Christmas at the Cat Cafe

‘Yep,’ Debbie said decisively. ‘I took the advice of my ever-so-mature seventeen-year-old daughter’ – Sophie smiled bashfully – ‘and texted him this morning to invite him round, to say sorry for how I’ve been behaving recently.’

Sophie looked quietly impressed. ‘Good on you, Mum,’ she said approvingly, taking a noisy slurp of hot chocolate through the swirls of whipped cream.

After breakfast, Sophie retreated to her bedroom, Linda took Beau out for a walk, and Debbie set about tidying the flat with a look of resolute industriousness. I watched from the sofa as she ruthlessly disposed of piles of newspapers, emptied wastepaper baskets and cleared the dining table of its accumulated clutter. Eyeing the mound of Linda’s belongings, she marched over to the alcove and shoved as many of her sister’s clothes as possible inside the suitcase. When it was full to bursting, she forced it shut and pushed it roughly against the wall next to the pet carrier. Then she dusted the surfaces, and pushed the Hoover around with a look of grim determination. Finally satisfied, she fell heavily onto the sofa next to me. ‘That’s better, isn’t it, Molls?’ she panted.

The evening started well. Following her sister’s instructions, Linda had gone out and – an added bonus – had taken Beau with her. I padded around the pristine flat, enjoying the change in atmosphere occasioned by their absence. In the living room the lights were dimmed, candles flickered on the table and music played softly on the stereo. Debbie had done a thorough job with the air freshener, and any lingering trace of Beau’s musky odour was masked by the artificial scent of freesias. Stalking from room to room, I felt a glimmer of territorial pride; for the first time in ages, the flat felt like our home again.

Debbie and Sophie were in the kitchen when John appeared at the top of the stairs, freshly shaved and smelling of aftershave. He handed a bunch of flowers to Debbie in the hallway, which she accepted with a modest blush.

‘Hi, Sophie,’ John said through the kitchen doorway, surprised to find Sophie microwaving a meal for herself. ‘It’s not like you to be home on a Saturday night.’

Debbie, who was filling a vase with water at the sink, glared urgently at him, shaking her head in warning.

‘I . . . er, sorry . . .’ John stammered, nonplussed.

‘It’s all right,’ Sophie said, sounding sanguine. ‘I split up with Matt yesterday is what Mum’s oh-so-tactfully trying to tell you,’ she explained.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ John said sincerely, watching Sophie tip her microwaved dinner onto a plate. ‘Tell you what, Sophie,’ he said, ‘I’ve done a few plumbing jobs for Matt’s mum, so I know where he lives. If you want me to go round and break his legs, just give me the nod.’ John tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially.

‘Thanks, but I don’t think any leg-breaking is called for,’ Sophie answered drily.

‘Or, at the very least, I could tamper with his central heating. Make sure he’s freezing cold over Christmas,’ John suggested.

‘Thanks, I’ll think about it,’ Sophie replied with a coy smile, filling a glass of water at the tap and placing it next to her plate on a tray. ‘Have fun,’ she said to them both, heading out of the kitchen and up to her room.

I followed Debbie and John across the hall to the living room and jumped onto the sofa while they began to eat. I closed my eyes, soothed by the sound of their voices and the clink of cutlery. The ambience in the clean, candlelit room was so calm that in no time I had dozed off, and had just drifted into a dream when I was startled awake by the sound of Linda’s voice.

‘It’s only me, Debs, I’m just dropping Beau off,’ she called up the stairs.

The tranquil atmosphere was shattered when, seconds later, Beau came skittering into the living room, leapt onto the sofa cushion opposite me and began to scratch furiously. I glowered at him, but he was too busy scratching even to notice my look of disgust.

When Linda appeared at the living-room door, John stood up courteously, but Debbie remained seated, pointedly ignoring her sister, while continuing to eat her dinner.

‘Don’t mind me, I’m not staying. I just wanted to drop Beau off before I meet my friends,’ Linda explained, with an anxious glance at Debbie. ‘How are you, John?’ she said warmly, accepting John’s polite kiss on the cheek.

‘Good, thanks,’ John murmured in reply.

Linda hovered in the doorway, taking in the romantic intimacy of the scene. John stood next to her, smiling awkwardly, while Debbie continued to glower at the table. The silence was broken only by the sound of Beau’s teeth knocking together, as he scratched at his cheek with his hind paw.