‘Thrilling?’ Dilly suggested.
‘A mistake,’ Clemmie corrected. ‘I need to have more self-worth. He’s going to be gone as soon as the competition is over, and after the way he treated me, he doesn’t deserve another chance.’
Amelia drew a heart in the sand with the tip of a piece of driftwood, then idly scuffed it out. ‘You don’t know that,’ she said softly.
‘Yes, I do,’ Clemmie replied. ‘If he ever truly cared for me, he wouldn’t have just disappeared from my life like he did. He’s here to present the competition, not to win me back.’ Clemmie sat up fully, brushing sand from her hands and shaking her head as if to clear it. ‘I’ve got to keep my head in the game. Winning this competition would mean a lot to me, and to my granny. It could also mean big things for the café and to put all my great-great-grandmother’s recipes in a book would mean a great deal to us all.’
‘Not to mention you’d have a chance of mingling at the palace. Can you imagine?’ added Dilly. Something in the distance caught her eye and she pointed towards the road. ‘Is that a camera crew?’
All three of them turned to look. Sure enough, a van emblazoned with the logo for ‘Fiona Fairweather Fanciable Fancies’ had parked near the beach and a flurry of crew members wielding cameras, booms and clipboards was piling out onto the sand.
And then Clemmie saw him. Oliver stepped out of the van, handsome in a casual white shirt and navy chinos that were somehow both relaxed and tailored to perfection.
‘Oh, great,’ exclaimed Clemmie.
‘Who’s that?’ said Dilly.
‘Thatis Oliver Lockwood,’ confirmed Amelia.
Dilly stared. ‘I think you should reconsider getting it on with him!’
‘Dilly!’ exclaimed Clemmie.
‘I take it that must be Fiona Fairweather?’ Dilly observed.
Fiona stepped out of the van adorned in a flamboyant floral bikini, a wide-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses so massive they nearly concealed her entire face. She strutted across the sand with the flair of a runway model, utterly oblivious to how incongruous she appeared amidst the rugged beauty of Blue Water Bay.
‘It most certainly is,’ Clemmie replied.
‘What is she doing?’
‘Probably making her latest TikTok or a feature for her YouTube channel.’
They all watched as the cameras set up in a semi-circle around Fiona.
‘She’s garnering quite a bit of attention.’ Amelia nodded to a group of fishermen who were gawping in her direction.
‘That’s what she wants: to generate publicity. But what she fails to understand is that this competition is not about how great your body looks, or how much attention you attract, it’s about how well you can bake.’
‘Hear, hear,’ encouraged Amelia.
They watched in disbelief as what looked like a film set of a kitchen was unloaded from the van, followed by utensils, bowls and trays of cupcakes. It was as if the sandy shore of Blue Water Bay had been transformed into the set of a whimsical baking show. Fiona Fairweather, flamboyant as ever, was pretending to bake on the beach, most likely for her social media followers. She flourished a mixing bowl and wooden spoon dramatically as she spoke to the camera, narrating her ‘beach baking tips’ with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Oliver was now standing next to her in the make-believe kitchen.
‘She’s all over him. Look at her,’ observed Amelia. ‘But he’s looking a little uncomfortable.’
‘Hey, what have I missed? What’s going on?’ Their friend Verity, the local vet’s assistant, slipped onto the picnic blanket. ‘Who’s that?’
‘That is Fiona Fairweather, Clem’s competition for the baking competition, and that’—Amelia pointed—‘is Oliver Lockwood, Clem’s ex-boyfriend.’
‘Was that the guy from London you mentioned?’
‘Yes,’ they all chorused.
Just at that moment Oliver’s phone rang and he walked towards the edge of the sea to answer the call.
Meanwhile, Fiona, ever the consummate show-woman, carried on addressing the camera, whisking furiously at a bowl that likely contained nothing more than air. Her dramatic gestures and sing-song voice were delighting a growing crowd of onlookers, who had begun congregating near the jetty, likelyhalf out of curiosity and half in disbelief at the bizarre spectacle unfolding.
