Twelve
"So you've moved operations to the café for a while," Thomas says, pushing aside his piles of paperwork to sit down opposite her.
"Yes. Joan's been really good about it, but I can't impose for much longer. I wish Mrs Quayle wasn't so…" she waves her hands, searching for a word in the labyrinth that is her mind nowadays.
"Vexing?" A voice calls from the front hall, and there is a laugh. A very female laugh.
"I didn't know you had such a large vocabulary, Miles!" Thomas calls teasingly. "It must be all the reading you do."
Kitty turns a laugh into a sneeze as Miles appears in the kitchen doorway, towing a woman with brown hair that frizzes out of a ponytail. He only ever reads compulsory medical journals, his favourite book – Tarzan and the Apes – and the local newspaper which isn't famous for its quality of writing.
"I take great offense at that, Thomas Gillan. This is Helen. Helen, that lout over there is my flatmate, Tom, and this is Kitty, our neighbour."
"Hi," she says, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Hello," Kitty smiles back. "It's lovely to meet you at long last."
Thomas murmurs a greeting, and goes back to the conversation at hand. "So, you see if you can find a shop somewhere."
"A shop?" Miles looks confused, pulling out a chair for Helen and leaning against the sideboard. "What's all this about a shop?"
Kitty explains quickly, and Miles pulls a face. "I always knew she was a cow."
"Miles," Helen says reprovingly, and he sighs.
"Landladies aren't the nicest of characters usually. Remember the one we had at university, Tom, that awful…"
"Miles, we're trying to help Kitty, not to reminisce about Mrs Crecy."
"I'm not sure if I have enough money to rent a shop, though. The solicitor is costing me enough at the moment – I can't even think about anything else."
"See if Joan will let you use the café until it's all over then," Miles points out sensibly. "And after that you can look for a little shop in the centre of town."
"Okay, sure," Kitty runs her hands through her hair, glancing over towards Helen. "Sorry about all this."
"It's okay," Helen smiles. "We did just walk in and interrupt your conversation."
Kitty smiles and glances at the clock next to the fridge. Five minutes to four. "Shit," she mutters under her breath. "I'd love to stay, but I've got a friend coming over in five minutes."
"Who?" Miles asks.
"Flora. She's decided she wants to help me choose what I'm going to wear for the ball," Kitty rolls her eyes fondly, and Miles smirks in Thomas' direction.
"You're just going to tease him like that? No hints?"
"Miles!"
"Come on, you don't want to be late for Flora." Thomas' cheeks are tinged pink, and he gets up, pushing the chair across the linoleum in a savage screech of legs. He follows her into the hall with Miles explaining loudly in the background that the two of them are going on a date. Idiotic best friend. Why can't he leave things well alone?
"Sorry about that," Thomas says. Kitty smiles again.
"It's Miles, would we expect him to be anything else than insufferable?"
"I heard that!"
A laugh hangs in the air between them, and then before she even thinks through what she's doing, she reaches up to give Thomas a quick hug, his warmth searing through her like a brand. "See you soon."
"See you," he says, and then she's gone, back into her own flat, and he's left standing there like a prince in a story, lost at the top of a staircase with a glass slipper in his hands.
There's a message waiting on her phone, and she scoops it up, flicks through to find it idly. It's from Rosalie.
First Appointment booked. 17th of March at four thirty.
Kitty's hand flies to her throat. The seventeenth of March? That's the ball, she can't do it on the day of the ball, she can't go and dance and make merry and smile with Thomas if there's the shadow of her husband looming over her that very afternoon, she can't, she can't…
"Hello?" Flora's voice echoes from the letterbox. "Are you going to let me in?"
Kitty puts down her phone on the kitchen table. "Yeah, just coming!"
Flora's smile is like a sunny day. "How are you?"
"It's only been two days," Kitty says, hugging her friend back. "How are you feeling?"
"The sickness is going away."
"Heard from Charlie?"
"No, not yet. If I haven't had a letter soon, I'll phone."
"Okay."
"What's wrong? You look like a wet weekend."
Kitty shakes her head. "Nothing."
"I do know when you're lying."
"The First Appointment for my divorce is the day of the ball. Four thirty. Rosalie has said that it shouldn't last more than half-an-hour, but I can't get back here from the courts to get ready and get to the venue for seven thirty."
"Come to mine. We'll take all your stuff there beforehand and I'll sit in my car with my lesson plans whilst you go in and kick ass."
Kitty chuckles. "Me, kicking ass? More like Rosalie kicking ass."
"You and Rosalie both, then. Come on. Unveil your wardrobe.
Kitty leads her into the bedroom, and pulls open the wardrobe door, turning to find Flora has settled herself quite happily against the pillows. "Go on, then, what do you have?"
"I have three options – there's this one," she pulls the red and lace one out, holding it against herself for Flora to see. "I wore it to Sylvie's princess party when she wanted me to dress up."
"Has Thomas seen it?"
"Yes."
"Okay, last resort, then."
"Why? What's wrong…"
"Kitty, you want to wear something different. He's seen you in that, try something else."
"Then I have black trousers and a…"
"No trousers."
Kitty raises an eyebrow, and Flora gives her a pointed look, two wills clashing in the air amid silver smoke and gunfire. "You don't wear trousers to a fancy ball."
"Fine, fine."
"What's the last option, then?"
"This." Kitty pulls her last dress from its wrapper, touching the blush-coloured tulle carefully as though it will tear under her fingertips.
"Oh, Kitty," Flora breathes. "That's beautiful! Where did you get it?"
"It was a gift, from a little company I did some work for," Kitty says, staring at it. She's never actually worn it, never thought any of the institutions or parties Elliott dragged her to were worthy of it, but when the time came she couldn't bear to leave it behind either.
"That one, definitely that one."
"That was easy."
"Well, it's perfect, isn't it? Jewellery, make-up, shoes?"
"You're really going full-force, aren't you?"
"Everything has to be perfect. You're going to a ball with someone you really like. I've never been to a ball, apart from the dance at my old school and university balls, but they don't really count because I only stayed for half an hour at my university balls. I didn't have a date either. What shoes are you going to wear?"
"Black heels, probably."
"Which ones?"
"These."
"Can you walk in them all evening? Dance? Are you going to be taller than him in them?"
"Flora, I was a model. Of course I can walk in heels for hours on end."
"Are you going to be taller than him in them?" Flora repeats.
"Have you seen Thomas lately? He's really rather tall. I'd be just a little shorter in them, I guess."
"Perfect. Jewellery."
"I don't need a necklace."
"Fair enough. Earrings?"
"Here? These ones?"
"Okay, sure. I think we've got it sorted. Do you want to pack everything up now, and we can take it to mine?"
"Great. Thank you so much for this, Flora."
"It's no problem."
She's been debating for days whether to ask Thomas to come to the First Appointment with her, to be with her, because she knows that she can't face Elliott without support. Finally she decides to take the plunge. The Monday before the ball, they're walking back from the supermarket together, bags weighing down their hands and talking about everything that's going on in the world at the moment when she balls up her nerve and says, "Tom?"
"Yes?"
"Rosalie finally told me when the First Appointment was."
He just looks at her, and she wants to steal some of his calm, some of his control, because she's scared already and showing fear in front of Elliott is like stabbing yourself in front of a shark. The blood makes them go for you.
"It's the day of the ball. Four-thirty."
"Can you still make the ball? We can call it…"
"No, don't you dare. I can definitely still make the ball. I was just wondering if you didn't have an operation or a meeting that day, if you could come with me so I wasn't so alone…"
"Kitty, I'm really sorry but I do have a major operation scheduled," he puts down the shopping bag at the stairs to their flats, reaching out to touch her hand gently. "I would re-arrange it, but the man's been waiting far too long already and there's a danger his condition could become life-threatening."
"I understand," she says, choking back the lump in her throat. "Honestly, I understand."
And then she goes, up the stairs and into her flat and she's cursing herself for being so selfish, because of course he has no time to come to her divorce hearing, he's got to do his operations. She can't fault him for that, it's his job, there are people whose very lives depend on his work.
She feels so ashamed for asking.
A/N So, what do you think of meeting Helen? And Flora/Kitty's girly night in? I'm on a creative writing course atm, so I'm not sure when the next update will be. Between Monday and Wednesday, probably. And since next chapter is la grande ball, I'm going to be a review-whore and ask if you lovely people could possibly get me up to seventy reviews? Maybe? I would be your servant forever! N xxx
P.S. Guest, thank you for your review, and Elizabeth Brough if I very ungratefully forgot to thank you last chapter!