Chapter 21
‘ W e’re so sorry . . . Bundles of Bread. You’ll be leaving us this time,’ Ronan announced.
Lucas thought he’d heard wrong, at first. He wasn’t leaving?
The judges were stepping forward to commiserate with the bakers from Bundles of Bread, the farm shop, who moved out of the line to shake hands with Ronan and the others.
So he definitely had heard correctly. A gleam of happiness alighted inside him – he was through.
It wasn’t over. Beside him, Sylvie gave Clem a massive hug before hurrying off to shake hands with those who would be leaving.
Viviana was patting them on the shoulder, talking to them quietly.
‘Mate, we did it!’ Dwayne cried, slapping Lucas on the shoulders so hard he nearly sent him staggering forwards. ‘That was a close one.’
Clem was nearby, and she gave Lucas a look he couldn’t read. The smile she offered up looked . . . not right, like she was a marionette being forced to do it. The camera was fixed on the group of well-wishers for the time being, angled away from them.
‘Congratulations,’ said Clem, somewhat stiffly. Why did she sound so strange? She crossed her arms as she studied him, leaning against one of the workstations. ‘I suppose you didn’t get your wish after all.’
His wish? What did she mean? He’d wanted to win – that was his only wish. And she’d known that all along.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, puzzled.
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘I really don’t . . . ?’
He was baffled by this, both his getting through and Clem’s words.
He’d clearly messed up – but someone had screwed up worse than him, and he’d scraped through by a hair.
One of the bakers from Bundles of Bread was sniffling as Jonathan shook her hand vigorously.
The judges were now moving on to congratulate those who had got through, a swirling group of people chattering animatedly.
‘Clem, what are you talking about?’ he asked her. Dwayne was hovering between them, looking equally confused.
‘You know.’ Her lip trembled. She bit down on it. ‘I’m not saying it here, in front of the camera and everyone else. You know exactly what it is.’
The camera swung their way, like a laser scorching into his cheek. Their conversation died out. He didn’t want to talk about this in front of the camera, and neither did she.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, nodding at Ronan, who came over and clapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him for making it through.
There was a faint smile playing on Lucas’s lips and he wondered if anyone else could tell it was false – that he was putting on that persona he’d advised Clem to adopt on camera.
It was an odd mix: the happiness that he’d got through, overshadowed by unease at what Clem had said to him.
Maybe she was upset after he’d told her he wasn’t looking for a relationship, that his family came first?
Lucas brushed the thoughts away like dust. He had simply been honest with her. It would have been worse to let things continue, wouldn’t it?
Filming stopped, and Lucas let out a long sigh of relief.
‘What was that all about?’ Dwayne asked. He motioned to Clem, who had crossed the tent to join Sylvie, her back to them both.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ he said.
‘Did you say something to her?’
‘Not . . . not today. I mean, I told her recently I wasn’t looking for anyone . . . right now . . . and I’m not interested,’ he said.
‘Ah, man,’ said Dwayne, rubbing a hand across the top of his bald head. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because it’s the truth.’
‘Is it? Sure, maybe you weren’t looking to date anyone. But that was before she came along. And I’ve seen the way you look at her. Reina the dog could probably see it. You like her, man. Accept it.’
*
Everyone filtered outside with their bakes, where the usual refreshments would be set up, alongside a small audience who would taste their creations for some extra footage.
Clem kept fiddling with her hair, tucking the same strand behind her ear.
The rain had long since stopped, warm sunlight breaking through the clouds and streaking across the tent’s surface, but the grass was damp and squidgy beneath their feet.
Clem’s rising happiness deflated like a pierced balloon when she thought about facing up to Genie again.
Maybe she wouldn’t be here in the audience today; maybe what happened last time put her off?
Unfortunately, Genie was there amongst the group outside the tent, sitting at one of the tables on the far right, beneath a large canopy that provided shade. Her highlighted hair was gleaming like it had been polished.
Clem crossed the grass, careful not to slip on the wet blades, and set some slices of her loaf and a kitten bun out on the table in front of Genie.
The seat across from her was empty, and around them, the gathered crowd were being served other samples.
The cameraman took some shots, and moved off to film some post-round interviews with the judges and the contestants from Bundles of Bread, who were hovering a little way away across the grass.
‘Hi, Clem,’ Genie said. Her voice was as silky as Clem remembered it – authoritative, confident, as if the lip gloss was smoothing out the words for her.
She’d liked that confidence about Genie when they first met, how she’d dropped into a chair beside Clem in a seminar and said sitting together is better than sitting alone, right?
That was the moment they’d become friends.
Unfortunately, Clem also clearly remembered when they had stopped being friends.
Genie was wearing a matching set of baggy beige joggers and a crop top; she’d always been effortlessly fashionable, even in basics.
Her hair was sleek and straight, highlighted in shades of blonde and copper – her signature style.
That much hadn’t changed. But everything else had, including this aura between them.
An unease dancing around them like the wind, whispering of the past.
Clem folded her arms as a gust of wind whistled around the canopy, easing some of the warmth. ‘Why are you here?’ she said, trying to keep her voice level. She didn’t want Genie to know she was feeling edgy.
‘I tried to add you, online,’ Genie said, leaning forward. ‘And to send a message. Did you—’
‘I saw,’ Clem cut across her. ‘I don’t have anything to say to you.’
To her surprise, Genie scowled, a flicker of something crossing her face that looked awfully like malice. ‘I have plenty to say to you,’ she ground out. ‘Things I should have said back then.’
‘It’s been years,’ Clem pointed out, restraining herself from saying Genie .
Because using her name was too familiar, too personal.
It didn’t sound like Genie wanted to apologise, so what was going on?
She couldn’t believe Genie looked so cross, when she’d been the one to film that video, to tarnish their friendship.
Clem didn’t understand and she was growing shaky, because she didn’t want any more conflict.
When it all happened, she’d thought there had been a misunderstanding.
And even if there hadn’t been, that Genie would realise her mistake and apologise for playing such a cruel joke on her.
She’d given things a few days to settle down – her own emotions too.
Only, her emotions never did quite settle because the video was spread around to other students, and people laughed at her in the corridors, taunted her in lectures.
She was too afraid to apply for internships in conservation, in case anyone who was hiring had been at the event and recognised the girl in the silly costume, who came to a careers evening dressed as though it were all a joke.
And Genie never reached out, or stuck up for her.
Days turned to weeks, to months, with Genie avoiding her whenever they crossed paths, sitting as far away from her as possible in lectures.
Clem developed so much anxiety from it, she dropped out of university. After she left, at the one-year mark, it stopped being a sharp, fresh pain. A lingering bruise that only hurt if you poked at it.
And Genie was here, poking.
‘I know it’s been years,’ Genie said, leaning closer to her, ‘which is why I can’t believe you’re still doing this. You’re unbelievable.’ She choked out a wry laugh.
‘W-What?’ said Clem, mystified, glancing over her shoulder to check that the camera hadn’t come their way. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Of course you don’t. Like you didn’t recognise him straight away.’ Genie rolled her eyes. She picked up the kitten bun, tore off a piece, and popped it into her mouth, sighing. ‘Your baking’s good. Shame you weren’t as good a friend as you are a baker.’
Clem’s reaction to that was to bristle like a hedgehog. The quaking in her knees was picking up; they were almost banging together. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was Genie here, dragging up the past?
‘I won’t stand here and listen to you insult me. I’m leaving,’ said Clem, turning to stride across the grass.
She was barely ten paces away when Genie snatched at her wrist. Clem turned; Genie was standing behind her, face as dark as thunderclouds.
Her grip was vicelike, sharp and bony. Clem checked over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being scrutinised, but the cameras were still further away, filming the judges.
‘You’re hurting me,’ said Clem, trying to tug her arm away, but Genie held on, only clinging to her harder. Her grip was cutting into Clem’s arm, turning the skin red.
And then Lucas was somehow there, between them, a flash of dark hair and sandy cologne that caught in Clem’s nostrils and made her dizzy. He grabbed Genie’s arm, staring daggers at her. Lucas was taller than them both, peering down at Genie.
‘Let go of her,’ he ordered. His tone meant business, silky but firm.
At the sight of his face, Clem stilled – jaw set, determined, eyebrows furrowed. Defending her. Why was he doing that, when he was trying to make her lose in the contest? She couldn’t help the prickle running over her neck, the rush of pride that he’d stuck up for her .
Genie’s grip slackened. She freed Clem’s arm, and Lucas released her, too.
‘Are you okay?’ Lucas asked Clem, reaching for her arm, checking it over, as if worried she’d been bruised.
His thumb traced her olive skin where Genie’s hand had been, the red mark left behind, and she shuddered in spite of the warm day and the sun settling on her hair.
Why was he being so caring when he’d told Clem he wasn’t interested in her?
It was only making her more interested in him.
‘Why do you have to be so nice?’ she muttered, half to herself.
‘Oh, of course you only care about her ,’ Genie hissed. She crossed her arms.
Lucas turned back to her. ‘What are you talking about, Georgina? I invited you here as a friend, not so you could intimidate Clem.’
‘Do you even remember her?’
Georgina? Clem thought. ‘Her name’s Genie,’ she said, confused.
‘What?’ said Lucas. ‘Do you two know each other?’
‘You were the only one who ever refused to call me Genie. I told you I wanted to use it in our last year of high school,’ said Genie. ‘I guess you always saw me as little Georgina from a few streets over. Thought Genie was a phase.’
‘Will you please tell me what the hell is going on?’ Lucas fired at Genie – or Georgina. Whatever her name was. Clem felt like she’d never known her at all, with her two names and her dark expression. ‘Why did you grab her?’ Lucas added.
Genie laughed, throwing back that mane of beautifully golden hair. ‘I see Clem’s been playing the innocent act again. I’m sure that’s how she reeled you in, too. You don’t remember, do you, when you were working at the student bistro?’
‘That’s a bit broad, Georgina, given I did that the whole time I was at university to make extra money. You’re going to have to be more specific.’
‘I used to come in the bistro to talk to you, when I could. Between lectures or if I had a break,’ Genie clarified.
‘And Clem . . .’ She glared at Clem, talking about her like she wasn’t here, which only made her hackles rise further.
‘I told her there was someone I liked who worked in the bistro, how we grew up together and I’d always liked you.
Next thing, I saw her flirting with you in the library. ’
Aghast, Clem was rendered speechless for a minute.
She vaguely remembered Genie having a crush on someone who worked at the student bistro, but Clem had never seen him before – she tended to avoid the bistro, as it got so crowded with students, and she preferred to hang out in the library or a quieter café elsewhere.
Often, she’d rather drive home to her mum’s cottage to sit with Misha than go in the bistro – it had always been overstimulating, full of chatter and noise and chaos.
But flirting with Lucas? She hadn’t met him then, so she didn’t think she’d ever . . . She looked from one to the other, fitting everything together in her mind until it dropped into place like Tetris pieces sliding into perfect gaps.
She had met him before.