Phone Conversation

[freswith]

Many thanks for your encouragement; it makes a huge difference. There are three more episodes in various stages of completion. Please find the latest below. I think most of them are actually mildly DL but probably don't realise it or admit it; I've dropped plenty of clues!

[freswith]

Game on!

The following morning Claire and I met at the door of Viola's bedroom, and went in to get the children up. I was delighted to see that Holly had managed to stay dry that night, and she was very smug about it, not least because Viola was wet, and was very embarrassed. Claire gave me a nudge. "Oh Well Done, Holly! You know, I think you might even beat Viola in getting of nappies."

"No, I'm going to get out of them first!" snapped Viola, miffed. She's only nine, I'm Twelve!"

"That isn't necessarily the point. Vickie was only eight. It's an open race. She could beat you, you know."

Viola glowered. Holly smirked. "I was dry yesterday morning, too!"

"So you were! That's two days in a row." I said proudly.

"You weren't. You had two accidents in the day yesterday. I saw you being changed."

"They were Free Ones. Didn't count!" retorted Holly. "You were being changed, too!"

"I'm still going to get dry before you!"

"No you're not!"

" I'm older than you!"

"Doesn't count!"

"Girls! Girls! Come along now. Let's settle this peacefully. Now Juliet, what shall we set as the test of dryness?"

"It used to be one month of dry beds. No wetting at all." and I took the opportunity: "and no Free Ones."

"I don't think that's quite long enough to count as proof positive. How about three months?"

"That's an age!" protested Viola.

"I want do it by my tenth birthday!" offered Holly, "That's the fifteenth of March!" I kept quiet about that; a little less than nine months after our tenth wedding anniversary.... Oh, beware the Ides of March!

"Two months, then." I offered, "but if they really stay dry, they don't have to wear nappies every night up to then."

"How's that girls?"

"DONE!" they chorused, and solemnly shook on it. Claire and I exchanged looks. That went more easily than we had expected.

We went along to the nursery to inspect our other charges. Little Hal was lifted and found to be both wet and dirty, and Jack promptly fled the room while he was topped and tailed. While this was going on I turned to Alice, who was sitting patiently on her bed. "How about you, Pet? Are you dirty, too?"

"I'm not dirty," she replied with a grimace, "that's for little babies."

"Well done. Let's get your nappy off you anyway. You don't want to sit there in a wet one.."

"I'm not even wet!" she said proudly, "I've been dry all night!"

Claire stopped for a moment amid a cloud of talcum powder, and looked at Alice with one eyebrow raised. Alice promptly stood up, and pulled her plastic pants down to reveal an unwetted nappy in proof of her claim. "Oh, well done!" both Claire and I said.

"And Christmas night as well!" Claire continued. "Pants today then! No nappies, but stay dry!"

Alice grinned as I pulled her baby pants down the rest of the way and unpinned her nappy, which was indeed no more than clammy. She stepped out of her pants and I guided her towards the bathroom. "Perhaps we ought to include Alice in the challenge."

Claire didn't look up, she was busy with the Hal, who was wriggling and kicking at his new nappy as it was being drawn up between his legs. "No, she's still a bit too young, I think. It would only disappoint her even more when she wets."

Alice stopped at the bathroom door. "What challenge?" she said, "Is it a game?"

"Holly and Viola have a game on as to which of them can get dry and out of nappies first. Viola should win it easily, of course." said Claire.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that!" I replied. "Holly is having a lot of dry mornings now."

"But Viola's twelve, sorry, Twelve! She'll be a teenager this summer."

"It's not tied to age, you know," Claire had reminded me that I too had been pushing thirteen before I was dry, "Vickie managed it at eight, and Holly's well past that."

Claire fielded Hal as he tried to escape the changing table. She shook out a pair of plastic pants, slipped her hands through the leg-holes, and grabbed his ankles.

"Can I join in the game?" said Alice, standing in the bathroom doorway.

"You're only seven, dear, it's too young," replied Claire as she pulled the pants up the legs of the still-wriggling Hal. "Much too young."

"I'm not too young!" protested Alice, "Most children are out of nappies by three! I'm fed up with being told I'm too young! Viola gets all the fun, she's allowed to do all kinds of things. Hal gets all the attention, and I'm left in the middle. I'm always stuck with Hal and his high-chair and his play-pen and his horrible smells! Maria even makes me wear a bib at lunchtime! When are you going to let me grow up?" There was an edge of tears in her voice.

Claire paused, her hands still in the waistband of Hal's pants. She looked at me. I nodded. "Why not? She's right, you know. Perhaps we've had low expectations of Alice. She should at least be allowed to try. She might even beat Vickie's record."

"I can do it!" protested Alice, "I'm sure I can! I was dry this morning, and I've been dry other mornings, too. I'm fed up with being treated like a baby, and Daddy said he thinks even Hal might be out of nappies before me. It's not fair! It's just not fair!" Claire froze. Alice's last shot had hit the bullseye. Fairness was an absolute to a lawyer like Claire and the danger of losing an appeal to the higher court was ever in her mind; it didn't take much imagination to predict what Percy would say.

"Alright!" she said, lifting Hal to his feet and adjusting his leg-elastics, "You can be a part of it too." and she briefly explained the details of the challenge.

"Two Months? Two whole months? That's ages and ages!" retorted Alice.

"That's the figure. Take it or leave it."

"Do I get time off for good behaviour?" said the lawyer's daughter, ever anxious to tie up the small print.

"Nope. You do the full sentence. It's a life sentence after all. You're going to stay dry for the rest of your life. It's just two months to prove you can. A tariff, if you like."

"And can I go to the loo in the night if I need to?"

"When do you ever do that?"

"I did it last night. I wanted to stay dry so Jack wouldn't rag me." Another shot landed squarely on Claire's preconceptions. Alice had the range now, and was steadily gaining the upper hand.

"And did you manage to get your nappy back on properly?"

"Yes, she did." I interjected, "She made a fair job of it too." Then the implications struck me. Very gently I said: "Alice, tell me truly, do you ever wet your nappy rather than get up and use the lavatory?"

Now it was Alice's turn to pause, and the slow blush that rose to her cheeks spoke volumes. "Well,...sometimes." creaked out. She started to slide sideways behind the bathroom door, holding the collar of her nightgown against her cheek. Claire bristled, but I raised a hand to check her answer. I knew exactly where I was. I'd been there before, but on the other side, and I knew how to handle this. It was just a case of being positive, and preventing Claire's instinctive reaction; it might win her the case, but lose her the war.

"That's really very good, Alice, it means you're at least halfway there already. It means you wake up before you pee. Now all you have to do is go to the toilet in the bathroom instead of doing it in your nappy." The sideways movement stopped, and Alice froze, watching me intently. I let the idea soak in for a moment, then added, "Believe me, that's all you have to do. That's all I did to get dry. If you really want it enough, you can do it." Alice shifted her gaze to and fro between Claire and myself. I lowered my hand, and Claire took the cue.

"I never realised that you were doing that, Pet, I just thought you were wetting all the time just because you couldn't help it."

"You're not angry with me?" came a small voice, "I was just afraid I wouldn't be able to get my nappy back on right. Sometimes I'm really wet when I don't wake up in time."

Claire now understood my approach. She knelt down and reached out to her daughter, and slowly Alice came out from behind the bathroom door, and went to her mother. I fielded the errant Hal again, and set him down on the floor, and finished his dressing; anything to keep him from interrupting this special moment.

I became aware of a silent figure in the doorway. Viola stood there watching wide-eyed. "Is it really as simple as that?" she said. I went over to her.

"It is. All you need is to realise that it's all up to you, and how much you want it." I guided Hal towards the door.

" I want it very much." She said, with her head hanging down, "I'm fed up with being on my own. I can't go on camps or sleepovers, and that means I'm left out on my own. It's misery when we go on holiday. They tell me it will stop all at once, but it shows no sign of doing so. The boys all sense that I'm different. I can't tell anyone, because they would rag me and bully me to death."

"It stopped with me almost all at once." I said. "And I was your age..." and I retold the old story about meeting Peter.

"Did he know you had to wear nappies?" she asked.

"I actually had one on when I met him. Just a blouse and a nappy. And it was wet."

"And he didn't run away?"

"He's still here." She smiled and raised her head slightly. I saw that she was wearing a thin silver chain around her neck, and suspended from it was a little silver shoe. I reached out and touched it. "It happens, you know, it happens." Our eyes met for a moment in a deep understanding. "Now come on, let's see if the boys have laid the breakfast table properly."

Viola smiled, and relaxed. She took Hal's other hand, and we processed slowly towards the head of the stairs, where William was waiting at the toddler gate. This was an old construction, sliding into a recess in the banisters, which had probably been there since the house was built. It had stopped at least three generations of the family's toddlers from falling down stairs, and would probably save more. William unlatched the gate and slid it open for us, and since there wasn't room for the three of us to descend abreast, Viola hung back while I went ahead carefully holding Hal's hands. Viola then followed with William. I didn't look back, but I could hear their footsteps on the stairs behind me keeping in perfect step.

[Pollyanna Fleshman]

Wow This is awesome. i cannot wait to see more.

[freswith]

Thank you Pollyanna, here comes another chapter.

[freswith]

Vickie's Hamster

"Shan't!"

"Oh Come On, Holly!"

"No, I shan't"

"I'm not going to stand for another mess in the car."

"Well, there won't be one."

"Too Right, because you're going to have one of these on. Now Come On!"

We had been here before, so many times. The ritual arguments were recited every time we had a long journey. Now we were on our way back to Cornwall, a journey of five or six hours: seven or more if Holly peed on the car seat. Many times I had sat her on a rug and plastic sheet, and she had sworn she wouldn't wet, and wet she did. Then we stopped and changed her clothes and put the rug in the boot, and we would argue and she would claim that she "only fell asleep for a moment". So much easier if she wore a nappy, slept as she liked, and was changed if necessary. The drive was longer than the winter's day, and we would arrive home in the dark; I was not looking forward to it, and wanted to get it done. That meant getting Holly ready as soon after breakfast as possible, so I pulled her jeans and pants off, spread the nappy on the bed, and sat her on it.

"Juliet, can you come? We've got a problem with Vickie."

"What kind of problem?"

"Can you just come, please?"

Claire wasn't normally one to get excited. I told Holly to stay right there and not to move an inch, I would be back in a few minutes. I followed Claire down the landing to the room Vickie had been sharing with Simon. Vickie was sitting on her bed, tears running down her face, and Emma was beside her.

"I can't, I just can't" she sobbed.

"But you're only going to meet his parents." Emma cooed

"I just can't. You know what that leads to. I can't marry Simon. He won't marry me. Why would he want to marry into a family of freaks? Why would he want to take the risk of having a daughter who was a freak? Who couldn't control her own bladder for years and years? What kind of a home would it be if it always smells of urine? How could I explain this to his parents? His brothers?"

"You're not a freak. Not if being clever and beautiful is freakish." Nice shot Claire.

Something was missing. "Doesn't he have any sisters?" I asked. Oh Gran, where are you? I need your wisdom and experience now. I can't handle this!

She shook her head. "Three brothers. What are they going to make of me? What will his parents think?"

"I should think his mother would be delighted to have you as a daughter - she obviously tried hard enough for one. Four sons! Ye Gods!" It was the best I could think of.

Ask her if she thinks Simon would object to having a daughter who needed nappies

Oh! You're back, are you, Demon? Well sod off!

Never really been away. But you need me now. You haven't asked the obvious question.

Like Hell! You've been getting at Vickie, haven't you?

All night. She's just realised what Simon has been exposed to this holiday in terms of your family curse, and she's terrified of what he thinks and will tell his parents. She thinks they'll make him drop her as unsuitable. She's a perfectionist that girl. Stored it all up. All her little imperfections have been suppressed, now they are coming back to haunt her. She's cracking up like windscreen that's been struck by a stone. You won't talk her out of it. She's expecting you to try, and has already prepared her response. You're going to have to think of something different.

"Have you told Simon?" I asked. Vickie shook her head.

You're not there yet. Hang on, I'll have a little word with Holly.

Don't you dare!

Who dares wins! Holly is always up for a dare or a challenge. Lovely kid! Always into mischief!

Holly came into the room, wearing her nappy. Simon was immediately behind her, and she looked like a cat that had just eaten a particularly large canary.

"I found this maiden all forlorn and getting cold," he said "so I taped her up. Hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all." I wanted to keep him from seeing Vickie's distress.

That cost him. Play for time! He has laid hands on his commanding officer's daughter. Now keep him off balance for a moment; ask him where he learned how to do that!

"Where did you learn how to do that, Simon?"

"My little brother Stephen. He still wears them. We all try to help look after him Poor kid; he has Downs Syndrome. I've been trying to pluck up the courage to tell Vickie about it. I know how some people react."

Vickie froze. I could see the thoughts crackling through her mind. I could see the image she had formed of Simon's ideal eugenic family being shattered before the mundane reality. They had even more problems than we did; and worse ones; they would think nothing of our little family secret. She looked up at Simon, eyes red-lined and still filled with tears.

"Vickie darling, what's the matter?" Vickie didn't reply, but just held out her arms. Simon picked her up and held her close.

Think of something quickly; she needs an excuse. Tell him her hamster has died, or something.

"It's alright. It's just that her hamster died, and Emma only just told her." I looked at Emma desperately. She nodded.

"Oh dear, what a pity," said Simon, "Was it very old?"

Ninety-three!

"Ninety-three......in hamster years." Shut up Demon. That's going too far!

I caught Claire's eye. She winked enormously.

Vickie straightened up, kissed Simon briefly, and said "That's it. Hamster. Very old hamster. Just me being a silly girl!" and she kissed him again, longer this time.

Nice simple things, men, aren't they?

"Get your skirt on, Holly, don't wander around the house like that. Come on, there's lots to do." I patted her back and we left the room. As we walked down the landing, I asked her; "How come you let Simon put your nappy on when you were so much against wearing one for me?"

She turned and looked at me. "Well, Simon's awfully nice isn't he?".

Well, well, well. I'm really going to have to watch you from now on, Holly.

[babykeiff]

Another excellent chapter from the Lilypad Press, London. I love the twists and turns that are so enchanting, and captivating. Can't wait for the next installement.

[freswith]

Thank you. I'm sorry you've had to wait so long. Here it comes!

[freswith]

Timing.

The post arrived early that Saturday; presumably the postman had got going a little earlier in the hope of enjoying a longer weekend. There was one large packet, addressed to me in Claire's handwriting. As I was opening it, I heard the clatter of Holly's feet upstairs. She was in an excellent mood; tomorrow would be her tenth birthday, and a party had been planned.

I opened the packet. Inside was a pair of nylon-covered plastic pants with several rows of pink frills on the back, and a note from Claire. It was very brief, and said that she was sending the pants down as Viola had no further need for them, and they might suit Holly. Initially I took it at face value, that Claire was claiming victory for Holly in the race to get dry, but then I thought of Claire's profession, and realised that she hadn't actually said that Viola had been dry for the requisite two months; she was just saying that she no longer had any need to wear waterproof baby pants, or at least, when I thought further, baby pants with frills on the back.

I thought of Holly's position. She had been wet on a few occasions and mostly dry, but was still nowhere near the two months dryness we had agreed. So far she had been dry for almost a month, but there was no rule saying she had to wear nappies for the whole two months, just that she had to be dry for that length of time in order to win the bet. Likewise, Viola could now be out of nappies, but not up to the full two months. Claire could be having me on.

I thought of my own experiences. I had eventually been entrusted to manage my own nappies, and had given them up of my own accord when I decided that they were no longer necessary. Alright, I had been twelve, going up thirteen, and I really could have been out of them earlier if I'd really tried, but even then Mum had conceded I was dry within less than a month of my last wet night. Holly was ten, or would be tomorrow. She had been drying up very well, and had been putting her own nappies on, and on those rare occasions when she had woken up wet she had disposed of them herself. It was just a matter of timing.

The subject of timing took me back to when Dad had taken me to visit a blacksmith. I watched him taking a piece of iron out of the fire and beat it into shape in a shower of sparks. He was making a new chisel, and after heating it again he examined it closely; his face was reddened from the forge's radiant heat, and contrasted with his grey hair and moustache, all illuminated by the glow from the piece of steel. The glow slowly faded, and suddenly he dropped the chisel sharply into a bath of water where it quenched with a terrible hiss. I asked him why he had waited like that. He replied in his soft burr; "It 'as to be the right moment. Just the right moment. Too soon an' it'll break when you tries to use it, too late an' it won't cut the metal. You watches the colour fade through yellow and red, an' when it's a pale straw with a touch of blue, you quenches it. 'Tis all a matter of timing it right."

I thought of Holly. She had accepted the challenge with a passion, and gone to furious efforts to stay dry. I had heard her getting up to use the toilet two or even three times in the night. On those rare mornings when she had been wet, I had an angry and depressed child to console and cheer. Those moments had made me regret ever striking the bet with Claire; often it would have been so easy to put Holly in a nice thick nappy and just tell her not to worry, to let nature take it's course and wait until she dried out in a year or two. However, the slightest suggestion of appeasement or defeat produced a ferocious reaction from her, and I realised that I had bred a child of stubborn warrior stock who would never surrender at a minor setback. The least I could do was to live up to her: to encourage, but never to punish. "We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat - They Do Not Exist!" It was now a matter of timing. Let her dispense with nappies too soon, and there was the danger that she would start to wet again, and face the crushing humiliation of having to resume them; Holly's lack of self-confidence was always a problem. Leave her in nappies too long and she would get depressed, give up trying, and start to wet again.

My warrior child came into the room, and instantly saw the baby pants on the table. She glared at them with the horrified look of the condemned man when he first sees the noose. I realised what she thought; she was thinking that these had been specially ordered for her to wear during her birthday party. I realised what self-confidence she had managed to scrimp would be utterly shattered by that thought. Timing. The time was now, and I had to move quickly. "Aunty Claire sent them. She says that Viola no longer needs them. What a cheek!"

"Does that mean I've lost the bet? After all that?"

"No. It doesn't. Claire hasn't actually claimed victory. It might just mean that Viola doesn't have to wear nappies on special days any more."

"Has she been dry for two whole months?"

"I don't know. It just means that she no longer needs frilly pants. How long have you been dry now?" I knew the answer, and I knew that Holly was very proud of it. I would do everything to keep her morale up, and Holly's ready answer was easy to predict.

"Twenty-eight days! February! One whole month! Thirty-one to do! All that to lose it by a month!"

The time was now. "That's long enough, I think. Do you think you could manage without having to wear nappies from now on?" I watched the corners of her mouth twitch, spread into a smile, and then grow into a huge grin.

"Do you mean it?..... Do you really mean it?"

"I'd never pull your leg over something so important, Holly. You're out of nappies from now on. Now for God's sake, Stay Dry!" She threw her arms around my neck in a wild hug. I held her close, exulting in the warm heavy feel of my happy daughter, ignoring the wetness of her tears on my shoulder. It was only with the greatest reluctance that I decided that I would eventually have to let her go. My baby was growing up.

While I was holding Holly, a patter of growing feet announced the arrival of Jack, who immediately took in Holly being in my arms and the pants on the table, grinned from ear to ear and went into jeering mode: "Are these Holly's new baby pants then? Will she be wearing them at the party?"

I felt Holly stiffen in my arms, and I savoured my reply. He really had it coming, and the timing was just right. "No, Jack. Holly no longer wears nappies. Not at night, not in the day, and certainly not at her birthday party." I let that sink in for a few seconds, and added the stinger; "These are for you. Pretty, aren't they? Come here and let's see how they fit."

I felt the laughter start to bubble deep inside Holly, and I let her go. She rounded on the horrified Jack; "Oh, they'll look so nice on you, Jack, all those pretty frills! All your friends will be admiring you! All my friends will want to baby you!"

Jack's horror exploded in a great wail, and he bolted from the room.

Moments later a heavy tread announced the arrival of the head of the household. Peter entered carrying a sobbing Jack, and raised one eyebrow in my direction; my lord and master required explanations. I lifted the frilly pants. "Claire sent them, she says Viola no longer needs them. I think she's crowing over us. Holly thought that they were for her to wear at her party. As a result, I've decided that Holly won't have to wear nappies ever again. It's time. Jack was being silly and nasty, so we told him they were for him to wear at the party."

Peter grinned, dropped the red-eyed Jack back onto his feet, and held out his arms to Holly. "It's time indeed!" he said, as Holly ran to him, was hoisted to the yardarm and thoroughly hugged. It was becoming a very good day for Holly. "So what do we do with these then?" he said, nodding towards the pants. "They are very pretty." and he looked me in the eye. I caught his look. I knew what he was thinking, but that was not for discussion in front of the children. I just winked.

"I'll send them back to Claire. I'm sure Alice will still find a good use for them." I replied, and then I thought again. "No. Better idea. Holly can send them back to Claire, and explain why she won't be needing them anymore. I'll even show Holly how to write the letter."

"Will I have to explain why I've lost the bet?" said Holly.

"No, after all, she hasn't actually claimed that Viola has won the bet. And even if she has won by a month, she's so much older than you; so you'll really have won by more than two years." Holly's smile widened until I thought it might even injure her.

I picked the pants up, and my fingers inside the waistband felt the cool smooth plastic of the lining. They were beautifully made, and must have cost a lot. I made a careful note of the name on the label. You never know; I knew how Peter reacted to such things. They might even make them in my size. Oh, Lover, it was really a matter of timing.

I folded the pants and started to push them back into the bag. There was a slight obstruction, and I discovered a card in an unsealed envelope. I passed it to Holly, who opened it and found a gift token from Claire and Percy for her birthday. OK Claire, I forgive you for your little joke, but you are going to help make Holly's day. I slipped the token back into the envelope, and told Holly that we would be going into Truro today to raid the shops. She was delighted, and Peter nodded in agreement.

My mind rattled on. Plenty of space in here! Shut up Demon! I looked afresh at my daughter as she slid down Peter and back to the floor. Getting heavy, isn't she? Growing up! I looked again. I could swear she was an inch taller then when she came into the room this morning, but that was impossible, of course. Not really; she's standing an inch taller: that's what self-confidence does to you.

There was a sudden pang of regret. You're going to miss that little ceremony at the end of the day, aren't you? Shut up Demon! You're going to miss that intimacy. You're going to miss that control, aren't you? No Demon, Holly has been looking after her own nappies for weeks now and I haven't missed it at all. If anything, we have grown closer as our mutual trust has developed. She's no longer your little baby girl. No Demon, I won't miss that part of it, and now I have a growing child heading for womanhood, and that is much nicer. You're going to miss patting her on her little padded bottom, aren't you? No, Demon, I'm going to enjoy a new relationship with my daughter without the continuous aggravation of having to bully her into wearing nappies. She'll be grown up soon enough, and I want to forge a grown-up relationship with her.

I thought of her clothes. Yes, tomorrow was her tenth birthday, and she was due to receive some clothes as presents, but there was now another factor. There was no need to buy pyjamas that were sized to take a nappy. There was no need to buy dresses that would conceal one. There was, above all, no need to buy nappies, and thus some budget was available. Shopping expedition! New clothes for Holly, especially new night-clothes. Time to wean her off the little-girl pink, that was so horribly close to baby pink. Time to get her into stronger colours to reflect her growing personality and self-confidence. Time to make a break with the past, and encourage this child to reach for the future, for the teenager she would soon be. I looked once more at my daughter, and inside the froth of the child I saw the glint of a woman: she had Grandpa's eyes, blue-grey and penetrating, the same eyes that Amelia had. She had Peter's impish grin, complemented by her new adult teeth: even teeth, well spaced. Her features were regular, and starting to show some proper bone structure. Her hair wasn't as blonde as Vickie's, but a pure gold that would probably not darken any more. Her dimples were entirely her own. She was going to be a beautiful woman one day, even one to rival Amelia. I was really going to enjoy this shopping trip!

[Pollyanna Fleshman]

Wow! i loved this chapter. It was so beautiful! I'm going to be sad when this story ends.

[jbz2079]

I will be missing this story when it ends too, but I will read it all through again in one go when I get the time.

One of the best I've ever read.

[babykeiff]

You did it again, Freswith, another excellent chapter... and still I am on the edge of my seat waiting to find out what happens.

...I'm going to be sad when this story ends.

I will be missing this story when it ends too....

Pollyanna, jbz2079, you both think that this story is going to end... can we start a petition so that it will not end - so it is a never ending story... cause it would be a shame for such excellent literature, in the class of Shakespear and Dickens, to be allowed to fade into nothingness and end - there is always more to be added to this story - more members of the family being born, and growing old. The way the charachters have been allowed to mature and get old while new children add to the charachter list, means that there is no fixed ending to this story unless that is what Freswith wants.

[jbz2079]

I know this story was the best and it will be sad to see it end, but I'm sure Freshwith will have other ideas for stories and might share them with us.

Also it's hard to be new and inventive with a story that's run it's course, you would end up sort of repeating the

same plot but with different names.

Good story writing is an art I know I've tried a few times and have never been happy with the results, It takes skill to set the scene, introduce the characters then get the story to run in a way it makes scence.

I think that's why I have enjoyed this one so much, just been quality right from the start.

[freswith]

Many thanks for the above. I've now got inspiration for another section, with some nicw sharp twists in it, but perforce taking a slightly different tack.

[freswith]

Phone Conversation

"Hi Claire! How's it going?"

"You mean with respect to the "challenge? Pure murder! If I'd known what would happen I'd never have started it!"

"Oh, come on, what's happened? It can't be that bad - you're not flooded out are you?

"NO, thank God, not that. The girls have been so determined to get dry that it's driving me mad. Each of them was getting up several times a night to use the loo, and then in the mornings they rush to examine each other's nappies and look for the slightest sign of wetness. When it happens, the winner crows, the loser cries, and I have an emotional salvage job to do."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. How are they doing on the dryness front? Is it working?"

"Well, it's been nearly three weeks since either of them were wet, so I must say Yes, it's working, although the temptation to tell them to ease off a bit is overwhelming; I'd quite happily trade off a few wet nappies for a night's sleep. How's it going at your end - or rather at Holly's end? Anything positive yet?"

"Yes - her end's been dry for the past month as well, but I know what you mean about getting up in the night. Several times. I've never seen anyone so determined."

"You wait 'til you see my pair. It's like trench warfare. I've had to give Alice her own bedroom - she's delighted of course - because her night time perambulations were waking Hal, and then I'd have a change to do, as well as refitting her nappy."

"Can't she do that herself?"

"At a risk of leaks. I like to make sure she's properly secured, anyway. Fortunately, since she's had her own room I haven't had to get up to see to Hal, so I let her do it herself."

"I've decided to take Holly out of nappies now. I think it's the right time."

"That's brave. What made you do it?"

"She's been dry for four weeks, and tomorrow's her birthday, but it was actually precipitated by those pants you sent for her; she thought they were for her party, and I had to head the situation off. She was about to panic."

"Sorry about that. Sounds a good idea to let her try a night or two without. Hope she stays dry. Congratulations - but there's another month to do! Aren't you afraid of wet beds?"

"Not really. I think I've got the heft of my child. And if the worst comes to the worst it's only some washing, and provided it's a rare event, I can manage that."

"What if she starts to do it regularly? I have to think of Maria. She has to do the washing, after all."

"I don't think Holly will be seriously wet again. She's got the habit now, and the effect of telling her that she was out of nappies was truly spectacular. I just dread the thought of having to tell her to go back into them if she has to. I think she'd probably suffer some terrible trauma if I did."

"I wish you the best of luck with it. I've still got both of mine nappied every night. With cloth nappies it's not such a problem. They can be re-used so easily."

"I'll admit I'll be glad not to have to buy any more disposables. I'm planning a little shopping trip into Truro today to get her some new clothes to mark the event. Something a bit more grown-up."

"Sounds like fun. Viola's been pleading for a new bicycle as a reward for drying up, and Alice has joined in. Percy's given in to them, soft thing that he is, so it's going to be an expensive event for us."

"Holly wants one too, but I really don't like the idea of her cycling round these lanes. Too many stone walls, too narrow, and too many crazy tourists."

"Too many hills down there, I'd have thought, but a great way for her to get to the beach. Still, Percy says you have to let them off the apron strings sometime. It's certainly been an incentive. At least the lanes are a bit quieter around here, and it would give them some independence. The other children seem to have them, and I can see Viola's social horizon will expand a lot now."

"How's it going with her and Michael?"

"Rather too well. I dread what the phone bill will be. Are you still planning to come up for Jack's eightieth?"

"Looking forward to it. And bringing a dry Holly with us."

"I'll still be fitting plastic sheets over the mattresses."

"I don't blame you. I'm going be sleeping with one eye open myself for the next few nights."

"Will you be staying for the whole of Easter?"

"If I can, I'd love to, but it depends on whether Peter can get leave. They're terribly stretched at the moment with commitments to Afghanistan."

"But it's landlocked! What the Hell has the Navy got to do with that?"

"Commandos, Helicopters. All that sort of thing. They're all in it."

"Could they send Peter out there?"

"God Forbid!"

"I mean he's only just come back from the Gulf."

"That's the Navy for you. The Queen commands and we obey."

"It's ridiculous. You're talking like a recruiting poster."

"I married Peter. I chose the life. Perhaps I'd have been better using my degree to get a nice safe teaching job, and marry some chalk-cuffed leather-bound pedant with a little moustache and spectacles."

"Like Emma did."

"That's really cruel! Besides, Tom doesn't have a moustache, and he's a lecturer to boot. And he's good fun, but you know what I mean."

"Go on, you married Peter because of his dinky uniform."

"I'll admit that was a part of it; he looks so damn good, and at least he's not allowed grow a moustache."

"Has he ever grown a beard?"

"You mean a "set", He did it once, while he was away in the arctic, but I made him shave it off when he got back. He looked terrific, but it was a bit like kissing the doormat."

If he ever leaves the Navy, he'll have to wear civvies and look just like all the other men."

"You can talk. Your husband goes to work in a wig and a dress. And stockings."

"Did you know he wears purple boxers with yellow polka-dots underneath?"

"Why the hell does he do that?"

"He says he's got to preserve a sense of humour in an essentially humourless environment. Have you any idea what Peter might do if he has to leave the Navy?"

"Perhaps he could still go into Dad's business, but he'd die of boredom before long. Commercial flying, perhaps, provided he retains his medical."

"Thank God Percy chose to go into the Law. I don't think I could stand living like that."

"It's not a bad life, except for this ridiculous business in Afghanistan. I sometimes wonder how we ever got conned into it."

"So do I. Anyway, everybody's turning up at Pembroke for the party, and I'm sure I can book you into your normal suite. With any luck we can hold the prize-giving for the Nappy Handicaps at the same time. It'll be wonderful to get that whole thing out of my life."

"Me too. I'll see you then!"

[freswith]

Here's another one. A few more twists and turns for you, and more to come. I bit of an interregnum on the diaper side, but unavoidable. If you have any suggestions about where the plot should go,, I'd be pleased to hear them.

[freswith]

What's in a name?

The time came to leave. I looked at Holly. Holly looked at me.

"Shan't!"

"I wouldn't let you, Holly, even if you wanted to. Now come on, or we'll be late!"

The journey passed slowly. The problem was that Cornwall was so far from everywhere, and up the longest country lane in Europe, but I was happy to trade that disadvantage for the clear pale light, and the air that arrived every day freshly laundered from the Caribbean. After ten years of living there, I even felt a pang of separation as we crossed the Tamar into Devon. I put up with the tedium of the Somerset Levels, of coroneted Brent Knoll rising from the haze and passing so slowly, and the final relief of the Cleveland Hills. We stopped at Exeter, and at Leigh Delamere to stretch our legs and, without saying it, to de-water Holly. Then we made the final dash, round Swindon and Oxford to the refuge at Pembroke, which had sheltered and protected all our family for generations.

The family had gathered again to celebrate Granpa's eightieth birthday, and we packed ourselves into the house. Amelia and Matt had arrived, having driven up the day before and stayed with Matt's parents. I hadn't expected to see Simon and Vickie there, as I thought Vickie was supposed to be doing some kind of voluntary service in Africa as part of her gap year, and Simon had been on a detachment at Yeovilton for some weeks, but there they were. Claire had provided a splendid buffet lunch, which allowed everybody to fit themselves in. The children were allowed to entertain themselves in the conservatory, and only Hal was among the adults, confined in his high chair to his obvious resentment. Grandpa made a little speech, and thanked all of us for not putting eighty candles on his cake, as he would fear the resultant radiation burns he would likely suffer. He mentioned his pride in his family, of their various achievements and specifically Vickie's gaining of a place at Cambridge. We all raised our glasses towards her.

Vickie turned pale and sat very still. "I'm sorry Mum,... Dad... but I won't be going to Cambridge. Simon and I ....well... we've been a bit careless." The scene froze. The silence solidified as all eyes locked onto the poor girl. Tom began to swell visibly. His mouth moved several times before the sound came out

"You mean you're..."

"Yes Dad, you've got it in one. You're going to be a grandfather...."

Emma spoke sharply; "Are you sure? How are you sure?"

Vickie looked levelly at her mother. "Of course I'm sure, Mum, you don't think I wouldn't make all the necessary tests, do you?" Emma's mouth remained open, but no sound came out other than a wordless whimper.

Peter put his glass down, and visibly moved into Commanding Officer Mode. "Simon, what are you going to.."

Simon interrupted. "Sorry, Sir . Of course I'm going to marry her. I'd be crazy not to, wouldn't I? I might be young, but I know girls like Vickie only come along once in a lifetime."

Peter persisted. "This really is..."

I lost my temper. "Don't be so bloody pompous, Peter!" I snapped. It was the first time I had flatly contradicted him, ever. Peter sat forward in his chair and squared his shoulders.

"PETER!" The reprimand came sharply from the Flag Officer Family. All eyes turned towards him. "Enough!" We waited respectfully upon the Admiral's opinion. He sat there rigidly, and I noticed that Gran was holding his hand tightly, and already half-smiling. "I'm sure Simon will do the honourable - and sensible - thing. I certainly did, and have never regretted it. It never harmed my career, as far as I know, and there's no reason why it should harm Simon's. Well Done, Boy! A little premature, perhaps, but Well Done all the same!" Shoulders went down all round the room. Percy nodded sagely. I heard Emma exhale audibly.

"When's it due?" she asked, ever practical.

"Early October," replied Vickie, "Sorry, but it was a four-poster...."

Granpa was rather sidelined in the ensuing inquiry and planning session. Simon was grilled about his living arrangements - his prospects were well understood in our naval family. Wedding dates were touted and narrowed down. Tom was provided with a large drink, as was Emma, and it became obvious that they would be staying the night. The only people who remained unflustered were Matt and Amelia, and Amelia wryly observed that it had been Vickie who caught the bouquet at my wedding. I thought I detected a little bit of envy in her voice. She had usually dismissed talk of marriage as being so old fashioned, such commitment, ghastly children getting in the way, and a host of other fashionable metropolitan clichés. However she seemed to have been less strident since she had been living much of the time with Matt.

Peter still seemed angry, and I gently reminded him of Holly's rather premature arrival only eight months after our wedding. Then I told him Gran's anecdote of her hasty marriage to Granpa. There was still a lot to be said for giving a baby a name. He eased slightly, but there was still an obvious soreness. I would have to try a stronger medicine - but later.

The news spread to the children after Viola came into the room unnoticed and picked up the tail of a conversation. There seemed no point in keeping it from the obvious corps of bridesmaids and pages, and so it was announced to them, to the girls' delight and the boys' confusion. Williams prompt retort that nobody was getting him into some damn pageboy's outfit was echoed by Jack, who certainly had no idea what such an outfit consisted of, but was determined to follow William's lead. The other matter was rather more pertinent. The girls had all heard the story of Vickie's famous dispute about whether she would have to wear a nappy under her bridesmaid's dress at my wedding, and so we were immediately faced by a similar threat of Union action if we should stipulate the same precautions for the present generation. They had all experienced the rituals associated with weak bladders and long church services, and the matter was to be forced to a head.

Claire, with a lawyer's prevarication, said that the matter would be resolved after lunch had been cleared, and began to collect the plates. The other women assisted her, and I was rolling up a serviette when I happened to pick up the old serviette ring, which Granpa always used, and noticed the initials engraved thereon.

"I thought this was yours, Granpa, but it's got HVT engraved on it."

"That's my name."

"But you're Jack, aren't you"

He smiled "Herbert Vincent Tarr" he replied "That's what I was christened; Jack is only my nickname."

"Didn't you know that?" Gran said, "He was always called Herbert as a child. Then he joined the Navy. Since his surname was Tarr, of course they called him Jack, and Jack he's been ever since. The Queen even knighted him as Sir Jack, so there it is.... Official!"

"Never liked Herbert," growled Granpa, "Silly name. Name for a fool. Damn pleased when people started calling me Jack. Never used Herbert again. Only place it exists now is on this ring, and that was a christening present. I was too young to object. The things they do to children when they name them! Viola's bad enough, but as for calling someone Haldane...!"

Percy bristled. "A good name for a lawyer. We were going to call him Hampden; would have been good, but we couldn't hold with calling him Ham. We even thought of Handscombe, but thought it was too clumsy."

"He'd have put on weight too easily." murmured Claire. They both laughed. I would have to ask Claire to explain that to me later.

"But useless for a sailor!" retorted Granpa. The discussion went downhill from ther on. Percy and Claire were set on both Hal and Viola entering the Law. Granpa had been dead against Percy's choice of profession, and thought that the only fitting place for a Tarr was at sea; preferably commanding one of Her Majesty's ships. I went out to the kitchen. This discussion usually took some time, and would probably never be resolved.

After the table had been cleared, and Vickie and Simon had been entrusted with the washing-up as a sort of self-imposed penance, Claire and I slipped away to the drawing room. Gran was already there with the others, and the three girls descended on us. Claire decided t take the plunge, and after a few questions told her two daughters that they would no longer have to wear nappies at night, or any other time. She then hedged the ruling with all kinds of provisos, which were lost on her cheering daughters who were not in a mood to trifle with the small print.. The racket attracted the other members of the family into the room. Then the matter arose about which of the girls had won the challenge.

Gran was selected as the judge, and carefully questioned the girls about their achievements. By some formidable dexterity she declared the race to be a dead heat, thus saving face on all sides, and allowing Percy to agree to buy new bicycles for Viola and Alice. Holly rounded on me. "I was dry first, but Mum won't let me have a bike!" Gran's eyes swivelled toward me, one eyebrow raised.

"It's too dangerous on those lanes." Gran's eyebrow remained raised.

"I seem to remember that you had one at that age, and you used to ride it over to the stables every weekend day, and to see Peter at every chance." Peter nodded. Traitor!

"There's much more traffic these days, and there's no way to avoid a car in those Cornish lanes."

"Oh Mum, that's not fair. I want to be able to go and meet my friends. I want to be able to go to the beach." All eyes were on me. I was in a minority of one. I looked towards Peter in mute appeal, and lost it.

"I think you deserve a bike." he said. Holly gave a whoop of joy, and I had to concede the point. A bike it would be.

"There's another matter." said Claire, as the court was about to adjourn. "I had been thinking I would take all those child-size nappies out and burn them, but in view of Vickie's news I think I had better store them somewhere. You never know, Her new baby might well suffer your family curse."

"God Forbid!" was my immediate thought, and then another thought struck me, but this was not yet the time. "We could put them back in the chest in the attic, I suppose. Until things become clearer."

Claire nodded approval. "No time like the present!" she said, and led the way upstairs.

There was a surprising mass of nappies, pants, and associated paraphernalia to be shifted, and each of us took a load from the changing table and the cupboards, leaving only Hal's portion of baby nappies as they were still in continuous use. Claire took the attic door key from its hiding place, and we carried them up the narrow attic stairs in line astern, bearing the nappies like frankincense, gold and myrrh, and went to the long wooden chest that lay beneath the dormer window. One by one we laid them to rest in the chest. My hands lingered on the last of them, my fingers caressing the soft nap that had once wrapped my loins like a blessed curse. Perhaps they lingered just a little too long. At last I looked up, and saw Amelia's eyes on me, their corners showing the first lines of age in their amusement. "You?....Too?" she said. I realised what she meant. I had had some strange feelings at times, and I suspected that Peter shared them.

"Me... Too." I admitted for the first time in my life.

I needed a distraction. I opened the bag of mothballs, and the sweet smell of camphor assaulted my nostrils. I sprinkled a few into the chest. "Dust to dust!" I said, and passed the bag to Claire.

"Ashes to ashes!" she intoned as she scattered a few more, and passed the bag to Amelia.

"Balls to moths!" said Amelia and then, with Vickie, creased up in giggles. I was in sure and certain expectation that we would be opening that chest again at some point - for whatever purpose.

We retired to the lounge to rejoin the men for coffee, and to lay wedding plans. The idea of Vickie and Simon getting married was taking root amongst us, and dates and places were outlined. After a while with most of the major points settled Mum remarked to Claire that she must be very pleased to get the girls out of nappies, and should be looking forward to getting Hal dry as well. Claire agreed that it was a great relief, and then mentioned that, while we were on the subject, Hal must be overdue for a change. We looked around for Hal. We called his name. Claire began to get a little concerned, and asked the girls if they had seen him. They shook their heads. Jack was questioned with no result. Claire began to panic. The Pond! It should have been filled in! We dispersed in search parties, calling Hal's name. Pembroke was a splendid place for a toddler to lose himself, and there were many hazards.

I went upstairs, acting purely upon impulse. The toddler gate stood open, as we had neglected to close it behind us on our return from the mission. On the landing I noticed that the attic door was ajar, and it was supposed to be locked, so I went to investigate. There was Hal, and I called down that I had found him.

Haldane stood there unmoving, oblivious to his sodden nappy, which was sagging slowly southwards towards his knees. He was deaf to the shouts and calls from downstairs, and the clatter of feet as they came upwards. He was looking up at Granpa's wonderful model of the Victory, which had sailed these attic seas for so many years. His eyes were drinking in every proud line and curve, every sheet and every shroud. I knew those eyes, and I knew that look; I had seen it on Granpa's face so many times. Sorry, Claire, but you've lost him; he'll never be a lawyer like his parents, no matter how hard you try. That boy will go to sea; it's in his blood, and in every sinew of his body. And from the day he joins the Navy to the day he dies nobody will call him Haldane; he'll be called Jack, and he'll be overwhelmingly happy with it.

We lay in bed together, tired after a very long day. Peter was still fuming about Simon and Vickie's bombshell. "Rank carelessness! They should have been more careful!"

"Peter..."

"I mean, there are plenty of ways to practice contraception these days, and pretty damn foolproof"

"Peter..."

"I mean, Simon's supposed to be a commissioned officer, a pilot, a responsible chap, and he goes and makes such an elementary mistake"

"PETER...!" There are several ways to get a man's attention, and I used one of the least fair. I had a solid handful of Peter's entire attention and was perfectly willing to squeeze. It worked; it toppled him right off his high horse. Now for the poleaxe. "If that's being careless and irresponsible, Peter, then we have recently been careless and irresponsible too...."

"You mean..."

"Yes. I mean. Early October, just like Vickie and Simon. It must have been the moon that night."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I've been there twice before, haven't I?" I released my handful; I had no more need of it. Peter was free to move again, and I had his whole attention.

"You didn't tell me!"

"I'm telling you now. And it wasn't even a four-poster..."

[jbz2079]

Great as usuall, nice twist, I would like to see the "you too" bit brought into play with mabey juliet having a bit of fun with Peter.

[freswith]

Many thanks, I'll see what I can do. Here comes the next one; a little delayed, but I've been busy, and this took a little bit of writing. Perforce, it's difficult to get the diaper angle in - yet.

[freswith]

The Queen Commands....

Peter came home and entered the house very quietly. He responded to my greeting by walking straight over to me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight. "Peter, what's the matter?"

"We're under orders for Afghanistan!" he said "They're sending us as reinforcements."

"But what about your training job here?"

"That's going on hold. We're needed out there. All of us. Simon too."

"How long for?"

"Six months. Possibly longer. It depends how the situation goes. They're just terribly short of helicopters."

"You're going to be away when the baby comes!"

"I know. Sorry, Can't help it. Orders."

"Oh God! What'll we do about Vickie?"

"I'm sorry, I hadn't thought about her. I've been so obsessed by what I'm going to do about you."

"She's so new to this. She won't know what to do."

"Can't she go back to her parents?"

"We can try that, certainly. But whether she will, I don't know. It's a terrible thing to happen within the first few months of marriage."

Vickie's and Simon's wedding had been arranged very swiftly, so swiftly that there was hardly time to load the shotgun. They had found a slot for the wedding in Bristol, and a hotel simple service and reception. Dad said that it had been an advantage that the vicar had spoken swiftly, which was very cruel of him.

The Union of Pages, Bridesmaids and Allied Trades (UPBAT) had provided all duly contracted services with great success, but only after it had been made quite clear that any suggestion that nappies might be worn as a precaution would result in immediate strike action. Vickie was only too pleased to concede on this point; her own memories being quite fresh. Poor William looked very awkward at first in his velvet knee britches, but he had discovered that having a girlfriend was a two-way street, and Viola had coerced him into wearing the costume she had chosen. Jack had gone along with William, and didn't even need Alice's persuasion. Only poor Holly had been without close escort, a deficiency that she had felt quite keenly, and I had watched her as she cast an acquisitive eye over the local lads. Not too fast, Holly!

Vickie's bulge had hardly shown, and a large bouquet had covered it effectively. Eventually, when the moment came to throw the bouquet, Amelia had poked Bootneck Bill Bainbridge sharply in the stomach and then managed to catch it herself, without his proffered assistance. I was quite surprised that she seemed so keen to do so; I had long seen Amelia as well content in her career, with its generous supply of eligible men competing for her attention, but Matt seemed to exercise a strange control over her that I couldn't fathom, and would never dispute. He had certainly provided her with a sheet-anchor, and she had settled into his company in a way that she had never done with her various other paramours. She was visibly much happier than she had been a year ago, and her career was staggering back to its feet.

Vickie and Simon had settled into Simon's flat in Helston, where Vickie had tried her very best to become the model wife. I, too, was learning the art of being the C.O.'s wife, doing unpaid and rather inexpert welfare work amongst Peter's subordinates. This gave me a double role in looking after Vickie who, while certainly not lacking in intelligence, was still very young and a complete beginner in marriage. I had found a useful ally in Bill Bainbridge's wife, Jean, who had become a close friend and was quietly helping me in my new responsibilities.

Now it was all thrown into disarray. I knew, it had been drilled into me, that Peter was the Queen's man, sworn to her, paid by her, and paid by the day, every day in exchange for his service, but Peter was also my man, and I felt that I had a due call on his services. I had never been quite happy with the arrangement, but then I, too, had taken the Queen's salt, had lived off the money she had paid him, had shared in the honour and privileges she had accorded him, and now it was payback time. Peter would have to go and do his duty and I would have to put up with it, as generations of my family had done in the past. Spinning within me, and threatening to take me over, was the prayer that Peter would come back to me, unhurt, after the Queen had had her due, but I knew that in marrying Peter I had also married his commitments, hopes and ambitions. I would have to put up with it. The best thing I could do would be to support Peter in every way, to send him off to war with his mind at rest, and to wait for his return with patience and courage. And when he returned, I would screw the pants off him, and damn the Queen.

[babykeiff]

Freswith,

every post, every paragraph, and every phrase reeks of experience, education and class. I love the way you manipulate the english language to portray exactly what you want to say and yet hide enough to captivate your reader. Simply, I want more - now, but know that I need to have the paitence to wait. Damn waiting. Damn paitence. Damn good story. Hurry the damn up....... please.

[freswith]

Many thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying it. It is so encouraging to receive feedback, since otherwise it's like shouting into the void.

Since you are so keen, I'll put the next episode up on Friday evening.

[freswith]

...And We Obey.

The doorbell rang, and I shivered. I opened the door to reveal Doc Martin and Bill Bainbridge. Both in uniform and looking very solemn. Doc spoke; "Peter's been hurt, he's alive, but in hospital."

I felt my blood run cold across my shoulders and down my arms, as though a bucket of ice-water had been poured over me. Doc promptly stepped forward and held me, and between them they steered me into the house and sat me down. My baby churned inside me and instinctively I held onto her, and murmured as reassuringly as I could. "How hurt?"

"We don't know the full extent of his injuries yet. It was a rocket-propelled grenade struck his helo just after he had dropped off his troops. He managed to land the helo, and they got him out of it, but he's got a lot of splinters in him. They've got him off the battlefield and into hospital at base, and they're operating now. He's in with a good chance." Bill slipped into the kitchen, and I heard the sound of the kettle being filled. My limbs had turned to water, but my heart was beating desperately. I tried to make my brain work, but like a car on a cold morning it cranked and cranked but never fired.

"I told him not to take risks, to take care...."

"The medical people out there are the best in the world. They'll look after him."

I looked up and saw Holly's huge eyes staring at me over the banisters. "Holly, Come Here!" She ran down the stairs and came to me. "Holly, be brave. Daddy's been hurt. We don't know how badly." She climbed onto the sofa beside me and held me tight, her head buried in my shoulder. I held her as tightly as I could, but I still felt my arms shaking.

"Is there someone who can come and look after you?" said Doc. I tried again to make my brain work, and it began to splutter into life. Vickie was nearest, but I knew that she was just as near term as I was, and had half the resources and just as many worries. I spread the net further. Matt would be at home in Devon, and Amelia might be with him, if she wasn't in London or on some location shoot. Tom and Emma were in Bristol, but I couldn't worry them. Peter's parents were much further away, but I would have to tell them straight away. That really left one option. I turned to Holly who happened to be nearest the phone.

"Holly, dear, can you get to the phone and dial your granny, so we can tell her. She won't be able to get here quickly, but she must know." Holly uncoiled herself from around me and reached for the phone. She ran her finger down the list of numbers, dialled one, and passed the handset to me. I heard the ringing tone, and tried to get my breathing under control. The phone was picked up at the other end and I heard Gran's measured tones. In her fluster, Holly had dialled the number for Gran, not Mum and Dad. I realised that at that moment there was nobody I wanted to talk to more than Gran; I desperately needed her wisdom and experience. I told her that Peter had been hurt, and I didn't know how badly, but that he was in hospital and they were operating. Gran asked for more details, but there was almost nothing I could give. She told me that Mum was with her, she had been visiting, and I heard Gran give Mum a swift, concise situation report. Then Mum came on and asked all the same questions again.

When our limited knowledge had been thrashed out a third time, she said that she would tell Dad, and they would come straight down. I protested that it would be too late to start today and they should come tomorrow in the daylight. My brain had started thinking again at last. Mum agreed, and then asked me what I would do tonight. I said I would have to manage somehow. Then a deeper tone could be heard in the background, and Granpa came on the line. He spoke slowly and calmly, and told me that Peter was in the best hands, and that the hospital would almost certainly be able to sort him out. He reminded me that in the Falklands War every wounded soldier who came in alive had gone out alive, and the medics had got even better since then. I began to calm down a little. "But what if he's lost his legs or something?"

"Don't worry. He'll be all right. Remember always that you will still have Peter. He may have problems, but you'll still have him. Think on that. Keep positive!"

"Aren't you going to tell me that worse things happen at sea?"

He remained silent for a moment and then replied: "They do. But in all honesty, they don't get much worse. Now get someone, a neighbour or something, to stay with you tonight. Your parents will be down tomorrow, and will be able to look after you. I think you'll find that within twenty-four hours you'll be worrying about something else. Sounds trite, but that's the way it is."

As it happened, Bill's wife Jean came and spent the evening with me, helping me cook supper, putting the apparently unfeeling Jack to bed, and extracting Holly from my side and shooing her up to bed, long after the proper hour. She offered to stay the night, but I declined. I was feeling much calmer by then, and I wanted to settle quietly into my own bed, and try not to think of the cold empty space next to me. I wrapped my arms around my unborn baby and tried to sleep.

Sleep? Sleep? All that and sleep, too?

Oh go away, Demon! I'm just so tired. I've had enough. It's more than one woman can cope with.

Cope? Cope? Far away in the mountains of Helmand, a young mother keens for her husband. He won't be coming back. He gave away his position when he fired that rocket, and the soldiers did for him.

I'm sorry. Really I am! My heart goes out for her, in her grief she's my soul-mate, but there's nothing I can do. He was trying to murder my husband after all, and he might yet have succeeded.

Your Husband? He's the Queen's man, you know that. You only have part of him, but she disposes of the rest.

I'll get him out of the Navy. If he lives. Then I'll have all of him.

Even if he's only half a man without his calling?

Half a man is better than none, as long as it's the half that loves me first of all.

You had better ask the Queen if you can have him back.

The Queen was not being sympathetic, and we argued furiously over which part of Peter belonged to her and which part belonged to me. I was trying to gather all the pieces of Peter and stick them back together, and she kept taking bits away again. She said that she had owned Peter body and soul since he took her shilling and made an oath to serve her. I retorted that I owned Peter, he had given himself to me and I to him. It's a personal thing. She was glaring at me with those cold eyes when they suddenly softened.

"I married a sailor, too, you know."

I replied that she didn't send him to war.

"But he'd been to war. And I waited for him. And he came back. Your Peter will be coming back, too."

When he does he's going to be mine!

"For a time. Then you will have to decide, both of you, about who owns whom."

And who owns you?

"England. Unlike you, I don't have a choice."

I struggled back to wakefulness, panting and sweating. My eyes took in the light that was coming under the bedroom door and my mind slowly came back onto an even keel. I had left a light on. Careless! I needed a pee anyway, my baby was now so big as to make it impossible to go though the night without one, so I swung my legs out of bed and rose unsteadily to my feet. When I opened the door, I saw that the light was coming from Holly's room, so I went along to see what it was about. Holly was up, and was stripping her bed. She looked up at me and then dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Sorry Mum, I couldn't help it." and the tears began to flow.

I looked at the wet sheets and my bedraggled daughter, and took her in my arms, stroking her hair and soothing her. "It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter. Worse things happen at sea." I realised that in Holly I was also holding something of Peter, and I didn't want to let her go.

I cleaned her up, then looked at the sheets. She had made a pretty thorough job of it, but the plastic sheet had done its job, and the mattress was dry. I turned towards the linen cupboard, and the thought of the paraphernalia of remaking the bed suddenly exhausted me. I had a better idea. "Come on Holly. Get some dry pyjamas on, and then you can sleep with me in my bed for the rest of the night."

Holly brightened, and then hesitated. "What if I do it again, in your bed? There's no sheet on it, is there?"

"Never mind!"

"In that case, can I have one on?"

"One what?" I replied, nonplussed.

"Nappy. Can I have one on? Please? I don't want to wet your bed. Not tonight."

Nor any other night either, I thought. "Oh, Child, surely you don't need one."

"Oh, Mum, I think I do. I just want to feel safe and warm and wrapped up. I want to feel that I can't do anything wrong, anything that might hurt you." Her logic struck a chord.

"Do we still have any?"

"Yes, in the cupboard, top shelf. Most of a packet."

"Are you sure?" I thought I had thrown them all away. In fact I was sure I had thrown them all away.

"Yes. Please, Mum, I don't want to wet your bed as well."

I opened the cupboard, and on the top shelf was a bag of nappies. I pulled them down, and Holly immediately took one, opened it on the bed, and sat herself down on it, adjusting the sides. Out of sheer habit, I leant forward and pulled the front of it up between her legs and taped it closed. She made no resistance, and I helped her to her feet. "Thanks. I feel safer now. Let's go!" and she led the way to my bedroom.

I lingered behind to turn out the lights, and then remembered that I wanted a pee, so dropped into the loo. I also remembered that I had a little boy, and I looked in on him. He was sleeping soundly. At least that was a mercy; he was too young to realise the seriousness of the situation. When I reached my bed, Holly was already tucked up in it, so I climbed in beside her, switched off the light and reached out for my daughter. She put her hands on my distended belly and asked if the baby was all right. I assured her she was and drew her close. The three of us curled up together like a wagon train camped for the night and, comforted by the warmth, pulse and breathing of my child, I gave myself up to a deep and dreamless sleep.

[jbz2079]

Right up there at the usuall standard- Thanks

[freswith]

Many thanks - very encouraging. I'm sorry that I didn't put another episode up last week; my motherboard succumbed to a power-surge. Oh! The travails of the twenty-first century!

Here comes the next one....

[freswith]

Twenty-Four Hours From Now...

The small circle of sunshine crept across the bed until it reached my eyes and woke me. Holly was still sleeping soundly with her back towards me, and I tucked the bedclothes up a little further over her shoulders. She stirred, and pulled them away from her face. Out of sheer habit I ran my free hand down under the bedclothes until I felt the taut plastic of her nappy, but I couldn't tell whether it was wet or not, so I slipped a finger inside. Her dryness was confirmed by a grunt of protest from her tangle of hair. She rolled over, clawed her hair back from her face, and mumbled, "How's Dad?"

I sat up and looked at the clock on the side-table. It was half past seven: a reasonable hour. I dialled the number that Doc Martin had left me, and it was answered promptly by a woman's voice. I asked my question, and she said she was checking. After a few moments she said; "Splinter wounds. Operation successful. Serious but stable. Marked for evacuation back to the UK, routine priority. Report filed at 23.00 local time. Can't tell you any more, sorry. They'll probably update their assessment in a couple of hours after the doctors have examined him again. If they were really worried about him they would have put him on high priority."

I put the phone down and told Holly, and explained what "serious but stable" meant. He's still alive. He will probably stay that way, and should recover. She was now sitting warm against my side, her arms around me. "I'll call Erica and tell her." Erica answered the phone instantly and I gave her the news. I heard her sigh with relief.

"Thank God! I've hardly slept. When will you hear more?"

"I'll try at mid-day. Give them a chance."

"Please let me know straight away if you hear anything, anything at all."

"Of course."

Then I phoned Mum. Once again the phone was picked up instantly, and the conversation was repeated. She said she would pass it on to Gran. Almost as soon as I put the phone down it rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Vickie.

"I've been trying to get you, but your phone's been engaged all the time."

"I've been on the phone to Peter's parents and to Mum."

"Simon called me from the base. He's been to see Peter. He's alright!"

"When was this?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. Peter's all bandaged up, but there's nothing missing, and he's conscious - at least in part. He told Simon to tell you that he's not badly hurt and not to worry and he loves you."

I felt a great weight falling from my shoulders, and cuddled Holly vigorously with my other arm.

Vickie continued, "You could have told me that he'd been wounded. I'd have come right round."

"I didn't want to worry you. Not in your condition. How's your baby?"

"All well, how's yours? It must have been a terrible shock. How did you find out?

"Doc Martin and Bill Bainbridge turned up at the door. In uniform."

"God, how awful! I've been dreading something like that."

"They couldn't tell me much. Did Simon tell you how it happened?"

"Apparently Peter was in the lead, and they had just dropped off the squaddies when his helo was hit by a rocket, right amidships. It dropped and landed heavily, and started to burn. Bullets started flying everywhere as the squaddies returned fire, and Simon managed to get down beside Peter's helo. The crewman ran over, pulled Peter out of the cockpit, and carried him back over his shoulder, and the squaddies piled the other two in the back beside him Simon says Peter was covered in blood. Then Simon took them straight back to the field hospital, he said he was there within ten minutes; he thought his helo would come apart with the speed he was doing, he never knew it could fly so fast. He had to get out of the way. They put an air strike into the Talib position just a few moments after Simon left, and they obliterated it."

"So Simon's a hero!"

"Not much. The RAF Wing Commander gave him a right bollocking for going in without permission and hazarding his aircraft and his crew."

"That's terrible!"

"Simon says it was deserved, but he'll make a point of never going in to rescue the Wing Commander unless he's ordered to do so in triplicate."

"That's the RAF for you. Bless you Vickie, you've made my day. All they could tell me was that Peter was serious but stable, and they'll be flying him home, probably today."

"That usually means Selly Oak hospital in Birmingham. How are you going to get up there? You can't drive all that way in your condition."

"Nor you in yours. I'll have to think of something. Are you coming round?"

"As soon as I can. I told Simon I would be, and he'll ring there if there's any more news."

"That's great. I'll let the rest of the family know. They're all terribly worried."

I took a break; there was also a small boy to see to. I found him awake, silent and utterly crestfallen. He had wet the bed for the first time since he was out of nappies. I couldn't be angry with him. I understood. Oh you poor little boy! It was all an act, wasn't it? You acted so brave when you heard about your father, but it cut very deep, didn't it? But that's the way you are, Little Man; a thin crust of bravado concealing a chasm of insecurity, afraid to seek sympathy or comfort. Man, the giver of strength, the great supporter, in control of your feelings to the point of brutality, and there you are, a small boy sitting in your wet bed. I picked my son up, gave him a careful hug around the dry bits, mussed his hair, and told him not to cry. I told him that his father was not so badly injured and would soon be coming home to us, and I told him that all would be well again. I was suddenly conscious that I was holding another piece of Peter.

I heard Holly enter the room behind me, and I felt Jack stiffen slightly in my arms. I turned around. Holly was still in her pyjama top and nappy. That gave me a chance. "Holly wet her bed too. You aren't the only one." Holly took the cue and came over to join the embrace. No sign of the usual jeering, no sibling rivalry, we were all united against our common foe, and I took strength and comfort from our unity. The washing machine could cope with the damage; that was what it was for.

I shooed the children into the bathroom to clean themselves up, rolled up the wet bedclothes and put them in the laundry basket for later attention. Then I kept my promises to Mum and Erica and passed on Simon's news. The release of tension at the other end could be heard clearly. Erica offered to come down, but I told her Peter would probably be taken to Selly Oak hospital in Birmingham, and she would be better placed there. I felt like an Admiral positioning my forces to best advantage. Now for the fight back!

Vickie came round as I was cooking breakfast, and I laid a place for her. I was suddenly terribly hungry, and I realised I had hardly eaten since I heard the news. With Vickie and the two children we were, after all, eating for six. We were finishing off the toast when Jean arrived, anxious for my condition, and bearing the news from the Centre. We were able to update her with Simon's report, so much fresher and more detailed, and we put our heads together about how to get to visit Peter as soon as possible after he arrived in the UK. I couldn't drive that distance in my present condition, nor could Vickie, and I would have to leave someone in charge of my rumbustious children. Jean was then joined by Liz, the Captain's wife, and we considered our options. We were stymied by a lack of information about Peter, but I realised that the doctors in Helmand would also be making their plans at the same time.

Just after Jean and Liz had departed and I was washing the coffee cups, a sports car growled into the drive. A mane of highlighted hair emerged, followed by Amelia; she must have driven very hard to get down here so early in the day. Reinforcements were arriving by the hour, so I put the coffee pot on again.

"I came as soon as I heard. I didn't ring; I thought it might alarm you."

"Either you drove like the wind or you must have got out of bed unusually early."

"Never at that hour for less than ten thousand pounds...except for you and Peter. How's the baby taking it?"

"No problem there." And I told her the news as it had come from Simon. She said nothing but just gave me a hug. Vickie brought the coffee tray back and our little coven convened.

"How are you going to get up to Birmingham?" was the first item on the agenda.

"Undecided as yet. Mum and Dad are on their way down, and should be able to look after the children, but I don't relish the train trip."

"You'd better not fly so close to term." said Vickie.

"How about if I take you up as far as Matt's place, then he can drive us the rest of the way? I wouldn't recommend doing the whole trip in my car in your condition. Getting in and out is a bit of a struggle even for me."

"Would Matt do that?"

"I'm sure he would. He'd love the excuse to see inside that place, anyway."

"Is he still fed up with his choice of General Practice then?"

"He says if he's asked to prescribe antibiotics for another cold, he'll scream. He's got all the papers to join the Navy, and has been plucking up the courage to sign them."

"Why didn't he go down the surgery route in the first place?"

"His hands are too big." I could see the point. Matt stood six-feet-four in his rugby boots, and was built like a brick privy. His hands were in due proportion, and simply not made for delicate work.

The phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin again. I could see Amelia's point about not calling in; the telephone had become a sort of unexploded bomb in my life. Vickie answered it.

"Hello Simon! Yes, I'm fine.... Yes..... she's here!" and passed the handset over to me.

"Hi Juliet! I've just seen Peter off on his way back to England! He should be there in a few hours. He's awake and cheerful. They've taken all sorts of bits of scrap out of him, but there are one or two more to do. Nothing life threatening, but the Docs say they should come out. No limbs missing, but a broken leg, so he's going to be off-duty for quite a while. Lucky sod! I've got another month to do."

"Oh Simon, thank you for that, it's a huge relief. Weren't you hurt in all that?"

"Well, a tiny scratch, just enough to let me stay with Peter while they bandaged it. Don't tell Vickie - she'll only worry herself sick. They went out to blow up what was left of Peter's helo this morning. They found the cunning sod had put the technical manual in his seat pan, and that had taken most of the blast. One big piece of shrapnel had come within seven pages of his backside, heading right for the matrimonial department."

"Just missed his brain then. Now you take care! Remember poor Vickie."

"I'll take great care. I'm looking for a suitable technical manual at this moment. Can you put Vickie back on?"

I passed the phone to Vickie and leant backwards into the sofa, breathing a big sigh of relief. Holly and Jack were watching me urgently, with big eyes. Jack was sucking on his thumb, and Holly was holding Jack protectively. I opened my arms to them. "Daddy's on his way back. He's going to be all right. He's got a broken leg, but that'll mend."

"When's he arriving? When can we see him?"

"Probably late tonight. He'll be in a hospital for a while, then perhaps we can bring him back here. I'll be going up to see him."

"Can we come?... Please!"

"I think you'd better stay here. It'd be too much, and you've both got school, remember."

I overrode the ensuing protests.

Mum and Dad arrived in the middle of the afternoon, and Vickie came round with Aunt Emma at teatime, and a conference convened. Emma had failed to persuade Vickie to return home to Bristol to have her baby; Vickie was adamant that her home was in Helston where Simon would expect her to be, and so Emma had come down to look after her. I would go with Amelia to the hospital at Birmingham with Amelia and Matt on the following day, by which time Simon should be capable of receiving visitors. I would stay with his mother, Erica, who was only half-an-hour away from the hospital. Mum and Dad would move into our bedroom, and look after the children until I got back.

The thought of Mum and Dad in my bed made me remember the problems of last night. I told them what had happened, taking advantage of the fact that the children were upstairs. Holly's asking to wear a nappy caused some raised eyebrows, and a frown from Mum. "We really don't want to encourage that!" she said. I defended myself by pointing out the situation, and the simple solution it had permitted. Amelia supported me, and even Vickie nodded.

"Let her choose." was Amelia's comment, "If she feels more comfortable that way, then let her do it. She was under a heck of a lot of stress, remember!"

Mum was still not convinced. "At her age, it's really too much!" she said.

"I was older," I replied, "And I wasn't sleeping in your bed!"

"But you never relapsed," said Mum, "that's the way it seems to go. What will you do tonight?"

"She'll be back in her own bed. She knows that Peter is alive and will soon be home. That takes a lot of the stress off her. I think we'll treat it as a one-off, and not get too worked up about it. I'll just make sure that she goes to the loo before bed. If she wets in the night, I'll take it from there." A thought suddenly struck me. Twenty-four hours on, and I was worrying about something else. Granpa had been exactly right.

I thought no more of it until I had finished putting Jack to bed. Neither of us had commented on his accident the night before, and there was no advantage in adding to the pressure on the little boy. Then I went to see to Holly. I extracted her with some difficulty from in between Vickie and Amelia, and she said her reluctant goodnights. The crunch came when she returned from the bathroom. She looked at her bed with its fresh sheets, at me, and then at the cupboard, her eyebrows raised in query.

"Mum, do you think...?"

"I don't think you'll do it again. That was a one-off. We'll let it pass."

"Please. Just to make sure...."

"No, Holly, I don't want you going down that route."

"Just to be on the safe side..."

"You'll be alright. Don't you worry."

"There are plenty left. I'd feel much safer with one on. It was horrible waking up in a wet bed. It's much better if I do it in a nappy."

I could hardly believe my ears. This was a complete reversal of the familiar situation, and I was caught without the usual arguments.

"You're not going to do it in a nappy or otherwise. You're past that now. There's no going back. You're a big girl now, not a little baby. And you wouldn't want Jack to know, would you?" I kicked myself for not throwing that bag of nappies right away, but it had been a very busy day.

"He's fast asleep." Damn! She was closing on a minor point, as Percy would put it, and my killer thrust had been expertly parried. "He'll never know, but if I wet the bed, he's bound to notice. I can hide a wet nappy from him, but not a wet bed. I'll put it on myself, and take it off myself, and then neither of you need be involved, and I'll feel safe and secure, and be able to get some sleep. I'm, very tired after today," - she wasn't the only one - "and that's now the big thing that's worrying me. Please, Mum!"

It was stupid of me, but I didn't want a scene, and I conceded the point. Holly took a nappy from the pack and started to fumble herself into it. I was at the limit of my own endurance, and ended up nappying her on the old way, before patting her on the bottom and putting her to bed. I'd had enough, and retired myself very soon after, leaving Amelia and Vickie chatting in the lounge. I didn't mention what had happened upstairs, as I was too tired to repeat the argument I had lost. Tomorrow Peter would be safely back in the country, and hopefully I would be able to see him.