Molly and the Cat Cafe

Debbie reappeared a few minutes later with mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and mini-marshmallows. Sophie’s face lit up, and for a moment she looked like a little girl rather than a teenager. They sat on the sofa sipping their drinks, whilst trying to bat a persistent Eddie away from the whipped cream. Sophie eventually gave up and allowed him to lick a blob of cream from the tip of her finger, his rumbling purr filling the whole room.

‘So here’s the deal, Sophie,’ Debbie said, suddenly serious. ‘The way things stand, we’re not taking enough to make the monthly repayments for the loan. If we default on the loan, we stand to lose everything – the café, the flat, the whole lot will be repossessed.’ Debbie paused, and Sophie inhaled deeply. ‘So, the way I see it,’ Debbie continued, ‘we have two choices. We either soldier on as we are, hoping that people get used to the idea of Molly’s Café with no Molly, but possibly defaulting on the loan if they don’t.’ Sophie nodded slowly. ‘Or,’ Debbie went on, ‘we sell up now, before we fall behind on the repayments. We could probably get enough from the sale to break even; maybe even have enough left to use as a deposit on a little flat somewhere.’ She paused, watching anxiously as Sophie mulled over the dilemma. ‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.

Sophie’s face was intently serious, and I was struck by how quickly she had switched from little-girl mode to grown-up. ‘I think . . . it’s too soon to give up. You’ve put so much into this place, Mum, and I know you can make it work.’ She put her hand on her mother’s knee encouragingly and Debbie eyes instantly welled up.

‘I don’t know, Soph. I wish I had your faith in me,’ she replied, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

‘But what’s the alternative, Mum? If you sell up and take the money – hopefully buy another little flat somewhere else – then what? We’ll just be back to square one.’

Debbie nodded. ‘I know – you’re right, but it just feels like a massive risk, and I don’t know if it’s fair to do that to you. You’ve got your GCSEs coming up. I should be helping you, not accidentally throwing away your coursework because I’m too busy poring over these bloody accounts!’

Sophie laughed. ‘Don’t worry about my coursework, Mum. I can handle that. You just need to put everything into making the café work. I know you can do it.’

Debbie nodded tearfully, and Sophie leant over to give her a hug, squashing the still-purring Eddie between them.

After they had finished their hot chocolates they both stood up, ready for bed. As Debbie turned out the light, Sophie said, ‘If we do stay here, Mum, what are you going to do about Molly and the kittens?’

Debbie paused. ‘I don’t know, Soph, I just don’t know.’

27

‘We need to build our profile on social media, apparently,’ Debbie announced one Sunday afternoon from behind the laptop. She and Sophie were sitting at the dining-room table, both hard at work.

‘Right,’ Sophie replied vaguely, not lifting her eyes from her schoolwork.

‘I should be tweeting and updating our Instagram feed at least twenty times a day, according to this new-business forum I’ve joined.’

Sophie looked at Debbie, and raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘Mum, do you even know what Instagram is?’

‘Well, no, but I’m prepared to learn! You can show me, can’t you? You’re an expert at all that stuff.’

‘I s’pose. I can show you if you like, but I’ve got to finish my revision.’

Sophie returned to her work, flicking studiously through the pages of her textbook. Debbie started to chuckle, and Sophie’s eyes flicked towards her, puzzled and slightly annoyed.

‘What now, Mum?’

‘Sorry, love, I was just thinking: who would have believed, six months ago, that I would be pestering you to use Instagram, and you would be telling me that you can’t because you’ve got work to do? Who’d have thought it, eh? Or, as a tweeter-er might say: hashtag-never-saw-that-coming.’ Debbie snorted at her own joke.

Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, Mum. Please don’t ever use the word tweeter-er again.’

‘Hashtag-OK,’ Debbie replied with a giggle.

Sophie dropped the textbook onto the table and glared at her mother. ‘Or the word hashtag. Seriously, Mum, stop distracting me. I’ve got work to do.’

Although the café’s future still hung in the balance, Debbie and Sophie’s conversation helped to clear the air between them. Debbie seemed to have drawn strength from Sophie’s conviction that she mustn’t give up on the café without a fight. She became ruthlessly focused on trying to make the business a success, and her research on the laptop led her to try all sorts of initiatives. She introduced a customer loyalty card; tried various promotional offers, such as free cup of tea with every slice of cake; and even touted the notion of building a website for the café. That project had faltered, however, when Debbie had innocently enquired, ‘What’s HTML, Soph?’