2: Chocolate Box Girls: Marshmallow Skye (10 page)

‘I doubt it,’ I say to her. ‘I can’t, anyway, not this Saturday. I promised Paddy I’d help him with the chocolate orders. You can come over and help too, if you want. Besides, I am not interested in boys, you know that!’

‘Skye, you are no fun any more!’ Millie huffs. ‘I bet Summer and Tia would go!’

‘Summer’s got a ballet class,’ I shrug.

‘Bor-ing,’ Millie grumbles, but she drops the subject. I’m starting to think my best friend is morphing into someone I don’t actually know any more. Not so long ago she’d have jumped at the chance to help with the chocolate making, but these days she is obsessed with boys and make-up and whether she will ever be kissed.

And, even though there’s one special boy I think about a lot myself, I think Millie’s obsession is kind of boring, actually.

14

A boy with dark, wavy hair and a red neckerchief is sitting in the dappled sunlight beneath the hazel trees, when out of nowhere a bird swoops down, a quick flash of brown and red. It lands on the ground in front of him, head to one side, chirping softly. The boy stretches out his hand slowly and the bird hops on, and I hold my breath, enchanted.

Then the bird is gone. Finch looks up at me, grinning, and my heart is racing …

I learn to keep the dreams to myself, but some days it is a struggle to come back to the real world. I never used to sleep in, but lately even the radio alarm doesn’t always wake me and Summer has to shake me and pull the duvet back so that the cold air rushes in and brings me back to reality.

The truth is, reality is losing its appeal.

Every day I choose something from Clara’s trunk to wear, one of the cotton petticoats or the bracelets or the little cloche hat. I am getting hooked on 1920s style, hooked on Clara’s clothes, and when I wear them I feel close to her, and more importantly, close to the dream – to Finch.

‘You’re not still having those spooky dreams, are you?’ Summer asks on Saturday morning. She has just woken me up (again), before she dashes off to her ballet class. ‘About Clara? Only you’re miles away, these days. Distracted.’

My twin’s face is anxious, disapproving, and my reaction is instant – protect, conceal, deny.

‘Dreams?’ I echo. ‘What dreams?’

It’s not exactly a lie.

Sometimes I look in the mirror, my face shadowed beneath the cloche hat, and think I catch a glimpse of someone else, a girl from long ago. Sometimes, I even think the girl is trying to tell me something. I remember Clara’s letters – weirdly, I never found them. I decide to look for them again – at the moment they’re my only hope of finding some clues to what the dreams mean.

Part of me doesn’t want to question it all too closely, in case the dreams evaporate, but another part of me needs
to know whether it’s Clara who’s trying to tell me something … or just my own imagination, conjuring up a boy who’s too good to be true.

I look again all morning until I have to help Mum with the B&B cleaning, but the letters are nowhere to be found. At lunchtime we are sitting round the kitchen table eating tomato soup and freshly baked bread rolls, when Summer gets back from ballet. I know she won’t like me asking, but I have to know.

‘Summer, you know those old letters from the trunk?’ I ask. ‘Have you seen them at all? I left them on the desk a week or so ago and they seem to have vanished into thin air …’

‘What letters?’ Summer says blankly.

‘You know … the bundle of letters addressed to Clara Travers. I thought you might have moved them or something.’

Summer frowns. ‘I don’t know … I might have put them back in the trunk …’

‘They’re not there, though,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve looked. Could you have put them somewhere else?’

Summer looks annoyed. ‘Look, I can’t remember – I probably didn’t move them at all, Skye. Why would I touch her spooky old letters?’

‘I don’t know,’ I shrug. ‘I’m not blaming you, Summer, it’s just that I’ve lost them and it’s bugging me, that’s all. Mum … have you seen the letters from the trunk? Tidied them up or something?’

‘I don’t know, love,’ she says. ‘Sorry. I don’t think so – but to be honest we’re so manic with the chocolate orders it’s all I can do to keep on top of the B&B stuff lately. I haven’t tidied your rooms in a while. We’re busier with guests as well as the Chocolate Box, thanks to that article.’

‘If things stay this way after Christmas, we might have to look into employing an assistant,’ Paddy comments.

‘Wow,’ Coco grins. ‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

‘Brilliant,’ Mum agrees. ‘Right now, though, we’re run off our feet. I don’t know what we’d do without your help, girls!’

We’ve got into a routine of helping out in the workshop after school, assembling boxes and selecting chocolates and tying up the ribbon bows. Then we slide them into jiffy bags and Paddy takes everything down to the post office in time
to catch the last pickup, and we get to eat any leftover truffles. Obviously, that is the best bit.

Honey, who has made a rare lunchtime appearance, rolls her eyes. ‘It’s child labour,’ she says scathingly. ‘We do enough already, helping Mum with the guest rooms and breakfasts. What are we, slaves?’

‘You haven’t helped with the B&B stuff for ages,’ I say. ‘So
you
are definitely not a slave, anyway. The rest of us don’t mind. It’s fun!’

‘You think?’ Summer asks. I know she is only sticking up for Honey, but it’s not like my twin actually helps out as much as the rest of us anyhow. She always has ballet practice or dance-show rehearsal or something. Cherry, Coco and I do most of the work, and we are not complaining.

‘A few more chocolate orders won’t help us much anyhow.’ Honey shrugs. ‘How many thousands do you owe the bank again, Paddy?’

‘Actually …’ Paddy begins, but my big sister ignores him.

‘When the business falls flat on its face, how are you going to pay the debt?’ she demands. ‘Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll leave Mum to sort that out –’

‘Honey!’ Mum snaps. ‘That’s enough!’

Paddy sighs. ‘She’s only trying to watch out for you,’ he says patiently. ‘You can’t really blame her for that.’

‘If it makes her rude, I can,’ Mum sighs. ‘I wish I could believe that Honey was just watching out for me, but sometimes I think she just likes to stir up trouble –’

‘Er, hello?’ Honey cuts in. ‘Who’s being rude now? You’re talking about me as if I’m not even here.’

‘You hardly ever are,’ I say, and Summer shoots me an angry look. She is fiercely loyal to Honey – but surely even she can see now that our big sister is out to make trouble?

‘Enough,’ Mum says. ‘If business stays brisk we’ll look into employing an assistant in the spring, but right now your help is much appreciated, all of you. That’s what families do – help each other. It won’t be for long, but we’re up to our eyes at the moment, what with trying to get your new sister’s bedroom finished off as well –’

Mum’s comment is like a red rag to a bull. I see Honey’s eyes flash with anger.

‘Cherry will never be my sister … wedding or no wedding,’ she bites out. ‘And right now, my money’s on no wedding.’

‘Honey, don’t be so mean!’ I argue. It’s not like me to get
in the middle of a family drama, but I feel so sorry for Mum, and for Cherry, I have to say something. ‘Don’t you want Mum to be happy again, after everything Dad put her through? Don’t you want to be a part of this family?’

Honey glares at me, her blue eyes icy cold.

‘My family fell apart,’ she bites out. ‘A while ago now. I thought we could put it back together, but I was wrong, because you all had other ideas. Now I’m stuck with a whole different set-up, and no, I don’t want to be a part of it, Skye, now that you ask.’

I feel like I’ve been slapped.

An awkward silence settles around us. Paddy’s bright smile slips and Cherry looks down at her soup bowl as if she would like to be anywhere at all but here. The rest of us struggle for a way out of the embarrassment, a way to put it all right, but there isn’t one.

It strikes me suddenly that I do not like my big sister very much at all. I’m sick of creeping around her, trying to coax a smile or a friendly word. I’m sick of trying to be the peacemaker because if she saw a white flag she’d most likely tear it in two. Honey is pulling my family to pieces.

‘You never used to be like this,’ I say quietly. ‘I used to
look up to you, Honey, you know? I thought you were the coolest big sister in the world, but I was wrong. You’re not cool at all … you’re shallow and spiteful and cruel!’

‘Skye, hush!’ Mum says, but it’s too late – Honey is on her feet, her lips trembling, eyes misted with tears. She slams out of the kitchen and runs up the stairs to her room.

15

I stood up to my sister and told her the things that have been whirling around in my head, but instead of feeling better I feel as if I am the one in the wrong. Sadness settles inside my chest like a stone.

Summer digs me in the ribs. ‘What did you have to go and say that for?’ she whispers. ‘She’ll be even worse now!’

I bite my lip. ‘I just … I couldn’t believe she’d say that stuff … oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry!’

Mum sighs. ‘Maybe you actually got through to her? I’m not getting things right with Honey at the moment, I know that. Perhaps we need to take a harder line … for her own sake.’

‘Worth a try,’ Paddy nods. ‘And, Skye, I think it’s good
you challenged her. Maybe it’ll be the wake-up call she needs?’

‘Maybe,’ I say, but I don’t believe it, not really. I don’t think Honey wants a wake-up call. And what if Summer is right, and my words push her still further away?

My twin shoots me a cold look and heads off to the village to meet Tia for a trip into town. I head out to help in the workshop with Cherry, Coco and Paddy, but I can’t focus and end up getting the orders wrong. I keep thinking of Honey’s eyes, misted with tears, of Summer’s accusing glare. I feel like the worst sister in the world.

When Paddy suggests I take some packages down to the post office and then call in at the bakery to buy cream cakes for tea, I jump at the chance.

I am in the post office handing over a whole heap of parcels when Mrs Lee, the post office lady, stops what she is doing and stares at me, hard. Mrs Lee is pretty eccentric, and styles herself as some kind of gypsy fortune-teller. She has been telling me that I’m a little bit psychic ever since I was six years old, which used to make me feel very important and special because she never said anything like that to Summer.