Albert figured her appeal was supposed to generate support and get people putting their hands in their pockets. It didn’t. About half the bakers present threw their hands in the air as they made excuses and some even started directly for the door. It was then, as the press of chefs parted, that Albert saw a face he recognised. It was the one he heard ask about getting paid but then couldn’t spot.
‘I’ll cover the costs,’ he said before he realised he was saying it.
‘Dad?’ Gary questioned, not sure he had heard his father correctly.
The words were in the air though, and in the ears of everyone present. He couldn’t take it back, the innocent eyes staring at him across the marquee wouldn’t let him.
The baby was in his mother’s arms again, but now Rosie was clad in chef’s whites and checked trousers. Albert had no idea how much this was going to cost him, but it was going to be less than he had languishing in the bank and would give him a sense of value he couldn’t get spending his money anywhere else.
In a louder voice, he said, ‘I’ll cover the costs.’ What he didn’t say was that he was also going to find out who tampered with the ingredients. Alan, who was still being treated by the paramedics, said the Yorkshire pudding needed to be edible or pass some kind of taste in order to qualify for the record which meant this was a deliberate attempt to scupper the teams’ attempt.
Gary got within touching distance of his father’s shoulder. ‘Are you sure about this, Pops?’
Albert was yet to break eye contact with Rosie’s baby, but he nodded. ‘Sure enough.’ In his mind, it was already done, yet possibly it still wasn’t enough, though he wasn’t sure why he felt like that. Rosie was sad; she didn’t have the life she wanted – maybe she deserved better, but that wasn’t reason enough to come rushing to her aid.
Albert nodded his head. ‘I came here to make a Yorkshire pudding, son. Now I get to make the biggest one ever. I can’t put a value on that.’ The bakers who had been heading for the doors were all turning around now and coming back. Those nearer, were coming toward Albert showing smiles of thanks as they crowded around him like he was the messiah. It was far too late to retract his offer, and he had no desire to do so. What he did feel a need to do was investigate what had been happening.
Alan, the chief judge and organiser of this event was attacked a few hours ago and there was something wrong about that too. Albert had been biding his time, trying to find an appropriate point in their conversation to ask about the money he saw and why Alan failed to mention it to the police. He saw what he saw – the mugger had gone for the briefcase and Alan had almost let him have it. Had it not been for Rex, the mugger would have got away with however much cash was in the briefcase, but a few hours on, Alan appeared to be suffering from a different kind of attack. Were it not for the failed mugging, Albert would assume the man had simply fallen ill, but given the spectacular and sudden manner in which the sickness occurred, he was willing to bet this was somehow linked to the earlier incident.
Whatever the case, Alan was about to go to hospital and when Albert added to that the possibility that the bakers’ ingredients had been deliberately targeted, it meant someone was up to no good.
All this swirled around inside Albert’s head until it was abruptly stopped by his right hand getting crushed. Several of the bakers had chosen to shake his hand, but Beefy’s turn resulted in the bones in his hand all getting mashed together.
‘We shall have to get you a set of whites,’ he cheered, pumping Albert’s right arm up and down. ‘You will join in tomorrow, won’t you?’
Albert hid his wince when he got his hand back, forcing a smile as he rubbed his right hand with his left to make sure it wasn’t mangled. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you. It would be an honour to take part. I must warn you though, I’m not much of a baker.’
‘That won’t matter,’ Beefy assured him.
His girlfriend/wife, a woman in her forties standing just to Beefy’s left echoed his sentiment, ‘Yes, we’ll look after you. Thank you so much for rescuing us.’
It was a day for rescuing people it seemed. Albert suddenly had a lot of names to learn, and it was just then that he noticed they all had their names stitched into their clothing over the right breast where a name badge might usually hang. He had to step back to get Beefy’s into focus and almost choked when he read what it said.
‘Beefy?’
Beefy dropped his eyes to his name tag and laughed. ‘Yes, that’s what everyone calls me. My last name is Botham, and well …’ He didn’t need to explain any further, Albert remembered the famous cricket player Ian ‘Beefy’ Botham.
‘I’m Suzalls,’ said Beefy’s girlfriend/wife.
‘And I’m Rosie,’ said Rosie. ‘And this is Teddy.’
Albert turned his attention to the sad-looking young woman holding her baby. ‘How is your hand?’ he asked.
Rosie glanced down at it and back up. ‘It’s sore, but I don’t have time to be injured. I need this work.’
Albert nodded his acknowledgement but didn’t pry into her business. To have something to say, he said, ‘I am glad I was able to help out.’
Teddy chose that moment to fart loudly and then giggle. It
