Free Stockings and Cellulite by Debbie Viggiano

required then? Never mind being able to type at one hundred and twenty words a minute or demonstrate a good telephone manner. Just make sure your birth sign was the goat and rest assured you were unlikely to lock horns with this particular solicitor. How eccentric.
    The day went quickly and the work was – dare I say it – a piece of cake. Dictation was clear with impeccably given instructions so it was virtually impossible to make mistakes. My fingers whirled over the keys producing reams of printed documents and, as the hands of the clock nudged towards midday, I asked Grace if she would like a cup of coffee.
    ‘Ooh lovely dear. Three sugars please and put some of the sweet stuff in yours too. It’s very good for shock and I can tell you’ve had a few lately.’
    Definitely eccentric.
    I went off in search of the kitchen faintly amused. What did she know about my life?
    All too soon it was time to get Livvy and Toby from school.
    ‘Cheerio dear. See you tomorrow. You go and see to those lovely twins of yours.’
    ‘Will do,’ I smiled.
    I couldn’t wait to see my children’s happy faces as they spilled through the school gates with their friends. Swinging my handbag jauntily over my shoulder, I was half way across the car park before being brought up short. How did Grace Herbert know my children were twins? I stood stock still until a car tooted me out of its way. Oh how silly Cass! The agency must have told her. Of course.
    But the following day Grace Herbert stunned me by making reference to the legal appointment with Morton Peck & Livingston. I was one hundred per cent positive I hadn’t mentioned anything about it in conservation. Her blue eyes twinkled over her little spectacles as she smiled mysteriously at me.
    ‘Sometimes I’m privy to certain information dear.’
    I wasn’t at all sure I understood that comment.
    Once home I telephoned Stevie to advise him of the impending appointment with the solicitor. I didn’t want him being unprepared for the letter that would duly plop through Cynthia’s letterbox.
    He gave a sigh of resignation. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this Cass.’
    ‘Stevie please. I don’t want to start arguing. I just want to get on with my life.’
    ‘We don’t need to be divorced for you to get on with your life.’
    I thought back to the fiasco with Jed.
    ‘I think it’s better this way.’
    ‘Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?’ he asked grimly.
    I took a moment to desperately try and recapture just the smallest of sparks. Sadly there wasn’t even a splutter.
    ‘Quite sure.’
    ‘You won’t turn into one of those bitter and twisted women who withhold access or use children as an emotional weapon?’
    ‘Of course not!’ I retorted, deeply offended.
    We then had a surprisingly amicable chat about finances. Stevie said he was prepared to sign over the entirety of the house to me on condition I accept only a small monthly payment for the twins. The mortgage was paid off two years ago so the house represented a solid amount of equity. If I drew upon my bond’s annual interest and continued temping, then financially things would be stable.
    ‘Tell this legal bod to keep it straightforward. I’m not messing around with solicitors myself, so just give me the paperwork, show me where to sign and we’ll split the bill. Agreed?’
    I couldn’t say fairer than that.
    As I approached Morton Peck & Livingston’s building the following afternoon, I repressed a shudder. Shouldering open the door, nothing had changed. What a dreary place.
    ‘Cuthbert Livingston, pleased to meet you Mrs Cherry.’
    My solicitor shook my hand before indicating a chair opposite his desk. Dapper and with a warm manner, he was nothing like Mr Morton.
    Nervously I sat down. While Mr Livingston selected a clean page on his scribble pad and searched for a functional biro, I glanced around his office. Fake wood panelling encased all four walls. Grey light filtered through dusty