The Chocolate Lovers' Diet

by Carole Matthews

  ‘Can I stay in my own bed tonight?’ her son piped up.

  ‘No, darling.’

  ‘Please, Mummy!’

  ‘You don’t have to leave,’ Toby said. ‘You could both stay.’

  Nadia smiled. ‘Think you can cook me one decent roast dinner and then have your wicked way with me?’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ Toby said, grinning back at her. ‘I could open another bottle of wine.’

  Nadia shrugged. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Really?’ Toby’s grin widened.

  It was late, she was pleasantly tired and she’d probably had too much to drink already. Nadia had planned to have no more than one glass and drive home, but getting through the day without a few bolstering drinks had proved more difficult than she’d imagined. Now, she’d have to call a cab and it would be hell trying to get one on Christmas Day. Horribly expensive, too. To be honest, she had no desire to go back to Chantal’s apartment knowing that her friend wouldn’t be there and that it would just be her and Lewis rattling around by themselves for the next few days. There wasn’t any great desire to tear herself away from Toby either and the sleepy, cosy warmth of her own home. ‘Yes. We’ll stay.’

  ‘Lewis, go into your bedroom and find some pyjamas. Mummy’ll be up in a minute.’

  As their son ran excitedly out of the room, Toby wrapped his arms round her. ‘Come back for good, Nadia. I want you both home.’

  Could she trust her husband enough to make a go of their marriage? Would he ever be able to give up gambling, despite his promises? She looked into his eyes and they seemed so sincere, but how could she be sure that he’d changed? Had Toby had enough time alone to reflect on his actions? There was no doubt that she still loved her husband. That had never really been in question. It was only his behaviour, his addiction, she abhorred. After a few glasses of cheap bubbly it would be easy to make a rash decision, based on the emotions she was feeling now, but she’d disrupted Lewis’s life enough. It wouldn’t do him any good to settle in at home again, only for her to find that things were just the same. She couldn’t do that to her son – she had to think of his future stability. But it would be so good to be in Toby’s arms again. Despite his faults, he was a handsome, loving man and she’d missed him so much.

  Leaning into him, Nadia rested her head on his shoulder, gently kissing his neck. ‘We’ll stay tonight,’ she said, trying to keep a grip on the reality of their situation. ‘Let’s take it one step at a time.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Autumn found herself holding her breath, and already a stress headache was forming behind her eyes from the effort of trying to maintain a veneer of normality. Her brother had downed glass after glass of champagne before Christmas lunch was even served. Now he was waving his arms about animatedly as he talked, his speech babbling and slurred, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.

  Richard lurched into the dining room ahead of Addison and her.

  ‘Addison, do sit here beside me,’ Mrs Fielding said, as if nothing untoward was happening.

  And, if her boyfriend was overawed by the palatial dining room, he too was handling it all very coolly. He turned to Autumn and gave her a reassuring wink.

  The glossy mahogany table seated sixteen people and had been laid with the very best of the family china and silver for the occasion. Cut-glass wine goblets glittered in the light from the candelabras. Lavish bowls of seasonal fruits were decorated with sprigs of holly. Mistletoe garlands hung in swathes from the picture rails and the ornate marble fireplace. A fire roared in the grate, bringing a much-needed warmth to the room. It was the sort of scene that would have looked at home on a Christmas card. Idyllic. And that was what her family life had always been like – an utterly perfect surface, masking the myriad tensions that ran barely beneath it.

  As her boyfriend left her side, she grabbed her brother by the arm and held him back. ‘Rich,’ she whispered, ‘cool it. You’ve had enough to drink.’

  ‘A few glasses,’ he insisted. ‘Loosen up, Autumn. It’s Christmas, and the Prodigal Son has returned to great rejoicing. Jealous because the fatted calf is never served up for you?’ He took another deep swig from his flûte. ‘Oh, you’re vegetarian – wouldn’t touch it, anyway.’

  ‘You’re making a fool of yourself and we have company.’

  ‘Must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ she said quietly. ‘Our parents have just spent an inordinate amount of money on your supposed stay in a rehab clinic. You might make some effort to pretend that you’ve actually been trying to give up drugs.’

  ‘I could give them up whenever I liked, my darling sister, but I’ve decided that I rather like a distorted picture of life. So much better than harsh reality, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sit down and shut up,’ Autumn said. ‘Let’s just get today over with.’

  ‘You’ve suddenly come over all assertive,’ her brother remarked. ‘Have the do-gooders group been sending you on training courses?’

  ‘Have I ever told you that you’re a very infuriating person to be around when you’re in this mood? Be nice. For me.’

  Richard looked at her, very slightly cowed. She just hoped he could stay civil throughout the rest of the day. Now she could see him closer up, Autumn thought he did, in fact, look even worse than he had before he went off to America. His face bore an unhealthy pallor, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin and a discernible shake to his hands.

  When they were all seated, Jenkinson brought in a large silver server with the roasted goose sitting proudly on top.

  ‘Fuck,’ Richard said loudly. ‘Don’t they even give you Christmas Day off, Jenks, old boy? What century is this?’

  ‘I won’t have that language at the table,’ their father said. ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, Richard.’

  ‘You treat people like medieval serfs and you think I’m the one with the problem?’ Her brother laughed without humour. ‘Let me cut up this damn thing.’ He lurched unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the carving-knife.

  Their father also stood up. ‘I think I should do that.’

  ‘No. No. No.’ Richard swatted him away and Mr Fielding reluctantly sat down again, glancing worriedly at his wife. Not only the goose, but the atmosphere, could have been cut with a knife.

  Jenkinson returned with a tray laden with dishes of steamed vegetables and roast potatoes. There was, thankfully, a nut roast too. ‘This is the vegetarian option, Miss Autumn,’ he said quietly to her.

  ‘Thank you.’ She gave him a grateful look.

  Jenkinson placed the dishes on the table and then beat a dignified but hasty retreat back to the kitchen.

  With a flourish, Richard speared the goose with the fork and then started to attack the huge bird with the knife.

  ‘Steady on,’ their father instructed.

  ‘Do be careful, Richie darling.’ Her mother’s face was ashen. ‘Let Daddy take over.’

  Addison looked on, uncomfortably. ‘Do you want me to give you a hand, mate?’

  ‘I know what I’m doing.’ The knife went slash, slash. It was times like this when Autumn was glad that she didn’t eat meat. Greasy lumps of flesh were hacked out of the poor bird. Her stomach churned over. Then the knife slipped, missed the goose completely and skidded across the table. Richard overbalanced and suddenly the goose parted company with its dish and shot into the air taking with it the dishes of vegetables and potatoes. The goose hit the floor with a greasy thud, while the vegetable dish up-ended and a selection of carrot batons, petit pois, Brussels sprouts and roasted parsnips landed squarely in Addison’s lap. Her boyfriend jumped up and did a quick tribal dance as the steam threatened to burn through to his skin. Her father, perhaps harking back to his cricketing days, caught the potatoes on the fly.

  They all stood and looked at the disarray. Jenkinson, sensibly, didn’t come back to see what all the noise was about. Richard, Autumn noted, was shaking violently.

  Her parents, it se
emed, had gone into a state of catatonic shock. ‘Addison,’ she said crisply, ‘I’m going to take Richard upstairs. Can I leave you to start on this mess?’ Her boyfriend nodded to her and she gave him a thankful glance as he immediately set about the task of retrieving root vegetables from the floor.

  ‘Perhaps the champagne didn’t agree with his jet lag,’ her mother suggested optimistically.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Richard muttered. ‘That must be it.’

  Jet lag my arse, Autumn thought. She steered Rich up the stairs and into the room that had been his since childhood. Without protest, she took him over to the bed where he lay down on the dated counterpane and rolled himself into a ball as if experiencing severe stomach cramps.

  She stroked his damp forehead. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘You know, I don’t feel all that well, sis.’ He retched dryly.

  ‘What have you been taking this time, Rich?’

  ‘A bit of crack,’ he confessed meekly. ‘Nothing much.’

  So much for rehab. It seemed that his time away had only served to get him into harder drugs. ‘Oh, Richard.’ She sank down on the bed and lay next to him.

  ‘I don’t know how it happened.’ He sounded genuinely confused. ‘I was never addicted to cocaine,’ he said, with a bravado that didn’t come through in his voice. ‘A few grammes, that was all. Maybe a bit more. Then suddenly it wasn’t enough. It didn’t give me that same feeling.’ He sounded frightened for the first time.

  ‘How long can you go on like this, baby brother?’

  ‘I’ve got it under control,’ he insisted, his teeth chattering. ‘I will get it under control. Can you just help me to the bathroom?’

  Autumn helped to haul him to his feet. He felt light, insubstantial, weak. He staggered like an old man to the en-suite bathroom. She stood by him and bathed his forehead with a cool, damp cloth while he emptied the contents of his stomach into the lavatory. That’s what you get, Autumn thought bleakly, when you have a Christmas that’s just too merry.

  Their Christmas lunch ordeal had eventually ended, with very little food actually having been eaten and her parents fawning over Addison and begging him to come back another time. Autumn felt she would be very lucky ever to get her boyfriend over their doorstep again.

  Now he was driving them back to Autumn’s apartment. As he pulled away from the front door and into the light holiday traffic, without turning towards her, Addison said, ‘So – how long has your brother been a drug addict?’

  Autumn leaned her head back against the seat. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘I guess if you’re in the record industry, you can spot a good singer a mile away.’ Addison shrugged. ‘I’m in the drugs business.’

  They stopped at traffic-lights and Addison took her hand. ‘Do your parents know how bad it is?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I pretend that I don’t.’

  ‘You know that you’re facilitating his behaviour?’

  ‘I try to protect him,’ she protested. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘And in doing so you cover up for him, provide excuses for him, and that gives him the opportunity not to face up to what he is.’

  The lights changed and still they sat there. Thankfully, being Christmas Day, there was no one behind them impatiently tooting their horn.

  ‘How do I help him?’

  ‘Perhaps you can’t, Autumn.’

  ‘Well, I can’t just stand by and watch him self-destruct.’ She wrung at her skirt with her hands. ‘He’s in deep. He was using a bit of coke – recreational.’ She repeated the lie he’d often told her. ‘Now it’s different. While he’s been away he’s moved onto heavier stuff. I thought he really wanted to clean his act up this time, yet I realise now that he simply went to America to get away from his problems here. Nothing more. To be honest, I don’t even know if he’s been to a rehab clinic at all. Some hard men were after him for money. Drugs related, of course. It was bad enough to scare the life out of Richard.’

  Addison raised an eyebrow. ‘And to think you were worried that your parents would be shocked by me.’

  Autumn laughed. ‘Thank goodness the nut roast escaped unharmed. What would we have had to eat otherwise? Perhaps for the first time in their lives my parents were grateful that I’m a vegetarian.’

  ‘You don’t have to cope with Richard by yourself, Autumn,’ Addison told her. ‘I can help. Lean on me.’

  Autumn felt tears spring to her eyes and Addison pulled her to him. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I wake up next to Marcus and I’m appalled at what I’ve done. He’s lying beside me, arm slung across his pillow, his leg over mine. He’s comfortable. So comfortable. And I am not.

  I lie stock still, unable to move. Now what? That really wasn’t a good idea at all, was it? Even the fluffy polar bear, which is now sitting on top of my cupboard, is staring at me judgementally. Gingerly, I ease myself away from my ex-fiancé. If I wasn’t already at my own place, at this point I’d get up and sneak off home.

  I sigh at my predicament – a bit too loudly – and Marcus’s eyes open, so I make a grab for the sheet. Yeah, where were you last night, modesty, when I needed you?

  ‘Hello,’ my unwanted guest says sleepily. Already, he’s all smiles and I check for any trace of smugness, but can find none. His fingers lightly caress my arm. My fucking traitorous body gets nice goosebumps all over. Stop it! This is bad, bad news.

  Marcus snuggles against me. His skin is searing hot – very good for putting feet on in cold weather, not so good for resisting sexual temptation. I try to push him away.

  Summoning up all of my courage, I say, ‘I think you should go, Marcus.’

  Now he’s wide awake. ‘Go?’

  ‘Last night was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’

  He pushes himself up onto his elbow and doesn’t look at all put out, as he should. His fingers continue a languid journey over my weak, weak, weak and too-bloody-willing-by-half skin. ‘You didn’t protest too much at the time.’

  I know now that I should have stuck to my best friend chocolate for comfort. That’s why chocolate is better than sex – you never have to feel guilty after chocolate. Well, not that much. ‘I was lonely and vulnerable.’

  ‘You were very sexy,’ he tells me with a slight raising of his eyebrows. I know Marcus well enough to realise that at any minute, he’s going to be making a tent in my duvet. I have to get him out of here now before my resistance is further lowered.

  ‘We’ve been here too many times before,’ I say, gradually pulling more of the sheet around me. ‘I can’t go through this again.’

  Marcus looks unconvinced and I realise that I’m in a poor bargaining position – being naked and in bed with him.

  ‘We don’t have to make love again,’ he says, tent forming. ‘I could stick around and we could go to one of the parks for a long walk.’ Huh. Next he’ll be offering to wear jumpers from Gap and do the technically impossible toasting marshmallows thing – all of the activities I’d planned with Crush.

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’d really like you to leave now.’

  ‘Don’t I even get breakfast?’

  I wonder how to get out of the bed and make it to my dressing-gown without exposing myself. Can’t work out how to do it, so stay put, further increasing my discomfort. ‘It’s better this way.’

  ‘Not for me, it isn’t,’ Marcus points out. ‘I’m starving. And I still love you, Lucy. I know we’ve had our problems . . .’

  I go to speak, but he holds up his hands. ‘All of them my fault. But don’t harden your heart against me. It isn’t like you.’

  Then, before I can tell him that this is the new, improved me and that he can no longer mess with my emotions – okay, with one small aberration – the phone rings. Because I still have the dressing-gown dilemma, I stay put in the be
d and let it go to answerphone.

  ‘Hi, Gorgeous. It’s me.’ The sound of Crush’s voice causes my jaw to drop open. ‘I’m so, so sorry that I haven’t been in touch,’ he says brightly. ‘I hope you haven’t been worried about me. You won’t believe what happened. I can’t wait to make it up to you. Anyway, I’m sorry. Really sorry. Hope you had a great Christmas Day and I love you. We’ll speak really soon. I love you, love you, love you. Did I say that already? Love you. Bye, Gorgeous.’ Crush hangs up.

  This doesn’t sound like a man who’s been caught waving his willy around on a webcam. He sounds suspiciously like a contrite boyfriend who’s had a genuine problem. I’ve heard enough lame excuses from Marcus to know when I’m being spun a line. So what does this mean? I sit as still as a stone while my brain crashes around inside my skull with all the coordination of a Friday-night drunk. What on earth has really been happening on the other side of the world? I feel as if I’m one piece of a jigsaw missing. One very important piece.

  ‘He loves you,’ Marcus says eventually.

  Somehow, I find my voice. ‘Yes.’

  I look at the person sharing my duvet and a whole heap of smugness is evident now. ‘Then it seems as if you have some explaining to do.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Club has reconvened – and not before time, in my opinion. It’s fair to say that we’re not at our sparkling best. It’s January and we’re all suffering from that post-Christmas lethargy. I’m back at work but no one – especially me – can be bothered to do anything. It’s even quiet in Chocolate Heaven, the atmosphere unusually muted. We’re welded to the sofas, trying valiantly to buoy ourselves up with some of Clive’s finest delights. We have fresh mango strips coated in rich, dark chocolate – because fruit is good for us. And this counts as one of our five daily portions of good stuff. We have some mocha and pistachio truffles – because we don’t want to be sickeningly healthy. We have fudge brownies too – because we’re fat pigs who are addicted to chocolate.