Free Caramel Hearts by E.R. Murray Page B

worries melt away as I relax into the familiar surroundings. There’s no tension. Everything is consistent. When she walks away, I decide to get my apology over with.
    â€œSorry about yesterday. I didn’t know how to say no to Maddy – you know what she’s like.”
    It’s not quite an apology, and not quite true either, but I figure there’s nothing wrong with a little white lie now and again to spare your best friend’s feelings.
    â€œIt’s OK,” says Sarah, her face relaxing. “I don’t blame you for going.”
    â€œThanks – you’re the best,” I say.
    My conscience cleared, I realize the timing is perfect for the flapjacks, and jump up.
    â€œGoodness, my heart!” cries Mrs Butler, jumping as well.
    â€œSorry! I just remembered that I brought you something.”
    Fumbling in my bag, my hands turn clumsy and awkward.
    I eventually find what I’m looking for and, as I pull out the tangle of paper and Sellotape, I can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across my face. “Here!”
    Sarah and her mum glance at each other in wonder as I unravel the complicated wrapping and flatten it into a makeshift plate.
    â€œGeorge, I think you’d better come in here,” calls Mrs Butler. “Liv has something special for us.”
    As Sarah’s dad saunters in, I realize there isn’t enough for everyone.
    Me and Hatty got carried away earlier, so there are only three flapjacks left – and one of those is mine. Sarah’s dad usually works on Saturdays, so I hadn’t expected him to be home.
    The flapjacks are delish and, although I want one – I mean, really, really want one, more than anything – I hold the biscuits out in full view.
    â€œSee, one for each of you.”
    For some reason, the flapjacks no longer look as mighty as before.
    They’re a bit dark at the edges, too pale in the centre, and not at all straight like the ones you see in the shops. They look a bit dry and shrivelled. Ifeel my face flush. How could I bring something so inferior to the Butlers’? As the three of them peer down at my outstretched hand, I fight the urge to bolt.
    â€œThey look delicious,” says Mrs Butler, just at the right time.
    â€œI’ll get some plates,” says Sarah, bounding off to the kitchen.
    I wait, my body tense. I can’t believe I’m getting the jitters over some daft flapjacks, but I can’t peel my eyes away as they each take a biscuit and lift it to their mouths.
    Mr Butler winces as he bites into his.
    â€œAre they too tough?” I ask.
    â€œNope,” he replies, crunching loudly. “I’ve been having trouble with my tooth. I can eat it very well on the other side.”
    And he can. It seems they’re OK after all. I watch, breath held, as Sarah and her parents munch and chomp their way through.
    At first, I worry they’re just being kind, but it soon begins to sink in that they really are enjoying my gift.
    â€œWhere did you buy them?” asks Mr Butler, shoving the last chunk into his mouth.
    â€œI made them myself.”
    â€œThey’re really good. You’ve a real talent, there,” says Mrs Butler.
    Her face crinkles into a proud grin and she reaches out to pat my arm. Without meaning to, I pull away. I wonder if Mam will look at me like that one day.
    â€œNow I know what you were up to with Mrs Snelling! These are seriously good, Liv,” says Sarah. “I didn’t know you could cook!”
    Beaming, I turn back to the TV, hot chocolate in hand.
    â€œIt’s nothing. You just need the right recipe.”

    Eccles Cake, Like Your Granny Made
    They say that the older you are, the wiser you get; well, here’s a recipe from a wise, wise woman, aged just twenty-seven. Make them and see – then feel free to call me Granny Bloom!
    INGREDIENTS
    500 g /1 lb 2 oz puff pastry (you can cheat this time)
    25 g/1 oz yummy melted