The Chocolate Lovers' Diet

by Carole Matthews

  ‘Enjoy your wedding,’ the policeman says. ‘I hope that you and your future husband will be very happy together.’

  ‘So do I,’ I say as I slam the car into gear and we pull away, waving madly, smiles fixed in place.

  ‘Dear God,’ Nadia says as we turn out of the yard. She gives a relieved huff of breath. ‘That was a very close call.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I say. ‘We were so lucky not to get busted.’ See how criminal words slip so easily into my vocabulary? ‘I wonder how they knew that this drugs drop was going down?’

  Now I’m sounding like a bad-assed ho’.

  Autumn coughs gently and we all turn to look at her. Well, I eyeball her in the rearview mirror. ‘I told them,’ she says quietly.

  ‘What!’ I say less quietly.

  ‘I had no idea that there was money involved,’ she explains. ‘Rich just told me that we were making a delivery. I didn’t think that we’d be incriminated in any way if the police turned up.’

  ‘That was a very risky strategy, if you don’t mind me saying.’ I grip the steering-wheel tightly and head back towards the motorway as fast as the Bentley will take us. ‘I could have been spending my wedding day in a prison cell.’

  ‘I know,’ Autumn says. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘As it is, I’m going to be ferociously late.’

  ‘Not if you put your foot flat to the floor,’ Chantal says. I press harder on the accelerator.

  ‘Just don’t get nicked for speeding,’ Nadia warns. ‘We’ve seen enough of the boys in blue today.’

  ‘I need to call Marcus,’ I say. ‘Tell him that we’re probably going to be late.’

  ‘I’ll call him.’ Chantal takes my mobile phone from the console. ‘We don’t want you getting nicked for using your phone while driving either.’

  ‘Suddenly everyone’s concerned about me not becoming a criminal. Shame you didn’t think about that a little while ago,’ I point out.

  We all burst into fits of giggles.

  ‘This is terrible,’ I say. ‘Autumn, we have a bagful of dodgy money in the footwell. What are you planning to do with it?’

  ‘Technically, it belongs to Richard, I suppose. I should give it to him.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem too deserving to me,’ Chantal remarks.

  ‘You’re right,’ Autumn agrees. ‘After he’s put us in so much danger, I think he owes me one. Maybe I should find one of my good causes to donate it to.’

  ‘Perhaps it should go to the drugs rehab programme,’ Nadia suggests. ‘There seems a certain sort of irony in that.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Chantal finds Marcus’s phone number, presses dial and holds my mobile to her ear. ‘It’s going straight to voicemail,’ she tells me. ‘Do you want me to leave a message?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s better if we don’t,’ I say. ‘He’ll never expect me to be on time, anyway. Isn’t it a bride’s prerogative to be hideously late?’ We’re on the motorway now and we’re speeding along. It won’t be too long before we’re back. So long as there are no more technical hitches, of course.

  The chocolate and cream ribbons are flutteringly wildly in the breeze. Celine’s still warbling on.

  ‘Marcus will understand,’ I say. I grit my teeth, press my foot down hard and hope to goodness that I’m right.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ I say, looking at my watch. ‘Twenty minutes late isn’t so bad, is it?’

  My bridesmaids look nervously at me. After customising a few more of Trington Manor’s flowerbeds on the way back, we’ve now slowed our pace to sedate rather than breakneck. And, while it might be unusual for a bride to be driving her own wedding car, nothing else looks untoward. Even my hair is miraculously untrammelled by its adventures.

  The church is picture-perfect. Set in the grounds of the Manor, it hails from the year dot. Medieval, I’d guess. The brickwork is all worn and mellow. A little gravel path winds its way towards the door through immaculately tended lawns. There’s an arch of brilliant white roses around the door just for me. It’s the perfect setting for a fairytale wedding. A fairytale wedding that’s going to be mine. My heart sets up a shaky and uneven beat.

  I can see the photographer hovering at the entrance to the church – and rather a lot of the guests too. Perhaps they’re waiting to take snaps of me as I arrive. Although, I admit, I had sort of expected them to be sitting in the church, anxiously nibbling their nails at my tardiness by now.

  ‘This has been fun,’ I say to my friends. How on earth we’ve managed to get through all that unscathed, I don’t know. But we have. Miraculously. ‘Now the serious stuff starts. Are we ready?’ My best girls nod at me.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure about this, Lucy?’ Nadia asks, hand on my arm.

  A flutter of nerves grips my stomach and I can’t speak to answer her. This is it. This is really it. Perhaps it’s due to the excitement and stress of the last few hours, but I feel weird. I feel as if this isn’t really happening to me at all. In a very short time, I’m going to be Marcus’s wife.

  I slow the Bentley to a dignified halt right outside the church. My dad wrenches open the passenger door. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he barks. My parent is red in the face and, I have to say, it’s not the typical address for a father to give his daughter on her wedding day, I would have thought.

  I can’t really answer, ‘To North London on a drugs drop,’ so I say, ‘We had to pop out. You knew that. I went in your car.’

  He’s too apoplectic to speak.

  Chantal comes round and helps me out of the car. I fluff my skirt, check that my bouquet has survived its trials unscathed – which it has – and, serenely, we head for the church gates.

  ‘It’s all right now,’ I say calmly to my father. A mist of numbness has settled on me. I don’t know where my emotions have gone, but they’re not here at this moment. I’m centred, grounded, positively Zen. ‘We’re here now. The proceedings can begin.’

  I might have thought that the organ would have been playing to entertain the congregation, but there’s no hint of music in the air. Everything’s very quiet. I see Clive and Tristan lurking by a particularly fine yew tree – their faces are drawn and I hope that they’ve not been fighting again. I want this to be a day of love and joy. Jacob is there as well, and when he sees me, he starts towards me, his face wracked with anguish. All the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something’s definitely not right. I wonder if we’ve turned up on the wrong day.

  Then I hear my mother wail like a banshee. She’s heading for me too, blubbing her eyes out. ‘Oh, Lucy. Oh, Lucy!’

  ‘What?’ I say. There are a lot of embarrassed faces staring at me. Dave the Groper and Hilary the Hun are there. Hilary, too, is sniffing into her handkerchief. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Marcus,’ my mother says dramatically, along with a sob.

  My blood runs cold. ‘What about Marcus?’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  Chapter Seventy

  I wrench the church doors open, thinking that this must be some kind of sick joke. There’s a gasp from the few people who are sitting chatting in their pews. Any conversation grinds to a halt and they all stare at me.

  The organist, clearly shocked into action, starts up with a robust version of the ‘Wedding March’. Checking out the altar, I see that it’s remarkably groom-free. The vicar is there. He’s frantically waving his arms to try to shut the organist up. The church is decorated beautifully – Jacob has done a great job. Fabulous arrangements of lilies and roses and orchids perfume the cool air. The space where Marcus and his Best Man should be is empty. It’s true. Marcus has run out on me.

  ‘Where is he?’ I say to no one in particular as I wheel round. ‘Where’s that bloody bastard gone?’

  That stops the organist in his tracks. The ‘Wedding March’ grinds to an abrupt halt. Our guests fidget furtively in their seats.

  My mother is at my side. ‘He was here on tim
e,’ she sniffles. ‘He looked so lovely.’ More tears.

  I’m sure he did. Marcus always suited morning dress. Just looks as if he was allergic to wearing it at his own wedding.

  ‘Then when you were late,’ my mother continues, ‘he suddenly announced that he couldn’t go through with it and left.’

  ‘What a tosser!’

  She tries to take my hand. ‘Don’t upset yourself, Lucy.’

  ‘I’m not upset,’ I cry, snatching my hand away. ‘I’m fucking furious! He couldn’t wait twenty minutes? We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together and he couldn’t wait for twenty frigging minutes!’ I gesticulate at the church, at the wonderfulness of it. ‘All this – and he couldn’t wait for me?’

  ‘How could he do this to us?’ Mum sobs. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  Unfortunately, in a dark part of my heart, I can believe it. I can believe that Marcus could do this.

  My mum is at a loss for words; she melts into the background and I’m suddenly surrounded by my best girls. They form a huddle around me. None of us speak, we just hold each other.

  ‘Fuck,’ Chantal says eventually. ‘It’s been a hell of a morning.’

  I feel a smile form on my face at the same time as the tears flow. A giggle chokes up into my throat. They all join in. ‘That wanker,’ I say through my tears. ‘How could he leave me in the lurch like this?’

  Autumn wraps her arm around me. ‘This is all my fault,’ she says miserably. ‘I feel so terrible.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I say crisply. ‘This isn’t down to you. For goodness’ sake, I could have had a wardrobe malfunction with my bra or my shoes or my hair – anything – and that would have made me twenty minutes late. It doesn’t matter one jot what caused the delay.’ Although I realise we are quite lucky not to be in the nick looking forward to porridge for breakfast. ‘If Marcus can change his mind in that short space of time, then he doesn’t deserve me anyway.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Nadia says. ‘That’s the spirit. Now you’ve got to face this lot. Stiff upper lip. We can help you through it. There’ll be time for tears later.’

  I brush my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘I’m not going to cry over Marcus,’ I say steadily. ‘This wedding is going to go ahead,’ I laugh again – a bit on the hysterical side. ‘We’re just going to have to skip the church part.’

  The girls look at me, bemused.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Nadia asks. ‘No one will expect you to stay around. We can go off quietly somewhere.’

  ‘There’s a chocolate fountain waiting in that hotel,’ I say, pointing in the general direction of where the reception is to be held. ‘There’s no way I’m going to miss that.’ In fact, I intend to make myself heartily sick with it. ‘I want everyone to come. Everyone. Even Marcus’s bunch.’ Most of the guests are Marcus’s family, anyway. Currently, they’re trying to sneak out of the pews without me spotting them. I don’t hold any of this against them. Marcus might be related to them, but I’m damn sure that none of them are feeling any particular familial warmth towards him at the moment.

  ‘Some of these people have come a long way.’ Some of them will have bought new frocks. I feel a pang of anger at Marcus for putting them through this. For putting me through this! I would have walked through fire for that man, and this is how he’s repaid me.

  Dragging myself back to my present crisis, I say, ‘They can’t go home without being fed.’ There’s a mountain of food waiting for us up at the Manor House and there’s no way they’re going to give Marcus a refund on it. Though his relatives better not hog the chocolate fountain or there will be trouble.

  ‘You must go out and tell them for me.’ I grasp Chantal and Nadia’s hands. ‘The rest of my wedding is going ahead, come hell or high water. We are all going to go and have a great time. At Marcus’s expense. It’s a shame he won’t be here to enjoy it.’ I take a deep shuddering breath. ‘With or without Marcus, life goes on.’

  And, at this moment, I truly believe that.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  ‘You’re being very brave.’ Jacob slides into the chair next to me. He takes my hand and squeezes it.

  ‘This is a lovely wedding, Jacob,’ I tell him truthfully. ‘You’ve surpassed yourself. I hope that you’ll double your bill when you send it to Marcus.’

  He laughs gently. ‘You’re a lovely lady,’ he says. ‘Marcus must be mad.’

  ‘Yadda, yadda,’ I say. If too many more people tell me how lovely I am or how mad Marcus must be, then I will be bawling my head off very soon. As it is, I’m extremely pissed and that seems to be helping to numb the pain. ‘You promised me a wedding that no one would forget. Well, I’ve certainly had that.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it quite this way.’

  ‘I’m enjoying it anyway,’ I tell him. And, bizarrely, I am. I even opted to stay in my wedding dress, complete with beautiful, sparkly tiara and veil. I have to face it, this might be my only chance to wear a dress like this so I may as well make the best of it.

  The room looks beautiful. Each table is decorated with lavish arrangements of white flowers, and a bunch of helium balloons anchored by chocolate-coloured ribbons stretches towards the ceiling, bobbing gently in the warm air.

  Most of Marcus’s relations have come along to the reception. One or two cried off, but most people have girded their loins and come along to the ‘celebration’. Some of them look like they want to keep an eye on what’s happening to their presents and I guess that I’ll have to work out how to make sure everyone gets their gifts back in due course.

  Marcus’s parents looked wracked with anxiety, but other than that everyone seems to be having a good time. Jacob quickly reorganised the seating plan so that the absence of a groom on the top table was less noticeable. My parents and Marcus’s parents have been relegated to lower tables and now the members of The Chocolate Lovers’ Club are flanking me on either side and I know that I wouldn’t have been able to get through this without them. As always, they have been there just when I needed them.

  We’re halfway through the wedding breakfast, and I’d like to be able to say that I haven’t managed to eat a thing or that I picked delicately at my food while looking wan. But, frankly, after all the excitement and trauma, I’m as hungry as a horse and I’ve woofed everything down in sight and have thoroughly enjoyed it all. Very little puts me off my food. The smoked salmon mousse was divine, the chicken – exquisite. I’ve eaten my way through more chocolate desserts than I care to count, even though there is still the chocolate fountain to come this evening, and now the calories are straining manfully against the confines of my dress. Wonderful!

  I glance at my best girls and they’re all looking happy. Like me, they have had an awful lot of champagne. Except Chantal, of course. Though I’m not sure how she’s managing this day without the aid of strong drink. Secretly, I think they’re relieved that I haven’t married Marcus even though the circumstances are quite traumatic. I’m also pleased to see that Addison has turned up at the wedding, much to Autumn’s delight. I hope everything will work out for them as they make such a great couple. Ted’s here too – though he’s looking a little tense. I’ve asked Jacob to make sure that everyone’s glass remains permanently topped up. I don’t want anyone sober enough to remember that this isn’t really a wedding at all. Most of all me. So I knock back some more champagne.

  We’re going to skip the speeches – which my dad is heartily relieved about. It seems almost worth his daughter being stood up at the altar to avoid that particular embarrassment, and I wonder why we go through these terrible rituals that none of us enjoy in the name of tradition. Maybe if Marcus and I had sneaked away somewhere quiet by ourselves to get married then he might not have freaked out at the last minute. I always knew, in my heart of hearts, that a grand bash like this was a really bad idea.

  My mobile phone vibrates, making my little silk purse hop about the table. I pick it up. There’s a text message waiting for me. It’s fro
m Marcus, and all it says is SORRY.

  ‘From Marcus,’ I say to Jacob and I hand him the phone.

  He reads the message. ‘Prat,’ he says with feeling. ‘Where do you think he’s gone?’

  ‘Not very far.’ Then a thought goes through my mind. I take my napkin from my lap and put it on the table. ‘Excuse me, Jacob,’ I say. ‘I’ll be back in just a moment.’

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. Taking the lift up to the fourth floor, I find Marcus’s room and knock on the door.

  ‘Hello.’ Sure enough, Marcus’s voice comes from inside. It was only when Jacob asked me where Marcus might be, that I realised he could still well be in the hotel, holed up in his room, hiding.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘Can I come in?’

  There’s silence and then a moment later, Marcus opens the door. His eyes are red from crying. ‘My God,’ he says flatly. ‘You look fabulous.’

  Then I realise that he hasn’t yet seen me in my wedding dress. ‘Thanks.’

  He moves aside as I step past him in my beautiful silk slippers. Marcus is still wearing his morning dress, though his cravat and morning coat are abandoned on the bed. His suitcase is there too.

  Marcus studies me intently, and his eyes fill with tears again. ‘I seriously messed up this time.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘You did.’

  He rakes his hands through his hair. ‘How could I do this?’

  I sit down on the edge of Marcus’s bed near his case. ‘It’s a question that a lot of our guests are asking.’

  ‘Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,’ he says. ‘How much have I hurt you this time?’

  ‘Quite a lot,’ I tell him.

  ‘You’ll never forgive me. Will you?’

  ‘Oh Marcus,’ I sigh. ‘I always forgive you. I always have a list of excuses ready to explain away your bad behaviour.’

  ‘But not this time?’

  ‘This time, it would be fair to say that I’m struggling a little.’