Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 918 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I suspected from the fuss the three youngsters made of Julie’s shoes, that I’d be fighting a war of attrition to stop them from having silly shoes. Possibly, both Meems’ and Livvie’s feet would be too small to wear Julie’s shoes, but Trish might not as she grows.

Then again, Julie might get over the novelty eventually–mind you have I? I wear heels quite a bit, although I usually stop at three inches, because that is quite high. It makes me laugh that in transgender stories some bloke goes from only ever having worn flat men’s shoes to walking perfectly in four or five inch heels in a single paragraph–it’s nonsense. Wearing that sort of height of heel bloody cripples you, rubs blisters and hurts like hell in feet and legs–I know I’ve tried it.

That I’d bought each of them a prezzie from our shopping trip, made the girls a bit more amenable to my authority, but only just–plus I had to show I’d bought something for the boys as well. Anyway, I quelled the mutiny by sleight of credit card, though I think I shall have to watch that this isn’t seen as a precedent.

Julie decided she would wear her new outfit tonight and again on Thursday when she went to the pictures. Once home, while I cooked she disappeared to her boudoir with her three protégés to organise her toilette and dress to kill. She could do the ironing tomorrow while I baked some cakes and pies.

Tonight I did something light, fish and oven chips with garden peas; not my favourite meal, but one which would have them licking their plates afterwards–not just the kids but also Stella and Tom. In the event–only Kiki ended up licking her dish, but the food went down very well.

Julie came down with makeup trowelled on. I suggested that Leon might think she looked like a drag queen–she was horrified, especially when Stella nodded in agreement.

“Well, what should I do then?” she pleaded in tears. I glanced at Stella, who is much more of a whizz with makeup than I. She took Julie up her room and, using Julie’s makeup, gave her a makeover which the other three were not allowed to watch, so they could judge the outcome better. Trish and Livvie took great exception to that and got quite stroppy, pouting like a gurning salmon.

“Look, kiddos, when you’re older, Auntie Stella will show you what to do as well.”

“I want you to show me, Mummy,” said Meems.

“When you’re older, Mima.”

She seemed contented with that answer and went to play with her dollies. Trish and Livvie pouted some more and lounged about the place like lethargic leopards. I couldn’t understand why Julie hadn’t done the same as she did before, when she seemed to be doing her makeup so well. Oh well, I’m not a teenager any more–thank goodness.

When Julie came down, I agreed Stella was very good at makeup and hair styling, she’d done both–Leon was going to think he’d come for a date with a model. The girls were suitably impressed and I finally managed to get them to think about other things.

Danny was wolf whistling at Julie, who loved every second of it, Livvie was trying to copy him, with little success and Trish and Billy were laughing themselves silly at Livvie’s attempts.

When Leon arrived, I let them use the lounge on the understanding that they didn’t close the door or indulge in anything more than a kiss or a cuddle, so clothes had to be kept on, except perhaps shoes.

For the other kids, they had to stay out of the lounge and not disturb Julie or Leon. They giggled themselves silly, much to Julie’s annoyance, but they all agreed.

Leon duly arrived and his eyes came out on stalks when Julie made her entrance. I suspect something indicated he was pleased to see her–but I reminded them, it was Tom’s house and as I was acting with his full authority–there was to be no hanky-panky. They agreed and I left them to it.

Then it was story time, girls first–some Secret Seven stories I bought over the internet, originals not the politically corrected ones. The boys read to me, some Biggles stories, obtained the same way. Well I enjoyed reading them when I was a kid, both Enid Blyton and Capt. WE Johns.

I took some drinks into our courting teens–actually, I called Julie out to take them in, some cola drinks with some biscuits and crisps. She seemed to appreciate my indulgence, although her lipstick was somewhat smudged, which made me smile. She blushed when I mentioned it to her–I know, I’m a rotten swine; hee hee.

I sent Leon home at ten, he had half an hour’s ride home and it was raining–actually what I did was borrow Tom’s car and drive him home–his bike went in the back. Of course Julie had to come with us–natch.

We called in to see Leon’s mother, and she made us very welcome–not quite killing the fatted calf, but nearly so.

“Dis woman, she have da powah–da powah is very strong in her. You, young ting, you have da potential to get it, but it won’t be easy,” she told Julie.

After escaping Theresa’s hospitality–she’d have fed us the whole fridge if we’d let her instead of a cuppa and a digestive biscuit, which is what we had at my insistence. I did some more healing on Theresa and Julie saw the blue light transfer from me to the older black woman.

It gave us something to talk about on the way back. “Why does Trish have the power and I don’t?”

“Why does Trish have blue eyes while you have brown ones?” I replied.

“Genetics,” replied Julie. I need to make my analogies more suitable.

“Okay–I don’t know, the energy chose her for some obscure reason. I mean why did it happen to me?”

“Because you’re a good woman.”

“Yeah sure; a positive paragon, a living saint.”

“An angel,” Julie added.

“I was being ironic, Julie–I’m none of those things, I’m ordinary–as far as that goes in our situation–no squeaky clean ethereal being. I’m flesh and blood with feet of clay, like everyone else.”

“So why does Gramps say you’re special?”

“Because he considers me his daughter, and parents are always proud of their children.” Realising what I’d just said I tried to modify it, “Positive parenting is all about helping kids to reach their potential.”

Julie was looking out of the window, but I knew she was silently weeping. “My mum and dad weren’t proud of me–they were ashamed of me.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think mine were the same–for a long time at any rate.”

“I’m glad you’re my mother now, Mummy.”

“So am I, sweetheart. Did you have a nice evening?”

“Yes thank you.”

As we drove along, I suddenly said, “Damn, damn, damn.”

“What’s the matter, Mummy?” asked a concerned Julie.

“Nothing–that was the curse of the mummy.” I delivered this line dead pan and Julie had to think about it before she started to snigger, then she chuckled and snorted before laughing loudly.

“That was awful, Mummy,” she chortled at me.

The next morning I made her wash her stuff by hand–the outfit she’d worn with Leon. Sequins come off in the machine and the exercise would be good for her. Then she did some more ironing while I baked some simple sponge cakes, and made some pastry and then some pies with it. I did an apple pie and a savoury one–chicken and mushroom.

Julie made a new loaf–with a new recipe in the bread machine, a granary loaf as opposed to the usual wholemeal.

After lunch–some pasties I made with the pies, we did the laundry–stripping another couple of beds and making up new ones–easier with two of us. I left her in charge of the machine while I went to collect the three degrees and she’d pretty well finished it all by the time I got back. Once it was dry–we had some more ironing for her to practice on–such are the delights of womanhood.