The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 988 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Did you see those monsters, Mummy?” Julie shuddered, “They’d have carried me off and eaten me.”

“The demons on the sea bed?” I asked to clarify, if maybe we had just shared this dream?

“Yes, an’ like, Maureen an’ you saved me.”

“Monsters, demons?” Simon raised an eyebrow, but he still failed to look like Roger Moore.

“I think perhaps the energy was telling you that you were out of your depth, young woman.”

“Is that what it’s like when you do healing?” Julie sounded anxious.

“Not every time,” it was a partial truth which I hoped would stop her using it without care.

“Maybe I like, don’t wanna be a healer, like, after all.”

“It chooses you, not the other way round.”

“Maybe if I, like, ignore it, it will, like, go away.”

“If you’re found unworthy or lacking, it most certainly will.” I tried to reassure her but wasn’t doing too good a job.

“Yeah, like, that’s me, unlacking or whatever you, like, said.

Simon sniggered at her malapropism, “You’re okay, kiddo,” he said and hugged her.

“And how is the patient?” In facing the other way I didn’t see the sister approach, I jumped out of my skin, which made Simon laugh–the pig.

“She’s resting, but she’s going to recover,” was my prognosis.

“I’m glad to hear it, it’s quiet, would you like a cuppa?”

“Much as I’d love one, I have to be up early to get my kids off to school.”

“How many have you got?”

“Besides this one–another five.” I grinned and shrugged my shoulders, “three girls and two boys.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she gasped, “are they yours or adopted?”

“Adopted, I’m afraid–I can’t have my own.”

“No, they say angels don’t procreate.” She looked at me very seriously then her face broke into a huge smile. “Or maybe you’ll have your very own miracle one day.”

“I doubt it; my breeding bits were removed a while back.”

“Oh, I am sorry, a lovely, young woman like you too: I’ll pray for you and maybe a real miracle will happen.”

I thanked her and we left. I wasn’t sure when I’d be back or if I actually needed to return, except as a friend and employer. In the latter sense I didn’t want to put any pressure on Maureen to return to work.

Back in the car, my tiredness caught up with me and Simon had to wake me when we got home. He half carried me into the house–sometimes his size and strength is a positive boon.

The radio alarm was going off and the lead story on the local news apart from the stupid election, was a fourteen year old boy fell to his death during celebrations to mark the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the Sea Cadets. He was up one of the masts and out on the rigging helping to fold up the sails or whatever they call it. He apparently fell into the sea and was dead on arrival at the hospital.

I was far from happy that either of my two boys or the girls for that matter, should join the sea cadets, so I switched off the radio. Fourteen, what a rotten waste of a life, I felt awful for his parents and family. I wondered if Maureen had been a sea cadet, somehow it would fit with what she told me of her life.

I gingerly crawled out of bed, I was still quite tired, and lurched into the bathroom sat on the loo and yawned until my eyes ran. The shower woke me up and I staggered back into the bedroom and began dressing.

“It’s Saturday, isn’t it?” Simon looked through bleary eyes.

“Could be,” I shrugged. “If it isn’t I need to get the kids up.”

“Oh,” he looked at his watch, “bloody eyes don’t work this time of the day,” he grumbled and moved his watch to and from his eyes. “It says May the first.”

“May the first what?” I asked.

“No you nit, it’s the first of May, May Day, shouldn’t you be out dancing around the maypole?”

“You told me you didn’t want me doing pole dancing,” I quipped back.

“It’s not that sort of dance is it?”

“It’s all fertility stuff isn’t it?”

“Oh is it? Perhaps we should try for a baby, just in case that nurse was right and a miracle happens.”

“Simon, you have come up with some pretty awful pickup lines before now, but that has to be the least aphrodisiac yet.”

“It’s no worse than the excuses you use for buying shoes.”

“I beg your pardon, shoes are essential to life.”

“What dozens of pairs?”

“In my case, my life would be much impoverished by diminishing the size of my shoe collection.”

“Gee-whizz, the Imelda Marcos of Portsmouth has spoken. A girl can’t have too many,” he said in a silly voice, mocking me.

“Absolutely, shoes and bicycles.”

“Shoes and bicycles? What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what it says, a girl can’t have too many of either.”

“That is total rubbish, and you know it. I mean you’ve only got one arse and one pair of feet, so why do you need dozens of pairs of shoes or several bikes?”

“The bikes all give different types of ride.”

“Two of them are the same.”

“No they’re not, one is a Scott and the other a Specialized, with very different feels to them.”

“If I catch them feeling you, I’ll take them down to the dump.”

“Very funny.”

“Okay, so you haven’t got that many bikes, what about shoes?” He jumped out of bed and pulled open my wardrobe doors. “Look,” he counted, “there’s at least twenty odd pairs in here. Why do you need all those?”

“What’s it to do with you anyway?”

“Ah, going defensive are we, see you can’t justify it.”

“Just watch me. These are the same colour but different heel heights, usually the higher heels are for more formal wear or because I’m feeling sexy. Then there’s the type of thing I’m doing. If I’m going out dressed up, I’ll wear something smart, probably with a heel but not always so–there could be a lot of walking. If I’m working in the house I might have flatties or even trainers on. If I’m riding I’ll be wearing cycling shoes–duh! The colour of the shoes has also to be matched to the outfit...”

“Enough, I’m losing the will to live here.”

“I’m not even halfway through yet.”

“Okay, I surrender, keep your shoes.”

“I take it you’ve lost interest then?”

“Yes, I have–it’s boring.”

“Pity, I was feeling quite randy until you got me started on shoes and my desire for shoes is greater than my libido.” I finished dressing and went downstairs.

“Story of my bloody life...” he yelled after me.

“Keep your voice down,” urged Stella, “and what was that about your wife?”