The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2528 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

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Sammi collected us in the Mondeo so I didn’t have to walk home and by the time we arrived back at the farmhouse, David was practically ready to dish up. Trish was miffed that Danni had laid the table, she was also miffed that Danni was wearing blue nail varnish to compliment her blue skirt and top—she’d obviously changed after we went to the hospital. I think everyone had except Trish and I, so we asked David to give us ten minutes to nip upstairs and change into something better than the clothes we’d worn to do chores.

I grabbed Trish’s hand and whisked her upstairs, “Wear your red dress, sweetheart,” I called to her as I steered her towards the bedroom. She nodded and disappeared into her room, while I walked smartly into mine.

I stripped off to my undies squirted some eau de toilette in interesting places and did some eyeliner and mascara, then lipstick. I slipped into a red top and the red and black skirt that Stella had given me that first day Simon had met me, then the red boots, now looking a little worse for wear. A necklace, bracelet and watch, a change of earrings to my crystal drop ones, a quick adjustment of my hair and I was ready.

Trish emerged the same time as I did, “That’s better, girl,” I said to her.

“You look nicer, too, Mummy.”

“Well we can’t let the side down now, can we?”

“Certainly not,” she said in a voice that I’m sure shows she’s a distant relative of Dame Edith Evans, or maybe just Lady Bracknell. I love that play but I won’t say anything in case Sister Maria gets to hear of it.

We made a grand entrance curtseying as they all clapped—Trish has to work on hers but mine, albeit greatly exaggerated—shall we say it was as theatrical as a fire curtain, went down a storm. Si assisted me to my seat and we all sat quietly while Daddy did his Selkirk grace:
‘Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,

And sae let the Lord be thankit.’

The plates of fresh carved turkey were passed round the table and we helped ourselves to vegetables and gravy. I gave Cate some of hers in the high chair and Jacquie looked after Lizzie, while Stella aided by Meems fed her two in high chairs.

For a change we had Prosecco di Conegliano spumante, the dry fizzy Italian wine which always reminds me of the Commissario Brunetti stories by Donna Leon. I proposed a toast to absent friends and we paused for a moment, then Si did one to the chef, who stood and bowed while we all applauded. Okay, by this time we’d had three or four bottles of the fizzy stuff and only the children remained stone cold sober. Danielle had been allowed a small glass after which she had to make do with ginger ale, the same as the other girls who thought they were getting something alcoholic.

After the girls left the table the door bell rang and Henry and Monica arrived laden with gifts especially for the children, including the older ones. I wasn’t expecting anything but he presented me with a bottle of my favourite perfume, Coco, and this was the perfume not the eau de toilette. I kissed him on the cheek and once again he said, “Dump dumbo and run away with me, Cathy.”

“Okay,” I said tired of the way he says it all the time.

“Uh—right...”

Monica came over and we hugged, “Is he being silly again, he’s had a couple of drinks.”

“No more than usual, “ I replied.

“I’m sure I could make you a better offer, you know, Cathy.” They all laughed as I suddenly remembered I had something urgent to do and I realised I’d been had. I went off to make teas and coffees in the kitchen. I heard footsteps behind me and the door closing.

I switched on the kettle and saw Simon approaching reflected in the kettle, I let him put his arms around me from behind and gently squeeze my breasts. “Is that the outfit you wore that day at the cottage?”

“I’m impressed you remembered. Careful, I’ll get milk coming through my top.”

“I fell in love wth you that day, d’you know that?”

“How could you, I was still a work in progress—in fact just begun.”

“You had something about you.”

“Yeah, sheer bloody terror.”

He kissed me on the back of my neck and it made my tummy flip over. “No, it was—innocence, female innocence. No wonder you played the Virgin Mary in the school play, you must have been closer to it than almost anyone else your age.”

“Yeah, well I was hardly likely to have been sexually experienced as a girl, was I?”

“I meant your innocence and purity.”

“What pretending to be something I wasn’t?”

“You weren’t pretending and if I hear the b word again, I’m going to get very cross.”

I felt myself getting rather warm. “The kettle’s boiled,” I said quickly moving away from him to gather mugs from the cupboard.

“Here let me give you a hand, how many of each is there?”

I was just about to carry a tray into the dining room when the doorbell rang. “Who’s that?” I said to Simon.

“How do I know?” he fired back.

A moment later Trish appeared, “It’s the police, Mummy.”

I left the tray and went to the door. Andy Bond was standing there with a bunch of flowers. “Come in, Andy, how is Margaret?”

“She’s going to be okay thanks to you.”

“I had help, you know.”

“Yes from Trish, I know, I got her some chocolates. Here these are for you. I’ll never be able to repay you for saving her, never...”

“There’s no charge, Andy; I did it for you because I like you and respect you. You’re a good man—now have you eaten?”

“I’m too anxious to eat.”

“Nonsense, David, can you knock something up for Andy, he missed lunch.” I called to the dining room. David strolled out.

“Yeah, plenty of leftovers, won’t take a minute to do.” So it was that Andy Bond had Christmas dinner at our house while I arranged the flowers he brought me and Trish and the girls squabbled over the chocolates he gave her.

I sat with him as we drank a cuppa afterwards. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, fallen variety,” I chuckled.

“Don’t demean yourself, Cathy, you are closer to God than anyone else I’ve met, and I’ve met a fair few, I can tell you, including clergy men of all denominations.”

“It might seem ironic that I don’t believe then.”

“You don’t have to, to be godly, Cathy, it’s how you live not what you believe.”

“Just as well then, isn’t it.”

“Thank you once again, St Catherine,” was his parting shot after he called goodbye to the rest of them. I stood in the gathering gloom and waved him off, he was a good man, too.