Phone Conversation

[Sarah Penguin]

Thank you Sarah,

[freswith]

She'll be modelling some very small clothing, but not of the protective variety.

[Sarah Penguin]

She'll be modelling some very small clothing, but not of the protective variety.

[fyunch]

Why the odd questions?

[Sarah Penguin]

Why the odd questions?

[freswith]

Thank you for your kind remarks.

[freswith]

I'm going to break my own rule by giving this a "bump" for Jennynappy's benefit.

[jbz2079]

Great, That will save me giving it a "Bump"

[freswith]

The Break

The offices were very stylish and elegant, and it made me feel scruffy just to be there.  I went to the beautifully dressed receptionist and told her my name.  She seemed to have been expecting me, and called Julian, who appeared within seconds.  He escorted me through a busy general office and into the executive area at the end, while explaining how grateful he was I had decided to come, and how surprised he was that I was on time - apparently models are always late.  I was ushered into the last, biggest and most luxurious office where I was introduced to Marguerite Channon herself, a sharply-dressed middle-aged woman who exuded self-confidence.  I was suddenly very conscious of my jeans and trainers, but Margeurite smiled widely and said; "Hello Amelia!  Julian has told me such a lot about you, I'm so glad you've decided to come and see us."

I felt slightly more at ease.  She looked me up and down in one sweeping detailed scan.  I began to feel small again.  I just wished I had dressed up a bit more for the occasion, a thought which was reinforced by Marguerite's next remark; "You haven't done any modelling before, I see."  I swallowed.  It must have been obvious from my clothes that I was not a part of the fashion industry.  It really wasn't my world, I mean I knew that you couldn't wear a Barbour jacket unless it had at least three holes in it, but that would hardly cut any ice in Mayfair.  These people, if ever they were seen in a Barbour, would insist on it being brand new and teamed with a scarf just the right, fashionable shade and tied just so.

"No." I replied, "It's all a bit new to me."

"That's fine.  We're always in need of fresh faces.  As long as you haven't done any glamour work - that's a separate side of the industry and we don't have anything to do with it." She said.  I denied it strongly.  The very thought conjured an image of Gran blowing a gasket.  Besides, my breasts were hardly centrefold material.

"Height?"  Five-foot ten in my bare feet

"Dress size?" Eight.  Dammit.  It wasn't all that easy getting things to fit me.  Mags and Linda used to call me The Spider, and that's when they were being kind.  At least I had filled out a bit since those days.

"Do you have a portfolio?"  A what?  "Pictures.  Good ones."  No I didn't have a portfolio.  I suppose that would count against me.  "No problem, we'll get one started."  That sounded much more promising.

Marguerite used the intercom to fix a session with a photographer to take some portfolio shots, and then we went on to talk contracts and terms.  It seems I had impressed Marguerite enough for her to commission a portfolio for me.  There was no actual promise of work but she had a couple of small jobs in mind for which she would put me forward.

Julian escorted me to the door, and took the chance to brief me about the portfolio shoot.  He said it was with one of the best photographers in London, and make sure I turned up on time.  I asked him what I should wear, and what kind of make-up he wanted, but he told me not to worry - clothes and a beautician would be on hand to do whatever was needed.  Apparently I was getting the royal treatment, he said he had never seen Marguerite so enthusiastic.  He could have fooled me; I felt I had just been through an interrogation and was on my way to the torture chamber so the interrogators could get the rest out of me.

I arrived home and Helen was desperate to hear all about it.  I was interrogated once again even more thoroughly by the excited Helen, who even broached a bottle of cheap wine to loosen my tongue.  It was quite late before I finally got into bed, my head spinning.  I took the necessary precautions of course, because it wasn't only my tongue that wine would loosen, and applied  lots of ointment and fastened the tapes tightly.  As I drifted off, I thought of the wretched unpaid gas bill, and then put it to one side.  Then I worried if I had used enough ointment.  It would never do to turn up with nappy rash, but then of course, I wasn't going to do any glamour work, so I wouldn't have to take my clothes off.  Finally I wondered of I had done the tapes up too tightly and if they would leave marks, or worse still, break and cause a leak...  but finally sleep took me away to a land of well-paid gas bills and, for some strange reason, the nursery at Pembroke.  I was warm and comfortable and secure, and I slept like a baby - just like a baby, and I couldn't give a damn if I woke up wet or dry.

I turned up ten minutes early at the photographer's studio which threw them into immediate consternation; I hadn't realised that models are always late, but then I had been brought up to be on time; being late on watch was one of the bees in Granpa's bonnet.  Julian was there, and introduced the photographer, a chap called Tony, who was actually very handsome and, to judge by the family pictures on his desk, quite straight.  He was very professional and soon put me at my ease.  Sharon was also there, and a beautician, and between them they brushed and combed and prinked and tutted me into the shape they required.  There was a range of clothing for me, including one incredibly sexy white dress that went all the way down the front and back, and all the way up at the side.  I hadn't quite realised what a paraphernalia was involved, but soon I was flanked by screens and reflectors, illuminated from several angles, and being briefed by Julian and Tony about how to pose. I felt a bit awkward at first, but something about it gave me a rush; I wasn't used to being the centre of attention, and soon decided I liked it - a lot.  The time seemed to pass very swiftly, and Tony took hundreds of pictures of me in half-a-dozen outfits, from portraits to full length, standing, sitting and lying.  I asked about the sexy white dress, and was told that it was in stock for a very important shoot they were going to do on Friday.  I admired it again.  After a little bit of thought Tony shrugged and agreed I could try it on.  We did a series of shots, and Julian suggested some poses which made the best use of my long legs. It was well into lunchtime before Tony and Julian declared themselves satisfied, and with some reluctance I changed back into my street clothes and left.  I walked away down the street feeling like a million dollars, although my ordinary clothes now seemed to feel a bit shabby and ill-fitting.

I had a debrief with Julian, and he said that he was very pleased with the way the shoot had gone, and Margeurite would be circulating the pictures to a number of fashion houses to see if they could get some work for me.  That sounded a bit of "Tomorrow... Sometime... Never", but it was better than nothing.  I went home and was subjected to a longer and more searching debrief by Helen.  From somewhere she had acquired another bottle of cheap wine, and between us we drained it.  That was well over my limit, so I took the usual precautions before retiring, and went to bed.

I lay there for a long time, mulling over all that had happened.  One day I would have a dress like that, I promised myself, but when and where I would get to wear it I couldn't imagine; it was way too sexy for the Hunt Ball, and I would never dare to wear it at Pembroke - Gran would have a fit if she saw me dressed like that!  I ran my hands down my body, tracing the lines of the dress, and they passed over my nappy, with the glossy smoothness of the plastic instead of the silky smoothness of the dress.  My hands continued, but now they followed the line of leg elastics of my nappy, the way Mum used to check them, the way Peter used to do it, and I smiled to myself; from the sublime to the ridiculous - from haut couture to Tena!

I overslept the following morning, and Helen had gone out by the time I surfaced.  I lay there for a while, and feeling in the mood, I wet myself a bit more and tried to get back to sleep.  I hadn't any lectures until mid-day, then I had three of them.  What a bitch!  Didn't they know it was Friday? Eventually I remembered I had an essay to hand in, and it wasn't completed and so I had to get up. I was thinking of either shower or tea, and tea won so I staggered towards the kitchen and put the kettle on, then sat down to await its boiling.  It was just after eight o'clock, still early by student standards and I was still half asleep.  Just as the kettle boiled and clicked off, the phone rang.  I leaned over and picked it up.  It was Julian, all bright and cheerful, which I found quite intimidating at such an hour.  I replied to his greeting with a croaked "Good Morning".

"Can you get to Tony's for a shoot?"

"What?  Shoot what?" I mumbled through my hair.

"We've got a job for you.  A big job.  We need you urgently."

"Shit!  I've got lectures all day.  What's happened?"

"Have you read the papers?"

"No.  We don't get one here." That was true.  Papers cost money.

"The model who was due to do the shoot was picked up by the police last night with half the Columbian export trade stuffed up her nose and the other half in her handbag. She's hors de combat for at least a week - probably longer if she doesn't get bail.  Everything is set up for the session - except they don't have anyone to shoot.  I had your pictures on the screen when they called, so I sent them over and they liked them.  They want you.  How soon can you get there?"

"Shit! I've got college!"

"Call in sick or something.  This Is Important.  It's Vogue!  They'll pay you money!"

The Magic Word!  "How much?"

"They'll pay you what they were going to pay her." And he told me. Suddenly I was wide awake. I sat up sharply and felt the cool wetness at the back of my waistband.  That was enough for the gas bill for the rest of college, and some spare for the rent.

"Yup.  I'm sick.  I'll be right down."

"I'll bring a taxi and wait outside.  Don't bother to dress up - just come as you are."  No Julian.  Not in a T-shirt and a soggy wet nappy.  That wouldn't do at all.

I put the phone down and jumped to my feet.  Then I clutched at my nappy, which had seemed strangely reluctant to follow me.  I grabbed a plastic bag and teetered off to the shower, where I slipped the nappy down the rest of the way and bagged it.  Then I showered in record time, slung on some clothes, and headed for the door.  Just as I got there, I remembered the nappy and stuffed it into the bag.  As I ran down the stairs I saw Julian waiting for me.  I stuffed the heavy bag in the bin, and joined him.  Goodbye student poverty, hello money!

[Sarah Penguin]

Congratulations soggy-bottomed Model Amelia

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, another good addition.

[warpiper]

Ooooooo!

[freswith]

I'll tell you more tomorrow!

[freswith]

Holly's Cot

Julian took me home after the shoot, and I invited him in for a cup of tea.  For once, Helen was there without her rather over-attentive boyfriend.  The three of us sat down to discuss the day.  Julian was delighted with his coup of getting me onto the shoot at such short notice, and for getting me such a credit on my CV.  He said other potential employers would be impressed that I had done a Vogue shoot, even if Vogue ultimately didn't use the pictures; he said that sometimes happened, although he did assure me I would get paid.  He would use it as a lever to get me more business.  I began to spend more time at the model agency, not just fluttering around like the other models, but getting involved and making myself useful.  I soon realised that actually being in business is very different from what we were taught in the classroom, and found the experience invaluable.  Julian took me along to a fashion show and I got to see what went on behind the scenes, and very hectic it was too,  I was much impressed, and told Julian that I would like to have a go at it myself.  He nodded, and began to point out the details that I might otherwise have missed, about how the girls walked and strutted down the catwalk, how they stopped and posed in front of the photographers and how they had to get back behind the curtain to change franticly into the next costume in time to appear cool, calm and collected through the curtain a few moments later.  I lapped it all up.

Suddenly I began to see modelling as a proper full-time job, and the implications began to hit me.  I wanted to tell Mum my good news, but something was stopping me.  If I told Mum, she would certainly tell Dad. I was at college, and Dad had financed me so far.  I couldn't give it up without offending him, and I would almost certainly give up any chance of taking over the family business one day.  On the other hand, after a year at college and a day in the glamour of the fashion business, selling farm tractors suddenly seemed much less appealing.  Also, telling the college that I was sick today ran against my principles.  I had been brought up with very strict principles, partially inherited from Granpa who was very much an officer and a gentleman, and also from my father who believed that honesty was the foundation of good business.  I might justify it once in a while - that was a woman's privilege - but if this was going to be a regular thing, then it would have to be sorted.  I told Julian all this, and his reaction was to suggest that I made the study of the fashion business the subject for my project.  He would talk to Margeurite and ask her to take me "behind the scenes" to show me how the business was actually run, then I could claim to be doing practical work towards my degree while making money - possibly a lot of money - and having a whale of a time as well.

I had two more assignments before Christmas - one of them was for lingerie, which Julian was worried I might not accept, but apart from having to have a bikini wax (OUCH!) I thoroughly enjoyed them - and Julian was delighted to see that I was in demand.  Apparently there is always a need for new faces in the business; Julian had told me the truth, and I was a new face.  It was very flattering, and quite well paid, and I was able to go home at Christmas having paid all the bills and bought generous Christmas presents for everybody. There was also a cupboard full of nappies in the flat - I had indulged myself a bit there, but there was also a well-stocked wine rack, and for me at least, the two things went together.

The journey home wasn't long, but it was tedious. Very few people of my age have cars in London, it simply isn't worth it and the insurance is sky high. The alternative is a couple of train journeys and waiting for a connection on Bletchley station, which is pretty dire, as is the winter evening walking home up the hill and dodging the traffic.  This time I was lucky; Mum came to meet me at Bletchley and gave me a lift home which was very welcome as I had lots to carry with the Christmas presents and the usual load of laundry to do.  I was bursting to tell her about my good fortune, but I was still worried about how the family would react.  I resolved to start with Juliet, who was my favourite confidant and the most likely to understand, and with her support I could face the others.

I got my chance on Christmas Eve.  The nursery was bustling with five small children to care for, and a production line had been set up.  Aunt Claire had her two, Viola and Alice, to look after, Juliet had Holly and little Jack, and Vickie, now a rather reluctant "Leading Child" was looking after - or rather trying to control - her little brother William.  At nine years old William was the oldest, and naturally the ringleader in any mischief, but was ably assisted by Viola, who was a year younger. Claire was in the bathroom which adjoined the nursery, which left Juliet in charge of the changing table assisted by Vickie.  I managed to take a back seat on this one, not wishing to get talcum powder on my brand new dress; it was long and maroon, and very Christmassy, but would be spoiled by the smallest stain.  Three-year-old Alice was first out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and toddled cheerfully over to Juliet at the table, making only token objection as she was nappied for the night in swathes of terry towelling.  Both Claire and Gran agreed that, in mind of the amount they had eaten and drunk, cloth nappies would be more leak-proof this night.  I looked at Vickie as she scrunched the plastic pants up and slipped them over Alice's ankles; Vickie had flowered in the last year or so, and started to round out her figure in the nicest way.  I wondered how Julian would react to her now, with her long pale blonde hair and deep blue eyes;  I suspect he would have been slavering at the jaws with the business possibilities she offered - in my view at least, Vickie was much more beautiful than I was.

Juliet lifted Alice to her feet and pulled the pants up over her nappy, pushing the leg elastics up to minimise leaks. Alice shifted her weight from foot and complained at the bulk, but Juliet told her that it was to make sure she didn't leak tonight - of all nights, then picked her up.  Alice wrapped her legs around Juliet and consented to be carried to her cot.  It was obvious that every piece of bedding had been utilised at Pembroke to cope with the influx of the expanded family, and Alice, being the youngest had to put up with being in a cot at three years old - a fact about which she also complained.  I was waiting for the big complaint; when Holly saw that she had been allocated the Big Cot - at six years old that would cause fireworks, even more so since her little brother Jack would be sleeping in the old nanny's room next door in a grown-up bed, and he was two years younger than Holly.

Next out of the bathroom was Jack, and I noted that he was excused the changing table.  At four years old, Juliet had succeeded in getting him dry at night to the extent that he no longer needed protection.  This I suspected was another bugbear for Holly, as Jack would doubtless rub in the fact that she wet her nappy every night and he didn't even need one, even though he was two years younger.  Jack was also being allowed to sleep in a proper bed in the Nanny's room with William, a great privilege for him, and I suspected, quite a serious mistake; I would have put Viola in there and Jack in the big cot, but then I am not a mother - nor at my present age, a child - but I could still appreciate how important these little status symbols were.

We had to wait a little while because the ancient boiler that heated Pembroke's water was doing it's best, but it was rather old and unused to the demands of five small children.  I started to tell Juliet about my adventures in modelling.  She was a little concerned at first that I was exposing myself - not in terms of flesh, but in terms of being swindled, and I told her about Margeurites and Vogue.  She was suitably impressed, and I gained some confidence that the rest of the family might be just as favourably disposed.  Vickie was all agog to hear about it - she had heard about Margeurites, and was anxious to hear more.  I was in the middle of telling them about Julian and how outrageously gay he was, when Claire came out of the bathroom.  I had forgotten about her being in the next room, and she had overheard most of it.  She questioned me about the terms of my contract - commercial law was her specialist field - but she had met Margeurite herself some time back and told me that her agency was one of the best around; certainly nobody had sued it recently.  Now that I had some support from her I felt I could tell my parents at a suitable moment, and then leave Mum to handle any objections from Gran or Granpa.

I didn't have long to wait.  After we had finally persuaded Holly that the big cot was a nice - and indeed the only - place to sleep, and that we would leave the side down, she reluctantly allowed herself to be plonked inside and settled.  Viola and William were allowed to stay up a little longer with respect to their age, but were finally bedded so that we could go down to our late supper.  Drinks were served in the lounge, and just as a started mine there was a sudden silence.  Gran produced a copy of Vogue, and dropped it onto the coffee table.  I cursed inwardly.  It certainly wasn't part of Gran's world; she despised fashion and kept to her own - immaculate - taste in clothes and furnishings, and I had never before seen a copy of Vogue in the house.  Tatler, yes, but Vogue never.

"So what's all this about, Amelia?"

"I got myself a part-time job, Gran."

"Part time? Part-dressed and selling your body!" she replied firmly.  I knew Gran had no time at all for fashion models; she thought of them as shallow feckless clothes-horses who would do anything for money.

"It's her body to sell." Claire said, which wasn't entirely helpful at that stage, but I was glad of the support.

"You knew about this?" snapped Gran, "and you let her do it?"

Claire replied smoothly, "I am not Amelia's keeper.  I said I would keep an eye out for her, and I have, but I see nothing wrong about her taking up a part time job, and Vogue is a highly respectable publication.  I cannot see Amelia's reputation being hurt in any way by appearing in it.  I haven't seen the pictures myself - may I?"

Gran passed her the magazine. "Page fifty-two - and onwards!" she said.

Claire took the magazine and, courtroom etiquette being observed, the rest of us  remained very quiet while she perused the document.  Dad and Percy craned their necks to see, but I stayed very still.  I knew the pictures were very good, but there was a certain amount of flesh on show - That Dress had been very revealing, and I had exploited the fact to the full.

"Practically naked!" said Gran, breaking the silence.  Dad and Percy squeezed even closer and Peter went round to take a look.  As Dad reached out to take the magazine from Claire, Mum promptly beat him to it, and took it back across the table where Tom and Emma immediately craned their necks to see.

"They're lovely pictures!" exclaimed Mum, and I began to breathe again.  There was a general murmur of agreement.  I was off the hook, and just for once Gran was in the minority.  "Gorgeous dress!  Did they let you keep it?"  I shook my head. 

"Did they pay you?" Dad asked, ever the businessman.  I told him how much they paid me.

"Good God!" exclaimed Granpa, making his first contribution, "They didn't pay me that much when I was an Admiral!"

Juliet's reply came softly from behind me, "Perhaps you should have taken your clothes off then, Granpa."  I caught my breath again.  It was brave, even though Juliet was his favourite grandchild; we had always been taught to treat Granpa with enormous respect.  I needn't have worried.  From somewhere down in the old sailor's  hold, Granpa's laughter began to rumble upwards, past the orlop deck and the gundecks, finally bursting out of the hatchway in a hearty roar.

"Perhaps I should have done!" he laughed, "They might have made me full Admiral if I'd looked half as good as that!"

Gran sat there tight lipped.  I had seen the very rare spectacle of her losing an argument.

Dad then asked me if it was taking time from college, and I had to admit that I had missed a couple of lectures with the various assignments, but I told them about the business project I had to do in the coming year, and said that Margeurite had agreed to help me with it.  Dad nodded his approval at that and then asked Gran if he could keep that copy of Vogue as a souvenir. Gran was still bristling about losing the argument, and replied quite sharply that she couldn't because it belonged to Mrs Johnson.  I felt a sharp pang: she was Matt's mother, and that would mean that Matt had seen them, or would see them, and not for the first time I realised how much I missed him.  I began to scheme: perhaps I could "just bump into" him at some point during the holiday, and take it from there.

Our meal was only interrupted three times when someone had to go upstairs to resettle the excited children - it was Christmas Eve after all.  Only on the third time did we have to apply the nuclear option; "Father Christmas won't come until you go to sleep.  If you don't go to sleep soon, he won't come at all, and there won't be any presents." which finally worked.  I had to give Holly a lift back over the side of her cot, facing another stream of bitter grumbles, then I tucked her in, and notwithstanding Juliet's earlier promise, I lifted the side and latched it.  I felt a sudden pang of envy.  The last time I had been in that cot I had Peter to tease, and I suddenly wanted to be in Holly's place, well padded out in a disposable night-time nappy, safely within the confines of a cot.  Holly evidently didn't agree. 

"How will I get out if I want to go to the toilet?" she asked plaintively.  She wriggled until she had one leg akimbo, foot pressed against the other knee.  Her nappy was obviously somewhat thicker than normal and would probably hold Noah's Flood; I wondered how far she would get in trying to remove and replace it.  Not a chance!

"When do you ever get out and go to the toilet then?  I've never heard that you did." Holly was silent for a moment, and Wicked Aunt Amelia pressed home her advantage. "You'll just have to use your nappy for what it's meant for!" I said, heartlessly destroying years of Juliet's attempts at toilet training.

With the children settled - hopefully for the rest of the night - a party of adults decided to go to the church for the midnight service.  I decided to opt out, saying I would prefer to help Vickie with the children. I usually enjoyed the midnight service - it had long been seen as an adult privilege to be envied, which, once achieved, was found to be over-rated.  Although I quite liked church, I was not religious about it. Besides, Vickie would have her hands full if there was another revolt in the nursery.

 As it happened, there was no more trouble from that quarter, and I was able to have a long chat with Vickie about the modelling business, and even suggested she try it.  She replied sadly that her parents would never allow it.  She was destined to follow her father's footsteps to Cambridge, to read mathematics, and to take up a career as an academic.  She spoke of it as if it was a life sentence, and I longed to find a way she could escape.  I could see that she would eventually revolt and do her own thing, but it wouldn't happen quite yet.  Maybe if she had a gap year I would take her to see Margeurite and Julian; I am sure they would bite at the chance to recruit her.

I had been drinking a lot of alcohol, and I could hardly wear a nappy in front of Vickie, so it was back to sleeping with one eye open; not so difficult in a strange bed, especially one without a waterproof sheet.  It worked.  I only had to get up once to use the toilet in the small hours.  I staggered along the cold landing to the toilet, once more regretting the absence of a nappy, which would have made the trip unnecessary.

On the way back I looked into the nursery to check that all was well.  By the feeble glow of the nightlight I saw the big cot was empty, and a bundle of bedclothes on the floor beside it.  Inside the bundle was a shivering, miserable Holly.  She looked up as I approached.

"I'm wet!" she complained tearfully, "and I leaked. It's that cot's fault!"

I hushed her and whispered my reply to avoid waking the others. "Come on then, let's fix you up." And I guided her to the bathroom. 

Her complaints continued as I cleaned her up.  "That cot's uncomfortable and I have to sleep on my side.  That makes my nappy leak.  I don't mind wearing a nappy, I know I need one, but I'm not a baby, I'm NOT a baby, and I WON'T sleep in a cot!"

I could only agree with her; I suddenly felt terribly guilty - I had asked to spend Christmas at Pembroke so I could be with Vickie and Juliet, but in so doing I had taken the last bed, and thus condemned Holly to the Big Cot, so I had caused her this great anguish.  The trade-off for putting up with nappies had always been that it would be recognised that nappies did not a baby make, and no humiliation would ever be involved.  Holly was quite right about the cot, and in fairness I had to do something about it.

"We'll give you a cloth nappy and pants, they don't leak at the side - you'll be alright then."

"Alright. But the bed's still wet.  I'd rather sleep on the floor!"

I began to respect Holly.  Juliet had told me that she was incredibly stubborn, and I recognised the streak of rebellious courage that ran through the family.  I saw something of myself in her - she was my niece, after all.  I realised I had made a mistake in being so strict with her before by lifting the side of the cot, and I didn't want her to be repressed in the way that Vickie was; her germ of rebelliousness and independence should never be extinguished, since it was just that germ that would eventually enable her to beat her problem. I had an idea.

"Alright, let's get you changed, then you can come and sleep with me in my bed.  I'm sure Father Christmas won't mind."

"Bugger Father Christmas.  I just want a dry bed, not a wet cot."

I caught my breath.  Such language was not supposed to be used in front of adults, because it was known to upset them, but Holly and I were now co-conspirators and such intimacies were acceptable.

We went back to the changing table and I picked out one of the big terry nappies that Viola used, and a pair of pants to go with it.  Holly wasn't familiar with cloth nappies, and watched with interest as I kite-folded and sprinkled it with powder it before lifting her on to the table (God! She was heavy!) and positioning her bottom in the centre of it.  I was careful to remember the ointment, as Holly would be nappied all the time while she was at Pembroke, and nappy-rash was not an option.  Holly wriggled and giggled as I applied it, and it occurred to me that I was now just as smooth down there as Holly was, and I decided I must try this for myself when I got home.  I pulled the front up between her legs and brought the sides round and started to pin them. Holly was now quite cooperative, and rolled slightly, which enabled me to pull her nappy a little more tightly around her waist before the pin went in - I wasn't going to risk it coming down in the night. Having tucked the surplus in at the legs I slipped the pants over her ankles and up to her thighs until the leg elastics began to grip her.  Then I stood her up and finished pulling them up around her waist and pushing the leg elastics up into her nappy to minimise any more leaks.  Then following long tradition I gave her a pat on the bottom and a kiss on the cheek. "Comfy now?" I whispered.  She nodded, making a small adjustment to the leg elastics.

"Feels funny.  How will I walk with all this between my legs?" she whispered.

"You'll manage.  It's not far.  Your pyjama bottoms are still wet, so we won't use them."  I lifted her back down again.  She went to her heap of bedclothes and extracted her teddy bear, then I took her other hand and we walked back down the landing.  I noticed that she did indeed have difficulty in walking; the nappies were sized for Viola and were very bulky on Holly, but she managed.

The three of us curled up like spoons in my bed, myself, Holly and Teddy, each with and arm around the next, and Holly was asleep in a few moments.  I lingered longer, wondering at the irony of Holly hating her cot and her nappies, while I would cheerfully have traded both with her.  I would have to have a place of my own sometime where I could do just that.

[Sarah Penguin]

[CDLover]

Bravo!!

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, Great as usual.

[derj]

[weeboy]

Thanks Freswith

Another great chapter

[weeboy]

*bump*

Thanks Freswith

How the next chapter coming along?

[freswith]

The next chapter is nearly complete, but I am very, very busy until the weekend at least.

[fyunch]

<inhale> <hold_breath>

[freswith]

Supernanny

Juliet woke us the following morning in a bit of a tiswas, wondering where Holly had got to.  Fortunately she had met Vickie in the corridor, and Vickie had told her where to find her errant child.  Holly explained to her mother and all was well again, and then she dashed off to examine her stocking, which was hanging on the side of her cot, so I followed them both down to the nursery to join in the fun.  Holly was only slightly wet, and the changing table was occupied by a restless Alice, so Juliet let her be while she examined the contents of her stocking.  All was well until Viola appeared, dressed but without a nappy on.  It appeared that Claire had decided she was sufficiently continent not to need one.  Juliet sucked her teeth; not only was it a transgression of Pembroke Rules, in which such decisions were Gran's prerogative, but it presaged a similar demand from Holly.  The idea had always been that since children would be much preoccupied by playing during the celebrations, that accidents would be much more likely, and the embarrassment and disruption so much greater that it was easier to put them in nappies and let them carry on playing without disturbance, changing them when necessary.  This was the second instance in twenty four hours of Claire, still a little bit of an outsider in such matters, going head-to-head with her mother-in-law, and it was something that might well end up in another argument.  As Holly finally reached the orange at the bottom of her stocking, Juliet reached out and took her pants by the waistband and slid the whole now-sodden package down her legs.  Holly continued to play with a small doll without apparently noticing; it was such an everyday occurrence.  She hung on to her new doll as Juliet guided her toward the bathroom for a clean-up, and I went towards the changing-table to be ready to assist in the next procedure.

"Disposable or cloth?" I called.

"Disposable." came the reply, as Juliet guided Holly towards the table.

"Mum!" came the expected objection, "Viola isn't wearing a nappy, so why do I have to?"

"Because it's Christmas and you're at Pembroke.  You always do."

"But Mum, I'm hardly ever wet in the daytime!"

"But sometimes you are.  Do you want to be interrupted every few minutes and nagged to go to the toilet or do you want to be free to play with all your new toys?"

"I can do it, I know I can."

"Well, today is your chance to demonstrate it by keeping your nappy dry for once."

"But what if I want to go to the toilet?"

"Ask me, or Vickie, or Amelia or Claire.  They'll always be someone to help you put your nappy back on afterwards."

"But I won't need one then will I? I'll just have been."

"But Gran - Great Gran - says you must."

Holly shrugged.  I noted that Great Gran had replaced Father Christmas as the ultimate sanction.  I began to realise that Holly had probably rumbled the Father Christmas myth, but was only playing along with it because it kept the grown-ups happy, and she didn't want to destroy their precious beliefs and risk cutting the supply of Christmas presents.  I unfolded the nappy on the edge of the changing table and Juliet lifted her daughter up and sat her in the middle of it.  Holly obediently laid back and spread her legs, still playing with her doll as Juliet centred the nappy and taped the sides.  Argument won, and Holly appeared to have forgotten all about it as her tights were slipped on over her nappy followed by her vest and dress, and then she toddled back to play with her new toys again.

The morning proceeded as usual, with Gran's three daughters helping her in the kitchen while Vickie supervised the children playing in the lounge.  I tried to help in the kitchen and was tolerated for a time, but my expertise being limited I was soon dispatched to the lounge to help Vickie.  I found her doing her best in the circumstances, and helped as best I could by taking Alice for a much-needed change.  Holly insisted she didn't need one, but as lunchtime approached she came to me and whispered that she had had a little tiny accident and please could she have a dry nappy before lunch.  Naturally, she was changed without question, such was the tradition, and we rejoined the happy throng.  I noticed that Gran had retired from the fray in the kitchen, and was sitting in the corner looking a bit harassed.  I felt I had some fences to mend with her so I poured her a glass of sherry, which she gratefully accepted.  I took the opportunity to apologise for causing so much trouble the night before about my modelling job, and she forgave me readily; she said that times changed and I had a right to arrange my life as I saw fit.  She even admitted that the pictures were rather good.  I plucked up my courage, and mentioned Mrs Johnson, and Gran looked at me very carefully and told me that she had spoken with her the day before, and that Matt was indeed coming home for Christmas.  My heart leapt, and Gran, smiling, said that perhaps I would be good enough to return the copy of Vogue to her tomorrow.  I returned her smile, and gave her a kiss.  We both knew what I really wanted, it really didn't need to be said. 

With that she changed the subject, and told me that the keeping Christmas at Pembroke was really getting just too much for her, as even with the help of her daughters, there were twenty-one people for lunch, and even Pembroke's huge resources were stretched to the limit.  I realised she had a point, poor Gran was now well into her seventies and the strain was showing.  She told me that they planned to move into a small modern bungalow in the centre of the village, close to the shops and almost next to the Doctor's surgery.  I asked, worried, what was going to happen to Pembroke, and she told me not to get upset; they had been talking to Percy, and he planned, with his new status, to take over Pembroke as he needed more space for his growing family, and he wanted to move out of the city to give them cleaner air and a country upbringing.  I could see the sense of this, although the thought of Pembroke without Gran and Granpa seemed a frightening new concept; the house had for so long been the lynchpin of the family, the place we all thought of as the centre of family life, that even this natural passage of the generations took some getting used to.  Now I saw why Claire had been so uppity towards Gran; she could already see herself in the role of Chatelaine of Pembroke, and thus the arbiter of Pembroke Rules.

Just as that thought occurred, and bang on cue, Viola jumped up with a yell.  The cause was plain to see, she had had an accident and the evidence was spreading all across her lovely Christmas dress.

"Don't worry, Gran - I'll handle it!" and Amelia Grace, Supernanny, took charge.  A quick check on the precious carpet revealed it hadn't got that far yet, and I hustled her out of the room as quickly as I could.  I got her in to the downstairs toilet, stripped off her wet clothes, and sat her on the toilet bowl with firm instructions to complete her business.  I then left her to it while I rolled up her clothes and took them out through the kitchen to the annex where the laundry room was situated.  I bundled the clothes into the big machine where they joined the bedclothes from Holly's Big Cot.  There was still plenty of room in the machine for another accident, but I was already determined that there wouldn't be one.  I returned to the toilet armed with a big towel, and wrapped it around the rather crestfallen Viola before guiding her back upstairs to the nursery.  There I presented her with a simple ultimatum.  "Cloth or disposable, Dear?"

"Mum said I didn't need to wear one."

"Pembroke Rules.  Gran says you do.  Besides you said you could cope, and plainly you can't." I patted the top of the changing table, "Cloth or disposable?" I repeated.  I think it's what Dad calls an "alternative close"; I wasn't selling tractors, but I was selling nappies, and this time the customer wasn't going to get away without one.  I took a cloth nappy out and shook it open in front of Viola.  Her shoulders went down.  "Disposable." she murmured.

I took one from the shelves beneath the table.  "Hup!" I ordered - I wasn't going to try and lift Viola - she was too big and heavy - and she slowly unwrapped the towel from her middle and climbed onto the table, where she sat herself in the middle of the open nappy.  I ignored the obvious misery of the child, but I offered her some ointment.  She refused.  I offered it again, saying that nappy rash was not an option at Christmas time, and she took the hint and nodded.  I anointed her with a generous dollop and pulled her nappy up between her legs, matched it with the sides, and taped it down firmly in place.  Poor Viola was almost in tears at the humiliation, so I spoke to her more gently, comforting her and pointing out that her accident was now in the past, and there wouldn't be another one.  Nobody was ever blamed for having an accident if they had a nappy on; that was what the nappy was for, anyway, and she could wet it if she needed to.  This was the other side of Pembroke Rules; within them you were inside a warm protective family who understood your problem and accommodated it.  There was no need for tears, no need for excuses.  She could relax now and enjoy Christmas, no more accidents, no more scenes, everyone would understand.  After a few minutes she stopped sniffling, and I picked her tights from her bag and slipped them over her feet.  She pulled them up herself, stretched them over her nappy, added a loose sweater and her short denim skirt, and then we went back downstairs to join the others.  On the way down we passed Holly and Vickie on the way up.  We didn't need to ask why, but I was grateful that both girls would be comfortable until well after lunch so we could relax our watch on them and all enjoy the meal.

Thankfully there were no more crises that day; the girls were changed after the long lunch had finished and before we sat down to open the big presents from under the Christmas tree in the hall.  Gran dished them out to each person in rotation and the hall was soon ankle-deep in wrapping paper and surplus toys.  Once again the wisdom of Pembroke Rules were apparent; Juliet made sure that Jack used the toilet, although it was accepted that the girls, intent on their play, would have accidents now and again, but they would be safely contained in their nappies.  I envied them when I had to get up and go to the toilet, but I don't think I could have justified taking the same precautions myself - it would certainly have aroused comment.  All went well until little Alice and Jack were put safely to bed, long after the normal time, and Juliet went on the hunt for Holly, who had made herself scarce along with Viola and William.  Peter I joined in the search, and Peter had just observed that the part-full wine bottles, which had been left on the table after lunch so they could be drained at supper, had somehow been deprived of their contents.  This was followed by a stifled giggle, and the discovery of the culprits hiding beneath the table.  They were ordered out, and stood red-faced and sheepishly beside the table.  Holly was leaning against it for support.  There were a few long moments while Peter judged the situation, came to a verdict, passed sentence, and then, in view of it being Christmas day, pardoned the miscreants.  He picked up the swaying Holly, and to a chorus of "What shall we do with a drunken sailor" carried her off upstairs, accompanied by Percy carrying Viola, and the children's mothers.  I tagged along with Vickie to watch the fun as an angry Emma drove William upstairs.  Holly was first to be disrobed, including a rather wet nappy, and plonked giggling into a freshly-run bath.  She was giggling cheerfully and splashed poor Juliet until I thought Juliet would lose her temper - something I had very rarely seen, but Peter went in and Holly promptly behaved herself, only to start playing up again when she reached the changing table, kicking and wriggling and trying to slide off.  Peter took over, as Juliet said she needed to change into dry clothes,.  Vickie folded a cloth nappy, and I noted, added a booster, a wise move in view of Holly's drunken state.  I held Holly's hands at the top of the table to limit her wriggling, and with that end secured, Peter seized her ankles and slid the nappy up under his daughter's bottom.  Then he reached for the ointment.  At this point Holly suddenly stopped struggling and let Peter complete the process.  I watched Holly carefully, and noted how much she seemed to be enjoying her father's attention in this area.  It wasn't difficult to work out why, and I thought: "Well there's another one in the making!" I looked up, and happened to catch Emma's eye, and she winked at me; she, too, had been watching Holly's antics, and well knew what was going on.

I released Holly's hands - I knew she wouldn't make any more trouble, particularly when Peter was wielding those nasty sharp pricky pins so close to her tummy - and I was right.  She was as good as gold as Peter pinned her nappy around her - quite tightly, I thought, but then Peter had strong hands and wasn't having any more nonsense that night.  Once the heads of the pins had been locked down, it was business as usual, but by then Vicky a pair of plastic pants halfway up Holly's thighs, and further resistance was useless.  Peter stood Holly up, pulled her pants up around her waist quite firmly, and pushed the elastics up into their proper position.  Holly put her arms around Peter's neck and leant against him, smirking all over her face.  Peter like any fool man, fell for it all, and kissed her.  I knew exactly what she was doing, how she was playing up Peter in order to hold his attention; I had done it myself so often in times past, and I envied her being able to do it now.  Holly was now even more thickly nappied than last night - and with good reason - but I wondered how it was all going to stay up, or even stay on - Holly could be quite difficult in that respect..  Vickie had the answer; and opened a pale pink romper into which Holly was invited to step.  It was then pulled up, her arms were inserted into the long sleeves, and finally it was zipped up - at the back.  There was no way she was going to be able to take her nappy off without assistance, and given the bulk of her nappy, it wasn't likely she would feel the need; she was in for the night.  Fortunately Holly's interest was still fixed on her father, and she didn't notice the very babyish yellow duck that was appliquéd on the front - she would normally have protested loudly at such an infantile adornment.  Peter picked her up - easy for him - and carried her over to the Big Cot.  I was expecting another explosion here, but either Holly was determined to be good, or more likely wanted to please Daddy, either way she made no objection to being lifted over the side and plonked down on to the mattress. 

Attention shifted to Viola, who was being shepherded out of the bathroom and on to the changing table by a rather tired looking Claire.  Peter lifted the side of the cot, and withdrew from the nursery, leaving just us girls.  Viola's preparation for bed proceeded smoothly, and once again Vickie put a booster inside the nappy before it was slid under Viola's backside.  There was no wriggle from Viola, I think she was just too tired, and she was soon between the sheets of her bed.  Emma returned to the room - I thought she had been attending to William, but he was now old enough - and hopefully responsible enough to look after himself, and Emma had gone down to the kitchen to fetch a drink of milk for little Alice.  One look in the small cot and it was clear that Alice was fast asleep, so Emma asked Holly if she would like it.  From my position I could see what Holly couldn't; the late refreshment was to be served in a bottle with a teat.  Holly who was sitting up in her cot, accepted readily, but was startled when the bottle was passed over the rail to her.  She looked at it for a long moment, then gave a shrug of resignation, took the bottle and laid back to enjoy it.  Emma tucked the bedclothes in around her, and we all left the nursery very quietly.

I checked on Holly just before I went to bed, and removed the empty bottle.  It was almost certain that the late-night drink meant she would be thoroughly wet by the morning, but it was Christmas, she was very well padded-out anyway, and nothing would ever be said about it.

The following morning it was cold, bright and clear, and I set off on my mission to return Mrs Johnson's copy of Vogue.  (Dad had already been dispatched the newsagents to buy more copies for the rest of the family.) As I was getting ready, Viola asked if she could come along for the walk, and I could hardly refuse.  It's not a long walk, and I enjoyed her company; we had built a close relationship over my many evenings of sitting for her parents.

Halfway there I passed Matt.  My joy was very short lived; he was walking with a girl; a little mousy girl, but a girl just the same, and although they were not arm-in-arm, they were very close.  A cold hand gripped my stomach; he had found another love, and I had been replaced.  I was careful to ignore them because I was desperate to preserve my dignity, so Viola and I passed by on the other side of the lane, like ships in the night.

Mrs Johnson was very happy to see me and invited me in, but I declined.  The cold pit in my stomach was getting deeper and colder, and I certainly didn't want to be in when Matt returned with his girlfriend and could well cause me to die with embarrassment, so I made my excuses and left quickly.

I was very quiet on the way back, until Viola said, "If you still love him, why don't you tell him?"

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings come all manner of things.  I didn't know Viola knew about my long-term relationship with Matt, and I didn't even know if she had recognised him when we passed.

I found my voice.  It had slipped down into that cold black hole where my happiness had once been, and I replied with a croak.  "I...  He....  He's found somebody else." Somewhere a star collapsed, and a new terrible truth was born.  I kept on pushing one foot in front of the other.  "It wouldn't be appropriate to tell him with his new girlfriend there.  I just couldn't do it."

We walked on slowly, in silence.  "You could write to him?" she said.

"Perhaps I will." I replied flatly, not wishing to pursue the question.  I noticed that Viola's gait appeared a bit awkward.  It gave me the chance to change the subject.  "Oh Dear! Are you wet, pet?"

Now it was Viola's turn to look crestfallen.  "It's cold," she said, "and I wanted to go when we got to Mrs Johnson's, but we didn't go in and I didn't have the chance to ask.  There's been nowhere to go since then.  Sorry."

"Never mind, We'll be home soon." I comforted her, "I'll change you then.  Let's try to do it without telling your Mum." Claire's inquiries were usually very thorough and left no stone unturned.  I just did not wish to be a party to one; I wanted to keep my misery to myself.

As we walked on, I began to feel the need to go myself, but as Claire said, it was very cold and there was nowhere to go.  I began to envy her in that she did at least have an option, and suddenly I wanted to have that option myself.  Pembroke Rules.  They could be a sizeable comfort at times; they took away a lot of worry if you had a little problem like that.  Suddenly I wanted to have a nappy on.  I wanted to be curled up somewhere warm and safe, I wanted to be pampered and cared for, I wanted to be able to relieve my feelings and start the slow healing process.  I wanted a place of my own where I could be alone with my misery.

[Sarah Penguin]

Awww she seems so sad now after seeing Matt. *hugs*

[jbz2079]

Thanks once again Freswith.

Another good addition.