Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey Read online

  ‘This is where I work,’ he tells me casually, nodding up towards the shiny-sleek building. ‘We’re on the fifth floor. I’m run off my feet usually – ask Emma, she hardly ever sees me. I can always find time for my beautiful daughter, though – we’ll do lunch some time, shall we?’

  ‘OK!’ I grin.

  ‘As long as you book him a week or so ahead,’ Emma says. ‘He works long hours!’

  Dad laughs. ‘Hey, the money has to come from somewhere! C’mon, Emma, you can’t call me a workaholic – I’ve taken time off to help Honey settle in, haven’t I?’

  ‘You have indeed,’ Emma agrees, and my cheeks glow pink with pleasure. I feel valued, wanted, loved. Finally.

  Dad grins. ‘Well, I’ll resist the temptation to call in and see how they’re coping without me. How about we show you this beautiful city?’

  We walk through the Royal Botanical Gardens, past the flower gardens and fountains, with the sun beating down on us, white cockatoos squawking overhead and fruit bats hanging from the branches of the trees. It doesn’t quite feel real, as if I might wake up at any moment and find I’m back home at Tanglewood with the same old family madness going on around me. Instead I am here, with Sydney Harbour spread out before me like a present I’ve wanted all my life and hardly dare to open.

  I stop for a moment just to pinch myself and to soak up the view as we head down to Circular Quay. We walk round the famous opera house with its roof that looks like gigantic folded wings, and I hand Emma my camera and ask her to take some pictures of Dad and me in front of it, tourist style. I get pictures of some cool Aboriginal guys wearing bodypaint and not much else, playing didgeridoo for the tourists at the quayside; I photograph the amazing Sydney Harbour Bridge, and Dad points out the tiny figures making their way along the curving arc of it; we catch a ferry, and I photograph the churning water, the blue sky, the sweeping curves of Sydney Cove. At Manly, I photograph shark nets on the beach, lifeguard lookout towers, bright boulevards busy with schoolkids trailing home from class in peaked caps and cut-off shorts, streaks of zinc sunblock striped across their cheeks. On the walkway teenagers shoot past on rollerblades, and a young man with a surfboard and blond dreadlocks walks down to the water’s edge and paddles his board into the waves, while tanned girls in tiny bikinis play volleyball in the sand.

  If that’s not surreal enough, I notice strings of fairy lights draped from the trees and a giant artificial Christmas tree in one of the main shopping areas. Piped Christmas carols drift out from one of the shops. It’s the end of November and the heat is tropical, but hey, you can’t stop Christmas.

  Later, back at Circular Quay, we eat dinner and sit looking out across the harbour. Emma and I choose salad and potato wedges and Dad tucks into a kangaroo steak, which seems pretty gross to me, but I don’t say so. It’s lucky my little sister Coco can’t see him. We sip white wine spritzers – even me because Dad says I am pretty grown-up now, and the wine is watered down so it’s no big deal. It makes me feel good that Dad and Emma are treating me as an adult; I know for a fact that Mum would have ordered me lemonade.

  ‘So,’ Dad says. ‘What d’you think, Honey? Ready for a new start in beautiful Sydney?’

  ‘Totally,’ I say. ‘I love it already!’

  He shrugs. ‘Well, it’s not just about loving it. It’s about making a go of it. We’re giving you a fresh start here – are you up for the challenge?’

  The smile slips from my face. ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘You know I am. I’ll change, I promise. I’ve been unhappy, mixed up, a little bit off the rails …’

  ‘Time to grow up,’ Dad says firmly. ‘Draw a line under the mistakes. We’re taking a risk, Honey, having you here. Don’t let us down.’

  ‘I won’t!’

  I have spent the last couple of years messing up, but if Dad had still been around I’d never have dared step out of line. I was unhappy, lashing out, but all that is behind me now. I’ve moved on. My transformation from convict girl to all-star Aussie student is about to begin.

  ‘A few rules,’ Dad says. ‘No boys, no parties, no trouble. Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ I echo. I didn’t expect rules or demands from Dad, but I know I don’t want to let him down. I know I have to change if I’m going to make a success of my new start in Australia.

  ‘I can do it,’ I promise. ‘How can I fail? This new progressive school you and Mum found sounds amazing. I know I’ll need help to turn things around, but Kember Grange offers that, right? It sounds perfect!’

  Dad frowns. ‘About that. We had a slight change of plan.’

  I blink, and Emma shakes her head, refusing to catch my eye. ‘You didn’t tell her?’ she asks. ‘Greg, we agreed …’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry Charlotte.’ Dad shrugs, dismissing Emma’s comment. ‘Our plans changed a little at the last minute, Honey, but I had the impression you were keen to come out here no matter what. Was I right?’

  Panic unfurls inside me, but I try to seem calm. ‘You were right,’ I say. ‘So … I’m not going to the progressive school after all? What happened?’

  Dad leans back in his chair. ‘Your mum was very set on that place. She seems to think you need counselling and kid-glove treatment, but I disagree. You’re my daughter – you’re bright, confident, clued-up – why would you need all that New Age nonsense?’

  Because I’m lost, a small voice says inside of me. I’m lost and I’m not sure I can find myself again.

  ‘Mum always exaggerates,’ I say out loud. ‘I’m fine!’

  ‘Kember Grange couldn’t fit you in as a day-pupil this term,’ Emma explains. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but here in Australia the school year ends in December. There’s a break for the summer holidays – just imagine, summer in January – then the new term begins. We might be able to secure a place for you then …’

  ‘But it’s not practical to keep you out of school until the end of January,’ Dad chips in. ‘You’ve missed enough schooling as it is. You need to get back to classes as soon as possible, and the last thing you need is a bunch of counsellors on your tail, asking how you feel every step of the way. You don’t need therapy; you need discipline and routine!’

  I bite my lip. Discipline and routine were in plentiful supply at my old high school, but they didn’t stop me from going off the rails. Will Australian discipline and routine be any different?

  ‘There’s a very good all-girls’ school ten minutes from the house,’ Dad is saying. ‘Willowbank gets excellent exam results, and they’ve agreed to take you on. Why pay out a fortune for a private school with a fluffy, feel-good ethos when you can have a perfectly good education for free?’

  ‘Right,’ I say.

  ‘I didn’t mention it to Charlotte because I thought she’d make a fuss,’ he sighs. ‘She’d assume it was all about the money, when in fact it’s a question of available places … and a difference of opinion on the school ethos.’

  ‘If you don’t settle, we can always look again at Kember Grange,’ Emma says.

  ‘It won’t come to that,’ Dad insists. ‘Honey’s my daughter – she’ll adapt, rise to the challenge. So what if she’s pushed a few boundaries, broken a few rules? All teenagers do that, right? It’s a lot of fuss over nothing. Honey doesn’t need a specialist school. All that touchy-feely therapy stuff is for losers.’

  I take a sharp breath in. Back home, my sister Summer is having therapy to help her fight an eating disorder. Does that make her a loser? I don’t think so. Before we left she talked to me for ages about being brave enough to open up and let someone help.

  ‘If I can do it, you can do it,’ she’d said.

  Summer is not a loser; she’s the bravest girl I know. Dad hasn’t even asked about her; or any of my sisters, come to that. Perhaps he thinks that talking about them might make me homesick?

  Maybe Dad is right, anyhow – maybe I don’t need Kember Grange. I straighten my shoulders.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say carelessly. ‘Scho
ol’s school, isn’t it?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Dad says. ‘That’s my girl!’

  “ You’re in trouble. Yes, even though you are on the other side of the world I am blaming YOU. Coco is so upset you’ve gone that she has been sitting in the oak tree playing that wretched violin pretty much non-stop since you left. I think I might have to start wearing earmuffs. All your fault. Come back! We MISS you, Honey Tanberry!

  xoxo ”

  3

  I roll over, stretch out an arm and check my mobile. It’s 3.55 a.m. Aussie time, and jet lag has me by the throat. I read Summer’s text and smile; of all the good things about moving to the other side of the world, finally being out of earshot of the screeching, sawing racket of Coco’s violin practice has to be near the top of the list.

  My eyes are gritty with lack of sleep but every time I close them they spring wide open again against my will. I feel exhausted, yet my head is buzzing with a million thoughts, ideas, worries; I’m like a little kid who has overdosed on Coke, hyper and fractious and fizzing with trouble.

  I check my mobile again. A whole two minutes has crawled by.

  Back in Britain, it is late afternoon. My sisters will be spreading homework books out across the kitchen table, drinking hot chocolate, chatting. I think of Coco, playing mournful violin in the oak tree, and suddenly there’s a lump in my throat and an ache to match it.

  I spoke to Mum yesterday, queuing at immigration to have my passport checked, to let her know I’d landed, but suddenly that doesn’t seem like enough. I can’t call now, not without waking Dad and Emma. My mobile says 4.05 a.m. Jet lag, you suck.

  I slide out of bed and tiptoe to the kitchen, pouring myself an orange juice from the fridge. The house is strange, alien, silent. There is no familiar clutter, no mongrel dog lurking, ever hopeful, on the lookout for a morsel of cheese or a leftover sausage roll. I can’t imagine Dad and Emma having pets.

  Back in the bedroom, I pick up my iPhone and fire off a quick email to Mum. Rather than emailing Summer, Skye and Coco I copy them into Mum’s message, but maybe my SpiderWeb page would be a better plan in the long run? I can post lots of pics and keep everyone up to speed on life in Sydney.

  I haven’t used it for ages. I log in to the page, wincing at the flirty profile picture and the photos of my fairground boyfriend and his mates. I thought Kes was special; I thought his friends were cool. Sadly, they didn’t think the same about me.

  Kes called just twice after Mum found out about the truanting and school expelled me. The first time was to ask if I was coming to his mate’s party, which I couldn’t, of course; I was grounded for life, guarded by my sisters, my stepdad, an ever-changing squad of concerned social workers. The second time was to tell me he thought we should finish, that I’d be better off without him; oh, and besides, he’d met someone new.

  As for his friends, some sent the odd half-hearted text, but I could see them fading before my very eyes, like the cheap, rainbow-striped T-shirt I’d once washed on a ninety-degree cycle by mistake. Well, hey – their loss.

  I take a deep breath and press Deactivate, and just like that my old SpiderWeb page is gone.

  Creating a new page is like inventing a whole new me. I pick a username, SweetHoney, the name of the honeycomb truffle Paddy invented for me on my fifteenth birthday. I ate precisely half of one truffle and pretended I didn’t like it, but actually it was amazing. I just didn’t want Paddy to know that.

  I like the name too. In a slightly ironic way.

  I pick out a new profile picture, a close-up of me on the beach from earlier today. The picture is bright, smiley, wholesome, a big contrast to the flirty, in-your-face images on my old page. I fill in my details and fire off friend requests to Summer, Skye, Coco. I hesitate over the names of old classmates and ex-boyfriends, but this is a new-leaf moment and I decide on a clean break. If people from back home find me and add me, fine; otherwise I’ll treat this page as a way to communicate with my sisters, nothing more and nothing less.

  My old page had almost 500 followers, but where are they now? Where were they then, come to think of it? I always thought I was a popular girl, but the ‘bad’ kids forgot about me the minute I was no longer available for drop-of-the-hat rabble-rousing; the ‘good’ kids ditched me when I got expelled from school. Who knows, my wickedness could have been contagious.

  A new page with no followers at all … at least this way I get to find out who my real friends are. The whole thing takes a while because I’m working on a smartphone, and there are some SpiderWeb features I can’t access, but eventually I have a cool-looking page. I write a quick status about arriving in Sydney and add a picture of me standing on the steps of Sydney Opera House.

  I open up a new page in the journal section of SpiderWeb, but before I can write anything my mobile starts to ring and a picture of Tanglewood flashes up on the screen.

  ‘Honey?’ My sister Coco’s voice shrills into my ear. She sounds like she could be in the next room, not on the other side of the world, and suddenly I’m grinning in the dark. ‘Hang on,’ I whisper, padding through the silent house. ‘I’m going outside. It’s the middle of the night, I don’t want to wake everyone up.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Coco echoes, not missing a trick. ‘Who’s everyone? Who else is there?’

  Outside the air is soft with the promise of another hot day, but the flagstones are cool beneath my bare feet. Above the rooftops I can see the sky flush pink.

  ‘Nobody,’ I tell Coco, then falter, unsure why I’m hiding the truth from her. It’s the kind of lie that might be difficult to maintain. ‘Well … just Dad’s girlfriend, Emma.’

  ‘Emma?’ Coco says. ‘Wasn’t that the name of his PA at his old job, when he lived with us?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ I huff. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘I thought it was,’ she muses. ‘Still … a girlfriend. That must be a bit weird for you.’

  ‘Nah, she’s cool,’ I bluff. ‘I’m fine with her.’

  Really, I have the knack of lying down to a fine art.

  ‘So, tell me about Australia,’ Coco rushes on. ‘Is it amazing? Is it hot? Have you seen a kangaroo?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I laugh, deciding not to mention the kangaroo steak Dad polished off in the restaurant. ‘And yes, it’s epic. And hot. It’s the middle of the night right now – well, five in the morning, anyhow – but it’s still warm. I’m sitting out in the garden in my PJ shorts and vest …’

  ‘Why are you even awake at five in the morning?’

  ‘Because you rang, little sister,’ I say patiently. ‘And because I’m a bit jet-lagged. It takes a while to adjust to the new time zone. Are you missing me?’

  ‘Like mad,’ she says. ‘Everything is just too … well, calm. No yelling. No door slamming. Nobody hogging the bathroom before school and using all the hot water!’

  ‘I have my own bathroom here,’ I tell her. ‘And I haven’t yelled or slammed a door once. I’m a reformed character.’

  Coco laughs. ‘Don’t believe you. Not possible. You are a lost cause!’

  I smile. I have vowed to put my rebel days behind me, but Coco is right, it will be hard to let go. I kind of like my old, rebel-girl self, brave and wild and dramatic.

  ‘Are Skye and Summer there?’ I ask.

  ‘Summer’s gone off somewhere with Alfie,’ my little sister says. ‘Skye’s at Millie’s, and Mum and Paddy are in the workshop. Cherry’s around somewhere … want to speak to her?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That’s a no then,’ Coco sighs. ‘Seriously, Honey, you can’t hold a grudge forever.’

  ‘Can’t I? You’d be surprised …’

  I expect my little sister to laugh, but there’s just a crackly silence in my ear and suddenly I feel very tired and very far away.

  ‘You said you were a reformed character,’ Coco points out accusingly.

  ‘Give me a break!’ I argue. ‘I’m not a saint. You can’t expect me to forgive Cherry, not
after what she did. Look, must we have this conversation now?’

  ‘When will we have it then?’ Coco wants to know. ‘When you get home? When will that be? And … well, what if you never do?’

  ‘Of course I will!’ I promise. ‘One day. Or maybe you’ll come out here …’

  ‘That won’t be for years and years,’ my little sister whimpers. ‘You’ll forget what I look like. You’ll forget all kinds of stuff, miss all kinds of stuff. Families aren’t meant to live thousands of miles apart!’

  ‘Look, Coco, I didn’t have a choice –’

  ‘You had a choice,’ she says, and her voice sounds muffled and wobbly. ‘You just didn’t choose us! I want to be happy for you, Honey, but I can’t help it, I’m not. I wish you hadn’t gone. It’s rubbish without you!’

  ‘Don’t be like that!’

  ‘Why not?’ she sniffs. ‘It’s true, it is. It’s like when Dad left, all over again.’

  An ache of sadness lodges itself inside me. I remember how we felt when Dad went, of course I do. We were lost, hurting, wondering what we’d done wrong, what we could do to make him come back.

  ‘This is totally different,’ I say.

  ‘It’s not,’ Coco chokes out. ‘I miss you!’

  If I could, I’d put my arms round my littlest sister and tell her everything will be fine, but hugs don’t really work at long distance.

  ‘Hey, I’ve just made a new SpiderWeb page and sent you a friend request,’ I remember. ‘We can chat on there. Tell the others, OK? Don’t get all mushy on me, Coco. I’m relying on you to keep everyone in order!’

  There’s a snuffling sound at the end of the line, and I imagine Coco biting her lip, wiping a sleeve across her face. Unexpectedly, my own eyes prickle with tears. It’s only the jet lag, of course.

  ‘I have to go,’ I say abruptly. ‘Dad’s calling.’

  ‘I thought you said it was the middle of the night?’ Coco argues, but I blurt out a hasty goodbye and end the call, pushing Coco’s words from my head. I can’t think about those things. I am in Sydney and my mum and sisters are in Somerset, and Coco’s right, this is what I have chosen.