Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Now
‘Mae!’ Callie yelled, jerking a thumb at the enormous camera that had somehow stopped existing in Mae’s peripheral vision for the last minute.
Mae turned and looked right down the barrel, realising what she’d said. The thing she had been trying not to say since Callie had come back.
You broke me.
Mae ran. She fled to the tiny staff toilet and sat on the loo, trying to calm her breathing and her pulse. But the memories, sat on for so long, were suddenly box-fresh.
Callie on the steps, bag already on her shoulder. We planned this. Together. Mae saying, I can’t choose you over him.
Callie’s face hard. And what am I?
Mae saying I love you, like it might still matter.
Callie stepping back. Turning away. Not enough.
Somehow, time hadn’t softened any of it.
But perhaps it shouldn’t. Her first and greatest love—and more than that, her best friend in the world—leaving her after she’d told her that her dad was dying.
Questioning it, even. As if her dad would invent tumours to keep her in the village.
As if he hadn’t done everything in his power to give her something better than he’d had.
But then he’d died. At home, because he’d insisted on it. Mae had run the bakery and the house and the morphine, and every day she’d watched the door, half-expecting Callie to appear in it.
She didn’t really accept that she was never coming back until the funeral. After which, Mae had gone to the ash tree and spat on it. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t the first to do it.
And now she’d cracked the lid on all of that on camera.
Someone knocked lightly on the door.
‘Mae?’ It was Isabella, from the sound of it. Dry, but not unkind. ‘You all right?’
Mae closed her eyes for a second and then pushed herself upright.
‘Fine,’ she called back. ‘Coming.’
Whatever mess she and Callie had made between them, the ovens were still on, the dough was still waiting, and the cameras were still hungry.
But Mae had already given them more than enough to eat.
When Mae stepped back into the corridor, the crew were taking the opportunity to chat, murmuring to each other quietly. Mae didn’t know what about, but she could hazard a guess.
But this was still her building. Her name over the door. Her dad’s ghost in every cloud of flour.
She walked into the kitchen.
They were reset. Camera repositioned. Light nudged an inch to the left. Callie and Sam were back at the workspace, bowls straightened in front of them as if nothing had happened. Only the tension in Callie’s shoulders gave anything away.
Conversation dipped when Mae appeared. Every head turned.
‘There she is,’ Neil said, too bright. ‘Feeling better?’
She looked at the camera. The stupid red light was off for now, but the thing still felt like an eye.
‘I don’t want you to use that last bit,’ she said flatly.
Neil blinked. ‘Sorry?’
‘That last…’ Mae said. ‘What I just said.’ She could feel the blush creeping up her neck. ‘About me and Callie. I don’t want it in the programme.’ She didn’t look at Callie when she said it.
Neil did his best sympathetic face. ‘Mae, I get it,’ he said. ‘It was… raw. But that’s why it’s so good. People at home will really—’
‘I don’t care about people at home,’ Mae said. Her voice came out angrier than she’d expected. It shut him up mid-sentence.
Mae noticed Isabella’s mouth did a tiny, impressed twitch.
‘Legally,’ Neil tried again, ‘we’re covered. You signed the—’
‘I know what I signed,’ Mae said. ‘I also know I can tell you to get out of my bakery.’
The room seemed to lean back a fraction, like they’d all taken the same step at once.
Sam straightened. ‘Hang on,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s just—’
‘No,’ Mae said. ‘You lot came in here on the understanding this was about these two,’ she nodded in the direction of Sam and Callie, who she still hadn’t made eye contact with. ‘Not… not ripping open my private life for entertainment.’
Neil was magnanimity its very self. ‘We’re not ripping anything—’
‘You are,’ Mae said. ‘Or you will. Because you think it’s entertainment. But it wasn’t supposed to be—’
‘You did agree,’ Neil said, and there it was, the petulant edge under the charm. ‘If you read the—’
‘I skimmed the contract while you were standing over me with a pen. Let’s not pretend it was done properly, you slimy sod.’
The sound guy made a small, involuntary noise that might have been a laugh and hastily converted it into a cough.
‘Look,’ Neil said, changing tack. ‘We can talk about what makes the cut later. Right now, we just need to get enough usable material in the can. The network’s expecting a segment—’
‘The network can go fuck,’ Mae said.
That rocked him. ‘Excuse me?’
She could feel Callie’s gaze burning into the side of her face now. Still, she didn’t look.
‘I’m done,’ Mae said. ‘You’ve got enough shots to stitch something together. Use them. Or don’t. But you’re not filming anything else in here today.’
The crew looked at one another, waiting to see which way the wind would blow.
‘Mae, be reasonable,’ Neil said, his patience fraying. ‘We’ve got a full crew on day rates, a celebrity guest, a schedule that—’
‘It's not my problem,’ Mae cut in. ‘My problem is that I’ve got orders to fill, regulars to serve, and a business to run that will still be here when you’ve all buggered off.
’ Mae did find her eyes sliding to Callie on that last part.
She was looking down. Mae didn’t think it was shame.
You didn’t come back with a TV crew to pick over the carcass of what you’d killed on your way out, not if you had any humility.
‘It’s… human interest,’ Neild said desperately.
‘It’s my life,’ Mae said. ‘Now get the fuck out.’
For a second, she thought he might actually try to argue his way through it. But then something in him recalculated.
‘You’re overthinking this,’ he tried, last throw. ‘Once it’s cut, you’ll see. It’ll be great for the bakery. Free publicity. People will come from miles.’
‘They already come from miles,’ Mae said, tired now. ‘Without knowing who broke my heart at eighteen.’
She heard Callie make a small sound, almost a wince. But let her take this. She deserved it.
Sam stepped forward, hands up. ‘Neil,’ he said. ‘Leave it.’
He turned to him, incredulous. ‘Sam, you of all people know how this works. We can’t just—’
‘We can,’ he said. The silly, performative edge had dropped out of his voice. ‘You push, this is going to look awful. And not in the “good ratings” way.’
He hesitated.
‘We’ve got stuff,’ Sam went on. ‘Use what we’ve shot. Or we do a different segment. Or we cheat a different kitchen and bake out of a packet mix for half an hour, I don’t care.’
Mae didn’t like Sam, but she was glad he was a pragmatist if it got them out all the sooner.
Neil stared between Sam and Mae, like he was wondering what his next move was.
‘Come on, mate. Don’t be that guy,’ Sam said with a smile.
The crew watched their boss get outvoted by his star. There was a certain vicious enjoyment on some of their faces.
Callie still hadn’t spoken.
Neil exhaled, long and put-upon. ‘Fine,’ he said, in the tone of a man who was absolutely going to rant at some poor assistant about this later. ‘We’ll… wrap. Get what we can in B-roll. Make it work.’
He jabbed a finger at the camera. ‘Pack it,’ he told the operator. ‘Carefully, yeah? We’re not insured for tantrums.’
Mae set her teeth.
‘Tantrums,’ she repeated.
He realised too late. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘You did,’ Mae said. ‘It’s fine. Just… don’t break anything on your way out. And tell your lot to keep off the proving cupboard. I told him that twice.’
The sound guy, still perched guiltily on the edge of the metal box, slid off it like a schoolboy caught on a forbidden wall.
Like ants kicked from a nest, the crew started moving. Cables were reeled in. The boom was lowered and unhooked. The room began to empty, all that clutter peeling away to reveal her kitchen underneath.
‘Thanks for your time,’ Neil muttered as he passed Mae, somewhere between warning and sulking.
‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘And I’ll have a chat with a solicitor about that release. See how firm it is.’
It was mostly bluff. She had no idea if there was any real way to claw back what she’d signed. But the look on Neil’s face was worth it.
Isabella drifted by, make-up case in hand, and paused long enough to squeeze Mae’s forearm.
‘For what it’s worth,’ she murmured, ‘that was great.’
‘Thanks,’ Mae said dryly. ‘I’ll put it on the chalkboard. “Today’s special: public breakdown”.’
Isabella chuckled, then was gone, following the tide.
The kitchen was ten times larger now. Only two people were left in the back by the time the last case was dragged through the door.
Mae and Callie were alone.