by Anna Wilson
For my family, who love cake and are great fans of a certain TV baking show . . . and for my cats, Ink and Jet, who have been known to get their paws on the icing at times!
I am really here. I have pinched myself hard quite a few times, so I know it is not a dream. Or a nightmare.
I have run my hand over the bright red work surface, touched the beautiful, shiny mixer and counted the different whisks and attachments that go with it. I have checked all the utensils and double-checked my ingredients. I have gazed at the colourful bunting which decorates the famous Tepee, and am now doing my best not to catch the eye of the other two contestants.
How did I get here, when only a few weeks ago I had not been able to toast a slice of bread without burning it?
Oh no. There is one of the judges, Pete Jollyspoon. His fiery, ice-blue eyes look as though they could cut through steel, exactly as they do when he is on TV. There is nothing very jolly about him, that’s for sure.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves as the other judge, Milly Barry, gives me an encouraging smile. She is completely different from Pete, thank goodness. She looks less like a TV presenter and more like someone’s lovely, friendly gran.
This is it, I tell myself. You are here, Ellie Haines. You have made it on to The Cake Off.
My mouth is dry. My heart is thumping. My legs are like jelly.
‘Are you ready, bakers?’
‘Don’t let Pete put you off. He’s always grumpy: the old silver-backed gorilla, we call him!’
It is Sam and Sid, just as chirpy, cheeky-chappy as they are when you see them on TV, looking relaxed and cheerful in jeans and T-shirts.
How had I got here? Certainly with no help from my bonkers family, who have always been hideously bad at cooking too.
No more time for nerves or questions. Sam Parkins is stepping forward to speak the immortal words that strike fear into every contestant’s heart:
‘Are you ready, bakers? . . . Are you steady, bakers? Then what are you waiting for? . . . BAKE!’
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
I had got myself into this crazy situation. I really had no one but myself to blame – me and my big mouth.
It began when I was hanging out with my best mate, Mads, after school one day.
‘My life sucks!’ I cried. I threw myself on to my beanbag.
‘Drama queen,’ Mads said, arching an eyebrow. ‘It’s not that bad, is it?’
‘Have you seen my family lately?’ I said. ‘Charlie has always been the most irritating brother in the entire universe, as you know, but his latest obsession with trying to get on TV is driving me insane.’
‘Oh come on, Ells,’ Mads said. ‘It’s quite cute that he sends all those clips of his hamster into SpringWatchLive.’
‘It is soooo utterly not cute,’ I said. ‘As if “Crisp Packet”, or whatever his name is, is going to be the slightest bit interested in what Mumbles has for breakfast. He’s not a wild hamster, is he? Anyway, that’s not the point, I am sick of Charlie getting all the attention for his stupid plans.’
Basically, Charlie got all the attention in our family whatever he did. He only had to wear his pants on his head and do the ‘Gangnam Style’ routine to have Mum and Dad – and Mads if she was there – rolling in the aisles and crowing about how cute and funny he was.
Mads was still giggling. ‘But he is so cute – and funny.’ (See?) ‘What about when he tried to get your Mum on Looking Good Naked?’
‘Pur-leese! Don’t!’ I said. I held a hand out to stop Mads from going any further. ‘I have just about managed to erase from my mind the image of Mum standing in her underwear asking Charlie whether she should go for “scoop-neck, V-neck or plunge-neck T-shirts” while he filmed the whole thing.’ I clutched my throat. ‘URGH!’
Mads was properly losing it now, rolling on the floor and howling with laughter. ‘Your mum is so cool,’ she squeaked.
‘COOL? You are joking me! She is the absolute opposite of cool. She embarrasses me on an hourly – no, wait, minute-ly basis. I seriously think she is having some kind of Mid-Life Crisis. She comes out in public in her running gear to pick me up from stuff (and it shows off ALL her wobbly bits) and she insists on talking in what she thinks is some weird “down-with-the-kids” kind of language in front of my friends,’ I said. ‘She is too old to behave like this.’
‘Ellie, stop it!’ Mads said. ‘You’re being harsh. Your family are lovely. Look at the gorgeous birthday present they got you.’
Oh yes: the ‘gorgeous birthday present’, which was actually something Charlie had always wanted, not me. The ‘gorgeous birthday present’ which I was apparently now responsible for, especially when it caused havoc and mess which required me to clean up after it.
‘The kitten, you mean?’ I said.
‘Kitkat, yes,’ said Mads. ‘What a lovely idea of Charlie’s. I wish I was allowed a pet,’ she added with a sigh.
I am not going to lie: Mads’s mum is borderline OCD. There is a complete ban on pets in their house. There is a complete ban on a lot of things actually, which is why Mads practically lives round at ours.
At least her mum dresses like a mum, acts like a mum and talks like a mum. Unlike mine.
‘Yeah, well, as far as the kitten goes, I would say “Be my guest”, but I suppose your mum would freak if you took Kitkat home,’ I said.
‘You bet.’ Mads nodded vigorously. ‘Where is he today, by the way? I haven’t given him a snuggle yet.’
As if on cue, there was a loud, protesting ‘Raoooow’ from Charlie’s room, followed by my brother screaming my name.
‘ELLLIEEEEE! GET KITKAT OUT OF HERE!’
‘Not again,’ I groaned. I pushed myself up out of the beanbag and made my way to my brother’s room with Mads following close behind.
Charlie was standing in the middle of his bedroom, crying. ‘He’s got Mumbles,’ he blubbed.
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Mads leaped into action and grabbed Kitkat, who was, sure enough, in the hamster’s cage, an evil glint in his eye as he held the tiny rodent down with one white paw.
Mumbles gave a squeak of relief and rushed to the safety of his wheel.
‘Charlie,’ I said slowly. ‘You weren’t filming them again, were you?’
My brother miraculously stopped crying and swiftly hid his hands behind his back. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Oh yeah?’ I narrowed my eyes: I had already spotted his camera.
His face went red. ‘OK, yes,’ he admitted. ‘But I didn’t think Kitkat would try and actually kill Mumbles. I only wanted a shot of him stalking Mumbles. I was going to send it in to SpringWatchLive—’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ I cried. ‘Just keep the cat out of the hamster’s cage and go and film some . . . sparrows or something.’
Mads was tactfully backing out of the room with the wriggling kitten in her arms. His black and white tail was swishing and his right eye was flashing dangerously from within its pirate-patch splodge.
‘See what I have to put up with?’ I said to Mads, once we were back in the safety of my room. ‘Dad doesn’t help either. He always tells me to be patient and that Charlie’s just “going through a phase”, and then makes one of his lame jokes.’ I gritted my teeth. ‘How come I am never
allowed to “go through a phase”? I think I’ll have an Early-Teen Crisis – that’ll teach them!’
Mads was laughing again. ‘This kitten is sooooo wriggly!’ Then she looked up and saw my face. ‘Oh boy. You do need cheering up. Come on,’ she said, putting Kitkat down. ‘Let’s go and watch some telly. It’s The Cake Off in five minutes. That’ll stop you frowning, Gloomilla.’
‘All right,’ I sighed. ‘Let’s bags the sofa before Charlie realizes it’s on.’
I do love The Cake Off. Charlie does as well, unfortunately, which means I usually end up watching it with him giving me a running commentary on everything, trying to guess who is going to win and how long it will take before Pete Jollyspoon complains about another ‘soggy bottom’. (That’s usually when Dad comes in and makes jokes about ‘rock hard buns’ as well. Oh, how we laugh. Not.)
I think the reason Charlie and I love the programme so much is because our own parents are utterly useless at baking. Or any kind of cooking, come to that. Dad thinks he can cook. He is always telling us that his ‘speciality’ is cooked breakfasts. I’m not sure about ‘speciality’, but they are certainly ‘special’: burnt bacon, rubbery eggs, bouncy pancakes, and sausages that are so overdone you could use them as weapons of mass destruction – which is what it feels like they are doing to your insides if you try to eat them.
We tiptoed past Charlie’s room, down the stairs and into the sitting room, with Kitkat padding softly after us.
‘I’m serious, Mads. I can’t carry on like this. I need a plan to spice up my life,’ I said, while I fiddled with the TV remote.
‘Like what?’ said Mads. She plonked herself on the sofa.
‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘I just wish something exciting would happen to me. Life is so boring. School, homework, annoying little brother, irritating parents, pain-in-the-neck kitten— KITKAT! Get down from there!’ I lunged at the kitten who was having one of his funny five minutes, leaping from tabletop to mantelpiece and now on to the TV, causing it to wobble dangerously.
‘Come here,’ Mads said. She patted the cushion next to her. ‘It’s already started.’
I grabbed Kitkat and sat down, holding him on my lap to stop him from escaping.
The presenters Sam and Sid were talking.
‘. . . and if you are under sixteen and brilliant at baking why not enter one of the special regional Cake Off episodes which are helping to raise money for the very worthy charity, SportsFundUK? We’re looking at applications right now. You can apply online. Just find your regional area on the map, click on it and follow the links.’
‘Wow!’ Mads breathed.
‘Yes, so if you’re a kid who likes to “use your loaf” in the kitchen,’ said Sid, with a wink, ‘why not give it a whirl?’
‘A walnut whirl?’ said Sam.
‘Why not?’ said Sid. ‘Although we don’t want any “nutters” on the show.’
‘There’s not “mushroom” for any more of those with you around,’ said Sam.
‘Oh, you are such a fun-gi,’ said Sid. ‘FUN GUY – fungi. Geddit?’
I groaned. ‘Their jokes are even worse than Dad’s!’
‘Ellie,’ said Mads. ‘ELLIE!’ She grabbed my arm and shook it. I looked at her and saw that her eyes were shining. ‘Don’t you think that’s the answer to everything?’
‘Eh?’
‘This,’ she said, pointing at the TV. ‘It’s the perfect plan for making your life more exciting. And mine!’
‘Hisssssss!’ Kitkat had started trying to escape.
‘Ow!’ I cried. ‘Don’t stick your claws into my legs!’
Kitkat hissed again and jumped on to Mads instead, where he rubbed his head against her hand and settled down calmly.
‘Aww,’ she cooed, stroking the kitten’s fluffy white back. ‘Kitkat thinks it’s a great plan too.’
‘What are you on about?’ I asked, feeling cross that ‘my’ kitten seemed to prefer my best mate to me.
Mads sighed. ‘I knew you weren’t listening,’ she said. She nodded at the screen. ‘This Junior Cake Off – I reckon we should enter. That really would “spice” up your life . . . geddit?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re as bad as Sam Parkins – and Dad, come to that! You’ll be “cracking bad yolks” next.’
‘I’m not joking, though, I’m serious,’ she replied. ‘This is just what we need. Both of us! I’m going to do it, anyway. Oh, come on, Ells! Let’s do it together. It’ll be awesome.’ She began bouncing up and down on the sofa. Kitkat didn’t sink his claws into her, I noticed. ‘Why don’t we go and apply right now?’ she said. ‘Pretty please?’ she added, pulling a face which made her look like more of a cute kitten than the real one sitting on her lap.
The trouble with Mads is, her enthusiasm is as infectious as chickenpox: all it took was that glint in her eye, and I was hooked. Every time.
‘Yes!’ I agreed.
One tiny word. One split-second decision. If only I had known what I had let myself in for.
It’s ironic, I know, but Mads is literally the only non-mad thing in my life. Although she can also be kind of crazy – but in a good, fun way.
Trust me, I have a million examples I could share with you. Like the time she suggested we swap clothes and pretend to be each other, to fool Charlie when he was little. It didn’t work, mainly because we look nothing like each other: Mads has long dark hair and I have a short, blonde crop; Mads is feminine and petite and all arms and legs, and I am quite tall for my age and, shall we say, of bigger build. I have been known to be referred to as ‘laddie’ by visually impaired old ladies. No one would ever say that to Mads. So you could say that I was a tad squished when I wore Mads’s clothes, whereas she positively floated inside mine. Which basically meant even six-year-old Charlie was not fooled by our identity-swap one little bit. All in all, not the most intelligent of plans. But fun. Good, crazy fun.
That’s the thing with Mads: she will always come up with a bonkers idea which will cheer me up when I need cheering most (and possibly, in some cases, make me snort so hard with laughter that stuff comes out of my nose).
‘This is the craziest of all your crazy plans, Mads,’ I said as we made our way upstairs to the study. ‘We should think about this properly, though. I’m not sure I’m the best candidate for The Cake Off, even if it is for kids.’
‘Miiaooooow!’
‘Cute – Kitkat’s coming to help us,’ Mads said, ignoring me. She scrunched her face up into the dopey expression that all people seem to use when they think about kittens. (All people except me, that is.) She bent down to talk to Kitkat. ‘You think this is a great plan, don’t you kitty-cat?’
‘Raaoow?’
‘Let’s keep him out of here,’ I said, glancing around the study. ‘There’s too much stuff he could ruin.’
‘Awwwww!’ said Mads. She dropped to her knees and began scratching under the kitten’s chin. ‘Little puss-puss,’ she cooed. ‘You wouldn’t be so naughty, would you?’
‘Mads, I’m telling you. He is a psycho cat. He has this insane split personality: one minute he’s purry and gorgeous, the next his eyes have gone all I’m-going-to-put-an-evil-spell-on-you, and he’s shredding my best T-shirt. He has scratched my bedroom door to bits and just last week I caught him with one of my old dolls doing something unspeakable to its hair.’ I shuddered at the memory. ‘I don’t think we should let him in here. He might chew my parents’ important work stuff or something.’
‘It’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on him,’ said Mads distractedly. She had already logged on to The Cake Off website and was clicking her way through to the link for the application form for our region.
I gave up trying to talk to her and pulled up a chair. Then I eyeballed Kitkat. ‘Just make sure you behave,’ I muttered.
‘Meeooow?’ said Kitkat. He was sitting on a stool behind us, his head on one side and his glass-blue eyes wide and innocent in his most appealing pose.
It’s all an act, I
promise you.
I turned my back on him and focused on the web page Mads was poring over.
THE CHARITY JUNIOR CAKE OFF
The Cake Off team are filming a series of special one-off episodes of a junior version of the show. As well as encouraging kids to have a go at baking (and maybe give the adult contestants a run for their money!) the show will be raising funds for the wee-known and well-deserving charity, SportsFundUK.
Do you love baking? Are you potty about pies and pastry? Bonkers about bread? Get in touch right now! World-famous bakers Milly Barry and Pete Jollyspoon are waiting to judge your skills and potential.
You need to be aged between 11 and 16 years old . . .
Mads had already begun typing in our names and addresses.
‘Hang on a minute, I don’t know about this, Mads,’ I said. ‘ “Love baking”? Not really. “Potty about pies”? Only if I’m eating someone else’s . . .’
‘Oh, please! It’ll be wild. I love baking—’
‘Yeah, but I don’t. I can barely make cereal!’
‘We’ll do it together. I’ll teach you,’ Mads pleaded. ‘It’s just a “one-off episode” after all. They won’t make us do all the things the adults have to do in the main show. And it’s for “charidy”,’ she added in a silly voice. ‘How can you resist?’
She was still typing frantically as she spoke. She has always been better at multi-tasking than me.
‘Plus you said you wanted to spice up your life,’ she went on. ‘And anyway, you are dead artistic; there’s loads you can do that I can’t. I can bake, yeah, but I can’t do all that fancy decorating business you have to do on The Cake Off. Together we will be the Dream Team: me the cook, you the arty one!’
To be fair, art is one of my few talents.
I grinned. ‘Okaaaay . . .’
‘You’ll be amazing at all the creative stuff,’ Mads continued. She was still typing. Boy, could she type fast. ‘I reckon you could make the best Show Piece cake ever.’
I could feel the cogs in my brain whirring already as I thought about the Show Pieces I had seen on the programme. I would love to get my hands on one of those gingerbread houses. It would be so much fun designing the decorations . . .
