Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1980

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1980
by Angharad

Copyright © 2013 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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I woke up after sleeping fitfully. It took me a few moments to work out why Danny’s clothes were hanging on the back of my bedroom door–then I remembered–this was his room. I looked at my mobile, bugger it was only six o’clock, normally I didn’t rise for another hour, but for some reason I no longer felt sleepy. I was tired but unable to sleep any longer. I hoped I’d last the day–perhaps if things got a bit quieter, I could slip away for a quick nap.

I sat on the edge of the bed putting on my slippers and reflecting on what might happen next based upon what had already occurred. It wasn’t much help, in my experience things did what they wanted and it was up to us to survive them and if possible learn from the experience.

I slipped into the bedroom and grabbed some clothing and changed in the bathroom after a quick wash. I was downstairs with the kettle on before anyone found me. The first was Tom. I was busy filling his coffee maker with a scoop of what looked like dried cow pats.

“Mornin’, hen.”

“Oh, morning, Daddy–there, your Mississippi mud dispenser is on,” I said flicking the switch.

“Aye, thanks.” He paused for a moment as if trying to decide how to say something. “Yon laddie, he’s goin’ tae be alricht?”

“Danny, you mean?”

“Aye an’ his wee pal.”

“At the moment Danny seems to be doing quite well, his friend is looking much more of a problem.”

“Can ye no help?”

“I can only do so much, Daddy, I don’t perform miracles, you know.” He gave me a funny look and realised I was being ironic. I shrugged, “I’ve tried to help him but he seems to be shutting me out. I think I know why, but I’m not sure.”

He nodded, the coffee started to drip through into the jug and it looked every bit as bad as the ground beans. It’s Columbian, I think, though I prefer Kenyan myself, much more mellow. I sipped at the tea I’d made, and yawned.

“Ye still tired?”

“Yeah, didn’t sleep very well.”

“Tae much on yer mind?”

“Yeah, that and the fact that Danny was sleeping with Simon when I got to bed. I slept in his bed.”

“Ye’re tae saft.”

“No if he needs to be with someone at night for a bit, we’ll help him.”

“Whit exactly happened?”

“He and his friend were jumped by two men in a public toilet and raped.”

“Whit they---actually–up his–?”

I nodded and he looked quite sick for a moment. “It’s bad enough f’ a lassie, f’ a laddie, it must be hell.”

“I don’t know, I don’t think you can generalise about such things, it would depend upon the individual and the circumstances. Young Peter seems to have taken it harder than Danny.”

“Puir wee souls, I canna even think hoo they feel.”

“Yeah well, can we talk about something else, I’m rather tired of this one.”

“Whit aboot thae perpetrators, hae they foond them?”

“They were both killed by police when they started a firefight.”

“Serve them richt.”

“Now–no more about it.” I poured him a cup of slurry and he took it, still musing on Danny’s attack judging by the pained expression. He sipped his coffee and after a couple more minutes sloped off to his den. I suspect my refusal to talk about it any longer meant any further questions or comments he might have had went unaired. It was also possible that he was avoiding talking to me about the woodland centre and my insistence it was in the wrong place.

I wondered if he’d visited the site yet because he wasn’t an ecologist so it might not make much difference to him where it was built–but it did to me, and I was hanging on in there for a resurvey, with some opportunity for input, or I wanted no more to do with it. I know, I give mules a bad name–Jenny–hee haw.

I tried to concentrate on Peter, to send him healing, but somehow all I was getting was this greyness. Suddenly the penny dropped. I dashed into my study and grabbed the phone directory, I ran my finger down the Gs and found it. I dialled and waited for ages until it was answered.

“Yes?” said a tired Mr Grimshaw.

“It’s Cathy Cameron, Danny’s mum–look, I might be mistaken but could you check Peter, I have a horrible feeling something’s not right with him.”

“I’m sure he’s all right, you know.”

“Please, would you check on him?”

“Okay, wait there.” He put the phone down and a minute or so later, I heard raised voices. “Look, something’s happened, got to go, sorry.” The phone went dead. I hoped I was in time.

I felt quite sick when I went back to the kitchen, Tom had come back for a refill. “Whit’s thae matter, lassie?”

“I think Peter Grimshaw has tried to kill himself,” I said my voice croaking with emotion.

“What’s Peter done?” said a voice loudly behind me. I spun round and Danny was standing there in his pyjamas. “What’s happened, Mummy?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t know,” I held open my arms and he dived into them nearly knocking me over in the process. I held on to him, trying to nurture and love him through this very dark time.

“He’s gonna be all right, though, in ’e?” He sobbed from my embrace.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t know.”

While I was trying to calm Danny, the phone rang. “Lady C, it’s Ken Nicholls, look can you come straight down, some kid’s tried to do a Trish to himself and he’s really sick?”

“Right away, Ken, I’m on my way.”

I passed Danny over to his granddad and grabbed my coat, bag and keys before realising I didn’t have any shoes on. I ran upstairs slipped on some flatties and was gone before Simon could finishing asking his question.

I ran for the car and drove like a demon to the hospital abandoning the Jaguar at the entrance to A&E. I was huffing and puffing by the time I got there. A nurse was waiting and called me through.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Usually kids who amputate their own genitals are transgendered boys, so I suppose I was expecting to see an older version of Trish.

“Hi, Cathy, they’re just sticking up another transfusion, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

I nodded and waited, hoping the blue energy would work with me. It can be a bit hit and miss, but this time I recognised that I was beginning to buzz with it. “What happened?”

“It’s a thirteen year old who chopped off his meat and two veg and flushed them down the loo before he collapsed.”

“A transgender kid?”

“I have no idea, but I don’t think so from the way his parents were talking, they’re in the office, they were making so much row. Apparently he was sexually assaulted the other day in France...”

“Oh no,” I gasped and felt my breakfast such as it was, expel itself orally.

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