On Sunday night, Simon and I lay listening to Jemima snoring until our laughing threatened to wake her up. I got out of bed and turned her over on her side and she said quietly, “Mummy Caffy,” which brought a lump to my throat. I stroked her hair and then got back into bed to snuggle down with Simon.

“Did she just say what I thought she said?” he asked quietly.

“And what did you think she said?” I whispered back.

“Mummy Caffy, is what it sounded like to me.”

“She might have been addressing her mother and me, who knows?”

“Given what she said to you earlier, I have my doubts.”

“You always have doubts, Simon.”

“Do I? Not about this,” he leant over and kissed me, then turning me on my back he began to stroke my breast while still kissing me. I certainly won’t say I didn’t enjoy it, and as for Mima giving me lessons, in the heat of the moment I forgot all about her as passion ran its course.

Our grunting and groaning didn’t seem to disturb our sleeping tot, and even when I slipped to the bathroom to clean up, she stayed in the land of nod.

About six o’clock, a little voice called, “Mummy,” my brain wasn’t engaged or conditioned to respond while unconscious, so it took a second call of, “Mumm–meee,” and Simon to nudge me–hard before I recognised I was being summoned.

I yawned and sat up in bed, “Hello, precious.”

“Mummy, me wanna poo.”

“Okay, I’ll take you to the loo.” I scrambled out of bed and picked her out of hers and after removing the nappy, sat her on the toilet. She actually did want to go and I praised her for controlling it and for calling me instead of using the nappy. It also confirmed my suspicion that some form of nerve recovery was happening.

“Look, Uncle Simon, Mima is a clever girl, she did a poo down the loo.”

“Not Unkie Simon, Daddy Simon,” corrected Jemima.

“Looks like you’ve been outvoted, Mummy Caffy,” said Simon with a big smirk on his face.

“Would you like to come for a cuddle with Simon and me?”

“Pwease,” said Mima, “Mima wanna dwink,” was added as I placed her on the bed.

“Okay, I’ll get you something.” I left her with Simon and went off to get her cup and pop some juice in it. I shoved the lid back on and took it up to the bedroom to find both the occupants of my bed, fast asleep. I sighed and got back in, which woke Jemima up — of course it would. I passed her the drink, which she gobbled down like a sewer. Then she got hiccups and finally a large burp, which made her giggle and I felt the bed move as Simon sniggered.

“Don’t encourage her, I don’t want my pretend daughter turning into a ladette,” I said firmly to Simon. “I thought you were asleep,” I added for good measure.

“No the thunder woke me,” he laughed and I presumed he referred to our visitor’s uncouth behaviour. “Didn’t you make any coffee?”

“You want coffee, you make it.”

“I can’t, I’m cuddling with my new girlfriend,” he sniggered.

“Simon, it’s half past six on a Sunday morning…”

“So, you’ve been up half an hour, you could have made two lots of coffee in that time.”

“What!” I almost exploded.

“Pwease,” he said in a pathetic voice, “Well it worked for someone else.” I laughed and lost the argument which was how I came to be making coffees all round and when Tom found me.

“I thought I heard someone about.”

“Yes, Mima woke me, she wanted a poo.”

“Oh,” he nodded.

“Given that she couldn’t control any of her lower body functions before she came here, I feel very encouraged.”

“Yes indeed, it may come back to normal then?”

“I sincerely hope so, poor little mite.”

“This business of her calling you mummy, is it really wise?”

“No, but I don’t seem able to stop her. I addressed Simon as Uncle Simon, and she corrected me to Daddy Simon.”

“I wonder what her real mother is going to say about it?”

“I know, at the same time, if we can get her walking again before her mother comes home, I suspect she’ll forgive us.”

“Yes, wouldn’t that be rather splendid.”

“I thought it would be absolutely brrrrrrrilliant,” I said in a fake Scots accent.

“Aye, hen, it wouldnae be bad,” Tom retaliated.

“Do I look as if I lay eggs?”

“Aye, jist a wee bitty.”

“Am I bovvered?”

“I dinna ken.”

“Coffee?” I asked pouring out three cups.

“Pwease, Caffy,” he said, chortling.

“Carry on if you want hot coffee stains on those clothes.”

“You wouldn’t–you would, wouldn’t you?”

“Never doubt it,” I said, smirking. I wouldn’t have, but it made him think twice.

I made some tea for myself and took the remaining beverages up the stairs, giving a mug to Stella before going back to the bedroom. Simon sat up to receive his coffee and I gave Mima a banana, before I got back into bed and sat up to sip my tea,

She wriggled towards me and lay hugging me while smearing banana over both of us. I hoped it wouldn’t stain the silk of my rather nice nightdress. “Mima, wuv you, Mummy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” I said, feeling absolutely choked. I stroked her hair and felt a tear run down my cheek.

We lay together for about quarter of an hour before I decided it was time to get up, just then Stella waltzed in, “Are we having a sleep-in for peace, or some other noble cause?” she asked, crawling into the bed next to Simon, who grumbled at his sister.

“And how is our little cherub?” she asked Jemima.

“Mima wuv, Mummy,” she responded, hugging me even tighter.

“Oh, like that is it?” said a rather disgruntled Stella. “I hope that’s not storing up trouble.”

“So do we,” answered Simon, “we haven’t encouraged it, but our efforts to distract it are ignored.”

“Could prove interesting when repossession comes about,” Stella said and got back out of bed. “Anyone for breakfast?”

“If you’re doing a fry up, I might be interested,” said Simon.

“I’m not, but Tom is.”

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t, you can’t tell streaky from back.” Simon hurled this insult at his sister.

“I don’t eat either,” she poked out her tongue at him and left the room.

“Come on, Mima, lets get you sorted,” I said and another day got officially under way. It was still only seven on a Sunday morning.