Debbie Johnson - Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe

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HarperCollins Publishers

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First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2016

Copyright © Debbie Johnson 2016

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Cover layout design by HarperCollins Publishers

Cover design by Alex Allden

Debbie Johnson asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © April 2016 ISBN: 9780008150242

Version 2018-09-21

‘A sheer delight’

Sunday Express

‘A lovely, emotion-filled, giggle-inducing story’

Milly Johnson

‘The perfect summer story’

Jane Costello

‘My new favourite author’

Holly Martin

‘Has all the best ingredients for a holiday read: the beautiful West Country, a family-run farm, and a mystery man with Poldark-style charms’

Yours Magazine

‘Funny, raunchy, and heartwarming…Buy it. Read it. Tell your friends about it’

Hello Chick Lit

‘I’ve got nothing but love for this amazing novel and its author’

Spoonful of Happy Endings

‘I laughed, screamed in frustration and felt the truly happy feeling that you get when you turn the final page of a great story…Bridget Jones eat your heart out’

Lisa Talks About

‘A beautifully addictive read’

Reviewed the Book

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Debbie Johnson’s Books

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Week 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Week 2

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Week 3

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Week 4

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Week 5

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Week 6

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Down Dorset Way …

And Now for the Yummy Bit …

Also by Debbie Johnson

Debbie Johnson

About the Publisher

COOK WANTED – MUST BE COMFORTING

We are looking for a summer-season cook for our busy seaside café. The job will also involve taking orders and waiting on tables. The successful applicant will be naturally friendly, be able to boil an egg, enjoy a chat and have a well-developed sense of empathy with other human beings. Good sense of humour absolutely vital. The only experience required is experience of life, along with decent cooking skills. Pay is pitiful, but the position comes with six weeks’ free use of a luxury holiday cottage in a family-friendly setting near the Jurassic Coast, with use of a swimming pool, games room and playground. Children, dogs, cats, guinea pigs and stray maiden aunts all welcome. No application form needed – if you’re interested, send us your heart and soul in letter form, telling us why you think you’re right for the job. Post your essays to Cherie Moon, The Comfort Food Café, Willington Hill, near Budbury, Dorset.

Dear Cherie,

I’m writing to you about the job you advertised for a cook at the Comfort Food Café in Dorset.

This is about my sixth attempt at composing this letter, and all the rest have ended up as soggy, crumpled balls lying on the floor around the bin – my aim seems to be as off as my writing skills. I’ve promised myself that this time, no matter how long it gets, or how many mistakes I might make, this will be the final version. From the heart, like you asked for, even if it takes me the rest of the day. If nothing else it’s pretty good therapy.

This is probably not the most professional or brilliant way to make a first impression, and you’re most likely thinking about filing this under ‘N for nutter’ – or possibly ‘B for bin’. I can only apologise – my hand’s a bit cramped now and I have a blister coming up on my ring finger. I haven’t written this much since my A levels, so please forgive me if it gets a bit messy.

To be honest, everything in my life is a bit messy. It got that way just over two years ago, when my husband, David, died. He was the same age as me – I’m thirty-five now – and he was the love of my life. I can’t give you a romantic story about how we met at a wedding or got set up on a blind date by friends, or how our eyes met across a crowded nightclub – mainly because our eyes actually met across a crowded playground when we were seven years old.

He’d joined our school a few years in and appeared like a space alien at the start of term one in September. He was really good at football, was impossible to catch in a game of tag and liked drawing cartoons about his dogs, Jimbo and Jambo. We sat next to each other on the Turquoise Table in Miss Hennessey’s class, and that was that – my fate was sealed.

That story sounds completely crazy now, I know. I look at my own kids and think there’s no way anyone they mix with at their age could turn out to be the love of their life. That’s what my parents thought – and his. I lost track of the number of times we were told we were too young. I think they thought it was sweet when we were seven, saying we were boyfriend and girlfriend – innocent and cute. By the time we were sixteen and we’d stayed together all through high school, they didn’t think it was quite so cute any more.

I get it, I really do. They wanted us to see a bit of the world. See other people. Although they were all too polite to say it, they wanted us to split up. My parents would always phrase it nicely, saying things like ‘I’ve nothing against David – he’s a lovely lad – but don’t you want to travel? Go to university? Have a few adventures before you settle down? Follow your own dreams? And anyway, if it’s meant to be, you’ll come back to each other in a few years’ time.’

He got the same speeches from his family, too. We used to laugh about it and compare notes on the different ways they all tried to express the same thing: You’re Too Young and You’re Making a Mistake. We weren’t angry – we knew it was because they loved us, wanted the best for us. But what they didn’t get – what they never really understood – was that we were already following our dreams. We were already having the biggest adventure of our lives. We loved each other beyond belief from the age of seven, and we never, ever stopped. What we had was rare and precious and so much more valuable than anything we could have done apart.