The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2193 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next morning Siá¢n came down to breakfast as I was about to take the girls to school. “Would you like me to run them to school?” she offered.

“No thanks, I’ll be quicker doing it myself–Mouseketeers, into the bratmobile, now. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes, we can talk then.”

She nodded.

“Help yourself to breakfast.”

“Bat mobile, Mummy?” asked Livvie as we walked to the car.

“No, she said brat mobile,” sniggered Trish.

“That’s siwwy,” commented Mima, and I had to agree, it was. The journey each way was uneventful, and there were no more attempts to kill me than there usually are on the school run. The standard of driving was getting worse, soon it would all be as bad as mine.

I was back in just over twenty minutes and Siá¢n switched on the kettle as I came into the house. “Tea?” she called.

“Please,” I replied hanging up my jacket. “It’s just starting to rain again, stupid weather.”

“At least it’s not cold,” she said pouring my tea.

“True, but it’s so wet all the time, how am I supposed to get Lizzie out on her bike?” I said this as I picked up the little morsel and lifted up my top. Siá¢n gave me the desired bemused look as she processed what I’d said.

“Don’t you mean pram?”

“No bike, we’ve got her a tiny recumbent one, a trike, naturally, as her balance wouldn’t be good enough for a two wheeler.”

She looked at me with the mother sucker attached and shook her head. “It’s a good job I’m not your GP because one or other of us would be mad at the end of a consultation.”

“Have to be you then, I’m not crazy, am I, Lizzie?” She chose that moment to unclamp and deliver a huge burp followed by an up chuck of milk. “’Ere, don’t waste it, have you any idea how much grass I’ve got to eat to produce that?” I said as I wiped up the mess with an old towel.

Lizzie wasn’t impressed but Siá¢n laughed, “You are stark staring bonkers, aren’t you?”

“Is that a diagnostic term?”

“In your case, yes.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“Yes, and that little baggage thinks you’re her mother, her face lit up as soon as she heard your voice.”

“Somebody had to take her in, her mother’s dead and her father is in no fit state to look after himself, let alone a baby.”

“Have you told me what happened?”

I couldn’t remember if I had or not so I related it in all its pathos.

“That is so sad. Why did she kill herself–surely she had everything to live for?”

“They suggested post natal depression.”

“Yet she asked you to look after her baby?”

“Yes.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Is it, I didn’t suffer from it myself.”

“So your deliveries were all okay then?”

“I got the odd googly.”

“What?”

“A googly, where the ball doesn’t do as expected by the batsman.”

“I was talking about obstetrics.”

“Yeah and I was talking about the only deliveries I know about, unless it’s ones to the door.”

“But you’ve got two–oops, I forgot. You look so natural there–sorry.”

I shrugged.

“No, I won’t apologise, you look like her mother so I should be expected to mistake you for that, and you are a woman–so it’s quite reasonable.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“No you just teased me with Google.”

“No a googly, it’s a type of cricket bowling delivery.”

“I’ve never seen a cricket bowl or an ant elope.”

I groaned, “If that’s the best she can do, we’ll send her back to Salisbury won’t we, little Lizzie?”

“Any one made any coffee,” asked the drama queen as she came into the kitchen.

“Nope, Stella, the kettle’s where it usually lives,” was my greeting.

“God, you just can’t get the staff,” she muttered switching on the kettle.

“The rates you pay, I’m not surprised.”

“Ha, I offered you fifty pence a month, what more do you want?”

“Oh, about ten thousand more as danger money.”

“Danger money? You’re the one who has people fall all around her.”

“At least I stop to help them up again, you’d just walk over them.”

“Quite right too.” She sipped her coffee, “Look what happens every time you play good Samaritan.”

“What happens?” asked Siá¢n.

“We end up with another waif or stray. I’ll bet she picked up stray kittens or fledglings when she was a girl, didn’t she?”

“Probably,” agreed Siá¢n.

“I rest my case then.”

“Never mind your case, stick your bum on that,” I pushed out a chair with my foot.

As she sat down so David entered, it was beginning to feel like we were in an American sit com, all that was missing was the canned laughter. “Morning, ladies,” he chirped.

“How’s the car?”

“Beeee–ootiful,” he said touching some fingers to his lips.

“New car?” asked Siá¢n.

“Yes, his old one died so Si helped him get another one which got clobbered by a couple of tons of beech tree.”

“So this is car number three?”

David had to stop and think for a moment before answering in the affirmative. As long as he knows how many beans make five it’s okay, not that I can think of many recipes with five beans.

I changed the baby–well she wasn’t much good and the next one might be better–duh–stay awake. Lizzie’s nappy wasn’t too wholesome, but when Siá¢n offered to bath her I let her but hovered in the background.

“For goodness sake, Cathy, I did obstetrics–I know what I’m doing.”

“Since when did obstetricians bathe babies?”

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I did.”

“How many drowned?”

“Only one or two.”

Stella was sniggering as was David as he sipped his coffee.

“Some bloody doctor you are,” I stated.

“I’ve heard someone say that about a certain biologist,” Stella said stirring things up.

“Oh, who said that?” Sian lifted the baby onto the towel.

“Trish to her mother.”

“What? Siá¢n chuckled which set Lizzie off who then weed on the towel. “Oh she just wet herself, what do I do?”

“Head for the lifeboats?” I offered.

“Be sensible, Cathy, what do I do?”

“Wipe her with the towel, what else.”

“But she weed on it?”

“So, it’s sterile anyway.”

“Oh yeah. I know, some bloody doctor.” Siá¢n condemned herself.

“We all make mistakes, just don’t drop her, they don’t bounce too well.”

I supervised her drying, powdering, creaming and dressing of my borrowed infant. It took her three goes to get the nappy right but otherwise she was quite good.

“Thank you for that, the next time I have a baby as a patient I’ll feel much more confident playing with it.”

“I thought you did obstetrics?”

“I did but they don’t teach you anything about babies.”

“Of course not, silly me,” I replied while thinking, no wonder we have such high infant mortality rates.

“What would you like for lunch, ladies?” asked David still enjoying the banter.

“He does a mean omelette,” I suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” agreed Siá¢n and Stella nodded.

“Is Jacquie in?” he asked.

“No, she’s doing her course today.”

“So just you three and the little ones?”

“And Danni.”

“Oops, how could I forget Danni?”

It’s very easy, I thought to myself.