Chapter Six
Six
The makeup artist, Isabella, was working fast in the back of the van, brushstrokes soft and practised. Callie sat still, hands in her lap, watching herself take shape in the mirror in the tiny space. Foundation, a sweep of blush, a mist of setting spray. A version of herself that looked perfect.
She felt anything but.
Outside, voices rose. The crew wrangling equipment, Neil barking orders in that relentlessly upbeat tone that made her eye twitch.
‘You okay?’ Isabella asked absently, dabbing at Callie’s jawline.
‘Tip-top,’ she said between clenched teeth.
‘You’re in the end run of this thing, so I know it’s not nervousness. What’s up?’ Isabella asked.
Callie met her own eyes in the mirror. What’s up was now metres away.
But she couldn’t say that. Instead, she smiled her best TV smile and said, ‘Nothing important.’
Isabella smirked. ‘If you say so, babe.’
Neil appeared at the van door, phone in one hand, another phone in the other. ‘Team’s nearly ready! Keep it warm but with sparkle. That’s your sweet spot, Callie.’
She nodded. Sparkle. No problem. Can do.
‘Just doing some B-roll now. We’ll do organic customer stuff before we bring in the fam later.’
Callie nearly laughed. There was nothing organic about Neil’s version of television; everything was staged, the ‘relatable’ bits polished until they gleamed like a botoxed face.
But fine. She could do this. Walk in, smile, say hello, pretend she hadn’t once known the temperature of the bakery ovens or the taste of the woman who ran them.
The makeup artist gave her shoulder a light pat. ‘All set. Knock ’em dead.’
Callie forced a grin. ‘Yeah, OK.’
Outside, the air was cool, which was great because Callie’s body felt like it had caught on fire.
She pictured Mae beyond the door. Head bent over a tray, hair tied back, that little furrow of concentration between her brows. The image was so clear she almost turned to leave.
‘Places, everyone!’ Neil clapped his hands. ‘We’ll roll on Callie entering.’
Callie inhaled, then stepped forward as the bell over the door gave its soft, familiar chime.
But the person behind the counter wasn’t Mae.
It was just a kid, maybe nineteen, awkward and earnest, wiping his hands on his apron. He blinked at her and smiled like he’d forgotten how to operate his teeth.
Callie’s best TV smile came automatically. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello. Am I supposed to do anything special?’
‘No, it’s OK. Just serve me,’ Callie told him warmly.
‘OK,’ he said and looked right into the camera. ‘This is a bakery. I am working at the bakery,’ he declared.
‘Cut!’ Neil yelled.
The boy looked at Neil, terrified. ‘Sorry. Was that not right?’
‘You’ve been filled in about the filming today?’ Neil asked.
‘Sure. Mae said you’d be coming.’
Mae said. So maybe she was here. Somewhere. In the back, maybe. Listening.
Callie’s chest tightened. She’d spent the entire morning terrified of seeing Mae’s face again. And now, suddenly, the thought that she wouldn’t made her stomach sink.
Neil approached the boy for a quiet chat about how not to look like a robot, while Callie looked behind him, at the door to the kitchen.
‘You got it, buddy?’ Neil checked.
The boy nodded. ‘Yeah. Sorry.’
‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Neil said with an insincere smile. He tossed a look to Callie. ‘Callie, grab a croissant or something, yeah? Smile at the lad, bit of banter. He just has to smile and nod. He’s not going to speak again.’
She nodded, moving through the motions, being as charming as she could muster while the kid nodded along and tried not to look terrified.
But Callie could barely keep her focus. She kept glancing at the door to the back room.
It stayed closed.
She found herself staring at it between takes, waiting for the handle to turn. It didn’t.
She told herself it was good. That it was easier this way. That she’d dodged something messy.
But by the time Neil yelled at them to ‘bring in the family’, Callie was struggling to buy her own bullshit. It was impossible not to name the feeling that sat inside her.
Disappointment.