Christmas at the Comfort Food Cafe

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘Yeah. On the nights I’m not doing those things. On those nights, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you and eating my Maltesers Easter egg. Or Caramel. I don’t mind either.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ I say, standing up and starting to walk again. We’ve kept it just light enough for me to start to relax around him again, and that’s exactly the level I want to keep it at.

  ‘And in the meantime,’ I add, looking at him over my shoulder, ‘we have some time left. So let’s make the most of it. Last one to that rock over there has to do a striptease to the soundtrack of ‘It’s Getting Hot In Here’…’

  Chapter 21

  The big day has finally arrived, and I am feeling suitably nervous. Part of that is because my mum and dad are here, so I feel the need to be on my best behaviour. It wouldn’t do to give one of them a heart attack in the middle of the service.

  They’re staying in their new-but-pre-loved motorhome, which Cherie has let them park up at the Rockery. My parents are interesting people. Interesting in that they appear to be completely boring, but aren’t.

  My dad, Ken, is a retired engineer, and my mum, Val, stayed at home with us until we were teenagers, when she started working part time in the food hall at the local Marks and Sparks. This resulted in some excellent ready meals for weekend dinners, and as many packets of Percy Pigs as we could eat. Laura once stuffed her face with so many we thought she’d turn pink and start oinking.

  On the surface, they’re quiet and respectable, neat and tidy, and like nothing more out of control than a game of bingo. They have a big selection of board games, and drive Lizzie and Nate nuts by banning their electronic devices and dragging them around bird sanctuaries and wildlife reserves to see badgers and stuff like that. Every modern teenagers’ dream.

  But give them a few drinks and they are completely different people. Christmases, especially, had a tendency to go a bit Phoenix Nights on us, especially after Dad bought the karaoke machine. They both like to dance, and would inevitably end up doing some disgustingly smoochy numbers that made me feel a bit sick in my mouth. I mean, no child wants to imagine their parents as sexually active human beings, do they? Even if all the evidence – such as your own existence – suggests otherwise.

  They arrived yesterday, and I stayed at Hyacinth with Laura and the kids for the night. Cherie had always warned me she would want to reclaim her little slice of attic heaven for the one night before her wedding, and I suspect she spent it smoking, drinking and listening to music, all on her lonesome. Possibly while wearing a mudpack on her face.

  It’s a big deal, agreeing to share your life with someone after years of being alone. Her apartment is as close to ideal as I’ve ever seen for a single woman, and I admire her bravery in giving it all up. In taking that gamble, marrying Frank, moving to his farmhouse – though I wouldn’t be surprised if she manages to wangle the odd night back at the café anyway. Some habits are hard to break completely.

  There’s no doubt they are right for each other. They’re one of those couples who are heart-breakingly sweet even when they’re just sitting together reading the paper and drinking coffee. And, despite their age, this feels exciting – like a wonderful new beginning for both of them, a second chance after losing their partners.

  The atmosphere here is buzzing, and I’m just as infected with it as everybody else – despite it being Christmas Eve, traditionally one of my least-favourite days of the year. There’s a background noise of choral Christmas songs, but I’m refusing to let that drag me down. It even sounds quite… nice, which is a testament to how good the wedding vibe is.

  Frank was right about the weather – of course – and the snow has finally come down properly. It’s not dig-your-way-out-of-the-door snowy, but there are several inches layed down on the cliffs and the beach, making them look like they’re wrapped up in a big, fluffy white duvet.

  The air is clear but chilly, the kind that makes your breath gust out of your mouth when you speak, and the sun is a spectacularly gorgeous shade of yellow, like lemonade pouring from the sky. Matt and Sam and Scrumpy Joe were here early, setting up the chairs, which are arranged in long rows that twist and turn around the various wooden picnic tables.

  Some people are sitting next to each other in lines on chairs, like at a normal wedding; others are on the picnic benches, and some are perching on the tables themselves. There are even stools set up around the inflatable snowmen, and someone – I’m guessing one of the Tall Blokes – has been up a stepladder and draped garlands of white and red roses around their fat necks. It’s not a conventional set-up, but why would anyone expect that?

  I’m trying to hide near the back, because that is very much my style, and it also means I get a great view of the assembled Budbury masses. I look around and I see that pretty much everyone I’ve met over the last month is here.

  Edie is looking wonderful in one of those old-lady coats with a brooch at the collar and everything she is wearing is pale blue, even her tights. It goes brilliantly with her white wellies.

  The wellies are visible on a lot of feet, and have proved to be a very popular addition to the festivities.

  Cherie had Lizzie and Nate handing them out at the gate to the garden and I noticed several women shucking off their heels in relief. It’s a café on a steep hill in the middle of winter – stilettoes just don’t cut it. The two of them are pleased as punch to have a job, and they look a bit like ushers at a traditional wedding, but ones that ask your shoe size rather than whether you’re with the bride or the groom.

  Lizzie looks absolutely stunning in what I can only describe as a little black dress for Gothy teens, a kind of skater fit that she’s coupled with thick black tights and Doc Martens. Her hair is long and shiny and straight, flowing golden down her back, and Josh can’t stop looking at her. I have to make a conscious effort not to narrow my eyes at him.

  She is also taking pictures of everyone as they arrive, and has been buzzing around doing it all day – she’s set up an Instagram page for the wedding, and plans to get them all printed out as her gift to Frank and Cherie.

  Willow’s mum, Lynnie, is sitting with Edie, looking distracted but not distressed, and the front two rows of the chairs are taken up with the happy couple’s family – Frank’s impossibly blonde-and-gorgeous tribe from Australia, and Cherie’s sister’s group. Brenda is smaller than Cherie, but you can see the resemblance. She looks happy to be here, surrounded by her kids and grandkids, celebrating her sister’s marriage. I suppose they have a lot of lost time to make up for.

  Ivy and Sophie Wellkettle are here, sitting alongside the Scrumpy Jones family, and perched on the end of their row are Katie and Saul, who is looking super-dapper in a tiny, toddler-sized suit complete with a bow tie that he’s already trying to pull off.

  Then, of course, there are Budbury’s equivalent of male supermodels – or, as they are sometimes known, Matt and Sam. Matt is Frank’s best man, and is looking like Han Solo Goes To A Wedding, extremely handsome but slightly uncomfortable in his black suit and tie. Sam is… well, Sam is quite a sight to behold.

  He’s off to one side, manning the sound system, but every now and then his eyes seek me out and he gives me a big, dazzling, dimpled grin. I can see his blue eyes sparkling from here, and he’s even had his hair trimmed for the occasion.

  He’s dressed in the same kind of black suit as Matt, with a smart single-breasted jacket, but he hasn’t bothered with a tie. Just a plain white cotton shirt, a few buttons open at the neck. The big advantage of his work wardrobe consisting of cargo pants and fleece jackets is that he looks breath-takingly different now he’s all tarted up. Big yums. Even watching him is getting me a bit hot and bothered, and I am having some decidedly wicked thoughts about undoing a few more of those buttons later on. If we can fit it in before he leaves to see his family, that is.

  I drag my eyes away from him, and carry on surveying the scene around me.

  The gazebo is decorated with endless strands
of white and red roses, twined and twisted and draped around the whole structure, so it almost looks as though it’s actually part of a beautiful, wild, overgrown garden and not a structure at all.

  Cherie has hired loads more patio heaters to dot around, each of them throwing off a warm glow that stops us all from freezing in our seats. Between the flowers and the view down to the bay, it’s one of the prettiest settings I’ve ever seen.

  My mum and dad are nearby, Dad wearing the same multi-purpose funeral/wedding/Christening suit he’s had for at least two decades, and Mum in her very best Per Una ensemble, complete with a lilac felt hat that matches her frock.

  Midgebo is with them, being kept still and quiet by Dad’s never-ending supply of training treats, which he’s sneaking to him every minute or so. If you didn’t know, you’d think my dad had some kind of dog hypnosis thing going on – the pup is sitting, tongue hanging out, staring at him with the intense concentration of a sniper setting up his target.

  There’s a low murmur of chatter against the choral music, lots of laughter, and a sense of real anticipation building as we all keep casting half an eye at the café doors.

  Frank, looking dapper in a dark grey three-piece suit, and Matt are under the gazebo, at the table with the registrars. The ladies – Laura, Willow and Cherie herself – are inside somewhere. Cherie has refused to have anybody give her away, stating rather grandly that ‘I belong to myself, and I will give myself away.’

  I imagine the three of them are in there doing last-minute make-up checks and spritzing each other with perfume, but for all I know, they’re downing a bottle of champagne each and telling each other dirty jokes and laughing at keeping us all waiting.

  I notice Sam answering his phone and nodding, which tips me off to the fact that we are – perhaps – about to get our first view of the terrible trio.

  The doors to the café open, and all heads turn to look. Sam hits a button, and the quiet, dignified, Christmassy stuff ends. It is immediately replaced with new music that starts to pour from the speakers that have been set up on poles around the garden. I definitely wasn’t expecting Cherie to go for something like ‘Here Comes the Bride’, and perhaps had been anticipating some classic rock, a bit of Led Zep maybe. Possibly a bit of Janis Joplin, or Cream.

  But, surprising pretty much everyone there, including me, the song now flowing infectiously into our ears is ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams. I hear little Saul screech with delight – I’m guessing he knows this one from the Despicable Me movie – and his clapping starts everyone else off as well.

  By the time Cherie actually steps out into the garden, pretty much everybody is clapping and singing along, and the mood is awesome. She’s not daft, Cherie – she’s chosen a song that has put a smile on all our faces. It’s impossible to resist.

  When she does step out, it’s worth the wait. She looks absolutely amazing as she emerges into the garden, Willow and Laura behind her. Her red dress is as beautiful as I remember, and she’s wearing some kind of brilliant white faux-fur throw over her shoulders. Her hair is piled up on her head and sprayed with something glittery, and her sparkling white wellies somehow only add to the effect.

  Her face breaks out into a huge smile as she sees everyone, and her eyes seek out Frank, who is standing up at the front looking like he just won the lottery. Which he kind of has.

  Willow and Laura look almost as good in their green frocks, and Bella Swan trots after them in her green and red coat. All three of the women have gorgeous bouquets: red roses for Willow and Laura, and white for Cherie.

  Everyone cheers and roars and stands up as the three of them do a long, circuitous route around the whole garden, so everybody gets a good look at them while Pharrell urges us all to clap along.

  Happy, I think, clapping so hard my palms are starting to sting. It’s such a perfect choice – because everyone here looks so very, very happy. Like they’ve forgotten whatever problems they might have; put aside all their worries for the time being, and are just enjoying themselves, lost in this moment of celebration. Like someone has hit the pause button on real life.

  It’s really, genuinely lovely, and by the time Cherie joins Frank and the registrar at the table under the flower-strewn gazebo, I realise I have tears streaming down my cheeks.

  I swipe them away as quickly as I can, cursing myself for this new-found sentimental streak, and look back up. Sam is watching me from his spot off to the side, and he smiles. I know everyone can see him smile, but I also know that smile was just for me – and it zings all the way across the various heads and hairstyles and hats and hits me smack bang in the heart. Boom.

  I smile back, and I’m still crying, and my emotions are all over the place, and I have absolutely no idea what is going on with me.

  Maybe it’s just because I’m Happy.

  Chapter 22

  Everything went off perfectly. Frank recited a poem about second chances and love regained that had us all in tears, and Cherie read out the lyrics to Led Zeppelin’s ‘Thank You’, changing every ‘woman’ to ‘man’ as she went. There were jokes about Frank’s burnt bacon butties and Cherie’s hip replacement, and even the registrars seemed entranced by it all.

  Once the ceremony was over and Frank and Cherie were officially declared man and wife, Frank bent his bride over one arm and gave her such a passionate smacker that the whole crowd cheered.

  The food was set up inside, and Laura dashes straight from her Matron of Honour duties to start uncovering platters of sandwiches and bowls of salad and huge, warmed cauldrons of soup and stew and chilli, all set up on hot plates.

  One whole table was weighed down with nothing but breads, cakes and pastries, and at the centre of it all was the cake – a huge, rectangular affair decorated with a map of Budbury and beyond, with little red icing love hearts at the various places that hold special significance for the couple: the café, Frank’s farm, the beach, the pub, and even the hospital where Cherie was taken after her fall.

  That last one doesn’t sound especially romantic, but it was after her operation that Cherie went to stay with Frank while she recuperated – and where they both finally realised there was more to their relationship than just being friends.

  The menfolk busily clear some of the chairs while everyone else is eating, and the gazebo is transformed from a wedding venue into a stage for the band. Willow has set up a hot chocolate station, complete with giant tubs of tiny marshmallows and a row of squirty cream cans, and Edie and Lynnie have unveiled an entire table full of Christmas arts-and-crafts activities to keep younger guests entertained.

  There are quite a few dogs here, not just Bella Swan and Midgebo, and they are either milling around trying to trip people up, or snoozing in the Doggie Play Pen that lives next door to the café – a fenced-in field with sheltered areas, squishy beds and water bowls.

  People are milling around between the café and the garden, talking and laughing and eating and drinking, while the band gets set up for Cherie and Frank’s first dance and the ensuing party.

  I am standing chatting to my mum and dad when Sam walks over to us. I am not a hundred per cent sure how to handle this one – how do I introduce him, after all? I don’t have the right words to describe what we have. He’s not quite a boyfriend. He’s more than a friend. It’s… complicated. Certainly too complicated to explain to the parentals, so I decide not to even try. I’m pretty sure they’ll come to their own conclusions without any help from me, anyway.

  We’re all holding bowls of food and drinks, and my dad does a weird juggling thing where he manages to shake Sam’s hand while also balancing his chilli and pint of Guinness in the other. Crazy skills, forged over years of going to the pub with his mates, I suppose.

  Sam is stone-cold sober, as he has to leave before too long to get to the airport, and of course, so am I. Neither of my parents, however, fit into that category, and I see my mother’s eyes widen as she looks at him.

  To be fair, he is looking pretty
handsome. And he does have the accent, which is like a secret weapon where women are concerned. He casually throws one arm around my shoulder as he talks, which intrigues her even further. I can practically see the questions bubbling around in her mind, fizzing about just as much as the glass of Prosecco she’s clutching.

  After we chat for a few moments – me constantly wondering when Mum is finally going to crack and ask him what his intentions are – Sam says, politely: ‘Would it be all right if I borrow Becca for ten minutes? I’m heading back home soon and I just need a quick word with her.’

  Of course, they agree, but I can almost feel the pressure of their eyes following us as we walk away. I am smiling, because it is funny – I’ve never, ever introduced my parents to a man I’ve been romantically involved with. Sometimes, I barely introduced myself. So now they see me here, with this guy – tall, good-looking, polite, gainfully employed – and must be wondering what the hell is going on. It probably seems like some kind of Christmas miracle.

  ‘Just come down to the carpark with me,’ Sam says, grinning at me over his shoulder. He’s thrown a big, long woolly scarf around his neck, which looks odd with the suit – like he’s dressed as Doctor Who for a convention or something. I guess, from the patchwork colours and uneven knitting, that it was created for him by one of his sisters or nieces.

  I follow him down the hill, which has been cleared of snow and gritted, still grateful for the grip on my white wellies, until we reach his van.

  His van is a magical wonderland at the best of times – filled with odd bits of rock, sand samples, various tools, bits of netting and plastic sheeting, and random items like binoculars and huge flasks. There’s also, I see, as he throws open the doors, a present.

  It’s chunky and oddly shaped, and wrapped in shiny red paper. He picks it up and hands it to me, smiling shyly. I accept it from him, but then feel instantly guilty not to have anything to give in return. Since things really took off with Sam, I’ve not been doing a lot of Christmas shopping, which I really should have.