“I’d better be going, thanks, that was a lovely meal.” I spun around, Brad had tracked me down to my lair.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I blushed not sure what I should do, I mean I hardly know the man, so a hug is a bit overfriendly, isn’t it? “You’ll have to come again sometime.”

“Yes, I’d like that. I don’t know how I’m going to fill your shoes, the students I spoke to, thought you were pretty cool, and I think I know why, and that’s besides saving the world, making films and looking after a toddler: not to mention being a super cook and really beautiful woman.”

“Um, I…” spluttered and blushed. I shrugged, “That’s me I suppose, Mima doesn’t think I’m super, or beautiful, she just likes me for who I am.”

“I think you’re all of the those things I mentioned and more. I hope we eventually get to work together, that would be really ace.”

“I’m not that nice to work with, when you look under my desk, you’ll find a pile of bodies–unless they’ve cleaned them up–of students and staff who pissed me off. Ask Tom, I once attacked him in a professor’s meeting. I do have feet of clay.”

He glanced down at my navy courts, “They look fine to me.” He walked over to me and kissed me on the cheek, “Once again, thanks for a lovely dinner.” I smiled and nodded. Then I got back to the clearing up. A few minutes later, the front door closed and I heard a car starting up. I hoped he hadn’t drunk too much wine.

“Lover boy’s gone,” said Simon limping into the kitchen.

“Why did you call him that, he’s perfectly okay.”

“Pardon me for breathing–I thought you fancied him.”

“Well I don’t, although he has quite a cute little bum.”

“He what?” Simon sounded shocked, served him right. “What’s wrong with mine?”

“Nothing, but his is nicer.”

“Gee thanks. I don’t go making comparisons between you and other women.”

“Well I hope you don’t compare me to other men,” I pretended to be horrified.

“Actually, yes I do.” The swine was calling my bluff.

“And what sort of conclusions do you draw?”

“You have a nicer bum, why?”

“Oh,” I couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

“And better tits,” he continued, walking closer to me.

I put down the pot I was holding, “Is that so?”

“And nicer lips,” he said advancing towards me. He put his hands around my waist and kissed me. “Definitely nicer lips,” he said, then as if to make sure, he kissed me again, and this time I responded by kissing him back, putting my arms around his neck.

We tongue wrestled for a few moments, when I felt something clasp me around the leg. “Do you wike Daddy kissing you?”

She seemed to grab my legs more than a lovesick dog, at least she didn’t try to hump them, so I had to be grateful for small mercies. “Hello, darling, what can we do for you?”

“Can you make dowwy a new dwess, Mummy?”

“Not tonight, Josephine,” I replied knowing it would go straight over her head.

“Mummy, my name’s Mima, not Josephine.”

“I know, darling, it’s an old expression, and I don’t know why I used it, nor why I’m trying to explain something to you that your little brain won’t understand.”

“You’re a compulsive teacher,” said Simon–very quietly–chuckling.”

“Mummy, what’s my wittle bwain?”

Simon was shuddering with silent laughter. I was at a loss for a moment. I mean, how do explain what a brain is, the most complex mammalian organ, to someone, whose very organ isn’t enough developed to understand?

“Um, your brain is the thing in your head which understands things.”

“I understand, Mummy, is that my bwain?”

“Absolutely, darling, absolutely.”

Simon was now having difficulty standing he was shaking so much, trying to stifle his laughter on my shoulder.

“Perhaps tomorrow, when we get back from seeing Dr Rose.”

“I wike, Docker Wose, he’s a vewy nice man.”

“He’s a delightful man, Mima.”

“Dee-white-full,” she said to herself and ran out of the kitchen.

“You swine, laughing at my foster child!” I snapped at Simon.

He lifted his head from my shoulder and looked me in the eye, his were running with tears from his laughter, “She is priceless, if they could can that, all these comedians would be out of work.”

“You are not going to put my precious Mima in a can,” I said indignantly.

“I dunno, if we made the cans small enough, we could probably get a hundred or so of them. Sell ‘em for a hundred quid each, as pickled toddler, make a killing.”

“I think you’d need to do the killing before the canning, starting with me.”

“Okay, I’m gonna kiss you to death,” he pretended to growl.

“Yeah, you and who else’s lips?”

He motioned to kiss me, then drew back. “I thought it was, army, you and who else’s army?”

“Mine’s more apposite.”

“That’s true,” he mused.

“Well, get on with it,” I said and instead of kissing me we both fell about laughing.

That night, Simon decided that kissing me to death was taking too long. He therefore concluded he would shag me to death. I was going to point out the flaw in his plan, but then thought better of it, after all it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it. After his first assault, he collapsed in a heap, moaned about his leg hurting and fell asleep.

After a little wash, I slipped back into bed and suggested he try to kill me again, but he simply muttered in his sleep and snored. I sniggered and eventually drifted off to sleep, sore but happy.

I woke early and snuggled into him, he grunted something, which showed he was probably awake and at his articulate best. “You gonna try and kill me again?” I teased, squeezing a certain part of his anatomy.

“Oh bugger,” he grumbled, “Now I need to pee.” He struggled out of bed and into the loo. By the time he came back, Mima was in his place in the bed and we were both pretending to be asleep. “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” He actually sounded like an authentic grizzly, or was he just grizzling? It was enough to make me snigger which caused Mima to giggle.