The Chocolate Lovers' Club

  “Come on, Lewis,” she shouted to her son. “Mummy wants to put you in the car.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Remember, Mummy said that we’re going to live in a different house from Daddy for a while.”

  Lewis nodded to her, but it was clear that he didn’t understand as his little smile didn’t falter. “Is Daddy coming too?”

  “No,” she said. “It’ll just be the two of us. We’re going on a big adventure.”

  Lewis didn’t look particularly impressed. Perhaps one day he’d understand why she felt she had to do this.

  “Can Mr. Smelly come?”

  “Of course.”

  Lewis had his favorite teddy bear tucked under his arm. He was called Mr. Smelly because he gave off the most appalling odor, due to the fact that she was only able to prize the mangled bear out of her son’s vizelike fists once a year to be whizzed into the washing machine, and even that took a huge bribe with copious amounts of chocolate.

  One of the burly men poked his head back inside the front door. “We’re loaded,” he said. “Ready when you are, love.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Nadia said. Just one final look around the house to see that she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  She could hardly bear to take it in as she walked sadly through the rooms. Shabby as it was, she loved this place. She’d built it up for them, for her family. Now, even though it was still filled with her possessions and her furniture, it was nothing but an empty shell. On her bedside table, there was a picture of her and Toby on their wedding day. She picked it up and put it in her handbag. She didn’t know why. Maybe for old times’ sake. Her parents had said that the marriage would never last, that arrangements based on suitability were better, that marriages only formed out of love never lasted. It looked as if they were right.

  She’d thought about leaving a note for Toby, but she couldn’t find the right words to express how she felt, so had decided against it. When she’d finally checked the house, she scooped Lewis into her arms and took him outside. Firmly, she closed the front door behind her. The guys were sitting waiting in the van. Lucy, she saw, was striding up the road toward her and Nadia gave her friend a wave. Opening the car door, she put Lewis down so that he could hop into his car seat. Then, with shaking hands, she concentrated on the business of strapping him safely in.

  Moments later, Lucy came up behind her, puffing with the exertion of walking up the hill. Her friend kissed her warmly.

  “Everything okay?” Lucy asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” Nadia replied. “We’re ready to go. I’m not taking much—mainly clothes, and toys for Lewis. Chantal says that the flat she’s renting has everything.”

  “I’m sure that Chantal wouldn’t compromise on her creature comforts,” Lucy assured Nadia. “You’ve probably got an en-suite Jacuzzi and sauna.”

  Nadia forced a smile. “That would be nice.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Lucy said, squeezing her arm. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve given the driver instructions on how to get to the flat,” Nadia told her. “The van will follow my car.”

  “Want me to drive?”

  “Please.” She felt far too emotional to be able to focus on the road. Her friend took the car keys from her and slipped into the driver’s seat. Nadia climbed into the passenger seat beside her. Her hands were fiddling with the buttons of her skirt. Lucy gave them a pat. “Ready to go?”

  Nadia nodded. Hot tears burned at the back of her eyes.

  “Sure you’ve got everything?”

  She nodded again. Then, as Lucy slipped the car into gear, there was the noise of screeching tires coming from the road behind them. Looking in the sideview mirror, Nadia could see another van slewing to a halt right behind them, and there was no doubt as to who the driver was. It had barely stopped when Toby jumped out and ran to Nadia’s side of the car, snatching open the door.

  “Daddy!” Lewis shouted joyously from the back.

  Toby was breathless when he spoke. “One of the neighbors called me to say you were leaving,” he panted. “Don’t do this, Nadia. Please don’t do this.”

  Nadia felt distraught. “I have to go, Toby,” she said. “I’ve tried everything else.”

  “I’ll change,” he promised, crouching down beside her. “I’m begging you. Please don’t go. Don’t take my son away.”

  We should be discussing this alone, Nadia thought bleakly, not forcing Lewis and Lucy to be our reluctant audience.

  “You’ve put the house up for sale,” he said, gazing disbelievingly at the FOR SALE sign that had just been erected. “When did you do that?”

  “This morning,” Nadia told him.

  “Where are you going? How will I contact you?”

  “I’ve got my mobile,” Nadia said. “You can call me anytime and I’ll keep in touch.” Letting go was much harder than it seemed.

  “When will I see Lewis?” His face bore an agonized expression. “How can you do this to me?”

  “How could you do this to us?” Nadia retorted. “I’m not doing this lightly, Toby. I still love you. Despite everything.”

  “Then come back.” To her horror, her husband started crying. “Come back and we’ll work it out.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “I’ve given up the gaming sites,” he said, “just as you asked. What else can I do to show you that I care?”

  “But you haven’t,” she said sadly. “You haven’t, Toby. I found the laptop. I know that the broadband connection has been restored. You’ve got another credit card and you’re gambling again—behind our backs. I can’t let you drag us down with you. I’m doing this to protect Lewis as much as myself.”

  At this, Toby looked resigned.

  “I have to go,” Nadia said quietly. “Let me go.”

  Toby slowly stood up. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he closed the door on the car and said, “I love you.”

  “Drive,” she said to Lucy.

  Without discussion, her friend slid the car back into gear and pulled out into the road. The removal van followed them. It felt like a funeral procession. Nadia didn’t look back, but she knew that her husband was still standing on the pavement, watching them leave.

  Chapter Sixty-one

  “THE WORST IS OVER,” I say to Nadia, even though I’m not sure that it is. Platitudes are always best, I find, on these occasions. Harsh reality is best left for another time altogether. “I brought chocolate,” I tell her. “For you and Lewis.” The little boy is playing with his teddy bear.

  “Thank goodness.” She allows herself a shuddering exhalation of breath.

  “In my handbag. Help yourself.”

  My friend immediately buries her hands in my bag.

  I’ve never been to Nadia’s house before—none of the members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club have, as far as I know—and, somehow, it suddenly brings her situation home to me and how much she must have struggled to keep a roof over her head. As we drive away, I can see how shabby the area is, but that doesn’t mean property prices are anywhere near a reasonable level, they’re just marginally less extortionate than some. Where Nadia is moving to with Chantal is considerably more upmarket, but I would imagine that’s the last thing on my friend’s mind at the moment.

  This puts all my troubles into perspective. I’m still worried sick about Crush, but I phoned the hospital this morning and the Ward Sister said that he’d had a comfortable night, though I couldn’t speak to him because the doctor was examining him. Maybe I’ll try again later. When Nadia asked me to help her move into Chantal’s place, I was keen to show solidarity and give my support to her, but I also hope that by helping my friend, I might win back some brownie points with God and, therefore, still be on for a place in heaven, rather than burning in eternal damnation for deliberately ramming my boss off the go-carting track.

  It’s a bright, sunny day—the sky a vibrant cornflower blue. Which doesn’t seem fitting for t
he task in hand. My friend’s face is showing the strain. It doesn’t look as if she’s slept in days. And the rub of it is that, sometimes, it’s easier to be left than it is to leave. In reality, I should have dumped Marcus a dozen times during our relationship, but I never quite got to the point where I could call it a day. I was like a Labrador with a soggy tennis ball—completely unable to let go. And I really admire Nadia’s courage and strength in doing this. It must be terrible for her.

  Lewis is sitting quietly in the back of the car, cuddling his bear, and I wonder what’s going through his head at this moment and how much of all this he understands. Nadia pulls out a chocolate frog that I’ve bought for him, takes off the wrapper then hands it over to him.

  He grasps it keenly with both hands. As emotional comfort, chocolate works for all age groups, I find. “Choc-choc,” Lewis says, his eyes brightening instantly.

  “What do you say?” she prompts.

  “Thank you,” he dutifully replies, chocolate already filling his mouth.

  “Do you remember Aunty Lucy?” Nadia says.

  We’ve all met Nadia’s little boy before, but to be honest it was only on the rare occasions when his mum couldn’t manage to get out of the house without him. The Chocolate Lovers’ Club has always been Nadia’s escape from all things domestic—including her son. “Hello, Lewis.”

  “Hello.” I can see him smiling at me in the rearview mirror, a big choco-laty ring round his mouth, and I wonder how Chantal is going to cope with her smallest lodger. Let’s face it, by her own confession, she’s not the most maternal person in the world. We’d better wipe Lewis’s mouth clean before we arrive.

  An hour later—the traffic was hell—and we pull up outside Chantal’s flat. It’s a big old house that looks as if it’s recently been converted into flats. The apartments occupy a prime position just off Islington High Street. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind moving in here myself. It makes my tatty place above a hairdresser’s look more than a little downmarket. A flutter of nerves has set up in my stomach as I haven’t seen Chantal since our “altercation” about Jacob, Jazz or whatever the hell his bloody name was. I’m feeling a bit less animosity toward her as, after all, this is once again down to my truly terrible taste in men. I can see now that it wasn’t actually her fault …

  Glancing over at Nadia, I can see that she’s feeling more than a little anxious too. I give her hand a squeeze. “There could be worse ways to start a new life,” I tell her. “I’m sure Chantal will look after you both.”

  “She’s been so good to me,” Nadia agrees. “How did I ever deserve friends like you?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We’re great, but just wait until we call in the debt.” Using humor to deflect a potentially emotional scene is one of my favorite pastimes. It works and Nadia laughs.

  While we’re still sitting there, the transit van pulls up behind us. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s start getting you unloaded.”

  We buzz Chantal’s flat and she comes down to greet us, kissing Nadia warmly. Then she looks at me and asks, “Do I get a kiss?”

  I shrug and allow her to wrap her arms round me as she gives me a big hug. “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Me too.”

  “Jacob sends his best wishes too,” she tells me.

  “Oh, no,” I say in despair as I pull away from her. “You’re not still seeing him! Jeez.”

  “I am seeing him,” Chantal says, “but not in that way. Just as a friend. He’s very good company and, amazingly, I’m managing to resist his charms—even as a paying client. I’m also helping him to find a new job. He’s trying to change his lifestyle, Lucy. I think he deserves some credit for that.”

  “Well, I guess there’s a lot of it going on.” I find that I can’t muster any energy to feel angry. Jacob, for all his faults, was a very nice guy. “I wish him well too.”

  “He’d like to see you again, Lucy,” she goes on. “He really thought a lot of you.”

  “I don’t feel quite that magnanimous,” I tell her with a laugh.

  “Maybe one day you’ll feel differently.”

  But before I can give that further thought, there’s a little voice behind us. “Hello.”

  Chantal’s eyebrows rise. “Oh. Hi.”

  We’ve forgotten to clean the chocolate from round Lewis’s mouth and I notice that it’s all over his hands too. I so hope that Chantal’s sofa isn’t cream and is a deep, dark shade of chocolate brown. Lewis cheerfully hands Cha tal his teddy bear. “This is Mr. Smelly,” he tells her.

  Chantal holds the bear at arm’s length. “I can see why.”

  Nadia is chewing nervously at her lip. She comes to take hold of her son’s hand. “You’re sure you’re okay with this, Chantal?”

  If Chantal is having second thoughts about taking in Nadia and her son as lodgers, then she doesn’t show it. Her bright smile doesn’t falter as she takes Lewis by his revolting, sticky hand and leads him indoors. “I’m sure we’ll manage just fine,” she says.

  Chapter Sixty-two

  TONIGHT, I NEED MY YOGA class more than ever before. I’m in the Cobra position—arching my back for all I’m worth and trying to look serene. Inside, I’m a mass of anxiety. I relax out of the pose, i.e., collapse in a great panting heap on my mat. It’s at times like this when I know I should have stayed at home with a bit of Keanu Reeves and some chocolate instead. That would have been the thing to do.

  “Slide back on your mat,” my yoga teacher intones. Persephone is a tiny little thing who flits about the room like a fairy. “Go into the counter-pose of the Child.” I curl myself into a little ball and try to still my racing brain.

  I have a lot on my mind. Crush is out of hospital, but not yet back at work. I’m missing him terribly. The office feels very empty without him. Charlotte the Harlot is studiously ignoring me whenever I catch a glimpse of her in the corridor at Targa. Thankfully, I never have to darken the door of the call center, so our contact is minimal. I’ve spoken to him a couple of times on his mobile phone—ostensibly relating to office matters—and he sounds okay. Our conversations are a bit stilted, but I think that’s because I insist on apologizing every five seconds. I begged the harridans in Human Resources to give me his home address, citing the fact that I needed to send him some work to do, and they eventually capitulated despite reciting all the data-protection laws at me. So, today, I’ve been online and have ordered a massive hamper of chocolate to be delivered to cheer him up. I did slip in a small order for myself too—to cheer me up.

  The other thing is that we’ve got a big office bash looming—the European kick-off meeting, which is always followed by a truly humongous party. The powers-that-be fly in from all over the world, spend the day moaning about the dwindling profits of Targa and then blow most of them by plying all of their staff with free booze for the night. I missed it last year because I was working somewhere else, but this year I’ve not only been dragged into organizing bits of it—the mountain of paperwork on my desk is truly alarming—but I’m also going along to the do afterward. I’d rather have all of my eyelashes pulled out with a pair of tweezers than go, but then I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Plus, you have a duty to be there, otherwise everyone else will be talking about you.

  “Now we’ll try a shoulder stand.” Persephone burbles on about the best way of achieving perfection in this posture and I tune out. I’ve done this a million times and I’m still crap at it.

  My next quandary is who to go with. Partners are invited to the party and I know that Crush will be there, complete with crutches and Charlotte the Harlot. And there’s no way that I can face the pair of them on my own. I’d take along one of the girls from the Chocolate Lovers’ Club, but if I took another woman with me, then before you could say “butch” it would be all around the office that I was a lesbian. I’m already on the fringes of being an acceptable employee, so there’s no way I can risk another label. Chantal would, I’m sure, have exhorted me to take Jacob with me. But—call me bitter and t
wisted—I know that I couldn’t have afforded him. He would have been able to stay for about half a glass of champagne, then my budget would have run out and he’d have been off to another booking.

  I lie back on the mat and then work on hauling the bulk of my body into the air above me, with much grunting.

  “Let the hips fly!” the teacher urges.

  My hips are filled with concrete and they complain bitterly about their treatment. With gritted teeth, I try to arrange my limbs in the required places. My bottom is refusing to part company with terra firma. I heave and shove and push and pant and then I’m there. I’m in a shoulder stand—albeit a rather floppy one.

  “Good, Lucy,” Persephone says with an intensely sincere nod. “Very good.” My yoga teacher’s a liar, but she tries to be extra encouraging to those of us who struggle with the inexplicable mysteries of the East. Tessa, in front of me, looks like some kind of inverted ballerina. Her toes are delicately pointed toward the ceiling, her stomach isn’t sagging into her breasts, her face isn’t turning purple with exertion. I hate her. But there’s nothing to say that one day, with a bit of extra practice, I couldn’t be as good as her. Yeah, right.

  Then I commit the ultimate yoga class faux pas. My mobile phone rings and, in my haste to answer it, I crash out of my shoulder stand, risking damage to life and limb or, at the very least, a broken neck. The mood of the class is somewhat shattered.