Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 913 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“You worry too much,” was Simon’s verdict when I tried to explain my concerns over Julie’s behaviour.

“I don’t–I can accept the challenging of boundaries and authority, that’s what adolescence is all about, but I do get worried by her sex drive.”

“Didn’t you ever sneak out for a quick fondle behind the bike sheds?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Not even at uni?”

“No,” I was beginning to feel some sort of freak.

“I suppose you’d have had difficulty kissing the boys, but you could have groped the odd girl quite legitimately.”

“Simon, I didn’t grope anyone–and when we first went out, you did all the groping if you remember?”

I couldn’t see him in the dark, but I suspect he might have blushed–a little, but then knowing Simon, maybe he didn’t–I know I would have.

“Can’t remember that far back–anyway, what’s it matter. I suppose you’re going to tell me I was the first man you’d ever kissed?”

“I know I’m a saddo, but yes you were the first man I kissed–maybe not the first one who kissed me.” I recalled the explosive effect the garage mechanic had upon me, and my heart quickened.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked rubbing his hand on my thigh.

“How we’re going to deal with Julie.” I was half fibbing but he didn’t know that.

“I’ll leave that to you to sort out, good cop bad cop routine.”

“Which are you going to be?” I asked him

“Neither, I think you’re probably schizoid enough to do both–I’ll be the flying squad, I’ll deal with any noxious boyfriends.”

“How come, it’s always my problem when we have troubles with the kids?”

“It isn’t, but you’re better at it than I am. If you remember I did stop Trish making obscene phone calls.”

“What? Trish doesn’t make obscene phone calls.”

“See, I was quite effective.” I could feel the bed quiver as he laughed at his own joke. He fondled my breast and, I moved his hand away.

“I’m not in the mood–I’m still worried.”

“Just relax, it’s what Dr Simon ordered.”

“For whom?” I challenged.

“Okay, think about a silver grey A class.” He moved his hand back to my breast and I let him keep it there. Some example I was to my charges–whore in chief, selling my body for a new car. Should I lay back and think of Mercedes?

“Simon, I think you should have a chat with Julie and tell her off a bit.”

“What am I supposed to say? Cathy’s getting neurotic because you’ve developed faster than she did?”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I’m sorry–but just because you were anally retentive doesn’t mean everyone else is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well you were up-tight about sex for ages before it happened.”

“With good reason–my body didn’t fit with my aspirations.”

“Which were?”

“I wanted you.”

“You got me.”

“No, I wanted you as a woman, I wanted you to come inside me, and make me your woman.”

“Not sure what you mean.”

Is he completely stupid–he is a banker–so he could be? I thought I explained myself fairly clearly.

“I don’t understand how you can’t understand what I meant.” He can’t be that stupid can he?

“Nah–it’s no good, you’ll have to show me,” he said and the bed shaking very slightly made me realise he was winding me up again and trying to get his wicked way.

“Show you what?” Two can play the stupid card.

“How you meant–what was it, making you my woman?”

“Oh think you’ve done that–I’ve got a ring and a piece of paper to prove it.”

“Is that the one that says about love, honour and obey?”

I burst out laughing–“Which planet are you from? I’m emancipated.”

“Can’t the doctor give you pills for that–help you to shift the blockage?”

“Blockage?” I had no idea where he was going with this conversation.

“Yeah, laxatives or failing that call in a drain clearance company.”

“Laxatives?” I queried.

“Yeah, you said you were constipated, didn’t you?”

“Me? No, Simon, you’re the stuck up one.”

“You can be so hurtful, sometimes.” He seemed upset by my last remark–and I felt guilty.

“Oh c’mon, lovely man, don’t get upset, it’s just a bit of fun–I didn’t mean it.” I leant over to kiss him and he grabbed me shouted, ha ha, and began to ravish me. Damn, I fell for it again.

A while later, after my little trip to the bathroom to clean up; I went back to bed and asked him again what we should do about Julie?

“Uh?” he said sleepily.

“Julie–you know, our teenage charge–her with the turbo libido.”

“She’s too young to drive,” he muttered, “I’ll get her a scooter.”

“How is that answering my question?”

“Yes,” he said and drifted off to sleep.

Bloody men–once they get what they want, they lose interest. I decided I’d try and discuss rationally with Julie what was acceptable and by converse the unacceptable to me. Yeah, I know rational conversation and teenager doesn’t exactly go together, and I know I was a bit slow in my own development, and maybe I am a bit anal about it all–but I do worry about her, which is clearly more than Simon does.

I suppose his argument is she can’t get pregnant so why worry? But she can catch all sorts of horrible diseases and get herself a bad reputation, not to mention violence from anyone who doesn’t appreciate her little anatomical problem.

In some ways I should be grateful for Leon, at least he knows and seems happy with it–I just worry about when the hormones get the better of them, will they lose control and–and what? That’s the problem. I need to speak with her.

I tossed and turned all night–why was this worrying me so much? Doesn’t it say more about me than her? Here I am, seven o’clock on a Sunday morning waiting to talk with my teenage ‘daughter’ about the facts of life. Oh boy, I must be a lousy mother.

I sat with a cup of tea in the kitchen–thinking that she wouldn’t be up for another three hours, so if I was that tired, why didn’t I go back to my bed? I couldn’t sleep if I did.

Much to my astonishment, I heard footsteps and Julie came into the kitchen. “Hello, Mummy–you’re up early?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, why are you up?” I said this whilst trying to suppress my surprise.

“I had another nightmare–the knife one, again.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I felt tears in my eyes as I hugged her and felt her sobbing against my shoulder. “He can’t hurt you again, we won’t let him.”

“I know, Mummy, but it’s in my head and it won’t go away,” she sobbed, “How can your own father hurt you like that?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we won’t let him do it again.”

“I love you, Mummy, you will protect me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, we’re your family now–we all love you and will help to protect you. The police have told him to stay away from you, so they’ll pick him up in an instant if he doesn’t.”

“How can I get him out of my head, Mummy?”

“Only by realising that he can’t hurt you again.”

“But he’d have to be dead for that–wouldn’t he?”

“No–just keep in your heart and your head that you’re under our roof now; you’re part of our family; we won’t let anything happen to you–I promise.”

I held her long enough for my tea to go cold and my mind to realise that she was still a child, and despite her pretence at normality–she had a long way to go before she dealt with all her demons. Maybe, playing up to men is a way of keeping someone who might defend her, on board. Oh boy–this all gets more and more complicated–it puts the worry about changing my car into some sort of perspective–like bottom of the pile.

Let’s get Julie sorted out first before the next crisis looms–gee whizz, someone must have wished me an interesting life–but even by those standards, I’ve surely had enough, haven’t I? Maybe I should be teaching courses on crisis management–not that I’m very good at it–simply a survivor–so far.