The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1286 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

My headache and upset tummy lasted for several days and I vowed not to have more than two glasses of anything alcoholic ever again. I’d never had much tolerance of booze, like my mother–two sniffs of a barmaid’s apron and she was anybody’s. Simon was fine and he’d drunk more than I, so had Tom and Jenny and they were fine. I was just one of those easily inebriated sorts–probably find we lack some sort of enzyme or other–or perhaps we descended from another monkey to most people.

The house was nearly finished and I was admiring it. Gareth had come by for lunch one Sunday and he and Simon had gone for a walk before I could tell Simon to ease off him. They came back and Gareth departed very rapidly afterwards.

“What did you say to him?” I demanded of Simon.

“Nothing, why?”

“Why has he dashed off?”

“He remembered he had something to do.”

“So you didn’t say anything negative?”

“Like if you go near my wife I’ll break you in half?”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not–it was implied–never said.”

“Oh, Si, I wish you hadn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s got enough on his plate at the moment.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I seem to be coping.”

“Some days.”

“What d’ya mean?” I snapped.

“You’ve just snapped my head off for no reason whatsoever.”

“There was a reason.”

“Was there now, I don’t suppose you’d care to share it with me?”

“No, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not–don’t tell me because I’m a bloke.”

“Absolutely.”

“Look ‘ere, missus, just ‘cos I’m a bloke doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” I smirked, it was the wrong thing to do. “I’m going down the pub until you get off your feminist soapbox.” He picked up his coat and strode out of the house. I heard his car start up and I wished he’d have walked.

I went back to the loo and...it looked like I needed some more loperamide. I was due to see Stella again tomorrow, and I couldn’t go if I had to sit on a bedpan all the way.

I took the last of the tablets–would get some more from the supermarket–and made some tea. Jenny came down from looking after the babies and pulled up a chair. I poured her a cup as well.

“Cathy, I might have to leave your employment.”

I wish people wouldn’t say such things when I’m drinking, especially tea–it was all up my nose, over the table and so on. Once I’d stopped coughing and my eyes stopped watering, I could see enough to clear it up.

“Why? Have I done something wrong?”

“No, ‘course not, you’re the best employer I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you,” I blushed.

“It’s my lease–the flat I rent–we rent–its lease expires in a couple of months and I think the owner wants it back.”

“I see. Is that the only reason?”

“Yes, honest.”

“So if you could find something equally priced and so on, you’d stay here–working I mean?”

“Yes I would, I love it here.”

“Is your place furnished or unfurnished?”

“Furnished, why?”

“I happen to know of a house available about two streets away from where you live, which I think I might be able to swing for a similar rent.”

“Wow, that’d be brilliant–a house, you say?”

“Yes it’s a house.”

“With a garden an’all?”

“I think there’s a garden.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Not entirely, oh yes of course there’s a garden.”

“It isn’t yours then?”

“Gosh no. I’ll find out later for you.”

“Thanks, Cathy, that’ll be brill if you can.”

The house belonged to baby C, it was her parent’s house and I asked Maureen to come and see me. I had custodianship of the property but like Des’s place it would go to its rightful heir along with anything beyond maintenance costs if it accrued any rent. The house had been let for a couple of months but had now been empty for nearly a month. Maureen who lived in the same part of town had been keeping an eye on it so I asked her to contact me.

An hour later Maureen phoned. “You wanted me, ma’am.”

There was no point in telling her to call me Cathy, I’d tried several times. “Yes, Maureen, how’s Maria’s house looking?”

“Fine as far as I know, why?”

“Could you check it out, I might have a tenant in a couple of months?”

“Urgent?”

“No, next week or two will do, oh and when is this place supposed to be finished, there hasn’t been a builder near here for a couple of days?”

“Hasn’t there now, there will be tomorrow.”

“Thanks, you must come up to dinner again one Sunday.”

“I’m–um–seeing someone most Sundays, ma’am.”

“Oh that’s brilliant, why not bring them round for coffee or something. I’m so pleased for you.”

“Thank you ma’am, I speak to her about it.”

“You do, and tell her she’s more than welcome.”

“I will.” She rang off and I felt boosted a bit by her news.

The next day, thanks to the pills, my tummy had settled down, if anything I was now constipated–wunnerful. I drove to see Stella and took Puddin’ with me, contrary to her instructions.

There were tearful faces on both sides and despite her annoyance with me, she was delighted to see her daughter, and naturally Puddin’ was pleased to see her mum. We chatted once the emotions had settled down and Puddin’ slept in her push chair alongside her mum.

I asked her if she’d spoken to Gareth and she hadn’t. “I have.”

“Why?”

“I needed some advice on a conservation matter.”

“A likely story.”

“It’s true, call him and ask him if you don’t believe me.”

“Hmmm.”

“I asked him how he was and he said he was missing you and wanted to see you.”

“Why can’t you leave well alone?”

“Because it isn’t well, you’re not well and he’s unhappy too–all because you’re too proud to let him care for you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it, well call him then and ask him to come and see you?”

“I can’t, I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Do you mean pregnant or sick?”

“Both, or in this place.”

“Stella being pregnant is part of life–hell, without it there’d be no new life. As for being ill, he copes with that, he honestly does and this place–it’s not a bad place to visit. At least they give you a cuppa. Here, call him.” I handed her my Blackberry and pressed speed dial. It was ringing by the time she took it.

I sat well away from her eye-line so she’d feel more private. They spoke and she was crying and I suspect he was too. She agreed he could come and see her the next Saturday, which was his first day off.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“I ought to shove this down your throat, but no it wasn’t so bad. You’d better take her home while she’s asleep or she’ll play hell when you go.”

I agreed, and we hugged and I drove home. Puddin’ woke about half way home and I stopped gave her a drink and she was as good as gold. The irony, that I was looking after someone else’s baby while paying someone to look after mine wasn’t lost on me, but for the moment it didn’t matter–I was busy.