The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1075 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The doorbell rang and as I walked to it I quickly checked myself in the hall mirror–no bits of cabbage stuck to my teeth–after breakfast? I am going barmy. I opened the door and welcomed our visitors in.

“Hello, Daisy, and you must be Maria,” we shook hands, “I’m Cathy, do come in.”

Daisy handed me the bunch of flowers she was holding, “These are for you, Auntie Cathy.”

“Why thank you, Daisy.”

I was astonished but secretly delighted that my brood had waited until I brought the visitors in to meet them. I led Maria and Daisy into meet the other bridesmaids, Danny, and Stella.

The kids seemed to get on quite well and Trish and Livvie were soon taking Daisy off to see their doll collection, with Billie and Meems tagging along behind.

“It’s so nice to put a face to the name at last.” Maria sat down quite elegantly given her size. “You were so kind to Daisy in hospital,” she winced and made a face. “My sprog is kicking I’m sure he’s going to be a footballer.” We all smiled politely.

“Whose are all the children?” she asked after adjusting her position on the chair.

“Mine,” I smiled waiting for the inevitable statement of surprise.

“Even the teenager?”

“Yes, sort of.”

“Sort of?” she looked questioningly at me.

“Yes, she’s my foster daughter,” I smiled, I didn’t want to give too much information away and besides I was sure that Maria was too polite to ask too many questions.

“Teenagers can be so challenging,” she sighed.

“Is that the voice of experience?” I asked.

“I have a sister aged sixteen, she is the bane of my mother’s life.”

“Oh,” I noted politely, knowing that I would hear as much as she wanted to disclose.

“Her name is Theresa, but she calls herself Tess, mum found out she was on the pill about a month ago.”

I was about to say it was better than unwanted pregnancies, but the size of my guest reminded me to avoid the topic. “She didn’t tell her, your sister didn’t tell your mum, I mean.”

“Goodness no, we’re a family of devout Roman Catholics, she nearly had a stroke.” With names like Maria and Theresa, it was hardly a surprise, however I did refrain from claiming to be a devout agnostic. Instead I looked at the woman in front of me, her short dark hair was nicely cut, and her maternity dress looked like it was from the Next catalogue.

“What did she do–your mother?” I asked.

“Nothing–not until she consulted the Father.”

“The father? Is she not...”

Maria blushed, “You’re not Catholics are you?”

I blushed more from my thoughts than my reply, “Um, no,” thank goodness.

“Mum went to see our priest, Father O’Malley.”

“Of course, ‘scuse my ignorance, we’re rather secular here.”

More embarrassed silences and blushes.

“Shall we eat?” I called the children, Danny and Julie were already in the dining room and I asked them to supervise the handwashing of the others.

“Can I smell fresh baked bread?” asked Maria sniffing.

“I have a bread machine.”

“Oh goodness, I was talking to Paul about one of those only the other day. Do you–um–I suppose you do find them, good.”

“They have one drawback.”

“They do?” she looked worried.

“Yes, it smells so nice that everyone eats more bread than is possibly good for them.” I smiled and she relaxed and smiled back.

I dished up the soup at the table and Trish wandered round carrying a basket of freshly sliced wholemeal bread–it was still warm. Then she sat next to Daisy and they were gabbling away like two old friends.

The meal was a success, and we did start the second loaf as my lot had seconds of soup–greedy hounds. Then the fruit salad and cream disappeared in record time, Daisy and her mum tucking in with the rest of them. Stella and Maria chatted easily and I felt able to slip back and fore to the kitchen without being noticed, mainly to make drinks for everyone. Julie and the adults had tea, the kids some orange juice.

“May we leave the table, Mummy?” Trish was being extra polite in front of Daisy, perhaps she should come again.

“Yes, darling, show Daisy your computer.” They all thundered off to play.

“How old are you, Julie?” asked Maria.

“Sixteen.”

“Can I ask, would you go on the pill without your mother’s consent?”

I nearly swallowed the cup as well as the tea.

“Um–not really,” blushed a very embarrassed Julie.

“She’s on the pill, she had a slight hormone imbalance.” I intervened to save further embarrassment. It was sort of half true.

“Oh,” gasped Maria.

“Yes, doctors prescribe it for irregular periods and so on.” I was heading into potentially dangerous territory but I was hoping that politeness would steer us clear of too much on that subject.

“Of course they do, I’m sorry, Julie.”

“When’s the baby due?” I asked changing the subject.

“Anytime now, they gave me the eighth as the actual day, but I don’t think I’ll go that long.”

“What is it–do you know?” Julie decided to stay rather than hide up in her room.

“Definitely a baby,” joked Maria and we all chortled, “though sometimes it feels like a baby elephant, an eight legged one, who delights on dancing on my bladder–talking of which–where’s the––?”

I directed her to the cloakroom.

“Can I go out on Auntie Stella’s bike, Mummy?” Danny was bored with the female company.

I looked at Stella who nodded, “If you take care and stay on the cycle path. Don’t go too far.”

“Thanks, Mum, Auntie Stel.” He was gone before Maria came back.

I glanced at my watch, she’d been gone ten minutes, a long wee? I’d wait a couple more minutes and then go and see.“D’you think she’s okay?” I asked Stella, it was now nearly fifteen minutes.

“Better check, I suppose.” She rose from the table and went to the cloakroom and I cleared up the dirty crocks.

Moments after I’d loaded the dishwasher Stella poked her head round the door and said, “Houston, we have a prarlm.”

“Wossup?”

“I think she’s going into labour.”

“Well you’re the expert, I’ve only delivered dormice.”

“C’mon, Cathy, I haven’t done anything for the last couple of years and that was advising people how to avoid the pox. I last did maternity, about seven years ago.”

“Stella, the only time I’ve been in maternity, I was the parcel being delivered.”

“You came to see me.”

“I was only visiting then.”

I accompanied her to the cloakroom, Maria was groaning. I then did the usual and inappropriate thing, “Are you alright, Maria?” it was quite obvious she wasn’t.

“My waters have broken and the contractions are coming thick and fast.”

“Is there anything you want me to do–call an ambulance?”

“Oh–OH, I think it’s coming.”

“We need to get her out of the cloakroom, Stella and we need an ambulance.”

More groans were emanating from behind the cloakroom door.

“Can I call your husband?” I asked in between groans. There was a horrible thump sound and the groans stopped.

“Maria, are you okay?” I shouted, “Can you open the door?”

A soft groaning noise came from the other side of it.

“I think she’s fallen off the toilet.”

“I’ll call the ambulance,” said Stella rushing back to the kitchen.

I stood looking at the lock on the cloakroom door, even if I managed to force it, she was likely to be lying behind it. Oh shit.