Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey (6 page)

I lounge beside the honeysuckle arch, my
back against the flower-tangled framework, my school books scattered around me to
give an impression of studying. I have four lots of homework to get through – I
mean, seriously? Do Willowbank students actually have a life? Clearly not.

I’ve just had a quick chat on the
phone to Mum, skirting round the small detail that I’m not actually at the
school she thinks I am and telling her all went well. I don’t think she
sussed, and I told myself the lies were necessary to make sure she didn’t have
a go at Dad for not keeping her in the loop. My mum worries about stuff, and I do
not
want her pulling the plug on my Great Australian Adventure before
it has even begun.

Emma brings me out an orange juice and
tells me that dinner will be at seven – apparently, Dad is bringing home a Chinese
takeaway to celebrate my first day at Willowbank.

‘It’s your favourite,
isn’t it?’ she says. ‘He remembered!’

‘Wow … he really
did!’

Long ago, when we were still a proper
family, Dad would sometimes bring home a Chinese takeaway as a treat. He had to
drive to Minehead to fetch it, so it was a really big deal, and I remember thinking
that it was very sophisticated and grown-up. My little sisters weren’t keen,
and always ended up picking at plain white rice while Mum saved the day with a plate
of hasty cheese and tomato sandwiches.

I wanted to look grown-up, so I always
tried a bit of every dish, even if it meant choking down slimy beansprouts or
strange vegetables dipped in hot and sour sauce. ‘That’s my girl,’
Dad used to say, so I’d eat it all up just to please him.

When Dad left, we never ate Chinese
takeaway again.

‘I’m so glad it went well
today,’ Emma is saying. ‘Look at you, getting stuck into your homework
already! Greg will be proud!’

‘Can you do calculus, Emma?’
I ask.

She frowns. ‘Can I do
what?’

‘Never mind, I’ll ask Dad
later.’

As soon as Emma goes back inside, I
slide a finger across the screen of my iPhone and check my new SpiderWeb page. My
sisters have posted good luck messages, and there’s a bunch of new friend
requests from earlier.

I screw my nose up at Cherry’s. I
didn’t send a request to her; why can’t she get the message? Still, I
can imagine the hassle it will cause with Skye, Summer and Coco if I refuse.

I click Accept all. Millie and Tia,
friends of my sisters; Alfie, Summer’s annoying boyfriend; Finch, Skye’s
holiday romance; Tara and Bennie from school today – that makes me smile.

Finally, I notice an add from Surfie16.
I didn’t have anyone on my old SpiderWeb page with that username. Maybe
it’s Shay? He didn’t have SpiderWeb for ages, until I made a music page
for him; perhaps he’s made a personal page too?

I click on to Surfie16’s profile
page, and right away I know it’s not Shay. The profile picture shows a
close-up of sunbrowned feet in golden sand, part of a battered surfboard just
visible in the corner; the banner is a wide, turquoise ocean with the sky streaked
red and gold.

My heart starts to race. These pictures
were taken in Australia, surely? I think of Riley – another boy, another beach, a
romance that sparked in the sunshine and fizzled just as fast to nothing.

Well, maybe I was wrong about that.

He said he’d add me on SpiderWeb,
and he really has. I scan his page for clues, but Surfie16 has strict privacy
settings. I can’t see his friends, only a few posts on his page which range
from rock-music videos shared from YouTube to short, snappy status updates about
surfing. It has to be him, though!

I click on to private message.

Hey, Riley? Is this you? Great to
hear from you again!

Honey xxx

Within minutes, a message appears in my
inbox.

Hi, gorgeous! How’s it
going?

I laugh out loud. Maybe he decided that
the age gap didn’t matter after all – and it looks like I definitely
didn’t imagine the chemistry. I message again.

Today was my first day at school in
Sydney. It will take some getting used to! How was the party, anyhow?

Honey xxx

A reply pings back almost at once.

Party was OK, but I wish
you’d been there. Another time?

I grin, typing out a reply.

Maybe. And maybe I’ll see you
at the beach again soon?

xxx

I wait for Riley’s reply, but a
full ten minutes tick by before his answer arrives, by which time I’m
panicking that I’ve scared him off. When a message finally does appear,
it’s short and sweet.

Sure. Got to go now, speak
soon.

My shoulders slump, but hey,
Riley’s made contact – I can’t help feeling flattered about that. I
promised Dad I’d swear off boys, parties and trouble, but that doesn’t
mean I can’t have boy
friends
, does it? A SpiderWeb friendship will
hardly get me into trouble, and a little flirtation never hurt anyone. I argue
myself into deciding it’s OK. I am turning over a new leaf, after all, not
entering a nunnery.

I turn back to my homework with a smile
on my face, determined to show the teachers I can be the ‘bright,
talented’ kid they’d been told to expect. Why not? I can be charming
when I want to be, and right now it makes sense to keep the teachers onside.

Eventually, Dad arrives home with the
takeaway. I have tried my very best with the homework; the science seemed
straightforward enough and I ran the French translation passage through an Internet
translate site. It doesn’t look quite right, but hopefully it will be
convincing enough. Besides, it’s the best I can do right now – it’s a
few years since I paid any attention in French class. I still have two chapters of
Animal Farm
to read before tomorrow but hey, if jet lag strikes again
tonight, at least I’ll have a distraction. It’s just the maths I
can’t get a handle on.

I tidy up my books and carry them to the
house just as Dad appears in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.

‘How’s it going?’ he
asks, flinging an arm round my shoulders. ‘Lots of homework? That’s what
I like to see!’

‘It wasn’t as bad as I
thought,’ I say. ‘I’m a bit stuck on the maths, though. Calculus.
Can you explain it for me?’

‘Not a problem,’ he says.
‘Haven’t done any for a while, but I’m sure I remember the basics.
Let’s have a look at it after supper. This is top-quality stuff; we
don’t want it to go cold!’

I ditch my books on to an empty
sunlounger and follow Dad across the patio. Emma puts a tablecloth and fresh flowers
on the outdoor table, uncorking a bottle of wine while Dad dishes up the
takeaway.

‘Willowbank went well then?’
he asks, handing me a laden plate. ‘That’s excellent. First impressions
count, Honey. Be smart, be confident …’

‘I was smart all right,’ I
say, remembering the way I’d cheeked Miss Bird. ‘I definitely made an
impression.’

Not a good one, though. A long way from
good. What was I thinking?

‘That’s my girl,’ Dad
says, digging into his food.

‘Miss Bird doesn’t seem to
know much about what happened back home,’ I venture. ‘About me being
expelled and all …’

Dad laughs. ‘You think I’d
broadcast that?’ he says. ‘There’s no need for them to know the
gory details. This is meant to be a fresh start, and as far as I’m concerned
that means a clean sheet. You need to leave the past behind.’

‘I plan to,’ I say.
‘But … Miss Bird says you’ve arranged for my old school
records to be sent on. She won’t be pleased when she finds out the
truth.’

‘She won’t,’ Dad tells
me. ‘I haven’t spoken to your old school – that would be asking for
trouble. With any luck the old bat will forget anyway, but if she asks we can just
say the papers got lost in the post.’

I blink, slightly confused. This is the
kind of trick I’d pull – there’s no doubt at all that my rebellious
streak comes from Dad. I’m not sure that a skill for lying is a great quality
for a middle-aged businessman to have, but then what do I know?

Emma has switched on the music centre
with its cool outdoor speakers, and the yellow light from the dining room spills out
through the open patio doors. The night is warm and Dad is talking about a new
account he managed to nail today. Emma tops up his wine and tells him how brilliant
he is – she is laying it on with a trowel, but Dad seems to like it, and from the
way they’re cuddling up I think it’s time I made myself scarce.
Seriously, you’d think older people would be past all of that mushy stuff.
Shouldn’t they be focusing on middle-aged pastimes like golf or gardening?

Whatever. This is clearly not the moment
to mention maths homework.

I scoop up the empty foil trays and
stack the plates and cutlery, carrying them into the kitchen. I rinse the foil trays
and fold them flat for the recycling bin before stacking the plates in the
dishwasher. I never did much around the house at home, not if I could help it, but
here I need to look keen. I need to make myself useful.

The telephone rings, and I lift up the
handset and click on to the call.

‘Hello, can I help you?’ I
ask brightly.

There’s a pause, and for a moment
I think the call could be Mum, or one of my sisters, calling from the UK. I think I
can hear a faint breath, a whisper of silence.

‘Hello?’ I say again, and
abruptly the line goes dead. I tap in the code to find the number, in case it really
was Mum, but an automated voice tells me that the number cannot be disclosed.

‘Honey, love, can you bring out
the fruit salad from the fridge?’ Emma calls, and I shrug off the phone call
and carry out the big bowl of jewel-bright fruits.

‘Somebody rang,’ I say,
setting everything down on the table. ‘But the line went dead as soon as I
spoke.’

‘Probably one of those automated
dial things from a call centre somewhere in who knows where,’ Dad says, taking
a sip of wine.

‘Maybe,’ Emma agrees,
dishing out the fruit salad. ‘Or maybe it’s just some sad little
creature who thinks it’s OK to call up a family in the middle of their supper
and then hang up.’

I blink. Emma’s reaction seems a
bit over the top, but who knows, perhaps she’s had a hard day at work?

‘Emma,’ Dad says, ‘it
was an automated sales call. No big deal.’

‘If you say so,’ Emma
shrugs.

I tune out their low-level bickering and
think of this afternoon’s messages from Surfie16 with a smile. So far, on
balance, Australia is looking good. I open up
Animal Farm
and start to
read, and darkness wraps itself around me, soft and warm.