The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2842 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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‘Call me, please. C x’ was the text I sent to Simon and just waited.

Two hours is very long time when you’re waiting to eat humble pie. When he finally called I was in the loo and hadn’t taken my phone with me—well you don’t do you, unless you’re on twatter or faceache – ‘This is me having a poo.’ Right—back to real life not some adolescent facsimile.

‘You ask me to call you, which I take it was fairly urgent, you could at least be there to take it, or is this an extended sulk?’

I counted to ten and still wanted to slap him, so I went off to get a cuppa and of course, he’d tried again.

‘Just wot r u playing at?’

Count to ten. ‘I wanted to talk to resolve this bad feeling. Cx’

‘U mean u want to apologise?’

Count to ten again—then slap him—doh.

‘Yes.’

A moment later my phone pinged and I answered it. “I’m waiting,” he said and I was feeling anything but apologetic.

“Okay, I apologise for feeling humiliated in front of the whole family and for thinking you were an arsehole. I was wrong to sulk and I’m sorry that I didn’t tear you off a strip a mile wide in front of the others instead.”

“It was just a bit of fun.”

“Not from where I was sitting.”

“Okay, I’m sorry that felt that way about it.”

“Would be nicer if you were sorry for doing it in the first place.”

“And you were sorry for thinking I was an arsehole and not tearing me up in front of the others? Strange sort of apology.”

“I had a ten year old telling me the facts of life and how her parents used to fight.”

“So she saw you were in the wrong?”

“No, what she saw was the wrongness of my retaliation to your provocation.” I couldn’t remember what Livvie had said so I was making it up as I went along.

“C’mon, Babes, the rest of them were enjoying it.”

“Like they would if I tipped a dish of boiling hot soup in your lap?”

“That doesn’t compare, that’s assault.”

“I see, so tormenting someone beyond their comfort zone isn’t—just plain abuse, it it?”

“Hang on a moment. I didn’t abuse you.”

“You may not have thought so.”

“Meaning—hang on—I don’t care who’s out there—I asked you not to disturb me. What is so important? What my call or firing you? Sorry about that, staff discipline, these women don’t know their place anymore.”

“If that’s a joke it’s in bad taste, doubly so given the nature of this call.”

“If that’s the case, I apologise.”

“Accepted, now we need to find some time to talk and I mean really talk or I really do feel our relationship is in trouble.”

“That bad, eh?”

“At least if not actually worse.”

“In which case, we’d better talk. I’ll book a table tonight, get someone to babysit.”

“Why can’t we talk at home?”

“There’s less chance of you killing me in front of witnesses.”

“Simon, are you completely stupid? Your appalling schoolboy humour has nearly sent me to a lawyer claiming mental cruelty and you do the same again. When you decide to grow up, call me back.” I switched off my phone he could stew for a few minutes, then I recognised my repeating my sulk type behaviour and switched it back on.

He called an hour later when I was talking to David about the menu only this time I had my mobile with me. “Hold on, I’m going somewhere more private.” I fairly ran to my study. “Okay, we can talk.”

“Not much to say other than I’ve been a bloody fool and I hope we still have a future together. I apologise unreservedly, you were quite right, I’m just an oversized school boy.”

“I’d rather talk face to face.”

“So you can rub it in?”

“No, so we can hold each other because at this moment there is nothing I’d rather feel that your arms around me and mine around you. I love you, Simon.”

“Jesus Christ—hold on.” There was a half a minute pause and I thought I could hear him blowing his nose, either that or he had a trumpeting elephant in his office. “Sorry about that. I love you too, Catherine Cameron, can we start again?”

“Let’s talk tonight, after dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Look forward to it.”

“I’m a fool, aren’t I?”

“The nicest one I know.”

When I put the phone down tears were streaming down my face. This shouldn’t have been necessary, he should grow up and I should learn to stop feeling so hurt by his immaturity. Perhaps one day those things will happen, perhaps not. We have this recurring pattern of him abusing me, because that is what he’s doing and me retaliating because I suffered so much of that as a girl—yes dammit, I’m a woman so when I was younger, I was a girl—and my father, especially tormented me verbally, putting me down. Then I was unable to defend myself but now I’m not, only this was my husband not my father. I know he should know better but perhaps there’s something in his past that did or didn’t happen which causes him to be this overgrown public schoolboy pulling my pigtails and thinking it’s funny. Nobody else does.

I’m thinking my New Year resolution should be to try and not be so thin skinned and vulnerable, but that only works if some of the provocation drops too. We have some talking to do this evening, I hope and pray it works. Just because we love each other doesn’t mean we have to stay together, not if it doesn’t appear to be working as a relationship. I have a right to maintain my career providing I can do it and keep a home together for the children. I accept that his career is part loyalty to his family and part the size of his salary. He’s already worth a fortune but it’s in his blood—he’d rather die than leave the bank. I don’t feel that committed to my job, but I’d still fight to keep it. I think at times he’d love me to potter rather than work. At the moment, daddy needs my support and besides, someone has to stand up to the Vice Chancellor occasionally, even though it probably won’t help my career. What he doesn’t seem to appreciate is then I’d have time to think of ways to destroy him because I’m pretty sure I could get James to dig around and find things that would bring him down. You didn’t think an angel could be so spiteful? Tell that to the ancient Egyptians and how the legend of Passover originated. We angels can be quite nasty when required, believe me.

Having said that I asked David to make us the meal he was going to do for our dinner party. “Numbers?” he said.

“Just the family, unless you and Amanda would like to come.”

“No but I’ll take a bit home with me if that’s okay, don’t know about Amanda.”

“Just the family then and you take a bit home—give some to Amanda as well.”

“Okay, what time?”

“Seven.” He nodded and started pulling things out of the fridge and I left him to it.