‘We can,’ he said. The silly, performative edge had dropped out of his voice. ‘You push, this is going to look awful. And not in the “good ratings” way.’
He hesitated.
‘We’ve got stuff,’ Sam went on. ‘Use what we’ve shot. Or we do a different segment. Or we cheat a different kitchen and bake out of a packet mix for half an hour, I don’t care.’
Mae didn’t like Sam, but she was glad he was a pragmatist if it got them out all the sooner.
Neil stared between Sam and Mae, like he was wondering what his next move was.
‘Come on, mate. Don’t be that guy,’ Sam said with a smile.
The crew watched their boss get outvoted by his star. There was a certain vicious enjoyment on some of their faces.
Callie still hadn’t spoken.
Neil exhaled, long and put-upon. ‘Fine,’ he said, in the tone of a man who was absolutely going to rant at some poor assistant about this later. ‘We’ll… wrap. Get what we can in B-roll. Make it work.’
He jabbed a finger at the camera. ‘Pack it,’ he told the operator. ‘Carefully, yeah? We’re not insured for tantrums.’
Mae set her teeth.
‘Tantrums,’ she repeated.
He realised too late. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘You did,’ Mae said. ‘It’s fine. Just… don’t break anything on your way out. And tell your lot to keep off the proving cupboard. I told him that twice.’
The sound guy, still perched guiltily on the edge of the metal box, slid off it like a schoolboy caught on a forbidden wall.
Like ants kicked from a nest, the crew started moving. Cables were reeled in. The boom was lowered and unhooked. The room began to empty, all that clutter peeling away to reveal her kitchen underneath.
‘Thanks for your time,’ Neil muttered as he passed Mae, somewhere between warning and sulking.
‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘And I’ll have a chat with a solicitor about that release. See how firm it is.’
It was mostly bluff. She had no idea if there was any real way to claw back what she’d signed. But the look on Neil’s face was worth it.
Isabella drifted by, make-up case in hand, and paused long enough to squeeze Mae’s forearm.
‘For what it’s worth,’ she murmured, ‘that was great.’
‘Thanks,’ Mae said dryly. ‘I’ll put it on the chalkboard. “Today’s special: public breakdown”.’
Isabella chuckled, then was gone, following the tide.
The kitchen was ten times larger now. Only two people were left in the back by the time the last case was dragged through the door.
Mae and Callie were alone.
Thirty-Four
Callie watched the swing door settle after Isabella slipped out. Through the narrow gap came faint noises from the front: cases being dragged, someone swearing softly as they tried to wedge a tripod through without taking the paint off.
Mae was looking at the closed door, very still.
Callie was used to people shrinking a little on camera. Playing along, smoothing themselves out. Watching Mae do the opposite—flare up, draw a line, chuck an entire production out of her kitchen—Callie had half wanted to applaud.
She’d also wanted to sink into the floor.
