Chapter 24

Kitty 

The bus pulled away and I watched Astrid disappear. 

I stood in front of the doors, numb, somehow expecting them to open again.

It took several moments to realise I had no idea where I was actually going but I was certainly going in the wrong direction. 

I stepped off the bus at the next stop and some wild part of me was certain I would see Astrid walking up the street and I could run to her, or she could run to me. 

But all I saw was an empty London road at night, the scant bits of litter swirling from the wake of bus bathed in buzzing yellow street light. 

I crossed over to the stop opposite, and stood there, feeling like I had been punched in the head. 

What the fuck had just happened?

My mind raced. 

I panicked, Had we just broken up?

My stomach wrenched. 

How could that be? I loved her! I was her girl.

Hot tears rolled down my cold cheeks and neck. I reached up and felt my stiff hair, still held firm by the spray Astrid had so gently put in. 

What did she mean I didn’t respect her? Didn’t she understand how hard it was for me? I needed this. I needed them to accept me. I couldn’t throw all that away. How could she expect me to? How could she be angry at me for that?

A saw a flash of her face, contorted with fear, anger, and disgust. 

I panicked more. How could this have happened?!

I rode the bus home and walked into my building, a zombie. 

As I got into my bedroom, everything around me felt dull and muffled. 

I couldn’t think straight. 

I couldn’t accept the notion Astrid was gone. 

No, I couldn’t even consider it. 

I picked up and stacked papers. 

I sat down to write my chapter.

I stayed up late and wrote next to nothing. And when I looked in the morning, having woken from passing out exhausted the night before, I saw what little I had written was nonsensical rubbish. 

I tried to eat breakfast but glanced at my mobile constantly, hoping Astrid might have written. 

And when she hadn’t, I couldn’t bear it. 

So I got up and in a daze and got ready to go to school. It took a while to brush my hair into some kind of shape after it had been tangled in bed. In the bathroom, I wiped off the make-up, which made my face look raw. In the bedroom again, I was paralysed about what I should wear after everything that had happened. 

I couldn’t think about that either without feeling sick. 

I chose the suit. 

In my addled mind, I thought it might be at least professional.

I combined it with a plain blue long-sleeve t-shirt.

The numbness continued all the way into the department, up the stairs, and into the bustling common area. A grand title for the circle of broad corridor made habitable with a short sofa, coffee table and sparsely placed armchairs. I was oblivious of Dr Palmer standing in the middle of it until I nearly walked into her. 

“Katherine.” 

“Uh?” I asked, finally noticing her, coffee in hand and once again head-to-toe in tweed. 

“It was good to see last night, I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to your girlfriend,” she took a sip and then came close to whisper conspiratorially, “But honestly, Katherine, I really don’t know what is going on with you. You’re a mess, and in such a manly suit? What do you expect people here to think?”

“I’m sorry?” I heard myself ask.

“You really should stop apologising,” she said quietly, ”And get a proper wardrobe. Put on some lipstick or something when you come in.”

“Fuck… you,” I heard myself say. 

“Excuse me?!” Dr Palmer gasped. 

“I said, fuck you,” I repeated and looked her up, then down, “You un-fucking-believable fuck.” 

“Katherine!”

“My name is Kitty,” I exhaled, “and my fucking god, do you ever stop trying to cut other people down? You rude, judgemental, snob! The way you talked to my Mistress. The way you talk to me? I don’t know why I let you get away with it. Actually, no, I do. I do, because she told me why. I do it because I need you to like me. I need you to accept me. And I let you say those awful things…”

“What on earth are you going on about, Katherine?!” Dr Palmer was indignant with rage. 

“I’m saying, go fuck yourself, Dr Palmer,” I said simply, “Yup, that’s it.”

And I walked out, only just then aware of the small crowd of onlookers we had drawn, including Mike and the Professor. 

I felt a pang as I clocked them, but continued out the door. 

****

I never drank whiskey. But in a frantic state of self-doubt and recrimination, I bought a bottle of Jameson’s from the off-licence. I had been drinking it for some time sat at the kitchen table, trying to logic my way through the cluster-fuck I had made of myself, when Tara entered and turned on the kettle. 

“What’cha Kitty,” she cheered, “How are y…? Um… Kitty?”

“Uhm huh?” I mumbled.

“Are you alright?” Tara peered over the half empty whiskey bottle to catch my gaze, “Uh… are you drunk?”

“Yup”

“Ooo..kay,” Tara said warily and sat down opposite, “And why is that?”

“Pretty sure the whiskey is to blame,” I grinned at her, suddenly dizzy. 

“Yeeees, I imagine that is true,” she conceded, “but the impetus to drink alone into a stupor at 4 in the afternoon on a Friday?”

“I… um…” I stammered, tears welling, “I… don’t want to talk about it.”

“I think maybe you should,” Tara advised, “Kitty… what’s going on?”

“It’s… Astrid,”

“What about her?”

“We… I think…,” I stuttered, “We broke up.”

“Oh, Kitty…” 

And I started to cry properly. 

All the words tumbled out of me. I told her about the previous night at dinner, Dr Palmer’s comments over the last few weeks, the dress, the suit, and then ruining my reputation in the department that very afternoon. 

“And sssho, I can’t wear my suit, because it’s too manly, and I can’t wear the dress because it makes me look like a slut…” I concluded messily, “And I can’t wear my jeans, because they’re too… scruffy.”

“Uh huh,” Tara listened patiently, having collected a glass and filled it with whiskey for herself. 

“I hate dresses, Tara!” I exclaimed all of a sudden, “I hate wearing them, I mean. I mean… they’re great when they’re on Astrid.”

I started to cry again. 

“She hates me,” I croaked, “She said… I don’t know who I am… Because I said I would wear dresses to school… and I wanted to be proper, and fit in… She said I didn’t respect her. That I was embarrassed. And I am… I was… I am embarrassed… of me.”

Tara sat silently. 

“I mean, that’s what I always wanted, to fit in,” I admitted, “Ever since I was a kid, I was terrified of being the odd one out. My parents insisted I do all those extra activities at school, so it would look good on my university application… And I had to have a good CV, make nice with all the right people… be a good girl.”

I stopped when I said that. 

“But I don’t want to be a good girl,” I confused myself, “I’m not even sure I want to be… girly.”

Tara cleared her throat and shifted. 

“Kitty, look at me,” she said and I turned my gaze to her, “No, I mean look… at me.” 

I adjusted my attention, trying to bring her into focus. 

Tara sat in a black t-shirt covered by a neat shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her trousers were pressed and it looked like she might have recently trimmed her hair again. 

“Did you have a haircut?” I asked, blearily. 

“Yes… but that’s not what I meant,” she leaned forward, “Do you think I fit in?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think I fit in? Looking like this?”

I shrugged, very much feeling the fog and swirling of my head. 

“Kitty, I’m butch,” she explained, “I look butch, I am butch, and honestly, every single time I have tried to be remotely femme, well, I just look like a butch in a dress. I can’t be convincing, even when I tried.”

I listened intently whilst looking at her again. I had always just thought of her as Tara, Jane’s girlfriend. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can’t pretend I’m anything other than I am. And fuck knows, it has led to trouble. The shit I’ve gotten on the street. Or god, in the toilets.”

A wave of empathy crashed. 

“What I’m saying is, I know what it feels like to not fit in,” she explained, “Kitty… I don’t know if you’re butch, but you aren’t a girly girl. And that’s hard for you.”

I nodded, struggling against taking it in, but knowing it was true. 

“I’m scared,” I admitted. 

“I know,” Tara said, “and I wouldn’t hold it against you, if you needed to hide who you are to get by. You know that Jane does…”

I looked at her confused. 

“She wears her suits to work, and makes nice with everyone there,” Tara explained, “but I know she also doesn’t tell them about me… Because it’s one thing too many for her. Trying to be taken seriously in that world, trying to get by. Because of who she is, in that sexist, fucking racist, hospital.”

“Oh Tara…” I reached a hand to her. 

“I’m fine,” she consoled, “I mean, it hurts. I wish she didn’t feel like she had to. One time, when we were out, one of her colleagues ran into us and mistook me for a man. Jane didn’t correct her, and I knew why.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” I asked.

“I am, ish,” she admitted, “What I mean is, I get it. You have to weigh up the very real bullshit of what you would gain and lose by doing that. That’s your decision.”

I looked at her blankly, no idea what my answer would be.

“But you have to also understand that for others that decision is much harder, or made for them,” Tara noted pointedly. 

“I told her I could take care of her, Tara,” I whispered, “and I told her she couldn’t understand how hard it was for me…”

Tara nodded. 

“I was embarrassed,” I admitted finally, “I was embarrassed about what she does for a living, about how she lives.”

Tara nodded again.

“I was embarrassed about her,” I repeated, the weight of the shame landing hard. 

Tara looked at me.

“I am such a shit,” I wailed at her. 

Tara shook her head. 

“She thinks… I don’t love her,” I croaked. 

“And do you?”

“Fuck, of course I do,” I almost yelled. 

“Do you think you could talk to her?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, “She told me not to.”

“Is there someone else you know, that she knows?”

“Um… yes,” I answered meekly. 

“Then I think you need to make some choices,” Tara suggested, “About what you really want, and what you can and can’t live without. What privileges you have, what you can give up, and what you can share.”

I nodded. 

“And then go see whoever it is you both know.” 

That’s how I found my way to the doorstep of The Hearth the next day, squinting against the sunlight, hungover and terrified of what I might encounter having knocked on the door. 

Had Astrid told them? What would they think of me? Would they throw me out? Or scream? Or both?

It felt rude to come over unannounced but I didn’t have their number. And even if I did, I wasn’t sure I could have handled the conversation over the phone. 

“Hello?” Caroline asked simply as she opened the door. 

She was wearing a different house dress to the one I had seen her in at dinner, and a different apron. She also sported a pair of yellow Marigold gloves and a cigarette dangling from her lips. 

“Um… hi,” I greeted, sheepishly. 

“Hello Kitty,” Caroline acknowledged, inscrutable. 

“Could… could I come in?” I asked, miserably uncomfortable, “Could we talk?”

Caroline studied me for a moment, then wordlessly opened the door wide and stepped aside. 

I gratefully entered and we found our way up to their kitchen. 

“I was doing the dishes, so you’ll have to talk while I finish,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“Of course,” I said, before remembering any kind of manners, “Can I dry?”

Caroline nodded curtly. 

I joined her by the sink and picked up a tea-towel. 

“So,” Caroline wasted no more time, “You and Astrid have been having a time of it.”

“Uh… yes,” I replied, sheepishly. 

“And you thought you could come here and, what? Get in good with me? So I could talk to her for you?” Caroline asked, and I couldn’t tell if she was angry or just putting it plainly. 

“Um… no,” I replied, ashamed, “I came over, because I don’t know how to talk to her. And I want to. I need… help.”

Caroline let go of the dish she had been working on in the sink to look at me again. 

“I… fucked up,” I admitted, completely at a loss. 

“Yes,” she noted, “You did.”

“I… am trying to let go of… of fuck, I don’t know.”

“Your middle-class bollocks?” Caroline asked, now back to scrubbing again. 

I nodded silently. 

Caroline handed me the wet dish and pulled off her gloves with a sigh. 

“I think we’ll need a brew for this.” 

By brew she meant a very strong pot of tea. 

She set it on the table with a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher for milk. It was a surprisingly elaborate set up, with matching tea cups, spoons, and saucers. 

She poured for me and then herself, before stubbing her cigarette out and lighting another. 

“Astrid hasn’t had the kind of life you have,” Caroline explained, “She grew up rough, and when she was outed, she had to run to the city, where she had it rough again. She’s proud. But she’s been hurt.”

“Anne?” I asked. 

“Well, yes, but not just that,” Caroline exhaled a plume, “Look, Kitty, what do you want?”

“I want to be with her,” I was bereft, “And I want… to be able to… be myself.”

“And who are you?” Caroline asked bluntly. 

“I… I’m not sure,” I answered, defeated.

“Well, it’s a start,” Caroline sipped her tea. 

I looked at her oddly. 

“I was born, I imagine, in a place not so different from where you’re from,” Caroline sighed deeply, “My dad was a biologist, and my mum the dutiful housewife. We were the middle-class fucking dream.”

Caroline surprised me, and I realised again that I needed to adjust my presumptions. 

“When they found out I wasn’t quite the boy they expected me to be,” Caroline explained, “it didn’t go well…” 

Caroline stroked a scar on her forearm. 

“They made me think I wanted to be normal, that I wanted to be just like them,” she said, “And for a while I did think that, and I tried really hard.”

Caroline stopped and sipped again, before continuing.

“But when that didn’t work, well… they tried again,” she touched a scar on her forehead, “This is the kind of damage that expectations can cause, Kitty.” 

Tears welled again. 

“Astrid had to deal with other expectations, but none worse than her expectations of herself to survive and never depend on anyone else,” Caroline explained, “And when she lets someone in and is disappointed, it crushes her.”

The tears spilled. 

“Perhaps… I should just stay away,” I mumbled. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Caroline grimaced, “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”

I opened my mouth, completely at a loss. 

“So you’re a stuck up middle-class baby butch from the home counties, who needs to be taken down a peg or two,” Caroline waved her hand at me, and I couldn’t tell if she was dressing me down or presenting a master plan, “but I can’t think of a better Mistress to whip some sense into you.”

I opened my mouth again but couldn’t speak.

“But you have to want it,” she looked me square in the eyes, “People like you and me, we have to unlearn a lot of very silly ideas we had beaten into us by the world, our parents, and ourselves.”

I nodded.

“But you have to do what you think is best,” Caroline leaned back, “You need to decide whether you’re ready to give up being safe, and let go of the life you thought you should have.”

I looked at my cup of tea, having no idea how to do that.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Caroline read my mind, “A good Mistress can guide and help you, as long as you can help, support, and respect her in kind. And for fuck’s sake, get over sad little self.”

“I really… want to,” I felt something give inside, like I would break down or break apart. 

“Then you need to let go,” she said as took off her apron, “And shit may happen… I mean, fuck, when does it ever not? It won’t be perfect. It will be messy and hard. But you might do it together.”

I nodded. 

“And apologise to her,” she added.

I nodded again.

“Because that was fucked up what you said, Kitty.”

I lowered my head.

“Okay, then,” Caroline said with the first smile I had seen since getting there, “Do you still have her collar?”

Astrid

Jen came over with chocolate and wine, both of which she poured into me while I sat on the sofa wrapped in a blanket. 

I had been crying all night and into the morning. 

She got worried when I hadn’t replied to a particularly salacious text she’d sent me, something I would normally have done instantly, and then didn’t pick up the phone that evening nor the second time she called hours later. 

She knew I was home from the lights and presumed I was with Kitty. But when I didn’t answer in the morning as well, she got worried before finally getting me on the phone later in the day and heard me hyperventilating. 

She came over directly.

I tried to explain what happened, but I couldn’t say how coherent I was. 

After a while it became too much and I asked her to give me some space. I promised to take care and answer the phone when she called. 

When Jen had left, the flat felt hollow. 

Kitty was gone. 

What I had feared would happen, had happened. 

My girl. 

I couldn’t trust her. 

She would sell me out for a chance to be respectable, to be something better than I could provide. 

But fuck… I couldn’t handle it. 

My guts were ripped out. 

I stared at the coffee table scratches.

Eventually, I was numb enough to move. 

I hadn’t gone into work. 

I texted Lee that I was unwell. 

Thank fuck it was the weekend. 

I couldn’t imagine going in. Nor facing anyone. 

I moved around the flat in a daze. I got tea and sat at the kitchen table and just started to cry again. 

What the fuck was I thinking getting so close so fast? I had seen the signs of her need to be normal. Why the fuck had I ignored it?! 

Because I was horny? Because she was such a good submissive? Was that because she wanted someone to impose structure? Give her permission to not take responsibility? So she didn’t have to think for herself? 

Fuck! The way she begged me not to talk back at the dinner. The way that pompous Doctor shit had looked down on me. That’s the way Kitty saw me. That’s who I was to her. 

Fuck! Why had I let myself fall for her?

And what the fuck was I going to do now?

I hated how much it hurt. How much I had let myself become vulnerable. I hated it made me question myself. My choices. 

This was my life. I didn’t have the perfect job. Fuck knows I could do with more money. But not by living like that.

Not that I had the choice. 

I wrapped myself in my riding habit and overcoat and left the house without make-up. 

I walked aimlessly down Kingsland High Street. The roads were filthy, and fucked, but they were mine, I thought. I could rely on that. 

And Jen. 

And the family. 

They were there for me. 

But even thinking of them, I felt raw again. 

Fuck, I hated Kitty for that. 

For making me hurt so much. 

For making me doubt my family. And for making me doubt myself. 

Perhaps she was right. 

Perhaps it was better to just get by. 

Let the fuckers say things and think things, as long as you can get by. 

I never had a career, or a pension. 

I had jobs but nothing more. 

Who knew when it would all just end and where would I be then? Out on the street again? What security did I have? 

Maybe Kitty had it right. Take what you can get, and keep your head down. 

I walked through the park, which was starting to get dark early and was only sparsely populated with visitors, none lingering in the cold. 

I sat on a broken bench. 

What was I going to do?

I was going to get by, that’s what.

I would get by. Kitty wasn’t the first…

My lip quivered. 

Fuck!

Fuck this! And fuck her!

I grit my teeth but the tears came hot and heavy anyway. 

I sat like that for a long time, trying to keep from heaving sobs which made my cheeks chill in the autumn air. 

When it finally eased slightly, I walked home, ate toast and collapsed into bed. 

I didn’t want to think any more. 

I finished the wine Jen had left and fell into a numb sleep. 

Saturday wasn’t much better than Friday. 

I got up and put on my dressing gown and didn’t change out of it. 

I drank tea and watched TV. 

Some comedy about people dealing with nothing more important than what to cook when the boss came round for dinner, or some misunderstanding about dating two people at once. 

It was dirge. 

And it was almost comforting to be angry at the fake people and their fake problems. 

But I was bitter, and in the end I turned it off in disgust. 

I considered leaving the house. 

Perhaps to get wine. 

I looked in my purse and realised it probably wasn’t a good idea. 

I drank more tea instead and sat around until I just went back to bed. 

I lay in the dark, and thankfully fell asleep quickly despite not having done anything all day.

I woke to a text from Jen reminding me it was Sunday lunch and asking if I was okay. I replied that I wouldn’t be going. 

Oh you’re fucking going, came her response. 

Don’t tell me what to do Jen, I’m not in the mood, I typed back. 

I’ll stop telling you what to do right after I pick you up and we go to lunch, Jen pinged back, I already told mum about what happened and she told me to tell you that attendance at lunch was mandatory.

Fuck you Jen, I wrote back, knowing there was no point arguing. 

I’ll pick you up at 1, 

I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom to wash for the first time since Thursday. I scrubbed the leftover make-up and washed my hair and put on my dependable grey suit. 

I didn’t want to dress up. 

Nor did I want to walk out of the house without my armour. 

But I didn’t wear a bow, or do my hair properly. I just didn’t feel like it. 

“Well, look at the state of you,” was Jen’s comment when I opened the door to her. 

I scowled.

“At least you’ve clothes on,” she tutted, “but no time to fix the rest, so come on, time for tea.” 

The Hearth was warm and inviting as usual, which made me want to cry again. 

David pulled me into a bear-hug the second I came in. 

I couldn’t have fought him off if I wanted to. 

I held on tight instead. 

Caroline bustled around the roast assisted by Lilith, and soon the table was full. 

I sat between Caroline and Jen, looking at the food, entirely unhungry. 

The meal started with small talk, Lilith telling us about her partner and some minor community drama. 

I ate in silence, contemplating a quick exit. 

“Now,” Caroline set down her fork after Lilith concluded her update, “Astrid, darling, we need to talk.”

“What about?” I asked sullenly. 

“I had a stray show up at my door yesterday,” she explained, and I didn’t follow at first, “Your stray to be exact.” 

My jaw clenched. 

“A poor confused thing to be sure. Not a clue what she was doing, but wanting to make it right.”

“Make what right?” I bit, “That she wants to be the perfect middle-class miss shit?”

Caroline let me finish. 

“She fucked up, that’s for sure,” Caroline agreed. 

“She did more than that,” I looked down at my half-eaten plate, willing this to be over, “And the fucking guts to come to you.”

“She came to me because she had no idea who else to go to,” Caroline explained, “She’s lost, and yes, a privileged little madam to be sure.” 

I grunted. 

“But so was I once,” Caroline admitted and I looked up at her, surprised. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I grew up knowing my P’s and Q’s, and I know how much that can fuck you up.”

I said nothing. 

“It’s not an excuse,” Caroline addressed what she knew I was thinking, “It’s a reason, not an excuse.”

I poked at a cold roast potato.

“Don’t play with your food,” Caroline admonished and I laughed bitterly. 

“Oh, fuck you, Caroline,” I stood and dropped the napkin from my lap, “You don’t get to tell me what to do too.”

“Sit down, Astrid,” she commanded so firmly I did so immediately. 

Her expression softened. 

“She wants to learn. She’s fucking clueless, sure, but she wants to apologise. And she wants to realise who she really is.” 

I stared at Caroline, and then David, Lilith, and Jen. It started to feel like an intervention. 

“And what says I have to help her do that?” I growled, angry tears rising, “So she can just dump me when the going gets rough again, or let her friends call me a piece of shit without saying a fucking word?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to do it.”

I looked at my plate and then to Jen and back to Caroline. 

“But you are her Mistress,” Caroline continued, “And she didn’t stop being yours when she fucked up.” 

I swallowed the barb I wanted to spew at her. 

“She wants to come back to you.” 

“I.. don’t w… I don’t…” I said. 

“You don’t have to take her back,” Caroline said, “But she does love you, and she wants to be your girl.”

The table was silent. 

“So here it is, she’s put herself at my disposal,” Caroline explained, “and I have accepted her charge until you decide what you want to do.”

I was aghast. 

“And I propose to present her to you formally,” Caroline added quickly, “at Loose Lips next week. And then you can decide.”

I was speechless. 

“I will be there either way, and so will Kitty. Come or don’t. Accept her and her supplication or don’t.” 

I walked out. 

I was furious at Caroline. At the rest of them. Ambushing me like that. Listening to Kitty and pushing her back onto me. Fuck them. Fuck them all. 

I really was alone. 

I started crying again as I walked into my flat and ripped off my coat and threw it across the room. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Who the fuck is it?!” I screamed. 

“It’s, the fuck, me,” came Jen’s voice, “Open up now, sister mine.”

“I’m not in the mood, Jen!” I shouted as I yanked the door open.

“Uh huh,” Jen dismissed as she strode into the flat and passed me. 

“You really should take better care of your clothes,” she remarked, looking at the coat and then turning to face me.

“Jen, I swear…” 

“You swear what?” 

I glared at her. 

“You know I love you dear sister, so please take this in the way I intend it,” Jen picked at a fingernail before looking back at me, “Never ever be so rude to mum again.”

“What?” I asked, incredulous. 

“She loves you, she is trying to do her best by you, and she has always taken care of you,” she explained, “and fuck me, you can be an ungrateful little shit sometimes.”

“Jen, I want you to get the f…” I pointed to the door.

“Oh no,” she interrupted me, “Not until I’ve said what I came here to say.”

I stood silent as she took a step closer.

“We’ve listened to you, we’ve picked you up,” she explained, “When you came here from Nottingham, when you got sick, when you screamed every night, and had to work through what happened with your dad. When you fell apart, after Anne…” 

I stood, speechless.

“We took care of you, Caroline took care of you. We know you, Astrid,” Jen accused, “And now it’s time you paid attention for once.”

“When the fuck haven’t I paid attention?!” I finally managed to react. 

“Oh that’s rich,” Jen scoffed, “When was the last time you asked how I was doing? Do you have any idea how things are for me? You didn’t even notice I had a new maid when you came over with Kitty?”

“The… maid?” I asked, confused. 

“The one who served you Sunday lunch?” 

I shook my head, wracked my brain, and remembered someone in a maid dress serving Kitty and I. 

“Yes… of course.”

Jen looked at me sceptically, before she elaborated, “I picked him up from the personals, he’s been serving me for weeks. And you didn’t even ask about him. How it was going.”

“I… Jen…,” I stumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so focused on your own shit, how you could get hurt, how you need to get by, how you need to survive,” she continued, “You can’t look around at the people who love you, who want to be there for you, and want to share their lives with you.”

All the air let out of me. 

“Including Kitty,” Jen paused, “I’ve no idea whether she’s worth it. But she seems to be trying. And fuck, the mess you’re in right now, I can see how much you care about her.”

I looked away, embarrassed and uncertain. 

“Do what you want with Kitty, Astrid,” Jen walked to the door, “but don’t you dare walk out on mother like that again or I’ll be right over again with the cane, and no mistake.”

“Jen, I’m sorry,” I said meekly. 

She looked at me from the door. 

“Good,” she nodded curtly, “but you don’t need to apologise to me.”

I was defeated. 

“Go say you’re sorry,” she said more softly, “Listen to what she has to say, and take the week to decide what you want to do.”

I nodded again.

“And I’ll be here to listen, and help, if you want.”

“Thank you, Jen,” I said, and truly meant it.

“You’re welcome,” she opened the door and stood to one side, “Off you go then.”

I picked up my coat and shook it before putting it on and walking out. 

“Maybe mum will only spank you a little for storming off like that,” Jen teased. 

“Fucking hell, Jen,” I muttered as we made our way back to The Hearth. 

She smiled and grew silent. 

“So tell me about the maid,” I asked as we got closer to the house, “What’s his name?”

“The maid’s?” Jen asked, surprised, “Fuck knows. I let him clean and then I step on his bollocks. It’s just a skill share.”

I laughed and Jen grinned at me before leaving me at The Hearth’s front door.