The Comfort Food Café

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

T he party takes place a few days after Halloween, on a Sunday because the café is closed the day after.

Sophie and I get ready in her room, while Gabriel makes himself scarce. I think he’d rather snog Belle than be dragged out to the bash, and I have to admit I’m a little disappointed. I don’t know quite what’s going on in my brain, but I realise with some horror that maybe I was harbouring a little fantasy about me looking like such a sexy witch that something would happen between us.

I know it’s stupid, and I know I’m not even ready for a relationship, but for some reason there’s a big fat gap between what I know and what I feel. I’ve gone from thinking he was hot but rude to thinking he was hot but misunderstood, and now I don’t seem able to get past the ‘hot’. It’s his own fault, of course, swanning around looking fit and macho, fixing things, using power drills while he swings his hair around. It’s like living in a razor advert.

I’ve always been aware of him, but since his comments a few nights ago, it’s like everything has stepped up gear. I find myself thinking about him in ways that are not entirely appropriate, and undoubtedly wouldn’t be welcome. Richie made it perfectly clear what he thought about my sex appeal, and there’s no reason to think Gabriel would feel any different.

Despite understanding all of this, part of me has definitely turned into a teenage girl. I’ll be scribbling his name on my pencil case next.

The actual teenage girl in the room is looking at me appraisingly as I squeeze myself into my outfit. It’s a dress with a swishy skirt covered in netting, and a bodice-style top that forces my boobs up like watermelons.

‘I look ridiculous,’ I announce, running my hands over my waist. ‘I’m too old for this.’

‘You’re forty-three, not dead! Anyway. Look at that chest, Mum—you could rest your pint on those! Why didn’t I get your genetics?’

‘Dunno, but be grateful, they’re a pain. Plus you have lovely long legs and can wear skinny jeans and look good in them.’

‘This is true. Okay, well, your hair looks great—bit of volume, bit of va-va-voom, very witch-like, good with or without hat—and the dress really is nice. I know you feel self-conscious, but that’s because you’ve been hiding your body for the last gazillion years. We’re not in LA. Nobody here is a body fascist. This is Budbury, a village that is fuelled entirely by cake! Anyway, make-up, I was thinking we could try a nice smoky eye?’

‘Just the one? Won’t that look weird?’

‘Shut up and sit on the bed.’

I do as I’m told, because I’m not great with make-up and she is, in that way her generation can be. They learnt at the feet of YouTube masters. She takes ages, and I do worry she’s actually painting a clown face on me for kicks and giggles.

‘I watched a tutorial,’ she says, as she dabs me fiercely with a sponge. ‘On contouring for old people.’

‘Is that what it was called?’

‘No, it was something more polite, like contouring for mature faces, but it means the same. Anyway. You look great, as if by magic!’

I actually do look great, I think, as I do a little spin in front of the mirror. More glamorous than I have for decades, possibly ever. I do a little shimmy to make sure the girls won’t pop out while I’m dancing, and we set off for the café. I’m driving us there, and Becca, who doesn’t drink, will be ferrying people who live any distance away back at the end of the night.

Inside, we find one wall lined with trestle tables full of food, and Sophie shows me the bloody marzipan fingers with pride. She also points out her cupcakes decorated with spider webs and the little sandwiches she made earlier, all cut into the shape of ghosts. She grabs herself a glass of punch, and joins the gang of other young vampires on the sofas. They all cheer when she turns up, and it makes me smile. She’s doing so well at the moment.

I gaze around the room and take in the various outfits. Katie, obviously stuck for costume ideas in her pregnant state, has simply wrapped a load of bandages around herself and come as a mummy. Auburn, Willow’s sister who runs the pharmacy, and her husband, Finn, have painted their faces green and added head-dresses made of wire coat hangers. I’m not entirely sure but maybe they’re aliens?

A few young people are here from Briarwood, the research centre that Finn manages. I’m told it’s some kind of hothouse residential for talented kids from the world of STEM, and they’ve already patented several lucrative inventions. One of them is dressed as a Rubik’s Cube, another as old-school Luke Skywalker.

Edie and Becca, Laura’s sister, have come as Laurel and Hardy, but with blood spattered over their suits, and Cherie is a magnificent Bride of Frankenstein, her massive wig adding to her height. I notice she keeps getting it tangled up in the mobiles that dangle from the ceiling, and suspect its days are numbered.

There are several children running around, including Katie’s boys, Little Edie, Ruby, and Rose. They are in a variety of outfits, including Doctor Who, a zombie cheerleader, and glow-in-the-dark skeleton onesies. It’s all very cute, and reminds me of trick or treating nights of yore. I used to love taking my kids out when they were young, and even now I always make sure I have a big stock of Love Hearts and lollipops to give out. I wonder if the tenants in my house will do that, or if they’ll be the types who switch the lights off and pretend they’re not in.

As I help myself to a Murderous Martini, Laura floats towards me and puts a platter of pizza bats on the table. I know it’s her because she’s carrying the food, and saying: ‘You look gorgeous, Max!’ as she approaches. I can’t see her face, though, because she has a sheet over her head and has come as a ghost. She stole my idea, the sneak.

‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘I feel a bit exposed.’

‘Have some alcohol. That’ll cure it. Where’s Gabriel?’

‘He’s not coming, I don’t think. He’s been in hiding all day. Probably scared I’ll cast a spell on him and force him to enjoy himself. Do you need any help with anything?’

‘No, don’t worry, Sophie was great today, and it’s all out now. I’m about to get spectacularly drunk, though I’m not quite sure how I’m going to drink through this sheet…’

I go and chat to Sam, Becca’s husband, who is dressed in the wetsuit he uses for surfing, but with a plastic knife glued to his back as though someone has stabbed him. I take Laura’s advice and drink my way through my nerves, and soon calm down enough to enjoy myself.

There’s boogying to a classic Halloween playlist, and apple bobbing, and someone has set up a limbo dancing bar in a corner. At some point a confetti canon is blasted over the crowd, and we all end up covered in tiny glittery black cats.

It’s all a lot of fun, and I make sure to snap plenty of pictures to show Ben. I’m hoping he’ll come when term ends, and get to see it for himself.

I enjoy the night, and love the sense of belonging I have here now, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also aware that someone was missing. I keep gazing at the door, wondering if he will make an arrival. I even left out Mr Pumpwell’s pirate hat on the kitchen table just in case he had a change of heart.

By the time Becca is rounding up me and Laura’s family for our lifts home, I’m ready to go. I’ve had a couple of Murderous Martinis, and although I’m not drunk, I’m tipsy enough. As we’re about to leave, Sophie runs across and asks if she can stay over at Frank’s farm, where there is apparently an after-show.

I have a word with Zoe about it, and she assures me it’s fine. At least I think it’s Zoe; she has all of her bright curly hair over her face like Cousin It, complete with sunglasses and a bowler hat. She adds the proviso that there won’t be any adult supervision, because ‘me and Cal will be there’.

I agree, which earns me a big hug from my daughter, and I give her the car keys so she can drive home the next day.

Becca shepherds us all down the hill through the rain, and I keep a tight hold of my witch’s hat as we make our way to Matt’s big seven-seater car. Laura sits in the back with him and Ruby and Rose, Laura belching and then giggling about it.

When I get back to the farmhouse, Gary is waiting by the door, and yips and jumps around my ankles in excitement. I let him out to do his business, and as soon as he’s back in, I close the door against the weather. He immediately curls up on his bed and goes back to sleep. Lazy bones.

I stand in the kitchen drinking a glass of water, the warmth from the Aga wrapping itself around me in a welcome blanket. It’s quiet in here, and when I tiptoe through to the living room I see the lights are off, and the fire guard is up. I feel a flash of disappointment, like the idiot I am. What was I expecting? That he’d have waited up for me? And why am I thinking like this at all?

I put the dimmer lights on as low as they can go, and decide to slip my shoes off and have a little lie down on the squishy sofa. It’s still relatively early by normal-world standards, and I’m not quite ready to admit defeat yet.

It’s warm and pleasant and relaxing, the only sounds the odd hiss and crackle from the dying fire, and perhaps inevitably I drift off for a little snooze. Even witches need the odd power nap.

When I wake up, I’m startled to find Gabriel kneeling on the floor next to me, about to cover me up with a blanket. My eyes widen in shock, and he looks as surprised as I am. He’s wet, and he’s wearing the pirate hat, and I’m very confused.

‘Sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘Didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to tuck you in, it’s getting cold.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ I say, looking up at him. ‘Why are you wearing the pirate hat?’

It looks fantastic on him, of course, with his dark hair and brooding features.

‘I went out to watch the badgers, and it was raining. Seemed to make sense at the time. You have little black cats stuck to your … self.’

I follow his gaze, and realise exactly where the little black cats are lurking. He quickly looks away, obviously embarrassed at being caught looking at my cleavage.

I don’t know quite what happens then, because I seem to suddenly become possessed by the spirit of someone far more adventurous than me. Someone far more confident. It could be the martinis, or it could be magic. Whatever it is, I see my own hand reach upwards, almost as though it had a mind of its own. I touch the side of his face with my fingers, running them over his cheekbone and his jawline.

He freezes, and says: ‘What are you doing?’

‘Touching you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to.’

His face is silhouetted by the glow of the fire, and his eyes flash dark and dangerous. He takes my hand in his, and for a moment I think he’s going to simply shove me away in disgust. But he holds it to his mouth, and kisses the soft skin of my palm. It’s such a gentle thing, barely even there, but the sensitive skim of his lips on my flesh sends shivers right through me.

He releases my hand, and it floats to his shoulder. His top is damp, and I can feel the outline of his muscled frame. It is every bit as divine as I had imagined it would be. He reaches out and winds his fingers into my hair, stroking it back from my face, and every flimsy moment of contact feels like paradise. Maybe I’m dreaming. Or maybe I’ve simply started something that I’ve wanted for a long time now. Maybe I’ve started something that I need. His face is so close to mine I can feel his breath wisping against my skin, and I murmur: ‘Take me to bed.’

‘Are you tired?’

‘No.’

He nods once, and stands up tall, holding out his hands to pull me up. I land against his chest, and gaze up at him, thinking again how beautiful he is. Neither of us speaks, but my body is trembling with anticipation, and when his hand goes to the small of my back and pulls me closer, I can tell that he feels the same.

He leads me out of the room and up the steep stone stairs, and I absolutely refuse to let my mind start whirring away. If I start thinking, start questioning this, then it will stop—and I don’t want it to stop. I know this is probably a mistake, that it will be messy, but I don’t care. I want to feel his body against mine. I want to feel his lips on me, his hands on me. I want to know what he tastes like.

We reach the landing, and he pauses. He pushes me back against the wall, one palm against it on either side of my face, trapping me. I feel a rush of blood to parts of my body that have lain dormant for years now, and suck in a breath.

‘How drunk are you?’ he asks, as I twine my fingers into his thick hair.

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want to take advantage of you.’

‘That’s very gentlemanly, Gabriel, but you can stop it. I’m fine. I want this, and I don’t need you to be polite about it.’

I am shocked at my own words, at my own behaviour, as I grab hold of his jean-clad behind and tug him closer to me. He might be saying gentlemanly things, but his body is betraying him, and it’s not feeling polite at all. I sigh a little, and lean into him, revelling in how solid he is. He wants me as much as I want him.

That seems to push him over the edge, and his hands are suddenly in my hair, turning my face upwards. His lips are on mine, and there is nothing gentle about it anymore. It is hot and demanding and passionate, his whole body crushed against me, my hands sliding under his T-shirt and glorying in what I find there. His skin is soft as velvet, but what lies beneath is hard as iron, and it is a combination that leaves me wanting more.

When we both run out of breath, he grabs hold of me and hoists me so my legs are wrapped around his hips, and I squeal in surprise. It almost breaks the moment—I don’t see myself as the kind of woman who a man can lift—but he shuts me up with another kiss, this one slower but just as demanding. My hands are around his shoulders, and my tongue is dancing with his, and every part of me is alive.

His lips drift down the side of my neck, finding sensitive places I didn’t even know I had, trailing kisses and nipping at my flesh and making every single cell in my body light up.

He lets out what sounds like a growl, and carries me through into my bedroom. We fall onto the bed together, and he is there, hard and gorgeous and annoyingly fully clothed between my legs. He carries on his explorations, his mouth roaming my neck, my throat, down to my breasts.

I hear my dress rip, and he unhooks my bra, and good lord, he does things to my nipples that they’ve never experienced before. Every suck, every lick, every touch, drives me more wild, and I’m bucking up against him, moaning his name as he expertly plays with my senses. Hands, fingers, tongue, all of it combining to make me groan in need.

He suddenly pulls away, and I am momentarily devastated until I see that it is only to pull his T-shirt over his head and his jeans off. The pirate hat got lost somewhere on the way. He stands before me, naked and magnificent, his body lean and ripped and ready, and he is so perfect that I could almost cry.

He lays a hand on my leg, running it slowly and torturously up my inner thigh. His fingers feel insanely good against me, and I wonder how I’ve lived without this for so long.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he mutters, staring at me hungrily. ‘But are you sure this is what you want? I’m not a simple man…’

‘I never thought I’d say this, Gabriel,’ I reply desperately, ‘but stop talking. Less thinking, more doing. Please.’