After swiftly clearing up the mess and assuring Mum it wouldn’t happen again (‘How do you know, they’re unpredictable?’ she argued), I shot into the passageway after Dickens, almost tripping over a tortoiseshell cat that was weeing against the skirting board.

‘Oh, no,’ I groaned, rushing back for a cloth and some disinfectant spray, relieved that Mum was too preoccupied to ask what I was doing. ‘Why didn’t you use a litter tray, you little… pussycat?’ It wasn’t his (or her) fault, I reminded myself, as it rubbed its purring face against my arm. It was probably just marking its territory.

The floor seemed to be swarming with furry bodies, all appearing as startled to see me as I was to see them.

‘Cruel, leaving them in their carriers all this time.’ Gwen came out of the office and stormed past like the Pied Piper, but with cats instead of rats streaming after her into the café.

I followed, bellowing, ‘Keep the entrance door shut, or the cats will get out!’

I managed to scoop up an attractive long-haired blonde one, and ferried it awkwardly to the office, to match it with its name. ‘Queenie,’ I read, which seemed appropriate, somehow. She squirmed in my hands and I dropped her on the floor, where she promptly shot out a paw and clawed my ankle.

‘OW!’ I collapsed on the chair behind me, and a terrible yowl brought me back to my feet. ‘Oh, god, I’m so sorry,’ I said. I’d almost sat on a cat the same shade as the chair, and attempted to stroke its back – surreptitiously checking for damage – but it drew back its head and hissed at me through bared teeth.

Christ! It looked feral. Or maybe it just didn’t like being sat on.

Deciding to leave it alone – after checking the back door was shut – I grabbed hold of Queenie and dashed back into the café with her clamped to my shoulder. Literally. Her claws were in so deep my eyes flooded with tears.

The amount of customers seemed to have trebled. Word had clearly spread and while part of me was pleased, my overwhelming feeling was one of fright. I was responsible for a dozen rescue cats, with no ‘real guidelines’ and not enough staff to help.

I couldn’t even ask Tilly to stick around, as she was ushering her reluctant walkers through the door, turning to give me a quick wave.

I looked around, scenes leaping out at me. There were mums with pre-schoolers, their toddlers’ chubby hands reaching for twitching tails, and an old man was stuffing a writhing tabby into his shopping bag.

‘Hey, you can’t take them,’ I said, finally unhooking Queenie’s claws and putting her down, before wrestling the cat out of the shopping bag and trying not to scream when it sank razor-sharp teeth into my finger.

‘I was just keeping it warm,’ the man said sadly. He had the look of a retired colonel and reeked of loneliness. I was briefly tempted to give the cat back and turn a blind eye. ‘If you call the shelter, you might be able to adopt him,’ I said, more gently. ‘Or they do a fostering scheme, if you can’t commit to looking after one full time.’

‘They’re a delicacy in China you know.’ The man brightened. ‘I ate one when I lived out there. Tasted just like chicken.’

Hastily backing away, I tried to do a quick head count, to make sure they were all still there – apart from the big cat, Tabitha, who hadn’t materialised yet. One was using a table leg as a scratching post, and another was perched on top, lapping tea from a saucer in a genteel fashion, while a woman wearing an eye-catching leopard-print scarf took photos on her phone. I realised I’d forgotten once more to invite someone from the local paper to cover the event, but it wasn’t too late. About to reach for my phone, I hesitated. The event was horribly reminiscent of the petting-zoo party that had led to me being unceremoniously fired. Perhaps it was best not to have it on record, judging by the way things were going so far.

Shooting forward, I managed to scoop a clump of banana loaf from Dickens’ jaws just before he started to choke. ‘Don’t feed them,’ I said to a sweetly startled girl of about four. Her mother was too busy taking pictures to notice. ‘He has to have special biscuits.’

Gwen swooped down and bundled up Dickens, and the little girl burst into tears.

‘W-w-w-w-want a c-a-a-a-a-t!’ she wailed. ‘Want that cat, now, ple-e-e-e-ase, Mummy, NOW!’

‘This one’s mine,’ said Gwen. I could tell she was trying to be calm and friendly, but it didn’t transfer to her face. The girl emitted an ear-piercing shriek, as though she’d encountered the witch from Hansel and Gretel.

‘MUMM-I-I-I-I-I-I-E!’

Three of the cats flew past me, ears flattened.

‘What are you doing?’ Finally, the girl had her mother’s attention. She spotted Gwen backing away with Dickens, as though taking him hostage. ‘Hey, I wanted a picture of Lucy with that cat.’

‘They’re not photo opportunities,’ I snapped, even though everyone else was taking pictures. ‘They’re damaged, and looking for homes.’

‘If they’re damaged, they shouldn’t be here,’ sniped the mum, slinging her phone in her bag. She picked up her sobbing daughter and stroked her hair. ‘You can’t advertise a cat day and then tell us we can’t take picture of the cats.’

‘I wasn’t,’ I said, even though I just had. ‘We need a calm environment, that’s all, and not to be fighting over them.’

‘She was the one fighting,’ said the mum, glaring at Gwen, who was trying to help Mum serve customers with Dickens under one arm. ‘And isn’t she breaking health and safety rules?’

‘Hygiene,’ I said pickily, pushing through the cooing customers to the counter.

Never work with children or animals. Why hadn’t I learnt my lesson? Both were prone to erratic behaviour, and the grown-ups weren’t much better.

‘Mum, she shouldn’t have the cat behind here.’ I didn’t want to undermine her by telling Gwen off myself. Not that I’d have dared to.

‘Gwen, put the cat down,’ Mum said, spraying around the Dettox I’d used in the passageway, giving the almost empty bottle a puzzled glance.

‘He’s frightened,’ Gwen said, even though Dickens looked positively perky, peering around with his one good eye from underneath Gwen’s arm.

‘Go and stand by the door and make sure they don’t escape,’ I said, and to my surprise, she did, crooning to Dickens as she stomped past.

‘Stroking a cat is good for the soul,’ said a willowy woman with plaits in her hair, smoothing a hand down the back of a pretty grey cat called… I scanned the page in my hand. It must be the Persian, called Rita. ‘I’m definitely going to put in an offer for this one,’ she said, as though Rita was a house.

At least the cats seemed to be enjoying the fuss and attention, and the initial hubbub had quietened to a respectable hum by the time the door opened and Adam strode in, looking fresh-faced and content. He was wearing smart trousers with a round-necked jumper over a light-blue shirt, and I wished I’d thought to pop to the Ladies and refresh my appearance. My clothes were coated in cat fur, and I had a feeling my hair – which I’d attempted to tousle with a styling wand – had gone flat on at least one side.

Adam cast a sweeping glance around, taking everything in, and when he’d located me he lifted a hand in greeting. I seemed to be nailed to the spot, so he made his way over, expertly side-stepping Dickens, who must have escaped Gwen’s clutches and was basking in a square of sunlight on the floor. ‘He’s an accident waiting to happen,’ he said, when he reached me, the curl of a smile on his face. ‘This is a fantastic idea.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, attempting a modest little smile of my own. Up close, he seemed bigger and more vibrant than the night before, his eyes darker than an Americano coffee. His cologne wafted over me as he bent to kiss my cheek, and I hoped I didn’t smell of cat pee. ‘Looks like you’ve done an amazing job.’

‘Well, it’s the cats, really,’ I said, as though they’d arranged the visit themselves. ‘No one can resist a cute, furry’ – I’d been about to say ‘pussy’, but didn’t want Adam to think I was being smutty – ‘animal.’

‘I’m not sure cute’s the right word for that little chap.’ Adam twisted his head to look at Dickens, just as Gwen walked past and gave him her filthiest look.

He flinched. ‘What’s her problem?’

I had to swallow sudden laughter. ‘Take no notice, she’s fine.’ Awash with gladness now that Adam was here, and the occasion was going well – even the toddlers had stopped trying to pull tails and were being shown how to stroke ‘gently’ – I took his arm and ushered him to a table that Mum had just wiped down. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have a flat white.’ He pulled out his wallet and waggled it with an intimate smile, which I knew was intended to remind me of our first encounter.

‘My treat,’ I said, meaning ‘on the café’, as I didn’t have any cash on me.

As he settled down, I crossed to the counter where Mum was pretending to rearrange scones, while darting looks at Adam.

‘He’s very good-looking,’ she said, eyes widening.

‘London good-looking?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing.’ I smiled, and ordered two milky coffees.

‘So, the relationship’s back on?’ Mum asked, in a deceptively casual way.

‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly. ‘That’s why he’s here, really. He thought there was unfinished business between us.’

‘How romantic.’ Mum looked as if she might be about to impart some wisdom – perhaps along the lines of me not letting work get in the way this time – but all she said was, ‘Well, do invite him round for dinner while he’s here. It’s so nice to finally meet a boyfriend.’

‘He’s not my…’ I stopped. Adam had been my boyfriend, and there was no reason why he couldn’t be again. I felt a little frisson, just thinking about it.

When I returned to the table, Conrad – the shy black cat – was curled on Adam’s lap.

‘You’ve made a friend,’ I said, inordinately pleased. Weren’t animals supposed to have good intuition about people? ‘He likes you.’

‘It’s nice to sit and drink a coffee with a cat on your lap, then leave it behind when you go.’ He smiled as he picked up his cup, looking more at home than he had last night. ‘I can see why you thought this would be good for business.’

‘Actually, we’re hoping that people will adopt the cats,’ I said, wishing he hadn’t missed the point.

His gaze travelled searchingly over my face. ‘As long as they know a cat’s for life, and not to take home on a whim.’

‘It’ll all be spelt out at the shelter, should anyone apply.’ Feeling we were being a bit formal, I added, ‘How was the hotel?’

‘Comfortable,’ he said, with an air of slight surprise. ‘They had Sky sports, so I ended up watching football at midnight and working my way through the mini-bar.’

For a second, I imagined what might have happened if I’d gone there with him, and catching his gaze, knew he was thinking the same thing.

Flustered, I took a gulp of coffee, which was too hot and burnt my mouth.

‘You look lovely, by the way,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ I fussed with my hair, wishing a clever response would magic itself into my head. The witty version of me he’d encountered on our dates had vanished, as if I’d shed my old skin and left it behind. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

Conrad stood up and arched his back, yawned, and settled down.

‘I might have to take him home,’ Adam said. We exchanged smiles, and I felt myself relax. ‘I like to see art displayed in cafés.’ His eyes drifted to the wall behind me, and I turned to see a customer cradling a cat while looking at my paintings. ‘Proper art, I mean.’

I stiffened. ‘Proper?’

He grimaced. ‘Bad choice of word. It’s so subjective, isn’t it, but that sort of thing’s not my’ – he raised his cup and an eyebrow – ‘cup of tea. Or coffee.’

My gut twisted with embarrassment. ‘Right.’

‘Bit too literal, and I’ve always found caricatures rather crude.’ He was still looking over, eyes scrunched in contemplation. ‘I prefer more abstract stuff myself, and am partial to a bit of sculpture.’

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

‘Local artist?’

‘Yep.’ I gulped the rest of my coffee, praying no one would come over and ask me to draw a ‘funny picture’.

‘Maybe your parents would be better off sticking with the cats.’ He smiled, as if we were sharing a joke, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

‘So, about this evening,’ he said, but before he could continue, the door flew open and a police officer strode in, carrying an enormous cat I realised was Tabitha. Panic swelled. I’d assumed she was still in her carrier.

‘Looks like one of your cats got out,’ said the officer, into the pin-drop silence that had fallen. ‘Someone called the police to say they’d seen a lynx.’

‘She does have unusual markings,’ said one of the customers.

I scraped my chair back and stood up. ‘How did she get out?’ My eyes sought Gwen’s.

‘She didn’t get past me.’ Gwen puffed out her body to fill her five-foot frame, looking ready to throw a punch. ‘I think I’d have noticed if she had.’ She looked at Tabitha, who really was scarily massive. ‘Poor thing could have got run over.’ Gwen was giving me daggers, as though it was all my fault – which, to be fair, it probably was. I mustn’t have closed the back door properly.

‘We found her digging up a flowerbed,’ said the officer, a reproving look on his oblong face. ‘The home owner remembered seeing the sign outside the café yesterday, so I thought I’d bring her here.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ I stepped forward, aware that Adam was watching with slight amusement, clearly expecting me to take control. ‘As you can see, we’re quite busy and it’s been difficult to keep an eye—’

‘You do have a licence?’ He looked around, adjusting his truncheon belt around his rather womanly hips. ‘You’re serving food.’

Licence?

Adam stood up, as if to intervene – but I didn’t want a man stepping in to settle things for me – especially one who’d offered me up for the job of a lifetime, on the assumption I was capable of doing it.

‘It’s a one-off event, officer, to raise awareness of the plight of homeless cats,’ I said, a hot, tight feeling racing across my chest, as the responsibility of it hit me. One of the cats could have been killed and the others deeply traumatised. They hadn’t asked for their lives to be messed about with. And I could do without being arrested and thrown in prison.

The officer looked at Mum. ‘You OK with this, Mrs Maitland?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Mum said, ignoring the cat directly in front of her, its paws resting on a glass dome as if about to help itself to a scone. ‘My daughter organises things like this in her sleep. And Liz Fairbrother at the cat shelter gave us her blessing.’

‘Oh, I know Liz.’ The officer swung over to the counter and scanned the cakes, one hand absently fondling the placid cat. ‘Could I have a latte and a slice of chocolate fudge cake, please? Actually, make that two slices.’

As Mum bobbed about, getting him a takeaway coffee, the noise levels in the café returned to normal, and my shoulders sagged as I let out the breath I’d been holding. I felt as if I’d got away with murder. In fact, if anything had happened to Tabitha, that’s what I’d be – a murderer. I wanted to pick her up and hug her, but she was so large, I had no idea how to go about it. I settled for giving her ginormous head a pat.

I felt Adam’s eyes on me, and wondered whether he was wondering how to retract his job offer, and how quickly he could flee back to London. I straightened, discreetly scratching my wrist, which felt as if it was on fire.

‘That was well handled,’ he said, hands in his trouser pockets, eyeing me with a look of such flattering admiration that I wondered whether I was missing something.

Or, maybe he was.