apples, and the Stork

My dear friend Lopsy telephoned.

I suppose I don’t have to believe the answer.

You may remember that the Stork took Um and the Baby away, I think to find someone who could help them with their asylum application, and to access all the things they need in this new alien country.

Oh, how wonderful if the Stork is back. I’ve been waiting and waiting for news of Um and the Baby.

Yes, there he is, up on his hook.

No no, I mustn’t just ask after Um and the Baby. He’ll think I’m not pleased to see him himself.

It is very nice to see him again. I’ll make him a cup of tea.

I’m afraid he’s been home some time, and I just haven’t noticed. The cuckoos tried to tell me, but I didn’t understand.

I hope I haven’t hurt his feelings.

Though now I come to think of it, it gave him a chance to quarantine, after getting back from his foreign travel.

I’d better telephone Lopsy with the good news.

I suppose half of me doesn’t want to ask.

As long as I don’t know anything definite, I can keep on hoping.

I can imagine the Stork saying “Their immigration papers are all sorted now, and I’ll be bringing them back here next week, to live with you happily ever after”.

I know it’s not very likely. And they’re probably much better off where they are.

I expect the Stork has found them a council flat on a nice estate with a good nursery and community centre.

Or a special mother-and-child hostel with enriched education facilities for the Baby, and plenty of other young mothers for Um to socialise with. And an interpreter.

Which of course would be very good indeed.

But memories of the Baby keep coming back. I remember how it would tear things up and throw them all over me.

The little scallywag. I do miss it.