Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 779 by Angharad

At breakfast the next morning, neither Simon nor I could explain how he’d got the bruise around his eye, a real keeker according to Tom. Stella, of course, had a field day making all sorts of suggestions about my beating up my boyfriend – all of which were quite outrageous. The very thought of me actually hitting Simon, is just unthinkable. We discussed it and decided that he must have hit his face as he fell out of bed.

I didn’t mention my sore knuckles – they’d only think I was looking for sympathy – and I’d obviously bumped them on the bedside cupboard or headboard. I mean how else could I have hurt them – oh, I’ve just had a thought, maybe Simon or I lay on my hand when we were asleep. Oh well, I had to get the girls ready for school.

In a discussion with Tom earlier, I’d suggested that once Mima went to nursery, I’d have the best part of three hours every morning to assist with the national mammal survey. He thought it sounded like a good idea as they were well behind on everything since I’d left to make my film. So, if I could get her in after half term, I could start at the end of the month. It was certainly appealing.

I was just about to leave with the girls when the phone rang – it was the bike shop, my Scott was finally in, apparently the problem had been the paint job. I’d asked for one in the same colours as before – the yellow of Saunier Duval. I arranged to collect it later. I yelled to Simon it was in, as we went through the front door.

After depositing the two schoolgirls in the establishment of learning, I went and spoke with the school secretary, who called the headmistress into the discussion. It seems it was possible to get Meems in after half term. I made the arrangement and signed the forms. I felt quite excited about it as I drove home, I was going to be working again, even if it was only part time – and as I’d been so involved in setting up the framework for the survey, it was like coming home to a neglected baby. I was even going to be able to use my old office – that was wonderful.

I should have taken the bike rack to get the Scott, but I decided on impulse to go and get the yellow flying machine. As I drove into Portsmouth to the bike shop, I reflected on the problems I’d had in getting the first bike in yellow. “They don’t make ladies bikes in those colours, madam.” It had made me smile, I was supposedly still pretending to be male then, but I was buying a women’s bike – they fitted me better with their shorter crossbar. The other thing was the smaller handlebars and brake levers – my hands were too small to pull the brakes on a men’s bike.

“Ah, Lady Cameron, how nice to see you again. It’s all ready for you, all you have to do is sign here and here,” he pointed at two places on the form. I ignored him and looked at the bike. I checked the wheels and the brakes, then the gears.

“I’ll just take it for a quick test ride up the road if that’s okay?” I didn’t give him a chance to argue, but was out the door and pedalling up the road, clicking up and down the gears. Everything felt like it should and was possibly even better than before.

I hopped off as I took it back into the shop, “Okay?” he asked as I leant it back against the counter.

“Yes, the Dura Ace may need a little adjustment,” I said, although I wasn’t entirely sure it was necessary, but it took the smirk off his face.

“Oh, are you sure? I set them up myself yesterday.”

“Not sure – until I ride them with the proper kit and especially the shoes, I won’t really know.”

“Feel free to bring it back if you have any worries.”

“I can probably sort that myself.” I said smugly, and it was true – I’d set up the gears on the previous bike when the original bike shop in Brighton had messed it up.

“You’re very unusual then, my dear, most women don’t have a clue about bike repairs.” Unusual – ha – you don’t know the half of it. I signed and wheeled the bike out to the car, put the back seat down and took the front wheel off the bike. Plenty of room.

“I was home some twenty minutes later and five after that I had the wheel back on and the car seat back up. I locked the car, took the bike to the garage and went indoors to get the key. In two more minutes, I’d got the serial number and locked the bike up in the garage alongside the others.

I went in and began sorting out the flour and yeast for the bread machine. “I’d have thought you’d be wanting to get your new bike,” said Simon lounging against the door frame.

“I’ve got it and it’s locked up in the garage.”

“You went and got it?”

“That’s what I just said, ooh that eye looks sore, darling.”

“It’s not too bad, had worse on a rugger pitch.”

“Yeah, but aren’t beds supposed to be safer than rugby pitches?”

“Beds? Good God no – I mean most people die in them don’t they?” He had a point, I’d never thought of it that way, although I suspect it was one which needed qualifying. I mean, beds themselves aren’t inherently dangerous unless they were dropped on one, or one fell out of one and blacked one’s eye. Hmm, maybe they were dangerous. Come to think of it, most women get pregnant after lying on one – maybe he did have a point.

“Have you ridden the mean machine yet?”

“Only up and down the road outside the shop, need to check the set up, saddle height and so on.”

“If you like, I could give you an hour after lunch.”

“What, look after Mima?”

“Yeah, I’ll take her out for an hour in the Jag, she likes that.”

“They all like going out in that toy car of yours. Can’t think why.” I knew damn well why, it’s a lovely car and makes you feel... I dunno ... empowered?

“What time?”

“I’ll need to be changed and back to collect the girls at three.”

“What time is lunch?” he asked.

“I’ll make some leek and potato soup, say twelvish.”

“Okay, I’ve got a few things to sort out, I’ll be back by twelve.” He pecked me on the cheek and went out.

The next ninety minutes were filled by chopping spuds and leeks, onions, garlic and so on, and cooking them all in Tom’s pressure cooker–it halved the cooking time and meant I could make enough for the girls for dinner, or even freeze it for later use.

It was ready on time and so was Simon, who brought me a large bouquet of flowers. “What are these for?” I asked him.

“Because it’s Friday.”

“Oh – okay, but I didn’t get any last week, and that had a Friday, I believe.”

“Don’t look a gift horse...” he said tersely. I shrugged and popped them in some water.

We dined on the soup and fresh bread – a veritable feast, fit for a peer if not a king. Then after clearing up, I went and changed and set off for my ride after adjusting the saddle height.

I’d not eaten much for lunch, not wanting to feel too heavy when I rode – I mean in terms of feeling bloated or too full rather than body weight. I did about seventeen miles – I was out of condition and certainly out of practice. I showered and changed and after drying my hair and putting on a skirt and top with some boots, slapped on some quick makeup – for the first time in days – a quick squirt of Coco and I was off to get the girls.

“You look nice, Mummy,” observed Trish.

“Well thank you, young lady, you look pretty good yourself.”