The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1276 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was still spitting feathers about Stella’s presumptiveness when Billie came in nagging Danny about being late. “You apologise to Mummy, she’s been worried sick about you.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“Not to Mummy, you didn’t.”

“Well I might if you’d just shut your stupid trap for a moment.” Danny turned savagely on his sister and she burst into tears and ran off up the stairs. “Bloody girls, they make you sick–nag nag nag.”

“Finished?” I asked him giving him a withering glare.

“Yes.”

“Good. That bloody girl has been worried about you ever since it began to get dark, she has been standing outside looking for you for over half an hour. And, just for your information, mister, I’m a bloody girl, too.”

He looked away refusing to meet my eyes. “I didn’t ask her to wait for me.”

“So you object to people caring about you, do you?”

“No, ’course not.”

“You can do three things. First, tell me why you’re late; second wash your hands if not your whole self; and finally, you can go and apologise sincerely to Billie for being an insensitive jerk.”

“We went back to Badger’s house and played computer games on his Wii.”

“Why didn’t you phone–you know the rules?”

“The police still have it.”

“Oh, your film of Mr Whitehead’s attack, if you’d told me, we could have asked for them to return it or replace it.”

“Sorry, Mummy.”

“Apology accepted, now go and speak with your sister and get a shower.”

He walked off muttering about his life being ruined by women and I had a hard time not laughing out loud at his comments. I accept he has a majority of the fair sex occupying the house, but there is Simon and Tom as well, so they’re only outnumbered nine to three, and two of those are babies, so he should just accept it. I do try to let him have time with me, and I’ve asked Tom and Simon about football matches–both of them would rather go and watch rugby. I admit, if I had to watch two groups of grown men squabbling over possession of a bit of leather with an inflated bladder inside, I’d rather watch rugby–although those scrums are so boring and they collapse so often. If the referees listened to Brian Moore, who was an international hooker, they would realise that most of the time the two loosehead forwards aren’t binding properly; least I think it was the looseheads, it might be tightheads for all I know.

“What’s for dinner?” asked Trish.

“Fish and chips, why?”

“Oh goody gum drops, I like fish and chips. Are you making them?”

“The fish is baking in the oven, I have a whole pile of garden peas warming in a pan and I’m waiting for Daddy or Gramps to go and get the chips for us.”

The dice were cast and in answer to them, Simon arrived home first. I asked him to go and get half a ton of chips, he dumped his case nodded and scooping up Trish went off to get them. She was all smiles, ‘Daddy’s girl’. It makes you sick–I spend all day spoiling them all and they fawn all over Simon because they get a ride in his bloody Jaguar. Bloody girls.

The rest of the day went more or less as it should, except Billie whispered something to Simon who nodded and frowned. I wondered what it was all about, but found out a bit later.

“So how’s the new house coming on?” he asked Stella.

“Yeah, ‘sokay, I guess.”

“Has Gareth packed much yet?”

“Quite a lot, can’t find anything.”

“They leaving the curtains and carpets?”

“Good God, no. We’re having new.”

“Where from?”

“Oh there’s a big carpet shop not too far away, and they can arrange material for matching curtains–and Cathy can knock us up some curtains, which will save a few quid.”

“So when did Cathy agree to make your curtains?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Have you asked her?”

“What is this all about–have I asked her. She’s my sister, surely I don’t need to ask her?”

“She’s my wife and I ask her if I want her to do something for me.”

“But she’s my sister–”

“Yes and she has seven children to look after.”

“But she has Jenny to help her.”

“Why can’t you get the shop to make them?”

“But Cathy could do it,” Stella protested.

“Jesus, Stella, you just don’t get it, do you? Cathy is not making your curtains,” Simon said with a sense of finality.

“Have you asked her?” riposted Stella, who never knows when she’s beaten.

“No, I don’t have to, I’m her lord and master.”

“So how d’you know she doesn’t want to do it?”

“I don’t care if she’s pinin’ for the fijords, she ain’t bloody doin’ it, because I said so. She has too much to do now–remember she’s supposed to be researching for a PhD as well as making films for everyone, running a mammal survey, looking after us as well as the children and the house, with only Jenny’s help. I tell you what, you pay for half a dozen home helps, a secretary, and a researcher while she makes your curtains and I’ll happily let her do it, if she wants.”

“But that would cost thousands.”

“Would it? Oh dear, I wonder what a shop would charge to make them, some even come and measure up for you too.”

“How d’you know that?”

“How d’ya think we got curtains for the cottage?”

“Oh, I thought you bought them from Woollies.”

“Stella, every window was a different size.”

“Who made the curtains then?”

“I’ll see if I still have their address and phone number–but they were quite reasonable.”

“And you still don’t think I should ask Cathy?”

“You can ask her, but I won’t let her do it.”

“You can’t stop her–that’s infringement of her human rights.”

“And expecting her to drop everything and do your bidding, isn’t?”

“No of course not, it’s simply meeting my needs.”

“What about hers?”

“She has you to meet those–maybe you need to give her a good seeing to more often and she’d be more amenable.”

It was as if I was invisible, I was seated at the table along with them and Tom. His face was picture of astonishment as it became increasingly obvious that Stella didn’t have a clue. How she was going to run a household was looking very unclear.

I slipped away from the table and Tom followed me–the two siblings were still at it half an hour later as we sat and drank tea in the lounge.

“Whit planet’s she frae?”

“I do wonder at times. It’s like she has some brain disorder and it’s getting worse.”

“D’ye ken, ye micht weel be richt, perhaps we’d better get her heid examined.” We both laughed although we stopped when voices were raised and something got smashed–probably one of my matching cups or a glass–again from a matching set. If Simon threw it, he can pay for its replacement–though I suspect it was Stella, she is the more volatile of the two.

They were still arguing when I went to bed at nearly midnight.