Caramel Hearts

by E. R. Murray

  “Hey, you gonna open that?” he asks.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now!”

  I pick up the bundle and uncurl the Sellotape from the paper. I want to keep it as perfect as Jack’s visit. “I hope it’s not broken after I dropped it.”

  “Don’t worry, it won’t be.”

  Nestled in the paper are two cake tins, four smaller tins that are heart-shaped, a whisk and some gingerbread-man cookie cutters.

  “It’s to say sorry for being such a prat earlier. They’re Mum’s cast-offs, I’m afraid, but I thought you could put them to good use.”

  “I dunno what to say…”

  Smiling, Jack sits back on the bed as “Ring of Fire” comes on the record player.

  “Don’t say anything. I’m just pleased you didn’t throw them at me.”

  I gently place the gift back on the dressing table, letting my fingers linger on the tins for a moment before plopping down next to Jack. I’m careful not to accidentally touch him.

  “This is a great tune,” he says, singing quietly under his breath. “I’ve always liked it, but didn’t know who it was by.”

  Nodding my head in time, I mouth the lyrics. Then I realize Jack is staring at me, so I stop.

  “What?”

  “You’re lovely,” Jack says suddenly.

  I light up like a flare. Jack leans forward and, as I shrink back, he catches me by my chin and tilts it upwards. His lips are red and sticky like jam, and I like jam – especially strawberry. Before I can react, he pulls my face towards his and I think, Yes, this is finally it! The moment when all those practice snogs on mirrors and pillows can be put to good use. I’m too scared to close my eyes in case I miss the target, so I dive in quick. There’s a loud sucking sound as we connect and it’s nothing like jam. It’s like tongue-wrestling a slug.

  Even though it’s horrible, I keep going. I’ve dreamt of this moment so many times, but I never imagined it would be with someone like Jack Whitman. I expected it to be some spotty geek that I’d experiment on and then quickly try to erase the memory. Wanting nothing more than to melt into my first kiss, I try to relax, but I can’t switch my brain off. What if I’m doing it all wrong? I try to focus on the movement of my lips and tongue so I don’t embarrass myself. Boys at school are always mocking girls after they kiss for the first time. I try to remember all the things I’ve heard so that I can avoid them. Why is it that, in the throes of passion, all those “101 Kissing Tips” from Cosmo and 19 disappear? As for the hours of practising – they don’t help one bit. And I’m sure my tongue has got thicker. I tuck it into my cheek, out of the way. It makes things a little better and the kiss improves. Once you get over the wetness, it’s actually quite nice.

  As Jack rests his hand on the back of my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw-line, shivers run up my spine. The kiss doesn’t last anywhere near long enough – and I worry that I messed it up. But as Jack pulls away, he smiles at me. His lips are glistening with the remains of our kiss.

  “That was lovely, too,” he says, stroking my hair.

  Lost for words, I nod. Jack leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. It’s so romantic – like something out of a film.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asks.

  Smiling, I keep as still and silent as possible, wishing that time would freeze so I could stay in this moment for ever.

  “Thanks, Jack.”

  “For what? I’ve never been thanked for a kiss before.”

  “You know – not taking that other business into consideration.”

  “Your mum? You can’t help that. They say you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.”

  “Not that. I mean the bag.”

  “Bag?”

  “You know… when I bumped into you outside school…”

  “You couldn’t help that either. That sports bag’s nearly as big as me. It can take a beating from a runt like you.” Jack ruffles my hair and I lean in towards his hand. “I should be the one apologizing – I sent you sprawling!”

  “No, I mean…” My brain throbs as I try to find the words I need to say. “I didn’t mean to take it, you know. I was just getting some baking stuff and…”

  “Baking stuff? Liv, what are you talking about?”

  As my words click into place, Jack’s smile fades. His brown eyes harden and his brow crumples into a deep frown.

  “Mrs Snelling’s bag… the accident. That was you? You’re joking, right?”

  He jumps up, his face contorting as he realizes he’s just snogged a cretin.

  “I thought you knew! I thought that was why you were avoiding my biscuits in class…”

  Jack recoils. “I was avoiding you because I fancied you. And I felt guilty about what Maddy had done. But this… You’re just as bad as she is!”

  “I’m not! It was an accident.”

  “You can’t accidentally steal a bag.”

  My vision blurring, I glare at the floor, trying to keep control. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I have to open my big gob and ruin things?

  “I can’t believe it,” Jack says, pacing the room. “I never in my wildest dreams thought… how could you?” He spits the words out, sharp as a carving knife.

  I can’t think of anything to say to defend myself. Even if I could, it would be pointless. Without another word, Jack storms out of the room. Unable to move my legs to follow, I listen helplessly to his retreat. When the front door slams, tears spill from my eyes as I touch my finger to my lips, tormented by the memory of his mouth pressed against them.

  Fruity Custard Pasties

  A fun, fruity take on the old Cornish pasty, these taste great, both served warm – with ice cream – or cold, on their own. And what’s more, they’re portable! Perfect for summery picnics with the ones you love. Chase away the cobwebs with a taste of summer.

  INGREDIENTS

  200 g/7 oz plain flour, plus some extra dabs for dusting your rolling pin

  100 g/3½ oz yummy butter

  8 tsp cold water

  Pinch of salt

  FOR THE FILLING

  Pinch of cinnamon

  Four cooking apples, cored and chopped (Tip: if you’re preparing them early, a squeeze of lemon juice will stop them going brown)

  250 ml/8½ fl oz water

  200 g/7 oz brown sugar

  Ready-made custard (we can’t be perfect all the time)

  HOW TO MAKE THE MAGIC HAPPEN

  1. Preheat the oven to 220 °C/425 °F/Gas mark 7.

  2. Sift the flour and salt together. Rub in the butter until the mixture looks like breadcrumbs.

  3. Add the water and work into a large lump. Set aside.

  4. In a pan, bring the apples, cinnamon, water and sugar to the boil and then simmer gently until the apples go soft and gooey. Put aside to cool.

  5. On a floured surface, roll that pastry! Make it thin enough to bend, but not so thin that it breaks. Use a round cookie cutter to get as many pasty rounds as you can out of the dough.

  6. Place the cases on baking parchment and fill each with a spoonful of custard and a spoonful of fruit mixture.

  7. Brush the edge of each round with milk, then gather up the edges and pull together, forming a seam down the middle of the pastry. “Flute” the edge of each seam (this is a fancy term for pinching it together so it doesn’t separate when cooking).

  8. Make a small hole in the top of each pasty (to prevent Fruity Custardy explosions) and place on a baking tray. Bake for 10 minutes, then turn down to 180 °C/350 °F/Gas mark 4 until the pasties are golden brown, like summer sunlight.

  9. Cool on a wire rack, dust with icing sugar – and enjoy.

  Warning: don’t eat them when they’re hot, or they’ll burn your mouth. Be patient. Remember – all good things come to those who wait!

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It’s Time to Come Clean

  As I skulk down the stairs, Harriet darts into the passageway.

  “Where’s Jack?” she as
ks.

  “He’s gone.”

  Slumping on the stairs, I hold my forehead in my hands. “What the hell’s wrong with me?”

  Harriet places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head. Hatty wouldn’t understand. She’s way too sensible.

  “Can I phone Sarah at her grandma’s?”

  “Seeing as it’s an emergency. But try not to be too long. And if you change your mind… I’m here.”

  I pick up the receiver and turn my back. The phone seems to ring for ever and I’m just about to give up when Sarah answers the call, breathless.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sarah, it’s me – Liv.”

  “Hey! Give me a minute to catch my breath.” I listen to the heavy panting slowing on the other end. “Sorry, I was trying to knock some time off my 500 metres.”

  I can picture Sarah running laps in her grandma’s garden. I’ve visited there a few times, but don’t like it much. The gaudy living room and bedrooms filled with antiques, the massive garden, complete with fountain and orchard – it’s too showy. You daren’t breathe, in case you break something.

  “Sarah, I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve screwed up.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Jack came over to give me a present and we kissed and then we had a fight and it’s all my fault…”

  “Whoa… back up there! You and Jack kissed?”

  My voice wobbles. “Yes,” I manage, feebly.

  “Jack Whitman? You kissed Jack Whitman?” I hear her settle herself in the comfy armchair next to her grandma’s phone. “I knew he fancied you! Tell me every detail!”

  I chuckle, despite myself, and reveal only the nicer bits, privately reliving the delicious feel of his soft lips against mine, and carefully missing out the slug bit.

  “That’s nuts! What about Mad Dog?”

  “We won’t have to worry about her,” I say, hoping I’m right. “Cos it won’t be happening again.”

  “Why not? He obviously likes you!”

  “Not any more. We had a fight. He stormed out.”

  “It’s like something out of Wuthering Heights,” says Sarah dreamily. “You’re Cathy, he’s Heathcliff, you had The Kiss…” Sarah says this last bit as though the words start with capital letters. “It’s all so romantic! Did you feel any lightning bolts?”

  “Are you deaf?” I snap. “We had a fight.”

  Luckily, Sarah doesn’t take any notice.

  “Whatever you fought about, it’ll blow over. It did once. Why not again?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Trembling, I fight to still my voice. If I’m going to get out of this mess, it’s time to come clean to my best mate. Sarah will understand. She’ll help me sort everything out.

  “Sarah… there’s something I have to tell you.”

  There is a heavy pause on the other end. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s not good. It’s pretty bad actually…”

  “What happened? Did he do something to you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Jack doesn’t seem the type to just… Rumour has it that he’s more experienced.”

  Remembering the warmth of his eyes and the tender way he kissed my nose, I sigh into the receiver. But before I can speak, Sarah’s over-active imagination gallops ahead.

  “I knew it! He tried to make you go further than you wanted. He’s got a bit of a reputation, you know… that’s why you threw him out—”

  “Sarah, stop! I didn’t throw him out – he stormed out. He didn’t try—”

  “But why else would you be so upset? I thought you’d swap a kidney for a kiss from Jack.”

  My back pressed against the cold passageway wall, I take in a sharp breath.

  “Sarah, you have to listen to me. But before I tell you, you have to promise not to say a word. And not to fall out with me. OK?”

  “This sounds serious.”

  “It is serious. Promise me.”

  “OK, OK – I promise I’ll try. Now, what’s wrong? Liv… are you crying?”

  Tears roll down my cheeks. Sarah is the only one that truly believes in me, and I’m about to betray her trust. Unable to respond, I sob down the phone.

  “Don’t worry,” says Sarah, resolutely. “I’ll think of something. Tell me what happened and we’ll fix it.”

  “OK… the reason that me and Jack argued… the reason he stormed out… it was me who took Mrs Snelling’s handbag.”

  For the first time in my life, I understand why people say silence can be deafening.

  “Sarah? Are you still there?”

  “I’m s-still here.”

  Disappointment seeps out of every syllable. I feel my insides curl and wither like an autumn leaf.

  “I didn’t meant to do it… I was taking some stuff for baking and…”

  “You were s-stealing ingredients? Have I eaten any of those ingredients?”

  “I just wanted to be good at something!”

  “This one’s t-too much, even by your standards. M-Mrs Snelling got r-really hurt.”

  “I know but… I didn’t know that was going to happen. What am I going to do?”

  “Are you s-sorry?”

  “Of course I’m sorry. I’m going to give the bag back.”

  “With everything still in it?”

  “I used some of the money… but there’s still loads left.”

  “Give it back before you take any more. Go to Mr Morrelly, admit what you did and hand it over.”

  “I can’t! The Social Services visit is this Friday.”

  “You heard him in assembly. They’ll be lenient with anyone who owns up.”

  “School maybe – but not the Social Services. They’ll take me away. They’ll split us up, Sarah… Me and Harriet, you and me!”

  There is a pause on the other end.

  “M-maybe that’s not such a b-bad thing, Liv. You’re out of control.”

  Then, before I can say anything else, Sarah hangs up.

  As the line goes dead, I bang the back of my head against the wall. Gently at first, but then hard enough to hurt. I’m sick of messing things up. Every time I try to put things right, I make them worse.

  I replace the receiver as Harriet steps into the hallway. When she sees the state of me, she drops the assignment she’s working on and runs my way.

  “Liv, are you OK? You look sick.”

  Before I can answer, everything blurs. I hear Harriet cry out but the sound is muffled. The next thing I know, Hatty’s tapping my face and calling my name.

  “Liv? Liv, can you hear me?”

  “Hatty?”

  “I’m here, Liv. I’m here.”

  As I battle to focus, I hear Harriet crumple into sobs.

  “I’m not cut out for all this. I just want life to be normal again,” she says.

  “Please don’t cry, sis,” I whisper, the words catching in my dry throat. “Please don’t cry any more.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  If I’m Already in Trouble, What Do Manners Matter?

  The next morning, I’m surprised to find Harriet clinging to the telephone receiver, tight lipped. It’s not even 8 a.m. I plonk myself on one of the stairs and lean my forehead on the banister slats, trying to figure out who’s on the other end and why Harriet looks so worried. Is it the Social Services?

  “Yes, I’ll definitely be there. And Liv too. I’ll make sure of it. Can I ask what this is about?” Harriet pauses, listening intently. “OK, no problem. I’ll be there, Mr Morrelly.”

  Old Mozzer? What’s he doing on the phone at this time? As Harriet clicks the receiver into place, she looks up at me, eyes full of worry.

  “What have you done now? You promised me you’d stay out of trouble!”

  “I have!”

  “The visit’s in…” Harriet checks her watch, as though it will reveal the answer, while working out the dates in her head. “Four days! We can’t affo
rd for anything to go wrong!”

  I fidget and groan. It’s too early in the morning for hassle and, for once, I have no idea what I’ve done. Unless Jack or Sarah have grassed me up.

  “I don’t know what it’s about,” I say, trying to sound innocent.

  Harriet shakes her head and breathes a huge sigh.

  “Well, it’s something to do with that Jack guy – that’s all I know. Get yourself dressed. We have to be there as soon as possible.”

  “What for?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me. But I guess I’ll find out soon enough. As if I don’t have enough to worry about. You’re a real pain.”

  Harriet stomps up the stairs, nudging me out of the way.

  Rubbing my forehead between thumb and forefinger, I follow after her, desperately trying to think of a way to stall.

  * * *

  A film of sweat moistens my hands as I wait in the long, yellow corridor outside Mr Morrelly’s office. Avoiding Harriet’s frequent disapproving glances, I fiddle with my thumbs. Have Jack or Sarah told on me? I doubt Sarah would betray all those years of friendship. As for Jack, surely the kiss meant something? Both know the situation with Mam. Both know how much I have to lose. But if one of them has opened their mouths, I’m screwed. I’ll end up in foster care for sure. I shuffle away from Hatty. Might as well start getting used to the separation now.

  The head teacher’s door clicks open.

  “Olivia, Harriet, please, come in.” Mr Morrelly’s voice is unexpectedly gentle.

  Harriet’s first to stand – upright and obedient, a total swot as usual. Not like me: always in trouble. I watch my sister’s breezy walk with disdain. Who’s she trying to kid? She’s just as scared, only better at covering it up.

  “Please, girls, sit down.”

  Mr Morrelly’s face looks concerned, but not angry. Harriet chances a sideways peek at me, so I avert my gaze. When we’re both seated, Mr Morrelly paces in front of the window for a moment, before settling himself behind his big, oak desk. Leaning in, he places his chin on his interlocked fingers, knuckles white as his face. Harriet’s lips pull tight across her teeth in a fake smile. I crossed my fingers, hoping I’ll get out of this one unscathed.