Molly and the Cat Cafe

Debbie’s face tightened. I had never heard her talk about Sophie’s father. ‘Not for a couple of weeks. He texted her to say he was going travelling with his girlfriend, and did she want anything from Duty Free?’

Jo winced, but Debbie’s face remained a study of neutrality. She took a sip of wine, beginning to relax under Jo’s supportive gaze.

‘I know Sophie blames me for what happened,’ Debbie said sadly. ‘She thinks I decided to up sticks and move here just because I fancied it. But how can I explain it to her? He’s her father – I’ve got to let her have the best relationship she can with him.’

‘It’s a tough one,’ Jo agreed. ‘It seems unfair, but . . . I guess you just have to let her work things out in her own time.’ They ate in silence, Debbie’s unhappiness almost tangible in the air. As she ate, Jo glanced at Debbie, registering her melancholy expression. ‘So, do you want to hear about my latest romantic adventure?’ she grinned, tilting her head coquettishly.

Debbie’s face broke into a smile. ‘Always!’ she answered, leaning forward attentively in her chair.

‘Well, I’m continuing to cut a swathe through Stourton’s population of single men,’ Jo began in mock-grandiosity, to Debbie’s delighted giggling. She went on to describe a recent dinner date with a member of the Stourton Amateur Dramatic Society – ‘SADS by name, sad by nature,’ she said with a wink. The evening had started well; her date seemed rather pleased with himself, but other than that he was perfectly pleasant. Jo paused for dramatic effect, taking a sip from her wine glass, as Debbie waited for the inevitable punchline. That was until pudding arrived, Jo went on, when her date had launched into an impromptu performance of a song from SADS’ latest production. ‘And let me tell you, Debbie,’ she wagged a finger decisively, ‘until you’ve been serenaded in a restaurant by a middle-aged man singing “A Modern Major General” – badly, I might add – you haven’t lived!’

Debbie raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, while Jo helped herself to more wine. The alcohol in their drinks had begun to take effect; their facial expressions were becoming more exaggerated, their voices louder. ‘There must be some eligible men in Stourton? Surely there’s hope for us both?’ Debbie asked, in half-sincere desperation.

‘Oh, of course there are plenty,’ Jo replied gravely. ‘If it’s a recently-retired member of the Lawn Bowls Society you’re after, then you’ll be spoilt for choice!’

Debbie snorted, then held up her glass in a toast. ‘To the Lawn Bowls Society! I’ll be signing up first thing tomorrow.’

Jo raised her glass and they both took a gulp of wine, their eyes glassy.

‘In all seriousness, though, I doubt the Lawn Bowls Society would have me,’ Debbie said morosely, slumping back in her chair. ‘The good people of Stourton have made it very clear that I’m most definitely not one of them.’

Jo smiled sympathetically.

‘We’ve been here six months, Jo, and apart from you I haven’t made a single friend,’ Debbie went on. ‘It’s like people don’t trust us. There’s one old crone who walks past here every day, and no matter how friendly I am, she doesn’t say a word. Won’t even smile.’

‘I know,’ Jo agreed, in a tone of resignation. ‘The Stourton old guard will only grace your business with their custom if you’ve lived here for at least forty years. I’ve run the hardware shop since 1998 and some of them still won’t step foot in it.’ She was doing her best to reassure her friend but, judging from the doleful look on Debbie’s face, it didn’t seem to be working.

‘But if I can’t win round the locals, then I really am doomed,’ Debbie despaired. ‘I can’t compete with all the foodie places round here, with their artisan this and locally sourced that. Don’t Stourton people ever want a nice simple sandwich or baked potato for their lunch?’

By now she had consumed several glasses of wine and I could tell that her emotions were running high.

‘I mean, is it really too much to ask of people – to give a local business a chance? Okay, it might not be a sustainable, organic, locally sourced sandwich, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a good sandwich.’ Debbie looked flushed, and she paused to pour herself a glass of water.

‘I know what you mean,’ Jo replied. ‘Personally, I wouldn’t waste my money in any of those places. Give me a bacon roll any day.’

There was silence as Debbie gulped water from her glass. They had finished eating and Debbie placed the foil food trays on the floor, calling me over to devour the remnants of their creamy chicken curry and garlic prawns. Delighted, I jumped down and ran over to them. Debbie and Jo both laughed at my ravenousness as I greedily attacked the discarded prawn shells.

‘Maybe the café just needs a unique selling point, Debs.’ Jo’s voice sounded forcibly upbeat. ‘Something to make you stand out from the crowd.’