left, right and centre, her injured foot propped up on a cushion. Amelia was still making the most of her fifteen minutes, and Harry and I even did a couple of interviews, though Harry did most of the talking. She was a natural at all this media stuff when I just got a bit tongue-tied.
And then, on Friday, thrillingly, we all got to go on
This Morning
. Harry and I did a live link-up from Edinburgh – I was just too pregnant to travel to London – but Wilf, Ronald, Amelia and June all made it to the studio.
It was all very good-natured until the very end, when the handsome silver fox presenter put on his serious voice and fixed us all with a glare.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you all think. Is this a set-up? Are you all in on it?’
We all looked back at him in surprise.
‘Are all these accidents just set up to boost ratings?’ he said.
Amelia shook her new sassy haircut out of her eyes and glared back at him.
‘Absolutely not,’ she said in her clear, cut-glass voice. ‘We’re victims here and we want to know who’s targeting us and why.’
‘Will you go to the police?’ said the silver fox. In the studio in Edinburgh, Harry and I exchanged a glance.
‘I will,’ said Amelia. ‘I will.’
‘Man,’ Harry said in a low voice as the silver fox thanked us for the interview and slickly linked to a piece about vasectomies. ‘Shit just got real.’
Nineteen
Despite all the hoo-ha all week, once we arrived in Claddach on Saturday for bread week, it just felt really normal.
Clemmie and Jamie had come up with me for the weekend. Jamie would head to London on Monday, but for now he was here and I was thrilled to have them both there.
Of course Amelia hadn’t gone to the police – I suspected her production company contacts had talked her out of it – but her declaration had made the press go even crazier for everything
Britain Bakes
related. Peter was getting a lot of attention – his good looks and cutting comments combined to make him the Simon Cowell of the baking world and he was loving every minute of it. Uncharitably I thought about how much kudos this would give to his new show, and it only convinced me more that he was definitely the one behind all the accidents.
Harry, Wilf and I all filed into the tent on Saturday morning – a sorry-looking trio, but one that was determined to do well.
‘I’m known for my complicated, eight-strand plaited loaf,’ Peter told us all, looking very pleased with himself.
Wilf groaned.
‘I should have known he’d make us do that one,’ he hissed at me. ‘He’s so bloody proud of it. I’d have practised if I’d thought about it.’
I smiled and Wilf gasped.
‘You guessed!’ he said. ‘You cow.’
I giggled and Harry turned round, raising an eyebrow in my direction. She obviously didn’t believe for one minute that it had been a lucky guess, but I didn’t care. I had perfected that loaf and I was going to show off all my hard work.
Actually, we all did pretty well and the morning went by in a flash. The atmosphere in the tent was really calm as we all made our dough. Bread meant a lot of waiting around so when we waited for our dough to rise, we all had a cup of tea and chatted with Peter and Lizzie about baking. It was, surprisingly, a very nice day. No one mentioned the accidents and I was glad – I quite wanted to put it all behind us and just get on with the competition.
When the time came to plait our loaves, Wilf made a right old mess of it, Harry did hers quite well and mine was – well, though I tried to be modest, I was actually very proud because it was a triumph.
‘That is absolutely gorgeous,’ Peter said when the judges arrived to taste it. ‘Well done.’
I brimmed with pride, and promptly forgot all the horrible things I’d said about Peter over the last few days.
‘It’s not as good as one of mine, of course,’ he added.
Nope, I hadn’t forgotten everything.
The rain had cleared up over the last week
And then, on Friday, thrillingly, we all got to go on
This Morning
. Harry and I did a live link-up from Edinburgh – I was just too pregnant to travel to London – but Wilf, Ronald, Amelia and June all made it to the studio.
It was all very good-natured until the very end, when the handsome silver fox presenter put on his serious voice and fixed us all with a glare.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you all think. Is this a set-up? Are you all in on it?’
We all looked back at him in surprise.
‘Are all these accidents just set up to boost ratings?’ he said.
Amelia shook her new sassy haircut out of her eyes and glared back at him.
‘Absolutely not,’ she said in her clear, cut-glass voice. ‘We’re victims here and we want to know who’s targeting us and why.’
‘Will you go to the police?’ said the silver fox. In the studio in Edinburgh, Harry and I exchanged a glance.
‘I will,’ said Amelia. ‘I will.’
‘Man,’ Harry said in a low voice as the silver fox thanked us for the interview and slickly linked to a piece about vasectomies. ‘Shit just got real.’
Nineteen
Despite all the hoo-ha all week, once we arrived in Claddach on Saturday for bread week, it just felt really normal.
Clemmie and Jamie had come up with me for the weekend. Jamie would head to London on Monday, but for now he was here and I was thrilled to have them both there.
Of course Amelia hadn’t gone to the police – I suspected her production company contacts had talked her out of it – but her declaration had made the press go even crazier for everything
Britain Bakes
related. Peter was getting a lot of attention – his good looks and cutting comments combined to make him the Simon Cowell of the baking world and he was loving every minute of it. Uncharitably I thought about how much kudos this would give to his new show, and it only convinced me more that he was definitely the one behind all the accidents.
Harry, Wilf and I all filed into the tent on Saturday morning – a sorry-looking trio, but one that was determined to do well.
‘I’m known for my complicated, eight-strand plaited loaf,’ Peter told us all, looking very pleased with himself.
Wilf groaned.
‘I should have known he’d make us do that one,’ he hissed at me. ‘He’s so bloody proud of it. I’d have practised if I’d thought about it.’
I smiled and Wilf gasped.
‘You guessed!’ he said. ‘You cow.’
I giggled and Harry turned round, raising an eyebrow in my direction. She obviously didn’t believe for one minute that it had been a lucky guess, but I didn’t care. I had perfected that loaf and I was going to show off all my hard work.
Actually, we all did pretty well and the morning went by in a flash. The atmosphere in the tent was really calm as we all made our dough. Bread meant a lot of waiting around so when we waited for our dough to rise, we all had a cup of tea and chatted with Peter and Lizzie about baking. It was, surprisingly, a very nice day. No one mentioned the accidents and I was glad – I quite wanted to put it all behind us and just get on with the competition.
When the time came to plait our loaves, Wilf made a right old mess of it, Harry did hers quite well and mine was – well, though I tried to be modest, I was actually very proud because it was a triumph.
‘That is absolutely gorgeous,’ Peter said when the judges arrived to taste it. ‘Well done.’
I brimmed with pride, and promptly forgot all the horrible things I’d said about Peter over the last few days.
‘It’s not as good as one of mine, of course,’ he added.
Nope, I hadn’t forgotten everything.
The rain had cleared up over the last week
Similar Books
