Simon grumbled and groaned as we got him upstairs, and I helped undress him. He groaned even more when we pulled the bib-tights down over his swollen knee. Even I winced then. He lay on the bed in his tee shirt and underpants, with an ice pack on his knee. Mima lay alongside him, helping her foster ‘daddy’ get better.

He read to her for her pains and I left them to it whilst I went and sorted out a quick evening meal. I did poached eggs on toast with some baked beans, okay, I know with Simon that’s another kilo tonne of methane into the atmosphere, but I was too tired to worry about it. Conservation, is something people do when they have the time and resources to spare.

Simon had his upstairs on a tray, we have one of those with a built in bean bag underneath it, so it conforms to your lap. Of course, Mima ate half of his, then curled up beside him and they both fell asleep. They were both in hibernating mode when I went up to collect the dirty plate.

In lots of ways I was pleased to see Mima develop such a close relationship with a male figure. I was also delighted to see how Simon had grown to fill the role. He’d moved on from self indulgent schoolboy, via partly looking after me, to that of parent in less than two years.

Okay, we always want to change people–a dreadful thing to want, let alone do, and usually end up changing ourselves–which is how it should be. So I had changed too, more obviously than Simon, especially physically. I’d become more female in a physical sense, the hormones had been kind to me and the fat moved to all the interesting places. I had also matured a bit, not enough to be a competent parent, on however temporary a basis, but I was improving.

Simon is a very generous hearted soul, which is probably why he copes with me, and even more, his sister, who can be very demanding. He was kind enough to deal with my little secret and grow to accept the me, who was inside, in fact he even offered to pay for the alterations. Fortunately, that was never needed for which I’m glad, because I would have felt indebted to him until I’d paid it all back. I have a degree of pride and wouldn’t allow such a thing without being able to pay it back.

But seeing him with Mima, just chokes me up, he is so natural with her, and she loves it. When he’s at home, I stand no chance of attention, unless she wants something. I’m the heavy, the one who makes her do things like wash her hands or clean her teeth; who tells her not to run or to wear her crash helmet. Simon, he tells her stories and tickles her, he also spoils her rotten, buying her toys and sweets.

When I expressed my concern over this apparent bribery, he told me he was making up for lost time, and as we might not have any children–no might about it, unless he means by adoption–he was making hay while the sun shone.

As the lack of fertility is entirely my fault and about which I do have issues, he knows I have to back down. So he continues to spoil her, against my counsel. No wonder she loves him, she went from an absent father to a super dad in one easy move. I wonder what she thinks of me? Not a lot, unless I’m making her doll’s clothes.

Still, maturity means I’m not jealous, and I’m not really. I wish I’d had such a good relationship with my father when I was her age. We sort of did, except he was trying to turn me into a man, and I didn’t want to know. I hope he understood before he died. He said he was proud of me, but my insecurity regarding my relationship with him and to some extent my mother, means I have unfinished business there, which sadly will always remain so.

I stripped Mima off and changed her while she slept, and then transferred her to her own bed. Simon briefly woke up, then drifted off again, helped I suspect by the strong painkillers.

I sorted out the dishes, Tom and Stella were chatting in the dining room, he was having a glass of whisky and she her fruit juice. I made some tea and after loading the dishwasher, went to sit with them.

“How’s big brother’s knee?” asked Stella.

“Sore, I suspect. He’s zonked, probably with the pain killers.”

“I’m sure when I knocked you off your bike, you didn’t do anything stupid like sprain your knee.”

“No, I was very lucky, apart from ending up with no clothes to wear.”

“What? You ended up with half my wardrobe, if I remember correctly.”

“So does this mean Simon will have to start wearing skirts?” asked Tom smirking.

“He does already,” I replied.

“He does?” gasped Tom, wondering what other sort of weirdo was inhabiting his house.

“Yes, they’re tartan and pleated.”

“Och, ye twister.” He said then laughed, “I should hae seen that coming.”

“I can’t get over how good he is with Mima.”

“Yes, he seems to really enjoy being with her. So does someone else, we know,” said Stella looking at Tom.

“Oh give me a break; of course I love having her around, she gives me the gift of temporary granddad. It’s wonderful.”

“I wonder what would have happened if your daughter hadn’t died so tragically.”

“She wouldn’t have had any children, without a very successful prayer to St Jude.”

“Who’s he? Someone the Beatles wrote a song about?”

“No, he’s the patron saint of lost causes.”

“Maybe I should make a note of that, then.” I said jokingly.

“You may scoff young woman , but some people have reported all sorts of miraculous things.”

“Tom, you are a serious scientist so why do you torture yourself with all this superstitious cr…nonsense?” I asked. Stella sat back to see what would happen.

“I don’t believe I’m torturing myself. In fact I’m quite happy in my delusions, remember Darwin went to train as a priest, and even just before he died, he was at worst an agnostic, he wasn’t an atheist by any means. What about Wallace?”

“Which Wallace are we talking about? Wallace and Gromit? William Wallace?” I asked.

“Alfred Russell Wallace.”

“Darwin’s little Welsh buddy.”

“Was he Welsh?” asked Tom.

“Yes, he was born in Usk, near Monmouth;” I said proud of the fact that I was teaching granddad to suck eggs.

“I didn’t know that,” admitted my boss.

“What about this Alfred wotisname?” asked Stella.

“Alfred Russell Wallace, he was about to publish his own version of natural selection.”

“What and beat Darwin to it? That would have been interesting,” said Stella.

“He saw it all in a dream while he was in a fever, according to legend,” Tom added.

“So what’s all this got to do with St Prune?” I asked sniffily.

“Wallace believed that he had been given an insight by the Almighty, into how things worked.”

“Tom, you can’t believe all that, surely?”

“Why not, if Darwin was hedging his bets, and Wallace believed, why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s a free country, I suppose, I think I’ll shall go to bed.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth than in thy philosophy, young Cathy, I’d bear it in mind if I were you,” said Tom as a parting shot.