‘Well, he did text me earlier in the week,’ Debbie admitted.
Jo looked at her shrewdly.‘Go on.’
‘He said something about going for a drink, but I was too busy to reply and then it kind of slipped my mind.’ Debbie’s tone was offhand.
Jo stared at her.‘It slipped your mind?’ she repeated incredulously.
‘Oh, Jo, don’t be like that. He probably just wanted to nag me about the boiler.’
‘Of course,’ Jo agreed sarcastically. ‘I’m sure he asks all his customers for a drink, just to remind them to replace their boilers.’
Debbie rolled her eyes.‘Please, Jo, just leave it, would you?’
There was an awkward pause between them while Jo sipped her wine and Debbie played with the food on her plate. Jo finally broke the silence.‘Well, all I’m saying is that he’s a nice bloke, and there’s a lot to be said for that. Plus, he’s not a member of the Lawn Bowls Society, and there’s a lot to be said for that too.’ Jo drew her finger and thumb across her lips to indicate that she would say no more on the matter, then went to the kitchen to find another bottle of wine.
When she returned to the table, Debbie sighed and put her fork down on her plate.‘You’re right, Jo, he does seem like a very nice bloke. But I’ve been there before, haven’t I? My ex seemed like a nice bloke, and look how that ended up.’
Jo conceded that Debbie had a point.‘But how can you know, unless you give him a chance?’ she asked softly.
‘I can’t risk any more disruption for Sophie,’ Debbie answered firmly, her eyes starting to well up. ‘For the first time in – I don’t know how long – she’s actually talking to me rather than shouting at me. She needs some stability in her life right now, and if that means me puttingmy love life on hold, then so be it.’
I pondered Debbie’s words later that evening as I settled down on her bed for the night. Her discomfort, when asked about John, had been obvious, and she could not change the subject fast enough. Like Jo, I was baffled by Debbie’s dismissal of his interest, and by her apparent unwillingness to give him a chance.
Perhaps Debbie was right that introducing John into the family dynamic might upset Sophie. I had also noticed the change in Sophie’s attitude of late, and it wasn’t just in the way she treated me. She seemed calmer, more settled and less angry. She was making more of an effort to confine her mess to her bedroom; I no longer had to pick my way through the debris of her school books and discarded shoes to find space on the sofa for a nap. I also couldn’t remember the last time I had been woken by a door slamming, or been called a ‘mangy fleabag’, and she and Debbie hadn’t argued for weeks. Whatever accounted for the change in Sophie’s attitude, I shared Debbie’s relief and, like her, I hoped it would last.If Debbie thought that going out for a drink with John might jeopardize the new equilibrium, then I felt duty-bound to believe her.
With the arrival of spring, Stourton started to come to life. Tourists and day-trippers milled around the streets, looking for ways to spend their money in the picturesque country town. Market day was always busy in the caf?, but even on non-market days a continuous stream of customers came through the door from about eleven in the morning. After a week of begging Sophie to help out after school and at weekends, Debbie finally admitted that she was going to have to take on some help, and a young waitress was hired.
The increased custom left Debbie exhausted, and had a tiring effect on me as well. I found I was napping for increasingly long periods, either on my cushion in the window or, on particularly warm days when the windowsill overheated, inside my shoebox in the fireplace. When I needed to stretch my legs I would prowl around the caf?, slipping between chair legs on the lookout for stray tuna flakes or cake crumbs.
Customers often asked Debbie about me, and she relished telling the story of how she had found me in the alley and decided to name the caf? after me. ‘Don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s hungry, though,’ Debbie warned them, wagging a finger at me as I eyed their sandwiches or clotted-cream-covered scones. ‘She’s getting a bit greedy, this one. It’ll be time for a diet soon!’ The diners laughed as I flicked my tail, before padding haughtily back to my cushion.
One Saturday night Sophie and Debbie were chatting in the caf? after closing time. I had been lying in the shoebox trying to sleep, but my back felt stiff and I could not settle. Thinking that stretching my legs might help, I jumped down and set off on a circuit around the caf?, idly looking for crumbs under the tables. Sophie had sat down at the serving counter, chatting through the kitchen doorway to Debbie. I noticed Sophie watching me as I made my way awkwardly between the tables.
‘Mum, the cat’s walking a bit funny,’ she said, a note of concern in her voice.
‘What do you mean, she’s walking funny?’ Debbie called back. She poked her head through the door and glanced at me, with soapy rubber gloves on her hands. ‘She looks fine to me, Soph,’ she said, before returning to the sink. The stiffness in my back was becoming more pronounced, compounded by a dull ache that, no matter how I stretched, I couldn’t shift.
I made my way over to the window and, with more effort than normal, jumped up onto the cushion. I started to wash, beginning with a gentle wipe of my face and paws, but when I turned my head to lick my shoulder blades I was seized by a sudden sharp pain in my abdomen. I let out an involuntarily yelp, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Sophie lift her head to look at me. The sudden pain was followed by a pressure in my belly, and no matter how I twisted on the cushion, I could not find a position that relieved it. I flopped onto my side and slowed my breathing to try and ease my discomfort.
Sophie stood up from her stool and began to walk towards me.‘Molly, are you okay?’ she asked nervously.
There was a tightening sensation in my belly and, though I was touched by Sophie’s concern, I couldn’t summon the faculties to respond to her. The pressure in my abdomen was intensifying, and I felt like I was about to burst. Just as Sophie reached the windowsill, the pressure became so overwhelming that I had no choice but to give in to my urge to push.
I heard Sophie scream.‘Mum!’ she shouted. ‘Come here,quick! Molly’s just … exploded!’
Debbie rushed into the caf? from the kitchen, still wearing her yellow rubber gloves. She ran to the windowsill and looked down at me. ‘Oh, my God,’ she exclaimed, her face aghast. ‘She hasn’t exploded, Sophie, she’s giving birth!’
23 [Êàðòèíêà: i_004.jpg]
I lay on my side with my eyes closed, my head spinning. I could feel a dampness spreading across the cushion underneath me, but all I cared about was that the intense pressure in my abdomen had eased. I half-opened my eyes and saw Debbie and Sophie staring at me with identical shocked expressions on their faces.
Sophie clapped her hand over her mouth.‘Urgh, I think I’m going to be sick. That’s disgusting,’ she said.
Debbie turned to her sharply.‘It’s not disgusting, Sophie – it’s childbirth, and it’s the most beautiful thing that can happen to a woman.’
Sophie stared back at her, open-mouthed.‘Mum, Molly’s not a woman, she’s a cat!’
Debbie frowned as she started to peel the rubber gloves off her hands.‘Of course she’s a cat, Soph. Now stop gawping and get a towel, please.’
Sophie ran into the kitchen and I could hear her rummaging inside a cupboard.
Meanwhile Debbie knelt down on the floor next to the windowsill and stroked me on the head.‘You saucy minx, Molly. How did you find time for that, eh?’ she chided me softly.
I started to purr. The initial shock of what had happened was passing and, for now at least, I wasn’t in pain. I lifted my head from the cushion and turned to look at the tiny ball of damp fur – my kitten – that was nestling between my hind legs. It was squirming helplessly, so I propped myself up on my forelegs and began to give it a thorough, invigorating wash.