Chapter 28
W hen Lucas arrived at Catpurrcino the following day, the car park was already half full and he recognised his mum’s blue car over in the corner, with the astronaut keychain dangling from the rear-view mirror, the metal parts catching the light.
He clambered out, and wandered round the front of the café to reception, where he found Clem waiting for him inside, by the big poster of the cat café’s rules.
‘Hi!’ she said, beaming at him.
Her smile was radiant and she was wearing that red lipstick that made her look even more beautiful. She had on a white shirt and a pair of black shorts; there were cat hairclips holding up half of her hair.
‘Your mum and dad are already here,’ she said. ‘I insisted on paying for all three of you, so you can have as many drinks as you want. Come through.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ he said, and she waved his words aside. ‘Thank you.’
He experienced a twinge of guilt, and followed her through the door and the latched gate leading into the main café. He’d messaged her last night to suggest maybe they could talk while he was here.
The main room of the café was at capacity, with customers seated at the tables drinking iced coffees and fruity milkshakes overflowing with cream and sprinkles.
It was bright, sunshine lighting up the room through the wide-set windows.
A woman with a laptop was laughing as a grey cat with shiny green eyes tried to clamber onto her keyboard – she gently shooed it out of the way and the cat flopped down on a nearby chair for some ear scratches.
Another cat, a calico, surveyed the room from atop a tower, looking regal and tall, blinking lazily down at everyone.
Clem led Lucas to a table in the corner by the window.
His dad was seated in a comfortable-looking armchair, waving a feathery bird toy for a cat, a longhair with orange and brown fur who was swatting its paws into the air, trying to catch it.
Lucas’s mum was seated opposite. Both already had drinks: a black coffee for his dad and a creamy latte dusted with cocoa powder for his mum.
‘Lucas! Here, sit down,’ said his mum, pulling out the chair beside her.
‘We can chat in a minute,’ said Clem. She glanced over her shoulder at the counter, where a young man with wavy brown hair was working at the coffee machines, behind a row of glass cake displays. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Clem added. ‘Snack?’
‘I’ll take a flat white,’ he said. And, given she’d paid for him to be here, he tugged some cash out of his wallet and added, ‘And a few of your biscuits, I don’t mind which. Surprise me.’
‘We’ll have a few more of those, too,’ said his mum, smiling up at Clem. ‘They’re so good, I can’t resist.’
‘Sure.’ Clem grinned and headed over to the counter.
Lucas assessed his dad, who was still wiggling the toy for the cat.
The feline pounced at it and missed, skittering away on the flooring, making his dad laugh.
Sometimes you couldn’t tell when he was having a terrible pain day, versus when he wasn’t, because he tended to push on through without complaining.
Other days it was clear – if he couldn’t leave the house to go for a walk, or do much around the house, everyone would know the pain was significant.
Today, he’d made it outside, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.
‘Are you okay, Dad?’ Lucas asked.
‘I’m fine,’ he answered, waving the cat toy in the air again. The cat made a leap for it, performing a rather impressive pirouette.
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Lucas said, turning to his mum.
‘Ah, probably best to wait till Clem comes back,’ said his mum, sipping from her mug and smiling over the rim.
‘Clem?’ he repeated, dumbfounded. He needed to talk to her afterwards – but that was between them. Why did his parents want to talk to her as well?
‘Ah, your mother’s been cagey with me all day,’ his dad grumbled.
He reached forward for his coffee and Lucas caught the wince, the slight flicker of pain in his face.
He covered it up quickly, like creased paper being smoothed out.
‘She won’t tell me a thing except she brought me here for a surprise.
’ His dad lifted his pair of white, caterpillar-like eyebrows.
‘A surprise?’ Lucas shot his mum a questioning look.
‘All in good time!’ she replied cryptically.
Clem arrived with his flat white and some sugar sachets, and passed around the cat-shaped biscuits. While everyone was busily munching away on colourful, crumbly cat faces, Clem pulled up another chair and took a seat, her dark hair glossy in the sunlight.
‘What’s this about?’ said his dad.
‘Probably best if you do the honours, Clem,’ said his mum. She was watching the cat – it had knocked the toy from his dad’s hand and caught it between its paws, rolling around with it locked between a set of claws.
‘Okay.’ Clem took a deep breath, finishing the last of her biscuit and dusting crumbs and icing from her hands. She looked from Lucas to his father. ‘Mr Bowen, I don’t know if you realise what Lucas’s aim has been throughout this competition . . . why he wanted that prize money.’
‘I had my suspicions – we both did,’ said his father, drawing his coffee cup to his mouth. ‘But I never would have taken money from him. We’ll sort ourselves out and—’
‘You won’t need to,’ Clem interrupted. Beside her, Lucas’s mother was beaming, her hands clasped close to her chest.
‘What do you mean?’ said Lucas.
‘I’ve been talking to your mum,’ Clem explained, ‘and I told her I wanted to help. We set up a fundraiser together – with you as the beneficiary, Mr Bowen,’ she added.
His father lowered his cup slowly. On the floor, the cat gave a long mewl, wanting more play, and batted the toy under the table.
Lucas was speechless. ‘You might not have won the competition or the prize money, Lucas,’ Clem continued, ‘but thousands of people have been rooting for us for weeks during Whisked Away . And when we set up the fundraiser, the donations quickly came pouring in from all over the world. I donated some of my winnings as well. I knew you wouldn’t accept that from me directly. ’
‘But . . . Dad won’t . . .’ Lucas spluttered.
He turned to his father. Where he’d expected resistance and stubbornness, he didn’t find any. His father’s mouth was hanging open.
‘I hope you’ll accept it, my love,’ said Lucas’s mum quietly, leaning across the table and reaching for his hand, which was still clasped around his coffee cup.
‘I know you don’t like asking for help, accepting it, but when you see .
. . Well, it’s not enough for us to permanently resolve our housing situation, but we could get you seen by a specialist much more quickly, get some private treatment started. Could you show him, Clem?’
Clem nodded. She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her shorts, and tapped away at the screen for a few minutes before handing it to Lucas’s father.
He nearly knocked over his coffee – Lucas grabbed it and set it straight, to save it splashing over the table. The cat, startled by the sudden noise, leaped up onto the window seat nearby and out of reach. Slowly, his father handed the phone to Clem, his thumbs unsteady.
‘There’s something else,’ Clem said. She glanced at Lucas’s mother, a cheeky glint in her eye. ‘I kept this as a surprise for you, too, Meredith – because I didn’t want to tell you before I told Lucas . . .’
‘Told me what?’ he said. What else could there be? He already felt winded with the sheer scale of what she’d done for him, his throat feeling thick. He drank a glug of coffee to force the lump down.
‘I’ve been in talks with a publisher – and an agent,’ Clem explained, her hands moving wildly as she spoke.
There was a happy flush to her cheeks. ‘The publisher approached me after the contest about a book deal . . .’ She drew in a sharp breath.
‘They asked me about doing a cat-themed baking book . . . But I had a better idea, and they loved it so much they put more money on the table. I told them to hold off on contacting you until I could tell you myself, in person . . .’
‘A baking book?’ Lucas repeated. His mind was repeating the phrase they put more money on the table in disbelief.
His mother clapped her hands over her mouth. One of the cats, who had been washing itself nearby on a chair, lifted its head, ears tipped back.
‘Oh, Clem!’ his mum cried. ‘You didn’t tell me any of this!’
‘I didn’t want to say anything until I could speak to Lucas,’ Clem explained.
‘The idea I put forward was a dog- and cat-themed baking book. One that we both contribute to, perhaps with bakes from the contest. They said it was a fantastic idea and they could see it selling really well because of how popular we were on Whisked Away . Did you know they had their highest audience numbers ever? Anyway, the publisher says we make . . . What was the phrase they used?’ She glanced down at her phone, jabbing at the screen again.
‘ Dreamy PR . Here, look at the advance offer they’d make for both of us.
’ Clem slid the phone across the table towards Lucas until it pinged against his coffee mug.
Lucas looked at the screen and had to swallow again, hard.
But the lump didn’t go away. His share would be enough for a deposit on a small house if he and his mum combined their incomes and applied together.
He knew that – he’d spent enough time obsessing over finances to try to figure out a way to help them over recent weeks and months.
Clem had worked some kind of magic here. She could have accepted a deal for herself, without him, but she’d thought of a way to invite him along, to help him and his family.
‘Clem,’ he said hoarsely. His mother and father leaned over to look at the email too, and both of them gasped at the numbers.