Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 715 by Angharad

“Did you used to wear your mother’s clothes and shoes like the girls did today?”

I don’t know why, but I felt myself blushing. “It was more difficult with my mum.”

“Why?”

“She was fanatically tidy, everything was in its place, if I moved anything, she knew. I used to walk around in her shoes when she was out, but I didn’t dare try much else. She wasn’t out that much when I wasn’t in school.”

“So you didn’t have the fun that they did, this afternoon?”

“Not really, didn’t get the chance.”

“I find that sad. Maybe we should give you the chance to dress up one of these days.”

“I can wait until we get married.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll be a bit of a dress up occasion for you, won’t it?”

“It’s not a priority, Simon, I just feel so busy all the time. I’ve been doing some of the survey admin for Tom, when the kids have been playing in the drive. I don’t seem to have enough hours to do what I need to do, let alone what I’d like to do.”

“Why not have someone in then, to help with the cleaning?”

“I’m not terribly happy with the idea, it feels almost as if it judges me and finds me lacking, so we have to get in a proper woman to sort it out.” I felt my eyes fill and in moments I was sniffing and then sobbing.

“Oh, you silly thing, how have you failed? You do wonders with this place. Stella’s a proper woman as you put it, and she couldn’t cope as well as you do. In fact if she got her finger out, she could probably help you more than she does.”

“Leave Stella alone, she’s doing alright and looks after Puddin’ very well – too much pressure on her and she could relapse and then where would we be?” I sniffed and he squeezed me with the arm he had around me.

“Get someone in, I’ll pay for it. Make sure she’s beautiful and available, then if you’re too busy, I can bonk the maid.” He was teasing me, but somehow it wasn’t feeling like a joke. Maybe I should marry him then at least I’d get a settlement if he ran off with the cleaner. On the other hand, if I employed some lady of mature outlook and experience, he’d be less tempted.

What am I thinking of? If Simon had been interested in other women, he could have had them by the sack load; he must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the land after Princes William and Harry. So why don’t I feel ecstatically happy he picked me instead of some graduate of Roedean or Cheltenham Ladies College?

I am in some ways, I fell in love with him, even though he can be a complete ass, and I believe he loves me, too. He can be the most generous, caring man on the planet and the most awkward, selfish oaf: a typical bloke, really. So, shouldn’t I be waltzing him down the aisle post haste? His family would like it, so would Tom and the girls, I think. So why aren’t I in agreement with them? I sometimes wonder if I have some sort of sabotage element inside me which inhibits me from letting go, makes me feel guilty when I’m having fun, and perhaps most importantly, makes me feel as if I don’t deserve to have fun or to be this lucky. In some ways my parents could have a lot to answer for.

How does that Philip Larkin poem go? Oh yes:

’They fuck you up, your mum and dad,
They do not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.’

Yes, that’s me all right, well and truly fucked up. I felt so sick of being me, why can’t I escape me? Even in changing my body and killing off Charlie, he’s still here inside every cell of me, guaranteeing that I’ll never be really happy.

“What’s the matter, Babes?” Simon rubbed my arm.

“I was just thinking.”

“It’s these big brains of yours,” he said rubbing my chest.

“My what?”

“These extra frontal lobes that women have,” he stroked my breasts gently and I could feel my nipples growing.

“I thought men’s brains were down here,” I tweaked him somewhere which would be off limits under Queensberry rules. He squeaked suitably and asked me to be careful, I still had a firm grip on his assets.

“So how about we do a trade, I’ll rub your bits gently and you do the same for me?” he asked.

“Did you say, bits?” I asked in clarification.

“I did actually, and it wasn’t rhyming slang.”

“What’s in it for me?” I asked feigning ignorance and making him work for his pleasures.

“There could be lots of things,” he stroked me again and my nipples betrayed me once more. Then he sucked me through my nightdress, which nearly drove me to distraction. “Why did you go off into a little trance when the wedding was mentioned?”

“I didn’t realise that I had.” It was a total lie, but I could hardly tell him the truth, he’ll think I’m barmy.

“Oh, but you did, and I watched tears roll down your face into the pillow.”

“I didn’t, did I?”

“Yes, I don’t make these things up, I’m not clever enough. So what’s the give? Don’t you want to marry me?”

“Of course I do, more than anything.”

“So why don’t we do it then? Give that priest lady a call tomorrow and set it up.”

“You can’t do it as if you were making arrangements to have a carpet fitted.”

“Why not?”

“It involves so many people, it can take months to organise.”

“The official one could, we could do a quicky one if you want.”

“Your family would never forgive me.”

“They’d forgive you anything, it’s me they keep nagging and if I lost you to someone else, Dad would disown me.”

“Don’t be silly, he wouldn’t do a thing like that – would he?”

“Probably not, I’d sue him, but it’s how he’d feel.”

“Why, when you could marry so many more eligible young women who might bear you children.”

“That’s what I say – ouch!” my hand slipped and pulled on a bit of his anatomy; “Of course, he says he wants you as his daughter in law because he’s very fond of you and the girls, and he’s convinced you’d be an asset to the family.”

“Henry is really sweet.”

“Yes, I know – I take after him, you know.”

“Are you sure he’s your dad, I mean you’re not some sort of changeling, are you?” I was winding him up to change the subject and stop him prying into my innermost thoughts.

“Nah, you’re the changeling, remember?”

“How could I forget?” I sighed, this wasn’t working. “Simon, make mad passionate love to me until I beg for mercy.”

“Um, remember I have to be up for work in about seven hours.” He can be so romantic.

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