Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 851 by Angharad

I changed into a fresh pair of trousers and top, grabbed my jacket and after asking Stella to look after the girls, jumped in the car and carefully negotiated my way along the rutted, slushy roads towards the hospital. I had thrown a folding shovel and my wellingtons into the boot of the car in case.

The sun had gone in and there was a hint of moisture in the air–rain, I hoped not more of the white stuff. The car radio has this system where every time there’s a traffic alert on the BBC or other stations, it cuts into whatever I’m listening to. Normally I find this intrusion an annoyance, today I found it a bit more useful, except the bits when Radio Surrey kept intruding–I really didn’t care if the people of Guilford were being eaten by Zombies, let alone snowed in. Actually, they probably are zombies anyway, who happen to be snowed in, and as for Reading, well they probably went to Guilford from there.

Thinking such silly things distracted me from worrying about this boy, who was officially in my charge, and whom I’d failed. I hoped to goodness that his injuries were minimal and that he’d make a full recovery.

I was trying not to brake or accelerate too quickly, which was probably what the four cars had done which were now pushed off the road with bits missing from their bumpers and radiator grills. Most drivers don’t seem to know how to drive on a clear dry road, they drive too fast and anticipate too slow–if at all.

At one roundabout, there was a car perched in the middle on its roof, how had that got there intrigued me, then I nearly shunted the car in front while looking at it, and exactly that happened to two cars across the junction. I got away as gently and hastily as I could.

I finally made it to the hospital and then took ten minutes to find a parking space and a ticket machine that worked–one looked as if a car had hit it, and unsurprisingly was no longer working.

I knew where A&E was, I’ve been there so often, I half expect to be invited to their Christmas party. “I’m looking for a young lad who got hit in the eye with a snowball.”

“Name?” asked the harassed looking clerk.

“Catherine Cameron.”

“Is that missus?”

“Actually it’s Lady Cameron,” I thought, sod you.

“Child’s name?”

“Danny Maiden.”

“Can you prove an interest in the child?”

“Only that he’s staying with me over Christmas.”

“Can you prove that?”

“My husband happens to be with him,” this woman was beginning to really annoy me, I looked around and I saw Simon and the two boys walking back into the waiting area. I looked at the woman and said, “Don’t bother, I hope you have an interesting Christmas.”

Before she could respond to my two edged seasonal greeting, I was off to meet up with the boys. “Babes?” said Simon as I hove into view and I walked briskly up to him. “I was wondering how we’d get home.”

“I brought your car,” I stated nonchalantly. He paled until I sniggered and blew it. “How’s the eye?” I enquired of Danny.

“It ‘urts, Auntie Cathy.”

“C’mon let’s get you home and make you some lunch.” I put my hand on his shoulder but felt nothing unusual happening. Maybe I’d lost it. His clothing was soaking and I hoped he hadn’t caught a chill to add to his misery.

“The doc said to make him rest and it’ll improve in a few days.” Simon gave the instructions he received, “Oh and these drops,” he handed me a tiny bottle, “twice a day.”

“You could do this just as easily as I can,” I protested to Simon.

“No, Babes, your fingers are smaller than mine.” The relevance of his comment or should I say excuse escaped me.

The drive home was slow and I noticed a few more abandoned and damaged cars. In Surrey, apparently people were leaving cars on their drives with the engines running, and three had been stolen that morning. Probably Guilford.

We did get home and I took Danny up to his room to change and he asked if he could go to bed. “Don’t you want any lunch?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, have a little snooze and I’ll have a sandwich waiting downstairs for you.” I helped him change into his pyjamas and he climbed into bed, I tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. “If you need anything, just yell.”

He half nodded and lay down, so I left him to it. I’d check him in half an hour and make sure he was okay. Downstairs, Simon was telling the others how it happened, helped by Billy who did the actions. They way he threw himself backwards upon the impact of the dirty snowball, made me think he’d been hit by a rocket propelled grenade than an ice covered stone.

I left them to it and started to make sandwiches, I’d need to make some more bread later. Half an hour later I called them for lunch and Trish who’d helped me lay the table asked if she could help.

“Can you pop up and see if Danny wants a sandwich now?”

She gave a very uncertain look, “Do I have to?”

“Go on, grasp the nettle,” I exhorted. She sighed and went up the stairs.

I had to save two more sandwiches from the pile before Simon and Billy ate them all, where was Trish? I hoped he hadn’t hurt her. I excused myself and practically flew up the stairs to the attic room. I paused at the door, hearing voices from within.

“Does that feel any better?” said Trish’s voice.

“A bit, it was nicer before.”

“Okay, I’ll do that again.”

“Does your mum know you’re doing this?”

“No.”

“Oh that is so good, oh yes–more, more...” At this point I strode into the room to find Trish standing by the bedside with her hands clasping Danny’s head.

“Mummy?”

“What are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Helping Danny’s eye.”

“And how are you doing that?”

“The blue stuff, Mummy.”

“I see,” and when I looked, I could too. “Does it feel easier, Danny?”

“Oh yeah, all these amazin’ colours.”

“What about the pain?”

“Oh that’s much better. She’s amazin’ in’t she?”

“Oh yes, you could say that again.”

“My mummy can do it, she says it’s something everyone can do–don’t you, Mummy?”

“That’s what they say, but some people seem better at it than others. Did you ask Danny if he’d like a sandwich?”

“Um–no, I forgot.”

“Would you, Danny?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Thank you,” hissed Trish.

“Oh yeah, thanks Auntie Cathy.”

A few months ago, Trish wouldn’t have weed on Danny if he’d been on fire, now she was staying with him to give him healing. I wonder what happened–be fun finding out.