Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 941 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The following day, Friday, Stella kept her distance. It meant minimal opportunity to squabble with her–I mean how was I to know she’d met Siân? Small world, I suppose, and sooner or later, the chances are that someone I currently know would meet or know someone who knew me before. Oh well, not a lot I can do about it and the biology world, like all academia, is a relatively small one, so it probably happens fairly regularly. I can imagine people in other universities talking about, ’That weirdo in Portsmouth, yeah the one who had the sex change–nice tits though.’

I went off to do the shopping for the dinner party and left Julie in charge of cleaning everywhere–I tried to con her into believing that the state of the house would reflect her degree of femininity–dunno if she swallowed it. Common sense would delegate that responsibility to me anyway, but it might have helped–and if pushing a vacuum cleaner makes her feel more feminine, who am I to dissuade her? Hee hee.

The supermarket was heaving–don’t know why, and the price of cut flowers was disgraceful–they whack the prices up before things like Mothering Sunday–so how can they even pretend to be selling at prices to benefit you? Thieves and rogues–the lot of them.

I arrived home exhausted and without all the ingredients I had meant to get. Some old biddy was overcome at the checkouts and collapsed, so they closed that one and the adjacent one while the ambulance was called. I had to reload my trolley and move over a couple of aisles and was further down the queue than before. I know the old joke, what happens when two Welshmen get together they form a choir; when two Irishmen–they fight and two Englishmen–they form a queue.

I unpacked the car and carrying stuff into the kitchen, I found Julie in tears–apparently Stella had had a go at her because of the dinner party. Stella had gone out–her car was absent, I realised after walking past her empty space twice. Not in much of an observational mood today.

Had Stella been there, I’d have given her some real aggro–picking on a child like that because she has a problem is not on, and beneath Stella’s usual sensitivities. I began to wonder if something more happened than either of them is telling me. If it had, then I could understand Stella’s fervent denials. I mean I denied being transsexual for some time–just thinking of myself as female–which given my phenotype, meant I was either deluded or transsexual. The truth is probably some of both.

I calmed Julie down and made us a cuppa–things usually feel better after one–except Julie spilt hers all down herself and we had to strip her off quickly to minimise the risk of scalding–it was pretty hot fluid. She ran up and showered, holding the cold water on the red bits for a few minutes. I don’t worry about red, but some of her was turning blue by the time I got upstairs after putting her clothes in the washer.

For the first time I had a chance to appraise the changes to her body from the hormones. Her waist was narrowing and her bum looked fractionally bigger and little nubs were forming under her nipples.

After she patted herself dry, I insisted she put some moisturiser cream on the scalded parts and left her to it. I went down to finish my tea when Stella came home with Puddin’.

She tried to avoid me, but I stood in her way. “Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do. The next time you want to pick a fight with someone, do it with someone your own size.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Going at Julie like that.”

“I asked her to stop vacuuming because Puddin’ was asleep and she wouldn’t. So I told her what I thought of her and took Puddie out in the car.”

“She tells it differently.”

“So are you going to believe a known liar against your sister-in-law?”

“Who also has a poor record for relating the truth.”

“Huh–you’re becoming impossible. You bring all these waifs and strays into the house and those of us who live here have to take second place. Then you invite known irritants to the place and treat us like dirt.”

“The known irritants happen to be friends of mine, or one of them is.”

“And her lezzie friend.”

“Stella–just what is it with you? Who cares if she gay, or ten foot tall or anything else which is different to you and I–I don’t that’s for sure, and neither did you until recently.”

“It awakened bad memories.”

“Deal with it, I’m not prepared to have you sniping at the kids just because someone has pushed your buttons.”

“No, instead you’re going to expose your precious children, who all happen to be someone else’s in reality, to unacceptable lifestyles to corrupt...”

“Stella, that remark is unworthy of you–apologise or leave this house.”

“What? You’re choosing some dodgy Welsh witch over family?”

“No one speaks to me like that in my own house and stays here unless they apologise.”

“Your house now, is it–yesterday it was Tom’s house.”

“It’s Tom’s house alright–but I run it for him, as you well know. I’m waiting for you to apologise or leave.”

“Apologise for what?”

“You know what for.”

“Piss off–ladyboy.”

That was when I hit her–I couldn’t control it, I let fly with a slap that nearly took her head off. She had a red mark on her face and a shocked expression. I was trembling with emotion, though whether it was rage or shock, I couldn’t tell.

“You hit me,” she gasped, “You hit me–but we’re family.” There were tears running down her face and I turned away and slammed the kitchen door shut and stood against it. There were floods of tears running down my face, too. I was well aware of what I had just done and was not ashamed of it. I would apologise if she did–but not otherwise.

It took me several minutes to get my emotions under control–perhaps the woman I loved most in this world–and I had struck her. I accept she had provoked me, but I shouldn’t have hit her. I don’t think my dad ever hit my mum, although she used to infuriate him, mind you he made up for it with me.

No excuses–I saw red and whack. She’s going to bruise, I just know it. I could get charged for assault for that. Oh shit–what a mess.

There was a knock on the kitchen door and I looked up as Julie came in. “What happened, Mummy?”

“Nothing to do with you.”

“Auntie Stella is bashing about in her room like she’s breaking the place up, Puddin’ is screaming and upset and when I went to ask if everythin’ was okay, she like told me to piss off–an’ she's got this huge bruise on her face.”

“Oh shit–shit–shit. Wait here.” I ran up the stairs, there was bedlam in Stella’s room with her shouting and Puddin’ screaming and things being thrown about.

I knocked and entered the room–she threw a book at me–“This is all your fault,” she screamed at me, then, “Shut up,” she shouted at the baby, which made Puddin’ cry all the more.

She walked to the baby and raised her hand, “No, Stella, don’t.” I rushed across the room, slipping on a plastic bag and sprawling on the floor just as she made contact with the baby. The crying stopped.

“There, that’s shut you up.” I lay on the floor unable to move with shock–what had she done? Moments later she looked at the carrycot and then screamed.