Caramel Hearts

by E. R. Murray

  “How are you, Olivia?” asked Mr Morrelly.

  I hold his gaze.

  “I’m good, sir. But I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to talk about my health.”

  I should probably be more respectful – but if I’m already in trouble, what do manners matter? Feeling a sharp stab in my ribs as Harriet lets her elbow slip, I reluctantly zip my lips up tight.

  “Well, actually, I have, in a way. We’re worried about the company you may be keeping. We’ve received some serious accusations about a friend of yours, Jack Whitman. We want you to confirm whether they’re true.”

  Old Mozzer’s eyebrows form a perfectly straight line across his brow. I’m off the hook, but a queasy feeling rises in my stomach.

  “We’ve had reports that it was Jack who stole Mrs Snelling’s handbag, resulting in her serious injury. And your name was mentioned.”

  “My name?”

  “Yes. It was indicated to me that you saw Jack in the vicinity of the dinner hall around the time of the incident. Can you confirm this claim?”

  I can’t speak. It’s like my nightmare has come true and my mouth has disappeared. Why is Jack getting blamed for my actions? First, Mrs Snelling, now Old Mozzer.

  Too late, I realize that Harriet and Mr Morrelly mistake my silence for confirmation. Oh Jack, I’m sorry. But if I open my mouth to come clean now, Harriet will hate me. And she’s all I have left.

  “As you know, Jack was hailed as a hero for assisting Mrs Snelling after her fall,” continues Mr Morrelly. “But when someone makes a serious accusation, I have to act on it. I know, Liv, that you two are friends, so if you know anything that might help prove Jack’s guilt or innocence…” He pauses and lifts an eyebrow before continuing. “I hope you will do the right thing and share this information with me.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stay silent. Guilt plucks at my stomach, but it’s the best I can do.

  “There have also been accusations that Jack is involved in bullying. For a while now, Jack’s had a relatively clean slate, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a possibility. I am granting you full confidentiality if you decide to provide information.”

  Feeling Harriet’s eyes burn into me, I keep my face down-turned.

  “I know that this is an uncomfortable situation for you, Olivia, but I must ask – do you have anything to say?”

  Slowly, I shake my head.

  “That’s what I suspected, but I’ll allow you time to reconsider. If you think of anything – anything at all – please report back to me immediately. Now, if you don’t mind waiting outside, I’d like a word with your sister.”

  My skin turns clammy as I leave the room, my eyes fixed firmly on the floor – until I discover a familiar pair of toe-worn blue and brown Adidas. Tracing from the shoes, up over the black trousers and burgundy school jumper, I meet Jack’s hard, staring eyes.

  My mouth turns dry. I have to warn him! But first, I have to make certain that he won’t get me into trouble.

  “Jack… please don’t tell them.”

  He shakes his head in disgust. Before I can say anything else – warn him what to expect – the door opens. Jack squares his shoulders, gives me an awful look and steps into the office. Harriet shoots him an angry glare as they pass.

  “Poor Mrs Snelling,” says Harriet, as she guides me away, arms round my shoulders. “You’re well rid of him.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “He’s about to get suspended.”

  I swallow hard. What have I done?

  That night Sarah sends me a text:

  I CAN’T BELIEVE JACK’S BEEN SUSPENDED COS OF YOU

  I try to formulate a reply but fail – what can I say?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Crust Was Designed for Dirty Hands

  The morning of the Social Services visit arrives.

  As I shoulder my school bag, I pause to watch Harriet on her hands and knees, dusting the hallway skirting boards.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m not having the Social Services say we have a dirty house,” replies Harriet, scrubbing away vigorously.

  “You’re starting to sound like Mam.”

  Sitting back on her heels, Harriet wipes a red-raw hand across her forehead, shifting stray hairs out of her eyes.

  I hope she’ll make more of an effort when the Social Services come. She looks a total state.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Why don’t you help yourself to breakfast and get off to school? Leave the visit to me.”

  Grabbing my summer jacket, I yank the front door open.

  “Not hungry. Can’t eat on a day like today.”

  Harriet nods. “I can still feel last night’s spag bol. It’s sitting like bricks. Just make sure you get a decent lunch.”

  Pausing for a moment, I drum my fingers on the doorframe. I shouldn’t have to go to school. I should see them as well.

  “Hatty? I’ve put the fruit pasties in the breakfast cupboard. Make sure you offer them some?”

  “Sure. You never know – they could be the clincher.”

  “Text me as soon as they’ve gone,” I say, closing the door behind me, already dreading the message I’ll receive.

  * * *

  Just as school finishes, Harriet’s text comes through.

  MAM’S COMING HOME NEXT WEEK. H XXX

  I should be excited, or at least relieved, but the news makes my heart sink. If Mam’s coming home, Hatty will go back to uni and I’ll have to cope with Mam on my own again.

  I shudder, thinking back to the time Mam threatened to kill herself. It took hours of pleading and promises to coax her out of the bathroom.

  When I finally succeeded, Mam’s arms and wrists were covered in smears of blood where she’d scraped at them with a blunted razor. Bloody drama queen. Everyone knows you have to cut up along the vein, not across. It was a cry for help, my counsellor told me. Even if it wasn’t a serious attempt, it was still scary.

  I scuff my Converse along the kerb, dreading going home, and I feel something race past me. It’s Sarah. I’d recognize her stick-straight ponytail anywhere.

  “Wait!” I call, quickening my pace. “Sarah, I need to talk to you. Mam’s coming home!”

  But Sarah keeps on speed-walking, bag over her shoulder, refusing to look back. I try running, but I still have trouble catching up to her. By the time we hit the Rec, Sarah’s within reach. As I grab her shoulder, she spins round. Her face is bright red and at first I can’t tell whether it’s from rushing or anger. When she starts stammering, the answer’s clear.

  “W-why c-can’t you just leave me alone? I have to m-meet Jack. And I d-don’t want to s-speak to you right now!”

  I don’t have time to say anything. Sarah turns and sprints. Like – actually runs away from me. There’s no way I can catch her. Instead, I watch as my ex-friend grows smaller and smaller in the distance. Jealousy ripples through my veins – why is she meeting Jack? They’re not even friends.

  Back at home, Harriet is sprawled on the sofa, pretending to read a magazine. The way her eyes dart about the place, I know she isn’t really concentrating, so I throw my bag on the floor and join her, resting my legs atop hers.

  “So, what happened?” I ask.

  “Isn’t it great? Mam’s coming home!”

  Trying to smile, I give a slow, thoughtful nod. I wonder whether I’m going to give myself early wrinkles with all these forced smiles.

  “What? You’re not thrilled?”

  “I am, but… that means…”

  “I have to go back some time, Liv.” Harriet’s voice is gentle, but she can’t hide the fact that she’s pleased. “At least it’s under positive circumstances. You’re not going into care.”

  Wincing, I slouch further into the sofa cushions.

  “I know that. But what happened? What did they say?”

  Smiling, Harriet recounts the day’s events: how the social workers were nice – not at all like we’d feared. How they chatted
about our education, Mam’s improvements and coping mechanisms, and future hopes for our family.

  They also discussed Harriet’s clothes, why she chose her Social Anthropology degree, what music I liked – as well as many other seemingly pointless topics that make my head spin.

  “What about my pasties? Did you give them some?”

  “Yep – and I told them what you told me: that pasties were originally invented for the miners. Meat and potatoes at one end and fruit at the other so the miners could eat their dinner and pudding in one go in the dark.”

  “Did you tell them that the crust was designed for dirty hands – they left that bit behind?”

  “I did. They were very impressed.”

  “Did they say the pasties were nice?”

  “They ate them, so I guess that’s compliment enough. They didn’t say anything specific.”

  “No feedback at all? I wasn’t sure the filling was sweet enough.”

  “They made a good dent in them, but they were here about Mam, so we talked mostly about her.”

  It’s a gentle dig and deserved, so I disguise my disappointment with a smile. Without feedback, how am I meant to improve?

  “So what about Mam?” I ask.

  “They think she’s ready.”

  I lift an eyebrow incredulously.

  “Despite running away?”

  “I know! I’m as surprised as you. But they’ve been working with her closely at the Recovery Centre and think she’ll make better progress here. They told me off the record, but the official letter should arrive in the next few days.”

  “They probably just want rid of her cos they’re overcrowded. Or she costs too much to keep.”

  “When did you get so cynical, Liv? Whatever the reason, she’s coming home. Aren’t you excited?”

  My heart is full of dread, but I can’t say that, can I?

  “Of course I am. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, that’s all.”

  “We’ll have to throw a party for her. Invite some of her friends. Let her know we care. Maybe you could make a chocolate cake?”

  “And some biscuits? Scones?”

  “Sure! Whatever you want!”

  “Do we have enough money?” I ask, thinking about the hidden bag.

  “We’ll make it stretch. This is a celebration, after all!”

  Harriet nudges me happily. I wish I could share her enthusiasm. I’d be happy too if I was heading off to Edinburgh. How will I cope with Mam on my own? Up to now, my track record is pretty bad. If only I could talk to Sarah – or even Jack. Then things wouldn’t feel so bleak. But the truth is, I have no one, and I only have myself to blame.

  Flourless Chocolate Cake

  A flour-free, squidgy cake that’s filled with chocolatey goodness, but lighter on the stomach. So if there’s anything weighing your heart or mind down, this will free it up so you can flit around, happy as a butterfly. (Have you ever seen an unhappy butterfly?)

  INGREDIENTS

  340 g/12 oz chocolate (about 50% cocoa)

  180 g/6½ oz sugar

  5 tbsp ground almonds

  5 tbsp milk

  5 tbsp butter

  1 tsp baking powder

  4 eggs, separated

  HOW TO MAKE THE MAGIC HAPPEN

  1. Preheat the oven to 180 °C/350 °F/Gas mark 4 and grease a lined square, 9-in. cake tin.

  2. Smash the chocolate into pieces, place into a bowl with butter and milk, and melt over a pan of hot water.

  3. Take half of the sugar and beat into the egg yolks. Fold in the melted chocolate mixture, then fold in the ground almonds and baking powder.

  4. Beat the egg whites until they’re frothy, then gradually add the sugar until the mixture makes tasty mountain peaks, and then fold into the cake mixture.

  5. Bake for 40 minutes. You can tell it’s cooked by doing the chopstick test: stick a chopstick into the centre. If it comes out clean, it’s ready. If it sticks, whack it in the oven for a bit longer!

  Note: the cake will sag like a hammock in the centre, but this is normal. No panic required!

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Disquiet Spreads over the Room Like Mist

  “How are the biscuits coming along, Liv? She’ll be home in an hour!” asks Harriet.

  “Stop rushing me! They’re almost done.”

  Harriet’s been snappy all morning, but I totally get it. I’m acting all calm on the outside – but inside I’m shaking. I’m allowed the day off school to help prepare, but I wish I’d gone to my lessons instead. Every time I start thinking things won’t be so bad, Harriet says something that reminds me otherwise.

  While I lift the biscuits out of the oven, Harriet sets about making piles of sandwiches: ham, egg mayonnaise and a special one I came up with, coronation chicken – a tasty mix of chicken, yoghurt, curry powder and sultanas. I had it once at a birthday party and tried guessing the ingredients. Thankfully, it turned out exactly how I remembered.

  “Looks like you’ve inherited Mam’s skills in that department,” says Harriet. “You can cook together to your heart’s content when you’re rid of me!”

  Ignoring the last bit of the comment, I assemble each pile carefully on our best plates, and then cover them with cling film.

  “Are you sure this will keep them fresh?” asks Harriet.

  “Yes! Stop panicking, will you?”

  “I’m not panicking!”

  I put my hands on my hips and watch Harriet until she notices and stops, a grin spreading slowly across her face.

  “OK, smart-arse, maybe I’m a bit more flustered than usual. It’s just… I’m excited, you know? We’ve been waiting ages for this.”

  “You mean you have. So you can get out of here.”

  As the complaint slips out, I’m painfully aware of how childish I sound.

  “Liv, this isn’t about you or me today, it’s about Mam. Of course I’m looking forward to returning to uni – I worked hard to get there – but that’s not the reason I’m excited, and you know it.”

  “Sorry.”

  I continue smoothing the flourless chocolate cake mixture in a large blue mixing bowl. Chocolate is Mam’s favourite, so it’s easy to pretend I’m engrossed.

  “This will take just over half an hour, and then we’re set,” I say.

  “Great work, Liv. Mam’ll be stunned.” Coming close and raising her hand for a high-five, Harriet continues. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  I glance at Harriet’s untidy mess of sandwiches and wink.

  “I can see that,” I say, then slap my hand against hers. “Did you tell everyone five on the dot?”

  “Yep. Sarah and her dad, Pauline next door, Bob and Jane from the other side, plus a couple of Mam’s friends from the pub.”

  “The pub? Harriet…”

  I don’t want to think about Sarah’s reaction to the invite. We haven’t been on speaking terms for exactly eleven days.

  “Don’t worry, they’ve all been warned: no alcohol – before or during. Afterwards is fine, so long as Mam stays here!”

  I feel my shoulders slacken. It’ll be weird around here without Harriet bossing everyone about. I try to set aside my worries, hoping instead that my sister will settle back into her uni life without any hitches. She deserves that much at least.

  When the phone rings, Harriet disappears off into the hallway and returns with a worried expression.

  “It’s not Mam, is it?” I ask, even though an evil gremlin inside me hopes the Social Services have changed their minds about sending her home.

  “No. Sandra from the pub. Her little boy has chicken pox…”

  “That’s OK, there’s plenty more coming. Too many and it might freak Mam out, anyway.”

  “True. But I don’t want her to feel disappointed. You know how much she loves surprises – she’ll expect it.”

  When the phone rings again, Harriet returns looking even more deflated.

  “Greta, another one of Mam’s pub friends. She can�
�t come either. Said she had a ladies’ lunch which included a couple of glasses of wine, so she didn’t think it would be appropriate.”

  “What’s wrong with people?” I say, pointing to the food. “What about all this?”

  “You always say I’m a fat pig. I’ll make a dent in it!”

  I turn away. “You know I don’t mean it.”

  “Sorry. Ignore me, Liv. I’m just nervous.”

  I plate the biscuits and the chocolate cake, avoiding her eye.

  “No worries.” I say it in a way that makes it clear my mood doesn’t match my words.

  By quarter past five, only Sarah and her dad, a quiet lady called Rita and Pauline from next door have turned up.

  “I can’t believe you came!” I whisper to Sarah as she takes a seat.

  “Only because Dad made me. Have you owned up yet?” When I shake my head, she adds, “Leave me alone.”

  Crossing her legs so that she faces away from me, Sarah makes it clear there’s no chance of reconciliation. All those years of friendship down the toilet.

  When the clock shows twenty-past five, Harriet starts pacing the room. By half past, she’s beside herself.

  “Sorry, everyone, I can’t imagine what’s keeping her,” she says.

  “I’m sure it’s just the traffic,” says Pauline. “Ashgrove House is a long way from here, and there can be heavy traffic when it hits Egerton roundabout.”

  “That’s true,” adds Mr Butler.

  “Yeah, thanks for the information,” I say. “Cos we’ve never been there before, so we wouldn’t know.”

  Rita smiles nervously, eyeing the door like she can’t wait to leave. I catch the tail end of Sarah’s loud sigh and disquiet spreads over the room like mist. My heart thumps in my chest. I know what everyone is thinking, because I’m thinking it too: Mam’s gone straight to the pub.

  When Mam walks through the door at five thirty-eight, everyone jumps to their feet.

  “Surprise!” we all shout in unison.

  Scanning the room, Mam’s face wavers. Panic punches at my stomach but she gathers her emotions and gives a big, toothy grin. Without even thinking about it, I touch my left ear like we used to when we were kids.