Chapter 9 #2
Laughter and jeers echoed in Clem’s ears as she thought back to university, how she was humiliated.
Sylvie was such a joyous person, sunny and trusting, like Emmie.
Clem, on the other hand, couldn’t help but wonder about people’s motives since then.
And her anxiety was like a chatterbox in her ear at the best of times – questioning and offering up what-ifs and doubts.
But Lucas, he’d helped her, at the audition, hadn’t he? That could have risked his own place in the contest, taking his focus away from his own baking, and he’d done it anyway. None of the others had. Surely it meant he was a kind person.
She fumbled with her phone, the eagerness to contact him warring with her mounting anxiety. The anxiety won this time.
‘I’m sure I’ll find out eventually,’ she decided, slipping her phone away.
*
Whisked Away Competition Rounds
Before we introduce our Whisked Away contestants in the Lake District, we’d like to share the details of the upcoming rounds so you, our audience, can join in at home! We’d love to see photos of any creations you make as you watch the rounds!
Here’s what we’ll be asking our contestants to do . . .
Round 1: Biscuits! We’d like our contestants to design biscuits to introduce us to them, and what they do!
This could be a staple biscuit already made by the business, or, if they don’t do biscuits at all, a batch of biscuits to show us what they’re all about .
. . Think biscuits shaped like birthday or wedding cakes, for added creativity!
We want a glimpse into what makes the business special.
Round 2: Bread! We want the best seasonal bread creations possible – think focaccia, flatbread, fruit bread, and sourdough! Our contestants should link this to their business in some way. As we shift over into summer, we want something ideal for a picnic!
Round 3: The final round! Here, we want our contestants to make their standout bake of the contest .
. . a spectacular diorama, in cake form, of the business they’re here to represent and what it means to them.
Our winner will be chosen during this finale – based on both the diorama and the bakes that came before!
The dates and times are as follows . . .
Clem was sitting at her desk at home, tossing her phone between her palms. Misha was curled in her lap, her nose tucked into her tail and her little head tipped to the side.
She was snoozing contentedly, her mouth slightly parted, as if she were smiling.
Clem stopped palming her phone and unlocked the screen, staring at it again, stroking Misha’s soft fur with her free hand, which helped to quell some of her nerves.
Outside, the sun was setting, spilling pink and orange light into her bedroom, the thick pink clouds outside her window promising another bright day tomorrow. Her mum was at work, off photographing a wedding; spring and summer were her busiest seasons.
For the last thirty minutes, she’d been staring at Lucas’s number, trying to work up the courage to send him a message.
The email she’d received from Whisked Away about getting onto the contest didn’t say anything about the other contestants, or who they’d be.
They would be doing full public announcements soon – something that made her skin tingle with fear – but the desire to know whether Lucas had got through, to talk to him now, was nibbling away at her, even though she’d held off before.
At first, she’d thought there was no need to message him again.
If he’d got through, she’d find out soon.
And if he didn’t, she probably wouldn’t be seeing him again.
She had been surprised by how much the thought made her heart sink.
And that was what was prompting her to stare absently at the digits of his phone number.
There was a picture of him in the little bubble beside his name that had been making her feel quivery – and it was part of why she was hesitating.
In the photo, he was standing behind a café counter, wearing a loose-fitting dark grey shirt and a white apron.
Someone had clearly made him laugh before taking the picture, because his smile was dazzling, showing his top row of teeth.
There was a menu on the wall behind him, and a row of shelves, faded so only Lucas stood out.
The image of him was sharp, making his dark hair and green eyes pop.
She typed out, Hi Lucas, it’s Clem , then promptly deleted it, hissing through her teeth in frustration.
Misha’s head lifted, her pupils growing in size as she caught the sound.
‘Sorry, sweetie,’ said Clem, rubbing her fingers onto the top of Misha’s head. ‘Go back to sleep.’
When Misha realised the sound wasn’t anything threatening, she stretched out a paw, her whole body shaking with her stretch, and lowered her head again sleepily.
She needed to bite the bullet and do it.
She furiously typed: Hi Lucas, hope you don’t mind me getting in touch.
It’s Clem by the way, she added quickly, because she had no idea if he’d saved her number to his contacts when she returned the wallet .
Just wondering if you got through in the contest? We heard back and we got through.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she jabbed the send button.
At once, her palms slickened with sweat.
Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. He might try delving into her reasons for entering again, and she’d have to admit she hadn’t, that it was all just a twist of fate, a decision taken out of her hands because she wasn’t brave enough to do it herself.
She rubbed her palm over Misha’s fur, giving the cat a belly rub as she exposed her fluffy stomach to Clem, beginning to vibrate with purrs.
The sound soothed Clem. She tried to focus on something else while she waited, looking up some ideas for new recipes and thumbing through her scrapbook of ideas, but she couldn’t help checking every five minutes to see if Lucas had seen her message or replied.
Finally, an agonising hour later – Misha had moved to curl on Clem’s bed, tired of her being so fidgety – he replied.
He’d written:
Hey Clem, I recognised your number. We got through too. ?
Clem reread the message four times. Maybe it was his overly attractive picture hovering in the top-left making her hormones spiral out of control, but the smiley face was sending her head spinning.
Before she could tap out her answer, he’d sent another message:
I’ll be seeing you at the first round.