The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1110 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How did it go?” asked Simon.

“Actually, it went okay.”

He did a double take–“Hello,” he said loudly.

“It went okay, whether things will change, I have no idea, but she was very nice.”

“Are we talking social workers, here?”

“No, we were talking about England’s chances in the European championships.”

“You were?”

“No, you dimwit, of course she’s a social worker.”

“What; like an ant or a bee?”

I laughed at his joke, which for him was exceptionally good. “No she wasn’t a hymenopteran.”

“Who?”

“An ant or bee or wasp–the Hymenoptera, or wasp waists.”

“Yes of course, silly me–you can tell your mother did biology, can’t you?” he said to the baby.

Trish came in and he walked out down the garden with her, holding her hand–they looked a really odd couple, her tiny and him over six feet tall. I had no idea where they were going but my next job was to shove my chest in the mouth of the ever hungry bundle of fun who was stirring in her carrycot.

Stella came down with Puddin’ who was toddling around the place and falling over, the way that toddlers do, her legs stretched obscenely wide by the bulky nappy between them.

“Babby,” she said pointing at baby Catherine.

“Yes, that’s right, Auntie Cathy’s got her baby hasn’t she? Don’t want to adopt another do you?” she asked after she’d rushed forward to take sticky little fingers off the video player.

“Why, what has she done now?”

“Dropped my Rolex in the fish tank and knocked the head off my Royal Doulton figurine.”

“Not the ballet dancer?”

“Yep, that one.”

“You might get away with justifiable homicide,” I suggested.

“Nah, I’ll wait until you murder this one and I claim you killed mine too.” Stella made funny faces at my baby.

“I wouldn’t ever murder you, would I?” I asked the baby who waved her arms up and down as she chewed on my nipple.

“Just wait until she strangles one of your precious dormice.”

“Don’t listen to that nasty lady, precious, don’t listen to her.”

“Precious? You sound like thingamy from Lord of the Rings.”

“What, Gollom?”

“Yeah, my pwecious, we shall have to kill him, my pwecious.”

I laughed but, I’ve seen the films–baby Catherine was signally unimpressed at her auntie’s antics and definitely more interested in sucking my boobs inside out.

Simon and Stella met in the hallway outside the kitchen–“What’s got into her?” he asked obviously not picking up on her very poor impersonation.

“Dunno, she wasn’t Tolkein to me,” I joked, but it went over his head.

“Daddy is going into town, may I go with him, please, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“If you want to, I hope you’re not going to be walking her too far, are you Simon?”

“No–I’m popping into one of the banks to check out a couple of things, then we’ll be back–hour tops.”

“What about her lunch?”

“We’ll be back before lunch.”

I glanced at the clock, crikey, it’s only eleven–why do I feel so hungry? Ah, I forgot my breakfast. “Si, could you pass me in a banana, I don’t remember having any breakfast?”

“You didn’t–so how are you going to feed little un, here, if you’re neglecting yourself–good job I’m not your social worker…”

“No, ‘cos you’d need a corset for a wasp waist,” I threw back at him.

“You can bloody talk,” he said back.

“I thought you liked a bit of fat with your meat?”

“Cathy, I do–not meat with my fat.”

“Ouch, are you implying something?”

“Well if I was asked if I wanted a leg or a breast, these days there’d be very little difference–apart from the hairs on the leg.”

“You cheeky sod, wait till you want a milk shake.”

“Hmm–they could be fattening,” he said and they went out to his car.

I chatted with the baby, who has very little conversation, except loud burps and the odd gurgle–little mother sucker.

I finished feeding her, changed her and put her in her baby seat thing, which is like a recumbent with a strap between the legs to stop her sliding through. She can watch me and bounce a little herself.

I sat her on the floor watching me make soup for dinner plus putting a bread mix in the machine. I had some Panini in the freezer, so defrosted them in the oven. The soup was chicken, made from leftover bits and few vegetables, stock from cooking the vegetables the day before to which I added a little of the jelly from the chicken. I tasted it whilst it was cooking, and after a careful addition of salt and pepper, it tasted pretty good.

Billie came in and asked where Danny was. “He’s playing football, as far as I know. Tomorrow kiddo, we’ll have to go and get your uniform.”

“Uniform?”

“For the convent.”

“Will they really take me, Mummy?”

“They better had, I sent them a cheque a few days ago.”

She came and hugged me, “Thank you.”

“It’s okay, just do your best when you get there.”

“I will, Mummy, I will.”

“Watch, tiny wee for me, will you–I need to go to the loo.” I went off to the toilet and when I came back the phone rang. “Can you get that, Billie?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you would?” I deliberately ask her sometimes, because she’s embarrassed to talk on the phone. She thinks people think she’s a boy. As she has a squeaky voice, I don’t know why.

“Hello, Cameron residence, Billie speaking.” She paused, then said, “Oh, I think you’d better talk to my mummy.” She handed me the phone.

“Hello, Cathy Cameron, what d’you want?”

“Hello, Mrs Cameron, we have a boy here who seems to have fractured his ankle, he says he fell off his bike.”

“Is his name, Danny?”

“Yes, he said Danny Cameron, but we have no record of a Danny Cameron–just a Danny Maiden.”

“That’s him, he’s adopted.”

“Okay, we need someone to come and sign the consent forms.”

“What for?”

“His ankle will need surgery.”

“Geez, okay–I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Billie go and find, Auntie Stella or Gramps.”

I got the breast pump and expressed some more milk, then shoved it in the fridge and put new pads in my bra. I put the baby in her cot. Jenny came through, “Everything okay, Lady C?”

“No, Danny’s broken his ankle apparently. I have to go and sort things out. I’ve done some milk, can you feed her when she wakes?”

“Of course–anything else?”

“Yes, there’s soup for everyone here with Panini, they’re in the oven defrosting.”

“Hmmm, smells heavenly.”

“I have to dash.” I grabbed my coat and bag and ran off to the car. If I go to this hospital much more often, they’ll be asking me to join their superannuation scheme. Once I was in the car and concentrating on Danny, I picked up on his pain–it was his left leg. I started to send in the blue light–why hadn’t that happened with Trish?

By the time I’d parked the car, I was very centred on him, concentrating on his leg, which I even managed to do while talking to reception. “Not you again?” said Peter Woods in A&E.

“Oh you’ve got quite a few to get through yet,” I joked.

“How many kids have you got?”

“Seven.”

“Seven?” he gasped, “I can’t cope with two.”

“Have you operated?” I asked.

“No, not yet why?”

“His leg’s improving.”

“Nope–not without surgery.”

“I think you’ll find it is.”

“Okay, you seem adamant about it, let’s go and see.” He led me to a cubicle.

“Hello, son,” I said walking up and ruffling his hair.

“Hi, Mum, sorry, I fell off my bike, got my foot caught. Doesn’t hurt now.”

“This is remarkable,” Peter Woods looked at the ankle. “Where’s all the swelling gone? Is this the same patient?” He asked one of the nurses.

“Yes, Danny Maiden,” she looked through the curtain, “Yes, it’s him, why?”

Dr Woods showed her the boy’s ankle, which I continued to send healing to.”

“I want this re-X-rayed immediately, please. Sorry, Lady Cameron, you’ll have to go back to the waiting room.”

“Can I go with her?” asked Danny walking round the side of his bed.

“No–what are you doing, standing on it? Get back on your bed immediately.”

“It don’t hurt,” declared Danny, “See?” he stood on his bad leg.

“Bloody hell–I think I need a holiday,” said Peter Woods.

“You just had one,” said the nurse’s voice from the next cubicle. “Oh, that’s interesting, Dr Woods, look at this.”