Caramel Hearts

by E. R. Murray

  “No. Sorry. It’s not like we’re close.”

  “You looked close enough to me the other night in the cemmy – and tonight, all cosy on the wall. It seems every time I find Jack, you’re there. If I’m treading on toes, just tell me…”

  “No! Honestly. It’s you he fancies,” I say.

  “But I’ve seen how he looks at you. I think he fancies you.”

  “No way,” I say, glancing in his direction.

  He’s busy chatting with his friends. Could Maddy be right – is it possible that Jack fancies me? I look for clues in the curve of his shoulders, the way he laughs. I half expect him to turn towards me, a spark in his eye. A sharp tug on my scalp brings me out of my daydream.

  “He fancies you, not me,” I say.

  “Did he say that?”

  Her voice is hopeful – vulnerable, almost.

  Before I can answer that no, it’s just my perception of events, a look of triumph spreads across her face.

  “Of course he’d fancy me more than you.”

  She lets the plait drop and looks around. Spotting Zadie and a couple of girls I’ve seen around but don’t know, Maddy waves them over. When they join us, Maddy laughs and points at my hair.

  “Who does their hair like that these days?” she says, and the girls look at me like I’m an alien. “And who said you could come here, anyway?”

  The girls look at each other, then to Maddy, then back to me.

  “What?” I say, realizing she means me.

  “It’s invite only – don’t you know?”

  “It’s the shops!”

  “You want to argue with me?”

  Shaking my head, I get to my feet and walk away. I don’t look back towards Maddy, but I can hear the group of girls giggling along with her.

  I sneak a glance at Jack, hoping he’ll notice I’m leaving and run after me, so Maddy has to let me stay. He glances up, gives me a wave, and goes back to chatting with his mates.

  Walking home, I scuff my shoes along the kerb. Sarah’s right – Maddy is a bitch. A Mad Dog. I think of the recipe book, of the cheery voice and lovely treats, and wish I could wrap myself up in its pages. Where is the mam that wrote those recipes, that dreamt those dreams?

  Tucked up in bed that night, the conversation with Maddy plays over and over in my head. I reread the next few recipes and I wrestle my brain for alternative options, but can’t find any: I’ve no money and it’s too embarrassing to go begging to Mrs Snelling again.

  Mad Dog’s right.

  Stealing is the only way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It’s the Least I Can Do after Knocking You Flying

  I stick my head into the school kitchen and make sure the coast is clear. The industrial ovens and refrigerators catch the sunlight and gleam like monstrous fish scales. My legs tremble and I feel like such a wimp.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  No reply. School’s over and the cooks have finished for the day. They’re probably at home now, planning the evening meal for their own families. Something better than the beans on toast I have to look forward to.

  I creep past the ovens and serving counters to the dry goods cupboard. Part of me is hoping someone will turn up so I don’t have to go through with it. I don’t really like stealing, except for the odd essential like eyeliner or lip gloss – but I always take them from big department stores that can afford it. Mrs Snelling was kind to me. Technically, the stuff belongs to the school, so I’m not really thieving from her – but there’s a bad taste in my mouth as I yank open the huge metal door of the cupboard. It gives a loud whoosh and a blast of cool air strikes my face. Checking behind me a final time, I take a deep breath and step inside.

  The larder is the size of a single-decker bus, sectioned off with interlocking metal shelves. It’s filled to the brim with over-sized tins, packets and jars. The spare cooking utensils alone could fill an entire supermarket aisle. Standing in the huge storeroom alone, I realize I’ve never seen so much food. From tinned tomatoes and dried lentils to soy sauce and custard powder, the supplies look like they’re meant for giants, not school kids.

  I quickly set to work in the baking section. Pulling out the freezer bags from home, I ladle porridge oats into one, sugar into another, and separate self-raising and plain flour into a bag each. As the bags fill, I stuff them into my rucksack and search again. After stashing what I need, I can’t stop. There are so many delicious things available, it would be a crime not to take them. Licking my lips, I nick golden syrup, almond slivers, sticky angelica and strawberry-flavoured chocolate chips. I can’t help tasting some of them.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper, as a strawberry chocolate chip melts on my tongue. “That’s divine.”

  When my rucksack is stuffed, I force a wooden spoon into a gap and zip it up. I’m about to leave when I think I hear a bang. I can’t be sure, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, so I wait, listening carefully. When there’s no more noise, I hoist my rucksack onto my shoulder and peep out.

  There’s no one around, but a slouchy blue leather handbag is now sitting on the counter. There’s a purse peeking out of the top. Maddy’s words ring in my ears once more. It’s like fate – too good an opportunity to miss. A clunk sounds from the other room. Someone has gone into the noisy, walk-in freezer at the back, so I make a run for it. Starting off on tiptoe, I make it to the ovens without a hitch. Breaking into a jog halfway across the kitchen, I try to take the purse but it’s jammed tight. Snatching up the handbag without thinking, I’m out of the door and running down the corridor at top speed, my Converse slapping against the tiled floor more noisily than I’d like. I check behind – no one’s following. Yet.

  As I reach the exit, I realize I’ll have to hide the bag. If anyone spots it, I’ll be in big trouble. The alarm will be raised soon enough, and with school not long since over, there’ll be plenty of stragglers around. I don’t know why I had to be so greedy and complicate things. I guess the purse was too enticing. Surely, anyone in my situation would do the same.

  I throw the handbag over my shoulder and position my rucksack on top, but the blue bag keeps slipping down. I have to look like a total loser – putting both rucksack straps on my back – to make sure the handbag is securely wedged. Just as I’m sorted, a shrill cry sounds from the direction of the kitchen. I push open the door and run, full speed, into the schoolyard. As I round the building, I run into something and sprawl to the ground.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going!” I say, like it’s their fault.

  Then my throat turns dry. It’s Jack. Judging from the way he’s wrestling with his huge sports bag, that’s what I ran into.

  “Hey! You again!” he says. “We’ll have to stop bumping into each other like this.”

  He chucks his bag to the ground and stoops to help me up, his brown eyes full of concern. But getting me up isn’t easy. I’m laden down with the baking stuff and can’t move much in case the handbag drops out. I can’t believe I’m wearing my rucksack like a tourist and, when I’m finally up and sorted, I’m so embarrassed I can’t think of anything to say. I just stand there, mouth open.

  “Seriously, are you OK?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I snap.

  I hate the way my voice sounds. Jack’s only being friendly – it’s not his fault Maddy’s jealous or that I’ve got a stolen bag digging into my back.

  “Are you heading home? Box Lane, right? That’s not far from me. I was going to hang out with the gang for a while, but I could walk back with you instead. It’s the least I can do after knocking you flying, right?”

  There is something lovely about the way he says “right” at the end of his sentences. I look into his eyes and notice how thick and pretty his lashes are. Then a cough sounds from behind him. As Jack turns and steps aside, there she is: Mad Dog, smiling sweetly. She gives me an angry glare before tossing her hair over her shoulder and tilting her head coyly.

  “Jack, are you ready?” she asks.
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  “I’m just gonna go home, if that’s all right with you.”

  The words sound more like a statement than a question.

  “But the guys are gonna get some cider from Ali’s off-licence and head to the park. Macca said we could give some to his dog – get it wasted again. It’ll be a laugh.”

  Maddy’s eyes sparkle beneath her heavy mascara. Probably MAC, not crappy Rimmel like I wear.

  “She can come if you like?” adds Maddy.

  I cross my fingers, hoping he turns her down. I don’t want to be in the firing line, and I have a bag to hide.

  “Nah. You go ahead. I’m wrecked after footie, and I’ve got homework to do.”

  Maddy saunters over to Jack and gives him a long, suggestive kiss on his cheek. Then she wraps her arms around him and gives him a hard squeeze. He doesn’t exactly join in, but he doesn’t resist either. I glance behind me as though searching for something, so I don’t look like a perv. When I look back, Maddy pulls away and snorts.

  “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” she teases.

  She winks and blows him a kiss. He seems to like it – I can’t help wondering why he can’t see she’s just being a bitch. Maddy swaggers off towards her friends. Behind Jack’s back, she shoots me an evil glare and runs her finger across her throat. I quickly look away, but it’s pointless. I’m out of favour. And I’m going to pay. I decide to wait for Maddy to leave, in case I make a wrong move and set her off, but the door behind me crashes open and reality hits.

  “Sorry, Jack – I have to go!”

  Running as fast as I can, I hurtle out of the school gates and across the Rec, the wind burning my eyes and throat as I gasp for breath. Feet and heart pounding, I hope that no one sees me legging it across the field, that no one meets Jack and starts asking questions. It’s bad enough that I bashed into him wearing my rucksack geek-style and then ran off for no reason. Jack must already think I’m a total loser. But a thief? Even though he’d never be interested in me, I’d die if Jack knew what I’d done.

  * * *

  As soon as I’m home, I shout hello as I run upstairs, whack on Johnny Cash full blast, and then kneel on my bedroom floor. Blocking my door in case Harriet tries to come in, I rifle through the bag. I dance in time to Johnny, checking one compartment at a time. It really sucks when I open the driving licence and Mrs Snelling’s happy face smiles out – I hadn’t even considered it would belong to her. Hadn’t considered who it would belong to at all. I stop dancing and continue my search. I find cherry lip-salve, tissues, keys and a few utility bills. The purse has exactly £91.80 in it, along with a graduation photo of some guy with ginger hair. Probably Mrs Snelling’s son, judging by the hair.

  I should be ecstatic – I’ve never had so much money, and can buy loads of ingredients now – but deep down, I feel like a right scumbag. I’m no better than the smackhead in the news last week, who clobbered an old lady over the head for a few measly quid. Mrs Snelling helped me when I needed it. If only the bag had belonged to someone else.

  After returning all of its contents to their correct compartments, I throw the bag into my wardrobe and bury it underneath a heap of clothes. I slouch back against the door – why did I have to listen to Maddy? What have I done?

  Chapter Sixteen

  In Full Swing, Marching Up and Down

  “Hey, sorry I m-missed you after school, Liv. I’d have waited longer if I could, but you kn-know how Mam worries. What happened to you, anyway?”

  Sarah looks at me suspiciously – she thinks I sneaked off again.

  “I wasn’t sure about the homework, so I stayed back to ask about it.”

  It’s amazing how fast lies can come out of my mouth sometimes. Sarah raises an eyebrow but I’m ready for her. I roll my eyes dramatically.

  “I know, since when did I care? Hatty’s on my case.”

  “You look knackered.”

  “Thanks! Glad I can count on you for moral support.”

  It’s enough to stop the questions. If I could tell Sarah about the bag, she’d know what to do. But I know how much she hates stealing, and I still haven’t made it up to her properly for ditching her for Mad Dog. I hardly slept a wink last night, worrying – but Sarah can’t bail me out this time.

  “Let’s get school over with. Another day of imprisonment and torture!” I say.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  I give Sarah my best “have you got two heads” look.

  “We’ve got Careers Studies after registration class,” she says. “We’ll see more of Chris today!”

  “You’re obsessed. It’s embarrassing,” I say, turning my face away in case I blush. I wish Jack was in Careers Studies too.

  We giggle the rest of the way to school. When we get there, it’s like a disturbed ant nest. Thousands of pupils in burgundy uniforms swamp the corridors. Our usually calm registration teacher, Mrs Pearl, flaps and fusses as she redirects us to the Main Hall. A whole-school assembly has been called.

  “I wonder what’s up with her,” says Sarah. “Must be something bad.”

  I shrug, dragging my feet, as we follow the others.

  Even though it’s full, the hall is deadly silent. We find a pair of empty chairs with our registration group and sit down. After a while, the whispering starts. Everyone’s looking at each other, wondering what’s going on. What’s happened? Has someone died? But as soon as the head teacher, Mr Morrelly, walks in, everyone shuts up – apart from some moron at the back, who isn’t paying attention. He’ll get it later.

  Mr Morrelly paces at the front of the hall. He’s in full swing – marching up and down, with his arms clasped behind his back.

  “Someone’s in for it,” whispers a lad a few rows behind us.

  I glance at Sarah to see if she’s figured out what’s happening yet, but she’s busy concentrating on the front of the hall.

  Mr Morrelly clears his throat.

  “I’m afraid I have some grave news. As a school, we’ve experienced something terrible. Something shocking.”

  A whisper ripples around the room.

  “Quiet!” calls Mr Morrelly, waiting for silence before continuing in his baritone. “I’m afraid our beloved cook, Mrs Snelling, has been the victim of a terrible crime. Her ankle is broken.”

  I can’t help gasping. I slap my hand over my mouth to hide the noise, but Sarah has already heard. “Oh my god,” she mouths. I feel sweat bead on my forehead as I mouth “I know” back.

  Surely this isn’t anything to do with me.

  “Her injury is the result of a terrible theft,” continues Mr Morrelly, raising his voice to shush us. “Yesterday, at approximately four o’clock, Mrs Snelling returned to the kitchen to check on something for today’s lunch. And some spiteful person – possibly a recipient of that lunch later today – took advantage, and used the opportunity to steal her handbag.”

  A weird noise – a mixture of shock, admiration and disgust – erupts from the others. I shudder and start to burn up. The heat racing through my body makes me feel sick, so I lean forward and take deep breaths to try and make the nausea go away.

  “We are hoping, of course, that this awful attack was not carried out by an Egerton Park pupil. That it was an outside job. Who would want to belong to a school where pupils behave that way? Who’d feel safe coming here if it turns out to be one of our own?”

  A loud murmur travels around the room as he lays it on thick. Sarah glances at me, wide eyed and open mouthed. She could never contemplate doing something like that. Why can’t I be more like her?

  I bunch my fist and dig my nails into the palm of my hand, shoving my arms between my legs so Sarah can’t see. Old Mozzer makes it sound like it was some evil, preplanned attack – something Mad Dog’s dad would be involved in. I feel like shouting, I didn’t hurt her – it was nothing to do with the bag! But thankfully, I’m not that stupid. I sit quietly, listening hard. I want to make sure no one knows I was involved.

  “We would be
grateful,” continues Mr Morrelly, “for any information leading to the resolution of this crime. Mrs Snelling has generously requested that we be lenient to any pupil that steps forward. She has asked for the police not to be involved.” Old Mozzer shakes his head slowly, his face turned to the floor. “She has even offered a cash reward to anyone who brings in evidence that leads to her bag being recovered. The bag contains something very precious, something irreplaceable. What a shame for something like this to happen to someone so kind.”

  An electrified chatter shoots through the pupils. My stomach churns and gurgles loudly, like it’s trying to give me away.

  “Of course, if the perpetrator does not own up, and is found out…” Mr Morrelly’s arm bolts out. His extended index finger seems to point at every one of us. We all shrink back like we’re conjoined, a string of paper dolls. “There will be dire consequences. We’re talking police, suspension – possible exclusion.”

  Pausing, hands clasped behind his back, Mr Morrelly lets the flame that he’s ignited work its way around the room. From Year Seven up to Year Twelve, there are whispers, sniggers and accusing stares. Everywhere, kids plot with their friends against their enemies, preparing lists of suspects. I imagine myself to be invisible and it’s working. Until Jack’s warm, brown eyes search me out. I quickly look away.

  “Attention!” calls Mr Morrelly, satisfied that the message has spread sufficiently. “Thankfully, I also have some good news for you. Something positive has come out of this – something we can all be proud of.”

  The room silences. I exchange confused glances with Sarah, digging my nails deeper into my palm.

  “Jack Whitman, would you come out to the front, please?”

  Again: an excited rumble from the pupils. I hold my breath as Jack shuffles to the front, glowing puce. When he reaches Mr Morrelly, the head teacher grasps Jack’s hand and shakes it hard, like he’s an adult.

  “This young man heard Mrs Snelling’s cries and came to her rescue. Then he had the foresight and kindness to make sure she was as comfortable as possible before contacting the emergency services and alerting me. Can we have a round of applause, please?”