Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 772 by Angharad

“I’m concerned about Livvie biting someone,” I said to Simon. He half grunted and half snored a response. We’d been lying in bed for about half an hour and I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want it generally known that Livvie was a biter, I had visions of her like David Copperfield, wearing a placard saying, ’I bite’.

Where did that come from? I haven’t thought of the book for about ten years when I had to do it for English Lit. Ultimately, it had a happy ending, so I lived in hopes and turned over to try and sleep. The only problem was Simon had rolled onto his back and was now snoring at mach five. I lifted the bed clothes and he rolled onto his side and peace reigned. I snuggled down and was drifting off when the lawn mower started again. Dammit. I poked him in the ribs – if I couldn’t sleep, why should he?

“Wassup?” he asked sleepily.

“You were snoring,” I complained to him.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied and immediately fell back to sleep, rolled onto his back and started again. I wearily accepted defeat and pulling on my dressing gown went downstairs and curled up on the sofa. Which is where I was when Tom got up to make himself some coffee.

“Whit ye’re daein’ doon here?” he asked, “ye havenae been fechtin’ wi’ Simon again hae ye?”

“No, Daddy, I haven’t --- he was snoring so loudly I’m surprised you couldn’t hear him.”

“Och no, I sleep the sleep o’ the just, clear conscience, that’s me.”

“Like all psychopaths,” I muttered irritated.

“Whit’s that aboot cycle paths?”

“We could do with one out this way.”

“Aye we could, but whit’s that got tae dae wi’ Simon?”

“Nothing why?”

“Och, if I live to be a thoosan’, I’ll never understand wumen.”

“I could say the same about men, Daddy.”

“Aye, but then I’d hae tae disagree wi’ ye.”

“That’s okay, you’re entitled to your opinion – just don’t express it,” I muttered under my breath, “have you put the kettle on?”

“Aye, it’s bylin’.”

I yawned and got up off the sofa; I was stiff, not very warm and knackered. I drank the tea and only then noticed the time. Six o’ bloody clock — no wonder I was cream crackered. I suppose the only good thing was that I’d have the girls ready for school on time – assuming I managed to stay awake myself. I made some cereal and ate it while Tom drank another mug of the pond mud he called coffee.

At half six, I went up and showered. That woke me up a little although even the noise of the water and my subsequent dressing didn’t have a similar effect upon the somnolent Simon. At least the snoring reassured me that he wasn’t dead.

I ran a bath and dipped each one of the girls in it, starting with a sleepy Trish and finishing with a chuckling Mima. “When can I go to school, Mummy?”

“Nursery,” I corrected her, “as soon as I can arrange it, Meems.” She laughed and I lifted her out of the water and into a relatively huge fluffy pink towel. Breakfast went according to plan, and just before we were ready to leave, I took Stella and Simon up some tea. Neither was awake, although Puddin’ was chortling to herself.

I left the girls — Mima was home with Tom — in the playground and went in search of the school secretary; I’d left explicit instructions for Livvie not to eat anyone unless she cleaned her teeth afterwards.

I was busy enrolling Mima for nursery when Sister Maria came past. “Goodness, Lady C, you’re an early bird.”

“Well, there’re worms to be caught,” I replied wondering why I’d said it.

“I’m afraid, we won’t be seeing Petunia for a while, I suspect her mother is going to place her elsewhere.”

“So she can practise her bullying elsewhere?”

“Perhaps, I expect a state school will make that less likely, don’t you?” she passed blithely on before I could answer. If I’d had the time, I’d have disagreed: I was the product of a state school, and I was bullied. Okay, so perhaps ultimately I survived it more or less intact, though quite why, I don’t suppose I’ll ever know. It still rankled me that the girls who’d bullied that young woman who’d jumped off the bridge would probably deny any involvement and get away with their nasty jibes and snipes undiscovered, because that’s usually the way it happens.

Perhaps I should just be contented that Trish’s bully had moved on when challenged, or her possible role model — Mrs Moo-cow, to use Livvie’s epithet, had withdrawn her from the field of battle just when the fight was going to change against them. I suppose it is ever thus. I’m not responsible for what they do, just for my own kids and I watched them march in in single file as the assembly began. They didn’t see me, but I watched them chattering as they walked, and I felt a sense of pride well up inside me. They were two lovely kids and they deserved the best we could do for them.

I drove home with a new found sense of purpose, announced to Mima that she’d be starting nursery school after half term, and we’d go out that afternoon and get her uniform. It would mean an early lunch, but that was okay — I’m the cook, so them that don’t like it gets their own!

A shot of caffeine in the form of a cup of coffee kept me going until our early lunch and Tom and I took Mima into town to get her uniform. He snuck off to get her birthday present while I distracted her with school dresses and hats — yes, they still wear hats. Then we all went off to collect the other two and took them for an ice cream on the way home.

“Why are we having ice cream, Mummy?”

“Because,” was all I said and they all giggled. Sometimes it’s difficult to express what you feel or the depth of the emotion. This was one such moment and all I can say was it was all very positive and wrapped up in that most wonderful of four letter words — love.