Caramel Hearts

by E. R. Murray

  “Can I make you some dinner?” asks Harriet.

  “No thanks, I think I’ll just go up. Have an early night.”

  “You should eat something.”

  “I’ll have a glass of milk. And one of those cupcakes I made.”

  As Harriet follows me into the kitchen, she says, “Your hair is very Emma Watson.”

  I check her face to see whether she’s joking, seeing as Emma is one of my icons. I’m feeling pretty good, when I realize something is missing. Glancing at the sofa, there’s a dent in the cushions where Mam should be sleeping.

  “Is she in bed?” I ask.

  “No, but it’s OK. She went for a walk to clear her head.”

  “You’re joking – you let her go out? You know what’ll happen!”

  Harriet rubs her palms down her hips, turning her back to the sofa.

  “She was really, really sorry, Liv – and she promised… she promised she’d come straight back.”

  Harriet actually sounds convinced.

  “How long ago was that?” When my sister checks her watch and refuses to reply, I lose it. “Hatty, you’re an idiot!”

  “I told her about the Social Services visit. She understands that she has to go back to the Centre. She even said she wanted to.”

  “Then what’s she doing here in the first place? She’ll say anything when she wants more booze. Hatty, how could you be so stupid?”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “It’s a fact and you know it. Once again, it’s all about her.” I point at my hair. “No one gives a toss about me.”

  “I know you’ve been through hell, but acting like a spoilt brat won’t help,” says Harriet.

  I know I’m being a tad childish, but how else am I meant to react? Mam will let us down like she always does, and I’m the one that will suffer. Hatty will run back to Edinburgh and I’ll go into care. Hatty’s safe, no matter what. In fact, it would probably be better for her if I did get put away. Just like her stupid friend Robin suggested.

  “Look, don’t worry. She’ll come back. We’ll have supper and then we’ll get her back to Ashgrove House.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll ask Pauline if I can borrow her car.”

  “You don’t even have your licence.”

  “The provisional is enough. Pauline always says yes – and she doesn’t have to know why.”

  “Will they take Mam back?” I ask.

  “They will, I’m sure,” says Harriet, sounding anything but.

  Memories of my brief stay in foster care flash through my mind, and my heart feels ripped in two. I fight really hard to keep a lid on my feelings. I’m not a kid any more. I’ve got to show Hatty I can deal with stuff sensibly, so she’ll want to stick around.

  “I think they’ve got to take her back,” continues Hatty. “Anyway, she’ll be sober by then. We’ll come up with a story. It’ll be fine.”

  But the vein pulsing in Harriet’s temple betrays her fear.

  “I’m coming with you. To make sure it goes smoothly,” I say.

  “I don’t see why not,” she says. “You’ve got as much right as anyone to be there.”

  “That’s right,” I say.

  I realize she’s trusting me and treating me like an adult, so I shut up. Better to end on a high than embarrass myself, like I did arguing with Jack. I tell myself not to go there and pretend to stare out of the window instead.

  “Well, now that’s all sorted, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” says Harriet. “I vote pizza for dinner.”

  Suddenly, a glass of milk and a cupcake doesn’t seem that appealing. I check the freezer and shake my head.

  “The pizza’s my treat,” says Hatty. “After the day we’ve had we deserve it. I can use a bit of my emergency money.”

  For the first time since I was attacked, I smile – genuinely. It’s good to know I still can.

  “Can I have pepperoni and jalapenos, with extra cheese?”

  * * *

  It’s almost midnight and Harriet is pacing the living room like a trapped zoo animal. “Where the hell is she?” she mutters frantically.

  “I told you!” My stuffed belly starts churning. So much for an early night. “I told you she wouldn’t come back.”

  “Don’t sound so bloody pleased with yourself,” snaps Harriet. “You’re not the only one this affects. We have the Social Services coming soon.”

  “I know that! It’s all you go on about.”

  I ice my final few cupcakes, then place them carefully in an airtight container, too nauseated to even try one.

  “Well at least I’m not obsessed with a stupid bloody cookbook!”

  Glaring right at her, I let my anger fly. “It’s better than being obsessed with being fat!” With Harriet rendered temporarily speechless, I go in for the attack. “If you hadn’t been such an idiot, letting Mam out, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “What was I meant to do? She’s an adult. She has to make her own choices.”

  “She might be an adult, but she acts stupid. Just like you!”

  We round on each, our faces close and angry. Harriet is the first to back down.

  “We should be working together, not against each other,” she says. “Right now, we’re all we’ve got. We have to make it work.”

  “Yeah – all down to us again.”

  “Look, Liv, you might not like it, but she’s the only mam we’re ever going to have.”

  “If that’s what you can call her. Sometimes, I think we’d be better off without her.”

  As the words slip out, Harriet’s face tightens.

  “You’d better get that nasty little butt of yours out of my face, right now. Otherwise, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

  Harriet shoves me in the chest. It’s not that hard, but it winds me. I start coughing and spluttering – adding a little extra drama for good measure – but she’s too angry to care. She shoves me again.

  “Hatty, calm down!”

  I rarely see this side of Hatty – and I don’t like it one bit.

  “Maybe I should listen to my friend and send you into care after all. Maybe then you might wake up a bit.”

  I glare at her, my arms crossed. Let’s see her get out of this one.

  Her arms droop at her sides, and she runs a hand through her hair, trying to find the words to apologize.

  “Liv. Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

  As she reaches out, I dash from the room. Behind me, I hear Harriet whimpering another apology. Hugging my arms around myself, I stomp up to my bedroom and slam the door. Hatty might have taken back her words, but what if they’re still lodged in her heart? What if she’s sending me away?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Like Jekyll and Hyde on Spirits

  In the early hours of the morning, I hear the front door slamming into its frame. I curl up, foetus-like, and pretend to be asleep as Mam’s footsteps climb the stairs. It’s like she’s never been away.

  I can tell by the heavy thumps that Mam’s been drinking spirits. Spirits always tip her over the edge, making her playful one minute and nasty the next.

  “Liv. Oh, Liv!” calls Mam.

  I sink down into my quilt. Why can’t she bother Hatty for a change?

  “Liv, sweetheart. Come and play!”

  Play? I’m really in trouble. Mam lumbers along the corridor. It sounds like she’s wading through quicksand, not treading our crappy threadbare carpet.

  “O-liv-i-a!”

  Mam’s footsteps stop outside the door. I squeeze my eyes so tightly closed that the blackness behind my lids turns green.

  “Are you awake, honey?” calls Mam, pushing the door open.

  Of course I’m awake! How could anyone sleep through such a racket? But I keep quiet, hoping Mam will fall for my trick. I stay as limp and still as possible. There’s enough light from the corridor to be visible if Mam can still focus. Probably not, but I can’t chance it.

 
; “Come on, love, wake up! Let’s have some fun. Everyone else runs out on me, but not you, Liv. I can depend on you, can’t I?”

  Her fingernails scrape the doorframe as she clings on.

  “Olivia!”

  I’m not going to get away with pretending to be asleep for much longer, so I pull my best act. Turning over, muttering and murmuring, I adopt my most convincing angelic face. It’s meant to make Mam think “aww, how sweet” and go away, but I realize my mistake as she lunges for the bed. She lands heavy and clumsy, her skinny body weighed down by drink.

  “That’s it, Liv – wake up!”

  I pretend to turn again, sinking deeper under the covers. Frustrated, Mam shakes me roughly, knocking my sore head. Behind my eyelids, the darkness explodes into green and red lights, sparkling like broken stars.

  “I said wake up! You’re just like the rest of them, spoiling my fun. Who decided life has to be so bloody miserable? Wake UP!”

  Losing patience, Mam starts tapping me on the head. It’s not hard, but after being jumped recently, it really hurts. Between taps, I hear footsteps on the landing.

  “Get off her!” cries Harriet. “I said get off!”

  Harriet pulls Mam away, giving me enough time to jump to my feet. I keep my distance, following Hatty’s lead. She holds Mam’s hand and switches to a soothing tone of voice.

  “Come and lie down, Mam – you’ll feel better after some sleep,” she says gently, indicating with a look that I should wait a while before helping.

  As soon as Mam responds to Harriet and is coaxed out of the room, I go to my sister’s aid. We loop our arms through hers, one on either side, and carry her to bed. Mam will already have forgotten about waking me – she’s like Jekyll and Hyde on spirits – but I squeeze her arm a bit too tightly anyway. It’s a lame shot at revenge but it makes me feel slightly better.

  As we carry her the last few steps, we whisper the stuff she likes to hear – daft promises and baby talk – to lure her into bed. Flopping on her side, Mam groans.

  “You’re good girls,” she slurs. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  We drag her further up the mattress and cover her up, working together fluently without saying a word. Mam’s eyes sink down and, within seconds, her breathing relaxes. We leave, pulling the door closed quietly. Neither of us walks away. We both stand there, silent and listening.

  “Is it always going to be like this?” I ask.

  My sister just sighs and reaches out to my fringe. When she pulls away, there’s a perfect white feather in her palm.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” I ask.

  “Beats me. Shall we make a wish like we used to?”

  It’s a silly, childhood game, but I agree anyway. Harriet holds out the feather and I cup my hand over hers. We close our eyes, make our private wishes, and only open our eyes when we’re ready to seal our fates. Harriet blows the feather into the air and I count. One. Two. Three. The feather is still floating.

  “Looks like our wishes will come true,” says Hatty, and I giggle, despite myself.

  Smiling, Harriet nods towards Mam’s door. “We’ll give it an hour to make sure she’s asleep and then we’ll drive her back to the Centre.”

  “What?” I can’t believe Hatty can be so thick sometimes. How she got into uni, I’ll never know. “That idea sounded fine earlier but now… It’s far too late and she’s wasted. They’ll never have her back. Not at this time, in her condition. It’s a Recovery Centre, remember?”

  “Exactly,” interrupts Hatty. “They’re under obligation to look after her if she’s in their care. They shouldn’t have let her escape in the first place. They’ll be delighted to see her back. It’ll prevent any embarrassment over their own carelessness.”

  “So what are we going to do? Just dump her there?” I ask.

  Harriet looks at me a little guiltily. “Not dump… But we’ll leave her at the door and let them find her.”

  “Fine, but don’t blame me when it all goes wrong.”

  I don’t wait for a reply. I march down the corridor to my bedroom, head held high, but as soon as I’m alone I let the pretence drop. Will Mam ever be back to her old self – the woman full of dreams and recipes? Because that’s the mam I wished for on the feather. Not this clapped-out mess we have to put up with.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blood Is Thicker than Water

  “Ssh!” whispers Harriet as we get closer to the turrets and chimneys of Ashgrove House. “Don’t make too much noise!”

  “I can’t help it!” I grunt, lifting one of Mam’s legs higher in the air. “She’s heavy!”

  “It’s not much further. We’re almost there.”

  Between us, we clear the driveway and reach the steps leading up to the Recovery Centre’s front entrance.

  The grey stone building looms over us, stark and severe as an angry face. Mam’s none the wiser; she has managed to sleep her way through the whole journey, snoring her head off. We carefully lie her down at the base of the steps and take a well-earned breather. There’s no sign of life indoors. Most of the lights are off and everything is still. The place feels empty and abandoned. I lean forward to catch my breath.

  “What’ll we do with her when we get up there?” I ask, between pants.

  “I… don’t know,” says Harriet, looking alarmed. “I guess we’ll leave her at the door and, by the time she’s discovered, she’ll have sobered up. It’s not that long till breakfast!”

  “What? We can’t just leave her there! She’ll die of cold! What if we ring the bell – hand her over in person?”

  Harriet cocks her head, deep in thought.

  “We can’t force her to go inside,” she says after a while. “It has to seem like she’s going back of her own accord. If we ring the bell and hand her over plastered, they’ll know it’s not her own choice.”

  We look down at Mam’s sorry, slumped body. I can smell the booze on her from here.

  “But we’ve come this far,” I say. “We can’t give up now. If the authorities get a whiff of this before their visit…”

  My sister strokes Mam’s face, and I wonder how she can be so nice under the circumstances.

  “We could always leave her on the top step, knock and leg it, then call from the car to say that she turned up but is now missing,” suggests Harriet. “We could ask whether she’s back – make out we just want to make sure she arrived without getting waylaid.”

  “Do you think that’ll work?”

  “We’ll be able to watch from the car to make sure she’s safe and stays put. They won’t see us – it’s dark, so we’ve got the advantage. Once she’s inside, we can head home.”

  “I don’t know… What if they say something about ringing from a mobile? What if they try to call the home phone and we’re not there? If the Social Services find out…”

  “I’ve already put the landline on redirect,” says Harriet, waving her mobile phone in the air. “And this is a private number, so it won’t show up when we call.”

  I look from Mam to Hatty to Ashgrove House. My heads feels cold with my newly cut hair, and I’m shattered. I just want to get this over with and climb into bed.

  Grabbing Mam’s legs, I stifle a yawn. Harriet follows suit and together we lift the drunken blob up the steps. I jump when a detector light comes on, almost dropping Mam. Hatty steadies herself and takes the extra weight.

  “It’s OK,” I whisper, regaining my balance. “Keep going.”

  We struggle up the final few steps and lean Mam against the wall. Harriet pulls her coat around Mam as tightly as it’ll go and zips it up to her chin. I’d never even thought of it.

  When we’re happy that Mam’s OK, Harriet starts jogging back towards Pauline’s car. Only when she’s far enough away do I ring the bell and sprint after her. Safely crouched behind the parked Renault, we watch.

  Mam has somehow climbed to her feet. The sensor light clicks on and she stumbles.

  “Girls?”
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  “She’s probably scared – we should go get her,” I say, making a move in Mam’s direction.

  But Hatty catches me by the wrist. “No. She’s got to do this. We’ve got her this far. The rest is up to her.”

  The door of the centre opens and a nurse rushes out to help Mam up. Mam lashes out.

  “She’s confused. We’ve got to help her,” I repeat.

  “No.”

  “But if we don’t, she’ll get into more trouble, and then we’ll be separated.”

  “Don’t you see? That’s the problem… We say she has to get better, but then we keep bailing her out. Mam has to do this alone. It’s for her own good.”

  Picking up her mobile, Hatty dials the Recovery Centre and clears her throat while she waits for them to pick up.

  Finally, they answer.

  “Hello, this is Harriet Bloom, daughter of Ms Abigail Bloom.”

  A pause.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m calling to make sure that my mother arrived safely. She turned up briefly today to visit us and then headed back to the centre. She should have arrived around eight-ish – but I had a missed call from her an hour ago…” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “I was wondering if you could confirm that she was with you… Yes, if you could check, that would be great.”

  The front door of the centre opens wide and two nurses chat to Mam, probably trying to explain where she is.

  She’s stopped flailing but still isn’t cooperating, so they lift her and half carry, half drag her inside. My sister’s face turns stony.

  “Hello, yes, I’m still here. She arrived safe and sound? Good. I hope you don’t mind me phoning at this hour – it’s just that we worry if we get late calls… What’s that?”

  Harriet winces as the reply comes through. Then she thanks the person on the other end and hangs up.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Harriet chews on her bottom lip, guilt all over her face. “They say she’s distressed. They’re putting her under sedation.”

  “But she hates that,” I say.

  “I know,” replies Harriet, climbing into the passenger seat quietly. “But now she’s in professional hands.”

  “So professional they let her leave?”