Chapter 9
Nine
The extinguisher was heavier than Mae remembered, her arms trembling with the effort of holding it upright.
Someone coughed. Someone else was muttering about insurance.
None of it reached her properly. Because Callie was right there.
Her hair was lighter, her clothes more expensive, her face caked in makeup.
But those dark doe-eyes? They were the same.
Neither of them spoke for whole seconds. Mae realised she was still clutching the extinguisher like a shield.
‘You all right?’ she heard herself ask.
Callie blinked, as if pulled from a dream. ‘I—yeah. Thanks.’
Mae nodded once. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
People began to move again. The crew were cleaning the mess while Neil muttered about glass shards, someone opening the door to let in air.
Mae put the heavy extinguisher down. Her palms were slick with sweat. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the kitchen and pretend this hadn’t happened. But her body wouldn’t obey.
Callie was still looking at her. Not like a stranger. Just like… Callie.
And in that one unbearable instant, Mae felt the echo of everything they’d ever been.
Back Then
The summer after they finished school was too bloody hot.
Mae and Callie spent the most oppressive afternoons in the patchy shade of the old ash tree next to a pond. The locals insisted on calling it ‘the wishing tree’ even though it mostly dropped caterpillars down people’s shirts.
Callie lay on her back on the grass, arms tucked behind her head. She was talking about her latest almost-relationship.
‘He’s got this laugh,’ Callie said, squinting at the branches. ‘It’s goofy, but in a nice way.’
Mae, back up against the ash tree, plucked a blade of grass and tore it in two. ‘No idea who you mean.’
‘You do. He’s the one from the year above who was in that band that played that party.’
‘The one who serenaded you with “Wonderwall” for thirty seconds before his strings snapped?’
‘Exactly.’ Callie grinned lazily. ‘He’s been sniffing around again. Asked if I wanted to “hang out properly”.’
Mae rolled her eyes. ‘Translation: he wants another go.’
‘Well, he’s not getting one.’ Callie stretched her legs out, ankles crossing. ‘I’m done with guitar boys with stupid hair.’
‘That’s most of the boys in this village,’ Mae said.
‘I might have to look beyond. Or go older.’
Mae snorted softly. ‘At this point, you’d have to.’
Callie turned and raised an eyebrow, pretending offence. ‘Are you calling me the village bike?’
Mae considered. ‘You’re more of a bus stop. Everyone waits there, but not everyone has the correct fare.’
Callie laughed, bright and easy. ‘The problem is that there’s nothing to do around here. Except try to get laid.’
‘The problem is that you’re the best-looking girl in the Westerleigh,’ Mae said simply.
Callie lifted her head, surprised. ‘What?’
Mae tutted. ‘Not repeating it.’
Callie blinked and looked away, and Mae thought she was slightly embarrassed, which was very un-Callie. ‘Well. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested in any of them,’ she said quickly.
‘This week,’ Mae said.
‘Oh, shut up.’
Mae smiled. She liked to tease Callie about the ridiculous boys, the fleeting dramas, the constant hopeful faces turning up at the bakery to smile at her best friend while ordering a cream horn. And Callie liked to be teased. It was their thing.
‘You should date someone normal,’ Mae said.
‘Define normal.’
‘Someone who doesn’t write poems about your eyes.’
Callie laughed. ‘God, I forgot about that.’
‘He rhymed “Callie” with “Jelly”. As in, you turn my legs to. It doesn’t even rhyme properly. He should have rhymed it with wally. Which is what he is.’
‘That doesn’t properly rhyme either.’
‘Better than jelly.’
Callie chuckled.
Mae noted how the sunlight twinkled in Callie’s dark eyes, the curve of her smile, the way her buxom chest rose and fell as she laughed.
It wasn’t hard to see what drove the local boys mad.
Mae was glad she didn’t have it. She was too busy for the level of adoration her best friend was constantly fighting off.
Callie didn’t really have time for it either with her responsibilities, but Mae had to suppose it was simply something she needed.
‘When are you gonna let one board the bus?’ Callie asked, as though reading her mind.
‘You say that like people are trying. No one’s trying,’ Mae told her plainly.
‘They would. If…’
‘If?’ Mae prompted.
‘If you didn’t scare them,’ Callie said with a cheeky grin.
‘Me? Scary?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know they call you “the hot bitch at the bakery”.’
Mae had not been pretending. ‘What?!’
‘You really never heard that?’ Callie asked suspiciously.
‘You’re making that up,’ Mae told her.
‘I’m not,’ Callie said. ‘I guess they just don’t say it to your face.’
‘Well, people can say whatever. I don’t have time for all that,’ Mae said dismissively.
‘All what?’
‘Silly business,’ Mae said plainly.
Callie smiled at her as though she knew some delicious secret. ‘I think one day you’ll get very into silly business.’
‘Will I?’ Mae asked dryly.
‘Yeah. You just have to meet the right one.’
‘I’m sure,’ Mae snapped another blade of grass in half, thinking, Yeah, right.
She didn’t sit around mooning after people. She barely noticed anyone that way. She had better things to think about. Work, her dad, Callie.
Callie could have all that. Mae didn’t have the time for it.