leaned across the table. ‘Pretty amazing…
Dewberrys’ Dinners
filming round here.’
‘Mmm, you’re not kidding.’
Screwing up her eyes, Ella scanned the poster. Not that she was really interested, of course, but it was rather exciting – a top-rated television show taking place right on the doorstep…
She giggled to herself. She’d joined the country village mindset already. Getting excited about ‘being on the telly’. But
Dewberrys’ Dinners
was her – and Poll’s and Ash’s – absolutely favourite show and it was pretty cool that they’d be filming locally.
‘We might even do the groupie thing and hang around the chosen venue and catch a glimpse of Gabby and Tom Dewberry – oh, Poll would love that, wouldn’t she?’
Ash nodded. ‘I reckon she’d love anything to do with
Dewberrys’ Dinners.
Wouldn’t we all? Look, I’ll keep an eye on George – you go and see if there’s anything in the smallprint to say they’re looking for, um, victims in this area only. Then we can tell her when we go back, can’t we?’
Ella pushed her chair back. Celeb-spotting the Dreadful Dewberrys would possibly make Poll very happy indeed. And didn’t Poll deserve to be happy more than anyone Ella had ever known?
Ella edged her way across the crowded café, and took a closer look at the poster.
Gabby and Tom Dewberry, teeth twinkling and eyes sparkling, loomed large, looking for all the world like the happiest couple ever, um, coupled. They were very handsome, Ella had to admit. And smiley. She wondered again just how much of the on-screen carping and bitching was an act.
‘
Love good food? Love home cooking? Live within a five mile radius of this poster? Then what are you waiting for? We want you to cook dinner for us and the whole country in your own home
,’ Tom and Gabby oozed in unctuous unison from a star-spangled speech bubble. ‘
We can’t wait to meet you and watch you create your best dishes, on live television, just for us. If you can wow us with your food, we can change your lives forever. Don’t miss out on the foodie opportunity of a lifetime. See you very soon in your own kitchen.
’
The closing date for applications was only two weeks away. There was a London phone number and a website address for further information.
Knowing that she wouldn’t do any more about it, but also knowing that Poll would never forgive her if she didn’t at least take down the contact details so that they could discoverwho the Dewberrys’ unfortunate local victim was going to be, Ella quickly scribbled down the details.
‘You surely ain’t going to go in fer it, are you?’ Patsy frowned from behind her counter. ‘Not with what young Poll’s already got on her plate? You wouldn’t risk looking a prat on telly, surely? And God forbid that you’d let all them fillum people crawl all over Hideaway – there’d ’ave to be lights and electrics and cameras and what ’ave you. Surely, in God’s name, you ain’t going to risk any of that? Not when you’ll already ’ave a houseful of villains and ne’er-do-wells.’
‘Nooo.’ Ella shook her head. ‘Of course not. But Poll’s a big fan and she’ll be interested that the programme is being filmed locally. I’m not going to
apply
for heaven’s sake – this is for information only.’
‘You make sure it stays that way,’ Topsy Turvey advised darkly. ‘You don’t know Poll as well as we do. That gel hasn’t had it easy. Mind, she’s her own worst enemy half the time with her dappy ideas. She’s had enough trouble. She certainly don’t need you to go encouraging her into no more daft schemes.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Ella said cheerfully, tucking the phone number into her back pocket and making her way back to a rather sticky Ash and George and a third demolished sugar-lump castle. ‘Goodness, that’d be the last thing I’d do.’
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Poll sang happily to herself as she swept the kitchen
Dewberrys’ Dinners
filming round here.’
‘Mmm, you’re not kidding.’
Screwing up her eyes, Ella scanned the poster. Not that she was really interested, of course, but it was rather exciting – a top-rated television show taking place right on the doorstep…
She giggled to herself. She’d joined the country village mindset already. Getting excited about ‘being on the telly’. But
Dewberrys’ Dinners
was her – and Poll’s and Ash’s – absolutely favourite show and it was pretty cool that they’d be filming locally.
‘We might even do the groupie thing and hang around the chosen venue and catch a glimpse of Gabby and Tom Dewberry – oh, Poll would love that, wouldn’t she?’
Ash nodded. ‘I reckon she’d love anything to do with
Dewberrys’ Dinners.
Wouldn’t we all? Look, I’ll keep an eye on George – you go and see if there’s anything in the smallprint to say they’re looking for, um, victims in this area only. Then we can tell her when we go back, can’t we?’
Ella pushed her chair back. Celeb-spotting the Dreadful Dewberrys would possibly make Poll very happy indeed. And didn’t Poll deserve to be happy more than anyone Ella had ever known?
Ella edged her way across the crowded café, and took a closer look at the poster.
Gabby and Tom Dewberry, teeth twinkling and eyes sparkling, loomed large, looking for all the world like the happiest couple ever, um, coupled. They were very handsome, Ella had to admit. And smiley. She wondered again just how much of the on-screen carping and bitching was an act.
‘
Love good food? Love home cooking? Live within a five mile radius of this poster? Then what are you waiting for? We want you to cook dinner for us and the whole country in your own home
,’ Tom and Gabby oozed in unctuous unison from a star-spangled speech bubble. ‘
We can’t wait to meet you and watch you create your best dishes, on live television, just for us. If you can wow us with your food, we can change your lives forever. Don’t miss out on the foodie opportunity of a lifetime. See you very soon in your own kitchen.
’
The closing date for applications was only two weeks away. There was a London phone number and a website address for further information.
Knowing that she wouldn’t do any more about it, but also knowing that Poll would never forgive her if she didn’t at least take down the contact details so that they could discoverwho the Dewberrys’ unfortunate local victim was going to be, Ella quickly scribbled down the details.
‘You surely ain’t going to go in fer it, are you?’ Patsy frowned from behind her counter. ‘Not with what young Poll’s already got on her plate? You wouldn’t risk looking a prat on telly, surely? And God forbid that you’d let all them fillum people crawl all over Hideaway – there’d ’ave to be lights and electrics and cameras and what ’ave you. Surely, in God’s name, you ain’t going to risk any of that? Not when you’ll already ’ave a houseful of villains and ne’er-do-wells.’
‘Nooo.’ Ella shook her head. ‘Of course not. But Poll’s a big fan and she’ll be interested that the programme is being filmed locally. I’m not going to
apply
for heaven’s sake – this is for information only.’
‘You make sure it stays that way,’ Topsy Turvey advised darkly. ‘You don’t know Poll as well as we do. That gel hasn’t had it easy. Mind, she’s her own worst enemy half the time with her dappy ideas. She’s had enough trouble. She certainly don’t need you to go encouraging her into no more daft schemes.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Ella said cheerfully, tucking the phone number into her back pocket and making her way back to a rather sticky Ash and George and a third demolished sugar-lump castle. ‘Goodness, that’d be the last thing I’d do.’
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Poll sang happily to herself as she swept the kitchen
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