Molly and the Cat Cafe

I felt quite overcome by emotion. I didn’t know whether I was more touched by the fact that Debbie had named the café after me or that it was Sophie who had suggested it. I did know, however, that I loved the name as much as I loved the new café, and that it was now, without a doubt, my home.

22

Molly’s Café opened for business the following day. I could sense Debbie’s nerves as she turned the door sign to ‘Open’, then stood behind the counter, watching anxiously as people walked passed the window. It was a Thursday, which was market day in Stourton, and the streets were busy, yet the café remained empty, overlooked by the passers-by intent on visiting the market. I sat on my cushion in the window, willing for it to rain so that people would be driven indoors, but the sky stayed stubbornly blue.

At lunchtime the bell over the door tinkled at last, and a couple with a small child walked in. The little girl immediately set off to follow the pink paw prints on the floor, tottering excitedly to the end of the trail, where she found me sitting majestically on my cushion. ‘Cat!’ she exclaimed, pointing at me and clapping her hands, to her parents’ indulgent laughter.

Debbie brought a high chair out of the kitchen, and the family ate lunch at the table in the window while I washed on my cushion next to them. Debbie cast nervous glances in our direction when the little girl staggered towards me and grabbed a handful of my fur, but I merely twitched my tail while her mother gently loosened her grip.

‘Can I tempt any of you with a pudding?’ Debbie offered as she cleared away their plates, gesturing to the selection of cakes and pastries on the serving counter. She beamed as the family ordered two chocolate brownies and an ice cream.

The sight of customers at the front table seemed to have an encouraging effect on passers-by, drawing them to the window to read the menu and peer inside. By mid-afternoon the market had started to wind down and there was a steady trickle through the door of weary shoppers, longing for a restorative slice of cake after the exertion of market-shopping. They spoke in hushed voices, but I could detect appreciative murmurings as they admired the café’s decor and perused the new menu. Relieved of their heavy bags, they soon began to relax in the calm surroundings of the café, soothed by my purring presence as I weaved between the tables. By late afternoon I was feeling sleepy and soon dozed off in the window, to the pleasant background hum of small talk and laughter.

Jo came around after work the following day, bringing the usual Friday night takeaway. ‘I love what you’ve done with the place, Debs!’ she said sincerely. ‘And I particularly love the colour on the walls. So much nicer than those drab greys you were considering.’

‘Yes, you were right, Jo – you can stop going on about it now,’ Debbie replied, emptying the dishwasher for the second time that evening.

Jo dished the food onto plates while Debbie finished up in the kitchen.

‘So, how’s it going? Has the redesign paid off?’ Jo asked, as soon as they had tucked into their meal.

‘So far, so good. We had twelve covers at lunch today, and then eight more for tea,’ Debbie announced proudly.

‘This is a turning point for you, Debs – I can feel it,’ Jo replied.

‘I really hope you’re right, Jo. I can’t afford for it to fail. I’m in debt up to here,’ Debbie held her hand up to her chin, ‘and I’ve yet to replace the boiler.’

Jo nodded slowly, glancing sidelong at Debbie as she took a sip of wine. ‘So, has John been in to see the new look?’ she asked casually.

Debbie bristled. ‘No, why would he?’

‘I just thought he might have popped in to, you know, sample the wares.’ Debbie shot her a look. ‘I mean the food, obviously!’ Jo laughed.

‘Well, he did text me earlier in the week,’ Debbie admitted.

Jo looked at her shrewdly. ‘Go on.’

‘He said something about going for a drink, but I was too busy to reply and then it kind of slipped my mind.’ Debbie’s tone was offhand.

Jo stared at her. ‘It slipped your mind?’ she repeated incredulously.

‘Oh, Jo, don’t be like that. He probably just wanted to nag me about the boiler.’

‘Of course,’ Jo agreed sarcastically. ‘I’m sure he asks all his customers for a drink, just to remind them to replace their boilers.’

Debbie rolled her eyes. ‘Please, Jo, just leave it, would you?’

There was an awkward pause between them while Jo sipped her wine and Debbie played with the food on her plate. Jo finally broke the silence. ‘Well, all I’m saying is that he’s a nice bloke, and there’s a lot to be said for that. Plus, he’s not a member of the Lawn Bowls Society, and there’s a lot to be said for that too.’ Jo drew her finger and thumb across her lips to indicate that she would say no more on the matter, then went to the kitchen to find another bottle of wine.