Мелисса Дэйли - Christmas At The Cat Cafe

The backhanded compliment seemed to glide off Linda, and she gave a nonchalant shrug.

‘Actually, Debs,’ John said quietly, ‘Linda didn’t write the mottoes. I did.’

Debbie looked at him, nonplussed. ‘I, don’t, er . . .’ she stammered in confusion.

‘Molly’s got your Christmas present,’ John explained, taking her by the elbow and steering her across the room towards me.

Debbie looked utterly bewildered as she scanned the windowsill around my cushion. ‘What do you mean, I don’t see any—’ Suddenly she gasped and one hand flew up to her mouth.

John knelt down in front of me and carefully untied the diamond ring he had attached to my collar with a ribbon. ‘Good work, Molly,’ he said, rubbing my head. Then, still kneeling, he turned towards Debbie and fixed her with a look that was at once hopeful and terrified. ‘Molly’s dying to know, Debs. Will you marry me?’

Across the room, Linda was biting her fist, and Sophie had taken out her mobile phone to film them.

Debbie uncovered her mouth and let her trembling hand drop by her side. A suspenseful silence settled over the room.

‘Yes, I will,’ she whispered.

There was a shriek and a whoop from across the café and, beaming broadly, John stood up and slid the ring onto Debbie’s left hand.

‘I can’t believe I just got engaged, wearing a Crazy Cat Lady apron!’ Debbie wailed, smiling through her tears as John pulled her close and kissed her tenderly.

‘At least John knows what he’s letting himself in for,’ Linda remarked, with an air of pragmatism.

‘Don’t worry, I know my place in the pecking order,’ John said with a theatrical sigh, pulling Debbie towards him again and kissing her hair.

While Linda was in the kitchen fetching champagne there was a knock at the window, and I turned to see Jo waving feverishly through the glass.

‘So, I take it congratulations are in order?’ she asked excitedly when Sophie had let her in.

‘Were you in on this, too?’ Debbie replied in disbelief.

‘’Fraid so,’ answered Jo, taking a glass of champagne from Linda. ‘I’ve been waiting for Sophie’s text all morning. I couldn’t set off for Dad’s until I’d come to celebrate with you!’

‘I’m starting to feel like I’ve been set up!’ Debbie said, looking alternately amused and aggrieved as she surveyed the grinning faces all around her.

‘That’s because you have been, Debs,’ Linda replied matter-of-factly.

For twenty minutes they stood around, sipping champagne and laughing while Debbie repeatedly complained about being set up, bemoaned the fact that she looked ridiculous in her apron, and threatened Sophie with indefinite grounding if she so much as thought about posting online the footage of John’s proposal. I watched them all from the windowsill, feeling a glow of pride for the part I had played.

Jo’s glass was still half-full when she took Debbie’s arm. ‘I should be getting off,’ she said softly.

Debbie turned away from the others and said in a low voice, ‘Actually, Jo, there’s something I want to ask you.’

They sat down at the little table nearest the window, just a few inches from my cushion. Debbie’s eyes were shining, whether from emotion or the effects of the two glasses of champagne she had downed in quick succession, I wasn’t sure.

She placed her fingertips on the table edge and said, ‘Now I don’t want you to feel obliged, but I was wondering . . .’

Jo looked at her keenly, but Debbie seemed to have suffered a loss of nerve. Her eyes danced worriedly across the tablecloth.

‘I mean, I know it’s a bit of a strange thing to ask, what with this being a cat café and her being – well, a cat; and I know you’ve got a lot to think about at the moment, and that you’re more of a dog person really.’ Jo continued to stare at Debbie with an expression of patient bafflement. ‘But I just thought, with you losing Bernard and giving up the shop, and moving to the farm, and I know you’ve always had a soft spot for her – oh!’ A hiccup caught Debbie unawares. Looking faintly startled, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.

Jo smiled supportively. ‘Debbie, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ she said at last.

‘What I’m trying to say, Jo, is . . . how would you feel about, feel about . . . adopting Purdy?’

Confusion clouded Jo’s face. ‘Adopting Purdy? You mean, taking her to live with me?’

Debbie nodded. ‘I just thought – after everything that’s happened – it might be nice for both of you to live on the farm. Together.’ She hiccupped again.

There was a pause as Jo absorbed Debbie’s words, then: ‘Debs, are you kidding? I’d love to take Purdy!’ she said breathlessly. ‘But are you sure you want to let her go? I mean, this is her home. Her whole family’s here.’ Jo glanced sideways, and I was touched by the concerned look she gave me.

‘I’m quite sure,’ Debbie answered emphatically. ‘I think she’s outgrown the café – it doesn’t suit her any more. To be honest, she spends more time in your shop than she does here.’ Her eyes started to well up and her face had flooded with colour. ‘And I couldn’t think of a b— a better life for her than on the farm with you,’ she stammered, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Jo’s eyes were suddenly brimful of tears, too. ‘Well, if you think she’ll be happy, Debs, I’d love to. You know I’ve always adored her. It’ll be like taking part of Stourton with me,’ she said with a watery-eyed smile.

‘Exactly!’ Debbie agreed. ‘And of course it’ll mean I have to visit you, to make sure you’re looking after her properly.’ She reached across the table to squeeze Jo’s fingers.

Jo fished in her pocket for a packet of tissues and they each took one and dabbed their eyes. Then Jo glanced at her watch, gasped and stood up.

‘And there was I, thinking you were going to ask me to be your bridesmaid!’ she quipped, fastening her jacket.

Debbie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh my God !’ she shrieked, looking thunderstruck. ‘I almost forgot! I’m getting married! Of course you’ll be my bridesmaid, won’t you?’ Debbie shrieked. ‘Along with Linda and Sophie of course,’ she added, with a worried look across the room at the others.

‘It would be an honour,’ Jo replied, leaning in for a hug.

‘I hope you both like taffeta,’ Linda said drolly, before draining her champagne glass.

On her way out, Jo walked over to the cat hammock where Purdy lay fast asleep, her feet draped languorously over the edges. Jo rose up on tiptoes and stretched her hand out to rub Purdy’s ears. ‘Bye, Purdy. I’ll see you again soon,’ she whispered. Purdy lifted her head and blinked at Jo sleepily.

Even though she had her back to me, I blinked at Jo, too.

Linda had pushed several café tables together to form a row that stretched from the cat tree in the middle of the room to the window. She threw a deep-red cloth over the tabletops and, with painstaking attention to detail, arranged a magnificent display involving candles, garlands, snow-dusted pine cones and table confetti. With Ming’s platform at one end and my cushion at the other, the layout had the unintended effect of looking as though Ming and I were joint heads of the table. I looked across the gilt candelabra at Ming, wondering what she thought of the lavish arrangement, but her eyes were closed. Looming sphinx-like and motionless above the red-and-gold tones of the table decor, she looked even more regal than usual. I had to admit, the grandeur suited her.

‘Right, everyone, dinner is served,’ Debbie shouted, negotiating her way through the café with an enormous turkey on a platter. John and Sophie followed with the side dishes, and Eddie brought up the rear, trotting after them hungrily with his tail aloft. With admiring noises, they all took their seats. Napkins were unfurled, crackers snapped and glasses topped up, while John set to work carving the turkey. When everyone was about to eat, Debbie tapped on the side of her wine glass with her knife and said, ‘I’d just like to raise a toast to Margery. Without her, I doubt we would all be here, celebrating Christmas together. To Margery.’