Easy As Falling Off A Bike,
by Angharad
part 216.

Despite the need for me to get up early and get things done, I succumbed to Simon's embrace and we kissed and cuddled for an hour. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had reacted so badly to me barely a week before. I had forgiven him for it, but I had not forgotten, hoping in time, the memory would fade. If it didn't, it was going to influence and undermine my confidence in myself as a woman and possibly our relationship.

I knew that I easily passed as female, and inside I mostly thought of myself as that, but there was this little niggle inside my head, that I wasn't and never would be the genuine article no matter how clever the surgeons got. I'd be a good facsimile physically, but never perfect.

It's funny that for most everyday things it didn't matter, neither did the surgery, or eventually getting full legal status, and I acted as if I were as female as Spike. But just now and again, the thought would enter my head and make me feel a bit down or inferior, sort of substandard goods.

If it bothered any of my friends or family, they didn't say. In fact, they would say the opposite, that they regarded me as female in every way, sometimes claiming that they'd had forgotten I wasn't. That was nice, but I don't know if I entirely believed it.

Anyway, that morning we had a late breakfast and I even had Simon doing the laundry. Okay, I had to explain exactly what he had to do, while I went shopping. Stella wasn't very well at all, and I did contemplate calling the doctor or the hospital but she protested.

Tom decided he would come with me shopping. It was a mistake, he bought loads of stuff we would never use and he slowed me down no end. He did pay for much of it, but it was time I was most short of, and after it took us until lunch time to get the food, I was even shorter of tempus.

The afternoon was spent cleaning and cooking. I made bread and cakes and soup, which I froze. I also worked out a menu for the whole holiday period, as I was likely to be head cook, it would save me having to think too hard on the day.

As I had the oven on, by that I mean the Aga cooker, I made us a liver and bacon casserole for our supper, while sorting the ironing and supervising Simon's dusting. He meant well, but he had very little idea.

At supper time, I was just about to dish up when I went to check on Stella. She was sweating, and the whites of her eyes were turning yellow. I called the emergency doctor, it took some time to get hold of anyone and I got fed up. So I called the hospital and spoke to the nurse in charge of the ward Stella had been on. She told me to call an ambulance and have her admitted as it sounded like hepatitis. Stella also appeared to be in some pain, and between us we agreed it could be a blocked bile duct.

The paramedics arrived within twenty minutes and agreed it was a hospital job. Stella protested but rather feebly, and she was taken off in the 'van'. I went with her while Simon followed in his car.

In A&E we wished we'd brought some of my casserole with us, we were both very hungry and could do nothing until the doctors admitted her or sent her home.

After three hours, they admitted her. We saw her on the ward and she looked quite poorly, now looking jaundiced all over. I felt very worried. She was in some pain and they hooked her up to a drip to help. We left at about half past ten.

We did eat some of the casserole, but more out of need than desire. It was tasty and my homemade bread went down very well with it, but we were beyond hunger and after eating a very small plateful, I went off to bed with exhaustion. Simon came up shortly afterwards.

"Do you think she's going to be alright?"

"Of course she will, hopefully it will resolve itself, and if necessary they can intervene. So yes, I expect her to make a full recovery." My argument didn't feel half as confident as I hoped it sounded, I was very worried.

"This is the second time she's been in hospital in as many weeks. If anything happens to her, I don't know what I shall do." In the dim light of the bedroom, I could see clearly enough to notice tears in Simon's eyes.

"She'll be okay, they'll look after her, I mean she's one of them, so they'll give her the best care they can."

"She's nearly always been there, telling me what to do, bossing me around. What am I going to do?"

"Simon, she is going to be alright, besides you have me now as well."

"Dear Cathy, this is the second time you'll have saved her life, how can I thank you?"

"I need thanking for looking after my sister?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that, but without your help, she might have died two weeks ago."

"Nah, she's far too tough for that."

"She pretends she's tough, but she's like you, soft on the inside."

"Humph! Hark who's talking, Mr Tough-guy Cameron, Lord Softy. I'm just one of the battle hardened serfs."

"What!" he laughed, "You a serf? I'm as much a wage slave as you are, in fact more so. You love your work, I do mine because I'm good at it and it pays so well, but I despise it."

"Why do you do it then?"

"I just told you."

"Okay, tell me why you despise it?"

"It's amoral at best, immoral at worst, enough said?"

"So why don't you stop?"

"Because I'm saving."

"For anything in particular?"

"Yes, I want to buy a farm and raise organic dormice."

I sat up and said, "You lying toad, Simon Cameron," and hit him on the shoulder.

"Ouch, that hurt."

"Good, you deserved it."

"I do want a farm and I hope there'll be dormice on it."

"Where do you want this farm?"

"Somewhere in southern England, haven't seen the exact spot yet, but near the coast if possible."

"What Hampshire or Sussex?"

"Yeah, or Dorset or even Devon."

"Gosh, you're a deep one, Simon." I cuddled into him.

"I want to raise organic foods and animals, free range carrots that sort of things."

"I'd never have thought of you in terms of, 'free range carrots'."

"You don't see too many of them, they tend to leg it when people are around."

I lay back trying to imagine carrots running off with Bugs Bunny in hot pursuit. I started to giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"Just the idea of you in a tractor chasing down carrots."

"I plan on introducing some Scottish things too?"

"Like what, a porridge plant?"

"Porridge comes from oats, not a porridge plant."

"Duh! I think even I know that Simon, so what else is there? A distillery or are you going to plant neeps*?"

"Oh done your homework have you?"

"No, I used to read 'Oor Wullie' and 'The Broons'**."

"Oh, so you'll know all about haggis farming then?"

I giggled. "I know enough to know when some one is taking the piss," I offered, knowing full well that a haggis is minced meat with oatmeal and herbs tied up in a sheep's stomach, and an acquired taste.

"Would I do that to you?"

"Yes you would Simon Cameron."

"Oh I am so wounded by that remark." He lay back and pretended to cry.

I hit him again, only not quite so hard. "Ow you bugger, that hurts. I thought women weren't supposed to be so violent."

"Nah, we only claim that so we can take men by surprise."

"Now you tell me!"

"Well yes, if I'd told you before it wouldn't have been a surprise would it?"

"I can't fault your logic."

I glanced at the clock, it was after one in the morning. "Perhaps we should try and get some sleep," I said, "We have plenty to do tomorrow."

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

I rolled over on to my side and he cuddled into the back of me. We were just dropping off to sleep when the phone went. Simon was out of bed and through the door like an Olympic athlete, I followed sleepily after.

"It's the hospital, they're taking Stella down to theatre, pulled the consultant out of bed. I'm going down there. Oh God Cathy, I'm really scared."

*Neeps - a turnip, a root vegetable.

** Oor Wullie & The Broons - two comic strips in the Scottish Sunday Post.