Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe. Debbie Johnson
when you’ve bought something off eBay. As I hadn’t actually bought anything off eBay, and as my post usually consists of bills and people trying to persuade me to reclaim my PPI, I was a bit confused. I stared at it for a few minutes, jiggled it about, and eventually – in a fit of amazing clarity – actually opened it.
Inside was a small pink card, folded in two, from none other than the legendary and possibly fictitious Cherie Moon.
‘Congratulations!’ it announced, in tiny, curling handwriting. ‘I could tell from your letter that you are exactly the right person for the job, and I’m so excited about welcoming you all to the Comfort Food Café for your working holiday. Enclosed are directions to both us and to your cottage, along with your keys, a bit of information on boring things to do with the house, and phone numbers in case you need them. I’ll expect you on July 23 – and I’ll have something sweet and special waiting for you at the café!’
And that was, quite literally, it. Even I, with very limited experience in the world of work, knew that this was unorthodox. There was no request for references (thank God) and only a couple of forms to fill in. There was just that pretty little card, with its tiny handwriting, a few photocopied sheets with a map and pictures, and the keys.
The keys that were currently tucked away in my bag, which was somewhere under Nate’s feet, crammed in with a multipack of juice cartons and mini boxes of raisins and dried apricots that nobody would eat. I just like to be prepared, in case a freak snowstorm or a zombie invasion means we get trapped at the side of the road, you know?
David used to take the mickey out of me something rotten for what he called my ‘survivalist streak’. I even miss that. I even miss being mocked, which is kind of tragic. But he mocked me in a nice way, and now nobody even knows me well enough or cares enough to bother poking fun at me.
I give myself a mental whack around the head and start to sing along to ‘I Would Do Anything For Love’ instead of allowing myself to follow this familiar path to Wallow Town. I Will Not Wallow – my new mantra – I think, as I join Meatloaf on a sonic journey through affairs of the heart.
‘I like this one,’ mumbles Nate, almost-but-not-quite asleep now. His comatose tone makes me smile – it’s the way he speaks just before he conks out.
‘Me too,’ I reply, smiling.
‘I don’t,’ mutters Lizzie from the back seat.
Oh well, I think, glad to hear her voice, even if it does sound pissed off. Two out of three ain’t bad.
Our arrival in Budbury doesn’t go quite as planned. In fact, it’s about seven hours later than I’d hoped for, we’re all very hot and bothered, and the dog has been whining for the last thirty minutes. I know exactly how he feels.
It’s also practically nightfall, that strange twilight between-time when the sun could be setting or rising. In this case, it’s definitely setting, sinking as low in the sky as my morale by this stage.
We had a few problems once we left the motorway. First there was the sat-nav fiasco. Or the lack-of-sat-nav fiasco, to be more precise. I decided, in my infinite insanity, that it would be a really good idea to stop off at Avebury. We could see the famous stone circles and walk the dog, and get some air and sunshine that wasn’t filtered through petrol fumes in service-station car parks.
As you can perhaps imagine, if you’ve ever met twenty-first-century teenagers, that idea went down very well.
This idyllic little detour lost us a few of the hours we’d gained by setting off early, mainly because I was convinced that we could find it without using the sat nav. It was on the map. It was a tourist attraction. Surely there would be brown signs or queues of druids in flowing white robes trekking down the lay-by?
Poor Nate was trying to read the road map, with Lizzie hovering behind him, glaring over his shoulder, poking the pages with her finger and yelling comments like ‘It’s to the right, you retard!’
Nate eventually elbowed her in the face, which I didn’t entirely blame him for. He managed to connect with her cheekbone and made her howl so loudly the dog joined in. All the way through these familial delights, I had a tractor in front of me and a Land Rover driving so far up my arse he should really have brought a wedding ring.
By the time we’d circled the same stretch of admittedly very pretty road for about the gazillionth time, we’d all had enough. Lizzie was yelling. Nate was yelling back. The dog was barking. I was trying to retain my zen, but fast losing the will to live.
Things started to really deteriorate when Lizzie shouted ‘for God’s sake, use the bloody sat nav!’ Nate had come out with the traditional response – Sat Nav’s for Slackers – which provoked her to new lows.
‘That’s what Dad used to say,’ she hissed. ‘But Dad’s not here is he? And Mum just isn’t up to the job!’
That hurt, almost physically. It felt a bit like she’d actually stabbed me in the back of the head with a fork and blood was dripping down my scalp.
The worst thing about it was that it was one hundred per cent true. I might be getting my equilibrium back; I might be trying to move on. I might be less of a nervous wreck than I was this time a year ago. But I still wasn’t up to the job – assuming the job was being her dad. Because much as I tried, I would never be her dad – and an epic fail on the road-map front was only a tiny part of that.
In the end I took the very sensible option of pulling over into one of those beauty spots where you’re supposed to take photos of the stunning scenery. As the only scenery in my car consisted of violent kids and a senile Labrador, I refrained from creating a magical Kodak moment and instead simply got out.
I put Jimbo on his lead and practically heard his old bones creak as he threw himself out of the boot. He immediately cocked his leg to pee on a fence post and then tries to eat a small pile of sheep droppings.
I gazed out at the hills and valleys and luscious greenery and completely understood why Ye Ancient People had decided to locate their mysterious and allegedly powerful stone circle here. I just wished they’d thought to leave some better directions.
After Jimbo had sniffed and snuffled a few more times and I’d allowed the gentle sensation of sunlight on my skin soothe me down from the cliff edge the kids had driven me up, I helped the dog climb back into the boot, and slid back in the car.
Both of the kids were very quiet, which is always a worrying sign. I quickly glanced at both, making sure they were still alive, before fastening my seatbelt and preparing to move off.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ came a small voice from the back seat. I felt her hand pat me on the shoulder, which made me grin immediately. It was such a hesitant pat, like she knew she had to do it, but didn’t enjoy it either. Almost as though she might catch leprosy from me if she kept it going for more than a few seconds.
‘For what?’ I asked, not wanting to give in too easily.
‘For what I said about Dad. For being the Mean Girl. You’re doing great, and I’ll read the map if you want.’
I briefly touched my fingers to hers – keeping it quick so I don’t ruin the moment with too much affection – and nodded.
‘Thank you, Lizzie. And it’s fine – we all miss him, and we all get mean sometimes. But you know what? I think you’re right about this one. I think I’m going to have to break Dad’s rule and hope he doesn’t mind. Nate, get that sat nav out of the glove compartment …’
Nate hurried to comply, and within about six minutes, we arrived at Avebury – it appeared that we’d somehow managed to drive past it over and over again without ever noticing.
The visit was fine, the kids had ice cream and we all took photos. Jimbo discovered lots of