The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1234 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Wow part 1234 dunno if we’ll ever get to 2345?

I hoped that Trish’s story telling had helped her redefine her past somewhat, or reframe it as the psychologists call it. I also wonder how often the bully had assaulted her and how badly. Was it my imagination, or had she glossed over it almost as if she hadn’t been traumatised by it? Had she even enjoyed some of it–the attention while being a girl? I had to stop thinking, it was going to drive me loopy if I wasn’t already there. I resolved I’d wait and see what symptoms appeared and deal with them then. Obviously Stephanie would continue seeing her and hopefully that would deal with the worst bits, and I could just offer my love and support.

“A penny for them,” said Si as we lay together in bed that night. I’d told him the story as I’d remembered Trish telling me and he smiled, “I always miss out on the best bits, don’t I?”

“I suppose that’s the father’s lot, the mother having more contact with the child, so it’s almost inevitable.”

“I wonder if it’s possible to put some sort of pause button on them, then you could press it and release it when I got home, then I’d see the magic moment.”

“Um, darling, I don’t think it works like that, usually these events happen by themselves and by the time I realise we’re into a Kodak moment, it’s gone.”

“Hmm, that’s not fair–how about you go and screw the financial system and I’ll stay home and be with my kids?”

“I’ve spotted a few weaknesses in your master plan.”

“You have? I thought it was foolproof.”

“Um, not quite. To start with, I’m not licensed to play with other people’s money–except yours. Secondly, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do, and thirdly, I actually enjoy being with the children myself and wouldn’t want to swap with anyone.”

“Except when there’s a full moon and you want to kill them all–slowly.”

“That’s only once a month.”

“Or period-ical,” he sniggered.

“I can’t have periods and you know it.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t seem to stop you having PMT or whatever else they call it.”

“I don’t–you’re putting two and two together and making six.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a mathematician as well as an economist, so I think I’d know if my addition was suspect. Besides, you do have monthly mood-swings, always have done. I just assumed it was physiologically derived–which it is–but all your own work, so to speak.”

“The fact that you’re a mathematician doesn’t count when I’m making metaphors.”

“I don’t care what you do with your sewing kit, but leave the mathematics to me.”

“You’re a cruel, cruel man, Simon Cameron.”

“Aye, glad ye noticed, goes wi’ ma sporrrran.” He gave an even worse example of Lallans than I do when I’m teasing Tom, rolling his Rs more than a tart in a tight skirt.

“Och, I love it when ye’re sae masterfu’, hen. Ta’kin’ Scotch always tur-runs me oan,” I said, perhaps proving my previous statement incorrect.

“Ye whit?” he said sitting up and laughing, “ye daft gowk.”

“Oh yessssss,” I sizzled or pretended to, thrusting my hips wantonly which was when he laughed so much that he fell out of bed. It took me twenty minutes to stop his nose bleed and as long to change the bed and soak the bedding in salt water. The only wanton I did after that was wantin’ the stains to come out of my favourite duvet cover. He got quite miffed because he reckoned I was more interested in my bedding than his well being. I mean, how could he–doesn’t he know how much Irish lawn costs, especially broderie anglaise

Needless to say, his sore proboscis meant he lost his appetite for pleasing me and I joked about his ‘headache.’ He threatened to get his own back and complained that I was taking advantage of his blood loss and ensuing weakness.

“So that’s why you went off sex, you don’t have enough to make it–you know?”

“It could be, Cathy, that could well be it, as well as the pain in my face.”

“I’ve always wanted to call someone, face-ache.”

“Oh you cut me to the quick.”

“No I don’t, you did it yourself.”

“I felt faint at your attempted rendition of my native tongue.”

“What’s that, a Hampstead plum?”

“And still you seek to wound me.”

“Eh?”

“Hush, I’m building to a climax.”

“If you do, you can clean it up and wash the bloody sheets.”

“You Philistine.”

“Dat’s me–now are we going to sleep or talking all night.” Just then the baby woke and began to whimper.

“Did you see that article about feeding babies on boob-juice after six months?”

“Yes, and she gets plenty of other things too, including raw meat and the odd bone.” Well if he was going to be facetious I could be too.

“Is that before or after the hard-tack?”

“What’s that, a saddle which hasn’t been treated with saddle soap?”

“No, ship’s biscuits.”

“Oh, what did they need those for?”

“Carbohydrate–remember there were no fridges in Nelson’s time. I suspect they’d just have soon fired them from the cannons, but you can’t stack ‘em on a brass monkey.”

“Especially in cold weather.”

“You know where that comes from, don’t you–freezin’ the balls off a brass monkey?”

“I know about the different temperature co-efficients and rate of contraction of different metals–does that answer your question?”

“Smart arse–my nose is still bloody hurting.”

“Awwww, shall I blue light it?”

“Will it work d’you think?”

“How do I know, I’m only the messenger.”

I lay my hands on either side of his face and in seconds he said, “Cor that’s amazing, lovely shade of blue, babes.” Ten minutes later he was asleep and I had to settle the baby down. Fortunately she hadn’t really come to and went off again–for four hours.

I fed her at four o’clock and managed to get another three hours sleep afterwards. I still felt shattered but I’m beginning to think that’s a permanent state of affairs. Someone came round from Maureen to fix up Danny’s basketball hoop. I didn’t see them until I went out to offer them a cuppa, I nearly fell over.

Standing on a step ladder and drilling into the brickwork of the outbuilding was a gorilla in a dress. I have never seen anyone with such dark hairy legs, and wearing a dress is hardly the most suitable clothing for climbing up ladders. The hairy legs were showing through a pair of tan tights. Danny and Billie were standing and sniggering watching the large figure on the ladder, until I sent them off to do something else.

“Um–sorry, I don’t know your name, but would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

“Paulette, yeah that would be lovely, darlin’, you must be Cathy, Maureen said, you’re the pretty fair-haired one.”

“Isn’t it a bit chilly standing up a ladder in a dress?”

“Nah–you get used to it.”

“Tea or coffee?”

“Either, darlin’, but no biccies, I’m tryin’ ta lose weight.”

I sent Danny out with her tea, which I made stronger than I usually drink it, and with strict instructions not to look up her skirt.

“I tell you what, Mummy.”

“What?”

“She hasn’t had the operation yet.” He left the kitchen sniggering before I could say anything.