‘If he comes this way, you tell him to come and see me, got it?’ The request was delivered with an air of menace, suggesting that failing to comply would not go well for Albert.
Albert kept his face straight and played his part. ‘What should I say your name is?’ he enquired politely.
This time the man jutted his head forward until it was close enough for Albert to smell his breath. ‘You tell Crystal that Nelson wants to speak with him, right now. That Amber Riley woman just awarded the heat prize to someone else. Crystal was supposed to give it to me. You tell him I want my money back and he’d better pray he has it to hand.
‘He’ll know what that is about, will he?’ asked Albert amiably, ignoring the blatant aggression.
Nelson straightened up, withdrawing from Albert’s personal space, but he poked a finger in his direction. ‘You just make sure you tell him.’
Nelson spun around and made his way back through the crowd leaving Albert to ponder what this latest episode might be about. He didn’t wonder too hard though because things were starting to make sense.
His route back to Rosie no longer blocked, Albert carried the drinks back to her location at the world record end of the marquee. It wasn’t attracting many people now that the bakers were no longer there. The people who were interested, were going outside to see the world’s largest Yorkshire pudding rise, or possibly fail to rise which left he and Rosie largely alone.
Teddy was sitting on the floor playing with a stuffed toy when Albert got back to Rosie. The bear’s ear was getting a jolly good chewing and already looked soaked.
‘Oh, super,’ said Rosie, taking the amber coloured ale. ‘This will work perfectly.’ Lining up the plastic cup with the already mixed batter in the bowl, she added a small amount of beer, no more than a couple of tablespoons, Albert estimated. It got another whisking and then she put it to one side.
‘It has to stand for an hour at the very least, that is an absolute must. And you must put the oven to its hottest temperature and put the tin in there for ten minutes with oil in. When you check, there should be smoke coming off the oil. If there isn’t, put the tin back in. Now,’ she said, putting the batter mix to one side. ‘we’ve hit a minor snag.’
Albert looked at her face. ‘A snag?’
‘We don’t have a tin,’ she explained.
Albert looked around. ‘Good point.’ The record attempt had plenty of ingredients left over, enough to make several batches of Yorkshire puddings at least, but no muffin tin to make them in. ‘There are stalls here selling cookware, I’m sure I can buy one for a few pounds,’ he guessed.
Rosie had a different idea. ‘We might be able to borrow one from someone. There are so many bakers here.’
Albert wasn’t sure about that. ‘I don’t know. They seem to be a highly strung bunch. I think I’ll just buy one instead.’
‘No rush. We need to let the batter stand anyway. They’ve paid me to be here all day, so I can’t go anywhere even though there’s nothing left for me to do.’
It was then, just as Albert was thinking about how much cash he had in his wallet and what a twelve-hole muffin tin might cost, that Rex appeared.
Albert frowned. ‘Hey, dog. I thought you were playing with the firefighters.’
Rex padded across to the humans and spat the offensive bottle at his human’s feet. Then he backed up a foot and took a grateful breath. ‘This is what the human smelled of yesterday when he was vomiting. The other human, the one with the cat, had it on him and he spilled some of it. Before he died that is,’ Rex added for clarity.
‘Is he talking to you?’ asked Rosie, her forehead pinched in a deep frown after watching the dog look down at the bottle and back up at his human while making chuffing/barking noises the whole time.
Albert didn’t know how to answer that question. He was certain Rex was trying to impart a message of some kind each time he did this thing, but he was beaten on how to work out what the message might be. To respond, he said, ‘I think so. I just wish I knew what he was saying.’ Licking his lips, he looked down at the plastic thing on the floor by his feet and recognised that he’d seen it before. ‘You want me to look at this?’ he asked Rex.
‘No, dopey human. I brought it over here just to amuse myself,’ Rex barked his frustration. ‘Look there’s writing on it. I can’t read it, but you must be able to.’
‘What did he say that time?’ Rosie asked.
‘Nothing good, I don’t think,’ Albert frowned. ‘Honestly though, he could have been telling me he met a ballet dancer and together they won first prize in a sack race.’ He had to bend right over to get down to the broken bottle on the ground, taking a pen from his pocket to scoop it rather than use his finger since it was still dripping with Rex drool. ‘This belonged to Brian Pumphrey, didn’t it?’ Albert asked of his dog. This time he got a tail wag of approval.
Albert held the bottle at arm’s length with his right arm and patted down his jacket pockets with his left.
Rosie recognised what he was doing: looking for a pair of reading glasses and moved in so she could read the label for him. The small writing was hard to read and Albert’s arm was wavering about until she grabbed it to hold it
