Debbie’s upper body was now shuddering with laughter and a sudden snort escaped from the back of her throat. ‘Santa hats for cats! You really don’t know very much about cats at all, do you?’ she squeaked, while Linda glared at her. Debbie placed one hand over her mouth and stared fiercely at the till, doing everything she could to bring her fit of giggles under control.
Still sucking her injured hand, and with a look of hurt disappointment, Linda turned away from the counter and stomped upstairs.
Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Debbie picked up the discarded hat and dropped it into the bin.
I blinked at her approvingly, and not just because she had thrown the wretched hat away. For the first time in a long while, Debbie had found something to laugh about. The fact that her laughter had been at Linda’s expense made my pleasure all the sweeter.
20
[Êàðòèíêà: _9.jpg]
‘Deb, there’s another letter here from the solicitor,’ said Linda, picking up the morning’s post from the doormat. Placing the envelope bearing the solicitor’s insignia uppermost on the pile, she handed the mail to Debbie.
Debbie regarded the letter warily, as if it were a grenade at risk of exploding in her hand.‘I’ll deal with that later,’ she muttered, tucking it on the shelf beneath the till.
Linda moved between the tables, ostensibly refilling the sugar bowls, but watching her sister keenly out of the corner of her eye.
Later on, upstairs in the flat, Debbie was in the kitchen when Linda slipped in after her.‘What did that letter from the solicitor say?’ she asked, gathering cutlery from the drawer.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet,’ Debbie admitted, then added morosely, ‘It’s probably a court summons.’
‘Of course it’s not a court summons, Debs. Don’t be ridiculous,’ Linda tutted. ‘You can’t put off dealing with it forever, you know,’ she chided.
From my vantage point in the hallway, Linda’s legs blocked much of my view, but when Linda shoved the cutlery drawer shut with her hip, I glimpsed Debbie twitchily brushing away her fringe – a nervous habit that I had begun to notice in her with increasing frequency of late.
‘Have you thought about what I said, Debs, that maybe Margery—’ Linda continued, but Debbie stopped her before she could finish.
‘Yes of course I’ve thought about it, Linda,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve thought about very little else for the last week or so.’ Although her face had disappeared behind her sister’s body, there was no mistaking Debbie’s defensive tone.
Linda produced the unopened solicitor’s letter from her back pocket. ‘Well, come on then – there’s no point prolonging the agony,’ she said decisively, holding the letter out.
I heard Debbie sigh, followed by the sound of ripping paper as she tore the envelope open.
‘Well?’ Linda sounded impatient.
‘It’s not a court summons,’ Debbie answered, sounding relieved. ‘They’re just asking me if I’ve made a decision about the legacy. Impressing upon me theurgency of having the matter resolved quickly.’
Linda tapped the cutlery against the side of her thigh.‘Hmm, I bet David’s behind that,’ she said shrewdly. ‘He must be all over the solicitor like a rash.’
‘Well, I guess he just wants to know what’s going on,’ said Debbie meekly. ‘Which is fair enough, I suppose …’
Linda snorted dismissively. Turning on her heels, she strode past me, gripping the knives and forks tightly, like a weapon.
No sooner had Debbie brought their food through and sat down at the table than Linda turned to face her.‘Now, Debbie, there’s something I’d like to put to you,’ she said, with an ingratiating smile.
‘Sounds ominous,’ Debbie remarked.
‘Well, it’s a business proposition, actually,’ Linda explained.
Debbie assumed an expression of polite curiosity while, in my shoebox, I wondered what new item of Ming-based merchandise Linda was about to suggest.
‘I’ve been working in the caf? for a while now,’ Linda began, somewhat pompously, ‘and, as you know, I’ve been trying to bring the benefit of my marketing expertise to the role.’ The merest flicker of a sardonic smile passed across Debbie’s face as she inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘I’ve been thinking hard about Molly’s – its strengths and weaknesses – and where it can go from here.’ Again, Debbie gave a single nod. ‘Now, don’t get me wrong,’ Linda went on, ‘the caf? isfantastic. It’s popular, the cats are great and, most importantly, it’s making money.’
At this, Debbie raised an eyebrow in a way that communicated– to me, at least – a wish for Linda to get to the point.
‘But the problem with your current business model, Debs, is that it’s just not scalable,’ Linda intoned gravely.
‘Scalable?’ Debbie frowned.
‘That’s right,’ said Linda. ‘It’s all well and good having a little caf?, Debs, but you really need to be planning ahead. These are tough times for small businesses, and you’ve got a lot of competition here in Stourton.’
‘What competition?’ asked Debbie, perplexed. ‘There aren’t any other cat caf?s in Stourton – or anywhere else in the Cotswolds, for that matter.’
‘Not yet there aren’t,’ shot back Linda. ‘But how long do you think that will remain the case, once people start to get wind of Molly’s success? Do you really think you’re going to have a captive market of crazy cat ladies forever?’
‘I … I don’t …’ Debbie stammered, the wind taken out of her sails.
Linda shook her head sadly, with the air of someone being the reluctant bearer of bad news.‘It’s a jungle out there, Debs, and if your business isn’t growing, it’s dying.’
Debbie’s composed neutrality had been replaced by a look of confusion, mingled with alarm. ‘But how can Molly’s be scalable? There’s only one Molly, and only one caf?. I don’t—’
‘Debs,’ Linda interrupted sternly. ‘Let me spell it out for you.’ Suddenly she spun round in her chair and looked straight at me. ‘What do you see over there in that shoebox?’ she asked, fixing me with a cold stare.
Mirroring her sister, Debbie turned to face me.‘I see … Molly,’ she answered dubiously.
‘And what is Molly?’ Linda smiled.
Debbie paused. She wore the expression of someone who suspected she was walking into a carefully laid trap.‘A cat?’ she asked.
Linda grinned; Debbie had given exactly the answer she was expecting.‘She might be a cat to you, Debs,’ Linda observed loftily, ‘but to me, she’s a brand.’
Debbie and I stared at Linda with matching looks of utter incomprehension.
Linda flung one arm out, pointing at me with a chipped pink talon.‘That cat, sitting over there in that shoebox, has brand potential.’ She was almost glowing with the fervour of her conviction. ‘Or, rather, her name does. Personally, I’ve always felt Ming would be a better brand-ambassador than Molly, but it’s too late to change the name now.’ At this, Linda gave a disappointed sigh as she contemplated the commercial glory that might have been, had the caf? been named after Ming rather than me.
Debbie looked dumbstruck, and my head was reeling. Very little that had come out of Linda’s mouth since she had uttered the words ‘business proposition’ had made sense to me. I didn’t understand about business models, captive markets or scalability. The only thing I was certain of, as I sat in the relentless glare of Linda’s professional scrutiny, was that I had absolutely no desire to become a ‘brand’. It was quite enough of a challenge just being a cat.
‘Think about it, Debs. Do you really want to still be clearing tables, and cashing up tills and … changing litter trays, in your sixties?’ Linda wheedled.
‘The cats don’t use litter trays,’ Debbie objected meekly.
‘You know what I mean,’ Linda retorted with a dismissive flutter of her beringed fingers. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to delegate some of the more … hands-on aspects of the job?’ She cast a sly glance in my direction, and I bristled at the implication that I was one such hands-on aspect.