The Chocolate Collection. Trisha Ashley

all the travel stickers on it! Do you think Grumps would let me have it?’

      ‘It would take up an awful lot of floor space in your room, you know.’

      ‘Maybe, but I could store loads of stuff in it, so the rest of my room would actually be much tidier,’ he suggested cunningly.

      ‘I suppose it would fit at the foot of your bed, if you really wanted it, and Grumps won’t mind because he said I could have anything from the attic.’ I handed him the roll of labels. ‘Here, write “Cottage – front bedroom” on this and stick it on top.’

      He did that and then I asked him to carry the last boxes and bags down to the hall.

      ‘OK,’ he said, grabbing two heavy bags in each hand as if they weighed practically nothing, ‘but I really came to find out what’s for dinner.’

      I passed a weary hand across my forehead. ‘Oh, I don’t know…I haven’t thought about it yet.’

      ‘Zillah says she’s doing steak and kidney pudding, mushy peas and crinkly chips, but you have to say now if you want any, before she starts cooking.’

      ‘You have that, if you fancy it, Jake. I’m meeting Felix and Poppy this evening, and by the time I’ve showered all this filth off, there’ll only be time for a snack. What are you doing tonight?’

      ‘I promised Grumps I’d help him with something,’ he said mysteriously, and then laughed at my expression. ‘No, I’m not about to become part of the coven, cavorting about with a lot of wrinklies, or do anything else daft! He just wanted me to research someone called Digby Mann-Drake on the internet for him.’

      ‘Digby Mandrake? That sounds even more bogus than Gregory Warlock!’

      ‘Mann with a double “n” and it’s hyphenated. I expect he made the Mann bit up, since he seems a bit Aleister Crowley – all fancy robes and “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law”,’ said Gregory Warlock’s grandson, casually knowledgeable. ‘In fact, he sounds a nasty piece of work altogether and he’s been sending veiled threats to Grumps, because he wanted to buy the Old Smithy, only he fell ill at the crucial moment.’

      ‘Opportune,’ I commented, thinking that this sounded awfully like the plot of Satan’s Child. Could this Mann-Drake possibly be the Secret Adversary, both of the novel and in real life? The man who had tried to prevent Grumps realising the significance of the Old Smithy’s magical position? The plot thickened. ‘Do they know each other, Jake?’

      ‘They were at Oxford at the same time, but I don’t think their paths have crossed since, until now. Grumps wants to probe Mann-Drake’s weak spots so he can protect us if he tries any mumbo jumbo,’ he said with cheerful irreverence. ‘That’s why he wanted the information. I’ll see you later.’

      I carried the shoebox of letters down to my room, then dashed back up to the attic one last time in order to blast the inside of the cabin trunk with Jake’s very overpowering Lynx aftershave, which entirely vanquished the scent of Je Reviens. There was no need for both of us to wallow in miserable memories.

      I showered quickly, so I had time to do an internet search for one of Mum’s correspondents, who turned out to be an actor, printing out his photo and some information to take with me to the Falling Star, where I was meeting Poppy and Felix.

      Zillah must have come into the living room just after I’d finished that and gone back into the bathroom to apply a bit of slap, because there was a plate of dinner on the table covered by a hot, inverted soup bowl. I hadn’t thought I was hungry at all until I lifted the bowl off and the aroma of steak and kidney pudding and chips hit me, but I ate it in five minutes flat, standing up, before dashing out.

      Indigestion was on the cards – if I could tell heartburn from heartache these days.

       Chapter Six: Stupid Cupid

      We were all sitting round the table in the snug at the Falling Star, Mum’s collection of letters and the computer printouts spread over the table between our glasses.

      ‘So, let’s get this straight, Chloe,’ Felix said, making a valiant attempt to untangle my incoherent narrative. ‘When Lou got pregnant with you, she didn’t just tell Chas Wilde that he was your father, she told another man he was too?’

      ‘Yes, as a moneymaking scam. Since they were both married, once she threatened to tell their wives they agreed to pay her to keep quiet about it. She had quite a little racket going.’

      I hadn’t thought I could feel any more disillusioned about my mother, but this sank my perception of her to whole new depths and I’m not sure anything could survive down there, certainly not love.

      ‘Gosh!’ said Poppy, wide-eyed. ‘So your father could be either of them?’

      ‘Yes – or neither, because there’s no guarantee it wasn’t someone else entirely, is there?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Felix said thoughtfully. ‘Since she seems to have got pregnant as a means to an end, it probably is one of them. It’s still quite likely it was Chas Wilde, like she always told you, you know.’

      ‘Yes, he’s always taken an interest in you and sent Christmas and birthday presents, which he didn’t do for either of us,’ Poppy agreed, ‘and called in to see you when he’s in the North.’

      When I was a child those had been short, awkward visits, with me desperate to know why, if he was my daddy, I wasn’t allowed to call him that, or ask him anything else that puzzled me, like why he didn’t live with me and Mum. But later, when I was old enough to understand, we had grown closer and easier with each other. I hadn’t seen a lot of him since Mum vanished, but we kept in touch by phone and email.

      ‘But all that doesn’t prove he’s my father, just that Mum convinced him he was,’ I pointed out, and then looked down despairingly at the letters. ‘I wish now I hadn’t read these so I would still believe Chas is my father, because at least he’s kind and nice, despite being stupid enough to let my mother use him!’

      ‘But, Chloe, he may very well turn out still to be your father,’ Poppy said.

      ‘I know, and I want it to be Chas,’ I said, picking up one of the envelopes from the table, ‘because when you read this letter he sent to Mum when I was ten, after he’d finally confessed everything to his wife, he made it clear he was still going to carry on supporting me – that he cared about me.’

      ‘He is a nice man,’ agreed Poppy, ‘and he certainly paid for one weak moment, didn’t he?’

      ‘Through the nose – and maybe for someone who wasn’t his child after all. Have a look at these two sets of photos I got off the internet and tell me if you think I look like any of them. The ones of Chas are from when he was younger, so he looks different.’

      Felix and Poppy put their heads together over the photographs and Felix asked, ‘Who is this other man?’

      ‘Carr Blackstock, an actor, mostly theatre work, especially Shakespeare, but he has appeared in one or two things on TV. When I Googled the name, he was the only one who came up, so it must be him.’

      ‘He looks slightly familiar,’ Poppy said, then added hesitantly, ‘though actually that might be because you look a bit alike. Slightly elfin, if you know what I mean – like Kate Bush.’

      ‘Elfin? I don’t look at all elfin,’ I said with disgust, ‘or like Kate Bush. I wish people wouldn’t keep saying that!’

      ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t me who got called “Pixie Ears” at school!’ she retorted.

      ‘No, you were “Pudding” because you ate everyone else’s jam roly-poly and custard on Wednesdays!’