This chapter moves the lives of Chrissie and Billy on into parenthood by proxy via teenaged marriage and extensive parental support.

It also lays the ground work for the final chapter that is chapter 30.

I am running out of themes to explore in this genre and my lack of originality shows in the reduction of of interest reflected by reductions in comments.

I'm cerainly not complaining, I have several other stories to post. Some just need re-jigging (Martina's Story,) and some are based on totally new ideas. However I'm very busy at work at the moment and after the last chapter (30) of Skipper there might be a short hiatus before the next story gets posted. (Couple of months maybe.)

I'm also preparing to go to Sparkle in Manchester this July so there's alot to do for that delight.

I need a break to recharge my batteries and the reduced quality of the last few chapters of Skipper reflects that. They read like 'a day in the life of;'

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For another three weeks Yusaf stayed at the cottage while he recovered from his physical and mental wounds and the police finally caught the men who shot him. It wasn’t a difficult job, more and more younger Muslims in Britain were becoming fed up with some of the extremist views that had so brought their faith into disrepute. The tolerance that had made Britain attractive to their grandparents was now beginning to rub off on them. Young professional Muslim women especially, were beginning to see their more respectable Christian sisters in the work place to have more in common with them than not. This tended to contradict the image that less qualified Muslim men got of none Muslim women when they taxied drunken slappers home from the clubs on weekends.

By and large though, the political balance favoured the Muslim Women. The secret ballot gave them the rights they needed to move things the way they wanted to see them go. When the police came looking to discover who had tried to kill their favoured champion it took little to convince the growing Muslim sisterhood that these butchers needed to be put away, Muslim or not.

Another factor was that Aalia had come down to stay at the cottage. This was for two reasons. She needed a break after the hectic goings on surrounding the shooting plus she wanted to meet with Akilahs’ family in the traditional Muslim woman’s role of organising her brothers’ wedding. With their mother cruelly killed all those years ago, Aalia felt it was her role now to work as Yusafs’ oldest female relative. She had slightly more traditional views than her brother and that suited Fatima.

Inevitably the women got their way and Yusaf found himself being ‘straight-jacketed’ more and more into the strictures of a ‘proper’ Islamic wedding. Unlike the first few days of bliss, Akilah’s mother Fatima and Yusafs’ sister Aalia now made sure that nothing could be said of the courting couple that might impinge upon their views and the reputations of their respective family names. Whenever the two betrothed met, they were chaperoned.

It irked Yusaf slightly and we chuckled about it whenever he travelled over to Portsmouth to see Akilah but it kept the women happy and he was more than prepared to make that small sacrifice, he was after all getting the biggest prize, Akilah and her love. The wedding date was set and my family were invited. It was an enjoyable time. They honeymooned in Pakistan with Fatima and Assim where Akilah’s family had the joy of seeing one of their favoured daughters married to one of Britain’s most up and coming Islamic scholars.

When they returned, Akilah’s first decision was to visit my humble cottage to collect Maha and Emir who had been staying with Aalia at Rosy Cottage. There they discussed their final living arrangements and soon Akilah moved to the Birmingham branch of her chambers to continue her law career and live with her new husband in Warwick.

My wedding present to Yusaf had been a substantial sum of money to help him find a suitable home for his new bride, adopted children and his younger sister. The little flat attached to the mosque was now wholly inadequate.

I had forced Akilah to have the money legally entrusted towards the purchase of a home just to prevent Yusaf spending it philanthropically on the needs of his mosque. The young Imam needed somebody with sense to manage his affairs now he was a married man, Akilah was the perfect fit.

The nicest part was that Maha and Emir now had two adoptive ‘mother’s to fuss over them and spoil them, namely Aalia and Akilah. They became regular callers at Rosy cottage whenever Akilah and Yusaf went down to Portsmouth to visit her parents.
They became happy times for me and my family and I always considered their union to be one of my better doings, (‘with a little help from God’ Akilah always teased me.)

At the end of that summer, two major situations became my preoccupation. The first was the entering of Jenny, Bea, Chenille and Martina into St Angela’s school. Martina’s story of her life and times in that school is another story that will one day be told.

The second situation was Chrissies’ final entry into womanhood, her Sexual Re-assignment Surgery. Her sixteenth birthday had finally arrived and she now had the ordeal of those final steps. The living as a woman rule for two years had been relaxed because Chrissie’s appearance put the lie to any traces of masculinity. Her hormone therapy had worked well and she had been living in the role for upwards of thirteen months anyway.

I took a very nervous Chrissie up to London and arranged to stay with her while one of the well-known surgeons performed the surgery privately. Billy Turpin, her boyfriend, also stayed with me at the hotel, (separate bedrooms,) and he gave her massive support to help her through her days of doubt and uncertainty. Two weeks after the successful operation, Billy went up to college while Chrissie returned with me to Rosy cottage. I must confess, I indulged her and she took full advantage of the ‘maldwyn’ (A Welsh word for extra loving care.) but it was nice to have an appreciative, grateful teenager accompanying me everywhere like a lovesick puppy.

One of the stranger outcomes of Chrissie having finally achieved her needed, lifelong ambition was that Chrissie wanted to meet her natural mother again. I was reluctant at first but after discussing the issue with Sandie we decided that a tentative dipping of the toe in those turbulent waters might be a worthwhile. Now she could call herself a woman in every practical respect, it seemed Chrissie needed to repair some fences. She reassured me one morning around the breakfast table.

“I still love you Mummy Bev, and I still consider you to have been the mother I never really had. From now on I’m going to call you Mummy while all the other adult women will be called mummy this, or mummy that. I’ve got so many planetary assistant mums in this place I’m spoiled for choice. But it was only you who really understood. Only you were the supportive, thoughtful and kind adult who helped me over the final hurdles. Don’t ever be afraid that I’ll somehow, forget you mummy. I’ll always be your oldest daughter and living with Billy only just down there on the Turpin farm. You’re just such a clever mummy and your way of resolving Jane Turpins issues about my gender and the grandchild thing was just so brilliant. Sylvia’s due next month isn’t she?”

“Yes, it’s the thirtieth of next month darling, all being well. Are you excited?”

“Heck yes, I was down with mummy Jane yesterday afternoon. She’s just so happy.”

“Mummy Jane?” I grinned, “Is that what you call her?”

“Well she’s going to be isn’t she? Billy and I are getting married next summer.”

“What! I thought we’d agreed, -“

“Oh mummy plee-ase! I’m a woman now, Akilah’s sorting out my legal status and I can legally marry. I’ll be seventeen.”

I contemplated her decision. I suppose seventeen was better than sixteen but it was still rather young. Then again, if they married, they would have a better support network than many a young couple starting out today. They would have a roof over their heads, (The Turpin farm was a large place where a young married girl could live in easy proximity to her ‘in-laws’ without actually living cheek by jowl.) She would have a separate kitchen and dining table if she wanted it though I knew that Chrissie and Jane got on quite well as people and I had often found them laughing in Jane Turpin’s Kitchen when I had gone to collect Chrissie. I had also had them around to Rosy Cottage and their friendship had been obvious then when they indulged in a bit of cookery if there was a lot of preparation. Chrissie would have a good friend in Jane, especially now that the grandchildren issue had been resolved. Chrissie was a very lucky girl but I think she already knew that. I looked at her as a mother looking at the daughter that was growing up and leaving the nest.

“Well darling. If you must marry him so young then so be it. How will you handle the separation when he’s at college?”

“I handle that separation already.”

“Yes, but once you’re married you’ll be more intimately engaged. You’ll miss each other a lot more.”

“He’s only in Cirencester mummy! It’s not the ends of the earth!”

“But what about the temptations he’ll face, - other girls.”

Chrissie burst out laughing.

“Have you seen the other girls mummy? They’re all farmers’ daughters or from the horsey set. Most of them look better in front of a plough than behind it.”

I smiled at this. Chrissie’s perspective was typical of the urban dweller’s view of country girls. It was distorted but I wasn’t about to sow any doubts in her young mind. What Chrissie needed was support and encouragement. She’d have enough issues to create doubts because of her transgendered status; and not all the girls at the college were shire mares! Jane had told me that she had seen several beauties when she had ferried her son Billy back and fore. Indeed, she had secretly hoped that Billy might find his life partner amongst them but she had finally become enamoured of Chrissie’s refreshing naivety and vivacious personality. Chrissie had come a long way since living at Rosy cottage.

At the beginning of November, a week late, Sylvia finally delivered a son. Billy wasn’t there because of college commitments but Jane and Chrissie did the honours as mother and son proved to be healthy. Later that day as all the residents of Rosy cottage paid their respects at the hospital, Jane confessed to me in the hospital restaurant.

“When I saw Chrissie going ‘gaga’ over my grandson and nursing him in her arms my heart just melted. She’s a natural mother. It reminded me of the virgin and child.”

“Is she going to breast-feed him?” I asked bluntly as I remembered my pleasures with James and Belinda.

“No. Sylvia wants that pleasure but Chrissie will be dancing attendance. Chrissie will be just like any younger daughter in an extended family, learning mothering from you, me and Sylvia not to mention Angie, Margaret and Sian. I’ll be there as well in the first few weeks, I’m staying at Sylvia’s flat by the stables cos she’s still a first time mum herself and very nervous.”

I smiled. New mums were always frightened and that’s what grandmothers were for. I was secretly honoured that Jane had included me in the ‘motherhood’. Sylvia’s newborn son would lack for nothing. Having ‘the whole gang’ up at Rosy cottage would be a delight for us all.

(Did I just hear myself properly? Whatever happened to that peaceful, private little place that a frightened, old, transvestite sea captain had dreamed of all those thousands of years ago?)

A few days into her breastfeeding Sylvia brought her son over to the cottage as Chrissie and I were laundering nappies and other newborn baby apparel. She settled comfortably at the kitchen table and motioned to me that she wanted a chat. I explained to Chrissie that Sylvia wanted a private chat so she reluctantly agreed to hang out the nappies in the orchard. When she’d gone Sylvia asked me bluntly.

“D’you think I should tell my mum that she’s a grandmother?”

“How do you feel about it? You know how Sian felt; she had real fears about her parents trying to have Martina taken off her.”

“Yeah, but Sian’s parents were monsters. My mother wasn’t that upset about my lesbianism, it was my dad. It was him that went ballistic and forced mum to kick me out the moment I was legally old enough. He told me never to come back.”

“Well, have you tried contacting your mum?” I asked.

“No. I’m afraid of what he might do, - my dad.”

“Does he have to know?”

“Well, if mum went out without him, he’d want to know where she’d been. Mum doesn’t drive and he usually takes her everywhere. It’d be difficult for me to arrange to see her without him finding out.”

“She could pretend to go into town shopping and you could meet her in town.”

“That’s the only option. It’d have to be a Saturday. She goes into town every Saturday; it’s the only time she goes out alone and it's been a regular thing with her since I can remember.”

“Hmm, that’s usually your busiest day.”

“Exactly, normally I'm as busy as all hell except for this year. The one Saturday before Christmas, Sian says we’ll be closed. We can afford to take the hit.”

“Well that’s the solution. Take baby David into town on that Saturday with Chrissie and Billy and introduce your mother to her new grandson. He’ll be seven weeks then. That would be a real surprise for her, a veritable Christmas present.”

Sylvia smiled and nodded as Chrissie returned from the orchard.

“Are you up to Christmas shopping on the Saturday just before Christmas?”

“I’m always up for shopping! You know that.” Chrissie beamed.

“Good, make a date with Billy. I’m going to tell my mum about Baby David. I’d love for you and Billy to meet her just to put her nose out of joint.”

Chrissie frowned. “What’s your mum like? Will she make trouble?”

“She’ll be too shocked when she learns of David. Besides, Billy will be there if she tries to make trouble.”

I waited until Chrissie took the next pile of washing out to the line in the orchard then I turned to Sylvia.

“Were you hurt that much by your mum?”

“She could have stood up to my dad.”

“So are you looking for reconciliation or revenge?”

Sylvia hesitated uncertainly then mumbled.

“Mmm. Not sure really.”

“Well sort it out in your head before you act.”

“Why. What d’you mean?”

“Well what happens if you meet her just to hurt her and she suddenly turns all apologetic and contrite? Could you handle the tears?

“That’s why I’m asking you for advice.”

“My advice! You want my advice?”

“Please; yes. You always seem to find the best solutions.”

I took a long slow breath and paused.

“Well first of all, David is not a weapon. You can’t use him as some sort of blackmail or bargaining chip. Don’t forget, you’ve agreed to let Billy and Chrissie adopt him when they get married. Where would that put your mother then? Would it be fair to tease her for a year by letting her see David and then withdrawing the right when Chrissie and Billy adopt.

Or, another scenario; what happens if you refuse to let her see him again after the first visit and then Billy and Chrissie agree to let her see him?”

Sylvia fell silent. There seemed to be just too many complications. I readily sensed her uncertainty then I thought of how Yusaf would have handled it. He would advise all compassion and forgiveness. I now understood why he preached what he did. Forgiveness and reconciliation were the obvious paths to tread. If you took the venom out of Sylvia’s relationship with her mother then David might yet find one more caring, loving adult to make his life yet easier. And there would be far less complications to cause traps for the unwary. A tiny child could not have too many caring and genuinely sincere adults in his young life.

Later on perhaps, the young adult might be better off with fewer adults as it grew and sought guidance from just one or perhaps two respected mentors but in infancy the more who contribute to its welfare, the better.

I managed to convince Sylvia that the way to choose was openness and forgiveness. Give her mother one last chance to prove her love, if only by accepting that she had a grandchild even if she might fall foul of her husband’s wrath if she acknowledged the boy. The child at least was safe. With all the support of the Turpins and Rosy cottage nobody could ever deem the child ‘at risk’ and use it as some argument to remove David. I think Sylvia was half convinced anyway. Yusaf had left an indelible mark on our community and she had really only come to me for advice to reinforce her primordial need to regain her mother. After chatting with Sylvia at some length and depth about her previous family experiences, I garnished that she had always been close to her mother; it was the father who was the oppressive bully.

Sylvia was the third daughter and the other daughters had also left home early to escape the oppression. The father had seen Sylvia as the last individual left to him who would care for him in old age. He had deemed it his absolute right to have one of his daughters take responsibility for his old age. The sad irony being that had he proven to be the slightest bit loving or caring, then in all probability, all of his daughters might have willingly shared any daughterly duties towards their parents’ dotage. The worse irony was that in antagonising all his children, Sylvia’s father had also dragged his wife into the same cesspit of daughterly resentment. I think that Sylvia subconsciously knew this and was somehow seeking a route of reconciliation with her mother whilst perhaps simultaneously providing her mother with an escape route that each of her daughters had been forced to take one way or another.

The time between David’s birth and the proposed meeting with his maternal grandmother was filled with happiness for everybody at Rosy cottage. Sylvia and the baby were beloved by all but most of all; Jane Turpin was besotted with him. Finally, came the day.
Sylvia had not forewarned her mother. She had no idea how her mother might have reacted had she been contacted. Sylvia’s fear was that she might have brought her husband along in some misunderstood sense that somehow there might also be reconciliation with Sylvia’s father. Sylvia seriously doubted that she could ever forgive her father so she had avoided the possibility by not contacting her mother.

She did however; know exactly what sort of routine her mother had always followed. Some two weeks before the meeting, Sylvia had sent Chrissie to her old family home and Chrissie was able to confirm that the elderly couple were still living there. She had also brought back an update of Sylvia’s mother’s appearance which was not much changed since Sylvia had been so brutally turfed out on her sixteenth birthday. Chrissie also confirmed that Sylvia’s mother still visited the market cafe every Saturday morning just as she had always done. Thus armed, Sylvia located herself in the same cafe that her mother visited every Saturday at eleven after her first round of shopping in the town’s market.

Her plans proved successful and a few minutes after eleven, she spied her mother entering and going to her regular seat. Chrissie and Billy and I had care of baby David while Sylvia double checked that her father was nowhere around. Then she approached her mother.

Sylvia had grown a lot since sixteen. Gone was the uncertain, confused child lesbian; now she was a twenty-year-old woman with confidence and assuredness who rested comfortably with her sexuality and independence. The magic at Rosy cottage had also served to cure Sylvia of her traumatic, teenaged years. She walked boldly up to her mother and loomed over her as she greeted her somewhat curtly; but that was hardly surprising.

“Hello mother.”

The woman looked up uncertainly at first but as the recognition of her wayward younger daughter sank into her brain, her confusion registered in equal proportion.

“Sylvia? Is that you Sylvia?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause before her mother stopped staring and remembered her manners.

“D’you want to sit down?”

“I’m standing here aren’t I? I would have thought that was obvious so the next obvious question is do you want me to?”

“Yes! Yes! Please do!”

The older woman hastily rearranged her bags to make space on the bench and Sylvia sat down beside her. Her mother immediately commenced questioning her.

“Why so long? It’s been nearly five years!”

“He told me never to come back, so I didn’t.”

“But that was to the house. I never told you to stay away from me.”

“You never told me anything. You never once supported me or protected me from him. I was on the streets for a month looking for a roof. He’s a pure brute!”

“Not any more he isn’t. He had a stroke a month ago. He’s bed-ridden and unable to talk.”

“Good! Then he can’t threaten me can he. Do my sisters come to see you?”

“Yes. Yes, they’ll be here any minute. They don’t usually come to the house either.”

“What, even now? Even after he can’t bully them.”

“They hated him just as much as you did.”

“Do mother, it’s do, not did. I still hate him.”

“So do your sisters.”

“But they weren’t thrown out where they? They left in their own good time. They had somewhere to go.”

“I gave you money!”

“Yeah blood money. A clear message that you had washed your hands off me; a few quid to rid you of the lesbian embarrassment. That money was stolen from me on the first night. I was sleeping in a cardboard box and it was stolen as I slept.”

Sylvia’s mother fell silent as two more young women arrived towing a gaggle of little girls. The mother looked up and smiled, partly through relief and partly through pleasure. Sylvia’s two older sisters had arrived with their children. Saturday morning in the market cafe was usually the only place and time the youngsters got to see their grandmother. Sylvia’s mother started to make the introductions.

“These are your sisters, -“

“I know they’re my sisters mother,” Sylvia interrupted as her older sibling’s eyes widened with mutual recognition. She didn’t stand up and her sisters took the empty bench facing them. They stared curiously for several moments before Charlotte, the older sister spoke.

“My God sis, what kept you? It’s been nearly five years.”

Sylvia shrugged then answered.

“All the usual culprits Charlotte; him, mainly; he kept me away.”

Lucy the younger sister interjected.

“Well that’s a given but why so sudden. I mean you were there on your birthday then gone that evening. You didn’t even tell us. When we came around that evening to see you and give you our presents, you’d gone; run away.”

“I didn’t run away. I was chucked out.”

Both older sisters gasped as they turned accusingly to their mother.

“Dad said she’d run away.” Lucy Charged.

Their mother wagged her head guiltily and continued staring into her tea as Sylvia continued.

“Did they say why?”

“No. They just said you’d had a big row and walked out.”

“Well I suppose that bit's true. He was good at twisting the truth without actually breaking it. Did they tell you what the row was about?”

“No. What was it?”

“I’m gay.”

“Go on,” replied Charlotte as she glared at their mother, “so your gay, but what was the row about?”

Sylvia’s eyes softened as Charlotte emphasised the younger generations’ attitudes to alternative sexualities. Lucy added.

“So go on then, tell us. What the row was about.”

This repetition was of course simply to emphasis Lucy’s support for Sylvia. Both sisters smiled at Sylvia as they frowned at
their mother and Lucy asked accusingly.

“Was that really it? The bloody bigot threw his sixteen-year-old kid, - our little sister, - out onto the streets just because she’s gay. He always was a bloody bully but I never thought he’d sink that low. Why the bastard! That’s it mum. I’m never bringing my girls to see him again. That’s the last straw as far as I’m concerned!”

“Yeah. He can rot in hell!” added Charlotte, “I suppose you tried to stop him; you did try didn’t you?”

Their mother shrank lower into her seat and replied tearfully.

“Yes. I tried, but you know what he’s like or what he was like.”

Charlotte nodded knowingly then added her weight to Lucy’s threat.

“And he won’t ever see my girls again ever. He won’t see any of his grand-daughters ever again.”

“Or his grandson,” added Sylvia quietly having noted that both Charlotte and Lucy had only daughters and their father had always made no secret of having wanted a son.

There was a deafening silence for a moment as both mother and older daughters stared at Sylvia. Then the penny dropped. Sylvia’s mother was stunned.

“You, - you’ve got a baby! How old is it?”

“He mummy!” Charlotte snapped at her mother. “He! You just heard your own daughter say she had a son, not an ‘it’; a son mother, a son! Oh this is sweet justice. Dad always wanted a son and now he’s got a grandson, whom he’ll never see. Oh Sylvia, such sweet, sweet justice. You’ve come up trumps.”

“Oh gosh Sylv- a baby boy! Can we see him plee-ease” Lucy begged. “Where is he, where d’you live? Are you okay. Is the place fit for a baby? You can live with me if you need to.”

“Don’t worry. I’m perfectly okay and I certainly don’t need anywhere to live. I’ve got a wonderful home. The boy’s here, with his father and foster-mother to be.”

Once again jaws sagged and scanned the cafe until their eyes fell on young Chrissie holding the infant in her arms. Baby David was the only nursing infant in the cafe and the older sisters’ eyes widened with delight. Chrissie caught their gaze and stood up as Sylvia motioned eagerly to her. Billy followed her out of the stall while I remained seated. It was pleasure enough for me to watch and listen to the squeals of joy as the sisters and their mother eagerly took the boy in their arms and went gaga over him.

I smiled to myself, - ‘another extended family for David to enjoy; and wasn’t he just going to be spoiled rotten with all those aunts and female cousins. Yusaf was right; compassion and reconciliation were always the best ways forward. I don’t know; that guy just seemed to keep coming back into my thoughts.’

I savoured my coffee in relative peace as mayhem ensued across the cafe. Sylvia had relinquished baby David to her mother who was proudly parading her only grandson to all her friends and acquaintances from table to table while the little cousins followed eagerly.

This went on for some time so I ordered a second coffee and settled back as I saw Sylvia, Chrissie and Billy in earnest conversation with Charlotte and Lucy. Finally I smiled as Chrissie pointed towards my booth. Sylvia motioned to me and I sighed as I entered the maelstrom of joy and excitement. Charlotte and Lucy eyed me respectfully and stood up as I joined the table.

‘Nice manners,’ I thought.

They both extended their hands and made room for me alongside them. I took my seat and Sylvia explained.

“Auntie Bev, I’ve told them the set up and plan for baby David.”

“And?”

“My sisters think it’s an excellent plan. They’re really pleased for me.”

Sylvia turned and motioned to her sisters who in turn smiled and spoke to me.

“Your home at Rosy Cottage sounds like an idyll.”

“We think so but Baby David will be living and growing up with his foster mother and natural father at Billy’s farm. Your sister Sylvia is devoted to her horses.”

“But will we be allowed to visit her; and baby David? Say yes, ple-ease?”

“That’s for Sylvia, Chrissie and Billy to say.”

“But it’s your cottage, Sylvia told us so.”

I chuckled for I had long since given up the roll of ‘boss’ when it came to anybody living at Rosy cottage. They were all more or less laws unto themselves except for the girls. I shrugged.

“If you want to visit your sister then far be it from me, - and as for baby David, I’m quite sure that you will be allowed to visit your own nephew. Billy’s farm is not some sort of prison.”

“No! Far from it Auntie Bev!” Billy protested as he confirmed an open invitation.

I relaxed as Charlotte turned to me and spoke quietly.

“Sylvia’s told us everything. I’m proud for you and happy for you. You’ve worked miracles.”

I smiled wanfully. Four or five years ago I would have been angry and afraid if somebody had ‘outed’ me. Now I was completely at ease with myself.

I did a small double take as Charlotte and Lucy continued smiling. There was no censure in their smile, no accusative doubts; no uncomfortable re-adjustments of their proximity. None of the usual signs of transphobic condemnation. ‘These girls I could grow to like.’ I turned to watch Sylvia’s mother still parading baby David around her cafe friends and I smiled.

“I think your mother’s going to be some time still; this calls for another coffee girls, - oh; and boy, - oops, correction, - daddy!” (I smiled acknowledgement at Billy and he grinned back). Charlotte hardly had to raise her hand but the waitress came over clucking and fussing for news of the new baby had spread all around the cafe and their mother had been coming to the market cafe for years. Everybody knew her and everybody was happy for her.

‘Job done,’ I thought to myself, ‘thanks for the tip Yusaf’.

The rest of that day was inevitably spent shopping for baby clothes as all the sisters, their mother and Chrissie indulged themselves. Billy and I went to a quiet cafe and had a long chat about a possible reconciliation between Chrissie and her parents. I was impressed by Billy’s Anachronistic maturity. He was older in his mind than his years would tell.

“D’you think it would work Auntie Bev. She was wounded terribly.”

“We can but try Billy. I mean’ you’ve seen just how rewarding it was for Sylvia. Her sisters are all over her and as for her mother having a grandson, well; - you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

“Yeah,” he sighed thoughtfully, “the question is how Auntie Bev. You yourself witnessed the violence her own father perpetrated against her. I mean Sylvia’s father was cold and disdainful; cruel even, but he did not actually physically attack her.”

“I know Billy but as I see it, the only possible way back is via the mother. She didn’t seem to be that much of a threat when they took her that day. I think she’s like Sylvia’s mother, afraid of her husband. There’s another angle as well; Chrissie’s an only child, if Sylvia has a child by Chrissie’s previous sperm bank deposit, it will be the woman’s only blood grandchild.
That might change her viewpoint a bit. It’s remarkable how the prospect of continuing the family line can affect a woman’s perspective.”

Billy grinned.

“Well your dead right there Auntie Bev, just look at my own mum and Baby David!” She’s gaga about him and Chrissie’s become the daughter she never had.”

I smiled knowingly. There was huge potential in Sylvia having Chrissie’s child but for a couple of years we could wait. The children were due home from school for it was the last day of term. There was a lot to get done. Tomorrow would be another full day of shopping but fortunately the trekking centre was closed for Christmas. Apart from feeding and cleaning the horses, Sian and Sylvia were free to help prepare for the festive season.

The Turpins came over to us for Christmas day then we went over there for Boxing Day. Charlotte and Lucy also went over to the Turpins for Boxing Day so Jane had a Full house. This way everybody who had an interest in baby David’s welfare was free to indulge their whims and emotions for the full season. Much family history was exchanged on all sides and I could see Chrissie quietly filling up. I took her aside and we had a long chat about the future.

“Be patient darling. Sylvia’s got to rest her body before embarking on her next pregnancy. She’s really keen and it’s fabulous that she is so supportive but we have to be fair to her and let her rest her body.”

“I know Mummy, and you’ve really come up trumps with your ideas, but I’m just pleased that you’re here for me. It’s just that, - well just that, - would you be hurt if I produced a child just to shut that other woman up. Just to get her off my back once and for all. You’ve seen the letters I get. I’ve shown you them, she never stops blaming me for denying her any grandchildren. Would it do any good to show her one day that there are grandchildren?”

“Well let’s not jump the gun Chrissie. Let Sylvia get pregnant first, in fact let Sylvia give birth to your babies first, before you go jumping the gun and telling the woman she’s a grandmother. Just savour these next two years and contemplate the visceral thrill you’ll get when you finally prove her wrong. Then you’ll have the whip hand and she’ll come crawling to you beseeching you to let her see her grandchild; just like it was with Sylvia and her mother.

“Yeah. That was one of the most rewarding scenes I’ve ever witnessed. It was brill!”

“So let’s get back to the festivities eh girl. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

“Huh, now you’re kidding me mummy. There are over twenty people down there!”

I added them up mentally and chuckled to myself. Chrissie was right, there were a lot more than twenty. We decided to remain upstairs in the room that Chrissie used when she stayed over, and chat for a while longer. Fortunately, Chrissie was now out of the ‘I hate you mum!’ fourteens and we had a good long chat. I suppose after having walked her walk, (and transition is a bloody, long, lonely walk!) Chrissie was now entitled to talk her talk. So talk we did. I was growing to love my newfound daughter more each day.

Our happy ‘tete-a-tete’ couldn’t last forever and eventually we were missed from the celebrations. Maha came up with Akilah, found us lying together on the bed chatting innocently and they demanded to know what we were doing.

Reluctantly we slid off the bed and followed our discoverers down stairs where the party was going full blast. The Turpins certainly knew how to throw a bash. Eventually fatigue overtook us and different groups dispersed either to spare rooms at the Turpin homestead or the dormitories at Rosy Cottage trekking centre. It was noon before many of us emerged on the twenty seventh to find ourselves delulged with several tens of centimetres of snow!

‘Ah well,’ I grinned to myself. ‘It’s an ill wind. We might as well organise a snowball party. And we did. The party lasted another day as the children indulged themselves by the courtesy of the weather. At least there was plenty of food left over from the festivities and Mr Turpin’s two tractors did stalwart service between our two farms.

Once the tracks were cleared between the farms, Mr Turpin then took up assisting the local highways authority with whom he had a contract during emergencies. He took great delight in teaching assorted partygoers how to drive the buckets and back hoes and fun was had by all until the snow was cleared and everybody had to reluctantly return to home and work. It was a good two days before we had the lanes cleared around our farms and down to the main roads.

By the time Rosy Cottage had recovered from the Christmas festivities it was time for New Year! You’ve guessed it, Mac and his recently reconstituted Scottish ancestors turned up. I couldn’t remember having issued an invitation but he was my friend and partner and I did enjoy his humour. It was all of 12th night before Rosy Cottage finally achieved some semblance of peace. Even the girls were glad to have a break and poor Chrissie was absolutely shattered.

That term the girls were booked to start boarding at St Angela’s School so when the term started the cottage suddenly felt very empty. Chrissie had started spending a lot more time looking after Baby David down with Jane Turpin so Angie and I found ourselves bouncing around in the empty rooms like two peas in a drum. Fortunately, my own two little toddlers namely James and Belinda where now of an age that Angie and I could indulge our maternal delights but when they usually went home each evening to Margaret and Sian. Angie and I both felt the ‘empty nest syndrome’ Angie had started to get broody.

We also discovered that our feelings were intensifying for each other as we sent long winter evenings together; so much so that we decided to make the business trip to Morocco a short holiday. Chrissie demanded to accompany us because the poor kid had never been abroad. Sadly her passport could not be processed in time because Akilah was still pulling out all the stops to advance her legal status to female. The SRS had been a doddle compared with the bureaucracy. It was a very discontented girl who bid us cheerio at the airport as we disappeared through the embarkation lounge. Sadly I could not delay the trip, contracts had to be renegotiated and deals put through.

I turned to study her tearful face and made a promise that she would accompany me on the next trip. Her parents were almost xenophobic in their hatred of foreign countries and this was reflected in their hatred of all things deemed ‘un-Christian, or more correctly un-British. No wonder Chrissie had been so keen to escape from such an oppressive environment.

In Morocco, our agent made us tremendously welcome and the business was soon completed. He was from the Atlas Mountains northeast of Marrakech and he couldn’t wait to take us up to his home in the mountains. Angie and I spent a fantastic fortnight amidst the high mountains and cool springs. Let nobody speak unkindly of Islamic hospitality. We were made thoroughly welcome and yes we two did rather indulge in some intimate pleasures.