Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 881 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The rest of the day was difficult–I felt edgy and I felt as if I’d created some sort of rift with Trish. She looked as if she didn’t trust me anymore and Meems seemed exercised about someone planting a bomb and being shot by a policeman.

I hid myself away in the kitchen, where at least I was warm. Julie came out to me, “What’s the matter with Trish?”

“We had a misunderstanding and she feels uptight about it. She’ll sort herself out eventually.”

“Do you think I can help?” asked the teen.

“Leave her for a bit, if it continues tomorrow–maybe then. She’s a bright spark so she might sort it out by herself–remember she’s very independent, despite her youth.”

“Okay–anything else I can do for you?”

“It’s so cold outside, how about playing some board games with the children?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“They’re in the big cupboard under the stairs.”

Oh well, the kids would be happier and it’s better than them watching telly or messing about on computers. The dinner was on and all I had to do was dish it up when it was ready–about an hour or so. I’d done a casserole with a real rice pudding for dessert.

While I waited, I did some more work on the survey–which reminded me, we had to go to Southampton the day after tomorrow and deal with that lot. Gee whizz, how much fun should one girl have in a week?

Trish continued to be distant and when I asked them if they wanted Tom or I to put them to bed–they opted for Tom. Containing my hurt, I went back to my survey and after wiping my eyes, continued my university work.

About half an hour later, Tom came into the kitchen and sat opposite me. “Are ye goin’ tell me whit’s goin’ on?”

“What do you mean, Daddy?”

“With Trish.”

“I think we had a slight difference of opinion.”

“Aboot whit?”

“Is it important?”

“I dinna ken until ye tell me, but it sounds as if ye’re avoidin’ somethin’.”

“It’s a storm in a teacup, Daddy. I told a lie and in doing so, have fallen in Trish’s eyes.”

“Whit aboot?”

“Denying I did the healing, she knows I did it. So when I said to the kids and the Echo that it wasn’t me, her opinion of me plummeted.”

“She’s a very serious wee lassie.”

“Who because of her age sees things in absolute terms.”

“I ken someone who’s similar aboot saving thae world, or disbelievin’ thae existence O’God.”

“Okay, I surrender–I made a mistake, I’ll go and self flagellate out in the snow until daylight–will that make amends?”

“No, but it would gie thae press some wonderful pictures.”

I smiled in a resigned way–I didn’t want this conversation, in fact I didn’t want to talk to anyone, except perhaps Simon. The rock upon whom I build my marriage, only I won’t let him change his name to Peter.

I went to bed myself feeling like a hunted animal who’d been expelled from the rest of the herd. The lions or sharks–choose your own analogy, were waiting for me to break cover but I stayed in the shadows. In that regard the severe cold was keeping the press from the end of the drive rather than my denials. They’d be back in the morning.

I didn’t sleep very well, even after calling Si to tell him the latest. He was up to his eyeballs with bank business and hoping that Cadbury shares stayed at over eight quid because he had a thousand of them which he bought for about half that a couple of years ago.

I felt like accusing him of treason, that was like selling Rolls Royce, but we did that years ago to the Germans. It seems that firms have to get bigger and bigger to prosper in the monetarist model–with which I greatly disagreed, but then I was a liberal-socialist not a capitalist. Even here I was a hypocrite–I was happy to spend Simon’s money, which he worked hard for but no harder than a labourer on a building site or a teacher–he just earned more–lots more.

The news the next morning was awful–an earthquake in Haiti, one of the poorest countries in the world. I lay there listening to reports suggesting thousands had perished. I went down and sent some money to Médecins Sans Frontiá¨res at least that would be well spent.

Tom was prowling around, “Hear about Haiti?” I asked him.

He nodded and looked grave. “Aye ’tis a richt mess, but it may take the attention aff ye.”

“Oh c’mon, Daddy, that’s real news, I’m a column filler at best.”

“Well thae vultures’re gatherin’.”

I glanced down the drive and could see activity at the end of it. “They can wait until hell freezes over, I’m not talking to them.”

“I think it may hae already done so, Cathy.”

The morning went on as usual, except Trish was avoiding me. I couldn’t cope with this much longer–should I cancel the adoption? Did she no longer want to stay with me? How do I cope with this–kill myself?

Maybe I should volunteer to go to Haiti and save any dormice they have there? That was a stupid thought and appeared to mock the suffering of thousands. I didn’t mean it like that, but what could I do to redeem myself? Should I even think about it–or merely say to her, get over it. I was a mass of contradictions and self doubt.

Tom had stayed at home to protect me–I was humbled and embarrassed by his action, but tomorrow we had to get out and go to Southampton, unless the meeting was cancelled. It hadn’t been so far as I knew.

The phone rang, it was Pippa from the university. “Have you seen the Echo?”

“No, why?”

“They say you confessed to being the mysterious healing woman.”

“Me? I denied anything to do with it.”

“The front cover shows a picture of their reporter covered in snow, accusing you of making it happen. They say you said you were the wonder woman. They have a tape of the conversation on their website.”

“It’s been doctored then, because I strenuously denied it. What happened was...” and I related the true account of what had transpired. Then a stupid thought popped into my head, is transpire what cross dressers do in hot weather? Maybe I was losing it altogether.

I thanked Pippa and contacted Henry, or tried to, he was in a meeting. The phone started to ring and I took the plug out of the wall. The nightmare was beginning. How the hell was I going to be fresh to help Tom against the pirates of Southampton? I almost prayed to that God I don’t believe in–then changed it to the universe. There was no flash of lightning, the parasites were still there. Oh bugger.

After breakfast I was clearing up and trying to think of something to do with the kids when I passed the dining room. I could hear two voices, which I identified as Trish and Julie. I know one shouldn’t listen but I was concerned, so I did.

“...but she lied to us all, Julie.”

“Don’t you do that every day when you put on your school uniform?”

“No.”

“So all the boys you know wear skirts do they?”

“I’m a girl,” Trish protested.

“Inside you feel like that, but you’re a boy officially.”

“So are you,” Trish sniped back.

“Don’t I like, know it. I know I’m lying to people until I can sort my body out, but what good would telling the truth achieve? It would just get me a beating. This way, hopefully, I look enough like a girl to pass.”

“I think you look nice,” offered Trish.

“Yeah, so do you–if you hadn’t told me, I’d never have guessed.”

“But Mummy told us we should always tell the truth.”

“I think most of the time, that’s probably right–but sometimes it’s not the best thing to do. If you thought I looked like a pig’s bottom, you’d hardly tell me, would you. You’d either avoid saying anything or tell me I looked okay.”

“I’d try to tell the truth, ‘coz I’m supposed to do.”

“But if I was angry and you said the truth, it might make me even worse and I could hit you or hurt you physically.”

“Not for telling the truth?”

“Yes–people don’t always want to hear the truth. When a woman says to her boyfriend or husband, ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ the last thing she wants to hear is yes, even if it is true. So if he doesn’t like it, he’ll say he preferred the other outfit, which is probably the cheaper one.”

“Does my bum look big in this?” asked Trish waggling her wares in the tight jeans she had on.”

“Bloody huge–I’m surprised you got it through the door it’s so big,” Julie teased and Trish laughed.

“Did you know Mummy was the healer?”

“I guessed–as the bruises I had were far worse before I got in the car with her. Didn’t you notice the mark on my face has gone?”

“Oh yeah, so it has and the one on your neck.”

“Yeah, that one too.

“I healed that one for you?”

“Nah, Mummy rubbed it when she thought I wasn’t looking. It nearly disappeared,” Julie suggested.

“But I’m a healer, too. I started it healing before Mummy touched it?”

“No, she saved me when I tried to kill myself.”

“Oh my God, you tried to kill yourself? That’s like so bad, it’s a mortal sin.”

“Yeah sure, only if you succeed.”

“Did Mummy bring you back to life?”

“Yeah, I reckon I was with my ancestors and she brought me back.”

“Goodness, so she’s rescued three souls from death?”

“Three, me and that kid at the hospital.”

“And Mima, she died and Mummy saved her.”

“Crikey–and she’s okay?”

“Yes, ‘course she is.”

“Mummy is quite a lady, isn’t she?”

“I think she’s the best mummy in the world.”

“So why don’t you go and tell her that.”

“I will.”

I slipped into the kitchen moments before Trish arrived. She hugged me around the waist and said, “You’re the best mummy in the world, Mummy–an’ I’m sorry I was a naughty girl.”

“I’m sorry I gave you mixed messages.”

“What does that mean, Mummy?”

Oh shit...why can’t I learn to speak more simply?