The Chocolate Lovers' Diet

by Carole Matthews

  An hour later and we’re driving through a very seedy part of North London. A part more seedy than I ever knew North London possessed – and I’ve known some pretty seedy parts, believe me. Even the sun has scuttled back behind grey clouds. Everything is bleak and monotone, and the area looks as if it’s been recently bombed out. Dubious-looking lock-up garages line the roads. Businesses offer quick tyre changes, paint jobs and repairs, and you can tell the sort of car owners that they’ll be having as customers. I’m surprised that they don’t offer blood removal and dead body disposal. I somehow don’t think there’ll be too many mums here in their Ford Fiestas getting a little dent knocked out that they’ve picked up on the school run.

  My dad’s shiny vehicle complete with wedding decorations looks far too conspicuous and it makes me realise that this really is a dangerous thing that we’re doing – not to mention illegal. Marcus would kill me if he could see me now. I hope that his Best Man is managing to keep him distracted in a rather less robust way. A few drinks in the bar might be preferable. What on earth was I thinking about when I said we should do this?

  We seem to be driving deeper and deeper into the arse end of nowhere. I’ve no idea where we are, but I know that I don’t like it much.

  ‘Bloody hell, Autumn,’ I say with an anxious exhalation. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

  My friends turn and glare at me.

  ‘What?’

  Autumn takes a map out of the top of the holdall. ‘Yes. We’re nearly there. Turn right at this next junction, Lucy.’

  We turn into the street. The buildings have all had their windows punched out, giving the road a nice coating of broken glass.

  ‘The drop-off point should be around here somewhere,’ Autumn says. ‘We’re looking for a disused piece of ground in between two derelict factories.’

  ‘Sounds charming.’

  We carry on down the road, and the mood in the Bentley becomes very sober as we crawl along, keeping our eyes peeled for the rendezvous location.

  ‘That looks like it,’ Autumn says. She points to a ragged bit of ground enclosed by the high walls of the falling-down factories, turning it into a vast, scruffy courtyard with only one entrance. It’s private, away from prying eyes and – if I was a drug dealer – would look like the perfect place for a meet.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ I say and, taking a deep breath, I swing the Bentley onto the rough ground.

  ‘We’re to park at the far end,’ Autumn says. ‘With the front of the car facing the entrance.’

  I do as I’m told and we take up our position. ‘Where have you got to drop the stuff?’

  ‘We’re to wait here until they come.’

  We all spin round and look at Autumn. ‘They’re coming here? Now?’

  She looks taken aback. ‘Yes. I thought you knew that.’

  ‘I thought we’d just drop the stuff and clear off,’ I say. ‘Then they’d swing by a bit later and collect it.’

  ‘I don’t think it works like that,’ Autumn says nervously. ‘I suppose they need to check that everything’s legitimate.’

  ‘I think that you mean the gear’s sound,’ Nadia corrects.

  For a borderline member of the criminal fraternity, Autumn is missing a certain amount of gangsta speech from her vocabulary. She still talks like the totally optimistic, red-haired social worker that she is. Bless.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I say, glancing at the clock in the Bentley. ‘I hope they’re punctual criminals as time’s getting a bit tight.’ I want to get back to Trington Manor as soon as we can, maybe have time to relax a little, eat my final chocolate as a single woman.

  ‘It will be fine,’ Nadia says. ‘I’m sure.’ But her voice is wobbling underneath the confident words.

  ‘I’ve got some Rolos in the holdall,’ Autumn says. ‘For emergencies.’

  ‘I think this could be classed as an emergency.’

  ‘We’ll be up to the eyeballs in chocolate,’ Nadia reminds us.

  ‘It’s worth the risk.’ Autumn searches in the bag of Class A drugs to find our chocolate stash and then duly hands round the Rolos. As I pop one into my mouth, trying not to get melted chocolate on my fingers, or dribble on to my dress, I say with a sigh, ‘This could well be my last chocolate as a single woman.’

  I settle back in my seat. All we can do now is wait.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  When we’ve chewed our way anxiously through the whole packet of Rolos, a big black car with big, blacked-out windows turns into the derelict ground in front of us. It trundles across the weeds, dirt and broken concrete towards us, kicking up dust with an insouciant air.

  I swallow down the last of the creamy caramel from my Rolo with a nervous gulp. ‘Looks like it’s showtime.’

  In the back seat, Autumn has gone pale with fear.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  As I ask the question, Autumn’s mobile phone rings. She answers it, eyes wide with anxiety. We can hear someone talking at the other end, but can’t tell what they’re saying.

  ‘Yes,’ she says timidly. Then she hangs up. ‘I’m to get out of the car alone and walk towards them with the holdall held at arm’s length.’

  ‘Sod that,’ I say. Sometimes I wonder where all this bravado comes from. ‘You’re not going anywhere by yourself. We haven’t come all this way to let you go into the lions’ den alone. I’m going with you.’

  Then we see two men get out of the other car. Rather alarmingly, they’re holding sawn-off shotguns.

  ‘Fuck,’ Chantal says.

  ‘Fuck indeed,’ I echo.

  ‘I can’t move,’ Autumn says.

  ‘Yes, you can. Come on.’ I’m out of my seat and opening the back door to help Autumn out. ‘Give me my bouquet,’ I say to Chantal.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My bouquet.’ I hold out my hand for it and Chantal obliges. ‘I’m hoping that like hitting a man wearing glasses, they won’t shoot a bride with a bouquet.’

  Autumn lugs the holdall out of the footwell of the Bentley and holds it out. We exchange a nervous glance. ‘Easy does it,’ I say. ‘I don’t want my wedding photographs blood-spattered.’ Although I now realise that I’m going to have to drive like a bat out of hell to have any hope of getting back in time for pre-wedding photographs. The idea of me relaxing with appropriate chocolate treats and a glass or two of wine has long gone.

  Slowly, Autumn and I make our way across the uneven ground of the courtyard. I’m aware that the two terrified faces of our friends are watching our progress, but I’m too frightened myself to worry about their fears.

  The men stand with their shotguns pointed at the ground, which I’m tempted to view as a good thing. As we approach them, I see that they are also slightly open-mouthed. In the manner of all good criminal scenarios, the villains of the piece are dressed in black leather jackets, black jeans, sturdy black boots. They’re wearing black sunglasses too, even though it’s quite cloudy, and have black baseball caps pulled down over their eyes. Perhaps they hadn’t expected to see a group of four women sporting colour co-ordinated bridalwear. We totter forward in our heels.

  When we get within speaking distance, one of the men says to Autumn, ‘You were told to come alone.’

  ‘I’m her bodyguard,’ I say. I thought they might laugh, break the tension, but they don’t.

  He nods at me. ‘What’s with the outfit?’

  ‘I’m getting married,’ I tell him in a voice that sounds stronger than I feel. ‘And I’m going to be late if we don’t get a move on.’

  ‘Throw the bag to the floor,’ he tells Autumn. ‘By my feet.’

  Autumn gives the bag a swing and it sails through the air, landing with remarkable accuracy right at the guy’s feet in a little shower of dust. ‘I’m going to check it,’ he says. ‘Then you’ll get your bag.’

  Our bag? I risk a sideways glance at Autumn. She’s looking blank too.

  One of the guys kneels next to the holdall and unzips it. He takes out a very c
ute teddy bear. There’s a slit in his tummy. ‘This one’s been opened.’

  ‘I had to check the merchandise,’ Autumn says calmly. ‘It’s all there.’

  ‘It had better be,’ the guy growls. He slits one of the packets and tastes the contents with his finger. Then he smiles. ‘Your brother is a very good boy.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ Autumn says.

  ‘Don’t move,’ the guy instructs us as he and his accomplice move towards the back of their car. A moment later they emerge with a very similar-looking holdall which they throw at Autumn’s feet. She stands there frozen.

  ‘You should check it,’ he tells her.

  ‘We trust you.’

  They both laugh at that, which I think is a bad sign.

  ‘I’ll check it,’ I say. I give my bridesmaid my bouquet and step forward. My heart is pounding loudly. I bend down, trying not to get my wedding dress dirty, and unzip the bag. My eyes widen in shock, surprise, I don’t know what. I turn to Autumn, let my veil drop over my face and whisper, ‘This bag is full of money.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ she says.

  ‘We have to take it. Otherwise it might look suspicious.’

  My friend has a moment of indecision. ‘Okay,’ she says.

  ‘That seems to be in order,’ I say to the hoods and I pick up the bag. Which is bloody heavy. Who’d have thought that paper would weigh that much – but then there’s an awful lot of paper in here.

  ‘That concludes our business then, ladies,’ one of the guys says.

  ‘That’s our cue to get out of here, girl.’ I take Autumn’s hand and hurry her back towards the car.

  Behind us, the guys start to laugh. ‘Congratulations on your forthcoming wedding,’ one shouts. ‘I’m sure you’re going to make someone a lovely wife!’

  Yes, very hilarious. If I wasn’t about to poop myself then I might be able to think of a witty retort. As it is, I feel that if we don’t get a move on, I’m not going to be making anyone any kind of wife at all.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Autumn and I get back into Dad’s Bentley wedding limousine/getaway vehicle combo. My knees are shaking and I suspect Autumn’s are doing exactly the same thing.

  I hand Chantal the holdall stuffed with money. ‘Okay?’ she says.

  Letting out a long, shuddering sigh, I say, ‘We’re home and dry.’

  ‘Good girls,’ Nadia says. She’s holding Autumn’s hand and also reaches across to squeeze my shoulder.

  We sit there for a moment and, while I try to get my surging adrenaline under control, we all watch as the drug dealers slam their car into reverse and start to back out of the disused ground.

  ‘If I really flatten my foot to the floor, then we should just make it back in time,’ I say. I wonder what the top speed of a Bentley is?

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for this,’ Autumn says again. ‘I never meant to mess up your wedding day.’

  ‘It isn’t messed up,’ I assure her. ‘We can still do this. We’ll be back in the nick of time and no one will be any the wiser. This has all gone very smoothly.’ I allow myself a congratulatory smile. ‘Now. If we’re all sitting comfortably, let’s hit the road.’

  Then the car bearing the drug dealers screeches back into the yard in front of us and, slewing sideways, comes to a halt. Following it, rather rapidly, are three big four-wheel-drive vehicles.

  ‘Oh, no.’ I duck down behind my bouquet. ‘This is not good. Not good at all.’

  ‘Who do you think this lot are?’

  The hoods jump out of their car and are immediately pounced on by a mass of other black-clad men who, similarly, have jumped out of their cars. We watch, transfixed, as a scuffle ensues, but eventually the second lot come out on top and they bundle the hoods into the backs of their cars. The last drug dealer turns towards us and shouts, ‘It was those bitches,’ he spits. ‘They’re the ones you want!’

  The men turn and now become aware of our Bentley sitting harmlessly at the far side of the land.

  ‘Do you think they’re after the money?’ Autumn says.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer. ‘But they’re more than welcome to it.’

  Two of the men head slowly, but purposefully, towards us. My heart is pounding. ‘Now what?’

  ‘We are armed police officers,’ they shout as they near the Bentley. Badges are flashed at us. ‘Stay exactly where you are. Put your hands on your head.’

  ‘They’re police,’ I say with a relieved sigh. ‘Thank goodness. I thought they were more thugs.’

  I drop my bouquet into my lap and put my hands on the sides of my head. There’s no way I’m spoiling my hairdo.

  ‘We’ve just done a drugs drop,’ Nadia points out. ‘And we’ve got a bag stuffed full of money. Couldn’t that be classed as incriminating evidence?’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  The policemen still walk towards us. Now in a very determined way.

  ‘Bad,’ I say. ‘This is bad. Give me the money,’ I hiss at Chantal. ‘Quickly.’

  She hands it over and I fluff out the skirt of my wedding dress and put the holdall between my legs, hiding it with a swathe of silk. The policemen come towards the driver’s window and I wind it down. ‘Play dumb,’ I whisper to my friends/accomplices/bridesmaids. It’s something I do rather too well.

  ‘Hello, Officers,’ I say cheerily. ‘I wonder if you can help us? We seem to be terribly lost.’

  They eye the beribboned Bentley suspiciously.

  ‘We’re on the way to my wedding.’ Sometimes our police force are criticised for not being overly bright, but I’m sure that even they can tell that I’m kitted out in a bridal fashion.

  ‘You’re a bit off the beaten track,’ one policeman observes.

  ‘Yes. We seem to have taken a wrong turn.’ They smile smugly between them, clearly commenting silently on the navigational skills of women.

  I call on all my drama skills, think of dying kittens, terrible hunger and cold, a life without chocolate, and conjure up a tear to my eye. ‘We’re going to be very late. Could you possibly just direct us to the motorway? We’re in a terrible hurry.’

  They cast a glance over the Bentley again. ‘Would you like to step out of the vehicle, ladies,’ one of them says. ‘I’m afraid that you’re going nowhere fast.’

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  The policeman kicks the Bentley’s tyre. ‘Puncture,’ he says.

  It must have been the broken glass we had to drive over on the way here. Now I’m tempted to cry for real.

  The policeman folds his arms and regards me coolly. ‘You didn’t see anything while you were sitting there?’

  ‘No,’ I say, looking to the girls for confirmation. They all nod vigorously. ‘We realised we’d missed our turning and simply came into this disused ground to swing round. While we were doing it, the other car came in. It looked as if they were up to no good, Officer, so we backed away to the far end.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to be messing with those kind of men.’

  I try to smile, but my cheeks are locked into an expression of terror as I think of the bag of dirty money in the front footwell of the Bentley, barely covered by a rather nice arrangement of Singapore orchids, tiny white roses and other floral-type stuff.

  ‘Was there another car?’

  ‘No.’ We all shake our heads as hard as we can.

  The policemen look puzzled.

  Then tears, real tears, come to my eye. I can see my big moment sliding away from me. Marcus will be frantic with worry. Everyone will be sitting in the church waiting for me and I won’t be there. I’ll be banged up in a cell in some dingy police station with my bridesmaids while they contemplate throwing away the key. I try to swallow, but it comes out as a sob. ‘I’m going to be terribly, terribly late.’

  The policemen exchange a glance. ‘Well then, we’d better get this tyre changed for you,’ one of the coppers says in a kindly manner. ‘Then you can be on your way.
Do you know where the jack is?’

  ‘Jack?’ We all look blankly at him, encouraging him to exchange another smirk with his colleague – this time to do with women’s inability to change car tyres.

  ‘It’s my dad’s car,’ I inform the policeman, lips quivering. ‘This is the first time I’ve driven it.’ I don’t tell him that I had to prise the keys out of my darling father under the utmost duress – and that I might not even be insured to drive this thing, come to think of it. I’m going pale at the thought.

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ the policeman says in reassuring tones. ‘We’ll find it.’

  He strides to the driver’s door and yanks it open. Chantal and I exchange a terrified glance. ‘The boot release must be under here somewhere.’

  Yes, along with the bag of ill-gotten drugs money. I’m very close to hyperventilating. If we manage to get out of this without criminal convictions then I’m going to lie in a dark room completely surrounded by chocolate and eat my way slowly through it. He leans on the bag to get a better look under the dashboard. If only he knew what was in there. My heart nearly stops.

  ‘Ah.’ The policeman pulls the catch and the boot pops open. He goes round to the back of the car and moments later has reappeared, brandishing a jack. Treating us to a winning smile, he says proudly, ‘You can’t hide anything from a policeman.’

  I think it’s at this point that I faint.

  The tyre is changed, I’m back in the land of the living and the police still haven’t discovered our starring role in their drugs bust.

  We’re all sitting in the Bentley. The policeman pats the roof. ‘Take care, ladies,’ he says. ‘I hope we don’t see you on our patch again.’

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘Thank you, Officer. You’ve been very, very helpful.’

  ‘All in the line of duty,’ he says, like Dixon of Dock Green. ‘Are you sure that we can’t escort you to the motorway?’

  ‘No. No. No.’ I try to keep the panic out of my voice. ‘You’ve already done enough for us.’