The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1315 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Stephanie was talking with Billie while Trish and I prepared the lunch. The salmon was baked in butter in the slow oven of the Aga. Trish scrubbed the new potatoes and baby carrots while I turned a large bunch of watercress into a creamy greenish coloured sauce. The final element were frozen garden peas and some mange tout.

The potatoes and carrots were boiled together, and a bit later we boiled the peas and mange tout. Dessert was an apple pie I’d made before she came and which was staying warm in the now turned off oven. The cop out was that it was served with cream rather than me making custard.

The fact that the clocks had gone forward to British Summer Time, didn’t help at all, if anything it hindered because I was still up just after seven, which yesterday, would have been six o’clock. So I was stirring the sauce and yawning while I did it.

Trish was busy laying the table in the dining room with the best cutlery. Ever since we’d talked through what had happened and I’d made her see my point of view, she had been determined to collect as many Brownie points as she could, and in some ways it was rather nice doing mother-daughter stuff.

Meems and Livvie were out with Jenny, who’d taken the two little ones out in the pram. Pud would walk for a short distance but would need to be carried or shoved on the pram seat once she got tired. As Jenny was effectively taking everyone but Danny, who was out gardening with Tom–they seemed to be really forging a relationship; and Tom was teaching him all sorts of horticultural tips, which Danny really seemed to enjoy.

They’d put in potatoes and onion sets, beans and even some rows of peas, leeks cabbage was under glass, but showing in the seed trays, and today, at my request they were planting flowers–I’d asked them for some dahlias, which I love because the more you cut them, the more they flower and I do like some flowers in the house.

When I’d taken the two boys their mid morning coffee, Tom had asked why Trish wasn’t out on her bike. I’d told him about her trick and he described it as ‘Dead Man’s Wood,’ apparently some bloke had hanged himself near the clearing over unrequited love–his girlfriend had married for money instead of love–people do. It had happened about fifty or sixty years ago and women were then less able to be financially independent–so marrying for security is perfectly understandable and might even have some genetic involvement, insofar as women often choose a partner who is going to be best for their children–so they may fall in love with the dashing Don Juan, but they marry Mr Reliable.

I must read more Reader’s Digest to top up my informal psychology training. I smirked at the thought, it’s like the potted stuff which turns up on the internet or women’s magazines–by the time sub-editors have murdered it, it has little resemblance to the original paper–and papers like the Daily Wail tend to distort facts in playing to the gallery of the sort of reader it has. I suppose all papers do it in reality, but the tabloids seem far more overt in their bias.

My musings about tabloid journalism were disturbed by Stephanie and Billie emerging from Tom’s study. They were both smiling, so hopefully everything was well. I expected Stephanie to tell me if it wasn’t.

“Hmm, that smells good,” said Stephanie walking towards the kitchen.

“I hope it tastes good, too,” I responded.

“You’re wasted as a scientist, you should be opening a high class eatery for waifs and strays.”

“I thought I’d already done that,” I retorted, “including the odd professional misfit as well.”

“Oi, watch it, girly or I’ll ‘ave you sectioned.”

“The rest would be nice.”

“In a mental unit–I doubt you’d get much rest, besides if you’re not crazy going in, stay a few days and you soon will be.” She made a funny face and I snorted with laughter.

Billie went outside to tell the others to come and wash their hands. In her absence I asked Stephanie if everything was alright with her.

“She’s rather low self-esteem, feels a bit of a freak because Trish has fast tracked on getting her surgery, and of course Julie has been hormones for ages.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Yeah, get this prescription tomorrow.”

I glanced at it, “You’re giving her oestrogen?”

“It’s only a low dosage one and it may help to give her some equilibrium, not to mention self esteem, especially if she thinks her body is changing.”

“Will it?”

“A little, she has issues about the abuse she suffered years ago. I’ll see her every week for a few and see where that takes us.”

“When is Trish likely to need hormones given she’s agonadal?”

“Sometime fairly soon, but it’s not urgent. A year or two type of timescale.”

“As long as that?”

“She is only seven, Cathy, or are you wishing her to be a full grown Lolita by the age of nine?”

“Like I said, she is agonadal, and presumably secreting very few sex hormones of either sort.”

“If you’re worried give her some Burgen bread or plant sterols–you can get them in the health food place.”

“What without your direct control?”

“Yes, that’s fine–if I start prescribing we’ll have to stop them anyway, these are only very weakly oestrogenic compounds and if we start doing proper hormones they can interfere, so we stop any other source if on estradiol or whatever.”

“Okay, thanks Stephanie, dinner will be a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait in the lounge–oh let me see the new rooms.” I pointed her towards them and she went off exploring.

I carefully cut the salmon and put it on the plates, then arranged the potatoes and vegetables in what I thought was quite an artistic design–for me at any rate. The others came in and after washing dirty paws took their seats at the dining table and Trish and I started serving up, a ladle of watercress sauce over the salmon as we took out the plates.

Judging by the lack of conversation, it went down well and it was only at the end of the meal that people started talking again. Trish collected the plates, which Julie brought out–“That was totally delish, Mummy,” she said as she dumped the plates in the sink.

I got her to carry the cream back in with her as I brought the apple pie from the oven. Stephanie groaned about putting on weight, but no one forced her to have cream on her pie. When I pointed this out to her, she explained that she had everything except willpower.

Some days, I think I know the feeling. I went to make teas and coffees and she followed me out to the kitchen.

“That was a bloody good meal, Cathy, well worth coming for.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it–makes a change from a roast.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed, “If I’d been home, I’d have popped out to the local pub and had roast chicken I expect.”

“Oh well, you had baked fish instead.”

“Yeah, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Want me to see Trish, while I’m here?”

“If you don’t mind–that would be a real help.”

“Okay, if Tom doesn’t want to snooze in his study?”

“No, he’s going back out to finish planting flowers.”

“What, for you?”

“Yes, is it that obvious?”

She nodded and called Trish as she went back to the study.