Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 744 by Angharad

“Daddy’s takin’ us to the zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow…” I began to sing Julie Felix’s popular song, which I’d seen her do live at a folk concert.

“You sound a bit happier than you did last night,” remarked Stella.

“Don’t remind me,” I said, and the anxiety I’d felt returned; so did my three children. They came rushing up to me and hugged me and then hugged Stella. Puddin’ gurgled at them and Mima leant over and kissed her, which made her giggle. This set Meems off and that in turn seemed to affect Trish and Livvie, so we had a gaggle of gigglers – or should that be a giggle of gagglers?

At least they were happy, and we wandered around a bit more. I heard two men high fiving and dancing around together as we walked towards the car park. It seems that England had just beaten the Australians to regain the Ashes. The Aussies will probably win them back at the next opportunity and besides from what I saw in the news, it was hardly a massive margin of victory, England had only won two matches to the Aussies one. Seeing as the weather had saved England once, and some time wasting had saved them a second time: I think jubilation was something that should be muted. But then as a woman and a cyclist, what did I know? I knew the England women had won their Ashes more convincingly.

We got home to the smell of roast chicken and I boiled up the vegetables very quickly, so within half an hour we were eating. Puddin’ gobbled down some of the dinner which I put through the blender for her. I was sure it would be just as good for her as the commercial stuff. She certainly scoffed it fast enough and gave a huge burp at the end which made the three gigglers, live up to their reputation and eponym.

They watched telly while I washed up, or rinsed things up and put them in the dishwasher. Stella changed Puddin’ and after she’d played a little while, she was put down after a bottle and seemed to go off to sleep quite quickly.
At half seven, I made the girls wash and change into their pyjamas and after they had a drink of milk and cleaned their teeth, I told them a story about the dormouse that roared. It was one that I made up as I went along and it seemed to hit the mark. They all squealed when I made a snarling noise, can’t think why? I suppose that’s what little girls do. At times I forget how old Livvie and Trish are, they are only five years old, it’s just that they are so knowing for little ones.

They went off to sleep without too much bother, all that fresh air and running about had obviously tired them. I was exhausted myself, the poor sleep of the night before didn’t help and a dread that Stella was going to start on me again, seemed to suck all the energy out of me.

We sat in the lounge with a glass of wine each. There was nothing on the telly that I fancied, so we sat supposedly reading or in my case trying to do The Observer crossword. I wasn’t getting very far, my mind kept switching into my wedding with Simon or the dread of it. Part of me wanted it, part of me didn’t.

“A penny for them,” said Stella, who it appeared had been watching me rather than reading her book.

“What?” I replied looking completely confused at what she’d said because I heard her speak rather than what she’d said.

“I said, a penny for them.”

“Did you? Oh.” I went back to looking at my crossword and the three clues I’d got. Either the compilers were getting cleverer or I was getting more stupid. I suspected it was the latter.

“Well, spill the beans old girl.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I dunno, the crossword I s’pose.”

“I doubt it, I was watching you and your eyes went all around the room. You looked wistful at one point then almost sad, then you smiled then you looked determined as if you’d decided on something, but even so, you looked unsure of your decision. Is that about right?”

“Geez, Stella, that is phenomenal.”

“What, so spot on?”

“No, absolutely wrong.” I roared with laughter and she narrowed her eyes before laughing as well.

“It wasn’t, you’re a lying toad, Cathy Watts.”

“It was,” I insisted, but she was right on both counts, I was lying.

“You were worrying about marrying Simon, then you decided you weren’t going to, didn’t you?”

“Rubbish, look we talked about this yesterday, I don’t feel like it tonight.”

“Fine, but I still think I’m right, aren’t I?”

“If that’s what you think, Stella, that’s fine, it’s also wrong.”

“I’ll live with that, but I reckon you’re lying.”

“Right, I’ll say this once and I am not going to discuss it. I am not going to marry Simon until I’m ready for it and if that means I don’t get to meet the Prez, I personally don’t give a shit. I’m going to bed. Good bloody night.” I went to throw down my paper instead I took it with me. If I couldn’t sleep it might come in useful.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in bed with the crossword. Stella knocked and entered. “I’m not going to discuss it with you,” I huffed.

“That’s fine, when will you tell Simon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“He’s going to be disappointed.”

“He’ll live.”

“The girls will be devastated.”

“No they won’t they knew nothing about it anyway. Besides, I didn’t say I wouldn’t ever marry him, just when I’m ready.”

“Like when you were going to transition?”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, only because I gave you a shove and you fancied Simon.”

“I didn’t fancy him in those days.”

“Ha ha, Cathy, the look in your eyes within days of going out with him. I could see it.”

“If you are so clear sighted, how come you knocked me off my bike in the first place?”

“Ha very funny, Cathy. You’re scared of getting married, aren’t you?”

“No I’m not, I’ve done worse things and survived.”

“Your nose grows like Pinocchio’s when you lie.”

“Go to bed, Stella, and leave me in peace.”

“Why not admit you’re frightened of it?”

“Why should I? Especially when it’s not true.”

“It’s perfectly okay for a girl to be worried about her wedding plans.”

“I’m not making plans, so forget it, okay?”

“If you run away from it now, it’ll be even harder in a year or so.”

“I’ll get wed when I’m ready for it and not before. All you’re going to do is make me more determined to avoid it.”

“Oh well, poor wee Simon will hae tae wait, poor wee lamb.” She said this in a very exaggerated Scots accent.

“Aye he will, now tak’ yer poor wee body oot a ma room, an’ piss off.” I replied back in as bad an accent as she’d used. She laughed at me and left.