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Beth hugged her. ‘Call me as soon as you’re done.’
‘I will.’
Beth kissed her cousin’s cheek. ‘Be strong. And remember to cry, especially if it’s an older male judge. Try to look vulnerable and broken.’
Something that Kate didn’t feel would take too much effort. She’d felt permanently broken for the last two years, ever since that night when she’d woken at three a.m. to find Tristan’s note on the bedside table detailing the full extent of his debt situation. A situation she was jointly responsible for – even if she had been kept in the dark. Ignorance was no defence, not in the eyes of the law.
Waving Beth goodbye, Kate took a deep breath and climbed the multitude of steps leading up to the imposing courthouse. She felt slightly sick. Her hands were clammy and her legs barely had enough strength in them to manage the climb. By the time she reached the top, she was light-headed and even more unbalanced on her court shoes.
Maybe wearing a suit hadn’t been such a good idea: a casual outfit would have been more likely to evoke the judge’s sympathy. Unlike her tall and slim cousin, Kate’s physique wasn’t built for containment. Her bum was disproportionately big compared to the rest of her and strained against the tight skirt, creasing it in all the wrong places. But if she bought a larger size then the waist would be too baggy. Her shirt never stayed tucked in, and she was forever walking out of her court shoes.
Still, if she failed to avoid bankruptcy today, her law licence would be revoked and her career would be over, so she’d never need to wear a suit again. Every cloud, and all that.
Checking the summons letter, she headed into the grand lobby and queued to be scanned at the security machines. The case was being heard on the first floor of the Thomas More Building, room 110. She looked around at the array of medieval signs, but couldn’t see the room listed.
Conscious of the time, she asked for directions and was sent through the Queen’s Bench Division, across a courtyard and into a side annex, where she finally arrived at her destination. Unlike the grandeur of the rest of the building, room 110 was a dump, with dull beige flooring and matt grey walls, enhanced by stark furniture that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a prison.
The clerk sitting behind a desk didn’t look up when she approached. ‘Name?’
‘Kate Lawrence.’
‘Representative’s name?’
‘I’m representing myself.’
He glanced up and gave her an appraising look. ‘Fill this in,’ he said, pushing a form in front of her. ‘The hearing’s scheduled for two o’clock.’
‘Not too long to wait then.’
‘Along with eight others.’
Kate’s stomach dipped. It looked like she was in for a long afternoon. ‘Thank you,’ she said, heading for one of the plastic chairs.
The room was eerily quiet and uncomfortably cold. Having filled in the form and returned it to the clerk, she settled down and inserted her earphones, hoping some music might help to relax her.
Closing her eyes, she dropped her head against the wall and pondered how she’d ended up here, broken-hearted, alone and facing financial ruin.
Her mum had been so proud of her when she’d won a place at university to study law. It had felt like the breakthroughthey’d both needed – an escape from struggling to survive – to a life filled with promise and financial security. Her dad’s suicide when she was a baby had shaped them both, bringing them closer together in one sense, yet keeping them apart in another.
Her mum had been forced to work several jobs to pay the bills, so Kate had spent most of her childhood being looked after by Aunty Connie and Uncle Kenneth in Godalming. She’d envied her three cousins, with their loving parents and big house and regular holidays abroad. She’d craved siblings of her own and a dad who would teach her to swim and ride a bike, but instead she’d worn second-hand clothes and relied on free school meals, and her first holiday abroad hadn’t been until she was well into her twenties. Her only luxury had been music lessons, paid for by her aunt and uncle.
Luckily, she’d been close to her cousins, especially Beth. Megan was an actress and Alex was… well, he was still making up his mind what he wanted to be, but hopefully he’d get there soon. Sadly, her aunt and uncle had now separated, so there were no more family gatherings to attend, but she hoped her relationship with them would remain unchanged.
Despite her own fall from grace, at least her mum had found happiness. Marrying Brian had brought her stability, security and love, and it was no more than she deserved. Now all Kate had to do was sort out her own life.
If she’d known it would be gone four p.m. before she was called into the chamber, she’d have gone to the loo. Even the dulcet tones of Lewis Capaldi on her phone hadn’t distracted her from the sight of the other defendants being ushered into the room, returning a while later looking forlorn and downcast. By the time her name was called, her mouth was drier than the bottom of a budgie’s birdcage.
The court clerk showed her into the chamber, his bowed head resembling the stance of a funeral officiant, which didn’t bode well.
Despite the dullness of the room, the judge wore the full regalia: long sumptuous robes with a huge velvet collar and infamous starched curly wig. In contrast, the representative from HMRC wore a shabby suit and scuffed shoes. At least, she assumed he was her opposition. He looked fed up, tired and not in the mood to play ‘friendly’, which did nothing to calm her nerves.
The clerk gestured for her to sit down. No sooner had she done so, when the judge banged his gavel and announced the start of proceedings, causing her to scurry to her feet.
The judge checked her name and address, before turning to the HMRC representative. ‘Mr Whittle, you have applied for an application of bankruptcy?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘I’m assuming all efforts to secure engagement with the defendant and agree on a repayment schedule have been exhausted?’
