Caramel Hearts

by E. R. Murray

  “Hurry up – we haven’t got all day!” says Zadie, arms crossed and foot tapping.

  Gently, Sarah teases out a small lock of hair and mouths “sorry” as she cuts. I give a single slow blink to show I understand. It also helps me to hold back the tears.

  “Is that it? That’s hardly teaching the ginger pig a lesson! More!” cries Lorna.

  Lorna’s not even looking at me. Her eyes are on Mad Dog, making sure she’s saying the right thing.

  Sarah takes another, larger chunk of hair, and snips again. It falls to the ground in wisps, like smoke. I hold my breath, hoping that’s enough, but I doubt Sarah’s halfhearted efforts will satisfy the gang. Mad Dog straightens to her full height, a triumphant look on her face.

  “OK girls, scissors out!” she orders.

  To my horror, every one of them except Emma has a pair of scissors hidden. They round on me and start grabbing at my hair, pulling and twisting and cutting. I flinch and cry out. There’s no way you can act hard with scissors so close to your face. I try to protect my head with my arms, but it’s no use. Someone pushes me to the ground, pulling my arms behind my back, so I shove my face into the dirt for protection. It smells of mud and grass and fear. When there’s a pause, I glance up to see Sarah’s shoes turn and run. Those times I abandoned Sarah – I had no idea how lonely it felt. I want to run too, but I stay put. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I’m pressed so tightly to it, I imagine it almost possible.

  The crowd of boys arrives on the scene, along with a few girls. Maddy no longer seems to care about attracting attention. She seems to be enjoying being in the limelight.

  “Remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No argument must lead you astray,” Mad Dog calls out, quoting from Animal Farm. “Keep going till I tell you to stop!”

  As instructed, the girls start cutting again, growing more feverish in their efforts as the seconds – which seem like hours – tick by. My hair tumbles to the ground in chunks. The scissors snag again and again, and it feels like I’m being torn apart by giant birds. I wonder if the torture will ever end. As hot tears drip down my face, I feel wet mud smear my cheeks.

  “I didn’t know pigs could cry!” yells Mad Dog.

  Zadie stops, seemingly moved by the tears, but Maddy and Lorna keep going.

  “I think you should stop now,” says Emma in a weak voice.

  “Yeah, she’s had enough,” adds Zadie.

  A few of the onlookers wander off, but some stay to watch as Maddy sticks the boot in for good measure. Winded, I cough and splutter, holding my stomach. Over the embarrassing sounds I’m making, I hear a voice call out, “Oi! Pack it in!”

  Mad Dog makes a strange whimpering sound and backs away, Lorna quickly following. When I catch my breath and dare to peek, I see Jack, his eyes sparkling with fire.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he says. “Get away, all of you!”

  The crowd disperses. Only Maddy and her friends stand their ground.

  “We’re teaching the pig a lesson. Animals need to be reminded how to behave now and again,” says Lorna, looking to Maddy for backup.

  Only Maddy’s face is flushed bright red and she’s lost for words, unable to look Jack in the eye. Her scissors hang limply by her side as he stares at her icily.

  “The only animals I see here are you lot.” He snatches the scissors from Maddy and snips them a few times in mid air. “Maybe you need a reminder too?”

  My heart is pumping so fast it feels like it’ll burst out of my chest. No one has ever stuck up for me like this.

  “Jack, it’s just a misunderstanding,” blurts out Maddy. “There’s no need for us to fall out.”

  She smoothes her hair and pulls a sweet smile.

  “A misunderstanding? Are you nuts? No wonder people call you Mad Dog behind your back.”

  Maddy’s face crumples, but she composes herself quickly.

  “That’s just people being mean. I haven’t done anything to…”

  But she can’t even finish her sentence. The evidence is clear. She’s been found out.

  “I can’t believe I always defended you,” says Jack, shaking his head. “I should have listened… Come on, Liv.”

  As he helps me to my feet, Maddy looks from Jack to me and screws her face into a scowl.

  “You can’t be serious…” she says.

  She lunges at me, but Jack reaches out and snips the scissors in her direction, catching a few stray ends. The blonde strands whirl on the breeze, feather-like. Sweat glistens on Maddy’s cheeks, dampening her hair so it sticks to her face. Her mascara has smudged, and a small trickle of black runs from the edge of one eye. I think – not so attractive now, are we? – but I’m careful not to be caught looking.

  “I’ll get you for this, Jack Whitman. When my father hears about it, he’ll—”

  “What?” asks Jack.

  “He’ll see that you get hurt. Real hurt.”

  Jack just shakes his head pityingly and wraps his arm around my shoulder to lead me away.

  Mad Dog’s eyes glass over. The corners of her lips quiver and she looks close to tears, but manages to hold it together. I’d feel sorry for her if she hadn’t just tried to scalp me.

  “Don’t think this is finished,” she says, and spits at me. “You’d better watch your back.”

  “I’ll be watching it for her,” says Jack.

  My heart is still thumping as Mad Dog and her gang stomp off, quickly disappearing out of view. I reach up to my scalp to check the damage and can’t help gasping. There are clumps of hair sticking out all over and a glob of Mad Dog’s spit coats my fingers. I burst into tears – snot running down my face and everything. Jack tightens his grip around me, and helps me away from the scene.

  “It’s 19 Box Lane, right? Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  I wonder whether he’d been this kind to Mrs Snelling the day that she’d fallen, and the thought makes me sob even more. My head is spinning, so I have to lean on Jack for support. I notice a string of snot has lodged itself on his jacket and discreetly wipe it away.

  When we reach my front door, Jack insists on coming inside.

  “I’m not leaving you until I know you’re OK.”

  “I’ll be fine. Harriet will look after me.”

  “Let’s check she’s in first.”

  Rather than fussing on the doorstep, I decide it’s a good idea to let him in. I’m not giving Pauline the opportunity to grass me up to Mam. But as I try to turn my key in the lock, it jams – there’s a key on the other side. I knock loudly on the door, dreading Harriet’s reaction. There’s no answer, so I knock again. The door swings open a moment later, but it isn’t Harriet. It’s Mam.

  “Sorry about that, sweetie, I didn’t mean to lock you out,” she drawls. She has a burnt-out cigarette stub dangling between two fingers and she’s wasted. I’m too ashamed to look at Jack. “I’ve run away from the circus. I’m home for good!”

  If she notices my tear-stained face or scarecrow haircut, she doesn’t say anything. She sways in the doorway, her eyes glazed and slightly wonky. Then, just when I think it can’t get any worse, she latches onto Jack.

  “Ooh, hello handsome,” she says, and tries to grab his bum.

  I drag her away just in time. She keeps turning back, blowing kisses to Jack and giggling. I wrestle her into the living room and yank the door shut, holding it firm against her pathetic attempts to tug it open from the other side.

  “Quick – upstairs,” I say.

  Jack doesn’t need telling twice.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Monstrosity Staring Back at Me

  “She’ll have a sore head when she wakes up,” whispers Jack, even though Mam’s well out of earshot.

  “She’ll probably start drinking before the hangover kicks in.”

  Why did Mam have to show me up in front of Jack, of all people? And where the hell is Hatty? I don’t even want to know what Jack thinks.
So long as he doesn’t feel sorry for me – I couldn’t bear that. It’s bad enough he has to clean me up because Mam’s out cold.

  I wince as Jack reaches for the comb, dips it into lukewarm water and carefully pulls it through my hair to try and give it some sort of style. It was Jack’s idea – an attempt to soften the blow, so I know I must look a state. My sore scalp is another clear indicator.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. Do you want to take a break?”

  “No, ignore me. No matter how much noise I make, keep going. Until it looks half decent.”

  “I’m not sure I’m helping much… I don’t think I’d make it as a hairdresser. But I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  “Thanks. Ouch! Sorry…”

  “This is one sorry room!” jokes Jack, and we laugh.

  The noise sounds odd. Out of place. Wrong.

  “That’s the best I can do,” says Jack, stepping back. “I’d recommend a trip to the hairdressers as soon as you can.”

  “Now can I see?” I ask.

  “Only if you’re sure you can handle it.”

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I say.

  But I’m wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for the monstrosity staring back at me from the mirror.

  It looks as bad as it felt. There are longish bits dangling over my ears and the back is reasonably untouched, but the front is a mess with tufts sticking up here and there. I’ll never go out in public again. I wouldn’t be seen dead with a mullet.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “Lay low for a few days. Get it all cut short,” suggests Jack.

  “I’ll look like a boy.”

  “You have a nice face so you’ll pull it off. It’ll grow back quickly.”

  Did I hear him right? A nice face? Not pretty or beautiful – but at least it’s a start. I avert my eyes from his gaze in case he can see too deeply inside me.

  “What if they attack me again? It’ll be even worse next time…”

  Jack stays silent. He focuses on drying his hands, taking extra care with the grooves between each finger. When he looks up, his lips and jaw are tight, defining his cheekbones and emphasizing his eyes.

  “I meant what I said earlier. I’ll watch your back.”

  I search out his eyes to see if he’s telling the truth, and lose myself in their warmth. Then I remember that it was talking to Jack that got me into this mess in the first place. I’ll be in even deeper trouble now. I take a step back, creating some distance between us.

  “Are you OK?” asks Jack, following me.

  When I don’t reply, he tilts my face up towards his. He smells spicy, warm. I can’t move. Is he going to kiss me? I hope he tastes as nice as he smells. A yelp of surprise from downstairs interrupts us.

  “Finally, Hatty’s back! She must have found Mam.”

  I run to the door but can’t make myself go through it.

  “Come on,” says Jack, gently. “There’s no point putting it off. She’ll have to see you eventually.”

  Trembling, I follow Jack downstairs. Harriet dashes into the passageway, jittery and breathless.

  “Liv, did you know Mam was home? Why didn’t you…?” She stops when she sees the state of me. “What the hell happened to you? Liv?”

  Her reaction is too much and I dissolve into sobs. Again. Tears cascade down my cheeks and my shoulders shake. I want to stop acting like a baby – at least while Jack is here – but however much I try, I can’t control the emotion. I sense Jack’s presence behind me, can tell he’s explaining things to my sister, but his words are a blur.

  “We’ll phone the police,” says Harriet. “Let them deal with this.”

  “No,” I gasp. “We can’t.”

  “Why not? It’s assault.”

  “Please, Hatty… not the police. If we involve them, they’ll call the Social Services and take me away. I’m OK. Hatty, please!”

  Harriet nods reluctantly. She looks much older than she is.

  “How about Mr Morrelly?” offers Jack.

  I throw him a look of disbelief.

  “Good idea,” says Harriet, tight lipped. “We’ll go to the head teacher. He’ll know how best to deal with it. They can’t get away with this – bloody animals.”

  “No! They’ll get me even worse then.”

  “Your sister’s right,” says Jack, looking at me calmly. “They can’t get away with it. We have to go to Mr Morrelly and tell him what’s happened.”

  “And then what? A slap on the wrist? They’ll kill me!”

  Harriet snorts. “They won’t kill you. They won’t touch you.”

  “You’ll be OK,” says Jack.

  “Really? Where was Old Mozzer today? It’s not safe at school. Mad Dog rules that place. You should know. You’re one of her best mates.”

  Jack winces. “Not any more.”

  But I’m too mixed up to listen – anger, shame, embarrassment and fear rage inside me.

  “Why are you helping me anyway? Where were you when Sarah was getting bullied? Oh yeah, drinking in the cemetery with Mad Dog, not saying a word.”

  “Your friend Sarah? Maddy was bullying her?”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” I snap.

  Jack shakes his head. “I had no idea. But you knew – and you were there too, remember?”

  “Get out!” I yell, not even trying to wipe away my tears any more.

  “You’re upset,” interrupts Harriet. “There’s no need to take it out on your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend. He’s one of them. And just as bad as they are. I’m not going to Old Mozzer and I don’t need your help, Jack. Got it?”

  Eyes downcast, Jack nods. “Got it.”

  Without saying another word, he pushes past us and out of the door, closing it softly behind him.

  “Jack, she didn’t mean it,” Harriet calls after him.

  I put my head in my hands and groan. I squeeze my nails into my scalp, allowing the pain to distract from my thoughts, dissolve them into white fuzz.

  “Oh, Liv – what are we gonna do with you?” says Harriet, trying to pull me into her arms. “It’ll be OK, I promise. It’ll all be OK.”

  But I resist because I know it won’t. I’ve been completely humiliated, I’m dead meat when Mad Dog catches up with me, and Jack will never speak to me again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Something Resembling an Abandoned Nest

  I’m shaking as I lower myself into Pauline’s hairdressing chair.

  “You might have to shave it off,” I half-joke, hoping I’m wrong.

  But Pauline isn’t fazed. She might be a grass, but she’s an awesome hairdresser. She lifts a water sprayer and jiggles it so that the water sloshes around inside noisily.

  “Are you ready?” she asks.

  I nod, crossing my fingers as the lukewarm water mists my hair. It stings when she combs, but I don’t cry out. I’m determined not to buckle. Especially not in front of Pauline – even though she’s kind enough to help me with my hair, she’s still the local gossip.

  “You promise not to mention this to Mam?”

  “Me? I won’t say a word.”

  “I don’t want her getting upset.”

  “It’s OK, you can trust me.”

  I’m not sure I can, but I need her help.

  “How is your mam anyway? She seemed good last time I saw her. Saw a lovely drawing of you.”

  “She’s good,” I say. The automatic reply. And I manage to resist asking whether the drawing was ripped up into pieces.

  “She’ll be home soon, I expect.”

  “Erm… yeah. I guess so.”

  My face colours as I think about Mam, probably sparked out by now, next door.

  “Don’t sound so pleased about it!” chuckles Pauline. As she continues running the comb through my hair, it feels like I’m being scalped. “I guess you’ve got other stuff on your mind right now. Don’t worry, we’ll get you looking tip-top in no time.” Her doughy
face creases with concentration. “And don’t be worrying about those animals. They’ve had enough headspace. Things’ll get better.”

  Staring into the mirror, I’m not so sure. Mad Dog and her gang have done a proper job on me. Now that my hair’s had time to settle, it looks a bit better, but my glossy locks have been replaced by something resembling an abandoned nest.

  “A pixie cut is the only way to go. What do you think?” asks Pauline.

  “You’re the expert.”

  Pauline lifts her scissors and snips at the air. As chunks of hair fall, I realize I’m gripping the arms of the chair, my knuckles turning white with the effort. It’s like it’s happening all over again. I can’t get the sound of the scissors and Mad Dog’s orders out of my head. Pauline is too busy concentrating to notice: time and again she leans in close before stepping back to take a look and snip another few locks. I can’t face watching in the mirror. I close my eyes and count slow, deep breaths. After what seems like hours, I hear the clink of metal against glass as Pauline lays the scissors down and rests her hands on my shoulders.

  “It’s all over. Take a look,” she says.

  Forcing my eyelids open, I gasp. Pauline has used longer bits to cover the most damaged areas and the result is a ruffled pixie cut – there’s no sign of a mullet. Surprisingly, it even suits my face. If the face staring back at me wasn’t my own, I’d say it looked quite lovely. Better than just nice. Jack Whitman.

  “Pop back next door and see what your sister thinks,” says Pauline, brushing me down and removing the protective gown.

  I take my time, growing into my new look with every step closer to the front door. Harriet must have been hiding behind the curtains, waiting, because as soon as I step inside she rushes into the hallway, squealing with relief.

  “Liv, it looks great! It really suits you!” She lifts her hand to ruffle my hair and I flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…” She bites her lip, then smiles. “I know it happened under horrible circumstances – but you look amazing!”

  “Thanks.”

  I should probably accept the compliment more enthusiastically, but my bones ache, my scalp hurts and I’ve a headache like you wouldn’t believe. I just want to stretch out and listen to some Johnny.