Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe

by Jessica Redland

  I pressed a button on the till to print off the sales report. ‘Sounds like a good plan. I’ve never gelled with the gym but I love swimming.’

  ‘What’s the new pool like?’

  I paused before I answered him, carefully picking my words. ‘It looks nice.’

  ‘Is it busy on an evening?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t use it on an evening.’

  He looked surprised. ‘You go before you start baking? I didn’t think it opened that early.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’ I sighed. It was time to release a bit more information. What harm could it do? ‘I don’t swim at the pool. I swim in the sea.’

  He leaned on the mop and stared at me for a moment, mouth agape.

  ‘Open water swimming is so much more invigorating than a pool,’ I said. ‘If you ever want to give it a go, I’m happy to accompany you but it’s weather and tide dependent and it’s a very early start. And, of course, you’ll need a good wetsuit.’

  ‘I’d love to try it. Thank you.’ He smiled then continued mopping.

  I ripped the sales report off the till and smiled too. There now. That wasn’t difficult, was it?

  So now they knew about open water swimming but I kept back the information about the hygge and the crafting. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put every part of me on show; I had to keep something back. Maria was right. It was up to me what I shared and when I did it and I still couldn’t fully let anyone in. I couldn’t let that tower be fully destroyed because, if it was, there was nothing left to protect me. No lighthouse. Nothing.

  Back in my flat that evening, I made my way up to the mezzanine level with my birthday card and pulled out the box containing its predecessors. I sat on the floor and stared at the pale blue envelope with the solicitor’s address crossed out and a redirection label stuck over it. Kirsten always addressed envelopes using calligraphy. She used to laugh and say that most people probably didn’t even notice it, but it made her feel like she’d given their card or letter that bit of extra special care and attention. That was Kirsten all over.

  I placed it at the back of the box and my fingers brushed over the other colourful envelopes. Should I…? No. I hastily shoved the lid back on the box and pushed it into the corner. I wasn’t ready. I needed to tell Carly the final part of my story first. Lifting my phone out of my pocket, I texted her to ask if she’d be free after Bay Trade the following week and, after a speedy reply to say she would be, I picked up my needle-felting basket and made my way to the dining table with it. I concentrated on stabbing a barbed needle into the wool; watching it gradually emerging into the shape of a Santa was the perfect task for keeping my mind occupied and ignoring my birthday for another year.

  17

  Fourteen years ago

  Having started my education on what goes on behind closed doors at the age of sixteen, it seemed ridiculous that it was five and a half years later that I actually lost my virginity. As I lay in Garth’s arms on my wedding night, I had to concede that he’d been right again. He’d been right about a church wedding and our families being involved, and he’d been right about waiting until our wedding night before we fully consummated our love. It was a beautiful moment for both of us, made all the more special for having waited for three years.

  I knew I wasn’t Garth’s first. He was, after all, forty-three by then. He told me that he’d been a bit of a lad in his teens and early twenties but hit his mid-thirties and realised that all his mates were married or in long-term relationships and he felt like he’d become a bit of a joke – the eternal bachelor, scared of commitment. He resolved to stop screwing around and find a meaningful relationship but it wasn’t easy. He kept meeting women who had too much baggage or who had the same ‘use and abuse’ approach he’d grown tired of.

  He'd met Leanne a few years earlier through a mutual friend and they found they moved in the same circles and kept bumping into each other. They started meeting up but just as friends. He confided in her about his relationship situation and she told him that she had a younger foster sister who’d be perfect for him. And it went from there.

  I’d been married for a little over four months when I turned twenty-two and I felt like I was in a cosy love bubble where nobody could touch us. The thing about bubbles is that they tend to burst. My birthday fell on a Tuesday so Garth took me out for a meal that night and showered me with gifts. One of them was a weekend for two in a luxury spa in Surrey for the coming weekend.

  ‘For me and you?’ I asked, raising my brow in doubt; definitely not his sort of thing.

  He grimaced. ‘It was meant to be for you and Leanne but something’s cropped up and she can’t come. You’re going with Krystal.’

  My stomach sank. ‘Krystal? But I barely know her.’ She was a friend of Garth’s and Leanne’s and I’d never really gelled with her, finding her as false as her nails.

  ‘Then this will be the perfect chance to get to know her,’ he said, tension in his tone. ‘I know it’s not ideal but can’t you make it work? I can’t change the dates.’

  I didn’t have much choice. Kirsten was in Hong Kong with Tim and there was nobody else I was close to. It was Krystal or go alone. ‘Okay. Thank you. It’s a great gift.’

  As he kissed me and pulled me back to bed, I couldn’t stay annoyed with him. So Krystal wasn’t my favourite person but it was only one weekend and we’d spend most of the time having treatments. It would be fine.

  I wasn’t working on the Friday. Garth had arranged for someone to swap shifts with me so that I could have a relaxing day to get packed and organised before Krystal picked me up later that afternoon. I’m not sure how long he thought it took to throw a few swimming costumes and a couple of evening outfits into a bag but, by 9 a.m., I was packed and wondering what on earth I’d do for the next seven hours. Then a thought popped into my head. What if I went early and had a day of peace on my own without Krystal rabbiting in my ear about handbags and shoes – things I still had very little interest in, despite Leanne’s lessons? If I did that, I could also avoid being trapped in a car with her for the journey each way.

  Not wanting anyone to try to talk me out of it, I set off and decided to text Garth and Krystal when I arrived because, by then, it would be too late for them to change my plans. It had to be the first devious thing I’d ever done in my life and, as I drove to the spa, I realised that, outside of work, it was pretty much the only decision I’d made for myself in years and it felt quite liberating. I was still on cloud nine with Garth and, at that point, I still believed the sun shone out of Leanne’s backside, but I realised that, between them, they controlled my life and I’d let them. Things were going to change when I got back and my first change would be to insist that Garth either sorted out the refurbishment at his apartment so I could move in properly or I sorted it out myself. It was ridiculous that, after four months of marriage, it was still very much a clinical-looking bachelor pad while most of my belongings remained in my old bedroom at The Larches.

  Garth rang as soon as I’d checked into my room and didn’t sound too happy with me for taking off without Krystal. I told him that I’d looked at the spa’s website and loved his choice so much that I wanted to spend an extra day there, taking advantage of all the treatments. The flattery worked and he reminded me not to rush back on Sunday because he’d be working all weekend on a big case so I’d be alone in the apartment with nothing to do.

  My alone-time at the spa was so good. I went swimming, had lunch, had a pedicure, read a book and thoroughly enjoyed myself. With each passing hour, I felt more and more relaxed but also more and more focused about what I wanted from my marriage and my career.

  Then Krystal arrived and ruined it. She never shut up. She had a childish whine to her voice and, despite her being about fifteen years my senior, her outlook on life was so immature. She’d never worked, thanks to a wealthy husband, and seemed to find it hilarious that I also had a wealthy husband yet I was still ‘just a poxy waitress’. I couldn’
t be bothered to point out that I was management in the family business and, even if I had been waiting-on staff, there was nothing wrong with that.

  By the Saturday evening, I’d had more than enough. My head was pounding from Krystal’s constant yapping. Even when we were having a massage and the masseuse advised silence for better relaxation, she never let up. We dined at seven after which she suggested an evening in the bar but I genuinely couldn’t bear another minute in her company. I told her I had a headache, which was true, and was going to have to abandon her for an early night.

  Back in the tranquillity of my room, I sat on my bed for ten minutes. I really couldn’t face another day in Krystal’s company as she was making me feel stressed rather than relaxed. I had to get out of there.

  I hastily packed and snuck out the back way. I didn’t want to officially check out in case Krystal somehow found out I’d left.

  As soon as I pulled out of the grounds, I felt the tension ebb from my body. There was no point driving back to the apartment because, as Garth had said, I’d be on my own with nothing to do. It made more sense to stay in my old bedroom at The Larches. I’d still be on my own but at least I’d have my belongings with me and could spend Sunday crafting or curled up on their soft corner sofa with a book instead of perched on Garth’s uncomfortable leather couch.

  I’d only driven a few miles when my eyelids started drooping. The mixture of relaxing activities but tense company had exhausted me. Checking into a hotel might be a better idea. Or, better still, I could drive to The Manor. I pulled over and checked my map. I was maybe seven or eight miles away. I put the map down and started driving again with the windows down to help me stay alert. Garth had inherited The Manor – an old mansion house set in extensive grounds and woodland – from an eccentric uncle. We’d stayed there a few times. It was ostentatious and cold but it had potential. I could imagine, with a lot of work and vision, it would make a wonderful family home. He employed a couple from the nearby village to keep an eye on it, clean it and maintain the grounds. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind me turning up unannounced to ask for the key. At least I could get a good night’s sleep there then text Krystal in the morning and apologise that I’d gone home feeling poorly. I’d probably spend Sunday there too, having a mooch round the grounds and thinking more about what I wanted my future to look like – much easier without Krystal wittering in my ear.

  I drove past The Manor on my way to the village and glanced right, then slammed on the brakes. There were cars parked all along the driveway. My first instinct was that it had been broken into or that the caretakers were holding wild parties there when they knew we weren’t expected. Enraged, I abandoned the car by the entrance wall and stormed up the drive but, as I neared the house, I stopped dead. That was Garth’s car right outside. Next to Leanne’s.

  Squeals of laughter hit me, mixed with the deep bass thump-thump-thump of music. A man and woman staggered down the steps, laughing, a bottle of champagne dangling from his hand. He was shirtless and she was dressed only in a basque and stockings. What the heck?

  My heart raced as I hesitated by the front door, unsure as to whether I should go inside or run. Somehow I found the strength to take those few more steps and my mouth dropped open in shock.

  There were people everywhere. Some wore lingerie, some wore costumes, some wore rubber and chains, and some wore nothing. There were couples kissing and couples groping and, as I made my way through the building, I saw things that made me gasp and wince. It wasn’t just couples and there was a hell of a lot more going on than kissing and touching. The Manor was clearly the venue for a very adult party and my husband was the host.

  A woman dressed in a black PVC catsuit and red killer heels ran her long fingernails gently down my arm. ‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ she purred. ‘You look lost. Would you like me to show you the way?’

  ‘Erm…’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’m looking for Garth. Do you know where he is?’

  She licked her red lips and smiled seductively. ‘Garth’s where he always is. In the dungeon.’

  The dungeon? I shuddered. ‘And Leanne?’ I whispered, the words sticking in my dry throat.

  ‘With him.’ She ran her fingernails down my arm again, a little harder this time. ‘But there’s always an open invitation to anyone who wants to join them. Would you like me to accompany you?’

  Feeling as though I could be sick at any moment, I ran back to my car and rested my hands on the bonnet, gulping the fresh evening air. What the hell had I just seen? Who were these people? Who was my husband? Who was my sister?

  I slumped into the driver’s seat, head in my hands, trying to work out what had just happened. From what catsuit-woman said, this wasn’t a one-off, so Garth and Leanne clearly had some sort of X-rated double life. So much for him working all weekend on a case. As for Leanne having other plans meaning she couldn’t come to the spa with me, that hadn’t been a lie. Garth had just failed to mention that her other plans had been to play dungeon-master with him. Oh God, were they…?

  Starting the engine, I slowly drove back to the spa, grateful I hadn’t checked out. I lay on my bed, my head spinning. Was Krystal in on it? Was a luxury spa break her payment for keeping me away from them and their perverted party?

  When the dawn light seeped through my blinds, I was still lying on top of the duvet, fully clothed and wide awake. A couple of hours later, there was a knock on my door.

  I reluctantly rolled off the bed and inched it open.

  ‘Wow! You look like shit!’ Krystal said, curling her lip up and stepping away from the door.

  ‘I’m not feeling well. Sorry. Can you have breakfast without me?’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ she snapped. ‘You know I hate eating on my own.’ Then she turned and stomped down the corridor.

  Closing the door, I sighed. Typical self-centred Krystal reaction, not bothering to express sympathy for me or ask if I needed anything. If she was in on it, then she’d done her duty by making sure I was still at the spa. Little did she know where I’d been last night.

  I stayed in my room until lunchtime then phoned Krystal, leaving a voicemail to say I was feeling better but not well enough for lunch and was going to stay in my room for the rest of the afternoon before driving home. I didn’t want her alerting Garth to me leaving early.

  Then I drove back to The Manor, needing answers.

  The cars were all gone but I felt too ashamed to drive to the caretakers’ house to ask for the key. What if they knew? What if they cleared up after the parties? What if they’d been party guests?

  There was no alarm system and the glass was single-glazed so I knew I could break-in easily. I drove round the back to double check there were definitely no vehicles parked there. Confident that there was nobody around, I hurled a stone through a pane of glass in the kitchen door, turned the key and let myself in.

  The house was pristine. The caretakers – or someone else – had obviously been in and cleaned, all evidence of a party completely gone.

  My mission was to find ‘the dungeon’. I imagined it to be a cellar but I couldn’t find any doors that could possibly lead to one. Wondering if it was upstairs instead, I tried the doors along the corridor but each opened into a bedroom or bathroom. They all looked familiar from the tour Garth had given me the first time we stayed and nothing about any of the rooms looked unusual.

  The last door I came to was the only one with a lock on the outside. I remembered Garth saying he had no idea where the key was but wasn’t interested enough to know what was inside to search for it or break the door down. Could that be ‘the dungeon’? I reached for the doorknob and was surprised when it turned. Gulping, I pushed the door open, steeling myself ready to see manacles on the wall and other horrors. I certainly wasn’t expecting a cinema room. Reclining leather seats faced a large screen and there were shelves packed full of DVDs. Normal. Or was it? Slowly moving towards the shelves, the images from last night’s party burning in my mind, I had a f
eeling the films wouldn’t be those I’d expect to view in a mainstream cinema. I sighed. No. Definitely not mainstream. And so many of them. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands.

  On the lower shelves there were what looked to be photo albums. Crouching down, I lifted one out and flicked through a few pages, my stomach churning. I slammed it closed, not needing to see any more.

  As I pushed the album back into its space on the bottom shelf, something caught my eye on the spine of one of the DVDs on the shelf above: TAMARA (10). What? It was hardly a common name. I grabbed the box and flicked it over but there were no clues on the plain cover.

  Rushing over to the DVD player, I shoved the disc into the slot and, moments later, the image appeared on the screen. My already racing heard thudded even faster as I recognised my bedroom. And me. And Mattia. Somebody had been recording us. Or, more specifically, Leanne had been recording us. Dashing back to the shelves, I found an entire section: TAMARA (1), TAMARA (2) through to TAMARA (12) with just that (10) out of place.

  Anger surging through me, I swept them all onto the floor then threw myself down next to them and ripped open the boxes, snapping each disc in half. Back on my feet, I yanked the one from the DVD player and did the same before grabbing the DVD player itself and hurling it towards the wall.

  Returning to the shelves, I swept row after row of porn films to the floor, shaking with rage. Glass paperweights interspersed between the DVDs joined the carnage, some landing on the growing pile of films, their fall cushioned, while others shattered on the wooden floor, shards of colourful glass flying in every direction.

  Panting, I stared at a final paperweight that had somehow survived on the end of a shelf. I grabbed at it. It moved yet remained secured to the shelf, my hand still clenched round it. At that moment, the entire bookcase moved, revealing a stone staircase, just like in old horror films. Oh my word. I’d just found the entrance to ‘the dungeon’.