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‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine.’
But I wasn’t convinced.
Harry unclipped her seatbelt and got out of the car. I followed, far less elegantly.
‘Where do we have to go?’ I asked, hoiking up my maternity leggings.
Harry glanced at me over her shoulder. She was wearing sunglasses and, with her Mulberry bag on her arm, she looked like a film star.
‘Make-up, I think,’ she said.
‘Really?’ That was good news. Perhaps they could make me look like a film star too.
We walked down the path towards the cafe. I was expecting things to be frantic with Mum and Suky running around like mad things. But instead we found them standing outside with their business partner Eva having their photographs taken for the local paper.
‘Check you out,’ Harry said as we kissed them hello. ‘You’re like local celebs.’
Mum kissed my bump and then my cheek.
‘Are you okay?’ she said, taking my chin in her hand and studying me closely. ‘You look tired.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. I angled myself away from Harry so she couldn’t hear what I was saying. ‘Just a bit nervous. I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’
I nodded back over my shoulder to where the action was happening and lowered my voice.
‘It’s more of a thing than I expected,’ I whispered. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to it.’
Mum gave me a sympathetic hug.
‘Just do your best,’ she said. ‘That’s all anyone’s asking of you.’
‘I’d feel better if my best included a bit of magic,’ I said, making a face.
Mum chuckled.
‘That’s not like you,’ she said. ‘It’s normally Harry who’s desperate to cast a spell.’
‘No magic, Esme,’ I said, in my best impression of Harry’s voice. ‘It just doesn’t work with baking.’
Mum laughed again.
‘She’s right, though,’ she pointed out. ‘Plus it’s a bit too risky, what with all these people and cameras everywhere.’
I opened my mouth to argue that I was perfectly capable of being discreet when one of the clipboard-wielding women appeared at my shoulder so I shut up. Mum gave me a smug look and I rolled my eyes.
‘Esme and Harmony?’ the woman said in a frighteningly over-friendly fashion.
‘I’m Harmony,’ Harry said. ‘Call me Harry.’
The woman made a note on her clipboard.
‘And you’re Esme?’ she said to me. ‘Oh! You’re pregnant, how fab. When are you due? Not this weekend I hope.’ She giggled madly and I stared at her, speechless in the face of such perkiness.
‘I’m Portia,’ she carried on, flicking the end of her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. ‘I’m one of the crew and I’m the person you need to speak to if you need anything. Anything at all.’
She giggled again, showing very straight, very white teeth.
‘The other competitors are all here already – they’re just in Make-up. So if you’re ready, I’ll take you up and introduce you. Ready?’
She looked at us in expectation. Harry and I looked back in silence.
‘Ready?’ she said again.
‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ Harry said. ‘Ready.’
Portia spun round and raced round the side of the cafe with Harry and I scuttling along in her wake. I shot Harry a filthy look but she stared resolutely ahead. I wondered if she was as nervous as I was.
We followed Portia up the stairs to what was normally the gallery. It was a brilliant room, used for exhibitions, art classes, writing groups, concerts – all sorts. Jamie and I had got married there so it had a special place in my heart. It was a long, rectangular room with two huge windows – with stunning views over the loch – at each of the short ends, and two long white walls perfect for hanging pictures.
Today it had been transformed into a beauty parlour. Its long walls were now hung with long mirrors. In front of two of the mirrors were narrow tables, covered in hairbrushes, tubes of foundation and eyeliner pencils, and a chair. Two make-up artists were busy powdering the noses of the person in each chair. Some other people stood around chatting, clutching paper cups of coffee emblazoned with the Claddach Cafe logo. That was good.
Portia cleared her throat as though she was about to make an announcement.
‘Everyone,’ she said. ‘These are our final two competitors, Esme and Harmony.’
‘Harry,’ said Harry, flashing her most dazzling smile at everyone in the room. ‘Hello.’
I was overwhelmed with fear once more, so I simply raised my hand and croaked, ‘Hi.’
‘So,’ said Portia. ‘That’s Wilf, having his nose done.’ In the chair furthest away from where we stood, was a young man in his mid twenties. He had dark-rimmed glasses and a sort of messy afro that the make-up artist wasn’t even attempting to control. He grinned at us showing slightly crooked teeth and Harry smiled back. My smile was more like a grimace – but I tried.
‘Next to him,’ Portia continued. ‘Is June.’
‘Hi,’ Harry and I chorused. June was around sixty with greying curly hair and a sizeable bosom. I found myself wishing I could rest my head on her chest and have her tell me it was all going to be okay. But I changed my mind sharpish when she gave me a frosty glare. Ooh, what had rattled her cage?
‘I’m Amelia,’ a frighteningly young girl stuck her hand out for me to shake.
‘Are you in the competition?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Is there a children’s event?’
Amelia giggled. She was quite sweet, with mousy hair pulled back into a ponytail and a crop of spots on her chin.
‘I’m seventeen,’ she said. ‘I’m one of the bakers.’
‘Amelia’s our youngest competitor ever,’ said Portia proudly. ‘She’s just done her A levels.’
‘And I’m afraid I’m one of the oldest,’ said the man Amelia had been chatting to. ‘I’m Ronald.’
I took in Ronald’s straight back, shiny shoes and close-cropped hair and grinned.
‘Navy?’ I said.
Ronald roared with laughter.
‘That obvious, eh?’ he said.
‘My dad was in the RAF,’ I admitted. ‘I grew up surrounded by military types.’
Ronald beamed at me.
‘We shall have to compare stories later,’ he said.
I smiled back, relieved to have met at least one person who seemed nice and normal.
‘Okay, people,’ said Portia, sending me back into spasms of terror again. ‘We’re almost ready to get going. Harry and Esme just need to have their faces done, then we can head out to the marquee to meet the judges. They’ll introduce themselves. Don’t worry, they’re really nice – not nearly as frightening as they seem on TV.’
That was a relief. I’d watched a few clips of the show on YouTube and, frankly, the judges seemed marginally more brutal than the prison officers in Orange is the New Black. Hopefully they just put that on for the cameras.
‘They’ll explain how the competition is going to work,’ Portia carried on. ‘And then we’ll get cracking on the first round. Exciting!’
She squealed and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder again.
Next to me, Amelia bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get on with it. I rubbed my bump and wondered if I could fake going into labour just to escape.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Harry, giving me a poke in the side.
‘Ow,’ I hissed. ‘Stay out of my head.’ I hated it when she used her witchcraft to listen in to my thoughts.
Harry shrugged, unconcerned by my crossness.
‘Any questions before we start?’ said Portia.
‘Can we go home?’ I whispered.
Harry poked me again.
‘Lighten up, fatty,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun, honest.’
‘Okay then,’ said Portia. ‘Let’s get cracking.’
Three (#ulink_6fb41339-374f-5d5d-9c59-606e595da67f)
The judges, of course, were completely terrifying. But at first, they seemed very nice. We lined up in front of them, outside the marquee, like children waiting to start detention. Which, in a way, I thought to myself, we were.
Up ahead of us, the two judges were chatting to a cameraman, who was explaining something about angles and close-ups, which gave us a chance to check them out before they came to check us out. The male judge was in his forties, very tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair, a neat moustache and soft brown eyes. I’d watched him on television, of course, but he was much more handsome in the flesh than I had expected him to be and that unsettled me.
The woman was older – in her sixties, I guessed. She had shoulder-length dark hair, flicked out at the ends and she was dressed in an unflattering wrap dress that made her boobs look enormous. She wasn’t the judge I’d expected – the one who was normally on the show.
‘I thought the female judge was that other woman,’ I hissed to Harry. ‘Martha whatsit. The one with the sharp platinum bob and the fabulous jackets.’
‘Martha Rowan,’ Harry whispered back. ‘She’s gone to Hollywood, would you believe? They’re making a film about her. This Lizzie is her replacement. I think she does some daytime cookery show, but I’ve never seen it.’
Portia overheard.
‘We were devastated to lose Martha,’ she said in a low voice. ‘She’s a national treasure and she’s brilliant for publicity. Everyone loves her so she goes on all the chat shows when we’re recording.’
A shadow crossed her face.
‘I’ve got to be honest, I’m not sure Lizzie’s got the same appeal.’
We all looked over to where the female judge was staring fiercely down the lens of the camera.
‘She presents Lunch Club,’ Portia carried on. ‘Have you seen it?’
Harry and I both shook our heads.
‘Nah, didn’t think you would have,’ Portia said. ‘Its fan base is mostly much older viewers. It’s actually where Martha started about twenty years ago, but she moved on to bigger and better shows and, erm, Lizzie stayed.’
She glanced round to make sure no one was listening.
‘Between you, me and the gatepost, Lizzie was the only presenter who was available at short notice.’
Harry gave Portia a reassuring smile.
‘She looks nice enough,’ she said. ‘I bet she’ll be great.’
‘I bloody well hope so,’ Portia said. Then, spotting that the judges were ready, she cleared her throat again.
‘Everyone,’ she said. ‘This is Peter Houston and Lizzie Cotton, your judges.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amelia stand up a bit straighter. She was beginning to annoy me.
The judges both smiled at us all. No one smiled back.
‘I’m Peter,’ the man said. He had an Essex twang to his accent that made him seem just a normal person.
‘We know,’ said Amelia under her breath. Like I said, annoying.
‘And I’m Lizzie,’ said the woman with a friendly smile that lit up her whole face and made her look far less frumpy.
I relaxed slightly. They were very nice, really. Maybe we were all on the same side.
‘Are you all looking forward to getting baking?’ Lizzie carried on.
We all stood in silence.
‘No need to be so nervous,’ Peter said with a gruff laugh. ‘It’ll be fun.’
No one spoke.
