Chocolate Box Girls

by Cathy Cassidy

  ‘What chocolate business?’ Honey snarls, but Shay nudges her and she sighs and shuts up.

  The tasting goes pretty well. Dad has made truffles involving things like tiramisu and sherry trifle and fresh raspberries, and those all get the thumbs up. The ones involving curry and raw beetroot and parsley are not quite as successful, but that’s not a big surprise to anyone but Dad.

  ‘You have to push the boundaries,’ he insists, wincing a little as he tries to swallow down one of the especially revolting beetroot truffles. ‘Try new things. Find new tastes that nobody has discovered before …’

  ‘Do people want to discover raw beetroot truffles?’ Summer wonders out loud. ‘Is the world ready for them?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Skye muses, and Honey just rolls her eyes.

  ‘Trust me,’ Dad grins. ‘I will discover something wonderful, one of these days. A taste that knocks your socks off, that makes us a fortune!’

  ‘Well, you’ve got three amazing flavours there,’ Charlotte says. ‘That’s a start.’

  Honey picks up one of the beetroot truffles, looks at it disgustedly and chucks it in a perfect arc into the bin.

  ‘They’re just chocolates,’ she argues. ‘You can buy a hundred different brands of them, anywhere. And these aren’t even proper chocolates, either! You’re just melting down shop-bought stuff and turning it into something else. You’re not going to make money out of something anyone can make themselves, at home. It’s stupid!’

  ‘Honey!’ Shay says, but she just shrugs.

  ‘Paddy knows what he’s doing,’ Charlotte says. ‘Give this a chance, Honey. Hear him out!’

  Dad looks round the table. ‘Honey’s right in a way,’ he tells us. ‘Making truffles on the kitchen table is not going to make anyone rich. We need to make our chocolate from scratch – source the best organic cocoa beans, roast them, crack and winnow them, grind them into a liqueur, conch and refine the chocolate and then temper it and create the final product. It’s a complicated process. We’ll need a gas grill, a roasting drum, a mill and a grinder –’

  ‘How much is all that going to cost?’ Honey cuts in. ‘And where’s the money going to come from? Not us, that’s for sure. Mum, can’t you see what all this is about? He thinks he can use your money to finance it all –’

  ‘Honey!’ Charlotte says. ‘Stop that – right now! Paddy doesn’t want my money, not that I have any to begin with. And this business is something we’d both like to do … together. I won’t have that kind of talk here, is that clear?’

  Honey sets her face into a stony glare. Charlotte may turn a blind eye to most of her moods and strops, but it’s clear she has her limits. She is not going to let Honey attack my dad.

  Charlotte sighs, raking a hand through her blonde hair. ‘My concern is where will we put all this stuff, Paddy? You’re talking about specialist equipment. We’d need a decent space to work. We can’t really spare the room without it damaging the B&B business, and as that’s our bread and butter …’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Dad grins. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea. I’ve been looking at the old stable block behind the house. It’s just full of junk at the moment, but I think I could convert it, turn it into a workshop or a small factory …’

  ‘Willie Wonka eat your heart out,’ Honey snorts. ‘I don’t think so. My dad used those stables to garage his old car, so stay away from it, Paddy Costello! You can’t just barge in here and take over, building some ridiculous factory to make truffles nobody wants! Can nobody see how stupid this is?’

  ‘Honey!’ Charlotte says. ‘That’s enough! Apologize to Paddy right now!’

  Honey gets to her feet, eyes blazing. ‘Apologize?’ she snarls. ‘No way! I don’t want you here … making your stupid curry truffles and your plans that won’t ever get off the ground! You’re not my dad!’

  Dad raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I know that –’

  ‘You don’t know anything!’ Honey yells. ‘You and Little Miss Perfect over there … dragging me up here to talk about your idiotic chocolates, calling a family meeting when you’re not even family at all! And you never will be, OK? Not ever!’

  Honey grabs the edges of the oilcloth tablecover and yanks it hard, pulling it off the table along with all the plates and glasses, the uneaten reject truffles. There is a sound of smashing crockery and glass, and Honey runs from the room in a blaze of blonde hair and fury, slamming the door behind her.

  Dad sits down, resting his head in his hands.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he says.

  14

  ‘She’ll calm down,’ Shay says, settling himself in the armchair by the Aga while Dad tidies up the broken glass and china with a dustpan and brush, Fred at his heels, hoovering up the beetroot truffles. ‘I’ll go up and see her in a little while. Talk to her.’

  He seems so calm, so laid back about it all. Somehow, that is infuriating.

  ‘Shouldn’t you go to her now?’ I ask. ‘She sounded pretty upset to me. And she is your girlfriend, right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Shay agrees. ‘She is.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘So …?’

  ‘So I think I’ll let her calm down a little bit, first, before I try getting her to see sense,’ he says with a shrug. ‘No point in following her now and getting my head bitten off too …’

  I say nothing, although the idea of Shay getting into a fight with Honey seems oddly satisfying. I realize I’m being mean – none of this is Shay’s fault.

  ‘I guess,’ I sigh.

  ‘Let’s hope you can talk some reason into her, Shay,’ Charlotte adds. ‘You’re so good with her … I never seem to say the right thing, these days. It’s all so difficult! Are you staying for tea? It’s just quiche and salad, but there’s plenty of it …’

  ‘Cool,’ he grins.

  Skye and Coco are setting the table for tea, spreading out a fresh checked cloth, arranging plates and cutlery, while Summer has a ballet CD in the player and is practising pliés with one hand on the dresser for balance.

  Me, I just stand in the corner, carefully avoiding Shay’s eyes, awkward, anxious. I am the one jigsaw puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.

  Shay picks up the blue guitar and strums a couple of chords, leaning back in the armchair like he is here to stay. He is so relaxed, so comfortable here, in a way I will never be. He just sat through a Tanberry family meeting and nobody batted an eyelid at his presence, even after what Honey said about Dad and me. It doesn’t seem fair.

  And I don’t like the idea of him going up to talk to Honey, not one little bit.

  ‘I didn’t realize,’ Dad is saying. ‘About the stables. I didn’t mean to upset Honey!’

  ‘Everything seems to upset her, lately,’ Charlotte tells him, slicing warm quiche. ‘She’s being unreasonable. Greg kept a car in those stables, sure – but that was then. He’s not coming back, and Honey has to get used to that fact. Do whatever you want with the stable block, Paddy. We can’t keep it as some kind of shrine to a car – or a relationship – that’s long gone.

  ‘Honey won’t be happy whatever we do,’ she goes on, shrugging as she rinses salad leaves. ‘I’m sad about that, but what can I do? Honey has us all wound around her little finger, and I’ve let it happen … I’ve been scared to upset her. She takes everything so hard. First when Greg left, then when we got divorced, and this last year it’s been because I’ve met someone new and fallen in love again … honestly, is that so wrong?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Dad tells her. ‘Don’t worry, love … she’ll calm down.’

  Charlotte sets potato salad, mixed leaves and two quiches on the table and we all sit down to eat, including Shay, who pours juice for everyone as if he is one of the family.

  ‘So, what’s this chocolate business going to be called?’ he asks.

  Dad blinks. ‘Well … good question, Shay. We don’t actually have a name yet. Any
ideas? It has to be something strong, something different …’

  ‘You could name it after me,’ Coco says. ‘Cool Coco.’

  ‘Good one,’ Dad grins. ‘Appropriate too! But what about Skye and Summer and Honey and Cherry? Charlotte too! I’d have to give you all a mention!’

  I am not convinced that being name-checked in the chocolate business would please Honey, but I let this pass.

  ‘How about Kitnor Chocolates?’ Summer offers. ‘Simple and direct.’

  ‘Tanglewood Truffles?’ Skye suggests.

  ‘Good,’ Dad agrees. ‘We need something memorable, something strong. It doesn’t have to be local, though, because we have big ideas for this business!’

  ‘What kind of image are you trying to create?’ Shay asks. ‘Luxury chocolates? Handmade? Organic, fairly traded? You need an image, a gimmick.’

  ‘The gimmick could be unexpected tastes,’ Summer suggests. ‘Beetroot bonbons. Chocolate curry. You could call it Traumatic Truffles …’

  ‘Sickening Sweets?’ Coco grins.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Dad laughs. ‘I think I’ll stick with the edible ones …’

  ‘I liked it when you used to send little boxes of them through the post,’ Skye chips in. ‘That was cool.’

  ‘Oh, that was fun to do,’ I tell her. ‘We used to get card and decorate it with paint and patterns and little messages, then Dad would draw on a template for a box and score along the folds and we’d have this perfect, tiny box for the truffles.’

  ‘And you lined them with gold tissue paper and tied them up with ribbon,’ Charlotte remembers. ‘They were really special … I still have some of the boxes. That would make our product different, Paddy – beautiful little boxes with handpainted designs, tied up with ribbon …’

  Dad’s eyes light up. ‘You’re right – we need a unique look, something different from the things already available in the shops. That could be it! A real artisan product, luxurious and stylish … that’s the message we want!’

  ‘Are you going to sell from shops, or do mail order?’ Shay wants to know. ‘I can just imagine getting a parcel through the post, and inside there’s this really cool little box …’

  ‘… full of beetroot and curry truffles,’ Skye teases.

  ‘Full of beautiful, handcrafted chocolates,’ Dad corrects her. ‘We could get shops to stock us, and sell by mail order too … get a website. Either way, we want to stand out from the crowd, be different, special. And if the chocolates themselves are a little bit different, then the packaging needs to be too …’

  An idea pops into my head, and I just about choke on a mouthful of quiche. ‘That’s what you can call the business,’ I say. ‘The Chocolate Box!’

  ‘The Chocolate Box?’ Dad echoes. ‘I like that.’

  ‘It’s good – simple,’ Charlotte agrees.

  ‘Easy to remember,’ Skye adds.

  Shay grins, and for a moment, his sea-green eyes meet mine. ‘Perfect,’ he says.

  By the time we’ve polished off the quiche and salad, a plan has taken shape.

  The business will be called The Chocolate Box, and Charlotte will start working on a website for it straight away, because she knows about that kind of stuff and runs her own website for the B&B. Dad will start converting the stables and will see the bank next week to talk about getting a loan for the machinery and raw materials. He will order in some gold tissue paper and ribbon and sheets of stiff card in red, pink and black so we can paint them with gold and silver and rainbow paint, adding hearts and stars and little handwritten messages among the patterns.

  ‘I know we’re not ready to make chocolates from scratch just yet,’ Charlotte says. ‘But there’s a Food Festival in Kitnor every August, and we’d be crazy not to take advantage of that. It could get us some useful publicity.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Dad agrees. ‘How do we get involved?’

  ‘They do a Food Trail,’ Charlotte explains. ‘It’s like a map of the area, with all the food businesses marked on it. We could sign up for it … we should just about have time. On that particular day, the whole village is buzzing with tourists, moving from one place to the next, looking at how things are made, buying all this special, carefully crafted food. If we’re a part of that … well, it’d be the best way I can think of to launch the business!’

  Dad’s eyes are shining. ‘We’ll do it,’ he says. ‘The timing will be tight, but you’re right, Charlotte, it’s a chance we can’t afford to miss.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I grin.

  We’re all smiling, clearing up empty plates and collecting up glasses, when an ear-splitting thud of bass starts up above us. It might have been music, once, but it is turned up so loud it is hard to be sure. Right now, it’s more of an assault, an attack, a thumping headache of around a million decibels that shudders through the house and makes the ceiling quiver.

  ‘What the –?’ Dad asks, clapping his hands over his ears.

  ‘It’s Honey,’ Charlotte sighs. ‘Oh, lord, she’s going to deafen the guests, or blow the roof off, or both … I really don’t think my nerves can take this!’

  ‘She’s probably hacked off that I haven’t put in an appearance yet,’ Shay says, guiltily, grabbing up his blue guitar. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll sort it.’

  A minute later the racket is cut off abruptly, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Another disaster has been averted, for now at least.

  Like Rapunzel in the tower, Honey has reeled in her prince, cast her spell … and Shay is lost.

  15

  After the chocolate discussion and the noise war and Shay’s hasty exit, the rest of us head for the squashy sofas in the living room and Charlotte puts on a DVD of a film called Chocolat. ‘You’ll like it,’ she tells me. ‘Trust me … just grab yourself a bit of sofa and settle in …’

  The sofas are huge, like soft velvet islands arranged round a shaggy cream-coloured rug. When you sit down you just sink into them, like you’re sitting on a cloud. They are a long way from the sagging brown corduroy sofa back in Glasgow. Dad and Charlotte snuggle up together on one, me, Skye and Summer on the other. Coco stretches out on the rug, with Fred beside her.

  Shoes are not allowed, of course, but we put our feet up and curl up, and as the film wears on Skye slumps back until she is leaning against her twin, her legs stretched out in my lap. We are a jumble of limbs, a lazy, comfortable, sisterly heap. It makes me smile.

  As for the DVD, it’s awesome. It’s about a mysterious mother and daughter who turn up unexpectedly in this crazy French village and start turning everything upside down with their little chocolate shop. There are river gypsies and chocolate festivals and friendship and feuds and magic, and it makes me believe that we can have a chocolate business, and that it will be a very, very long way from the misshapen Taystee Bars.

  ‘We could have a chocolate festival too,’ I say. ‘For that Food Trail day.’

  Charlotte raises an eyebrow. ‘We could,’ she agrees. ‘We really could. It’s a very, very good idea!’

  ‘Genius,’ Dad blinks.

  ‘The garden would be perfect for it,’ Summer says. ‘We could have stalls and games and chocolate-tasting and chocolate-themed entertainment …’

  ‘We can all help,’ Coco offers.

  ‘Spread the word!’ says Skye. ‘And weave a little magic.’

  Sounds good to me.

  *

  I walk down to the caravan later, Fred at my side. I breathe in the darkness, the cool air folding itself around me like a promise. Silence drips from the treetops like rain, and the fairy lights twinkle and glint, and Fred runs ahead, chasing imaginary rabbits, sniffing through the undergrowth.

  I can see the caravan, a dark, curving silhouette beneath the trees, and then a soft guitar chord breaks the silence and Fred starts barking and I just about jump out of my skin.

  A blond-fringed boy is sitting on the ca
ravan steps, grinning.

  ‘Shay!’ I yelp. ‘What are you doing? Ambushing me and scaring me half to death …’

  Shay Fletcher is easily the most confusing boy I have ever met. When I am with him, my emotions are all over the place … irritation, anger, jealousy … and a whole bunch of other things I daren’t even admit to.

  ‘How am I ambushing you?’ he asks. ‘I was just taking a rest on my way home …’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  He looks guilty. ‘Well, OK, I was waiting for you, but that’s not an ambush, is it? I wanted to talk.’

  ‘Good plan,’ I say. ‘We chat away while your plate-smashing, ear-mangling girlfriend trashes the house and plots how best to strangle me with her bare hands …’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ I sigh. ‘Look, you shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Where should I be?’ Shay asks.

  ‘Somewhere else,’ I say. ‘Anywhere else.’

  He grins. ‘I’m flexible. We could go to the beach, if you like. Paddle in the ocean, watch the stars. But we had a deal, you were telling me your story, I was playing you my songs –’

  ‘It wasn’t a deal!’

  ‘It was,’ Shay insists. ‘A deal between friends.’

  I bite my lip. I know the rules, and Shay is out of bounds. Every teen mag I have ever read is very clear about that. It’s just that I’m finding it hard to remember why the rules are so strict, after what Honey has said to Dad and me. She is mean and sour and spiteful, and she wants us out of here.

  Even after hours of chilling out with Dad, Charlotte, Skye, Summer and Coco, Honey’s words still sting. I don’t think that anything I do could please her … and suddenly, I am tired of trying so hard.

  If I were friends with Shay … just friends … would that be so wrong?

  ‘Maybe,’ I hear myself say, and Shay’s eyes shine.

  ‘Great, I want us to be friends. I like you, Cherry, I really do … you listen to me.’