“So what do you want to do? I have all day to spend doing it, whatever it is.”

“You have to cook Tom a nice dinner.”

“Not just yet, it’s not even ten, yet.”

“You have a dormouse to finish making.”

“I don’t have to do it now, it’s not as if we were going to be taking it into her today, is it?”

“That was the third thing.”

“You are joking, Stella.” If she had been, why was she shaking her head at me now? “You’re not joking, are you?”

“No.”

“We can’t, they only allow family to visit when you’re in intensive care.”

“You only have to take it to the hospital, you don’t have to hand it to her personally.”

“Why the rush?”

“If she knows it’s from you, she’ll feel heaps better and recover sooner.”

“Oh come off it, that makes it sound like some fetish object–and I mean that in it’s original sense, before all these perverts misappropriated the word.”

“I think it will be like a fetish object.”

“I don’t feel like sewing.” I suppose I could have stamped my foot as well for effect.

“Tough, it goes with the territory of being female.”

“What? That is the most sexist remark I’ve ever heard, and if that’s the case, why don’t you do it?”

“I have a chronic health issue.”

“No you don’t, you’re pregnant.”

“Absolutely, and you get to make cuddly toys, now get sewing before I put in an order for one for Puddin’.”

“You are a slave driver,” I protested.

“Yep, me slave driver, you soft toy maker–get making.”

“You…you…big bully.”

“If that’s the toughest you can fight, you’d better wear a big hat.”

“What?” I gasped, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“God knows, Daddy used to say it, something to do with cowboy films, which he used to love.”

“Henry likes cowboy films?”

“Yes, specific ones, like, True Grit, and High Noon.”

“That does surprise me.”

“Even I cried watching True Grit.”

“Why?”

“When the horse dies.”

“I did when we read Black Beauty in school, when Ginger dies.” I had flashbacks to the whole class sniggering at me as I wept.

“Oh, I cried then too, and when Hazel dies in Watership Down.”

“Crikey, I’d forgotten about that. Yeah, the cosmic rabbit comes to get him or something, doesn’t it?”

“Dormouse,” said Stella, loudly.

“Nah, it wasn’t a dormouse, I’d have remembered.”

“No you idiot, get sewing the dormouse or we’ll be here all day.” So that’s what I did, sewed the dormouse and stuffed it, then finished it off. When I looked at it, it didn’t really look much like a dormouse, but it’s the thought that counts–isn’t it?”

“If you’d given it a bushy tale, it could be a pale squirrel.”

“Gee thanks, Stella, you really know how to make me feel good.”

“If the pip-squeak complains, tell her it was normal before it met her.”

“That’s a really useful thing to say to a child who’s fighting for her life.”

“Go on, kids are tough, it’s adults who die in ICUs.”

“I dunno, I think this nightmare in fake fur fabric, may just push her over the edge.”

“Rubbish,” declared Stella.

“My words exactly, this is total rubbish.” I threw her the atypical dormouse.

“Right, get the car out, we’re going visiting.”

“Do we have to?”

“Car,” she barked and I picked up the keys.

“Do you have Jemima on intensive care?” I asked the nurse.

“I can’t answer that, I’m afraid.”

“It’s just that I have a small present for her.” I held up the gift bag, I’d managed to shove the dormouse parody into.

Just as I held up the bag, Jemima’s mother happened to walk out through the door. She looked at us then straight on, then she looked again. “Cathy Watts, it is you?”

I felt like saying, ‘No it’s full size hologram’ but the nerve deserted me. “Oh hello, I brought in a small present for Jemima.”

“How sweet of you, I’m sure she’d be delighted to receive it, come on in.”

“But..um, we’re intruding,” I stuttered and spluttered, while Stella smirked.

“She is still very weak and ill, but she’d never forgive me if I hadn’t invited you in to see her. How we’ll ever thank you for saving her, I don’t know.”

“I didn’t, it was the paramedics.”

“They said it was you and the young policeman.”

“Probably him then, I didn’t do very much.”

“Is she always like this?” Jemima’s mother asked Stella.

“Yes, she is a pathological compliment evader. I keep telling her, avoidance is immoral but allowed, evasion is illegal.” They both chuckled as I blushed. “She’s saved several lives including mine, and she is so modest about it.”

“Goodness, I am in honoured company,” said Jemima’s mum. She led us into the cubicle where a tiny figure in the bed was surrounded by a technology explosion. I suspect there were fewer monitors of various description in Currys electrical appliance store.

“Jem, look who’s come to see you.” Her mother sat by her side and gently stroked her hand.

I stood at the foot of the bed feeling very intrusive and out of place. The pale faced doll on the bed, with dark rings under her eyes and bruises on her face, looked so frail and vulnerable. I felt so anxious for her. The eyelids fluttered open.

“It’s Cathy, do you remember? The dormouse lady.”

“Caffy,” she said in a tiny voice that was barely audible. Her eyes looked around and she fixed her gaze on me. “Caffy,” she said a little louder and her face seemed to brighten up.

“Are they allowed soft toys?” I asked quietly of her mother.

“Yes, look,” she pointed at a teddy bear lying on the bed with Jemima.

“This won’t be as good as that, I’m afraid.” I apologised in advance of presenting my mutant dormouse.

“She’s made Jemima a dormouse,” said Stella betraying me. I was going to suggest we bought it in Oxfam.

“You made it? Cathy, you are so clever. Did you hear that, Darling? Cathy has made you a toy dormouse.”

The little face lit up again as I passed the bag to her mother, who unwrapped it and gave it to her. “Isn’t she clever?” said mother to daughter.

“Oh, I wuv it, fank you, Caffy.”