The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1085 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I wondered what would happen about funerals for Paul and Daisy, as they would need post mortems and inquests. Officially it wasn’t my problem, but seeing that woman in that hospital bed looking forlorn until Trish did her magic, made me realise that she would need support to get through it all. In some ways I’d be delighted if she had someone who could help her organise it, but I very much doubted it; which meant yours truly would get involved. I never learn do I?

In my short lifetime, perhaps the most important of the parables from the New Testament is that of the Good Samaritan. I was brought up to believe in helping others — we collected money for starving people in Africa, for oppressed peoples in other places–it seemed the only people my parents wouldn’t help were those who were different.

So gays, transgendered and others of different life choices were seen as beyond the pale; which attitude presumably they chose, my parents that is. So while they raised money for people in Africa they’d never met, they couldn’t even raise a smile for their transsexual child because I’d chosen the wrong path.

We all make judgements about people, if they appear to be a threat or a friend, or a potential mate at the most basic of levels, but to my mind being judgemental is plain wrong and when I am judged by others and they make an erroneous job of it, I really enjoy proving them wrong.

Anyway, with my upbringing to believe in the story of the man from Samaria who would be a second class citizen to most Judeans or Galileans, I felt a comfortableness–I too was second class citizen or outsider to most normal people. But the important thing was despite this being how we might be perceived it didn’t affect my capacity to do what I considered as good deeds for others. A belief I still have.

I was running these things through my mind when Stella offered me a cup of tea. I knew that she too could be as helpful except she perhaps wasn’t as practised in the art of noticing other’s needs, perhaps she wasn’t needy herself.

“Are you collecting Julie?”

I looked at my watch, I had an hour to go before I needed to. “Yeah, I’ll do it, I just want to sort my emails and do a bit of the survey stuff.”

“Don’t forget the time,” she said handing me the mug of tea.

“I’ll set my phone alarm,” I replied but forgot. The result was that Julie phoned and I then had to rush to collect her while she waited outside the salon wearing a very short skirt and footless tights.

“You’re late,” she said crossly to me.

“I’m sorry, I got into something and the time just flew.”

She huffed and puffed, “Can’t wait till I’m seventeen and I can get a car of my own.”

I felt the same, but I thought I’d challenge her assumptions. “You could always cycle to the salon.”

“What? It must be at least ten miles.”

“It’s three,” I corrected.

“I’d be all sweaty and smelly.”

“Not if you didn’t rush.”

“What about in the rain.”

“You can get waterproofs.”

“No thank you, I’d rather walk.”

“Shall I stop the car so you can get some practice in?”

“Mummy–why are you being so mean to me?” She pouted and looked about eleven.

“I’m not. How much have you saved towards a car?”

“Nothing yet, why?”

“I suppose you were hoping you’d find Simon in a generous mood were you?”

“Maybe,” she blushed, “Or you’d let me borrow yours.”

“Think again,” I said feeling protective of my little Merc. We’d have to get her an old banger if we did allow her to drive.

“Huh–that’s just typical isn’t it? I’ll bet you got to drive your mother’s car.”

“Yes I did.”

“So why can’t you continue the tradition?”

“My mother’s car was an old Ford Escort not a Mercedes. If I’d bashed it, it wouldn’t have mattered too much, but if this car was damaged it would cost a lot to repair.”

“Oh I see, so it’s all about money is it, not about your daughter’s happiness or safety.”

Oh this was such good teenage guilt throwing–didn’t I do some at her age, although I could never be as honest with my parents. I can remember having a row with my dad about getting driving lessons.

“What’s wrong with your bike–plus if it breaks down you can usually repair it.”

“If I was a girl I bet you wouldn’t be saying that, would you?”

“Charlie, you aren’t a girl, except maybe you nag and whinge like one, so the point is irrelevant.” Ten years later he had to reassess the situation and in fact gave me his car.

Perhaps I need to keep a more flexible attitude myself, although playing the good Samaritan didn’t necessarily mean splashing out for cars for wayward daughters.

“Let’s wait until you’re seventeen shall we and see what Daddy says.”

She looked at me in total disbelief, “Mummy, you weren’t like listening were you? I just like, said that, not two minutes ago.”

“Sorry dear, had to concentrate on the road,” I sighed with relief.

“What for the traffic?”

“Indeed.”

“There hasn’t, like, been any for ten minutes.”

“Ah but it’s all about anticipation–reading the road and being alert to it.”

She mouthed, ‘Bullshit’ and I smirked, she was right but there was no way I’d admit it.

“So I can go out tonight, then?”

“Go where?”

“I just told you, the other girls, we’re going out to celebrate Lyndsey’s birthday.”

“Where?”

“Some wine bar in town.”

“You’re not eighteen yet.”

“I’ll bet you used to go to pubs before you were eighteen.”

I did but got thrown out even after I was eighteen, being baby faced. I shouldn’t complain it’s done me good ever since.

“I tried but was never served, even at uni I used to be challenged and had to carry an ID card.”

“A bit of makeup would have sorted that.”

“I didn’t wear it in those days.”

“Why ever not?”

“My parents wouldn’t have approved.”

“Gor blimey, maybe I should be glad for small mercies then?”

“It might be useful to reflect upon that.” I hinted that her parents wouldn’t have approved either.

“In some ways you and Daddy are quite good parents, ya know.”

“Oh, I’m glad we get some things right.” I said while thinking, snotty little mare.

“Can I go then?”

“How are you going and coming back?”

“We’re gonna get a cab both ways.”

“Okay, if that’s how you do it, be home by half past midnight.”

“Oh, Mum, come off it, I’m not gonna be ready till nine.”

I glanced at the clock in the car, “It’s going to take you three hours to get ready?”

“Well–yeah.”

I shook my head, “Half past twelve is your curfew, if you’re not back you can kiss any support from me for your own car.”

“So, if I’m like, back home by half twelve you’ll like, help me get a car?”

“I’ll speak with Simon, that’s all I’m promising.”

“Yes,” she exclaimed and punched the air.