Sisters

There was one person who did not enjoy the Kid's school holiday last month. Her little sister was distraught. 48 hours after we'd waved goodbye to the departing coach, she came to me, lip trembling.

Rock-a-bye baby,

Pussy's  a lady,

Mousie has gone to the mill,

And if you don't cry,

She'll be back by and by,

So hush-a-bye baby, lie still.

This was the nursery rhyme from which she choked out a few words, tears spilling down her face. "Mousie a mill?" She repeated this frequently for the rest of the week. Nothing we said could console her. I am sure she thought her beloved sister would never return.

Of course, she was pleased when The Kid did come back. But from that day on, she has not stopped worrying that it will happen again. She is not happy to see her sister go off to school. "Mousie gone a mill?" she asks, sometimes crying. "Mousie need come home."

During her long tenure as an only child, The Kid guarded her status jealously. At three, she realised it was possible for her parents to have another child, and warned us that such a move would not be acceptable to her. This sentiment was repeated often over the following years. Being the parents, we suited ourselves, and when she was nearly seven she acquired a small sister she called "The Yuck." I couldn't say I hadn't been warned!

I had heard from other home educating parents that their children shared a very close bond. This seemed hard to believe. It struck me as unlikely that children who spent plenty of time together would be especially fond of one another. Surely they would be sick of the sight of one another, and fight relentlessly? Still, that was the common wisdom, and it offered a glimmer of hope.

Unbelievably, it happened. The Kid never did turn into one of those "little mothers" who fetch nappies and beg to look after the baby. But the two girls did develop a deep affection for each other. Perhaps the age gap was big enough that each had her own clear place in the family. Perhaps The Kid's home educated friends, who generally liked and helped their younger siblings, were a good influence on her. Perhaps having access to her mum for many hours of every day meant that though the baby demanded the lion's share of my attention, the leftover scraps of attention still added up to plenty of sustenance for The Kid. After all, she was home to take advantage of the baby's long contented mornings and peaceful midday naps - and not, like schoolchildren, home only to suffer the mad morning rush and the evening "witching hour" with a grizzly baby and a family all tired, hungry and short-tempered.

Now, at the school gates, The Kid often dodges my hugs, like any self-respecting ten-year-old with an audience. But she always rushes to her small sister, scooping her up and swinging her around in wild joy. After the ups and downs of a day at school, The Kid seems to find it a relief to fall into the arms of the one person who has always adored her unconditionally.