Chapter Thirty-Four #2
The man ignored her, but the mother and daughter shuffled closer together, the three of them closing ranks.
Ella tried to appear friendly and welcoming but it was rather like smiling down the barrel of a gun, the intensity of their stares was so fierce.
After a while it started to intimidate her but thankfully Doris bowled up with a bunch of cronies, all of whom bought lots of tickets.
They bore off their assorted bottles very happily, oblivious to the stony stare of the trio behind them.
Then the dad of the family stepped forward and burrowed deep into his shirt pockets before pulling out a rather tatty five pound note.
‘One ticket.’ He handed over the note and held out a fat pudgy hand for the change.
Ella counted out four pound coins, subject to suspicious scrutiny. ‘Here you go.’
With surprising speed his hand dived into the tombola barrel and he immediately turned away, secretively poring over his ticket, or rather, as Ella strongly suspected, tickets. Wife and daughter crowded round.
A younger family with a little girl and a toddler in a pushchair diverted Ella’s attention. They were friendly and chatty, getting the little girl to take a lucky handful of tickets. They won a bottle of lager and pronounced themselves delighted to win something.
‘Another,’ said the man, a single pound coin pinched between his thumb and finger. Again he dipped into the barrel, keeping his hand carefully closed as he turned away.
With more customers appearing, Ella found it hard to keep an eye on the odd family but they were definitely up to something.
When Bets appeared on the other side of the room, Ella waved frantically to her, in such a way that it was obvious something was wrong.
Before Bets reached her the man approached the stall. ‘I got two winners. Two-O-Five and three-O-O. Noughts and fives win, don’t they?’ With an aggressive thrust he waved the two raffle tickets under her nose and pointed with the other hand to a bottle of whisky and a bottle of vodka.
Ella took the tickets from him and he snatched up the two bottles before she even had a chance to check the numbers tallied. To be honest she didn’t care. Now that they’d won something, hopefully they’d disappear.
Bets, having wriggled away through the crowded room, faced her across the table.
‘You OK?’
‘I hope I will be now,’ Ella whispered. ‘I think those people are cheating but they’ve won something now. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘The Bainbridges. They are a little strange. Live just outside the village in that cottage with the net curtains. All the kids call it the scary house.’
‘I can see why,’ muttered Ella trying to be discreet and not look at the trio who were still there whispering among themselves.
Just then the man pushed forward and waved another pound coin at her. ‘Another one.’
Ella gave him a hard stare. Should she accuse him of taking more than one ticket each time?
When she looked round, Bets had gone. Trying to dredge up some bravery, Ella gave Mr Bainbridge a firm but fair smile. ‘It is just one ticket for a pound.’
‘Hah! Daylight robbery. One frigging ticket for a pound. Should be two. One isn’t right.’
‘I’m afraid I didn’t set the prices and it’s all for a good cause.’
Mr Bainbridge stared at her, his watery steel blue eyes locked onto hers. Goosebumps erupted on Ella’s arms. She’d rather be anywhere but here. He was probably putting a curse on her or something.
‘I’m having two tickets.’
‘That’s not very fair on everyone else, is it?’ Her voice held even though inside she had no idea what to do. What the hell was village etiquette when you dealing with the local misfit family?
‘Up to your old tricks are you, Bainbridge?’ Devon’s voice, firm and even, interjected.
Her pulse reacted to the familiar timbre and with it a sudden tightening of her skin and muscles, as if her whole body had gone on full alert.
With his hand on his hips and towering over the shorter, dumpy man, Devon looked like an avenging angel.
Ella could have fainted with outright gratitude, except that was the last thing he would want.
She stared at the stern mouth, the memory of its touch triggering a warmth inside her chest she would rather ignore.
Bainbridge glared at Devon, shrugged and without another word slid off into the crowd, his wife and daughter slinking after him without a backward glance.
Stunned into silence, Ella could only gawp stupidly at Devon. His expression didn’t invite conversation. With a disdainful and long-suffering tut, he shook his head and turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
Bloody typical. Apparently it was OK for him to come to the rescue. Despite being horribly grateful, she still wanted to shake him.
When Mrs Mason came to relieve her at twelve, Ella wasn’t as desperate to leave as she thought she’d be.
‘Thank you so much for holding the fort.’ It was one of the ladies whom she’d met when doing her talk.
‘That’s OK. I enjoyed myself.’ She’d had a great time, chatting to half the village she knew and lots of people she didn’t, who’d all been very friendly and chatty. The time had flown by.
‘I hear the Bainbridges stopped by, dear. They are such wretches. Very naughty of them. It’s not even as if they drink. They just like to win.’ She shook her pale pink rinse. ‘But then, Mrs Bainbridge always donates the whole lot back again for next year.’
‘How odd,’ said Ella.
‘And isn’t your picture doing well?’
Ella looked blank for a second.
‘Your mouse picture in the silent auction. Up to a thousand pounds!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ the older lady beamed. ‘That’ll go a long way to helping with the roof repairs.’
‘Gosh. I’m so pleased. That’s brilliant news.’
‘Now, off you go. I’d get some food while you can. Pam’s pulled pork burgers are a real treat. I recommend you try them. And here comes Bets.’
Ella crossed the hall to meet her.
‘Thank you so much for sending Devon over.’
‘That’s all right. Audrey should have warned you. Did he speak to you?’
‘No. Just did his knight act and buggered off sharpish.’
‘Men,’ they said in unison and burst out laughing.
‘Come on. Let’s get some food. Then you can come and watch the dog agility class.’
‘Blimey, the excitement might just kill me,’ teased Ella, lifting her head as the scent of food tantalised. ‘Gosh, that smells delicious.’
‘Pam’s pulled pork burgers. They’re a must. Come on.’
Replete with burger, Ella settled into the afternoon. Who’d have thought the village fayre could be so much fun? Bets’ agility competition was hilarious as none of the dogs knew how to behave and only three of them managed to complete the course.
The final judging of the cakes was announced and Ella accompanied Bets to the stuffy marquee over which Audrey presided.
She had two other people with her: Scott Pitman, who Ella recognised as a judge on a minor TV cookery programme from several years ago and Johannes Stern, who was a chef at the local hotel.
With clipboards, looking as serious and grave as Prue Leith and Paul Hollywood, the two judges prowled along the length of the trestle table bearing an assortment of cakes.
The standard varied enormously, from simple but well risen Victoria sponges to an intricate meringue with swans swimming on its surface (she guessed that was Elsie Reynolds’ entry) and an elegant dark chocolate ganache-covered cake with an elaborate fascinator of white chocolate attached to one side.
It was all rather impressive, although she was pleased that she could hold her head up high.
Her entry was definitely up to standard.
After much heated deliberation and note taking, the judges formed into a huddle.
Out of the corner of her eye, with that second sense of awareness, she saw Devon slip into the marquee.
Deliberately she turned her head away, so he didn’t register on her peripheral vision, determined not to give into temptation to sneak an occasional glance his way.
Unfortunately, she didn’t manage to stick to that plan and as Audrey declared that they were about to announce the top five bakers, her eyes caught his.
She quickly looked away, taking a sharp inward breath at the unwelcome flutter in her stomach.
‘I bet you’re shortlisted,’ whispered Bets.
‘In no particular order, we’d like to invite the bakers to come and stand with their cakes. These are our five finalists. Ella Ridgen.’ Bets squealed. ‘Elsie Reynolds. Brenda White. Sally Cummings and George Faber.’
Ella risked another look Devon’s way, unable to stop her delight from showing. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, bestowing a matter of fact smile. A hands off, I’m-pleased-for-you-in-a-purely-acquaintance-type-way smile.
It seemed a shame when the judges began to cut into the cakes and then got down to the serious business of tasting them.
‘Nice texture. Well risen. Mmm, the chocolate has just the right balance of sweetness.’
‘Light, airy meringue with just the right amount of gooeyness in the middle. Very good indeed.’
They came to Ella’s and her knees began to shake. It was as bad as being at an exhibition and waiting for The Times art critic to make his comments. She’d forgotten how terrifying being judged was, especially with everyone around you to hear.
‘Beautifully presented. Fabulous sugar-paste work.’ In tandem, Scott and Johannes lifted their forks to their mouths.
There was a pregnant pause of anticipation among the crowd.
As the judges chewed, people craned their necks to hear their verdict.
Scott’s expression changed first. Horrified disbelief.
Johannes’ eyes widened and his nose wrinkled.
For a second it looked as if he might spit his mouthful out.
There was an agitated mutter in the crowd as everyone started talking.
‘Zat is deesgusting. All I can taste is bicarbonate of soda.’
‘That’s a bit mean,’ muttered Bets with an outraged glare.
‘Oh, shit,’ whispered Ella, putting her hand to her mouth in horrified realisation. She started to giggle. ‘I just remembered. I guessed on the baking powder, got my teaspoons and tablespoons muddled up.’
‘You noodle.’ Bets shook her head, biting her lip, making an obvious effort not to laugh.
‘It gets worse.’ Ella’s eyes danced at the memory. ‘I added an extra one in because I was worried about it not rising.’ Ella snorted and then burst out laughing, waving at the curious crowd who clearly thought she’d gone mad.
What a berk. No wonder they’d risen so well at first. They must taste disgusting. The more she tried to school her face to sympathise with the two judges who were valiantly trying to swallow down the cake, the funnier she found it.
The judges stared at her.
It was no good, Ella couldn’t stop the tears of laugher rolling down her face. The whole room turned to look at her.
She faced them, clutching her middle, almost doubled over. ‘T-tell them, Bets,’ she gasped as tears ran down her cheeks.
‘She got her teaspoons muddled up with tablespoons,’ announced Bets in a very loud voice. ‘Two tablespoons of baking powder. But it rose.’
People in the room began to smile, many laughing out loud, those nearest clapping her on the back. They weren’t laughing at her, they were laughing with her. There was a difference and it felt good. No, it felt great.
When she glanced across the room towards Devon, this time he smiled properly.