The Chocolate Lovers' Diet

by Carole Matthews

‘I can’t. Richard could be in big trouble.’

  ‘He’s in big trouble anyway, Autumn.’

  ‘Me shopping him is hardly going to help,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ve always been the one to get Richard out of the shit. But no more, I promise. I have to do this one last thing for him and then that’s it. He’s on his own.’

  ‘You’ve brought this into a drug rehab centre,’ he said tightly. ‘Risking your job and our reputation just to save your brother’s skin?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. It was the first time she’d seen it in quite that light.

  Addison handed her the teddy bear. From deep inside it came a fearsome growl. ‘I can’t deal with you any more, Autumn. I’m sorry. Your brother’s completely fucked up and he’s dragging you down to his level. Don’t mess up your own life by getting involved in this.’

  ‘What else can I do?’ she cried. But by then, Addison was already slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Marcus takes me in his arms and holds me tightly. ‘This is it, babe,’ he says. He never calls me babe.

  We’re at Trington Manor. I’ve been ensconced here for a couple of hours already. Doing nothing much more than panicking, really. I’m glad that Marcus has finally bowled up as I’m sure that will make me relax more.

  It seems as if I’ve hardly seen my fiancé for weeks. There’s been so much to do, so much to organise, despite Jacob’s wonderful input. It’s been so frantic that I haven’t even had the chance to move out of my flat and into his apartment. Yet, already, the wedding is upon us. ‘Feeling nervous?’ I ask.

  Marcus shakes his head. ‘Not a bit. I’m really looking forward to this,’ he tells me softly. ‘Lucy Lombard’s going to be my lawfully wedded wife. That makes me the luckiest man alive. Why should I be nervous about that?’ He tightens his arms around me and gazes lovingly into my eyes. ‘Are you nervous?’

  ‘No. No,’ I say. Not nervous. Shit scared would sum it up better.

  As well as living separately, we’ve also booked separate bedrooms for tonight. Marcus is hideously superstitious and doesn’t want to see me before I get to the church. I agree. It doesn’t take much for bad luck to rain down on my head, and I’m not keen to tempt fate.

  ‘My parents have arrived,’ I tell him as I wrinkle my nose.

  ‘That will make you feel better,’ he says. Actually, that will make me feel like picking up a pump-action shotgun and killing people indiscriminately.

  ‘I’ve booked a table for dinner at seven o’clock.’ This will be fun as it’s the first time my parents will have been in a room together since their rather acrimonious divorce. Perhaps time will have mellowed them all, water under the bridge, etc., and my mum won’t feel like clawing out The Hairdresser’s eyes and my dad won’t be tempted to deck The Millionaire. Perhaps, also, Victoria Beckham will cut back on her spending and the polar ice caps will stop melting.

  Marcus rubs his chin thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t seen your parents since . . .’

  ‘Since they were married to each other,’ I remind him. ‘I’ve barely seen them myself since then either.’ My father now resides in connubial bliss on the South Coast of England with a woman half his age, while my mother has opted for sex-filled siestas in Spain with a man who looks twice hers.

  ‘Sneaking away to a Bahamian beach by ourselves is suddenly very appealing,’ I say.

  ‘The wedding will be fabulous,’ Marcus promises me as he kisses my lips tenderly. ‘Everyone will remember it for years.’

  First we have to get through dinner. Marcus is at the head of the table. I’m at the foot. My warring parents are facing each other. You try doing a table-plan for people who you know will all detest each other. Three biros ran dry in the process. This could well be the longest evening of my life and I suddenly wish that Crush and I could be hiding out in the ladies’ loo together again to liven it all up. Then, summoning all my strength, I push any images of Aiden Holby to the back of my mind and smile widely at my assembled guests.

  Despite my mother’s mahogany tan, I know that her face is white and tight beneath it. My dad is looking exhausted and I don’t think it’s because he plays too many rounds of golf. The Hairdresser – Myleen – has come dressed as a hooker. She has on a white plunge-neck top that is barely skimming her nipples. Those things cannot be her real tits, surely? She’d be impossible to drown, that’s for certain. The Millionaire is transfixed by her. He’s laughing very loudly at every single thing that she says – which isn’t much. Every now and again The Millionaire winces, which must be when my mum’s foot connects with his shin. My dad is glowering darkly at my mum across the perfect arrangement of white roses.

  This is fabulous, I sigh to myself. And we’re only on the starters. How in hell’s name are we going to get as far as the dessert? Believe me, we are sticking it out that long. I’m not going to go through all this angst without the lure of chocolate at the end. This could well be my very last chance to eat chocolate as a single woman and I have to seize it.

  Marcus is doing his best to be the congenial host. ‘Did you both have good journeys?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ my dad says. ‘Always get a good ride in a top-of-the-range Bentley.’

  I assume he’s talking about the roads, but I can’t be sure these days.

  My mum toys with her champagne glass. ‘Howard chartered a private jet,’ she says coolly.

  My dad splutters into his fizz. I’d say that a private jet trumps a top-of-the-range car – even a Bentley. One nil to Mum.

  Marcus tries harder. ‘This is a great hotel, isn’t it? Are your rooms nice?’

  ‘We’re in the Honeymoon Suite,’ my dad tells us without taking his eyes off my mother.

  ‘Presidential Suite,’ my mother slaps down. ‘Enormous.’

  Hmm. Not sure about that one. The Honeymoon Suite implies that you’re still having loads of sex, but the Presidential Suite smacks of having loads of money, but possibly needing Viagra. Think that one might go to Dad. My mum must think so too as she necks her champagne in a very aggressive manner.

  This is a nightmare. I almost wish that we’d invited Marcus’s parents along too. At least, I’d have had the distraction of fending off being fondled by Dave the Groper, and Hilary the Hun is more than a match for my mum. No doubt, they’d have started a hat war or something.

  My fiancé glances at me in a tortured manner. I return his gaze with a sympathetic smile. I’m so cross with my parents – here’s Marcus trying really hard to make us have a nice evening and they’re all being so rude. Why is it that weddings and funerals bring out the very worst in people? They’ve only got to be civil to each other for a few hours and then we needn’t see them again until their first grandchild is born. That’s how it works these days, isn’t it? I look round the table at the folded arms and the scowling faces and my heart sinks. There’s a lot of effort and expense going into this wedding; all I can hope is that they behave themselves long enough for us to have a truly memorable day.

  Chapter Sixty

  Marcus sees me to my bedroom door. He pins me up against the wall, presses himself against me and kisses me long and hard. ‘Mmm,’ he murmurs in my ear. ‘Is it bad luck to shag the bride senseless the night before the wedding?’

  ‘Quite probably.’

  ‘Want to risk it?’ he says as his hand caresses my bottom. His kiss deepens. ‘I wanted to run my hand up your thighs in the restaurant, like I did that night at Alfonso’s.’

  I break away from his embrace. ‘That was you?’

  Marcus laughs. ‘Who did you think it was?’

  I can’t really say, ‘your dad’, can I? If I’d thought it was Marcus caressing my cellulite then I wouldn’t have legged it to the ladies’ loo and I wouldn’t have ended up kissing Aiden ‘Crush’ Holby. A headache starts behind my eyes and I can feel a chocolate crisis coming on. ‘We have to be up really early,’ I tell him. ‘I should go straight to bed.’

  ‘That’s what I’m suggestin
g,’ Marcus says with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I promise, kissing him. But now the mood is broken. ‘Let’s save it until we’re husband and wife. It will be more exciting then.’

  ‘Will it? Isn’t that the end of our sex-life, when we get married?’

  I shrug. ‘Doesn’t seem to be that way for my parents.’

  Marcus pulls away. ‘Yes, but they’ve both remarried,’ he points out. ‘Were they like that when they were married?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  Marcus lets go of my hands. ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘They were normal,’ I tell him. ‘They rowed. They sulked. They probably had sex once in a blue moon. But most of the time, while they were married, they rubbed along pretty well together.’

  My fiancé suddenly looks very serious. ‘Is that what you want for us? To rub along nicely?’

  ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘I want more than that. I want you to be my husband and my best friend. I want you to be my lover and a great dad to our kids.’

  ‘I want all that too.’

  I smile at him. ‘Then we’ll be very happy.’

  Marcus fiddles with my watch, rubbing his thumb over it distractedly. ‘So why did your folks split?’

  ‘I think they got divorced more out of boredom than anything else,’ I say. I’ve never really talked to either of them about the nitty-gritty. Well, you don’t, do you? My mum would more than likely launch into a vivid description of my father’s shortcomings in the bedroom department and, frankly, that’s more information than I need. I love my parents and all that, but I don’t want to know too much about them. I settle for, ‘They were going through a bad patch.’

  Ironically, my mum was fed up with my dad looking like an eighties throwback and persuaded him to update his image. He happened to try a new barbers where Myleen The Hairdresser gave him a bit more of a makeover than he’d bargained for. Quite what she saw in his greying comb-over I’ll never know. But then you can never really see your own parents as sex objects, can you? ‘Then Dad met someone else. Not to be outdone, so did my mother.’

  My fiancé looks very worried about this revelation. Perhaps he’s thinking back to his own indiscretions.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be the same for us.’ I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘But we’ll have to work at it, Marcus. Good marriages don’t happen by accident.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Marcus says, but I can tell that something has switched off in his eyes. He laces his fingers through my hair and kisses me for the last time but his lips aren’t on fire any more. ‘We should get an early night.’

  Then he walks off down the corridor and I watch him go. ‘See you at the church,’ he shouts over his shoulder.

  ‘I love you,’ I call out, but I don’t think that he hears me.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  I’m lying awake on the bed staring at the ceiling. I’ve eaten the chocolate that was on my pillow. Not bad. Not great. A fairly poor quality chocolate, in fact, considering that it could absolutely be my last chocolate as a single woman. I should have brought a stash from Chocolate Heaven to keep me going. That’s a severe oversight on my part and it makes me wonder what else I’ve forgotten. Perhaps I had too much coffee too at dinner, because now I’m feeling wide-eyed and wired.

  Down the corridor, Marcus is probably sleeping soundly. In the Honeymoon Suite, my dad and The Hairdresser are probably hard at it, as will be my mum and The Millionaire in the Presidential Suite – even though the latter coupling might need a little chemical enhancement. If it’s unpleasant enough to imagine your parents shagging, it’s even worse to think of them shagging other people – and enjoying it! Yuk. I try not to dwell on it. Yet all over the world people are in the same situation – sleeping, making love, lying awake worrying.

  I slip onto my side and try to get more comfortable. My mobile phone is lying on the bedside table. It winks at me tantalisingly. I wonder what Crush is doing now. Is he sleeping soundly too? Is there someone else in his bed? Is there any chance he could be lying awake thinking of me?

  Picking up the phone, I fiddle with it. Despite my promises, I didn’t contact him after our discussion in the dodgy café. I had every intention of calling him to explain my feelings but, to be perfectly honest, I had no idea what to say to him. So I would have um-ed and ah-ed and generally fucked it up. Crush deserves more than that.

  It’s three o’clock in the morning. This is the time of night when more people die, the time of night when drunken people phone up their exes and beg to get back together, the time of night when all manner of stupidity occurs. I know all that. So, before I can think better of it, I find Crush’s number. Hopefully, it will go straight to voicemail and I can leave a nice message explaining what a pillock I am, and that I hope he’ll be happy, and that I’ll miss him. Dreadfully. That kind of thing.

  After three short rings, Crush picks up.

  ‘Hi, Gorgeous.’ He sounds very sleepy. So he still has my number in his phone.

  ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up,’ I say.

  There’s a pause. ‘It’s three in the morning.’ I hear him suppress a yawn and it makes me smile. I’ve never been in bed with Crush – more’s the pity – but it doesn’t take a great feat of imagination to picture every inch of his body beneath the covers, the curve of his spine, his strong legs, how he’ll be propping himself up on one of his broad shoulders. I can see him as if he were here, lying right next to me. My legs are restless and searching in the bed. ‘What did you think I’d be doing?’

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ I tell him.

  ‘Big day tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I curl up in the duvet. ‘I shouldn’t be phoning you.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Crush says. ‘But I’m glad that you did.’

  ‘Now I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Tell me what you’re wearing,’ Crush says. ‘Are you naked?’

  I giggle. ‘You’re a sick fuck, Aiden Holby.’

  ‘That’s better,’ he says with a laugh. ‘That sounds more like the Lucy I know and love.’

  A gulp travels down my throat and my stomach lurches. ‘I’m wearing Winnie the Pooh pyjamas.’

  ‘Sexy,’ he murmurs. ‘I wish I could see them.’

  ‘This will probably be the last time that I contact you,’ I say. ‘I can’t ring you any more – it’s not fair on Marcus. We should both take each other’s numbers out of our contact lists.’

  ‘If that’s what you really want,’ Crush says.

  ‘I think it’s for the best.’

  Aiden lets out a long, sad sigh. ‘So now what happens, Gorgeous?’

  ‘I hang up and that’s that. Tomorrow I get married.’ Why on earth have I started to cry? I sob quietly into the phone. ‘I just wanted you to know that I did love you very much.’

  ‘And I still love you, Lucy.’

  ‘I’d better go now.’ I wipe my tears on the arm of my Pooh pyjamas. ‘Goodnight. Sleep tight.’

  ‘Goodbye, Gorgeous. Have a nice life.’ And with that Crush hangs up.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Darren’s assistant has already applied a pound and a half of make-up to my pale, tired face. Lancôme’s Flash Retouche has been out in force trying to disguise the dark shadows beneath my eyes and she’s making a fine job of turning me into a blushing bride. I’m sitting in my underwear, complete with stockings and suspenders, with Darren piling my hair up on my head, when the members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club arrive in force. They burst through the door, all smiles and giggling – and instantly my spirits lift. Darren is brushed aside as my friends all come over and kiss me.

  ‘How’s the bride-to-be?’ Nadia asks as she hugs me warmly.

  ‘Terrified.’ It’s not yet ten o’clock and my hands are shaking. My emotions are a whirling maelstrom. There’s a tremor in my knees that isn’t showing any imminent signs of abating. I think it’s best that I don’t tell them about my late-night call to Crush.

  �
��You have a right to be,’ Nadia states. ‘Getting married is a big deal. But you’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.’

  ‘I will. I will,’ I chant robotically. ‘I will.’

  ‘We brought supplies,’ Chantal says. ‘Open wide.’

  I do and she pops a truffle straight into my mouth.

  ‘Oh,’ I sigh. The wonderful taste of Madagascar single plantation chocolate melts on my tongue. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. ‘Mmm. That certainly helps.’ This could be my very, very, very last chocolate as a single woman. I’d better enjoy it.

  Marcus called me first thing this morning and told me that he loved me. I’ve been welling up ever since. Finally, a lone tear creeps out of my eye.

  ‘No crying on your make-up,’ Chantal instructs, whipping a tissue to the offending water with the alacrity of a speeding bullet. ‘Sniff it up. Sniff it up. You can only cry after you’ve said “I do”.’

  I sniff it up. Heartily.

  ‘Sure you’re okay?’ Nadia asks.

  My lip wobbles. Nothing much gets past that girl, so I might as well come clean. ‘I called Crush last night,’ I confess. What’s that thing about going to your execution with a clear conscience? Maybe it’s the same for a wedding. ‘He told me that he still loves me.’

  The members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club exchange worried glances.

  ‘It’s cool,’ I say, holding up my hands. ‘It’s cool. You still need to get me to the church on time. We got things straight between us.’ My voice cracks very slightly. ‘We agreed that we wouldn’t see each other or speak to each other again. It’s only fair.’ At which point I burst into tears. I don’t give a flying fuck about my make-up. I just feel so miserable.

  ‘It’s nerves,’ Nadia says briskly. ‘You sit down and eat chocolate. Don’t get it on your underwear.’ She wraps me in a fluffy towel and leads me to the edge of the bed, patting it as I sit down. I feel terrible that she’s had so much to cope with and she’s done it all so bravely and here’s me, turned into a complete jelly at the thought of marrying the man I’ve been professing to love for the last five years or more.