Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 724 by Angharad

Home for the time being was the Cameron’s suite at the Southsea hotel they owned. We were very lucky in being able to use it and I was very grateful to Henry for his generosity. I’d sent a text to Simon to say I was on my way back to the hotel with Mima. He sent me a reply that he’d call by this evening.

When we got up to the suite, Meems and I greeted my other two ‘orphans’ and Stella and Puddin’. They wanted to hear all about things and Mima regaled them for several minutes about me protecting her in her bad dweams and finally rescuing her from same. All three of them had now seen the blue light in action, which was more than I could. I asked them if they could see it now? Their response was negative. I wondered who else could see it? I mean, was it going to have people noticing in the street? ‘Oh look out there’s a pedestrian ambulance’ or ‘she been at the woad again?’ I wanted to laugh, what if they were all imagining it? Maybe I was the only sane one – now that really was frightening.

Mima and I went for a little rest; she came and cuddled up with me and we were soon in the Land of Nod, but not the one Enoch reputedly went to. See? My Bible study was good for something, if only making pseudo-intellectual jokes.

I woke after a nasty dream of being like the Pied Piper, only I was leading all these sick people who were following my blue haze. It got nasty when I found myself in a cul de sac and they surrounded me and took all my energy, leaving me exhausted on the ground once they’d all got what they wanted. Were people that selfish? I think we all know the answer to that one.

I crept off the bed to make a cuppa, Stella was feeding Puddin’ and the two girls were playing some board game thing. “Who looked after the girls when you came to hospital with me?”

“Anna, the Polish girl who babysat while we were out the other night.”

“I must thank her, hell I need to get some more money.”

“There’s a bank machine in the hotel.”

“Is there? I’ve never noticed it.”

“It’s only a little thing near the hairdresser and the other shops.”

“This place is like a cruise liner.”

“Better: you don’t get seasick.”

“I don’t anyway,” I boasted.

“Big head,” she said, poking out her tongue which Puddin’ tried to grab. So while her daughter tried to lengthen her organ of taste, I made us some tea. She thanked me for her cup and told me about what she’d heard on the telly. “It said something about an angel walking amongst us.”

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with me, besides I thought they had wings.”

“Maybe that’s only the higher ranking ones,” she joked.

“Or ones with pilots’ licences.”

“Exactly, anyway I’ve ordered an Echo.”

“That scandal sheet?”

“’Tis not, if it isn’t in the Echo, it doesn’t exist,” Stella teased. Usually it was she who complained about the poor editorial standard and even worse reportage. Then while we were drinking our tea, the said fount of all knowledge arrived, courtesy of a young porter who can’t have long left school, or was on his summer holidays.

“There, it must be true,” she turned around the paper and the headline was: ‘An Angel Walks Among Us.’

“What’s it about anyway, someone who returned someone’s lost handkerchief?”

“Here, look for yourself, I’m going to put Pud down for a nap. Wave night night to Auntie Cathy.”

I took the proffered example of the fourth estate and read the front page story.

‘Over the past three weeks, the sick and dying of Portsmouth have been visited by an angel in the guise of an attractive – some say beautiful – young woman. Our well-spoken, heavenly visitor has been reported as bringing back to life two children and a woman who was attacked by a gang of thugs as she walked home from her evening class. One of the thugs who was in collision with a bus trying to evade arrest, was not revived by our heavenly helper.

‘A spokesperson for the hospital said, “As far as she was concerned, the patients had recovered through dint of the excellent medical and nursing care at the hospital and by good fortune. These things always seem miraculous, but are as likely to be though hard work as Divine intervention."

‘A spokesperson for the ambulance service told us that two persons were conveyed to the hospital in non-responsive states and were suspected of being critically ill with little chance of recovery. One of them did, which they find astonishing, but less so than they did when two of their paramedics attempted to resuscitate a little girl who was presumed to have drowned and pronounced dead at the scene and whose body was snatched by a beautiful woman who claimed to be her mother and proceeded to resuscitate the “dead” girl. The child has since made a full recovery. The ‘mother’ disappeared shortly afterwards. Is this the same angel?

‘Two weeks ago a child was given hours to live with a malignant brain tumour. The woman was seen to sit up with him all night and the next day he was discharged to go home, apparently cured. If this isn’t a miracle, what is? And we’ve had three so far in two weeks. Who is this mystery angel and where did she come from? The hospital, if they do know anything, are saying nothing.’

“What a load of codswallop,” I said throwing down the paper in disgust.

Stella came back and picked it up and read it. “Ho ho, you’re famous again. A heavenly visitor? Ha ha, my arse.”

“I’ve never thought your bum was that funny, Stella,” I joked.

“What?” she snapped back.

“Your bum, it isn’t that funny?” I repeated.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” She dismissed me and went back to reading the paper and squealing with laughter every so often. “This is funnier than the cartoons,” she laughed. She was probably correct, unfortunately. “If we got you a pilot’s licence do you think you’d sprout wings?”

“If you cackle any louder, Stella, they’ll be getting this place exorcised.”

“That’s okay, we’ll ask the resident angel to do it for us,” she laughed loudly at her own joke – very distasteful.

Before I was subject to much more teasing Simon arrived. We hugged and kissed and the girls mobbed him, waking up Mima, who joined the welcoming committee.

After things calmed down, he offered to take us all to dinner. “Here?” asked Stella.

“Can do if you like,” he said, “it means we can have a drink or two.”

“You can’t if you’re driving home,” I said loudly.

“I can if I stay overnight,” he countered.

“That’s different. We’ll have to organise a sitter for the girls,” I suggested.

“Get that Polish girl again,” enthused Stella, “She’s very good.”

“Oh, I must get some money as well, sometime.”

“What for?” Simon looked perplexed.

“To give a little something to the sitter.”

“No, it’s all in the charges.”

“I like to give a personal gift as well.”

“We’re paying twice for it then,” he grumbled.

“Tough, that’s what I’m going to do. Ask them to send her up, Stella.”

“We’re taking the kids with us,” Simon said as if we should have read his mind. If we had it wouldn’t have taken very long.

“What about Puddin’?” Stella asked, looking at the carrycot.

“Can’t she come too?” was Simon’s answer.

“I don’t think so,” rebutted Stella.

“Okay, get the Polish girl then.” Which they did.