Chocolate Box Girls: Bittersweet

by Cathy Cassidy

I guess I don’t need anyone else to tell me I’ve been an idiot. I already know.

  ‘Dad used to play football, y’know,’ he tells me. ‘Small-time, Sunday league stuff. It was his dream, though. That’s why he pushed me so hard – he thought he was helping me, but really it was all about him. His dream, not mine.’

  ‘Just like the sailing centre is his thing,’ I say. ‘And you’re turning your back on it. That takes courage, Ben – we all know Dad has a temper on him.’

  ‘We should have stood up to him years ago,’ Ben sighs as we cruise along the M4. ‘Just for the record, Shay, I’m sorry about the go-cart thing. I didn’t think you’d actually go and break your arm …’

  I laugh, and as we approach the outskirts of London I take the forms that Curtis Rawlins gave me out of my rucksack, where they’ve been hidden for the last few days, still slightly stained and now quite crumpled too. Can Ben really sign them for me, open up the doors to possibility again? Maybe. I hope so.

  Ben makes me navigate, using a dog-eared street map and his iPhone. We get lost about a dozen times before we finally pull up outside Wrecked Rekords’ Camden HQ.

  It’s like stepping into a dream – a dark, edgy, slightly psychotic dream. The walls are papered with silver foil and a collage of iconic album covers stretching back decades. A huge, shiny mobile made entirely from CDs spins silently in the stairwell, and framed gold discs line the hallway. Even the sofas in the waiting area look like they have been borrowed from a passing spaceship.

  The girl at the reception desk has fuschia-pink hair and a pierced nose, and she seems to be wearing some kind of cool fancy-dress outfit made from a checked tablecloth and a lace curtain. She looks at me doubtfully, taking in the school uniform and beanie hat, and I flush a little pink.

  I push the crumpled forms across the desk towards her, and she looks at them dubiously. ‘We’d like to see Curtis Rawlins, please,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah?’ the girl drawls. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘You’ll need one,’ she shrugs. ‘No exceptions. Why not send in a CD, some demo tracks? Then you can ring in a few weeks and if Curtis and his team think you have potential we can set you up with a November appointment. Or December, maybe. Or January.’

  Or never.

  Stricken, I look at Ben, who rolls his eyes dramatically. ‘Don’t panic, little brother,’ he says under his breath. ‘Leave this to me. Watch and learn …’

  Ben leans across the desk in full-on flirt mode, his sun-gold hair flopping carelessly across his tanned face, his blue eyes intent. I am not sure that his beach-hunk looks will cut the ice with the pink-haired girl, though. She looks like she’d be more impressed with tattoos and piercings and a neon-blue mohican haircut.

  ‘Hey,’ he grins. ‘The thing is … we’ve driven all the way from Somerset. Four hours on the road, and all because Curtis wanted to see us. “Drop in any time,” he said. So we did. I mean, I know that rules are rules, but we need to see the guy now, not next week or next month or next year …’

  I hear the soft West Country burr in Ben’s voice and I can tell that his charm offensive isn’t working. I wonder why we didn’t just wear dungarees, wellies and straw hats because to this girl we must seem like real country kids, clueless, crass.

  ‘Aw, c’mon,’ Ben pleads. ‘You know what it’s like. We’ve got the forms. You can sort this out for us – save our lives. I’d be grateful – very grateful! I’ll buy you a drink after work if you like …’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she says.

  ‘Look, Curtis will see us, no worries,’ Ben insists. ‘He’s been in talks with my little brother here about signing for Wrecked. Shay’s going to be the Next Big Thing!’

  ‘They all say that,’ the girl says, going back to her computer screen.

  ‘No, seriously,’ Ben presses. ‘Curtis came all the way to Kitnor to see him. He’s already listened to the demo tracks, and seen him play live. He wanted to sign him, but there was a bit of a mix-up. Circumstances beyond our control. But we’re here to fix it now, so if you’ll just let us see Curtis …’

  ‘Can’t,’ the girl yawns. ‘He’s gone out. Not sure when he’ll be back.’

  My heart sinks. Ben’s attempt to save the day has backfired, failed. We’ve driven all this way for nothing, but looking on the bright side, at least I got to skip a day of being glared at and frozen out at school.

  We are walking out through the plate-glass doors when the miracle happens. A man in a skinny suit and a red trilby hat comes towards us, and when he sees me his face lights up.

  ‘Shay Fletcher!’ he grins. ‘Great to see you! Come in, come in …’

  He ushers us into the foyer and the fuschia-haired girl looks up from her computer screen, raising an eyebrow.

  I introduce Ben and we sit on the space-age sofas while Curtis fetches us fancy cappuccinos with chocolate sprinkles and thick wedges of shortbread.

  ‘So,’ he asks me. ‘What brings you all the way to London? Has your dad changed his mind?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I admit.

  ‘Mum supports him, though,’ Ben chips in, and this is news to me. ‘She’s his guardian too, right? And I’ll look out for him if you need me to. He’d like to go ahead and sign up, wouldn’t you, Shay?’

  ‘Well, yeah … I’d love to,’ I say.

  Curtis smiles. ‘That’s great, Shay,’ he says. ‘So … you’re saying that your mum would sign for you, even if it goes against your dad’s wishes? Really?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Ben says. ‘Maybe. Well, possibly …’

  ‘No,’ I admit sadly. ‘I don’t think she would.’

  The look on Curtis Rawlins’ face says it all. We are wasting his time, wasting our own. Why didn’t I see that before?

  ‘Listen,’ Ben cuts in. ‘I’m twenty-one and I can take charge of Shay, look after him, sign for him … whatever you need me to do. Dad doesn’t understand and Mum won’t go against him, even though she’d like to … but I can be the responsible adult, surely? Not everybody gets offered a chance like this. I want Shay to take it!’

  I have never loved my brother more than I do right now, I swear, but Curtis sighs, and I know that Ben’s suggestion isn’t going to change things.

  ‘Thing is, you’re not Shay’s guardian,’ he says sadly. ‘His parents need to be on board, and … well, they’re not.’

  ‘He has a talent,’ Ben argues. ‘You said so … can’t you take a risk on him, bend the rules, just this once? Shay loves his music. He won’t let you down!’

  ‘I’ll do whatever it takes,’ I promise. ‘I’ve got a new song – it’s good, really good. Shall I play it for you?’

  Curtis Rawlins shakes his head.

  ‘I’d love to hear it, Shay, but … it won’t make any difference. There’s nothing I’d like more than to sign you up … but your age is against us here. I’ve been talking to my colleagues. Your dad doesn’t just have misgivings, he’s actively hostile to the whole idea. Even if your mum was totally on board with all this I’d be very wary about taking things further right now. When we work with a minor, we need to know that the family are in, one hundred per cent. In your case, Shay, we couldn’t rely on that, no matter how supportive your brother may be.’

  ‘So … what are you saying?’ Ben asks, frowning.

  ‘I’m saying … there is nothing I would like more than to sign you to Wrecked, Shay, but right now I can’t. Keep working – keep singing and writing. And come back and see me when you’re eighteen.’

  We shake hands with Curtis Rawlins and walk out of there with our heads held high, but inside I am shaking. I’m not sure I can take another knock without falling to pieces.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ Ben says. ‘That didn’t go so well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve wasted your time … all that effort for nothing.’

  ‘It wasn’t for nothing,’ he grins. ‘I got to spend some time out with my little brother, even if I had to pract
ically kidnap you to do it. I’ve had fun. And it wasn’t a waste – we know the situation now. You have something to work for, something to aim for.’

  ‘I guess,’ I say.

  ‘Definitely,’ Ben insists. ‘We tried, didn’t we? If you want something badly, you go the extra mile. You don’t just sit back and accept things, you do everything you can to make it happen. Maybe it didn’t work out this time, but if you keep believing, keep working, then sooner or later it will. Keep the faith. We gave it our best shot. No regrets!’

  I frown. Ben is talking about the record deal, of course, but he has a point.

  I think about a girl with glossy, blue-black hair, shining almond eyes fringed with long, sooty lashes, the sweetest smile. Cherry is my best friend, my crush, my confidante. Without her, everything is dull and pointless. Without her, my heart is in the gutter.

  I remember Honey’s advice from last night, Finch’s words from this morning.

  I messed up the best thing I ever had, and all over a tangle of lies and misunderstandings. I need to ditch the excuses and fix it up before it’s too late. I wonder if there’s time to meet Finch for a pep talk before facing Cherry, seeing as we’re actually in London. I pick up my mobile to message him and find it’s dead, out of charge. Looks like I’m on my own with this.

  What was it Ben said? If you want something badly, you go the extra mile.

  Ben and I mooch around Camden for a while, checking out the quirky stalls and eating pitta bread and falafel down by the canal in the sunshine. I remember Honey’s pipe dream of running away and starting a fashion stall here, and sigh. Ben buys a couple of T-shirts and I buy a second-hand silver chain with a cherry-motif pendant, hoping I get the chance to give it to Cherry. We both pick out mirrored sunglasses and drive out of Camden at sunset with the sunroof down and Ben’s Beach Boys CD blaring.

  We don’t get home till midnight.

  Dad appears in the doorway the minute Ben’s car pulls up, the anger rolling off him in waves. I can feel my shoulders slump.

  Today is the day I learnt how cool my brother really is, and the day I found out for sure that I will not be a fifteen-year-old teen idol signed up to Wrecked Rekords. It’s the day I discovered that the best things in life are worth fighting for, that if you don’t like something you change it.

  It was a life-changing day, but now, back home, it feels like nothing has altered at all. Dad unleashes his temper, ranting about how Ben and I have let him down, left him short-staffed, had everyone worried sick.

  Yeah, right.

  Following Ben down the garden path, I stop abruptly and turn, dropping my schoolbag into the flower bed and shrugging my guitar over one shoulder. I walk away, Dad yelling my name into the darkness.

  For once, I just don’t care.

  I walk through the silent village, street-lamp spooky, and out along the dark lane that leads to Tanglewood. The sky is scattered with stars and my eyes adjust quickly to the dark, but I am scared. What if it all goes wrong, if Cherry won’t see me, if Paddy and Charlotte set the dog on me or call the police?

  Don’t just sit back and accept things, I remember. Go the extra mile.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  I push the gate open and crunch across the gravel, beneath trees hung with solar-powered fairy lights, a leftover from the summer. The house is in darkness, silent, sleeping. I hear Fred the dog barking from inside the house and Humbug the sheep bleating from his stable, but I walk on until I am positioned beneath Cherry’s attic window. Picking up a handful of gravel, I throw one small pebble upwards in a swift arc and hear the satisfying clink of stone on glass.

  A light goes on, but it’s the wrong light. The room Skye and Summer share. Great.

  The twins appear at the window, then the sash slides up and Skye leans out.

  ‘Shay?’ she whispers. ‘What the … ?’

  ‘Shhh,’ I say. ‘Please? I know what you think of me, Skye, but give me a chance – I just need Cherry to hear me out.’

  ‘Finch rang me this afternoon,’ she says softly. ‘He explained. To be fair, Honey’d been saying the same thing too, but we didn’t listen …’

  ‘You’re speaking to me?’ I ask, wide-eyed. ‘You believe me?’

  Summer leans out of the window alongside her twin.

  ‘Of course we do,’ she says. ‘We’ve been texting you all day … Cherry has too!’

  ‘She has?’ I grin. ‘My mobile’s dead. Sorry!’

  ‘No, we’re sorry,’ Summer says. ‘We should have given you a chance. It’s just – Cherry’s cool. She’s our stepsister, and she’s had a rough time, and nobody – NOBODY – is allowed to hurt her.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ I argue. ‘I won’t!’

  ‘Better tell her that,’ Skye laughs.

  I take another piece of gravel and aim higher, but this time the pebble hits the roof and skids down the slates again with a clatter. Abruptly, the turret room lights up and Honey’s window swings open.

  ‘About time,’ she calls down. ‘Have I missed the big apology?’

  ‘No,’ I huff. ‘Give me a chance. I wasn’t counting on having an audience …’

  ‘Too bad,’ Honey drawls. ‘You’ve woken us up, you’d better entertain us now.’

  Another light snaps on, over to the right, and Coco’s window creaks open. ‘Is that you, Shay?’ she wants to know.

  ‘Who else would it be?’ Skye yells across. ‘We don’t usually have random teenage boys wandering about the garden in the middle of the night, do we?’

  ‘You never know, with you lot!’ Coco smirks. ‘This is SO slushy! Are you serenading her, Shay? Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’

  ‘Cut it out,’ I say. ‘It’s not funny!’

  ‘It is from where I’m standing,’ Honey says, and Coco pushes her window open wider, settling herself on the window sill with her violin. A whining dirge begins to swirl out into the darkness, and in the kitchen Fred the dog begins to whine along in tune. On the plus side, if the pebble-throwing doesn’t wake Cherry, the violin solo definitely will. Ouch.

  The downstairs lights flare into life, the kitchen door opens and Paddy and Charlotte appear on the doorstep in PJs and dressing gowns.

  ‘What the heck is going on?’ Paddy demands. ‘Is this some kind of midnight garden party, or are you just casing the joint for a possible burglary? Shay?’

  ‘I can explain,’ I say, alarmed. ‘If I could just talk to Cherry …’

  ‘Finally,’ Charlotte says. ‘Can you two just make up, please? I can’t take any more of the tears and moping.’

  ‘Somebody wake Cherry, for goodness’ sake,’ Honey grumbles. ‘We’ll be here all night.’

  Finally the light goes on in Cherry’s attic room, and the Velux window lifts and opens and a sad, pale face framed with dark, rumpled hair appears above me.

  ‘Say something then,’ Coco says, setting down her violin at last. ‘She’s waiting!’

  They’re all waiting. I know I need to apologize, but not to the whole family, surely?

  I clear my throat. ‘Cherry?’ I call up to her. ‘I think we need to talk. I … I’ve messed up and there’s a lot I need to say to you, but … it’s hard to find the right words. So … well, I wrote a song. For you.’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘Go for it, Shay,’ Honey says. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  So I play. I try to forget that Cherry’s dad and stepmum are right in front of me, that Fred the dog is sniffing around my feet, that her stepsisters are watching, that my ex-girlfriend is listening. I blank it all out and keep my eyes on Cherry, putting my heart and soul into the song.

  When I finish, there is a silence and Cherry puts a hand to her mouth and ducks away from the window, out of sight.

  Then Skye and Summer begin to clap, and Coco whoops and whistles, and even Honey, Paddy and Charlotte join in. Fred licks my hand and wallops the blue guitar with his tail.

  At last Cherry appears in the ki
tchen doorway and her stepsisters vanish, one by one, their lights extinguished like candles on a birthday cake.

  ‘Don’t be too late,’ Paddy says, and he and Charlotte retreat too, leaving Cherry and me alone. In the shadows outside the kitchen door we are awkward, unable to look at each other.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt.

  ‘No, I’m sorry –’

  ‘It was all a mistake – I know I shouldn’t have blanked your call – but there was honestly nothing going on …’

  ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Honey swore the same thing. And Skye said you told Finch the whole story …’

  ‘I should have told you, though,’ I sigh. ‘I’m an idiot.’

  ‘I’m an idiot too, for not trusting you … it’s just that it looked bad, and I was so upset and didn’t want to listen … I felt so stupid!’

  ‘No, I’m the stupid one …’

  We move away from the house, in case well-meaning stepsisters are eavesdropping in darkened rooms. We walk down beneath the trees strewn with fairy lights and sit on the steps of the gypsy caravan, the way we used to last summer when we first met, before we were actually going out together.

  ‘You wrote a song for me,’ Cherry says. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ I say. ‘The song doesn’t even start to say what I’d like to say, but it was terrible without you … I’m going to make sure I don’t lose you again, OK? No matter what.’

  ‘I’m not beautiful, though,’ Cherry protests. ‘I’m just ordinary, really, and Honey – well, she really is gorgeous. That’s why I thought … maybe you’d had enough of me, maybe you wanted to be with her again …’

  ‘You’re a million miles from ordinary, Cherry,’ I sigh. ‘You’re the most beautiful girl in the world to me, inside and out. I never felt that way about Honey, not ever. I cared about her, sure – I still do because she’s so mixed up, so unhappy. She was in pieces about the threat of being taken into care, threatening to run away again – I don’t know why she came to me, but she did, and I had to at least try to help. I had no idea it would all turn into such a mess, or I wouldn’t have bothered …’

  ‘You would, though,’ Cherry says. ‘Because you’re kind and caring and thoughtful. That’s why I love you.’