Dear Scarlett by Sarah J; Fleur; Coleman Hitchcock Read Free Book Online

“No – please don’t, I don’t want to go there.”
    “But, Ellie? It’s wrong.”
    Ellie shakes her head. “It’s silly, they’ll grow out of it. They’ll stop soon.”
    I climb over the stile. Ellie follows.
    “That’s your dad talking, but I bet
he
wouldn’t just let it happen to
him
.”
    She turns to face me; I can see the tears bursting up behind her eyes. “Scarlett, if you tell anyone, anyone at all, I’ll never be your friend again.”
    I stare at her. For a moment, I’m speechless. Never be
my
friend. I thought
I
was the one befriending
her
. And then I think of it from her point of view. “OK, I won’t, I promise.”
    “Good. Now, let’s take those things back to the shop.”

    Ellie’s convinced that if I give all the stuff back, I’ll stop feeling ill. I suggested posting it, or stuffing it through the letter box after closing, but shestared at me through her glasses until I agreed. We went home on the school bus and now I’ve got it all jammed inside my coat, except for the sherbet raspberries; there’s only one left and we’ve decided I won’t go to prison for that.
    The thing is, it’s not that easy to return things to a shop without being spotted.
    Especially when the shop turns out to be completely empty, and the woman behind the counter glares at you like you might be about to steal something.
    “Can I help you?” The woman stares at us over her glasses. She looks like a close relative of Mrs Gayton’s. She probably is and probably hates me already.
    Ellie freezes. I’m desperate to freeze but have a brilliant idea and fumble for my pocket money.
    I look for the tallest jar. “Some fruit pips, please?”
    “A hundred grams?” The woman checks me over her glasses, again, and turns to the shelves behind her. It only takes her a second to stand on a stool to get the fruit pips and she’s pouring them out on to the scales.
    “Blackjacks?” I say, looking for the lowest sweets.
    “How many?” She whips round and replaces onejar while getting the next.
    “Ten?” I say.
    “I only sell them in sixes.”
    “OK – twelve then.”
    She starts counting them out.
    I haven’t been able to put anything back, although the bubblegums are now in my hand, waiting to be dropped into their basket.
    “Anything else?”
    My eyes race over the shelves. Some of the jars look heavier than others, they might be harder to move. “Blue bubble chews? Six, please?”
    The woman turns round, hands on her hips. “Those come in fours.” She jabs a finger at the jar. “See?”
    “Eight, then, please.”
    The woman takes out eight sweets. But she’s facing me the whole time.
    Ellie drops two pounds into my hand. “Gobstoppers?” she says, pointing to a box under the counter.
    “Three small gobstoppers?”
    “I only sell them in fives.”
    The woman gets down on her hands and knees to pull the box out of the drawer.
    It gives me time to dump the bubblegums.

    We spend almost our entire pocket money in her shop. We end up with gobstoppers, fruit pips, blue bubble chews, flying saucers and humbugs. I hate humbugs, but they were the best because they were all stuck together in the jar and it took the woman ages to separate them. She had to get a knife from the back room.
    We step back on to the pavement, our pockets full of legal sweets. Ellie’s right, I do feel better, not only have I put everything, nearly everything, back, but I’ve spent more money than I ate.
    Ellie sticks a gobstopper in her mouth. “Where did you put the Lego torch?”
    “In the Barbie display,” I say.
    Ellie laughs and nearly chokes.
    We swing out of the alley, carefree and loaded down with sugar. I’ve replaced the sweets, paid back the shop, and best of all, even if I can’t tell anyone, I know my dad wasn’t really a burglar, he was really a hero. Sort of. He did good things, and I’ve started to do good things too, now.
    And good things make you feel good.
    That must be why Dad changed from being