Chapter 12 #2
‘A pair of you will sadly be going home today,’ said Ronan solemnly, like he was delivering a eulogy. ‘Now, we’ll be judging you, as we will in each round, on your method, your flavours and how things taste, your presentation and creativity, and how well you’ve showcased your unique business.’
The judges began at one end of the line and moved along it, followed by the eagle eye of the camera lens.
They taste-tested the bakes, made comments, thanked the participants for their work, asked follow-up questions.
Lucas could feel Clem’s leg bouncing beside him the closer the judges got to them both.
Ronan came to a halt in front of Lucas and Dwayne, flanked by his fellow judges.
They looked down, assessing the shortbread: layers of crumbly crust, strawberry compote, and chocolate, with a swirling chocolate design on top.
They’d presented it like they would in the café – on a long wooden block, with a black price label wedged into a silver stand.
To go along with the regular rectangular shortbreads, Lucas had made smaller biscuits shaped like dog treats.
‘Those are human-friendly, don’t worry,’ he assured the judges, and they laughed.
Each judge tried a piece of their shortbread, biting into them with gusto – and they tried the dog-treat-shaped ones, too. Lucas watched their faces for any indication of what they were thinking, barely breathing. The only sounds were furious crunching and chewing.
Viviana let out a sigh of contentment and smiled.
She held up the final piece of her shortbread as if it were a jewel she’d plucked from a treasure chest. ‘These are excellent,’ she said, popping the last piece into her mouth.
‘I’ve never had such delicious shortbread.
And the ones shaped like dog treats are a lovely touch, even if they do make me feel like I’m eating something I shouldn’t! ’
‘We don’t actually sell those,’ Dwayne clarified. ‘We have jars of dog biscuits on the counter, so we wanted to replicate the experience of being at Muddy Paws.’
‘Clever,’ said Ronan, who had swallowed the final piece of his own shortbread.
He dusted crumbs from his collar. ‘That was incredible – the blend of strawberry compote, white chocolate, and the shortbread makes for some interesting textures and flavours. Divine! Can I have another one before we move on?’
He snatched a piece before either of them could reply.
When Ronan had devoured the shortbread in a few bites, the judges shuffled away to look at Clem and Sylvie’s cat-shaped biscuits.
‘Ah, Catpurrcino!’ said Ronan. He jabbed a thumb at Lucas and Dwayne. ‘The cat café, up against their natural rivals!’ The other judges laughed – even Sylvie joined in.
Clem’s smile looked slightly strained. Next to him, her leg was still bouncing; if anything, it had picked up speed.
‘Now, Clem,’ said Ronan, his pearly white teeth on show as he beamed down at her. ‘I’ve seen your profiles online and I already think what you do is remarkable . And these look exquisite, so much attention to detail. Now, don’t worry, I’m not playing favourites – it has to taste good, as well!’
Ronan leaned over the biscuits, taking his time selecting one.
The paw-print biscuits Clem had made came in a variety of pastel colours, and the cat-face sugar cookies looked professional grade.
Every line was done with precision, from the two-tone colours of the brown-and-white cats to the little whiskers and the tiny, smiling faces – not a segment out of place or messy.
They looked like something you’d see sold in a gift shop.
The judges chose their biscuits and bit into them. Lucas glanced across to Clem – there was a dimple in her cheek, but she wasn’t smiling anymore, as though she was biting down on the inside of her cheek.
‘Lovely,’ said Laurette, hand held over her face as she chewed.
‘Not quite as punchy in flavour as Muddy Paws over here! But it’s nice and subtle,’ said Ronan.
‘And the artistry – they look perfect. You’re a masterful decorator, Clem,’ Viviana added.
‘Clem’s very talented,’ agreed Sylvie, putting her arm around Clem and squeezing.
Jonathan nodded, finishing his own biscuit. ‘So well done, it was almost a shame to eat one and ruin your lovely work!’
‘Thank you, Clem, Sylvie,’ said Ronan.
The judges moved onward, and Lucas heard Clem’s audible exhalation of relief.
*
The judges were conferring – Clem’s heart was pounding so hard in her ears she could barely hear the other contestants and their murmured conversations.
When the judges returned, they took their positions again in the centre of the tent to announce who would be leaving them this round.
Viviana and Laurette had their arms crossed, making the judges look like a row of police officers.
She swallowed, her throat dry, wondering if she would be the one to go – because in spite of her nerves, she was proud of those biscuits and wanted the recognition.
And the judges had used the words artistry and masterful , sending tingles down her spine, making her cheeks hurt as she smiled.
She still couldn’t believe they were talking about her .
Her, Clem, a university dropout turned baker, being called a masterful decorator?
It didn’t make sense. And if she wasn’t voted off .
. . Well, she’d feel bad for the person leaving, because they’d probably wanted to be here a thousand times more than her – she’d hesitated about even entering.
‘We’re so sorry . . .’ Ronan drew out the pause for effect, a solemn expression painted across his face, the camera capturing it all. ‘Just Desserts,’ Ronan announced. ‘You’ll be leaving us today.’
Clem couldn’t help the rush of joy, mingling with the guilt about her reluctance when all of this started.
Their instructions when someone was eliminated had been to form a group in the middle of the room, consoling whoever was going as the camera caught the moment.
The bakers from Just Desserts approached the judges to shake their hands, looking crestfallen at leaving so soon, and Clem moved forward with Sylvie and the others to surround them.
After goodbyes and condolences had been given, they left the sticky heat of the tent.
Outside, the sky was a cloudless, eggshell-blue.
Noon had passed now and the sun was at the beginning of its descent.
Clem still couldn’t relax, not until this next stage was done.
She’d made it through, but she couldn’t believe she’d dropped her eggs in the tent, and was on high alert to avoid another mishap.
She was standing next to Sylvie, and they were each holding a plate of their biscuits.
The next job for the contestants was to serve up their bakes to one of the tables across from the tent.
They’d been empty before, but now they were filled with people sitting in the shade and chatting.
The camera team were set up nearby, ready to film everything. Clem’s ribcage was tight.
The staff took charge, pointing them onwards in pairs.
Clem watched as Lucas and Dwayne were sent over to the tables, where they delivered their biscuits to a sweet-looking elderly couple.
The woman’s face was radiant as she looked down at the shortbread, and Clem caught her mouthing Thank you to Lucas.
He grinned at her, a dimple puckering in his cheek, and something within her somersaulted.
She couldn’t stop looking at him. Every movement he made was as gorgeous as his face.
All too soon, it was her and Sylvie’s turn. They crossed to the tables, heading for the one the staff had pointed to, the cameras following their every movement like a persistent shadow. Clem kept her focus on her plate – and her feet – to avoid dropping anything else today.
‘Here you are,’ said Clem, placing her plate down on the tablecloth. Good, she’d done it without making a mess.
‘Thank you . . .’
The voice was tentative. But Clem knew it from somewhere. When Clem looked up, she froze, her hand in mid-air above the cat-shaped biscuits.
Ash-blonde hair tumbling in a silky, straight sheen down her chest. Piercing blue eyes. A small nose, with a stud gleaming on the right nostril. She was unmistakable, although it had been over five years since Clem had seen her. The once-friend who had humiliated her, broken her confidence.
‘Hi, Clem,’ said Genie.