Easy As Talking in Hype.
by Angharad
part 352.

I changed into my cycling stuff. Part of me wanted to just go off for a blast, do some climbs and work off my bad temper and part of me wanted Stella to catch the bike bug and want to ride regularly.

I was wearing my Saunier Duval kit complete with arm and leg warmers when I went down, carrying my shoes as they are so uncomfortable to walk about in. I sat in the kitchen to put them on.

“I hope you come back in a better mood,” said Tom looking over the top of the paper.

“Yeah, okay.” I didn’t want to discuss it, to admit I was being juvenile or worse, to go off on one again.

“Stella is coming with you, so please give her a minute to change.”

“Okay, I said I’d wait.” I finished fixing my shoes, they are a ratchet variety so lock quite tightly to the foot. “I’ll get the bikes out,” I said and left the kitchen.

I checked out both the bikes, I would ride the Specialized today. Stella’s Trek was okay as it should be, and I stood waiting for her, doing some stretches as I waited.

She appeared about five minutes later and took her bike from me. “What sort of ride are you up for today?”

“Nothing too challenging,” she said as he cocked her leg over the saddle. “I suppose you’d prefer to go mountaineering, wouldn’t you?”

“If you mean hill climbing, it does tend to give a better work out, but I appreciate you wouldn’t like too big a hill to train on.”

“I don’t know if I’d appreciate a small one either,” she said as we approached the road.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” I led her off along the coast, although even here it gets hilly, where harder rock occurs in the chalk or sandstone. We rode at a modest pace and every now and again, when I knew there was a roundabout coming up, I’d belt off and come back to her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go that fast,” said Stella, she was puffing after a couple of miles of relatively slow speed.

“Does it matter? It’s all about finding your own level of enjoyment. I’d like to get fitter and faster and possibly race.”

“I don’t think I could,” puffed Stella.

“I didn’t think I could either, when I first started. In fact, while at my original uni, I was told to join the girlies because I was so bad,”

“That explains a lot of things,” said Stella, laughing.

“Yeah, I thought it explained everything. I only did the change so I could ride bikes with a lower crossbar.”

“And not have anything to catch on them, you mean?”

“That as well.”

We did a circuit of about fifteen miles, after which she was blowing a bit, so I led us home. There I left her at the gate and went off to do another fifteen at a faster rate. I came home tired but calmer, and after wiping down my bike went for a shower.

I did a salad for lunch, with some fresh bread which we all seemed to enjoy, however, shortly after lunch it was time to take Stella back to her ‘cell’ at the clinic.

“I wish I could take the bike back with me,” she said, “I could get some practice in then.”

“Would they allow you to ride off site?” I asked as we were packing up the car.

“I don’t see why not, I’m hardly going to run off in cycling shorts, am I?”

“I don’t know if the bike shop would allow you to borrow it long term, maybe if I went and saw them tomorrow, they’d let you keep it for the week.”

“That’s meaning you’d have to come and get me next weekend, or the bike at any rate.”

“Or Simon?,” I queried, “he could borrow my rack, I’m sure it would fit his car. Or take the front wheel off and it would go I the back of his.”

“That’s true. Would you go and see them in the shop, tell them to call me if they have a problem and I’ll give them my card number over the phone.”

“Course I will. Anything else to go in the boot?” There wasn’t, so I put on the bike rack and attached Stella’s bike. I also loaned her a U-lock. It would be embarrassing if she got it nicked while at the clinic. She told me she intended keeping it in her room. I wondered if that would be permitted. As all of this was to encourage her to return to normal life, I couldn’t see a problem, but I don’t run the place, which is just as well–I can’t cope with dissenting dormice.

The drive up was okay, we chatted like we’d never been separated. “You know, we’ve travelled quite a long way together,” said Stella.

I wasn’t sure where it was going so I opted for the silly reply, “Well according to the odometer, it’s only about thirty miles, so far.”

“I didn’t mean that literally, as you well know.”

“Yeah, okay, we’ve been through a few things together.” I decided I would agree.

“You have changed so much, from shy little boy to up-front woman.”

“Don’t know if I like the description of me as a woman. I mean, what’s up-front, supposed to mean.”

“Confident, occasionally brash or reckless, out-going.”

“I can see where you're coming from,” I accepted, “not entirely sure what it’s supposed to mean, because half of those qualities are more masculine than feminine.”

“Yeah, you’re right; Cathy is twice the man, Charlie was.” She smirked at me.

“Hey, that isn’t what I meant, I mean, I’m gentle and retiring,” I protested.

“Sure you are, gentle as in meaning a maggot, and retiring as going to bed at night.” She laughed as she paused to consider what she had just said.

“Me, a maggot who goes to bed, well thank you, sister in law. That really was too kind of you. If you don’t behave, you’re gonna find yourself cycling the rest of the way to the funny farm.”

“You don’t frighten me, Cathy Watts. Maybe I could stretch the gentle to that of the landed classes, so you’re then a prospective aristocat.”

“Aristocat? Don’t you mean aristocrat?”

“Not in your case, you can be quite miaowish when the mood takes you.”

“Ha!” I almost shouted, “A fine case of the pot calling the kettle, black. Look in the mirror nursey! Take the mote out of your own eye, leave my specks alone.”

“I see you’re not denying it then,” Stella challenged me.

“It’s not me who is in denial,” I threw back at her.

“That’s a something of a contradiction,” she replied.

“What is?”

“It’s not me who’s in denial, if you’re denying something, isn’t that denial. No wonder you’re such a lousy scientist. Your logic is very poor.”

“What? How dare you?” I said with as much indignation as I could muster. “You a bloody artisan, knocking me an accredited scientist, huh!”

“Artisan? You cheeky cow, I’m a professional in one of the oldest medical professions.”

“Cobblers, it might be one of the oldest professions, or a branch of.” I was implying exactly what you’re all thinking as regards, oldest profession, “modern nursing has been a profession in it’s own right only for half a century or so, if that. Before that, it was ward maids and doctor’s lackeys. Between the wars, nurses used to scrub the wards, floors and all, pity they don’t do it now, there’d be less MRSA about.”

“I don’t scrub floors any more than you expect to do so in your precious laboratory. Plus much of what we do in nursing is evidence based practice.”

“Evidence of what, that it isn’t science?” I taunted, “Most of doctoring and all nursing, is an art based upon the experience and skill of the performer.”

“What?” she shrieked and I giggled. “Shows how much, or should I say, little you know about nursing.”

“Yeah, yeah, any silly bugger could mop a fevered brow or empty a bed pan.”

“I suppose it takes a real scientist to stand in front of a room full of people and drop a dormouse down her blouse?”

I blushed, she had found my weakest spot. “Yeah, course, why, you wanna try it?”

“No thank you; I think dormice are cute, but preferably in the wild whilst I’m indoors.”

“A non-scientist, would have suffocated it, not known where to catch her and return her unhurt to her cage.”

“That wasn’t science, it was a combination of juggling and good fortune. That poor little rat could have asphyxiated in that push-up bra of yours. I mean there’s so much padding, I’m surprised she didn’t try to build a nest out of it.”

We were still trading insults when the clinic hove into view. “Oh shit!” said Stella, “who am I going to fight with before next weekend?”

“How the hell do I know? See, a proper nurse would have known that!”

“Hey, bitch, just get my bike off the back and bring it to my room,” she snapped at me.

“Get you, lady muck! Carry your own bloody luggage, I’m not a native coolie.”

“Is there a problem here?” asked a third voice and we both span round in surprise.

“No,” we said in unison.

“I thought I heard a violent argument,” said the man in the suit.

“Not us,” said Stella. I shook my head in agreement.

“I can’t see anyone else about,” insisted the man.

“I think you could have misheard us,” I offered.

“Misheard you?” he queried.

“Yes, we were having a competition to see who could insult the other in the context of what we were doing, so it had to follow those parameters, erm, you know meet the context.” I continued my total lie.

“Absolutely, and I think, Cathy was winning, she’s more insulting than I am.”

My eyes narrowed and Stella smirked.

“Hmm! A likely tale, but as I can’t disprove it I’ll have to accept it.” He turned to leave.

“Excuse me, who are you?” I asked.

“Me,” he turned and looked me up and down, “I’m Dr von Josef, the director of the clinic, who are you?”

“I’m, Lady Cameron and this is, Lady Cameron, too.”

“No wonder you’re in a place like this, you’re crazy!” he said loudly.

“John, stop bothering those two ladies, it’s time for your meds,” called a voice we both recognised as one of the staff. He glowered at us and walked towards the building. Stella looked at me and sighed, then we both almost collapsed onto the ground laughing.