‘I love the new look of the place, by the way,’ John said, as the caf?’s bright interior emerged from the gloom. ‘Especially those paw prints on the floor. Nice touch!’
‘You can probably guess who was responsible for those,’ Debbie answered drily from the kitchen. ‘Molly’s our design director, as well as our fire safety officer.’ She carried two mugs of tea through the caf? and placed them on the table in the bay window.
Much as I wanted to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation, I had a feeling that my presence would be a distraction. They had talked enough about me for one night, and there were other things they needed to discuss. I tiptoed unnoticed past their table and crept upstairs, leaving them sipping tea in the golden dawn light.
30 [Êàðòèíêà: i_006.jpg]
I squeezed into the cardboard box, trying not to wake the sleeping kittens. As I lay down alongside Eddie, he instinctively twisted towards me, nestling his face into my neck. I licked the top of his head and he began to purr drowsily, stretching out his legs between mine.
Looking down at his outstretched body, it was impossible to ignore the similarities between Eddie and his father, the tomcat. The resemblance was uncanny: a square face framed by white whiskers, a bib of white on his chest, and legs that, for now at least, appeared too long for his body. But, as he grew, I realized that it wasn’t just the tomcat’s physical features that Eddie had inherited. His temperament was also unmistakeably like his father’s. There was a selflessness about him, a willingness to put the needs of others before his own, which made my heart swell with pride. I sometimes watched him at feeding time, waiting patiently while his sisters ate, never doubting that there would be enough food to go round. It made my heart catch in my throat to witness his generosity of spirit, and the way it mirrored the chivalry his father had shown me in the alley.
My remorse for the way I had treated the tomcat had never left me. Since the birth of the kittens I had had less time to dwell on it, but the moments when I glimpsed their father’s traits in them still brought me up short. I sometimes wondered how they would react if they were ever to meet him. Would they instinctively know he was their father, or would they think him a stranger – perhaps even consider him a threat? The pleasure and pride I took in watching my kittens grow would forever be tinged with sadness at what I, and they, had lost. In my desperation to find an owner to replace Margery I had, unwittingly, sacrificed my opportunity for feline companionship. I could not wish for a better owner than Debbie, but I would always wonder whether, if I had done things differently, the tomcat might still be living in the alley and might still be a part of my life.
It was, in part, this regret that had motivated me to bring Debbie and John together that night. It was too late for me and the tomcat, but I wanted Debbie to make an informed choice: to know what she was giving up, if she ruled out the possibility of a relationship with John. As I started to drift out of consciousness, my mind wandered back to my conversation with Nancy, as I had prepared for my journey to Stourton.‘Humans always think they know what they want, but they don’t always know what theyneed. You can be the one to show them,’ she had told me, as we sat in the playground on the edge of Rob’s estate. At the time I had not understood what she meant, so preoccupied was I with the daunting challenge that lay ahead of me. But as I was lulled to sleep by the sound of Eddie’s heartbeat thumping against my chest, I wondered whether I had done just that for Debbie: I had shown her that what she needed was John.
‘Debbie, are you up there? What’s going on? Why aren’t you open?’
Jo was in the caf? stairwell, shouting up to the flat. The kittens began to stir around me, emerging unwillingly from the fog of sleep. I heard Debbie stumble out of her bedroom in response to Jo’s shouts, having overslept after the previous night’s drama. Trying not to disturb the kittens, I climbed out of the box and walked to the hallway, just as Jo’s worried face appeared above the plyboard at the top of the stairs.
‘I’ve been calling you, but it kept going to voicemail, so I let myself in with the spare key. Why aren’t you open – is everything all right?’
Debbie staggered down the stairs from her bedroom.‘We can’t open today. We’ve got no gas or hot water,’ she explained, lifting the upended ironing board out of her way. The contents of the cupboard were still strewn across the hallway floor, after Debbie’s frantic efforts to locate the cat carrier during the night.
‘Boiler finally packed in?’ Jo asked. Debbie nodded sheepishly. Jo’s eyes flashed. ‘Oh, Debs, you knew that needed to be sorted out!’
‘I know, Jo. Please, I had enough of a telling-off from John about it last night.’
‘John’s been round? Last night?’ Jo’s mouth curled into a smile; I sensed that, like me, she also nursed hopes on this subject. ‘So, it’s not all bad news then. I’ll put the kettle on, then you can tell me all about it.’ She bustled past Debbie into the kitchen.
I followed Debbie into the living room, where she slumped, yawning, onto a dining chair. The sound of voices had finally roused the kittens and they trotted towards the kitchen in hope of breakfast. I could hear their excited mewing as they tried to get Jo’s attention.
‘Oh, all right kitties, here you go,’ she said, filling their bowls with cat biscuits. A couple of minutes later, Jo put a cup of coffee and a slice of toast on the table in front of Debbie.
‘Thanks, Jo,’ Debbie murmured, taking a bite.
‘So go on then, tell me what happened.’ Jo’s eyes glinted with eager anticipation. Debbie rubbed her face. ‘Well, around three a.m. Molly came and told me the gas was leaking.’
Jo did a double-take.‘Molly told you the gas was leaking?’ she repeated.
Debbie took a sip of coffee.‘Well, she didn’ttell me, obviously, but she must have known something was wrong, because she kept waking me up, wanting me to follow her downstairs.’
Jo cast an admiring look in my direction, then listened avidly while Debbie recounted the night’s events. She sat in open-mouthed horror when Debbie described the dripping boiler and hissing gas pipe; chuckled as she explained how we had all stood on the street, waiting for John to arrive; and couldn’t contain her glee when Debbie admitted that she and John had stayed up past dawn drinking tea. Having finished her story, Debbie stifled another yawn.
‘So, what’s next?’ Jo asked.
‘I’ve got to speak to the bank today about increasing the loan. John said he’s going to try and find us a replacement this week—’
‘I’m not talking about the boiler!’ Jo cut in, exasperated. ‘I mean what’s next with John?’
Debbie looked at the table bashfully.‘I don’t know, Jo – probably nothing. We didn’t exactly discuss our future plans. It was hardly the time or place.’
‘Are you kidding, Debs? He came out to help you in the middle of the night. He’s seen you in your dressing gown! That’s practically married, in my book.’
Debbie winced.‘Please, don’t remind me.’ She took a bite of toast, avoiding Jo’s piercing gaze. ‘I suppose I do owe him, after what he did for us,’ she said at last, to emphatic nodding from Jo. ‘Maybe I should offer to take him for a drink, to say thanks.’
Jo was silent, but I saw her smile as she took a sip from her mug.
John returned to the caf? a few days later to fit the new boiler. The walls in the flat shook with banging and drilling from the kitchen below, followed eventually by gurgling in the pipes as the heating system refilled.
It was late afternoon by the time Debbie came upstairs to the flat, and she disappeared immediately into the bathroom to run herself a bath. I was desperate to know how she and John had got on with each other, but I had to wait until she and Sophie ate dinner before my curiosity was satisfied.
Debbie looked refreshed in clean pyjamas, her hair still damp from the bath, as she placed two bowls of pasta on the dining table.