Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 818 by Angharad

“Uh, what?” I murmured when Simon poked me.

“You’re deaming, Cathy.”

“I am? Yes, I am,” and I immediately tried to get back into my dream, but to no avail. It had gone and all I knew was that I was enjoying it. Someone was going to show me something profound–some sort of eternal mystery was going to be explained to me–and Simon woke me up! The man is becoming a liability.

“What are you sighing about?” he asked me.

“You woke me up,” I grumbled.

“Well go back to sleep then.”

“It isn’t that easy, besides, I was enjoying my dream.”

“Well go back to sleep and re-dream it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not that easy, I was being shown some sort of revelation.”

“Go and see it again.”

“I can’t, I’ve tried.”

“Try again.”

“I’m wide awake now, thanks to you.”

“You were making funny noises.”

“Funny noises?”

“Yeah, you were gasping and groaning.”

“Was I?” this was a surprise to me.

“Yes you were, it didn’t sound as if it was too pleasant either.”

“Didn’t it?”

“No it did not.”

“Oh, my recollection must have been wrong, unless I was having sex of course...”

“You were what?” He sounded shocked.

“It’s not just men who are allowed erotic dreams you know?”

“No, I suppose not,” he accepted and I waited for the follow up which was as inevitable as night following day–“Um, Cathy, you’re not–um still trying to get back to your dream are you–um, maybe I could help, um...”

“Nah, it’s okay, I’m just so tired–night night,” I turned over and nearly fell out of bed laughing. However, the consequence was I couldn’t get back to sleep for over an hour while I listened to Simon’s snoring showing me that he’d gone straight off. He’s like a cat, can sleep anywhere at any time.

I reflected on my day–it seemed to have been a period of which I spent much of the time rapt in my own thoughts or in a very bright light. Did that experience make me want to accept the G-word, not in the way that practically every other theist does. My concepts were as definable as smoke and as easy to grasp, an abstract feeling as much as anything else which no one would recognise as anything other than an abstract thought or feeling–and yet I knew I was as close to the truth as anyone else.

My concept was about streams of consciousness–which was all anything was or ever could be. It required some filling out and considerations of self-awareness, but otherwise that was it. As streams of electrons can apparently have some awareness, I presume so can anything else–having said that the awareness I mean is not on the level of a human being’s, it’s more the sort of repulsion of two like poles of bar magnets. They know to repel each other, yet they would attract if they were opposites. There isn’t a consciousness like that of a vertebrate animal, but they do as we expect, why? They have an awareness of themselves and the other at some level–oh this is making my brain ache–time to sleep, I hope.

I tossed and turned a bit longer as I built more elaborate models of my consciousness theory and suddenly, the alarm was emitting horrible noises and the radio came on. I awoke without a memory of any of my insomniac ramblings.

The girls came in as they would at home, and they were pleased to have me with them, and to not have to be supervised by Tom or Stella–Trish explained that no matter how much they loved their Gramps and Auntie Stella, they loved me more. I had to get up and go into the bathroom before I burst into tears.

Whether they were setting me up with a drop of moral blackmail, I wasn’t sure, I hoped not, but it meant that I would stay with them all day if I could, which was what they wanted. Kids can be real monsters when the mood takes them, and my three were no different to any others. So we spent the day together, doing school work in the morning and exploring the grounds of the house in the afternoon, taking Kiki with us and a mobile phone.

Sir George seemed almost back to his usual self and wanted to go back to work, I made him rest for a further day. Dr Robinson returned in the late morning and was a bit more circumspect than he’d been before. He’d obviously not been on the internet looking for info on me to bring me down–and let’s face it, there is plenty if you look hard enough.

He had to accept that as Sir George was fit and healthy with no blood chemicals suggestive of a myocardial infarct, he had misdiagnosed the condition and thus caused distress all round. He apologised to both, bringing flowers for Hilary and a bottle of brandy for George. For me, he brought a box of chocolates–which I shared with everyone after he’d gone. I was tempted to ask if everyone thought he had seen the light?

Despite my knowing what colours were flowing, I hadn’t actually seen it only felt its intensity in my mind, so the brilliance which embraced me while I was with George, I didn’t actually see, I just got an impression of it and the colours involved–which was an improvement on the previous position–at least now I had some idea of what was happening.

When we were out walking, Trish asked, “Mummy, did you save Sir George?”

“Me? No Trish, I haven’t saved anyone, I just try to help when they’re in trouble.”

“Was he in trouble then?”

“Yes, he wasn’t very well, so I went and sat with him.”

“Did you make the light jump out of your fingers?”

“I can’t do tricks like that, Trish.”

“But I’ve seen you do it.”

“I think you imagined it, Trish.”

“No I didn’t, Mummy, I saw it.”

“I seed it, too,” added Meems.

“When did you see it?” I asked Meems.

“When I dwownded, I seed it.”

“Did you b’Jove?”

“Yes I did, Mummy. I seed it when you made me betta.”

I had to be a bit careful here, what was the old wartime adage--’Careless talk costs lives,’ if that was revised to cost reputations, it would sum things up nicely. “Girls, I want you all to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about these things, like you don’t talk to outsiders about Trish’s situation. Is that understood?”

“Why, Mummy?” asked Meems.

“ ‘Cos it could get Mummy into trouble, dummy,” said Trish and ran off.

“I’s not a dummy, you wotten wabbit,” shouted Meems running after her sister--and who says culture is dead?

Livvie held my hand as we walked together, Kiki had gone haring off after the other two. “I won’t tell anyone, Mummy.”

“Thank you sweetheart, that’s very kind of you.”

“It’s pity you can’t use your light to make Trish a normal girl, isn’t it?”

“If I could, sweetheart, I’d have it done months ago.”

“Does that mean she doesn’t really want to be a normal girl?”

“No, I think she wants that more than anything, but perhaps the light or energy, however we describe it, only works on sick people and Trish isn’t sick, just different.”

“Oh, I see, I think.” She squeezed my hand and we walked briskly after the others.