Chapter 5 #2
Clem leaned out of Jess’s reach. ‘I didn’t know you were back.’
‘Got back a few minutes ago.’ Her smile grew an inch wider. ‘I didn’t get chance to see you before I left, but I’m so glad you decided to enter Whisked Away ! I’ll help you every step of the way, don’t worry.’
‘W-What?’ said Clem, sitting up straighter.
Baron, affronted by the fact that she’d moved, hopped down onto the floor and stretched out on the rug instead of the sofa, his bushy tail waving like a squirrel’s. Jess pressed her paws to Clem’s shoulders, trying to reach her hair again, and Clem swatted her away gently.
‘What do you mean? I didn’t enter,’ said Clem.
Sylvie paled, and the delight in her expression fell away, leaving behind nothing but horror.
‘Oh my God, Clem, I’m so sorry. Before I left, I noticed you left the application form open on the staff laptop. It was filled in except for my section, so I assumed you’d forgotten to ask me to do my section . . .’ Sylvie shuffled awkwardly. ‘I sent off the application.’
It was as though Clem had stepped out into the spring typhoon.
Her ears roared with static and her skin prickled, a cold wave running over her.
She mustn’t have trashed the application like she’d thought she did, perhaps because she’d become distracted when Miles was calling for her.
She was so stupid – she should have double- and triple-checked she’d deleted it after she’d helped him.
Instead, she’d gone straight off to the kitchen to get started with work and had forgotten all about it.
Clem stood up, her phone still clutched tightly in her hand, the email like a blazing fire in her palm. She was trapped in a whirlwind, the self-doubt roaring around her. I can’t do it , the thoughts chimed, repeating like bells.
‘Are you okay?’ Sylvie said, taking a step closer to her. ‘Clem, I know this is daunting, and I’m so sorry for the mix-up, but I think this could be really good for you.’
Clem shook her head wildly, feeling horribly anxious and sick. ‘Have you seen how big Ronan is online? How many followers he has?’
‘Yes, I did look him up afterwards,’ Sylvie admitted, her cheeks pale. ‘But, Clem, you won’t be doing this on your own. I’ll be right there with you, supporting you.’
‘Or I could contact Whisked Away and withdraw—’
‘Is that what you really want? You’d started filling in the application. Some part of you must have wanted to do this, love.’
Clem couldn’t argue. A part of her did want it.
It was just that the doubting and fearful side was louder, clamouring for her attention, drowning everything else out with the what-ifs and the imagined scenarios and the worries.
Making decisions was so hard because of it.
She found it so difficult to separate her own wants and her own reasoning from the anxious chatter trying to convince her to shy away.
But surely, with her level of anxiety, she couldn’t cope with the Whisked Away audience scrutinising her – and with what that might bring?
‘I can see the cogs turning,’ Sylvie said lightly, coming over to Clem and putting an arm around her. ‘You never thought you’d be selected, did you? At the restaurant, on Emmie’s birthday, you said you didn’t think you’d be picked.’
‘I did say that . . .’ said Clem, surprised and slightly touched that she’d remembered.
‘And yet here we are. You were picked. They saw something in you – the same thing I saw when you first came to Catpurrcino. Your talent. You can do this, Clem.’
Sylvie’s words – you can do this – sparked something in her, like a key being turned.
She’d been giving too much space to those worried thoughts recently, not fighting hard enough against them, not interrogating them to see if they were true.
I’ve done hard things before , she told herself, trying to reframe her anxieties. I can do them again.
‘Do you want to do this?’ Sylvie asked, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Forget all the reasons why you shouldn’t or why you’re afraid. Think about what you’d do if fear wasn’t a factor, and answer.’
If fear wasn’t a factor? Fear seemed to rule her, sometimes, to the point where she felt like she needed a shove from fate – something to take making a decision away.
It had happened when she’d started working here: she’d come in to visit with her mum, and Sylvie had seen her checking her online profiles and complimented one of her cakes.
That was how she’d been offered the job interview, and she’d said yes because she didn’t want to seem rude when Sylvie was so lovely, even though she was scared.
This might be one of those times. A push in the right direction. She couldn’t get Sylvie’s words out of her mind. Don’t keep yourself small because you dislike attention . How had she summed up Clem’s personality in one sentence?
Clem didn’t like being that way. She didn’t want to be that way.
‘What do you think?’ said Sylvie softly, gently nudging her along.
Clem gave a small, barely perceptible nod. ‘If fear wasn’t a factor . . .’ She took a deep, juddering breath. ‘I would do it.’
Sylvie spun Clem to face her, the brightness spreading over her face, turning her cheeks pink. ‘There’s your answer, Clem. What do you say? Do you want to go ahead, or withdraw? I’ll support you, whatever you decide.’
‘Yes,’ said Clem, forcing strength into her voice even as her stomach rolled with the decision. ‘Okay. I’ll do it.’
She wished she could be this rational all the time, that the logic could always crowd out the anxiousness.
It happened sometimes but it took so much effort; it was exhausting.
She could feel the nerves, like pincers, trying to claw their way up.
But there was something else bubbling up too – a dream, an ambition – and it rose faster, winning the fight this time.
She pictured what she could do if this all went well, instead of imagining what could go wrong: a little baking business of her own, connections made to help her along.
And Sylvie was right; the Whisked Away team must have seen potential in her.
A swooping mix of nerves and giddiness rushed through her, making her light-headed.
‘Yes!’ Sylvie clapped her hands together in delight. ‘I’ll be there for you, love – we’ll be in it together, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ll knock ’em dead if we get onto Whisked Away , Clem. You watch.’
In that briefest of moments, Clem believed her.
*
Sylvie had been buzzing with excitement since Clem had agreed to go through with the contest, reassuring Clem everything would be fine, that they’d work together and Clem had nothing to worry about.
Clem had spent most of her days following their conversation with a churning gut and very little appetite.
Being decisive hadn’t lessened her nerves much.
The only thing she could do was bake to distract herself – which she got plenty of opportunity to do when she was at work.
Today, she was on her lunch break at Catpurrcino.
There was a good number of customers downstairs, most of the seating occupied even in the Cat Lounge, so Clem had decided to come up to the second floor, to a quiet corner tucked away at the back.
There was a big arch-shaped window here, allowing sunlight to beam inside, and she sat in the sun with a sandwich and a cup of steaming tea on the table in front of her.
One of their biggest cat towers was wedged in the corner, rising almost as high as the tall ceiling.
There was only one cat here – Baron, their long-haired Somali cat, right at the top of the tower, fast asleep with his paw pads dangling over the edges.
The streams of sunlight picked out the hues of orange and tawny brown in his fuzzy fur.
Clem couldn’t see his face from down here.
Clem grabbed her phone and visited the Whisked Away socials – it was like a compulsion now.
They’d announced the contestants to the world a few days ago, introducing them with a series of posts.
A photo of Clem and Sylvie had been posted – headshots from the Catpurrcino website – alongside a picture of the cat café and some information on Clem’s baking.
She couldn’t help going back to check it for new comments.
She munched at her sandwich; the responses seemed positive so far, which eased the clenching in her gut.
Some of their customers were wishing them luck in the comments, too.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she’d been expecting?
A notification flashed up on her phone – and Clem nearly choked on her sandwich as a breadcrumb flew down her throat. She coughed, drinking some tea until it settled down.
Genie Maidwell wants to send you a message.
At once, she felt like she’d jinxed herself.
Only seconds ago, she was thinking this might not be so bad, but now .
. . Clem’s eyes were watering and she squinted through the haze, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Genie was contacting her, now, after all this time?
After what she’d done? Clem’s skin turned cold, even though the warm sunlight was splashing across her arms.
If she looked at the message, Genie wouldn’t know she’d seen it unless she replied, which she had zero intention of doing. She tapped into it.
I saw the post about the baking show, you and the other contestants, Genie had written. I left it alone back then because I thought you would, too. But apparently you haven’t?
Clem’s fingers hovered over delete and swivelled over to block .
But she didn’t press either of them. She was tempted to respond to Genie, because she didn’t have a clue what this message meant, and a part of her was itching to know.
But engaging with her might be a bad idea; it had taken Clem so long to move forward last time.
Why drag things up again, years later? So what, if she was on Whisked Away ?
It had nothing to do with Genie. Was Genie trying to ruin this for her?
Was she jealous? She’d already ruined one career opportunity for Clem in the past, and Clem still didn’t fully understand why.
Clem wouldn’t let her do that a second time.
She pushed block , and looked up at Baron, a fuzzy, sleeping ball of orangey brown on the cat tower. Her fingers were trembling because she was sure Genie’s message didn’t mean anything good.