The men brought Mima and Kiki back about an hour later, it had obviously been raining because the dog was wet and smelt like an old carpet–or is it wet carpets that smell like old dogs? Anyway, Kiki ronked just a bit and I made Tom bath her.

Hark at me, I made Tom bath her. Actually, I did. I simply said, “I’m not having her in the house smelling like that,” and he volunteered to bath her. Maybe someone should have told him there were disadvantages to having a woman in the house. I suppose the regular supply of cooked dinners and someone else to do the washing was compensation enough, he wasn’t complaining as far as I know.

Simon lifted Mima out of her chair, she was smiling despite being a bit wet and cold. “Come on lovely, let’s get you up to the bathroom and warm you up.” I said and Simon carried her up to the bathroom and sat her on the chair there whilst I ran a warm bath for her. I checked the temperature with my elbow, it was okay.

I undressed her and placed her in the bath, after emptying her urine bag. She’d also done a bit of solid waste, but it soon cleaned up and she was giggling in the bath and splashing enough to make more bubbles. At one point she leant backwards and her feet rose up, which surprised me, I’d have expected her legs to be flaccid. I suppose it could be a temporary muscle spasm or some such similar event, but I hoped it wasn’t.

I put a towel on the bathroom floor and lifted her out on to it, by which time I was wet too. We laughed a lot as I dried her, sitting her back in the chair to dry her hair, she was wrapped up in towels like an Egyptian mummy–except they were wrapped in linen.

I dressed her after giving her a quick touch of antiperspirant and talc, neither of which I considered were necessary but she asked for them. I had plenty of clothes for her and Simon had offered to get her any she needed, she’d really wormed her way into his big soft heart.

Finally, I changed my clothes while she sat on the chair in my bedroom watching me. “You have nice cloves, Caffy.”

It’s a little distracting to have to translate what has been said before responding, loses its spontaneity somewhat. “Doesn’t your mummy have nice clothes, too?”

“Not as nice as yours.” I blushed, I did have the frillies on, well Simon was home, might as well tempt or is it tease him? How do you explain to a three or four year old why you’re wearing them?

“I like pretty undies, do you?”

“Oh yes, Caffy, when I’s growed up, I’s be wike you.”

I hope not, was what went through my little brain.

“Come on, Mima, let’s take you down to see the boys,” I smiled at her and she grinned back, her tiny white teeth shining.

“I wike Simon and Gwampy Tom, Caffy,” she chuckled as I picked her up.

“Watch out boys, here she comes,” I called as we went into the lounge.

Simon wolf whistled and Jemima giggled wickedly. Three years old and she knows how to flirt–I’m twenty years older and still learning, maybe she can give me some lessons.

Simon took her off me and sat her down on the cushions, a few minutes later we saw the fruits of Tom and Stella’s labours as they brought in Kiki, all fluffed and blow dried. “I gave Kiki a blow job,” said Stella giggling.

“Watch it, little piggies have big ears,” I cautioned.

“Kiki have a bwow job,” trumpeted Mima.

“See,” I shrugged to Stella who became crimson. Simon chortled and Tom who’d been talking to Mima, looked completely bemused. “Don’t ask,” I said to Tom, who almost visibly shrank back from that very thing. “And you can behave as well, Simon Cameron,” I said firmly.

“You behave, Simon Cama-won,” parroted Mima, giggling.

“And you, Missy, had better behave, too,” I said tickling her. She fell back and bumped her head on the sofa and burst into tears. Oh my God! What have I done?

She rolled backwards off the cushions kicking her legs and squealing. I went to comfort her and suddenly grasped what had happened. “Mima, Mima, it’s okay, you’ll be fine,” I cuddled her and she sobbed, as much from shock as hurt. She calmed down after a couple of minutes.

“Okay, Darling, can you move this leg for me?” I asked and she twitched it. “Good girl, can you move the other one,” and she moved it slightly. I hugged her and wept, had my prayers been answered? On Monday, I’d be down her doctors to find out, and to discover what we do next to maintain the progress. When she went to bed a bit later, I would check to see if she had any sensation returning. Come to think of it she had squealed with laughter when I washed her feet, they had tickled, so she’d said. I didn’t really take it on board, then. I did now. The signs were encouraging, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

I did some ad hoc physio with her, moving her legs and trying to keep the muscle tone as good as I could. The last thing I needed was her to try walking and to fall down and bash her head again. Stella brought over the helmet, and although Jemima protested, she allowed me to put it on her, although it cost me a bed time story, much to Tom’s disgust.

“Mima, Granpa Tom is sad now, he wanted to read you a story when you go to bed, but you seem to want me to do it. How about we let Granpa Tom, read it instead?”

“Awight, Gwampa Tom, can wead my storwy.” She smiled and so did a rather happy old man. Goodness, looking after all these children is tiring.

I made Mima some dinner and she ate it, with ice cream for dessert. As a kid, I remember always having room for ice cream–couldn’t eat any more dinner, but ice cream, that was different.

I’d made her some corned beef hash and shortly afterwards, I sat her on the toilet and she pooed by herself. Again my eyes were a bit wet as I hugged her and congratulated her.

“Is Mima a good girl?” she crowed, knowing the answer only too well.

“Mima, is a lovely girl, a very clever girl. You wait until your mummy finds out how clever you are,” I said hugging her.

“I wike you, Caffy. Will you be my mummy?” she held on to me.

“Mima, you already have a mummy and she loves you very, very much. She’s not with you because she also loves your daddy, who is very ill. Because you’re such a big, clever girl, your mummy knew you would be able to help me look after you.”

“But, she gone ‘n weft Mima,” she cried, clinging to me.

“She hasn’t gone…[Oh shit!]..I mean, she will be back as soon as she can, she’s trying to make your daddy better.”

“Daddy–Mima, no wike Daddy, he gone. Mima want Simon to be daddy.” I was unprepared for this–completely at sea, out of my depth, floundering, drowning even, not helped by the fact that I loved this little cherub rather a lot, but she wasn’t mine–I was acting purely in loco parentis.

“Darling, you have a mummy and a daddy who love you very much. I can’t be your mummy, no matter how much I’d like to, you have a mummy already.” She burst into tears. “Look, Darling, I’ll be your pretend mummy, until your real mummy comes home, and Simon can be your pretend daddy, until your own daddy comes home. How about that?” I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I’d dug my own pit.

“An’ Mima want, Gwampy Tom,” she sobbed.

“You can have a pretend Granpa Tom, as well.”

“Awight,” she sniffed, and I realised I’d been out-manoeuvred by a three year old–shit, and thrice shit! How do they do it? Or do I have this sign which only they can see, which says, SUCKER.

I needed to speak urgently with Simon, preferably away from prying ears. I dried her tears and got her ready for bed, she had a small drink of milk and we cleaned her teeth, then I asked Tom to come and read to her.

I asked Simon to come into the kitchen while I prepared the dinner. “I just got morally blackmailed.”

“By Jemima?”

“Who else? None of you buggers would have got one over on me.”

“So what happened?”

“She asked me to be her mummy and you to be her daddy.”

“Tempting, but I think the originals would have something to say about it.”

“Exactly, although original daddy, sounds in a bad way.” Simon looked shocked as I revealed this. “Janice phoned while you were out, they removed a bullet from near Lawrie’s heart, he’s pretty poorly.”

“Poor chap,” Simon sympathised with the injured man.

“Well, yes, from what Janice told me, it looks as if he’s been a bad egg for some time, so this may be a piece of poetic justice, however hard that seems.”

“With infidelity, or what?”

“Yes, primarily, I don’t know what else he might be guilty of, but certainly she mentioned other women. She thinks one of the husbands might have pulled the trigger, so the Saudi Police won’t be looking too hard for a culprit.”

“Oh dear, chickens always come home to roost.”

“Yeah, well mine might. I promised we’d be pretend parents until her real ones came home.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Does it? I thought I’d made an awful mistake. What happens if we allow her to call us mummy and daddy, and her real parents turn up? Especially if this fostering goes on for several weeks?”

“I see, how about Auntie Cathy and Uncle Simon?”

“I don’t think she’ll buy it, she wants a mummy and daddy.”

“Oh dear, old girl, I think you might have lumbered us this time.”

“That’s what I thought, I am sorry.”

He shrugged, “Never mind, you can make it up to me tonight,” he winked.

“Not in front of an audience, I’m not–with my luck, she’ll tell me how to improve my technique.”

Simon looked at me, shook his head and chuckled as he hugged me, “Poor wittle Caffy,” he said.