Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (6 page)

The sight of this is enough to put a smile
back on my face, briefly at any rate.

‘So this is what you get up to when
we’re at school then?’ I tease.

‘Oh, Coco, love, we’re
celebrating!’ Mum laughs. ‘You’ll never guess what’s
happened!’

‘Don’t tell me – your three-month
wedding anniversary?’ I suggest. ‘A lottery win?’

‘As good as,’ Paddy says in his
cool Glaswegian accent. ‘We’ve only gone and landed a major order from the
Miller-Brown chain of department stores! They received my samples on Monday, and they
really loved them. They’ve offered us the chance to supply fifty of their top
stores with the option to expand into all of them if our chocolates do
well …’

‘And they will do well,’ Mum
laughs, taking another champagne glass from the cupboard, filling it up with pink
lemonade from the fridge and handing it to me. ‘They will do brilliantly because
they are the best truffles in the entire universe and now everyone will get the chance
to know that!’

I clink my glass against theirs. ‘Was
my truffle in the box of samples?’ I want to know. ‘The one named after
me?’

‘Well, of course,’ Paddy says.
‘All the chocolates you girls have inspired were in the box. Marshmallow Skye and
Summer’s Dream and Cherry Crush and Coco Caramel. There’s even one called
Sweet Honey, although your big sister says she doesn’t like
chocolate …’

I’m not so sure about that. My big sister
likes chocolate all right, she just doesn’t like Paddy.

‘The buyers at Miller-Brown loved
them, though,’ he continues. ‘The whole concept – the taste, the names, the
packaging, the fair-trade angle … all of it. This order is
big
. It
could take us off the breadline and into profit! It’s epic!’

I blink. I wonder just how much profit a big
order like that could bring in? The seed of an idea forms in my mind, growing
quickly.

Caramel is for sale. Well, OK, that’s
my fault, kind of – but maybe, just maybe, if we could actually buy her, the story might
still have a happy ending. It’s not such a crazy thought, surely?

The possibilities bubble up inside me,
sweeter than pink lemonade.

I bite my lip. ‘Are we going to be
rich?’ I ask. ‘Will we have lots of money?’

‘Rich? Well, I wouldn’t go that
far,’ Paddy says. ‘We should be able to pay off our business loans, at any
rate.’

Ah. Business loans. I had forgotten about
them.

‘We might just have enough to stretch
as far as a takeaway curry,’ Mum teases. ‘By way of celebration. And perhaps
we can let the B&B run down a little and turn Tanglewood back into a real family
home.’

‘Right,’ I check.
‘That’s great. But … not enough to buy a pony, say?’

‘A pony?’

‘Mum, the stables are selling
Caramel!’ I explain. ‘It’s all my fault, and I thought that if we
could just buy her …’

Mum holds her hands up. ‘Whoa, whoa, a
minute,’ she says. ‘Three things, Coco. First of all, if that pony is sold
on it won’t be your fault – she was clearly not suited to be a riding school
horse. Second, no, I’m really sorry, but we won’t have that kind of money –
we don’t have any money yet; we have to send the orders out first!
Third … well, if we did have the cash to buy a pony, I certainly
wouldn’t choose Caramel. She’s already thrown you once. I don’t think
she’s trustworthy!’

‘She is!’ I wail. ‘She is
the best pony in the whole world, and if we could just save her … Mum, I want
this more than anything! It could be all my birthday and Christmas presents from now
right up until I die, I swear! Please!’

‘Coco, listen –’

‘Will you think about it?
Please?’ I beg. ‘Just consider it? Maybe we could pay Jean and Roy in
instalments? You know I’ve always wanted a pony, and I love Caramel, I really do!
I will never, ever ask for anything again, truly.’

A look passes between Mum and Paddy, a
quiet, thoughtful look that sets my heart racing. Maybe they really will consider
it?

‘We’ll talk about it
later,’ Mum says. ‘It’s a huge
decision, and there
are all kinds of reasons why now is not the right time for it, and really, you know
yourself that Caramel is not the kind of pony I’d choose. So we’ll think
about it, yes; we’ll talk about it; but that’s all. Don’t get your
hopes up, Coco, I am not promising anything.’

I grin. ‘Thank you, Mum!’ I
whoop. ‘Thank you, Paddy!’

I clink glasses with them again, cranking up
the volume on Mum’s iPod, so happy I think I might burst. OK, Mum hasn’t
said yes … but she hasn’t said no either. All is not lost!

Mum starts to dance again, taking me by the
hand and dragging me up as well. The three of us are strutting our stuff to Abba’s
‘Dancing Queen’ when Cherry, Summer, Skye and Honey come in from school.
Their faces are serious, and they are all clutching big brown envelopes.

I remember what Cherry said about the high
school reports being out today, and I have a strong feeling that the happy mood is about
to crash.

Mum and Paddy launch into the story of the
big order again, pouring more pink lemonade, failing to notice the serious faces. My
sisters go along with it all, asking about
the order, congratulating
Paddy, talking of fame and fortune and chocolate-flavoured world domination.

Only Honey is silent. She waits for as long
as she can bear, then flings her report down on the tabletop as if throwing down a
challenge.

‘Look,’ she says. ‘Better
get it over with. It’s report day – I mean, I know it won’t be good, but I
have been trying a lot harder, so …’

Mum and Paddy are serious suddenly, sitting
down at the table, slicing open the envelope. Skye is chewing her lip, Summer is
studying the ceiling and Cherry looks like she’d rather be anywhere, anywhere at
all, than here.

Honey seems more relaxed than any of us,
perched on the kitchen table, helping herself to an apple from the fruit dish as if she
hasn’t a care in the world. I can’t help admiring her confidence.

To be honest, I am a little surprised she
has shown her face at all because she must know exactly what’s in that school
report. Perhaps it’s like she says, and she just wants to get the whole thing over
with?

Mum frowns as she scans the first page,
leafing through,
studying each sheet in turn. Paddy is reading too, and
finally, after the longest few minutes in the history of the world, Mum shakes her head
and puts the report booklet down.

‘Well … what can I
say?’

‘Is it OK?’ Honey asks, still
crunching apple. ‘Have I improved?’ Her jaw-length blonde hair falls across
her face and her eyes look anxious, hopeful.

Mum laughs. ‘Honey, it’s more
than OK,’ she says. ‘It’s … well, it’s an excellent
report! The best report you’ve brought home since primary school. Well done! I am
so pleased – I knew you could do it!’

Skye catches my gaze, a flicker of confusion
in her eyes. Something doesn’t feel quite right here.

‘
Much improved
attitude
,’ Paddy reads out. ‘
Working hard to make up for lost time;
bright, helpful, a pleasure to have in class
 … this is terrific,
Honey!’

My big sister shrugs and slides off the
tabletop. ‘Well, that’s me off the hook then,’ she laughs. ‘How
about you guys? Time to face the music?’

As Skye, Summer and Cherry hand over their
school reports, I cannot help myself – I lean across and look at
the
top page of Honey’s report because I seriously don’t believe what I am
hearing.

And there it is in black and white, printed
out and signed by the school principal;
Attendance: 100 per cent
.

Skye, Summer and Cherry have all brought
home reasonable reports, and mine came home before the October break and that was OK
too. There is no doubt about it, though – Honey’s report steals the show. My
off-the-rails sister has turned model pupil overnight, just in time for her GCSE
year.

‘Looks like I got it wrong,’
Skye whispers as I collect my violin, pull on my panda hat and slip outside to practise.
‘Maybe my art teacher had Honey mixed up with someone else?’

I shrug, but personally, I cannot see how.
Art is the only subject Honey actually enjoys, so the art teachers know her better than
most – and let’s face it, whatever else she may be, my big sister is not
forgettable. Still, you cannot argue with a school report, can you?

I sit in my oak tree, leaning back against
the trunk, playing jiggy tunes on my old violin. The branches are
getting bare now, so I can see the blue sky darkening to velvet black. Paddy has rung
down to the village for a takeaway curry feast, and everyone is hopeful because Summer
said she really fancied pakoras and mango chutney, and maybe that is a sign that things
are getting back to normal for her too.

Really, it’s a night for celebration.
A big order from a nationwide department store – that could mean real success for Mum
and Paddy’s business. And maybe Honey really is getting her act together and will
scoop a whole bunch of A* grades at GCSE? Who knows.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

All I can think about is the chance of
putting things right for Caramel and actually, finally, having a pony of my own. Mum and
Paddy might be talking about it right now, Mum setting the kitchen table, pouring more
champagne and pink lemonade. They will want to know more about Caramel, of course. They
will want to know whether she can be trained, trusted, relied upon. They will want to
talk to Jean and Roy about prices and check with the farmer who owns the land next to us
if we can rent one of the fields for grazing.

Still, all of that could happen.

I imagine shopping for saddles and bridles
and horse blankets, wonder whether Humbug the sheep will be willing to share stable
space. By the time the first stars come out between the branches and the little blue van
from the Bengal Rose Takeaway chugs into the driveway to deliver our celebration feast,
I am fizzing with happiness, with hope.