“But that’s not fair.” Alanis was tearing up now. “It should be about who makes the best pies, not who makes the best television.”
“Suppose it depends how you look at it,” said Jim, with the air of somebody who had been quietly looking at it for a while now. “Like there’s always that couple onStrictlywhat can’t actually dance but they stay in because the audience loves them.”
“I just really think”—Alanis’s mascara was beginning to run—“that Linda deserves it more than I do.”
From his position just behind her, Joshua leaned forwards. “Don’t say that. You’ve earned your place here just like the rest of us. And it’s okay for them to make decisions based on the whole contest, not just on the day.”
Although she was ever-so-slightly suspicious of his motivations, Audrey did think Joshua had hit on the right strategy. “Exactly. Don’t think of it as them going easy on you, think of it as them taking a…a holistic approach.”
“Also,” Doris added, “they might kick you out anyway.” She nudged Audrey. “No offence, love. I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, but I’m also sure smarter people’n you’ve been wrong about bigger things.”
That much was definitely true. Although in thisspecificcase Audrey was ninety-nine percent certain that it was Linda who was getting the chop. If the judges had been building up to send Alanis home, they’d have mentioned that her pastry had caught,and they’d probably have played up the very-good-for-your-age angle.
The little gathering shared a round of sympathetic noises, which were marred only slightly by the fact that consoling one person had to come with the implicit reaffirmation that the other person was definitely screwed. And then, after a relatively short period of debate, the judges returned with Grace Forsythe leading them.
“Once more,” Grace Forsythe was saying, “we come to the happiest, and the saddest, part of the show. The part where we celebrate one baker’s floury triumph while another, unfortunately, bites the crust.”
There was a pause. Then Colin Thrimp raised a hand. “Jennifer says that doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.” Grace Forsythe was still standing immaculate on her spot, facing the cameras. “It’sbites the dustbut with a more pie-appropriate substitution for the last word.”
“Jennifer says it’s awful.”
“Well I’m not reshooting.” And without waiting for a reply, Grace Forsythe went straight into the rest of her endgame speech. “We begin, as always, with the joyous task of naming this week’s winner. And it was a close one, because we saw some remarkable baking, but our winner is somebody whose filo filo-ed us with joy, whose pastry was perfection, and who, most importantly, also served us a banger of a curry.” She paused in the place where she always paused. “That’s right, it’s Meera.”
And Audrey was happy for her. Unsurprised, since she’d got the firstby ’eck it’s gorgeousof the series, but happy for her. So hugs were hugged and smiles were shared and then Grace Forsythe’s face fell theatrically.
“But now,” she said, “we come to the sad part of the week. Though Wilfred, Marianne, and I wish with all our hearts that we could take every single one of you home and keep you on little doilies on our mantelpiece—”
“Jennifer says she’s warned you about being surreal,” interrupted Colin Thrimp.
“On our mantelpiece,” Grace Forsythe continued. “Sadly, we must regift one of you to the aunt we dislike. And today, though it grieves me deeply, we are saying goodbye to Audrey.”
Audrey blinked.
And then, out of nowhere, started crying.
* * *
“What the fuck,” Audrey was shouting to Jennifer Hallet’s still closed door. “What the actual fuck. This was personal. You know it was personal.”
The door snapped open to reveal a somewhat rumpled Jennifer Hallet, sleeves rolled up, hair half-tumbled down. “And you know it was complicated.”
Audrey had been gearing up for a was not/was too shouting match, so getting a tacit admission that, at the very least, personalness had been involved was a little disorienting. Although not so disorienting that she couldn’t preserve the essence of the not-too strategy.
“It wasnotcomplicated. You kicked me off the show for annoying you, just like you kept threatening but which I foolishly didn’t believe you were petty enough to actually do.”
Jennifer looked down. She was a fair bit taller than Audrey anyway but standing at the top of a small staircase made herpositively loom. “You had a bad week. Linda still has a story to tell. You were only ever set dressing.”
“Set dressing you were pissed off with.”
“I will admit, that didn’t help.”
Folding her arms, Audrey tried to look unintimidated. “That’s flagrantly unethical.”
“Whereas you’ve been a picture of journalistic integrity.”
“Oh my God, I have.” Audrey folded her arms even tighter. “You just don’t like what I’m doing.”
