Chapter 11
Eleven
Now
Mae stayed out of sight for the rest of it. She could hear them gathering equipment and yacking. But she never heard Callie’s voice. She’d either left or was talking very quietly.
Mae’s heart hadn’t slowed. But it wasn’t the fire that kept it thudding, nor the potential damage in the front. It was bloody Callie. The dark eyes, the smile, the way she said just that one word. ‘Funny.’ The way it took Mae right back.
When the chatter finally faded from the front, Mae straightened and came out. It looked almost normal again. The ghost of a scorch mark on the tiles was the only way to know what had occurred. They’d cleaned every last drop of extinguishing spray from the surfaces.
Neil was waiting near the door, tapping furiously with both thumbs on a very big phone screen. He looked up at her entrance.
‘Mae,’ he said, offering a strained smile. ‘Christ, I’m so sorry about all that. Clumsy bloody crew. The insurance will cover any damage, of course.’
‘It looks fine,’ Mae said shortly. ‘Though all the food out here is a write-off. Covered in… whatever’s in a fire extinguisher. Which I doubt is food safe.’
Neil exhaled, relieved. ‘I can cover that out of expenses if you give me the bill.’
‘I’ll tot it up and email you.’
‘Cool. Anyway,’ he continued, rubbing his hands together, ‘I’ve got an offer for you. Once Sam arrives—the star of the show, I’m sure you know—would it be possible for us to use the bakery again? Just a few hours’ shoot, nothing invasive.’
Mae could feel her shoulders tightening. ‘For what?’
‘A date? It’d be great to do something where he and Callie bake together. You could maybe give them a lesson…’
Mae was already laughing. ‘If that sentence ends with me on camera, that’s a flat no.’
‘Oh. Well, obviously, we’d pay for anything like that,’ Neil assured her confidently, like that was the only obstacle he could imagine.
‘I said no.’
‘You haven’t heard how much,’ Neil said, appalled.
‘How much?’ Mae said, just trying to get the conversation to end.
Neil hesitated. ‘Seven hundred and fifty?’
Mae shook her head. ‘Thanks. But no.’
‘Fifteen hundred?’ he said instantly.
Mae was shocked at how easily that number jumped. While she was standing there in her shock, it happened again.
‘I can’t go over twenty-five hundred.’
Mae couldn’t understand what was happening. ‘What?’
‘Fine. Three grand. That’s it. That’s the ceiling. And you’re included in the price.’
Mae started laughing, amazed.
Neil tutted. ‘Three and a half. You really know how to play hardball, don’t you?’
OK, that was not a bad number at all. And, considering the state of things lately, it would be helpful. ‘Why do you want the place so badly? There are other locations.’
‘There really aren’t,’ Neil admitted. ‘In terms of cute date locations that look good on TV in the area? This really is it. And Callie is a big deal.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Don’t tell anyone this, but she’s the favourite to win.’
That didn’t really shock Mae. Though Callie had been a big fish in a small pond when she lived in Westerleigh, apparently, the size of the current pond changed nothing. She was a get in any dating pool.
‘What are you actually expecting me to do?’ Mae sighed.
‘Teach them how to bake something in the back. You demo, then they do it. Then they get to eat whatever it is in the front of house.’
Sounded horrible. But three and a half grand sounded not so horrible. She was barely hanging on, always a bit in the red, never in front, always chasing a simple zero. She kinda needed that money.
‘Fine.’
He nodded, muttering something about logistics, and left, leaving the door to swing gently behind him.
Mae went to the cases to start chucking out the contents, telling herself she didn’t care that it was Callie. That had all been a thousand years ago.
‘She was just the first girl you noticed, that’s why it seems like a big deal,’ she muttered to herself. But even as she told herself that lie, she could still see Callie’s face through the haze of smoke. Funny.
Back Then
Four thirty in the afternoon, and the bakery kitchen was still stifling, even with both doors propped open and the fans chugging in the corners.
Heat rolled off the ovens in thick waves; they’d been switched off long enough that the metal wasn’t blistering, but the residual warmth still made the air heavy.
Mae scrubbed at the racks with a damp cloth.
Her dad, in the corner, counting the day's leftovers for the shelter, glanced at her. ‘So… you’re done with school,’ he said. He’d never been good at natural segues. It was always, ‘So… we’re talking about this now.’
‘Yep,’ Mae responded. There was no need to say more. He’d take it from here.
‘Be good to have you in the back full time,’ he said, bagging croissants.
Mae scrubbed at the counter until her arm ached. ‘Right.’
‘You’ve got the front-of-house down now,’ he said. ‘And people like a familiar face.’
She huffed. ‘They don’t like mine.’
‘They trust you,’ he said gently. ‘You don’t have to be all… soft about it. Your mum wasn’t.’ He poked at a tray of brownies.
Mae’s mouth pulled into something like a smile.
She couldn’t remember her mother, gone before Mae could walk, a car accident, no one to blame, a mechanical fault.
Mae was never sure how to talk about the stranger who’d birthed her.
So she just tried to seem fine about the topic.
Maybe she was, she wasn’t really sure. If she could point to a feeling, it was mostly just sadness for her dad, for what he’d lost.
‘I’ll go where you put me,’ Mae said, rinsing out the cloth.
He lifted a brownie, sniffed it, and nodded. ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, distracted.
There was a knock from the front. Her dad went out to see.
Mae heard him say, ‘Of course opening hours don’t apply to you. You’re family.’
Mae smiled, a real one this time, and went out to the front to greet Callie, sweeping into the bakery like she always did, looking cool and effortless despite the heat.
But it wasn’t Callie alone. The waitress from the cafe was with her. Close enough for Callie’s hand to brush her back as they stepped inside.
Mae felt like she’d been bonked on the head with a cartoon mallet. She’d thought Callie was just talking. Was she serious? The waitress?!
‘What can we get you ladies?’ her dad asked.
‘Whatever’s still good and a pot of tea, please, Mr Morgan,’ Callie said, smiling. Her dad went into the back to find something.
Callie’s eyes flicked to Mae. ‘Mate.’
‘Buddy,’ Mae said with minimal mocking.
The waitress smiled politely. She looked nervous.
‘You remember Emma?’ Callie asked.
‘Sure,’ Mae said. Her voice came out thin.
Emma gave a shy smile. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘You too,’ Mae managed. She wiped at some crumbs on the counter that weren’t there.
Mae’s world was tilted. That day in Emma’s cafe had seemed like nothing more than a daft moment Callie would laugh about later. Callie was always buoyed by attention, whatever the source. Mae had believed it would end there, because Callie didn’t date girls. Callie didn’t look at girls.
But here she was with Emma, ordering pastries and tea like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.
‘Long day?’ Callie asked.
‘Saturdays,’ Mae replied with a shrug. She looked to Emma. ‘You don’t work Saturdays?’
‘Called in sick,’ Emma said with a shy smile to Callie. Callie returned it.
What the fuck was happening?
Mae’s dad came out with some of those little Portuguese tarts, a steaming pot and two cups on a tray.
Mae busied herself with some imaginary cleaning at the front, all the better to keep an eye on the scene.
She watched Callie sit down beside Emma, saw Emma lean in with some quiet remark that drew a laugh from her.
She watched Callie try to pay, which was futile; Mae’s father waved her off before she could even open her purse.
Later, Mae watched them leave together, still smiling at each other, Callie tossing Mae a fleeting ‘Bye’ on her way out, as if Mae were just staff to be acknowledged in passing.
The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind them.
Mae’s dad came back out, wiping his hands on a cloth. ‘You all right, love?’
‘Fine,’ Mae said.
She wasn’t. Callie had gone on a date with Emma. Actually gone. And not said a word about it to Mae. No talking it through at all. They talked everything through. Callie didn’t usually change eyeshadow colour without running it past Mae.
Was that what bothered Mae? That she hadn’t been consulted? That she was out of the loop?
She’d been so certain she understood Callie. That they were tight. Close. Bonded. That Mae was special to Callie and Callie to Mae.
And now Mae was staring at the door Callie had disappeared through, trying to understand. Callie. With a girl. What the hell was happening?