Chapter 17
Seventeen
Now
Mae had never realised how small the kitchen was until seven other people tried to be in it with her.
They were everywhere. Cables snaked over the floor like tripwires.
Someone had parked a massive light stand right where she normally swung the fridge door open.
There was a monitor balanced precariously on a flour bin.
Every surface she used every day had grown an attachment: a lens cap, a roll of gaffer tape, a script page with CALLIE COUNTER / SAM HELPS CALLIE written on it in red pen.
She moved around them as best she could, trying to fill the waiting time with some cleaning. But it was hard to ignore the man sitting on her proving cupboard like it was a park bench.
‘Sorry, love,’ the sound guy said as she looked him up and down disapprovingly. ‘Nowhere else to sit.’
‘There’s outside,’ Mae said mildly.
He laughed, thinking she was joking. They always did.
Neil suddenly popped up, like a genie who only grants unwanted wishes. ‘Hi, can we borrow you for a sec?’
‘For?’
‘We were just thinking…We’ve got some spare time. And we thought we could just get a couple of shots with you and Callie before Sam joins. A bit of, you know… banter. Old friends reunited. That sort of thing.’
‘Mmm,’ Mae said, a cold sweat breaking out on her back.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘No.’
‘Right,’ Neil said with a light chuckle. ‘It’s just that, haha, I ran it past Callie and she seemed rather keen. I’d hate to tell her you said no.’
What? Was she keen? Or was this bullshit? The thing about Neil was that he never seemed sincere, so it was actually quite hard to pinpoint a lie.
‘OK,’ Mae said.
Wait, what?
‘Brilliant,’ Neil smiled.
No! No! What the hell have I done?!
‘Let’s get you out front, shall we?’
No, let’s not! Let’s set me on fire instead!
But it was too late; she was being shunted through the doors, a victim of her own mouth’s betrayal.
Callie stood vaguely in the middle of the seating area, the front-of-house light catching on her hair and the faint sheen on her cheekbones. Mae was struck again by how little her mahogany eyes seemed to have changed in energy. They still seemed to give nothing away and far too much all at once.
‘They shoved me out here,’ she said.
Callie’s gaze flicked briefly to the crew, then back to her.
‘Hi,’ Callie said, and there was a tiny hitch in it. ‘You… OK?’
Mae made her face look calm. It took far too much effort. ‘Awesome,’ she said flatly. ‘I love the idea of being on TV. It’s my dream.’
Callie’s mouth twitched, the faintest start of a smile, as if she couldn’t help it. There was the ghost of the girl Mae remembered, snorting at the back of the assembly when someone missed a note of a hymn.
It hurt to look at.
‘OK, Callie. Can we have you closer to the counter?’ Neil asked.
Callie stepped closer. Just a few inches of Formica between them now. The neat rows of pastries and iced buns forming a sugary demilitarised zone between them.
‘Isabella, can you give her a touch-up for the camera? Your best two-minute work?’ Neil called. Suddenly, a catlike creature with perfect eye makeup appeared and came at Mae’s face far too fast.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Mae asked her.
‘Relax, babe. You’re in show business now,’ the woman said with a wink.
Mae rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. But don’t have me looking like a Kardashian.’
‘As if I’ve got the time,’ the make-up artist said and began dabbing at her with a brush. ‘Not a bad canvas you’re working with, though.’
Mae thought that might be a compliment, but she couldn’t be sure, so she just kept it zipped.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Neil beamed from the front of the bakery. ‘Okay, let’s… yeah, can we swing that light round a bit? Yes, that’s nice.’
‘Boom in… sound speed… camera rolling…’ someone intoned, brisk and bored.
‘And… just be yourselves,’ Neil said. ‘Callie, maybe ask Mae about what you’re going to be doing with Sam today. Nice and light. We’re just grabbing texture.’
Mae resisted the urge to ask what the fuck he meant by ‘texture’. Callie took a breath that only Mae noticed.
A red light appeared.
‘So,’ Callie began, her voice trying to find its level, ‘er… Mae. What are we… what are we doing today?’
Mae looked at her properly then.
‘God knows,’ Mae said. ‘They’ve not told me.’
Someone snorted. Neil made a frantic throat-cutting gesture just out of frame.
Callie’s lips twitched a little wider. ‘You’ve not been briefed?’
‘I was told “a baking lesson”,’ Mae said. ‘No one said what.’
‘Well, what do you think?’ Callie said, settling into it despite herself. ‘What could you teach the culinarily challenged?’
‘Doughnuts?’ Mae suggested. ‘Unless a deep-fat fryer is too much for you.’
Mae wasn’t sure what it was that swept over Callie’s face then. But something seemed to change. No, not change. It revealed something familiar.
‘Can we make those ones with the raspberry cream filling?’
Mae felt like she was suddenly a teenager again. And she was looking at teenage Callie. Her oldest and dearest friend.
The things she’d never said rose up like vomit. You left. You never came back. You never rang. You never—
But she didn’t say any of it. ‘That cream filling is quite delicate. I reckon you’d fuck it up.’
The boom op shifted, nearly chuckling, then caught himself. Neil spoke again, like the voice of a nasal god. ‘Why don’t you talk about what it’s like to come back?’
‘It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a long time,’ Callie said suddenly, flatly, unhappily. ‘Since… you know.’
Mae blinked. ‘Since you had a decent doughnut?’ she said, pointedly obtuse.
Callie hesitated, then let out a breath. ‘The village. The bakery.’
‘Well, it kept going without you,’ Mae said, sharper than intended.
A tiny silence. Nobody on the crew moved, but Mae could feel them listening a bit closer. Of course they were. This was exactly the kind of ‘real moment’ Neil prayed for.
Mae reached back and adjusted a cooling rack, though everything was already aligned perfectly.
‘I didn’t mean…’ Callie began.
‘It’s fine,’ Mae said, cutting her off. ‘You had to be getting on, getting famous and everything.’ She sniffed. ‘Good for you. You always wanted that.’
Callie, terrified and apologetic to a near-fatal degree up to this point, suddenly didn’t look quite so breakable. In fact, she looked downright irritated.
‘That wasn’t exactly what I wanted.’
Mae paused, unsettled by the reminder that no, that actually wasn’t true.
It was only later, after Callie had begun appearing on her radar as a reality TV contestant, that Mae had convinced herself Callie was just a fame-hungry opportunist with an emotional hole at her centre. Kind of like a doughnut.
Callie reset herself. ‘It looks good here,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve done…’ She stopped herself, wary of pressing too far. ‘Your dad would be proud.’
The words hit with surgical accuracy. Mae’s temper flamed. ‘You’ve not been here to see it,’ she said. ‘So you don’t know what he’d be.’
Callie flinched. And then she looked at the camera. ‘Cut.’
‘Callie…’ Neil protested, pained. ‘I thought we understood that only I—’
But Callie ignored him, pressing a hand over the boom above their heads. ‘Maybe we could talk about this properly. Not like this.’
Mae was surprised. More than surprised, actually. Shocked shitless, she might have said. But it didn’t change anything. None of this did.
Mae looked her square in the eye and said something absolutely designed to cut Callie down to size. Because what else did Callie really deserve?
‘What is there to say?’
Callie’s eyes flashed hurt.
Neil didn’t notice. ‘Right, I guess I can probably cut something from that. Can we move on?’
Mae truly hoped so.
Back Then
Mae hadn’t meant to look straight at Callie’s face. She’d been doing rather well avoiding it, looking at anything that wasn’t those dark eyes fixed on her like she was a locked box Callie intended to prise open.
‘Mae. Please. What’s going on? Did I… have I done something? Are you upset with me?’
‘No,’ she said. It wasn’t really a lie, because Mae wasn’t exactly certain of what she was at Callie. And she wanted to keep it that way. Even though the truth was coming for Mae at rapid speed, she was going down swinging.
‘Then what is it?’ Callie begged.
Mae wanted this to stop. She couldn’t do this. None of it. She needed Callie to leave. She was just about to say it. Please go home. It’s been a long day. The words were in her mouth.
But then Callie said her name with such utter softness and vulnerability. ‘Mae.’
And Mae looked at her. That was the mistake.
Because in that split second, it was as though someone cleared the fog and forced her to see what had been crouching in the corner of her mind for years.
It was obvious now. Always obvious, really.
Mae loved Callie.
Not as a friend. Not as a sister. She loved her with the sort of intensity she’d only ever encountered in books she pretended not to like. Epic romantic love. She’d had it all this time. With Callie Price.
And Callie was standing barely a foot away, waiting, eyes soft, voice gentle, and Mae felt the panic rise.
Say nothing. Say absolutely nothing. If you speak, you will ruin everything. Don’t be stupid, Mae, don’t—
Her gaze snagged on the bag for the homeless shelter sitting nearby, and before she knew what she was doing, she reached out, ripped the bag open, grabbed the stickiest, most ridiculous bun in existence with both hands, and shoved it into her mouth.
Sticky icing was welded to her lips, her jaw barely managing to chew around the mass. I’m safe, she thought. Can’t fuck me up now, mouth.
Callie stared at her, confused. ‘Mae. What in the world?’
Mae shut her eyes, chewing furiously, pretending this was normal behaviour and not absolutely mad. She finished. Swallowed. Wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
And Callie, still watching her, still maddeningly patient, said quietly, ‘You think I can’t ask a question twice?’
‘I need milk,’ Mae said and went to the fridge. She pulled out a two-pinter and unscrewed the cap.
‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do…’
But Mae was already doing it, lifting the plastic bottle, tipping it back and drinking with grim determination, gulping in heavy, throat-thudding swallows.
By the time she came up for air, she felt like she’d come close to drowning herself in the most surreal way possible.
What a front page that would make for the Westerleigh Chronicle.
Local Girl Perishes in Very Avoidable Full-Fat Tragedy.
‘Mae…’ Callie tried again.
Mae belched, a long and gross one. With any luck, she’d be sick after this. Callie had to be thinking about this in the face of Mae’s display.
But there stood Callie, watching, not leaving, annoyingly committed. ‘What are you gonna do next, eat the bottle?’
Mae actually looked at it.
‘Mae, I’m not leaving, and you’re running out of mad shit to do, so…’
‘Fine,’ Mae snapped, louder than she meant to. If Callie needed something, Mae could give her something. A lie. ‘If you really want to know, I’m upset, all right? I’m upset because you’re… moving on without me.’
Callie frowned. ‘Moving on?’
‘Yes,’ Mae muttered, pacing suddenly because standing still felt dangerous. ‘You and Emma and… everything.’
Callie stepped closer, brow knitting. ‘Mae, we’ve had two dates—’
‘It’s all going to get worse,’ Mae went on, barrelling straight through, ‘Because you’re going to leave, you’ve always said you would. You’ll go one way, I’ll go another, and we’ll barely talk anymore. So I thought… I thought I’d help it along. Get used to it now.’
Callie looked at her with as near to heartbreak as Mae had ever seen on her face.
Mae looked away. Couldn’t manage even a glance. Her heart was pounding so loud she could barely hear herself think.
‘So there you have it,’ she said, arms folded, looking at the floor. ‘I didn’t tell you about the date because it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re moving on. I’m just catching up.’
There was a silence. And then Mae got what she wanted. Callie walked out.
Mae let go of the biggest breath of her life.
She was safe. She was miserable, but safe.
She’d ruined her friendship, but she wasn’t exposed as whatever the hell she was starting to know she was.
Her life was crap, but it had always been crap.
And now she’d gotten rid of the one thing that made it bearable.
Yay.
Mae broke down then, crying on the floor of the bakery, behind the counter. She cried steadily for several minutes.
So much so, in fact, that she didn’t hear the door click back open. She didn’t know that Callie had walked back in till she was sitting right next to her.
‘Hi,’ Callie said.
‘The fuck!’ Mae yelled, scared. ‘Why have you… What are you do… Why would you…’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Callie said.
‘What?’
‘I thought about everything you just said, and I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you want to stop being my friend because of whatever the hell it was you just said.’
Mae looked at Callie in amazement. What the hell was she going to do now?