‘I won’t be long,’ Lauren said. The promise of a strong drink was calling her.
Upstairs, the cottage was small and neat. Her case was on the bed in the room at the front. There was an old-fashioned wrought-iron bed with crisp white linen on it. An oak dressing-table and a tall wardrobe flanked it. The room was cool, welcoming, like a safe cocoon.
Lauren sat on the bed and tested it. The springs creaked, just as she knew they would. It made her smile.
Zak was being so kind to her that she felt like weeping. No one had ever cosseted her like he did. She looked at herself in the mirror on the dressing-table and was shocked. A gaunt white face stared back at her. Blue shadows ringed her eyes. She looked like a giant panda minus the cuteness. Lying down on the bed, she cried what she vowed would be her last tears for Jude into the soft pillow.
Lauren had reached rock bottom. The only way from here was up.
Chapter 91
‘The Pudding Club?’ Lauren laughed incredulously.
She and Zak were sitting in the pretty garden of a small hotel in the centre of Mickleton, a slow ten-minute stroll from Zak’s cottage.
Lauren was wearing a white, strappy summer dress that she didn’t even remember packing, and Zak was looking handsome in a dark linen shirt, his hair freshly washed.
‘You do eat puddings?’ Zak frowned.
‘I’m sure I used to, once,’ she said. Though she couldn’t quite recall when.
‘Well, it won’t do you any harm,’ he told her. ‘You could do with a bit of meat on your bones.’
‘And sticky toffee pudding will do that?’
‘Most definitely.’
The Three Ways House Hotel, as Zak explained, was the home of The Pudding Club. The couple who ran it had grown tired of going to restaurants where all that was on offer for dessert was frozen cheesecake or Black Forest Gâteau, and had decided to do something about it. Thus The Pudding Club was born – nearly twenty-five years ago. Now there were regular dinners where good, old-fashioned traditional British puddings were the mainstay of the menu.
Zak clinked his champagne glass against hers. ‘To you,’ he said.
‘I’m not sure that I’ve got anything much to celebrate.’
‘To a new start.’
‘A new start,’ Lauren echoed, and sipped at her fizz. She felt as if she was a million miles away from London, in a different country almost. And it was a nice place to be.
An old school bell was rung at the door to signal the start of dinner.
Zak took her by the hand and, smiling, said, ‘Let’s go and have some fun.’
They sat at large communal tables in the dining room – a young couple on a romantic weekend away on one side and an older couple celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary on the other. She thought with a sharp pang that it was quite a surprise that Jude had never brought her to this place. It was just his sort of thing.
The light main course was dispensed with efficiently before the serious business of introducing the puddings got underway. By the time all the different traditional steamed puddings were brought in, both she and Zak had knocked back quite a bit of wine. Lauren was feeling decidedly merry and better than she had in a long time.
The couples next to them were full of fun and she realised that virtually every restaurant meal she’d had with Jude had been spent huddled at a corner table with them avoiding eye-contact with anyone apart from the waiter. What a delightful difference this was!
Each pudding was introduced in turn and everyone in the room banged their spoons on the table to herald their arrival. Gargantuan puddings with clouds of sweet, aromatic steam rising from them were paraded before them – sticky toffee pudding, spotted dick, jam roly poly, golden syrup sponge and chocolate pudding.
The mood was uproarious, good natured and exactly the tonic she needed.
‘The only rule,’ Zak said, ‘is that you have to finish all that’s in your bowl before you can go back for another pudding.’
The heavenly scent of them was making her mouth salivate. ‘I can tell that you’ve done this before,’ Lauren said.
‘Just once or twice.’
‘Any tips from the maestro?’
‘Start with the heaviest and work your way towards the lightest.’
‘They all look equally rich.’
‘That is the slight downside of my cunning plan.’
Lauren picked up her bowl. ‘Let’s get this started.’
‘I have to warn you that my own personal record is ten puddings,’ Zak boasted. ‘You have a lot to live up to.’
She grinned at her friend. ‘That very much sounds like you’re throwing down the gauntlet, Mr Reynolds.’
‘Are you woman enough for the challenge?’ he teased.
Lauren strode towards the pudding buffet, glad that she’d worn a loose-fitting dress. ‘We’ll see, shall we?’
Chapter 92
An hour later and Zak sat back in his chair, massaging his stomach. ‘Oh, that was so good.’
Lauren massaged her tummy too and groaned contentedly.
‘Though I do have to point out that you’re a total lightweight, my dear Ms Osbourne.’
‘One measly pudding more than me. That was all you managed.’ She inspected his bowl carefully. ‘And I question whether you’ve eaten all of that one. I’m sure that I can still see traces of sticky toffee pudding.’
Zak ran his spoon round the bowl again and scooped them up. ‘You are a ferocious competitor.’
‘This time I’ve been beaten by a better man.’
‘Want a chance to redeem yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’ This was the most she’d eaten in years. And, though she might well regret it in the morning, she now felt very pleasantly satiated. Food seemed to have become a substance that had lost all of its pleasure for her.
‘One more for the road,’ Zak challenged. ‘Equal portions. First to finish.’
‘What are the stakes?’
Zak pondered, then said, ‘Breakfast in bed for the victor.’
‘I won’t be letting another morsel of food pass my lips for about a week!’
‘I don’t believe it. You can’t live on fresh air, woman. You have to start eating properly.’
‘I’m not sure that devouring five puddings in a row counts as eating properly.’
‘It’s a start,’ her friend said, and he picked up her bowl and carried it to the buffet table. Lauren followed behind him, eager to see that he didn’t cheat.
‘This is a very serious competition,’ Zak explained to the chef. ‘Honour is at stake. The portions need to be exactly equal.’ He turned to Lauren. ‘Choose your pudding.’
She mulled it over. They had all been delicious. ‘Chocolate, please.’
‘And I’ll take the golden syrup sponge again.’
‘I think you’ll find that’s lighter than mine,’ Lauren joked.
‘I think you’ll find not.’
They poured on equal amounts of creamy yellow custard, checking the levels in their bowls carefully and then returned to their table. The couples they’d been seated with were long gone, and she and Zak sat at the table alone, facing each other.
‘Spoons at the ready,’ Zak said, and they both held their spoons above their bowls. ‘On your marks, get set . . . go!’
They tucked into their final pudding with gusto, giggling between spoonfuls.
Lauren got halfway down the bowl and pushed it away from her, holding up her hands in surrender. ‘I’m done,’ she said. ‘I give in. The man with hardened arteries wins.’
Zak laughed. ‘I could eat another one!’
‘You liar.’
He finished another spoonful and tapped his bowl, saying: ‘There! Breakfast in bed for me.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ Lauren conceded. ‘It’s been such a great evening. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in ages.’
‘Come here.’ He beckoned her towards him. ‘
You have custard on your lip.’
‘Here?’ Lauren tried to wipe it off with her napkin.
Zak shook his head. ‘Let me.’ He lifted her chin with his thumb. Then their eyes locked and time stopped and all the silly things that only happen in the movies happened.
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth tenderly.
‘All gone,’ he said when they parted. They were both breathing unevenly.
‘That last pudding nearly tipped us over the edge into gluttony,’ she laughed, in an attempt to add levity to the situation.
‘Ah, one of the Seven Deadly Sins,’ Zak said.
‘Yes,’ Lauren breathed.
And the way she felt right now, she wouldn’t mind indulging in one or two more of them.
Chapter 93
At midnight, the phone rings. I’m not asleep. I’m awake staring at the ceiling. One of my favourite pastimes these days.
Greg grumbles to himself, but doesn’t quite wake. I pick up, heart pounding. It can only be one of the kids.
Sure enough, it’s Bobby. ‘Mum,’ he says, ‘can you come and get us, please? We’ve had a bit of bother.’
‘Bother?’
‘Ellen’s been mugged and I nearly had the bloke, but I think I’ve busted my hand.’
‘What? Is Ellen all right?’ I’m already half out of the bed.
‘She’ll be fine.’ But my son doesn’t sound like he thinks she’ll be fine.
‘Let me speak to her.’
‘My battery’s about to run out.’ Always a popular one.
‘Where are you?’
‘Up at the city centre. Outside Nitebox.’
A notorious club. A notorious trouble spot. What were my children doing there?
‘Give me fifteen minutes.’ I hang up. As I head to the wardrobe to find my jeans, my husband turns over, arm across his face. ‘What’s wrong?’ he mumbles.
‘That was Bobby. Ellen’s been mugged and he thinks he’s broken his hand.’
‘What?’
‘Ellen’s been—’
‘I heard. I just didn’t believe it.’
‘Believe it.’
A groan. Now Greg is awake and getting out of bed. ‘I’ll go. You can’t drive.’
I look down at my foot. I’d forgotten about that.
‘We’ll both go,’ I say. ‘We’re both awake now anyway.’ Not that I’m likely to rest until I can find out what’s been going on.
So, minutes later, we’re up, dressed and jump into my car and speed off towards the city centre to rescue our children.
When Greg pulls up outside Nitebox, Ellen is sitting on the pavement, head in hands. We struggle to pick her out at first as there are so many similarly attired drunken women slouched by the roadside in the same state of disarray. Her feet are bare, her shoes nowhere to be seen. Bobby, beside her, is nursing his hand. A group of youths are having a fist-fight not far behind them.
There’s a police van parked up there, but no sign of any policemen.
Greg and I are out of the car in seconds. I can now see why they couldn’t get a taxi home. A pool of vomit is at my daughter’s feet. My anger rises.
‘Is that why you couldn’t get a taxi?’
‘Yeah,’ Bobby admits. ‘No one would take us. I’ve not had that much to drink.’
‘But still too much to drive?’
My son doesn’t grace that with a reply. Nearly every weekend he ends up abandoning his car here and we’re the mugs who have to come and get it with him in the morning. But, I suppose, I’d rather him do that than drink and drive. Though, if I had my way, he wouldn’t drink at all.
‘Let’s take you straight to hospital.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ he insists.
‘Don’t be silly.’ I realise that I’m speaking to him like he’s a five year old, but at the moment, I feel he deserves it. ‘Get in, get in.’ I usher him towards the car.
Greg puts his arms round Ellen and scoops her up from the gutter.
‘God, she smells like a brewery,’ I complain.
Her skirt is torn and her hair is all over the place. To think that this is someone who prides herself on her appearance.
Greg lowers her into the front seat of the car and she’s promptly sick in the footwell.
I get in the back with Bobby. ‘Care to shed any light on this?’
‘Ellen got a bit lashed.’ We both look at my daughter, her mascara-streaked face, her make-up all smeared, clown-like.
I’m disappointed, angry, frustrated. I should take a photo of her on her mobile phone and paste it up on Facebook – that might make her think just how she looks. What is wrong with young girls these days? Why do they behave like this? Why do they think this is what having fun means?
As I’m unlikely to get any sense out of Ellen, I turn on my son. ‘I thought you were supposed to be looking after her?’
‘I’m not her keeper,’ Bobby whines. ‘You know what she’s like.’
Only too well.
‘I saw her going outside. Her mates said she was getting some fresh air.’ My son avoids my eyes. ‘When I got out, there was some bloke pawing her. I shouted at him to leave her alone. When he saw me, he lifted her handbag and legged it. I chased after him, but I’ve had a few too.’
That’s also rather obvious.
‘I managed to land a punch on him, but he pulled me over and I fell on my hand,’ Bobby continues. ‘I didn’t get the bag back. Don’t know whether it was lumping the bloke or the fall that did it, but my hand is killing me now.’
‘You’re lucky that the police didn’t get involved.’
‘They’re not bothered,’ he says with a quick glance at the police van. ‘Turn a blind eye to anything that goes on up here. They just want a quiet night.’
‘It’s a shame that the pair of you don’t.’
Greg’s found some old towels in the boot of my car that I keep for wiping muddy shoes and he’s mopping up the aftermath of my daughter’s drinking binge. When he’s made the best job of it that he can, he slips back into the driver’s seat and looks at me in the rearview mirror. ‘Hospital?’
‘Where else?’ I reply tightly but, in fairness, my temper isn’t directed at my husband.
He eases the car away from the pavement, dodging broken glass in the road. A kid staggers across the street, bare chested. ‘It feels like the flipping Wild West up here.’
And I wonder what’s happened to our society that this is considered a good night out.
‘I just want to go home,’ Ellen wails, suddenly coming round.
‘Well, instead, you’re going to be spending the rest of the night in A and E with your brother.’
‘Get a life, Mum,’ Ellen mutters under her breath, but just about loud enough for me to hear.
Well, I won’t swallow it this time and I round on her, snapping, ‘Has it ever occurred to you that it’s you two who need to get a life?’
Then we all fall into a tense silence and stay like that until we get to the hospital.
Chapter 94
Lauren paced the floor of her bedroom in Zak’s cottage. She’d tried sleeping but it just wasn’t happening, and it was nothing to do with the sugar rush that all of those scrumptious puddings had given her. It was mainly down to the rush that Zak’s unexpected kiss had given her.
They’d kissed again when they’d said goodnight and she’d watched him disappear into his own room.
She was drunk. Too much fizz and too much wine had been consumed for her to be thinking straight. Lauren wrung her hands together. It would be a really bad idea to go to Zak, to offer herself to him. She was too raw, too emotionally vulnerable. Too soon out of one relationship to consider another one.
She could go downstairs, make a cup of tea, watch something rubbishy on the television. That’s what she’d do at home when she was frustrated and restless. Or should she risk their friendship by making an approach to Zak?
What if he wasn’t interested? What if she’d misread the signs?
What if he was already fast asleep? What if his kiss had really just been a slight overstepping of the mark between friends? What if he was now regretting getting carried away?
Her mouth was dry. There was only one way to find out.
Tugging off her comfy pyjamas Lauren slipped her kimono on. Unlatching her door as quietly as she could – strange when she was planning to wake Zak up in just a moment – she padded barefoot across the landing. For a moment, she listened at Zak’s door. There were no unnerving snoring sounds. She couldn’t hear him breathing.
Gently, she lifted the latch on his door. He was in bed, but he wasn’t asleep. The moon streamed in through the window, bathing his bed in its soft white light. Her friend was propped up on one arm. His chest was bare.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Lauren whispered, lingering in the doorway.
‘Me neither.’
Lauren felt shy, but she knew that it was now or never. ‘Want some company?’
She heard Zak suck in a breath. ‘If you’re sure.’
Her voice had gone, so she nodded even though it was dark. Zak flicked back the duvet. She let her kimono fall from her shoulders.
‘God, you’re beautiful,’ Zak said.
Lauren climbed into his bed and laid against him. She was relieved to find that it wasn’t only Zak’s chest that was bare. His skin was warm, soft – sensational against hers.
‘I didn’t bring you here to seduce you,’ he murmured, his fingers toying with her hair. ‘That was never my intention.’
Lauren stroked his face, tenderly. ‘It may have escaped your notice, Mr Reynolds, but I think you’ll find that I’m seducing you.’
Chapter 95
I was supposed to be doing a car-boot sale this morning. I had my table booked and I was meant to arrive by six o’clock to display my wares – as it were. But, of course, I didn’t. The selection of designer clothes that Chelsea looked out for me remain inside their posh carrier bags.
My plans were somewhat curtailed by spending until five o’clock this morning in the Accident & Emergency Department of Milton Keynes General Hospital. Never the best way to spend a night.
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