Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 669 by Angharad

I lay in my bed and wondered if we were doing the right thing for Livvie. Was she a complication too far for Trish? If and when she found out, would she be supportive? I’d already decided and discussed with Simon, that there would be no talk of Trish ‘used to be a boy’, rather that she’s a girl with a plumbing problem, which will be sorted.

I tried to think if there was anything she did which might give her away, but there was nothing which jumped out at me. She was just as feminine as Mima, and probably more so than I was. I was the bike nut who enjoyed getting oil all over me–well, not entirely true, I hate getting dirty, but I do enjoy tinkering. However, tinkering with bikes is not gender specific, is it? And if you ride, it makes sense to be able to fix most of the simple things, like punctures and broken chains, or cables.

Sadly, the time available for riding was going to be even less than it was with two kids, which was less than one. What have I done? Bitten off more than I can chew? What happens if Livvie finds out about my past? Would that damage her? Why is it always so complicated with children?

Then I thought back to her defences actually crumbling when she asked why no one loved her. I felt my eyes welling up with tears again. It was two o’clock, Simon was fast asleep and I had yet to close my eyes. I slipped out of bed and crept downstairs to make a cuppa–maybe it would help me relax.

I was boiling the kettle when Tom appeared, “Make that twa cups, lassie.”

“Sorry, Daddy, I couldn’t sleep.”

“I needed the loo, and decided I’d come and speak wi’ ye.”

“Do you think I’m doing the wrong thing, letting Livvie stay here?”

“That’s not for me to say, lassie, all I can say is I’ll support whit ever decision ye mak.”

I hugged him, and felt his old but strong arms around me. I relaxed into his embrace and felt safe and loved. This was what was missing from Livvie’s little life–what right did I have to deny her that basic human need–to be loved. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Whit fer?” he asked.

“For helping me decide.”

“I did–I did? Whit did I dae?”

“You showed me love, that’s what.”

“Aye, so?”

“It’s what Livvie needs, some love.”

“Aye, but dinna ferget, Trish an Mima, also need yer love?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget those two either. To start with, they’ll make sure of that.”

“Aye, noo whaur’s yon tea?”

I wasn’t sure I needed it anymore, but I made us some all the same and I sat and drank it with Tom. How did he know just what to do to help me? Was he simply being a loving parent, himself? If so, he seemed better at it than I was–which didn’t take much.

I finished my tea and we made small talk and then went back to bed. It was after three and the sky was lightening–I’d be knackered when I woke up. Oh joy. I zonked almost as soon as my head hit the pillow and amazingly, I felt okay the next morning. Four hour’s sleep seemed to suit me, at least until breakfast.

James Naughtie (pronounced Noch-tee) was having a go at the shadow chancellor, who was digging a large pit for himself over what the Tories would do with spending cuts. It sounded pretty awful, but then as a Guardian reader, I vote left of centre. I don’t expect to change even if I do eventually get around to marrying Simon–but he knows that anyway, as does Henry.

I got our two schoolgirls ready and took them to school after breakfast and packing their lunches. They had cheese salads today. Mima stayed with Simon, who wasn’t going to work until I got back. Tom had already gone–I hope I have as much energy at his age. What am I saying? He’s got more than I have now.

I let the girls go into their classes and then popped to see the headmistress. I explained that Livvie would be staying with us pro tem, at which the head mistress nodded.

“She’s a funny child, almost as if she has been here before.”

“I know what you mean, an old head on young shoulders.”

“Absolutely, that completely sums her up. Very succinct, Mrs Watts or is it soon to be Lady Cameron?”

“I haven’t go time to arrange a bike ride, let alone a wedding–and I can’t see it getting any better, any time soon.”

“Well, you won’t be short of bridesmaids.”

“I suppose not, heavens–what a thought?” I mused on seeing the three of them in matching dresses, could be cute or awful. I mused on and decided to share my new understanding of Livvie’s position with the headmistress.

“She’s been abused by virtue of both her parents being more interested in their own lives than hers. She asked me if she was, unloveable?”

“Oh my, the poor little thing?”

“It had me in tears, I can tell you. Then when I said we loved her and hugged her, the defences crumbled and she cried and asked me to be her mummy. What could I say? I feel uncomfortable with you calling me that?”

“Hardly, gosh things are really moving for her–if I or the school can help, do let me know, won’t you?”

“Yes, thanks. I thought I’d fill you in a little on what’s happening with her. Of course she doesn’t know about Trish, and I see no need for her to at the moment.”

“Exactly…”

“However, I have a contingency plan in mind, and that is to come from the angle that Trish is a girl with a plumbing problem, not a failed boy.”

“That fits in nicely with our take on her situation too, so if she does discover it and mentions it in school, we can support the same line you’re using.”

“In Trish’s case, I actually think it’s correct, she is so girly most of the time, much more so than I am.”

“Do you need to act girly to be female, Lady Catherine? I think not. You seem so natural as a mother, you look the part and act it without any effort. You don’t need to be girly and frilly and feminine, just be true to yourself–as female.”

I blushed and thanked her. I rushed off to get home to let Simon go to work. When I got there, he’d already left and Mima was helping Stella change Puddin’. I mean change her nappy. I wouldn’t want to change anything else about her, she is such a lovely baby and so happy.

Mima seemed absolutely enthralled by helping to stick the disposable nappy together. I wasn’t, they take almost as long as nuclear waste to break down in landfill sites, not that nuclear waste should be in landfills, but remember I am an ecologist.

I had a cuppa with Stella and then Mima and I did some vacuuming, me with Mr Dyson’s invention and her with one from Fisher Price–a mini carpet sweeper. She wasn’t much help, and nearly broke one of Tom’s heirlooms, an ancient Chinese vase, which was balanced on a low window sill on the stairs. I caught it by reflex, hardly seeing it even fall. After that, I sent her to check on Stella and to ask her to put the kettle on for more tea, while I replaced the oriental vase to its perching place, my heart beating far faster and louder than it should have been and my hands becoming moist with sweat. And now I had three domestic terrorists to supervise–what fun!