Starry Skies Over the Chocolate Pot Cafe

by Jessica Redland

  I hesitated at the top of the steps, terrified as to what I might find down there yet knowing that I had to see it for myself. I needed to know who I’d married.

  Legs shaking, head pounding, I slowly made my way down. The basement of The Manor must have been the same size as the ground floor. A stone-flagged corridor ran down the middle with rooms either side.

  The first door on my right had a sign nailed to it stating ‘The White Room’. I opened it and flicked on the light. There were white walls, white marble floors and a sturdy-looking wooden structure in the middle with chains and shackles dangling from it. Whips and chains hung from hooks on one of the walls. Taking a deep breath, I closed the door and moved into the next room: ‘The Red Room’. This one was decorated in red and black and had a very similar structure to the one in the previous room but as part of a four-poster bed.

  Continuing my tour of the basement, I found racks, knives, masks, ropes, cages and candles. Some rooms were beautifully decorated in soft colours, silk and satin, the only suggestion of something a little ‘different’ being the enormous glass cabinets full of sex aids. Others looked more like torture chambers from the medieval times. And there was pretty much everything in-between.

  I tried to be open-minded. I knew that there were people who were into different things and I wasn’t going to judge them for it, but this was my husband and my sister living a lifestyle I knew nothing about. My head was bursting with questions. How many people had crowded into that cinema watching my ‘playmates’ educate me? What had they been doing while they were watching? Had they then descended into ‘the dungeon’ thinking about me? And where did I fit into all this? Were Leanne and Garth planning to introduce me to their world and, if so, when? If not, where did I come in? Why the marriage? Absolutely nothing made sense.

  I hadn’t opened all the doors but I’d certainly seen enough and I needed air. I sat in my car with the door open for an hour or so, trying to decide how to play it. Then I texted Garth:

  ✉︎ Was on my way home and spotted I was near The Manor. Decided to take a detour and wander round the grounds. Looks like there’s been a break-in.

  He phoned me immediately but I didn’t answer. Next minute a text came through:

  ✉︎ Are you OK? Don’t call the police and don’t go inside. I’ll be there within the hour. Promise me you won’t go inside.

  I texted back:

  ✉︎ Too late. Already inside. The intruders have gone but there seems to be some damage. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police?

  Heart thumping, nausea welled inside me as I waited in the cinema room. Over and over, I practised what I wanted to say. Would I be able to find the courage to confront him or would I crumble? I looked round the room, drawing strength from the destruction surrounding me and the opening to the secret passageway which remained exposed.

  My heart raced even faster as I heard his car screech to a halt on the gravel outside. He shouted my name as he ran up the stairs and I could hear the panic in his voice. His footsteps grew louder as he ran along the corridor, then he stopped in the doorway.

  ‘Looks like this is the only room that got damaged,’ I said.

  His eyes flicked from the mountain on the floor, to the passageway, back to the mountain, then to me.

  ‘You’ve been down the stairs.’ But it was more of a statement than a question.

  I fought hard to keep my voice strong and steady. ‘I have. I’m not sure I’d recommend your interior designer. It seems to be quite a mish-mash of styles down there.’

  ‘Tamara, I—’

  I raised my hand to silence him. ‘Don’t lie to me. Don’t try to explain it away, saying it was your uncle’s or some other pathetic attempt to cover it up. I was here last night. I met some of your friends. I know about your lifestyle. What I don’t know is where I come in.’

  He looked at me, all wide, innocent eyes, and then his expression changed as though he couldn’t be bothered to keep up an act any longer. ‘I needed a wife,’ he said, flatly.

  ‘You needed a wife. What the hell does that mean?’

  He stepped through the carnage and walked over to the window, then turned to face me. ‘There were rumours at work. Rumours that I was a swinger. Rumours that I was into an “alternative lifestyle”. My bosses made it clear that I wouldn’t progress any further if I didn’t do something to squash those rumours, like get myself a respectable wife.’ He shrugged. ‘I could do that. Leanne and I had moved in similar circles for a few years. I told her my predicament and she said she knew a few women who might play the dutiful wife. I met them, we dated, but the chemistry wasn’t there. She asked me what turned me on. I said lots of things as she was very well aware but, for the perfect wife, I liked the idea of young, innocent and vulnerable.’ He paused and flashed me his most dazzling smile and I knew what was coming next. ‘She said that sounded just like her baby sister.’

  ‘How old was I then?’

  ‘Fifteen. She showed me photos, then arranged for me to observe you while you were out shopping. I liked what I saw. Who wouldn’t? I knew I needed to wait until you were eighteen so I found a few respectable girlfriends in the meantime to keep my bosses happy.’

  ‘What about Isaac, Dominic and Mattia? Was that all part of the sordid little plan?’

  He nodded. ‘It was Leanne’s idea. She said you were completely innocent, as I wanted, but she thought I’d enjoy you more if you came to me with a certain level of experience, so we chose the boys and asked them to get you ready for your wedding night.’

  ‘And you videoed it without my consent.’

  He glanced across at the wreckage and smiled. ‘Shame you destroyed them.’ He looked me up and down and added in a seductive low voice, ‘They were my favourites.’

  I tightened my fists, willing myself to stay calm rather than shout and scream and hurl things at him. I wanted to do that so much, but my need for answers was stronger. ‘What made you so certain I’d fall for you and agree to marry you?’

  He laughed, as though I’d just asked the most ridiculous question. ‘Because Leanne knew you so well, of course. She knew your ultimate fantasy was a true gent who made you laugh and made you feel safe. I’m used to playing different roles and I’m very good at it. I’ll admit that the caring English gent was a new one for me, but I was happy to give it a go and I have to admit that, for a vanilla, you were pretty damn good.’

  A vanilla? I had no idea what that meant and I didn’t want to. The lack of remorse in his voice was like a slap across my face. ‘Did you ever love me?’ I asked. ‘Even a little bit? Or was it all a role play for you?’

  Silence.

  I gulped, forcing back the tears. ‘Did Leanne ever tell you why she set you up with me?’

  ‘She might have done.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘And isn’t it obvious? She was sick of sharing her home and her parents with a string of… how did she put it? I think the phrase was “pathetic snivelling orphans”. She didn’t get why she wasn’t enough for her parents so it was her way of getting revenge. Can’t say I blame her.’

  I ran my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of it. If she’d hated me that much and wanted rid of me, there were so many other things she could have done. Why this? Especially when it had meant having to spend so much time in my company.

  ‘I’m not buying the revenge thing. There had to be something else in it for her.’

  ‘There was. She got the run of this place, any time she wanted, with anyone she wanted.’ He paused dramatically. ‘Including me.’

  I’d suspected it but it still hurt hearing it.

  ‘What about Darryl? I thought they were happy together.’

  ‘They are but they’re not exclusive. It’s the lifestyle that binds them. Leanne’s an insatiable woman with varying tastes like myself and, as you’ve seen, The Manor is all about satisfying everyone’s needs.’

  The smug look on this face. The confident arrogance in his
tone. Hate flowed through my veins. I wanted to hurl myself at him and claw at his eyes. I wanted to push him through the window. But why should I risk getting into trouble?

  ‘If you needed a wife that badly, why couldn’t you have married Leanne? Why drag me into it?’

  He grinned as he rolled his eyes at me. ‘I like innocence and Leanne is hardly innocent.’

  My stomach was churning. I had to get out of there but there was something I needed to do first.

  ‘You might have underestimated my innocence.’ I leaned against the doorframe and beckoned him towards me, willing my voice to come over as seductive. ‘I have needs too.’

  Garth smiled as he sauntered towards me. ‘Anything I can help with?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  He came closer still. ‘Well, I never. You saw something downstairs that interested you, didn’t you?’

  ‘It all interested me.’

  He was right in front of me and I fought hard against the rising bile in my throat as he reached out and cupped my face with his hand.

  ‘And I think it will interest my solicitor,’ I said as I brought my knee up between his legs. ‘Especially all the photos I took.’

  ‘You bitch,’ he gasped, bending over in what I hoped was absolute agony.

  ‘Me? I think you might be confusing me with Leanne.’ I gave him a shove, sending him to his knees. ‘My solicitor will be in touch.’

  When Carly left The Chocolate Pot after hearing the final part of my story, I slowly made my way upstairs. Even though it had been painful to reveal the rest, I didn’t feel sick or shaky like I had last time. I hadn’t broken down in tears either. Was it because the story ended on a high? I’d walked away from Garth and Leanne. I’d refused to be controlled by them and had started again.

  ‘But I didn’t walk away from everything, did I?’ I said to Hercules. ‘What they did is still controlling how I behave. I still don’t trust people. I’ve made progress but I’m still guarded. And I’m still hiding from Kirsten and Tim.’

  I stood up and Hercules followed me over to the arched windows. Wrapping my hands round my mug of tea, I gazed up and down the street. Although Castle Street was a hive of activity during the day, it was peaceful at night. There were no bars, pubs or restaurants on the street so the only passers-by either lived above one of the businesses or were cutting through.

  Ten minutes ticked past and I didn’t see a single soul. Absolutely nobody. I turned and looked round my empty flat, then back to the deserted street and, at that moment, I felt completely and utterly alone. Shuddering, I turned away from the window. I’d never felt like that before. Or had I? Had I always been alone but, until now, had refused to put a label on it?

  Abandoning my mug on the table, I ran up to the mezzanine and quickly composed an email to Jim, the manager at The Hope Centre, asking if he’d be interested in me helping their users prepare nutritional meals on a tight budget. If he said yes – and I had no doubt he would – then it would give me another reason to be surrounded by people instead of hiding in my flat, broken.

  18

  Dressed in my wetsuit with a towel draped round my shoulders, I sat cross-legged on the sand at South Bay on the morning of Sunday 1st July, watching the sun rise behind the silhouetted lighthouse. It was the fourteen-year anniversary of The Chocolate Pot officially becoming mine. Two more weeks and it would be fourteen years since opening for business. The team didn’t know. It wasn’t that I’d specifically kept it hidden; more that I’d never made a fuss about it. None of the original team still worked there so it was easy to let the anniversary slip by.

  As I’d glided through the gentle waves earlier, with the sky above me gradually lightening, I’d come to a decision. I was so proud of The Chocolate Pot and everyone who worked there that we deserved to celebrate so, when The Chocolate Pot turned fifteen next summer, we would. I tried to convince myself that the wait until the café turned fifteen was because it was a more rounded number than fourteen, being halfway between two decades, but I knew it was because I still wasn’t ready. It didn’t feel right celebrating my business – and therefore my new life in Whitsborough Bay – while I continued to battle with my past.

  The steadily rising sun lit the lighthouse, the red-and-white stripes emerging from the blackness. That’s what I needed to do – step out of the shadows and into the light.

  ‘I’ll make you a promise, Mum and Dad,’ I whispered. ‘By this time next year, I’ll either have dealt with the past and finally moved on or I’ll have locked it in a box and buried it for good because you both know and I know that I can’t continue like this.’ A gentle breeze kissed my cheeks and I smiled. ‘This isn’t living. This is existing. Yet I have so much to live for. So very much.’

  The summer months flew past and I continued to take baby steps. I kept talking to my team, finding out about their lives outside of work, and steadily revealing elements of my past – the parts I wanted to reveal as Maria had suggested. I often talked about my dad and his love of baking and even admitted to Sheila that I agreed with her about someone watching over the café and that I believed it to be my parents. I felt closer to the team and I noticed them laughing more with me, with each other and with our customers. The Chocolate Pot had always been a warm and friendly place but somehow that had lifted a notch.

  Before we knew it, the first couple of months back at school had whizzed by and the October half-term holidays arrived. October turned into November on the Thursday of that week.

  ‘What’s so interesting?’ Maria asked, joining me by the window on 1st November and looking out onto Castle Street.

  ‘Over the road. The gallery’s sold.’ My stomach felt like it was on a spin cycle as I watched a workman hold a ladder against the building so a colleague could attach a SOLD sign at a jaunty angle across the ‘for sale’ board.

  ‘Jed?’ Maria suggested.

  ‘Bound to be.’

  ‘You really think he’ll open another café?’

  ‘It’s what he knows. It’s what his family knows. And he called this place “the competition” so I doubt he’s about to open up a tanning salon.’

  ‘But right opposite us?’ Maria shook her head. ‘That’s not on, is it?’

  ‘No, but that’s how arrogant gits like him operate. Oh, God. The thought of seeing his smug face every single day…’ I shuddered.

  ‘I think someone needs a hot chocolate,’ Maria said, moving away from the window.

  ‘Got anything stronger back there?’ I tore my gaze away and smiled as I saw Maria rummaging in the cubbyholes for my favourite yellow mug. She knew exactly how to cheer me up.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. ‘What flavour?’

  ‘Baileys.’

  Maria laughed. ‘And what flavour would you like from the range we do stock?’

  ‘Chocolate orange. Thank you.’

  Grabbing a cloth from the sink, I returned to the window and wiped some marks from the inside, shaking my head. I suppose it had been inevitable.

  Galley’s Gallery was one of those businesses that was always destined to fail. The owners had spent a small fortune restoring the crumbling façade and refurbishing the dilapidated former clothing store but spent nothing on market research. If they’d tested the market, they’d have discovered that Galley’s distinctive style was not right for the area. Galley painted cityscapes and cartoon cats and dogs in an industrial setting. Perhaps if they’d stocked local artists alongside Galley’s work, they might have stood a chance, but there was no coherence between Galley’s paintings and our local area. Where were the seascapes? The hills? The sheep? I didn’t get it and I clearly wasn’t alone.

  The manager, Anastasia, became one of my takeaway regulars from late January. She told me that sales hadn’t been too bad in the run-up to Christmas last year, but they’d dipped off to virtually non-existent from the New Year. Apparently the owners weren’t too worried, anticipating the summer season would make up for the bad start to the year. It di
dn’t. When Anastasia announced in late September that they were closing with immediate effect, I wasn’t surprised.

  Starting at the SOLD sign outside the gallery now, my stomach churned.

  ‘We’ve got nothing to worry about,’ Maria assured me, placing my drink on the counter. ‘The Chocolate Pot is established, the customers love it and it runs like clockwork. If Jed’s setting up in competition with us, he’s the one who should be worried.’

  I smiled. ‘You’re right. He can’t hurt us.’ I hoped I sounded more convincing than I felt. Customers could be fickle and even the most loyal could find a new favourite place. Whitsborough Bay teemed with cafés but we somehow all had our own place and speciality. All I could do was hope that Jed was going for something niche or that his ability to run a business hadn’t improved over the years.

  ‘We should be glad that we won’t have an empty premises opposite. That never looks good.’ She picked up a tray of drinks and headed towards the back of the café.

  I smiled to myself. Maria had just played ‘the glad game’ and she was right about empty premises looking bad.

  ‘Good to see you smiling,’ Maria said, returning with the empty tray.

  ‘I’ve got a lot to be glad about.’

  19

  Calm seas were forecast for Sunday morning so I arranged to pick up Nathan and go for an early morning swim. We’d done that quite often since I’d first invited him to join me and I had to admit I enjoyed the company.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked him as I drove towards Lighthouse Cove. ‘You seem very fidgety this morning.’

  ‘I want your advice on something, but it’s a bit embarrassing.’

  ‘Fire away.’ I gave him a reassuring smile. Whatever was on his mind, it couldn’t be as embarrassing as telling Carly about my ‘playmates’ or my husband’s ‘dungeon’.