Simon got out of the Jaguar with some difficulty, his leg stiff through the plaster cast on his knee, and painful, made it a problem to move. We managed it in the end by putting the roof down so he could almost stand up in it–not easy in a sports car with bucket type seats.

Finally after much grunting and groaning–Simon made almost as much noise as I did–we made it to the front door. He was using some elbow crutches, and he limped into the house when Stella opened the door.

I had to step forward and intercept Jemima from diving at Simon again. “Simon has hurt his leg, Mima, please let him get in and sit down and be careful not to knock or hurt his leg.”

She agreed and then tried to jump up to him again. I grabbed her and took her out with me to close the car roof. She stopped crying when I allowed her to push the button to make the roof move back to the closed position. Then she panicked for a moment as the roof hung over us, finally, she was in awe of the magic of the machine as it dropped directly into place and locked itself home. It probably had more brain capacity than the average driver.

From there on, even Mima wanted to drive this silver phallic symbol, or at least play with the roof controls. I’d parked it carefully and locked it when I gave the keys back to its owner. He thanked me but grunted as Mima knelt on his bad leg. I lifted her off, but he was in pain by then. I gave him some more of the pills he’d been prescribed and he fell asleep on the settee, with Mima curled up alongside him.

I called Henry to impart news of Simon. He was irritated, “If Simon had stayed in work, he’d have been okay.”

“He came to see me, it was my birthday, today.”

“Oh, how insensitive of me, it’s just we could do with him back, I’m sure you realise just how pressured things are since the credit crunch, or whatever they call it.”

“He kept saying he practically runs the bank.”

“ ‘Fraid not, but he does help a bit.”

“I’m glad to hear it, fraid he can’t come and talk to you, he’s zonked on his painkillers.”

“Ask him to give me a ring later.”

“Will do, Henry.” Instead of letting me get off to do some chores, he said his first impressions to the film were favourable.

I put the phone down blushing a bright fuchsia. Compliments from Henry were usually anticipated, this one wasn’t. I was also feeling cross with Alan, I hadn’t seen it myself, but Henry had. I would call him later and express my irritation with him.

I started the evening meal, I also did a small version for Mima, who wasn’t the greatest appetite in the west. I’d treated us to a whole, albeit small, salmon. Which I poached–not in that way, I bought it in Morrisons–and had fun finding something big enough to put the fish in complete. It had been gutted et cetera, but still had the head on.

I then prepared the veg and cooked them. For Mima, I did a mashed up pilchard in tomato sauce, with a jacket potato from the microwave. She seemed to enjoy it–well she ate it, so how else can you measure it?

Tom came in just after she’d been fed, and I thanked him for my bracelet, which I was wearing. He hugged me, wished me a happy birthday and kissed me on the cheek. I kissed him back.

Whilst I finished dinner preparations, Tom took Mima up and changed her and put her to bed. I would shower with her in the morning, so she didn’t need a wash until then, except her face and hands, and of course, cleaning her teeth. She loved the electric toothbrush, so it was never any problem getting her to do it.

Once the ablutions were out of the way, Tom read to her and she went off to sleep. He came down as I was putting the last of the food on the table. He licked his lips.

Simon was grateful for the older man’s help to get to the table, which even so was a struggle. Then came the major challenge–Simon couldn’t drink with his tablets–so did he cope with the pain or the lack of alcohol? He went for the latter, which encouraged me to think that maybe he wasn’t an actual alcoholic.

Tom and I had a glass to toast my birthday, the other two did it with grape juice. My birthday then sort of petered out, once we got Simon upstairs. He zonked having taken some extra tablets, Mima was also fast asleep and I was wide awake despite my glass of wine.

I tried to read, but couldn’t, I couldn’t concentrate. I kept worrying about Simon’s leg and the forthcoming custody review by the judge.

The next day, I took Mima to see Dr Rose and he was suitably impressed with her continued improvement. He pledged his support for my retaining custody especially after he asked Mima where she wanted to live. He tried to do it with me out of the room but she became upset as soon as he asked me to leave.

I asked him to speak with our barrister, which he agreed to do. We had less than three weeks to prepare our case. Each night when I put Mima to bed, I wondered if it would soon be the last time.

One night, Simon forgot his painkillers and didn’t slip into sleep immediately. I hadn’t noticed, instead I checked our precious charge, and was silently weeping when I got back into bed. He saw me wipe my eyes.

“What’s the matter, Babes?” he whispered.

I couldn’t tell him, I was too upset, so he held me until I stopped crying some half an hour later. Then I managed to say quietly, “I don’t want to lose her.”

“I don’t think she wants to go, either.”

“Yeah, but social services don’t see it like that, they see it purely pragmatically.”

“Do they, now? We’ll just have to change their view of things won’t we?”

“I don’t see how.”

“That’s for the QCs to work out, they charge enough.”

“Yeah, but won’t the council have their barrister too?”

“Probably, but he won’t know us, nor the child, so how can they demand she be re-billeted.”

“I just have a horrible fear of this going wrong.” I started to cry again.

“Hang on in there, kiddo, we Camerons don’t give up without a fight.”

“I feel so frightened, Si, I really do. I’ll really miss her if she has to go, and so will you and Tom.”

“I’ll be devastated and ask for an appeal if we lose, but with her health and happiness at stake, how can the judge fail to allow us to continue fostering her?”

“The law and justice aren’t the same thing, Si. Judges interpret the law, they don’t dispense justice.”

“Who does then?”

“The jury.”

“I wasn’t aware we’d have a jury, it’s a judicial review, isn’t it? The bank uses them now and again to test theory.”

“Theory?”

“Yeah, was this lawful or that unlawful? You know when stitching up, I mean advising investors.”

“You be careful, Simon Cameron, one of these days, one of your throwaways will get back to a major investor and he’ll pull the plug either on his account or your career.”

“Okay, I’ll be careful, just don’t wet any more toilet floors, this bloody knee is screaming at me tonight.”

“ I wonder if I can take your mind off the pain.” I began to kiss him and touch him in various places, which caused a few little squeaks. As far as I was aware, that didn’t involve touching his knee, so they weren’t squeaks of pain. He did however, slip off to sleep after I’d finished, although I did have to dispose of the pile of tissues before someone found them the next morning.

Funnily enough, easing Simon’s pain, distracted me too and I fell asleep waking to being part of a sandwich again, only this time, Mima had climbed in next to Simon. I woke after Simon groaned when she accidentally kicked his knee. I do love children, not so sure Simon is quite as keen this morning.