Christmas at the Cat Cafe Read online

  ‘Has anyone seen Purdy this morning?’ I asked as they filtered out across the café floor.

  ‘Not yet,’ Eddie replied, and the others didn’t disagree.

  I left the kittens in the café and slipped through the cat flap. I felt a niggling suspicion that Purdy might have spent the night in Jo’s shop. It was a cold, blustery day and the low clouds threatened rain. I had taken a few steps along the pavement when the hardware-shop door swung open and Jo came out with Bernard.

  I halted mid-step, momentarily baffled by what I saw: rather than walking side-by-side with Bernard on his lead, Jo was carrying the dog like a baby, cradling his bulky hindquarters in her arms, while he rested his chin on her shoulder. Locked in their awkward embrace, they made an ungainly, slightly comical pair, but Jo’s face was set in a look of tense concern. She hovered in the doorway, shifting Bernard’s weight sideways as she locked the shop door behind her. Then, staggering slightly under his weight, she lurched towards the van, clumsily opened its rear doors and lowered Bernard carefully inside. I caught a fleeting glimpse of the dog’s dejected expression, before Jo slammed the door shut and hurried round to the driver’s seat. Within seconds, the van had accelerated away and disappeared around the corner.

  I ran over to the shop door and peered through the glass, but it was dark and empty inside. Fighting off a growing unease, I made my way back round the side of the café to find Jasper sitting at the alleyway’s entrance. After the events of the previous twenty-four hours, the wave of relief I felt at seeing him made my throat start to constrict. He seemed to sense my agitation, and our strides quickly fell into step as we walked together down the alleyway.

  ‘So . . . ?’ he prompted, as we pushed through the conifers into the churchyard. I took a deep breath; I had so much to tell him that I wasn’t sure where to start.

  ‘Well, you were right. Debbie wasn’t planning to rehome me. Linda’s going to be moving into Margery’s cottage – that’s all.’ I braced myself for a response of the ‘I told you so’ variety, but Jasper merely blinked in tacit approval. Heartened by his reaction, I said, ‘Also, Ming’s deaf. That’s why she never talked to any of us.’

  At this, his eyes widened slightly. I waited for him to say something, but he maintained his diplomatic silence.

  ‘Go on then,’ I said, slowing to a halt among the headstones.

  ‘Go on then, what?’ Jasper replied.

  ‘Say “I told you so”,’ I said, through clenched jaws.

  ‘I never said I thought she was deaf,’ he pointed out, generously.

  ‘No, but you thought I had misjudged her, and you were right.’

  Jasper looked away, apparently distracted by a pair of magpies cawing argumentatively in a nearby tree, but I suspected he was sparing me the embarrassment of having to look him in the eye while admitting that I was wrong.

  ‘Just like you were right about Debbie not planning to rehome me,’ I said sullenly.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ he said, returning his gaze to the muddy turf in front of us. ‘I’m sure Ming will forgive you.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll be around long enough to forgive me,’ I replied churlishly. ‘Linda wants to take her to the cottage when she moves out.’

  At this, Jasper’s ear flickered and his eyes narrowed a little. I wasn’t sure whether his expression indicated surprise at Linda’s offer, or disappointment that Ming might be leaving us.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ I said, glancing nervously at him. ‘I’m worried about Purdy.’ For a fleeting second I thought I saw a flicker of ‘What now?’ in his eyes.

  ‘Why’s that?’ he said guardedly.

  ‘She told me she doesn’t like living in the café. I’m worried she might run away,’ I explained. ‘In fact,’ I added, trying to fight my rising angst, ‘she hasn’t been home since yesterday.’

  Jasper surveyed me calmly through his amber eyes. I knew what he must be thinking: no sooner had one of my anxieties been allayed, than another had rushed in to take its place. ‘Purdy has an adventurous spirit. We’ve always known that,’ he said steadily.

  ‘I know,’ I snapped, resenting his unruffled tone. ‘But I think it’s more than that.’ I could feel my frustration suddenly rise up like bile in my throat. ‘Do we just wait till one day she decides she’d rather live on the street than in the cafe? That is, if she hasn’t already . . .’

  I looked away. My eyes were tingling and I felt desperate as my conviction grew that it might already be too late to change Purdy’s mind, and that, just as I had with Margery, I had wasted my last chance to say goodbye to her.

  ‘She’s half alley-cat, remember,’ Jasper said, with a slight puffing-out of his chest.

  ‘So?’ I hissed, my tail twitching irritably.

  ‘So,’ Jasper replied with infuriating calmness, ‘she’s also a grown-up now. If she doesn’t want to live in the café any more, there might be nothing we can do about it.’

  28

  I couldn’t have felt less festive as I nosed back through the cat flap to be greeted by the sound of Christmas music and the smell of mince pies. I picked my way forlornly between the customers’ coats and shopping bags, to take up my usual position in the window, and cast my eye around the café, on the off-chance that Purdy had returned during my absence.

  It was the last working day before the holidays and the café was full. Debbie and Linda bustled between the tables with sprigs of tinsel pinned to their Molly’s aprons. Some of the customers had brought gifts for the cats, little gift-wrapped parcels that Debbie placed in a pile beneath the tree. They smelt tantalizingly of catnip and cat treats, and as I surveyed the room I spotted Eddie prowling around them, sniffing greedily. Opposite me, Ming was meditating on her platform, with Maisie asleep in the domed bed beneath, and at the fireplace Abby and Bella were being entertained by a young girl who was dangling a toy fishing rod over the back of the armchair. But there was no sign of Purdy.

  It was only since speaking to Jasper that I had acknowledged the possibility that, in spite of her promise, Purdy might already have run away. Out of the blue, a memory popped into my mind of the time Eddie had disappeared. I had asked Purdy if she knew where he was, and she had said, ‘Maybe it was just the right time for him to go.’ I had dismissed the idea as naive, certain that such a notion was out of character for Eddie. On that occasion, my instincts had been proved correct. But it hadn’t occurred to me, until now, that there might have been more to Purdy’s comment than I had realized. Had she, in fact, been trying to tell me that she felt it might soon be the right time for her to go?

  Jasper was right, we had always known Purdy was more adventurous than her siblings, but I had never seriously considered what that would mean for Purdy as she entered adulthood. It hadn’t crossed my mind that any of the kittens might crave a different kind of existence from the one they had been brought up in, or might have ambitions that a life spent dozing in the cat café could never satisfy. Perhaps, I realized with a dull pang of self-awareness, I had finally hit upon the nub of the problem: I had continued to think of Purdy and her siblings as kittens, long after they had left their kittenish ways behind, and had given little thought to their changing needs as they moved into adulthood. I had never questioned my assumption that what made me happy would also make them happy, and that their greatest need was to stay together, and to stay with me.

  My eyes were drawn to Maisie, who had climbed out of her bed on the cat tree and was now sitting on top of the highest point of the dome, peering gingerly over the edge of Ming’s platform above. When Ming looked across with her usual imperious gaze, Maisie responded by jumping up and cowering nervously at the edge of the platform. Maisie remained motionless with her head bowed, while Ming stepped closer and craned her neck downwards so that her nose was almost touching Maisie’s fur. Ming took a few delicate sniffs, before delivering the briefest of licks across the top of Maisie’s head. Maisie glanced up, their eyes met and Ming blinked at her benignly. T
hen, with a look of beneficent calm, she returned to the middle of the platform and resumed her meditative pose.

  I felt myself succumbing to the overwhelming remorse that had been building since I had first learnt that Ming might be deaf. Witnessing Maisie’s sweet-natured overture and Ming’s affectionate response had brought a lump to my throat. There was no escaping the fact that my irrational dislike of Ming, and the kittens’ desire not to upset me, had been the main obstacle to Ming’s integration in the café. It was my resentment that had been the problem, not Ming’s aloofness. I felt exhausted and knew I was descending into self-pity, but did not have the energy to fight it. Trying my hardest to block out the chatter and laughter around me, I turned my back to the café, lay down and went to sleep.

  I was woken by a rhythmic swishing sound. I blinked and lifted my head; it was dark outside and I could see the café’s bright interior reflected in the black glass. Behind me, Debbie was working her way across the empty café with a broom, sweeping crumbs into a dustpan, while Linda cashed up at the till. They were discussing the last-minute shopping that needed to be done for Christmas dinner.

  ‘I’ll go to the supermarket tomorrow, Debs,’ Linda offered. ‘I can pop in on my way back from Cotswold Organic.’

  ‘Thanks, Lind,’ Debbie replied gratefully, ‘Going anywhere near the supermarket on Christmas Eve would just about finish me off.’

  As Debbie swept the floor around the armchairs, she paused and pulled the broom-handle towards her chest. ‘Linda, I hope you won’t be disappointed,’ she began, ‘but I’ve decided to keep Ming in the café. She really does seem to be settling in here, and I don’t think the upheaval of another move would be good for her.’

  Linda followed Debbie’s eye-line to the fireplace, where Ming was sitting on the flagstones, gazing beatifically at the glowing stove. Eddie was sprawled out on the tiles next to her, fast asleep with his jet-black belly exposed to the heat. ‘You know what, Debs? I’m glad you said that,’ she agreed. ‘I was thinking the same thing myself.’

  She pulled off her apron and went upstairs, and Debbie was about to lock up when there was a tap at the window.

  ‘Hi, Jo,’ Debbie said, opening the door to find Jo in the doorway, pale-faced and trembling. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘It’s Bernard.’ There was something strained in Jo’s tone, and Debbie instinctively took a step closer.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, in a manner that suggested she already knew the answer.

  ‘I had to take him to the vet this morning. He’s . . . gone,’ Jo replied in a shaky voice.

  Debbie’s face puckered with concern. ‘Oh, poor Bernard. I’m so sorry,’ she murmured, moving forward to envelop Jo in a hug. ‘Come on, let me get you a cuppa,’ she insisted, leading Jo across the room to the fireplace.

  Jo lowered herself into an armchair while Debbie stoked the embers in the stove, sending a burst of sparks flying into the grate. She left Jo staring with a dazed expression at the dancing flames while she went into the kitchen. Jo was startled out of her trance-like state by the swoosh of the cat flap, but her face broke into a smile – and my heart seemed to flip inside my chest – when Purdy stalked across the flagstones towards the stairs.

  ‘Hello, Purdy,’ Jo called fondly.

  Upon hearing her voice, Purdy changed direction, veering towards Jo with her tail aloft. She cast a slightly shamefaced glance at me as she passed the window, but was soon pressed against Jo’s legs, purring loudly as Jo rubbed the base of her tail.

  ‘So, what happened?’ Debbie asked, setting down two mugs of tea and taking the armchair opposite Jo’s. Jo sat back and Purdy immediately jumped up and began to circle contentedly on her lap. The fire in the stove crackled and its orange glow lit their faces.

  ‘When he woke up this morning, Bernard was struggling to stand. It was obvious that something serious had happened. I took him straight to the vet, who said it was probably a stroke and there was nothing she could do . . .’ Jo took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped her head, allowing her curls to fall in front of her face.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jo,’ Debbie said sincerely. ‘He was such a lovely old boy. And so close to Christmas, too.’

  Jo nodded and her shoulders started to shake. Debbie sipped her tea in tactful silence.

  Eventually, Jo finished wiping her eyes with a tissue and reached for her mug of tea. ‘He was with me for fifteen years. That’s longer than my marriage lasted,’ she said, with a watery-eyed smile, caressing Purdy’s cheek with her free hand. They both sipped their tea, then Jo went on, ‘Actually, Debs, there’s something else I need to tell you.’ She leant sideways and shakily placed her mug on the table. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while,’ she said, and there was something heavy about her tone.

  ‘What is it, Jo? You’re worrying me,’ Debbie asked.

  ‘Well, the thing is . . . I’ve given up the lease on the shop.’

  Cradling her mug of tea, Debbie blinked confusedly. ‘The shop? From when?’

  ‘From next month,’ answered Jo. Debbie’s lips parted and her brow wrinkled but, before she could speak, Jo started talking again. ‘The writing’s been on the wall for a long time, Debs – the shop’s been losing money for months. I’m cutting my losses before I get any further into debt. It’s better to get out now, while I’ve still got my head above water.’ She talked fast, as if she had rehearsed her words and wanted to get them out as quickly as possible.

  Listening to Jo gave Debbie time to compose her face and, by the time Jo paused for breath, her friend’s appalled expression had been replaced by a look of sympathetic understanding. ‘I get it, Jo, I really do,’ Debbie said quietly. ‘I had no idea things were so bad. I mean, I knew business was slow . . .’

  ‘You weren’t to know, Debs,’ Jo insisted vehemently. ‘I’ve been telling myself business will pick up for over a year now, but after a point I realized I was just kidding myself and . . .’ She trailed off helplessly.

  They sat in reflective silence, the only sounds in the room the crackling fire and Purdy’s sleepy purr. Debbie stared at her friend with fierce concentration. ‘If you need a job to tide you over, I could find work for you here,’ she said, her eyes shining hopefully.

  ‘That’s really kind of you,’ Jo replied, ‘but, well, I’ll be letting the flat go, too. It’s part of the lease.’

  Debbie let out an uncontrolled yelp of dismay. ‘But where will you go? You can’t just give up your home and your business in one fell swoop.’

  Jo took a long, fortifying breath. ‘Don’t worry, Debs, it’s all sorted. I’m going to move back to the farm. Dad needs someone to take over running the place, and it’ll give my finances a chance to recover.’

  Debbie looked listlessly at her cooling cup of tea. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? You must have been planning this for a while.’ She sounded hurt.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ answered Jo with a guilty look. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I knew that you’d try and talk me out of it. Besides, you’ve had enough on your plate recently, without worrying about my livelihood as well.’

  At this, Debbie cringed. ‘I’m sorry, Jo. I know I’ve been banging on about my problems incessantly—’

  But Jo lifted a hand to placate her, ‘Debbie, please don’t. This was just something I needed to work out for myself, that’s all.’

  Debbie looked suddenly drained, as if she had only just realized there was nothing she could say to change her friend’s mind. ‘I can see it makes sense. But it’s strange to think of you . . . ’

  ‘Not being next door any more,’ Jo completed Debbie’s sentence for her.

  Debbie’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears and she turned away.

  ‘It’s less than an hour’s drive, Debs – I’ll be back here all the time,’ Jo said with a forced smile, although I could see her eyes were reddening, too.

  ‘But it won’t be the same, will it?’ Debbie whimpered, wiping her nose hasti
ly on the back of her hand.

  Jo shook her head. ‘I know. It won’t.’

  Their sniffing punctuated the unhappy silence and then, from behind a scrunched-up tissue, Debbie said, ‘You know, it’s not too late to ask Linda to be your lodger.’ She glanced at Jo and gave a tiny shrug.

  Jo sniggered and the room suddenly felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted from them both, and they knew the worst was over.

  ‘I’ll be back in Stourton all the time, Debs, just you wait and see,’ said Jo, blinking away her tears. ‘We can still have our weekend takeaways. Besides,’ she added, taking Purdy’s face gently between both hands, ‘I couldn’t last long without coming back to see the cats. With Bernard gone, I’ve got to get my cuddles from somewhere, haven’t I?’

  That was when it struck me: an idea of such self-evident simplicity that I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me before. I sat up on the window cushion and fixed Debbie with a stare. She was looking at Jo intently over the rim of her mug and, in the dancing light from the fire, I thought I could make out the faintest trace of a smile around her lips.

  I hoped and prayed she was thinking the same thing as me.

  29

  I rose before dawn on Christmas morning and slipped outside before anyone else was awake. The sky turned incrementally paler as I made a solitary circuit of the churchyard and, by the time I reached the square, the orange sun had peeped over the skyline to reveal a glittering frost on the rooftops. I sat beneath the elm tree and took a moment to enjoy the peacefulness of the scene, in anticipation of what I knew would be a hectic day. Sure enough, when I returned home, I climbed the stairs to find that the household had come to life during my absence.

  A glance into the kitchen revealed the kittens, Jasper and Ming, breakfasting greedily from the food bowls, while in the living room Debbie, Linda and Sophie had gathered in their pyjamas to exchange gifts. I strode towards them with my tail aloft, pausing to look twice at Beau on the rug by Linda’s feet. He was dressed in a lurid green elf costume, complete with jester’s collar, faux buckle-belt around his belly and pointed hat. His face was a picture of abject mortification and, when he saw me looking at him, he lowered his chin miserably onto his paws, causing the tiny bell at the tip of his hat to tinkle.