‘Well, this is it. What do you think?’ Debbie replied, lifting her shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug.
Linda looked around, briskly surveying the café’s interior. ‘Very nice, Debs,’ she nodded approvingly. ‘I like it. Homely.’
Debbie glanced over Linda’s shoulder at the door. ‘Where’s Ray? Are you both up from London for the day?’ she asked.
‘No, no, Ray’s not here,’ Linda replied, in a tone that made Debbie look twice at her. ‘I’m allowed to visit my sister on my own, aren’t I?’ Linda asked, a touch defensively.
‘Of course you are,’ Debbie gushed, ‘I’m just surprised to see you, that’s all. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,’ Linda answered airily. ‘I just thought it’s about time I made the effort to come out here and see you – and Sophie, of course.’
‘Come on, let me get you something to eat.’ Debbie said, pulling out a chair and motioning Linda to sit down.
Linda shrugged off her gilet to reveal a clingy pink top and numerous necklaces draped around her neck. She picked up a menu card while Debbie stood beside her, patiently attentive. ‘Feline Fancy; Frosty Paws Cake Pop; Cat’s Whiskers Cookie – it all sounds delicious, Debs,’ she murmured, while Debbie beamed with pride. Linda perused the menu with a look of tortured indecision, before announcing, ‘I’ll have a Feline Fancy and a pot of Earl Grey tea, please.’
As Debbie bustled around the wooden serving counter and into the kitchen, a beeping sound issued from the bag by Linda’s feet. Frowning, she leant over, plucked a mobile phone from inside and began to tap rapidly on its screen. While she typed, I studied her from the window cushion, looking for signs of resemblance between the sisters. Everything about Linda’s immaculately groomed presentation seemed at odds with Debbie’s casual style, from the lacquered nails to her figure-hugging clothes and coiffured hair. I tried to imagine how Debbie might look if she put a similar amount of effort into her appearance, but my mind drew a blank. For as long as I had known her, Debbie had always prioritized comfort over glamour. On the few occasions she had attempted a more polished look, the episodes had ended with her slumped in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, staring at her reflection in despair. ‘Oh, what’s the point?’ she had sighed, before tying her hair back in its customary ponytail and pulling on an old sweater.
Cheered by the last-minute arrival of a customer, my son Eddie padded over to Linda’s chair to sit expectantly at her feet, hoping to charm her for titbits. Linda was unaware of his presence, however, and continued to scowl as she scrolled across the phone’s screen with her thumb. Eddie, ever optimistic, raised a paw and patted gently at the leather tassel on her boot, making Linda jump in surprise.
‘Oh, hello, Puss,’ she murmured distractedly, leaning sideways to peer down at him.
Eddie gazed beseechingly at her, but Linda’s heavily made-up face remained blank. I exhaled impatiently through my nose. This lady, I knew with absolute certainty, was not a cat person. No one who loved cats would have been able to meet Eddie’s pleading eyes and not lower a hand to stroke him. Evidently, I concluded with a slight bristling of my fur, it was not just her appearance that distinguished Debbie from her sister.
A few minutes later Debbie emerged from the kitchen, holding a tray. ‘Here you go. One Feline Fancy and a pot of Earl Grey. Bon appetit!’ she said, carefully placing the chintzy teacup and plate onto the table. Linda smiled with delight upon seeing the cupcake, which was decorated with pointy cat ears and whiskers. Debbie took the chair opposite her. ‘Have you got to rush off or can you stay for dinner? I’ll be done in half an hour or so,’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m not in a hurry at all – dinner would be lovely. I’ve . . . got a lot to tell you,’ Linda replied, before taking a bite of her Feline Fancy. ‘Oh, my God, Debs, this is divine,’ she added quickly through a mouthful of cake, lifting a napkin to dab her lips.
A flicker of alarm crossed Debbie’s face. ‘Is everything alright?’ she asked, a faint note of concern in her voice.
‘Yes, of course,’ Linda answered lightly, suddenly absorbed in examining the sachets of sweetener in a bowl on the table. Eddie, sensing that his chances of a fruitful scrounging mission were fading, sniffed disconsolately at the floor around Linda’s feet, before padding over to the vacant armchair by the fireplace. Linda, meanwhile, seemed determined to look anywhere other than at Debbie’s enquiring face.
‘Well, look,’ Debbie began brightly, ‘I’ve got to clear up, but why don’t you go up to the flat when you’ve finished your tea? Sophie will be back from college in a bit. We can all have dinner together.’ She got to her feet and retied the strings of her Molly’s apron behind her back.
‘That would be lovely, Debs. Let’s order a takeaway – my treat,’ Linda replied.
Debbie brought the chalkboard in from the street and turned the door sign to ‘Closed’, before heading back into the kitchen, where I could hear her talking to the staff as they stacked crockery inside cupboards and wiped down the stainless-steel surfaces. In the café, Linda sipped her tea, pressing her fingertips against the china plate to pick up the remaining crumbs of cake.
The sun had now dropped behind the tiled rooftops on the parade, and the warm yellow light that had filled the café was replaced by the cool tones of the October evening. My ears flickered as a gust of wind rattled the awning outside and a draught seeped through the wooden window frame, sending a shiver up my back. Linda was engrossed in her phone once more, its blue glow illuminating her face. When she had drained her tea, she tossed the phone back into her bag and, as she straightened up, her eyes met mine for the first time. She appraised me coolly, as if I were merely another of the café’s fixtures and fittings. For the second time since Linda’s arrival, my fur bristled.
After a couple of moments my unblinking stare seemed to unnerve her. She stood up and carried her plate and teacup over to the counter. ‘That was lovely Debs. I’ll head upstairs now,’ she called through to the kitchen.
Debbie appeared in the doorway, a pair of sopping wet yellow rubber gloves on her hands. ‘Good idea. I won’t be long. Oh, I almost forgot! Have you seen? That’s Molly.’ Debbie gestured with one dripping glove towards the window where I was still staring defiantly at Linda’s back.
Linda turned and her eyes flicked briefly in my direction. ‘Oh, yes, I thought I recognized the famous Molly,’ she said, with an emphasis that struck me as somewhat sarcastic. There was a pause, during which Debbie smiled indulgently at me while Linda looked as if she was struggling to think of something else to say. ‘She’s been watching me since I got here,’ she remarked eventually.
‘Well, don’t forget: it’s her name above the door, so she does have the right to refuse entry,’ Debbie joked.
Linda emitted a fake-sounding laugh and walked back to the table to fetch her belongings. Feeling suddenly protective towards the empty flat, I jumped down from the windowsill to follow her as she climbed the stairs, holding my breath as her sickly-sweet perfume filled my nostrils in the narrow stairwell.
Rounding the banisters into the hallway, Linda glanced briefly into the tiny kitchen on her right, before turning left into the living room. I slunk in silently a few paces behind her and crept across the room to an old, empty shoebox that sat on the floor next to the television. I climbed into the box to watch, as Linda made an inquisitive circuit of the living room, taking in the dining table cluttered with unopened post, a bowl of overripe fruit and a stack of lever-arch files; the well-worn sofa and armchair, whose threadbare fabric was concealed by an assortment of colourful cushions and fluffy throws; and the coffee table that was overflowing with old newspapers and an empty box of tissues.
Noticing two photographs among the jumble of ornaments that covered the mantelpiece, Linda glided across the rug for a closer look. She glanced cursorily at the cardboard-mounted school portrait of Sophie, Debbie’s teenage daughter, but her eyes linge
red longer on the photo of Debbie beaming with pride, as she held me in her arms on Molly’s launch day. Her curiosity satiated, Linda turned back to face the room, with a faintly bored expression. She casually swiped a magazine from the coffee table and dropped onto the sofa, kicking off her boots with a relieved groan.
Like all cats, I had an instinct for evaluating people’s laps and, as I observed Linda, I tried to picture myself jumping into her lap for a cuddle. But, try as I might, I could not imagine feeling comfortable in it: it was not a lap that I would classify as inviting. Overall, there was something I found off-putting about Linda, and it was not just to do with her spiky boots and talon-like fingernails. I guessed that Linda was a few years younger than Debbie, probably in her mid-forties, but whereas Debbie’s face and physique gave an impression of gentle curves, Linda seemed to be all angles and edges. Her face, which was a curious shade of orange, was longer and thinner than Debbie’s, and her nose and chin were more pronounced.
Linda sat flicking through the magazine absent-mindedly for about fifteen minutes, until Debbie’s heavy end-of-the-day tread could be heard on the stairs. ‘One day my knees are going to pack up on me, I swear,’ she complained, collapsing onto one of the dining chairs with an involuntary ‘oof’ noise and rubbing her kneecaps with both hands.
Linda sprang up from the sofa. ‘Let me get you a cuppa, Debs. You stay here.’ She rummaged about noisily in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets in search of mugs and teabags.
At the dining table, Debbie began to sort half-heartedly through the unopened post. ‘So, how’ve you been, Linda?’ she called across the hall.
My ears flickered as I tried to make out Linda’s reply over the clatter of teaspoons against the worktop, but the next thing I knew, Debbie had leapt up from her seat and dashed out of the room.
‘Oh, Linda, what’s wrong?’ I heard Debbie ask, over the sound of sniffing. ‘Go and sit down,’ she instructed her sister, ‘I’ll bring the tea through.’
Linda reappeared at the living-room door, her eyes rimmed with red. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and sat down at the dining table, dabbing her eyes.
‘Come on, now. What’s happened?’ Debbie asked tenderly, placing two steaming mugs on the table.
Linda’s face flooded with colour. ‘Ray and I have been arguing,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Linda. What happened?’ Debbie asked kindly, placing one hand on her sister’s back.
Linda heaved a weary sigh, shielding her eyes with the damp tissue. ‘Things haven’t been great for a while, but it all came to a head last night,’ she answered. ‘All Ray ever does is snipe at me. He says that I do nothing except shop, go to the hairdresser’s and get my nails done, but it’s not true!’ She paused to blow her nose, and I saw Debbie’s eyes fleetingly register her sister’s pearly-pink nails and the diamond-encrusted rings on her fingers. She continued to stroke Linda’s back in sympathetic silence. ‘Besides,’ Linda went on indignantly, ‘he was the one who encouraged me to give up work, in the first place. He wanted a trophy wife, but now he resents me for it. I’ve had enough, Debs. I can’t bear to be around him any more. I just can’t . . .’
As Linda’s words tumbled out, Debbie began to look troubled. ‘So, Linda,’ she began, tentatively, ‘when you say you say you can’t bear to be around him any more, do you mean . . . ?’
‘I mean I’ve left him!’ Linda’s voice cracked melodramatically and she broke into fresh sobs.
A flash of sudden comprehension illuminated Debbie’s face, and the hand that had been stroking Linda’s back fell still. ‘I see,’ she said, but the calmness in her voice was betrayed by a look of growing panic. ‘Well, have you spoken to him today? If you talk to him, you might find . . .’
But Linda’s sobbing grew louder and more persistent, drowning out Debbie’s efforts to reassure her. ‘No, Deb, I can’t talk to him – I can’t go back! I just can’t.’ As she slumped forward until her forehead practically touched the dining table, her shoulders shook and her chest heaved.
Debbie resumed the slow rubbing motion on her sister’s back. ‘No, of course not, Linda. I understand,’ she said soothingly.
Over the sound of Linda’s sniffing, I heard cat biscuits being eaten from the dish in the kitchen, and a few moments later Eddie padded into the living room. With a cursory glance at the snivelling stranger bent double over the table, he spotted me in the cardboard box and walked towards me, his tail raised in salutation. I blinked affectionately and he climbed into the box and began to wash, unfazed by the drama playing out on the other side of the room.
Several minutes passed while Linda wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and blew her nose.
‘So, have you thought about what you’re going to do?’ Debbie prompted, when Linda had finally stopped sniffing.
Still avoiding looking at her sister, Linda shook her head.
Debbie inhaled deeply, assuming an expression somewhere between resignation and dread. ‘Would . . . you like to stay here, until you get yourself sorted out?’ she asked.
At this, Linda turned to face Debbie. ‘Oh, Debs, do you really mean that? Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?’ she said, her red-rimmed eyes shining.
‘Of course it won’t, Linda,’ answered Debbie, after a fractional hesitation. ‘As long as you don’t mind sleeping on a sofa-bed, that is. We haven’t got much room, as you can see. And it won’t be for long . . . will it?’ A trace of a nervous smile danced across Debbie’s lips, but Linda appeared not to have heard the question.
She leant over and seized her sister in a hug. ‘Oh, Debs, thank you so much. I knew I could count on you,’ she gushed, squeezing her sister tightly around the neck.
Intrigued by the noise of Linda’s crying, the other kittens had now come upstairs to investigate. They prowled around the room, shooting curious looks at the newcomer and sniffing inquisitively at her boots and handbag on the rug.
As Linda and Debbie pulled apart, Linda gave her eyes a final dab. ‘Well, I suppose I might as well bring my things in, before it gets dark,’ she said, with an air of practicality, tucking her tissue back inside her jeans pocket.
‘Your things . . . have you – you mean now?’ I saw the corner of Debbie’s mouth twitch.
‘If that’s okay?’ Linda asked, suddenly uncertain. ‘I just threw a few things in the car this morning, to keep me going.’
‘Er, okay,’ Debbie answered, her eyes flitting anxiously around the cluttered room. ‘I’d better clear up some of this mess, to make some space for you.’
‘Deb, please, don’t go to any trouble – it’ll be fine. You’ll hardly know I’m here,’ Linda insisted. She jumped up from her chair, startling the kittens who scattered skittishly across the room, and grabbed a bunch of keys from her bag. ‘I’ll just nip down and get my stuff from the car. Back in two minutes,’ she said, pulling on her boots.
‘Hang on, you’ll need the key for the café door,’ Debbie called after her sister’s retreating back.
Linda leant back through the doorway, smiling as Debbie tossed her a key. ‘Thanks. I’ll get a copy cut tomorrow,’ she said airily.
Downstairs, the café door slammed shut. In the living room Debbie stood next to the dining table, looking slightly shell-shocked. Slowly the kittens began to emerge from their various hiding places, still jumpy after Linda’s dramatic departure. Debbie watched them with a preoccupied look for a few moments until, with a brisk shake of her head, she set about trying to tidy up. She had just picked up the stack of newspapers from the coffee table when the café door tinkled again.
‘It’s only me,’ Linda shouted from the bottom of the stairwell.
Clutching the papers, Debbie listened as Linda mounted the stairs. Her tread was slow and laboured, accompanied by sporadic grunts of frustration, and every step was followed by a dull thud as something heavy hit the floor.
‘Linda, are you alright?’ Debbie called, hastily setting the newspapers back down
. She winced as something scraped against a wall in the hallway.
I watched from the corner of the room as a large plastic container came through the door, followed by Linda, pink-faced from exertion. In addition to the plastic container that she held in front of her body, she was also pulling a wheeled suitcase behind her. As she edged past the dining table, almost knocking over a dining chair, Debbie automatically stepped forward and reached out to take the container, which she placed in the middle of the rug.
It took me a moment to register that the container was a pet carrier; and it was a further few seconds before I realized, with a sickening lurch in my stomach, that the animal inside was a dog.
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First published 2015 by Macmillan
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ISBN 978-1-5098-0431-3
Copyright © Melissa Tredinnick 2015
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Molly and the Cat Cafe Page 21