Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (22 page)

‘So change your friends, pick nicer
boyfriends,’ I say. ‘You can still turn things around. Start
over!’

‘I’m going to,’ Honey
says. ‘In Australia. I’ll miss you, Coco-pops, of course I will, but we can
stay in touch on Skype and SpiderWeb. I have tried about a million fresh starts here,
you know that – I need something different. Dad’s stepped up to the mark, finally
– he’s going to find a good school, hire tutors, make sure I pass some exams. He
does care, Coco!’

‘Of course he does,’ I say,
although I have to admit there has never been much evidence of it before. I can’t
say that to Honey, though.

‘I still miss Dad,’ she tells me.
‘Every day. And the rest of you seem to have forgotten him, and it makes me feel
like such a freak for even caring …’

‘We all miss him,’ I tell her,
and because there really isn’t any more to say I put my arms round my big sister
and hold her tight. She hugs me back, her face pressed against my shoulder, her
beautiful hair soft beneath my fingers.

I look up and see that the DVD has reached
the part where Bambi’s mother gets shot, but this time it’s Honey
who’s crying.

I sit at one end of the blue sofa, writing
letters to the newspaper and to the police about Seddon and the way he treats his
ponies, while Honey huddles at the other end, curled up under the blanket made of
crochet squares she has had since she was tiny.

My sisters come home at midday and Mum and
Paddy call a family meeting in the kitchen. Everyone is there except Honey, who has
fallen asleep in the living room, the tail end of
Bambi
playing softly in the
background.

‘Is it true that you’re sending
her away?’ I blurt out, as soon as Mum sits down. ‘You can’t, Mum,
it’s cruel!’

Skye kicks me hard under the table.
‘Shut UP, Coco!’ she whispers. ‘That’s not helping!’

Mum’s eyes fill with tears, and I am
instantly ashamed. ‘It’s not what I want,’ she explains in a wobbly
voice. ‘It’s what your sister wants … what she’s wanted all
along. She has used up all her chances here. She needs discipline, rules, support –
we’ve tried to give her those things, Coco, you know that. It hasn’t worked.
Everyone is in agreement here, Mr Keating, the school counsellor, Honey’s social
worker …’

I gulp. ‘She has a social
worker?’

‘Social services are trying to help
us,’ Paddy says. ‘They’ve been aware of the problems since the summer,
when Honey ran away. Once the police were involved, they were involved – but they want
to help, Coco, we all do. We just want what’s best for Honey.’

‘And what’s that?’ Skye
asks.

‘A fresh start,’ Paddy says.
‘A chance to get away from the kids she’s been seeing – well, most of them
aren’t kids, of course, and that’s part of the problem. It’s almost
like a cry for help, and let’s face it, the gentle approach hasn’t worked.
We need to do something different.’

‘Boarding school was one option,’
Mum says. ‘We looked into it, and there were a couple of places that gave great
support to troubled teens like Honey – but right now, we can’t afford the fees. If
we knew that this big chocolate order was going to be a success it might be different,
but we can’t predict what will happen.’

‘So Honey’s dad has stepped
in,’ Paddy says. ‘He’s found a day school in Sydney that promises good
grades and one-to-one tuition and counselling for girls like Honey.’

‘What does that mean?’ Summer
asks. ‘Who are these “girls like Honey”? Is it some kind of Australian
boot camp?’

‘Not at all,’ Mum promises.
‘It’s very strict but very fair, a private school with a good reputation
academically. It has an exceptional ethos, though – one that could really help Honey.
It’s all about encouraging self-esteem and healing hurts, turning negatives into
positives. We’ve spoken with the head teacher, and she seems confident they can
turn your sister around.’

‘But … why does it have to
be on the other side of the world?’ I plead.

Mum sighs. ‘Because we don’t know
of any schools here that offer this kind of help,’ she says honestly. ‘And
if we did, we probably wouldn’t be able to afford them. Luckily, this particular
school is near to Greg, and the fees are affordable, just about, if both we and Greg
chip in.’

‘You’re sending her away,’
I whisper.

Mum’s eyes fill with tears.
‘Coco, it’s just until the summer … we can review things then, see
what Honey wants. And, Coco, she wants this – a fresh start, away from bad influences,
in a school that promises to get her back on the right track. She wants to be with Greg,
you know that. I don’t want this any more than you do, but we have to do
something, Coco – your sister is right on the edge.’

I think of Dad, who is so busy with his
high-flying business in Sydney that he barely has time to speak to us on Skype at
Christmas; he has been known to forget our birthdays, our ages, our interests. OK, he is
thousands of miles away in Australia, I know, but even when he lived in London he was
kind of hopeless. I sometimes wonder if he’d forget he had kids at all unless Mum
was there to remind him.

I really hope the day school is good because
if things are left to Dad, Honey won’t be on the edge for much longer –
she’ll tumble right over it and go into
freefall.

Lawrie whistles as I swerve my bike to a halt
by the woodland at Blue Downs House just before midnight, stepping through the trees to
greet me. ‘Hey,’ he says, looking at me so intently I can’t quite meet
his gaze. ‘Everything OK at home?’

‘Not really,’ I tell him.
‘Everything’s about as bad as it possibly can be. I’ll tell you
later.’

‘Where do your parents think you are
right now?’

‘Sarah’s,’ I say.
‘Trust me, they have so much on their plate right now they won’t even think
of checking up.’

‘Sure you want to do this?’

‘Try and stop me,’ I huff.
‘I’m determined to get one thing right this week if it kills
me …’

We walk slowly through the woods and past
the
paddock, up to the edge of the stable yard. We watch the farmhouse
until the last lights are extinguished, then unhook the gate and creep softly round the
perimeter of the yard.

The ponies are stabled separately, side by
side at the end of the block. One is a chestnut, the other a roan, and both are stocky,
steady, calm. I falter for a moment; maybe Seddon will treat these two properly? Then I
remember the way he treated Caramel, the state Spirit was in, and I know we have no
choice but to carry on. The new ponies may be OK right now, but it’s just a matter
of time before Seddon crushes their spirit too. Getting these two out will blow the
whistle on what he is doing, trigger an investigation and maybe stop him from ever
working with animals again.

As we lead them out across the yard a
plaintive, whining bark rasps out across the silence. Lawrie swears under his breath.
‘Sheesh … I forgot about the blinkin’ dog!’

He hands me the reins of the chestnut pony
and moves towards the skinny mongrel quickly, palm outstretched, whispering softly. The
guard dog quietens almost at once, but
not before I see the curve of
its ribs in the moonlight, the hollow of its belly. The dog is thinner than ever,
shivering, cowering, tied to an outdoor kennel with a short rope that keeps her bowl of
water tantalizingly out of reach.

‘Think anyone heard?’ Lawrie
asks, petting the dog’s head, glancing up towards the house. ‘I hope
not …’

Guilt churns inside me. As far as animal
cruelty goes, this dog says it all – she’s thin, scared, trembling, yet her tail
still wags, hopeful, trusting. I can’t believe we left her behind a fortnight ago;
there is no way I can ignore her now.

‘We’re taking her,’ I
whisper. ‘We have to, Lawrie!’

He looks at me in the moonlight, his blue
eyes unreadable. Two weeks ago he would have curled his lip, said something harsh and
cutting about sticking to the plan, but we’ve both changed a lot in that time. We
have rescued two ponies and helped to bring a third into the world, and this morning I
woke in front of a long-dead fire with Lawrie’s hand in mine. My cheeks burn at
the memory.

Lawrie nods calmly and drops to his knees to
untie the rope, whispering softly to the dog as he struggles with the knot.

I am watching from the shadows when suddenly a
flashlight flares and a shot rings out, splitting the night in two.

‘I’m OK,’ Lawrie whispers.
‘Are you? Get back, quick, so he can’t see you!’

My heart thumps so hard it feels like it
might burst right out of me, and I can barely breathe. I edge back into the darkness,
leading the ponies out of sight, round the corner, behind an outbuilding.

A tall figure is raking the flashlight
across the stable yard, and I make out James Seddon, shotgun in hand, his face a tight,
cold mask of fury.

‘What the hell are you doing,
Lawrie?’ he roars. ‘Leave the dog be and get in the house! I thought you
were one of those blasted burglars!’

Lawrie’s eyes flicker to me once more,
and I creep another step backwards, my heart pounding. The ponies clatter back with me,
snuffling, shaking their heads, their breath hanging in the night air like smoke.

I don’t understand what’s going
on, how Seddon knows Lawrie’s name, why he’s ordering him to get in the
house; my head is too scrambled to even try to make sense of
it. All I
know is that James Seddon is striding towards us in the darkness, his shotgun swinging.
I have never been so terrified in my life.

I watch Lawrie’s fingers fumble as the
dog whimpers and cowers.

‘What’s going on?’ Seddon
growls. ‘I’ve told you before to leave that dog alone! She’s not a
pet, she’s a guard dog, and not even a very good one – useless mutt didn’t
raise the alarm when those thugs took my ponies …’

Lawrie abandons the rope and tugs at the
dog’s collar. It unbuckles suddenly and the skinny mongrel lurches away from
Seddon’s grip, yelping with fear, running past me in the darkness. Startled, the
ponies snort and huff and sidestep, clattering away from the outbuilding, and abruptly
Seddon’s flashlight swoops over us all, trapping us in the dazzling light.

He laughs, and the sick, harsh sound of it
turns my bones to water.

‘What’s this?’ he
enquires. ‘Don’t tell me, a little rescue party! It’s starting to make
sense now. You took the others too, didn’t you? To spite me …’

‘She wasn’t involved,’
Lawrie mutters, nodding at me.
‘Not the first time. And this was
my idea too, so just let her go …’

‘Don’t worry, I know very well
whose idea this was,’ Seddon growls. ‘You’re a useless, pathetic
excuse for a boy. I’ve tried to teach you how to have a backbone, how to be a man,
but I can see that mere discipline won’t do it. You need to be broken, just like
the horses – you come from bad stock, you see. You’re a loser, a waster, just like
your dad.’

Lawrie tries to run but Seddon grabs him,
hauling him back, throwing him roughly on to the ground. I think I am going to be sick;
nausea seeps through me in waves, making me dizzy.

‘Shhh, shhh,’ I croon to the
ponies, trying to calm their panic. ‘Steady, now …’

A light goes on up at the house and a woman
and child appear in the courtyard. The woman is pretty, with expensive clothes and
carefully styled hair; the child is in pyjamas, sleepy and rumpled, but I recognize her
instantly as the frightened girl I saw a fortnight ago.

‘James?’ the woman falters,
pulling a mobile from her pocket. ‘What’s going on? Who is that? Shall I
call the police?’

‘It’s Lawrie!’ the child
shrieks.

Lawrie pulls free, struggling to his feet,
but Seddon is too fast for him; furious, he throws Lawrie against the outbuilding wall
and he slumps down, gasping, clutching his arm.

‘Leave him
alone
!’ the
woman yells, running across the yard, the child at her heels.

Seddon turns, shouting that the three of
them are worthless, ungrateful trash, and before I can understand what’s happening
he lashes out, slapping the woman so hard that a river of blood slides down from her
pink-glossed lips.