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 probably stricter than any laws, so don’t worry. Now, come on, what’s the matter? Don’t be upset. It can’t be that bad – and don’t be embarrassed, whatever it is. I’m a medical professional, you know, even though I didn’t look like one when I walked into the café this morning!’

      I intend that last line as something of a joke, and she looks pathetically grateful for it, swiping her hands across her face to remove the tears as though she’s angry with herself.

      ‘Yes,’ she says firmly. ‘You are. And thank you. It’s kind of related to what we were talking about then, anyway. I’ve been really tired recently, and was just putting it down to getting older and being busy and the fact that I eat way too much cake and not enough quinoa or whatever. But then me and you had that conversation, about how exhausting it is to have a baby around, but how quickly it goes, and how it completely and utterly changes your life, and how it’s both the best and the worst time you ever have?’

      We’d barely touched on any of that, but clearly, in her head, we had, so I just nod encouragingly.

      ‘Well, after that, I was in the kitchen, making a toffee caramel sauce for the puddings, and I suddenly hated toffee caramel pudding. I mean, look at me, Katie – I’m not the sort of woman who hates toffee caramel pudding!’

      The last few words come out in a kind of desperate wail, and I suddenly start to get an inkling of what might be bothering her.

      ‘Ah … so you’re wondering why you hate toffee caramel pudding? And why you’re tired?’

      ‘Yes, and … well, having looked at the calendar on my phone, I suppose I’m also wondering why I’m ten days late with my period as well … I mean, it probably means nothing. I’m probably going through early menopause. And I’m probably going to love the pudding again tomorrow. But …’

      ‘You thought maybe you should check? Just to put your mind at rest?’

      She nods, looking forlorn and deflated now she’s finally admitted what’s bothering her, and I walk over to our high shelf full of slightly adult items – by which I mean condoms and pregnancy tests and other things that would make a teenaged boy blush. I grab one of the packages, then turn the sign hanging on the door to ‘closed’. I hope we don’t get a sudden rush – but even if we do, Auburn would understand.

      ‘Come on,’ I say, leading her through to the back rooms. ‘Are you ready to go? Or do you need that tea?’

      ‘No, I’m bursting,’ she says, managing a smile. ‘I drank a whole bottle of water on my way here, just in case. If you hadn’t been in, or you’d been busy with a customer, I’d have probably just weed myself quietly in the corner and hoped nobody noticed.’

      We approach the loo – a common or garden loo, with a small wooden sign showing a gnome urinating on the door – and I feel her slowing up. Like a dog who recognises the entrance to the vet’s, and tries to drag its heels as you take him in.

      ‘No point waiting,’ I say, firmly but, I hope, kindly. ‘If you’re not pregnant, then you can start eating some quinoa and maybe take some vitamin D, which I can find for you here. If you are pregnant, then ignoring it won’t make the problem go away. And it’s not even necessarily a problem – just an adjustment.’

      She snorts out a quick laugh, and finally takes off her puffa jacket.

      ‘It would be less of an adjustment, and more of a “holy fuck what am I going to do next?” kind of thing, really. I don’t even know what I want it to be … negative would be easier, and, you know, I do like my life as it is. But positive would be … well, it would be a baby, wouldn’t it? A new life. A bloody miracle …’

      Laura rarely swears – at least out loud – and it’s a sign of what a tizzy she’s built herself up into. She hands me her jacket, gives me a brave smile, and says: ‘Right! I’m going in … if I’m not back in ten minutes, call the fire brigade!’

      I nod, and tell her I’ll be waiting back in the shop. I mean, nobody can pee properly while they know someone’s outside listening, can they?

      I feel jittery and nervous on her behalf, and calm myself down by checking up on our stocks of pre-natal vitamins and nappies. You know, just in case? By the time I’ve decided we’re fine for both, and dusted the already dust-free shelves they’re sitting on, Laura emerges from the back.

      Her skin is still pale, and her lips are quivering, and she’s crying again. I don’t know whether it’s from relief at not being pregnant, shock at being pregnant, or a combination of all of the above. I fight the urge to run across the room and shake her shoulders, screaming ‘what was it???’, and instead just smile. Whatever the news, she doesn’t need some hysterical shop assistant getting in on the action.

      ‘Well?’ I ask, then hastily add: ‘If you want to tell me, that is. It’s completely fine if you don’t, I respect your privacy.’

      She holds out her hands, inviting me to take them.

      ‘Don’t worry, I did wash first …’ she says, grinning, as our fingers interlink. ‘And it was positive, Katie. I might need to do another seven, just to be sure, but … well, I think I might be just a little bit pregnant!’

      ‘And how do you feel about that?’ I ask, keeping my tone even – she’s smiling, but I still can’t 100 per cent figure out what’s going on in her head. Probably she can’t either.

      ‘Well, I feel terrified. And shocked. And worried. Concerned about how Matt will react, and how Lizzie and Nate will react, and how I’ll manage at my age. How I’ll fit in work, and how that might affect Cherie. And I’m cursing that night away we had for Matt’s birthday, and all the cheap prosecco we drank that might have made us a bit careless, and that Princess Leia outfit Becca bought me for a laugh that made us definitely a bit careless …

      ‘And I’m even a little tiny bit sad about David, my husband who died? Which is extra stupid – but this seems such a big deal, and I really want to talk to him about it. And … well, there are a lot of problems. The house is too small. I have a job that involves toffee caramel puddings. I have teenagers. I have a crazy dog. I’m overweight and middle-aged and … oh lord, Katie, mainly, I’m just absolutely delighted! The minute that second line appeared on the pee stick, I was just filled with joy … I can’t believe it, still, but I’m over the moon. Thank you! Thank you so much!’

      She pulls me into her arms, and we do a crazy, unbalanced jig all over the room, bumping into shelves, knocking over cardboard display stands, and generally wobbling and whooping and waving our hands around. Anyone passing by outside who happens to glance in will wonder if we’ve been getting high on our own supply after breaking into the Party Cupboard.

      Eventually, we come to a standstill, both wearing matching grins on our faces – her hysterical level of happiness is completely infectious.

      ‘What will you do now?’ I ask. ‘Apart from seven more tests. And maybe you should make an appointment with the GP. And … well, I’d suggest having a drink to calm yourself down, but that’s not really appropriate, is it?’

      Her expression momentarily clouds over – understandable, as I’ve just pointed out she’ll be teetotal for the next few months – but soon bounces back into happy mode. Then confused mode. Then frowning mode.

      ‘I need to tell Matt, obviously. I think he’ll be okay about it, but … gosh, this СКАЧАТЬ