Page 10 of A Touch of Magic at the Comfort Food Café
‘So, Sarah my love,’ Cherie says, smiling, ‘I shall now introduce you to the ladies of the Budbury Coffee and Cake Club. But before I do, the rules. The first rule of cake club is you do not talk about cake club. Except when you’re at cake club, when we very much encourage talking. Now, this is Auburn, who is our local pharmacist. She’s married to a hunky Dane called Finn, who manages Briarwood.’
‘The place where all the boffins live?’ I ask, eagerly. She nods, and wipes cream from her lips.
‘It sounds really interesting,’ I say. ‘Do you think I could visit?’
She shrugs, and tells me that would be fine. ‘Though I warn you, it’s best to wear a hard hat and be ready to duck and cover. Things seem to be exploding all the time, or setting on fire, or breaking windows. It’s like being trapped with a tribe of super-intelligent savages. Give me your number before we finish, and I’ll be in touch.’
My number is usually a closely guarded secret, but I just bite my tongue and thank her. I’ll think about it later. Nobody is going to understand why I’m such a freak that I won’t tell them my number. They’ll think I’m just being rude.
‘Moving on, this is Laura, who you also already know. She’s married to Matt?—’
‘Who is also hunky,’ Laura intercepts. ‘But admittedly not Danish.’
‘Laura has two grown up children called Nate and Lizzie. Nate is at university in Liverpool training to be a vet, and Lizzie lives in London, where she is taking over the world one TikTok at a time. Matt and Laura also have six-year-old twins called Ruby and Rose. They live out at the Rockery with a psychopathic black Labrador called Midgebo.’
‘Uggh. Twins. They’re the worst,’ I say, smiling to show I don’t mean it. I notice the big age gap between her children, andassume there are different fathers involved. I will have to find out her story; I’m sure she has one.
‘Completely,’ Laura responds, deadpan. ‘Other than sisters who are two years younger than you. They really are the worst…’
The slender brunette sitting opposite throws a spoon at her, and it clatters against Laura’s forehead before hitting the table with a metallic bang. It leaves a trail of cream on her face.
‘And this is Becca,’ Cherie says. ‘As you might have guessed, Laura’s sister. They grew up in Manchester, and Laura moved down here for a fresh start. Becca came to visit and fell in love with our gorgeous Surfer Sam, and the rest is history. They live a few doors away from you with their daughter, Little Edie.’
‘Nice to meet you, Sarah,’ Becca says, ignoring the dramatic way Laura is sighing and wiping the cream from her face. ‘Sam says hi. He’s not allowed here. Chicks only. But I’m sure we’ll all meet up in the pub at some point. Even if you don’t want to, it’s hard not to bump into people around here.’
‘I’ve noticed that,’ I respond, filing away Becca’s details. There is a lot of new information flying at me, but I’m good with that. My brain is used to compiling fact files about my characters, so all I have to do is treat these real-life women as though they’re fictional, and I’ll remember everything about them. I just hope they don’t end up dead or missing, like most of my made-up people.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ says a dark-haired lady with sparkling eyes. Like Laura, she’s slightly on the plumper side, but it suits her. ‘My favourite thing about Budbury is how quickly everyone gets to know each other! You arrive as a stranger and within days, you’re part of the fabric of the place!’
She’s just described one of my worst nightmares, but I drag out a smile. I take a big gulp of that Baileys coffee.
‘This is Maxine, known to all as Max,’ Cherie tells me. ‘She arrived here around this time last year to work in the café, alongwith her daughter Sophie, who is now at uni in Cardiff. She was recovering from a broken heart, and managed to get it well and truly mended by the very sultry Gabriel Moran. Together they now buy and do up properties, and live out on Gabe’s farmhouse with two donkeys and a dog called Gary.’
I nod and wonder if she’s finished. She is, and now everyone is looking at me expectantly. I feel a bit like I’m at some kind of self-help group meeting, where I’m going to be asked to stand up and introduce myself.
The blush is building up again, and I pour myself a glass of the wine. ‘Um, hi, everyone. My name’s Sarah. I’moriginally from Essex, and I arrived here via London. I have a twin sister and two nieces, and… that’s about it really. I’m not that interesting.’
Auburn narrows her eyes and says: ‘Cherie, she’s resisting! Get the thumbscrews out!’
For a split second I actually worry she means it, but luckily I never find out because we are distracted by a new guest walking through the door. She’s short, petite, and has a huge head of full-on ginger curls. She’s wearing dungarees and hot pink Crocs, and stares at me as she walks towards the table.
‘This is Zoe,’ Cherie announces. ‘She came to Budbury with her god-daughter Martha, who now lives in London with Lizzie. She lives at Frank’s farmhouse with Cal, who is Australian, and runs the farm. Zoe manages the Comfort Reads bookstore next door, and her hobbies are sharpening pencils, alphabetising, and making sarcastic comments.’
There’s a pause here, and from the looks on the others’ faces, this is the point where Zoe would normally jump in with one of those sarcastic comments. Except she doesn’t. She just stares at me, frowning. I have the sneaking suspicion that she knows more about me than I’ve just revealed to the group. She pulls a book out of her satchel, and I grimace inside when I see it’s ahard back copy of my latest. DI Carina Shaw is my third series, and all the titles have the word ‘missing’ in them. This one isThe Missing Heart, and the cover is suitably dark and ominous.
‘It’s you!’ Zoe says, looking from the publicity shot on the dust cover to me. The photo is about ten years old, and I’ve refused to have any new ones taken– frankly I’d rather remain completely anonymous. ‘You’re SJ Andrews! Cal said you looked familiar. I have your books all over our house… Oh God, will you sign it for me?’
She looks incredibly flustered, and everyone is now looking at me even more intensely. I feel like screaming, and maybe launching myself out of the window and doing a duck and roll down the cliffs, never to be seen again.
‘Of course,’ I say, as she rummages in the bag and emerges with a sharpie. I do my now well-practised fake signature and pass it back. She sighs and hugs it to her chest.
‘Authors are my rock stars,’ she murmurs. ‘And I’m one of your groupies! I can’t believe you live here…’
I love bookshops and I love books, and I generally get on well with other people who feel the same– but I really don’t want to get sucked into being some local celeb, or doing signing sessions, or getting invited to events. I did not come here for that, and I need to make it clear before Zoe’s enthusiasm overtakes her.
‘I’m here incognito,’ I say firmly, feeling like a bit of a pillock as I speak. ‘I don’t really like publicity. I… Uh, I’d really rather not be on any social media or whatever, if that’s okay with you?’
Lord, I sound dreadful– like a complete diva. I might as well put on a pair of sunglasses indoors and start saying ‘no paparazzi, please!’ as I swan around the village in a fur coat with two bodyguards. But it needs saying. The last thing I want is someone posting a picture of me on Insta.
