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(aka Bike) Part 924 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
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I did read to Julie, not stories, but a poem by Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken and Kipling’s If,.
“What if I don’t want to be a man?” she enquired at the end of Kipling.
“I don’t think it’s compulsory.”
“Oh, thank God for that, you had me worried, Mummy; besides, I can’t always keep my head when all around are losing theirs.”
“You’re not the only one, I do the headless chicken now and again.”
“I can’t believe anything really fazes you, Mummy.”
“Stick around kiddo, you’ll see.”
“What was that all about choosing paths?”
“Oh goodness, there’s so much controversy written about that poem, was Frost being ironic and so on. He said something about it being a walk he did with his friend Edward Thomas–but loads of people think it’s much more philosophical than that.
“I like to think it’s about all the paths we choose to take means we ignore another which would have led somewhere else. Sometimes we think, we could always come back and redo the choice, taking the other path–but by then, we’ve moved on and can never revisit the past.”
“You’re awfully clever, Mummy.”
“Me–nah, just had a good education.”
“I’d never even heard of Frost or Kipling, except Frost used to have a chat show and Mr Kipling ‘makes exceedingly good cakes.’
“Goodness, girl, you’re an ad man’s dream, aren’t you?”
“Me? No I’m not–anyway, you know what I’m talking about, so you must have seen the ads too.”
“I didn’t say I hadn’t,” I closed the book of poems.
“Can I borrow that book, Mummy?”
“Yes, of course you can–but I should like it back, I’ve had it a long time.” I handed her the book knowing she would see the inscription inside it. Awarded to Charles Watts, School Poetry Prize 1998. Bristol Grammar School.
She took the book and put it on her bedside table. “I’ll look after it.”
“I’m sure you will,” I kissed her on the forehead. “Night night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Mummy, and thank you.”
“My pleasure, now go to sleep.” I heard her laugh gently as I came back down the stairs where Simon and Tom were in deep discussion, about cars again. It was either that or rugby–I’m surprised, it wasn’t the latter although Scotland had been beaten by Italy, the weakest of the six nations. I expected to see them both wearing black armbands after that.
I only ever saw an international rugby match once back years ago when I was in school. Dad got some tickets for Wales v England at Cardiff. I found the atmosphere totally overwhelming and when the Welsh started to sing–I openly wept, much to Dad’s disgust. Because he supported England, I went with Wales, who eventually won by a narrow margin. I’ve sort of supported them ever since–when I watch it on telly that is: and that isn’t very often. But I shall never forget the singing at the Millenium Stadium, in Cardiff–it was pure magic.
“Sold the Land Rover yet?” asked Simon.
“Whit, my wee Freelander?”
“Yeah, that heap o’junk.”
“Dinnae be sae saucy, ye muckle heid.”
I left them bickering, although I knew it was in good fun, I was wanting some peace and quiet. I didn’t find it, Puddin’ woke so I had to go and change and feed her. I got her back to sleep just before Stella arrived as drunk as a skunk. The taxi driver needed help to get her out of his cab–Simon obliged him, and wasn’t very gentle about it either, so it probably served him right, when she threw up all over him. It looked like she’d had a Chinese for dinner–could see his little hat and shoes.
I helped to put her to bed, wiping the vomit out of her hair and clothes after Simon carried his supine sibling upstairs. I also changed her into her nightdress and tucked her into her bed. She was soon snoring, I hoped it wouldn’t wake Puddin’ because if she decided to wail, Stella would most probably not hear it, and if she did be incapable of dealing with her baby.
Simon was drying himself after a shower by the time I’d finished, I washed, cleaned my teeth and slipped into bed. He was reading something for a while, how long I don’t know, I went off to sleep very quickly, except I dreamt of walking in the woods with Julie and we had to choose which path to take...
Next morning, I was up and showered while Simon slept on. I went to wake Julie except she was in the shower herself. She came down twenty minutes later, looking very unsure of herself.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Mummy?”
“Why ever not?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“If they realise I’m a boy.”
“I thought you were a girl with a plumbing problem–like Trish.”
“Who’s like me?” piped a little voice from behind me.
“Hello, sweety-pie,” I gave her a hug and a kiss. “Tell your big sister she’ll be okay at the salon!”
“You’ll be okay at the salon, what’s for breakfast, Mummy?”
“Tr-i-s-h–you could be a bit more supportive of Julie,” I grumbled.
She rushed from her chair to hug Julie, “I was only jokin’, Julie–but I’m sure you’ll be okay–really, I do. Oh don’t cry.” In less than a minute the pair of them were sobbing on each others shoulders.
“Well you’re a fine pair. You,” I tapped Julie on her shoulder. “Off upstairs, dry your eyes and redo your makeup! You,” I tapped Trish. “Get yourself upstairs and washed and dressed and you can come with us when I take Julie to work!”
“Yippee,” called Trish and raced upstairs.
While they were both gone I made tea and poured myself a cup. Tom appeared, asked ‘Whit aw thae greetin’ wis aboot?’ made himself a coffee and went into the study with my Guardian. Oh well, I didn’t have time to read it anyway.
Julie came back down and I managed to get her to eat some cereal and a piece of toast. I’d made her a sandwich and some fruit for her lunch, and put it in a bag along with a bottle of water.
She actually looked like a typical teen, a bit Goth–all in black–and with her black eyeliner and mascara, her black scarf tied around her wrist and so on. At least she’d taken my advice about shoes and was wearing her ballet pumps.
Trish and I took Julie off to her date with destiny while the other two girls were sent back upstairs to get Simon up to organise their breakfast. Stella, I assumed, would probably not be feeling like rising just yet–then it might almost be a resurrection.
Simon and Livvie could probably deal with Puddin’ if necessary, although Meems was the baby expert–she loved it, and Trish wasn’t too bad either.
Trish and I went into the death chamber with Julie, who was soon settled in by Marge the owner and one of the stylists, who looked as if she’d been frightened, as all her hair was standing up on end–doubtless she thought it was very kewl, or whatever the in-word is. Before Trish offered to teach them how to cut hair, I whisked her away and we did the supermarket shop on the way home.
Julie was due to finish at five thirty, so I agreed to come and get her. She told me that Shelley and Tracie were going to call by and tease her–to which, she was quite looking forward, I think. She had a job, sort of–neither of them did.
Back at the ranch, Trish went up to help Stella with Puddin’. Simon was quite disgusted that babies messed in their nappies, he’d left Livvie to do the unspeakable bit, because ‘she needed the practice.’ He warmed the food for her, and Livvie fed the baby–while he supervised–probably from a safe distance.
“It’s a good job in some ways, that I didn’t have babies, isn’t it?” I said to him.
“No I think we were quite sensible getting them already house trained,” he smirked.
“Did you empty the washing machine?” I asked him.
“No–why should I?”
“It’s mainly your clothes that’s in it.”
“I hope that Hu flung dung or whatever it was hasn’t stained my shirt.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Chinese meal, she shared with us last night.”
“Oh well she knew you were the greedy one, so you got most of it.” I smiled at him and ducked as he swiped at me.
“Bloody women–next time she does that, she can stay all night in the stupid car.”
“I have vague recollections of getting you inside and upstairs with Stella’s help when you’d had a wee drappie tae much.”
“That’s different, and a long time ago–remember, I can’t drink now.” I suppose I could have told him that his liver was now healed, but it was safer to say nowt and let him believe he was at risk–he might actually live longer then.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_Not_Taken_(poem)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If%E2%80%94
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Comments
Hope Stella didn't end up with more than a headache
from her date. Always good to see how the family supports eachother though.
And isn't Livvie 5 years old? A little to young for unsupervised diaper duty in my opinion. (he’d left Livvie to do the unspeakable bit, because ‘she needed the practice.’ )
Poor Julie - needs to make a choice between working and school at only 16. Seems young to be able to make an educated choice to me. Especially considering her background. Nice that she is in a supportive situation now.
I dunno about 5...
But, my (at the time) 9 year old changed her baby sister once - while I was out mowing the lawn (she was supposed to come get me, and she did once done)... She didn't do TOOO bad a job. And, to be honest, the clean up part she did very well - it was only trying to get the clean diaper on a squirming baby sister where she had troubles.
Same older sister had told us she'd do this (picture - standing there, hand on one hip pushing it side to side saying "I don't do diapers" with the hip going each way with each "d")...
Both daughters appear to have survived having two mommys. :-)
Annette
Bike pt 924.
Great seeing the special girls bonding. Just proves that they are truly sisters.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
I'm still loving it!
I'm still loving the way the story develops. It's good to see how the various lives progress -- I'm thinking right now of Julie starting her first job.
Now, all we need is some progress towards the wedding blessing. I know, I know, I'm being impatient -- yes! So what!
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
x
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
Famous leaders
>> His phrasing often includes direct contradiction, as though the first part of a sentence of his did not know what it was leading to, with the conclusion being part of an emotional catchphrase.
Golly. This description sounds terribly familiar, somehow. It reminds me of someone...
Never mind,
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Typical Simon!
Refuses to get up close and personal with the business end of babies, then moans about the possibility of his inebriated sister having stained his shirt. And talking of Stella, talk about having easy weekends - with three willing volunteers to help look after Puddin'!
As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!
My brother....
Actually did his kid's first diaper. Why? Because he didn't remember what the doc said, and he wanted to know if he had a boy or a girl.
I recall another family - where the mom always did the deed... Until once when grandchildren were visiting, it was necessary for Grandpa to do the job. And he did a very professional job. Surprising his wife no end... Until she asked and he reminded her that as a Pediatrician it was part of the job. And, you'll not be surprised to hear that his response to being asked why he'd not helped with the kids was "you never asked"... (I did notice he never volunteered, either!)
Annette
Sounds like a typical household to me
Young children doing the dirty work, mum keeping the peace and trying her best to head off trouble at the pass, and the men thinking with their small heads.
This tale has lost absolutely nothing of its magic in 924 episodes.
Susie
Some nice poetry there...
I'm not sure why, but I find Robert Service's The Cremation of Sam McGee worth a read or two. (The story BEHIND the poem is interesting as well.)
Sounds like Julie's getting a start, and will do well. Must be nice to pass so easily. :-)
Gotta wonder how much (if any) of Stella's date she'll remember. I really do NOT understand why so many people think getting "plastered" implies that fun was had? Perhaps it's cause I've never been plastered. (Getting well plastered sounds like a good way to not remember what things you're trying to hide...)
Looking forward to finding out if the date part of the date (as opposed to what appears to be a drinking contest - you shoulda seen the other guy...) went.
Thanks for continuing the story.
Annette
About the "Date"
A Gentleman would have collected the Lady, and would have personally seen her to her home again afterwards. A Gentleman would also have not let the lady get plastered.
Oh sorry, I forgot. he was not a Gentleman. He was a Cop.
Still, even though being one of the lower orders, a bit of politeness ought to have been in his basic education and training. Can't imagine what sort of home he grew up in. But then, did he not invite Stella on a date instead of doing his job and booking her for a traffic offense?
That ought to have been enough to warn her what sort of cad he would have been. Poor Stella seems to have very poor taste in male partners.
Briar
Briar
>> it was safer to say nowt
This is a very subtle touch of realism. Real people shift their language to match the people around them, especially those they love.
Cheers,
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Stella
The whole family (excepting Cathy) has problems with binge drinking. It is entirely possible the cop tried, we may find out later.
Still, it is good to see Stella enjoying life again. Being a single mom (even with lots of help and money) isn't fun, just rewarding.