Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (10 page)

But I am already in too deep, and there is
no turning back.

By the time I’m up and dressed,
Tanglewood is in chaos. As usual, my sisters are so wrapped up in their own lives they
barely notice me at all, and Mum and Paddy are interviewing people from the village to
help them fill the big chocolate order. Even if I did want to confide in them, I doubt
if they’d have time to listen. They either fuss over me as if I am three years old
or else barely notice I’m alive. Right now, though, all this is working to my
advantage – nobody except Cherry has the slightest idea I’ve been up to
anything.

The interviews are all done by midday, and
we gather round the kitchen table for a healthy brunch. Even Honey has made an effort
and put in an appearance, smiling and helpful, doing her best impression of the perfect
daughter.

We feast on fresh fruit and yoghurt, then
Mum’s special eggs Florentine, a poached egg, spinach and mushroom combo that
everybody loves. Our meals are extra healthy these days because of Summer’s eating
disorder – although she doesn’t eat very much of anything, just picks at her fruit
and manages a few forkfuls of poached egg. We are
not allowed to
mention this in case it makes her feel bad and makes her eat even less, but trust me, it
is not easy watching your beautiful sister surviving on strawberries and fresh air.
Apparently the twice-a-week day clinic is helping her get back into healthier eating
patterns, but I can’t see an awful lot of progress myself. Mum says that battling
an eating disorder takes time.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened
if nobody had noticed what Summer was doing, if she’d packed her bags and headed
off to dance school this September as she was supposed to. Even the thought of it scares
me half to death.

‘We need you girls to be patient,
these next few weeks,’ Paddy is saying, helping himself to a slice of toast.
‘Charlotte and I will be working flat out to get this chocolate order sorted, so
things could be hectic. We’ll need you all to bear with us.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Skye says.
‘We’ll all help.’

‘Just tell us what needs doing,’
Summer agrees, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from pointing out the irony
of my anorexic sister offering to help out with the chocolate business. It’s kind
of sick.

Mum pours more orange juice. ‘I think we
have the production side of things pretty much covered,’ she says.
‘We’ve signed up enough part-time workers to do three shifts a day, morning,
afternoon and evening. If things go according to plan we should be able to meet the
order in time and get those chocolates on the shelves by the end of the month. Paddy and
I will be busier than usual, but there are no B&B bookings over the next couple of
weeks, and we won’t take any more until all this is over, so …’

‘So it’s just us,’ Cherry
states. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll manage fine. We were OK while you two were
on honeymoon, weren’t we?’

That’s not strictly true – Grandma
Kate came over to keep an eye on us back then. Besides, Summer’s freaky food
phobia started while Mum and Paddy were away in August, and Honey used their absence as
an excuse to go off the rails again. She almost burnt the stable block down one night
and Summer had to go to hospital with smoke inhalation, although they did find out about
her eating disorder while she was there so it wasn’t all bad.

Still, I am not sure the honeymoon is a good
example of us managing on our own.

Mum seems to agree. ‘Well,’ she
frowns, ‘it won’t be quite like that. Paddy and I will be busy, but
we’re right here if you need us. I’ll be running Summer to and from Exeter
to the clinic as usual. You girls come first!’

Her eyes flicker over Summer, who is cutting
a grilled tomato into careful quarters, spearing a few swirls of spinach but not
actually eating anything.

‘We’ll be fine, Mum,’
Summer says quietly.

‘Sure you will,’ she says
brightly. ‘I’ve stocked up the freezer, but you might have to keep a check
that you’ve got clean clothes for school and shout out if you need anything.
We’ll all muddle through. Right?’

‘Right,’ Honey says.
‘Don’t stress, Mum. It’s only for a couple of weeks – no hassle! The
place will run like clockwork, I’ll see to that.’

Mum smiles. ‘I know you will,
Honey,’ she says. ‘We’re so pleased with your report – just look what
you can achieve when you try! I’m so proud of you!’

‘Whatever,’ my big sister says,
her cheeks flushing pink, either with modesty or guilt. ‘I just want you to know
you can rely on us to cope with stuff here. OK, you lot?’

‘OK,’ I chime in with my sisters.
‘No worries.’

Honey, Cherry and Skye look unconcerned, but
I notice that Summer’s eyes are shadowed with uncertainty. Me, I can’t help
thinking that dealing with two rescued ponies will be a whole lot easier while Mum and
Paddy are run off their feet. The busier they are, the less likely they are to notice my
comings and goings.

I take a deep breath.

‘I’m going down to the village
in a bit,’ I say casually. ‘To see Jayde and Amy. Is that OK?’

Cherry shoots me a questioning look, but I
avoid her eyes and Mum just nods and tells me to make sure I’m not too late back,
to call if I need a lift. I promise I will, but of course I won’t need a lift
because I’m not going to see my friends, I’m going up to the derelict
cottage. I have already hidden my bike down behind the gypsy caravan, my rucksack
dangling from the handlebars, stuffed with hay and apples.

I am not sure when I got to be so good at
lying. It’s like I am turning into a mini version of my big sister, only with
save-the-whale tendencies and flatter shoes. Honey is turning over a new leaf, while I
am flinging
myself headlong into a whole lot of trouble. I have never
been afraid to stand up for animals, but even I know stealing ponies is serious. It
makes baking cakes to raise money for the pandas look like kid’s stuff.

After brunch, I curl up in the oak tree to
play my violin, but I can’t concentrate; my mind is full of stolen ponies, angry
landowners, surly boys. I check my watch, killing time until I can set off for the
derelict cottage. I am kicking at the red-gold foliage, anxious, edgy, when Honey walks
across the grass wearing a cute print minidress, mustard-coloured tights and
high-heeled, lace-up boots. She leans up against the tree trunk, and takes a compact
mirror out of her bag to paint on scarlet lipstick and shimmery gold eyeshadow.

Watching all this through the branches, I
can’t help thinking she is taking an awful lot of trouble to look cool and pretty
for a girl who is grounded until Christmas.

Maybe I was wrong about the new-leaf
thing?

‘Going somewhere nice?’ I ask,
and Honey yelps, dropping her eyeshadow into the grass.

‘Coco, you are such a freak,’
she huffs, scooping it up and stuffing it into her handbag. ‘What is it with you
and
trees? Are you actually part monkey?’

‘Stop changing the subject,’ I
say. ‘I thought you were grounded?’

‘I’m just going down to
Anthony’s,’ she tells me. ‘Mum knows, and she says it’s fine.
He’s helping me with my calculus homework, OK? I want to get good
grades.’

I frown. Anthony is Kitnor’s only teen
maths and computer genius, one of those slightly eccentric boys who still lets his mum
cut his hair in a little-boy bowl haircut and never seems to notice that his shirt tails
are hanging. I think he has a bit of a crush on Honey, but it’s definitely a
one-way thing.

Besides, Honey doesn’t look like
she’s dressed to walk down to the village to study calculus.

‘Is Anthony your boyfriend now
then?’ I ask, swinging my legs just above her head.

‘That’s sick!’ she
squeals, outraged. ‘Of course he isn’t. I’m just studying, OK? Nothing
else.’

She picks her way across the grass and I
hear the gate creak as she steps out on to the lane, the clack-clack of her high-heeled
boots on tarmac. As I listen, a car draws up blaring music and voices call out,
laughing, telling
Honey to jump in. ‘Shhh!’ I hear her
hiss. ‘My little sister is lurking about – keep the noise down! I’m
grounded, remember!’

A door slams and the car accelerates away,
and I am left with a sinking feeling. New leaf? Honey? That’ll be the
day.

It’s eerily quiet as I cycle along the
lanes towards the moors. It’s not such a long ride as yesterday – according to
Lawrie, the derelict farm is almost halfway between Hartshill and Kitnor as the crow
flies, so I take the route Lawrie has suggested, staying well away from Blue Downs
House. Once I reach the uplands I hide my bike in a coppice of hazel trees he told me to
look for and find a tiny stream that is supposed to lead right up to the derelict
cottage.

I leave the lane behind and begin to trek
upwards, following the silver ribbon of stream as it cuts through the heather and
bracken. Each step feels like freedom, like leaving the chaos of the big chocolate order
and Summer’s illness and Honey’s latest rule-breaking all
behind me. There is nobody else around, and all I can hear is the distant buzz of a
car down below, the screech of geese flying overhead, the rhythm of my footsteps as I
walk.

At one point I glimpse a herd of wild Exmoor
ponies in the distance, their dark manes ruffled by the breeze as they watch me pass. If
all else fails, maybe I could set Caramel loose on the moors and hope that she finds
them? It would break my heart, but at least she’d be safe. That wouldn’t
work for the grey, of course – she’s not an Exmoor, and her colour would mark her
out from the herd instantly.

I am just beginning to worry that I’m
following the wrong stream when the tumbledown smallholding appears in the distance. In
the daylight I can see a rectangle of drystone wall enclosing an overgrown field and
tall, ivy-covered walls shielding the garden. When I get closer, I notice a tatty red
sign that reads
Danger: Unsafe Building
tied to the cast-iron gate.

As I duck through the gate a tangle of
starry white jasmine flowers brushes against my face, the remnants of a long-forgotten
garden now running wild. The air smells
heady, musky, sweet, and
everything seems peaceful in the fading sun – it’s the kind of place where time
stands still.

Walking along the overgrown path, I see
another sign, fixed above the broken doorway, faded, the paint peeling.
Jasmine
Cottage.
I think again of the little girl with Seddon yesterday, her pale face
stained with tears. He called her Jasmine.

Who lived here, long ago? Was there a
family, kids playing in the stream, parents tending the vegetable garden, a couple of
cows and sheep in the field, ducks and chickens perhaps? What became of them? Perhaps
the children grew up and headed for the city, leaving their parents to grow old alone,
their home falling into disrepair around them.

What would they think of our kidnap, the
hidden ponies?

‘Hello?’ I call, and Caramel
comes trotting towards me through the tangle of undergrowth, pushing her nose against my
shoulder and making soft, whickering sounds as I stroke her neck.

‘Oh, Caramel,’ I whisper into
her mane. ‘I’m so, so sorry …’

After a while I step back, taking an apple
from my rucksack and cutting it into slices to feed to her.

The dapple-grey mare appears behind Caramel,
shy and jittery. She seems too nervous to approach, but I stay still and quiet, my arm
outstretched, the juicy apple slices on my open palm, tempting her. I have learnt that
when an animal is frightened, the best way forward is to let it come to you; after a
while she edges close enough to take the apple, her nose like warm velvet against my
skin, her breath soft and warm.

‘Nice job,’ a voice says behind
me, and I turn to see Lawrie Marshall sitting on the window sill of the derelict
cottage. ‘That one’s really wary of people … with good cause,
obviously. We’ll probably never know her real story.’