‘Edie says she’s invited him to the ball,’ Laura says, her gaze dreamy. ‘I wonder if he’ll come. I wonder if he’ll wear a top. I mean, I do like him bare-chested, but I bet he’d look good in a tuxedo too. Or a cape, you know, like a super-swish Count Dracula?’
‘Maybe you can ask him,’ Cherie says, nodding at the window. ‘Here he comes, making his regular appearance…’
Had I forgotten that he runs past here at this time every afternoon, or did my subconscious mind persuade me that this was the exact right moment for me to pop in to the café? They can be sneaky things, those subconscious minds. I glance subtly through the glass, refusing to full-on stare like some desperate cougar. Cougar. God, I hate that word. It sounds so predatory, doesn’t it? Men have been cougars for time immemorial, but nobody came up with a derogatory term for them.
He gives us a wave as he passes, and part of me wonders if he will gallop up the steps again and come in to say hello.I suspect the others are thinking the same, because they look disappointed when he runs on past, sticking to his usual route up to the village. I think perhaps I’m disappointed too, but I manage not to look it. Cherie and Laura are far less guarded with their feelings.
‘Ah well,’ Cherie says, slapping her hands down on the table. ‘That was our fun for the day, I suppose! Bloody hell, I’m knackered… We really need to get some help around here. I keep trying to retire but end up being dragged back in!’
‘Rubbish,’ Laura says firmly, clearing our plates. ‘You’d be bored rigid. You’d just sit upstairs and listen to Joni Mitchell and cry into your kaftan. A woman like you isn’t made for retirement, Cherie. Right. I’d better be off. Becca’s picked the girls up for me. She’s giving them their tea… They always come home raving about having their tea at Becca’s, and you know what, all she ever does is fish fingers or frozen pizzas! Here’s me, slaving my fingers to the bone making them delicious and nutritious home-cooked food, and what do they prefer? Ready meals!’
‘They’re only six, hon, give them time,’ Cherie replies, scraping back her chair and rising majestically to her feet. ‘And do you want to take some of that Bakewell home with you?’
‘Good thinking, Batman! Have you asked Sarah here what her comfort food is?’
Cherie starts packaging up slices of tart, and I notice she automatically does some for me as well. I may never need to cook again. ‘It’s one of our little quirks,’ she explains, passing it over to me. ‘We like to find out what each of our regulars’ comfort food is, and we try to always have it in stock. My favourite is Sam’s: chicken and mushroom flavour Pot Noodles!’
I ponder this question very seriously, because both of them are gazing at me as though it genuinely is the most pressing issue on their minds. I run through childhood dinners, treats and forbidden fruits, and cast my mind back over the many fancyrestaurants I’ve been to in more recent years. I really can’t come up with one single item.
‘Umm… this is shameful I know, but I’m not sure I have one,’ I say eventually. ‘I think for me, it might not be one single comfort food. Maybe it would be a comfort meal?’
They both look confused, and I try to explain. ‘Okay, so, when I was a kid, we didn’t eat together a lot. Different work shifts, plus just generally a sense of not being bothered. And when we did, it was… a bit of an ordeal, let’s leave it at that. I remember watching TV shows and seeing these images of big family meals, even on the adverts, everyone sitting around a table, chatting and laughing? It just didn’t seem real to me. And then I suppose, apart from the few years I was married, I got used to cooking for one, which I don’t mind at all. But…’
‘You still have a yearning for it?’ Cherie asks, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘For that big family Sunday lunch feeling?’
I nod. ‘I do. Is that pathetic at my age?’
I wonder if maybe it is? It’s strange, but I never even realised I did ‘have a yearning for it’ until I was asked to think about the subject. I thought I was perfectly happy eating by myself every day. Something about this place, though, just has a way of unravelling all your secrets, even the ones you keep from yourself.
‘Not at all, darling. It’s what we all want, isn’t it? Those simple pleasures– sitting with those we care about and breaking bread. It’s easy to think this is just a café, that what Laura and I do is basic, but it’s really not. People have bonded by sharing food and drink and shelter for as long as humans have existed. We might not be sitting around a fire in a cave anymore, but we still turn to each other for safety and love and support. And family, you know, comes in many different shapes and forms.Take Laura here– no blood relation, but if I’d ever had a daughter, I’d have wanted her to be nothing like her at all…’
Laura tries to look offended, but can’t stop herself laughing. ‘You’re a cow, Cherie Bloom! And no, Sarah, it’s really not pathetic. And even if it was, we wouldn’t mind. We’re all pathetic sometimes. Right. I really do have to go now. Becca will be giving the kids tinned rice pudding for their afters, and they’ll think it’s the best thing ever…’
She’s turning to leave when the door to the café opens, and we all fall silent as Aidan walks in. He has his top on for once, and he smiles as he enters. In his hands is a small bouquet of bright sunflowers, their vibrant petals an unusual shade of orange-tinted yellow.
‘Hi, Cherie, Laura,’ he says, heading towards us. We’re all frozen in place, staring at him. We must look ridiculous, but I’d guess he’s used to this kind of thing happening to him. He draws closer, his eyes holding mine. ‘Sarah. These are for you. When the sunlight hits your hair, it’s almost exactly the same colour. Enjoy, and I’ll see you soon. Juno sends her love.’
He passes me the flowers, and I manage to mutter a surprised ‘thank you’. He gives us all a nod, and he’s gone as quickly as he came. I’m left standing there, staring at the flowers, feeling totally taken aback. I’m very aware that Laura and Cherie are sharing significant glances around me, but I don’t really know what to say.
‘I usually buy my own flowers…’ is all I manage.
‘Well, that’s as may be, my love, but isn’t it nice for someone else to do it every once in a while?’ Cherie says, admiring the bouquet.
‘Oh my God,’ Laura says, her voice low and excited. ‘You’re… Sarah, you’re being wooed! I know you said you weren’t looking for anything like that, but you’re beingwooed!’
I look up at her, feeling the frown develop on my face. I realise that I’ve been standing here smiling, like some lovestruck teenager. She’s right. I did say I wasn’t looking for anything like that, and I meant it. I’m just getting carried away with all the attention. It’s flattering, and I’m only human, but I need to stay grounded.
‘I don’t get wooed,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘I’ve never been wooed. I just don’t give off that kind of vibe. I’m a woo-free zone.’
‘Well,’ she says, sliding her coat on and giving me a look, ‘someoneseems to disagree. Why don’t you just go along for the ride, enjoy it, and see what happens?’
Ha, I think, laughing inside. That comment is living proof that she barely knows me at all. We say goodbye to Cherie, and Laura walks with me up to the village. She chatters away, and I answer when required, until we reach my house. She doesn’t immediately continue on to her sister’s, but stops by my front door and puts a hand on my arm.
‘I know I come across as a middle-aged airhead,’ she says, and before I can protest, she continues, ‘and I do witter on. But believe me when I say I understand pain, and loss, and the way that sometimes in life, you can be surrounded by people and still feel isolated. You’re not me, and I’m not you, but Budbury is Budbury. Try not to be too cynical about it. It really is a place where very special things have been known to happen.’
Her words are so heartfelt that I can’t possibly argue. I just nod, and promise her I’ll try. Maybe I even will, I think, as I head inside and put the flowers into one of my new vases. They look beautiful on the dining table, and I find myself standing there staring at them, a big dumb grin on my face. I’m so distracted that I almost jump out of my skin when my phone rings. Ha, I think, feeling the adrenaline flood my body, serves me right– I forgot to be on high alert for a moment there.
I see my niece Libby’s name on the screen, and happily answer it. ‘Hey, Libs,’ I say, ‘how’s it going?’
