Sunshine at the Comfort Food Cafe: The most heartwarming and feel good novel of 2018!

‘I’m not sure,’ he says, when I prompt him by poking him on the back of the head with a feather duster. ‘I mean … I couldn’t leave Rick alone for long, could I?’

‘Bring him with you,’ I reply, and immediately hold my hand up to stop his flood of objections. ‘And yes, I know what you said about him – and I believe you. I fully accept that his love for Bella might not translate to all his other doggy interactions. But it’ll be quiet, and the only other dog who’s likely to be there is Midgebo, Laura’s black lab. If Rick shows signs of wanting to eat him, he can stay outside – there’s a whole field for dogs, set up with water bowls and rest spots, like a canine crèche.’

Tom doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t know why I’m insisting – I hate it when people try and get me to do things I don’t want to. I usually start speaking fake Japanese at them and pretending I don’t understand. But there’s just something about Tom that makes me think that if he broke through his own reluctance, and at least tried, then spending some time at the café with the Budbury massive would be good for him.

I realise even as I think this how annoying it is – everyone who tries to get you to do something ‘for your own good’ always thinks they’re right, don’t they? Including me, apparently.

‘Look, you don’t have to – I get it. You’re happy out here in the woods, going all Grizzly Adams, enjoying your back to nature trip. But honestly? They’re all lovely. I’m probably the most repulsive and disgusting of them all – everyone else is way nicer than me.’

He turns around to face me, and he’s grinning. Maybe – just maybe – changing his mind might not be out of the question.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he says. ‘As long as they’re not as repulsive and disgusting as you. I presume there will be cake?’

‘The most majestic cake found in this galaxy or any other.’

‘And there won’t be too many people? If I try and overload my geek brain with too many real people – as opposed to imaginary ones in fantasy novels – my head might explode. I’m too pretty for that to happen.’

He says that mockingly, but he is handsome – just not in a way I suspect he’s ever really thought about. He’s all about the mind, this guy – but the mind is housed in a not-too-shabby package.

‘There won’t be too many real people, no. But … hey, I have an idea! Would it help if I made you a fact file? If you can keep all the different houses in Game of Thrones straight, I’m sure you can manage this. I could do you a round-up in advance, and you could … I don’t know, make yourself a spreadsheet or whatever it is people like you do to process information?’

‘Usually I just insert the memory card directly into my biological data portal.’

‘I’m not even going to ask where that is …’

He winks at me in an exaggerated ‘Carry On’ fashion, which makes me laugh out loud.

‘But yes,’ he continues, looking slightly more serious. ‘Something like that probably would help me, a bit. I’d feel less like I was walking into a booby trap, and it might stop me doing this brilliantly cool thing I do where I stare at my own feet and walk into walls.’

‘That’s all right. We won’t mind if you do … but if you think it’ll help, I’ll do it tonight. I’ll just cancel that Ultimate Battle of the Hughs – Jackman vs Grant – and write an epic account of life in Budbury. Give me your email address before I leave.’

I glance at my watch and see that I should actually be leaving pretty soon. It’s almost a thirty-mile round trip to get my mum from the day centre, and I have to help Laura cover the lunch shift at the café as well. The rock and roll never stops.

‘I need to be going soon,’ I say to Tom, who immediately nods and looks business-like again. ‘But before I leave, promise me one thing …’

‘Maybe. What is it?’ he frowns, looking a tiny bit suspicious.

‘You know you said one of the reasons you came here was to try and loosen up a bit?’

‘Ye-es …’

‘Well, I’m a bit of an expert in loosening up, and I have a task for you. Perhaps see me as your chilling-out doctor, and this as your first lesson in your free-spirit quest.’

He narrows his eyes, and waits for me to continue, obviously not willing to commit himself until he hears what my first prescription is.

‘This afternoon, Mr Mulligan, I want you to go to the top floor of this house – and slide all the way down on the banisters.’

He puffs out a quick breath, and shakes his head.

‘No way. I was never the kind of kid who did things like that.’

‘Well maybe,’ I say over my shoulder as I walk out of the room, ‘it’s about time you were!’

Chapter 7 (#ulink_5fe8fab1-cdb1-528d-90df-cf99b6603825)

My mum senses that a new project is afoot, and joins me at the kitchen table. I have my laptop open, and am working on the Budbury Bible for Tom. I’m also quite excited, now I’ve started – this will be a lovely keepsake for the future: a snapshot of life in the village as it is right now. A lot of our residents are elderly, and despite the fact that they all seem in exceptionally good health, they won’t be around forever.

I’m also maybe more aware than others of the value of these records. Now, at this stage in my life, I have no problems with memory or mental confusion beyond my normal accepted levels – I’ve always been on the fuzzy side, and that’s okay.

But one day, this might matter – I might be able to look back at it and remember all the brilliance that went on. We all take so much for granted, and if my mum’s situation has taught me anything, it’s not to make that mistake.

It also makes me realise what a weird and wonderful collection of people we have here. Everyone is different, and different is okay – some people throw themselves into a new social situation with ease and openness, like Laura did when she first moved here. Others, like Tom, are practically paralysed with fear at the prospect. We’re all different, we’re all flawed – and there’s a place for everyone. Or at least there should be.

‘What are we doing, Willow?’ Mum asks, sliding her chair in to get a better look. She’s used my name in every sentence tonight, which she does when she’s feeling okay, and wants to reassure me that she knows who I am. She needs to wear her specs for this, and I anticipate a full-on hunt for them first. Instead, I notice that they’re already on her head, perched in a nest of curls. Score one for Team Longville.

‘We’re making a kind of … history. A living history, of the people who live here. It’s for my friend, Tom. The one who I told you about, who invented the flange bracket.’

‘Oh yes,’ she replies, popping on her glasses and peering at me over their tortoise-shell patterned frames. ‘Tom. You like him, don’t you?’

‘Yes. I do,’ I answer, wondering if we’re about to wander into ‘inappropriate conversation’ territory. This happens occasionally, when she thinks I’m a female friend of the same age, or her younger sister. I’m an open-minded woman, but seriously, nobody wants to hear their mum’s sexual conquest stories, do they?

‘But do you like like him?’ she asks, clearly trying to keep a straight face.

‘Have you been watching the Disney Channel again?’ I ask, staring at her through narrowed eyes as she grins at me.

She’s developed a weird obsession with teen TV shows, like The Suite Life of Zack and Cody and Good Luck Charlie. She often sings the theme tunes, but always get them amusingly wrong – I will forever remember the time she changed the lyrics of a programme called Jessie, crooning along with her own words: ‘Hey Jessie! There’s a sausage sticking out of your face … Hey Jessie!’ It was priceless.

‘Might have been,’ she replies defensively. ‘Damn that Disney Channel. I know it’s wrong, but it feels so good … anyway, I get the feeling that the inventor of the flange bracket is definitely more than a friend. Is he hot?’

I sigh, and lean back, my arms crossed over my chest.

‘Mum, I’m not a fifteen-year-old cheerleader. And I barely know Tom – he’s just a nice guy who gets nervous around new people, and I thought this might help him. He’s a man who functions better with all the information.’

‘Nobody ever has all the information,’ she replies, quite accurately. ‘He’ll only have our version of the information. And I think you do like him.’

I chew my lips, and decide to ignore her. Partly because there’s a tiny bit of me that suspects she’s right, and that’s a scary prospect. Budbury is full of attractive men, but I’ve just never responded to any of them in that way.

With Tom … well, I’ve noticed his attractiveness a little more than usual. I tell myself that it’s simple biology – I’ve not had a boyfriend for well over three years. I suppose I was bound to crack at some point and give in to a little harmless window-shopping. But I need to keep it at that; between my jobs, my mum, and trying to save a bit of head-space for myself, there just isn’t time for anything else.

Everything hangs together in such a fragile way already, throwing an affair into the mix would bring it all crashing down around me. It’d be like the last plastic bucket you attach to Buckaroo’s back – just one item too many for a poor donkey (i.e. me) to bear.

‘You can think what you want,’ I reply, opening up a Word document. ‘I can’t stop your lurid fantasy life, Mum. But it’s getting late now, and I’m going to crack on. Do you want to help?’

She glances through the window, and sees that it is dark. She follows that up with a look at the page-a-day calendar.

‘Springtime,’ she says. ‘I love springtime. Every day, it’ll stay light for a little bit longer … I always think that’s magical. Okay. Let’s get to work then! Just give me a minute to set the right atmosphere …’

She’s big on atmospheres, my mum. We all grew up using aromatherapy oils, in a house scented by nature, often with weird sounds in the background. Other kids might have had Now That’s What I Call Music 1998, but we had whale song, Gregorian chanting, and Ravi Shankar’s greatest hits. I only remember the toned-down version of her – my older brothers and sister have more vivid recollections of living on the commune with her, when getting naked and painting yourself blue for a night round the campfire wasn’t unusual.