by Susan Willis
The Final of The Bake Off
Just before seven o’clock the following Saturday morning, Nicola was sitting calmly in the hospitality room waiting for day of the finals to begin. They’d been told to be there early because the day’s filming could take longer with the award ceremony scheduled for two o’clock. Thankfully, it was a drizzly morning and much cooler than the previous weeks and she’d chosen to dress comfortably, without the Spanx knickers, in loose brown trousers and a cream blouse. She had, however, bought herself a padded plunge bra. She knew she’d never have the cleavage that Gemma had but leaving the top two buttons open on her blouse might just make them look more alluring.
Her stomach fluttered with excited butterflies when she thought of seeing David again after their conversation in the pub about bedroom skills and she was hoping to take up where they’d left off. Surely, she mused, sipping her coffee, if she won the bake off he’d want to see her again and take their relationship further?
‘Morning, Simon,’ she called when she saw him enter the room. ‘I’ve got you a coffee.’
Simon plopped down next to her and smiled his thanks. ‘Lovely. I’m desperate for this today. That bloody fox has got at my chickens again through the night and I’ve lost two of them!’
Nicola gasped and muttered, ‘Oh no, the poor little things.’
While she looked at him, dressed in black trousers and another white, neatly pressed shirt which just covered his small pot belly, she smiled with affection. His face, she realised, was now pleasantly familiar and she marvelled at how swiftly he’d become a steady, reliable friend – she hoped they’d keep in touch after the bake off.
He looked down at her blouse and grinned in amusement. ‘Hmph, I know. I only had five to start with and they were little sweeties…’
She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. ‘Did you stay with your decision to make the bread and butter pudding we talked through on the phone?’
‘Yes, and thanks again for ringing me. I was in such a quandary that day,’ he said gazing at her. ‘And you’ve stayed with the lemon tart?’
She nodded. ‘I had every recipe book I own out on the table that night going from one to another. But in the end I decided that David does seem to judge mainly on taste and the Sicilian summer lemon tart seemed perfect.’
‘It will be,’ he said softly just as Gemma called hello from the doorway.
Nicola noticed a look of disappointment flash across Simon’s face and wondered what had happened.
‘Morning, finalists,’ Gemma gabbled excitedly and sat down looking from Simon to Nicola. ‘Oh, sorry, had I interrupted something?’
Nicola noticed how Gemma was dressed more sedately this week in a blue maxi-dress with spaghetti straps and a neat white cardigan over her shoulders. ‘No, of course, not.’
‘I’m so excited to have got into the final,’ Gemma tittered. ‘And I’m dying to know who the surprise judge is – are you?’
Simon smiled and earnestly agreed with her. ‘It’ll be good to have another opinion at the judging so that it’s not just David’s decision.’
Nicola was mystified. ‘Why? Do you not think David has been accurate so far?’
The door to the kitchen opened and the director asked them to go through. Simon stood up and gently touched Nicola’s shoulder as they walked towards the door. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I’ll just be interested to hear more comments from another professional…’
***
Sitting on the stools in front of the table Simon whispered to them. ‘And then there were three.’
Gemma giggled. ‘I know, I was just remembering the first round when there were ten of us sitting here.’
Nicola nodded, remembering how anxious she’d been and how she’d questioned her ability to even get through to the next round. ‘Whoever wins today I think we’ve done fantastic just to get to this final stage,’ she said charitably. She pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows and set her jaw ready for the challenge – she was going to give it everything she possessed to beat them and win.
The TV crew seemed louder and noisier than ever, Nicola thought, and the director, she could tell, was himself getting agitated shouting instructions and barking orders.
In a charcoal grey, slim-fitting suit and crisp white shirt David walked into the kitchen to a huge round of applause from the crew. Nicola caught her breath – he looked absolutely gorgeous. Now she understood what Jay meant when he used the saying – simply to-die-for. His blue eyes were dancing with excitement and his smoothly shaven face was so handsome it made her swallow a lump of emotion in her throat – she felt totally overwhelmed.
The large camera wheeled up in front of him and he pulled his shoulders back grinning suavely into the lens. ‘Morning, finalists,’ he said.
For one split second, she thought she heard Simon scornfully groan under his breath. Surely not, she puzzled, looking out of the corner of her eye at him – and wondered for the first time if Simon didn’t actually like David.
David continued, ‘Without waiting any longer I’m going to introduce our guest judge for this show-stopping final today. And I’m sure everyone here and at home watching will want to put their hands together to welcome, Jessica Gallagher…’
Ripples of excitement ran around the room and Nicola caught her breath in shock and disbelief. Jessica was sixty-one, a retired celebrity cook, food writer and critic. Nicola had every cook book she’d ever written and she was to Nicola, what Delia Smith was to the nation.
A small woman with short grey hair wearing a black pleated skirt and a white twinset walked briskly into the kitchen and David bent to kiss her cheek. Nicola could tell that Jessica wasn’t comfortable with his closeness as she pulled back sharply but then smiled sincerely into the camera and shook his hand.
With the camera rolling, David explained Jessica’s achievements over the years to the viewers and ended by praising her expertise mainly with desserts and puddings.
‘So, Jessica,’ he asked. ‘Do you have anything you would like to say to the contestants before we start the bake off?’
Jessica stepped forward to address them and Nicola leaned forward to listen. ‘This final isn’t called a show-stopper for nothing,’ Jessica said firmly. ‘I want to see grand, visually appealing bakes with excellent flavour profiles.’
The hairs on Nicola’s arms tingled and her palms became clammy – she gulped in trepidation. Maybe her lemon tart wasn’t creative and striking enough for the final? She cursed herself for not choosing one of her more impressive recipes. But there again, she reasoned, if they were judged on flavour alone she knew her tart would beat anything else on the table.
She raised her eyebrows and looked at Simon for reassurance. He answered her with a wink and a smile.
‘Thank you, Jessica. I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ David said walking towards them. ‘And as an extra bonus to the prize money and award I’m going to take the winner, as my special guest, for dinner in London, to the Savoy.’
Another loud round of applause took place at his kind gesture and Nicola swallowed hard – she was gobsmacked. She pressed her hand against her chest and sucked in a deep breath – she had to win this now. Apart from the award it would be her one big chance to spend an evening with David.
She imagined walking into the Savoy linking his arm and being watched by all the other women enviously as she had dinner with such a strikingly good-looking man. She felt light-headed with longing and desire. And, she figured, as it would be in London she’d have to stay overnight in a hotel – maybe they’d have adjoining rooms and she could tempt him with the bedroom skills they’d teased each other about in the pub. Hugging herself with glee she wondered if her little black dress would still be classed as elegant and refined. Or should she look for something more on-trend? She’d want to fit in at the Savoy and not stand out as a northern woman with no taste or dress sense.
But first, she thought through gritted teeth, she had to win this
bake off final!
David’s loud voice broke her reverie. ‘OKAY, BAKERS – YOU HAVE TWO HOURS – NOW BAKE!’
Her mind was in a whirl. She’d been so lost in thoughts of David she hadn’t realised they were starting and Gemma and Simon were heading towards their benches. Scampering after them, her stomach churning with unexpected nerves, she looked at her tray of ingredients and smoothed out her recipe in front of her. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t need to look as she knew the details so well but decided that following the method would help her concentrate. While she began to weigh out the butter she saw Jessica walk towards her with the camera rolling.
Oh my God, she thought, this was her hero in the baking world and she was actually coming to talk to her. What would she ask her? But more importantly would she know the answer?
Jessica reached her bench and raised a thick expressive eyebrow at her. ‘It’s Nicola, isn’t it?’ she asked looking at her name card on the bench.
Nicola saw the director behind Jessica gesticulating at her to place her feet on the tape which she’d forgotten to do. She nodded her head dumbly at Jessica.
‘You can keep baking while we chat,’ Jessica offered. ‘I hear you’re making us a Sicilian summer lemon tart.’
With sweaty, trembling hands Nicola lifted the bag of flour to weigh out the required amount and felt it slip onto the bench. The bag split and fine, white flour billowed out all over the bench and up into the air – she could feel some settle in her fringe. Her heart was hammering with fear and then she looked with abject horror as some of the flour landed on Jessica’s bushy eyebrows and nose.
Tears stung the back of her eyes. She’d failed at the first hurdle and had disgraced herself in front of the one person she’d been desperate to impress. Jessica, following the director’s actions, moved away from her graciously mumbling that it was indeed one of her favourite summer puddings, and a make-up girl hurried towards her off camera.
Nicola dried her sticky hands on a tea towel and cleared the mess from her bench. Her cheeks were burning and she was shaking. She decided to prepare the lemons while she waited for more flour. With one swift cut into a lemon she squirted herself fully in the eye with lemon juice and yelped loudly as it stung. It was the last straw and the tears she’d been fighting back ran down her face – she wanted to run out.
‘It’s okay, love,’ said Simon who had crept next up to her. He put a finger under her chin and tilting her face upwards he wiped her cheeks with a piece of kitchen roll.
Nicola had never been so glad to see his familiar face. ‘I just ca-can’t do it.’
‘Of course, you can. It’s just a small hiccup which will end up on the cutting room floor,’ he soothed. ‘Come on. Forget everything else that’s happened and get that tart made. You’ve done it hundreds of times at home – just pretend you’re in your own kitchen and crack on…’
His quiet voice and reassuring composure helped to quell her nerves and with a quivering chin she smiled at him in thanks. This whole competition wouldn’t have been the same without him, she thought, then rallied herself into action. Within minutes she had weighed out all the dry ingredients and her hands were steady once more. She tried to follow Simon’s advice and blocked out the multiple distractions from the TV crew and the stop-start rhythm of filming.
While she began to rub the fat into the flour for the pastry she saw Jessica approach her bench again – she relaxed her shoulders, found her foot position on the floor, and determined to stay in control.
Jessica held her hands up in a submission action as she stood in front of her smiling. ‘I come in peace this time,’ she chortled.
Nicola apologised profusely while she measured water into the well of her pastry mix and worked it together.
‘No problem,’ Jessica said kindly. ‘It’s all the fun of baking. And we do understand how different it can be to baking at home in peace and quiet. It took me years to get used to being filmed while I worked.’
Nicola nodded gratefully while she rolled the pastry out flat and lined her fluted-edged tin to bake blind. ‘It’s not often I get into a flap like that. I don’t know what came over me.’
The older lady smiled. ‘It’s because you want to do well, which is understandable. David has been singing your praises and told me how you’ve been star baker at the last two sessions.’
Nicola smiled at the thought of David complementing her baking skills and felt even more determined not to let him down.
Jessica continued, ‘And they tell me you’re a librarian. This noisy atmosphere must be very difficult for you to concentrate when you’re used to total silence in the library?’
‘Yes,’ Nicola agreed. ‘I do love my job. Books have been one of the greatest loves of my life and I adore being surrounded by them all day. I’ve loved the smell of books since I was a little girl and spent hours wondering who read them before me or who would be the next person to read them. And although it is a peaceful and quiet atmosphere we do have our moments serving the great British public…’
They laughed together and when Nicola retrieved her lemons and started to zest them proficiently, Jessica asked. ‘And why are you using Sicilian lemons?’
‘I think they’re simply the best lemons in the world. They’re plump and juicy with a heady smell and the peel is fantastic for zesting. They’re nothing like the hard waxed ones from other places.’
Jessica agreed and smiled. ‘I can see we think the same about using good quality ingredients in our baking.’
All too soon, as by this time Nicola was enjoying the conversation, Jessica thanked her and moved along to Simon.
While her tart was baking in the oven she cleared the bench and watched David filming with Gemma who was making a lavender and polenta cake with violet frosting. It was, Nicola thought, an ambitious bake which could be fraught with obstacles, but if Gemma pulled it off, she could win the final.
So far, David hadn’t spoken to any of them but was calmly walking between the three benches watching them intently. Obviously, she thought, he was leaving the talking up to Jessica today whereas previously he had done it all.
She looked across at Simon calmly talking to Jessica and knew that if by an outside chance the judges ignored her earlier mishap and she did win this today – it would be down to him and the way he’d calmed her down.
Simon was making white chocolate and raspberry bread and butter pudding. Wearing his glasses made him look like a business-minded accountant, she thought, smiling at his serious expression.
He was concentrating on chopping chocolate and layering bread slices into his dish.
Jessica asked him, ‘I suppose you too will be used to working in a quiet office and living in your tranquil country cottage – so all this noise and lighting while we’re filming must be difficult?’
Simon removed his glasses to look at Jessica. ‘Yes, a little. The first week was the worst and I got into a bit of a state but I think I’ve grown more confident now and like the others we’ve learnt to try and block it all out and concentrate on the baking,’ he answered politely.
What a lovely response, Nicola thought, and then noticed David leaving Gemma and approaching her bench. He stood, feet planted firmly apart with his arms folded, watching her closely as she heated cream and lemon juice to make the lemon custard filling. He didn’t speak one word to her and she avoided his eyes concentrating upon the task in hand. She could, however, smell his aftershave and allowed herself the luxury of a quick daydream where she would lean across the bench and kiss him fully on the lips. Smiling to herself, she decided it might even be worth losing the competition just to feel the firmness of his lips under hers. She peered up at him as he turned to move away and was convinced she saw a flicker of a smile play around those lips – her heart skipped a beat.
‘BAKERS, YOU HAVE ONE HOUR LEFT,’ David shouted before moving along to Simon.
Nicola poured her filling into the tart pastry case and with a small prayer slid it carefully into t
he warm oven. She wanted it to be perfect to show Jessica that she could bake well without throwing flour around the room at everyone. And, she had to admit to herself, she was more in awe of Jessica than David – her good opinion would mean everything to her. She looked across at Simon, who was grinning. He gave her the thumbs up signal which she took to mean he was happy with his bake.
Jessica was now in front of Gemma admiring her baked cake cooling on a rack. Gemma looked cool and calm. She hasn’t even broken into a sweat, Nicola thought, pouting her bottom lip – her baking looked perfect, and there wasn’t a hair out of place in her long plait and clean white apron. Resentfully, Nicola wondered what it felt like to excel at everything in life and be beautiful at the same time.
Jessica asked Gemma, ‘You must be our young food technology teacher who David tells me is very conscientious?’
Nicola noticed Gemma give Jessica her sweetest smile yet. ‘I do try to be,’ she answered. ‘I love the job but the children can be a little challenging at times.’
Jessica nodded. ‘Hmm, that’s how I first started – I was a domestic science teacher back in the 1970s. You have my total respect because I know how hard it can be…’
Beginning to make the violet frosting with syrup, butter and sugar, Gemma said, ‘That’s true, but then I get so much satisfaction when I know they’ve understood what I’m trying to teach and it makes it all worthwhile.’
Jessica thanked her and wished her the best of luck. Walking back to the front she met David where they both took seats at the table and began to whisper and write comments on forms.
With her timer clutched safely in her hand Nicola wandered over to Simon. ‘Thanks so much for helping me before, Simon,’ she said sincerely. ‘I don’t know what came over me. But if it hadn’t been for you…’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Ah, Nicola, I didn’t do anything. You’d have made it anyway – this bake off means too much to you to throw it all away in a few blundering moments.’
‘Maybe it was baking in front of the Jessica Gallagher,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve worshipped her for years and have all her cook books.’