Christmas at the Second Chance Chocolate Shop

by Kellie Hailes

  ‘Well I’m just trying to get to know him, Serena. It’s not like I’m going to race off to the nearest tabloid and spill the beans.’ Marjorie fanned her cards out, but her eyes didn’t leave Serena’s. ‘Besides if there were anything juicy to tell I’m sure it would have been revealed by now.’

  ‘Then, like I said, you can look him up online.’ Serena’s nose wrinkled as she arranged her cards. ‘Really, Ritchie? Could you have dealt me a worse hand?’

  Ritchie ran his tongue around the perimeter of his mouth, searching for moisture. Despite his calm exterior, the topic of his family life had his blood heating up, his heart racing, his soul burning with anxiety.

  He didn’t talk about his past. He didn’t let people get too close. Ever.

  Hell, the day he’d run from home he’d sworn he’d never do the traditional family thing ever again.

  Yet here he was, surrounded by family, playing cards, chatting… and they were getting too close. Asking too many questions.

  There was only one thing for it. He’d have to do what he always did. Push them away. Force them to back off.

  ‘I dealt you a bad hand, Serena? Really? I thought I dealt you a pretty good hand. Hell, life has dealt you a good hand. Not all of us have been so lucky.’

  ‘What are you on about, Ritchie? I’ve never once implied my life with you was anything but good. We got to travel. We could do anything, anytime. Like when that Michelin-rated restaurant opened at three in the morning for us because we were feeling peckish. It just wasn’t the life for me. Not in the long run.’ Serena gripped the cards so hard they bent in her hand.

  ‘I get that. But you’ve grown up in privilege, Serena. Whether you’ve liked it or not. Two parents who love you. Your every whim catered for, even if it hurt them to let you go.’ Ritchie tossed a pair of aces onto the pile, his eyes locked on Serena’s.

  Serena took a slug of her wine then set it down with a bang. ‘What is this? Show Serena the error of her ways night?’

  ‘No.’ Ritchie kept his voice low and calm, refusing to let panic boil over into anger. ‘It’s to make you see just how good you’ve had it… how different your life was to mine.’

  ‘Ritchie,’ Serena folded her arms across her chest, tipped her head to one side and shot him an impatient look. ‘You lived in a big household with not a lot of money. It’s not like you were raised by wolves in a cave somewhere.’

  ‘Not a lot of money? Try next to no money.’ Somewhere inside of Ritchie something broke.

  ‘But you were fed, right? You didn’t starve.’ Serena shifted in her seat. A look of disquiet creasing her forehead.

  ‘Barely. Dinner wasn’t always on the table. Breakfast was a piece of toast, no spreads.’ Shut up, Ritchie. He tried to plug the hole that his secrets were spilling out of, but it only crumbled further.

  ‘Well, you were clothed. I’ve not seen any pictures of you roaming the streets in the nude. If there were, they’d have been sold and splashed over a dodgy tabloid years ago.’ Serena’s attempt at a joke fell flat.

  ‘Ragged clothes, Serena. Passed down from six brothers until they got to me.’

  Serena’s face paled. ‘So things were tough. I’m sorry. I really am. I can see why you’ve just had a go at me. I’m a selfish prat. My life was a walk in the park compared to yours. But, your life can’t have been all bad. I mean, you had your family, it wasn’t like you were an abused child or something.’ Serena picked up her wine glass and brought it to her lips.

  ‘Actually, I was.’ Ritchie clenched his jaw shut. What the hell had he just said? What the hell was he thinking letting that out? He didn’t do big reveals. He didn’t do openness. He eyed the half-eaten pile of chocolates. Was there a truth serum in those sweet and tangy centres? Was that why all the secrets and feelings were spewing out?

  Mid-glug, Serena spat the wine back into her glass. ‘You what? I don’t believe you. You’d have told me this. Surely. Except… maybe you wouldn’t have. Because that’s what you do. You don’t talk about the big stuff.’

  ‘Well that makes the two of us. Because your love of chocolate-making and your desire to leave me came as quite the surprise. I guess that makes us two unchatty peas in a pod.’

  ‘Marjorie.’ Roger’s deep and calm voice broke the tense silence. ‘Don’t you think we should be going to bed?’

  Marjorie didn’t budge. Roger stood, nudged his wife’s shoulder, then yanked her chair back, shocking her out of her stupor.

  ‘Bed? Yes. I think so. Serena, you’ve had too much wine to drive, you’d better stay the night.’

  Serena nodded and lifted her cheek when her mother bent down to kiss it. ‘Goodnight, Mum. Dad.’

  ‘Night, dear.’ Marjorie dropped another kiss on top of Serena’s head. ‘Now, you two have a good, long talk. I have a feeling there’s a lot that needs to be said.’

  Ritchie waited until the kitchen door snipped shut behind Roger and Marjorie, then stood up and went to the hearth. He stretched out his hands, letting the fire warm them. The heat travelled up his arms, through his body, but steered clear of his heart.

  ‘So, what’s the story, Ritchie? This talk of abuse? Is this some cracked way to try and get me to feel sorry for you? To get me to come back to you?’

  Ritchie could hear the distrust in Serena’s voice and it sent chills down his spine. How could she think he would say something so despicable in order to get her back?

  ‘Really, Serena? You think that little of me? I would never pull a trick like that. I don’t play games, you know that. That’s never been something we’ve done. Mind-to-mind. Heart-to-heart. Soul-to-soul. That’s what we promised each other. Open and honest. Remember?’

  Wood scraped on wood as Serena moved her chair in front of the fire. ‘Open and honest? Really? Soul-to-soul? I just…’ She settled into the chair, brought her elbows down to her thighs, her hands clasped together, her eyes focussed on the dancing flames. ‘I know we said we’d be like that, but I don’t believe we ever were like that. I tried time and time again to get you to talk to me about your family. But you just rattled out the same old spiel. And it wasn’t just your family you backed away from talking about. Anything you didn’t want to do, like starting a family, or when I first mentioned me not touring with you, you just ignored. Refused to entertain the idea. Refused to entertain me until I let it go and pretended the conversation never happened. Our minds may have been in it for the long run. Maybe even our hearts. But our souls? They fell out of step long ago.’

  Ritchie spun a chair round and settled beside Serena, but kept his distance. Arms crossed, face forward, he breathed in deep, smoothed away the wrinkles he could feel etched into his brow and counted to ten, each number settling the rat-a-tat-tat of the blood in his veins, his heart. If he was going to give her what she wanted, if he was going to release himself of the burden that he’d carried for so long that it had destroyed his marriage, he had to be unemotional and cool. The opposite of those who’d hurt him.

  ‘Discipline was a big thing in my family. I guess it has to be when you’ve got so many people and not a lot of money. Everything had to be exact. We weren’t allowed to steal that extra dollop of mashed potato or to have two pieces of toast when one had to be enough. Showers were short and sharp. And only once a week. Baths non-existent.’

  ‘That’s why you insisted on an extra big bath when we renovated our first home?’ Serena tipped her head to the side and half-smiled.

  ‘Yeah, that’s why. It’s the same reason I always order more than I can eat. It’s good to know I can. Good to know I won’t be strapped with a leather belt until my skin’s red and raw because I feel like an extra side of vegetables with my steak dinner.’

  Serena brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. ‘You were strapped for being hungry?’

  ‘Strapped. Whacked with a wooden spoon. Pinched. Kicked. Socked in the stomach. One step out of line in our house and punishment was dealt out
pretty quickly.’

  ‘But that’s sick. Disgusting.’

  ‘It was also a behaviour my brothers picked up on as being acceptable. Dad hit them, hell, he hit all of us, but they each in turn picked on the ones younger than them.’

  ‘And you were the youngest.’

  ‘That’s right. So the biggest beatings were all reserved for yours truly. Lucky guy that I am.’ Ritchie laughed a hollow, bitter laugh, then clamped it down. It was no laughing matter. To try and make light of it was wrong.

  ‘But what did your mum do?’ Serena laid a hand on his knee.

  Ritchie considered nudging it off, but stopped himself. Hurting her when she was trying to comfort him wasn’t going to help matters. It wasn’t going to help him heal, or move on.

  ‘Mum had suffered at the hands of my father more than enough times to know that saying anything was out of the question. Besides, we were considered a “good” family. We were marched to church every Sunday. We may not have had money but we had the respect of the parish. Of the priest. And we were all too scared to step out of line and tell someone.’

  ‘But surely there’d have been bruises?’ Serena shook her head in disgust. ‘I mean you can’t hide that kind of thing.’

  ‘You can. The odd black eye was put down to us boys playing rough. But my father was careful, and my brothers learnt quickly – you don’t hit where it can be easily seen. And after a beating we were too ashamed to say anything, so we became complicit in hiding our wounds. Long shirts. Long trousers. Even in summer if it came to that.’

  ‘How did you survive? How did you become the man you are, Ritchie? Because you’re not violent. You’re the opposite. I’ve seen you put out honeyed water for tired bumble bees, for goodness sake.’ Serena inched closer to Ritchie, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘And you’ve never thrown a punch. Even when men have pinched my arse in a bar.’

  ‘That’s because I knew you could look after yourself.’ Ritchie glanced down to see their knees a hair’s breadth apart. When had Serena closed the gap?

  ‘It’s true. I’d give a right tongue-lashing to anyone who tried it on with me. Let alone any woman who attempted to flirt with you.’

  ‘Not anymore though, right? I’m free for the flirting, apparently.’

  Serena looked away, her nostrils flared as she exhaled loudly. Ritchie relished the movement, the sound. It was a little light in this moment of dark. If she still considered him hers, then there was still a chance.

  ‘I think somehow, on some level, even as a kid, I knew that being like them would make me as bad as them. And I didn’t want to be like them. I didn’t want to be filled with hatred, and anger. To treat people badly. Don’t get me wrong, the anger was there. Anger towards them, towards the situation…’

  ‘Towards the shit hand that life had dealt you,’ Serena murmured.

  ‘Exactly. But I wouldn’t let it out. I refused. Because if I became like them I would hate myself. And if I didn’t like myself, then I had no one.’ He placed his hands on his knees and stretched upwards, circling his neck, releasing the tension of the evening. ‘I think it helped that I got lucky, that I discovered music at school and I found a place to channel that anger.’

  ‘I know this bit.’ Serena brought her knees to her chest, wrapped her arm around them, and let her feet hang over the edge of the chair. ‘A teacher heard you singing, heard you tinkering about on the piano, and knew you had raw talent. They taught you how to read music, and then you picked up the guitar.’

  ‘And after that I took my pain, my hurt, my frustration out on the instrument. Busked wherever and whenever I could…’

  ‘And went on to become Ritchie Dangerfield. World renowned rock star. Saviour of bumble bees. Hater of Christmas.’ Serena turned towards him, laid her cheek against her knee, her lips slack and her eyes sad. ‘Ritchie, why didn’t you tell me about your childhood? Why keep it a secret? Did you not trust me? Did you think I’d run off to the papers and blab? And what about your family? They have nothing, you have everything. Why haven’t they popped up demanding money?’

  ‘Easy question first?’ Ritchie raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I put money into an account set up in their name, every month, to keep them off my back. To keep them quiet. I told them if they asked for a cent more I would come clean about my upbringing. Shame them within the community they care so desperately about.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t. You’re too private.’

  ‘I know that. You know that. They don’t.’

  Serena nodded her acceptance. ‘So that’s that. Time for the hard question …’

  Ritchie mashed his lips together, his lower teeth biting into his upper lip. He had nothing to lose, apart from his heart, which had gone AWOL when Serena had. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me as anything less than ideal. From the moment we met you looked at me in the way I’d dreamed of – like I was your hero. Like I was worthy. Like I was someone.’ Ritchie faced the fire, afraid to look into Serena’s eyes and see his shame reflected back. ‘Not only that, you liked me. You thought I was funny and interesting. The opposite of all the things – “useless” and “waste of space” and “you were a mistake” – that I’d grown up having shouted at me. I swore that night I would never let you learn the truth. But I guess you figured it out, because you left anyway.’

  Fingertips touched his cheek, trailed down to his chin and ever so softly turned him away from the fire. Ritchie reluctantly met Serena’s gaze. His breath caught in his throat when Serena wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him to her. He nestled into her shoulder and she began to stroke his nape, soothing the pain he’d bottled up for so long.

  ‘It would have changed how I felt,’ Serena whispered, as much to herself as to Ritchie. ‘But not in the way you’d have thought. I think, had I known, it would have only made me love you more. You’re so strong, Ritchie. And good. Even at your worst you were still good.’

  Tears pricked the back of her eyes for the man she held so close, whose childhood had been so starkly different from her own. Her stomach swirled with self-disgust. All this time she’d been so ungrateful for everything she had, everything Ritchie would have wanted. Even now that she’d returned she’d shunned those who loved her most, leaving home with so little notice and not once apologising for the way she’d left things all those years ago.

  That would change. She’d make amends. And she knew exactly where she’d start.

  ‘I’m sorry I left the way I did. With a note. Without talking things through with you, and explaining where I was at in my head.’

  Ritchie broke away from her, his arms leaving her shoulders, slipping down her arms to hold her hands. ‘I wouldn’t have made it easy for you. That’s why you did it. I understand that.’

  ‘Well you always had that pull on me. Being sucked into the Ritchie orbit was a glorious thing. It made me dizzy with delight and desire.’ Serena paused. Was that pull there now? Her head was still. Her heart strong. She didn’t feel like she’d come out of the kind of spin you did when you were young and you spun in circles as fast as you could go until you stopped and then wobbled about all over the place. Had Ritchie’s honesty changed things?

  She leant closer and breathed in. A quick sniff. The same old Ritchie Dangerfield scent of leather and musk was there, but it didn’t call to her like a siren to a sailor.

  She was cured. She was safe.

  ‘Did you just sniff me?’ Ritchie dropped her hands and jerked back. The shadows that haunted his eyes slipping as amusement took over.

  Serena nodded. ‘Yep. I was checking something.’

  ‘That I couldn’t make you swoon with my manly as all hell smell?’

  ‘Yep. Exactly that. Ritchie Dangerfield, I do believe I’m no longer in danger of falling into bed with you because my body yearns for it.’

  Ritchie’s full bottom lip slackened into a pout. ‘Well I
can’t say that I’m not disappointed. If you don’t want my body then that only leaves my personality – and you’ve clearly had enough of dealing with an arrogant, demanding, attention-seeking bloke.’ He stroked his chin, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. ‘I wonder if I could turn myself into a kind, easy-going, hermit of a man?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Serena rolled her eyes and pulled Ritchie’s hand away from his chin. ‘The world wouldn’t want that. The world wants you at your dynamic best. Besides, you’ve got an album due, right? You can’t let down all those people who are waiting for it by deciding to retire. Like you could anyway.’

  Ritchie sat back down at the kitchen table and began piling the abandoned cards on top of each other and shuffling them into straightness. ‘It’s true. I couldn’t. All those years of being treated like dirt, well the only way to make that better was to be adored by the rest of the world. Although, for how much longer I don’t know…’ A wrinkle appeared between his brows.

  ‘Why? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Serena joined him at the table, their knees brushing as she sat down.

  No tingles?

  She waited for her body to respond.

  No tingles.

  Good.

  ‘I wasn’t exaggerating when I used to call you my muse, Serena. I could write songs before you came along, but they were pretty haphazard at best. I was lucky to have this face and this voice, otherwise I would have spent years trying to make it without getting anywhere.’

  ‘So humble.’ Serena elbowed Ritchie. Fresh elation zinged around her body as once again no tremors of want were detected.

  ‘Well, I’m just calling it the way you, up until recently, and the rest of the world saw it. Once we hooked up though… sweet thing, you made my writing next level. You took the angry young man stereotype bollocks I wrote and forced me to become better, because you made me better. You added love into the lyrics. Except now? I can’t write a thing. And I try. I lie awake for hours every night waiting for inspiration to hit, but I wake every morning to an empty notebook and another ignored voice message from my manager.’