by Natasha West
‘Oh?’ Madeline said. ‘You’ve seen another side to her I take it?’
‘I think I have,’ Robyn admitted.
‘So you guys, are you official?’
‘No. I don’t really know… It’s too early to talk about that.’
Madeline paused. ‘So we can’t talk about Jodie. Can we talk about you winning instead?’
‘You’re not dropping this, are you?’ Robyn asked.
‘No.’
‘What is it you want me to say?’
‘Just admit you want it, Robyn,’ Madeline cajoled. ‘Nothing wrong with admitting it.’
‘But, but if I admit I want it…’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s going to be worse if I lose,’ she finished.
Madeline was unmoved. ‘Would it be so terrible to lose now? You’re at least third in this competition.’
Robyn considered the idea. Third. Once upon a time, she’d have been happy to get this far. But now? It felt like last. ‘Then I guess I’m not the baker I thought I was.’
‘It takes a lot to get to third, you know, Robyn. Just ask the six other people who went out before you.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Robyn said. But she didn’t feel that way at all.
‘So you won’t just say it’s what you want? Just for me?’ Madeline wheedled.
Robyn gave in. ‘Fine. I wish I could win,’ she said. And then something else came out of her mouth, something she regretted immediately. ‘Because then, I might feel like I was worthy.’
Madeline looked unpleasantly surprised by the admission. It was a reality too far for the baker’s confessional. ‘I don’t think we’ll put that last part in. But thank you. Best of luck.’ She got up and scuttled out.
Robyn was left alone in the confessional with the terrible truth. She didn’t think she could win. But she couldn’t bear the thought of losing, either. She knew she should never have come on this show. She’d always felt more comfortable when things were mediocre or worse. In that sense, Alex had been perfect for her. But going after this win? It had been too big of a swing for Robyn. She should have never answered the phone to that producer. She should have stayed in her lane.
She should have left Jodie alone, too. She was like this competition. A prize she was silly to try for. And now she was in deep on both counts. Too late to turn back.
Madeline was right. She should have been celebrating. She should have been having a real conversation with Jodie. She didn’t dare do either. She worried so much about losing things that she never really had them.
But it didn’t matter if Robyn was understanding these things about herself, illuminated for the first time under the glare of studio lights. It did her no good. She was a coward, and she always had been.
Thirty
Jodie looked at her summer vegetable and pesto rose tart. It was called a rose tart because its ingredients swirled into a rose shape in the centre. It looked beautiful if she did say so herself. Again, it was not a recipe of her father’s. But she’d gone ahead and made it anyway, trying not to listen to the voice in her head that said, ‘Your dad isn’t in this cooking, so what’s the point?’ Because she wanted to win. She knew that now. She was so close she could taste it. Luke Jacobs had brought her seventy percent of the way, and she was grateful to him. But she had to take it the final thirty alone. She just hoped the tart tasted as good as it looked.
At her side was someone she had, in fact, tasted on several occasions, Robyn. She’d been thinking about her all week, whether she wanted to or not. She thought she’d figured out how that had happened to her, the feelings that had slapped her upside her head out of nowhere. Jodie had felt something for the first time with a woman in the bedroom. Did it matter that it was anger? Not really. It was the flip side of passion. Jodie was now on the other side of the coin.
‘Wow,’ Madeline said, sidling up to her, camera crew at the ready. ‘That’s a nice-looking tart, Jodie.’
‘Thank you.’
‘A recipe of your father’s?’ Madeline asked.
‘No, I found the concept online and added my own flavours,’ Jodie told her plainly.
‘I’m sure your father would be very impressed.’
Jodie was a little tired from her efforts, and she didn’t have the energy to be closed-mouthed. Nor did she have the energy to play the game, either. ‘Maybe, Madeline. But he’s been dead for nine years, so I guess we’ll never know,’ Jodie said with a wan smile.
Madeline’s smile faltered. ‘Oh… Sure.’ She practically ran off.
Well, that had been enjoyable. So the key to getting rid of people who wanted to hear about your feelings was to simply tell them what they actually were? Who’d have thought?
***
‘Robyn, your apricot crème brûlée tart won today’s challenge!
Robyn was pink-cheeked, silent with shock. Dorothy started clapping in a way Jodie found slightly sarcastic.
‘Jodie, your summer tart is second. Dorothy, I’m afraid you’re last with your lemon meringue.’
Jodie went over and shook Robyn’s hand. ‘Well done.’
‘Yes, well done,’ Dorothy added.
Robyn looked Jodie in the eye. ‘Thanks.’
Jodie leant over and whispered into her ear. ‘Wanna grab something to eat tonight? Getting sick of room service.’
Robyn nodded happily. ‘Why not?’
***
Jodie sat across from Robyn in a restaurant half a mile from the hotel. They didn’t want to risk running into Dorothy. Though apparently, she knew.
‘She’s such a gossip,’ Robyn said.
‘Could be worse. She could be a cheat.’
‘Yeah, I still don’t know if we should tell someone about that,’ Robyn said.
‘I’ve only got my word that she as good as admitted it,’ Jodie reminded her. ‘I can’t prove anything.’
‘I don’t understand how she managed to sneak under the radar. How do you manage to interfere with people’s bakes in a well-lit studio with six cameras roaming about?’
‘Those posh birds are surprisingly sneaky,’ Jodie noted. ‘Anyway, fuck her. It didn’t do her any good. She couldn’t cheat her way to the end.’
‘I guess,’ Robyn said. ‘Worried about tomorrow?’
Jodie laughed. ‘Stop right there. We’re not talking game plans.’
‘What, why not?’ Robyn asked. ‘I’m not going to use anything you say to my advantage.’
‘Yeah, I know that. But I kind of think… maybe we should push all that to the side.’
‘You mean the fact we’re in competition?’
‘Precisely.’
‘You worried it’s going to affect…’ Robyn trailed off.
‘Us?’ Jodie supplied.
‘I wasn’t sure if I should use that word,’ Robyn said with an anxious smile.
Jodie knew exactly what she meant. They hadn’t talked about intentions yet. Jodie didn’t know what Robyn’s were. She didn’t really know what her own were either. It was all uncharted territory. She just knew that she wanted to be here, sitting across from Robyn. And later, she wanted to do other things with her. But she was trying this first. Talking. It took practice.
‘Yeah, well. There’s you, and there’s me, sitting here. If someone were to come up and ask what we were doing, I’d probably answer, ‘Us? We’re eating.’
Robyn laughed and picked at her dinner. ‘God, I don’t fancy this at all.’
‘Being around all that food all day, tasting this and that, it’s hard to find your appetite at the end of the day,’ Jodie agreed.
‘Does it violate your rule if I ask you if you’re still planning on setting up your baking business when this is over?’ Robyn asked.
‘No, it doesn’t, and yes, I am.’
‘What’s your specialism?’ Robyn asked.
‘Maybe wedding cakes?’ Jodie posited.
‘Why wedding cakes?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? You can charge a lo
t.’
Robyn nodded. ‘True. Have you ever made one?’
‘No. You think that’s a problem?’ Jodie cracked.
‘I’m sure you could pick it up in no time,’ Robyn said.
‘I don’t know…’ Jodie sighed. ‘What about you, going back to insurance when this is over?’
‘What else would I do?’ Robyn asked.
‘If you win, anything you like.’
‘I’m not going to win,’ Robyn tutted.
‘You might. If I have an off day,’ Jodie said neutrally.
Robyn groaned. ‘I’m not going to win.’
Jodie fixed Robyn with a serious look. ‘You really might.’
Robyn tutted and then frowned. ‘Something just occurred to me.’
‘What?’ Jodie asked, intrigued.
‘Look, I know this is going to sound silly, but what if Dorothy gets knocked out tomorrow?’
‘It’s a possibility. She came in third today,’ Jodie postulated.
‘No, but… That would mean…’
Jodie realised what she was getting at. ‘The final would be you versus me.’
Robyn looked at Jodie, waiting for a big reaction she was never going to get. ‘You don’t seem very concerned about that!’
‘Why should I be? It might not even happen.’
‘You mean if I go tomorrow?’
‘No, I mean, if I go,’ Jodie said.
‘Oh.’ Robyn thought about it. ‘Nah. You’re in.’
‘You seem sure.’
‘Yeah. I’d put money down,’ Robyn said neutrally.
Jodie was touched, but she didn’t want to show it. ‘We said we wouldn’t talk about baking, and we’re talking about baking.’
‘Well, we need to prepare for this possibility. I mean…’ she paused. ‘Whatever the situation is, it’s going to be complicated.’
‘Look, if it comes to that, I’ll do my best, and you do yours. Whoever wins, wins. It doesn’t need to be complicated.’
Robyn paused. ‘I guess not,’ she said quietly.
‘Look, let’s get the bill, shall we? We’re both sitting here, not eating anything.’
Robyn nodded. ‘Alright.’
‘But please can one of us remember to put our alarms on this time? I’m not having some burly driver knocking me up, so to speak.’
‘Wait, is that your way of inviting me to your room?’ Robyn asked, a slow smile appearing.
Jodie was surprised. Did Robyn not know Jodie wanted to get her in bed at the end of this evening? Well, give it time, and she wouldn’t be able to mistake it.
Thirty-One
Robyn didn’t know what to think. Jodie had invited her out, but she didn’t seem to want to define things between them. More and more, Robyn was unsure about what Jodie wanted from her. Apart from the obvious, which Robyn was happy to give.
But that was the easy thing between them. That was something they both knew worked. Going to Jodie’s room and getting naked and sweaty again was a wonderful thing. Robyn only wished she knew if it meant anything to Jodie.
She could have asked. She’d tried in a roundabout way, with that ‘Us’ comment. But Jodie had proceeded to answer in a likewise roundabout way, and Robyn hadn’t known how to ask again. She was none the wiser.
Standing in the studio, looking at a table of contents to make today’s tart, a quiche, she spotted two things she knew went together. Brie and bacon. But what about Robyn and Jodie? Were they complementary flavours?
She really didn’t know.
The question haunted her as she whipped eggs and milk together to lay over her brie and bacon lined pastry case. But she felt reasonably good about this quiche. She had that at least.
There came a point where there was literally nothing she could do; the quiche was in the oven, and there were ten minutes to go. And she really needed to pee. So off she went.
When she came back, she saw Jodie bringing her quiche out the oven - a little ahead of Robyn, who still had five minutes left on her baby - several cameras trained on the moment. She put it on the cooling tray, and Robyn saw the ghost of a smile on Jodie’s lips as the cameras pushed into the quiche. She looked pleased with her end result. Robyn liked seeing her like that. Her usual scowl was gone, though Robyn had to admit she liked that cold expression too. But Jodie looked happy for a moment, and that was a truly beautiful thing. Jodie was classically beautiful, Robyn had seen that the moment she met her. But Robyn saw her inner beauty right then. It astonished her.
That thought was interrupted by the sound of a smoke alarm. Robyn whipped her head to check her station, as though she knew it was her own disaster before she even saw the smoke coming out of her oven.
She ran to the oven and opened it up to a burnt quiche. ‘No!’ she cried. She grabbed a tea towel in her panic, part of her still thinking she could salvage the quiche, and she pulled the wire rack out. But the tea towel didn’t cut it, and as she put a hand on the wire, she felt a dreadful heat, and she dropped the rack onto the floor, the already burnt quiche now a splattered mess on the tiles. Her body slumped to the floor next to the ruins, her hand killing her, the smoke alarm still blaring.
A moment later, someone cut the alarm, and people were flocking to her. Not cameras though, they’d been there the entire time and caught every last shitty second.
Suddenly, Dorothy was dragging her up, taking her hand, sticking it under a cold tap. Madeline jumped into view, asking something Robyn couldn’t hear. It was like a bomb had gone off, she couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, everything was white noise. Seconds later, Jodie’s face thrust into her line of vision. She had a cloth full of ice. ‘Hold this.’ Robyn heard that and took the icepack, still in some shock.
Jodie was all action. She turned and shouted, ‘Where’s that paramedic!? She could be seriously hurt! Stop acting like it’s all good for the cameras, you heartless shits!’
People began to scramble then, and the paramedic came and looked at her hand, but the pain was starting to pass now. He pronounced it a superficial burn, bandaging her up.
Robyn realised that her shock had not been about the burn, nor the pain. The shock had been realising that she was out of the competition.
***
Two judges. One presenter. What should have been three quiches but was only two. The scene was set for tragedy and victory.
Dorothy, despite getting bottom place yesterday, was pronounced top baker. Her leek and stilton quiche was apparently enough to bring up her status.
It was now time for a loser to be announced. Robyn, holding her bandaged hand, waited for her name.
‘Robyn, I’m afraid you’re going home today,’ Madeline said.
Robyn smiled sadly. It was over.
She wondered if Jodie might give her a hug. But she didn’t come over. She seemed distracted. That hurt to see. Dorothy came to her instead, heavy-hearted. ‘I really hoped it would be you and me,’ she tutted.
‘I don’t know what happened. I left my oven on two hundred. How did it end up so high?’ Robyn asked, embarrassed in front of the elder baker.
‘Things happen, Robyn. Maybe you knocked it.’
‘I guess I did,’ Robyn said, no less humiliated. What a pathetic, amateur mistake ‘Well, best of luck,’ she told Dorothy, though she didn’t mean it. Dorothy was a nice lady, but she wanted the win for Jodie. Her life would be changed by the win in a way Dorothy’s wouldn’t.
‘Hold the fucking phone!’ said an angry voice.
The entire studio froze. One by one, they turned in the direction of the voice. It was Jodie that was yelling.
Thirty-Two
Jodie took her quiche out of the oven, and as ever, the vultures circled to capture glory or dishonour. But Jodie took one look at that quiche, and she knew it was just right. Not too firm, not too soft. Goldilocks would have yummied the bitch right down.
But then, disaster. Not for her, for Robyn. A burnt quiche, a burnt hand. Luckily, it didn’t turn out to be serious about th
e hand. But it was clear that Robyn had run out of time to make a second quiche. Even the injury didn’t incur clemency. The producer’s decision was swift and merciless. Before the burn, Robyn had fucked up, her oven set too high. Her quiche, such as it was, had to stand as her entry.
