2021-08-02 5:00:28 ¶ ●

## TMA GBBO AU Chapter 3

Okay, it’s finally written up. It…may not be as good? It was written over a long period of time, sorry.

Chapter 3: Bread Week

“Welcome back, bakers! It’s time to bake some bread, because this week is Bread Week!” says Helen, cheery as ever. Today, she’s wearing a yellow crop top that says “YOLO? ILAMTAIW!” over a violet dress and waist-high boots that are white with tomato stains all over them. Jon cannot figure out what, exactly, ILAMTAIW means. (Weeks later, he will realize it stands for I Live As Many Times As I Want, and will be able to sleep a full night for the first time since today.)

Well, the first time since the night before last. He didn’t sleep well last night; he had a nightmare about those horrid worms. It had been a year or so, but that horrible squelching sound they made, and their white, writing, slimy bodies crawling over the floor…It still made Jon shudder to think about.

“Bakers, you will have to bake twelve rye bread rolls. Remember, rye takes longer to bake than wheat. You have three and a half hours. Don’t cry; make some rye!” says Michael, to groans and chuckles. He is wearing a straw hat with a brim that stretches out a full two feet on either side, as well as three T-shirts (one pink, one orange, one green) and jeans so ripped that the denim spirals up his legs like candy canes stripes. Jon wonders if that’s too much skin, as this means it does show Michael’s underwear. No, that’s not underwear. Those are simply shorts. Jon still thinks it’s too much skin, but then again, he’s somewhat touch-repulsed. The thought of touching skin in general is…Jon thinks of the solid pressure of a blanket around him, trying to dissolve the feeling.

Then, he realizes he should really start baking sometime soon.

Melanie mutters to herself as she kneads her dough. She doesn’t like rye bread and is, for some reason, annoyed she has to make some. A rational voice in her head knows that makes no sense and that she shouldn’t be annoyed, but she is. She’s just…ready. Ready to fight and struggle and be annoyed about rye. Ready to buckle down and turn inwards and push outwards. Ready to hunt ghosts and yell at bosses and lose friends. Ready to get her hair dyed and push her parents away and tell herself those friends were toxic and pulling her down.

She knows she is too ready. Somewhere deep inside her lies the quiet knowledge that life is not a war. But there is no rest for the wicked, as they say.

“Hello,” says Elias, breaking out her out of her annoyed reverie. “What are you making for us?” Melanie sighs angrily.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson about sneaking up on me? Just…” she sighs again, tired now. “I’m sorry. I…that was disrespectful. I guess I’m in a mood today. Um, I’m making cranberry and walnut rolls.”

“That’s fine, bad moods happen to all of us. Those rolls sound delicious, Melanie.” Melanie allows herself a small smile. They would have to see about that, but she certainly hoped they would be delicious.

Daisy can hardly bear standing at her station for so long every week. She wants to run and jump and get moving. Her hands itch, as if longing to grasp and tear. Folding and kneading dough into pretzels helps the itch go away, at least a little. She’s making bread knots with poppy and cardamom, her large hands deftly twisting the bread.

She first got into baking when she was a teenager as a sort of joke, a way to surprise people that this tough girl liked to bake. But she grew to like it a lot, unironically now.

It’s a way to do something with her hands, kneading dough or stirring a mix or chopping vegetables, and she loves the different smells that rise from a baked good as it cooked or a pan as it sizzled away. It helps stem the urge that arises sometimes, the urge to chase, to hunt. To find and catch and—and apprehend. Daisy shakes her head now, almost unwilling to admit that—that, yes. Back when she was a police officer, she had done some truly awful things.

Eventually, Basira had quit the police force, saying she ‘couldn’t do it anymore’. And that was what had made Daisy realize how far she’d gone, how low she’d sunk into…brutality. She’d been so ashamed of herself when she’d realized that, and she quit, too, without even giving a two weeks’ notice.

But she is getting better now. Her hands still itch almost every day, and sometimes, on particularly bad days, she wants so badly to hunt and grab and kill. But she knows what to do with it. Sometimes she’ll bake or cook, and sometimes, on those really bad days, she’ll simply run. She’ll go out into the hills of Northern England, off into wild brush, and run for hours. It helps.

She looks over at Basira now. She’s Daisy’s North Star, her fixed point. Always so steady, Basira. Not like her, acting on instinct, fighting what shouldn’t be fought. No, Basira’s always by her side, and Daisy is forever grateful for it.

Agnes walks over to a cupboard to get a baking pan and opens the door. As she does so, there’s a sound rather like wet pasta, and dozens of worms spill out, writhing, white. Agnes screams and runs back to her table.

Quickly, a crowd forms, only for murmurs of disgust and shock to be broken by a shout of “Run!”

Everyone turns to look at Jon, who has gone pale and trembling. Agnes isn’t feeling so great herself, but she wonders if he’s had experiences with these worms before. Jon falls backwards onto an alarmed Manuela, who, despite being Jon’s height, is able to support his weight just fine. She must be stronger than she looks, Agnes thinks.

Jon does seem, though, to actually have fainted, and Agnes watches from atop her table in bleary shock as Manuela passes Jon to Martin, who carries him to the grass outside.

Agnes hears Gertrude, sharp and efficient, ordering everyone out. She feels a hand on her back as she’s led away by her table partner, Annabelle. She sees those deathlike larvae spill out of the cupboard and swarm towards the tables. She smells her cider and walnut rolls in the oven and vaguely hopes they don’t burn. This is all, though, through a hazy lens, like she’s about to fall asleep and the world is muffled.

And then she does. She vaguely remembers being carried (who would do that? Annabelle?) just before she really falls asleep.

A few hours later, the bakers’ tent is quarantined off. Gertrude and Elias save what rolls they can and bake them for longer in a couple of large ovens. No one will be judged on how well their rolls are baked today. It’s fortunate that everyone got their bread in the oven, and even more fortunate that no one was hurt.

The bakers move inside today, placing their bread baskets all next to each other on the dining table of the house (owned by Gerard Keay. Or was it owned by Mary Keay and haunted by Gerard Keay? No one could keep it straight). Once everyone is rested and calm, they proceed with the judges after a quick announcement.

“Hello, bakers. You deserve to know exactly what happened back at the tent,” begins Michael, deadly serious for once. Helen looks eerie without a huge smile on her face. “A few weeks ago, Jane Prentiss was eliminated from the show. We received threatening letters from her saying that she would make sure we all paid for what we did. We did not take it seriously until recently.

“A few days ago, she sent a box to us, filled with worms like those. When opened, they immediately began to crawl on the assistant who opened it. It is with great regret and sorrow that I say they did not survive the incident. The worms are highly aggressive parasites that will burrow into your flesh quickly and painlessly. Obviously, they are extremely dangerous.

“That cupboard had not been opened since last week. It appears that Jane must have let some worms into the cupboard, and they multiplied.

“I’m sure it is apparent, but no one was hurt. The worms are all dead, as it seems they are vulnerable to carbon dioxide gas. However, the tent is still quarantined, but it should hopefully be usable by next week. For this week, though, we will have to use…unconventional methods. I will explain those tomorrow, when you make your technicals.

“Elias and Gertrude have graciously baked your rye bread, so no one will be graded on the baked-ness of your rolls. If you are all ready, I think we can start judging now. Unless anyone has questions?” Everyone shakes their heads. They all look a bit more subdued now but otherwise calm and not too shaken.

“Hello, Agnes. Are you feeling quite all right? It must have been quite a shock to see those worms. A ghastly sight,” says Elias, shuddering. Agnes nods. “Well, it’s time to taste these rolls. They look very nice. They taste good, too. I like how you’ve brought the orange flavor through. I think these are a bit overbaked, which is my fault.” Elias chuckles. “But you have done very well.”

“Basira,” says Gertrude. Basira greets her in return. “This is quite…simplistic. No real flavors.” Basira frowns. “I like traditionality to some degree, but I think that these are a little too bland. I’m afraid I can’t truly give high praise or high criticism here, which is unfortunate really.”

“Well, hello again, Melanie. Don’t stab me this time!” Elias says teasingly, and somehow smugly. Melanie rolls her eyes. “Mmm, cranberry. This tastes quite good, especially since I love cranberries. However, it is still a bit messy. Much better, I think, than some of your previous work, but not quite totally appealing.”

“Jon, these look very nice. I’m very pleased, especially since I saw you struggling a bit with kneading the dough. These really came through nicely, and the pear-cider combination is a perfect blend. One of the best rolls I’ve seen and tasted today.” Jon beams at Gertrude’s words.

“Well,” says Gertrude after the bakers have left, “that was quite a trying day. I am glad no one got hurt by those worms. I’ve never seen worms like that before.” The judges and hosts are sitting around the Gossip Table. Helen nods.

“Me neither. I think they were actually parasitic wasp larvae. They were so gross. Even worse than Michael’s clothing style. Anyway, who do you think did the best and worst today?”

“It was a little challenging to tell, as we couldn’t grade anyone based on baking, but Jon did very well today, as usual. Melanie’s tasted good, and, for her, looked splendid. She is improving steadily. Martin’s bread was also very tasty, but a little messy,” says Elias.

“I was disappointed in Basira today. Her rolls were…unimaginative. On the other side of things, Daisy did very well today, as did Agnes. Both created nice-looking rolls with great flavor balances. As for Manuela and Annabelle, the flavors they used didn’t come through right. Annabelle’s even ended up not tasting good at all,” says Gertrude.

[this is a good place to stop]

The next day, Jon feels—well, not better, exactly. Not all better. But a little bit. He’d gone to Georgie’s flat to rest and commiserate. Melanie had also done this, leading to a slightly awkward meeting. It worked out fine, though, in the end. They were all able to talk it out.

He looks at Helen’s weird clothes. She is wearing a rainbow dress made of yarn (like a knitted sweater) that drapes down and trails behind her for several feet. Michael is wearing a giraffe-spotted muscle shirt over a zebra-striped parka, for some reason. He’s also wearing white jeans with little spirals on them in all colors.

“Hello, bakers!” says Helen. “You may have noticed that we are inside today. For this challenge and the showstopper, we’re going to do things a little differently than normal. What a twist! I just love a good twist. Though, I suppose not when it’s at the expense of others getting scared.

“Anyway, your task today is to make four perfect ciabatta rolls. There are four ovens inside, so four of you will have to cook in the morning and four of you in the evening.” Jon wonders why any house would need four ovens. “Two of the ovens are in this kitchen, while two are upstairs in the other kitchen.

“This is Elias’s kitchen, so, Elias: do you have any advice for us?” They all look at Elias, who pauses dramatically.

“Be patient,” he says, then leaves the room.

“Great! Be patient,” mimics Michael. It’s a weirdly good imitation. “Be patient. You have three hours. Go, bakers, go!”

Jon was never good at being patient. As a kid, he’d wake up at 5 AM on Christmas and wake up his grandmother to open his presents. When his grandmother didn’t get up, he simply opened them all. By the time she came to the living room, he’d already read all his books.

He makes his dough and puts it in a little box. The recipe says to let the dough prove at room temperature. There is a proving drawer, or he can simply place it on the counter. He looks around at all the people putting it in the drawer and decides to put his on the counter. Whether he is right in doing so or not, he will get to see which works better that way.

As he waits for his dough to prove and the yeast to activate, he thinks about the worm attack. Someone had put those worms there on purpose, and they could have hurt Agnes. He should have been there instead. He knows what these worms are like.

He wonders who they were trying to hurt. Maybe it’s him. It can’t be a coincidence that Jane had sent the very same worms he’d encountered after him. But who could have known? He hasn’t told anyone here. Has someone been spying on him? He needs to rule out possible candidates.

He stares at his dough, thinking. He has to suspect everyone. But one of the judges or hosts wouldn’t want to eliminate him from the competition. It must be one of the contestants, Jon thinks. He puts his rolls in the oven.

Martin watches his dough rise in the oven, turning golden-brown. He knows better than to prove his dough in the drawer, as the dough will rise but not activate. If it’s underproved, it will be flat. The proof is everything here, really. It’s like the saying the proof is in the pudding. A little bit, at least.

He thinks about the worms. They were repulsive. He wonders how Jane could’ve done such a thing. She didn’t seem like the type, but it goes to show, he ponders, that you shouldn’t underestimate people. For instance, Annabelle was plotting something. Good or bad, he wasn’t sure, but something.

She had backed out of the way of Jon’s fainting spell, letting Martin catch him, even though she was a larger woman and could feasibly have supported Jon’s slight frame. And then she had carried Agnes away. It was intriguing, but not what drew Martin’s thoughts the most.

No, it was the angular structure of Jon’s cheekbones and the weight of his shoulders in Martin’s arms. It was the way loose silver hair spun out of the little bun on top of his head.

Martin blinks and quickly removes his ciabatta rolls. They are almost overcooked, but he hopes he removed them in time. He can’t risk getting distracted here.

The bakers line up their ciabattas on the long table and the judges come out to sample them.

“This roll is quite good. This person was very patient and the bread is just right,” says Elias. “Lovely browning and a good strong dome on the bread.” This is Annabelle’s.

“Hmm. This one is a bit too heated up; it’s more like a pita.” Gertrude frowns as she shows the bakers the offending bread. This is Melanie’s. She was not patient.

She got last place, while Annabelle got first place.

“Time for the gossip, ladies and gents, or rather, one lady and one gent,” says Helen, plopping down in a chair. “Who’s looking hot and who’s looking not as the week goes on?”

“Well, I thought Annabelle did just splendidly. I was surprised that Manuela hasn’t brought her usual physics-defying stuff to the table so far, but perhaps she will stop the show with her showstopper. I am also concerned for Basira, who has to make her dishes a bit less bland if she wants to progress much farther,” says Elias.

“Yes, yes. Jon did wonderfully, as usual. Ever since that first technical, he’s performed well in them. I think that Jon and Annabelle are proving their spots as the top bakers in this competition. Meanwhile, both Basira and Daisy are towards the bottom,” says Gertrude. Helen rubs her hands together.

“Ooh, don’t you just love this gossip, Michael?” she says.

“Not as much as the Eye,” he mutters. The camera hears it. The camera hears all.

[this is a good place to stop]

The next day, it is time for the showstopper. The bakers have to make any kind of bread centerpiece, and it must be filled. They have four hours.

Gertrude advises that they will be judged on appearance, crust, and design. It should also be well-baked on the inside.

Manuela thinks about what to make for a minute before deciding on a stuffed sunflower loaf with apricot and mango chutney inside, alternating. As she makes her bread, she thinks about those worms. Even two days later, they are still vivid in her mind. So is Jon falling on her. She keeps being annoyed every time she remembers that and reminding herself that he couldn’t help it; he fainted. Manuela guesses that that kind of worm had attacked Jon before. She can’t imagine seeing them attack a second time. She can hardly look at the closet now. Neither can Agnes.

Or anyone else, for that matter. Everyone had stood around the closet awkwardly until Daisy had grunted in irritation and opened the closet, taking what she needed and simply leaving it open.

She is vaguely intrigued by the notion of dissecting and studying the worms, but she wasn’t that into biology. It’s a bit too gross and hands-on for her. She shudders at the thought of field work. She does, though, wonder what the worms were. She’d vaguely heard of parasitic worms as in wasp larvae or referring to tapeworms and things like that.

Annabelle is making a Stromboli filled with breakfast foods, such as bacon, eggs, and mushrooms. It’s a bit like an omelet in a roll. Meanwhile, she considers her plan. Although she’d felt a little bad about sabotaging Jane when she was already doing so poorly (it was just…unnecessarily unkind), her elimination had been useful. She had written a letter, saying it was from someone anonymous, telling Jane to take revenge against her.

The fact that someone else had opened the closet door couldn’t be helped, she supposed. As soon as Agnes had started walking to the closet, she had, though, told Gertrude immediately that she’d seen a weird worm-looking thing by the closet. She hadn’t. But she didn’t want anyone to get attacked by worms.

Basira is making a strawberry cheesecake brioche. No one will expect such a sweet dish from her, but she has a sweet tooth.

Elias comes by as she’s mixing strawberries into her bread.

“Oh, make sure the bread doesn’t get too wet if you’re doing a fruit filling. I’m excited to taste it though; I do like strawberries.” Basira thinks she remembers hearing that Elias liked cranberries, too. Perhaps he simply likes all fruits. Or all berries. Or all red fruits. Basira shakes her head and continues baking.

“All right, bakers! Time to stop baking and stop the show with your showstopping bakes!” says Helen. Jon notes that she’s made that joke already. Today, she’s dressed in a light green dress with lightbulbs attached to it, which are blinking on and off randomly. She is also wearing pink knee-high socks and cowboy boots.

“Bring your breads up to the front! I hope you filled them with something good,” says Michael. He is wearing the letter M. It appears to be a foam M with places to stick your arms and legs out of. Jon briefly wonders if he’s wearing anything under it. He can’t decide which is more likely, but if he is wearing anything under there, it’s something weird.

“Hello, Jon,” says Elias. He seems to be fond of saying that, even though it is just a greeting. “This flavor balance of figs and cheese is quite delicious. And this pinwheel you’ve made looks fairly good. It could be a little neater, though.” Jon nods. He knows that.

“Ah, this looks as good as ever, Annabelle. However, it’s a bit…overfilled. I think you got a little overambitious. The flavors are a bit crowded as well.” Gertrude eats another bite. “Yes, I think there are a few too many flavors.” Annabelle looks sideways at it and nods. Fair enough.

“Basira, this looks good. However, it’s a little bit soggy. I do appreciate that you tried something new, though. It does taste well enough,” says Gertrude. Basira frowns. She’d tried to take Elias’s advice, but apparently it wasn’t enough.

“Melanie, this looks impressively neat.” Melanie frowns a little at Elias’s backhanded compliment. Elias cuts into it, and his eyes widen in shock. “Oh dear. Melanie…this seems to be completely raw. I’m afraid I can’t taste it, regretfully for both of us.” Melanie looks surprised. Everyone looks a little surprised and embarrassed. Melanie scowls and walks away.

“Time for the gossip!” says Helen, leaping into a chair. Michael sits down more calmly beside her.

“Right. I am a little shocked at the fact that Melanie’s bread was raw. It was also her best presentation to date, I believe. I don’t know how longer she will be able to advance in the competition. I believe that she, Daisy, and Basira are our bottom three,” says Elias.

“I agree. I think that Jon, Annabelle, and maybe Manuela are our top three. They have consistently done very well throughout the competition,” says Gertrude.

“I have the sad duty of saying who will be eliminated this week, bakers,” says Michael. “This person, unfortunately, just never wowed us. Basira, unfortunately you have been eliminated.” Basira sighs. Her one attempt at creativity had gone wrong. She didn’t regret it, though.

“And I will tell you who is our shining star today! This person again wowed us with their skill, baking bread at an extremely high and extremely tasty level. Jon, you are again our Star Baker!” Jon again looks surprised, wide brown eyes gleaming. Martin can’t take his own eyes off them.

Later, Michael reads from a paper.

“Bread Week is at a tasty end. We’d like to thank our sponsor, Nikola Orsinov! Come see her shows with the Circus of the Other at the Grimaldi Theater bimonthly. Yes, both every two weeks and twice a week, every Saturday and Sunday at 7:00 PM.

“As always, we’d also like to thank our editor, Miss Sasha James, and our producer, Mr. Tim Stoker. And a big thanks goes to Mrs. Georgie Barker for letting us use her haunted land. Make sure to check out her podcast, What The Ghost?!

“Thank you for watching! This was made possible by viewers like you. Remember, it’s the Ceaseless Watcher, not the 9-5 Watcher with Weekends Off!” Michael smiles directly into the camera.