Molly and the Cat Cafe

‘Andrew decided we should buy a place, rent it out and manage it ourselves. He said managing other people’s property was a mug’s game, that the real money was made by the landlords. I wasn’t sure – property in Oxford’s not exactly cheap, and we could only just afford our own mortgage – but he was adamant. He said it would be an investment, a nest egg for our future. He’d already found a place, a repossessed house that was up for auction. The plan was to convert it into flats . . .’ Debbie’s voice cracked, and her eyes stayed fixed on the table.

John had remained completely motionless while she spoke, listening intently.

‘Anyway, we bought it, but the renovations seemed to go on forever. It turned out the property was a wreck: subsidence, damp – you name it. Andrew became obsessed, spending all his time there. Sophie and I hardly ever saw him. Meanwhile I was trying to hold things together at home. The phone was ringing off the hook, tenants complaining that repairs hadn’t been done, and landlords saying the rent hadn’t been paid. And I told all of them that everything would be okay, that we were on top of it, there was nothing to worry about.’ Debbie’s face crumpled. ‘But there was more to worry about than I realized.’ She hung her head, and I could see tears drop into her lap. ‘He’d been keeping the rent money,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper. ‘Taking it from the tenants, but rather than paying the landlords, he’d been pumping it into that money-pit of a house. I only found out when one of the landlords turned up on our doorstep.’ Her shoulders shook as she sobbed silently.

‘That must have been horrific,’ John said.

‘That wasn’t the worst of it,’ Debbie continued. ‘When it all came out, the police got involved. Andrew claimed that he knew nothing about it, that I’d been responsible for the company finances and he had no idea what had been going on. We were both charged with obtaining property by deception.’

Debbie had slumped low in her chair. She looked broken, distraught, and I was desperate to comfort her.

‘It didn’t wash in court, of course,’ she went on. ‘The bank had evidence that he’d handled all the money transfers. He got nine months, suspended on the basis that it was his first offence. He was liable for court costs and compensation and, because everything was in our joint names, we had to sell our home.’ She exhaled a long breath and lifted her chin. ‘Of course that was when he decided to tell me that he’d met someone else.’

‘The bastard!’ John said. Debbie mustered a rueful smile and pulled a tissue out of her pocket to wipe her eyes.

‘So there you have it,’ she concluded. ‘That’s my dirty laundry, now aired in public, thanks to a bitter, lonely old woman. Yes, I was once investigated by the police, but my name was cleared. The question is: What are you going to do about it?’

34

Jo and Debbie were in the café kitchen a couple of nights later, preparing for their Friday night takeaway. Jo was reading the letter with a look of growing horror, while Debbie separated the slices of their pizza with a knife.

‘The evil witch!’ Jo tossed the letter onto the worktop in disgust. ‘Please tell me John wasn’t taken in by it?’

Debbie shook her head. ‘I thought it was touch-and-go for a while, but no, he wasn’t taken in. Turns out she used to own this place, and has had it in for anyone who’s run it since.’

‘It makes my blood boil, Debs – it really does,’ Jo replied, prising the lids off two bottles of beer. ‘How dare she make accusations like that about you? And in such an underhand way, too. She should at least have the nerve to say it to your face.’

They moved across the café to a table, where Debbie placed the pizza box between them. ‘I know and, believe me, I was livid when I first read it. But then I realized that she’s just a sad, lonely woman who has nothing better to do with her time than try and ruin other people’s lives. She’s tried everything else to get at me, and this was her last-ditch attempt.’ Debbie took a sip of beer, but Jo’s brow remained knitted.

‘I think you’re being very understanding, Debs. I bet her fingerprints are all over that letter. If it was me, I’d get the police onto her. It’s libel!’

Debbie sighed. ‘She’s not worth it, Jo. She’s just a bitter old woman and, despite her best attempts, she’s failed. The café’s doing better than ever, and John and I are okay. I don’t want to waste any more time thinking about her.’

Jo frowned as she took a bite of pizza, seemingly reluctant to let the subject drop. The smell of their meal had drifted up to the flat and the kittens soon appeared at the bottom of the stairs. They sniffed the air hopefully, before running towards the table in search of scraps.