Free Bella's Christmas Bake Off by Sue Watson

myself to sleep. My husband had left me for a new life of exotic sex, and on top of this, I’d discovered my oldest friend, who hadn’t acknowledged me for years, had stolen my own mother’s recipes. Initially I’d been hurt and tearful about both betrayals, but now I was just angry and didn’t feel I could trust anyone ever again.
    I contemplated what to do next. There was no way I’d ever get to talk to Bella now, and even if I did, it wouldn’t make any difference. The book was published and her theft would go unchallenged. I had to take my mind of this or I would drive myself mad with the injustice of it all and after that phone call St Swithin’s wouldn’t be in receipt of a £500 location fee or a ‘Bella-bloody-tastic Christmas!’ Meanwhile, I had promised to provide Christmas cakes for the hostel, which took my mind off the Bella situation and gave me a sense of purpose. I was going to give them the best cakes I could bake, better than any Bella cake with her plump fruits and exotic spices. I knew we couldn’t go too strong on the alcohol given that some of the residents were a little too fond of the stuff, but my cake budget would stretch to a small bottle of brandy to ‘feed’ the cakes so they’d be moist and delicious. I popped out to the local Sainsbury’s to buy the brandy and was just walking back with my miniature bottle when I saw Stanley, the Frank Sinatra guy from the shelter. He was sitting on a bench next to the town Christmas tree singing ‘My Way’ under the twinkly lights strung through the huge branches. He was happy enough with his backlist of Old Blue Eyes and his own miniature bottle of cheap brandy just like mine, and he waved me over.
    ‘Amy, Amy, Amy... how are you?’ he said, delighted to see me.
    I went over to say hello and he patted the seat next to him so I sat down, and spotting that I was clutching a small bottle of brandy too he offered me his bottle to drink from.
    ‘Cheers, love,’ he was saying and pushing the bottle to my mouth.
    I smiled, ‘Oh no Stanley, thank you but I haven’t joined you to have a drink. I’m on my way home, I bought this to put in my Christmas cakes,’ I held my bottle up as I explained.
    ‘For me?’
    ‘No Stanley – it’s for my cakes,’ I said as he reached for it. He nodded, confused, and took the bottle out of my hand before embarking on a torch song medley from Frank’s early career. I didn’t quite know how to handle this, so gently pulled my bottle away from him, but he seemed to think it was a gift and as hard as I held it, the more he seemed to pull it back from me.
    ‘No Stanley!’ I said, firmly now. There was no point explaining again about the bloody cakes, he didn’t understand or care – he merely saw kind Amy sitting next to him with a nice bottle of brandy.
    He stood up and as we were both holding on to the bottle I moved with him, I wasn’t letting go, I had no money for more brandy and was determined to keep this bottle and make the best bloody Christmas cakes ever. But Stanley was now singing loudly, and swinging the bottle back and forth, with me still clutching it, and being drunk he wasn’t very co-ordinated. I couldn’t believe I’d got myself into this ridiculous situation and decided to end it once and for all by pulling the bottle back with force. I heaved it towards me, but as he wasn’t expecting this I caused poor Stanley to lose his balance. He fell to the floor as I shouted, ‘Stanley. Oh Stanley, I’m sorry,’ and got down on the pavement to try and pick him up. But it was a frosty night, the ground was slippery and within seconds we were both sliding around, falling over each other, clutching on to our respective bottles. Just at this moment, four lads from school appeared from behind the Christmas tree, and I was so relieved, they’d come to my rescue and get Stanley and I back on our feet.
    ‘Lads, come over here,’ I shouted, still flailing on the floor with Stanley spread