The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1517 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I came to sitting on the floor with a head that felt like it was a bucket–a metal bucket–and someone had belted it with a hammer. Simon helped me up and I went to the cloakroom and was sick. After rinsing my mouth I felt a little better. I had swooned apparently, not quite a faint, but enough for me to end up falling into his arms. He sat me down and I recovered quite quickly.

I made some more tea–that usually makes me feel better. “So, if you’re going to be home, I can tell Daddy I’m okay for next week to start my teaching and tutorials.”

“Eh?”

“You can help the others look after the children, I’ll express enough milk for Catherine.”

“Eh?”

“You said that before.”

“Who said I was going to become a babysitter?”

“I did. We’re a married couple, I’ve done my stint now it’s your turn.”

“That’s why I pay people–I can’t look after children.”

“Why not? I did.”

“But you’re female.”

“Legally yes, but genetically, no. So if I can do it, so can you.”

“But you’ve got a female brain, you enjoy that sort of thing.”

“So do some men.”

“Look, watching them for an hour or so while you pop to the shop or get your hair done, is fine. Taking Danny to play footie and even staying to watch him, or Trish for that matter–is okay. Looking after them all day–uh uh.”

“You’ll have Jenny and Stella to help you, and it’s only Catherine, and sometimes Pud and Fiona. If Stella goes out, she’ll express milk too.”

“I can’t deal with babies–it’s bad enough when they’re twelve years old, let alone twelve months.”

“At twelve months, they’re almost toddling, certainly crawling.”

“Ugh, I hate creepy crawlers.”

“Simon, why are you being such a wimp? They’re bairns not barracudas.”

“Och why didn’t ye say so afore?” he said in a very poor accent.

“Because...I don’t know, why does it make a difference?”

“Aye, I’ll jest need tae fill them wi’ porridge each day an’ they’ll be jest fine.”

“Whit?” Now he had me at it. “Sae, it’ll be alricht then?”

“No it bloody well won’t. Look, I’ve said all along that I’ll pay for all the help you need, but I’m not turning into a house husband–we’re not doing a role reversal–or I’m not.”

“You forgot to end it, so there and stick your tongue out, like so.” I stamped my foot for good measure.

He merely shrugged. “What about this trannie thing you were supposed to be employing?”

“Trannie thing? Excuse me, but even taking into account your genetic proclivity for idiocy, that is a bit much. Caroline is living as a female, and I’d be grateful if you’d accord her with the same courtesy you give other women.”

“You gave me to understand she was a cross between a haystack and the back of a bus.”

“No I didn’t. I suggested she needed a little assistance to perfect her act and sent Julie to help her. After all, I had Stella helping me–and she was a huge help, especially in the beginning.”

“Nah, you had what it took, even I could see that.”

“You’re joking–I fell over my own feet and poured wine all over you, remember?”

“Of course I do, it still makes me chuckle now. Okay, you were rather gauche and awkward–still are when it comes to cars–but you exuded this innocent vulnerability and naiveté.”

“Did I?” I felt my face glowing with a blush and my eyes moistened.

“Yeah, it was all a bloody act; underneath you were a toughened, homicidal maniac.”

I stood there looking on in horror, “Is that what you really think of me?”

“What?”

“I said is that what you really think of me, a tough maniac or whatever you said?” My expression had gone from one of dreamy nostalgia to that of extreme irritation, and Simon was the one likely to get scratched.

“I was joking–alright?”

“No, it’s not alright–you keep doing this to me–I–I’ve had enough, Simon. I think you’d better leave.”

He looked at me in total astonishment. “What?”

“Just take your stuff and go.” I turned and walked away from him and began rinsing dishes in the sink.

“Cathy, look I’m sor...” he put his hand on my shoulder and I shook it off. “You’re not serious are you?”

“If I am?”

“I’m devastated. A day or two ago, you were prepared to give your life to save mine and now. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything then.”

“I’ll get my stuff, I’ll be at the hotel if you want me.”

I heard his footsteps leave the kitchen and I saw the tears falling from my cheeks onto the draining board. I hadn’t thought this through, was I being a total idiot? Probably–but then so was he. He had to learn not to be so judgemental and dismissive. Even if Caroline is a total mess, between the girls and Jenny and Stella, they’ll knock her into shape. Why did he still have to use such a pejorative term and after all this time? I thought he understood and would have learned some sensitivity by now–but he hasn’t–he’s still a public school twit.

I dried my eyes before the children spotted I’d been crying again. I followed him up to our bedroom. “Making sure I take all my stuff?” he said a hint of resentment or bitterness creeping into his tone.

“No, I came to talk with you, but it seems you’d prefer to cast innuendos instead.”

“I’m sorry, please let’s talk.”

“Okay.” I sat on the bed and hugged my knees. He sat opposite me on the ottoman I keep spare bedding in. “I need you to stop being so pejorative to any minority group that takes your fancy.”

“It was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny. I mean whoever burned down that magazine’s offices in Paris, didn’t think an anti-Islamic cartoon was very funny.”

“Yeah well that’s something else, and I’m not getting into that one.”

“Okay, so what about Caroline?”

“I haven’t seen her yet, so maybe it was a bit judgemental of me. It’s just that I compare all of these people to you and most don’t compare–you are so female and beautiful one at that–they tend to look, well a bit weird.”

“So, Maureen looks weird, does she?”

“Not now, but she used to, and had no dress sense until you took her under your wing, plus she had all that facial surgery.”

“Because a group of thugs thought she was worthy of attack because she was different or weird.”

“Don’t try and paint me into that sort of category, because I’ve never aid a finger on a woman, even a tra–um–even a–you know...”

“A transsexual one?” I offered.

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

“I’m a transsexual woman, Simon.”

“No, never,” he shook his head. “No you were never a boy or a man, so you were different.”

“I might have been androgen insensitive, but officially I was a boy or youth.”

“I don’t agree–that’s how others wanted to see you because of the decision at your birth to call you a boy. They were wrong.”

“Or is it that you have a vested interest in seeing me as different from others like Caroline?”

“Like what?”

“You fell in love with me. Had you known I was supposed to be a boy, you’d have passed me by very quickly.”

“I can’t say, can I? I fell for you and still love you. I know of your history but it has no relevance to me–except your hypersensitivity to all things gender related–which as a crass male, I get wrong occasionally. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you–perhaps I’d better go. Where’re all my clean underpants?” He pulled open a drawer.

“You’d better stay, but please try to be less insensitive.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”