EVENING SCHOOL
- a romantic story by WTSman

Dropping out of high school in junior year was a poor idea, but
Christina was tired of school. Having a baby by a violent asshole
a few days after her 26th birthday was even worse. At 30 she was
desperately trying to get things right, but everything fell apart
and no one wanted to help her - apart from George, the young
graduate who was teaching math at her evening school.

DEDICATION: This story is for you Michelle - because I wanted to
tell you where I come from - in more ways than one.

PLEASE NOTE: Parts of his story have a high "yuck" factor. If
involuntary bodily functions turn you off then I suggest you find
another story. Don't read this over lunch, and if you have
something in your hand while reading it I suggest that something
is not your sandwich. In a central scene, George is looking after
a very small, very sick child - and her mother. It's not for the
squeamish...
______________________

"... and if you want to have an assignment marked I must have it
no later than Friday noon in my e-mail. I am away all weekend and
won't have time Monday morning," the teacher said over the
general noise.

Most of the students in the room were already getting ready to
leave and they were every bit as noisy as the teenagers who would
usually be taught this kind of material, that is to say senior
high school students. But while such high school students at the
end of class would head off to their afternoon jobs or hang out
with their friends - and the swotty few would go home to do
homework, this group of students had a range of different agendas
as wide as their age-span which went from mid-twenties to late
sixties. Many of them had families they needed to get home to as
soon as possible - either to relieve a spouse, or to dismiss a
babysitter. It was eleven thirty at night and they all seemed
tired.

What also set these mature age students apart from their teenaged
counterparts was their dedication to their school work. Mindful
that they had gotten a 'second chance' and often having difficult
circumstances, they were much better prepared for class and much
more consistent in handing in written work.

The course syllabus stipulated a minimum number of written
assignments; but George - as the young teacher was called -
offered students that they could do more if they wanted more
practise before the exams. Provided he got them in time, he
always did a thorough job marking them with individual comments
and suggestions for further study. Many students accepted his
offer and in consequence his course always had exceptional pass
rates and grade averages despite his young age.

For George was actually the youngest in the room, although that
didn't faze him. Despite his only 23 years, he was already an
experienced teacher. Way back in primary school his own teachers,
having recognized an unusual intellect, used (and sometimes
misused) him to assist his classmates.

During his high school years he was a popular and sought after
tutor, always willing to share his knowledge and understanding
and never expecting - or indeed receiving - anything in return.
Many a pretty girl would bat her eyelashes at him to get help
with classes she was failing - either because she was stupid, or
more likely, too lazy and preoccupied with everything but school
work. George would help them, but none of them would dream of
going out with him.  His social life was virtually non-existent.
He wasn't exactly a virgin when he finished high school, but his
experience was very limited.

At University he studied with people very much like himself. The
gender distribution in engineering was extremely skewed and the
few girls there were even more socially awkward than him, so he
hadn't had a steady girlfriend ever and not even a casual one for
years.

To support himself during his undergraduate studies he had
applied for - and to his amazement got - a job at an evening
school specializing in teaching senior high school subjects to
mature age students wanting to enter tertiary education. That
fact that a uni freshman could get such a job was merely
indicative of a desperate shortage of qualified high school
teachers.

The school's principal hadn't expected much from George - his
impossibly high grade average didn't say anything about potential
teaching skills and the principal was simply pleased that he
didn't have to cancel the courses for lack of a teacher.

As it turned out, George was a natural. The first indication came
when the drop-out rate for his course nosedived. That was money
in the bank for the school since their public subsidies
ultimately depended not on the number of students enrolled but
the number actually sitting for the examination. And when those
exam results came back with the highest pass rate ever in the
history of the school, the principal knew he had a winner and he
ensured that George was offered to return the following year -
which he happily did.

He was teaching two courses, each with 4 hours on a single night.
It was a tough way of doing it, but many of the students couldn't
manage being at school too many nights a week and it suited
George fine having two nights working (Mondays and Tuesdays) and
the remaining ones free for his own studies.

When George graduated at 21, he went straight on to do a master's
degree and although he had a state scholarship for that, the
stipend wasn't very big.

Having tired of the Danish "kollegium" system - which are
essentially just cheap student accommodations with their dirty
shared kitchens and endless noisy parties, George had spent a
small inheritance from his parents on a share in an
"andelslejlighed" - a coop apartment in the curious Danish system
where dwellings are owned by a cooperative of the tenants,
usually in one or at most a few neighbouring apartment buildings
in the major cities. The apartment was small, although bigger
than what he had had before - but the cost was stretching his
finances so he was happy to stay on as an evening school teacher
and even happier when he got his first pay-slip that year and
discovered that his graduation had meant a sizeable jump in his
pay.

Two years later he was a Master of Electrical Engineering, having
specialized in advanced circuit design. His university department
really wanted to keep him on with a view to doctorate. Since that
is actually a real job with a real wage in Denmark it would take
some time to organize, but in the meantime he was kept on as a
research assistant with a similar wage to what he had been
getting from his master's stipend.

George happily accepted and started just before the summer
holidays. He liked it well enough, but he never really hit off
with his colleagues who were all a bit nerdy - albeit elite
nerds. In consequence his social life remained the same, i.e.
non-existent. So in August when the principal - with hope against
hope - asked if he still wanted to teach even though he now had a
job, George said yes and the principal almost leapt with joy, as
did his students.

The way the courses were laid out, you could either do one or two
years of mathematics depending on what level you needed for the
particular tertiary education you had set your mind on. Tuesday
was the first year/single year course and Monday was the second
year course. A few highly motivated students would do both at the
same time, but most took them over two years. When George walked
into the classroom on the first Monday evening in September, he
was greeted with surprise and real appreciation and they were
quickly off to their first lesson on advanced math.

One of the students was a woman called Christina. She was a
single mother of a 4 year old daughter named Lena. Christina was
in many ways a typical student at the school. She had dropped out
of senior high school - which is a 3 year course in Denmark -
midway through the second year, thoroughly fed up with school.
Her elderly parents - her father was now dead and her mother
close to 70 - had been very disappointed with her and never
understood that she needed a break. 13 years ago there were
plenty of well-paid jobs in the booming economy at the end of the
last millennium and Christina had had a ball.

A few years later things started to get difficult. She had
uninteresting lowly-paid jobs and 5½ years ago she was living in
a failing relationship with an abusive boyfriend - the latest in
a string of equally rootless contemporaries. In a disastrously
misguided attempt at 'patching things up', she had quit taking
the pill and had fallen pregnant almost instantly. Before she
could say 'I'm pregnant,' he was out of there never to be heard
of again - he wanted no contact with Lena and was notoriously
inconsistent in paying the minimal support he was obliged to pay
under law.

Maternity pay is fairly generous in Denmark compared with many
other places in the world, but it certainly doesn't make you
rich. The local council had found Christina a small subsidized
apartment in a public housing estate and the day-care for Lena -
which she started at 6 months - was also heavily subsidised.

While Christina had been on maternity leave, the job market had
gotten even worse. She was notoriously under-employed and could
only just make ends meet. Just. But the New Millennium had
brought in a new right-wing government and her situation started
to erode.

For more than a century all Danish governments - regardless of
whether they called themselves conservative, liberal or social
democrat, had been heavily influenced by N.F.S. Grundtvig - a
19th century pastor, political philosopher, and hymn composer
who, it is fair to say, had a much greater influence on the
Danish political way of life than Marx or Friedman. In a
nutshell, Grundtvig's - and with him, Denmark's - political
philosophy was summed up in a line from one of his hymns: 'Then
we in richness have made it well - when few have too much, and
fewer too little'.

The problem was that the new government broke with that idea.
Unfinanced tax breaks to high income earners and severe cutbacks
to social services started to increase - rather than decrease -
the gap between the 'haves' and the 'have nots'. Christina didn't
quite understand the philosophical background for this - she
didn't even vote, but she could see that the price of day care
and rent and food and clothes rose far quicker than her pay.

Clothes were a particular problem. When Lena was in crèche,
Christina made friends with the parents of one of the little boys
there. He had two older sisters and Christina received endless
amounts of very nice girls' clothes from them. But when Magnus'
family moved away, Christina lost contact with them - and her
source of free clothes for Lena dried up.

Now Lena was in kindergarten and Christina was painfully aware
that most of the other kids were dressed much smarter than Lena.
Realising that the only way to improve the situation was to get
an education, Christina started to investigate how to go about
that. In that respect she was doing exactly what the new
government wanted her to, and since they had tried to ensure
their re-election with an ostensibly generous program for people
to 'catch up' with education, she hoped she would be able to
start on a long road to financial independence.

She had always had a flair for life science subjects and wanted
to become a bio-analyst at a hospital - not just because she
found it interesting but also because she would receive an actual
salary during her training. The entrance requirements were fairly
high - senior high school level Danish, English, biology,
physics, chemistry and advanced mathematics, but she worked out
she could complete it in two years.

However the 'generous program' turned out to come with a lot of
caveats. In reality, Christina could not afford to drop working
to study full time, but she worked out that evening class three
nights a week for three years would do the trick - and the money
she got would just exactly cover her costs for a babysitter those
three nights a week.

It was a difficult time - especially finding and retaining
reliable babysitters for what she could afford to pay them. She
often had to rely on her mother, but she was elderly and in poor
health. Nevertheless Christina completed the first two years of
her gruelling program - full time work during the day, then going
to classes three nights a week, studying the two others and most
of the weekends and still finding it difficult to make ends meet.


Her social life had dried up completely of course. She neither
had the time nor the money to go anywhere and she felt trapped.
The evening school had a student-run cafe and quite a few of her
class mates would socialize for an hour or so after class, but
Christina - like most of those with families - always had to
hurry home.


Christina was preoccupied during that first class of math. A
couple of weeks ago during the summer break - not that Christina
had had any holidays, but the school did - she had received a
blow in the mail. Pressed by a new round of government cutbacks,
the municipality had 'reviewed her case,' as they worded the
letter. They had decided that the subsidy she was receiving to
enable her to study was 'income' and 'under those circumstances',
they would reduce the subsidies on her rent and Lena's
kindergarten fee by the 'equivalent amount', meaning that she
would in effect lose the money for babysitters and thus her
chance to study. For the first time in years Christina cried. She
kept her emotions in until Lena was in bed, but then she crumbled
completely and cried inconsolably.

That same day Lena had been upset because two of the more
affluent girls - little 'Queen Bees' in the making - had teased
her about her clothes. It had begun, as Christina knew it would.
'But at 4 years, for crying out loud!' Christina thought. She was
completely distraught.

As luck would have it, her mother rang her that evening. What the
original purpose of the call was, Christina never learned and her
mother forgot. When Christina was finally calm enough to explain
what had happened, her mother offered to help. She was unable to
manage three evenings a week but she offered to do one - which is
more or less what she had been doing over the last two years,
only on an irregular basis.

Christina was reluctant to accept the offer as she knew her
mother was fragile, but she wanted desperately to save what could
be saved of her plans for a better future, so she agreed to one
fixed night a week and was now left with making the painful
decision of which subjects to drop. To help with that, her mother
would do all 3 nights this first week so Christina could talk to
her teachers about the possibility of self-study.


"Can I have a word?" a quiet voice said while George was busy
gathering his notes.

He looked up in surprise; he thought all the students had left.

The question had come from a woman of about 30 who had taken the
first part of the course last year. George quickly racked his
brain, 'Christel was it? No Christina, yes, definitely Christina.
Quite a good student too, but very quiet.' The interval was so
brief that she didn't notice.

"Sure Christina," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

Christina was startled that he knew her name - she was used to
being anonymous and he hadn't seen her for over 3 months.
Haltingly, she explained her situation - as briefly and neutrally
as she could - not wanting to take his time, nor unload her
personal problems on a young teacher. But he was calm and
friendly, signalling no hurry and his encouraging smiles made her
tell more about herself and her background than she had planned.

"Sorry about the babble," she finally concluded. "The short
version is I can only afford being away one night a week. Which
subjects can be done as self-study, and which MUST I attend?"

He looked serious, but still smiled. "Well, I really ought to
tell you to go see one of the school's study advisors," he
started, "but I am fairly certain I know what their answer will
be."

"Yes?" she prompted.

"You're doing physics, second year English and second year
mathematics, right?" he said. She nodded.

"Well," he said. "If you can really only attend one of these then
it must be physics because of the lab-work."

She hadn't even thought about that - physics being a new subject
this year, but she had done biology and chemistry the first year
and they had both included some lab work. She felt stupid and
started to apologize.

"Sorry, yes, that is obvious. I'm sorry I'm wasting your time..."

He stopped her.

"You're not. Besides, there is the issue of doing two advanced
classes as self-study. To be honest I'm not sure you're allowed
to do that at all - even if you handed in all the required
assignments - but listen: These courses are tough. We're doing a
lot of theoretical stuff in math this year and I'm sure the
English 2 class will involve a lot of the really difficult stuff,
too. I can't recommend trying."

He was right and she knew it. She felt close to crying again. She
opened her mouth to speak, but the helplessness of the situation
overwhelmed her and she only managed a strange throaty sound. To
George it sounded like a small wounded animal.

He decided to give her time to recover and thinking it would be
cruel to look away, he studied her - discovering that she was in
fact pretty - fragile but very pretty. She was not overly tall
and her body was slender, but she had a charisma that he hadn't
noted before. Her eyes, at the moment moist with tears, were the
lightest hue of blue he had ever seen. And her hair was blond,
almost flaxen. Somewhat unkempt, but looking completely natural.

To his amazement he felt attracted to her in a way he had never
been attracted to a woman before - not even the few, three to be
precise, that had allowed him in their beds. Feeling like he was
standing outside of his own body and observing the whole scene,
he heard himself speak.

"Listen, there is an alternative. I've just started my doctoral
studies and I need to do a lot of reading. A whole lot of
reading. I would be happy to do that in your apartment while you
go to class and your daughter sleeps."

She was stunned. "I can't let you do that," she said - she felt
she had to, but even as she said it she knew she didn't mean it.

And still she carried on with the conventional reply to such an
offer, thinking that was expected of her.

"I couldn't possibly pay you and besides, you have your own life
- what would your girlfriend say if you spent two nights a week
looking after some other woman's child?"

At the same time as she was saying that she was hoping he didn't
have a girlfriend, hoping that he was serious about the
suggestion, hoping that he would persuade her.

'Stop waffling girl - you've just been given a way out. But I
can't. One doesn't. He is a complete stranger'.

She had stopped talking - her mind in complete overload. She
looked up - for some reason she could see in his eyes that he
read her inner thoughts almost better than he heard her words. A
small smile formed on his lips.

'Darn, he is good looking in a strange, young, unformed way. How
old is this guy?'

 With an effort she dismissed the thought.

"I am alone," he said.

His voice wasn't exactly flat, but it wasn't emotional - not
trying to persuade or solicit sympathy. Just honest and
trustworthy, she thought - and those two words were strangely
echoed in his continuation.

"Honestly, I have no private life of any kind. If you would trust
me with looking after your daughter, I would be happy to help
you. Payment is not needed; honestly - I might as well read in
your living room as in my own."

"But how would it work?" she tried - one last feeble attempt at
being conventional. "Don't you have to teach?"

He smiled again - tiny wrinkles forming around his grey-blue
eyes. 'Jesus, he is gorgeous,' she thought. 'Why have I never
noticed?'

"It would work fine," he said. "I only teach Mondays and Tuesdays
- and Monday you will come to my class while your mother looks
after your daughter. As I recall English 2 is on Wednesdays and
physics on Fridays - it fits perfectly."

There was a certain finality in those last three words. She
nodded acquiescence. "How do we do this?" she asked.

"What do you usually do when you have a new babysitter?" he
countered.

"Oh," she replied - admiring his practical intelligence. "The
first time I usually ask the sitter over before Lena - my
daughter's name is Lena - is put to bed around six thirty. Just
so she knows who's there if she should wake up. Except she never
does."

He nodded understanding, but she had noted a curious expression -
almost pain - when she mentioned Lena's name.

"Later on, I just ask them to be there by the time I leave. I
live less than 15 minutes' walk from the school, so ten past
seven, quarter past seven is fine."

"Well, Wednesday at a quarter past six, it is then," he said.

"Yes," she smiled.

It had somehow sounded like a date, although it patently wasn't -
he would come and she would leave. But he would be the first
person in a very long time - besides her mother of course and the
babysitters who were paid to do so - to visit her apartment. And
for a while at least they would be there together.

She was about to leave, but he stopped her.

"I know I could look it up in the school records, but what's your
address?" he asked with a slightly teasing smile. "Oh, and I'd
better have your phone number as well - just in case."

She laughed - a sweet pearly sound so unlike earlier on - and
took the proffered pen and pad of paper to write down her
details. He took the pad back, looked idly at in and suddenly
looked startled.

"You're kidding!" he said. "I live less than 2 minutes from you -
just around the corner towards the big intersection."

"Oh," she said. "That's nice - it will make it easier for you and
I shan't feel quite so guilty - I mean, only terribly guilty, not
monstrously so."

The little jest was spontaneous, but she still chided herself.

'Don't try so hard - be natural.'

He smiled politely.

"You said you live less than 15 minutes’ walk from here. Does
that mean you're actually walking or riding a bike?" he asked.

"I walk," she said. "I don't like riding my bike after dark. Or
rather, I don't like getting it out of the school bike yard at
night; there are sometimes some unpleasant types down there."

"Yes, I noted," he replied, "besides I had my bike vandalised
here once so I walk too."

He looked hesitant, but then made up his mind.

"Can I walk you home?"

"I'd love that!" she said, thinking afterwards that perhaps that
had sounded much to keen.

'What is this - am I suddenly 13 again rather than close to 31?'
she wondered.

They walked home, talking about the neighbourhood they both lived
in. It was quite nice and retained most of the older buildings,
many of which had been restored as cooperative apartment houses
like George's.

Christina's public housing estate was one of the nicer in town -
which otherwise had some monstrosities in that category. And
unlike many of those, Christina's hadn't been built after razing
whole blocks of old buildings that ought to have been preserved
but instead was built on a former industrial site. She worried a
bit about that, but the janitor had assured her that the site had
been thoroughly cleaned. There was a membrane below the sandbox
in the playground and in addition the sand was changed every
year, but that was mainly because of cats.

"How long have you had your coop apartment?" she asked before her
mind drifted too far off.

"Only 2 years," he replied. "I inherited a little money from my
parents. Not a lot; they weren't wealthy, but there was only me
and it was enough to cover the share - so now I only pay a cheap
rent and the cooperative is well-run, so I expect the share will
be worth quite a bit more if I ever decide to move."

"That sounds nice," she said - referring to his present
circumstances, but then felt she had dropped a massive brick.

'Smooth girl, smooth. You've just told him it is nice he's an
orphan. Darn - what is it with me today?'

She racked her mind to find an elegant recovery line, but failed
miserably and just added. "About the apartment, I mean. I'm sorry
about your parents."

In her ears it sounded lame, but there was no indication that he
had felt offended.

"Yes, indeed. That was a shock. They were wiped out in a traffic
accident. The police think the truck driver must have fallen
asleep; he was killed too so we shall never know. But they said
at the morgue that it must have been instant."

It was his turn to feel strange. He had never told this to
anyone, having lived with the loss for 3 years without ever being
close enough to any person to share it. ‘'Am I close enough to
this woman all of a sudden?' he wondered.

"So you have no family at all?" she asked and immediately wished
she hadn't.

'Why are you poking your nose in his private life? You'll scare
him off'

But once more he took no offence.

"My dad's cousin lives in Jutland. She and her husband have 4
children, but they are all older than me. But I've spent
Christmas with them the last couple of years. They're lovely."

They came to a halt outside her door. They were standing very
close without saying anything. It was one of those silences that
are a precursor to most relationships. Not that all such silences
do lead to a relationship, of course. But they were both feeling
strange, unsettled, not wanting the moment to end, but not
knowing what do to next. And, again completely according to the
script, when they finally spoke, they spoke at the same time and
with the same word - "Well..." They both froze again.

He recovered first.

"Better let your mother get home," he said. "See you Wednesday at
a quarter past six. Good night."  He walked off.

"Good night," she said quietly.

'Don’t be a fool girl,' she said to herself. 'He is just being
friendly. Yes, friendly. But why is it I would so have liked him
to kiss me?'


Her mother had fallen asleep on the sofa and Christina felt a
pang of regret not having a spare room so she could spend the
night rather than having to take a night bus home. But she knew
that the sofa was not fit for a night's sleep. If either of them
tried, they would be wrecked in the morning. So she gently shook
her mother who woke up quickly enough.

"So what did you work out?" she asked.

Christina told her the gist of George's offer. Her mother was
amazed, but also slightly sceptical.

"Do you trust him to be alone with Lena?" she asked.

Christina had honestly not given that a thought and her gut
reaction was one of annoyance. On the other hand, her mother's
question was fair enough - so Christina's reply was neutral and
practical.

"Do I trust him?" she said. "Yes - I trust him at least as much
as the complete strangers I have hired over the last two years. I
know more about him than any of those - and I have spent far more
time with him, having gone to his classes every week last year.
So, yeah. I trust him enough to give it a go."

"That's fine," her mother said while putting on her coat. "I just
wanted to ask. And it is really a god-send if it works out."

She checked her watch.

"Well, I have to leave now if I don't want to run to catch my
bus. I really hope this works out and I'll see you again next
Monday rather than on Wednesday. Lena was a little angel as
always."

She kissed her daughter and left the apartment.


George was deep in thought walking the few hundred meters from
Christina’s place to his own.

'What on earth was I thinking?' he thought to himself. 'Christina
is lovely, but I won't exactly be seeing her much so this won’t
do anything for my social life. And it's true that I need to
read, but what if the kid is a brat and I can't get any peace to
read at all? And what if she dislikes me?'

He dismissed all of it as theorizing ahead of his data - not good
for a doctoral student. But then, as a completely irrational
afterthought the burning question 'And why did she have to be
called Lena?'


Lena was not a brat and she did not dislike the new babysitter
that came round on Wednesday evening just as she had finished
eating and was getting ready for bed. She was used to Mummy
finding different babysitters all the time, but since she rarely
saw them except the first time, she didn't really care. Mummy was
going to school in the evenings and someone else would be there
if she woke up. But she never did - simple as that. It was nicer
when Grandma came over. She would come early and have dinner with
them and read her stories - more stories than Mummy ever did.

This new one was called George - a name she had never heard
before - and at first glance he looked a lot like the others - a
grownup, but not quite as grownup as Mummy and certainly not old
like Grandma. And he was a 'he' - most of the others had been
girls. He was tall. Well, much taller than Mummy and he had kind
eyes. She noted he had taken his shoes off. Mummy and she never
wore outdoor shoes indoors, but many of the other babysitters
did. And he squatted down next to her.

"Hi Lena," he said. "I'm George". Lena giggled.

'Silly, I know that. Why do grownups always repeat themselves?'
she thought.

"I'll be right here in the living room reading my books."

She looked at the stack on the coffee table - they looked boring.


"If you need me for anything, I'm right here until your mother
comes home."

Lena just nodded and Christina shooed her off to the bathroom to
clean her teeth and then in to her room to be read to and tucked
in.

When Christina came out of Lena's room just after seven, George
was already deeply immersed in one of his books.

'He looks so concentrated when he reads,' she thought studying
the lines of his face.

He must have sensed it and looked up. Christina felt her face get
warm.

'Blushing like a schoolgirl! Get a grip!' she thought, and then
'Well, you are a school girl, aren't you?'

That thought was so absurd that she giggled slightly. George
smiled inquiringly. She shook her head, as if to dispel the
merriment.

"If you want coffee then just make some. There are mugs and
Nescafe in the cupboard over the sink and milk in the fridge,"
she said.

"Thank you," he said, "but I don't drink coffee at night - I
can't sleep if I do."

"There are some tea-bags too," she countered. "Anyway, I will be
off - see you just after eleven thirty."

"Fine," he smiled. "And you don't have to run home - I'll be
alright; this book will keep me occupied for quite a while."


She didn't exactly run, but she was first out the door when the
class finally finished. No easy start there - it was full on from
the word go. George had been right about the level. The teacher
had outlined what they would be working on for the first half
year and it sounded pretty exacting. She wondered if she could do
it, but reminded herself that she only needed a pass-grade.

She set a brisk pace and was home around ten to midnight. He was
still sitting in the sofa reading when he heard the key in the
door and went to meet her, the book still in his hand. He looked
so relaxed that she almost knew the answer to the question before
she asked it

"How did it go?"

"Fine," he said. "Absolutely fine. I have done exactly nothing
except reading and making myself cups of tea. I don't know what
you paid those other babysitters, but it was too much for the
work involved!"

She smiled with relief. "I'm so glad. I can't thank you enough."

"That's alright," he said. "And how about yourself? How did
English 2 go?"

"Fine, I suppose. You were quite right - it's going to be very
intense. There is no way I could do it as self-study." She looked
a little pained.

'I owe you - and I can't pay you back,' she thought.

As if George had read her mind, he replied gently "I am so glad I
am able to help you. And honestly all it costs me is a two minute
walk."

"Speaking of which," he said and briskly put his books in a bag,
took the tea-mug out in the kitchen and rinsed it, and went to
get his shoes and jacket in the tiny entrance room.

She was following him silently, trying to find something to say,
something that would prolong the moment. But she couldn't think
of anything and she knew they both had to work in the morning.

'Christ, it is nearly midnight!" she thought.

Her alarm clock would go off at six; she had to have Lena fed and
clothed and ready so she could be at the kindergarten when they
opened at seven. She always felt a pang of guilt having Lena
there for so many hours, but her current work was quite a way
away from their apartment - a 20 minute ride on her bicycle and
she had to be changed and ready at seven thirty sharp, so it was
touch and go every morning. He had said something, but she was
miles away.

She looked up startled.

'Smooth girl, now you are being rude to him too.'

He put a hand gently on her shoulder.

"Honestly, I am happy to help you. Goodnight."

He held her eyes for a moment. It felt like time stood still; she
could feel warmth at the pit of her stomach. She knew she would
have to get her dildo out when she went to bed.

'This is insane,' she thought.

"Goodnight," she managed. And he was gone.


On Friday, Lena was upset again when Christina picked her up. The
'Queen Bees' had been after her again, inventing a game you could
only play if you wore 'the right' clothes. The staff had
intervened when they discovered it, but it was too late - the
damage had been done and Lena still had streaks of tears on her
little face when Christina came to get her.

At least she got off earlier on Fridays so they had some time
together before dinner and the bed-time rituals. Her daughter
really needed her tonight - it was nearly ten past seven when she
finally emerged from Lena's room and heard a faint knocking on
the door. She rushed to open it; George was outside.

'Darn,' she thought. 'I've kept him waiting.'

"I'm sorry, it took forever to get Lena to sleep," she blurted
out.

But he looked his usual friendly calm.

"That's fine. I guessed as much and didn't want to ring the bell
for fear of waking her. You'd better get going."

He was carrying two large bags - obviously it was going to be a
heavy reading session.

She rushed round to find her things and was out the door just in
time to make it to class if she walked very fast.

"Bye," she called over her shoulder - already halfway down the
stairs. "See you just after eleven thirty."

Class ended early. As with the other subjects they had a full
program already on the first day, but they ended up with some lab
work and she and her partner completed the experiment quickly.
The partner - another woman in her thirties - also had a family
and was keen to get home. When the teacher had reviewed their
results and OK'd them, they were free to leave.

There was a drizzle when she walked home. Not cold; September was
unusually warm this year, but she hadn't brought an umbrella and
her coat wasn't waterproof. She walked home as quickly as she
could, but she was quite wet by the time she put the key in the
door and opened it. She was absurdly disappointed that he didn't
come to meet her; he wasn't even in the living room.

'Well, perhaps he is making himself a cup of tea or he could be
in the bathroom,' she thought.

But then she heard a faint sound. Tiptoeing to the door of her
daughter's room she could hear a voice - a pure baritone of
exquisite sweetness - singing a Danish children's song. She
hadn't heard that song since her father had sung it to her when
she was a little girl. He had also had a warm baritone - until
the throat cancer took first his voice and then his life.

She switched off the light in the living room to avoid disturbing
Lena and then very slowly opened the door. The song was coming to
its end.

"One more," a sleepy little voice said and George started at once
on another children's song.

This time it was a more well-known one. She noted he sang all the
original verses and not just the ones recently recorded when a
number of popular pop and rock singers had made a CD of 'updated'
children's songs.

The room was quite dark, but a faint light was filtering in
through the blinds. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that
George was sitting in an awkward position on the floor next to
Lena's bed. She realized that Lena was clinging to his right arm
- having pulled it close.

George ended the song and this time Lena didn't speak - she was
breathing regularly, presumably finally asleep, but she was still
holding on to George's arm. Christina squatted down on the floor
and nearly overbalanced. George steadied her with his left hand,
in the process the hand grazed her breast before coming to rest
on her arm. He seemed unaware, or unembarrassed, and leaned in
close, speaking quietly in her ear.

"She had a nightmare and woke up. I've been singing her back to
sleep."

"That's sweet of you," she whispered back - realizing the
whispers are actually louder than quiet talking when Lena
stirred. They both held their breath.

When she had settled again and resume her regular breathing,
George spoke again.

"You're wet!"

'In more places than one,' Christina thought - embarrassed but
excited by her reaction to his chance touch of her breast.

"It started raining just as I was going home," she said.

"Poor you," he replied in a low tender voice. "Better go and find
some dry clothes while I try to get my arm back."

He ended with a low chuckle.

'God, he is wonderful', she thought as she felt herself getting
even wetter somewhere the rain hadn't reached.


When he emerged, rubbing his right arm with a bemused grimace,
she had changed into nightclothes and a dressing gown.

'You hussy,' she thought to herself, but it did make sense.

And as usual he didn't mind or object, but expressed
understanding.

"That looks cosy - what a good idea."

She blushed faintly and looked away. Her eyes fell on a large
teapot on a tea light standing on her coffee table. He followed
her gaze and let up a small - almost apologetic - laugh.

"Oh, that. Yeah, I noted you didn't have one and I actually have
two, so I have 'parked' one of them here. I like to drink a lot
of tea when I read so making it by the mug is not practical."

He was just so immensely down to earth and practical - 'A lot to
be said for engineers', she thought.

What she actually said was a lame "That's fine!" and then added
"It's a very good idea."

"I had only just made it when she woke up," he said. "So the pot
is still quite full and the tea light keeps it warm. Would you
care for a cup, or do you want to go to bed right away?"

The question was completely innocent, but it could certainly be
interpreted in another way too. She flooded the second pair of
panties that evening and her heart beat twice as fast as usual.

'What is wrong with you?' she chided herself. 'He was not coming
on to you!'

"A cup of tea will be nice," she said when her heart and
breathing was finally under reasonable control. "I'll go get a
mug."

"That's OK; I'm nearest the kitchen," he said and beat her to it.


'His manners are exquisite,' she thought. 'He is doing things for
me - and making it seem like he enjoys it.'

The tea was rich and fragrant - very unlike anything she had ever
had in a country were most people think of tea as some
nondescript stuff in a bag.

"What is this?" she asked

He looked apologetic again.

"Kusmi Anastasia," he replied - holding up a fancy looking tin.
"I'm not keen on flavoured teas in general and 'fruit teas' in
particular. My dad used to call them 'wine gum teas' and I tend
to agree. But this is a blend of black teas with lemon and orange
peel - and a moderate amount of bergamot oil."

"Bergamot? What's that?" she asked.

"The stuff in Earl Grey tea," he replied. "In combination with
the citrus peel you get a very nice evening tea."

"Oh," she said. Earl Grey she knew, but she usually found it too
perfumed. And she agreed with his dislike for fruit teas; they
were much too synthetic. But this was nice. There was more to tea
than she had realized. And to coffee too. She was used to bad
instant coffee, but she guessed there had to be a reason why
other people were willing to pay so much for designer coffee at
flashy cafes. She just wasn't a part of that set. Paying more for
one cup of frothy milky coffee than a healthy meal for Lena and
herself didn't make sense.

Again she said something aloud that she didn't mean to say.

"Is it expensive?"

He laughed a little guilty laugh and she instantly felt bad, but
again his reply put her at ease.

"The original is. Absurdly so, but it is only the tin that is
original. I've mixed my own from standard teas at a fraction of
the cost. I can't tell the difference, but my wallet can."

They drank in silence.

"When did she wake up?" she asked.

"Oh, just after eight," he said.

Christina was appalled. "That's three hours ago! Have you been
sitting in there for that long?"

"Not quite," he said. "I managed to calm her down and get her
back to sleep quickly, or so I thought. So I made the tea, but a
little while later I heard her weep quietly and went in there
again. Seems she's had a rough day..." he trailed off, unsure of
how much he could let on he knew.

"She had," Christina said - not wanting to burden him with the
details and hoping that Lena hadn't been too specific. "When did
you go in the second time?"

"I'm really not sure," he said. "You tend to lose track of time
at night in a dark room. After she had told me why she was upset,
I didn't know what to say or do, so I asked her if I should sing
to her. She seemed to like that. I thought she was drifting off,
but every time I finished one song, she asked for another."

"Yes, I heard that," Christina said.

"Just as well I know so many," he laughed. "But I was very nearly
out of material when she finally fell asleep. I doubt she would
have accepted repeats!"

She was grateful to him for not mentioning the cause of Lena's
distress. She was grateful for his presence. It was getting close
to midnight, but the tea pot wasn't empty and both of them
enjoyed talking to an adult friend for the first time in a long
time. They kept talking about various things. Afterwards she
couldn't remember what. It didn't matter. It had felt significant
at the time.

When the last bit of tea had been shared and the candle in the
tea light extinguished, he got up - returning the tea mugs and
the milk to the kitchen as the most natural thing to do. She was
looking at him without really looking. It was like she was trying
to look into him to find out who he really was.

He was talking to her and she came out of her reverie.

"I'd better let you sleep," he repeated, sensing she had been
miles away. "If Lena is anything like my second cousins'
children, she is too young to know the concept of weekends and
will get up early."

Christina smiled wryly.

"Yes, when they're young you wish they would sleep in on weekends
- and when they become teenagers, you wish they would get up, or
so my colleagues tell me."

He laughed.

"Too true! Anyway, I will see you in class on Monday. Have a nice
weekend," he said and let himself out.

Grateful that she only had to clean her teeth before turning in,
Christina went to the bathroom. She discarded her still damp
panties and went to her bedroom. She expected to fall asleep
quickly, but once she was in bed sleep eluded her.

'Am I just attracted to him because he is the first male to treat
me nicely in years, or is he really that wonderful?' she thought.


She knew she was 7, nearly 8 years older than him - she had,
discreetly, asked the physics teacher this evening if he knew how
old George was and the answer was 23.

'Jesus - 8 years.'

When she had sex with her first boyfriend he must still have been
in first grade. But they were both adults now.

Almost defiantly, she got the dildo out of the drawer of her
bedside table. She set it to maximum vibration and movement,
plunged it in her dripping pussy with one hand and played with
the nipple on the breast he had touched with the other - and came
like a storm in 2 minutes. She was crying out his name while
liquid gushed out of her. Finally she slept - dildo in hand. Her
last conscious action was to switch it off.


George was lying in his bed thinking - while his right hand was
more or less mechanically stroking his very erect dick. He
masturbated frequently - usually in the shower in the morning,
but rarely to any elaborate or coherent fantasy. But he was
thinking of Christina now. He had noticed where his hand had
accidentally touched earlier this evening. He had been amazed how
her smallish breast had felt both firm and soft at the same time.
When they sat and drank tea, the dressing gown had opened so he
could see her shapely legs - they seemed very long for a girl of
less than medium height, and when she got up to get more tea, he
had gotten a good view down the front of her nightgown. Not so
small either, those breasts. He fantasized about seeing them and
playing with them - and came like a fire hose. Moments later he
was asleep.


Lena actually did sleep longer than usual. When she eventually
woke up she felt a strange loss. Moments later she realised it
was George's arm that was missing. She remembered now that she
had been holding on to it when he sang her to sleep. He sang much
better than Grandma - and he knew so many songs. And he was so
sweet.

She had been a bit shy when she woke up from the bad dream and
pretended to go quickly back to sleep when he came in to her
room. He was there to read his books, and she didn't want to
disturb him. But she had remembered how mean Anna and Tilde had
been to her and she just couldn't stop crying.

When he came back she was afraid he would be angry, but instead
he stroked her hair and asked her what was wrong. She had told
him everything. He had been so nice and then he had offered to
sing for her. She wished he could be there always.

She was hungry and went to Mummy's room. Mummy was still asleep.
The strange thing Mummy kept in the drawer next to her bed was
lying close to her hand. She wondered what it was. Some kind of
toy, perhaps. But it looked really boring. Mummy woke up and saw
where she was looking. She put the thing away very quickly. She
looked strange. She didn't look angry, but she didn't want to
talk about it - that was clear. Lena didn't care.

Christina cursed herself for not putting the dildo away. Lena was
an inquisitive child and naturally curious, but she was obviously
way too young to know about that kind of thing. Christina decided
to talk about something else.

"George tells me you had a bad dream last night," she started.

Lena was crestfallen. What if George had been angry? What if he
didn't want to come anymore? She nodded.

"I was so sad about what Anna and Tilde had said," she started.
"I didn't mean to disturb him, but I couldn't stop crying."

"Yes he told me," Christina said. Seeing that Lena's faced had
dropped and interpreting it correctly, she continued.

"He said he was glad that he could make you happy again by
singing to you."

A small license with the truth, perhaps. He hadn't said that, but
it was obvious that he had felt that way.

Lena beamed. "I like him very much. He said such nice things when
I told him about Anna and Tilde."

"What did he say sweetheart?" Christina asked - inwardly worried
that Lena had told him everything.

"He said that not even the prettiest clothes could make an ugly
girl nice," Lena said - trying to remember exactly how it had
been said which wasn't easy for a child of 4½. "I said that Anna
and Tilde weren't ugly, but then he said they were ugly on the
inside if they were being mean to me."

'Bless him,' thought Christina feeling the warmth in her stomach
return. 'Darn, I must be falling in love with him.' She snapped
out of it.

"That was a very nice thing to say," she agreed. "I'm glad you
like George. I like him too."

"I like him very much," Lena repeated. "When is he coming again?"

"On Wednesday," Christina said. "When Mummy is in school."

"Will he look after me every time you are in school?" she asked.

"No, not on Mondays," Christina replied. "On Mondays Grandma will
look after you."

"Why can't it be George?" Lena asked.

'Oh my,' thought Christina. 'If she prefers George over Mum then
he has made a conquest.'

"He can't sweetheart. On Mondays he is teaching Mummy; he can't
be two places at once!" Lena was close to pouting, so she
hastened to add "Grandma will come early and have dinner with
us!"

Lena looked sceptical. "Why can't George come and have dinner
with us?" She asked. "If I sleep, I won't see him."

Christina forgot to answer. Lena had a point - perhaps there was
something there.


While making breakfast for Lena, she decided there was something
there. Why hadn't she thought of that? It was perfect. A family
meal in return for the babysitting. That was bound to be
preferable to a lonely meal at home. She decided to test the
waters Monday.

During the brief brake halfway - George insisted that no one
could work for 4 hours straight without a break; he certainly
couldn't anyway, she approached him.

"George," she started. "Lena and I were wondering if you would
like to come earlier on Wednesday so we can eat together. Lena
would like to see you before she sleeps." 'And so would I', her
inner voice said.

George smiled in genuine surprise.

'Damn, I love that smile,' she thought.

His reply was even lovelier.

"I'd be delighted. When should I come?"

"Can you be there at six?" she said - hoping that she could
collect Lena, do the shopping and have dinner ready by then.

"Sure," he said. "I could also be there a little earlier and
help?" he added.

'I wish you would,' she thought but her answer was "No, that's
fine."

"Six it is then," he said with a big smile and turned his
attention to another student who was asking a question.


"Cradle snatcher..." someone said in a low mocking voice to
Christina. In fact the Danish word she used was even ruder -
'kuvøseguf' meaning literally 'something delicious out of the
incubator'. Christina felt her face become warm and turned
towards the voice. Two women - both past forty - were standing
nearby looking at her with open hostility. She couldn't tell
which one it was that had mocked her, but she felt crushed.

Turning away, she realized that George had heard it too. She felt
like running out of the room - like a distressed teenager. But
over the head of the other student, his eyes first held hers,
then darted towards the older women and then he made a funny
expression with his face as if to say 'The cats. Confusion to
them!'  When he smiled that smile again it melted her heart. 'One
look, one smile and I am happy? It must mean something,' she
thought.


She was of course nowhere near finished with dinner when George
arrived at six on Wednesday. Truth be told, she was not all that
good in a kitchen and she had overstretched her ability - not to
mention her finances - to make something fancy. In two minutes,
he had taken jacket and shoes off, washed his hands and put on a
tea towel as an improvised apron and ten minutes later dinner was
saved and ready. They sat down to eat and it really was nice.

"Will George put me to bed?" Lena asked when she had finished
eating.

Christina was about to protest, but George said "Sure. Mummy will
get you changed and clean your teeth, but I can read to you."

Lena's little face lit up.

"I can get changed myself. Will you sing too?" she asked.

"Of course I will," George answered - and Lena flew out of the
kitchen to get changed into pyjamas.

"Now there is a Famous First Occasion," Christina laughed as she
and George finished dinner. "I usually have hell getting her to
agree that it's bedtime. Even my Mum sometimes has to struggle."

"Must be the novelty," George said modestly.

"I don't think so George," Christina said. "I think you have a
devoted slave here." 'Or two perhaps,' she thought.

"It may take a while," George said, as Lena literally dragged him
off towards her room after Christina had cleaned her teeth, "but
I'll be there when you're back."

Christina just nodded. 'I wish it was me he was putting to bed,'
she thought, then returned to the kitchen to clear it up before
heading off to school.


He met her in the little entrance when he heard her putting the
key in the lock. He was smiling that smile of his, and again she
knew that everything was alright. But there is safety and
intimacy in rituals so she asked "How did it go?"

"Fine," he replied. "We read a couple of stories but then she
wanted me to sing - holding on tightly to my poor arm, of
course." He laughed.

"Did it take long?" Christina asked.

"No, not as long as on Friday," he smiled. "I didn't go through
my entire repertoire this time."

She smiled back and cast a glance at the table. The teapot was
there with the candle lit in the tea light. There were two mugs
on the table. She felt absurdly happy. He followed her glance.

"Oh, I saved the last cups of tea for now, but I won’t stay long
- I know you have to get up early."

'Can anyone really be that sweet?' she wondered.

They drank the tea. There was something on her mind, but she
didn't quite know how to say it. He drained the last tea in his
mug and started to get up.

"George," she said. He looked at her and sat down again. "There
is something I want to ask you. I, we, Lena and I - we were
wondering if you would like to make this a regular event. Coming
to dinner when you are looking after Lena. I mean."

"Like every Wednesday and Friday?" he asked. There was a curious
expression on his face.

She suddenly felt embarrassed.

'Why did I ask him that? I can't monopolize him. He is already
doing so much.'

"I'd love to," he said quietly.

She looked up. "Say what?"

'Did he say what I thought he said?' she wondered.

"I said I'd love to," he repeated in a firmer voice. "On three
conditions."

Her happiness had been complete. Now she looked confused.
"Conditions?" she asked

"Yes," he said. "It's gotta be ordinary every day food - not
something fancy all the time." She nodded. 'Bless him, I can't
afford anything else,' she thought.

He stated the other 'conditions'.

"I want to do the shopping for it some of the time - and we do
the cooking together. OK?"

"Sure," she said.

Now her happiness was complete. Or nearly. What she wanted to add
was 'Just like a family', but it wasn't. For instance, George was
putting on his jacket and shoes to leave.


She got out the dildo again but left the vibrators off and just
used it to slide gently in and out of her vagina. It was a long
slow build-up to a sweet release. She remembered to put it away
before she fell asleep.


George on the other hand was stroking his dick fast and furious
thinking of Christina and how he would love to have stayed. He
came with a grunt, but he couldn't sleep. He kept thinking of
being with Christina and Lena permanently. Like a family.


Lena was almost delirious with happiness when Christina told her
the next morning that George would come to dinner every Wednesday
and Friday. Christina left out the bit about George also cooking
- she was strangely shy about the fact that George was being put
to more work and Lena would find out soon enough anyway. Lena's
happiness lasted throughout the day and gave her some immunity
against Anna and Tilde's meanness.


And so went the weeks of September and early October. George had
texted Christina that he would be there half past five on the
Friday having shopped for dinner. That established a pattern
where she shopped for the Wednesday meal and he for Friday. They
cooked together - George was amazingly good at it, so Christina
learned a lot and he managed to interest Lena in the process
which gave them even more time together as an 'almost family'.

The staff at the kindergarten had seen that Lena's newfound
happiness had staying power and they took note of the fact that
she was frequently talking about someone called 'George'. They
had seen a thing or two in their line of work - there were many
kids living with single mothers with rapidly fluctuating
boyfriends, and that wasn't often good for the kids. But
Christina was not one of those mothers and they hoped that
whoever 'George' was, there would be some stability in Lena's
life. She could well use that in her last year of kindergarten
before starting school.

They didn't ask any questions, but still they worked out who
'George' was. On the last Friday before the autumn holiday week,
Christina's workplace was changing procedures. Rather than
getting off early, she had to stay late. Not so late that she
would miss school, but she couldn't pick up Lena in time. Her
mother was unavailable and in desperation - and with a curious
reluctance, given how much time they spent together, she asked
George.

"That's fine," he said. "I'd love to." Christina was incoherent
with relief. "No that's fine, honestly," George said. "I can take
her shopping for dinner - she'll think that's fun."

"Yes, with you she will," Christina thought aloud. "I have World
War III in the supermarket on a regular basis." They both
laughed.

"But what about the kindergarten?" George suddenly said. "I mean,
will they let me pick her up?"

"I'll tell them Friday morning that you will pick her up,"
Christina replied. "It is not a problem. At nearly 5, kids can
clearly demonstrate if they know and trust whoever collects
them."

Lena certainly could. She talked about 'George' all day and when
he showed up mid-afternoon she flew in his arms with a soft cry.
The deputy head of the kindergarten - a motherly woman in her
late fifties - saw it from across the playground. 'George' was
much younger than she had expected, but Lena's love looked
complete and unconditional, and the way he interacted with her -
and with a couple of her young friends who, with the natural
curiosity of the age, came to study George - told her the love
was mutual. George let himself and his intentions be known to the
young assistant - a girl name Elisa - who later talked to the
deputy.

"Quite a dish and very sweet with kids," she said. "No wonder
Lena is smitten."

"That's good," said the deputy. "But isn't he a bit young? Lena's
mother must be over 30."

"And?" said Elisa. "My Mum is 9 years older than Dad. They have
always been happy."


Lena's happiness was complete. Not only had George come to pick
her up, Anna and Tilde had seen him and he had talked to them.
Recently Anna and Tilde had claimed that George was a
pretend-friend that didn't really exist - just like in that book
Elisa had read to them. But now they knew he was for real.

They went shopping - they were going to make fish cakes with
boiled potatoes and grated carrots - that was one of Lena's
favourite meals. Back home safely, they let themselves in -
George had remembered to ask for a key, and getting Christina's
spare set had felt hugely significant to both of them, but as
usual they didn't speak of it openly.

George and Lena played for a while, but then they started
cooking. When Christina rushed in dinner was ready and Lena told
her mother with pride how she had helped making the food. There
was only just time for Christina to eat before she had to rush
off again. She was reluctant to leave George with a messy kitchen
and the task of putting Lena to bed, but be just shooed her out
laughing.

"Off you go, I'll manage," he said. "Don't worry - remember I
have Lena to help me."

The image of Lena sitting on George's hip with a small arm around
his neck, waving at her while she ran down the stairs stayed with
her all evening.

"Now young miss, off to bed," George said.

But Lena would have none of it.

"I'm going to help you clean up," she said and could not be
dissuaded, so George relented and together they did the kitchen.
He was quite certain it took twice as long because of Lena's
'help', but she was so happy that he equally happily complied.
When she finally declared the kitchen done, he sent her to get
changed and took her to the bathroom to clean her teeth. He had
never done that before on a child - or indeed anyone but himself
- and felt ten-left-thumbs-clumsy. With the engineer's approach
to practical solutions, he decided to stand behind her as that
made the movements more natural, only then he couldn't see very
much - and he was stumped by how small her mouth actually was.
Lena was giggling hysterically, but eventually he managed. Her
demands for stories and subsequent songs exceeded all previous
occasions, but this was Lena's day and he once more complied.

When he finally emerged from Lena's room he was very tired and
decided to sit down for a moment before getting on with his
reading. He fell asleep.

Physics went on forever that night. Christina and her partner had
problems with their equipment and she didn't get away until way
after eleven thirty, so it was close to midnight when she put the
key in the door. George did not come to greet her - he was fast
asleep in an awkward looking position on the sofa. Gently she
woke him up, all the time wishing she could take him to her bed.

She dreaded the next week. School was closed for Autumn Holidays
and George was going to Jutland for his 'aunt's' 70th birthday.
Christina would be working - no holidays for her - but she
wouldn't be going to classes and in consequence, she wouldn't see
George even though he was only away until Thursday. And she was
dreading Lena's reaction.

Her mother came on Monday as usual even though Christina wasn't
going out and they had a nice enough time. Lena was talking
constantly about George. Her mother 'fished' a bit for
information, but Christina wasn't taking the bait. There wasn't
anything to tell, was there?

When Wednesday came and there was no George, Lena was furious and
the evening was tense. It didn't help that Anna and Tilde were
seeking revenge over being called wrong about George's existence
by redoubling their teasing over Lena's clothes. When she finally
had gotten Lena to sleep, Christina was exhausted and she missed
George so much it hurt.


George meanwhile was having a lovely time with his family,
however distant, in Jutland. His 'aunt's' birthday was a big
affair as such things are in that part of the country. George
hardly knew anyone apart from his hosts and their children and to
his relief he was placed next to Tina - the youngest of his
second cousins. She was woman he liked very much. She was 37 and
had always had a soft spot for George, especially after he was
orphaned.

After dinner, George sat with her and her husband Holger - a very
quiet type - for coffee. Their oldest daughter was also there.
Tina had married young, so Kate - the daughter - was nearly 13.

"So," Tina said brightly. "Have you finally found yourself a
girlfriend?"

George was hesitant long enough for Tina to regret the question,
but then he finally answered. "Sort of. But not really."

That only made Tina more curious, and she probed further. Without
really knowing why, George suddenly started telling Tina
everything. Kate, like her mother, recognized a love story when
she heard one and was looking starry eyed, but wisely didn't say
anything. They let George tell all there was to tell.

At the end, Tina just said "It sounds to me like you love her, or
rather both of them, don't you?" Kate nodded agreement.

Hearing it spoken hit George like a sledgehammer.

"I guess I do," he said. "But it won't come to anything. She is 7
or 8 years older than me."

Neither Kate nor her parents were quite so sure. Holger who had
remained silent - in fact George could barely remember ever
hearing his voice - suddenly spoke.

"The little girl. How old did you say she was?"

"Lena? 4½, nearly 5," George replied.

"It makes my blood boil to hear how those ghastly girls are
treating her just because her mother can't buy her fancy
clothes," Holger said.

"Make that any new clothes. I think she gets most of her stuff
from second hand shops," George said. "It's not the recent
fashion; that I can tell you. And the competition is so hard
already at that age."

"Couldn't she have the stuff Lisa has grown out of?" Kate
suddenly said - referring to her 7 year old sister.

"That's an idea," her mother said. "What size is she, do you
know?"

"The label in her night gown says 110 cm," George said, "and that
fits her fine."

Tina smiled. "Of course you would know - you are always so
practical and observant."

George told them about the tooth brushing episode to explain why
he had seen the label. They were in stitches.

"Well, 110 cm sounds right. That is a size 5 years," Holger
observed. George was slightly surprised that he would know such a
thing.

The next day George discovered that Tina's husband definitely
knew such things and he also discovered why. An hour before he
was to go back on the train, the family showed up with a huge
black plastic bag full of girl's clothes. Most of it had been
Lisa's. It was all well-kept, clean and neatly folded. But here
was also a lot of brand new stuff that looked really pretty.
George looked bewildered.

"I asked one of the women at the office to make a nice selection
from our most recent collections. She will be the best dressed
girl in town," Holger said.

George must have looked even more bewildered until Kate took pity
on him.

"Didn't you know Dad runs a clothes company?" she asked.

No, George didn't. He must have been around 8 when Tina and
Holger were married, so he had never known. Now the penny
dropped. He thanked them as best he could, feeling that his words
were inadequate, then said goodbye and was driven to the train
station by his 'uncle' to start the journey home with his
precious cargo.

It was mid-afternoon when he arrived home. Christina would still
be at work and Lena at kindergarten. He toyed with the idea of
picking her up himself, but dismissed it instantly. If Christina
hadn't told them in advance then he was sure the staff would
refuse to let him walk away with Lena.

He spent a restless couple of hours. There was some paperwork to
attend to. As expected, his formal employment in the doctoral
program had come through, effective September 1st. Checking up on
his bank account, he discovered to his surprise that he was being
paid very very well - way more than when he did his masters. He
had gotten used to living frugally; he now wondered how to
channel some of his sudden modest wealth to Christina and Lena.

At six he knocked on Christina's door. They were obviously still
eating when she opened for him.

"George!" she exclaimed, but she looked more happy than surprised
at seeing him. When Lena heard his name she came flying and
embraced him. Christina wished it was that easy for her too.

"What's in the bag?" Lena asked - once more doing what Christina
wanted to but felt she couldn't.

"Something for my favourite little girl," George replied and
started to unload the contents on the coffee table.

It would be difficult to decide who was most happy in the small
apartment that evening. Lena was most vocal and least inhibited
in expressing her joy, but George felt happier than he had been
for many years being able to bring that much joy and Christina
not only rejoiced that Lena got all those lovely clothes but also
felt a tenderness and gratitude towards this unassuming young man
who had meant so much to her life recently. She so wished she
dared tell him that she loved him. And still she couldn't.

"Where does all this come from?" she asked instead when the sack
was finally empty and the coffee table covered with an amazing
collection of clothes.

"Well, the really nice used stuff comes from my second cousin's
youngest daughter - a sweet girl called Lisa," George started.

"And the new stuff?" Christina asked.

"Lisa's father." George answered. "I don't think I've ever heard
him speak before and I had no idea what he does for a living.
When I told them about how mean Anna and Tilde were to Lena, he
said he would like to choke them."

Lena giggled. George continued, now directed to Lena.

"But then he got a better idea. He happens to own a clothes
company, so he got some of the nicest, smartest, newest stuff he
could find and gave it to me to give to you. Then Anna and Tilde
can see you in it and choke themselves with envy."

Lena giggled even louder. Christina was about to say something
pedagogical, but George beat her to it.

"Only, I told him that my Lena would never be mean to anyone over
clothes, but that she would be really happy to get some smart new
ones. And here they are."

With glee - and pleasant difficulty - Lena picked the clothes she
wanted to wear the next day. The abandoned evening meal resumed -
with considerable reluctance - and when that was completed,
Christina called "Bedtime!"

Lena pouted. "Only if George will put me to bed."

Her mother was about to protest when George said "Sure."

Christina looked at him with such love in her eyes that it was
only his own infatuation that precluded him from realising it.
When two people fall deeply in love at the same time they are
often the last to discover it. Their surroundings know for a long
time before they do and are often the ones to give them the
hints. But in the case of George and Christina, there was only a
4½ year old girl and she did not know the adult rules of love.

But Lena was the catalyst for getting Christina and George
steadily closer.

"Will George pick me up from kindergarten tomorrow?" she asked
hopefully when Christina had cleaned her teeth and George stood
ready to read - and sing - to her. In a tiny step towards
abandoning her conventional inhibitions, Christina for once did
not protest, but simply looked at George.

"Of course I will," he said. "We'll go shopping and cook for
Mummy and she will even have time to eat the food!"


The Friday was lovely. Lena was in the sunniest mood when George
picked her up. The shopping was fun and they had time to play
before they started cooking. Christina got off early - this was
an 'ordinary' Friday again - so she put all the new clothes away
in Lena's room while dinner was being made.

They ate and got Lena ready for bed. While George was reading,
Christina made tea, but when she heard George singing she came
into Lena's room quietly and sat down next to George. She didn't
know all the songs he was singing - and indeed wondered how a 23
year old single male knew so many children's songs - but many of
them she did know and after a while she joined in with a hesitant
and unschooled but very nice alto.

When Lena was finally asleep, George and Christina sat down and
drank the tea, again talking about all kinds of little things,
the kinds of things you talk about when you have been in a
relationship for years. Only they weren't. They both wanted to
and they both thought it was impossible - and while they both
sensed the other's longing, they misinterpreted it as being just
a part of what they were attracted to in the other, not an
indication that their feelings were mutual. They ran out of tea
and 'little subjects' at roughly the same time. George, as
always, cleared away the tea mugs, put on his shoes and jacket
and headed off with a cheerful 'See you on Monday'.


Alone in her bed, Christina was wondering if he would ever spend
the night with her. She hated seeing him leave and felt too
depressed to even masturbate.


Alone in his bed, George was wondering if he would ever get to
stay the night with Christina. He hated having to go home and
felt too depressed to even masturbate.


When George finally did get to spend a night in Christina's
apartment - and it was only a week later - the circumstances
seemed anything but romantic and conducive to a relationship, but
then real life is usually very different from romantic fiction.
It didn't start well.

George had a mandatory meeting Friday afternoon, so he couldn't
pick up Lena or even join them for a meal. He arrived at almost a
quarter past seven, moments before Christina absolutely had to
leave. Lena had been ratty and impossible. She had picked at her
food and was only just in bed but had not had a story yet,
Christina informed him. She herself felt dreadful - she was dizzy
and her stomach felt like it was in uproar. She put it down to
her period being on the way and gloomily put a handful of pads in
her bag before rushing off to physics class.

George kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket before
going into Lena's room. He was about to call out some cheerful
greeting when he stopped dead in his tracks. Lena was asleep on
her bed although the lights were still on and she was only
partially covered. George tiptoed over to switch off the lamp and
cover her. She was, well, snoring and when he touched her
forehead it was hot. Very hot and clammy. Concerned, he left the
door open to keep an ear out for her and sat down to eat what
Christina had left for him.

He had just finished eating and clearing away in the kitchen when
there was a long very unpleasant retching sound followed by a
pitiful whimpering cry from Lena's room. George rushed to her
room and as he entered, the retching sound was repeated. Lena was
helplessly vomiting. As in everywhere. Eventually her little
stomach was empty, but she kept dry-retching as cramps shook her
small body. He held her until it passed and looked at the ruin of
her bed.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," she cried.

"Of course you couldn't sweetheart. You're sick," George said -
cuddling her without a thought of what she was covered in.

He carried her, bedding and all, to the bathroom and cleaned her
up as well as he could. She was shivering with fever as he took
off her messy pyjamas. He wrapped her in a large bath towel and
ran to her room to find her something clean. There was a
nightgown in one of the drawers and he returned to put it on her.
He 'parked her' on the sofa under a blanket while he remade her
bed. The duvet had not been badly hit and the cover was of very
thick cotton so the duvet itself not too affected. He put on
another cover - that would have to make do. The pillow had taken
the brunt of her spew and was past praying for. He found another
pillow on the sofa and put that in the matching cover. The sheet
was wet in places, but there was a rubber-backed mattress
protector under it. He wiped that and put on a fresh sheet, then
returned a shivering and whimpering Lena to the bed.

"Taste bad," she was mumbled.

Of course it did. He meant to let her sip a little water, but she
was thirsty and drank quite a bit - and mindful that her stomach
was likely still upset, he found a bucket in a kitchen cupboard.

"If you need to throw up again then try to get it in the bucket,"
he said gently. "If you can. I will not be upset if you can't."

She nodded and seconds later tried as the water came up again.
Once more the dry-retching was hard on her and exhausted she fell
into an uneasy slumber.

He decided to take his book to her room and sat reading while
keeping an eye out for her. She was tossing and turning and after
a brief interval, perhaps half an hour, she had another attack of
stomach cramps. She was dry-retching again but nothing came up.
However a strong smell told George that something had left her.
She was a mess. The duvet and pillows were OK, but underpants,
nightgown and sheet were certainly not. The mattress protector
had saved the mattress but the protector itself could not be used
again.

He got her to the bathroom and started the process of cleaning
her up very carefully, mindful that hygiene was imperative. When
rummaging for clean clothes for her, he came across a half-empty
pack of 'trainer pants'. Christina had told him Lena had been
completely continent since just after turning 3, but these last
pant-shaped nappies had not been thrown out. Very lucky, as
George could not find any more mattress protectors and he worried
that the diarrhoea wasn't over. The trainer pants were a tight
fit of course, but better than nothing. He got her back to bed
and started wondering if he was up to this.

'She is so small,' he thought. 'She can dehydrate very quickly
and that is dangerous.'

He put the kettle on to boil water and made a sugar/salt
solution. But he needed something else while that cooled. He
found it in the shape of small amount of very stale Coke in the
fridge. He shook it to get the last of the gas out, then poured
it into a cup and zapped if for a few seconds in the microwave to
warm it up a little. He returned to Lena's room and got her to
sip it slowly. It was sweet and she swallowed it without protest.
Next he went to the bathroom to rinse the fouled bedding and
nightclothes as best he could. It wasn't very effective, but at
least it reduced the smell.

Twice more she had a bout of diarrhoea, but the trainer pants
contained the mess and he cleaned her up with care. Luckily the
vomiting ceased. The stale Coke stayed down and when that ran
out, the sugar/salt solution was cool enough for him to give her.
She was barely awake even when he was cleaning her up and her
fever seemed very high. He stayed with her until around eleven
thirty when he heard Christina come in. He went to greet her, but
she stumbled to the bathroom and moments later he heard a
retching sound from her too.

Forgoing all pretences of modesty, he went in the bathroom to
help her. She needed it - she hadn't made it to the toilet and
she was a complete mess. He got her out of her vile clothes and
under the shower, and then went to find night clothes and panties
for her. He was aware that she was menstruating and concern
outweighed embarrassment so he dealt with that too, methodically
and competently. He inserted a pad in her panties and helped her
put them on, and then covered her shaking body with the
nightgown.

Her body was hot with fever and she shivered as he helped her to
bed. A wash basin, a wet washer for her forehead and a small cup
of the sugar/salt solution on her bedside table completed what he
could do for her. She was barely conscious and he wondered how on
earth she had made it home.

He returned to Lena's room. While sitting there he realised that
he had now seen Christina naked and touched her virtually
everywhere. 'Not the way I hoped it would happen,' he thought
with a wry smile.

At one in the morning Lena again lost bodily fluids 'out of both
ends', as the saying goes. He cleaned her up once more - she was
somewhere between sleeping and awake, listless and her breathing
shallow. That's when he decided this was more than he dared take
responsibility for. He dialled the out of hours medical service,
or the 'night doctor' as the service is popularly known.

In Denmark every citizen has a so-called CPR-number which is made
up of their birth date and a numerical code. It follows you from
cradle to grave and is used for all contact with public
authorities (tax for instance) and the medical profession. When
you ring the night doctor, you have to type in the CPR-number of
the patient on the phone keypad so that the doctor staffing the
service has access to your records when you get through the
queue.

George didn't know Lena's - in fact he didn't even know her date
of birth, so he put in his own and when he finally got through
the queue - it's often long on a Friday night - he spent some
time explaining that the call was not about him, that he was only
the babysitter. When asked why he didn't get in touch with the
child's mother, he explained that she was just as ill and the
female doctor at the call centre reluctantly agreed to look up
the information on her computer based on names and address.
George explained the situation and the doctor, as they almost
always do, told him to get the patients to the nearest hospital
with a night-GP on duty who would 'take a look at them'.

"I can't do that," George said. "I do not have a car."

"Call a taxi," she said.

George' endurance was at an end.

"I cannot leave Lena's mother alone, and I cannot handle them
both - get them dressed for the transport and so on. Beside few
taxis like to drive with sick people that vomit and shit in all
directions."

With extreme reluctance, the doctor agreed to send one of the few
mobile colleagues, but warned George it 'could take a while.'

George checked on Christina before returning to his little
charge. Lena was drifting in and out of consciousness, her fever
was high and George only managed to get a few drops of the
sugar/salt solution in her at a time, but at least the level in
the cup was going down and a fresh solution was cooling in the
kitchen. But it was a nightmare for him, triggering some memories
he had long suppressed. He felt sick at heart. Not that he was
falling ill himself, he was never ill, but he was sick with
worry.

It did 'take a while' before help came - at three in the morning
an elderly doctor in a taxi chartered for the purpose arrived,
knocking on the door. A groggy George opened up for him and
explained the situation. The doctor went straight to Lena's room
and examined her without even getting his coat off.

"Have you checked her temperature?" he asked.

The call-centre doctor had asked the same question, but the
answer was no.

"I found a digital thermometer, but I think the battery is dead.
And besides, it is a rectal thermometer and she has
diarrhoea...." George trailed off, and the doctor nodded in
understanding. He got out an ear-thermometer and in moments they
had the answer - close to 40C (103F).

The doctor asked what George had done so far. He expressed
admiration both for the stale Coke and especially for the
sugar/salt solution.

"How come you know about that?" he asked.

"I worked for the Church Aid campaign to reduce infant mortality
in East Africa," George said. "A simple solution like salt, sugar
and boiled water works much better than expensive medicines. It
wasn't popular with the pharmaceutical companies, though."

The doctor grunted assent.

"Have there been any signs of blood in the faeces?" he asked.

"Not that I know of," George said, explaining how he knew. "Not
from Lena." He hesitated. "I don't think from her mother either,
but she is, you know, menstruating."

The doctor looked curiously at George. "You said you were the
babysitter?" he asked. George nodded.

"Let me tell you this, my boy. You have done better than most
fathers and husbands would in situations like this. Believe me, I
should know. Anyway, I think this is a gastric bug and it will
pass. The mother will be OK, I'm sure, but I'll check her over
just the same in a moment. The problem is with the little one
here - and the danger is dehydration, as you have so admirably
looked out for. Look at this" - he pulled Lena's nightgown up,
exposing her smooth stomach - "pinch her stomach skin lightly. If
it feels elastic and evens out at once when you let go, she is
fine. If it feels like putty and stays out after you let go she
is in danger. If that happens you dial 1-1-2 for an ambulance. I
will leave an admission order for her, but you will only need it
if she dehydrates. OK?"

George nodded and they went to Christina's room. The doctor
checked her too. Her temperature was slightly lower than Lena's.

"She will recover by herself, but it will take longer than the
little one," the doctor said. "She will be up and about by
tomorrow, but don't expect her mother to be able to do anything
at all before her birthday."

"Her birthday?" George asked

"Yes, on Sunday. That's her birthday - I can see that from her
CPR-number. She'll turn 31. Didn't you know?" George shook his
head. "Well, keep her off cakes and such like. Her stomach will
be dubious for a while."


With that the doctor left and George continued his lonely vigil.
Lena took a little more liquid and gradually her forehead cooled.
Towards morning her breathing sounded deeper and she slept.
Christina had another round of vomiting and diarrhoea. George got
her cleaned up, the bed remade and Christina back in it. He was
running out of clean night clothes and bedding though.

Around eight he heard movement on the stairway outside the
apartment and hastened to open the door. An elderly lady - a Mrs.
Larsen living in the apartment just above Christina and Lena was
on her way down with what looked like a laundry bin.

"Excuse me," George said. "I wonder if you can help me."

Mrs. Larsen looked at the haggard unkempt young man with the
stubbled cheek and a grey colour around his eyes. He looked like
he had made a night of it - with the young single mother of
dubious morals, no doubt. But he sounded civil enough.

"What with?" she asked guardedly.

"Christina and Lena, that is to say, Ms. Petersen and her
daughter, are very ill with a gastric bug. I've been looking
after them all night - there was doctor here at three and I think
they will be alright, but I'm out of clean bedding and so on and
I don't know how to operate the communal laundry..." he trailed
off, desperately tired and trying to suppress a yawn.

Mrs. Larsen's opinion of the young man changed completely by
that.

"Of course, of course," she said. "I'll just get my husband, one
moment" and she went upstairs again, taking her laundry back with
her.

"Harry," he heard her call. "Can you come here for a moment?"

'Harry' thus summoned arrived and was told to look after 'poor
Ms. Petersen and her darling little girl' while Mrs. Larsen
showed the 'charming young man how to wash all the laundry from
the sick-beds.'

Harry looked like he had spent a lifetime doing what Mrs. Larsen
told him to and got inside Christina's apartment. Just what he
would be good for if Christina or Lena sicked up again, George
wasn't sure, but he appreciated the gesture.

He gathered all the soiled and foul smelling clothes and bedding
in a sack and shuffled after Mrs. Larsen to the laundry which was
located in the basement of one of the other buildings. "We have
turns after a schedule and Ms. Petersen's is this afternoon but
I'll just swap so you can get all this done now," Mrs. Larsen
said.

George - not for the first time pleased and warmed by the
kindness of working-class ethics - tried to express his
gratitude.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Larsen cut him off. "Neighbours help each other.
Now tell me, how bad is it?"

In between yawns, George told her all about it.

"A mercy she made it home in that condition," Mrs. Larsen said
when he mentioned Christina's dramatic arrival.

George also told her about the doctor's visit and what he had
been doing all night. Mrs. Larsen's reaction was not dissimilar
to the doctor's.

"You did very well. They have reason to be glad of you. Now, I've
seen you here often enough. If you don't mind me saying so, it
sounds like you are quite a bit more than just the babysitter."

George shrugged helplessly. That shrug spoke volumes, Mrs. Larsen
thought. But she also noted how tired he looked and didn't follow
up on it. 'What a lovely boy,' she thought. 'I hope little Ms.
Petersen knows when she's on to a good thing.'


The washing machines were huge and it all fitted in two of them.

"We'd better run a full cycle at the highest temperature," Mrs.
Larsen said. "It will take quite a while. Meanwhile, what are you
planning on doing now?" she asked as they walked back towards the
apartment.

"I don't really know," George admitted. "I should try to get some
food that their stomachs can handle once they start to recover,
but I can't really leave them, can I?"

"We'll find a solution to that," Mrs. Larsen said.

She eyed him again. He seemed competent beyond his years.

"About food - can you cook?" He nodded and she took that at face
value. "Then get a large whole chicken and boil it," she said.
"The soup will be good to start them on and the meat you can put
in a light asparagus sauce and serve with rice later. That's
gentle on the stomach."

George nodded again. It made sense, and he could certainly do
that.

"Also get some yoghurt and some Dutch rusks - and Coca Cola, but
not too cold and not too fizzy."

George nodded - he knew that. "It's just that I don't think I can
leave them," he said again.

"They certainly shouldn't be alone," Mrs. Larsen agreed, "but
I'll look after them while you do the shopping."

Again George was touched by her helpfulness, not realizing that
she was essentially just doing what he was doing - helping
someone who needed it. Before he could say something to thank
her, she looked at him very directly.

"Do you live nearby?" He nodded. "Then I suggest you also drop in
at home for a change of clothes. If you don't mind saying so,
yours are not clean!"

George looked down his clothes and shuddered. "She needed a hug
when she was sick; I couldn't help it," he said almost
apologetically.

"Of course you couldn't," she replied warmly.

They arrived in the apartment and she briskly dismissed Harry
while George checked on Lena and Christina. They were both
sleeping.

George didn't want to be away too long, not wanting to impose on
Mrs. Larsen's helpfulness, but he went to his own apartment first
and had a shower and a shave before putting on clean clothes and
packing extra. It helped immensely and thus refreshed he embarked
on the shopping expedition. He got all he needed from the local
coop supermarket and was walking back when he passed a jeweller’s
shop. On impulse he went in and bought a silver bracelet and a
pair of earrings - the latter he got wrapped. There was no
florist in the neighbourhood, but he headed back to the
supermarket and bought a large bunch of flowers and two cards
from their kiosk, then set out again for Christina's apartment.

He'd been gone for just over an hour and found Mrs. Larson
quietly drinking a cup of coffee and reading a magazine. She
looked up.

"You've been quick," she said. 'And you look much fresher,' she
thought. "Well, I'll leave you to it, but I'll drop in on you
later to see how you go," she said and took her leave.

George set the chicken to a very slow boil, made himself a cup of
tea and sat down in the sofa to read after having checked on his
patients. Christina was much the same, but Lena felt cooler to
the touch. He picked up one of his much neglected books and
started reading, but the words were dancing in front of his eyes
and several times he nodded off, only to be startled awake. The
fifth or sixth time he simply fell asleep, book in hand.

When he woke up, it was past noon and he could hear Lena call.
She was calling his name, and he rushed in there. She was sitting
up in bed, looking much better if still very weak.

"I need to wee," she said. "And I'm hungry."

George scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom. "Why am I
wearing nappy-pants?" she asked as he was removing said garment.

"When your tummy was very sick the pooh was running out of you
like water," George said - feeling strangely unembarrassed about
discussing such things. "You couldn't help it."

"Will I need one on again?" she asked.

"Perhaps it's a good idea until your tummy is all better," George
said and she took that calmly enough.

He had bought a pack in the right size at the supermarket and put
one on her.

"You said you were hungry," George said. "Would you like some
yoghurt?"

She nodded and had a small portion. After a little while she fell
asleep again. George took the chicken off the boil, strained the
soup and boned the chicken. He then put it in the fridge and
returned to the sofa, intending to read but once more he fell
asleep.

He was woken mid-afternoon by Mrs. Larsen knocking on the door.
The washing had finished, she had put it in a drier and now she
returned it all neatly folded.

"Thanks," he said. "But you needn’t have done that!"

"Rubbish," she said. "How are they?"

He gave her an update and she seemed satisfied. Just as he was
leaving, he heard a stirring in Christina's bedroom and rushed to
help her. She needed the bathroom and he helped her out there,
cleaned her up and put her back to bed. She still had so high a
temperature that she wasn't really aware what was happening
around her, but he managed to make her drink a little.

Lena woke up again in the late afternoon. She had more yoghurt
and as she declared she was still hungry, he heated up some of
the chicken soup in the microwave. They both enjoyed that. He
told her about the gift for Christina's birthday - the earrings
were to be from her - and that excited her. He got her to make a
drawing on one of the cards and she wrote her name in large
wobbly letters. Next he read for her on the sofa, but as soon as
she started dropping off, he took her to the bathroom to clean
her teeth and then put her in bed, singing 2 or 3 songs before
she slept.

'That's one out of the woods,' he thought. 'I hope Christina will
follow suit soon.'

'Soon' was perhaps an exaggeration. Around ten at night,
Christina had another bout of vomiting - luckily in the wash
basin. She needed the toilet and he helped her. During the night
the fever came and went, leaving her drenched every time it
broke. He patiently changed her T-shirt and panties and pad every
time. Between three and four in the morning the fever broke for
good and she fell into a deep, healthy sleep. George did too on
the sofa, wishing heartily that he could have joined Christina in
her bed.


Lena woke up early Sunday morning, lively as a squirrel. George
fed her yoghurt and Dutch rusks for breakfast, then bundled her
up on the sofa and read to her. They were in the middle of her
favourite Astrid Lindgren story when the doorbell rang. George
went to open; outside was an elderly lady carrying a large bag.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"Who are you?" she asked. The young man looked pleasant enough,
she thought but he could do with a shave.

"I'm George," he said, slightly taken aback. He noted
comprehension in the woman's eyes and enlightenment struck him.
"And I guess you are Christina's mother?"

"Yes," she said. He stepped aside to let her in. "I've heard a
lot about you from my granddaughter," Mrs. Petersen said, "and
exactly nothing from my daughter except that you are her teacher
and offered to look after Lena a couple of nights a week."

George smiled a tired smile. "Yes, that was the original
arrangement."

"And she has invited you for her birthday?" Mrs. Petersen asked.

"Not really," George said. "I came Friday night and I have not
been able to leave."

Mrs. Petersen looked puzzled. "What is that supposed to mean, and
where is my daughter?" she inquired - reasonably enough.

"Mummy is sick in bed," Lena spoke up. "George is looking after
us. I was sick too."

"They've had a gastro bug," George said. "I had a night doctor
for Lena."

"And you've been her all that time?" Mrs. Petersen asked
astonished.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't leave them," George said. "But I did a
little shopping yesterday morning. Mrs. Larsen upstairs looked
after them while I was out."

"Oh," Mrs, Petersen said. The young man certainly seemed
dedicated. Sure, he was a lot younger than Christina, but it
sounded like he was an utterly trustworthy fellow. And Lena
absolutely adored him; that she knew.

"Oh," she repeated. "Christina had invited me for birthday lunch.
I guess that's off."

"I can't see why," George said. "I've boiled a chicken and I was
going to make chicken in asparagus sauce with rice."

"That sounds very sensible for those with upset stomachs," Mrs.
Petersen said approvingly, "and lovely for the rest of us. And I
can see you're giving Lena rusks and yoghurt. That's good too."

"Yeah, the chicken was Mrs. Larsen's suggestion," George
admitted. "I gave Lena some of the soup last night and I daresay
that is all Christina may have today when she wakes up."

"You seem to look after my daughter and granddaughter very well,"
Mrs. Petersen said.

George smiled. "They mean a lot to me," he replied simply.

'I'd say!' Mrs. Petersen thought. 'I wonder if my daughter knows
just how much.'

There was a sound from Christina's bedroom. Before either of them
could get there, Christina came out, wearing a dressing gown.

"Oh hello Mum," she said. "I guess I've been asleep. What are you
doing here?"

"What I'm doing here?" Mrs. Petersen said, "I'm here for you
birthday."

"That's not until Sunday," Christina said.

"It IS Sunday," her mother countered.

"It can't be," Christina protested - looking wild-eyed. "What
happened to Saturday?"

George told her, backed up by Lena. Christina looked stunned.
"I've been out of it for over 36 hours?"

"More or less," George said. "Lena was better already last
night."

"Lena was sick too?" Christina said, her eyes darting to her
daughter who seemed healthy and happy.

"Very," her mother replied. "George had to send for a night
doctor for her." Christina stared at him in wonder.

"Anyway," George said, feeling self-conscious. "It IS Sunday and
it IS your birthday. Happy Birthday!"

"Happy Birthday!" Christina's mother and daughter echoed.

"I've got a present for you," Lena said and gave her the card and
the little box with the earrings.

Christina opened the box - they were beautiful and she told Lena
so.

"Thank you sweetheart," she said and wondered who had gotten them
for her. Could it really be George? Her mother gave her a nice
sweater.

When she looked for him, George was gone, but moments later he
returned from the kitchen with a large bunch of flowers in a
vase.

"Happy Birthday," he said again.

She was just about to thank him for the pretty flowers when she
discovered the bracelet that was sitting around the stems.

"Oh George," she whispered. "It is beautiful."

"So are you," George said.

He hadn't meant to say that - it just flew out his mouth, but he
didn't want to take it back even if he could. It was true, after
all.

After two days in bed with a gastro bug, in dire need of a
shower, with greasy hair and in pain from her period, no-one
would have blamed Christina for not feeling beautiful. But she
did. George made her feel beautiful.

George cooked the meal while Christina had a shower and Mrs.
Petersen read to Lena. At the end of her shower, Christina was
very tired so she didn't get dressed but put on a fresh night
gown and her dressing gown. She rested a little while the rice
got ready, but then sat down to the strangest birthday party she
had ever been to. She had the soup and that was nice enough, but
she wished she could have had the chicken in asparagus - it
smelled mouth-watering. As she was thinking that, her mother
spoke.

"This is delicious," she said. "You've found yourself a man of
many talents Christina."

She very nearly said 'young man', but if her daughter was
concerned about the age-difference then it would be better to
leave that word out. Christina looked up, but didn't say
anything.

George and Mrs. Petersen both stayed until Lena had been put to
bed after a light supper. George excused himself.

"I really have to get home, but I'm coming over tomorrow morning
to take Lena to kindergarten and I will collect her again in the
afternoon."

Christina started to protest, but George cut her off. "You are
going nowhere tomorrow!"

Her mother shook her head emphatically in agreement.

"How about class?" Christina asked.

"Not class either," George said. "I'll help you catch up, don't
worry." They left.


George walked Christina's mother to her bus stop. As they were
waiting for her bus, she spoke.

"I can't thank you enough for what you do for my daughter and
granddaughter," she said. "Not just this weekend. I haven't ever
seen them as happy as they have been since you came into their
lives."

George looked down. "I think the same could be said about me," he
replied quietly.

"What are you going to do about it?" Mrs. Petersen asked very
directly.

At that moment the bus arrived and George was spared replying to
a question he didn't know the answer to. When the bus drove off
Mrs. Petersen saw George through the grimy window. He hadn't
moved and looked very pensive.


Monday morning was strange. George let himself in just after
seven and got Lena up, dressed and fed. He didn't have to be at
uni until nine, so Lena could have a late start which was fine -
although all better since Saturday night, she was still a
convalescent. At half past seven they woke up Christina so she
could report in sick at work. They served her tea, yoghurt and
Dutch rusks in bed.

"There's both soup and chicken in asparagus in the fridge,"
George said. "Take it easy and do NOTHING today."

He kissed her lightly on the forehead as any affectionate husband
would do leaving his sick wife in bed while he went to work.
Christina just smiled.

He was back with Lena and some shopping just after five and
cooked a meal for them all. Christina had gotten dressed, but she
admitted readily that she was not up to 4 hours of evening class.


"That's fine," George said. "And don't worry - you have special
access to the teacher!"

Christina fantasized about what that 'special access' could be.
Her period was nearly over and she felt the warmth in her stomach
again.


Wednesday there was a palpable tension in the air when George
came to join them for dinner before putting Lena to bed while
Christina went off to English class. Lena hadn't noticed the
tension between 'her adults' and was very talkative, excited
about her upcoming birthday. "Will you be there for my birthday
George?" she asked.

"I hope so," he replied. "It's on Saturday, isn't it?" She nodded
eagerly. "What would you like for your birthday?" George asked.
She mentioned a lot of different wishes that George committed to
memory. "We’ll see," he smiled and started reading Astrid
Lindgren to her.

Christina was home at a quarter to midnight. George came to meet
her, book in hand, in the entrance room when she put the key in
the door. He was smiling. They went through the ritual of asking
how things had gone. There were two tea mugs on the coffee table.
They sat down and drank the tea, he in the sofa, and her in the
chair. They exchanged small talk.

"Lena asked me if I would be here for her birthday on Saturday."

She nodded. "Yes, that would be nice," she said.

They were looking - and not looking - at each other, not daring
to make eye contact. The both started speaking, but stopped.

"It's midnight and you need to sleep," he finally said, getting
up and taking both the tea mugs as usual. "But on Friday we have
to talk."

"Yes," she said. "On Friday we need to talk."


Lena was bouncy and happy when George picked her up Friday
afternoon.

"Bye Elisa," she called. "Next time you see me I'm five!" Elisa
smiled.

George was impressed. 'A bright button, and no mistake', he
thought. They went shopping. When they came home they played.
When Christina came home they cooked dinner together and ate it.

'Mummy is wearing a nice dress', Lena noted. 'That's strange. She
usually doesn't.'

They did the night ritual. When George took over to read,
Christina said goodbye and headed off to physics class.


She was home slightly early - around half past eleven. George
came to meet her, book in hand, in the entrance room when she put
the key in the door. He was smiling. They went through the ritual
of asking how things had gone. There were two tea mugs on the
coffee table. They sat down and drank the tea, he in the sofa,
and her in the chair. There was no small talk this time.

"Tell me what happened last Friday," she said. "I recall I almost
crawled up the stairs, but I can't remember much of anything
after that up until Sunday morning."

So George told her. All of it. She shuddered a few times. She
knew that he had done far more for them than anyone had ever done
before. She realized that they had been in real danger, Lena
especially. But he had handled it amazingly, done things that she
couldn't believe anyone would do for strangers. It must have been
vile, but he did it unflinchingly.

"You cleaned her up after diarrhoea?" she asked, a combination of
incredulity and concern in her voice. "I mean, do you know how
to, I mean, on a small girl..." she faltered.

'Why did I say that? Now I have offended him by mistrusting him,'
she thought.

As always he got the drift of what she really had meant to say
and he was not the least bit offended.

"Oh, yes I do. I got a little sister when I was 11. I looked
after her a lot and Mum showed me how to clean her when she had a
poopy nappy - pieces of clean wet cotton wool, only one swipe
downwards with each, then a fresh one until they stay clean."

He looked neither embarrassed nor resentful and she relaxed but
only for a second. In the next moment she had an icy feeling -
one of pure terror.

"Wait a minute," she said. "You have a sister? Didn't you say
that you had no family besides that aunt in Jutland?"

Even as she asked the question she instantly wished she hadn't.

"I don't," he said - pain in his eyes.

Christina - almost against her will - had to ask. "What
happened?"

"She died," he replied tonelessly. "She got meningitis one night.
They couldn't save her. In the morning she was dead."

Christina felt an abyss opening under her feet. "How old was
she?" she asked.

"Four, nearly five," George replied. The answer felt like a stab
to Christina's heart.

She walked the line to its end - to the final question. "What was
her name?" she asked - barely over a whisper and already guessing
the answer.

"Lena," he replied.

For the first time ever she saw him cry, silently and without
losing his dignity. Blinded by her own tears she stumbled across
the room into his arms and cried with him. They sat like that for
a long time. She kissed his tears away. He kissed her mouth. She
clung to him.

"I don't want to leave," he said.

"I don't want you to," she replied, wiping the last tear from his
cheek with her finger.

"I don't ever want to leave," he said. "I love you. Both of you."


He lifted her up and carried her to her bedroom. He undressed
her. She didn't feel shy; she knew he had seen all of her before,
tended to her body when she was ill. Besides he was looking at
her with such love and hunger that it made her feel pretty, sexy,
confident, wonderful.

He undressed himself, quickly and methodically - with economy of
movement. He wasn't overly tall but slender and sinewy. His cock
was straining slightly upwards.

"I haven't got very much experience," he said. "And I haven't
been with anyone for a couple of years."

"I haven't been with anyone for over five years," she replied.
"Let's rediscover how to do it together."

He got down on the bed to her. He kissed her mouth, her throat,
her chest between her breasts. When his mouth closed around her
nipple, she had her first mini orgasm. He switched to the other
nipple, playing with the first with his hand. She could wait no
longer.

"I must have you," she said and pulled him upwards.

They fumbled a little before she guided him in with her hand. She
was tight despite being a mother but very very wet and he slid in
easily. When he was completely in, she felt both full and
fulfilled. Their pubic bones meshed, massaging her clit and she
nearly came again. He stayed still for a while, mindful that he
wanted it to last. When he was ready he established a slow
rhythm. It didn't take long before she exploded in a violent
orgasm that sent ripples down her womb and vagina, making him
come with a long drawn out groan. They fell asleep like that in
each other arms, his cock still in her pussy.


Lena didn't sleep longer than usual. When she woke up she felt
strange, like there was something she had forgotten. Moments
later she remembered. It was her birthday and George would be
coming. She had told him about all the things she wanted that she
knew Mummy couldn't afford. Maybe he would bring one of those
things as a present. He was always so nice to her. She wished he
could be there always.

Strictly speaking, she hadn't told him all she wanted. What she
wanted most of all was a little brother. Xenia, her best friend
at kindergarten had just gotten a little brother. He was ever so
sweet. Elisa had read them a story about babies. It was something
about a mummy and a daddy together in bed without clothes on.
They did something, but Lena hadn't understood what. And they put
a tiny baby in the mummy's tummy and it grew very big and then it
came out. Xenia's mummy had certainly looked big just before the
baby came.

She was hungry and went to Mummy's room. Mummy was still asleep.
But there was something strange. Mummy was not alone in the bed.
She had no clothes on and she was lying very very close to
George. It didn't look like he had any clothes on either. They
both woke up and looked at her. They were smiling and looked very
happy.

"Happy Birthday," they both said.

Lena had never been that happy before. Maybe she would get her
biggest wish after all.

THE END