A Wedding at the Comfort Food Cafe

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘So last night, he kissed me.’

  He’s gritting his teeth by this stage, and his hands are clenched, and he looks as though he might be considering walking away.

  ‘He kissed me,’ I continue, ‘and I felt nothing. Absolutely, 100 per cent, totally positively nothing – other than relief. Relief that I’d finally found out. Relief that it was over. Relief that I knew, without any shadow of a doubt, who I wanted to be with. You, Finn. I want to be with you. I was planning to drive to London today, to tell you face to face.’

  I see him take this in, and process it in his usual Finn way, and I see the slow spread of realisation and joy cross his handsome, exhausted face.

  ‘And Seb?’ he asks, finally.

  ‘Seb has gone. We had a difficult conversation, and he left last night. He’s flying back to Barcelona today. We … well, we might stay in touch. I’m not going to lie about that either. But he’s signing the divorce papers, and he’s gone. Budbury is officially Seb free – as am I. I can’t begin to tell you how good that feels, Finn – it’s like a weight lifted from my spirit. I’m finally free – free from him, free from the past. Free to be happy – with you.’

  I have more to say. More that I want to say, and more that I need to say – but I don’t get the chance. I’m suddenly in Finn’s arms, lifted from the ground, spun in circles, kissed so hard and so well I lose my breath.

  I’m free. I’m happy. I’m safe. I’m exactly where I need to be.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Have you ever seen a Viking zombie up close? I’m guessing not. Most people haven’t, due to, you know, one part of that equation being fictional and the other part being historical.

  Well, I tell you – it’s a pretty terrifying sight. And right now, the garden of the Comfort Food Café is swarming with them.

  Everywhere I look, I see ghastly torn flesh, claws, tattered clothing, drinking horns, and hair. Lots and lots and lots of hair, of every possible colour, length and style. A lot of it is gnarled and tangled, covered in mud, splashed with blood and hanging loose in knots. Not big on styling products, your average zombie Viking, it seems.

  There’s a wooden bar set up in the style of a Viking longboat, the staff behind it outfitted in undead uniforms and dispensing cider and ale in horn-shaped paper cups. There’s a catering table laid out with bowls in the shape of upturned brains, and a massive tureen of candied eyeballs floating in red jelly. There’s even a small portable photo booth, crammed with every accessory a Viking zombie could ever want, staffed by a man dressed as Asterix.

  The band – all appropriately costumed, of course – are playing a hard rock version of ‘Monster Mash’, and the zombie Viking horde is loving it.

  I’m sitting with Willow on the edge of the wooden pergola that’s now decorated with round shields and blunt longswords, watching the spectacle in front of us.

  She’s kept her hair pink, but grown it long. Her eyes are adorned with lenses that make them look completely black, which is beyond weird, and her clothes are pure apocalypse – torn lace, slashed satin, tangled ribbons. It’s all in various shades of white – with bloodstains of course – and she looks like a bride who was bitten at the altar.

  I’m more Viking than zombie, with a full-on warrior princess style get-up, complete with massive kick-ass boots and a shawl. She’s braided my hair for me, so it runs in red plaits down the side of my face, and we added some blood spatter to make it both more Viking and more zombie at the same time. It wasn’t the most traditional of scenes in the cottage this morning, it has to be said – especially as our mum and Van are just as dramatically attired.

  ‘So,’ says Willow, laughing at Cal throwing Zoe around like a zombie doll, ‘we did it, sis. We’re both now officially old married women.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ I reply, nudging her so hard she almost falls over. ‘I’m a Viking warrior princess, looking forward to conquering new territories.’

  ‘I suppose we are, in a way – conquering new territories anyway. I still can’t quite believe it …’

  It has, I must admit, been a pretty surreal day. A pretty surreal year, in fact. The double wedding idea was Cherie’s, once we were both engaged – but the theme came from us. From that long ago conversation, sitting in the café with Laura, what feels like a lifetime away. Especially to Laura, I suspect.

  She’s here, Laura, bless her, curly hair swept up onto her head and sprayed white. Ruby and Rose are both wearing skeleton onesies – turns out there’s a shocking lack of baby zombie Viking outfits on the market – snoozing in the double buggy that now seems to be an extension of Laura’s arms.

  The teenagers are all on fine form, every single one of them decked up in stripy prison clothes and covered in fake gore – they ignored the Viking bit, and went full-on Orange is the New Walking Dead instead.

  Everyone else has thrown themselves into the concept as well – Cherie and Frank are wearing huge helmets with horns sprouting out of the sides; Becca and Sam are in fur-lined cloaks, as is Little Edie, stomping around now in toddler Doc Martens.

  Katie somehow manages to look petite and lovely in a floor-length medieval gown she’s spattered with red paint, and Saul is there as zombie Iron Man, in a fancy dress outfit with added claw marks.

  Edie May is sitting with our mum, both their faces painted sludge-grey, their hair covered in twigs and cobwebs. They’ve set up a craft table to keep the kids happy, making Viking brooches and painting cardboard shields and, in Lynnie’s case, telling stories about Norse gods and goddesses so vividly you’d think she was one of them.

  Tom, I can see, is with a gang of the Briarwood residents, at the centre of some kind of drinking game that involves massive horns full of mead. Tom’s hair is, as ever, cropped short – but his outfit is a perfect match for Willow’s; a traditional top hat and tails set that is covered in tears and bite marks.

  Mr Pumpwell is here, and he’s even submitted to a bit of green face paint. He’s sitting with some of the young mums and the other families I’ve been visiting, looking slightly awkward to be in so much company, but still there. Bit by bit, Cherie has managed to edge them more into her orbit – or maybe extended hers out to them, who can say? Either way, it’s lovely to see them all.

  ‘It’s been a brilliant day, hasn’t it?’ I say, feeling a sudden rush of affection for all of these idiots – from babes in arms to people in their nineties, they’ve all embraced the Budbury way and gone full-on fancy dress at the drop of a Viking hat.

  ‘It has,’ she replies, stretching out her long legs in their tattered white fishnets. ‘We’re very lucky – which is not something I thought I’d ever say.’

  This time two years ago, she was struggling alone, looking after Lynnie, working, torn in pieces by all the demands she was juggling. Our family was split up, cast far and wide, and it would be fair to say that neither of us ever expected to fall in love and end up married. We were too busy, too messed up, too closed off.

  It’s amazing how much has changed in such a short amount of time. The problems haven’t gone away – Lynnie isn’t going to get miraculously better, for a start. Finn still has issues with his parents, neither of whom is here today because they couldn’t even set aside their differences for their son’s wedding.

  But for the time being, Lynnie is holding steady – and Finn does have his Granddad Christian here from Denmark. He’s tall and silver-haired and blue-eyed and tells improbable stories about wood elves and forest spirits whenever you give him the chance.

  He’s sitting with Finn right now, eating black cherry trifle from an upturned brain bowl. Finn seems to sense me looking, and meets my gaze across the bouncing horns and helmets and horror hairstyles.

  He’s grown his hair for the wedding, and it hangs long and lustrous and thick and golden to his shoulders, matched by a silky blond beard. His top is partly open, and his long legs are wrapped in leggings and criss-crossed leather bindings. He looks like the cover of
a Viking romance novel, and I sigh out loud.

  He grins, raises his paper drinking horn in my direction, and mouths the words: ‘I love you.’

  I smile, and say it back, and hold Willow’s hand, twining my fingers into hers as we watch the Comfort Food Café do what it does best – spread a little bit of magic dust over everyone who visits. Even Seb got a sprinkling, and is doing well back in Spain. He’s stayed in touch, and is working on a plan to open a café of his own on the Spanish coast – his version of this place. I’ve suggested he calls it the Casa del Comfort, but he said that sounded a bit like a brothel, so I’ll leave it up to him.

  I really do feel, though, that there should be more Comfort Food Cafés in the universe – because the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that there actually is something magical about this place.

  Part of that magic comes from its location, perched like it is on the edge of the world. The glorious bay below us, spread out in sunshine like a blanket of yellow and green and blue, the clifftops stretching out into the distance. Part of the magic comes from the food, offering comfort to all.

  But mainly, that magic comes from its people. The wonderful, bonkers, kind-hearted people – always looking out for each other. Always there with an encouraging word, a daft joke, an inspiring story. Always together, no matter what.

  Quite simply, it is a place where dreams can come true.

  Dreams come in many shapes and sizes these days, of course. If your dream is to marry a footballer or own a Ferrari or have a yacht or appear on Love Island, then they probably wouldn’t come true here.

  But if your dream involves love, and friendship, and community, and being accepted for what and who you are, and the very best cake in the whole wide world? Then head for the Comfort Food Café – because it’s all here waiting for you.

  A Note from Debbie

  The comment I get most about the Comfort Food Café books is that people wish it was real. That they could pop in for a slice of coffee cake, and get a hug from Cherie, and meet all the regulars.

  I completely understand that, because I wish it was real too. To me, after writing six books set there, it practically does feel real – I can imagine every table in the café, see every street in the village, picture the beautiful bay as the seasons change, imagine scratching Midgebo’s velvety ears. The women whose stories I have told – Laura, Becca, Zoe, Willow, Katie and Auburn – are like close friends.

  This book is my last Café story, which means I am saying a bittersweet goodbye to all of that. I know a lot of readers will be sad, but I wanted to end on a high, while I still loved what I was writing, and while I still had fresh ideas and genuine enthusiasm.

  I think we’ve all been in a position where we can tell, as readers, when an author has lost his or her love for a series, and is writing them for career or financial reasons. There’s nothing wrong with that – in the real world, we all have bills to pay – but it always feels like a bit of a disappointment, doesn’t it? So, I decided that for me, the Budbury tales would draw to a close with Auburn.

  But while this is the last book, in my mind the characters’ lives go on. I was trying to imagine how their worlds would evolve, and thought I’d share a few of those ideas with you – but you might have your own. You might imagine different futures for them, and that is absolutely wonderful – in fact, come on over to my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/‌debbiejohnsonauthor), and let me know!

  Laura was the first of my Budbury ladies, and remains very much a favourite. I see nothing but joy for her and Matt – because she deserves it. I think the two of them stay together forever, raise their beautiful baby girls, and grow old surrounded by the people (and dogs!) they love. The image of Matt and Laura, grey-haired and retired, sitting in front of a log fire holding hands is one I adore – and you have to wish them long lives and happiness and many grandchildren.

  Lizzie, I suspect, will go on to wonderful things. She’s had a boyfriend, Josh, since she moved to Budbury, but in the way of first loves, that probably won’t work out. Lizzie’s natural entrepreneurship and talent for marketing and photography will give her a great platform for life – she could quite easily end up running the whole world, and probably doing a great job of it. Nate, I think, might follow in the footsteps of Matt and become a vet.

  Becca, Laura’s little sister, is a more complicated lady. I think she’s happy with Sam, and adores Little Edie, and knows that life in Budbury has changed her world forever – but I’m not sure if she stays. I can see that little family possibly moving back to Sam’s native Ireland.

  Zoe is my favourite Budbury lady. I have a weakness for very snappy, sarcastic characters with a heart of gold – and Zoe is exactly that. For her and Martha, moving to the village accidentally rescued them from an abyss of grief and self-destruction – and Cal coming into their lives made it perfect.

  I don’t think Zoe ever has children of her own. I think sharing Martha is enough for her, and that her difficult childhood left her forever slightly cynical about family life, despite her happy ending. I think Zoe will always have a solitary edge to her, preferring to lose herself in a good book than to do anything else. I think her and Cal watch Martha thrive at Oxford, and go on to great things. I think at some point, the two of them spend a few years together in Cal’s home in Australia, and that while she’s there, Zoe finally gets around to writing a book of her own – possibly some kind of gritty thriller set in the Outback!

  Willow is one of the loveliest of the bunch, and she is someone who I desperately want to have a happy ending – so I’m giving her one, because I invented her and I can! We see her married to Tom at the end of this book, and the two of them are perfect for each other. I think that once Lynnie is no longer with them – tragic but inevitable – Willow and Tom will spread their wings together.

  Willow’s never really travelled, or lived anywhere but Budbury, because of her duties as a daughter – but I think she will. I think her and Tom will go on a magical world adventure, from Alaskan wilderness trekking to dancing the tango in Buenos Aires. They may even take in a few Comic Cons along the way. The two of them will eventually come back to Budbury – it’s where Willow’s heart will always lie, and Tom’s lies with Willow’s – but not until they’ve seen all the wonders of the world. I like to think that the two of them become parents at some point, and that Willow keeps her pink hair!

  Katie and Van and Saul definitely stay together as a family unit – and they definitely expand it. Katie is only young, and she’s such a good mum, I can see them having another two children at least – and can also imagine those children growing up together, playing with their cousins and friends, running wild and free in the beautiful countryside. I can see Van being a doting dad, and building them treehouses, and being completely wrapped around the finger of any daughters that come his way.

  As for Auburn, who I’ve just married off – well, I love Auburn. She’s more flawed than most, but is so self-aware that you have to forgive her. She’s also very funny, and has a slightly off-centre way of viewing the world. She’s been through a lot, and has earned her happiness – though I’m not sure that anything with Auburn will ever be plain sailing. She’s a complicated woman, and although Finn totally gets her and adores her, I can imagine them also having some rare but entirely spectacular rows.

  I think she will stay in Budbury for a while, but then possibly the two of them will leave together – I can see a situation where Finn inherits his granddad’s home in the Danish countryside, and they move there, at least for a while.

  Although these are the main characters from each of the books, one of the things that makes Budbury so special is its rich sense of community – and the rich variety of people who live there. I also think that the sheer age ranges also make it relatable – we have tiny babies through to a woman in her nineties, and everything in between.

  Edie May is, I know, a favourite of many of you – me too! I love her wisecracks, and her wisdom,
and her naughty sense of humour. I love the sadness of her history, and the place she holds in the hearts of everyone in the village. I have to be honest, and confess that I have considered killing Edie off in pretty much every single book – but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I’d only be doing it for shock value, or a plot twist. And Edie is worth much more than that.

  So, we have Edie in her nineties, and Frank in his eighties, and Cherie in her seventies. It is inevitable, of course, that they won’t live forever – but I’m not going to depress myself by thinking about their ends! Instead, I like to imagine the richness of the years they have left.

  Edie, a retired librarian and still sharp as a tack, will spend some of her later years setting up a small Budbury museum, funded by Tom. You might remember that he found a load of photos and documents in Briarwood when he was renovating it, and Edie was helping him to catalogue them. I think that expands, and eventually the Edie May Museum of Budbury will immortalise the wonderful woman she was.

  Frank will remain active in the management of his farm, but bit by bit he will delegate the hard work and the day-to-day running of it to Cal and Van. Frank’s son lives on the other side of the world and is a surgeon – he has no interest in being a farmer. So, I think that eventually, when that sad day comes and Frank and Cherie are no more, that he will do something grand and community-minded with it – he’ll leave it to Cal and Van, to run for the benefit of the village.

  Cherie Moon was actually the first character I dreamed up for the Comfort Food Café – in fact she was probably what started the whole thing. I loved the idea of this older woman, rich in life experience, kind and wise but still a bit of a rebel rock chick at heart, sneaking off for the odd ‘herbal’ cigarette and listening to The Who on vinyl.