Molly and the Cat Cafe

They shot him withering looks, and soon John was set to work fixing the stove, while Debbie and Jo discussed how best to dismantle the serving counter. I suspected it was going to be a noisy and dusty afternoon, so I decided to leave them to it and head upstairs to sleep off my low mood in the flat.

The smell of takeaway food drifting up the stairs woke me. Night had fallen and I could hear Debbie and Jo chatting as they dragged a table and chairs across the café. Sophie must have returned home during the afternoon, as I found her half-heartedly rooting around inside the fridge. When Debbie called up to ask her if she fancied joining them for a curry, Sophie shouted back, ‘Yeah, okay,’ without hesitation.

Not wanting to be left out, I followed Sophie downstairs. The café looked completely different from when I had last seen it. The grey lino had gone, revealing handsome flagstones underneath, and the serving counter had also been removed, exposing a wide section of floor that had not seen the light of day for decades. John had gone, but the stove in the fireplace was working, a healthy yellow flame flickering inside the blackened glass door. In spite of its emptiness, the café felt imbued by the warm firelight with a cosy intimacy. Even Sophie seemed momentarily taken aback, pausing on the bottom step to take in the transformation.

‘Well, Soph? Looking better already, don’t you think?’ Debbie asked. Her overalls were covered in dust and thick strands of hair had slipped out of her ponytail.

Sophie had headphones in her ears, but nodded in agreement. Debbie pulled a chair up to the table for Sophie, and Jo handed her a plate. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled under her breath, spooning out some rice and a little curry.

‘What do you think of the tiles, Sophie?’ Jo asked her, gesturing proudly to the flagstones.

‘Dunno, could do with a clean, I suppose,’ Sophie answered noncommittally.

Jo pretended to take offence. ‘She’s a chip off the old block, isn’t she?’ she said to Debbie. ‘You work your fingers to the bone, and all she does is complain about the dirt! You’re as bad as your mother, Sophie!’

Sophie looked chastened and regretful. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Don’t worry, Sophie,’ Debbie cut in. ‘She’s just pulling your leg, aren’t you, Jo?’

Jo grinned, and Sophie surreptitiously slipped her headphones out of her ears, placing her phone on the table. ‘Fire’s nice,’ she said, chewing a mouthful of curry.

The three of them looked towards the stove, where I had wasted no time in stretching out to bask in its warm glow. ‘It certainly looks like Molly approves,’ Debbie chuckled.

Debbie and Jo ate ravenously after the day’s exertions and, with Sophie picking at the food as well, I began to despair of there being any leftovers for me. Although I had spent a quiet day indoors, I was unusually hungry. I waited patiently for them all to finish, and eventually Debbie put the foil trays on the floor for me to lick. She cleared away the plates, and when she returned from the kitchen she was clutching a paint chart.

‘Right, ladies, your assistance is required. I need to choose a colour for the walls, and can’t decide between Mouse’s Breath, Smoked Mackerel and Drizzle. What do you think?’

Debbie held up the chart in front of them. Jo wrinkled her nose uncertainly and Sophie looked nonplussed.

‘Mum, they’re all horrible,’ she said. ‘Mousy-grey, fishy-grey or rainy-grey. Urgh!’

Debbie looked downcast, and turned to Jo for backup. ‘I thought they were muted and tasteful. Very Stourton. Don’t you agree, Jo?’

Jo avoided her gaze. ‘Pass it here,’ she said, sidestepping the question. She put her hand out to take the chart from Debbie. ‘They may be very Stourton, but I think Sophie’s right. There must be something here with a bit more colour.’

Jo unfolded the chart, holding it up to the light every now and then. ‘Aha!’ she exclaimed. ‘Surely this has to be the one!’ She turned the chart towards the others and pointed at a square of pale pink.

‘I suppose it’s nice,’ Debbie said half-heartedly, still smarting from the unanimous dismissal of her favoured shades.

‘You don’t sound too sure, Debs, but you know what’s going to clinch the deal for you? It’s called Molly’s Blushes.’

At the sound of my name I looked up from the empty foil tray, which I had been licking across the floor.

Debbie took the paint chart for a closer look. ‘I suppose pink might make the place look friendly,’ she said uncertainly. ‘What do you think, Soph?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s all right, I s’pose. Better than grey, at least.’

Debbie frowned at the chart thoughtfully. ‘Yes, okay, why not? Everyone likes pink, right?’ she said decisively, her frown giving way to a smile.

‘That settles it!’ Jo announced, pouring out two glasses of wine. ‘To Molly’s Blushes! Here’s to a fun-packed day of painting tomorrow.’