Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel

by Cathy Cassidy

  I am playing a violin piece I have composed myself, and Miss Noble is looking quite amazed and very impressed. I think. I hit a few dud notes because playing violin in a classroom is very different from playing violin in an oak tree, but I think this just adds to the atmosphere. After all, I am twelve years old and mostly self-taught. Miss Noble will not be expecting perfection.

  I don’t think I will miss riding lessons at all, not once I am playing violin solos in the orchestra.

  The teacher holds her hand up, smiling. ‘Thank you, Coco,’ she says. ‘A very … unusual style of playing. Full of character.’

  I grin.

  ‘Sadly, I won’t be able to offer you a place in the orchestra on this occasion,’ she tells me, and my face falls. ‘You have a certain raw talent, but I’m afraid there’s a little way to go before you reach orchestra standard. You would need to be able to read music too. Some lessons might be a good idea.’

  ‘It’s a no?’ I double-check, feeling as crestfallen as if I’ve just been voted off The X Factor. ‘Are you sure? If I could just play it again, with my gloves on, because that’s how I usually do it …’

  ‘Not this time, Coco,’ Miss Noble says kindly. ‘Take some lessons and try out again at the high school.’

  I put my violin away in its case, pull on my panda hat and grab my schoolbag. The world is full of disappointments. Music teachers who do not recognize genius when they see it, landowners who treat their ponies like dirt, sisters who break the rules, boys who sulk and growl and sign off their texts with kisses just to confuse you. Lawrie Marshall actually came up to me today in the lunch queue and asked how things were at home, and I just gulped and said everything was fine because I really did not want any kind of fuss with Sarah and the others around. They noticed anyhow and teased me all day about Lawrie fancying me, which did not help my stress levels, seriously.

  There’s an icy bite in the air as I trudge out towards the school gate. My heart is heavier than my schoolbag until I spot three familiar figures sitting on the wall.

  ‘Coco!’ Cherry calls, jumping down and running across the playground. ‘Over here! We’ve come to kidnap you!’

  ‘We’re taking you for tea,’ Skye adds, hooking an arm through mine. ‘We went to the riding stables and some boy with smouldering eyes told us you’d given up on lessons, and that you’d be here, pursuing your musical career …’

  ‘Lawrie Marshall,’ Cherry says, with a knowing look. ‘He is so not the way you described him.’

  ‘He looks quite cool,’ Summer tells me.

  ‘Hot, you mean,’ Skye corrects her twin. ‘Anyway, here we are. Have you got your stuff? Shall we go?’

  I allow myself to be led out of school and down towards the seafront cafe, my sisters talking all the time. It feels good to be with them and takes some of the sting out of being turned down for the orchestra. I remind myself that many great artists and musicians were not appreciated properly in their lifetimes.

  ‘So why have you kidnapped me?’ I ask, as we tumble into the warm, brightly lit cafe. ‘Not that I am complaining, obviously …’

  ‘Ah. World War Three is raging at home,’ Skye explains as we order three big hot chocolates with whipped cream and chocolate flakes and a modest skinny latte for Summer. ‘You do not want to be there right now. Honey’s in so much trouble – Mum is furious and Paddy is banging the table with his fist and they are all waiting for Dad to call from Australia …’

  We slide into a window seat, the sea in the distance grey and ominous in the dusk, and for once my sisters’ faces are serious.

  ‘So … what happened?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s been expelled from school,’ Summer whispers. ‘Excluded, thrown out, asked to leave … and Anthony too!’

  I blink. ‘But … why? Skipping lessons?’

  ‘Worse than that,’ Skye tells me. ‘Mum and Paddy went in to see Mr Keating this morning, and everything came out. Honey’s been truanting for months, going into Minehead on the school bus and then disappearing off to town. Turns out she’d met this boy who works at the fairground, and she was hanging out with him and his friends …’

  That pulls me up short.

  ‘I saw her,’ I whisper. ‘After the firework display in town – she was with these scary-looking girls, talking to a boy with tattoos. She told me she was working on an art project. I believed her. I am so stupid …’

  ‘We’ve all been stupid,’ Skye says. ‘Trying to cover up for her, hoping she’d wise up and sort herself out. It’s been going on way too long.’

  ‘She’s been fobbing the teachers off with forged letters saying she was ill,’ Cherry tells me. ‘Really ill – the letters talked about blood tests and scans and stays in hospital. She didn’t say what was wrong, exactly, but she implied it was serious. The teachers were really upset, and nobody wanted to say anything.’

  ‘Think they reckoned our family had enough troubles right now,’ Summer says quietly. ‘With me having … an eating disorder and everything. That’s why they’ve been asking how she was, passing on worksheets and homework. Anthony was the main go-between, passing on letters and collecting work. I guess that means he’s been doing most of it for her too.’

  I bite my lip. ‘But … how come Honey’s school report didn’t say anything?’ I ask. ‘It said she had perfect attendance, and that her grades were fine. And … what’s Anthony got to do with all this, anyway?’

  Cherry sips her hot chocolate. ‘Mum and Paddy were there most of the day,’ she says. ‘It was a major investigation – Anthony’s parents had to come in too, and everyone was trying to find out what was happening.’

  ‘Honey’s had Anthony dangling on a string for ages now,’ Summer goes on. ‘She’s been going down to see him once or twice a week, in between seeing her fairground friends. Anthony has a crush on her; he’d do pretty much anything to please her.’

  ‘And he’s really brainy,’ Cherry reminds me. ‘Some kind of computer genius.’

  ‘So …?’

  Skye dunks her chocolate flake and bites into the end. ‘You won’t believe it,’ she says. ‘He’s been hacking into the school computer system. He altered Honey’s report and made it look like she’d got good grades and perfect attendance, and he tweaked some of her coursework marks too … scary!’

  I almost choke on my hot chocolate, ending up with a dollop of whipped cream on my nose. It’s not a good look.

  ‘No way,’ I breathe. ‘That’s … major! No wonder they’ve kicked her out, and Anthony. She must have known she couldn’t get away with it!’

  ‘I don’t think she cared either way,’ Skye shrugs. ‘And Anthony’s clever, he had it all planned out. He was sending letters to the school, as well, supposedly from the hospital, and from Mum and Paddy. Nightmare.’

  ‘Last night’s email blew it all,’ Cherry explains. ‘If Anthony had got the school address right, they might never have been found out.’

  My head is spinning. Expelled from school? I don’t think even Honey can wriggle out of this one. Finally, after years of pushing the boundaries, breaking the rules and behaving badly, my big sister has reached the end of the line. It’s terrifying but kind of a relief at the same time.

  ‘I should have lied,’ Summer says into the silence. ‘Last night. Said I saw Honey around at school, so Mum believed her excuses …’

  ‘No,’ Skye cuts in. ‘You shouldn’t, Summer. And nor should I. We didn’t drop her in it, we were just honest. It’s time we dumped that old “sisters-don’t-tell” rule because Honey needs help, you know that – we’ve all known it for a while. She wasn’t always this way …’

  I frown,
trying to remember the way things were before Dad left. It all seems hazy and long ago, a perfect world where the sun always shone and nothing ever went wrong, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t like that really. I do remember Honey, bright and beautiful and kind and confident, always laughing, always Dad’s favourite.

  Then he left us, and Honey turned from golden girl to rebel just about overnight. She yelled and shouted and blamed Mum for letting him go, but Mum couldn’t have stopped him, of course – none of us could.

  ‘What happens now?’ I ask.

  ‘Paddy took us home, told us everything,’ Skye shrugs. ‘Mum’s gutted. She called Dad in Sydney but he’s in a meeting, so they’re waiting for him to ring back, and Honey just looks sort of shell-shocked. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Paddy said it might be an idea to go and stay with friends tonight, stay out of the firing line. So Mum rang Tia’s mum and she says we can all come over for an epic sleepover, me and Summer and Cherry and you. And Millie from school, and Cherry’s friend Haruna.’

  ‘We grabbed our PJs and sleeping bags, and your stuff too,’ Cherry adds. ‘Paddy dropped us at the riding stable to collect you, and when you weren’t there we asked that stable boy and walked up to the school.’

  I blink. ‘So I have to go to Tia’s?’

  ‘Well, that’s what Mum arranged,’ Summer says. ‘We should all stick together because I really don’t recommend going back to Tanglewood right now.’

  I try to picture the sleepover, a crush of teenage girls wrapped in duvets and sleeping bags, eating pizza and popcorn and dissecting every last detail of Honey’s fall from grace. I don’t think I could stomach it.

  ‘Couldn’t I go to Sarah’s house instead?’ I ask. ‘I don’t think I can face a big gang of your mates right now … it’s quite a lot to take in.’

  Skye frowns. ‘Well, I suppose it’d be OK,’ she says. ‘As long as we know where you are. If you can just check with Sarah …’

  I tap out a quick message on my mobile and a few moments later a reply bleeps through. No problem. See you soon

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘I can stay as long as I want.’

  ‘Great.’ Summer looks at her watch. ‘I’ll text Mum and let her know. We should go, y’know, we don’t want to miss the six o’clock bus. The girls will be waiting.’

  ‘We’ll walk you along to Sarah’s,’ Skye says, ushering me out into the street. ‘Make sure you get there OK.’

  I know better than to argue – my sisters are in protective mode and it’s not hard to work out why, what with everything that’s happening at home. Skye and Summer would freak if they knew what I’d been up to these past few weeks – they still think I am six years old, some cute little kid in patched dungarees with a pet spider in a matchbox.

  They deliver me to Sarah’s gate, watch me walk along the path and ring the bell, then sprint along to the bus stop as the Kitnor bus heaves into view, waving as they pile on board.

  ‘See you tomorrow!’ Skye yells. ‘Have fun!’

  The door opens and Sarah peers out. ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Hi, Coco. Didn’t expect to see you tonight.’

  ‘Flying visit,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve just come from orchestra practice, and I wanted to check whether we had maths homework this weekend or not.’

  ‘We do,’ Sarah says, frowning. ‘Fractions and decimals for that test on Monday.’

  ‘OK,’ I say brightly. ‘Great. See you then!’

  I check that the bus has vanished, then wave and walk back down the path. Sarah watches me, puzzled, as I walk towards the lone figure on the corner, a boy leaning moodily against the wall, eating chips, checking his mobile, his bike silhouetted in the lamplight.

  24

  We finish up the chips and ride out of town, along the quiet lanes towards the hazel copse, me sitting on the bike seat with my arms round Lawrie’s waist while he stands up, pedalling hard. I am still in school uniform, my schoolbag slung across my body, my violin case tied on to the back of the bike with bungees. The wind lifts my hair but it doesn’t quite blow away my troubles – not today.

  ‘What’s up?’ Lawrie asks finally, as we ditch the bike and hike up through the heather towards the ruined cottage. ‘Why the mystery text? Friday’s normally my day because of working at the stables.’

  ‘And Saturday and Sunday are supposed to be mine, but you came up anyhow,’ I remind him. ‘I’m just fed up. I failed my audition for the school orchestra.’

  ‘Well, you can’t be good at everything,’ he shrugs.

  I want to ask why not, or point out that I am not asking to be good at everything, just one thing, for now at least, but it seems pointless.

  ‘You can play for me, anyway,’ Lawrie is saying. ‘I don’t know much about music but I quite like the sound of the violin. Sort of sad, but I bet I’d like it. Will you?’

  ‘I might,’ I tell him. ‘Sometime. Maybe.’

  ‘Is something else wrong?’

  I sigh. ‘My family are in crisis – again. Don’t want to go home, don’t want to talk about it …’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he shrugs.

  The evening is bitterly cold and the dark velvet sky is sprinkled with a million stars. It’s beautiful but freezing, the kind of night when your breath hovers in little clouds just beyond your lips. We trudge on in silence, but I can’t keep quiet. The day’s disasters are playing over and over in my head like a newsreel.

  ‘My big sister’s been expelled,’ I blurt suddenly. ‘She is fifteen years old, seeing a boy from the fairground, truanting from school. She got her friend to hack into the school computer system to fake school reports and told the teachers she had a serious illness. They’re waiting for my dad to ring from Australia to decide what to do, but whatever it is won’t be good. Honey has been pushing her luck for way too long.’

  I pause for breath. For someone who doesn’t want to talk about it, I am doing OK. I tell Lawrie about Honey’s part in the stable fire this summer, her attempt to run away; how only a few weeks ago at the start of the autumn term, she was reported missing and turned up next day, completely oblivious to the panic she’d caused. The police warned her then they would call social services if she got into trouble again.

  This is a different kind of trouble, but just as serious; is that why Paddy wanted us out of the house tonight? Are social services at Tanglewood right now, making notes, shaking their heads, planning my sister’s future? I feel sick just thinking about it.

  ‘OK. Not good,’ Lawrie is saying. ‘No wonder you don’t want to go home – it sounds a bit full-on.’

  ‘It is,’ I say into the darkness, and suddenly an avalanche of hurt spills out, defensive, despairing.

  ‘Everyone thinks we’re so perfect, but we’re really not. We live in a big house, but it doesn’t belong to us – it’s Grandma Kate’s, and since Dad left we’ve had to run it as a B&B to make ends meet. We need the chocolate business to take off and we have this big order just now, but Paddy’s had to halt production to sort this mess out. Oh yeah, and one of my sisters is anorexic and one is trying to smash what’s left of our family into little bits …’

  ‘I’m sorry, Coco,’ Lawrie says.

  I tilt my chin up proudly as we approach the ruined cottage. ‘I don’t usually go around telling other people my troubles. Don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.’

  Lawrie nods. ‘I understand. I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You’d better not.’

  A thin whinnying sound drifts down through the darkness, and I stop short, frowning.

  ‘The ponies,’ Lawrie says, running forward through the heather. ‘Quick … something’s wrong!�
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  We push through the gate to Jasmine Cottage to find Spirit trotting jerkily through the overgrown garden, kicking at her swollen stomach, pushing herself against the hedge, crying out while Caramel paces patiently alongside her.

  ‘She’s foaling,’ Lawrie says, his face grave. ‘I knew she was close, but I thought we had a little more time …’

  Guilt and panic curdle inside me, cold and sour. I checked the Internet for information on delivering a foal, but with all the chaos at Tanglewood lately, I failed to follow it up. I made time to bake cupcakes and design posters, but not to find out how best to help a pony who needed me.

  I can’t remember a thing from the online article. What kind of a would-be vet am I? ‘What do we do?’ I ask.

  ‘Get lanterns and hay and hope for the best,’ Lawrie says.

  He takes Spirit’s head collar and presses his face against hers, whispering softly, quietening, calming her, walking her up and down while I light the lanterns and spread hay across the floor of the ruined kitchen. After a while, he leads Spirit in.

  ‘Her waters have broken,’ he tells me. ‘It shouldn’t take too long now – if things are straightforward she won’t need us at all. Let’s just hope that they are …’

  Caramel crowds into the cottage kitchen, uneasy, curious, and Spirit stumbles to her knees on the hay, nostrils flaring. Lawrie soothes her and she slumps on to her side, tail swishing, eyes wide.

  ‘There must be something I can do?’ I ask. On TV, when babies are being born in unexpected places, people boil kettles and tear up clean sheets and gather towels while they wait for the ambulance to arrive. I am not sure it is the same for ponies, but even if it were, there is no way here to get hot water or clean linen, and no ambulance will be arriving any time soon.

  ‘Well,’ Lawrie says, ‘how about you play that violin for us?’

  ‘What, now?’

  Lawrie nods, and although the whole idea of it is obviously crazy, I reach for my violin case, lifting out the glossy, curvy violin. Every time I play, my heart lifts up with music and takes me far away, to a place where anything is possible. Even when Mum banned me from playing in the house, even when my sisters made jokes about screeching ghosts and cats being strangled, nothing could spoil it for me … until today’s failed audition. Gloom floods me all over again, but I push it away, determined. If anything can calm the crackle of tension and fear in the air, the violin can.