‘Fired? No, no, no. You’re on a freelance contract. We just need to take another look at it. I’ve fought to keep you on for two days a week, and Christine has agreed to it. At least until the digital side is up and running.’
He looked at her sympathetically.
‘Abby, I know this is disappointing for you, but we have to think about the future of the archive.’
‘Clearly,’ said Abby bleakly.
‘Good,’ said Stephen, obviously relieved that it had all gone so smoothly. ‘Then that’s settled. Why don’t you get off early today, hmm?’
‘I have the afternoon off anyway.’
‘Of course, I was forgetting. Are you going somewhere nice? A long weekend?’
She stood up slowly.
‘I’m going to see a divorce lawyer.’
Stephen’s face fell.
‘I see. Well, I hope it all . . . goes the way you want.’
‘I can’t imagine it will,’ said Abby and walked out of the office.
Donovan’s solicitors was a more modern-looking outfit than she had imagined.
She had met Anna outside dozens of times, but had never gone into the building. She announced herself at reception, and within a few moments she was introduced to one Graham Kelly. Abby had not had a great deal of experience of solicitors beyond the many legal dramas she had seen on television. She imagined Graham playing rugby and hanging on Jeremy Clarkson’s every word. She didn’t suppose he was more than thirty, which was definitely a good thing. She knew that experienced solicitors meant expensive solicitors. She’d already broached this point gently with Matt, who had reassured her that an associate at the firm would do as good a job as he could.
‘Come through,’ said Graham, leading her down the corridor to his office.
‘Are Anna or Matt around?’ said Abby, hoping that seeing a friendly face might make her feel less anxious.
‘Anna’s in court, I think, and Matt is in a meeting. I’ll give his secretary a call, though, and let him know you’re here. Tea?’
‘No. No thank you,’ said Abby, taking a seat in front of his desk.
There was a buff-coloured file on the desk with the words Gordon/Separation written in bold ink at the top. She’d heard about things staring you in the face in black and white, but seeing the file made everything feel horribly real.
‘So. Matt has given me an outline of your situation.’
‘I want a divorce,’ said Abby, ditching the mental script she had written for herself on the way here.
‘Okay,’ he said, sipping from his glass of water. ‘I believe you are currently separated from your husband.’
Abby nodded, trying to keep her cool. ‘I asked him to leave. Well, I didn’t actually ask. I just sort of threw him out seven weeks ago. He had an affair. Sex. And now I would like a divorce.’
She expected him to pass judgement, to try and talk her out of it, but he just sat there writing everything down.
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Almost six years exactly.’
‘Children?’
‘None.’
‘Do you work?’
‘Yes. No. Sort of. I lost my job today,’ she said sadly.