Skipper - Chapter Twelve
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Synopsis: | Life seems to settle down, new babies arrive, new careers started, then disaster or is it? |
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Crossdressing / TV
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Skipper, Chapter 12 - By: Beverly Taff
Elizabeth and Jane stayed with us until after the New Year but finally
and reluctantly, Elizabeth had to resume her duties as a judge. Jane also
had to return to her engineering project in the Midlands and the girls
resumed schooling. My time became tied up with developments in the port.
In March, Elizabeth and Jane confirmed that they were going to be mothers
and I was now the father of four children. Margaret had confirmed that
hers was a boy whilst Sian's was a girl. We waited eagerly for
developments with Jane and Elizabeth.
In April, the plans for the new port development were finalised. Billy,
Mac and I were able to inject a useful amount of cash into the project
and with their assistance; I managed to secure the coveted 'Port
Engineer's' and Container terminal Manager post for Jane. I had long
since learned that it wasn't 'what you knew, but who you knew' when it
came to getting the plum jobs. It would do no harm to help the mother of
my child. Jane started working at the end of April and bought a house
further down the coast towards Devon. Once settled, she and Elizabeth
finally got married and we attended the modest civil wedding with little
fuss and little publicity.
The wedding breakfast served as the house warming and we all spent a
delightful weekend where they finally informed us of the sexes of their
babies. They were both girls, which pleased everybody for we thought this
might reduce the possibility of distress about fatherhood in later years.
We returned home in a happy mood and I settled down to an easy life with
the occasional director's attendance at the development meetings for the
new container terminal.
In the first week of August, Margaret and Sian delivered their babies
whilst Elizabeth and Jane delivered theirs at the end of September. I was
now happily settled into my well-earned transvestite lifestyle whilst
simultaneously enjoying the delights of being a foster 'mother' to two of
the most delightful little girls I could have wished for. I felt at last,
I had reached my nirvana.
Sandie had also arranged for me to take hormones so that I could
contribute to breast-feeding my daughters. For me this was the ultimate
delight. It released Margaret to continue working as an accountant whilst
Sian had more time to run the stables.
By now Sian's riding centre was up and running. She had hired one girl
from their circle of lesbian friends and the girl lived at Sian and
Margaret's barn conversion. The girl was a cheerful hardworking soul and
fitted well into the scheme of things. She also doubled as an excellent
babysitter for our children on the rare occasions we had to leave them at
home. Her name was Sylvia and she proved to be an excellent choice.
For my part, I lived as a mother to all the children whilst occasionally
going up to London on Business and attending board meetings at the port.
For me, life couldn't have been better. I lived with my children whilst
still nursing the babies and the social services were slowly loosening
the reigns of supervision, as we became a happily settled family group.
This situation lasted for a few months until the second summer arrived.
One morning a letter arrived in the post from the foreign office. The
postmark intrigued me and I opened it nervously. Any correspondence from
a government agency in London was bound to mean something important.
Nervously I read the letter.
Dear Ms T---,
Last week, a combined UN military exercise took place in Somalia. This
exercise included some Egyptian and British forces who captured a
detention camp maintained by W------ A-------r a notorious local warlord
and terrorist. It is with some concern that I must inform you that
one of the persons rescued may possibly be a one Mrs. Angela Hunt, the
surviving spouse of Mr Samuel Hunt. This couple was reported as missing
possibly kidnapped during an act of piracy some two and half years ago.
You will of course already be aware of the survival of their children
Jennifer and Beatrice Hunt.
At present, Mrs Angela Hunt is too traumatised to function coherently and
it may be several weeks or even months before she is in a fit and proper
mental state to return to normal society. It is thought she has been
seriously abused whilst being held in captivity.
Unfortunately, it is reported that Mr. Hunt was killed during the kidnap
but we are unable to confirm this with certainty and we have not
recovered any evidence or human remains to support this.
This office, respectfully requests that you get in touch as soon as
possible concerning any potential future reconciliation between Ms Hunt
and her two children Jennifer and Beatrice Hunt.
Yours sincerely,
J--------- F----------
HM Under Secretary for foreign affairs.
C.C. Her Honour, Judge Elizabeth Porter.
Mrs J Bodkin. Devon Social Services,
Dr Sandra Evans. Attending psychiatrist.
My hands shook as I folded the letter and slipped it into my handbag.
"God!" I wondered, "Where would this take us?"
I 'sat' on the letter all morning, occasionally taking it out and re-
reading it to make sure I had got everything correct. Finally as the pit
in my stomach grew heavier I plucked up the courage and phoned Elizabeth.
Ever the precise, clinical, legal mind, Elizabeth set me right about the
law. Apparently, because I had adopted the children in the utmost good
faith with the full formality and due process of the law, I could, 'if I
wished' retain my right to custody of the children.
"Well that's all very well, but there's an ethical question to this.
Firstly the girls have a right to know that their mother is alive and
what if they wish to go and live with her? I'm not a monster. Despite my
being desperately fond of them, they have rights."
"Well that's all very laudable, Beverly," replied Elizabeth, "but reading
on in the letter, they say that the woman is severely traumatised. We
have no idea how badly she has been affected and there's no knowing what
might happen if she learns that her children are alive."
"I find that hard to swallow. Any mother would be desperately happy to
learn her children are OK."
"Not necessarily. She might have some serious guilt hang-ups about having
somehow perhaps abandoned them. Everybody will have to tread very
carefully, particularly the doctors."
I wasn't sure whether to despise Elizabeth or idolise her. On the one
hand, she was being the practical judge considering the real medical
issues that might have affected Angela's mind, whilst on the other she
was trying to reconcile my emotional views concerning motherhood and a
mother's love for her children. The more I thought about the content's of
the letter, the more complicated it seemed to become. The solution seemed
to hang entirely upon Angela's recovery and any subsequent relationship
with her girls.
I couldn't help taking the emotional line for already I was thinking of a
mentally ill stranger by her first name, Angela.
I even began to question my own emotional state for the issues seemed to
get more complex every time I turned them in my mind. I was sitting
drinking coffee out on the patio when my mobile rang for the umpteenth
time. It was Sandie.
"Hello Bev."
"Hello," I replied nervously, "at last!"
"I've been to see her. She arrived back at Heathrow last night."
"And?"
"Well she's in a badly traumatised state; almost catatonic. Apparently
she's been -,"
"I don't want to know the details. I can imagine just about what it must
have been like."
"Yes. OK then. I understand. At the moment she is hospitalised in a
private ward whilst the doctors ascertain her health."
"How long before the results?"
"Eight weeks, before we know for certain."
Sandie didn't have to mention specifically what we were talking about. We
knew that Africa was riddled with AIDS and I fully expected to learn that
Angela was infected.
Two years of abuse in a warlord's terrorist base would almost certainly
have infected her with the deadly disease. That and the physical
privations would have probable accelerated it's onset. I felt sick.
"What's her mental state?" I pressed.
"She's still catatonic. A few hysterical outbursts followed by long
silences interspersed with moans and screams."
"So how long before there's any assessment of cure?"
"That's the number two question, after the AIDS."
"When will the children be able to see her?"
"Don't know, maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe never."
"Oh shit! Don't say that!"
"I have to Bev. It's just too early to say. You haven't said anything to
the girls have you?"
"Oh credit me with some sense."
"Yes. Sorry love. I'll keep you posted every morning."
"What about Mrs Bodkin and Judge Elizabeth?"
"Same goes for them. I've been invited to join the psychiatric team
because of my connection through the children. I've got to go now. Bye."
"Bye Sandie," I replied as I stared uncomprehendingly into the already
dead phone.
My mind was a complete blank and I stood stupidly holding the phone as I
struggled to gather what few thoughts I could. It was all so uncertain.
The following eight weeks proved to be a nightmare. I even kept it a
secret from Sian and Margaret until we got the news.
Finally it arrived. It appeared that because of Angela's good looks and
blond hair, (which she had passed down to her girls,) she had been kept
as a special sex slave for high-ranking officers in the warlord's army.
These men by and large were mainly graduates and pretty well educated
thus they had taken precautions when satisfying themselves with Angela's
body. They feared catching AIDS themselves and naturally protected
themselves against the perceived high risk of sleeping with the most
poplar sex slave in the camp. They had recognised the well-known
soldier's adage that it was the pretty whores who were most likely to be
diseased because everybody wanted to screw them.
The upshot was that their efforts to protect themselves had worked both
ways for Angela. She was not infected with AIDS. Several other disgusting
tropical diseases, yes; but not AIDS. She could be could be cured
physically, so it only remained to treat the mental scars.
Sandie told me that Angela took a huge step forward when she herself
learned that she was not infected with AIDS and the other diseases were
treatable. I suppose getting a reprieve from a death sentence has that
effect on a person's life. It certainly improved my mental turmoil. Now
the only question was her long-term mental health.
To this end, Sandie concluded that a good chance of a cure would be to
introduce Angela to as normal a life style as her mind could endure. It
transpired that the abuse she suffered had inculcated a morbid fear of
men. She would need to find a place of refuge where men were scarce if
not totally absent. When Sandie proposed that she come to live with her
children in our little world I rubbished the suggestion.
"Come off it Sandie. I'm a man for God's sake! I may look like a woman
and I certainly live as a woman but there's no way I would deceive the
woman as to my true identity. For one thing, the girls would almost
certainly reveal my condition if only by accident."
"Well you yourself said you think the woman has a right to know about her
children. If she learns that they are alive, she will have to see them.
Once she knows they are alive, the stress of not having access to them
could easily tip her over the edge."
"Wait a minute. Stop trying to blackmail me with morality! I'd prefer her
to have her children back if that's what it takes."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. She's not yet fit to care for herself let
alone the girls. It might take years. The girls could be adults before
she's sufficiently cured to have a meaningful, constructive adult
relationship with them."
"Is that what you really think?"
"I don't know," confessed Sandie, "there's no certain answer. I don't
know what to think but my professional opinion does run in tandem with
your emotional feelings. I think her cure would be accelerated if she
knew her girls were alive and safe."
"Huh. If she discovers that I'm a transvestite, d'you think she'll think
they're safe?"
"That's the problem. The only way around it is for your condition to
remain a secret."
"That's not going to happen. Besides, my cottage is a family home now,
it's not some sort of convent or sanctuary for the mentally ill."
"I'd beg to differ with you there Bev" countered Sandie, "That's exactly
what the cottage is. It's your sanctuary. It's your private place where
you can live as you wish."
"That's only half right. The girls treat it as a family home, as do Sian,
Margaret and their children."
"That's what makes it the perfect curative environment. As you rightly
said it's not some sort of closed order convent, it truly is an open
family home whilst simultaneous serving as a refuge for all of you."
"But by that argument, every family home is s sort of refuge," I
observed.
"Yes, but what makes it a refuge? What serves to make people feel secure
and safe?"
"Well for children, it's having people who care around you; people you
can trust. I've learned that much at least from Mrs Bodkin's arguments
about families and relationships when I adopted Jenny and Bea."
"Exactly! Well it's the same for vulnerable adults. They need people who
care and protect."
"Hey hold on a minute! Whoa now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here,"
I protested, "I'm not some sort of psychiatric nurse. I'm not qualified
to take care of some mentally disturbed adult. I don't do therapy, I do
ships!"
"Once again Bev, I beg to differ. Therapy is exactly what you've been
doing with Jenny and Bea."
"Rubbish! All I did was give them love and care. All they needed was a
stable home and some -, some. Well I dunno!"
"Go on," prompted Sandie, "all they needed was -."
"Well, some -, some -, you know -, tenderness, affection -."
"Yes. Go on."
"Go on what! What?"
"What did you give them?"
"Well. I gave them, I gave them -, what any caring woman would give
them."
"You're getting there, Bev. Keep going."
I hesitated uncertainly. 'What was Sandie after?' I thought.
"I gave them cuddles, care, tenderness, compassion. When they cried, I
dried their tears, when the fought, I kept the peace."
"That's right Bev, you gave them mothering. It was mothering they needed
after all the trauma of the last few years. It's your mothering that
cured them. It's mothering that's brought them back from the abyss. It's
mothering that'll help them get over any trauma or fears if, or more
likely when they meet Angela. And here's the crux Bev. Mothering has made
being a woman second nature to you. The girls accept you totally as a
mother and a woman. If Jenny and Bea got past Skipper to grow to love
Beverly, then I think Angela can."
I fell silent as the first feint dawning of Sandie's idea tried to take
root. Then I shook my head.
'No', I concluded uncertainly, 'this was a totally different ball game.
Kids were easy. This Angela thing was in another league. This was
medicine, this was psychiatry!' 'Come on Bev don't be tricked here,' I
warned myself, 'You know what psychiatrists do. Whatever else Sandie may
be, friend, counselor or whatever; she is still a psychiatrist.'
There would always be that barrier, that basic mistrust between doctors
and I. I couldn't help it. Some dragons could never be slain and this was
one of mine.
"I don't think it'll work. I'm damaged goods, there's too much baggage,"
I reeled out all the pat, well-tested phrases.
"You mean you don't feel confident," offered Sandie.
"That's it exactly," I agreed, seeking any plausible excuse to escape the
looming abyss of further responsibility, "I don't have the skills, I
don't have the confidence; the self confidence. It'll never work."
"Don't write yourself off so readily, Bev," challenged Sandie. "Mrs
Bodkin showed confidence in you and she proved to be right in her
estimations. She saw it in you and it's still there."
I fell silent and sipped my tea. There was little else I could add. The
only reason that Mrs Bodkin had been 'proven right' is because she was
right and I knew it better than anybody. I allowed her to use me as her
experiment because I wanted to prove her right, I wanted to prove that
being a transvestite didn't automatically make you a child abuser.
Besides, I liked Jenny and Bea. I'd grown to like them even as we arrived
the first time in Iran after rescuing them. Eventually, they had grown to
like me warts and all.
I was frightened that somehow having their mother come to stay might undo
the hard work and destroy whatever good I might have done for them. I
just didn't know; I was frightened.
Sandie watched me thoughtfully then started in again as though she could
almost read my thoughts.
"You know you've come a long way Bev. First you were a suspicious old
bastard then you were a cantankerous old bastard, then you became a
caring old bastard, now you've become a frightened old bastard."
"I've always been a frightened bastard. What you forget is that I started
out as a frightened young bastard. All I've done is come full circle,
although you are right in once sense, it has been a long way around the
circle."
"So one, more small step shouldn't be that difficult," claimed Sandie,
"You have already journeyed a million steps."
"And every step makes that journey just seem that much longer. Mao Tse
Tsung didn't get it quite right. The longest journey doesn't just start
with one small step; the longest journey is always the next step. The
steps you've already made are finished with, you can't go back and retake
them, they're over. The journey always starts with the next step."
"That's a cynical point of view. It implies you consider the previous
steps to have been a waste."
"Yeah, well in my life, most of them were. The ones that took me away
from my transvestism were virtually all wasted steps."
"Why is that?"
"Because it always comes back to what I am, what I want to be, what I
have at long last become. This; a full-blown tranny, a shemale no less!
What I should have become when I was just a teenager."
"So why didn't you?"
"Cowardice, prejudice, financial insecurity, lack of prospects, other
people's opinions, the courts, the doctors; all the usual reasons for not
doing so, all the wasted steps, and of course, the final big one, things
were different then, forty years ago."
"But you're settled now, a nice home, semi retirement, and free to
indulge your wildest fancies."
"That's right, and I'm afraid to unsettle it. That's my problem. Beverly
the caring heart and nurturing mother says this Angela woman needs help,
special help, professional help; but Beverly the world weary, hard bitten
pragmatist says, 'don't risk what has taken you a lifetime to
accomplish'. I don't think I would have the strength or the will to start
again if all this were to come crashing down."
"We wouldn't let that happen."
"How could you stop it? Even if I allowed her to come and live here, how
would we remedy any danger or damage to my home and this set up."
"We would have to re-admit her into hospital."
"That's just great, and what about the trauma to the girls?"
"That's a risk we'd have to take."
"Ah! There speaks the detached professional. The one who would never get
emotionally involved, the one who can walk away from the mess," I
finished cynically.
"We are not miracle workers Bev, we can only try for a cure, and we can
never guarantee one."
I became tired of the debate. My head was aching and I needed a break.
The children would soon be home and I knew Sandie would want to interview
them, if only to reconnoitre the ground. Once again, I felt I was being
used. I felt they were using my home and my Achilles heel, namely the
hold they had over my emotions, namely Jenny and Bea. There seemed to be
no escape from the machinations of all the care agencies connected to
Jenny and Bea's case.
'Was I becoming paranoid again?' I asked myself and then ruefully I
wondered if I'd ever stopped being paranoid.
I used the preparation of the evening meal as an excuse to extricate
myself >from the discussion. Preparing vegetables in the kitchen was my
usual form of escape. Somewhere I could go and just relax as I ran things
through my mind. As I prepared dinner, I heard the high-pitched
chatter of four voices dawdling in the lane. My Kitchen window had a good
view of the approaches to the cottage and the sound carried on the still
summer air. I opened the window and called,
"Jenny! Beatrice! Hurry up you've got a visitor."
The four figures emerged from the long grass that grew on the steep banks
of the lane and I smiled as I studied the picture. The four friends
reluctantly separated and my two ran to the door.
"Sandie's here, she wants to talk to you."
They were well used to the social service visits and dumped their school
bags on the hall floor as they entered the drawing room. This time I
listened at the closed door for I felt I had a right to know what was
being said.
"Hello girls, everything OK?"
"Yes," they chorused.
"How's school?"
"OK," replied Jenny. "Chenille and I are going up to the secondary school
in September."
"Are you excited?"
"I don't know. Provided there's no bullying we should be OK."
"Why? Do you think there might be?"
"We've heard stuff. Two of the girls who went up last year still use our
bus from the lane. They get on at the cross roads and they told us
there's lots of stuff."
"How does that affect you?"
"It's Chenille and Martina's mums. We know they are gay but in our school
it's OK. We four can look after ourselves, but when they find out in the
big school, stuff could happen."
"Oh, I see. Well I'll see what can be done."
As I listened at the door they went on to talk of lot's of stuff, but
their mother was never mentioned. Sandie had kept to her word. Perhaps I
had been too suspicious. The girls re-emerged and changed from their
school uniforms to feed their horses as I finished preparing the food
ready for the evening meal, later Sandie joined me.
"They're worried about the secondary school."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's Margaret and Sian. They are a gay couple and the word will get
around the school."
"Well we've already addressed that."
"Oh, how?"
"Well, Margaret has captured the Audit account for the Port Authority and
Sian's riding school is coming into profit. My investments in the
container terminal are bearing fruit so we've just about got the funds to
run to paying for the four of them to become day pupils at St Angie's.
It's a public school just the other side of the hill. The girls won't be
going to the local secondary school."
"Oh. That'll be interesting. What about Martin?"
"You mean Martina."
"Well whatever. Where will he go?"
"That's where you come in."
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, I've got doctor's certificates declaring that I live as a woman.
They actually say I'm probably undergoing a sex change, but between you
and me, I've no intentions of going that far. You're Martina's
consultant, can't you sort something out by declaring him or her to be in
some sort of sexual transition."
"That's pushing things a bit far?" objected Sandie.
"Why? He's already taking anti-androgen hormone blockers."
"Well yes. But that's only in anticipation of where he chooses to go when
he's emancipated. He'll remain androgynous until he's fourteen or
fifteen. Then the plan is to examine exactly what he wants and help
him or her take the chosen path."
"So? What's the problem? She dresses like a girl all the time now except
when she's in the junior school. If she goes with Beatrice to the junior
section at St Angies next September, she could attend as a girl day
pupil, provided you supply the medical certificates."
Sandie fell silent as she considered the idea.
"I'll have to run that by my colleagues. I'm not sure of the ethical
questions."
"Well can I please ask you to chat with Margaret and Sian about it,
Margaret will be home soon and Sian will be just finishing with the
horses. It's time for me to be nursing the babies."
"Gosh have you still got them on the breast."
"Yes, but they're taking solids now as well. I'm gradually weaning them
off my breasts. Anyway their teeth are getting rather sharp. I could cope
with the teething, but now they've got nearly all their milk teeth. It
really is time for me to give it up."
"Well that's nice though some mothers keep them on the breast for up to
two years, it's a form of contraception."
I gave her a dumb look and she grinned.
"Not for you, you silly goose. Did you enjoy the experience?"
"Utterly. I've always wanted to know what it felt like. I'll be grateful
to Sian and Margaret until my dying day. The girls were utterly entranced
by it all. It's been a good experience for them. Just one more experience
to imprint upon them that I function now as their mother."
"What did Martina think of your breast feeding the babies?"
"I haven't asked her. I haven't made it an issue and she's never
volunteered anything. Each to their own, I say."
"Well, I'll have to chat with them about Martina anyway. Have any of
Martina's issues been discussed with the headmistress at St Angies?"
"I don't know, you'd better ask Sian."
With this, we left Sylvia, the stable girl, in charge of the cooking and
we crossed the yard to Sian's home. There, Sian, Margaret and Sandie fell
to chatting about Martina as I settled down to feed both babies just as
the girls returned from feeding the ponies. They immediately washed up
and removed their dirty outdoor pony clothes before joining me in the
warm kitchen.
The girls all knew my routine by now and they settled around the large
kitchen table as I tenderly fed the babies. Their eyes sparkled with
interest and curiosity as they alternately held the babies and helped
attend to them when I fastened them to my breasts.
"It must be really nice being able to feed your own babies like that,"
said Chenille softly.
"When I grow up, I'm going to feed my babies like that. It's the proper
way," observed Jenny.
"Aunty Sian's mare fed Rolo her foal like that. It's nice being a mummy,"
added Beatrice as she gently stroked my other breast. Fortunately, my
nursing bra covered my other breast, but Beatrice's inquisitive fingers
inadvertently sent a shiver down my body.
"Don't do that darling, they're a little sensitive," I remarked as I
gently removed her hand.
Beatrice reluctantly desisted while Martina simply watched in silence as
he always did. I felt sure I knew what was going through Martina's mind
but I discreetly avoided letting the subject surface in the
conversations.
When he was ready, he would assuredly raise the issue as to how I, a
'mummy boy' could feed my own babies.
Eventually the babies were fed and everybody joined in the bathing and
preparations to put the babies to bed. Sian and Margaret rejoined us with
Sandie and the baby rearing tasks were soon completed. The girls loved
the nightly routine for it so complimented their tasks with the ponies in
the stables.
"Come on over to me then," I declared, "I've got dinner on the go for all
of us. Sylvia will be just finishing cooking it now."
The girls shared the baby carrying duties as we stepped back across the
yard to my cottage were Sylvia had just finished cooking.
In minutes, the meals were served and we fell to chattering around my
dining table. Sylvia then borrowed the Landrover and took the girls over
to Baroness Wemite's to see Peter and Melanie. It was Melanie's birthday
and they had received an invitation for a brief private party that
evening. The main celebrations were to be Saturday when school friends
from St Angie's would attend a pony trekking party but this was a private
evening party for local friends of Peter and Melanie. Our girls were the
only local friends outside of their circle of school friends.
Whilst the girls were away, we discussed the possibility of Jenny and
Beatrice's mother coming to see her children. Both Margaret and Sian were
wary of such a move. They were every bit as sensitive as I to the
possibility of a custody battle ensuing if Angela learned her girls were
still alive. Sandie tried to reassure us.
"I can assure you now, that the poor woman is in no fit state to care for
her children. She has nightmares and recurring flashbacks that cause all
sorts of complicated reactions. My colleagues and I are certain it will
take several years before she will be fit to care for the girls."
"And by that time, they'll be in their middle teens," added Margaret.
"Oooh yes! Most definitely! I should think Jenny would be about sixteen
and Beatrice about fourteen before they would be safe to be left alone
with her."
"So that's about five years from now," I concluded, doing the simple
math.
"Thereabouts, it's difficult to be accurate about the progress of a full
cure but my colleagues and I are adamant it won't be less than that."
"But you think if she had access to her girls, then a cure would be
faster."
"We think a cure would have better prospects but it would not shorten the
process. The more she sees of her girls the better."
I fell silent but I could sense Margaret and Sian's brains working away.
"How is she physically? She's not an invalid or anything is she?" asked
Sian.
"Uh. No," replied Sandie, "she's quite fit physically. She was allowed
the freedom to move around the camp so she has not deteriorated
physically through any form of physical restraint. Physically, she's as
fit as a fiddle. The scars are all mental."
"Could she handle being around horses? They're nervous animals."
"I don't know, though we sometimes allow pet therapy with our patients.
The contact with a fluffy cat or friendly dog can sometimes prove
therapeutic. I don't know about horses though."
"Well all our horses and ponies have to be calm placid animals but any
strange or excited behaviour might spook them. We'd have to try her out
with the horses first. However, if she proves adaptable to the animals,
she can always lend a hand with the stabling. Nothing exploitative or
arduous but she'd have to be prepared to live with the horses."
"Yes that's reasonable," agreed Sandie.
"Hey, wait a minute!" I protested. "Who said she's coming? Who agreed to
all this?"
"I'm afraid you're outvoted," declared Margaret, "Two to one."
"I think you're getting ahead of yourselves. Where's she going to live?"
"The other barn conversion is nearly finished. It's designed for
residential trekking parties. There are dormitories and bedrooms with en-
suite facilities. When Sylvia moves into the warden's flat, Angela can
have a spare room with us," announced Margaret.
I realised I had been bypassed by a cunning flanking manoeuvre by Sandie.
Margaret and Sian were equal partners in the barn conversions and pony
trekking centre, they therefore had a two thirds vote in its running. If
they chose to have Angela come to live with them, there was little I
could do to stop it. In truth however, I was partly coming around to the
idea anyway. Then Sandie finally produced the final deciding argument.
"She'll have proper care and psychiatric supervision anyway."
"How?" I asked.
"Well, I was keeping this bit of news until the last."
"Go on," I urged suspiciously.
"Well, I applied for a promotion in my job and I got it. I'm moving down
here to take up my new post as head of psychiatric services in one of the
local area health authorities. I'll be working in Bournemouth just a
quarter on an hour's drive away."
You could have heard a pin drop as our jaws fell.
"You're married aren't you? What about your husband?" asked Margaret,
eventually.
"He works from home with his computer. He can live anywhere and he's
tired of the city. He only needs to go in once or twice a week. The
schools will be better for my children as well."
Margaret and Sian let out squeals of delight but I was more cautious.
Sandie turned to me.
"I thought you'd be happy as well."
"I'm not sure. It's just too good to be true. There's bound to be some
catch. I didn't know you had children."
"Oh yes. They're quite young though, only seven and five, William and
Mary.
"Oh," I finished abruptly as I contemplated yet more scope for
complication.
"My you are a cynic aren't you?" observed Sandie as she sensed my
caution.
"I don't know. It just seems too damned good to be true. Yes, I suppose I
am a suspicious old cynic. I don't suppose I'll ever change."
"Well you'd better," said Sian, "cos things are certainly going to change
around here."
I fell silent and retreated into the kitchen to make some tea. They all
recognised that the kitchen was where I did my thinking and they left me
alone. In truth, I was frightened. I knew the good times couldn't have
lasted. I knew something would turn up and ruin my life yet again. I had
been stupid to think that life could be a bed of roses. I should have
simply been stronger about not adopting the girls then all this hurt and
fear would never have arisen.
I wished I could be as gregarious and open as Sissy but I just couldn't.
I was too much of a coward and too weak. I had Jenny and Bea to consider
and the hurt they would suffer when the truth became public.
'What would happen if this Angela woman, the girl's natural mother, found
out about me?' I asked myself. 'She'd have all the ammunition she could
ever wish for to take the girls from me. Then I'd be back where I started
but with all the extra hurt and pain of losing two girls who I'd come to
love.'
I returned with the tea, poured it out, and then settled morosely into my
favourite chair. My introspective mood unsettled the others and they
eventually returned across the yard to the barn conversion. In the still
summer evening, through the open drawing room window, I heard Sian
talking.
"She'll come round. She's just worried," declared Sian as they crossed
the yard.
After that I heard little more. Sian was certainly right about one thing.
I was definitely worried.
End of Chapter Twelve - To Be Continued