Eight
She downloads the forms the very next day after work, the pages and pages of forms, her details and his details, reasons for divorce – tick as many boxes as you like – and her hand shakes so badly as she selects 'Unreasonable Behaviour.' It doesn't even begin to describe the fear, the pain, the scars she wears on her back from his anger at fallen-through deals, but she supposes it will have to do.
Elliott won't give Sylvie up without a fight, she knows that as she sits at her kitchen table staring at the price. Four hundred and ten pounds. It's more than she can afford, she knows that, but there was something on the website about help.
She sighs, and folds the forms over. The sun is setting in a blaze of glory behind the blinds. Thoughts of Sylvie niggle in the back of head and she forces back tears. She's got to be strong. She's got to be strong.
"But why?" Flora stares at her aghast. Kitty fiddles absently with the bottom of her coat.
"Her father took her away from me. I've been trying to contact her, but he won't let me."
"God, Kitty, that's awful." Flora puts an arm around Kitty's shoulders, and Kitty feels an urge to shrug the heaviness of it off, but she doesn't, giving Flora a wan smile. The woman's only trying to help.
"I don't want anyone else to know, but as her teacher…"
"Yes, that's understandable. It's going to be hell trying to divorce someone so famous." Flora looks at the clock. "I've got to go, I'm afraid, break time is almost over, but if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, I'm right here."
Kitty gives her a grateful look. "Thank you. Really."
"What else are friends for?"
It takes a good week to string together the courage to drop the forms in at the solicitor Thomas and Miles have helped her to find, but by Friday, she's standing nervously outside the office, envelope clutched to her chest. She briefly considers turning tail and fighting for her daughter alone, but reality cuts that thought down like a scythe through golden crop. Elliott will use the best lawyers in England to argue his case, and she hasn't a hope against them. She takes a deep breath, the air whistling past her teeth, and pushes the door open in a jangling of the bell and steps into a neat smart reception with padded green chairs and a potted plant standing like a solider in the corner of the room. A young-ish man sits behind the receptionist's desk, clicking through something on his computer.
"Excuse me?" Kitty says, softly, and he looks up.
"Yes?"
"I'm here for an appointment with Miss Berwick?"
"Name?"
"Katherine Trevelyan."
"Take a seat. She'll be out in a moment."
Kitty sinks slowly into one of chairs, and a few seconds later a door creaks and a red-haired woman in a crisply folded suit is standing by the desk. "Miss Trevelyan?"
"Yes, that's me," Kitty stood, pushing her hair back nervously.
"Come in."
There was something odd in the red-head's expression as Kitty passed her, but when the door shut and she sat down behind the desk, it was all gone, wiped clean, and a professional smile was stretching her lips over her teeth.
"I'm Rosalie Berwick, but you may call me Rosalie, if you wish. You're Katherine, correct?"
"Yes."
"Have you brought the filled-out forms?"
Kitty pushes the envelope towards her, and Rosalie nods. "Good. Do you know the court process of getting a divorce?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't…the websites I read weren't wonderfully helpful with that aspect of it."
"Alright, so. You and I will go through these forms together and make sure that you've filled everything out correctly, then I'll send them off to the court to be processed. A copy will be sent to your husband for him to approve – that's a long process – and then that will be processed. After that, there'll be more forms on you and your husband's finances and any children you might have. You have a child, don't you?"
"Yes," Kitty whisper, biting down on her lip to keep the tears in. Even after all this time, the mere mention of Sylvie opens a tap somewhere inside her and she has to struggle to hold back the sobs intent on wracking her open from the inside and out.
"Has your husband shown himself willing to let you have custody?"
"No." Kitty wraps her arms around herself, somehow wishing that she'd dragged Thomas away from his report-writing to come with her.
"Alright," Rosalie lets her breath whistle into the air. "Well, I'm afraid we're just going to have to see what his reply is when the forms come back through. Shall we go through this?"
"Okay."
Rosalie opens the envelope and peruses the forms, checking addresses and phone numbers. Her finger stops at the reasons for divorce. "Katherine, you have to write an explanation as well. You can't just tick the box."
Something hitches in Kitty's throat, and she stares at Rosalie in horror. Write it down…no, she can't, she can't, she…
"Are you quite alright?"
"I…I…" Kitty forces herself to speak. "I can't."
"Can you tell me, then?" Rosalie's expression gentles. "It's just unreasonable behaviour covers so many different aspects, the judge will want to know exactly so he or she can tailor the proceedings appropriately."
Kitty nods, slowly. She has to be brave. She has to, or she knows she'll never see her daughter again, just that simple. She closes her eyes for a second, and begins to speak.
When she gets back to the apartment block, she trudges straight into the landlady, Mrs Quayle, who gives her a smile. "Hello, Miss Trevelyan."
"Hello," she says dully, nodding and beginning to walk up the stairs.
"Oh, Miss Trevelyan, I'm reminding everyone that the rent's due tomorrow. Are you alright?"
"I'm good," Kitty lies. "Just tired. I've got an early shift tomorrow."
"Okay. Make sure you bring the rent by five o'clock."
"Yes, of course."
The rent. Kitty had completely forgotten, and she keeps her fingers crossed that there's enough in the bank account. She can't risk getting evicted, not with the divorce starting to get underway.
Thomas is sitting on his sofa – bizarrely – and staring at the TV screen where BBC News is playing on a roll. Kitty sits down beside him, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Hi," she says, and he turns his head to give her a brief smile before looking back over at the TV.
"Did it go well?"
"Relatively." She pulls at her ratty T-shirt. "Flora's coming over for dinner, in a minute."
"That's good."
"Where's Miles?"
"God knows. Meeting someone, I think. He's never in – must have a secret girlfriend or something, though it's unlikely that he'd manage this long without telling anybody."
"Or he's a spy, masquerading as a doctor."
"Miles, a spy?" Thomas snorts. "Un-bloody-likely. Perhaps he's run away to join the circus."
"And spends his time taming big cats and chatting up the trapeze artists."
"You know, I think he'd rather enjoy that."
"He would have been quite happy causing scandals in the Middle Ages," Kitty adds. "All that charm and no seriousness. The ladies would have been falling over at his feet."
"Don't tell him any of that. His ego is big enough as it is."
"Ah, but we think he's alright."
"Why else would we have kept him around this long?"
They look at each other again, and start to laugh, and somewhere in the back of her mind, little hands are holding tightly onto this moment because Kitty knows she never wants to let it go.
The next morning, Grace Singh pays a quick visit before work, already in her uniform with a brown envelope in her hand. "Hi," she says distractedly as Kitty opens the door, her co-op fleece hanging open like a gaping mouth. "I was just wondering if you remembered that conversation we had at Sylvie birthday party – about Julia's cake. Her party's next week, and I'm so busy…"
"Yes, I can make it," Kitty nods. "Do you want to come in?"
"No, I'm really sorry, I'm late. It's going to be a ballerina party, so something ballet based, and here's the money for ingredients and labour."
"Oh, Grace, you…"
"Yes, I did. I've got to dash – I'll see you next week."
With that, she is gone, and Kitty is left with the envelope heavy in her hand, wondering what on earth just happened.
A/N Okay, so, I'm really sorry for the wait, people. I just had quite a bit of research to do for this chapter and my Harry Potter muse was whispering in my ear, so I had to shut it away in a box to get it to shut up so I could write this. What do you think Miles is getting up to? And what do you think of Rosalie? It's a very grey day here where I live, and reviews literally make the sun shine, so click that little button! N xx
P.S. Thank you kayjay, for your review! :)