Free Bella's Christmas Bake Off by Sue Watson Page A

eagled underneath me now singing ‘Strangers in the Night.’
    He knew every bloody word and he sang each one. Loudly.
    ‘Lads, lads,’ I called again from under the tree over Stanley’s crooning.
    ‘No thanks, we’re alright miss,’ one of them said and they all roared laughing.
    ‘I need you to come and give us a hand,’ I insisted, before landing on top of Stanley and seeing Josh Rawton – the little sod – film the whole scene. Great, that would no doubt be around the bloody school tomorrow along with the one of me hurling cake and abuse at my husband. This one would be new and different though – me pissed under the town Christmas tree straddling a homeless Frank Sinatra.
    Once those little sods had got their shots and had a good laugh they were off leaving me and Stanley to fend for ourselves. Eventually I got Stanley back on the bench and handed him my bottle of brandy which he clearly needed more than my cakes did.
    ‘You okay, Stanley?’ I asked when he’d taken a glug.
    ‘Keeps me warm, love,’ he explained.
    I nodded. The residents weren’t permitted inside the shelter until 6 p.m. and so with nowhere else to go were forced to walk the streets all day. The cold was biting and I didn’t blame him for finding what little comfort there was in a sip of brandy – what else did he have?
    I sat a while with Stanley and after a few more numbers – with a rousing ‘My Way’ finale – I watched him stagger down the road, pissed and precarious on the ice. The town Christmas lights spelling out ‘Happy Christmas’ were swinging above him as the wind got up and spittles of rain hit my face and landed on the icy ground. I thought about Bella and my mum and the cosy Christmases we’d had round the kitchen table, with plenty of love and laughter. And I gazed at the Christmas tree and thought how life can change in an instant.

5
    A Hot Macchiato and a Hormonal SAS
    I t had been two days since my live call to Bella’s show and as I wrestled with Pythagoras and 10B I wondered if speaking to me had had any impact on her life at all. Did she feel guilty for not returning my calls in the early days, never acknowledging my notes and Christmas cards? Had she realised the affect she’d had on me by writing that book filled with Mum’s recipes and saying the work was all her own? Was she getting me back for what I’d done to her all those years ago? I was torn between wanting revenge and wanting to see her and to talk things through like we used to.
    The following day was the final school day before we broke up for the Christmas holidays and I was getting ready to leave for work when I had a phone call from Crimson. I was surprised to hear from her and she was as mysterious and monotone as ever, ‘We’ve now got the shortlist down to three ‘Mums’, and don’t wet your pants, but you’re on that list,’ she sighed.
    What?
    ‘I have no intention of wetting...’
    ‘Apparently Bella requested you personally,’ she carried on talking over me. ‘You must have convinced her you are a true life-long “Bella-ette”,’ she sniggered.
    I was amazed. I’d assumed once Bella realised who I was and what I was accusing her of she’d have gone out of her way to keep me away from her precious programme. So why had she requested me? I didn’t want to play her silly games and was about to tell Crimson that Bella could stick her Christmas, when I thought of poor old Stanley staggering through the town through a halo of Christmas lights.
    ‘That’s great news,’ I said, playing along.
    ‘So the winner will be announced during the show at 10.07 this morning,’ she continued. ‘You around?’
    ‘Yes... I’ll be on my mobile,’ I said, wondering what the hell I was going to do with my ‘challenging’ Year Ten maths group who had already clocked off for Christmas in their heads.
    ‘Okay you’ll be called later...and by the way, it’s live so don’t say fu...’
    ‘No, I won’t say the F-word or wet