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‘Pete’s got a mate coming up the weekend after next. Why don’t you come out with us?’
‘What? A blind date? No way! I remember the last time you tried to fix me up with someone. All he could talk about was bloody computer programming and his gym weights. Didn’t mean a thing to me. I couldn’t have given a monkey’s whether he could lift a bloody ten-kilo weight or a car.’
‘Yes, well, he wasn’t the most interesting of Pete’s friends, I must say. But I’ve met Nigel before and he’s nice.’
‘Nigel? Are there still people called Nigel around? You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Just get yourself out socialising again.’
‘I was out. At New Year.’
‘And before that?’
Emma couldn’t quite remember. ‘Look, I don’t need you meddling, trying to fix me up with someone.’ She could feel herself getting edgy. ‘I’m fine. I like being on my own. Why do we all have to be in loved-up couples? It’s just a myth.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in trying to be happy. Finding someone to love.’
‘I had it. I had all that, okay.’ Emma’s tone was taut.
‘Well, don’t you want it again?’
‘No, I’m fine. It won’t be the same. It couldn’t be.’
‘So, you’re never going to go out with anyone ever again? That’s just crazy.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It’s like saying you don’t want to ever eat chocolate again.’ Bev dug into the goody bag, pulled out a truffle and popped it in her mouth all in one go. There was a pause, as she ate it, then she carried on. ‘One day, it’ll sneak up on you and you’ll eat a whole bar.’ Trust Bev to think of a chocolate analogy. ‘And you might just like it!’
‘No.’
‘What’s that for an answer? Come on, Em. What is it, are you afraid or what?’
‘Okay, all right!’ Her voice was raised now, and she felt her neck flushing with heat. ‘Yes, I am bloody afraid … afraid no one will ever match up. How can they? And if, in some fantasy universe, they ever did? What the fuck then! What if something happened to them? I don’t want to go back to that place, Bev. I don’t want to ever go near those feelings again! So yes, I am bloody afraid … You happy now?’
‘No. Oh, Em …’ She placed her arm around her friend. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, hun. So sorry. I didn’t realise it was still so raw for you. I know you’ve told me about Luke, what happened. But seven years, Em. It’s seven years.’
‘I know.’
‘But hey, jeez, I didn’t know you then. I never saw how much it must have hurt at the time, did I? I see you now, strong and independent and beautiful.’ She stroked her friend’s red wavy hair. ‘And it just seems such a waste. But forgive me, I’m just a silly bloody woman who’s had too much Prosecco and hasn’t got a clue how hard it must be. How do I know how that might feel seven years on?’
‘Yes, you are a silly bloody woman.’ The edge of Emma’s lip started to sneak up into the trace of a smile. ‘A silly bloody woman in a zebra-print onesie.’
And they slung their arms round each other in a hug.
Two days later, Emma picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Okay, so I’ll go.’
‘Is that you, Em? Um, what are you talking about? Go where?’
‘On that date thing that’s not a date, that cinema trip or whatever you’re planning with Pete’s mate in a couple of weeks’ time. What did you say his name was?’
‘You will? That’s great! Well, that’s a bit of a turnaround … well done you! And he’s called Nigel.’
‘Ni-gel, how could I have forgotten? Can I back out already?’
‘Hah, don’t judge by a name. He looks more like a Brent.’
‘And what does a Brent look like?’
‘Blond, American?’ Bev suggested.
‘Well, I’m conjuring up Brent from that TV programme, The Office. And it’s not doing anything for me.’
‘Hah, he’s fine; not bad-looking, in fact. Easy to chat with.’
‘Okay, that’ll do. I’ve said I’ll go, so I’ll go. But don’t expect too much from me. Just friends, on a normal night out. Okay?’
‘O-kay. It’ll be fun.’
Emma wasn’t quite so sure. But even she could see it was about time she got herself out and about a bit more. She couldn’t hide behind the chocolate forever.
8 (#ulink_18984084-b940-5077-b4cc-af1e00f0cc38)
Emma had muddled through January, blowing off the cobwebs on some beach walks with Alfie. But three weeks of daily walks and yet there was never any sign of Mr Kiss. Perhaps he was just an illusion. A very warm, sensual figment of her imagination.
She spent some time visiting her family, catching up with her twin nieces and her brother James and his wife Chloe on a Sunday when the shop was closed with it being the winter, and she’d made a trip down to her mum and dad. She had restocked the chocolate shop supplies, but hadn’t needed to make too much. January demand was, as per usual, at its annual lowest. Holly came in for the Saturday afternoons although Emma hardly needed her as there was only a handful of customers, but it was nice to have someone to chat with.
Soon it would be February, so the two of them could jazz up the window display ready for Valentine’s Day. They could let loose with lots of pink, red love hearts, trails of ribbons, tempting boxes of ganaches and fudge. And she could hopefully look forward to a rise in income again. Christmas had been good, and she had managed to save most of that money, but there were bills to pay, rent and business rates, supplies to buy in. And the high-quality cocoa she bought from Belgium seemed to be creeping up in price all the time.
Emma was in the kitchen pouring chocolate ganache into love-heart shaped moulds. It was Saturday, so Holly was covering the counter, though Em had heard the door and its bell go only the once in the last hour. The jangle made her look up, and then she heard the voice of old Mrs Clark, one of their regulars, no doubt in for her bag of chocolate brazils, her weekly treat. Emma finished filling the moulds then popped through to the shop to say a quick hello.
By the disappointed look on Holly’s face, much as they both got on well with Mrs Clark, the girl had been hoping that the young man who had called at The Chocolate Shop last Friday might call back in – he’d been in during the week, but of course Holly hadn’t been there.
‘Why, hello, Emma dear. What are you busy making today?’ Mrs Clark was shrouded in a heavy woollen coat, a plastic rain cap covering her grey curls.
‘Chocolate love hearts for Valentine’s Day.’
‘Oh yes, that’s lovely for the young ones, isn’t it?’ She nodded towards Holly. Emma had the feeling she was being banded with the old ones.
‘You could do with getting a little chair in here, Emma. Be nice to sit and have a chat and get my breath back a bit. That hill’s a bit of a bugger.’
The girls smiled. Mrs Clark used the term ‘bugger’ freely and easily, as anyone else might use the word ‘devil’. It was the only swear word she did use, which made it seem humorous rather than offensive. She was certainly a character, having lived in the village all of her life, and her parents and grandparents before her. She’d often stay for a while in the shop and chat, telling them tales of life in the olden days in the village and the fishing community here. One of Emma’s favourite stories was the one about the fisherwomen who used to rock their cradles with their feet, so they could keep their hands free to bait the lines at the same time. It sounded a hard life, though, with poverty and disease rife in the village, but there was always mention of the happier times, too: the dances, celebrations, weddings, christenings. Emma could still recognise that community spirit since moving here to Warkton-by-the-Sea.
‘Yes, that might be a thought,’ Emma agreed. Some of her elderly customers would be glad of that, the chance to have a sit-down, before heading back down the village hill again.
They watched the old lady slowly pack her chocolate brazils into her large navy blue handbag, which reminded Em of something the queen might have, then set herself away. ‘Back home for a nice cup of coffee now. Better wrap myse’n up a bit first, mind.’ She tightened the scarf around her neck. ‘There’s a chill wind out there today. And still a chance of rain. Take care, me dears.’
‘Thanks, and you too, Mrs Clark.’
‘Bye.’
‘Bye, dears.’
And all was quiet once more. Holly gave a little sigh.
‘What’s up?’
‘Do you think he might come back?’
There was no doubt who Holly was mooning over. Funny, those words had been flitting through Emma’s head these past few weeks too. Not over the same guy, of course.
‘Ah, I expect so. He’s been in twice. Seems like he might be local or a regular visitor at least.’
‘Or maybe just a holidaymaker on a two-week holiday, and that was it.’ Holly looked dejected.
‘Maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see, Hols.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Time for a cuppa?’
‘Yeah, why not. Thanks.’
Emma went to click the kettle on.
They had their tea sat on stools in the kitchen. They’d soon pop through if they heard the shop door go.
‘So, what’s the latest with that Tom lad at school?’ Em asked.
‘Hah, nothing – exactly nothing. It’s like I don’t exist.’
‘Aw, sorry to hear it, Hols. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.’
‘It’s all right. It’s just we were such good friends when we were little. His mum and mine are still big buddies. We were too. It’s like he’s changed, totally. It’s all football, and flirting with the pretty, sporty girls. It’s like I’m just not important or interesting any more.’
‘I suppose we all change, life changes,’ Emma mused. ‘But that does sound a bit mean of him. There’s nothing to stop you being friends.’
‘I think he might have guessed that I fancied him and it’s probably frightened him right off. Oh, Em. I feel such an idiot. So now, I don’t feel I can even say hello. I go bright red and get a bit panicky.’
‘Oh dear.’ Young love, crushes. Why did relationships have to be so bloody complicated? ‘It’ll all work out somehow in the end, Holly. Just you wait and see.’ And as she said the words, she hoped to God that Holly never had to face what she’d had to. She’d learnt the hard way that there weren’t always happy-ever-afters. But why spoil the young girl’s hopes and dreams?
After their cuppa and chat, next up for Em was making a batch of choc-dipped fudge. She was busy melting butter and sugar together when she heard the jangle of the door again. She hoped it might be Holly’s dream man, but the door closed very soon after it opened.
‘The post’s here.’ Holly popped in the back and handed over a few envelopes that Emma placed to one side as she went to fetch cream for her fudge mix from the fridge.
Emma was soon pouring the mixture into a large metal tray to set and cool.
‘Mmm, that smells divine!’
‘Even better after the chunks get dunked in chocolate.’
‘I’d love it if someone brought me home a pack of that.’
‘Well, I think we can both think of a certain someone who you’d like to do that – and I’m not talking Tom now,’ Emma grinned.
‘Hmm. Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?’
They both knew exactly who Holly was referring to.
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him the next time he calls in?’
‘Nooo. I couldn’t!’
‘Why not?’
‘I’d look a right idiot if he has. After all, who’s he buying the chocolate for?’
‘But, if he hasn’t?’
‘Then I’d just feel daft and not know what to say next. I’d look too keen, apart from anything else.’
Emma smiled. This girl had another huge crush by the looks of it.
‘What about you then, anyway?’ Holly was blushing furiously now, and was keen to divert the attention from herself.
Hah, not another one trying to fix her up. She’d had enough of Bev’s meddling of late. The foursome with Nigel was looming ominously.
‘No one special in your life, then?’ Holly pursued.
‘Now stop getting cheeky, you. It’s none of your business, madam.’ Emma was still smiling, but sooo not prepared to divulge any information. Not that there was anything at all to divulge.
Twenty minutes later Holly was out in the shop, keeping herself occupied dusting the shelves and the glass counter as it was that quiet, and Emma got around to opening the post. There was the usual junk mail, a bank letter, the quarterly electric bill – ooh, now that was a bit high. Oh well, it was the winter months, she mused. The fourth letter was handwritten on a thick white envelope. Emma opened it, drawing out a sheet of typed A4. It looked very formal. She recognised the name and address of her landlord.
‘I am writing to inform you …’ Emma stood there stock-still, the letter quivering in her hand.
She was still staring into space when Holly popped back through to put the polish and duster back in the kitchen cupboard.
‘Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.’
Emma wished it had been a ghost. It would be far less trouble than the contents of the letter.
‘Ah, no, just a bit of a shock.’ She wondered whether to share the news, no point worrying the girl unnecessarily, but oh, she needed someone to talk it over with.
As Emma began to read the words aloud, she felt like her heart was being squeezed. ‘I am writing to inform you that as from 1 March 2017 your monthly rent payment for 5 Main Street, Warkton-by-the-Sea, is to increase to the sum of £900. Nine hundred pounds! That’s a further one hundred and fifty pounds a month. I really don’t know where I’m going to find that, Holly.’
‘Oh no. That’s so not fair, Em.’
