Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 974 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We drove in silence for a short while, the pieces of duck had defrosted overnight and were waiting in the fridge to be cooked. I needed one or two things for the sauce and that needed a supermarket.

“I’m going to have to go to Tesco or Asda to get one or two things.” I watched Julie flinch as I said this. “Do you want to stay in the car, I can lock it?”

“I’ll come with you–I’ll feel safer.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She held on to my arm as we walked to the store and also while we did the shopping. Julie held the basket while I put a few items in it including some strawberries and melon for the dessert. I paid and we got back to the car. Once inside it, Julie seemed to relax a little and I heard her breathe out quite loudly.

“Okay?” I asked and she nodded. “I know it’s all very raw again, but it is going to get easier–I promise I’ll do all I can.”

“I know, Mummy, if it weren’t for you I’d probably be dead anyway.”

“Not necessarily, some other good Samaritan might have taken you in.”

“I doubt it, I’d have ended up on the street, nicking stuff to stay alive or selling my body. I wouldn’t have got hormones or the comfortable home with people I love, would I?”

“I don’t know, darling, look you can speculate all you want and never know the answer. Just try and accept what you have, which is security and love and take it from there. You’re safe, you’re wanted and you’re loved–what else could a girl want?”

“A boy or girlfriend,” she said quietly.

“You have Leon, who is very fond of you, and you have your two girl pals, too.”

“Shelley and Tracie? Yeah, I suppose, ’cept they haven’t been in touch for a week or two.”

“They could just be busy–didn’t they see you at the salon?”

“Yeah–they could also have decided I’m a loser and moved on.”

“A loser?” I stopped the car, “Now listen here young woman, you are not a loser. You are going to make something of your life and we’re all going to help you as you need us.”

“It’s alright for you, you’ve got Daddy and all his money.”

“I didn’t when I started, I was post grad student with barely two pennies to rub together–remember, I was estranged from my parents too, so their financial support stopped when we fell out. I only survived because the bursar at the university managed to find some obscure charity which gave me a thousand pounds a year and paid for my bedsit.”

“A thousand pounds–is that all?”

“I spent most of it on food, I also had a student loan which enabled me to buy one or two luxuries.”

“A thousand pounds, that’s like less than twenty pounds a week.”

“Yes, it is. I lived on things like beans on toast, mince and jacket spuds, and salad when it was cheap.”

“So you’ve had it tough then?”

“Not as hard as many, I accept, but I lived on a couple of pounds a day most days, used a bike for transport in all weathers and didn’t bother much with luxuries, such as chocolate.”

“Chocolate is a luxury?” She almost gasped, and I was pleased I’d moved her away from her anxious state.

“It was then, and as for alcohol–it was a non-starter. Mind you all that and the exercise kept my weight down and the pills rearranged what fat I already had into a more acceptable form. Amazingly, my hips also widened a little even though I didn’t expect them to.”

“That’s because you never were a boy. You just needed the ’mones to kick-start a proper puberty.”

“Maybe, ah, here they are.” The three girls had walked out to meet us and quickly got in the car.

“Is Julie all right?” asked Trish.

“I’m fine,” she replied, “I banged my elbow earlier, made me cry.”

“Is it all right now–do you need me to heal it for you?” offered our trainee miracle worker.

“Um–no, it’s okay, Mummy, blue-lighted it.”

“Spoilsport,” was muttered from the back seat and Julie and I smirked.

Back home, I made the girls change into their playing clothes and then do any homework they needed to. Julie asked to help me with dinner–she seemed to want to be very close to me–so we turned it into an impromptu cookery lesson.

The duck went in the oven, the veg were prepared, mushrooms peeled and sliced, broccoli and carrots washed and sliced, and finally the potatoes were scraped and popped in the saucepan of water.

Next we cleaned and prepared the fruit, I had some nice locally made ice cream we were going to have with it. As we worked, I said, “Gramps will complain.”

“Why? I think it’s a lovely menu.”

“Yes but he sees all poultry as only having one function.”

“What’s that?”

“Being curried. If someone ever invents a chicken which hatches freshly curried from the egg, Gramps will buy some.”

Julie laughed and asked if she should lay the table.

“No, that’s Trish’s job, if you muscle in on it, she’ll go spare. Watch and learn.” I walked into the lounge where the girls were doing some maths homework. “Trish, is it okay if Julie lays the table?”

“Yeah, that’s okay, Mummy–make sure she does it right though, I don’t want anyone besmirching my reputation.”

“You what?”

Giggling, she repeated what she’d said before. Julie and Livvie were almost helpless with laughter.

“Besmirching? Where did you get that from?”

“They were talking about the election and how politicians try to besmirch each other to win votes. I think it’s perfectly horrid.”

“Who was talking?”

“The nuns–like, who else?” she rolled her eyes and I glowered at her. “Sorry, Mummy.”

I nodded to accept her apology, Livvie had to run to the cloakroom.

“Right, girls, Dr Cauldwell is coming to dinner tonight, so I want you to behave.”

“We shall, impeccably,” declared Trish.

“You can’t peck anyone, you haven’t got a beak, siwwy Twish,” Mima stated and ran out before Trish could get off her chair.

I prevented the riot starting and sent Mima upstairs to tidy her bed–she’d left her pyjamas on the floor and I decided she was old enough to pick them up herself. She grumbled but the noises from the lounge suggested one of her siblings felt it was poetic justice.

The boys were upstairs doing their homework and listening to their mini music centre–a CD player with speakers loud enough to annoy Julie at times, but seeing as she was down helping me, they were blasting it a bit louder than they usually did. How anyone can work in such a row, baffles me.

“Are you going to change?” I asked Julie at a quarter to six.

“Do I need to?”

“No, but you’ve got some new jeans you could wear with that cotton striped top–what about makeup, are you wearing any?”

“I wasn’t sure, Mummy, what if I cry?”

“Use the waterproof mascara.”

“It isn’t really waterproof, is it?”

“Nah, but it takes longer to migrate over your face than the ordinary–have you got some waterproof?”

“Yes, Mummy, you bought me some ages ago.”

“I’m just too perfect for words.”

“Yes, Mummy, it comes with being old.” She pecked me on the cheek and ran up the stairs before I could swat her backside.