Ten
"Your husband has replied."
"I'd gathered as much." Kitty twists her hands in her lap. The cast is off now, thank God, it was so difficult trying to do anything at work with it adhered to her wrist like a neon sign, her co-workers forever bustling over and taking heavy loads from her arms or helping her lift things to the top shelves that always seemed miles away. She supposes she should have been grateful that her boss wasn't firing her because she wasn't physically fit to do some of the work, but being helped always incurs a debt and the ones that aren't paid off with money are the hardest to pay back. "What does he say?"
"You can read it, if you like."
Rosalie's face is a study in the art of being expressionless.
"Thank you."
Kitty takes the sheaf of papers, trying to still the trembles in her hand. She skims through the text, dread sinking like a stone in place of her heart. No, no…but when did she expect anything different?
"So the long and short of it is that your husband has decided to defend the divorce. He claims that you are making up the charges of abuse in order to weasel him out of his money, and therefore he refuses to pay any settlement or to give up your daughter."
Kitty bites down hard on her feelings at the mention of Sylvie. Sylvie. Her baby. It's been seven weeks now, and even with trying to be strong and carry on, dark eyes filled with tears and that beautiful, stubborn pout that she always wore when she didn't get her way haunt Kitty's dreams.
"So where do we go now?" she manages to ask.
Rosalie takes back the wad of paper and puts it carefully down on the desk.
"First of all I need to ask you, Kitty, is there any chance that your husband would hurt your daughter?"
"Why?"
"Because I've been looking things up and talking to other solicitors, you see, and if there is a chance, we are allowed to get the police involved."
Suddenly, Kitty finds there are tears stinging at the rims of her eyes, and she ducks her head. "So what you're saying is that I could have avoided this whole mess had I phoned the police during the time that I lived with him?"
"Don't cry, it's alright."
"I'm not crying." She swipes angrily at the tears. To her credit, Rosalie drops the sympathy, pretends not to notice.
"Alright. But is there a chance?"
"No. He never hurt her, and he wouldn't. I suppose in a perverse way he loves her, but he was so often away that she never really knew him. He was always a stranger to her."
"Okay. So what we do is that we have a First Appointment, which you both need to attend and I'm trying to organise here in Glasgow under the pretext that you don't have enough money to travel to London. That involves the two of you, your husband's solicitor and myself and the judge, and it's mainly about finances though there will be a bit of talk about residence of your little girl."
"I have to face him again?"
"Yes, you do."
"Am I allowed to bring anyone else in with me?"
"No, not into the courtroom itself unless they're a relative."
"He's my neighbour. My friend."
"He can wait outside for you."
"Okay."
"So, before the First Appointment, we need to fill in a stack of forms," Rosalie even manages a little eye roll. "This is one of the perks of my job. So many forms."
A laugh bubbles up over Kitty's lips, and she smiles. "I don't do that, luckily, apart from order forms."
"What do you do again?"
"I've just changed my job. I'm running a cake decorating business now, as well as doing a few odd shifts at the old café. I handed in my notice at the Co-Op this morning."
"Well done," Rosalie graces her with a rare smile. She should smile more often, Kitty thinks. It lifts the lines from her face, makes her look younger, happier, carefree. "That's quite an achievement, setting up your own business."
"I know. I keep looking at it and praying that it won't come crashing down about my ears. So, forms."
"Forms."
When she gets back to the flat that evening to do a little more work on a cake due for two days' time – a ladybird for a little boy turning two – Thomas is sitting at her kitchen table, flipping through a medical journal. It's such a usual sight nowadays, to come in from work and find one or both of them inhabiting her kitchen like it's their very own burrow, drinking her coffee and eating off-cuts that she's taken to leaving mugs on the sideboard next to spotty tin full of the things she has no use for. It's like she has two personal dustbins, though Miles is much fussier than Thomas about what he will and won't eat.
"Hello," she says, dumping her leather handbag on the table. It's Gucci, very expensive, though after almost a year carrying the junk she keeps in it about, it's starting to look very sad and dog-eared like an old, much beloved teddy. "Good day?"
"Relatively." She washes her hands, enjoying the way the soap explodes into green bubbles on her skin. "Kitty?"
"Yes."
He sounds uncertain. "My hospital are holding their annual event soon…"
"What sort?" she asks absentmindedly.
"A ball."
"Okay."
"I was wondering if you'd like to come with me. As friends. If you're free of course."
She glances over her shoulder at him – the tips of his ears glow endearingly, the same colour as the icing on the ladybird cake that she's lifted down from its cupboard. Her heart hammers a pattern against her ribs. It's been so long since someone she likes – she's finally admitted it to herself, she has gone head over heels for her brusque, wonderful neighbour – has asked her out. It's be so long since she's been free from ropes and chains binding her to her life of torment and boredom to say yes.
And so she does. And his smile is like the dawn, hopeful and full of promise.
Late that night there's a knock on her door. Kitty uncurls herself stiffly from her sofa where she's been watching utter rubbish all evening after putting on another load of fairy cakes and finishing the ladybird. To be careful, she puts the chain on, but there's no need – it's only Flora huddled deep into a hoodie with tired circles draped languorously under her eyes.
"Flora, what are you doing here?"
"I need help…please, Kitty, can I come in?"
Kitty unlatches the chain and opens the door wide, letting Flora into her hall. Raindrops form damp dots on the grey fleecy material of Flora's hoodie, she's shivering. "Would you like a drink to warm up?"
"That would be great, thank you."
"Tea, coffee or hot chocolate? Tom brought some marshmallows round earlier, and I think I've got some cream…"
Kitty leads her into the kitchen and flips on the kettle, putting generous spoons of chocolate powder into her two favourite mugs. "What do you need help with?"
"I'm just…I'm…" Flora is stumbling for words, and Kitty turns to face her.
"Spit it out. The quicker you do it, the easier it is."
"I think I'm pregnant."
"What?"
"I just…I've been feeling sick and my time of the month hasn't come and I don't know what to do, I'm so scared, I don't want to phone my mother and Charlie's in Dorset still, he's about to leave for another tour of duty, and I know you've had a baby before, you've had Sylvie, what do I do?"
Kitty's head is whirling. She forces herself to take a deep breath, to put the mug of hot chocolate on the table next to Flora, to take her hands and smile reassuringly. "Have you taken a test?"
"I've got one, but I'm such a coward. I was too scared to take it on my own."
"You can use my bathroom, then. Do you want to go and do it now, then we can drink our hot chocolate whilst we're waiting for it to be ready."
"Okay." Flora sniffles, wipes the tears that tremble like dewdrops on her eyelashes. "It's just through here, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
She gets up, and Kitty is left alone clutching her blue mug with the flowers that Sylvie painted for her. Pregnant. The memories roll over her head, breaking like waves, and she remembers when she was pregnant with Sylvie, when Elliott was about to slap her and she threw her hands and screamed, 'Don't, you'll hurt the baby.' He had stalked away. She had had no sympathy from anyone, not when she was sick, retching over the toilet bowl, not when her ankles swelled like balloons, not when she was in the midst of giving birth and only the midwife was there to comfort her, to mop her brow.
It's not going to be like that for Flora if the test comes back positive. Kitty refuses to let anyone go through having a baby without anyone to lean on, she refuses.
And so when Flora comes back, nervous, jittery, she sits with her gently, and talks through options, possibilities.
"My mother thinks no child should be born out of wedlock," Flora admits. "She's a proper English lady, and I was going to be just like her, but then as I got older her ideas were too stifling and I had to get away."
"Fair enough," Kitty nods.
"Were your parents like that?"
"My mother quite a bit. My father not. My father was wonderful."
"Where is he now?"
"Dead. I think that test will be ready, don't you?"
Flora drains the dregs at the bottom of her mug. "I'm not ready for this."
"You are."
"Can you look at it first?"
"We'll look at it together, how about that?"
"Okay."
There's a pink line staring up at them. Flora sits down heavily on the toilet lid. "I really am. I'm really pregnant."
"Yes, you are."
"What happens now?"
"You make an appointment to see a doctor."
"Will you come with me?"
"Yes, if we arrange it around my job."
"Can I stay here tonight? I don't want to be alone."
It's going to be a drain, if Flora's going to be like this for nine months, but she was there when Kitty needed her for a cry, for helping with Sylvie, and Kitty knows she'll be damned if she doesn't take the opportunity to pay Flora back.
"Of course you can."
"I'm sorry to be such a bother."
"Flora, it's what friends are for."
A/N Important! Okay, so I've done quite a bit of research into divorces, but it may not be totally accurate, so give me some poetic license. What do you think of Tom's invitation? And Flora's news? I have a plan for Flora, never fear! :) I would love to get to fifty-five reviews this chapter - and if you amazing readers manage it, I'll update Thursday. Deal? N xxx