The Christmas Bake-Off (2 page)

Ten minutes later, Bea stepped out into the chill morning air, and pulled her woolly hat down over her ears. The cold weather in the Dales was really starting to bite, but she loved this time of year. With the landscape covered in a light dusting of frost, you could almost sense the anticipation – Christmas was just around the corner.

She spotted a fox with a white-tipped tail scurrying through the undergrowth nearby. It held her gaze for a moment, as if questioning her.

‘You think I should still be in bed,’ she whispered back at him. ‘But,’ she smiled to herself, ‘you clearly don’t realise how important the village bake off is.’

She turned the corner onto the high street and neared John’s flat – it was above his hardware store by the clock tower. She briefly glimpsed him at the upstairs window. He waved, then dashed off in the direction of the stairs.

‘Bea,’ John said, throwing his green front door open to greet her before she’d even had a chance to knock. ‘Come in, come in. Am I glad to see you.’

‘A mint cake?’ Bea asked, as she peered quizzically at what John had created. It looked a little greener than she’d expected.

‘Yes – I saw it on that baking show. You know – the one with the man who’ll be judging. So it seemed like a safe bet. But as I said, I only printed out the first page, I was planning to look at the rest this morning, but with the web down … ’ John grabbed despairingly at chunks of his dark-blonde hair. His golden retriever, Luna, was sitting patiently by the kitchen table, her wide brown eyes expectant and hopeful, mirroring John’s. Luna gave a little whine, tilting her head. Even she seemed a bit doubtful about the cake.

‘Internet, schminternet,’ Bea said, shaking her head. ‘Whatever’s wrong with a classic cookery book I’ll never know. But let’s see if we can’t save this poor specimen.’

‘I was up till three making it,’ John said, his brow furrowed.

‘Well, unfortunately they don’t give prizes for effort,’ Bea said, reaching past John’s muddy mountain bike to grab an apron. ‘So let’s get to work knocking this cake into shape, shall we? Now, what were your thoughts on icing?’

John shrugged. ‘It would be … nice?’ he replied, unsure.

‘Right, well, let’s get going on that then.’

John sat at the table and began rolling up some of the remaining green dough into balls.

‘And those … ?’ Bea enquired, wondering if it might be better, after all, not to ask.

‘Snowmen,’ John announced proudly. ‘And snowballs. I’m making some to go on top. I thought it would impress the judges. Look a bit different. Artistic.’

‘Ok then, dear,’ said Bea, doubt creeping into her voice. ‘But are you sure they’re meant to be that colour?’

John watched in wonder and relief as Bea took over and iced the cake.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, standing back. ‘No time to start a new one, but it looks the part now, doesn’t it?’

‘It looks great. A lot better. How can I ever repay you?’ John said.

‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ Bea said, giving him a playful nudge. ‘You helped so much when we moved here. It’s nice to be able to return the favour.’

John’s face relaxed, and he smiled.

‘But I will ask you one thing,’ Bea said, taking a seat at the table and looking at him curiously, ‘because I can’t make head nor tail of it – what’s brought about this sudden interest in baking?’

‘I’ve always been keen on cakes,’ John said, a slight flush giving his unease away.

‘Eating, maybe,’ Bea said, tilting her head, ‘but the baking part?’

‘It’s good to learn new skills, isn’t it?’ John added, after a pause. ‘I would have thought you, Bea – with your bridge, and crafting, all those classes you do – would be the first to say that.’

‘You have a point there,’ Bea said, not entirely convinced. ‘Anyway, I think my work here is done.’ She checked her watch, ‘I’m due a cup of tea with Rachel about now.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ John said, passing Bea her coat. ‘Thanks again.’

As John opened his front door and Bea stepped back out into the sunny winter’s morning, she noticed his gaze drift right past her – over the road, towards the bright lights of Katie’s shop, as she opened up for the day.

Chapter Three

Saturday, 23 December, 5.10 p.m.

Rachel had tried to calm herself down with a cup of tea, but her heart was still pounding. What was the word Diana had used?
Sabotage.

Who on earth would do such a thing, here in Skipley, and at Christmas?

She looked over at the gingerbread house she’d spent hours making, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t look like there had been any damage done to it, but with the crowd in the way, it was hard to tell. And now Diana and Joe had been out in the back room for what seemed like hours, with no word on what was happening. Would the competition be cancelled?

Diana retook her place and tested the microphone, the amplified tapping sounding out around the hall. From the determined look on her face, she had an announcement to make.

‘Well, ladies and gentleman,’ Diana said. ‘Thank you for waiting. We’ve inspected all of the entries in an attempt to get to the bottom of this, and from what we can make out, someone has intentionally tampered with at least two of the cakes.’

The volume in the room rose sharply as people chattered amongst themselves, speculating. Bea turned to Rachel, a puzzled expression on her face, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘Whose cakes?’ Bea asked, fiddling with her hearing aid.

‘We don’t know,’ Rachel said, talking above the excited chatter of the crowd. ‘They haven’t told us yet.’

Joe Carmichael swaggered forward to take charge of the microphone.

‘So,’ he said, a new sternness to his voice. ‘I have to say that I’ve never seen anything like this before.’ He eyed the crowd disapprovingly, and behind him Diana was flushing redder by the second. ‘I’ve travelled miles to be here today, taken time out of my packed schedule to judge your little competition. I certainly didn’t expect this.’

Rachel bristled. Who was this man to talk to them like … she took a breath and reminded herself that, without Joe Carmichael, there would be no bake off.

‘I’m willing to make a deal,’ Joe continued. ‘If the perpetrator steps forward now, I’ll continue as judge of this competition. But – ’ he checked his watch, ‘I’m not waiting all day. Ten seconds and I’m out the door. Ten … nine … ’

Milly looked up at Rachel and Bea, furrowing her brow, clearly as startled by this latest turn of events as Rachel was.

‘Seven … six …’ Joe Carmichael went on. Rachel looked around her, trying to be discreet. Was someone going to step forward and put an end to this? In the row in front of her, John gave a nervous-sounding cough, it echoed in the quiet room.

‘Two … ’ Joe gave one last look out of the hall. No one moved.

‘ONE.’ Joe threw his hands up in the air. ‘So, it looks like I’m out of here,’ he said, removing his judge’s badge and putting it on the table with a dramatic flourish. ‘This kind of petty backstabbing reminds why I’d never live in a backwater like this – it’s utterly pathetic. Total waste of my time. And to think I imagined I might find some genuine talent here.’

Joe stomped through the stunned crowd and left the hall, slamming the side door. Rachel caught sight of Katie dashing through the crowd in the opposite direction, tears in her eyes.

Katie shut the door of the cubicle, closed the toilet lid and sat down. She tried, ineffectively, to steady her breath and stop her tears. She’d been dreaming about this day for months.

All she’d wanted was to be noticed. She’d always wondered what it would be like, working alongside Joe on one of his baking shows – or maybe, she’d wondered idly weeks before, he would even help her set up a show of her own? He’d done that with other bakers.

But now … now this – Joe Carmichael had walked out. The competition she’d hoped might catapult her cakes to stardom had brought nothing but the bitter sting of humiliation. Her sobs came faster. It had all gone horribly, horribly wrong.

John watched as Katie finally reappeared, red-eyed, and walked towards the side door of the hall. Bea, standing next to him, gave him a nudge.

‘Looks like she could do with a friend,’ Bea said.

‘You might be right,’ John said. He, for one, had been glad to see the back of that creep Joe Carmichael, but Katie looked really upset.

He took his coat and walked over to the side door, opening it.

Katie was standing just outside, her normally immaculate pale skin blotchy and her long hair whipped into unruly strands by the wind.

‘Hi,’ he said.

She nodded glumly, pulling down the sleeves of her cream woolly jumper.

‘Here,’ John said, passing her his coat. ‘Put this on, you must be freezing.’

Katie managed a weak smile as she took it. ‘Thanks,’ she said. Her voice sounded fragile and sad, the usual warm tone gone.

John racked his brains for something to say.

‘What a disaster this is,’ Katie said at last, shaking her head and pulling the coat more tightly around her.

‘I know,’ John said. ‘It’s a real shame. Your cake looked delicious.’

‘Do you think?’ Katie asked, a flicker of light returning to her eyes.

‘Of course,’ John said, with a shrug. ‘I bet it tasted great. Your cakes always do. That Joe what’s-his-chops missed out on finding a real winner today.’

Katie scuffed the toe of her shoe on the ground, her eyes cast down. ‘I don’t know about that … ’ she said.

‘Well I do. It’s his loss,’ John said, firmly.

‘He was a bit of a prat, wasn’t he?’ Katie said, venturing a smile. ‘He seemed a lot nicer on the telly.’

‘So does that mean it’s over?’ the village postman called out, voicing what the whole crowd seemed to be thinking.

Along with the rest of the room, Bea waited to hear Diana’s answer. At the front of the hall, Diana was holding the microphone and shuffling pieces of paper from hand to hand.

‘Well, no,’ Diana said at last, with a nervous laugh. ‘It seems we’ve lost one of our judges, but I’ve found a willing volunteer, and the show – as they say – must go on. We’ll be back in half an hour to announce the winner.’ With that, she walked off stage.

‘I’m going to call Aiden,’ Rachel said to Bea, pointing to the front door and taking her mobile out of her handbag. ‘I said I’d let him know how things were going.’

‘Of course,’ Bea replied. ‘You go ahead.’

‘Well, what a nasty shock this is,’ Bea said to Milly, who was watching as some of the villagers approached the long table and checked their cakes for signs of damage. ‘A real shame after everyone’s hard work. Do you want to go and see if your mum’s entry is OK?’

‘No,’ Milly said dismissively. ‘It looks fine. I can see from here.’

‘Are you sure?’ Bea said. ‘We could ask Diana, if you want. Find out for sure which cakes were affected?’

‘No, I’m sure,’ Milly said, looking down. Bea noticed something uneasy, distant, in her manner.

‘Milly,’ Bea said, more gently this time. ‘Is there anything you’d like to talk about?’

Milly stared over at a far corner of the room, where some other young people were standing and talking.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ she whispered.

‘You didn’t mean to what?’ Bea asked, a wave of concern rising.

‘Ruin everything,’ Milly said, her gaze meeting Bea’s at last. ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.’

Bea took a deep breath, and forced herself to give Milly the benefit of the doubt.

‘It just seemed so unfair, Granny,’ Milly said, then paused. Bea nodded for her to continue.

‘Mum worked really hard – I haven’t ever seen her want something like she wanted this. She was really excited about it. But Katie was obviously going to win again – she’s always the best. She’s a professional, she shouldn’t be allowed in the competition at all, really.’

Milly’s voice rose, showing her frustration. ‘When we put Mum’s entry on the table, and the hall was quiet, I saw that someone had left some salt on the side. I sprinkled it on Katie’s yule log, just so it wouldn’t taste quite as nice.’

Bea drew in her breath sharply. ‘Milly,’ she said, shocked. ‘That’s terrible. Whatever made you think that your mum would want you to – ’

‘I know,’ Milly said. ‘It was stupid. I thought maybe the judges wouldn’t notice, that it would just taste worse than Mum’s. So Mum would be the winner without anyone even realising what had happened.’

Bea shook her head. ‘Honestly. You know better than this. Poor Katie will have worked really hard on her cake too.’

‘But she’s already a success!’ Milly protested. ‘Mum hasn’t had a chance. I overheard what she said to you last night on the phone, you know, when she thought I was in bed. About wanting to win this, about how having me so young meant she hadn’t really achieved anything for herself.’ Milly’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

In spite of everything she’d done wrong, Bea couldn’t help feeling sorry for her granddaughter. She thought back to the phone conversation with Rachel, and how harsh one of those benign comments could have sounded out of context.

‘We’ll talk to your mum now,’ Bea said, spotting Rachel weaving her way back through the crowd, ‘and find a way to fix this.’

‘But, first,’ Bea said to Milly, furrowing her brow, ‘tell me this: you say you targeted Katie’s cake?’ Milly nodded, shamefaced. ‘Yet didn’t Diana say there were
two
sabotaged entries? Whatever happened to the other one?’

‘Could I have your attention, please,’ Diana said, taking the stage next to Pam, a friend from the WI who had stepped in to assist with the judging. ‘What a day this has been,’ she said, her expression weary, ‘but I’m pleased to announce that we now have a winner. And a very fine entry it is too,’ she smiled. ‘This baker embraces the principles of simplicity and tradition that we hold dear here in Skipley – and I don’t care what that stuck-up man Joe Carmichael says about our village, in my view there’s no a better place in the world to live.’

A heartfelt cheer went up in the crowd, and a glow of pride returned to Diana’s cheeks.

‘Good riddance!’ someone called out.

‘Skipley forever!’ shouted another, followed by laughter.

‘Sadly, Katie Jones’ stunning yule log has been disqualified. The person involved in the incident has come forward, apologised and explained themselves to both Katie and me. I feel confident that nothing like this will happen again.’