The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1109 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Lady Cameron, you’ll have to feed this baby or produce some milk for someone else to do so.” Jenny appeared with baby C.

“D’you mind?” I asked Ms Hewitt, who shook her head. She had an expression which looked as if she thought I was going to sit there with a bottle to show how femmy I am. Oh well this should take the smirk off her vacuous visage.

Jenny handed me the baby who immediately started looking for my boob. I lifted up my jumper popped open my bra and she clamped on–ouch, you little bugger, I think you’ve got a tooth coming.

Pauline Hewitt was gobsmacked–not to put too fine a point on it. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, I must say. Did you have to take something?”

“No, believe it or not, it seemed to start spontaneously,” I replied, unconcerned if she believed me or not. “Where’s Trish, Jenny?”

“Cleaning her teeth, she’ll be with you in a moment.” Jenny fetched the rest of the feeding clutter, including a cloth for wiping things which get spotted with milk.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, except she bites sometimes and I think she’s got some teeth coming.”, The suckling lessened as Catherine started to doze off. I stroked her cheek and she chomped, chomped, chomped again, her cheeks going in and out as she sucked out my milk.

I was patting her over my shoulder to burp her when Trish came in. “Hello, tiny wee,” she said to the baby and began making silly faces at her, which got the desired effect of gurgling, followed by a burp.

“Manners,” Trish pretended to scold her, but her tone and the silly face meant the baby shrieked with laughter.

After presenting my other breast to the baby and therefore quietening her, I introduced Ms Hewitt to Trish. “Trish, this lady is from social services.”

“Hello, Trish, how are you?”

“Alright, not that you care.”

“Trish, please be polite,” I instructed her.

“Why, she wants to take me away–well, I’m not going, so there.” She jumped back to me and linked her arm through mine.

“Trish, please,” I said, and indicated she should sit next to me on the sofa.

“I’m not here to take you away,” said Pauline Hewitt, quietly.

“Why are you here then?”

“Trish, it’s my job to check that children who have been hurt are safe.”

“I did it myself, no one else hurt me. Mummy an’ Daddy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t. So you hurt yourself? Why did you do that?”

Trish looked at me, “It’s alright, sweetheart, Ms Hewitt knows about your history.”

“’Cos I don’ wannabe a boy, alright?” she almost spat this out and then ran away.

“Oh, she is sensitive,” observed our social worker, whom I was beginning to reappraise.

“Yes, she’s terrified she’ll be taken from us–she was abused in a children’s home before, and she’s come on leaps and bounds since we’ve allowed her to be herself. However, it was like this the day she did it–I was busy with the baby and she ran off.”

“Gosh, you don’t think she’d do it again, do you?”

“No, she promised not to.”

“You’re very trusting of a six year old.”

“Trish has a very strong sense of honour. She’ll stick by her word even if it causes her pain. She knows what she stirred up, now.”

“I doubt a six year old would understand that, Mrs Cameron–did your nanny call you, Lady Cameron?”

“Isn’t that in your notes?”

“I don’t know–I’m going with what I’m seeing here.”

“Oh,” I unstuck my little boob-sucker, and after a sleepy burp, she went down in her carrycot and straight off to sleep. I wiped my breasts and redressed myself. “I’ll go and get her.”

“Do you mind if I meet your other children?”

“Depending upon who’s about, no–Julie, can you bring the other kids in to meet, Ms Hewitt, while I deal with Trish?”

“Muuum,” protested Danny, “I’m gonna play football, remember?”

“Not until you’ve spoken with Ms Hewitt,”I insisted.

“But she’s a social worker–it’s a waste of time.”

“And how would you know that, you haven’t met her yet?”

“’Cos I’ve seen loads of ‘em. Total waste of space, the lot of ‘em.”

“Danny, you will go and speak with her and, furthermore you will apologise for your rudeness, or you won’t be playing anything today.”

“Mu-uum.”

“Now, Danny,” I pointed at the dining room door. He scowled but went in and I heard his stuttered apology.

Trish was upstairs with Stella, and it took me ten minutes to persuade her to come back down. I insisted she apologise for her rudeness, which she did, sniffing back the tears.

Ms Hewitt asked her one or two other questions, mainly about school and her manner bounced back and she talked with enthusiasm about going back to school, until she remembered she had to try girl’s soccer. She wasn’t fussed on that at all.

Once Ms Hewitt had ascertained that we weren’t doing sex changes in the garage, and the children were all safe and happy, I showed her over the house and yard. When we got to my bike workshop: “Is this where your husband comes to hide for a quiet few minutes?” she asked.

“Good lord, no. This is my shop. Simon only comes in here when he wants me to mend something.”

“Oh,” she seemed visibly surprised by that.

“Some women enjoy tinkering with bikes, you know.”

“I suppose they do, it’s just you were the essence of femininity with the baby, and your strong but loving control of the children, was real motherhood and apple pie–an’ then this.”

“If it’s any consolation, I do the apple pies as well–I’m the primary cook and housekeeper.”

“It suits you, though I don’t know if Trish will be happy to be such–she’s quite articulate for a six year old.”

“Quite?, you don’t know the half of it. They had a lesson on the creation which didn’t suit her at all, so she came home, went on the internet, downloaded piles of stuff on Darwin and evolution–went back to school the next day and absolutely destroyed the teacher during the first lesson.”

“At age six?”

“Yes, at age six. She has an IQ almost off the scale–it’s frightening at times, she’s far cleverer than you or I.”

“I have a degree, you know.”

“Congratulations, I have two, and am trying to find time to finish my PhD. I teach at a university when I get some time back for myself.”

“Oh–obviously Trish takes after you.”

“How can she–she’s adopted?”

“Oh yes, silly me,” she blushed a brighter red than a brake light.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I asked as we walked back to the house.

“I wish you didn’t have so many children,” she replied to me.

“Why? Don’t you think we cope?”

“Yes, that’s why I said it, I have several who’d love to be in an environment like this. No one is going to take your children, though we will check back to see how everyone is progressing.”

“That’s your right and duty. Sorry, but I really couldn’t cope with any more kids, much as I love them–we don’t have space for any more.”

“No, I realise that. I’m sorry I questioned your gender change–I appreciate now, that you’re female, whatever previous records said, and a very proud mother.”

“Yes, I am. They’re all adopted, but we all love each other as if we were a biological family. The kids are so supportive of each other–okay we have the odd disagreement, but that’s healthy.”

“Of course,” she agreed. We shook hands and she left carrying her brief case and armful of files. I stood and waved her off, then realised I needed to feed the baby again–whose idea was this breast feeding lark?