Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 682 by Angharad

I came round lying on our bed, with Simon standing over me. “Uh? How did I get here?”

“I found you slumped in the cloakroom after the coppers visited, remember?”

“About TonyRichards?” I asked and he nodded. “My mouth tastes foul, oh I was sick, wasn’t I?”

“It sure smelt like it.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened, I just went out, like the proverbial light.”

“Stella’s putting Puddin’ down, she’ll be in to check you over in a short time, I’ve got to get back to the girls.”

“I’ll be alright, once the headache clears.” I made to get off the bed and he stopped me.

“I think you banged your head on the cloakroom door,” he said.

“I did, or you did?”

“No it was definitely your head that was banged.”

“By me or by you?”

“Um, by me, sorry, Babes,” he blushed, “shall I get you some paracetamol?”

I shook my head in disbelief, except that made the pain worse. “Yes please, two tablets.” He went off and got them, with a glass of water. My mouth tasted awful, so the water helped that somewhat, and somehow I managed to swallow the pills without either dissolving in my mouth or sticking in my throat. I lay back, my head was pounding and somehow I had to tell Livvie that she was officially an orphan. Worse, I didn’t know what her father had set up.

I tried to remember the one and only short conversation I’d had with him. He asked me to look after her until he was able to come and get her, and he’d make arrangements to pay for her keep and her schooling. Hopefully she would get the estates of both parents. Now, about grandparents—I suppose I should encourage the solicitor to contact them. Suicide is such a pointless exercise, it causes massive upset in everyone else’s life.

I didn’t know who the solicitor involved was, or did I? I couldn’t remember and my head was pounding, which made thinking even harder. I think, I must have fallen asleep because I woke up feeling worse.

The reason I awoke was in response to Stella shaking my arm, “How do you feel now?”

“Awful, why?”

“Do you need the doctor?”

“I don’t think so, did Si tell you about the police visit?”

“Yeah, looks like you have another difficult job to do.”

“Indeed. I need to get up and do it.”

“Can’t it wait, at least until tomorrow?”

“What happens if she hears it on the radio again?”

“Is that likely?”

“How do I know? Let me up and I’ll tell her.”

Stella tutted but helped me up, and I staggered into the bathroom. I had a very tender ‘egg’ on the side of my head, but after washing my face and hands and cleaning my teeth, I almost felt human again.

It was nearly five in the evening and although I found the letter from Crabtree, McCulloch and Sterling, I doubted there’d be anyone there. I was proved wrong and was put through to Mr Sterling, who was now the senior partner and coincidentally, Tony Richards’ personal advocate.

“Ah, Mrs Watts, there is a letter on it’s way to you. It’s a very tragic case for the young lady, to lose two parents in such a manner, it’s plain awful. We are his executors although the will will take some time to sort out and the flat has to be sold and so on, creditors paid off and so forth. For the moment the status quo shall remain as far as I am aware, including payments from the estate. Dr Richards did leave you a personal letter and one for his daughter, which I am afraid are in the hands of the police. It was a clear suicide, he was so beset by remorse for killing his ex-wife. Even there, I’m not sure how much of an accident it was - but we shall never know now. There will be some personal bequests of articles to his daughter, Peaches...”

“She hates that name, and asked us to call her Livvie.”

“I don’t doubt it, Mrs Watts. She sounds a delightful child.”

“She’s a nice kid who has slotted in with the other girls, so well, you’d think they’d been together for months not just a week or two. Any news on grandparents, I don’t want to be seen to be pulling their beards?”

“That will become clearer when you receive my letter, as will his wishes.”

“What about Laura’s funeral?” I enquired.

“There is talk of a double funeral, so it’s been held over.”

“Could you let me know where, what and when? I’ll arrange to fly up with Livvie for it.”

“I shall, of course keep you informed. I’m sorry, but it seems I have a call waiting on the other line.”

“Okay, thanks for your help.”

“Mrs Watts, it has been a pleasure.” he rang off, presumably to get off home through the Edinburgh traffic, unless the other call was genuine, which I suspected it wasn’t.

I felt a bit better, especially as Stella brought me in a mug of steaming tea. After drinking that, I was ready for—another one, instead I called Livvie in to see me. She was puzzled and also hot and sweaty. I gave her a cold drink.

“Will I have to go to my daddy’s up in Scotland?”

“No, that will not happen now.”

“Oh goody gumdrops,” she said clapping her hands together.

“I have some sad news for you, Livvie.”

“You’re making me leave?” she started to cry and threw herself on top of me hugging me tightly. “Don’t make me go, Mummy, I don’t wanna go, I wanna stay here with you and my sisters.” She sobbed and trembled.

I felt myself almost in tears at her distress. “No one is making you go anywhere, and I’d like you to stay here as long as you like.”

“Really? I can stay?”

“Of course you can. However, I have some sad news, your daddy has died.”

“Has he? Did he kill my mummy?”

“I don’t know, but it rather looks that way.”

“Good, I’m glad he’s dead, then.”

“Livvie, please don’t prejudge the issue, we don’t know what happened or what led up to it, so life will be easier in the long run if you remember something positive about your old mummy and daddy.”

“They didn’t love me like you do, and my new daddy does.”

“They probably did, they perhaps couldn’t show it.”

“I don’t believe it, they loved their work more than me.”

“I’m sure they didn’t. Some people have difficulty in showing their loved ones that they do love them.”

“They should learn then, shouldn’t they?”

“Maybe in time they would have.”

“Huh,” she paused, “I have no mummy or daddy except you and Daddy Simon, will you be my mummy, please Mummy Cathy?”

“Yes, if you promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“That you try and not prejudge your late parents until you know all the facts about them.”

“Alright, I like you better as my mummy, Mummy.”

We hugged for several minutes, and I stroked her sweaty hair. "How about you have a quick shower before I serve tea?”

“Please may I have a bath instead, with lots of bubbles?”

“As long as you don’t mess about in it and get out when I ask you to.”

“Yes, Mummy, I always do what you ask me to.”

“Sure you do,” I nearly laughed and added, when it suits you, but resisted the temptation.

Once I got her out of the bath, Simon brought the other two in, and they got dumped in a bubble bath as well. By the time we’d sorted them out and got them dressed in their pyjamas, it was dinner time—later than I’d intended.

We informed the other girls and Tom, who’d come home at last, of Livvie’s second bereavement. Both Trish and Mima burst into tears, declaring how sad it was. I cried with them, because I agreed. Livvie sat impassively throughout. Her grief might surface later, I hoped I’d be able to contain it for her, if and when it did.

That night, despite my residual headache, I put them all to bed and read them a story. I think they appreciated it, as I had a loving hug and kiss from each of them.

“Is Livvie okay, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“I hope so, your love and friendship are going to be important over the coming months, hopefully we can all help her get through it.”

“We’ll try, won’t we Meems?” said Trish.

“Yes, we wiww, poow Wivvie.”