The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1052 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next morning was Sunday. I woke Billie gently and told her to get dressed in her cycling togs. After a quick breakfast we were off out and trundling along at over ten miles an hour. Billie seemed comfortable, so I pushed it up a couple more and before long we were doing twelve and she wasn’t aware of it. apparently. I kept the speed fairly constant and five miles later, she was still hanging on to my back wheel. I signalled a stop for her to rest a moment and drink. I was just warming up nicely.

“We’re going up on the downs in a minute.”

“Um–do we have to?”

“Yes, I want you to be able to climb a bit, and that only comes from practice. Now don’t worry, I’m going to talk you up the hill.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I’ll show you, it’s easier than trying to explain it to you.” So I did. Basically, it’s simply about distracting someone from what they’re doing until it’s finished. When I first learned to cycle my dad did it to me, and then after a while a sense of competition came into our cycling and I was able to outclimb him by the time I was about thirteen. I still wasn’t a strong rider, and even though I kept up my riding, I felt too shy to join a racing club, so went and joined the CTC–The Cyclist’s Touring Club, sometimes called the Cafe to Cafe club or the Cake to Cake club, given their enjoyment of tea and cake stops.

By the time I left home and went to university in Sussex, I could ride all day at a reasonable touring speed, and climbed as well as the others in the club did–sadly, this wasn’t enough to qualify for the cycling club at uni, because it was a racing club. In fact, when I went out with them a few times on training rides, they left me behind and then told me to check out the girl’s team, as they were sure I’d fit in there much better.

I did coincide a ride or two when the girls were out, and I couldn’t even stay with them, so I went off got some advice about training and did so with a sort of zeal that I’d only ever thought of as being religious.

I rode three times a week, did some gym exercises and running. I got a bit stronger but still had no muscle definition, and at five foot seven, weighed nine stone or a hundred and twenty six pounds, dripping wet. In the words of my mother, I was like a matchstick with the wood scraped off.

In some ways I was pleased to be thin. My shape was like a prepubescent child, albeit a tall and quite toned one. I felt like a girl inside, but was too embarrassed to do much about it or even think about it–well consciously, I was. In my day dreams I was already a girl and looking increasingly like one.

I was fortunate in having thick luxuriant hair, which my ex-school friend Siân had encouraged me to grow and have cut like a girl’s. Even tied up in a ponytail it looked girlish against my narrow shoulders, and I was frequently assumed to be female from behind. It secretly thrilled me, but embarrassed me when others were about.

Of course, when I eventually took oestrogen, it kick started a puberty–a female one and my hips broadened a little and I grew breasts with large nipples–I didn’t however, grow any taller just more female. It was at this point that my homicidal sister-in-law and I bumped into each other.

I’m grateful for the bump-start she gave my new persona, because without her I might still be sitting in my room plotting my changeover instead of doing it. I lacked courage, she lacked restraint, and between us, Cathy was launched into the world.

I talked to Billie about what she wanted to do with her life, and the school thing in particular. She seemed set on going to the St Claire's Convent school. She seemed quite confident in her decision, that she wanted to go to school as a girl with other girls. I didn’t challenge anything and found that her body coped easily with the climbing while she was distracted. Much of hill climbing is about attitude, think you can’t do it and you won’t. When we stopped at the viewing point a little later, she was surprised she’d climbed without noticing it.

We rested and looked across over the city and out to the English Channel beyond. Then when she’d got her breath back, we shot back down the hill and she squealed all the way down–but, her pretended terror was really elation. She managed to stay in the saddle, because on a fast downhill, a few road bumps and you can bounce out off it very easily. I’ve even bounced out of my clipless pedals.

I complimented her on her ride both up and down the hill. She’d done really well for a novice and we rode home even faster than we left. Billie stayed with me and seemed pleased with herself, which I encouraged. I could still leave her for dead, but proving it would do what, possibly destroy the nascent rider inside her?

“Mummy, Maureen was looking much prettier yesterday, wasn’t she?”

I had to think for a moment–she’d had some facial reconstruction after the beating and her jaw was narrower and her cheekbones higher. She looked much better, but I hadn’t noticed–so much for my observational skills.

Back in the drive, Trish and Livvie were racing each other up and down the tarmac watched by a bemused Gramps. It appeared Trish wanted to improve her cycling skills and strength so she’d be ready to ride with me. I admired her dedication and spirit, and told her if she was still keen at Christmas, I’d either buy her a child’s road bike or make her one. She rushed off like a lunatic and nearly ended up in the fish pond.

Livvie told me she wanted the same for Christmas as well, and that she was going to be the next winner of the Tour de France. I tried to point out that the TdF was for men, and she protested that it wasn’t fair, girls should be allowed too. I tried to explain about the Grande Boucle, but she’d zipped off after Trish and also barely avoided the fish pond. Oh well, one of them might stick at it. Two minutes later, Trish came back hauling her bike–the front wheel was buckled and she had scratches on her leg and arm, and was holding back the tears very well. It looked like I had some wheel repairing to do, but first I gave her a hug and kissed her injuries better.

While I was trying to straighten the rim of the wheel, I heard a car pull into the driveway, a very quiet car. I peeped out and saw Henry alight from it. He spoke with Tom and walked into my workshop.

“How’s my favourite daughter-in-law?”

“Fine, thank you, Henry. And you?”

“I’m okay. Look, we have a small dilemma.”

“So are you here to see Simon?”

“No, it’s one that needs your assistance.”

“What’s happened; dormice in a hedgerow where you want to build?”

“A bit more international than that.”

“Oh, sounds intriguing.”

“I have the possibility of handling all the United Nations accounts in Europe.”

“So?”

“It appears they’re still looking to fill an ecology post.”

“So? I turned it down.”

“Apparently if I’m able to persuade the top candidate to accept the interview, they would look more favourably to engaging the bank for their routine currency transfers and other bread and butter stuff.”

“Not interested.”

“Cathy, this is worth several million to us, plus the kudos of serving the UN will open doors all over the world.”

“Tough–I’m not interested.”

“Cathy, I’m asking you to at least attend for interview.”

“What for, I don’t want the job–I have six children here who need me.”

“What if I could demonstrate that they’d cope with some extra help in the house, and that they’d want you to do it?”

“What if you can’t?”

“I’ll have to accept your refusal.”

“If they say no, then it’s definitely over?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay–ask them.” Why did I wonder if I’d done the wrong thing?