Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe

by Jessica Redland

  Doing as instructed, I waited eagerly for her explanation.

  ‘You know my Uncle Rick?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was Tim’s much older brother but they weren’t particularly close. He lived in the USA and I’d only met him once at a family wedding.

  ‘Uncle Rick is Garth’s dad. Garth’s parents split up when he was a toddler and it was a nasty divorce. His mum moved away from London taking Garth with her. She completely cut off our side of the family and changed their names so nobody could find them. Garth and I have known each other for years but obviously the name meant nothing to me. It was only when I was telling him about you that we started talking more about families and then discovered we were related.’

  ‘Oh my God! Small world! Do your parents know about him yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She shrugged. ‘I toyed with telling them but I didn’t want some big family reunion to get in the way of you meeting him. I’m so convinced he’s the one for you that, right here and now, I’ll say I reckon the two of you will get married.’

  ‘You really think so?’ Even though I’d been a little miffed that Leanne hadn’t consulted me, my ‘playmates’ had been good matches. Could she have nailed it for a future husband? The idea excited, thrilled and terrified me in equal measures.

  ‘I’m certain of it. So I’ve made a happy ever after for you and Garth my priority. Mum and Dad will understand.’

  She beamed at me in the mirror and excitable butterflies swarmed in my stomach. It was going to be the best New Year’s Eve ever.

  ‘He’s here,’ Leanne whispered, slipping her hand into mine later that evening. The party was in full swing, the music barely audible above the volume of chatter, laughter, and the clink of glasses. Waiting staff circulated the ground floor of The Larches with silver trays of champagne and canapés and, for the past ten minutes, I’d managed to calm my nerves by watching the bar acrobatics of a pair of mixologists making cocktails. But now the nerves were back.

  Leanne squeezed my hand. ‘Stay calm. Deep breaths.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s speaking to Darryl near the door. You’ll need to turn round but do it slowly, casually.’

  I did as instructed, heart thumping, searching for Leanne’s boyfriend and my first glimpse of the man who my sister was convinced I would marry. Oh. My. God.

  ‘What do you think?’ she whispered. ‘Did I pick well or did I pick well?’

  She’d picked well. Garth Tewkesbury was everything I’d ever dreamed of and so much more. Six feet four with an athletic-build, dark hair and chiselled cheekbones, he was a better-looking blend of my three ‘playmates’, maturity adding to the appeal.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ I whispered back.

  At that moment, he turned towards us and gave me such a warm and tender smile that my heart melted. I’d half-expected a knowing grin fuelled by an assumption that he’d already won me over but, instead, he looked genuinely thrilled to see me and that smile absolutely did it for me.

  He said something to Darryl who nodded, then they both made their way towards Leanne and me.

  ‘Be cool,’ she whispered, giving my hand another squeeze before releasing it. ‘Remember everything I’ve taught you.’

  As he came closer, I was mesmerised by his piercing blue eyes. He reminded me a lot of a young Mel Gibson. But looks to die for weren’t everything and there was no way I’d fall for him unless he had a personality to die for too, no matter how strongly my body was reacting to him.

  He kissed Leanne on each cheek and complimented her on her gown before turning to face me.

  ‘This is my sister, Tamara,’ she announced proudly. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’

  He seemed to drink me in and I realised I was holding my breath, desperate to hear his verdict. Close up, Garth was by far the most attractive man I’d ever seen in real life. Which had to mean that there was a mistake somewhere. Leanne might be right about him being the man of my dreams, but there was no way I could be the woman of his dreams when he could surely have his pick of stunning women.

  ‘She certainly is,’ he said, raising my hand to his mouth and gently kissing it, while his eyes never left mine. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Tamara.’

  Nobody had ever kissed my hand before. I felt like a heroine in an Austen novel, being wooed by an English gent. I had to fight hard not to ruin it all by giggling childishly, fluttering my eyelashes and saying something stupid.

  I took a deep breath and turned on what I hoped was a confident and self-assured smile. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Garth.’

  Leanne and Darryl made their excuses and moved away, leaving us alone. Garth selected two flutes of champagne from a passing waitress.

  ‘To the New Year and to new beginnings,’ he suggested, clinking his glass against mine.

  I repeated the toast and took a dainty sip, even though I really wanted to gulp it down for courage.

  ‘Leanne tells me you have a talent for baking and that your brownies are the best she’s ever tasted.’

  ‘Brownies were one of my dad’s specialities,’ I said. ‘We often made them together when I was little and we loved to experiment with flavours, although not always with great success such as…’ I tailed off, hearing Leanne’s voice in my head telling me not to witter if I got nervous.

  Garth didn’t seem to mind. He steered me towards a couple of high-backed chairs that had just become free. ‘What was your biggest disaster?’

  ‘Banana and custard.’

  He laughed. ‘I love banana and custard and I love brownies but together…?’

  ‘Exactly. Never try it.’

  He leaned in closer, his leg resting against mine, his eyes twinkling. ‘Tell me more about your dad…’

  It seemed he had a personality to die for too. For the next hour, he remained completely focused on me, asking me about my real parents and sharing the challenges he’d had being brought up by a mother who hated his father so much that she told Garth he was dead.

  He made me feel as though I was the only person in the room, as though everything I said was the most interesting or funniest thing he’d ever heard. People kept passing us and saying hello and he’d smile politely but never lose focus from our conversation. Best of all, he made me laugh. Not flirty showing-off laughter, but proper belly laughter.

  He apologised that he was going to have to circulate for a while but would join me again before midnight. As he moved round the room, laughing and chatting, he repeatedly caught my eye and smiled, making my heart flutter. It was hard to remain focused on my conversations with any of the other guests when all I could think about was midnight and being with Garth once more.

  At 11.30 p.m., he returned to me and asked if there was somewhere quiet we could go. ‘This party is superb but it’s loud and chaotic. If it’s okay with you, I’d really like to kiss you at midnight and I’d like that moment to be as special and beautiful as the person I’d be kissing.’

  And that’s how we ended up on the roof terrace outside Kirsten and Tim’s bedroom with fireworks exploding round us and inside me as Garth gave me that life-changing heart-melting wonderful first kiss.

  And that’s the evening I fell head over heels in love with the man my sister had hand-picked for me who seemed to be a match for me in every possible way. The man who asked me about my past and cared about my memories. The man who encouraged me to talk about my passion for baking and crafting. The man who made me laugh. Of course, I realised later that he knew exactly how to make me laugh and he knew exactly how to make me fall in love with him because Leanne had told him everything there was to know about me. She’d told him which emotional buttons to press. Just like my ‘playmates’, everything Garth said and did that night – and beyond – was an act.

  We started dating. Proper old-fashioned dates where he’d turn up in a suit and I’d wear a pretty dress. We both had work and our hours clashed so we only had Tuesday evenings and Sunday afternoons to
gether. He’d take me out for a meal or to the theatre on the Tuesday, with Sundays being a walk, a museum or a boat trip. He was as attentive as ever and always a perfect gentleman.

  Kirsten and Tim were stunned to discover that I was dating their nephew. They insisted on having him over for dinner as soon as possible, eager to be reacquainted. They weren’t keen on the age gap, but he was part of their family, Leanne vouched for him and, perhaps unsurprisingly, he charmed the pants off them and allayed any worries.

  Every date with Garth felt like a first date, wondering when he would hold my hand and, even better, when I’d be able to melt into one of those incredible kisses again. It really was the dream relationship, the only downside being that I’d have liked to have seen him a lot more often than I did.

  He whisked me away to Paris for New Year two years after we met and proposed to me on New Year’s Eve at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I was twenty and he was forty-two. We immediately set the date for New Year’s Eve the following year and I couldn’t wait to become Garth’s wife.

  Slumping back in my chair at the back of The Chocolate Pot, I looked at Carly and shook my head. ‘I should have realised that nothing and nobody is that perfect. I should have realised that real relationships aren’t packed with back-to-back movie-perfect moments. But I didn’t. I was so naïve.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Carly said. ‘I don’t think any relationship is perfect all the time but there are plenty that are pretty close so I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to have believed everything he said and did.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that?’

  She shook her head. ‘You said the marriage didn’t last long…?’

  ‘Just over four months and then…’ I started shaking. ‘And then I discovered it had all been a lie.’

  ‘You weren’t really married?’

  ‘No. I was properly, legally married but that was about the only real thing about it. I found out that Leanne and Garth…’

  I closed my eyes and tried to find the strength to go on. My palms were sweating and my head was thumping.

  ‘You don’t look so good,’ Carly said. ‘Do you want some water?’

  I opened my eyes and slowly shook my head. ‘I’m sorry to do this again. I thought I could tell you the rest but I’m going to have to stop there for now.’

  ‘You look drained.’

  ‘I feel it. It was hard re-living it. I know you probably have a million questions but—’

  ‘It’s your story to tell in your own time,’ she reassured me. ‘I can tell how painful it is.’ She stood up and hugged me tightly. ‘I think you’re amazing, for what you’ve been through and for facing up to it now.’

  ‘I don’t feel very amazing. I feel like an idiot for letting them manipulate me and lie to me.’

  ‘Was he seeing Leanne too?’ she asked, pulling her coat on. ‘Is that what happened?’

  I sighed and nodded. ‘Something like that.’

  As I let Carly out, I shuddered. Something like that? If only it had been that simple.

  12

  Tears rained down my cheeks and my legs shook as I slowly made my way back upstairs to the flat after Carly left. Telling someone for the first time ever about my ‘playmates’ had been mortifying but that embarrassing revelation wasn’t a patch on what happened next.

  I sat down heavily on one of the stairs as a wave of nausea overcame me. I felt clammy and sweaty, my pulse racing, at the thought of putting into words what caused me to flee from London and sever all ties with my former life. Sitting on the cold step for several minutes, I took deep gulps of air until the nausea subsided and I was able to pull myself to my feet.

  When I’d made the decision to tell Carly about Garth, I knew it would be difficult but I really thought I’d be able to tell her all of it. Actually saying it out loud for the first time was so much more emotionally and mentally draining than I’d anticipated but I’d made a start. Was saying it aloud enough to help me heal, though? Only time would tell.

  As soon as I opened the door to the flat, Hercules bounded over to me and nudged at my legs. Scooping him up, I nuzzled his fur, feeling safe and loved. ‘I’ve missed you, Hercules. I’m sorry I’ve been out all evening.’

  I must have stood there for about ten minutes, holding him close, drawing strength from his warmth.

  ‘It’s all out in the open,’ I told him, sitting down on the sofa and stroking his back. ‘Well, not quite all of it, but I’ve told Carly the start and she didn’t think I was weird and run away. That’s a relief, isn’t it?’

  I lit the log burner and we sat together for half an hour or so as I watched the flames flickering and, with each passing minute, I felt more and more relaxed. I’d needed that. I’d needed to release it.

  Carly wouldn’t tell anyone. She’d repeatedly assured me of that as she hugged me goodbye, but she hadn’t needed to. I knew I could trust her. She’d been such a good listener, letting me get through it in my own time instead of constantly firing questions at me.

  ‘Wait here,’ I said to Hercules. Retrieving the yellow photo album from the dresser, I sat back on the sofa and opened it. It was the only time I’d done that outside of Christmas Day since leaving London.

  My fingers lightly brushed over the photos of Mum and Dad. When I’d moved into foster care, I only had three photos – one of me with Mum, one of me with Dad, and one of them together. A couple of weeks after Mum’s funeral, Kirsten and Tim presented me with some boxes and crates salvaged from my family home. They’d wanted to take me there so that I could collect anything important to me but social services had warned them it would be too upsetting and potentially dangerous for me. Somewhere along the way, Mum had slipped through the system. She’d turned to drink and had become a hoarder. It was so bad that the Sandersons had to employ a team of professionals to clear and deep-clean the house, watching out for anything that could be passed to me. Despite the filth and chaos elsewhere, it turned out that my bedroom had been kept pristine, like a shrine. There were books, games, dolls, teddies, clothes – everything you’d expect an eight-year-old to have. And, as though she’d known what lay ahead, Mum had placed a plastic crate in there containing all the family photos, her jewellery box, newspaper clippings about Dad’s death, her diaries and a few keepsakes including the snow globe bought on The Best Day Ever.

  I asked about the lighthouse paintings. Kirsten had instructed the cleaners to look for them but they’d reported back that they’d all been daubed in black paint and slashed. It made sense. Her real lighthouse had left her floundering in the darkness so she’d blacked out the beams in her paintings for good.

  Kirsten and Tim sat at the enormous dining table with me as we gradually went through each item. Some things were familiar, yet others held no memory for me and they were the ones that upset me the most – how could I have forgotten so much when I’d desperately tried to hold onto everything I could about my parents and my childhood?

  The photos were wonderful. From the days before digital, they were all in development envelopes. The year had been written on the front of each envelope in marker pen, so we were able to look at them in chronological order. My absolute favourites were from The Best Day Ever.

  Years later, I gathered the best of the photos and compiled them into the yellow album – Mum’s favourite colour, representing rare moments of sunshine and happiness before being engulfed back into darkness and hopelessness. When I looked through the album each Christmas, I normally closed it after the last photo from my childhood home but now I took a deep breath and turned the next page for the first time since fleeing from London.

  I’d been at my first foster home for such a short time that I didn’t have any photos from then, but there were pictures from being with the Ashwells and the Fosters. I hadn’t stayed in touch with either family. In the great scheme of things, I’d spent such a small part of my life with them that staying in contact didn’t feel necessary. It was nice to have a few family p
hotos, though, reminding me of the kindness they’d shown me, even if they hadn’t been able to provide me with a permanent home.

  I took another deep breath then turned to the page to where my life began with the Sandersons. Because I’d been with them for longer than I’d been with my own parents and because we’d been on so many family trips and holidays, I had loads of photos. When I was sixteen, I sat in the dining room one rainy day in the Easter holidays, a mass of images spread across the table. I’d decided to fill the rest of the yellow album with photos of my second family but there were so many that I didn’t know where to start. Kirsten joined me and suggested choosing photos that represented my very happiest times. We sat there for hours, laughing as we reminisced. Leanne turned up while we were giggling.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  ‘We were just remembering that time in Crete when you got an olive stuck up your nose,’ Kirsten said.

  ‘I could have died that day,’ Leanne snapped. ‘I couldn’t breathe.’

  Kirsten rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be so dramatic. It was funny.’

  ‘Hilarious.’ Leanne stropped off to her bedroom then left the house shortly afterwards without a word to either of us.

  I hadn’t thought about that day in years, yet now the memory was so vivid. A few months later, Isaac appeared. Had seeing me giggling with her mum sparked some sort of jealous rage and been the trigger for Leanne to humiliate me with the introduction of my ‘playmates’? I knew I’d already been earmarked for Garth by then but was it possible she’d further developed her plan?

  I closed the album and leaned on the table with my head in my hands. That little strop about us laughing together hadn’t been the only incident. There’d been little signs, little digs, little quips all along and I hadn’t noticed any of them at the time. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to. Maybe I’d placed Leanne that high on her pedestal that I couldn’t acknowledge her flaws.