That night, despite his sore knee, Simon made a great fuss of me in bed, which was a shame: I was too tired to want to do anything but sleep. I think I managed to persuade him, that it was me not him, and eventually, he gave up and let me go to sleep.

I woke up in the night feeling very guilty, and after I stole out to the loo, I cuddled up to him and he sleepily put his arm around me. He was still holding me when we woke up as Mima climbed aboard. She simply wriggled in between us, with much huffing, puffing and giggling. We indulged her and she stayed quiet for about half an hour. Then as I came to, prompted by her elbow sticking in my ribs, I remembered we had a visitor to lunch and I hadn’t finished the vacuuming, or dusting.

I attempted to leap out of bed, only one of my feet got caught in the duvet, and I sort of twisted and flopped nearly braining myself on the bedside cupboard. Simon sat up in bed and regarded me lying on the bedroom floor with my one leg splayed out and the other stuck in the folds of the bed.

“Cathy, what are you trying to do?”

“At this moment, get off the floor, bloody duvet caught me.”

“Don’t you mean, you fouled in it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It caught you, suggests, it the duvet actually wrapped it self around your leg.”

“Of course it did, it’s a woman-eating duvet.”

“I see.”

I pulled my leg free and would have kicked the wretched thing, except that would have made me look more stupid than ever. I went into the bathroom and weed and washed, then dressed in jeans and top. “Are you two lazy daisies getting up?”

Mima giggled and Simon pretended to snore. Then Mima tried to copy him and ended up coughing. At that point, I went down to get my breakfast. Some tea, toast and cereal and I was off with the vacuum cleaner and duster. Never sure which way round to do it, because they both generate dust.

Then I started doing the vegetables, roast and new potatoes, glazed carrots, celery and whole green beans. The sorbet had set sufficiently and tasted okay. I washed the meat and inserted little bits of garlic into the skin, plus the occasional caper, then marinaded it in lemon juice with rosemary.

At ten, I switched on the oven and zapped the roasties in the microwave–it’s quicker than par boiling. I then placed them in a roasting tin with some corn oil and popped them into the top of the oven. At half past ten the lamb went in.

Mima came to see what I was doing, she’d finished playing with her dolls and wanted some attention from me. I wanted to go up and shower and change. “Did Simon wash you, before dressing you?”

“No, Mummy.”

“How about we go up and have a shower together?”

“Does Mima need hair wash?”

“Yes, Mima. Hmm, let me see, don’t you want to wash it?”

“No, Mummy.”

“You can try my shower cap, but it will probably be too big. If it gets wet, it has to be washed, okay?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

As we were undressing, she stopped and looked at my pubic hair, then looked down at her own bare pubic area. Then she walked over and touched me, in the pubes. I grabbed her hand. “Mima, it’s not done to touch anyone there, unless you’re a grown up and they give you permission.”

“You hairy, Mummy.”

I blushed and looked down at my groin. I wasn’t that hairy before surgery, and I certainly wasn’t afterwards. Besides, I kept the hair trimmed, not enough to irritate, but short enough to be tidy. “All grown up ladies have hair there, unless they shave it off, or do some other form of removal.”

“I gotted none.”

“No, Mima, you won’t until you grow up, don’t worry, that’ll be here before you know it. Come on let’s find that shower cap.” We trotted into the bathroom and it was hanging from the hook on the back of the door. Of course it was far too big for her, even when we swirled her hair around in it, it kept drooping over her ear or face. In the end I found the belt off an old skirt and tied that around it to keep it in place. It looked like some sort of exotic headdress.

During the shower, the ends of the belt kept tickling her back and she chuckled like a demented leprechaun. We dried ourselves, well she had a good try to do it herself, and only needed a little help to finish the job. I believe in letting children help to do things for themselves, it makes them independent and possibly sooner than those who remain passive. If you make it into a game, they try even harder.

The shower cap worked, although I thought I would see if I could get a child’s one for future use. Mima helped to dress herself, and I threw on my dressing gown and basted the spuds and the joint. I had melon to prepare for a starter, and I needed to get a move on.

Mima watched as I dressed in skirt and top, then added a pair of court shoes. She slipped her shoes off as soon as my wardrobe door was open and clattered around the room in a pair of mine, red courts with a three inch heel.

She watched fascinated as I did my eyes, a little bit of liner and mascara, and finally some lipstick. As I rolled my lips to even the application, she did the same. I found an old lip balm and painted her lips, she was beaming with pride as she rolled her lips again. “Mima pwetty, now.”

“Mima, you are beautiful and priceless.”

I squirted some perfume on myself and she had to have a bit as well. I gave her a different one that wasn’t as expensive as my Coco.

I did my hair and decided to leave it down, I had a clip in my pocket if I needed to keep it out of my cooking. I checked myself in the mirror, not too bad I suppose–for a boy! Shit, I must stop thinking like that.

“Mummy, pwetty,” said a little voice watching my reflection in the mirror.

“Thank you, darling. Come along, let’s get the melon sorted.” We went down the stairs, hand in hand, her carrying a pair of my shoes, with which she was going to parade as soon as we got down. I had her shoes in my other hand, they could go back on later if she didn’t break her neck.

I watched her clomp into the lounge to show Simon. It brought back memories. I’d been allowed to clomp about in my mother’s shoes until I was about three or four, after that it was forbidden, even though I liked it. What brought it to a climax was when I clomped about in her shoes and a blouse which was like a dress on me at the time. My dad went totally ape, I got a hiding and was banned from wearing my mother’s shoes or clothes again. It didn’t stop me, after all I was a girl in my own mind, but it made me much more secretive when I did it afterwards–and I did.

I put the rest of the vegetables on and began to cut and clean the melons. I know some people like the seeds, but I wash them and put them on our bird table. The squirrels like them–I know, I shouldn’t encourage them.

“What time is Brad arriving?” I asked Tom when he returned from the checking the dormice.

“He’s here, with me, he followed me back from the university. Come on in Brad.”

Stella’s radar was working well and she appeared as if from nowhere, she certainly hadn’t done much to help, then I could see why, she’d rather glammed it up, especially her hair.

“Cathy you’ve met already, Stella is the one with the pudding, Simon, is Cathy’s partner and last but not least, this is our resident supermodel, Mima.” She clomped into view and right up to the rest of us. We all shook hands and the hostility I half expected from Simon, didn’t materialise. I excused myself to check on the dinner, while Stella commandeered our guest, assisted by our ‘supermodel’ who insisted on holding his hand as she tottered in my shoes, her dormouse in her other hand.

Everything was done and I placed it on a hostess trolley, except the meat, which I left to rest, making sure Kiki was locked in the conservatory. I also made the gravy. Then I took in the melon, and Simon poured glasses of wine for everyone but Stella and Mima.

After the melon, I brought in the roast lamb and Tom did the honours with the carving knife. Stella brought in the mint sauce I’d made earlier, and we started the main course. Stella probed our guest for info about himself, quite successfully at times. Of course, I had prior knowledge of some of his history from our encounter in the supermarket, and he asked me questions about my time in Bristol. Despite the wine, I managed to avoid giving too much away about myself. I supposed, he would eventually learn about me from someone at the uni, but I wasn’t going to offer anything on that subject unless he asked me specifically. These days it was definitely on a need to know basis only.

My sorbet went down very well, after a short pause to let the rest of the meal make room for it. Then we had coffee. This Stella made, her only contribution to the meal. I cleared up and after rinsing put the dirties in the dishwasher.

Mima clomped around to me and raised her arms to be lifted onto my lap. She lapped up the attention she got from everyone, she is quite a pretty little thing, then she cuddled into me, and holding her dormouse and sucking her thumb, she dropped off to sleep. Simon looked at us and smiled, “See, she’s tired of me already.”

“So, she’s your foster child, yet she calls you mummy and daddy?” asked Brad.

“Initially she got dumped on us,” I began to explain.

“No, Cathy, she got dumped on you, you’re the only one soft enough to let it happen,” Simon decided to rewrite history, but I didn’t challenge him. “Cathy and Mima have history, she keeps bursting into your life doesn’t she?”

“We’ve had encounters in the past yes.”

“Cathy, saved her life,” added Tom.

“Hang around long enough, she’ll save yours, too,” said Stella, smiling coquettishly at our visitor. “It’s a habit she has, she’s really Supergirl, in disguise.”

“This all sounds interesting, tell me more,” demanded Brad, so Stella obliged much to my embarrassment. It seemed I had saved half the population of Hampshire and Avon, the way she told it, with Simon adding odd snippets, and even Tom, put his oar in too.

“I hope all this derring-do stuff doesn’t go with the job, or I’ll have to resign before I start, I’m a bit of a wimp, myself.”

“Don’t listen to them, Brad, they’re making half of it up.” They hadn’t, but I didn’t want him researching me on the internet, because he’d then discover my little secret. Why can’t Stella keep her brain in gear and her mouth in the off postion?

I decided to leave the table and carried Mima to the couch in the lounge so she could sleep more comfortably, after that, I began to clear the table. As far as I was concerned, the meal was over and no one had mentioned dormouse juggling. That had to be a first.