Prime Time by Jane Wenham-Jones Page A

linking her arm through mine, ‘I’m looking for someone to go on Cook Around the Clock with me. Fancy that?’
    Charlotte snorted with laughter.
    â€˜What?’ I said.
    â€˜It sounds brilliant,’ said Alicia. ‘My friend, Shirley, went on it and they had loads of champagne and got put up in a really posh hotel. You could be my mum.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    â€˜No, seriously, that’s what they want. You go on as a pair – sisters, married couple, friends, or whatever. I phoned up and they said that, right now, they’re looking for mothers and daughters. Haven’t you ever seen it?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Charlotte. ‘And you’re kidding. You’ve never seen Lu in a kitchen.’
    â€˜It’s great,’ said Alicia to me. ‘One of you can cook and one can’t. The one who can’t cook gets a chef to help them and they have a race to cook something with the one that can. They have a chef too but he just watches and says whether they’re any good or not. So I could be all hopeless and you can be a yummy mummy type who makes cakes all the time and is trying to encourage me.’
    I shook my head. ‘But I can’t cook either.’
    Alicia waved her hand dismissively as if this were a minor detail. ‘It’s supposed to be fabulous and you get to meet two famous chefs – we could get Jamie or Gordon Ramsey or anyone –’
    â€˜Mmm,’ I said, ‘I like him but I really don’t do cookery. Well, not apart from pizza and chicken nuggets and things you just put in the oven. I made a beef casserole once and left it in the oven all day and it was still like leather …’
    Alicia shrugged. ‘We can work something out.’
    â€˜No thank you,’ I continued. ‘I don’t want to do anything like this ever again. I mean you may have been pretending but some of those up there …’ I nodded toward the now-empty back row of the set.
    Charlotte nudged me. ‘I thought you’d had it when that old dear started on about the housework. What a dragon she was.’
    â€˜Oh God yes,’ I shuddered. ‘She scared me rigid. Terry bloody nappies. Doris, wasn’t it? Where the hell did they get her from?’
    Alicia grinned again. ‘That’s my gran.’

Chapter Five
    â€˜So how’s the star?’ Charlotte’s husband, Roger, kissed her on the mouth and turned to grin at me. ‘Hollywood called yet?’
    â€˜It was hilarious,’ said Charlotte. ‘We thought Laura was going to get lynched.’ She smiled happily, clearly cheered by the bottle of wine she’d managed to procure from Kevin on the drive back.
    â€˜It was ghastly,’ I corrected, having drunk less of it than she had. ‘Has Stanley been OK?’
    â€˜Fine. He’s upstairs on the PlayStation with Joe.’ Roger put his arm round Charlotte’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘And Becky’s flouncing about somewhere. Don’t suppose you’ve thought about dinner?’
    Charlotte waved a hand airily. ‘Not really. Have you thought about a bottle of wine? Laura and I have had a very arduous day.’
    Roger rolled his eyes indulgently. ‘There’s one in the fridge. Shall I go and get us all fish and chips?’ He looked at me. ‘Are you and Stanley staying?’
    I pulled a face. ‘I promised Stanley a delivered pizza apparently.’
    â€˜Oh, well we’ll all have that,’ said Charlotte briskly. ‘There’s a leaflet in the kitchen dresser.’ She headed purposefully across the hall. ‘Roger, give the kids a shout and we’ll phone up!’
    Before Roger had a chance to draw breath she’d thrown back her head and yelled herself. ‘Beckeeee!’
    I followed her into her bright kitchen with the vast scrubbed pine table I’d spent many a wine-soaked night round. The assortment