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Although we were both joking when she told me to steer clear of busty young filing clerks in miniskirts who wore too much makeup, and I warned her of the dangers of succumbing to the Common Room Casanova in a leather-patched tweed jacket with chalk stains, we knew that we were both facing a test. Yes, we’d been apart most of that first summer when I’d been working in the factory and she had been at home in Exeter or staying with Sian and the twins, but this time was going to be different. It would be at least ten months of pretty constant separation, and we’d been almost inseparable for the last two-and-a-half years.We talked about how we’d keep in touch, when we’d try to meet up, and reassured each other that the year would soon be over – even though we both knew that at our age the time would seem to drag. At least we had meeting places at both Reading and Bristol; and of course it wasn’t out of the question for her to meet me at home in Stamford, as she got on so well with my. As it was, it took three months for me to conceive, and I now have a flesh and blood son, to carry on Mistress’ assumed family name. My own had already been assured with the births of my three nephews, so I wasn’t overly concerned with giving my son my own name. I was quite willing to give Mistress’ fictional family name to my son.Who am I going to borrow to give me my second child? And how am I going to convince Mistress to allow me that child?When I realised I was pregnant, I was over the moon, and Mistress’ attitude seemed to change almost immediately. I’d realised that she wasn’t happy with my situation, but once she recognised the fact that I had a bun in the oven, her attitude seemed to change. The realisation hit us both on the same morning, when I was puking my guts up for the third morning in a row. As I knelt down in front of the toilet bowl, my insides heaving, Mistress knelt behind me and put her arms around my waist. “I guess that congratulations are in order,.
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