I woke up with Mima and Stella both playing with my hair and giggling. “You need a trim, girl,” said Stella.

“Only ‘cos the people who keep getting in my bed make me try to tear it out,” I said closing my eyes again.

“You’ll be saying, it’s the voices next.”

“It’s the voices next.”

“No you idiot, she poked me in the back.”

“Was that you or pudding?”

“Very funny.” At this Mima chuckled loudly.

I nearly said to her, Auntie Stella has a baby in her tummy, so watch out or she’ll eat you too. Sadly, she might have believed me. Instead I said, “Did you know Auntie Stella has a baby in her tummy?”

“No,” she laughed as if my suggestion were absurd.

I sat up and picked her up onto my lap, “Here feel Auntie Stella’s baby.” Stella took her hand and placed it on her abdomen. For a moment nothing happened then she whipped her hand away and squealed.

“Mima no like.” She jumped off the bed and ran and jumped into her own.

“Oops!” said Stella.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then I’m sure the man who thought up the M25 said that as well, if only he’d had the foresight to make it ninety three lanes wide the first time. Movement on this motorway is slower than the incremental growth in lanes as they widen it twice a week.

I got out of bed and went over to Mima. “What’s the matter, little ‘un?”

“Howwibwul, Auntie Stewwa’s tummy moved.” She rolled over and put her face into the pillow.

“Mima,” she ignored me, “Mima if you don’t help me, they won’t let me be your mummy.” Okay, the worst sort of blackmail, but it works–most of the time.

She slowly turned over to face me. “Mima, Auntie Stella is having a baby, which takes many months to grow in her tummy.”

She shrieked with laughter at this. "It’s true, Sweetheart, babies grow in their mummies’ tummies. It’s what you did in your real mummy’s tum, it’s what I did in my mummy’s tum and so on. It’s how babies are made–well, sort of, it’s all you need to know for the moment.”

“Was I in your tummy, Mummy?”

“No, Sweetheart, I’m not your real mummy, am I?”

“Yes, you’s Mima’s mummy”, and she threw her arms around me. Why do children and dormice always make life so difficult?

“Mima, I am not your real mummy, I’m looking after you until she comes back to take you home.”

“No, no,” she screamed, “You my mummy, uvver mummy said.”

“Very interestink,” said Stella from my bed.

“What did your other mummy say?” I asked gently aware she may not even understand the question or the context.

“Caffy gonna be my new mummy, she nice.”

“She doesn’t know you as well as I do,” piped a voice from the bed.

I hushed Stella. “Is that all she said?”

Mima made a purposeful nodding motion with her head, “Yesss.”

“Okay, Sweetheart, give me a hug and let’s get some brekkies.”

We hadn’t long finished breakfast when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a young postman looking at me and smirking. I followed his eyes down and saw that some splashes of water had made my nightdress nearly transparent in the area of my chest.

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“Oh yes please,” he said and blushed, “Sorry, erm you have to sign for this,” he handed me a book and pen. It was a registered letter from South Africa, addressed to Lady Catherine Cameron.

As I shut the door I heard him wolf whistle as he walked back to his van. Oh well, nice to know I made someone’s day. I went back to the kitchen where Stella was clearing up the mess on the floor after Mima had ‘washed up’, hence my wet nightie.

“Who was that?” she asked

“Postie, I apparently have a letter from South Africa.”

“There’s nice for you, dear,” she grinned.

“I don’t know, it has a sender’s address of a legal firm.”

“Well open it up then, open it up, dear.”

I took a knife and slid the envelope open, out fell a short letter on thick legal paper. I flipped it open with the knife.

I, Janice Scott, mother of Jemima Jane Scott, make deposition here before this advocate of the South African Bar, that I confirm my bestowal of indefinite in loco parentis and guardianship for the above mentioned Jemima Jane Scott, to Miss Catherine Watts, soon to be Lady Catherine Cameron, whom I deem to be a fit and suitable person to be entrusted with this office, until I am able to return and take over this role again myself.

Signed: Janice Scott.

“Wow!” said Stella.

“Will it have any effect upon those in county hall?”

“I don’t know, you won’t find any fingerprints on it, so let me ring Papa and read it to him, he can then pass it on to his counsel.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” I said trying not to think too much about it all. My inexperience the other day had shocked me and upset Mima, and my confidence to look after a toddler had ebbed more than a little.

I was left with Mima standing in front of me, looking up at me. “Why you cwyin’ Mummy?”

“It’s nothing, darling, give me a hug.” I picked her up and she cuddled against me.

“Don’t cwy, Mummy, Mima mend it.”

I laughed and hugged her tighter, “You funny little baggage,” I said kissing her on the top of her head.

“Has Tom got a fax?” said Stella wandering back into the kitchen, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I said and some more saltwater spilt down my cheeks.

“Mummy upset, Mima mend it.”

“I’m sure you will, Mima. The good news is, Daddy thinks, it might help. So stop blubbing and show me the fax.”

“In his study.”

“Right Social Services, stick this where the sun don’t shine!” We had the odd day when Stella was occasionally less than fussy and feminine.