The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1570 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“It shoulda been me who died, not some innocent kid with her life in front of her.”

“You what?” I was busy chopping vegetables. Jenny was seated in her chair at the table preparing sprouts–well it’s not Christmas unless Tom falls asleep in the chair after lunch and farts himself silly–must make sure he doesn’t sit too close to the fire–you know, methane is explosive.

“It should have been me who died, not Billie.”

“I don’t see the relevance of that statement unless peeling sprouts has turned your mind.”

“It’s quite easy to see, she died and I lived–it should have been the other way round.”

“How could it be the other way round? This wasn’t some contract with some vengeful god, it was an accident–she crashed her bike and suffered a brain aneurysm. She was dead in moments and could actually have suffered the aneurysm before the accident. You tried to kill yourself–you made a decision–a stupid one. You survived. It isn’t negotiable, so stop punishing yourself.”

I heard a car pull into the drive. Minutes later, Julie arrived with Tash. Part of me would like to say Tash was seven feet tall and had a hairy chest, but she wasn’t, she was young, extremely beautiful, with a figure to die for.

“Hi, Mummy, this is Tash.”

We shook hands and Julie glanced across the kitchen.

“Jenny? My god, it is Jenny.” She literally ran to her and they hugged and cried together.

“Jenny was my housekeeper until she had a nasty road accident,” I told Tash.

“Ah, so Julie didn’t know she would be here?”

“No, I got her from hospital last night, just for the Christmas weekend.”

“A nice surprise. Is there anything I can do to help with the dinner?”

“How about we all have a cuppa–I’m gasping for one.” I suggested, and Tash spotted the kettle and filled it.

“You coulda told me, Mummy.” Julie was wiping her smeared mascara.

“I didn’t know until last night that they’d let Jenny out with me. Mind you, if she doesn’t eat all her sprouts, she’ll have to find her own way back to Southampton.”

“If I eat enough of them, I can switch to turbo charge,” she called back.

Tash and Julie made teas for everyone and we stopped momentarily to drink them. I basted the turkey amongst several hmms and ahs. “Mummy, is a brill cook,” Trish informed Tash.

“This is Trish,” said Julie. “Don’t play monopoly or cards with her.”

“Why ever not?”

“She’ll clean you out–she’s got a brain the size of a planet under that mop of hair–and she knows how to use it.”

“Have they found the Higgs boson yet? They were promising to get preliminary results last week. I’ll bet they got something wrong with the computer program, I knew I should have offered to go and help them, but Sister Charity would have been awkward about it again. She refused to mark my calculus–I mean, she’s supposed to be a maths teacher, but she’s like, hardly Sir Isaac Newton, more like the apple.

“D’you think Schrodinger’s cat is alive or dead?”

“I hardly know the Scrodingers, I think they’re clients of Julie.”

I rescued Tash from Trish–sounds painful, doesn’t it? “Don’t pay too much attention to her. She likes to suss people out. One of these days I’ll have to invite Brian Cox to dinner, that should keep her busy for an hour or two.”

“Who’s Brian Cox?” Tash looked bemused.

“Rock musician turned particle physicist turned television presenter.”

“Oh, he’s not a friend of Liam Gallagher, is he?”

“I doubt it, he’s a professor at Manchester University, these days.”

“Well Oasis come from Manchester, don’t they?”

“They might well do, but I suspect they operate in different universes, somehow.”

I had to leave her to deal with the dinner, and she sat and talked to Jenny while Julie organised the dining table–it has an extension in the middle but it is possible to trap little fingers, so Trish and the others had to be kept away from it. Then it had to be dusted, and the large damask table cloth found and draped over it. Assisted by Trish and Livvie, Julie set up the table with cutlery and glasses for the meal. It was at least an hour away but I like things to be done early.

Caroline, Stella and I did the dinner while Jenny gave Catherine a bottle, mostly of Stella milk, mine is beginning to dry up. Both seemed to be enjoying themselves and obviously Catherine recognised Jenny, because she clapped and cooed at her.

Dinner was served, Daddy did his Selkirk grace and we all tried not to laugh. Then the serious business of stuffing faces began. It lasted about an hour and ended with trifle, rather than Christmas pud–none of us like the stuff, but we all like trifle, and Stella makes a mean one.

The clear up was a family affair, and everyone helped so we could retire to the lounge to listen to the Queen’s speech. Daddy made the most fuss about it, but he missed it, falling asleep in the chair ten minutes before it started.

Trish inveigled Tash into a game of cards, and Julie and I slipped outside with Jenny for a few minutes. We did an pretty intensive healing on her and she reckoned she could feel some of her toes afterwards. We decided we’d try again tomorrow.

I stopped for a cuppa, then popped on the bread machine and began preparing a buffet tea while the others watched the telly. Caroline came to help me when she realised what I was doing.

“Pretty girl, that Tasha,” she observed while putting out the pickled onions.

“Very, and she seems quite nice, too.”

“I think she’s gorgeous. Pity I won’t ever have anyone like it.”

“Don’t get bogged down on physical things, Caroline. Passion fades quite quickly, friendship is much more important and a person’s inner beauty.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still think she’s gorgeous.”

“So was Jenny if you recall. Physical beauty can fade overnight.”

“Jenny is still lovely,” she protested.

“Well why don’t you go and tell her that–she’s resting on her bed at the moment. Give Stella or me a shout if you want to transfer her.”

“Yeah, okay. Hi, Jenny, I’ve come to torment you.”

I concentrated on my buffet but the back of my mind wondered what would happen if two broken people got together. Would they heal each other or fall apart? I sipped my tea–good question.