The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1560 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“So why couldn’t you tell me what I heard on the radio?”

“I–um–dunno, Babes, I think I was a bit strung up on it though.”

“Strung up? You’re bloody lucky I’m not stringing you up now. Don’t you ever treat me like an idiot again, and you tell Henry that too–because I tell you now, it’ll be the last time and it will cost you dear, more than some bankrupt place in a third world country.”

“Yes, Babes, I won’t, Babes.”

I left him red faced and blushing like a naughty schoolboy, which was how he behaved throughout. He didn’t attempt to defend himself, so the argument didn’t get off the ground. I was looking for a full on scrap and he stood there and took it–a bit like kicking a corpse. Maybe he is learning how to cope with me? I’ll have to try and stop being so predictable.

“Why you cwoss wiv Daddy?” asked Mima when I emerged from the dining room where we’d had our little discussion.

“Because he asked for it, he did a silly thing to me yesterday and I let him know it in no uncertain terms.”

“Naughty Daddy.”

“I think silly might be a better description.”

“Siwwy Daddy.”

“Quite–now I’m going to start making dinner, d’you want to help?” She did and she helped me make the sauce for the spaghetti bolognaise we were having that night. Primarily tomato puree and garlic, but they all like zapping things with the blender and a few cans of tomatoes plus some cloves of garlic cooked with minced pork–I use pork because it has less fat than even best minced beef–and it tastes just as good, though only Waitrose seem to do it.

I seal the meat and chopped onion in a tiny spot of water, stirring to stop it sticking to the pan, then add the tomato puree. Simmer it for about twenty minutes, stirring regularly while the wholemeal pasta cooks. It’s a simple meal which goes down well if a little messy. I make sure everyone has a napkin and uses it. Then wash those before the stains set. The pans are also messy, but my stainless steel ones clean up quite well.

As predicted the meal went down well, a little Parmesan sprinkled on top for those who want it–I most certainly did. I know it smells like old socks but it does add to the flavours of the meal. We washed it down with a glass of Chianti and I felt quite mellow afterwards.

Caroline cleared up the mess–well, I had cooked it–while we listened to Trish murdering a joke she’d probably misheard in school. It was actually funnier watching her tell it than the original had been. I won’t repeat it here because everyone older than seven or eight knows it anyway, and it isn’t really funny above that age–unless you get Trish to tell it, then it’s a scream.

She’d managed to talk her way out of the grounding Simon was going to impose when she fell off the turbo and buckled my wheel. Mind you when he collects it he might remember how she outmanoeuvred him again.

I needed at least one day to get presents organised, it was getting harder and harder to buy things the children needed. I buy everyone a new outfit, except Julie, she chooses her own and I pay for it, which means she doesn’t get the pleasure of the surprise like the younger kids do.

Trish had asked if we could go to church on Christmas day like the people in the story she’d been reading. I told her that I didn’t go to church because I didn’t believe in their religion, and I only went to them for things like funerals or weddings and that was for the benefit of the persons concerned, not some imaginary god.

She looked really sad and I felt a real monster. I compromised with her. “I’ll do a deal with you, I’ll take you to the carol service on Christmas eve but you must go straight to bed when we get home.”

“What time is it?”

“The carol service starts at seven thirty and finishes at nine.”

“Can the others come?”

“Of course.”

“Deal,” we shook hands and she went off to tell the others.

Tom came in and looked at me strangely, “Are ye feelin’ alricht, hen?”

“Yes, I’m fine; why?”

“Ye’re takin’ thae bairns tae thae carol service.”

“So, I enjoy singing silly songs and so do they. Are you coming?”

“Och na, I’ll go on Christmas day.”

“You can take them with you then if you like.”

“I thocht ye disapproved o’ religion?”

“I do, it’s opium of the masses and total bunkum, but hey, who listens to me?”

“I dae fa one,” he smiled, “ye’re more an angel than some o’ thae saints they tell us aboot.”

I blushed. “I’m no angel, Daddy, but thank you for the compliment.”

“We’re a’ entitled tae oor opinions, that’s mine.”

“Thank you,” I kissed him on the cheek, “cocoa?”

“Aye, why not.” I made him his cocoa and I also did one for Simon, while I had a cup of tea–Earl Grey–for a change.

We chatted about things in the department and I was a little anxious that Julie would be home post operative and I’d be going off to work at the university. Daddy reminded me that Caroline would be home as would Stella. When I thought about it, after a week or so in hospital, the worst bit was dilating–it felt like shoving a large pole up a small hole–using Simon instead was a very much better arrangement for both of us, though as far as I knew not one which would be available to Julie, who claimed to be a lesbian. I wasn’t convinced but her experiences with men had been traumatic, so possibly she would lean that way. Anyway that was for her to resolve, she knew I’d be happy to listen if she wanted to talk and she had Stephanie as well, whom she saw once a month.

I checked on the children, they were all asleep. My heart still ached when I saw the photo of Billie–such a sweet child–but these things happen even to sweet children. Simon had asked me if I wanted another child to replace her. It was kind of him to ask but I declined, it wasn’t like my pet rabbit had died, this was a child.

In some ways I hoped they would go to church on Christmas day because then I could put some flowers on Billie’s grave and spend a few minutes with her in peace. I know it’s not a grave, really, just where her ashes lie, but it’s something tangible for me and I still need something like that to cope with my grief. One day I might be able to let her go, but not just yet even if my dream suggested she was well cared for, I suspected that was all just my unconscious mind trying to come to terms with the tragedy.

There are many things in this world we don’t understand and possibly never will, but so far no one has produced any evidence of gods or goddesses that passes any scrutiny, all we have are myths and fables and the ramblings of seriously disturbed minds who are seen as prophets. Have God come and knock on my door or call by for a cuppa, or give me something I can check in a lab and I might start to believe.

“Penny for them,” Simon came up and hugged me, “Coming to bed?”

“Yeah, I feel quite tired.”

“You looked to be in deep thought.”

“Yeah, pondering the mysteries of the universe and what we’re having for dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh, that serious?”

“What the mysteries of the universe?”

“No–dinner,” he said keeping a straight face as he led me up the stairs.