Their first port of call was the animal barn. A group of pygmy goats in a large pen set up a round of hopeful bleating as soon as they saw a new batch of happy feeders arriving. Nadia and Toby crouched down and helped Lewis to cup the feed pellets in his hand while the goats nudged each other out of the way to gently nuzzle them from his fingers. Lewis was beside himself with joy.
“This is nice,” Toby said quietly. “We should have done this sort of thing more often.”
Nadia couldn’t disagree with him. Getting out of the city on the weekends felt great.
Once all of the feed had been hoovered up by the goats, they moved on to the animal cuddling area. Rows of big straw bales were set out for the children to sit on and Toby lifted Lewis into place alongside the other kids. Their son sat mesmerized while a clutch of beautifully behaved rabbits and guinea pigs hopped or trundled over his legs. Occasionally, one of the more laid-back rabbits lingered to sit on his lap or to have a chew on the top of one of his wellies. Lewis was in seventh heaven and Nadia wondered, once again, why they’d decided to make their life in London. What were the benefits these days? Unless you had an appreciation of graffiti art and litter, that is. Wouldn’t it be better if they upped sticks and moved to somewhere like this? They couldn’t downsize very much from a tiny, three-bedroom terraced house, but maybe they could release some small amount of equity by moving to a cheaper area. She wondered what Toby would think of the idea. Then Nadia realized that she was thinking of them very much in terms of a family, forgetting that their home was, in fact, already up for sale.
While her son was preoccupied with stroking an extremely tolerant, flat-faced, fluffy white rabbit, she asked, “Any news on the house?”
Toby scuffed his feet into the muddy floor, exactly the same habit that Lewis had when uncomfortable. “There’s been quite a lot of interest. A few viewings, but no offers.”
Nadia shrugged. “It’s early days yet.”
“Nadia, I don’t even want to be doing this,” Toby said frankly. “There’s no need for it. I’m going to crack this thing once and for all. I’ve given the laptop to a mate to keep it out of my way. The Internet connection has gone. I haven’t been near one of those damn casinos since you left.”
“I’m pleased,” she said sincerely.
“This is an illness,” her husband told her. “They said so at Quit Gambling.”
“It might be an illness,” Nadia said, “but it’s not like a cold or chicken pox. It’s not an illness that you catch. It’s one that you choose to get. You can also choose to give it up.”
“I’m going to get over it,” Toby said. “I promise you.”
Nadia slipped her arm through his and squeezed tightly. “I hope so.”
“I see Lewis like this and I don’t want us to split up.”
“Neither do I,” she said. “But until I can be sure that you can put your son and your wife above your love for the online casinos, it has to be like this.”
Plus they needed to sort something out soon. Chantal had been a wonderful friend, but Nadia knew that she couldn’t live on her charity forever. She was very pleased for Chantal that she and Ted seemed to be working slowly toward some kind of reconciliation, but she also had to consider the fact that if Chantal moved back home, then what would happen to her and Lewis? There was no way that Nadia could afford to rent the place in Islington by herself.
When the rabbits started to lose their charm, they took Lewis to look at the newborn piglets, squeaky and wriggling in their pen. Toby put his arm round her as they leaned over the metal gate and left it there as they then went to feed some warm milk to greedy lambs with babies’ bottles and robust teats, which the lambs sucked on zealously.
They stopped for lunch, eating a picnic of ham sandwiches and brownies that she’d made that morning. They weren’t a patch on the ones from Chocolate Heaven, but Nadia had an appreciative audience nonetheless. She and Toby lounged in the meager rays of sunshine while Lewis clambered on the wooden fort and poured sand into his own wellies with a red plastic bucket. The sun was gradually warming through to her bones, relaxing all the tension in her neck, soothing aches and pains that she hadn’t even realized she had. Perhaps it was something in the country air, but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen Lewis so happy or had felt so contented herself.
“We have a donkey ride and egg collecting from the hen house to fit in this afternoon. Plus cow milking if you’re up to it,” she laughed. “I hope after these farmyard frolics that our dear son will now be able to tell the difference between a sheep and a cow.”
“If I’m going to milk it, I hope I can tell the difference between a cow and a bull.”
Nadia giggled.
Her husband twirled her hair between his fingers. There was a careworn frown creasing his brow and he spoke hesitantly. “I don’t want this day to end.”
“Me neither,” Nadia said.
Chapter Seventy-four
AUTUMN WAS CAREFULLY APPLYING THE lead beading to the sun-catcher that Fraser was still struggling with. Ostensibly, she was supposed to be helping him, when in fact, she was actually doing the whole thing for him while her student lounged against the workbench and looked longingly at Tasmin across the art room. The girl was studiously pretending not to realize that she was being observed while she worked.
“Are you paying attention, Fraser?”
“No, Miss.” At least he was honest. “It’s very hard to be focused when you’re in love.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Autumn said, and there was a note of regret in her voice. She nodded toward Tasmin and lowered her voice. “Does the object of your affection feel the same?”
“Not yet,” Fraser said with his usual bravado. “Not yet.”
Oh, to be young and so optimistic, Autumn thought. She always admired the kids who could keep positive despite some of the dire situations in which they found themselves. Perhaps she could learn something from Fraser by taking a leaf out of his book for once. She thought back to the night of Operation Liberate Chantal’s Jewelry—it wouldn’t be the first time that her student’s life skills had come in handy.
Though she was feeling low about Richard having departed for America, somewhere at the center of herself, a core of calmness had settled. The turbulence of the last few months was definitely noticeable by its absence. She loved Richard—he was her brother, what else could she do?—but there was no doubt that her stress levels rose considerably when he was around. No amount of chamomile tea, chanting or chocolate could help her to deal with him. He’d e-mailed her since he’d been at the rehab clinic, but his messages were noncommittal. He said he was doing fine, but it was impossible to read between the lines. She had no idea whether he really was fine, other than putting himself out of immediate danger. If only she could visit him. All she could do from this distance was hope that he got his act together and put his life back on track.
Today, the sun was streaming through the windows, bringing a rare warmth to the run-down classroom and banishing the dreariness of their surroundings. Autumn felt selfish for thinking it, but it was good not to have to worry about what she might be going home to. She’d changed the locks on the flat, just in case, and had put some extra security bolts on the door. But she couldn’t help believing that now that her brother had gone, she wouldn’t be troubled by any further break-ins. Still, it helped her to rest more easily at night instead of lying there listening for every little noise.
The door to the art room opened and she looked up to see the figure of Addison Deacon filling the doorway. She smiled at the sight of him. He hadn’t been at the center much over the last few weeks and she’d missed seeing him. No one else lifted her heart like he did when he popped in for his friendly chats. Her colleague’s cheery beam was already in place.
“I have chocolates. I have flowers,” Addison said as he held out a small, exclusive-looking box of chocolates and a bouquet of white roses. “I have a table booked at the little restaurant at the end
of the street. I have checked that they have plenty of their very special tiramisu. I have a bottle of red wine breathing. Though I’m holding my breath that you’ll say yes.”
Autumn flushed and looked around at her charges as she took the gifts from Addison. “These are lovely.” She inhaled the delicate scent of the roses, even though in truth it was the chocolates she had her eye keenly fixed on.
“You probably won’t get a better offer, Miss,” Fraser informed her without being asked his opinion. If even the kids realized that her love life was as dry as the proverbial desert then it was definitely time to do something. Most of them couldn’t see beyond their next hit. “Addison’s cool.”
Grinning at her suitor, she said, “I don’t think you’ll get a better reference.”
“Then you’ll say yes?”
“Oh!” Autumn put her hand to her forehead. “I have a staff meeting tonight. In fifteen minutes.” Then she frowned. “I thought you’d organized it?”
“I did,” Addison confessed. “It’s a meeting for just you and me.”
“Then how can I turn you down if it’s purely business?” she teased.
“I wanted to make sure that you’d warned your brother that you’d be home late.”
“Richard’s gone away” she told him. “He’s living in America for a while. I don’t have anyone to report to now.”
“Then you have no excuses.”
“I don’t need an excuse,” Autumn said. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“Great.”
“Cool,” Fraser added with a satisfied nod.
“I just need to finish up here.” Autumn turned her attention back to the suncatcher. Fraser took the soldering iron from her hand.
“There are more important things in life than stained glass, Miss,” he informed her. “I’ll finish this. Then I’ll tidy up.”
“That’s another offer that I can’t refuse,” Autumn said with a grateful laugh.
“I’ll get Tasmin to help me,” her student said, and treated her to the most lascivious wink she’d ever seen.
God help the poor girl, Autumn thought. She wouldn’t stand a chance when Fraser turned the full force of his not-inconsiderable charm on her.
Addison held open the door, grinning happily at her. She was going to relax and enjoy this, Autumn decided. Love, it seemed, was in the air.
Chapter Seventy-five
MARCUS HAS GIVEN ME MY key back. He says that he doesn’t want to wait until we’re married for me to move in with him, and that I should do it as soon as possible. So, on Saturday I’ve hired a man and a van to move all my worldly goods into Marcus’s apartment. It’s so much more salubrious than mine. Particularly now that he’s gotten rid of the rotting prawns—something that I’m sure will become one of our fun dinner-party stories in years to come. Though I think that, eventually, we’ll look for somewhere bigger together. If we’re going to start a family—also eventually—then it would be nice to have a place with a bit of a garden.
Picking up the key from my bedside table, I toy with it in my hand. It’s not yet five thirty A.M. and, unusually, I’m wide awake. The traffic on the Camden Road is rumbling by already, heavy lorries shaking my windows out of their frames. I’ve tossed and turned for most of the night. There are a thousand different things going through my mind and I just can’t settle back to sleep, even though I could have at least another hour’s sleep before I have to get up for work. I could take myself off for an impromptu gym session— but that seems far too energetic for this time of day. I could even take a slow jog along the Grand Union Canal, but I might get mugged for my iPod—the latest craze around here. I’d stay in bed and just veg out but, to be honest, I’m thinking far too much about Crush while I’m lying here—and not in a work-related fashion. I’ve got funny feelings in places that you shouldn’t have funny feelings in when dwelling on your boss. That’s not good, is it? This whole wedding thing is making me very jittery—as if I’m just realizing how big a commitment it is. Duh. Rationally, I’ve always known that marriage is a big deal, but it’s only now sinking in emotionally.
I slide out of bed and am giving myself a good, hot drowning in the shower when I decide to go over and see Marcus and get myself a decent dose of reassurance before I head into work.
Slipping the key into my jacket pocket, I walk up the road to the Underground station and jump on the Tube for the journey across town. We didn’t see each other last night because Marcus was working late and I was packing up my stuff, but he called me about midnight to tell me that he loved me. You’d think that would be enough for me really, but well … I just want to see him today. It’s nearly six thirty A.M. and he should be getting up soon to go for his run anyway. Maybe I could just slip into bed beside him if he’s still asleep, and persuade him that we could do another form of exercise to get all hot and sweaty. … I march quickly up the road to see if I can catch him. When I get to Marcus’s apartment, I quietly open the door and peep inside.
Marcus is already up and having breakfast. What he’s actually up to, I can’t even begin to describe. But, to eat, he’s having yogurt and crushed summer berries with a sprinkling of granola. He’s eschewed the normal medium of a bowl for his breakfast delights and, instead, is up on the table, straddled across the same young woman who he was with last time I caught him out in an infidelity—which, humiliating though it was, wasn’t quite so graphic as this. She’s spread-eagled beneath him, groaning in ecstasy. The yogurt he’s licking off Joanne’s extraordinarily perky breasts, the berries are crushed all over her washboard stomach and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t want granola where she has it. But, let’s just say that I didn’t think anyone outside of porn movies ever really had completely bare bits and pieces.
I watch for a moment with a kind of detached horror as my fiancé’s bottom bobs up and down. The other members of the Chocolate Lovers’ Club were right all along. Marcus will never change. If I marry him, this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life. While I’m considering my plan of action, I notice that the groaning has stopped. Marcus and Jo are staring at me and I’m not sure who has the widest, most terrified eyes.
“I thought we’d have breakfast together,” I say steadily. “But I see that you’ve started without me.”
Marcus jumps up and there’s a squelching noise. I notice that his rapidly shrinking willy is covered in yogurt and the thought goes through my mind that at least he won’t be troubled with thrush. Normally, Marcus only has a piece of toast. I wonder who went out and bought all the ingredients, and then I realize that only a woman would buy granola.
I stare at the woman in question and wonder what happened to the concept of sisterhood. If women stopped doing this kind of thing to other women, there would be a lot less pain in this world. Men, I’ll admit, are probably a lost cause, but we could stop cheating on other women with their husbands, boyfriends, fiancés. Jo props herself up on her elbows and gives me a defiant look which, frankly, I’d like to wipe off her face—preferably with a cricket bat. “Who’d have thought that I’d be seeing so much of you,” I say. “And so soon.”
Marcus’s breakfast dish looks rather rattled.
“I can explain,” Marcus says as he tries to dismount from the table with some dignity. Difficult to pull off
“I’m all ears.”
“This was the last time,” he says earnestly. There are raspberries crushed on his knees. “The last time ever. I was having one last fling before settling down. As soon as you moved in, I was going to be completely and utterly faithful.”
Jo doesn’t look as if she knows about this particular part of the arrangement and she glares darkly at my fiancé. Perhaps she’ll be sneaking into his flat and filling his clothes and his shoes with leftovers and leaving stinking prawns in his soft furnishings. Because, for sure, I won’t be troubling myself to do it again.
“You called to tell me you love me while she was here?”
Jo clearly doesn’t know
about that bit either. Marcus chews his lip.
I stare at Marcus as if I’m seeing him for the first time. He looks ridiculous—yogurt on his knob, smears of berry juice all over his chest and legs, breakfast cereal in his hair. I burst out laughing. Marcus laughs too— nervously.
“Oh, Marcus,” I say, clutching at my sides. “I can’t believe you’ve done this again.” I double over and belly laugh right the way up from my boots.
“I love you,” he says bleakly, and then he continues to laugh along with me, although it sounds forced.
When I finally wrest control of my voice once more, I say softly, “I’m not laughing with you, Marcus. I’m laughing at you.”
Slipping my engagement ring from my finger, I put it delicately into the bowl of yogurt that’s lying by Jo’s feet. Then, picking it up, I tip the bowl upside down on Marcus’s head. Yogurt drips slowly down his face. He licks it from his lips. Perhaps he can get Jo to do it for him when I’m gone. “This really is the very last time you do this to me, Marcus.”
Then I walk out the door, closing it quietly behind me. Taking my key— so recently reacquired—I post it through the letterbox.
Out on the street, I can hear my ex-fiancé’s voice shouting out the window after me, but his pleas are lost on the breeze. Heading toward the Tube, I’m gripped with hysterical laughter once more. Tears stream down my face as I cackle my way up the road. When I get to the Tube, I can’t make my legs take me any further and I drop to the floor by the ticket machines, curling myself up into a ball in the corner. I laugh as the commuters push by me to purchase their Travelcards, unconcerned at the plight of the unhinged woman at their feet. I laugh and laugh and laugh. I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. I laugh at how very stupid I was, to ever believe that Marcus was a reformed character. I laugh at the thought of Marcus’s cock covered in yogurt and how it was possibly one of the saddest sights I’ve ever seen. I laugh because I’m alone once again and I don’t know how I’ll manage. I laugh because now I won’t need to think of a reason not to get married at Trington Manor. I laugh so much that I cry and cry and cry.