The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1547 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The measles was running its course and almost by the hour, my patients were improving, boosted it would seem by their Chinese meal. Obviously, mono sodium glutamate is the answer to illness, not antibiotics. I chuckled to myself over the absurdity of my thought and Julie asked me what I was laughing at. She’d managed to get herself dressed and had even applied some makeup, so she must be feeling better.

“I’d like an iPad, Daddy,” she flirted with Simon.

“I’ve already bought your present, young lady, and it isn’t one of those.”

“Christmas then?”

“D’ya think I’m made of money?”

“Yeah, why?”

Fortunately instead of it getting nasty, they both fell about laughing. We’d actually got one for her for Christmas, and I had a reason for buying it, which may become apparent at some point in the future.

I left them teasing each other. The youngsters were doing something on my new laptop–I think Trish was setting it up and Danny was watching something on the telly. I went quietly up to my bedroom and changed, then slipped out to the garage. I’d done an hour on the turbo before anyone found me and I suspect I was as red as the shirt I was wearing.

“Mummy, if I’d known you’d wanted to go out on the bike, I’d have come with you.” Trish offered, but in all honesty, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to ride with one of the children again.

I warmed down, and sipped the bottle of energy drink I had with me. They do apparently help recovery, as does sitting in a bath of cold water, which I wasn’t going to do. Simon came out to see what the girls were doing at the bike shed and saw me sitting on a bike coming to the end of the warm down.

“Oh,” he said, “It’s good to see you riding again.”

“I’m hardly riding, am I? Just trying to keep my legs going. Remember I’ve been stuck in the house for a couple of days. I needed some exercise and some air.”

“Anyway, good to see you in cycling shorts again–but then with your bum, it’s always good to see you in cycling shorts.” I was glowing anyway, so the extra blush I felt wouldn’t have showed and the bugger was gone before I could throw the bottle at him. I checked the computer, I’d done twenty two miles in a seventy minutes–hardly good enough for Team GB, but showed I could do a sustained effort.

“Ugh, you dripped on me,” said Trish, wiping her hand in my towel as if I’d just transferred bubonic plague to her grubby mitt. “Can I have a try?” she asked watching me get off the bike.

“It’s too big for you, sweetheart.”

“Not if you put the saddle down.”

“It is, that’s an adult frame, you have a children’s one.”

“I could ride that.”

“I said no.”

While I cooled off and finished my drink I wiped myself in the towel and went to rearrange some spanners I’d used ages ago and were out of sequence–sounds pedantic, but when you know exactly where everything is–it helps if you need something, usually in a hurry.

I heard a squeal and a crash and Trish was lying under the bike and crying quietly to herself. “That is four thousand pounds worth of bike you silly child. I told you it was too big, but you wouldn’t listen would you?” I was really cross. It sparked images of Billie lying dead in the field and I lost it.

I pulled her out and stood her up. She was shaken more than hurt, and I berated her until she ran away crying into the house. She’d buckled the back wheel–that could take ages to sort, or possibly even need a new one. Thankfully, I wasn’t using the carbon race wheels I have, not for a turbo. For a moment I felt like picking up the bike and flinging it as far as I could–it seemed that bikes were a disaster with my children. For two pins I’d get a skip and scrap them all regardless of cost. Stupid machines–death traps on wheels.

“What’s wrong with Trish?” asked Simon returning to the bike shed.

“She won’t listen that’s what’s wrong with her–for two pins I’d give her a bloody good hiding. It might improve her listening skills.”

“If I thought you meant that, I’d be on the phone to Dr Thomas. Now tell me what happened. Livvie came to the shed and he sent her gently back to the house to make some tea.

I explained about her falling from the turbo despite me telling her not to try and ride it. He asked if she was hurt and I told him that I didn’t think so, but perhaps Stella could look at her.

“Why can’t you do it, you’re her mother?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea at this moment.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m angry with her–she’s buckled a wheel–stupid child.”

“She is a child, Cathy. She’s seven years old, you’re twenty eight–you have four times her life experience ...”

I screamed that I could see Billie when I picked her up from under the bike and he took the bike away from me and held me until I calmed down, sobbing on his shoulder.

“Okay, it’s alright now, it’s not Billie; she’s at rest now where no one can harm her. It was Trish you saw, and she’s probably okay. I’ll get Stella to check her out. Now I want you to come in have a cuppa and go and take a bath or a shower and have bit of peace and quiet.”

“I didn’t hurt her did I?” I sobbed, now I was off on a guilt trip.

“I shouldn’t think so, she’s probably just shocked herself, and she brought it on herself.”

“I’d never forgive myself if I’d actually hurt her.” I sniffed and sobbed.

“I can’t see you ever hurting any of the children.”

“I got so mad, I was back in the field with Billie–I hate bikes–they bring me nothing but misery and pain.”

“No they don’t, they’re part of you. This wasn’t anything to do with bikes, this was a child overreaching herself despite you having warned her.”

“Like you said, she is only seven.”

“She is old enough to know when you tell her not to do something, and when she’s disobeying you.”

“She does tend to make her own rules–gifted children do.”

“Yeah, well that’s going to stop–she’s grounded until I say so.”

“Grounded?”

“Yes, no computers or mobile phones until I say she can have them back.”

“Well you can go and tell her then,” I said, reaching for the towel to wipe my face.”

“I will as soon as I’ve told Stella to look her over.”

“You’re a good man, Simon.” I hugged him and kissed him.

“Only because you’ve made me one. You know what they say, behind every great man...”

“Yeah, these days it’s a whole posse of advisers and researchers and spin doctors.”

“I meant the old fashioned one.”

“Which one’s that?” I knew exactly what he meant, I wanted to hear him say it.

“Behind every great man is his wife or woman–who in this case is even greater.”

“Oh so I’m the fat lady now, am I?”

“I love your bum in cycling shorts,” he said and grabbed my bottom.