The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1598 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Once Tom had gone to wash his hands I asked Stella how things had gone with Gareth. “He was delighted with his daughter.”

“What about her mother?” I queried.

“Oh she loves her daughter all the time.”

“Very funny, now answer the question sensibly.”

“I’m going to dinner with him on Saturday.”

“Oh good, he’s a nice man.”

“Cathy, he left me in my hour of need.”

“I think he might have needs too, Stella.”

“But mine were more important.”

“To you yes, to us probably as well, but he may have thought that you had sufficient support from your family, yet he might not from his.”

“From his what?”

“From his family.”

“He probably would.”

“You know him better than I do.”

“Yeah, carnal knowledge, good, innit?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh poor Cathy, nobody loves her,” cooed Stella making me want to hit her.

“Please, I have a headache.” I rubbed my forehead.

“I thought that was to avoid sex, not because you wanted it.”

“I don’t want a headache, Stella.”

“No but it comes from sexual frustration, doesn’t it? We all know you fancy him rotten.”

“Stella, I told you before I am happily married, albeit to someone who seems to have to go to London more often than I’d like, but he is my husband and I love him. I am not therefore interested in anyone else.”

“Loads of married woman say that.”

“They may well do so. I happen to mean it.”

“But you do fancy Gareth, don’t you?”

“I find him attractive and good company, but I don’t want sex with him.”

“Keep saying it girl, you might believe it one day.”

“D’you think I’m lying?”

“Not deliberately.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I felt a little irked by her insistence that I fancied him–so what if I did? It was none of her business, unless I did something about it and she was still seeing him–then she could complain. The fact that I have a strong moral sense about infidelity–I dislike it intensely–should alert her to the fact that even if I thought Gareth was a veritable Adonis–which I do–I wouldn’t do anything about it because it would be so hurtful to Simon, and I love him and he loves me.

“I think, little sister, that you can’t always control your hormones any more than any other female; especially when faced with such an adorable man as Gareth.”

“He’s very good looking, I’ll grant you, but shouldn’t we be seeking more than just a list of conquests–that’s a very male thing.” Now would she get dirty and hit me below the belt?

“So he doesn’t do anything for you then?”

“He would if I let it, but I don’t, Stella. I’m going to say this once more and that’s it. I’m happily married to the man of my dreams, and we both love each other to bits.”

“I know and I’m jealous as hell.” She walked away as Tom came back into the kitchen.

“I tak’ it ye dinna want tae go tae his funeral?”

“What, Gareth’s?”

“No, ye numpty, young Sunderland’s.”

“No I don’t, thank you very much. He was a screwed up little shit, but I wouldn’t have wished that on him. It wasn’t his partner who did it was it?”

“Aye, I did wonder mesel’.”

“Mummy, Julie asked when tea would be ready?”

I glanced at the clock, it was nearly six. “Julie asked or you did?”

“Julie asked, but I’m hungry too.”

“How about fish and chips?”

“Oh yes, Mummy, shall I tell the others?”

“You can ask the others who else wants them.” She ran off to confer with her brother and sisters. She came rushing back a short time later.

“Yes, Mummy, we all want them.”

“Okay, now are you coming with me to get them or staying with Gramps and laying the table?”

“I’ll come with you, Mummy–shall I ask Livvie to do the table?”

“Yes, you could do.” I went to collect my jacket and purse and a bag to carry them home in. They often offered a cheap paper bag which tore rather easily, so I usually took one of the supermarket ‘bags for life’ with me. These are more substantial than the ordinary plastic carriers, some are quite tough in fact, and are supposed to be replaced free of charge by supermarkets if they break or wear out. I don’t think I ever remember to take them back when broken, I just chuck ’em and I suspect most other shoppers do the same.

Trish and I had a nice chat as we drove to the chippy. She was telling me all about her schoolwork and her new best friend, Jo Downes. Apparently Jo had mentioned the fact that her parents had invited us to go and see them, so she was wondering why we hadn’t gone.

“Um–I think Daddy suggested we wait for some better weather and the longer evenings, then you could play in their garden–anyway, she’s coming home with us tomorrow.”

“Is she? Can she stay over?”

“I don’t think that was the plan, Trish. Her mummy is coming to get her during the evening.”

“But she could stay over, couldn’t she?”

“Perhaps at some future time, yes. I think I’d like to see how you get on with her tomorrow first.”

“She’s my best friend, Mummy.” An element of the contemptuous was entering her tone so I shut up. I didn’t want to argue with her–I’m her parent, I don’t argue with a seven year old, even one with a six figure IQ. I say, she does–an arrangement I quite approve.

There was queue in the chip shop–there always is when you feel in a bit of a rush. “What did Gareth want, Mummy?” It wasn’t really a topic for conversation in a chip shop queue.

“He came to see Auntie Stella and Fiona.”

“What for?”

“I rather think that’s between them, don’t you?” I tried to close down the topic.

“Not if he buggers off again like he did last time.” I heard sniggers from other queuing customers.

“Trish, I wish you wouldn’t use such language.”

“You do,” she protested and there were more sniggers.

I felt like standing up and preaching a sermon on personal privacy, but I suspect it wouldn’t be terribly well received. “I’m an adult, Trish, you’re seven. It doesn’t become a young lady to be heard swearing.”

“S’not fair,” she grumbled and there was more chuckling and sniggering heard.

“I’m afraid a lot of life is like that. Just take for instance the people in this queue–if I started swearing like a fishwife, they wouldn’t like it, possibly enough to say something. However, you doing it, becomes funny because it embarrasses me.” I heard murmurs from the queue.

“That’s not fair, Mummy.”

“That’s life, sweetheart.”

Suddenly she walked out from the line and said loudly to the queue, “You let my mummy swear if she wants to.” I think I actually shrivelled into my jacket like a tortoise pulls back into his shell.