Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (23 page)

Fury floods my body and logic deserts me. I
run forward with the horses, yelling. Terrified, they drag free of my grip, bucking and
rearing. The skinny dog appears from the shadows, barking madly, baring her teeth at
Seddon, and in the chaos the chestnut pony rears again, catching Seddon on the temple so
that he reels back awkwardly, falling to the ground.

We are running then, the child’s
small, cold hand in mine, the woman holding Lawrie as he clutches his damaged arm.
‘The car,’ she gasps. ‘Head for the car – I have the keys!’

We race across the stable yard towards the
looming shape of a four-wheel drive parked on the driveway leading down to the road. The
doors flash red in the darkness, unlocking, and we bundle inside, the skinny dog
too.

‘Quick, Mum, he’s coming!’
Lawrie says, and the engine roars and there’s a screech of gravel and we’re
driving into the darkness, away from there.

‘Is … is everyone OK?’
Lawrie’s mum asks, her voice shaking.

Somehow, everybody is. Lawrie’s mum
drives slowly through the darkened lanes. I can tell it’s an effort for her to
keep the car steady.

‘We’re going the wrong
way,’ Lawrie says after a minute. ‘We have to go to Minehead, Mum, to the
police … we have no choice this time!’

‘I can’t,’ she whispers,
and I can hear the fear in her voice. ‘We can’t …’

My head is starting to unscramble the jigsaw
pieces; a moody, secretive boy who hates bullies, the little sister, a sense of
amazement that stepdads could actually be cool. This is why Lawrie was feeding Caramel
the first night
I went to Blue Downs House, how he knew about Spirit –
and why he hates Seddon so much.

He lives with him.

‘Drive to my place,’ I say,
taking charge. ‘You’re heading that way, and it’s not far.
You’ll be safe there, I promise.’

Eventually the car limps to a halt on the
gravel at Tanglewood, and I jump out and lean on the doorbell long enough to make lights
spring on all over the house. By the time I have settled Lawrie, his mum and his sister
in the warm kitchen and coaxed the frightened mongrel inside too, Mum and Paddy appear
in the doorway in PJs and dressing gowns. My sisters crowd behind them on the staircase,
wide-eyed.

‘What on
earth … Coco?’ Paddy demands, but Mum just surveys the scene and puts
the kettle on, fetching warm water and a clean flannel to bathe the woman’s
face.

‘I’m Charlotte, and this is
Paddy,’ Mum says, matter-of-factly. ‘Your name is … ?’

‘Sandra Marshall,’ the woman
says, wincing as the warm water touches her broken skin. ‘Sandy. These are my
children, Lawrie and Jasmine …’

‘Lawrie’s my friend from
school,’ I add. ‘We were trying to rescue some ponies and it all got out of
hand …’

‘Way to go, little sis,’ Honey
says. ‘Stepping into my shoes as the rebel-rouser already? I haven’t even
gone yet!’

‘Honey, shhh, this is serious,’
Mum says. ‘What exactly happened here?’

‘I don’t know,’ I tell
her. ‘But I think Lawrie’s arm might be broken and the horses have gone and
–’

‘He hit my mum,’ Jasmine says in
a tiny voice. ‘And he shot his gun!’

‘Who did?’ Mum echoes.
‘Sandy, who did this to you?’

The whole story comes out then, the bits I
know already and the bits I could only guess at; about the shotgun, the slap, the stolen
horses, about a whole year of intimidation and bullying for Lawrie and his family.

They came to Somerset a year ago when Sandy
found work with James Seddon’s holiday-let business. Soon Seddon was dating her
and moved the whole family in with him. He made them feel special with gifts and days
out and endless promises … but before long he began to control everything they
did. When Seddon
began to show a darker side, a cruel, bullying
streak, Lawrie had to stand by and watch as fear pulled his family apart.

‘Where do the ponies come into all
this?’ Mum asks. ‘This rescue you mentioned, Coco?’

‘Seddon was the one who bought
Caramel,’ I explain. ‘I went to see if she was all right and she really,
really wasn’t. Seddon drove her to exhaustion, made Jasmine watch until she fell
down in the mud, crying. So I took Caramel away … me and Lawrie. We had to.
There was another pony too, a mare in foal. We hid them on the moors, and when Lawrie
told me Seddon had bought more ponies we tried to take them too, but the dog barked and
Seddon came after us with a shotgun and it all went wrong …’

My sisters have moved into the kitchen,
perched on the countertops or leaning against the Aga. Paddy has slipped out of the
room. Jasmine has fallen asleep in Sandy’s arms, Lawrie is curled up with the
skinny mongrel.

Mum touches Sandy’s hand. ‘You
have to call the police,’ she says gently. ‘You know that, don’t
you?’

‘I can’t,’ she whispers.
‘I really can’t …’

‘You don’t have to,’ Paddy
says, as he comes through the kitchen door. ‘They’re already on their
way.’

The night goes crazy. Paramedics arrive and
decide that Lawrie’s arm isn’t broken, that Sandy’s cuts will heal and
hopefully not scar; the police take a statement from Lawrie’s mum, ask if she
wishes to press charges, and dispatch officers to bring Seddon down to the station.
It’s daybreak by the time all that is done. My sisters have gone back to bed, and
Lawrie and Jasmine are asleep in one of the guest rooms.

‘You and I need a little talk,’
Mum says, catching my arm as I try to slope upstairs. ‘I’m glad you brought
Lawrie and Sandy and Jasmine here, but … what on earth have you been thinking,
Coco? Stealing ponies, wandering around on the moors in the dark? That was
dangerous … I mean, really dangerous!’

Her eyes fill with tears and instantly I am
flooded with guilt. Mum is right, of course – I may have acted with the best intentions,
but still, I have broken the law and lied and taken so many risks that it has become
second nature. Suddenly, it doesn’t look daring or brave so much as downright
foolhardy.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ I whisper. ‘I
just … didn’t know what else to do!’

Mum wipes her eyes. ‘You could have
talked to me,’ she says. ‘I’d have listened, Coco, you know that,
don’t you? Together, we could have worked something out. But I really don’t
think I could bear to have another daughter in trouble. The family seems to be
unravelling before my very eyes …’

‘No, Mum!’ I protest.
‘That’s not true! We’re the best family in the world! We may not be
perfect, but we’re still pretty amazing, and that’s thanks to you and Paddy.
I’m fine, I promise, really I am! I’m so, so sorry!’

But Mum is crying again, and all I can do is
put my arms round her and hold her close and promise I will talk to her if there’s
anything, anything at all, I am worried about in future. And I mean it. Forget boys and
make-up and cramps and mood swings, this is what growing up is all about – learning from
your mistakes, daring to admit that you don’t know everything, and that sometimes,
just maybe, you get things wrong.

It’s hard. There’s an ache
inside my chest and I want to cry and argue and yell, but I won’t, I can’t.
I am going
to learn, listen, change. I am going to make Mum proud. I
hold her tight and promise that everything will be OK.

In the end, Lawrie and his family stay with
us for two weeks. Sandy helps out in the chocolate workshop, and it turns out she is a
whizz at organizing and getting things to run smoothly. Pretty soon, the order is back
on track.

As well as the police, the RSPCA are
investigating Seddon, and the
Exmoor
Gazette
runs a story on it all. Seddon has been shamed into handing the two
newest ponies back to their original owner, while Jean and Roy at the stables take on
Spirit and Star. Sheba the dog has gained weight and her fur looks glossy and healthy.
She curls up in Fred’s basket at night and runs rings round the garden with him
during the day.

Lawrie and I are Year Eight heroes for all
of five minutes, then targets for endless teasing about whether we are/aren’t an
item. For the record, we are not, but Lawrie has chilled out now his mum is away from
Seddon; the moody, chippy veneer has dropped away to reveal a quiet, gentle boy who
opens up a little more each day.

He surprises me sometimes. When I show
Jasmine how
to make my secret Coco Caramel cupcakes he joins in,
whizzing up flour and eggs and butter and sugar; he sits beside me in the old oak tree,
listening to my violin practice, looking at the stars, talking about the past, the
future, a hundred different versions of each.

Eventually, of course, the future becomes
the present.

The chocolate order is finished, the last
consignment driven away. Sandy makes plans to go back to Kendal, staying with her
parents until she can find a job and a flat. Jasmine and Lawrie will go back to their
old schools, putting the past behind them.

I am pleased for the Marshalls, really I am,
but the news leaves me feeling strangely deflated. On the day they leave, I sit in the
old oak, legs swinging, gloomy. I have baked panda-face cupcakes for Jasmine, packed a
bag with dog chews for Sheba, painted a good-luck card for all of them. Still, it feels
like I am crying inside.

Lawrie comes out of the house and down
through the garden, hauling himself up into the branches beside me.

‘I don’t want you to go,’
I confess. ‘I will miss you, Lawrie Marshall.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ he
counters. ‘It’s for the best, though.
The further Mum is
from Seddon the better. Maybe things will be OK for your family too, now?’

‘Sure they will. Your mum had the
chocolate workshop running like clockwork. I can’t believe we made that deadline
after all!’

‘With time to spare,’ he tells
me. ‘Mum loved it. It’s been like watching her wake up, start to believe in
herself again – thanks to Charlotte and Paddy. And you, obviously.’

‘What did I do?’

He shrugs. ‘Without you, I’d
never have dared stand up to Seddon. He’d knocked the fight out of us – all I
could do was look out for Mum and Jas, make sure the animals were fed. Then you turned
up with your mad plans and suddenly everything was different, we were in the middle of
this big adventure. You gave me hope. OK, at first I thought you were a little bit
crazy …’

‘I am a little bit crazy,’ I
agree.

He grins. ‘I know. I got to like it,
after a while. It’s been so long since I had a proper friend, and I
think … I know … well, you’re probably my best friend. Maybe
more than a friend …’

I don’t see it coming.

I have noticed the way he looks at me
sometimes, his blue eyes sad and searching, noticed a crackle of energy between us
sometimes when we touch by accident. I’ve laughed off my friends’
suggestions that he fancies me, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered
if he did. I’d be lying too, if I said I hadn’t thought about Lawrie a
little bit, dreamed even.

Still, I panic when he leans towards me, his
fingers stroking my cheek, his lips brushing mine. I almost jump out of my skin, and
that is not a good plan when you are six feet above the ground, sitting in an old oak
tree.

I am pretty sure it’s not the reaction
Lawrie was hoping for.

I put my hand out, touch his cheek, his
lips. His skin is cold beneath my fingers, but his lips are soft and warm.

‘Hey,’ I whisper. ‘Lawrie,
you’re my best friend too, but … well, I don’t think I’m
ready for anything more right now. Is that OK?’

‘I guess,’ he says.
‘I’ll wait. I’ll come back one day, I promise, and we’ll both be
older then and things will be different. Yeah?’

‘I hope so,’ I tell him. ‘We
can write, can’t we? And email, maybe.’

‘Definitely. Listen, Coco, I hate
goodbyes,’ he says. ‘Besides, I know we’ll meet again. But if we
don’t, for whatever reason, there’s one thing you have to know. I will never
forget you, Coco Tanberry. Never.’

He slides down from the oak tree and walks
away, and by the time the taxi arrives to take them to the station I am playing the
violin, thinking of a boy with sad eyes, warm lips, unruly hair that falls across his
face.