Mima woke as I was preparing some lunch for us. Stella was at the university helping Pippa with some more filing, so she said. I’d enjoyed my chat with PC Bond, although I still chuckled at the name, although he was unlikely to ever come across his namesake — the demon racer in Maddy Bell’s Gaby stories.

“Mum-meee, Mima wanna wee wee,” called a voice from the dining room.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m coming.” I darted into the dining room and Mima was standing up holding onto the sofa. “Who’s a clever girl then?” I said as I hugged her, then lifted her off to the cloakroom.

When she’d finished I wiped her hands in a flannel and dried them, then I took her through to the kitchen and placed her in her highchair and popped a bib around her.

“I’ve made us some macaroni cheese with some banana splits for afters, how about that?”

“Okay,” she piped and I put the dish of macaroni in front of her. Finding out what she would eat or not was an experiment, from which I suspected Kiki would be the major beneficiary.

She poked the strange white worms with her spoon and looked at me uncertainly. I started to eat mine and made ‘yummy’ noises. She wasn’t convinced.

I got her to try a little spoonful and she made a face. Oh dear, oh well Kiki won’t mind. I tried a few times, but she wasn’t going to eat it. In the end, I made her a jam sandwich, actually a bread doorstep cut into fingers and spread with jam, what the Scots call a jeely piece, cut into fingers or soldiers.

She ate some of that, then demanded her banana split. Was I beginning to see why Janice had apparently done a runner. Most of that was eaten and again Kiki cleaned up the leftovers.

At least she had eaten something, and she had previously eaten cooked dinners, so maybe I’d cope somehow after all, assuming she was allowed to stay.

When she had her afternoon nap, I contacted a solicitor who dealt with adoption cases and family law, according to his blurb in Yellow Pages. I explained the situation to him and he commented on how unusual it was–and that was without explaining my background. We agreed that I should visit him as soon as possible, which was at four that afternoon. It was nearly two already.

I checked on Sleeping Beauty and dashed upstairs and washed and changed, put on a suit and my boots, combed my hair and threw on some makeup and a squirt of perfume. I dashed down just in time for a voice to yell, “Mummeeeee, Mima wanna poo-poo.” There were definite draw backs to this parenting lark. I toileted her, and changed her into something warmer, combed her hair and popped a hat on, which she immediately removed. I shrugged and combed her hair again.

I carried her out to the car and after putting the pushchair in the boot, grabbed my bag and keys and off we went to meet Mr Rushton Henstridge, solicitor. I managed to park in the private carpark of his office and pushed Mima in the chair inside. It was two minutes to four.

She sat quietly for a moment, looking around the waiting room, “Mima wanna drink.” I fished in the large bag I had and pulled out her cup, switched lids on it from the sealed one to the one with a spout, and passed it to her. She gobbled it down and gave a massive burp just as Mr Henstridge came out of his office, she then giggled at her own cleverness.

Henstridge looked at her then at me, blushing like a light bulb, a smirk crossed his face, which he quickly corrected. Mima getting no response dropped her cup on the floor of the office. It rolled towards Henstridge who picked it up and handed it to me.

“Miss Watts, I presume?”

“I am, Mr Henstridge?”

“That, I am.” We shook hands and he steered me into his office, with me of course steering the pushchair. Inside his office were the usual shelves of legal tomes, but much to my surprise in the corner was a box of toys.

I had forgotten to strap Mima into her pushchair, and was horrified to see her stand rather shakily and stagger to the box of toys, where she plonked on a bean bag and began sorting through them.

“Are you all right, Miss Watts?”

“Um, yes, I am.”

“You looked a bit shocked.”

“Well yes I am, she hasn’t walked for a month, since she was hit by a car.”

“Goodness, no wonder she was a bit unsteady, she obviously forgot she couldn’t.”

“She’s been getting sensation back and started moving her legs and earlier on she stood for a few moments, but walk–she hadn’t until just now.” I wiped away a small tear.

“I am pleased for both of you. She seems quite settled for a few minutes, so let’s see if I got everything down accurately.” He had and I then told him some more.

“That you’re going to be marrying Lord Cameron, must be in your favour, might even pay you to hurry things up a bit, if you do plan on adopting her, or at least fostering her long term.”

“Ah, we have a slight problem there.”

“What’s that, his family wanting a big society wedding?”

“Um, not exactly. We can’t just yet, for legal reasons.”

“Oh, he got a previous divorce to sort out?”

“No, nor have I?”

“So what is it then?”

I said very quietly, “I’m still legally a man.”

“Okay,” he paused, “Is this a joke, Miss Watts?”

“No, I’m transsexual, and I have to wait a couple more months to qualify to change my birth registration to female. Then I can legally marry. Simon and his family know all about it, and it isn’t a problem.”

“Goodness! I must congratulate you on your appearance, I’d never have guessed.”

“Will that have a bad effect on our case?”

“I think we’d have to declare it, because if we don’t they could accuse us of withholding information, however, these days with all the anti-discriminatory legislation, we will probably be able to bluster through. I’ll call a barrister friend and get an opinion for you. Is this a legal aid case?”

“No, I have an income, although obviously it isn’t that enormous and I do have another face to feed.”

“Of course, no, it’ll be a couple of hundred, I expect. It’s if he represents you at a hearing it gets expensive–but he’s pretty hot stuff, and we haven’t lost a case yet.”

“I hope we’re not the first,” I muttered under my breath.

“I don’t think so,” he replied and I blushed.

“Mummmeee, Mima wanna wee wee,” came the dulcet tones.

“Just across the waiting room is a loo, there’s changing facilities in there as well.”

“Thanks, “ I snatched up the wailing infant and trotted to the loo. Two minutes later we were back in the office. Mr Henstridge was on the phone, he waved us in.

“Yes, Oliver, the lady in question used to be a man, but is due to get legal re-registration as female in a couple of months. The child has bonded, calls her Mummy and they are good together. Hold on…Are you post operative?” He asked me.

“Yes, nearly a year ago.”

“Yes a year ago, I see, yeah, I thought the same, the parents dumped the kid on her or the mother did, on the pretext of going to see seriously sick husband abroad. Phoned for a few days then disappeared. Police have been involved as have social services. About a month or so ago, the little girl was hit by a car and lost the use of her legs, it’s just coming back, she walked for the first time in my office. The only reason Miss Watts, has custody is because of the support of the paediatrician in the case. Is that right?” he asked me.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Yeah, okay I’ll tell her, thanks, bye.” He put the phone down. “He thinks we have a chance, but we go for fostering not adoption, and you bring your fiancé along to the hearing when it happens.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’d want to be there anyway, so will her foster grampy, Professor Agnew, who has sort of adopted me. My parents died fairly recently and I’d been living in Prof Agnew’s house for a while. I was a student of his and now work at the university, although I’m on secondment to DEFRA.”

“I think you might have to think again about that if you want to foster Jemima, she’ll be a full-time job, so effectively, you’ll have to decide if you want to have a career or a child.”

I was in shock, though I don’t know why, it’s rather obvious if one thinks about it. Naturally, I hadn’t thought, I was just reacting to life. My stomach felt in total turmoil, knotting and unknotting at a pace of knots.

“Mummy, wook,” Jemima held up a doll, “a do-wee, Mummy.”

“Yes dear,” I said, “a dolly.”