Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1260.

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1260
by Angharad

Copyright © 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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I glanced at the grizzled figure in front of me–surely he’s not still working is he? He was old when I was a kid.

“You don’t recognise me, do you?”

“I know who you are well enough.”

“Oh, you don’t seem too pleased to see me–not still seething about Lady Macbeth are we?”

“You knew damn well I didn’t want to play that part.”

“But you did, and masterfully as well, if I remember correctly. So now you’re playing Lady Bountiful, are you?”

“I’m not playing at anything, I’m a married woman with seven adopted children.”

“I see, not a bad achievement for the little swot I remember from the sixth form at Bristol. I take it you got your degree eventually?”

“Yes, in biology and ecology.”

“Are you working?” he asked and I couldn’t understand why I felt compelled to answer. He had no right to ask these questions and I had every right to tell him where to get off.

“Part time.”

“Oh,” he seemed a little taken aback by that.

“I teach at a university.”

“You don’t say, well, well.” The bell rang as he spoke and the classrooms emptied for the mid morning break. “Come with me, Watts,” he jerked his thumb in a direction and began walking towards it. I followed behind fuming.

He led me into a small office and told me to sit. I felt like an errant dog, he went off and returned with two mugs of almost passable coffee. I thanked him and he closed the door.

“What are you calling yourself these days, Watts?”

“Catherine Cameron is my legal married name.”

“Married? So you’re a missus now then?”

“Yes and no.”

“Eh?”

“Mrs Cameron is correct, but Lady Cameron is more correct, as my husband has a title.”

“Does he know about your little problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Oh, so being a boy or a man isn’t a problem then?”

“I’m neither, I’m legally female and have married as such, but to answer your prurient curiosity, my husband knows my past and so does his family. Unlike you, they don’t have a problem with it.”

“Who said I had a problem with it?”

“From your insistence on using previous names.”

“I wasn’t aware of your new one.”

“I find that hard to believe, I’ve hardly been living in a nunnery, so there has been quite a bit of media interest over the years.”

“Has there? I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t see my film on the dormouse?”

“I thought you said you taught in a university?”

“I also make films and run a national survey of mammals.”

“As well as playing mummy to seven kids?”

“Yes, although we do now have someone to help me do that.”

“And you live in that Georgian farmhouse?”

“You took Danny home?”

“Yes, nice kid, pity he’s so easily wound up.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Apparently someone said his brother was now his sister, and did she suck his dick, or some equally vacuous and disgusting question. Don’t tell me you’re converting boys to girls–are you?”

“I have a couple of children who were placed with me who were gender variant.”

“They were placed with you?”

“Yes by a local paediatrician and a county court judge.”

“Oh, trust you to pull that off, Watts.”

“My name is Cameron, and it isn’t usual practice to call a woman by her surname.”

“Oh, a faux pas, on my part, so sorry, Lady Bountiful. Yes you were too perfect in Macbeth, swaggering round in skirts and makeup. We all thought you were queer, now we know.”

“From what you’re saying you know very little, and understand even less.”

“I know a nancy-boy when I see one.”

“I think I know a bigot when I see one, too.”

“Oh, into name-calling now are we?”

“I think you started it. I have better things to do than justify myself to an ancient scrote like you, Whitehead.”

“That’s Mister Whitehead to you nancy-boy.”

“Sorry, I always thought it was Wanker Whitehead, that’s what we all used to call you, but I suspect that you’re impotent–not helped by the diabetes–tends to do that to you, doesn’t Whitehead?”

“How d’you know about my diabetes?”

“I know all about you, Whitehead, from the skin cancer you had removed from your scalp–too much sun in the Algarve, wasn’t it? Then the prostate problem, you poor dear. Did the double by-pass make you feel easier?”

“Have you been reading my medical notes?”

“I don’t need to, Whitehead, your body is telling me. Oh, by the way if you have the kidney replacement, you won’t survive it, the aortic aneurysm will pop.”

He slumped into his chair. “How do you know all that?” he was ashen grey.

“I can read your body like a book.”

“Better go and deal with your son’s broken nose then.”

“Oh that healed a few minutes ago.”

“I don’t believe you, you bloody queer.”

“I’m not queer, just slightly extraordinary, ever so slightly. Has the tooth stopped aching?”

He felt his jaw, “Yes, how did you know about that?”

“I just healed it for you.”

“Bullshit, I don’t believe you.”

“Okay, don’t believe me.”

I touched his tummy and he went white and convulsed in pain. When he’d recovered he quietly asked, “What did you do?”

“You don’t deserve it, but I fixed your aneurysm. Go and get your kidney sorted and leave me and mine alone.”

“How can I believe you?”

“See your doctor, but if you mention my name it will revert and will burst slowly and agonisingly.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine, but I won’t come to your funeral simply to dance on your grave.”

“Pity, I’m getting buried at sea.”

“Oh well, better see if you can get a deal while you’re still alive then.”

“I always despised you, Watts.”

“Why, because you fancied me as Lady Macbeth? The tent in your trousers was a playground joke. Didn’t you notice me paying you lots of attention when you were on yard duty?”

“You bitch.”

“The reason for your hostility is you still fancy me, however, I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the only person left in the universe. Also my husband is extremely large and strong, he was a rugby wing forward, so can handle himself. I’d only have to mention you made a pass at me and you’d be a nursing home case tomorrow.”

“Get out of here, Watts.”

“Not until you address me by my correct name and tell me the truth.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“Try it, I know most of them by first name.”

“You really are a bitch–a prize one–aren’t you, Lady Cameron?”

“Yes, but then you knew that when you lusted after me as Lady Macbeth, didn’t you?”

“Alright, so what if I did–I could still get your boy expelled for fighting.”

“Mister Whitehead, you don’t realise who I am, or who my family are, do you?”

“I don’t care who they are–you can’t touch me.”

“I won’t need to touch you, if I ask the right person your little world disintegrates a few hours later.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“Why is there no Mrs Whitehead? You’re secretly gay, aren’t you–still lusting after a schoolboy who was really a schoolgirl and who would be no use to you at all. You don’t do women, do you? I’m a woman, Whitehead, these breasts are real and are actually feeding a baby–for which I’m late. I’m female, you silly little man. You followed me down here, didn’t you? You did know who I was all along. You sad old fool. I don’t need to destroy you, you’ve done it yourself. Get a life while you still have time.”

I looked down upon him, as I was standing and he was slumped over his desk sobbing. I walked away and shut his door feeling quite sick.

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