Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel

by Cathy Cassidy

  The sight of this is enough to put a smile back on my face, briefly at any rate.

  ‘So this is what you get up to when we’re at school then?’ I tease.

  ‘Oh, Coco, love, we’re celebrating!’ Mum laughs. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened!’

  ‘Don’t tell me – your three-month wedding anniversary?’ I suggest. ‘A lottery win?’

  ‘As good as,’ Paddy says in his cool Glaswegian accent. ‘We’ve only gone and landed a major order from the Miller-Brown chain of department stores! They received my samples on Monday, and they really loved them. They’ve offered us the chance to supply fifty of their top stores with the option to expand into all of them if our chocolates do well …’

  ‘And they will do well,’ Mum laughs, taking another champagne glass from the cupboard, filling it up with pink lemonade from the fridge and handing it to me. ‘They will do brilliantly because they are the best truffles in the entire universe and now everyone will get the chance to know that!’

  I clink my glass against theirs. ‘Was my truffle in the box of samples?’ I want to know. ‘The one named after me?’

  ‘Well, of course,’ Paddy says. ‘All the chocolates you girls have inspired were in the box. Marshmallow Skye and Summer’s Dream and Cherry Crush and Coco Caramel. There’s even one called Sweet Honey, although your big sister says she doesn’t like chocolate …’

  I’m not so sure about that. My big sister likes chocolate all right, she just doesn’t like Paddy.

  ‘The buyers at Miller-Brown loved them, though,’ he continues. ‘The whole concept – the taste, the names, the packaging, the fair-trade angle … all of it. This order is big. It could take us off the breadline and into profit! It’s epic!’

  I blink. I wonder just how much profit a big order like that could bring in? The seed of an idea forms in my mind, growing quickly.

  Caramel is for sale. Well, OK, that’s my fault, kind of – but maybe, just maybe, if we could actually buy her, the story might still have a happy ending. It’s not such a crazy thought, surely?

  The possibilities bubble up inside me, sweeter than pink lemonade.

  8

  I bite my lip. ‘Are we going to be rich?’ I ask. ‘Will we have lots of money?’

  ‘Rich? Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ Paddy says. ‘We should be able to pay off our business loans, at any rate.’

  Ah. Business loans. I had forgotten about them.

  ‘We might just have enough to stretch as far as a takeaway curry,’ Mum teases. ‘By way of celebration. And perhaps we can let the B&B run down a little and turn Tanglewood back into a real family home.’

  ‘Right,’ I check. ‘That’s great. But … not enough to buy a pony, say?’

  ‘A pony?’

  ‘Mum, the stables are selling Caramel!’ I explain. ‘It’s all my fault, and I thought that if we could just buy her …’

  Mum holds her hands up. ‘Whoa, whoa, a minute,’ she says. ‘Three things, Coco. First of all, if that pony is sold on it won’t be your fault – she was clearly not suited to be a riding school horse. Second, no, I’m really sorry, but we won’t have that kind of money – we don’t have any money yet; we have to send the orders out first! Third … well, if we did have the cash to buy a pony, I certainly wouldn’t choose Caramel. She’s already thrown you once. I don’t think she’s trustworthy!’

  ‘She is!’ I wail. ‘She is the best pony in the whole world, and if we could just save her … Mum, I want this more than anything! It could be all my birthday and Christmas presents from now right up until I die, I swear! Please!’

  ‘Coco, listen –’

  ‘Will you think about it? Please?’ I beg. ‘Just consider it? Maybe we could pay Jean and Roy in instalments? You know I’ve always wanted a pony, and I love Caramel, I really do! I will never, ever ask for anything again, truly.’

  A look passes between Mum and Paddy, a quiet, thoughtful look that sets my heart racing. Maybe they really will consider it?

  ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Mum says. ‘It’s a huge decision, and there are all kinds of reasons why now is not the right time for it, and really, you know yourself that Caramel is not the kind of pony I’d choose. So we’ll think about it, yes; we’ll talk about it; but that’s all. Don’t get your hopes up, Coco, I am not promising anything.’

  I grin. ‘Thank you, Mum!’ I whoop. ‘Thank you, Paddy!’

  I clink glasses with them again, cranking up the volume on Mum’s iPod, so happy I think I might burst. OK, Mum hasn’t said yes … but she hasn’t said no either. All is not lost!

  Mum starts to dance again, taking me by the hand and dragging me up as well. The three of us are strutting our stuff to Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ when Cherry, Summer, Skye and Honey come in from school. Their faces are serious, and they are all clutching big brown envelopes.

  I remember what Cherry said about the high school reports being out today, and I have a strong feeling that the happy mood is about to crash.

  Mum and Paddy launch into the story of the big order again, pouring more pink lemonade, failing to notice the serious faces. My sisters go along with it all, asking about the order, congratulating Paddy, talking of fame and fortune and chocolate-flavoured world domination.

  Only Honey is silent. She waits for as long as she can bear, then flings her report down on the tabletop as if throwing down a challenge.

  ‘Look,’ she says. ‘Better get it over with. It’s report day – I mean, I know it won’t be good, but I have been trying a lot harder, so …’

  Mum and Paddy are serious suddenly, sitting down at the table, slicing open the envelope. Skye is chewing her lip, Summer is studying the ceiling and Cherry looks like she’d rather be anywhere, anywhere at all, than here.

  Honey seems more relaxed than any of us, perched on the kitchen table, helping herself to an apple from the fruit dish as if she hasn’t a care in the world. I can’t help admiring her confidence.

  To be honest, I am a little surprised she has shown her face at all because she must know exactly what’s in that school report. Perhaps it’s like she says, and she just wants to get the whole thing over with?

  Mum frowns as she scans the first page, leafing through, studying each sheet in turn. Paddy is reading too, and finally, after the longest few minutes in the history of the world, Mum shakes her head and puts the report booklet down.

  ‘Well … what can I say?’

  ‘Is it OK?’ Honey asks, still crunching apple. ‘Have I improved?’ Her jaw-length blonde hair falls across her face and her eyes look anxious, hopeful.

  Mum laughs. ‘Honey, it’s more than OK,’ she says. ‘It’s … well, it’s an excellent report! The best report you’ve brought home since primary school. Well done! I am so pleased – I knew you could do it!’

  Skye catches my gaze, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Something doesn’t feel quite right here.

  ‘Much improved attitude,’ Paddy reads out. ‘Working hard to make up for lost time; bright, helpful, a pleasure to have in class … this is terrific, Honey!’

  My big sister shrugs and slides off the tabletop. ‘Well, that’s me off the hook then,’ she laughs. ‘How about you guys? Time to face the music?’

  As Skye, Summer and Cherry hand over their school reports, I cannot help myself – I lean across and look at the top page of Honey’s report because I seriously don’t believe what I am hearing.

  And there it is in black and white, printed out and signed by the school principal; Attendance: 100 per cent.

  Skye, Summer and Cherry have all brought home reasonable reports, and mine came h
ome before the October break and that was OK too. There is no doubt about it, though – Honey’s report steals the show. My off-the-rails sister has turned model pupil overnight, just in time for her GCSE year.

  ‘Looks like I got it wrong,’ Skye whispers as I collect my violin, pull on my panda hat and slip outside to practise. ‘Maybe my art teacher had Honey mixed up with someone else?’

  I shrug, but personally, I cannot see how. Art is the only subject Honey actually enjoys, so the art teachers know her better than most – and let’s face it, whatever else she may be, my big sister is not forgettable. Still, you cannot argue with a school report, can you?

  I sit in my oak tree, leaning back against the trunk, playing jiggy tunes on my old violin. The branches are getting bare now, so I can see the blue sky darkening to velvet black. Paddy has rung down to the village for a takeaway curry feast, and everyone is hopeful because Summer said she really fancied pakoras and mango chutney, and maybe that is a sign that things are getting back to normal for her too.

  Really, it’s a night for celebration. A big order from a nationwide department store – that could mean real success for Mum and Paddy’s business. And maybe Honey really is getting her act together and will scoop a whole bunch of A* grades at GCSE? Who knows.

  I’ll believe it when I see it.

  All I can think about is the chance of putting things right for Caramel and actually, finally, having a pony of my own. Mum and Paddy might be talking about it right now, Mum setting the kitchen table, pouring more champagne and pink lemonade. They will want to know more about Caramel, of course. They will want to know whether she can be trained, trusted, relied upon. They will want to talk to Jean and Roy about prices and check with the farmer who owns the land next to us if we can rent one of the fields for grazing.

  Still, all of that could happen.

  I imagine shopping for saddles and bridles and horse blankets, wonder whether Humbug the sheep will be willing to share stable space. By the time the first stars come out between the branches and the little blue van from the Bengal Rose Takeaway chugs into the driveway to deliver our celebration feast, I am fizzing with happiness, with hope.

  9

  I manage to steer clear of Lawrie Marshall for the rest of the week at school. OK, so he thinks I’m spoilt and selfish and to blame for Caramel being sold. So what? Why should I care what he thinks? Maybe he is upset about Caramel, but he’s still a lowlife bully.

  Besides, I am hopeful that Mum and Paddy will make a decision about Caramel soon. I’ve been nagging Mum to ring the riding stables, but she says it’s not something that can be decided overnight, and that she’d need to be reassured that it would be possible to train Caramel to be calmer, less jumpy.

  Still, the fact that she is actually considering it is good enough for me. I plan to apologize to Jean and Roy about what happened last week, then let them know that we are interested in buying Caramel. Hopefully, they will talk to Mum about it when she comes to pick me up after class – once she actually meets Caramel I am pretty sure she will be as smitten as I am.

  I am early as usual on Friday, and luckily there is no sign of Lawrie Marshall, although a big, shiny, silver four-wheel drive with a horsebox hitched to it is parked right across the yard. I head in towards the loos to get changed, and as I pass the office I notice a tall, sharp-faced man in a tweedy brown suit is in there talking to Jean and Roy. He looks kind of posh in a country landowner kind of way, but there is a cold, no-nonsense look about him. He is probably some kind of country vet or a salesman selling saddles and horse blankets.

  As I pass, his eyes skim over me then slide away, unimpressed.

  When I emerge five minutes later to stack my rucksack and school clothes in a locker, the tweedy guy is still there. This is very annoying because I need to apologize and tell Jean and Roy that we might be able to buy Caramel, as long as they don’t need to sell her in a hurry. Whatever they are talking about must be important. Still, I suppose it delays the dreaded moment of having to say sorry for pulling the wool over Kelly’s eyes and trying to convince the stable’s bosses that I should be Caramel’s new owner. I’ll have to explain after my ride.

  Out in the yard, there is still no sign of Lawrie and I allow myself to wonder if he has switched his days at the stable to avoid me. Better still, maybe he’s been sacked?

  Kelly has saddled Bailey, a quiet strawberry roan, for me. Bailey is the slowest, stodgiest pony at Woodlands – you could send your ninety-three-year-old great-granny out for a ride on him and she’d probably complain he was too dull. Still, I know better than to argue this time as Kelly hands me the reins.

  ‘Have you seen Lawrie?’ she asks me as I swing up into the saddle.

  ‘Sorry, no …’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Kelly frowns. ‘He could at least have called in if he wasn’t going to turn up for work. He seemed so keen, but … obviously not.’

  Not sacked then. Yet.

  Kelly leads out Strider, one of the bigger ponies, mounting neatly before nudging him forward so she can unhook the gate.

  ‘Jean and Roy wanted Lawrie to bring Caramel down to the paddock, but I expect they’ll manage themselves,’ Kelly sighs. ‘Let’s go. It’s just us today – the Dempsey kids have chickenpox, Jake’s at the dentist and Courtney and Jenna are at a party, so … nice and quiet! I thought we’d take a hack through the woods.’

  ‘I can take Caramel down to the paddock if you like,’ I offer. ‘I don’t mind! I could fill in for Lawrie if you need me to, instead of a lesson. Or, if Lawrie’s quit –’

  ‘Not a chance,’ my instructor says firmly, waiting for me to walk Bailey through the gate before closing it behind me. ‘Lawrie will turn up at some point, and your mum has paid for this lesson so a lesson is what you’ll get. Jean and Roy have made it clear they don’t want you anywhere near Caramel – you weren’t exactly truthful with me last week about being allowed to ride her, were you?’

  I hang my head.

  Kelly leads us down into the woods, Strider picking his way.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, falling into place behind her. ‘About last week. I really didn’t mean to get you into trouble – I was trying to help Caramel, show that she could be good and quiet and steady. She’s my favourite pony – we have this special bond, you know? I was trying to make sure she stayed at Woodlands.’

  ‘Things didn’t quite work out then, did they?’ Kelly sighs.

  ‘Don’t,’ I groan. ‘Caramel is up for sale, and it’s all my fault!’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ Kelly shrugs. ‘It probably would have happened anyway. She’s always been a “problem” pony, and there’s no room for difficult horses in a riding school. Jean and Roy just can’t take the risk.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got a plan,’ I say, reining Bailey into step alongside her. ‘I’ve asked my mum, and guess what? I think we’ll probably be buying Caramel!’

  Kelly looks surprised. ‘Seriously? Your mum said that?’

  I bite my lip. ‘Not exactly,’ I hedge. ‘She said she’d think about it. Possibly. Maybe …’

  Kelly rolls her eyes, and in that moment she reminds me of my big sisters. I know she’s laughing at me.

  ‘Possibly?’ she echoes. ‘Maybe? That doesn’t sound too definite!’

  ‘It will be,’ I protest as the ponies move steadily through the trees, hooves crunching down on twigs and dried leaves beneath. ‘I’m working on her. I am pretty sure I can talk her round.’

  ‘This is a pony we’re talking about, Coco, not a new computer game!’ Kelly says. ‘You can’t just nag your mum and hope she gives in. It’s a huge undertaking, a real commi
tment.’

  ‘I know!’ I insist. ‘Of course! I am a hundred per cent committed!’

  Kelly looks at me, and her eyes reveal a mixture of sadness and pity and exasperation. I know what she’s thinking – it’s what people always think. That I’m too young, too silly; not to be taken seriously.

  ‘I honestly don’t think it’ll happen,’ Kelly says kindly. ‘For all kinds of reasons. Caramel is a challenging pony – I know you love her, and you do have a good connection with her, but you’ve seen yourself how unpredictable she can be. She needs an experienced owner. Jean and Roy would never sell her to a novice rider, even if your mum really did want to buy her.’

  ‘I’ll talk to them,’ I argue. ‘I’ll apologize, explain. I might not be the best rider in the world, but … Caramel deserves a home where she’ll be loved. They have to give me a chance, Kelly!’

  ‘Coco, I hate to tell you, but I think you’re too late,’ she says. ‘It’s already sorted – that bloke in the office is almost certainly going to buy her.’

  A sharp pang of grief shoots through me, dulling to a sad, heavy ache. I’m too late. Caramel is being sold.

  ‘Is there anything I can do or say to stop it?’ I plead.

  ‘Doubtful,’ Kelly sighs. ‘It’s probably for the best, you know. Mr Seddon has trained horses before, and he knows what he’s taking on – he’ll get her settled down. He’s rich – he’s got a big house with paddocks and stables out Hartshill way. Don’t worry, she’ll have a good life.’

  I’m not so sure. I didn’t like the look of the posh, tweedy bloke – he seemed too sharp, too cold, his lips a thin, hard line. Besides, if he buys Caramel, I will never see her again.

  My eyes well with tears and Kelly, panicking, distracts me with a sharp burst of rising trot and a long canter across the meadows that edge the woods. Later, as we trek back through the trees towards the stable-yard gate, we see the shiny, silver four-wheel drive move out slowly, towing the horsebox.