Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 940 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Dinner passed without further ado, and Julie and I cleared up while the rest of my brood did their various homework. Meems had to write the numerals from one to ten and show me how many fingers that involved. We did it once I’d cleared the table and had the dishwasher going.

Danny had some more advanced arithmetic to do and as he seemed competent, I left him to do it. Billy had an essay to write, so after discussing some ideas about how he could write it–Watching a sporting event, I moved on to Trish and Livvie who worked together. They were like Siamese twins, both producing identical work because it was co-authored. They had to write down their favourite nursery rhyme, so we had endless recitations of all those they could remember.

In the end, I had to insist they chose one–preferably not a long one, as neither was a very quick writer–hardly surprising at five years old. I steered them towards Humpty Dumpty, which they thought was sad until I explained it was about a cannon which was stood on the walls of Oxford, a city in the hands of Royalists during the English Civil War, and which fell off, and being cast iron, smashed.

And all the kings horses and all the kings men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.

They both decided they suddenly liked it and wrote it down, which took them ages. I did a quick proof read for them and surprisingly, they both copied it accurately.

I managed to get them all to bed eventually and after the story rounds and a chat with Julie about sexuality–I got downstairs, poured myself a glass of Rioja and sat at the kitchen table reflecting on the conversation with Julie.

“Mummy, what if Leon gets fed up with me not being a real girl?”

“There’s nothing I can do, sweetheart, if he does–he does. It happens.”

“Maybe I should talk to Siân about lesbianism?”

“I suspect she’ll be able to give you more about it than I can. I’m not aware that it happens in dormice.”

She laughed at my comment about dormice. “What if I’m bi?”

“What if you’re not?” I almost echoed.

“What would I do, Mummy?”

“How do I know? Raise it with Stephanie the next time you see her.”

“But you’re my mother.”

“Your foster mother, Julie–I’ve only known you a couple of months or so.”

“Yeah, but you like, understand me better than, you know who.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I’m not sure–bit of both, I s’pose.”

“I have insights from another perspective, but don’t write her off–most parents do what they consider to be the best job they can for their children.”

“Well you’ve like, done far more for me than she ever did.”

“For one part of your being, maybe–she got you to sixteen, so she can’t have done too bad a job.”

“Huh, you weren’t there when I wanted a nurse’s uniform and she hit me for being stupid.”

“Oh–that was unfortunate.” I wasn’t entirely against corporal punishment, it sometimes had a place, but so far it hadn’t been necessary with my kids. Normally withholding my approval or expressing disappointment was enough to make them quite repentant–even Julie.

“Unfortunate–she was nasty about it. The uniform had a white apron with a red cross on the bib, and blue cape and white nurse’s hat. She told me that seeing as I liked the red cross so much, she’d give me one on my bottom. She smacked me with a cane, making the shape of a cross, and it was red and sore for days.”

“Okay; that was nasty and unnecessary if I understand you correctly.”

“What shall I do about Leon, Mummy?”

“Has he told you he doesn’t want to see you?”

“No.”

“Well, until he does or his body language tells you, I’d continue as you are. I suspect he’s hardly got a reputation as a Casanova.”

“Who?”

“Geez, girl, didn’t they teach you anything at school–Casanova the great Venetian lover of the eighteenth century.”

“What he came from the planet Venus?”

“No, you nit, from Venice. Venusians come from Venus–or would if there were any to come from there. In an atmosphere of sulphuric acid, they’d have to be pretty hardy, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess so.”

“Siân and Kirsty are coming for dinner on Saturday, so I want to make a good impression on them–so don’t let them do anything off the wall to your hair while you’re at the salon, will you?”

“Okay, Mummy–then I didn’t like know they were gonna do that last week.”

I eventually got downstairs and poured the glass of wine I mentioned before, Stella came down with some more dirty nappies and poured herself a glass after dumping the nappies in the bucket to soak in the nappy cleaner.

“Did I hear you inviting that rancid lesbo to dinner with her ‘orrible partner?”

“I invited Siân and Kirsty to dinner, yes. If you don’t like the company you don’t have to come.”

“Oh that’s great! Excluded from my own dinner table by her.

“No, you’re excluding yourself–I’m the hostess here, if you want to complain, talk to Tom.”

“Okay, I will.” She strode out to Tom’s study and went in. I heard muffled but loud voices and she came out with a face like thunder. “If I choose to stay in on Saturday evening, I’ll eat separately.”

“Fine–if you choose to cook it, you can eat what you like.”

“So you would exclude me?”

“No, you’re welcome to dine with us.”

“Not with that Welsh dragon woman.”

“That’s up to you.”

“It wasn’t you who got hit upon.”

“No–it wasn’t, but neither was it I who got blotto and could barely remember who she was.”

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve seen it since, Stella–I know you–so stop all this protesting and grow up.”

“F’geddit, I’ll cook my own dinner on Saturday.”

“Fine–just keep out of my way.”

“Why–what’re ya gonna do?”

“Will you stop acting like a ten year old?”

“I can’t believe you are talking to me.”

“Yeah, reality never was your strongpoint was it?”

“How dare you?” I saw her hand move and dodged the wine before it hit me.

“I hope you’re going to clean that up?” I said firmly.

“Get stuffed.” She turned on her heel and went upstairs.

I cleaned up the mess and fumed at her childishness. As I was doing so, Tom wandered in. “Whit’re ye daein?”

“Cleaning up some spilt wine–why?”

“Why is Stella sae riled at yer dinner party?”

“She thinks Siân once made a pass at her while they were both drunk.”

“She’s makin’ an awfu fuss o’er it?”

“I agree–perhaps, the lady doth protest too much?”

“Aye mebbe?” With that he washed his glass and went off to bed–or his ‘pit’ as he sometimes calls it.

I sat on my own drinking a second glass of wine worrying what sort of fireworks might happen on Saturday. It would probably all be a damp squib, but what if it wasn’t? If Stella shows me up by a childish interruption–I’ll be very cross with her: it’s going to be hard enough trying to keep the kids in check–although I hope Siân will have enough of a sense of humour to cope with it. All I need is Meems saying in a loud voice–“Woss a wesbian, Mummy?”