Chapter 6 #2
‘It’s also a chance to steal the spotlight,’ added Amelia.
‘Fiona knows that the baking competition is the talk of the town, and by doing something so outlandishly off-topic, she ensures that she becomes the focus of any conversation about the contest. She may hope her unconventional approach will intimidate more traditional competitors like you, making you feel you can’t compete with her star power.
’ Amelia pointed. ‘All those children have gathered to watch and are recording on their phones. They probably don’t have a clue who she is but she’s creating a buzz. ’
‘This is the essence of creativity,’ Fiona proclaimed to the camera. She waded into the water. ‘Taking inspiration from the sea, the sand and the—’
Before she could finish her sentence, a gull swooped down, aiming straight for the cupcakes.
Fiona screamed, swatting at the bird with her whisk, but it was determined.
The crowd erupted in laughter as the bird’s persistence caused the entire tray to flip over, sending cupcakes flying like sugary cannonballs.
‘No!’ Fiona shrieked, grabbing at the tray. Floundering, as a wave took her off her feet. She lost her balance.
‘She’s going in,’ Verity confirmed, her eyes wide.
And in she went. Fiona tumbled backwards into the water, flailing like an overturned starfish.
‘She’s gone under,’ exclaimed Clemmie.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then Fiona’s hat floated to the surface, followed by Fiona herself, sputtering and shrieking as she emerged from the water.
The girls stifled their laughter as Fiona began to shout to Oliver, who was still standing a little further up. ‘What is that saying on the Great British Bake Off?’ asked Dilly.
‘No one likes a soggy bottom!’ Clemmie answered with a smile.
Fiona’s enormous sunglasses had gone askew, making her look like a half-drowned bug, and her straw hat floated nearby like a tiny, defeated raft.
Fiona flailed again, trying to steady herself.
On the shore, Clemmie, Amelia and Dilly were in hysterics. ‘This will be on TikTok for all the wrong reasons. It’s better than reality TV,’ Clemmie managed between bouts of laughter.
Oliver, finally off the phone, turned around just in time to see Fiona wading out of the water, her once-pristine cupcakes a soggy, bird-pecked mess floating in the water below.
‘Fiona?’ he called out, looking puzzled.
With as much flair as she could manage, which, in her current state, wasn’t much, Fiona splashed through the shallows. With an exaggerated huff, kicking up water as she went, she stormed past the spectators without so much as a glance. Her ruined hat dangled from her fingers.
Clemmie, Amelia, Verity and Dilly exchanged wide-eyed looks, biting back laughter as Fiona flung herself into the van and slammed the door shut. Just when they thought the drama couldn’t get any better, a low rumble filled the air, drawing the attention of everyone on the beach.
‘What’s that?’ Amelia asked, craning her neck.
Clemmie turned towards the cobbled road leading down to Blue Water Bay, her brow furrowing. ‘Sounds like … engines?’
A convoy of brightly coloured news vans rumbled urgently towards the bay, their satellite dishes glinting in the sunlight. As they came to a halt, doors flew open, releasing a bustling swarm of reporters and camera crews into the scene.
‘This just keeps getting better,’ Dilly murmured.
‘What the hell is going on now?’ Verity muttered, shading her eyes.
But before anyone could speculate, the attention on the beach shifted again and a collective gasp rose from the crowd as eyes turned to the horizon. Clemmie followed their gaze, squinting against the glare of the midday sun, and froze.
Far out on the water, something was approaching. At first, it was just a glimmer, but as it drew closer, its silhouette became clear: it was a yacht. No, not just any yacht … the yacht.
‘Wait a second,’ Dilly said, her voice rising. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
Clemmie’s heart raced as she took in the sight.
The Royal Yacht was a marvel, gliding across the water with the elegance of a swan.
Its gleaming white hull caught the sunlight, making it seem almost ethereal, while its gold-trimmed masts stood tall like sentinels of grandeur.
Flags bearing the unmistakable royal insignia fluttered from the mast-tops.
The yacht seemed to defy logic, both impossibly massive and exquisitely graceful, a floating masterpiece that drew gasps from everyone gathered on the beach.
‘It’s Her Majesty’s Royal Yacht,’ Amelia whispered, her tone reverent.
‘No way,’ Clemmie breathed, her heart thudding in her chest.
‘Yes way,’ Dilly said, practically bouncing with excitement.
Clemmie picked up her phone and placed a call. ‘Granny! Get to the bay! Quick!’
The yacht moved closer, and the buzz on the beach grew louder.
Spectators surged towards the shoreline, their phones raised like tiny periscopes, snapping photos and recording videos.
Children clambered onto shoulders for a better view, while reporters jostled for position, their microphones and cameras aimed at the approaching spectacle.
Clemmie looked over towards Oliver, who caught her eye. He smiled and waved a hand towards the boat, like he was showing off the Royal Yacht in all its glory.
‘You’re one of the ten bakers, Clemmie. You’re going to be on that!’ exclaimed Verity.
‘Yes!’ Dilly chimed in. ‘You’re going to bake in the royal kitchen on a yacht. A Royal Yacht! This is insane!’
Before Clemmie could respond, a nearby reporter’s voice caught her attention.
‘The Royal Yacht is just about to dock at Puffin Island,’ the woman said, speaking animatedly into her microphone. ‘It’s here to host the annual Royal Baking Competition, where ten lucky bakers will have the opportunity of a lifetime to showcase their skills.’
Clemmie’s knees felt weak. The Royal Baking Competition. This wasn’t just any stage … it was the stage. And she was going to be on it.
Just then, Betty came hurrying down Lighthouse Lane. She puffed slightly as she joined the growing crowd, pressing her hands to her hips to catch her breath.
‘Good heavens, what on earth is going on here?’ she exclaimed, her voice carrying over the chatter of the onlookers.
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the Royal Yacht gliding towards the dock, its gleaming hull and towering masts a spectacle.
‘In all my years on this island, I’ve never seen anything like this! ’
Clemmie turned to her, barely able to suppress her own excitement. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to be baking on that yacht.’
As the yacht slowed to a majestic stop at the dock, its horn sounded a deep, resonant note that echoed across the bay. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.
Clemmie could hardly believe her eyes. Every detail of the yacht, from its polished wood decks to its ornate gold fixtures, spoke of prestige and history. It was a symbol of excellence, and it was now the backdrop for her greatest challenge yet.
‘Clemmie! There you are! Come on…’ Oliver’s voice broke through the din, and Clemmie turned to see him striding towards her with a grin full of excitement.
‘Me?’ she asked, pointing at herself. ‘Come where?’
‘They want to talk to one of the bakers,’ Oliver said, signalling for her to follow him towards the gathered news crews.
‘But … look at me.’
‘You look beautiful,’ Oliver said, reaching for her hand. ‘Just be yourself and you’ll be grand.’
Amelia gave her a gentle shove. ‘Go on … go get ’em, Clemmie!’
Clemmie took a deep breath and stepped forward, her nerves jangling like a set of wind chimes in a storm. The crowd parted slightly as she made her way towards the cameras, their curious gazes following her every step.
The reporter turned to face her, her polished smile bright and welcoming.
‘This is contestant Clemmie Rose,’ announced Oliver, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. ‘Puffin Island is her home.’
The reporter extended her hand in greeting but didn’t give Clemmie much time to react before shifting into professional mode. She counted down briskly, ‘One … two…’ and then turned her attention to the camera.
‘We are live from Puffin Island,’ she began, her tone vibrant and engaging, ‘where the Royal Yacht has just docked, ahead of the filming of the annual Royal Baking Competition, a beloved tradition begun by the Royal Family many decades ago.’
The camera panned briefly to capture the yacht in all its glory, the sunlight glinting off its polished wood and gleaming brass fixtures.
The reporter continued, ‘This magnificent vessel will serve as the ultimate stage for ten incredibly talented bakers, each of whom will have the chance to showcase their skills in the royal kitchen.’
Clemmie swallowed hard as the microphone was thrust towards her, the reporter’s smile encouraging yet firm.
‘We’re here with Clemmie Rose, one of the ten talented bakers nominated to compete in this year’s competition,’ she said, her voice smooth and professional. ‘Clemmie, how does it feel to know you’ll be baking on the Royal Yacht?’
Clemmie glanced towards it, its grandeur almost surreal, and found her voice.
‘It’s … it’s an incredible opportunity,’ she said, her words shaky at first but gaining strength.
‘It’s … humbling. But this competition is more than just a chance to bake.
It’s a way to honour tradition and push ourselves to recreate something extraordinary from our heritage. ’
‘The recipe you have chosen, are you able to tell us anything about it?’
‘All I’m going to share at the moment is it’s a recipe that was created by my great-great-grandmother and is a firm favourite at our café on the coast.’
The reporter’s smile widened. ‘And what are you most excited about as you prepare for the competition?’
Clemmie paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘To honour my family’s baking heritage alongside such a talented group of bakers. I can’t wait to see what we all create.’
The crowd that had gathered broke into a round of supportive cheers and Clemmie could see her friends were practically jumping up and down, clapping enthusiastically from their spot on the beach.
‘Thank you for talking to us today,’ the reporter said, giving her a nod of approval. ‘Best of luck to you in the competition!’
As the interview ended, Oliver gave her hand a squeeze. ‘That was perfect,’ he said. ‘You’re a natural on TV, which bodes well, given it’s a televised competition.’
Clemmie glanced back at her friends, who were grinning and waving like proud parents. She couldn’t help but smile. The Royal Yacht, the competition, the chance to bake in the kitchen of her dreams … it was all happening and she was determined to make the most of every single moment.
‘You were brilliant,’ exclaimed Betty as Clemmie rejoined them.
‘I bet Fiona is kicking herself for falling into the water. That could have been her talking to the press instead,’ said Verity.
Dilly held out her phone. ‘Instead she’s all over the socials for the wrong reason. Someone uploaded the video of her cupcakes being stolen by the seagull, followed by her unexpected swim in the sea.’ The caption read: ‘From cupcakes to cup-flops, when baking dreams take a dive!’
They all watched the video. ‘I’m beginning to feel a little bit sorry for her,’ said Betty, though her wicked grin said otherwise.
‘You do not, Granny!’ replied Clemmie.
‘Hopefully you have more finesse than Fiona. Her balancing skills certainly need some work!’ She gestured towards the sea, where Fiona had just been floundering.
Everyone laughed.
Clemmie turned her attention back to the Royal Yacht, her thoughts on the prize ahead of her, and the challenge that lay in her hands.