The Chocolate Lovers' Diet

by Carole Matthews

  Running a hot bath, I whack in a ton of vanilla-scented bath soak and lower myself in. My skin is still silky soft from my Melted spa treatments, but I feel that all other benefits have dissipated far too quickly since my return home. I let the scalding water soothe my cold bones. Inhaling the vanilla scent, I try to let my mind go blank. Normally, when I want my mind to do something useful – like thinking – it’s steadfastly blank. Now, when I’d welcome a bit of empty space, it’s whirring.

  I think all is lost with Crush. Look how many times I’ve taken Marcus back after various misdemeanours. I didn’t give up on our relationship after one paltry mistake. Surely that’s what love is all about? You take the rough with the smooth. I think of Marcus standing out there in the pouring rain. At what point should forgiveness end and the heart harden so that self-preservation can kick in? Perhaps it’s different for everyone.

  I towel myself dry and slip on my old tracky bottoms and sweatshirt. Before I head into the kitchen to find something for dinner, I take another peek out of the window. The rain is now horizontal. It’s bouncing back off the pavements. The grids are all overflowing and water is running in torrents along the kerbside. Though my window is blurry with raindrops, I can see that Marcus is still outside. How can I let him stay out there in this? Why doesn’t he just give up and go home?

  Finding my mobile phone, I call Marcus’s number.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, and his voice doesn’t sound weary as I expect it to. It sounds bright and full of hope. I can hear the rain beating down on him.

  ‘Go home,’ I say.

  ‘I can’t.’ The brightness and the hope have gone. ‘I love you. I just want to be near you. I’ll stay out here as long as it takes.’

  What can I say to that? ‘You can come in for dinner,’ I say. ‘But it will be something crap because I haven’t been shopping.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Marcus says. This time, there’s a crack in his voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A moment later, Marcus is at my door. ‘Don’t drip on my carpet.’ I try to sound stern, but how can I? Look at him – he’s a complete mess. Is this what I’ve reduced him to? Rivulets of water are running from his hair and down his face. There’s a waterfall at the end of his jacket. He’s dripping on my carpet, despite my warning.

  ‘You can go and hop in the bath,’ I tell him. ‘Try to get warmed up.’ I’m hoping that my boiler will just about run to two baths in quick succession. Normally, it has to be given a while to think about it.

  ‘Thanks, Lucy.’ He sounds ridiculously grateful even through his chattering teeth.

  ‘There are a few bits of your clothes still in my wardrobe. I’ll dig them out for you.’

  I help him to ease out of his jacket. His fingers are blue.

  ‘You’re lucky you didn’t catch your death of cold,’ I admonish him. ‘What a stupid thing to do on a night like this. I’m not worth it, Marcus.’

  He stills my hands and takes them in his. Those baby-blue eyes meet mine. ‘I happen to think that you are.’

  I pull away from him. ‘Get in the bath before hypothermia sets in.’

  Obediently, he heads to the bathroom.

  In my bedroom, I ferret through the wardrobe. There are some of Marcus’s jeans and a couple of T-shirts. I don’t know why, but I hold one of the T-shirts to my cheek. It still holds the scent of Marcus’s aftershave and my heart contracts painfully – even though the real deal is probably at this very moment getting into my tub. There’s also a sweater that I bought him years ago for Valentine’s Day which he’s never worn. Well, he can start now.

  There are even pants and socks in the back of my drawer and I wonder why I’ve never summoned up the energy to take them to the charity shop. I leave the clothes out on the bed for him and go through to the kitchen. In the cupboard I find pasta shells and a tin of crushed tomatoes. Italian it is, then. The fridge contains some celery that’s not too bendy and a nub of rock-hard Parmesan cheese that’s more rind than anything else. It’s past its sell-by date, but these things are never accurate, are they? And cheese doesn’t go out of date anyway, does it? I’m pleased to see that what I lack in wholesome and nutritious food, I make up for by having a great stash of chocolate. There’s a box of Clive’s very finest jewels from Chocolate Heaven nestling there, waiting for Mummy. At least I’m always certain of a great dessert. If Marcus is good, I might even share them with him.

  I chop up the vaguely floppy celery and fling it into the pan with the tomatoes. The pasta goes on to boil.

  My unexpected guest appears at the kitchen door. He’s wearing just a towel, slung low on his hips. There’s an attractive flush to his face and his hair is washed and tousled rather than plastered flat to his head. It takes me back to the night we spent together and I so don’t want to go there.

  ‘Something smells good,’ he says.

  I think Marcus must be desperate.

  ‘Pasta and a tin of tomatoes,’ I tell him. ‘My speciality.’

  He comes towards me. ‘I love you, Lucy.’ His arms go to slip around my waist, but I neatly sidestep him.

  ‘I’ve left you some dry clothes on the bed. Dinner will be ready in five.’

  I hate to admit this, but Marcus looks quite cute in that sweater, so I try not to look at him. We sit on the sofa and eat our dinner from trays. I’ve opened a bottle of cheap red, but I’m monitoring very carefully what I drink. I remember only too well what happened last time I was sozzled when Marcus was in the vicinity. There’s some rubbish on the telly, and we’re both pretending we’re glued to it.

  Eventually, Marcus having eaten every last morsel of his dinner, he puts down his tray and turns to me. ‘Did you tell your boyfriend that we slept together?’

  ‘Yes.’ There’s no point lying to Marcus.

  ‘Are you still together?’

  ‘What do you think? Not everyone is as forgiving as me.’

  His hand inches across the sofa towards mine and he covers it with his fingers. ‘I’m glad you’ve broken up.’

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ I tell him crisply, snatching my hand away. ‘I’m devastated.’

  ‘I really have changed, Lucy,’ he tells me earnestly. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think about things. I’ve grown up in the last few months.’

  This is from a man who’s been standing in the pouring rain outside my flat.

  ‘I’m going to get counselling to help me modify my behaviour,’ he continues. ‘Just as soon as I don’t have to spend every night standing outside your flat.’

  ‘You don’t have to stand outside my flat any more,’ I promise him. ‘We’re friends again.’

  A smile lights up his handsome face.

  ‘Just friends,’ I add. ‘I never, ever want a relationship again, as long as I live.’

  Marcus looks doubtful.

  ‘I mean it.’

  He sits quietly while he digests that, along with his pasta. When it’s clear that I’m not going to fill the gap, he pipes up again. ‘We could watch a romantic film. That will make you feel better.’

  ‘It wouldn’t.’ Actually, it would. A nice controlled weep at someone else’s fucked-up love-life would make me feel great, but I hate to think that Marcus knows me so well.

  ‘An Officer and a Gentleman,’ he says decisively. ‘That never fails.’ And before I can do anything about it, he’s flicked through the DVDs on my shelf and is slotting in said romantic film.

  ‘Have you got any chocolate?’ comes next.

  I give him a withering glare. ‘Why would I not have chocolate?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he says happily. ‘This is turning into a perfect evening.’

  On the screen, the delicious – and much younger – Richard Gere is being hotly pursued by Debra Winger. The knowledge of hopeless love is doing nothing to thwart her enthusiasm for the task in hand, I note. Foolish woman. I wriggle uncomfortably on the sofa when they eventually get down to it while she wears Richard Gere’s very fetching peaked ca
p and nothing else. I can barely resist the urge to snatch up the remote and jab it onto fast forward. This scene never used to go on for so long, I’m sure. Marcus grins smugly while on screen, the lovers continue with their artistic groans of ecstasy. I have another chocolate. A raspberry and cream truffle.

  By the end of the film, we’ve steadily worked our way through my box of Chocolate Heaven delights. I already know that when the newly graduated and uniformed Officer Mayo whips the girl of his dreams into his arms that I’ll cry. I always do. The music builds to a crescendo, the strains of ‘Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong’ filling my lounge as Richard Gere carries a joyfully weeping Debra Winger off to a better life, and I weep along unashamedly. ‘That’s so romantic,’ I sniff.

  Marcus sniffs too.

  ‘And it would only happen in Hollywood,’ I add tartly as I remember our circumstances.

  Marcus snuggles up next to me. I put a cushion between us. My ex-fiancé knows that this is usually the point where he’d comfort me and then we’d end up having hot sex on the sofa. Those days are gone.

  ‘We’ve watched the film, now you can have a cup of coffee and then you’re going home,’ I tell him firmly. ‘We do this on my terms from now on.’

  ‘Anything you say, Lucy.’ He grins at me and it’s clear that he doesn’t believe a word of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nadia had thought about her situation for over a week now and she still wasn’t sure that she was doing the right thing. She hadn’t even told Toby what she was planning for fear that she might change her mind at the very last minute. Now the decision had been made and there was no going back. Tonight, when her husband got home from work, she and Lewis would be there to surprise him. Home for good. A family once more.

  Chantal lifted the last of her bags into the boot of her car. ‘That’s you all set.’

  Nadia finished strapping Lewis into his car seat. ‘Thanks, Chantal. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

  ‘It’s been great having you here,’ her friend said. ‘I’m going to miss this little guy.’ They both glanced at Lewis through the car window. He was eating a Chocolate Finger bribe and was oblivious to the emotional turmoil going on around him.

  Nadia glanced wryly at Chantal’s growing bump. ‘You’ll soon have one of your own to spoil.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ Chantal said, patting her tummy fondly. ‘I’m still in denial. I keep pretending that this is fluid retention.’

  They both laughed.

  For someone who insisted that she was in denial, Nadia thought Chantal was coping remarkably well with her unexpected pregnancy.

  Chantal hugged her tightly. ‘If this doesn’t work out, you know that there’ll always be a place here for the both of you.’

  ‘I hope it won’t come to that,’ Nadia said.

  ‘You guys will work it out,’ her friend said reassuringly. ‘You’d better get moving if you’re planning to have something hot on the table for your husband when he gets home.’ She gave Nadia a wink.

  Nadia flicked a worried glance in her direction. ‘You will be all right here on your own?’

  ‘Sure.’ Chantal nodded. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’

  ‘I’ll help you as much as I can with the baby,’ Nadia said. ‘We all will.’ Nadia was sure that she could speak for the two other members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club.

  ‘Go, before you make me cry!’ Chantal wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Go and make that husband of yours grateful that you’ve come back to him.’

  It felt strange to be back in her own home. She’d spent the afternoon getting to know her own things again, settling back into her own space. Now Lewis was bathed and in his pyjamas and, as a treat, was watching his favourite SpongeBob SquarePants cartoon on the television. She watched her son transfixed by the colourful figures on the screen, sucking his thumb, finger hooked over his nose, engrossed. He looked so angelic, as if he was a graduate of the Supernanny school. Nadia hoped it would last until Toby arrived home. Glancing at the clock, she nibbled anxiously at her lip. She would have expected him to be home by now.

  The latter part of the day had been spent unpacking their clothes, returning them to their rightful place in their own wardrobes. Already her time at Chantal’s swish apartment felt a lifetime away. This place might not be anywhere near as plush, but it was still home to her. She belonged here.

  Dinner was bubbling away on the hob – the scent of spices wafting through to the living room. Maybe Toby had popped into the pub on his way home for a quick pint. After all, he had no idea that she’d be here waiting for him. Now nerves gripped her stomach. Should she have called him? Perhaps he’d made other plans for tonight and she’d be waiting alone while their delicious dinner turned into a dried-up mess. Would he be pleased to see her?

  What could she do while she waited? Instead of pacing the room, she went to sit down next to Lewis. Having a cuddle with her son always managed to still her mind. Passing the phone, she noticed that the answerphone light was blinking. The call must have come in while she was unpacking or cooking dinner as she hadn’t heard the phone ring. As she went to see who might have telephoned, Toby’s van pulled up outside the house.

  Nadia’s stomach went into free fall. The phone was forgotten. ‘Daddy’s here,’ she told Lewis excitedly.

  ‘Daddy!’ He jumped up from the sofa and sprinted to the door. Nadia opened it wide as Toby walked up the path. A look of sheer joy crossed his face and Nadia felt herself sag with relief. He wanted them back.

  Lewis jumped into his arms and, obligingly, Toby twirled him round. There were tears of joy in her husband’s eyes when he gently lowered the boy to the ground. ‘You’ve come home,’ he said.

  Nadia wrapped her arms round him, tearful herself. ‘We’ve come home.’

  They went inside, reunited, a family again.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Toby said. ‘This is more than I could have hoped for. I won’t let you down, Nadia. I promise.’

  ‘Ssh,’ she said, and kissed him softly.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you again.’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ she told him. ‘Why don’t you go and tuck this boy in and then have a shower? I’ll just check on dinner.’ With a smile on her face, she headed towards the kitchen. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I almost forgot. There was a call for you. I mustn’t have heard the phone.’

  When she left the room, Toby pressed the playback button. ‘This is a message for Mr Toby Stone,’ the voice said. ‘This is the Advance Credit Company and we need to speak to you urgently. Please call us on—’

  Toby pressed the delete button. Nadia came back into the room, tying an apron round her waist. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘No one,’ Toby said. ‘Wrong number.’

  She noticed that tears were still glistening in his eyes. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Everything will be fine from now on.’

  ‘It will,’ Toby said, his voice choked with emotion. ‘You’ll see. I’ll make sure that it is.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Autumn and Addison lay together in the bath. The bathroom was heavy with the scent of a dozen vanilla candles, two glasses of red wine were by their feet. They’d pulled the CD player inside the door and something mellow drifted out. It was Addison’s choice of music – her favoured easy listening selection of whale song had been deemed too ‘uncool’. She had to agree that this was much more relaxing. Being with Addison was making her loosen up a little. Not everything in life had to be done to save the planet. He might even be improving her musical taste – her pan pipes and African drumming CDs now nestled alongside albums by John Legend, Paolo Nutini and Corinne Bailey Rae. She hummed along with the melody. This was the first time in her life that Autumn felt as if she truly knew what being in love meant. Her head rested on his chest and she twisted in the warm water to gaze at him.

  Addison’s eyes were closed, but he still said, ‘What?’

  ‘I’m happy,’ Autumn told him
.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Add a little more hot water then I’ll be happy too.’

  Flicking the tap with her foot, she let more hot water gush into the bath. ‘Better?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Addison purred.

  She leaned over and popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth from the dish on the side of the bath.

  ‘Mmm mmm.’ Her boyfriend smiled at her, opening his gorgeous deep brown eyes. ‘Now I am in heaven.’

  The phone rang. Addison grunted. It rang again.

  ‘Maybe I should get that,’ Autumn said, glancing anxiously towards the living room where the phone lay.

  ‘You already know who it is,’ Addison pointed out.

  ‘It might not be Richard.’ She eased herself halfway out of the bath. ‘It could be someone else.’

  ‘He’s phoned you constantly for days.’

  ‘I’m worried about him, Addison,’ she said. ‘He seems to be worse than ever.’

  ‘You have to let go, Autumn. He has to find his own way. You can’t be his keeper for ever.’

  The phone stopped ringing, but the feeling of anxiety didn’t leave her. Addison pulled her down until she was nestled beside him once again. ‘I’ve always looked after him,’ she said. ‘It’s a hard habit to break.’

  ‘Well,’ Addison traced his fingers over her breast, ‘now you have someone else to look after.’ His mouth covered hers and all thoughts of Richard and what he might need went out of her mind.

  Hours later, they were lying in bed, arms around each other in sleep, when the phone rang again.

  ‘No,’ her boyfriend mumbled, still half-asleep. ‘Not again.’ His hand reached for hers and missed. ‘Leave it, Autumn.’

  But before Addison could protest too much, she slid out of the bed, slipped her robe around her and went in search of her phone. It was an unknown number on the display. She peered at the clock through half-closed sleepy eyelids. It was 1.00 a.m. Who could it be at this time?