A Wedding at the Comfort Food Cafe. Debbie Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ super busy – by Budbury standards – and sometimes we’re not. Today is definitely a ‘not’ day. Katie is off at her son Saul’s school for a parent–teacher thing, and I’ve been bored all day. That’s never good for me, being bored – I tend to start planning world domination, or smoke sixty fags, or bite my nails down to my knuckles.

      I was delighted when Laura wobbled her big round self into the store, as soon as I’d determined that she wasn’t here because of any health problems. She’s doing well, Laura, cooking two whole human beings in her tummy – but she is an older mum, and she was already a teensy bit overweight (in the way of all good cooks), and twins is always a shade more complicated.

      She waved off my questions about her health, and slumped down onto the sofa, huffing and puffing and muttering something about how I should get a crane installed to help pregnant ladies get around.

      The sofa is quite low, so I see her point. It’s also bright red velvet, designed in the shape of a giant pair of lips – a gift from Cherie Moon when we opened up.

      I get busy making Laura some tea – herbal – and some coffee – black and strong – for me, and join her, pulling up the stool so I can sit across from her rather than next to her, in case she spreads even further and squashes me.

      ‘I had nowhere else to go,’ she says dramatically. ‘Becca’s working. Zoe’s working. The kids are in school and I get a bit worried about being all the way out in the cottages on my own. What a wuss.’

      She’s not a wuss. Laura, her partner Matt, and her two kids Lizzie and Nate live in a big house at The Rockery, Cherie’s holiday-let complex a few miles out of the village. Laura’s not keen on driving at the moment, which I can understand as she’s already starting to struggle to fit her belly behind the steering column.

      ‘That’s not being a wuss,’ I say, sipping my coffee. ‘That’s being sensible. Did Matt bring you in to work this morning?’

      ‘He did – but they kicked me out, Auburn – can you believe it? Kicked out of the Comfort Food Café! That’s got to be a first!’

      ‘It might be – but I’m sure they had their reasons. Were you behaving yourself?’

      She’s been under strict instructions not to do too much, and to concentrate on the baby-growing business. I can only imagine how boring that must be, and she’s not adapting well.

      ‘Yes … no … a bit? But I’m allowed to be there in the mornings, we all agreed that! I’m allowed to bake the bread and make the cakes and get the sandwiches ready – it’s not like it’s hard!’

      ‘Speak for yourself,’ I reply, remembering the time I tried to microwave a ready meal in a tin foil container and blew the machine up. One of my more impressive culinary adventures.

      ‘So why did they kick you out, then?’ I ask. ‘Aren’t you supposed to help with the kitchen work, get them set up for lunch, and then … chillax?’

      She looks a little sheepish, and strokes the rounded mound of her tummy as she pulls an aggrieved face.

      ‘Well. Yes. But there were a lot of people in because the weather’s nice. And the tables needed clearing. And then the coffee machine broke again and needed fixing. And …’

      ‘And you started waddling around like a very slow blue-arsed fly, waiting on, cleaning up, and carrying bin bags full of rubbish around?’

      ‘Kind of,’ she admits quietly. ‘A bit.’

      ‘Well, there you have it – mystery solved. You do realise they’re only being like this because they care about you, don’t you? There are worse crimes.’

      ‘I do … yes, I realise that … but … God, I’m so bored, Auburn. And I feel so bloody useless all the time! Matt never says it, but I know he’s always worried about me. The kids mainly laugh at me, which is fair enough as they’re teenagers and their mum has turned into an airship. And now Willow and Cherie and even Edie are always keeping an eye on me, making sure I don’t do anything too strenuous … I mean, Edie? She’s a ninety-three-year-old woman for goodness’ sake, and even she’s more active than I am!’

      I can’t come up with an argument to counter that. I’d feel exactly the same, if Mother Nature was ever deluded enough to throw a pregnancy in my direction. I’d go crazy having to sit still and behave myself all the time. I pass her a Whistle Pop in consolation and sisterhood, and she’s halfway through unwrapping it when she lobs it ferociously across the room. It’s at that point that I remember – bad pharmacist alert – that she’s also been told to keep an eye on her blood sugar level because of the risk of gestational diabetes.

      ‘I can’t even eat a bloody lollipop!’ she yells, her eyes swimming with tears. She swipes them away angrily, frustrated with herself, with the pregnancy, and possibly with the whole wide world.

      I stand up and head towards our simply stunning selection of diabetic treats. By stunning, I mean two varieties of boiled sweets. I choose a raspberry-flavoured one, and pass the bag to Laura.

      ‘Sugar-free,’ I say wisely. ‘But don’t have too many or it’ll give you the trots.’ It’s that kind of gem that I went to college for.

      She gratefully accepts the sweets, and pops one in her mouth. It might only be fake sugar, but it does seem to calm her down a bit. We sit in silence for a few moments, and then finally she laughs out loud.

      ‘I’m sorry!’ she says, chortling around the words. ‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you – and I shouldn’t moan. I’m really lucky and I’m really happy, most of the time. After David – Lizzie and Nate’s dad – died, I never thought I’d be happy again. Then I moved here and the kids settled and I started working at the café, and met Matt and all the wonderful people here … and now I’m going to be a mum again. I’m so very, very lucky, and I shouldn’t whinge about it …’

      ‘That’s okay,’ I reply, opening a fake sweet for myself to keep her company. ‘Speaking as a trained and qualified health-care professional, I’m confident in the diagnosis of the fact that you’re human. Humans aren’t perfect. You can come here and blow off steam any time you like. It’ll be like Vegas – we’ll never speak of it outside the sacred walls of the Budbury Pharmacy.’

      She nods, and reaches out over her stomach to pat my knee in thanks.

      ‘I’m grateful. Thank you, Auburn. I think I’m mainly just a bit sick of myself, to be honest. I have babies on the way, and the wedding, and so much is changing and happening around me, while I’m forced to sit still and be a good little pregnant girl. I’m thrilled I’m getting married, but I am starting to wonder what possessed us to do it before the twins arrived … anyway. Enough. I’m bored with it all. Please, please, please – talk to me about something that isn’t related to my uterus or my wedding!’

      I suck the sweet into one corner of my mouth, and ponder that one.

      ‘World politics?’ I suggest. ‘The economic crisis in Asia?’

      ‘Is there an economic crisis in Asia?’

      ‘I have no idea. Probably. Football? Brexit? Prince Harry and Meghan Markle?’

      She goes a little bit gooey-eyed at the last one, and I remember how much she’d cried during the wedding service. Cherie rigged СКАЧАТЬ