A Gift from the Comfort Food Café: Celebrate Christmas in the cosy village of Budbury with the most heartwarming read of 2018!

‘No … I’m just bored, I suppose. I’ve got all the prescription requests done for Monday; I’ve checked my stocks in the dispensary, and I’ve eaten seven thousand chocolate chip cookies. So now I have a massive sugar rush and nowhere to go. I talked to Van while I was outside, by the way, just to see how things were going.’

‘Right – everything okay?’ I ask, perching myself on the stool behind the counter. Just in case we get a mad flood of customers – and also to stop Auburn from invading my personal space. I’m very protective of my personal space.

‘Yep. Mum’s teaching Saul how to knit. He says he’s going to make you a scarf for Christmas. And Van says he asked you out for a drink and you said no.’

‘I didn’t say no. I said maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. Was he upset? I didn’t mean to upset him. I just … didn’t want to agree to something I wasn’t sure about.’

She grins, full wattage, and seems delighted with it all. Van is her big brother, but not by much, and there’s a definite sibling rivalry that age and maturity hasn’t managed to erase.

I’m an only child, and being involved with big families is always a magical mystery tour for me – no matter how old they get, there always seems to be part of them that stays feral, and wants to hold the other one down on the floor while they dribble spit on their faces.

‘No, he’s not upset. In fact I think you’ve accidentally mastered the art of treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen without even trying. Most people would just lie to get out of something.’

‘I don’t think I have the imagination to lie,’ I reply, quietly. ‘And I spent too much of my life tiptoeing around other people’s feelings to feel comfortable with it. Not so long ago, I’d have just said yes to please him.’

‘But not now?’ she asks, one eyebrow arched up in question.

‘No. Not now. Anyway, what lie would you have told?’

She narrows her eyes slightly, as though she’s letting me know that she knows that I’m changing the conversation, steering it away from any personal revelations. I nod, to show that I know that she knows, and that I’m not about to start spilling my guts like I’m on The Jeremy Kyle Show. Budbury, for all its many charms, is not a great respecter of privacy. So, we both know what we know – and leave it at that.

‘Well,’ she replies, staring off into space as she thinks about it, ‘there are a variety of lies that would suit that scenario. If you’d met him in a club, you could give him a fake phone number. And a fake name. I used to pretend I was a nurse called Lorraine when I met men for the first time. This is different, though … you’d have to go for either something halfway believable, or a complete whopper.’

‘Examples, please. I live to learn at the knees of Lorraine.’

‘Okay – well, halfway believable. Tell him you’re a lesbian.’

‘What?? Do I look like I might be a lesbian?’

She bursts out laughing, and I have to join in.

‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ I add. ‘And it has its appeal – I could be the only gay in the village.’

‘That we know of,’ replies Auburn, nodding like she’s stumbled across the world’s greatest conspiracy theory. ‘Statistically, there must be some. I should probably organise an official survey. And lesbians, I believe, can look like absolutely anybody – so that’s a daft comment. Admittedly, you have a child – but you could say that was a one-off, and you’ve since had a personal epiphany of a Sapphic persuasion.’

‘I could, if I knew what that meant. All right. That’s one – how about the complete whopper?’

‘Those are more fun,’ she says, unwrapping a whistle-shaped lollipop and pausing to blow through it. ‘You could say you’re a nun on sabbatical. Or that you have a terrible sexually transmitted disease that’s made your lady parts fall off. Or that your dog ate your foot. Or wait until the night you were supposed to go out, and say a giant pterodactyl shat on your head.’

‘Or,’ I reply, taking the lollipop out of her hand and throwing it into the bin – the last thing she needs is more sugar – ‘I could just be honest. I’m really not at a point in my life where I want to be dating. Not that it was a date. Not that he implied that. Not that I’m being up myself, and assuming he’s interested in me that way. Because I’m sure he’s not – he’s a very attractive man, and there’s no way he’d fancy me. And even if he did, I’m not saying that I fancy him. Even though he is very attractive. And …’

I run out of steam at that point, which is a good thing, as Auburn is already practically wetting herself laughing at me.

‘Aye aye, Captain Careful,’ she says, giving me a mock salute. ‘Message received, over and out – you’re not interested. Even if he was interested. Which is all very interesting. And as he’s my big bro, and I still think of him in terms of sweaty socks and acne, I can understand you saying no. But if not him, then what about someone else? I mean, you’ve been here for ages, and presumably single for ages, and … well, don’t you need a shag by now?’

She looks genuinely bewildered by the concept of someone being celibate for this long. Auburn, for all her bluster, is actually almost as guarded as me when it comes to her emotions – she covers them up under layers of sarcasm and nonsense.

She’s the same with her personal history – I know she lived away from home for over a decade, travelling and working, in South America and Asia and Europe. There must have been significant others, but she’s never talked about them. Now, she seems to have a selection of blokes she refers to as her ‘he-man harem’, who she occasionally pays visits to. Presumably not to discuss the meaning of life.

I shrug and try to look nonchalant.

‘I’m the mother of a very active small child. That changes everything. For a start, I’m too tired to even think about sex, never mind actually do it. And … well, maybe I’m just not built like you, Auburn. You can separate sex and feelings. That’s never been my strong point, and life is already complicated enough without throwing that into the mix. For now, I’m content with things the way they are.’

She ponders that, and nods.

‘You’re right. Separating emotions from pretty much everything else is one of my strong suits. And I get what you’re saying – but Saul won’t be around as a human shield forever, will he?’

I’m not keen on that phrase, but let it pass. She doesn’t mean any harm by it, I know.

‘Nope. And maybe when he’s left home, I’ll turn into a nymphomaniac to make up for lost time. At the moment … well, I’m too busy washing pterodactyl poo from my hair, aren’t I?’

‘That’s the spirit!’ she says, patting my hand. ‘By George, I think she’s got it!’

She gazes outside, at the quiet main street that flows through Budbury, which is sleepy even on a Saturday. I know she’s thinking about her mum, and what’s going on at home. She usually stays until just after lunchtime, to be available for pharmacist duties, and it’s now almost twelve. Crikey, I think – I’ve managed to go to the in-bed Beauty Parlour, show off my new image at the café, say no to a not-really-a-date with a hot man, drop off Saul, and look at sex aids with a nonagenarian already this morning.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ I suggest, following her gaze. ‘I think we’ve had our rush. If anyone comes in with a prescription, I can tell them to collect it on Monday. Or if it’s urgent, I’ll call you and you can come back. I can lock up at three and meet you back at the cottage.’

She bites her lip, and I can see her weighing it up in her mind.

‘If that’s okay with you, I think I might,’ she replies. ‘Van said Willow had headed off to the café to help out – Laura wasn’t feeling too good, apparently – so that might not be a bad idea.’

She sees the concerned look sprout on my face – I can’t help it – and quickly adds: ‘They’re fine, honest! Mum and Saul are knitting, and Van’s watching football on the telly. Everything’s good. But … if it’s all right with you, I might head off, yeah. Need to walk off those cookies, apart from anything else!’

‘Yep. Walk away from the whistle pops, and make a move. I’ll see you later.’

She nods, and bustles about getting her white coat off and her leather jacket on, and eventually leaves – giving me a wink as she grabs one more whistle pop ‘for the road’.

I sigh a little as she goes, unfairly looking forward to an hour or so on my own. Barring customers, of course.

I never get time on my own, and when I do, it’s precious. Not that I don’t love Saul, or enjoy the pleasant, predictable bustle of my life, but every now and then, being in a room alone, without anybody needing me to do anything for them, is balm for an aching soul. I spent a lot of time alone growing up, and sometimes I miss it.

I won’t be lazy – I’ll do some cleaning, or unpack a new delivery of supplies, or order some cold sore cream online – but I’ll be alone while I do it. Blissful.

Unfortunately, the universe has other ideas, and literally two minutes after the bell dinged to mark Auburn’s exit, it dings again. I look up from my perch, and see Laura walk in. Her eyes have a slightly deranged look to them, and her pretty face is drawn and pale and … scared?

Chapter 10 (#ulink_efb7e74e-2451-5b26-b6b9-3122f9cc27dd)

Laura glances around furtively, checking for interlopers, before heading in my direction. She’s bundled up in a thick, hot pink puffa jacket, hands wrapped in black gloves that have skeleton bones painted on the fingers. I suspect she stole those from Lizzie, and I also suspect that they might glow in the dark. It’s started raining outside, and her hair is bursting out from her hood in frizzy strands. She tugs the hood down, revealing a severe case of hat head.

‘Hi!’ she says, her voice shrill and way too perky. ‘Is there anyone else here?’

‘No,’ I reply, coming out to her side of the counter. ‘Auburn just left.’

‘I know … I was hiding around the corner and saw her go.’

‘Okay,’ I say, calmly. Of course, I’m wondering why she was hiding, and why she sounds so weird, but I don’t push. I’ve worked in healthcare the whole of my adult life, and sometimes people just need a little space. If they want to talk, they’ll expand to fill the silence.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I ask instead, in that ultra-British way that actually means ‘I’m worried about you and don’t know what else to do.’