by Jane Linfoot
I’m laughing. ‘Don’t forget the wedding dress too, we all love a fabulous dress. And a blingy wedding.’
Fliss is nodding at her. ‘Far from being the answer, it could be the ring that’s the start of your problems. Maybe you’ll only be happy when you ditch the idea of getting hitched.’
I smile at her. ‘Of everyone here Miranda, I’d say you’re the one who knows your own mind. You’re in an excellent position to make your choice – but only you know what that should be.’
‘I’ve got to shine like a diamond.’ Her voice has gone very small now.
I’m nodding. ‘Sure, but you need a partner who thinks you shine just as you are. You shouldn’t have to be polished before they appreciate you.’
Fliss grunts. ‘If you were a diamond I suspect Ambie wouldn’t be happy until he’d had you re-cut.’
I wince at Fliss. ‘That’s harsh.’
Fliss pulls a face. ‘Harsh but true.’
Miranda’s next spoonful is smaller, and she savours rather than gulps it. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about there girls – thank you for being so honest and open.’
As my phone beeps and I get up and cross to the Aga I’m hoping we have. ‘Our cakes are ready.’ It’s not lost on me, I’m hardly the best person to be dishing the relationship advice. I slide my hands into the oven gloves, pull out the cake tins, and as I test the sponge with my finger it’s firm and springy. I wait a couple of minutes, then turn them out onto a wire cooling rack. ‘This smells so chocolatey, we have to be in with a chance of being the Bake Off champions. As soon as these are cool, we’ll get the icing on.’
Miranda coughs. ‘Does this mean I’m on your team?’
I’m grinning as I bring the cakes across. ‘We can always use another Gilmore Girl, Miranda.’ I catch Oscar staring up at me from the gap between the table and the chair. ‘We’re actually the Gilmore People. So for your first job, Miranda, pass the icing.’
She’s peering into an empty bowl. ‘Er – we may need to make some more of that.’
It may have taken most of the batch of buttercream, but if it’s made her see things more clearly, it’s a small price to pay.
34.
Sledges at dawn …
Christmas Eve has to be one of my all time favourite times of the year. It’s the twinkliest sparkliest day when months of anticipation build to the biggest excitement storm ever, and I, for one, will be rocking it.
Except for when I close my eyes, because whenever I do there’s this clip on repeat in my brain. First I see Abby running into Bill’s arms. Then their beautiful little family huddled on the pavement. Then they all disappear into their lovely house and the front door shuts.
Deep in my heart I’ve always known that Bill was only ever on offer in my head, and I completely understand the only right place for him is together with Abby and Gemma. I also know I’ll completely come to terms with it, given time. But right now it doesn’t stop the aching hole in my chest. And every time the front door of their home slams in my head, it hurts all over again. Which is why it’s lovely to have Merwyn. There’s something very comforting about that worried sideways look he gives me. I can tell he cares and he’s completely happy for me to bury my face in his fur and fair isle jumper for as long as it takes for me to feel better.
But luckily for Merwyn and his tear-dampened knitwear there’s not too much time for snivelling because there’s still so much to get ready for tomorrow. After we’ve spread the word about the Bake Off we leave Willow pondering over recipe books on the kitchen sofa.
Then I get to open the florist’s boxes which arrive, gasp at how beautiful the orange and pink roses are, and cut the stems to length. Then with a jug in hand, one by one I put them in water in the numerous gin bottles around the family room. By the time I’m finished I’ve used gallons of water and the alternating colours really pop as the roses line up down the centre of the tables and along all the window sills.
Then I nip upstairs to catch up on the last of my present wrapping and wrap a stack of empty delivery boxes in pink and orange paper as a piece of final scene setting. I tie them up with pink and orange ribbons and big bows and pile them on the sledges under the downstairs Christmas trees and take ages getting them to look just right for the photos. I’m expecting to have to fight my way through the crowds to reach Bill’s room to grab some wifi to upload them, but when I get there the big-wave crowd has gone. I know I was cynical when we first arrived, but when I watch the rush of ‘likes’ that come in as soon as the latest parcels-under-the-tree pictures come up on Libby’s Instagram account I’m thinking how much I’ll miss this in a couple of days’ time when I don’t have to do it any more.
As I go back through the kitchen Milo has taken over the whole central island unit is cooking up a storm. I laugh at him. ‘Hey Milo, how’s it going?’ If an entire sack of flour had exploded the mess wouldn’t be any more huge. ‘You haven’t left much space for poor Willow.’ She and her other half have bagged a tiny spot by the toaster.
Milo’s voice is high and unusually strangled. ‘Ivy, I’m working on a show stopper with five different elements here, I can’t be limited by space restrictions.’
Libby’s at the kettle smiling one of those indulgent smiles she only ever brings out for Milo. ‘No need to stress, Petal, it’s going to be amazing, you’ve got my vote already.’ Which totally undermines the competition for the rest of us when she hasn’t even had a taste, but whatever.
As I catch Willow’s eye I note that she’s not jumping in to help, offering her usual homeopathic stress busters. ‘Is this the Edmunson Team corner?’
She laughs. ‘Absolutely not, it’s every person for themselves over here. Mine’s vegan lemon and elderflower with chia spice and Nigel’s doing a gluten-free Mexican carrot cake and he might try some boozy truffles too.’
Nigel pushes his on-trend specs back up his nose. ‘Then I’ll do some marshmallow snowmen cupcakes with the children later.’
I’m having a sea glass moment here. ‘But don’t marshmallows have animals in them? And what’s with the snowmen, surely it should be snow people?’
He grins. ‘No need to panic, Ivy, the Dandies’ marshmallows are all good. And obviously we’ll have equal numbers of snow women too.’
I’m smiling back. ‘Great, I’m glad to hear it, in that case I’ll head off to the beach with Fliss and catch you later.’ I turn to Libby. ‘Are you coming too?’
She’s perched on a bar stool now, looking totally teensy beside Milo, and if I didn’t know better I’d say she was positioned to take maximum advantage of the tanned and honed forearms at work here.
She wrinkles her nose. ‘You know what, I think I’ll take a second to relax … come along in a bit.’
I’m picking my jaw up off the floor because when does she ever not rush? Chilling is not in her remit. ‘What about all the fabulous surfers in Santa hats waiting to have their pictures taken?’ Three of them are her kids, after all.
She cocks an eyebrow at me. ‘Can you handle those? Just this once …’
Nigel wiggles his eyebrows at me. ‘No need for Libby to get cold, I’ll come down and help as soon as my cake’s cooked.’
Seriously, I have no idea what the frantic eyebrow action is about. If Libby’s happy to miss the once in a lifetime opportunity to watch her kids having a Christmas dip in some Cornish sea, that’s up to her.
As we walk down onto the sand a few minutes later, Fliss has Harriet in a sling carrier, I’ve got Oscar by the hand, Merwyn’s running up and down the sand alongside me and I’m soaking up the way the sunstreaks on the water are breaking up into a thousand silvery fragments as the wind blows.
Fliss turns to me, her hair blowing across her face. ‘You’re looking very thoughtful today?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘When we go home I’m really going to miss just walking out of the door and being on the beach, that’s all.’ I dip down and pick up a cockle shell, and then another, then another – si
mply because I can. When I’m back in my tiny flat if they’re there on the coffee table they’ll help me believe these two weeks actually happened and I didn’t just imagine them.
She gives me a harder stare. ‘Are you sure it’s not more than that?’
I’m fighting the sea glass, because I’d love to share. And I will, once we get back and everything’s safely in the past again. ‘I’m good.’
‘Well, Aunty Fliss is here if you need to talk.’
I pat her arm. ‘Thanks, I’ll definitely take you up on that one day soon. Just not now.’
I pull Oscar’s hood up, and turn my collar up against the wind, and we make our way along to where Keef, Taj and the gang have swapped their elf clothes for wetsuits and are messing around in the shallows with the rest of the kids and some body boards. Even I know the waves aren’t anything like big enough for surfing, but there’s enough screaming and splashing going on to make up for that.
‘Okay, who’s up for some Christmas at Bondi beach shots?’
By the time I’ve taken every variation of poses and boards in and out of the water, it’s a long time later and Fliss and the littlies are long gone. I should have known from the skating that Sailor, Scout and Solomon would have some tricks up their home-school jumper sleeves. It turns out they’re acrobatic enough to be in the Cirque du Soleil, so we end up with some fabulous shots of surfie towers and flick flacks into the sea, as well as all the rest. When Libby finally tears herself away from the Aga and comes down she’s happy to use the human tower shot, because her kids are the important bottom layer. As she said, the high flyers couldn’t show off without the people in the base. And then she hurries off again, with the excuse of getting the pictures uploaded. But spot the deliberate mistake – she left without taking the phone with the photos on.
There’s another nice surprise when we get back to the castle – Rob has arrived early, and he’s just putting the finishing touches to the cake that he just speed baked. Between us, you have to love a guy who can build bridges, drive three hundred plus miles and dash off his signature Squishy Black Forest Gateau before he even stops for tea. But that’s Rob for you. Which was why it was so weird when we thought he was going off the rails.
So we leave Milo in the kitchen spinning sugar – really! – with Libby watching him wide eyed. First observation – truly, if we’d only known, the rest of us needn’t have wasted our time. And second – when did Libby ever take this much interest in cooking? Just saying. Then Fliss and I tuck up in the family room with Rob and the kids and watch The Holiday, apparently for the third time since Saturday. Some films are like that, however many times you watch them you can always watch them again. And as we sit there the entries for the competition are arriving on the dining tables one by one.
As we go through to get our Gilmore People’s cake we get held up by a nappy change which we pop up to my room for because it’s closer. So we’re only back at the table with five minutes to go to the deadline, by which time everyone’s gathered in the dining area standing staring hopefully at the laden table. Then at one minute to half past the door opens and Milo staggers through carrying a cake the size of a mountain. It’s so heavy, as he slides it onto the centre stage position I swear I hear the table groan.
As I scan the faces, it’s a full house. Miranda’s somehow managed to persuade Ambie out of the hot tub, Taj and co. are standing with their arms folded poised to taste, Willow and Nigel are looking ethereal enough to have fallen off a serenity advert, the kids are all exchanging very loud opinions. In fact everyone seems to be here except Bill.
Milo’s pushing to the front. ‘Just to tell you, mine has a coconut sponge base, and Malibu buttercream, on an ombré bottom tier …’
There’s a ring of defeated sighs as he pauses.
‘… followed by a rocky outcrop of cream filled profiteroles and macaroon haystacks … which gives way to a mini meringue pavlova mountain … topped with a Baileys cupcake … all encased in a golden spin drift crackle of spun sugar.’
There’s a gentle whisper of open mouthed curses from the surfers, and Nigel mutters. ‘I’m late to the party here, but is he trying to prove something?’
Fliss turns to Milo. ‘Red card for you there, you wrecked the anonymity, judges’ decision is final, you’re out of the competition.’
As Milo’s face falls I open my mouth to jump in, but Libby’s there before me.
‘It’s a bit of Christmas fun, NO ONE’S going to be disqualified.’ Not that you’d ever argue with Libby, but her mouth’s a total ‘don’t you DARE disagree’ straight line here.
I’m coming in under the radar. ‘And after all that, Bill didn’t enter either!’
Milo’s hissing and punching the air. ‘Couldn’t make the standard, I knew it.’
Nigel’s looking at me. ‘Yes, he did, I saw Bill bring his in earlier but he had to rush off.’
I’m looking along the entries and I come to a plate of gingerbread men. Sorry – people. And I start to smile because there’s no mistaking Bill’s handiwork there. He might as well have left a sign on them saying BILL MADE THESE. It’s just extra poignant to think the day we found the cutters and made the gingerbread men for the kitchen tree we had no idea he had a child. Thinking how he must have used those cutters with Abby, I don’t know how his heart didn’t break that day. But it won’t need to break any more now.
I’m moving this on before Libby jumps in and declares Milo is the winner without any voting. ‘So, if everyone except for Milo has left their name in secret underneath their cakes, shall we move on to the tasting and judging? Fliss is giving everyone a bead and putting out saucers, put your bead in the saucer in front of the cake you want to vote for.’
Fliss beams. ‘And while I’m giving out the beads, Ivy will cut a slice out of each cake so everyone can taste.’
It’s funny there are so many cakes here. There are some gorgeous Christmas tree cupcakes with bright green buttercream and coloured baubles. There are some eye-catching round iced shortbreads with fairy light strands across them, our snowy chocolate cake, Rob’s Black Forest gateau, oozing cream, Willow and Nigel’s plus some extra truffles, and then the kids’ cupcakes, and some Nutella brownies, which I suspect from the way they’re giggling at them, are Tiff, Tansy and Scout’s. And then at the very end of the line, my heart melts.
I point to Fliss. ‘Oh my, someone’s baked a Merwyn cake with matching Merwyn cupcakes.’ It’s basically a chocolate Swiss roll, with lashings of chocolate buttercream spiked to look like fur with a face on the end. But the expression in the eyes, it’s the very spit of the dog himself. And each cupcake is a furry Merwyn face too.
All the kids dash to the end of the table and there’s a collective ‘Ahhhhh …’ and the clink of beads hitting the saucer in front.
I’m frowning. ‘But how can you lot vote, you haven’t even tasted yet?’
Tiff gives me a side eye. ‘We don’t have to taste, we already know what’s best.’
I know I should give my bead to Rob for being awesome, but I have a sea glass moment, so the Merwyns get my bead too.
Fliss gives Rob’s cake her bead and Harriet’s, Oscar insists on giving his to Merwyn, and Willow and Nigel give theirs to the kids’ snowpeople. By the time everyone else has tasted and dropped their beads in the saucers Milo’s mountain has got two beads, and I suspect one of those came from Milo himself. And why did we forget to say you couldn’t vote for your own cake?
Fliss is clapping her hands. ‘Great, so the winner with twelve beads is the Merwyn ensemble. There’s a little note attached to the collar of the main cake … which I’m guessing will say who baked it?’
Tiff snatches it up. ‘It’s got Ivy’s name on …’
She hands it to me and as I unfold it I see some very familiar pointy writing. ‘Okay, so the note says, there’s a cupcake for everyone, and if I go to the coach house now I’ll find out who the secret baker is.’
I’m not sure why my heart is beatin
g so fast as I grab my coat and cross the back courtyard. That’s the other thing – I might be going in search of the secret baker, but this was never going to be a secret mission. As I hurry through the shrubbery and out towards the coach house I’m flanked by seven children all shouting. By the time we see the light shining through the glass door of the distillery we’re running and breathless.
As I push my way in there’s a figure by the end window, and as he turns and I take in the Aztec print joggers I gasp.
‘Keef?’ I have no idea why my heart sank there, but I pick myself up again really fast. ‘Hey, so you’re the one who’s been thrilling us with your cranberry swirls?’
He purses his lips. ‘Not exactly …’
‘As an answer that’s no good at all. Surely it’s yes or no?’
He lets out a sigh. ‘Actually this has very little to do with baking, and it’s more about Bill than me. He’s trying to talk to you but apparently you keep avoiding him …’
‘So this is a trick?’
Keef’s shaking his head. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, he hasn’t had it easy. He’s very sorry for the position he put you in, it’ll be good to clear the air before Christmas. He baked the Merwyn cakes and he’d like a word if that’s okay?’
‘Fine.’ It’s not at all. But obviously Bill can’t afford ambiguity, if I’d let him do this in the car yesterday or let him say his piece early this morning we wouldn’t be here now.
Keef pushes back his bead braids and squeezes my arm. ‘He’s waiting on the beach, it won’t take long.’
As I turn for the door, the kids turn too.
‘Not so fast! You lot wait here with me.’ Keef puts his finger up, then he winks at me. ‘Remember, carpe those effing diems, Ivy, and cut the boy some slack.’
There are times when I’d like to stuff his carpes and all the rest. If I wasn’t in such a hurry, now would be one of them.
As I make my way out onto the empty sand the sea has turned to the colour of dark slate in the fading afternoon light and this morning’s sun has given way to a heavy leaden sky. It’s not helpful that when I see Bill’s shoulders hunched against the wind, his hands deep in his jacket pockets, my first instinct is to throw my arms around him. As an icy gust blows inside my furry jacket I’m kicking myself for not bringing my hat. I draw near to him, cough, and he turns.
