Phone Conversation

[freswith]

I have an idea to carry this on. Would anyone like to give me some feedback as to whether it would be worth it? Does anyone have any ideas of what they would like to see in it? (Anything will be considered - although it will probably be ignored!)

[alex 04]

please carry on with this i like it

[dondd]

Please carry on! Thanks!

[Drillers]

yes pleaaase do carry on

[freswith]

I have a new story ready, but I'm having some difficulty uploading it from Word, as it chooses some outlandish typeface for me. Can anyone tell which typeface and size is used as the default on this site?

[freswith]

Three years later

On station

I'd gone round to Tom and Emma's to do some baby-sitting. It had become a regular occurrence, as it allowed them a chance to go out and I could study in something like peace, which the flat often lacked. I arrived during bath-time, a little earlier than usual to enjoy the stroll through the park in daylight, as it's not a place to wander after dark. Aunt Emma had William on her lap, pink, powdered and wriggling as an acreage of terry towelling was wrapped around him despite the desperate kicking of his chubby legs. Tom and Emma were both into ecology and eschewed the use of disposable nappies as much as possible in favour of traditional terry squares, although young William, his legs now spread by the bulk of his night-nappies, would probably have demurred. Emma greeted me cheerfully and offered me a drink, but I declined as Tom's potent home-made elderberry wine was not conducive to an evening's study. Emma completed William's preparation for bed and laid him down on the sofa with his bottle.

"I wasn't expecting you quite so early" she said. "Vickie wanted to be done by me before you came. You know how it is, she's so shy about it." she turned to where Vickie was cowering, three-quarters behind the wing of the sofa, thumb in mouth, and dressing-gown held firmly closed.

"Come on Vickie, it's your turn! Don't be silly, Juliet's family, and you know her very well."

Vickie shuffled her feet and still looked down, her face reddening with embarrassment. Somewhere underneath a mass of tears was gathering itself to erupt like a volcano. I felt so ashamed to be the cause of the little girl's humiliation, and offered to go and make a cup of tea but Emma wouldn't have any of it. She kite-folded a nappy on the floor, added a booster and a liner, took Vickie's arm, and steered her over it, taking the dressing gown from around her. Vickie's shoulders began to shake and the sobs came upward. Emma told her again not to be so silly, dipped her fingers into the ointment pot and smeared the nappy-rash cream thickly over Vickie's crotch. I was desperately trying to look elsewhere, anything to let Vickie off the hook, but Emma picked up the nappy, slipped it between Vickie's legs and asked me to take the other side. Reluctantly I picked the corners up, and together we lifted it and wrapped it around Vickie's waist. Emma passed me a nappy pin and I secured my side, clicking the pink cap down to lock it closed. Vickie's tummy heaved with the silent sobs, but Emma didn't relent. The plastic baby pants were shaken out, the leg-holes scrunched, and Vickie, steadying herself with her hands on our shoulders, raised each foot in turn into the respective hole. We hoisted the white pants up Vickie's legs swiftly and pulled the waist over her bulging nappy, then Emma ran her fingers around the waist and leg elastics to ensure that it was all safely tucked in. Vickie shuffled her feet, and adjusted the elastics slightly, her face red and squeezed under the screen of her pale blonde tresses. "There! All done! That wasn't so bad, was it?"

It could have been worse; at least Vickie hadn't wet her nappy as it was being put on. It's a bit much to be still in nappies at eight years old, but that was quite usual for the girls in our family, and Vickie was usually dry in the day, and could cope with school without protection. Emma proffered the pink sleeper suit, and Vickie stepped into the legs, and gratefully slipped her arms into the sleeves. The zip was pulled up to her collar, and her hair was eased out onto her shoulders. If Vickie ever woke up needing a pee, it was plain that she was expected to do it in her nappy rather than use the lavatory, and there was no way her nappy would come off during the night through accident or design, or sag when wet. Accepting her constriction, Vickie looked up, swallowed, and took a deep breath. The worst of her embarrassment was over but I still felt so sorry for her. Emma picked the baby up and carried him upstairs to his cot, while Vickie waddled over to the sofa and sat down at the back of it, taking a cushion and cuddling it into her lap, doing her best to conceal the giveaway bulge.

"Don't worry, Vickie, we've all been through it, you'll dry up eventually." My words rang hollow. We both knew that it was true, an article of faith within the family, but Vickie was still an eight-year-old girl who had just been nappied like a baby, as she had every night since she had been born. She knew that her friends were cheerfully getting themselves to bed confidently expecting to be dry in the morning while she would wake up wet, sticky and clammy to face the humiliation of being stripped off and wiped down with a minimum of sympathy. "It was very brave of you not to cry. I could see how much it was hurting you. I remember how it felt when I had to put up with it."

Vickie looked up. "Does it really stop, then, or are you just telling me that to make me feel better?"

I sat down beside her. "It'll stop. Quite soon. And quite suddenly. That's the way it goes. Look at us. We've all done it, and it's always stopped, then you'll be out of nappies altogether."

"Yes, but when?"

"I really don't know. Amelia was ten, I was twelve. You'd better ask your Mum when it happened to her."

"Eleven," she said. "and I'm only eight! It'll be years yet!"

"It'll happen, and soon, don't you worry. Do you ever wake up in the night and want the lavatory?"

"Well, yes, sometimes."

"What do you do?"

"Well, I don't have any choice. I have to do it in my nappy. Mum tells me I must never take it off, and it'd very difficult even if I was allowed to. I just wet my nappy and go back to sleep, it's not too uncomfortable, and Mum never ticks me off for having a wet nappy in the mornings. She just says it'll be a few years yet before I'm dry."

I decided to change the subject. "Have you seen your bridesmaid dress yet?"

"No, not yet. We're going up to Gran's next weekend to have a fitting."

"That'll be nice."

Vickie looked up at me and wrinkled her nose. "Don't like going to Gran's" she said.

"Why ever not? She'll be delighted to see you. And she makes marvellous cakes."

"She makes me wear nappies all the time. To prevent "accidents" she says. Mum says that I'll have to wear a nappy under my dress during your wedding, as well. The dress is to be fitted to go over one. Everyone will know, though, there'll be a huge bulge and the plastic pants will rustle and give everything away." The tears threatened to reappear. "I don't wet during the daytime. Not even on car trips. Not even if I have one on. I can hold it!"

"Oh, yes you do!" said Emma from the doorway, "Last month, on the way back from Gran's, we had to pull into a lay-by and change both you and William. You were both very wet."

"Don't remember that."

"You should have done. You said some pretty harsh things about it at the time."

"Doesn't count. It was late at night and I'd been asleep."

"Well, it was a well-wetted nappy just the same. I'm not going to have you spoil Juliet's wedding by having an accident at the crucial moment. You're going to be in nappies, and like it. We've even got some nice new pants for you that won't rustle too much. No, never mind, you'll have a lovely day. We'll be back about eleven, Juliet, will that be alright?" I nodded.

The front door closed, and Vickie relaxed a little. "You know, I really don't want to be a bridesmaid if it means wearing nappies. I'd feel so stupid, waddling along with all the grown-ups looking down at me. Would you mind awfully if I didn't do it?"

"Yes, Vickie, I'd mind a lot. I want you there, and I want you to be happy. Perhaps there's something we could do."

"Mum won't listen. Every time I try to talk to her she just shuts off and tells me it going to be nappies. Parents! I'll never understand them!"

"Perhaps Gran might help."

"No, she doesn't listen either. Every time I try to tell her, she just says it's up to Mum."

"Perhaps I could have a word with her. She's very good at fixing things like that." This was something of an understatement; Gran was one of those people who could enter a revolving door behind you and come out in front. Vickie stayed silent, and just shook her head. That made it a challenge for me. I wanted to prove just how effective Gran could be if approached correctly. I picked up the telephone and dialled Pembroke's number.

"Hi Gran, it's me!... Yes, I'm fine, and you?....Good. I'm at Emma's babysitting (the word slipped out before I could stop it ) Vickie and William....Yeah, they're both fine... Poor Vickie's a bit depressed though, about the wedding..... Well, Emma's insisting that she wears nappies all day....No, of course she doesn't want to ... Well, she doesn't wear them normally in the day, except on long car journeys,... Yes I expect there will be other children there in nappies, but they aren't eight years old.... Well, you know Emma; great big terry squares, bulging out at the sides and making her waddle. It's a bit much, you know..... Yes, I know it's a long ceremony, but it's not more than an hour from loo to loo, and she can do that easily.... Well Emma will be there, and perhaps Amelia will help, she'll be right beside her all the time..... Look if she really does have an accident, she'll be unhappy for only part of the time. If she has to be bundled up in nappies she'll be unhappy all of the time, and I don't want to be a source of misery for her, (now for the killer!) it'd spoil my day.... Yes, you still there, Gran?.... I don't want to be followed around by a sad, tearful little girl. Anyway, I'm supposed to be the one doing the blushing.... Go on, you're great at fixing things. Surely you can talk some sense to Emma..... For little Vickie's sake, poor kid, she's really wound up about it.... You will? Oh that's great!...Yes, she's right here I'll put her on..."

Vickie held the phone in both hands and chatted away. I mused on how different the two generations were. Gran had been brought up during the war, and perhaps that had given her a much more broad-minded approach to life. Mum and Emma were very much post-war children, had had a much easier time of it, and as a result seemed to have higher expectations of everything.

Gran's practical broad-mindedness had surfaced when she gave a much-discussed talk at the local Ladies' Institute on "The Role of Women in the Modern Navy", and had covered subjects in a detail that had caused the vicar to splutter and drop his teacup. Grandpa hadn't been there - thankfully - or he might have learned a thing or two. His view of the vicar was that he was fine at praising the Lord, but would be no good for passing the ammunition. Following her talk, Gran had formed a friendship with fellow-member Miss Berry, Amelia's headmistress and a fine example of the British Battleaxe. This had been useful on number of occasions.

Amelia had grown mightily in confidence as well as size, and she was now as tall as me. I hoped that she might grow a little larger so that she wouldn't be able to "borrow" my clothes, and it was clear she had further to go yet. Her confidence had been forged in the hunting field, where she had honed her tactical skills to avoid Mum's entreaties to "Come Home Now, Dear, you must be tired!" in order to follow the pack to the final kill. It culminated at dusk on a winter's day in a circle of tired horses and panting hounds when the huntsman, after wading through the steaming pack to retrieve the corpse of a large fox, and cutting the brush from it, had called Amelia over. He wiped the bloody brush on her forehead and cheeks in the ancient ritual that admitted her to the inner circle of the hunting world. Mum had had hysterics, compounded to fury when Amelia resisted all attempts to wash the blood off her face, saying it had to remain there for twenty-four hours. Mum's ultimate deterrent, demanding to know "What will Miss Berry say when she sees it!" was answered very simply.

"She's seen it. She was there. She congratulated me." Game to Amelia.

Gran had been there one teatime when Amelia had come home from school sporting a black eye and a thick lip. Mum had panicked and was all for taking Amelia to the hospital, but Amelia objected. "There were five of them." she said. "They were taunting me about having had to wear nappies. But it's all right - I won!"

Gran, unshaken, only laughed. "Just you against five?" she asked.

"At first. Then Matt waded in and helped. We sent them packing."

"Matt who?" asked Gran, and I had the impression of her ears being pricked.

"Matt Johnson." replied Amelia. "He hangs around."

I imagined I could hear the scratch of Gran's pen as the name was committed to memory. In due course, Matt had received an invitation to visit Pembroke for tea and inspection, after which he had become a regular feature. When Miss Berry heard about the fracas, as of course she did, her only reaction was to select Amelia for the hockey team.

My musings were terminated by Vickie ending her call. She seemed much happier. "Gran says that she understands and she'll try to think of something."

"She usually manages that." I had had long experience of Gran's machinations and felt confident that she could handle Emma. A thought occurred to me; "When you're going up to Gran's this weekend, will you be there for both days?"

"Both days. Dad's staying here, he's too busy, and we're taking William."

"Hmm. I might cadge a lift." My revision had been going well, and I could do with a break. Peter was on a course a long way up country, but he might be able to get to Pembroke at a weekend. All I needed was transport.

[jbz2079]

As usuall absolutly brillient, I have read some great stories on this site, but this one is very special, as usuall very well written, a pleasure to read, Thank you very much. - John.

[Pollyanna Fleshman]

Wow! this is awesome! I am so glad you decided to continue.

[freswith]

Skirmish

I knocked on Emma's door on Saturday morning at the agreed time, and Tom let me in. I dropped my bag on the floor and chatted to Tom about the weather and my exams, ignoring the raised voices that came down the stairwell. Emma was insisting that Vickie wear a nappy for the journey and Vickie was protesting loudly that she didn't need one. The row went on for some time until Tom called up the stairs to say that Juliet had arrived. The voices dropped immediately and shortly afterwards Emma came down the stairs carrying young William. I helped her with her bags and turned to see Vickie coming down the stairs, a picture of dejection. Her pink sundress was none too long, and the pillow of a disposable nappy bulged between her legs and was clearly visible from my position. I made a point of neither staring nor commenting, as it was obvious that she was feeling the humiliation keenly.

Emma bustled out to the door with William and the baggage and I waited for Vickie to follow. Vickie waited for me. Emma returned from the car having strapped William in, and called to Vickie. I put my arm around the child and gave her a squeeze. "Never mind, come on, let's do it." and I picked up her bag as well as mine and nudged her towards the door. Vickie stuck her head out, looked both ways to make sure the street was clear, and then trotted swiftly across to the car. Her padded posterior revealed that she was thickly nappied, and she wasted no time in climbing into the car and shuffling into her seat. Emma strapped her into the back seat with swift, practised movements, as Vickie sat there like a sack of potatoes. I settled myself into the front seat while Emma was sorting out her handbag and keys. Tom briefly kissed her goodbye and waved as we drove down the road.

I turned to Vickie, who was sitting splay-legged in the back wearing an enormous nappy which would have been enough for a trip across the Atlantic, let alone the two-and-a-half hours it would take us to get to Gran's. "Are you alright, Vickie?" I asked. She nodded sullenly.

"Oh, don't worry about her," said Emma, "she's just being moody because I make her wear a nappy on these longer trips. She's quite used to it really. It saves an awful mess on the car seats."

"I'm never dirty!" protested Vickie, "That's what William does!"

"But you're wet sometimes," replied Emma, "and that's almost as bad. Never mind, we'll have to stop for petrol somewhere, and you can use the toilet then. Your nappy is just a precaution." Vickie didn't reply.

We talked about the wedding, and about the family. I was quite cautious in what I said, because I knew the inherent strains within. Tom was a university lecturer, much into a liberal ecological viewpoint that did not necessarily ring with Grandpa's long career in the Royal Navy. Likewise Percy, Grandpa's only son, had chosen to make a career in the law, specialising in commercial practice, and breaking a long family tradition of naval service. Grandpa's initial scepticism had been tempered by Percy's considerable success, but only turned to approval when Percy had taken silk and become head of his chambers. Then Grandpa said he could forgive Percy everything as long as he didn't go into politics, as he had had a bad time dealing with them when ashore in Whitehall, and despised the whole breed. Percy and Tom were as different as chalk and cheese, and conversation had to be steered away from sensitive issues when they were both present.

When Peter graduated from Dartmouth he had missed the Sword of Honour by only a few points. Grandpa had expressed some satisfaction, as he said that had Peter achieved the honour, it would have been ascribed to Grandpa's patronage and string pulling, and would not have boded well for Peter's career. In a quiet ceremony at home Grandpa had given his own sword to Peter, and the symbolism of the gift was not lost on any of us.

Vickie and William had been very quiet, William because he was fast asleep, but Vickie just sat there looking out of the window with an unread book on her lap. As we passed Oxford, Emma pulled into the service area on the bypass for petrol, which woke William up and he began to cry. My attempts to soothe him seemed to be counter-productive and Emma decided to take him into the café for a change, but only after subjecting Vickie to a rather public nappy-check. I remained in the car with a red-faced and bristling Vickie. As Emma departed out of sight with baby and changing-bag I asked Vickie if she wanted to go to the loo.

"I can't go." she replied, "Not like this! Everyone will see! I'll have to try and hold it until we reach Gran's." I thought on that for a moment.

"Do you have any pants in your bag?"

"I think so. I put them in, but Mum might have taken them out again. Gran usually makes me wear nappies all the time when I'm there, and Mum just lets her. It's horrible!"

"Which bag is yours?"

"The pink one."

"Right!"

I went round the back and rummaged in the pink bag until I found a pair of pants, and passed them to Vickie. "Quickly now! Before she comes back!"

"I'll get into trouble if I take my nappy off!"

"Don't worry, I'll back you up."

She changed in seconds, and was on her feet outside the car when Emma returned with William.

"Oh, I'm glad you're back. We can go now." and I gave Vickie a prod in the back. Without further do she ran around Emma and disappeared into the café. I followed, smiling widely at Emma as she started to protest, but by then it was too late.

We returned to find Emma waiting by the car door, arms akimbo, and not looking terribly pleased. Vickie's now-untenanted nappy was now lying open on the back seat, ready to resume its duties.

"What have I always told you?" she glared at Vickie. I closed up behind Vickie, and placed my hand on the open back door, and guided in, speaking calmly to Emma.

"She needed the loo, but was too embarrassed to go in with her nappy showing. All done now."

"It will be when we get it back on."

"Oh, come on Emma, its barely an hour to Gran's. That's only a short trip and she can surely manage to stay dry that long." Vickie had by now strapped herself back in and gathered her book onto her lap, giving the appearance of reading it avidly. Emma's opportunity was passing second by second. I closed the door carefully, moving against it and in between Vickie and Emma. I turned back to Emma. And smiled. Opportunity gone!

The next ten minutes passed in silence and it wasn't until we were passing the shopping estate at Bicester that Emma spoke, regretting that she would have liked to have done some shopping in the designer outlets. I would have liked to as well, but I was a little deficient in currency, and I was saving what I had for our honeymoon. I also suspected that Emma would have had the nappy back on Vickie very quickly given half a chance. We carried on. I turned once or twice to check on the children, and was greeted by a cheerful smile and wink from Vickie's big blue eyes. I asked what book she was reading, and it was "The Borrowers". It had been one of my favourites too, and we chatted about the adventures of Pod, Homily and Arrietty until we arrived at Gran's house.

[Pollyanna Fleshman]

i love your story andd i'm glad you are continuing it. I was so happy to see that you wrote another chapter.

I've always thought of this family to be strange for the simple fact that they are not allowed to remove there diapers even if they know they have to use the bathroom. I feel like that would keep them dependent on them longer. they judge dryness by being able to stay dry an entire night without having to use the bathrom at all, which is totally unrealistic. But, i know a lot of people who wake up at least once to use it. I feel like forcing them to go into their diapers because they'd get into trouble for taking them off hinders progress because they'd just go in the diapers in fear of being in trouble. Not healthy. Sorry. I just had to rant. I have been wanting to for a long time. I think about the strangeness of the family every time I read. It is interesting, though, because I can't wait to see how much stranger they could get.

I hope that you decide to write again soon. This is very enjoyable.

[freswith]

A good point. I think it is time to write the foreword - let's call it a midword.

The underlying themes are the family's fatalistic assumption that their children will always remain incontinent until puberty, and then dry up. This has been backed by experience running through the generations. This is reinforced by an overly strong sense of discipline resulting from their service tradition. Children are simply told that they are going to dry up at that stage, and not to remove their nappies in the meantime. Parents accept that the children will be wet, and that the simpler solution is just to nappy them and avoid accidents and scenes. The story is really one of questioning this assumption, of empowerment and revolt. Juliet hits rock bottom when, acutely depressed, she sits by the pond, dabbles her feet in the water, and wets her nappy out of sheer misery. It is the arrival of Peter, as a deus-ex-machina that shakes her out of her self-pity and kindles her own self-awareness, and forces her final spectacular revolt. The long forgotten strap hanging on the back of the nursery door represents the fatalistic acceptance and the excessive discipline; she revolted once before, got it wrong, was savagely punished, and the repression was reinforced every time the nursery door closed and the strap slapped against it. Juliet found it easier to play along with the system and wet herself rather than risk the strap again. Gran had long since forgotten all about it, and was caught by surprise when Juliet finally snapped. Juliet's personal demon represents her subdued feelings rising to the surface like a volcanic eruption and forcing her to take control of her life. For the fun of it, I wrapped it around the coming of age and a pretty romance, and added a few characters to make it flow. Some of the incentive came from the Fritzl case, which affected me deeply; I wanted to write about a young girl breaking free of her confinement. Like the characters, the story really wrote itself.

Juliet was originally a picture of a young girl in a nappy, speaking on the phone, and the original "egg" story was really an expanded caption. It "just growed" like Topsy.I wondered what she would be saying. I carried over her serious, concentrated expression and apparent intelligence into the rather straight, responsible, serious Juliet. The greatest fun in writing is developing the characters; starting with a stick-figure and fleshing them out until, as in the old cliche, they start writing themselves. You just know how that person would react in that situation.

Gran developed from an old-fashioned tyrant into a proper old-fashioned Gran. Granpa was originally put in to explain why she lived in the big old house, and why he was absent from "Egg" - he was on duty, or even at sea, which made a a seaman or serviceman. Working out why he was still there at what must have been nearly sixty years, he had to be a senior officer, of flag rank. All the others would have retired by then. This would give him some problems re-adjusting to civilian life and idle retirement, which explains his rather gruff and dictatorial nature, and the rest of the family pulling his leg about it. The family's language is still laced with nautical terms, as you will have seen. The "long naval tradition" is a good peg on which to hang the excessive discipline, and the inherited wealth of the family allows a generous stage setting, with a large, old fashioned nursery, lots of bedrooms, large garden, pond, commodious kitchen & laundry etc.. "Pembroke" is Gran's family home, sited somewhere around Woburn/Woburn Sands/Aspley Guise area, near Milton Keynes, a score of miles from Whipsnade Zoo and Ashridge Forest, and the safari park is within Woburn Abbey estate. (Peter and Juliet went to school at Bedford, and Juliet went on to Bristol University, to be within striking distance of Dartmouth. I don't know what she studied. Any suggestions? Nothing too clever - I don't want her to be intimidating!) This explains why the Admiral lives so far from the sea; Gran had the money and the house, and backed him all the way through his career.

The setting is twenty or thirty years ago, just when disposable nappies, nasty, leaky, and non-resealable were just coming in, and not approved by the traditionalist Gran. It also frees me from having to include mobile phones and emails, which simplifies the interaction of the characters.

Gran has another side to her. She has kept her man loyal and content for nearly fifty years by making sure he is thoroughly screwed whenever he gets leave. She has never had a "headache" in her life, and her management of Juliet involves training her in how to manage a sailor - such as the remark about it taking three days to get the smell of the submarine out of the submariner when he comes home on leave. She managed to set up the house-sitting episode for Juliet by pulling every string in the book, and managed to do so without Juliet realising what was being done for her.

Amelia started as Juliet's "bete noir" and general ball-and-chain, a convenient excuse for bracketing her with the infant for purpose of feeding, bedding, changing and general abuse. Noxious, utterly self centred, spoilt, demanding, she acts as a foil for Juliet's every attempt to escape her predicament. (I modelled her on a particularly unpleasant aquaintance). In the way of things, she has outgrown the stick figure and now writes herself. She has had the good fortune of an older sister to act as a role-model and as a protector. She is actually a much stronger, wilder character than Juliet, a bit of a tomboy, and has inherited a larger share of the warrior genes that probably stem from generations of pirates/naval warriors. We will see a lot more of her.

The present story is mostly written, and is being padded out and polished. It will cover the period up to Juliet's wedding to Peter, and her facing the choice of career or motherhood. The purpose of Vickie is to get Juliet to take up arms once again (this is really an anti-diaper tale, as you have probably realised) and to start to see both sides of the mother-child discipline problem, and perhaps in a future episode I will draw it round in a full circle.

It has been a fascinating mental exercise for me in trying to get inside the head of a young woman - I hope I have not made too many obvious mistakes. It has been written especially for this peculiar market, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

[freswith]

Line of Battle

Pembroke was all a-bustle with Mum and Amelia also there, so Amelia could have a fitting of her bridesmaid's dress and Gran was busy marking out the places where she would have to let it out to accommodate Amelia's burgeoning adolescent frame. I helped to carry the bags in as Emma took over the nursery. With Peter expected to arrive at any moment, I had been given the honour of occupying the second bedroom, while Emma had been relegated to the third.

Gran strode into the nursery carrying Vickie's dress, and laid it on the cot rail, well away from William, who had been consigned to the fenced-off play-pen area for the occasion. Amelia, back in her usual jeans and tee shirt, gangled in behind her, and sat herself up on the changing table, the item of furniture that Vickie had been so careful to avoid.

"Come on Vickie, your turn!" and Vickie came forward cheerfully. Emma stripped Vickie's sundress off as Gran fluffed the bridesmaid dress into shape. Gran paused for a moment, kneeling in front of Vickie. "Ah, yes. In the matter of underwear, I listened to what Juliet said, and I've thought of just the right thing for you!" and with that she produced a triangular prefold nappy, beautifully made, satin-edged, but a nappy all the same. Vickie's face fell, and her shoulders slumped. Gran slipped Vickie's pants down, passed the nappy around her waist, pulled the tail up between her legs and fastened the three corners together with a pink nappy-pin. A brief twitch and adjustment and Gran sat back to admire her work. Vickie just stood there looking utterly crestfallen, shifting from foot to foot to accommodate the sudden arrival of several layers of towelling between her legs.

"But you said...."

"Well, it's not bulky, Vickie, and it doesn't bulge out, and with the pants no one will hear anything, and if you do have a little accident, nobody will ever know." And with that she produced a pair of covered baby pants, with the final insult: Frills! Pink ones! How Vickie kept from crying, I do not know; she had wonderful self-control for an eight-year-old. Gran scrunched the pants and Emma moved up behind Vickie, taking her shoulders, and easing her forward, so she had little choice but to step into the proffered plastic pants, whereupon Gran pulled them up promptly and unceremoniously over her nappy. "There you are, dear, are you comfy now? You look so cute!" Two large tears started to make their way down Vickie's cheeks, and she sniffed, but by then Gran had already risen to her feet and turned away to pick up the bridesmaid's dress. It was passed over Vickie's head with a rustle of apricot satin and when her reddened face reappeared she looked up at me with an awful appeal in her swimming eyes. It had gone too far. I had to act.

"No, Gran, this wasn't what I meant! It's not what I meant at all!" There was a sudden hush. Amelia stopped swinging her legs, and sat up. The atmosphere became charged. If it had been a wild-west saloon, the piano would have tonked to a stop in mid-phrase, the barman would be slowly reaching down below the counter for the sawn-off shotgun, and the Sheriff would loom between the bat-wing doors. In the silence I heard wheels crunch on the gravel drive and the burble of a tuned exhaust; reinforcements were on their way. In the meantime, gunbelts were hitched and coats turned back to clear holsters.

"What did you mean then, Juliet?"

"She doesn't need nappies at all!"

"She soaked one pretty thoroughly last night, Juliet" snapped Emma.

"But she's dry during the day. She doesn't wear them to school and manages to stay dry all day then."

"We certainly don't want your day spoiled with an accident, Juliet," said Gran calmly "it's your big day, remember!"

"I don't want to be followed up the aisle by a miserable humiliated bridesmaid, either. That would spoil it for me."

"That's nonsense. Vickie's quite accustomed to having to wear nappies on big occasions, isn't that right Vickie?" Vickie's only response was to drop a large tear onto the satin of her dress.

"There's not more than forty minutes to any part of the wedding. I'm sure Vickie can cope with that."

"There wouldn't be a loo in the church!" said Emma.

"There's a bog in the vestry!" Amelia's voice, unusually deep, cut in beside me. She had dropped silently from the changing table and taken her place in the firing-line. It was now two against two. "Where do you think the vicar goes just before each service?" How Amelia knew that was beyond me; a keen church-goer she was most certainly not.

"What we really want to do, Juliet, is to give Vickie a really good reason to get her bladder under control." growled Gran, "It worked with you, and you seemed to have worked it with Amelia. It's a well proven method of getting kids out of their comfort-trap - as you know."

"I do know, and there's nothing comfortable about wearing a wet nappy. It's a fresh memory for me and even more for Amelia. But it's too hard on Vickie, it's her biggest day as well, and I'm just afraid it might all be too much for her. There's the potential there for a real breakdown, and a major scene. Do you want our little family secret to be broadcast to all and sundry? With Peter's family there?"

"Well she doesn't have to be a bridesmaid." snapped Emma. "If she isn't up to it she can stay with me in the pew. In a nappy, of course."

Vickie finally broke. With a wail she ran and flung her arms around my waist, and buried her head in my tee shirt, sobbing heartily. She had run to me.... to me, and not to her mother.

"That's cruel, that's really, really cruel," said Amelia, "She's been looking forward to this so much and for so long. You just can't do this to her. Juliet's the bride, and I'm the chief bridesmaid. I'll look after Vickie - and Juliet for that matter - and I'll take responsibility for any puddles on the church floor. That fool of a vicar would probably consecrate them anyway."

Gran actually smiled. She turned to face Emma. Three against one. Vickie released me and turned to face her mother. Amelia closed up on her other side and took her hand. Outflanked by the generations, Emma deflated. "Well, I imagine we can take the chance then. We'll do it your way."

The barman spat into a glass and started to polish it. The honky-tonk piano recommenced, and the sheriff departed.

Peter appeared in the doorway. "Something going on?"

"Just making some plans for the wedding." I replied, and went to his arms. During a long kiss, my adrenalin levels settled a little. Just a little. Then they started to rise again. By the time we broke Vickie had been divested of her dress, and Emma had reclaimed her, replacing her sundress but leaving her in her nappy and pants - whether by oversight or design I couldn't tell. Then, in a splendid act of insensitivity Emma picked her up, lifted her over the play-area rail and dropped her inside, telling her to play with William for a while. For a moment, I thought we were going to have another flood of tears, but Amelia promptly swung her amazingly long legs over the rail, took Vickie's hand, sat her down and together they began making a fuss of William. A whispered conversation was obviously taking place between them.

Gran declared the sun to be over the yard-arm and that she felt like she needed a glass of sherry, and so ushered us all towards the door.

[Pollyanna Fleshman]

Wow! I love how this is unfolding, and Emma is really a BITCH! She is the example of a parent that could cause lasting psychological problems in children. Children could really become depressed and or violent when ignored. You are an awesome writer, and I love how you can make your characters come to life and seem so real. I love how you write in such a way that you get your readers drawn into the story in many ways, curiosity, and emotion. I feel pity for some characters and hatred for others and then I feel happiness for others. that is what I call an excellent writer, when he can draw his readers into the story as if he is right there in the moment with the characters. My reactions to the strange family ideals, the hatred toward Emma, and the pity for Vickie is not a bad thing, and it is ot a sign of me disliking or criticizing what you write. It is a sign of a fabulous writer who has the ability to draw up different emotions and feelings in his audience. Have you ever thought of publishing a book?

You do very well in portraying women. That is what makes an awesome story writer, when he can step out of himself and create different characters with differing personalities. You certainly do that well. I've seen no problems. I'm addicted to your stories, and I can't wait to see more.

[Drillers]

I Must agree with Pollyanna Fleshman You are a fabulous writer keep up the great work

[freswith]

Close Action

After lunch was cleared we lounged on the patio for a while, enjoying the sunshine. Peter and I rocked gently in the swing chair in each other's arms and in total bliss, murmuring sweet nothings to each other. By and by Vickie strolled past carrying her book, and I noticed a pink frill beneath the hem of her sun-dress. I called her over softly. "Vickie, dear, have you still got a nappy on?"

She shrugged. "Mum let me go to the loo after lunch, when she changed William, but then she put it on me again. I expect Gran is worried I will have an accident on her precious carpets, or something."

"That's a bit much, isn't it? Perhaps Gran might be happier if you wore a piece of carpet. Surely you don't need to wear a nappy in the day?"

" I suppose not. I just didn't want another argument. I didn't want Mum to maybe change her mind about the wedding. I just want to avoid trouble. It's not uncomfortable, I'm only amongst family and no-one else can see."

I could see her point, and nodded. "If you ever want to go to the loo, and need help putting it back on, don't hesitate to ask. We certainly don't want an accident when we're ahead." She smiled and thanked me, and wandered over to where Amelia was engaged in the never-ending task of patting Asbo's tummy, squatted down beside them and took on a share of the workload. I watched her for a while, the long blonde hair, the pink dress and the frills and began to get a little broody. I wanted a little girl like that, one day, to care for and bring up. I rolled towards Peter, and pulled his arm closer around me.

"Amelia, how do you know about the loo in the Vestry?" I asked.

"Matt was in the choir until his voice broke. The Vicar gets rather nervous before a service and he dives in for a pee."

"I hope he washes his hands afterwards. I wouldn't like to take communion if..."

"The boys used to place bets on whether he'd remember. It became a joke. He found out. Now he washes every time...religiously!"

The chatter of Gran's sewing machine was coming from an upstairs window; eventually it came to a stop and Amelia was summoned. She gave Asbo a final pat and murmuring "Here we go again!" set off for another fitting. Asbo rolled over and trotted off after her, and Vickie stood up. She wandered back over to us, and I leaned forward and pulled the hem of her sundress down over her pants where it had ridden up. I budged Peter over a few inches and sat Vickie down beside me, giving her a brief cuddle. It made me even broodier. I had been looking forward to starting a job and having a career, but now with the warm heavy bodies either side of me, I felt my ideas softening towards the idea of family life. Asbo returned, having found that Amelia had been summoned for boring human things instead of food or walking, and I patted my lap. Accepting the invitation he jumped up into it, and after greeting Peter and receiving a good scratch on his back, lay down panting, and completed my family group.

Mum came out with her camera, took a photograph of us sitting there in the swinger and said "Quite the wife and mother!" and I laughed. I was feeling very happy.

Emma appeared at the nursery window and called Vickie to come up. "I don't need a change, I'm not wet!" she replied.

"No, it's just for a fitting." replied Emma. Vickie shuffled off the swinger, and then turned and looked at me with a worried exp?ression. I told her not to worry, I would come with her, and I unravelled myself from Peter and Asbo, and started to follow her indoors.

"Juliet, remember she's Emma's daughter, not yours." said Mum softly, "Don't encroach!"

"I think she was a bit upset about what happened this morning, Mum, Old Gran did come on a bit strong. She's worried that they'll change their minds and make her wear nappies all day at the wedding."

"Well, remember that is Emma's decision, not yours."

"Mum, you weren't there. They agreed that she wouldn't wear them, and I don't think they should browbeat her into anything different."

"Well perhaps they are afraid of an accident and a scene!"

"Mum, there's something wrong there. Poor Vickie is being made to wear nappies all day here, and she never does at home or at school. It can't just be because Gran is afraid she's going to have an accident. They're putting so much pressure on poor little Vickie. It won't help her get dry."

"Don't interfere, Juliet. If you ever have children, you will understand. Mothers know what's best for their children, and that includes knowing when they need to wear nappies."

Something stung me about that. It was clear I wasn't in the mother's union yet, that they still regarded me as a child.

With that I stepped into the house. Mum followed.

We reached the nursery just to find Amelia swaying up and down in the strangeness of high heels; she was more normally found in trainers or riding boots, and her recent growth spurt had left her with legs that had minds of their own. Gran and Emma were chuckling at her efforts, and Amelia's sense of humour was obviously wearing a bit thin. Mum smiled, and picking up Vickie's book, balanced it carefully on Amelia's head. "Remember your dancing lessons, balance the book, keep your chin up, and take little steps, placing one foot in front of the other.... There!... That's better!" and it was a great improvement. The gangling teenager, preoccupied by balancing the book, managed to get her body into some sense of order, and achieved at least the appearance of elegance.

Emma began to undress Vickie, removing her sundress, and then, out of habit, checking her nappy.

"Well done, dear, you're nice and dry."

"Can I take it off then, to try on the dress?"

"Let's just try on the dress, shall we?"

Vickie looked briefly at Amelia, "If I have to wear a nappy, can I have a free one, please?"

"A what one?"

"A free one... If I'm not allowed take my nappy off, can I wet it anyway, without being blamed?"

"I haven't heard of that one." said Emma. "Who's been talking to you?"

"Amelia. She said that if they made her wear a nappy in the daytime, she would be allowed to wet it without being blamed because she wasn't allowed to take it off."

Amelia didn't miss a step in her sentry-beat. "That's true! Couldn't go to the loo: did it in my nappy. If I'd asked for a free one it wouldn't be my fault."

Mum butted in. "I'm afraid it is true. On long journeys Amelia would be allowed a free one. Juliet too. In exchange they wouldn't make a scene about being nappied or changed. It would save us having to keep stopping on the side of the motorway every few miles. They could wet their nappies and be changed at the next stop, no names, no pack-drill. It was the only way we would ever have got to Provence. They were allowed free ones when they were ill in bed, as well. It allowed them to sleep whenever they felt like it without having to worry about wetting."

"It used to be the custom when they were staying here, too. Saved accidents, stopped arguments and recriminations. I think I used to call it Baby's Rules with you two, but it never played so well as calling them Free Ones." said Gran. Mum reddened slightly. Emma reddened a lot.

"You mean you allowed them to wet their nappies deliberately?"

"Of course!" said Amelia. I just nodded. I could - Amelia couldn't nod without tipping the book off. Gran nodded, too.

"So can I have a free one, please?" said Vickie.

She was changed into underpants in a matter of seconds. This time, when her face appeared from the top of her bridesmaid dress, she was grinning from ear to ear. Amelia doffed the book to her, and gave her an enormous wink. It was obvious that Vickie had got into bad company while immured in the play-pen. Gran looked at Amelia with a frown and pursed lips. "Can we get on with the fitting now, please?"

Vickie rejoined us on the patio, back in her sundress, but sans nappy. She went over to Amelia and gave her a hug, and Amelia rubbed the little girl's back. "Told you it would work!"

"Do you think they'll really let me go to the wedding without a nappy, then?"

"Sure they will. I'll tell them if they insist on you wearing one, then I'll wear one too. That should worry them."

"You'd never get one to fit you!" I told her.

"Oh yes I could. Up in the trunk in the attic. Remember that? They're all still there, including the big ones Gran had to buy specially for you, Juliet. Those frilly pants got split somehow, though." and she looked quizzically at me. I volunteered no opinion on how that might have happened, although the long and riotously kinky session that Peter and I had had in the nursery was still a pleasant memory. I think it had loosened all the joints on the changing table, too.

Mum took Amelia home; I would have liked to have supper with them, but the strain of catering for so many would have been a lot for Gran, who was approaching seventy, and Dad was at home expecting his supper. Emma put William to bed a little after six, and Vickie was bathed immediately after William, but rejoined us for a spell while Emma tried to settle William in the strange surroundings. Vickie no longer seemed to mind being seen in her night-nappies, even by Peter, who was something of a stranger to her, but this was the family stronghold of Pembroke, and she could feel she was on her own territory here, and all around were family. She was wearing a nightie under her dressing gown, which I was pleased to see, as the sleeper had been so confining, and she was still carrying her precious book, so I read it aloud to her for a while until Gran called that supper was ready. As a special privilege, Vickie was allowed to stay up and eat with the adults, before being packed off to bed between the sweet course and the coffee. As she was sleeping in the nursery with William, Emma had to sneak her into bed without undue ceremony, and since it was past her usual bedtime, she made no protest. I noted that she had not been "potted" after supper, and thought it a little strange, but made no comment; already that day I had pushed my luck as far as I could in challenging Emma's prerogatives.

We stayed up quite late, as there was much to be said between my grandparents and ourselves, and it was nearly midnight before we retired to the second bedroom to commence the next stage of our activities. Peter seemed a little reserved and I asked him what the matter was. He replied that he had just heard about his first squadron posting, and had held off announcing it because he wanted to tell me first, in private. I awaited the worst, I had been inured to the understanding that the Navy owned Peter, and in marrying him I was also becoming part of the service, going with him; the Queen commands and we obey, over the hills and far away and all that stuff. Now it was the crunch, and I expected to hear of some long unaccompanied posting in some ghastly foreign land, or on patrol for months in some distant sea. Eventually he told me the worst. "Culdrose!" he said. I felt quite relieved. Culdrose, in the remote heel of Cornwall had a mild climate, beautiful scenery, expensive property, and high unemployment. Getting a job would be difficult and starting a career, even with a degree, would be very difficult. It would be a case of a McDegree and a McJob, miles from anywhere. It looked like we would be renting for a while, and hopefully Peter's career would shape up, his location would stabilise, and we could save for the deposit for a house. In the meantime we would have to rent, and if I couldn't find a job on the station, and there was much competition for those jobs, I would probably have to serve teas to tourists. At least we would be settled for at least three years, and I could make the best of that to build a home for us. We slipped into bed, and started the gentle process of rediscovering each other.

There was a knock at the door, and a small voice softly calling my name. I groaned, and disentangled myself from Peter. "Alright Vickie!, I'm coming! What's the matter?" and quietly to Peter: "I'll only be a moment - wait up for me!" and tapped my forefinger on his nose - I could see his grin in the semi-darkness. I donned my dressing gown and opened the door to find a small unhappy figure silhouetted against the nursery nightlight, holding her pants up.

"I needed the toilet, so I took my nappy down and I can't get it back on right. You promised you'd help me. Mum'll be so angry if she finds out I took it off, and even angrier if I don't get it back right and I leak. She's very strict about it."

I grinned, stroked an errant lock of hair back from her face, and gave her a kiss. "Is that all? I was afraid you were wet, or even dirty. Come on, let's fix it then, and she'll probably never know. Now keep very quiet, and we'll try not to wake William."

I guided her back to the changing table and stripped off her pants and the shambles of her nappy. The nappy had been barely clammy; she had obviously got to the loo in time. I took a fresh one from the shelf under the table, folded it, replaced the booster, and - ye Gods! - a liner as well, and sat her in the middle of it. She lay back as I bought it up between her legs and pinned it, replacing the pants and checking the elastics to make a good leak-proof fit. "Please don't tell Mummy," she whispered, "She told me never to take my nappy off in the night."

"You did the right thing," I replied, "Mummy will be very pleased to hear that you did. Now hop back into bed, and have some sweet dreams!" I tucked her in and returned to Peter, where we resumed where we had left off.

Peter murmured softly in my ear, saying that I would make a wonderful mother to any babies I might have one day. The feelings that I had been having during the afternoon, combined with the career choices with which I was faced, resurfaced quite without my consciously summoning them, and my words tumbled out.

"Peter I don't want to have any babies.... I want to have your babies. Lots of them!" and I reached down and slowly peeled off his condom. He made no reply, but his powerful arms drew me tightly to him, and we made love like never before.

[babyjennie]

Gosh, freswith, you are talented! Great story, and well written, too. Keep up the good work.

Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

[freswith]

Many thanks for all your encouragement; it keeps me writing!

[freswith]

Sailing orders

We were late in getting up on the Sunday morning, and were the last to arrive at the breakfast table, but nobody commented: everybody loves a lover. Gran had been briefing me carefully on the duties of a wife when her sailor returned from the sea, and I had been an avid listener as, after nearly fifty years of marriage to Jack, Gran was an expert on the subject. We chatted lazily, and planned the day; Gran wanted another fitting to check her alterations to Vickie's dress, although Emma didn't want to be too late home with William. I just wanted to stay with Peter until the last possible moment. Peter was of like mind. We didn't set a firm timetable, but it was obvious that we would be parting about mid-afternoon, and I planned my day accordingly.

As I was completing the washing up, Amelia arrived with Matt, having cycled over from home. I was duly impressed, and took the chance to examine Matt more closely. A year or two older than Amelia, he was a well-built young lad with rusty hair that capped a slightly raw-boned face and a few pimples, and he was well-spoken and polite. He was no Peter, but then, for me, there was only ever one Peter. I asked him if he was coming to the wedding, but he said he had a camp arranged for that week. Further enquiries elicited that he was a keen member of the Sea Cadets, and I cast a sideways look at Granpa, who winked at me. It was plain he was up to his old tricks again. Amelia said that she wanted more practice in walking in high heels, and Gran cheerfully fetched the shoes and a book, remarking that Pride and Prejudice would do the job perfectly, and hoped that after it had improved Amelia's posture, she would read it and improve her mind. Amelia paid no attention to the leg-pull, but instead started to give us quite a good impression of a catwalk model as she stalked up and down the lounge. Vickie started to imitate her, and then Matt did a spoof which had us all laughing. Every so often the chatter of Gran's sewing machine would cease and Vickie or Amelia would be called up to try their dress on. The final results were a very good fit on the rather awkward body of the child, and a very flattering fit on Amelia. As she mastered her high-heeled deportment and the management of a long, full skirt, Amelia seemed to grow several years older, and Matt became rather quiet. Eventually, after lunch, even Gran the Perfectionist said she was satisfied, and cautioned both the girls to lay off the cream buns until the wedding.

Amelia and Matt went off to take the pretty way home, and Emma and I went up to pack. I stripped the bedclothes and took them to the laundry basket to find Emma and a red-faced Vickie standing there, on the same errand. Emma was holding a nappy in her hand, obviously the one I had taken off Vickie the night before and thrown in the basket. She looked at me quizzically, and I told her what had happened. Emma looked horrified for a moment, and then picked Vickie up and hugged her.

"No, I'm not annoyed, I'm not annoyed, It's what you're supposed to do, you silly thing! I wondered how you'd managed to stay dry last night!"

"But I'm supposed never to take my nappy off!"

"Of course you can if you need to go to the loo, it's only babies who have to keep them on all the time!"

"But you told me..."

"I told you that long ago, and I'm telling you different now! You did the right thing!"

"But I couldn't get it back on!"

"Well in that case, it's about time you learned how to do it."

"Will you show me how, tonight, then?"

"Well, it's a long way home, so I'll show you now. I never realised that you didn't know how to do it, I've always just nappied you out of routine, like I do with William. Come on then."

With that, Emma escorted Vickie into the nursery. I followed out of interest, and we started showing Vickie how to fold the nappy, which she understood very quickly. Then she took off her jeans and tried putting one on herself, with mixed results. Eventually she succeeded in managing a tolerable fit which didn't fall down and probably wouldn't leak. She learned how to put the pins in without pricking herself. Then she tried the pants, and soon mastered them. Emma briefed her on the ointments, all things she knew about, but which she had never actually done. Vickie, appreciating that she would now be able to take her nappies off when nature called, paid careful attention. She said that she had often woken up and wet her nappy because she wasn't allowed to take them off. This had a very familiar ring to me, and I told Vickie that it was the first step to getting out of nappies, which pleased her enormously.

Vickie went to show Gran her new achievements and was suitably congratulated, but when Vickie explained that she could now go to the loo in the night, Gran looked up at me and raised one eyebrow quizzically. It seemed a very long time ago that I had once uttered those same words, but to Gran it must have seemed like yesterday; she well knew what it portended. Vickie even seemed reluctant to take her nappy off, and so was left to entertain William in the playpen while we shifted luggage down to the car. Gran had provided Emma with some of the extra-large nappies and pants from the trunk in the attic, as Vickie had outgrown her usual size. Finally Emma came for William for a change before the journey, and then looked at Vickie who was still in the playpen, leaning on the fence dressed only in her tee shirt, nappy and pants.

"And what are you going to wear on the way back, Vickie? It's a long, long drive and you'll have to wear something." Emma said, as she indicated the selection available in the shelves of the changing-table.

"Can I have a free one?" There was a long pause.

"I suppose so. I'm intending to do the whole journey without stopping, so what type do you want?"

"The one I've got on will do; then it won't waste a disposable."

"That's very wise of you. Would you prefer one of those shaped ones like you had on yesterday? They're less bulky."

"If we're not stopping anywhere, it doesn't matter.... But I think they're more comfortable."

"You can try putting one of those on then. They should be much easier"

I could hardly believe my ears. This was a different Vickie to yesterday, and a different Emma too. A little empowerment, and a sea change had occurred.

I went to say goodbye to Peter, as he would be driving back to the base. I was very sad to have had such a short time with him but what had passed between us had made our relationship even deeper. We would both be very busy over the next few weeks, with my graduation and his course, but it was plain that communications would be frequent and regular; there were so many arrangements to be made. Eventually the moment of parting and sweet sorrow had to come, and his TR6 rumbled down the driveway behind us, and turned right at the gate when we turned left. I turned to look back as we parted ways, and caught a gentle smile from Vickie, sitting in the back seat.

The drive back was mostly done in silence for the first hour, and occasional checks on the back seat showed William and Vickie fast asleep. Eventually I spoke to Emma. "Do you think Vickie is making progress?"

"Last night you mean? Yes, that's progress, of a kind. I expect it will be a few years yet, though. It always is. It took you to when? Twelve?"

"Yes, but I think I could have done it earlier. I needed a promise, a lead, not a threat. Meeting Peter provided that. Threats just don't work; they increase fear and stress, not confidence."

"Well, we've tried the threat of having to wear a nappy under her bridesmaid dress, and it seems to have produced results."

"I don't think it was that. I think you painted yourself into a corner with that. More likely it was Amelia's influence. Whatever she whispered to her in the playpen with William seems to have had an effect. Her whole approach changed after that."

"Could be. Sedition! And at Pembroke of all places! The Admiral should hear about this!"

"Perhaps Amelia is a better role model for her; closer to her age, same problem, and she cracked it in record time."

"So how did Amelia crack it?"

"She had a crush on Peter, and was trying to live up to him. After a false start, she decided that drying up was the best tactic, and when she applied her stubbornness and strength of will to the problem, it simply gave way."

"So how might we apply that to Vickie, I wonder?"

I thought for a moment. "It's Amelia's half-term starting on Friday. Why not invite her down for a few days? There's a lot going on at Uni after the exams. She would love some of the partying, and if it gives her a taste of university life, it might encourage some academic effort from her. You never now, pigs might fly!"

"You mean Amelia might study?"

"About as likely. And she can provide a bit of a role model for Vickie."

"It sounds like a good idea. I'll give Pat a call when we get back."

We didn't need to stop for petrol, and didn't stop at all until we were well on the motorway and passing the Cotswold edge, when the motorway, already dense with end-of-weekend traffic, ground to a halt for no apparent reason. Emma sighed, and we turned to check on the kids. Both were now wide-awake, and Vickie asked why we had stopped and how much longer it would be before we got home. Emma replied that she couldn't really say with a traffic-jam, but it would probably be an hour or more.

"You did say I could have a Free One?" said Vickie.

Emma's face fell. "Oh God! Couldn't you have said when we were passing the service area?"

"I must have been asleep then. Sorry."

"There's nowhere to go here, Vickie."

"Never mind, as long as it's a Free One, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Alright then. It's a Free One."

"Thanks."

The jam cleared, and we moved off. I thought of poor Vickie sitting behind me in a soggy nappy, and turned to look. She grinned and winked. I thought what an advantage she had; her conversation had made me want to go too, but I hadn't got the option of a "Free One" so I just had to grit my teeth. Poor Juliet!

I thought of the distance we had to cover, and then thought that Culdrose was nearly three times as far. Not for the first time I missed wearing nappies myself; they could be useful at times.

When we eventually arrived at Emma's we both made for the toilet, after which Emma busied herself with changing William. "You'll have to wait a moment, Vickie, while I get this done. Don't try it yourself in case you get it on the carpet."

"I'm not wet." replied Vickie.

"On the motorway I thought you said you needed to use your nappy?"

"No, I was just checking to make sure I had a Free One." said Vickie, walking into the loo and closing the door. I realised that motherhood was seldom as straightforward as I had believed; sometimes it might involve strangulation.

[Drillers]

Great Continuation keep up the great work

[Pollyanna Fleshman]

wow! Again, you did an excellent job. I loved every bit of it. these last two chapters made me think of my own motherhood.

It can be confusing when parents are inconsistent and overbearing, as some children may be afraid to progress in fear of getting into trouble,such as in Vickie's case, especially if these children are always the type to be obedient without a protest. These are the children that get cheated in my opinion because if the parent does not say it is okay, they never do it, even if they are capable. The more rebellious children are ones that succeed with parents like these.

I personally like to think that I'm very clear with my children and that communication is always open. IMHO, it prevents many problems. I don't want to control and manage my children, but that is just me.

Keep up the goo work. The fact that your story caused me to give such a response, as well as drew me in so deeply, is the sign of a fantastic writer! Words cannot express how good you are. In my book, you've officially been added to the ranks of good writers on this board and in this community.

[freswith]

Steering clear of Scylla...

It was late afternoon before I got around to Emma's house. The party of the night before had been prolonged, and I had sneaked Amelia back into Emma's as the first light was showing in the east. How Amelia had learned to party like that was a mystery to me; she had held her own in the cut and parry of conversation with some fairly sharp minds, had avoided the pitfalls of strange offers and suspicious substances, and had stayed rather fresher that I had. I was quite glad that tonight was a babysitting night, although I wondered if it was me sitting Amelia and Vickie or some other combination such as them sitting me. I felt that I wouldn't mind having a sitter myself; I could do with a rest.

Emma let me in, and told me that the two of them were upstairs. Vickie had had a tummy upset and had spent the day in bed. I thought for a moment that she meant Amelia, but decided not to press the subject of Amelia's night on the tiles; the less about that getting back to Mum's ears the better. Tom and Emma were bound for a concert at Bath, and had to make an early start, so it was up to me to put William and Vickie to bed, and do my best with Amelia, too.

After closing the door on Tom and Emma I went up to check on my charges. I found two of them sitting on the nursery rug in a state of dishabille, playing cards, with a heap of clothes in the middle of the floor, while William burbled to himself in the corner.

"Does three of a kind beat two pairs?" said Amelia. I shrugged. Poker had never been my forte, although the crowd at the stables were much into it, especially the strip variety. I picked Vickie's dressing gown up and went over to her.

"If you're sick, you'd better wrap up, and not get cold." I told her, draping it around her shoulders.

"I'm not cold!" she protested, "I've finally got Amelia on the run!"

Out of habit I reached down and slipped my hand inside the waistband of her plastic pants. "You're soaked!" I protested.

"It's a Free One!" Vickie replied. "While I'm ill in bed. Well, I'm not going to walk out on this hand am I?" and she showed me her cards.

"That's outrageous! You're not in bed, and you're supposed to at least try and stay dry! It doesn't matter what cards you hold, you can take them into the loo with you."

"And have Amelia sort herself out a couple more aces from the pack while I'm in there? No Chance! Better to be wet. All she wins then is a wet nappy, and she's welcome to that!"

"That's not the point!" I looked at Amelia's hand, "Besides, three aces beats a dead man's hand in my book. Now let's get you changed before you leak all over the carpet.... Now hang on a moment; that makes five aces. What's going on here? ....Amelia?" It was her turn to shrug.

It was obvious I wouldn't get anywhere by pursuing it, so I pulled Vickie to her feet and shoved her toward the bathroom, where I pulled her sodden nappy down. "Amelia, get another nappy ready for her will you? And Vickie, this isn't going to be a Free One. Get used to it. Now clean yourself up! Amelia, you shouldn't have let her get into this state, you're supposed to be a good example to her."

"Hark who's the Mum now, then?" she replied.

"Any more of that, dear Sister, and I'll put a nappy on you too!"

"I'd like to see you try, Sister! Anyway, not a bad idea if it lets you win the hand."

"Right! Put one out for yourself as well; and we'll see about that! Deal me in!"

It was a bad idea. I said poker wasn't my forte. After half an hour Vickie was still fully clad in her tee shirt and romper, Amelia was pulling on a coat that almost concealed her nappy, and I was down to a hard choice. William had given up pushing his car around the nursery floor and was paying rapt attention to the developing scene.

"We'll let you off the bra," said Amelia, "Wouldn't want to be unkind. There's another nappy over there. Should fit you. At least enough to save your blushes. No plastic pants though, none your size; you'll just have to hold it. Well, go on then Sister!" I went on. I couldn't argue.

We were all four of us sitting around the rug in our nappies when Emma walked in.

"Well, Well, Well!" she surveyed the scene, then called over her shoulder "Tom, bring your camera here please." My mouth worked in an attempt to explain, but no sound came out.

"Never mind," Emma said, after Tom had photographed us. "We do understand. Accidents will happen. Even in the best regulated families" Amelia picked up a few cards and passed them to William, who studied them intently. The camera flashed again. By this time Emma was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Whatever will Peter say when he sees these I wonder?" Peter would be quite fascinated, I thought, bearing in mind the little session we had once had in the nursery, but I bit my tongue.

It was left to Amelia to blurt it out: "He'd probably be delighted. Can we have copies please?"

"And what about Matt?"

"Two sets, please. He's a kinky devil and he knows all about my having had to wear them. And Peter used to love changing mine." It was Emma's turn to be taken aback., but she recovered quickly.

"My dear, you are incomplete. Let's fix that before we have an accident, shall we?" and she rummaged in the drawer of the changing table. "How about this pair. They're too large for Vickie, but they should fit you."

Amelia was not put out. "How about the frilly ones," she retorted, "They're so nice and girly."

"And babyish. I'm afraid they seem to have got split. Heaven knows how. You'll have to make do with plain ones. The only frilly ones we've got are reserved for Vickie at the wedding." Vickie stopped rolling on the floor with laughter and sat up sharply. "Now hold your feet up and let's get them on you."

"Ah. Can I have a Free One, then?" said Amelia, grinning.

Emma grinned back. "NO! You can set Vickie an example, as you were supposed to do, by staying dry until the morning, no "Free One", and no excuses.... There you are, let's just tuck your nappy in, NO!... No handies in your panties please, or you'll get a smack; I'll do it all for you. There you are! Comfy now dear?" and she patted Amelia on her well-padded rump.

I got my voice back. "What happened to the concert?"

"Bomb threat. Music lover probably. We managed to swop our tickets for tomorrow. All we need is a responsible adult to babysit....babysit the lot of you."

"Alright, It's a fair cop. I'll do it." Bugger! I'd miss Rachel's party. And that promised to be terrific.

"I said responsible adult" replied Emma.

I chewed on that for a moment. "Sorry, Emma, you're right, I shouldn't have let them get away with it. I'll be the very model of a strict governess and send them all to bed at the right times, hair brushed, bathed to perfection, nappied to the knees, and with big bottles of warm milk."

"Alright then. Same time tomorrow?"

"You're on"

"Thank you for your kind offer. Now get some clothes on and give me a hand with William. It's way past his bath time. Tom, can you fix us some supper; there's some salad things and baking potatoes, and that cold beef? - Thank you - Now Amelia, dear, can you fix William's bottle - and one for yourself while you're about it."

"Southern Comfort?"

"No, dear, you're under age, remember? Warm milk, I think, for both of you." Amelia, still grinning, waddled past towards the stairs, "...and I'm not joking, Young Lady - any more nonsense from you and it will be bed with just your bottle for supper. And I really mean it about the nappy. On 'til morning, wet or dry." Amelia's grin vanished.

William was a bit overtired, and inclined to be fractious. It took two of us to get him bathed and dressed for bed, by which time Amelia had reappeared with his bottle, and a tray of supper for Vickie. Emma checked the temperature of the milk carefully, praised Amelia for getting it right, and then told her to feed William, while Vickie had her bath. I was tickled at the sight of Amelia, in a nappy, feeding William, also in a nappy, on her lap, but Tom had removed his camera and I couldn't record the scene. We left them to it for a while and repaired downstairs where Emma attended to the Sherry decanter and glasses.

"Is the concert worth a second trip to Bath?" I asked. "You sounded very cynical about it."

"Not really. It's because it includes Screeching Alex and his bloody harpsichord, and he's an old friend of Tom's so we really have to turn up and see him once in a while."

"Oh God! I understand. Duty Calls, and all that."

"I know. Not my kind of music. What did Beecham call it? "Two skeletons copulating on a corrugated-iron roof". Just sums it up perfectly. Were you planning anything for tomorrow night?"

"A friend is giving a party. Do you think you'll be back late?"

"From Bath? By midnight I hope. Will the party still be going by then?"

"I expect it will just be getting going. Whether I'll be getting going by then will be another matter. I'd better not tell Amelia, or she'll want to come too, and I think it'll be a bit too racy for her."

"She's still very young, remember, although it's hard to believe when she's all dolled up."

"She looks a bit younger when she's in a nappy though." And I chuckled.

Emma grinned. "I think that slowed her up a bit. She's certainly inclined to get out of hand. What time did you get in this morning? I heard you come, but I didn't check the time."

"About four. There was daylight in the east. It was actually a lovely morning."

"About half past." said Amelia, rustling in the door. "That nightingale in the trees opposite was singing very prettily. Can I take this ruddy thing off now? I'm very sorry for having been such a pain, but I wanted to keep Vickie entertained."

"That's alright, Pet, but I'd rather you kept it on. After that little scene I want to re-establish my authority with Vickie, and I think that's the best way. If you're a role model for her, then I think you should be an obedient one. What's she doing now, anyway?"

"She's having her supper. I found another ace of spades concealed in the back of her romper. She learns fast; I'll give her that. She's a really nice kid."

"I'll nip up later and see that she gets her night-nappies on correctly. She's not very good at it, and I don't want any leaks."

"I'll do it if you like. All part of the service." I said.

"That's very good of you. I should think you're pretty tired too, after last night."

"I slept in 'til mid-day. I'm a student. I can do that."

"Was Vickie a good girl otherwise this afternoon?"

"Oh, That. You said she could have a free one, did you? Well, she did. In preference to interrupting the game."

"Oh, she's always been like that. Too much concentration. I always had to nappy her at playtime, right up until recently. That's why I'm worried about the wedding. How she manages at school I don't know, but she does manage it somehow. We even had a dirty one this morning, but that was the tummy upset; she just wasn't fast enough."

"That must have been very upsetting for her."

"I think she was quite glad to have one on. She really was caught short. Tom is a great believer in letting children decide things for themselves, but there are times when difficult decisions have to be made, especially when you are only eight, and it can be a comfort if Mother makes them for you. I decided that she should be in nappies today, and that saved both of us a lot of anguish." The habit of command came naturally to Emma.

"I really don't think you need to worry about the wedding," said Amelia, now sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her legs spread by the bulk between them, "I'll keep a very close eye on her, and I think she has confidence in me; if she needs the loo, she won't be too shy to ask."

"You have a point," replied Emma, "we'll see how it goes."

"I promised her that if she has to wear one, then I will too so she doesn't feel alone," said Amelia, "and I'll keep that promise if I have to."

"It might just stop a scene," said Emma. "Thank you."

I went up to see to Vickie. Amelia came rustling after me. I found Vickie had cleared her plate, and had her nose in another book. "Come on Vickie, bed time." I said, and she looked up. I could see the tiredness in her eyes. "Do you want the loo?"

"No, I'm fine thanks."

"What do you wear at night these days?"

"Oh, just one of the big ones. I've already got it on."

"I really think you should use the loo, all the same. We don't want a wet one in the morning, do we? Come on, let's take that off and get you done." She started to move, and then stopped. "Come on, we want to impress Emma, especially after today, and she's mentioned making you wear nappies at the wedding again - we want to stop that." She nodded, and I pulled down the waistband of her pants, extracted one of the pins, and slid the package down her legs. She ran into the lavatory. "Amelia, can you take the tray down? Thanks"

I shook Vickie's nappy out and refolded it on her bed. It was no more than very slightly clammy, and so I decided it could be reused. In view of the morning's episode, I added a liner. The toilet flushed and Vickie reappeared, and came over to the bed. "I can do it myself!" she said.

I ignored her, and guided her over the nappy. "Never mind, I'll do it for you." and sat her down. She lay back, but didn't open her legs. I tickled her on the tummy, and she drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, giggling. Taking the opportunity, I smeared ointment over her exposed backside, and followed it with a puff of powder. She relaxed and lowered her legs, and I applied ointment and powder over her front, then I raised the front of the nappy and spread it over her tummy.

"This is rather nice," she said, "doing it baby-style." I smiled back at her; I was quite enjoying it too, caring for her, moving slowly and gently. I pinned each side in turn, getting a firm fit but not too tight, and clicking the heads down one by one. I tucked the excess in around her legs - not essential, but it made for a better fit, and helped to prevent leaks. It also extended the process a little, and I remembered how I had once been envious of the attention Amelia received when she had been small, and wondered if Vickie felt the same about William's demands. Vickie was certainly enjoying the attention now, smiling gently amidst the sunburst of her hair on the bed, arms held up to keep her nightie clear of the working area; an instinctive reaction after so many nappy changes.

I shook out the pants, and scrunched the leg holes up, at which sign Vickie raised her feet and pointed her toes. I slipped the pants over her feet and drew them quite slowly up to the top of her thighs, then I reached out, took her hands and pulled her gently to her feet before pulling the waistband up at the back over the bulk of her nappy, and settling her nightgown over the top of everything. Vickie rested her hands on my shoulders, and I gave her a long hug, patting her gently on her well-padded backside. Once again, I felt motherhood seemed to hold much greater attraction for me than a desk job.

[freswith]

...and falling into Charybdis

I spent the following morning in starting to pack my things. We had the flat until the end of the month, but there was a lot to do, not least in trying to leave the place clean. My flatmates, for all their promises, were not really up to the job, and the bulk of it always seemed to descend on me. I finally got round to Emma's at teatime.

"Vickie's still a bit peaky" said Emma as she was fitting her earrings, "we've had the doctor round, and he thinks its just a stomach bug and has given her something to take. It's in the bathroom cabinet, and she'll need another dose before bedtime. He says all the usual things, you know, avoid milk and so on. I'm just a little afraid William might get it, though. Still, We'll be back by half-eleven or midnight. I'll try to keep Tom and Screeching Alex out of the bar."

"Why do they call him Screeching Alex?"

"Funny high-pitched voice. Inclined to be excitable."

"Ah... Right. Sounds just like a harpsichordist. What do I do if I need to contact you for any reason?"

"I've left the number of the concert hall on the pad by the phone. Only in case of severe death, of course." she grinned.

"Where's Amelia? Has she been good?"

"Very good. She's up there reading to Vickie. I've confiscated the pack of cards. Six aces, by the way. And you'll be pleased to know that she was dry this morning!"

"Oh, well done Vickie."

"Not Vickie - Amelia!" laughed Emma. "It's a good day when Vickie's dry!"

"What, you mean she really kept it on?"

"I was surprised too, but she said she'd promised. You know, she's really a nice kid. She can take a bit of leg-pull, and give it back. It seems to have cut her down to size a bit."

"She can take a joke quite well, but you'll never cut her down to size now; she's getting just too big. I'll go and say hello to them."

I found Vickie in bed, looking a little flushed, and Amelia sitting beside her, legs coiled about the nursing chair, reading from another Borrowers book. William was on his feet, holding tightly on to Amelia's chair, and staring at the book as if trying to read it. I asked Vickie how she was feeling and received an unconvincing "Alright."

Amelia gave me a cheerful greeting, and I congratulated her on being dry this morning; she responded by putting her tongue out at me, and Vickie briefly giggled. I went back to say goodbye to Tom and Emma. Emma reminded me again about Vickie's medicine, and said in view of her running a slight temperature it would probably be better to skip her bath this evening. I agreed. The front door closed and I returned to my charges.

William thoroughly enjoyed his bath, and all three of us got rather wet, and I watched while Amelia fed him and put him to bed, right on time as I'd promised. I went over to Vickie. She was still a bit flushed and my hand on her brow felt a warm moistness.

"What would you like for supper, pet?" She shook her head.

"Not hungry."

"Are you sure?" She nodded.

"Would you like a drink? Orange?" - I nearly said milk, but stopped in time - another head-shake. Then, softly, "Are you wet? Would you like a change?" A more vigorous head-shake. I was running out of things to do. "I'll get your medicine then." I fetched it from the bathroom, measured the dose into the spoon, and gave it to her. She swallowed, grimaced, and so I passed her a glass of water to swill away the taste. I returned the medicine to the bathroom cabinet, safely out of William's way, and I was returning to the bedroom when Vickie bolted past me, lurched over the toilet and was violently, massively sick.

After the final heave, I wiped her face with a flannel and gave her a glass of water to drink she swallowed it gratefully, but a moment later she was sick again. The disturbance had brought Amelia into the room, and she helped clean Vickie up the second time. We steered her back to her bed, where she lay clutching her tummy. I looked up at Amelia. She caught my glance and said "Doctor!"

"Which one? Where's the number?"

"In the book by the phone. Emma called him this morning. Scots name, Mac-something - MacDowell."

I had to dial the number twice because my hand was shaking. It was like a bad dream where you just cannot get something to happen. I got his night service, a woman answered, and I blurted out the problem. She spoke calmly to me, and started to ask a lot of questions. I told her about the fever and the green vomit and the hands clenched over her tummy, and she said someone would come round immediately. I managed to get the address right, and she told me to turn on all the lights that I could. I looked up and saw the clock. It was just after seven o'clock. The second hand seemed to move terribly slowly, taking ages between each click.

I went back to Vickie. Took a deep breath, and tried to calm myself. She was lying in bed with her legs drawn up in a ball of pain. I told her not to worry, the doctor was on her way, and Amelia visibly relaxed. Vickie was fumbling with her hands, and I asked where the pain was. "Here, Everywhere!" she said, "but can I take my nappy off? If the doctor's coming..." I saw her point. Even in her intense pain, she wanted to avoid the shame of being seen in a nappy by a stranger. I pulled her nightdress up, took a pin out, and slid the package down her legs. Looking round, I dropped it all into the pail, and moved the pail over by William's cot. Hide in plain sight! William was awake, sitting up, and watching the whole business with widening eyes. It would be a matter of seconds before he started to cry. I scooped him up, and carried him into the guest bedroom, putting him into the bed next to Amelia's, trying all the while to soothe and calm him. I looked at the clock again. Five past seven. Had the ruddy thing gone wrong? It must be running slow!

"Amelia, one of us had better go and watch for the doctor, and let her in. And put all the lights on."

"What about Tom and Emma?"

"There's a number on the pad by the phone. It's the concert hall. See if you can get them."

"Shall I tell them it's her appendix?"

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"A girl in my class went down with it last term. Same symptoms. Laid there with one leg drawn up, just like that. They rushed her to hospital."

I looked back at Vickie. Right leg drawn up. Oddly, I felt relieved. It had a name. It had a treatment. It could be fixed if we did the right thing. She wasn't going to die on us.

Amelia tried the number several times, but got no reply. "It's Emma's handwriting. Is that a one or a seven?" she complained.

"Try both!"

"Have done, no reply."

"Oh Bugger! Bugger, Bugger, Bugger!"

Just then a silhouette appeared in the glass of the front door, and Amelia flew to open it. A lady came in carrying a large bag, and Amelia ushered her swiftly upstairs. She seemed cool and collected, and I tried to slow myself down enough to answer her questions calmly. She smiled at Vickie and told her that she was here to make her better, took her temperature, then drew back the bedclothes, and gently pulled up her nightdress. She pressed her hands in various places on Vickie's tummy, and I could see the child's face flinching; finally the doctor pressed above the top of her right leg, and when she lifted her hand, Vickie yelped. The doctor apologised and asked her to lie still, while she bent down and looked carefully across the profile of Vickie's tummy. Eventually she seemed satisfied, straightened up, and opened her bag. "We're going to have to take you to hospital, Vickie," she said "You're going to have a ride in an ambulance. Firstly, though, I'm going to give you something to take away the pain. You've been very brave."

Vickie looked up "Will the lights be flashing?" she asked.

"I'll ask them to turn them on specially." replied the doctor. "Now I'm going to have to prick your arm a little bit so I can take the pain away. Be brave for me!" and she slid the needle in.

The doctor then asked to use the phone to arrange an ambulance. She asked me where Vickie's parents were, and I had to tell her about the concert in Bath, and the faulty telephone number. It was something of a problem, as I could hardly give my consent for an operation on my cousin, in loco parentis or not. I thought the problem would be insuperable, and the thought that Vickie might suffer a moment longer because I hadn't asked Emma to be clearer made me feel terrible, but the doctor asked a few more questions, which I answered as best I could.

"Screeching Alex and his harpsichord?" she laughed, "We'll have to leave that to the Bath police - and see if they can use their brains for once." and she made another phone call.

Two men in green came in the door, and a few minutes later came down the stairs carrying a well-bundled Vicki in a wheelchair. "Will you be going with her?" said the doctor, "Someone should." I called to Amelia and asked her to guard the fort, to field Tom and Emma when they returned, and to look after William.

"Where is William?" came the reply and I told her. "Where are you taking Vickie exactly?" That impressed me; she wasn't going to be caught out the way I had. The Ambulance man answered her, and we set off. They did use the flashing lights, although Vickie seemed not to notice.

At the hospital, everything was smooth, calm efficiency, and more questions. I answered them as best as I could, and was then left sitting with a sedated Vickie in one of the examination rooms. I watched her breathing, and counted the drops of saline on her drip. Every few moments someone would walk past outside and I would look up to see if there was any news. Then finally a nurse and a porter came in. The nurse told me that they had received the necessary consent and were going to operate, and the porter wheeled Vickie away. I returned to the waiting room and sat there wringing my hands. Someone gave me a magazine, and I tried to read it. A nurse came over and offered me a cup of tea. I nodded acceptance and she asked me if I was enjoying the magazine; I nodded again and she pointed out that I was holding it upside down. I took the tea gratefully, and realised that my hands were stiff and sore from my wringing them. I put them in my pockets to try to stop. Eventually, after what seemed like ages and ages, the staff nurse came to me, smiling. "All done!" she said, "One very inflamed appendix removed and she's on her way to the recovery room."

The tension fell off me like a heavy overcoat, and rapid footsteps behind me announced the arrival of Tom and Emma. I turned to Emma, said; "She's alright!" and burst into tears.

[freswith]

The Fleet arrives.

We got back to the house about midnight. The lights were still all ablaze, and Amelia came into the road to meet us. I kicked myself for not calling her from the hospital to let her know the good news, but that was soon rectified. We assembled in the lounge, Tom opened the drinks cabinet and poured us generous measures; Amelia finally got her Southern Comfort in a tacit re-admission to the grown-up world. We had a debrief; Tom told me that they had been summoned from the auditorium to find a policewoman waiting for them in the foyer. She had crisply explained the situation, and Tom had had the idea of sending the consent form through each way by fax, properly witnessed by the police officer. She had then escorted them through the Bath traffic to the edge of town, and waved them on their way, with an injunction to drive carefully and not turn a casualty into an orphan.

I suddenly found I was very hungry, as were the others, and we managed to rustle up a meal. Eventually Tom and Amelia went into the kitchen to wash up and Emma went upstairs to check on William. Following a few minutes later I found her sitting on Vickie's empty bed, holding the little girl's teddy bear, and crying softly.

"I shouldn't have gone to the stupid concert," she said, "I shouldn't have left her. I should have realised she was really ill. I should have been here, where I was needed!"

"You couldn't have known. It was only a tummy upset when you left. She's had lots of those over the years."

"At least I left her in good hands. Thank you. Thank you for everything you did."

"It was the least I could do. Thanks to Amelia too; she was a tower of strength at the right moment."

She looked up at me. "It's not so easy being a Mum, you know. You're taking on the responsibility for another life, completely. There's no way out of it. You're committed for a lifetime. And so much can go wrong."

"You've got Tom to help you, and you're obviously doing alright. Vickie's a lovely kid." Emma swallowed and nodded.

"It's much too late for you to go home now; you'd better take the other bed in Amelia's room. It's all made up."

"Thank you. I hope William hasn't wet it. I put him in there while all this was going on."

"Yes.... Oh God! Did Vickie go to the hospital in a nappy?"

"No, she asked me to take it off her before the doctor arrived. At least she had the presence of mind to think of that."

"Do they know that she usually wets the bed?"

"I didn't tell them. I expect they'll find out. Never mind; I'm sure they can handle emergencies like that. They're a hospital, after all."

Tom came silently into the room, put his arm around Emma, and guided her, still holding Vickie's teddy bear, to their bedroom.

I retired to find Amelia already in bed. Then I remembered. Rachel's party. Oh, Bugger Rachel's Party; I'd had enough for one night. I climbed into the other bed, and passed out like a light.

The following day saw Tom and Emma up bright and early to arrive at the hospital at the break of visiting time. Amelia and I looked after William, and fielded the various phone calls. Gran's questions were brief, technical, and to the point, as befitted a former nurse, and Emma was required to provide a full situation report to Gran and Granpa on her return from the hospital, which duty I passed on to her when they came back at lunchtime.

Being relieved from my watch over William I returned to my flat to change my clothes, and dropped by Rachel's to apologise and explain my absence from her party. I arrived to find a disaster scene fit for a Hollywood movie, and Rachel barely human. Part of me felt quite glad I had missed it, while another part felt the disappointment keenly. I returned to my own flat, which was gradually becoming tidier; one of my flatmates had already moved out, and the level of possessions and general junk was becoming manageable. After two years of companionship, our little foursome were going their separate ways, and there was at last some space available. I changed my clothes and showered with some relief; I had not been expecting to make a night of it, and was still in the same underwear after all that had happened. Much of my gear was already packed, as Dad was coming down to collect me at the weekend, and I suddenly found myself at a bit of a loose end. I grabbed my coat and set off towards the hospital.

I found that they had moved Vickie down to the children's ward, where she was in a section of eight beds. Most of the children seemed to be younger than Vickie, although there was a boy of similar age in the next bed with his legs in plaster. Vickie was sitting up, propped by pillows, still connected to the drip and looking rather pale, but she was very pleased to see me. I asked her how she was, whether she was still in any pain, and she seemed much happier. Above her on the bed head was a sign saying "nil by mouth", which had relieved me of the duty of bringing her any fruit or sweets. Emma had brought Vickie's book, but she was still running a temperature and did not want to read it, and so I started to read it aloud to her. The small boy in the next bed started to pay attention, and a few of those children who could leave their beds began to gather round. From the hospital ward we gradually transferred to the hedgerows and meadows of the English countryside with the songs of the birds and the adventures of the Borrowers Afield. A nurse very kindly brought me a glass of water, and so I carried on until teatime, when all the other children were fed. Poor Vickie was still being fed and watered through a tube, and so missed out.

After the meal was cleared, a box-trolley appeared and began to make its way along the ward accompanied by two junior nurses. At some of the beds, the curtains were drawn around, and a certain amount of rustling came from within. The trolley didn't stop at Vickie's bed, but the young boy next to her received the treatment, being left lying down and in a slightly tidier state. A label on his bed head simply said "N/D". He turned to Vickie with a rather wan smile, and Vickie responded with a smile and a shrug. I asked Vickie in a whisper how that side of things was going. She whispered back that she had woken up dry, and in fact that was the first time in her life she had ever had a night without a nappy, and how strange it felt. I congratulated her, and told her to keep it up. Visiting time had long since ended, but I had plainly been left undisturbed as long as I was entertaining the children, and now I had to take my leave. I promised to come again tomorrow.

I went home to find a message asking me to call Emma, which I did. She invited me to supper, a prospect of home cooking which compared favourably with the thought of a meal-for-one in the flat, so I was delighted to accept. I arrived to find everything ready, and the four of us enjoyed an excellent meal. I reported on my visit to Vickie, and Emma told me that she expected her to stay in hospital for three or four days, up to the weekend. Gran and Granpa were coming over for the next night or so, and Amelia would have to occupy Vickie's bed while they were there. I duly pulled Amelia's leg about the waterproof sheet and about sharing a room with a man - William - but I got a fairly frosty response; apparently Amelia was none too pleased by the prospect. Then an idea occurred to me, and I invited her to come and stay at the flat in the recently vacated bed. This was much more acceptable, and then I realised that the main attraction would be the freedom from parental control it would involve. Tom would bring Amelia over on the following morning.

I thoroughly enjoyed Amelia's company the following day, as we window-shopped the town centre and took lunch in one of the pubs by the harbour. Eventually we elected to go and see Vickie before the end of visiting time, and made our way up to the hospital. We arrived to find she already had visitors; two upright grey-haired figures were sitting by her bed. Gran and Granpa had arrived and all was now under control. I borrowed a chair from the next bed and asked Vickie where the little boy had gone. "X-ray" she said, "Whatever that is. He's called Michael. He was in a very bad car crash. They had to cut him out, but his mum was..." and she left the sentence hanging, her face clouded.

I rapidly changed the subject. "Is that your new dolly?" I said stroking the splendid toy that was cradled in her unencumbered arm, and she brightened up

"Yes, I'm going to call her Annie. She's from France!" and we chatted about Annie's many attributes. While I was doing so I noticed Gran in conversation with the Staff Nurse, and saw that they were two of a kind; behind the visage of motherly concern, the Staff Nurse had the eyes of a policeman - seeing everything, trusting nothing. I asked Vickie how she was feeling and if she had had a comfortable night. She replied that she was feeling much better, although she had to be very careful when she moved, and had to lift her knee with her hand, otherwise it hurt. "Julie," she whispered, and I moved closer, "I was very wet last night. It was very naughty of me. It made a huge mess. I didn't have a nappy on, and I hadn't told them that I normally wear one."

"Never you worry, Pet, it happens. Worse things happen at sea." and I looked towards Granpa, who smiled and nodded.

"It felt horrible. I was wet from here to here. Everything!" and she indicated a large area from chest to knee. It occurred to me that she had never actually wet the bed before; she had always worn nappies at night, and the resultant flood spreading out on the waterproof sheet had come as a most unwelcome surprise to her. Amelia closed in on the other side to comfort her. "What do you think they'll do?" I had a pretty fair idea what they would do, and out of the corner of my eye I could already see the trolley working its way down the ward like a tumbrel. Granpa had seen it too, and made an excuse to go and talk to Gran and the Staff Nurse.

Michael returned to his bed, and was lifted carefully into it by a team of nurses. He was pale and looked rather pained. The trolley was brought up, and the curtains drawn. The rustling sound recommenced. The Staff Nurse came over came over to Vickie, with her motherly eyes on now, and began to speak to her softly.

"Vickie, my dear, you remember that you were very wet last night? Well, I think part of that was due to us; we had given you something to stop your pain and help you to sleep, and perhaps it made you sleep a bit too deeply, so it wasn't really your fault what happened, and I'm sorry it did. It does give us a problem though, and it's not just about the wet sheets and all the fuss. While your tummy is getting better, we have to give you all your food and drink through a tube. It's very important that we don't give you too little or too much, and we mustn't put more in than comes out, so we need to measure how much pee you do. You didn't go toilet yesterday after the operation, and we couldn't measure how much you did last night. Now I'm going to ask a big, big favour of you. We'd like you to wear a nappy tonight, so that if you need to use it, we can weigh it afterwards, and then we can work out how much pee has come out of you. It's not because we want to make a baby out of you, nor do we want to punish you; as I said, we don't blame you for that. It's just so we can make sure we are helping you to get better. Would you do me that favour?" Vickie nodded, and even managed a bit of a smile.

"Thank you, Vickie, you're a very brave girl." the Staff Nurse continued, "Now we're going to change your dressing for a fresh one and put a very thick nappy on you so any pee you might do won't get anywhere near the cut in your tummy." She pulled a trolley over to the bed, and began to peel the adhesive tape off the dressing on Vickie's abdomen to reveal a livid wound sutured with stitches. It was not very long, but still not a nice sight. The Staff Nurse poured some antiseptic into a kidney bowl, and then swabbed the wound, before applying what seemed to be an enormous dressing and taping it down.

The other trolley reached Vickie's bed. I asked her if she would prefer if we left her in private, but she asked us to stay. The two junior nurses greeted Vickie, and drew the bedclothes down again. They helped her roll onto her unwounded side, and spread the disposable nappy out beside her, before rolling her back over it and taping her up very carefully to avoid putting too much pressure on the dressing. Then they pulled her short nightdress back down, and Vickie shifted her good leg to accommodate the bulk of the nappy between her legs. The Staff Nurse thanked her, and then - in an unfortunate choice of words - asked her if she was comfy now. Vickie smiled, and said that she was quite comfy now, and behind her words I detected a hint of laughter.

"What to I do if I need a big one?" she said

"You call us straight away!" smiled the Staff Nurse, "It's what we're waiting to hear. It means that your tummy has started working again."

They drew the curtains back. Vickie caught Michael's eye, and he winked at her; she grinned back. "Could have been worse!" she said. "At least the bed won't get wet. This one's big enough to last for a week." Whatever the state of her bowel, at least her sense of humour had recovered; and the rest of her would not be far behind. If I hadn't known better, I could even have thought that Vickie had actually liked being put back into nappies.

Gran and Granpa reappeared carrying a tray of plastic cups. "Not for you Vickie, sorry, it says "nil by mouth"." It did too, just above another sign saying "N/N", presumably "Nappies/Night". I sipped the tea - at least I think it was supposed to be tea - and decided Vickie probably had the better deal with her drip.

Granpa started talking to Michael, since he never appeared to have any visitors. Michael mentioned that his father was at sea, on a tanker. Granpa fixed him with a glittering eye, and within minutes he had transported us to distant seas, tropical nights and destroyers steaming in line astern with their sirens whooping. Michael listened entranced, and other children started to gather round. A story was being told!

As we left the hospital, and walked towards the flat, Amelia asked me what I had planned for the evening. I had to remember that I was supposed to be in parent mode and in charge of Amelia, the wild child.

"I promised Emma that I would get you to bed at the proper time!" I said.

"...bathed to perfection!" Amelia retorted

"...nappied to the knees!"

"...with a big bottle of warm milk. The Hell You Will!"

"....and I'll just sit there all evening doing my embroidery. Oh, Bugger It! Ralph and Jamie have got a party on, let's go there!"

"Can I borrow your leather jacket?"

"No Way; it'd get stolen... You can borrow my denim one, though..." and off we went.

[Opie]

Wow, so I've been sitting here most of the night reading this story. Very excellent. I've read it much like my Stephen King books, totally entranced and not able to put it down. Will you post up if you put this into an ebook? I would very much like to get a nice copy of this when it's done.

[freswith]

Thank you very much;It's so nice to hear some feedback. This section is nearly complete and I am trying to think of ideas to make a fourth section, probably with Juliet as the mother of a difficult child.

I'd love to make a ebook - but I've no idea of how to do it. Suggestions would be welcome. It is already up to about 130 pages of Word, and I might even add a few illustrations.