The television studio was amazing. Beyond their collective wildest dreams. Arriving there in the early evening, they’d been treated to a whistle-stop tour by one of the many young and trendy people with wires and phones and clipboards who seemed to populate every dark corner and every snaking corridor.
‘It’s like being a celebrity,’ Ella whispered, sick with nerves now, as she watched the dozens and dozens of studio employees whizzing around, seemingly perfectly at home with all the lights and cameras. ‘And we’ve got a proper dressing room with our names on. And I never realised that a green room wasn’t green, and the place where we’re going to get made-up is like a proper theatre dressing room with lights round the mirrors and all that.’
‘And one of Pink Barbies is called Iris Freckles.’ Poll gave a little skip of happiness. ‘I saw it on her door next to ours. I didn’t notice what they were called when they were on the
programmes before, did you? Isn’t it a lovely name? The Pink Barbies are all cleaners, too. They work in some huge office block. And everyone seems to know who we are, don’t they? And my stomach is churning so much I think I’m going to burp.’
‘Not on air, I hope,’ Ash laughed. ‘I don’t expect Gabby allows burps.’
‘Probably has too many of them at home from Tom,’ Billy added. ‘That lad certainly likes his ale.’
They all chuckled. They’d been chuckling nervously at everything – funny or not – since the huge chauffeur-driven car had swept them away from Hideaway Farm and up to London, and deposited them at the swish and elegant hotel.
There had been a little problem getting Trixie into the hotel because they’d only got four single rooms reserved for them, but they’d managed to distract both Trixie and the receptionist during the booking-in process, and then sneaked her upstairs in the whispering glass lift without anyone counting heads, and she was sharing Ella’s room.
‘Trixie will have the bed,’ Ella had said, as they left for the studio in yet another chauffeured limo. ‘I’ll sleep in the chair – it’s huge. And she’s really happy staying at the hotel for the evening. She loves all the gadgets and she’s going to watch us on the flat screen TV and says she’s made some sandwiches and doesn’t want to come to the studio because she knows she’d be in the way.’
‘And do you believe her?’ Billy had asked.
Ella had nodded. ‘Yes. Truly. I’ve had a really, really
serious chat with her – about all sorts of things. And she’s fine, honestly.’
‘Ella’s right. I’ve talked to her, too,’ Ash had said. ‘And as long as she doesn’t want to celebrate CandleKiss in the hotel room, then I can’t see any problems. I think she might just realise now how important all this is to us.’
‘I think she does,’ Ella had agreed. ‘And it’s OK. I’ve made her absolutely promise that she won’t try lighting candles – any candles – or anything else, tonight. And while she was in the loo I searched her overnight bag and her pockets and, sorry to say, her handbag –’
Poll gasped in shocked disapproval.
‘I know it’s wrong, but I felt the end justified the means. Anyway, there’s not a candle or matches or lighter or anything flammable in sight. She says she’s left all her CandleKiss stuff at Hideaway so that the fairies can celebrate on their own.’
‘Mad as a hatter,’ Billy had sighed.
Ella had nodded. ‘Anyway, I might even go home to my mum and dad’s tonight – I’ve still got my key – so Trixie can have the room to herself.’
‘Not if we win, you won’t.’ Poll had looked shocked. ‘We’ll be too busy celebrating.’
And they’d all looked at one another.
If they won
… It was almost too much to contemplate.
Now they were in the studio proper with only an hour or so to go. Looking outwards, it was like a theatre, with rows of seats stretching as far as the eye could see into the gloom of
the auditorium. But the studio floor was a state-of-the-art kitchen. Ella thought it looked like something from the Starship
Enterprise
.
‘We shoot all our televised cookery shows from here,’ Denise said, ‘so we’re well equipped with everything you’ll need. Give yourself a few moments to look round, try out the cookers, acclimatise yourselves, plan your routine, get your bearings.’
‘Your work station is here –’ Anthony pointed to a long, stainless steel bench ‘– and all the ingredients you listed for your three new courses will be arranged exactly as you need them by our home economics editor just before we go live. And –’ he’d grinned suddenly ‘– we’ve even gone to the trouble of sourcing all the old-fashioned implements and utensils you favour.’
‘Oh, wow – thank you.’ Ella was overwhelmed.
Poll and Billy were simply speechless.
Ash swallowed. ‘Thanks. It’s amazing.’
Ella glanced at him. She’d never seen him so nervous. Of course this was just one step away from his lifelong dream, wasn’t it?
She was still a million miles away from hers.
Then they were introduced to their rival chefs – Iris Freckles and her co-cleaners – who were also given the
Dewberrys’ Dinners
introduction to the kitchen and their adjacent work station.
‘They seem like nice girls,’ Billy said. ‘They’re doing their original pink menu too – so at least we know what we’re up against.’
They all sighed.
The next part seemed to Ella to pass in a blur. There was changing and make-up and hair and being mic’d up and having last-minute instructions barked at them from every direction.
‘It’s exactly the same as it was for your at-home shows,’ the director said. ‘All the same rules apply. Don’t panic. Don’t look at the camera or the audience, don’t listen to the audience, just listen to Gabby and Tom. Forget the audience completely. Be yourselves and enjoy it.’
Enjoy it? Ella felt the forbidden panic rising. Enjoy it? With millions of people watching – again? He was madder than Trixie if he thought she could possibly enjoy any of this.
They stood to one side of the stage with Iris Freckles and her friends, who were all jolly, chatty and totally unperturbed, and watched as the studio audience filed in.
‘We get loads of applications for the live show final,’ Denise said, counting something down via a mouth-and earpiece. ‘There’s always a massive waiting list. Nearly two years. Tom and Gabby’s shows are always up there in the top ten.’
Ella nodded. None of her friends had been able to get tickets at the eleventh hour and had been told much the same thing when they’d phoned the show. In a way it was a relief to know she’d be cooking for an audience of total strangers. There was nothing worse than making a complete prat of yourself in front of your nearest and dearest.
Having obviously received the call she needed, Denise nodded. ‘Right – on you go.’
‘What?’ Poll faltered. ‘Now?’
‘Now!’ Denise said sharply. ‘Iris, Jean, Dawn and Cathy first, then you, Ash, Billy and Ella. In single file. Take up your positions behind your work stations and smile!’
Trembling from head to foot and not smiling because she couldn’t get her mouth to work properly, Ella followed the others out into the now brilliantly lit studio.
The audience erupted into foot-stamping and cheers and applause, and several loud wolf whistles when Ash appeared.
Ella, despite her terror, managed to smile to herself. Blinking and sweltering under the serried ranks of lights, she looked down at the things arrayed in front of her and her mind went completely blank. What was she supposed to be cooking? Strawberry fluff? Raspberry sauce? How did she start? What did she do? Oh, heavens…
The audience cheered and whooped again as ‘Pickin’ a Chicken’ played very loudly and Tom and Gabby walked on to the stage.
Oh dear God, Ella thought, this is it…
Gabby, glittering in and teetering on royal blue, did her usual smiling greeting. Tom, who looked a little distracted, joined in.
Then there were individual introductions and descriptions of their menus. There were more audience wolf whistles for Ash. And Gabby, Ella thought, spent a touch too long over Ash on both the introduction and the description. And did she really have to ogle him quite so much?
The audience were then treated to a few amusing stories about what had happened in previous finals. Then Gabby
and Tom went into their familiar and much-loved sniping and putting-down insult routine. Tom’s responses were even more lackadaisical than usual.
Ella thought there was something slightly odd about them tonight. They were still bitchy, but they weren’t as brittle or cuttingly cruel as they’d been at Hideaway. Maybe it was the live audience that subdued them? Tom seemed especially quiet.
Mind you, she had to hand it to Gabby. Completely ad-libbing, she truly was the consummate professional in building the tension. The audience was now revved up and ready to go.
If only the same could be said about her.
‘Right.’ Tom smiled slowly. ‘We know what you’re making for us – Iris and her girls are going to produce their first all-pink menu again.’
Iris and her girls giggled coquettishly.
‘And –’ Tom beamed at them ‘– the Hideaway Farm team are going to produce a new meal for us this time – an old-fashioned Farmhouse Wedding Breakfast.’
The audience screamed and whooped and whistled
Tom continued to smile kindly. ‘We know only too well what you can do, you’re all wonderful cooks, so good luck to all of you, and off you go!’
‘Start cooking – now!’ Gabby said, baring her teeth in her most sparkly smile. ‘And enjoy yourselves!’
After a pretty shaky start, when Ella had still completely forgotten what she was doing, and no one moved until Poll picked up a spoon and then dropped it noisily on to the
stainless steel, making them all jump, everything suddenly seemed to click into place.
Ash reached for his pile of vegetables, looked along the pristine bench and smiled at her. Ungumming her lips from her teeth, Ella smiled back.
Damn it – she’d do it for him. She’d do her very best to make sure he had his restaurant, and if she couldn’t bear to see him and Onyx living together in unadulterated bliss at Hideaway Farm, then she’d have to move on, wouldn’t she? But tonight, she’d do everything in her power to help him win.
Strangely, Ella almost immediately forgot the audience. She was aware of them occasionally clapping or laughing or shouting, but she couldn’t really see them, and it was no more distracting or intrusive than having a softly playing radio in the background.
Once she’d started cooking, the instinctive moves came back to her and she could have been in Hideaway or in her gran’s ancient kitchen or anywhere. It didn’t matter.
Glancing along the bench it seemed that everyone else had also fallen under the spell. Despite the heat and the blinding brightness of the lights, they were all working well. Even Tom and Gabby, moving between them, chatting, asking questions, didn’t seem to distract them.
Iris and the girls were also working smoothly, their pink food colouring being liberally added to everything.
Time was concertina’d. Minutes were like nanoseconds. As far as she could tell, Ella reckoned it had all gone perfectly. They’d coped with the strange ovens and the unfamiliar surroundings and the relatively untried menu.
There had been no exclamations of horror from any of them, nothing had burned, they hadn’t collided with each other or dropped anything.
‘Five minutes!’ Gabby trilled. ‘You should start plating up – now!’
Ella’s hands shook a little as she whisked her strawberry fluff. Please, please, please don’t let it flop… no, it was fine. And the raspberry sauce was perfect. Oh, hallelujah! She’d done it.
Pushing her damp hair behind her ears, she glanced along the work station. Poll and Billy’s sweet-pea starter – not the flowers, but fresh garden peas, cooked and mashed with herbs and shaped into little hearts – looked absolutely wonderful on their bed of baby salad leaves.
She looked at Ash, and heaved a huge sigh of relief and pride. His toweringly intricate and gorgeously colourful country vegetable stack, each layer sandwiched with a complementary creamy sauce, was an absolute triumph.
He’d shown the world tonight just what a sensationally brilliant and versatile chef he really was.
Ella bit her lip and sniffed back happy tears.
‘Time’s up! Step away from your benches!’ Tom said. ‘Step right away.’
They stepped.
Ella allowed herself a surreptitious glance at Iris Freckles’ girls’ food. Oooh – it looked incredible. A whole vivid pink spectacular.
‘Right.’ Gabby clapped her tiny hands together. ‘Tom and I can only congratulate you all on what looks like one of the
best finals we’ve ever had on
Dewberrys’ Dinners
. You’ve worked amazingly well. You’ve used some stunning ingredients and shown you have exceptional palates and presentation skills – the food looks gorgeous and smells delicious, doesn’t it, Tom? TOM!’
‘Er, yes.’ Tom had been staring blankly offstage. ‘Oh, yes. It does. We can’t wait to taste it now, can we, Gabby?’
‘No, we can’t. But –’ Gabby looked knowingly at the audience ‘– it isn’t up to us, is it? Remember, it’s you, the viewers, who will pick this year’s
Dewberrys’ Dinners
Winner! The numbers you need will be on the screen shortly and you have one hour – and one hour only – to vote for your favourite.’