Almost a week had passed before it even crossed my mind to go outside and return to the alley that had, until recently, been my home. There was no access to the alley from the flat, and Debbie did not like me using the kitchen door, so my only route in and out was through the caf?’s front entrance. I waited till the caf? was about to close, reasoning that I would catch the tomcat as he came in search of the day’s leftovers. As soon as the church bells announced six o’clock, I slipped out of the caf? and around the corner to the alleyway. It was strange to see it again, through the eyes of a house-cat rather than a stray. I was struck by how exposed it was, and how draughty it felt, compared to the cosy flat up in the eaves. I sniffed the wall for the tom’s scent marks, but there was no trace of him. I jumped onto the dustbin lid to look for the telltale rips in the rubbish bags that would indicate his presence, but the black polythene remained intact.
Puzzled, my tail twitched. Surely the tomcat would arrive soon, I figured, so I sat down on the dustbin to wait. I waited until my paws felt stiff with cold, but still he did not appear. It was only now that I understood how much I had been looking forward to seeing him again, and telling him everything that had happened since I had crossed the caf?’s threshold. I was disappointed and hurt, feeling irrationally as if he had abandoned me. But my hurt quickly turned to guilt as I remembered the sudden nature of my departure, and that I had never told him of my plans. Had he wondered what had happened to me – maybe even worried for my safety? I felt a sharp pang of remorse for being so self-absorbed that I had not sought him out before now to explain what I had done.
I found my old sleeping place under the metal fire escape and settled down, determined to wait until he returned. But, apart from a squirrel dashing along the top of the dustbin, there was no sign of any other living thing in the alley apart from me. Eventually the caf?’s back door opened and Debbie poked her head out. ‘Molly, where are you? Here, puss.’ I could hear alarm in her voice; this was the first time I had left the caf? since she had taken me in, and I had been out for hours.
For a moment I didn’t know what to do: whether to stay out of sight under the fire escape and wait for the tomcat’s return, or follow Debbie back into the warmth and security of the caf?. Debbie stepped out into the alley in her slippers, shivering with cold as she called my name again. I caught a glimpse of herface through the paint tins – a shadow of panic was plain to see in her eyes. My mind was made up. Regardless of what the tomcat might think of me, I couldn’t bear to see Debbie so concerned for my wellbeing. I crawled out from the fire escape and trotted towards her, mewing in greeting. ‘Oh, there you are, Molly!’ she smiled. ‘You naughty thing, I thought I’d lost you.’
She shepherded me quickly through the kitchen and I waited by the serving counter while she locked up. Sophie had gone out for the evening, so the flat was uncharacteristically quiet and peaceful. Debbie and I curled up side by side on the sofa, and she stroked me until we both began to nod off in front of the television, her bare feet cushioning my head. It felt just as I had imagined it would– an easy intimacy in which we were each soothed and reassured by the other’s presence. And yet something niggled at the back of my mind, taking the edge off my happiness. It was the guilt I felt for the way I had treated the tomcat, for abandoning the alley with no thought for the impact it might have on him.
In Debbie, I had found everything I ever wanted, but my joy was tempered by the suspicion that, although I had undoubtedly gained much, I might have lost more than I realized.
17 [Êàðòèíêà: i_008.jpg]
It was Friday evening, one week exactly since I had moved into the caf?. Debbie was busy tidying the kitchen and I was in my box on the windowsill. I sat facing the street, but my eyes were closed as I reflected on the events of the past week, and how my life had been transformed by the simple act of crossing the caf?’s threshold.
My meditations were interrupted by an insistent tapping above me. I jolted into alertness, quickly registering that a woman was standing in front of the window, rapping her knuckles on the glass. I looked up and immediately recognized the woman’s unruly shoulder-length curls as belonging to Jo from the hardware shop. She was clutching a brown paper bag from the local takeaway in one hand, waving with the other to catch Debbie’s attention. Debbie ran to the door and let her in.
‘Evening, Debs. You took your time. I thought I was going to have to eat on the street!’ She handed the bag to Debbie and unzipped her jacket.
I jumped down from the windowsill and trotted towards her. I had often seen Jo in the alley, but we had not yet been introduced. She lived in the flat upstairs from her shop with her ageing golden retriever, which spent its days dozing by her feet in the shop. In spite of the fact that she was a dog-owner, I liked Jo. She had a no-nonsense, practical air about her, and a humorous twinkle to her eye.
‘So, this must be Molly from the alley,’ Jo said, catching sight of me as I padded across the lino. She crouched down to greet me, giving me a cheerful rub on the back as I pressed against her leg. It was the kind of rub better suited to a dog than a cat, a little on the rough side, leaving my fur ruffled and messy, but I knew her intention was friendly, so I made no protest. I sniffed at her jeans, which smelt of dog, while she continued to scrutinize my appearance. Debbie had taken the bag of food into the kitchen and was retrieving plates and cutlery from the cupboards. ‘You’re right, Debs,’ Jo called after her. ‘She is a pretty little thing. Friendly, too.’
Debbie poked her head through the door, smiling at me indulgently, and I preened, basking in their attention.
‘And you knew a big-hearted softy when you saw one, didn’t you, Molly?’ Jo whispered conspiratorially to me. ‘A cute little face like yours – Debbie didn’t stand a chance, did she?’
I purred, assuming the most innocent expression I could muster in defiance of Jo’s knowing smile.
Jo stood up and walked over to the table where Debbie had begun to unpack their meal. Debbie placed the steaming foil trays side by side while Jo carefully removed their cardboard lids. The delicious smell of spicy meat began to fill the caf?, making my mouth water. Debbie returned to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses, and at last they were ready to eat. As they sat down at the table, I returned to my position on the windowsill, tummy rumbling, to watch them.
‘So how’s Sophie?’ Jo asked, while Debbie divided up the food onto their plates.
Debbie sighed.‘Not great. I know it’s not easy for her, what with a new school, new people, a new home …’ Her eyes started to well up.
Jo made a sympathetic noise and filled Debbie’s wine glass. ‘Has she heard from her dad?’ Jo probed gently.
Debbie’s face tightened. I had never heard her talk about Sophie’s father. ‘Not for a couple of weeks. He texted her to say he was going travelling with his girlfriend, and did she want anything from Duty Free?’
Jo winced, but Debbie’s face remained a study of neutrality. She took a sip of wine, beginning to relax under Jo’s supportive gaze.
‘I know Sophie blames me for what happened,’ Debbie said sadly. ‘She thinks I decided to up sticks and move here just because I fancied it. But how can I explain it to her? He’s her father – I’ve got to let her have the best relationship she can with him.’