The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1108 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Despite Trish’s cheery efforts earlier, she was in some pain as we took her home, and she spent most of the drive home cuddled into me in the back of Simon’s Jag. He carried her into the house and after she spoke quickly to the others, she was clearly very tired and went straight to bed.

The others were warned of severe consequences if they woke her, and being reasonably obedient, they were very quiet when they went to bed a short time later.

Jenny, the nanny, seems to be settling in quite well and takes no messing from the kids, although she is impressed by the cognitive skills of Livvie–wait till she gets to know Trish.

She was, after accepting a confidentiality clause, let into the secret of some of our kids. She was surprised rather than shocked, more by the numbers than the transgender. Stella told her that as we’d dealt with one, a couple more became no big deal. My past wasn’t mentioned, nor should it be.

I suppose Jenny is about my age, and has done her job for about five years. She had encountered a transgender kid before, although it wasn’t one of her charges, and that was a girl who felt she should be a boy.

I explained what had happened to Trish, and she was suitably horrified, although told me that she had met self harm before, but usually in older children, unless it was by accident. I introduced her to Trish, who was still very tired the next morning.

“Trish, this nice lady is Jenny. She’s going to help me look after my gang of ruffians.”

“There’s no one here called, Ian,” she said, “so, there’s no rough ones,” she informed me before yawning.

“This, Jenny, is my daughter Trish, otherwise known as motor mouth. If you play cards or chess with her, don’t do it for money.”

“Oh, Mummy, you’re always warning off other people. How am I gonna get the money for a boob job?”

“You can sell your body when you’re a teenager,” I responded.

“Is that by the kilo, Mummy?”

“See what I mean?” I said to Jenny. “Brain the size of a small planet parking cars.” I probably misquoted Douglas Adams, but felt it was appropriate.

“You like the Hitchhiker’s Guide? she asked me.

“Yes, although I read it when I was an undergrad.”

“Where was that, Lady C?”

“Sussex.”

“Oh, we used to live near Eastbourne.”

“Nice place, but Sussex Uni is nearer to Brighton.”

“We had a place in Meads Village.”

“Oh, very nice.”

“Woss Meads Village, Mummy,” Trish decided she wanted back into the conversation.

“It’s part of Eastbourne, which is near the downs and yet only down the road from the beach.”

“Yeah, nothing like, ever happened there, and suddenly someone was set on fire on the coastal path and like, suddenly it’s all nasty. My parents left and went to live in Cheltenham, and that’s where I trained for my NNEB and my Nanny’s diploma.”

“Gosh, I haven’t been to Cheltenham for yonks,” I said, “I used to live in Bristol.”

“Oh, like wow, practically neighbours, seeing as Bristol used to be in Gloucestershire.”

“Sort of, it was its own county borough, and still is, I think. England’s second city for many years,” I added.

“Was it?” Jenny seemed surprised, “I’d ha’ thought Birmingham or Manchester woulda been.”

“Ah, that was later, Bristol was a very important port. Remember, they had to dig a canal to Manchester.”

“Mummy, didn’t you tell us about the slaves coming and going through Bristol?”

“Fancy you remembering that, darling.”

“I remember everything you tell me, Mummy.”

“Ha ha, you don’t listen to half of what I say to you.”

“Yes I do, Mummy–it’s just sometimes I have it on my pause button beforehand.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right, you cheeky monkey.”

“Lady C, would you like me to get the baby up and feed her?”

“Please, I expressed some milk earlier, it’s in the fridge.” She went off and left me alone with Trish.

“She seems very nice, Mummy.”

“Yes, she does–I’m glad you like her, she’s here for a month, and then we see where we go from there.”

“Does she know about my–um–accident?”

“Accident? I don’t think that’s quite how I would have described it, Trish; but yes, she does know, and it isn’t a problem.”

“Oh good,” replied the blushing child.

“How is it this morning?”

“A bit sore.”

“D’you want to get up for some breakfast?”

“I’d rather be your little baby and you feed me boob milk.”

“I’d have to put you back in nappies then, and you’d have to go to bed much of the day and no telly or books, just a dummy and a mobile.”

“My mobile phone?”

“No, one of those dangly things you hang over a cot.”

“Oh–yuck, in which case I’ll come an’ have some toast.” I’d called her bluff. Besides, at six years old, I’m not at all sure how appropriate breast feeding would be. The conversation almost became surreal for a moment, and I had visions of these porn stories where grown men dress up like babies and poo themselves–yuck.

You also hear stories of women breast feeding children until they’re far too old to need it–and okay, it’s quite a pleasant thing to do, it’s surely not necessary after the age of a year or so–by that time, I expect our baby girl to be on bacon sarnies washed down with a pint of Guinness; and Trish to be doing her PhD at Oxford.

I was helping Trish downstairs when the doorbell rang. As I was closest to the door, I answered it. A woman I’d not met before flashed a name badge at me, “Mrs Cameron? Pauline Hewitt, Social Services.” Oh just great–exactly what I need at nine o’clock in the morning.

“You’d better come in. Please go in there,” I indicated the dining room. “I’ll be with you in a moment or two. Would you like a cuppa?”

“That would be nice, coffee if you have some, black no sugar.”

“Fine, I’ll be with you in a moment. Come along Trish, let’s get you sorted for breakfast. Julie?” I called for the teenager to come forth.

“Yes, Mummy?”

“Can you give Trish some cereal and toast for breakfast. I have to see a lady from social services.”

“Yes, of course I will.” She winked and knew I meant her to find Simon. She escorted Trish into the kitchen, where I made myself a cup of tea and Ms Hewitt a coffee.

I took them through to the dining room and shut the door. I passed over her coffee.

“Thank you, I expect you know why I’m here?”

“I can guess.”

“One of your foster children was seriously injured and is in hospital.”

“May I correct you there. Trish is my adopted daughter, and is no longer in hospital. That was her I was helping down the stairs for her breakfast.”

“Oh, I was given to understand she was at death’s door.”

“No, she came home last night.”

“Oh, we weren’t told.”

“Once we’ve had our drink, you can speak with her if you wish.”

“Um–yes, okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

I ran through the events of that morning, including my breast feeding the baby, to finding Trish later in my bath. I explained that she was transgender, and what that really meant.

“You have three children who are reportedly transgendered? Isn’t that rather a cluster effect, given how uncommon it usually is?”

“I suppose because we proved sympathetic to Trish, we found others coming to us. Billie, I’m not sure about, so I’m giving her space to explore her gender needs.”

“So if she isn’t transgendered, what is she?”

“She could well be transgendered, given it’s an umbrella term, so exactly how, we have yet to determine. Trish is definitely GID and wants surgery.”

“Which she started herself...”

“Yes, but as she’s six, I don’t know how much of the consequences she understands as yet.”

“You don’t think your own transgendered history affects your children?”

“No, because I don’t consider myself transgendered any more–I’m legally female, so end of process, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Couldn’t that be seen as almost self-delusional? Just because you’ve had your bits removed doesn’t make you female, does it?”

“Depends upon your definition of female.”

“Someone with XX chromosomes.”

“What about AIS or intersexed.”

“Can they give birth?”

“I don’t know, perhaps the latter can, but not all XX women can give birth. Your definition is very narrow.”

“Works for me.”

“Fine, mine works for me, and for most people I know.”

“Shall we see the child now? The injured one?”

“Trish, you mean?”

“Yes, that one.”

“I’ll go and see if she’s finished breakfast.”

“Can’t one of the others bring her through?”

“Yes, okay: I’ll ask Jenny, our nanny, to do it.” I called Jenny to bring Trish through.

“Nanny?,"

"Not really done your homework have you?” I smiled sweetly and waited with the enemy for Jenny to bring in Trish.