Bella's Christmas Bake Off: A fabulously funny, feel good Christmas read

by Sue Watson

  ‘The memories are flooding back, the cold, the hunger – you think I’ve always had it easy, but you don’t know everything about me like you think you do, Ames, she said sadly. ’

  I nodded, she was right. I’d gone to Dovecote with so many preconceptions about Bella and her life only to discover I’d been wrong.

  ‘What happened to the baby, Bella?’ I asked, my voice cracking, not really wanting to know the awful truth.

  ‘I was rushed to hospital with pneumonia… they didn’t know if either of us would make it,’ she fought back tears. ‘She was born two months early, she was so tiny but just perfect. And then they had to take her away, she’d come too soon.’

  ‘Oh Bella,’ I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘She almost died, Ames, my little girl. But she was a fighter.’

  ‘Oh, she survived…?’

  ‘Yeah, and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.’

  She pointed through the glass and my eyes followed to where she was pointing. Crimson was hanging tinsel around the hallway and laughing with Maisie and I suddenly saw a young Bella in her smile.

  ‘Crimson’s your daughter?’ I couldn’t quite take it in.

  Bella nodded. ‘Of course… I thought you knew, I was sure you’d guessed. Fliss says she’s the image of me.’

  ‘I didn’t notice, what with everything going on, but now you say it.’ In truth it was hard to tell because of all the piercings and the hair, but it was the smile that gave her away – and this was the first time, here at St Swithin’s, that I’d seen Crimson smile. ‘Why did you never tell me? I’d have helped if I could, you know that, Bella.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, I hadn’t heard from you and it was all such a mess, Amy. Mum was furious, she drove me to the clinic but while she was parking the car I ran away. It was awful, I had no money, no friends and I couldn’t stay in town because I knew Mum would call the police and I thought perhaps they could force me to get rid of the baby. So I just walked and hitch-hiked, going from hostel to hostel, and then, I was taken to hospital with pneumonia and on Christmas Day 1991, I had Cressida. She was beautiful and someone finally loved me and I vowed I would be the mother I’d never had. I always said to myself that I wanted to be like your mum, Amy…’

  I nodded, tears in my eyes at her revelation.

  ‘That was the day I met Fliss - she was with one of her celebrity clients filming a Christmas charity visit to the mum and baby ward. We got chatting and she felt sorry for me and said there was a room at hers – despite that exterior, she has a heart of… something,’ she laughed. ‘Anyway the rest is history as they say.’

  ‘But I don’t understand what happened with Cressida…? Why is she called Crimson?’

  ‘Oh she’s called Crimson because she said Cressida was too middle class and her boyfriend Steve called himself Ochre - they both wanted to be “avant garde”. She had Ochre and Crimson tattooed on her arm and she likes the name, so why not?’

  ‘So why is Cressy… Crimson… a secret? Surely you’re not still scared of what your Mum will do?’

  ‘No, Mum knows about Cressy, she’s met her a couple of times but Jean never was one for maternal bonding on any level. Cressy was four when I married Peter and Fliss had this plan to announce her to the world saying we had her before we were married but didn’t make it public until she was older because we didn’t want her chased by paparazzi or affected by fame. After the wedding we thought we could just do a few big stories about our secret love child and it would all be perfect.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, once we were married things started to move quickly. Peter was an even bigger name and I was landed with my own prime time show. Consequently the press were all over us and it didn’t take Cressida’s so-called father long to realise that his ex, Bella Bradley, might be worth a few quid.’

  ‘Of course, Chris – I’d almost forgotten about his part in all this. Where was he when it was all happening?’ I said.

  ‘He’d been in prison for drugs-related stuff – he didn’t want me or Cressy but as soon as he came out and saw I was in the spotlight he called me threatening to take Cressy off me and sell his story to the press.’

  ‘Oh Bella, how awful.’

  ‘As Peter and I weren’t exactly the perfect married couple I was frightened Chris might actually find this out and get custody. My biggest fear was always that Cressy might be taken off me, so I just closed myself off from everyone… it was a scary time. Fliss paid him off and Chris left the country, but a couple of years ago I heard he was back, so Fliss said I must never to talk to anyone from my past. She’s been like a mother to me.’

  I smiled, only Bella could see a mother’s love in this way – paid for. ‘So why didn’t you just “out” Cressida then, once Chris was out of the country?’

  ‘Chris may have been out of the country, but he owed people money and they wanted their pound of flesh, we had no way of knowing if Cressy would be safe. I was already a big star and it was too late to just leave and live in the highlands of Scotland, the press and whoever else would just follow us there. I wanted her protected from the press, and more than that I wanted to protect her from her dad and his lifestyle. Chris had been bad for me and he’d have been bad for her too.’

  ‘I can see that, you did the right thing, Bella,’ I said, understanding the maternal pride and love Bella had for her daughter.

  ‘The other issue was that Peter didn’t want to be committed forever to a child he hardly knew that wasn’t even his,’ Bella went on to say. ‘If our marriage broke up and a child was involved, he’d have been hounded and the press would have given him a terrible time for not seeing his daughter. Our marriage was about business, and I became quite paranoid and wanted Cressy protected from anything and everything. I didn’t even send her to school, she was home taught.’

  As she talked, I just kept listening, growing more and more amazed that someone could live a life like hers, so full of secrets. Part of me admired Bella for what she’d been through to protect her daughter. Crimson wasn’t Bella’s lackey and she was with Bella because she wanted to be not because she had to be. It explained the time I heard them talking quietly together in the conservatory at Dovecote, and why Crimson was always around prepared to help Bella, from tweeting to tinsel – because she was her mum and she loved her. And watching Crimson come alive at St Swithin’s, helping out in the kitchen, almost smiling and suddenly interacting with everyone in a more positive way showed that Crimson’s indifference was actually just a front, to keep the world out… her default position in life.

  ‘I considered so many different ways of bringing Cressy “out” as you put it – Fliss did too and was coming up with more and more outrageous suggestions as to where the baby had come from – one being found in a bin – I ask you!’

  I had to laugh. ‘That sounds like Fliss.’

  She nodded. ‘Oh it was awful, Ames. If ever I needed a friend it was then, but Fliss wouldn’t allow me to contact anyone because the fewer people who knew the better, we couldn’t risk the secret getting out because we didn’t know if or when Chris would come back to the UK. We all had so much to hide and so much to lose. Stupid really… but the press were everywhere, like ants they’d climb the back of the house and peer in through windows. Peter and I appeared to have the perfect life – but that doesn’t make a good story – ha, if only they’d known… what a headline that would have been.’

  ‘But Crimson’s okay – and so are you, that’s the most important thing in all this.’

  ’Yes. I owe Fliss everything, there’s nothing that woman won’t do for her clients. Having said all that, we’re victims of our own success and now we’re on a merry-go-round we can’t get off. Peter has a million swooning female fans, and his own show on Discovery network and I’m… well I’m the Kitchen Goddess… yet we’re stuck in a loveless sham of a marriage. As for Cressida – by keeping her secret we protected her from scandal and being the s
ubject of a million gossip columns, but I worry she’s missed out on real life.’

  ‘Yes, being a secret all these years might have had an effect on her self-esteem.’

  ‘Mmm, I worry about that too. She’s a brilliant artist and I think she needs to spread her wings, go to art college and find herself, but I think she’s scared to go out into the world.’

  ‘I’m not surprised; she’s spent the first twenty years holed up at Dovecote with you and she can’t leave you now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, she told me – in her own way – as ‘Crimson the star researcher’ that she doesn’t want to leave you on your own.’

  ‘I need to talk to her, don’t I? She has to make her own way eventually, I guess. It’s just hard, you know, to let her go, especially after the start I had when I left home. ‘Yes…but you survived, and look how far you’ve come. All those years I blamed myself for you being forced to have an abortion…’

  ‘Oh Ames…’

  ‘Your mother has a lot to answer for,’ I sighed, ‘I called so many times but she said you didn’t want to speak to me.’

  ‘And all those years I thought you’d never even bothered to call… Having children changes you. Being a mother helped me to forgive my own mother. It’s only when you have a child of your own you really understand how hard it is.’

  ‘It’s so true – and you only ever begin to comprehend how much your parents love you when you love your own kids – it’s huge, breathtaking.’

  ‘I know, and whatever my mum did, I know in that cold black heart she loves me and I have to believe she was only doing what she thought best.’

  ‘Yes, in her own way she was just saving you from what she thought was a life with no future, but you are so strong, you fought tooth and nail for what you’ve got. And here’s me always thinking it was about luck and that your life was sprinkled with fairy dust,’ I sighed.

  ‘It is – because I have Cressy. I had to run away to keep her and it was hard, but it was worth every moment of pain and struggle. We always spend Christmas Day – her birthday – together… and if I’m honest, it’s the only day of the year I’m truly happy.’

  ‘Tell her that,’ I said.

  ‘She knows… I’m sure she does.’

  ‘Well, tell her anyway.’

  She nodded. ‘I will, thank you, Amy. It’s good to have you back.’

  ‘It’s good to be back,’ I smiled.

  18

  T’was the Night Before Christmas

  I was still in shock about Crimson and Bella and I still had so much to say when Fliss popped her head round the office door and asked if ‘Madam’ was ready to do a pre-recording. This involved making short five-minute films of Bella and I and the rest of the team that could be slotted into the live action.

  ‘Yes, I’m ready,’ Bella said. ‘I’ll work in the kitchen – I’ve told Amy why I was being such a diva about working in a hostel.’

  Fliss raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, equipment and decor aside it won’t be easy dahling, but you’re a tough Christmas cookie – so let’s get going.’

  We gathered ourselves together and both walked numbly into the awful kitchen. It had been decided that Bella and I record the Christmas Eve show that afternoon to go out later that night. It was a programme illustrating our two very different approaches to food and cooking and Tim told us to be ‘brutal, raw and honest.’ Good old Fliss did her bit to fan the flames just before recording by commenting on how ‘gorgeous Amy looks’, without referring to Bella at all. She wasn’t trying to reignite our old feud, nor could she now we’d made up, but she was keen to set off that playful teasing between us, which was apparently TV gold.

  And it wasn’t long before we were both elbow-deep in raw turkeys arguing over the price of stuffing. Secret daughters, gay husbands and real lives now lost to the cameras, as we played it to the hilt.

  ‘You do not need Tuscan truffles with turkey,’ I was saying as the cameras rolled and I delved inside the turkey to remove the giblets. Tim thought it would be good to have us both side by side, with a turkey each and Bella ‘coaching’ me, which was hilarious as she probably hadn’t cooked a turkey for years. ‘It’s ridiculous to pay out loads of money for expensive ingredients just to shove up a turkey’s backside - you’ll never taste the truffles with all the sage you put in,’ I was saying as I jammed the turkey innards into a pan for gravy.

  ‘Ew, what are you doing?’ she gasped.

  ‘Gravy…why?’

  ‘That’s not gravy, it’s a cry for help! I NEVER make my gravy like that – I always use a good red wine and a good poultry stock.’

  ‘I’m making poultry stock from the giblets,’ I said, ‘some of us can’t afford wine to drink, let alone make gravy out of it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but do you live in the 60s, Amy? Hostesses today are working women who don’t need to come home from the boardroom to do something vile with turkey innards. And why ruin just manicured Christmas Day nails by delving around in giblets when one can buy perfectly good stock and keep one’s acrylics intact,’ she smiled, flirting with the camera while caressing the bird. ‘What you seem to forget, Amy, is that my way means not only does the table and the food look good – but so does the cook…’ she sighed, breathlessly, then she licked her lips and pouted for the camera.

  I waved the giblets at her, blood oozing from my fingers. ‘This is real cooking, not buying stock cubes and doing your nails.’

  ‘Yes Amy, but no one wants Carrie at their Christmas table.’

  And so it went on. Yet in between comments and insults, we both managed to make a turkey dinner.

  Tim had set up two tables in a separate room to film our Christmas Cook Off and my table was set simply using the tinfoil crackers Mike and I had made and sprigs of holly from Bella’s garden. My Christmas dinner was made with a turkey from a local butcher, vegetables from a nearby allotment, with a homemade Christmas pudding for dessert. Meanwhile Bella’s Christmas dinner was an elaborate, elegant affair involving organic turkey, cut glass and a table runner that cost a month’s wages. Both tables had their pros and cons and Bella’s whole concept cost about a hundred times more than mine, but the idea would be that the viewer could mix and match. But for us both, the real fun would be with the figgy puddings we’d made the day before that had been brought up from Dovecote. They both looked very similar sitting on their respective tables – it would be interesting to see which one of us won the ultimate figgy ‘Christmas Bake Off.’

  ‘You may want to spend more on a turkey but less on the table and vice versa,’ Bella breathed, her heaving bosoms displayed in a low cut little black dress.

  ‘Or you might want to have a go at making a Christmas figgy pudding costing a few quid, like mine,’ I said, gesturing towards the rich, treacle-dark pudding. ‘Or you might prefer to make Bella’s identical one costing an arm and a leg,’ I smiled serenely.

  ‘Bella’s like a tempest… a Christmas snowstorm, and Amy is like a calm, beautiful Angel,’ Tim whispered.

  ‘Less of the beautiful or I’ll have you sacked,’ Bella shouted and for a moment everyone looked round wondering if she meant it, until she gave a little snigger. She was like the old Bella again and I hoped perhaps I’d played a part in that by being honest and making her look at herself. Until now she’d been lost in this crazy sycophantic TV world where everyone told her she was right all the time. She’d also changed me too – I would never take anyone or anything at face value again – and I certainly wouldn’t envy someone for having what I considered to be a ‘better’ life than me. You never really know what goes on in other people’s lives – and you never know what people have been through – even your oldest, best friend.

  Filming the Christmas Eve show together proved the old dynamic was slowly returning, our bickering was playful, funny and it provided an outlet for our real feelings about how different we were. I disapproved of her decadence and she frowned at my ‘make-do-and-mend’ a
pproach to life – and that would never change. But this way we could actually say whatever we were feeling – it made us laugh – and we stayed friends. It was like being ten years old again and arguing about who had the best cupcakes, which was ridiculous – because as I pointed out, everyone knew mine were the best!

  ‘Just try my gravy,’ she said, halfway through filming, force-feeding me with a large spoon.

  ‘I hate to say this,’ I started, ‘but it’s quite delicious,’ and it was. Bella still had a talent for taste and later – when we’d finished filming the Christmas Eve show and the cameras were off – I told her she really should start cooking and baking again.

  ‘You used to make the most amazing lemon meringue pie,’ I said.

  ‘Mmmm I did, didn’t I? I still bake at home for me and Cressy… in fact Cressy’s started baking too and she’s really good.’

  ‘I feel a mother/daughter cookbook coming on,’ I smiled.

  ‘That’s a fabulous idea, I’ll talk to Fliss,’ she said, genuinely excited. The idea seemed to light a fire in her eyes I hadn’t seen since we were kids.

  ‘Cressy loves it here,’ I said. ‘She’s eager to help, I’ve never seen her more animated, happier. She isn’t glued to her iPhone, she’s working and chatting – I saw her laugh earlier.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ she smiled.

  Walking back into the kitchen, she linked arms with me. ‘Hey Ames, I think I’ll book a trip to Paris just for me and Cressy – a birthday and Christmas present combined… and while we’re there I’ll talk to her about what she wants to do with her life.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, Bella,’ I smiled, opening the door of the kitchen and gesturing her through.

  ‘Well, tomorrow’s not going to be easy – it’s more shabby than chic,’ she said, faced once more with the prospect of the dreaded kitchen.

  ‘There ain’t no pretending, love,’ Beatrice piped up, without looking up from behind a mountain of unpeeled potatoes. ‘It’s damn shabby and that’s for sure.’

  The door flew open and in came Mike with his camera, guided by Tim and a soundman. ‘This is marvellous, just keep rolling,’ Tim was saying to Mike. ‘Let’s get everyone in, we need to show all this preparation on tomorrow’s show, we’ll insert it in between the big lunch.’