“Yeah.” I shrug. “As you say, weird date.”
This time, she laughs too.
* * *
The four of us meet up after school as planned. We catch a bus to the station and buy our tickets. Violet is putting on a brave face, and luckily Nick chats with Fraser about video games, so there’s no lag in the conversation.
As the train pulls up to the platform, I squeeze Violet’s hand. She smiles gratefully, and the four of us, plus one tin of macarons, get on the train.
The journey takes an hour. I’ve already filled Nick in on where we’re going and why. I try to join in the conversation between Nick and Fraser, but it’s all kind of awkward. Violet mostly stares out of the window. Fraser glances at her from time to time, looking, I think, a bit terrified. I smile encouragingly and give Nick a little elbow to keep talking.
Eventually, we arrive. The station is busy and confusing, and we have to ask three different guards before we find the right bus stop. By the time we finally do, Violet is looking absolutely green. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this,” I remind her again. “We could go and see a movie or—whatever there is to do around here.”
“I’m fine.” It’s obvious that she’s lying.
“You’re very brave,” I say quietly, so that the others won’t hear.
We get off the bus on a main road that could be anywhere. Just off the main road are some streets of small houses, mostly red brick. Violet leads the way, turning down a road called Primrose Gardens. The houses along it are small with neat front gardens, some with small squares of lawn, others paved, and with minivans and cars in the driveways.
She stops in front of a small house with rough white plaster on the upper floor. There’s a small porch with NO. 14 on it. The front door is framed by two pots of red geraniums. Around the side of the house, there’s a pink tricycle parked next to the recycling bins. There’s a package left on the mat, and no car in the driveway. Whoever’s living there must be out.
“This is it,” Violet says. Her face is pinched and ghostly white.
Now that we’re here, I’ve no idea what we need to do to get her the closure she needs. I reach out and grip Nick’s hand. He gives mine a squeeze, but I can tell he doesn’t have a clue either.
“Should we ring the doorbell and see if anyone’s home?” Fraser says.
Violet shakes her head. Her grip on the tin of macarons loosens a little. “No one’s home,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter. I see that now.”
She plops down on the curb outside the house. Silently, she opens the tin.
I’m not sure what to do, so I sit next to her.
“What flavor would you like?” she says.
“I don’t know…um…mint.”
“Good choice.”
She hands me a green macaron. Nick and Fraser take the hint and sit too—Nick next to me, and Fraser next to Violet. She doles out macarons to them—chocolate for Nick and lavender for Fraser.
“The house looks totally different,” she says, taking a pink macaron from the basket. “It used to be painted gray. And did you see the tricycle? They must have a kid.”
“Yeah.” I’m totally baffled by the sudden change in her attitude and don’t know what to say.
“I remember…” she continues, “…how my mom taught me to ride a bike without training wheels. I was so mad because I thought I couldn’t learn. But I didn’t even know when she let go.” She opens the macaron and licks at the rose-pink filling. “And when we came back inside, Dad made me a big mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and candy sprinkles.” She smiles. “I think that’s why I’ve got such a sweet tooth now.”
“What color was your bike?” Fraser asks. He alone seems unfazed.
“Pink glitter, of course!” Violet giggles. “With silver streamers on the handlebars.”
“Of course!” Fraser laughs.
She passes out more macarons—each one beautiful and tasting so different. I try a strawberry one. The outside is crunchy and the filling is slightly bittersweet. It seems right somehow.
“And did your mom cook?” Nick asks. “Is that where you get your talent from?”
“Well, I don’t know about talent.” Violet’s pale cheeks flush. “But yes, she did. She used to bake bread—on Saturdays. I remember that. It was the best bread ever. Really soft on the inside, with a crisp crust. It took her forever to make it. But she did.” She bites into another macaron, smiling at the memory.
“Which one was your room?” I finally find my voice.
“It was at the back. The walls were yellow, and I had a Disney Princess bed. It was covered with stuffed toys. Mom used to say that there was no room for—”
She stops speaking as a blue car pulls into the drive. A blond-haired woman a little younger than Mom gets out. She doesn’t seem to notice us, but goes around to the back doors of the car to unstrap two small children—a girl with her ginger hair in pigtails, and a boy wearing a football shirt. The mom opens the trunk and takes out two overflowing bags full of groceries. A box of cereal falls out on to the driveway. Nick runs up and hands it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, eyeing him suspiciously. She then notices the rest of us. “Uh, can I help you?” she says.
“No, thanks.” Violet stands. “We were just leaving.” She closes the tin and starts to walk away.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Fraser calls after her. He turns to the woman. “She used to live here,” he says. “She came by to see her old house.”
“Oh, really?” The woman sets down her shopping bags. Nick immediately picks them up and carries them up to the door. “It’s a nice house,” the woman says. “We just moved here—last year. The schools are good. And my mom lives around the corner.”
“Mom, I’m hungry!” the little boy shouts.
“Can we have pizza?” the girl says.
“Sorry, but…” The woman shakes her head, clearly eager to get inside. “I mean, do you want to come in or something?”
Violet turns back to the woman. “No, that’s okay. Really. I’ve seen what I need to see.” A spark seems to have returned to her eyes. “And I think someone’s hungry!”
She winks at the two small children.
“Were you eating cookies?” the boy asks her.
“Oh…maybe.” Violet grins.
“Mom, can we have a cookie after dinner?”
“I don’t know…we’ll see.” The woman unlocks the door. The two children run inside. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
“I’m sure.” Violet grabs my hand and squeezes it. I’m not quite sure what has—or hasn’t—happened, but I know she means it.
“Okay.” The woman doesn’t quite manage to hide her relief. She’s obviously got her hands full without uninvited visitors. She lifts the groceries inside the door. “Well, goodbye then.” She smiles at Violet and closes the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go inside, Violet?” Fraser looks a little distressed. “I mean, she said you could—at least for a few minutes. To see your room or whatever.”
“Really, it’s okay.” She rests her hand lightly on his arm. “I’ve got what I came for. I can’t really explain it, but I feel a lot better. I mean, there’s a new family in the house now. That’s a good thing, I think. Now they can have happy memories there too.”
“Okay…” Fraser hesitates.
“But there is one thing. Scarlett, do you think you can spare this tin?”
I smile, knowing exactly what she wants to do.
“I think I can.”
I take the tin from her hand, and go up to the front door. I leave it on the mat and ring the doorbell. Then the four of us run off down the road and out of sight.
Chapter 28
Turning a Corner
As we stand at the bus stop waiting for the bus, none of us re
ally speaks. Nick and Fraser look a little shell-shocked, but I sense that for Violet, a kind of peace has set in.
“Is there anything else you want to do?” I say softly, so only she can hear.
“Yeah.” She grins. “I want to go home.”
I nod, smiling too. I guess that by coming here to her old house, she’s turned a corner. Some of her memories are painful, but there are happy ones too. Maybe today has helped her see that—that for her, closure is about seeing the whole picture, not just the bad stuff. And maybe that’s what I need to do too—with Dad, and Mom. So many times I’ve wished I had a recipe to deal with all the changes; all the things I can’t control. But I know that doesn’t exist. One thing I can do is face up to things the way Violet’s done. Knowing that, though, doesn’t make it a lot easier to do in reality.
We’ve already got our return tickets, so when we reach the station, the four of us go through the barrier to wait on the platform. I look up at the board—the train’s delayed by forty-five minutes due to a signal failure.
“Bad luck,” Fraser says, pacing a few steps down the platform.
“Yeah,” I say.
Violet looks up from the screen of her phone. “Um, Scarlett?” she says. “You told your mom where you were going, right?”
“Not exactly,” I say. My stomach knots. Coming here today might have helped Violet ditch her bag of worries—but now I feel like it’s me who’s carrying the extra weight.
Nick, who also has his phone out, takes it away from his ear. “She seems a little upset,” he answers for Violet. “I got a text and a couple of voicemails. Did you forget your phone?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I guess I did.”
Violet raises her eyebrows. She knows good and well that I’m never without my phone and must have “forgotten” it on purpose. Which isn’t exactly true. After last night—the fight with Mom, the thrown ring, the message from Producer Poppy, and the email to Dad—I plugged it in next to my bed to charge. And this morning, I “managed” to leave it behind. One meeting with Producer Poppy—sorted.
“You’d better listen to her messages.” Violet holds out her phone. I take it, and press the play button.
In the first message, Mom just sounds annoyed:
Violet—have you seen Scarlett? She’s supposed to be at a meeting at the TV station. Right now.
In the second, the annoyance is mixed with concern:
Violet—Scarlett’s phone is in her room. I don’t know where she is. I’ll try Nick too. Call me if you’ve seen her.
And in the third, it’s genuine concern:
Violet? Are you there? Why are none of you answering? I’m worried. We had a bit of a fight last night. If I don’t hear from her by six, I’m calling the police.
I check my watch. Five minutes to six. I dial her number. It immediately goes to voicemail.
“Hi, Mom,” I say. “I’m fine. You don’t need to call the police. Sorry I missed the meeting—I umm…forgot.”
My three friends are looking at me. I end the call.
“Sounds like you’re in trouble,” Nick says, his grin mischievous.
“I was supposed to meet Producer Poppy.” I take a breath. “I didn’t want to say anything, but she didn’t like the idea of the whole club being on TV. Something about it being too much work for the TV station. I need to convince her. But I’ve…well…kind of been avoiding the whole thing.”
Nick brushes my hand lightly. I feel a spark jump between us. “Look, Scarlett. This TV thing isn’t worth getting stressed about. It would have been fun, but it’s really no big deal.”
“But Gretchen…”
“…will get over it,” Violet finishes.
Fraser nods. “We can still do the menu. For something else. My sister is getting married next year. Maybe we can surprise her with a spread from the Secret Cooking Club.”
“Maybe.” Violet smiles at him, her eyes melty.
“Thanks,” I say. “But I’m not giving up that easily. I will call her and get this sorted out.”
A notice flashes up on the board—the train is delayed by another thirty minutes.
“We’d better get comfortable,” Fraser says. He points to the waiting room, and we all troop inside to sit down. When, at six o’clock, Mom still hasn’t called back, I borrow Nick’s phone and try calling her again. Once again, I get her voicemail.
I decide to try Em-K. The phone rings several times, and just as I’m waiting for the click of voicemail, he answers.
“Emory Kruffs,” he answers in his deep politician voice. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, Em-K, it’s me.”
“Scarlett! Where are you? Your mom’s frantic.”
“Sorry!” I say. “I left my phone at home. I’m…uh…we’re at the train station.” I tell him where.
“Your mom’s out driving around looking for you. She’s called all your friends. Your dad too. How could you be so inconsiderate? She…” he hesitates, “…she thought you’d run away.”
“Run away? No!”
“She said you and she had a fight.”
“That was last night!” I protest. “Sorry, Em-K. Really I am. But I promised Violet I’d go with her to…” I glance over at my friend, “…never mind. Anyway, we’re at the station now but the train is delayed.” I look up at the board. It’s now showing a fifty-three-minute delay. But just then, the announcer comes over the loudspeaker. I am sorry to announce that the 5:55 p.m. train is canceled.
“Um, actually, it’s canceled,” I say.
He gives a long sigh. “I guess I’ll have to come and get you then.”
“Would you? That’d be great.”
“I should be there in forty-five minutes, depending on traffic. Get yourself some dinner—I’ll pay for it. Because when you get home, I don’t think anyone’s going to feel like cooking.”
“Sure,” I say warily. “Thanks.”
I end the call, knowing that I’m seriously in the doghouse. But part of me feels good as well. That I’ve got someone like Em-K to look out for me.
“Let’s go and get some dinner,” I say. “Em-K’s paying. He’s coming to get us.”
“Good,” Nick says. “I’m starving.”
Chapter 29
Another Fight
I’m expecting to be in deep trouble when I get home. It’s almost eight thirty by the time Em-K has dropped off my friends and we pull up outside our house. In the car, we told him all about where we went, and why. He seemed more proud of us than angry (though he did give me a talking-to for worrying Mom, which is fair enough, I guess).
When the two of us come into the house, Mom is standing at the door like she’s been waiting for us there the whole time (though I can hear the sound of the TV coming from the front room). “Scarlett,” she says, giving me a hug. “I was so worried.”
“Sorry, Mom,” I say. “I forgot my phone.”
Ignoring me, she looks at Em-K. “You sure took your time.”
A wounded look crosses his face. “I had to drop off the other kids,” he says.
Mom holds up her hand. “I’m not even going to ask.” She turns back to me. “Your dad and I were frantic with worry.”
“Dad?” The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. I look again at Em-K. His lips form a thin line.
“Well, of course,” she says, frowning. The good feeling she’s had at seeing me back is obviously starting to wear off. “Your dad loves you. He wanted to call the police. I told him you’re sensible and wouldn’t do anything foolish.”
“That’s right, Mom, I wouldn’t.” I turn to Em-K. “I’m sorry you had to spend your whole evening getting us. Can I put the kettle on for you?”
He looks questioningly at Mom. “Claire?”
“Go on, the pair of you.” She shakes her head, clearly exasperated. “I�
�m going up to bed. This has all just been one more thing I don’t need.”
Em-K turns to me. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d better be going.” There’s hurt and anger in his voice.
With a disinterested shrug, Mom stalks back into the front room without saying goodbye. Em-K and I stand there without moving as she calls Dad. She tells him that I’m home, and I’m expecting her to end the call. But she doesn’t.
“Bye, Scarlett.” Em-K turns and opens the front door. “Sleep well.”
My throat wells up. “Thanks, Em-K,” I say. “See you soon.”
He doesn’t answer or look at me as he goes out of the door.
* * *
I stand there in the hall, feeling like I’m on the edge of a tall building, looking over the edge. In the other room, Mom is still on the phone with Dad. They talk for what seems like forever, and whatever he says makes her laugh. I can’t listen anymore. I go into the kitchen and boil the kettle to make some instant hot chocolate. No matter how “worried” Mom and Dad were about me, it’s Em-K who came to get us, and he’s the one who Mom will barely even talk to. It strikes me that maybe Mom is making history repeat itself. No wonder Dad left if he was being treated like that.
Eventually, Mom comes into the kitchen. Now that there’s no one else around, her worry has turned to irritation. “Never do that again, Scarlett,” she says icily.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I grip the hot cup tightly in my hand. The last thing I want is another fight.
“I spoke with Poppy. She wants you in the studio on Sunday to do the filming. And I don’t want to hear that you’re hanging out with your friends, or visiting old people’s homes, or whatever. I’ll drive you there myself.”
“Sunday! But that’s only two days—”
Ignoring me, Mom leaves the kitchen, slamming the door. I push my cup away—there are some things that even hot chocolate can’t fix.
Cake and Confessions Page 13
