For those of you who have already read (and hopefully enjoyed!) Summer at the Comfort Food Café, the majority of the characters in this latest book will be familiar to you. Old friends, even. For those of you who haven’t, don’t worry – this one will still make sense. At least, that’s the plan! While summer at our beautiful beachside café in Dorset focused on the story of Laura and her children, Nate and Lizzie, and was told from Laura’s perspective, this story is told by her sister, Becca. We only met Becca via phone in the first instalment, but she was always one of my favourite characters – I hope you enjoy meeting her in person, and seeing the Comfort Food Café through her very different eyes. Becca’s not always as easy to love as Laura – but she’s always fun!
December 25, 1987
Fizzy, the Twinkle-Eyed My Little Pony, is a rare and beautiful creature. She has a turquoise body and pink eyes and a silky-soft flowing mane. Fresh out of the box that morning, straight from Santa, she should be galloping across the matching My Little Pony duvet cover that is spread over Laura’s single bed.
She should be neighing and singing and giggling with her friends, Applejack and Lily and Starflower the Rainbow Pony.
Sadly, that isn’t happening. Partly because Applejack and Lily and Starflower are floating around in the toilet, with soggy loo paper clogged up around their manes, and partly because Fizzy – and her twinkly eyes – is currently being used as a weapon of mass destruction.
Laura’s little sister, Becca, is four. Laura, being a much more mature six years old, always tries to be patient, because that’s what her mum says she needs to be. And every time she’s patient, she gets an extra sticker on her star chart, and once it’s full, she will get a new Care Bear. Maybe the one with the rainbow hearts; she hasn’t decided yet.
Becca has a star chart too, but hers is empty. Mum says it should be in ‘negative numbers’, whatever that means.
Sometimes, Laura thinks, Becca is just… mean. And loud. And not very nice. Sometimes she makes it impossible to be patient. Like now, for example.
Now, she’s holding Fizzy in her chubby fist, and she’s trying to hit Laura in the face with her, hooves first. Fizzy might be rare and beautiful and have a silky-soft mane, but nothing else about her is soft. She’s made of plastic, and she really hurts when she’s poked in your eye.
Laura had come up here to play while Mum was cooking the Christmas dinner and Dad was having a ‘medicinal beer’. Becca had been crying and sulking all day, which he kept saying was because she was over-tired. He said it as though he felt sorry for her, and kept giving her hugs and carrying her around on his shoulders even when she was tearful and snotty.
Secretly, Laura didn’t feel sorry for her. It was her own fault she was tired – she waited up until way past midnight, when the church bells rang out, because she wanted to see Father Christmas and Rudolph, even though she’d been warned that if she saw them, they’d never come down their chimney again.
Staying up so late meant she was grumpy and angry when they finally managed to wake Mum and Dad up, jumping on their legs in bed until they agreed to go downstairs and see if he’d been.
He had, and he’d left them loads of stuff under the tree – so Becca mustn’t have seen him after all.
After everything was unwrapped, Becca had her own pile of toys – a Fisher Price kitchen and a koosh ball and a Play-Doh hairdresser set – but of course she didn’t want to play with them. She wanted to play with Laura’s. And when Laura said no, she screamed and grabbed a handful of the ponies off the bed, ran into the bathroom and threw them in the toilet.
She tried to flush them down but they wouldn’t go, even when she poked them with that spikey brush Mum used to clean the loo with.
When Laura chased after her and tried to stop her, Becca snatched Fizzy out of her hand and started whacking her across the head with it. And it really hurt.
She’d tried to be patient, and she’d tried to be nice, and she’d tried to talk to her. But Becca just won’t stop shouting and whacking, and Laura has had enough.
She grabs the shower attachment that is fixed to the bath with a big, bendy silver pipe, and turns on the cold tap. Not the hot one, because even if she is angry, she doesn’t want any burny water spraying out. She points it at her sister and lets it blast full-force into her scrunched-up, furious face.
Becca’s long brown hair is immediately plastered down over her cheeks, and the Strawberry Shortcake nightie she is wearing, the one that used to be Laura’s, goes dark as the water spreads over it.
Her mouth is gaping open in shock, and her eyes are screwed closed against the spray. She drops Fizzy straight away and starts to scream. And scream. And scream.
Laura hears the kitchen door open downstairs and music wafting up from the radio that Mum always listens to when she’s cooking. That song about China in your Hand.
There