The Heavenly Baker

by J J Monroe

  The spark of the match, the hiss and fizz as the friction against the side of the matchbox causes it to ignite – I feel it now as my sex sparks and ignites and the contractions begin and the sensations build. It is the great wave that the surfers wait patiently out on the water for, bobbing like so many seals out in the swells, until it appears on the horizon and they take their place in the line-up, paddling hard, paddling true until the wave catches and they are away, carried along on a wave of energy and euphoria. I feel the euphoria surge through me as my orgasm builds and breaks, cling to Matt as he thrusts into me, his cock reacting to the contractions that emanate from my core, feel him spasm and splurge, but I am denied the sensation of his come inside me, and momentarily I am disappointed. But the feeling is fleeting as a numbing bliss settles over me. I close my eyes and let the numbness take over.

  I smile. I sigh. Eventually I open my eyes to …

  A scene of utter carnage.

  ‘Oops!’ I murmur.

  ‘Call the police,’ whispers Matt. ‘I think you’ve been burgled.’ He smiles.

  I can’t help but laugh. Nothing else matters when he is with me.

  Chapter Ten – Competition Face On

  I wonder if this is how cardiac arrest feels. My heart is beating off the scale and it concerns me that it might actually explode out of my chest, Alien-style. Now that would be a television moment that would be picked up to run for eternity on YouTube.

  Matt is running through last-minute script changes with the writers as the make-up girls flit around us like butterflies. I should be mentally running through my preparations for our first bake-off, but it is a struggle to tear my eyes away from him and focus on the job in hand. Thinking of jobs in hand; Matt’s cock in my hand would be a stress relief – or maybe his cock somewhere else?

  Stop it! Concentrate, foolish girl, or this gilt-edged opportunity will be over before it has begun and then you will have to face the wrath of Carly.

  ‘Hey, how are you?’ A familiar face breaks me out of my thoughts.

  ‘I’m OK, I think,’ I reply, immediately warmed by Laura’s smile.

  ‘You’ll be killer,’ she whispers, squeezing my arm encouragingly.

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t feel killer. The others are brilliant. I feel like I’m here to make up the numbers.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ scoffs Laura. ‘The competition is yours for the taking.’

  ‘I doubt that!’

  She smiles again. ‘That’s right. Matt did warn me that you weren’t good with pressure.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘What’s your definition of pressure?’ asks Laura. ‘Baking to order for your array of customers sounds like pressure to me.’

  ‘I don’t see it like that,’ I admit.

  ‘So it’s really a question of interpretation, then. See this as an opportunity to show off your baking skills and nothing more. And if the judges ask you to come back next week then that’s a bonus.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.’

  ‘Why can’t you see it?’ she asks.

  ‘Matt asked me the same question in the pub the first time I came to London. It’s not that I’m arrogant or fishing for compliments; I just don’t see it.’

  ‘I know you don’t see how amazing you are, but you will,’ Laura assures me. ‘The television coverage is alien to you, but it doesn’t have to be. You’re just baking for people, the thing you’ve been doing all your life. It’s the thing you love to do.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So remember that.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘It’s important that you do because I, for one, don’t want to see you go home early.’

  ‘Thank you, Laura.’

  ‘Thank you, Ava.’

  ‘What have I done?’ I ask.

  ‘I haven’t seen him this happy for months.’

  ‘But he’s always happy, isn’t he?’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ admits Laura. ‘He’s just very good at hiding it.’

  I didn’t know that but I do now.

  Let the games begin.

  Interview after interview and an interminable amount of waiting around and I’m starting to get the feeling that this television business isn’t for me. I duck out to visit the bathroom, just to collect my thoughts and get a handle on this newfound madness that has suddenly become my life, and I’m walking down corridors I really don’t know, trying to mind my own business.

  ‘Hey, gorgeous, you’re not thinking about leaving, are you?’

  Before I can answer he takes me by the hand and sweeps me into his body, kissing me with those lips I have been lusting after all morning before dragging me into a cupboard.

  ‘Well, this is romantic!’ I murmur.

  ‘This is television, baby,’ Matt whispers. ‘Didn’t they warn you about the glamour?’

  ‘It must have slipped their minds,’ I reply, happy enough to be anywhere with him. ‘I’m trying really hard to be professional and not stare at you the whole time but it’s really hard.’

  ‘It will be in a moment,’ he admits.

  ‘We haven’t got time. But I’m willing to give it a go if you are.’

  ‘You dirty girl!’ he exclaims, mock-surprised.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘But I’m desperate to find out.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ I whisper as he nuzzles my neck and then he breaks free and my neck seems to scream for his imminent return.

  ‘Seriously, how are you?’ He gazes at me intently.

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Yes, honestly.’

  ‘I’m struggling. This world is alien to me and the calibre of the competition is dazzling. I’m so out of my league.’

  He takes my hand in his and raises our hands until he can kiss mine. ‘Don’t think like that. Each of you was chosen on the merits of your baking ability. You’re just as good as the others, but it’s personality that counts. You need to let your personality shine through.’

  ‘What if I can’t? When the cameras are on me, I feel like a rabbit in the headlights.’

  ‘Then take a breath. This is your world. You have baked all your life. I’m not asking you to do anything different, just bake. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘And that’s all I ask of you. OK,’ he says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘You have to go now?’ I ask, pleading with my eyes for him to stay.

  ‘Yes, but I promise to make it up to you later.’

  ‘No one can know, can they?’

  ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘At least not yet, but we can tell them soon.’

  ‘Is that a promise, mister?’

  ‘It is.’ With a lingering kiss, he is gone to his world and I am left alone with my thoughts in a broom cupboard and a nagging feeling that, despite what Matt and Laura think, this world is not for me.

  I can stay here if I want to. No one will find me and then, when I am good and ready, I can slip away and it will be over if that’s what I want. But is it what I want? No. Even though Carly bullied me into doing this, it is only because she knows me too well. She is the wilder part of my psyche, or at least she thinks she is, but I am wild and now is the time to be wild. I want this. I want Matt Richards in my bed and I want the world to understand the simple joy that baking gives. So I will not hide and I will not give into these nerves that gnaw away at me. No, I will fight. I will stand up and be counted and then we will see. Yes, then we will see.

  Chapter Eleven – World Going South

  I really don’t see it coming. One minute my life is stratospheric. The competition is going well – it must be, seeing as I have bluffed my way through the first three weeks and I’m still here – and the chemistry with Matt is off the scale. I’m not one to believe in my own hype, but even I could see how well this is going and that’s when I should have doubled up on security.

  Did I get cocky, because
clearly I have dropped the ball – or maybe she has just plain stolen it right before my very eyes? I should call her the magician because that is what she is. Everyone else calls her Roxy McQueen. You know her. She’s the soap star with the less-than-squeaky-clean image, the one who currently can’t get enough of the Heavenly Baker. My Heavenly Baker, but I’m not sure he can quite remember that currently. I sit and watch her fawn all over him with her pneumatic breasts and come-hither stare and the sorriest excuse for a skirt that I have ever seen. Quite frankly, it’s indecent!

  We finish shooting the segment and I skedaddle. I need air. I’m suffocating, but as I make my break for freedom Laura catches me.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she says.

  ‘You didn’t know what?’ I ask.

  ‘I didn’t know they were going to use Roxy McQueen as a guest presenter. I swear I didn’t!’

  ‘OK. But you’re part of the production team.’

  ‘This decision was made higher up. They see the chemistry between you and Matt and they’re playing on it by introducing Roxy into the mix.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I reply too abruptly. I need to play it cooler than this otherwise the game will be up, but Matt isn’t doing me any favours. He barely looked at me during the whole segment of filming and every time I looked he was bantering with Miss Plastic Tits. It’s just so …

  ‘It’s not fine,’ insists Laura. ‘We can fight it.’

  ‘How can we fight it? If I try to compete with her it makes me look desperate, and if I tell everyone that Matt and I have been sleeping together and I continue further into the competition then the viewers and my fellow contestants will assume it’s a fix because that’s what I’d do. It’s hopeless.’

  ‘Only if you allow it to be,’ counters Laura. ‘We can be subtle about this. The viewing public love you. We can use it to your advantage without making you look desperate. In fact, this could play right into our hands.’

  ‘Why is he doing this?’ I ask. ‘He hasn’t paid me the slightest bit of attention since that trollop arrived.’

  ‘And I thought you said it was fine?’

  ‘I lied.’

  ‘That’s more like it. Leave this with me to ponder a while and I’ll come up with a war strategy.’

  ‘Did you say a war strategy?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Make no mistake, babe, but this is a declaration of war and we’re bang up for it.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Let’s have a little more enthusiasm, shall we?’ requests Laura.

  She has a point. ‘I’ll try,’ I promise.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ she says, and gives me a hug. It is unexpected but I suddenly feel energised. Laura is made from the right stuff.

  The next segment is excruciating, though. Roxy spends her time getting cosy with me and I have to avoid the growing temptation to stab Miss Plastic Tits through the heart with the closest kitchen utensil I have to hand. It’s a struggle but I make it through without blood on my hands. However, it does allow me to witness my enemy at close quarters and I have to admit she is formidable. A pretty girl, no doubt, but add the artificial adjustment to her rack and the sliver of PVC she has somehow slipped her bottom into and it’s tricky to compete against, so I take a deep breath and promise myself that I won’t do it. I won’t lower myself to fight on her level. I will rise above it but it’s so difficult.

  At the earliest opportunity, I slink my way out of the studios. I am so close to freedom when my phone pings.

  Hi. I’m desperate to see you. Come to my dressing room. M x

  With just those few words the weight that has been shackling me is lifted. I dive into the nearest elevator and head back up to see my man. I knock quickly because I don’t want to be seen loitering outside his dressing room and wonder if he has decided to blow the whistle on our secret assignations and announce our relationship to the world, but he doesn’t answer. I daren’t risk knocking any louder so I grip the handle and walk in.

  Déjà vu is such a horrible sensation. It’s happening to me all over again and it feels worse than the first time. It feels so much worse. She has his cock in her hand. She is all over him as he lies underneath her on his couch, her top discarded and her plastic, fantastic breasts just about held in check by a fabulously expensive bra. She looks round with a glint in her eye and not the slightest hint of embarrassment. I expect nothing better from the tramp but what cuts me to the quick is Matt’s behaviour. He never says a word. He doesn’t try to disentangle himself. He doesn’t do anything but lie there.

  I’ve seen enough. More than enough. I’ve seen enough to last me a lifetime. I can’t help the tears. They are unwelcome guests but they accompany me as I flee and nothing and no one is going to stop me. It’s all over now. He’ll never hurt me again.

  The rest is sketchy. Back at my hotel room I just want to curl up and die but a stronger desire overtakes me. I need to be free of this city. I need to feel the sea air in my lungs again. Only when I am home again will I be able to breathe freely so I throw clothes into my bag and check out and it is a small victory and in my head it doesn’t feel like running away. But fate and the gods are not yet finished with me. I’m waiting on the platform for my ride out to freedom when my phone starts to chatter.

  ‘You need to come home, babe!’ Carly says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  I pick up the uncertainty and the confusion in her voice. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your mum asked me to call. She’s at the hospital with your dad.’

  ‘What is it?’ The phone is shaking in my hands and now the world is awash with my tears.

  ‘He’s had a heart attack. He’s in a bad way. You need to get here.’

  ‘I’m coming now!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ whispers Carly.

  I am too. I should never have come to the city. I should never have dreamed so high. There are always consequences.

  On a late-night train no one can see your tears or listen to you crying. It is better this way.

  Carly is waiting for me on the station platform with tears in her eyes. We hug and I hold back from telling her about Matt. He doesn’t matter right now. He is an irrelevance in my life. My dad is all that matters now.

  I try not to think about the possibilities, but despite not wanting to, my mind drifts back to memorable moments in my life and they all include Dad. There is a horrible shadow looming large on everything now. Wherever I look and whomever I meet it is there, hovering above us all.

  My mum is desperately trying to hold it together. My arrival is a blessing and a curse. She cries as we hug and eventually I piece together the story. They were out at a restaurant with friends. Dad complained of feeling hot and then, without warning, he took a tumble, clutching at his chest. There is a blockage which the surgeons feel is necessary to operate. No, they cannot wait long, and yes, there are risks. The surgery is booked in for the following day. He is being managed currently but they need to stabilise him first before they can operate. Tonight is critical. Tomorrow will be equally so. It feels alien. I hear the doctors’ voices but they seem far away, as if filtered through somebody else’s life. This is a movie life. This is not real. They say we can go but they don’t know us. We Michaels aren’t going anywhere.

  Sleep comes in fits and starts. I drift and doze. Images flit by, some real and others imagined. I don’t think about Matt. He is unimportant. Carly sleeps close by. I try to make her go home but she is as much a part of this family as I am. Eventually she will ask about him and I will have to tell her, but not yet. My problems are irrelevant in the scheme of things.

  Morning comes with silent nurses ghosting about the place. Mum is still sleeping. I feel groggy and useless so go in search of a caffeine hit to restore some sort of balance to my body. I take shelter in simple tasks that don’t involve thought. The coffee machine is familiar. I take solace in familiar.

  ‘Are we going to talk about it?’ Carly rubs her eyes and stu
dies me. Very little passes this girl by.

  ‘You mean why he’s not here?’ I say by way of clarification.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He cheated on me. It’s over. I don’t want to ever talk about him again.’

  ‘OK.’ Carly purses her lips. She takes the offered coffee. ‘Thanks.’ Taking a sip, she savours the bitter taste. ‘You know your dad is going to be fine, don’t you? He is a fighter.’

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘You have to believe it.’

  ‘I want to believe it.’

  ‘So believe it,’ insists Carly. ‘If you believe it will happen.’

  I’m not going to argue with her. I need her to be right. The alternative is unthinkable.

  We take our coffees and go back to the room. Mum is still sleeping but a nurse is looking at me.

  ‘Your phone keeps ringing.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ll turn it off.’ As I go to do so I see Matt’s name flash up. He doesn’t make me want to answer it so I turn my phone off. It’s early. Surgery is scheduled for ten o’ clock. My father is stable so the operation will go ahead. The nurse wakes my mother then sends us all home for a few hours. There is nothing we can do and we are making the place look untidy so, unwillingly, we leave.

  Carly drives us home but it feels odd walking into the house without Dad. We all feel it but no one cares to mention it.

  ‘Do you need a ride to your place?’ asks Carly.

  ‘I need more clothes, but I’ll be back soon.’

  It is a little after seven so we agree to meet back at half-past nine. Carly drives me home but doesn’t park up.

  ‘I’m going to shower then come pick you and your mum up and then I’ll go and open up the bakery.’

  ‘You can’t go to work.’

  ‘Someone has to and it can’t be you,’ insists Carly. ‘I’ll go in and make sure things are ticking over and then I’ll come join you at the hospital.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I can feel myself wavering.

  ‘Go,’ says Carly ushering me in. This is not the time to talk about it so I go and fall into bed, but sleep is evasive. There is simply too much to think about.