Caramel Hearts (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Trying to Decipher its Special Code

A few days later, there's a nasty surprise waiting for me at my front gate when I return home from school. The words “WATCH OUT SLUT” are scrawled in chalk on the pavement. The local kids often tease Mam – trying to get her to chase after them when she's drunk, but they've never done anything like this before. There's no one around, so I scuff the message out with my foot. The chalk powders the concrete like spilt icing sugar.

“Bloody kids,” I say aloud, just in case there's someone hiding nearby. “Next time, I'll cut off their hands!”

Inside, Harriet is on the sofa, studying a piece of paper intently. She's spilt tea down her unflattering grey T-shirt and hasn't bothered to change.

“Liv, come listen to this. It's a letter from the Social Services.”

“Oh crap…” I rush over to snatch the letter and read it myself.

“Liv!” Harriet leans away, clears her throat and reads aloud.

Monday 17th June 2014

Dear Miss Harriet Bloom
,

We acknowledge that you have been the guardian of Miss Olivia Bloom since 16th May 2013, and would like to inform you that a review of your current circumstances is now due
.

Your social worker, Mrs Harvey, will visit you at your home address of 19 Box Lane on Friday 5th July 2014 at 2 o'clock. Please ensure that you are available for this meeting, as it will directly affect the future status of your guardianship
.

If there are any problems that affect your ability to attend, or if there are any pressing matters you wish to discuss prior to the appointment, please contact us at your earliest convenience, so that suitable alternative arrangements can be made
.

Kind regards
,

Mrs Walker, Secretary

When Harriet lowers the letter, her hands are shaking. “Liv, that's less than three weeks away.”

“Any pressing matters?” I hit the arm of the sofa with my fist. “I'd like to know why they can't keep their noses out of our bloody business!”

“I know – I agree, but we have to be compliant,” says Harriet.

“Be what?”

“Do what they say, go along with it.”

“It's our life, not theirs. You're almost twenty-one. Surely they can't tell you what to do?”

I watch as Harriet tries her best to pluck a solution out of the air. When her face settles into a blank expression, I realize there isn't one.

“I'm afraid they can. They have the law on their side. But I don't want them to take you away from me. Look what happened last time.”

“What can we do?” I ask, realizing I've been scratching at my neck. Although my skin burns, I can't stop.

“I'm not really sure.” Harriet stares at the letter without reading it. “I guess we just have to keep our noses clean. Stay out of trouble. Make sure this place is spotless for their visit.”

“You mean
I
have to stay out of trouble.”

I join her on the sofa, thinking about the bag – and how to get rid of it.

“No, I mean
we
,” says Harriet “Both of us. I still have assignments that should have been handed in. What if they check up on that?”

“Why would they care about dumb assignments?”

“Because assignments aren't dumb. They show that I'm responsible – responsible enough to look after you. If I fall too far behind, they might think I can't cope.”

We both fall silent, lost in our own thoughts. I can't get the scene at Ashgrove House out of my mind. What if Hatty
can't
cope?

“I'll make them some biscuits or something,” I say.

Harriet snorts. “I don't think we need to go that far… we want them to go away again. Once they get a taste of your cooking, they'll move in.”

I smile at the compliment. Maybe stealing the ingredients and spending the stolen money isn't such a bad thing after all. But then I picture Mrs Snelling's jolly face and the big bag of stuff she gave me when I needed it, and any positive feelings melt away.

“Anyway,” continues Harriet. “You'll be in school – or, at least, you'd better be!”

“I will. Promise. But I can bake the night before. Show them I'm interested in something. You could say that you got me into it, that you wrote the recipe book?”

The words tumble out of my mouth before my brain kicks in. Laughing, Harriet sits back and folds her arms.

“Why would they think I've written a recipe book? It'd be a good reason for not finishing assignments – but seriously… I think all that sugar's gone to your head!”

“Wait and I'll show you.”

It's a spur of the moment decision, but if
Recipes to Make Happiness Bloom
can help our cause and keep us together, I'm willing to share. I fetch the cookbook from my room – avoiding even the briefest of glances at the wardrobe where Mrs Snelling's bag is hidden – and thrust it into Harriet's hands.

“See for yourself.”

Harriet tucks a lock of hair behind her ears. “What am I looking for, exactly?”

“Open it!”

Doing as I ask, Harriet looks from the book to me. “I've never seen anything like it… did you write it?”

“No.”

“The handwriting looks familiar,” says Harriet, studying it carefully.

“It's Mam's. Look at the message on the inside cover. I think you'll find it interesting.”

Harriet peeks inside, then freezes. Her voice turns serious as she reads aloud.

“To the love of my life, Abigail ‘Happiness' Bloom. May we have many adventures together. Yours always, Max. Christmas 2000.”

Her eyes glint, but then her face falls. “Liv, where did you get this?”

“It's not important.”

“Tell me. Right now.”

“OK, chill out. It was in Mam's pillowcase.”

“You went through Mam's things?”

“I was bored.”

“So? You think that makes it OK to go through people's personal things?”

I can hardly breathe with the weight of Harriet's eyes on me. I finger the edges of the cookbook, waiting for the eruptions.

Instead, Harriet sits back and says in a quiet voice, “Is that what this is all about?”

“What?”

“You acting up lately?”

“I dunno what you mean,” I say, meaning it.

“Seeing the message from Dad – did it stir things up again?”

I keep my eyes on the recipe book and shrug. I clench my jaw and feel the veins on my forehead throb. How do I explain that most things are about Dad when you think about it? If I hadn't driven him away, Mam wouldn't drink
and there'd be no stealing, no making a mess of everything. And I wouldn't have to find out about Mam through a stupid cookbook. She'd be right here.

“Do you want to ask me stuff? It's been a while.”

“Are you sure?”

Surely she's winding me up. After the time I tried to run away, Harriet decided it was best not to talk too much about him. “Too much” – meaning ever.

“Quick, before I change my mind!” says Harriet.

“OK. What was he like?”

“Dark hair—”

“No, I mean, as a dad.”

I twiddle my own hair round my finger, wondering whether it's the same texture as his.

“He was always fooling and joking.”

“Not like Mam.”

“Liv… if you're going to keep interrupting—”

“I won't. I'll stop. Sorry! Go on…”

“He plagued Mam and her friend, Rosa, in the kitchen – sneaking their cakes when they weren't looking. Rosa had a beautiful little baby girl called Amber, about the same age as you. He used to put you in your bouncy chairs, side by side, and tickle you both till you could hardly breathe for giggling. Sometimes, he'd sit you on his lap and sing rock-a-bye baby, opening his knees like he was going to drop you. I always panicked and tried to catch you. It was part of the game.”

“He sounds fun,” I say, wondering why she never told me this before.

“Once, Mam had to go away somewhere and Rosa and Amber came to stay. Rosa and Dad baked a whole tray of cakes just for me. I ate them all and got really sick and had to go to bed early.”

“Did Mam go nuts?”

“I didn't tell her. Dad said it probably wasn't a good idea. Said it would get everyone in trouble, so we probably shouldn't even mention Rosa was there at all. So I kept quiet. It was only years later I realized he was having an affair.”

“You should have told her!” I say.

“Would you have realized something like that when you were six? I knew there was something wrong, but didn't really know what. Mam was happy back then, and I didn't want to upset things.”

“She never got cross? Or drunk?” I ask, finding it hard to believe.

“Maybe a glass of wine with Dad or Rosa over dinner. She certainly didn't smoke. There were mood swings, but they were rare. It was after they split up that she started getting angry. Sometimes you'd get scared, so I'd turn Mam's records up a little bit.”

“Maybe that's why I like Johnny now? It's all your fault!”

“Maybe it is,” laughs Harriet, before falling silent. After a while, she adds, “Anyway, if I'd mentioned it, Dad would have gone off with Rosa even sooner.”

For the first time ever, I understand why Dad left. Why Mam is still so gutted. She lost the two people closest to her at the same time, and was left stuck with us.

“Mam's friend went off with Dad? What a cow! But all this time, she's been blaming me. If
I'd
been better behaved…”

“She's not coping – she's just looking for a scapegoat and—”

“I'm it? I've been hearing it since I was a kid, Hatty. A little kid!”

“Oh Liv, sorry – I shouldn't have said anything—”

“You should have told me before! Maybe then I wouldn't have spent my whole life feeling bad about something I didn't do. You say you want to be a proper sister but you treat me like a baby.”

Harriet chews on her lip, staring at the floor like she wants it to suck her in.

“Sorry,” she says.

A heavy silence fills the room. I mull the situation over in my head: how come I'm always on the receiving end? What gives Mam the right to pick on me all the time? It's pathetic. I'll never be like Mam. I'll never let the wrong person take the blame. Taking a deep breath, I consider the situation properly. None of this is Hatty's fault. I'll have this out with Mam later, once the Social Services visit is over.

“Hatty? Don't be mad at me for the cookbook…”

“I'm not. Not really. It's only a cookbook. But why would she hide it?” Harriet taps the recipe book with her index finger. “Did you check it for Dad's address?”

“Every page.”

We both stare at the cookbook, as though trying to decipher its special code.

“Why was it under her pillow?” says Harriet, thinking out loud.

“She'll have got all maudlin about Dad with drink inside her. There were bottles around the place too.”

Harriet gives a knowing nod.

“Did you ever hear anyone call Mam ‘Happiness Bloom'?” I ask.

Harriet shakes her head slowly. “No. Abigail doesn't even sound anything like Happiness.”

“I know. And I wonder what happened to Rosa.”

“Dunno. We never heard any more once Dad ran off with her.”

“I'd never do anything like that to a best mate! Can you imagine? I'd be lost without Sarah.”

A faraway look crosses Harriet's face and I realize what I've said.

“Do you miss your friends?”

“Yes. But it's OK.”

I know it's not. All of Hatty's mates are in Edinburgh and she's stuck here with me. The friends she had here have all moved away. I make a mental note to try and spend a bit more time with her when I'm home, instead of in my room.

“You'll be back there soon,” I say, trying to keep the doubt out of my voice.

“Don't worry about it,” says Harriet, overly cheerily. “You're more important. You know that, right?”

I angle my body away from hers. “Watch the mushy stuff, sis!”

We burst into giggles.

“OK, no more mushy stuff. But listen – Mam wanted to keep this secret, so we'd better not mention it to her. Promise me you won't, even though you're mad at her? Even if you lose your temper?”

I nod, knowing full well I probably won't keep my promise.

Butterfly Cupcakes

Butterflies are a symbol of rebirth, happiness and regeneration in Native American mythology – and it's believed that certain butterflies and moths are visiting ancestral spirits. So, take heed of some ancient wisdom and come fly with me – high up in the sky above your woes and worries. You can thank the spirits later.

INGREDIENTS

175 g/6¼ oz self-raising flour

115 g/4 oz caster sugar