Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 928 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I rose early on Sunday and spent an hour yawning, working on the bank project and more yawning. Leon’s mother phoned about half past eight, to say his back was still sore and he wouldn’t be in today. Oh well, one less mouth to feed.

I’d bought a large chicken for dinner and decided as I was up, I’d pop it in the oven and we could have a traditional roast lunch, instead. I was doing the potatoes for roasting when Trish and Livvie came down for their breakfast.

“Where’s Meems?” I asked passing them the cereal.

“Cuddling with Daddy.”

“Didn’t you want to do that?”

“I’d rather cuddle with you, Mummy, you’ve got more soft bits.”

How I didn’t cut my finger off when she said this, I’ll never know, but i dropped the potato on the floor and had to scrabble under the table to find it again, whilst attempting to repress the laugh that was building up inside me.

“She wasn’t cuddling him, she was sat on his tummy,” corrected Livvie.

“I’m surprised she doesn’t sink up to her neck in it.” I added, highlighting Simon’s recent weight gain.

“She was sitting across him like on a horse.”

“Straddling him?” I offered.

“Is that the word?”

“Goodness her legs must be longer than I thought,” I said before realising I wasn’t setting much of an example of loyalty–so made light of it. “Still, he’s a nice cuddly daddy, isn’t he?”

“He’s okay,” allowed Trish, before adding, “Have you done the carrots yet?”

“No–are you going to do them?”

“May I?”

“Yes, but eat your breakfast first.”

“Can I do the cabbage, Mummy?” Livvie decided she wanted to be domesticated.

“Where’s Julie?” Trish noticed her missing ‘sibling’.

“She’s a teenager, Trish–they like their beds.”

“Oh–I’m happy to be up, can I make a loaf today, Mummy?”

“After you eat your cornflakes.”

“Okay, Mummy–may I have some toast, as well?”

I stared at Trish–had I brought the wrong kid home from school? No it was her. Hmm? She can be polite but rarely decides to be so–what has changed?”

“What did you do in school, this week?” I asked innocently.

“Usual stuff–reading and writing and ‘rithmetic. “

“Is that all?”

“Nah, we did some history and geography, too.”

“We did some politeness lessons too, Mummy. We learned the proper way to ask for something is, ‘May I?’ isn’t it?”

“Most of the time, yes it is.” That explained a few things.

“Is there any more jam, Mummy?”

“Did we buy any at the supermarket?” I never eat the stuff–so I don’t always remember how much we have.

“I dunno,” Trish shrugged.

“Well go and look in the pantry.”

“Why can’t you, you’re closer?” came back her retort.

Livvie put her hands over her mouth and gasped.

I turned to face her and with my hands on my hips demanded, “What did you just say?”

“Well you are closer,” she blushed and I could see the arrogance of cleverness being replaced by a realisation she’d overstepped the mark. “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

“You will be if you cheek me like that again, now you’ll eat your toast without jam or marmalade.”

She looked as if she was about to protest but thought better of it, possibly because Livvie kicked her under the table.

“Don’t push your luck, young lady, or I’ll make you eat it without any butter on it as well.”

She apologised again and ate her toast without any further comment. I let her do the carrots when they’d finished but Livvie got to make the bread, which annoyed Trish no end.

It’s crazy, at this age they can’t do enough to help me–in five or ten year’s time, they’ll be trying to avoid it like the plague.

The boys came down and I had to remonstrate with them as they were slapping each other at the table. All in all, it was not proving to be the best of mornings.

Tom emerged from his study and looked at the kids and asked, “I need a volunteer or two to help me plant some more seeds.”

“I’ll do it,” shouted the boys raising their hands in the air.

“May I help, too?” asked Trish and this was echoed by Livvie. I was tempted to say no, they could help me with housework, but I let them go once they’d changed into suitable clothing. I didn’t think they’d be out too long–it was fine but a cold wind was whistling through the garden.

Stella was next to appear, with Puddin’. I took Puddin’ and gave her her breakfast, some rusks in warm milk, then a bit of pureed fruit. It was all wholesome stuff–at least the fruit was–I’d made it a couple of days before.

Stella was drinking a coffee and still looked washed out. “How did the date go?”

“It was alright until he gave me a dodgy drink.”

“A copper, did that?”

“Yeah, I threw it over him–after that, I wasn’t short of wannabe partners. They all knew him and what a dick-head he was, so they all bought me drinks.”

“You didn’t have to swallow them, Stella.”

“Politeness forced me to.”

“Cobblers–you were totally pissed when you got home, Simon had to pay the taxi off and you up-chucked all over him.”

“I don’t remember that–in fact, I don’t remember much at all after Rufus left.”

“Rufus?”

“Yeah–he did have reddish hair and freckles.”

“I suppose that’s no worse than calling a boy Felix because he can lick his own bum.”

She spat coffee everywhere and choked, which temporarily frightened Puddin’ although I managed to calm her down and Stella, red eyed from coughing, looked worse than before she started her breakfast.

“Want something to eat?”

“Not really.”

“Have some toast?”

“I’m not hungry–so stop mothering me.”

“It’s a habit I have.”

“Yeah, well I’m a big girl now–so I don’t need looking after.”

“Ha, you probably need it more now than when you were a kid,” Simon arrived carrying Meems on his shoulders. He had to bend his knees and she had to duck to avoid hitting the transom on the door frame.

“Worrayouknow?” she snapped back.

“I know you were so pissed the other night you couldn’t stand up.”

“So what’s it to you?”

“What sort of example are you setting the children, including this lovely one,” he tickled Puddin’ under her chin and she laughed.

“Oh get stuffed,” she rose from the table and went back to her room.

“That did a lot of good,” I sighed.

“Well, someone needed to tell her. She’s acting like someone of Julie’s age.”

“Simon–just think a little here; the man she loved and was going to marry died tragically. She’s a single mother and fast approaching thirty, she’s had very little fun for ages.”

“I’d hardly call what she did fun, would you?”

“Before your liver became damaged, you used to think it was funny to get legless. You’ve matured more than she has. If she had a partner, I suspect she’d get far more out of life but looking after this little baggage,” I cuddled the baby, “means she doesn’t have the freedom she used to have.”

“What? You’ve got six kids to look after and I don’t hear you complaining.”

“I’ve also got you–and even if I didn’t. I wouldn’t feel the same need she does to find someone–I’m more self-contained.”

“You mean, lower sexed?”

“Maybe–it wasn’t important to me until I met you and wanted to show you I loved you.”

“I do have that effect on women–don’t I, Meems?” she leant over and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, darling, it’s more than your mother gives me.”

“I wuv you, Daddy.” She said before he lifted her down and she had some breakfast.

“So, we need to get Stella married off do we?”

“No–for goodness sake don’t let her hear you talking like that.”

“But it’s true–isn’t it?” he lowered his voice.

“I don’t know, why don’t you let her solve her own problems?”

“She never has before.”

“She helped me with mine.”

“Of course she did–she’s a nurse–it’s what she does, or did. It’s her own she never could solve–let’s face it, she only got Des because you weren’t interested.”

“Simon–please–little piggies have big ears.” I indicated Mima sitting at the table and listening while she ate her rice crispies.

“Well it’s true–isn’t it?”

“Of course not–I was with you–there was never anyone else.”

“Apart from your nature conservancy bloke.”

“Don’t be silly–he’s a professional colleague, nothing else, besides, Stella liked him, too–he’s just a lovely bloke.”

“Invite him for dinner then, maybe we can pair him up with her majesty.”

“I’m not sure I want to be a party to matchmaking–it’s not my scene.”

“Why, in case he falls for you instead of my idiot sister?”

“He knows I’m happily married.”

“Since when did that stop ‘em?”

“It stops me–and as it takes two to tango–quod erat demonstrandum.

“Geez, woman, you are so perfect–aren’t you?”

“Far from it as you know better than anyone–but I’m happy with my lot in life and I don’t want to do anything to spoil it.”

He cupped my cheek in his hand–“Sometimes I don’t think I deserve you.”

My tummy flipped over–“What d’you mean, don’t deserve me?”

“Oh it’s nothing–you’re just so good compared to the rest of us.” He stroked my cheek and Puddin’ started to wriggle and smell somewhat unsavoury.

“Pud’s pooed in her pants,” giggled Mima.

So instead of pursuing Simon and asking exactly what he meant, I had to change Puddin’s nappy and by that time he’d gone out into the garden.