Christmas at the Comfort Food Cafe

by Debbie Johnson

  But then I hear my name, whispered, quietly but desperately. Whispered with an Irish accent.

  ‘Becca!’ it hisses. ‘Are you awake? I’m bloody freezing out here… and possibly about to die…’

  I jump out of bed and do a quick clothing check before I go any further. Yes, I am wearing clothing. Even if it’s just a Sons of Anarchy T-shirt that ends above my knees. That’ll do, pig.

  I walk over to the door and open it. Outside, I see Sam – squeezed onto the two-foot-wide ledge of the Juliet balcony, a look of grim determination on his face. It’s the kind of balcony that’s made for looking out from or, at the most, sticking a few potted plants on. Not, for sure, the kind that easily holds up six-foot plus of shivering manhood.

  His knuckles are white, grasping the rail, and his face is a comical mixture of primal fear and an attempt to look cool. I find his bravado endearing, and stand back as I say: ‘You better come in, Sam. But maybe you could have used the other door?’

  He clambers over the railing, and lands in a tangled heap of long legs and twisted arms, making an undignified ‘oof’ noise as he rolls over the carpet.

  I close the balcony door again – because it really is freezing out there – and by the time I turn around, he’s stretched out full length on the floor, laughing. He’s wearing black jeans and a snug white T-shirt that’s riding up over his flat stomach, and I avert my eyes.

  ‘Nice nightdress,’ he says, looking up at me. ‘I didn’t realise you were a secret biker chick.’

  I realise that he is probably getting an eyeful from that position, and walk over to the well-used tea-and-coffee-making-facilities to put the kettle on.

  ‘Yep. I ride with the Didsbury Dirty Dogs.’

  ‘Is that a thing?’

  ‘Probably not. Coffee?’

  He sits up, and leans against the edge of the bed, nodding. His blond hair is slightly shaggy from being stuck outside in the cold wind and his tanned flesh is goose-bumped. Mine is feeling a bit goose-bumpy as well – for completely different reasons.

  I notice that my hands are shaking slightly as I tear the tops of Nescafé sachets and bite down on my lip to try and bring myself back to reality. It’s one thing saying no to Sam in the middle of the day – entirely another when he turns up looking long and lithe and luscious in my hotel room in the wee small hours.

  ‘I thought,’ he says, grinning at me and running a hand though his hair so it’s left in furrows, ‘that it would be romantic, you know? I even had a rose in my teeth, but I dropped it once I realised how bloody small that balcony was…’

  ‘How did you even get up here?’ I ask, sitting on the bed, and throwing the edge of the duvet over my thighs.

  ‘Drainpipe to the first floor, then fire escape to the second. I know, I know… not my brightest ever move. In fact utterly ridiculous. But what can I say? You’ve got me all twisted up in knots. And it was like a scene from a Roman orgy in that ballroom by the time I left… Frank and Cherie were slow-dancing to Frank Sinatra, Matt and Laura were snogging under a table, even Frank’s grandson Luke was flirting with one of the waitresses… and all I could think about was you.’

  ‘I’m sure you could have found yourself some action if you’d tried hard enough, Sam. I mean, you’re not exactly ugly…’

  He laughs, and leans his head against the side of my calf.

  ‘Thanks. The DJ did have a twinkle in his eye, but he’s not my type… my only type at the moment is you. I keep telling myself to back off. To leave it. After everything you’ve told me… I know I should. But as soon as I’ve finished telling myself that, I’m outside, figuring out ways to make some big romantic gesture climbing up to your room…’

  ‘You’re lucky you got the right one. Edie’s next door. You’d have given her the fright of her life.’

  ‘She’d probably have decked me with her walking stick. But… anyway. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I ask, feeling confused. And feeling, if I’m honest with myself, a little swept away with the sincerity of his words. ‘What for?’

  ‘For hassling you. At the very least, for waking you up…’

  He stands to his feet, and stretches his arms over his head. I notice the edges of the dragon tattoo that I know lurks beneath his T-shirt, along with a purple swirl of bruising.

  ‘What happened?’ I say, pointing to the exposed flesh.

  He looks down, following my eyes to see what I’m seeing.

  ‘Oh… paint-balling. Luke is like, Olympic-level good at it. And Frank might be eighty, but he slaughtered me and Matt. I was on a team with Scrumpy Joe, who’d brought cider with him, predictably enough. He just hid under some camo-netting and got hammered while me and Matt were destroyed. Bloody painful. Feels like I’ve been driven over by a tractor. I’m probably completely covered in bruises.’

  He sits down on the bed next to me, and without being asked to do so, my fingers reach out and stroke the bruised skin. My touch is gentle, but he jerks in response, and one look at his face tells me he’s not hurting – he’s confused.

  ‘Let me see,’ I say quietly, not at all sure where this is going, but apparently convinced it needs to go somewhere. He raises one eyebrow at me and I nod.

  He does that cross-armed thing that guys do, pulling his T-shirt over his head and flinging it to the floor.

  He’s left bare-chested and pretty damn magnificent in front of me. His shoulders are broad and muscled, his body as ripped as I’d seen it on photos over the summer. Photos are one thing, though. The reality is something entirely different.

  Bruises are scattered over his torso and sides, mixing in with the ink of the tattoos to create an almost psychedelic tableau of smooth, sun-kissed skin. He leans back, and his abs ripple, and he smiles – a smile that tells me he knows he looks good, that he’s confident without being arrogant, that he will feel every bit as good as he looks.

  It’s a smile that both reassures me and challenges me. I know I could break this off now, and he’d be fine with it – disappointed, but still Sam. Or… I could do what I really want to do. Close the gap between us, touch as well as look. Let him take me away from my own mind. Lose myself in this moment.

  He isn’t pushing. He’s keeping his distance, as though he understands the war that is being waged in my battered brain. He’s letting me take control for now, even though I can see – due to having a working set of eyes – that he’s as aroused as I am.

  I feel something break inside me. My mind flitters back to my conversation with Laura earlier. About how I couldn’t go on living like this. About how nobody can survive that level of self-control. About all the extremely valuable nutrients you find in brown rice.

  I look at Sam, at the strands of golden hair curling on his bare shoulders. At the uneven breathing shuddering through his body. At the way he is maintaining a gap that I know his every instinct is screaming to close.

  I reach out. I run my fingers down his chest, following the ridges of muscle to the waistband of his jeans. I hear him suck in air, and feel his response beneath my hands. And I realise that she was right – and that for me, the moment for change is right here, right now.

  ‘Kiss me,’ I say simply, smiling to let him know I mean it. ‘I think you’ve earned it.’

  His fingers immediately twine into my hair, and he pulls me into his arms. His lips land on mine, gentle at first. It’s as though a fire is lit inside me, inside both of us, and within seconds I am lying beneath him. His knee is between my legs and I am moving against it shamelessly. His hand strokes its way under my top, edging higher and higher until he captures a nipple between his fingers and makes me moan.

  He pulls the T-shirt off me, and replaces his fingers with his mouth, sucking and biting at my breast until I am on the verge of some kind of implosion.

  I tug at his jeans, desperate now, needing him naked, needing to feel his skin against mine. Needing to feel alive.

  He looks at me, pupils dilated, breath ragged, yet still just about
in control enough to pause.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, quietly.

  ‘Stop talking, Sam,’ I reply.

  He doesn’t need telling twice.

  Chapter 16

  When I wake up, I am wrapped in Sam’s arms, our legs tangled in the rumpled sheets. Both naked. I take a moment to glory in that, before my brain starts functioning and things get complicated. My brain is a nightmare. I so wish it came with an off switch.

  I peek up at him, and realise that he is already awake. He grins at me, so lazily, so utterly charmingly, that I can’t help but grin back.

  ‘Morning, princess,’ he says, nuzzling into my hair. ‘Don’t worry, I kept you safe from the killer bunny rabbit…’

  ‘What?’ I say, momentarily confused.

  ‘The killer bunny rabbit. You were trying to karate chop it in your sleep, telling it to get away or you’d start singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ at it…’

  ‘Well. That would be enough to scare anything off. I have the kind of voice they include in the highlight reels of the X Factor. You know, those ones where you find yourself wondering if these people have no friends to stop them making tits of themselves?’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he replies, his hand dusting lightly over my tummy and making me wriggle. ‘You have other skills. How… how are you feeling?’

  Right now, I’m feeling horny again – but I know that’s not what he means. We were up for a lot of the night, and there wasn’t much talking going on. I had one condom in my bag – which had been there for well over two years, but we were in no mood to question sell-by dates – and for the rest of the time… well, we got creative. It’s interesting how much sex you can have without actually having sex. I might write a book about it, or at least start a blog.

  Alll things considered, it had been… amazing. Like I’d had years’ worth of sexual energy ready to unleash. I don’t think the poor bloke knew what had hit him. And now, here we are – snuggled up in bed in a strange hotel room, wondering what happens next.

  ‘I’m… okay,’ I reply, frowning as I try and figure it out. How do I feel? I’ve been avoiding exactly this kind of situation for so long, and now it feels… all right. Better than all right. It feels bloody good, in fact.

  ‘You sure?’ he asks, flipping one leg over my hip and tugging me even closer. ‘I know you wanted that last night, and I definitely did. But I don’t want to be responsible for… I don’t know, knocking you off track?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, letting my fingers drift over the delicious curve of his backside. ‘I’ve not woken up with the urge to do tequila slammers for breakfast, or snort cocaine off your arse. Lovely as it is.’

  I give the arse in question a little slap, and he rolls me over onto my back in retaliation. He has my wrists pinned above my head, and his position leaves me in no doubt at all that he’s ready to go again. The man is a machine. Which is one of the things I’m very much starting to like about him.

  ‘You know when you climbed that balcony, with a rose in your mouth?’ I ask, between taking nibbles of his neck.

  ‘Mmmm?’ he replies, not really paying attention any more.

  ‘You really should have brought more condoms.’

  ‘I know,’ he says, collapsing down on top of me and laughing into my chest. ‘I’m a useless feckin’ eejit!’

  He is talking with a thick mock-Irish lilt that makes me smile. I stroke his hair, and feel – for just a moment, a rare, rare moment – at peace with the world. I pause, and wallow in it like it’s a river made of chocolate.

  ‘So,’ he says, clambering off me and lying flat on his back by my side. ‘Are you done with me now, Becca?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, fearing he is about to ruin my wallowing.

  ‘I mean, is this it? I know, because you’ve told me, that you’re not a relationship kind of girl. And that’s okay – I’d just like to know one way or the other. Because if this was a one-off, I won’t carry on hanging round like a lap dog looking for more. I’ll just… I don’t know, join the priesthood or something!’

  I elbow him sharply in the ribs, which produces a deeply satisfying ‘ugggh’ noise. He’s ruined my peaceful moment, and he deserved some punishment, but… well, it’s a fair question. The only problem is I don’t really know the answer to it.

  ‘Sam, I’ve got to be honest here – I don’t have a clue. This is uncharted territory for me – actually sleeping with a man I like. Last night was wonderful. And possibly addictive, although that means bugger all with me, I’m the sort of person who gets addicted to jelly babies given enough exposure. I mean… I do like you. A lot. You make me laugh. You know a lot about ammonites, which is a particular passion of mine… and… well. You ain’t at all bad in the sack, sir…’

  ‘But?’ he asks, knowing it’s coming.

  ‘But I’m not Laura. I’m not looking to settle. I’m not looking for a life-changing reason to move to Dorset. I’m not looking for the love of my life to whisk me off my feet.’

  ‘What are you looking for, then?’

  I throw my hands in the air, and puff out a big, long frustrated breath. Frustration with myself, not anything that he is saying.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe something. Maybe nothing. I’m going home in a few weeks anyway… and then this will all feel like a dream sequence in a film.’

  ‘Will you remember me with wavy lines over my face, then?’ he asks.

  ‘I will. And wavy lines over all your other parts as well…’

  I turn to face him, not wanting him to feel bad. Not wanting him to feel like he’s woken up with a stranger. Not wanting him to feel like our night together had meant nothing to me – because it had. It had meant so much. Possibly, if I am entirely honest with myself, too much.

  ‘Sam, I’m a disaster area. You already knew that. It’s not like you weren’t warned. I’m not the sort of person your mother and sisters would want you to settle down with…’

  ‘Jesus, no! And that’s probably exactly why I like you so much, Becca. So… how about this? We carry on seeing each other while you’re here. No pressure. No big conversations. No awkward silences. Just us, enjoying each other, for the time we have left together.’

  I consider what he’s saying, and examine his face to see if he’s sincere.

  ‘Are you offering yourself up to be used, abused and cast aside?’ I finally ask, laying a hand on his chest and working my fingers up to his shoulders. Damn, the man is built. It’s impossible to think clearly with this much of him, this close.

  ‘Well,’ he replies, letting his hands roam in an equally distracting fashion, ‘when you put it like that… yes. Yes I am.’

  He leans forward to kiss me, which is perfect. It stops me thinking, and allows me to simply feel instead.

  Things are just starting to heat right up when there is a tentative knock on the door. I ignore it at first, but it comes again – a gentle but insistent tapping.

  ‘Becca? Are you all right, my love?’ comes a concerned voice. ‘It’s half past nine and they stop serving at ten, you know…’

  It’s Edie. I am naked, wrapped in the arms of my new lover and consumed with carnal thoughts – carnal thoughts that are now being interrupted by a ninety-year-old lady wondering if I’m coming down to breakfast.

  I giggle, and Sam’s eyes go so wide he looks like a cartoon character.

  ‘Okay, Edie!’ I shout, jumping out of bed and away from Sam. ‘I’ll see you down there!’

  I hear her plodding away towards the lift, and stand, hands on hips, looking down at him. Naked. Gorgeous. Spread all over my bed. Mine – for now at least.

  ‘She’ll know,’ I say, smiling. ‘She sees everything.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he replies, climbing out of bed and rooting around for his clothes. ‘But she says nothing. I just hope we weren’t too noisy last night…’

  Chapter 17

  The next week passes in a blur. There are several impromptu shifts at the Comfort Foo
d Café, as Laura is in her element with the wedding planning. She’s organising the catering, sorting out the band, and co-ordinating the arrivals of several guests.

  Among them is Frank’s family, his son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter, Erin, who are flying over from Australia for the big event and spending a few days in London first. Also on the list is Brenda, Cherie’s older sister, her five children and a scattering of grandchildren, who are all coming down from Scotland on a coach.

  One of Laura’s big projects over the summer seemed to be specialising in repairing broken families. Cherie and Brenda had fallen out when they were kids, and not spoken for decades before she managed to track her down and arrange for her to come to the café for Frank’s eightieth. She also persuaded Peter, his son, to come from Oz with Luke – and Luke ended up staying, working with Matt and Frank and gaining the veterinary experience he needed for his future career. At the same party, I knew she’d also flown in Sam’s sisters.

  Somewhere along the way, as she was busy healing everybody else’s familial wounds, she also managed to start healing her own – with a little help from Matt, Cherie and the children. As I’ve said before, Laura was made for happy endings. She got all the sugar and spice, and I got the puppy dog’s tails.

  I’ve done all the work I need to do for my own clients, as the unofficial Christmas shut-down has well and truly begun, and I am enjoying working at the café, spending time with Willow and getting to know the other customers.

  Katie, the bedraggled single mum, and her devil child, Saul, call in most days. I think it fills in time for them, and Saul is always treated like a minor princeling while his mother relaxes for half an hour with tea and toast. No matter what they order, there is an unspoken rule that she only gets charged for a cuppa. I know from Laura that Cherie was left plenty of money when her hubbie died, which is a good thing – because the Comfort Food Café isn’t run like any ordinary business. It’s more of a social service than a money-making enterprise.

  So, I am kept pleasantly busy during the day. If I’m not working, I’m out and about with Midgebo, Lizzie and Nate, who are starting to get excited about the end of term in a few days’ time. Lizzie and Josh still seem to be going strong, and I mortified us both by forcing her to discuss the details of their relationship.