3: Chocolate Box Girls: Summer's Dream

by Cathy Cassidy

  ‘You’ll have to,’ Tia shrugs. ‘It’s only a couple of weeks until school starts again. It won’t be the same without you.’

  ‘Shhh,’ I say, pulling my friends up to dance on the sand. Someone has set up an iPod with portable speakers, and I dance for hours, long after Millie and Tia and Skye give up, exhausted. I kick off my shoes and dance with the warm sand in between my toes, whirling around in the dusk, trying to shut down the uncomfortable thoughts about the future that keep sliding into my mind.

  When the speakers finally run out of charge, Shay plays guitar and Chris and Marty fetch African drums and a mouth organ from their caravan in the crew field, and it turns into a late-night jam session. There are toasted marshmallows and fruit punch and Honey’s not-so-secret cider shandy, and people splinter away into little groups. Chris and Marty have paired up with a couple of the crew field girls, Skye and Finch are smooching down by the water’s edge, Honey and JJ are holding hands by the fireside, and even Tia and Millie are doing some serious flirting with every unattached boy in the vicinity.

  Coco’s friends have gone home now and she is hanging on alone, arms wrapped round Humbug the lamb, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Go up to the house, Coco,’ I tell her. ‘Take Humbug back to the stable.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Coco says. ‘In a minute …’

  I spot Alfie and Anthony sitting on a driftwood log a little way from the bonfire, and sit down beside them, worn out from dancing.

  ‘Hey,’ Alfie says. ‘Me and Anthony are setting the world to rights. Wanna join in?’

  ‘Maybe. What are we talking about?’

  ‘Your sister,’ Anthony says heavily. ‘I’m wasting my time with her, I think.’

  ‘Honey?’ I blink. ‘I thought you were friends?’

  ‘We are,’ Anthony agrees. ‘But that’s all we’ll ever be.’

  ‘Never give up, mate,’ Alfie says. ‘There’s always hope.’

  We look across at Honey, who is leaning against JJ while talking to Marty and his girlfriend, twirling a strand of jaw-length blonde hair round her finger. Honey in full-on flirt mode is quite something. Marty seems to have forgotten he has a girlfriend, and Honey certainly seems to have forgotten about JJ.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Anthony says. ‘It’s late … I’m going to head off. Well done on the audition, Summer. G’night.’

  Anthony mooches off into the darkness, and Alfie sighs. ‘Not sure if that story’s going to have a happy ending,’ he says. ‘But I am happy for you, Summer. I know how much you wanted that scholarship place.’

  ‘It’s not official yet,’ I tell him.

  ‘As good as,’ Alfie says. ‘I’m pleased for you, but I will miss you, y’know.’

  ‘Nobody to play practical jokes on?’ I tease. ‘Nobody to help you with your eyeliner?’

  ‘I’m being serious,’ he shrugs. ‘No more trampoline marathons, no more heart-to-hearts, nobody to make daisy chains with …’

  ‘You’re rubbish at daisy chains anyhow,’ I point out. ‘Besides, I’ll be back in the holidays … it’s not like I’m emigrating!’

  Not like my dad did, I think.

  ‘I know,’ Alfie grins. ‘But … well, I have loved these last few weeks. I know it’s been rough for you, with your mum away and what happened with Aaron and all the extra practice and … well, other stuff. But it’s like I’ve had a chance to get to know you a bit. You’ve always been kind of distant, very ice princess …’

  ‘Me?’ I frown. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yup,’ Alfie confirms. ‘You’re like the perfect girl, y’know? Cool, clever, endlessly talented, girl most likely to succeed … that stuff can be kind of daunting for us mere mortals.’

  ‘I am so not perfect,’ I say.

  ‘You are to me …’

  Alfie takes my hand in the darkness, and the tiniest crackle of electricity fizzes between us. It doesn’t mean anything, of course. There could be no spark, no magic, with a boy like Alfie. Could there? And then he leans towards me and his lips are on mine, soft as velvet, warm as the night. Alfie tastes of sea salt and woodsmoke, and yes, there is a spark, a sizzle of fireworks that makes my heart race. How can that be? How can this kiss feel so different from my clumsy struggles with Aaron, me fending him off, him pushing closer? I was never good enough for Aaron, no matter how hard I tried. I was never enough, full stop.

  Alfie’s kiss is different, as different as the sun is from the moon. I don’t want to push him away, I want to pull him closer – because with his arms around me I feel safe, calm, happy. Alfie’s fingers stroke my hair, trace a path down my cheek, making me shiver.

  What are you doing? the voice in my head sneers. You must be crazy. He won’t want you. Who would?

  I pull away, confused.

  ‘Summer?’ Alfie says. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘N-nothing,’ I stammer, blushing furiously in the darkness. ‘I just … I’m not sure …’

  I stand up, poised for flight. Honey was right – I am a mess, a girl in trouble, kidding herself she can control a life that is spinning wildly out of control. I spot JJ drinking cider alone in the firelight, Marty’s girlfriend talking to her mates, Shay and Cherry, Skye and Finch, Sid and Carl and Tia and Millie. Honey and Coco are nowhere to be seen. Humbug the lamb trots up to me, butting my leg with his head, bleating softly.

  ‘Where’s Coco?’

  ‘Think she went to bed,’ Alfie says. ‘Looks like she forgot Humbug. Summer, where are you going?’

  I loop my skinny pink scarf round the lamb’s neck and lead him to the cliff steps. ‘I’ll take him back,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘He’ll be scared down here. Coco must have been really sleepy; she’d never normally leave him …’

  But Alfie and I both know I am running away.

  I climb the steps and walk across the moonlit garden, Humbug at my heels. An owl hoots and I can hear Fred the dog barking from inside the house, but the lights are off and I’m guessing Grandma Kate has gone to bed too. She trusts us. She doesn’t know Honey is drinking cider shandy, flirting with two or three boys at once.

  All is quiet as I push the door to Humbug’s stable open and step from the bright moonlight into the darkness. Then Humbug pulls free and bolts out into the night, bleating. There’s a scuffle, a cough and a yelp, two pinprick glows of red, the sound of someone swearing in the dark.

  That’s when I scream.

  31

  ‘Shut up, Summer! You’ll wake the whole house!’

  Honey has me by the shoulders, shaking me a little, her voice a hoarse whisper, her breath stinking of cider and smoke.

  ‘What were you doing?’ I squeak. ‘You scared me half to death!’

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ she snaps. ‘I just wanted a few minutes on my own! Is that a problem?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I argue. ‘I just didn’t expect …’

  I trail away into silence, my head struggling to make sense of this. Honey hides out in a pitch-black stable in the middle of a beach party because she wants a few minutes on her own? It doesn’t quite add up. Then I notice the shadowy figure in the doorway behind her, and it all makes sense again.

  ‘Hello, Marty,’ I say. ‘I think your girlfriend was looking for you. Come to think of it, Honey, JJ was looking for you too. And hey, here you both are …’

  Marty holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

  ‘Jen’s not exactly my girlfriend,’ he says. ‘Not serious anyway. And Honey and I were … just talking really. No big deal. But … yeah. Whatever.’

  He closes the stable door and walks past us in the moonlight, and I notice a smudge of Honey’s red lipstick smeared across his cheek. Just talking? Not a chance.

  ‘Marty, hang on,’ my sister says. ‘There’s no need …’

  ‘This wasn’t a great idea,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘You’re too young, and it’s all too complicated. See you around …’

  Honey’s eyes brim with tears. ‘No
w look what you’ve done!’ she growls. ‘The first boy I’ve really liked in ages, and you have to ruin everything!’

  ‘He’s not exactly a boy,’ I point out. ‘He’s a student – he must be at least nineteen. Besides … if Marty’s so special, how come you’ve been wrapped round JJ all evening? That’s wrong, Honey. You can’t do stuff like this!’

  ‘Watch me.’ She leans forward, pushing a finger towards the top of my chest, backing me up against the half-height stable door. ‘I can do whatever I like. JJ doesn’t own me! What’s up, Summer, jealous because I’m having fun?’

  ‘No, I …’

  I catch the smell of smoke on her breath again, remember the pinpricks of red in the darkness. Two pinpricks of red.

  ‘You’ve been smoking!’ I whisper.

  Honey laughs. ‘So what? It was just a few drags. Not a crime, is it?’

  Actually, smoking is pretty much a crime in our family. Mum’s dad – Grandma Kate’s first husband – died of lung cancer before we were even born, and Mum has always drummed it into us that smoking kills.

  ‘Honey, no!’ I wail. ‘Smoking is really, really bad for you. Look what happened to Grandad. Are you trying to make yourself ill?’

  My big sister laughs out loud. ‘Listen to you!’ she snaps. ‘Little Miss Perfect, lecturing me about the dangers of smoking. Well, what about the dangers of starving yourself to death, Summer? The dangers of anorexia?’

  Anorexia? The word slips under my skin like poison, seeping into my bones. That’s not what has been happening to me, of course. It couldn’t possibly be.

  ‘Shut up!’ I yell. ‘I don’t have … well, anything like that. You’re crazy!’

  ‘You can’t even say it, can you?’ Honey taunts me. ‘But it’s the truth, whether you like it or not. It’s anorexia. You have an eating disorder, Summer. Fact. You’re painfully thin. You look awful, you’re tired all the time, and you’re exercising way too much …’

  ‘Stop it!’ I protest, clamping my hands over my ears.

  ‘I won’t stop,’ Honey says. ‘You’re wasting away, yet you’re making all these mad calorie-laden dinners for the rest of us. Pizza, cupcakes, macaroni cheese … it’s weird, Summer! Freaky! You don’t eat a bite. I was watching you earlier, trying to choke down two measly mouthfuls of Grandma Kate’s cake – anyone would think she’d given you rat poison to eat!’

  I close my eyes. I want Honey to go away, shut up, leave me alone. She doesn’t.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she says. ‘I’ve watched you feeding your dinner to Fred, pushing stuff around your plate so it looks like you’re eating. I’ve been worried sick. Skye has noticed too, and Grandma Kate will catch on soon …’

  ‘I’ve been stressed out, I know, but it’s over now,’ I argue. ‘I’ll be fine once Mum gets back!’

  ‘She’ll get the shock of her life when she sees you,’ Honey says. ‘So what – I had a drag on a cigarette. Big deal. You’re the one who’s making herself ill! You’re throwing your life away!’

  I take a deep breath, swaying slightly. I don’t feel well. There is a knot of panic in my belly, the crackle of fear in my ears, the stink of smoke on every breath I take. Honey’s eyes widen, and suddenly, the crackling sound, the stink of smoke, the sick feeling of panic begin to make sense.

  ‘Oh my God … come away!’ Honey screams. ‘The hay’s on fire!’

  She pulls me away from the stable door, but not before I’ve seen the bright flicker of leaping flames, felt the heat on my face.

  ‘Get help!’ I yell. Honey and I both know that the stable’s right next door to the chocolate workshop. ‘Wake Grandma Kate, get the others, call the fire brigade …’

  My sister is gone in a flash, running towards the house.

  I could run to the cliff steps, yell for the others, but every moment wasted fetching help means the fire takes hold more. The stable is filled with hay, soft and dry and sweet. It will burn like paper. By the time the fire brigade arrive, the whole stable block will be burnt to the ground, including the workshop and all the stock and machinery Mum and Paddy have worked so hard for.

  I remember the hosepipe Mum uses to water the vegetable garden, permanently hooked up to the outside tap. I run to the side of the house, open up the tap and drag the hosepipe towards the stable. I may not be able to put the fire out, but if I can damp it down, stop it from spreading, I could still save the workshop.

  I open the stable door and a roar of flames, a wall of heat, leaps out at me. I have never been more scared in my life, but as long as I stay outside the stable, I should be safe. I point the hose and a jet of water arcs out, hissing as it sprays the orange flames. I can hear shouting from the house, the sound of feet on gravel.

  The heat subsides a little and the flames shrink back. I step forward, into the doorway itself, my eyes streaming, stinging from the smoke. My fingers are ice-cold on the nozzle of the hosepipe, my lungs clogged. I feel light-headed for a moment, wobbly. I pull a deep breath in and struggle to hang on because this is the very last place I want to faint. That would be bad. Very, very bad.

  ‘Summer!’ Voices are calling me through the darkness. ‘Summer, where are you?’

  Then the ground tilts beneath my feet and I reach out for something to lean on, but the doorframe slides away from my grasp and I fall down on to blackened, sodden hay, the flames closing around me.

  32

  ‘Smoke inhalation,’ the nurse says. ‘That’s probably why she passed out, although we can’t be certain. There’ve been no known dizzy spells, no tendency to faint?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Grandma Kate answers. I know better, of course.

  I am on a trolley bed in A & E, exhausted after being poked and prodded at and quizzed over and over. I reach up a hand to tug at the oxygen mask, but someone swats my hand away. ‘It’s there to help you,’ the nurse says. ‘How are you feeling? Not so woozy?’

  I try to speak, but the oxygen mask gets in the way. ‘Mmmm …’

  ‘Perhaps we can do without that now,’ the nurse decides. She turns to Grandma Kate. ‘We’ve found a room on the wards for her so we can keep her under observation. You go home, get some sleep … I expect they’ll discharge her in the morning.’

  ‘Sleep tight,’ Grandma Kate says. ‘You gave us all such a fright, Summer. My mobile’s been bleeping all night – the girls want you to know that the fire is out and the chocolate workshop is safe. You’ll be home tomorrow, and Charlotte and Paddy too … no harm done.’

  No thanks to me, I think. Honey may have dropped the cigarette, but only because I disturbed her; it flared up unseen because she and I were rowing.

  A porter comes to wheel my trolley bed away from the bright lights of A & E, through antiseptic corridors to a curtained cubicle in a darkened ward. A different nurse comes to settle me in. ‘Rest,’ she tells me. ‘Everything will look better in the morning.’

  I wish I could believe that.

  I close my eyes and the voice is in my head, whispering, taunting. You’ve really messed up this time, it says. Idiot. Fool.

  At least now I know its name, know who is playing with my head. The word beats through my veins like a pulse, inescapable.

  Anorexia, anorexia, anorexia.

  The hospital breakfast is disgusting: a slop of porridge with a crust of brown sugar on top, two slices of white toast with butter and jam. I cannot even look at it.

  ‘Not hungry?’ the nurse frowns. ‘You have to eat, Summer. There’s nothing of you!’

  A doctor arrives and checks my breathing, my heart rate, my blood pressure, my weight. I am doing OK up until that last bit.

  ‘You’re underweight,’ the doctor comments. ‘Considerably so. Did you have breakfast?’

  ‘I didn’t like it,’ I shrug.

  ‘Do you often skip meals?’

  ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘And you’re in here because you passed out cold while trying to put out a fire,’ the doctor frowns, reading my note
s. ‘Do you often have dizzy spells?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Not often. Sometimes.’

  ‘What had you eaten yesterday?’ the doctor asks. I frown and try to think.

  ‘An apple, early on,’ I say. ‘An egg, some lettuce. Two bites of cake …’

  The doctor scribbles some notes and leaves, and a nurse appears to tell me that Grandma Kate has been delayed. She will be in this afternoon with Mum and Paddy. ‘Can I go home then?’ I plead.

  The nurse won’t meet my eye. ‘We’ll see,’ she says. I turn my face away.

  A little while later the curtain twitches and a boy appears, a boy with messy hair and kind brown eyes with cartoon lashes drawn on clumsily in eyeliner. He looks slightly deranged, but hey, that’s nothing new.

  ‘Alfie!’ I say. ‘What’re you doing here? What’s with the lashes?’

  ‘Trying to make you laugh,’ he says. ‘And shhh. I’m undercover, OK? Visiting doesn’t start until two, so I sneaked in.’

  The last time I saw Alfie I’d just kissed him at the beach party. A slow blush seeps through my cheeks and I scrabble up into a sitting position, painfully aware of my hospital gown, my hair still fluffy from the pillow. I pick up my pink flower hairclip from the bedside table and slide it in.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ he says. ‘And the flower’s not bad either. One of my better ideas that was.’

  My eyes widen, astonished, and Alfie’s cheeks flood crimson. ‘Oops,’ he says. ‘Did I just say that? I mean … very nice … whoever gave it to you. Aaron, or … well … whoever.’

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I ask. ‘It was you all along. And you never said. You let me think Aaron left the secret present. It was the sweetest, most romantic thing he ever did, and now it turns out it wasn’t even him? Oh, Alfie …’

  ‘Busted,’ he shrugs. ‘What can I say? And I brought you something else …’

  He places a tiny bunch of daisies on the blue waffle bedspread, the stems wrapped in damp tissue. ‘In case you want to make daisy chains,’ he grins.