The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1283 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Trish was in hospital for another week, and she had to be told how to dilate. I’d never thought how sick that would seem relating to a six year old, but otherwise she’d lose what she had and then later on she’d have to start all over again without the tissue available that she had now, and that was pretty small. Realistically, I anticipated when she was modified later, they’d have to take a part of her colon to make up a vagina–we’d have to wait and see.

In her absence I agreed that she would be allowed to dilate without any of the others intruding. It was a very private thing to do and she had to be allowed time and space to do it.

I visited her every day and usually in the evening had one or more of the children with me. Danny didn’t come, I think the thought of what she’d had done was too much for him. Julie didn’t come either, she was peeved that she got beaten to it by a six year old. Anyway, Trish was coming on quite well and with her lap top in hospital with her, she was quite content moving satellites out of their orbits or whatever six year olds do with computers.

Stella was a different matter. Henry had to call in several favours not to have her prosecuted, the police felt it was the right thing to do. They even sent a policewoman to the hospital to ask Trish if she wanted her prosecuted. To her credit she told them she couldn’t remember anything about it and now had her plumbing problem fixed. The policewoman was confused by this even when Trish told her, “I used to have an outie and now I have an innie which is what I wanted all along.”

It appears the poor policewoman hadn’t been told what her injuries were and what a weird lot we were. In the end, Henry managed to persuade the CPS that prosecution was in nobody’s interest, and I agreed. In return, Henry agreed to try and get Stella to be sterilised after the birth of her second child, as the paranoia seemed linked to the pregnancy.

She was back in the clinic and virtually under twenty four hour surveillance–other-wise known as suicide watch. She had apparently been horrified to learn what had happened and why she had two damaged teeth and a bruised jaw, where I’d hit her.

I phoned her regularly and tried to talk her up a little, she sounded very depressed. I promised to visit as soon as I could. Trish came home and she called her Auntie to tell her there were no hard feelings–whatever had happened in the hospital that night seemed to stabilise her and she didn’t have a single nightmare or feel at all angry with Stella, nor did she feel afraid of her. Was it the blue light? I didn’t know, and usually I have some memory of what happened.

Trish couldn’t remember either, except she said she dreamt she was in a garden and a nice lady asked her if she’d like to be a real girl and she nodded, but that was all she could remember and it was very vague. I just had a vague recollection of falling asleep and being called to be told she was awake. I’ve never lost my memory like that before–stress I suppose–I mean, what else could it be.

Trish healed remarkably well, even without my helping her, and she mastered dilation very quickly. She would do it my room every day for half an hour. I really did feel for her, a six year old doing something she couldn’t understand for another eight or ten years if not longer. She said it felt nice. I wondered if she was doing it correctly and asked to watch, because my own recollection was far from nice until it stretched and Simon did my dilation for me–that was much nicer. She was doing it properly and she did seem to enjoy it. That worried me a bit–was she going to be addicted to masturbation by the time she was seven?

Two weeks later and she felt strong enough for me to take her with me to see Stella. The baby was beginning to show just a fraction and Stella was really pleased to see Trish and ask her forgiveness.

“I don’t know what I have to forgive, Auntie Stella, I always wanted a front bum and now I have one.”

Stella hugged her and burst into tears and then Trish wept and so did I. I’d offered to bring Puddin’, but Stella didn’t want her to see her mother in such a place. I tried to argue that seeing as she was so small she wouldn’t remember anyway, but Stella wouldn’t allow it.

Then she dropped her bombshell. “I told Gareth that I can’t marry him.”

“Why ever not?” I asked feeling sick.

“I need the support of a family round me, he and the kids wouldn’t be enough. I need you there, Cathy an’ Si and Tom and all your kids–without them I won’t make it.”

“Why don’t you wait and see how you feel when you’re better?”

“I can’t risk it, Cathy, I’m not half the mother you are, but I am enough of one to see I won’t cope on my own.”

“But you could get help, someone like Jenny.”

“I need you lot to be near me.”

“We’re only a phone call away, could be there in half an hour.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, missus?”

“Damn, you saw through my fiendish plan.” We all laughed although Stella’s eyes were sad despite her laughing mouth.

“D’you mind if I come back to your house?”

Without a moment’s hesitation I agreed she could, although I pointed out that it wasn’t my house, it was Tom’s, but I knew he’d be okay about it. We’d actually discussed it and Tom had had a set of plans drawn up for an extension to the house, it was either that or a house in the gardens. He decided the extension was the better idea and it would include two more rooms downstairs, one of which would be my study and the other a library–we had quite a lot of books between us. It would double as a quiet room or extra study for the kids. Then on the two floors above there would be three new ensuite bedrooms.

We got planning permission and Tom approached a builder through Maureen. Simon offered to fund the extra building but Tom declined his offer. I argued that we should pay something towards it and in the end we paid half each, or will when it’s finished. The drawings look lovely and the kids are very excited.

Because of the dirt and noise, I got permission to use Mr Whitehead’s house for the month they were tying in the walls of the extension–which meant knocking big holes in the existing walls to get the bricks to bind properly. It frightened the younger children and didn’t do much for my nerves.

Tom and Maureen supervised and it seemed to be going really well. Well was the operative word, they opened the well in the garage and guess what they found? Thankfully, only Maureen and the one builder saw them–the guns that is–and she managed to persuade him to be quiet while she hid them safely. She told Simon when he came home that night. He arranged a more permanent place in a safe he had put in my workshop, which was then disguised as a filing cabinet. The top two drawers worked as normal, but the bottom two were actually a false door which on the click of a secret switch, opened to reveal a reasonably sized safe. It would also be fireproof.

The girls respected Mr Whitehead’s house and we left it as clean if not cleaner than it was originally. I took all my own bedding and so on, and the whole two months we were there, I felt a benign presence with us. Whether it was Alexander or his wife or just my febrile imagination I can’t say, but Trish said something one day about a nice man who seemed to be smiling at her and when she spoke he smiled and disappeared.