Fortune Cookie

by Cathy Cassidy

  ‘He doesn’t sound very nice,’ Honey says.

  ‘He wasn’t, really.’

  Honey sighs. ‘I hate that you’ve grown up so far away, and been through such difficult things. Our dad really does have a lot to answer for.’

  And Honey doesn’t know the half of it.

  Who knows, maybe my dad sussed the situation pretty well. He heard about me and knew instinctively that I was going to be trouble. Who can really blame him for walking away from Mum, when he already had a sweet-natured wife, three pretty, clever daughters and another on the way, plus a rambling Victorian house right by the sea? The only thing I can’t work out is why he chose to walk away from them as well, because if I’d had a set-up like Tanglewood I would never have let it go.

  We walk up to the caravan together, my wet jeans squeaking a little. It takes me a moment to notice that a sheep is trailing along after us, and Honey tells me that this is Humbug, an orphan lamb that Coco raised from when she was a few days old. Humbug seems to think she is a dog, which is pretty surreal.

  ‘Coco’s got a pony too,’ Honey says. ‘Caramel. Check out the stables up by the chocolate workshop. Coco is a regular one-girl animal rescue!’

  ‘My little sisters would love that,’ I say. ‘A dog, a sheep, a pony – cool!’

  ‘Yeah, I guess. Got a girlfriend back in London?’ Honey asks. ‘I’ve got a boyfriend – I met him in Australia. I used to go for bad boy types, but Ash is … different. He’s clever, studious, kind; not my usual type at all. And he kind of understands me, which nobody ever does, usually. I haven’t seen him for ages, though.’

  ‘Yeah? That sucks,’ I comment.

  ‘It really does,’ Honey agrees. ‘Just my luck to fall for a guy who lives on the other side of the planet. But he’s finished school and he’s been travelling – India, Sri Lanka – and now he’s in Europe; Greece, apparently. Although I haven’t heard from him for a couple of days now. I expect he’s met some gorgeous gap year student and forgotten all about me.’

  ‘More likely his phone’s out of charge,’ I say sensibly. ‘He’s not going to forget about you, that’s for sure. Are you planning to meet up?’

  ‘Hopefully,’ she says, and her eyes look misty and faraway all of a sudden. ‘Might take him a month or so to work his way across Europe, but the idea is that he’ll end up here. Maybe you’ll meet him.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, although I know I will be long gone by then.

  ‘So, girlfriend?’ Honey presses. ‘Are you a heartbreaker as well as a runaway, just like your big sister?’

  I laugh out loud. ‘Not exactly,’ I admit. ‘I haven’t had a lot of time for romance, to be honest.’

  ‘You will,’ she says. ‘You’re not bad-looking, y’know, little brother! Although the dripping-wet look isn’t really doing you any favours; you’ve brought a change of clothes, right?’

  ‘Er … kind of.’

  ‘OK. Get sorted and come up to the house; we’ll grab some breakfast before the TV crew arrive.’

  I turn and walk up the caravan steps, open the door.

  ‘Cookie?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah?’

  My half-sister grins in the dappled light beneath the trees, her blue eyes gleaming with pride.

  ‘It’s just … I’m glad you came,’ she says. ‘I am a bit of a disaster zone as sisters go; I get stuff wrong, I mess things up, I always learn the hard way. I found out about you by accident, and I couldn’t help it, I had to write. I wanted to see you, meet you. I wanted you to meet us. But – well, I was scared too. What if Mum freaked when she found out about you? What if my sisters blamed me, or if you hated us all? But it’s going to be OK, Cookie, I know it is. I know you’ve rocked up here without telling anyone. I know you’re on some mad mission to contact Dad, but so what? You’re just … well, you’re the perfect little brother. Looks like I finally got one thing right!’

  She turns and runs up to the house, and I watch her go.

  Nobody has ever described me as perfect before; I am about as far from perfect as it’s possible to be. Honey knows I am a liar and a runaway but instead of judging me, she has taken it in her stride, kept her mouth shut, even helped me fake the phone call to Mum.

  With a big sister like that, my plan can’t fail.

  10

  If I’d thought that Tanglewood was crowded yesterday, today is something else. I am introduced to so many people my head starts to freeze; my eyes and ears can’t take it all in.

  There’s Sandy, who manages the chocolate workshop, and her kids Lawrie and Jasmine. Lawrie is about my age, and he and Coco are practically inseparable, though possibly in a just-good-friends way. I can’t quite tell. Then there’s Alfie, Summer’s boyfriend, who is freckled and funny and kind, and Shay, Cherry’s boyfriend, who is clearly the guitar boy I was mistaken for yesterday. He is tall and fair and too-cool-for-school, with a knitted beanie hat (even though it’s August) and an acoustic guitar slung over his back. And then there’s two friends of the twins, Tia and Millie.

  Over breakfast, Paddy and Charlotte reassured me that they’d called the producer and asked for the long-lost half-brother clip of film to be ditched.

  ‘I told Nikki we need time to take the news in,’ Charlotte explained. ‘She totally understood. She asked if we could talk about it again in a week or so, when we’ve all had time to absorb the news a bit better, but I don’t think I’ll be changing my mind, Cookie. This is not the kind of thing I want broadcast across the nation, and I don’t suppose you do either.’

  I told her I definitely didn’t.

  The TV crew have a plan worked out for the day’s filming. First, they will set up in the chocolate workshop to film Paddy and Charlotte making truffles; then they’ll shoot Sandy taking a phone call about a rush order for a big department store, and everyone will be brought in to pack boxes and pull together. This was the scene my unexpected appearance scuppered last night, but the TV crew has reimagined it, making it bigger and better, drafting in a cast of thousands. Or all these kids from the village anyhow.

  The TV crew usher Charlotte, Paddy and Sandy over to the workshop to start filming while the village kids flop down round the kitchen table with the half-sisters. Summer brings a couple of pitchers of cloudy lemonade out of the fridge and pours glasses for everyone. People help themselves to toast and jam and talk non-stop about a million things and a million people I have never even heard of; they’re more at home in the Tanglewood kitchen than I will ever be.

  Summer hands me a glass of lemonade, complete with ice cubes and slice of lemon. I take a sip and almost choke; it’s like no lemonade I’ve ever tasted before.

  ‘What is that stuff?’ I splutter. ‘It’s like paint stripper!’

  ‘Not sweet enough for you?’ Summer says. ‘Sorry; I made it myself, and I like to give it a bit of a citrus kick. Think of all that vitamin C! It’s really healthy, but you can add a bit more sugar if you want.’

  I think the lemonade has taken a few layers of enamel off my teeth, but I just smile and shrug and abandon it on a window sill. The other kids seem to be drinking theirs all right; maybe country kids are used to sour, healthy, wince-making drinks with no fizz.

  Honey seems to have forgotten me; she’s right in the middle of the group, chatting easily, telling them all she’s planning a beach party for her long-lost cousin and that they’re all invited. I wonder who the cousin is, then realize it could be me.

  Abruptly, I feel seriously homesick for our damp flat in Chinatown, for two annoying little sisters and a mum who works her socks off for us yet never seems to have a penny to show for it. She’d buy us proper lemonade, the supermarket fizzy kind. Mum has answered my text from yesterday with a breezy message telling me to come home soon; has she called Harry’s mum to check up on where I am? Probably not, with Maisie covering for me. I have a track record of going missing from time to time, especially when I’m in trouble or when I’ve had some kind of blow-up with Mum. She knows to leave me be fo
r a day or two, let me cool down. She knows I’ll be back.

  Having the freedom to head off and stay over at my friends is usually something I see as a good thing, but suddenly I feel angry, hurt; Mum will be busy right now tidying up the flat, getting ready for Sheddie’s visit. She’s probably glad I’m gone, out of her hair, not hanging around with a face like stone and a mouthful of cheek to fling at her ridiculous new boyfriend.

  Mum has no clue I’ve run away to clear my name, save The Paper Dragon and rescue us from homelessness, or, worse, a life of eating lentils and dandelion leaves in Sheddie’s yurt.

  She doesn’t know I’ve tracked down my half-sisters. I don’t even know if she’s aware that they exist. I’m only just getting my own head around the fact that they’re real. Their lives and mine are so very different that I know there’s no way I can ever really be a part of all this; it’s a fantasy, a daydream. A bit like the carefully planned TV show that’s meant to look totally natural and random, things aren’t quite the way they look on the surface, but still, Tanglewood is heaven compared to our flat in Chinatown.

  I slip out of the door and back to the gypsy caravan, suddenly gloomy. I sink down on the caravan steps and turn my face up to the sun. Silence is a relief after the chaotic kitchen, but I can’t forget why I’m here; it’s not to socialize and it’s not to have fun, it’s to contact my dad and enlist his help.

  It’s lonely being a teenage superhero, especially when you are much more used to being a teenage tearaway, but I am determined. Once the film crew are gone, I will corner Honey and get hold of Dad’s email. I’m pretty sure she will agree to help. Meanwhile, curiosity and guilt about what might be happening back home gets to me, and I call Maisie.

  ‘Maize?’ I say as the call clicks through and the faint buzz of a vacuum cleaner fills my ears. ‘It’s me – shhh, pretend it’s a friend, OK? Can you do the running-the-taps trick again?’

  ‘Hello, Tara,’ my little sister says, barely missing a beat. ‘Great to hear from you. My mum is just hoovering the living room, again, so I am going to take this call in the bathroom.’

  I hear a door slam and the sound of water running.

  ‘All clear,’ Maisie says. ‘Mum is driving me mad. She hoovered twice yesterday and now she’s at it again; how much cleaner can a place be?’

  ‘She’s stressed,’ I explain. ‘She always cleans when she’s stressed. She’ll be worrying about the bill for the ceiling and the bathroom.’

  ‘She’s worrying about Sheddie,’ Maisie says. ‘He’s supposed to turn up later, in time for tea. We’re having sausage and mash, only the sausages have got to be veggie because Sheddie doesn’t eat meat.’

  ‘Great,’ I say scornfully. ‘He sounds grim. Don’t worry, Maisie, I am working on a plan, and I am quietly confident I can save the day.’

  ‘I’ve got a plan too,’ Maisie says. ‘Mum has told us we have to be on our best behaviour with Sheddie; that’s what gave me the idea. Isla and me are going to be horrible to him. We’re going to be rude and bad-mannered and spiteful. We’re going to fight and yell and blank him if he tries to be nice to us. He won’t want to live with us then.’

  I start to laugh. Maisie is a genius, and her plot to drive Sheddie away might just help hold the fort until I get through to Dad and come up with a more lasting solution.

  ‘Where are you, Cookie?’ Maisie asks. ‘Will you be back tonight?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ I tell her, Maybe tomorrow, or the day after. Can you keep Mum off my trail till then?’

  ‘Definitely,’ she says. ‘But don’t be away too long, OK?’

  ‘I won’t,’ I promise. ‘Thanks, Maisie, and good luck with Sheddie!’

  I have a feeling she’ll need it.

  11

  The peace and quiet doesn’t last for long.

  ‘You OK?’ a voice asks, and one of the sisters appears through the trees, the one who isn’t actually a sister at all. She has almond-shaped eyes and blue-black hair tied up in messy buns and red skinny jeans worn with a cool band T-shirt.

  ‘Cherry?’ I say, trying to remember her name.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘That’s right. I’m the stepsister, Paddy’s daughter. Thought I’d see if you were OK – you looked a bit out of your depth back there. Tanglewood can be full-on at times.’

  ‘Too many people,’ I say. ‘I’m still getting to know you lot – there’s no chance of me coping with a whole new bunch of kids so soon. My brain just scrambles.’

  Cherry smiles. ‘I felt the same when I first arrived. It wasn’t all that long ago, but it feels like I was a different person back then. I’d never seen anything like Tanglewood in my life.’

  ‘Snap,’ I say. ‘It’s like a castle or something, well, a slightly shabby one. But – I dunno, it’s like magic. The caravan, the beach, the sea.’

  ‘I slept in the caravan too, when I first came,’ she tells me. ‘Charlotte was running the house as a B&B back then so the place was always manic; the caravan was my bolt-hole.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see how that would work,’ I say.

  ‘I lived in Glasgow before we came here,’ she goes on. ‘We had a little flat in a tenement building. Dad worked in a chocolate factory, sweeping the floor, and I was really miserable … probably the most unpopular girl in my school. Tanglewood really must be magic, Cookie, because it changed all that.’

  My eyes widen. ‘Your dad swept the floor in a factory?’ I check. ‘And now he’s running a business so successful that the TV are making a reality TV show about him? I thought, well, I assumed you were like the Tanberry girls. Y’know, a rich kid with a perfect life.’

  Cherry sits down on a fallen tree trunk, regarding me carefully.

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ she says. ‘I’m just ordinary. A kid from Glasgow with a big imagination and not enough common sense. The others are just ordinary too. I suppose I thought they had everything when I first came, but that’s not true. It’s not the way it looks.’

  I frown. ‘How come?’

  ‘Well, the house is gorgeous, but it doesn’t exactly belong to us,’ Cherry begins. ‘Charlotte’s mum inherited it, but she remarried and lives in France now. Most of the sisters were born here, but after Greg – your dad – left them, Charlotte really struggled. Greg didn’t pay any maintenance, or not much, and not regularly. Like I said, she ran the place as a B&B.’

  ‘Great guy my dad has turned out to be.’ I shrug. ‘Still, it’s good to know his mean streak was fair and across the board, and not just aimed at Mum and me. If you know what I mean.’

  She sighs. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘So OK, I’m not saying the Tanberrys are rich …’

  ‘Just privileged?’ Cherry teases. ‘Well, maybe. It’s a different life from the one we were used to, sure. Don’t think everything’s been easy for your half-sisters, though – it hasn’t. Honey was totally off the rails before she went to Australia. She ran away a few times; the last time she took her passport and a load of money out of the kitchen drawer and the police picked her up at Heathrow, trying to book a ticket to see her dad in Sydney.’

  ‘The police?’ I echo, trying not to sound impressed. ‘Wow!’

  ‘Not wow, not really,’ Cherry tells me. ‘The social workers almost took her into care. And then while she was in Australia she got cyberbullied really badly. She looks confident, but – well, she’s a bit of mess.’

  I nod, chastened. I hadn’t imagined that Honey’s rebellious streak ran quite that deep; maybe I have more in common with her than I thought.

  Mum has always impressed on me that I have to keep a lid on my troublemaker tendencies. ‘If you keep breaking the rules, they’ll take you away from me,’ she said once, when we were still in Manchester and I was getting into a lot of trouble in school. ‘I’m a single parent family, Cookie. They’ll think I’m not coping.’ I’d tried very hard after that to avoid kicking off. I didn’t want to lose my mum, my sisters.

  ‘Then there’s Summer,’ Cherry is
saying. ‘Two years ago she had auditions for one of the most prestigious boarding ballet schools in the country; being a dancer had always been her dream. She put herself under so much pressure she fell to bits, pretty much. She’s been attending the eating disorder clinic ever since. She’s much stronger now, but – well, not so perfect, huh?’

  I think of Summer’s sad blue eyes, her graceful bird-like frame, and I begin to understand. ‘Anorexia,’ I say, piecing the story together. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it?’

  ‘It could have killed her,’ Cherry says. ‘As it is, it derailed her hopes and dreams. She was on track to be a professional dancer, but she just couldn’t handle the pressure.’

  ‘That sucks. Poor Summer.’

  ‘Yeah. Skye and Coco are OK. Skye’s mad on vintage and history, and Coco is animal crazy and wants to save the world. They’re both really kind and cool and fun, though.’

  ‘And how about you?’

  ‘I’m good,’ Cherry grins. ‘I don’t tell whopping great lies any more, or throw my dinner over people’s heads – not recently anyhow.’

  I grin. ‘Yikes. I’ll watch my step with you around then!’

  ‘Do that,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t want to go having a relapse; although actually you might suit a plate of macaroni cheese in the hair.’

  She keeps a straight face for all of ten seconds, and then the two of us are laughing out loud. I think Cherry probably understands how I’m feeling better than anyone – she has been an outsider here too, after all.

  ‘C’mon, come back in for the filming,’ she coaxes. ‘If I can do it, you can do it. It won’t be so bad, honest.’

  ‘It will be,’ I scowl. ‘I don’t know how you stick it, having those TV people crawling around everywhere. Have they got secret cameras in the loo as well?’

  ‘Hope not,’ Cherry laughs. ‘It’s funny – everybody wants to get in on the filming, grab their fifteen minutes of fame, but it’s not my idea of fun. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of girl, but we all have to be in it; it’d look odd otherwise. And it’ll be great publicity for Dad and Charlotte, so nobody really minds. Nikki, the producer, knows Dad and Charlotte pretty well; we trust her not to put together something dodgy. She knows how she wants the storyline to pan out.’