The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (33 page)

‘Where is it?’

‘It’s upstairs in my room, squashed into the safe. I don’t know what to do with it. Technically, I suppose it belongs to Richard, but I don’t want to give it to him. If he’s got a bag full of cash then that will only start him on the same route again. I have to think very carefully about where it goes.’

Addison put a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t worry about that today. I’m sure you’ll think of something. We should just be glad that you’re safe and that it’s over. And we should help Lucy to celebrate her non-wedding and have a great time.’

‘It’s so much better with you here,’ she said.

Her boyfriend took in her caramel-coloured bridesmaid’s dress. ‘This kind of get-up suits you.’

‘You think so?’

‘Hmm.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do you think my family would get used to me marrying a rich, white, older, upper-class woman?’

Autumn laughed. ‘Do you think my parents would get used to me marrying a poor, black, younger, youth worker?’

‘I guess if we gave them enough notice they’d both learn to live with it.’

She looked up at him. ‘Is that a proposal, Addison Deacon?’

‘I think it might well be,’ he said. ‘Just promise me one thing. If we get married . . .’

‘
When
we get married,’ she corrected.

‘. . . please don’t organise to do a drugs run for your brother just before we’re due to tie the knot.’

‘
That
, I can very safely promise you,’ she said.

Chapter Seventy-Five

N
adia didn’t know whether she was upset for herself, upset for her friend or upset for all the miserable, terrible, traumatic things that happened in life in general. All she knew was that she’d been hiding away in the ladies’ loos now for the best part of fifteen minutes crying her heart out. She’d managed to get through most of the day without resorting to painkillers, anti-depressants or – with the exception of a few glasses of champagne – a surfeit of booze. Now it all seemed a bit too much for her. Every damn slushy song that the DJ played reminded her of Toby and the happier times they’d had together. Mind you, her wedding day hadn’t been quite as glamorous as Lucy’s, but at least the groom had turned up. Her heart went out to her friend. Life was, most of the time, so bloody unfair. Nadia sat on the loo seat and ripped another handful of paper from the dispenser to sob into.

A minute later, she heard the door burst open and a familiar voice shout, ‘Mummy!’ Lewis’s small, determined footsteps crossed the tiles. ‘Mummy, are you in here?’

She sniffed into the tissue. ‘Yes, darling. In here. I won’t be a minute.’

‘I didn’t know where you’d gone,’ her son said crossly.

Nadia flushed the loo, pointlessly, and then opened the door. She forced a smile onto her face. ‘Here I am. I left you with Aunty Autumn. What are you doing in here?’

‘She was dancing with Addison, so I sneaked away to look for you,’ he confessed.

She knelt in front of her son and smoothed his mad hair from his forehead. ‘You shouldn’t do that,’ she told him. ‘But I’m glad that you found me.’

‘This is a nice party. I’ve had lots of chocolate.’

Like mother, like son. He’d probably be bouncing off the walls later from all that sugar. They were sharing a room and it looked unlikely that she’d get any sleep tonight. Still, it wouldn’t hurt for once. Nadia laughed despite her concerns. ‘Yes, it’s very nice.’

Lewis tugged at the neck of his smart shirt. He looked quite the little man dressed up like that. ‘If it’s nice, why are you crying?’

She was about to tell Lewis that she wasn’t crying, but her red eyes and blotchy cheeks would be a dead giveaway. Her son might only be four, but he was as cute as they come. Even at his tender age, he’d know that she was lying. Yet how could she begin to explain to Lewis that she was feeling raw with pain at the loss of her husband, her love? This was the first function she’d had to attend without her partner by her side and, though she wouldn’t have missed it for the world, it had been difficult to hold it all together – particularly when the day hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

She wondered what was going on in her son’s head.
Was he missing his dad as much as she was? Lewis was coping incredibly well since Toby died, but she was sure that inside, he was hurting. He’d hardly cried at all and rarely mentioned his father – surely that wasn’t good for him? How did a child assimilate such a devastating emotion as grief? If only she knew what her son was thinking, perhaps she could help him through this. ‘Mummy’s just a bit sad.’

‘Because Daddy isn’t here?’

Nadia nodded. ‘I miss your daddy very much, every day.’

‘Daddy isn’t coming back from heaven, is he?’

‘No, sweetheart.’ She gave him a comforting squeeze. ‘It’s just me and you now.’

‘We’ll be all right together, Mummy.’ Her son leaned against her and slipped his thumb into his mouth, something she hadn’t see him do for a long time. ‘I’ll look after you.’

‘Then I’ve nothing to be sad about.’ Nadia hugged him to her.

‘Daddy would have liked all the chocolate today.’

‘Yes,’ Nadia agreed. ‘He would have.’ Looking at her son’s anxious little face, she knew that she had to stay strong for him. Nadia ran a thumb gently over his cheek. ‘You know we can talk about Daddy anytime that you want to. Whenever you’re missing him, we just have to say things about him – things that he would have liked, things he would have done and that’ll make us feel better.’

‘Okay.’ Lewis shrugged. It seemed a simple enough solution to her son. Perhaps it was. ‘Can we go back to the party?’

‘Will you dance with Mummy?’

‘Do you think the man will play “Bob the Builder”?’

‘Maybe not,’ Nadia said. ‘I was hoping for some George Michael myself.’

‘Who?’ Lewis said, looking disgusted.

Chapter Seventy-Six

T
he party is in full swing by the time I come down from Marcus’s room. I try not to think of him packing his bag alone, going on our honeymoon without me. The music is pumping out, the dance floor is full, people are getting leery – to all intents and purposes it looks just like a regular wedding. With one notable exception, of course.

My mum and dad are dancing together – which is something of a miracle as they never danced together when they were married. They’re strutting their stuff to ‘I Will Survive’ – a good wedding stalwart – and my mother is singing the words rather too enthusiastically. The Millionaire and The Hairdresser are nowhere to be seen. Clive and Tristan sweep up to me. They both look resplendent and screamingly gay in matching cream linen suits and chocolate brown shirts. They are the Elton John and David Furnish of the chocolate world. I wonder if all this wedding lark is making them think about tying the knot. ‘Darling,’ Clive says, ‘how are you bearing up?’

‘I’m doing okay,’ I tell them with a considered nod.

‘Don’t suppose that you’ll want to cut our fabulous cake?’

‘Why not? Am I likely to miss out on the opportunity for chocolate cake?’ I give a shrug. I’ll probably skip the tossing of the bouquet, but I’m game for everything else.

Clive grins gratefully. Frankly, I could do with a sugar rush after all this trauma. Plus, my dear friends and chocolatiers have created a five-tier monster of a cake for me as my wedding present – chocolate, of course, and decorated with white chocolate leaves and crystallised kumquats. How can I not cut it? ‘Find me a sharp knife, make sure Marcus is kept well out of the way of it and let’s do it.’

Clive gives me a hug. ‘That’s the spirit.’

Five minutes later and Jacob comes to find me. He has the sharp knife. His brow is lined with concern. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

‘It will make Clive and Tris very happy,’ I tell him. ‘Besides, I’d hate to see this beautiful cake go to waste. Our guests might as well enjoy it.’

‘I could have it quietly taken away and cut up,’ he suggests.

‘No. Let’s make a bit of a fuss. Clive has gone to a lot of trouble to make it. It feels wrong to sneak it out and for him to miss his moment of glory.’

‘If you’re sure,’ he says.

I nod.

‘Then I’ll make the announcement.’ Jacob goes to take the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he says. ‘Please gather round for the cutting of the cake.’

Only when I’m safely ensconced next to the cake does Jacob hand me the knife. The photographer has been dispensed with, so there’s no posing for ridiculous photo
graphs. ‘Clive.’ I beckon my friend towards me. ‘Come and do this with me.’

My friend folds his fingers over mine and, teasingly, looks into my eyes as if he loves me. I only get a momentary pang of what might have been, if Marcus had been here cutting the cake with me. We push the knife into the glorious icing and soft sponge and earn an uncertain cheer from our guests. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a sight that makes my blood run cold.

‘Oh no,’ I say. Clive looks up and follows my gaze. He gasps out loud. As do all the guests still standing in a circle after the cake cutting.

Coming into the room, wearing a pink satin basque, flowing skirt and killer heels is Raunchy Roberta – six statuesque feet of drag queen, here at my wedding. I recognise him/her as the compère from Mistress Jay’s nightclub even though his wig is a different colour.

Raunchy Roberta goes up to Tristan and flings his arms around him. Tristan looks more than a little surprised as Roberta gives him a long, slobbering kiss.

‘Euuw!’ I turn to Clive, whose face has gone very dark. He’s clutching the knife menacingly. I take it from him gingerly.

‘Excuse me, Lucy,’ Clive says tightly and he marches over to where Tristan and Roberta are taking a breather from their embrace.

‘What’s she,
he
doing here?’ Clive hisses at Tristan. Hisses loud enough for everyone to hear.

‘I didn’t want you to find out like this,’ Tristan says dramatically.

‘Don’t you think that I’d guessed?’ Clive wants to know. ‘All those clandestine disappearances – do you think I’m a fool?’

‘Yes,’ Raunchy Roberta says in a remarkably gruff voice. ‘Now clear off.’

‘Make me,’ Clive, rather unwisely, says.

Raunchy Roberta, it has to be said, has a mean right hook. He punches Clive on the jaw and my friend staggers backwards, looking rather shocked and heading towards the cake. The table on which it’s standing wobbles alarmingly. Jacob and I exchange a worried look. One of the legs holding up the tiers shakes too much and then collapses. The tier slides graciously out of line and then knocks against the tier below until they’re all unstable. Jacob and I make a valiant dive to save the cake and fail. The tiers cascade to the floor in a shower of crystallised kumquats, chocolate leaves and chunks of featherlight sponge.

I pick a lump of chocolate icing from the tablecloth. ‘Mmm. This is very good,’ I tell Jacob as I lick my fingers.

Tristan leaps forward and dashes to Clive’s aid. ‘Are you hurt? Are you hurt?’

‘Of course I’m
fucking
hurt!’ Clive shouts. ‘I’ve never been so hurt. That’s it. You can get out. Get out of my chocolate shop. Get out of my life. Get out and take that big butch bastard with you.’ With that, he bends down, picks up the top tier of my lovely chocolatey wedding cake which has fallen next to his feet and then he smashes it into Tristan’s face, rubbing the crumbs in firmly for extra effect. My assembled guests gasp again with horror.

As Raunchy Roberta lurches forward and lunges again
for Clive, he slips on the mess of chocolate cake on the floor, twists his ankle in his deadly stiletto heels, one of them snaps and Roberta goes arse over tit. With a hefty thump, the drag queen extraordinaire ends up sprawled on his back with his pink basque askew, his falsies popped out and his wig lopsided. It’s not a pretty sight. I can’t, at this moment, appreciate what Tristan sees in him. Then Clive bursts into tears.

Jacob and I look at each other again. ‘Perhaps cutting the wedding cake wasn’t such a great idea,’ I say.

Chapter Seventy-Seven

A
fter the eventful cutting of the cake, Chantal and Ted found a quiet corner away from the fray in which to talk. Despite being pregnant, Chantal was longing for a glass of champagne or any form of alcohol. There are some conversations that shouldn’t be faced on mineral water alone.

They now sat on a Chesterfield in a small private lounge which was relatively peaceful. Finally, they were alone and the music from the disco had faded to an irritating background thrum, competing with some twinkly piano music from the hotel sound system. Ted swigged at his champagne and avoided her eyes. ‘So how long have you known you were pregnant?’

‘A month or more,’ Chantal said.

‘And you didn’t tell me?’

‘I tried,’ she said, ‘but I could never find the right moment. And you did spend a lot of time avoiding me.’

Ted hung his head.

‘How long have you known that there was another baby on the way?’

‘Around the same amount of time.’ He finished his
champagne and topped up the glass from a bottle he’d purloined. ‘I told you that I’d had a fling,’ he said. ‘Well, it was one or two.’

‘Anyone I know?’

Her husband shook his head. ‘Mainly women from work. One more serious than the others.’

‘Stacey?’

‘Stacey,’ he confirmed. ‘She’s very nice.’

‘If she’s going to be the mother of your child, I’m glad to hear it.’

‘The thing is,’ Ted said, ‘we’re no longer in a relationship. She’s a fine young woman, but too needy. She wanted me to be everything to her and I hadn’t realised how much I liked the fact that you were so independent.’

‘Maybe a little
too
independent.’

‘I wanted to sleep with other women,’ Ted confessed. ‘I wanted to see how it felt. Level the playing-field. It was a mistake. It didn’t make me feel better about myself. All the time that I was with them, no matter how hard I tried, I just realised that I wanted to be with you.’ He shrugged. ‘And now there’s a baby on the way.’

‘Actually, there are two.’

‘Two babies.’ Ted gave a snort. ‘What is it the Brits say? They’re like buses – first you can’t get one and then two come along at once.’