The Chocolate Lovers' Club

by Carole Matthews

  As soon as we’re outside the restaurant and in a quiet corridor, Crush pulls me to him again. I lean against the wall for support and he presses his body along the length of mine, kissing me fervently. His hands travel over my body and I wish my clothing was thinner, silkier or, preferably, nonexistent. Everything inside me bursts into flame. I cleave toward him and, previously, I had no idea what cleaving meant. What little is left of my wits departs instantly. I cannot wait to get this man home.

  “Are we mad for doing this?” Aiden breathes into my hair.

  “Yes,” I pant. “We’re madly badly reckless. But I think it’s fabulous.”

  “Me too.”

  Crush, it’s clear, wants me just as much as I want him. Why don’t restaurants have rooms that they could rent out by the hour? That would be a very good service to offer. There must be other couples who feel like this after a very good lunch and too much booze. Couple! Crush and I are a couple! We’re a couple!

  Before we both explode, we manage to prize ourselves apart, rearranging our clothing, exchanging looks of lustful longing, and then continue our journey out of the restaurant. It’s all going rather well until we get to the lift. There’s a big OUT OF ORDER sign now slapped to the front of it.

  “Bugger,” I say. “What now?”

  “I can manage the stairs,” Crush says valiantly.

  “We’re four floors up.”

  A look of uncertainty crosses his brow. “I’m sure I can.”

  “Have you tried stairs before on those?”

  “Not exactly,” he confesses.

  “Let’s see if there’s a service lift,” I suggest. “It might mean going down with the vegetables, but it’ll be better than trying to hop down this lot.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Crush says. “Absolutely fine.” And, with that, he sets off down the stairs, hopping gingerly onto each step. My heart’s in my mouth. He doesn’t look very steady at all. I’m a bit dodgy on my own pins and I haven’t got an unwieldy set of crutches to maneuver. I can hardly bear to watch.

  We’re half a dozen steps down when Crush has a nasty wobble. His crutches slip on the step, but he manages to correct his balance. He giggles while he catches his breath. “Bit close,” he manages.

  “Let me go in front of you,” I beg. “I’ll try to steady your crutches.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Trust me. There is.” So we set off again with me walking backward down the stairs in front of him.

  Crush hops toward me. He looks a bit steadier now, I think. “Come on,” I urge. “That’s right. Easy does it.” “I’m fine, Lucy. Honestly. Watch where you’re going yourself.” I have my arms spread out in case he falls. “Gently. Gently.” “The stairs narrow behind you,” Crush says.

  “What?” I turn to look and I don’t know quite what happens, but somehow my ankle twists. I lose my balance and stumble. Crush instantly drops his crutches and lurches forward, trying to grab me. But he slips and misses me completely. Then I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling through the air.

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  DAVINA IS JUMPING AROUND LIKE a mad thing. Whereas I am not. I’m lying on my sofa chogging my way through a box of Bendicks Gorgeous that’s balanced on my belly and am pretending that by simply watching an exercise video I am absorbing the impact of it by osmosis. My broken leg, complete with shocking-pink plaster cast, is propped up on a heap of cushions. It feels as if a thousand ants are crawling up and down inside and it’s driving me berserk. I can’t believe that Crush went through all this without complaint. I, on the other hand, am chain-eating painkillers and whining on about my misfortune to anyone stupid enough to listen. I’m even phoning my mother every day to whinge—that’s how bad it is. Somehow I feel it is getting my just deserts to have ended up like this after my spectacular fall down the stairs at the Tower.

  There’s a cheery knock at the door and then Aiden lets himself in. He, in an ironic twist, is now without the encumbrance of his plaster cast, although he’s using a walking stick which lends him a very sophisticated air. My boyfriend comes over and kisses me. “How are you feeling this morning, Gorgeous?”

  “Grumpy,” I tell him as I ditch my chocolates—but not before he pinches one.

  “Chin up,” he says, and gives me another peck.

  Aiden’s plaster cast has been gone for over a week and now, of course, he has to be heading off to Australia as International Sales Director to set up the new marketing division for Targa. He’s leaving today. Without me.

  “Have you got enough chocolate to keep you going?” The fridge is bursting with the stuff. I’m bursting with the stuff Despite having a red-hot boyfriend, it is currently my only comfort. Because of my temporary disability Crush and I have yet to consummate our relationship—which is more than a little frustrating. We’ve indulged in some good, old-fashioned snogging, but sometimes it just isn’t enough, is it? Particularly when he’s about to disappear off into the wide blue yonder for six months. “I brought you some more.” Aiden puts a wide range of assorted bars and boxes of chocolate on the coffee table. “Just in case you were running low.”

  I will be an eighteen-stone blimp with severe acne by the time I get back on my feet. But, in a bizarre way, despite all my current incapacities, I’m more contented than I’ve ever been. Improved self-esteem. Better self-image. Even a tiny upsurge in sadly depleted confidence. It may yet be very small, but there’s definitely a little seed of happiness threatening to grow and blossom inside me. I put this all down to the final and all-time dumping of Marcus “The Bastard Boyfriend From Hell” and his replacement by the calming influence of Crush—who has been an absolute wonder these last few weeks. How did I manage without him all this time? How will I manage without him when he’s gone? Flutter of panic. Reach for chocolate. Eat chocolate. Sigh contentedly. I just have to hold my nerve while he’s on the other side of the world.

  All of the girls from the Chocolate Lovers’ Club have been round to see me this week, also armed with chocolate goodies in many forms and hearty commiserations. They brought me some of the chocolate-themed books from the library shelf at Chocolate Heaven to keep me entertained and a DVD of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Chocolat, both starring the inimitable Johnny Depp. I wonder if he’s a chocolate fiend too? I could love him even more if he is. I’m currently working my way through Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander McCall Smith and saving Johnny Depp for later, when I get really down in the dumps. They’re coming around again later to try to cheer me up.

  “Nice flowers,” Aiden says.

  There’s a huge pale pink Dutch bouquet on my sideboard. “They came this morning.” This time they are from Marcus. The nerve of the man! I don’t know how my bastard ex-fiancé found out about my broken leg, but one of our mutual acquaintances must have informed him. The card, along with the soppy sentiments he’d scribbled inside, went straight into the bin. Kissy, kissy. I still love you. I’m so sorry. Bollocks. Heard it all before, Marcus. Doesn’t cut the mustard anymore. Have already got fab boyfriend to replace you. Ha! Still, I liked the flowers too much to ditch them. Frankly, it would have been a waste.

  “From an old friend,” I tell Crush, as I don’t even want to utter Marcus’s name, let alone credit him with such great taste in floral arrangements.

  If my new man has his suspicions about their origins then he doesn’t voice them.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” Aiden says. He strokes my hair, tucking it gently behind my ear.

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell him as I burst into tears.

  Taking me in his arms, he says, “It won’t be for long. As soon as your plaster’s removed, you can follow me.” That’ll be weeks and weeks. I know from previous experience. He wipes away my tears with the edge of my T-shirt. “I’ll have everything ready for us. Maybe it’s actually better this way.” And then he realizes what a stupid thing it was to say and we both laugh. “Perhaps it’s not better this way, but you know what I mean.” />
  I sink back onto the cushions. This whole arrangement has an air of unreality about it now. I’m still convinced that the minute Crush arrives on the other side of the world, he’ll forget all about me. The movie with the blond beach babe plays in my head again.

  “I can’t stay long,” Aiden says, thankfully truncating my film show, which I think was going to get a bit porny “I’ve got a taxi coming to collect me soon and I’ve still got loads of packing to do.”

  “I hope it all goes well for you. I’m really going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you too, Gorgeous.” He comes and kneels in front of me and puts his hands on my hips. A minute later and we’re in deep snog mode. Then, slowly, he unbuttons my shirt from the bottom upward and starts to place little hot kisses all over my stomach as he goes. “I want to remember you just like this.”

  “What? Fat, slovenly, miserable, incapacitated and utterly frustrated?”

  “No,” he says. “As lovely as always.”

  “We could make love just once,” I say hopefully. “Here. Now. We could be quick.”

  “I don’t want to be quick.” Aiden frowns at me. “We’ve waited so long to get together, I want to do this properly.”

  “Improperly would work for me.”

  “We can wait.”

  He might be able to, but I’m not sure I can. “Come and lie down next to me.” I shift up and Crush lies alongside me. “Just hold me.”

  And, of course, within seconds we’re doing anything but just holding each other. Our lips are fevered and searching once more. An octopus would be proud of the way our hands are working. I have Aiden’s shirt undone, my blouse has gone for a burton and my bra’s heading in the same direction. Juices are flowing. Nipples—and other things—are very erect. Every place that should be kissed has been kissed—and maybe some that shouldn’t be. All is going swimmingly. Perfect, perfect textbook sex. I sigh with joy.

  “Oh, Lucy,” Aiden murmurs in my ear.

  This is bliss. Every nerve in my body feels alive, zinging with wonderful sensations. Aiden unzips my skirt. With much struggling he eases it down over my hips and my plaster cast. I might be somewhat hampered by my incapacity, but my power as a love goddess has not diminished—oh no. All that lies between me and ecstasy is a sexy pair of flimsy pants—good underwear choice this morning. Not that I’d imagined this might happen. Ha, ha! Crush hooks his thumbs into my underwear and, giving the lie to my long-ago threat that he’d never get his hands on my underwear or my bottom, starts to slip them down.

  “Wait, wait,” I say. “Let me flip this way and it won’t be so tricky.” Flipping is something easier said than done. I swing my leg over Crush and, I don’t know what happens, but maybe I swing it a tad too far.

  “Oh, Lucy!” Aiden cries, and not in joy.

  He loses his grip on me and I somersault off the sofa and land with an unhealthy crash on the floor. Darren will think I’m doing my Davina DVD again.

  “Are you all right?” Crush wants to know. He’s peering down at me and he’s trying not to laugh.

  “I haven’t broken the other leg, if that’s what you mean.”

  He helps me up from the floor, brushing down my skirt which is currently round my knees and, generally, rearranging my clothing. I feel as if the moment has passed. Sometimes you just know it.

  “We should wait until you’re not plastered,” he says, presumably referring to my leg, not my alcohol levels. “I don’t want to cause you another injury.”

  The only injury, once again, is to my pride. Crush buttons his shirt. “I have to go, Gorgeous.”

  “I could come to the airport.”

  “I’d really rather you stay indoors and don’t go anywhere until you’ve had that thing removed.” He points to my cast. “You can get yourself in enough trouble when you’re able-bodied, I’d hate to think of the havoc you could wreak with a pair of crutches.”

  “You managed okay.”

  “That’s because men are superior beings when it comes to … well, everything.”

  I give him a good bash with one of my cushions. “Remind me why I love you?”

  “Because as soon as you’re able, I’m going to whisk you away to a better life, like all good knights in shining armor.”

  I feel tears come to my eyes again. It’s time for Crush to go. I bite down on my lip so that I won’t cry. “I love you.”

  “And I love you too, Gorgeous.”

  “You won’t forget me, will you?”

  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me soundly. “How could I?”

  Chapter Eighty

  “MY LOVE LIFE IS NOTHING but a vale of tears through which I trudge wearily,” I say, with the heartfelt sigh of a romantic heroine.

  “Very soon,” Chantal says, “your love life will be a spring field decked with wildflowers, through which you’ll be gamboling happily.”

  “This is after I have my plaster cast removed from my broken leg?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do they have fields of spring flowers in Australia?” I want to know.

  “Stop whining, Lucy,” Nadia instructs. “Eat more chocolate.”

  I’d be happy to comply, but I can’t reach over to the plate of chocolate chip cookies with my busted leg up on a chair—this would require one of my more extreme yoga positions. Something which I’m not quite up to at the moment. Autumn puts an end to my predicament as, when she’s finished signing my cast in black marker pen, she kindly hands one to me. Currently, I’m propped up against a pile of cushions in Chocolate Heaven.

  “This is a temporary setback,” Chantal reminds me. “You’ll be off to the land Down Under in no time at all.”

  “Will I?” The way my life generally pans out, a happy ending is never a dead cert.

  “Crush is texting you and phoning you ten times a day,” Autumn says.

  I smile contentedly and thank the God of Modern Technology that our communications can continue despite the fact that we’re living in different time zones. I hug one of Clive’s cushions to me affectionately “He is.”

  “By the time you get out there, he’ll be gagging for you.”

  From some of the more steamy texts we’ve exchanged, I think he is already. Our very interruptus attempt at coitus on my sofa clearly hasn’t put him off

  “Anything more from Marcus the Bastard?” Chantal asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Good. Let’s hope you’ve heard the last from him.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “He might well come sniffing around again when he hears that you’re off to Australia. Be on your guard!” Nadia warns in the manner of a wartime poster.

  “I can’t believe that you’re going to be leaving us,” Autumn says. “What will we do without you?”

  Frankly, I can’t believe that I’m going either. What will I do without my best girls? Who will I turn to in times of crisis? And, make no mistake, even though I’m going to the other side of the world, crises will follow me like a pack of hungry hounds. We’ve all been through so much together in the last few months. What will I do without my regular fixes with the members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club?

  “You will keep in touch?” Autumn continues, a tear in her eye.

  “Bloody hell,” I say. “I’m not going yet. It’ll be weeks before I get this thing off.” The pink plaster cast receives my scorn again. “You’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. You’ll all just have to get your lives together before I go. Then I want regular downloads in Australia.” I nod at Autumn. “You’d better send me an invitation to the wedding if things work out with you and Addison. I can come back at a moment’s notice.”

  Autumn blushes. “Lucy!”

  “I know a good wedding venue that has a booking available for Valentine’s Day,” I tell her. “You can’t get more romantic than that.”

  “Well, I’m trying to keep my life on the right track,” Nadia says. “Toby’s had nearly a m
onth without gambling. And I believe him this time when he says he’s given it up for good. I just want to make absolutely sure before Lewis and I go rushing back. As long as Chantal can put up with us …” She looks over at our friend.

  “Believe me,” Chantal says, “it’s a joy. I come home every night to find a fabulous dinner ready for me and a glass of wine poured. Maybe I should divorce Ted and marry you, Nadia. You’re a great catch.”

  We all laugh even though gay marriages are now legal and, technically, they could do that.

  “Plus,” Chantal adds, “I’m kinda used to having your little guy around. If you go back to Toby, I’ll have to start buying those huge bags of chocolate buttons for myself!”

  “How are things with Ted?”

  “We’re dating,” she tells us with a shrug. “Once or twice a week. We’ve been to the movies. We’ve had intimate dinners in upscale restaurants. I’m gonna be as fat as a house before long.” Chantal tugs at her waistband. Maybe it is a little more snug than usual. Then she sighs. “I can’t help but feel that we’re still skirting round the edges of the dance floor.”

  “Maybe you just have to give him time?” I suggest.

  “That, I’ve got plenty of,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ll hang on in there until I wear him down. But I just want to say that I don’t know how I would have got through all this without you girls. You’ve been great friends. The best.”

  And, because essentially she’s still an American at heart, we all indulge her by holding hands around the table. “To the Chocolate Lovers’ Club,” I say. “Long may we reign.”

  “To the Chocolate Lovers’ Club,” my friends echo and we toast ourselves with our mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

  And the truth of the matter is that the men in our lives may come and go—they may bring us pleasure, they may cause us pain—but whatever happens, we have each other and we have chocolate. No one can take that away from us.

  Over at the counter, there’s a tall businessman in a great suit making a selection of chocolates with Clive in attendance. He glances over at us and smiles.