Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1984

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1984
by Angharad

Copyright © 2013 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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The dinner was well up to David’s usual standard. Danny had come down with bed hair and the girls teased him until he went and showered, so at least it wasn’t standing up in places after that.

Stephanie arrived and he regarded her suspiciously for a while, then Jacquie and Julie took off the baby while Steph and Danny used my study for their session. I had my iPad and did some emails using that while the girls settled down to do some homework. They were already on their Easter holidays, Danny should have been attending until Thursday but there was no way I was going to send him to school for three days of hell. I remembered my own schooldays when I stood out like a sore thumb and was frequently the target of gossip and insults.

Astonishingly, one of the things which shut up the gossips for a few days was being seen out with Siá¢n who was a very pretty girl. I remember Bates coming to me and I thought I was about to get a hiding. “How the f**k does a f**k-up like you get a girl like that?” he demanded.

I waited until we had an audience and said in a simpering voice, “Oh you know, on Tuesdays we do our nails together, on Saturdays we style each other’s hair and every other Friday we have a sleep-over or pyjama party.”

“A sleep-over? You mean you’ve slept with her?”

“And half a dozen of her friends, yeah, why?”

“You freakin’ poof, I’ve a good mind to pound you.”

“She ain’t a poof Bates, she’s got a girlfriend.”

“A pair of lezzies I’ll bet.”

“Yeah, well if she needs a good seein’ to, let me know, fairy cake,” with that parting shot he sloped off to raucous laughter,” which was when Whitehead broke it up–presumably concerned I was getting another hiding. He must have been pleasantly surprised when he discovered I wasn’t.

“Are you all right, Watts?” he asked shooing away most of the others.

Before I could answer a wag, who remained anonymous called, “She’s fine, just on her period, that’s all.” More raucous laughter. What I wouldn’t have given for them to have been right.

I had loads of silly little memories like that which were fired up by other thoughts, one which I think I could see the progression of the links–the kids each got chocolate for Easter. All us adults would chip into a fund and then I’d go off and get something like Lindt Bunnies for the girls and an equivalent priced chocolate bar for Danny.

Simon and I agreed we wouldn’t buy each other eggs or sweets for the holiday, instead we’d usually buy a small present of something which was a non-food item. Last year I got him some polish for the car–it was quite expensive but there was method in my madness–he does my car as well.

I had to think for a moment what he got me–oh yes, a box of assorted bulbs and tubers for the flower garden. I felt quite pleased with that, which Danny planted for me during the Easter weekend. A bit of a contrast from last year–they’ve got twenty foot deep snow drifts in parts of Scotland and it’s bad in parts of northern and central England too. Fortunately down here in the south, it’s not been as bad–except for the icy wind coming straight over from Siberia.

Last year we had temperatures in the sixties during March, at the moment the wind chill is about minus five or ten. It would strip the meat off your bones in minutes, or as my Mum used to say, ‘It’s a lazy wind–it blows straight through you, instead of round you.’

I know weather shouldn’t be confused with climate, which is a much longer view–but if this is global warming–it seems to happening everywhere but here in the UK. Perhaps we’ll have a summer eventually–yeah, probably brought by Father Christmas.

Eventually the two emerged from the confines of my study. Danny had red eyes again and he was still sniffing when he dashed off to his bedroom, hotly pursued by one kitten. He seems to have made a friend.

I indicated to Stephanie should I go after him and she shook her head. He needed time on his own to process what had just happened between them.

“Tea?” I asked and she nodded.

“I want to see him every day for the next few days–you’ll have to bring him over to my place and you can babysit while I work with him. He’s going to need some sort of notebook he can use as a diary.”

“I got one he can have–A4 okay?”

“Fine, but it’s to be confidential so he’ll need to keep it somewhere safe.”

“It’ll be safe in his bedroom, no one else goes in there except me to change his bed and collect his dirty clothes, and I won’t look at it.”

“Not even the teeniest peep?”

“No, Stephanie–I don’t even read other people’s postcards unless they tell me to.”

“Goodness, you are anal, aren’t you?”

“I thought Freudian theory was out of favour these days,” I fired back.

“Ooh, get you, Dr Watts.”

“Yeah, I am Dr Watts–thought you knew that.”

“No, I was obviously having a news blackout when that happened–when was it?”

“Could you believe my birthday?”

“I can believe ten impossible things before breakfast, so that would be easy.”

“I’d heard psychiatrists have rich fantasy lives.”

“So, Cathy Watts, PhD, is it?”

I picked up a business card from my desk and handed it to her. She read it and looked impressed. “So you have a bachelor’s, a master’s and doctorate as well as all these bits and bobs?” She was referring to diplomas in field biology, ecology and mammal studies. Okay, so I used to do a lot of courses–well, I wasn’t down the union blowing all my grant on booze and girls like most of the others. I was on my own, so I studied.

Fortunately, my parents funded most of the other courses on the understanding that I paid them back if I failed any of them. I had a certificate in field biology before I left school–doing my macabre study of hedgehog fatalities on the roads near us. I think I mentioned it before–the local paper came and photographed me doing my survey and got the name wrong–they had me down as Charlotte Watts–probably the long hair–well it was down past my shoulders and at that time it was probably auburn as it would have been about the time I played Gruach–Lady Macbeth to you.

“What time tomorrow?” I asked Stephanie.

“Oh poo, I left my diary at home–I’ll give you a ring when I get home–probably in the morning.”

“You’ll ring me in the morning or the appointment will be?”

“The appointment–I noticed you didn’t get a diploma for listening, then?”

“No, like yours in communication skills.”

“Ouch–have you been practising on Stella?”

“Meee? No, Simon. Stella’s far too dangerous–a real big cat.”

“Who is?” asked Stella coming into the kitchen to put some nappies in the washer.

“What, not who,” I lied.

“Eh?”

“We were talking about my car, Stella, a big cat.”

“A likely story,” she dismissed me, “Anyway, I’m only passing through, so you can talk about me as much as you like. Remember, dear old Oscar, told us that the only thing worse than being talked about...”

“Was not being talked about–I know, but that depends upon whether you have an ego the size of Australia, or not. He did, I don’t,” I called to her disappearing back.

I got an echo of, “Ha, a likely story,” from the depths of the utility room. Stella does like the last word.

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