Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 842.

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Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 842
by Angharad
  
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I spent the rest of the evening, after putting the girls to bed, dealing with queries related to the mammal survey. I now had a backlog, which would take me weeks to clear, and as we were supposed to be going to Lapland next weekend, it would mean I’d be very busy until after Christmas.

Simon eventually noticed my absence and came looking for me. I was in the kitchen on my laptop. “Do I get the impression you’re avoiding me?”

“I’m busy, what do you want?” I was too, in the middle of trying to decide if someone saw a dormouse near Leeds, when evidence suggests they haven’t been seen there for years.

“My wife, is that too much to ask?”

“Your wife is busy.”

“So I see.”

“The desire to see your wife didn’t bring you home early from work, did it?”

“I was very busy.”

“There’s a coincidence.” I returned to my laptop.

“I’m going to bed,” he said walking away.

“Goodnight,” I replied and kept typing. I rejected the sighting on current evidence and without verification by another trustworthy and independent witness. As much of the evidence is taken from finding discarded shells of nuts and acorns, it is possible to fake it by taking the shells from somewhere else and scattering them. Too much like hard work–people will do all sorts of things to make a point, even a false one. The next phase would be more corroboration and nest boxes to estimate populations, which is usually when they really are found out.

An hour later I went to bed myself, Simon was reading some thriller. I washed changed into my night wear, cleaned my teeth and on getting into bed, pecked him on the cheek and lay down to go to sleep.

“Still mad at me are you?” he enquired.

I really didn’t want this discussion now, I was very tired. So I more or less ignored him.

“I’ve got more bad news, I’ve cancelled the trip to Lapland.”

“Fine, you can tell the girls.”

“So you are awake?”

“Yes, somebody close by keeps talking.”

“Very funny–I told you, you can use my cards.”

“I don’t need them thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think it was someone else who was being ridiculous earlier, so don’t lecture me.”

“You were only joking, anyway.”

“I was, you weren’t.”

“Of course I was, Cathy; besides, I apologised.”

“I heard you, and the patronising comments that accompanied it.”

“When did I patronise you?”

“You’re doing so now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I never talk down to you–you women see things that aren’t there.”

“See things or hear them?”

“What difference does it make, it’s all your bloody hormones anyway.”

“What is all my bloody hormones?”

“This paranoia.”

“I’m paranoid, am I?”

“Yes, if you want to know, you are.”

“Thank you Dr Cameron, world expert on mental health.”

“Very funny.”

“What is your reasoning for your diagnosis and this had better be good, because I am no longer sleepy–just very tired and irritable.”

“You’ve just identified one aspect of it.”

“Simon, that is total crap and you know it, but then these days you seem full of the stuff.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Simon, shut up and go to sleep.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Fine–I’m going to sleep somewhere quieter then.” I pushed back the duvet to get out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going–I haven’t finished.”

“I have, goodnight.”

“Cathy, as my wife I insist you come back to bed.”

“Sit on this,” I said back giving him the finger–if you think that was rude, I could have told him what I really thought. To my astonishment, he jumped out of bed and ran to the door and shut it standing in front of it.

I couldn’t be bothered to fight him physically–last time he got hurt, so I turned around and picked up my cell phone and pretended to dial, then said, “Police.”

“Please, Cathy, don’t involve outsiders, let’s discuss this like adults.”

“Yes, my husband is keeping me against my will in the bedroom.” I said to the unconnected phone.

“Cathy, please?”

“Hold on,” I said to the phone and my imaginary policeman. “What?”

“I’m sorry, alright. I am really sorry.”

“I’ll call back later.” I pretended to disconnect the call. “Your apologies are just empty words Simon.”

“I love you, Cathy.”

“How about showing it then, by deed not just word. Words are cheap.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Why should I always have to be the one to show you where you get it wrong? If you were seriously thinking, you’d see it yourself.”

“Help me here, will you?”

“Okay, latest antisocial, sexist remark, you insisted I came back to bed because I was your wife. I didn’t vow to obey you, nor would I. I thought our relationship would be one of equals and in the beginning it was, you were generous and courteous now you’re mean and arrogant. Next point...”

“Okay, okay...I didn’t mean it like that, I wanted us to talk–I need you, Cathy, you’re my whole universe.”

“And you said I was crazy?”

“I’m trying to make you understand why I do what I do.”

“Well you’re not making much of a job of it, if you really wanted to I’m sure you could.”

“Please help me then.”

Part of me wanted to just go and sleep with the kids, but he is my husband and I did agree to marry him, he didn’t just pluck me up onto his white charger and gallop off with me, like in a Mills and Boon story. Maybe we should try that approach–yeah sure–don’t give the silly man ideas. I could hardly walk away, could I, so here we go again–is this the worse I agreed to?

“Why did you cancel the holiday?”

“British Airways–looks like a strike is on for Christmas.”

“We’d be back before then, wouldn’t we?”

“Dunno–so rather than get stuck in Lapland, with you grumbling about lack of clean knickers or something, I cancelled it. The girls haven’t mentioned it anyway, have they?”

“Not really, no.”

“C’mon then help me to understand women...” he said and I nearly screamed.

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