The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1322 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I must have nodded off listening to the radio because I woke up as the car came to a stop and the handbrake was applied. I tried to get my bearings, but all I could see were parked cars.

“This isn’t Arundel, is it?” I asked yawning.

“No, it’s a restaurant–you didn’t have any breakfast and I think you should.”

“I’ll be okay, we can have lunch afterwards.”

“Breakfast–now, or we turn round and go home.”

“Oh okay, just a piece of toast will do, I’m not very hungry.”

We went into the place and took a table in the corner where we could watch the car park and the traffic going past. Simon went off to order and returned a few moments later with a pot of tea, some hot water, two cups and some milk. “The toast is coming, I’m having this,” he pointed to a large cream horn, which looked delicious–maybe I’d spoken too soon about toast.

Ten minutes later, a waitress appeared with two poached eggs on toast. Simon pointed at me and the waitress placed the plate in front of me and handed me the cutlery wrapped in a pink paper napkin.

“I thought I asked for toast.”

“That’s what you’ve got–now shut up and eat it.”

I glowered at him but he just smirked back. I’m going to have to watch this assertive behaviour from him, he might just start to like it. I ate and enjoyed the eggs and the toast, and washed them down with a second cup of tea. Then after a comfort stop–I touched up my lipstick in the ladies–we were back on the road to Arundel.

“Does that feel better?” he asked after I burped.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You shouldn’t skimp on breakfasts you know.”

“Yes, dear,” I replied.

“I mean it, I want you to eat something every day.”

“I already do, this morning was exceptional.”

“Hmm, it had better’ve been.”

I felt like saying to him–“Whatcha gonna do about it?” but resisted the temptation. I would ignore him as usual. I decide what I eat, not him. Actually, I decide what everyone eats, so he’d better behave himself or he’ll be on a strict diet. I really did feel like challenging him, but I let it drop–we had a traumatic time approaching and this Lord and Master stuff might be related to some bravado to deal with that.

We passed through the outskirts of Chichester and I knew we wouldn’t be long getting to Arundel from there. Today the traffic seemed lighter, or perhaps I was just on edge yesterday? I don’t know. Despite worrying what Simon would do when we got to the cemetery, I felt reasonably relaxed and sat back in the chair and burped again. Simon looked at me and sniggered.

“It could be worse,” I said looking straight ahead.

“Ah yes, Wind in the Willows,” he said and sniggered afresh.

I wasn’t going to get into fart jokes with him because he’d become an insufferable schoolboy in seconds. Besides which thinking about flatulence had made me realise that I did actually want to pass wind from a southerly direction–so spent the next ten minutes trying to keep my buttocks clenched without grimacing. Eventually, it slipped out quietly and without any great smell.

“Feel better now?” he asked still bloody sniggering.

“About what?”

“Letting go an SBD.”

“Letting go–I don’t follow you.”

“You just farted–a Silent But Deadly–didn’t you do the classification of farts when you were in school?”

“No of course not.”

“Far too vulgar for a girly place like Bristol Grammar eh?”

“Probably,” I looked out the side window pretending that the conversation was of no particular interest to me, although I could feel myself getting hotter.

“Let me see if I can remember them all...”

“Simon, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Why, in case you emit any further categories?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I just find the whole subject rather puerile.”

“’Course it is, but Uganda or some other tin-pot state is going to make it illegal to fart in public.”

“I can’t say I know enough about it.”

“Well just remember, another of those places is trying to make homosexual activities punishable by death.”

“I heard about that, there was a real outcry. If I recall, it was being funded and stirred up by some American evangelicals.”

“Evil-jellicles, more like,” he said turning into the main road into Arundel.

I ignored him, letting him deal with his tension.

“You know you could download a cure for being gay from your I-pod? Well, I’m wondering how you could download a cure for proselytes–maybe download a hand grenade and tell ’em to shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

I didn’t actually disagree with him in principle, but I felt I needed to calm him down. “Si, why are you getting uptight about gay issues–you’re not gay, and neither am I?”

“Because, the next target is usually transgenders, and while you might be fireproof, Julie, Billie and Trish aren’t–not yet anyway.”

“Okay, that could be true but I think it’s unlikely. The law is quite good in protecting us now.”

“Us? I thought you were cured and female?”

“I didn’t like to say them, when I’d done the same thing myself.”

“Oh, okay–but you’re female now–all legal and above board and so is Trish, as soon as Billie and Julie get themselves replumbed, I’ll get the solicitor to get them re-registered.”

“I didn’t know you’d done Trish–I mean sent in her application?”

“Yeah, and I changed her name to Patricia Cameron on her birth certificate.”

“Does she know?”

“Yeah, ’course she does.”

“I wish you’d told me, darling.” I felt quite cross about this.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s certainly that–I wouldn’t have thought she qualified?”

“Just. I checked with them.”

“She must be about the youngest then?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“There’s a florists, if you stay here you can move the car if necessary.” He left it, engine running, hazard lights flashing, on a set of double yellow lines. I stayed in the passenger seat watching out for traffic wardens–I also let go another of his classified bum burps–probably a–oh, you don’t really want to know that do you–too much information.

Simon came back about ten minutes later with a huge bouquet the bottom of which was tied to form a reservoir of water with several pints of fluid in it. He opened the back door and rested it on the floor behind us.

“You’ll have to guide me,” he said and I directed him towards the cathedral and then round the corner to St Mary’s and the cemetery. I glanced at my watch, it was half past eleven.

We parked on the road outside the cemetery and I could feel my blood pressure rising and my heart hammering inside my chest. I watched Simon, who having switched off the engine, sat staring through the windscreen at nothing in particular.

I was aware of feeling warmer perhaps even approaching hot as we sat there, the sun pouring through the closed windows of the car. I waited and waited for Simon to be ready to do this–he could bail out at any time if he needed, but I had faith in him overcoming his demons. This was his mother’s grave and he’d never seen it, wasn’t even sure where it was. It was a big step for him although I was there to help and support him, he had to do this himself.

I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back and part of me wondered if the tights would be too hot–at this moment–the answer was yes. I could feel my panties sticking to my bum and I wanted to get out of the car and into the coolness of the breeze–but Simon was seemingly frozen in his seat.

I looked at him, I hoped with love and noticed tears running down his face–I swallowed and felt my own eyes moisten up.