The Chocolate Lovers' Diet (7 page)

‘We’re back on the right track now, Nadia,’ he told her as if he’d been reading her mind. ‘I’m not even buying so much as a lottery ticket. I promise you.’

They both sat and watched Lewis’s delighted face as their son opened the gift that no self-respecting kid should be without – a talking workbench and a full range of plastic tools.

‘That’s a nice present,’ Nadia said. Though in truth she thought it had every bit as much potential to be as annoying as the electric guitar and even more potential to be downright dangerous.

‘Are you going to build a space ship today?’
the bench asked in irritatingly perky tones.

Lewis shrieked with delight. She’d have to find a very big cupboard to hide this in.

‘Thanks for putting the hammer away!’

‘Come through to the kitchen,’ Toby said.

‘Are we safe to leave him?’ Nadia whispered. ‘Or do you think the hammer will end up through the television screen?’

‘I guess the older he gets, the more destruction he’s likely to create.’

‘Lewis, play nicely,’ Nadia instructed. ‘Don’t break things.’ That monkey wrench might be plastic but it still looked lethal to her. ‘Daddy and I are going to cook lunch.’

In the kitchen there was steam bubbling from an assortment of pans. The windows were running with condensation. Nadia switched on the extractor fan.

‘I’ll do everything,’ Toby assured her, ‘but I need you as the project manager.’

‘Give me my apron back and you can put your feet up for a minute while I sort everything out.’

There was a tear in Toby’s eye as he said, ‘I don’t know how I’ve managed without you.’

Slipping her arms round him, she gave him a hug.

‘I’ve tried to think of everything,’ Toby told her. ‘I’ve bought parsnips, bacon rolls, fancy napkins and a box of your favourite chocolates from that place you go to with your friends.’

‘You went to Chocolate Heaven?’

Toby nodded.

‘You shouldn’t have.’

‘I wanted it to be perfect.’

‘There’s only one thing that I want you to do,’ she said.

‘And I’m doing it. I’m on the straight and narrow now. Honestly.’

‘It’s good to hear it. I really hope that you mean it.’

‘I swear,’ he promised. ‘You and Lewis mean the world to me. I don’t want to see you walk out of my life. I’d rather die than let that happen.’

Putting her fingertip to his lips, she said, ‘No more talk of it now. It’s Christmas, we should forget about our troubles for today.’

‘I agree with that wholeheartedly,’ Toby said with a grateful sigh.

‘Then let’s get this lunch sorted out, shall we? Otherwise we’ll be eating it on Boxing Day.’

Nadia set to and was pouring boiling water on the packet of stuffing that Toby had bought when he told her, ‘I’ve invited my parents to come along for lunch. I hope that’s okay. They wanted to see Lewis – and you, of course.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘They’re really missing him,’ Toby told her.

‘They can see him any time they want,’ Nadia said. ‘They know that.’

‘But it’s not the same, is it?’ Her husband gave her a sad, self-conscious smile. ‘Anyway, I thought it would be nice for us all to be together. Christmas is a time for family.’

That was true, and all of the celebrations at this time of the year never ceased to make Nadia feel the absence
of her own relations even more keenly. There was always the hope in the back of her mind that one day, something might cause them to put their bias against Toby to one side, and take them all back into the fold. Her mother and father hadn’t even met their grandson, though she continued to send photographs of him to their home every year on his birthday, but their receipt was never acknowledged. In her culture, family was everything – unless you shunned your parents’ choice of husband for you, of course – and it was a continuing sadness in Nadia’s life that she was estranged from those she cared for most of all. Now that she was back here with Toby, she realised how much she’d missed the closeness of her own small family unit. It had been especially nice that her husband had put so much effort into making today special – despite the expense. Maybe things really had turned a corner and they could both look forward to a brighter future.

The lunch was wonderful, but it was so late that it was technically dinner and they were all so hungry by then that they’d have eaten whatever was put in front of them. Nadia and Toby were clearing away the dishes while Lewis’s grandparents gladly entertained their only grandson. Toby’s dad was currently showing Lewis how to drill a pretend hole in the coffee-table. Her son was giving the task his undivided attention, but still the plastic drill-bit slid uncontrollably across the polished surface. Nadia decided not to watch. It looked like this was going to be yet another Christmas present they’d live to regret. Their furniture was
shabby enough without it being peppered with inadvertently drilled DIY holes.

The day had been a great success and she was feeling very mellow and uncomfortably full; astonishingly, she’d even had to leave some of her Chocolate Heaven delights for tomorrow. It wasn’t often that her capacity to consume chocolate failed her. ‘That was a lovely dinner,’ she said.

‘It’s all down to you, Nadia,’ her husband said. ‘You hold everything together. I’d be lost without you.’

Before she could reply, Lewis came into the kitchen behind them. He was sucking his thumb and tugged at Nadia’s skirt. His eyes were heavy with tiredness.

‘Looks like it’s past your bedtime, young man.’ Lewis, for once, didn’t protest. She turned to Toby. ‘We should go.’

‘Can I stay in my own bed tonight?’ her son piped up.

‘No, darling.’

‘Please, Mummy!’

‘You don’t have to leave,’ Toby said. ‘You could both stay.’

Nadia smiled. ‘Think you can cook me one decent roast dinner and then have your wicked way with me?’

‘It’s worth a try,’ Toby said, grinning back at her. ‘I could open another bottle of wine.’

Nadia shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘Really?’ Toby’s grin widened.

It was late, she was pleasantly tired and she’d probably had too much to drink already. Nadia had planned to have no more than one glass and drive home, but getting through the day without a few bolstering drinks had proved more
difficult than she’d imagined. Now, she’d have to call a cab and it would be hell trying to get one on Christmas Day. Horribly expensive, too. To be honest, she had no desire to go back to Chantal’s apartment knowing that her friend wouldn’t be there and that it would just be her and Lewis rattling around by themselves for the next few days. There wasn’t any great desire to tear herself away from Toby either and the sleepy, cosy warmth of her own home. ‘Yes. We’ll stay.’

‘Lewis, go into your bedroom and find some pyjamas. Mummy’ll be up in a minute.’

As their son ran excitedly out of the room, Toby wrapped his arms round her. ‘Come back for good, Nadia. I want you both home.’

Could she trust her husband enough to make a go of their marriage? Would he ever be able to give up gambling, despite his promises? She looked into his eyes and they seemed so sincere, but how could she be sure that he’d changed? Had Toby had enough time alone to reflect on his actions? There was no doubt that she still loved her husband. That had never really been in question. It was only his behaviour, his addiction, she abhorred. After a few glasses of cheap bubbly it would be easy to make a rash decision, based on the emotions she was feeling now, but she’d disrupted Lewis’s life enough. It wouldn’t do him any good to settle in at home again, only for her to find that things were just the same. She couldn’t do that to her son – she had to think of his future stability. But it would be so good to be in Toby’s arms again. Despite his faults, he was a handsome, loving man and she’d missed him so much.

Leaning into him, Nadia rested her head on his shoulder, gently kissing his neck. ‘We’ll stay tonight,’ she said, trying to keep a grip on the reality of their situation. ‘Let’s take it one step at a time.’

Chapter Thirteen

A
utumn found herself holding her breath, and already a stress headache was forming behind her eyes from the effort of trying to maintain a veneer of normality. Her brother had downed glass after glass of champagne before Christmas lunch was even served. Now he was waving his arms about animatedly as he talked, his speech babbling and slurred, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.

Richard lurched into the dining room ahead of Addison and her.

‘Addison, do sit here beside me,’ Mrs Fielding said, as if nothing untoward was happening.

And, if her boyfriend was overawed by the palatial dining room, he too was handling it all very coolly. He turned to Autumn and gave her a reassuring wink.

The glossy mahogany table seated sixteen people and had been laid with the very best of the family china and silver for the occasion. Cut-glass wine goblets glittered in the light from the candelabras. Lavish bowls of seasonal fruits were decorated with sprigs of holly. Mistletoe garlands hung in swathes from the picture rails and the ornate marble fireplace. A fire roared in the grate, bringing a much-needed
warmth to the room. It was the sort of scene that would have looked at home on a Christmas card. Idyllic. And that was what her family life had always been like – an utterly perfect surface, masking the myriad tensions that ran barely beneath it.

As her boyfriend left her side, she grabbed her brother by the arm and held him back. ‘Rich,’ she whispered, ‘cool it. You’ve had enough to drink.’

‘A few glasses,’ he insisted. ‘Loosen up, Autumn. It’s Christmas, and the Prodigal Son has returned to great rejoicing. Jealous because the fatted calf is never served up for you?’ He took another deep swig from his flûte. ‘Oh, you’re vegetarian – wouldn’t touch it, anyway.’

‘You’re making a fool of yourself and we have company.’

‘Must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?’

‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ she said quietly. ‘Our parents have just spent an inordinate amount of money on your supposed stay in a rehab clinic. You might make some effort to pretend that you’ve actually been trying to give up drugs.’

‘I could give them up whenever I liked, my darling sister, but I’ve decided that I rather like a distorted picture of life. So much better than harsh reality, don’t you think?’

‘Sit down and shut up,’ Autumn said. ‘Let’s just get today over with.’

‘You’ve suddenly come over all assertive,’ her brother remarked. ‘Have the do-gooders group been sending you on training courses?’

‘Have I ever told you that you’re a very infuriating person to be around when you’re in this mood? Be nice. For me.’

Richard looked at her, very slightly cowed. She just hoped he could stay civil throughout the rest of the day. Now she could see him closer up, Autumn thought he did, in fact, look even worse than he had before he went off to America. His face bore an unhealthy pallor, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin and a discernible shake to his hands.

When they were all seated, Jenkinson brought in a large silver server with the roasted goose sitting proudly on top.

‘Fuck,’ Richard said loudly. ‘Don’t they even give you Christmas Day off, Jenks, old boy? What century is this?’

‘I won’t have that language at the table,’ their father said. ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, Richard.’

‘You treat people like medieval serfs and you think
I’m
the one with the problem?’ Her brother laughed without humour. ‘Let me cut up this damn thing.’ He lurched unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the carving-knife.

Their father also stood up. ‘I think I should do that.’

‘No. No. No.’ Richard swatted him away and Mr Fielding reluctantly sat down again, glancing worriedly at his wife. Not only the goose, but the atmosphere, could have been cut with a knife.

Jenkinson returned with a tray laden with dishes of steamed vegetables and roast potatoes. There was, thankfully, a nut roast too. ‘This is the vegetarian option, Miss Autumn,’ he said quietly to her.

‘Thank you.’ She gave him a grateful look.

Jenkinson placed the dishes on the table and then beat a dignified but hasty retreat back to the kitchen.

With a flourish, Richard speared the goose with the fork and then started to attack the huge bird with the knife.

‘Steady on,’ their father instructed.

‘Do be careful, Richie darling.’ Her mother’s face was ashen. ‘Let Daddy take over.’

Addison looked on, uncomfortably. ‘Do you want me to give you a hand, mate?’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ The knife went slash, slash. It was times like this when Autumn was glad that she didn’t eat meat. Greasy lumps of flesh were hacked out of the poor bird. Her stomach churned over. Then the knife slipped, missed the goose completely and skidded across the table. Richard overbalanced and suddenly the goose parted company with its dish and shot into the air taking with it the dishes of vegetables and potatoes. The goose hit the floor with a greasy thud, while the vegetable dish up-ended and a selection of carrot batons, petit pois, Brussels sprouts and roasted parsnips landed squarely in Addison’s lap. Her boyfriend jumped up and did a quick tribal dance as the steam threatened to burn through to his skin. Her father, perhaps harking back to his cricketing days, caught the potatoes on the fly.

They all stood and looked at the disarray. Jenkinson, sensibly, didn’t come back to see what all the noise was about. Richard, Autumn noted, was shaking violently.

Her parents, it seemed, had gone into a state of catatonic shock. ‘Addison,’ she said crisply, ‘I’m going to take Richard upstairs. Can I leave you to start on this mess?’ Her boyfriend nodded to her and she gave him a thankful glance as he immediately set about the task of retrieving root vegetables from the floor.

‘Perhaps the champagne didn’t agree with his jet lag,’ her mother suggested optimistically.

‘Yes, yes,’ Richard muttered. ‘That must be it.’

Jet lag my arse, Autumn thought. She steered Rich up the stairs and into the room that had been his since childhood. Without protest, she took him over to the bed where he lay down on the dated counterpane and rolled himself into a ball as if experiencing severe stomach cramps.