The Comfort Food Café, page 24
I go into the kitchen, and open the fridge. The little light comes on, and inside I see a four-pack of Carlsberg and the kind of pie you get at a garage. I slam the door shut, and say ‘Shit!’ out loud. He’s here … or at least he has been.
I shout his name just in case, but get no response. Cautiously I creep upstairs, realising that he could simply be asleep after a long journey. I check the bathroom, and the smell hits me. Lemon and basil. He’s not only been here, he’s had a bath. My heart is racing by this point, and as I approach his room, I have no idea what I want to find. Part of me even wants to run while I still have the chance.
I open the door a few inches, and see that he is not there. The blast of disappointment tells me that no matter how conflicted I feel, I was hoping he would be, hoping to see him there huddled beneath the duvet, or even in his old sleeping bag. I have no idea what I’d have done if he was, but I am disappointed.
The bed is neatly made, and his rucksack has been dumped next to it. I see a few crumpled up sheets of his stupidly small note paper scattered across the duvet, and can’t resist smoothing them out and looking at them.
There are four, and each one starts with the same words: ‘Dear Max.’
One gets as far as ‘I hope you’re well,’ and another says ‘I just wanted to say,’ before annoyingly tailing off without any indication at all of what he actually wanted to say. The fact that he’s discarded them obviously means he wasn’t happy with his words, and I wonder if this is his version of what I’ve been doing, writing messages and then deleting them.
What was it that he wanted to ‘just say’? That he was leaving forever? That he’s coming home? That he’s joining the bloody circus? This is too frustrating, and I head back downstairs, forcing myself to be calm and think logically—to think at all.
I glance through the window, see that it is almost dark. The badgers, I think. Maybe he’s gone to see how his mammal friends are doing. I get a torch from the cupboard, and grab one of the fleeces that he’s left hanging on the back of the door. It’s cold out there, and I didn’t expect a trek through woodland. I’ll probably trip over a branch and turn into a human ice cube.
It’s a tricky hike through the snow and windswept trees, and more than a little creepy. I’ve become much more used to the countryside sounds in the last few months, but my city brain keeps setting off alarms about mad axemen and muggers. It’s also a complete waste, because when I reach the hide, there’s no sign of him. Or the badgers for that matter.
I sigh in frustration and pick my way in reverse over the fallen branches and snow-covered tree roots, all the way back to where I started. I check the garage at the side of the house, and see that his Land Rover is gone but there are marks on the floor from his tyres. No tracks outside, because fresh snow has fallen in the last few hours. I feel like a detective, a really rubbish one.
Belle lets out a low bellow in the darkness as I emerge from the garage. She’s like a guard donkey. Even the mad axemen and muggers would run for their lives if they heard that.
I’m freezing cold by this stage and can’t feel any of my extremities. I get into my car and put the blowers on, holding my chilled fingers in front of the heat. Okay, I think, let’s be rational. I almost laugh out loud at that point, because none of this is rational. I feel hyped up and wired and desperate. I need to see him, even if it’s just so that he can tell me it’s over. I’ve lived in limbo since he left, and I can’t go on like this.
As I gaze out of the windscreen at the pitch-black night sky, another idea forms. What if he’s gone to the hill fort to look at the stars? Didn’t he say it was his favourite thinking place? And judging by those scrunched up sheets of tiny paper, he’s definitely been doing some thinking.
I check my phone again, and see that nobody has messaged or called. Which means the kids are still alive, at least.
I sit there and chew at my lip for a few moments wondering what to do, then reach a decision. I’ve come this far, I might as well see it through. Of course, there’s every possibility he’s simply in the pub, or even hiding from me at the back of the barn. This will be the last place I try, I tell myself, as I pull out of the gate.
It’s a hefty drive in the dark and the snow, and it’s only thanks to directions from my phone that I find it at all. I end up parking in a different spot, the map-reading lady who lives inside the satnav assuring me I am at the right hill fort but on the other side. I feel uncertain as I gaze up at a white mass ahead of me, concerned that I will tackle Dorset’s version of Mount Everest and then find out I’m in the wrong place, or he’s not even there at all.
I pull my hat down as far as it can go, puff in some breath for later and switch the torch on. The path from this side of the hill is just as winding as the other, but maybe a little less steep. I pass a few people on my way up, obviously heading home, and exchange Christmas greetings. They probably think I’m mad, and they may just be right. After that, it’s just me and the grazing sheep looking at me curiously before they scatter.
When I’m almost at the top, I stop and look up. I look at that sky, at that dazzling landscape of stars, and sigh at how beautiful it is. I tell myself that whatever happens, those stars will still be there, and so will I. I’ve been so wrapped up in my quest that it is good to stand still for a moment, to try and let some of the calm up there in the heavens soak into my soul.
I carry on with my climb, and am exhausted by the time I reach the plateau. It’s strangely bright up here, the moonlight and the glimmer of the stars reflecting from the flat white sheen of the snow. It’s surreal, like walking through the Aurora Borealis.
I gaze around, scanning the area and doing a sweep with my torch. I’m about to give up when I spot someone, on the far side of the hill. I freeze solid for a moment, suddenly unable to move. It might not even be him—but then again, it might. And if it is, what am I going to say to him? I’ve been concentrating so much on finding him that I managed to leave myself unprepared for this part.
I’ve been acting a role since the day he put that letter through my door. I’ve been faking it, for the kids, my friends, even for myself. I’ve been pretending I am okay when I’m not okay at all. I know I will survive without him, but I don’t want to just survive—I want to live. I want to be with him, to hold him and touch him and laugh with him. I want to accept him with all his flaws, and for him to do the same with me. I want it all, and even though I might not get it, I have to try. I realise that Cherie was right: life is too short for missing out on love. He might reject me, but I have to at least give him the chance, and not do the rejecting for him.
I set off, my boots crunching on the snow, filled with adrenaline and hope and dread in equal measures. Flurries of snowflakes fall around me and on me, but I don’t even feel them.
As I get nearer, the figure stands up, and I know immediately that is him. He spots me, and starts to run in my direction. I run as well, feeling like I’m flying as I stumble and trip, desperate to reach him. I drop the torch and don’t stop to retrieve it, leaving it casting an eerie gleam along the hilltop.
We reach the mid-way point, and I don’t speak; I just throw my arms around him. Seeing him again is like a physical relief, the sudden lifting of a weight. All my emotional aches and pains clear away as soon as our bodies touch.
He grabs hold of me, pulls me tight, almost lifts me off my feet. My hands link behind his neck, and I snuggle into his chest. Everything is right with the world, at least for these few seconds. I smell the lemon and basil, and feel his heart beating fast beneath my cheek, and know that I was right to do this, whatever happens next.
‘Max,’ he mutters, squeezing me so hard I lose my breath, ‘I was just coming to find you. I got back in the early hours, and didn’t want to intrude on your Christmas. Then your message landed, and I decided I didn’t care.’
I look up at him, the moonlight shining on his beautiful face, his hair tumbling out from beneath his beanie hat. I reach up, run my fingers along his cheekbone, and say: ‘You could never intrude. You’re part of me, Gabriel. I’ve missed you so much.’
‘Me too. I went to see my dad, then was heading for France. I made it as far as Calais and then got on the next ferry back. I realised I was miserable without you, and I don’t want to be miserable anymore. I was running away, and I’ve been doing that for too long. I can’t run away from myself, and I don’t want to run away from you. You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense. I love you too, Max, and if you want me, I promise I’ll never leave again. I know I’m a mess, and I know I’m not easy, but if you want me, I’m yours.’
‘I want you,’ I reply without hesitation. ‘I want your mess. I want everything about you. I know there will be problems, but aren’t there always? You’re a human being, not an android, and whatever problems there are, we can face them together. I love you, Gabriel, all of you.’
We stand and stare at each other for what seems like forever. I can’t get enough of looking at his face, of touching him to make sure he is real. To make sure that he is actually here, on this moonlit hill, holding me close.
A big, fat snowflake lands right on the tip of my nose, and he laughs as he wipes it gently away. He lifts my chin so I am gazing up at him, and his eyes are shining.
‘Shall we go home?’ he says simply.
‘I already am,’ I reply.
He smiles, and his lips touch mine. We kiss like we have never kissed before, wrapped up in our blanket made entirely of stars.
Epilogue
Spring
It is April, and it is glorious. Sunshine pours from the sky; the trees are fresh and green, and the whole landscape around us is lush with new life.
The badgers have produced three more cubs, and we spend hours together watching them play, small bundles of fur tumbling around the woodland.
We have moved into the farmhouse, and settled into the rhythms of life together. Sophie will be heading to Cardiff for university in September, but for now, she seems happy here with her friends and her little job at the café.
Laura is already looking for a replacement, because I have sadly had to resign from my job there. I still help out when they need it, but I am concentrating on my new enterprise. The Rockery is a work-in-progress, and I have sold the house in Birmingham.
Gabriel and I are combining our skills, and have bought our first project together: a run-down cottage further down the coast that comes complete with spectacular sea views, rising damp and yet another avocado bath suite. Between us we have everything we need to transform it into a beautiful home, and I am so excited about it. I am finally living my Rightmove dream.
Today, it is my birthday, and we are hosting a party. Gabriel has been predictably gruff about it, and still feels uncomfortable when his territory is invaded. He’s here, though, looking all sexy and Heathcliff as he tries to make small talk with our guests. Every now and then he catches me staring at him across the room, and gives me The Look. The one that makes my insides melt.
He surprised us both in the New Year by deciding to see a counsellor. Once a week, he disappears off in the Land Rover to talk to a complete stranger about his feelings. It is literally the most un-Gabriel-like thing I could ever have imagined, but it seems to be helping. There is a gradual sense of lightening in him, of pressures lifting. Clouds clearing. I am proud of him, and tell him so at every possible opportunity.
It’s not changed him completely, though, and I know he was secretly reluctant to throw open the doors of his home to the entire Budbury collective … but he did it anyway. The house is looking beautiful, and I finally found that perfect rug. Norman and Marjorie look down from the mantlepiece, and more pictures have been added, especially of Belle, with her new friend, Beast.
Beast is a younger male, and incredibly submissive by nature. Matt helped us find him at a rescue centre, and despite his name, he is actually very handsome. He doesn’t seem to mind Belle bossing him around, and she has certainly mellowed since he arrived. They’re a bonded pair, just like me and Gabriel.
I find Laura standing by the fence to the paddock, a carrot in her hand and a nervous look on her face.
‘I’m worried Belle will bite my hand off, and that would make baking a lot more tricky,’ she says.
‘It’s always a possibility. I’ll distract her, you do Beast instead.’
She laughs as we feed the donkeys, then turns to look back at the house. The garden around us is starting to blossom, and the wildflower meadow is beginning to show signs of colour. There is chatter and laughter coming from inside, and the serenade of birdsong hovering in the background.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she says. ‘The house. It’s like you’ve brought it back to life.’
‘That’s exactly what we aimed to do,’ I reply smiling. ‘And in the process, we accidentally brought each other back to life as well.’
‘I know. It’s magical, isn’t it? I was thinking that the other day, when I was drafting up an advert looking for someone to replace Sophie. I wonder who we’ll get next, and what will happen with them?’
‘I have no idea, but I’d guess something special. Thank you … for everything. For talking me into this. For knowing it was right for me before even I did.’
‘You’re welcome, all part of the Comfort Food Café service. Right, I need to start wrangling the girls and get home. They’re probably still sitting in silence in the kitchen.’
Ruby and Rose are desperate to see the badger cubs, but after we explained that they had to be completely quiet if they did, they’ve been proving they’re capable of doing that by refusing to speak ever since they got here.
She disappears off into the house, and passes Gabriel on his way out to find me. Belle brays at him in warning, and he keeps his distance. She’s not mellowed that much.
‘It’s gone well, hasn’t it?’ he says, sounding surprised as he drops a kiss on my forehead. ‘I never thought I’d have a birthday party here.’
‘Well, now you have. Another milestone. Are you okay? I know it doesn’t come naturally to you, having them here.’
‘No, it doesn’t … but I have a secret coping mechanism.’
He slides his hands around my waist, and tugs me into him. I squeal a little, delighted, and ask, ‘What is it?’
‘When I’m in a room full of people and I’m feeling uncomfortable, I just find you. When I look at you, everyone else disappears. They’re just background noise. You’re the only person I need. I love you, birthday girl.’
Acknowledgments
I can't tell you how much I enjoyed writing this book. Being back in Budbury and at the Comfort Food Cafe felt like coming home, and I hope you enjoyed Max and Gabriel's story. It came from the heart, and I think they both really deserved their happy ending.
Real life, of course, is never so simple – including my own. Losing myself in the Cafe community was a privilege, and one I couldn't have enjoyed without a lot of support at home. Thank you as ever to my family – especially my children, Keir, Daniel and Louisa.
I am lucky enough to have friends just as good as those in this book. There are too many to list (see, told you I was lucky!), but a few to mention in particular are Sandra Shennan (for the morning beach walks and sanity saving chats), Paula Woosey, Pamela Hoey, Ade Blackburn, Karen Murphy and Helen Shaw.
Thanks also to fellow writers and fantastic pals Milly Johnson, Jane Costello, Miranda Dickinson, Clare Williams and Rachael Tinniswood. This is a strange job and it would be even stranger without this gang to talk to. I'd also like to thank the super supportive bloggers and reviewers who spread the word about my stories, especially the Friendly Book Community on Facebook, which totally lives up to its name.
Coming back to Budbury also means I got to work with the brilliant Charlotte Ledger, my editor and friend, as well as Bonnie Macleod and the team at One More Chapter – thank you for all your help. Behind the scenes, big thanks to my agent Hayley Steed and Mina Yakinya at Janklow & Nesbit. I might have written the book, but these people helped put it into your hands.
I'd love for you to stay in touch – please join me on my Facebook page, or sign up to my newsletter. I don't send out too many, I promise!
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The Comfort Food Café is perched on a windswept clifftop at what feels like the edge of the world, serving up the most delicious cream teas
For tourists and locals alike, the ramshackle cafe overlooking the beach is a beacon of laughter, companionship, and security – a place like no other.
A place that offers friendship as a daily special, and where a hearty welcome is always on the menu.
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Becca Fletcher has always hated Christmas but she has her reasons for being Little Miss Grinch…
Now, though, she can’t avoid her version of ho-ho-hell – because she’s travelling to the Comfort Food Café to spend the festive season with her sister Laura and her family. She’s expecting mulled wine, 24-hour Christmas movie marathons and all kinds of very merry torture.
