Chapter 7
T he room was filled with the sound of clattering as everyone dug around for the supplies they needed. Sylvie gave Clem an encouraging smile and set to work whipping out ingredients Clem would need.
Clem had chosen something familiar for this stage – something she made every day and was comfortable with: the cat doughnuts from the café. She was putting a slightly new spin on their flavour and look to make them stand out.
She shoved the squeezy cat in the pocket of her dress, and helped Sylvie pile ingredients and tools on the counter as quickly as she could, along with a huge glass bowl she found in a cupboard, adding a stick of butter and some sugar to it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of Lucas and his friend Dwayne bustling around their kitchen too; with a lurch, she wondered what they were making.
The camera was already roving, Viviana Nelson gliding along with it, towards the two young women in pink.
One of them began chatting excitedly at the camera and at Viviana, explaining what she was baking with gusto.
Clem tried hard not to listen – how was it possible to sound so perky and confident with a camera shoved under your nose?
‘Do you want to cream the butter and sugar for me?’ she asked Sylvie, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Focus. Focus on the practical stuff . ‘You can use the electric whisk there. I’ll work on the dry ingredients.’
‘Of course,’ said Sylvie, springing into action and grabbing the whisk.
Clem tried to filter out the noise – the buzzing of whisks, the hearty conversation going on in front of the camera, the sounds of a busy room filled with people.
At the café, she was usually alone. It was exactly why she loved working at Catpurrcino so much: the quiet, the familiarity, the control she had over her environment and the music she listened to, sitting with cats on her lunch break.
Here, everything seemed like chaos and wildness. Unpredictable.
She rolled her shoulders to ease the tension, and glanced at the huge clock Ronan had brought up on the screen, as if she expected time to have drained away to nothing already.
In a separate bowl, she added a flutter of flour, some baking powder, and a little salt, whisking them together by hand. ‘You can add two eggs – whisk them in one at a time,’ she told Sylvie, who nodded, immediately following Clem’s instructions.
When that was done, Clem took over. She added her own mixture to Sylvie’s and whisked them, forming a swirling, doughy concoction in the glass bowl.
The camera was moving again in her periphery.
She wished she’d had something else to drink this morning and not coffee; it was churning inside her and she felt horribly sick.
The camera was coming towards their workstation, and Viviana Nelson was striding their way, like a celebrity walking the red carpet.
Oh no, oh no, oh no , her brain rambled.
What should she say? What if she opened her mouth and .
. . No . She took a deep breath. She was not going to puke up her anxiety all over Viviana Nelson’s girl-boss outfit. Not if she could help it.
‘Milk,’ she said dumbly. ‘We need milk next, I mean.’
‘I’ll get it,’ said Sylvie.
The camera arrived at their side. Viviana Nelson gave them a smooth smile, her lips perfectly glossed. Sylvie bent to the small fridge built into the kitchenette, and Clem was left to face the glistening, gleaming camera lens – like the eye of some beast.
‘And what are you making over here today?’ Viviana asked. Her voice was gentle and kind. ‘Which business do you represent?’
Sylvie popped her head up in the nick of time and the camera swivelled to her as she broke in, ‘We’re with Catpurrcino Cat Café.
In Oakside. Clem here is our baker, and I’m the owner.
’ She passed the milk to Clem, who opened it with a grateful nod and shaking hands, measuring what they needed in a jug.
‘Wonderful. That must have lots of potential for baked goods – and I love cats!’ Viviana replied, winking. ‘I have four! What’s on the menu today?’
The cameraman had fixated on Clem again, who stiffened.
It was as though her shoulders had crawled up to her ears, and she had to force her jaw to relax, unclenching it, and unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
She reminded herself that Viviana wasn’t here to intimidate them – she was doing her job, and she was being nice.
‘C-Cat doughnuts,’ she said.
She didn’t remember lifting the milk jug but it was in her hand now. Talking to Viviana was making her feel so out of sorts.
Her entire body was quivering like the leaves of the cherry tree outside the café, only not quite as gracefully.
She reached into her pocket with her free hand, bringing out the cat toy and squeezing it.
The camera was too busy with her face so perhaps they wouldn’t notice it.
And she had her lucky-charm excuse ready.
She was about to elaborate, to explain her process and the changes she intended to make to the usual flavour of her doughnuts, when there was a sound. A yell from the corridor outside the conference room, swiftly followed by a loud bark.
Clem jumped about a foot in the air, sloshing milk down her front and losing half of what she’d poured into the jug.
The camera was still on Clem. She turned towards the noise, soaked through with milk, her breaths coming quicker. Their kitchen was positioned so she could see directly into the corridor leading to the reception area.
Reina the golden retriever was bounding down the passage.
She sprang along as if she were riding the summer clouds, a happy dog-grin stretching over her mouth. Behind her came the receptionist – too slow in her high heels and tight skirt to stop the lumbering, excitable dog.
‘Reina!’ Lucas cried from the workstation next to them. ‘Stop—’
But Reina came barrelling through the open doorway. There was a split-second pause where the dog seemed to assess, to decide where it should go, but instead of heading for its owner, Reina came straight for Clem.
She squealed in surprise – Viviana gave a shriek of shock, too.
The dog came rushing towards Clem, leaping up at her legs.
She was still holding the milk jug and she tried desperately to hold it aloft, keeping it away from the furry chaos.
It didn’t work – more milk sloshed down her dress.
Reina was straining towards Clem’s hand, where she clutched the squeezy cat.
‘I’m so sorry!’ the receptionist was wailing. ‘She somehow managed to—’
‘Clem! Are you okay?’ Sylvie said breathlessly. ‘What a daft, silly dog, honestly!’
Clem wanted to sprint from the room – her time was ticking away and she’d lost all her milk, and the dog wasn’t calming down. The camera had caught everything. Her cheeks burned with humiliation and she lowered her head, a curtain of dark hair hiding the sides of her face.
She couldn’t do this. It was like before.
She heard people laughing, the sound sharp and cutting in her ears.
They’re laughing at Reina , she reminded herself.
But she couldn’t make her body any less stiff, couldn’t push down the rising panic that was causing her limbs to tingle. There wasn’t enough air in here.
Footsteps, and someone with pale hands was kneeling down and tugging Reina off her. Clem was crushing the squeezy toy in her fist.
‘Clem?’ said Sylvie, traces of laughter gone from her voice. ‘Are you okay?’
She didn’t answer. Her lips were locked together like she’d eaten a particularly thick piece of treacle fudge.
More hurried footsteps. ‘You silly girl!’ Dwayne was scolding, his voice deepening to show his displeasure. ‘ Sit! ’
A low whine as Reina realised she was in serious trouble.
But whoever was kneeling in front of Clem hadn’t gone; she could see dark jeans and black trainers.
Her chin was so low it was skimming the top of her dress, her attention fixed firmly on the swirling patterns of the carpet.
Her chest was tight and breathing was somehow alien now.
If she looked up, tried to interact, she feared she’d fall apart right here and embarrass herself further. Everyone was watching her, probably.
‘Hey,’ said a soft voice. It was Lucas. He leaned forward, green eyes peering up at her with concern. He gave her a small wave from down there, as if they’d simply met in passing at the bus stop. ‘Sorry about Reina. You okay?’
Her head jerked – she’d attempted a nod, but it came out as more of a strange spasming motion. Every breath made her chest tighter.
He lowered his voice. ‘Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.’ He rose to his feet – Clem could only see the tips of his trainers now – and moved away.
She thought he was returning to his kitchen, but there was a sound close to her elbow and the jug was removed from her vice-like grip.
‘Here. I’ll remeasure the milk for you. How much? ’
‘Half a cup – about a hundred and twenty five mil,’ Sylvie said, answering on Clem’s behalf – and then came the sound of pouring. ‘Thanks so much.’
‘Goodness, that startled me!’ Viviana was saying, with a titter of laughter. Clem had to work hard not to wince, her neck aflame.
Ronan must have made his way on stage again, because he was calling out across the conference room through his microphone, an upbeat note in his voice.
‘Well, that was certainly . . . erm . . . an experience!’ There was scattered laughter around the room and this time, Clem did flinch.
‘Not to worry, we’ll get the dog removed and add on an extra ten minutes to the time to account for the interruption. That okay with everyone?’