ She winked at me. This was pantomime Bella, the old one had emerged like a butterfly, but this one she saved just to wind up Fliss.

‘Did Crimson tell you we’re doing a road trip in the New Year – just the two of us?’ Bella was addressing me, but again it was for Fliss’s benefit – she looked like she was about to faint.

‘But dahling – you can’t just go off on a road trip. What about little things like filming schedules, appearances and book signings?’ she asked, alarmed.

‘I can do all that – but it will have to fit round mine and my daughter’s trip – we’re going to rediscover food, find ourselves and spend quality time together. It’s a sort of Eat, Pray, Love trip,’ Bella smiled.

‘Yeah – with double the eating and none of the praying,’ Crimson added, smiling over at her mum.

Bella winked at her as both their brittle exteriors visibly melted.