Christmas at the Cat Cafe

‘Well, I’ll be off then. Nice to see you again, John,’ Linda said cheerily, determined not to acknowledge the tension in the air. She zipped up her quilted jacket and fished in her pocket for her car keys. Turning to leave, she said casually to John, ‘Maybe you can talk some sense into Debbie about this legacy business.’

There was a loud clatter as Debbie let her fork fall against her plate. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, her eyes seeming to darken as she turned to look at her sister for the first time. ‘What does that mean, Linda – “talk some sense into me”?’ she asked, with a steely coldness.

‘I just meant I thought it might be helpful for you to talk it over with John, to see what he thinks,’ Linda blustered defensively.

Debbie glared at Linda with unmistakable anger. ‘No, Linda, what you meant was: maybe John could convince me to keep the money.’ It was a statement rather than a question, but Linda shook her head vehemently. Debbie’s eyes shifted to John. ‘My sister finds the idea of turning money down difficult to comprehend. She always has.’

John, who was standing just inside the living-room door, equidistant between the sisters, looked at his shoes in embarrassment.

‘Deborah! How dare you!’ Linda gasped, a flush of outrage rising in her orange-tinged face.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Linda. Please, just be honest,’ Debbie’s voice was strident now. ‘You want me to accept the legacy, and you’re hoping John will persuade me to do so.’

Linda looked hurt, but she instinctively drew herself up straighter. ‘I do think you should accept the legacy, Debbie, but only because I think you should honour Margery’s wishes,’ she said piously.

‘Pah!’ Debbie snorted. ‘That’s rubbish, and you know it. The only reason you’re so keen for me to take the money is because you want to build a business empire with it. You can’t bear the fact that I’ve made a success of Molly’s without your help. Now you want to muscle in on my business to launch your brand’ – she lingered mockingly over the word – ‘and you want to use Margery’s money to pay for it.’ Debbie’s face was rigid with anger.

Linda’s mouth had formed an ‘O’ of scandalized outrage. John looked as if he would rather be anywhere else than caught in the sisters’ crossfire.

‘I don’t know why I’m surprised,’ Debbie continued bitterly. ‘All you’ve ever cared about is money.’

‘Oh, well, that’s just charming,’ retorted Linda sharply, rallying now that her initial shock had subsided. ‘I’ve been working in the café – unpaid, I might add – for weeks now. I never heard you complain when I was scraping dirty plates and loading dishwashers for you. I never asked for a penny in wages, did I? If I’d known this was how you felt, then quite frankly I wouldn’t have bothered.’

‘That’s not fair, Linda! We agreed you would work downstairs in exchange for staying here,’ Debbie countered.

‘Yes, and I’ve been working my backside off, haven’t I?’ riposted Linda fiercely. ‘Not just being your skivvy and waitress, but doing everything in my power to help market and promote the café. I’ve got you press coverage, I’ve devised marketing campaigns, merchandising . . .’ At this, Debbie let out a derisory snort and I knew she was thinking about Ming’s Mugs.

Linda’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not going to deny, I hope, that since I launched the Ming marketing campaign, the café’s taken more money?’ she said reprovingly.

Debbie groaned. ‘That’s exactly my point, Linda,’ she answered shrilly, banging her hand on the table with sufficient force to make Beau stop scratching and look at her. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? Ming is a cat, not a marketing opportunity. And, whether you like it or not, Molly is a cat too, not a brand.’ Debbie’s eyes were blazing with conviction. ‘Everything’s about money for you, isn’t it?’ she went on fervently. ‘You turn up here, expecting me to take you and Beau in indefinitely, and I’m not allowed to challenge it because some of your ideas have brought in a few extra quid to the café.’

When the telephone rang, John looked visibly relieved. He darted across the room to pick up the receiver, placing a hand over his other ear.

Still standing in the doorway, listening to her sister give voice to her pent-up frustration, Linda’s eyes had become glassy. ‘Well, if I’d known that was how you feel, Debs, I would never have come here. My marriage had broken down, in case you’d forgotten, and I had no one else to turn to. It’s all right for you, with your lovely café and cosy flat. Life’s not all cupcakes and kittens for everyone, you know. Some of us have real problems to deal with.’