I went through the list in front of me. Most of the schools said that they had a full complement of pupils. Some even claimed that they had more than the allocation they were supposed to have. I thought the birth-rate was dropping, so why were all the schools full?

At the bottom of the list was a small private school. A convent school–a girls’ convent school. It was the only one left, I called it. The headmistress said they had some spaces and that she would be delighted to show us around that afternoon. If we went at two, we could still get to Tom just after three. Surely looking around a school wouldn’t take that long, would it? How much would it cost? She’d explain fees when I’d viewed the place, and be sure to bring my little darlin’, with me. Oh boy.

I called the home and spoke to Nora. “Nora, Trish needs to go to school at Easter, but the only place with vacancies is some little convent place.”

“None of the local council schools will take her as a girl. I tried to get her lined up for one, but they wouldn’t play. I told them she had been seen by one of their educational psychologists, who said they thought that she was a genuine GID child, but they wouldn’t wear it at all.”

“I thought by law they had to take her somewhere?”

“Yes one of them does, but as a boy.”

“That would destroy all the confidence and happiness I’ve been building up these past few weeks.”

“I agree, but they won’t budge. One of the desk jockeys even accused me of forcing the child into girls’ clothing.”

“He’s obviously never met Trish…”

“Nor read the report by the psychologist.”

“Do you know anything about this convent?”

“Which one is it?”

“Hang on, oh yes, here we are, St Claires.”

“Name rings a bell, be prepared for the cold shoulder when they answer the sixty four dollar question.”

“You’re such a comfort, Nora.” She chuckled down the phone.

“I’ve sent you some forms for the CRO search. If you have anything of a criminal record, you’d better say so on it, which will make you a little problem, but not half as much if you fail to declare it.”

“No, my slate is entirely clean, unless I bash this head mistress nun woman this afternoon.”

“Don’t, that won’t do anyone any favours.”

“I’m only joking. Now to business, I will register her as my ward.”

“No, as your foster child, I’m assuming it will all be okay, if not then we’ll have to sort it out later.”

“Okay. Trish, I'll register as Patricia, what’s her second name?”

“Watts.”

“That’s what I just asked.”

“No, Watts is her surname, like yours.”

“You’re joking?”

“No, that’s what seems to make it so apposite.”

“How come I didn’t notice that before?”

“You didn’t need to?”

“If I’d asked her and she told me, Watts, I’d think she was either being funny or wanting to adopt my name. I suppose it will make things easier in some ways.”

“Maybe, now you’ll need her date of birth. I’ll send you a copy of her birth certificate, but for the record it’s July twentieth, two thousand and four.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I’ll also write to the school explaining that you have custody of the child for the foreseeable future. Oh by the way are you receiving child benefit for either of the terrible twins?”

“No, how do I get that?” I thought any help would be useful if I have to start paying school fees. She told me to call the DSS and explain what was happening. They’d send me the forms.”

I decided to leave that until later, if I had to deal with any more bureaucracy today, I’d go totally insane.

Lunch over, and Meem’s left in Stella’s reluctant but good care, Trish and I set off in my Golf, for St Claire’s Convent School for Girls. We found it exactly as the instructions from the headmistress had said, confirmed by Google Maps, and the Portsmouth AtoZ. Well, I wasn’t going to give a bad impression for the pre-acceptance interview.

I had told Trish, when she shook hands with the old biddy of an headmistress to nod her head down–okay, a bit deferential, but these megalomaniac theists like to lord it over us proles. We practiced it for a moment and she got it straight away.

We parked the car and my sweaty little hand clasped Trish’s sweaty little hand as we walked towards the school building. It was only ten minutes away by car from Tom’s house, which would be useful, if they accepted her.

The convent was hidden behind a large wall, and inside was a church, the school, presumably a hall of some sort, and also the nun’s residence. There were huge gardens and a netball court, plus what could have been a hockey or even a football pitch.

We followed the sign to the school office and I explained who we were. The secretary or receptionist, spoke into an intercom, and we were asked to take a seat. I looked around the building as I could see it; it was old, pre-World War Two, which was amazing it was still standing–Portsmouth was bombed very heavily. The windows were large but single glazed and the floors were old ceramic tiles. It would be cold in winter.

A young girl arrived, “Mrs Watts, would like to follow me, I’ll show you to Sister Maria’s office.” Trish and I looked at each other and followed the girl down the corridor to an imposing wooden door. She knocked on it and was bid enter. “Mrs Watts and her daughter.”

“Thank you Melanie, you may return to your class.”

“Thank you, Sister Maria,” the girl almost curtseyed as she left. I began to wonder if we’d just entered a time warp.

“Ah, Mrs Watts, do come in.” The voice belonged to a woman in her thirties, she was no old biddy. We shook hands and she had a firm grip for a woman. Trish shook her hand and gave the deferential nod, which made Sister Maria smirk for a moment.

“What a delightful daughter you have.”

“Trish is my foster daughter, but I hope she’ll be with me for a long term arrangement.”

“Mummy, I want to stay with you for always,” added Trish, before I could tell her not to interrupt.

“And how long have you had her?”

“About three or four weeks.”

“And you’re about to embark on private schooling? Dedication indeed.”

“I don’t have a lot of choice, no where else was interested in taking her.”

“Does she have issues?”

“No, it was just they said they were all full.”

“I see, can you afford two thousand pounds plus per term?”

“If Trish is happy here, then I’ll find the money.”

“What does your husband do?”

“I’m not married yet, my fiancé works in a bank.”

“Are you sure the fees won’t be a problem? I’d hate to disrupt Tricia’s education, although you may be eligible for one or two bursaries.”

“My future father in law, owns the bank,” I said through tight lips.

“Oh, well in that case, I apologise for calling you into question.”

“It’s okay, perhaps you could show us around.”

“But of course.” She did. Despite the age of the building, the girls seemed happy, at least all the ones we saw were. The classrooms were airy, if a little cool, the sports facilities were very good for a small place, as were the kitchens and dining facilities. The technical rooms, a language laboratory, an equipped kitchen and suite of rooms for domestic science, plus a laboratory. The loos looked modern and clean with no graffiti. I was impressed except by the attitude to money.

We went back to her room and she ran through the syllabus. I possibly blanched at the religious instruction. I’m not a Roman Catholic, to me Vatican represents the Evil Empire, but I needed to get Trish in somewhere. If it was too much, I’d pull her out. I’d also teach her all the biology she needed, including Darwinian evolution.

“Do you work?” asked Sister Maria.

“I’m a biologist, I teach at the university although I’m on secondment to Defra to make a couple of films.”

“Oh how exciting. Films about biology?”

“One about dormice is just about finished, the other about the harvest mouse is still at the drawing board stage.”

“My goodness, a female David Attenborough?”

“I don’t think my efforts come anywhere near that icon of natural history film making, nor that of the BBC, although they have shown an interest in using it.”

“Oh, how wonderful, one of our mums is a media star. That could be so useful on sports day, at present we have to rely on a local MP or business man. So a woman presenting prizes, would be so nice.”

I felt myself blushing, what would happen when she found out about Trish, and then about me? The last thing she’d want is me presenting prizes. Trish might be the first child expelled for having a transsexual foster mum. Better keep my solicitor’s name handy, because I would sue and big time.

“So what do you think about the school?”

“I’m quite impressed, and the grades you get are equally impressive.”

“We like to think our girls are equipped to deal with most things, from marrying and settling down with a family, to going off to university and following an academic career. Now, Trish, do you think you’d like to be a St Claire’s girl?”

“There is just one more thing we need to discuss,” I said.