Five
Flora Marshall has never been so busy in her life. She teaches, during lessons, then at break times, she's running around the school, checking how far Year Six have got with learning their lines, making sure the art teacher has almost finished painting the scenery, talking to the music teacher about how the band is getting on.
When the day of the play finally dawns, she's completely exhausted, but still manages to smile and read her class a story at the end of the day, before hurrying down to the hall to help put chairs out for the evening's performance. It's got to go well. It has to.
The evening falls in drapes of dark blue velvet, and she assists the children in getting into their costumes as the chatter of parents fills the hall. She's more nervous than most of the children are, but she hides it well, adjusting tops and billowing trousers, and whispering encouragements as the prelude music starts and the choir of all the little ones take their seats on the benches at the front of the stage.
All she can do now is clench her fists and pray.
Kitty is sitting near the back of the hall with Grace Singh and Mathilde's father, Jacques, when silence swoops down on them and the play begins. There are moments, where some of the older children forget their lines, and when the scenery turns too quickly, but for most part, her eyes are fixed on Sylvie, in a gold-coloured dress, singing earnestly from the middle row of the choir. And at the end, when everyone rises to their feet in a roar of applause, pride tugs at her chest because it's been three months since they arrived, three months and Sylvie has settled and they are part of life here, now, part of life when before, they were only prisoners, looking out through the decorated bars of their painted cage.
When Sylvie comes weaving her way through the crowd after it's finished, Kitty pulls her into a tight hug.
"Did you like it, Mummy?"
"Darling, it was wonderful."
Flora is tidying away the props on the stage, when someone clears his throat behind her. She turns, rubbing a hand across her eyes tiredly, and the figure smiles. "Hi, Flora."
"Charlie?" she breathes. He nods, and she begins to beam, her tiredness evaporating like a puddle under the smile of the sun. "You're here – how are you here?"
"Got back early," he shrugs. "Surprise."
She launches herself into his arms, and he holds her close, kissing her until her head begins to spin. "Did you like the play?"
"Yes, I did."
Across the hall, she can see another young man embracing Mr Brett. Charlie follows her gaze. "That's Freddie, his son – you remember?"
"Yep," she turns her gaze back to the stage, holding Charlie's hand tightly. "I can do the rest tomorrow. Shall we go?"
He smiles, and loops his arm around her shoulders, and they bid goodnight to people as they leave the hall, buoyancy filling her with every step. He's home. He's safe. Life is good.
The Christmas holidays bear down on them, and Kitty begins to plan presents. She's been saving, and she has enough to get Sylvie a few little things, and perhaps a box of chocolates for her neighbours or something. On the second-last day of term – seven days before Christmas – she is home from work early, and goes straight next door to pick Sylvie up. Thomas opens the door, distracted-looking and as though he hasn't slept for a while.
"Where's Sylvie?"
"She said she was going home with Mathilde Tillens tonight," he says. "I thought she'd cleared it with you."
"No, she hadn't." Irritation winds itself behind her eyes. "It's fine. Thank you."
He gives her a brief smile, and shuts the door, and she turns back towards her own flat, wondering at the way she feels his presence like an ache somewhere deep inside her. She unlocks her door, and steps in – a light glows from under the sitting room door. Surely she can't have left it on this morning? Electricity is expensive, and she doesn't have any money to spare for stupid mistakes.
Sighing, she dumps her keys on the little table in the hall, opens the sitting room door and stops dead.
"Katherine. I was wondering when you would be home."
She can't move, she can't speak, she's frozen to the spot like she's been confronted with Medusa's head and turned to stone. She feels sick. How has he found them? How did he get in here? How, how, how?
He stands up from the sofa, steps towards her and she starts to back away, trembling uncontrollably. "It took an inconvenient amount of time to find you, I must admit. Hiding in plain sight was a clever move. You've always been good at it, haven't you?"
"Where's Sylvie?" She forces the words out through gritted teeth. "What have you done with her?"
"Sylvie is perfectly safe." He keeps walking, and she keeps retreating, out into the hallway, until her back is against the wall like a fox cornered by hunting dogs. He steps closer, closer and she can barely breathe because of the coldness of his eyes and the nausea rising in her throat.
He takes her wrists, almost gently, then slams them against the wall, pinning her down as though she's a butterfly secured to a dissecting board. She starts to sob in fear, she can't help it, she can't move, she can't run…no, no, no…
"You do know that you have committed an offence, I hope? Kidnap is against the law, Katherine."
"I did not kidnap her."
"Oh, but what will a court say? The mother takes her child away from its loving family unit," he digs his nails in her wrists, and she's feeling faint, spots are dancing before her eyes and the fear is drowning her, drowning her… "And disappears. How would that look to an upstanding jury?"
"You can't."
"I can, and I will." He presses himself closer and closer, and she can't breathe, she can't move, no, no…
"What do you want?"
"Sylvie. You, back in your rightful place."
"Never." She gathers the tattered shreds of her courage and spits in his face, wriggling free and making a dash for the front door that stands silently open. "THOMAS! MILES! HELP ME!"
"They won't come," he says. "Not for a bitch like you," and then his hands are around her waist, throwing her to the floor and she feels something crack and pain shoot and twist up her arm. She screams again, and it's no use, people aren't going to come and help her, Tom will have left for his shift and who knows where Miles is…Elliott advances, inexorable as the tide, and pulls her upright, pushing her against the wall again, and she's helpless, so helpless and he's laughing cruelly and
"Step away from her right now, or I call the police."
The voice, the harsh Scottish accent, makes her shake with relief.
"This is private."
"Step away from her this instant."
He only laughs again, and Kitty sobs, but then he's gone and she's slumping to the floor in crumpled heap of tears and pain, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers Thomas letting go of the back of Elliott's suit, balling his fist as if to take a swing.
"You wouldn't dare." Elliott drawls lazily.
"Get out, or I will."
"Tell him what you've done," he calls. "Then see if he's so willing to protect you."
"GET OUT!"
There is rustling of material, and then the door slams shut and Thomas' arms are around her, cradling her with a gentleness she never knew existed. "Ssh," he says. "Ssh, he's gone. He's gone. It's alright. It's alright."
"No, it's not," she chokes out. "He's got Sylvie."
A/N Important! I'm going away on holiday for a week, in a coastguard's cottage that has doubtable wifi, so whilst I won't be updating, I'm unsure as to whether I'll be able to reply to your reviews. But I promise that I'll update the second I get back next Tuesday. And it would be so amazing if you could maybe get me to thirty reviews? Pretty please? And also - I'm struggling with a way to fit Joan and Anton into this story, so any ideas, please drop me a review and let me know! Enjoy! N :) xxx