Chapter 13 #2
It’s more insanely unpleasant than I was imagining, I realise when we assemble for our ice baths.
There are two ice-water-filled bath-like containers in the middle of a room and space round the sides for the other pairs and a fucking TV camera.
As in, if we do this with anything other than very good grace our misery will be broadcast to the nation.
My misery I should say; Jake is not miserable.
We’re both wearing T-shirts, shorts and unattractive toe-boot things that they provided us with.
Jake asked me on our way over whether I’d like to go first or second.
I opted for first, reasoning that however bad it is, the anticipation will only add to the badness, and I’m not even being selfish given that Jake said he’s liked it when he’s done it before (five or six times, he can’t remember how many; I am certain that I will be doing it once and once only).
And this is it. I’m about to go in.
We had a long spiel beforehand that I really struggled to concentrate on (I am not good with boring instructions) but now I’m focused, mainly on not reacting whatever happens.
I don’t react when I get in. I was worried that I’d scream, but I’m too stunned. It’s so unbelievably cold. Shockingly so.
Okay. I’m in. I have to stay in for three minutes and then I’m done. It’s invigorating, I tell myself, it’s good for me, it’s amazing, it’s wonderful (er no it is not), and this torture will be over soon, and I am not going to react.
And it’s over.
‘Fucking hell,’ I say right into the TV camera as I climb out.
‘How was it?’ asks one of the other women participants whose name I haven’t yet caught, because we’ve barely been introduced; they’re trying to keep us apart as much as possible apparently, so that we all focus fully on our partner. ‘Are you a convert? Do you feel amazing?’
I just stand there for a few seconds, trying to work out how I feel.
‘I think I do feel good,’ I tell the woman.
‘But mainly because I’m out. I don’t feel good enough to make up for having to do it in the first place.
Plus, now I know what it’s like, the anticipation would make me feel as bad beforehand as the endorphin rush afterwards, so basically, no, I am not a convert. ’
She laughs, and then we all turn round because it’s Jake’s turn.
I have to say: wearing a water-soaked T-shirt does suit a man with a very toned torso.
It’s just a fact. Like appreciating a great work of art by an amazing painter, you can’t really not appreciate Jake’s physique.
Not in an attracted-to-him way (clearly I am not attracted to him), just in an ‘oh wow yes that’s a great painting or great sculpture’ kind of way.
Taking an ice bath suits Jake in more than one way. He looks perfectly happy while he’s doing it – very cool.
When he gets out, he’s grinning and he does not swear into a camera in a manner that the producers obviously will decide to broadcast on national television; he just laughs and agrees that, yeah, you do feel good afterwards.
I’ve been out for several minutes now and I do not feel on any kind of particular high and I fully remember how much I did not like it, and I will not be doing it again. End of.
‘You were amazing,’ gushes the woman I spoke to before.
‘Ha,’ says Jake. ‘I don’t think there’s any particular life skill involved in not flinching during or after a cold bath; probably more that I’m too lazy to twitch.’
‘Adorable,’ the woman says.
I try hard not to roll my eyes. It’s ridiculous the effect Jake has on people.
Sonja is clapping her hands. ‘Time for lunch before our reptile experience,’ she tells us.
I’m not going to think about the reptile thing, I’m just going to focus on the fact that I’m really looking forward to lunch; assault courses and ice baths make you hungry, it turns out. Hopefully they’ll have laid on something nice for us as a reward.
Nope. Of course they haven’t. Except, I do actually think I’m going to enjoy this.
‘Lunch is a MasterChef-style challenge,’ Sonja tells us.
‘We’re all going to a large kitchen where we have a worktop for each team and you’ll all have the same twenty ingredients, not all of which you have to use, and you’ll be competing to make the best meal and also to showcase the best teamwork.
Two-thirds of the marks will be for the food, including taste, presentation and skill level, and one-third for teamwork. ’
‘Couldn’t get more clichéd if they tried,’ Jake says in my ear as the host draws breath.
‘Sounds like fun, though.’ I love cooking and I love opening a fridge and making whatever I can from the ingredients in there.
‘The winners will get to make dessert for everyone and the losers will do an ice bath,’ the host continues.
‘I mean, I’d rather do the ice bath,’ Jake says.
‘Okay, this is the only part of the weekend that’s going to be fun for me,’ I say, alarmed. ‘You have to try hard. I don’t want to do another ice bath ever and I’d love to make dessert for everyone.’
Jake does a very dramatic whole-body sigh while rolling his eyes and then says, ‘Fine. I’ll do my best.’ He looks at me. ‘Do you cook a lot?’
‘Yep. Do you?’
‘Basically never.’ He screws up his face, as though he’s in pain, which – ridiculously – just makes him look very handsome in a different way from normal, rather than weird, like anyone else would if they did that. ‘I might have to take your instructions.’
‘Ha, really?’ I’m delighted. ‘Finally I have you at my mercy.’
‘I mean, not fully. Or not at all, really. Given my preference for an ice bath over baking.’
I raise my eyebrows very sternly.
‘Yeah, no, fine, I will do my best,’ he says.
‘And do exactly as you’re told?’
‘Yes. I promise.’
‘Good.’
We walk together with the other teams over to the kitchen, which, in Bake Off fashion, although in a much less picturesque way – it’s surrounded by large, concrete sheds – is housed in a giant tent.
A very jovial man called Fred tells us that his partner, Suzanne, is a bona fide Michelin-starred chef. Bugger. Although it really doesn’t matter as long as we don’t lose. I would like to win, though.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re all at the right workbenches, we’ve all seen the ingredients that we have, and we’re all raring to go (or in Jake’s case leaning with elbows on the worktop, chin propped in hand, unenthusiasm personified) when Sonja raises her whistle.
‘Three, two, one!’ She blows, long and hard.
‘Ow.’ I shake my head to disperse the ringing in my ears. That was a very high decibel level.
I’ve been thinking fast and I know what I want us to make: a prawn and leek risotto, with a fennel, tomato and red onion salad to balance the creaminess.
I set Jake to chopping onions first. He begins with the first one by cutting it the opposite way to how most people do and then stares at it.
‘Shall I show you how I would chop an onion?’ I suggest.
‘Can I not do it my way?’
‘What is your way?’
‘I’m just working that out.’ He pulls his sleeve up and kind of twizzles his knife.
‘Okay, I’m going to show you how to do it.’
‘What, there’s an actual particular way to chop an onion?’
‘Of course?’ As I demonstrate, it’s clear that he’s paying about as much attention as I paid to the assault course and ice bath instructions.
When I’m done, he moves in front of the chopping board and… cuts the onion really slowly into big, uneven chunks, totally ignoring how I showed him to do it.
‘Okay, no.’ I take – seize, if I’m honest – the knife and set to work rescuing the onions. ‘Why don’t you wash some vegetables and clear up after me? And pass me things? And I’ll do all the chopping as fast as I can.’
‘Sounds like this is going to be fun,’ he says with a sarcastic eyebrow raise before he begins wiping around the worktop.
He looks like he’s never held a cloth before.
‘This is not a moment for sarcasm,’ I tell him.
‘This is a moment to shut up and do what you’re told and make sure I don’t have to do a second ice bath in one day.
’ I say it with a friendly, team-matey smile, because one of Sonja’s sidekicks is making her way towards us, notebook and pen at the ready to record her observations of our work.
‘Why don’t you wash those courgettes?’ I’m not planning to include the courgettes in the risotto but I need to keep him busy.
And maybe I can get him to peel them into shavings and toss them with oil, garlic and lemon and have them as another side salad.
Or make little courgette dumplings with them, although maybe that would be too much heaviness for one meal.
‘Why? Are we actually using them?’
‘No questions; you have to demonstrate great teamwork,’ I hiss. With a smile, because in addition to the observer, the bloody TV cameras are here watching us, and I have no wish to look grumpy in public.
‘Team members are allowed to question each other,’ Jake says, far too loudly.
‘Shhh,’ I say, extremely smilingly.
‘Being an author must be a very solitary occupation,’ he says in musing (and still loud) tones. ‘Not a lot of teamwork practice.’
‘I’ve had plenty of teamwork practice. I used to be a retail manager. I have regular work meetings now. I can work in a team. Just not with someone with literally no relevant skills and a poor attitude.’ I am still smiling.
‘Er I have a great attitude. I’m very kindly helping you to try to win this so you don’t have another ice bath today.’ Jake’s still washing three courgettes, splashing far and wide as he does so.
‘Thank you. I’m extremely grateful. Don’t forget to dry the worktop and floor when you’ve finished washing those.’
‘I would never forget such a thing.’
‘Good news.’ I chop, cook, season as fast as I can, all the while giving Jake occasionally useful and often entertain-the-toddler type tasks to keep him busy, and smiling away for the observers and the cameras.
‘That smells really good.’ Jake’s standing quite close behind me as I taste the dish and then add a little bit more lemon juice. ‘And what I really like about your addition of that lemon juice is that I juiced the lemon and it was not a wasted task.’
I try very hard to ignore the fact that for some bizarre reason I’m enjoying the sense of his largeness so close to me, and smile when he indicates with his head the washed and not used courgettes and carrots neatly laid out on the side to our right.
I asked Jake to slice one courgette with the wide slice bit of the grater and he managed to slice his thumb (and is now sporting a fetching blue plaster), and I didn’t have time to do them myself on top of everything else, so I decided that less is more and binned the extra courgette salad idea.
I turn round and, oops, it turns out that he’s taken a step closer and I’m now very much chest to chest with him.
I take a step to my right, just as he takes a step to his left. And then I try one to my left, just as he tries one to his right. And we are still very close to each other.
‘So.’ Eek, my voice has gone weird. ‘I was just going to get a little bit of pepper.’
‘Of course.’ His voice sounds a bit odd too.
Which is not surprising, because there is something very odd about standing this near to someone. It makes you extremely aware of… well… everything about them.
Jake’s chest and shoulders are very wide. But not too wide. Just the right amount of wideness. He’s tall. But not too tall. Just the right amount of height. And when he smiles, it’s just the right amount, so that you want to smile too.
My goodness. Why do I just keep thinking just the right amount? Just the right amount for what?
‘Can I taste our cooking?’ His lovely deep voice is just the right amount of gravelly. Just the right amount for something. That something – right now – might be causing me to feel butterflies in my stomach.
‘Of course.’ We’re still standing facing each other, very close together.
I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the beginnings of his beard shadow.
‘So I’m going to step to my right now and take a teaspoon and give it to you so that you can do the tasting.
’ I described it like that to avoid any more of the weird side-stepping at the same time, but I think I might just have sounded very odd.
‘Great.’ He sounds odd too.
And then we both kind of hover until I take the step to my right while Jake stands there, very strangely still, his arms just kind of hanging by his sides, which is unusual, because Jake is normally very relaxed.
Anyway. Odd. I move over to the counter and the drawer where the cutlery is, take a teaspoon and turn round to hand it to him. He reaches for it at the exact same moment and our hands bang, and that just feels weird.
We say, ‘Sorry,’ simultaneously and then we laugh simultaneously, and, honestly, I feel as though I’m losing my mind a little. As in, I am just not me in this moment.
I’m not sure who I am instead.
All just very peculiar.