I cradled Stevie on my lap and gazed into his limpid, pale green, hypnotic eyes.

 

His little hands groped at my chest, so I unlaced the top of my dress and unhooked my bra. I had been told I could breastfeed in the hospital reception area and people around us seemed to accept it and look away, although one elderly lady did look and smile. I guided my swollen nipple into Steven's small mouth. After a minute of gentle coaxing he seemed to get the idea and begin to suck. One of his feet hung lazily over my arm so I held it between my finger and thumb, gently rubbing it. He closed his eyes and drank while making a little noises of contentment. When he had finished, the milk was still pouring from me and I momentarily panicked and pulled some tissues from my bag. I mopped up some of the mess, but then he began drinking again. He fidgeted, disturbed by my hurried movements, but soon settled down again. His skin was pale against mine, though still of a tanned hue. His little tuft of hair was a light brown. At just five days old everything about him was perfect, even the single mole on the left side of his lower belly.

 

I still felt very weak from the birth, but was just able to walk. I had not been in labour for long, but I knew now what some people had said to me about it feeling like having one's insides twisted, then torn out. Christine and Mummy had been there, with Christine holding my hand and Mummy behind her, sobbing hysterically, perhaps more than me. I was sure that, if Christine had not been there, the birth would have been much harder. I had just focussed on her the whole time, feeling protected by her. Strange as, at first, I had not even wanted her there.

 

I now saw her emerging from the hospital's revolving door with a kind smile on her face. She was followed by a tall woman with short, white hair, just a few wrinkles and a still attractive, curvaceous figure, dressed in tight, black, wet look leggings and a white top that hung loosely off her left shoulder: my mother. They sat down next to me on either side. Mummy was instantly captivated, as she had been since the birth, with Steven, and she talked to him more than me. I had already been able to tell that Christine was not really fond of babies. She smiled at him tolerantly, but had no wish to hold him. She did not prattle to him the way my mother did. Mummy already had her new present out, a pretty rattle, and placed it in his tiny hand. Stevie gawped at her, then screwed his face up, wondering if he should start crying. I let her take him off me for a minute, and then he decided he would. His bawling filled the wide open space of the reception area and almost deafening me in my right ear. Mummy merely cooed and tried to shush him, clearly loving this opportunity to prove what a great mother she was.

 

After recovering from the initial shock at the news of my pregnancy, and once I had started to bulge, her grandmotherly instincts had come to the fore, I supposed, and she had dropped by every day for the past few months with advice, food and, amazingly, various items she had kept from my own babyhood, such as my tiny cot and even my old romper suit. She had kept those well hidden for years. Now, in the hospital, I watched her rocking Steven in her arms and felt glad she was here.

 

Christine asked me how I was, to which I replied that I felt up to going home.

 

"That's great, honey," she said and held my arm while I slowly stood up.

 

After a coffee at the hospital restaurant, the three of us left with Christine holding me, her arm around my waist. Despite only having eyes for Steven, Mummy still managed to find her way through the huge revolving door without bumping into anyone.

 

"Are you coming home with us?" I asked her as we walked to the car.

 

She and Christine exchanged glances, Mummy's questioning and Christine's hard.

 

"No, sweetie," said Mummy. "I have to go and collect Mike from somewhere in town."

 

If she had told me the name of her boyfriend I could not remember, but I had no need to ask what kind of 'somewhere' she meant.

"Can't you at least stay for a little," I faltered, "more coffee, or something?"

 

Fraught though my relationship with my mother was I now preferred her company to that of Christine. I could tell that they had already had a discussion before entering the hospital. I felt like screaming with frustration then and there in the car park, but managed to refrain from so doing out of consideration for the baby. We saw her off, then Christine went over where she had parked the BMW. I followed with Steven now quieter in my arms as he still fumbled for more milk.

 

"In a minute, angel," I promised him.

 

In the car I felt anxious that this would be his first journey in a vehicle and wondered how he would be. I became worried about what might happen in an accident and, for some reason, I felt safer sitting the back. Christine only questioned this casually, then set off, with me securely belted in the rear seat and my arms around Steven protectively. Again I gave him some milk, smiled and whispered to him, ignoring the passing world outside the windows. It took him a while to settle, and when his eyes turned briefly to the window his face screwed up again, but the milk seemed to prevent another onset of tears.

 

"I bet you're keen to get back to your work," said Christine after a minute or so.

 

It was true, I had not even tried to draw anything for a month.

 

"There's a gallery in London that's been calling for you," she said in a tone that, although pleasant at first, turned quickly to ice. "They seem to have gone crazy for the Stevie pictures. What a shame you destroyed all of them."

 

"Yes," I said sadly, not looking up.

 

"Did I mention Ken?"

 

"No."

 

"He died, you know," she said, and turned around to us briefly, then back to the road. "Brain haemorrhage, just like that," and she clicked her fingers. "Happened two days ago." She didn't sound too displeased.

 

I said nothing, but the news made me sad and guilty. I had always got along well with the retired, retiring bachelor. Christine had too apart from the incident nine months earlier. He had never been much for conversation, but I had always enjoyed his company on my rare visits to him, or on his rarer visits to us. I wondered how things would be now at the house without a man around.

 

"What about Leo?" I asked, concerned for the good-natured dog.

 

"Well, I figured I could use a guard dog, so I thought about having him myself, but with me out all day that'd be cruel. He's in a home right now."

 

'I' and 'me', not 'us'. I looked uncomprehending at the back of her head, then at her eyes in the mirror, but she was intent on the road. Then I saw that she had turned off from the main road and had taken a right into the last place I had expected to see, the little cul-de-sac of old houses and cottages, with wooden eaves carved prettily and baskets of hanging flowers by the doors. And at the bottom, the smallest house of all, detached, white and with flowers at the front just beginning to bloom. The front door was open and two cars were parked in the drive, with another two on the pavement immediately outside.

 

"Christine?" I said a little too sharply, drawing a whimper from little Stevie.

 

She stopped the car, got out and opened the door for me, her face an unreadable mask. I looked at her interrogatively and she relented. She reached up and put her arms around my neck. When she pulled back there were tears in her eyes. She turned away quickly and walked up the drive to the door. There were clearly quite a few people inside. I heard the familiar strains of 'Happy Birthday', 'Stevie' being the interpolated name, followed by cheers. Not knowing what kind of reception I was in for, I followed Christine, wondering why on earth I had been brought here. Then I noticed my Vespa, its familiar shape mostly hidden underneath a tarpaulin, leaning against the wall.

 

"Christine, what's going on?" I asked plaintively, but she had already disappeared inside.

 

I stood in the doorway and saw a group of four women and one man all crowding around the diminutive form of a beautiful blonde girl, Stevie, beaming around her happily, with Christine to the side, looking awkward. Behind Stevie stood an older woman and man and they were the first to notice Christine and me. The man was tall and slim with just a little bar of silver hair running from ear to ear around the back of his head. His bespectacled face was kindly, but he commanded an air of authority. The woman beside him was almost his physical opposite, short, dumpy, having a round, careworn face with sagging cheeks. The man and woman stared at us, clearly wondering who these interlopers were who had wandered in here off the street. No one else seemed to notice us until one of the women rushed up and almost bumped into me.

 

"Oh!" she yelped, then laughed. "Sorry," she said, then dashed past me, out of the house, to one of the cars, a Ford, and opened the boot. "You a friend?" she said, then noticed the bundle in my arms and came back to me. "Oh my God!" she whispered, bending over the baby and smiling, transfixed for a few seconds. Then she beamed at me. I just stood there, looking astounded at this beautiful, young woman. She was Stevie, but not Stevie, a copy of her, with a slightly fuller figure. Her curly, blonde hair fell thickly down her bare back to her waist. The dress she wore was short, sleeveless and white with red flowers. She wore red high heels and was exquisitely made-up. She returned to her car, took from the boot a navy blue striped hat box with a sky blue satin ribbon tied into a big bow on the top. With this in her arms she passed me, smiling at the baby, her full cheeks dimpling prettily, and went back inside, pausing briefly to say, "Come on in, we're all anxious to meet you both."

 

Inside I went up to Christine and was about to start interrogating her when I heard gasps. Then Stevie saw me and her face lit up. She approached me and I held the baby out to her.

 

"This is our child, Stevie," I told her softly.

 

Her hair was pushed back by an Alice band and she wore a simple, navy dress with puffed sleeves that made her look like child. She took the baby's hand in her fingers and stroked it. I saw how similar were their wide eyes, their round noses, their plump lower lips.

 

"He takes after you," I told her. "And I've named him after you."

 

The sunlight through the window caught the brimming tears in her eyes. She stroked the child's hair, then bent to kiss his little cheek. I proffered him to her and she looked at me, a little surprised. Then she took him and her tears fell freely. He gurgled a little, looked into her eyes and, as she bent her face over him again for another kiss, I saw a smile form on his little mouth. Everyone gathered around us, enraptured by the sight of our beautiful, smiling child. When I stood back a little, the cheekily smiling woman I had met outside produced from her handbag an impressive-looking Nikon and began taking snaps of the scene.

 

Then she turned to me, said, "I'm Emma," and we shook hands. She also introduced herself to Christine who seemed to be trying to stay invisible.

 

Everyone greeted Christine and me in a friendly way, including the older couple. We shook hands with Caroline, a tall brunette and a different type to Emma and Stevie altogether, still beautiful, but in a more elegant, even regal way; Keira, who told me she was Stevie's 'ex', a very dark-skinned lady, late twenties, with long hair and huge hoop earrings; then the father, Bill, and the mother, Margaret.

 

As Stevie smiled through her tears, the gap in her teeth was very noticeable at that moment and Caroline teased her by poking at it with an index finger, pushing a little, until Stevie bit down on it, just the tip. Caroline let out a little yelp and everyone laughed. The baby was passed back to me.

 

The cake was removed from the hat box and presented to Stevie at the dining table. The candles were lit, and then blown out by her, all twenty-six, in just two big puffs. There was a round of applause, then a knife was presented to her and she cut a few slices. Everyone stood around in the small, cramped room for a while with the slices on little saucers, chatting, until Stevie insisted we all sit. She brought in extra chairs from the kitchen and we all relaxed with Bailey in the middle looking at our plates hopefully. Stevie constantly asked me if I was OK to which I responded that I was but, while everyone talked, I kept looking inquiringly at both her and Christine, knowing that I had yet to be told something big.

 

When little Stevie began to prod me in the chest Margaret said, "I think he's hungry."

 

"Do you mind if I breastfeed?" I asked, to which Emma and Caroline responded that I should go right ahead.

 

Everyone chatted away happily and the atmosphere of genuine warmth in the group touched me deeply. This feeling of quick acceptance was not something I was used to. Keira was particularly friendly to me.

 

"So how long have you known Stevie?" she asked me. "I met her through Caroline when I was at art college."

 

"Since we were at primary school," I replied, hoping that would needle her a little. I was a little unclear about where things stood exactly between the two of them.

 

But she just smiled and said, "Oh, that's sweet."

 

I then fell into conversation with Bill who seemed much more pleasant than I had been expecting. He told me he was now retired and his greatest wish was to see all of his children 'settle down and raise families'. Margaret hardly seemed to say a word to anyone, and spent her time eating one slice of cake then another, even though they had apparently just returned from lunch at a nice restaurant. I felt uncomfortable, though this was only due to my own personal insecurities and not to anything said to me as I was unused to a family gathering of such relaxed happiness.

 

At one point Stevie announced that I was the 'one who had painted the beautiful sisters'. A polite ripple of compliments passed around.

 

"And while we're on that kind of subject," said Caroline around a mouthful of cake, "it's time we saw yours, Keira." She swallowed, then added hastily and with exaggerated delicacy, "Your photographs, I mean, Keira," and Emma snorted while Stevie blushed.

 

Keira quickly finished her cake, stood up and went around behind the dining table from where she pulled three large clip frames and brought them before the group. She placed them before the fireplace, nudging Bailey aside a little, and leaned them up against the grate. There was a muffled exclamation from Margaret, and Bill examined his cake closely. Caroline and Emma were smothering giggles.

 

The pictures were black and white, taken on film, developed beautifully, with stunning clarity to show the grain. They were of Stevie standing, sitting and reclining before a ceiling to floor velvet curtain. In one she was dressed in a corset which squeezed her slightly androgynous figure into a more curvy shape, stockings with frilly garters tied with bows at the front and embroidered with hearts, a thong and high heeled lace up boots with a rounded toe. In another she was in nothing but the stockings and garters, sitting on the floor, a perfectly feminine 'Y' at her crotch. In the third picture she was completely nude with her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder at the viewer. It was so much like the portrait I had made of her on the chaise-longue and I felt a pang of sadness at my stupid, impulsive act. I only noticed then how perfect her rump was, how pert the cheeks, how flawless the skin. In each picture she was beautifully lit and the overall standard, I had to admit, was very professional. I fought back a wave of jealousy.

 

"I did the make up," Caroline told her parents, who nodded in silence.

 

The temperature in the room had dropped a little, but then Emma announced that Keira had become her business partner in her photography studio on the town's high street and this was greeted with a ripple of applause from Caroline and Stevie, though not from Mum and Dad. All this time I had noticed Stevie was looking rather embarrassed and had she clearly not appreciated Keira displaying the pictures of her.

 

To further demonstrate their skills in this direction, Emma and Keira then took pictures, snapping us all stuffing our faces with more cake. The two of them passed the camera to each other like a relay. Then Emma and Stevie posed together, standing near the piano, their arms around each other and, in one picture, with Emma's lips pressed lightly to her sister's cheek in a live reproduction of my painting. All of this did much to thaw the ice that had encroached on the party, but then the camera flash began to upset the baby and he began to wail louder than ever.

 

"He needs his nappy changing," said Margaret, and again she was right. The smell, for which I apologised, was proof enough.

 

Stevie stood, took my hand and led me from the room into the kitchen where she produced a bumper pack of nappies from a cupboard.

 

"Stevie!" I said to her above the crying, then looked behind me to check that Christine had not followed. "What the hell is going on? I've not even heard from you for days."

 

She took the baby from me and gently placed him on a towel she had laid on the working surface. She tore open plastic packaging and fresh nappies spilled onto the floor.

 

"You don't have a clue, do you, Steven?" came a voice from the doorway and I looked up to see Margaret shaking her head. She pushed Stevie aside and said, "Here, hold this," thrusting a clean nappy into Stevie's hand. Meanwhile the baby was raising the roof. Stevie stepped back, looked at me over her mother's shoulder and pulled a mock pompous face. Margaret proceeded to remove the baby's soiled nappy, clean him thoroughly, then she showed both Stevie and me how to apply the nappy quickly. "There," she said and handed him back to me. "What are we going to do with the pair of you?" she said, then left, leaving us feeling like two stupid children. The baby quietened down after I had rocked him a little.

 

I looked around me and now noticed that the kitchen was crammed full of cardboard boxes. With one hand I lifted the flap of one of them and had a look inside. It was full of my books. Another one had boxes of my jewellery, another had clothes. I looked at Stevie and she met my gaze while biting her lip. The red lip bulged against her teeth, its full, soft flesh swelling voluptuously. I had almost forgotten how I ravishingly beautiful she was. I told her I had missed her so much and she raised herself for a soft kiss, placing that velvety lip on mine, brushing it gently back and forth seductively. Between us the baby reached up to our mouth's, clutching the air with this tiny fingers, as if wanting to share in the love I felt for Stevie. When our lips parted I gave him my hand and he gripped my index finger hard. Stevie wiped more tears from her eyes, smiled, then turned to fill the kettle with water.

 

With her back to me she said, "Christine thought you should move in with me. She and I discussed it and we both decided it would be best for you and the baby."

 

I listened to this, realising already that I had somehow known this would happen, and suddenly I felt dizzy. She spun around and took little Steven off me with one arm and with her free hand pulled a stool out. I fell on it gratefully, suddenly realising how completely drained I felt. Now I understood why the living room had seemed so cramped. It wasn't just because of the number of people. It was also that there had been a number of unpacked boxes under the table and the piano and lining some of the walls. When I looked up I saw Christine standing in the doorway.

"There's no need to give me that cow-eyed look, Linda," she said. "You know this is for the best."

 

Steven wailed a little, then decided to pop Stevie's finger into his mouth and suck on it. I took him off her and let him feed again while I looked back at Christine and tried to modify my expression into one of mature indignation.

 

"And don't look at me like that either," she told me, raising her voice. "This is what you wanted, after all, isn't it? As for me," she sighed, "I guess I should be careful what I wish for."

 

"No, it isn't what I wanted," I replied while rocking the baby gently to stop him whimpering. "What I want is to be treated like an adult."

 

Christine came to lean against the cooker and regarded me with her arms folded.

 

"Then this is your time to start behaving like one," she said more quietly. "You're the mother now. This is your opportunity to finally grow up. All your belongings are here and some of mine which I'm giving you. I brought them over here while you were in hospital. You have everything you need for yourself and the baby. You even have a shed where you can work, right?" And she raised her brows at Stevie who nodded.

 

I looked out through the window into the garden and saw a tiny wooden shed, perhaps no bigger than a wardrobe, standing against the far fence.

 

"We can get a bigger one, don't worry, darling," said Stevie, looking at me compassionately.

 

I could not help the tears which started to fall onto Steven's white cotton romper suit, a new one Christine had bought, and my mouth slowly opened in a silent wail.

 

"Oh, Linda!" said Christine with exasperation while keeping her voice muted, "you've got everything you wanted, haven't you? You don't want to live with me any more, anyone can see that."
 

My emotions were a churning mess, preventing me from thinking clearly. All I could do was think about a time when Mummy had packed me off to my auntie's one summer when I was fifteen while she went off on holiday with her man of the season, without telling me beforehand. I had never been away from home before and had felt utterly abandoned and lonely. Twelve years later and nothing had changed. People were still making decisions for me. I looked down at Steven, knowing that at any moment he would begin crying again.

 

"If you need me for anything," I heard Christine tell Stevie, "you can call me any time."

 

I looked up and saw Stevie nod a little uncertainly. She bit her lip again and looked from her to me with deep concern in her eyes.

 

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" she asked Christine who nodded with her lips pressed firmly together. Then she brought them to me my cheek and lightly kissed my wet skin. I could not look up.

 

I heard her high heels tap across the tiles, then the kettle beginning to boil. While Stevie made coffee and tea for everyone I suddenly stood up, pressed the baby back into Stevie's arms and ran from the room, with my left breast still hanging over the top of my dress, through the house to the front door from where I saw Christine already getting into the car. I shouted her name, ran across the front lawn, almost fell onto the car door and bent down so that my face was level with hers. She looked at me sadly and I saw a tear drip from her left eye. She reached up with one hand, slipped it around my neck and we kissed deeply for a full minute until the thought finally struck me that she was leaving me for good. The only serious love of my life, someone I had lived with for years, was abandoning me. I felt her gentle hand at my breast, cup it softly, and I closed my eyes, surprised and delighted by the pleasure this gave me. Then she lifted it over the dress' neck and pulled the bra up to cover it. I dumbly watched her hand quickly perform this discrete action, then retract into the car and take the steering wheel. She started the engine while looking at me the whole time, a sad but resigned smile on her face. Then she drove off at a good speed up the road. I stood on the pavement watching her stop at the junction and, as the car turned, I saw her raise a hand and wave, though her face did not turn. I waved back and for a moment my feet thought about racing after her, as they had once raced after her every morning that she had left the house and driven off to work.

 

I felt a hand on my arm and looked around to see Emma smiling at me. She led me back into the house where the others appeared to be making ready to leave, standing around and telling each other to stay in touch. Keira's framed photographs had been put away, I noticed. Emma sat me down and a minute later she had put a glass of something alcoholic in my hand.

 

"Just a little drop to make you feel better," she said and patted my arm.

 

I suddenly felt incredibly tired and was barely able to acknowledge the further smiles and words congratulating me again as Bill, Margaret, Caroline, Keira and finally Emma left until Stevie, still with the baby in her arms, had waved them all off and shut the door. From some comments that had passed between them it sounded like they had been expecting to take Stevie out for more celebrating, but had decided to cut things short. Stevie sat by me on the sofa, gently rocking Steven who had amazingly, considering the fuss around him, fallen asleep. A look of deep contentment was on his face while Stevie looked down at him fondly. It was not long before I had also joined him in the land of dreams.

 

The bright, orange evening sun slanting though the front windows woke me. I looked around and saw that, not only had the room been cleared of many of the boxes, but my old, small cot had been set up beside the sofa. My shoes had been removed and my feet rested on a low stool. Stevie, with her bare feet up on the cushions beside me, was reading one of her Charlaine Harris paperbacks. I stood gingerly and padded over to the cot. He was still sound asleep with his thumb stuck loosely in his mouth which bore the hint of a smile, a Mona Lisa smile. Stevie looked up, stretched in her feline way and asked me how I was feeling. I merely nodded and decided I felt better. She stood, took my hand and led me out into the garden.

 

It was a beautiful warm evening with barely a cloud in the sky. I looked around me. The garden was simple, just a neat lawn bordered by a few rose bushes, much like the front garden. Beyond the back fence were nothing but fields stretching into the far distance. She led me over to the shed, opened it and there, amazingly, were all of my pictures and painting gear stacked neatly. But there was no room for even a chair.

 

"I can't work in here," I said. "This is ridiculous."

 

"Darling," she reasoned, "we can see about getting a new one tomorrow. I'm not much into gardening so you can have the whole thing to yourself."

 

Then she took me back to the house and up to the bedroom. The first thing I saw was that her pretty bed and small chair were gone and in their place stood a plain, double bed, the one I had slept in with Christine for years. And on it sat my dolls, Amelia, Beatrice, Lorelei, Suzuka and Persephone, all looking quite comfortable and settled in.

 

"We swapped beds," she said, then indicated a small wardrobe beside hers, new and of similar design. She opened it to reveal some of my clothes hanging neatly. Then I saw my comb, hair brush and compact on the dressing table, beside her own items. And by the bed was another cot, a little larger than the one downstairs. "Would you like to rest, darling?" she asked me. I nodded, regarding the old bed fondly and suddenly feeling sleepy again. I let her unlace my dress and slip it over my head. She unhooked my bra, then gently took my arm, drew back the bed sheet, fluffed up the pillows and eased me in like a mother with a young child.

"Stevie?"

 

"Yes, darling?" she said quietly.

 

"Are you sure you're ready to be a," I paused, "parent?"

 

She smiled, revealing the cute gap in her teeth.

 

"Just so long as he never calls me 'daddy'. Of course I'm ready to be a parent with you, Linda."

 

She drew the curtains, kissed my cheek and left the room, leaving the door ajar. Despite my ongoing tiredness I did not fall asleep quickly, but lay awake as the light around the curtains darkened into blackness until the only light came from the hallway. I then drifted in and out of sleep, loving the comfort of my bed and having my dolls with me, yet disturbed a little by the unfamiliar room. Later, I heard gentle piano music, a lullaby by a famous composer whose name I could not recall, then I fell into a deep sleep.

 

I dreamed I was a mermaid, swimming in warm, clear, azure blue water across a reef of multicolored oceanic organisms. A dark-skinned merman joined me, held my hand and we swam around each other, embraced, kissed, then chased each other through trees of coral and forests of kelp, joining schools of iridescent fish as they twisted and turned as one body in the scintillating light from above. We encountered a strange, bulbous plant, that waggled gently from side to side in the current, then surprised us when it spewed a white cloud of its seeds into the water around us, enveloping us and disorientating us for a moment before the creamy cloud flowed on ahead into a dark cave. We followed it and then suddenly, instead of swimming in water, we were swimming in air, kept aloft by huge, feathery wings that had sprouted from our backs. We held each other's hands and continued to follow the white cloud as our strong wings beat harder and harder. We flew higher and higher until the cloud drifted into the stars above. My fellow angel and I exchanged smiles of deep love as we dove into the sun, burning and boiling into nothing but a cloud of scattered particles that drifted away from the sun and back to the Earth to fall as rain.

 

When I awoke the light around the curtains was brighter than ever. The pillows on the other side of the bed were undisturbed and I realised that I had been sleeping alone all night. Then she entered in nothing but a white silk gown, smiled at me, wished me a good morning and let the gown slip to the floor. In the shadows I watched her pull underwear from the draws of the dresser, including a thong. She stepped into these quickly, adjusting herself between her legs in just a moment until her genital region was completely flat. She drew on her bra, then a yellow dress, the same one I had seen her in that day she had appeared like a vision at the lake. Then she drew on her lace gloves and took the floppy red hat that had been hanging from the hook on the door.

 

"I'm just off to church," she said, and it was only then I realised it was Sunday. "Shame we couldn't have breakfast together, but you were so fast asleep I didn't want to wake you earlier." She came over and kissed my forehead. "I'll bring him up. He's probably hungry."

 

I nodded and a minute later she reappeared with the baby in her arms. I sat up, took him from her and he immediately found my nipple. The pain and pleasure mingled with love and his warm, naked body felt so lovely pressed against mine. I felt his fluttering pulse quicken, then slow a little, while I stroked and massaged a little frown from his brow. I was so intent on him I hardly noticed Stevie leave.

 

Later, with him still in my arms, I explored the little house and wondered if I would ever feel entirely at home here. It was so small and there hardly seemed enough room for two people. How would we cope when Steven was bigger? Downstairs I noticed a blanket tossed casually over the couch and the remains of a breakfast on the coffee table. I decided to grab some for myself and found, after looking through some of the cupboards, a packet of Shreddies, my favorite cereal. With Steven in my lap I sat at the dining table and ate slowly, looking around me, feeling more and more relaxed in this new setting.

 

Stevie was gone for hours, but when she returned she cooked a big lunch for us both. She took care of the baby while I showered and dressed. Then in the kitchen, from a gap between the fridge and the door, she produced a pram which she then attempted to unfold.

 

"How on earth do you do this?" she wondered, struggling with it. We both laughed, tried and eventually succeeded in setting it up on its wheels.

 

"It's a nice one," I said, admiring it. For one baby it looked large to me, but very comfortable.

 

"Mm-hm," she nodded. "Christine and chose it together."

 

With Steven enthroned in this cushioned chariot we set off for a garden centre just a little walk away on the edge of Grettonham, agreed quickly on a very large shed, and had coffee together in the crowded café.

 

"Are you sure about that one?" I asked. "It looks big enough to fill the whole garden."

 

"It's fine," she said. "I'm can't be bothered with that garden anyway," and she squeezed my hand affectionately.

 

It was indeed a large shed as I discovered just over a week later once it had been delivered and erected. It was almost the size of my old studio with enough room for all my work, for me to stand my easels anywhere I wanted and for a two old chairs. These we bought second hand and cheap at an auction. They were beaten up old things with leaking stuffing, just perfect for me. I missed my old chaise but there was not quite enough room for that too. The moment everything was ready I set to work.

 

But before I resumed work on the illustrations I had been commissioned to do for the children's book, I found myself painting the portrait of someone, a middle aged woman, Christine, drawing on all of my memories of her. She still occupied my mind so fully it was as if she was posing before me. I painted her sitting with her face towards me, her hands in her lap and her legs crossed as if she really was just a few feet away from me on the empty chair. The day was cloudy, we had yet to install sufficient lighting, and she looked sad in the dim light, all alone, surrounded by shadows.

 

I also missed Honey, our cat, the old wooden bungalow, its surroundings and lake. But here, I could just walk down the alley beside the garden, cross the stile, and in a moment be outside in the fields, surrounded by happily bleating sheep. Twice a day Stevie and I would walk that way with Bailey who seemed to have come to accept me as an additional mistress. Stevie or I would carry our son, either with him strapped to my back or strapped to Stevie's front, and the four of us would set off on long evening walks.

 

I did go back to visit Christine one evening a couple of months later, while Stevie stayed at home and taught. At the corner of the driveway I noticed a 'For sale' sign'. Christine told me she was moving back to the States from where she had emigrated fifteen years earlier. Honey pawed at me affectionately while Christine and I exchanged some strained small talk. Christine offered Honey to me, so I took the elderly cat up in my arms where she rested placidly. I had returned to the house wondering, even hoping, that once there I'd feel like staying. The familiarity of everything, even that of Christine's patronising manner, comforted me. I reached out to touch her many times, wanting her to hold me, to tell me that she loved me. Each time she turned away. So I wandered around the old place, quietly saying goodbye to everything. On the driveway she kissed me on the cheek, patted my hand waved me off.

 

"I know I'm childish," I said to her, just before leaving, with my voice trembling, "and I know you've sometimes been more like a mother to me." I walked away from her, then turned back. "But it always hurt when you treated me like a child and I can't take it any more." She looked desperately sad and for a moment I wanted to go back and hug her, but then she turned away, returned to the house and I was left there alone once again.

 

I took the bus back into town with Honey on my knee watching the hedgerows rush past. I knew the right decision had indeed been made, despite my exclusion from it. Although the house's surroundings were so pretty, it could be an incredibly lonely place. Towards the end, Christine had been made it even lonelier. When I arrived home I found that Emma had come to visit with her boyfriend, a young, black gentleman named Gary who, apparently, was Keira's brother.

 

"We've come to babysit for you," said Emma, eagerly taking little Steven from the cot to rock him in her arms.

 

And then, having just descended the stairs, Stevie appeared dressed in a short, pale dress and pink and yellow striped stockings. I told her we now had a cat. She came up to stroke Honey's head and the cat rubbed herself against her hand.

 

"Our family's really growing," I said and we both smiled.

 

"Put your minidress on, darling," she said. "I'm taking you out for that dance I promised you ages ago."

 

We took the bus into town, holding the hands the whole way.

 

"Do you know," she said to me as we got off and headed down one of the town's old, narrow traffic free streets, "you and I haven't even been out on a date?" and as we walked she put both her arms around me and I rested my cheek against the top of her head.

 

It was a nice, cosy club she had brought me to, with 'Jazzmine' in blue neon over the entrance and two quietly smiling security men at the door who Stevie beamed at. The interior was illumined in subdued orange lighting. Around the small stage was a space in which just two couples were dancing and candlelit tables lined the walls. We were shown to a secluded, comfy, little booth and Stevie ordered us both cocktails. When they arrived we clinked glasses. Mine was sweet, tasted to me of marzipan and instantly made me relaxed. Stevie and I held hands across the table, smiled and kissed, and I tasted a cool minty flavor on her tongue. She had made herself up a little more than usual, but still beautifully.

 

"Hiya!" called someone and Stevie waved. I looked up to see Keira pass us and wave, her other hand clasped around that of another woman, a willowy blonde. Stevie looked genuinely surprised to see her old flame here. They did not stop, but were shown to a table closer to the stage.

 

As more dancers appeared on the floor and the music became more smoochy, Stevie stood, took my hand, led me to the dance floor and, holding me close and taking my hands gently, she began a gentle movement against me, guiding my faltering feet. With her thumb she softly caressed the back of my hand. She looked up into my eyes and we shared a lingering kiss. I had no idea what I was doing with the rest of my body, having rarely even attempted to dance, but the kiss felt so good and reassuring.

 

"Tell me you love me, Stevie."

 

"I do love you, Linda," she told me solemnly and, at that moment, I suddenly felt like the two of us were flying, not dancing.

 

We went back to our booth and then the band came on. We were entertained by a jazz trio fronted by a man who played sax as well as sang. I had never been to a jazz club and the experience was completely new to me, but I found myself enjoying the cool grooves. Much of the time though I found myself thinking about Steven, fretting a little that he might not have had enough milk before we left or that Emma wouldn't know how to change a nappy properly. In the last week I had done that so often I was now an expert. Stevie had somehow managed to escape that particular chore quite a few times, strangely, not that I really minded.

 

Throughout the show we both had our shoes off. With our feet pressed into each other's crotches, we fondled and kneaded until I was surprisingly aroused and, judging by her heavily-lidded gaze and the hardness under my sole, so was she. Her frilly sock soon moistened from its contact with the soaking front of my panties. Suddenly she grabbed my ankle and, with a grin on her face, gently eased my foot away, telling me she was about to 'go off'. We realised it was time to go, kissed a little more and took the short distance home in a taxi, fondling each other passionately on the back seat, wrapping our legs around each other's and smothering each other's faces with hot, wet kisses.

 

Back home we found everyone lying around watching the TV with Steven in the downstairs cot and Bailey and Honey on the floor, not together, but not avoiding each other either. It wasn't too late so Emma and Gary stayed for a drink while Stevie played her piano for a while, a classical piece I was told was by Debussy, then something I recognised: 'I Feel The Earth Move' by Carole King.

 

Eventually the babysitters left and they both kissed me affectionately, making me feel like I was really part of the family now. I carried Steven, sleeping soundly, upstairs, tucked him in and rested his rattle beside him. The pets were fed and Stevie and I relaxed for while on the bed in each other's arms.

 

"Stevie?"

 

"Yes, darling?"

 

"Don't sleep downstairs tonight," I told her. We had been taking turns to sleep on the couch, or at least that had been the plan, but I had found myself in the bed more often than her.

 

She looked up into my eyes and I bent to kiss her. She responded slowly, then with more passion, placing her hands around my head and caressing my hair. I sucked her lower lip and darted my tongue into her mouth. Then I leaned back and unzipped my dress. I stood on the bed and let my clothes all spill at my feet, wiggling my hips a little to shrug myself out of them. I ran my hands over my thighs, my breasts, my belly. My fingertips felt the lines there, the marks caused by our son swelling inside me. Despite my having kept my belly almost permanently moist with cream I had been unable to prevent stretch marks. From the cot came the gentle shushing of the baby's snores. I stepped off the bed, Stevie stood also and I pushed her against the wall. I slid my hand down her body to her crotch and pressed between her legs, making her open them and rise on to the tips of toes. I held her in that position, kissing her all the while, then I felt the growing bulge and gripped it tightly. She let out a gasp.

 

"Stevie?" I breathed into her mouth.

 

"Yes, my darling, Linda," she said, her face so close to mine that her lashes brushed my cheek. She planted kisses all around my mouth, her breath heavy with lust and her body smelling sweetly of arousal.

 

"I want to fuck you so much," I said. She smiled and looked down, disarmed by my desire. I gripped her hand in mine against the wall above her head, continued to massage her crotch with the other, and pushed my entire body against her. "You don't have to be gentle with me this time. I won't break."

 

Hanging onto me tightly, she lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped her legs around me while moving her hips in a circling movement, relishing the sensation of my hand squeezing her genitals. I reached under her skirt, clasped her panties and pulled, letting it spring free out of the thong and into my hand. Touching it still gave me some anxiety, but watching her arousal helped me overcome this. She was so completely hard, so ready, so hot and throbbing with desire. I kissed her throat as she drew in ragged gasps through it, then I dropped to my knees. I lifted her skirt and regarded it for a moment. It looked so strange, staring it me with its one eye. I gently took it in my hand. I looked up at her to study her reactions as I stroked around the helmet, moistening it with a little of the precum that had already begun to ooze from it. She moaned softly, closed her eyes and licked her lips. I remembered how she had responded before to a firmer grip and I placed all my fingers around it. I squeezed while sliding up and down, up and down from tip to base. As I did so I watched her scrotum slowly descend from where it had been squeezed up tightly, but the sack was so much smaller than Kenny's. I recalled how, in a ditch at the bottom of the school playing field, I was once flashed by a disgusting boy who offered to show me his if I showed him mine. I had never stayed to show him mine, so horrified had I been at the sight of the slug between his legs and the tiny bag hanging behind it. I had to admit, it had looked much the same as Stevie's, resembling as it did, that of a prepubescent boy's.

 

When Stevie came, I was startled once again by the hot, viscous globs that this time landed, in my hair, across my mouth and down my neck. She quaked against me, running her fingers through my hair. Hesitatingly, I pushed my tongue out between my lips, just the tip, until I tasted her. It was not as nasty a taste as I had feared but only a little of it was enough. I looked up at her smiling down at me, her round cheeks a bright pink. I stood and hugged her while she licked at my lips and around my chin, sipping her own jism and cleaning me with her tongue. She clearly enjoyed the way she tasted and her tongue soon turned white with it, while our faces were joined with fine threads. Then she cupped my face in her hands and I felt the stimulation of the lace on my skin. She drew her thumbs across my mouth, wiping them, then we shared a deep, deep kiss and I tasted her spunk once more on her tongue until our saliva washed it away.

 

I then undressed her while we fondled each other lovingly. I sat down on the edge of the bed. Her stockings, I saw, were hold ups held in place by frilly garters embroidered with pink hearts, the same she had worn for Keira's photo shoot. She placed her toes on my knee, her fingers at the garter, and slowly drew it down her leg, wrinkling the stocking more and more as the perfectly smooth skin of her leg was revealed. She repeated this with the other stocking, then tied it around my breasts with a big bow in the middle. We laughed. When she came to remove her gloves I stopped her and placed her hands on my breasts. Since my becoming pregnant they hung more heavily than they had and the aureolae were now a little darker, the nipples even more sensitive and quick to harden and lactate. Naked save the gloves she sat down beside me, cupped my boobs and lifted them until her hands were overflowing with my soft, chocolate marshmallowy flesh. As she moved her hands slowly in a circular motion, pressing and kneading, I closed my eyes and felt little twinges of pleasure shooting from my nipples down to my pussy, sending muscles here and there twitching. The lace scratched across the hardened nubs, not hurting but rather heightening the pleasure and I felt little warm secretions being drawn from me to moisten the lace.

 

She laid down with her head in my lap. I introduced a nipple into her mouth and she sucked on me, taking as much of the flesh into her mouth as she could, but never hurting me. I loved the feeling of my nipple being tongued inside her warm mouth. As she did this I reached out and took her penis in my hand again, rubbing its underside and stiffening it with caresses and squeezes. She sucked on my other nipple while her cock rose in my hand until it was as stiff as before. The milk was pouring from me freely while the lubricant from her cock leaked down over my fingers. I laid her down beside me and looked at the flagpole of her desire staring up at me, at the milk smeared around her lips, at the deep fire of love in her eyes. I passed my leg over her until I was straddling her hips. I slipped my hands under her necklace and pendant to glide my hands over her smooth chest. I tweaked her nipples and kneaded the small, risen mounds around them. She twisted and writhed beneath me, her breath hissing like a rising tide. Then I lifted my hips and guided her into to me.

 

I sank until my broad hips rested on her slender ones. She told me, urgently, to ride her and I proceeded to do so, drawing my pelvis back and forth over her, feeling her penetrate me deeply, then withdraw while my clitty rubbed the flock of robins on her hairless groin, their wings seeming to flutter against me each time I drew myself forward. I bent down and let my nipple enter her mouth again while I lifted my hips, then dropped them, my moistened skin slapping on hers. I began a rapid succession of hip thrusts on her, letting her piston in and out of me while her lips and tongue pleasured my breasts. I began to cry with the extreme pleasure that was welling up in me, my throat tightening and tears springing from my eyes. I came and went into a series of intense paroxysms as I bucked and shuddered on top of her so violently I slipped off. My pussy was twitching continuously, sending shock waves outwards to engulf my entire body. Stevie caressed my legs and breasts as I continued to shake. Despite no longer having her inside me my pussy felt like it was still being fucked so hard it seemed to be on fire. When she placed her hand against it another wave screamed through me.

"Wow!" she said and we kissed passionately.

 

She climbed onto me, kept her lips pressed to mine, and entered me, showing amazing self control by keeping to a slow, measured pace. She rested her body on mine and began a comfortable, rhythmic shuttling inside me. My pussy had become so sensitive I came again almost immediately. I tightened my pussy walls around her cock and my limbs around her body, squeezing her bottom as if wanting all of her to enter me. With a series of powerful squirts she shot her cum deep into me, arching her back above me and emitting little high-pitched grunts. Then she drank from both my breasts and slurped up the little pool that had collected in the valley between them.

 

"I love you, Stephanie Bell," I told her as we lay facing each other.

 

She looked deep into my eyes and whispered, "And I love you, Linda Kirwan," and she brushed my lips softly with hers. We kissed and fondled some more until we became so aroused we made love again, our mouths licking and sucking orgasms from each other, drinking each other, our bodies sliding moistly across each other until I could hardly tell where I ended and she began.

 

I left her sleeping peacefully on her side, her hands folded at her chest, a sweet smile on her lips, her genitals shrunken, almost hidden. I kissed her fingers lightly and a thought occurred to me. From a draw in the dresser I took a small box and brought it to the bed. From it I took a white gold ring with a small cluster of diamonds. It had been left to me by my grandmother who had passed away just the year before. I had been closer to her than my mother. One day I had hoped to give it to Christine. I took it from the box, lay back down beside Stevie and gently took her right hand from where it rested against her left. Her breathing remained slow while I uncurled her fingers and slipped the ring over her ring finger, folded them back and kissed them again. It almost fitted, but was just a little too big. There would be time, an infinite time, to buy another to fit her perfectly. I took a while studying her, then went to check on little Steven. Amazingly, he was still sleeping soundly. The room reeked of sex. I checked the tiny camera was correctly positioned, picked up the monitor, put on my nightie and went out to the shed.

 

It was a warm evening. Inside, in the musty, dusty air of my workplace, I sat and studied my little one's sleeping face on the screen. I sketched him a few times, concentrating on the subtle curl of his tiny lips. Then I prepared a canvas and thought about the slim form of Stevie's body, looking so peaceful on the bed upstairs. I considered the glistening smears around her limp cock and on the sheet beside her. Something occurred to me and, as I looked down, I saw similar patches on my leg. I wiped my finger along some of it, finding it was really thick. It thickened the white paint I added it to. Then I used this mixture on the painting, dabbing it onto the canvas, spraying her genitals and the sheets beside her with dots of it. After a while, having captured the essence of the sleeping, naked angel in paint and semen, I thought to myself, Fifty more like this and I'll be well on the way to getting back to where I was just before I threw that stupid tantrum, but I did not feel regret, only joy.

 

My body was covered in sweat, my crotch in semen and my breasts in milk, so I went back upstairs, drew a bath, filled it with not too hot water and went back to the bedroom to check on them. What I found there made my mouth open in amazement.

 

"He was crying," she told me, then looked down.

 

In her arms, resting against her naked body as she sat cross-legged on the bed, was the tiny, naked form of our son quietly sucking on Stevie's small nipple. I sat beside them and saw, against his round apple cheek, two drops of milk. When Stevie looked up at me again there were tears in her eyes. We kissed as the baby continued to suckle on her. But it was not long before the flow of her milk stopped and he began to cry again. I removed my nightie, and carefully took him from her lap to mine. He sucked away on my milk as Stevie sat behind me, placed her parted legs on either side of me and pressed her soft genitals against the small of my back. She held my shoulders and I turned to kiss the salty tears from her lips. Three of us in the dark, our naked bodies pressed closely to each other, exchanging fluids, warmth and love.

 

Eventually I left them, returned to the bathroom and slipped into the water up to my neck, loving the luxurious immersion. While smiling at the glowing picture of our baby which I had sat at the end of the bath, just by my feet, I hummed a classical tune I had heard Stevie play but, as always, did not know the name of. I rested against the side of the bath and blew kisses at the screen, feeling happier than I could ever remember.

 

The knock of the bathroom door against the tiled wall woke me from my reverie and I looked up to see her standing there with a hand on a hip, a smile of amusement and envy on her lips. She wanted to join me, obviously, so I raised my knees above the cloud layer of bubbles and parted them wide. She tiptoed across the tiles and sat on the edge of the bath to remove first the necklace, then the bracelets, then with one foot up on the rim she took off the anklet. She then sunk through the foam into the water between my legs, sat down with her back to me and rested against me with her head at my breasts. Her hair was already collecting into wet ringlets from the moisture-heavy air. I slipped my arms around her chest, feeling the cross there, and when she reached up to clasp her fingers behind my neck, I felt the ring press into my skin. We both lay like that for an age, staring fondly at our little one on the screen.

 

My hands slipped further down to Stevie's genitals and began massaging her, gently kneading her balls and, with two fingers circled around her cock, stimulating her and hardening her until she was completely firm in my hand. In between kisses we told each other how much overwhelming love we felt for one another and our baby. She started to buck her hips upwards into my hands, throbbing hotly. Disturbed by our movements, the water above her genitals became free of bubbles and I saw white clouds forming between our legs as she squirted jet after jet passionately into the water, shook against me and cried into my breasts. We continued to kiss while I massaged her slowly softening penis.

 

The cloud of her seed drifted on, then disappeared under the layer of foam. In my mind I followed them, with a child's hand in mine, Steven's hand, his other hand in Stevie's, and we raced across hills of green, laughing.

 

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2015