Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe

by Debbie Johnson

  I remain cynical, but am willing to let her try – at most we will lose some stock and at best Lizzie feels like there is hope for the human race, and for her future as a business woman.

  Once the kids are back in, I serve up drinks for everyone and also experiment with a simple recipe I’ve been meaning to try for a while.

  I don’t have a name for it, but it’s made of honey and natural yoghurt and frozen berries, blitzed together to make a kind of chilled, fruity pudding. I grate some of the Galaxy chocolate I have in for the milkshakes over the top and give everyone a bowl.

  Nobody talks for a good five minutes, so I assume it is a success. Nate gives it a thumbs-up and declares it to be called ‘Super Fruity Fro-Yo’.

  ‘Crikey,’ says Willow, stretching her feet out and kicking off her sandals. ‘I think that’s the busiest day we’ve ever had.’

  ‘Or maybe it just feels that way because Cherie’s not here,’ I reply.

  ‘I’d say it’s both,’ adds Frank, the voice of reason. ‘And we need a plan to help you ladies keep this place going until she’s back. I spoke to her this morning and she was good as gold. Still in pain, but already itching to get up. She’d seen some physio lad and the poor thing had dared to suggest she might need to lose a bit of weight to avoid putting too much stress on the new hip.’

  There is a collective hiss of horror as we hear this and imagine Cherie’s response.

  ‘Is he dead?’ asks Lizzie, which is what most of us are thinking.

  ‘No, but he has recommended she’s put some kind of enhanced recovery plan, which means she’ll be out of there quicker than usual … I think he wants rid of her.’

  We all laugh, perhaps louder than it merits, because we are all so tired and wired and slightly hysterical.

  ‘If all goes well,’ he continues, ‘she’ll be out of the hospital in three or four days. She should be able to hobble around with crutches, but she won’t be back to normal for a few months.’

  ‘Where’s she going to go when she gets out?’ I ask, frowning as I think it through. Her flat is up a steep flight of stairs and no matter how determined she is, that’s not going to work. As far as I know, all the holiday cottages are let for the summer. I could sort out the lounge of Hyacinth as a make-shift bedroom for her, but it won’t be ideal.

  ‘She doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll be coming to stay with me at the farm,’ replies Frank, a steely glint in his blue eyes. ‘There’s plenty of room downstairs and there’s a little shower room we had set up so I don’t track mud into the house. She won’t like it, Little Miss Independent, but she’ll just have to lump it.’

  ‘Good luck with that one, Frank,’ says Willow, pulling a better-you-than-me face.

  ‘It’ll be fine – her bark’s worse than her bite. Now, then, what are we going to do about the café? Another few days like this and you lot will explode.’

  ‘I know,’ I answer, because it’s true. I was on the verge of it today. ‘There are so many jobs Cherie did that we took for granted.’

  ‘Well,’ says Nate, face still splattered with Fruity Fro-Yo from licking the bowl, ‘make a list of the stuff you’ve noticed went wrong today because she normally does it. Like getting the change from the bank for the till. And getting the stock in – there’s only about five bottles of water left and hardly any cans. That was probably her job as well, wasn’t it? There’ll be others. Make a list and we can sort out who does what so nothing gets missed.’

  It’s a good idea and I smile fondly at him. What a clever little lad. He gives me the uni-dimple back and I fight the urge to crush him in a great big embarrassing mum-hug.

  ‘Good thinking, Batman,’ I say. ‘I’ll do that. But we need an extra pair of hands, basically – maybe even two. Cherie’s given me her online bank details, so I can either embezzle the lot and retire to Barbados or use some of it for staff. She also mentioned she’d be happy to pay for extra shifts for your mum’s carer, Willow, if you were able to cover more hours here.’

  ‘I’ll talk to her about it, see what I can do,’ says Willow. ‘But we still need a bit more help, I’d say.’

  ‘What about Scrumpy Joe’s wife?’ suggests Frank, who is leaning back in his chair and chewing on a toothpick. ‘Didn’t she used to work in a restaurant in Lyme?’

  ‘Joanne?’ says Willow. ‘She’s pretty busy these days, what with the online dating and all. But we could ask – she might do it, for Cherie. I’ll go see her on the way home.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I say, holding up my hand to bring a temporary halt to the proceedings.

  ‘Are you saying that Scrumpy Joe is married? I never knew that – how come I’ve never met her? Plus she’s called Joanne and he’s called Joe? Do people call her Scrumpy Joanne?’

  ‘Not if they want to live,’ answers Willow. ‘She’s ferocious.’

  ‘And what’s that about online dating?’

  ‘Rural Romance,’ replies Lizzie. ‘It’s an introduction service for countryside types all over the UK. It’s really taken off. She’s found wives for shedloads of farmers who never managed to get out on dates before.’

  I shake my head and wonder if I am hallucinating this whole conversation. Still, if she’s happy to help, I will welcome Scrumpy Joanne with open arms.

  ‘Me and Nate can carry on helping out if you need us to,’ says Lizzie.

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ I reply. ‘That’s very kind. But this is supposed to be a holiday for you guys, so hopefully we won’t have you in here slaving away all day.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ she says, patting her jeans pocket. ‘I made £18 in tips. I can live with it.’

  Nate snorts at the unfairness of this and I have to assume that nobody gave him a tip for clearing out the dog poo. I will correct that injustice later.

  ‘Ivy Wellkettle’s daughter’s home,’ says Frank, which does explain why I’ve not been grilling up Ivy’s fish-finger butties for a few days. ‘She might help out too, the days her mum’s working. I’ll have a chat to them later.’

  It sounds like there is some kind of plan being percolated at least, which helps to calm my rising sense of panic. I was starting to think that I’d bitten off more than I could chew with this and was worried I was going to let Cherie down after all. I should have guessed, really, that the Comfort Food Café was a lot bigger than just one person.

  The door opens and I hear footsteps. I turn around to explain that we are closed and see both Matt and Surfer Sam walking towards us. I suppress a giggle as I look at them. They are both tall and nicely built and good-looking in a slightly ungroomed, outdoorsy way, and for some reason seeing them stride towards us together, as though they’re in some kind of impromptu fashion show for cargo trousers and walking boots, makes me want to laugh. I’m probably still hysterical.

  Matt gives me his usual polite-but-distant nod – the one we use in public – and I return it. We are perfectly calm, perfectly respectful, perfectly friendly neighbours. He gives me a little wink as he pulls up a chair, when nobody else is looking, and I feel my heart do a tiny bounce in response.

  ‘This place looks like a bomb’s hit it,’ says Sam, looking around at the tornado of litter, plates and discarded food. ‘You need some help? I’ve got to lead a twilight nature walk later, but I can be yours for the next hour or so. Do with me what you will – I’m your slave.’

  As ever, his tone is flirtatious and the grin he gives me and Willow is extremely saucy. I remain immune to it, as I am already engaged in flirtation and sauciness elsewhere, no matter how privately. Willow, who is clearly used to this kind of behaviour, just laughs and throws a tea towel at his blonde head. Poor Sam – his gift of the gab is getting him nowhere today.

  ‘I think I need to go and get some stock,’ I reply, thinking it all through. ‘Sam, can you stay here with Nate and Lizzie for an hour and do some clearing? Willow needs to get home to her mum and Frank’s on his way to fight with Cherie.’

  ‘Is it all right if Josh comes round?’ Li
zzie quickly adds and of course I say yes – she’s worked hard today, and not just for the money.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ asks Matt, and I struggle to keep my face straight as I meet his eyes. I have a few ideas, but none of them are suitable for public consumption.

  ‘Take me to the wholesalers in your big truck,’ I say, somehow imagining that even that is some kind of double entendre, and wondering if the others will notice.

  Apparently not as nobody bats an eyelid. Everyone stands up and starts to move on to the next stage of their day.

  I feel far more positive about life than I did an hour ago. We have a plan to get more staff and keep the café open without killing me and Willow. Sam and the kids are going to handle the cleaning. Frank will be able to tell Cherie that everything here is fine.

  And I am going for a ride in a big truck with a big man. It’s a win all round.

  Chapter 25

  Unfortunately, our ride in the big truck is the last time we are alone for quite a while. A cash and carry isn’t the most romantic place on earth, but we do get to have a nice chat, and I do get to enjoy watching Matt lugging giant crates of soft drinks around for me. I realise this is very sexist but remain unrepentant.

  Lizzie texts me to say that the cleaning is done and she has gone round to Josh’s for her tea. Nate has gone with Sam on his nature walk and taken Jimbo with him. The café, she assures me, is totally spotless. I will believe this when I see it, as Lizzie and I often have very different definitions of the word ‘spotless’.

  Matt and I have to get the stock back and unloaded, using the little trolley Cherie keeps out back to wheel things up and down the hill, but we do make the most of our journey by visiting the coast around Lulworth on the way back. He parks the truck at the top of the cliff and we make our way down to the beach at Durdle Door.

  I have seen pictures of it before, but never been here. It is beautiful – a stunning limestone arch rising from the water, almost mystical, as though mermaids should be splashing around out there. It is nearing the end of full daylight and the curved beach is quiet. It is quite a trek to get to, down steep steps carved into the rock and I imagine it gets packed earlier in the day.

  Now, there are only a few of us down there, some throwing sticks for dogs, some paddling, some playing with their kids. Some, like us, simply sitting still on the gravelly sand and enjoying the tranquil sounds of the waves, the birds and pretty much nothing else.

  I lean into Matt’s side and he puts his arm around my shoulders and snuggles me towards him. I rest one hand on his thigh and neither of us speaks for a good few minutes. Partly it’s because neither of us is an especially chatty person. Partly it’s because it’s just so peaceful and pretty, and perfect. It seems a shame to spoil such a pleasurable silence and I think we both feel that.

  We’re happy being quiet together and I wonder if it is because we don’t want to spoil the sense of comfort that has sprung up between us. Yes, I most definitely fancy Matt – a lot – and I know that he feels the same. But equally, being together like this is just … nice. That sounds like such a bland word, but I don’t underestimate the power of ‘nice’. I have had a lot of drama in my life and this respite from it feels wonderful.

  Even the day before, I was having a panic attack at even setting foot in a hospital – so the serenity of sitting here, in this beautiful place, being held by this beautiful man, is more than enough for me right now. Physically, I know I am ready for more. Emotionally, I am not so sure – so the fact that Matt seems as content as I am to simply go with the flow and enjoy the moment means a lot. It makes me feel safe and secure, and unpressured.

  Eventually, of course, being female, I have to go and spoil it.

  ‘My parents are coming down next week,’ I say, purposefully keeping my voice bland and non-committal. I don’t want him worrying about having to declare his intentions to my father or anything.

  ‘Oh,’ he replies, sounding equally bland and non-committal.

  ‘They’re planning on taking Lizzie and Nate away for a night …’

  ‘Oh …’ he says, this one more laden with significance.

  Yes, I think. Oh.

  ‘Perhaps we could … go out?’ he says, nuzzling my hair as he talks. ‘Or stay in. Whatever you want to do. No pressure.’

  I feel both excited and scared at the prospect of actually being able to spend a night with Matt. On the one hand, it’s about time I got ‘back in the saddle’, as Becca so tastefully puts it. But on the other … I’ve only known him for a month. That qualifies as a lifetime commitment to her, but I’m built differently. I’ve never had sex with anybody but David. Plus, obviously, there is no future for me and Matt – I’ll be leaving again very soon.

  Perhaps it is actually this – the knowledge that I will be leaving – that makes it easier in some ways. I can make some mistakes here without them haunting me. Without my family knowing everything. Without having to look those mistakes in the face every day for the rest of my life.

  I am away from reality, and away from home, and away from the need to behave a certain way.

  I am, after all, kind of on holiday, where different rules apply.

  Matt has made me realise that my libido is far from dead and he has also made me realise how very lonely I have been. How much I have missed both the touch of a man’s hand on my body, and the sense of companionship that used to be the bedrock of my life.

  He has made me realise that perhaps – just perhaps – everything is not over for me. If I can feel this for Matt, with Matt, then I can feel it with someone else. Maybe I am using him, in the nicest possible way – and maybe the same is true for him. I know he bears his own scars, that he was deeply hurt by the breakdown of his relationship with Legs, and that I am helping him to recover as well.

  ‘I think,’ I say, turning my face up to kiss him softly, ‘that I would very much like to stay in with you. Although you have to understand that I haven’t, erm, stayed in with anybody for quite some time.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ he replies, treating me to a sexy sideways grin that somehow makes me feel like it will all be okay. ‘Don’t worry. We can be gentle with each other.’

  Chapter 26

  The next few days pass in something of a blur.

  Scrumpy Joanne turns out to be an absolute battleaxe and I am terrified of her. She has perfectly coiffed eighties hair and looks a little bit like Dynasty-era Joan Collins only more ruthless. She is, however, a heck of a worker, and comes to help out every morning between nine and twelve.

  I have learned that a mere nod from Joanne is the equivalent of an intimate girly chat for most women, and I now understand why she is not more involved in village life, or a regular at the café – she seems to basically hate people and despise all social interaction.

  Sophie Wellkettle does the eleven to three shift and she is extra-adorable to make up for Joanne’s Bride of Frankenstein demeanour. She looks like a younger, perkier version of her mum, Ivy, and is glad to not only help Cherie but earn an extra few bob before she goes back to uni.

  Willow has arranged extra hours for her mum’s carer so she can stay later with me and do the clean-up and prep for the next day, which is a huge relief. Lizzie and Nate intermittently buzz in and out, and the biggest favour they do me is staying out of trouble and making sure Jimbo is all right.

  I am absolutely exhausted, between one thing and another, and spend most evenings curled up in a foetal ball on the sofa, too tired to even engage with re-runs of Pointless.

  My job at the Comfort Food Café is now much more demanding – mainly because I have taken on Cherie’s responsibilities as well. She was let out of hospital only three days after her operation, which I suspect was down to sheer determination on her part. That and perhaps the strong survival instinct of the staff.

  To everyone’s surprise, she agreed to move in with Frank, as long as he ‘didn’t mollycoddle her’, and is visited by a nurse every day as well. Frank still calls in
for his bacon butties and his mood seems high – in fact having Cherie around seems to have actually perked him up. I have had a growing suspicion that there could potentially be more to those two than just friendship, but so far I think both of them are too stubborn to see it.

  Cherie is being forced to take it easy, which isn’t sitting too well with her, but she’s not daft enough to rush it. She’s been told that if she does anything to jeopardise her recovery now, it will ultimately take much longer to get completely better.

  As a result, she is grumpily staying in the back seat, letting me get on with running the café, and reluctantly allowing me to carry on planning Frank’s party. Most of it was booked anyway – the food, the drink, a local electrical firm who are going to set up fairy lights and arrange a sound system. The theme this year is the Wild West, as opposed to last year’s Mexican, and she has already ordered in a boxload of cowboy hats and toy guns from eBay.

  As I said, most of it is done. I’m just planning some … extras. I don’t know why I am choosing to make this more difficult for myself, but for some reason I feel I have to.

  Cherie, Frank, Sam, Matt – everyone here in Budbury – has made me feel so welcome, made me feel so much stronger. They have given me a new lease of life and given me the hope and determination I need to go back home and carry on living – not just surviving, but living. The way David would want me to and the way I deserve to. They’ve embraced my whole family, made my teenage daughter less surly, played football with my son and even tolerated my flatulent dog.

  I want to do something to say thank you and the party seems like the perfect opportunity to do it. In fact, the last opportunity to do it, as I’ll be going home the day after.

  So, I came up with some ideas. They are works in progress and they involve a lot of phone calls and internet hours, and on one occasion a visit to a Records Office in Devon.