I stepped out onto the doorstep and took a few deep breaths of spring air, allowing the sun’s rays to warm my face. I sat for a while on the pavement outside the caf?, waiting for the queasiness to pass, before heading to the alley behind the caf?. It was silent but for the cooing of pigeons in the eaves and the chattering crows building their nests in the churchyard treetops. Although it still held painful memories for me, I felt a feeling of peace and wellbeing as I contemplated the empty alley. It was impossible not to think about the tomcat as I stood in the place that had been our shared home; but, rather than the usual sadness and guilt, I felt the glimmering of something positive inside. Maybe it was an acceptance that he had gone, or perhaps it was just an acknowledgement that, finally, life seemed to be settling down, after months of upheaval.
I crept over to my old hiding place under the fire escape, curious to see if it had changed since I had last used it, in the depths of winter. There were cobwebs draped across the paint tins and a few woodlice scurrying across the cardboard under my feet, but other than that it hadn’t changed at all. I lay down under the iron steps, immediately feeling the familiar way in which the cardboard underfoot snugly accommodated my body. Curled up in the shelter that had been my home, I felt comforted, as if somehow the tomcat was there with me. I wrapped my paws in front of my face and went to sleep.
The caf? remained closed for several days for refurbishment. Once the walls were finished, Debbie attacked the woodwork, sanding and smoothing, before repainting the sills and window frames with white gloss paint. Midweek, a large van pulled up outside to deliver the new serving counter. The installationwas a noisy process, which I was happy to avoid, staying in the flat for the duration of the drilling and banging. Only when everything had gone quiet in the caf? and the van had driven away did I pad downstairs to investigate.
When Debbie saw me on the bottom step she smiled.‘Aha, here she is!’
I lifted my tail in greeting and walked over to her. She and Sophie were behind the new counter, stacking napkins and cutlery in drawers. It was much less cumbersome than the one it had replaced, with a solid wooden top and whitewashed panelling on the front. Every now and then Debbie stroked its knotted surface approvingly.
I moved across the floor, taking in the other alterations to the caf?. The room that had once been a study in grey was now vibrant with colour. Debbie had placed gingham cushions on the seats and candy-striped oilcloths on the tabletops. Pictures framed in driftwood and heart-shaped wreaths of rosebuds were hanging on the pink walls. A jug of tulips stood on the mantelpiece over the stove, alongside a blackboard upon which Debbie had neatly chalked the menu. The caf? was inviting and homely, almost unrecognizable from its previous drab incarnation. I felt irrationally proud of the trail of pink paw prints that weaved across the floor as if they represented my own contribution to the makeover.
Padding from the counter towards the window, I was momentarily alarmed when I noticed that my shoebox had gone from the sill. As if reading my mind, Debbie said,‘Don’t worry, Molly, I haven’t thrown it away – it’s here, look.’ She pointed to a nook inside the fireplace, a low stone shelf in the side-wall next to the stove, where my shoebox had been tucked. ‘I thought it might look better somewhere less prominent,’ Debbie explained, apologetically. ‘I’ve put a cushion for you on the windowsill instead.’
I jumped up and stepped onto the pink gingham cushion, turning in circles to feel its texture and firmness. Debbie smiled as she watched me from behind the counter, with Sophie on a stool beside her, folding menu cards. The cushion felt good, and I started to knead it appreciatively with my front paws.
‘Glad you like the cushion, Molls. Now check this out …’ Debbie took one of the menus from Sophie’s neat pile. ‘We’ve got a new name too. Molly’s Caf?. It was Sophie’s idea, wasn’t it, Soph?’
I looked up. Debbie was walking towards me, beaming as she held the menu in front of me.
‘Well, it makes sense. She acts like she’s the boss already,’ Sophie said drily from behind the counter.
I felt quite overcome by emotion. I didn’t know whether I was more touched by the fact that Debbie had named the caf? after me or that it was Sophie who had suggested it. I did know, however, that I loved the name as much as I loved the new caf?, and that it was now, without a doubt, my home.
22 [Êàðòèíêà: i_003.jpg]
Molly’s Caf? opened for business the following day. I could sense Debbie’s nerves as she turned the door sign to ‘Open’, then stood behind the counter, watching anxiously as people walked passed the window. It was a Thursday, which was market day in Stourton, and the streets were busy, yet the caf? remained empty, overlooked by the passers-by intent on visiting the market. I sat on my cushion in the window, willing for it to rain so that people would be driven indoors, but the sky stayed stubbornly blue.
At lunchtime the bell over the door tinkled at last, and a couple with a small child walked in. The little girl immediately set off to follow the pink paw prints on the floor, tottering excitedly to the end of the trail, where she found me sitting majestically on my cushion.‘Cat!’ she exclaimed, pointing at me and clapping her hands, to her parents’ indulgent laughter.
Debbie brought a high chair out of the kitchen, and the family ate lunch at the table in the window while I washed on my cushion next to them. Debbie cast nervous glances in our direction when the little girl staggered towards me and grabbed a handful of my fur, but I merely twitched my tail while her mother gently loosened her grip.
‘Can I tempt any of you with a pudding?’ Debbie offered as she cleared away their plates, gesturing to the selection of cakes and pastries on the serving counter. She beamed as the family ordered two chocolate brownies and an ice cream.
The sight of customers at the front table seemed to have an encouraging effect on passers-by, drawing them to the window to read the menu and peer inside. By mid-afternoon the market had started to wind down and there was a steady trickle through the door of weary shoppers, longing for a restorative slice of cake after the exertion of market-shopping. They spoke in hushed voices, but I could detect appreciative murmurings as they admired the caf?’s decor and perused the new menu. Relieved of their heavy bags, they soon began to relax in the calm surroundings of the caf?, soothed by my purring presence as I weaved between the tables. By late afternoon I was feeling sleepy and soon dozed off in the window, to the pleasant background humof small talk and laughter.
Jo came around after work the following day, bringing the usual Friday night takeaway.‘Ilove what you’ve done with the place, Debs!’ she said sincerely. ‘And I particularly love the colour on the walls.So much nicer than those drab greys you were considering.’
‘Yes, you were right, Jo – you can stop going on about it now,’ Debbie replied, emptying the dishwasher for the second time that evening.
Jo dished the food onto plates while Debbie finished up in the kitchen.
‘So, how’s it going? Has the redesign paid off?’ Jo asked, as soon as they had tucked into their meal.
‘So far, so good. We had twelve covers at lunch today, and then eight more for tea,’ Debbie announced proudly.
‘This is a turning point for you, Debs – I can feel it,’ Jo replied.
‘I really hope you’re right, Jo. I can’t afford for it to fail. I’m in debt up to here,’ Debbie held her hand up to her chin, ‘and I’ve yet to replace the boiler.’
Jo nodded slowly, glancing sidelong at Debbie as she took a sip of wine.‘So, has John been in to see the new look?’ she asked casually.
Debbie bristled.‘No, why would he?’
‘I just thought he might have popped in to, you know, sample the wares.’ Debbie shot her a look. ‘I mean the food, obviously!’ Jo laughed.