Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey

by Cathy Cassidy

  ‘It’s awesome,’ I tell them. ‘The sky here is so big and so blue … there are parrots in the treetops and a beach just five minutes from the house! It’s like paradise, honestly!’

  ‘How’s Dad?’ Summer wants to know. ‘Is it weird living with him?’

  ‘No, Dad’s great,’ I answer. ‘It’s like he really belongs here, you know? It’s great to spend time with him again – we’ve always been on the same wavelength. His business is doing brilliantly, so obviously he works hard but he’s always got time for me …’

  This is almost true, I think to myself.

  ‘I don’t suppose he’s around?’ Coco asks hopefully, and I shake my head.

  ‘It’s four in the morning,’ I say. ‘He’s asleep!’

  ‘Why aren’t you?’ Mum wants to know. ‘You’re not jet-lagged still, surely?’

  ‘Just a little bit,’ I admit. ‘I’m using Dad’s laptop to Skype, but I’m supposed to ask first so I really don’t want to wake him up.’

  ‘Wait there,’ my littlest sister says. ‘Don’t go away … I’ll be back in a minute.’ She slips out of the picture abruptly, and Mum takes her place on the kitchen chair.

  ‘How’s school?’ she wants to know. ‘Still good? Is it as supportive as it looked on the website?’

  As before, I sidestep the question. The last few days at Willowbank have been better – I am trying hard to toe the line, but I wouldn’t describe the place as supportive, exactly. I can’t help wishing I’d gone to Kember Grange as planned, but Mum mustn’t find out anything about that.

  ‘You’d like Tara and Bennie,’ I say, steering the conversation into safer territory, and as I say it I realize I like them too. Tara and Bennie are not the type of girls I’d have hung out with at home, but they’re kind and clever and funny. Maybe, just maybe, they could be real friends, the kind of friends I’ve never had?

  ‘What are your Christmas plans?’ Skye is asking. ‘I know it’s summer in Australia, but it’s Christmas too, and I don’t see how that would work … I can’t imagine it!’

  ‘My plans for Christmas are blue skies and chill-outs at the beach,’ I declare. ‘Definitely not ancient tree decorations and wearing socks in bed because the central heating’s on the blink!’

  Mum laughs. ‘You’re making me jealous,’ she says. ‘It’s going to be very strange at Christmas without you around, but I am honestly so proud of you for making this fresh start, Honey.’

  ‘I won’t let you down,’ I promise.

  ‘I just want you to be happy,’ Mum says, wiping a sneaky tear away with her sleeve, and for a fleeting moment I forget blue skies and new starts and surfer boys; suddenly I want to be home, with my mum and my sisters.

  I push the thought away firmly.

  ‘So,’ I say to my sisters, ‘what’s your news? What am I missing?’

  ‘Well,’ Skye says, ‘last week we were in Exeter and we saw a whole display of our truffles in the supermarket. They’re selling really well. The Chocolate Box is going to be a famous brand!’

  I pull a face. I can just imagine Paddy, swanning around like he’s some kind of twenty-first-century Willie Wonka. There are advantages to being several thousand miles away from Tanglewood – I don’t have to see his smug face or Cherry’s sickly smile.

  ‘Nice,’ I say, a little sourly.

  ‘I’ve had a letter from Jodie,’ Summer tells me, changing the subject. ‘She’s almost finished her first term at the Rochelle Academy. She’s loving it … I think she’s feeling a bit guilty about taking my place, but honestly, Honey, I am almost glad things have worked out this way. It sounds so strict, so full-on.’

  ‘You used to like strict and full-on,’ I comment.

  She laughs. ‘I know … but look where that got me!’

  I look at Summer, leaning on the back of Mum’s chair, her too-thin body disguised in an outsize pink sweater, her cheekbones sharp, blue eyes shadowed. She is still beautiful, but she looks worn out, exhausted; it will take time for her to get properly well again.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I ask, treading carefully, because usually we don’t mention Summer’s eating disorder to her face. It’s as if the slightest whisper of it might cause her to break into little pieces that can never be put together again.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ she says brightly. ‘I’m still going to the clinic, still working on stuff. I haven’t actually put on any weight this week, but I’m not losing either … that’s got to be good, right?’

  I bite my lip, anxiety flooding through me. I was the first person to notice that Summer was getting ill a few months back; what if she gets sick again and I’m not around to help?

  Summer’s twin, Skye, leans in to the camera. ‘Guess what?’ she says. ‘That film you and Coco were in during the summer will be on TV soon. We’ve seen trailers for it already, with Shay’s song as the soundtrack! We’re going to have a big movie night with popcorn and everything!’

  ‘Oh – I’d forgotten about that!’ I say. ‘We were only extras, but it was such a cool day! I’d like to see it, but I don’t suppose it will be on over here.’

  ‘It’ll be on Watch-Again, afterwards,’ Mum says. ‘Ask Greg to let you watch on his laptop. You can’t miss your own TV debut!’

  ‘I won’t,’ I promise. ‘Remember those funny Edwardian costumes we had to wear?’

  ‘I’m going through a Victorian phase just now,’ Skye tells me, leaning in to show me her new hat, a little blue velvet number with a CND badge pinned to the side. ‘I found a stash of old lace petticoats in the Oxfam shop in Minehead – how cool? I’m wearing them to school and the teachers haven’t said anything …’

  ‘I bet you look great,’ I tell her. ‘Have you seen my uniform? It’s a crime against humanity!’

  I take the freshly washed and ironed tent dress and hideous yellow neckerchief down from their coat-hanger, holding them up against me, doing a wiggle for the webcam. Skye and Summer recoil, pretending to make themselves sick.

  ‘But … I thought the school was non-uniform?’ Mum asks, confused, and too late I realize I’ve put my foot in it big style.

  ‘Um … they’ve had a radical change of policy,’ I say, thinking quickly. ‘Brought back uniform, so that everyone is … equal. Just my luck, huh?’

  Mum frowns. ‘How strange! It just seems such a turnaround for them, against their whole free expression ethos …’

  Miraculously, Coco chooses that exact moment to elbow her way in front of the screen with her pet sheep Humbug in her arms, and Mum’s words are lost in the resulting chaos. Summer lifts Fred the dog up so I can see him and even Cherry and Paddy appear, crowding in at the edges of my screen, waving.

  Suddenly my bedroom door swings open and Dad stands there in his PJs, arms folded, face stern. Oops. Busted.

  ‘I have to go,’ I say abruptly. ‘Look, I’ll Skype again soon, promise.’

  ‘Hang on!’ Skye is saying. ‘There’s loads I wanted to say. You can’t go yet!’

  ‘Wait!’ Coco screeches. ‘I was going to bring Caramel in to say hello –’

  The call disintegrates as Mum tells Coco she can’t bring a pony into the kitchen, and the screen is a mess of leaping dogs and sheep and sisters, everything pixellated and blurry. I cut the call abruptly.

  ‘Honey?’ Dad says calmly. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I was awake,’ I bluster. ‘Talking to my sisters on SpiderWeb. And I just thought I’d Skype. I didn’t think you’d mind …’

  Dad closes the lid of his laptop firmly.

  ‘Of course you can Skype your sisters,’ he says. ‘That’s not an issue. But not in the middle of the night, when Emma and I have work tomorrow, and you have school.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You need to think before you act, consider how your actions might affect others. Your chatter woke me up, and I need to be fresh for work because I have a very busy day ahead. And you’ve taken my laptop without permission, which really isn’t on. What happened to the new start, Honey
?’

  I try to answer, but without warning my throat tightens and my eyes brim with tears. Letting Dad down is the last thing I wanted. I want him to see the best in me, not the worst; I want him to see how similar we are.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll try harder, I promise.’

  Dad sighs. ‘Look, you know how I feel about this now,’ he says. ‘Let’s leave it at that, start over. I can see that you need to talk to your sisters now and then … and I imagine a laptop might be useful for schoolwork too. I expect you could do with one of your own.’

  I blink. Is Dad offering to buy me my own laptop?

  ‘C’mon, Princess,’ he says gruffly, putting an arm round my shoulders. ‘No more tears – you’re a tough cookie. Now, let’s both grab some sleep before those darned alarms go off, right?’

  ‘R-right,’ I agree.

  I dredge up a wobbly smile.

  Seriously, even when he’s angry, my dad is pretty awesome.

  Coco Tanberry

 

  to me

  It was fab to Skype last night. Things at Tanglewood are way calmer now that Lawrie and his family have gone, but I do miss them, Lawrie especially. Not in a mushy way – it’s just that we went through so much with the ponies and even though I thought he was annoying to start with, we ended up being best friends. Have you ever had a best friend who was a boy, Honey? I tried to tell Jayde and Sarah and Amy about it and they said you can’t have a boy as ‘just’ a friend, but I think that’s rubbish.

  Anyway, the best thing of all is that they left Caramel. Lawrie’s mum said she couldn’t think of anyone better to look after her and Mum and Paddy agreed, so I FINALLY have my own pony. Sort of. How cool is that? When I’m with Caramel, everything seems better, though I still miss you loads, obviously. And Lawrie, just a bit.

  Your FAVOURITE sister,

  Coco xoxo

  8

  Dad was right about one thing. I am a tough cookie; my new life in Australia is going to be awesome.

  Things at Willowbank are a bit better; I am wearing my socks pulled up, my collar on the outside, my tent dress neatly hemmed and the yellow neckerchief tied jauntily round my neck. Every day I fix a winning smile on my face and set out to wow the staff and students, and it works, a little bit. I begin to relax, fit in. For the first time in years I am trying to make a good impression instead of a bad one.

  My teachers soon suss that I am not the teen genius Dad made out and offer me study notes and extra homework to help me catch up with missed coursework. I smile and pretend to be grateful, and in spite of a strong urge to throw the extra work into the nearest bin, I take it home and do the best I can. What can I say? It passes the time in the middle of the night when jet lag comes to call.

  Art is the only subject I am actually good at – when Miss Kelly flicks through my sketchbook, her face lights up.

  ‘So much potential,’ she says, and I bite my lip and hold my head high because it is so long since I’ve had a compliment from a teacher I don’t quite know how to react. I have potential. Who knew?

  It’s not all fun and games, obviously. On Friday, I stay on for Mr Piper’s after-school maths study group, so that he can get a better idea of the gaping holes in my mathematical education and work out where to start patching them up. In the past, staying after school usually meant detention. Staying because I’ve chosen to feels deeply weird, but Tara and Bennie go to study group too; it’s a group for people who love maths as well as those who struggle.

  ‘You’ll like it,’ Tara says. ‘Maths is cool!’

  I smile weakly. Me and a dozen geek-chic girls … life is clearly having a laugh at my expense.

  I fix on my winning smile and try very hard to listen to Mr Piper, even though my brain feels like it will freeze over any moment. Luckily, he has the patience of a saint, which is just as well. My progress is painfully slow. But progress is progress, and my reward is looming.

  This morning, over breakfast, Dad arranged to pick me up after study group so that he can take me to buy a laptop. He says it is an early Christmas present, but that it makes sense to buy it now; it will focus my mind and help me with my studies, and by the time the holidays start I will be well on the way to catching up with my coursework. That and the fact that I won’t be creeping about the house at four in the morning to Skype home on his work laptop, of course.

  ‘Are you catching the bus, or shall we walk?’ Bennie wants to know as we emerge into the sunshine after school. ‘We could call into the cafe at Sunset Beach and grab some Cokes to celebrate the weekend!’

  ‘I can’t,’ I tell her. ‘Dad’s picking me up. We’re going laptop shopping!’

  ‘Wow!’ Tara exclaims. ‘Really? That’s so cool! Your dad sounds amazing!’

  ‘He is pretty awesome,’ I agree. ‘There was no chance of having a laptop of my own when I lived with Mum … we just didn’t have the cash. But Dad says it’s an essential, if I am serious about my studies. He’s really generous!’

  Just then, my mobile buzzes.

  Honey, not going to make it today after all – I have a last-minute meeting that looks set to run late. I’ll sort something tomorrow, OK? x

  PS: Tell Emma not to wait for me for supper. I’ll grab a sandwich at my desk. x

  My shoulders slump. Dad has let me down before, of course, but I hoped things would be different here. Still, I guess he can’t help it if an important meeting comes up.

  ‘Problem?’ Bennie asks.

  ‘Yeah … Dad can’t make it,’ I say. ‘Some big meeting. Which means just one thing, obviously …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m all yours,’ I announce, hooking my arms through Tara and Bennie’s and setting off along the road. ‘Let’s hit the beach!’

  I don’t really expect to see Riley at the beach, but I can’t help scanning around just in case. He’s not there, of course. Some kids are playing cricket and a few people are walking dogs, but it’s much quieter than Sunday. ‘I was going to suggest we do something tomorrow,’ Bennie says as we lie on the sand. ‘Go into town, go shopping or something …’

  I shrug. ‘Sounds good. I need to find some Christmas presents for my mum and sisters. I have to post them soon if they’re to arrive in time.’

  ‘OK,’ Tara says. ‘Great! We should have a sleepover soon too. Eat pizza and watch movies and paint each other’s nails!’

  This sounds like something my little sister Coco would do with her friends, but I smile politely and pretend to be thrilled. I am out of practice at having friends; some time over the last couple of years, my middle-school mates dropped by the wayside, scared off by my wild ways; the hard-faced girls I replaced them with were never really friends, I can see that now. With Tara and Bennie, I am starting right back at the beginning.

  ‘We could do makeovers,’ I say carefully, eyeing the girls speculatively. ‘Try some different styles ready to wow the boys at all those Aussie Christmas parties!’

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to any Christmas parties,’ Tara laments. ‘Only small, family ones, with grannies and bearded great-uncles who smell of cough sweets.’

  ‘Wowing the boys is not easy for us,’ Bennie says. ‘That’s where going to an all-girls’ school sucks. We’ve no idea how to act. We can’t flirt, we can’t slow-dance … we’re clueless!’

  ‘We are,’ Tara confirms. ‘Two weeks ago, I was waiting at the bus stop when a lad from the boys’ school asked me if I had a pen he could borrow. I got so flustered I couldn’t actually speak – I went crimson, shoved a biro into his hand and ran away.’

  ‘She really did,’ Bennie confirms. ‘Faster than the hundred-metre dash on Sports Day!’

  ‘If a boy tried to kiss me, I’d faint with terror,’ Tara adds. ‘I am a lost cause.’

  My eyes widen. ‘Hang on,’ I check. ‘You’ve never kissed a boy? Really?’

  Tara shrugs her shoulders, a slow burn of pink staining her cheeks. ‘OK, so I’m a slow le
arner. Strict parents, all-girls’ school. I’ve just never met the right boy. Or any boy, come to think of it. I’ve led a sheltered life.’

  ‘You’re not missing much,’ Bennie says cheerfully. ‘I kissed a boy called Bernard Harper on holiday on the Gold Coast last year, and it was a bit like eating lukewarm soup without a spoon. All slobbery and awkward.’

  ‘You never told me that!’ Tara gasps.

  ‘It wasn’t even good soup,’ Bennie says thoughtfully. ‘More like dishwater. Boys are overrated. He asked me out and I said it’d never work because we lived so far apart, but really it was all about the dishwater kisses.’

  ‘Not all boys are dishwater,’ I tell Tara and Bennie. ‘I’ve known a few who were pure melted chocolate. They’re the ones that make it all worthwhile.’

  I think of Shay Fletcher, who was definitely chocolate. There’ve been others since, and I thought that they were chocolate too, at the time; most turned to dishwater in the end, like Kes.

  Tara sighs. ‘Wow! Have you kissed many boys, Honey?’

  I laugh. ‘Too many. Bennie is right – there are plenty of dishwater lads out there. It’s better to wait for that first kiss, make sure it’s special.’

  ‘But how will we meet cool boys when we’re at an all-girls’ school?’ Tara wails.

  ‘Easy,’ I say. ‘They’re everywhere! I bet I can find you some lads once the holidays start – the chocolate kind. Meanwhile, I’ll train you up in the art of flirting. And we may as well start now …’

  Bennie looks around the beach, frowning. An eight-year-old with a cricket bat and a middle-aged man in polka-dot board shorts are the only eligible males in sight, but if I narrow my eyes and squint into the shady reaches of the beach cafe, I can just about see Ash, the cute waiter with the table-cleaning obsession. He might do for flirting practice for Tara and Bennie.

  ‘Chill,’ I tell my friends. ‘The first lesson is to ditch the anxiety – boys are not an alien species. Well, actually, they kind of are, but that’s OK! You need to understand that you are gorgeous, clever, confident …’