Molly And The Cat Cafe. Christmas At The Cat Cafe

As if sensing her presence, Beau turned and fixed his dark eyes insolently on Purdy. She stared unblinkingly back at him and, for a moment, the room was silent and still. Then, with a vicious growl, he lunged across the floor towards her. Purdy responded instinctively, with an explosion of spitting and hissing, and for a moment it was impossible to distinguish dog from cat, as they merged into a writhing mass of limbs and fur. The other kittens leapt for safety, sending papers and empty mugs flying as they tried to get as far away from the melee as possible.

‘Beau! Oh my God. Beau, baby – stop!’ Linda shrieked, with absolutely no effect whatsoever.

Purdy scrambled on top of the pet carrier, from where, with her claws bared and ears flat against her head, she let out a rapid volley of bats against Beau’s upturned muzzle. Confused by her sudden height advantage, Beau seemed rooted to the spot, powerless to defend himself against her repeated blows. The sound of claws snagging on skin was followed by Beau’s high-pitched yelp and a gasp of shock from Linda. Then it was all over: realizing the battle was lost, Beau fled, scuttling into Linda’s open arms.

She made soothing noises and kissed the tip of his nose as Beau whimpered pathetically. I turned to look at Debbie, wondering why she had gone to stand by the window, seemingly to stare at the ceiling. Following her eye-line upwards, I realized that Abby and Bella had both shot up the curtain and were now crouched on the curtain pole, rigid with fear, resolutely ignoring her attempts to coax them down. Throughout the drama Eddie had remained by my side, alert but sanguine, perhaps reassured by his proximity to me. Maisie, the smallest and shyest of my kittens, was nowhere to be seen; I hoped she had either escaped through the door or taken refuge behind the sofa.

Deciding to leave Abby and Bella where they were, Debbie turned back to face the room.‘Linda,’ she said, rubbing her forehead, ‘I think maybe we should keep Beau and the cats apart for now, at least until they all get used to each other. Don’t you?’

Beau was lying on his back in Linda’s arms, licking frantically at her face in a way that made my stomach turn. ‘You might be right,’ Linda replied, looking at Beau with a distraught expression. ‘The poor thing’s traumatized, bless him.’

Downstairs, the caf? door slammed. ‘Hi, Mum,’ shouted Sophie. Beau immediately wriggled out of Linda’s grip, dropped to the floor and started yapping demonically.

‘Hi, love,’ Debbie called back meekly, with a look that suggested she expected the situation was about to take a turn for the worse. We all listened as Sophie ascended the stairs, Beau’s bark increasing in ferocity with every step she took. When Sophie appeared in the doorway, Maisie pickedher moment to dart out from behind the sofa, shooting between Sophie’s legs to make a break for the stairs. The combination of Maisie’s escape and Sophie’s arrival proved irresistible for Beau. He bolted after Maisie, practically knocking the unsuspecting Sophie off her feet.

‘What the … ? Whose dog is that?’ she asked, before looking up and noticing Linda, who was still crouched in the middle of the floor, ashen-faced. ‘Oh, hi, Auntie Lin—’

‘Stop him, Soph!’ Debbie shouted, but it was too late. Beau had deftly swerved around the banisters in pursuit of Maisie. Linda jumped to her feet and barged past Sophie into the hallway. There were more yelps and scuffles in the stairwell, as Linda grabbed Beau and manhandled him back upstairs, finally depositing him in the kitchen and slamming the door shut. Seconds later, Linda reappeared at the living-room door. She smoothed her hair and arranged her face into a smile, before walking towards Sophie with her arms open.

‘Hi, Soph, how are you? Good day at college?’

‘I’m good, thanks,’ Sophie replied, nonplussed, allowing her aunt to embrace her. She shot her mother a questioning look over Linda’s shoulder.

‘Auntie Linda’s going to be staying here for … a few days,’ Debbie explained. ‘With her dog.’

‘Oh, right.’ Sophie smiled politely.

Linda released her from the hug, and I saw Sophie’s eyes land on the large suitcase under the window.

No one spoke as Debbie, Linda and Sophie stood awkwardly around the empty carrier. Purdy had jumped onto the sofa and, with a look of complacent victory, had begun to wash, while Abby and Bella remained huddled together nervously on the curtain pole. I sat in the shoebox next to Eddie, taking in the bizarre tableau. The silence was broken only by the sound of Beau pawing at the kitchen door, his claws grating against the wood.

‘I’m sure he’ll settle down soon,’ Linda murmured, at which Debbie tried to muster a smile.

‘Well, I’ve got work to do, so I might just go up to my room,’ Sophie said breezily, picking up her school bag.

‘Good idea, love,’ Debbie concurred. ‘We’ll order a takeaway later,’ she added, in an artificially upbeat tone.

‘Mmm, great,’ Sophie replied, her phony enthusiasm not fooling anyone.

Debbie sank onto a dining chair, looking drained.

I would have liked nothing more than to restore my equanimity with a calming wash, followed by a long nap, but the dog’s persistent scraping at the kitchen door, now accompanied by pitiful howling, ruled out the possibility of any rest.

Sensing tension in the atmosphere, Linda took it upon herself to tidy the mess caused by Beau and Purdy’s standoff, lifting the upturned mugs off the floor and straightening the disarrayed files on the dining table. She picked up the pet carrier and looked around for somewhere less obtrusive to put it, finally making space for it on the floor in the alcove next to the sofa.

The delivery of a Chinese takeaway later that evening went some way towards lifting spirits in the flat. Sophie shuffled down from her bedroom, wearing slippers and a onesie, her long blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, to reveal the almond-shaped blue eyes that so closely resembled her mother’s.

‘How’s your homework going?’ Debbie asked, as she placed a bunch of cutlery on the table.

‘Okay,’ Sophie shrugged.

‘They work you hard at school these days, don’t they?’ Linda said, peeling the cardboard lids from the foil food trays at the table.

‘It’s not school, it’s college,’ Sophie corrected her. She had left school the previous summer to attend a local college, and was adamant that the distinction between the two should be recognized.

The three of them spooned out food onto their plates and began to eat, to the background accompaniment of Beau’s pitiful whimpering in the kitchen. Linda cheerfully fired a succession of questions at Sophie and Debbie about their lives, the caf? and Stourton. There was a relentless, interrogative quality to her questions and, when she finally took Beau for a walk after dinner, it felt as though everyone in the flat – human and feline – breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Debbie flopped onto the sofa and patted her lap, inviting me to jump up. Sophie sat down beside us and tapped at her phone, while Debbie stroked me and sipped her wine. Neither of them spoke, and I sensed we were all enjoying the peace and quiet.

Twenty minutes later, however, when we heard the caf? door open, I felt Debbie’s body tense underneath me. She inhaled sharply when Linda appeared in the living room with Beau tucked under her arm, although whether that had to do with Linda’s return or the fact that, upon seeing Beau, I involuntarily impaled her knees with my claws, I could not be sure. Debbie unpicked my embedded claws from her jeans, one by one, while Linda placed Beau inside his carrier in the alcove, ordering him, ‘Be a good boy and lie down.’ Worn out by his walk and, presumably, grateful not to be locked in the kitchen, Beau did as he was told and, within a few minutes, was fast asleep and snoring.

When Jasper sauntered into the room a little while later I realized that, in the chaos of Linda and Beau’s arrival, I had forgotten to meet him in the alleyway for our usual evening stroll. As I watched him slink silently between the table legs, it occurred to me that, having been outside all day, he would be unaware of the new arrivals. He did not break his stride when he noticed Linda sprawled sideways on the armchair, but a snuffly snort from the pet carrier in the alcove stopped Jasper in his tracks. He froze, glanced through the wire door at the sleeping dog, then lifted his eyes to shoot a look in my direction that seemed to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ His tail twitched and his amber eyes narrowed in distaste at the unconscious Beau, before he swiftly retraced his steps into the hall. A couple of moments later I heard the cat flap downstairs swinging and I knew he had headed back out, no doubt planning to sleep in the alley.

Everyone agreed that an early night was in order. Debbie explained, between yawns, that she needed to be up early, and Linda was full of understanding and gratitude, acknowledging that it had been a long day.

Debbie opened out the sofa-bed and I sat in the hallway as they all waited their turn for the bathroom, before saying goodnight and disappearing into their respective rooms. One by one, the shafts of light beneath their doors disappeared, and the flat was silent, but for the ticking of the cooling radiators. I padded downstairs to join the kittens in the caf?.

4

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The next morning, I awoke on the window cushion with a start. The image of Beau’s snarling face had appeared in my dream, accompanied by a panicky concern for my kittens’ safety. Confused and alarmed, I scanned the caf? to check their whereabouts, and was relieved to see them all sound asleep in their various napping spots, their chests rising and falling with each breath. Jasper, however, was nowhere to be seen.

I slipped through the cat flap and padded down the side of the caf?, turning right into the narrow alleyway that ran along the back of the parade. This had been Jasper’s territory when he had lived on the streets, and he still considered it his domain. A drystone wall bordered one side, facing onto the vista of mismatched fire escapes, dustbins and air ventsthat made up the rear view of the caf? and its neighbours.

As I moved noiselessly along the tarmac, there was a flicker of movement beneath the iron steps of a fire escape, and a moment later Jasper’s bulky black-and-white form emerged. He gave his square head a perfunctory shake, before stretching out, his fur rippling as the muscles flexed beneath his skin. When I had first stumbled into this alleyway as a half-starved stray, I had been intimidated by Jasper’s imposing physical presence. The scars on his ears suggested he was an accomplished fighter, and my experience with another of the town’s alley-cats made me instinctively wary around him. Over time, however, I had come to realize that his street-cat looks and taciturn manner belied a sweet-natured, chivalrous disposition.

I sat down next to the iron steps and Jasper came to sit beside me.‘Sleep well?’ I asked.

‘Not so great,’ he answered, with a slight narrowing of his amber eyes. We contemplated the skyline in silence for a few moments: the rising sun had broken through the cloud, and the light mist that had swathed the nearby church spire was beginning to melt away. ‘Who is she?’ he asked finally, in a voice heavy with disdain.

‘Her name’s Linda – she’s Debbie’s sister.’

Jasper looked pensive.‘And is she … arethey … staying long?’ he asked.

I realized that, amidst the drama of the previous evening, Linda had not specified how long she planned to stay.‘Just a few days, I think,’ I answered vaguely, with more hope than conviction.

‘Hmm,’ Jasper replied, returning his thoughtful gaze to the sky.

Having lived on the streets all his life, Jasper had an ambivalent attitude towards the cat caf?, at best. It had been a mark of his devotion to me, and his dedication as a father, that he had compromised his street-cat independence to spend time with us indoors, albeit on his own terms. He consistently avoided the caf? during opening hours, considering the idea of being ‘on show’ to customers demeaning; but, after closing time, he would slip through the cat flap, to enjoy some of the benefits of our lifestyle. I sometimes teased him about his double standards, pointing out that his proud assertion that he would ‘always be an alley-cat’ was not entirely credible when hespent his evenings sprawled semi-conscious on the caf?’s flagstones in front of the dying embers of the stove. I suspected, however, that Jasper would draw the line at sharing his indoor territory with a highly strung stranger and a lunatic lapdog.

The town was beginning to wake up around us; somewhere in the distance a dustbin lorry rumbled its stop–start progress around the streets, while the rooks and magpies in the adjacent churchyard cawed incessantly, starting the day in dispute, as always. Behind me, I detected movement in the flat above the caf?: the swoop of a venetian blind being raised and the patter of water from the shower.I could picture the scene inside: Debbie hurrying from the steaming bathroom into the kitchen to fill our food bowls, before shouting up the stairs to the attic, to wake Sophie for college. My stomach began to growl with hunger.

‘Are you coming in for breakfast?’ I asked Jasper, knowing full well what his answer would be.

His nose wrinkled in distaste.‘Not today,’ he replied dismissively, but when his eyes caught mine, I saw a trace of a smile. ‘If he stays much longer that dog will need putting in his place,’ he commented wryly.

‘Don’t worry, Purdy’s already done it,’ I said.

Jasper blinked his approval and puffed out his chest.‘Good for her,’ he commented. Then he stood up, stretched and slunk away towards the row of conifers at the end of the passage.

Inside, the kittens had vanished from the caf?. I crept cautiously up the stairs, my ears alert for indications of Beau’s whereabouts. The living-room door was still closed, but I could hear Debbie in the kitchen, talking happily to the kittens. ‘There you go, Purdy; now, be nice, make room for Maisie. Bella and Abby, you can share thepink dish – there’s plenty for both of you. Don’t worry, Eddie, I haven’t forgotten about you, aren’t you a patient boy?’

Her loving chatter made my heart swell with gratitude; she knew my kittens almost as well as I knew them myself, and she always made sure they each received their fair share of food and attention.

I paused in the doorway to watch as they ate greedily from the dishes on the kitchen floor. With their heads lowered, the four tabby sisters looked so similar that they were almost indistinguishable, although Maisie’s petite frame marked her out from the others. Eddie was at the far end of the line, noticeably taller and bulkier than his sisters, his black-and-white colouring a sleeker, glossier version of his father’s.

Debbie stood at the worktop, waiting for the kettle to boil.‘Morning, Molls, I was wondering where you’d got to.’ She smiled as I edged in alongside Purdy.

I had just taken my first mouthful when there was a scuffling sound across the hall, and Linda squeezed out of the living room, holding the door close to her body to prevent Beau from escaping. He yapped and scrabbled in protest as she pulled the door shut behind her.

‘Cuppa?’ Debbie asked.

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Linda answered, sidling into the kitchen to lean against the fridge. In her dressing gown, with mussed-up hair and eyes puffy with sleep, she was hardly recognizable as the immaculately presented woman I had met the day before.

At that moment Sophie raced noisily downstairs from her bedroom and steadied herself on the kitchen doorframe to pull on her trainers.

‘You having breakfast, Soph?’ Debbie asked.

Sophie glanced at her watch, considering whether she had time, and perhaps also whether she could face the contortions required to extract a bowl of cereal; the kitchen was compact at the best of times, let alone when it contained two adults and six cats.‘Er, actually, don’t worry, Mum, I’ll get something at the canteen,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got to get my art portfolio—’

Before Debbie or Linda could stop her, Sophie had crossed the hall and flung open the living-room door. Beau instantly darted out into the hallway, his feathery eyebrows twitching, his pink tongue hanging out. He looked as if he could hardly believe his luck at finding so many cats directly in his eye-line.

Experience had taught me that, when it came to dogs, attack was the best form of defence. As Beau hurtled across the hall, I braced myself for a fight: my hackles rose, my ears flattened and I growled in warning.

But before he reached me, Linda had lunged out of the kitchen and swooped down to lift Beau off the ground. Thwarted and humiliated, Beau tried to break free, but Linda kept a tight hold on him, cradling him in her arms as if he were an angry baby who needed soothing. Realizing that the dog would not settle with several cats in such tantalizingly close proximity, she dropped him back into the living room and closed the door on him.

‘Sorry, I’d forgotten he was in there,’ Sophie said sheepishly, before grabbing her things and thundering downstairs and out through the caf?.

Debbie sighed and stirred two mugs of tea.‘He’s a feisty little thing, isn’t he?’ she observed, over the sound of Beau’s determined scraping at the living-room door.

‘It’s the breed,’ Linda concurred. ‘He’s a Lhasa Apso – they’re very territorial. They were used to guard Buddhist monasteries in Tibet.’

Debbie raised an eyebrow.‘Oh, right,’ she replied in a flat voice. ‘Well, he’s not in Tibet now, he’s in the Cotswolds. In a cat caf?.’ She handed Linda a steaming mug of tea. ‘I mean … the clue’s in the title, really.’ She took a sip and fixed her sister with a look over the rim of her cup.

‘I know, Debbie – sorry,’ Linda replied. ‘I think he’s just a bit traumatized by the whole experience. I mean, all the arguing and shouting at home, it was so awful …’ Her cheeks flushed with colour and I could see that tears were imminent. I watched as Debbie put her mug back on the worktop and touched her sister’s arm.

‘Sorry, Lind, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

Linda’s head dropped and she covered her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown, her shoulders starting to shake.

‘Don’t worry, Linda,’ Debbie reassured her. ‘I’m sure the cats will adjust to the situation. They’ll get used to Beau soon enough.’

She leant in to hug Linda, and I caught Linda’s eye over her shoulder. I held her gaze while the two women embraced, doing my best to convey that if anyone was going to have to adjust, it would not be me.

5

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In spite of my determination to make as few concessions as possible to their presence, it was impossible to ignore Linda and Beau. With three adult humans, half a dozen cats and one dog sharing the flat’s limited space, there simply was not enough room for us all.

The living room bore the brunt of the impact. The opened sofa-bed took up so much of the floor area that to get from one side of the room to the other, Linda either had to edge sideways around the foot of the bed or clamber across the mattress. The alcove next to the sofa functioned as her makeshift wardrobe; she had propped her huge suitcase open in there, alongside Beau’s upended carrier, and piles of clothes, jewellery and cosmetics spilled out of it onto the floor.

But Linda’s clutter was not confined to the room she slept in. Boxes of floral-smelling herbal teas and plastic tubs of vitamin pills appeared on the kitchen worktop, and her extensive collection of creams, oils and lotions jostled for space on the bathroom windowsill. Even the hallway seemed narrower, what with Linda’s jackets and gilets bulging from the coat pegs and her numerous pairs of boots and shoes snaking across the floor. When Linda took Beau for his daily walk, I tried to reclaim some territorial advantage by scent-marking the furniture with my cheeks. But in spite of my efforts, the combined aroma of Linda’s cloying perfume and Beau’s dog-shampoo continued to overpower any other scent in the flat.

To my great relief, the aggressive swagger that Beau had displayed when he first arrived did not last more than a few days. The scratch Purdy had inflicted on the dog’s nose remained visibly raw and weeping, serving as a reminder of Beau’s place at the bottom of the animal hierarchy, and the kittens soon learnt that a vicious hiss and the swipe of a paw, with claws bared, would send Beau scurrying to Linda for protection. His tufted eyebrows still twitched if a cat entered the room, but his growl lacked conviction, and he wore the resigned, resentful look of an animal that knew he was outnumbered. Like a piece of grit trapped between paw-pads, Beau was impossible to ignore, but in the short term at least he was an irritation that we could tolerate.

The highlight of his day was invariably his walk. He would bounce up and down manically, his moist tongue hanging out, while Linda fetched his lead and the plastic pouch of poo-bags. She would tuck the excitable creature under her elbow and head downstairs to tell Debbie that she was‘taking Beau out to explore Stourton’. It didn’t take me long to work out that when Linda saidexplore, what she actually meant wasshop.

She returned from their first walk with a thick cardboard shopping bag slung over her shoulder. Intrigued, I followed her upstairs and watched from the living-room doorway as she tore open layers of rustling tissue paper to reveal an expensive-looking leather handbag. Her eyes wide with child-like excitement, she transferred the contents of her old handbag to the new one, before leaning over the side of the sofa to tuck the discarded bag beneath a pile of dirty laundry.

‘What a gorgeous bag. Is it new?’ Debbie asked that evening, catching sight of the bag sitting on the floor next to the sofa-bed.

Linda feigned surprise.‘What, this?’ she said, nudging the bag casually underneath the bed with her foot. ‘I’ve had it for years!’

As the week went on, her shopping habit became increasingly furtive. She and Beau would head out mid-morning, and hours would pass before she returned, laden with purchases from the many chichi boutiques that lined Stourton’s cobbled streets. I would watch from the caf? windowsill as she clopped along the parade, with Beau bounding along next to her spiky-heeled boots. Only when she was sure Debbie was out of sight would Linda push open the caf? door – slowly, to minimize the tinkling of the bell – and dartbetween the tables to the staircase.

Once Linda had got her purchases into the flat, the majority of them seemed mysteriously to disappear. By the time Debbie trudged upstairs after work, there was no evidence either of the shopping bags or of their contents, and Linda never admitted how much time she had spent trawling the Stourton shops. The only purchases she ever admitted to were the gifts she had bought for her hosts. A silk scarf appeared in Debbie’s bedroom one afternoon and, the following day, when Sophie returned from college, Linda was waiting to present her with a pair of pyjamas. ‘They’re cashmere – feel them!’ she urged, her eyes twinkling as she handed the luxurious sleepwear to her stunned niece.

I was intrigued to know where Linda had put the rest of her shopping and so, one morning while she and Beau were out, I crept into the living room to investigate. There was no sign of her new purchases, just the usual messy pile of clothes on the floor next to the open suitcase. It was only when I scaled the suitcase that I discovered her secret: she was using Beau’s pet carrier as storage. Concealed behind its wire door were boxed pairs of brand-new shoes and a stack of clothes, all neatly folded and wrapped in tissue paper.

Linda’s shopping habits notwithstanding, by the end of their first week the overcrowded conditions in the flat were beginning to take their toll. Perhaps sensing that tempers were close to fraying, Linda insisted that she would make dinner for the three of them on Friday night, as ‘my way of saying thank you’. And so, as the clock struck eight that evening, Debbie and Sophie waited at the dining table, while Linda bustled and clattered in the kitchen. Debbie looked worn out, but Sophie’s slumped posture and bored expression conveyed something closer to ill will. She had foregone an evening with her boyfriend in order to be home for dinner and was making no secret of the fact that she resented the sacrifice.

Eventually Linda tottered through from the kitchen, balancing three plates in her hands.‘Voil?! Superfood salad,’ she announced, lowering the plates onto the table with a flourish.

Debbie smiled wanly at the pile of grains and pulses in front of her.‘Mmm, wow!’ she murmured, with an unconvincing attempt at enthusiasm. Sophie scowled.

‘Don’t you like it, Soph?’ Linda asked, as her niece began to push the contents of her plate around reluctantly.

I sensed Debbie’s patience was wearing thin as she watched her daughter’s ill-disguised revulsion. ‘Come on, Sophie,’ she chivvied her. ‘Eat up, please. Auntie Linda has gone to a lot of trouble to make this.’ But Sophie merely glared sideways at her mother and picked at the mound of vegetation withher fork.

‘You don’t like quinoa?’ Linda asked, looking concerned.

‘No, I’m not a massive fan ofkeen-wah,’ Sophie replied, her drawling enunciation carrying an unmistakeable hint of mimicry.

I watched as she picked up a single grain on the prongs of her fork and peered at it dubiously.

‘There’s no need for sarcasm, Soph. Just eat,’ said Debbie, fixing her daughter with a stern stare. Sophie placed the tip of the fork into her mouth and began to chew the single grain, slowly. Debbie turned towards Linda. ‘She’s always been a fussy eater,’ she said apologetically.

There was a sudden crash as Sophie’s fork hit her plate. With a furious look at Debbie, she stood up and thrust her chair back, forcing the rug into messy folds behind her. On the sofa, the commotion made me jump, and I saw Beau’s body spasm as he jerked awake in alarm under the table. ‘I’m going to make a sandwich,’ Sophie mumbled, picking up her plate of uneaten salad and carrying it into the kitchen.

‘Sophie!’ Debbie said tersely, sounding at once cross and embarrassed. ‘Linda has gone to the trouble of making that for you – the least you can do is try it,’ she called after her daughter’s retreating back. In the kitchen, Sophie was noisily scraping the contents of her plate into the rubbish bin.

‘It’s fine, really,’ Linda said in a conciliatory tone. ‘Quinoa is an acquired taste, I suppose.’

Debbie ignored her, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on Sophie who, after much tutting and slamming of cupboard doors, stomped upstairs with her substitute meal.

It troubled me to see Debbie and Sophie bickering. It reminded me of how things used to be, when Debbie had first taken me into the flat. Back then, their arguments had been a regular occurrence, usually culminating in Sophie storming out, leaving Debbie morose and tearful. For a while I had blamed myself for Sophie’s unhappiness. Their relationship was already fragile, in the wake of Debbie’s divorce and their move to Stourton, and I worried that Debbie’s fondness for me had given Sophie another reason to feel hard done by. In time, however, Sophie’s resentment towards me had mellowed, at first to tolerance, and eventually to something approaching affection. It had been a long time since she had deliberately flung her school bag at my head, or referred to me as ‘that mangy fleabag’.

I sat in the cardboard box, listening to the ceiling joists creak beneath Sophie’s thudding footsteps. I was aware of stirrings of disquiet in the pit of my stomach and a feeling of foreboding that life in the flat might be about to get worse. Debbie had directed her annoyance at Sophie rather than Linda, but I suspected she might be harbouring frustrations of her own. As I watched Debbie chew her way stoically through her superfood salad, I wondered whether, in fact, she didn’t much like quinoa, either.

6

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Since Debbie had made the decision, a few months earlier, to close the caf? at weekends, Saturday mornings in the flat were usually a laid-back, leisurely affair. Debbie would stock up on pastries from the bakery, and she and Sophie would settle down on the sofa in their pyjamas, licking sugar and crumbs off their fingers while the kittens and I napped or washed nearby. The Saturday morning that followed the superfood-salad argument, however, did not begin in the customary relaxed manner. The effects of the previous evening’s conflict seemed to hang over the flat and its residents like a cloud.

When I awoke at the foot of Debbie’s bed, I discovered she had already risen. I padded downstairs and found her in the kitchen, shooting impatient looks at the closed living-room door, while roughly stacking dirty plates in the dishwasher. When, some time later, Linda finally emerged in a state of puffy-eyed disarray, she founda frosty Debbie hanging damp laundry over the hallway radiator.

‘Morning, Debs. Can I do anything to help?’ Linda asked.

‘The dishwasher will need unloading,’ answered Debbie curtly. Linda rolled up her dressing-gown sleeves and headed diligently into the kitchen.

A little while later, Debbie was extracting the vacuum cleaner from the hallway cupboard when the bell over the caf? door tinkled.

‘Deb, it’s me,’ shouted a man’s voice from downstairs. It was John, Debbie’s boyfriend.

‘Hi, John, come up,’ Debbie called over the banister.

Feeling relieved, I padded across the hallway to meet him. John’s gentle manner was just what the flat needed on this rather tense Saturday morning.

John hummed to himself as he made his way up the narrow staircase and smiled jovially as he rounded the top of the stairs.‘Croissants,’ he said, handing a large paper bag to Debbie, before kissing her lightly. John was tall but stockily built, with sandy hair and a kind, freckled face. I had always liked him, not least because I had been instrumental in bringing him and Debbie together.

‘Come and meet my sister,’ Debbie said, leading John into the living room, where Linda was sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. ‘John, Linda. Linda, John.’

‘Nice to meet you, Linda,’ John said, holding out his arm to shake Linda’s hand, whereupon Beau, who had been asleep on the rug, jerked awake in alarm at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice. Upon seeing a strange man advancing, arm outstretched, towards his owner, Beau was unable to contain his guard-dog instincts. He leapt to his feet in panic.

‘Beau, stop it!’ Linda shouted over the animal’s frenzied barking. ‘I mean it, Beau!’ she pleaded ineffectually, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as Beau snarled and snapped around John’s ankles.

John’s eyes crinkled into a smile as he regarded his furry assailant with mild surprise. Dropping to his haunches, he put a hand out for Beau to sniff. ‘At ease, fella. We’re all friends, here,’ he said placidly.

‘I’m so sorry, John, he’s not normally aggressive,’ Linda apologized, as Beau’s damp muzzle twitched across John’s fingers.

‘He’s just being territorial,’ Debbie cut in drily. ‘He’s a Lapsang Souchong, you know.’

Linda shot her sister a look over the top of John’s head. ‘Lhasa Apso, Debs,’ she said crisply. ‘He’s a dog, not a cup of tea.’

Reassured that John posed no immediate threat, Beau retreated to his corner of the rug. He lay down and lowered his chin onto his forepaws, but maintained his beady surveillance of John, lest his services as Linda’s bodyguard be required after all.

The buttery smell of freshly baked croissants had lured Sophie downstairs from her bedroom for the first time since her ill-tempered departure at dinner. She hovered in the doorway, watching hungrily as Debbie piled them onto a plate in the middle of the dining table.

‘Morning, Soph, how are you?’ John asked warmly.

‘Good, thanks,’ she mumbled.

While Debbie made coffee, John and Linda chatted at the dining table. Once John had established that Linda found Stourton charming and thought Molly’s was fabulous, Linda swiftly turned the topic to John himself.

‘So, Debbie tells me you’ve lived in Stourton all your life?’ she enquired, popping a chunk of croissant into her mouth.

‘Born and bred,’ John nodded.

‘And you’re a plumber, I gather,’ Linda probed.

‘That’s right. Did Debbie mention how her boiler nearly burnt the place down?’

Debbie had just placed their drinks on the table, and she rolled her eyes.‘Oh, all right, John – are you ever going to stop going on about that? Besides, if it hadn’t been for the boiler, you and I might never have met.’

Whether it was the effect of the croissants or John’s good-natured presence, the residual awkwardness from the previous evening seemed to dissipate. Debbie looked more relaxed than she had done for days, and even Sophie seemed in no hurry to leave. Once all that was left of the croissants was a scattering of crumbs on the table top, Debbie drained her coffee cup and glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry to break up the party,’ she said, with a sombre look at John, ‘but we’ve got to get the cats to the vets.’

I had long accepted that visits to the vet were a non-negotiable aspect of life as a pet cat and, though I didn’t exactly enjoy the experience, I never doubted that the long-term benefits outweighed the short-term discomfort. Jasper, however, had been born on the streets and had gone through life without ever experiencing the chill of the black examination table or the sting of the vaccination needle.His first-ever trip to the vet had taken place several months earlier, when he had begun to spend time indoors. Debbie had decided that Jasper deserved the same provision of care as the rest of us, and he had woken one morning to find himself being bundled into the cat carrier.

The fact that Jasper’s first visit had resulted in him being neutered did nothing to endear the vet to him. When he had returned to the caf? after his ordeal, groggy from the anaesthetic, he had immediately taken refuge in the alleyway and proceeded to sulk for several days. Eventually, though, Jasper had realized that life would go on. In time, he had forgiven Debbie, although he retained his distrust of the vet, as well as his aversion to the cat carrier.

So it was that, on the occasion of our annual check-up, John had been roped in to help round us up, and we found ourselves sitting in a row of carriers on the back seat of Debbie’s car. I shared my carrier with Eddie and Maisie; to our right, Purdy, Abby and Bella jostled for space; and to our left was a third carrier in which Jasper travelled alone, in bad-tempered isolation. I could make out his shadowy profile through the ventilation holes and, although he was silent, his resentment emanated through the plastic walls between us.

Over the sound of Purdy’s frantic scratching, the occasional squeak of complaint from Abby and Bella as she trod on their tails, and Maisie’s meek mewing behind me, I tried to concentrate on Debbie and John’s conversation. They were talking about Linda.

‘She is starting to do my head in a bit,’ Debbie admitted guiltily.

‘Has she ever left her husband before?’ John asked from the passenger seat.

Debbie shook her head.‘Never. I thought she had the lifestyle she’d always dreamed of: manicures, personal trainer, skiing trips with her friends.’

John raised his eyebrows.‘Very nice,’ he remarked in a tone of diplomatic neutrality.

‘Ray’s the finance director for some marketing company in London. Linda used to work for him,’ Debbie explained. ‘He earns a fortune, though I always found him as dull as ditch-water.’

‘Maybe money can’t buy you happiness after all,’ John said sagely, with the merest trace of a smile around his lips.

Debbie tilted her head in agreement.‘Apparently not.’ She steered the car around a large roundabout, and there was a chorus of scrabbling on the back seat as we all slid sideways inside our carriers.

‘Any kids?’ John asked, once the car had joined the main road.

Debbie shook her head.‘Only Beau,’ she joked, her eyes glinting as she glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘They never got round to it. Or at least that was the official version. Who knows what the real story is.’ After a week in Linda’s company, Debbie seemed relieved at being able to talk about her sister.

‘She’s lucky she’s got you,’ John said, turning briefly to face Debbie.

She shrugged.‘Linda’s got loads of friends, but they’re mostly the wives of Ray’s colleagues. They’re a gossipy bunch, from what I’ve heard. Linda would hate to think that her marital problems are the talk of north London.’ Debbie drove on, concentrating on the road ahead. ‘Sometimes I think I’ve been more of a mum to her than a sister,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘And since Mum and Dad moved to Spain – well, who else has Linda got … ?’ She trailed off, and John didn’t press her any further.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, broken only by the sporadic yowls and mews from the carriers on the back seat.

When John pushed open the surgery door I was immediately assailed by the smell of disinfectant.

‘Good morning,’ the receptionist trilled in a singsong voice, as we were lowered onto the grey linoleum floor.

‘Debbie Walsh. Check-ups for seven cats.’

‘Ah yes, Molly’s Cat Caf?,’ the receptionist smiled, scanning her computer screen. ‘Quite a job just to get them all here, I bet.’ She grinned, peering over her desk at the three carriers.

‘I’ve got the scars to prove it,’ Debbie replied, holding out her hand to reveal a livid red scratch left by Jasper in his struggle to evade capture.

The receptionist winced in sympathy.‘Take a seat, the vet won’t be long.’

The young, enthusiastic vet seemed impervious to Jasper’s warning growls, which had risen in volume as soon as we entered the consulting room. ‘Who’s a handsome boy?’ she cooed through the wire door, undeterred by the high-pitched rasp issuing from inside. ‘Come on then, big boy, out you come,’ she coaxed.

‘Sorry, he’s always a bit grumpy when he comes here,’ Debbie apologized.

Unable to lure Jasper out, the vet had no choice but to upend his carrier. There was a scraping sound of claws against smooth plastic, as gravity took its course and Jasper slid out, backwards, on the sheaf of loose newspaper that lined the carrier floor.

On the examination table, Jasper’s hostility was replaced by a look of stoic resolve. He gallantly submitted to the vet’s ministrations, sitting motionless while she looked inside his ears and prised open his mouth to check his teeth, and did not even flinch when she briskly administered an injection between his shoulder blades. ‘Good boy, Jasper! All done!’ she exclaimed, giving him a congratulatory rub around the ears. He slunk back inside his carrier, to stare at her reproachfully through the wire door.

One by one, the kittens and I endured the same procedure. Maisie, whose timidity was never more apparent than at the vet’s, trembled throughout; Abby and Bella clung together so insistently that the vet had to conduct their examinations in tandem; and Eddie was his usual placid self, gazing up trustingly at the vet and purring gratefully when she gave him a treat. Purdy, as usual, treated the whole experience as an adventure, leaping from the examination table to the vet’s worktop, where she strode brazenly across the computer keyboard to sniff at the electronic scales.

Back at the caf?, Debbie unlocked our carriers and let out a long, relieved sigh. ‘Thank goodness that’s over for another year,’ she said to John, watching Purdy follow Jasper out through the cat flap.

‘I think we’ve earned lunch at the pub, don’t you?’ John replied, brushing Debbie’s fringe tenderly out of her eyes.

‘Now you’re talking,’ said Debbie. ‘I’ll just pop up and tell Linda.’

I followed Debbie upstairs to the hallway, registering the laundry hanging over the radiator and the vacuum cleaner standing amidst Linda’s jumble of shoes. In the living room, the empty mugs and crumb-covered plates were still on the dining table, untouched since breakfast. When I saw Linda dozing on the sofa, with Beau snoring on the cushion beside her and the newspaper strewn messily across the floor, I felt my hackles instinctively rise with annoyance. Judging by Debbie’s sharp intake of breath, I suspected that, had she been a cat, hers would have risen, too.

7

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Debbie stood in front of the sofa with her hands on her hips while, behind her, John hovered awkwardly in the doorway. When it became apparent their presence was not enough to wake Linda, Debbie strode forward and began to scoop the sheets of newspaper noisily off the floor.

‘Oh, sorry, I must have dropped off,’ Linda mumbled, pushing herself upright with her elbows and shoving Beau off the cushion with her bare feet. Catching sight of John, Beau barked groggily, but quickly rearranged himself on the rug to continue his nap.

Any relief Debbie might have felt after spending time with John had been short-lived, and the fractiousness she had exhibited earlier returned. With pursed lips and a clenched jaw, she set about tidying the living room.

‘Here, let me help you,’ Linda said, jumping up from the sofa and making for the table, where Debbie had begun to collect the dirty plates and cups.

‘No, it’s fine, thank you,’ she replied testily, before striding out of the room towards the kitchen.

I watched from a distance as John and Linda exchanged an uncomfortable look.

‘I think I’ll take Beau for a walk,’ Linda muttered, pulling on her shoes. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, giving John a friendly peck on the cheek. She picked up the sleeping Beau and carried him, bleary-eyed and disorientated, downstairs.

John stepped across the hall and leant against the kitchen doorframe.‘Why don’t you leave the tidying for now? It can wait till after lunch,’ he suggested hopefully.

Debbie’s face remained closed as she rinsed the plates under the tap. ‘Actually, you know what, maybe we should just give lunch a miss today. I’ve got too much to do here,’ she said over the splashing of water in the sink.

John’s shoulders drooped with disappointment. ‘Okay, well – if you’re sure?’

‘Really, I think I’m starting to get a headache anyway. I’d rather just get the flat tidy,’ she insisted.

John gave a resigned shrug and leant into the kitchen to give Debbie a kiss, which she accepted without taking her eyes off the sink. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him as he grabbed his jacket and made his way downstairs alone.

As soon as the caf? door had closed behind him, Debbie heaved a sigh and gazed disconsolately around the kitchen. I pressed myself against her ankles in an effort to cheer her up, but she seemed too preoccupied to notice me. She pulled on her apron and set to work cleaning the flat: dusting, hoovering and moppingwith ruthless efficiency. When she had finished and the dust-free surfaces gleamed, she sank onto the sofa.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity for some one-to-one affection, I jumped onto her lap for a cuddle and purred ecstatically while she stroked me.

All too soon we heard Linda’s footsteps on the stairs, and I felt Debbie’s muscles tense beneath me. Linda’s simpering, orange-toned face appeared around the living-room door.

‘Debs, I’ve got you something,’ she announced gaily.

‘Oh, really?’ Debbie replied in a tone which suggested that, whatever Linda had bought her, she was not expecting to like it.

‘It’s a NutriBullet!’ Linda proclaimed jubilantly, pulling a sizeable cardboard box out of a carrier bag and thrusting it at Debbie.

‘A nutri-what?’ Debbie asked, blank-faced.

‘It’s a fruit and vegetable juicer. They’re brilliant! You can chuck anything in there. Skins, pips, stalks – the lot. It was in the sale,’ Linda added, as if this made the logic of its purchase unquestionable. ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she said, grabbing her sister by the hand.

I had no choice but to jump down from Debbie’s lap as she was dragged from the sofa. She stood in the kitchen doorway and watched listlessly as Linda unpacked the stainless-steel gadget and placed it on the cluttered worktop, where it occupied almost half of the available surface area.

Debbie eyed the device dubiously.‘But, Linda, I’m not sure we really need—’ she protested.

‘Trust me, Debs. You’ll wonder how you ever lived without one,’ Linda said authoritatively.

Debbie stared at the NutriBullet with sagging shoulders.‘Linda, please stop buying us gifts. It’s not necessary,’ she began in a small, tight voice.

‘I know, Debs, but it’s the least I can do, to say thank you for putting me up,’ Linda riposted brightly.

‘But, Linda,’ Debbie persevered, ‘there’s no need for it, and it must be costing you a fortune—’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Linda cut her short. ‘It’s going on Ray’s credit card.’ A look of triumph flashed in her eyes.

Debbie took a short, exasperated intake of breath.‘Well, even if Ray’s paying, it’s not necessary. In fact it’s making me uncomfortable.’ There was a pause as Linda absorbed her words.

‘Uncomfortable? Really? Sorry, Debs, I didn’t mean …’ A flicker of embarrassment crossed Linda’s face. Her head dropped and she stared at the floor. ‘I just wanted to say thank you, but I can take it back to the shop if you’d rather,’ she whispered, a touch self-pityingly.

An uneasy hush descended on the kitchen.

Suddenly Linda’s shoulders started to shake and she raised one hand to shield her face. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything,’ she wailed. ‘I’m sorry, Debs, I know I’m getting in your way, I’ll pack up and—’

‘Linda, there’s no need for that,’ Debbie groaned, putting an arm out to prevent her sister walking away. ‘I’m not saying I want you to go, just that – well, maybe we need to find something for you to do.’

Linda dabbed her heavily made-up eyes with a tissue, and Debbie stood for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, watching her sister intently.

‘Look,’ Debbie said at last. ‘If you really want to say thank you, why don’t you help me out in the caf?? I could do with another pair of hands down there, and it would give you something to do during the day, other than shopping.’

Linda looked up, with watery eyes.‘Are you sure? I’ve never worked in a caf? before,’ she said uncertainly.

‘I’m sure you’ll pick it up, Linda,’ Debbie replied warmly.

A child-like smile began to spread across Linda’s face. ‘I’d love to help out, Debs. I always loved playing waitresses when we were little, do you remember?’ she said, seizing Debbie tightly around the neck. Debbie returned the hug, but a wrinkle had formed between her eyebrows, and I wondered whether she was already having doubts about her spur-of-the-moment suggestion.

Linda’s first day at work didn’t get off to the most promising start. I watched from the window cushion as Debbie came downstairs on Monday morning and set about the usual tasks: she switched on the lights, placed the chalkboard on the pavement and stocked the till with cash. She was updating the Specials board when Linda appeared at the foot of the stairs, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

‘Right then, Boss. Where do you want me?’

Debbie glanced doubtfully at Linda’s spiky-heeled boots. ‘Are you sure you want to wear those today? You’ll be on your feet a lot,’ she warned, but Linda was adamant.

‘Don’t worry, Debs, they’re really very comfortable.’

By late morning, when the caf? started to fill up with customers, Linda’s enthusiasm seemed to be waning. She struggled to use the till, and had mixed up two tables’ orders. When the time finally came for her lunch break she limped upstairs, and the thought crossed my mind that she might not come back. An hour later, however, she reappeared for the afternoon shift, rested, refreshed and having swapped the spiky heels for a pair of flat, fleecy boots.

On Tuesday, Linda appeared downstairs wearing loose-fitting trousers, a sweater borrowed from Debbie and comfortable shoes. With her blonde hair tied back and a Molly’s apron over her clothes, she bore more of a resemblance to Debbie, and sometimes I had to look twice to be certain which sister was which. She remained nervous whenever she had to use the till, but was relaxed and friendly with the customers, enthusing about the menu in a way that seemed genuine rather than pushy. ‘Have you tried the Cake Pops? Oh, they’redelicious!’ she gushed, before trotting proudly to the kitchen with her order pad.

As the week went on, her confidence grew, and Debbie seemed both surprised and gratified by her sister’s aptitude for the job. Working together gave them some common ground; for the first time since Linda had arrived, they had something to talk about other than Linda’s marital problems and whose turn it was to wash up. On Friday afternoon, when Linda slipped out, saying that she had an appointment she couldn’t miss, I was surprised to find that the caf? felt empty without her.

‘Now, Debbie, don’t be cross.’

I had been dozing in the window, but at the sound of Linda’s voice I jolted awake. It was dark outside, the caf? had closed and Debbie was cashing up the day’s takings behind the counter.

‘What? Why would I be cross? What’ve you got there, Linda?’ Debbie asked, a slight note of anxiety in her voice.

I looked sideways to see Linda standing on the doormat holding a large cardboard box. Smiling with excitement, she walked across the caf? and, with great care, placed the box on the counter.

‘I know you said no more gifts,’ she explained, ‘but I thought this would be the exception. It’s for the business really. I think it’s just what the caf? needs.’

I sat up on my cushion, wondering what the caf? could possibly need that it didn’t already have. I craned forward attentively as Debbie, with a look of trepidation, pulled the box towards her and flipped open its cardboard flaps. What I saw made my stomach contract: from inside the box, a pair of dark-brown, pointed ears appeared, quicklyfollowed by the fine-boned face of a Siamese cat.

‘This is Ming!’ Linda exclaimed.

Debbie’s mouth had fallen open. Speechless, she stared at the cat, who was looking around in wide-eyed alarm.

‘Linda! What have you … ? You’re not – you can’t …’ Debbie stammered.

‘Now look, Debs. I know what you’re going to say, but just hear me out,’ Linda insisted. ‘I’ve been working here for a week, and I think you’re missing a trick. Molly and her kittens are lovely, of course, but they are – well, justmoggies. I think it would really add to the caf?’s appeal to have something a little moreexotic in the mix. You know, to give the customers something a bit special to look at.’

‘Linda, this is ridiculous,’ Debbie replied with a mirthless laugh. ‘We’re talking about cats, not … clothes, or soft furnishings.You can’t just throw a new cat into the mix. Our cats are a colony, for goodness’ sake. This … Ming … will be an outsider.’ She looked in desperation at the Siamese cat, whose disembodied, dismayed face was still peering out from between the box’s cardboard flaps.

As Debbie talked, Ming turned to face her and let out a throaty, plaintive yowl. Debbie raised her eyebrows in surprise at the noise, which was far deeper and louder than anything I or the kittens could produce. Her expression softened and she instinctively reached to stroke Ming between the ears. I watched with narrowed eyes, feeling the hairs on my back bristle with envy.

When Linda next spoke, her voice was wheedling.‘Ming’s owners put an ad in the paper. They’re expecting a baby, so decided to rehome her. How anyone could give away such a beautiful creature is beyond me …’ Linda trailed off, leaving the thought of such wanton cruelty hanging in the air. ‘She’s two years old, and has been spayed and vaccinated,’ she added matter-of-factly, as if this would surely clinch the deal.

Debbie withdrew her hand from the box and began to rub her forehead in consternation.‘But, Linda, it’s not that simple, is it?’ she frowned. ‘This is a cat caf?. What if Ming’s temperament doesn’t suit it here? She might hate living with other cats. And they might not like her.’

‘Well, okay, that’s a possibility,’ Linda shrugged dismissively. ‘But we won’t know till we try, will we?’ She looked shrewdly at her sister, sensing that Debbie’s resolve was wavering. ‘Why don’t you give it some time and see how Ming settles in? If she seems unhappy, then you can rehome her. But at least give her a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?’

I fixed my eyes on the back of Linda’s head, allowing images of the worst things that could happen – both to Ming and to Linda – to run through my mind.

Debbie groaned and slumped against the serving counter.Just say No! I wanted to scream, wishing I could jump onto the counter and slam the cardboard flaps shut on Ming’s beautiful, bemused face.

‘Okay, fine,’ Debbie said at last, looking at Linda across the tips of Ming’s ears. ‘We’ll give her a few days and see how she gets on.’

Linda started to bounce up and down on the spot with excitement.

‘Butonly as a trial,’ Debbie added sternly. ‘This isnot a done deal. The cats’ welfare comes first.’ She leant over the side of the box and I heard the resonant rumble of Ming’s purr as Debbie began to stroke her.

I had seen enough. I jumped down from the windowsill and crept, unnoticed by the sisters, past the counter and upstairs to the flat. Beau was lying in the hallway, and lifted his head drowsily as I passed. There was no aggression in the gesture, but I growled at him anyway. He instinctively averted his head, frightened I would take my anger out on his scab-covered nose. I strode past him into the living room, jumped onto the armchair and began to wash myself. But as I licked my flank furiously, Linda’s words played on a permanent loop in my head. ‘They are … justmoggies,’ she repeated over and over again, the disdain in her voice amplifying each time.

8

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The following morning I crept downstairs early. The cardboard box had been moved to the floor between the serving counter and the fireplace. It looked empty and, as I moved silently across the floor, I indulged myself in the fantasy that Ming had escaped through the cat flap overnight and was at this very moment roaming the streets of Stourton, frightened and alone. But as I picked a path between the tables and chairs, I noticed Eddie sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, gazing in rapt concentration at one of the armchairs.

‘Have you … seen?’ he asked.

I stepped closer and followed his eye-line. Curled up in a perfect crescent on the armchair, Ming lay sound asleep. Everything about her cream-and-chestnut-toned body oozed elegance, from her chiselled cheekbones to her dainty feet, which looked as if they had been dipped in liquid chocolate from ankle to toe.

‘Who is she?’ Eddie whispered.

‘Her name’s Ming. Linda brought her last night,’ I replied curtly.

At that moment Ming’s body twitched and her huge eyes opened dramatically, to reveal two orbs of the most intense blue I had ever seen. Beside me, Eddie gasped in surprise, or possibly admiration. Still prostrate on the cushion, Ming blinked, then unfurled her slender legs into a sideways stretch, throwing her head back against the cushion. As her mouth opened into a yawn, I saw the curve of her pink tongue behind pristine white teeth. Fully awake now, she looked around, and her azure eyes focused on me and Eddie on the flagstones before her.

She tilted her head quizzically to one side but said nothing, and I felt Eddie shifting uncomfortably next to me.

‘I’m Molly, and this is Eddie,’ I said, aware that my words didn’t quite convey the authoritative tone I had hoped for. If anything, they seemed to confirm our status as supplicants eager for Ming’s attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and flicked from Eddie’s face to mine, but still she said nothing. I began to feel an impotent rage fizz in the pit of my stomach.How dare she! Who does she think she is? My cheeks burnt under my fur as I tried to preserve some semblance of dignity in the face of such insolence.

Within a couple of minutes, the patter of paws in the stairwell heralded the arrival of the other kittens. Maisie appeared first, raising her tail and heading across the room to greet me and Eddie. She jumped in alarm, on noticing Ming on the chair above us, instinctively diving behind me for protection. Purdy, Abby and Bella were not far behind, and soon they too were prowling around the hearth, throwing curious glances up at the feline stranger. Ming, meanwhile, lay resplendent on the armchair, looking down superciliously at us all.

I surveyed Ming with mounting dislike.I’ve had enough of this, I thought. Aloof, superior, rude … Ming seemed to possess every attribute that I had tried hardnot to encourage in the kittens.

‘Breakfast!’ I instructed, herding them into a group and back upstairs to the flat, ignoring their protests that they had already eaten. Sensing my mood, they complied and made a show of taking a few mouthfuls from their bowls, before hurriedly dispersing. Feeling that I had not yet vented myannoyance sufficiently, I sought out Beau, who was fast asleep on the rug in the living room, and hissed at him so viciously that he woke with a startled yelp and scrambled under the sofa in panic.

I climbed into the shoebox in the corner of the living room and passed the day dozing fitfully, finding myself jerking awake in alarm at regular intervals before falling back into a light, restless sleep. It was dark when my rumbling stomach forced me out of the box. I padded into the kitchen and ate a few mouthfuls of cat biscuits. Sleeping and eating had done nothing to improve my mood, and I knew I needed some fresh air.

In the caf?, Ming was sitting on the highest platform of the cat tree, washing contentedly. I kept my eyes firmly on the door as I strode across the flagstones, determined not to pay her the compliment of looking at her as I passed. I headed out into the dark, quiet street and made my way purposefully along the alleyway. As I slipped through the conifers into the churchyard beyond there was movement in some nearby shrubbery, and Jasper emerged onto the grass in front of me.

‘Evening,’ he said, stepping forward to greet me.

‘Hmmph,’ I replied, turning my head away petulantly. I strode away from him towards the gravestones, aware that he was baffled by my uncharacteristic froideur.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, trotting after me.

‘Ming’s up,’ I replied sharply, taking a perverse delight in his confusion.

‘What’s Ming?’ he said.

‘Ming’ – I practically spat her name – ‘is the caf?’s new cat. If you spent less time in the alley and more time indoors, you might have found that out for yourself.’ I stalked off, feeling better for having vented my anger, but also guilty for taking it out on Jasper, who was no more to blame for Ming’s arrival than I was.

I completed a solitary, troubled circuit of the churchyard before heading home, reaching the caf? at the same time as Debbie’s friend Jo. Jo owned the hardware shop next door and was Debbie’s closest friend in Stourton. She had a practical, no-nonsense air and unruly shoulder-length curls, which shook whenever she laughed, which was frequently.

‘Oh, hi, Molly,’ Jo said cheerfully, as I trotted up to her ankles. She bent down to stroke me, rubbing my back a little more roughly than was strictly necessary; but Jo owned a dog, and tended to misjudge the degree of physical force required when petting felines.

While she was stroking me, I sniffed at the brown paper bag in her arms, from which the combined aroma of garlic prawns, creamy chicken curry and spicy lamb emanated. Jo and Debbie’s takeaways in the caf? had been a regular weekend occurrence for as long as I could remember, and I knew their menu selections by heart.

Jo stood up and waved at Debbie through the window.‘Come on then, Molly,’ she said with a little whistle.

She opened the door and I darted in front of her feet and ran inside.

Jo deposited the bag of food on the serving counter.‘So, this must be the new cat?’ she asked, pushing a brown curl out of her eye and making her way over to the cat tree, where Ming was curled up sound asleep on the platform.

‘Her name’s Ming,’ Debbie replied, placing two wine glasses and a handful of cutlery on the counter next to the bag of food.

‘She really is a beauty, isn’t she?’ Jo whispered admiringly. Debbie stepped up behind her, beaming proudly.

While they both gazed at Ming in awestruck silence, I jumped onto the counter, clumsily knocking the knives and forks to the floor, where they clattered noisily on the flagstones.Oops, I thought, smiling inwardly. Startled, Debbie and Jo both swung round and, sensing their eyes on me, I stepped precariously between the wine glasses to sniff the bag full of food.

‘Oh, Molly, that’s not for you,’ Debbie said, leaping across the room to pull the bag sharply out from under my nose. I jumped down from the counter, satisfied that I had, for the moment at least, diverted their attention away from Ming.

Debbie set out their meal on one of the caf? tables, and I took up my usual position on the windowsill to watch them.

‘No Sophie and Linda this evening?’ Jo asked, heaping a spoonful of rice onto her plate.

Debbie shook her head.‘Sophie’s gone to a party with her boyfriend, and Linda’s gone … somewhere – I didn’t actually ask where.’ Jo chewed her mouthful, waiting for Debbie to elaborate. ‘It’s a bit of a relief to have an evening off, to be honest,’ Debbie added guiltily, reaching for her glass ofwine.

‘How long’s she been here, now?’ Jo asked.

‘Ten days,’ Debbie answered instantly. ‘Not that I’m counting, or anything.’

Jo grinned conspiratorially over the rim of her glass.‘Any idea how long she’ll be staying?’ she probed.

Debbie shrugged.‘It’s complicated, apparently. She’s adamant she won’t go back to the house while Ray’s there; and he’s refusing to move out, since he pays the mortgage. I think solicitors are involved now, so of course the whole thing could drag on for ages …’ She sipped her wine glumly.

‘She’ll be here for Christmas, at this rate,’ Jo teased.

Debbie looked pained, and quickly took another gulp from her glass.

‘Here’s a radical thought. You could ask Linda what her plans are. Maybe give her a deadline to find somewhere else?’ Jo’s tone was supportive, but challenging. ‘It’s a fair question, isn’t it? She can’t expect you to keep putting her up indefinitely.’

Debbie winced.‘I know, Jo, but I feel bad for her.’ She sagged slightly in her chair, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

‘Of course you feel bad for her – her marriage has broken up. But that doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to give her somewhere to live, does it? She could afford to stay in a hotel, by the sounds of it.’

‘She probably could, but what kind of sister would I be if I asked her to do that?’ Debbie’s eyes were starting to shine. ‘I’m just letting her stay until she sorts herself out, that’s all. Besides, Linda is helping me out in the caf?.’

Debbie’s cheeks were glowing, and Jo raised her hands in a placatory gesture.

‘It’s not just Linda you’re putting up, though, is it, Debs?’ she pointed out softly. ‘It’s Beau, and now Ming as well. Quite the menagerie she’s brought to your door, when you think about it.’

My ears pricked up at the mention of Ming’s name.

‘She knows I’m cross about that,’ Debbie said, rolling her eyes. ‘I mean Beau is one thing – he’s Linda’s pet. But to dump a new cat on us,’ she shook her head disbelievingly, ‘and make out that she’s doing itfor the business. I mean, really, she just has no idea!’ Debbie had drained her first glass of wine and seemed to be warming to her theme.

I was warming to her theme too, and found myself feeling better than I had all day, as she began to open up about Ming.

‘I mean, really – a bloodySiamese!’ Debbie pulled an incredulous face. ‘What was she thinking?’ She laughed, and I preened with delight on the cushion. ‘You’d be proud of me, though, Jo. I made it quite clear this is a trial period, just to see how Ming settles in.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Jo muttered sarcastically.

Debbie set her wine glass down on the table and fixed Jo with a stare.‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked flatly.

Jo grinned.‘Debbie, you and I both know that, when it comes to cats, you are the absolute definition of a pushover.’ Debbie blinked at her in astonishment. ‘You’re more likely to give Sophie up for adoption than you are to hand Ming over to a rescue shelter,’ Jo elaborated through a mouthful of naan bread. ‘Debbie Walsh turn her back on a homeless cat? I don’t think so. Not in a million years.’ She gave a derisory snort.

Debbie took a moment to compose herself.‘First of all,’ she began in a reasonable voice, ‘I amnot a pushover when it comes to cats. Or when it comes to anything else, for that matter. And secondly,’ Debbie’s voice was getting louder as she struggled to be heard over Jo’s escalating laughter, ‘this isn’t just about me and what I want. I’ve got the welfare of the cats to consider and THEY COME FIRST!’ Debbie was practically shouting, and her face was a picture of hurt indignation. She sat back in her chair and took a slug of wine.

Jo, sensing she had hurt her friend’s feelings, backed down. ‘Of course they do, Debs,’ she said in a conciliatory voice. ‘I know that. I was only teasing.’

My eyes flicked between the two of them, unsure whether I should feel reassured or alarmed by their exchange. Debbie’s reaction had suggested that, like me, she saw Ming’s arrival as an unwelcome imposition; but Jo was right about Debbie’s proclivity towards taking in homeless cats. It was, after all, this very instinct that had led to her taking me in. And later, of course, she had done the same for my kittens. And for Jasper. I exhaled slowly through my nose. Perhaps Jo had a point: history showed that, when it came to cats in need of a home, Debbie found it difficult to say no. It had never occurred to me previously to consider this a shortcoming in her, but then I had never before found myself facing the prospect of living with an aloof Siamese.

Debbie and Jo continued to eat in silence for a few minutes, in unspoken agreement that they should let the subject of Ming drop.

Eventually Debbie put down her fork and said warmly,‘Speaking of pets, how’s Bernard?’ Bernard was Jo’s dog, an ageing, arthritic black Labrador who spent his days snoozing by her feet in the shop.

Jo looked wistful and her eyes began to redden.‘Oh, he’s hanging on in there,’ she replied, trying to muster a smile. ‘We’ve been back to the vet again this week. His hips are really playing up, and he’s got a couple of worrying growths. They’re going to do tests.’

Jo’s eyes had turned glassy, and Debbie leant closer. ‘Oh, Jo,’ she said, giving her friend’s arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘He’ll be okay.’

‘I hope so,’ Jo answered shakily.

Some time later, when Jo had gone home and Debbie had trudged upstairs to bed, the swoosh of the cat flap jerked me out of a doze. I looked drowsily across to see Jasper on the doormat, silhouetted in the semi-darkness. Still smarting from our encounter in the churchyard, I watched through half-open eyes as he moved stealthily across the room and jumped noiselessly up onto a table next to the cat tree. For several moments he stared at Ming’s motionless, sleeping form on the platform. Then, perhaps sensing my gaze, he turned and glanced towards the window. I closed my eyes to feign sleep and, when I looked again, Jasper was grooming himself on the flagstones in front of the stove. I continued to watch him until he had completed his wash and I was quite certain he had gone to sleep.

9

[Êàðòèíêà: _7.jpg]

When I awoke the following morning, Jasper had gone from the caf?, but Ming remained on the platform. She was sitting serenely with her eyes closed, her paws aligned and her tail neatly curled around the base of her body. Feeling fresh stirrings of envy in the pit of my stomach, I averted my eyes from her elegant profile, jumped down from the window and mademy way outside.

The tip of my tail flicked indecisively as I stood on the doorstep considering my options. I knew I should seek out Jasper and make amends for snapping at him, but something about the way he had looked at Ming as she slept riled me, and I couldn’t bring myself to apologize for my testiness just yet. Instead, I took a certain peevish satisfaction in setting off in the opposite direction from the alleyway, picking out a meandering route around the town’s deserted back streets, which would give me time to ruminate in private on my grievances.

The raw sense of injustice I felt at Ming’s arrival had brought fresh vigour to my simmering resentment towards Linda and Beau. I paced the streets for a good couple of hours dwelling on my woes before I felt ready to return to the caf?. When I finally made my way upstairs to the flat, I rounded the top step to see Debbie wrestling with the contents of the hallway cupboard. The ironing board had toppled out, along with the box of Christmas decorations, and Debbie appeared to be fighting with the hose of the vacuum cleaner. When she caught sight of me around the cupboard door, however, she smiled.

‘Shall we go and see Margery, Molls?’ she asked, finally yanking the cat carrier free. I let out an involuntary purr of delight, as the irritability that I had been carrying was suddenly lifted from my shoulders.

Before I had come to Stourton, my owner had been an elderly lady called Margery. In her devoted care, I had grown up with the unassailable confidence that comes from being an adored only pet. The cosy bungalow we shared had been my entire world, and it never occurred to me that there might be more to life than hunting in Margery’s compact, tidy garden, or napping on the sofa while she watched television programmes about antiques.

As I grew older, however, there were occasions when Margery’s behaviour began to unsettle me. They were infrequent at first: a sporadic forgetfulness, or a vagueness about the task in hand. But as time went on, her confused episodes became more frequent until, eventually, the decision was made by her son, David, that Margery could no longer live independently. Her bungalow – our home – was sold, Margery moved to a care home, and I was left distraught and alone.

Through a combination of perseverance and luck, I had been offered a second chance at happiness with Debbie. Nobody could ever replace Margery but, in time, I had accepted that, for me, she would exist only in my memories. And so, when Margery had appeared out of the blue in the caf? one afternoon, on an outing from her care home, it felt as though a part of me that had died had somehow come back to life.

After that blissful reunion, Margery had returned to the caf? every few weeks with her carer, invariably bringing a small bag of cat treats tucked inside her handbag, which she scattered onto the flagstones for the kittens, while I purred blissfully on her lap. When Margery’s increasing frailty meant she was no longer able to come and see us, Debbie had persuaded the carer to let us visit her in the care home instead.

On the back seat of Debbie’s car, I listened to the thrum of the engine and watched the clouds scudding past the front windscreen. Excited as I was about seeing Margery, I could not keep my thoughts from returning to Ming. Was that simply an over-developed territorial instinct, or was I right to be suspicious of her? Debbie’s insistence that the cats’ welfare was her main priority gave me hope: if she knew I was unhappy, surely she would have no choice but to rehome Ming? And Debbie knew me well enough to recognize my horror at having to share my home with a pointy-faced, sneering Siamese – didn’t she?

The sun had broken through the clouds by the time Debbie pulled up outside the care home, but there was a distinctly autumnal chill in the air as we made our way across the car park. In contrast to the freshness outside, the atmosphere inside the care home felt overheated and stuffy, and the air was pervaded by the pungent smell of boiled vegetables. Debbie carried me through the vast lounge in which a television played loudly, but was largely ignored by the residents, who were seated in high-backed wing chairs, chatting to visitors or dozing with crossword puzzles on their laps.

We proceeded down a long, carpeted corridor lined on both sides with doors. Debbie rapped gently on one of them and, as she eased open the handle, the food smells in the hallway gave way to the scent of lavender. More than anything else, it was this fragrance that instantly transported me back to my life with Margery, when every item of clothing and piece of furniture was infused with her lavender eau de toilette. I inhaled deeply, and peered through the wire door of the carrier at the L-shaped room, which was like a pared-down version of the bungalow we had shared. All around me were familiar pictures, ornaments and knick-knacks; the bed was draped with the same blue-and-yellow crocheted blanket that I used to sleep on, and the darkwood chest of drawers was covered with framed photographs of her family, just as I remembered it.

A recess next to the bathroom had space for two armchairs in front of a window that overlooked the care home’s landscaped grounds. Margery sat hunched in one of the chairs, silhouetted by the bright light pouring through the windowpane beyond. As we moved closer, I made out the wispy waves of her silver hair, which appeared almost translucent in the sunlight.

‘Hello, Margery – it’s Debbie from the cat caf?. How are you?’ Debbie said brightly.

Margery lifted her head slightly and her papery skin creased into a smile.‘Well now, who’s this?’ she asked, catching sight of the carrier. My heart swelled at the sound of her soft, tremulous voice.

‘This is Molly. She used to be your cat,’ Debbie answered.

‘Molly, what a lovely name!’ Margery said.

Debbie fiddled with the clasp on the carrier door and I walked over to sit by Margery’s feet. She tilted the top half of her body sideways to look at me over the arm of her chair, her watery blue eyes gazing into mine. When she lowered a shaky hand towards me, I immediately rose up on my hind legs to rub her knuckles affectionately with my cheek.

‘Molly, eh? What a pretty cat,’ Margery cooed.

‘She used to be your cat, Margery,’ replied Debbie from the corner of the room, where she was filling a kettle at the sink. ‘She lives with me at the caf? now, but I’ve brought her to visit you.’

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Margery clucked, tickling my ears as best she could with her stiff, crooked fingers. ‘She looks like she’s wanting a cuddle,’ she smiled, leaning back in her chair and smoothing down her pleated wool skirt. I hopped up, making sure that I landed softly on her thin legs, with my claws fully retracted. I steadied myself in the centre of Margery’s lap and gazed up at her face, allowing a deep purr to rumble in my chest as she stroked me.

Debbie carried over two cups of tea and sat down on the armchair opposite Margery’s. ‘I’ve brought you a Cat’s Whiskers Cookie from the caf?. I know they’re your favourite.’ She pulled a paper bag out of her handbag and handed it to Margery.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Margery repeated, carefully placing the bag on the arm of her chair.

They sipped tea and Margery took delicate bites of her cookie while Debbie chatted about the caf?, the kittens and the weather. As they talked, I allowed myself to drift into a doze on Margery’s lap, savouring the fact that, for the first time since Linda had turned up at the caf?, I felt truly relaxed. There was something inherently comforting about Margery’s small, tidy room overlooking the manicured lawns; whenever I was here, I felt as if all the responsibilities and irritations of adulthood had fallen away and that I was a kitten again, and life was simply a matter of feeling safe, warm and loved. I let out a contented noise that was part purr, part chirrup, and stretched out luxuriously on Margery’s legs. I would have been happy to stay in that calm, sweet-smelling room, with the two people who meant most to me in the world, forever.

My purring stopped momentarily when Debbie drew her phone out of her bag and brought up a picture of Ming.‘We’ve got a new cat staying with us at the moment. A Siamese – look,’ she said, handing the device above my head to Margery.

‘A what?’ Margery said, her brow furrowing. She plucked her glasses from the cord around her neck and pushed them onto her nose. ‘Ooh, very fancy,’ she remarked, and I felt my fur begin to bristle as she studied the screen. She handed the phone back to Debbie with pursed lips. ‘But those fancy-looking cats are terribly fussy,’ she added gravely.

‘Well, you might be right, Margery. We’ll have to wait and see.’ Debbie chuckled, dropping the phone back into her bag. My purr resumed even more loudly than before, and I burrowed my face into the folds of Margery’s skirt.

The comforting ambience of Margery’s room stayed with me for the entire journey home, right up to the point where Debbie pushed open the caf? door and carried me inside. I was greeted by what, at first, appeared to be the usual Sunday afternoon scene: Maisie was scratching vigorously at the trunk of the cat tree, and I was aware of Abby and Bella racing up the wooden walkway that zigzagged up the wall by the door. As Debbie lowered the carrier to the floor, I saw Jasper washing on one of the armchairs in front of the stove, while Eddie chased a catnip mouse across the flagstones. My eyes followed him as he scampered towards the window, deftly batting the stuffed mouse back and forth between his front paws.

Only when Eddie reached the skirting board did I notice Ming watching him, motionless and sphinx-like, from the windowsill above. Frommy cushion. Eddie crouched victoriously over the mouse, and I saw him glance up at Ming. The look he gave her was one he had given me on many occasions. It was a look that said,Want to play? Ming stared back at him, her head tilted, her blue gaze curious.

I was seized by a sudden feeling of panic that, locked inside my carrier, I seemed to be invisible to all the other cats in the room. The warm feeling of wellbeing that I had carried since seeing Margery was giving way to an ice-cold rage. I had been gone for just a morning, and already Ming had taken my place, both literally and figuratively, while all I could do was watch from behind the bars of my carrier. And the worst of it was that neither Jasper nor any of the kittens appeared to think anything was wrong.

10

[Êàðòèíêà: _2.jpg]

‘Because it’smy cushion, that’s why.’

Jasper had followed me out onto the doorstep and was looking at me with a mixture of bafflement and concern.‘But, you weren’t here. How was Ming supposed to know the cushion’s yours?’

My tail thrashed angrily by my feet; my initial shocked dismay had been replaced by unadulterated fury, and Jasper’s attempts to reason with me were making things worse. ‘You could have told her!’ I hissed, turning to face him, my eyes narrowed. ‘But then I suppose you were all too busy playing happy families to think about me.’

I turned away to look down the parade, feeling my eyes prickle and my heart thump. I was cross not only with Jasper, but also with the kittens, for not telling Ming that the window cushion belonged to me; they should have known I would not take kindly to such an invasion of my personal territory. But it wasn’t just the fact that she had been on my cushion that had upset me. It was something intangible that I had sensed as I observed them from the carrier: an atmosphere of relaxed familiarity, which had seemed to pervade the whole room and suggested, to me, that the kittens and Jasper felt quite comfortable in Ming’s presence, and she in theirs.

Jasper sat beside me, looking contrite, but I was not in a forgiving mood.

‘Oh, never mind,’ I muttered, pushing past him and back through the cat flap. With as much dignity as I could muster, and keeping my eyes fixed on the flagstones in front of me, I strode through the caf? and upstairs to the flat.

I awoke on Monday morning to a queasy feeling of dread. I had spent the night at the end of Debbie’s bed, flitting between feelings of self-pity at the unfairness of having to share my home with a rival feline, and rage at everybody else’s apparent inability to recognize my distress. In a few hours’ time Debbie would open the caf? and I would have to bear witness to Ming’s moment of glory, as she was unveiled to the public. Of course I could avoid the caf? altogether and spend the day outdoors but, after the previous day’s trauma, I worried that to absent myself completely might have even worse consequences. Not only was there a high likelihood that Ming would lay claim to the window cushion again, but people might assume she had taken my place as the caf?’s figurehead. So, after eating a breakfast for which I had very little appetite, I crept downstairs.

Ming was on her platform, surveying the room regally while Debbie prepared to open the caf?.

‘We’ll need to keep a close eye on Ming today,’ Debbie told Linda, emptying a bag of coins into the till drawer. ‘I don’t know how she’ll react to the customers.’

I padded past the cat tree with my eyes averted from the platform, as had become habitual for me since Ming had taken possession of it.

‘If she looks like she’s distressed, we’ll need to take her upstairs,’ Debbie continued, ‘and that might mean putting Beau in his carrier. We don’t want her being frightened by him, either.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ replied Linda airily, avoiding Debbie’s gaze as she pulled her Molly’s apron over her head. I pictured Beau’s bulging carrier in the living-room alcove and knew there was no way he could use it, unless Linda removed all her shopping first. Linda walked up to the cat tree and smiled approvingly at Ming. ‘Besides, I have a feeling the customers are going tolove her.’

One by one the kittens appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Purdy headed straight for the cat flap while the others stalked across the floor, rubbing their whiskers against the chair legs or batting catnip toys across the flagstones, before taking up their usual positions around the room. Even the normally timid Maisie seemed unfazed and jumped happily into the domed bed directly underneath Ming’s platform.

Just as Linda had predicted, the first customers gravitated immediately to the cat tree for a closer look at Ming. A grinning Linda shepherded them to a nearby table, explaining that Ming was the‘new addition to the Molly’s family’. The customers, an elderly couple whom I recognized as regular visitors, normally requested a table near the window so that they could sit near me. On this occasion, however, they could barely take their eyes off Ming, even to look at their menus. ‘What a gorgeous cat!’ one exclaimed. ‘Exquisite,’ the other agreed.

I observed Ming from the windowsill, looking– hoping – to see signs of distress or, at the very least, mild displeasure at the increasing number of people filling the room. A party of day-trippers arrived just before lunchtime, chatting loudly and laden with shopping. As Linda bustled around them, scraping chairs and tables together across the stone floor, I fixed my eyes on Ming; surely this would disturb her equilibrium? But she continued to sit calmly on her platform with her eyes closed and one forepaw extended. She delicately licked the inside of her long, slender leg, unruffled by the commotion going on around her.

The day wore on, and I began to feel as if I were invisible on my cushion in the window. The buzz of conversation and the click of cutlery on plates were punctuated by coos of delight across the room whenever Ming moved. Linda stood earnestly beside the table of each new customer, revelling in telling them all about Ming. I noticed how, over the course of the day, she began to embellish details of the story, until Ming eventually became the victim of an abusive home, whom Linda had personally rescued, at great risk both to herself and to Ming. The customers lapped it up, oohing and aahing at the different beats of Linda’s story.

When, at the height of the lunchtime rush, Ming yawned, stretched and jumped lightly down from her platform, an unnatural hush fell across the caf?. The customers all paused mid-conversation, to watch her sashay across the room. ‘So elegant!’ one lady gasped, as she sauntered past their table. Seething, I turned my back on them to stare furiously out of the window.

The week continued as it had started. There was something masochistic about my determination to remain in the caf?, largely ignored, while Ming was lavished with praise and attention. I took some sort of perverse satisfaction from it, as if each compliment paid to Ming confirmed my conviction that she was deliberately trying to upstage me. The kittens, however, continued to go about their daily routine as though nothing had changed, playing with their toys, napping or, in Eddie’s case, scrounging for titbits at people’s feet. Purdy seemed to be spending more time outdoors than usual, but she had always been more adventurous than her siblings, so this could hardly be considered cause for alarm. It was almost as if the kittens hadn’t noticed the change in the caf?’s atmosphere, or the way we had been relegated to the status of supporting artists to Ming’s show-stopping diva.

My resentment about the way my kittens had accepted a rival female into the colony continued to rankle, but feline pride made me want to hide my hurt feelings from them. Though I kept my anger to myself, I was aware that my behaviour towards the kittens began to change. It was a subtle shift, almost imperceptible at first, but there was less casual intimacy of the sort that would have come naturally to me in the past. If I saw one of the kittens trying to wash a hard-to-reach spot between the shoulder blades, I no longer padded over to lick it for them; and if we caught each other’s eyes across the caf?, I no longer instinctively blinked affectionately. I had no conscious desire to punish them, and in my more self-pitying moments I told myself peevishly that, if they had noticed the change in my manner, they probably didn’t care anyway.

As the week wore on, my frustration at the kittens’ blas? attitude to our new living arrangements was wearing me down, and my efforts to maintain any semblance of composure were beginning to exhaust me. So when, on Friday morning, Eddie jumped onto the window cushion next to me, something gave way inside me.

Before Ming’s arrival, I would never have begrudged sharing my cushion with Eddie; when the kittens were tiny they had all done so, burrowing deep into my fur for warmth and comfort. Over time they had outgrown the practice, with the exception of Eddie, who seemed reluctant to abandon the physical closeness of our bond. But, on this occasion, Eddie’s proximity felt like an intimacy too far. When he sprang nimbly onto the cushion beside me, my heart did not swell with tenderness; instead, I felt a flash of rage at the invasion of my personal space. I hissed at him – a vicious, heartfelt hiss,which somehow gave vent to all the pent-up anger I had been feeling since Ming first set foot in the caf?.

Eddie’s body retracted in shock and he cowered, flattening his ears against his bowed head. I instantly regretted my response. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t …’ I stuttered, horrified by his reaction. But before I had a chance to explain, Eddie had jumped down from the windowsill with a look of abject mortification. Shame and remorse flooded through me as I watched him slink across the floor with his tail between his legs; the shame made worse by the realization that the other kittens were watching and had no doubt witnessed what I had done.

I turned to face the window, feeling utterly wretched. Behind me I heard Linda talking to a customer, recounting what had now become an epic tale of Ming’s rescue. When she had finally finished speaking and was jotting down the order on her notepad, the customer remarked, ‘Molly ’n’ Ming – now that’s got a ring to it,’ and Linda cackled in agreement, ‘You’reso right; it does!’

I had heard enough. The caf?, which for so long had been my safe place, my haven from danger, suddenly felt claustrophobic. The room was airless, the heat from the stove made my fur itch, and Linda’s voice was as grating to my ears as her long fingernails on the Specials board. My head began to swim as I felt a wave of nausea rise from my stomach to the back of my throat. I tore across the caf? and out through the cat flap and did not stop running until I reached the alleyway.

It was a relief to leave behind the caf?’s stifling atmosphere, its fawning customers and, of course, Ming. The November wind felt biting, but I took a few deep lungfuls of icy air, waiting for my nausea to subside. I found Jasper in the churchyard, prowling among the headstones. He looked surprised to see me; my withdrawn manner had also kept him at a distance, and we had not met for our usual evening stroll for several days.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked solicitously, sidling up to me.

‘Yes, fine,’ I snapped; but I felt my facade of indifference start to crumble beneath his concerned scrutiny. ‘No, not really,’ I admitted, dropping my gaze to the ground.

Jasper sat down beside me on the carpet of dry leaves and we remained in silence for a few moments, listening to the magpies cawing in the branches of the horse chestnut above us.

‘Is it … Ming?’ he began, tentatively. I let out a snort at the mention of her name, aware that the tip of my tail had begun to twitch angrily by my feet. The remorse I had been feeling about Eddie seemed to evaporate, and anger swept in to take its place.

‘Ooh, Ming, what a gorgeous name! Oh, isn’t she beautiful! So elegant!’ I mimicked, while Jasper listened patiently. ‘More like stuck-up, standoffish and rude, if you ask me.’ My tail was now thrashing so hard that the dry leaves on the ground rustled noisily. Jasper’s body remained still and his face composed, as he contemplated the moss-covered gravestones ahead of us.

‘I know it’s a shock,’ he began in a careful, measured tone, ‘but it can’t be easy for her—’

I felt my stomach clench and turned sharply to face him.‘Can’t be easy for her?’ I interrupted, incredulously. ‘What, exactly, can’t be easy for her? Having a caf? full of people drooling over her? Having her every whim catered for by Debbie and Linda? Having thewhole of Stourton think she’s the most beautiful creature ever to grace this town? Oh, it must bereally difficult for her,’ I spat.

I paused for breath as Jasper sat in restrained silence, waiting for me to finish.

‘Do you know,’ I continued, feeling my cheeks burn, ‘she has been here a week and she has not said one word since she arrived. Notone word.’ I paused for emphasis, hoping to see some acknowledgment of Ming’s indisputable rudeness, but Jasper’s face remained impassive. ‘At least she hasn’t said one word to me,’ I added, suddenly seized by a cold pang of suspicion. I narrowed my eyes as the thought entered my mind that, perhaps, it was only me that Ming hadn’t deigned to speak to. Did she chat happily to Jasper and the kittens when I was not around? Was this how they had spent Sunday morning, while I had been visiting Margery? A shiver went through me, as though someone had poured ice down my back.

Jasper’s face was still infuriatingly blank. ‘I think maybe she just needs time to settle in,’ he said calmly, deftly evading the question that hung, unspoken, in the air between us.

I looked away in disgust. His reply seemed to confirm my worst fears: Ming’s haughty demeanour was reserved for me alone. For all I knew, she and Jasper might already be firm friends … or more. Did that explain why the kittens were so relaxed around her, because they were following their father’s lead? My heart began to race as the implications hit me. Ming wasplaying a game, of that I was sure. She was trying to isolate me from Jasper and the kittens. She was planning to take my place – not just in the caf?, but in my own family.

The kittens were sweet-natured and trusting; was it any surprise they had been taken in by Ming? But I was disappointed by Jasper’s gullibility, his inability to see the situation for what it was. It was typical of him to be chivalrous, to give other cats the benefit of the doubt. Such generosity was one of the qualities I loved about him, but right now I found it maddening. It was one thing for him to be chivalrous towards me, quite another to be chivalrous towards a beautiful Siamese impostor.

Mustering what remained of my dignity, I stood up to leave.‘Besides, she’s not perfect, you know,’ I hissed, throwing a cursory glance over my shoulder. ‘Have you noticed how she squints?’

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew how they must sound: petulant and spiteful. But I didn’t care. Jasper could think what he liked about Ming, but I knew the truth.

11

[Êàðòèíêà: _3.jpg]

Although, like all the cats at Molly’s, Ming was free to come and go as she pleased, she seemed content to spend almost all of her time in the caf?. She only ever went outside under cover of darkness, slipping out through the cat flap to answer the call of nature, and her brief forays into the flat were similarly fleeting: she crept upstairs at mealtimes to lurk in the hallway until the rest of us had finished eating, before swiftly polishing off whatever food was left in the bowls. Then she would slink back downstairs to take her usual place on the cat-tree platform.

Her pointed face and deep-blue eyes seemed only to convey two expressions: serene contemplation or mild curiosity; and, although she never sought out physical contact, she would purr gratefully if Debbie tickled her enormous chocolate-brown ears. I watched her obsessively, torn apart by some confused emotion that seemed to combine fascination, envy and contempt all at the same time. I was convinced there was something untrustworthy about Ming’s implacable self-containment, and the fact that I was the only one who could see it simply made matters worse.

Since the hissing incident with Eddie, the kittens and Jasper had been wary around me. I desperately wanted to talk to my kittens, but feared that if I tried to explain how I felt about Ming, they would dismiss my concerns in the same way Jasper had, telling me I’d misunderstood her and that she was justsettling in. So instead I allowed the rift between us to deepen, and became increasingly preoccupied with nursing my secret grievances.

Whilst Ming’s arrival had brought agony for me, it seemed to have marked a turning point for Linda. Gone was the furtive shopaholic, prone to melodramatic outbursts of tears; in her place was a newly confident woman whose smugness and constant air of triumph were almost more than I could bear. Since Ming’s debut in the caf?, Linda’s face had worn a permanent self-satisfied grin, and in the evenings she crowed endlessly about the roaring success Ming had proved to be, how she had been right all along, and how Ming was just what the cat caf? needed.

I sensed that Debbie and Sophie were both starting to tire of Linda’s self-congratulatory monologues. Every now and then I saw them exchange weary glances behind Linda’s back, as she piped up with yet another reason why Ming joining the caf? had been a ‘commercial masterstroke’. I studied Debbie’s face closely on these occasions, praying she would cut Linda off and announce that Molly’s had been doing just fine before Ming arrived, and would continue to do so if she left. Instead, Debbie listened with patient forbearance and a polite half-smile.

When John came over for dinner one evening midweek, I felt a glimmer of optimism. Linda had gone out for the night, and I knew that if there was anyone Debbie would confide in, it was John. I climbed into the empty shoebox and watched, feeling almost giddy with hopeful anticipation.

‘So, how’s the new addition to the caf? been getting on?’ John began as they sat down at the table.

‘Who, Linda or Ming?’ Debbie asked drily.

‘Well, both, I suppose,’ John replied, smiling.

Debbie sighed and slumped slightly in her chair.‘Well, much as I hate to admit it, Linda seems to have been right. Ming has settled in amazingly well, and the customers can’t get enough of her. The cats seem to have accepted her, too, although Molly’s been a little grumpy.’

In the shoebox, I bristled all over.A little grumpy! Had Debbie really not noticed the extent of my anguish?

‘So, does that mean she’s staying?’ John asked.

‘Who, Linda or Ming?’ Debbie shot back, mischievously.

John raised his shoulders in a questioning shrug.‘I’ll keep an open mind,’ Debbie went on, ‘but, where Ming’s concerned, it’s looking hopeful.’ ‘And Linda?’ John prompted.

At this, Debbie sagged still further in her chair.‘I’m torn, John, really I am. She drives me up the wall sometimes, but I just can’t turn my back on her, not until she’s got herself sorted out. And I’ve got to admit, she’s been an asset in the caf?.’

John raised his eyebrows.‘Well, in that case, cheers to Ming,’ he said, raising his glass of beer with a good-natured chuckle. In the shoebox I felt my heart sink in disappointment.

At the end of Ming’s second week, the novelty of her appearance in the caf? was at last beginning to wear off. Linda no longer felt compelled to regale every customer with her life story, and Ming’s silent, watchful presence was something I had, reluctantly, become accustomed to. My relations with the kittens, however, remained strained. I had not yet apologized to Eddie for hissing at him – not through pride or a reluctance to admit I had been wrong – but because I hated the thought of having to do so under Ming’s supercilious gaze.

There was little comfort to be found upstairs either. The flat was, as Debbie put it,‘starting to look like a student bedsit’. Every room seemed to be perpetually in danger of overflowing with the collective detritus of people and animals. There was nowhere to put anything, and every surface was covered in dust and animal hairs.

Beau was starting to look unkempt, too; his fluffy fur, once neatly trimmed, had grown straggly to the point where it was impossible to make out the dark eyes beneath his eyebrows, or the mouth amidst his greasy beard. The scent of dog shampoo that used to follow him around had been replaced by a stale, musty odour. Other than his daily walk, he rarely left the flat, and consequently emanated an air of perpetual boredom, spending his time flopping around on the living-room rug, emitting disgruntled snorts.

The atmosphere in the flat seemed to simmer with low-level, unspoken discord. Sophie and Debbie had not argued again since the superfood-salad debacle, but Sophie had begun to spend more and more time with her boyfriend, Matt; and when she was at home, her interactions with Debbie and Linda were brusque. Debbie wore an expression of long-suffering forbearance around her. On Saturday, however, when Sophie sullenly announced she was going to Matt’s house for lunch and wasn’t sure when she’d be back, Debbie tutted with annoyance and protested that Sophie treated the place like a hotel.

‘A pretty crap hotel,’ Sophie muttered under her breath, grabbing her jacket from the coat rack. Debbie’s face flushed and her eyes looked glassy, but she let the jibe pass. I followed Sophie downstairs and watched as she let herself out through the caf?. Eddie was padding desultorily between the tables. Ming was asleep and I wondered whether I should seize the opportunity to make my belated apology. As I made my way towards him, I tried to catch his eye but, sensing my approach, he picked up his pace and ran out through the cat flap. He was avoiding me, of that I was certain. Clearly, he was not yet ready to hear what I had to say.

Much as I felt sorry for Debbie, I could understand why Sophie wanted to spend as little time in the flat as possible. It was no longer a place I particularly wanted to be in, either. So when, after lunch on Sunday, Debbie dug the cat carrier out of the hall cupboard and asked,‘Shall we go and see Margery, Molls?’ I was relieved, and craved more than ever the sanctity of Margery’s lavender-scented room and the feeling that I was, for once, the centre of attention.

Outside, the sky was ominously grey and the wind whipped through the trees, shaking loose their leaves in a continuous cascade. As Debbie stood on the front step, locking the caf? door, I saw Jo outside her hardware shop, manoeuvring her Labrador, Bernard, into her van. His arthritic hips left him unable to jump, and she had hooked an arm under his hindquarters to lever him into the back.

As Debbie stepped onto the pavement the rain started– fat, heavy drops that the wind blew into us sideways. Grabbing the handle of the carrier in both hands, Debbie broke into a run towards her car, unable to stop and speak to Jo in the gathering rainstorm.

The drive to Margery’s care home seemed to take forever as we crawled along in heavy traffic, Debbie drumming her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. When at last we arrived and had parked the car, the rain bounced noisily off the top of the carrier as Debbie ran up to the sliding doors. Even once we were inside Margery’s room, I was unable to relax. In spite of Debbie’s best efforts to soothe her, the howling wind and torrential rain outside left Margery agitated and fearful. She eyed us nervously, seemingly unsure who we were and why we were in her room.

Debbie sensed Margery’s discomfort too, and that our presence might be adding to her anxiety, so after about twenty minutes she got to her feet and lifted me back into the cat carrier. On our way out, my carrier collided with something in the doorway, and my view through the wire door was suddenly filled with a close-up view of a pair of grey trousers.

‘Oh!’ Debbie exclaimed, backing into the room to allow the owner of the trousers to enter.

‘Oh, hello. Debbie, isn’t it?’ a man asked in a nasal, whiny voice, which I immediately recognized as belonging to David, Margery’s son.

Debbie had moved aside to allow David into the room and I had a clear view of him as he stepped across the beige carpet.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ she replied, politely courteous. ‘How are you, David – keeping well, I hope?’

I had not seen David since the day Margery had been moved into the care home, but I felt my hackles instinctively start to rise. He looked just as I remembered him: small and wiry, with a pinched-looking face and thinning hair. I knew from experience, however, that David’s weedy appearance hid a surprising pugnacity.

‘Fine, thanks,’ he replied tersely, before walking over to Margery’s armchair and giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be here today,’ he said, turning to face Debbie, his voice faintly accusatory.

‘Oh, we’re just leaving,’ Debbie replied, her apologetic tone suggesting that she too had felt the intended barb. ‘Well, take care, David,’ she said, but he had his back to her and was yanking the vacant armchair closer so that he could sit down.

The journey home was even slower than the drive there and, on this occasion, I had no feeling of wellbeing to lift my spirits. Instead, I felt irritable and cross. Seeing David had unsettled me, bringing back upsetting memories of his callous disregard for Margery’s – and my own – feelings when he had decided to sell our home. Recalling those unhappy times made me yearn to be back in the comfort and security of the caf?, with Debbie, Jasper and the kittens. But another part of me dreaded our return, and feared that I would find the same cosy scene that had greeted me after my last absence. When we finally arrived, however, the caf? was quiet. Ming was snoozing on her platform and her ears didn’t even flicker when Debbie hurriedly unlocked the door and ran inside to escape the pouring rain.

I went upstairs to the flat and climbed into the shoebox in the living room. I undertook a self-soothing wash, inwardly bemoaning the fact that the world seemed full of people and animals who, in one way or another, were determined to pick away at the fabric of my life. When I had finished washing I lay down in the box, listening to the rain lashing against the windowpanes, and waiting for the relief that only sleep could bring me.

‘Has anyone seen Eddie today?’ Debbie called up from the caf? a little later that evening, and instantly I was wide awake. She ran up the stairs and peered into the living room. ‘That’s odd,’ she said, looking worried. ‘He doesn’t normally stay out for this long.’

Linda glanced up from the sofa.‘Which one’s Eddie, again?’ she asked vaguely.

‘Black-and-white. Friendly,’ Debbie replied testily.

Linda nodded.‘Oh yes, now you mention it, I’m pretty sure I passed him on the square yesterday afternoon, near the market cross.’

My stomach gave a strange jolt, and I sat up in the shoebox to stare at Linda.

‘The market cross?’ Debbie repeated. ‘You’re pretty sure, or youare sure?’

Linda frowned in concentration.‘Black body, white paws, silver collar?’ she asked, and Debbie nodded. ‘Yep, then it was definitely him. Why, is he not meant to go there?’ Linda’s face was a picture of innocence, but Debbie groaned with exasperation.

‘It’s not about whether Eddie’smeant to go there, Linda, but he doesn’t normally stray so far from the caf?. And if you’re right, and he was there yesterday and

hasn’t been home since, and now it’s blowing a gale and bucketing down with rain out there …’

Debbie trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish the sentence. She was right: Eddie had never strayed so far from the caf? before, and he had certainly never stayed away for so long. My little boy had been missing for more than a day, and I had been so fixated on my own problems that I hadn’t even noticed.

12

[Êàðòèíêà: _6.jpg]

The cat flap snapped shut behind me. I paused momentarily on the doorstep, sniffing the cold, damp air, before dashing along the wet cobbles to the alleyway behind the caf?.

In the dark, confined space of the passageway the rain seemed to fall more heavily, the raindrops pounding in a harsh staccato on dustbin lids and metal steps. I nosed through the conifers at the end of the alley and scanned the sodden churchyard. The front aspect of the church and its spire stood out against the black sky, lit from beneath by spotlights embedded in the gravel path, but the dazzling brightness of the stone facade merely emphasized the pitch-blackness all around. I stalked around the outer boundary of the churchyard, my ears alert for movement in the surrounding shrubbery. A rustle in a distant rhododendron caught my attention and I picked up my pace through the long, wet grass.

Jasper looked askance at me as I squeezed beneath the canopy of tongue-shaped, dripping leaves to the dry patch of earth where he sat. As I edged into his shelter, I gave my head and body a brisk shake, inadvertently spraying him with rainwater.

‘Have you seen Eddie?’ I asked, without preamble, and in a huffier tone than I had intended. A full week had passed since our argument about Ming, and since then we had barely seen each other.

It was Jasper’s turn to shake off the drops of water that had landed on his face and whiskers, and he took his time to do so, before answering, ‘Eddie? Not today. Why?’

‘He’s missing,’ I replied tersely. ‘He hasn’t been home since yesterday. Linda saw him on the square by the market cross yesterday morning.’

Jasper considered me intently.‘Linda saw him yesterday?’ he repeated. I nodded. ‘So it’s only been a day?’ My eyes narrowed. Sometimes I despaired of Jasper.

I had always considered his laissez-faire approach to parenting part of his charm, but right now I found it infuriating.

‘Only been a day? He’s never stayed out overnight before. And in this weather?’ I was aware of my face growing hot under my fur. ‘What if he’s run away?’ I asked, willing Jasper to recognize the urgency of the situation.

‘But why would he run away? That doesn’t sound like Eddie,’ Jasper replied calmly.

I opened my mouth to reply, but an answer wouldn’t come. I wanted to tell Jasper that Eddie might have run away if he thought I didn’t love him any more. The image of Eddie recoiling from my hiss filled my mind; the hurt and shock on his face, and how he had sloped away with his tail between his legs. I dearly wanted to tell Jasper the truth: that my jealousy of Ming, and my conviction that she wanted to usurp my position in our family, had so consumed me that I had taken my anger out on my sweet and loving boy, and that I had compounded the problem by procrastinating over my apology. But I was too ashamed to admit what I had done and, instead, kept my eyes on the ground and said nothing.

‘He’s young, and he’s male,’ Jasper went on, unperturbed. ‘It’s natural for him to wander. Twenty-four hours away from home is nothing.’

‘It’s natural for you, maybe, but you’re not Eddie!’ I cut in desperately.

Jasper’s implacability was maddening. He seemed unable to recognize that what was normal behaviour for an alley-cat like him was not normal for our kittens; least of all for Eddie, who had always been a home-loving boy, far more interested in eating and sleeping than he was in roaming. My shame and remorse were swiftly giving way to a renewed frustration.

‘I’m going to look for him. Are you coming or not?’ I hissed, facing him with a look of defiant resolve.

Jasper’s amber eyes studied me closely. He seemed – at last – to recognize that there was more to my distress than motherly over-protectiveness. ‘C’mon then,’ he said, springing to his feet.

We strode in silence through the rainy streets, dodging the kerbside puddles as cars swooshed past, dazzling our eyes with their headlights. Clusters of people dashed along the pavements beneath umbrellas, making for pub and restaurant doorways and the promise of open fires and hot meals within. We headed straight for the southern side of the square and climbed the soaking wet steps of the market cross. The imposing town hall looked down on us, its Gothic spire and turrets forming an eerie silhouette against the nighttime gloom. All around, the street lights’ orange halos were reflected in the slick cobbles, as sheets of rain were blown sideways across the market square.

I looked around at the wide square, trying to imagine where Eddie might have gone. My eye kept returning to the narrow gaps between the shop fronts, which marked the entrance to the alleyways that linked the square to the surrounding streets. I had arrived in Stourton on a similarly inhospitable night nearly two years ago and had sought refuge in the first alley I came to, mistakenly assuming I would find shelter and safety there, not knowing that each alley was the territory of a street-cat. What if, like me, Eddie had wandered into an alley, been attacked and was lying injured somewhere, feverish with pain?

As if reading my mind, Jasper murmured,‘I’ll check the alleys, you stick to the road.’

I blinked at him, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude that at last he was taking my fears seriously. Jasper padded down the stone steps and crept stealthily across the tarmac, disappearing into the opening between the bank and the chemist’s. I kept my eyes fixed on the spot where the tip of his tail had vanished, my ears alert for sounds that might indicate the presence of a hostile street-cat. But the alleyway remained silent.

My fur was soaked through to my skin, as I ran down the steps and took the road opposite the market cross. I made my way slowly along the pavement, checking underneath parked cars for any sign of Eddie. Every now and then I heard the yowl of an alley-cat somewhere in the distance and froze, rotating my ears to listen, lest I should hear Eddie or Jasper’s voice in reply.

At the end of the street I turned right, onto a wide, busy thoroughfare lined with pubs and hotels. Traffic rushed past me in both directions, and a group of people dressed for a night out stumbled out of a hotel, laughing. I pressed up against a wall and let them pass, the women’s high heels clicking against the pavement just inches from my paws. A little further along the street they turned into a pub, pulling open the heavy wooden door and releasing a gust of warmth and light, which momentarily transfixed me. Could Eddie have found his way inside such a place? Hissociable nature and love of people meant I couldn’t rule it out. But the town was full of pubs like this – how could I possibly search them all? I sniffed disconsolately at the wooden porch around the entrance, before padding away down the street.

For nearly an hour I continued to prowl the area, probing into dark doorways and behind dustbins until my paw-pads were soaked and freezing. The hopelessness of my task had begun to dawn on me: there was no way Jasper and I could search the whole of Stourton tonight; and, even if Eddie had passed this way, the incessant rain would have washed away any trace of his scent. Tired and dispirited, I turned to head home, making no effort to dodge the splashing puddles as cars raced past me. Jasper was waiting for me in the caf? doorway, and I knew immediately from his downcast posture that his search had also been fruitless.

‘He’s a sensible cat, he’ll be okay,’ he whispered as I stepped onto the doorstep. I dropped my gaze, too exhausted to point out that just because Eddie was sensible it did not necessarily mean he would be all right.

‘You coming in?’ I asked wearily.

Jasper’s tail twitched; since our conversation about Ming, he had hardly come indoors at all. But his face softened as we stood facing each other, equally drenched, on the doorstep. ‘After you,’ he replied, glancing at the door.

The following morning Debbie checked the alleyway for Eddie, returning from the kitchen with a look of mingled disappointment and concern.

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, Debs. He’ll come back when he’s hungry,’ Linda said breezily, pulling her apron over her head. ‘Our cat Toby used to do this all the time when we were little, d’you remember?’

Debbie inclined her head.‘Maybe, Linda – let’s hope so,’ she replied.

I spent the day in the window, keeping watch for any sign of Eddie, while Jasper headed out to continue the search. The kittens were subdued, spending most of the day sleeping or pacing the floor, sniffing at Eddie’s usual napping spots, throwing anxious glances in my direction. In my vulnerable state I resented Ming’s mute haughtiness more than ever. I kept it to myself, but I could not quell the growing suspicion that Ming had had something to do with Eddie’s disappearance. Had some covert conversation taken place between them after the hissing incident, in which he had confided his hurt feelings, and she had encouraged him to run away? Or was I paranoid to imagine such a thing?

As the grey light outside the window gave way to darkness, I caught sight of Ming’s reflection in the glass: a ghost-like apparition hovering, motionless, behind me. A flash of blue made me think she was watching me; but, when I turned to look, her eyes were closed.

13

[Êàðòèíêà: _5.jpg]

Debbie was cashing up at the till one evening, when Linda sidled over to the wooden counter.‘Debbie,’ she wheedled. ‘Can I pitch you an idea for the menu?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ answered Debbie absent-mindedly, sliding piles of coins across the worktop into clear plastic bags.

‘Ming’s Fortune Cookies,’ Linda announced, bouncing on the balls of her feet eagerly. On the window cushion, my ears flickered. Debbie’s face was blank with confusion. ‘I’ve made a prototype,’ Linda went on, pulling something red and crinkly from her apron pocket and placing it on the counter.

Debbie picked up the twist of cellophane and unwrapped it, to reveal a small cookie and a folded slip of paper.

‘That’s Ming’s Motto,’ Linda explained earnestly.

‘Time spent with cats is never wasted,’ Debbie read, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Linda whipped a notepad out of her apron.‘I’ve got plenty more mottoes,’ she said keenly. ‘All cats are equal, but some are more equal than others. To err is human, to purr is feline.’ She looked at her sister expectantly. ‘See, not just a pretty face, am I?’ she beamed, tapping her forehead with the tip of her pen.

‘That’s a good idea, Linda – I like it. If you print off the mottoes, we can make a batch and see if they sell,’ Debbie said.

‘Trust me, Debs, they’ll sell like hotcakes,’ replied Linda, practically glowing. ‘Remember, I know a thing or two about marketing – that was my career until I married Ray,’ she said, carefully folding the motto and cookie back inside their wrapper.

‘And you no longer needed a career,’ I heard Debbie mutter under her breath when Linda had bustled past her into the kitchen.

The following morning Debbie was at the dining table, reading the local newspaper with a furrowed brow.‘Linda, have you seen this? Ming’s in the paper!’ she called across the hallway.

In the shoebox, I froze in mid-wash and glanced across the room to see Linda appear at the living-room door, grinning broadly.

‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ she preened, leaning against the doorframe with an expression of barely suppressed triumph.

‘Exotic New Kitty Joins Cat Caf?,’ Debbie read aloud, before firing a disapproving sideways look at Linda. ‘Popular new addition to Stourton’s cat caf? … Beautiful Ming is a real glamour-puss … a tragic Siamese rescued from a life of neglect’ – here, Debbie paused to raise asceptical eyebrow at Linda – ‘“Ming has brought a taste of Eastern promise to the Cotswolds,” says Molly’s spokesperson, Linda Fleming.’ At this, Debbie set her coffee mug roughly down on the table and sat back in her chair. ‘“A taste of Eastern promise”, Linda – are you kidding?’ she scowled. ‘And since when have you been Molly’s spokesperson?’ she added scornfully.

But Linda was unrepentant.‘Trust me, Debs, it’ll be great for business,’ she winked, and trotted downstairs to the caf?.

Debbie reread the article with a look of growing displeasure. Then she tossed the newspaper across the table and sat for a moment, staring at the now-empty doorway with an expression of deep resentment on her face.

Trepidation mingled with curiosity in my mind, as I padded across the room and jumped onto the table. The newspaper lay open on the feature about Ming. In the middle of the page was a full-length portrait of Ming sitting regally on her platform, directing a haughty stare down the lens of the camera. The kittens and I were nowhere to be seen. In the bottom left-hand corner there was a second photograph: a small, professional-looking headshot of Linda, which must have been taken several years earlier: she was heavily made-up with immaculately blow-dried hair and looked a good five years younger. Beneath her image ran the caption‘Linda Fleming: rescues cats’.

I exhaled crossly and glared at the photo, aware of fury rising in the pit of my stomach. Everything about the newspaper coverage enraged me, from the made-up account of Ming’s ‘tragic’ back-story, to Linda’s positioning of herself as a ‘cat-rescuer’ and, most importantly, the misleading impression it gave that Ming was the caf?’s sole charge and main attraction. It was as if the kittens and I had been airbrushed out of existence altogether. The article was inaccurate on every front and yet, seeing Linda’s distorted claims in print somehow gave them credibility. Deciding I had seen enough, I sat down on top of the newspaper and began to wash, making sure to position my hindquarters squarely on top of Ming’s conceited face.

Linda preened about her coup with the press for a couple of days, apparently oblivious to Debbie’s tight-lipped frostiness on the subject. Watching from my cushion as she thrust the newspaper cutting – which she had now laminated – under the noses of customers, I couldn’t help but remember what Linda had been like before Debbie had suggested that she help out in the caf?. In those early days she had been an unsettling presence; constantly close to tears and prone to emotional outbursts, which, I had suspected, were designed to trigger a sense of sisterly obligation in Debbie.

I had not exactly warmed to Linda even then, but at least she had divided her time between the flat and the shops, so my life in the caf? had been mercifully free of her interference. Now that she was working downstairs, however, there was no escaping her. Linda’s involvement in the caf? went beyond simplyhelping out; there was something insidious about her enthusiasm. I was in no doubt that her plan was to stake a territorial claim on the business, and that promoting her prot?g?e Ming was simply a means to this end. The newspaper article merely confirmed what I already suspected: Linda wanted the ‘moggies’ gone from the caf?, to be replaced with beautiful, exotic cats like Ming.

Jasper and I had continued to search for Eddie every day since he had vanished. Jasper performed a daily circuit of the alleyways during daylight hours, returning to the caf? at dusk. Every evening I watched hopefully from my window cushion, waiting for him to turn the corner into the parade. Each time, the droop of Jasper’s whiskers and his lowered tail told me that his search had been unsuccessful. I took over the search in the evenings, revisiting all the places that might offer shelter for a frightened or injured cat: behind the recycling bins in the square, in the overgrown shrubbery beside the public toilets, plus every car park and green space in the town. There was no trace of Eddie anywhere.

I was more fearful than ever for his safety. Winter was creeping closer, and the conditions outdoors were getting harsher by the day. With every night that passed, the chances of Eddie returning uninjured, and of his own accord, seemed to dwindle. Debbie had done everything she could to raise awareness of Eddie’s plight, asking customers to keep their eyes peeled for him, contacting all the local vets, and printing off ‘missing’ posters, which she dutifully pinned to lampposts around town. But there had not been a single reported sighting of him. I dreaded Debbie eventually giving Eddie up for lost, telling me sorrowfully that she’d done everything she could, but it was time to accept that he had gone.

One evening I made for the market cross, the location of Eddie’s last sighting before he disappeared. I was convinced there must be a clue to his whereabouts, if I just looked hard enough. Around me, the square was almost deserted and the night air was damp and misty, as if a cloud had enveloped the town in its chilly embrace. My eye was drawn to the narrow alleyway directly opposite the cross. I knew Jasper had already searched it, but perhaps, if I could muster up the courage to talk to the resident alley-cat, I could at least ascertain whether Eddie had passed through.

I crossed the road and took a few tentative steps along the dark, clammy passage. I tiptoed forward, my face set, and was quickly plunged into the dank gloom of the unlit alley. Sticking close to the wall, I sensed rather than heard it, but knew something was standing further along the passageway, and a prickling on the back of my neck convinced me I was being watched. I squinted into the blackness, my heart racing.‘Hello?’ I said, thinking it was better to find out as soon as possible whatever danger I faced. Something moved up ahead, and a low, dark shape hove into view from behind a dustbin. ‘I’m just looking for a cat …’ I said, aware of how small my voice sounded, and how frightened. A security light at the back of the chemist’s flicked on, and the alleyway was suddenly bathed in a cold white light.

The alley-cat– I could see him now – said nothing, but continued to glide silently towards me. He had matted ginger fur and a tattered ear, and his yellow eyes narrowed maliciously as he stalked towards me. A low, rumbling growl from the back of his throat left me in no doubt that he was preparing to fight. Cursing my naivety, I turned and tore back down the path. Without pausing for breath, I sprinted across the foggy square, forcing a car to brake as I streaked in front of it, and did not slow down until I had reached the parade. Standing on the cobbles to catch my breath, I felt inordinately comforted by the sight of John’s sturdy form on the caf? doorstep.

‘Hello, Molly,’ he said amiably, catching sight of me slinking along the pavement. He unlocked the door and I ran inside onto the doormat, waiting with my tail erect for him to stroke me. Smiling, John crouched down to tickle me around the ears.

‘It’s cold out there tonight, isn’t it?’ he murmured, gently wiping the layer of chilly moisture from my fur. I turned and rubbed against his hands with my cheek, grateful for the reassurance of his touch. When he stood up, I made straight for my cushion on the windowsill and set about washing away the lingering smell of the alleyway.

John walked across the caf? to the stairwell. ‘Debbie, it’s me,’ he called. ‘The table’s booked for eight o’clock.’

‘I’ll be right down,’ Debbie replied in a strained voice from the top of the stairs.

Above us, the sound of footsteps indicated that she had moved to the living room. Through the ceiling I made out the muffled sound of Debbie talking in a tone that sounded plaintive and pleading. She was cut off mid-sentence by an angry growl from Sophie. The beams in the caf? ceiling creaked beneath the teenager’s heavy tread, stomping across the living room.

‘Well, can you blame me, Mum?’ Sophie hollered from the landing. ‘At least Matt lives in a normal house with a normal family. There’s room to hear myself think, and it’s possible to have a conversation, once in a while, that isn’t about cats!’

John glanced at his watch with a look of weary resignation, then walked over to the fireplace. Jasper was sprawled across one of the armchairs and, as John lowered himself into the opposite chair, lifted his head sleepily. Perhaps it was some masculine bond between them, or they identified with each other being at once part of the caf? but also slightly removed from it, for John and Jasper had always had a particular fondness for each other. John leant forward in his seat to rub Jasper affectionately between the ears. ‘I don’t know how you put up with it, mate,’ John murmured, as Jasper purred and closed his eyes lazily.

Debbie eventually ran downstairs, flustered and apologetic, and she and John headed out for their date. The flat above me was quiet and I spent a soothing couple of hours washing away the memory of the yellow-eyed alley-cat. It was only when I had curled up in a ball to wait for sleep that John’s comment to Jasper popped back into my head.I don’t know how you put up with it, he had said, and there had been something about his tone that troubled me. I had always taken John’s devotion to Debbie for granted, rarely giving a

thought to the impact the caf?’s dramas might have on him. It suddenly occurred to me that his reserves of patience might not be infinite and that he might, eventually, tire of waiting on the sidelines while Debbie dealt with the successive crises in her life.

For the first time in a long while, the thought crossed my mind that John might decide he’d had enough of us all.

14

[Êàðòèíêà: _3.jpg]

The rift that had opened between me and the kittens since Linda and Ming’s arrival seemed to deepen in the wake of Eddie’s disappearance. I was convinced that my bad-tempered hiss had been the trigger for him running away, but couldn’t bring myself to talk to the kittens about it. My own sense of guilt was bad enough; it would be more than I could bear to hear them say they blamed me, too.

However, when a full week had passed since Eddie’s last sighting, and our searches had led nowhere, I finally plucked up the courage to say something. Purdy was about to push her way out through the cat flap one morning when I intercepted her on the doormat.

‘Can I talk to you about Eddie?’ I asked.

It had been a long time since I had spoken to any of the kittens in private, and I felt surprisingly nervous when she turned her alert, inquisitive face to look at me.

‘I was just wondering if Eddie said anything to you, before he disappeared?’ I began, aware that my pulse was starting to race. If Eddie had confided in his siblings that he was angry with me, I knew Purdy wouldn’t flinch from telling me.

Her green eyes held my gaze steadily.‘No – nothing,’ she said. Then, after a pause, she added, ‘I think you’re assuming the worst.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Well, you think something awful must have happened to him – that he’s got lost or been attacked, but …’ she trailed off, suddenly unsure whether to continue.

‘But?’ I prompted.

‘Well, maybe he left because he wanted to see more of the world than just the caf?. Maybe it was just … the right time for him to go.’

In spite of her tactful tone, I instinctively bristled at her words.

‘But if he thought it was time to leave, surely he would have told us first?’ I replied, in a voice that was sharper than I intended.

Purdy’s eyes narrowed and I knew that she felt dismissed by my response. ‘Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t,’ she answered. She sounded nettled, and her tail was starting to flicker impatiently. She gave me a look that seemed to say, ‘Can I go now?’

Reluctantly, I blinked to let her know she was free to leave, and she slipped silently out through the cat flap.

I waited on the doormat for a few seconds, then pushed my way through after her. Aware of Purdy loitering on the cobbles outside the hardware shop, but not wanting her to think I was pursuing her, I set off in the other direction, pondering her words as I walked. With hindsight, I knew that my response would have hurt Purdy’s feelings. She had probably thought she was being helpful by suggesting that Eddie had simply decided it was time to move on, to see what life was like in the world beyond the caf?.

But my maternal intuition told me Purdy was wrong: no one knew Eddie like I did: how sensitive and home-loving he was and how, in spite of his grown-up appearance, he was really just a little boy at heart. The idea that he would choose to leave the comfort of the cat caf? in order to take his chances on the streets was barely credible. The notion that he might do so without talking to me first was out of the question. Purdy might have thought she was being helpful but, in fact, she was being naive.

I looked around and realized that, without any conscious intention, I had walked my usual route to the market square. Rows of market stalls had appeared overnight, their striped canopies flapping in the chilly breeze. Even in low season, the Saturday market drew a crowd, and the square was thronged with shoppers beneath a pale, grey sky. I sat down beside the wooden bench under the elm tree and soaked up the familiar sounds of the market: the slamming of car doors, the barks of excited dogs and the sporadic whines of complaint from overwrought toddlers.

I allowed my eyes to drift over the mass of people and colourful tarpaulins, towards the buildings that surrounded the market. Spying a gap between the sweet shop and an antiques dealer’s to my left, I felt a sudden flutter in my stomach. Until now I had mostly left it to Jasper to search the alleys, but if my memory served me well, this alley was different from the others in town …

The afternoon light was already beginning to fade as I slipped into the narrow opening that marked the alley’s entrance. I jumped onto the drystone wall that ran along one side, and made my way carefully along its jagged surface. Up ahead, in a garden that backed onto the passageway, an old shed stood against the wall, surrounded on all sides by overgrown brambles. Keeping my eyes fixed on its roof, I approached cautiously, dropping to my haunches so that my gait became a stealthy prowl. As I crept closer, I glimpsed movement in the brambles, followed by a lightning-quick flash of gold-coloured eyes through the tangle of thorny branches. I froze, my heart pounding, one paw hovering in the air as I stared at the spot where the eyes had appeared.

‘Excuse me?’ I said.

The face of a small tortoiseshell cat emerged from the midst of the brambles and peered at me, unblinking.

‘I know you,’ I said. ‘We’ve met before.’

The tortoiseshell crept warily across the shabby tarpaulin of the shed roof and eyed me apprehensively.‘You came here a long time ago,’ she said at last. ‘You were injured.’

‘That’s right,’ I replied, feeling a rush of relief. ‘I wondered if you could help me again,’ I continued, with a hopeful glance at her hesitant face. ‘I’m looking for my son, Eddie. He’s gone missing and I wondered if, maybe, he’s been here?’

The tortoiseshell’s golden eyes narrowed intently.

‘Well, a black-and-white tom has passed through a few times this week,’ she replied.

I felt my heart begin to thump.‘Was he wearing a silver collar?’ I asked, trying to stem my excitement.

She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully.‘Hmm, no collar that I can remember. He looked like an alley-cat.’

My heart sank in disappointment; this must have been Jasper, on his daily tour of the alleyways.

The tortoiseshell tilted her head to one side.‘So your boy’s missing, is he?’ she said. ‘That’s sad.’ It was a simple expression of sympathy that made my eyes begin to tingle.

‘That would have been his dad that you saw. They look very similar. Eddie’s been gone for a week now, and it’s not like him. He’s never lived outdoors.’ I could feel her gaze on me, but I continued to stare at the uneven stone wall beneath my paws.

‘When did you say he went missing?’ she asked gently.

‘He was seen last Saturday by the market cross.’

I watched as the tortoiseshell closed her eyes in concentration. Her face was mostly ginger, but there was a patch of black over one eye that lent her a slightly piratical look. Beneath her coat, which was a messy patchwork of ginger, white and black, her body was slim and taut. I was acutely aware of my own plump physique, maintained by a generous diet of cat food supplemented by caf? titbits, and felt a sudden burst of gratitude not to be living outdoors, in a constant daily struggle against the elements, having to hunt or scavenge for every meal.

The tortoiseshell’s eyes sprang open. ‘Look, I don’t know if it was your boy, but I heard something about a pet cat hanging around the streets,’ she said urgently, as if worried that she might be overheard. ‘Caused quite a stir, strolling around town like he owned the place, in and out of the alleys –a bit like you did that time, come to think of it,’ she added, her golden eyes twinkling.

‘When was that, can you remember?’ I pressed.

‘Couldn’t say for sure, but a week ago sounds about right,’ the tortoiseshell replied.

I fixed her with a stare.‘Do you have any idea where he went?’ I asked, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it.

Suddenly, her head dropped.‘From what I heard, an alley-cat chased him to the town sign on the main road south. After that, I don’t know what happened to him,’ she said sorowfully.

I thanked the tortoiseshell and leapt down from the wall. I pelted out of the alley and across the middle of the square, dodging the legs of shoppers and dashing between parked cars until I reached the entrance to the churchyard. Spotting Jasper prowling between the headstones on the far side, I sprinted across the grass, causing a cluster of crows to flap skywards in alarm.

‘I know what happened to Eddie,’ I panted. ‘A cat chased him to the main road south, about a week ago. An alley-cat told me.’

Jasper’s eyes widened. ‘An alley-cat told you?’ he repeated, doubtfully.

‘Yes, the one next to the sweet shop. She’d seen you go up and down searching for him, but she was hiding from you.’

Jasper stared at me with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

‘I knew it,’ I said, feeling self-righteousness bubble up inside me. I had been right not to listen to Purdy; Eddie had not gone off in search of adventure, he had been forced to run away. But any vindication of my maternal instincts was dwarfed by my concern for Eddie’s wellbeing. The tortoiseshell had confirmed my worst fears: that he had got into a confrontation with an alley-cat and been chased out of town. He would be out there somewhere, alone, hungry and too frightened to come home.

I stared at Jasper defiantly, willing him to recognize the seriousness of the situation.‘So, what are we going to do?’ I asked.

‘Well, there’s only one thing we can do,’ replied Jasper soberly. ‘I’ll have to go after him.’

Later that evening Jasper bade farewell to the kittens and slipped out onto the street under cover of darkness. I walked by his side through the town’s back streets until we picked up the main road heading south. There, we padded past the shops, the public toilets and the car park, to the point where the pavement ended and a grassy verge took over. All around us, the fields beyond the hedgerows looked inky-black in the darkness. An owl screeched, unseen, in a tree nearby.

We stepped off the kerb and made our way across the damp verge to the hedgerow. I knew Jasper would be able to handle himself, yet I still dreaded the thought of him leaving, and the fact that we would have no means of communicating while he was away. Much as I had felt vexed and frustrated by him in recent weeks, Jasper was my anchor. Without him, I would have no one to confide in and seek reassurance from.

As if he had read my mind, Jasper murmured,‘It’ll be okay – I’ll find Eddie.’ He nuzzled his face against mine and I looked up into his amber eyes, wanting to commit their comforting gaze to memory.

Jasper burrowed into a gap in the hedgerow, there was a brief rustling sound, then he was gone. I turned and retraced my steps slowly back to the caf?. There was nothing I could do now except wait.

15

[Êàðòèíêà: _2.jpg]

After breakfast on Monday morning I descended the stairs to find Debbie casting puzzled looks around the caf?. I could almost see her doing a head-count, as she watched the kittens file across the floor behind me. A few minutes later, I was settling into my habitual position in the window when I heard her rattling a box of cat biscuits on the back doorstep. ‘Jasper, breakfast!’ she called hopefully into the empty alleyway.

Linda, who was tying her hair back at the mirror beside the counter, registered the look of concern on her sister’s face. ‘What’s up, Debs?’ she asked casually.

‘I haven’t seen Jasper for a couple of days. He’s not been in for breakfast, and he’s not in the alley, either,’ Debbie replied, frowning.

Linda’s eyes slid back to her reflection in the mirror. ‘To lose one cat may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose two looks like carelessness,’ she observed, smiling wryly until Debbie’s steely look sent her scurrying to refill the napkin-holders.

‘Oh, hello, it’s Debbie Walsh from Molly’s. I’m afraid we’ve lost another cat,’ Debbie told the vet, blushing, on the telephone later that morning. ‘Could you let me know if you hear anything?’

However, there was no poster campaign for Jasper, as there had been for Eddie, and Debbie avoided mentioning his disappearance to the caf?’s customers. I suspected that Linda’s comment might have touched a nerve, and Debbie was embarrassed by the fact that the Cotswolds’ only cat caf? had now mislaid two of its charges.

Throughout the day Debbie threw worried looks in my direction while I sat at the window, staring anxiously down the parade.‘Don’t worry, Molls – Jasper’s just gone wandering again, that’s all,’ she reassured me. I rubbed my cheek against her hand, wishing I could explain to her what was really going on.

I veered between telling myself that Jasper would find Eddie and bring him home, and feeling certain that I would never see either of them again. Even sleep brought no respite: I was troubled by unsettling dreams, from which I would wake with a sudden jolt of panic and an overwhelming sense that I should be doing more– that I should have been the one to go after Eddie. The powerlessness of my position, stuck at the caf? waiting, was agonizing. Every time the phone rang, my stomach lurched, as I hoped – and at the same time dreaded – that it was a call about Eddie or Jasper.

Although the kittens understood why their father had gone, the loss of Jasper in addition to Eddie had a de-stabilizing effect on our fractured family. I became more withdrawn and taciturn than ever, spending hour after hour gazing listlessly through the window. We were now an all-female colony, and in the vacuum created by Eddie and Jasper’s absence, the kittens became more quarrelsome, as if they were jostling for position in the new hierarchy.

Purdy had always assumed certain privileges, as the most confident and outgoing of the litter; but, without their father around, Abby and Bella now became more extrovert and began to challenge Purdy’s dominance. I kept out of their squabbles, thinking the best thing I could do was allow them to work out their sibling rivalries for themselves, but barely a day went by when I didn’t hear a sudden hiss and spit as a minor disagreement boiled over into conflict. Their disputes usually endedwith Purdy, realizing she was outnumbered, striding huffily out through the cat flap and marching off down the cobbles. She would often hop onto Jo’s white van outside the hardware shop and look around insouciantly, before settling down on the van’s roof for a proprietorial wash.

One morning, Linda took delivery of a large cardboard box at the door while she and Debbie were preparing to open the caf?.

‘What’s in there, Lind?’ Debbie asked, watching Linda run a knife along the seam of brown tape.

‘Ming’s Mugs,’ answered Linda brightly, enjoying Debbie’s look of blank incomprehension. She ripped open the cardboard box and pulled out a white enamel mug, emblazoned with a photo of Ming. The disembodied image of her face against the stark white background of the mug emphasized Ming’s pointed chin and enormous brown ears, and her slightly crossed eyes were a piercing, artificial shade of blue. Underneath the photos, in a bright-pink font, ran the hashtag #mingsmug.

Behind the till, Debbie’s mouth fell open in dismay. ‘And what are you planning to do with those?’ she asked coolly, walking around the side of the counter for a closer look.

‘Sell them, of course! It’s called merchandising, Debs,’ explained Linda pompously. ‘I ordered sixty.’

She hoisted the cardboard box off the floor and teetered with it towards the fireplace, ignoring Debbie’s expression of incredulity.

‘We can display them next to the Specials board, see?’ Linda had deposited the box on an armchair and was already arranging the mugs in a row on the mantelpiece. ‘All the customers love Ming, and I reckon people will pay three ninety-nine—’

‘Linda, stop!’ Debbie shrieked suddenly.

The kittens and I fell still to look at her– it was not often that we heard Debbie raise her voice. Linda’s hand hovered over the pyramid of mugs that she had begun to assemble at the fireplace.

‘What’s the matter, Debs?’ asked Linda innocently, keeping her back to the room. ‘Don’t you like them?’

Debbie stood squarely behind her sister, taking deep, calming breaths. When at last she spoke, I detected a tremor of suppressed anger.‘Linda, you don’t seem to understand. This is a caf?, not a … Ming theme park!’

A brief silence, then,‘Well, you could get some made of Molly too, if you like,’ answered Linda airily.

‘That’s not the point!’ Debbie snapped.

Linda finally turned to face her sister. Her mouth was fixed in a defiant smile, but two spots of pink had appeared on her cheeks.

‘This is a cat caf?,’ said Debbie, with a dismissive gesture towards the box of mugs on the armchair, ‘not a … crockery warehouse. I’m sorry, Linda, but these mugs are … tacky.’ She picked up one of them and studied the offending item closely. ‘Besides, haven’t you noticed?It looks like it says “Ming’s smug”.’ Debbie held the mug up and pointed at the hashtag with a look of exasperation. ‘Who would want to buy the merchandise of a smug cat?’

Linda looked momentarily crestfallen, then she turned wordlessly back to face the mantelpiece.‘Well, if that’s the way you feel. You’re the boss, after all,’ she muttered churlishly. She began to dismantle the pyramid with pursed lips, the mugs chinking against each other as she carelessly looped them over her thumbs.

Once she had repacked the box, she heaved it into her arms and made her way awkwardly towards the door.

‘I guess I’ll just have to give these to a charity then,’ Linda said loftily. Balancing the box between one hand and a raised thigh, she wrestled to unlock the door with her free hand, struggling for a couple of minutes, until Debbie walked over and opened the door for her. ‘Thank you,’Linda mumbled grudgingly. She shifted the weight of the box between both arms and then, with her nose in the air, she and her mugs flounced out of the caf?.

The atmosphere between the sisters remained tense in the aftermath of the mug debacle. On Friday, Linda rushed upstairs straight after the caf? closed, and there was a note of triumph in the way she announced that she was to spend the evening with friends.

Debbie smiled politely.‘Have fun!’ she called to her sister’s back as it disappeared down the stairs. But she breathed a loud sigh of relief as soon as the caf? door slammed shut.

A little later that evening Jo turned up with a takeaway, and Debbie and I trotted downstairs to meet her. My spirits immediately lifted at the sight of Jo’s mop of curly hair and jovial face at the bottom of the stairs. Her down-to-earth personality was in sharp contrast to Linda’s tendency towards drama and self-pity, and she could always be counted on to help Debbie see the funny side of any situation.

It didn’t take long for Debbie to begin to offload her frustration with Linda. ‘I mean, you should have seen these mugs, Jo,’ Debbie complained, grimacing as she poured out two glasses of wine. ‘I’ve never seen anything so hideous in my life. The photo made poor Ming look like a cross-eyed freak!’

Jo had crouched down to stroke Purdy on the flagstones. Jo was affectionate towards all of the kittens, but had long-ago singled out feisty Purdy as her favourite. Her brown curls were shaking with laughter.‘Not so much “Ming’s Mug” as “Ming’s Ugly Mug”, by the sound of it.’ She grinned as Purdy rubbed against her knees. ‘I wish you’d kept one to show me – they sound hilarious.’

She stood up and took her glass from the countertop, while Purdy contentedly climbed the wooden walkway up to the cat hammock.

‘Maybe Linda just got carried away, after the Fortune Cookies went down so well,’ Jo suggested diplomatically, taking a sip of wine.

Debbie shrugged.‘Maybe. I can’t decide whether she’s a marketing genius or a total fruitcake, to be honest. Either way, she’s doing my head in.’

Jo watched shrewdly as Debbie lifted a stack of foil trays out of the bag and placed them on the counter.‘If she’s really doing your head in, you could always move into John’s place,’ she said, a mischievous smile playing around her lips. On the window cushion, my ears pricked up.

‘Funny you should mention that,’ answered Debbie quietly. ‘John said the same thing.’

Jo did a dramatic double-take over her wine glass.‘Really? When?’ Her eyes glistened with excitement, but Debbie was already shaking her head.

‘A couple of weeks ago, but I said no.’

‘Why?’ Jo squealed, dropping disappointedly onto a chair. ‘Surely that’s the obvious solution? It’s the natural next step for you two; plus it would give you some space from Linda.’

Debbie’s face clouded and she braced her arms against the wooden worktop for support. ‘But it’s not that simple, Jo. What about Sophie? I can’t ask her to move house again – not after all the upheaval of the divorce. Besides, the flat is my home, and I don’t want to give it up just because …’ she struggled to find the right words, ‘just because my sister’s driving me crazy.’

Jo’s shoulders drooped despondently.

‘Besides, if John and I ever decide to live together, I want it to be because it’s what we both want, not because it’s a convenient solution to an overcrowding problem.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, Debs, and I get it,’ Jo replied, pushing a stray curl out of her eyes. ‘But something’s got to give, hasn’t it? This situation can’t go on forever. Maybe it’s time you asked Linda to move out.’ She eyed her friend surreptitiously between sips of wine,while I sat on the window cushion awaiting Debbie’s response with bated breath. It felt as if it wasmy fate hanging in the balance, as much as Linda’s.

At the counter, Debbie let out a long groan.‘Oh, I just don’t know, Jo,’ she wailed. Although she hadn’t said it, I knew what she was thinking: that she couldn’t turn her back on her sister at a time like this. So the next words to come out of her mouth surprised me. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘I can’t take much more of this. I’ll talk to Linda tomorrow.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Jo replied, raising her glass in a toast of encouragement.

Debbie looked up and I saw the corners of her mouth lift into a smile.‘Or perhaps Linda could move in with you for a bit?’ she teased.

Jo pretended to choke on her wine, before composing her face into a look of sufferance.‘Actually, that might not be such a crazy idea,’ she murmured. ‘The way business has been going recently, I might need to take on a lodger soon, just to pay the rent.’

16

[Êàðòèíêà: _5.jpg]

Later that night, curled up at the foot of Debbie’s bed, I mulled over Jo and Debbie’s conversation. It had reassured and alarmed me in equal measure. It was heartening to hear that John was sufficiently committed to Debbie to ask her to move in with him. However, I could not help but dwell on what life in the flat would be like if Debbie and Sophie moved out. Linda would be left in charge and would inevitably end up taking over responsibility for the cat caf?, too. That was a terrifying prospect. The first thing to go would surely be my name above the door. It would be Ming’s caf?, rather than Molly’s, and pictures of Ming’s boss-eyed face would be plastered over every menu, napkin and apron in the place. Upstairs, the flat would become Beau’s domain, and the kittens and I would find ourselves outcasts, both upstairs and down.

I drew my tongue vigorously along the length of my hind leg, determined to drive the nightmarish vision from my mind. I had to remind myself that Debbie had swiftly dismissed the possibility of moving out, and she had even promised to speak to Linda about her leaving. When Jo had finally left the caf? and they were both slightly the worse for wear, Jo’s parting words to Debbie had been, ‘So, don’t forget: you’re going to talk to Linda tomorrow.’

Debbie had nodded emphatically.‘Absholutely,’ she had slurred, ‘I’m going to give Linda her marching orders. Or, if not, I’m going to send her round to your place!’

I drifted off to sleep, comforted by the thought that, as long as Debbie kept her word, there were grounds for hoping that the long ordeal of living with Linda might soon come to an end.

During the night, however, Debbie thrashed around under her duvet, waking up almost hourly to gulp down water from the glass by her bed. When her alarm clock sounded in the morning, she emerged from underneath the covers with dark shadows beneath her blood-shot eyes. She yanked the cord of the venetian blind and winced painfully in a shaft of early-morning sunlight.

Debbie was waiting for the kettle to boil in the kitchen when Linda finally stumbled out of the living room, looking similarly sallow-skinned and scarecrow-haired. She had not returned from her night out until after Debbie had gone to bed, and I guessed she too had been drinking. I had heard her unsteady footsteps in the hallway, and her tipsy shushing of Beau as she opened the living-room door.

Linda skulked around the hallway while Debbie stood watching the gurgling kettle.

‘Morning,’ Debbie grunted, to which Linda mumbled something indistinct in reply. They seemed in unspoken agreement that no conversation would be attempted until after they had both had a cup of tea. I stalked between the living room and kitchen while they prepared their breakfast, waiting twitchily for Debbie to fulfil her promise to Jo.

After they had consumed tea and toast, and the colour had begun to return to their cheeks, Debbie asked how Linda’s evening had been. Linda launched into a tirade of gossip about her friends, to which Debbie listened patiently, her face a mask of polite indifference. ‘She kept insisting it wasn’t Botox,’ Linda smirked conspiratorially at the conclusion of her complicated narrative, ‘but I’ve never found a face creamthat effective.’ She raised her eyebrows and gave a knowing look over the top of her mug of tea.

Debbie gave a fake sort of laugh, waited for a moment until she was sure Linda had finished, then sat forward earnestly in her chair.

‘Look, Linda, I need to ask you something …’ she began, when suddenly a bedroom door flew open above us.

Sophie thundered down from the attic, complaining that she had overslept and was meant to have met her friend Jade twenty minutes ago. Debbie was quickly sucked into dealing with the crisis, helping her daughter find her shoes and purse, while Sophie frantically called Jade on her mobile phone. By the time Sophie was fully equipped and running downstairs, Linda had disappeared into the bathroom.

The moment had passed, and Debbie had no choice but to set about tidying the living room while Linda showered.

When Linda finally emerged from the bathroom in a gust of fragrant steam, she blithely announced,‘You know, I think it’s about time Beau took a bath, too – he’s been smelling a little … doggy … recently.’ Under Debbie’s disappointed and faintly disapproving gaze, Linda crouched over Beau on the living-room floor. ‘Isn’t that right, baby? Who’s a smelly boy? Yes,you are!’ she cooed, as the dog rolled onto his back and showed his belly submissively. She scooped the greasy-haired animal into her arms and carried him through to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Once Beau had been shampooed and blow-dried, Linda placed him on the sofa, where he sat wide-eyed and motionless, looking like a shell-shocked teddy-bear. No sooner had Linda sat down at the dining table with a newspaper than Debbie started to speak:‘Linda, I’ve been meaning to talk to you—’

This time Linda’s phone began to beep, vibrating urgently on the dining table next to her newspaper. ‘Sorry, Debs, I’d better just get that,’ she apologized. It was a text from Ray, and Linda spent the next few minutes composing a reply, which entailed much frowning, eye-rolling and furious tapping on the screen.

Debbie sat beside her in silence, flicking unenthusiastically through the pages of an old magazine.

I could tell that, the longer the conversation was put off, the more anxious Debbie was becoming. I began to worry that if she didn’t speak soon, she might lose her nerve completely. However, once Linda had dealt with Ray’s text, Debbie pushed the magazine aside and took a deep breath. ‘Linda, we need to talk—’

The landline started ringing. Debbie groaned at the interruption and looked up at the ceiling in despair.

‘Hold on a second, I’ll just get rid of whoever that is,’ she said to Linda, holding up a hand in a ‘Stay there’ gesture. She dashed across the room to the telephone in the alcove. ‘Hello? Yes, this is Debbie.’ As she talked, she kept her eyes fixed on her sister, as if compelling her not to move. She listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line, then suddenly turned away to face the wall. Her voice, when she answered, had dropped in pitch and volume. ‘Oh, I see. I’m so sorry.’ I stared fixedly at the back of her head, trying to quell the rising panic in my gut. ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ she said shakily, before putting the phone down.

‘Something wrong?’ Linda asked, cuddling the fluffy-haired Beau, who had recovered sufficiently from his bath-time ordeal to slink over to the table and jump into her lap.

When Debbie turned around, her eyes were brimming over with tears and her lip was trembling.

I padded across the rug to sit at her feet. The blood was rushing in my ears and I knew with absolute certainty what the phone call had been about. The question was: did it concern Eddie or Jasper? Or both of them … ?

Debbie lowered her eyes to look at me, and I saw a tear slide down her cheek.‘Oh, Molly, I’m so sorry. Margery’s died.’

I felt as though the ground beneath me was falling away. I peered up at Debbie and tilted my head in confusion. I had been so convinced I knew what Debbie was about to say that her words seemed nonsensical. I stood there, feeling suddenly empty, my mind blank with shock. Then, as Debbie crouched down to stroke me and I began to process what I had heard, the first thought that came into my mind was:at least it wasn’t Eddie. Almost immediately I was hit by a wave of guilt; how could I think such a thing, at a moment like this?

Debbie was stroking my head, doing her best to comfort me, but comfort was not what I needed. I felt confused and numb, and I was suddenly seized by the realization that I needed to be on my own, to absorb in private what had happened. I bolted out of the room, down the stairs and out through the cat flap. I paused to look around me, in a blind panic, wondering which way to turn. Almost immediately I realized that I needed to go to my safe place: the fire escape in the alleyway. I ran around the side of the caf?, tore along the passage and made straight for the iron stairway.

My mind whirred as I tried to remember when I had last seen Margery. Somehow it felt important to recall our final encounter, and her last words to me. Then it came to me: it was that stormy Sunday– the very day, in fact, when Debbie realized Eddie was missing. Margery had been distracted and agitated and we hadn’t stayed long, and had bumped into David on our way out. My throat tightened when I realized that, the last time I had seen Margery, she hadn’t even seemed to know who I was.

I closed my eyes and allowed a wave of regret to wash over me. If I had known that would be the last time I’d see her, I would have jumped onto her lap and purred, and stayed there until she recognized me – so that she knew I would always love her. But it was too late now. I had wasted my last chance to say goodbye.

I circled slowly on the damp pile of flattened cardboard beneath the fire escape, listening to the sounds of the alley. A solitary pigeon cooed softly from a rooftop behind me, and a squirrel scampered across the wall opposite. A strange feeling of hollowness spread through me; I felt empty and insubstantial. It was as if my very identity was defined not by who I was, but by who I had lost: Eddie, Jasper and now Margery. Feeling utterly alone, I curled up on the cardboard and closed my eyes, praying for the relief from my mental turmoil that only sleep could bring.

That night, I slept deeply and dreamlessly, not stirring until the cawing crows woke me with a start at dawn. The sun was just coming up and the sky was a glorious pink, shot through with gold, and there was a crisp, wintry feel in the air as I crawled out from underneath the iron steps. In the churchyard the frost-tipped grass crunched under my feet as I made my way to the square, where I padded over to the elm tree and jumped onto the bench underneath its bare branches.

I had lived in Stourton for almost two years now, and had spent as much of my life without Margery as I had spent with her. I tortured myself with an almost unbearable dilemma: if I were offered the chance to go back in time– to remain with Margery in her cosy bungalow – would I do so? There would be no cat caf?, no Debbie, no kittens, no Jasper, but I would have had two more years of love from my precious Margery.

But there was nothing I could do to get back the time I had lost; there was no bargain to be made, no retrospective deal that could be struck. I had thought I had lost Margery two years earlier, but fate had intervened and, miraculously, she had come back to me. But now she really was gone, and I had to accept that I would never see her again.

17

[Êàðòèíêà: _2.jpg]

Plodding back along the cobbles towards the caf?, my mind was foggy and my limbs felt heavy to the point of exhaustion. I nosed through the cat flap and stood on the doormat, flicking my tail, gazing aimlessly around the caf?. The kittens were nowhere to be seen, but Ming had assumed her customary meditative pose on top of the cat tree, facing the window with her eyes closed, her chocolate-brown tail neatly encircling her paws. I stared at her for a few moments. I had so often felt suspicious of her apparent ability to disengage from her surroundings; but, on this occasion, I deeply envied her imperturbable composure.

Perhaps Ming sensed she was being watched, because her eyes sprang open and she turned her head slowly in my direction. Her look was intense, yet inscrutable, conveying neither hostility nor warmth, but in my grieving state, her blue-eyed stare was more than I could bear. With my tail held as high as I could muster, I walked shakily across the caf? and climbed the stairs to the flat.

Upstairs, I heard Debbie humming softly over the splash of water from the kitchen sink.‘There you are, Molls!’ she said fondly, catching sight of me as I peered round the doorframe. ‘Where’ve you been? I was starting to worry about you.’ She crouched down and began to rub my ears. ‘You poor thing, you must be missing Margery,’ she sighed.

Feeling my throat constrict, I nestled my head into her curved palm, savouring the familiar scent of her skin.

‘Would you like some breakfast?’ she asked, as if eating would help to assuage my grief. She stood up and reached inside one of the cabinets for a pouch of cat food, squeezing its contents into the bowl on the floor.

I stared at the mound of chunks dolefully, unable to summon up the energy to eat.

‘Not feeling hungry?’ Debbie asked, as I stood listlessly by the bowl. ‘That’s all right, Molly. It’s there if you want it, okay?’ she said, dropping to her haunches and pressing my nose gently with her fingertip.

Her attentiveness comforted me and I began to purr, tentatively at first, but louder as she continued to stroke me. I pressed sideways against her leg, nuzzling her hands gratefully and curling my tail over the top of her thigh. I realized with a pang how little time Debbie and I had spent alone together since Linda and Beau’s arrival. We had lost the precious moments we used to share on a daily basis: the evenings spent cuddling on the sofa, or the lazy Sunday mornings dozing in bed. It was only now, as Debbie crouched over me on the kitchen floor, that I became aware of how desperately I missed being held by her.

As if on cue, the living-room door swung open and out strode Linda, with the fragrantly fluffy Beau trotting jauntily at her heels. I leapt up onto the worktop, so as not to get trodden on. Stepping awkwardly around the clutter, I found a space to sit down, between the dusty NutriBullet and the kettle.

‘Cuppa?’ Linda asked brightly, reaching for the kettle beside me, without acknowledging my presence.

‘No thanks, I’ve just had one,’ answered Debbie.

On the floor, Beau eyed the bowl of cat food greedily, drops of slobber forming at the sides of his mouth. Linda, oblivious to his nefarious intentions, squeezed past Debbie to reach the sink, and it was Debbie who deftly lifted the bowl from underneath Beau’s salivating mouth and placed it out of his reach on the windowsill.

‘I’m going to pop over to Cotswold Organic after I’ve taken Beau for a walk. Shall I pick up something nice for dinner?’ Linda asked, thrusting the spout of the kettle under the gushing tap.

‘That would be lovely, thanks,’ Debbie replied half-heartedly.

Linda rammed the kettle back onto its base and bustled back to the living room, a disappointed Beau trailing after her.

Judging by Linda’s cheerful demeanour and Debbie’s wan look, I deduced that the subject of Linda moving out had not, in the end, been broached. I was not especially surprised. I could picture the scene from the previous evening, after I had fled to the alley: in the wake of the news about Margery, Debbie would have been too upset to risk Linda’s histrionics upon being told that she was no longer welcome. I felt a dull pang of disappointment; but, given how low I was already feeling, the realization that Linda and Beau were as firmly ensconced in the flat as ever made little material difference tomy emotional state.

In the days that followed the news of Margery’s death I was plagued by persistent lethargy. I lacked the energy for anything beyond the basic demands of grooming, eating and sleeping. The thought of continuing to search for Eddie and Jasper seemed futile; I had looked everywhere, to no avail. Instead, I passed the daylight hours sitting on the window cushion, looking vainly for any sign of them on the parade, and every evening after closing time I slunk behind the caf? to the alleyway.

The gap under the fire escape became my private sanctuary, a space in which to think about Jasper and Eddie, and to remember Margery. Sometimes I could hear the high-pitched shrieks of alley-cats squaring up for a fight in a distant street. I shuddered at the sound, which instantly called to mind thoughts of Eddie’s ordeal on the day he disappeared. I tortured myself by playing out the scenario in my mind: Eddie’s guileless foray into an unfamiliar part of town, and his sudden realization that the alley-cat stalking towards him was no friend. Imagining his fear was almost harder to bear than my own feelings of loss – how he must have wished I had been there to protect him …

Was it my fault for not warning the kittens that the world was dangerous, that the love and security with which we were surrounded at home could not protect us beyond the confines of the cat caf?? Had our pampered, privileged existence made me overlook my responsibilities as a mother? If Eddie had paid the price for my complacency, I would never come to terms with my guilt.

My low spirits were not helped by the gradual appearance of signs all around Stourton that Christmas was approaching. Along the parade, coloured lights had been wound around windows and porches and, inside the caf?, Christmas carols issued tinnily from the kitchen radio. Christmas was not something I wanted to be reminded of, and certainly not something I looked forward to. To think of spending Christmas not only without Eddie, but without Jasper too, filled my heart with dread. The prospect of Linda, Beau and Ming taking their place in our celebrations made me feel physically sick.

About a week after we had received the news of Margery’s death, Debbie ripped open a letter that had flopped onto the doormat. ‘That’s odd,’ she frowned. ‘It’s from a solicitor, asking me to get in touch.’

‘Get in touch about what?’ said Linda quickly, peering at the letter over Debbie’s shoulder.

‘Something about Margery’s estate. That’s all it says,’ Debbie replied, turning the page over, as if hoping for clues on the back. ‘I’ll give them a call tomorrow,’ she said with a puzzled look.

But the solicitor’s letter had piqued Linda’s curiosity, and at dinner that evening she began to probe. ‘So, tell me again,’ Linda asked in a ‘just wondering’ voice, ‘how exactly did you know Margery?’

‘She was Molly’s owner,’ Debbie replied.

Linda’s brow furrowed. ‘I thought Molly was a stray when you took her in.’

‘She was a stray,’ Debbie laughed, ‘but before she became a stray, she had been Margery’s cat, until Margery moved to the care home and Molly ended up on the streets. It was a complete coincidence that Margery happened to visit the caf?, but of course Molly recognized her immediately.’Debbie smiled fondly at the memory.

‘That’s a great story,’ Linda mused. ‘“Caf? reunites owner with long-lost cat.” Brilliant PR for the caf?, too,’ she added shrewdly.

‘PR had nothing to do with it, Linda,’ Debbie said primly. ‘It was just nice for them to find each other again. And nice for me, too. Margery was such a lovely lady,’ she mused, starting to well up.

A few days later, Debbie slipped out mid-morning to attend a meeting with the solicitor, leaving Linda in charge of the caf?.

She returned at lunchtime, looking pale and distracted, swiftly swapping her coat for her apron and ignoring Linda’s querying glances. Debbie continued to avoid her sister for the rest of the day, evading Linda’s repeated attempts to catch her eye or initiate conversation. Linda’s curiosity about the meeting was almost palpable, and although I sympathized with Debbie’s reluctance to involve her, I also knew that the longer she put off talking to Linda, the more unbearable her sister would become.

Linda finally cornered Debbie in her bedroom that evening as she was getting ready for her date-night with John. I was grooming myself on Debbie’s bed when Linda knocked at the door and, without waiting for an invitation, slunk into the room.

‘So, I was just wondering what the solicitor said today?’ she asked, with an unconvincing nonchalance.

I was washing my hind leg and glanced over at Debbie, who was applying make-up at her dressing table. I could see her closed expression reflected in the pedestal mirror.‘Um, not much,’ she murmured noncommittally.

Linda’s eyes bored into Debbie’s back. ‘Well, they must have said something, otherwise why would they ask you to come for a meeting?’ she persisted.

Debbie muttered something inaudible and began to rummage in her make-up bag.

‘Sorry, Debs – I didn’t catch that,’ pressed Linda.

Debbie’s shoulder slumped and she swivelled round on her stool. ‘It was about Margery’s will,’ she said reluctantly, while I set to work on a patch of tangled fur at the base of my tail. ‘Molly is a beneficiary.’ With my hind leg tucked behind my ear and my tongue protruding from my mouth, I looked up in surprise.

Linda hooted derisively.‘Molly! Ha, really? What did Margery leave her? A year’s supply of cat treats? A hand-knitted blanket?’ She was smirking, but Debbie’s face remained stony.

‘Everything,’ Debbie replied levelly, her eyes fixed on the bedspread. ‘Margery left her entire estate to Molly. With me as her named legal guardian.’

There was a moment’s silence, during which I looked from Debbie’s face to Linda’s, and back again. I was aware of the absurdity of the way my leg was propped behind my head, but seemed unable to engage my brain sufficiently to lower it.

‘Say again – what?’ blinked Linda.

Debbie’s breathing was shallow and the colour had begun to drain from her face. ‘Apparently, Molly is Margery’s sole beneficiary, and I am her legal guardian,’ she repeated, and this time there was a slight tremor in her voice.

Linda made a strange spluttering sound.‘Well, did they tell you how much Margery left?’ she asked, her eyes starting to glisten.

Debbie shot her a look of distaste.‘I didn’t ask, Linda!’ she snapped.

Chastened, Linda bit her lip, but continued to stare hard at her sister, who seemed absorbed in examining the backs of her hands as they lay in her lap. Eventually, steadfastly avoiding Linda’s gaze, Debbie said, ‘The solicitor said something about a property in Oxford, and some savings and investments, but that’s all I know at the moment.’

Linda’s eyes looked as if they were in danger of popping out of her head. ‘A property in Oxford?And some savings and investments?’ she screeched. ‘Bloody hell, Debs – sounds like quite the nest egg she had tucked away!’

Debbie chose to ignore this remark, but began to fiddle distractedly with her fringe.

Linda’s eyes flicked towards me. ‘Well, Molly, aren’t you a lucky cat?’ she said covetously.

At this, Debbie fired her sister a look of disgust.‘Linda, please! I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. I knew you’d react like this,’ she said, twisting back round to face the dressing table.

‘Oh, don’t be like that, Debs,’ Linda wheedled. ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all.’

Debbie said nothing, and began to apply make-up in front of the mirror again, acting as if Linda was not there.

I lowered my hind leg and repositioned myself into a neat loaf-shape on the bed, trying to process what I had heard. Linda’s reaction had unsettled me; the unmistakably envious edge to her voice when she addressed me had made me deeply uncomfortable.

‘So, what happens next?’ Linda asked at last, doing a poor imitation of indifference.

Debbie was applying mascara, but her shoulders drooped.‘Well, obviously, I can’t accept it. Margery had a family. This is their inheritance, not Molly’s. I’m going to call her son David tomorrow.’

Linda chewed her bottom lip, fixing the back of Debbie’s head with a cold stare. ‘Are you sure you’re not being too hasty, Debs?’ she said silkily.

‘Quite sure,’ Debbie shot back.

Linda remained perched on the corner of the bed for several minutes. I sensed that she was hoping to continue the conversation, but Debbie’s back stayed resolutely turned towards her. Eventually, her impulse towards interference having been thwarted by Debbie’s determined silence, Linda slipped wordlessly out of the room.

They didn’t speak to each other again that evening. In fact, I had the distinct impression that Debbie was avoiding her sister. She spent longer than usual getting ready to go out and, as soon as she heard the tinkle of the bell over the caf? door, ran downstairs to meet John, rather than inviting him up to the flat. While Debbie was out, Linda prowled around the flat like a cat unable to settle. She made a half-hearted attempt to tidy her belongings in the alcove, fidgeted on the sofa with her phone and made herself a cup of herbal tea. Her twitchiness made me so uneasy that eventually I padded downstairs, deciding that I would rather share a room with a watchful Ming than with a fidgeting Linda.

I curled up on the caf? windowsill, troubled by a nagging suspicion that life was about to get even more complicated than it already was.

18

[Êàðòèíêà: _9.jpg]

I was in a heavy sleep when Debbie and John returned to the caf? later that night, and the sound of the door being unlocked startled me. The substance of my dream vanished as soon as I opened my eyes, but I was left with a feeling of guilt and a vague sense that I had been responsible for some unidentified calamity. I shook my head briskly and allowed my eyes to settle on Debbie, who had lowered the window blinds and switched on a lamp behind the till, instantly imbuing the caf? with a soft yellow light. John returned from the kitchen with two tumblers and they clinked glasses, before sinking into the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

‘So?’ John began.

‘So – what?’ Debbie replied, a little tensely.

‘So, are you going to tell me why you’ve been on edge all evening?’ he enquired gently, in a voice that conveyed concern rather than criticism.

Debbie took a sip, staring morosely at the unlit stove.‘Well, it’s this ridiculous legacy, of course,’ she sighed.

‘What’s ridiculous about it?’ asked John.

Debbie gave a mirthless laugh.‘Everything about it is ridiculous, John. Margery disinherited her son and left her entire estate to Molly. And now it’s up to me to sort this whole sorry mess out.’

I couldn’t help but smart at Debbie’s blunt appraisal of the situation, and the realization that I had unwittingly become the cause of such distress for her.

I had to squint to make out Debbie’s expression in the shadow cast by the lamp behind her.

‘But I’m right, aren’t I?’ Debbie said, looking anxiously for confirmation in John’s face. ‘I mean, it’s out of the question that I could accept the money on Molly’s behalf. Isn’t it?’ Her tone was urgent, desperate even. Curled up on my cushion, I willed John to say he agreedwith her, to advise her to decline the legacy, so that the matter could be settled as quickly as possible and we could put the whole affair behind us.

John gave a helpless shrug.‘I don’t know what’s right or wrong in this situation,’ he replied evenly. ‘I didn’t know Margery, and I have no idea why she chose to leave her money to Molly. It might have been something she felt strongly about, before the dementia took hold …’ He trailed off, sensing that his words were not helping. Debbie turned away, looking as tortured as ever. ‘I think you need to do whatever feels right to you,’ he said at last.

At this, Debbie’s head swung back towards him, and annoyance flashed across her face. ‘But don’t you see, John, whatfeels right to me has got nothing to do with it. It’s about doing the right thing by Margery, and by her family. This money has nothing to do with me, or Molly,’ she said curtly, gripping her tumbler tightly.

John raised the fingers of one hand in a placatory gesture.‘Well then, there’s your answer,’ he replied mildly.

Looking relieved, Debbie slumped back into her chair and took a sip from her glass.

On my cushion, I realized I had been holding my breath during their exchange. I exhaled deeply, relieved that Debbie had reached a decision she was happy with.

‘So did you really have no idea Margery was going to do this?’ John asked, looking at his tumbler as he swirled its contents lazily.

At this, Debbie frowned.‘Of course not! How could I have known?’ she shot back, looking at him sideways.

John shrugged placidly.‘I s’pose. It’s just that … you’ve spent a lot of time with Margery over the last few months. I thought maybe she’d have mentioned it to you.’ His tone was light, almost offhand, but in the shadowy caf? Debbie’s face seemed to darken.

‘No, I didn’t know anything about it,’ she said, enunciating the words carefully. ‘I never talked to Margery about her money, or her will. We talked about Molly and the caf?. That’s all.’

Sensing Debbie’s defensiveness, John stretched out an arm across the space between the armchairs. ‘Okay, okay, don’t worry – I was just wondering, that’s all,’ he reassured her.

Debbie glanced at his hand, which was resting awkwardly on the arm of her chair, but made no move to reciprocate the gesture. Instead she said coldly,‘Wondering about what?’

‘I just meant—’ John began.

But before he could finish, Debbie interrupted him.‘You just meant that surely Imust have known Margery was planning to leave her estate to Molly. I’d spent all that time with her, how could Inot have known.’ She glowered at him.

At this, John pulled his arm back towards himself protectively.‘No, that’s not what I meant at all,’ he said, staring at his drink glumly while Debbie knocked back the contents of her tumbler in silence. The mood in the caf?, which had felt cosy and intimate, began to feel tense and oppressive.

I stared at the two of them helplessly. I was baffled by what had just happened: how they had gone from being in agreement that Debbie would decline the legacy, to this state of conflict in which John looked hurt and Debbie furious. I wasn’t even sure who had been to blame for the turnaround; whether Debbie had been justified in taking offence, or whether she had read suspicion into John’s words where there had been none. But I had witnessed enough arguments between Debbie and Sophie to realize that a stalemate had been reached, and that both parties were now too aggrieved to initiate a reconciliation.

Debbie yawned, then leant over to place her glass on the low table between the armchairs. John glanced at his watch and mumbled something about having to be up early. He leant over and gave her a perfunctory kiss, but there was no warmth in their touch. I could do nothing but watch as he picked up his coat and, without saying another word, left the caf?.

The following evening I watched through the window as a man made his way along the dark street towards the caf?. He carried a briefcase in one hand and pulled his anorak close to his body with the other. His head was bowed against the cold, and as he passed under a lamp post, he was hit by a gust of wind whipping down the parade. In the street light’s orange glow, a few strands of hair on his balding head appeared to dance around his ears. He pushed open the caf? door roughly and stood on the doormat, smoothing his errant hair back into place. I felt my stomach lurch uncomfortably in recognition.

‘Hello, David,’ Debbie said warmly, coming out of the kitchen. ‘I’m just finishing off. Take a seat and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’

David grunted in response. Even by his usual terse standards, he looked particularly sour as he stood on the flagstones, rubbing his hands against the cold.

Spotting the flickering flames in the stove, he walked towards the fireplace. Behind him, a burst of giggling issued from the kitchen, as Debbie and the kitchen staff shared a joke. The happy sound was in stark contrast to the chill that emanated from David.

‘Thanks, ladies, see you tomorrow,’ Debbie said, locking the back door shut behind them.

David hung his jacket on the back of a chair and sat down. He was dressed in his habitual palette of beige and grey and, without his bulky anorak, his thin, wiry frame was more apparent.

I had remained motionless, lying low on my cushion so as not to draw his attention, but as he looked around the caf?, he noticed me. I held his gaze, determined not to avert my eyes, and eventually he looked away, the merest sneer of contempt playing around his lips.

‘Here we go,’ Debbie smiled, carrying a tray of refreshments to the table. David swung his briefcase onto his lap, popped the locks and pulled out a slim cardboard folder, ignoring Debbie as she carefully set the teacups and plate of cookies on the stripy tablecloth.

David placed the folder on his place mat and waited with pursed lips while Debbie, brushing her fringe out of her eyes, sat down on the chair opposite him. Then he watched, with barely concealed impatience, while she set about pouring the tea.

‘Milk?’ she enquired. David gave a single nod. ‘Sugar?’

‘Two, please,’ he answered gruffly.

‘Help yourself to a cookie,’ she said, nudging the plate towards him.

David grunted, glaring angrily at the biscuits as if they, too, were wasting his time. Although Debbie was doing her best to hide it, I could tell that, underneath her friendly demeanour, she was being made nervous by David’s frostiness.

‘I was so sorry to hear about Margery,’ Debbie began, as she stirred her tea. ‘She was such a lovely lady.’

At this, David breathed in sharply.‘Yes, well, it was probably for the best. She’d had a good innings,’ he said matter-of-factly.

Debbie’s eyebrows began to creep up her face, but she said nothing.

‘This shouldn’t take long,’ David said, placing the tips of his fingers on the cardboard folder on his place mat.

Debbie, still stirring her tea, glanced across.‘Oh, right,’ she replied uncertainly.

‘This is for you,’ David said brusquely, attempting to push the folder across the candy-striped cloth towards Debbie. But the little table was so cluttered with crockery that the folder kept getting caught, dislodging sachets of sweetener from their bowl and almost knocking over the tiny vaseof flowers. He tutted and picked the folder up, holding it above the tea cups.

With a look of polite courteousness, Debbie took the folder. David watched with a clenched jaw as she fished her reading glasses out of her apron pocket, removed them from their case and pushed them onto her nose. She opened the folder and began to read.

‘Um, sorry, David – what is this?’ she said lightly.

She looked up to find that David had hunched forward in his chair and was proffering a pen towards her. He had removed the lid and, as he twisted the pen, its brass nib glinted in the firelight. Debbie’s questioning gaze took in the pen and David’s posture of thinly veiled belligerence.

‘What is this, David?’ Debbie repeated in a small voice.

‘It’s a letter of renunciation, from you, saying that you renounce any claim to my mother’s estate.’ David’s voice was calm but uncompromising. ‘I would be grateful if you could sign it now,’ he added, as if Debbie might not have understood the implication of the pen thrust in her face.

Debbie opened her mouth, then closed it again.‘Er, but, I haven’t even read it yet,’ she protested feebly.

David sneered and sat back in his chair, making a show of giving her time to read. He twiddled the pen between his fingers, while Debbie, now visibly flustered, scanned the letter.

‘So, it’s a letter from me, but written by you?’ she clarified, concentrating hard on the sheet of paper in front of her. David nodded. Debbie cleared her throat slightly. ‘I, Deborah Walsh, hereby renounce any claim on the estate of Margery Hinckley,’ she read.

‘That’s right,’ David answered flatly, a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth.

‘But I never made any claim on Margery’s estate, David,’ Debbie said, mild indignation beginning to creep into her voice. ‘And besides, I’m not the beneficiary – Molly is.’

At this, David let out a single bark-like laugh that was so sharp it made me jump.‘Well, in that case, maybe I should ask Molly to sign the letter?’ His face split into a mean smile, revealing his yellow, uneven teeth. He turned to look at me, tilting his head sideways in a parody of courteousness. ‘Molly, could you come over here and sign this letter, please?’ he asked sarcastically.

I glared at him, unblinking, feeling a wave of fury course through me.

‘No? Thought not.’ He grinned maliciously, and his eyes flickered back to Debbie, who had begun to blush. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, too.

David waved his hand at the letter dismissively.‘It doesn’t matter who wrote it – we just need something in writing, to get the ball rolling. The solicitors can take it from there and get a contract of renunciation drawn up.’ His tone was business like once more, and he leant forward again with his pen.

Debbie looked down at the page in front of her.‘But, David, this isn’t a letter from me. These aren’t my words—’ she began.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ David cut in. ‘You just. Need. To sign. That’s all.’

I felt my hackles rise at his aggressive tone. My heart was pounding and I could feel the blood pumping around my body; I had not felt so under threat since I had encountered the yellow-eyed alley-cat during my search for Eddie.

Debbie removed her glasses and placed them on the table.‘It matters to me, David,’ she said quietly. ‘As I told you on the phone, I plan to write to the solicitor and explain why I must decline your mother’s legacy to Molly, but I intend to do it in my own words.’ She glanced at the hovering pen nib. ‘And I intend to sign it with my own pen,’ she added as an afterthought. She flipped the cardboard folder shut and held it across the table. ‘I’m sorry, David, but I won’t be signing your letter,’ she said firmly.

David’s face had turned a vibrant puce colour. ‘I always knew you were up to something,’ he muttered darkly, clicking the lid back onto his pen and snatching the folder from Debbie’s hand.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Debbie said, looking scandalized.

‘Why else would you visit my mother so often? Make all that effort to go to the care home to visit a complete stranger. I knew there was something fishy about it.’

Debbie’s mouth had fallen open. ‘Margery wasn’t a complete stranger, David,’ she exclaimed. ‘She was a customer here, and she had been Molly’s owner. I was taking Molly to visit her!’

David snorted.‘Oh, come off it. Do you really expect me to believe that? What kind of person would go to all that trouble, so that an old woman with dementia could see acat!’ A vein on his temple had begun to bulge, and beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

Debbie’s breathing was fast and shallow, but she took time to compose herself before she answered. ‘The kind of person who understood what Molly meant to Margery, David. A person like me.’

‘Well, I would beg to differ,’ he hissed, opening his briefcase and shoving the folder roughly inside. ‘I think it’s the behaviour of someone who hopes that, if she puts in the hours and visits often enough, she might be remembered by an old woman in her will.That’s the kind of person I think you are.’

Debbie’s face had flushed a shade of pink almost as lurid as David’s, and her bottom lip started to tremble. She surveyed the table, watery-eyed, taking in the rapidly cooling cups of tea and untouched plate of biscuits. ‘I think maybe you should leave,’ she said in a dignified voice.

David pushed his chair back noisily across the flagstones and began to pull on his jacket.‘You know – letter or no letter – don’t go getting any ideas about this legacy,’ he said darkly. ‘There’s not a court in the land that would give any credence to the deathbed scribblings of a senile old woman. And if necessary,’ he practically spat, ‘I’m prepared to go to court to prove it.’

With that, he grabbed his briefcase and marched out of the caf?, slamming the door so hard that the window frame behind me shook, and I thought the little brass bell above the door might break.

Still seated at the table, Debbie dropped her head and her shoulders started to heave. I jumped down from my cushion and walked quickly over to her. She was sobbing silently, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto her apron. When I brushed against her leg, she glanced at me with a look of stunned disbelief.

‘Oh, Molly,’ she cried. ‘What have I done?’

19

[Êàðòèíêà: _7.jpg]

‘Well, that sounded like a roaring success,’ Linda smirked over the banisters as Debbie trudged upstairs to the flat.

Too numb with shock to register her sister’s sarcastic tone, Debbie staggered into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. I padded across the rug to my shoebox and watched as Linda shoved the snoring Beau off the other sofa cushion and sat down.