Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 699 by Angharad

Everything stopped when Tom arrived bearing gifts in the shape of food. The three girls and I had a Chinese, there was plenty for the others too, so they had a mixture of curry and Chinese. Mind you the girls experimented with Stella’s korma–I didn’t, I don’t like the smell. The kids didn’t go much on Si and Tom’s Madras curries.

“Have you had two curries today, Daddy?” I asked Tom.

“Aye, whit o’ it?”

“Nothing, your stomach must be lined with the equivalent of asbestos.”

“Aye, porridge.” Everyone laughed at his answer, and I couldn’t even wave two fingers at him–what is the world coming to?

Tom and Simon put the girls to bed and did the bedtime story. I was quite happy to leave it to them. I was sore and stiff and my hand was throbbing. Damn, I bet my nails go all black and ‘orrible. My fingers, what I could see of them, looked a mixture of green and purple. I’ll bet my bum didn’t look much better. At least I could think about the accident without wanting to bash the van driver, and I was coming to terms with losing my Scott. I did see a place in Cycling Weekly, or in my case cycling weakly, offering to repair carbon fibre damage. I suspect unless they do miracles mine is too bad to for repair.

I’d leave the insurance claim to Simon, he promised to speak to CTC, the Cyclist’s Touring Club, the largest cycling organisation in the UK who also offer legal advice to members. He’s a member too, so I hope he can ask on my behalf.

“You look tired,” said Stella loading the dishwasher.

“I am, things are starting to hurt again, too. I suspect an early night is in order.”

“Could be a good idea.”

“Yes, big sister in law.” She flipped water at me instead of replying and went off to feed Puddin’. I wonder if she kept her some curry? If so, I hoped she wouldn’t wake me up in the middle of the night.

I waited for Simon to come down and retired for bed. He came up with me to help me undress. “We’re like an old married couple,” I teased him.

“You could always ask, Tom.”

“I don’t think so, Si, it wouldn’t be fair on him, apart from getting him too excited.”

“Would he get excited? I mean he’s supposed to be your step father.”

“Eh? He didn’t marry my mother.”

“Okay, adopted father.”

“Yeah, so?”

“He shouldn’t get excited by his daughter’s body, should he?”

“I don’t know, he is adopted not my biological dad.”

“Yeah but what would you say if I started looking strangely at our three girls?”

“I’d be very concerned.”

“Well then.”

“They’re all children.”

“I know, but in fifteen or twenty years?”

“As you could well be paying their university fees, I’d have thought you’d be more interested in getting rid of them than ogling them–besides, you’ll need all your energy to ogle me.”

“Ogle-ogle,” he said repetitively as he left the room. I snorted at him and got into bed. I was loaded with painkillers so did go to sleep. Simon awoke me at one point when he came to bed, but I went off again. I eventually woke about five. It was light and I was so stiff and sore I felt like I’d been dropped down a cliff face. I crawled out of bed to the loo, and tried to cuddle up against Simon, except he kept putting his arm around me on a sore bit. He woke up, swore at me and went back to sleep, I started to cry.

I don’t know how long I wept, it felt like forever. Simon eventually rolled over and half sitting up on his elbow asked what was wrong? I couldn’t tell him, because I didn’t know. I just felt awful, sore and stiff and he’d shouted at me, and I just felt like shit. I could see him getting cross because I couldn’t talk coherently to him.

“Wanna cuppa?”

“I don’t know,” I whined.

“I’ll go and make one, then you can drink it if you want.” I wanted him to cuddle me, but I was too sore. I hoped someone got the number of the train that hit me, ‘cos that’s what it felt like.

He came back ten minutes later and I cried again. “What is the matter?” he asked completely bemused.

Sobbing and hiccupping, I managed to say, “I want you to cuddle me, but I am so sore.”

“Okay, there’s no need to get upset. Here, drink your tea.” He handed me a mug and I managed to sit upright enough to drink it. He had one, too. After I’d finished, I only wanted half of it, he bid me lie down and back into him. I did very gently, and he then told me to put his arm wherever it was comfortable to do so. I did and after thanking him, fell asleep.

I expected to wake when the aliens arrived, but I didn’t–or they didn’t. When I did wake and looked at the clock it was after ten. I was horrified, had the girls got to school? Who did their packed lunch? I leapt out of bed like cripple–in slow motion–you know the sort of high speed camera they slow down to show clouds moving or flowers blooming. I was so slow and it took me forever to get my dressing gown on. Then after limping down the stairs I discovered Tom had taken the girls to school, in my dad’s old Mondeo. Simon had taken Mima to work with him and Stella had made up the girl’s packed lunches. She was feeding Puddin’ when I got down.

I crawled out to the kitchen and switched on the kettle and made us both some tea. I had some fruit, I didn’t feel very hungry, too sore to eat much. Then she came and drank her tea while she burped Pud, who was as good as gold.

I wasn’t well enough to do housework or go to help Tom, so I pottered about while I was awake and slept when I wasn’t. I found some sources for harvest mice and ordered some books from a firm in Devon who specialise in natural history subjects, including one on dormice. I watched some of the Tour de France on the telly, but kept falling asleep. I was still in my pyjamas when the girls got home with Tom. “Pippa sends her love,” he said. The rest was lost as the girls squealed and made painful fusses of me.

Stella had made a casserole, much to my surprise. But it tasted okay, and we were all still alive a day or two later. By then I felt much better and was able to drive again and move about a bit.

I took Mima with me to the hospital. After talking with the sister on the trauma ward, she recognised Mima, we were allowed to enter and take our flowers to the bedside of a little girl. A man was sitting alongside her, his head was drooping in sleep.

“We’ve bwought you fwowers, Daisy Dwummond,” boomed Mima before I could stop her.

“Uh, what?” said the man waking up quickly and looking even worse. “Who are you?”

“Cathy Watts, I was the cyclist the van driver hit.”

He looked at me. “Cyclist? Van driver?”

“I believe your wife was involved in a crash a few days ago, with a van and cyclist. I heard she and your daughter were quite poorly, but I wasn’t well enough to come before, getting over my own injuries.”

“Oh, yeah.” He regarded my various bits of sticky and my strapped up fingers with a bit of suspicion.

“How is your wife?”

“In a coma at Southampton. I came here to see Daisy, at lest she’s awake some of the time.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. We brought her some flowers.” I handed him the vase.

“Yeah, thanks.” He took them and put them on the top of the locker at his daughter’s bedside.

“How are you managing?” I asked him, he looked all in.

“With difficulty. I spend most of the days here and nights at Southampton. It’s killing me.”

“What’s the prognosis on each?” I asked as matter of fact as I could.

“Daisy might walk again, but it’s gonna be a long job. Maria, might wake up one day, they don’t know.”

“I am sorry,” I touched his shoulder and he burst into tears.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, it’s killing me…”

I patted his shoulder, “Hey, come on, let’s go and get a coffee, Daisy is still asleep and I’m sure Mima would like a drink and a biscuit?”

He protested but in a couple of minutes of gentle persuasion, he agreed to come up to the hospital refectory and was drinking a coffee and eating some sandwiches. Mima seemed to know to keep quiet and she just sat close to me and ate her biscuit.

“I can’t go on like this, it’s too much,” Paul, for that was his name, said.

After we’d eaten, I got him to introduce us to his daughter. She was six, and very pale with a few freckles and light ginger hair. She was a bit tearful at my suggestion. It had transpired that Paul, Maria and Daisy were a small family who had no grandparents or other relatives. He and Maria had met in children’s homes and they had each other and then Daisy. However, when it all went wrong, they only had each other and with two out of three injured, he couldn’t cope with all the visiting he needed to do.

“Look, now I’ve met Daisy and seen what a lovely young lady she is, how about I come in every other day and you could then either stay with Maria or get some sleep. If you carry on like this you’re going to be in hospital yourself.” At this point, Daisy agreed to give it a try.

We shook on it, Daisy and me, and I promised to bring in a few books and read with her. That went down well. On the way home, Mima who’d been thinking about something to say for little while suddenly said, “You a vewy kind wady, Mummy. Can I come too, to see Daisy?”