Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1413

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1413
by Angharad

Copyright © 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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Enquiries about the football school at Danny’s school, meant it coincided with the week Jenny would be away, if I took the four girls and the baby, would Stella cope with keeping an eye on Danny in the evenings, making sure he washed his kit and his neck and got a meal?

Si would be home eventually in the evenings and he could help supervise Danny, except with him in charge it would be all fast food or going out to eat. Could they live on pizzas and chips for a week–I don’t see why not–it might be good training for his stomach if ever he goes away to uni, as half the students live on chips or other junk food for several years.

I felt guilty, though why should I wait for another week or two to take the girls away? If Danny wants to attend this soccer school thing, he’ll have to show some maturity in helping to look after himself. If necessary, I’ll get some ready meals in, which they can just microwave — all the big supermarkets do them and so do Marks & Sparks.

I casually mentioned to Stella that I was thinking of taking the girls away for a few days and she nearly became apoplectic. I won’t be able to cope on my own with two babies and Simon and Tom.

“Julie will be home in the evenings and Simon isn’t disabled, just clueless. Besides you used to cope when you and he lived together, and you held down a full time job.”

“Why can’t we come with you?” She asked–she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Where’s Gareth–he hasn’t been here for a few days?”

“He’s off on a course–they’re making loads redundant–so he’s been lucky to keep his job.”

“How long is his course?”

“Until Friday.”

“So he’ll be home at weekends and evenings as well as the others. He seems a capable type–I’ll bet he can cook a bit.”

“Yeah, but why should he–that’s yours or Jenny’s job, and why can’t she do it–we pay her enough?”

“Stella, I pay Jenny.,” Okay, I use Simon’s money, “So she works for me, the fact that she helps you is a bonus, but I still pay her. She has an entitlement to take holidays, she’s chosen the same week I’m going to be away.”

“Huh, abandoning me–I get it.”

“Stella, it’s hardly abandoning you–okay, you have two small children to care for, but that’s all. You’ll have up to four other adults in the house while I’m away and catering for them isn’t exclusively my job anyway. I am trying to help Tom with his survey as well.”

“You wouldn’t need a holiday if you hadn’t done that play thing–that’s what has exhausted you–playing Lady Macbeth.”

“No it hasn’t, besides am I not allowed to do one or two things as well? I haven’t actually been away on holiday since I met you, and certainly not since I married Simon.”

“You went up to Scotland, and stayed at the hotel in Southsea–that would count as holidays in anyone’s book.”

“The trip to Scotland was trying to hide from some serious criminals if you remember, and using the hotel in Southsea is usually avoiding someone somewhere else as well–hardly holidays are they?”

“You didn’t cook, clean or do anything else, so I’d call it a holiday.”

I was tempted to respond detailing the little she does regularly, but it would only antagonise her. She seems to think I’ve replaced the role of housekeeper and mother to her, the babies and children and all the other adults as well. It ain’t necessarily so, and I’m just warming to the idea of telling her so in explicit detail.

Just then Jenny walked in, “Why the long faces, ladies?”

“Cathy told me you’re going away the week after next and so is she.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Who’s going to look after the house and feed everybody?” moaned Stella.

“As you’re the only one not working, Stella–looks like it’s you. That’ll make a nice change for you, won’t it?”

“I’ve got two babies to look after.”

“They don’t take all day, do they? In Africa, mothers only stop doing heavy physical jobs when they start going into labour,”

“I don’t see what politics has to do with anything.”

“Politics?”

“Yes, Labour.”

“I meant labour as the effort of expelling a child from your womb.”

“Oh, that makes a little more sense, but it’s mainly nonsense.”

“Well, if you were working in Africa, you’d have been back ploughing fields and so on a few hours after giving birth.”

“There is no way I could sit on a hard tractor seat for even a couple of hours.”

“Tractor? Who said anything about a tractor?”

“Well, I assumed they’d be using tractors.”

“Sadly you’d be wrong, most of these people are too poor to afford tractors or the fuel to power them.”

“That’s lack of investment.”

“Subsistence farming isn’t a bowl of cherries.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, but that’s not my fault.”

“You enjoy eating fresh fruit and veg out of season–since this mostly comes from third world countries–it is partly your fault.”

“It most certainly isn’t–you do the shopping–I only eat what you put on my plate.”

“Oh well, Stell,” started Jenny, “now’s the chance to change all that.”

“But I don’t want to change it, do I?”

“Fine, but you could find that come the revolution, you’ll be the first into the tumbrel.”

“Which revolution are we discussing here?”

As they only used tumbrels in one revolution that I’m aware of, Stella is being deliberately obtuse in the hope that someone will save her. From the way Jenny is maintaining a hostile reception to Stella’s whining, she certainly isn’t going to rescue her anytime soon.

The circular argument went nowhere quickly, but as I refused to postpone my holiday–like I do every year–I managed to get out quickly enough to avoid being drawn into the recriminations. I went to start lunch.

I had no sooner put some jacket potatoes into the oven when the phone rang. It was the school, Danny had a suspected broken finger–he was at the QA. Just what I needed–not. If I spend much more time there, I shall ask for my own parking place.

I drove off to get him with Trish and Livvie. When we found him he had his hand swathed in bandages and was looking rather sorry for himself.

“What happened?” I asked.

“That prat Clayton hit out at a slower bowler and I was at silly mid on, I tried to catch him but the ball hit the end of my finger. I felt this intense pain–the Xrays show it’s the end bone in my index finger.”

“Terminal or distal phalange.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

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