Chapter 4
‘ I have to get back to work, Reina,’ said Lucas, kneeling down to scratch the golden retriever behind the ears. She panted out some heavy breaths, licking his hands with her pink tongue. ‘See you later.’
‘Pocketing his phone, he headed out of Reina’s garden, across the patio and inside the building.
The front section of Muddy Paws Café was quiet, as it was so sunny and bright out today – ideal for hiking the fells – and Dwayne was behind the counter, scrolling on his phone.
The floor was sparkling and free of any pawprints; he must have been cleaning.
When Lucas approached, Dwayne beckoned him over urgently.
‘Hey, you have to see this,’ he insisted, shoving his phone at Lucas.
‘What?’
He looked at the screen, at a social media post about something called Whisked Away .
The post was brightly coloured, glaring, in pastel hues of pink, green, and yellow, and it was decorated with a big, splashy image of a cluster of cakes, biscuits, doughnuts and bread, an explosion of multi-coloured confectionery. The text in the caption read:
Whisked Away: the travelling baking show where we pit small businesses against each other for prize money! NEXT UP: the Lake District! Who will bake it best and win ￡100,000?
Lucas gripped the phone harder. ‘A hundred grand ?’
‘Yep. Half for the winning baker, half for the business,’ Dwayne clarified, pointing to some more text Lucas hadn’t read yet, outlining further details. Dwayne’s dark eyes were gleaming with the beginnings of the idea taking shape in them both. ‘We could enter. You could—’
‘Use the money to help my parents.’ Lucas’s fingers tightened on the phone. It was a dizzying amount of money, more than he’d ever seen in his life. More than he ever would expect to see.
Lucas looked down at Dwayne’s phone, at the colourful post and the bright text.
This could be his parents’ ticket out; with this, he could help them in a way he never had before.
They could pay for a private health assessment for his dad, put down a deposit on a house, if he teamed up with his mum to apply.
He could give them everything they deserved; he could fix things for them.
‘Are you in?’ said Dwayne, grinning at Lucas.
Lucas’s pulse was pounding fast at the base of his throat. ‘You don’t even need to ask. Of course I’m in.’
*
On her first shift back at Catpurrcino after Emmie’s birthday, Clem spent a solid ten minutes in the car park, sitting behind the steering wheel and clenching a squeezy, squishy cat she kept in the glove box.
The car park floor was coated in pink petals, blown over from the cherry tree, and they dusted the bonnet of her vehicle like cupcake sprinkles.
Yesterday had been her day off and she’d done nothing but think about Sylvie’s invitation to apply for Whisked Away and how she’d left Emmie’s birthday meal early.
Emmie had sent her a text to say she hoped she felt better soon, and she’d save her a piece of the cake. Clem felt so guilty for leaving.
Taking a deep breath, Clem headed inside.
Kaitlyn wasn’t here yet; Clem tended to arrive before most of the other staff since she had to make a start on baking and prepping early.
In the main room of the café, the feeders were already filled with food and water, the TV displaying a video of mice running in and out of a tiny, door-shaped hole.
Duchess, the café’s ragdoll, was sitting atop the highest cat tower nearby, her gorgeous blue irises barely visible since her black pupils were so enlarged, her attention fixed on the mouse running around on the screen.
On a lower rung of the tower, Lilian the calico was asleep, her nose tucked into her tail.
Eric, their stripy tomcat, approached Clem and gave a long mewl to say hello.
‘Morning,’ she said, getting down on her haunches to stroke behind his ears.
He burst into a series of loud purrs and nuzzled into her fingers.
‘Sorry, can’t stay and give you attention, little guy.
Work’s calling.’ She gave him a few more scritches underneath his chin and made her way into the staffroom.
Sylvie was already there, at the table, an open laptop in front of her. Another closed laptop sat beside it – this one for the staff to use.
‘Clem!’ Sylvie smiled up at her, the corners of her eyes crinkling. ‘I hope you’re feeling better?’
‘I am, thanks,’ said Clem, wandering to the fridge to grab herself some apple juice. Inside, she also found a piece of cake wrapped in cling film, with a note on reading for Clem . She smiled, though a stab of guilt struck her – it must be Emmie’s doing. She’d have it later.
‘Have you given any more thought to Whisked Away ?’ Sylvie asked, her fingers poised above the laptop keyboard. ‘Emmie was agreeing with me, after you left the restaurant. She thinks you’d have a good chance of winning.’
A warm blush crept over Clem’s cheeks. She removed the carton of juice and shut the fridge. ‘Really?’
‘Yes! Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time to decide. The closing date for entries isn’t until next week. Why don’t you think on it for a while?’
Nodding, Clem poured some apple juice into a glass and replaced the carton in the fridge.
She knew she could bake – she had a minuscule but loyal following online who loved her creations, and she’d spent so much time learning.
A contest, though? That was something she’d never done before.
And this was one that could attract a lot more people.
Did she want to be perceived by so many?
The thought scared her. She rearranged a few cat magnets on the fridge.
‘It might be a lot,’ she told Sylvie, turning back to her. ‘The attention, I mean.’
Sylvie’s expression softened. She closed her laptop and stood up, crossing to the kitchenette to face Clem. ‘I know you find things like that difficult.’
‘Is it so obvious?’
‘You were a shy little thing when I first interviewed you!’ said Sylvie fondly, patting her shoulder. ‘So unsure of yourself. But your baking speaks for itself. You have talent, you just need to own it. Don’t keep yourself small because you dislike attention, love.’
That was exactly what she was doing, wasn’t it? Clem sipped at her cold apple juice. Sylvie was perceptive.
‘I have to make a phone call,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’ll take it in the Cat Lounge then open up for the day. You know what you’re doing today?’
Clem nodded. ‘There are still plenty of frozen doughnuts, and I’ve been defrosting them as needed. I’ll do more batches of cookies today. Maybe start on those cat madeleines I told you about? They’ll be pretty quick so I can do bigger batches.’
‘Ooh, yes! Let me see them when you’re done.’
‘Sure.’
Sylvie smiled at her and left the staffroom.
Clem was about to head into the kitchen when she paused, glancing at the staff laptop, which had been decorated with a collection of fun stickers – grey cats drinking bubble tea; kittens being lifted away by pink balloons; and quotes reading: Caturday and my cat is judging you .
She smiled – the last one had been her addition because, according to Emmie, everyone needed to contribute their favourite sticker.
Sitting at the table with her apple juice, Clem flipped open the laptop and brought up the page for the Whisked Away competition.
There was a photo of the baker who had set it up, Ronan – known as Ronan’s Real Bakes online.
In the picture, he was cutting into what seemed to be a burning white candle dripping with creamy wax, but it was actually a cake that split perfectly down the middle, revealing layers of chocolate sponge and cream.
The page detailed the prize money and the rules of the contest, including:
Whisked Away will be streamed online to Ronan’s audience and beyond. Past winners have gone on to sign deals for cookbooks, write columns, start their own businesses, work with established brands and star in reality TV shows.
Clem took another gulp of apple juice, hoping to still her nerves. This opportunity . . . It could give her the foundation to finally do what she’d always wanted to do. To make something else of her baking, start her own business, become more independent. But could she do that?
Don’t keep yourself small because you dislike attention , Sylvie had said.
She should do it. Shouldn’t she?
Before she could second-guess it, she filled out the form – her name, address, contact details, the information about the cat café, her social media profiles.
When she was finished listing her social media accounts – the final question in the form – she froze.
How popular was Ronan exactly? She’d seen him pop up online lots of times with his incredibly realistic bakes that didn’t look like cakes at all – but she had never paid much attention to how large his audience was.
Clem pulled her phone from her pocket and checked up on him.
He had over a million followers. Everywhere.
Her head spun. She had, what? A few thousand followers at the most, who were lovely and kind, but .
. . The more you grew, the more potential there was for nastiness.
She’d never gained enough attention to receive nasty comments but she knew it happened to other people, and the thought of blowing up had always terrified her because of it.
Clem’s chest tightened just thinking about it, imagined scenarios playing out in her mind of what could happen if she entered.
How her follower account would tick up, with people laughing at her, mocking her, critiquing her the more the number increased – noticing everything she did, her appearance, her skills, who she was as a person.
Every round, she would be filmed and ogled, any disasters or mistakes captured permanently on camera.
There wasn’t enough air in here, and what little air there was felt stale.
She drew in a shuddering breath – it was difficult.
Panic sluiced through her and she jumped to her feet, pacing up and down the staffroom with a hand on her belly.
She counted the deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth.
It took her ten minutes of belly-breathing before she felt calm enough to sit down in front of the laptop again.
Her little corner of the world was, for now, safe and comfortable. Did she want to risk inviting more people like Genie into her life, people who would mock and humiliate her? People who would break apart whatever confidence she managed to build up?
No. She didn’t need that at all.
She focused her mind on searching for the delete icon on the Whisked Away website – she was going to trash her application. She wasn’t going to enter after all.
Seconds later, Clem heard someone calling for her down the hall. It sounded like Miles, their cat caretaker. He kept calling out, so she stood up and went into the hallway to say hello.
‘Hey, Clem,’ said Miles. He was short, with a head of messy light-brown hair and shiny blue eyes that always put her at ease.
‘Sylvie’s on a phone call. Can you just help me administer some medication?
You don’t have to do much. Just hold Kitty in place and keep her calm while I administer.
She’s usually pretty good but I don’t want her wriggling since it’s an injection for her allergies. ’
‘Sure,’ said Clem. ‘Let’s go.’
By the time she’d finished helping Miles with Kitty’s medication, Clem was scurrying off to wash her hands and return to the kitchen, since she needed to start baking for the day.