Chapter 16
Sixteen
Now
Callie could hear noise coming from the back of the bakery.
Now and then, an oddly angry clank came from beyond the kitchen door. It wasn’t loud, but it threaded through everything happening in the front of house: Isabella’s brushes tapping against plastic, the low murmur of crew chatter on the radios.
Today, Callie had been given the luxury of being made up in the more spacious front-of-house of Morgans, since they’d paid for a full day. She would have preferred the cramped van. At least then she wouldn’t have been listening to the kitchen, trying to read into every sound.
But Callie was unable to shake the bone-deep awareness that Mae was back there somewhere. Breathing the same air. Existing in the same building as Callie.
‘Stop frowning,’ Isabella said, dabbing lightly at the concealer under Callie’s eye. ‘You’ll crease.’
‘This is as relaxed as my face gets,’ she said.
‘Not buying that,’ Isabella muttered. ‘I know your mug too well.’
Callie forced her face to neutral. Or what she hoped looked neutral and not at all deranged.
Isabella stepped back to assess her work, one hand on her hip, the other still holding the brush like a weapon.
‘Tilt your head,’ she said. ‘No, other way. OK, that’s coming along. God, these lights are shite.’
The front-of-house had been rearranged for filming. It was now just one table and two chairs, dead centre, the rest shoved aside to make space for the cameras and the trolley of makeup and the stool Callie was perched on. She wasn’t allowed a real chair yet. Not till it was on camera.
Outside, Callie could see the village through the window: indistinct figures moving past, a bike, a Labrador's tail. She saw a kid pause and look in, fascinated by the scene.
‘What’s that?’ he asked his dad.
The dad looked in, and his eyes landed on Callie. Recognition flitted through his expression. ‘A load of bollocks,’ the man told his son disdainfully.
Callie was pretty sure she’d gone to school with the man. She thought she’d once watched him puke all over himself on a school bus.
Callie sighed and looked back up at Isabella, choosing her next product.
‘You’re sure you’ve got time for Mae as well?’ Callie asked as casually as she could manage, which was not very.
Isabella didn’t even look up from the trolley. ‘For who?’
‘Mae,’ Callie said, and then over-corrected. ‘The… baker. Owner.’
‘Hmm.’ Isabella frowned at the schedule taped to the trolley. ‘I’ve not got her on my sheet. I’m down for you and Sam. Civilians usually fend for themselves.’
‘She’s not a civilian, she’s on camera,’ she said. ‘Doing some kind of baking lesson thing. It’ll look weird if I’m in full glam and Mae’s just… shiny.’
Isabella’s mouth curled. ‘If she’s not main cast, that’s not my problem.’
‘Isabella.’
‘What?’ Isabella finally met her eyes. ‘Once I’ve done you, I’ve got, like, eight minutes when Sam gets here. If your little village Mary Berry shows her face, I’ll throw some powder at her. That’s the best I can do.’
Callie’s gaze flicked to the doorway that led to the back kitchen. The swing door moved slightly, as if someone had brushed past it.
‘She has a name,’ Callie said, before she could stop herself.
‘There’s only so much room in my head for names,’ Isabella said. ‘The baker doesn’t make the cut.’
Callie swallowed. ‘Right.’
Isabella narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re very invested in this woman’s T-zone,’ she said casually.
‘I’m invested in everyone’s T-zone.’ It sounded stupid the second it came out of Callie’s mouth. She could only hope Isabella would drop this whole thing.
Though she was a bitch, unfortunately, she was a perceptive bitch.
‘Mm. Sure. Close your eyes.’
Callie obeyed. A soft brush swept over her lids.
Every time the oven door clanged, Callie’s fingers bit into her knees.
She tried to focus on anything else: Neil’s notes for her, which included a moment where she was meant to act like she was struggling, maybe letting Sam step in and help her in a moment that would be hopefully sexy, yet brief enough to make a decent TikTok.
But she couldn’t stay on a thought. Callie’s mind kept dragging her back to the fact that at some point in the next half hour, she would have to look directly at Mae’s face again and act like… Christ. She didn’t even know what.
‘So,’ Isabella said lightly, ‘how do you know her?’
Callie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Know who?’
Isabella arched a perfectly drawn brow. ‘Your precious… maypole?’
‘Mae.’
‘Fine. Mae. The one that’s making you so bloody tense.’
Callie blinked. ‘I’m not… tense.’
Another clang. Callie’s shoulders climbed towards her ears.
Isabella’s lips twitched. ‘Sweetheart. I do makeup in daytime TV green rooms. I see cheating husbands, secret pregnancies, and closeted pop stars before nine in the morning. This is nothing.’
‘Good for you,’ Callie said tightly.
‘You still haven’t answered my question. How do you know Mayfly?’
‘We grew up together. That’s it.’
Isabella made a little humming sound that clearly meant, That’s absolutely not it.
‘Childhood friends,’ she mused. ‘Those are always complicated. I had one. She stole my eyeliner and my girlfriend. I still think about her every time I see a cheap smoky eye.’
Callie gave her a look. ‘Not everything is a drama,’ she said.
‘You work in television,’ Isabella said. ‘If that’s not true, no one gets paid. Turn your head.’
Callie turned. Isabella leaned in to do something to her left side, Callie thought. But she merely wanted access to Callie’s ear. ‘Did you two… you know,’ she whispered and made a short, suggestive gesture with her fingers that made Callie choke on nothing.
‘Isabella!’
‘I’m just asking,’ Isabella said, utterly unbothered. ‘It’s my business to know which direction my clients’ tears are going to roll.’
‘There will be no tears,’ Callie muttered. ‘This is a baking segment.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Isabella dabbed at the corner of Callie’s eye with a cotton bud.
The door at the back swung again. Callie’s eyes flicked to it. Just crew.
Isabella followed Callie’s line of sight, then back at Callie.
‘So it’s that bad?’ she said. ‘What happened? She leave you at the altar? Burn your house down? Nick your bike?’
Callie’s laugh came out jagged. ‘Man, you don’t quit.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Isabella said quickly. ‘I’m nosy, not a therapist. I’m just trying to work out if I should go waterproof on the mascara.’
‘Maybe for Sam,’ Callie said, because jokes were easier than anything approaching honesty. ‘He cries at the drop of a hat.’
‘Oddly dry though, usually,’ Isabella noted.
‘He’s not here yet, is he?’ Callie asked, twisting to look at the front door.
‘Relax,’ Isabella said. ‘Schedule said he’s ten away. Which means twenty. Minimum. You’ll have time to suffer through whatever the fuck this is before you need to be on.’
‘You’re a cold comfort, Iz.’
Isabella smiled faintly. ‘Part of my charm.’
She shifted around Callie again, working on her eyes. Callie shut them and inhaled. For a moment, it almost worked. She could pretend this was just another studio, another day, and not the epicentre of every unresolved thing she’d shoved into a box labelled Here Be Monsters.
‘Deep breath,’ Isabella said. ‘In… and out. That’s it.’
Callie exhaled slowly. ‘I’m not nervous.’
‘You’re vibrating like a phone on silent, but okay.’
‘I just…’ Callie swallowed. ‘I haven’t seen her in a long time. That’s all.’
‘Uh-huh. And you coincidentally ended up filming a segment in her bakery,’ Isabella said. ‘Wild how life works out.’
‘It wasn’t my idea,’ Callie said quickly. ‘It was Neil’s. He thought it’d be good TV.’
‘He’s not wrong,’ Isabella said. ‘Do you know how many people are going to be screaming at their tellies when they find out you left your hometown sweetheart behind? They live for that.’
Callie’s eyes popped open. ‘She’s not my hometown sweetheart!’ she snapped.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Isabella said mildly. ‘Your childhood acquaintance with whom you have no unresolved anything and certainly did not…’ She wiggled her eyebrows.
Callie pinched the bridge of her nose, careful not to smudge anything.
‘Can we not do this right here?’ she said under her breath. ‘The wall’s not exactly soundproof.’
As if summoned by the words, there was a new sound from the back: footsteps, faster this time, then the scrape of something heavy being shifted. Callie stopped breathing.
Isabella’s eyes flicked towards the kitchen door again, assessing. For a second, she seemed to weigh up how far she could push.
‘I can do quiet,’ she said after a beat.
‘Thank you,’ Callie said.
Something in her expression must have shifted, because Isabella’s own softened by a fraction as she misted Callie’s face with settling spray.
‘Hey,’ she said quietly. ‘You can manage one baker. That’s all she is. And you’re a star.’
Callie managed a thin smile. ‘You must be very good at pep talks in the green room.’
‘Only for the ones who tip,’ Isabella said. ‘Speaking of, I accept cash, card, and gossip.’
Callie tutted and rolled her eyes. The walkie on the table crackled.
‘Isabella, how’s Callie looking?’ came Neil’s voice, tinny.
‘Flawless, obviously,’ Isabella said, leaning over to press the button.
‘Sam’s er… stuck somewhere, running a bit late,’ Neil replied. ‘We might need to roll on some pre-stuff with Callie and the… what’s her name? The baker. Just chatting at the counter.’
Callie’s spine snapped straight. ‘We’re not scheduled to do that,’ she said quickly.
Isabella glanced at her, then at the walkie. ‘She says she can’t wait,’ she told Neil with a twinkle in her eye.
The walkie clicked off. Callie wanted to smash it.
‘Why does this keep happening?’ she asked Isabella, half-desperate.
Isabella’s eyes gleamed with a mix of pity and morbid curiosity. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Looks like showtime came early.’
‘I can’t…’ Callie started, then stopped, because why not? Why couldn’t she walk five metres and say niceties to Mae Morgan? Was it really so hard? They’d broken the seal already. They’d spoken to each other. Eye contact had been made. It wasn’t so bad now, was it?
Sigh. Yes. Yes, it was.
‘I’ll be right here,’ Isabella said with as close as she got to warmth. ‘With blotting papers.’
‘What more could I ask?’ Callie muttered.
‘You’re welcome,’ Isabella said. She gave Callie’s shoulder a quick, surprisingly warm squeeze. ‘Chin up, eyes bright, emotional disaster contained to the lower half of your face if possible, yeah?’
Callie took another breath. Mae was about to be summoned into frame. She smoothed her hands down the front of her blouse, felt the faint tremor in her fingers, and stood.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ she said.
Back Then
Callie clocked out at midnight, her shoulders aching from carrying trays and dodging drunk regulars.
She stepped outside to a half-asleep village. Life was winding down for the night. But Callie’s mind was very awake.
Mae. Sitting in the pub. With that idiot. Smiling that weird smile that didn’t belong on her face.
Callie shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and walked fast, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She’d tried to laugh it off during her shift. Tried to tell herself she didn’t care, that Mae was allowed to do whatever she liked. But her thoughts kept circling back to the same impossible question:
Why didn’t she tell me?
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw Emma’s name glowing on the screen.
How’d your shift go? Do you want to go out on Sunday? x
Callie stared at it for a long moment. She locked her phone without replying.
Then she passed the bakery. It should have been dark and cold by now. But there was light glowing behind the glass. Midnight, and Mae was in there?
Callie hesitated. Then she walked up to the door and knocked lightly.
A pause. A shuffle. Then Mae appeared, tugging the door open. ‘Callie?’ she said, startled. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Walking home,’ Callie replied, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Saw the light. Thought I’d… pop in. For a catch-up.’
Mae blinked. ‘Right. Well. I was just cleaning.’
Callie looked past her. The place was spotless.
‘Good night?’ Callie asked.
‘Fine,’ Mae said quickly.
She looked jumpy. And Mae was not the jumpy sort. She normally radiated dry disdain and impatience. But look at her now. Frog on a washing machine on the spin cycle.
Callie folded her arms. ‘Mae… what’s going on?’
‘Cleaning,’ Mae repeated.
‘You’re acting odd.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then tell me why you were on a date. With that pillock. After telling me you couldn’t be bothered with dating at all.’
Mae stiffened. ‘I don’t owe you a full itinerary of my decisions.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it,’ Callie said quietly.
Mae opened her mouth, closed it, stepped back, paced a little, grabbed a cloth, dropped it, picked up something else, put it down again. Everything about her was jittery, unfocused.
Callie felt frustration rising in her chest. Mae had been her best friend since they were barely out of nappies. She wasn’t supposed to be cagey and strange like this. Callie knew her, down to the bone.
Or she thought she did.
‘Mae,’ Callie said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. ‘Please. What’s going on? Did I… have I done something? Are you upset with me?’
Mae froze. ‘No.’
‘Then what is it?’ Callie begged.