Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 902 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“She’s the one who took my son–turned him into a girl, or is trying to.”

“Mrs Kemp,” said Ken Nicholls rushing into the room, “this lady has just saved your husband’s life.”

“Huh–a likely story, she’s the one who caused his ’eart attack in the first place.”

“Your husband’s heart attack was caused by his arteries being furred up with plaque, which is more likely due to his diet than his encounter with Lady Cameron.”

“Lady Muck, huh, no wonder you enticed my John away from me–an’ now you’re trying to take me ’usband.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs Kemp.”

“So am I, an’ it’s all your fault–you–you rich bitch.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Mrs Kemp.”

“No–because I’m right, in’I”

“Actually, no; I’m not arguing with you because you’re upset, it’s been a long day and I might be tempted to knock your fatuous, moronic, insolent head off its shoulders. Good night to you, Mrs Kemp–I’ll give your love to Julie.”

“’is name’s John you–you–pervert.”

“Please keep this attitude up and you’ll drive her even further away from you. It’s not me who’s keeping her from you, it’s your hostile, self-righteous bigotry.” I turned on my heel and walked away back to my car. I wanted to get home, have a cuppa and get to bed.

After my tea, I went upstairs and sure enough someone was sleeping in my bed. I didn’t want to disturb her, but it is my bed and I have a right to be there. I got ready with just the light of the bathroom shining into the bedroom. I cleaned my teeth and slipped into bed, first putting on the bedside light so I wouldn’t frighten her in the dark. It was a good job I did.

“Oh!” she squealed, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Who were you expecting to be getting into my bed?” I was very tired and becoming irritable. If I was lucky, I might get two hours sleep.

“Sorry, Mummy–I was fast asleep.”

I kissed her on the forehead, "Go back to sleep.”

She did in moments–I lay there thinking that life was so ironic, it couldn’t be any more so had it been scripted by Graham Greene, or that woman with the strange name who writes that endless serial thing on the internet.

I would have been tossing and turning–no not that sort of tossing–honestly. I’d have been restless, were it not for worrying that I’d disturb Julie, who was now laying her head on my shoulder and mumbling in her sleep.

I eventually fell asleep because I woke up at seven needing a wee. I staggered to the bathroom and washed hoping it would wake me up. I woke the girls and then asked Julie to get the boys up and to stay up herself–I needed her help.

“What time did you get home?” asked Stella.

“I don’t know,” I yawned in reply.

“Well, I went for a pee at four and your car wasn’t home then. Well–spill the gruesome details,’ demanded Stella.

“MI and fell down the stairs.”

“Oh, nothing difficult then?”

“Not for your average miracle worker.”

“Outcome?”

“He was alive when I left.”

“Getting the hang of this healing stuff, then?”

“No–I’m totally cream crackered.”

“I’d like to push my dad downstairs,” offered Julie, with malice in her voice.

“How d’you know it wasn’t your dad?”

“Nothing bad ever happens to him–just me,” she sighed.

“Oh so coming here was a bad thing, was it?”

“No–Mummy, I meant until I came here.”

“Don’t wish evil on anyone, it makes you as bad as them.” I lectured my eldest foster child.

“Yes, Mummy.”

“What would you say if I said it was your father?”

“I don’t know, why–was it him?”

“What’s his name?”

“Bradley.”

“Oh, that was this guy’s name.”

“Oh no, was it my dad?”

I nodded.

“Can I go and like see him?”

“He won’t want to see you like that, but if you change back–he’s won, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not gonna change, but I wanna see him.”

“If your mother is there, there will be ructions–besides, a while ago you wanted to kill him.”

“No I didn’t–I’m cross with him–I don’t want him or my mum hurt.”

“Okay–neither do I–not unless I do it directly.” I smirked then yawned.

Somehow I got the girls to school and we got home again. Stella promised to take Julie to see her dad. He was still in intensive care, but he’d made a remarkable recovery against the odds. Well that’s what the ICU nurse told Julie when she said she was his daughter.

I went back to bed and slept for four hours, rising at one, ate some lunch and helped Julie decide what to wear. She wore a mini dress with footless tights, and those ballet pump things all the girls are wearing. She toned down her makeup to just mascara–waterproof–eyebrow pencil and some eye-liner with just a hint of blusher. I did her hair in bunches with red ribbons to match her dress and she wore her black three quarter coat–the one which is very fitted and gives her some hips.

While they were at the hospital, I went to get the girls from school–I was still yawning and promised myself an early night, but that sort of promise rarely comes to pass.

By the time we got home, Stella and Julie were back. “How’s your dad?” I asked.

“He’s getting better. He said when he was very ill he heard someone calling his name and leading him back to life.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him it was me?”

“Actually, I did–I didn’t mention the blue light, Auntie Stella and I decided we were going to say you were a scientist and used special experimental techniques. Auntie Stella gave him all sorts of jargon about lasers and things and he accepted it.”

“What about accepting you?”

“He didn’t have the energy to argue, an’ my mum seemed very quiet. They agreed it was better to see me as a girl than not at all–although they didn’t agree with what I was doing. Auntie Stella, told ‘em Dr Stephanie is a leading expert in child psychiatry, and an expert in gender identity disorders, and she said I was GID. Mum, she said the police had been very unkind. Apparently the policewoman who came to see me, told her that I wasn’t a boy and why couldn’t she see it–everyone else did?”

“So maybe they’re seeing the light–at long last,” I said and we all laughed. “Are you seeing them again?”

“I said I’d ask you to take me in, because he wants to apologise and thank you.”

“I’ll take you, but I don’t think I want too much contact with him or your mother. At the same time I don’t trust them with you. He might be stabilised, but so are you and I don’t want to risk that.”

“Do you want me to cancel?”

“No, I used to visit my dad even though he’d been very hostile towards me. I suppose I showed him I was making a stand and if he didn’t like it that was his hard luck. He had to take me as I was–he did and eventually, I think he respected me for it.”

“It would be nice if my parents did that.”

“Would you like to go back to them?”

“No way–no you’re my mother now–they were parents to my boy period, you’re my girl Mummy.”

“Oh well, maybe they’ll come round to accepting you fully one day.”

“That’s up to them–I have my family here, my sisters and my brothers and we all love each other and help each other.”

“Oh crikey, you’re making us sound like the Waltons.”

“Who are they?”

“A sickly sweet American family soap thing, they were all so goody-goody, it almost gave you diabetes just watching it.”

“Sounds gross,” said Julie making a face.

“We could probably find some of it on Youtube, if you wanna see?” suggested Trish and they all rushed off to use her computer.

“They swallowed the thing with the lasers, then?” I asked Stella.

“Hook, line and sinker–too stupid to do otherwise. I waffled on about penetrating soft tissue with different colours and stimulating endorphins to produce natural pain relief and healing. So you’re an expert on lasers if they ask.”

“Unless they recognise me from the dormouse film?”

“They don’t look like the sort who’d watch that sort of programme; probably all football and soap operas.”

“All good intellectual stuff then?”

“Absolutely–duh.” Stella made a funny face as she said this and we both laughed.

I made a stew with the remainder of the chicken from last night, reminding myself to turn a small part of it into curry for Tom. In the end, I took out a portion for me, and made the rest into a curry. They all ate it and with reasonable relish. The only one who complained–Tom, it wasn’t hot enough. Next time I’ll put his through the microwave before I give it to him.