Can a cake contest ever lead to more than one winner? Bake off !

Even though she knew it off by heart, Mae checked the well-thumbed schedule again before switching on the food mixer. This year’s Victoria sponge – ‘one cake, split, raspberry jam filling, no decoration’ – was going to be her best ever. She always looked forward to the local Country Show, and had won the Home Produce Cup three years running. That is, until last year.

She could still remember the familiar feeling of excitement and anticipation as she went back into the marquee after the judging had finished, and how quickly it had turned to bitter disappointment as she took in the seconds and thirds where before it had been firsts. And the same name by the coveted red cards time after time. ‘Who was this L. Martin?’ Mae wondered. ‘An off-comer more than likely,’ her friend had sniffed, though Mae had the uncomfortable feeling that she was secretly pleased Mae had not triumphed yet again.

Somewhat churlishly (as she admitted to herself later, while nursing a very large G&T), Mae avoided the presentation of the cup. But if this L. Martin had recently moved into the area, she knew she would bump into her sooner or later – it was that sort of small, close-knit farming community after all. At that moment, though, if their paths never crossed, she wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

Now, a year on, Mae was more than a little ashamed of her reaction. Nevertheless, she had a fierce competitive streak, and she was more determined than ever to regain her home baking crown. She had really rather liked seeing her name neatly engraved on the huge ornate silver cup even though, rather bizarrely, the winner had to pay to have that done themselves. But it was a small price to have your name preserved for posterity along with those dating back to the 1930s, and she felt a sense of pride that she was carrying on traditions enjoyed by generations before her.

Carefully folding in the flour, Mae smiled to herself. This year, it was all-out war! The jams and chutneys had been made several weeks before, as had the rich fruit cake that would mature nicely in time for Christmas, albeit with a small slice missing courtesy of the judges.

Today’s mammoth baking session – shortbread, chocolate cake, savoury flan, gingerbread and traybake – filled the kitchen with delicious aromas as they cooled. She would make her scones first thing in the morning. ‘Always best made fresh on the day’, her mother had instilled in her.

Ha! See how you like that, L. Martin!

Sliding the cake into the oven, Mae’s mind wandered. She thought, as she often did, about how much her life had changed since the last show. Who would have thought that in the space of four short months that she of all people

– a thirtysomething singleton with, in her opinion, very average looks and a decidedly unhappy dating history – would have embarked on a whirlwind romance and got married? It had certainly given the local gossips plenty to talk about in a community where everyone knew everyone else’s business (and what they didn’t know, they made up). But most people had been sincere in their congratulations, if a little bemused. She hugged herself gleefully. Sometimes even she could hardly believe it.

The kitchen door opened and her husband strolled in, smiling broadly and casting an amused eye over the chaos that prevailed as he planted a kiss on her nose. ‘How goes it in the nerve centre?’ he asked. ‘Fine,’ she grinned, ‘I’m almost done.’

‘Good,’ Liam replied, reaching for the apron hanging on the door and throwing her a theatrical wink, ‘Because I need to get to that oven right now to create all my winning entries.’

‘No chance,’ Mae laughed, as she took the textbookperfect Victoria sponge out of the oven. ‘This time, it’s going to be M. Martin, not L. Martin on that cup!’

‘She felt a sense of pride that she was carrying on traditions enjoyed by generations before her’