‘That was Saturday,’ I tell him. ‘Can I call home? I won’t be long, promise. I need to talk to Mum. I’m a bit worried about Summer –’
Abruptly, Dad’s fist slams down on to the kitchen table, making the empty takeaway cartons clatter and jump.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he yells. ‘I have important clients arriving any minute. Your sister is fine! All this fussing won’t do her any good. You are in Sydney now, with me. You need to step away from Tanglewood, get on with your life!’
The words feel like a slap, and my chin tilts up, defiant. ‘You’re saying I can’t call home?’ I challenge. ‘Seriously?’
‘I’m saying you can’t use the landline,’ Dad grates out. ‘Seriously. Not now. It’s not necessary and it’s not convenient. You have a mobile, don’t you? And a brand-new, top-of-the-range laptop, just a week or so old. Use them, if you really need to, but I won’t have you disrupting this dinner party with some pointless telephone drama, all at my expense.’
I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. Pointless drama? Summer is falling to pieces back home and my dad doesn’t even care.
Emma moves between us, trying to calm things down. ‘Hey, hey, you two,’ she says brightly, as if we are squabbling five-year-olds. ‘No fighting! Honey doesn’t mean it, do you, pet? Stop worrying and get your glad rags on and we’ll have some fun –’
Dad turns on Emma. ‘For goodness’ sake, woman!’ he growls. ‘Can you take this seriously? It’s bad enough that I’ve had to order food in because you’re not able to cater for a straightforward dinner –’
‘Greg!’ she protests. ‘This was a last-minute thing; there wasn’t time to cook, you know that. I just thought –’
‘You didn’t think at all,’ Dad argues. ‘Either of you. That’s the whole trouble!’
I had forgotten Dad’s temper, but suddenly the memories flood back – Dad storming out of the house and not returning for hours, or days; Mum crying; the rages that flared up out of nowhere and took the floor out from under our feet. I take two steps back, eyes wide, body tense. My hand closes on the bedroom door and I stumble backwards suddenly, away from the conflict. Dad glares at me.
‘I’ll stay in my room,’ I whisper. ‘OK? I wouldn’t want to ruin your party.’
Emma’s cheeks are pink with shame. She looks as if she might argue, but Dad doesn’t give her a chance.
‘Fine,’ he snaps.
I close the door and throw myself down on the bed, shaking with shock and fury. How can Dad be so selfish, so unfair? Maybe I have seen his anger in the past but it has never been directed at me before. I never thought it could be. I was his golden girl, his princess … but he seems to have forgotten all that.
Someone switches on the CD player and I hear a car draw up, then the sound of voices, laughter. It all sounds brittle, fake.
I take a deep breath and text Mum to check she’s around and alone, then Skype her to explain about Summer’s message, keeping my voice bright and steady. Mum says she will talk to the clinic right away, make sure Summer gets extra support.
‘Try not to worry, Honey,’ she says. ‘They told us to expect the odd setback; it’s part of the illness. Thanks for letting me know so quickly – and for being there for Summer when she needed to talk.’
I bite my lip. I wasn’t there, was I? I was a million miles away.
I cut the call and at last the tears come. I am not sure they’re for Dad and Emma; I think they are for Mum and me and my sisters, for long-ago rows I buried away so that I almost forgot they ever happened at all. But they did – I know they did.
I sit alone in the darkened room, listening to the music and chat drifting out from the dining room. You would never guess that half an hour ago, the air was crackling with anger and accusations. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was the perfect dinner party, with bright, chatty, friendly people eating delicious food and listening to a Katie Melua CD.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think everything was just fine.
Charlotte Tanberry
to me
Honey, just to let you know I’ve spoken to the clinic; they’re confident they can help Summer. I could see how upset you were when we spoke on Skype, but try to stay strong, for Summer’s sake. I’m glad she could confide in you, and that you were smart enough to let me know – you’re growing up, sweetheart. I’m so proud you’re making a go of your new school, though right now I’d give anything to be able to give you a hug, of course.
Love you lots,
Mum
xoxo
12
On Tuesday morning, Dad and Emma act like last night’s blow-up never happened. If it wasn’t for the lingering smell of vanilla candles, the empty wine bottles in the recycling bin and the dishwasher still steaming with sparkly clean plates and glasses, I’d think I dreamt the whole thing, but there is something too careful, too practised, about the way the two of them behave at breakfast. Dad is at his most helpful, squeezing fresh orange juice and making pancakes, but Emma’s smile seems forced.
Dad’s trying to make up for last night, I know, but although I smile and gulp down an orange juice I can’t forget that shocking flash of anger and arrogance. I can be selfish and moody too, sometimes, but I’m not that bad, surely? Is this how scary it feels for my mum and sisters when I get mad? I can’t even think about that.
School feels like a welcome retreat from the drama, and I lose myself in the dull routine of it. A surprise science test, a poem to analyse in English, a packed lunch eaten in the sunshine while talking about the rules of flirting with Tara and Bennie … these things seem valuable suddenly, small fragments of normality.
After school, I walk to the beach cafe to see Ash. He’s busy serving drinks when I first arrive, so I pull up a bar stool and start on a two-page French essay about my life. Dutifully I look up a few useful phrases; my favourites are demi-soeur de l’enfer (stepsister from hell) and délinquant juvénile (you can guess that one, right?). Sadly, though, I am not sure Australia is ready for my life story; in the end I go for a slightly adapted version, where families are happy and not broken, and coming to Australia is a treat and not a punishment. It’s not dishonest, exactly … it’s just that it isn’t the whole picture.
‘Writing me a love letter?’ Ash teases, and I laugh and tell him it’s just French homework.
‘Speaking of love letters, though … my friend Tara has a little crush on you.’
‘Not my type,’ Ash says, serving iced coffees to a couple of elderly ladies before fixing a fruit smoothie for me.
‘Bennie then?’ I tease.
‘She’s great, but no,’ he says. ‘Spark’s just not there.’
‘No pleasing some people,’ I say. ‘What is your type, anyway?’
‘I’ll tell you some time. Maybe.’ His eyes snag mine then slide away, and both of us are smiling. Ash likes me, I know he does, and even though his kind, hardworking boy-next-door style is a million miles from my own usual type, my heart still races a little bit whenever I’m with him.
‘Is it weird to be so far away from your mum and sisters?’ he asks, and the comment feels a little too close to home; my mind has been on Summer all day.
‘It must be tough. How do you get your head around it?’ Ash pushes, and like a fool I open my mouth and let the truth spill out.
‘I don’t. Sometimes – I guess since my parents split up – I feel as if I’ve been divided into pieces, like a jigsaw. I don’t know if I can ever feel complete until all the pieces are joined up.’
‘Think it’ll ever happen?’ he asks.
‘No chance. Jigsaws are going out of fashion – nobody has the patience for them any more. I am destined to wander around for the rest of my days with bits missing everywhere …’
I hold a hand up, faking a horrified look, as if I can see right through it.
‘Everything’s where it ought to be from where I’m standin
g,’ he says, raising an eyebrow. ‘No jigsaw-shaped gaps.’
‘I hide them well,’ I quip. ‘And it’s ironic, but if I work hard, I kind of forget what a mess my life is! Blaming you for that, Ash. I’ve never had a work ethic before!’
Ash laughs. ‘The hard work will be worth it,’ he says. ‘It’s a way of opening up the future – you’ll see!’
‘I’m not thinking about the future so much as trying to keep my head above water,’ I admit. ‘What about you?’
Ash grins. ‘I want to get good grades in my Higher School Cert, then travel … do a gap year before uni. Then I might study journalism and end up being a war correspondent or a teacher or a writer. I’m still deciding.’
‘I’d like to jump off the whole treadmill the moment I can,’ I admit. ‘I hate school. I think I’m allergic to rules and uniform and homework. And exams.’
Ash raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ve always got your nose in a book; I don’t see it bringing you out in a rash exactly.’
‘I have a lot to catch up with,’ I tell him. ‘I wasn’t an A-star student back home, and the syllabus is different here, so I’m way behind. I’d like to prove I can do it, but what can I say? I get bored easily, and my biggest talent is chaos. Some days I feel like a runaway train, no brakes, no nothing. It’s just a matter of time until I plough right off the tracks …’
‘Train crashes aside, what would you really like to do?’ he asks. ‘If there were no school, no exams?’
There are a million smart answers to that, answers involving all-night parties, unsuitable boys, London bedsits, rags-to-riches fantasy stories. Trouble is, I can’t summon up much enthusiasm for any of it, and my smart answers evaporate, leaving me with nothing.
‘I like to draw,’ I say, surprising even myself. ‘Apart from chaos, it’s the only thing I’m any good at.’
‘Art college then?’
‘What are you, my personal tutor?’ I tease. ‘We’ll see. How about you? Where will you go on your gap year?’
Ash laughs. ‘There’s so much of the world I want to see – Sri Lanka, where my family were from originally, and Britain because … well, it just seems so cool. I’d like to see for myself if it actually is!’
‘Don’t go to Somerset,’ I warn him. ‘I grew up there, and it’s the land that time forgot.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ he says. ‘It sounds kind of awesome.’
‘Tanglewood is awesome,’ I concede. ‘In a quiet, sleepy kind of way. It’s really cold there now, according to my sisters. Coco says there’s frost on the grass most mornings …’
‘I’d love to see it!’
‘They shot a TV film right next to where we live, a few months back,’ I say. ‘If you want to see what the place looks like. Coco and I were extras – we had to dress as Edwardians and wander about in the background while the real actors did their stuff. The film’s airing in the UK tomorrow night, so by Thursday I’ll be able to see it on Watch-Again …’
‘No kidding,’ Ash says. ‘I’m talking to a movie star?’
I shrug. ‘You know me, full of surprises.’ I feel a sudden impulse to get closer to Ash – he makes me want to confide in him, trust him. Could it be he understands me properly, that maybe, just maybe, boy-next-door is my type after all? ‘You can watch it with me, if you want!’ I add as casually as I can.
Just then, a group of teenage girls crowd the counter, bombarding Ash with a complicated list of requests for smoothies and ice cream. He heads for the fridge, raking a hand through his hair.
‘Look, I can’t do the film thing on Thursday,’ he calls over to me. ‘I’m busy.’
Ash has told me how uneventful his life is outside work, so how come he’s suddenly tied up the minute I suggest something? I’m not used to boys saying no to me; it’s not even as if I was asking him on a date or anything. Not exactly. What if he already has a girlfriend? My mates fancy him, and the teen girls flirting away as he lines up multiple smoothies and sundaes seem to feel the same way.
Hurt curdles inside me, but I fix a smile into place.
‘No worries,’ I call back, sweeping school books awkwardly into my bag. ‘I’d better go, tons to do, you know how it is.’
Ash calls after me as I push my way out of the cafe, but I don’t look back; my eyes are stinging, as if I might cry, and I really, really don’t want him to see that.
The next morning I wake at four, as if some internal alarm clock has started shrieking in my head. I pull the pillow over my head and grit my teeth, but images of yesterday fill my head, images of Ash looking awkward, his eyes sliding away from mine.
I feel so stupid for asking him to watch the TV film with me; I wanted him to see the place where I grew up, and yes, I wanted him to see me the way I looked that day, wearing a beautiful vintage dress, my hair and make-up carefully styled. The trouble with letting people get close to you is that they turn round and hurt you. My dad did it, Shay did it … you think I’d learn.
Even Riley has gone cold on me again. He hasn’t messaged once since our conversation on Friday morning, and I haven’t messaged him – I have some pride. It’s pretty much all I do have, along with my best friend Jet Lag.
I shove the pillow away, ignore the pile of school books and open up my laptop.
I type a message.
Riley? You around? How come you’ve gone all silent on me lately?
xxx
I press Send, then swear under my breath. It’s too late to regret it now; the message has gone, lost in the nothingness of the Internet. My heart flips over as a message appears in my inbox.
Honey? What’s up?
My cheeks colour. He’s online, but he hasn’t messaged me, even though he knows I’m always awake at this time. Shame seeps through me.
Nothing much … just wondered what you were up to.
I’m trying for a light, banter-ish tone, but I’m not sure it’s working. An answer comes back almost at once.
Busy with uni work. Had a couple of deadlines, you know the kind of thing. What’s going on with you?
The message is a world away from our flirty chats last week. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but I can feel Riley’s interest ebbing away like the ocean when the tide turns. Bennie’s right – maybe you really can’t have a relationship on social media. You need to hang out together, chat, laugh, hold hands. If I could see Riley, I could keep him interested, I know I could. With just words to work with, it’s not so easy.
I think quickly before I reply.
Things are cool. Waiting to see my small-screen debut this week. I was an extra in a TV film a while ago, back home. It’s being screened in Britain tonight and it’s on Watch-Again tomorrow … weird, huh?
xxx
A minute later, an answer appears.
You’re a movie star? Serious? Wish I could see that!
I smile. Riley is way more enthusiastic than Ash was, and that’s an ego boost if nothing else. Do I dare ask him over? How fine a line is there between brave and desperate? My new-leaf promises crumble to nothing as my fingers fly over the keyboard.
You could come over and watch it with me, if you like …
xxx
I hold my breath, and an answer appears.
Sure! I don’t have lectures tomorrow, so tell me your address and I’ll come once you’ve finished school. Give me your mobile too, just in case.
I grin, typing out my address and mobile number. My inbox flashes up with a reply.
Cool! See you soon, gorgeous!
I pick up my pillow from the floor and hug it tight, smiling in the half-light.
Coco Tanberry
to me
We just watched Scarlet Ribbons and I really, honestly think we might be famous now! Me and Humbug were in a few scenes, in the background, but there were quite a few close-ups of you, Honey Tanberry. How cool?
Your Fellow Film Star,
Coco x
13<
br />
The next thirty-six hours stretch out to an eternity. I play it cool, but let’s face it, I’m not the patient kind, and it’s way too long since I’ve had a date with a cute boy.
Tara and Bennie are fizzing with excitement, like two boisterous puppy dogs.
‘I think I got this whole Riley thing wrong,’ Bennie says. ‘He’s obviously mad about you!’
‘Chemistry,’ Tara breathes.
‘You’d know all about that,’ Bennie cuts in. ‘There was a whole lot of that going on this morning between you and Joshua McGee!’
‘You’d have been proud,’ Tara says. ‘I didn’t blush crimson this time. More of a deep cerise colour. Anyhow, Bennie, you’re just jealous!’
‘Possibly,’ she agrees. ‘Ask Riley if he’s got a friend for me, OK?’
‘I might just do that!’
‘Did he message again this morning?’
‘Yep … says he can’t wait,’ I report. ‘Nor can I. He’s so good-looking, honestly!’
‘Bring him into town on Saturday,’ Bennie suggests. ‘You can take him to that cafe where we went the other week, and Tara and I will just happen to stroll in. If he’s as hot as you say, it’d be rude to keep him all to yourself.’
‘I wish we could watch that film with you,’ Tara says. ‘I’m going to watch it anyway, and see if I can spot your sister, and listen out for Shay’s song in the soundtrack …’
‘Text us the minute Riley’s gone,’ Bennie adds. ‘We want to know all the details. Don’t hold back!’
‘I won’t,’ I promise, laughing.
I’m not laughing at four ’o clock, though. I’m back home, peeling off the tent dress, jumping into the shower, dressing quickly in a little print sundress and flip-flops. Emma lends me her hairdryer and I do my make-up, my hand shaking slightly as I apply eyeliner.
Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey Page 8