The Chocolate Lovers' Club

by Carole Matthews

  They all high-five each other again and then fade away into the darkness, leaving just me and Aiden Holby standing on the pavement in the chilly night.

  “What are you going to do now, Gorgeous?” he asks.

  “Go home and have a long, hot bath.”

  “I thought you might have had enough of water for today,” he observes.

  “Very funny,” I mutter.

  Gently, he runs his thumb over my cheek. “I’m glad you were okay,” he says.

  “Okay” meaning that I was injured, shocked and deeply humiliated, but not actually dead. He’d have had a lot of paperwork to fill in for the company if I’d croaked it. Serve him right if I had.

  “Do you want to get a cab together?” Crush asks. “I ought to make sure you get home safely. Who knows what disasters could befall you between here and Camden?”

  “You can get off your white horse now,” I say crisply. “I’ll be just fine. Don’t trouble yourself.”

  “No trouble. I live out your way.”

  “Do you?”

  “Belsize Park.”

  And before I can either agree or disagree, he’s hailed a cab and is bundling my bruised body inside. I give the driver my address and we trundle off into the night and toward my flat. I don’t really know what to say as I’ve never been in such an intimate situation with Crush before. Not that being in the back of a slightly scruffy black cab is intimate, but you know what I mean. We’re sort of close to each other and alone and all that kind of thing. I’ve been frozen to the core all day after my dunking, but now I’m surprisingly warm. While I’m still tongue-tied, Crush turns toward me and says, “You did enjoy today?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  He laughs out loud, clearly thinking that I’m joking. “We should do it again sometime.”

  We so should not! “I’d love to.”

  The cab pulls up outside my flat and we sit there with the engine idling away. “Well,” Crush says. “Time to say good night.”

  “Yes.” Should I invite him in for a nightcap? Or does that sound like I’m trying to get off with him? Which I’m not. My flat’s probably in a complete state, and I’m not sure if I’ve even got any milk—but there’s a twenty-four-hour shop on the corner. I could get some. Or we could skip the coffee and just eat Mars Bars; there’re always plenty of those in the fridge.

  While I’m trying to work out all the necessary permutations, Crush sighs and he leans toward me. And I wonder for a moment if he’s going to kiss me. What if I’ve got smelly breath from swallowing fish in the river? Which I surely must have done.

  “Where are we off to next?” the taxi driver—with impeccable timing— wants to know.

  Crush, his lips close to mine, reels off an address. Then he kisses me. On the lips. Just a small kiss—but very nice, nevertheless. Not a romantic kiss, but a bit more cozy than perhaps two colleagues should be.

  “I … I … I’d better be going,” I manage to stammer.

  He looks deep into my eyes. “You’re a lot of fun, Lucy Lombard,” he says with a sexy smile.

  “Thanks.” I get out of the cab and then stand on the pavement while I watch it drive away. Crush looks out of the back window at me until he’s out of sight.

  Well! I walk up to my flat. What am I supposed to think about that? If I hadn’t got water on the brain then I might be able to work it out. I unlock the door and dump my stuff on the floor. My answerphone is blinking and I press play.

  First message: Hi, Lucy. This is Jacob Lawson. I hope you remember me. My God! He’s phoned! I wasn’t sure if he would. I was calling to say that the chocolate evening is on Tuesday. If you’d still like to go, please give me a call. My number is blah, blah, blah. That’s me putting in the blah-blahs, not Jacob. Would it seem too keen to phone him back straight away? It’s only midnight, after all. Surely he wouldn’t be in bed at this hour. Oh well, maybe not. A chocolate extravaganza on Tuesday night! I do a little happy dance in the middle of my sitting room. What a clever girl I am, bagging such a great date! It would mean missing my yoga class and all that Downward Dogging again, but it would be in a good cause.

  Second message: Hi, Lucy. This voice needs no introduction. It’s me. I was thinking about you today. There’s a big sigh down the line. I’ve forgiven you for trashing my clothes and my sofa and my rug. The saffron mash in the shoes was a nice touch. I wonder if he’s found where the smell is coming from yet. He might not forgive me for the prawns when they kick in. I miss you, Lucy. I know what I did was wrong. And I wondered if you could forgive me too.

  I sink down onto my sofa and stare at the phone. All my euphoria about my date with Jacob dissipates. Marcus has called. And he’s very nearly begging for my forgiveness. What now? I’m going to have to head for the kitchen and eat chocolate until I can come to a decision. Can I forgive him? Are our misdemeanors on the same scale? Marcus tore my heart apart. I just did unpleasant things to his wardrobe and soft furnishings.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  SO, IT’S SUNDAY LUNCHTIME AND, once again, it’s me who’s called a meeting of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club. I’ve texted all of the girls and they’re on their way. Even Nadia, who has managed to persuade Toby that he’d like to babysit for their son for a few hours.

  Even more of me aches today and I’ve got bruises all over my body. A hot cup of coffee and a swirly-whirly dark- and white-chocolate marbled brownie are providing some succor. The sun is out today—too rare an event in any of the British seasons—and the faint warmth coming through the window is soothing.

  Chantal is the first to arrive and she swings through the door with the air of a woman on a mission. Flopping down next to me and without preamble, she asks, “What do you think?”

  Her hand is held out for my inspection. On her ring finger, right where they should be, are her wedding and engagement rings.

  “You got them back?” I clap my hands in glee for her.

  “Don’t be silly,” she tuts. “Life is never that simple. The wedding ring was £7.99. The engagement ring £19.99. It’s pure, unadulterated glass.” She holds the ring up to the light. “The original was worth over ten thousand pounds.”

  I nearly choke on my coffee.

  “It makes me wonder why we bothered to pay that much. Does this look so different?”

  To the untrained eye, I guess it doesn’t.

  “I bought them from some cheap accessories shop on Oxford Street.” I didn’t think Chantal had ever heard of Oxford Street. She’s more your Knightsbridge kind of person. “Think Ted will notice?”

  “Not if you keep him at a distance.”

  “Honey,” she says with a brittle laugh, “believe me, that is no problem these days.” Chantal admires the bauble more closely. “We have enough money in the account for me to ‘borrow’ some for a while. I’ll make it good as soon as I can. Maybe I’ll take some extra freelance assignments. Thirty grand should buy me all my babies back—or good quality look-alikes. Ted will never know.”

  I’m glad that I don’t have another mouthful of coffee, otherwise it would definitely be sprayed all over the table. Fancy having enough money in the bank that you could withdraw thirty grand and your husband wouldn’t even bat an eyelid. I need a husband like that. But then I’d like one who slept with me occasionally too.

  Autumn is the next to arrive. She doesn’t bound in with her usual enthusiasm, but sidles in and slips quietly into a chair. Our friend looks exhausted.

  “Autumn, what on earth is wrong?”

  Shaking her head in a world-weary way, she says, “My darling brother is staying with me at the moment. He’s having a spot of bother. Let’s just say that he isn’t the easiest of houseguests.”

  If he’s getting on Autumn’s nerves then he must be a complete nightmare. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No.” She gives us a tight smile. “I’m hoping it won’t be for long. It’s just nice to get away for a while. What are you having?”

  “I’m going
to go along the cappuccino and chocolate-coated nuts route,” Chantal says decisively, and she sets off to the counter to make her selection. Autumn trails along in her wake.

  When we’re all feeling much better—our sugar levels having been restored by our favorite comfort food—I confront my friends with my current Marcus dilemma. “He called and asked me to forgive him. Yesterday,” I say. “While I was being tortured by whitewater rafting in Wales.”

  “No,” Chantal says without even letting her brain ruminate on it for a moment. “You will not take him back this time, Lucy. No. No. No.”

  “Perhaps he’s changed,” Autumn tries to pacify her. “This time.”

  “It’s five days since she caught him banging someone else. How can he have changed?”

  I think Chantal has won that point. Autumn looks chastened, but then she herself would admit to finding good in even the worst of the Bond-film baddies.

  “And Jacob phoned me for a date,” I chip in. Maybe I shouldn’t tell them about the kiss in the cab with Crush—I feel that would overly complicate matters.

  “Go for it, girl,” Chantal instructs me. “Move on. Let Marcus take a hike. Don’t you dare phone him.”

  Right. So that’s me sorted. Don’t phone, Marcus. Don’t speak to him. Don’t thank him for the lovely flowers. And, especially, Don’t let him darken my door again. Easy-peasy Except why does my heart feel so full of dread when I think of a future without him?

  Before I can ponder further on the landscape of my life, Nadia joins us. She looks flushed and flustered and as if she’s rushed here. Our friend pulls off her coat and a miniature truck falls out of her cuff and onto the floor. I hand it back to her and Nadia sighs wearily while stuffing it into her handbag.

  “Had trouble getting away,” she explains. “But boy, do I need this.”

  “Let me,” Autumn says, standing to go and get Nadia’s order. “What would you like?”

  “Anything,” Nadia breathes. “Anything at all. I’m just so relieved to be here.”

  “I know just the thing,” Autumn says, and goes off to see Clive.

  “We were admiring Chantal’s new jewels,” I tell Nadia. We fill her in briefly on Chantal’s humping and heist experience as she missed our last gossiping session. Her eyes widen as the tale unfolds.

  “What a jerk I was,” Chantal says ruefully. “So now I’m having to appropriate thirty grand out of our joint account to replace them.”

  At that, Nadia bursts into tears.

  “Everything will be all right,” I say, giving her a hug, but feeling puzzled. I’m not sure that Chantal’s problem—tricky as it might be—warrants this emotional response. “You know Chantal. She’ll sort it.”

  “That’s not why she’s crying,” Chantal observes. “What’s this all about, hon?” She picks up a napkin and wipes Nadia’s tears away. “Is Lewis okay?”

  At that, Nadia bursts into tears again.

  Autumn returns with a cappuccino and a heap of goodies for Nadia. “She wouldn’t have left Lewis if there had been anything wrong,” Autumn notes as she sits down again. “Ssh, ssh,” she says soothingly to Nadia. “Things can’t be that bad.”

  “They are,” Nadia says bleakly. Autumn pushes her coffee toward her and Nadia duly sips at it as she sniffs her tears away. We all sit and wait for her to get herself back together. Eventually she tries a smile at us. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone about this,” she says. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Honey,” Chantal says, “I’ve just been fucked and fleeced by a guy who I picked up at a hotel. It doesn’t get much more embarrassing than that.”

  That breaks the tension and we all laugh at our friend’s expense, which gives Nadia enough confidence to speak.

  “We’re in debt,” she says. “Toby and me. Deep debt.” She avoids looking at us and studies her coffee, pushes her chocolates around the plate. “We’re behind with the mortgage. Our credit-card bills are spiraling out of control. I don’t even have enough money for food.” Tears roll down her face again.

  “Is Toby short of work?” I ask gently.

  “It’s not that,” she says, wiping at her cheeks. “He’s got more than enough work, if only he would concentrate on it.” Nadia takes another shuddering breath. “He’s addicted to online gambling. There,” she tries a brave smile, “that’s the first time I’ve said that out loud.”

  Shocked, we all look at her sympathetically while she composes herself again.

  “He spends hours on the computer every night trying to win, but it’s just pushing us deeper into trouble,” she goes on. “I can’t even talk to him about it. He thinks he can gamble his way out of it—that the next big win is just around the corner. But this has been going on for years and it’s simply getting worse.”

  “Oh, Nadia.” Autumn hugs her tightly.

  “In the meantime, I’ve run out of places to turn,” Nadia continues. “We’ve remortgaged the house twice already to pay off our debts. Then we just start all over again. Now the bank won’t lend us any more money. I’m even thinking of going to a loan shark. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “When you say ‘we,’ I think you mean Toby,” I note.

  “What a jerk,” Chantal says.

  “I love him,” Nadia tells us flatly “We’re in this together. I don’t know if his gambling is some sort of illness, but I know that he can’t control it by himself. I want to help him. I have to help him.”

  I don’t want to sound judgmental, but I have to ask the obvious question. “Can’t you go back to work?”

  “That’s what I want to do,” Nadia says, “but Toby won’t hear of it. He says we’ll just spend any money I earn on child care and I haven’t got anyone else to look after Lewis. He hates the thought of putting him in a nursery all day. I even thought about going back to my family to ask for help, but they wouldn’t understand.”

  Or perhaps they’d understand only too well, I think.

  “You can’t work,” Chantal says. “Not in the state you’re in. You need to get yourself straight first, then you can think about getting a job again. How much do you owe?”

  Nadia’s hands are shaking and I wonder how she’s managed to hold all this in to herself. She laughs without humor. “Thirty thousand pounds,” she answers. “That’s what made me cry. It seems ironic, somehow, that it’s the same amount as you’re planning to spend on jewelry.”

  I think all of us can see the irony in that—even Chantal, and you know what Americans are like with irony. Well, this has certainly put my Marcus quandary into perspective.

  “You can have it,” Chantal says. “You can have the money.”

  All our heads swivel toward Chantal.

  “It’s the only practical solution,” she says, fixing her stare on our surprised faces. Trust Chantal to be so practical.

  Nadia is speechless.

  “But there are conditions,” she continues. “You go home and cancel your Internet connection. Today.”

  “Toby wouldn’t stand for that,” Nadia says.

  “Tell him you won’t stand for his gambling any longer,” she says. “This isn’t going to be easy, Nadia. You’re going to have to show him some tough love until he can admit that he needs help.”

  “Won’t he simply go to other places to get online?”

  “I guess so, but at least this will make it harder for him.”

  “The funny thing is,” Nadia says, “I checked out some of his favorite gambling sites and they all have direct links through to the Quit Gambling help line. Which should tell him something.” She shakes her head sadly. “We can’t be the only family who’s been blighted by this addiction.”

  Chantal bends to get her handbag. “I’ll write the check out for you today,” she says. “I was going to draw out the money in smaller amounts to keep it under Ted’s radar, but what the hell. Your need is greater than mine.” Chantal holds out her glass ring proudly. “I’ll have to stick to my fakes for now.”

  Nadia’s
lip is trembling again. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then you have to get a job,” Chantal says. “Whatever Toby’s objections. You need it for your own self-confidence and security. I’m not worried about the money—you can pay me back whenever you can. I’m a good loan shark.” She flashes Nadia a warm smile. “I take tiny installments.”

  “You can’t do this, Chantal,” Nadia says. “It’s too much.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” she says dismissively as she signs the check with a flourish. “Bank this, first thing tomorrow morning.” She pushes the check across the table. “I insist.”

  “I can help to look after Lewis when you get a job,” Autumn offers. “My hours are quite flexible. Then your child care expenses won’t be so high and you’ll be leaving him with someone you know.”

  Nadia gives in and cries again. “I don’t deserve you all,” she sobs.

  I think we’re all a little damp-eyed. “What can I do?” I say. “I can’t babysit. I haven’t got oodles of spare cash. I feel useless.” In fact, I have a negative bank balance myself, though not to the extent of Nadia’s. My overdraft pales into insignificance, by comparison. “What can I do to help?”

  “You’re lovely, Lucy,” Autumn says. “You’re the reason we’re all here together.”

  We all hug each other round the table.

  “You can get us all more chocolate,” Chantal suggests.

  “Now that’s what I call a very fine idea,” I say.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  NEWS OF MY WHITEWATER RAFTING and bottom-baring team-bonding exercise has clearly spread like wildfire through the offices of Targa. It’s not even ten o’clock, and yet every time I innocently pass by a desk—any desk— I’m sniggered at. By lunchtime I’m not going to be able to hold my head upright in this place. At this rate, I’ll have eaten all my emergency stash of chocolate by lunchtime too. I head to the vending machine, where I am accosted by Helen from Human Resources.