Phone Conversation

[Sarah Penguin]

Very happy for Micawber *smiles and hugs*

[derj]

:-)

[freswith]

Manhattan

I spent most of the next month in New York, living in Marguerite's flat on East 96th Street..  There were a couple of sorties to Miami for swimwear shots, and one to L.A., and they kept me hard at work - it certainly wasn't a holiday.  There were other problems too.  Not only was I without Matt - and I missed him terribly - but any socialising I did was severely limited by the same old problem.  I really didn't like the idea of wetting Marguerite's bed, and I hadn't dared to bring any nappies (or "diapers" as I should now call them) through the hopelessly stupid and humourless U.S. Customs, nor did I have the courage to buy my own supply, as my face was now all too well known.  I had no real choice: no late partying for me and hello again to the "Ice Maiden" tag I had so hoped to be rid of.

One problem was solved when Julian came over to stay in the other bedroom.  He had business in New York, and that included me, so he was able to buy some diapers for me and that made it possible for me to have more than just one drink in an evening; I could socialise a bit, and then wear the necessary protection to bed.  That proved particularly necessary on a couple of occasions when I could stay out late and let my hair down with the other girls; then at least Marguerite's bed would stay dry even if I didn't.

Otherwise the work was much the same as in London: appear at all the "right" functions wearing clothes that were designed to attract the photographers and thus get published in all the popular press, socialise and charm the rich and mighty guests (but never get so close as to upset their wives), then appear at the studios on the following morning, as fresh as a daisy and looking like I had been curled up in bed since seven the previous night.  It took some doing.

The main job was to promote their new range of sleepwear.  I was a bit cautious at first, since filmy negligees come precious close to doing Glamour work, and that is a one-way street in modelling down which I was anxious not to go, but my fears were baseless.  It was all very sensible stuff, still sexy, but practical and comfortable.  They even got me to do a little voice-over extolling the products.  And they raved over my "British" accent.  I didn't tell them that there were hundreds of "British accents", but my cut-glass pronunciation, falling delicately onto each word, pleased them greatly.  They sprung a surprise question on me when they asked what I thought of the little baby-doll night dress which stopped tantalisingly at the lower edge, and would I wear that to bed?  I managed to blush and giggle at the thought, which came out brilliantly, but it wasn't because of my modesty - it was because I knew what I really wore to bed, and that the baby doll would be very suitable for me as it would make diaper changes much easier, but I bit my lip coyly and played the virgin on that one.  I had, in fact, been very taken by it, but it would need some larger pants to go over my nappy - sorry, "diaper" - however the thought of the pillow showing between my legs suddenly turned me on; it was that which made me blush.  They liked the blush.  They are very keen on innocence and purity, even though I had lost mine when I was still somewhat under age. 

It's not that there wasn't a good supply of men, and handsome ones at that, but the myth of supermodels being able to pick and choose is just that; a myth.  Most nice men seemed to be afraid of asking us for dates, and the only ones which had that kind of self-confidence were usually narcissists and egomaniacs who just wanted to latch onto our celebrity status to massage their own Lothario reputations.  There was nobody like Matt, nobody I could relate to, nobody I could trust, nobody who really knew me, and I wanted much more than a one-night stand with an overgrown adolescent. 

There was one guy who really hit on me and I actually ended up in his luxurious penthouse flat - with a couple of other girls for security - for coffee after the party.  He asked me about Spike's cat, and I became very guarded; the story had gone right around the world, and although many people had asked me about Spike, this was the first time his cat had been mentioned.  I told him that Miranda had put a price on Micawber's head, and Christian said he would pay ten times that for the cat provided he was alive.  I woke up sharply.  Nobody in their right mind would want to do that, so I looked at Mr. Grey more carefully.  I asked whatever would he want the cat for, and without answering he got up and walked to a door, opened it and beckoned me towards it.  With great caution I went over, and to my horror saw that it was unmistakeably a bondage dungeon of the type that Spike would have lusted for, but could never have afforded.  Then, to cap it all he produced a pair of fur-lined handcuffs and came towards me.  I backed off, and turned to leave, but the other two girls were in the doorway, and didn't move.  It was a set-up and I was trapped.

I had sworn never to hit anyone again after I had hit Spike, but this was an emergency.  I kept my cool, waited until I felt Grey's hot breath on the back of my neck, and that strange tingling feeling spread across my shoulders once again, then I turned sharply and brought my fist up, aiming carefully at a point at the back of his head even though I knew his nose was in the way.  I my fist made good firm contact and I could see the flesh rippling outwards across his face.  He lurched back, gaping in amazement, and I brought my knee up between his legs.  He bent forward, so I took the opportunity to grab his hair, kick him on the shin and pull him forward.  He went down with a crash, his hands still clutching his groin.  I turned towards the door again to see two terrified girls backing away desperately.  I stormed past, snarling as I handed off the nearer girl sharply, palm against her forehead, and headed for the lift.  At the last moment my mind cleared.  It was a private lift, a nice little box, and key-operated by Grey's key; once I was in it I would have been at his mercy.  I took the fire escape instead, and surged down the concrete stairs to the street, ignoring the flashguns of the Papps who, as ever, seemed to know where the action was happening.

I think I ran all the way home across the park, and finally reached Marguerite's flat somewhat out of breath, blurting out my story to an alarmed Julian who had apparently been sitting up waiting for me. He sat me own, and wrapped my shoulders in a blanket before passing me a large, strong gin and tonic.  There is no better sharpener, and within a few seconds the room came back into focus.  Julian pursed his lips when I told him the name of the man was Christian Grey, and he reached for the phone.  Less than an hour later as the dawn was breaking I was on my way to the airport to catch a hastily booked flight back to London together with most of my things and my Christmas shopping.  Julian stayed behind at the airport, he said he would tie up some loose ends and meet me in London, so I made the flight alone, hardly sleeping in case some man came up to take me.  When I did sleep I had nightmares of Christian, of Spike, and of being strapped down while they both hanged themselves.  The cold grey pavement of the taxi rank outside the terminal was a very welcome sight - at least I could see the sky and finally knew I was out of trouble.

I didn't linger when I got home.  It was already dark, on the shortest day of the year, and I made myself a quick meal from the freezer, then retired upstairs.  I was still rattled, and tired out from the flight, so I decided to go to bed and sleep it all off.  I made some preparations, then took a shower. Finally, clean and fresh, powdered and anointed, I approached my own safe bed, sat myself down on the pristine white nappy, wrapped it around me slowly and pinned the sides, then tucked in the legs and slipped my feet into the white baby pants before pulling them up to my waist and tucking in all round.  Finally I climbed into my sleeper, and zipped myself in snugly.  I wasn't into bondage, but I loved the security of my nappy, of my sleeper, and of my big soft bed, and it took me back to the days when I was warm and safe and protected. I switched off the light and curled myself up around my bottle of warm milk, and slipped away from the nasty cruel world into my warm and cosy fortress, far from the worries of the world and the strange creatures who inhabited it.

[Sarah Penguin]

Thanks for sharing your update, it was fun

[WBDaddy]

Last thing I expected was to weave a snippet of 50 shades into this story.

[fyunch]

Good on Amelia for decking Grey.

[freswith]

I'm glad you enjoyed that!

[warpiper]

Must have new chapter! ::begins foaming at the mouth::

[freswith]

Thank you.

[freswith]

Nativity.

The shortest day was made even shorter by the foul weather, and the journey home up the motorway was horrible.  Lucy was designed for open country roads and summer weather, not for passing lorries on motorways in heavy winter rain.  Each time I came alongside, the spray would sluice over the windscreen temporarily obscuring the view ahead and giving the sudden impression that the lorry was swerving outwards into my path.  I had to learn to grit my teeth and steer firmly ahead until the screen cleared, but I was very grateful when I reached Junction 13 and could turn off towards home.

One thought above all kept me going: Matt was coming, Matt was coming.  We would be able to spend the holiday together at my parents' house, precious time together after a long separation.  I knew my parents would be sleeping just across the landing, and that would put a bit of a dampener on our lovemaking, but my old room had been re-decorated and refurnished with a double bed, and I was planning to make full use of it. I was looking forward to a nice peaceful Christmas with no worries and lots of Matt.

I arrived at my old home just as the light was fading, and was glad to get into the warm and dry.  I was also looking forward to a meal that I hadn't had to cook for myself.  Matt would be along much later - he was on duty at the surgery today, and would then drive up to stay with me - a five-hour drive in normal times, let alone at the start of the Christmas holiday.  Much though I was looking forward to seeing him I was also worried about him driving such a long way in the appalling conditions and holiday traffic; I would be much relieved when he was safely here. 

I had a pleasant hour sitting beside the fire, drink in my hand, catching up with Mum and Dad before the sound of a car in the drive alerted us to the arrival of Peter and Juliet with their children.  Juliet returned our greeting rather briefly, and shepherded Holly upstairs without delay; it had been a long, long drive in heavy traffic, obviously a bit too long for Holly's notoriously weak bladder, and I suspect that Peter had been as reluctant to stop as Holly would have been to brave the wind and rain by relieving herself in some discreet hedgerow.  I knew the feeling; keep quiet, don't upset Dad, relax and use your nappy. If Mum had insisted you wear a one, then make the best of it. It struck a chord with me; I had done just that many times myself on really long car journeys, such as going on holiday in France.  No comment was made, no names no pack-drill, as Granpa would say, and I realised that it had become accepted practice in our tradition-plagued family, each generation knew and accepted the problem, and quietly assented to the abuse of the necessary protection at certain times when it was merely convenient rather than absolutely necessary.

I greeted Peter with a hug and a kiss.  I had once had a huge crush on him as a child, and it had been as plain as a pikestaff to everyone, but I had outgrown such things - at least, I was always careful to give that impression.  I limited my embraces now to greetings and farewell, such as would keep the peace between my sister and myself.  Thankfully Peter was wise enough never to take advantage of me, even though he had changed my nappies so many times when I was small (and often when I was not so small) and the memory of him doing it was still one of my favourites, now become a fantasy, but carefully confined to the imagination only.  In that respect Matt had made life so much easier, we could now be a foursome, old friends, and all grown up and sensible - on the surface at least.  And Matt could, and did, change my nappies from time to time; it was one of our sex-games, and quite a good way to pass a wet day.

Juliet reappeared with the children, and we had time to greet each other properly.  Holly was now nine years old, and had grown a lot since I last saw her.  She really was a very pretty child, with golden hair and dimples in her cheeks, and would one day be a beauty.  I surveyed her professionally, as Julian would have done, and was well satisfied; she had the makings of a beautiful woman; sometime I would have to take her in hand, as I had taken Vickie in hand, and show her how to make the best of her looks.  She climbed into my lap for a cuddle and although she now weighed a ton, I was happy to put up with it; she was very proud of her supermodel aunty and anxious to tell me all her news.  I, for once was quite grateful that Juliet had obviously changed her into a fresh nappy as my dress had been very expensive - even at the discount I could negotiate - and I was not in the market for an accident and a wet patch.  I was, however, a little curious; Mum wasn't as strict about such things as Gran had been - Pembroke Rules had never been applied so strictly here at our home, and usually Holly didn't wear nappies in the day apart from long car journeys, and that was over for the day, so she would normally have been allowed to wear underpants after arriving.  I resolved to ask Juliet about it; not in front of Holly, of course; such things simply weren't done.

Mum had made a splendid tea for her grandchildren and I was quite relieved to get the heavy child off my lap, so I could finally get to have a chat with Juliet.  She told me she was worried about Peter - he was due to go on a tour to Afghanistan in the New Year, and would be away for about six months.  The worry was eating Juliet; she didn't mind him going off to sea, and he had done a couple of long trips, but Afghanistan was another matter.  That led on to the other matter of Simon and Vickie.  Vickie had fallen head-over-heels for a pilot on Peter's squadron and he was off out there too.  Vickie had moved in with him, to the horror of her parents, and she was worried that she might have to move back to her parents' home in Bristol, a prospect that terrified her.  She had been severely over-parented for most of her life, as her father had crammed her furiously with the object of her going to Cambridge to study mathematics, but Vickie had finally tasted freedom and was very reluctant to resume her familial and academic bonds.  Juliet told me that both Vickie and Simon were coming to Pembroke for Christmas, nominally at Uncle Percy's invitation but actually at Gran's insistence. Both of us speculated on what Gran's game might be; it was almost as though she had been pushing Vickie into bed with Simon.  Something of a showdown was in the air and we would have to see which way it all fell out.

The ritual of bathing the children and putting them to bed interrupted our conversation, and I stayed out of the way for this; it was handled by Juliet with Mum's enthusiastic help and I would have been a crowd.  Mum didn't often see her grandchildren and she was keen to make the most of it on the run-up to Christmas.  I was chatting to Peter when Simon and Vickie finally arrived, and did my waitress bit serving the drinks.  Holly was allowed downstairs to greet them, a privilege granted in order to recognise her seniority over Jack, who was already abed, so I didn't get to raise the matter further until after supper when Juliet and I were doing the washing-up.  Juliet told me that Holly was showing some signs of drying up, but Peter was getting a bit tired of it all, and impatient to get her out of nappies altogether.  In the absence of other people, she began to confide in me a little more.  Things were getting a little strained between her and Peter, about his career, the time he spent away from the family, his upcoming posting abroad, and not least the problems with Holly, which were not unknown in the close community of the station, and he felt they reflected rather badly on him.  To give him his due, Peter was in the critical window for promotion, and that inevitably meant he was worried he might be passed-over and possibly even beached.  He had done - and was doing - all the right things, but he felt Holly's problem was a bit of a fly in the ointment.  Juliet was keeping her head down and trying to keep things running smoothly, but that meant avoiding any embarrassments with Holly having accidents - hence the nappy.

There was also the matter of Vickie; Peter, who had a bit of a pompous streak in him, regarded himself as being in loco parentis for Vickie while she had been staying down there, and he had been very surprised and embarrassed when she moved in with Simon, a pilot on his own squadron (I understood Simon had been a bit surprised, too!).  Peter was not supposed to have favourites amongst his men and the relationship was a bit obvious, so he had to be very careful not to be too cosy with Simon - and yet now he would be spending Christmas with him.  He would also have to explain the matter to Vickie's parents, Tom and Emma, who would be at Pembroke as well.  They were still determined that Vickie was to go up to Cambridge in September, and were not so pleased at her spending her gap year living with a boyfriend when she should be preparing for her degree course.  All told it was a bit of a situation, and Holly's well-padded bottom bulging out of her onesie sleeper was just a small part of it.  I gave a sigh.  My plan for a nice quiet Christmas to be able to move things on with Matt was getting very frayed at the edges.

Juliet went up to check on the children, and Vickie came in.  She was looking somewhat less than her usual happy self.  She closed the kitchen door behind her and asked if she could have a word - she needed my help.  My stomach fell even further, and I replied with just a nod.  After a few seconds she drew a deep breath and out it all came. "I'm expecting a baby."

I put the last plate into the cupboard very carefully, partly because my hands were trembling, and partly because I wanted time to think.  "Oh Shit!" was the best I could come up with.  "What are you going to do?" and then, with an insensitivity I instantly regretted, "Are you going to keep it?"

I looked at Vickie for an answer.  I saw her eyes flare with anger, and in a moment saw the spirits of ancestors behind her hoisting their battle ensigns and nailing them to the mast.  Vickie might be young, naïve, and highly strung, but a coward she was not, and her mouth was set in a line.  "Of course!" came the reply, "I'm going to marry Simon and have our baby!"  Her broadside straddled me; I had been thinking in very metropolitan terms, and had forgotten just what a tough young woman I had in front of me.  I had to play to that toughness.

"What about Cambridge?" I stress-tested her.

"Bugger Cambridge!  I want to be free!  I want to go my own way!  I'll be happy if I never see another bloody differential equation for the rest of my life!" and her eyes flashed again.  Now I was getting somewhere; I had made her angry, and she was no longer frightened. I felt myself smiling, and I reached out and hugged her.

"We'll just have to sort something out then, won't we."

At that moment, bang on cue, the doorbell rang and Matt had arrived.  He was just in time to stop me screaming - I'd had enough heaped on my plate and I was desperate to have someone with whom to share it and talk it down to size.  His arms were just as strong and warm as ever and I buried myself in them, and for a while I just drank him in.

Later that night, after we had made long, slow and gentle love, I began to tell him the family woes that had been confided to me.  Already, warm in his arms, my troubles were dwindling away, and he heard me out carefully.  Then he suggested I take the matter to the highest authority in the family and ask for her help, and so we agreed that on the morrow I should go to see Gran.

[D503]

I just love seeing these characters develop thanks Freswith - I wonder if Peter's impatience (and seeming unfairness) with Holly's wetting may backfire on him. The stress of the environment and pressure to become dry plus the extra nappies may make Holly even more prone to wetting.

[Sarah Penguin]

This was as always fun, thanks

[freswith]

Gran.

I closed the door as instructed, and took the seat opposite Gran.  Granpa was out on his morning walk and it would be exactly twenty-four minutes before he returned.  I had just enough time to brief Gran on the serious matters that were looming over our Christmas.

"Yes, Dear."

"Gran, we have a problem." I began tentatively.

"Yes Dear.  How exciting!  Is it about you and Matt?"

I smiled.  No, that wasn't the problem - that was an un-problem; my relationship with Matt was as good as it gets, I just wanted much more of it.  "I'm afraid it's about Vickie."

"Yes Dear.  Is she pregnant?"

I was caught off guard, and just nodded.

"Splendid. When's the baby due?"

My head continued to nod like a toy dog's head until I consciously had to stop it. "July,  End of July." I managed to get out.

"How Lovely.  Is Simon going to do the decent thing?"

I managed to catch up a little.  "Yes, They're very keen."

"Oh, That's all right then. Close your mouth, child, it makes you look stupid, and we all know you are not.  Now why hasn't she come and told me herself?"

I closed my mouth and put my brain back into gear "She's terrified.  She thinks she has let the whole family down."

"Nonsense.  Silly child.  Does she think she's let the family down by adding to it?  Simon's a fine young man and Jack likes him a lot.  I'm sure they'll have a fine child.  We'll just have to do everything we can to support them."

I was stunned.  All those lectures about what you didn't do, and how dreadful it was, and how it could be the ruin of a girl and so on and so on; all of it went straight out of the window.  "But her parents want her to go to Cambridge.  They'll be terribly disappointed."

"Not for long - They'll soon have a grandchild and their views will alter.  Just you wait and see.  Vickie shouldn't go to Cambridge, not yet anyway.  She's too highly-strung, too headstrong, too dedicated, too intelligent.  And much too beautiful.  They'd tear her to bits and she'd end up having a nervous breakdown; I've seen it happen."

I stopped and thought for a minute.  She was right; Vickie would have burnt out at Cambridge, or shortly after.  I also realised that she would have suffered a similar fate, and even faster, if I had got her into the modelling business in London.  I had myself nearly messed everything up over my affair with Spike, and there was no shortage of men like Grey.  Such environments devoured people.  Spike had made it to twenty-seven, and I was only twenty four; I suddenly became all the more appreciative of Matt and his little town in the middle of Devon - there sanity lay.

"She's also worried about what Granpa might think and say.  And about Peter, he's Simon's C.O. after all."

"Not a problem," retorted Gran, "Jack will think exactly what I think.  We've been married fifty-eight years and so we think alike on such matters.  We had to marry in a bit of a hurry, too, or didn't your mother tell you that? Peter will take whatever line Jack does; he knows that's what's got him this far, and it will take him further."

Gran continued.  "I'd better go and sort the child out.  We can't have her worrying herself to death.  Where is she?"

I dragged myself back.  Simon and Vickie were staying at Pembroke.

"As soon as Jack is back we'll go round there.  Now is there anything else?"

I clawed my mind back from the edge of the abyss.  As ever, Gran had been completely unshockable, on top of the situation, and in perfect control.  I blurted out the rest.  I told her about Peter being sent to Afghanistan, about Juliet's severe misgivings about it, about her dissatisfaction with Peter's career commitments, and about Peter's dissatisfaction with Holly's inability to stay dry at night.  Gran listened carefully, pursed her lips, and it was her turn to nod.

"Peter will have to go.  He has no choice.  He has signed up to the Navy, and he did that before he married Juliet.  She accepted that, and she well knew what it involved.  In her heart I am sure she knew that Peter would have to follow his star, and she chose willingly to follow him.  She may have forgotten that in part - two children can be very distracting - but he'll soon be back and they'll be able to carry on as usual.  As for Holly and her problem, she is getting near the age when she should dry up naturally - I think if she really tried she could do it."

I didn't interrupt.  Gran was on a roll, and it would have been impolite to do so.

"Some children take their time, - as you well know - and unless their is some other factor, such as stress on the child, they will eventually dry up.... Unless..." she paused.  I raised my eyebrows in question, and then Gran looked very directly at me. "...unless of course they like to wear nappies." 

She stopped, still looking at me.  I felt the blush begin to run up my neck towards my cheek under her hard stare, and I dissembled rapidly. "Surely not!"

"Oh, Yes," she continued.  "I remember a certain little girl who used to run cheerfully up the nursery after school, and wait by the table until I came.  I would find a nappy all laid out ready-folded, and the little girl would immediately take her pants down and sit herself down on the nappy, ready to be pinned into it.  I had the Devil of a job to wean her out of them - they meant so much to her in terms of security and comfort.  That was when Jack was at sea, and she was worried he had left us for good.  She dried up almost immediately when he came home." 

I tried to guess which of her children it might have been.  Not my Mum, but probably her little sister, Emma.  I knew Aunt Emma had a touch of the same thing I had, and it didn't surprise me at all.

"Then there was your big sister," continued Gran, " She was very difficult.  Nearly thirteen and wet by both day and night.  Admittedly your parents were having a bad spell and she was under huge stress, but we finally managed it.  I seem to remember a certain boy was involved, and she had just reached that age.  Babyhood finally ceased to have its attraction, and that clinched the matter." 

I smiled.  Juliet had told me the same story, many, many times in an attempt to get me dry.  I had been too young to remember it myself, although I had played a part in the drama.  It was true what Gran had said.  I had fallen in love with Peter as well, but I realised, as I think Juliet had, that Peter was not unattracted to little girls in nappies, although I am sure it was the care-and-protect reaction it kicked off in him rather than the sexual fetish.  I used it, certainly, to get him to parent me, and tricking him into changing my nappies had given me a thrill then, as the memory still thrilled me now.

I felt my blush building again.  It is my fate to have a very pale "English Rose" complexion that blushes easily, and as a consequence I make a very poor liar.  Dad used to joke that he could have used a radiation pyrometer - whatever the Hell that is - to tell if I was lying, and it was a family joke.  It had a downside; when I had to model swimwear or lingerie it meant I had to be sprayed with gallons of false tan until I was bright orange, and I just wished the fashion would return to favour pale-and-interesting girls who could blush instead of brazen girls who didn't know when to, or even how to.  I was saved by the front door opening to admit Granpa returning from his walk.  His Malacca cane rattled in the hallstand a moment later.  I am sure it was carried as a stage prop rather than as an orthopaedic one - he was still fit and agile, but in the absence of a line of side boys to pipe him aboard he made up for it with other little ceremonies.

As Granpa was assessing Gran's brisk situation report and her suggested action plan over Vickie's embarrassing problem, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  I had long ago come to accept that I was ABDL, but I didn't want the world to know it.  Matt knew it, and Matt was plenty enough.  I decided to cover my tracks more carefully; I would stay out of the nursery at changing-time, and I would be last in line to offer to change some poor sodden child; let the parents do it!  I would concentrate on the product that Matt offered, being superior in all respects.  Later on, perhaps, when I was back in London and Matt was safely in Devon, I would have a binge.  But not just now - there was just too much going on.

[Sarah Penguin]

Had lots of fun with your update, thanks

[WBDaddy]

Indeed.

[derj]

:-)

Thanks for the update.

[warpiper]

Weeee! Another chapter to soon

[freswith]

Thank you very much for your comments - it is nice to know that somebody reads the stories and likes them, and it really does encourage me to continue.

[dondd]

Thanks!

[warpiper]

Freswith! We miss you! Come back!

[freswith]

Your wish is my command!

[freswith]

Envy.

It was late morning before I arrived at Pembroke to find it encased in scaffolding; Percy had enjoyed a sudden windfall, and was having the roof replaced, an expensive and overdue operation.  When I enquired the nature of his windfall, he became very smug indeed.  He told me they had been sorting out the attic, and had come across an old oil painting which had been up there for a couple of centuries.  An expert had determined it to be a long-lost work by Goya, and its sale had made a great deal of money for Percy.  How it came to be in the attic was largely explained by Gran.  She told us that our umpteenth-great uncle, the Reverend Jasper Sinclair, had been present at the battle of Vittoria when Wellington intercepted the retreating French army as it was escorting Napoleon's brother, King Joseph of Spain back to France with a huge baggage train containing most of the treasures from the Escorial palace in Madrid.  The battle had been followed by one of the greatest lootathons in history, and the Reverend Jasper had distinguished himself by rescuing an entire cartload of artworks from the brutal and rapacious soldiery.  Wellington congratulated him, but it was never made clear what finally happened to the cart.  It was said that an old cartwheel, which had long been rotting away behind the potting shed, had once been on that wagon. 

An officer in the Bedfordshire Dismounted Horse Artillery, the regiment to which Jasper had been attached as chaplain, had challenged Jasper to a duel over the matter.  Jasper, being a Christian soul, had insisted on the officer taking the first shot, which resulted in the pistol exploding in the officer's hand and injuring him severely.  It was discovered that, in the nervous proceedings before the duel, one pistol had been loaded twice which had resulted in it exploding while Jasper's pistol was empty.  Jasper, or "Jark" as he was nicknamed, had not even tried to fire his own weapon.  Nobody dared to ask too many questions about how it might have happened.

One side effect had been that Percy had developed a sudden appreciation of the History of Art, and soon reached a level at which he could have bored for Britain on the subject.  The same expert had been hugely taken by Spike's wonderful portrait of myself, which had now been moved down to the main hallway where it was displayed next to the various distinguished ancestors.  I was duly honoured, and quietly began reckoning the value of Spike's other works which were stored in my attic.  The mural of me which he had painted on my garage wall was now discreetly covered by a curtain to keep it from curious eyes, but there was no way I could sell that, short of knocking half the house down.  I wouldn't want it in the public eye, either, as it showed me dressed in a baby romper and thickly nappied.

I brought my thoughts back sharply to the present.  I was determined not to indulge my little peccadillo over Christmas, especially since I had the inkling that Gran was on to me over it.  I was to be Simon-pure, no helping with the children when it came to changing-time, I would avoid the usual discussion when us women got together, and I would stay out of the nursery.

Christmas morning took its usual course.  Mum, Aunt Emma and Aunt Clare filled the kitchen with a bustle of activity, and the men were banished to the library to do what they did best - drink champagne, talk about rugby football and be useless.  The three of us "senior" grandchildren, Juliet, myself and Vickie, stayed in the lounge to keep an eye on the children, and Gran stayed to keep an eye on us.  Although Vickie's little brother William was now "leading child" and supposed to be responsible for the tribe, nobody expected too much of him - he was more the shop steward than the foreman. 

I kept loyal to my resolution through the whole morning.  Thankfully there was plenty to talk about, and only little Hal was visibly nappied, although I could be pretty sure that Viola, Holly and little Alice were well padded out under their long Christmas dresses.  All went well until about twenty minutes before lunch was due to be served, when it was discovered that little Hal had done the unmentionable in his nappy.  There was a subdued panic, as it was obvious that Claire couldn't be expected to abandon the kitchen to change him, and the thought of her dishing up the meal immediately afterwards was not appetising.  Juliet bravely stepped into the breach and picked Hal up - carefully - and made for the door.  Before she went though it, she turned and looked at the other children.

"Anyone else for a change before lunch?" she said.  There was a sudden complete silence. "Holly?..." Holly avoided her mother's gaze, and her cheeks reddened.  "Oh Holly, you haven't?" and I watched Holly redden still further.  "Come on then, let's get you fixed."  And Holly stood up slowly and went over to her mother.  Juliet was on a roll. "How about you Alice?"  Alice smiled, then stood up and joined them, taking Vickie's hand.  Juliet's shoulders fell a bit.  "Viola?"  she said, with a certain resignation in her voice. Viola scowled her reply, her lower lip pushed out in stubborn refusal.  Little Jack sniggered, and then, to my surprise, William prodded him sharply and he shut up.  "Come on, Viola, we might as well see everyone changed and dry before lunch.  Then you can all be comfortable.  It's going to be quite a long meal."

Juliet looked at us two in appeal.  Four children to change in twenty minutes was asking a bit much.  Vickie gave me a nudge and we both stood up to volunteer.  As we headed for the door I held out my hand to the unmoving Viola and received her best scowl in return.  I sighed.  This might be difficult.  Blackmail was the easiest solution. "I'd better check your nappy then, just in case."  Viola promptly stood up and started backing away, but to her misfortune she suddenly found William standing closely behind her.  There was no escape, and no alternative to submitting to the immense indignity of a public nappy-check than to take my hand and join the soggy procession as it wound its way out through the door.

As we climbed the stairs, Viola's resentment exploded.  "William!" she said, "Just because he's been made up to leading child he thinks he can order people around!"

"That's not really fair" I replied, "He's new to it and he's doing his best.  Don't be too hard on him."  Viola grunted.  "He's such a handsome boy, though, isn't he?"  Viola grunted again, but more softly this time.  It was nothing but the truth.  With his fair hair and deep blue eyes, and rapidly increasing height, William really was starting to look very good.  I watched Viola carefully for the first sign of puberty raising its ugly head, and was not disappointed.

"Yes.... I suppose so." she said, rocking her shoulders to and fro slightly. "He's certainly not like the others."

I left it at that.  If she had reached that stage it would not be long at all before she dried up.  That was the way it went in the family.

As the changing-table was fully occupied with Hal and Alice, we went into Viola's bedroom.  Viola held her long skirt out of the way while I slipped her tights down to reveal a very wet pull-up.  When I remarked on it, she said that she didn't want to admit to having wet herself while William was actually holding her hand.  I could see her point - it wasn't the most romantic thing to do, and it rubbed in the year or two that separated them, leaving her with the undeniable badge of childhood while he was plainly on the way towards becoming a young man.  I could understand the situation - there were several times I had felt the same way when I was with Matt.  She then told me that the pull-ups were in the cupboard.  Instead I selected a full nappy, and insisted that she wear it in spite of her protests.  I made the point that the most of the day's eating and drinking was yet to come, and an accident was much more likely, which could be very embarrassing in front of William, couldn't it?  I won the argument - there are some advantages to being a supermodel, and my opinion on fashion is usually respected.  As Viola's hands were still full of her long dress I taped the nappy on her myself, taking extra care to see that it was leak-proof, before standing her up and pulling her tights back up.  Her long dress concealed her nappy completely, and she was set for the afternoon.

We got back downstairs just as the big gong in the hall sounded to summon us for lunch, and we filed into the dining room, with Granpa taking the head of the table and William at the foot; as the junior man present it was his job to toast the Queen's health when so prompted, and it was the first time he had performed this rite.  Viola sat herself next to him, sitting a little higher than usual for obvious reasons, and the rest of us distributed ourselves along the sides.  Serviettes were drawn ( we always called them serviettes to distinguish them from napkins, whose diminutives were cladding just too many loins around the table to be polite; that way no confusion could occur), and I suddenly realised that in changing Viola I had forgotten the precautionary visit that I usually made before any big meal.  Just the thought was enough; my bladder did the rest.  I took a deep breath, and resigned myself to the situation; it was simply not done to excuse oneself until after the loyal toast formally ended the meal.  Not for the first time I envied the children with their comfortably informal arrangements, and I wished I could have a nappy on too.

[Sarah Penguin]

Thanks for your christmas-themed update

[WBDaddy]

Wonderful.

[D503]

No doubt the envy will grow!