Christmas at the Cat Cafe

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 a cat!’ 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 café, 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

‘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.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Debbie whispered hoarsely. ‘I can’t . . . I didn’t . . . Linda, what just happened?’ she wailed, with a stricken look.

‘From what I heard, Debs,’ said Linda earnestly, ‘you stood up for yourself admirably. David was trying to bully and humiliate you, the self-righteous little pr—’

‘But, Linda,’ Debbie cut in, ‘that’s beside the point! His mother’s just died, and I refused to sign his letter. And now he thinks I’m a gold-digger, who only visited Margery because I wanted her money, and he’s going to take me to court and . . .’ As the gravity of the situation hit her afresh, Debbie’s eyes filled with tears and she let out a moan.

Linda placed a supportive hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Debs, he’ll calm down,’ she soothed. ‘I’m not surprised you didn’t sign his letter, given the way he spoke to you. In fact, I would have thought far less of you if you had signed it.’

Debbie looked tearfully at Linda. ‘Really?’ she asked meekly.

‘Absolutely!’ Linda insisted. ‘How dare he turn up here and demand that you sign something on the spot. Dead mother or no dead mother, he’s got a bloody nerve, the smug little w—’

‘But, Linda,’ Debbie interjected, ‘he was only asking me to do something I had said I would do. I told him I would renounce the legacy and then, when it came to it, I refused! Oh my God, he must think I’m crazy.’ She pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket and blew her nose noisily. Then she began to rock back and forth, her eyes glassy and unfocused, muttering, ‘What have I done?’ under her breath.

Linda appraised her sister. ‘Debbie,’ she said briskly, ‘you need to pull yourself together.’ Debbie appeared not to hear her and continued to rock silently. ‘What happened just now was very unpleasant,’ Linda conceded, ‘but it can all be sorted out. Nobody is going to take anybody to court.’

At the mention of court, Debbie’s eyes darted fearfully to Linda and her rocking redoubled in intensity.