Easy As Calling For A Rite (2 of which don't make a rong!)
by: Angharad (>^^< has gone to church)
part: 381

I got into the new car and was impressed by the comfort of the leather seats. I sat and wheezed for a moment. The slightest exertion seemed to leave me breathless.

Simon sat looking concerned, "If ever I meet that bastard again, he is dead meat."

While I understood his feelings, his anger made me even more excited and thus breathless. I took a hit of my inhaler and it slowly eased. "Let the legal process deal with him, he isn't worth the aggro."

"For all the distress he's caused you and our family, he should be locked up for life, and it should mean that."

"I don't want to argue about it, can we go home?" We went via a pharmacy and purchased a nebuliser - I had to use it twice a day until my breathing returned to normal. All I wanted to do was ride my bikes, that could be ages away. I didn't dwell on it because it would either make me angry or depressed, but I could certainly see where Simon was coming from.

Simon drove us gently home, although we did have the roof down, I was wrapped up like an extra for The Mummy, and despite the sunshine, I was glad of the insulation. When we got home, he helped me to the house and then went back for the bits and pieces. Tom was waiting, and he escorted me into the house and led me through to the kitchen, where he switched on the kettle.

"Are you going to make your own tea, or shall I do it?"

I nearly risked it - I mean, what is there to get wrong, but he does and it isn't just a bit too strong or weak, it's just a bit too undrinkable. I asked him to put a tea bag in the mug and pour on hot water, I'd add the milk and pull it out when I considered it strong enough - not very long in my case. I carefully squeezed out the tea bag against the mug and the spoon and added milk. I like milky tea unless I'm drinking green tea.

"Ugh! I don't know how you can drink that anaemic looking fluid." Tom's opinion never faltered.

"I didn't ask for your opinion. I don't express one when you throw that mud down your throat in the mornings, please don't when I'm drinking my tea."

"That mud, is pure columbian coffee, it should be savoured strong and black."

"Fine, this 'ere is boggo standard Typhoo and I drink it how I like, so there."

Stella came rushing in, "Sorry I was upstairs," we hugged and air kissed. "So how do you like his new chariot?"

"It's very nice." I kept the remark short, I was feeling a little winded.

"I can't wait to borrow it," she said and chuckled.

"It'll be the last thing you do," Simon walked in and spoke very menacingly. "It's insured for the owner driver only."

"You rat!" exclaimed Stella.

"I beg your pardon?" replied her brother.

"How dare you exclude me from driving your car."

"How dare I what? It is my car after all."

"Oh yeah, mine is my car, but it doesn't stop you borrowing it."

"You weren't driving it at the time, if I remember correctly."

"But the insurance, we've always had a block insurance." Stella protested vigorously.

"Well, it was cheaper to go for owner driver, even Cathy won't be able to drive it."

Not wishing to enter the discussion, I waved it on. I really didn't have the breath to waste on pointless arguments. Stella had her own car which Simon had paid for, I think he paid for the insurance as well, so maybe he had some entitlement to use it. She paid nothing towards his, so I didn't support her argument.

I sipped my tea and then excused myself. The noise about the car was continuing as I struggled up the stairs to rest and then to nebulise. I suddenly had great sympathy for asthma and other chest problems. Would I ever ride my bikes again, and more immediately, would I be well enough to go to France to see the TdF, unless Simon borrowed a wheelchair? My eyes felt wet when I lay on the bed still blowing hard after climbing the stairs.

I awoke with a start my heart hammering inside my chest until I realised Simon was sitting on the bed watching me sleep. "How do you feel?"

"Breathless."

"Are you going to be well enough to go to France?"

"I don't know, sorry, it was a lovely idea."

"There's always next year."

"I'd love to see Millar and Cavendish ride in the flesh."

"I thought they wore racing skins."

"Ha ha, very funny." I went to say some more but had to stop and breathe.

"I think I'm going to phone the doctor, we need oxygen and I want a second opinion." He kissed me and went downstairs.

I started up the nebuliser and put in the drug the hospital had given me and inhaled the moist air from the machine. I hoped things improved rapidly, otherwise my life was going to became insufferable. I tried desperately not to dwell on the attack and the idiot who perpetrated it, I tried instead to visualise myself getting better and riding once again.

Simon returned, "The doc is on his way," he smiled at me attached to the machine.

"Thank you," I said, struggling with the noise of the machine to make myself heard through the mask.

"That's okay. Nothing is too good for you, I want you as fit as a flea so we can cycle together again, like old times." He smiled at me and I burst into tears.

Feel free to leave a comment or two, Bonzi does read them all - then eats them.