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

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СКАЧАТЬ He’s totally right, of course. The new me is striving to be a strong and independent woman – but my attitude hasn’t quite caught up with it. I’m like a mouse trying to roar.

      ‘I’m a work in progress,’ I reply, smiling at him. ‘And by the way, I think your mother is on her way to meet us …’

      He looks up and squints into the sunlight to make her out. Lynnie is cutting a path in our direction, wearing her pyjamas, a faux fur stole, and a pair of ancient Hunter wellies. Now, Lynnie does have Alzheimer’s, but in all honesty, dressing like that probably isn’t part of her symptoms – the whole family has what you might call a relaxed approach to social conventions.

      The rolled-up yoga mat under her arm, though? That’s usually a sign that she’s decided to set off somewhere to give a class. At a guess, the café.

      Sure enough, Willow isn’t far behind her, eating up the distance with her stupidly long legs to catch her up, pink hair streaming in the breeze. Bella Swan, her Border terrier, is next in line.

      We all meet up in the middle, Willow puffing slightly, Lynnie looking confused at all the fuss. It’s hard to know how she’ll react in situations like this – sometimes a gentle reminder of the here and now sets her back on track. Other times, she understandably lashes out at the fact that a group of strange people are trying to kidnap her.

      Luckily, Saul is usually the salve in all of these scenarios. He runs straight up to her, and wraps his arms around her legs, making delighted sounds muffled by his scarf.

      ‘Well, hello!’ says Lynnie, squatting down to get on eye level with him. ‘Where are you off to, little man?’

      ‘Your cottage, silly billy!’ he replies joyously, reaching out to stroke the faux fur around her shoulders. ‘Mummy’s going to work at the chemist shop and I’m coming to look after you.’

      I meet Willow’s gaze, and see the frown lines and anxiety on her face. She tries to hide it, and often manages, but it’s all there – the worry and the fatigue. She’s one of life’s optimists, Willow, always seeing the best in the world and the people she meets – but having a sunny disposition doesn’t always count when your mum has dementia.

      We all wait to see what Lynnie’s reaction is going to be, and there is almost a communal sigh of relief when she stands up straight and offers her hand to Saul.

      ‘Come on then,’ she says, heading back to the house, him ambling at her side. ‘If you’re going to look after me, we’d better make some toast to keep our strength up.’

      She nods at me and Van politely as she goes, as though we are strangers deserving of a pleasantry as she passes. It’s more than Willow gets.

      ‘I’m the bad guy today,’ she says sadly, as we follow on. ‘She didn’t want to take her tablets, or eat her breakfast, or get dressed. Then she waited until I was in the bathroom and made a break for it. Crazy like a fox, that one.’

      Van nods and stays silent. I know he struggles more than his sisters with his mother’s condition. Maybe it’s because he’s not been back as long; maybe it’s a gender thing – he’s the kind of guy who’s used to being able to fix things. Build things. Make things work properly. Now he’s facing something that isn’t fixable, and I know it eats away at him.

      ‘If it’s too much to have Saul around, I can take him with me,’ I say, touching Willow’s arm as we walk.

      ‘No, honestly, it’s fine,’ Willow replies, pasting a smile onto her drawn face. ‘It’s actually easier when he’s here. It’s like having a kid around somehow overrides the other impulses; some instinct kicks in and she just enjoys being with him and playing with him. Besides, can you imagine Saul in a pharmacy?’

      I grin as I picture this, and bite back a giggle.

      ‘I know. It’d be dangerous, wouldn’t it? He’d be snorting athlete’s foot powder and painting his face with antibac-terial cream …’

      ‘Not to mention swigging the Gaviscon, getting high on caffeine pills, and possibly treating the antibiotics like Skittles.’

      We all pause as we let these images sink in.

      ‘You’re right,’ I say, finally. ‘He’s banned from the pharmacy for life. Anyway … if you’re sure?’

      ‘Of course I’m sure,’ she says, gently but firmly. ‘I’d speak out if I needed to, don’t worry. No, off you go – might as well make a break for it while he’s distracted. I’ll see you this afternoon, all right? He’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. Tom’s coming round anyway, so he can ride Rick Grimes around the garden like he’s that dog-dragon in The Neverending Story.’

      Rick Grimes is part Rottweiler, part golden retriever, part mystery. He can be unpredictable with other dogs, but adores children. As we don’t have any pets of our own, it’s a good set-up – Saul gets all the fun, and I get none of the responsibility.

      I nod and say goodbye to her and Van, and head off towards the village. I seem to spend my life traipsing across various fields and footpaths, juggling time and childcare and favours. Life might be easier if I had a car – but as I can’t drive, maybe not. Perhaps, I think, as I leave them behind and follow a different path, I should invest in one of those motorbikes that has a sidecar I can put Saul into. He’d love that.

      I’m still smiling about that particular image when I arrive at the pharmacy. It’s in the centre of the village, and is imaginatively called The Budbury Chemist. It’s quite quaint and old-fashioned looking on the outside, with mullioned windows and a wooden sign that hangs like the ones you find outside old pubs. On it is a painted version of an old apothecary symbol, a pestle and mortar, with a border made of green ivy. The place used to be owned by a lady called Ivy Wellkettle, who left to live with her daughter last year, and the sign has stayed as a reminder of her.

      I push the door open and hear the familiar jingle-jangle of the bell as I make my way inside. The warmth of the room envelops me, and makes me realise how cold it’s been getting recently. This will be my third winter here in Budbury, and last year’s was a humdinger. At least Saul is walking much more now, so I won’t be wrestling his pushchair through the snow as often.

      I look around at the well-stocked shelves and the pristine counter and the various posters about flu jabs and controlling asthma and giving up smoking, and spot Auburn sitting on the sprawling sofa at the back of the main room, next to Edie May.

      You don’t often get sofas in chemists’ shops, but this is Budbury. Everyone likes a place to sit wherever they go – otherwise, they might have to stay upright while chatting. This sofa was a gift from Cherie, and it shows – it’s in the shape of a giant pair of bright red lips. Like an enormous lipstick-on-tissue kiss that’s been stuffed and covered in velvet and given little legs. Personally, I find it quite scary, and always feel like I’m about to be eaten by a cartoon alien whenever I sit on it.

      Auburn is, as her name suggests, a red-head. All of Lynnie’s children were named after characteristics they had when they were born – Van had a wonky ear (it looks fine now); Willow was long and lean, and their other brother, who lives in Aberdeen, is called Angel because he was so cherubic. He’s the black sheep of the family – he changed his name to Andrew.

      Today, Auburn’s hair is pulled back into a glossy ponytail, cascading down the side of her white-coated shoulder. She looks professional and competent, СКАЧАТЬ