Sophie was staring at the carpet defiantly, refusing to look at her mother’s face as she talked.
Debbie’s cheeks were flushed, and I could see how much she wanted Sophie to say something – anything – to acknowledge that she had heard her. I pondered the workings of the human mind. I couldn’t fathom why, if Sophie was jealous of Debbie’s affection for me, she made it so difficult for her mother to love her. Her anger was pushing Debbie away, creating a breach between them that was in danger of becoming irreparable.
‘Let’s not make life any harder for ourselves by fighting all the time. Please?’ Debbie’s voice was desperate, but Sophie remained stubbornly silent. Debbie stepped forward to tuck a messy strand of hair out of Sophie’s face, but Sophie batted her hand away. She turned towards the door toavoid Debbie’s gaze and I caught sight of her eyes, which were red and watery. Within seconds she had grabbed her phone from the table and walked past me, out into the hall. Debbie remained in the living room, waiting for the sound of Sophie’s footsteps running downstairs. But instead Sophie walked to the other end of the hall and climbed the stairs to the attic, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Debbie puffed out her cheeks and looked up at the ceiling. I walked over to her and leant against her leg in a show of moral support that I knew would be of little help. Debbie slowly cleared the table, emptying Sophie’s half-eaten meal into the bin and washing up the dirty plates. Then, although it was still early, she turned off the lights in the flat and, without saying goodnight to me, went upstairs to her own bedroom.
I sat in the hallway feeling helpless and confused. I had been relieved that the row had not ended with Sophie storming out, but the pain that seemed to emanate from both of them almost felt worse. It was as if they’d reached a stalemate, and neither of them could see a way out. Based on the way she had treated me, I had no reason to like Sophie, but I knew that Debbie could never be happy unless her daughter was happy too. But while Sophie remained convinced I was part of the problem, it seemed beyond my feline powers to help her.
19 [Êàðòèíêà: i_005.jpg]
‘Mum, why is there no hot water?’
It was the morning after the argument. Sophie was running the shower in the bathroom as she got ready for school. I stepped out of the living room to find Debbie standing in the hall touching a radiator, an anxious look on her face.‘Mum!’ Sophie shouted impatiently.
‘I don’t know, Sophie. It must be the boiler. The radiators aren’t working, either.’ Debbie sounded worried, and I could feel the chill in the flat as the residual warmth in the radiators drained away.
Sophie was even more bad-tempered than usual that morning. Having been unable to shower, she acted as though Debbie was responsible for her unwashed hair and freezing bedroom. When Debbie ran downstairs to look at the boiler in the caf? kitchen I followed her, keen not to become the next object of Sophie’s annoyance.
Debbie was standing in the kitchen talking on the phone.‘I haven’t got a clue, Jo. The pilot light’s gone out and there’s a fault code on the display, but I can’t find the manual.’ She was rifling through drawers, desperately pulling out yellowing instruction booklets and old takeaway menus. While Jo talked at the other end of the line, Debbie grabbed a pen and scribbled something on the back of a pizza menu. ‘That’s great, thanks, Jo. I’ll give him a call.’
Sophie thundered down the stairs and through the kitchen, running late for her bus.
‘Bye, love, have a good—’ Debbie called after her, but Sophie had slammed the door shut before she could finish. ‘Calm – stay calm,’ Debbie muttered to herself, picking up the phone to dial the number Jo had given her.
About half an hour later I watched from the windowsill as a van pulled up on the cobbles outside the caf?. A tall, sandy-haired man got out and pulled a bag onto his shoulder before knocking on the door.
‘Thank God you’re here!’ Debbie exclaimed as she unlocked the caf? and ushered him in.
‘I wish all my clients greeted me like that,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m John. So your boiler’s playing up?’
‘That’s right: the light’s gone out – there’s no water …’ Debbie stammered as she led him into the kitchen.
Through the doorway I could see her perched on a stool, drumming her fingers nervously on the worktop while John began to take the boiler apart. His manner remained calm, in spite of Debbie’s evident alarm.
‘Boilers always pick the worst time to pack up, don’t they?’ John said, sensing her anxiety. Debbie smiled tensely. ‘It’s a bit of an antique, this model – must be at least thirty years old,’ he added.
Debbie was unable to contain her impatience any longer.‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.
‘It’s not great news, I’m afraid,’ John replied, looking genuinely sorry. ‘You’ve had a leak inside. Water’s been dripping onto the casing. It’s completely corroded in here.’
Debbie stood next to him and peered into the boiler to see the damage for herself.
‘I can patch it up for now, but it’s only a short-term solution. You’re going to need a new boiler, I’m afraid.’
Debbie groaned and sat back down on her stool, her head sinking. I couldn’t see her face clearly from the window, but I could picture her look of reluctant acceptance. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘Right. Okay. If you could do what you can for now, that would be great. I’m going to have to speak to the bank.’
John nodded respectfully and went to fetch his tools from the van. As he walked back into the caf? he noticed me for the first time. ‘Hello, puss,’ he smiled, making a detour across the caf? to give me a stroke.
My interest was piqued and I stood up to greet him. As he approached me I noticed that his sandy hair bore a few streaks of grey and the bridge of his nose was dusted with freckles. As he held out a hand to stroke me, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile. I leant forwards to sniff his fingers, and he tousled my ears teasingly. I responded to his playfulness by wrapping my front paws around his wrist, gripping his skin with my claws and biting the side of his thumb.
‘You don’t want to let me go, do you?’ he laughed, wincing in pain as he tried to twist his arm free. ‘And it’s not often I get to say that!’
I noticed Debbie watching us from the kitchen doorway and, expecting to be told off, I loosened my grip. As she walked towards us, however, I was surprised to see that her look of concern had been replaced by an indulgent smile.‘That’s Molly,’ she said, and she explained how she had found me in the alley and taken me in.
‘And now she thinks she owns the place, by the look of it,’ John joked, and Debbie tilted her head in agreement.
John gave me a final rub behind the ears before setting to work on the boiler. I lay down in my shoebox, listening as he and Debbie chatted. He had grown up in Stourton, he told her. It had changed a lot since his childhood, what with all the second-home owners and the rise in property prices. A lot of the shops in Stourton were still family businesses, though, and had stayed in the same family for generations.
‘This place was empty for a while, if I remember rightly,’ he said. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Coming up to six months,’ Debbie replied. ‘We were in Oxford before. I’ve never run a caf? before and it’s been a … learning curve.’
John smiled.‘I remember coming here when I was a kid. It was a greasy spoon back then. Although’ – he peered through the kitchen doorway to the caf? – ‘it hasn’t changed all that much since then. I’m sure that’s been here for at least thirty years!’ He was looking at the ugly serving counter.