Christmas at the Cat Cafe

Linda said nothing, but returned her clenched fist to her mouth, sucking her knuckles solemnly. Debbie stood opposite her at the counter, struggling to supress a smile. Linda looked at her reproachfully. ‘’S’not funny,’ she said, her words muffled by the fistful of knuckles in her mouth.

Debbie’s shoulders started to shake and she bit hard on her lip. ‘Sorry, Lind, it’s just – you should have seen your face!’

Linda removed her hand from her mouth. ‘Debbie, don’t laugh. It really hurts!’

Debbie’s upper body was now shuddering with laughter and a sudden snort escaped from the back of her throat. ‘Santa hats for cats! You really don’t know very much about cats at all, do you?’ she squeaked, while Linda glared at her. Debbie placed one hand over her mouth and stared fiercely at the till, doing everything she could to bring her fit of giggles under control.

Still sucking her injured hand, and with a look of hurt disappointment, Linda turned away from the counter and stomped upstairs.

Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Debbie picked up the discarded hat and dropped it into the bin.

I blinked at her approvingly, and not just because she had thrown the wretched hat away. For the first time in a long while, Debbie had found something to laugh about. The fact that her laughter had been at Linda’s expense made my pleasure all the sweeter.

20

‘Deb, there’s another letter here from the solicitor,’ said Linda, picking up the morning’s post from the doormat. Placing the envelope bearing the solicitor’s insignia uppermost on the pile, she handed the mail to Debbie.

Debbie regarded the letter warily, as if it were a grenade at risk of exploding in her hand. ‘I’ll deal with that later,’ she muttered, tucking it on the shelf beneath the till.

Linda moved between the tables, ostensibly refilling the sugar bowls, but watching her sister keenly out of the corner of her eye.

Later on, upstairs in the flat, Debbie was in the kitchen when Linda slipped in after her. ‘What did that letter from the solicitor say?’ she asked, gathering cutlery from the drawer.

‘I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet,’ Debbie admitted, then added morosely, ‘It’s probably a court summons.’

‘Of course it’s not a court summons, Debs. Don’t be ridiculous,’ Linda tutted. ‘You can’t put off dealing with it forever, you know,’ she chided.

From my vantage point in the hallway, Linda’s legs blocked much of my view, but when Linda shoved the cutlery drawer shut with her hip, I glimpsed Debbie twitchily brushing away her fringe – a nervous habit that I had begun to notice in her with increasing frequency of late.

‘Have you thought about what I said, Debs, that maybe Margery—’ Linda continued, but Debbie stopped her before she could finish.

‘Yes of course I’ve thought about it, Linda,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve thought about very little else for the last week or so.’ Although her face had disappeared behind her sister’s body, there was no mistaking Debbie’s defensive tone.

Linda produced the unopened solicitor’s letter from her back pocket. ‘Well, come on then – there’s no point prolonging the agony,’ she said decisively, holding the letter out.

I heard Debbie sigh, followed by the sound of ripping paper as she tore the envelope open.

‘Well?’ Linda sounded impatient.

‘It’s not a court summons,’ Debbie answered, sounding relieved. ‘They’re just asking me if I’ve made a decision about the legacy. Impressing upon me the urgency of having the matter resolved quickly.’

Linda tapped the cutlery against the side of her thigh. ‘Hmm, I bet David’s behind that,’ she said shrewdly. ‘He must be all over the solicitor like a rash.’

‘Well, I guess he just wants to know what’s going on,’ said Debbie meekly. ‘Which is fair enough, I suppose . . .’

Linda snorted dismissively. Turning on her heels, she strode past me, gripping the knives and forks tightly, like a weapon.

No sooner had Debbie brought their food through and sat down at the table than Linda turned to face her. ‘Now, Debbie, there’s something I’d like to put to you,’ she said, with an ingratiating smile.

‘Sounds ominous,’ Debbie remarked.

‘Well, it’s a business proposition, actually,’ Linda explained.

Debbie assumed an expression of polite curiosity while, in my shoebox, I wondered what new item of Ming-based merchandise Linda was about to suggest.

‘I’ve been working in the café for a while now,’ Linda began, somewhat pompously, ‘and, as you know, I’ve been trying to bring the benefit of my marketing expertise to the role.’ The merest flicker of a sardonic smile passed across Debbie’s face as she inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘I’ve been thinking hard about Molly’s – its strengths and weaknesses – and where it can go from here.’ Again, Debbie gave a single nod. ‘Now, don’t get me wrong,’ Linda went on, ‘the café is fantastic. It’s popular, the cats are great and, most importantly, it’s making money.’