Caramel Hearts by E.R. Murray Page A

you’re good at is eating all the cakes. You’re a right fat pig.”
    Instead of retaliating, Harriet lowers her head into her hands and cries. It’s a low, deep wail that comes from a very dark place – somewhere even worse than the Recovery Centre waiting room. Stunned, I watch my sister shake with sobs.
    â€œI’m sorry, Hatty – I didn’t mean it.”
    I try putting my arm around her shoulder but Harriet keeps crying. No matter what I try, she stays crumpled,like she no longer has the energy to lift her head. The crowd in the room shuffles, embarrassed by the show of such strong emotion. I feel a hot sting as my face glows all the way to my ears.
    â€œHatty, Harriet, come on, it’s OK. Let’s go home. I’ll make you something nice.”
    The other people in the waiting room are really quiet. Harriet’s sobs sound magnified in the silence. Heart racing, I rub her back, but other than that, I’m clueless. My sister is growing more alien to me each day.
    â€œTry giving her some space, love,” says a kindly voice.
    When I look up, a middle-aged lady with tired eyes gives me a warm smile. I follow her advice but give Harriet’s knee a gentle squeeze to let her know I’m here if she needs me. She slaps my hand away.
    â€œWhat’s it got to do with you?” snaps Harriet, suddenly lifting her head, revealing blotchy, tear-swollen skin.
    â€œExcuse me,” says the lady, averting her gaze. “I was only trying to help.”
    â€œIt’s because of people like you helping that Mam’s in this hovel in the first place!” says Harriet, getting to her feet. “So, if you don’t mind, I suggest you keep your nose out of other people’s business.”
    I stand too, uncertain what to do next. I’ve never seen my sister behave this way. Hatty’s the one that sorts things out, that stays in control.
    A male nurse strides into the room, providing the perfect distraction.
    â€œWhat’s all the commotion?” he asks, trying to assess the situation by scanning the room.
    I look to Hatty for an answer. She tosses her hair and wipes her eyes.
    â€œThere’s no commotion. We’re leaving. Tell Mam we said hi. If she even cares.”
    That’s all the answer I need. I link arms with my sister and we march out of the room, heads held high. But we don’t get far before a voice calls out.
    â€œGirls. Girls? Where are you going?”
    We stop, even though I want to keep going. I want to make her pay for upsetting Hatty like this. But of course I can’t – for all her faults, she’s our mam. I let go of Hatty’s arm so she can wipe her eyes. She blows air upwards over her face, trying to cool it down. I’m the first to turn round, buying Hatty some time.
    â€œWe thought you weren’t coming,” I say.
    â€œI’m sorry – I got carried away watching Downton Abbey DVDs and didn’t realize the time.”
    When she pulls a daft pouty face, I feel like leaving again. But Hatty stands by my side and adds, “Well, we’re glad you’re here now.”
    Her face brightening, Mam rushes over to us and links our arms.
    â€œCan we play table tennis?” I say.
    â€œI forgot to book the table,” says Mam. “But never mind, we’ll go to my room. You can tell me all about what you’ve been up to.”
    As we walk along the corridor, I lean back a little to check on Hatty. She seems completely fine. You wouldn’t know she had a meltdown just minutes ago.
    Mam’s room looks more homely than last time. She’s put some flowers in a vase, and she’s been drawing. There are sketches of fruit and birds strewn across her small table. Other than the pictures in the recipe book, I haven’t seen her draw for years.
    â€œThese are really good, Mam,” I say, admiring the detail on a swallow. She’s put just enough effort into the