Why didn’t she tell me?
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw Emma’s name glowing on the screen.
How’d your shift go? Do you want to go out on Sunday? x
Callie stared at it for a long moment. She locked her phone without replying.
Then she passed the bakery. It should have been dark and cold by now. But there was light glowing behind the glass. Midnight, and Mae was in there?
Callie hesitated. Then she walked up to the door and knocked lightly.
A pause. A shuffle. Then Mae appeared, tugging the door open. ‘Callie?’ she said, startled. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Walking home,’ Callie replied, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Saw the light. Thought I’d… pop in. For a catch-up.’
Mae blinked. ‘Right. Well. I was just cleaning.’
Callie looked past her. The place was spotless.
‘Good night?’ Callie asked.
‘Fine,’ Mae said quickly.
She looked jumpy. And Mae was not the jumpy sort. She normally radiated dry disdain and impatience. But look at her now. Frog on a washing machine on the spin cycle.
Callie folded her arms. ‘Mae… what’s going on?’
‘Cleaning,’ Mae repeated.
‘You’re acting odd.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then tell me why you were on a date. With that pillock. After telling me you couldn’t be bothered with dating at all.’
Mae stiffened. ‘I don’t owe you a full itinerary of my decisions.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it,’ Callie said quietly.
Mae opened her mouth, closed it, stepped back, paced a little, grabbed a cloth, dropped it, picked up something else, put it down again. Everything about her was jittery, unfocused.
Callie felt frustration rising in her chest. Mae had been her best friend since they were barely out of nappies. She wasn’t supposed to be cagey and strange like this. Callie knew her, down to the bone.
Or she thought she did.
‘Mae,’ Callie said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. ‘Please. What’s goingon? Did I… have I done something? Are you upset with me?’
Mae froze. ‘No.’
‘Then what is it?’ Callie begged.
Seventeen
Now
Mae had never realised how small the kitchen was until seven other people tried to be in it with her.
They were everywhere. Cables snaked over the floor like tripwires. Someone had parked a massive light stand right where she normally swung the fridge door open. There was a monitor balanced precariously on a flour bin. Every surface she used every day had grown an attachment: a lens cap, a roll of gaffer tape, a script page with CALLIE COUNTER / SAM HELPS CALLIE written on it in red pen.
