Was it my fault for not warning the kittens that the world was dangerous, that the love and security with which we were surrounded at home could not protect us beyond the confines of the cat café? Had our pampered, privileged existence made me overlook my responsibilities as a mother? If Eddie had paid the price for my complacency, I would never come to terms with my guilt.
My low spirits were not helped by the gradual appearance of signs all around Stourton that Christmas was approaching. Along the parade, coloured lights had been wound around windows and porches and, inside the café, Christmas carols issued tinnily from the kitchen radio. Christmas was not something I wanted to be reminded of, and certainly not something I looked forward to. To think of spending Christmas not only without Eddie, but without Jasper too, filled my heart with dread. The prospect of Linda, Beau and Ming taking their place in our celebrations made me feel physically sick.
About a week after we had received the news of Margery’s death, Debbie ripped open a letter that had flopped onto the doormat. ‘That’s odd,’ she frowned. ‘It’s from a solicitor, asking me to get in touch.’
‘Get in touch about what?’ said Linda quickly, peering at the letter over Debbie’s shoulder.
‘Something about Margery’s estate. That’s all it says,’ Debbie replied, turning the page over, as if hoping for clues on the back. ‘I’ll give them a call tomorrow,’ she said with a puzzled look.
But the solicitor’s letter had piqued Linda’s curiosity, and at dinner that evening she began to probe. ‘So, tell me again,’ Linda asked in a ‘just wondering’ voice, ‘how exactly did you know Margery?’
‘She was Molly’s owner,’ Debbie replied.
Linda’s brow furrowed. ‘I thought Molly was a stray when you took her in.’
‘She was a stray,’ Debbie laughed, ‘but before she became a stray, she had been Margery’s cat, until Margery moved to the care home and Molly ended up on the streets. It was a complete coincidence that Margery happened to visit the café, but of course Molly recognized her immediately.’ Debbie smiled fondly at the memory.
‘That’s a great story,’ Linda mused. ‘“Café reunites owner with long-lost cat.” Brilliant PR for the café, too,’ she added shrewdly.
‘PR had nothing to do with it, Linda,’ Debbie said primly. ‘It was just nice for them to find each other again. And nice for me, too. Margery was such a lovely lady,’ she mused, starting to well up.
A few days later, Debbie slipped out mid-morning to attend a meeting with the solicitor, leaving Linda in charge of the café.
She returned at lunchtime, looking pale and distracted, swiftly swapping her coat for her apron and ignoring Linda’s querying glances. Debbie continued to avoid her sister for the rest of the day, evading Linda’s repeated attempts to catch her eye or initiate conversation. Linda’s curiosity about the meeting was almost palpable, and although I sympathized with Debbie’s reluctance to involve her, I also knew that the longer she put off talking to Linda, the more unbearable her sister would become.
Linda finally cornered Debbie in her bedroom that evening as she was getting ready for her date-night with John. I was grooming myself on Debbie’s bed when Linda knocked at the door and, without waiting for an invitation, slunk into the room.
‘So, I was just wondering what the solicitor said today?’ she asked, with an unconvincing nonchalance.
I was washing my hind leg and glanced over at Debbie, who was applying make-up at her dressing table. I could see her closed expression reflected in the pedestal mirror. ‘Um, not much,’ she murmured noncommittally.
Linda’s eyes bored into Debbie’s back. ‘Well, they must have said something, otherwise why would they ask you to come for a meeting?’ she persisted.
Debbie muttered something inaudible and began to rummage in her make-up bag.
‘Sorry, Debs – I didn’t catch that,’ pressed Linda.
Debbie’s shoulder slumped and she swivelled round on her stool. ‘It was about Margery’s will,’ she said reluctantly, while I set to work on a patch of tangled fur at the base of my tail. ‘Molly is a beneficiary.’ With my hind leg tucked behind my ear and my tongue protruding from my mouth, I looked up in surprise.
Linda hooted derisively. ‘Molly! Ha, really? What did Margery leave her? A year’s supply of cat treats? A hand-knitted blanket?’ She was smirking, but Debbie’s face remained stony.
‘Everything,’ Debbie replied levelly, her eyes fixed on the bedspread. ‘Margery left her entire estate to Molly. With me as her named legal guardian.’
There was a moment’s silence, during which I looked from Debbie’s face to Linda’s, and back again. I was aware of the absurdity of the way my leg was propped behind my head, but seemed unable to engage my brain sufficiently to lower it.
‘Say again – what?’ blinked Linda.
Debbie’s breathing was shallow and the colour had begun to drain from her face. ‘Apparently, Molly is Margery’s sole beneficiary, and I am her legal guardian,’ she repeated, and this time there was a slight tremor in her voice.
Linda made a strange spluttering sound. ‘Well, did they tell you how much Margery left?’ she asked, her eyes starting to glisten.
Debbie shot her a look of distaste. ‘I didn’t ask, Linda!’ she snapped.
Chastened, Linda bit her lip, but continued to stare hard at her sister, who seemed absorbed in examining the backs of her hands as they lay in her lap. Eventually, steadfastly avoiding Linda’s gaze, Debbie said, ‘The solicitor said something about a property in Oxford, and some savings and investments, but that’s all I know at the moment.’
Linda’s eyes looked as if they were in danger of popping out of her head. ‘A property in Oxford? And some savings and investments?’ she screeched. ‘Bloody hell, Debs – sounds like quite the nest egg she had tucked away!’
Debbie chose to ignore this remark, but began to fiddle distractedly with her fringe.
Linda’s eyes flicked towards me. ‘Well, Molly, aren’t you a lucky cat?’ she said covetously.
At this, Debbie fired her sister a look of disgust. ‘Linda, please! I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. I knew you’d react like this,’ she said, twisting back round to face the dressing table.
‘Oh, don’t be like that, Debs,’ Linda wheedled. ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all.’
Debbie said nothing, and began to apply make-up in front of the mirror again, acting as if Linda was not there.
I lowered my hind leg and repositioned myself into a neat loaf-shape on the bed, trying to process what I had heard. Linda’s reaction had unsettled me; the unmistakably envious edge to her voice when she addressed me had made me deeply uncomfortable.
‘So, what happens next?’ Linda asked at last, doing a poor imitation of indifference.
Debbie was applying mascara, but her shoulders drooped. ‘Well, obviously, I can’t accept it. Margery had a family. This is their inheritance, not Molly’s. I’m going to call her son David tomorrow.’
Linda chewed her bottom lip, fixing the back of Debbie’s head with a cold stare. ‘Are you sure you’re not being too hasty, Debs?’ she said silkily.
‘Quite sure,’ Debbie shot back.
Linda remained perched on the corner of the bed for several minutes. I sensed that she was hoping to continue the conversation, but Debbie’s back stayed resolutely turned towards her. Eventually, her impulse towards interference having been thwarted by Debbie’s determined silence, Linda slipped wordlessly out of the room.
They didn’t speak to each other again that evening. In fact, I had the distinct impression that Debbie was avoiding her sister. She spent longer than usual getting ready to go out and, as soon as she heard the tinkle of the bell over the café door, ran downstairs to meet John, rather than inviting him up to the flat. While Debbie was out, Linda prowled around the flat like a cat unable to settle. She made a half-hearted attempt to tidy her belongings in the alcove, fidgeted on the sofa with her phone and made herself a cup of herbal tea. Her twitchiness made me so uneasy that eventually I padded downstairs, deciding that I would rather share a room with a watchful Ming than with a fidgeting Linda.