Caramel Hearts (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

The Monstrosity Staring Back at Me

“She'll have a sore head when she wakes up,” whispers Jack, even though Mam's well out of earshot.

“She'll probably start drinking before the hangover kicks in.”

Why did Mam have to show me up in front of Jack, of all people? And where the hell is Hatty? I don't even want to know what Jack thinks. So long as he doesn't feel sorry for me – I couldn't bear that. It's bad enough he has to clean me up because Mam's out cold.

I wince as Jack reaches for the comb, dips it into lukewarm water and carefully pulls it through my hair to try and give it some sort of style. It was Jack's idea – an attempt to soften the blow, so I know I must look a state. My sore scalp is another clear indicator.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry. Do you want to take a break?”

“No, ignore me. No matter how much noise I make, keep going. Until it looks half decent.”

“I'm not sure I'm helping much… I don't think I'd make it as a hairdresser. But I'll be as gentle as I can.”

“Thanks. Ouch! Sorry…”

“This is one sorry room!” jokes Jack, and we laugh.

The noise sounds odd. Out of place. Wrong.

“That's the best I can do,” says Jack, stepping back. “I'd recommend a trip to the hairdressers as soon as you can.”

“
Now
can I see?” I ask.

“Only if you're sure you can handle it.”

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be,” I say.

But I'm wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for the monstrosity staring back at me from the mirror.

It looks as bad as it felt. There are longish bits dangling over my ears and the back is reasonably untouched, but the front is a mess with tufts sticking up here and there. I'll never go out in public again. I wouldn't be seen dead with a mullet.

“What am I going to do?”

“Lay low for a few days. Get it all cut short,” suggests Jack.

“I'll look like a boy.”

“You have a nice face so you'll pull it off. It'll grow back quickly.”

Did I hear him right? A nice face? Not pretty or beautiful – but at least it's a start. I avert my eyes from his gaze in case he can see too deeply inside me.

“What if they attack me again? It'll be even worse next time…”

Jack stays silent. He focuses on drying his hands, taking extra care with the grooves between each finger. When he looks up, his lips and jaw are tight, defining his cheekbones and emphasizing his eyes.

“I meant what I said earlier. I'll watch your back.”

I search out his eyes to see if he's telling the truth, and lose myself in their warmth. Then I remember that it was talking to Jack that got me into this mess in the first place. I'll be in even deeper trouble
now. I take a step back, creating some distance between us.

“Are you OK?” asks Jack, following me.

When I don't reply, he tilts my face up towards his. He smells spicy, warm. I can't move. Is he going to kiss me? I hope he tastes as nice as he smells. A yelp of surprise from downstairs interrupts us.

“Finally, Hatty's back! She must have found Mam.”

I run to the door but can't make myself go through it.

“Come on,” says Jack, gently. “There's no point putting it off. She'll have to see you eventually.”

Trembling, I follow Jack downstairs. Harriet dashes into the passageway, jittery and breathless.

“Liv, did you know Mam was home? Why didn't you…?” She stops when she sees the state of me. “What the hell happened to you? Liv?”

Her reaction is too much and I dissolve into sobs. Again. Tears cascade down my cheeks and my shoulders shake. I want to stop acting like a baby – at least while Jack is here – but however much I try, I can't control the emotion. I sense Jack's presence behind me, can tell he's explaining things to my sister, but his words are a blur.

“We'll phone the police,” says Harriet. “Let them deal with this.”

“No,” I gasp. “We can't.”

“Why not? It's assault.”

“Please, Hatty… not the police. If we involve them, they'll call the Social Services and take me away. I'm OK. Hatty, please!”

Harriet nods reluctantly. She looks much older than she is.

“How about Mr Morrelly?” offers Jack.

I throw him a look of disbelief.

“Good idea,” says Harriet, tight lipped. “We'll go to the head teacher. He'll know how best to deal with it. They can't get away with this – bloody animals.”

“No! They'll get me even worse then.”

“Your sister's right,” says Jack, looking at me calmly. “They can't get away with it. We have to go to Mr Morrelly and tell him what's happened.”

“And then what? A slap on the wrist? They'll kill me!”

Harriet snorts. “They won't kill you. They won't touch you.”

“You'll be OK,” says Jack.

“Really? Where was Old Mozzer today? It's not safe at school. Mad Dog rules that place. You should know. You're one of her best mates.”

Jack winces. “Not any more.”

But I'm too mixed up to listen – anger, shame, embarrassment and fear rage inside me.

“Why are
you
helping
me
anyway? Where were you when Sarah was getting bullied? Oh yeah, drinking in the cemetery with Mad Dog, not saying a word.”

“Your friend Sarah? Maddy was bullying her?”

“Don't pretend you didn't know,” I snap.

Jack shakes his head. “I had no idea. But you knew – and you were there too, remember?”

“Get out!” I yell, not even trying to wipe away my tears any more.

“You're upset,” interrupts Harriet. “There's no need to take it out on your friend.”

“He's not my friend. He's one of them. And just as bad as they are. I'm not going to Old Mozzer and I don't need your help, Jack. Got it?”

Eyes downcast, Jack nods. “Got it.”

Without saying another word, he pushes past us and out of the door, closing it softly behind him.

“Jack, she didn't mean it,” Harriet calls after him.

I put my head in my hands and groan. I squeeze my nails into my scalp, allowing the pain to distract from my thoughts, dissolve them into white fuzz.

“Oh, Liv – what are we gonna do with you?” says Harriet, trying to pull me into her arms. “It'll be OK, I promise. It'll all be OK.”

But I resist because I know it won't. I've been completely humiliated, I'm dead meat when Mad Dog catches up with me, and Jack will never speak to me again.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Something Resembling an Abandoned Nest

I'm shaking as I lower myself into Pauline's hairdressing chair.

“You might have to shave it off,” I half-joke, hoping I'm wrong.

But Pauline isn't fazed. She might be a grass, but she's an awesome hairdresser. She lifts a water sprayer and jiggles it so that the water sloshes around inside noisily.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

I nod, crossing my fingers as the lukewarm water mists my hair. It stings when she combs, but I don't cry out. I'm determined not to buckle. Especially not in front of Pauline – even though she's kind enough to help me with my hair, she's still the local gossip.

“You promise not to mention this to Mam?”

“Me? I won't say a word.”

“I don't want her getting upset.”

“It's OK, you can trust me.”

I'm not sure I can, but I need her help.

“How is your mam anyway? She seemed good last time I saw her. Saw a lovely drawing of you.”

“She's good,” I say. The automatic reply. And I manage to resist asking whether the drawing was ripped up into pieces.

“She'll be home soon, I expect.”

“Erm… yeah. I guess so.”

My face colours as I think about Mam, probably sparked out by now, next door.

“Don't sound so pleased about it!” chuckles Pauline. As she continues running the comb through my hair, it feels like I'm being scalped. “I guess you've got other stuff on your mind right now. Don't worry, we'll get you looking tip-top in no time.” Her doughy face creases with concentration. “And don't be worrying about those animals. They've had enough headspace. Things'll get better.”

Staring into the mirror, I'm not so sure. Mad Dog and her gang have done a proper job on me. Now that my hair's had time to settle, it looks a bit better, but my glossy locks have been replaced by something resembling an abandoned nest.

“A pixie cut is the only way to go. What do you think?” asks Pauline.

“You're the expert.”

Pauline lifts her scissors and snips at the air. As chunks of hair fall, I realize I'm gripping the arms of the chair, my knuckles turning white with the effort. It's like it's happening all over again. I can't get the sound of the scissors and Mad Dog's orders out of my head. Pauline is too busy concentrating to notice: time and again she leans in close before stepping back to take a look and snip another few locks. I can't face watching in the mirror. I close my eyes and count slow, deep breaths. After what seems like hours, I hear the clink of metal against glass as Pauline lays the scissors down and rests her hands on my shoulders.

“It's all over. Take a look,” she says.

Forcing my eyelids open, I gasp. Pauline has used longer bits to cover the most damaged areas and the result is a ruffled pixie cut – there's no sign of a mullet. Surprisingly, it even suits my face. If the face staring back at me wasn't my own, I'd say it looked quite lovely.
Better than just nice. Jack Whitman
.

“Pop back next door and see what your sister thinks,” says Pauline, brushing me down and removing the protective gown.

I take my time, growing into my new look with every step closer to the front door. Harriet must have been hiding behind the curtains, waiting, because as soon as I step inside she rushes into the hallway, squealing with relief.

“Liv, it looks great! It really suits you!” She lifts her hand to ruffle my hair and I flinch. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you…” She bites her lip, then smiles. “I know it happened under horrible circumstances – but you look amazing!”

“Thanks.”

I should probably accept the compliment more enthusiastically, but my bones ache, my scalp hurts and I've a headache like you wouldn't believe. I just want to stretch out and listen to some Johnny.

“Can I make you some dinner?” asks Harriet.

“No thanks, I think I'll just go up. Have an early night.”

“You should eat something.”

“I'll have a glass of milk. And one of those cupcakes I made.”

As Harriet follows me into the kitchen, she says, “Your hair is very Emma Watson.”

I check her face to see whether she's joking, seeing as Emma is one of my icons. I'm feeling pretty good, when I
realize something is missing. Glancing at the sofa, there's a dent in the cushions where Mam should be sleeping.

“Is she in bed?” I ask.

“No, but it's OK. She went for a walk to clear her head.”

“You're joking – you let her go out? You know what'll happen!”

Harriet rubs her palms down her hips, turning her back to the sofa.

“She was really, really sorry, Liv – and she promised… she promised she'd come straight back.”

Harriet actually sounds convinced.

“How long ago was that?” When my sister checks her watch and refuses to reply, I lose it. “Hatty, you're an idiot!”

“I told her about the Social Services visit. She understands that she has to go back to the Centre. She even said she wanted to.”

“Then what's she doing here in the first place? She'll say anything when she wants more booze. Hatty, how could you be so stupid?”

“There's no need for that.”

“It's a fact and you know it. Once again, it's all about her.” I point at my hair. “No one gives a toss about me.”

“I know you've been through hell, but acting like a spoilt brat won't help,” says Harriet.

I know I'm being a tad childish, but how else am I meant to react? Mam will let us down like she always does, and I'm the one that will suffer. Hatty will run back to Edinburgh and I'll go into care. Hatty's safe, no matter what. In fact, it would probably be better for her if I did get put away. Just like her stupid friend Robin suggested.

“Look, don't worry. She'll come back. We'll have supper and then we'll get her back to Ashgrove House.”

“How?”

“I'll ask Pauline if I can borrow her car.”

“You don't even have your licence.”

“The provisional is enough. Pauline always says yes – and she doesn't have to know why.”

“Will they take Mam back?” I ask.

“They will, I'm sure,” says Harriet, sounding anything but.

Memories of my brief stay in foster care flash through my mind, and my heart feels ripped in two. I fight really hard to keep a lid on my feelings. I'm not a kid any more. I've got to show Hatty I can deal with stuff sensibly, so she'll want to stick around.

“I think they've got to take her back,” continues Hatty. “Anyway, she'll be sober by then. We'll come up with a story. It'll be fine.”

But the vein pulsing in Harriet's temple betrays her fear.

“I'm coming with you. To make sure it goes smoothly,” I say.

“I don't see why not,” she says. “You've got as much right as anyone to be there.”

“That's right,” I say.

I realize she's trusting me and treating me like an adult, so I shut up. Better to end on a high than embarrass myself, like I did arguing with Jack. I tell myself not to go there and pretend to stare out of the window instead.

“Well, now that's all sorted, I don't know about you, but I'm starving,” says Harriet. “I vote pizza for dinner.”

Suddenly, a glass of milk and a cupcake doesn't seem that appealing. I check the freezer and shake my head.

“The pizza's my treat,” says Hatty. “After the day we've had we deserve it. I can use a bit of my emergency money.”

For the first time since I was attacked, I smile – genuinely. It's good to know I still can.

“Can I have pepperoni and jalapenos, with extra cheese?”

* * *

It's almost midnight and Harriet is pacing the living room like a trapped zoo animal. “Where the hell is she?” she mutters frantically.

“I told you!” My stuffed belly starts churning. So much for an early night. “I told you she wouldn't come back.”

“Don't sound so bloody pleased with yourself,” snaps Harriet. “You're not the only one this affects. We have the Social Services coming soon.”

“I know that! It's all you go on about.”

I ice my final few cupcakes, then place them carefully in an airtight container, too nauseated to even try one.

“Well at least I'm not obsessed with a stupid bloody cookbook!”

Glaring right at her, I let my anger fly. “It's better than being obsessed with being fat!” With Harriet rendered temporarily speechless, I go in for the attack. “If you hadn't been such an idiot, letting Mam out, we wouldn't be in this mess.”

“What was I meant to do? She's an adult. She has to make her own choices.”

“She might be an adult, but she acts stupid. Just like you!”

We round on each, our faces close and angry. Harriet is the first to back down.

“We should be working together, not against each other,” she says. “Right now, we're all we've got. We have to make it work.”

“Yeah – all down to us again.”

“Look, Liv, you might not like it, but she's the only mam we're ever going to have.”

“If that's what you can call her. Sometimes, I think we'd be better off without her.”

As the words slip out, Harriet's face tightens.

“You'd better get that nasty little butt of yours out of my face, right now. Otherwise, I won't be held accountable for my actions.”

Harriet shoves me in the chest. It's not that hard, but it winds me. I start coughing and spluttering – adding a little extra drama for good measure – but she's too angry to care. She shoves me again.

“Hatty, calm down!”

I rarely see this side of Hatty – and I don't like it one bit.

“Maybe I should listen to my friend and send you into care after all. Maybe then you might wake up a bit.”

I glare at her, my arms crossed. Let's see her get out of this one.

Her arms droop at her sides, and she runs a hand through her hair, trying to find the words to apologize.

“Liv. Sorry, I didn't mean it.”

As she reaches out, I dash from the room. Behind me, I hear Harriet whimpering another apology. Hugging
my arms around myself, I stomp up to my bedroom and slam the door. Hatty might have taken back her words, but what if they're still lodged in her heart? What if she's sending me away?