Chapter 5
L ucas had brought his mum out for a reprieve from the stress she was dealing with – it was the only thing he could think to do.
It was early morning and his dad was still sleeping – he often slept in, as he was awake most nights trying to manage his pain – and they’d come for a wander around Lake Windermere, the circular route.
The sky was gloriously blue, although it was only half past ten – a great sprawl of azure with the occasional puffy cloud skirting across the sky like blown-around sheep’s wool.
The April showers finally seemed to be letting up now it was close to the end of the month.
They’d followed a footpath into the woodland around the lake, the trees rising up around them from the mossy earth.
The lake water sparkled nearby, stones dotting the edges of the banks like puzzle pieces.
‘Thanks for this,’ his mum said, taking in a huge lungful of fresh air as they tramped across the path. ‘I needed it. I don’t get out in nature enough.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ Lucas knew, deep down, she wished she could come out here with his dad – to get out of the house together, to feel they were doing something other than coping.
But the truth was, his dad was in too much pain and spent almost all of his time in bed or on the sofa now.
‘You should join a group or something,’ he suggested.
‘It’d be good for you. Get you out of the house. ’
‘I know,’ she said, sighing, as they clomped forward in their hiking boots. ‘But I get so tired – work and errands and . . . well, you know how it is. Your father feels guilty, wishes he could help.’
Lucas’s phone buzzed in his pocket, vibrating against his side, but he ignored it.
His mum had stopped to look out over the flowing lake water, the patches of froth pouring over the stones and the smaller scattering of rocks littering the sides like copper coins.
She took her phone from her pocket and lifted it into the air.
‘A photo for your dad,’ she said, snapping a picture.
Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and had grown fairly long; she used to style it in elegant waves, but she hadn’t done that in a long time now.
The highlights had grown out too – she’d long since stopped being able to afford that kind of luxury.
While she took another photo from a different angle, Lucas tugged out his own phone and unlocked it.
He nearly dropped it. He couldn’t see the full message without pressing on the notification, but the first lines were clear enough.
RE: Whisked Away Lake District Application
Thank you for your application to Whisked Away! We are delighted to select you for . . .
‘No way,’ he said loudly.
‘What?’ His mum turned at once, paling. ‘Is it your father – is he up?’
‘No, sorry,’ he said. He briefly felt bad for making her worry but it was soon swallowed up in the shock of what he was seeing, and he broke out into laughter. ‘The contest . . . they got back to me. You’ll never believe it!’
‘They picked you?’ she said, becoming shriller with each word spoken. She rushed over, craning to look at his phone, on her tiptoes. She was miniature next to his height; she’d always been short. ‘I want to see!’
He pressed on the notification and opened the email so they could read it together. It took forever to open out here – just a white screen for a while – and he wondered if he’d lost signal until, finally, it appeared:
Thank you for your application to Whisked Away!
We are delighted to select you for in-person auditions – date, location and details are attached.
You will be required to take part in a screen test and create one of your specialty bakes in a live kitchen as part of the audition. We look forward to welcoming you!
‘I knew it!’ his mother cried, swinging from his arm like an overexcited child and beaming down at the phone.
She pulled away from him, and he took in her features: the greyish bags beneath her green eyes, the fine lines and grooves that seemed to be deeper after the last six months, marking the stress and worry. But threading through it, a gleam of excitement, joy for him.
‘You deserve this,’ she said, beaming up at him. ‘You work so hard, put in so many hours. It’s about time you got some recognition.’
‘I’m not doing it for recognition,’ he said, brushing her comments aside and shoving his phone in his pocket.
I’m doing it for you , he wanted to say, but he held it in.
She might try to convince him to use the prize money on himself, if she knew.
Better that she didn’t know his plans for the money, should he win.
‘I know – you’re far too proud. You get it from your father.’ Her lips twitched as if she were about to laugh. ‘But you do deserve some, either way.’
Sunlight burst through a haze of cloud that had momentarily drifted overhead, making Lake Windermere shine like marble.
Possibilities were bouncing through his brain so fast it was difficult to keep up with them.
What he could do if he won . . . Put down a deposit on a house, even if it was only a small one.
They’d never have to worry about being kicked out of their home because they couldn’t pay the rent.
And he could move in, help with his income, contributing to the mortgage.
His dad could relax and be left to manage his pain in peace.
They could pay for some private health appointments with what was left over.
He could help ease their struggles. The hope surged inside him, as if trying to burst free and make his plans a reality.
‘I’m going to win this,’ he promised her.
‘I’d be proud of you even if you didn’t,’ she insisted. They continued on their hike, boots cracking the fallen branches beneath their feet. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’
‘I know, but I’m going to win it,’ he replied. For you and dad , he thought.
Dad was a proud person, reluctant to accept help or admit when he was struggling or suffering. He’d always been that way, so he wouldn’t share his ideas for the money with them. No, instead Lucas would win, and go ahead with his plans.
*
Over the next week, Sylvie was largely absent from the cat café – she’d been visiting the cat shelter, then travelling to a feline care refresher course taking place at a hotel in Leeds – so Clem didn’t see her much.
On the day Sylvie was due to return, Clem was sitting in the Cat Lounge after the end of a long day, her feet up on the brown leather, checking her socials on her phone and looking up new ideas for bakes.
The café was closed, and she’d frozen another batch of strawberry-filled cat doughnuts and cleaned and sanitised the kitchen.
Sometimes she liked to relax in here before heading home after her shift, surrounded by the cats.
It was pouring with rain outside, the wind pounding the droplets into the panes, and she didn’t fancy driving until it eased off.
The wood burner was empty; it wasn’t cold, but the April showers raged on the other side of the glass.
The Cat Lounge was cosy. Baron was curled on the arm of the sofa beside Clem, and she was running her fingers over his soft, long coat, eliciting soft purrs. Behind her, Jess was standing on the back of the sofa, nuzzling Clem’s hair and occasionally trying to eat it.
Clem laughed, reaching round to scratch her on the head.
‘Hair isn’t edible, Jess,’ she told the large black-and-white cat, who was purring more loudly than Baron.
‘You have to stop trying to take chunks out of my head, I’m not a cake!
’ She leaned forward, scrolled through her phone and muttered, ‘These look good though, don’t they?
’ A woman was holding a plate of white jiggly cat puddings, shaking the plate to and fro until the heads bobbed about and the ears wiggled.
They could be a fun little addition to the café for the summer menu.
She added the idea to her notes app, closed out Instagram, and brought her emails up on her phone. She’d been so caught up in researching new bakes she hadn’t bothered to check it – and hadn’t looked at her inbox since yesterday.
A bunch of newsletters she subscribed to, random junk mail, and . . .
Clem sat up ramrod straight, choking on her own saliva and coughing to clear her throat. She had to be reading the subject of the email wrong. She read the words over and over. With shaking hands, she stabbed at the message to open the email, scanning over the words so quickly she became dizzy.
Thank you for your application to Whisked Away! We are delighted to select you for in-person auditions – date, location and details are attached.
The email continued, providing more details she barely absorbed, because she couldn’t get past the fact that they’d chosen her from a pool of applications she hadn’t even submitted herself to.
What was going on? She’d trashed the application . . . hadn’t she? Miles had interrupted her and had needed help with the cats, so maybe she hadn’t. She was a hundred per cent confident she hadn’t pressed that big, glaring submit button, though.
Jess was eating Clem’s hair again.
‘Jess,’ Clem sighed, too highly strung to really stop her. Should she contact Whisked Away , let them know there had been a mistake?
Sylvie appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, smiling when she saw Jess licking and chewing at Clem’s hair.
She was dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt.
To a more trained eye, though, the cat-like details were easy to spot: a dainty golden necklace with a pendant shaped like a cat’s head, and the bobble holding her braid in place was shaped like a little black paw.
‘It’s the shampoo scent, I think,’ said Sylvie. She nodded at Jess, who was attempting to take another chunk out of Clem’s head with her teeth. Sylvie’s own hair looked bedraggled and damp. ‘She likes when it’s freshly washed.’