Chapter 19

Kitty

Astrid pulled me onto the sofa to lie on her chest. 

It felt so safe to lie like that, having my hair stroked, my wrists tied. 

We breathed together. 

“Maybe you could call me Mistress,” Astrid nearly mumbled, “Now and then, I mean.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I closed my eyes. 

We made it to the bedroom some time later. 

Astrid said next to nothing but seemed at peace. 

She insisted on untying my wrists, despite my protests. 

I could lose circulation in my sleep, she explained. 

I pouted, which earned me a kiss. 

I woke up the next morning, chilled.

Shivering, I turned to see Astrid lying with her back to me near the edge of the bed. 

Distant.

It’s nothing, I tried to convince myself, she’s just sleeping.

I got up to make us both tea, but couldn’t shake the concern I managed to set aside the night 

before. 

Was she over Anne?

What happened to make her so sad back then?

Should I even ask?

As the water roiled, I inspected the faint diagonal indentations that criss crossed my wrists. 

It hadn’t occurred that rope would mark. 

I had my presentation that week. 

I can’t walk in with rope marks showing.

I scanned the rest of my arms, and decided if they weren’t gone by Wednesday, I would have to wear a long-sleeved shirt. 

Perhaps I should do that anyway, I fretted, Maybe my usual jeans/t-shirt combo wouldn’t cut it regardless?

Fuck. I hate having to worry about clothes.

I returned to the bedroom and set one mug by Astrid and joined her in bed to nurse my own. 

Shit. I really need to get my head in order.

I started to regret having agreed to spend the weekend. 

I should be preparing.

I shifted stiffly, my bottom still ached from the caning. The piercing pain had subsided, except for when I sat too quickly and then it would make a triumphant return.  

“Hmmnnnh,” Astrid turned onto her back and looked over to me, bleary-eyed.

“Tea, Miss?” I motioned to her bedside table. 

“Rghnnnhh,” she acknowledged with a sleepy smile and turned away to reach for the mug. 

Having retrieved it, she leaned up against the creaking headboard and sipped. 

I did the same and we sat in silence. 

“Hmmm,” she murmured, “What shall we do with our lazy Saturday?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, wondering if we were going to address the previous evening at all.  

“Lunch out somewhere?”

“Yes, Miss,” I realised how hungry I actually was.

“You can borrow something again,” she offered, “but if you want, we could also stop by a charity shop or something?”

“Um,” I thought out loud, “Yes, maybe, but it doesn’t have to be second-hand.”

An odd look passed over her face but quickly settled back into a tired smile.

“How about a trip to Angel then?” she yawned, “It’s got some places to eat, some shops that aren’t charity shops, and some that are, just in case.”

“Yes, Miss,” I nodded, more in my element, “I know Angel well, there’s a lovely bistro on the high street.”

“Okay,” she looked unsure. 

“I promise you’ll like it, Miss,” I encouraged, “It will be my treat.”

She looked uncomfortable again. 

“Please, Miss,” I pleaded, “I love the crêpes there.”

She took a moment before nodding. 

“Alright, but I’m not sure how that’s lunch,” she slid out of bed, “and we will have to get you something to wear first. I won’t be seen with you at a respectable eatery in a wrinkled shirt.”

She motioned to the pile of clothes I discarded on the floor the previous evening. 

I looked back at her embarrassed, but she winked.

“Okay, Miss,” I smiled and we went about getting dressed. 

The ride was quick from Dalston into Islington. Despite Astrid’s insistence that her neighbourhood was alright, I just didn’t know Dalston well. I was still nervous walking with her hand in hand there. Despite the fact that being women, we could get away with that a little more. 

Angel was just a bit… tidier… I supposed. 

We walked arm in arm as we got off the bus. 

“Alright,” she stopped me at the top of the high street, “What kind of thing would you like?”

“Ummm,” I stalled. 

I scanned the storefronts, an H&M, a Monsoon… Brands I knew but had no idea what they could offer me. My ignorance of clothing proved even more obvious when I didn’t even know which store to consider, let alone what to buy in them. 

“How about we start with what kind of things you like?” she asked, “Do you want new t-shirts? Or something else?”

“I suppose I should get something to wear for my presentation?” I answered, uncertain, “Something I could wear at home with you, but also, for that.”

She looked at me oddly again. 

“What kind of thing do academics wear for presentations?” 

“I guess, something like what I’m wearing now?” I looked down at the blue shirt that was mostly obscured by my overcoat.

“So, a blouse?”

“Um,” I mumbled, “I guess.”

“Come on then,” she nodded and led me briskly to Next, which boasted suits and shirts at competitive prices in the window display.

“I don’t really shop here,” Astrid confided as we stepped through the sliding doors into intimidating racks of sober coloured clothing separated down the middle of the building into ‘men’s’ and ‘women’s’.

“But since you wanted something new…” Astrid led me into the women’s section. 

I looked around at a dizzying array of office skirts, jackets, dresses, and trousers. There was also a plethora of shirts, hung at stiff angled. Some frilly, some with bows like the ones Astrid would wear, and others that were blissfully plain.

“Maybe, something like this?” I ventured, feeling a little more secure at the basic blue and white collared variety on display in the corner. 

Astrid was looking at a grey dress and turned to see what I was suggesting.

“Almost exactly like what you’re wearing now?”

“Yes,” I replied sheepishly, “I suppose.”

She smiled, came closer and took my hand. 

“You don’t shop much for clothes, do you?”

“Um, no,” I admitted.

“It’s okay,” she squeezed my hand, “Well, I do. Just normally in the shops up the street. I can help if you like?”

I smiled gratefully. 

She let go of my hand and rifled through the shirts with a practised air. 

“Okay, this should be your size,” Astrid pulled out a blue shirt and a white one, “Do you need a tie or anything?”

I hadn’t even considered a tie. The idea sat oddly in my mind. 

“Um,… I don’t think so.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to deflect, but Astrid didn’t seem perturbed and gathered up the two shirts and considered my trousers.

“Well, they’re neat enough I suppose,” she reflected, “I mean, I think so, but I don’t know if you are going for the whole professor suit affair.”

I tried to laugh at that. 

“Not really your thing?” she smiled gently, “But do you need anything to go with these? Or if it’s too expensive, like I said, the charity shops usually have something smart.”

“Oh, no,” I shook my head, “I mean, it’s fine, I can afford it, I just don’t think I need anything else.”

“Okay,” she replied with a little smile. 

We found the changing rooms at the back of the store and stopped at the doors.

“Want me to come in with you?”

“Ah,” I blushed, “I mean… yes… but not sure if that’s alright.”

She drew close, “I promise not to ravish you in there.”

I blushed brighter and she grinned, stepping back. 

“I think I’ll be okay,” I answered, still shy but tempted, “I’ll come out and show you.”

“Alright then,” she sighed dramatically, before asking, “Oh, do you need a bra?”

“Um…” I wasn’t sure how to answer. 

I never wore one if I could avoid it. I owned two, but hated how they constricted and mostly just went with sports ones when absolutely necessary. 

“No, I, uh, I’m okay,” I hurried into one of the cubicles and drew the curtain.

We came out with both shirts in the end. They had fitted fine, if a little tighter over the chest than I was used to. I wore the new blue one out, Astrid’s shirt folded into the bag.

We also picked up a couple t-shirts, one plain white one which I found and another tighter one with the word “Girl,” in large letters across the front that Astrid picked out. 

She was giddy when she found it. I didn’t have the heart to say no when she insisted on paying 

for it and giving it to me as a gift. 

Astrid

As we walked out of Next, I couldn’t help reflecting on Kitty’s obvious discomfort. 

Despite having seen her in a dress on more than one occasion, it struck how much of an aversion she had for anything that suggested femininity. 

Or maybe just clothing in general? 

It was hard to put my finger on it.

My mobile pinged as I pondered that and I reached into my handbag to retrieve it. 

“Sorry,” I apologised and checked the message. 

There weren’t many people who would text me and one of them was work. 

The message was from Jen instead.

I turned the phone to Kitty as we walked, “Jen’s making sure we haven’t forgotten to come to hers for a poached egg brunch tomorrow. I think she wants to check you out some more.”

“Oh?” Kitty asked nervously.

“Don’t mind her,” I tried, “She has a big mouth but she’s a darling perv with her heart in the right place.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” I asked and she laughed. 

“I keep thinking I should get a mobile,” she changed the subject, “It would be easier to be in touch with you for a start, and not have to worry about getting to the landline.”

“Especially since you’ll be calling me daily for a while,” I reminded her. 

“Yes,” she blushed, “That too.”

“You really don’t need to spend all that money,” I relented, “Honestly.”

“No, I think it’s a good idea,” she looked around before pointing, “There’s an Orange shop over there.”

“Now?”

“If you don’t mind, Miss?”

“Okay,” I was unsure, “Lead the way.”

She directed us across the traffic in gridlock into a small store, the kind that had been popping up more and more around the city. A mobile telephone shop for one of the major brands, selling phones and payment plans. 

I bought mine at a shop like that. Using it mainly for work, I kept it very much pay-as-you-go.

Kitty detached from my arm and looked over the display models. 

I stood to one side and crossed my arms. 

“What do you think of this one?” Kitty pointed out a shiny blue Nokia.

“Honestly, darling, I have no idea about these things. I kind of got the cheapest one.”

“Hmmm…” she continued her scan of the other phones. 

Kitty picked up a matt grey steel thing with a flip cover, bringing to mind old Star Trek episodes. 

I craned to look at the price. 

“Honestly, Kitty,” I paled, “Don’t get one on my account, it’s really not necessary.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled, “I’ll put it on my overdraft, I can pay it off later.”

“You have an overdraft?” I asked, incredulous. 

“On my student account,” she replied as if I should know what that was, “Honestly, I shouldn’t have one any more but the bank let me keep it as I was still technically a postgraduate last year.”

I looked at her, baffled. 

“It’s interest-free,” she explained, “Up to 1800 I think.”

She turned back to the display and beckoned the clerk with a cheery wave. 

£1800 interest-free overdraft…?

The concept boggled my mind. 

If I went a penny over my limit, the bank would freeze my card and charge me the Earth for the privilege. 

I supposed it really must be good to be a student. 

£1800 was more money than I could imagine being able to ever just ”pay back.” 

I never had a loan nor a credit card. 

I didn’t think it a good idea. 

I hadn’t even considered applying for either. 

I presumed they would have laughed me out of the bank.

“I’ll take it,” Kitty cheered, accepting a thick multi-layered form which brought to mind other kinds of contracts, “Do I just put all my details here?”

I read over her shoulder, “Twelve-month contract.”

“And the phone is free with a contract?” Kitty was saying to the neatly-dressed clerk. 

“That’s right,” he said amiably, “You just pay more of a premium on the monthly cost, but the calls are cheaper and you get 100 free texts a month.”

“That sounds alright,” Kitty turned her head to smile at me before lowering it again to finish the forms. 

“Anything for you, miss?” the clerk redirected his attention to me.

“Oh, no, thank you,” I waved gently, amused to hear my title used that way, “I’m just here with her.”

He nodded curtly and went back to attending Kitty. 

I wandered the shop as Kitty finished, realising there really was very little to look at, if I wasn’t in the market for an expensive new phone or signing my life away on a twelve- or twentyfour-month basis. 

“All done,” Kitty skipped up to me with a small plastic bag which presumably contained her new device, “And this is the number for you, Miss.”

Kitty handed me a small neatly-printed card. I smiled as convincingly as I could before tucking it into my purse. 

“Lunch, Miss?” she sighed happily. 

I could see over Kitty’s shoulder the clerk was giving us an odd look.

“Yes,” I took Kitty’s arm, keen to get out of there, “You know the way, so please.”

Kitty opened the door for me to exit, which did make me feel better. 

Once outside, she directed us through the other shoppers to a small shop-front with a French name in cursive script above the door. 

We entered what seemed to be a faithful reproduction of a Parisienne café, complete with soft French crooning over the speaker system. 

I presumed it was meant to be a Parisienne café, not having been able to ever go myself. 

The tables were wrought-iron stems holding up finely sanded tops. The chairs were matching iron with plush red pillows and backrests. The floor was a chessboard of tile and the walls a light wood, sparsely decorated with inoffensive paintings of fruit or country scenes. The smell of fresh bread and pastries wafted through the room from somewhere.

A waitress in a neat dress and apron greeted us at the door and led us to a table near the big bay windows overlooking the street. 

I sat and Kitty followed, sucking in her breath as she did. 

The waitress seemed not to notice or was very good at pretending she hadn’t as she handed us both menus before quickly retreating to return with water in a carafe and two long stemmed glasses. 

“I’ll be right back to take your order,” she said with the briefest smile and a soft French accent, before walking away to attend to other guests. 

Kitty opened and studied the menu eagerly. 

I split my own, to peer through what seemed to be a never-ending selection of pancakes, all with fancy combinations of toppings and equally impressive price-tags. 

“Kitty, honestly,” I looked over my menu to her, “I don’t think you should pay for us both, you just bought shirts and a phone…”

“No, please,” she replied cheerily, “I’m having such a lovely day and I want to treat you.”

I looked at her sceptically. 

“Please,” she begged, “I dragged you here. Besides, the Croque Monsieur is to die for. Unless you want a crêpe. Oh, and you must save room for dessert.”

I returned to the menu. 

Croque Monsieur… 

I searched for the dish on the list, unsure exactly how it would be spelled. 

Finding it at the bottom of the menu, I read the description, “Made from a family recipe, this typical French dish, presented here with the finest Gruyere, Parmesan, Smoked Ham, and delicate Béchamel sauce, lain over home-made sourdough bread, is served with a side salad and seasonal vegetables.”

“It’s… a ham and cheese toastie?”

“I guess,” Kitty laughed, “I really like it.” 

I looked down over the rest of the impenetrable options.

“Sure,” I snapped the menu closed, “One of those.”

“Perfect,” she grinned and lay her own menu down and looked towards the counter. 

As if she had been watching out for Kitty’s subtle signal, the waitress appeared immediately with a pad and pen.

“Deux Croque Monsieur,” Kitty requested, “and for dessert, Profiteroles for us both?”

Kitty looked at me expectantly.

“Um… sure,” I answered, unsure of what I had just agreed to. 

“Of course,” the waitress concurred, “And anything to drink? We have some new red wines from Bordeaux this morning.”

Kitty looked at me.

“Not for me,” I answered feeling flush, “A tea will do.”

The waitress nodded and turned to Kitty.

“Un Café Crème,” she ordered and the waitress scribbled, smiled at us both, and retreated. 

Kitty sighed happily and rested her forearms on the table,

“I’m so glad we did this. Went out on a lunch date, I mean.”

“Me too,” I answered, once again feeling a need to reset my balance, “Would you pour us some water, girl?”

“Oh, yes of course, Miss,” Kitty took the carafe and poured us out generous measures into the two glasses before raising one.

“It’s bad luck to toast with water,” she shrugged, “But in lieu of wine…”

“Probably for the best,” I tried to smile, and raised my glass to connect to hers with a bright ring. 

She smiled again and sipped her water. 

Trying to find an even keel, I directed the conversation to the weather and the area. 

I confessed I had spent time in rather different parts of Angel, which despite the proximity, had quite a disparate population of shops and businesses. 

Just five minutes over from the bistro was a street market I was much more familiar with, and a greasy-spoon caf I would regularly frequent after trawling for second-hand treasure. 

“I don’t think I’ve been down there,” Kitty admitted. 

“I’ll show you,” I offered as our meals arrived on identical plates piled high with impressively layered foods. 

The waitress deftly laid down tea and coffee for us from the same large tray she held aloft with one hand. 

I made a mental note to have Kitty practise that. 

“Thank you,” I said to the waitress as she was done.

”Mademoiselle,” she acknowledged as she withdrew. 

“I’d like that, seeing where you normally go,” Kitty ignored the waitress, ”But for now, bon appétit, Miss.” 

The sandwich was as delicious as Kitty insisted it would be. And dessert turned out to be delectable miniature puff pastries filled with cream, smothered in molten warm chocolate. 

It all was so decadent. 

And when we were done, I was fairly stuffed with chocolate, cheeses, ham and bread. 

Kitty paid with a card as she had promised to and started to stand to leave as soon as the receipt was delivered on a small wooden tray and the waitress departed.

“Just a moment,” I insisted. 

Kitty stopped, “Miss?”

“You didn’t leave a tip,” I pulled pound coins out of my purse.

“Oh no, Miss,” she smiled, “it’s service compris.”

I looked at her dubiously. 

“Service included,” she translated, still smiling. 

I was unconvinced.

“I promise, Miss,” Kitty nodded. 

I looked to the waitress and back to the little tray where the receipt lay. 

I put away my purse. 

“Okay,” I answered warily and perhaps firmer than I meant, “Chair then, girl.”

“Oh,” Kitty startled before tripping quickly behind me, “Yes, Miss.”

I stood and thanked her, feeling foolish again and perhaps rude. 

I laid a hand on her cheek and attempted a smile before she held out my coat. 

Once dressed, I helped her with hers and we stepped to the door. 

“Thank you again,” I called to the waitress and waved. 

The woman looked up from the counter as if perplexed by my gesture, but waved cheerily back regardless. 

Kitty opened the door for me. 

“So, how about we try one of my favourite shops?” I yearned for familiar territory. 

“Of course, Miss,” she answered with a satisfied sigh.

I led her up the high street to the arcade of second-hand and charity shops. 

I took her to a larger store made up of a bright single room of clothes racks in the middle, yet more clothes rails on the walls, and short bookcases at the far end, full of nicknacks. 

I loved that shop for its eclectic mix of fashions, which leant to my own tastes, vintage and formal. 

The familiar sights, colours, and smells of older fabrics put me immediately at ease. 

I scanned the longer garments hanging from a rail near the brightly decorated window display.

“Ooo, look at these,” I skipped to the dresses and coats, smiling easily back at Kitty who was looking around, bemused. 

I pulled out a black, sequinned, floor-length extravagance and held it up to my chest. 

“What do you think?” 

“It’s… very shiny?” Kitty offered. 

I withered at her and went to measure it against her instead. 

As I reached forward, Kitty flinched back. 

It looked for a moment like I had slapped her.  

“Maybe something else…” I placed the dress back on the rail quickly and wandered to the other side of the shop. 

Once there, I pulled out a white shirt and a pair of black trousers, which had a crease ironed into each leg.

“What about these?” 

Kitty looked them over with apparent interest and not the instant revolt at the dresses.

“Umm, maybe?”

“Alright,” I smiled and reached back into the clothes rail and withdrew a tailored suit jacket, “maybe with this?”

Kitty lips curled ever so slightly. 

Pulling clothes from the men’s side seemed to make her much more comfortable, though I wondered if Kitty had realised that was the section we were shopping in. 

“Do you want to try them on?” I asked. 

“Uh…” she hesitated and unconsciously scanned the room. 

”I will be with you,” I tried to encourage, ”and you can show me how they look.”

“Okay,” she smiled shyly. 

I stroked her cheek and led her to the changing rooms. 

As she stepped in, I flicked through blouses, finding one with a high collar and a pleated trim. 

I was investigating it as Kitty walked out in her suit. 

She was breathtaking. 

“Wow,” I swallowed. 

The suit fitted her like a glove and though the shirt was too large, it gave her a rogueish, slightly dishevelled swagger. 

“Uh… what do you think?” I recovered. 

“I…” Kitty looked down at herself, “I think I like it.”

“It really suits you,” I answered and then laughed at myself, “So to speak.”

“I didn’t realise women’s suits could fit like this,” Kitty scratched the back of her head.

I wondered if I should say anything. 

“Well, I wouldn’t get too hung up on labels,” I decided on, before adding, “You sure you don’t want a tie to go with it?”

“A tie?”

“Yes,” I wandered over to a small rack by the changing rooms. 

“Something like this?” I held up a silky striped one. 

“I don’t know,” she measured.

“Maybe just the suit then?” I discarded the tie, reluctant to push something Kitty might not be ready for. 

I thought back to the times I had seen her in dresses and skirts, and how uncomfortable she had seemed. 

“Sure,” she smiled sweetly, confirming what now seemed beyond obvious. 

“Well, alright then,” I concluded with a grin and Kitty slipped behind the curtain to change back. 

By the time she came out with her choices hanging over her arm, I had been trawling through the suits on the other side of the shop. 

I had picked out a grey pleated skirt I wasn’t sure about at all, especially given its elevated price. 

“What about this?” Kitty asked as reached into the rack for a long black academic gown, the kind teachers wore with a mortar board and a scowl. 

“It’s not quite a play I can manage. A few too many bad memories.”

She nodded empathetically. 

“But, Jen,” I tried to salvage, “She’s a nut for playing strict schoolmarm. We can bring it as a gift tomorrow, a thank you for brunch?”

“Certainly,” she smiled again and hung it over her arm with the suit, “And you?”

“Oh,” I looked down at my selection, “Just a skirt and blouse, but honestly I’m not sure.”

“Why, Miss?”

“Um,” I tried to decide what to say, “Well, I have plenty of things and I don’t know if I can afford it.” 

“I’ll get it for you,” she offered immediately. 

“No,” I answered quickly and perhaps too harshly, “I mean… thank you, but no, I can’t let you do that.”

“Please, I want to, Miss.”

“I’m just not sure I’m comfortable…”

Kitty reached forward to take them from me and I took a step back instinctively. 

She looked at me oddly. 

“Really, it’s okay,” I tried to cover, “I’m not sure they would even look good on.”

Her expression grew soft, “Then please try, Miss.”

I stared at her.

“Really,” she encouraged. 

“Okay,” I conceded, but not at all happy to. 

I entered the changing room and quickly changed. 

They fit perfectly. 

And looked good on too, even as a combination. 

My favourite kind of look, old-fashioned, formal, and severe. 

“Didn’t fit,” I came out with the garments back on their hangers. 

I couldn’t say why I lied. 

I wanted both. 

But I just didn’t want her to spend more money on me. 

And I couldn’t think of a way to refuse. 

“That’s a shame,” she sighed.

“Uh huh,” I dismissed, “But, let’s get those for you and Jen then.”

“Yes, Miss,” she fairly skipped to the counter to pay. 

The next day, Kitty wore the suit to brunch. I chose a pinstripe three-piece to match. An outfit that always made me feel particularly put together, as the shirt required cufflinks, which I had Kitty put in. 

We wrapped the teacher’s gown in a big red ribbon and with it in Kitty’s arms, we knocked on Jen’s door. 

Entering, Jen looked her usual naughty secretary self, tight skirt and suit jacket, her cream-coloured blouse with fairly a single button done. 

“Don’t you two look darling,” she beckoned us in, “Tea’s on the way.”

Jen adored the gown of course and insisted on wearing it through the whole meal. 

The poached eggs were delicious and arrived on the table with a pot of tea, a jug of juice, toast and several jams. 

It was all very impressive. 

Kitty winced when she sat at the table and Jen gave me a knowing look but didn’t comment further. 

Instead she asked after our weekend and Kitty expounded on her recent wardrobe additions. 

She admitted she generally didn’t consider the way she dressed but that she had actually enjoyed going shopping with me, especially to the charity shops. 

It made me happy to hear, but I wondered if her pleasure with the experience in the charity shop had more to do with being able to choose more freely, rather than enjoying the space quite like I did. 

Jen, for her part, regaled us with accounts of recent exploits and it really was a lovely way to spend the end of our weekend. 

When it came time to say goodbye to Kitty, I tried to be as casual as I could when I said I would see her soon for the first of our two weekly visits. 

I also told her not to forget to get in touch each evening when she stopped work. 

She looked suitably chastised at the reminder and absent-mindedly stroked her backside. 

“And good luck with your presentation, darling,” I popped the collar of her coat, “Wear the suit, I think you’ll feel good in it.”

“Do you think, Miss?” she was quite sceptical. 

“I’m certain,” I encouraged, “but either way, you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

“Thank you, Miss,” she curtseyed in a way that made me glow. 

“Alright, off with you,” I tried to ignore a growing gnaw of loss. 

“Yes, Mistress,” she curtseyed again before waving as she walked up the stairs and away. 

My heart ached as I closed the door after her.