Sunshine at the Comfort Food Café

by Debbie Johnson

  He texted me, and we talked on the phone, but neither of us mentioned what had happened – me because I was still building myself some wriggle room. Him because … well, who knows? Perhaps he regrets it. Perhaps he’s letting me make the next move. Perhaps he’s been kidnapped by mind-control aliens. Perhaps he’d been kidnapped by mind control aliens the night he kissed me, and it was actually a clone, and now he doesn’t remember anything about it.

  It’s exactly this kind of brain-drivel that concerns me – even after one kiss I’ve started to turn into a stereotypical chick who gazes into space trying to figure out what a man is thinking. And that, I’ve seen over the years, is pointless – women seem to spend hours of their lives wondering what significance a certain glance had, or what he meant when he said he ‘just wanted a night in to watch the match’.

  Most of the time the bloke just means he wants a night in to watch the match – but women can translate this into a thousand different languages, meaning anything from ‘he’s seeing another girl’ to ‘he’s fed up of me’ to ‘the magic’s gone, I’m signing up to match.com.’

  I’m not hugely experienced with relationships, but I am hugely experienced with myself – and more than anything I value my peace of mind. I don’t like going to sleep with knots in my stomach, or ruining the present by worrying about the future. In a life that is pretty complicated, I like to keep my own head space as simple as possible.

  Working is good for that, so I’m happy to have spent time on my new cleaning job, and today, a full shift at the café. The last paying customers leave at around 4 p.m., and we spend the next hour or so clearing up and getting ready for tonight’s ballroom dancing session. It’s the third one, but I missed the one in the middle, and will probably be bottom of the class and get my legs whacked by Madam Zelda.

  Now I’m outside, gathering the extremely annoying kids’ lunchboxes, and Lizzie, Laura’s daughter, is helping me. She’s been quiet, which is unlike her, and she’s now voluntarily going into the doggie crèche field to do a poo patrol. As I know myself, this is the last resort of a tortured mind, so I follow her in to lend a hand.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I say, holding open a bin bag while she plonks smaller bags inside it. Her blonde hair is tied up in a messy pony tail, and her eyeliner is slightly smeared. This, for Lizzie, is a major signifier that all is not perfect in the universe.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replies, kicking her scuffed DM boots into the grass so hard a small divot flies up. ‘I s’pose.’

  ‘Come on – out with it,’ I say, following her around as she scoops and bags, every movement sulky and resentful. ‘My superpowers tell me there’s a problem. And as you’ve not talked to your mum about it, I’m guessing it’s to do with something that would embarrass you. Which means it’s Josh.’

  Lizzie and Josh have been together for ages now – at least ages in teenager world. Actually, now I come to think of it, they’ve been together longer than I’ve ever managed with a man, so maybe I’m not the best person to be having this conversation with. I keep quiet on that one. The teenagers all think I’m super cool because I have pink hair and a nose stud and tattoos – best not show any weakness and blow my cover.

  Lizzie looks up at me, and frowns.

  ‘Kind of. A bit. Sort of,’ she says.

  ‘Well, that’s very specific. What’s going on?’

  Josh is a nice kid, and from what I’ve seen he thinks the world of Lizzie, but they are only kids – and even nice kids do shitty things.

  ‘It’s nothing really. I’m just being a knob.’

  ‘Okay. I accept that you’re being a knob – we all are sometimes. But what’s bothering you? A problem shared is—’

  ‘A problem you can then go and tell my mum about?’

  I put the bag down, and employ my best serious face.

  ‘No. Not unless it was something I thought put you in danger, like you’ve developed a magic mushroom addiction. Or you have gangrene in your brain. Or you’ve joined a cult run by people who think the key to eternal life is dressing like Kermit the Frog and singing Barry Manilow songs.’

  This does the trick, and there is a glimmer of a smile, hastily hidden.

  ‘Nah. Though that last one does sound cool. It’s silly, really … it’s just that Martha and Josh are looking at universities together. It feels like it’s all they talk about. And I get it – it’s exciting, and I’m dead happy for them. They’ve got all these prospectuses, and they’re planning trips to open days, and Martha has the Oxford thing, and …’

  ‘And you feel a bit left out. Not because they’re being mean and trying to exclude you, but because their lives are about to change, and you’re wondering exactly where you’re going to fit into all of that?’

  ‘Yes! Exactly! And I don’t feel like I can say anything, ’cause that makes me sound like even more of a knob, and I don’t even think they’ve noticed I’m upset, which makes me even more upset, and the whole thing is just … crap. Really crap. I mean, I know they’re going – but what’s it going to be like here when they do? I’ll lose my boyfriend and my best mate at the same time, and they’ll be off in Oxford or wherever Josh goes, and I’ll be stuck here. With you lot.’

  She realises as she says that last line that maybe it wasn’t very polite, and looks up at from behind her fringe apologetically. Poor kid. She’s tangled up in blue.

  ‘That is tough,’ I reply, leading us away to the exit from the doggie field. We’ve both handled enough shit for one day. ‘And there isn’t an easy answer. You’re only a year behind them, but I know it’s scary. Change always is. My big brothers and sister all left to go off and have adventures, and I was left at home. Though to be fair, I didn’t actually mind, so that was different – all I can say is that you need to have a bit of faith.’

  ‘What do you mean, faith? Like, go to church or say my prayers or something?’

  ‘If it helps, yeah – but what I mean is have a bit of belief. In Josh and Martha. Their lives might change but they won’t forget about you. You and Josh might be together when you’re Edie’s age, or you might not. Most importantly, I suppose, have a bit of faith in yourself – you’ll be absolutely fine, Lizzie. I know this sounds like a rubbish grown-ups thing to say, but it will work out. And if all else fails, I’ll be your best mate for a bit.’

  She ponders this for a while, and seems to decide she likes it.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, giving me a cheeky grin. ‘Sounds like a plan. I can get a fake ID and we can go and see gigs, and go clubbing, and maybe join that Muppets cult …’

  ‘All of the above, yes. Now do me a favour, and go back inside. Sit with Josh and Martha, and try not to sulk. Tell them you’re feeling a bit nervous, and I bet they’ll be great about it. If not, let me know, and I’ll come and dump all this dog poo on their heads. Deal?’

  ‘Deal!’ she says, slapping me a high five and scampering off back to her friends. Girls her age are weird, aren’t they? One minute they’re all serious and angsty and ‘my-life-has-no-meaning-and-I’ll-never-get-to-see-The-Doors-in-concert’, and the next they’re playful and fun and look about ten years old. Trapped between girl-child and woman.

  I put the bag in the bin, and follow her into the café. Cherie and Laura have set the trestles up, and will have them full of food and drink before our guests arrive. Cal and Sam are on dance floor duty, hefting the tables and chairs off to the side to create the space where the magic will happen. Or at least the space where we will all trip over and laugh a lot.

  Laura calls me over and I join her at the counter, where she’s currently perched on a high stool, pouring us mugs of coffee and slicing up lemon drizzle cake.

  ‘Nice talk with Lizzie?’ she says, gesturing over to the corner where the teens are holed up, pretending to work but actually showing each other videos on their phones. I nod, but don’t say anything – I have a pledge to uphold. What happens in the dog poo field stays in the dog poo field. It’s like a really smelly version of Vegas.r />
  ‘She’s worried about Josh and Martha leaving for university,’ she says, smiling sadly. ‘Thinks it’s the end of the world, obviously. Also thinks I have no clue about it.’

  I refrain from asking how she does know – because Laura is the uber-mama. The mother of dragons. One mum to rule them all.

  ‘Yeah … well, I can understand that, can’t you?’ I ask, tucking into the cake.

  ‘Of course I can. To be honest I’ve been a bit worried about what will happen with her and Josh ever since they got together. Heartbreak is an inevitable part of growing up, I suppose, but I still don’t want to see her going through it. I never did myself – I suppose it’ll have to be another one of those What-Would-Becca-Do situations. She had enough teenaged angst for both of us.’

  ‘You never had your heart broken?’ I ask, interested. I mean, neither have I – but there was that time Calvin McKenna dumped me on the night of the school disco, which I thought at the time was the end of the known universe. Most girls go through that at some time or another – but apparently not Laura.

  ‘Nope,’ she says, in between sips of her coffee. ‘Not at that age, anyway. I was with David from when we were in primary school, and we got married when we weren’t much older than the gang in the corner. We were really happy together, and I never went through that phase. Skipped it entirely. Of course, I made up for it later, when he died so young – that was real heartbreak. The kind I never thought I’d recover from, to be honest.’

  She looks thoughtful as she says this, twirling one of her curls around her fingers, gazing at her kids. One of the many weird and wonderful things about this place – these people – is how much sadness they’ve endured. Laura lost David; both Cherie and Frank lost their partners; Zoe lost her best friend, Martha’s mother Kate. Becca went through something, though I don’t know the full story. Everyone has suffered – but everyone has survived. Not just survived, they’ve gone on to thrive.

  ‘But look at you now,’ I say, reaching out to touch her hand. ‘A whole new life, here, with the kids, and us, and Matt.’

  ‘And Midgebo! Don’t forget Midgebo! I know. I’m so lucky. It’s incredible really. If someone had told me it would all work out like this, I wouldn’t have believed them. I never thought I could love another man after David, but … well, I was wrong, wasn’t I? It wasn’t easy to let myself, but I’m so glad I did.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, curious. ‘What wasn’t easy?’

  She smiles at me, and I feel the full power of her mama-wisdom aimed in my direction.

  ‘I mean it wasn’t easy to surrender to it. To let myself fall in love again. I was scared witless, to be honest – the pain I’d gone through losing David was so extreme it felt like I had died as well.

  ‘When Matt came along, I was convinced it wasn’t worth the risk. Especially after Jimbo died – losing the dog almost completely put the stoppers on it all. Because it opened up all those old wounds, you see. It made me realise how much of a risk I was taking, letting myself care so much about someone again. We’re all risk averse creatures, aren’t we? Like turtles, hiding in our little shells, trying to protect ourselves – never quite realising that we’re protecting ourselves from the good stuff as well as the bad.’

  There’s a look in her eyes as she makes this speech that somehow lets me know she’s not just talking about herself. That the message was intended for me as well. I feel a bit like I’ve been hit by a whammy of life advice from a village elder, and I’m not quite sure how to react. She is, of course, right – but she is, of course, also not me.

  ‘You’re not-so-subtly referring to me and Tom, aren’t you?’ I ask, pointing my spoon at her accusingly.

  ‘What? Me? Never!’ she replies, waving her hands in mock horror and surprise. ‘But if the lecture fits …’

  ‘Hmmm. I’m not sure it does. I’m not sure of anything right now. It’s all very confusing. Having Auburn here means I have more time, and that’s not always a good thing. It’s so weird – I keep finding myself thinking about him, you know? Like, I’ll be doing something completely different, like hoovering or working or reading, and he’s just there, at the back of my mind. Like a pop-up ad in the brain.’

  ‘Is he looking gorgeous when he pops up?’

  ‘Yes, he’s looking gorgeous. Sometimes he’s also naked, in a pond, in the rain … long story. But sometimes not even that. Sometimes I’ll just remember a funny thing he said, or think about how he’d react to the book I’m reading, or I’ll want to tell him some weird random thought I had that I know he’ll understand. And, like, even a minute after I’ve talked to him, I feel like I miss him. I mean, I barely know the man – what the heck is all that about?’

  Laura actually bursts out laughing at that one. A big, loud, hearty laugh that makes all her curls bob around, and attracts curious glances from everyone else in the room. Probably they’ll just assume I told an awesome joke.

  She reaches out and gives me a big hug – one that’s almost as good as a Cherie hug, although she lacks her physical advantages.

  ‘Oh Willow,’ she says, as she finally lets me go. ‘You’ve really never been in love before, have you?’

  Chapter 21

  I am very unnerved by that question, and spend the rest of the night in a state of high stress. The tension flows through me like liquid, which makes learning a quickstep especially difficult – particularly after I see Tom quietly sneak into the room.

  He’s obviously been hard at work all day, and is wearing a battered old T-shirt and even more battered old Levis. There’s a smear of something dark on the side of his face that he hasn’t noticed, and his thick layer of buzz-cut hair is dotted with flecks of something lighter – maybe plaster, or sawdust.

  My brain immediately starts to play a show reel of Tom the Builder, accessorising him with power tools in a slow-mo montage, which does very little for my sense of coordination – or to dispel the uneasiness that my conversation with Laura caused.

  I react to my own tension by avoiding him as best as I can, which I know makes no sense and isn’t fair, and won’t even work for the whole night – but I’m all discombobulated and don’t know what to do. I need to get my mind affairs in order, and until then, I’m ashamed to admit that I play Cowardly Lion.

  This involves dancing with everyone else, and hiding in the toilets whenever it looks like Tom might be coming into rotation anywhere near me. Or hiding behind the counter. On one occasion, even hiding behind the coat stand. Basically, hiding.

  After almost an hour of this, he clearly decides he’s had enough. I see the moment when he looks right at me, frowning, the confusion clear to see. Beneath the confusion, a layer of hurt that makes me feel like absolute crap. I am behaving like a child – a selfish, nasty child. I understand my motivations but he doesn’t, and it’s not fair.

  I freeze under his gaze, and I know that what he’s most likely to do now is leave. He doesn’t feel particularly comfortable here with all these people anyway, and now I’m giving him the cold shoulder too.

  I expect him to turn around and exit stage left, pursued by a bear. Or by Laura, who I can see has been watching all of this with a great deal of disapproval. I’m guessing her inspirational pep talk about how we all have to be brave enough to let love into our lives was supposed to have a different effect.

  Instead, he pauses for a moment, disengaging from a dance with one of Edie’s nieces to ‘Ballroom Blitz’, and keeps his eyes on me as the next song turns out to be ‘Can’t Hurry Love’. Hah.

  I think he’s about to go, and I don’t know how I feel about that. Part of me would just be relieved but part of me would be devastated to leave things like this. To let the Cowardly Lion win over. Sadly, the rest of me has now turned into the Tin Man, and I feel so stiff I can barely move my feet.

  I watch as Tom walks towards me, glued to the spot, having no idea at all how I’m going to react when he finally crosses through the crowd and reaches me. I am potential
ly planning to hide under a table, or run out onto the balcony at the back of the building – but that only leads to cliffs, the bay, and a fall to certain death. And I don’t want to avoid him that badly. I’m not sure I want to avoid him at all. I’m not sure of anything.

  Everyone else has started dancing again, buzzing around him, Madam Zelda yelling and beating time with her cane, Mateo swirling across the room with a delighted Edie in his arms, Frank and Cherie surprisingly nimble on their toes for two such tall people. Sam and Becca are managing to quickstep with a baby held between them, and Laura and Zoe have given up on the men and decided to dance with each other.

  Tom makes his way towards me, his eyes never leaving mine, as though he’s daring me to run away again. When he reaches me, he doesn’t say a word – just grabs hold of both my hands, puts me in the quickstep hold, and chasses me all the way across the room to the door. He dances me out of the café, down the winding path, and even across the car park. All without a single word.

  I have very little choice but to go along with it, as there is no way he’s letting go of me. He looks deadly serious, completely determined, and is a lot stronger than me. Truth be told, it’s kind of sexy.

  We end up on the beach, which is completely deserted apart from us and the sound of the waves fizzing onto the sand. It’s a warm night, but I definitely notice the drop in temperature after the packed confines of the ballroom.

  Tom finally lets go of my hands, and we stand there, looking at each other in the moonlight. I notice those flecks in his hair again, and really want to reach up and touch it.

  ‘No,’ he says firmly, taking hold of my hand and walking me towards the big boulders that litter the cliff edges. ‘You cannot stroke my hair. It’s off limits until I get some sense from you. What’s going on? Have I done something to upset you? If I have, just tell me – I can’t handle game-playing.’