Wendy was at home studying when the call from her mother came in. She hadn’t heard from her mother for ages; it must have been since just before her father died earlier that year.

“Sweetie, would you mind coming over?”, her mother asked. “I could really do with your help…!”

Wendy still cared for her mother, and she felt she would really like to see her again; her piece wasn’t due to be submitted for a fortnight or so, so she had the time to spare.

“Ok, mum, I’ll be right over”, she said.

“Oh thanks, love! I’ll be really grateful”, her mother said.

It took Wendy about an hour to drive home. As she pulled into the driveway, she saw a load of boxes out by the rubbish. She didn’t look at them thoroughly, just a quick glance; one of them, looked like it had held a baby’s cot.

“Must be using them for packing”, she thought.

She let herself in.

“Hi, Mum!”

“I’m in the kitchen!”, her mother called back.

Wendy went through, and they embraced. Her mother then made tea, and they both went through to the lounge.

As they went past the spare room, however, Wendy was surprised to see the cot all set up, as well as a variety of baby toys and a pushchair.

“What are all those for, mum?”, she asked, sipping on her tea. “Are you fostering again?”

“No, sweetie, they’re for you”, her mother said, a smile on her face. “You know you’re too young to be out on your own; I’ve decided to look after you again…”

“What…?”, said Wendy, now getting decidedly dizzy. Her mother had drugged the tea…

Sometime later, Wendy awoke.

“Mmmgghh!”

She was dressed in a romper suit, with a frilly bonnet on top, and a baby’s dummy firmly fastened in her mouth. She tried to remove it, but the mittens she was wearing wouldn’t allow her to grab anything and the cords holding it on were tightly tied behind her head.

She shook the bars of the playpen, frantically trying to get out. For some reason, she couldn’t stand up…

Her mother came in.

“Ssshh, little one”, she said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about anymore. I’m going to take care of everything for you. Anyway, it’s time for your afternoon feed.”

Her mother reached in and easily picked Wendy up and sat her on her knee. She then undid the dummy.

Wendy tried to talk. Nothing came out right. She just about managed to say “Why…?”

“Because I care about you, sweetie. I know what stress you’ve been under, and I’m taking it away. I’m here for you now, and I’m going to care for you.”

Before Wendy could say anything else, her mother pushed the feeding bottle into her mouth. Wendy stubbornly refused to drink. Her mother squeezed the bottle, forcing Wendy to swallow some of the feed. She kept doing that until Wendy gave in and started feeding herself.

Wendy had no way of knowing that, due to stress problems of his own, her father had committed suicide. Her mother hadn’t told anyone; the story put out was he had ‘died peacefully at home in his sleep’, and the police had found no reason to contradict her. Her mother then had started worrying about her daughter, and the ‘stress she must be under’.

She had had a psychotic break about a month ago. She had completely convinced herself that her daughter needed protecting, and it could only be done by her going back to ‘first principles’, i.e. her daughter being reduced to a helpless baby and starting again. She was going to have everything in her new life.

All Wendy would lack was the one thing she needed the most, her freedom.

Wendy was small enough to look like a big primary school girl; this was what her mother had planned for her when the schools went back after the holiday. She had already got the place ready.

As such, after an ‘accelerated childhood’, Wendy was one morning taken out of her romper suit, bathed thoroughly and dressed in the local primary school uniform.

“You won’t be able to get away with this, mum!”, Wendy said, now able to speak again. “No-one is going to believe I’m of primary school age! I’m 21, for crying out loud!”

“They will once you’re on the right collection of drugs”, her mother said. “Didn’t you wonder why you couldn’t talk properly as a baby? I can make you any age I want you to be.”

“Mum, no… please…!”

Wendy jerked as her mother gave her the injections…

The 21-year-old then started her first term in her new class at primary school…

Wendy’s mother had forgotten one thing, though…

Wendy was old enough to suffer from ‘time of the month’ problems…

Try explaining that away…

One of the teachers noticed Wendy was bleeding. She soon realised what was going on, and called the police…

Tests proved that Wendy was indeed 21, not 8, and she was taken to the local hospital, where the drugs she had been given were identified and flushed out of her system. She sobbed against the nurse’s shoulder with relief…

Her mother was arrested and sent for ‘psychiatric tests’. She was proven insane and committed.

Wendy was able to go back to her life.

For some reason, she kept the school uniform, and the romper suit…