Two

"Yes, I know, but he keeps running away…you've got to send him back when he comes home…yes, yes, I understand…" The woman behind the glass waves a hand at Kitty to wait as she enters the school reception, tugging a reluctant Sylvie behind her.

"Mummy, why do I have to go to school?"

"Because, Sylvie," Kitty says firmly, trying to harden her heart against her daughter's dark eyes that glisten with the rain of tears. "It's the law. You have to go to school, and Mummy has to work. You can't stay at home all day."

"The neighbours can look after me…"

"No, sweetheart. They've got jobs, they'll be too busy. It looks nice, here, though doesn't it? Much nicer than your old school."

"I don't want to come to school at all," Sylvie says mutinously, letting go of Kitty's hand and crossing her arms.

"Sylvie, behave," Kitty says. The woman behind the glass puts down the phone.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I've come to enrol my daughter. I spoke to the Head Teacher on the phone a few days ago."

The woman nods, and smiles down at Sylvie through the glass. Kitty breathes a sigh of relief. It's so comforting that here, no-one knows who she is, no-one knows who she's married to, there aren't cameras following her every move like gold and black bees swarming viciously around a hive.

"Of course. I'll buzz you through. Mr Brett will be out shortly."

"Thank you," Kitty murmurs, putting a hand on Sylvie's shoulder and guiding her through the doors swing open when the receptionist presses the button. There's a little hallway, and Kitty sits down on one of the grey-cushioned chairs slowly, tucking her ankles behind each other neatly – a habit from the days of being drilled in deportment by her own mother. Sylvie climbs into her lap.

"Mummy…"

"Yes, Sylvie?"

"Why is it the law for people to go to school?"

"It's so you can learn to read and write, darling, and do maths. And then when you're older you choose where you want to work, and have a happy future."

Sylvie considers this for a second, leaning her head against Kitty's shoulder. "Have you had a happy future?"

"Yes, I will have a happy future," Kitty kisses her daughter's hair. "Here with you – what more could I ever want?"

There is the scrape of wooden door on carpet, then, and Sylvie hides her face against the softness of Kitty's jumper. Kitty can feel her daughter's heartbeat thrumming against her own.

"Miss Trevelyan?"

"Yes, that's me," she says, turning around to see an aging man in a suit, lines creasing back and forth across his brow like folds on a piece of paper. His smile is kind.

"Please, do come in."

"Thank you. Come on, Sylvie." She tries to deposit her daughter on her feet, but Sylvie has wrapped her legs tightly around Kitty's waist and refuses to move, a little limpet shell clinging tightly to the rocks at the seashore. Kitty sighs, and carries her into the office which is cloaked in shabbiness – the paint is peeling a little and the stuffing is falling out of one of the chairs. Papers are scattered everywhere like snowflakes cast about in a storm.

"Please excuse the office," the Head Teacher says distractedly, moving two folders so that she can sit down. "We keep meaning to have it re-done, but the extra classroom and the new books are more important, so it keeps getting delayed. Do have a seat."

Kitty sits down with Sylvie still on her lap. The Head Teacher settles himself in his own chair, closing down a window on the computer and turning to face her. "Welcome to St Francis' Primary School, Miss Trevelyan and…" he looks towards Sylvie.

Kitty nudges her. "The nice gentleman wants to know your name."

Sylvie shakes her head. "Her name's Sylvie," Kitty says, trying to keep the rising irritation in check. "She's being shy."

"That's alright. I'm the Head Teacher, Mr Roland Brett."

"Pleased to meet you," Kitty extricates a hand from Sylvie's death grasp to shake his. "Katherine Trevelyan."

"Well, Miss Trevelyan. Your daughter would be joining us in Primary 2, since she is six, I believe?"

"Yes, that sounds right."

"Have you brought the documents that we talked about on the phone?"

"Yes," Kitty rummages in her handbag, pulling out the little plastic file and handing it over. Mr Brett looks through it for a second, and nods.

"That all seems in order. There will be a few forms to fill out and suchlike, but to start with, would you and Sylvie like to come and meet the lady who'll be Sylvie's teacher?"

"Yes, we would, wouldn't we, Sylvie?"

Sylvie looks from her to Mr Brett, and then nods unsurely, her eyes darting about like a little bird.

"Alright." He stands up, and holds the door for them. "Follow me."

Sylvie's classroom-to-be is across a playground painted with brightly coloured lines, and Mr Brett opens the door just as the children line up on the other side of it. "Ah, morning interval already," he says, standing aside to let a woman with two little girls holding her hands lead the children out onto the playground, the line disintegrating into clumps as the boys run off to play football, and some of the girls gather near where two teachers are pulling skipping ropes out of a shed at the far end.

"Please, come in," Mr Brett breaks Kitty out of her thoughts, and she steps across the threshold. Sylvie's arms are a vice around her neck. "This is Miss Flora Marshall – she's the teacher of Primary 2b."

Flora Marshall is a very young looking woman with a smile that beams out of her face like sunlight. "Very pleased to meet you," she says, holding out a hand for Kitty to shake.

Mr Brett turns to her. "This is Sylvie Trevelyan and her mother, Katherine."

"Hello, Sylvie." Flora Marshall says, stepping closer. "Do you want to come and help me unpack the new dressing up clothes that arrived for the play?"

Sylvie looks from Kitty to her new teacher, uncertain.

"Go on," Kitty says, putting her gently on the floor. Flora Marshall takes Sylvie's hand, and leads her over to where several boxes are stacked behind the teacher's table. She watches as Flora Marshall slits them open with a pair of scissors, and begins to pull things out to show Sylvie, dresses in all shades of emerald and ruby, and turbans studded with plastic gems that wink as she turns them over in her hands.

"Miss Marshall is running the school play this year," Mr Brett tells Kitty. "It's an adaption of some of the stories from Arabian Nights."

"That sounds lovely," Kitty purses her lips as she watches Sylvie slowly begin to thaw. It's a change, from the beautiful brick buildings, strict teachers and elegant headmistress of Sylvie's old school, but a welcome one, hopefully. No more pretences.

"Well, we'll see how it goes. Shall we leave them to it? I'll get the forms for you to sign…"

When Kitty returns fifteen minutes later, Sylvie is talking away happily as Miss Flora Marshall tidies away the dressing up clothes. Panic flares in her chest – stupid, stupid, stupid! Sylvie could have unknowingly said all number of things to her new teacher, could have said that they'd come from London, who her father was…

"Look, Sylvie, your Mummy's here," Miss Marshall says brightly, and Sylvie weaves her way past the tables to wrap her arms around Kitty's legs.

"You're happier," Kitty remarks, schooling her face into calmness. It's frightening, how quickly the mask slips back into place over her features, frightening how easy it is to conceal her emotions from anyone who might be looking. It's her shield, her expression of relaxed boredom, the one that protects her from prying eyes and malicious whispers, and she knows only the worst of blows get through it.

"She was telling me all about the school play she was in before you moved here. A nativity. It sounded lovely."

"It was," Kitty nods, relief flooding like monsoon rains into an empty oasis, remembering how she'd had to keep her coat on to conceal the bruises blooming, purple and black, manacles around her wrists. So Sylvie hasn't said anything that could compromise them. "We'd better be getting home, Sylvie. Say goodbye."

"Bye," Sylvie says, taking Kitty's hand.

"See you tomorrow!" Miss Marshall calls as they walk away across the playground. As Kitty shuts the school gate behind them, and they begin to make their way up the grey streets, Sylvie looks up at her.

"I like Miss Marshall," she says. "But I still don't want to go to school."

"Tough," Kitty squeezes her hand. "You're going."

A/N Sooo, I'm back! Here's the next update! What do you think of Sylvie's new school? This is more of a filler, but the next one should be up (hopefully) before the weekend. Enjoy! N xxx