The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2325 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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When Dr Downes had gone, I sat with Trish. “How d’you feel, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay now though until the lady came in the night, I felt very strange. I remember you and Julie trying to call me and I was looking for the blue light but it seemed a long way away and I couldn’t reach it.

“I felt like I was floating in this dark place, I knew you’d come to get me but I was beginning to feel very frightened. Then the lady came, she was dressed in gold and I thought I saw Billie with her so I knew she was all right. She asked me if I wanted to go home and I told her I wanted to go home to my mummy. She told me to think very hard about my mummy and I woke up in this bed. The nurses were surprised because they didn’t expect me to wake up so quickly. They told me I’d been very ill and should rest. Then they told me off because I got out of bed to go for a wee—well, I mean, I’m nine so I don’t wet myself like a baby, do I?”

“You do not,” I agreed.

“The nurse told me off for going to the bathroom, but it was that or wee in my knickers, and I didn’t want wet knickers, did I, Mummy?”

“Absolutely, girl.”

“I like it when you call me, girl.”

“What else should I call you? Um—piglet?”

“No, silly Mummy. I just like it when you call me a girl.”

“That’s all I’ve ever called you.”

“I know, Mummy, but I still like it.”

We hugged and I sat holding her hand.

“Was the lady in gold an angel like you, Mummy?”

“Um—not exactly.”

“So what was she?”

“The Shekinah.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a Hebrew goddess said to represent the female aspect of god.”

“But God’s a man, Sister Vagina, said so.”

“Sister who?” I gasped.

“Sister Virginia but we all call her Sister Vagina.”

“Isn’t that a bit rude?”

“Yeah, but it suits her. The older girls said she was a bit of a twat.”

“I don’t want to hear you calling anyone that again, d’you hear me?”

“What, a twat?”

“Yes that, it’s very vulgar.”

“Does it mean a c...?”

“Don’t you dare say any more.”

“I was going to say a cow.”

“Not quite, but let’s leave it.”

“Sheki wotsit is a female aspect of God, she can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Sister Vagina—oops—Virginia, said God was male and anything else was mistaken or lies.”

“If I said she was mistaken, would you believe me.”

“Who’s mistaken, Mummy?”

“Sister Vagina,” damn she’s got me saying it now, “Sister Virginia.”

Trish was lying on the bed convulsed with laughter at my Freudian slip. “You said it too, Mummy.”

I blushed like a stop light. “Only because you confused me.”

She laughed again. “Of course I’d believe you, Mummy.”

“Good. The Bible suggests god is in all things and is all things, is that correct?”

“I don’t know, haven’t read that bit.”

“Okay, how about we are all created in the image of god?”

“Is that the same as God created man in his own image?”

“Yes.”

“Oh good.”

“So if god created us in his own image, and that applies to other women as well, then it must mean that part of god must be like a woman or female.”

“Oh yeah, you’re too clever for me, Mummy.”

“No, just more experienced in argument.”

“But Sister Va—ginia is wrong.”

“Let’s just say, she’s mistaken because she didn’t have the benefit of a university education so she’s less likely to challenge nonsensical doctrine.”

“Um, I think she did go to university.”

“Did she?” I was genuinely surprised at that.

“She said about when she was up at Cambridge and I said Cambridge is lower than most of England, so shouldn’t it be down at Cambridge. She laughed at me and said being up at Cambridge was being at university there.”

“So she’s an Oxbridge graduate, that does surprise me.”

“Why, Mummy?”

“Because I’d have expected her to have a more open mind on things....”

“Why, Mummy?”

“Cambridge university is in the top ten in the world.”

“Where is Portsmouth?”

Twenty five millionth—“Um, ooh a long way down compared to Biology at Cambridge.”

“Yeah, but they don’t ’ave my mummy teaching there.”

“That is very true.”

“Am I gettin’ better at arguing?”

Sometimes too much—“Yes, darling.”

“Did I tell you Dr Downes likes physics?”

“I think you might have done, darling.”

“He doesn’t have a Jaguar like you, he has a motorbike.”

I suddenly had an image of Dr Downes on his motorbike sliding under a large lorry. Next moment the afore mentioned physician appeared. “Right, Tricia, I’ve spoken to my boss and he said you can go home if you take it easy for a few days.”

“So you won’t have to go up the chimney until next week,” I joked.

“Oh at least two weeks for that and three for down the mines,” added our visitor.

“Dr Downes—could I have a word?”

“About Tricia?”

“Ah—not exactly.”

“Of course.” He led me to the nurse’s office and shut the door.

I blushed, “I’m not sure how to say this...”

“I’m engaged, Mrs Watts.”

I blushed nearly as much as he did, “It’s not about that.”

“Oh, sorry—I er got the wrong impression.”

“I’m happily married.”

“Of course you are to Mr Watts.”

“No to Mr Cameron.”

He gave me a very peculiar look. “The PM?”

“PM?” I replied aloud, then it struck me what he said. “No, not that Cameron, no Simon Cameron.”

He looked at me even more oddly, “Simon Cameron the banker?” I suspect he thought I’d just escaped from an institution of some sort.

“But Tricia’s name is Watts.”

“So is my maiden name, my working name is Dr Cathy Watts.”

“You’re a physician?”

“No a biologist—at the university.”

“Oh—sorry, I thought for one moment...”

“I was some sort of retard?”

He blushed furiously and nodded.

“You might think that again in a moment.”

“Oh why?”

“Something is telling me to caution you when riding your BMW motorbike.”

“What d’you mean, something?”

“I just get these ideas in my head.”

“Where else would you get ideas?”

I blushed, it did sound a bit Irish and his question challenged it.

“Look, I just got this image of you having a crash on it with a lorry, and you came off second best.”

“Well thank you for your concern, but I take every caution on the bike.”

“Does the name Jack Varnish mean anything?” I asked him.

“Where did you get that name?” his smug attitude faded rapidly and I’m sure he looked rather pale.

“Only that he seems insistent that I make you listen. Is he someone you know?”

“He’s my uncle.”

“Oh, don’t think I know him.”

“You wouldn’t, he died about five years ago doing a TT at the Isle of Man.”

“Oh. Perhaps the message is genuine then?”

“I’ll take extra care, Mrs W—Cameron.”

“It’s Lady Cameron,” corrected the ward sister as she came into her office looking for someone’s notes.

“Sorry, Lady Cameron.”

“Please do be careful.”

“I er will.”

I went back to Trish’s bed and she was dressing behind the curtain ready to go home.