Wuthering Ice creams (aka Bike) Part 565 by Angharad

---

I looked at the photo again; it showed part of my arm and hand as I held some of the tubes and wires clear, Puddin’s finger was touching mine and there was a light blue fog around us. It seemed stronger on my hand almost as if it was flowing from me towards the baby.

It had to be some sort of anomaly, light affecting something, or reflecting off something. I tried to remember if there was any source of blue light near the incubator. I couldn’t think of any, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t. I was there to see the baby not the unit.

I shook my head, it’s so easy to see supernatural or extraordinary explanations for mundane things. We see flying saucers instead of weather balloons, ghosts instead of technical errors in photos. I would take my small digital camera with me next time and see what happened then. It was probably something ordinary that would explain the outcome.

I mean the other week they were referring to a wind turbine that had been hit by a UFO, because that was the only explanation for all the damage–until some engineers looked at it, and something had sheared off and smashed into the other blades, damaging all of them. It didn’t stop the tabloids asking stupid questions, but then I’d be more surprised if they asked sensible ones.

Tom came to see what I was doing, he saw the photo and snorted. “What’s the blue stuff?”

“I dunno, some sort of reflection I suppose.”

He shrugged at my answer and felt both of my shoulder blades.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Just checking to see if you’re growing wings.” I was about to get angry with him when I saw the twinkle in his eyes; obviously, the master of the wind up, was feeling better.

“Any more jokes like that, and you get no tea.” His response was to stick his tongue out, he then walked to see his grandchildren, who had just noticed he was there.

I cooked a light meal, Simon had come home but spent two hours on the phone or his laptop. I always thought a dongle was something a bit rude, apparently not, it’s the mobile link thing on his computer. It isn’t terribly secure, so he was limited as in what he could actually do.

By the time we’d finished eating, Henry’s washing was dry so I folded it and shoved in a bag. Simon had had enough of hospitals, so he offered to baby sit if I wanted to go and see Stella. He asked if I would pop over and see Henry as well. As if I wouldn’t?

The girls were delighted that Tom and Simon were there to be twisted around little fingers, although Trish did wonder if she’d missed a chance to see the baby. She had, but I didn’t remind her of it.

I decided I would cycle to the hospital. I checked my lights, the batteries in the rear one needed changing but the front light was fine. I only had to take a small bag of clothing, so I shoved a small rucksack on my back, complete with a few things I might need, hankies, phone, lipstick–usual cycling stuff. So after changing, I went off on the Specialized to the hospital.

I had some spare batteries with me, which was just as well, because half way there my front light went. I swapped batteries and resumed my journey. I passed a small general stores and bought some more batteries, just in case.

I was quite warm and glowing when I clomped into the orthopaedic ward. I gave Henry his clean clothes, and as he had no dirties, I’d be able to take any that Stella had. I spent about twenty minutes with him, most of which we chatted about bikes.

“I do like a girl who can talk about something other than housework and babies.”

“We can talk about those next time,” I said before I pecked him on the cheek and went to see Stella. She was expressing milk and not enjoying the exercise. I felt very inadequate.

“You could do this if you took the right hormones, you know.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“Well why aren’t you? It’s not every woman who’d be happy for you to breast feed their brats.”

“No, I’m well aware of how generous an offer it is, Stella, but I think you should enjoy this yourself; after all, little Dezzie, is going to need all those antibodies to help her build herself up.” I didn’t tell her of the story of the woman whose baby died because she contracted herpes simplex, or cold sore virus from breast milk.

“There, that’s finished.” She put down the small bottle of milk. I didn’t think it was enough but then what do I know? I supposed it would improve with practice.

“If you ask them nicely, maybe they’ll let you feed her,” she added screwing on the top of the bottle.

“I don’t like to be a nuisance.”

Stella called for a nurse, who appeared a few moments later. “Can my sister in law feed Desdemona?”

“I don’t know, Stella, I’ll give them a buzz for you.” I felt so embarrassed, but envious, I’d jump at the chance. We chatted on and the nurse came back. “Yeah, she can if she goes straight up.”

“Off ya go then, don’t forget her din-dins.” So I did.

“Have you fed a prem baby before?”

I indicated I hadn’t, so she showed me what to do. She was still in the incubator, and could suck a bit. Most of her feed was going in by a line to her stomach, but she was encouraged to take some orally. I asked the midwife to take a piccie of me doing it, so she obliged and took several.

I glanced around, I couldn’t see anything that reflected blue. Probably a technical fault, camera phones are pretty basic, but the Canon the nurse was using, although compact, was a good camera.

I spent about fifteen minutes with Puddin’ before they kicked me out. I took the camera back to show Stella the pictures. They were a bit small and you couldn’t see too much of anything, but the blue light, if it was there, was very faint.

I rode home and the light on the front seemed to be much improved, shining brighter than I remembered it before. Must be better batteries. I put the bike away in the garage and took the lights off it. The front light seemed much lighter in weight. I examined it, there were no batteries in it. “What the hell is going on?” I said out loud, and switched it on, nothing happened. I took it and the new batteries indoors with me and asked Tom to check it. He couldn’t find anything wrong with it, except it had no batteries.

I showed him the old dead ones. He put them in and it worked perfectly. This was getting stupid. Where were the new ones? I’d opened them and used four of them. I couldn’t find them. I was sure I’d stopped at the shop and bought them, Duracell ones. I remembered the black and gold colours as I changed them.

“Maybe you dropped them?” suggested Simon interrupting our conversation.

“I’m going mad, here, Si, load these on to your computer, will you.” I handed him my camera. “I must have bought some.”

“Did you get a receipt?”

“No but I know how much money I had with me, because I took my little purse.”

“How much did you take?”

“I had thirty pounds, two tens, a fiver and the rest in change. The batteries cost me four quid.” I picked out the purse from my ruckie, and handed it to Tom. He tipped it out onto the table. There was thirty pounds in it.

I shook my head, how could I explain what I was sure I had just done? I didn’t mention the light working without any batteries at all. I must be going barmy. “I don’t get it at all, I was served by a young woman. I bought the batteries. I know I did.”

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“It’s not you who’s going crazy,” I said angrily.

“Cathy, you are overwrought, it’s easy to make mistakes.”

“Is there something wrong with your camera?”

“Why?” I asked.

“These photos, they are quite good except for the blue light reflecting from somewhere, was there an ambulance parked outside with it’s lights flashing?”

“Coulda been, I suppose, I didn’t notice it if it was.” Had Simon found the answer? Probably: it was mundane after all and I must have dreamt about the batteries.