‘Mum, do you know anyone who works at the cat shelter near Bigbury?’

Her smile of welcome vanished as she came out from behind the counter and piloted me to a table by the window, indicating to Dad to take her place.

He excused himself from the customer he’d been chatting to and joined Gwen, who gave me a close-lipped smile that was more sinister than friendly.

‘You know we believe you should do whatever you want to, Cassie, but is it wise to get a cat with your lifestyle. Would it be fair?’ Mum’s smile looked sandblasted on. ‘What about when you go back to London?’

‘Mum, it’s fine, I’m not getting a cat,’ I said, immediately wishing I could get a cat, even though it wouldn’t be practical. I also wished I could banish the word ‘lifestyle’ from Mum’s vocabulary. ‘I’ve had a good idea; I think you’ll like it.’ Forcing a cheerful tone, I outlined it for her, and when I’d finished she dropped into a chair as if she’d received dreadful news.

‘Cats? In the café?’

‘It’s a thing, Mum.’ I sat opposite and showed her some images on my phone, making sure they were of the cutest cats, being petted by adorable children.

‘But… what about health and safety? It can’t be hygienic,’ she fretted, not even properly taking in the pictures. She looked a bit weary and I wondered, not for the first time, why she and Dad didn’t get a manager in and cut down their hours a bit. I’d suggested it once, a few years ago, and they’d looked at me as though I’d proposed setting fire to the premises.

‘We can’t afford a manager,’ Dad had pointed out, adding swiftly, ‘plus, we love being there.’

There was no doubting they enjoyed what they did, and on the rare occasions they’d taken a break – usually for just a few days – they’d simply closed the café, confident their customers would return once they were back. Family holidays had become a thing of the past once Dad bought the café – not that we’d gone far before, but there’d usually been a trip to Norfolk, or Yorkshire, and even Scotland one year – but now that business had picked up, and would do so again after my events, they really should reconsider employing a manager.

‘… wouldn’t want a death on my hands,’ Mum was saying as I tuned back in, her hands twisting together on top of the table. ‘We’d be closed down for good.’

‘Mum, for goodness sake, no one’s going to die,’ I said. ‘It’ll all be done properly, I’ve looked into it.’

‘But, why the cat shelter?’

‘Because it will prompt people to adopt a cat, once they’ve fallen in love…’ I started to explain, but her eyes were roaming the café as if already seeing something deadly unfolding. I’d never seen Mum look so anxious. It was as if, the longer I was around, her true feelings were breaking through her shell of positivity.

‘Couldn’t people bring in their own?’ she suggested.

Encouraged that she seemed to be considering it, I said, ‘The thing is, not enough people might have a cat, and even if they do, they might not want them mixing with other people’s cats.’

‘So… how does it work?’

‘Someone from the shelter would be here to supervise, and they’d only bring cats that were friendly, so there wouldn’t be any danger of… bloodshed.’ Mum’s eyes nearly popped out. ‘I’m joking,’ I said, reaching over to still her writhing hands. ‘Honestly, Mum, it’ll be lovely.’ I told her about the cat café in New York.

‘Well, if you think so,’ she said, with a bit more confidence. ‘Obviously you did a good job, judging by those photos.’ Oh bugger. She had been looking, and had got the wrong end of the stick.

‘I did,’ I said, unwilling to dash her faith in me. ‘I just thought if you knew someone there, you’d be the best one to call them.’ I could see she was glancing at the table next to us, which needed clearing.

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said, snapping back into work mode as she stood up and beckoned the waitress over to the cluttered table. ‘Shouldn’t you call them, as you’re the one arranging it?’

‘Fine,’ I said, feeling a slump inside. I didn’t want to admit that I had already called and had got short shrift from the woman who’d answered, as she was dealing with a ‘flea’ crisis, and couldn’t talk. It seemed unreasonable to feel hurt when I’d dealt with far stroppier clients, but on the back of my disaster with Connor Daley, I felt like I was losing my touch. ‘Is Meg in today?’ I looked around, thinking how nice it would be to have another chat with her – a proper one, catching up on everything she’d been doing for the last few years.

‘Day off,’ Mum said. ‘She’s at the doctor’s with Sam.’

‘Oh? Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘Sam doesn’t want to wait until after the wedding for them to start trying for a baby now that Meg’s turned thirty,’ she said, becoming gossipy. ‘It’s not happening though, so I think they’re going for tests.’

‘I see.’ There really was a lot of catching up to do. ‘Tilly?’

‘She’s leading a long walk today to Bigbury-on-Sea, so won’t be back for hours.’

‘Right.’ I didn’t fancy hanging around until four, when I was due to meet the artist, and wondered whether to go home and start spreading news of my events on social media. I’d already looked online and found Twitter and Facebook pages for the café, so it wouldn’t be too hard. No need to spend money on printing out flyers these days.

‘Will you let your customers know what I’m doing?’ I said, before Mum became swallowed up in work again. ‘Perhaps write something on the board outside?’

‘Of course I will, love.’ She turned to a woman navigating the tables with a double buggy. ‘Excuse me, but my daughter’s organising some exciting events at the café,’ she said, in the too-bright voice of a weather presenter. ‘I do hope you can attend.’

‘What?’ said the woman, almost running over my foot with the buggy, which contained two runny-nosed toddlers trying to belt each other with their sippy cups.

‘Events, here, at the café.’ Mum looked at me for approval, frowning when I drew my finger across my throat. This clearly wasn’t the right moment.

‘I dunno what I’m doing this afternoon, never mind tomorrow or the day after,’ said the woman, with the slightly manic smile of someone who’d barely slept. ‘These two keep me pretty busy.’

‘There’ll be cats,’ Mum said, bending to grab one of the sippy cups before it was hurled across the floor, just as one of the toddlers started grizzling.

‘They’re allergic,’ said the woman, flinging her buggy forcefully towards the counter, as if trying to transport the children into the future, where fights and tears were a thing of the past.

‘They’re allergic,’ Mum repeated, turning to me with an urgent look I recognised. She was bracing herself to be firm. ‘Cassie, I really don’t think—’

‘As long as people know, they can avoid coming that day,’ I cut in. ‘It’s one day, Mum,’ I added, as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘You’re not going to lose business in one day. In fact, you’re going to gain coachloads of new customers.’

‘Oh, I hope not,’ she said contrarily, glancing vaguely in the direction of the car park. ‘There’s not enough room out there as it is.’

‘Oh, Mum.’ Frustrated, I stood up, unsure what to do next.

‘Your nan might be the best person to call,’ she said, suddenly. ‘I’m sure she got Fleur from that cat place.’

Fleur! I’d completely forgotten Nan’s brief attempt at housing a stately grey cat that turned out to be a ruthless killer, bringing in bloodied remains and depositing them at Nan’s feet like grotesque gifts. ‘Didn’t she give her back though?’

‘No, she gave him to a farmer she was seeing at the time. I think it worked out for the best. For the cat, I mean, not your nan’s relationship.’

Declining an offer of lunch, I decided there was enough time to pay Nan a visit before Vicky Burton turned up with her paintings, so set off back to the house to pick up Sir Lancelot. I wondered whether Danny would be at Nan’s. Not that I had any intention of chatting to him if he was. It was a work-related visit, nothing more. And to see how Nan was doing. I was still unsure about her using an outside toilet and hoped to persuade her that she could live a more environmentally friendly life without going the full Bear Grylls.

---

Nan was in her almost empty living room when I arrived, and I had to admit that, without all the boxes and bags, it was an oddly relaxing space, filled with natural light flowing in through the uncurtained window. No television blaring, no clutter – no furniture, apart from a wooden rocking chair, and a side table piled with books that looked to be about self-sufficiency.

She was standing up, reading one titled Harnessing Solar Power, which prompted an image of her lassoing the sun. ‘Sweetheart, have you come to meditate with me?’ She put down her book and gave me a sunny smile. ‘We should go into the garden and earth ourselves,’ she said. ‘It’s all about being at one with the soil.’

‘I’d rather stay in here, if that’s OK.’ I kissed her soft cheek. ‘I expect Danny’s busy in the garden,’ I added, not sure why I’d even brought him up.

‘Oh, he’s not here at the moment,’ she said. ‘He’s been spiriting all my worldly goods away, and then he’s going to pick up a pipe for my butt.’

I reeled away from her. ‘Nan, I think that’s going too far.’ I had a horrible memory of a TV programme I’d seen, about celebrities having daily enemas as part of a brutal detox regime. ‘It’s dangerous, and not as healthy as you might think.’

The lines on her face deepened. ‘What are you talking about, Cassandra? I won’t be drinking the contents, though I’m sure it would be perfectly safe to.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll be using it for the garden, chérie, don’t worry.’ Her face softened as she cupped my elbows in her palms. ‘It’s lovely of you to be concerned, but it’s entirely natural,’ she said. ‘People have collected rainwater for years.’

It took a second for the penny to drop. Hadn’t Danny mentioned something about it, earlier? ‘A water butt,’ I said weakly.

‘I’ve been meaning to sort something out for a while, but it’s one of those jobs a man can be useful for, and I didn’t want to bother your father.’

I nodded, wondering how on earth my mind had taken me in such an unsavoury direction. ‘How much are you paying for Danny’s help?’ I said, to cover my embarrassment.

‘Not as much as you might think.’ She gave my elbows a little squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not squandering your inheritance.’

Horrified that she’d misunderstood, I said, ‘I’m not worried about that, Nan. You know I don’t want your money.’

‘I was teasing.’ A frown replaced her smile. ‘You really do need to relax, ma puce. Close your eyes.’

Her endearment – little flea – reminded me I’d come to talk cats, but she’d already shut her eyes, and was making a humming sound that seemed to travel to her hands and vibrate through me. It wasn’t unpleasant. I studied her lids, but they were almost translucent, giving the impression she could see right through them, so I allowed my eyes to drift shut.

‘Concentrate on your breathing,’ she directed. ‘I-i-i-i-n and out, i-i-i-i-n and out.’ She demonstrated with swooshing noises, and I found myself copying her, feeling the rise and fall of my chest.

‘From your tummy.’ I felt her hand, firm against my ribcage. ‘Inflate from below your belly button.’

I tried again and felt an immediate difference. My shoulders dropped down from wherever they’d been lurking, and a tiny space opened up inside my head. A calm space, empty of thoughts and feelings, filled with a soft, white light. A space I’d liked to have stayed in a little longer, but a cat sauntered through it and gave me a taunting look.

‘Nan, do you remember where you got Fleur?’ I cracked one eye open to see her looking at me intensely. ‘Nan?’

‘You should keep breathing,’ she said, letting go of my elbows.

I felt oddly unstable for a second, as though I might tip over. ‘I know how to breathe, Nan, but thanks.’ I pushed my hair behind my ears. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got things to do.’

‘You shouldn’t be afraid of the things you do.’ She’d gone all serious, and I remembered how it had amused Rob and me when she’d go into what we called her Dear Deirdre mode, after the agony aunt whose column we used to read in the newspapers that customers left behind at the café. The letters had salacious headlines, like Sexy Cabin Girl Showed me the Ropes on Ferry, but Deirdre’s answers were always earnest and sensible.

‘It’s just a saying, Nan,’ I said, even as it struck me that maybe I was a little bit afraid. But only of getting things wrong, when I needed them to go right. ‘I was wondering whether you had a contact at the cat rescue place near Bigbury.’ It sounded silly – as if I was planning to break in and set them all free.

‘Oh, I’m barred from there,’ Nan said, gliding across to the window. Her posture had definitely improved – perhaps because she wasn’t weighed down by jewellery, expensive knitwear and hairspray. ‘I gave them a piece of my mind, I’m afraid, for not warning me that Fleur was unstable.’

A giggle lodged in my throat. ‘I think she was doing what cats do,’ I said. ‘It’s not like they can psychologically profile them all.’

‘Hmmm.’ She turned, her eyebrows riding high. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I’m organising an event for the café, involving cats,’ I said. ‘I thought it might help my case if they knew you’d previously adopted one, but clearly not.’

‘Danny helps out there sometimes,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘You could always ask him to have a word, when he gets back.’

Bloody hell. Was there any pie Danny Fleetwood didn’t have a finger in? ‘And of course he has the van, if you needed anything transporting.’ She seemed to like that word.

‘It’s fine, I need to sort it out today, really.’

Nan looked at me a moment longer, as if trying to work me out. ‘I was going to pick some radishes to make soup for my dinner, would you like to help?’ she said at last. ‘It’s very… how do you say it?’ She tilted her head, seeking a suitable French phrase, instead of just saying the English one she knew perfectly well.

‘Grounding?’ I suggested. ‘As in, fingers in the ground, connected to nature, the soil, et cetera.’

‘No, no.’ She thought some more, then snapped her fingers. ‘De la terre, that’s it.’ Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ‘It means, of the earth.’

‘That’s what I just said.’

She tutted. ‘You were always mischievous, even as a child,’ she said fondly. ‘Don’t lose that, Cassandra. Being a successful businesswoman is all well and good, but you must have fun as well, like I have had since your grandfather died.’

Fun. The word gave me a jolt. It was what Danny had been implying with his ‘all work and no play’ comment, but now I thought about it, when had I last had fun? Talking to Meg and Tilly, yesterday. Before that? Being out with Adam had been fun. OK, it had been a bit fraught with tension, too, knowing I could get called in to work at any moment, and trying to be bright and witty all the time, but we had laughed a lot. And in New York, I’d enjoyed walking through Central Park, kicking through leaves like a character in a movie, before Nina had called to tell me I was late to a client meeting.

‘Cassandra, do you enjoy your job?’

I hadn’t realised that Nan was still observing me from the window. She looked like a mystical figure in her robe, with her long silver plait dangling over one shoulder, and the light from the window haloing her head.

‘Of course I do!’ It sounded shriller than I’d intended. ‘I’m in a transition period at the moment, that’s all,’ I said, levelling my tone. ‘I’m hoping to start something on my own.’

‘And you need cats for this?’

Relieved she’d taken me at my word, I smiled and said, ‘Maybe.’

‘Just call and tell them what you want,’ she said. ‘They can only say no.’

It sounded simple put like that, but if they said no, I’d be back to square one. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it now.’

Nan gave a little bow, playing up the wise-woman role. ‘I’ll be in the garden if you need me,’ she said.

When she’d gone outside, I took a breath and called the shelter again, praying I’d get hold of someone more approachable.

‘Sounds like a fab idea,’ said a woman called Liz who answered the phone this time. After I’d explained what I wanted, using more words than necessary, including telling her all about the cat café in New York, she said, ‘Let’s do it.’

Having gone through the details and arrangements, we settled on the time and date and, afterwards, I stood for a moment in the quiet room, amazed it had been that simple.

I glanced through the window, wondering when Danny might be back, and jumped when my phone rang in my hand, the ringtone too loud in the silence.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Cassie, there’s someone here to see you.’ She sounded unusually rattled. ‘Her name’s Vicky.’

Oh god, I’d completely forgotten the time. ‘Tell her I’m on my way,’ I said, glad I’d brought the car instead of walking. ‘Take a look at her paintings, Mum, they’re great.’

‘I already have.’ Her voice was stiff with disapproval. ‘I’m a bit surprised, to be honest, Cassie. I thought you knew about art.’

My heart dropped. ‘Don’t you like them?’

‘They’re nicely done, I suppose,’ Mum said. ‘But they’re hardly appropriate for a family establishment.’

I thought of the tasteful sunsets and sunrises on Vicky’s website – the sunburst storm cloud. ‘In what way?’ There was a pause. ‘Mum?’

When she finally spoke, I wished she hadn’t. ‘The people in them don’t have any clothes on,’ she said.