“What about the form?” I still felt half asleep.

“You didn’t submit the medical part.”

“I filled in all the bits that Henry gave me.”

“No, Babes, that bit should have been filled in by your doctor or the surgeon or shrink.”

“I didn’t see that bit.”

“Okay, I’ll phone them and get them to send that bit to you.”

“Why wasn’t it there in the first place?”

“I have no idea, Babes, I’m just relaying what Henry said, or his legal bloke. Don’t shoot me, I’m just the messenger.”

“Okay, I’ve put the safety catch back on.”

“Yeah, okay.” He paused. “You what?”

“I said, I’ll catch you later.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, okay.” He rang off. I quickly ran through in my mind what I’d signed in the forms, there was no medical form, so where had that gone? I hoped Henry was more thorough with his banking forms.

While I bathed the girls, I did wonder which doctor would be the best one to speak to. My GP or shrink would be the easiest to see, but would the surgeon be better, for the gruesome details? I decided I’d deal with it when it arrived.

I had to speak with the Social Security people to get the child allowances for the two girls, and I needed to get them registered with my doctor. As soon as I finished their breakfasts, I called Nora at the home and asked to Trish’s medical card and any other paperwork I might need.

After this I phoned my solicitor and asked him about getting Trish’s name changed. He told me I couldn’t do that because I wasn’t actually her parent, however, he was sure that official bodies like the local education authority, would be sympathetic to amending her records, if only on an indefinite temporary basis. He suggested I enlist the help of Dr Rose.

I left a message for Dr Rose to call me when he had time. I then called the hospital to see how Tom was doing.

“Who are you?” asked the nurse.

“His daughter, Cathy.”

“Hold on?” I waited for what seemed like ages. “He’s gone down for an ECG, I’ll tell him you called.”

“There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, it’s just routine, we monitor our patients when they’re at risk.”

“Is he at risk?” I felt quite alarmed.

“Only insofar as he’s had one heart attack already, so we try to monitor how he’s responding to treatment.”

“And, how is he–responding, I mean?”

“Fine, as far I know.”

“Okay, thank you.” I put down the phone.

I called social security and explained my situation and the woman to whom I spoke made notes, but when she read them back to me she garbled it completely. I felt somewhat cross but tried to keep it cool.

“Look it’s all perfectly straightforward, I have custody of a little girl, Jemima Scott whose parents are out of the country and could be so for an indefinite period. Custody has been agreed with the courts as it was a private arrangement rather than through a fostering service. I don’t have details of her date of birth or National Insurance number nor any other number, she was dumped upon me and her parents pissed off to Africa, where it seems half the governments of that continent are pursuing them. I have a second child, who is staying with me from St Nicholas Children’s home because she has special needs and was being bullied at the home, so her consultant paediatrician recommended she stay with me. The formal fostering paperwork is in progress. Her special needs are that she is gender identity disordered, so although legally she’s a boy, she feels she’s a girl and has been accepted at a private school as such. As I’m having to find those fees, I feel that any contribution would be useful, hence my application for child benefit.

“She’s only going to the school because none of the council ones have spaces or are interested in coping with her gender problem. Yes it’s disgraceful, but so is much in this world–so what do I have to do to get benefit?”

“It’s quite a complicated affair, isn’t it. Why are you fostering the gender swap one?”

“Because the consultant asked me to, which was supported by a judge.”

“We’ll need that in writing, plus any supporting documentation you have.”

“That I think I’ll be able to provide, from the home, plus presumably, they’ll cancel anything you pay them.”

“Yes, now as for the African child…”

“She isn’t African, her parents are in Africa. She’s born and brought up here.”

“We’ll need proof of that.”

“Fine, I’ll put her through the blender and stick her in a padded envelope.”

“That sort of attitude doesn’t help anyone.”

“Can I speak with your supervisor or manager?”

“Why? I’m perfectly qualified to deal with this.”

“So why aren’t we getting anywhere?”

“Because you aren’t giving me the correct information.”

“Can you send me the application forms and I’ll send a covering letter with them.”

“I could if you give me your name and address.”

“You hadn’t asked me for it until now.”

“Madam, that’s because you hadn’t asked for a form, you were just asking me how you claimed.”

“In which case I apologise.”

“Okay, shall we start again, madam?”

“Fine, it’s Cathy Watts…” I couldn’t believe it would take an hour to get the forms I needed. Then I called my solicitor to ask if they had any details of Mima that I could use to prove my case to the social security people. He promised to look into it and get back to me as soon as he could.

The children came for a drink and a biscuit, and a quick hug. After they’d had their elevenses, I dressed them up to go for a walk. We got as far as the door. It was pouring down, the snow was nearly all gone, and everywhere was practically floating. It wasn’t my day.

I shoved them both in the car, along with Mima’s wellies and the dog. Then we went off to the local shoe shop where I got Trish a pair of pink floral wellies and a pair of yellow ones with butterflies on for myself. Next we went to town and I bought them both waterproof coats with hoods and see-through plastic umbrellas. I also bought the dog a coat and we went off for a walk in the rain. They had great fun splashing in the puddles, and Kiki seemed oblivious to the rain.

We splashed our way through the park down by the river, where normally the ducks were waiting to be fed. Not so today, the river was brown and fast flowing and I felt nervous of allowing the girls too close to it.

“Can we play Pooh Sticks,” Trish asked.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea today, sweetheart.”

“Why not, Mummy?”

“Because the river is flowing too fast. Look, let’s walk down to the bridge and you’ll be able to see what I mean.” Which is what we did. I lifted them both up so they could see how fast the river was flowing.

“Gosh, Mummy, it feels like the bridge is moving,” said Trish.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it.” I wasn’t very happy being there, I wasn’t that strong a swimmer and if either girl had fallen in, I wouldn’t have been able to save her.

“Is it danejus?” asked Mima.

“It’s very dangerous, Meems, so keep well back.”

“What’s that lady doing?” Trish asked, pointing upstream. I squinted through the rain and from what I could see she was trying to pull something out of the river.

“I don’t know, but she’s being very silly–I think her dog must have fallen in, she’ll have to be so careful–oh no, she’s fallen in.”

I looked around, but there were no life saving devices visible.