Totally Insane 4 –postscript
by Angharad

I managed to tear myself away from Gemma, we were having fun, and Mummy and Mrs Smith seemed to getting on fine, too. We went home and I changed into my badminton kit. Gemma had loaned me her old sports bra and I shoved in the foam bits, under the white polo shirt, it looked okay.

What really made the difference was Gemma’s tennis skirt. She doesn’t use it any more, preferring shorts, so she donated it to me for my badminton debut, along with some frilly knickers and lacy short socks; the latter making my shoes look more feminine.

Had we had time to plan a bit more, we could have got a more girlish shirt, but this would do. After all, I’d only be on court for an hour or so, so why spend money on something that probably wouldn’t happen again?

I ate a light meal, and waited for Philip to show up. Mummy opened the door.

“Hi, Mrs Mosse, is Kyle ready?”

“I thought you wanted Kylie to play with you tonight?” I was listening from the lounge and immediately blushed as I saw the double entendre in what she said.

“Eh?” replied Philip.

“Come on in, Philip, I’ll see if she’s ready.”

“Eh?” said my double’s partner, obviously a man of few words.

Mummy handed me my kitten backpack, “I’ve put another fiver in your purse in case you want to get a drink on the way home. Good luck, sweetheart, have a lovely evening.” She kissed me on the cheek, a very rare event these days, but one I quite enjoyed.

“Thanks, Mummy,” I said and hugged her.

“Wow!” said Philip as I appeared, “you’re a fast worker.” Assuming I’d followed his instructions.

“I aim to please,” I said, tongue in cheek, and pretended to curtsey to him.

“Geez, you’ve had your hair cut, too. Blimey, I didn’t expect you to go that far.”

As we walked to his mother’s car, he kept looking at me and shaking his head. His mother has seen me a hundred times before– well maybe a dozen –and she did a definite double take.

“Kyle?” she said, looking at me.

“Kylie,” I replied and smiled.

“Okay, Kylie it is? I presume your mother’s seen you today?” She asked in an almost concerned manner.

“Oh yes, she did my hair for me.”

As we drove, she said, “I hate to sound stupid, but why are you dressed up like a girl?”

“Philip asked me to,” I smiled back.

“Philip, why did you ask Kyle–“

“–Kylie,” I interrupted.

“Okay, Kylie, to look all girlish?”

“Erm, it’s the mixed doubles tonight and I knew we didn’t have a chance in the boys’, but we might have in the mixed.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” she asked, looking at her son.

“Nah, it’s only a bit of fun, we won’t win anyway, but we might get up a couple of games.”

“If you do win the event, I think you’ll have to explain to them, that it was a joke.”

“The only way that’s going to happen, is if no one else turns up,” I said.

“Anyway, she plays like a girl, so I think it’s okay,” he added. Had my racquets not been in the boot, I’d have poked him with one.

Normally we play in school, this was at the badminton club. Thankfully, I was unlikely to know any of them, although Philip was a member and played there regularly.

“What are you going to do about toilets, Kylie?”

“I think using the gents could be a mistake,” I said, “I used the ladies in town earlier without a problem.” I then realised I’d disclosed something they didn’t know. Happily she didn’t pick up on it.

We walked into the club and Philip sorted out the registration and paid our fees. Well he asked me to play, so he can pay for it.

We went and sat in waiting areas around the courts, collecting a cola as we went. “You said you used the ladies loo in town earlier?” he said accusatorially.

“Did I?” I blushed.

“So that means you were already dressed as a girl. Hmm!” He paused. “So what’s going on?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have half an hour before we’re on court, so spill the beans.”

I told him what had happened. His mouth opened widely a few times and he looked stunned.

“You slept with Gemma Smith, geez Kyle, and you didn’t, you know, you didn’t–did you?”

“Certainly not, I’m no lezzie.” I replied, my nose in the air.

“You had it offered on a plate and you didn’t even put your napkin on? What sort of boy are you?”

“I was role playing a girl, remember?”

“Yeah, role play–what in, method acting?”

“What?”

“Aw nuthin’; I saw this thing the other night on Marlon Brando.” He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand, “But to pass up on Gemma Smith, she’s like super crumpet, and her sister is a goddess. Oh boy, the tits on her!”

“Do you mind, Philip, but I’m finding this conversation a bit insulting. Gemma and Karen are good friends of mine and I don’t like you talking about them like they were sex objects.” I just realised I was a closet feminist.

“What’s up with you, wrong time of the month?” he said sarcastically.

“No, I just think girls should be respected.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Like what?”

“Like why you were still in girl’s clothes this morning, instead of your normal threads?”

“Erm–I think we’re on next.” An official was waving to us and we went over to the court.

“Gonnersal and Miss Mosse, is that right?” he asked.

We answered in the affirmative.

“Five minutes warm up, toss for ends, then play, okay?”

We nodded and I stripped off my fleece, and tied back my hair in a ponytail with a scrunchie we’d bought earlier. Then I took my favourite racquet from its cover and after banging it against my hand to feel the tension in the strings, knocked a few shuttles about with Philip and with our opponents.

We were about evenly matched, the girl at the net was taller, so had a better reach, but I was faster and caught her a few times with little drop shots. Philip kept things from the back court flying over my head, and his smashes were like gunshots.

It was best of three and we had one set each. I was playing out of my skin and I didn’t know why. Maybe just that I was playing the girl, and so didn’t need to take it so seriously, I don’t know. I felt relaxed and was making shots I couldn’t normally hit. Then at twenty nineteen to us on our serve, the girl on the other side wafted one up expecting me to flick it back with another drop shot, she stepped forward in anticipation. Instead I jumped and intercepted on the net and smashed, my first of the night and it went perfectly– behind her and out of reach of her partner.

Philip jumped in the air whooping, then we high-fived, and he hugged and kissed me, before realising his mistake. Then we shook hands with our opponents and went off to wait for the next round.

Philip ran off and came back with some still water, “Too much fizz, fills you up,” he commented. Then sitting down, he added, “Do you realise we just beat the defending junior champions?” He giggled, “Me and Fairy Mosse.”

“What did you call me?”

“Oh yeah, sorry, Kylie.”

“Fairy Mosse?”

“Nah, it’s something I heard in school.”

“From who?”

“Some of the kids told me that’s what they call you–apart from Kylie, you know.”

“I didn’t actually.”

“Oh, sorry about that, you’re not gonna cry are you?”

I managed to sniff back the tears. “So is that all I am to you, an object of fun, something to laugh at?”

He looked at the floor, tracing the pattern of the wood with his racquet. “No, course not, right now, you’re the best girl badminton player here.”

“Yeah, keep me sweet ‘cos you need me to play the next round.”

“Yes, no–I mean, you’re my friend anyway. Look I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I like you, whoever you are, honest.”

“I don’t believe you, I think you’re, just like, using me.” There were tears in my eyes but I was determined not to cry.

“No I‘m not, look how can I prove it to you?”

I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Kiss me then, like I was your girlfriend.”

“What?” he gulped.

“Do you need me to say it again?” I glared at him.

“No, I heard it the first time.” He leaned forward then withdrew, “Look, this don’t mean I’m gay or anything, okay?”

“How can you be, I’m a girl aren’t I?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” He leant forward again and his lips touched mine and withdrew. Then he did it again and his lips lingered–.

I didn’t do it because I actually wanted him to kiss me, but to make a point. When his lips flittered on mine and were withdrawn, I felt cheated, then when he came back for some more, something inside me flipped over. I was kissing a boy and wanted more. What was happening to me?

“You kiss like a girl,” he said, wiping my lip gloss of his mouth.

“Is that a surprise?”

“Yeah, a nice one. Help me win the next round and I’ll kiss you all night,” he joked.

“Deal,” I said holding out my hand, which he shook rather gingerly.

Half an hour later, a bit puffed and sweaty, I claimed my prize. “You owe me,” I said beaming at him.

“Geez, Kyl-ie, how come you never play that in school? We’re in the semis. Geez! I can’t believe it.”

“You still owe me,” I said smirking.

“Oh yeah, that.” He shrugged and put his arm around me and kissed me forcefully. I don’t know how long it took, because time seemed to stand still and so did my heart. I felt his tongue probe my open lips and move into my mouth and I gave a little groan. It was involuntary.

“If we get this next one, I’ll give you a real snog, but somewhere more private.” He winked at me.

Apart from kisses from relatives, and the cat, I’d never kissed anyone else before–not properly. It was nice and I was confused. Here I was, a boy kissing another boy and loving every moment of it; he didn’t seem to be suffering exactly. So what was going on?

I didn’t have time to think as we were back on court. My emotional state had caught up with me and we got decimated in the first set. Everything I did, went wrong. We changed ends and Philip grabbed me and kissed me forcefully but briefly, “Come on if you want more.”

Explain to me how his gesture suddenly transformed me from pondering plodder to flying fighter, but it did. My game went up a gear and my change caught our opponents off guard, we took the second set easily and I won four points in a row.

We swapped back to the first end and he kissed me again. It was close and we fought like cat and dog, winning twenty five twenty three. I was knackered and needing a sit down. Philip grabbed me in a huge hug and kissed me like he was in love with me.

“Just one more Kylie, keep going for one more and I’ll even sleep with you.”

“I don’t think my mother would approve, and what your mother would think, God knows!”

I flopped in my seat and jumped up, I had cramp in my calf. I strutted around in agony.

“What’s up?”

“Cramp,” I squealed, God it hurt.

“Lie down,” he instructed and he massaged my calf, easing out the knotted muscles. He pushed my foot up and down stretching and contracting the muscles. It hurt but it was easing the overall pain.

One of the officials came over and gave me a tablet, “Chew it, it sometimes helps, it’s a bit salty but it would be a shame if you missed out on the final.”

We thanked him and I ate the tablet, it was salty and fruity at the same time, weird or what? I drank some more water and limped off to the loo. I looked at my sweaty face and sticky hair in my reflection.

I went into a cubicle and peed, not very much, I think most of it had sweated out of me. I wiped my face with a wet wipe I had in my bag–my mother was so thoughtful–then I touched up my lip gloss. I felt a bit better.

My leg was still sore as I walked back to the courts, Philip smiled at me and held out his hand as I sat down.

“You okay?”

“Dunno, not really, but I’ll give it a go.” My leg was still very sore and stiff.

“Attagirl,” he said and kissed me on the cheek.

I pouted at him.

“Uh–uhh,” he said, “not until you earn it.”

“But have a bad leg,” I pouted some more.

He bent over and kissed it, “There does that feel better?”

All I could do was giggle by way of reply, well it tickled.

It would be lovely to say, we won the cup and he slept with me, kissing me until my lips were too sore to beg for mercy, but we didn’t. We were as good as the others, but in the final set my leg cramped up and I couldn’t play on. I couldn’t actually stand until someone, a doctor I think, came and massaged it very hard. God it hurt and I was streaming with tears before he finished, but we had to concede.

I got a standing ovation as I limped off the court, my arm around Philip’s shoulder and his around my waist. I’d given my all and just wanted to get home to bed, maybe via a hot bath that might help my leg.

He got me to the seats and then kissed me more passionately than before, when he stopped, the whole place applauded and I blushed like fire engine.

I was invited to join their club, and the girl from our first round came and asked me if I was interested in partnering her for the girl’s doubles. I said I’d think about it. She left me her mobile number.

Our winning opponents came over to check I was okay and told us it seemed unfair that they’d won in such a manner, which was kind of them. Several others came and spoke to me when I was sitting and resting my leg; Philip still rubbing it on his lap. It felt very strange, normally I was something of a pariah in a sports hall, tonight, I was nearly the ‘Queen of the May.’

Just as well, as the winners were photographed and it would get in the local press. Philip was disappointed, I wasn’t, I’d already achieved more than I’d have dreamt of doing, so I was quite happy.

As we walked back out to the car park, he asked, “Is Kylie going to come around again?”

“I don’t know, why?” I said coyly.

“I thought she might like, want to collect her winnings sometime.”

“What winnings are those?” I flirted back, batting my eyelids.

He kissed me again and his tongue tickled my teeth and inside my lips as it danced between our mouths. I just melted in his arms with my eyes closed, gasping when he broke the spell.

“Those winnings,” he said and laughed.

I touched up my lip gloss and his eyes came out on stalks. “What’s the problem?” I asked.

“You do that like a girl!”

“Duh!”

“Oh yeah, erm–oh there’s Mum.”

“So how did you do?” she asked not noticing my limping walk.

“Yeah okay, we had to retire in the final,” Philip replied.

“What! You got to the final?” She shook her head, “Do they know you’re two boys.”

“We’re not,” he retorted, “and Kylie hurt her leg, tore some muscles we think.”

“Oh, how’s the leg, Kyle?” she said to me.

“No, Mum, it’s Kylie, okay!”

“I stand corrected,” she said, “how is the leg, Kyl-ie? she emphasised the second syllable.

“I’ll live, but I won’t be able to do ballet for a bit.”

Philip who was turned around in his seat as I spoke, winked and smirked, but his mother scowled, “Yes, very funny.”

They dropped me off and Philip helped me to the door. “I can’t kiss you in front of my mum, but I’d really like to see you again. Is that alright?”

“If seeing the other me in school isn’t like, gonna be too confusing?”

“I’ll cope, you’re the best kisser I’ve met.”

“Thanks–I think.”

My mother opened the door and on my suggestion he helped me in, I pecked him on the cheek and off he went.

“What happened to you?” asked my mother.

“I got a bad attack of cramp and possibly tore some muscle.”

“How did the game go?”

“We got knocked out in the final,” I said after sitting down.

“The final?”

“Yeah, we had to retire ‘cos I hurt my leg.”

“So you could have won it?”

“We would have won it, except for my stupid leg. Still, I didn’t want my name in the paper.”

“It might not have been a wise move. How about I run you a hot bath and then you come down and have a snack before bed?”

I threw my arms around her and approved by pecking her on the cheek.

“You’re certainly more affectionate as a girl.”

“Don’t you like it?” I pouted.

“Me? I love it.” She squeezed me and then went up to run the bath.

I slept better after taking a pain killer and the next morning, my leg was a little stiff but otherwise not too bad, I could walk.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do all day, and after breakfast and sorting out what I was going to wear, a skirt and top with my flat shoes, and doing my hair and makeup, I sat down with a book.

“You could put your badminton stuff in the machine, and the other whites in the hamper,” called my mother. It seemed fair enough.

I hobbled up and down the stairs with the hamper and out to the utility room. I sorted the washing, my soiled kit, including the frilly knickers which looked a bit like a chicken’s bum and the other whites. Then I added the detergent, and fabric conditioner and set it for a wash cycle.

I turned around and became aware of my mother watching me. “You know, I have never seen Brian do the washing and until now, you’ve only helped a few times. Is this a sign of things to come?”

“Maybe,” I said shrugging my shoulders, “anything else you want me to do?”

“How about running the vacuum around downstairs?”

“Okay, what about moving the furniture?”

“I did all that last week, just the easy stuff unless you can see it needs it.”

“Okay, Mummy.”

“Then you can help me with the dinner, if you like?”

“Okay,” I smiled at her. Like any twelve year old I wasn’t that into chores, but I knew she struggled at times to do everything and keep her job going. She had some marking to do that afternoon, so helping her seemed useful. Brian was still in bed and would be until lunch. I would have to endure his snipes when he saw me. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I’d cope, I had to.

I did the lounge and dining room, the study; where I could see the pile of books for marking and the dining room, together with the hall. I reported for duty in the kitchen.

“Right, missy…” she showed me how to prepare the chicken for roasting and we did the vegetables, par boiling the spuds before putting them in the oven. Then we sat down with a cuppa and a chocolate biscuit.

Next she supervised me making a sponge for tea, for my guests. “Guests?” I asked, who else is there?

“Yes, Mrs Smith is coming with Gemma, so get that in the oven and then we’ll do some scones.”

At the finish I had flour on my face and down my jumper. My mother laughed at me and suggested she buy me an apron. When I looked in the mirror, I did look a sight, so I went and cleaned up in the cloakroom.

While I was in there, the phone rang. My mother answered it. I didn’t hear what she said because she took it in the kitchen, so it was probably for her anyway. I washed my hands and went out to the kitchen to check my sponges.

I’d eaten plenty of them, my mum made super ones, but I’d never really helped before, let alone done them myself. She was still talking on the phone, and when I pointed at the cooker, she nodded. I pulled down the door and she shook her head, showing me five fingers. I went off and redid my lip gloss, then came back and she’d finished with the phone. We removed the sponge halves and they looked really good although I nearly dropped one turning it out. They have these little lever things you run around to unstick the bottom before you tip them out on the cooling tray.

“Right after lunch, we’ll fill them with jam and cream and pop it in the fridge in a container. Brian can wash up, as he’s done nothing all day.”

“Oh good, “ I said feeling glad to avoid one chore.

“Yes, you have to pop around the corner and look after some kids, so their mother can take her husband to the station. It should only be an hour or so about three.”

“What?” I gasped.

“The phone call was Mrs Johnson, who was asking if you’d do it for her friend. She recommended you apparently, and you’ll get a fiver an hour.”

“Mrs Johnson? Does her friend know about me?”

“Only that you’re a nice girl named Kylie.”

“Is that okay? I mean her not knowing?”

“She has two boys who are four and six, all you have to do is stop them coming to harm for an hour.”

“Oh, what shall I do with them?”

“Why don’t you wait until you get there, but try and be a little more inventive than putting on a DVD and painting your toenails while they watch it. Play some games or read to them. Just keep it calm, there’s less chance of them breaking their necks if you play tiddlywinks than if you teach them how to rugby tackle each other.”

“Ugh, somebody would have to show me first!” The thought of wrestling in the mud over a ball did not appeal, although wrestling with Philip had its attractions, but not in the mud.

I helped Mummy dish up the dinner, and made the gravy myself for the first time, it went all lumpy and I nearly burst into tears, until mummy showed me what to do and saved the day.

I laid the table in the kitchen and she sent me up to call Brian. His friendly reply, which I suspect was biologically impossible unless double jointed in some strange places! I beat a retreat just shouting behind the open door.

Some ten minutes later he dragged himself downstairs, wearing jeans and old tee shirt and bare footed. His hair was unkempt and he smelt.

“Geez, you big fairy, you still prancing round in skirts?”

“Brian, I expect you to have a little more respect for your sister, she’s worked hard all morning making your dinner and helping me.”

”Ooh, Mummy’s little helper, how thweet” he said in a silly voice, then under his breath so I could hear it, “Bloody little pervert.”

“I’m not, but you are, reading those dirty magazines,” I retorted close to tears.

“Ha, at least I’m a bloody boy, not some mincing poof!”

“That will do!” Mother stormed in to the room, “Gender Identity Disorder is not the same as homosexuality, but even if it was, it’s not something to be mocked or ridiculed by someone who is hardly a role model, except of nastiness and stupidity. Now, apologise to your sister.”

“No way.”

“Brian, I am insisting that you apologise to your sister.”

“He’s not my sister, is he!”

“She is your sister and you will apologise now, or so help me you’ll live to regret it when your father comes home.”

“I’m sorry, Nancy boy,” he sniped at me.

“When your father comes home, I expect him to deal with you quite harshly.”

“What about, Delia Smith, here? He’s hardly gonna like that, is he?”

“He knows about Kylie, I spoke with him last night when he phoned. Seeing as you are responsible for triggering this situation with your stupid billet doux, I don’t think your father is going to be impressed with your vulgarity now. So either apologise properly to Kylie, or go back to your room, now.”

He looked at the food on the table, then at me, with tears running down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Kylie, dry your eyes, you big girl.”
I did with the back of my hand and got sent to my room to tidy it up! But Mummy made the incredible sulk wait until I got back, before he could eat. Hee hee.

We finished the cake, making the whipped cream and jam filling, then dusting it over the top with some icing sugar, ‘drenching’ I think Mummy said they call it, all the while; Brian was grumbling over the dishes in the sink.

“Right, Kylie, put some smellies on and take your jacket, it’s time to go to Mrs Eden’s house.”

“Ha, that’s right, skip off while I do all the work, bloody fairy!” Brian hissed at me.

“Brian, you don’t seem to learn do you?” Mummy stood just out of view but within earshot. “If your father doesn’t take you in hand soon, then I fear for you, I really do. You are a really obnoxious and spiteful child pretending to be a young man. For all her difficulties, Kylie is twice as nice as you’ve ever been and she’s done her share of the chores which are more than yours anyway. I despair for you, I really do. You used to be such a nice little boy, what happened?”

“Did he Mummy, I thought he was always a smelly toad.”

“No he was once a nice child, then he learned to talk!” she laughed at her own joke. “Go on you’ll be late.”

“Where’s she going?” I heard him ask.

“Baby sitting, why?”

I didn’t hear the reply.

I cycled around to the Eden’s house, rather a nice one about half a mile away. My leg seemed okay now. I rang the bell and my tummy flipped.

“You must be Kylie,” said a woman in her early thirties, “do come in. Emma Johnson spoke highly of you, you helped her with baby Sarah.”

“Sarah, is a lovely baby, she was no trouble at all.” I omitted that Mrs Johnson was there all the time.

“Well, I’d better introduce you to my little animals.” She led me into their family room, which was a room with a conservatory added to it. They were rolling on the floor fighting. My heart nearly stopped. “You see my choice of words was quite deliberate?”

I nodded.

“Right you pair of scallywags, this is Kylie, who is going to look after you while I run Daddy to the station. I need to get a little shopping as well, but I should be back in an hour and a half.”

The boys ignored her. She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. She couldn’t even get their attention.

“Have you thought about throwing cold water over them? It works for dogs.” I suggested jokingly.

“I’ve been very tempted,” she laughed.

“Okay, I’ll get their attention.” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

I put down my bag and shoved my index finger from each hand in my mouth and whistled, very loudly. It was about the only useful thing Brian had ever taught me.

The children stopped squabbling instantly and their mother put her hands over her ears.

“Right you two, I’m Kylie, who are you?”

“I’m Richard,” said the older child, “an’ he’s Davy.”

“Okay, I’m in charge of you two while your mummy runs your daddy to the station, now you can behave or I’ll chain you up and make you run behind my bike for the whole time, which would you prefer?”

“Ugh! You wouldn’t chain us to your bike, would you?”

“Wanna bet?” I said, maintaining eye-contact.

“I don’t wanna be chained up,” squealed Davy and ran to his mother.

“Well you’d better behave then. I saw the chain on her bike, so it’s quite real.” She winked at me but kept a straight face.

A few minutes later her husband appeared, “What was that noise?”

“That was Kylie. Kylie, my husband, Toby Eden.”

“My goodness you stopped them fighting for five minutes,” he said as he shook my hand. “Good luck. We ready, darling?”

She nodded.

“Right, you two, behave for Kylie! Are we paying her danger money?” he joked to his wife as they left.

“Okay, you two terrors,” I said and they giggled. There were toys all over the floor. “How about we have a competition?”

“Like what?” said Richard, surly but curious.

“Like let’s see which of you two can put away the most toys the quickest?”

“What’s the prize?”

I pulled out a tube of fruit pastilles, “The winner gets two sweets, the runner up gets one.”

“Huh, I’ll win that,” he said with a sneer.

“No throwing stuff, you have to walk up and put the things in the box. Ready, steady–wait for it–go.”

For the next five minutes I watched two children in a frenzied tidy up operation, which was going to cost me a few sweeties. I felt quite chuffed with myself.

They picked up everything and put it reasonably tidily in the box and the cupboard. I declared it a draw and gave then two sweets each. There were mutters of protest but when I pointed out they were both winners, they shut up and ate their sweets.

“How about we sit down and read?”

“Nah, reading’s for girls,” said Richard.

“That’s okay, I’m a girl.”

“Yeah but we’re not,” he continued defiantly.

“So that’s your hard luck, isn’t it. Besides, I bet you can’t read, if only girls can read.”

“Yes I can.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

“But I can,” he protested.

“Okay, prove it.”

“Erm, alright. What do I get if I prove it., another sweet?”

“No, just the satisfaction of proving to me, a dumb girl, that you a dumb boy may not be as dumb as I think you are.”

He pondered on that for a minute, “Okay.”

“So choose your book.” He went off to get one.

Davy grumbled, “I can only read a bit.”

“Okay, Davy, let’s find one you can read a bit, then you can impress me with your cleverness, too.” He rushed off to find his book too.

This was harder work than feeding baby Sarah. In fact, it was harder than doing the washing, which I hoped my mother had taken out of the machine, because I forgot. I nearly rang, but the chances are pig-face would answer it.

Richard came flying in and nearly crashed into the table. Moments later Davy followed, they each had their books.

For the next half an hour I listened as they struggled to read, I encouraged them as best I could, congratulated them both on their cleverness and gave them each a sweet.

As their proper reward, I sent them off to get a story I could read to them, they were back with some book about pirates.

I decided as I read, my pirate was going to be a bit more ferocious than Jonny Depp was in Pirates of the Caribbean.

So I read with a variety of voices, including a gruff voice that I suspected was going to damage my throat for days. However, it worked, they squealed each time the nasty pirate appeared, but they sat enthralled. So much so, that we didn’t hear their mother appear. She stood in the doorway with two bags of shopping.

“My goodness, you can sit quietly!”

“Kylie’s been reading to us, it’s brill, Mummy.”

“So I see.”

“An’ we read to her first,” said Davy.”

“Well, Miss Mosse, I think we may need your services again someday soon.”

“Yeah, Mummy, can Kylie come and read to us again?”

“Yes, Richard, one day.”

“Hooray!” he shouted and danced about.

Mrs Eden handed me fifteen pounds, “I can’t believe you had them sitting quietly, and all their toys are tidied, what are you, a practicing witch?”

“No. Just lucky, I guess.”

I went home and after putting my bike away, went in and washed my hands. Brian called down the stairs, “Oh your boyfriend phoned, faggot. I told him you’d gone off with some other queer. Ha ha.”

“One of these days,” I muttered under my breath.

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Thanks to Gabi for helping me make this readable, any mistakes left are mine.