The Great Kitten Cake Off

by Anna Wilson

  I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Milly tutted. ‘Take no notice, Ellie dear. Now, you two . . .’ She turned to Georgie and Ravi. ‘Tell us a bit about yourselves too.’

  ‘Baking’s not about personalities,’ Pete grumbled.

  Milly ignored him. ‘Now then, what about you, dear?’ she asked Georgie.

  Georgie swished her hair and gushed that she had been baking ‘ever since I could hold a wooden spoon’.

  Liar, I thought.

  Ravi said he had watched his parents and grandparents cook all his life and had ‘drawn inspiration’ from them.

  Sam sidled up to me. ‘You’re looking a bit peaky, kiddo,’ he whispered. ‘Not thinking of throwing in the tea towel over a couple of comments from Pete, are you?’

  I shrugged.

  Georgie and Ravi seemed so cool and collected. I thought I must be the only person in the room feeling so wobbly I might as well have entered myself in the competition as a Show Piece Jelly.

  ‘OK, everyone ready?’ said a technician. ‘Cameras stand by . . .’

  I watched as immediately Milly, Pete, Sid and Sam seemed to switch on their Television Faces: they were so alert they looked as though they were about to run a race and were waiting for a starter gun to fire.

  ‘. . . and three . . . two . . . one, you’re on!’

  ‘Hello! Welcome to this special SportsFundUK edition of The Great Junior Cake Off!’ said Sam. ‘Today we are in the South-West of England. Three lovely young bakers have been selected from hundreds of applicants across the region and we’re sure they’re going to knock our socks off with their baking skills, so get phoning and donate as much money as you can for this excellent good cause!’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Sid. ‘And today’s special episode is going to be even more exciting than usual, as we have a surprise star guest coming to help with the judging after the Show Piece round!’ he added.

  ‘Woooooo!’ shouted Sam. ‘So it sounds like these talented kids have everything to bake for, Sid?’

  ‘They certainly do,’ Sid agreed. ‘I reckon we shouldn’t waste any more of their valuable time. Are you ready, bakers? Are you steady, bakers? . . . Then, what are you waiting for . . .?’

  He paused then shouted, ‘BAAAKE!’

  We had to do three different recipes. The first round was ‘Individual Party Cakes’. Ted and I had practised macarons for this as Ted reckoned Milly and Pete would be impressed by a traditional French recipe. ‘They are sophisticated,’ he had told me. ‘And The Cake Off loves sophisticated.’

  I had made them so many times by now that I felt I could probably do them in my sleep. For the show I had gone for a pistachio recipe, as the colour was so amazing – a bright pea green. Ted had taught me how to make a scrumptious ganache filling flavoured with more pistachios. They came out pretty well, though I say so myself.

  I wished Ted was there to reassure me. I couldn’t even text him as we had been asked to hand in our phones to security when we arrived so that we couldn’t cheat.

  Pete and Milly had us bring our creations up to the table in the middle of the Tepee. I watched as Ravi and Georgie went ahead of me. They looked so pleased with themselves. I prayed that I wouldn’t trip over on my way to the table and send my macarons flying.

  ‘What a talented bunch you are,’ said Milly. She smiled encouragingly as I set my plate down.

  ‘We haven’t tasted anything yet,’ said Pete.

  Milly took no notice of him and picked up a slice of Ravi’s raspberry and almond traybake. ‘These look delicious,’ she said. ‘Raspberry and almond is always a favourite with me.’ She took a bite and made appreciative noises. ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘Very moist, and you’ve got the combination of flavours just right.’

  That’s it, I thought. Ravi is going to win this . . .

  But Pete was pulling a face as he chewed. ‘Hmmm, a bit too moist for my liking. I would say this is a little underbaked.’ He picked up another slice and turned it over, giving it a good prod. ‘See how my finger sinks in here?’ he said.

  Poor Ravi’s face had fallen. He nodded.

  ‘Pete doesn’t like a soggy bottom,’ Sid said to camera.

  Pete glowered. ‘Our star judge won’t be impressed if this is the best you can do,’ he said. ‘The edges of your traybake are cooked, but the middle slices are not.’

  Ravi picked up his plate and went slowly back to his work station.

  ‘Never mind, dear,’ said Milly. ‘I loved it.’

  Sam patted him on the shoulder as he walked past.

  Pete turned to Georgie. ‘Let’s see if you’ve done any better with your cupcakes. Talk us through them, please.’

  Georgie beamed. ‘These are an invention of mine,’ she said with pride. ‘I call them Volcano Cakes.’

  Invention of Mads’s, more like, I thought. They sounded like the kind of over-the-top crazy idea Mads would have.

  Pete was looking doubtful. ‘I hope they’re not going to erupt in my mouth,’ he said. ‘So, how does this work?’ He picked up a small jug of sauce which Georgie had placed next to her cupcakes. ‘The cakes have a hole in the middle, so I’m guessing that is where the sauce goes?’ he asked.

  Georgie nodded. ‘Yes. Just pour it in, stand back and see what happens.’ She stuck her chin in the air defiantly.

  Pete’s expression hardened. ‘We aren’t in a chemistry lab, young lady.’

  ‘Chill, Pete!’ said Sid. ‘Cooking is chemistry.’

  ‘Yes, look at the chemistry between you and Milly,’ added Sam, in a nudge-nudge-wink-wink voice. Milly laughed.

  I wished I could laugh too, but all I could think of was that I hoped the cakes would be an epic fail. I know that was mean, but they looked so impressive next to my boring old macarons.

  Milly took a dramatic step back as Pete poured the contents of the jug slowly into the hole in the centre of one cupcake.

  Nothing happened.

  Georgie’s proud smile wavered.

  ‘Good job this isn’t your Show Piece,’ said Pete. ‘It’s hardly what I would call impress— Oh!’

  The cake erupted violently and the red sauce burst out in an arc, splattering the front of Pete’s blue shirt.

  Milly hid her mouth with her hand, but I had already caught her giggling. Sam and Sid bit their lips and tried not to smirk. Sam handed him a cloth.

  Pete grimaced. ‘Well, I hope they taste good,’ he said, brushing at his shirt with the cloth. He picked up the cake, which did look like a very realistic mini volcano by now with red lava-like sauce trickling down its sides.

  I held my breath as Pete bit into it.

  He reacted much the way Georgie had done to the Toothpaste Muffins: immediately spitting out his mouthful into his hands.

  Reeling back from the table, coughing and spluttering, he said, ‘They are DISGUSTING! What did you put in them?’

  Georgie looked as though she wanted to run. For a moment, I actually felt sorry for her.

  Sam leaped to her defence, putting a protective arm around her. ‘Come on Pete, don’t be so mean. The girl said they were explosive cakes – they’ve done what it said on the tin.’

  ‘You have to give her credit for style and originality,’ Milly added. ‘Although –’ she looked apologetic – ‘I don’t think I’ll be tasting one.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. They taste like acid!’ Pete cried. He wiped furiously at his mouth as if to erase the taste.

  Georgie was bright red. ‘I think that might be the vinegar,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You mix it with baking soda to get the explosion. I thought the raspberry juice would make it taste sweet—’

  ‘VINEGAR? In a CAKE?’ Pete exclaimed.

  Sam hurriedly pushed my plate of macarons towards him. ‘Let’s see what Ellie has done,’ he said.

  Georgie slunk behind Sid as though wishing she could become invisible.

  Now it was my turn before the firing squad. What if I had a nightmare, too? Pete was to
o busy fussing with his shirt to bother even looking at my creations, though.

  Milly was looking encouraging. ‘Cheer up,’ she said. ‘It’s the cakes we are eating, not you.’ She picked up the smoothest macaron and inspected it. ‘The shape is perfect and you have not overfilled it, either,’ she said. ‘Pistachio is a favourite of mine.’ She took a bite. ‘Delicious!’ she cried, once she had finished her mouthful. ‘So sweet and light. These would look just wonderful on the table at a party. Very sophisticated.’

  I could not help smiling. Ted would love that comment!

  ‘So, bakers,’ said Sam, stepping forward to hide Georgie who was having a bit of a meltdown now. ‘Let’s get ready for the next round while Pete cleans himself up.’ He made a show of backing away from Pete as if he was a dangerous wild animal, but winked at us as he did so.

  The next round was more straightforward, as we all had to bake a Victoria Sandwich. I had certainly had enough practice with this. After I had spectacularly failed on my first attempt at home, I had told Ted what I had done and he had roared with laughter.

  ‘You put cream in with the eggs and sugar?’ he said. ‘What on earth made you think of that?’

  ‘The recipe said “cream together the eggs and sugar”,’ I explained.

  Ted shook his head. ‘You numpty. That is a cookery phrase which means that you beat the eggs and sugar together until they make a creamy mixture.’

  It was at that point that Ted had realized I really did know nothing about baking, so following the Pavlova disaster, he had gone right back to basics and explained everything very, very clearly.

  I now knew that the key to the perfect ‘Vicky Sponge’, as Ted called it, was to weigh the eggs in their shells and then weigh out equal quantities of flour, sugar and butter. This was a fail-safe method which even ‘numpties’ like me could make work every time.

  Luckily for me, Milly Barry was impressed with this method. ‘I must say, that is a very old-fashioned way of baking. I can say that because it’s the one I always use,’ she confided.

  Poor Ravi had a second round of ‘soggy bottom’ complaints from Pete, and Georgie’s cake was pronounced ‘over-baked’. Milly, however, complained that Pete was being far too hard on them.

  ‘Atleast they taste good,’ Pete admitted grudgingly.

  The comments on my cake were better than the rest, although Pete could not resist saying it had a ‘slightly dense crumb’.

  I should have felt more confident by the end of this round, but Georgie was shooting me such evils, and we still hadn’t met the mysterious ‘star judge’ yet, either. Who could it be? I still had to bake the Show Piece, and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I hoped the secret guest would be kind like Milly and not another tough guy like Pete.

  ‘The next and final round is the one we’ve all been waiting for,’ Sid announced. ‘But before we start, I think we all need a bit of a rest. Bakers – let’s have a cuppa and put our feet up. Follow me!’

  We trooped out of the Tepee and into a smaller marquee, which was just as colourful and jolly. A table was laid with cups and saucers, plates and cake forks and a couple of large, steaming teapots.

  ‘This is my favourite bit,’ cooed Sam, licking his lips as he scanned the table which had been laid with our cakes from the first two rounds. ‘Tuck in, everyone!’

  I couldn’t eat a thing. I watched as the camera crew and sound technicians dived into the display. They made appreciative noises, devouring what we had made (although everyone avoided the Volcano Cakes, I noticed). I looked at Georgie, who was trying her best to seem as though she didn’t care, but it didn’t help that Pete was still muttering about the explosion to one of the crew.

  ‘If I had wanted a demonstration on how to make molten lava, I would have gone to the Science Museum,’ I heard him mutter.

  I decided I should do the right thing and try to cheer Georgie up. She might have made my life hell over the past few weeks, but we were in this together now. I walked over to where she was standing.

  ‘Don’t know about you,’ I said, ‘but if I don’t see another cake ever again, it will be too soon.’

  ‘That’s OK for you to say,’ she spat. ‘Milly loved your macarons and your sponge.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘But there’s still the Show Piece round to go. And I intend to win. This is my big chance to prove to Mum and Dad that it isn’t only my precious twin brother who can be brilliant. I am not letting anything – or anyone – get in my way.’ Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the marquee.

  ‘Hey! Where are you going?’ I called out.

  ‘To give myself a break,’ she said over her shoulder.

  As I watched her leave, I suddenly realized I knew exactly how she felt. I was doing this partly because my brother always got the attention in the family, too.

  If anyone had asked me even a day ago if I wanted to win this competition, I would have laughed and said that I only wanted to get through it without making a fool of myself.

  But now that I had spent so many hours practising and practising to get everything right, I knew it mattered to me more than anything to win. I felt exactly as Georgie did: it was time for me to get some attention for once.

  We went back into the Tepee, all of us very subdued now. Sam and Pete were doing their best to cheer us up with silly comments about Pete’s ‘silver fox’ hair and how he and Milly should be married.

  None of us reacted to the banter: we were all far too focused on the task ahead.

  ‘OK, bakers? All refreshed and ready for the final round?’ asked Sid.

  We nodded and muttered, ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Sound a bit more enthusiastic, can’t you?’ crowed Sam.

  ‘YES!’ we shouted.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for . . . BAKE!’ Sid yelled.

  And we were off!

  I started laying out all the ingredients I needed for my Show Piece.

  Black roll-out royal icing – check.

  White icing – check.

  Ingredients for cake itself – check.

  I then looked for my crib sheets to turn to the instructions that Ted and I had written down. Everything I needed to know was on those sheets of paper: how to make the cakes, how to cut them to make my design, how to decorate them, the timings for each stage.

  They weren’t there.

  I scrabbled furiously through the remaining things in the bag and ended up turning the contents out on to the floor. I riffled through the items, my hands shaking, panic taking over my whole body. Where were the sheets of paper? I had had them for the two previous recipes. This was a disaster! I needed my drawings for the design, my time sheet, the recipe for the cakes I needed to make, and now I couldn’t find them anywhere!

  I gestured to Sam to come over, telling myself to stay calm and that I would quietly ask him if anyone had been near my stuff.

  There was a niggling doubt in the back of my mind: what if someone had tried to sabotage my Show Piece on purpose? Surely not. No one would think to look for those sheets of paper, would they? Maybe a member of the crew had tidied them away while we were having tea?

  The minute I saw Sam coming towards me, I thought of Georgie leaving the tea tent. What had she said? That she needed to ‘give herself a break’. I had thought she’d meant that she needed some air. What if she had meant something different? That she needed to give herself a lucky break – by stealing my crib sheet?

  I groaned and put my head in my hands. What could I do? I couldn’t accuse her of stealing on camera. What if I was wrong? I would look like an idiot. A lying, mean-spirited idiot.

  I closed my eyes and tried hard to remember the instructions Ted and I had written together, putting all my energy into recalling his advice and the things he had said when we were baking together.

  ‘What’s up, kiddo?’ asked Sam. ‘You’ve got everything to play for now, you know—’

  ‘I can’t do this,’ I blurted out.

  Sam immediately put his b
ack firmly towards the camera, which was panning round, filming all of us. ‘Is this one of those moments where I have to throw a jumper over you or start swearing to make sure this bit doesn’t make it to the final cut?’ he said quietly. ‘Because if it is, don’t worry. We’ve been there before – disasters happen on this show all the time. You won’t be the first.’

  ‘I bet I’m the first to have lost their recipe notes,’ I said. I swallowed hard. There was no way I was going to be one of those losers who cried on telly.

  Sam beamed. ‘Oh, is that all? Don’t worry about that. My infamous hypnotherapy techniques will bring back your memory, no problem.’ His face became suddenly very serious and he waved a hand in front of my face, saying, ‘Look into my eyes, look deep into my eyes . . . in a moment you will fall asleep and when you wake up, you will remember your recipe . . .’

  ‘What are you up to now, Sam?’ It was Sid who had come to see what was going on.

  ‘Shh! Can’t you see I’m hypnotizing Ellie, here?’ said Sam.

  ‘No you’re not. You’re being an A-grade loony,’ said Sid.

  ‘Even hypnotism can’t help me now,’ I said. I took a deep shuddery breath. ‘I’ve lost my crib sheet for my Show Piece.’

  Sid put an arm around me and said, ‘You know what you need to do? You need to GET A GRIP, my friend!’ He laughed for the benefit of the camera. ‘Seriously, though. I’m sure you’ve practised this a million times, haven’t you?’

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  ‘OK,’ said Sid, sounding business-like. ‘So talk me through it. What do you have to do first?’

  ‘I – I have to make two sponges,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Good,’ said Sam. ‘We know you can make a super-duper sponge, so you get cracking with that. Ha! Get cracking – with the eggs! See what I did there?’

  I smiled in spite of myself. ‘You are just like my dad,’ I said.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sam with a dramatic grimace. ‘Dad humour is seriously bad.’

  ‘This is not the time for rotten yolks!’ said Sid.