Worsted Drivel (aka Bike) Part 641 by Angharad

“We need to go home, I have to make some sort of picnic lunch for Trish.”

“Oh, I thought we’d have a morning out, give Meems a bit of an airing.”

“Simon, I need to get home, you can take Mima out if you like, but I need to get home and do a lunch for Trish.”

“Oh alright,” he threw his hands in the air and sighed.

“You could take Mima out in the Jaguar, you’d enjoy that wouldn’t you Meems? Going out in Daddy’s racing car?”

“Yes, Daddy, can we go out in the wacing caw?”

Simon gave me a filthy look and I beamed an angelic smile back at him–don’t mess with me buster–was the subtext, which would probably fly over his head, but as long as I got back to the school with Trish’s lunch, it would be okay.

The rest of the morning was a bit of a blur, I made bread–I mean I put the machine on and it made bread for me, I made sandwiches and salad and nipped to the shop and bought yoghurt and crisps, and some fruit drinks. I suspected that a school dinner at Eton probably cost less than my impromptu picnic.

When I asked Tom about lunch, he said he was meeting the Dean at their usual haunt. In other words he was sick of my healthy eating and wanted a curry. I wondered if Simon had realised he’d lumbered himself with Mima for lunch? It’ll do him good to face his responsibilities now and again.

I stood at the kitchen table packing food for the picnic imagining Simon and Mima having a great time while I waited for a little face to come out of school feeling tired and overwhelmed with the newness of it all. Novelty creates energy for a while, but it eventually crashes with a bump.

I packed the food, let the dog out in the garden for a few minutes, then drove off to the convent and to see how my little baby got on. I’d actually remembered my bag this time, and had a boot full of food–probably enough to do my own feeding of the five thousand–okay, that’s an exaggeration, it would only feed four thousand nine hundred and ninety nine–but that’s with generous portion control. I chuckled at my own joke–then sniggered, when I thought–what we don’t eat today, I’ll make the girls eat for breakfast until it’s all gone. I could just see them doing that, yet that was how I was brought up.

I can remember being made to sit at the table for an hour after I’d failed to finish my breakfast, and it was presented to me again at lunch and tea. My father would have made me look at it again for breakfast the next day, but my mother got fed up and chucked the milky mess away.

“Now, he’ll think he’s beaten us,” complained my father. So bloody what, who gives a toss. Discipline is necessary, we all need boundaries–especially children, but they have to be realistic and considered. A pair of twisted knickers shouldn’t be the criterion for introducing Sharia law. I could see from where I obtained my quick temper–my dad, at least I haven’t gone bald yet.

I was deep in my thoughts when I realised there were loads of children coming out of the school. I dashed to the entrance to wait for Trish, loads and loads of kids came out–well, at least a dozen. Then there was a pause, and some more emerged, then some more and finally after I began to wonder if I’d got the wrong convent, out she came talking to another little girl.

She eventually spotted me and ran over to me, with a grin that stretched from one ear to the other. “Mummy,” she called and hugged me.

“Did you have a nice time, sweetheart?” I said hugging her tightly.

“Oh yes, I’ve got lots to tell you.” She was so excited.

“C’mon then, I’ve got a picnic in the car, we’ll nip off to the downs and eat our picnic up there.”

“Where’s Daddy and Mima?”

“They’ve gone out together, why?”

“Well, I’ll have to tell them what I tell you, now.”

“Usually, we enjoy telling our family what excites us, over and over. If you feel strongly, maybe you can put out a news bulletin or set up a news conference if repeating it is too much bother.”

My sarcasm went well over her head and she just looked at me in amazement.

“What’s in the picnic, Mummy?”

“Oh, sandwiches and salad; crisps and yoghurt, biscuits and fruit drinks.”

“Sounds nice, Mummy.”

“Oh, and there’s a little bit of your birthday cake.”

She turned round and kissed me, “Thank you, Mummy.”

Apart from, “You’re welcome,” there wasn’t much I could say, so we drove in relative quiet up on to the downs. It was too windy to sit outside and eat, so we had to improvise in the car. I knew I’d made too much food before I left home, and I wasn’t really that hungry myself, and I knew Trish couldn’t eat a dozen tuna sandwiches. She did put away two, which was more than I did.

“So, who was your friend? The girl you came out with?”

“That was Peaches.”

I nearly choked on my apple. “Peaches, like Peaches Geldof?”

“I don’t know what her second name is, Mummy.”

“Bob Geldof, a pop singer, has a daughter called Peaches, she’s in her twenties, I think.” I hesitated to use the term grown up, because I wasn’t sure it applied. I think she worries Saint Bob to death.

“Who is your teacher?” I asked

“Mrs Cranmer.”

“Is she nice?”

“She’s okay, I guess, although I had to sort her out a bit.” This apple was going to be the death of me.

“Sort her out? What d’you mean?”

“She asked if I liked looking at books. I told her, yes, and she asked me what I was reading.”

“Ah,”–I suspect when you mentioned, theoretical thermodynamics as applied to new star formation, she didn’t believe you–“what did you tell her?”

“Secret Seven books.”

“Of course, you’ve read quite few of those haven’t you?”

“Fifteen, Mummy, can we get some more?”

“Maybe the school has a library, you could borrow some.”

“Mrs Cranmer didn’t believe me.”

“How d’you know?”

“She said so.” I felt myself blush, I hated this woman already and I’d never met the silly cow.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I wasn’t in the habit of telling lies or being economical with the truth.”

“I hope she wasn’t eating an apple,” I commented trying to dislodge the pip I’d snorted up my nose.

“No, she made me choose a book and read some to her.”

“What did you choose?”

“She had a copy of a book called, “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,” sticking out of her bag, so I chose that one.” I’d got the pip from my nose, now I think it was lodged in my lung.

“Could you read it?”

“Um, no, Mummy, she wouldn’t let me, so I read some of Robinson Crusoe instead.” I hoped I’d stop coughing before I got home.