Wans Dyke (aka Bike) Part 635 by Angharad

I slept like the proverbial log, until t’other terror joined the party somewhere about six o’clock. Holding both my foster brats, reminded me I hadn’t been to see Puddin’ for a few days. I presumed she was getting on fine without my help, but it would be good to see Stella again. She was still my sister in all but birth, and I was very fond of her–which I think was reciprocated. I know she’d tried to kill me on occasion, but then so had a few people, my father included.

Thinking about people who’d tried to kill me, and I’m deliberately excluding those who try it while I’m on my bike, I wondered what had happened to the most recent member of the Kill Cathy Club, Olga wossername, the Russian assassin. I’d been told by the police that she had either escaped or been freed by some of her gang. They had also warned me to stay vigilant. Somehow I knew I would never have to fear her again, and I didn’t really feel it was because she was dead. She felt very much alive but somehow had moved on beyond all the violence. I could be wrong, and it could cost me my life, but I just felt that I knew these things. Maybe I am septic as Trish put it, or was it cyclic?

Two more days and she goes off to school, I must check her uniform in case it needs ironing. It would be nice if Simon was home to see her go off on her first day. I know I shall cry, I just know it.

The joys of parenthood, sadly in a vicarious way through other peoples’ kids. At least I have been called, mummy, which is a term I never thought I’d hear applied to me. Maybe miracles do happen? I’m sure there must be more children out there in need of a mother or surrogate one, and I don’t mean those who carry the baby in utero for someone else–sort of ‘womb to let’.

The alarm went off and interrupted my musings, the girls were ready for breakfast, so we quickly showered and dressed. Trish made me do a double take–she had appeared not to have any genitals. Somehow she was walking with her little willie tucked between and behind her, and was walking with it in that position, with no clothes on. When I got the chance to make a discreet comment, I suggested she didn’t do that in case she hurt herself.

“If it fell off, I’d feel much better,” was her response.

“Not really, sweetheart, the surgeon will need all the material he can find to make the alterations to it. If you’ve damaged it or caused it to shrivel up or drop off, you might regret it.”

“I hate it, Mummy, I really do.”

“I know, sweetheart, I felt the same until, I realised I was going to get it recycled rather than removed. It might be splitting hairs, but it helped me to stop hating what is more or less just a flap of skin.”

“Yes, but it’s a bit of skin which makes me a boy.”

“Only in some peoples’ eyes. In reality, being a boy or girl, or even a man or woman, is much more than the shape of your genitalia. It’s much more complex, which is why I sometimes think looking for a cause and possibly a cure, is so futile.”

“Aren’t you cured, Mummy?”

“I suppose I am in some ways, I’m no longer transsexual, as far as that goes, I’m officially female–at least on paper and in the eyes of the law. I also have to send my tax affairs to Cardiff.”

“What are tax affairs, Mummy?”

“The government needs money to do what it does–build schools, roads, run the army and navy, police and so on. They get that money from us, the tax payers. They have the right to tax us on how much we earn, and on various other ways too complex to mention, but every time you buy something, you pay a tax on it.

“The home you were in probably got money to look after you from the government.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to go there again, it was yuck.” She made a vomiting noise, so I got the picture quite distinctly. I gave her a hug and reassured her, that I would do all I could to keep her with me.

“One of the boys there, got adopted, can’t you adopt me?”

“Not for the moment, it would be easier after Simon and I marry, I think.”

“Why can’t you get married then?”

“For several reasons. One is it will be a big wedding, and that takes lots of planning.”

“Are you planning it, then?” she asked quite abruptly.

“What do you mean, young lady? And I’m not sure I like that tone.”

“Sozzy, Mummy, I didn’t mean to be nasty–you won’t send me back there will you?”

“What and waste that uniform?–I suppose I could put it away until Mima was old enough…”

“No, Mummy, please don’t send me back, they hurt me there, I’d rather be dead than go back there…”

I grabbed her and hugged her, “Hey, no one is sending you anywhere except to school, the day after tomorrow.”

“You said you were going to give my uniform to Meems,” she sobbed in my arms.

“You, silly goose, I told you a moment ago that you were welcome to stay with me as long as you want, and I will be your foster mummy.”

“I want you to be my mummy for always and always. I never want to go back to that home or my old mummy–they’re horrible.” She was now getting quite upset.

“It’s okay, honeybunch, you’re staying here with me, and Simon and Tom and Mima. No one is trying to make you go anywhere but school, which I believe you wish to attend–isn’t that so?”

“Yes, Mummy, but I want to be able to come home to you as well afterwards.”

“Of course you will, you only go to school for five or six hours a day.”

“Do I have to go for all of that, Mummy? It sounds an awful lot to me.”

“Yes you do, the first day or two they might be a bit shorter days, but you’ll have to go for the required length. It’s the law, and we have to obey it or they will be taking you away from me.”

She held on to me with renewed vigour, “I’ll go to school, Mummy, don’t let them take me away.”

“I won’t, sweetheart, I won’t.” I hugged her again and she finally felt reassured enough to let go of me. “Come on, let’s go and do some shopping, we need food and stuff and I’ll buy you a few sweeties.”

“Is Meems coming, too,” she asked.

“If she wants.”

“Shall I go and ask her?”

“Yes, that would be helpful, thank you, darling.” She rushed off to find Mima while I gathered up some bags to take with us. I was trying not to use carrier bags from stores, I had a house full of them as well as dozens of ‘bags for life’ from a dozen stores. In this house they were almost as big a nuisance as the disposable bags.

“What we gonna buy, Mummy?” asked Mima as she came to see me.

“Food mostly, then we’re going to bake a cake and ice it later on.”

“Can I hewp you bake a cake?” This was all said in one breath and in a monotone.

“You certainly can help me.”

“Oh goody, we gonna make a cake, Gwamps.”

“Are ye noo, well I’d better get a slice of it, or there’ll be a michty row.”

She looked quite apprehensive at what Tom said. Mind you it might have been she didn’t understand him.

“I think we’ll be able to find Gramps a slice don’t you, Meems?”

“Yes, Mummy,” she said hanging on to my legs.

“Aye, it’s a sair fecht,” said Tom and wandered off into his study.