24
I awoke the following morning to find the living room bathed in pale, wintry light. It was now the middle of December and, outside the window, the first fluffy snowflakes of the season were twirling in the air, landing softly against the glass. Clearing my head with a vigorous shake, I jumped off the sofa and padded past the shoebox, where Eddie was still fast asleep, his long limbs spilling over the cardboard sides. I leapt onto the windowsill and peered at the alleyway below, where the grey-brown hues of stone and tarmac were rapidly being erased by a blanket of white.
There was no sign of Jasper downstairs, so I nosed through the cat flap and, head bowed against the swirling flakes, hurried around to the passageway. As I walked, my paws left shallow dips in the deepening snow, and soon my paw-pads were soaked and freezing. I found Jasper in the churchyard, sheltering beneath the low branches of the rhododendron.
‘I didn’t have a chance yesterday to say thank you, for finding Eddie,’ I said, squeezing in alongside him, savouring his familiar scent and the warmth of his body.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied contentedly.
We sat side by side, watching the snow fall silently in front of us.
‘Do you think Eddie’s okay, after everything that’s happened?’ I asked, trying not to betray my maternal anxiety.
‘I think Eddie is absolutely fine,’ Jasper replied levelly. ‘He had to grow up, fast. Learning to fend for himself came as a bit of a shock after such a pampered upbringing.’
I turned away, stung by the implied criticism; Jasper had always let it be known that he thought the kittens were over-indulged, and that they lacked the skills required to lead independent lives.
‘But he seems to have worked things out for himself,’ Jasper added hastily, sensing my hurt feelings. ‘What he lacks in street-smarts, he more than makes up for in charm.’ I turned and looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. ‘By the time I found him, he had the whole neighbourhood queuing up to look after him. He could take his pick of at least half a dozen houses. There was never any danger he would go hungry,’ he said, in a tone of grudging admiration.
I felt a wave of relief mingled with pride. In retrospect, it seemed obvious that my friendly, loving boy would have no trouble finding people to take care of him.
‘That’s not to say he didn’t want to come home, of course,’ Jasper added, giving me an affectionate nuzzle behind the ear, as a delighted purr began to rumble in my chest.
Beyond the shrubbery, the sky had lightened to a milky white and the snowfall was beginning to ease. I edged forward and peered out from under the canopy of leaves. The honey-stoned church looked as though it had been glazed in white icing, and a single, determined robin fluttered from one snow-capped headstone to the next in search of insects.
‘Are you coming in for breakfast?’ I asked brightly, feeling my stomach start to growl.
Back inside the café, I stood on the doormat and shook the slushy ice crystals from my fur. Eddie had come downstairs and was pacing around the room, methodically scent-marking the table legs with his cheeks. Maisie followed a few steps behind.
‘What happened to your ear?’ she enquired, a note of sisterly concern in her voice.
Eddie puffed out his chest proudly. ‘Got into a fight with an alley-cat,’ he said offhandedly. ‘It was no big deal.’
Maisie’s eyes widened in alarm and, when Eddie set off towards the armchairs, she trotted keenly after him. ‘And what did you do for food in the wild?’ she asked eagerly.
Eddie paused and his gaze drifted to a point in the middle distance. ‘Hunting, mostly. It’s not easy, but you do what you have to, to survive,’ he said grandly.
On the doormat, I stifled an inward smile. Eddie’s account of his time ‘in the wild’ differed somewhat from Jasper’s version. I wondered whether Maisie would be quite so awestruck if she knew the truth: that Eddie had been doted on by a streetful of surrogate owners for most of his time away. Regardless of his bravado, however, I could not begrudge Eddie the opportunity to bask in his sister’s adoring admiration. I knew his blasé demeanour belied the terror he must have felt at finding himself homeless and alone. Let him enjoy his moment of glory, I thought, as I shook myself dry on the warm flagstones.
In the afternoon Debbie appeared at the bottom of the stairs carrying a large cardboard box full of Christmas decorations. She placed it on an empty chair and shouted up the stairwell, ‘C’mon, Soph, I need your help.’ When Sophie shuffled downstairs a few minutes later, she found Debbie rummaging inside the box. ‘Untangle these, will you, love?’ Debbie asked, handing Sophie a twisted coil of fairy lights.
With a sigh, Sophie tied her hair back in a messy ponytail and set about unthreading the tangled wires.
Once the decorations had been sorted into messy piles on the table, they started adorning the café. Debbie sang along to Christmas carols on the radio, ignoring Sophie’s cringes and eye-rolling, while the kittens did their best to hamper proceedings, jumping in and out of the cardboard box, or leaping up from the floor to swipe at the rustling fronds of tinsel dangling enticingly over the table edge. Ming observed the scene from her platform, with her customary air of curious detachment.
John arrived a little later, hauling a Christmas tree by the trunk. He carefully manoeuvred the tree into position next to the fireplace and snipped away at the netting that encased it. The tree’s branches instantly sprang outwards, filling the café with the scent of fresh air and pine forests.
When Jo passed the café window with Bernard plodding along by her side, she tapped on the glass, waving cheerily.
‘What do you think of the tree, Jo?’ asked Debbie, opening the door to let her in.
‘About time too, Debs!’ Jo teased, brushing the snowflakes off her jacket with the back of her hand. Her nose was pink with cold and her knitted bobble hat struggled to stay on over her unruly hair. Bernard waddled into the room after her and, as soon as he was inside, sank down gratefully on the doormat.
‘Hello, Bernard, you lovely old boy,’ murmured Debbie, bending down to rub his tummy. Bernard’s tail flopped up and down on the coir mat, and within minutes he had fallen wheezily asleep.
Debbie passed around tumblers of warm mulled wine and, as the afternoon sky darkened outside, all four of them set about dressing the tree with ornaments and lights. The kittens gamely did their best to bat the baubles off the branches as quickly as they were hung until, worn out by their exertions, they retired to their usual places for a recuperative nap. When the tree was finally finished, Debbie stepped back and looked at it approvingly. ‘Ready, everyone?’ she asked, with a look of child-like excitement.
She nodded to Sophie to switch off the overhead lights, and a hush descended on the dark room. Even Bernard drowsily raised his head from the floor, sensing anticipation in the air. Debbie flicked a switch and, suddenly, the café was transformed. Everywhere I looked, lights twinkled and glowed. The tree was enrobed in tiny berry-like bulbs that blinked mesmerizingly. A string of white lights wove its way across the mantelpiece, and a wreath of flashing stars framed the serving counter. In the semi-darkness the kittens’ and Ming’s eyes flashed a luminous green, and I had to look twice to be sure which were cats’ eyes and which fairy lights.
‘Oh, Debs, it looks beautiful,’ Jo exclaimed.
‘It does, doesn’t it,’ Debbie smiled proudly. ‘I’m sure Linda would approve,’ she added, looking suddenly wistful.