A Wedding at the Comfort Food Cafe

by Debbie Johnson

  I’m about to point out that it’s only nine o’clock, but I realise that (a) I’m already in bed, and (b) he works on the land and this is practically midnight for him.

  ‘No bother, Mr P,’ I say reassuringly. ‘I spoke to the GP this afternoon – he’s sending out a new prescription for me to fill, and I’ll drop it off tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing, see …’ he yells, then hesitates.

  ‘What’s the thing?’ I ask, trying to stifle a yawn.

  ‘The thing is, I only went and found them, didn’t I?’

  I sit up again, suddenly more alert than I was five seconds ago.

  ‘The pills?’ I ask, possibly stupidly.

  ‘Of course the bloody pills – what else would I be talking about?’ he responds, with his usual charm and charisma.

  ‘You found them.’

  ‘That’s what I said – can you not hear me properly?’

  He raises his voice another few decibels with that, and I quickly explain that yes, I can hear him fine, thank you very much.

  ‘What happened?’ I enquire, wondering if Seb somehow snuck them back. Knowing that if the next words out of Mr P’s mouth involve an impromptu visit from his favourite massage therapist that evening, then I’ll know exactly what happened.

  ‘Me being a useless old fool is what happened,’ he says, sounding exasperated – though it’s hard to tell whether he’s out of patience with me, or him, or the passage of time.

  ‘And did Seb come around again?’

  ‘What? Seb? Why would you think that, woman? What’s up with you tonight? No, no … I found them in that bloody box – the one with all the café stuff in it. I only came across them because I was fishing out the last scone – you were right on that one, love, they were delicious. Now, don’t ask me why I put the pill packet in there, because I haven’t the foggiest. I don’t even remember doing it, but obviously I must have. There’s no bugger else around to hide them for me. I also found my tea bags in the fridge the other day, but that’s another story …’

  He witters on for a small while, about getting older and being more forgetful and losing his mind, until I realise that he’s genuinely worried.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Mr P – you’re sharp as they come. I found my van keys in the soap dish on Friday, and Katie lost her phone for hours the other week, before she remembered she’d put it in the airing cupboard with her towels. We all forget stuff every now and then, and it’s nothing to worry about. If it carries on happening, we can talk some more, but please don’t upset yourself about it. I’m only glad you found your painkillers.’

  ‘Yes, love – me too. Though I’m still feeling pretty decent after that massage, I have to say. Anyway. I’ll leave you to it –I justwanted to let you know. If I left it till morning, I might have forgotten!’

  He ends the conversation abruptly, as he usually does, and I am left lying on my bed, in a Teletubbies T-shirt, feeling about as awful as I’ve ever felt.

  If only I’d waited. If only I’d given it more time. If only I didn’t have the history I have with Seb, and hadn’t automatically jumped to the conclusions I did.

  I didn’t accuse him, no – but I asked. And I asked in such a way that obviously left him with little doubt about what I thought had happened.

  I was unfair, and I was wrong. I forgot the basic Budbury principle that everyone deserves a second chance. And now I need to apologise.

  I only hope I’m not too late.

  Chapter 25

  The lights are still on in Hyacinth, which is probably a good sign. It’s dark outside now, the sky a deep inky blue streaked with almost neon pink cloud. It’s quite psychedelic in its own way, and on another night, I might be tempted to take out my phone for some photos. Not this night, though.

  I’m standing on the doorstep, holding a cake in a tin. It’s a white chocolate and raspberry torte that Willow had brought home from the café, made by Cherie that afternoon. It feels pretty lame now I’m lurking here in the dark – ‘Hi, I’m sorry I accused you of being a thief, a liar, and a druggie, but hey, these things happen – fancy a slice of cake?’

  It seemed like a good idea at the time, and at least it gives me something to do with my hands while I wait for him to answer the door.

  When he does open it, he stares at me for a few seconds, surprised, his eyes going from me to the cake tin and back again. He says nothing, but raises his eyebrows in query.

  ‘I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I brought you a cake …’ I say, holding it forward.

  He stands there, arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment I don’t think he’s going to let me in. Can’t say that I’d blame him.

  ‘What kind of cake?’ he eventually asks, sternly.

  ‘The world’s most delicious cake, to go with the world’s most genuine apology. I’m so sorry, Seb. I really am. I was way too quick to jump to the wrong conclusions, to assume the worst about you. Please say you’ll forgive me.’

  He gestures me inside, and replies: ‘I’ll think about it.’

  I glance around, and see that the place has been tidied up. The fruit has been emptied from the big wooden bowl, the scattered clothes have been removed, and the Spanish-language paperback he’d been reading has gone. All that’s left in the room is me, him, and his packed suitcase.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ I ask, laying the cake tin on the table.

  ‘Maybe,’ he says, sounding way more casual than he must feel. There are lines on his face that I swear weren’t there this afternoon, and he sounds exhausted. ‘Why are you here, Auburn?’

  ‘Like I said: I’m here to apologise. Mr Pumpwell found his tablets, and I was a jackass about it.’

  He nods, looks marginally satisfied, then asks: ‘And if he hadn’t found them? Would you still be apologising?’

  I can’t think of anything to say to that other than ‘No, probably not’, which won’t help the situation. He knows that anyway – he’s just making a point.

  I feel bad about all of this – terrible – but in my defence there were reasons for me reacting the way I did. I’m not an inherently judgemental person – I would never have come to the same conclusion if, for example, Matt had been there when the tablets went missing. I didn’t leap from A to B without a behavioural road map.

  ‘Seb, I said I’m sorry, and I truly am – but it wasn’t the world’s most crazy idea, was it? I’m sorry if it hurts to hear that, and I’m probably not very good at this apology business, but it’s true. You turn up here, out of the blue, after years and years, saying you’ve changed. But you can’t expect me to automatically go along with that. I was wrong about the pills, and I regret it all – but I had my reasons …’

  He lets out a sigh, and runs his hands over his face like he’s washing it, and tries on a sad smile.

  ‘I know. I have to accept that, I suppose, Auburn. It just … well, what’s that thing you used to say, knocked me for seven?’

  ‘Six. But I know what you mean.’

  He looks around at the clean room, at the suitcase, and then at me. His eyes linger on my face, and I feel a slow blush spread over my cheeks. For some reason, it suddenly feels quite warm in here.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing any more, Auburn … I came here to see if there was any spark left between us. To see if my wife was still the woman I loved. I found that my wife isn’t the woman I loved – she’s an even better version of her. And I found that on my side at least, the spark hadn’t died.’

  His eyes are fixed on mine, as though he’s trying to see into my mind.

  ‘I hoped … God, I don’t know what I hoped,’ he continues, sounding exasperated with himself. ‘That you’d feel the same, maybe? That you’d realise there was still something there … something that time and history and Finn couldn’t quite extinguish. So now it’s my turn to ask a question, Auburn. Tell me – was I wrong? Because I’m not so sure I was …’

  I’m leaning against the back of the door, and he is walking towa
rds me, taking smooth and easy steps, reminding me of some exotic black cat. Angel of Darkness on the prowl. He’s getting closer, and he’s staring at my lips, and I’m feeling both trapped and excited.

  Was he wrong? Is there a spark after all this time? Do I still have feelings for this man, and if I do, what are they? Right now, he’s stalking towards me, closing the distance in a way that should have me running scared. Pushing him away. Screaming for help. Telling him no – that there is nothing left. No spark. That he is wrong, and always has been. That everything that once existed between us is dead and buried and will never be resurrected.

  I don’t do any of those things. I don’t say any of those things. I’m not sure I even feel any of those things. Instead, I stand there, helplessly, feeling the tug of physical attraction that I’ve been trying to deny ever since he arrived. The tug of our history, and what we once meant to each other. The tug of those vows we made, all those years ago. The tug of our story, which never seems to end – just takes twists and turns.

  He’s so close I can see the glittering specks of gold in his eyes, and feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, and the heat of his body against mine. He pauses, reaches out. Gently strokes my face in a way that feels both excitingly exotic and achingly familiar.

  He leans in. He kisses me. And God damn it all, I let him.

  Chapter 26

  Nothing says ‘happiness’ quite like cake for breakfast. Rule No 1 of the Auburn-verse.

  I am sitting in the café, and I feel on top of the world. The place isn’t technically open yet, but I happen to know the people who run it, so I get special treatment. And anyway, I need to load up now – I have a long journey ahead of me later today.

  Willow is going about her morning routine, filling salt and pepper shakers and stocking bowls of sugar cubes and replenishing the cold drinks in the chiller cabinet. Cherie is getting freshly baked bread out of the oven, and the smell is divine.

  Lynnie is at home with Van, working on their plans for a tree-house, and all is quite simply well with the world.

  I am sitting at a small table alone, unless you count my big, whopping bowl of coffee and walnut gateau and freshly poured cream. I do count it. In fact I might marry it one day, it’s so delicious.

  I’m tired after last night, but in a good way – the kind of tired that tells you you’re alive and kicking. I am filled with a new zest for life, for cake, and for the rest of the day.

  ‘You look happy!’ yells Cherie, as she starts slicing the bread up for the lunchtime sandwich selection. ‘Like the cat that got all the cream in the cream shop!’

  I grin, and lick my spoon – I have indeed got all the cream. I’m even very luxuriously reading a newspaper, which I have spread out on the table. I’m limiting myself to the TV reviews and travel section, though, as the rest is too depressing for the mood I’m in right now.

  I sip my coffee – a decadent mocha that goes perfectly with the cake – and sigh. The sunlight is streaming through the long windows, and I’m toying with the idea of a walk on the beach before I head over to the pharmacy. It feels like the right thing to do – to walk, and enjoy nature, and offer up a little prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening for all my blessings.

  I stretch out, and listen to the hum of activity around me: the sounds of Willow moving around, the gentle humming from Cherie as she works, the waves on the bay, the occasional cry of a seabird. It’s quiet, but not quiet, and it all adds to my sense of wellbeing.

  Just as I feel I’m reaching a peak of zen-like mindfulness that might qualify me to start my own YouTube channel, the doors to the café are flung forcefully open. They bang hard against the wall and clatter backwards and forwards for a moment.

  The loud thud destroys the harmony, and all three of us – me, Willow, Cherie – stop what we’re doing and stare across the room with slightly offended looks on our faces. The girls were chillaxing together, and this has startled us.

  I’m even more startled when I see Finn standing in the doorway, framed in the sunshine, squinting his eyes against the light inside. He’s wearing a suit and tie, but looks like a tramp doing a GQ photoshoot – all creased and ruffled and in a state of disarray I never associate with him.

  We all freeze for a moment, Willow and Cherie looking at me, me looking at Finn, the seagull perched on one of the tables looking at all of us.

  He spots me, and strides over, letting the door fall shut behind him. Cherie and Willow very noisily and ostentatiously go back to what they were doing, and Cherie quickly flicks on the radio to give us the Comfort Food Café version of a privacy screen.

  Up close, he looks even more dishevelled. His hair is in tufts, and his eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks like he’s not slept for years.

  ‘Finn!’ I say, standing up and staring at him. ‘What are you doing here? Do you want some cake?’

  He glances at the table, and shakes his head.

  ‘No,’ he replies firmly. ‘No cake. I need to talk to you. Right now. It’s important.’

  He sounds serious, and determined, and I try and hide the fact that I gulp a little. I eyeball Willow, who has paused in her domestics and is looking right at us with a curiosity that she can’t possibly hide. I pull a face at her, and she suddenly becomes engrossed in slicing up butter pats.

  Finn is oblivious to Willow, or the butter pats, or it seems anything but me.

  ‘Okay …’ I reply, grabbing up my things, and taking one last, long sorrowful look at my newfound love, coffee and walnut gateau. Farewell, sweet friend – we’ll always have tomorrow.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk down on the beach,’ I suggest, heading to the doors, hoping he follows. This place is nosy enough without the two of us performing live for everyone.

  He’s silent on the way down the hill, stomping on the steps, his face set and lined. Whatever it is he’s got to say to me, it’s definitely not going to be small talk. It’s going to be Big Talk, and my tummy flutters with nerves. I can feel his tension, and it’s contagious, seeping through to me and making me feel jittery.

  The beach is empty apart from dog walkers at this time of day – later on, in this sunshine, there’ll be families and walkers and fossil hunters galore. The ice cream van will be here, and the car park will be full, and the café will be brimming with customers. Now, this early? It’s almost serene.

  Finn, however, is definitely not feeling the serenity. He walks ahead of me for a few minutes, the smooth-soled leather brogues he wears with his suit sinking into the sand with every step.

  Eventually, he finds a place that seems to satisfy him – or maybe he simply works up enough energy to say what it is he wants to say. He whirls around to face me, and my stomach is churning now, throwing up acid and nausea in a nasty rhythmic dance.

  ‘Auburn,’ he announces, in that kind of tone that signals a speech is on the way, ‘I love you.’

  Well. That’s probably not what I was expecting, and I’m about to open my mouth and reply when he holds one hand up and stops me.

  ‘No. Don’t. Let me talk. I’ve been driving since five this morning and I might not be at my most lucid – so let me get this out, all right?’

  I nod, and make a zipped-up gesture on my lips.

  He pauses, and stares up into the sun with slitted eyes, then turns them back on me.

  ‘I love you,’ he continues, ‘and I want to be with you. I want to fight for you. I want to do whatever it takes to make this work. I realise that what we have is new, and that Seb will always have a place in your heart, but I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make this work. All those sensible things I said about leaving you alone to make your decision were wrong. I was wrong - I was being a coward. I wasn’t willing to take the chance on really, really fighting for this. I was scared of it – but now I see that fighting isn’t always bad. It isn’t always a sign of me being angry, or aggressive, or going back to the way I was.

  ‘It’s also a sign of passion and commitment and determinatio
n. And I am all of those things, Auburn – all of those things and more when it comes to you! So, I’ve decided I’m not going to give you space. I’m not going to let it all happen around me. I’ve decided I’m very much in the picture, and I am going to stay there, until you tell me otherwise. And even then, I won’t give up so easily – because you’re worth it.’

  This is quite a speech, and he trails off a little towards the end, gazing at me as though he’s run out of steam.

  ‘Did you rehearse all of that in the car?’ I ask.

  He manages a small grin, and replies: ‘I did, yeah. That’s why I couldn’t let you talk, you might have ruined my flow.’

  ‘It’s annoying when other people don’t play along with your meticulously prepared one-sided scripts, isn’t it? So … when did you come to all of these decisions, Finn?’

  He slips his hands in his pockets, and meets my eyes. I notice that his tie is partly undone, the knot unfurling along with his usual composure.

  ‘Last night. This morning. I got to the hotel, and I couldn’t sleep. At all. I was awake all night thinking about you, and missing you, and knowing that I’d messed up. That I needed to fix it. To start with I was going to call you, and see you when I got back, but … well. I was up and dressed for business by 4a.m. I had an action-packed day of seminars and workshops planned. And … I couldn’t face it. I just couldn’t. So I got in the car, and drove.’

  ‘And here you are.’

  ‘Yes. Here I am. And now I’ve said my piece, and you’ve not even responded, and you seem strange, and I’m starting to think maybe I’m too late. That I left it too long. That you’ve made your choice, and it wasn’t me.’

  He sounds so sad, so deflated. My heart aches for him, and I realise that my strangeness, my lack of immediate response, is bordering on the cruel – but I’m so surprised by it all that I’m momentarily lost for words.

  ‘I did make a choice, you’re right,’ I say, reaching out to touch his arm. ‘Last night … last night, Seb kissed me. I’m not going to lie about it, or even apologise – because I think it needed to happen. A lot of that stuff you’d said, about me needing to figure it out, about me needing to decide where he stood in my life, was spot on. I did need to.