The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1018 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Some days I wondered why I loved Simon, he could be a totally, self centred, unthinking twit–and that was before he was awake. On other days, I couldn’t understand how I could live without him. Today, was a case in point. He saw how tired I was, so he not only got the boys up but took the girls to school for me, while I collapsed into bed for another hour.

I woke about eleven feeling still sluggish but better than I’d been earlier. I got up and strolled downstairs and heard voices from the kitchen.

“You’ll have to tell her,” said Stella.

“Why, she hasn’t noticed so far,” reasoned Simon.

“You mean, yet–because she will.”

“I might be able to replace it by then.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’ve been on the internet and had some interesting replies from possible sources.”

“Si, it’s almost irreplaceable.”

“Give me a few days, let’s see what I can find.”

“And if she notices?”

“She won’t–just keep her out of the dining room.”

“You’d be better telling her and getting it over with,” advised my sister in law.

“What? She’ll kill me–you know what she’s like when she’s angry–a grumpy tiger would be a pushover compared to her.”

This conversation confused me. What was in the dining room they didn’t want me to see? There was nothing of mine in there, it was all Tom’s furniture–and what about the washing machine, last night? What is going on?

I slipped into the dining room, everything seemed in order, although there was a mark on the table and a smell of fresh polish. I looked at the table again, the red velvet table centre and the silk flower arrangement looked okay–well the flower arrangement needed a bit of tidying up but it didn’t take me very long.

It was an assortment of different coloured roses which complimented my mother’s damask tablecloth, which had been given to her by my grandmother. It was probably sixty or seventy years old and one of the few family heirlooms I’d brought down here.

I closed the door quietly behind me and walked into the kitchen, the two conspirators almost jumped out of their skins. “Hello, Babes, I didn’t hear you come down–feel better?”

“Yes thanks, and thanks for taking the girls to school, I really appreciate it.” I glanced out of the window–“Looks like a good drying day, I might do some washing–anything you want doing?” I asked them both and they each looked guilty of something very serious.

“Simon?” I asked enjoying the chase.

“NO, um–I mean, no thanks.”

“Rubbish, there’s stuff in the linen basket upstairs, plus anything Tom’s dumped in there. Stella?”

“I’m okay, Cathy, just a few smalls and I’ll do them by hand later.”

“Okay–I’ll go and get the linen basket.”

“I’ll get it, Babes. Stel, make Cathy some tea–c’mon sis.”

This sudden concern for my well being was very touching but it seemed a bit OTT seeing as I hadn’t actually died or been seriously ill. But it was good fun seeing Simon trying to make up for whatever he’d done. Oh well, I’ll play a little longer and then beat it out of him later. Only joking–I’ll tickle him to death instead.

I drank the tea Stella made and thanked her for it and Simon for bringing down the washing. He insisted I show him how to sort it and so on. This was getting sillier and sillier. “Why the sudden need to be able to do the washing?” I enquired.

“Well, Babes, you never know if you’re ill or called away by the UN or whatever, and the girls and the lads will need some clean knickers, won’t they?”

“I don’t think the boys will need clean knickers exactly, but the girls certainly will.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t mean it as literally as you’ve taken it.”

“So as I’m not dead or on the way to New York, how come you’re playing Chinese laundries?”

“Eh?”

“Why are you standing in front of the washing machine with one of my bras in your hand?”

“Oh yeah, I was just wondering if this went in with the whites?”

“What colour is it?”

He held it up, “Um–white?”

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, I suppose it does.” He chucked it in the machine and picked out some of his white shirts and put those in as well.

“There’s matching panties for that bra,” I told him.

“Is there?”

“Simon, don’t be so dumb–you bought me the set–remember?”

“Did I? I have good taste, don’t I?”

“Exquisite–I mean you chose me, didn’t you, unlike the lingerie.”

“Of course, I did,” he hugged me and we kissed.

“I chose it, you just paid for it. Mother’s day last year–bring back any memories?”

“No. No it doesn’t–are you sure it was me?”

“No, it might have been my lover, I’ll have to introduce you sometime.”

“If he’s got as good taste as I have, I’m sure I shall like him.”

“I don’t know, he’s very hot blooded–you wouldn’t find him sorting through my smalls–unless it was taking them off me before he made mad passionate love.”

“I see, how long does this take?” he asked pointing at the machine.

“Can be an hour or so, why?”

“Switch it on then, Babes, and let’s go upstairs.”

“I don’t need to strip the bed, I did that last weekend.”

“It isn’t the bed I’m planning on stripping...”
.

If this was an old fashioned film, we’d be lying there all aglow sharing a fag, but as neither of us smokes, and the machine was coming to the end of its cycle I started to get up.

“Where you going?” he asked as I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Ugh, the bathroom,” I rushed out of the room holding a tissue under me as I did so. A little wash later, I felt happier, if a bit tender as I dressed. I kissed him and told him to get up.

“Oh, I told Julie she could go shopping for a new skirt or something–I gave her a few quid.”

“I wondered where she was.” He was lying, he’d sent her off to try and replace whatever it was he’d damaged–um, Sherlock Cameron will work it out eventually and make the criminals pay for their heinous crimes. No wonder he sent me off to bed, it was to buy himself time, not concern for my well being–more concern for his own neck. Simon, I’ve rumbled you–you hypocrite.

“Let’s have some lunch–cheese on toast do?” I asked him.

“Yeah, fine.”

He escorted me downstairs and into the kitchen where Stella glared at him. I wasn’t sure if she was jealous, or cross, because he should have been emptying the machine. Instead, she was doing it.

I made some lunch while Stella hung the laundry out on the line–Julie could iron it tomorrow–well, why keep a dog and bark, and she does very little most of the time. After I’d cleaned up from lunch, I picked up the dusters and the furniture polish.

“Where’re you going with those?” asked Simon the pitch of his voice rising as he spoke.

“To polish the dining suite, why?”

“Um–don’t overtax yourself, Babes, you were exhausted last night.”

“A bit of polishing is hardly going to do that, is it?”

“Give it here, I’ll do it, you go and have another cuppa and put your feet up.”

Who was I to argue–I began to wonder where my Simon had gone and who this strange lookalike was? The good fairy–no definitely not, as a certain tender spot could attest.