A Spoonful Of Sugar: A Novella. Kerry Barrett
Because that was the other thing about Harry and me. We were both witches. Just like our mums, and Eva – and my toddler daughter Clemmie, which was already proving to be a bit of a headache. But unlike Harry and the rest of my family, I wasn’t massively enthusiastic about witchcraft. I used it when I really had to – why clean the bathroom by hand? – but I wasn’t casting spells left, right and centre like the rest of them were.
I was fairly sure that Harry had used her magical skills of persuasion to get the producers to let us enter the competition at this late stage and probably to get them to hold the bloody thing in Claddach too.
Harry grinned at me.
‘It doesn’t matter how I did it,’ she said. ‘All that matters is we start filming next weekend.’
‘I’m busy next weekend actually,’ I said, sulking. ‘I’ve got things to do. We need to paint the baby’s room.’
Harry waved her hand as if that was a minor inconvenience.
‘You’ve got ages before the baby comes,’ she said.
‘And I can’t bake,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t be in the competition.’
‘They always have two local contestants,’ Harry said.
‘I can’t bake,’ I said again. ‘Just because you’re a bloody domestic goddess nowadays, you can’t assume everyone is.’
Harry laughed.
‘I’m not a domestic goddess but, yes, I can bake because I learned. And so can you.’
‘Not by next weekend,’ I wailed.
‘Oh we’ll sort it out,’ Harry said vaguely.
‘With magic?’ I was hopeful Harry could fix this, even if I couldn’t.
‘Erm, not really,’ Harry said.
‘Not really?’
‘Not at all.’
My jaw dropped.
‘What do you mean not at all?’
‘No magic allowed, I’m afraid,’ Harry said. ‘You know as well as I do that we can’t bake with magic – it just doesn’t work.’
‘What’s the point of entering then?’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Well, it’s fun, isn’t it?’ said Harry. ‘And it’s nice for us all to get together.’
I put my head in my hands.
‘So how does it work?’ I said, dreading the answer.
‘They’re putting up a big marquee on the shores of the loch, right by the café,’ Harry said. ‘It’s going to be amazing. There will be ovens and fridges and mixers and everything we could possibly need inside there.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘It’s every weekend for six weeks – someone gets knocked out each weekend.’
‘I’ll be out first,’ I said, cheering up a bit. ‘So it’ll only be one weekend really.’
Harry shook her head at my lack of focus.
‘Anyway,’ she carried on. ‘Each week concentrates on a different aspect of baking. We do two challenges and the judges taste them and decide who’s going through to the next round and who isn’t. It’ssimple.’
‘Simple?’ I said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Simple.’
‘What’s the first week?’
‘Spongecakes,’said Harry. ‘Easy bloody peasy.’
‘Fine,’ I said, perking up at the thought of scoffing cake for days on end. ‘I’ll do some practice this week. Are you taking the kids?’
Harry and her wife Louise had twins – Fiona and Finlay – who were three years old, adorable, and, in my opinion, out of control.
‘No way,’ she said. ‘Louise will be fine at home with them. Jamie can look after Clemmie on his own, can’t he? She’s no trouble.’
I wasn’t so sure about that, not now my cute Clemmie had started experimenting with her new-found witching skills. But the thought of an unbroken night’s sleep was too good to resist.
‘He’ll love it,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘Are you trembling?’ Harry looked at my hands in suspicion. ‘You are, you’re all shaky.’
‘I’m nervous,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been on television before, I can’t bake, I’m too fat to do up my own shoelaces and, altogether, this is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done.’
Harry gave me a look that suggested I’d just grown an extra head.
‘It’s going to be fun,’ she said.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s just my idea of fun is normally very different from yours. Can we drive down? I’m not walking.’
We had arrived in Claddach, the tiny town where we’d grown up, super-early that morning after driving up in Harry’s car. The competition was taking place down in the town, on the shores of the loch and close to Mum’s cafe. I was keen to see what it would be like after Harry’s talk of marquees and what not. We’d not seen anything yet as the road from Edinburgh skirted Claddach itself and wound up into the Cairngorms where our house was perched in the foothills and where we now stood, contemplating the road in front of us.
It was a beautiful day but the walk into Claddach was pretty steep and I knew that while I might manage to waddle down the slope, the chances of me waddling back up again were slim.
I sighed heavily and stuck my bump out, and Harry rolled her eyes.
‘Okay, fatso,’ she said. She beeped the car doors and I, rather inelegantly, wedged myself into the passenger seat.
‘So what should I expect?’ I asked as Harry pulled out on to the main road.
‘Nothing fancy,’ she said. ‘There’s going to be the marquee, like I said but, honestly, it’s all going to be fairly understated. It’s not the X Factor.’
‘So it’s just a fun way of promoting Claddach?’ I asked, hoping for reassurance. ‘No pressure?’
‘No pressure,’ Harry said, glancing at me as she turned off the main road into Claddach centre. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s a tiny show on a tiny channel – it’s not a big set-up.’
She indicated, then spun the wheel to go round the corner into the lane that led to the café. I was thrown forward as she slammed on the brakes.
‘Harry!’ I said in annoyance, giving her a filthy look. But she wasn’t listening.
‘Oh. My. God,’ she breathed. ‘Oh. My. God.’
I looked up from adjusting my seatbelt over my bump.
‘Ohhhhh,’ I said, horrified.
This was no small set-up. This was huge.
It was a gorgeous June day and Claddach was at her most stunning. The inky-black waters of the loch were, for once, a deep blue, the sky was bright with sunshine and tiny puffs of cloud skipped along in the breeze. On the distant hills gorse burned vibrant yellow, and the trees shone their greenest green. It would have been quite a view anyway, but add Britain Bakes to the mix and it took my breath away.
A beautiful white marquee billowed on the shores of the loch, close to the cafe, like the sails