Chapter 20
B y the time the second round of the contest arrived in June, Lucas had easily spent every spare moment he had either in his kitchen at home – with Dwayne taste-testing his bread – or in Muddy Paws Café’s kitchen.
He’d struggled to settle on what to do for this round, and had eventually chosen an assorted basket, filled with different types of bread they offered at Muddy Paws Café: tomato and basil flatbread, sliced banana bread, crusty baguettes, toasties, English muffins.
The basket would be a picnic basket – something to represent local dog walkers stopping in for some snacks to complement a sunny-day picnic by the lake.
His dad had tried all of the bakes and given his gold seal of approval to every single one.
He hadn’t spoken to Clem since he’d told her he needed to focus on his family. And yet he couldn’t get her face out of his mind. While making his own bread, he could only think of how he’d offered to help, and let her down.
This morning, the bus was carrying the contestants through the snaking pathways of the Lakes; there was boundless, rippling water to their left, pockmarked with rainfall.
It was a gloomy but warm summer’s day, the lake itself a polished silver reflecting the clouds.
It only made him think of kissing Clem under the umbrella, the weight of her lips reassuring, soft against his.
The way his spine had trembled as though she’d been running her fingers over his skin.
The surprise lingering on her mouth when he drew away.
‘Er, hello, Lucas? What planet are you on?’ Dwayne asked, waving his hand in front of Lucas’s face.
‘W-What?’ Lucas turned to him, but kept his spine pressed against the seat. If he leaned too far forward, he’d see Clem, sitting by the window in the row opposite. He’d carefully avoided making eye contact with her so far, or even looking at her at all.
‘Never mind,’ said Dwayne. He shook his head. ‘Make sure your head is in the game when we get there instead of in the clouds.’
It was no less grey outside when they arrived at the location and filed off the bus.
Lucas hurried forward to get off before Clem did, but he couldn’t avoid her when he reached the tent and their workstations, since they were positioned right beside one another.
Rain was pitter-pattering on the tent’s surface and stray leaves were swept up in the building breeze, sticking to one of the transparent sides.
He couldn’t help but shoot a look Clem’s way as everyone waited, chattering.
She was talking to Sylvie quietly. And even though he’d been reminding himself of his reasoning all the way here for keeping away from her, he felt like he’d been struck in the solar plexus.
She was wearing bright red lipstick, her hair skimming her shoulders, and a crisp white T-shirt decorated with a lazing cat.
The words hanging beneath the cat read nope .
Her jeans were high-waisted and baggy, the shirt tucked in.
A thought zipped through his mind before he could catch it and discard it: that this woman would look stunning even if she were wrapped in a crinkled old sack.
Soon Ronan and the other judges were breezing into the tent, looking significantly windswept, hair askew.
A cluster of staff darted around, fixing their hair and their make-up, wiping rain from Jonathan’s glasses, before the filming could start.
Ronan was dressed in a salmon-pink suit decorated with faint brown stripes, and a pale green tie; he looked like an unfashionable children’s TV presenter.
Viviana and Laurette were both immaculate as always, hair smooth and shiny, frizz-free.
Viviana’s smooth brown skin was dusted with gold highlight, making her look like a shimmering elf.
The thought only reminded him of Clem, and how they’d joked about her failed lembas bread.
Learning about her – her quirks and interests – had made him feel so . . . light.
‘Hi, everyone! Nice to see you all, and welcome to round two!’ Ronan bleated, once the cameras were rolling. ‘Bread week! Now, you all know the rules . . .’
He launched into an explanation of what would happen next – mainly for the sake of the audience, since the gathered contestants knew already. The camera was fixed on him the whole time.
‘We can’t wait to see what you come up with! Good luck and get baking!’ Ronan finished with a flourish, giving them a thumbs up.
There was the usual rush as everyone scrambled around their workstations, gathering equipment. Nerves whooshed inside Lucas like the leaves outside being churned up by the wind. This is no different to a morning’s work in the café , he told himself.
Except it could change everything for Mum and Dad , said another little voice in the far reaches of his mind. What will they do if you fail?
But he couldn’t think about that. Only about what came next. The process.
Ingredients stacked up on the workstation, he nodded at Dwayne, who returned the gesture, looking equally determined.
They hardly needed to speak; they’d been over this dozens of times.
They’d been like ballet dancers in the kitchen, winging around one another.
Now, they launched into the routine, whirling around and mixing ingredients and prepping.
The first time his concentration broke – outside of being questioned by the judges for the sake of the camera – it was when a sharp burning smell reached his nostrils. When he looked up, Clem was snatching up a pan and removing it from the heat, waving Sylvie over with a panicked expression.
‘We need to start over!’ he heard her cry. ‘I’ve burnt the tangzhong paste . . . But when we redo it, we’ll have wasted time. We’ll still have to wait for it to chill . . . We have to hurry up.’
Sylvie said something in response that Lucas didn’t hear, patting her on the shoulder and swooping across to their workstation, her bun slightly askew.
Clem disposed of the burnt mixture, her cheeks as bright as her lipstick – the camera was fully homed in on them, capturing the debacle.
There was an itch in his feet – as if they wanted to move over and help her – but he held firm. Her lip was trembling.
We’re in competition , he reminded himself. This wasn’t a first date where he had to be on his best behaviour. He nearly stumbled over his own feet, Dwayne grabbing him by the arm to steady him.
‘Focus on this workstation,’ Dwayne said quietly.
‘Sorry,’ Lucas mumbled. ‘I’m on it.’
‘Your parents,’ Dwayne reminded him.
‘I know.’
And so, he held them in his mind as he rolled and shaped dough and set things in the oven to bake, the smell of fresh bread and herbs and spices filling the tent in a mouth-watering concoction.
He flinched when Clem dropped a dough ball on the floor, in the same area where she’d been walking, and it rolled around, coming to rest by his feet.
Don’t , he told himself. Don’t help.
The camera had followed everything, now positioned on him, a great shiny eyeball waiting to see what he’d do next.
He was looking down at the dough ball leaning against his shoe; he couldn’t prise his attention away from it.
He wouldn’t pick it up, wouldn’t get involved.
But when she knelt down to pick the ball up herself, and glanced up at him, his chest caught, as if there was something stuck in his ribcage.
Clem straightened up and hurried away with a mumbled, ‘Sorry.’ She declared to Sylvie that they’d have to throw it away – they couldn’t bake it when it had been contaminated.
Things really weren’t going well for her in this round. Was that his fault? He should be pleased his competition was performing poorly – but he wasn’t. Instead, he was grappling with the desire to help.
He tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on dusting the work surface with flour, tipping out his dough, rolling it until it was the correct thickness.
These English muffins needed to be perfect .
Everything needed to be perfect. Dwayne prepared a baking tray as Lucas meticulously cut out eight perfectly shaped muffins, leaving them to prove.
It was a juggling act, working on five different types of bread at once. There was a knot in his chest, tightening as he and Dwayne skirted around one another at the workstation, bumping shoulders at one point.
Once everything was baked and laid out in front of them, the arrangement had to be perfect, too.
Lucas set the basket at the end of the workstation – it was round, with a curved handle and a lid, and he placed a strip of red checked cloth inside delicately.
It reminded him vaguely of something Red Riding Hood might carry.
Good – if it looked whimsical, inviting, that could only be a plus point for the judges.
‘Come on then,’ Dwayne said, rubbing his hands together next to Lucas. ‘What’s going to look best? I’d maybe have the baguettes sticking out at the side, like this . . .’ He demonstrated, placing them in the basket and leaning them on the sides. ‘The English muffins can hold them up.’
‘Flatbread and toasties on top,’ Lucas suggested. ‘They look the most inviting.’
They leaned over the basket, as if they were dressing a baby for a photo session, and stood back when they were done to assess. The team at the workstation in front were racing around to try to get everything finished on time, the woman’s hair sticking up like she’d been electrocuted.
‘Looks good,’ said Dwayne, as Lucas adjusted a few of the flatbreads so the toppings were more visible.