by Anna Wilson
‘One, two, three . . .’
I tipped the cake upside down and . . . SPLAT!
The whole thing fell out in a liquid mush over the gloves, the rack, and all down my front.
I leaped back, yelling ‘NOOOO!’ as the warm mixture soaked through the fabric of my jeans.
My Victoria Sponge had less of a ‘soggy bottom’ than a ‘molten meltdown’.
‘I’m having my own personal meltdown!’ I moaned, as I tried in vain to scrape the mixture off me.
Why on earth had I let Mads get me into this mess? Why did I think that listening to Mum was a good idea? Ted had better have some magic spells up his sleeve, I thought, or I might just have to take Charlie up on his offer to pretend to be me and go on the show instead.
The rest of the week at school was just as awful as I had anticipated. I spent most of my time hiding in the loos from Mads and her new BFF, Georgie, and the rest of the time being teased mercilessly by my classmates. The thought of spending time practising my baking seemed like a treat in comparison.
So that was how I found myself up to my elbows in sugar and eggs on Saturday morning, while Ted coached me through what he called ‘basic baking’. He had miraculously found an electric whisk at the back of a cupboard and announced we would be making meringues.
‘How can you call meringues “basic baking”?’ I said. I had to swap hands on the electric whisk. I felt as though my arm would drop off. ‘Surely these egg whites are ready by now?’
Ted grinned and shook his head. ‘They’re still too floppy,’ he said.
‘What?’ I shouted.
Ted leaned across me and switched the whisk off at the wall. ‘Lift the beaters out of the mixture,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Then you’ll see what I mean. You should check the whites every so often anyway. Changes in temperature can affect the way that eggs react, so recipe timings are only ever a rough guide.’
‘Oh, great,’ I said. ‘So now you’re saying that even if I follow a recipe to the letter, it won’t guarantee that my baking will come out right?’
I lifted the beaters out of the mixture and the egg whites fell wetly off them into the bowl with a sloppy plop.
Ted laughed. ‘See? They’re not firm enough to hold their shape as meringues yet. So although the recipe could say “beat for ten minutes”, really you need to know what you are looking for. Although in your case,’ he added, giving me a playful nudge, ‘I’d say it is best to follow a recipe to the letter until you start to feel confident about fiddling around with it.’
‘I think I learned that one the hard way.’
‘Well . . . toothpaste was never going to be the best swap for peppermint essence,’ he teased.
‘When will everyone forget about the flipping toothpaste!’ I cried.
I couldn’t help smiling, though. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I was actually having a lot of fun. Ted was really easy to get along with. I had never had any friends who were boys before – most of the boys in my year were losers. Ted was different. He was chilled and he wasn’t out to impress with rubbish jokes or endless chat about football. He had even claimed to be impressed by the clips of fox cubs playing which Charlie had filmed. And he had shown him a free website where Charlie could set up his own video blog. And he loved Kitkat, telling me over and over how lucky I was to have a pet. (He wasn’t allowed one because Georgie was allergic to so many things, pets included.) I was beginning to see what Mads might have seen in him . . .
‘By the way, have you made it up with Mads?’ Ted asked, breaking into my thoughts.
Why did he have to bring that up? I shook my head. ‘She won’t reply to any of my texts and she blanks me totally at school.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ted said.
‘Yeah, well. She seems to prefer your sister’s company to mine. Anyway, I need to concentrate or I’ll have another baking catastrophe,’ I said, struggling to keep my voice light.
I didn’t trust myself not to get upset if Ted kept on talking about Mads.
Luckily there was loads of other stuff to focus on, and baking with someone who knew what they were doing turned out to be much more of a laugh than I had thought. It had been pretty stressful with Mads making me do everything by hand, and it had been even worse on my own. Still, I was going to have to learn not to get in a flap if I really was going on The Cake Off.
I had a sudden image of myself, baking in front of a camera crew with no one to help me. The contest was just a few weeks away. Would I really be ready in time?
‘Are you OK?’ Ted asked. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale. If it’s the egg mix, it will look better in a minute, I promise. Georgie goes weird around egg whites. Says they make her think of snot!’
‘Urgh!’ I giggled. ‘No, it’s fine. I was just thinking that I’m enjoying doing this with you, but I’m going to have to do this on my own soon and I don’t feel like I’ll ever be ready.’
Ted put a calming hand on my shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine. Now, you’d better get mixing again before all the air goes out of these.’
A few minutes later the mixture was ready to be spooned on to the baking sheet. We had decided to make a Pavlova and serve it up for tea later.
‘I can’t believe this takes so long to cook,’ I said, checking the recipe. ‘How come the oven has to be on so low? Surely that’s a mistake?’
The book said to cook the meringue for one and half hours! Nothing I had baked before had ever taken that long.
Ted looked at the recipe, too. ‘No, that’s right. 150 degrees C – you could even set it lower and just leave it longer.’
I felt very confused. ‘So . . . what should we do?’
Ted blushed. ‘Sorry, I’m making things complicated. Let’s just follow this recipe. While the meringue is cooking we can whip the cream and chop the fruit.’
It took ages to peel the kiwis and take the leaves off the strawberries. And then we had to cut everything up. Ted was quite particular about how to slice the fruit so that it looked perfect.
‘Presentation is just as important as taste,’ he told me. ‘In fact some people reckon that we taste with our eyes first.’
‘What?’ I laughed. ‘Sounds a bit gross.’
‘It just means that if something looks rubbish, it doesn’t matter how it tastes – you will have already made up your mind about whether or not you like it just by looking at it.’
So I did as I was told and chopped and sliced as directed. Then we had to whip the cream, which took almost as long as whisking the egg whites.
Finally the Pavlova was cooked, and the cream and fruit were ready. We piled the cream into the gorgeous gooey meringue and carefully decorated it with the fruit.
‘Wow,’ I said, taking a step back. ‘I’m going to take some photos of this. No one will ever believe I helped make it.’
‘You did make it,’ said Ted.
‘Only because of you,’ I mumbled. I took some snaps but stopped myself from sending them automatically to Mads: she wouldn’t be interested in my baking. She wasn’t interested in me at all now that she had Georgie.
‘Shall we taste it?’ I asked Ted, forcing myself to push aside my miserable thoughts.
‘I think we should wait until your mum and dad are here. And Charlie,’ said Ted. ‘In any case, I reckon we’ve earned ourselves a break. What do you want to do?’
‘Dunno,’ I said.
I was knocked sideways, to be honest. I had thought he was only doing me a favour coming round to help because he felt sorry for me. I had assumed he would leave as soon as we had finished baking, but it seemed like he was enjoying hanging out with me as much as I had enjoyed baking with him.
Ted looked at the floor. ‘Might sound a bit lame,’ he said. ‘But what about watching a couple of the old Cake Offs to get a feel for the way it works? See what contestants have done in the past?’
I nodded, relieved. Watching TV together would be OK. I wouldn’t have to worry about what to
say all the time.
Ted beamed. ‘Great! Let’s get set up then.’ He went to the sink to wash his hands. ‘We’d better shut the door to stop Kitkat getting in,’ he added.
‘Good point!’ I said. I looked at the beautiful Pavlova, shiny white with fluffy clouds of cream and mounds of glistening fruit. ‘I dread to think what would happen if he got his sticky paws on that.’
‘It’s a good job he’s been upstairs in Charlie’s room all morning,’ Ted said. ‘After what you’ve told me about him getting in the way before, it could have been a disaster.’
Images of cream and meringue splattered around the kitchen made me shudder.
We went into the sitting room and I fiddled around with the controls to find old Cake Off episodes on the net.
‘Thinking of Kitkat and cake disasters,’ said Ted. ‘There was one time where a woman tried to make small cakes which went wrong. Not because of a cat, obviously,’ he added. ‘They were under-baked or something, I think. Anyway, she ended up running out of time and having to improvise. She changed them into cake pops which worked really well. That’s where I got my idea for the ones I made for the school contest. That might be a good episode to watch.’
‘Fantastic!’ I laughed. ‘Build up my confidence by showing me other people’s disasters, why don’t you?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just thought it’s good to see how you can turn a disaster into something good.’
‘You sound like my brother,’ I said. ‘He keeps telling me I’ve got to learn how to make “triumphs out of disasters”.’
Ted held out his hand for the remote. ‘I’ll find the episode if you like. We need to brainstorm some ideas for your Show Piece anyway.’
‘At this rate it’ll be my disasters which stop me from being on the show at all.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll go and get us some drinks.’
I was really grateful to Ted for taking The Cake Off so seriously. It was very kind of him when there was nothing for him in all this, especially when he had wanted a place on it himself – and deserved it so much more than me.
You must think positive, I told myself as I pushed open the kitchen door. Ted has taught you loads of tips and you know you can make your baking look fantastic. If you think positive, nothing can go wrong.
Nothing, that is, unless you have a kitten who is magnetically attracted to food.
‘Oh. My. Word,’ I breathed.
I stood in the doorway, my mouth gaping in disbelief. On the table, where once there had been a magnificent meringue with the most mouth-watering decorations, was now what can only be described as a catastrophe: ‘cat’ being the operative part of that particular word . . .
‘KITKAT! HOW COULD YOU?’ I cried.
The kitten had been bottom up in the Pavlova when I walked in the room. He was not just up to his ears in cream, but up to his neck, tummy and back paws too.
At the sound of my voice, he did a backwards somersault of panic. He leaped into the air and landed – splat! – back in the middle of the creamy chaos where he appeared to be stuck, as though swallowed up by a white volcano, only his head now visible.
His face was no longer black and white: his pirate patch was completely covered with the white dessert. The only parts of his body which were distinguishable from the pudding were his terrified, blinking blue eyes and his little pink tongue, which flickered nervously around his lips.
‘No! Where on earth was he hiding?’ Ted came running at the sound of my wails of distress.
‘I have no idea,’ I said miserably. ‘I am so sorry, Ted. I thought he was still curled up on that beanbag in Charlie’s room. I should have checked he wasn’t hiding in here before I shut the door.’
Ted shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault. Wow, I can see what you mean about him now. Not such a cute little guy, at all.’
Kitkat was now mewling as he wriggled to get himself out of the sticky mound that had once been our perfect Pavlova.
I sprang into action and grabbed him before he could free himself and make a merry mess all over the kitchen. ‘You are a nightmare,’ I said, as I held him high in the air.
Ted put out a hand. ‘Ellie, don’t be hard on him. He’s only a kitten. He doesn’t understand.’
‘I know, but I am sick of this! It’s hard enough learning to bake, but one way or another this cat has sabotaged nearly every single thing I have done.’
I was about to dump Kitkat in the washing-up bowl when the doorbell rang.
‘Not now! Who could that be?’ I cried.
‘I’LL GET IT!’ Charlie’s voice rang out from upstairs. There was a hammering of footsteps as he charged to the front door.
‘I can’t believe this animal,’ I muttered, holding Kitkat out at arm’s length.
Ted squeezed my shoulder. ‘Give him to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll clean him up. You deal with the Pavlova. We’ll just have to start over.’
I nodded silently and turned away while Ted rinsed a struggling Kitkat and bundled him into a tea towel.
I could feel tears welling up. A small sob escaped my lips. This was the last straw. I balled my fists into my eyes: I couldn’t bear to lose control in front of Ted.
Ted put Kitkat down gently and turned towards me. ‘Come on, it’s not that bad. No use crying over a crushed cake!’ He gave me a hug.
There was a snigger from the kitchen door.
‘Get you and your cosy date!’
Ted dropped his arms and we jumped apart.
‘Georgie,’ said Ted. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We’re going to the cinema, remember? Mum said you were here.’
Ted blushed. ‘Yeah, course. I was just coming. We’re almost done.’
‘Looks like it,’ said another voice.
I felt my heart leap into my throat. ‘Mads?’
My oldest friend had been hovering behind Georgie with Charlie. She stepped forward, hands on her hips. ‘Good to see you’ve been having fun.’
I swallowed. ‘This isn’t what it looks like . . .’
‘They’ve been cooking together,’ Charlie piped up, ‘because you won’t help Ellie any more.’
‘Chazzer,’ I snarled. ‘Go away and take Kitkat with you.’
Charlie, for once, seemed to realize something serious was going on, and did as he was told.
‘What a sweet couple you make,’ said Georgie. ‘Doesn’t look like Ted’s “lessons” have paid off, though,’ she added, with an emphasis on the word ‘lessons’ as though she thought something quite different had been going on.
‘Hey!’ said Ted. ‘That’s enough.’
Georgie waved a hand at him to shut him up and went on. ‘I mean, if that’s the results of your efforts, you’ve hardly improved since those rank Mouthwash Muffins you entered for the school Cake Off, have you, Ellie?’
‘It was Kitkat,’ I said quietly.
Ted took a step towards his sister. ‘Just stop it. We’ve had a disaster here.’ He motioned to the squashed Pavlova. ‘I said I would help because Ellie’s really stressed at the moment and it’s not long before she has to go on The Cake Off.’ He frowned at Mads. ‘And it is true that you abandoned her, Mads.’
I don’t know whether it was Ted sticking up for me, or him mentioning The Cake Off. Probably both. In any case, I couldn’t stop myself: I could feel sobs working their way up from deep inside me now. It was no good: I couldn’t stop the tears. I wished the kitchen floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Ted put a protective arm around me. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, give me a break, Mr Knight-in-Shining-Armour,’ said Georgie. ‘Are you coming or not? We’re going to miss the film.’
She made to grab Ted’s arm, but he pulled it back. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to go. You’re being a nasty—’
‘Whatever,’ Georgie cut in. ‘Come on, Mads. You can have Ted’s ticket.’
I gulped back a sob. If Mads went with her, that would mean she had
one hundred per cent chosen between me and Georgie. Forever.
Mads was glaring at me as though I was the mess, not the Pavlova. Then she turned her back on me and said, ‘Yeah, I think I will take that ticket, thanks.’
Georgie gave me a particularly nasty smile, and the two of them left, slamming the front door behind them.
I was too stunned to speak.
Ted let out an embarrassed cough. ‘I’ll – er – I’ll start the clearing up.’
‘N-n-no way,’ I stuttered through my tears. ‘Charlie can do it. It’s his fault the flipping kitten was in here in the first place. I told him to keep Kitkat in his room, no matter what. You were there, you heard me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he let Kitkat in here on purpose. No one is on my side, Ted! No one!’
I grabbed a kitchen chair, scraping it noisily across the tiled floor and sat down heavily.
‘I am on your side,’ Ted said quietly. ‘And I know that you know Charlie isn’t to blame. You’re just upset.’
‘I-I-I know,’ I hiccuped, drying my eyes with my sleeve.
‘In any case, it just so happens that your naughty kitten has given me the most excellent idea for a Show Piece,’ Ted went on, a smile spreading across his face. ‘Unless you already had a plan for that?’
‘What do you think?’ I asked.
Ted raised his eyebrows. ‘OK, how about we clean up first? I wouldn’t want to let the cat out of the bag right away . . .’
I sniffed. ‘What?’
Ted nodded at the squashed meringue and then looked at me, while miming a cat washing its paws.
‘You mean . . . ?’ The penny finally dropped. ‘Ted, you are a genius,’ I breathed. I brushed my tears away.
Ted shrugged. ‘With my baking skills and your ace artistic gifts, together we can turn this cat-astrophe into a truly spect-cat-ular Show Piece,’ he said.
‘Have you met my dad?’ I asked. ‘Because your jokes are almost as bad as his.’
‘I’ll take that as some kind of weird compliment,’ said Ted.
I thought of my kitten struggling to get out of the mountain of cream and meringue and chuckled.