A Spoonful of Sugar by Kerry Barrett Page B

‘There’s no point in disturbing your father at work, and upsetting him.’
    ‘There’s every point,’ Amelia said. ‘This whole competition only exists because of him.’
    I nodded at Harry. It was true then, about Amelia’s dad running the production company.
    Amelia hadn’t finished.
    ‘And it wasn’t an accident,’ she said. ‘Someone pushed that bowl, just like someone shut Ronald in the freezer. I want Daddy to find out who it was and I want them punished.’
    ‘Now, darling,’ her mum began, as the B&B doorbell rang. We heard Millicent bound down the stairs to answer it, and quick as flash, Harry brought her hand down and lowered the volume on the argument.
    It was Portia, looking solemn, and still clutching her clipboard.
    ‘Where’s Amelia?’ she said, as Millicent showed her into the lounge.
    ‘Upstairs,’ Millicent said. ‘The hairdresser is on her way.’
    Portia lowered her voice and gave us a cheeky grin.
    ‘I’ve emailed the press release to every TV journalist I know,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘They’re all going mad for this story. The
Sun
are sending someone up from Edinburgh. And Holly and Phil are all over it.’
    I tried to look impressed.
    ‘What happens now?’ I asked.
    Portia grinned again.
    ‘We’ve got some more filming to do,’ she said.
    ‘Really?’ Harry, Millicent and I all said in unison.
    ‘I didn’t think we’d carry on,’ I added. ‘Not now.’
    ‘Indeed we will,’ Portia said, glancing at her watch and making a note on her clipboard. ‘In fact, we need to crack on. Let’s go.’
    With Portia gabbling at us about Lorraine and
Loose Women
, we headed back to the tent and filed in to join June, Wilf and the judges. We stood by our benches where our biscuit creations still rested and I noticed the pool of caramel left by Amelia had been cleared up, leaving just a slightly sticky splodge on the marquee’s carpet tiles.
    Peter and Lizzie did the rounds of everyone’s 3D biscuits. They pronounced Wilf’s Tardis ‘inventive and delicious’ and he was so pleased with the verdict that he gave Lizzie a huge smacker on her cheek, making her giggle like a schoolgirl.
    June’s house was called ‘charming’ and Peter broke one of the walls apart with a satisfying ‘snap’ and told her it was perfectly baked.
    And Harry’s beach hut was the absolute star of the show.
    ‘Oh now I adore this,’ Lizzie said, turning it round on the bench so she could see it from all sides.’
    ‘It’s quirky and fun,’ Peter agreed. ‘But how does it taste?’
    We all held our breath as they tasted it, but of course it was perfect too. Of course it was.
    And as for my tiny wedding biscuits. They were fine.
    ‘Nothing special,’ Peter said, as I resisted the temptation to glower at him. ‘They’re really too simple for this stage in the competition.’
    Oh well, I thought, as we all settled down on our stools and waited to hear who would be going home, at least I would definitely be going home this week. I’d done my bit and now I could watch the rest of the competition from the comfort of my own sofa.
    ‘And so Amelia’s made the difficult decision not to return to the competition,’ Peter was saying.
    Hang on, she’d done what?
    ‘Which means, once again, we won’t be sending anyone home this week.’
    My fellow competitors all smiled, as I grimaced. Pastry week it was then. Bugger.

Twelve
    ‘Clemmie,’ I said with forced patience. ‘Darling, you can’t go to nursery without trousers.’
    ‘No,’ said my daughter, giggling madly and darting away from me. ‘No.’
    I sighed. Clemmie was definitely in the middle of the terrible twos and she was trying my limited patience. It didn’t help that I was knackered. I’d stayed up late reading social media after the episode of
Britain Bakes
featuring Amelia’s accident aired. There had been a lot to read. The unfortunate incident seemed to have divided the nation, and if people had been interested