Sunshine at the Comfort Food Café

by Debbie Johnson

  I nod, and shake his hand, and keep my mouth shut – because of course he’s right. We were lucky. This could have all ended so much more badly than with a stylish boot, and I know I’m only being waspish because I’m feeling so guilty about everything. That’s my load to carry, not his.

  I sit down next to Mum, who is gratefully sucking up milky tea from a plastic beaker and a straw. She finishes it off, and passes it to me with a satisfied sigh.

  ‘That was disgusting,’ she says, ‘full of sugar. My teeth might fall out immediately.’

  I glance at the beaker – she’s drained every last drop – and decide it can’t have been quite that disgusting.

  She seems exhausted after the effort of drinking the tea, and I press the button on the bed controller so she can lie flatter. Obviously I get it wrong first time and we spend an amusing few moments with her going up and down. It makes her laugh at least, and eventually she gets settled, sore foot propped up, head comfy, one hand still in mine.

  She looks up at me, and around at the ward, and I can almost pinpoint the moment she loses her grip on the here and now.

  ‘Where are we?’ she says, tiredly. ‘Why are we here?’

  I puff out a long, slow breath, and give her the usual reply, and encourage her to close her eyes and rest. I know she can’t help it, but I’m really very tired myself now, and it would be a relief to us both if she could get some sleep.

  She nods, and closes her eyes, and seems to drift off. I tuck her hand back beneath the blankets, and stand up to stretch. Laura’s jumper rides up with the movement, and I flash the auxiliary with my belly button. Lucky devil.

  I see Tom and Auburn heading back from the lifts, and smile as they walk over. I make a ‘shhh’ gesture with my fingers, and point to Mum, who at least appears to be sleeping.

  Auburn has taken off the Berghaus, and also her jeans, which were soaking. She’s wearing a long shirt-dress over the top, which protects her modesty, if not her knee caps. Tom, I can see, has donated Matt’s socks to her cause, his bare ankle bones peeking out between his jeans and his still-wet Converse. I hope he doesn’t get trench foot.

  Auburn is holding a plastic coffee cup, and her hands are so jittery, she’s splashing the liquid over the sides and onto her fingers. Tom notices, and takes it from her without a word. He puts it down on Mum’s table, and wraps me up in his arms for a hug.

  He kisses me briefly on top of my head, then lets me go. I feel strangely distant from him – from everyone in fact – and slightly as though I’m having an out-of-body experience. Hospitals will do that to a girl. I think it’s the incessant beeping; it makes you feel like you’re in a science fiction film.

  ‘She okay?’ he asks, quietly.

  ‘Yeah, she’ll be fine,’ I reply, gazing at Auburn with some concern. She looks as though her head might explode sometime soon, like that scene in Scanners. Crikey. I really am losing it.

  ‘It’s just a minor fracture,’ I explain. ‘She’ll be all right, really. Thanks for all your help tonight, Tom.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he says, also looking at Auburn now. She’s moving from one leg to the other like she needs the toilet, and is chewing her lip so hard I can actually see it bleeding. She’s staring at Mum intently, tearing at the skin inside her mouth.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ she whispers. ‘She could have died, and it’s all my fault. I’m bloody useless, and you’d both be better off without me.’

  Tom glances over at me, and we both share a ‘WTF?’ moment. I reach out, and take her hands in mine. They’re shaking and cold and feel fragile, like brittle twigs. Her nails are bitten and the skin around them is raw and tattered and red.

  ‘Like Tom just said to me, don’t be silly, Auburn,’ I say, trying to steady her. ‘This isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine for being away from home. I should have known it was a mistake.’

  I cast a quick eye towards Tom, realising as I say this that it sounds harsh, but he shakes his head to let me know he understands what I mean.

  ‘No, it’s my fault,’ she insists, eyes filling with tears that spill out and paint silvery lines down her grimy cheeks. I think I’m a bit grimy too, and definitely have a few scratches on my face from dashing through those bushes. We all look like we’ve been fighting a guerrilla war.

  ‘Why do you think that?’ I ask. ‘These things happen – she’s made a break for freedom before, you know. Even with all the security precautions we take, she sometimes manages it.’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ Auburn mutters, staring at the floor. ‘I didn’t. I locked up and everything, just like you told me. I got her settled off for the night – she seemed absolutely fine, she really did. I was a bit hyper, so I stayed up, arsed around on the internet for a while. Watched a bit of Grey’s Anatomy. Then … well, then I went out for a smoke, didn’t I? In the garden. It was before it was raining, and I sat out on the bench, and talked to Wurzel, and had a fag. I even felt quite pleased with myself for managing everything without you around. That’s when I texted you. And when I came back in …’

  ‘You forgot to lock the back door?’ I finish for her, trying to keep any judgement out of my voice.

  She nods, pathetically, looking at me with her tear-stained face and tangled hair and aura of utter desolation.

  I know I need to reassure her. Tell her it’s okay. That nothing disastrous happened, after all. Tell her we all make mistakes; that she won’t make this one again; that we’re all learning how to cope with a difficult situation. That she’s only human, and none of us are perfect.

  I know I need to do this, but it takes a few moments for me to be able to actually translate that into words and actions. Because – in all honesty – I don’t want to. I’m wiped out, and exhausted, and angry, and kind of want to kill her. My one night away from home – my first night with Tom – was ruined, and Mum was put in a horrendously dangerous situation, all because of Auburn’s need for a nicotine rush.

  I can only imagine what this morning would have been like if she hadn’t. Maybe I’d have woken up in Tom’s arms, and we’d have had naughty morning sex, and eaten the rest of the Mars Bars, and everything would have been different.

  Now, though, I can’t even imagine being alone with him again – because this has been too much of a scare. I know I might change my mind, but at that precise moment, I can’t imagine feeling confident enough to leave Mum on her own at all.

  I’m angry, and sad, and tired, and wired, and all over the place. I force myself to calm down, and squeeze Auburn’s hands.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, trying to sound genuine, trying to remember the lines that will make me the kind of human being I want to be, instead of the resentful cow I actually feel like. ‘We all make mistakes. You’re only human, and none of us are perfect.’

  She examines my face, my forced smile, and I know she sees through it.

  ‘I know you don’t mean that. I know you’re upset,’ she says, pushing me just a tiny bit further than I am willing to be pushed.

  ‘I will mean it, later,’ I reply, sadly. ‘I know I will. For now, this is the best I’ve got, so please? Let’s just leave it. We’re all tired, and stressed, and there’s no point making it worse, is there?’

  She opens her mouth to argue – because she’s Auburn, and she always argues. Because my big sister has never been able to let things lie. Because she always needs to take everything to its absolute limit.

  This, more than the cigarette thing, annoys me – that she can’t just let it drop. Can’t just allow us all a moment to regroup. Can’t leave me alone even when I feel like I’m at breaking point, because it doesn’t suit her and her need for redemption.

  I close my eyes, and pray for patience, and shove my hands under my own elbows.

  As Auburn starts to say her piece, to carry on the self-flagellation that I just don’t have the energy to cope with, Mum wakes up. We all see her come to, suddenly, eyes snapping wide open. She looks around, at the cubicles
and the nurses and the other patients, and she says: ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We’re in the bloody hospital!’ I shout, before she gets to the second part of the same sentence I’ve heard over and over again all day, on a constant repeating loop.

  She stares at me, looking shocked. Auburn stares at me, looking horrified. The auxiliary stares at me, looking strangely sympathetic. Tom stares at me, looking incredibly sad. He reaches out to hold me, and I push him away. I can’t take his kindness, not right now. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it, and I certainly don’t deserve it. I wasted the very last shred of my patience on Auburn, when I should have saved it for my mother.

  I ignore them all, and dash to Mum’s side. I take hold of her hand, and kiss her forehead, and whisper to her: ‘I’m sorry I shouted. I was upset and tired. We’re in the hospital, Mum. You had an accident, and we needed to get some X-rays done on your ankle. It’s broken, but you’re going to be fine. You’ll get a stylish boot, and it’ll all be okay. I’m sorry I shouted.’

  She reaches up, and strokes my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ears just like she used to do when I was a little girl.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she says, smiling at me. ‘You look like you need a sleep. You go off now, and have a rest. I’ll be fine here. My daughter Willow will be back soon. She’s just been for a sleepover at a friend’s house.’

  Chapter 30

  I smile, and nod, and move away as quickly as I can. I don’t want her to see me cry, and I don’t have the energy to explain who I am again just now.

  Tom holds out his hand, but I can’t take it. I can’t take anything at all. There are no vacancies in Hotel Willow’s Brain.

  ‘I’m going for a break,’ I say, not meeting his eyes. ‘Can you and Auburn stay with Mum for a minute?’

  ‘Auburn can. I’ll come with you,’ he replies, firmly.

  I place one hand on his chest, and look up at him. He’s so perfect, in every way – but I can’t be around him. Or Mum. Or Auburn. Or the kindly auxiliary. I need to be alone, just for a moment.

  ‘Please, Tom. I just really need a few minutes on my own.’

  I see him process this; see the conflict of emotions run across his face, his need to protect me battling with his need to respect me.

  ‘All right. What will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know, go for a run or something.’

  ‘In red bed socks?’ asks Auburn, pointing at my feet.

  ‘I’ll jog on the spot. Look, I’ll be fine – obviously I need to decompress. I’ll be back in ten, and I have my phone with me if anything changes.’

  I don’t give them time to argue. I don’t actually care what they think anyway. I know myself well enough to realise when I’m reaching bang-bang levels, and I’m teetering right on the edge. I stride off towards the lifts, and make my way to the foyer. I check my phone as I go, and see a text from Cherie, and one from Laura, which I ignore – I’ll read them later, when I’m less insane.

  Outside, it’s the middle of the morning, which for some reason surprises me. You lose all sense of time and space in hospitals – they seem to exist in their own little reality bubbles; bright lights and loud noises and no windows and constant activity.

  People are standing having cigarettes beneath the ‘no smoking’ signs, visitors are getting out of cabs, staff are scurrying around with lanyards around their necks, carrying Costa coffees in their hands. Just a normal work day for them.

  The rain has faded to a drizzle, and the sun is dazzling. It’s one of those days where the sky is going to end up constantly bejewelled with rainbows.

  I breathe in the air – not exactly fresh, with all the traffic out here, but at least cool and clear – and do indeed jog on the spot. I realise within seconds that I’m too close to the automatic doors, which start to frantically open and close in response, and move further out, onto the pavement.

  I do a few simple yoga poses, and it feels good to stretch out my limbs, feel my muscles strain, my spine expand, and my breathing flow through my body. I get a pitying look from a man in a wheelchair, a wolf whistle from a passing workman, and a thumbs up from a paramedic. Go me.

  I stretch, and I clear my mind of everything: of Tom, of Auburn, even of my mum – all of it needs to go, if only for a nanosecond. I need to be Willow again, not a girlfriend or a sister or a daughter.

  I let my thoughts drift to other times, other places. I think about the bay and the café and the bluebells in the woods. I think about Bella, and remind myself that someone really needs to go and let her and Rick Grimes out for a toilet break.

  I think about the commune in Cornwall, and the view from the Twisted Sisters, and the time I went on a rib boat to see a seal colony off the coast of St Ives. I always felt like they were watching us, not the other way around, preening their whiskers and laughing at the exhibits in the floating human zoo.

  I think about my friends in the village, and wonder how I’m going to wrap up a life-sized cardboard version of Anton du Beke for Edie, and how I really feel like watching all of the Twilight films in a row while drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and flakes.

  I’m thinking about so many things, I barely notice when a jeep pulls up right outside the hospital entrance. It looks a bit like one of Frank’s from the farm, and I wonder if it’s Cherie, bringing me hugs and cake.

  The jeep pauses for a second, engine running, and the door opens. I hear a brief exchange between the driver and the passenger, before he gets out.

  He bangs the jeep door with his fist, and the driver beeps his horn in acknowledgement before pulling away and joining the queue of traffic waiting at the lights by the exit. I see the vague outline of a hand waving at me as he drives off.

  The man stands still for a second, looking around him, as though slightly confused by the amount of people and cars. Like he’s been dropped there from outer space. He hoists a backpack over his shoulder, and as he walks towards the doors, I see that he looks familiar. Different, but familiar. Bulkier than I remember, chestnut hair cut brutally short, skin brown and weathered from years living in a much hotter climate than rainbow-strewn Dorset.

  He pauses, stares at me, and grins, looking me up and down and taking in my outfit.

  ‘Hey sis,’ he says, once we’ve eyeballed each other for a few seconds. ‘You look like an elf who got shrunk in a hot wash. Where’s your jingly-jangly hat?’

  ‘Van,’ I say, sighing tiredly. ‘Just fuck off, will you?’

  Chapter 31

  I really don’t need an extra layer of complication right now, but here it is, standing right before me, wearing cargo pants and an amused expression. Part of me wants to run into his arms and let him look after me, to feel as safe as I used to in days of yore – but I’m not a little girl any more, and anyway, by the time Van left, he was a snarky pig who constantly made fun of me. Small stuff, and nothing I still hold against him – but enough to make me wary.

  ‘How is she?’ he asks, dropping his backpack at our feet and giving me a hug. I hug him back – because I’m not completely immune to my big brother’s charms. Just aware that there’s a flip side.

  ‘She’s all right,’ I reply, standing back and examining him. His eyes have big crinkles at the side of them, from smiling and laughing in the sun, and his hands are rough and calloused from outdoor work. He smells of coffee and spices, which tells me he’s been to the café.

  ‘Good,’ he says, giving me a similar once-over. ‘I turned up at the cottage, and there was nobody home. The door wasn’t locked, and when I went in Bella ignored me, as usual, but this other giant dog jumped all over me. Honestly, I thought I was a goner but he just wanted to lick my face. I let them both out into the garden to do their business, then headed over the fields to Frank’s farm. Nobody there either, so I went to that café – Auburn told me you were working there.’

  ‘And let me guess,’ I say, smiling at the image. ‘You found half of Budbury there on a sugar rush. Some of them als
o wanted to lick your face, and then they sat you down and gave you cake while they interrogated you?’

  ‘That’s about right, yeah. They told me what had happened, but that everything was under control, and that I should stay and eat cherry scones for five minutes – which, as I’ve spent the last three days in transit, I was happy enough to do.’

  He pauses, and scratches his head, looking vaguely puzzled.

  ‘It was weird actually – seeing Frank again, after all this time. He’s in good nick, isn’t he? And that Cherie one he’s married – I just about remember her. And Joe, the cider guy, was there, with his kid, who I really don’t remember. And Edie, the woman who ran the library, I can’t believe she’s still going. Then that Aussie bloke – Cal – gave me a lift here. I suspect the minute I left, the whole place exploded, and they all texted you at the same time.’

  Ah, I think, caressing the phone I’m still clutching. He’s right, of course – and that explains the texts from Laura and Cherie. Cherie’s will be straightforward, Laura’s will feature an inappropriate amount of kisses and exclamation marks.

  ‘I doubt it,’ I lie, blatantly. ‘You’re not that interesting. What are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘Auburn managed to get a message to me. I was overdue a trip back to the UK, so I thought I’d come and see you all. Maybe … well, maybe stay for a bit, see if I can help. I’ve been living in Tanzania, building a school. Unless you need a well digging in the garden, I might not be much use – but, anyhow, I’m here. Do with me what you will.’

  I raise my eyebrows at that one – part of me would quite like him to turn around and get on the next plane back to Africa, but I know that will pass. Just like it did with Auburn. I’ll start off guarded and cynical, and he’ll win me over, and before I know it, I’ll be completely dependent on them both.

  Given the events of the last twenty-four hours, that doesn’t exactly fill me with joy. I know Auburn made a simple mistake, but it’s going to take me a while to forget about it. To feel safe leaving her with Mum again. To let my defences down and relinquish some of the control for Mum’s care – because the first time I really did it, it all went spectacularly tits up.