We drive like this – in an uncompanionable silence – for perhaps two hours, before Lizzie announces that she needs a wee.
I tell her to hold it for a little while longer and then find a service station on the M5 Northbound. We traipse out of the car and I am momentarily thrown by the fact that I automatically go to the boot, to let Jimbo out as well.
It catches me unawares and I gulp back a moment of painfully raw grief as I snatch my hand back and follow the kids to go to the loo.
We stock up on some essentials and sit outside for a few moments, me with my coffee and them with orange juice and water. Neither Lizzie nor I are in the mood for food, but Nate, being a twelve-year-old boy, is tucking into a couple of hash browns.
It’s another gorgeous summer’s day and I’m sure that back in Budbury it’s absolutely beautiful. I can close my eyes, picture the sun reflecting off the sea and feel the soft, warm sand of the bay between my bare toes. And if I was there, I’d be able to hear the sound of the waves, the chirruping of the skylarks and the buzzing of the bees around the lavender pots in the café garden.
Instead, I am inhaling second-hand diesel fumes, listening to the roar of trucks shooting by on the motorway and looking at a one-legged pigeon peck at a discarded sausage roll. Even this early, it’s busy here and I’d felt jarred and harassed even making our way through the crowds to the toilets.
‘Better get used to the noise, Mum,’ says Lizzie, sarcastically. ‘We’ll be back in the city before you know it.’
We actually live in a relatively quiet cul-de-sac, but … well, she has a point. There’s no getting away from it – Manchester is a lot different from Budbury. Not worse – just different. We’ll all be suffering from a bit of culture shock for a few days, I’m sure.
Nate is quiet apart from his munching and I’m not sure if he’s still annoyed with me, or just tired.
Lizzie, obviously frustrated by my lack of fighting spirit this morning, sighs and pulls out her phone. She has stopped taking pictures now and I can’t say that I blame her. Service stations are not usually especially photogenic. She starts swiping through her album and I see that she is looking back through the shots she took last night at the party.
‘Did you look at the rest?’ she asks, her head bobbing back up as she speaks.
‘What do you mean, the rest?’ I reply.
She looks completely exasperated with me and lets out one of those ‘give-me-strength’ noises that parents usually make about teenagers, not the other way round.
‘Well, these are the pictures from last night. If you’re at all arsed, we can get them printed out and add them to the rest.’
‘Okay. If you say so. I still have no idea what you’re talking about, though.’
Nate looks at me as he chews then speaks around a half-swallowed mouthful.
‘I don’t think she’s even seen it, Lizzie,’ he says.
My daughter stares at me, horrified and shocked and possibly, I think, a little bit hurt? She grabs the car keys from the table and stomps off in such a temper I half expect to see a black cartoon rain cloud hovering over her head.
I think she is just going back to sulk in the car and shrug it off. I decide to finish my coffee in the not-that-fresh air, before imprisoning myself in solitary confinement in a metal box again for the next part of the journey.
Instead, I soon see her stomping all the way back again, face still angry, brandishing the gift that Cherie had presented to me last night.
The gift that I had left in the back of the car, untouched and unopened, and completely forgotten about.
To be fair, I’d had bigger things on my mind – but there was no point trying to explain that to Lizzie. Cherie said that she’d helped with my farewell gift, so she is understandably upset that I have discarded it.
She slams it down on the table so hard that my coffee cup quakes and declares, ‘Go on. Open it.’
She has her hands on her hips, her voice is huffy and I am well and truly in the doghouse. I think at least some of her anger is justified, so I do as I am told. I open it.
As I tear off the pretty wrapping paper, bit by bit, I see a black, leather-bound photo album inside.
It is, I realise immediately, exactly the same kind of black, leather-bound photo album that David always used to store our holiday pictures in.
I glance at Lizzie in surprise and I lift the album up, turning it to one side. Sure enough, she’s done the rest as well – I see a white sticker and written on it, in black marker, is BUDBURY – 2016.
Tears suddenly well up in my eyes and I look at her, and I love her so much, and I am so sad, and so grateful, and so overwhelmed, that I can’t even try and stop them.
I feel them drip down my cheeks and I try to say how sorry I am for not looking at the present earlier, and how much this means to me.
She shakes her head and sits down next to me. The anger has drained out of her and her eyes are shining too. Nate is staring at the table top, so I suspect he is feeling less than manly right now as well.
‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry. I know I’m the best daughter ever, no need to embarrass us all.
‘I just thought … well, it’s what he used to do, isn’t it? Dad? Every year. And now he’s not here and we have to start making our own memories, don’t we? At least I think we do. So … I thought this would be a start.’
I nod, still not capable of speaking, and stroke a stray lock of golden hair away from her forehead. I can see she is annoyed but tolerating it and it reminds me of the way I am with my mum as well.
‘Just look at it,’ she says, pointing at the album.
I open the first page and see that the pictures are ordered chronologically. They start with our journey and all the disasters that befell us. Poor Nate being sick. Us in a layby after getting lost. Jimbo curled up in the boot. A close-up of my Meatloaf’s greatest hits CD.
I turn the pages and see the whole of our summer unfold before me. All of the pictures I’ve heard Becca talking about are here – it’s a complete print-out of the infamous Instagram chronicles.
I see myself with a cupcake shoved in my mouth on that first night, I see Matt with a bra wrapped round his head and I see our first views of the Comfort Food Café and the beach.
I see beautiful shots of the bay, the cliffs and the countryside. Of the cider cave and Frank’s farm, and of her friends, and of Josh, never without his beanie cap.
Of Nate playing football with Matt and Frank and Sam, and Nate in the playground, and Nate with the guitar, frowning in concentration as he plucks out a few chords.
There are pictures of Cherie, face smiling and eyes crinkling, wearing an apron and covered in flour. Willow, doing a cartwheel, pink hair flying.
Edie May, her face half in shade as she sips tea in the café garden. Sam, posing for the surfing shots we sent to Becca, blonde hair sparkling with water. Frank, leaning against the back of his Land Rover, toasting the camera with what looks like a pint of cider.
There are photos of our trip to Sidmouth, the woods in the Rockery and me doing yoga with Lynnie. And there are so many bittersweet shots of Jimbo. Mainly of Jimbo asleep, in multiple locations, but also one of him looking adoringly at his precious Bella Swan as she lies curled up in his basket.
Eventually she points out a familiar picture to me. The one I’ve seen before, on her phone – the one of me and Matt holding hands, laughing, down at the beach.
We look so happy, so carefree. So very, very relaxed. The pain of it sears through me, sudden and hot and raw.
‘This,’ says Lizzie, pointing at the picture. ‘Is my favourite. This is the way you used to look, Mum, back when Dad was around. And this is one of the reasons we didn’t want to leave.’
I cast a glance in Nate’s direction and he just nods, looking glum and defeated. The fact that there was something going on between me and Matt clearly isn’t news to him.
‘I know you want to stay, love,’ I say, placing my
hand on top of hers. ‘But it’s … more complicated than that.’
‘No,’ she replies, shaking her head so her blonde ponytail wobbles, ‘it’s really not. It’s just you making it complicated. I know you’re probably worried and scared, and going through all kinds of what-if-he-dumps-me dramas in your mind. But you’re not a kid, are you? I mean, I’m the kid here – you’re a grown up. You’re supposed to be able to make big decisions and take risks, and do what’s best for us …’
‘That’s what I am doing!’ I reply, frustrated at both my inability to explain myself and the fact that part of me wants to agree with her.
‘The thing is, Mum,’ chips in Nate, in his quieter, more reasonable voice, ‘that we don’t want to go back to the way things were. If we have to go back to Manchester, we’ll cope. We’ll miss the village, but it’ll be all right – because it’s not just about where we are. It’s about the way we all feel. And we don’t want to go back to the way … well, the way we all were, before we left.’
‘He means the way you were,’ adds Lizzie, as ever less tactful.
‘What does that even mean? The way I was?’ I ask, genuinely confused.
‘Like a zombie mother,’ she replies. ‘Going through the motions. Looking after us. Doing the cooking, the cleaning and helping us with our homework. But doing it all like you were dead inside. We’re not stupid, Mum, we knew you were miserable – we just thought that was the way it was going to be from now on. We didn’t think anything would ever change, that you’d ever be your old self again …’
‘And then you did change,’ says Nate, firmly. ‘We went to Budbury and you started working at the café and you made all your friends, and you met Matt and you started to be … you again. You stopped doing that thing where you stare off into space for, like, hours at a time, and we know you’re thinking about Dad.
‘And you stopped locking yourself in the toilets every time you needed to cry and thought you were hiding it from us. And you stopped going to sleep with Dad’s old dressing gown.’
Lizzie is nodding furiously and I am looking at my children in something like wonder. I am so shocked, so sad, to hear everything that they are saying. I have put them through so much, been so selfish and have somehow managed to convince myself that I was doing all right.
I’ve written them off as ‘just kids’, when in reality they’ve been more perceptive than most of the adults in my life.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, reaching out to hold both their hands. ‘I had no idea, I really didn’t … God, I’m sorry … you shouldn’t have had to go through all of that … it wasn’t fair …’
‘You couldn’t help it,’ replies Lizzie, matter-of-factly. ‘We knew that and we didn’t blame you. But what wouldn’t be fair, now, is to go back to it. For the whole of this summer, it’s been like having our old mum back – and we want to keep her, okay? We don’t want to let her go.
‘We want to go back to Budbury and start again, and see what happens … I know you’re frightened. But if that was us, you’d tell us to be brave, wouldn’t you?
‘So this is us, telling you to be brave. Manchester without Dad isn’t home any more. It’s not like leaving our old house will make us forget him. Nothing will. But none of us are happy there and we were all happy in Dorset. Maybe we won’t always be, I don’t know. But we want to go back. Both of us.’
I look at Nate and he nods in agreement.
‘What about you?’ he asks, a note of hope creeping into his voice.
I gaze at both of my beautiful children and I love them so much it feels uncontainable.
‘I think,’ I say, closing the photo album shut with a little bang and standing to my feet. ‘That it’s time to go home.’
Chapter 39
We run up that hill, all three of us.
Admittedly, I am the slowest, but I still spring up those steps faster than I ever would have thought possible.
They wait for me at the top and we all hold hands once more, before we walk through the wrought-iron arch, with its sign of curved roses, and into the garden of the Comfort Food Café. Back home.
Everyone is there, clearing up the debris from the night before. Cherie is sitting at one of the tables, crutches propped next to her, directing the traffic. Edie May is next to her, her bright-orange VANS backpack at her feet, a paperback on her lap.
Frank, Peter and Luke are rolling away the hay bales and Willow is dumping all the leftover food into a recycling bag. The Scrumpy J Jones family is absent and I feel a beat of disappointment as Lizzie realises Josh isn’t here.
Sam and his sisters are all present, though, laughing, joking and shoving each other as they patrol the garden with big black bin bags, collecting paper plates, plastic cups, cracked water pistols and crushed cowboy hats.
We run towards them and Nate yells, ‘Hey! Everybody! We’re back!’
My son is so excited he is almost visibly vibrating and even Lizzie has a very un-cool grin on her face as we wait to be noticed.
They all pause and turn towards us and there is an instant response of shouts, greetings and more laughter.
Frank abandons his hay bale and walks over to us, grabbing me up in a huge hug.
‘About bloody time,’ he says, eyes crinkling with happiness. ‘Some people will do anything to get out of a bit of cleaning.’
I hug him in return and head towards Cherie.
‘I knew you’d be back,’ she says, simply, reaching out to squeeze my hands. ‘Felt it in my old broken bones, I did. Knew I could rely on you, my love.’
‘Well,’ I reply, delighted to see her, but still casting my gaze around looking for someone else. ‘You know that “reliable” is my middle name, don’t you?’
‘Ha!’ she exclaims, ‘I thought it might be … and by the way, he’s in with the dogs. Go get him and put him out of his misery, for goodness’ sake!’
I don’t even bother to feign ignorance. I think we’ve all come too far for that. Instead, I lean down, and lay a big, soppy kiss on her cheek.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For everything.’
I leave Cherie behind and I dash over to the dog paddock. I open the gate and immediately see him over at the far end of the field with Midge.
He appears to be trying to teach the puppy to sit in return for a treat, but Midge is so excited about the food he can’t stay still and his bottom is hovering in the air above the grass.
As soon as I shut the gate behind me, his ears prick and he turns around. He runs in my direction, tail whipping from side to side and I kneel down to scratch his ears. He licks my face and pees on the spot, so I am pretty sure that the puppy is pleased to see me at least.
I stand up and walk towards Matt. He is, predictably enough, not wearing a shirt again and his hair is flopping slightly over his forehead. His gaze is fixed a little to my left and I’m not so sure he feels quite as enthusiastic about seeing me as Midge does.
I can’t blame him. He took a chance, he had the courage to take a gamble and I was a big, fat coward. A coward who hurt him.
‘You’ve come back,’ he says, stating the obvious and shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts, almost as though he wants to keep them out of trouble.
‘I have,’ I reply, simply, closing the distance between us until we are only inches apart.
‘Did you forget something?’ he asks, finally looking down and meeting my eyes.
‘Well,’ I say, laying one hand on his side and pulling him closer. ‘For a start, I forgot my puppy.’
I stroke his warm skin and mash my hips up against his a little, and wrap my arms around him so we’re squashed up close together. I hold him tight and run my fingers over his lower back, and hook my fingers into the waistband of his shorts so he’s completely trapped.
‘Is that all?’ he responds and I see him trying to fight the grin that is spreading across his face.
As he speaks, he reaches down and wraps his hands in the curls of my hair. I know this move of his. I
t is the preamble to turning my face up for a kiss, and it is one hundred per cent guaranteed to turn me into a puddle of mush.
‘Funny you should ask, but no,’ I say, smiling up at him, letting him know how happy I am to be there, puddling with him, in the sunshine on the hill, with a puppy dancing around our feet.
‘I also forgot this,’ I add and stretch up on my tippy-toes so that our lips can touch.
He kisses me for a long time, extremely thoroughly, and I enjoy every single moment of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, when we eventually come up for air. ‘For leaving. And for not being brave.’
He throws his arm around my shoulder and I feel so snug there, tucked into his side. Like it’s exactly where I am supposed to be.
‘It’s all right,’ he says, as we walk together back to the garden. ‘I forgive you.’
He opens the paddock gate and Midge runs ahead of us, straight to a delighted Nate.
Our friends are all there, waiting for us, and I’m simply not sure it would be possible for them to look any happier.
Lizzie walks towards us and nods approvingly.
‘Right,’ she says, pulling her phone from her jeans pocket. ‘Let’s make a start on the next album …’
Down Dorset Way …
I must admit that when I booked our first holiday in Dorset, I actually secretly wanted to go to Cornwall, one of my favourite places on earth.
But with three kids and two dogs in the car, and the prospect of a lengthy drive from Liverpool, it seemed like a good compromise – a similar vibe, but with less time swearing on the motorway.
We headed off to our cottages near the village of Maiden Newton half expecting it to be a poor man’s Poldark country.
We couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead, we found a rich and varied county full of rolling hills, stunning countryside and of course a world-renowned coastline. We found pretty villages and wonderful pubs and gorgeous food. We found welcoming people, friendly faces, and heaven on earth for both the children and the dogs.
Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe Page 29
