It was going to be a long afternoon. I made us some lunch, but it was wasted, neither of us had much appetite. If it was just me, I‘d have got my bike out and got hot and sweaty for an hour. I knew it was pointless asking Stella, she wanted to be here should Des make his decision. I really didn’t know how it would go.

Obviously my mind ran through what I knew about Des. It wasn’t very much. He has a reputation as a womaniser–not something I find attractive about him. I’d always be worried if he was away any length of time, which with his work, happened regularly. He’d tried it on with me, how serious that was, I wasn’t sure, except it had embarrassed and frightened me. He can be a very smooth talker.

In some ways I was a little worried about spending time with him while we did the film, even though he was engaged to Stella, I wasn’t sure I could trust him. While she’d be heart broken in the short term, I worried for her if he came back and patched it up.

I wished I could speak with Simon. He knew Des better than I did. He may have some idea of what to look out for or what to think. However, I couldn’t talk to him until it was more public, if it went ahead at all. I didn’t think he’d be very pleased if it did.

Stella mooned about the place like a lovesick goldfish. If you’ve never seen one, do if you get the chance. At one point I became worried about the carpets shrinking under all the tears. She cried gallons of them. Do goldfish cry? I doubt it, I mean, would you need tears in a watery environment? Hardly.

I was almost afraid to let her out of my sight, given what she did once before when she was upset. However, so many cups of tea had passed down my throat, I needed to void my distending bladder. I went to the cloakroom and when I came back, she’d vanished.

My stomach flipped like an acrobat on steroids. I rushed into the dining room, she wasn’t there. I now ran into the lounge and nearly missed her. She had curled up on the sofa and was asleep, presumably knackered after her emotional roller coaster. I felt awful, if I hadn’t mentioned babies, this wouldn’t have happened–well, not yet.

Had I done them a favour? I doubted it, besides, who she chooses is her affair, which may be an appropriate word for Des. I somehow think, that some men have an adulterous gene because they can’t seem to stay faithful. Anyway, even if they have, it doesn’t validate what they do. Decency is a conscious act performed by civilised adults.

I got my book and tried to read, while I watched over Stella. It was of course doomed, I fell asleep too–some watchdog I’d make. When I awoke, she was missing again. This time, with a head that felt full of cotton wool and a body that had all the responsiveness of a three week old corpse, I set about the house looking for her.

I ran around the house feeling increasingly worried, there was no sign of her. Her car was still there, so she hadn’t gone far. I redoubled my frantic efforts, there was no sign of her. My stomach churned like a demented cement mixer. I felt quite sick.

I had searched the house twice, where could she be? I was fast running out of places to look. The key to the garage was in it’s place, so she wasn’t out there. Where could she be? I had no idea.

I walked with faltering steps into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It’s what Brits do when all else fails, make a cuppa. I also felt the smell of the tea might bring her back–maybe I’m superstitious–touch wood. I filled the kettle and glanced up the garden. She was out looking at the repaired wall. She was in my garden.

I almost dropped the kettle in my haste to get to her. “Stella,” I said and hugged her.

“What’s the matter? Has Des called?”

“No, I just lost you and didn’t know where you were. I got frightened.” I felt tears run down my face.

“Oh, Cathy, you silly goose. I’m all right, well as far as I can be given what’s going on. I just wanted some air, you were snoozing over your book so I slipped out into your garden. I wondered what sort of job they’d done on your wall–looks okay, doesn’t it?”

“Oh that, yeah, it’s okay, isn’t it?” I admired the repaired brickwork.

“They reused most of the old bricks by the look of it?” Stella observed, looking at the colour of the bricks.

“The new ones are a bit different, but quite a good match, and because they used so few, it came in on budget. The two of them worked so hard together, I gave them a tenner each on top of the price.”

“What’s going to happen to me, Cathy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Des, is he or isn’t he?”

“I don’t know, you know him better than I do.”

“Do I? I’m not sure I know anything any more.”

“What do you want out of it?”

“I think I want Des. I have for a long time, ever since school.”

“You fancied him in school?”

“Yes.”

“Even with his reputation?”

“Yeah, even with that. I had a schoolgirl crush, and when I pulled him–I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“You dated him?”

“Not quite dated, we managed to get the odd hour together. The Gestapo at school did all they could to stop any liaisons. But we managed it, an odd hour here or there, down behind the cricket pavilion, in Glastonbury; wherever we could. He took my virginity.”

“What?” I gasped.

“You know, he–‘n’–me, we–erm–did it.”

“And?”

“It was bloody awful, total waste of time.”

“Oh, pity.”

“Well, it got me brownie points with my lot, you know the other girls in my dorm. One or two of them had dropped ‘em for their boyfriends, so I was in esteemed company.”

“It wasn’t a problem I had.”

“No you went to a day school, but you would have had more freedom to date boys, unlike us in Colditz.”

“Stella, how could I have dated boys? I still was one.”

“Oh bugger, of course you were. I’m sorry, you seem to have been a girl forever.” She blushed, “Sorry, I forget.”

“It’s okay, in fact it’s almost comforting to realise that you’ve almost forgotten my past. I wish I could, but you can’t–it’s fact, so it stays. Thankfully, it’s becoming less important and the things I have some influence upon, the present and future, mean that I am, who I’m meant to be.”

She hugged me, “My little sister, that’s who you are.”

“Thanks, Stella, that is the greatest gift you could give me.”

“What is?”

“Accepting me for who I am, without wanting to change me or set conditions.”

“Well, you do the same for me.”

“I know, but you’re real–I almost feel an impostor.”

“What do you mean? You’re real,” she pinched me.

“I’m not a real woman though, am I? I’m a simulacrum, an illusion.”

“Better not let Simon hear you say that, because as far as he’s concerned, you're every bit as female as that bloody guinea pig of yours.”

“She’s a dormouse.”

“What?”

“Spike is a dormouse not a guinea pig.”

“I know she is.”

“You said she was a guinea pig.”

“Did I? You said you were an impostor, both were wrong. You must stop feeling you have to justify things. Nature makes us who we are, you’re a female, now stop questioning it.”

I hugged her, “Thank you, Sis. Sometimes my confidence is paper thin.”

“I don’t know why, you are one of the prettiest women I know, with a figure to die for. You and Simon are so made for each other. You’ve both got it, flaunt it and most of all, enjoy it.”

“And I’m supposed to be looking after you? Some hostess, I am.”

“Cathy, I’m a sister not a guest, remember?”

We hugged again. “I’m glad I’m not a man,” I said, feeling the security of my relationship with her and the female bonding it provided.

“So am I.”

As we headed back to the house, I heard the unmistakeable sound of heavy diesel engine drawing up outside. My stomach flipped again, Des had returned.