Page 75 of The Cosy Seaside Chocolate Shop

With that he turned and walked out of the door.

And she knew that whatever she said wouldn’t bring him back.

38

There was nothing else for it than to have a good old cry. It wasn’t often that Emma caved in to tears, but after the couple of days she’d just had, and now this … losing Max over some silly moment of madness that was all her own bloody fault.

She couldn’t blame him. After all, how would she have felt seeing him kiss Siobhan now, his ex-girlfriend who he’d lived with for over two years, or hearing about that? It would devastate her. It was the loss of trust, that was what shattered everything.

Emma had gone upstairs after Max had walked out, intending to make a cup of tea, and found herself slumped on the galley kitchen floor, hugging Alfie, with big snotty tears running down her face.

She knew she could ring Bev, or Holly, for a chat – oh my, Holly and Adam had seen it all – and yes, she’d have to confess to Bev what had happened. But right now, all she wanted to do was to curl up into a ball. It was like a physical pain in her gut. Had she really lost Max forever?

He was wrong though, it was love. She’d just made a mistake. One mistake. She was surer of that than she was of anything. She’d ring him, explain. Not tonight. She knew he was feeling too raw, let down. But tomorrow. She’d have to try and get through to him. She felt marginally better with that thought.

She forced herself to get up off the floor and, with her mind still spinning, went for a walk with Alfie. She headed away from the village on a path that led through country fields, hoping not to bump into anyone she knew. Her eyes were still red and swollen. Walking helped her lose herself, even amongst the heartache, on a path that led through fields of golden barley swaying in a soft summer evening breeze. The countryside was beautiful where it ran down to the coast and Alfie happily scampered on, stopping here and there to sniff something of interest.

Dusk was settling with soft-pink and deep-grey hues as she got back home to The Chocolate Shop. She wondered if that couple would put in a bid, if she might get the call tomorrow, along with her one month’s notice. No point worrying until it happened, she told herself, giving Alfie a gentle stroke before taking off his lead.

There were chocolates to make, brownies to bake, but she just felt totally shattered, spent. The last few weeks had been a very bumpy emotional rollercoaster. She gave in to her weariness and decided she’d set the alarm for early tomorrow and start afresh. She had an early night after forcing herself to eat a couple of cheese crackers, which was all she could stomach. And she lay thinking of Max, who was no doubt feeling rotten in his own bed forty miles away. She’d do anything to put things right between them. She had to let him know that. She couldn’t lose another love, not this way.

39

The next morning, after five phone calls that went straight to answerphone, two voice messages and three unanswered texts, Em decided to give Max a break. If he wasn’t ready to talk, then fair enough. She knew when to leave alone. He might just need a little time.

She settled down to work in the kitchen, getting herself organised before opening time. The brownies were made, including some new caramel swirl ones, and she was about to create a batch of Eton Mess truffles, as well as her Pimm’s specials. Summer was in full flight here in Warkton, and Emma liked to reflect that in her chocolate flavours. Mind you, the weather wasn’t actually playing ball today with it being overcast and drizzly, but hey ho. And every cloud had a silver lining, as it would probably mean the tourists would be looking for a nice little cosy café to spend some time in, and she’d be busy. She needed to keep busy.

Just before ten there was a call; Emma felt a lift of hope until she saw it was from Pete, Bev’s husband.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Emma, I’ve been chatting with the village committee and, I’m not sure if you’ve already heard, but we’ve got plans to put on a Summer Food Festival over the August Bank Holiday here in Warkton. A kind of celebration and a chance to showcase our local food and drink. I already have The Rock Shop and The Fisherman’s Arms interested as well as The Smokery. And The Hepple Gin Company are keen to get involved too. What do you think, might it work for you? Would you consider taking a stall?’

‘Wow I’m flattered, it sounds a great idea, and good for business. I might have to be careful if it’s a hot day, mind, with chocolates, but I’ll have a think about what will work best. The fudge would be fine. Hmm, I could maybe get a freezer rigged up so I could do some homemade chocolate ice cream in cones.’ She’d been experimenting lately and was refining the perfect chocolate chunk ice cream. It might be the ideal time to showcase it.

‘Mmm, I’m drooling already. Enough.’

‘Hah, you’re as bad as your wife.’

‘We can’t help being chocoholics. But that’s great that you might want to be involved. We’d love you to be there. So, we’re having a meeting in a few days’ time to firm up plans, drum up some more publicity ideas and engage a few more stallholders, but I think the idea’s proving popular already.’

‘It’s a brilliant idea. Summertime, lovely food, ice creams, and gin and tonics. What’s not to like?’

‘Exactly.’

‘See you at the meeting then, it’s next Thursday at the village hall, 7.30.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there.’

A village event was always nice to look forward to. Emma loved the sense of community here and if they put their minds to something in Warkton-by-the-Sea, everyone seemed keen to get involved to make sure it was done well.

A nagging thought came to mind: would she still be here in the village then? She hoped so. August Bank Holiday was just over five weeks away and Mr Neil had to give her a month’s notice and so far, since the viewing, there had been no call from him or the estate agents – and no news was good news on that front as far as she was concerned.

But, on the Max front, no news was proving bloody awful. She’d tried to call him so many times since he’d walked out and he never answered his phone, never responded to her texts. He might just be busy at work, or not quite ready to talk as yet, she told herself, but her heart felt as if it was unravelling all over again.

After work she took Alfie out for a brisk walk down to the beach, then tried Max on his mobile once more – straight to answerphone. She held back from leaving a message this time. He would see that she had called. She then jumped in the car to get down to the hospital to visit Mrs Clark before visiting hours finished. The village ‘rota’ meant that Sheila had popped down through the day, and a neighbour was going to visit tomorrow.

Fifty minutes later, Emma was sitting on an orange plastic chair beside the old lady’s hospital bed. The light was bright fluorescent in the ward, but apart from the chair everything else was a cool grey, the floor, the walls. Clean and clinical.