Bella's Christmas Bake Off (14 page)

‘I can’t,’ came Crimson’s sulky voice from under black hair and make-up.

‘No such thing as can’t – do it.’

‘Err, I can’t add any more – a tweet can only be 140 characters and all the crap about snow in the sunshine is too long even before the hashtag.’

‘Do the tweeting people know it’s me?’

Crimson rolled her eyes; ‘No they don’t, but even if you were Lady Gaga it wouldn’t make any difference – it’s Twitter, one of life’s great levellers. Everyone’s the same; it’s not like one of your elitist restaurants that only serve snail porridge with pig foam to famous people with an income over £10m a year.’ She sighed, exasperated, and picked up her phone again to tweet something. I glanced over to see her brow furrowed, her fingers so fast they were a blur. If I’d been Bella I’d have checked my Twitter feed because the mood Crimson was in God only knows what could be tweeted in Bella’s name. I knew only too well the horrors of that situation – when Year 10 boys hacked into my Twitter I was suddenly following porn stars and tweeting pictures of extravagant genitalia to all my followers. The pictures were profane, the details were unnecessary and the hashtags were probably illegal. Then one of the little darlings showed Mr Jones my ‘online activities’ and he invited me into his office, brandished his phone, showing a close-up of a diamante-studded vagina, and demanded to know if it was mine. Completely unaware I’d been hacked, I called him a disgusting pervert and threatened to report him to the teacher’s union. It took several days and ten therapy sessions for him to untangle that Twitter trauma. And looking at Crimson now, poised to send out her boss’s tweet, one could only imagine the darkness she could unleash online in the name of Bella Bradley.

‘Mon chéri, did I hear you say you dined at Como Lario last night? Love, love, love the osso buco with saffron risotto,’ Tim piped up in an affected Italian accent.

‘No darling... never been, hate bloody Italian... it’s for my twittering,’ Bella frowned.

‘Ohhh.’ Tim was crushed, he’d obviously hoped this would mean an orgasmic bonding with Bella to the exclusion of everyone else over the bloody osso buco, whatever that was.

‘Amy, come and talk to me,’ Bella was now saying as Crimson was dismissed so wandered over to the fridge to help herself to a snack, she was unbelievable. I watched as Billy applied eyeliner and fake lashes to Bella’s lids. It had never occurred to me her lashes were fake, mind you it never occurred to me that her Christmas ham was fake either.

‘We do need to talk, Amy,’ she said as I wandered over to where she was sitting.

‘Yes we do. I can’t believe all this time you were receiving my Christmas cards and not even bothering to send one back... or at least an acknowledgement that you’d received mine.’

‘Yes, you’re quite right, it was unforgivable of Fliss not to respond... she used to be in charge of my Christmas cards but now I have a full-time assistant,’ she said gesturing to Crimson. ‘Everything will be fine now.’

I wasn’t convinced.

‘Bella please can you stop talking – I’m trying to apply Rouge Allure to your lips and my canvas is flapping!’

I moved away so Bella wasn’t tempted to talk and Billy could finish. As much as I wanted to talk with her I was glad of the chance to walk away and process what she’d become. Bella was now so removed from her own life she couldn’t even take responsibility for a Christmas card and had blamed Fliss. Now Crimson had been handed the job of ‘assistant’ I wondered if anyone would ever see another Christmas card again. However hard I tried I couldn’t see Crimson sitting down to a pile of snow scenes and scribbling ‘Happy Christmas, love Bella’ hundreds of times, she seemed to be permanently glued to her phone, but what did I know. I’d been here for just a few hours and was already missing my life. It might be predictable and small to some – but it was my world and being here made me appreciate it.

Watching Crimson tweeting away alone in the corner, I suddenly felt sorry for her, she seemed so down on everyone but that was probably because she was under so much pressure from Bella. I wandered over to her, ‘You have a very demanding mistress,’ I whispered conspiratorially.

‘Oh, she’s okay...’

‘Well, you are very patient – I’m not sure I could handle her the way you can.’

‘She’s a pussycat really, and she’d never admit it but she needs me more than I need her,’ she sighed.

‘Yes, but you mustn’t throw your future away just because some TV presenter needs someone to boss around. Is this your career?’ I asked.

‘Being Bella’s lapdog? No. I want to be an artist someday, but I’ve put it on hold for a while.’

‘Why? I know you’re young but time goes by very quickly and before you know it you’ll be forty and still here.’

‘Yeah, I’m working on it, but Dovecote’s so big. I stick around ’cos she can’t cope here on her own... she’s hopeless,’ Crimson rolled her eyes.

I smiled at this strange creature who looked like someone from a horror film with big hair, facial piercings and black lips. She spoke only in mutterings and eye rolling, but underneath the mask I could see that Crimson really cared about her boss. And underneath Bella’s mask, I knew the old Bella was in there somewhere.

Meanwhile, Billy had now worked his magic with a few flicks of eyeliner, a perfect red lipstick and another cloud of powder. Along with a couple of black coffees, Bella had been rebooted and was almost sober and ready for her public.

‘We need to introduce the divine Amy in this next scene,’ announced Tim as everyone took their places. I felt sick, I hadn’t managed to make it to the food truck for lunch but I could manage until later, I could see how Bella stayed so slim, there wasn’t time to eat in this world... make-up and tweeting took priority over Bella’s lunch. I moved tentatively to the spot in the kitchen where the cameraman was pointing and someone waved a piece of paper in my face to check a light reading or something. I was hoping Bella would do a bit more cooking before I came on screen, but once we’d done the first recipe I was sure I’d be fine. Bella looked like thunder, I heard her say to Billy that she was tired and cold and just wanted ‘to get this crap over with,’ which didn’t help my confidence. ‘It’s just like teaching a class,’ I told myself – but under those lights with people counting and everyone’s nerves jangling it was quite overwhelming. Not for the first time I wondered what the hell I was doing there, but as soon as the camera began whirring and the lights were set for Bella’s face, she changed.

‘Today I have a very special Christmas guest in my kitchen,’ she started, the thunderous face gone, smiley red lips everywhere. ‘It’s Amy Lane! Welcome to Dovecote, little Amy, and season’s greetings to everyone in their kitchens rustling up those sweet Christmassy treats. But first – this year’s old bird... ha no, not Amy,’ she pantomimed, rolling her eyes and flapping her hand. ‘My Christmas bird... and this year it’s going to be... drum roll please – an organic turkey!’ All this was delivered confidently, with little ‘humorous’ asides and bucketfuls of Bella’s dubious charm. Her ability to perform was amazing, just over an hour ago she was storming around the kitchen shot-putting hams and drinking champagne by the bucketload. And only seconds before she was complaining about tiredness and the ‘crap’ she had to get through. But here she was, the gorgeous Kitchen Goddess, gleaming from head to toe, her smile lighting up the room. The viewers would lap this up – they couldn’t see what I could, that she was dead behind the eyes, her breath reeked of alcohol and she hadn’t even touched the turkey until the camera came on.

‘Ooh, meant to say, don’t hate me if you heard the rumours on naughty Twitter that I was gagging for a goose, or dreaming of a duck,’ she said, her bottom lip down like a mischievous girl. ‘I’m going old-school this year. Yes, I love a good old-fashioned traditional Christmas and that’s what I’m giving you... and if you know what’s what and you care about your loved ones, this is the bird you’ll be giving your family this year. TURKEY! So all you budding chefs and wonderful homemakers out there... let’s get stuffing!’

Standing by her like a bridesmaid, I was pretty impressed how she’d turned it on as soon as the camera light was on. She was confident, articulate and... then I noticed... she was reading her words straight from the autocue! It had never occurred to me that she was scripted, she’d always made it sound so real, but as the minutes went on I could see every word as she said it – her passion for the food, her ‘off the cuff’ comments were all written down by somebody else and she just read them! I didn’t think there was anything left for her to fake... then just when I thought it was safe, there she went again. She went on to describe the prize and how ‘lovely Amy’ had won because of her ‘tragic story’, which made me feel slightly guilty because it wasn’t as dramatic as the script was suggesting. So, my husband had left me for a younger woman. That was a cliché, not a tragedy... TV people over-dramatised everything; and it was so different from my world of school and teaching.

‘No crackers at Amy’s table this year,’ Bella was saying. Then she leaned into the camera and said in a low voice like she was imparting some dark secret, ‘In fact she’ll be lucky if she has a crust of bread to share with her poor, poor little children. And Father Christmas...’ she paused and wiped a tear, as instructed on the autocue. Scripted tears? I couldn’t believe it, was there anything about Bella’s life that wasn’t a performance? I smiled to myself thinking she probably needed a script for sex with the Silver Fox.

‘Father Christmas,’ she pretended to compose herself, ‘is a distant memory for Amy’s little ones.’

I stood there open-mouthed; not once did she mention the fact that I was a teacher in a big comprehensive school in Birmingham or that my kids were both at university. I was hurt that Bella knew all this and hadn’t even bothered to get the script altered to give some grains of truth to the account of my life. Mind you, I had to admit she was good, I couldn’t fault the delivery as she swept from tragedy to triumph in a moment. Peering into the camera she said, ‘I am going to turn this poor woman’s horrible, drab, tragic Christmas into a sparkly, all-singing, all-eating affair.’

Tim called ‘cut’ and waltzed onto the set speaking in loud Shakespearean tones about how moved he was.

I ignored him, I was still contemplating the fact that Bella was giving the impression that thanks to her, ‘little Amy’ and her family would not be ‘tragic’ this Christmas. And all because we’d be eating her overstuffed bird and pulling her designer crackers round the bloody Christmas tree!

‘Just say thank you Bella you’ve saved Christmas, you’re amazing... or something like that,’ Bella said, impatiently.

I nodded, ‘Okay.’ I wanted to tell her where to stuff her turkey, but I had to think of St Swithin’s.

‘Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous, and close-up on Amy’s sad face – perfect, little Amy you look utterly tragic. I’ll add sad violin music over you in the edit natch,’ Tim said, holding out his arms expectantly, conductor-like directing the end of my ‘performance’.

‘Thank you so much, Bella,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘You are amazing, but I want my prize to go to the homeless hostel near where I live...’

‘Stop. Stop,’ Bella snapped, pursed red lips, eyes glaring at Tim, one hand on her waist, ‘that’s not in the script...she has to thank me first, then we get to the hostel bit.’

Tim shifted from one foot to another; ‘Darling Amy, we don’t want to get to the homeless thingy yet. We want the full and frank scene over Bella’s raw bird... I need you to thank Bella from the bottom of your tragic little heart.’

‘No.’

‘Oh sweetie, but you must. It’s all about the drama, darling, you are so bloody, bloody grateful,’ he was saying loudly, then in an aside, ‘tears would be good here... and channelling Barbara Hershey in Beaches?’

‘I’m sorry, Tim, I don’t “channel” film stars or cry for nothing. I’m a maths teacher and to my knowledge I’m not dying of a terminal disease, nor am I asking Bella to look after my children when I’ve gone like the woman in the film,’ I added. ‘So let’s just get on with it – no Babs, no Beaches, no tears, just cooking,’ I snapped. I could feel Bella’s eyes bore into me from the side, but she couldn’t intimidate me.

‘Amy, do as Tim says and once you’ve thanked me profusely, preferably with tears, you have to be quiet while I come up with the idea,’ she said.

‘What idea?’

‘The one here... scroll down the autocue,’ she called and within seconds I read how Bella was going to spontaneously suggest that ‘Amy donates her Christmas to her local homeless hostel and we’ll give them lunch instead...’

‘Look, here it is, the homeless... thingy,’ she said, sighing in exasperation at my apparent stupidity.

‘But it wasn’t your idea.’

‘Yes it was.’

‘No Bella – you can’t pretend you thought of it, I’m donating my prize.’

‘For God’s sake will you both grow up,’ Fliss stepped in. ‘Bella’s quite right, your suggestion was cut, Amy, but not because we won’t do it – we just need to make it look like it was Bella’s idea.’

‘Does anyone ever tell the truth around here?’ I suddenly raised my voice. No one answered, except Crimson of course.

‘Truth? What’s that?’ she sniggered.

‘The homeless thing... it’s my idea according to this here,’ Bella said, pointing to the autocue. ‘You might be holding us all to ransom with your stupid demands but don’t start trying to write the script, Ames.’

‘I’m not trying to write anything. I just want to own my suggestion in the same way I want my Mum to own her recipes... you can’t just take anything you want, Bella.’

Bella nodded and quickly took me to one side as the others repositioned lights and cameras in preparation for filming again. ‘Look, Ames I told you I haven’t taken from you – you gave me those recipes.’

‘I gave them to you, but they weren’t yours to take and sell on. Even as a little girl you had everything and now you think it’s your right to have what you want, don’t you?’ I said.

‘No. You’re the one who had everything.’

‘That’s simply not true Bella, you had the best toys, the best clothes... you even had a brand new car with a bow on it for your 17
^th
birthday – and you couldn’t even drive.’