decshortwinner1








			Kipling Rivalry by Andrew Campbell-Kearsey Elsie replaced the telephone receiver. She took a moment to compose herself before turning to her husband. She took a deep breath. The GP had warned her about getting too worked up. “She’s obviously got it back from the framers. We’ve all been summoned to one of her dreadful coffee mornings. We’re all expected to go round and worship at the shrine of St Audrey.” “Doesn’t sound very Catholic to me. Are you sure there’s a St Audrey?” “Ha blooming ha. You know very well who I mean. The invitation has finally come. I’m surprised she made it over the phone. I thought that embossed vellum would have been more her style.” “You know how I love your sarcasm, but can’t we talk this over in a little while with our afternoon tea. The conundrum’s coming up.” “Heaven forfend I should get come between you and your precious Countdown.” Elsie walked through to the kitchen. John joined her ten minutes later. Elsie was already engrossed. She had several large books open in front of her, while writing notes on her jotter. “You should concentrate more. Your writing’s going all over the place. It’s not even on the lines.” Elsie peered up at him through her half-moon reading glasses. “As long as I can read it, that’s the main point. Make yourself useful. Put the kettle on.” She had used up a couple more pages of her pad when he placed her mug and a plate of digestives in front of her. “You shouldn’t let her get to you. You can’t be brilliant at everything, darling. Just accept that she can bake a good cake. Nobody can hold a candle to your casseroles.” “But you don’t win a prize for casseroles. She’s only invited me round with a few of the other ladies to rub our noses in it.” “So why are you bothering to go?” “Don’t be so dense. She’ll think I’m sulking if I don’t go.” John reached across and placed his hand over his wife’s hand. “Is there nothing I can do to take your mind off things?” he asked, grinning. “I had hoped that retirement might have put a dent into your libido. Can’t you take up bowls or something? I must go through these and see whether there are some recipes I’ve overlooked.” John retreated into the living room. He knew when he was beaten. *** Elsie chose the day of Audrey’s ‘at home’ to have her new cooker delivered and fitted. That way she could avoid all the upheaval and leave John to supervise the workmen. She blamed her lack of baking awards on her electric oven. Cooking with gas was bound to bring her culinary recognition and success. Elsie arrived at exactly ten thirty. She had waited in the car for ten minutes to ensure she wouldn’t be early – to be alone with Audrey longer than was socially necessary bordered on masochism. As she walked up the front garden path, the door opened before she had the chance to ring the bell. Audrey lunged forward and kissed her on both cheeks. Elsie knew for a fact that her cookery nemesis had been born and raised in Berkshire. Where on earth did these European affectations spring from? “Good morning Elsie. The others are already out in the conservatory. Do come through. Isn’t it a glorious day?” This was proof enough for Elsie that her hostess inhabited an alternate universe. The sky was grey and she could have sworn she’d felt a drop of rain. But apparently nothing was going to dampen Audrey’s mood. As they walked through the lounge, Audrey drew Elsie’s attention to a framed photograph of yet one more of her grandchildren grinning and clutching a rolled up degree certificate. Audrey had clearly rehearsed this little set piece. “Dear Ronald does so keep me grounded. He reminds me that I’m not the only one in the family being recognised for their achievements.” She then pointed out to Elsie the newest addition to her set of cake making certificates, which were conveniently illuminated by overhead spotlights. “Ronald said to the framer that if he’d known I was going to win so many over the years then he’d have asked for them to be mounted on each of the colours of the rainbow.” Elsie did not need reminding that Audrey had won the annual award at the church fete for the last seven years, ever since she and Ronald had moved to the village. * Alone and back in her car, Elsie felt the urge to scream. On the surface, where it counted amongst their circle of friends, Audrey had been charm personified. However, she had perfected the skill of self-deprecation as a means of drawing attention to her cookery prowess. She had produced a selection of handmade cakes to accompany their morning coffee with a ‘You’ll have to forgive me ladies, some more of my little kitchen experiments.’ They all looked and tasted delicious. Elsie sampled three to try and catch Audrey out. No such luck. When she arrived back at home, the gasfitter’s van was parked outside. John came out to meet her. “He’s only just got here. He reckons it could take him a couple of hours. I’d better stay on hand if he needs anything. Why don’t you drive yourself into town and do a spot of shopping. Treat yourself, or at the very least you could buy a voodoo doll of Audrey.” As she drove off she heard her husband shout, ‘Make sure to get plenty of pins.’ This made her smile. When she had first retired, she’d thrown herself into a succession of adult education classes. She tried to summon up the breathing techniques her yoga teacher had introduced her to. Why did she let Audrey get to her so much? John had tried countless times to rationalise her feelings. He often got her to laugh at how petty the situation was. She parked the car and walked towards the shopping centre. There were no imminent birthdays and Christmas was five months away. Elsie had never understood shopping as a pastime. She found herself outside the library and decided to go in. She wasn’t overly keen on handling books if they were not pristine. But she was friends with the librarian, who had mentioned that her hours may be cut or the library closed permanently due to dwindling borrower numbers. So Elsie often popped in to take out her maximum allowance of books that she never had any intention of reading. Her friend was busy showing somebody how to use the microfiche system. Elsie picked up one of the free newspapers, folded it and wedged it into her handbag. She could have waited but she needed to shed the cloud that Audrey had placed over her. That was best done alone. She waved goodbye to the librarian and walked outside. Elsie did something rather out of character. She did not purchase a sandwich for lunch. Instead she entered an Italian restaurant she had frequently promised herself she would visit one day with John to mark a special occasion. She could easily afford the meal and John need never know. It was the sheer extravagance that shocked her. Once the waiter had taken her drinks order – she allowed herself one glass of red wine – Elsie suddenly felt conspicuous. She was the only single diner in the place. All that she had was the free newspaper from the library. She unfolded and scrutinised it as if it were a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls. It was a publication from the local council and contained statistics of improvements that could have made the editor of Pravda blush. Elsie soon tired of the biased articles but was drawn to the back page, which had details of a cookery course. The year’s course would focus on cake baking and was not suitable for beginners. It would be held in a secondary school approximately ten miles away from Elsie’s home. She did not mind the drive and the likelihood of running into a familiar face would be remote. What if she did? It wasn’t an AA meeting. The meal had been unexceptional, yet John was pleased that her mood had lightened when she returned home. She casually mentioned that she had enrolled on the course a couple of days later. He knew better than to comment and draw attention to the fact. Besides, he would be glad of the evening to himself once a week, so he could concentrate on his photography. John was the happy recipient of her coursework. Every week he was called upon to taste a new recipe. “You’re going to have to be buying me some elasticated-waist trousers soon if you keep this up my girl,” he said, as he brushed a chocolate sponge crumb from the side of his mouth. “You’re just saying that.” “No, I mean it. At this rate I reckon they’ll be begging you to teach the course next year.” “You daft so and so.” She tutted but she liked him saying that. As the weeks progressed the ingredients became more exotic and sometimes difficult to procure. The recipes called for unlikely taste combinations, yet they always turned out well. Elsie talked little of her tutor or classmates, but never missed a session. She even attended the end of term social event, which was most unusual. Over the Christmas holiday she pored over the plans for the next term’s course. “Glad we invested in that new cooker?” “Yes John, I think it’s made all the difference.” “Don’t put yourself down Elsie. I can see you setting up your own tearoom.” By Easter, she had become accomplished at using the most obscure ingredients. She had become quite the expert and displayed her knowledge. She had accumulated a plethora of kitchen equipment and utensils and could not contemplate life without them. John was bewildered at how many types of sugar they had in the cupboard. “I thought there was just white or brown.” She gave him the pitying look usually reserved for people with very low IQs. She said nothing, but simply shook her head. The village fete was now only three weeks away. The subject had become taboo between them. Over Sunday lunch, John decided to bring it up. “So, have you decided?” “About what?” “How you’re going to wow them at the fete this year.” “I hadn’t given it much thought.” There was a pause, then she continued. “To be honest, I’m not sure whether I’ll be entering.” John almost choked on his crackling. When he had composed himself he carried on. “But I thought that this evening class was all about getting your own back. You know, a dish best served cold, or in this case, warm out of the oven.” “I don’t want to stoop to Audrey’s level. Besides, those pieces of paper mean so much to her and if they make her so happy, who am I to stand in her way?” * Much to John’s relief, his wife’s pious phase was very short-lived. A couple of days later, over breakfast she asked his opinion. “Should I go traditional or modern?” “I take it we’re not talking about jazz.” “Stop being so obtuse, John. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Which cake do you think I have the most chance of winning with?” He smiled. “I shall forgive your appalling grammar on this occasion and just be thankful that my competitive wife has returned to me. I’m pretty sure that your fig and hazelnut would do the trick nicely.” “Why such confidence?” “Can’t a man believe in his wife’s abilities? Let’s just say we should decide where to hang your framed certificate.” A couple of days before the fete, Elsie had a few attempts at creating the perfect cake. John enjoyed sampling her dummy runs but thought it wise to leave her alone as she was beginning to grow tense as the big day arrived. She did not notice that her husband had been spending a lot of time out of the house. Elsie was pleased not to have him under her feet. The morning of the fete arrived. John drove and Elsie sat in the back nursing her cake tin on her lap. He opened her car door and hovered next to her as if she were cradling a newborn as she walked in the direction of the judging marquee. She carefully opened the tin. The aroma was pleasing to her. Elsie concentrated on the task of placing the cake centrally on the cake stand, which John had been entrusted in bringing. She wrote her name and brief description and left it by her cake. She stepped back. There was nothing left to do. Audrey had not yet positioned hers. The pair of them wandered around the familiar stalls, saying the right things to friends and neighbours. They caught a glimpse of Audrey and her husband, but fortunately their paths did not cross. Elsie was preoccupied with speculating about the judges’ decision. Back in the marquee, they noticed that Audrey had placed her elaborate chocolate concoction at the centre of the viewing table as if all the other cakes were bridesmaids to her edible bride. John ensured that they were seated before the vicar began his predictable speech. All those gathered to hear the results knew that he could be guaranteed to leave no person unthanked. The well-meaning man made the same jokes every year and his audience laughed politely and dutifully. John took the opportunity to pass an envelope to his wife. That was sweet of him, she thought. He usually sent duty cards on birthdays and anniversaries and even then little reminders were necessary. The card did feel rather thick. How extravagant of John, he must have bought one of those handmade ones. “Open it.” John whispered. Elsie felt rather self-conscious, but luckily he had not sealed the envelope so it made little noise. Rather than the expected card it was a photograph wallet. As she scanned the five pictures inside, an enormous smile grew on her face. She turned to John and mouthed silently, “Thank you.” These images were so delicious, they should have been fattening. Elsie now possessed photographic evidence of Audrey’s husband purchasing a cake from a London patisserie. The cake bore a striking resemblance to the one taking centre stage. John had also included a time dated snap from yesterday where Audrey’s Ronald was handing over the cash. Elsie was delighted that she had bought that telephoto lens for John’s Christmas present last year. Finally the vicar came to the end of his speech and handed over to the judges. Audrey leapt out of her seat to be presented with her award. Elsie ensured that she was one of the first to congratulate her. “I’m so pleased for you Audrey. You deserve it. Your cake looks so professional. Puts mine to shame. Speaking of which, maybe you’d like a peek at these.” Elsie handed her the envelope of photographs. “I’d love to look at your snaps, but maybe not now Elsie. Perhaps next week?” “I think you’d better look at them Audrey. John’s got an identical set for the judges. Look, he’s handing them over right now.” *** In the car on the way home, Elsie’s grin remained a permanent feature. She knew that Audrey would not be visiting the framers any time soon. She turned to her husband and said, “I never knew baking could be such fun.”