‘It wasn’t a bribe.’ Billy rushed gallantly to Poll’s defence. ‘It was plain old-fashioned hospitality.’
Poll beamed at him.
Anthony frowned. ‘We’re running very late. We don’t have time for hospitality, I’m afraid. Now, as you’ve applied to be on the programme, I’m assuming you know the basics. So –’ he looked at the small crowd in the doorway then turned to Poll and nodded towards Billy ‘– you and your husband are a couple of the wannabe chefs, are you?’
‘Oh, no,’ Poll trilled happily, ‘Billy’s not my husband. My husband left me ages ago. And we all are. Chefs, that is, not husbands of course.’
Denise rose languidly to her feet, her eyes resting lustfully on Ash, who still looked drop-dead gorgeous despite his random coating of ice cream, in a predatory manner and for far longer than Ella liked. ‘You mean the whole family cook? Including your children? And the grandson? And your mother?’
‘I’m not her mother, dear,’ Trixie said quickly. ‘I’m Trixie Pepper – a.k.a. Gossamer Snapdragon, friend of the fairies.’
Anthony tittered.
Trixie fixed him with a gimlet glare and continued. ‘And young George here is Poll’s lad, not her grandson. And these two –’ she indicated Ash and Ella ‘– aren’t related at all.’
Denise and Anthony looked at one another and pulled anguished ‘oh-mi-god’ faces.
‘We’re all just friends who live together,’ Poll explained. ‘There’s nothing in the rules that says we have to be related, is there?’
‘No, nothing at all,’ Anthony said quickly. ‘So then, let’s get this sorted out. As far as I can make out, we had four applications for this address.’
‘Five, actually,’ Denise interrupted. ‘We had that last minute one from…’ She scanned her clipboard. ‘Onyx Smith.’ She looked at Ella. ‘That’s you, is it?’
‘Sadly not.’
‘Oh, Onyx applied as well!’ Poll trilled delightedly. ‘Fancy! Mind you, she knows better than most how much Ash wants his own restaurant. No, no, Onyx doesn’t cook. She doesn’t live here.’
Yet, Ella thought.
Anthony waved his hands around. ‘Am I to assume –’
‘Best not to assume anything here,’ Billy put in kindly. ‘Always leads to confusion.’
Denise tapped her clipboard again. ‘So, which of you – apart from the child and the absent, er, Onyx – wants to be the cooking team? If you’re chosen, that is?’
‘Just the four of us.’ Poll nodded. ‘There’s always a team of four in
Dewberrys’ Dinners
, isn’t there?’
‘Yes.’ Anthony nodded, looking exasperated. ‘But which four?’
‘Not me, dear.’ Trixie shook her head. ‘I don’t do much cooking unless I’m carefully supervised. Not since a bad elf burned my house down while I was making a cooker-top tagine.’
They all glared at her.
Anthony and Denise did the ‘oh-mi-god’ thing again but this time with the addition of raised eyebrows.
‘We’ll all be cooking except George and Trixie and Onyx,’ Poll said. ‘That’s four of us. And you said not being related wasn’t a problem?’
‘No, the only problem –’ Denise bared perfect teeth ‘– is making sure there’s enough room for you all to work together, that’s the trouble with this team cooking thing. Most kitchens are so small these days. So, first things first. Can we see your kitchen? The kitchen is a make or break. If the kitchen’s too small we can’t shoot, you see.’
Anthony nodded. ‘We’ll need to see the layout and measure up for lighting and sound, as well as the cameras, and Gabby and Tom
hate
being cramped and they do insist on maximum on-screen exposure at all times.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Poll said airily, as if discussing taking part in a top-rated television show was something she did every day. ‘I quite understand. I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate them. Come along then, let me show you the kitchen. Oh, mind the step… and the dogs… ah, sorry.’
Ella felt as though she was dreaming. It was all too, too surreal.
‘Pinch me,’ Ash whispered as they all marched through the flagged hall. ‘Ouch! Not literally.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Anthony enthused as Poll ushered him into the kitchen. ‘Oh, yes, yes, y-e-s!’
‘Lovely,’ Denise breathed, all cool momentarily forgotten, flicking out an electronic tape measure and scribbling dimensions on her clipboard. ‘Absolutely lovely – and so huge. Gabby’s going to adore it. All that natural light. All these original features. All those wonderful old-fashioned utensils. And plenty of room for the crew. Super.’
Poll beamed at Ella. Ella, feeling slightly sick now, smiled weakly back.
‘Right.’ Anthony tapped things into his laptop. ‘Kitchen – perfect. Now, we’ll just need the names of the cooks.’
‘Poll Andrews, Billy Booker, Ash Lawrence and Ella Maloney,’ Poll said quickly, clearly in case Trixie, feeling excluded, revealed their fairy names as well and damned their chances from the off. ‘We all do different things, you see. Specialise in separate courses.’
Denise held up French-manicured hands. ‘We don’t need your menu details yet. We’ll ask for that later – if you’re chosen. We’ve already seen several other applicants in the area and have two more to see today. If you’re one of the five successful southern candidates we’ll let you know by the end of the week.’
‘What we do need,’ Anthony said, ‘is some idea of your theme.’
‘Theme?’ Poll’s confidence started to falter.
‘Theme.’ Anthony nodded. ‘Gabby and Tom always like to know what theme you’re going to use for your food.’
Poll looked wildly at Ella.
‘Er, rustic?’ Ella ventured, still not able to believe this was really happening. ‘Traditional?’
‘Oh, lovely – yes.’ Poll nodded. ‘And vegetarian, of course.’
‘Fresh seasonal stuff,’ Billy added. ‘Locally grown and, er, locally picked, and, um –’
‘Locally sourced produce,’ Anthony interrupted, tapping into the laptop. ‘Yes, so it’ll be farmhouse cooking, then,’ Ash said. ‘We’ll be doing real vegetarian farmhouse cooking in a real farmhouse kitchen. Er, with a twist.’
Anthony and Denise did the exchanged-glance thing again and both wrote things down.
‘OK.’ Denise looked reasonably happy. ‘That sounds fine. Now, I’m guessing that you all know the format of the show, but we do need to run through it again here. If there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with then say so. There’s no point in getting you through to the acceptance stage and then having you pull out because you can’t cope.’
‘Can’t cope?’ Billy chortled. ‘This lot can cope with anything, let me tell you. No, sorry – you carry on.’
‘Thank you.’ Denise was slightly tart. ‘OK, briefly. Unlike other prime-time cookery programmes,
Dewberrys’ Dinners
is shown live. You have no second chances. And Gabby and Tom always go in blind. There’s no pre-programme cooking.
We don’t do any test runs. If you can’t cook and your food is inedible, then it’ll be on air and your problem.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Poll chuckled. ‘We especially love the shows where they can’t cook for toffee. So funny.’
Ella winced.
Denise looked irritated. ‘Yes, quite. Where was I? Oh, yes. The show takes an hour – start to finish. Opening and closing credits take up three minutes. Gabby and Tom’s ad-libbed intro another two. Their tasting and summing up takes five minimum. Of course, they’ll be chatting, watching and advising you throughout. You’ll have forty-five minutes max to prep, cook, plate up and serve. With me?’
They all nodded.
Anthony chipped in. ‘You can do one, two or three courses, that’s down to you, as long as they fit the time frame. So, it’s no good planning to cook something that takes three hours in the oven, see?’
‘As if,’ Ella muttered.
‘The ingredients are your choice and responsibility. There’s no budget from us at this stage. If you can make cheap cuts taste like something that deserves a galaxy of Michelin stars then so much the better.’
They all nodded dutifully again.
‘And please don’t forget Gabby’s Secret Ingredient.’ Denise looked quite severe. ‘We’ve had shows where Gabby has gone to the fridge or larder to retrieve Something Special that she can add, to find nothing but fish fingers or mouldy cheese.’
Poll and Ella nodded. Gabby’s Secret Ingredient – where
she added a last-minute surprise item from the contestant’s own store cupboard – was one of the ongoing highlights of the show.
‘Have something ready and conspicuous,’ Anthony advised. ‘And something that ties in nicely with the rest of your menu. But don’t tell Gabby what it is – it really is a secret, because she does like that unscripted element of excitement.’
Poll and Ella nodded again.
‘Right, good. Well, as you clearly already know, each show has a team of four cooks, either friends, neighbours, family, workmates, what have you, and each series runs for five weeks. The regional north, east, south and west cook-off shows go out on five consecutive nights for four weeks. Prime time. The initial judging is solely down to Gabby and Tom. They’ll choose their Weekly Winner, one team from each area.’ Denise rattled off the words, clearly bored with the repetition. ‘After that, the final is in the fifth week, Monday to Thursday. Live again. From your own homes. Again. With Gabby and Tom. Again. The viewers will then vote for the two semi-finalists.’
Ella swallowed. What on earth had they done? This was
massive
. The prospect was frankly terrifying.
Denise smiled. It stretched her enhanced lips but didn’t reach her scarily catlike eyes. ‘If you reach that stage then you’ll be invited to the television studios on the Friday evening to cook again live, but in front of an audience this time. Just two lots of you. You’ll go head to head. Then it’s down to the viewers to phone in and choose the winner.’
‘Like
The X Factor
or
Britain’s Got Talent
or
Strictly
,’ Poll said. ‘Yes, we understand how it works.’
‘The phone votes will be counted during an hour-long break for some other inconsequential programme.’ Denise frowned at the interruption. ‘Then we’ll be back on air for half an hour when the winner will be announced live. We usually get up to ten million viewers.’
Ten million? Ella gulped. Ten
million
. She couldn’t cook in a studio knowing there were ten million people watching her…
‘And,’ Anthony said, ‘Gabby and Tom will present the lucky winner with a cheque and the
Dewberrys’ Dinners
Winners Trophy. And of course afterwards there’ll be the meetings to arrange the opening of a restaurant, run by the winners but initially funded and supported by Tom and Gabby’s company. So, are we clear?’
They nodded silently. It had been fine in theory, but now the reality was all far too frightening to take in.
‘And you still want to be considered?’
‘Of course we do,’ Poll said robustly. ‘A couple of pointers here,’ Anthony said, eyeing George who was eating rapidly melting chocolate while busily reversing his convoy of plastic lorries round Denise’s stilt-high pink designer sandals. ‘If you’re chosen we can’t have the, um, little boy or any animals on camera. Gabby doesn’t do kids or animals. So if you could arrange to have them out of the way.’
Poll nodded doubtfully. Ella smiled to herself. Hiding George and the menagerie was probably going to be more difficult than cooking live in front of an audience of millions.
‘Are there any further questions?’ Denise, stepping over George’s convoy and sticky fingers with obvious distaste, looked as though she hoped there weren’t.
‘Dozens,’ Poll said happily. ‘Like if we’re selected, then when will we be on? I mean, how much time will we have to prepare?’
‘Um…’ Anthony tapped into his laptop. ‘Right – well, in this next series, the southern heats will be first up… which means we’ll be starting on… Monday the twenty-second of June. And this area’s selected contestants will be cooking on Wednesday twenty-fourth.’
Billy coughed and Ella looked at Ash in horror. Just over two weeks…
Two weeks
…
Poll alone seemed unfazed. ‘How lovely… not too long to wait then. Oh, and if we’re lucky enough to be chosen, what time will Gabby and Tom and the cameras and what-have-you be arriving? I know the show goes out at eight – so will they be here say about half seven? I’d like to be ready.’
‘
Half seven
?’ Denise choked derisively. ‘
Half seven
?’
Anthony stepped in. ‘It’s an all-day affair. The crew will be here early in the morning. You’ll get a running order in advance of course. They’ll need all day to set up, check and recheck. Then there’ll be the make-up girl and the hairdresser. They should be here in the afternoon. Gabby and Tom like to arrive a couple of hours beforehand to get a feel for the place and the contestants.’
All day… Ella gulped. All day… They’d be dead from exhaustion before they’d even started…
‘How fabulous.’ Poll beamed. ‘Hair and make-up! What
an exciting day it’s going to be – oh, if we’re chosen that is. And do we have a wardrobe mistress as well?’
‘No, you wear your own clothes.’ Denise bent down to remove a small dump truck from its parking place under her teetering heel and inspected the shoe for chocolate marks. ‘All this will be covered in the paperwork – if you’re chosen – but a word of warning – don’t wear black tops, it goes dead on camera, or white because it looks like a dirty yellow. And no diagonal stripes or tizzy ditzy patterns. Too dazzling.’