We got back home about mid afternoon, narrowly avoiding the schools’ traffic, which is a total pain. So few people walk their kids to school, or cycle or use buses–most seem to use those ghastly 4x4s, presumably so they can ride over cyclists and pedestrians without damaging little George or Poppy.

The pain killers were helping now, as had the tuna roll that Stella had bought me in a nice coffee shop down by the quay. We were able to park outside and still see inside the car, so the doughnut eating cannon ball was able to catch up on her beauty sleep while we snacked.

The phone was ringing–it doesn’t ring, it makes a horrid noise something like an electronic bird caught with one foot on an AC current and the other on an earth. I was holding hands with Grumpy, she woke up before we noticed and yelled the place down. Stella had quite an altercation with some woman who thought we should be prosecuted. Okay, on reflection it wasn’t the best thing to do, but Stella can’t really have Mima sleeping in her arms, ‘cos it makes her bladder want to go, and I can’t because I’m still sore from her last hug.

Stella tottered in ahead of us in her high boots, Grumpy and I followed at a slower, more sedate pace as befits little legs. By the time we’d closed the door and taken coats off, Stella was tottering back to us. She was hugely excited until she saw Mima and her face changed.

“Come on, Sweetie, let Auntie Stella give you a nice ‘nana to eat.” She whisked the unfortunate tot off to the kitchen and shoved her in the high chair, peeling a small banana, she broke it in half and gave part to Mima.

Then she tottered out to me, “That was Daddy’s QC, he’s been on to the South African chap.”

“Oh, the letter?”

“Yes, he’s defending Janice and her husband.”

“Against what?”

“I forget which tin pot dictator they tried to upset, but anyway, they are trying to extradite them from Durban.”

“What? They’re mercenaries or terrorists?” I gasped.

“No, he’s an arms dealer of questionable conscience.”

“If he has links to the Russian Mafia, we’ll send Mima back by express delivery.”

“Cathy, listen. It was his opinion that we stood a better chance of having her with us longer and more easily by doing it the way she did, than through a formal agency.”

“Is she guilty of arms trafficking too?”

“I don’t know, but she’s in custody as well. Apparently, there are some documents on their way to us, although it might take some weeks. If they slip this charge, they will have to scarper because there are all sorts of nasty little men after them.”

“So why all the deception?”

“Because they wanted to see how you gelled with Mima and she with you. If it hadn’t gone well, she’d have snatched her away and tried again elsewhere, finding a foster mother. Because the time factor was short, and she was in danger–the car that hit Mima, was no accident, it was after them both.”

“So is she in any danger with me?”

“Hopefully not, unless of course the parents escape punishment. Zimbabwe, that’s the place.”

“For what?”

“That wants Janice and Lawrie.”

“What the hell were they selling arms to Zimbabwe for?”

“To overthrow, what’s his face.”

“I was hoping he’d get cholera.”

“That’s a very loving thought, Cathy.”

“Lovely thought, did you say?” I asked and she smirked and nodded.

“Mum-mmee, Mima wanna dwink,” came the dulcet tones from the kitchen.

“Looks like my turn,” I said, walking to the kitchen. “Okay, Sweetheart, what would you like to drink?”

“Mickey, pwease.”

I poured her some milk in her cup and gave it to her, releasing a hold on it only when she said thank you. I’ve met the occasional polite toddler, or was it spaniel? Anyhow, I thought I’d try it, make her say please and thanks, or as close as she seems able to. Maybe look at speech therapy if she stays.

“Oh the judicial review will happen on the twenty third.”

“Of what?”

“December.”

“You’re joking?”

“I’m not, it ain’t cheap, but it’s a bit quicker than many legal processes.”

“Oh my goodness, Stella, I feel suddenly quite anxious.”

“Why? You well may win.”

“That’s nearly as scary as losing.”

“I think Daddy’s QC was going to suggest that we have a six month trial with Mima, with some opportunity for Social Services to keep an eye on her, but also for input from the medical brigade.”

“Oh my goodness, Stella, this is so scary. I need to sit down.”

“This isn’t like adoption, you know, you only get to borrow her.”

“I know, I know. I’m just frightened because if I screw up after six months, any separation then, is going to be worse than now. It makes me awfully responsible.”

“Of course you’re responsible, you’re her foster mother, you silly cow.”

“I didn’t quite mean it like that.”

“I know, come on gal, let’s celebrate with a cuppa.”

After much ooh-ing and ah-ing, I began to think I might have got Mima to understand I was very sore across my boobs. I was thus able to have her sit on my lap while I read to her, something she loved. I read her some of, The House on Pooh Corner, because there was a copy in the house. Inside the front cover was a dedication, To Colin, love from Daddy, xxx. I wondered if that was Tom’s child’s original name. I felt extra reverence for the book, which I love anyway. I didn’t think I could bear to ask him, and as I didn’t want ‘kick ass’ Cameron to do it, I didn’t show it to her.

“I wonder if she’d like me to read her some Freya North?” asked Stella.

“That’s soft porn chick lit,” I protested.

“So, she’s a chick.”

“What if she turns out to be gay or a nympho and she blames it on your readings of sex obsessed heroines from such stories.”

“How about Bridget Jones’ Diaries?”

“No, Stella, definitely not.”

“I wuv Winnie Pooh–Poohs.”

“See, I have the confidence of part of the electorate.”

“Wait till the coup d’etat, you old reactionary.”

“You’ll need planning permission to build any new coops here.”

“Curses, foiled again, come Muttley.” As she walked out Kiki walked behind but she wasn’t saying, Sassa-frassa rassing, Rick Rastery!.