Loe raamatut: «A Spoonful Of Sugar: A Novella»
Competing with witches spells disaster …
When popular baking show Britain Bakes decides to televise their latest series on location in Claddach, Esme is thrilled. This will finally put her beloved hometown back on the tourist map, and revive the family’s cafe business. But when her cousin Harmony insists that novice baker Esme join her as a contestant on the show, she panics – with no witching allowed on prime-time TV, this will be a question of focus over hocus pocus…
So once filming gets underway, Esme is surprised to find that she is actually enjoying herself, until strange ‘accidents’ start to befall the other contestants. Are they just run-of-the-mill baking mishaps, or is someone trying to sabotage the show? It looks like Esme may need to wave her magic spatula after all …
Praise for KERRY BARRETT
‘It was just lovely! I loved the plot, I loved the spells and the magic, I loved the characters and I loved the writing. Kerry Barrett is a talented writer’ – Girls Love to Read on Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
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‘Thoroughly enjoyed Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered... couldn’t put it down’ – A M Poynter*
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‘I was absorbed from the first page’ – Pass The Gin on Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
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‘This was a joy to read, clever, witty and fun. I would thoroughly recommend it and am looking forward to seeing what happens next??!!’ – Mrs Ami Norman on Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered*
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‘For lovers of witches, strong female characters who you really root for, good writing and great storytelling this is a must’ – Caz on I Put a Spell on You*
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‘A little romance, a little danger and a whole lot of fun make this an unparalleled reading experience’ – cayocosta72 onI Put a Spell on You*
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‘I recommend this to anyone wanting to escape to a wintery witchy romance’ – Splashes into Books on Baby It’s Cold Outside*
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*Amazon reader reviews
Also available by Kerry Barrett
Could It Be Magic series:
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
I Put a Spell on You
Baby It’s Cold Outside
I’ll Be There For You
A Spoonful of Sugar
Kerry Barrett
Copyright
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015
Copyright © Kerry Barrett 2015
Kerry Barrett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9781474035897
Version date: 2018-10-30
KERRY BARRETT
was a bookworm from a very early age, devouring Enid Blyton and Noel Streatfeild, before moving on to Sweet Valley High and 1980s bonkbusters. She did a degree in English Literature, then trained as a journalist, writing about everything from pub grub to EastEnders. Her first novel, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, took six years to finish and was mostly written in longhand on her commute to work, giving her a very good reason to buy beautiful notebooks. Kerry lives in London with her husband and two sons, and Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes is still her favourite novel.
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Praise
Book List
Title Page
Copyright
Author Bio
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Endpages
About the Publisher
One
‘No,’ I said. ‘Absolutely not.’
I crumpled up the flyer and threw it into the bin.
‘No.’
My cousin Harmony – known as Harry – looked at me with disappointed eyes.
‘Okay, Esme.’ She shrugged. ‘If you’re absolutely sure. It’s just a shame though...’
‘Oh don’t do that,’ I said, feeling my resolve beginning to weaken and hating myself for it. ‘Don’t do that disappointed but resigned thing.’
Harry gave me a sad smile.
‘No, honestly, it’s okay,’ she said. ‘Would you mind ringing your mum and telling her it’s not happening? I’ve got some stuff to do.’
She got to her feet and picked up her jacket. I sighed.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it.’
Harry squealed, which was very unlike her.
‘Really?’ she said.
I nodded glumly.
‘Really. But don’t expect me to be any good.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Harry said with a grin. ‘I’m good enough for both of us. I’ll ring them now and tell them you’re in.’
‘And don’t expect me to enjoy it either,’ I shouted at her back as she disappeared out of my office.
But either she didn’t hear me, or she didn’t care.
With some difficulty I fished the flyer out of the bin and smoothed it out on my desk, then I sat back in my chair and rested my hands on my bump. I was seven months’ pregnant with my second baby and I felt enormous. Absolutely the last thing I wanted to do was take part in a baking competition. Especially as I was no baker. But Harry was very persuasive and the fact was, I grimaced, she was right. Again.
Harry and I both lived in Edinburgh now but my mum, Tess, and Harry’s mum, Suky, lived in a small town called Claddach in the Scottish Highlands where they ran a cafe with their friend Eva. Eva’s husband Allan was an artist and he looked after the top floor of the loch-side, running it as a gallery and small arts centre. But a couple of years ago, a huge avalanche had cut off the town for a whole winter – making the bohemian tourists look elsewhere for their writing/painting/pottery/poetry retreats, and they’d never really come back. Businesses were suffering and something had to be done to put Claddach back on the map. And, much to my horror, Harry had decided she was the person to do it.
She’d found this baking competition – it was an annual thing apparently and very popular – and somehow convinced the organisers to hold it on the shores of the loch next to the cafe. She said the publicity would be worth thousands of pounds, and if we were to enter the competition, it would be even better.
I picked up the flyer and sighed. I supposed she had a point – it was a great opportunity. I just didn’t really want to be involved.
Britain Bakes! the paper said. Do you have what it takes to bake your way to the top? Then enter our tasty competition and prove it!
I shook my head. There were so many things wrong with this whole situation that I didn’t know where to begin.
For a start, like I said, I was pregnant. And grumpy. Sweating over an oven as I fended off midges on the shores of the loch was not how I planned to spend the last few weekends before my baby arrived. And there was the tiny problem that I was useless at baking. Mum was brilliant, my Auntie Suky was brilliant, Harry – I had to grudgingly admit – had recently discovered a talent for whipping up the most amazing cakes. But I was hopeless. I had no business entering a baking competition.
I peered at the flyer again. At the bottom was a logo. It was a large H with swirly writing around it. Highland Television it said. WHAT?!
Harry came back into the office, her phone in her hand.
‘It’s on bloody TV,’ I said. ‘It’s on Highland Television.’
‘Is it?’ Harry said. She didn’t sound very surprised.
‘You knew?’
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted, sitting down opposite me and thumbing through some papers on my desk. ‘But that’s why it’s so great. The cafe will get so much publicity. Claddach will look amazing. Tourists will flock there and takings will go through the roof.’
‘I don’t want to be on TV,’ I said. ‘What if someone I know sees it?’
‘They’re not likely to watch Highland Television, are they?’ Harry pointed out. ‘I think it’s got something like ten viewers.’
She didn’t quite meet my eye, though, so I suspected HTV got a lot more viewers than that.
‘Anyway, it’s too late,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s all sorted. There are six contestants, including us, two judges and loads of crew. Milicent’s beside herself with joy because they’re all staying at her B&B.’
I grinned. Milicent was the local hotelier. She was a real character with a heart of gold, and she would love all the extra people descending on Claddach.
‘We start filming next weekend.’
‘Next weekend!’ I practically shouted. ‘Aren’t there like auditions and heats and things to get through first?’
Harry looked shifty.
‘Well, yes there were,’ she said. ‘But I had a word with the producers and they saved two spots for us.’
‘A word?’ I said. ‘What word would that be? Abraca-bloody-dabra?’
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.’
Two
‘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 on a pirate ship. There was bunting strung along the outside of the cafe and forming a sort of corridor between the cafe’s front door and the entrance to the marquee. And there were people everywhere.
There were cameras being set up all over the place, and lots of people wearing black trousers and T-shirts speaking into headsets running around. There were some young women with swishy hair clutching clipboards and shouting into mobile phones and two huge trucks with HTV emblazoned along the side parked like exclamation marks across the road.
The Claddach pipe band was playing a little way along the beach, and lots of locals were drifting about, watching what was going on. I saw several people I recognised – my best friend Chloe, who was with her kids and her husband, was easily spotted because of her bright-red hair. I saw another friend, Kirsty, looking like an off-duty rock star in shiny black leggings and an oversized vest top that showed off her tattoos. Millicent Fry was bustling around organising everyone and everything – as always – and it looked like just about the whole town had turned out.
Harry and I stared at the action through the windscreen. She turned the engine off.
‘Shall we go and introduce ourselves?’ she said.
I folded my arms over my bump protectively.
‘We could,’ I said. ‘Or, we could turn the car round, drive back to Edinburgh and pretend this never happened.’
For a second I thought Harry was going to agree and my heart lifted.
‘I admit this is a bit bigger than we thought it was going to be,’ she said.
‘Harry, I was imagining a couple of old women in a tent,’ I said, my voice shrill. ‘Not the whole town showing up to watch me make a mess of a Victoria sponge on national television.’
Harry swallowed.
‘Britain Bakes is a bit more popular than I thought it was,’ she said. She looked through the windscreen again and took a breath, then she threw her shoulders back, shook her super-shiny hair, and gave me her most dazzling smile.
‘But this is good,’ she said.
‘It is?’
‘Yes. It’s good. It’s great, in fact. All this fuss means the whole country will be looking at Claddach. It will really put the town on the map. Business will go through the roof. See how amazing it all looks – the tourist board will be going wild.’
If I’d been trembling before, I was shaking violently now.
‘But look at all the people,’ I said. ‘Look at how many people there are. Everyone’s going to be watching me make a huge mess of this.’
Harry patted my hand. I pulled it away.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine.’
But I wasn’t convinced.
Harry unclipped her seatbelt and got out of the car. I followed, far less elegantly.
‘Where do we have to go?’ I asked, hoiking up my maternity leggings.
Harry glanced at me over her shoulder. She was wearing sunglasses and, with her Mulberry bag on her arm, she looked like a film star.
‘Make-up, I think,’ she said.
‘Really?’ That was good news. Perhaps they could make me look like a film star too.
We walked down the path towards the cafe. I was expecting things to be frantic with Mum and Suky running around like mad things. But instead we found them standing outside with their business partner Eva having their photographs taken for the local paper.
‘Check you out,’ Harry said as we kissed them hello. ‘You’re like local celebs.’
Mum kissed my bump and then my cheek.
‘Are you okay?’ she said, taking my chin in her hand and studying me closely. ‘You look tired.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. I angled myself away from Harry so she couldn’t hear what I was saying. ‘Just a bit nervous. I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’
I nodded back over my shoulder to where the action was happening and lowered my voice.
‘It’s more of a thing than I expected,’ I whispered. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to it.’
Mum gave me a sympathetic hug.
‘Just do your best,’ she said. ‘That’s all anyone’s asking of you.’
‘I’d feel better if my best included a bit of magic,’ I said, making a face.
Mum chuckled.
‘That’s not like you,’ she said. ‘It’s normally Harry who’s desperate to cast a spell.’
‘No magic, Esme,’ I said, in my best impression of Harry’s voice. ‘It just doesn’t work with baking.’
Mum laughed again.
‘She’s right, though,’ she pointed out. ‘Plus it’s a bit too risky, what with all these people and cameras everywhere.’
I opened my mouth to argue that I was perfectly capable of being discreet when one of the clipboard-wielding women appeared at my shoulder so I shut up. Mum gave me a smug look and I rolled my eyes.
‘Esme and Harmony?’ the woman said in a frighteningly over-friendly fashion.
‘I’m Harmony,’ Harry said. ‘Call me Harry.’
The woman made a note on her clipboard.
‘And you’re Esme?’ she said to me. ‘Oh! You’re pregnant, how fab. When are you due? Not this weekend I hope.’ She giggled madly and I stared at her, speechless in the face of such perkiness.
‘I’m Portia,’ she carried on, flicking the end of her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. ‘I’m one of the crew and I’m the person you need to speak to if you need anything. Anything at all.’
She giggled again, showing very straight, very white teeth.
‘The other competitors are all here already – they’re just in Make-up. So if you’re ready, I’ll take you up and introduce you. Ready?’
She looked at us in expectation. Harry and I looked back in silence.
‘Ready?’ she said again.
‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ Harry said. ‘Ready.’
Portia spun round and raced round the side of the cafe with Harry and I scuttling along in her wake. I shot Harry a filthy look but she stared resolutely ahead. I wondered if she was as nervous as I was.
We followed Portia up the stairs to what was normally the gallery. It was a brilliant room, used for exhibitions, art classes, writing groups, concerts – all sorts. Jamie and I had got married there so it had a special place in my heart. It was a long, rectangular room with two huge windows – with stunning views over the loch – at each of the short ends, and two long white walls perfect for hanging pictures.
Today it had been transformed into a beauty parlour. Its long walls were now hung with long mirrors. In front of two of the mirrors were narrow tables, covered in hairbrushes, tubes of foundation and eyeliner pencils, and a chair. Two make-up artists were busy powdering the noses of the person in each chair. Some other people stood around chatting, clutching paper cups of coffee emblazoned with the Claddach Cafe logo. That was good.
Portia cleared her throat as though she was about to make an announcement.
‘Everyone,’ she said. ‘These are our final two competitors, Esme and Harmony.’
‘Harry,’ said Harry, flashing her most dazzling smile at everyone in the room. ‘Hello.’
I was overwhelmed with fear once more, so I simply raised my hand and croaked, ‘Hi.’
‘So,’ said Portia. ‘That’s Wilf, having his nose done.’ In the chair furthest away from where we stood, was a young man in his mid twenties. He had dark-rimmed glasses and a sort of messy afro that the make-up artist wasn’t even attempting to control. He grinned at us showing slightly crooked teeth and Harry smiled back. My smile was more like a grimace – but I tried.
‘Next to him,’ Portia continued. ‘Is June.’
‘Hi,’ Harry and I chorused. June was around sixty with greying curly hair and a sizeable bosom. I found myself wishing I could rest my head on her chest and have her tell me it was all going to be okay. But I changed my mind sharpish when she gave me a frosty glare. Ooh, what had rattled her cage?
‘I’m Amelia,’ a frighteningly young girl stuck her hand out for me to shake.
‘Are you in the competition?’ I asked in surprise. ‘Is there a children’s event?’
Amelia giggled. She was quite sweet, with mousy hair pulled back into a ponytail and a crop of spots on her chin.
‘I’m seventeen,’ she said. ‘I’m one of the bakers.’
‘Amelia’s our youngest competitor ever,’ said Portia proudly. ‘She’s just done her A levels.’
‘And I’m afraid I’m one of the oldest,’ said the man Amelia had been chatting to. ‘I’m Ronald.’
I took in Ronald’s straight back, shiny shoes and close-cropped hair and grinned.
‘Navy?’ I said.
Ronald roared with laughter.
‘That obvious, eh?’ he said.
‘My dad was in the RAF,’ I admitted. ‘I grew up surrounded by military types.’
Ronald beamed at me.
‘We shall have to compare stories later,’ he said.
I smiled back, relieved to have met at least one person who seemed nice and normal.
‘Okay, people,’ said Portia, sending me back into spasms of terror again. ‘We’re almost ready to get going. Harry and Esme just need to have their faces done, then we can head out to the marquee to meet the judges. They’ll introduce themselves. Don’t worry, they’re really nice – not nearly as frightening as they seem on TV.’
That was a relief. I’d watched a few clips of the show on YouTube and, frankly, the judges seemed marginally more brutal than the prison officers in Orange is the New Black. Hopefully they just put that on for the cameras.
‘They’ll explain how the competition is going to work,’ Portia carried on. ‘And then we’ll get cracking on the first round. Exciting!’
She squealed and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder again.
Next to me, Amelia bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get on with it. I rubbed my bump and wondered if I could fake going into labour just to escape.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Harry, giving me a poke in the side.
‘Ow,’ I hissed. ‘Stay out of my head.’ I hated it when she used her witchcraft to listen in to my thoughts.
Harry shrugged, unconcerned by my crossness.
‘Any questions before we start?’ said Portia.
‘Can we go home?’ I whispered.
Harry poked me again.
‘Lighten up, fatty,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun, honest.’
‘Okay then,’ said Portia. ‘Let’s get cracking.’
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