The Chocolate Lovers’ Wedding

by Carole Matthews

  ‘Is that it?’

  I stand there trying to look suitably penitent. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It would have been nice if you’d called me to check first,’ he says.

  ‘I know.’ I hang my head in shame. What was I thinking? ‘I’m an idiot. It came out of my mouth before it went through my brain.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Crush laughs. ‘But it’s fine, Lucy. Of course it’s fine.’ He stands up and breathes out a sigh of relief. ‘That’s what I love about you most. You’re so selfless. You put everyone’s needs before your own. I know Chantal’s situation and it’s awful. If we can help then we should. If that means you want Chantal to have our wedding, then she must.’

  I jump into his arms and hug him to bits. ‘But we can get married really, really soon?’

  ‘We’ll set another date just as soon as you like.’ He kisses me deeply.

  ‘We could skip the coffee and toast and go straight to bed,’ I suggest, fluttering my eyelashes at him in what I hope is a beguiling manner. ‘I’m very squiffy and someone who was less of a gentleman might take advantage of that.’

  He spins me so that we’re heading towards the bedroom. ‘I’m no gentleman,’ he growls.

  I stroke his hair. ‘But you are,’ I say earnestly. ‘You’re the kindest, most gentlemanly person I know. And that’s why I love you so very much.’

  Hours and hours later, when we have loved and loved again, and I’m feeling all dreamy and slightly more sober, Crush gets up and makes us coffee and toast. And we sit in bed cuddled up together eating it and making plans for our next wedding d ay.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chantal couldn’t believe how the last few weeks had flown. They’d gone by in a blur and that was probably a good thing. Organising the wedding had taken her mind off the hospital visits and the discomfort from her scar. The girls had been fantastic, nothing too much trouble for them and they’d laughed a lot as they pulled the last-minute bits and bobs together.

  Now, the night before her wedding, she seemed to be in a little bubble of peace. Everything was organised and there was nothing much else that she could do other than relax and enjoy it. There was just one last hurdle. She was going to take off her dressing gown and look at herself properly for the first time.

  Chantal stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath. The moment of truth. She’d managed, so far, to avoid looking at herself fully. She’d caught glimpses of her scar – when she’d had the dressings removed and the drains taken out had been a terrible moment. While the nurse had tended to her, she’d kept her eyes tightly shut, refusing to look.

  She had great tits. No doubt about it. They were full, curvy, with flawless milky white skin. They still looked good in a tight jumper and they didn’t sag when she took her bra off at night.

  But they hadn’t always been her pride and joy. At school she’d been teased mercilessly about them and they were a source of great misery. When all the other girls were flat-chested or were sprouting bee-stings, Chantal had blossomed early. She’d been one of the first girls in her class to wear a bra, which always amused her fellow classmates when they’d had to get changed for sports lessons. Then they laughed at her during the PE lessons when she ran or tried the vault or anything that involved her boobs swinging around. Afterwards, while she showered, they considered it fun to hide her bra and leave her sobbing in the changing rooms. Then she’d be late for the next lesson and would receive a detention for that, too. How she’d hated her breasts then. She would have gladly cut them off.

  A few years later they’d become powerful weapons. She only had to flash a hint of her ample cleavage and men were putty in her hands. They’d also got her into a lot of trouble. A stranger in a bar had asked her if he could spend all night kissing them and see if he could try not to kiss the same place twice. She’d let him. One of her bosses had been unable to refuse her anything if she undid an extra button on her blouse before meetings and, shamelessly, she’d revelled in it. Ted had said it was one of the first things he noticed about her. Though she hoped it was her sparkling personality that had, subsequently, won his love.

  Then she’d left the bad boys behind and had moved onto a different stage in her life. Bearing a child had changed her perception of her breasts as they’d become a food source for her baby. They’d swollen, grown full and ripe; the nipples had been cracked and sore to the point of making her weep, yet she’d never been more proud of them. They were nourishing her child. What greater purpose could they have?

  Yet now, sadly, they’d become a risk to her health, her life. A liability. What had once been nothing more than decorative ornaments were now threatening to kill her. Some innocuous tissue that had gone rogue throughout the generations of her family threatened her very existence. The luck of the draw. A bad hand for her.

  Well, it was on its way out now. With some good fortune, a following wind and some well-aimed chemo, it could be eradicated.

  Chantal looked straight ahead at herself, slowly unbelted her dressing gown and let it fall open. She slid it down her arms and let it drop to the floor. She gave a sharp intake of breath as she saw the damage wrought by the surgeon’s knife. It was a neat and tidy scar, no doubt, but it still slashed raw and angry across her chest. The pink bud of her nipple was gone. Her other breast seemed mockingly healthy, but it was also a potential war zone. That might have to go as well. And, somehow, it seemed better that both of them went.

  Reconstructive surgery was on the cards, but only further down the line when she’d completed her chemo and radiotherapy, if she needed that too. It was still in the lap of the gods. She’d been told that she could have adhesive prosthetic nipples afterwards, but that sounded too awful for words. She’d try to wear her scars loud and proud. In time. Maybe one of those fancy tattoos sweeping from shoulder to shoulder would be the way to go.

  She wanted to touch the area, but couldn’t get her fingers to obey her brain. Perhaps it was too soon. If the reconstructive surgery didn’t take place until after she’d had her chemo it seemed as if she was going to look like this for quite a while, so she’d better get used to it.

  The girls were coming round this evening to have a quiet drink together and she’d open a bottle of champagne or two for them all. There’d been no hen party as such, as she’d need all her energy for the ceremony and celebration afterwards. Since her operation, she’d had to rest a lot more and didn’t want to wear herself out before her big day. Plus she wanted to be quiet and reflective rather than kick up her heels. There’d be time for that when this was all over.

  Her wedding dress hung on the front of the wardrobe ready for tomorrow. It was really beautiful and she couldn’t believe how well that had turned out. She was glad that Lucy had been persuaded to choose this one; it was so gorgeous. The fact that she’d actually ordered and paid for it had helped convince her to wear it, but she’d buy Lucy a new dress as soon as she was ready. However, if she was honest, she’d have been happy to get married in an old sack if that’s what it had taken. All this was the icing on the cake. The important thing was that she was marrying Jacob and she couldn’t be happier. Of all the things she was going to lose in this fight against cancer, she didn’t want one of them to be Jacob. She needed him firmly by her side throughout this.

  Perhaps, if the circumstances had been different, they wouldn’t have rushed so much. But it felt just right. Lucy had been so incredibly kind – a true friend. The dress, with a little nip and tuck here and there, now fitted beautifully. The dear little hat and the matching shoes had been handed over to her too and they looked just as good as they had on Lucy. For Lana, she’d found the most adorable dress and matching headband. She’d have a basket of flowers, which Lana would probably destroy in minutes. Chantal laughed at the thought. In more practical terms, she had a soft bra with a gel-filled breast form that fitted into a little pocket and she only hoped that her lop-sidedness wouldn’t show too much, and that it wouldn’t chafe against he
r scar if she wore it all day. Hopefully, she’d be having too much fun to even notice. Chantal picked up her dressing gown and slipped it back on again.

  She smiled contentedly at herself. This was the right thing to do. She was confident enough in Jacob’s love to know that they would see this through together. Tomorrow – two boobs, one boob or no boobs – she’d be the happiest woman alive. With the emphasis very much on alive.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It’s a glorious day, just as I knew it would be. The sun is shining, the birds are tweeting, the clouds look like fluffy marshmallows – all that kind of stuff. It’s a wonderful day to be getting married. And I know this is terrible, but there’s a tiny part of me that still wishes it was my wedding rather than Chantal’s.

  The bride looks stunning – of course. The knockout dress that the girls picked out for me looks absolutely perfect on her. The lace bodice, the colour of champagne, fits like a glove. The lace skirt has exactly the right amount of swishyness; the matching pillbox hat and veil sit at the ideal jaunty angle. She looks as beautiful as a bride deserves to be.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ I say to her, slightly choked. ‘You can’t notice any difference?’ She glances anxiously at her breasts.

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘You’d tell me if you could.’

  ‘Of course, but I don’t think that’s what anyone will be looking at today. You look radiant, glowing. There’s never been a hotter bride.’

  ‘Thank you, Lucy.’ There are tears in her eyes. ‘Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me, to both of us.’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ I say. ‘Not yet. You’ll start us all off and then we’ll have to redo our make-up. We’ll all have a good sob later.’ I push a recalcitrant tear back above my lashes.

  ‘I don’t want anyone to mention the C-word today,’ Chantal warns.

  ‘Chocolate?’

  We all laugh at that.

  ‘The other C-word! Cancer may have temporarily hijacked my life, but I’m not letting it dominate my wedding day. Today, I’m a cancer-free zone.’

  ‘Well said.’ Autumn kisses Chantal and hands her the bouquet of white roses she’s chosen.

  Nadia, Autumn and I went off to the high street a few days ago and bought lovely floaty numbers in coordinating shades of tea rose and mink. We also have small posies of white roses.

  This morning we all assembled at Chantal’s house for a wholesome breakfast of choc chip muffins. We did each other’s hair, make-up and started on the bucks fizz early. The taxi has just dropped us off at the gates of Golders Hill Park and it’s a few minutes’ walk to the Belvedere pavilion – in my mind, the most beautiful place to get married.

  ‘Are you ready?’ I ask. ‘Jacob will be waiting.’

  Chantal nods.

  I hold her tightly and kiss her.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m so nervous,’ she laughs and holds a hand against her chest. ‘My heart’s racing.’

  ‘Racing is a good thing. I think. Anything more and I’ll call the paramedics.’

  ‘I’m fine, Lucy,’ she says. ‘Just anxious to do this.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to be worried about,’ Nadia says. ‘You’re marrying the loveliest man.’

  ‘I know, and it’s even more important to me now.’

  ‘I’ve brought just the thing for nerves, but I don’t want you touching them.’ Out of my handbag, I bring a packet of Minstrels. ‘Ta-dah! These are the least melty chocolates I could think of. Open wide.’

  Chantal does as she’s told and I pop a few into her mouth. Then I dish them out to Autumn and Nadia, saving a few for myself.

  ‘Are we all feeling good?’

  They nod at me, mouths full.

  ‘Let’s do it then.’ I pop in my own chocolate and we set off through the park. On our way we get smiles and good wishes from the dog walkers and joggers which, as well as the chocolate hit, helps to settle Chantal’s nerves.

  We climb the steps up to the pavilion through a maze of ivy-covered walkways. The clematis and roses are out in full bloom, a superb tangle of flowers. The scent of the roses is heady and sweet. Oh, this is just magnificent. Everything that I hoped it would be.

  I look at Chantal and she squeezes my hand.

  ‘It’s lovely, Lucy. I couldn’t have chosen anywhere more charming myself.’

  ‘Good.’ There’s a slight ache in my heart that this isn’t my big day, but I’m so happy to see Chantal being married. She’s recovered well from her mastectomy and is due to start her chemotherapy soon. This is the ideal window in which to get hitched.

  She and Jacob are spending tonight at The Ritz, then they’re heading off to Cornwall on honeymoon. They’ve booked into a boutique hotel for a week while Ted and Stacey look after Lana. They’re also holding the baby today, so to speak, and it’s nice to see that they’ve come back from the States for Chantal’s wedding. I think that bodes well for the future. I’m sure if she and Jacob manage to have a restful break then it will help to strengthen her health for what lies ahead.

  Then we turn the corner and in front of us I see the wedding party waiting. It’s an intimate gathering, but our closest friends are here and I don’t think Chantal would have wanted more.

  There are rows of gold chairs dressed with ivory sashes and, at the head of them, Jacob and Crush – the best man, in so many ways – and the celebrant wait patiently. They both look so handsome in light grey suits and crisp white shirts. Ted and Stacey are there with Elsie and Lana. Clive and Tristan have come back from France for the weekend. There’s Miles and Flo with Willow, whom we’ll be meeting for the first time today. James and his children have left the farm for a couple of days to be here, which is lovely for Nadia. Lewis looks very much at home with them.

  We pause between towering stone pillars at the entrance to the pavilion. My friend has bestowed on me the honour of giving her away and I take my place at her side. Autumn and Nadia fall into place behind us.

  I link my arm through hers. ‘This is it,’ I say.

  Jacob turns and grins at his bride.

  Now there’s a beaming smile on Chantal’s face too as she nods at me. Together we walk towards her groom.

  Chapter Fifty

  When the service is over, we throw white rose petals over the happy couple.

  ‘Congratulations, Mrs Lawson,’ I say and give her a kiss.

  ‘That sounds strange,’ she laughs. ‘I’m going to have to get used to not being a Hamilton anymore.’

  We move back through the park to a formal garden by the pond where a table is set up with glasses of champagne and jugs of Pimm’s. There’s a guitarist perched on a chair plucking out mellow tunes and we mingle with the bride and groom and the other guests while we down a few glasses. It’s good to see Clive and Tristan, the former owners of Chocolate Heaven, have come back from France for the wedding. They’re both looking so well and are on fine form.

  I hug Clive. ‘I miss you guys.’

  ‘We miss you, too.’ He nods towards the bride. ‘How’s Chantal doing?’

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Being ridiculously strong.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘None of us can.’

  ‘Make sure that you keep us posted.’

  ‘I will.’ Then Clive whispers to me while Crush is chatting away to Tristan. ‘How’s it working out at Chocolate Heaven with Marcus?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I tell him. ‘We have our ups and downs, but I’m glad to be there. I still love it.’ In fact, I haven’t seen Marcus for weeks. That familiar red Ferrari has stayed firmly away. He has adopted a surprisingly hands-off approach, given his usual style. It seems quite weird not sparring with him on a daily basis. I hate to say this, but I might even be missing it a little bit. Also, if Marie-France is still seeing him, then she never talks about him and he hasn’t been to Chocolate Heaven to see her. Since I saw her bent over the back-room table, we have very little to say to each other and communicate with a series
of short sentences relating only to work.

  Still, I don’t want to be thinking about Marcus now; I turn my attention back to Clive. ‘What about you two? Not fed up with rural France yet? No hungering for the bright lights of London?’

  ‘No. We love it there. The bistro will be ready at the end of summer. Hopefully. Building work seems to move in slow motion in the Haute-Vienne, but when it’s finished it will be fabulous. It’s going to be very kitsch and quirky.’

  I’m sure their village won’t know what’s hit them.

  He hugs himself, excitedly. ‘Everyone will have to come for the grand launch.’

  ‘If you make it half as good as Chocolate Heaven, it will be wonderful. Try to keep us away.’

  I move on to chat to Ted and Stacey and it’s good to see that they look happy, too. I have a cuddle with Elsie, who drools on my dress.

  ‘Lunch is ready, everyone!’ Jacob shouts. ‘Enjoy!’

  Set out on the meticulously manicured grass, there are woollen picnic rugs covered with red hearts and each one has had a large wicker hamper delivered to it. Chantal and Jacob continue to work their way round the guests and the children are already running on the grass, all decorum forgotten.

  Crush and I take another glass of champagne each and sit on one of the rugs. He puts his arm round me. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Happy for Chantal and Jacob,’ I say. ‘But a bit sad as well.’

  ‘This would have been a wonderful wedding day.’

  ‘I know.’ I try not to succumb to the melancholy that threatens to settle on me. ‘Let’s organise ours again very soon.’

  He kisses me. ‘I have no problem with that.’ Crush peeps into the picnic hamper. ‘All looks delicious.’

  Distracting me with food. Excellent plan.

  Crush scans the little menu that’s been popped in the top of the hamper. ‘Jacob has excelled himself.’

  ‘He’s a good man,’ I say. ‘He’ll look after Chantal.’

  Nadia comes to join us with James, both of them stretching out on the rug. My friend looks very loved up.