The Chocolatier's Secret (Magnolia Creek, Book 2)

by Helen J Rolfe

  ‘Andrew’s lucky to have you.’

  This time she didn’t smile. ‘Do you think we’ll be all right?’

  ‘You and Andrew?’

  ‘All of us.’

  ‘Of course.’ He covered his daughter-in-law’s hand with his own.

  ‘Did you have hard times like this, you know, when Penny was alive?’

  At the mention of his late wife’s name, Louis softened. ‘We had our moments, everyone does. Hard times are par for the course, but the best marriages get through anything that comes their way.’

  ‘I think he’s hiding something from me.’

  Louis was startled. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He’s never secretive, never shut off from me like this. I think it’s about more than making babies, more than worry about the operation coming up. But I don’t know what it is. Did he say anything to you, on the walk the other day around the lake? You were gone for a while.’

  Louis took his water glass over to the sink and gently pushed it beneath the bubbles. Gemma watched him wash it using the same delicate touch he’d used to mould chocolates and truffles over the years.

  ‘You know something,’ she said.

  His hands stilled and the cloth he’d been twisting inside the glass stopped moving. And then he carried on as though she hadn’t even asked the question. Gemma watched as he left the glass to drain and reached for the red and white checked tea towel to dry his hands.

  He was a loyal man, and if Andrew had said anything to him, he’d never tell her, no matter how close they’d become over the years. She expected him to sit down again and tell her something like, ‘talk to Andrew’, ‘you need to ask him, not me’. But he didn’t. He stayed opposite the sink facing the wall, staring at the glass splashback behind the taps, and then he spoke.

  ‘Gemma, I’ve done something terrible.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gemma

  With two more weeks until the school holidays, Gemma was relieved. She loved her job, but the last few days since Louis had confided in her had just about finished her off. She hadn’t mentioned anything to Andrew, she hadn’t mentioned anything to anyone. She and Louis hadn’t talked about it either. In fact, she’d avoided her father-in-law the best she could. She made dinners for them all but ate in silence, she disappeared for bubble baths more often than she really wanted, she volunteered to help out at the shop as much as she could, spending time getting the Easter window display looking exactly how she’d envisaged. It looked impressive now with brightly coloured papier mâché eggs, which nobody knew weren’t the real thing, and it had drawn several customers inside to stock up on Easter provisions nice and early.

  Gemma knew she needed to carve out a time to talk to Andrew. Louis was keeping secrets from his son and Gemma, unwittingly, had become his accomplice. All of a sudden their lives had become one big entanglement of lies. She was angry Andrew hadn’t told her how, once upon a time, he’d got a girl pregnant. She was even angrier he hadn’t told her the abortion he believed had taken place never had and that he had a child. She was angry on Andrew’s behalf at what Louis had done, and most of all, she was damn angry at her body … angry it couldn’t carry a baby like so many other women on this planet. Her body couldn’t give her what she wanted and she hated it.

  By the school gate, Gemma retrieved a cardigan when it fell from a child’s bag as he ran past to meet his mum. ‘Don’t forget this,’ she called after him. He thanked her and Gemma nodded to his mum, who hugged the boy and started their walk home.

  Gemma did a double take when she saw Andrew walking towards her.

  ‘You look worn out,’ he said, kissing her on her forehead. ‘You were out before me this morning.’

  ‘I went for a walk.’ Arms crossed, she didn’t move. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I finished up at work early. I think we really need to sit down and talk, Gemma.’

  ‘No kidding.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ll get my bag and I’ll be right out.’

  She collected her bag from the classroom, plus the pile of marking she’d have to do later, and when she saw Andrew’s face again she fought the urge to scream and yell at him.

  They walked home in silence, without holding hands as they so often did. Right now, Gemma couldn’t bear touching her own husband. They walked down the hill, crossed Main Street and wound their way down to Myrtle Close. The minute Gemma put her things inside the door, she said, ‘Not here.’

  Andrew looked at her quizzically but followed her out the door again. They walked back to Main Street and then took the path down to the lake, where a swan glided across the surface of the water, cutting it and letting it reshape in its wake. They didn’t speak until they sat down, side by side, on the low wall.

  ‘You didn’t tell me about Julia.’ Gemma looked from the surface of the water to her husband.

  Andrew’s face fell as the sun hid and grey clouds loomed overhead. His back to the lake, he rested his arms along his thighs. He was wearing the jeans she’d bought him last month, the pair that fit him so well she’d joked he looked like a jeans model. He was still a very good-looking man, and for a chocolatier he was still fit, more muscle than anything else.

  ‘Dad,’ he said.

  ‘Louis told me, yes.’ It wasn’t all he’d told her either. But for now she wanted to focus and hear about Julia, about the baby. And she needed to hear it from her husband.

  ‘How could you keep this from me?’ She watched his shoulders sag. Rather than the anger she’d expected, he seemed relieved, as though finding the words all by himself was always going to be too difficult.

  ‘I only found out a few weeks ago. I didn’t know what to make of it myself.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me before now what happened when you were fifteen?’ She twisted slightly and dipped her fingers into the water of the lake. The cool water felt calming as she spoke. ‘You got a girl pregnant.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you didn’t think you should tell me?’

  ‘I thought about it when we discussed starting a family, but I’d buried that part of my past a long time ago.’

  ‘Did you love her?’ Gemma spoke quietly, barely able to say the other woman’s name, which was crazy. How could she be jealous? But then again, it wasn’t really Julia she was jealous of, was it?

  ‘I was fifteen. I think I did love her, as much as any fifteen-year-old boy can know what it feels like to be in love. When she told me she was pregnant, we were both as shocked as each other, but neither of us pushed the other one away. We knew we’d deal with it together.’

  Gemma brushed her fingers across the spots of rain as they landed on the skin of her forearm.

  ‘I studied harder and harder,’ said Andrew. ‘I knew that if we were going to keep the baby, then I’d need to work doubly hard to carve out a future for all three of us.’

  Gemma’s heart sagged at the thought of her husband planning a different future entirely.

  ‘I worked hard which meant less time with Julia, and then one day I came home from my mock exam feeling pretty pleased with myself, convinced everything would work out, and my mum handed me an envelope. Inside was the locket I’d given Julia for her fifteenth birthday and with it a note saying … well, it said goodbye. It said we should both move on.

  ‘I phoned her, I went round to her house but I couldn’t get hold of her. I’d call late at night when my parents were asleep, I snuck out the window once, under the cover of darkness, and cycled over to her place on the dodgy estate where she lived. I knocked on the door, looked through the windows, but there wasn’t anybody there. I got a second letter shortly afterwards, with a postmark from Ireland where her family was originally from, and she told me she’d had an abortion. At least, I thought the letter was from her. I had no reason to think otherwise.

  ‘A few months later I sat my exams and we emigrated to Australia. And I never heard from Julia Mason again,
until a few weeks ago.’

  Five cygnets followed a swan across the lake to where two children were tossing the remains of a loaf of bread as high into the air as they could before running for shelter beneath the trees bordering the lake. But Gemma didn’t care about the rain. She wanted to hear this, all of it.

  Andrew stared straight ahead and gradually the line of his jaw softened. ‘Apparently Julia got a letter from me telling her I didn’t want a baby for our future, we were too young, we should go our separate ways.’ He harrumphed. ‘One minute she was there, the next she was gone.’

  ‘You should’ve told me,’ said Gemma.

  He turned to face her, the rain soaking him through as it fell harder. A drop ran down his nose and off the tip. ‘How could I? How could I tell you I already have the one thing you want the most? I already have a child, Gemma. And I knew it’d break your heart.’

  She saw his pain and reached for his hand. ‘It breaks my heart that you couldn’t confide in me.’

  He looked at their hands, together. ‘I wish I had now. You know, I never wrote her a letter. I don’t understand what went on all those years ago, I really don’t.’

  Gemma felt overwhelmed hearing the truth from Andrew. She wanted to cry as she saw the sadness on his face threaten to overpower him.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve got no idea.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Our daughter went looking for Julia.’

  Gemma tried to be strong when she heard those words tumble from his lips: ‘our daughter’. She wanted so much to be the other part of that bond, the mother in the equation, but it wasn’t her. Andrew’s flesh and blood was nothing to do with her.

  ‘Julia turned her away.’

  The rain fell harder and they ran for shelter beneath the trees. Everyone else had fled. There was no longer a family feeding the swans or the ducks, or standing hoping the rain would pass; there was no longer a couple kissing beside the sign to Magnolia House where so many sealed their love with a wedding.

  ‘How could she?’ Gemma asked.

  Andrew shrugged. ‘I don’t know Julia any more. I don’t know why she did it, what she has going on.’ He reached out and touched his wife’s cheek. ‘I wish we were talking about our baby.’ He put a hand against her belly.

  ‘Don’t.’ Gemma’s voice caught, and a tear trickled down her cheek, mingling with the rain.

  ‘I never wanted to hurt you, Gemma.’ He lifted a hand to her face, but she pulled away.

  ‘We should get home, get warm and dry.’

  Back at the house they showered, together. There wasn’t passion but a mutual understanding, a softening of their hearts as they realised they needed each other for this. And when they were dry and dressed, down in the kitchen warming soup for supper, it was time for Gemma to tell Andrew the rest.

  She hugged her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist, careful not to touch the cooker as he stirred the soup with a wooden spoon. He smelled of soap, of fresh linen from the T-shirt he’d grabbed off the airer. His hair was still wet from the shower and had left a tiny damp trail across his collar.

  ‘Andrew, there’s something else.’

  He turned to her, but at the same time she heard a noise behind her.

  It was Louis. He’d shuffled in so quietly in those slippers, she hadn’t heard him.

  ‘This needs to come from me,’ said Louis, his voice stronger than she’d heard in a while. ‘Sit down, son.’

  Louis motioned to the table and shuffled there himself, taking a seat opposite. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Molly

  Molly’s parents took her to London’s Heathrow Airport, and on the journey there, Molly looked up at the cobalt blue sky with the odd cloud plumping its way across, grateful for the clear spring day. Surely it was a sign this was going to go well.

  The atmosphere was tense, the anticipation of what lay ahead on everyone’s minds as they checked her in and had a coffee at a café. And when it was time for her to go, her dad hugged her tight. It was all the more poignant because they weren’t the hugging type of family, especially when they lived so close to each other and saw one another all the time. The last time she remembered hugging her dad this tightly was when he’d picked her up from a party when she was seven and he’d scared her half to death. He’d shaved his beard off – the one and only time – and he’d looked so unlike Jeff Ramsey it’d freaked her out. He’d hugged her close to calm her down and since then he’d never shaved it off again.

  Once Molly had passed through passport control and could no longer see the worry etched on her parents’ faces, she relaxed. She lost herself amidst the duty-free, smelling perfumes dominated by the scent of a single flower, those with a strange woody base, others mixed together with the scent of vanilla, flowers and wood. She and Ben had agreed to meet at the gate an hour before their flight after liaising over Facebook and managing to book their seats at round about the same time, ensuring they were sitting together. Molly had told Ben she’d be wearing khaki cargo trousers, a black sporty T-shirt with pink piping around the sleeves, her dark hair would be tied up into a ponytail and she’d be carrying a red holdall as her carry-on. He’d replied flirtatiously to say she sounded pretty perfect, and he’d made some remark about the mile-high club which had at least made her laugh, but she’d told him off, and he’d reluctantly swapped the details of his appearance seeing as his Facebook photos weren’t helping at all. Molly knew it’d be easier to text a photo of herself and for him to do the same in return, but for some reason neither of them suggested it. So she’d be relying on his description of himself: dark blond hair, black tracksuit pants, white T-shirt and he’d have a royal blue Adidas bag. Molly was pretty sure they’d find one another easily enough because by now, making her way to the gate with her bag of duty-free, she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was the only one who looked like they were absolutely shitting themselves about getting on this plane. Everywhere she looked people chatted, laughed, went about their business with control and poise and inside she was about ready to fall into a quivering heap on the floor.

  Molly stood beside another gate where passengers awaited their flight to Dubai. She watched the luggage handlers standing out on the tarmac, unloading suitcases from a trailer and onto the conveyor belt running into the hold of the enormous Emirates plane. She moved to the window and watched another flight take off in the distance. There it went. Up, up and away in a straight line safely into the blue skies beyond. She watched another taxi down a different runway, turn a corner and then come to a stop. The heat from its engines made the air above the tarmac outside fuzzy, the vibrations from the rumbles could be heard and felt as the plane moved again, gathered speed, and took off in a different direction to the previous one.

  Molly ducked into the nearest ladies’ toilet. She couldn’t meet Ben like this. She was sweating, her hands were clammy. She felt as though she was about to faint. It had all been so easy in theory, even that day the girls went to Malta and she’d only been at the airport as a spectator. Thinking about meeting her birth father had momentarily overshadowed her fear, but now she was actually about to set foot on a plane, she wasn’t sure she would be able to go through with it.

  Inside the toilet cubicle Molly told herself to take deep breaths – not easy when the smell wasn’t the greatest. She reapplied her deodorant to freshen up and then emerged to the sinks where she washed her hands beneath the cold tap and pressed her palms to her cheeks to cool her skin. It felt nice. And then she went back outside and walked to the gate, more confidently than she felt.

  She’d only been sitting at the gate for five minutes when she saw Ben walking towards her – dark blond hair and tracksuit, a royal blue holdall with the Adidas wording on it, exactly as he’d told her.

  Never mind the fact her nerves had suddenly abated, Molly thought she’d need a forklift truck to lift her chin off the floor, because Ben was no seventy-y
ear-old man using an online mask to meet women. He didn’t look much older than she was, he had an athletic build with an air of breezy confidence.

  And to top it off, he was cute as hell.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Molly

  ‘Molly?’ He scratched his chin, which was noticeably smooth. ‘I’m glad to see you. I thought you might change your mind.’

  ‘About meeting you?’

  He nodded, smiled.

  ‘Bit difficult when we have the same flight number,’ she said.

  ‘You could’ve switched seats at check-in.’ He opened his blue holdall and pulled out a bottle of water. ‘Did you?’ His hands were steady, but his eyes had left hers as he waited for her answer, and she realised he was nervous about meeting her too.

  ‘Of course not. If we hate each other we can go our separate ways at Singapore.’

  ‘Yeah, well if you run away from me in Singapore don’t expect me to flirt with you online any more.’

  Molly was glad her immediate physical attraction to Ben had been just the tonic for the dreaded flight she would soon be on. Who cared if it never went anywhere? A bit of flirting never hurt anyone, especially if it could get them through a stressful time.

  ‘So how are you feeling?’ Ben screwed the top back on his water and slotted it inside his bag. ‘I see you’ve already treated your fear with some retail therapy.’ He eyed the bag of duty-free on her lap.

  ‘Some perfume.’ She knew she was blushing.

  ‘Come on then, I’ll give you a bloke’s opinion. What, why are you grinning?’

  ‘I’ve not really heard an Aussie accent before, apart from on the TV.’

  ‘I think you’re going to hear plenty where you’re going.’ Impatiently he motioned for her to show him what she’d bought.