Ollie finds himself returned to the days of his childhood by his two Aunts.

“I...I..don’t know what h..h..happened, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I have done this.” Oliver felt tears begin to well up just like they used to when he had similar “accidents” when he was a boy. Except, of course, he wasn’t a boy anymore, he was thirty-two. 

The two women exchanged wry smiles. Aunt Agatha took his arm and Aunt Ingrid the other.

“There, there Ollie, don’t you worry about anything, we will look after you won’t we Agatha? It will be like old times.”

It had been many years since he had been called Ollie, not since he had disappointed his two Aunts and left behind the childhood comforts they had provided for him.

His Aunts led him upstairs to the familiarity of his childhood bedroom.

You are obviously sickening for something so we need to get you cleaned up and tucked into bed as quickly as possible.

Ingrid opened the chest of drawers that stood in the corner, he noticed they were still situated in the same place as she withdrew and held a pair of blue striped winceyette pyjamas to her face; they were cold and creased.

“These will do nicely for the doctor's visit once they have been ironed and warmed,” Ingrid said brightly as she hurried off to her task.

Meanwhile, Oliver stood barefoot on cold linoleum as Aunt Agnes removed his t-shirt and soaking underpants. He was embarrassed by his distinct lack of any pubic hair and his small appendage that undermined his protestations of being “a big boy now” as Aunty washed him none too gently with a damp flannel. 

He watched over Aunt Agnes’ shoulder as Aunt Ingrid returned carrying a pink rubber hot-water bottle in her hand and his now freshly ironed pyjamas folded over her arm.

The hot water bottle emitted a childhood odour of warm rubber that filtered into his nostrils as he watched Aunt Ingrid place it into his bed and turn to confront his nakedness with an unbuttoned pyjama jacket.

Aunt Ingrid draped the pyjama jacket around his shoulders. Oliver had forgotten how comforting a warmed, freshly ironed pair of pyjamas felt and as she began to button up the jacket he gave an involuntary shudder. Aunt Ingrid smiled. 

“Does that feel nice and cosy Ollie?” She cooed as she buttoned him up to the neck.

The pyjama jacket hung loosely on his slender frame; the length of the sleeves had hidden his hands as Aunt Ingrid held the pyjama bottoms open at his feet and shook them impatiently. Oliver stepped into them and shuddered once again as he felt the warm winceyette slowly encompass his legs and then his groin. Aunty Ingrid drew the pyjama bottoms up over the pyjama jacket and tied the pyjama cord into a neat bow. 

“There now Ollie,” she said, “how smart you look in your freshly ironed jim-jams, don't you just love being all cosy and warm?'

He nodded agreement in a half-hearted manner, reluctant to confirm how safe and secure he felt once again enveloped in blue striped winceyette pyjamas.

Aunt Ingrid hugged him tightly in her arms. “What a good boy Ollie has been, hasn’t he Aunty Agnes?”

She laughed as she took his hand and led him across to the bed where Aunt Agnes stood beside the iron-framed bed holding back the bedclothes.

“Into bed with you Ollie,” Aunt Agnes said as she guided him into bed, 'back where you belong in cosy jim-jams and beddy-byes. She pulled the heavy bedclothes over him, tucking him tightly in. 

“We have missed you so much Ollie, it was a mistake to ever let you leave but now you've returned we expect you to remain with us now for a very long time to come.”