Finger Food Page 3

  Fiona looked unsure. ‘Yvonne said you were familiar with Finger Food.’

  ‘I am. But I still don’t know what’s been decided on for today’s show.’

  ‘Right. Well, the best thing is … I’ll find you a script, shall I?’ said Fiona.

  But as she raced away Bella saw her take out her phone, scrutinise the display and then veer off towards a small group of elderly people who had begun to file into the studio with an array of walking sticks and shopping trolleys.

  If this was the Finger Foodaudience Bella’s hopes of getting whoops of recognition were fading. Getting them to join in could also be a challenge. Fiona seemed to be pushing some of the slower ones quite roughly into seats. Someone should tell her old people are quite frail, thought Bella. There were about twelve of them, including a St John Ambulance lady who had pulled out a large bag of knitting. Yvonne had clearly not gone all-out to draw a lively crowd.

  Fiona stepped onto the studio floor and began her ‘warm up’ of the audience. She held up a few big cards which instructed them to ‘applaud!’ or to ‘go crazy!’

  Normally the floor manager would explain to the presenter which shot they were doing first and where they should be. But Fiona seemed to have forgotten. With a sinking heart Bella looked at the phone gripped tightly in Fiona’s hand, and realised she was on her own.

  She moved to the side of the studio where she’d seen other presenters wait for their introduction.

  But then she looked down at the pinstripe trousers and had a sudden crisis of confidence. They really were too snug for a live audience who would see ‘everything’ when she made her entrance. She caught a sudden glimpse of the wardrobe lady far back in the set, and made a snap decision. There was time, she decided, for a quick change. She whipped the trousers off and called the wardrobe assistant over, waving the trousers in the air.

  ‘Hello … hello there, ladies and gentlemen … this is exciting.’ Against all the odds Fiona had got her audience seated and was doing the introduction. Bella swore under her breath. The wardrobe lady had at least understood her request and was going through a rail of clothing. But she wasn’t doing it fast enough.

  ‘My name is Fiona, I’m the floor manager … of Finger Food … it’s my first time actually managing a floor so … right, hello and welcome to Flair 4 Living TV. We’ve got a great show lined up for you today … oh sorry, the lady who’s presenting the show today is probably going to say that when she comes on. So act surprised if she does say that, could you?’

  Bella tried to signal the wardrobe lady to move faster.

  ‘Oh, and hands up anyone who’s in an exciting new relationship? Just me then? Oh well … but I am committed to my job, I mean I can multitask. And the doors are there if you need them … oh and please turn your mobiles off … I’m leaving mine on … in case I get a call from my lover! And what else … Oh yes! We’ve got the owner of Flair 4 Living TV popping in today. He’s called Tony, which is why we’ve got the biscuits.’

  Waiting in the wings Bella gave a sigh of relief. Fiona was gabbling in her nervousness. And now the wardrobe lady was headed towards her holding a handful of trousers. Anytrousers would do. She didn’t feel the aging audience were quite ready for her white mottled thighs and big pants.

  ‘Well, let’s get the lady on stage. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Bella Le Parde!’

  The Finger Foodjingly-jangly music took Bella by surprise. She crouched instinctively as the studio lights shone out.

  ‘Dressing gown, DRESSING GOWN!’ Bella was yelling in panic. But the wardrobe lady had disappeared, thinking her job was done. Luckily Louise the make-up girl had come back and thrust a make-up bib in Bella’s direction.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Bella Le Parde!’ Fiona sounded uncertain now. There was some repeat clapping, slightly quieter this time.

  Grabbing a handful of trousers, Bella put on the make-up bib and rushed on stage. It was only when the warmth of the lights hit her bare legs that she realised. She should have put on the trousers, not the bib.

  ‘Hello, ladies and gentlemen.’ She tried for a professional tone. ‘Err. I’ll be coming on again as I’ve got a slight issue in my trouser department. But I’ll just come on now so it’s not a shock for people later. Sorry about that but I’ve just got to make a decision about these.’

  Bella held up the trousers.

  There was a moment of stunned silence from the audience and then a single old man began to applaud. Fiona rushed on with a tea towel. She held it uncertainly between Bella’s midriff and the curious crowd.

  ‘The colour, you mean, Bella?’ asked Fiona. ‘It is a bit icky. What do you think, ladies and gentlemen?’

  The audience began to murmur. Opinion seemed to be divided but most of them felt a pair of trousers would be an advantage.

  ‘Especially as it’s a food programme,’ Bella could hear one woman murmuring to her friend. To make matters worse an old man called out cheerfully, ‘Like your drawers, love!’

  Mortified, Bella walked backwards to crouch behind the counter.

  ‘I’ll just pop these ones on if I may. They are woollen but I believe they have been worn by Anna Ford way back, so at least they’ve got historical interest. Excuse me.’

  Bella disappeared behind the counter to put on Anna Ford’s old woollen trousers.

  From the upstairs gallery Yvonne’s voice boomed out, trembling with anger.

  ‘Can we go again, Bella? Fiona, you fill while Bella gets herself decent. Nowplease.’

  A hiss of static revealed that Yvonne had not switched off her microphone button from the gallery. So the whole studio could hear her yell to whoever else was in the gallery with her, ‘Unbelievable …!’

  Fiona popped her head over the counter to whisper down to Bella.

  ‘Not sure if you’ve made the right choice about Anna’s trousers, Bella. Wool’s not the most forgiving of fabrics. Just being honest!’

  ‘I appreciate that, Fiona, but frankly I’ll just have to stick with these. I think I’m ready now,’ she added, straightening up with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Do you have the script?’ she added in a hiss.

  Fiona looked blank, and before she could answer the jingly-jangly music played for the third time and a patter of applause rang out.

  Bella took a breath. She felt in a total muddle without a script or decent trousers. The ones she was wearing felt like they’d been knitted with cat hair. She felt them begin to itch around the crotch just as she surfaced from behind the counter.

  ‘Hello, and welcome to Finger Food.’

  She had no idea what came next. Bella swallowed, remembering Yvonne up in the gallery, willing her to fail.

  ‘I’m Bella Le Parde,’ she faltered, ‘and I’m going to introduce you to some easy but stylish dishes for women who juggle their lives … and men who juggle theirs, and also youngsters, juggling and older people perhaps not juggling but who can operate a kettle unsupervised …’

  ‘Cut!’ Yvonne’s command echoed round the studio. ‘Cut! Bella, we’re going to move on to the melon boats.’

  Melon boats?Bella tried to remain calm.What were melon boats?

  ‘Yup, Yvonne. I’m right on it!’ Determined not to be put off, Bella gave her a rather shaky thumbs-up sign.

  ‘Fiona!’ screamed Yvonne. ‘Make her do the melon boats NOW. Don’t let her do anything else. Fill in while she sets up. DO IT!’

  Bella fished about behind the counter to locate any likely-looking ingredients for making a melon boat.

  Fiona stepped forward, looking warily at the elderly audience. ‘Yes … well … a lot of people have noticed a subtle change in me … It might just be an inner glow … and I don’t know how it’s going to affect me because … I haven’t had a job since we met! But we text each other every other hour, which keeps me going, and I expect I’ll get my morning text any minute now.’

  Fiona looked across at Bella who raised a single finger to indicate she needed one more min
ute.

  Fiona nodded to show she understood and turned back to the audience.

  ‘He’s called Zee Zee,’ she said, ‘from Morocco. Lots of nice cushions in his country.’ She licked her lips. ‘Funny how love can make you feel quite unwell,’ she said faintly, leaning forward on the counter for support. Her eyes sought out Bella.

  ‘Can you do it now, Bella, because frankly I’m feeling a bit sick, is that OK? Yvonne made me eat some of the food colouring earlier to test it and it doesn’t seem to be sitting too well.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Bella, feeling anything but. She quickly removed the food colouring from her box of ingredients. She had found three melons and some cocktail sticks and napkins on the floor under the counter.

  ‘Action!’ called Yvonne from the gallery, without waiting for her to get into position. Bella lurched forward with her box, wondering how best to start.

  Chapter 6

  Sea shanty music blared out, and Bella took the melons out of the box and placed them on the countertop.

  ‘Now, the joy of these little dainties is that everyone can make them,’ she found herself saying. She was happy, she realised. She was with food. And if she wasn’t sure what kind of food, she could make things up. As the music faded out she got into her stride.

  ‘Let’s face it, everyone’s got a melon haven’t they?’ she said, holding one up in explanation. She glanced quickly at Fiona who was smiling encouragingly.

  ‘Everyone’s got napkins and everyone’s got cocktail sticks and, if they haven’t, everyone can go out and buy them because these are the ingredients you’ll need.’

  Taking the nearest melon, Bella sliced it deftly in half and scooped out a portion. She took a napkin and fashioned it into a sail. The audience watched as the melon was transformed into a table display.

  ‘Looks nothing like a boat, Bella!’ Yvonne’s voice sounded out, and a slice of melon slipped from Bella’s hand.

  ‘And another use of these yummy scrummies is that, er, you could make them into a swimming pool area for a pet budgie if your budgie wanted a water feature which it could also nibble on.’

  Bella couldn’t see the audience under the bright studio lighting. The old people were attentive, but silent.

  Bella started to babble. She started to think up more unlikely uses for her ‘melon boats’, each of them crazier than the last. Eventually the sea shanty music abruptly started up again loudly, followed by some swearing from the gallery. It seemed no one had dared tell Yvonne that her voice button had been left on and the audience perked up at the fruity language.

  ‘Cut!’ Yvonne changed the tone of her voice, in the belief that this was the first the audience was hearing from her.

  ‘Bella, just make the melon boats look as normal as you can. NOW!’

  The sea shanty music started again, Bella took a firm hold of the melon and tried to block out thoughts of Yvonne being cross. She put on her best presenter smile.

  ‘So simply hollow out the melon which I’ve done here, and then put on the sail and very quickly … don’t get worried about knots or other sailing know-how … I’ve prepared these sails earlier but you don’t have to. You just have to believe and say, I’m a boat, I’m a canoe, let’s rock!’

  She was enjoying herself, she realised and the audience were laughing along with her. Then she caught sight of Fiona who was madly trying to signal some instructions at her by waving her arms about. After a moment or two it came to her that Fiona was telling her to move the melons so that a camera could do a close-up shot of them.

  She tilted the melon boats a little nearer the camera.

  A screen flashed an image of how the melon boats should have looked. Totally different to Bella’s, but, she thought with pride, not as well put together. The comparison brought a surge of confidence. She’d been thrown onto the set with nothing more than a box of melons and napkins and had made something better than a researcher with hours to dream up a display.

  With a little smile of triumph Bella turned to Fiona to try to find out what the next challenge might be. But Fiona had now turned her back on the audience and was whispering into her phone in a worried way. Bella could just hear her.

  ‘I’m saying it’s up to you, but if I have, in any way, done something to make you not want me … do text me. Maybe in the next half-hour … because then I can truly accept whatever crime I may have committed … in the name of love … and I’ll learn to never upset you … ever again. If you’re dead or lying run over in a ditch somewhere, then please try to make contact … use predictive texting to save energy until the ambulance gets there … bye … oh it’s me, bye.’

  ‘Fiona, could you focus, please!’ Yvonne’s voice boomed out and everything came to a halt. ‘Unless you want to be sacked immediately. Bella! Move to the sofa area! Introduce the first guest.’

  Then while Yvonne thought no one could hear she muttered, ‘They’re as bad as each other. Unbelievable.’

  While the set was in chaos the audience had perked up no end. The old man who had liked Bella’s ‘drawers’ turned to the St John Ambulance lady with the knitting. ‘This beats Emmerdalehands down!’ he announced.

  Bella headed towards the brightly coloured sofas to do an interview with someone. She had no idea who this might be. Then she caught sight of Fiona pointing. Following the direction of her finger she saw that a dog-eared handwritten note lay on the sofa.

  Bella grabbed it and saw to her relief that it contained a few facts about the guest. She squinted at the writing. Fiona had jotted down some details, but it was a scribble of mad text rather than clear points.

  Cora Johnson,she mouthed to herself, trying to memorise the information. Meals on Wheels.

  Without warning another jingle blared and the cameras swung in on Bella.

  In a voice she hardly recognised as her own Bella read in a loud bright voice, ‘So now let us welcome our Finger Food’sguest of the week on to the pilot … she has become famous in a matter of weeks … from a humble Meals on Wheels volunteer to an internationally top-selling cookery writer and campaigner for …’

  She glanced quickly down at the paper.

  ‘Mood-swing food! If you please! What’s that about? Let’s find out. Please welcome Mrs Cora Johnson!’

  Chapter 7

  A large woman of middle years in a tweed suit almost ran on to the set in a state of great excitement. She stood twitching slightly. Bella stared meaningfully at the luminous yellow sofa.

  The sound of Yvonne’s muttering echoed through the studio.

  ‘Sit, sit, you big dod of lard.’

  Clearly no one was going to risk telling Yvonne her radio mike was broadcasting every remark to the wider floor. Cora was too excited to consider this remark could be about herself and remained standing and smiling. Bella stood up and guided her firmly to a seat on the sofa.

  ‘Hello, Cora, and welcome!’

  Cora leaned forward. Bella hoped this would be a quick interview and over soon.

  ‘Well, Cora, being a lowly Meals on Wheels volunteer you must be thrilled with your sudden fame …’

  Cora started babbling. ‘Yes, I am … yes. I’m being let off work to do the publicity so it’s all very exciting … I’m heavily pencilled in for The One Show next week.’

  Bella glanced back at her page and then noticed that Cora had arrived with a recipe book with Cora Johnsonacross the front.

  ‘So what gave you the idea to write a cookbook with a sausage on the front?I see you’ve got it there with you.’

  ‘I have!’ Cora held up the book delightedly. ‘Well, it’s a very funny story actually.’

  ‘Fingers crossed!’ interjected Bella. The audience laughed.

  ‘I was just doing my normal rounds,’ said Cora. ‘I cover about twenty miles this side of the M25 and my colleague, Muriel, she covers the north side … which can take over an hour depending on the traffic … although I will veer off onto a B road if there’s an emergency …’

  ‘An
d moving to the snappy and interesting bit?’ urged Bella.

  The audience laughed again but Cora could not be stopped.

  ‘Well, on a Tuesday, Wednesday and Sunday, we always do a meat and rice dish whereas on a Friday we’ll do a fillet of fish with peas … weekdays can vary, but in the main we offer them mince but anyway, it was always on a Friday I had problems with my gentlemen clients …’

  ‘She’s a volunteer you see, a carer who some people might find quite interesting,’ said Bella in a bid to win back the audience. ‘Or not,’ she added.

  The old man who had been chatting up the St John Ambulance lady piped up.

  ‘Not!’

  More laughter followed.

  ‘In fact it was only when my neighbour’s son came home in an angry mood. ThenI made the connection …!’

  Bella felt she saw light at the end of the tunnel. Cora had paused for effect, holding her book aloft.

  ‘Which was?’ prompted Bella.

  ‘That certain recipes affect moods. Fish and peas make you angry!’

  ‘Which might explain why Captain Birdseye had such a red face?’ offered Bella.

  Cora ignored this.

  ‘Whereas rice, pork and peas make you a bit saucy. I had to stop wearing skirts on a Friday after that … it was fairer to the old people really … even if they had to eat with their fingers. I couldn’t risk bending over to pick up cutlery.’

  Bella was trying hard to follow. ‘And the funny bit of your story?’ she ventured.

  Cora looked put out. ‘It was more funny peculiar.’

  ‘Right.’ Bella tried to look interested. ‘And your point about the cookbook?’

  ‘Well …’ Cora took a deep breath. Bella winked at the audience and added, ‘In your own time’, which got a laugh.

  ‘My menus can serve as both a caution and a delight. I mean, what could be better than tucking into one of my creamy pasta dishes at the same time as being warned about a dangerous urge brought on by pork, rice and peas? It’s all in the mix, you see.’

  Bella nodded, smiled, and moved to wrap things up, hoping that she would never see Cora again. Ever. She looked up at the gallery, silently cursing Yvonne for allowing this terrible guest loose on the show without warning her.