Chapter 1 #2
Clem opened her mouth to reply, but Sylvie spoke first: ‘When everyone’s here, we’ll show you, won’t we, Clem?’
Sylvie beamed down at Clem and took the seat opposite Emmie.
Clem nodded, grateful for the distraction – maybe if she talked, she wouldn’t think so hard, wouldn’t notice the roaring of laughter coming from a nearby table and the way it made her jaw clench. ‘Have you had a nice birthday, Emmie?’ she asked her.
‘Oh, lovely, thanks!’ Emmie shot Jared a smile. ‘Jared made me breakfast in bed – poached eggs. I’m terrible at them, but his are always perfect. Perks of being with a former chef.’ She gave an affectionate eye-roll, and Jared squeezed her hand across the table.
‘Did you get any nice presents?’ said Clem. Talking was good; talking helped take her mind off the nerves.
‘Ooh yes, a new sticker machine, some nice pens for my illustrations—’
The table behind them roared with laughter, making Clem jump, one man pounding the table with his fist.
Relax , she told herself. They’re only laughing.
Something she seriously needed to do more of, if her brain would only let her.
They’re not laughing at you. Relax. Enjoy yourself.
Have fun. That was what she was here for.
She painted on a smile, did some deep breathing, keeping her hands gripped together in her lap.
The rest of the staff filtered into the restaurant: Faye, who worked part-time at the café while attending university here in Cumbria, and another recently hired barista Clem didn’t know very well yet, Matt – who was so tall his head almost touched the fake foliage hanging over their heads.
He grinned at Clem as he took a seat next to her.
Kaitlyn had arrived too; she looked after the reception and gift shop.
She waved at Clem and sat on the other side of the table.
The only people who were missing were Miles and Sophie, their cat caretakers – both of them had plans and couldn’t make it.
Clem fidgeted with her napkin as she watched everyone exchanging greetings and small talk. When a waitress came to take their orders, she asked for a glass of white wine with lemonade and went for the least messy food item on the menu.
Before the waitress could leave, Sylvie beckoned to her, cupping her hands around her mouth. When the waitress leaned down, Sylvie whispered something in her ear. The woman nodded, whipped the cake bag from the table and took it away.
When the food eventually came, it was delicious. Clem focused on the taste of each bite, feeling comforted now her belly was being filled with rice and vegetable spring rolls. Matt was chattering away to her about the café book club that he helped run with Sylvie.
‘We’re doing a book about a homeless man who befriended a cat next,’ Matt was saying enthusiastically. ‘Sylvie told me about it and I read it so quickly – she never did it for book club so we thought we’d get everyone to read it. It really shows how animals can help us through tough times . . .’
Now, cats, Clem could talk about. It was probably why the cat café had been the one job she’d been able to stick at. Tuning out the rest of the room, she nodded. ‘There was one about a cat and dog with a special bond, too – a true story. I can’t remember the title. I’d have to look it up . . .’
Clem took a swig of her wine and lemonade, the sharp twang hitting the back of her throat. They were quiet, both sipping at their drinks, the rest of the group talking around them.
‘You didn’t have anyone to come with tonight?’ Matt asked her, and glanced across the table at Emmie and Jared, who were sharing another affectionate hand-squeeze atop the table. ‘Or do you have someone to go home to?’
Clem shook her head. ‘No, it’s just me.’
She absolutely wasn’t going to add that the ‘someone’ she had to go home to was her mother, because she still lived at home in her mum’s cottage in her mid-twenties.
So far, she had avoided her colleagues knowing anything about her living situation – and she intended to keep it that way, if she could, though word might get around on the Oakside grapevine soon enough.
‘Same here.’ Matt sighed, lifting his beer and swirling the remaining liquid in the bottom. ‘Just cats and books for now. Probably more trouble than it’s worth anyway, eh?’ He drained the glass in one gulp and winked at her. ‘Cats are better than people.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Clem, clinking her glass against his.
His words remained with Clem like a persistent echo. Faye hadn’t brought anyone with her either, but Clem knew she was seeing someone at uni.
If Clem did meet someone, what would they think of her, living with her mum at twenty-five?
Would they look down on her? When she was younger, twenty-five had seemed so mature , a whole lifetime into the future.
She’d had this image of herself being married with a child by this age, which was laughable to her now.
She still felt like a child herself, and not ready to cope with those kinds of responsibilities.
Her thoughts were interrupted by singing breaking out around the table, quiet at first and growing louder as everyone else joined in.
Happy birthday to you . . . Clem caught on and joined in the song, her voice catching when she saw her cake had been brought out by the waitstaff, a few lit candles stuck carefully in the top.
They cheered and clapped, and Emmie squealed with delight when the cake was placed in front of her. When she blew out the candles and the laughter and singing subsided, she turned to them all, her eyes shining.
‘This cake – it’s amazing ,’ she said. ‘Clem! Did you . . . ?’
Sylvie turned to Clem, a wide smile on her face. ‘Yes, it was our very own Clem! She made it for you. I was going to hire someone – I figured she’d be sick of baking and not want to work in her free time, but she insisted.’
Clem smiled, a pinprick glow of pride in her chest spreading as everyone looked at her in awe. ‘I never get sick of baking,’ she said honestly. ‘I enjoyed making it. And you deserve it; you work so hard.’
‘Clem, thank you ,’ said Emmie. ‘It’s almost too pretty to eat.’
‘Right?’ said Jared. ‘And look how accurate the cats are!’ He pointed at the iced figure of Salem and the white diamond shape on his forehead.
‘Well, you don’t have to eat it straight away,’ said Clem, ‘but if you want to taste the mint chocolate filling . . .’
‘ Mint chocolate? ’ Emmie stared at her, and examined the cake, as if looking for evidence of the minty-ness. ‘Clem, seriously, it’s a dream – thank you.’
‘You could start a cake business with this level of talent,’ Kaitlyn agreed. ‘My kids would kill for one of these on their birthdays.’
‘I’d like to someday,’ said Clem, her cheeks warm.
Her whole body now enveloped in a happy glow, the pinprick having spread to a wave, washing over her.
This was why she baked. Not only to see the creation come to life – the puzzle of getting everything right, the ingredients coming together – but to see other people experience what she’d made, the joy it brought to them.
‘Speaking of talent,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’d been meaning to ask you something, Clem.’
‘What is it?’
‘Have you heard of Whisked Away ?’
‘The online baking show?’
Clem had seen the clips and watched a couple of episodes – she posted short videos of her own creations online too, and there was plenty of talk about Whisked Away in her circles there.
It was set up by a man who made his living online as a baking influencer.
The baking competition pitted small businesses against each other for prize money.
She hadn’t known Sylvie was aware of it.
‘That’s the one. It’s coming here, to the Lake District,’ Sylvie explained.
‘You’re kidding.’
‘We’ve been getting tagged in the announcement for days – people suggesting we enter. And I thought . . . well, you have so much talent, love. I think you’d do well and could represent Catpurrcino as part of the contest.’
‘You want me to enter?’ Clem said, her breath hitching.
‘Yes. There’s a ￡100,000 reward. Half goes to the winning baker and half to the small business.
The contest is done in pairs, with you doing the baking and me supervising on behalf of the business – I’m sure you already know if you’ve seen it.
We could make some upgrades to make Catpurrcino more accessible.
You could use your portion for whatever you like. ’
Equal parts excitement and dread seized Clem.
A whirling excitement because . . . what an opportunity.
It could change her life. She could plan a baking business, like she’d always dreamed of, maybe study again, pay for some business courses to learn the ropes.
And . . . move out of her mum’s cottage.
But . . . going to a restaurant with her colleagues had been a monumental effort.
How could she go on a baking show that would be put online for hundreds of thousands of people to see?
That would be filmed? What if I got into the contest and messed it all up?
She tried to turn the thought around again, spinning it the other way, reversing the anxiety-led thinking.
What if I didn’t mess it up? What if I did well?
But the thought didn’t feel as authentic as the anxious one.
‘I mean . . . it’s popular. There are loads more talented bakers than me so I doubt I’d be picked . . .’ Clem fumbled, because Sylvie was waiting for her to say something. And she didn’t want to share her real feelings in front of everyone.
‘You need to give yourself more credit,’ Sylvie said. ‘You are incredibly talented!’
Before Clem could say anything else, the rowdy table from before were getting up to leave, having ordered more drinks after their main meal and dessert. The tightness of the space between tables meant Clem had to tuck her chair in slightly to let a particularly large man pass.
‘Thanks, love,’ he grunted. He paused mid-way through squeezing past her chair, glancing down. ‘Nice dress! Foxes! They’re vermin, but at least they kill the rats, eh?’
He roared with laughter, clapping her shoulder with a horribly warm hand, making Clem’s neck feel hot. As he went by, his foot caught on Matt’s chair leg as he attempted to manoeuvre it out of the way. The man stumbled, struggling to straighten himself in the small gap.
And somehow, the leftover beer in the man’s glass ended up all over Clem’s front, wetness pooling over the foxes on her dress. His laughter was still echoing in her ears. Ha, ha, ha , like water dripping from the roof of a cave.
The sudden, sticky coating and wetness made the anxiety rise inside her like a dragon ready to belch flames. It clawed at her throat, made it tighten until she couldn’t find oxygen.
She needed out of this tight space – and fast.