Milo doesn’t care, he’s already up and punching the air. ‘Absolutely. A Cockle Shell Castle Christmas Bake Off …’ he’s sending Bill a mocking stare ‘… let’s finally sort the professionals from the pretenders.’
Fliss is in her element here. ‘Okay, anyone can enter, it can be any kind of cake or sweet biscuit. Everyone gets a vote, the one with the most votes wins.’ She sends me a knowing wink. ‘And teams can enter.’
‘That’s a good idea. We’ll be the Gilmore Girls, like the TV show.’
Milo’s joining in glaring at Bill, his chin jutting. ‘No outsourcing allowed. Cakes must beALL YOUR OWN WORK.’
Fliss is laughing. ‘Nipping out to Crusty Cobs and The Little Cornish Kitchen isn’t allowed.’
‘Entries on the dining tables, judging starts at half past two.’ As I add my piece my mouth is already watering. ‘And the judges get to taste!’
Bill’s still filling the doorway, head tilted, eyes narrowed. ‘And may the best man win, Milo.’
I ignore what the low notes in his voice just did to my insides, hold up my finger and cough. ‘May the bestpersonwin – I think that’s what you mean, Bill.’ I mean to avoid speaking to him, but it had to be said, in the interests of getting equality in a generation. And who knows, once Fliss and I get our butter cream icing heads on, we could be serious contenders here. I rub my hands together. ‘So what are we waiting for, let’s get started before the rush!’
We have to stay real here – neither of us is Cherish Finden. Even if I have Nigella’s curves and the temporary use of a pantry I’m seriously lacking her pizazz in the kitchen. On balance we decide theFrozencake with five tiers and pale turquoise icing we fall in love with on Google Images is too ambitious. But delish is achievable, so long as we keep it simple and Oscar doesn’t drop too many foreign bodies into the mixing bowl. So in the end we plump for a simple sticky dark chocolate sponge with snowy swirls of vanilla buttercream and glittery snowflake sprinklies.
As baking goes this one’s not hard. It’s my mum’s fool-proof recipe, even I’d find it hard to mess up. Bish bash bosh and it’s done. Milo’s still agonising over what to cook, and our sponges are in the oven. With Oscar quiet under the table licking mixture off a wooden spoon and Harriet busy rubbing Nutella into her hair, Fliss and I lick the bowl out ourselves then get straight on with the icing. Giving the bowl to the kids? Truly, being an adult has many downsides, getting to keep the bowl to lick yourself is one of the only good bits.
So we move on to the buttercream and we’ve covered the table in a snowy cloud of powdery icing sugar and we’re just getting the perfect consistency for piped rosettes, when Miranda appears. She pops a cigarette butt into her tobacco tin, slips off her shimmery coat and flops down at the table next to us.
Fliss takes in her long sigh and gives her a questioning stare. ‘Not in the hot tub this morning, Mum?’
Miranda shakes out the layers of her chiffon top and sniffs. ‘Ambie’s sulking, we’ve hadanothertiff.’ She drags in a breath. ‘Yesterday he was arguing over which side of the bed to get out of, this morning it’s my top he hates.’
I give her arm a squeeze. ‘I can see that Ambie might find the print unconventional, but it really suits you, the silk is so light it’s almost not there.’
As Miranda gives a snort her feathery top flutters. ‘Roses, chains and barbed wire, the pattern says it all. Ambie seems to think now we’re engaged he’s got the right to fence me in, tie me down, and tell me what to think.’ Her eyes flash.
I’m worried. ‘I’m not judging, or interfering, but that doesn’t sound too healthy.’ I love Miranda, she should have so much more. When she has the capacity to be really happy, anything less is a waste.
The flames go out of Miranda’s eyes and she gives a resigned sigh. ‘Relationships are about give and take.’
Fliss’s face wrinkles. ‘But do you want to be fenced in?’
Miranda winces and dips in for another spoonful of icing. ‘It’s not as if there are lines of men all shaking engagement rings at me.’
I have to be realistic. ‘On the other hand, looking at the signs, it could be a quick ride back to the divorce court.’
Fliss blows out a sigh of exasperation. ‘But why are you so obsessed with husbands?’
Miranda sucks the icing off the spoon. ‘It was such a shock when we lost your dad, Fliss. All those years with you four children, you’ve no idea what a struggle it was on my own with all that responsibility. There were so many nights when I’d lie awake desperately wishing your dad could be there to take care of me.’
I’m squeezing her hand really hard, and Fliss groans at her. ‘Oh, Mum.’
Miranda dips in her leggings waistband for a hanky and dabs the corners of her eyes. ‘Once you’d all left home all I wanted was to be secure and to be married again. But I messed that up three times now, I’m ten years older than I was when I started. If I’ve got one last chance, I have to take it.’
My heart goes out to her. ‘You’ve been toughing it out on your own for so long, it’s bound to have made you strong and independent. When you’ve been used to making all your own decisions, it’s hard to change, especially when someone’s asking you to be like someone else, not yourself.’
Miranda lets out a little sigh. ‘It’s true, I often feel that Ambie wants me to be Betty.’ She slurps down another spoonful of icing then frowns at the spoon. ‘If I’m trying to be thin eating all this icing isn’t good.’
It’s hard to watch her trying to be something she’s not. ‘Maybe you need to stop looking for marriage – it’s the marrying types who always want to change you, and you never like that. You don’t have to be on your own, maybe a relationship with less ties would suit you better?’
Fliss is waving both thumbs at me. ‘If you’re willing take a chance on a man who’s not truly happy with who you are, surely you’re brave enough to try something different?’
Miranda doesn’t look convinced. ‘It’s the ring that Ilike– that’s what makes me feel safe.’
I’m laughing. ‘Don’t forget the wedding dress too, we all love a fabulous dress. And a blingy wedding.’
