But when equally good-looking Jaden stepped up straight afterwards, the mood of the auction changed up yet another gear. There began a four-way bidding war—between a petite blonde woman, the brunette at The Crumbington Arms whose name Nathan could never remember, an older black woman who looked like, and probably was, the twins’ mother, and a forty-something, over-six-foot, good-looking hunk of a man with short sexy salt and pepper hair. All eyes watched on, mesmerised—heads twisting back and forth like spectators at a game of tennis—and, of course, the television documentary crew made sure they filmed everything. When the bidding reached eight hundred pounds from the small blonde woman, everyone else backed down. But even as Jaden went down the stage steps to greet the woman, Nathan noticed him look over, smile and wink at the tall man.
“And finally, please welcome the captain of the football team, Nathan Fresher, owner of Crumbington’s very own local bakery. If you’ve read any publicity about the calendar, you’ll know that my co-star Clifton and Nathan were best friends at school. And remain so to this day. Described byFreshPostas the dishiest baker this side of the Atlantic, with the caption ‘Fresher by name and fresher by nature’—let’s give it up for our very own Mr Nathan Fresher!”
When Nathan walked out into the spotlights, applause filled the air around the green, punctuated by whistles and whoops, causing a twinge of nervousness to fill his stomach. Mikey’s wife had promised that if nobody put an opening bid in for him she would offer the minimum fifty, and he’d give her the money back later. But he needn’t have worried. Helen didn’t even get a chance to start the bidding.
“One hundred pounds,” came a female voice from somewhere in the crowd. When Nathan placed a hand above his eyes and followed everyone’s gaze, he spotted Jenny Nwadike holding her hand aloft and smiling.
“Jenny Nwadike. Are you serious?” shouted Nathan, indicating the colossal calendar picture of himself behind. “For someone who can make me look like this, I should be paying you.”
The crowd roared with laughter, the sense of fun back in the atmosphere.
“One hundred and fifty,” came a male voice in the crowd, once the laughter had died down. Nathan smiled in confusion at a mischievously grinning Ken Mills, who simply shrugged. His older partner, an arm around Ken’s shoulders, smiled conspiratorially. Nathan had no idea what they had in mind.
“Two hundred,” came Polly’s voice from somewhere in the crowd, standing next to a grinning Father Mulligan. Had they planned this little charade to try to raise the stakes?
“Okay, Polly. You know I can’t cook,” said Nathan.
“Who said anything about cooking? I’ll pick out the inordinately expensive restaurant and you pick up the tab. That way, I know I’ll get my money’s worth.”
Another burst of merriment followed. People were getting a better show than anything on the television that night. Eventually the laughter died down.
“A thousand pounds,” came the very distinctive voice of Clifton O’Keefe, with some finality. He had been standing on the stage to the right of Helen and Arlene but stepped forward to the microphone. “For the honour of having dinner with my best mate from high school.”
At first, the whole crowd went silent, but then wild applause followed. Camera flashes went off around the group, the journalists eating up the spectacle.
“Eleven hundred pounds,” came a woman’s voice from the back of the crowd, causing a collective intake of breath and all heads to turn.
“Auntie Margie?” said Nathan, barely audibly, his eyes wide with astonishment.
“What are you playing at, Mother?” called Clifton, his hands held out, which elicited more laughter. A spotlight singled out Clifton’s mother, Margaret Hogmore. Nathan hadn’t even known she was in the country and had certainly not seen her arrive.
“What, dear? A mother can’t bid for a nice dinner with her son’s best friend? You know I’ll invite you and Raul along, anyway. So let’s not be selfish. That’s not how I brought you up.”
“One thousand, two hundred pounds,” said Clifton, his hands on his hips, the bouts of laughter getting louder each time. “And you’re not invited.”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“Mother!”
Helen, amused by the spectacle, watched both of them as Clifton glared out at his mother. Eventually she decided to bring the bidding to a close.
“For fifteen hundred pounds. Going once, going twice —”
“One thousand, six hundred,” said Clifton, folding his arms and glaring at his mother.
“Seventeen hundred. And I will outbid every one of your counteroffers until I get what I want. And as your mother, you know I will, dear.”
Helen Monash, clearly amused by the spectacle, looked between Clifton and his mother. Eventually, as nothing else came, she began the final chant.
“Well, there it is, folks. For seventeen hundred pounds, going once, going twice—”
“Stop, stop,” said Arlene, hurrying forward to the microphone, one hand glued to her phone, the other held in the air. “Look, I know this is a little unorthodox, ladies and gentleman—well, for this kind of local event, anyway—but we have an anonymous telephone bidder. Someone on the line right now who is prepared to bidten thousand poundsfor a night out with our baker, Nathan Fresher.”
For a split second, the whole crowd took a collective intake of breath until a tremendous cheer roared in the air, followed by a round of applause. Helen looked to Clifton then out to his mother for any further bids, but both shook their heads.
“In which case, sold to the secret anonymous bidder on the phone, for ten thousand pounds. Let’s hope you take them somewhere nice, Nathan.”
“Florida might be a good idea for that price, Fresher,” shouted Bob Collier.
