Previously…

I looked at the box but didn’t touch it. My heart had suddenly decided to dance the tango.

‘Open it, please,’ her voice sounded strangely strained.

I wondered if it was––

I thought that it might be––

Could it?

With slightly shaking hands I opened the box.

Inside was a lovely ring with a small but bright diamond, its fire glittering at me in the light of the candle.

In the background, I sensed that someone had come up behind me and I could hear the quiet sounds of that someone playing something mushy on the violin.

‘Samantha, will you marry me?’

And now the story continues…

I stared at the ring and heard the music; then gazing into the eyes of the one I loved with all my heart, took her hand and, in passing, noted that she was trembling slightly.

I could have said that it was too soon.

I could have said that I had too much baggage.

I could have said that it was a silly idea and that it would never work.

What I did say was––

‘I will!’

I didn’t realise that–although we were in a slightly secluded spot–it wasn’t at all secluded if the other patrons stood up and watched. It was therefore somewhat of a surprise when I heard the clapping and wolf-whistling. But I wasn’t really surprised. By now the village grape-vine would be full swing and by the time we walked home, hand in hand, everyone up to and including Mrs Clapworthy’s old talking budgie would know all about it.

We didn’t stay long after that as we wanted to get home and erm–do things.

As we walked up the hill to Jellicle Cottage, as predicted, hand in hand and whispering sweet nothings to one another, I glanced to the left and down the lane to where our other cottage stood. Outside, by the street light, were Tracy and her friend. They were sort of up close and personal and I smiled at the thought of those two love birds. But I wasn’t jealous, as I had my very own love bird and she was all I wanted.

~ §~

The following days were busy as we still had our day jobs and looking after Heather and the cats also took up a lot of our time, especially as Matilda gave birth to about a hundred adorable kittens–not that we minded, we were on a high that you seldom get on drugs. Although tiresome things like real life tend to get in the way, we tried not to let anything spoil our euphoria.

Of course, there was the tiresome problem of the Bitch from Hell hanging over our heads, although, to be honest, I was pretty sure that she was just trying things on. Nevertheless, I would fight like a trapped lioness where Heather was concerned, and if that cow was stupid enough to come around ‘these ’ere parts’ as Tracy put it, I would do–do–do–Grrrrrrrr!

We hoped for a traditional midsummer wedding with David doing the honours. He didn’t seem too fazed by the fact that we would be wearing matching wedding dresses and for that we were grateful. One of the reasons why the wedding was going to be later than we would really have liked was that we had decided to dust off the turkey-baster and try to get Abby preggers using my spare squiggly things. Whether it would work, we wasn’t sure, because the poor weenies were not as strong as normal sperm, but we would give it a bash–sorry, wrong choice of words–

Tracy was being a decided Godsend. She took to the gallery like a duck to water. I had so much on, she was increasingly left in charge. In fact I got her an assistant called Barry.

Now Barry was one of the Pearsons’ many grandchildren. At 16 he was somewhat shy and not used to work, having left school at the end of the summer term. But he was cheerful enough and didn’t mind being ordered about by a girl of similar age. He worked hard in the background, doing deliveries, cleaning up, making the tea and other important jobs that left Tracy to do her special thing with our clients. Barry had a girlfriend, almost as shy as himself, called Annabel. It amazed me how they both plucked up the courage to actually go out together!

I was spending lots of time trying to get artists to exhibit their work and doing some painting myself to fill in the gaps on the walls. Additionally, I was working hard on Dotty’s painting; I hoped finish it by the time of her birthday as I dearly wanted to give it to her as a birthday present. I know that she commissioned the piece, but Dotty was family now and I don’t charge family.

I was in my studio painting a beach at sunset scene which appeared to be popular with the buyers. I always tried to do something different with everything I paint by adding a boat here or there or people on the beach–something that makes it individual and not just a copy of a copy–of a copy –of a copy, if you know what I mean.

Heather was fast asleep as I had just fed and watered her. She was a happy little baby and didn’t cry all that much. Yes she had lungs that could be heard on the other side of the bay when she took a fancy, but all in all, she was a contented little soul. We still had worries that her meningitis might just have left some residual problems, but it did look like she might be one of the lucky ones who don’t have problems following the illness.

My mobile went off and I winced as Abby had changed the ring tone to that flaming frog again! I would have to give her a good spanking when I saw her, then I had a rethink, she would enjoy that too much, perhaps a withdrawal of privileges for a couple of days? No I liked our nightly manoeuvres too much for that–

‘Hello,’

‘Is that Ms Smart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ms Cartwright here, from Devon S.S.–’

‘S.S?’

‘Yes, Social Services. I would like to come and see you tomorrow at nine a.m. sharp.’

She sounded like a hard-faced women who wore tweed skirts and was not what one would call a ‘people’ person.

‘For what purpose?’

‘It’s about your daughter, Heather.’

‘What about her?’

‘We need to assess you?’

‘For what?’

‘To see if the baby is safe and well looked after and not in danger.’

‘Danger, from what prey?’

‘Erm–well we’ve had a report stating that you might be an unsuitable parent for a vulnerable child––’

‘–unsafe parent? Who the hell do you think you are and what’s all this about ‘unsuitable parent’?’

‘Now-now, Ms Smart, do not take that tone of voice with me, it shows that you may be volatile and that the report might, in fact, be true.’

I counted to five and then continued. ‘Who made this gross accusation?’

‘I am not at liberty to divulge that information.’

‘I think I know who it is. The cow has been trying to get hold of my baby and assets. Let me tell you this, Ms Cartwright, that I do not take kindly to being assessed like this or told that you are having to visit me because some old bat has an agenda all her own.’

‘Such words will not help your case, Ms Smart.’

‘Won’t it? What if I refuse to see you?’

‘Then, regretfully, we would have to get a court order to take your baby into care until such a time as we are satisfied that she is going to live in a safe environment.’

Shouting at this–this–person was going no way towards helping me. I would have to be cool, calm and collected and not let my–sometimes–hot temper get the better of me.

‘Very well, I shall see you at ten a.m. tomorrow as I already have a previous appointment at nine. You may come to my home at Jellicle Cottage then. Good day to you, Ms Wheelwright.

I stabbed the disconnect button and slammed the phone down. I was livid and it took a few moments for my heart to stop trying to thrust itself out of my chest like the alien did when it came out of John Hurt’s chest in that film that I can’t remember the name of…

I made myself a cup of tea, went out on the balcony and sat in the rickety old seat that I had promised myself I would change but hadn’t got round to doing yet.

The day was a cloudy and breezy, making the sea gulls looked decidedly fed up as they huddled in groups to discuss the current state of the economy appertaining to the cod quota.

Why does my mind go off at peculiar tangents when I’m worried?

I myself was not feeling cold, because the wind was coming from behind the house and not off the sea for a change. My thoughts were about Heather and how I should play this meeting. I would, of course talk to Abby about it as soon as possible, but she was up in London as a couple of West End shops now stocked her pottery and I knew she would be in meetings all day today and, in fact, wouldn’t be home until after lunch tomorrow.

So, it was up to me to deal with this pestilential person.

Drinking my tea, I wondered why my life never seemed to go smoothly for more than a few days at a time. Was I fated to have problems crop up like this on a very regular basis? I yearned for a touch of normality. I smiled ruefully at that thought. Here was I, a pre-op transgendered woman, obscenely rich, with several successful businesses and a bloody great plastic tub sitting in the harbour, declaring the fact that I had more than a little wealth. Then I have a vengeful grandmother who wanted to strip me of my assets and more importantly, my baby. No life would never be ‘normal’ for me.

I went back indoors and closed the door.

Heather was still asleep and looking blissfully unaware of the problems in which she was embroiled at the moment. I picked up my phone and texted Abby.

Pleas rng me whn u cn lv Sam

Then I used the speed dial to ring Katie.

‘Hi Katie, are you busy?’

‘Not really, just doing a probate.’

‘Sounds nasty; do you need some cream? It must hurt to sit down.’

There I was, at it again!

‘I think that you might be getting mixed up. What did you want or is this just a social call?’

I told her what the woman from the S.S. told me.

‘Well, it doesn’t surprise me. They have to look into all cases where a member of the public has reported someone.’

‘Even if that member of public is a silly old cow with a vendetta against me?’

‘They scrutinise all such instances carefully. There have been far too many cases where child abuse has been allowed to happen and they get it in the neck if they are seen to do nothing.’

‘So I’m a child abuser now?’ I felt like crying–it was all getting on top of me.

‘Oh, Sam, don’t get all uppity with me. You couldn’t abuse a teddy bear let alone a lovely baby like your Heather.

‘I should think not!’

‘Right, back to basics. When is the Obersturmbannfá¼hrer coming?’

‘Sturbum what?’

‘The lady SS officer–I mean Social Services official–when is she visiting you?’

‘Tomorrow morning at ten, she’s coming to Jellicle Cottage.’

‘Right, I shall be there with you to protect your interests and hold your coat if you decide on fisticuffs.’

‘You will–? Ooh, you’re such a treasure.’

‘I know–it’s a curse too, but someone’s got to do it and just wait until you get my bill for all this. It will make the National Debt seem trivial by comparison.’

We spoke for a few minutes more and then I let her go to put some ointment on her probate.

Just after that the ’phone went off again with that bloody Crazy Frog going , ‘dingding-de’dinding or whatever. The number of the caller had been witheld.

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Hello, is there anybody there?’ I must have sounded like a psychic medium conducting a séance.

More silence. I shrugged and put the ’phone down. Just then I heard a whimper of someone in extreme distress as Heather woke up and wanted feeding/cuddling/changing/playing with, but not necessarily in that order.

‘Hello my little, ickle, munchkin?’ I said in my best Baby-ese, ‘has didums woken up then? Ooh what’s that smell, is it a curry, nuclear waste or bad eggs? No it’s sweetums, bub-bum gone and done and packety-wackety in her nappy-wappy!’

Well, I think she understood because she giggled and then blew bubbles at me; a sure sign of understanding.

After cleaning her up at one end and then refuelling her at the other, swiftly followed by a very satisfactory burping session that rattled my cup and saucer, I glanced at the clock. It was coming up for lunch time. I recalled the evocative smell of fish and chips, wafting up from the harbour earlier while I was having my cuppa on the balcony. This seemed like it would be a nice time to go and sample some nice haddock and chips, so I put wriggle-bum in her pushchair, quickly cleared up my painting things and we were soon on our way down the steep hill towards the chippy.

We met a few people on the way down, locals mainly, who ‘ooed’ and aahed’ at Heather as we passed them. I even saw Mrs Pearson as she walked up the hill with Mr Pearson in tow. She had wicker basket with her, which was older than the one that Moses was plonked in, a few short thousands of years ago.

‘’M,’ she said conversationally.

‘Hello, Mrs P, finished shopping?’

‘Oh-arr.’ She was being quite chatty today.

‘Nice day today. Are you going to clean the cottage this afternoon?’

‘Oh-arr.’

‘And Mr Pearson, will you be sorting out the garden?’

‘Yez ’m.’

‘Oh good, we have a lady visiting tomorrow and I want the place to look as nice as possible.’

‘Do me best ’m,’ said Mrs Pearson who was now making faces at Heather who was giggling. Come to think of it, it was her normal face so that was why Heather always giggled when she saw her.

‘Anyway, I have to dash; see you later at the cottage. I’ll make you a cuppa.’

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Father, go get tea pot.’

Mr P was the original hen pecked husband and as I knew that she would only drink tea out of her old tea pot that hadn’t been properly cleaned since Noah had a brew-up, he just turned back down the hill with a look that meant that he might stop in at The Toad for a couple before venturing back up the hill with the famed pot.

Mrs Pearson watched him potter down the hill and then turned to me.

‘An’ you want ter get wed?’ She looked at me as if I was mad, shook her head and then walked on without another word.

On we went, getting ever closer to the source of the Nile–well, the chippy smell, anyway.

I popped into the gallery before going to get lunch. Tracy was hard at work with a rather portly man who looked, according to the evidence of his belly, like he regularly overdosed on pasties and by the look of his red face and slightly bulbous nose, that he washed the said pasties down with copious pints of scrumpy.

‘Righ,’ she said, ‘this paintin’ ’ere is by an up an comin’ painter called Albert Stoggins. As yer can see, it’s of the ’arbour, when it’s pissin’ dahn–sorry rainin’ quite ’ard. See ’ow ’e’s captured the crappy weavver and that poor sod who’s standin there with ’is dog, almost g’tting' blown over––’

I quietly let myself out, making a mental note to point out to Tracy at some stage that swearing shows a limited interlect and lazy speech, a thing that I would never do.

There were a few people on the quay as it had brightened up and the blue sky had started peeping out from behind the clouds. There was a group of school children on the beach up by the rocks looking for things under rocks. I could hear their squeals from where I was, as something wriggly and possibly iggly was found.

I shook my head. This baby talk was getting to me. What I needed was a nice grown up conversation with Abby. Talk of the devil. My ’phone went off again? Could this be her?

I pulled the ’phone out of my bag and stabbed the go button or whatever it was called to stop that sodding frog making a noise.

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Hello, is that you, Abby?’

‘Hello, hello?’

Nothing. I pressed the stop button and thought that I might take my ’phone up to Cedric’s Mobiles, up on the High Street next to the Post Office to see if it needed servicing or smashing with a hammer.

First though, I needed sustenance and the chippy was calling me from afar–well fifty yards anyway.

I had just got going and the damn’ frog went off again. I would get Cedric to change that bloody tune when I go in there…

It was a text from Abby

caught up in meetngs. rng u 2nite lv abby

I sighed. I would have liked have spoken to Abby but I knew that these meetings were important to her.

We carried on and then there it was, in all its glory, with an evocative but unlikely picture of a haddock with a smile on its face, outside. I had reached the fish and chip shop.

There was no one about now and as I didn’t want to overpower little Heathers lungs with essence of grease, I stopped the pushchair by the entrance where I could easily see it and walked in.

Big Dave was the shop manager. He was very big and played for Penmarris RFC. Part of his training was rather unique, he ran up and down the quay carrying a hundredweight sack of potatoes on his shoulders, but he was a nice man and was kind to old ladies and children. Opponents didn’t think he was so kind though and there was a trail of broken bones from Penmarris to Bodmin that showed just how hard he was on the rugger pitch.

‘Mornin’, ’m,’ he said with smile that showed that he still hadn’t replaced the broken teeth from his last pitched battle.

‘Hello, Dave, can I have haddock and chips please?’

‘Addocks off ’m; cod’s good though.’

‘Okay, cod and chips please and don’t go easy on the chips.’

‘Yez ’m.’

As he got my order, I looked at the push chair. Did I put the brake on?

I squinted a bit, realising that I might have to get some glasses. Yes it was locked on.

My ’phone went off again. Dave looked up from shovelling five thousand calories worth of chips in the bag and winced. The crazy frog was even noisier in the confined shop.

I stabbed at the button and turned to the wall.

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Salt an’ vinegar?’ said Dave distracting me from my task.

‘Erm, yes please Dave.’

I returned to my call.

‘Hello'–damn phone-'hello, is there anybody there?’

Nothing; I shook my head and put the phone back in my bag. As soon as I had eaten my low fat lunch, I would go and see Cedric.

‘Two-eighty please, ’m.’

‘Thanks, Dave,’ I said giving him the exact money from my purse.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘Bye,’

‘Bye ‘m.’

I left the chippy, put the wrapped fish and chips on the tray under the push chair, my mouth watering at the thought of eating it soon and then let the brake off.

‘Right, sweetie-pie, let’s go and have–’ I looked in the push chair and my heart flipped.

Of Heather there was no sign––

To be continued…

Please leave comments…thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.