The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (6 page)

‘This is Addison,’ Autumn said, when it seemed that no one else was going to introduce her boyfriend. Richard looked taken aback. He gave Addison the sort of scrutiny that she’d expected from her parents and made no move to shake his hand. Typical Richard, Autumn bristled. ‘We work at the Centre together.’

‘Ah,’ Rich said. ‘Another do-gooder. We’re
so
short of those in the world.’

‘Perhaps lunch is ready,’ her mother repeated anxiously.

The only consolation was that her parents always bought wonderful chocolates for Christmas. Autumn wondered who’d be more desperate for their hit of their chosen drug by the end of lunch – would it be her, or her brother?

As she slipped her arm through Addison’s to steer him towards the dining room, Autumn surreptitiously glanced at her watch. All they had to do was get through the next couple of hours without incident, and then they could be out of here. For Autumn it couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Ten

T
ed had tried hard, Chantal thought. He’d booked them into a quiet country hotel on the outskirts of Bath. He’d held her hand on the journey down there. There was an excellent restaurant – Michelin-starred. Their lavish room had a four-poster bed. A superb arrangement of white lilies, from her husband, scented the air. There was an extravagant box of chocolates waiting on the coffee-table, that she simply had to check out at once.

She’d tried hard too. There was a new, filmy nightdress in her overnight bag and she’d gone through the abject pain of having a full Brazilian wax – the ultimate sacrifice in her book. And now she was doing her best to sit quietly in the drawing room and sip her cocktail while all she really wanted to do was go upstairs and make love to her hunky husband.

‘Are you happy to be here?’ Chantal asked him.

Ted nodded, but there was a ponderous quality to the response which made her think that it wasn’t entirely a joyous, spontaneous emotion.

‘This is a lovely hotel,’ she said. ‘Great choice.’

He nodded again and then, just as she thought the whole
of the conversation was shaping up to be monosyllabic, her husband said, ‘But is a hotel the best place to be spending Christmas?’

‘We could have stayed at home.’ Though she was fully aware that she wasn’t even living at her home at the moment.

‘What do you class as home?’

‘You don’t have to ask that, Ted. I’ve rented the apartment to give you some space to think about things. That’s what you wanted.’ Her hand found his thigh. ‘What
I
want is to come home. You know that.’

‘I couldn’t have faced being at home this year.’

He didn’t need to tell her why. It was clear that her husband wanted to see their home filled with children and toys and milk spilled down her designer clothes. After the time she’d spent with Nadia’s son, Lewis, she could now actually see the attraction of having a family Christmas. Nadia had told her not to, but she’d left a dozen beautifully wrapped and extravagant gifts for the little boy under the Christmas tree – all things that she hadn’t been able to resist – and they’d both called her this morning to say thank you. Lewis was completely hyper with excitement. She was missing him desperately, and all these things had left her wondering whether Ted might be right. Would their lives together be better if they had a child?

She looked around at their opulent surroundings. This hotel was beautiful, but it was the sort of place frequented by stuffy, middle-aged couples. Even the great chocolates couldn’t compensate for the fact that it was like a museum. No one would dream of bringing children here. Was that what made it seem so sterile in its beauty?

What on earth were they going to do to pass the time until dinner? She’d brought a book, too literary to be an easy read and she couldn’t settle into it. Ted seemed reasonably contented to sit and stare into space, but she was getting restless. ‘Why don’t we go to the spa and take a swim?’

Her husband shrugged. ‘Fine.’

A little more enthusiasm would have been nice, but she’d take what she could get.

The small swimming pool was empty apart from Chantal. The area was intimate and lushly decorated like a tropical paradise, secreted away from the main part of the hotel. Large palm trees crowded around the turquoise water, the loungers were made of bamboo. It was an intricate shape, not suited to swimming lengths, but she made a few strokes up and down while she waited for her husband to join her.

When Ted appeared, she called jokingly, ‘Come on in. The water’s lovely.’

He laughed and jumped in, spraying water all over her.

‘Hey! Not fair.’ Chantal climbed onto his back and tried to duck him under the surface. They splashed around playfully, having fun as they hadn’t done in years. Too many years.

Chantal wound her legs round Ted’s waist and twined her arms round his neck. He held her bottom and pulled her to him. Then his mouth found hers and they clung to each other in the water as they kissed. Ted pushed her against the side of the pool and, as he held her up with one arm, his other hand caressed her body, which thrilled
to his touch. His fingers found the edge of her swimsuit and teased inside, rubbing over her nipple.

Chantal let her head fall back. She could feel Ted growing hard and wondered whether they’d make it back to the bedroom in time. In years gone by, they used to relish making love in reckless places. Then her husband’s fingers strayed to the inside of her thighs, toying with the fabric of her suit and she wondered whether he might still be prepared to risk it.

‘There’s no one else here,’ she whispered huskily. ‘Come inside me.’

He looked anxiously over his shoulder. ‘Someone might see us.’

‘They won’t,’ she assured him, even as she was slipping down the front of his shorts and urging herself towards him. ‘There’s no one else here. We’re absolutely alone.’

He stilled her hands. ‘I can’t,’ Ted said, his hardness suddenly dissipated. ‘I can’t do this.’

‘We can go back to the room,’ Chantal said. ‘We can be there in minutes.’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ her husband said. He let go of Chantal and slipped away from her. She couldn’t read the emotions in his face.

‘Talk to me about this, Ted. What’s the problem?’

‘I think that’s abundantly clear,’ he said crisply as he hauled himself out of the pool. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she called after him, as he headed back to the changing rooms without glancing back in her direction. But she knew it did. It mattered a lot to both of them.

Chapter Eleven

I
snuggle down into my sofa, surrounded by a veritable feast of treats to see me through the rest of Christmas Day – a tub of Heroes and a giant bar of Galaxy are nestled next to me within easy reach. Minimum exertion is going to be employed for maximum consumption.

The smart outfit has gone and I’m back in my slob-out gear of faded black T-shirt and combats. The remains of my bottle of champagne – slightly flat – is pressed into service again. Because I don’t want to be sober, I slug down half of it in one go, then settle back for my wild night of telly. And then, tragedy ensues!
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
isn’t even on, and it’s
always
on television at Christmas. What’s the festive season without Dick Van Dyke? It’s usually slap bang in there amongst
The Sound of Music
and
The Great Escape
. There surely must be some mistake. Can you rely on nothing in this life?

I throw down the festive TV guide in disgust. What am I going to do now to pass the long, lonely hours until bedtime? Picking up the remote control, I give channel-surfing a cursory go, and just as I realise there’s absolutely nothing on worth watching, my doorbell rings. Who the hell
could this be? Then my heart quickens. What if it’s Crush, come to tell me that this has all been a hideous mistake and that he got the first flight out of Sydney that was humanly possible, to rush to my side? I’m off the sofa and make the door in three strides. When I wrench it open, Marcus is standing there.

‘I have chocolates,’ he says. ‘I have champagne. I have a cuddly toy.’

In fact, he has a large, fluffy polar bear snuggled beneath his arm.

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you,’ he continues before I have a chance to speak. ‘So I dropped by on the off-chance to wish you a Merry Christmas. If you want to tell me to fuck off, then I’ll go.’

Marcus looks gorgeous and not a little drunk. His blond hair is all messed up and he’s looking very boyish. He makes the polar bear wave a paw at me. It’s very cute. Whether it’s because I’m experiencing a feeling of goodwill to all mankind after spending the afternoon in the soup kitchen or whether it’s because my only other option is a thirty-year-old episode of
The Best of Morecambe and Wise
, I sigh and say, ‘How can I tell you to fuck off – it’s Christmas?’

I open the door wide and Marcus lurches into the lounge. ‘Are you alone?’ he says. ‘I hoped you would be.’

‘I’ve just got back from seeing friends.’ It’s not strictly a lie as Clive was at the drop-in centre too.

‘Where’s Lover Boy then?’

‘Lover Boy is in Australia.’ Marcus needs to know no more. ‘Do you want coffee?’ I ask. ‘You look like you could do with it.’

‘That would be great.’ My ex-fiancé sinks onto my sofa and makes himself comfortable.

In the kitchen I bang about with coffee cups and stuff while my mind whirls in turmoil. If I was a hard-hearted and sensible individual, I’d show Marcus the door. But I’m not. I’m a pushover and I’m lonely. Would it be so wrong to spend the rest of the evening with him? I need some company, Marcus is here and available – so who’s using who this time round? I’ll make him play Pictionary with me and then just when he thinks it’s too late to go home and is eyeing my sofa – or my bed – wistfully, I’ll call him a cab.

I take the coffee through to the lounge and put the cups on the table. Marcus has slipped off his jacket and his shoes. I’m not sure where to sit. Shall I casually slip down next to Marcus, or plump for the armchair out of harm’s way? But while I’m in the process of making this crucial decision, Marcus’s arms snake round my thighs and he pulls me down on top of him.

‘Marcus!’ I thump him in the chest and try to extricate myself from his clutches. His arms are strong and solid around me and, I shouldn’t be thinking this, but it feels oh, so good to be locked in his embrace.

He grins at me. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’ Then he kisses me deep and hard. His hands are on my face, in my hair, on my breasts, bum, everywhere. I can’t breathe, I can’t say no. His lips are hot and feverish and it reminds me of the first time Marcus and I ever slept together – it was wild, passionate and I loved him from that very minute. We tumble to the floor, the coffee-table gets knocked over, the cups go for a burton. That’s my carpet stained.

‘I love you,’ Marcus is saying over and over. ‘I love you so much.’ He tugs my T-shirt off and then makes short work of my trousers. His mouth never leaves mine and, I don’t know how it happens, but minutes later we’re both naked, a trail of discarded clothes on the floor. We’re lying beneath the Christmas tree and I’ve got carpet burns everywhere. I should say no. I
definitely
should say no. But I can’t. I’m alone and Marcus needs me, wants me, loves me. There are pine needles sticking in my bottom, but there’s a strange comfort from knowing every inch of this man as he eases himself inside me. Marcus has always been a fantastic lover and sometimes I might hate him for it, but I can never deny it. My ex-fiancé is moving above me. There’s love and lust in his eyes. He holds me tight. ‘Lucy,’ he gasps as he comes inside me. ‘I love you.’

‘Oh, Marcus,’ I say. But I don’t know what the emotion is behind it. Is it love, familiarity, contempt or plain old frustration? The red chilli lights are blinking, but there’s a new knowingness in their flashes.

Marcus lies next to me and, without thinking, I curl into him. He strokes his fingers lightly over my body, caressing, teasing. I feel his breath on my neck. I’ve given in to Marcus again. And I know that I could very well hate myself in the morning. But, for now, I just want to be loved.

Chapter Twelve

W
hen Toby opened the door to them, he was wearing an apron. Beads of perspiration peppered his brow and his cheeks showed a flustered glow. There was a tea towel over his shoulder.

‘I think I’ve got the timings all wrong,’ he said, a note of panic in his voice. ‘We might have to eat the potatoes now and the turkey at ten o’clock tonight.’

Nadia laughed. She was already stripping off Lewis’s coat. Her own followed quickly. ‘Do you want me to come to the rescue?’

‘I’d love it,’ Toby said with a relieved sigh. ‘I had no idea there was so much to cooking a Christmas dinner.’

‘That’s because you were always at the pub while I prepared it all,’ she teased.

He stopped and kissed her on the cheek. ‘It’s good to have you both here,’ he said.

‘Daddy,’ Lewis said. ‘Aunty Chantal bought me an electric guitar.’

‘Really?’ He looked at Nadia for confirmation.

‘She hasn’t got any kids,’ Nadia said by way of explanation. Only someone without children would think that it
was a great idea to give a small boy a loud present. ‘It’s a pretend one, but it’s certainly noisy enough to make you believe it’s the real deal.’ It would be the first toy to be hidden as soon as the batteries ran out.

Toby scooped his son into his arms. ‘Hiya, champ. Have you got a kiss for your dad?’ Lewis giggled as Toby buried his face in the soft skin of his neck. He swung his son back to the floor. ‘Look what I’ve got for you.’

‘Toby,’ Nadia said quietly. ‘You shouldn’t have bought him anything, not while we have so many debts outstanding.’ She felt terrible that she couldn’t even stand her round these days at Chocolate Heaven, but the girls were so understanding. Nadia had no idea what she’d do without them. They were her lifeline.

‘It’s just a little something,’ Toby insisted. ‘I couldn’t buy him nothing at all. I’m his dad.’

Nadia wished that Toby’s paternal instinct had extended to abstaining from gambling their money away on the myriad internet sites that he frequented.