On one occasion, Sophie slammed the café door shut behind her with such ferocity that the birds on the roof were sent flapping upwards in alarm. Debbie, who was wearing her dressing-gown and slippers, followed her daughter out into the alley, pleading with her to come back inside, but to no avail. Sophie had disappeared round the corner, leaving Debbie standing alone in the cold night air. Debbie turned to head back inside, and my heart welled with pity at the desolate look on her face. I crept out from under the fire escape and trotted over to her, mewing cheerfully. She smiled and bent down to stroke me. ‘I’m not that bad, am I, puss?’ she asked sadly. I wrapped myself around her legs and purred until I saw a faint smile appear around her lips. I stayed close to her ankles as she walked to the door but when, as usual, she stopped me at the threshold, I retreated obediently to my shelter.
Sometimes, after darkness had fallen, I would jump onto the dustbin and watch Debbie through the window as she cleared up at the end of the day. The café kitchen was lit up by strips of harsh yellow lights, which gleamed brilliantly on the stainless-steel surfaces. Unaware that I was watching her, Debbie would move around the kitchen placing plastic containers in the fridge, wiping down worktops and washing up in the sink. She usually sang to herself as she worked, but occasionally her voice would tail off and she would stare out of the window, looking preoccupied and thoughtful.
The first time it happened I thought she was staring at me, and my heart lurched in hope that she had noticed me and might be about to invite me in. But I quickly realized I was invisible to her in the dark alley, and that all she could see in the window was the reflection of the brightly lit kitchen around her. Rather than looking at me, she was simply gazing into space, lost in thought. It reminded me a little of how Margery had acted in the early days of her illness, becoming distracted in the middle of a domestic chore, her mind wandering away to some place where I couldn’t follow her. I studied Debbie’s face, looking for clues as to what might be going on in her mind, fearing that this momentary distraction would be followed by the confusion and distress that I had seen so often in Margery. But these episodes only ever lasted for a few seconds, after which Debbie would give her head a quick shake and carry on with her task, and I would breathe a sigh of relief.
It was easy to lose track of time as I gazed at Debbie through the window, and I maintained my surveillance from the dustbin until she had turned off the lights and gone upstairs. Sometimes, as I made my way back to the fire escape, I would notice the green eyes of the tomcat fixed on me as he lurked in the shadows. The sight of him always made me jump, and I would wonder how long he had been there, watching me as I had been watching Debbie, and what thoughts lay behind his intense stare.
The epiphany that I had been waiting for finally happened on a grey, wet evening at the end of January. It was raining steadily but, rather than seeking shelter from the rain, I sat on the doorstep, listening to the gurgling drainpipe as I waited for six o’clock. Unpleasant as it was, getting drenched was part of my plan. I had followed Nancy’s advice by not being too needy, but now I decided Debbie would benefit from a less subtle approach. It was a gamble, but for my plan to work I needed to look a sorry sight when she opened the door and found me. As the church bells chimed six, I heard Debbie unlock the door. ‘Oh dear, puss, look at the state of you,’ she said pityingly, exactly as I had hoped she would.
I gazed at her and mouthed a silent meow. She frowned, bending down to wipe some of the rainwater off my coat, and I rubbed my face against her hand gratefully. She looked concerned as she crouched down to place the food bowl in front of me. I resisted the urge to bury my face in the bowl, knowing that if I did, she would stand up and turn to go inside. Instead I ignored the food and held her gaze. It was raining hard and before long she was almost as sodden as I was. I mouthed another plea at her, following it up with a rub of my head against her knees.
She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, before standing up. With one hand on the door handle, she dropped her head as if in submission. ‘I suppose you might as well come in, puss,’ she said, a smile of surrender on her face. She pushed open the café door and, without so much as a backward glance, I trotted inside.
15
Debbie placed the bowl in front of me on the kitchen floor, so I ate a few mouthfuls out of courtesy, although my appetite had vanished in my excitement at being allowed in. When I felt I had eaten enough not to appear ungrateful, I padded through to the front of the café while Debbie finished her chores in the kitchen.
The café was lit only by the glow of the street lights outside, but even in the dark I knew that my initial impression of a rundown establishment had been well founded. Much of the floor area was taken up with an ugly glass-and-metal serving counter, its plastic shelves yellowing with age. I tiptoed between wobbly aluminium tables and sniffed at the musty linoleum underfoot. There was a black stove in the stone fireplace, but it was cold to the touch and, judging by the dust that coated it, looked like it had not been used for a long time.
It felt strange to be inside again after so long outdoors. The atmosphere seemed enclosed, the background soundtrack of birds in distant treetops replaced by the electrical hum of kitchen appliances. I turned and walked towards the curved bay window at the front of the café, jumping onto the windowsill to look out through the square panes of glass. The street outside was deserted, and raindrops bounced silently on the wet cobbles.
Debbie switched off the kitchen lights and walked through to the café. I hopped down from the window and approached her with my tail up in greeting. She sat down at a little table and held a hand out towards me, smiling. I trotted over and leapt up onto her lap, purring my gratitude that she had finally taken me in. The sound of sniffing made me look up, and I was dismayed to see that tears were sliding down Debbie’s cheeks as she stroked me. I blinked slowly at her, trying to communicate that she might feel better if she talked to me. She sighed and rubbed me behind the ears.
‘You know, puss, you’re the first one to show me any affection in a long time,’ she whispered. I licked her hand to reassure her that, if it was my affection she wanted, she had come to the right cat. She nuzzled her face against the back of my head while I kneaded her lap with my paws and we remained that way, sitting in the dark, silent café until eventually I dozed off. I was only vaguely aware of Debbie standing up underneath me, then carefully placing me back on the chair while I remained curled in a ball. I rearranged myself on the seat, which was still warm from her body. She whispered, ‘Night-night, puss’, before climbing the flight of stairs that led from the café to the flat above.
The next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the bay window and I could hear footsteps and voices through the ceiling. Startled momentarily to find that I was not under the fire escape in the alley, I sat up and looked around me. The drab greyness of the floor and dirty walls was even more apparent in the bright morning light. The woodwork, which had once been white, was yellow and peeling in places, and the metal tables were scratched. I heard a footfall and voices on the stairs.
Sophie was the first to appear in the café, glowering suspiciously at me. ‘How do you know it hasn’t got fleas, or worse?’ she scowled.