Vaulting Ambition
For Max Fisher, it was just another day at his bakery, selling freshly baked goods to customers who were willing to pay just a little bit more for local produce, when Lucy Richardson breezed through the front door with grace.
“Abysmal weather, isn’t it?” Lucy said, removing the hood of her anorak from her head and smiling at Max.
Max laughed and nodded. “Yeah, it is, I guess.”
He wiped his clammy hands on his apron so they were less sweaty.
Max’s chest was hurting from the throbbing of his heart.
This wasn’t because he was in love, but because this woman could end his career and destroy his reputation in seconds.
Lucy was a columnist for the Cygninia Tittle Tattle, known for her biting exposés on the constituency’s most powerful and influential citizens.
She was still most well known for taking photos of Sir James Humphrey, Cygninia’s then MP, sunbathing on a beach in Dorset during the Pyroflu pandemic five years previously.
Her article was so damning that Joseph Benson probably would have won the next election in a landslide anyway, even if Sir James hadn’t mysteriously died of the disease after someone switched his life support off.
Most people knew that if you saw Lucy wandering around with a camera around her neck, it was best to hide until she disappeared, to be safe.
Max pressed his elbows tightly into his hips as he observed Lucy.
But then he sighed and relaxed once he realised she was unarmed and probably just wanted a loaf of bread.
Lucy ogled the array of baked goods in front of her, a large, toothy grin on her face.
”This one looks delicious,” she said, her beaming face staring at Max. “I’ll have that one, please.”
Max simpered and nodded. “Sure thing, ma’am.”
He pivoted to the sink behind him and thoroughly washed his hands, glancing back at Lucy to check that she wasn’t about to whip her camera out from a concealed location.
As he was doing so, a man crept into the bakery, bumping into Lucy.
Lucy gasped as she jolted forward, her coffee spilling onto the ground.
”Hey,” she said to the man, who merely gawped at her and shrugged.
”Huh?” Max said, who was too busy scrubbing his fingernails to notice what was happening.
The man scanned his surroundings, making sure that neither Lucy nor Max was watching him. Then he reached out and grabbed a muffin from the countertop.
Lucy locked eyes with the man just as he hid the muffin under his coat and ran out.
”HEY!” Lucy said, scowling at the man and chasing him out of the shop.
She whipped her camera out and took several snaps in close succession.
Max flinched as he heard every shot, believing himself to be the journalist’s victim.
He glanced up as Lucy returned to the bakery, composing herself and smiling warmly at Max.
”I’ve just checked the loaf and it’s free of mould,” Max said, flipping open a brown paper bag to place it in.
”Wonderful,” Lucy said, retrieving the bag from the baker. “I love my bread to be free of mould.”
”Yeah, I bet you do,” Max said, laughing awkwardly. “Ten pounds, please.”
Lucy removed a crisp ten-pound note and handed it over to Max.
“A man stole one of your muffins, by the way,” Lucy said, sniffing the freshly baked loaf she had just bought.
Max gawped at Lucy. “Oh?”
”Yes,” Lucy said, gazing at Max with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve taken some photos of him, so he should be brought to justice once I’ve written and published my report on the crime.”
”Maybe we should wait for a bit first,” Max said, wiping down the counter. “He might have stolen it because he has nothing to eat.”
Lucy gasped, tilting her head and staring at the baker wide-eyed. “A theft is a theft, is it not?”
”He might have some kids,” Max said. “They might not be able to eat otherwise.”
Lucy’s face began to turn red. “A food bank is available outside of town, Max; there’s no excuse to steal your life’s work.”
”It’s only a loaf of bread, Luce,” Max said, stepping away from the counter. “The loss is only marginal.”
Lucy sprang forward, scuffing the floor with her shoes.
She placed a hand in her rucksack, erratically sifting it through, before almost throwing her camera into Max’s face.
Max reached a hand out. “Maybe you should calm down.”
With shaky hands, Lucy turned the camera on, then shoved it into the baker’s visage.
”I’ve taken clear enough photos of him,” Lucy said, her manic eyes digging into Max’s. “I have no plans for next week’s Tittle Tattle column. It could count as an advert for your bakery.”
Just then, Cygninia’s current MP, Joseph Benson, strode into the bakery.
”I suppose a column wouldn’t hurt,” Max said, flinching from Lucy’s camera. “Maybe he can defend himself in court.”
Lucy moved her camera away and turned it off. “Excellent. You should be able to find it in next week’s issue.”
”Be able to find what?” Joseph said, gazing at Lucy and Max.
Lucy turned round towards Joseph and almost bumped into the shelves behind her. “Mr Benson, sir.”
”Please, call me Joseph,” the MP said, bowing his head. “I’d prefer my constituents to know me on first-name terms.”
”Sure thing, Joe…seph,” Max said, fixating on his produce rather than the MP. “What sort of thing are you after?”
Joseph examined the various items on display. “I want the finest pastry you have. I’m giving it to my cousin as a wedding present.”
“Sure thing, sir,” Max said, browsing the items himself. “I think your cousin might like this Danish pastry.”
Joseph’s eyes lit up as he took in the delectable dish, licking his lips like the big bad wolf about to devour the three little pigs.
Seeing that she had no reason to be there anyway, Lucy slipped through the bakery door, but she was so forgetful that she almost left without the main thing she was in there for in the first place.
”Excuse me,” Joseph said, making her stop.
Lucy spun round, she titled her head.
”Hmm,” she said, widening her eyes and raising an eyebrow.
“I believe this is yours,” Joseph said, handing her the brown paper bag with the freshly baked loaf.
”Oh, yes, of course,” she said, giggling awkwardly. “It would be a bit silly to buy a loaf of bread and then leave without it, wouldn’t it?”
”Yes,” Joseph said, grimacing at Lucy. “Say, aren’t you the journalist who took those photos of Sir James Humphrey sunbathing a few years ago?”
”I am, yes,” Lucy said, smiling.
“I suppose I should thank you for my career,” Joseph said, a toothy, open-mouthed grin on his face. “Those photos worked well on my campaign fliers, alongside the slogan ‘want four more years of this? Thought not.”
A nurse, still in her hospital uniform, arrived at the bakery’s entrance.
She cleared her throat, and upon glancing round to see her, Lucy stepped further into the shop to allow her to enter.
”Yes,” Lucy said, laughing. “I’m glad my photography skills are of good use.”
”Indeed,” Joseph said, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet.
The Nurse chose a lovely puff pastry to buy and yawned.
Max examined her face; she looked exhausted.
”I know it says £10.00, but you can have it for £8.50,” Max said, placing the order on the till.
“Really,” the Nurse said, her mouth falling open.
”Yeah,” Max said, shrugging. “I can see you work hard and appreciate your service.”
The Nurse laughed, handing Max her spare change.
As she skipped towards the exit, Max could help but simper.
He was pleased that his small act of kindness had made her so happy.
”I know Sir James wasn’t the best of people,” Joseph said, leaning against the shelves. “But I still think it was a bit harsh of that Doctor to turn off his life support so he’d have an excruciating death.”
”Oh, it wasn’t Dr Forsyth,” the Nurse said, turning towards Joseph. “Sir James was already dead when he returned to him.”
Joseph crossed his arms and frowned at the Nurse. “Are you saying he was wrongly convicted, and his subsequent imprisonment was a miscarriage of justice?”
Max observed Lucy as she gazed at the floor, wringing her hands.
”Yes,” the Nurse said, raising her head high and puffing her chest out. “We all thought so at the time.”
”Oh, cry me a river,” Lucy said, gazing at the Nurse over the bridge of her nose. “Dr Forsyth was in charge of Sir James’ care; you must accept his guilt sooner or later.”
Max took a step back, staring at Lucy wide-eyed.
He blinked rapidly, trying his best to process her cold response to a woman concerned about the fate of a colleague.
The Nurse lowered her head, her neck appearing to shrink.
Joseph cleared his throat. “I’m going to take this as my cue to leave. Have a good day.”
The MP strode out of the bakery and began to jog to avoid getting wet.
”You’re not the only one to think that,” the Nurse said, gazing up at Lucy. “The Board of Directors have decided he was guilty. I got fired earlier for suggesting the case needed to be re-examined.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Max said, nodding understandably. “I can give you a full refund if you want.”
”No, no,” the Nurse said, hugging the bag with the pastry in it. “You deserve to be paid fairly for your hard work.”
”So did you,” Max said, grabbing a long baguette and handing it to her. “At least accept a free baguette.”
Lucy turned away from the Nurse and inspected the bread rolls to her side.
The Nurse trotted over to Max and snatched the Baguette from his hand. “Thank you.”
Max bowed his head. “It should be me thanking you for your service.”
The Nurse smiled and nodded, removing a key chain from her pocket. “Right, I’m going home now, bye.”
”Bye,” Max said, watching the woman leave the bakery and trudge down the street.
He turned towards Lucy, who was pinning her arms towards her stomach.
”That was a bit harsh, wouldn’t you say?” Max said, glaring at Lucy. “She probably quite liked Dr Forsyth.”
Lucy gawped at Max and held a wooden spoon. “Is this for sale?”
Max crossed his arms and frowned at her. “No, it’s mine. I left it there when I was checking the stock.”
Lucy traipsed over to Max and handed him the spoon, gazing downwards.
She lumbered back towards the shelves and leaned against them.
”It’s a bit strange for her to be still hung up about the incident five years on, don’t you think?” Lucy said, grabbing a muffin from the shelf and eating it immediately without paying.
Max shrugged. “I don’t think so, if she wants actual justice.”
Lucy swallowed the remainder of the muffin.
She hid the evidence and turned back round to face Max.
“Are you gonna buy anything else,” Max said, louring at the journalist.
Lucy briefly scanned the pastries, cakes, and bread on the shelves, then gawped at Max. “No, I don’t think so.”
Max sighed. “Then I suppose you can go home and enjoy your loaf.”
Lucy gazed down at the paper bag in her hand. “Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
”Good,” Max said, a tightly closed grin on his face.
Lucy bid Max goodbye and crept over to the door.
As she did so, she felt a tightness in her chest.
Max placed more stock on the display shelves.
Lucy froze on the spot, breathing heavily, with a sharp pain in the back of her throat.
Max glanced at her. “You alright?”
”I killed him,” Lucy said, slowly turning round to face Max. “I unplugged Sir James Humphrey’s life support.”
Max stared at Lucy wide-eyed, her mouth agape. “You knew his Doctor was innocent?”
”I couldn’t help it,” Lucy said, traipsing back towards Max. “I was just so angry at what he’d done, how little he cared about the rules he imposed on his constituents or the pain that he’d inflicted on them, that I decided to kill him.”
”But you didn’t tell anyone,” Max said, stumbling backwards. “Allowing an innocent man to spend five years in prison.”
Lucy ran a finger along the till. “I’d be wasted behind bars; besides, no one needs to know what actually happened.”
” But-but- that nurse was right,” Max said. “She got sacked for wanting the truth.”
“And she’ll never get it,” Lucy said, glaring at Max. “You better promise not to tell anyone this, otherwise my write-up of this business will be less than favourable.”
Max swallowed some saliva, his face ashen. “I won’t. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Lucy smiled, appearing more relaxed than she had been for a while. “Good.”
She pivoted on the spot and approached the exit, before stopping and turning back round.
”I don’t regret turning off his life support,” Lucy said. “I’m just sad his death was more merciful than he deserved.”
Max clung to the wall behind him. He was not a supporter of Sir James or his party, but he didn’t enjoy being in such a small room with a woman who was a psychopath.
Lucy opened the door and stepped out into the rain.
Max exhaled deeply as she disappeared, his knees buckling.
Just then, an older woman knocked on the glass entrance to the shop.
Max returned to professional mode and smiled at his next customer. “Open the door,” he said.
The woman opened the door and hobbled over to the baker.
Max rubbed his hands. “What can I get for you, ma’am?”
“When there’s clouds in the sky, I fancy a Steak and Ale Pie,” the woman said, gawping at the baker.
Max tilted his head, grimacing at the woman, before getting out a Steak and Ale Pie.
”That’ll be £10, please,” Max said.
The woman sifted through her purse and shakily passed a £10 note to Max.
Max handed over the pie, which she savoured.
”I do like myself a pie, I cannot lie,” the woman said, before waving to Max and hobbling out of the bakery.
Once the strange woman had left, Max leaned on the table behind him.
He glanced at the clock on the wall; fortunately, it was five O’clock, when he usually shut up shop.
Max’s posture slumped. A slow smile built on his face.
He placed a “closed” sign on the till and ran wildly towards the door.
Max ran equally as frantically through the rain towards the relative safety of his house.
Once he got in, he made a steaming hot tea and relaxed in front of the telly.
He hoped the next day would be less eventful, with slightly more normal customers.
But Lucy Richardson’s confession still shook him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover.
The Robinsonverse 