Molly And The Cat Cafe

20

Debbie arranged for someone to mind the café so that she could spend the following day looking into the business finances. She carried several heavy folders into the living room and spread them across the table, then sat down with a heavy sigh. She had tied her hair back in a ponytail, and reading glasses were perched on her nose as she worked her way through the piles of paper in front of her. During the course of the morning she made numerous lengthy phone calls enquiring about business-development loans and interest rates, and sat listlessly as recorded music was played down the telephone line. Making a show of supportiveness, I sat on the dining table to keep her company, but before long I had dozed off in an empty foolscap box-file.

Debbie was still engrossed in her work when Sophie got home from school. ‘Hello, love. Gosh, is that the time already?’ she said, looking up, startled. She stretched back in her chair, rolling her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck. ‘Tell you what, Soph, why don’t I make us both a cup of tea? I could do with a break from all these numbers.’

Sophie was hovering indecisively in the doorway. Her rucksack was still slung over her shoulder, and I eyed it nervously lest her mood turned and she decided to fling it at me. ‘Yeah, okay,’ she replied, placing her bag and jacket on one of the dining chairs.

Debbie disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with two mugs of tea and a packet of chocolate biscuits, which she waved in front of Sophie’s nose. ‘I think we’ve earned these, don’t you?’ she said, opening the packet and offering it to her daughter. Sophie smiled and took a biscuit.

‘So, how was school?’ Debbie asked, a flicker of concern in her eyes as she broached what she knew to be a delicate subject.

Sophie shrugged, taking a bite out of a chocolate chip cookie. ‘Dunno,’ she answered vaguely. Debbie smiled, patiently waiting while Sophie finished her mouthful. ‘My form tutor’s still a moron,’ Sophie volunteered, taking a second bite. Debbie smiled sympathetically. ‘But I sat next to Jade on the bus home, and she said the whole school knows he’s an utter—’ Debbie’s eyebrows had shot up and Sophie stopped herself, pausing to choose her words. ‘He’s an unpopular teacher,’ she said carefully, smirking across the rim of her mug.

This was the most information Sophie had disclosed about her school life in all the time I had known her, and I sensed that Debbie wanted to capitalize on her openness. ‘Does Jade live in Stourton too?’ she probed, casually sipping her tea.

Sophie nodded. ‘Yeah. I might meet her in town this weekend actually.’ She had picked up her phone and started to scroll through a backlog of text messages on her screen.

Sensing that her daughter’s interest had wandered elsewhere, Debbie patted her on the arm as she stood up to clear the empty biscuit packet. ‘Sounds like a good idea – the two of you could get a milkshake together.’

Sophie shot Debbie a withering look. ‘Yeah, all right, Mum. We’re not five years old, you know.’

Debbie lifted her hands in a gesture of submission. ‘Of course not, love. I didn’t mean to suggest—’ She stopped, relieved to see that Sophie was smiling at her.

There were further phone calls during the week as Debbie got the finances in place to pay for the planned refurbishment of the café. On Friday evening Sophie reluctantly agreed to help her move the furniture, stacking the chairs and tables inside the kitchen and clearing the serving counter. The sight of the empty café made me melancholy. It reminded me of Margery’s house when it was being packed up, and the sadness I had felt at seeing empty floor where once there had been furniture, and marks on the walls where pictures had hung. I did not want to linger downstairs any longer than necessary, and happily ran up to bed with Debbie as soon as she had locked up.

First thing on Saturday morning I heard the bell above the café door tinkle. It was Jo. ‘Right, boss. What’s first?’ she asked cheerily.

Debbie had got up early and was already kneeling on the floor next to the stove. ‘Hi, Jo. Help me get this lino up, would you?’ she answered. ‘John’s coming later to have a look at the stove, so I want to get the fireplace area cleared.’

Jo took off her coat and hung it up, while Debbie started to score at the floor with a Stanley knife.

‘So John’s coming to help? Well, isn’t that kind of him? And on a weekend, too.’

Something about Jo’s tone made Debbie look up. ‘And what’s that face for?’ Debbie said drily, running the blade sharply along the floor.

‘What face? I’m not making a face,’ Jo replied innocently. ‘I’m merely thinking how kind it is of John to give up his weekend to fix your stove.’ A mischievous smile played around her lips.

‘Well, you’re not here to think – you’re here to work,’ Debbie replied curtly. ‘But for your information, he’s not doing it out of kindness. I will be recompensing him for his time.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Jo muttered under her breath, which Debbie pretended not to hear.

Although Debbie had removed all the furniture from the café, she had left my box on the windowsill. I climbed into it and watched as they moved slowly across the café floor, scoring the lino before ripping it up in jagged sections. After a couple of hours they both looked hot and flustered. Debbie crawled on her hands and knees to the stairs.

‘Soph! Please, love, take pity on two old women and put the kettle on!’ Sophie grunted in response, and a few minutes later she appeared at the bottom of the stairs carrying two mugs of tea. Jo and Debbie gratefully took a mug each, then collapsed side by side on the bare floor, their backs against the wall.

‘I’m meeting Jade, Mum. See you later,’ Sophie said, picking her way between their outstretched legs on her way to the door.

‘See you later, love,’ Debbie called, blowing her a kiss.

Debbie and Jo were sipping tea in silence when John pushed the café door open. ‘Morning, ladies. Hard at it, I see.’

They shot him withering looks, and soon John was set to work fixing the stove, while Debbie and Jo discussed how best to dismantle the serving counter. I suspected it was going to be a noisy and dusty afternoon, so I decided to leave them to it and head upstairs to sleep off my low mood in the flat.

The smell of takeaway food drifting up the stairs woke me. Night had fallen and I could hear Debbie and Jo chatting as they dragged a table and chairs across the café. Sophie must have returned home during the afternoon, as I found her half-heartedly rooting around inside the fridge. When Debbie called up to ask her if she fancied joining them for a curry, Sophie shouted back, ‘Yeah, okay,’ without hesitation.

Not wanting to be left out, I followed Sophie downstairs. The café looked completely different from when I had last seen it. The grey lino had gone, revealing handsome flagstones underneath, and the serving counter had also been removed, exposing a wide section of floor that had not seen the light of day for decades. John had gone, but the stove in the fireplace was working, a healthy yellow flame flickering inside the blackened glass door. In spite of its emptiness, the café felt imbued by the warm firelight with a cosy intimacy. Even Sophie seemed momentarily taken aback, pausing on the bottom step to take in the transformation.

‘Well, Soph? Looking better already, don’t you think?’ Debbie asked. Her overalls were covered in dust and thick strands of hair had slipped out of her ponytail.

Sophie had headphones in her ears, but nodded in agreement. Debbie pulled a chair up to the table for Sophie, and Jo handed her a plate. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled under her breath, spooning out some rice and a little curry.

‘What do you think of the tiles, Sophie?’ Jo asked her, gesturing proudly to the flagstones.

‘Dunno, could do with a clean, I suppose,’ Sophie answered noncommittally.

Jo pretended to take offence. ‘She’s a chip off the old block, isn’t she?’ she said to Debbie. ‘You work your fingers to the bone, and all she does is complain about the dirt! You’re as bad as your mother, Sophie!’

Sophie looked chastened and regretful. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Don’t worry, Sophie,’ Debbie cut in. ‘She’s just pulling your leg, aren’t you, Jo?’

Jo grinned, and Sophie surreptitiously slipped her headphones out of her ears, placing her phone on the table. ‘Fire’s nice,’ she said, chewing a mouthful of curry.

The three of them looked towards the stove, where I had wasted no time in stretching out to bask in its warm glow. ‘It certainly looks like Molly approves,’ Debbie chuckled.

Debbie and Jo ate ravenously after the day’s exertions and, with Sophie picking at the food as well, I began to despair of there being any leftovers for me. Although I had spent a quiet day indoors, I was unusually hungry. I waited patiently for them all to finish, and eventually Debbie put the foil trays on the floor for me to lick. She cleared away the plates, and when she returned from the kitchen she was clutching a paint chart.

‘Right, ladies, your assistance is required. I need to choose a colour for the walls, and can’t decide between Mouse’s Breath, Smoked Mackerel and Drizzle. What do you think?’

Debbie held up the chart in front of them. Jo wrinkled her nose uncertainly and Sophie looked nonplussed.

‘Mum, they’re all horrible,’ she said. ‘Mousy-grey, fishy-grey or rainy-grey. Urgh!’

Debbie looked downcast, and turned to Jo for backup. ‘I thought they were muted and tasteful. Very Stourton. Don’t you agree, Jo?’

Jo avoided her gaze. ‘Pass it here,’ she said, sidestepping the question. She put her hand out to take the chart from Debbie. ‘They may be very Stourton, but I think Sophie’s right. There must be something here with a bit more colour.’

Jo unfolded the chart, holding it up to the light every now and then. ‘Aha!’ she exclaimed. ‘Surely this has to be the one!’ She turned the chart towards the others and pointed at a square of pale pink.

‘I suppose it’s nice,’ Debbie said half-heartedly, still smarting from the unanimous dismissal of her favoured shades.

‘You don’t sound too sure, Debs, but you know what’s going to clinch the deal for you? It’s called Molly’s Blushes.’

At the sound of my name I looked up from the empty foil tray, which I had been licking across the floor.

Debbie took the paint chart for a closer look. ‘I suppose pink might make the place look friendly,’ she said uncertainly. ‘What do you think, Soph?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s all right, I s’pose. Better than grey, at least.’

Debbie frowned at the chart thoughtfully. ‘Yes, okay, why not? Everyone likes pink, right?’ she said decisively, her frown giving way to a smile.

‘That settles it!’ Jo announced, pouring out two glasses of wine. ‘To Molly’s Blushes! Here’s to a fun-packed day of painting tomorrow.’

‘Molly’s Blushes!’ Debbie repeated, clinking her glass against Jo’s. ‘Come on, Soph, join in – it’s a toast,’ she chided.

Sophie rolled her eyes and reluctantly lifted her glass of water. ‘Molly’s Blushes,’ she mumbled self-consciously.

They all looked at me as they sipped their drinks, and I was relieved that none of them could see my actual blushes through my fur.