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‘It’s a tough one,’ Jo agreed. ‘It seems unfair, but … I guess you just have to let her work things out in her own time.’ They ate in silence, Debbie’s unhappiness almost tangible in the air. As she ate, Jo glanced at Debbie, registering her melancholy expression. ‘So, do you wantto hear about my latest romantic adventure?’ she grinned, tilting her head coquettishly.

Debbie’s face broke into a smile. ‘Always!’ she answered, leaning forward attentively in her chair.

‘Well, I’m continuing to cut a swathe through Stourton’s population of single men,’ Jo began in mock-grandiosity, to Debbie’s delighted giggling. She went on to describe a recent dinner date with a member of the Stourton Amateur Dramatic Society – ‘SADS by name, sad by nature,’ she said with a wink. The evening had started well; her date seemed rather pleased with himself, but other than that he was perfectly pleasant. Jo paused for dramatic effect, taking a sip from her wine glass, as Debbie waited for the inevitable punchline. That was until pudding arrived, Jo went on, whenher date had launched into an impromptu performance of a song from SADS’ latest production. ‘And let me tell you, Debbie,’ she wagged a finger decisively, ‘until you’ve been serenaded in a restaurant by a middle-aged man singing “A Modern Major General” – badly, I might add – you haven’t lived!’

Debbie raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, while Jo helped herself to more wine. The alcohol in their drinks had begun to take effect; their facial expressions were becoming more exaggerated, their voices louder.‘There must be some eligible men in Stourton? Surely there’s hope for us both?’ Debbie asked, in half-sincere desperation.

‘Oh, of course there are plenty,’ Jo replied gravely. ‘If it’s a recently-retired member of the Lawn Bowls Society you’re after, then you’ll be spoilt for choice!’

Debbie snorted, then held up her glass in a toast.‘To the Lawn Bowls Society! I’ll be signing up first thing tomorrow.’

Jo raised her glass and they both took a gulp of wine, their eyes glassy.

‘In all seriousness, though, I doubt the Lawn Bowls Society would have me,’ Debbie said morosely, slumping back in her chair. ‘The good people of Stourton have made it very clear that I’m most definitelynot one of them.’

Jo smiled sympathetically.

‘We’ve been here six months, Jo, and apart from you I haven’t made a single friend,’ Debbie went on. ‘It’s like people don’t trust us. There’s one old crone who walks past here every day, and no matter how friendly I am, she doesn’t say a word. Won’t even smile.’

‘I know,’ Jo agreed, in a tone of resignation. ‘The Stourton old guard will only grace your business with their custom if you’ve lived here for at least forty years. I’ve run the hardware shop since 1998 and some of them still won’t step foot in it.’ She was doing her best to reassureher friend but, judging from the doleful look on Debbie’s face, it didn’t seem to be working.

‘But if I can’t win round the locals, then I really am doomed,’ Debbie despaired. ‘I can’t compete with all the foodie places round here, with theirartisan this andlocally sourced that. Don’t Stourton people ever want a nice simple sandwich or baked potato for their lunch?’

By now she had consumed several glasses of wine and I could tell that her emotions were running high.

‘I mean, is it really too much to ask of people – to give a local business a chance? Okay, it might not be asustainable, organic, locally sourced sandwich, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a good sandwich.’ Debbie looked flushed, and she paused to pour herself a glass of water.

‘I know what you mean,’ Jo replied. ‘Personally, I wouldn’t waste my money in any of those places. Give me a bacon roll any day.’

There was silence as Debbie gulped water from her glass. They had finished eating and Debbie placed the foil food trays on the floor, calling me over to devour the remnants of their creamy chicken curry and garlic prawns. Delighted, I jumped down and ran over to them. Debbie and Jo both laughed at my ravenousness as I greedily attacked the discarded prawn shells.

‘Maybe the caf? just needs a unique selling point, Debs.’ Jo’s voice sounded forcibly upbeat. ‘Something to make you stand out from the crowd.’

Debbie shrugged disconsolately.‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said flatly, looking unconvinced. ‘How aboutDebbie’s Divorcee Diner?The only thing more bitter than our coffee is our clientele.’

‘Now there’s an idea,’ Jo laughed. ‘I can see the full-page ad in the local paper already.’

Debbie smiled tipsily, topping up their glasses with the last of the wine.

‘Chin up, Debs,’ Jo said, taking a sip. ‘Spring’s just around the corner, the tourists will start to arrive soon and things’ll pick up, I’m sure of it.’

‘Thanks, Jo, perhaps you’re right. That’s if we haven’t gone bankrupt by spring,’ Debbie added ruefully.

It was almost midnight by the time Jo left. They hugged and Debbie waved as Jo scuttled past the window back to her own flat. Debbie picked the foil food trays off the floor and cleared the table. Once she had finished in the kitchen, she made her way unsteadily round the caf?, flicking the lights off and struggling clumsily with the key as she locked the door. I followed a few paces behind as she climbed slowly up the stairs to the flat, swaying as she went. She leant her shoulder against the wall for a few seconds to regain her balance. ‘Shhh, Molly, you’ll wakeSophie!’ she whispered loudly, and my tail twitched in indignation.

Debbie stumbled into the bathroom and I ran up the second flight of stairs to her bedroom to wait for her. I curled up on the end of her bed, mulling over the evening’s conversation. Had Debbie been serious when she said the caf? might be bankrupt by spring? And if she was right, what would that mean for us? I pictured the caf? being closed down, and Debbie tearfully telling me that she couldn’t look after me any more. I began to wash, trying to push thoughts of such an unhappy scenario from my mind.

I was acutely aware that my ability to be of any practical help to Debbie was minimal. Just as I had been unable to prevent Margery’s illness from enveloping her mind, so I was equally powerless to turn around the fortunes of the caf?. All I could do for Debbie was what I had done for Margery: hope that my presence brought her some comfort, and pray that things were going to be okay.

Debbie emerged from the bathroom smelling of toothpaste and soap. She wearily changed into her pyjamas, throwing her clothes across the bed onto a chair by the window. They missed, sliding to the floor in a heap. Debbie groaned and looked at the clothes guiltily for a moment.‘Never mind, sort it out tomorrow,’ she slurred under her breath, before climbing into bed and switching off the bedside light. The room took on an ethereal quality as a shaft of moonlight illuminated the silvery tones of the quilt. I padded up the bed and nudged Debbie’s side with my nose. One arm was draped across her forehead, but she began to stroke me sleepily with her other hand.

‘Oh, Molly,’ she sighed. ‘So much for a fresh start. The caf?’s losing money hand over fist, and my daughter hates me.’

Her hand dropped limply onto the cover in front of me, and I began to lick it gently. Her eyes were closed, but Debbie smiled weakly and moved her fingers to tickle me under the chin.‘Still, I suppose it’s not all bad,’ she mumbled drowsily. ‘At least I found you, Molly.’ Debbie’s hand fell still, but I continued to lick her fingers, listening as her breathing became slower and deeper and she sank into sleep. Once I was certain she was asleep, I continued with my own wash, tasting the lingering scent of Debbie’s skin on my fur.

As I washed, it occurred to me for the first time how much Debbie and I had in common. Not that she knew it, of course, but I was also an outsider in Stourton. I had come to the town in the hope of a fresh start too and, like Debbie, I knew what it was like to feel unwelcome here.