Christmas at the Cat Cafe

When I awoke at the foot of Debbie’s bed, I discovered she had already risen. I padded downstairs and found her in the kitchen, shooting impatient looks at the closed living-room door, while roughly stacking dirty plates in the dishwasher. When, some time later, Linda finally emerged in a state of puffy-eyed disarray, she found a frosty Debbie hanging damp laundry over the hallway radiator.

‘Morning, Debs. Can I do anything to help?’ Linda asked.

‘The dishwasher will need unloading,’ answered Debbie curtly. Linda rolled up her dressing-gown sleeves and headed diligently into the kitchen.

A little while later, Debbie was extracting the vacuum cleaner from the hallway cupboard when the bell over the café door tinkled.

‘Deb, it’s me,’ shouted a man’s voice from downstairs. It was John, Debbie’s boyfriend.

‘Hi, John, come up,’ Debbie called over the banister.

Feeling relieved, I padded across the hallway to meet him. John’s gentle manner was just what the flat needed on this rather tense Saturday morning.

John hummed to himself as he made his way up the narrow staircase and smiled jovially as he rounded the top of the stairs. ‘Croissants,’ he said, handing a large paper bag to Debbie, before kissing her lightly. John was tall but stockily built, with sandy hair and a kind, freckled face. I had always liked him, not least because I had been instrumental in bringing him and Debbie together.

‘Come and meet my sister,’ Debbie said, leading John into the living room, where Linda was sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. ‘John, Linda. Linda, John.’

‘Nice to meet you, Linda,’ John said, holding out his arm to shake Linda’s hand, whereupon Beau, who had been asleep on the rug, jerked awake in alarm at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice. Upon seeing a strange man advancing, arm outstretched, towards his owner, Beau was unable to contain his guard-dog instincts. He leapt to his feet in panic.

‘Beau, stop it!’ Linda shouted over the animal’s frenzied barking. ‘I mean it, Beau!’ she pleaded ineffectually, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as Beau snarled and snapped around John’s ankles.

John’s eyes crinkled into a smile as he regarded his furry assailant with mild surprise. Dropping to his haunches, he put a hand out for Beau to sniff. ‘At ease, fella. We’re all friends, here,’ he said placidly.

‘I’m so sorry, John, he’s not normally aggressive,’ Linda apologized, as Beau’s damp muzzle twitched across John’s fingers.

‘He’s just being territorial,’ Debbie cut in drily. ‘He’s a Lapsang Souchong, you know.’

Linda shot her sister a look over the top of John’s head. ‘Lhasa Apso, Debs,’ she said crisply. ‘He’s a dog, not a cup of tea.’

Reassured that John posed no immediate threat, Beau retreated to his corner of the rug. He lay down and lowered his chin onto his forepaws, but maintained his beady surveillance of John, lest his services as Linda’s bodyguard be required after all.

The buttery smell of freshly baked croissants had lured Sophie downstairs from her bedroom for the first time since her ill-tempered departure at dinner. She hovered in the doorway, watching hungrily as Debbie piled them onto a plate in the middle of the dining table.

‘Morning, Soph, how are you?’ John asked warmly.

‘Good, thanks,’ she mumbled.

While Debbie made coffee, John and Linda chatted at the dining table. Once John had established that Linda found Stourton charming and thought Molly’s was fabulous, Linda swiftly turned the topic to John himself.

‘So, Debbie tells me you’ve lived in Stourton all your life?’ she enquired, popping a chunk of croissant into her mouth.

‘Born and bred,’ John nodded.

‘And you’re a plumber, I gather,’ Linda probed.

‘That’s right. Did Debbie mention how her boiler nearly burnt the place down?’

Debbie had just placed their drinks on the table, and she rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, all right, John – are you ever going to stop going on about that? Besides, if it hadn’t been for the boiler, you and I might never have met.’

Whether it was the effect of the croissants or John’s good-natured presence, the residual awkwardness from the previous evening seemed to dissipate. Debbie looked more relaxed than she had done for days, and even Sophie seemed in no hurry to leave. Once all that was left of the croissants was a scattering of crumbs on the table top, Debbie drained her coffee cup and glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry to break up the party,’ she said, with a sombre look at John, ‘but we’ve got to get the cats to the vets.’