Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey Page 12

  I notice one last present, slightly squashed, hidden away behind the torn tissue-paper wrappings. A box of Paddy’s chocolates, six Sweet Honey truffles that haven’t travelled well, sticky, melted, messy, spoilt.

  18

  1 January, 4 a.m.

  I resolve to start a SpiderWeb journal (starting now!)

  I resolve to make the most of life in Australia

  I resolve to get fit; get tanned; stop being homesick

  I resolve to paint more

  I resolve to have more fun

  I resolve to stop waking at 4 a.m.

  Last night was New Year’s Eve, and I went out with Dad and Emma. We went to a posh restaurant, then on to a party on a boat thrown by yet another of Dad’s business contacts. The boat chugged its way round and round the harbour while everyone partied; it would have been cool if I hadn’t been the youngest person there by a decade or so. At midnight the sky lit up with the best fireworks I’ve ever seen, and some old bloke with a comb-over tried to kiss me but I ducked out of the way at the last moment and locked myself in the ladies’ toilet.

  Today, I’ve been working on my art project. A few days ago I asked Mum to dig out a whole bunch of family photographs, school reports and letters, then scan and email them over. I’ve spent days turning them into collages and painting self-portraits over the top; in the images I look like I am wearing the past just beneath my skin.

  My resolution to start writing in my SpiderWeb journal is linked to that – the project has got me thinking more about the past and the future, and writing stuff down might just help me sort out my messed-up head. I won’t be sharing my diary entries with anyone, of course … I double-check to make sure the privacy settings are in place.

  I rang home briefly from the boat party last night, but now Happy New Year messages begin to appear on my mobile as midnight strikes back home in Britain. One message comes from much closer, and makes my heart sink.

  Change of plan – my gran’s had a fall and broken her ankle, so Mum and I are heading to Tas to help out for a couple of weeks. First Tara wimps out, now me … really sorry, Honey. Was so looking forward to the holidays too. We’ll definitely be back the weekend before term starts. Let’s do a sleepover and catch up on all the gossip, OK?

  Bennie x

  Without Tara or Bennie around, the holidays no longer feel like fun – especially since Ash seems to have disappeared on me too. Who will I hang out with now? January stretches ahead like a blank page with the paint just out of reach. It feels empty, barren, a missed opportunity. I don’t want to be stuck at the bungalow, watching DVDs with Emma and listening to the hushed rows that follow every time Dad stays out late.

  Today, Dad and Emma sleep in for hours, and once they do surface it’s clear they won’t get any further than the sunloungers beside the pool. I pack away my art materials and take a walk down to Sunset Beach in the hope that this time, Ash will be there.

  Thankfully, I see him as I walk in, whizzing up smoothies behind the counter, whistling while he works. He looks up and waves, his face creasing into a grin.

  ‘Hey!’ he calls. ‘Where’ve you been? Thought you’d abandoned me!’

  ‘Christmas,’ I say with a shrug. ‘And New Year, and all the madness in between. I did pop by a couple of times, but you weren’t here.’

  ‘Holiday hours,’ Ash says. ‘Everything’s upside down. We’ve taken on extra staff, but today’s guy hasn’t turned up. Don’t suppose you’re any good with a tray?’

  I laugh. ‘I’m the best,’ I tell him. ‘You’d better believe it.’

  After Dad left, Mum turned Tanglewood into a B&B and we all learnt how to wait tables and carry a loaded breakfast tray. It was never my favourite job, but I don’t mind helping when I have to. I grab an apron from behind the counter, find the spray-cleaner and cloth, pick up a tray and head out to start clearing tables. Like I told Ash, I’m good. I know how to chat and schmooze the customers while I work, making old ladies smile, making little kids laugh, squeezing a last-minute tip from harassed mums and dads.

  I am enjoying it so much I don’t notice the time slide past; I clean and wipe and clear dirty dishes, stack the dishwasher and head out to clear tables again. By the time it’s all under control, two new workers have arrived to take the evening shift and I seem to have landed myself a part-time job because one of them happens to be the manageress.

  ‘Just temporary, mind,’ she tells me. She’s a sinewy, darkly tanned woman with a ponytail of multicoloured dreadlocks and a pierced nose. ‘We’ve been left in the lurch and we do need someone … someone who’s not scared of hard work. I’ve been watching you, and I think you’re a natural.’

  In the absence of anything more thrilling to do with my summer holiday, I take all of ten seconds to weigh up the offer. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed? I asked for more fun in the New Year, and a job at the beach cafe could be the answer. It’s a great way to meet new people and earn some pocket money too.

  Ash hangs up his apron and the two of us walk down to the water’s edge. ‘It was a bit manic there for a while,’ he says. ‘Thanks for the help.’

  ‘No worries,’ I reply. ‘It was fun. And now it looks like you’re stuck with me.’

  ‘I like being stuck with you,’ he says. ‘We’ll make a great team – it’s going to be cool. So … how was your Christmas and New Year?’

  I frown. ‘It was OK. But Christmas on the beach? Just weird …’

  I consider telling him about seeing Riley and how he wasn’t on my SpiderWeb page after all, but the story is sad and twisted and I want to forget it ever happened.

  ‘Maybe it’s just because my mum and my sisters are so far away,’ I conclude. ‘I felt a bit homesick. I miss them.’

  Ash laughs. ‘Wish I could escape my lot sometimes,’ he says. ‘I think that’s why I like the beach cafe – I get to be off-duty for a bit. I’m babysitting now. You’d be really welcome to come along and help … meet everyone … if you want to?’

  ‘Babysitting?’ I repeat. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I’ll throw in a free dinner if that’ll swing it,’ he says. ‘Come on. My family – guaranteed to cure you of all homesickness. Ten minutes with them and you’ll want to be a hermit for the rest of your life.’

  ‘OK then!’

  We turn away from the ocean and pick our way across the beach, through the wide streets that head up to Willowbank and onwards along narrower, less leafy ones. The houses are smaller now; there are no gardens with swimming pools, no silver cars with retractable sunroofs.

  ‘I think I told you I live with my sister and her family,’ Ash says as we walk. ‘Dad went back to Sri Lanka when I was born – he’s been out of the picture so long it’s as if he was never there to start with. And then … well, Mum died when I was twelve. My sister Tilani had just got married; she took me in, looked after me.’

  My eyes widen. How many times have I moaned to Ash about broken families, how painful it was to choose between Mum and Dad, how annoying to have to put up with Paddy and Cherry? He never had that choice to begin with.

  ‘Ash,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’

  ‘Long time ago now,’ he says briskly. ‘It’s just the way things are. And it’s why I try to babysit when I can, y’know? Make myself useful. So … here we are. This is home.’

  Ash’s house is a bungalow with a small yard to one side, a frazzled tree standing guard over a mess of toy trucks and scooters and abandoned dolls. The French windows are open and a cacophony of yelling, screeching and singing can be heard above the sound of the radio. He goes inside.

  ‘Hey, kids,’ he says. ‘I’ve brought a friend over.’

  I step through the French windows and into chaos. Two girls dressed in high-heeled shoes and curtain cloaks blink at me, suddenly shy, while a boy wearing a cowboy hat and a feather boa jumps forward, bringing a wooden sword down in front of me.

  ‘What’s the password?’ he deman
ds.

  ‘Caramelized kangaroo,’ I say, not missing a beat.

  ‘That’s two words,’ the boy tells me solemnly. ‘It’s actually just kangaroo.’

  ‘Just testing,’ I say, and he lifts the sword and grins at me.

  ‘These are my nieces and nephew,’ Ash says. ‘The beautiful princesses Dineshi and Sachi, and Ravi with the sword …’

  The eldest girl, who looks about six, swirls her curtain cloak around her. ‘We’re playing make-believe,’ she tells me. ‘D’you want to be a dragon or a princess?’

  ‘She’s a princess, silly,’ the smaller girl says, slipping a hand into mine. ‘A real one. Can’t you tell?’

  I feel my heart begin to melt, just a little, just round the edges. The kids are like smaller versions of Ash, with their nut-brown skin and blue-black hair and long-lashed, mocha-dark eyes. They could melt an iceberg, seriously.

  By the time Ash’s sister comes through from the kitchen, Dineshi and Sachi are dressing me in a plastic tiara and a silk dressing gown, while Ash gallops around on all fours with a tail made from a long green sock tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Tilani is a paramedic, like her husband, and is about to leave to start her shift.

  ‘Sam will be home just after ten,’ she tells us. ‘Is that OK? I hope you can handle the chaos, Honey!’

  ‘I am used to chaos,’ I tell her. ‘I have a big family too. It’ll be fun!’

  It is fun, too. After an hour of dressing-up games the kids collapse on beanbags, quizzing me about my life as a real princess and how I flew here across many oceans from a kingdom far, far away. Then Ash makes macaroni cheese for tea and I fashion a backyard tent by pegging bedsheets to the washing line, and we huddle inside as the sun goes down and eat by torchlight, picnic style. Eventually all three kids are in bed, only half washed, the girls still wearing tiaras and Ravi still clutching his sword. They lean against Ash as he reads fairy stories and make me promise to come again soon, not to fly away home.

  ‘I won’t disappear,’ I promise.

  When Sam gets back from his shift, Ash walks me home. We leave behind the shabby streets and crowded houses and he slips his hand into mine and holds on, tight, as if I really am a fairy-tale princess who might fly away at any moment.

  In the end, my summer holiday scores low on wild beach parties and late nights. It scores high on princesses, dragons, wiping tables and serving smoothies; there’s a fair bit of art project here and there too, although maths and French have fizzled a bit. It also scores high on hanging out with Ash, talking with Ash, walking home with Ash under the stars. I think I am starting to fall for him, and I guess I’d score that very highly indeed.

  19

  Tara is back from the Gold Coast now and Bennie’s home from Tasmania, and it’s my turn to host a sleepover. Emma is thrilled to be a part of it; she helps me plan a pool party and barbie with fresh fruit mocktails, and offers a selection of her favourite nineties teen flicks for us to watch. Dad is less enthusiastic.

  ‘Why do they have to come here?’ he grumbles. ‘I don’t get much time off. I certainly don’t want to share it with a gaggle of silly girls!’

  ‘It’s Tara and Bennie,’ I remind him. ‘My best friends! They really want to meet you!’

  ‘It’s only one night, Greg,’ Emma chips in. ‘Honey hasn’t had any friends over here before. It’s not a lot to ask.’

  ‘Why don’t we go out?’ he suggests. ‘Leave them to it?’

  ‘No, Greg, I want to do this properly,’ Emma argues. ‘We’re responsible for other people’s kids here. We need to be on the premises. We don’t need to do anything – just stay in the background, help with the barbie. They’ll be no trouble.’

  ‘Please, Dad?’ I chime in.

  He rolls his eyes and ruffles my hair. ‘Sheesh. I suppose so,’ he sulks. ‘Just this once, though, Honey. The next time you’re inviting half the school over, ask first. I’ll make sure I’m out of town!’

  It bothers me that Dad can’t make an effort for my friends, just like it bothered me that he wouldn’t Skype my sisters on Christmas Day. But on Saturday afternoon when Dad tells Emma she’s forgotten the most important ingredients for a sleepover – ice cream and popcorn – I hug him and tell him he’s the best dad in the world for thinking of that.

  ‘I’ll sort it,’ he says, grinning as he drives away. ‘Won’t be long!’

  I don’t worry, even when he’s been gone for an hour. I don’t worry when Tara and Bennie arrive and he’s still not back, or when Emma texts and frowns and says that his mobile is off. I guess he’s gone for a coffee or called into the office, found some time-wasting task to help him spin out the ice-cream expedition for a little while.

  Or a long while.

  ‘Is your dad around?’ Tara asks.

  ‘He will be,’ I say. ‘He’s just nipped out to get ice cream and popcorn. He’ll be back soon!’

  ‘He is the best dad ever,’ Bennie declares. ‘My dad would never go to all that trouble!’

  ‘Yeah,’ I grin. ‘He’s cool!’

  It’s weeks since I’ve seen Tara and Bennie, and they’ve grown up a little. Bennie has taught herself to do cat’s-eye eyeliner, and she’s wearing a fifties-style swimsuit that’s very Marilyn Monroe. She tells us about the boy she met in Tas who showed her that not all kisses are like cold dishwater soup.

  We float on lilos in the pool, trailing our fingers in the water.

  ‘I wish we had our own pool at home,’ Tara sighs. ‘You’re sooo lucky!’

  I already know that Tara’s been texting the bus-stop boy all holidays, and that she thinks he might finally ask her out when the new term starts.

  ‘How about you?’ Bennie asks, flicking a spray of water in my direction. ‘Any hot romance? Did Riley ever surface again?’

  ‘Did he ever,’ I say. I’ve kept my Christmas Day encounter quiet, but now that I’m getting close to Ash it doesn’t seem so sad, so scary any more.

  ‘I saw him on Christmas Day, at the beach,’ I confess. ‘He barely recognized me. He was nice enough, but he wasn’t interested … looks like the age difference really was a big issue for him.’

  Tara frowns. ‘So how come he added you on SpiderWeb then?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ I say. ‘Turns out that Surfie16 was just some random who added me. I assumed he was Riley and he just went along with it. Creepy, huh?’

  ‘I knew something wasn’t right about him!’ Bennie declares. ‘That’s scary. I mean, you asked him round to your house, Honey! What if he’d turned up? And … well … he could have been an axe murderer or something!’

  ‘He wasn’t,’ I say. ‘And I’ve deleted him, anyway. Lesson learnt.’

  I let myself slide off the lilo and into the water, enjoying the cool.

  ‘Report him,’ Tara is saying. ‘People can’t just go around pretending to be other people on the Internet!’

  ‘It’s all over,’ I say. ‘No harm done. Anyway, that’s not the big news. I didn’t want to tell you by text or on SpiderWeb, but I got myself a holiday job at the cafe. I’ve been seeing a lot of Ash …’

  ‘You do fancy him!’ Bennie whoops. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I laugh. ‘Don’t get too excited, though – it’s early days. We’re still at the hand-holding stage.’

  ‘No kisses?’ Tara asks, disappointed.

  ‘We’re taking it slow …’

  As I say this, I realize that normally I jump headlong into relationships with all guns blazing; then again, I’ve never met anyone quite like Ash. I’m used to being in control with boys, calling the shots, but with Ash I am way out of my depth. I care about him so much it scares me. When he walks me home at night we hold hands, but what if it’s normal for friends in Australia to hold hands? What if he doesn’t actually fancy me at all?

  I close my eyes and think about Ash; dark eyes fringed with long lashes, sharp cheekbones, the sleek fall of his blue-black hair. I think about kissing him too; I think about tha
t a lot.

  I duck under the water and swim towards my friends, shark-like. I surface suddenly, tipping up the lilos and dragging Tara and Bennie into the water with much screeching, splashing and laughter. Heart-to-hearts are forgotten as we shower, change and fire up the barbie.

  ‘I don’t know where Greg can have got to,’ Emma frets, checking her mobile for the hundredth time. ‘I can’t understand it!’

  ‘Should we wait?’ I ask.

  ‘No, no, just go ahead, girls,’ Emma says. ‘Something must have come up. A call from the office …’

  ‘On a Saturday?’ Tara asks, frowning.

  ‘He works long hours,’ I explain. ‘And there’s a rush job on at the moment, so …’

  ‘OK. Right,’ Bennie says.

  I turn away so they can’t see my embarrassment.

  We eat vegetable kebabs and baked bananas with melted chocolate as the sun sets. There is no ice cream and no popcorn, but nobody complains and eventually we retreat inside, where Emma has set out jugs of fruit juice and syrup and lemonade and soda, so that we can invent our own fancy mocktails. My friends like Emma – she’s chatty and fun, and although at one point I panic that she might come through and watch Clueless with us, she just smiles and settles herself on the sofa with a glass of wine and tells us to have fun and not to stay up too late.

  ‘Your stepmum’s OK,’ Bennie says, twirling the paper parasol in her drink as we curl up to watch the DVD.

  ‘She’s not my stepmum,’ I correct. ‘Just Dad’s girlfriend. But yeah, she’s OK. I’m sorry about Dad. I bet he popped into the office and got side-tracked … he’s kind of a workaholic. He probably forgot he’d promised ice cream.’

  ‘It’s no biggie,’ Bennie shrugs. ‘Mocktails are better!’

  ‘Dads,’ Tara agrees. ‘What are they like?’

  My friends are sleeping by the time Dad finally gets home in the early hours, but I am wide awake. I hear the low hiss of voices, the sound of Emma crying again, and I know for sure that I have heard it all before, over and over, right through my childhood. It’s all too familiar, although I’ve never been able to admit it before.