A Gift from the Comfort Food Café

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘Look,’ I say quietly – this is not the kind of conversation I want Saul overhearing – ‘I know there are all sorts of complications. Both of us are at this weird stage of our lives where everything seems to revolve around other people. For me, it’s Saul mainly, but also my parents right now. For you, obviously, Lynnie’s needs come first.’

  ‘Go on,’ he says, nudging me. ‘I’m intrigued.’

  ‘Well, despite all of that, I still can’t stop thinking about you. Specifically, about kissing you. And touching you. And being … with you.’

  I glance up at his face, and see that he’s grimacing slightly – which isn’t the reaction I’d anticipated.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, when he notices me looking. ‘It’s just that I’m a bloke. A bloke who’s just kissed a hot woman. And now you’re saying things like this, and it’s making me … uncomfortable again, if you get my drift.’

  I do indeed get his drift. I can pretty much see his drift as well, which is both amusing and gratifying.

  ‘So,’ he continues. ‘You’re saying you want this to … progress?’

  ‘Yes. I do. But even as I say it, I’m a bit worried about it. Because it might get messy. It might get complicated. We might screw everything up, and neither of us has time for drama. I have to be totally honest with you, Van – I’m not looking for a big heavy relationship. I don’t have the time or the energy or the courage. That’s why it took me so long to go to the pub with you – maybe I always had a sneaky suspicion that we’d end up like this.’

  ‘With me in agony on your bottom step?’

  ‘Not precisely, no … sorry about that. But I knew I found you attractive, and I was worried about where it might lead.’

  ‘And now you’re not? Worried?’

  I sigh and bite my lip, struggling to find the right words to express how I feel – mainly because I don’t even know.

  ‘I am about some aspects of it. But I’m also … ready. More than ready. For the physical side of it, anyway. I know it’s complicated. Everything is – and I’m sick to death of complicated. But the way I feel when you kiss me? That’s the only time things feel simple.’

  ‘So,’ he replies, a smile in his voice, ‘the obvious solution is that I should just kiss you twenty-four hours a day?’

  ‘That’s a nice idea,’ I say. Because it is. ‘But I don’t think it’s practical. Might cause a few issues at work.’

  He nods, and I see him turning all of this over in his mind. I’m hoping he has some answers for me, but I’m not sure any of this makes sense to me any more.

  ‘I’m just trying to decide,’ he eventually says, ‘whether I feel insulted at being used as your sex toy, worried about breaking your heart, or excited about the prospect of seeing you naked. I’ve got to say, option number three keeps intruding on the other two – but the other two do matter.

  ‘As I’ve said, I like you. I’m not getting down on one knee and proposing or anything, but I like you enough to think this might be more than sex. More than just physical. I enjoy your company, and feel relaxed when I’m with you, and see you as a friend. A friend I fancy. I’m not quite sure how all of that fits in with your version of things?’

  ‘Me neither,’ I reply, shaking my head and laughing. ‘And I must warn you, I usually overthink things – so it’s entirely possible that I’m saying one thing now, and then I’ll feel differently later. It’s a rollercoaster. You’re so lucky to have me in your life to confuse you.’

  He tugs me up against him, and kisses the top of my head.

  ‘I am lucky,’ he says. ‘And horny. And yeah, now very confused. I was all set for a slow burn here, just to feel things out and see how we worked through it. Now you’ve gone and messed up the masterplan.’

  ‘My specialist subject,’ I say, leaning my head against his chest. ‘Anyway – I don’t suppose it’s something we need to decide right now. As my son is asleep in the next room, this is about as sexy as it’s going to get tonight. And I don’t know when that will change – I share my house with a curious toddler who already thinks you’re God’s gift to the planet and follows you everywhere, and you share a cottage with your elderly mother and your sisters. We’re not exactly rocking it on the sexy night in front, are we?’

  ‘I suppose not – not yet at least. Though I had a chat with Tom about that the other day. He found me on the floor in a sleeping bag. Auburn was being a nightmare – she was all hyper because she’s helping Tom out with these interviews to find his Star Lord. I couldn’t face another night in a single bed in a room with her, and my legs are wrecked from being crammed on a too-short sofa, so I ended up on the floor. As you say, not sexy. So Tom offered to lend me his camper van.’

  ‘His camper van? Doesn’t he live at Briarwood? Aren’t there enough rooms there for him?’

  ‘He does have rooms at Briarwood, and a flat in London and, knowing Tom, a bolt-hole on the moon as well – but he also has this really nice, retro VW van he used when he first moved here. It’s parked up in the woods near Briarwood.’

  ‘Oh. So would you move there?’ I ask, frowning. It’s very possible the excitement of the last few minutes has blown a brain circuit.

  ‘No. It’s on wheels, see? It’s mobile. He’ll drive it to the cottage and we can park it up on the drive, so I’m still around, but everyone gets a bit more privacy.’

  ‘I’m not convinced that’s much better. I’d feel a bit … weird, right outside your cottage. What if your mum heard us?’

  ‘How loud are you planning on getting?’

  ‘I don’t know … you tell me!’

  We grin at each other, and it feels good. Natural. Easy. I haven’t flirted for many years, and I’m enjoying it.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to wait and see,’ he replies. ‘But again, I refer you to the fact that it’s on wheels. The world’s our lobster.’

  I nod, and roll that around in my mind. Okay, so it’s hardly a mini-break to Paris – but the idea of spending a night with Van in a camper, somewhere secluded and quiet and beautiful, isn’t exactly repellent. And with my mum here at the moment, I could probably even make it happen, if she agreed to have Saul for a sleepover.

  Crikey. I’m starting to think this might even happen. And I’m even starting to think I might go for it.

  I hear muffled movement from the other room, the sound of small feet padding around, and then the ever-so-gentle screech of ‘MUMMY!!! Come and look at our tree! It’s giant-gantic!’

  It might happen, for sure. But not, I think, standing to my feet and walking back into the living room, tonight.

  Chapter 25

  I’m not especially keen on reptiles, but at least it’s warm in here. Outside, it’s bitterly cold, and snow is forecast for later today.

  I’ve dragged out the snakes and geckos and giant tortoises for as long as I can, and Saul’s attention is waning. He wants to see something more exciting, like the gorillas or the lions or the little hippos. Or his dad – one of the lesser known exhibits at Bristol Zoo.

  Frankly, I’m nervous, and would probably rather walk into the lion enclosure than stroll across to the café, where we’re due to meet Jason and Jo. I’ve played it as casually as possible with Saul, trying to strike the balance between this being a real treat, and it not being too big a deal. He knows his dad lives in Scotland, which he talks about as though it’s an incredibly exotic place, and he knows his dad loves him and always sends him presents and cards.

  He’s spoken to him on the phone as well, on his last birthday, but he hasn’t actually seen him since a time he was too small to even remember.

  Saul actually seems very cool about it all, accepting it without too many questions and with an open-hearted sense of anticipation that reassures me I’m doing the right thing. The right thing for him, anyway.

  Because while Saul might be okay with today’s meeting, I’m basically pooing my pants. It’s all very, very strange.

  We came to Bristol last night, and stayed in my p
arents’ house. That in itself was weird and a bit melancholy. Mum is down in Budbury, and Dad is due home from Tenerife very soon, and the home I grew up in felt oddly quiet and empty without them.

  Saul enjoyed it, laughing at the photos of me on the wall in frames: me with pigtails and missing front teeth; me in my ballet outfit after a dance performance; me on the beach on a family holiday to Cornwall. No child ever easily imagines their own parents as young, do they? Even when we’re adults, and technically know they were, once, tiny little humans – it still seems unlikely.

  Saul thinks the photos are hilarious. I on the other hand feel sad when I look at them. Sad because I’m always on my own – no brothers and sisters, no playmates, not even any happy, smiling family group shots.

  For me, they’re a reminder of lonely times. A reminder of the chaos around me that the lens never quite caught. The night of that dance recital, Mum locked Dad out of the house because he’d turned up with the smell of beer on his breath.

  After the triumph of the show itself – I must have been about eight, I suppose – I recall the rest of the night being fraught with drama, Dad banging on the door and Mum screaming at him from the bedroom window. That might have been the night one of the neighbours actually called the police, I don’t know – they all fade into one big row with the passing of time.

  And the family holiday in Cornwall was one of the worst weeks of my life – all three of us crammed into a two-bedroomed caravan on a park near Bude. They’d drink too much in the leisure club where we’d watch the entertainment staff sing hits of the Seventies, and a giant bear mascot prowled around scaring the kids. After the drink, there’d be the fighting – and the walls of a caravan are even thinner than the walls of a house.

  I’m not sure it was a good idea, going back there. But again, Saul seemed happy with the arrangement, and that’s what matters. He got to sleep in my old bedroom, and I showed him pictures of my nan and told him all about her, and I took him to the little play park nearby where I’d gone as a child myself.

  And now we’re here. In the zoo. Approximately five minutes away from meeting my ex and his new wife and soon-to-be mother of Saul’s baby brother or sister. I tell myself it’s a good thing. That it’s important for Saul to feel good about his relationship with them. That maybe having a sibling will make his childhood a lot less lonely than mine, because it seems unlikely I’ll ever be providing him with one.

  I can’t even find it in myself to commit to a relationship, never mind have a baby. I do wonder sometimes if something inside me is simply broken, and I’ll never be able to fix it. Having Van in my life should feel wonderful – and when I’m with him, it usually does.

  But when I’m away from him, like now, it all feels different. It feels frightening and anxiety-inducing and probably not worth the risk. I turn into a big fat coward, basically. Poor Van. He deserves better. Like the blonde one from Abba, or at the very least a woman who doesn’t blow hot and cold like a faulty car heater.

  I glance at my watch, and tell Saul it’s time to go.

  ‘Will my daddy be there now?’ he asks, scurrying along so fast he’s taking two steps to every one of mine as we leave the reptile house and emerge into an arctic blast of wind that makes my eyes water.

  I quickly bend down to fasten up Saul’s coat and tug his bobble hat back down over his ears, and nod.

  ‘He will,’ I reply, trying to put some much-needed enthusiasm into my voice. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’

  ‘It is,’ he replies, gripping my hand with his mittened fingers. ‘He’s come all the way from a different country. Do they have lions in Scotland? And will Daddy be able to make a lion noise? And will the lady called Jo speak in a different language because she’s from Scotland?’

  I answer all his rapid-fire questions as well as I can – only in zoos, definitely, and no – as we make the short walk to the café. We pause in the entrance, and I take off his hat and unbutton his coat again. It’s an exciting life, looking after a small person. A rollercoaster of indoor-outdoor clothing logistics.

  I scan the room, filled with shivering refugees from the icy weather, looking for them. Maybe, just a tiny bit, hoping they haven’t turned up.

  Of course, they have – I spot Jason easily, even after all this time. He’s very tall, even sitting down. The woman with him is almost the same height, and it occurs to me that their child is going to inherit some mighty genetics.

  Jason waves hesitantly, and I suspect he’s just as nervous as I am. Maybe he was secretly hoping we wouldn’t turn up as well.

  ‘Is that him? Is that my daddy?’ Saul asks, when I wave back. I nod and smile, and feel a creaking sensation inside me, like a rotten floorboard being stepped on.

  We walk over to their table, and as we approach, Jason never takes his eyes off Saul. Saul, who is keen to run towards them, and possibly the muffins they have on a plate. I let go of his hand, and he dashes the last few feet, the mittens on strings streaking behind him.

  He stops right in front of Jason, who crouches down to be on the same level as him, and smiles at him. He plays it just right – not grabbing hold of him and freaking him out, not showing his own tension, just talking to him in a soft voice, saying how lovely it is to see him and asking what animals he wants to see and wondering if he prefers chocolate or blueberry muffins.

  He hasn’t changed that much, in the last few years. He looks a little leaner, maybe, and his hair is a bit longer. Jo, sitting beside him, glances up at me and smiles, giving me her own little wave. I linger a few steps away, not really sure of how to behave. There aren’t really any rule books for this kind of situation, and I’m sure we’re all scared of getting it wrong.

  Luckily, we have a talkative toddler with us – possibly the world’s best ice-breaker.

  ‘I like blueberry,’ Saul says, perching himself on the seat next to Jason and chattering away as though all of this is completely normal. ‘Laura makes blueberry cake for me at the café.’

  ‘Does she? I bet it’s yummy,’ replies Jason, looking on as Saul tears off his coat and grabs hold of a muffin. He’s going to perform his usual trick of reducing one cake to a billion small pieces, I know – but I don’t suppose it matters.

  ‘It is. The yummiest. You should come and taste it.’

  ‘Maybe I will,’ says Jason, glancing at me over Saul’s head. I finally make the move to sit down, and he nods at me. ‘Saul, this lady here is Jo.’

  ‘Hi, Saul!’ she says brightly. I know she’s a primary school teacher, and it shows in her voice – the kind of voice that kids automatically respond to; that you can imagine leading an assembly or singing the times tables. ‘It’s really nice to meet you. Blueberry’s my favourite too.’

  Saul squints at her slightly, while he chews his first mouthful. His fingers are working on the rest.

  ‘You sound funny,’ he eventually says. ‘Mummy said you wouldn’t speak different.’

  ‘I said she wouldn’t speak a different language, Saul,’ I add, explaining. ‘Not that she wouldn’t sound different. People who come from different parts of the world have different accents. Like Laura is from Manchester and she sounds different to your nan, who’s from Bristol.’

  He chews this over as thoroughly as his muffin and decides it makes sense.

  ‘Did you have to come on an aeroplane?’ he asks, perking up again. He’s obsessed with going on an aeroplane at the moment, and decided after watching a film called Monsters vs Aliens that he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up, so he can make friends with little green men.

  ‘Not this time, no,’ replies Jo, automatically sweeping some of the crumbs from the table in a way that suggests she’s done it many times before. ‘We came in the car, but it took us two days.’

  ‘Did you sleep in the car?’ Saul asks, frowning.

  ‘No, we stayed overnight in a hotel on the way. A nice one with a swimming pool that had pancakes for breakfast.’

  ‘I like pancakes,’ he concedes
. ‘Laura makes those too. Mummy does as well, but Laura’s are nicer.’

  I raise my eyebrows and let out a small laugh. I can’t argue that point, and it’s good that he’s honest, after all.

  Saul stops destroying his muffin, and looks at the map of the zoo that they have spread out on part of the table. Jason uses his finger to point out where we are, and where the reptile house is, and where some of the other animals are.

  ‘Do you know a lot of animal noises, Daddy?’ he asks earnestly. It’s the first time he’s addressed him like that, and I see a quick and sudden sheen of tears in Jason’s eyes. I bite my lip, because I feel a bit like crying too. I know my reasons for agreeing to this were sound, but I’m simply not a big enough human being to not feel threatened by it. I need to toughen up.

  ‘Yes. It’s one of my best things,’ answers Jason seriously. ‘What do you want to hear?’

  The two of them spend the next few minutes challenging each other to recognise various roars, squeaks and howls. I go to get myself a coffee to give them a bit of space, and to give myself a breather. I kind of wish there was a brandy in it.

  By the time I come back, Saul is on his feet, doing that mad little bouncing-on-the-spot thing he does when he’s excited about something.

  ‘Mummy, can I go and see the gorillas with Daddy? We both want to see if they answer us when we make our gorilla noises! Please please please!’

  Jason’s eyes meet mine across the table, and I’m so nervous I slosh my coffee into the saucer. The gorillas are literally only minutes away. He’s not asking for custody, he’s asking for ten minutes. It’s normal, it’s natural, and it’s nothing to get choked up about. I gulp in air, and manage to nod.

  ‘Of course you can,’ I say, aiming for relaxed. ‘Just make sure you put your coat and hat back on. Say hello to the gorillas for me.’

  Jason mouths the words ‘thank you’ at me, and the two disappear off in a flurry of scarves and excitement. I see Saul slip his hand into Jason’s, and feel a mix of relief and desperation. He’ll be back before I know it, but he still takes a tiny piece of me with him.