Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 874 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I found enough bits of dead animal and vegetables to put together a stew. I showed Julie what I was doing when ‘frying’ the meat to seal it, before stewing it. I gave her the chance to add bits of finger with the chopped onion, but she managed without any amputations, although she had tears down her face before it was done.

“Do they always sting like that?”

“’Fraid so, the chopping or even peeling liberates a gas which is irritant to the eyes and they water.”

“Sort of tear gas,” she said smiling.

“Far less harmful than tear gas–no lasting effects, except to flavour our stew. Do you know how to peel mushrooms or chop garlic?”

She shook her head–so the stew took longer to prepare, but she’d learned a few things, including use of handcream after scrubbing or peeling spuds and a bit of hand hygiene before food preparation.

I tried to explain about using different knives for different things to avoid contamination, or washing them in between uses. I think she got the message but queried the need as the food was being cooked anyway. I pointed out it’s more than the food being cooked that can be contaminated, and also that cooking doesn’t always kill all the bugs.

However, the main purpose as far as I was concerned was bonding with her–to make her feel part of the family and household. While I was emptying the dishwasher, she seemed preoccupied with something.

“Anything wrong?” I asked, as if all her problems would be solved by making a stew with me.

“I was wonderin’ what to tell the others.”

“About what?” I asked, knowing full well what she was talking about.

“This mornin’,” she blushed.

“What do you want to tell them?”

“I feel ashamed of what I did.” She looked at the floor.

“I think that goes for me, too. The adults will have to be told.”

“Does that include Dr Stephanie?”

“If you don’t tell her, I will.

She looked at me in surprise, “Oh?”

“She needs to know exactly what she’s dealing with.”

“But it was a mistake, Mummy.”

“So tell her that.”

“She’ll put it in my notes, Mummy.”

“Yes, I expect so; it was a significant event–or could have been.”

“But everyone will know?”

“She’s putting it in your notes, not the local echo.”

“But other people will like, read them.”

“Who exactly are these other people?”

“The receptionists and stuff.”

“Stuff or staff?”

“You know.”

“I know that all the staff employed there are bound by a confidentiality clause. They can be prosecuted if they breach it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Besides, you can’t keep everything secret–some time, somewhere, someone will either know or find out and drop you in it.”

“But this could stop me having surgery.”

“I doubt it–if you’d succeeded, it would have done.”

She looked at me in disbelief, then realised I‘d made a joke before she smirked and said, “That was a dreadful joke,” and smirked some more.

“You’ll eventually learn that the only thing worse than my temper is my sense of humour. I can eventually laugh at most things that happen to me.”

“Oh, so are you laughing at me?”

“No, that isn’t what I said, I said I laugh at the things that happen to me, not at others, even if sometimes they deserve it.”

“Did I deserve it then?” I could feel her hackles rising–teens can be incredibly thin skinned.

“Why should you think that?”

“Because you laughed.”

“So did you.”

“That’s like, different.”

“If you say so. I can’t help the things which tickle my funny bone, but I do try to avoid those which hurt others. I get no enjoyment from the pain of others–I’ve never found the custard pie very funny and the chair pulled away, is anything but funny. I find clowns frighten me.”

“I don’t like clowns, although I did like the fact they could use makeup in front of others.”

“So can you.”

“Yeah, now I can, thanks to my Mummy.”

“I didn’t do very much.”

“You bought it for me.”

“That’s not a lot.”

“It’s better quality than the stuff, Shelley and Tracie use.”

“I probably have access to a bit more cash than your girlfriends.”

“You also like, showed me how to use it.”

“It’s what mothers do with daughters.”

She walked over to me and hugged me–“You’ve done so much for me.”

“Julie, you’ve done it all for yourself–all I did was give you the opportunity. Hmm, that bruise on your neck has nearly gone–I wonder, has Trish been near you?”

“She rubbed some cream into my neck, said it was arnica or something, why?”

“Nothing–you obviously heal faster than I thought–which is a good thing, of course. What did you tell Trishlock Holmes?”

“About what?”

“This,” I said rubbing the bruise and seeing it fade as I did so–Trish isn’t the only one–so there.

“Oh, I told her I probably caught it on a branch or something.”

“Okay, I won’t say anything.”

She hugged me again, “Thank you, Mummy.”

“What, for keeping mum?”

She looked up at me and groaned.

“I did say my sense of humour was dreadful.”

At this she laughed and so did I.Talk of the devil and he appears, in which case we got it wrong, our little angel walked in. “How long is dinner going to be, Mummy–oh hi, Julie.”

“Hi, Trish.”

“Julie helped me cook it,” I beamed at her.

“Ugh! “ she put her hands to her throat making funny noises and collapsed on the floor.

“There are people with worse senses of humour than mine,” I said and snorted, Julie laughed, and I was pleased that she hadn’t seen the throat business as relating to her close encounter with the rope, but Trish’s awful attempts to demonstrate poisoning.

Trish got up in high dudgeon, “Huh, no one worried about me being poisoned,” she huffed.

“Actually sweetheart, I did, the ground is too hard to dig any holes so we’d have to pop you in the freezer.”

“In the freezer? I’m not ice cream, Mummy.”

“No darling, you’re sweeter than even Haagen Daas.”

She ran up and hugged me, “I know, Mummy and I won’t make you fat.”