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

I involuntarily shudder a bit – it’s the thought of the cellar – before I reply: ‘Well, I get a lot of work like this, cleaning up places that have been empty a while. But this one … well, I’m sorting the windows so it’s nice and bright, and I’ll concentrate on the things you might keep, like the sinks and the lovely woodwork, but I’m guessing you might be planning on a refit anyway?’

I’ve phrased it like a question, and I hope I’m not being too nosy. Instead, he seems quite keen to talk about it.

‘Where it’s needed, yeah,’ he says, gazing off into the distance while he thinks about it all. ‘It’s structurally sound – I had all the surveys done – but I’d say there’s probably a bit of a damp problem, and it all needs re-wiring, so the lights stop flickering on and off like something from a horror film. Did you notice that?’

‘Only all the time,’ I say, nodding. ‘That would definitely be an improvement.’

‘Plus I’d like to do some restoration work – the cornices and ceiling roses, some of the panelling; it all needs a bit of TLC. I’ll redecorate, obviously, and sort out the gardens and the fountain. I used to love that fountain – I could see it from my window, and I’d watch the other kids playing out there all the time, jumping in and out of it in the summer, splashing each other. I could hear it at night as well, and it was … well, reassuring, I suppose. I need to find some local trades people to help with some of it, but I’m planning on doing at least part myself.’

‘Right. Are you good at that kind of thing then?’ I ask, knowing I’m frowning but not quite able to stop myself. ‘DIY, I mean?’

‘I can be, yes – why, don’t I look like I am? Don’t I look like a guy who could knock down a wall, or build an extension?’

He is pretending to be offended at this, as though I have somehow questioned his masculinity, but I can tell from the smile he’s trying to hold down that he doesn’t mean it.

‘To be entirely honest …’ I answer, smiling back. ‘… you look like the type of guy who can speak Klingon.’

‘Maybe I can speak Klingon,’ he responds. ‘At least a few words. But I’m a Renaissance man – I also know my way around an angle grinder.’

‘Well that’s good – not to be obtuse, but I don’t even know what an angle grinder is. I apologise profusely for implying that you were anything less than a rugged frontier man.’

He pauses before he replies, drinking his tea and kicking off his Converse, toes wriggling in freedom.

‘Obtuse. Good gag. And truthfully? I’m not that rugged. I do understand the mechanics of houses, and the ways they work, and how to build them, but I’ve never actually done it. I started my career as a design engineer, and most of that involved being cooped up in a cubicle in a warehouse full of brainy nerds. Seriously, it was like that place where they hide the Ark of the Lost Covenant … loads of us, all really young and keen, beavering away, perfecting the essential next generation pencil sharpener or cat-flap or whatever.’

‘Like High School Musical for Inventors?’

‘A bit like that, yeah – but without the jocks or cheerleaders or cool kids. Just the nerdy ones. Eventually, after that and a few other jobs, I successfully invented something. I won’t bore you with the details, but it was a part that’s used in the manufacture of small spherical objects. Like ball bearings, or beads, or a few of the items used in plumbing …’

I pretend to snore, and let my head loll to one side as though I’m asleep. After a second or two, I jolt back ‘awake’, careful not to spill my tea during the whole charade.

‘Sorry!’ I say, brightly. ‘You lost me at ball bearings …’

‘Ha ha,’ he snarks back, kicking my ankle in retaliation. ‘You are so hilarious.’

‘I know, right? I should do stand-up. Anyway … so why the move here? Why leave your city idyll and escape to the country?’

‘I don’t know. Ask me that in a few months’ time. I was site-surfing one day, and came across this place and recognised it. “Small Victorian manor house,” it said, “in need of some renovation.” I did a bit of digging – not actual digging, you understand, my milky-white skin is far too delicate for that – and found out it’d been sitting empty for all these years. It made me … well, it made me sad. Like I said, I was actually happy here – as happy as I could’ve been, under the circumstances – and I hated the thought of it being neglected. Stupid, I know – sentimental and stupid. It’s a house, not a person. Now you probably think I’m nuts, as well as a pathetic city slicker nerd.’

Wow. That’s quite a speech. I suddenly get the impression that this is the first time he’s tried to put all of this into words – or at least spoken those words to anyone other than Rick Grimes, who probably isn’t that chatty.

I put my mug down on the grassy floor, and it immediately falls over. Huh. At least it was empty.

‘I have to be honest,’ I say, eventually, glancing over and noticing that he isn’t meeting my gaze. Maybe a bit embarrassed. ‘That doesn’t even come close to being nuts in this village. You’re going to have to try an awful lot harder if you want to fit into that category. You’ll understand what I mean when you meet everyone … which you will, I guarantee. If you don’t come to the village, the village will come to you.’

‘Will they bring flaming torches and buckets of pitch?’

‘No, they’ll bring carrot cake and caramel macchiatos and possibly a whole spit roast suckling pig. And then they’ll show you what nuts really is, in the nicest way you can imagine. And … no, it really doesn’t sound nuts. I know exactly what you mean. This place is special to you, and you care about what happens to it. That’s lovely, not nuts.’

He nods, but doesn’t look entirely convinced. By my response, or the thought of the proposed invasion of the village people.

‘I’m not that good,’ he says, slowly. ‘With big groups. With people I don’t know. Or people I do know … just people, really. I’m okay with dogs, and with machines, and technology. People? Not my strong suit. Not to sound too macho, but they scare the shit out of me. I just don’t understand normal people.’

‘Ah, well that’s where you’re in luck – none of these people are normal. You’ll be fine, I promise. And you seem okay with meeting me.’

He looks at me, and grins. He looks stupidly handsome, and it’s hard to reconcile the way he looks with what he is – a socially awkward nerd-man. In another life, he could have been something entirely different. Like an actor or a politician or one of those people who model for romance book covers.

‘I do seem okay with you, don’t I?’ he says, laughing. ‘Weird. I think it’s because you own a magical dog named after something even lamer than mine. And you have pink hair, and dress a bit like Doctor Who’s assistant.’

I glance down at my Docs – silver spray-painted – and my odd socks and the tattered fishnet tights I have on beneath the socks, popping out beneath my Minions leggings. Right. He has a point there.

‘Plus, you seem so relaxed,’ he adds. ‘Like you could sit in these woods all day drinking tea and chatting to a stranger. Like you don’t have a care in the world.’

‘Yep,’ I reply, shrugging. It would be cruel to spoil his illusion with the nitty-gritty of my life. ‘That’s me. Little Miss Sunshine. Anyway … I can’t sit here all day, and I have a confession to make. I don’t think we’re strangers. I think we’ve actually met before.’

‘No way,’ he says quickly, looking confused. ‘I’d definitely have remembered you.’

‘I didn’t have pink hair back then,’ I answer, easing myself into the subject. ‘In fact, I was only eight, and you were a few years older. It was summer – maybe the first one you’d been at Briarwood – and … well, maybe you don’t remember. But one day, my brothers and sister convinced me the room you lived in was haunted, and they dared me to come in and find out for myself. So I opened the door, and you – I think it was you – were sitting there, at your desk, making something, which does add up now. And then …’

‘And then you screamed your head off, and ran away! That was you? Really?’

‘Yes. That was me. So you remember that, do you?’

‘Remember? I was scarred for life. I should probably have had counselling. In a bad year, it was one of the absolute highlights. My parents were dead, the rest of my family was … well, unavailable. I was living here, surrounded by other kids I had nothing in common with and couldn’t talk to, and then you happened. A screaming little whirling dervish. I’m lucky I didn’t drop dead that second. I saw you later … you were with those other kids, weren’t you? Your mum worked at Briarwood?’

By this stage, I’m holding my face in my hands, partly in shame and partly in amusement. I’d always suspected that incident all those years ago was a bit like the thing grown-ups say when you see a spider – it’s more scared of you than you are of it.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I wheeze out between laughs. ‘Honestly, I am. I was thinking about it today – I was actually a bit scared to go into that room, and I was feeling guilty, about freaking you out like that. What can I say? I’m the youngest of four. They were evil, and they made me do it. And yes … my mum worked there. You may have enjoyed one of her chakra-cleansing workshops at one stage or another.’

‘Definitely not,’ he replies firmly, grinning at the memory. ‘That would have involved leaving my room. Although she did visit me up there sometimes, tried to get to know me. She was pretty intuitive actually – brought me technical drawing pads instead of sketch pads, and gave me books with weird inventing stuff in them. She tried with Frankenstein, but when that didn’t catch she brought me biographies – George Stephenson, Isambard Kingdom Brunel. You know, your average cool kid stuff … but she was nice. I was just too wrapped up in myself back then to respond properly. Is she … you know, still around?’

He says this tentatively, knowing that we have reached the age where it’s not always a given.

I nod enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes! Very much so. And I’m glad she helped … maybe it’ll offset some of the bad family karma I earned by making you poo your pants.’

I stand up, planning to get back to work – plus avoid any more questions about my mother, as that’s too big and too private a subject for now – and he stands next to me. He’s so tall I have to look up at him, which is an unusual feeling for me. I don’t entirely hate it.

‘I didn’t poo my pants,’ he replies, as we walk back to the camper van. ‘I’d just like to state that for the record.’

‘Noted and recorded. I’ll add it to the typed transcript of this conversation when I next see my secretary.’

We climb up into the van with empty mugs in hand, and sure enough, Bella is flat out on the bed. She’s fast asleep, all four paws sticking out, jerking slightly as she dreams. Rick is squashed into the remaining floor space, his gaze turned towards Bella and only Bella.

‘Shit,’ says Tom, taking in the scene. ‘He was my one friend in the world – and he’s abandoned me for a vampire Border Terrier.’

Chapter 5 (#u7d00e978-47d7-5028-adb4-20b750c72190)

I picked my mum up from the café, where she was reading poetry out loud to Edie May, staying only long enough to give everyone a quick update on the House on the Hill, and eat some cake. I’m busy, but there’s always time for cake. I was peppered with so many questions I could barely spoon my Black Forest Gateau in. I kept it mysterious, just for fun – I rarely know more than the ladies at the café do, so I enjoy my brief moment of power.