The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1285 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How’s my sister?” asked Simon when I returned from my visit to the clinic.

“A bit down, and I made that worse by telling her I thought she was having a baby boy.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except she wanted a little girl.”

“She’s got one of them.”

“I’m well aware of that, Simon, Jenny and I have been looking after her since Stella was taken ill.”

“I don’t what she’s so upset about, besides in this house he’s likely to end up with a sex-change anyway.”

“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?” I snapped back angrily.

“You know...”

“I know what?”

“Well you’ve had one, Trish has had one, there are two more waiting...”

“I see. One minute you’re telling me I’m the only woman for you and the next you’re throwing my surgery in my face. I thought we had decided that since I have legal status as female that we weren’t going to keep going over the past.”

He went absolutely scarlet and stuttered more than Colin Firth as King George VI. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, it was a joke.”

“I didn’t find it very funny.”

“No, look, I’m sorry.”

“Simon, please grow up a little will you, you’re not at the rugby club now. Life is stressful enough as it is, having Stella and Gareth here won’t help that too much either.”

“What? I thought they were buying a place.”

“Get with the times, Si; first she called off the engagement and then she said she wanted to come back here.”

“And he’s coming too.”

“Possibly, I don’t know yet, but I’ve asked him to consider it if I can talk Stella round.”

“Oh I see, don’t I get consulted?”

“You were.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“What? You’re going to have lover boy to live here and I’m not even asked if I mind?”

“He’s Stella’s lover not mine.”

“Well at least he can’t put you up the duff.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“At least he can’t make you pregnant.”

“I know what it meant, I just didn’t think you’d say it, that’s all. We just had a conversation about this and you’re off again about my past. Are these little Freudian slips which mean you’d rather we hadn’t married? Do you regret marrying someone who used to be boy?”

“I’ve read wossisname’s journal, you were never a boy to start with, you were a girl with the wrong plumbing. Second, I married you because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you because I love you. Third, I don’t want to feel the Des situation all over again. I know you fancy Gareth because you said so, and he’s in your line of work so you have lots in common.”

“Simon Cameron, you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Scared I could lose you.” His eyes looked very moist.

“Lose me? What about all my children?”

“People do stupid things even when children are involved. Children don’t stop marriages breaking up, do they?”

“If they did, there’d be fewer divorces,” I agreed. “You don’t honestly think I’d put our marriage in jeopardy because of my hormones, do you?”

“I’d hope not, but I don’t understand women at the best of times–as you well know.”

“So I’m a woman again am I?” I hit him below the belt and the expression on his face showed it.

“I’ve never seen you as anything different, and I did say I was sorry for my unfunny joke.”

“Okay. I’ll apologise for that last remark. Simon, you’re a good man, sometimes a bit dim and insensitive, but that happens in men quite often. But I love you for all your inadequacies because you’ve coped with mine, you’ve been happy to adopt all these children most of whom have some problem or other and you’re always ready to help anyone in trouble. So I don’t think there’s much chance of you losing me, do you? In fact I often worry the other way that you might be tempted by someone who could give you children.”

“Why should I want that–get something I’d have to wait years to see if it was nice or not. No, we got to choose our children, and despite their issues, between us we seem to cope and I think they seem to be doing alright on it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” I gave him a huge hug and he then squeezed me so tight I thought he’d break me in half. “I love you, Simon Cameron, but you’re holding me too tight.”

“If I thought I was losing you, I’d never let you go.”

“If you want some dinner, I think you better had.”

“Oh, that’s different.” He released me immediately and we both laughed.

“What d’you fancy?”

“Hadn’t we better wait until the kids are in bed?” he smirked.

“I should have known better than to ask that shouldn’t I?”

“You did rather set it up,” he was still smirking.

“So what d’you want to eat?”

“Get the kids tidied up and let’s go out to dinner.”

“I can’t, we have two babies here, remember?”

“Can’t we leave them in the car, if we leave the window open?”

“Simon, they’re babies not dogs,” then I realised he was winding me up again.

“Can’t Jenny handle it, if we go out for dinner?”

“Not with seven children, no.”

“Oh, okay, wotyagot?”

“Something quick? I could do salmon steaks and new potatoes with salad in about forty minutes.”

“Have we got any decent wine to go with it?”

“How would I know?” Wine wasn’t my thing.

“Okay, I’ll go and get some while you do dinner, won’t be long.”

He wasn’t either, he was back as Trish was setting the table and I was tossing the salad. My eyes widened when I saw he had half a case of plonk. “What did you get?”

“Three bottles of Chablis and three of Pinot Noir. Which d’you fancy?”

“The white?”

“Okay, Chablis.”

“The rich man’s Chardonnay,” I joked.

“Absolutely–if ya got it, spend it.”

Tom appeared as if by magic once Simon popped the cork on the first bottle, Trish garnered the rest of the brood and we settled down to have a rather nice meal, finished off by some ice cream–for the children, while we had a second glass of wine.

I wasn’t tipsy, really I wasn’t but Trish said something and I burst out laughing and then had a fit of the giggles, which refused to stop and made Simon and Tom cross but had the kids giggling with me in sympathy and Jenny looking at me as if I were mad.

“More wine?” Simon asked as he filled my glass again–that was a mistake, because an hour later I was throwing up my dinner in the cloakroom. I have no tolerance of booze, but I never seem to learn, do I?

Jenny and Julie had to put the girls to bed and apparently Trish was quite dismissive of my lapse into drunkenness, although once Julie explained I had a lot on my plate, she seemed to mitigate her scorn a little. But I did pay for it the next day, I had a head like a bucket that the builders were banging and my tummy was quite queasy. I suppose the simple truth is, I’m not man enough to drink.