The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1580 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I ran out after her; “Caroline, aren’t you being somewhat hasty about this?”

She turned and looked at me with contempt, “You’re the one who decided, so you can jolly well live with it–I don’t honestly care.”

“Fine, if that’s how you wish to play it. I shall pay you until the end of the month in lieu of notice. I shall have your bags put in the garage, I’ll need to clear your room for your replacement.”

“See, I knew you wanted me out.”

“I gave you a chance to do a number of things, you chose to do none of them except run after your heart’s desire–that’s fine, but I’m not sponsoring you. If you stay you work. I’m not a charity–I have needs as well as aspirations.”

“The plumbing stuff was all talk wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t–I’d have sponsored you for that, but on the understanding you helped me in return, by working for me.”

“How was I supposed to keep house for you, look after Jenny and do a course in plumbing?”

“I didn’t say it would be easy, you’ll find it even harder now.”

“Thanks to you–you lied to me about the conversion of the cowshed.”

“I didn’t lie to you, Caroline, but I won’t be talked to in such a manner. I’m still your employer, or was. You are well out of line.”

“Ha, look who’s talking, the big Saint Catherine–I’ll make my own way, good bye.” She turned away and walked down the drive. I was speechless with sadness and fury at the same time. If she’d wanted to talk about things, I’d have done so, but her off hand attitude might mean I was well rid of her.

I was saddened that I couldn’t help Jenny or her, but you can’t help people who won’t be helped. I sighed and went back indoors, where I bumped into Simon.

“What’s the matter?” he asked me.

“Caroline has just walked out on us.”

“What after all you did for her?”

“I tried to do for her–she seems to have willfully misunderstood much of what I said.”

“Oh well there are plenty of others out there looking for work–but can we do without the weirder element.”

“You mean transgender?”

“Yeah–how about normal, just for a change?”

“I’ll try and appoint the best person I can find, I might try an agency except it will be expensive. Stella isn’t being very helpful.”

“What’s she done now?”

“Nothing, only I asked if she might look after Catherine while I was in work.”

“And she said no?”

“Yes, but a bit more haughtily than that.”

“What did she say?”

“I’m an aristocrat not a nursery maid–or words to that effect.”

“Aristocrat–she’s a single mother who’s only coping because we help her. I think I might have a little word in her shell like.”

“Please, no more unpleasantness, I’ve had as much as I can cope with for a day or two.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just describing the lie of the land and how she fits in it in reality not in her dreamlike imagination.” He bustled off and I half expected to hear shots fired, but it stayed quite quiet. I thought back to my early days when Stella was the most favourite woman in my whole universe. She was kind and generous, funny and yet supportive. She loved Simon and seemed to take to me, we both loved her. How she seems to have changed since the babies and her break-down.

I went out to the kitchen, I didn’t feel much like doing anything, however, I found a couple of packs of back bacon and some eggs. I threw some potatoes in the fast oven and began preparing for a jacket spud with bacon and egg, tomatoes and mushrooms.

Simon returned about half an hour later, the potatoes were nearly done and the bacon was nicely grilled, the rest of the meal except the eggs was coming to conclusion.

“She’ll be down to apologise in a moment.”

“What did you say to her? I hope you weren’t too unpleasant–she is your sister after all.”

“I just told a few facts of life.”

“And?”

“That she wouldn’t cope without us.”

“Gosh.”

“I also pointed out that she needed to get off her fat arse and do something, or I’d start charging her rent at a proper rate.”

“You can’t do that, it’s not your house.”

“So, I’m acting as intermediary for the owner.”

“That’s Tom.”

“I’ll think you’ll find it’s you, actually, babes.”

“No, it’s Daddy’s.”

“He told me a little while ago he’d put it in your name.”

“Put what in my name?”

“This place.”

“He can’t do that?”

“I think he already has, with the caveat that he can live here as long as he wishes.”

“Of course he can, it’s his bloody house.”

With that Tom walked in with the dog. “Och that wis a fine walk.” He bent over and gave his dog a pat on the head and then placed fresh water in her bowl. She lapped at it.

“That’s right isn’t it, Tom?”

“Whit is?”

“You’ve transferred ownership of this place to Cathy.” Simon said and I waited with bated breath.

“Aye, but ye wisnae supposed to tell her.”

“Sorry, but it became necessary.”

“Daddy, a word if you please,” I said, and practically dragged him to his den.

“Whit’s a’ this aboot?”

“What on earth are you thinking about? This is your house, you can’t just give it away–like that.”

“I didnae, ye part own it anyway.”

“We funded some of the extension, but that was for our convenience.”

“Aye, well I jes’ gi ye thae rest o’ it.”

“But it’s your home, Daddy.”

“Aye, and I hae residential rights until I decide ither or die. I’m quite happy wi’ it.”

“I’m not, I think it’s too much.”

“Weel, if ye keep me alive fa’ seven yeers, ye get it tax free, or sae I’m led tae believe.”

“I don’t need another house,” I muttered as I wandered back to the kitchen.

Dinner was imminent, and when Stella came down rather red and puffy eyed, I had to put off her request to talk until after we’d eaten. She didn’t like it having built herself up to say whatever it was she was going to say, and I'd deflated her with a single stroke.

I called Trish to lay the table and began to dish up the meal. It went down rather well–rubbish food always does. I suppose it wasn’t too bad, I did grill the bacon, and the eggs were poached rather than fried. Oh well, it filled a few holes.

Stella helped me collect up the dirty dishes and brought them through to the kitchen. She waited while I loaded the dishwasher and as soon as I switched it on, she started.

I hushed her and made some teas, “Right, let’s sit down and talk like sisters, shall we?”

She burst into tears and I hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “I really am.”

“Stella, we’re sisters in more ways than by marriage. I owe you my life.”

“What? You’re the one who’s save mine more than once.”

“Okay, I owe you my sanity. You led me into womanhood, and guided me through the process. You gave me loads of advice support and clothes. You introduced me to Simon and the rest of our family. I’ll never be able to thank you for all that.”

“What?” she stood there gawping. “You owe me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Cathy, you owe me nothing, but I’ll accept your love as my sister and your support for me and my babies. My debt to you is immeasurable and of course I’ll look after Catherine while you start teaching again, though I hope we’ll find a replacement for Caroline soon. I don’t think I could cope with this place and the babies, even if you could.”

“I couldn’t. I’ve emailed one or two places already asking them to recruit for us–oh and no weirdos, Simon stipulated.”

“Oh, pity, they’d fit in with him rather well.” She added and we both hugged and laughed.