Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the army, one never thinks for too long about the seeming infinity of life, the years that might stretch out ahead. For one thing, the dangerous situations a soldier is thrust into mean there is a fair chance of an early death. For another, the pace is far too rapid – critical tasks present themselves one after the other and any moment taken to stop and think for too long about anything else is a moment wasted.

James glances at his watch and sees that the minute hand has barely moved since he last looked at it. It isn’t broken; as an heirloom he looks after it meticulously. It’s just that, since he left active service, time has taken on a sluggish quality he never experienced before. It’s tremendously frustrating.

He raised this with Alison. Try a hobby, she said, like she was reading from the therapist’s playbook. As well as passing the time, it would help keep his brain flexible. He might make connections with new people. He might even find that life has more meaning.

He’d promise to find a hobby if she promised to be less of a cliché. 

He finds himself by his bookshelf and extracts a large volume about tanks. But, like every other time he has tried this, he finds his concentration lapsing after only thirty seconds or so. It’s as though he is unable to relax; his mind seems to think that if he absorbs himself in an activity for too long, then something bad will happen to him. He must stay alert to whatever that bad thing might be, even if it’s only a figment of his imagination. It’s been that way for years now - even before he left the army.

Chores around the house keep him busy. But, looking about him, he really has done everything. There isn’t a speck of dust or dirt left. The lawn is mown, the bird feeders topped up. He even trimmed his moustache this morning. Nothing left to do. The endlessness of nothing.

James slumps onto the sofa and turns the TV on if only to quiet his mind. Most of his exposure to other people these days is through this screen. Meeting people for real seems like a huge effort with very little payoff. They never stick around, and he’s long accepted that he’s just not a likeable person.   

It takes him a few moments to properly tune in and realise he’s watching a baking show. Not his usual choice of material, but it’s harmless enough. In fact, there’s something quite relaxing about watching people kneading dough. He leans back into the cushions a little more, observing the way the bakers fold and plait and shape their creations. If only those pesky presenters would stop interrupting. Why does it need to be a competition? Can’t it just be about making bread? And why does he need to know about each baker’s backstory? Agnes in her cottage with her cats, Walter the artist whose bread looks more like sculpture, and Mick the dentistry student who bakes to wind down. And here’s Nigel, the token gay one. James rolls his eyes, urging them to get on with it and show him their finished products already.

The judging annoys him too, the way the contestants exaggerate their nerves, the silly anticipation for a handshake – although he finds himself interested in the precise tips and criticisms the judges offer: this is underproved, that’s overbaked, should have added more salt, needs less chilli. He finds himself making a mental note of all of it, even though he has no need for the information.

The next round begins. The cake Joan makes looks delicious; meanwhile Geoff’s bake is collapsing and looks nothing like the artist’s impression. James himself could do a better job of that, he is sure, if he just knew the recipe. He eyes his phone beside him, hands roving curiously over to it before he can stop himself, and looks it up. And no, he doesn’t have many of the ingredients, only eggs and butter, because he hardly cooks at home, but none of them are hard to come by. Maybe he could have a crack at it: he’d make a decent job of it, he’s sure. After all, it’s a set of orders, and his previous life depended on following those to a tee. Yes, why not?

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He hasn’t become acclimatised to the supermarket yet: the bright lights, the beeping tills, whining children and the bloody canned music whose offensiveness is outdone only by the interruptions for adverts announcing a discounted product or a new meal deal. It’s why he usually orders delivery, but there was nothing available for the next morning and so he’s had to drag himself into this alien world.

He glances at his shopping list. Is he really going to do this? He could just abandon the idea, grab a few of his normal groceries to top himself up and be done. Instead he’s making himself hunt through the store for things he would never buy just to prove himself more worthy than a stranger of the TV - the type of stranger who goes on reality shows, no less.

After locating most of what he needs, he hits a snag: they don't seem to stock golden syrup, or at least he can't find any. Dare he try honey instead? It has a similar consistency, after all. He shoves a jar into his basket and, before he can change his mind, heads for the tills.

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It turns out well – save for the amount of flour that has managed to scatter itself over every surface in his kitchen and will, he estimates, take the rest of the day to fully clean up. He bites into a delicious cake: moist with fruit and honey (a most suitable substitute), yet not soggy, even right at the bottom which, he understands from Bake Off, is where most of the problems occur.

He rewards himself with another episode. Pastry week, and the mere sight of John’s pistachio croissants makes his mouth water. He’ll have to try those next.

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James isn’t a half bad baker.

After a week of cakes, pastries and eclairs – interspersed with a couple more spontaneous trips to the supermarket for specific ingredients – he dares himself to attempt making bread: a simple brown loaf. It takes all day, and he likes that, because even though there’s some waiting around, it gives him a schedule to follow. When it’s ready and has cooled a little, he spreads a layer of softened butter over its springy surface. Its oiliness glistens as it melts just slightly and, popping it into his mouth, it tastes as good as it looks, the bread soft and rich, with a crunchy crust, the silkiness of the butter complementing the malty taste.  

It's quite a large loaf, but he can’t see himself having much trouble getting through this, thanks to its deliciousness. Some of his other bakes were not so lucky; large cakes, and pastries that made a baker’s dozen, proved a challenge to fully consume whilst fresh. With no one to share with, some of his creations turned stale and had to be placed on his bird table or thrown away entirely. He didn’t even bring anything to share at his last appointment with Alison, loathe to admit she was right about trying a hobby. But he hadn’t thought of baking, and she had been foolish not to have suggested it – baking was sensible, it was productive. It wasn’t frivolous the way her ideas about poetry or Zumba were.

He tunes into Bake Off every day for inspiration, cycling through old series while he waits for the next episode of the current one. Even though some of the more contrived elements of the show still irk him, he finds himself taken in more and more not only by the bakes, but also by the bakers, specifically their camaraderie. It was something he never quite found in the army, where the ‘friendly’ banter, ‘harmless’ pranks and competitive undercurrent weren’t to his liking, as he was rather an underdog in all domains. The bakers are meant to be in competition, though you wouldn’t know it. There’s a supportiveness underlying it; they offer each other words of encouragement, hug the contestant who’s voted out, cheer when someone else wins.

James has been on his own a year now. He can’t remember the last time someone did any of that for him.

🍪🍪🍪

Towards the end of the current series is an announcement inviting people to apply for next year. He can blame having had two bottles of beer for his resulting actions.

Once he’s filled out the form, he helps himself to another slice of his most recent cake. He allows himself one more drink. He forgets.

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“So, how have you been?”

“Well, thank you,” he answers Alison. His fingers twitch nervously in his lap, as always.

“I was having a think about things after our last session and wanted to come back to hobbies. Have you tried any of the activities we talked about?”

“No. At least… not the ones we talked about…” he adds, seeing her disheartened expression. “I’ve been getting into baking.”

“Baking? That’s great!” She perks up at once, beaming. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad. I’ve been watching that baking programme and trying out things from there.”

“The Great British Bake Off?”

“Yes. The recipes are very good – splendid results every time.”

“Amazing! So can I expect to see you on the TV anytime soon?” she asks, and her tone is mildly teasing.

“Well… I did put in an application.”

Her mouth falls open. “What?!”

“What?”

“Captain I-Can’t-Stand-People has put himself forward to be on a reality TV show?”

“Come now, Alison, it’s hardly Big Brother. All I’ll be doing for the most part is making dough and standing around waiting for it to cook. Not many social skills needed, I shouldn’t have thought. Anyway, they must have thousands of applications. It’s unlikely I’ll even be considered.”

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The announcement on the TV didn’t mention the selection process – there was no small print describing how gruelling it would be. When James receives the email offering him an initial interview via Zoom, it all seems straightforward enough. They’ll be interviewing hundreds of people, and he’ll be one of many, instantly forgettable, and once it’s over he can then put this silly idea behind him and go back to baking for himself. Only, then there’s an in-person meeting to go to in London. With nothing better to do, he goes, shakes hands, passes a tin of Chelsea buns around that are consumed with gusto, while he mumbles answers to the questions put to him about his background and his baking experience. After he’s released from the building with his empty tin under his arm, he's sure that’ll be the end of it. He surely hasn’t got the right personality for TV.

He's invited back for a baking audition – they want him to prove he can make things himself, that he didn’t just buy the buns from a bakery and pass them off as his own – the bally cheek of it! He was a military man – he has integrity, morals. He’s not some fraud who would just walk into a situation faking his accomplishments to win someone over. Despite his haughtiness about it, under the surface the nerves are eating at him. He’s almost certain to fall at this hurdle. Performing under pressure was never his strong suit.

Somehow, he produces a perfect batch of Bakewell tarts. He can’t fault them; there isn’t a crumb out of place.

But then, he’s told the next step is a psychological evaluation. That’s it then: the end of the line. They’ll find out he has a therapist, about his depression and trauma and all the rest of it, and will send him on his way.

Yet this, too, turns out to be painless. All he does is complete some questionnaires, answer a few surface-level questions on the phone, and produce some documentation for a criminal background check. The next thing he knows he’s informed he’s passed everything and then there’s an email with a contract in it.

He sucks in a deep breath. This is it, then. This time, it’s his turn to make a choice. After a moment of deliberation, he decides he has nothing to lose, and goes for it.

A few weeks later, he opens an email with details about the series dates and location.

When it sinks in that this is all about to be real, he opens up his favourite recipe site and saves everything he hasn’t tried making yet, and what the hell was he thinking? There’s so much he hasn’t done, and he’s about to be asked to bake some of it blind? And he’s never made anything that looks remotely like the intricate showstoppers contestants regularly make on the show.

So, he decides to do what he does best – logistics – and fires up a spreadsheet. He sets about entering the data about which recipes and techniques he’s confident with, which he needs more practice at and which he’s yet to try, along with dates leading up to the start of the series. He goes online and orders several notepads (to be organised by theme – cakes, bread and so on); there he will keep crib notes about the more challenging or surprising parts of each as he works, hoping it will help him memorise the trickier details. It ought to be tedious, all of this organisation, but – he will admit to nobody but himself - it’s the most alive he has felt in months.

It keeps him so busy, that only the week before the competition starts does he remember this whole ordeal is not just going to involve him baking alone in his kitchen, but spending several weeks in a stifling tent in the company of other people.

It’ll be okay, he thinks, wringing his hands. People and recipes aren’t so different. Each person has their own quirks, things that will work to win them over, or fall flat. All he has to do, just as in the technical challenge, is work out what ingredients will have which effect. Another spreadsheet should do the job of sorting all of that out. At the end of the day, he’s here for himself, and he’ll likely never see any of these people again once the competition is over. It hardly matters. Whereas the baking, the sense of achievement – that’s for life.

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There is a welcome event for all the contestants to meet each other, as well as the presenters and judges, the day before the competition begins. James would feel nervous, but his idea of cataloguing everyone for his spreadsheet keeps him focused, and as one might expect from this cohort, they’re a nice enough bunch of people, on the whole. Even meeting Paul and Prue, he's not particularly star-struck; yes, Paul's eyes are that piercingly blue, but that was never really James's favourite colour, and Prue's outfit is as chic and fabulous as he'd expected - but they're only people. People he has already determined quite a lot about for his spreadsheet, a known quantity. 

The first complete stranger to greet him is Pat, a friendly Yorkshireman who now lives in Reading with his wife and son, and leads a scout club in his spare time. “I didn’t have my baker’s badge yet so decided to give it a go and got the bug!” The archetypal Bake-Off contestant, James thinks. The next, Mary, is also similar to the stereotype he had in his mind; a warm and bubbly character, who lives in a converted barn down in the west country with her wife Annie and two cats: “Annie was the changing of me – she told me I could do anything I put my mind to. Bread’s my favourite to make – served with a good stew.”

There’s Kitty, the youngest of the group, a hairdressing student, and Thomas the jobless literature graduate. Robin, an enigmatic, seemingly ageless man with a ragged mane of hair and an accent James can’t place – the moon, for example, is “moonah” (James can’t remember how they got onto the subject of astronomy in a conversation lasting less than five minutes). On the flipside of Robin is Humphrey, with his much more tamed coif and sophisticated goatee (“I love any dish with cheese – Mr Cheese, my friends call me!”) and Fanny, an older lady whose tight bun seems to pull her face back into constant tension, and James wonders what he would have to do to make her smile (“If there is one thing I can’t abide, it’s carrot cake – it’s simply unladylike,” she tells him, with no explanation about why she believes this).

Julian is a surprising character; a local councillor that doesn’t take his work overly seriously and brags about entering the competition for a bet. Somehow, James thinks there must have been some bribery involved in him reaching the point of actually being selected, or perhaps the producers just thought he’d make for some good telly.   

And, last of all, there’s Anthony. Anthony, with his kind, dark eyes; his strong arms; his dulcet voice. Anthony, with the mysterious scarring on his face. Anthony, with his charisma, charming everyone effortlessly, shaking James’s hand with a sparkling smile as he introduces himself. “Major Anthony Havers.”

“M-Major?!” James had been ready to introduce himself, as he has to everyone else, by his own rank (in Pat's case he had got no further than simply 'Captain...' before Pat began gushing excitedly about the competition). With Anthony, it might have given them something to bond over, if James wasn't so taken aback by the fact this younger chap outranks him.

Anthony grimaces, as though the slip of his military association embarrasses him. “God! Sorry – force of habit. It’s just Anthony now. And you are?”

“I – J-James,” he all but stammers out in his bemusement. Bally marvellous.

Anthony asks him how long he’s been baking, and James responds with something vague, itching to extricate himself from the conversation all the more when Anthony reveals his parents owned a bakery when he was a child, “…so, naturally, I joined the army,” he quips, “but I did miss waking up to the smell of baking ever so much, and it’s been very therapeutic, too, ever since my retirement from service. It really brings a sense of purpose; it’s very rewarding.”

“Hmm,” James murmurs, internally seething – that part’s his inspirational backstory, damn it.

The event draws to a close and James could not be more relieved to escape from Anthony.

Anthony, who is everything James isn't. A proper hero. A born-and-bred baker. Faultlessly handsome (the rugged scars must only add to his appeal). 

James despises him immediately.

Chapter Text

“On your marks, get set, bake!”

James is unprepared for how much the command causes his heart to pound. He’s sure he'd feel more at ease if his old commanding officer had strode into the room and given the order instead.

They’re kicking off with bread week. James has decided to make a focaccia, because it had been one of the better pieces he’d tried at home. Everyone seems to have a story about theirs – a family recipe or a place they’d visited that had inspired the flavours. When the judges approach James, there’s not much he is able to offer in that regard, mumbling something about liking the combination of flavours, not that cheese and onion are anything novel. The judges move away rather hurriedly and James makes a note to find more creative ideas for next week.

While he kneads his dough, he lets his attention stray to the other bakers around him, making mental notes for later to fill his sparsely populated spreadsheet. Pat and Kitty are warm and chatty, Fanny and Anthony more focused, and Julian and Robin are unpredictable and chaotic – Robin’s gone straight in with putting liquorice in his bread, which seems an almighty risk at this early stage. Thomas keeps having irritating emotional outbursts, claiming that if his recipe does not turn out as planned he will drown himself in the lake outside. Mary seems reserved at first, but James overhears her using some choice words when her dough fails to rise as much as she’d wanted it to. “This is the devil’s work!” she eventually declares, even though from where he’s standing James thinks her olive sourdough plait looks rather good. Humphrey, meanwhile, is reciting all his ingredients in French - James gathers this is some kind of attempt to impress his wife when the programme airs, and as promised, he does not skimp on les fromages, incorporating three varieties. 

“That looks delicious!” says a voice when James takes his dough from the proving drawer. He glances up to see Anthony beaming at him. Patronising git.

“That’s up to the judges to decide,” James gripes, aware that time is not on his side and getting straight down to shaping his bread and decidedly ignoring Anthony while he puts it in the oven. Straightening up, he sees the infuriating man is still watching him as though he wants to start a conversation (because of course he had his bread in days ago). James goes to talk to Pat instead.

Twenty minutes later, when he pulls his bread from the oven, an inviting steam rises from it, the bake golden brown and pillowy soft. It’s as good as it could have been and he spots a twinkle in Paul Hollywood’s eye, stopping just short of a handshake. Damn – next time. The others have done well, too, on the whole. Pat was a little overambitious, trying to make a chocolate version of a wholemeal bread that would have been better suited to being savoury. A burning smell seemed to emanate from Mary’s corner of the tent all afternoon, though her olive loaf turns out well and she has the inspired idea to pair it with a side of fennel soup, making James wish he'd at least made a dip for his. Anthony’s crusty white cob, seasoned with cardamom pods, seems to gleam in the sunshine filtering through the window. James wonders if he must have added some sort of cleaning product to it and resolves not to try a piece when the judging is over, despite being invited to.

In the technical challenge – hot cross buns with a lemon and white chocolate twist – James comes second. A fantastic outcome. Or it would be, if he hadn’t been beaten by Anthony. Still, if he can keep this up, he might just win the first episode.  

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In hindsight, it was partly his own fault for choosing such a complicated bake for his first showstopper, combining several types of dough to create a bread replica of an A27 Cromwell tank. He couldn’t expect himself to keep an eye on all of it at once – not with Julian at the workbench behind him making crude comments about how the positioning of all the different parts reminded him of something called a Moroccan tea party. Robin's guffawing at this did not help matters either. James had been pondering over the last portion of dough he’d taken from the fridge, thinking it looked smaller than he expected and an odd colour for the ingredients he’d put in – the main one being tomato – but there was no other dough in there, so he reasoned it must be his.

It later transpired that Anthony – of course it was Anthony – had taken the wrong dough, the one James had made, out of the fridge and used it himself. This left James with a portion that was insufficient to make up both the turret and gun of his tank, muttering as he constructed it, “The girth of this shaft is far smaller than I was expecting...” (“Speak for yourself, mate,” Julian smirked from behind and Robin let out another peal of laughter).

Anthony had no such problem, with the plentiful dough James had unwittingly given him. It was only when Prue had taken a bite and remarked on the richness of the tomato flavour that his cheeks turned the same colour as his bread, revealing his guilt.

“Ah, I—” he started to say, glancing at James, but Paul cut across him with a comment that the rest of his showstopper was disappointingly underbaked. 

At least both of their bakes had failed to impress the judges. Anthony sabotaged himself as much as James, who had tried his best to construct his tank but, though the bread was decent, the judges assumed it to be a dalek instead of the majestic engine it was meant to resemble. Then, as he tried to correct them, they started laughing because he hadn't added a sink plunger for the full effect. He rolled his eyes, swallowed his pride and accepted defeat graciously.

He still can’t help but seethe at his competitor’s carelessness. If Anthony had taken just a second to inspect the dough in his hands, he would have noticed how completely different it was from his original creation. For his part, James supposes his only mistake was not labelling his dough with his name, but he hadn’t thought it would be necessary. How can one purport to be a baker without a modicum of attention to detail? He doesn’t know if he can stand to work with this insufferable man for the remaining weeks, but perhaps he won’t have to – if the judges have any sense, they’ll send Anthony on his way for his error and his shoddy baking.

Despite their mutual failure, it’s Julian who is the first to leave. His underproved buns shaped like bikini-clad breasts did not go down well with the judges. Robin takes the win this week, creating a bread replica of the Apollo 12 space suit that James can admit is better than even his tank, had it succeeded, would have been. While the other contestants congratulate Robin and say their goodbyes to Julian (James gives him the quickest pat on the shoulder he can achieve, which is all the goodwill that should be afforded to someone so clearly morally bankrupt) he notices Anthony staring at him again on more than one occasion, as though trying to catch his eye. James doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction and moves deeper into the throng around Robin, stopping to marvel earnestly at the dynamic cuff Robin has added to his spacesuit that somehow lets out bursts of steam when moved.

But when the cameras stop rolling, he’s too slow to sneak off before a voice is in his ear. “James - I’m so terribly sorry about taking your dough.”

“Well,” James mutters, not meeting Anthony’s eye, “these things happen…”

“Don’t say that. I made an awful cock-up and I feel terrible. How can I make it up to you? I could buy you a drink?”

“Really, I’d rather we simply put it behind us.” Because the last person I’d want to take a drink with is you. He starts to walk away.

“It was a tank, wasn’t it?”

“Pardon?” Reluctantly, he finds himself turning back in Anthony’s direction.

“A tank - not a dalek.”

“Um… yes.” James’s heels bounce up involuntarily in surprise; he notices how the corners of Anthony's mouth twitch up in amusement at this - it wouldn't be the first time his nervous habit has got him laughed at. Unable to keep the irritation out of his voice, James goes on, “An A27 Cromwell, for your information. Though it didn’t much resemble that, either.”

“I was going to guess the Comet, so it can’t have been far off.”

James can’t decide if Anthony is being genuine or patronising him again, but this thought is overshadowed by the fact that the man must at least know something about the history of tanks, igniting a spark of intrigue in James. He itches to ask Anthony what division he served in, whether he used heavy artillery himself. But he knows Anthony is certain to respond with some incredibly impressive answer that will only serve to make him feel more inadequate.

“You’re ex-forces, too?” Anthony ventures. James nods curtly and Anthony’s mouth quirks into a smile again. “Ah, I thought there must be a reason Pat keeps calling you ‘Cap’.”

James feels a flush come over him at the realisation that Anthony has already found out his inferior rank, but if the man notices this reaction he doesn’t comment, saying instead, “I really am so sorry for my mistake today – and especially now I know I’ve wronged a fellow soldier.”

James pretends not to have noticed the way Anthony’s expression has creased with remorse again – these apologies are getting tedious.

“Forget about it, won’t you? See you next week, Anthony.”

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The next episode of the competition is filmed exactly one week later: one excruciating week in which he is unable to concentrate on anything except his nerves. For all that he tells himself that he did a good job, he can’t help fearing something will go terribly wrong and that this is the week he gets kicked out. He bungles several of his practice attempts, but gets it perfect on his final go the day before filming: a delicious chicken curry pie. He eats as much of it as he can, but knows the rest will have to be thrown out after festering in his fridge untouched while he's away filming.

When the day dawns, he resolves to go in positively - but the production team have other plans. The tent is rife with gossip about the accidental sabotage, which was apparently captured by the camera crew in all its scandalous detail. Far from forgetting about it, the amount of continued camera attention on him and Anthony this week is unsettling. He decides the best way forward is to ignore Anthony (a little difficult when he is stationed in front of him) and make allies of the others. He finds Pat the most approachable, although his cheeriness can grate, but at least he’s a practical sort – and willing to share ingredients when James finds himself short on sugar. Fanny is sterner, refusing to do anything of the sort, but James admires her precise, no-nonsense nature and tells her as much. This, it turns out, is the way to her heart, and he is able to strike up a few conversations with her through the day, though these mostly revolve around either her dog or her cheating ex-husband.

Kitty is sweet and bubbly, trying to make friends with everyone including James, despite being half his age. She asks endless questions about his life – does he have any pets? A partner? How about any teddy bears? He can’t help but feel disappointed with himself when his answer every time is a cheerless “No…” (He does, in fact, own a teddy bear called William, but he isn't going to admit that in public). She eventually runs out of questions and returns to her baking, somehow still finishing on time around all her chattering with other contestants. Humphrey, as promised, finds a way to work cheese into every recipe, sweet or savoury, refusing to engage with anyone who does not use his nickname. “Very well, Mr Cheese, I was simply asking if you could lend me a whisk…”

Thomas, in a gap while he waits for his pastry to cook, starts reciting the poetry of the romantics, which James finds about as helpful as having a fly buzzing in his ear while he’s trying to concentrate on getting the correct measurements.

Anthony, despite his irritating proximity, thankfully doesn’t mess up any more of James’s work. In fact, he seems to be avoiding James as much as James is avoiding him, not once turning in his direction.

The presenters tease James. “Have you and Anthony kissed and made up yet?”

“What?! No.” It was only the choice of wording that had him taken aback, but it was the wrong thing to say, because it makes him seem unreasonably bitter and competitive. The producers will love it.

The two days of filming progress smoothly, almost uneventful. James gets praise for his signature peaches and cream turnovers, but his curry pie garners criticism for the infamously dreaded soggy bottom. Anthony comes top in the technical again, with an immaculate set of spring rolls, but his showstopper pie collapses just as he sets it on the judges’ table, sending fruit puree pouring out of the sides. James feels his moustache twitch, trying to suppress a smirk lest the cameras should pick up on it. He did not enter this competition with the intention of causing drama, rather hoping instead to fly under the radar as far as possible.

Someone who did not fly under the radar was Thomas, who simply cannot make pastry, and so he is dismissed while Mary takes star baker for her exquisite pheasant stew pie (the secret, she insists, is to use exactly five potatoes).

🧁🧁🧁

His plan to keep a clean slate flies out of the window the next week when he is presented with the instructions for the technical and his mind draws a blank. Genoise sponge. He’s heard of it, is sure that it was in his spreadsheet, even. He cannot recall what it is. He’s no cheater, though, and refuses to look at what any of the others are doing, not even Anthony, who has leapt straight into action in front of him, his mixer already going at full tilt.

James surveys the ingredients he has in front of him, but they look no different to those he would use in any other cake, except for the specific toppings the judges have asked them to use. He takes pot luck, but when their hour is up, finds he has made something akin to a basic Victoria sponge. He shrugs; at least it’s something. But as he removes it from the tin, it collapses: the middle was not baked at all and is still liquid. That shouldn’t have happened, not with something so basic as a plain sponge.

“What the—?” He glances down at his oven to find the temperature set way too low. “Damn it.”

There are minutes left. He tries his best to cover it with the passionfruit topping, but that’s wrong as well, pooling all over the place when it should hold its shape. That’s when he notices the gelatine leaves sitting untouched on his workbench.

He’s done for, then. He was always an imposter, the underdog in the competition, and this is where everyone else will see that for themselves.

As he walks up to the front table to place his bake behind his photograph, he finds himself in step with Anthony, who carries yet another perfect bake. How can the man be so bloody good at these technicals?

He refuses to meet Anthony’s eye as they place their cakes (if one can even call James’s dish a cake) on the gingham tablecloth and James beats the hastiest of hasty retreats so that his embarrassment isn’t evident to Anthony, selecting on a stool at the very end of the row next to Robin, as far away from Anthony as he can get.

The judges move down the line of cakes, and James’s stomach flutters with nerves the closer they get to his photo. In minutes, they are right behind it, sinking a fork into the platter and taking it to their lips.

“Mmm!” says Prue, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Now, that is a genoise sponge. It’s light, it’s soft. Just delicious.”

No! James thinks. That can’t be right. He hadn’t even mastered the basics of his cake. They can only be joking.

The mystery is solved when they move onto Anthony’s cake.

“Goodness, what has happened here?” Prue asks.

“I’m not even going to try that,” says Paul. “It’s just a mess. See me after class, whoever made this.”

James is mortified – in his nervousness, he must have put his cake down behind the wrong photo. He sneaks a glance at Anthony, who is staring straight ahead unflinching, even though several of the others have turned to look at him in shock. James’s brow creases. Anthony must know that isn’t his cake – why isn’t he correcting the record?

When it comes to ranking the bakers’ creations, naturally James’s cake (the one behind Anthony’s photo) is ranked last. “Whose is this?” asks Paul.

Honesty being the best policy, James raises his hand. But so does Anthony.

The judge’s eyebrows shoot up. “A joint effort?”

“No, it’s mine,” says James. “I’m sorry – I don’t know how it ended up behind Anthony’s photo. You need to swap those two over.”

“Ah.” They do as James instructs, placing the perfect cake back behind the perfect photograph of its perfect creator – and the horrendous mess, appropriately, back behind his. He looks over at Anthony again, who is staring back at him, frowning and biting his lip. Oh, damn. Anthony’s going to think James did it deliberately. No wonder he didn’t speak up – he was testing James to see what he would do. And then James starts to think it might have been Anthony’s doing all along to set him up, to make him look as though he tried to pin his own failure on Anthony. It's outrageous – James would never stoop so low.

The cameras stop running and as the bakers filter from the tent, James is surprised to notice Anthony smiling at him.

This time he makes sure they’re both outside and away from earshot of anyone else, before he storms over to him, wiping the smile from Anthony’s smug face.

“What the bally hell do you think you’re playing at? You can’t swap our bakes over!”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” Anthony answers.

“I wouldn’t mind looking like a deranged, sore loser?!”

“Excuse me?”

“You saw the state of my cake. Why on god’s green earth would you want to take credit for that?”

“I…”

“It’s quite clear this was a deliberate act of sabotage.”

“Self-sabotage, if we’re calling it that.”

“No, it isn’t actually. You’ve made me look like a liar and a cheat, like I swapped our cakes to make myself look better.”

“Oh…”

“I would never do such an immoral, unprincipled thing!”

“No, of course not – that was remiss of me,” Anthony accepts. “I really was only trying to help out a friend.”

James frowns suspiciously. “Which friend? Who do you mean?”

“I mean you! Alright, I know we’re not friends yet, but a fellow veteran.”

Brushing over his confusion at the way Anthony could ever have thought him a friend, James continues, “Help me how? How the hell would that be helping?”

“In week one I ruined your lovely tank. When I saw your cake hadn’t gone very well this week, I saw a chance to put things right.”

“That is as far from putting things right as you could have got!” James explodes. “I ought to report you for misconduct.” 

“Oh, James, please don’t. Forgive me; it was a mistake – I see that, now. I didn’t think it through and I’m sorry. I won’t interfere with anything you do again.”

James is tempted to say he will report him anyway. But Anthony is a great baker – he’s just scored a technical hat-trick – and deserves to be here more than James does. He has a chance of winning the whole competition. And it isn't as though anyone is bound to care - the crew will just rub their hands together at the endless entertainment their clash offers. James sighs, “Fine. But please, please just keep out of my way from now on.”

Anthony takes a step forward and for a moment, James thinks he’s about to hug him and steps back, recoiling out of reach. But Anthony raises an arm in salute instead. Refusing to salute back, James turns away and marches off.

Chapter Text

After Anthony’s antics in the technical challenge, James wants nothing more than to go home and practice his baking in peace before they reconvene in the tent next week, but this week’s showstopper is still to be completed. As the bakers enter the tent and take up their stations, James can’t help but glance at Anthony on his way past. Accidentally catching his eye, he watches Anthony’s cheeks turn a deep rose colour, before his competitor squares his jaw and directs his gaze to stare intently ahead at the presenters. For the first time, James sees the soldier in him. But taking his place at the workbench behind he can see that the back of Anthony’s neck is still flushed. Good. He should be embarrassed after yesterday’s performance.

For the benefit of the show’s audience, the presenters announce what the bakers already know: that the showstopper this week will be a cake representing their hobbies, which must demonstrate superior decorating skills. Since his only hobby these days is baking, James has decided to make a cake which resembles a loaf of bread, but will have a rich, chocolate centre. One slice will sit next to it on the plate, iced to give the appearance of butter and jam.

His mixture doesn’t take long to make, and once the cake is in the oven he makes the mistake of glancing around before getting started on his icing, and catching the eye of Fanny, who has moved into the spot behind James ever since Julian left.

“What on earth happened with the technical challenge yesterday?” she hisses at him. “Patrick and I can’t understand how your cakes got switched. We both saw you take yours up.”

Across the aisle from Fanny, Pat presses a hand to his mouth, looking a little guilty at being exposed for gossiping.

James sighs, rather uncomfortable that they had both taken notice of his awful mess of a cake. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You do seem to attract drama, don’t you? I rather thought it would be Julian and Thomas who’d be most embroiled in that sort of thing but you seem to be having no trouble taking up the reins now they’re gone, despite not seeming much the type for it.”

“No, I’m not,” James agrees, “however it may appear. I think it’s quite obvious that it’s Anthony who orchestrates all of that. I’m just his… victim.”

“I wouldn’t have said he’s one for dramatics either,” Pat chimes in. “He’s a really nice bloke when you talk to him.”

“People can be two-faced,” says Fanny. “Although I believe he has an ulterior motive.”

James rolls his eyes. “It’s hardly Murder, She Wrote, Fanny.”

“How do you mean, Cap?” asks Pat.

But James is hesitant to spell it out; he still isn’t convinced by Anthony’s excuse about helping him. Either way, his actions were driven by spite or by pity, neither of which is flattering. He settles for saying, “It’s perfectly obvious if you think about it.”

“Quite. He’s fond of you,” Fanny states with conviction.

“Hmm?” Her comment is so unexpected, James is sure his eyebrows are now somewhere around his hairline. “Are you feeling alright, Fanny? Him, fond of me? I can’t think of anything more absurd.” Realising he has essentially just called Fanny absurd, he finds himself on the receiving end of her piercing glare, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, and feels his resolve begin to crumble. “N-now, if you don’t mind, I need to start on my decorations, yes,” he says, clearing his throat and turning away, trying his hardest not to give the impression of a puppy with its tail between its legs.

It is absurd, James thinks as he rolls out his icing. He hopes that none of the film crew picked up on their conversation – he’s had enough drama to last him a lifetime without some rumours going around about he and Anthony now being somehow compatible, but as it wouldn’t fit their rivalry narrative he’s probably in the clear. It’s ludicrous anyway – Anthony’s clearly straight and even if he wasn’t, he’d be out of James’s league.

He can’t help but let his gaze be drawn to Anthony again, curious about what he might be making – James can just make out a few sketches and stencils dotted about his workbench. He notices that in the heat of the tent, Anthony has shed his jumper so his arms are out on full display as he works – toned, but not unnaturally muscular. With a start, James realises his mind has gone blank – there must have been a reason he was checking up on Anthony, but he’s forgotten what it was. There is a camera nearby which he realises has probably just filmed him staring at Anthony’s arms, which was not his intention.

After another hour, they present their cakes to the judges and, somehow, James’s chocolate sponge goes down well enough that he thinks he might still stand a chance in the competition. Anthony brings his creation to the front: a cricket ball and bat, one made of toffee sponge and the other ginger cake. James raises an eyebrow – that would explain the arms. James had been a keen cricketer during his army days, though he only watches it now. Still, it’s an admirable hobby - sport of kings and all that. As Anthony’s cake receives a handshake for the unique flavours, James joins the other bakers in applauding, even catches himself smiling for a moment and schools his face back to a neutral expression. Silly, really – he supposes he was just swept along with the rest of the crowd. He applauds just the same way for Robin when his cake-based chess set, too, gets a handshake. It’s polite to be happy for one’s fellow contestants – it doesn’t mean anything that he felt a certain warmth bloom in him when Anthony did well.

Sadly, when the judges come to Pat, his cake shaped like a scouts’ camping tent has collapsed, and then worse comes when the judges mention that it’s burnt inside. To Pat’s merit, he takes the blow with dignity, and later when the news comes that he’ll be the one leaving this week, he’s back to his usual cheeriness. “You’re like family to me and I’ll miss you all!” he gushes, hugging everyone in turn. James stands dumbfounded as Pat gets to him and embraces him, too. Over Pat’s shoulder, James’s becomes aware of Anthony hovering in the background of his peripheral vision, chatting to Kitty.

“Take care, mate,” Pat says in his ear. “And lighten up for us, will you? Make love, not war, yeah?”

James, who was hardly listening, balks at his turn of phrase, feeling too stunned to offer any final condolences as Pat releases him.

“See you, then,” says Pat.

James answers awkwardly, “Yes,” his gaze still on Anthony.

🍰🍰🍰

The next week is a themed week: festivals. The judges are expecting something vibrant and exciting from each of the bakers. They enter the tent bearing bright food dyes, platters of fruit, rainbow sprinkles and decorative ornaments to brighten up their bakes.

The first day of the two goes well for James. He thinks about carnivals with food from all over the world, and introduces some stronger flavours and colours, which the judges appreciate. The technical is Chinese mooncakes and, despite never attempting them before, it goes without a hitch, James placing third in the group (behind Anthony, who is finally second to Robin).  

For the showstopper on the second day, the occasion he’s chosen is VE Day, so he ices an intricate string of Union Jack bunting onto a sheet of cellophane to be transferred later onto his showstopper - he is making a replica of a post-war street party made out of a mix of meringue, biscuit and cake. He’s so involved, he doesn’t take notice of the other bakers around him until Paul and Prue come to stand by Anthony’s work bench, in front of James.

“The festival I’ve chosen is Pride,” Anthony tells them, and that’s when James notices food dye bottles laid out on one end of the counter in a rainbow formation. “Underneath a mirror glaze outer layer, my cake will have a hidden rainbow flag in the centre, to symbolise coming out. Attending Pride events was an especially important part of that journey for me. It’s like being part of a big family I never knew I had.”

It is like an out of body moment listening to him speak. James only realises how he’s completely paused mixing his batter, standing with bated breath, once Anthony finishes speaking and Paul starts asking him about the flavours he’s choosing. Coming back to himself, he feels a sting somewhere in the region of his heart. After all, that was where it all culminated for him, two years ago, when a health check-up found a problem with his heart. He had been forced to stand down from active service, relegated to a cushy desk job. Three months into that, he had the heart attack. It made no sense; he always got enough exercise, was careful about what he eats, hasn’t smoked since his early twenties, and his job had just got less demanding.

It had baffled him when, forced into retirement and into therapy, Alison had started asking about his past and his relationships. She was supposed to be focusing on helping him deal with his illness and plan his future, there was no need to go digging all that back up again. But she persisted, and eventually he began to tell her about it – the feelings he’d had to keep secret growing up in the regimented environments that he did, from a military family to his cadet days and beyond, where anything which deviated from the expectations of those in authority had to be stamped out – and attraction to men was certainly deviant in their eyes. He still feels the shame that had accompanied any liaisons he’d had, swearing the other person to silence, no hope of a lasting relationship — those were for other people. Stress became his driving force, it was all he knew in the end. So, when that stopped suddenly, so did his heart.

That’s Alison’s theory, anyway. She has counselled him at length about the importance of taking pride in his identity but to date he hasn’t been able to get his head around such an alien concept. And now here is Anthony, talking about that part of himself without fear or embarrassment – on television, no less. And, somehow, doing so paid off for him in a way it never could for James – finding people who cherish and respect that part of him rather than losing the respect of all around him. He holds his head high; James takes his medication and consults a therapist and can only dream of having what Anthony has.

Suddenly, he has lost all motivation to continue. He wants to get up, throw his mixture in the bin and storm out.

He doesn’t do that. He perseveres with his bake, zoning out for lumps of time where he’ll suddenly find his cooking finished in the oven, with no recollection of how it got there. The numbness irks him and he feels relieved he has an appointment with Alison coming up this week. When he presents his celebration scene to the judges, he tunes out their comments. He has no idea whether he has done well or not, just mumbles “thank you” once they’ve finished speaking and takes his seat again.

He must have done alright, because it’s Fanny who leaves this week. James doesn’t think she was particularly cut out for baking; her measurements were always very precise and worked when she was following a recipe, but she wasn’t as creative with flavours or designs as the competition demanded. She often just re-used her beloved dog Dante as her model to inspire her creations each week.

He carries his baking out of the tent along with the others, but soon finds himself coming to a halt, unable to walk any further, and sinks onto the grass with the cake in his lap. The others are growing smaller as they walk further away but, unexpectedly, one turns back, noticing he is no longer with them. It’s Humphrey, making his way back to James and setting down his cheesecake-based Guy Fawkes effigy down on the ground as he takes a seat next to him.

“You doing alright, James?” Humphrey asks. The lit sparklers on top of his cake burn into James’s eyes, but he can’t tear his gaze away. He stares and stares until Humphrey interrupts again. “Now, come on. Tell Mr Cheese what’s on your mind.”

But Humphrey isn’t the right person. He shakes his head.

“Suit yourself,” Humphrey says eventually, by which time the sparklers have burnt out, and he gets up and leaves James alone.

Sitting there, he notices a glimmer of colour in the corner of his eye. A butterfly is fluttering around him and comes to land softly on his arm. James leans in for a closer look, admiring the way the iridescent purples and blues shimmer in the sunlight, starts to count the spots on the wings, making out the tiny feathers that make up the whole pattern.

“I wonder if she has friends,” says a voice at his side. He glances up to see Kitty beaming at him and his new companion. “Or baby butterflies.”

“W-well, baby butterflies are caterpillars, Katherine,” he says delicately.

“Yes, of course,” she replies unfazed.

“Yes. And one day, they come out and they are their true, fabulous selves…” Oh. Perhaps the butterfly had not proved such a useful distraction from today’s problems after all.

“Oh, yes! Like Anthony!” Kitty says, echoing his thoughts.

“Right…”

“You don’t seem to like him much, do you?” she observes.

“He ruined my tank in week one.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a dalek.”

“No, it was not! It was an A27 Cromwell. I’m not even entirely certain I know what a dalek is. And then,” he goes on, “he swapped our bakes last week so that I wouldn’t lose.”

“Oh, is that what happened? But wasn’t that a nice thing to do?”

“It was dishonest.”

“I suppose so. But I’m sure he thought he was being nice. Hey, look, Captain – that cloud up there looks like a horse, do you see it? What do they look like to you?” The abrupt change in conversation snaps him back out of his brooding for a brief moment and he frowns up at the sky.

“They look like clouds, Katherine.”

“No, silly! That one’s a snowman and that one’s a rabbit…”

He squints harder, but he really does see only clouds. That, perhaps, is the problem pervading much of his life. “I see pockets of water vapour that evaporated from the ground and will come back down to us as rain soon.”

“Gosh! That’s very imaginative!”

He smiles despite himself, and continues, “That one’s a cumulus. When they amass they turn into thunderclouds.”

“You’re so clever, Captain!”

James doesn’t feel too clever just now. The cloud he is observing shifts, allowing a shaft of sunlight to break through. He sighs again. “No… no, I’m not. I am probably giving Anthony a harder time than he deserves. None of it was done out of spite. He actually seems like a pretty decent chap. I just…” …can’t deal with someone who is the epitome of everything I ever wanted to be.

He can’t say it or he’ll sound like a jealous child. Instead, he stores that thought up for further introspection later, knowing it is something he should discuss with Alison. He turns to see what Kitty will make of his musings, but she’s gone – he can see the butterfly flapping ahead of her as she chases it away across the grounds.

🍩🍩🍩

“What a pathetic reaction - just sitting there sulking for no reason other than petty jealousy.” James sits in Alison’s office halfway through the week, reliving every emotion, every sensation he felt that day.

Alison taps her pen against her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think the reaction you had sounds like jealousy.”

“Of course it is. It’s completely affected my perception of a person who has, on the whole, been nothing less than pleasant to me, despite his mistakes. It isn’t fair to him… but I just can’t stand how he seems so… perfect.”

“By whose standards?”

“My own, I suppose.”

“But you said he made mistakes, and if those affected you it’s understandable you’d be annoyed.”

He shakes his head – she isn’t getting it. “Mistakes are just that — they can be forgiven and forgotten. It’s what’s more permanent, that I find… difficult to deal with.”

“Still – they’re evidence that he isn’t perfect in every way, aren’t they?”

“What are?”

“His mistakes. When you say he’s perfect, you can see how that’s a skewed version of him, can’t you? He probably doesn’t see himself that way. What else can’t you see on the surface, that you could be getting wrong? Did he have a straightforward career or was it hard for him, too? Did he feel lonely and depressed when he left the army? Did he also have a hard time accepting his sexuality? Just because you perceive that these things weren’t a problem for him, doesn’t necessarily mean he’s had an easier ride than you.”

He swipes a hand over his face, trying to process what she’s telling him. “No, I suppose not...”

“Maybe try getting to know him – I can guarantee there will be plenty that he also feels insecure and vulnerable about. Then you’ll get confirmation of what you’re already beginning to realise – that he isn’t perfect at all, just another human.”

🍪🍪🍪

The weeks pass; they lose Humphrey, and Kitty’s departure the following week is a hell of a blow; James feels she deserves to be there far more than he does – at least, her bakes are always much prettier than his, with her love of glitter, flowers and other decorations.

Her loss leaves James, Anthony, Robin and Mary the last ones standing. While Robin and Mary hold the most star baker awards between them, James and Anthony have both always ranked in the top three for technicals, James’s disastrous genoise sponge aside. It is well-deserved on Anthony’s part; he is a talented baker, and has made no other mistakes to James’s detriment over the past few weeks.

James thought about what Alison had said about getting to know him, but it was going to be hard to offer an olive branch when it was James who had insisted they keep out of each other’s way. In the end, he didn’t have to. One week, Anthony dared to turn around and chat to James while they were both waiting for their bakes to cook. The conversation was polite and good-natured, as though nothing had ever gone awry between them. Rather than griping, James had offered carefully-worded answers in return and Anthony had given him a grateful, glowing smile that made James wonder if he had been reading him all wrong for weeks. Hence, he has tried to strike up a new conversation with him every time there is an opportunity, coming to realise Anthony has a sense of humour, is pleasant to talk to, gives good advice, and listens intently when James offers a comment or a question in return. It is through these interactions that he has learnt that Anthony is single, lives alone apart from his dog, Barry – and that he only lives a twenty minute train journey from James.

By the semi-final, James is getting tempted to finally take Anthony up on his previous offer of a drink, but doesn’t want to seem too forward should Anthony get the wrong impression. But then, what is there to get wrong? They are both in the same boat. Not that Anthony knows it yet. Now, there’s a thought, and something James really ought to mention.

So, once this week’s signature bakes have been judged and the cameras stop rolling, James hovers just outside the tent for some air and, as he hoped, Anthony gets the message and follows him out.

James clears his throat. “I realise I never complimented you on that Pride creation you made. It was very inspiring.”

“Oh, thank you!” Anthony says, blushing that pleasing pink colour again. “But… it hasn’t always been rosy. The army was never an easy place to be gay – well, I’m sure you know all about the culture. Even after the rules were changed I felt I had to hide. I still haven’t found the right person to settle down with. My longest relationship since I left has been about two months. No one seems to click. I just feel so behind the curve compared to all my friends.”

“These things take time,” James murmurs, as if he knows any better. Two months sounds impressive to him.

“Yeah...” They fall into silence. After some time, some member of the crew calls them back into the tent and, with a nod at James, Anthony begins to head away.

“Ah, Anthony?”

The man spins back to face him so quickly that he almost overbalances – it’s quite endearing, James thinks, feeling a warm flutter inside as the lanky man wobbles back to standing.

“I do actually know.”

“What do you know?”

“How it is to… exist in the forces as a gay man.”

Anthony blinks, and his mouth quirks up at the corner just a tiny bit; he almost looks relieved. “Oh…”

“Yes, so we have that in common.”

“We have a lot in common, don’t we?” Anthony says with a curious tilt of his head.

“It seems we do,” James agrees, offering Anthony his most genuine smile so far. He feels a sense of assurance, though he isn’t certain what about. “Now, how about that drink – this evening?”  

🥖🥖🥖

Back in the tent and facing the technical challenge, James’s thoughts of a drink later with Anthony dissipate as he struggles to remember how to make souffle.

“I don’t suppose you’d swap with mine again?” he asks Anthony in jest as they’re placing their bakes up on the top table.

“I would, you know, if you really wanted me to. But I know you have too much integrity for that.”

James feels flattered by the compliment, shrugging him off. “Less nice people have called it inflexibility,” he says, as he takes a seat next to Anthony for the judging.

“None of them could have been worth listening to,” Anthony tells him.

A sudden realisation comes over James, then. There is only one more week to go before the competition is over. He may never see Anthony again. It is strange that only a couple of weeks ago, this would have been welcome news; now, James can’t bear the thought of losing his friend. So, once they have found a local pub for their drink, he makes sure the evening doesn’t end without him taking Anthony’s phone number. It turns out Anthony doesn’t want the day to end, too, suggesting they go on to the cinema. It is past midnight when James finally gets into bed and falls asleep feeling the most content he’s been since he can remember.

Chapter Text

On the nights between consecutive filming days, the bakers are put up in the same hotel, just a few minutes away from the estate where the tent is set up. This far into the series, James has an established set of rituals that mimic his routine at home: up at six thirty for a run through the town, returning forty minutes later to shower and join his fellow contestants for breakfast at seven thirty. Today as he is turning the last corner to make his final sprint back to the hotel’s doors, he finds himself wondering about Anthony and what to expect from him this morning. Perhaps he’ll want to talk about last night’s film, or today’s showstopper round, or books, or their army days, or who knows what else. Perhaps he’s not as much of a morning person – James hasn’t had enough contact with him over breakfast up until now to know – and he’ll just greet him with a sleepy smile while he digests enough coffee to come to his senses.

What James doesn’t expect was for Anthony not to show up at all. Freshly showered, he sits down next to the other remaining bakers, Robin – reading New Scientist – and Mary – finishing a crochet piece.

“Has either of you seen Anthony today?” is the first thing he asks.

“Mornin’ to you, too,” Mary says, quirking an eyebrow. Not looking up from his magazine, Robin snorts softly.

“A-apologies, Mary, Robin. How are you?” He tries his best to listen while Mary provides him (he suspects as punishment) with the highly detailed minutiae of her morning so far, while his insides twist with worry that perhaps Anthony didn’t enjoy last night as much as he did and that he doesn’t want to see James this morning, his appetite disappearing rapidly. Searching for a distraction, he tunes back into Mary’s musings. “…Of course, this far into the competition, the odds are stacked against us all. Well, ‘cept Robin.”

It’s true – Robin’s baking has been the most flawless of all of them thus far. James has thought on more than one occasion that they ought to get it all over with and just give him the trophy, competition be damned.

“I’d wager you have a fair chance of winning too, Mary,” James assures her. “No, I’m fairly certain it’ll be me going this week. It’s only luck that’s brought me this far. I’m certainly not the dab hand that you, Robin and Anthony are.”

At the reminder of Anthony, James checks his watch and glances around again. “Perhaps he’s overslept – I’ll go and see if he’s in his room.”

If he had looked back when he dashes from the restaurant, he would have caught the pointed glance that Mary and Robin share.  

He has the number of Anthony’s suite memorised, although he can’t quite remember when he learnt it. He knocks and presses an ear to the door. “Anthony? It’s James.”

There are a few moments of silence, and then he can hear someone shuffling about and the door clicks open. Anthony stands there, pale and slightly stooping, his hair stuck up in all directions, a dressing gown loosely draped around him over a t-shirt and shorts.

“James,” he croaks. “What time is it?”

“Oh, um…” James takes a moment to compose himself, checking his wrist for his watch and then realising he’s not wearing one. “Nearly eight, I think. Our taxis will be here any moment. Are you quite all right?”

“Think I’m coming down with something,” Anthony says with a hearty sniff. “Do you think they’ll boot me if I don’t show up?”

“At this stage in the competition, I suppose it’s possible. Now, do you want paracetamol? Vitamin C? Throat lozenges?”

“Do you have any?” Anthony asks hopefully.

“No, but I can run to the chemist and get you some.”

“You don’t need to do that for me, I’ll be fine,” he says, before a great, hacking cough erupts out of him.

“Could I at least fetch you a drink? Some peppermint tea? Orange juice?” James offers.

“I suppose, if you must…”

“I must.”

“Orange juice then.”

“Roger that.”

🧁🧁🧁

Now that their number is down to four, they all squeeze into the same taxi to head to the filming location. Anthony is huddled in the back with Mary and Robin, but James can’t help glancing at the passenger wing mirror every few moments for a subtle glimpse of him – one time he meets Anthony’s eyes in the mirror and they share a secret smile between them.

By the time they reach the tent, Anthony seems to be perking up – he’s begun chatting to the others, the colour returning to his face and the huskiness in his voice clearing. James doesn’t pick up on what he’s saying, just thankful that it seems to have been a passing chill rather than anything more serious.

Today they will create their penultimate showstoppers. At this stage of the competition, there is some serious ambition behind their choices of creation. James has opted to create a replica of his garden bird table, with decorated tarts and macarons representing his feathered friends, while, two hours in, Anthony is arranging choux buns of assorted flavours into a colossal patisserie-based wedding cake.

Amazingly, James pulls it off, receiving compliments all round about his flavours, the textures, the appearance, and a handshake from Paul. He has a good feeling as they wait to find out who the star baker of the episode will be. He supposes luck is on his side, because Mary badly burnt her souffle in yesterday’s technical, meaning his mistakes had come under less scrutiny than they might otherwise have done.

The announcement comes – for the first time, James is star baker. Anthony hops off his stool far too readily for a man who looked less than well that morning, and races over to throw his arms around him. The tightness of the embrace combined with his warm, floury scent might just be the best feeling in the world. Neither of them seem to want to let go – Anthony sways him a little comically, giggling in his ear as though it was he who got the award, not James. For James’s part, he is astounded that someone else could be so happy for him.

Reluctantly, they part, because the truly devastating announcement comes that Mary is leaving. Mary. James’s incredulity mingles with the guilt of knowing Mary has been more consistent than him throughout the competition - it doesn’t feel fair that one bad week should take her out. Her showstopper from last week, a cake shaped like a mushroom that opened out into an intricately decorated doll’s house, complete with a fondant Sylvanian Families-style group of mice, is bound to go down in Bake Off history regardless of her performance this week.

As they say their goodbyes to Mary, James finds himself moving in for his second hug of the day, surprising even himself. “Goodbye, Mary,” Robin grunts, shaking her hand, then ambles out of the tent, muttering something about fate being written in the stars. Mary exits, too, followed by the judges, leaving James and Anthony behind in the tent as the crew begin to pack up their kit. Anthony looks close to tears and James wonders if it’s his sickness catching up with him. “Are you feeling unwell again?”

“No, it’s just… Mary. How could they?”

“I know.”

James suggests that before their taxis arrive to take them home, they take a walk together around the picturesque grounds they find themselves in on this bright spring day to help them recover from the shock of losing Mary. They walk side by side, their feet taking them through a thicket of trees and to the edge of a vast, rippling lake.

“This place really is stunning,” Anthony sighs, looking out across the landscape. James finds himself admiring a landscape, too, but not the same one: his eyes trace over the lines and curves of Anthony’s face, noticing again the way one corner of his mouth quirks up into his trademark genial smile, his eyes dancing with light as he softly squints into the setting sun.

“Stunning…” James repeats quietly, before gathering himself with a cough. “Ah, y-yes, it is. The bluebells and such. Yes, wonderful…”

He feels something slide into his hand and glances down to find Anthony’s fingers curling around his. Looking back up, he notices Anthony gazing at him, rather pink about the cheeks.

“Is this okay?” Anthony asks

James nods, holding his breath. If they kissed now it would be like a scene from a fairytale, the blossom from the trees gently framing them while swans glide on the lake behind. It’s almost too perfect; something might go wrong. Would it be too much, too soon? Should he let this simmer, build up gradually, savour each moment longer before taking the next step?

His questions are answered, though, when Anthony closes the distance between them and presses his lips gently to James’s. He feels a sigh escape him as, tentatively, he kisses back, bringing his free hand to Anthony’s face to tilt his head down a fraction, feeling the ridges of his scars under the pad of his thumb. Anthony responds by placing his hand on James’s neck and kissing back harder.

James’s last coherent thought is to briefly hope that he’s not going to wake up in the morning with a sore throat, before he sinks into the kiss, all his worries forgotten.

🍪🍪🍪

One week, and many used tissues and Lemsips later, James is finally getting over his cold when, during the set-up for the final day’s filming, a member of the production crew approaches him and Anthony.

“Are you two dating?” she asks brazenly, no introduction given.

They glance between each other and realise the fact they had just been sitting off to the side of the room, close to one another, talking in hushed tones, combined with last week’s hug, probably did give that impression.

At their hesitation, the crew member adds, “It would just make a great story if you were.”

“Um, well, we, er—” James stammers, practically an admission.

“We’d prefer to keep it on the down-low,” Anthony says diplomatically, but the lady’s grin tells another story.

“I was hoping you might play it up a bit – for the fans?”

“We don’t have any yet,” Anthony reasons.

“We can’t be that interesting, surely?” James adds.

“It would just make a nice story, is all. But it’s fine – just remember to send us an update afterwards if you’re still together.”

Anthony looks as though he’s about to argue, then eventually says, “Deal.”

Startled into silence by Anthony’s optimism, James finally gathers himself enough in readiness to ask Anthony what he thinks the real odds are of them still being together in a few months’ time when the series airs, but then the call comes to take their stations at their workbenches and he never gets the words out.

Being the final, the other bakers have been invited back, along with the friends and family of the finalists (those who have them) – the crowd will be awaiting them outside the tent once the final judging has taken place. James had hovered over his parents’ landline number in his phone. What would be worse? Breaking years of estrangement to invite them to watch him compete, or them finding out once the series had hit the airwaves. That was, if they still could still recognise him. He prefers the certainty of never knowing what they would make of it, and so he makes no reservations for any guests of his own. Anthony is another matter – an array of parents, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces and close friends are all amongst the crowd.

While he and Anthony work through the final, James realises it’s going to be hard to hide the change in their relationship; he keeps catching Anthony’s eye, smiling each time he does so, and when they pass each other ingredients and utensils, their fingers linger much longer than necessary.

They both do their best, and produce final-worthy bakes: in pastry woven with fruit coulis and decorated with gold and silver stars, James has recreated the butterfly that sparked the conversation between himself and Kitty, that led onto his reflections with Alison and finally got him to rethink his feelings about Anthony, so it is a fitting tribute to his journey, as a final creation.

Anthony didn’t tell James what he had planned to create, but James has been snatching glimpses all day, noticing that he has baked multiple batches of biscuits – even Anthony’s strong arms must be sore from all that rolling out of the dough. He steals another look when Anthony is adding the finishing touches, and his mouth falls open. “A Cromwell tank?!” Anthony nods, grinning. The highlight is the gun barrel, made out of an extra-long chocolate cigar wafer.

Meanwhile, Robin has pulled it out of the bag one last time with a working cake-pop model of the solar system for his final showstopper. James can’t help but admire his work – “Good lord, that’s marvellous!”

James thinks the man must be able to think in at least five dimensions to create some of his designs. If James believed in such things, he would have said Robin was some kind of ancient wizard. You wouldn’t know it if you met him in one of the moments he’s joking about like a teenager, but then a switch seems to flick and he’ll become quiet, focused and serious, radiating the aura of someone who has acquired several millennia of knowledge.

Robin raises his heavy eyebrows. “That big praise coming from you, Cap.”

“Eh? Whatever do you mean?”

“Normally you grumpier than Hollywood. But seem happy now.” James gives a non-committal shrug.

“Him?” asks Robin, with a tilt of his head in the direction of Anthony, who is chatting animatedly with Prue and Paul.

“How did you…?”

“Was literally standing six feet from you at the trees by the lake! You so wrapped up in each other you just walk past, ha!” As mortifying as this news is for James, Robin is also the kind of person who looks so at home in the outdoors that he would blend right in with the trees, so he can't be entirely to blame.

The three finalists step out of the tent to the sound of applause and cheers, bringing out their final products to share with the crowd. James catches the eye of Pat, then Kitty, then Mary, arm in arm with a shorter, pale lady whom he supposes must be Annie. All smile back at him with a genuine friendliness that fills his heart with warmth. He steals another glance at Anthony, who is looking back at him with slightly moist eyes, and the warmth grows to a fiery heat.

The judges appear next, and they have made their decision. It comes as no surprise to James that this year’s winner is the ageless wizard himself.

Robin is handed his prize and bows comically low. As all eyes fall on the winner, James finds himself pulled to Anthony’s side as if by a magnet. He places his hands to Anthony’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. The sounds around them fall away like the world holding its breath; shocked gasps and nervous giggles punctuate the curious quiet, eventually segueing into more cheering and clapping. James filters it all out, holds Anthony until the crowd have dispersed towards the buffet table for a glass of bubbly, before they break apart and join them.

He finds himself gravitating to Pat. “Well, Cap! I wasn’t expecting that! Way to steal the show.”

“Ah, yes, well…” James says, clearing his throat between every word. “I was rather caught up in the moment. I suppose I ought to apologise to Robin...”

Pat claps him lightheartedly on the shoulder, grinning. “Only joking, mate! I’m happy for you – really. Funny how it turned out. You finally put your differences aside?”

“Rather, we found we had fewer differences than we first thought.”

“Hello, Captain!” Kitty has flitted over, dressed up in sparkly pink hair accessories, bright lipstick and a vibrant dress.

“Katherine! Don’t you look fabulous!”

“I look a bit like your butterfly, don’t I?”

“Well, it was inspired by you, in a way.”

“Oh, really? How wonderful! I thought it might be about you and Anthony – coming out as your true, fabulous selves!”

“Well, between you and me, that was part of my thinking, yes.”

“Have you had any of this, James?” Talk of the devil – Anthony has materialised with an extra glass of champagne, which he passes to James. Pat and Kitty wander off to congratulate Robin, leaving just the two of them alone.

“This, er…” James hesitates, sipping at his champagne as he chooses his words. “Us – this won’t end, will it, just because this is over?”

“Of course not,” replies Anthony. “Unless you…?”

James reads the question in his pause. “No! Good lord, no! No, no. I would like to keep you around, if that’s alright with you.”

“Thank god.” Anthony looks relieved. “Yes, me too – very much so. Would – James – perhaps it’s too soon, but… would you like to come back to mine this evening? I’m not sure I could bear to go home alone when there’s so much we still don’t know about each other.”

“Go home with you?”

“Yes, with me.”

James needs no persuasion. “Yes. Yes, please, Anthony.”

With the widest grin James has ever seen, Anthony clinks his glass against James’s. “Cheers – to new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings.”

🍞🍞🍞

The scent of garlic and olive oil permeates the house; just as James is sliding a fresh ciabatta loaf gently from the oven, he hears two simultaneous noises, one a stern vibration from his pocket and the other, from the kitchen table, a jolly trill.

Placing his bake down, he squints at the screen of his phone. He is just reaching out with his thumb to open the notification properly, when Anthony beats him to it: “It’s the request for our updates from the Bake-Off crew. I’ve got one as well. What do you think we should tell them?”

“That we realised we hated each other all along and never saw one another again,” James answers dryly.

“Of course. You had stronger feelings for Robin and eloped with him.”

James pulls a face. That couldn’t be further from the truth – after going home with Anthony, James had never left. His own flat had sat empty each night until the day he decided it was time to pack everything up and move in with Anthony for good. He hasn’t regretted that decision even once, and, better still, between the two of them and the other friends and family James is now surrounded by, all his bakes are devoured in their entirety (he’ll still leave the crumbs out for the birds, though).

“That looks delicious.” Anthony is practically salivating over James’s bread as he makes his way over.

James slaps him lightly on the arm. “Not for you! You’re as bad as Barry. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Hearing his name, the labrador retriever jumps from his bed to sit in front of James, wagging his tail. Unable to resist, James chucks him a treat from his pocket.

“Only because you spoil him,” Anthony retorts.

“By that logic, I spoil you, too.”

“I’m not contesting that,” Anthony says, planting a kiss on his cheek.

The occasion is a garden party being hosted by Pat. He says he’s invited “the whole gang” – although they’ve seen some of the others individually since the final, it’s the first time the group will come back together as a whole. James and Anthony have been speculating over whether they think Julian will be invited, given his early exit from the show and his lack of a moral compass, especially in the company of Pat’s young son, but James can’t imagine Pat excluding anyone, and apparently Robin kept in contact with Julian throughout the competition.

They wonder no more when they arrive and spot a tall blond head within the gathering, but it seems everyone is laughing at a (hopefully clean) joke Julian has just cracked, and perhaps he’s not awful company after all. James sets his bread down on the table among cupcakes, vol-au-vents and cookies brought by the others. The quality of the food is better than any paid caterer could have made, and the quality of the conversation and the friendship is better than any James has ever been subjected to in his life – further enhanced by the warm, sturdy hand clasped in his throughout.

“You’re not going anywhere, then?” Fanny asks, raising an eyebrow at Anthony. James feels like a son who has brought his partner to meet his mother for the first time, his heart racing under Fanny’s judgmental gaze.

“No – in fact…” Anthony starts to say. “Were we going to say it today, James?”

They were, but he hadn’t anticipated feeling so nervous. His capacity for speech suddenly non-existent, he simply nods.

“James and I are engaged.” Anthony says it loudly enough that the others around them overhear. Kitty squeals with delight, and Robin pulls James and Anthony together into a crushing hug. Then there are more arms around them, and James realises everyone else has piled in to the group hug as well – sort of: Fanny is patting his arm, her eyes twinkling at him, the closest thing to a hug he thinks she could stomach. Barry jumps around the group, bouncing in and out of James’s peripherals, barking with delight.

“We didn’t want to make a fuss…” he mutters, his face still squashed into Robin’s neck.  

“Nonsense!” says Pat. “This deserves a celebration.”

“Congratulations, boys!” Humphrey chimes in.

When they all finally extract themselves from what is starting to feel like a rugby scrum, Kitty insists on a group photo, and then she takes James and Anthony aside for their own photo (with Barry, of course). “So you’ll remember this special day forever!”

🥨🥨🥨

It has felt like an age by the time the series finally airs. Week by week, they gather to watch each episode at a different baker’s home. The first one they watch at Humphrey’s, sharing cheese-themed nibbles – “No, nibbles, Sophie,” Humphrey hurries to reassure his wife that the evening’s activities will definitely not involve any nudity.

They watch as the edit cuts away to snapshots of the bakers in their daily lives - Pat is being helped in the kitchen by his son Daley, who stands on a step as he mixes a batter. Fanny passes a scrap of pastry to her dog Dante. Thomas dances around his kitchen with ‘This Charming Man’ as his soundtrack. Julian sits at a desk answering the phone importantly, something which James is fairly certain he has never done in his life. James had let the film crew into his own, rather soulless flat. He had taken the most pride in showing them his World War Two book collection and his bird feeders, but these don’t make the cut. Then again, nor does Anthony’s home. Single, lonely men just aren’t interesting subjects, it seems.

James enjoys watching the presenters’ banter with the other bakers, picking up on everything he missed while he had been focused on his baking. Pat goes into some small talk about a holiday he’d had in Spain that had inspired one of his dishes, while Mary explains how she developed her love of fennel (“Too much information, Mary!” shouts Thomas when Mary explains some of the effects she had experienced from eating nothing else for weeks). When it comes to James, he’s a little reticent on the small talk front – he recalls just wanting to get on rather than chat.

They are all impressed by the artists’ illustrations of their intended results that look just as they had pictured their creations turning out, even when they hadn’t quite achieved the look they were hoping for. Of course, towards the end of the first episode comes what the fans on social media come to term “Bread-Gate”, as cheerfully announced by Annie who is on a laptop, presiding over all sources of fan gossip. James is pleased that the artist had understood his intention was to create a tank and not a dalek, and even with Anthony’s interference, he doesn’t think the final result looks too far off. Anthony, for his part, hides his head in shame at his mistake and apologises once again to James, who has heard it a thousand times before.

“Anthony, there really is no need...”

“He’s right,” Pat joins in with a nod. “You’ve got all that to thank for where you are today, really.”

Rewatching the series is like reliving the competition all over again, the cameras picking up on every grimace of panic and every bodged repair to a crumbling cake or biscuit (not all of which are detected by the judges). The cake week technical challenge is, of course, the cause of the next stir online. The process of Anthony and James making their respective genoise sponges had been there for all to see, but somehow the cameras missed Anthony’s last minute sleight of hand (or, Fanny speculates, they deliberately left it out of the edit to build tension).

The fans are astonished – nothing like this has happened before and the reason for the switch remains ambiguous, but some of them start to echo Fanny’s theory, speculating, to James’s amazement, that he and Anthony might end up together. When they get halfway through the series, he is startled to see how things have already began to change for him and Anthony; in the thick of it, he had felt their feud lasted much longer.

As well as their worst moments, they also get the chance to revisit some of their best bakes through the series - “I loved that cheesecake you made with the sparklers, Humphrey” - and of course those who left seeing some of them for the first time: “That mushroom house is a stroke of genius, Mary!”

As for James and Anthony, the cameras have captured their increasing closeness in the form of shared jokes, brief touches, private smiles and, when James is made star baker for the first time in the semi-final, their hug. Thomas is on social media duty that day. The fan favourite is apparently Mary, because her loss causes as much devastation to the fans as it did the remaining bakers. Many are insisting that James should have gone this week – quite rightly, in his opinion – reasoning that it was only his showstopper which saved him. Others think it should have been Anthony, because of his earlier sabotage of James’s bakes. One thing everyone’s agreed on is Robin – no one calls for him to leave instead. There’s also a crowd who ‘ship’ James and Anthony, whose reactions to their hug are expressed entirely in capital letters and strings of emojis. They are delighted that the two still haven’t been split up.

“Shall we see if there’s fanfiction yet?” Anthony teases.

“Good lord, no!”

“I’ve checked and there is,” says Thomas.

“He’s the one writing it,” snorts Julian.

When the final episode airs, James is huddled between Anthony and Kitty on Mary’s couch, a crochet blanket across their laps, and hot chocolate and cake in hand. Once Robin has received his trophy, he knows what comes next, but doesn’t manage to close his eyes in time to miss his extremely public kiss with Anthony, feeling his face grow rather hot as his companions respond with a chorus wolf-whistles. His embarrassment grows further as Kitty calls out live updates from various social media sites, where fans are celebrating being correct in their suspicions (and one or two are somehow insisting the two are still mortal enemies).

James refocuses his attention on the television and the sight of everyone celebrating together at the final, sharing each other’s bakes, drinking champagne together. Hands on shoulders and elbows, they move about as one with the familiarity of a group of lifelong friends, somehow establishing the closeness of a family over a simple matter of weeks.

At last, a montage of their final updates flash one after the other on the screen: Thomas self-publishing his poetry; Humphrey adopting a cat that he’s named Cheddar; and, finally, the photo he’s been expecting: him and Anthony in Pat’s garden, each with an arm around Barry as they crouch next to him on the lawn, wearing identical, glowing smiles. For the first time, he notices a butterfly passing by in the background of the shot. Was that always there or had Kitty added it after the fact as some kind of Easter egg? Just in time, he diverts his attention to the caption above the photo to catch it before it fades:

‘James and Anthony’s rivalry became a romance and they’re now engaged – we wish them all the best for the future’.