Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘Yes, but you’re an old lady. You’re not supposed to spend your nights texting,’ replies Lizzie, shaking her head in disgust.

  ‘Yeah, Mum,’ chips in Nate. ‘And you always tell us it’s rude to use our phone while we’re watching films or eating tea, or whatever. What happened to the “no phones during family time” rule?’

  I screw up my face and want to slay them with a sharp retort. Sadly, Nate has made a fair point – I do always tell them it’s rude and all I can come up with is blowing a huge raspberry in their general direction. Being in Budbury has clearly done wonders for my maturity levels.

  ‘Why don’t you go and take Jimbo out for a walk?’ says Lizzie, raising one eyebrow at me. I suspect she knows who I have been texting and is facilitating my flirtation. There is something very wrong with this whole scenario.

  ‘No, no, I don’t want to leave you guys,’ I say as convincingly as I can. Truth be told, I have spent all day with my kids, and lovely as it has been, I wouldn’t actually mind half an hour in adult company instead. This probably makes me a very bad mother.

  ‘Whatever,’ says Nate, turning his blonde head back to the TV.

  ‘Just go,’ adds Lizzie. ‘I know where you’ll be, and it’s thirty seconds away. We’ll be fine.’

  She turns away too and I am pretty much dismissed. I glance at my watch. It is 7.15. It is probably, all things considered, perfectly safe to leave them for a bit, as it’s still broad daylight, I’ll be round the corner, and they don’t need me that much anyway. I’m just a kind of bouncer to them, really, once they’ve been fed.

  I murmur something along the lines of ‘okay then, I do feel like stretching my legs …’, and hook Jimbo up to his lead. He doesn’t want to come at all – he is getting more and more stiff, despite the various supplements Matt now has him on. His cataracts are worse and the only time he really displays his old alpha-dog self is when Bella Swan comes to visit. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain beyond his joints, but he’s a very old chap.

  I tickle him behind his velvety ears and he licks my hand. I explain to him in that strange baby-talk voice that many of us with dogs, as I pull him towards the front door, that we are going to see Matt, and I think he half understands. Certainly he stops dragging his feet and even has a spring in his step as he heads towards his traditional first pee point – the bushes on the corner of the path that leads through to the front half of the Rockery.

  We amble past Poison Ivy and the Laughing Apple and Lilac Wine and Mad About Saffron, which reminds me of our second day here, when none of this made any sense. As usual, I can’t stop myself looking in the windows of the cottages as we pass, taking a peek at the snapshots of other people’s lives.

  Some are still empty, as it is relatively early and a beautiful evening. But I see a dad collapsed on the sofa in Lilac Wine, with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. He’s trying to point and shoot with the remote above the head of the curly-haired toddler who is slumped across his chest, totally floppy and sleeping deeply in that way they have at their age, like someone has taken the batteries out.

  Mum is sitting next to him with a baby on her lap. They all look exhausted but happy. It’s exactly the kind of scene that would have made me itch with jealousy a few weeks ago. Well, not jealousy exactly … just yearning, for something I once had and will never have again.

  Now, I realise, I feel better about what I see. It makes me smile and remember those times with two kids in nappies. How tired we were. How little sleep we got. And yes, how happy we were too. I am thankful for ever having had those days at all.

  I pass by and on to Black Rose, and I knock on the door. I wait patiently, although Jimbo starts to whine and tug at his lead once we get there.

  It takes a few minutes for Matt to answer, but when he does the wait feels worth it. He is wearing a white towel wrapped around his waist and Jimbo makes a predictable lunge for his crotch.

  Wise to him now, Matt steps quickly back and ushers us in before Jimbo can lodge his muzzle where no dog has the right to go.

  ‘I thought you couldn’t get out,’ he says, leaning down to pat Jimbo, but keeping his hazel eyes on me. ‘I was just about to have a shower.’

  ‘Um. Yes. I see that,’ I reply, feeling slightly hot under the collar. I’ve seen Matt without his top on many times since I arrived in Dorset, but it never fails to make an impression.

  ‘The kids are watching the movie without me. I can’t stay long, though.’

  ‘In case they kill each other?’

  ‘Something like that,’ I say, letting Jimbo loose.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you came. I think I’ve … missed you?’

  He frowns as he says it and I understand why. It is strange, this missing of someone you hardly know and who wasn’t even in your life a month ago, but I know exactly what he means.

  Part of it, I think, is because we have been unable to spend much time together. Things between us have been left unsaid, and undone, and therefore untainted by anything going wrong. Since we went to the pub with each other, we have been alone precisely twice. Between his work and my work and Cherie and Frank and my children there is not a lot of solitude.

  We have kissed once and held hands on the beach, and shared secretive glances and found excuses to be in the same place at the same time. We have texted and spoken on the phone and continued to do all the other things we did together before – like garden and meet at the café, and sit on the beach, and watch Nate play his guitar, and chat to our mutual friends.

  But we’ve done those things with the shared knowledge that there could be more if we want there to be. Perhaps it’s the potential for more that makes it so thrilling.

  We still haven’t had conversations that I would file under the category Deep and Meaningful; I’ve not poured my heart out about David and he’s not filled me in on what happened with the woman with the Legs. Matt is far more relaxed around me than I see him around anyone else, and that feeling is mutual. We are both happy in each other’s company and content not to push it further than that.

  We both have pasts and we both have our emotional burdens – but right now, we are simply enjoying each other for who and what we are now, rather than dwelling on how we got there.

  The small steps we had already taken into each other’s lives now feel more important and every moment we spend together feels more enjoyable. Or maybe, I think, casting my eyes over his golden torso, I am just horny. I have not had sex for over two years and never thought I would want to ever again. I now realise that I was very, very wrong about that.

  Jimbo jumps up onto one of Matt’s armchairs and curls up in a ball. He is asleep within seconds.

  I see Matt walking towards me and there is a purposefulness in his stride that I find both frightening and knee-knockingly exciting. I take a step back and hit the wall. I am trapped and I think I like it.

  ‘You can’t have missed me,’ I say. ‘You saw me yesterday when you came into the café for some pea-and-ham soup.’

  Damn, I’m sexy. With dirty talk like that, what man could resist?

  Luckily Matt doesn’t seem to be focused too much on talking.

  He closes the distance between us and slips his arms around my waist, palms sliding down over my bottom. He leans into me so our hips are touching and nuzzles his face into my hair. I can feel his breath against my neck and his strong thighs against mine, and his warm, bare skin beneath my fingers. My hands have wandered up to his shoulders, without me even noticing, and are very happy there, tracing the muscular ridges and curves of his body.

  He lightly kisses the skin beneath my ear and works his way around my jawline until he reaches my mouth. My lips open to welcome him and I’m clinging to his arms, and his towel is doing little to contain his excitement. One of his hands is stroking the bare skin of my side, slowly smoothing its way further beneath my T-shirt, and I feel my nipples tighten and bud at the thought of him reaching them.

  If I was capable of thin
king straight, I’d probably be thinking I should slow things right down. That I’d just nipped out to walk the dog. That my children could come looking for me at any moment. That I was behaving like a terrible slapper, and if this was a slasher flick we’d definitely be the first to get murdered by the monster in the Scream mask.

  But I’m not really thinking at all. I’m just enjoying. I’m enjoying touching and being touched. I’m enjoying kissing and being kissed. I’m enjoying desiring and feeling desired. I’m enjoying feeling alive and like a woman who can still make a man want her, and want him in return.

  Matt pulls away from me slightly and his eyes meet mine. We have reached a point here where things could take a very intimate turn. I hope he’s not going to try and talk to me about it, or ask me if it’s okay. Because if he asks, I’ll have to think and if I have to think I’ll probably say no.

  Instead, though, he frowns and points at the pocket of my shorts.

  ‘You’re vibrating,’ he says. ‘And I don’t think it’s all down to me.’

  It takes my mind a few seconds to disengage from the things my body is still feeling and to register the fact that, yes, there is indeed a buzzing of a different kind going on down below.

  ‘It’s my phone,’ I say, with lightning wit.

  ‘I thought it might be,’ he replies, smiling at me in a way that makes me want to throw the phone out of the window. His hair is all mussed up and his pupils are dilated and he’s just so wonderfully … big.

  I shake my head to clear away the lustful thoughts and scoop my phone out. I’d had it on silent during the movie and there’s no way I can ignore it. I defy any mum to concentrate on what they’re doing – even the pre-amble to possibly terrific sex – if their kids are alone and the phone starts ringing.

  I frown as I open it and see that this is the second missed call. It’s not either of their mobile numbers, or the cottage landline, or my parents, or Becca, or David’s family. Once I’ve ruled out those possibilities, I’m down to thinking it might be a cold-caller wanting to talk to me about a cheaper tariff.

  Except it’s a local number and it looks familiar. Not one I have in my contacts, but one I’ve seen before. As I try and figure out it rings again and I answer straight away.

  ‘Laura? Is that you?’

  It’s Cherie. I recognise her voice immediately, but she sounds … strange. Not quite her usual self.

  ‘Yes. Are you all right?’ I ask, watching as Matt walks out of the room to give me some privacy. He has no idea who I’m talking to, I realise, and as we still know relatively little about each other’s lives, he’s making an exit in case I need to talk alone. This is a lovely and respectful thing to do and I just as respectfully watch his backside jiggle about in that towel as he leaves.

  ‘No! I’m bloody not! I’ve had a fall, love … can you come round? I need a bit of help. I can’t seem to stand up, you see.’

  ‘Have you called an ambulance?’ I ask, all thoughts of Matt wiped from my mind. She sounds awful and I guess she is in a lot of pain.

  ‘I have, my love, but it’ll be a while. I’m not about to pop my clogs, so I’ll have to wait, plus the doors are locked up so they’ll have to break in if you can’t make it. I’ve managed to pull myself over to the counter to get the phone, but I can’t do much else. I’m in a bit of a state … I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it, but do you think you can get here?’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, without hesitating. Good job I’ve only had the one glass of wine. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hold tight and try to stay calm.’

  I hear her suck in a jagged breath and am horrified to realise she is actually crying.

  ‘Matt!’ I shout, in case he’s upstairs. ‘I need your help!’

  Chapter 22

  Matt agrees to keep an eye on the kids and I drive to the café as fast as I safely can.

  I let myself into the place, which is eerily quiet and cast in flickering shadow as the sun sets over the bay.

  I find Cherie lying on the floor, completely naked. She has tugged the phone from the counter and has managed to snag a tea towel from the shelf, but it isn’t really a match for her physique.

  She is a large lady and one scrap of red-and-white gingham isn’t doing much to protect her modesty. I immediately see why she called me and not Frank. Her face is screwed up in pain and her skin is coated with a clammy sheen of sweat.

  I crouch down next to her and touch her forehead. There is a lot of Cherie on show and her forehead seems like the least embarrassing bet. She is absolutely freezing, I discover.

  I run through to the storeroom in the back, where I know there is a pile of fleecy blankets. She keeps them there for colder days out of season, so customers can still sit out in the garden and admire the view from the cliffs, wrapped up as they sip a hot chocolate.

  I bring back a bundle and start to drape them over her. She lets out a loud yelp as I tuck one beneath her leg and I suspect she may have broken her hip. My gran did the same years ago and this looks very similar. I squash another fleece up into a ball and tuck it under her head like a pillow.

  Once she is settled, I squat down beside her and hold her hand. I stroke the damp hair away from her face and we wait.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask, when she is as comfortable as I can possibly make her.

  ‘Oh, it’s so bloody stupid, Laura,’ she says, sounding frustrated with herself. ‘I ran out of milk upstairs, so I was coming down here to get some. I’ve no idea why, but I went and slipped down the last few steps and ended up in a right pickle.

  ‘The pain is terrible, I tell you. I thought I’d have to spend the night like this, I did, until I managed to get to the phone. I was so relieved when you answered, my sweet … I know Willow’s at home with her mum tonight, so I didn’t want to bother her, and Frank … well, you can see the state I’m in. Plus he’s getting on in years, I didn’t want him rushing over and putting his back out trying to lub me around …’

  ‘I suspect Frank could lub both of us around without it bothering him,’ I reply. ‘But I wouldn’t want him seeing me starkers either. Why are you, by the way? Naked?’

  ‘I always walk round the house naked – don’t you?’

  When my expression clearly tells her that no, I do not, she carries on.

  ‘Well, I was at home, wasn’t I? Work done for the day. Settling in for a nice quiet night, bit of telly, bit of party planning for Frank’s do. Saved myself a bowl of that risotto you did yesterday. Always makes sense to me to take my clothes off once the day is finished. Maybe it’s a throwback to my younger years. Anyway, I was all set, I was, until I wanted a cuppa and decided to nip down to the kitchen, and … oh, I’m such daft old bat!’

  ‘You’re not daft and you’re not old,’ I say, soothingly, trying to get my head around a world where your default setting is to walk round naked. ‘But you are a bit batty.’

  She manages a weak smile at that, but the pain is clearly taking its toll. Her tanned face is pale and drawn and every line and wrinkle on her skin seems so much more pronounced. For the first time since I’ve met her, she actually does look old and it breaks my heart.

  There are a few tears building up in her eyes and they leak down the side of her cheeks. She swipes them away, angry with herself, and instead starts to swear, loudly and creatively, about how long the ‘****ing ambulance’ is taking.

  This seems a healthier course than self-chastisement, so I join in. We are still swearing when a paramedic in a dark-green uniform eventually bobs his head around the corner.

  ‘Hello?’ he shouts, as he steps into the now-darkened café. ‘Anyone home?’

  Cherie pulls a face at me, her eyes rolling up into her head in a gesture of annoyance.

  ‘I’m over ****ing here, aren’t I?’ she yells.

  WEEK 4

  In which I hear a sad story, take a step up the career ladder, join a girl band from outer space and come to a very un-sensible decision …

  Chapter
23

  I am visiting Cherie in the hospital the next day when I get an attack of the collywobbles so strong that I have to lock myself in the disabled toilet.

  I realise this is wrong and that someone with a real disability might need it, but at that precise moment I feel incapable of taking one more step or saying one more word, or doing anything more than hyper-ventilate and panic.

  My heart is banging so hard it is like someone is punching my chest cavity from the inside out and my hearing has gone all fuzzy. The sound of life outside the toilet door is riddled with crackling static as it filters through my freaked-out brain.

  My breath is coming in short, sharp, inadequate bursts, my vision is blurred around the edges and my hands are trembling. I am both cold and sweating at the same time and feel a little like my throat is closing up and choking me.

  This is not my first anxiety attack, so I recognise it for what it is and don’t worry that I am about to drop dead. The first time it ever happened, I was at Becca’s, and she called an ambulance. Now, I know and understand what is occurring and that makes it easier to deal with. Easier to deal with – but still crippling.

  I lean against the wall of the cubicle and slide slowly down until I am on my bottom. I tip my head forward so it is between my knees and try to slow my breathing. I suck in long, deep breaths through my nose, counting in my head as I do it. Then I gradually let it all out again through my mouth, still counting, and aiming to take double the time exhaling as inhaling.

  It sounds quite complicated, but I’ve found it the most effective way of dealing with these attacks. If I’m concentrating on breathing and counting, it seems to calm the rest of my body down.

  Slowly, bit by bit, it starts to work. The more oxygen I manage to suck in, the more controlled I manage to make my breathing and the better I feel. I am able to hold my hands still on my knees and blink some of the unreality from my eyes, and feel my heart pounding at a less terrifying speed.