The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (8 page)

She stroked his damp forehead. ‘Are you all right?’

‘You know, I don’t feel all that well, sis.’ He retched dryly.

‘What have you been taking this time, Rich?’

‘A bit of crack,’ he confessed meekly. ‘Nothing much.’

So much for rehab. It seemed that his time away had only served to get him into harder drugs. ‘Oh, Richard.’ She sank down on the bed and lay next to him.

‘I don’t know how it happened.’ He sounded genuinely confused. ‘I was
never
addicted to cocaine,’ he said, with a bravado that didn’t come through in his voice. ‘A few grammes, that was all. Maybe a bit more. Then suddenly it wasn’t enough. It didn’t give me that same feeling.’ He sounded frightened for the first time.

‘How long can you go on like this, baby brother?’

‘I’ve got it under control,’ he insisted, his teeth chattering. ‘I
will
get it under control. Can you just help me to the bathroom?’

Autumn helped to haul him to his feet. He felt light, insubstantial, weak. He staggered like an old man to the en-suite bathroom. She stood by him and bathed his forehead with a cool, damp cloth while he emptied the contents
of his stomach into the lavatory. That’s what you get, Autumn thought bleakly, when you have a Christmas that’s just
too
merry.

Their Christmas lunch ordeal had eventually ended, with very little food actually having been eaten and her parents fawning over Addison and begging him to come back another time. Autumn felt she would be very lucky ever to get her boyfriend over their doorstep again.

Now he was driving them back to Autumn’s apartment. As he pulled away from the front door and into the light holiday traffic, without turning towards her, Addison said, ‘So – how long has your brother been a drug addict?’

Autumn leaned her head back against the seat. ‘Is it that obvious?’

‘I guess if you’re in the record industry, you can spot a good singer a mile away.’ Addison shrugged. ‘I’m in the drugs business.’

They stopped at traffic-lights and Addison took her hand. ‘Do your parents know how bad it is?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But I pretend that I don’t.’

‘You know that you’re facilitating his behaviour?’

‘I try to protect him,’ she protested. ‘That’s all.’

‘And in doing so you cover up for him, provide excuses for him, and that gives him the opportunity not to face up to what he is.’

The lights changed and still they sat there. Thankfully,
being Christmas Day, there was no one behind them impatiently tooting their horn.

‘How do I help him?’

‘Perhaps you can’t, Autumn.’

‘Well, I can’t just stand by and watch him self-destruct.’ She wrung at her skirt with her hands. ‘He’s in deep. He was using a bit of coke – recreational.’ She repeated the lie he’d often told her. ‘Now it’s different. While he’s been away he’s moved onto heavier stuff. I thought he really wanted to clean his act up this time, yet I realise now that he simply went to America to get away from his problems here. Nothing more. To be honest, I don’t even know if he’s been to a rehab clinic at all. Some hard men were after him for money. Drugs related, of course. It was bad enough to scare the life out of Richard.’

Addison raised an eyebrow. ‘And to think you were worried that your parents would be shocked by me.’

Autumn laughed. ‘Thank goodness the nut roast escaped unharmed. What would we have had to eat otherwise? Perhaps for the first time in their lives my parents were grateful that I’m a vegetarian.’

‘You don’t have to cope with Richard by yourself, Autumn,’ Addison told her. ‘I can help. Lean on me.’

Autumn felt tears spring to her eyes and Addison pulled her to him. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Chapter Fourteen

I
wake up next to Marcus and I’m appalled at what I’ve done. He’s lying beside me, arm slung across his pillow, his leg over mine. He’s comfortable. So comfortable. And I am not.

I lie stock still, unable to move. Now what? That really wasn’t a good idea at all, was it? Even the fluffy polar bear, which is now sitting on top of my cupboard, is staring at me judgementally. Gingerly, I ease myself away from my ex-fiancé. If I wasn’t already at my own place, at this point I’d get up and sneak off home.

I sigh at my predicament – a bit too loudly – and Marcus’s eyes open, so I make a grab for the sheet. Yeah, where were you last night, modesty, when I needed you?

‘Hello,’ my unwanted guest says sleepily. Already, he’s all smiles and I check for any trace of smugness, but can find none. His fingers lightly caress my arm. My fucking traitorous body gets nice goosebumps all over. Stop it! This is bad, bad news.

Marcus snuggles against me. His skin is searing hot – very good for putting feet on in cold weather, not so good for resisting sexual temptation. I try to push him away.

Summoning up all of my courage, I say, ‘I think you should go, Marcus.’

Now he’s wide awake. ‘Go?’

‘Last night was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’

He pushes himself up onto his elbow and doesn’t look at all put out, as he should. His fingers continue a languid journey over my weak, weak, weak and too-bloody-willing-by-half skin. ‘You didn’t protest too much at the time.’

I know now that I should have stuck to my best friend chocolate for comfort. That’s why chocolate is better than sex – you never have to feel guilty after chocolate. Well, not that much. ‘I was lonely and vulnerable.’

‘You were
very
sexy,’ he tells me with a slight raising of his eyebrows. I know Marcus well enough to realise that at any minute, he’s going to be making a tent in my duvet. I have to get him out of here now before my resistance is further lowered.

‘We’ve been here too many times before,’ I say, gradually pulling more of the sheet around me. ‘I can’t go through this again.’

Marcus looks unconvinced and I realise that I’m in a poor bargaining position – being naked and in bed with him.

‘We don’t have to make love again,’ he says, tent forming. ‘I could stick around and we could go to one of the parks for a long walk.’ Huh. Next he’ll be offering to wear jumpers from Gap and do the technically impossible toasting marshmallows thing – all of the activities I’d planned with Crush.

‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’d really like you to leave now.’

‘Don’t I even get breakfast?’

I wonder how to get out of the bed and make it to my dressing-gown without exposing myself. Can’t work out how to do it, so stay put, further increasing my discomfort. ‘It’s better this way.’

‘Not for me, it isn’t,’ Marcus points out. ‘I’m starving. And I still love you, Lucy. I know we’ve had our problems . . .’

I go to speak, but he holds up his hands. ‘All of them my fault. But don’t harden your heart against me. It isn’t like you.’

Then, before I can tell him that this is the new, improved me and that he can no longer mess with my emotions – okay, with one small aberration – the phone rings. Because I still have the dressing-gown dilemma, I stay put in the bed and let it go to answerphone.

‘Hi, Gorgeous. It’s me.’ The sound of Crush’s voice causes my jaw to drop open. ‘I’m so, so sorry that I haven’t been in touch,’ he says brightly. ‘I hope you haven’t been worried about me. You won’t believe what happened. I can’t wait to make it up to you. Anyway, I’m sorry. Really sorry. Hope you had a great Christmas Day and I love you. We’ll speak really soon. I love you, love you, love you. Did I say that already? Love you. Bye, Gorgeous.’ Crush hangs up.

This doesn’t sound like a man who’s been caught waving his willy around on a webcam. He sounds suspiciously like a contrite boyfriend who’s had a genuine problem. I’ve heard enough lame excuses from Marcus to know when I’m being spun a line. So what does this mean? I sit as still
as a stone while my brain crashes around inside my skull with all the coordination of a Friday-night drunk. What on earth has really been happening on the other side of the world? I feel as if I’m one piece of a jigsaw missing. One very important piece.

‘He loves you,’ Marcus says eventually.

Somehow, I find my voice. ‘Yes.’

I look at the person sharing my duvet and a whole heap of smugness is evident now. ‘Then it seems as if you have some explaining to do.’

Chapter Fifteen

T
he Chocolate Lovers’ Club has reconvened – and not before time, in my opinion. It’s fair to say that we’re not at our sparkling best. It’s January and we’re all suffering from that post-Christmas lethargy. I’m back at work but no one – especially me – can be bothered to do anything. It’s even quiet in Chocolate Heaven, the atmosphere unusually muted. We’re welded to the sofas, trying valiantly to buoy ourselves up with some of Clive’s finest delights. We have fresh mango strips coated in rich, dark chocolate – because fruit is good for us. And this counts as one of our five daily portions of good stuff. We have some mocha and pistachio truffles – because we don’t want to be sickeningly healthy. We have fudge brownies too – because we’re fat pigs who are addicted to chocolate.

‘How was Christmas?’ Nadia asks.

‘Uneventful,’ Chantal complains, biting viciously into her brownie. ‘Ted took me to a fabulous hotel, the mood was right, it should have been perfect. But it was still
uneventful
.’ She shakes her glossy hair. ‘I don’t know what I have to do to get that man to sleep with me. He says he wants me to have his baby, but he doesn’t want to
perform the dastardly deed that procreation normally involves. What does he think he’s going to do? Send his sperm through the mail to me? Is that what he thinks Special Delivery is for?’ She huffs. ‘Perhaps my marriage is a lost cause.’

‘Don’t give up,’ Autumn says. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a breakthrough just around the corner.’

‘Chocolate is a great substitute for sex,’ I remind her.

Chantal looks at her half-eaten brownie with disdain. ‘Says who?’

‘Say people who can’t get any sex,’ I concede.

‘Was your Christmas with Addison perfect?’ Chantal asks Autumn.

‘My drug addict brother turned up unannounced, drunk and as high as a kite. Christmas lunch ended up on the floor and Addison narrowly avoided third-degree burns of the testicles. But, apart from that, it was wonderful.’

We all laugh. ‘That’s what being in love does for you,’ I tell her. ‘Just when you think it’s all going swimmingly, along comes the dreaded Family Christmas and messes it all up.’

‘Well, my Family Christmas was fabulous,’ Nadia says with a contented smile. ‘Lewis and I had a great time with Toby. He really tried hard and it was so nice being a family again. I’ve missed that so much.’

‘Will I be looking for a new lodger?’ Chantal asks, a little sadly.

‘I think we might get back together eventually, but I don’t want to rush into anything,’ Nadia tells us. ‘Toby promises me, faithfully, that his gambling is a thing of the
past. But we still have our mountain of debt to tackle. Life isn’t a bed of roses just yet.’

Then Clive comes over with some more coffee and chocolate supplies for us. This man really knows how to look after a woman. Shame he’s gay. He perches on the arm of the sofa next to me and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Sorry I had to abandon you at the soup kitchen,’ he says brightly, while I wish that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. He kisses me warmly on the cheek. ‘You’re a wonderful woman. I’m so proud of you.’

‘Ha, ha,’ I say.

When he’s gone, the girls fix me with a collective stare. ‘Soup kitchen?’

I hug my legs to me and avoid their eyes. ‘That’s where I spent Christmas Day,’ I fess up. I feel bad because it sounds as if I would rather have spent the day with a pile of dossers than with my best friends. ‘Clive was there too. It was nice. It was fun.’ That might be stretching it too far. None of them look as if they believe me – except for Autumn, who seems to be viewing me with a new regard.

‘I think that was a lovely thing to do, Lucy,’ she tells me earnestly. ‘Very selfless.’

‘Thanks.’ They continue to stare at me and I don’t know if they all got X-ray vision as Christmas presents, but I can tell that they know that there’s more that I’m hiding. So I might as well fess up the rest as well. I give a shrug that’s intended to look casual. ‘Then I went home and shagged Marcus.’

Three jaws drop. Three mouths fall open. Three faces look at me, aghast.

‘I think that was an unwise thing to do, Lucy,’ Autumn tells me earnestly. ‘Very silly.’

‘I know.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘I was lonely. I was vulnerable. I was drunk.’ They’re still staring at me in amazement. ‘I was
incredibly
stupid,’ I add before anyone else does. None of my friends disagree. But they weren’t there and they don’t know how miserable I felt. ‘That was it. One night. Then I sent him on his way. Without breakfast.’

‘Boy,’ Chantal remarks. ‘You know how to treat your men mean.’

For one who comes from a nation who don’t understand irony, she makes a pretty good stab at it.

The excruciating rash on my back from my night of passion under the Christmas tree has very nearly gone and that’s the last trace of anything remotely connected to Marcus that I ever want to encounter. I try not to itch. I had no idea that I was allergic to pine needles – or perhaps it’s Marcus I’m having a severe reaction to.

‘Nothing from Crush, then?’ Autumn asks.

‘No.’ How can I tell them that he’s been calling me repeatedly but that I’ve been steadfastly ignoring my phone and the messages on my computer? I never want to go near that damn and blasted thing again.

Nadia says, ‘What was Clive doing at the soup kitchen?’

I lower my voice. ‘He and Tristan are having relationship difficulties too. I don’t know what the problem is.’ Which means that no matter how much I probed Clive, he wasn’t dishing the dirt.

‘Gay men have trouble with long-term commitment
due to their voracious sexual appetites,’ Autumn pipes up in the manner of an expert on the dynamics of homosexual relationships.

‘Christ,’ Chantal says miserably. ‘Why couldn’t I have been born a gay man? It’s been so long since I’ve had any sex that I’m struggling to get into my own pants.’ She holds out the waistband of her trousers and, even though she’s joking, it does look as if Chantal’s impossibly slender waistline has thickened out slightly. I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who’s pigged out over the holidays. Depressed, I reach out for another brownie. Then, because I decide it’s better for my midriff bulge, I switch to the mango and chocolate option. Mango has hardly any calories, right? And I’m thinking skinny, skinny, skinny thoughts.