Chocolate Box Girls: Coco Caramel (8 page)

And what if Caramel throws that cute,
imaginary boy? What then?

‘I’m going out,’ I tell
Mum. ‘I might cycle up to town to see Sarah. I won’t be late.’

I pull on my fluffy panda hat and slip out
of the kitchen, wheel my bike out of the shed and start to cycle. I am not going to
Sarah’s house, though. It’s a bright, crisp autumn day and I soon warm up as
I ride down through the village and out again, taking the road to Hartshill.

I have no clear idea of what I will do when I
get there, but I know I have to find Blue Downs House and see Caramel one last time, if
only to say goodbye. Once I have seen her, I’ll be able to let go, move on.

Maybe.

I take a right fork at the crossroads a mile
before the village and head out towards the moorland. The cycling is harder now, and I
have to get off and push the bike up some of the slopes. Cresting one windswept hill, I
see a big whitewashed farmhouse in the valley below, a cobbled yard and some
outbuildings and a paddock, flanked by woodland. Apart from a terrace of four pretty
cottages further up the hill, the house is alone in the landscape, imposing and slightly
forbidding.

I freewheel down the slope a little,
skidding to a halt as I notice figures and a pony moving across the paddock in the
distance. I step into the woodland, hiding my bike behind a mossy, tumbledown wall.

It’s cold in the woods, and I move as
quietly as I can,
twigs crackling and snapping underfoot, creeping
forward until I can hear voices close by. Peering out from the fringe of trees, I see Mr
Seddon standing in the centre of the paddock, a girl of seven or eight beside him. He is
running Caramel on a long lunge line, turning slowly so that she trots in a circle round
him.

I remember Kelly explaining that Mr Seddon
has trained horses before, so I guess he is putting her through her paces, getting to
know her. Caramel is trotting smoothly, but she looks tired, as if the training has been
going on for a long time. The little girl’s face looks grey and anxious, her lips
quivering.

Suddenly a loud crack splits the air, and
Caramel rears up, whinnying in distress. The sound rings out again, and I see that
Seddon has a bullwhip, a huge, long-tailed whip that he is lashing out towards Caramel,
who bucks to the side, trying to pull away. Seddon reels her in, then cracks his whip
again, and this time the whiplash catches her flanks and I see the whites of her eyes as
she struggles against the lunge line, terrified.

I want to run forward, into the paddock,
grab the whip from Seddon and shove him away from Caramel,
leave him
sprawled on the ground in a puddle, red-faced and helpless. I want to wrench the lunge
line from him and lead Caramel out of there, but fear and reason hold me back. I am
twelve years old and all of five foot two inches tall. I don’t honestly think I
can fight some big, fierce bloke with a whip, no matter how much I want to.

I must not panic. I have to stay calm, think
clearly, but it’s easier said than done. I feel sick. Why would anyone
deliberately frighten an already jumpy horse, then hit her when she flinches and bucks?
My heart hammers so loudly I swear the world can hear it, but I force myself to be
still, shielded by the trees.

‘Stop it!’ a voice appeals, and
I see the little girl tugging at Seddon’s sleeve. ‘Please! Leave her
alone!’

‘She has to learn,’ he snaps,
shaking the child off. ‘She’s an animal, a wilful animal. She needs
discipline!’

‘You’re hurting her!’ the
child argues. ‘She’s scared!’

‘You wanted a pony, didn’t
you?’ Seddon snaps.

‘Yes, but –’

‘But nothing,’ he growls,
cracking the whip again as Caramel trots forward, her eyes wild and frightened.
‘This
is how it works, Jasmine. Animals need to know who is
master, and I am master here. Trust me, she will learn that. Sooner or later, she will
learn.’

The child is crying now, trembling, her face
streaked with tears. Seddon takes no notice, even when she sinks down to the ground,
burying her face in her hands. He just goes on turning, stony-faced, running Caramel on
her lunge line, on and on until I think she will fall to the ground too, exhausted.

At last, more than an hour later when the
light begins to fade, Seddon stops. He pulls Caramel towards him, catching hold of her
halter, and drags the little girl to her feet. I watch the three of them walk away, up
towards the house, the stable yard.

Whatever I imagined when I tried to picture
Caramel’s new life, it wasn’t this. There is no laughing, freckle-faced boy,
no carrot treats or apple slices. And Seddon is exactly as Lawrie Marshall described him
– a horrible, horrible bully. Well, it takes one to know one, I suppose.

I lean against a tree, trying to gather my
wits. Should I call the RSPCA? Would they believe me? Would they think it was serious
enough to take Caramel away from
here, or would they just give Seddon a
warning? What if he told them it was all lies?

Maybe ringing Jean and Roy at Woodlands
would be better. They would hate to think that Caramel was being badly treated – maybe
they could take her back again? I frown. Seddon has paid good money for Caramel, so I
don’t imagine he would be willing to let her go.

I can’t risk leaving Caramel here – I
have to get her out, no matter what.

A plan begins to unfurl in my mind. I sink
down on to a fallen log, taking the little mobile I was given for my twelfth birthday
and clicking on to Cherry’s number. After three rings, my stepsister answers.

‘It’s me – Coco,’ I say,
huddling into my jacket. ‘Are you alone? Can you talk? Because I need a favour.
And it has to be a secret!’

‘Coco? Yes, I’m in my room,
but … what d’you mean? Where are you? What secret? And … why
me?’

I roll my eyes. ‘You’re the only
one who takes me seriously in this family,’ I explain. ‘Look … I
need you to cover for me. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s
really
important. Life and death.’

‘
What?
’ Cherry gasps.

‘Chill out,’ I say.
‘I’m fine. But I need you to tell Mum and Paddy that I rang, and that
I’m staying over with Sarah.’

‘Aren’t you with her?’

‘Obviously not,’ I say.
‘Look, if you can just tell Mum –’

‘What is going on? Where
are
you? And where are you staying tonight, if you’re not coming home and you’re
not with Sarah?’

‘I will be coming home,’ I sigh.
‘I promise. But it will be very late, and I don’t want Mum to worry.
I’ll sleep in the gypsy caravan. I will explain everything when I see you. You
have to trust me, Cherry, OK?’

‘Oh, Coco!’ she says. ‘Are
you in trouble?’

‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I
insist. ‘Honestly. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Will you cover for me,
Cherry, please?’

There is a silence, and then I hear her
sigh.

‘Do you promise me you’re not in
any kind of trouble?’ she asks.

‘I’m fine,’ I insist.
‘It’s no big deal, honestly, and I really will explain everything when I see
you … please, Cherry?’

I can just picture my stepsister’s face,
trying to balance concern with sisterly support and failing miserably.

‘OK,’ she says reluctantly.
‘I’ll tell Dad and Charlotte that you’re staying with Sarah tonight.
But … Coco? Whatever you’re up to, be careful. OK?’

‘I will,’ I promise.
‘Thanks, Cherry!’

I click to disconnect the call, then ring
Sarah to make sure she will cover for me too if Mum should call her place to check.
That’s unlikely – Sarah and I often sleep over at each other’s houses, so
it’s no big deal – but I need to be sure. I tell her I am on a secret mission
against animal cruelty, and that I will explain everything at school on Monday. Sarah
offers to come and help, and I am tempted to let her, but then she remembers that her
bike has a flat tyre.

‘I could ask Dad for a lift?’
she suggests. I tell her to forget it – asking for lifts after dark to the middle of
nowhere would be way too suspicious.

‘Sure?’ she presses. ‘I
could bring a flask of soup. And blankets. And torches!’

I wish I had all of those things. I wish I
had a friend to sit beside me in the woods as the night sky darkens
and
the cold seeps into my bones, but it looks like I am on my own with this.

‘I’ll be OK,’ I say
gruffly. ‘No problem.’

After I ring off, Sarah and I text back and
forth for a while, until she is called down for dinner and a DVD. I imagine my sisters,
gathered round the table at Tanglewood, talking, laughing, eating, warm from the Aga. I
imagine them stretched out on the squashy blue sofas, watching TV, squabbling about who
should make the hot chocolates, whether it’s time for bed.

An owl swoops by silently overhead, white
wings beating as it navigates the trees, making me jump. I wish I was at home with my
sisters, not huddled into my jacket, leaning against a tree, in the woods miles from
home, waiting for midnight.

In the end, I don’t make it quite that
long. I doze a little and wake with a crick in my neck and an imprint of beech bark
along my cheek, so cold I think I may be frozen to the spot. If I don’t move soon
the search parties will find me, a few days from now, a huddled figure in a panda hat,
dead from the cold and lack of hot chocolate. I stand up and rub my hands together to
get the circulation moving, stamp my feet on the litter of fallen leaves and broken
twigs.

My mobile says it is ten forty-five, but I
can still see lights in the windows of Blue Downs House. Surely they’ll be getting
ready for bed soon?

I make my way out of the woods and walk
alongside the paddock, creeping closer to the house. Everything is
quiet. I stand for a while at the stable-yard gate, listening, watching. Inside the
house, someone draws the upstairs curtains, switches off a light. I see the silhouette
of a woman pass one of the downstairs windows, carrying two glasses.

A dog, tied up in the yard, sniffs the air
and looks towards me, straining at its rope.
Don’t bark
, I tell the dog,
silently.
Please, don’t bark …