Of course Mima wouldn’t eat any tea that evening, she was too full of cake mix–I suppose there was egg in it, raw of course–hell, I hope she doesn’t get salmonella. I could just imagine calling social services to come and get the body, they could have her, I’d changed my mind. It was a little worrying. However, she slept all night–in my bed. When I went up to bed the cheeky monkey had left her bed and was fast asleep in mine, still clutching the deformed dormouse I’d made her.

I changed into my pyjamas and went off to sleep with no problems, this time she didn’t wake at all until about six, when she then decided to cling on tightly to me–across my boobs, actually one boob, and it hurt too.

I took her to the bathroom and heard the front door close. Being late November, it was dark but that made no difference to Tom, he walked Kiki most mornings, providing it wasn’t throwing it down. It seemed it wasn’t.

I washed Mima down and after dressing her, I washed myself and dressed. She seemed fascinated watching me wash and dress. “Didn’t Mummy Janice, let you watch her dress?” I asked, my curiosity well piqued.

She shook her head. “Did she not let you shower or bathe with her?” I asked knowing what the likely answer was. Again she shook her head as predicted. Tomorrow, we would bathe together. Okay, mine isn’t a perfect female body, but I don’t get too many complaints and I consider it’s important for little girls to have some idea of what will happen to them in time. I also felt it showed there were no barriers between us, and if she stayed with me, that would remain until she became self conscious, probably in her early adolescence.

I’m moderately happy with my body, I’ve a flat tum but a smallish bum and hips, and my shoulders are a little too broad for a classic female shape, but nature and the hormones have been kind to me and I have reasonable boobs with decent nipples. There are loads of bio-females who’d swap, I’m sure.

We went down to a kitchen smelling of coffee. I love the smell, but not the taste, not the stuff Tom drinks which is like mud from the river Thames; though a mild roast, I quite enjoy from time to time.

Mima ate her cereal and a banana, a good meal for her. She had survived the raw egg cake mix, and I felt relieved. I was making some toast when Tom came back, Kiki came up and sniffed around looking for any fallen treasure. She didn’t find any, and went off to sulk under the table. Tom drank his coffee and after sitting Mima on his knee, started singing to her. I’d never heard Tom sing before and was flabbergasted, firstly by the fact he was singing, and secondly, he had a nice baritone voice. He was singing an old Scot’s spiritual–Donal’ whaur’s yer troosers?’. Jemima thought it was wonderful.

“You never sing to me,” I pouted.

“You’re a wee bit big to sit on my lap, Cathy.”

“If your belly was smaller, there’d be room enough,” I snapped back.

“The same could be said about your ar..bottom, young lady.”

Mima giggled, which was the whole point of the charade. “My tush is flush,” I said glancing back over my shoulder and smoothing my trousers down over it.

“Mummy tush tush,” parroted Mima, which Tom found highly amusing, so she sat bouncing on his lap saying it over and over.

He sang his song to her again and she tried to sing along with it. While she was otherwise occupied I loaded the bread maker and set it in motion. She was still transfixed with Tom’s silly songs, the next one was about Geordie’s Byre or something similar.

I chased Kiki out of the kitchen and quickly swept and mopped the floor, which had been annoying me for a day or two. With luck it would be dry before Stella came down.

I sent Simon a text, we spoke most evenings, but I did miss him, especially when dealing with aggressive social workers. I knew they were doing their jobs as they saw it, but I wished one of them would take account of how I saw things and also one who believed me.

I found it so annoying that no one seemed to believe I was telling the truth, that I had no designs on Mima until after I’d become saddled with her and since then we’d begun to bond.

Simon seemed to understand and made soothing noises, he’d told me that Henry had also talked with him. Henry was talking grandchildren, and long term adoption plans. I responded by suggesting that I’d be contented with long term fostering and he agreed. The credit crunch or whatever they called the financial mess set off by sub-prime mortgages, was still causing him to work ridiculous hours, but he’d also set up a portfolio of shares, which he’d got for peanuts, in Mima’s name, although she wouldn’t be allowed to touch it until she was eighteen or went to university.

I thought it was a very noble gesture, but then he was a nobleman in all senses of the word. The portfolio was worth a couple of thousand pounds but built of shares that he was sure would increase rapidly once things settled down. When I asked him how much it would be worth by the time she was of age, he shrugged and said, “about fifty thou.”

My text said: Dear Daddy Simon,
Fanx 4 d’shares, got n e mor?
Wuv,
Mima. Xxx

He replied a while later: Ungrateful wench, get thee 2 a nunnery.
Love Daddy Simon. Xxx

I sniggered when I saw it. Stella appeared just before Tom set off for work. “Oh, you’re up?” she has wonderful powers of observation, that woman.

“No, this is a full sized hologram, I’m still in bed.”

“Well, Ms Holo-legs, I have an idea.”

“What? If it’s push off en famille to Simon’s place on Menorca, forget it.”

“How on earth did you know what I was going to say? That is quite uncanny.”

“Um, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

Sometimes talking to Stella was surreal. “Didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“What you were going to say.”

“So how could you say it first, then?”

“I made a crazy guess.”

“Oh, am I that predictable?”

“Only with regard to Mima.” She smiled and it seemed I’d relieved her tension enough.

“Mima, Mima, Mima, “ said a little voice and moments later my legs were engulfed in a toddler grip–some sort of wrestling device which would probably work well enough in play group but not on adults–“Mima, wuv Mummy an’ Annie Stewwa.”

“Isn’t she a darling?” said Stella and she bent down to kiss her foster niece.

“She snores abominably,” I said back trying not to smirk.

“Eewww,” said Stella almost holding her nose.

“I said, snores not farts.”

“Farz, farz, farz. Annie Stewwa farz,” piped a little voice.

“You can go off some people ya know?” she said to Mima.

“Annie Stewwa farz,” said the little voice giggling.

“If she hadn’t put that together herself, like a demented parrot, I am pretty sure Simon would have taught and encouraged her.”

“Stella, I keep telling you that little piggies have big ears.”

“Okay, okay, now I believe you. What time is that trick cyclist coming?”

“After lunch, why?”

“What are we having?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are we having for lunch?”

“Stella, you haven’t had any breakfast yet.”

“Oh no, I haven’t have I? No wonder I feel hungry.”

“Maybe someone was right then?” I snorted, thinking about the little song Mima was singing and dancing about which related to Stella’s presumed flatulence. I could get to like this.