Caramel Hearts (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Clues in the Curve of His Shoulders

I try calling Sarah from the landline, but there's no answer, and I've no credit to text. I scroll through my phonebook and realize most of the people in there are either relatives or they aren't even friends any more. It's like Facebook – hundreds of contacts, but none I can actually contact to hang out with in real life.

Hatty is shut up in her room and I decide it's best to leave her alone after this morning's upset. I check the weather, put my lightest jacket on, then head out for a walk to clear my head. Without realizing where I'm going, I end up at the shops. They're closed, except for the chippy, but the place is throbbing with people my age. There's music blasting – some dance stuff I can't stand – and I squint into the distance, trying to decide whether I should join in or avoid it like the plague. Unexpectedly, my knee gives way behind – someone has knocked into it on purpose, making my leg buckle.

“What the—?”

As I spin round, I recognize his deep laugh before I see Jack's face.

“Got ya!”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” I say, any annoyance falling away as soon as I see his smile.

Seeing as I'm facing back towards home, I decide to avoid the crowd. But as I walk off, Jack catches me by the arm.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going?”

He pulls me along towards the others, and I don't fight it. I'd be mad to! I could do with some cheering up and it's not like I'm letting Sarah down this time.

When we reach the crowd, Jack sits on the wall near the chippy, and pats the bricks for me to join him. I find myself admiring his toffee-coloured mop of hair. I like the way it catches the glow from the streetlights in its waves.

“Did you get into bother the other night?” he asks.

“Nah. I got away with it,” I say, the smell of hot fat assaulting my nostrils.

“I hope you didn't mind me asking about your dad like that?”

I shake my head.

“It's just… I got the impression I might have upset you.”

“Mam and Dad split up when I was two. I don't know much about him. Some people remember things from when they were babies. Not me.”

There is a loud sizzle as some fresh chips are lowered into giant vats of oil.

“I'm like you. I don't remember stuff either. Have you ever tried to find him?”

“Not really… unless you count running away when I was five! My sister and I had this big, secret chat about Dad and she told me everything she could remember – everything I wanted to know. Afterwards, I got so obsessed that I packed a bag and headed off across the Rec to try and find him.”

Jack bursts out laughing, and gives me a playful shove. I can't help laughing too.

“You're funny,” he says, and looks at me for a few seconds longer than I feel comfortable with.

I put my head down and pretend my shoes are more interesting.

“Would you like to meet him?” asks Jack.

“Yeah, but it's not going to happen.”

“You could make it happen.”

“You sound like my counsellor. I don't think he wants to be found. Anyway, the dad in my head isn't real.”

“The one I had in my head wasn't real for a long time either. It was like I'd wrapped him up in this imaginary bubble of what I wanted him to be.”

“Me too! A giant rainbow-coloured bubble. When I think about him too much, the bubble bursts and turns a kind of mucky brown – like when you get over-excited mixing paint in Art class. Did you know that if you mix more than three colours together, you always get brown?”

“I didn't know that,” says Jack, a smirk on his face.

“It's true. I stopped doing it in Art but not with my dad.”

“Do you like Art class?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw your drawings last year at the exhibition – they were good.”

My face flares. I feel my ears and neck turn hot. Even my arms turn pink. Right on cue, Maddy appears at the other end of the shop parade. It takes a while for her to spot us, so I wave. I don't want her to think I'm sneaking around with Jack – not after her warning.

“Maddy, over here,” I call.

Her expression falters for just a moment – a brief, dark cloud settling over it – but then she brightens. Joining us, she's all smiles.

“Fancy seeing you two here,” she says. “You're as thick as thieves lately.”

She pauses, waiting for an explanation. I'm hoping Jack will offer one of his quips, but instead he rolls his eyes and heads off towards a group of lads a few years older than us, who I don't know. As soon as he's gone, Maddy sits in his spot and swings her feet, lighting a cigarette as the interrogation begins.

“What's going on with you two?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“How come you're always together?”

I laugh. “We've hung out like three times. I hardly know him. It's just a coincidence that you've seen us.”

“A rather convenient coincidence, if you ask me.”

Maddy takes a deep drag, then blows smoke rings into my face. I don't move. I just sit there and let her do it.

“Did you get that baking thing sorted out?” she asks, taking me by surprise.

“Not really.”

“Still struggling to get the stuff you need?”

“Yeah,” I say, hardly believing that she's remembered – let alone taken an interest.

“Are you a complete idiot or what?” continues Maddy. “If you want something, take it. That's what my mam and dad always say.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn't be right.”

“Who decides what's right and wrong?” Mad Dog takes a drag of her cigarette and blows the smoke out slowly – away from me this time. “Is it right that good people like my brother die young while bastards like my dad get to grow old in a jail cell?” She gulps before continuing. “Or that some people are loaded and others are skint or sleeping on the streets?”

“I guess not.”

I daren't catch Mad Dog's eye, but she has a point.

“Nicking stuff isn't always wrong. Robin Hood was a thief and he's a bloody hero.”

“True.”

We both go quiet. I feel Maddy fidget and I slide away from her a little, in case she accidentally knocks into me and takes offence. After a while, Maddy starts up again. Her voice turns all weird and sly, and she reaches out to my hair and starts plaiting it on one side. She hasn't done this since we were about eight years old.

“So, Jack then… has he mentioned me at all?” she asks, her fingers weaving through my hair.

“In what way?” I ask, knowing full well, but buying time.

“You know. Like, has he said he fancies me?”

“Not in so many words but—”

“But what?” She pauses, then yanks my hair as she begins plaiting again. “He used to call me to hang out and we'd chat about all sorts of stuff. I hardly hear from him now. Any idea why not?”

“No. Sorry. It's not like we're close.”

“You looked close enough to me the other night in the cemmy – and tonight, all cosy on the wall. It seems every
time I find Jack, you're there. If I'm treading on toes, just tell me…”

“No! Honestly. It's you he fancies,” I say.

“But I've seen how he looks at you. I think he fancies you.”

“No way,” I say, glancing in his direction.

He's busy chatting with his friends. Could Maddy be right – is it possible that Jack fancies me? I look for clues in the curve of his shoulders, the way he laughs. I half expect him to turn towards me, a spark in his eye. A sharp tug on my scalp brings me out of my daydream.

“He fancies you, not me,” I say.

“Did he say that?”

Her voice is hopeful – vulnerable, almost.

Before I can answer that no, it's just my perception of events, a look of triumph spreads across her face.

“Of course he'd fancy me more than you.”

She lets the plait drop and looks around. Spotting Zadie and a couple of girls I've seen around but don't know, Maddy waves them over. When they join us, Maddy laughs and points at my hair.

“Who does their hair like that these days?” she says, and the girls look at me like I'm an alien. “And who said you could come here, anyway?”

The girls look at each other, then to Maddy, then back to me.

“What?” I say, realizing she means me.

“It's invite only – don't you know?”

“It's the shops!”

“You want to argue with me?”

Shaking my head, I get to my feet and walk away. I don't look back towards Maddy, but I can hear the group of girls giggling along with her.

I sneak a glance at Jack, hoping he'll notice I'm leaving and run after me, so Maddy has to let me stay. He glances up, gives me a wave, and goes back to chatting with his mates.

Walking home, I scuff my shoes along the kerb. Sarah's right – Maddy is a bitch. A Mad Dog. I think of the recipe book, of the cheery voice and lovely treats, and wish I could wrap myself up in its pages. Where is the mam that wrote those recipes, that dreamt those dreams?

Tucked up in bed that night, the conversation with Maddy plays over and over in my head. I reread the next few recipes and I wrestle my brain for alternative options, but can't find any: I've no money and it's too embarrassing to go begging to Mrs Snelling again.

Mad Dog's right.

Stealing is the only way.

Chapter Fifteen

It's the Least I Can Do after Knocking You Flying

I stick my head into the school kitchen and make sure the coast is clear. The industrial ovens and refrigerators catch the sunlight and gleam like monstrous fish scales. My legs tremble and I feel like such a wimp.

“Hello?” I call out.

No reply. School's over and the cooks have finished for the day. They're probably at home now, planning the evening meal for their own families. Something better than the beans on toast I have to look forward to.

I creep past the ovens and serving counters to the dry goods cupboard. Part of me is hoping someone will turn up so I don't have to go through with it. I don't really like stealing, except for the odd essential like eyeliner or lip gloss – but I always take them from big department stores that can afford it. Mrs Snelling was kind to me. Technically, the stuff belongs to the school, so I'm not really thieving from her – but there's a bad taste in my mouth as I yank open the huge metal door of the cupboard. It gives a loud whoosh and a blast of cool air strikes my face. Checking behind me a final time, I take a deep breath and step inside.

The larder is the size of a single-decker bus, sectioned off with interlocking metal shelves. It's filled to the brim with over-sized tins, packets and jars. The spare cooking utensils alone could fill an entire supermarket aisle. Standing in the huge storeroom alone, I realize I've never seen so much food. From tinned tomatoes and dried lentils to soy sauce and custard powder, the supplies look like they're meant for giants, not school kids.

I quickly set to work in the baking section. Pulling out the freezer bags from home, I ladle porridge oats into one, sugar into another, and separate self-raising and plain flour into a bag each. As the bags fill, I stuff them into my rucksack and search again. After stashing what I need, I can't stop. There are so many delicious things available, it would be a crime not to take them. Licking my lips, I nick golden syrup, almond slivers, sticky angelica and strawberry-flavoured chocolate chips. I can't help tasting some of them.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, as a strawberry chocolate chip melts on my tongue. “That's divine.”

When my rucksack is stuffed, I force a wooden spoon into a gap and zip it up. I'm about to leave when I think I hear a bang. I can't be sure, but it's better to be safe than sorry, so I wait, listening carefully. When there's no more noise, I hoist my rucksack onto my shoulder and peep out.

There's no one around, but a slouchy blue leather handbag is now sitting on the counter. There's a purse peeking out of the top. Maddy's words ring in my ears once more. It's like fate – too good an opportunity to miss. A clunk sounds from the other room. Someone
has gone into the noisy, walk-in freezer at the back, so I make a run for it. Starting off on tiptoe, I make it to the ovens without a hitch. Breaking into a jog halfway across the kitchen, I try to take the purse but it's jammed tight. Snatching up the handbag without thinking, I'm out of the door and running down the corridor at top speed, my Converse slapping against the tiled floor more noisily than I'd like. I check behind – no one's following. Yet.

As I reach the exit, I realize I'll have to hide the bag. If anyone spots it, I'll be in big trouble. The alarm will be raised soon enough, and with school not long since over, there'll be plenty of stragglers around. I don't know why I had to be so greedy and complicate things. I guess the purse was too enticing. Surely, anyone in my situation would do the same.

I throw the handbag over my shoulder and position my rucksack on top, but the blue bag keeps slipping down. I have to look like a total loser – putting both rucksack straps on my back – to make sure the handbag is securely wedged. Just as I'm sorted, a shrill cry sounds from the direction of the kitchen. I push open the door and run, full speed, into the schoolyard. As I round the building, I run into something and sprawl to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you're going!” I say, like it's their fault.

Then my throat turns dry. It's Jack. Judging from the way he's wrestling with his huge sports bag, that's what I ran into.

“Hey! You again!” he says. “We'll have to stop bumping into each other like this.”

He chucks his bag to the ground and stoops to help me up, his brown eyes full of concern. But getting me up isn't easy. I'm laden down with the baking stuff and can't move much in case the handbag drops out. I can't believe I'm wearing my rucksack like a tourist and, when I'm finally up and sorted, I'm so embarrassed I can't think of anything to say. I just stand there, mouth open.

“Seriously, are you OK?” he asks.

“Of course,” I snap.

I hate the way my voice sounds. Jack's only being friendly – it's not his fault Maddy's jealous or that I've got a stolen bag digging into my back.

“Are you heading home? Box Lane, right? That's not far from me. I was going to hang out with the gang for a while, but I could walk back with you instead. It's the least I can do after knocking you flying, right?”

There is something lovely about the way he says “right” at the end of his sentences. I look into his eyes and notice how thick and pretty his lashes are. Then a cough sounds from behind him. As Jack turns and steps aside, there she is: Mad Dog, smiling sweetly. She gives me an angry glare before tossing her hair over her shoulder and tilting her head coyly.

“Jack, are you ready?” she asks.

“I'm just gonna go home, if that's all right with you.”

The words sound more like a statement than a question.

“But the guys are gonna get some cider from Ali's off-licence and head to the park. Macca said we could give some to his dog – get it wasted again. It'll be a laugh.”

Maddy's eyes sparkle beneath her heavy mascara. Probably MAC, not crappy Rimmel like I wear.

“She can come if you like?” adds Maddy.

I cross my fingers, hoping he turns her down. I don't want to be in the firing line, and I have a bag to hide.

“Nah. You go ahead. I'm wrecked after footie, and I've got homework to do.”

Maddy saunters over to Jack and gives him a long, suggestive kiss on his cheek. Then she wraps her arms around him and gives him a hard squeeze. He doesn't exactly join in, but he doesn't resist either. I glance behind me as though searching for something, so I don't look like a perv. When I look back, Maddy pulls away and snorts.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” she teases.

She winks and blows him a kiss. He seems to like it – I can't help wondering why he can't see she's just being a bitch. Maddy swaggers off towards her friends. Behind Jack's back, she shoots me an evil glare and runs her finger across her throat. I quickly look away, but it's pointless. I'm out of favour. And I'm going to pay. I decide to wait for Maddy to leave, in case I make a wrong move and set her off, but the door behind me crashes open and reality hits.

“Sorry, Jack – I have to go!”

Running as fast as I can, I hurtle out of the school gates and across the Rec, the wind burning my eyes and throat as I gasp for breath. Feet and heart pounding, I hope that no one sees me legging it across the field, that no one meets Jack and starts asking questions. It's bad enough that I bashed into him wearing my rucksack geek-style and then ran off for no reason. Jack must already think I'm a total loser. But a thief? Even though he'd never be interested in me, I'd die if Jack knew what I'd done.

* * *

As soon as I'm home, I shout hello as I run upstairs, whack on Johnny Cash full blast, and then kneel on my bedroom floor. Blocking my door in case Harriet tries to come in, I rifle through the bag. I dance in time to Johnny, checking one compartment at a time. It really sucks when I open the driving licence and Mrs Snelling's happy face smiles out – I hadn't even considered it would belong to her. Hadn't considered who it would belong to at all. I stop dancing and continue my search. I find cherry lip-salve, tissues, keys and a few utility bills. The purse has exactly £91.80 in it, along with a graduation photo of some guy with ginger hair. Probably Mrs Snelling's son, judging by the hair.

I should be ecstatic – I've never had so much money, and can buy loads of ingredients now – but deep down, I feel like a right scumbag. I'm no better than the smackhead in the news last week, who clobbered an old lady over the head for a few measly quid. Mrs Snelling helped me when I needed it. If only the bag had belonged to someone else.

After returning all of its contents to their correct compartments, I throw the bag into my wardrobe and bury it underneath a heap of clothes. I slouch back against the door – why did I have to listen to Maddy? What have I done?