Caramel Hearts

by E. R. Murray

  “See how she treats me? See why I have to drink?”

  “We’d better get you into bed,” says Harriet, tugging Mam by the hand and steering her out of the door. “It’ll be OK,” she mouths back at me.

  But I know better.

  I jump back into bed and, tugging the covers over my head, try to zone out by thinking about nice things. Only to find there’s nothing nice in my life worth thinking about. It’s time to get out of here.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Blue, Isn’t It?

  As I round the corner of the gym – my extended route to Maths that circumvents Mad Dog’s Science class – I run straight into Maddy. She must have cut class. Luckily, my nemesis is alone.

  “Just the person I wanted to see,” says Mad Dog, taking a drag on a cigarette.

  Her hair is in ringlets, and her feet dangle as she balances on the top rung of the fence. She looks so carefree, I almost wish we could swap lives. As I get nearer, I recognize the deceivingly gentle smile Maddy had worn on the night we shared secrets and a cigarette. It makes my toes curl.

  “I’ve been watching your interesting diversions,” says Maddy, taking another drag. “Think you’re smart, hey?”

  I check around me, expecting a group of girls to appear from the shadows. But this time, no one comes. We’re completely alone.

  “Why don’t you get it over with, Maddy?” I ask. “We both know I’m no match for you.”

  Maddy cocks her head, throws her cigarette to the ground and jumps off the fence. Shrinking back, I prepare for the worst.

  “Glad you realize it, but relax. I’m not after you this time. In fact, I’ve got a proposition. We have a mutual problem and I’ve devised a plan that’ll get rid of it.”

  The way she talks, you’d think we were on the set of an American gangster film. It might be cheesy, but it’s effective. Maddy has my full attention.

  “Go on.”

  “You know how Jack’s been suspended?”

  My stomach lurches.

  “Well, word has it that Mrs Snelling visited Old Mozzer and told him she doesn’t think he did it. She’s asked for him to be reinstated.”

  Feeling my palms turn sweaty, I secretly wipe them on my skirt.

  “So? What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Patience, Comrade. I figured that when you were called to see Old Mozzer, it was to testify against Jack. But you kept quiet, didn’t you? I want you to go back and tell him you’re very sorry, but you were too scared to tell the truth at first. Now Jack’s gone, you want to come clean. Tell Mozzer that it was Jack who stole the bag, and he made you look after it for him. That you were too scared to say no.”

  “Why should I?”

  Mad Dog grins, twiddling a perfectly sculpted curl around her finger.

  “Because I have information about you.”

  “I’m going to be late for class,” I say, stepping around her. It’s not brave, it’s stupid – but I have nothing left to lose. “I can’t help you. I’m not going to lie.”

  “Oh really? That’s funny. I thought that seeing as you were already lying to cover your own back, another little lie guaranteed to save your skin wouldn’t bother you.”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That day you pinched Jack from me, the only reason you bumped into him was because you were running away from the kitchens. That’s why you were in such a hurry. I saw the bag peeping out from behind your rucksack.” She reduces her voice to a threatening whisper. “Blue, isn’t it?”

  My cover is blown – I can’t play it cool any longer.

  “Can’t you do your own dirty work?” The words sound much braver than I feel. My legs have turned to jelly.

  “I already accused him, didn’t I?”

  I can’t stop the look of shock from registering on my face.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize!” says Mad Dog, coming way too close for my liking. She grips my forearm. “The teachers feel sorry for you because your mam’s such a loser. You back me up and Old Mozzer will be convinced. We’ll look like heroes for saving the day – and we’ll get the cash reward.”

  Burning with shame, I shake my head.

  “Why do you want to stick up for Jack anyway? Don’t think that because you lurve him…” Maddy draws out the word “love” in a mocking voice. “That he feels the same way. Forget about him. The loser ditched you as quickly as he ditched me.”

  Unable to speak, I stand there like a statue. I know what she’s implying, but I don’t want to hear it. Not if it’s true.

  “I take it you’ve heard the rumour that Jack and Sarah are dating?” she adds.

  Feeling as though a cannon ball has landed in my stomach, I cough into my curled fist, trying to buy some time. Sarah doesn’t even fancy Jack – she likes Chris. She wouldn’t betray me like that. Feeling tears rise to my eyes, I try to push past Mad Dog. Sarah always said that the worst thing you could do was to let the bullies know you have feelings. It only encouraged them. But there’s no getting past – Mad Dog blocks my way.

  “Look, Liv – it’s simple. Either you help me or I’ll grass you up to Old Mozzer and it’ll be you outta here. Your choice. But think how it’ll affect your loser mam now she’s out of the nuthouse. Think she’ll cope with her daughter kicked out of school? Or will it send her straight back to the bottle?”

  “Alright! Enough!”

  I should be defending Mam, defending myself, but it’s like something has crumpled inside me. I feel the sky bending, sagging like the centre of the chocolate cake I baked, and threatening to collapse around me.

  “OK, I’ll go to Mozzer. It’s not like I have a choice.”

  Mad Dog gives me a supposedly playful shove, which is way too rough.

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow night, straight after school, in the smokers’ corner. We’ll go see him together.”

  “I’ve got to get my story straight… I need more time!”

  Shaking her head, Maddy glowers.

  “No point in stalling. It has to be tomorrow. We can’t do tonight because it’s the staff meeting so Old Mozzer won’t be around. Don’t worry! I have it all planned. I’ll tell you exactly what to say when you return the bag, to make sure it fits with my story. I’ll walk you to Maths and fill you in.”

  Steadying myself, I fall into stride with Mad Dog, listening intently as she dictates the course of events. Guilt eats away at my stomach every step of the way – but knowing what she’s capable of, what else can I do?

  * * *

  During Maths, I mull the situation over. I can’t believe the trouble one stupid moment of weakness has caused. I’ve lost my best friend, as well as a potential boyfriend, and Mad Dog is running my life. Mam and Hatty seem like they can do without me – what the hell is the point of my existence?

  It’s hard to concentrate on algebraic equations, and I find them even more difficult than normal. To make things worse, Mr Snipe – who usually prefers cleaning his fingernails to giving me the time of day – decides to humiliate me in front of the class.

  “How did you get to this conclusion, Miss Bloom?” he asks.

  “I thought—”

  “A thought crossed your mind? It must have been a long and lonely journey.”

  The whole class falls about laughing. Even Sarah.

  As soon as the lunch bell rings, I head for the library. I never skip lunch, but today I have more important matters to attend to. After booking myself in for a thirty-minute internet slot, I plonk myself at an available computer and search the National Express website. It starts off as some idle searching, but soon I’m obsessing over every possible detail.

  Imagine if I could take the 23:50 direct to Victoria Station tomorrow night – it would mean arriving early on Friday morning, so I won’t have to find somewhere to stay. Ideally, it would be better to wait until Friday night – I could go undetected for longer – but that would mean another day of escaping Mad Dog
’s clutches. Moneywise, I only have £51.80 left in Mrs Snelling’s purse, so I double-check the prices. There’s an adult special that’s only £32 for a return – ten quid cheaper than the child’s fare. I can easily pass for sixteen with a bit of makeup. So far so good – so I move onto the Tube tickets while my luck’s in.

  Taking out Dad’s address, I check Google maps for directions from the coach station. According to a local tourism website, I’ll need a £10.40 day travelcard to get me to Greenwich and back – leaving me with less than a tenner for food. But who cares? Less than thirty minutes and my life is sorted.

  “Can I print three pages please?” I ask the librarian.

  Mr Wagstaff is totally cool. He has blond, curly hair and a square but friendly face. He looks more like a professional gamer than a librarian, and owns the coolest T-shirt collection I’ve ever seen. My favourite is a blue cotton v-neck that shows a carrot attacking a rabbit. It reads: “Who’s the loser now?”

  “Sure,” says Mr Wagstaff. “I’ll set up the printer for you now.”

  Gathering the information, I tuck it into my bag and find a quiet corner – away from prying eyes. I rip the centre pages from one of my exercise books and make a list of everything I’ll need to take with me:

  Comb, styling wax, makeup bag, Hatty’s MP3

  Black cords, denim skirt

  Extra tees (red with blue cherries, purple rainbow, blue chequed)

  Stripy tights, over-the-knee socks, underwear

  Printouts, money, phone and charger

  Satisfied my list is complete, I pack everything away and sling my bag over my shoulder. Now I just need to figure out how to sneak away.

  The bus station is only forty minutes’ walk. I have to get there early to buy my ticket, so I need to leave at 10.30 p.m. at the latest. If I get everything ready tonight and take it to school with me, I can say I’m going to Sarah’s, and head straight into town. By the time they realize I’m missing, I’ll be long gone.

  As I’m leaving, Mr Wagstaff looks up and grins.

  “I’ll have some of whatever you’ve had,” he says.

  I realize how much lighter I feel now my mind is made up. Now everything is prepared. “It’ll cost you a million bucks.”

  Checking his pockets, Mr Wagstaff pulls out a twenty-pound note.

  “That’s not fair – I’m just a librarian! Take this instead?”

  I wish I could. That twenty quid would be more money for food.

  “Sorry – not today. Maybe if the recession gets any worse?”

  “Smart girl,” says Mr Wagstaff, returning to his paperwork.

  Smarter than you realize, I think. All I have to do now is keep out of trouble and survive another night with Mam.

  Caramel Hearts

  No matter how spiky people seem, they’re always softer on the inside than you expect. Melt even the coldest of hearts with these golden, caramel treats and wipe your tears away.

  INGREDIENTS

  125 g/4½ oz golden butter

  125 g/4½ oz light brown sugar

  150 g/5½ oz self-raising flour

  2 eggs

  ½ tsp baking powder

  1 tsp sweet vanilla extract

  70 g/2 ½ oz of your favourite nuts (pecans, almonds or hazelnuts are best), finely chopped

  FOR THE “SALTY TEARS” CARAMEL SAUCE

  200 g/7 oz caster sugar

  70 ml/2 ½ fl oz water

  50 g/2 oz butter

  150 ml/5 ½ fl oz double cream tsp chunky sea salt

  HOW TO MAKE THE MAGIC HAPPEN

  1. Preheat the oven to 180 °C/350 °F/Gas mark 4. Place all the cake ingredients into a bowl and beat rapidly until well combined and creamy (plenty of elbow grease required).

  2. Line a baking tray with silicone heart-shaped cases and split the mixture equally between them. Bake for 20 minutes until risen and golden. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then transfer to a wire rack.

  3. Now make the caramel sauce and wash those tears away. Add the sugar, salt and water to a small pan and place over a gentle heat. Stir occasionally until all of the sugar and salt has melted.

  4. Turn up the heat and keep watch as the mixture boils – stir constantly to make sure it doesn’t burn. After 8–10 minutes, the mixture will thicken and turn a pale almond brown.

  5. Remove from the heat and carefully add the butter and cream. Return to the heat, stir, and as soon as the sauce thickens, pour lashings of it over the heart-shaped cake and serve to whichever prickly person you need to soothe.

  Chapter Forty

  You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do

  As soon as I’m home, I sneak upstairs, remove the money from Mrs Snelling’s purse and tuck it into a secret compartment inside my rucksack. Then I return the purse to the stolen bag and pack it – along with all the things on my list, except for the phone charger that I’m using – ready for the next day. I had planned to keep out of Mam’s way all evening, but there’s a whiff of chicken roasting and it smells good. Harriet knocks on my door as plates start clattering downstairs.

  “Come on – Mam’s serving up. She’s making a real effort.”

  It does smell good, and I guess it’s the last time I’ll have to put up with Mam for a while, so I follow. In the kitchen, Mam looks anxious.

  “I’m glad you could join us,” she says, and she means it – her voice isn’t fake or forced.

  It’s as close to “sorry” as I’m going to get.

  Over dinner, I join in with Mam and Hatty’s ritual of talking about their day, even though nothing particularly exciting ever happens. Recounting my own day, I carefully miss out the conversation with Mad Dog, the algebra and my library research. With a few tweaks, my life isn’t that bad.

  “I really am sorry, Liv,” says Mam, when the meal is finished. “It honestly won’t happen again.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes – how many times have I heard that? I fake a grin. Mam looks pleased with my response and gives Harriet a covert look. They think they’ve won me over, but they won’t look so smug tomorrow when I’m gone. It’ll take more than a roast dinner to put things right.

  “I have a special surprise for you, Liv,” says Mam, jumping up suddenly. I watch as she gathers mixing bowls, spatulas and wooden spoons. She holds up Recipes to Make Happiness Bloom. “Don’t look so shocked – it is mine, after all.”

  “I-I can explain…”

  “No need. Harriet’s told me all about it. She was right to give it to you. Just think, if she hadn’t found it like that – and had the sense to pass it on to you – it would still be gathering dust!”

  I throw a quizzical glance at Harriet, but she gives nothing away.

  “You don’t mind?” I ask.

  “Not at all. In fact, I was thinking we could bake together. Work up to tackling a Baked Alaska.”

  “Really?”

  As Mam leans into the cupboard and starts rummaging, I nudge Harriet under the table.

  “Why’d you lie?” I whisper.

  “I thought it would help smooth things over.”

  “Wanted all the praise for yourself, more like.”

  We adopt innocent expressions as Mam returns to the table, laden with baking utensils.

  “It’s been a while, but Baked Alaska is a fabulous recipe – even if I do say so myself,” she says. “Always good for impressing people – they never understand that “hot on the outside, cold on the inside” thing. But first, we’d better see how we work together in the kitchen. Here!”

  Mam throws a spatula and I pluck it from the air, one-handed.

  “Great catch! Now, we’ll make some Caramel Hearts. Simple, delicious, and – just like the recipe says – it’ll melt hearts and wipe tears away. It’s my way of saying sorry for everything I’ve put you girls through.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to pop out,” says Harriet. She leans over the recipe book, flicks through a few pages and scribbles some notes. Tucking the paper into her pocket, she waves. “I�
�ll be back in time for the eating bit. Have fun, you two!”

  As Harriet disappears off, I find myself disarmed. Why the sudden change? It seems too good to be true. Maybe I’m being too harsh on Mam, plotting to run away.

  “Are you going to stand gawping all night, or are you going to help me out?” says Mam. “Now, we need to preheat the oven, line some cases – then what?”

  I snatch up the recipe book as Mam starts the preparations.

  “Place all the cake ingredients into a bowl and beat rapidly.”

  “Can I leave that bit to you?” asks Mam, bending down and lighting the oven.

  “Sure.”

  Why did this change of heart have to happen today, of all days – when I’ve made my mind up to leave?

  The instant I feel the warmth from the oven, the air feels almost cleared. I fold the sponge mixture, then turn it out into the greased heart-shaped moulds that Jack gave me. Mam lifts the sponges into the oven, and I start on the sauce as Mam stands behind me, hands on hips and a tea towel over one shoulder. Placing the sugar, salt and water into a pan, I gently stir the mixture over a low heat, but the salt grains refuse to melt. I try not to panic. Try to ignore the growing concern that I’m messing it up. Eventually, the ingredients meld together like the recipe promises.

  As I turn up the heat, carefully stirring, Mam says, “Now, is there anything you’d like to ask me about your father?”

  I freeze. Mam must be feeling really apologetic. My mind races. I have too many questions. They flap around in my head like restless birds, so I wait for one to tire and land.

  “How did you two fall in love?” I ask.

  Mam hoists herself up onto the kitchen counter. Her legs swing in time as I keep stirring. When it turns to liquid caramel, Mam tells her tale and I pause to listen.

  “We met in the uni bar. Well – outside it. It was the first time I’d tried cocktails and he found me on the steps, getting some air. He helped me find my friends, and got them to take me home. He took my number from one of them, saying he’d call the next day to see if I was OK.”