The Chocolate Promise

by Josephine Moon

  He was struggling to come up with words, shuffling his feet and looking all around the room, ashamed, she realised, and that touched her deeply. She’d failed him as a mother if at his age he was still ashamed to tell her the truth. But perhaps she could ease his discomfort a little; it would be a kind thing to do.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said gently. ‘We all know the truth. And, Tom, you did what you thought was right. Sometimes bad luck comes our way no matter how hard we try.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘So will you help me?’ he asked evenly. Her words had calmed him.

  She licked her dry lips. ‘Yes, I will help you. I won’t be selling the house, but I have a bit of money I can give you that will buy you some time, give you a chance to work something out for the long term.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My solicitor is on his way. I’ll get him to send you some money to tide you over for a bit. But that will be it, do you understand? There’ll be no more. It’s up to you now.’

  He nodded and scratched at the back of his ear. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  She couldn’t quite bring herself to reach for his hand, but she wanted to leave him with something kind, something that might at least make up for a little bit of what she did all those years ago. ‘I hope you can move forward from this and be happy. You deserve that. Everyone does.’

  Tom’s nostrils flared, whether from unspoken words or suppressed emotion she wasn’t sure. ‘I’d better get going,’ he said.

  ‘Okay.’

  He scraped back his chair and rose, passing the solicitor in the doorway on his way out, and Elsa watched him go, feeling the load she’d been carrying for some time—the weight of having to pretend her son’s anger didn’t hurt—begin to lift.

  •

  Monday had passed for Christmas in a blur of catnapping and zombie-like wandering, of laundry and unpacking, a touch of paperwork and bill paying, and chicken soup. She didn’t have anywhere near enough mental clarity to speak to Lincoln—not when everything was so fragile—so she concentrated instead on tending to her domestic needs, and being gentle with herself while her body adjusted to being in Tasmania and in the middle of winter once more, rather than the deliciously hot French summer. Before she knew it, Tuesday was upon her and she was back in The Apothecary, tempering chocolate and grinding coffee beans, serving and chatting to many locals who popped in to ask about her trip. She made a mental note to get some photos printed to display as soon as possible.

  Lincoln had sent her an email with the last draft of their book attached and a short message saying he hoped she was well and giving her an update on Elsa—who was still in hospital, poor dear. He told her he was busy for the rest of the week with his sister, who was here to visit Elsa, and asked Christmas if they could catch up on Friday. Christmas was shutting the shop on Friday so she could help Val prepare for the wedding on Saturday. Inside her chest, her heart had thumped loudly.

  The wedding. She’d been so looking forward to enjoying the wedding with Lincoln. Dancing with him. Kissing him. What would happen now? She didn’t want to ask him via email so she agreed to see him on Friday and would just have to wait to find out.

  Now, it was Tuesday evening and she sat cross-legged on her bed with the manuscript pages spread out before her, a red pen in hand. Jetlag still had her wide awake at inconvenient times. It was nearly midnight. The night outside was quiet and dark. So it was surprising when her phone lit up with a message.

  R u up? I was just passing and saw your light on.

  Emily didn’t live anywhere that would require her to just pass by Christmas’s door. She froze and considered ignoring the message; later she could always claim that she’d been asleep. But she had to speak to Emily at some point.

  Come up. You know where the key is.

  She got off the bed and automatically turned on the kettle. She heard Emily fish out the key from under the brick at the back of the building, open the door and climb the stairs.

  ‘Welcome home,’ Emily gushed, puffing slightly from the stairs, and hugged her. ‘I’ve been dying to see you and hear how everything was. I’m starting to get the feeling you’re avoiding me!’

  ‘I’m glad you came by. Coffee?’ Christmas said, hoping Emily would say yes so it would give her something to do.

  ‘No, thanks. It’s a bit late.’

  ‘Yes. Tea?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘I could do you a hot chocolate?’

  Emily relented. ‘Okay.’

  She sat down on the couch, pulled off her woollen scarf and ran her fingers through her curls to unknot them while Christmas took some chocolate ganache she’d made fresh today and heated it gently, then added milk and a swig of butterscotch sauce—Emily’s favourite twist—and topped it with a dollop of vanilla cream.

  She presented it to her in a tall glass mug. ‘Sorry there aren’t any embellishments today,’ she said, thinking of the flaked chocolate downstairs that would go so well on top.

  ‘Oh, please. At home I’d be making it out of a tin from the supermarket.’ Emily took a sip. ‘Ah. That is truly fabulous.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  Christmas took a seat in the lounge on the other side of the coffee table. Emily eyed her over the top of her glass. ‘Is everything okay? You seem a bit edgy,’ she said, licking the spoon.

  Christmas buried her face in her hands for a moment then looked up and grimaced. ‘Everything seems like such a mess.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know that you dated Lincoln.’

  Emily looked wary. ‘I . . . yes, kind of. But how do you know that?’

  ‘And I found out about Gregoire, about the information you told Lincoln to pass on.’

  Her friend looked confused. ‘Isn’t that a good thing? You’ve always wanted to know about your father.’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t tell me,’ Christmas said.

  ‘But I thought I had. I was too sick to look at a computer screen, so I asked Lincoln to do it.’

  The deep inhalation from Christmas was loud in the silence between them. ‘It’s just that . . .’ She paused, looking for the right words. What she wanted to say was that Emily was her best friend and if anyone should have been motivated enough to ensure she got the information about Gregoire it should have been her. She felt injured that Emily seemed to have carelessly delegated the information. and it seemed especially surprising given how much she and Val had been hassling her to look for her father.

  Emily waited, looking hurt.

  Christmas exhaled.

  Really, it was all just water under the bridge. It had been a calamity of errors and circumstance. And right now, Christmas herself had something to confess here. Emily might have hurt her, but she might well have hurt Emily too.

  ‘You’re right. It’s okay. It’s just one of those things that happened.’ She waved her hand and leaned back against a cushion.

  Across the table, Emily put her glass and spoon down and bit her lip. ‘No. I’m the best friend. I was the last person to handle the information, other than Lincoln. I’m sorry. I can understand why it would upset you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Christmas smiled, and Emily’s shoulders relaxed.

  ‘Did Lincoln tell you that we’d dated? When he emailed you the information?’ she asked, curious.

  ‘He didn’t email, actually.’ Christmas braced herself. ‘He came to visit me—in France.’

  Emily leapt off the couch. ‘In France? Why? How?’

  ‘He turned up on my first day off after the scholarship course. Surprised me.’

  ‘But why?’ Emily’s knees slowly bent as she lowered herself back down.

  ‘Evidently because we had more of a mutual attraction than I’d first wanted to believe. He wanted to give us a shot, as a couple.’ She waited, wanting to reach over and take Emily’s hand.

  But Emily’s hand had gone to her chest. ‘I can’t believe this.’

>   ‘I know. I’m sorry. I know I pushed you two together. I panicked after Lincoln and I kissed in The Apothecary and I had such strong feelings for him and it wasn’t in the rules. But then once I was in France, it was all so beautiful and everything felt different. I realised we could have something really special and I wanted more. And at the same time, apparently, he was thinking the same thing back here and made a snap decision to jump on a plane.’

  ‘I wondered why he didn’t return my last text. I knew he was busy working on the book and . . .’ Her voice faltered. Then she swallowed whatever emotion was trying to come to the surface. ‘He’s so lovely,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, he is.’

  ‘I really liked him and I thought he liked me too.’

  A stab of guilt pierced through Christmas’s heart. ‘There’s no reason he wouldn’t like you, Em. You’re wonderful.’

  ‘I should have known it was too good to be true.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Em,’ Christmas said. ‘I can’t speak for Lincoln; I’ve no idea what was going through his mind but he’s a good guy so I’m sure he’ll explain it to you soon.’ She paused. ‘Then again, things got a bit messy between him and me so I’m not entirely sure about anything right now.’

  ‘What happened?’ Emily asked. ‘Please tell me. You two obviously have something serious here and nothing like whatever he and I had.’ She scoffed. ‘We never even got a real date. Did he tell you that?’ She smiled wanly.

  Christmas returned her smile, sympathetic. ‘Yes, he did.’

  Emily waved her hands at her face, as if drying tears. ‘So just forget about him and me. It obviously meant nothing. You two clearly have a lot more going on than any of us first thought. That’s a huge deal for him to fly to France. So tell me, what happened?’

  Christmas breathed a sigh of relief that they’d made it through that conversation with their friendship still intact. It had been a bumpy few months for them; but they’d made it. They both settled into the couch with blankets and Emily kicked off her shoes. Christmas started with the kiss in The Apothecary; moved to the text message to apologise and his vague response; their Skype game and their ‘almost’ declarations; his arrival on the lawn of the chateau; Giselle’s humping (which made Emily hoot with laughter); her wonderful days with Lincoln; and then the revelations about his dates with Emily and the news about Gregoire; and, finally, her panic attack that coincided with Elsa’s collapse.

  ‘Oh God, that’s terrible,’ Emily gasped.

  ‘Elsa’s going to be okay, but I don’t know about Lincoln and me. I’m worried I might have frightened him off for good.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘He said he’d fallen in love with me,’ Christmas said, feeling herself flush at the memory.

  ‘Ohhh.’ Emily clasped her hands together and her face went misty. ‘And how do you feel?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’ Emily asked, excited now. ‘It’s all coming together.’

  ‘Except for me behaving like a lunatic,’ Christmas said, picking at threads of the blanket on her lap.

  ‘So tell him you had temporary insanity! Tell him you love him and want to spend the rest of your life with him!’ Emily said, bouncing up and down on the couch. ‘I can see it written all over your face—he’s The One! The man flew to other side of the world for you. Who does that? You clearly have a big cosmic thing going on and nothing and no one, especially not me, can keep you apart. Don’t die wondering. Make it right! Do it now!’

  Emily’s enthusiasm was infectious and Christmas suddenly felt light and buoyed by hope. She laughed. ‘Alright, alright, I will. But not now; it’s after midnight. He’s coming over on Friday morning to talk about our book. I’ll tell him then.’ She felt resolve set inside her like steel despite the nerves.

  ‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she said to Emily. ‘I’m sorry for pushing you towards Lincoln when I didn’t really mean it deep down. I hope you’re not too hurt.’

  Emily waved a hand. ‘I’m already over it. The important thing now is that we get you two back together and you live happily ever after.’

  Christmas shook her head in wonder. ‘Imagine that.’

  Emily paused, and then said, ‘I have news of my own, actually.’

  Christmas grimaced. ‘Sorry, it’s been all about me so far. Please—tell me your news.’

  ‘I’m moving to Melbourne in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A research job came up for a production house making a new children’s television program and I applied online one day at work because I was bored and thought, well, why not? I didn’t think much about it again, but then they offered me a Skype interview while you were away, and today they phoned to say I got the job. So, I’m going.’

  Christmas felt winded. ‘Wow.’

  ‘I know.’ Emily sounded like she couldn’t believe it herself.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Christmas said. ‘That’s great, and of course I’m really happy for you.’ But she was numb. All she could think was that her friend was leaving her. She wanted to take hold of her and beg her not to go. ‘How long do you think you’ll be gone?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a full-time position, but you know what television’s like. It could all change next week.’

  Christmas moved across to Emily on the couch and hugged her. ‘That’s really great, Em, a fantastic opportunity. It’ll be wonderful and open all sorts of new doors. But I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t start!’ Emily wailed, and burst into tears.

  27

  Lincoln pulled the postcard out of the letterbox. It was a hand-drawn cartoon of Rubble, now thin as a rake, and his dreadlocked fiancée standing on a surfboard on a large wave, dressed in Hawaiian shirts. The wedding invitation details were on the back: Bondi Beach, next month. Lincoln smiled and shoved the card into his pocket.

  He was genuinely happy for Rubble and Eleisha. They were embarking on an exciting new adventure. As for him, he was anxious to see Christmas tomorrow morning. He’d been so busy for the past few days alongside Jen, on their secret mission, that he’d not been able to go to see her. And he needed to see her. Especially now that things had turned out differently from what he’d expected. The path had definitely taken a sudden and unexpected turn.

  ‘Come on, Caesar,’ he said, opening the car door and trying to hurry the old man up in his never-ending search for the perfect place to pee. ‘We’ve got somewhere to be.’

  Caesar lifted his head, smiled, wagged his tail. Then he cast his eyes over at the neighbour’s place. Today the blackboard outside the front fence said, Want a marriage that will make you rich? Marry a divorce lawyer.

  Lincoln shook his head. ‘Miserable old bugger. What happened to captaining your own ship?’ he asked to the wind in the trees.

  Caesar trotted over to the board and lifted his leg, letting his opinion be known.

  ‘Good boy, Caesar,’ Lincoln said. ‘Now, let’s go.’

  •

  Elsa, without too much fuss, allowed Lincoln to pick her up out of the passenger seat and place her in the wheelchair on the driveway at Green Hills. The dog was in the back seat; he’d stood up most of the way from the hospital with his head hanging over her shoulder, an occasional drip of drool running down her arm. She was glad he was here. She felt a bit deflated after her stay in hospital and the upset with Tom.

  Lincoln wheeled her across the gravel towards her bungalow. The shades were down over the windows. The sky was dark grey and a cold wind tore across the yellow farmland around the home.

  Home—such a strange idea.

  Lincoln opened the door into the darkened bungalow. So this was it, then. This was going to be her last home.

  He closed the door behind them and turned on the lights.

  ‘Surprise!’

  Elsa jumped. Her room was crowded with a welcome-home party. There was Sarah, blowing on a hooter, a neon-pin
k feather boa thrown over her nurse’s uniform. Rita sat in her own wheelchair, looking much better after her bout of the flu, a crumpled tissue in her hand and a big lopsided smile on her face. Elsa gave her a small wave, pleased to see her dear friend recovered. The rest of the book club was there too, Robert Graham and his wife smiling as always, Yvonne Murphy, and Doris Laherty actually awake for once. Everyone, of course, except Lulu. They were all holding a copy of the book Elsa had chosen for their August meeting before she got sick (James Herriot’s Vet Stories), which she’d picked because it was set in the pre-war era so was of interest to many of them, and because it featured a lot of farm animals, and most of them came from rural backgrounds. She’d thought she might organise a visit from a mobile animal farm, the sort that went around to schools.

  And the bungalow! She could scarcely take it in.

  As Caesar worked the room to greet everyone and steal a sandwich off the table, Lincoln knelt beside her. ‘Jen suggested it might be a good idea to give your place a makeover,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

  Think? She could barely breathe. The drab mauve walls had been painted a fresh but soothing antique white. There were new curtains, crisp white with a sprig of lavender embroidered in the corners. A new blue toile bedspread and French linen cushions. Vases of bright flowers everywhere. New Tiffany-blue lampshades on the side tables and light shades hanging from the ceiling. A new flat-screen television set and, best of all, her very own computer and workstation so she could Skype her family in peace whenever she wanted, rather than having to go to the common room. A scented candle burned on the dresser and the smell of vanilla floated in the air.

  Her hands were at her mouth, she realised, and she dropped them to speak. But a large, painful lump was in the way, wedged in her throat. She sucked in her lips and nodded quickly. Lincoln put his hand on her shoulder and she reached up her own hand to pat his.