The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3165 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 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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The tea didn’t help except to moderate my resentment. I kept telling myself that I was the adult and thus needed to lead by example and that didn’t include killing everybody and driving off into the sunset a la Thelma and Louise, tempting though it was. Besides we don’t have any deep canyons to drive over the edge into oblivion.

I got on with life and decided Trish could come to me. I wasn’t going to go crawling to her nor was I going to strangle her slowly despite that idea seeming to have some attraction especially at dinner when she refused to speak to me or even look at me. It must have been quite pointed because even Simon noticed it but didn’t say anything until we were alone.

“Okay, what’s up between you and Trish?”

“It’s a long story.”

He rose from the table made a pot of tea placed it in front of me and asked me to pour. I poured the tea then the trouble between me and Brains.

“So Livvie’s having her first period and you were worried not to upset Trish and decided not to tell her just yet. Wasn’t that always going to be a bit of a nonstarter?”

“Look, how would you feel dealing with a young woman with a situation you hadn’t experienced yourself?”

“I appreciate your feelings regarding that I was meaning more the fact that the grapevine would tell Trish before Livvie could change her panties, so you might just as well have told her in the first place.”

“She may or may not already know which I suppose could also increase her irritation and she’s just throwing it all at me.”

“Yeah because you’re the safe one to hate.”

“I beg your pardon?” I uttered almost in surprise.

“Well no matter what she says or does to you, you’ll continue to love her.”

“So do you, don’t you?” I was still surprised, Simon was thinking for himself, not a trend I should encourage, next he’ll be wanting equality.

“Not like you, mothers seem to have a great deal more patience than dads do.”

“That’s a cop out.”

“Possibly, but it’s true. I couldn’t cope with half the things you do from dirty nappies onwards.”

“We don’t have dirty nappies these days.”

“See, I didn’t even know that.” So his brain is working but his eyes aren’t, or is just the don’t see anything that doesn’t directly concern him in case he has to do something like clean up the mess. Perhaps I should try it, though nothing would get done.

I finished my tea pecked him on the cheek and rose from the table.

“Where are you going?” he asked quite assertively.

“Where I please, why, what’s it to you?” I answered not quite as assertively but I meant every word.

“I thought we could have some time together, like we used to before the population explosion.”

That usually meant sitting on the sofa together while he either sucked, poked prodded or kissed me if he was amorous, if not it meant me trying to stay awake while we watched sport or some naff film he wanted to see, usually either with loads of action and no plot or lots of naked young women populating it. Darwin was waiting in my study, I could finish another chapter if I went now.

“I was going to read my book.”

“What a whodunit?”

“No a book about the forerunners of Darwin in terms of evolution as a concept though they tended to call it transmutation of species, you know like his grandfather Erasmus, or Lamarck, Diderot, Geoffroy, even to some extent Grant...” I watched his eyes glaze over.

“Okay, I’ll have a read of the paper if Tom hasn’t snaffled it.” I remembered seeing it on the hall table so went and got it for him. “Thanks,” he said and began reading the headlines. I accepted his dismissal after shaking my head and went off to read more of my book.

I was well into the chapter about the Scottish doctor obsessed with sponges who taught Darwin how to dissect things, encouraged him to study littoral nature and then criticised and snubbed him after Darwin published a paper on it. It showed well the jealousy of scientists which still happens though I hope I don’t do it or encourage it amongst my colleagues or students. Musing on this I became aware I was being watched—usually it’s by the furry purry, who then either rushes in and wrecks the place or ends up sitting on my lap if Trish’s isn’t available.

The urge to turn around was difficult to control and it seemed unlikely it was the cat if it was actually anything more than just a sensation. I had my compact in my pocket, I’d been looking at the hairs up my nose—I know, I say the most romantic things—well they felt as if they’d been tickled by something—yeah, Simon got up my nose.

I pulled it out surreptitiously and held it in the centre of my book. It wasn’t just a fancy, Trish was standing by the partly open door. I popped the compact back in my pocket and said, “You can come in if you want to, I don’t bite, just tell lies apparently.”

Nothing happened for several seconds and I was irritated that she was messing around, playing mind games with me. I turned around and she hadn’t moved but tears were rolling down her cheeks.

I stood after marking the page in my book and held out my arms to her, “Whatever is troubling you, I’m sure I can help.”

She flew into my arms nearly knocking me over and started sobbing, “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

“Why, what have you done?”

She was too upset to tell me then while were embraced the cat did come in ran round the tops of the walls and disappeared back out the door. She is completely mad, one could almost say, barking mad, but she’s a cat.

I held Trish for several minutes aware that the tears were soaking though my top—least I hoped it was tears. “Now what’s the problem?” I asked as she took a deep breath and shuddered.

“I was nasty to you.”

“When?”

“Livvie told me what happened, about her coming on and how you tried to keep it from me in case it upset me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to seem that way, but it was a very personal moment for Livvie and I didn’t want us to be interrupted even by you.”

“I understand that, Mummy,” she sniffed, “and I’m glad you thought of my feelings, too; but it’s okay, I’m not going to get all upset because she can have periods and I can’t, listening to Auntie Stella and Phoebe talk, they seem more of a problem than anything, Auntie Stella calls them the curse.”

It’s crazy but most women of childbearing age and capability do think of them that way, it’s only much older women or ones like me who never had one who feel jealous. Perhaps if I’d transitioned the same age as Trish I might’ve learnt to accept I can’t have them without feeling that envy.

“So why all the tears?”

“I was nasty to you.”

“How about if I forgive you for being nasty you could forgive me for telling fibs?”

“Okay,” she sniffed. So that was what we did.