Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1215.

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1215
by Angharad

Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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I woke up feeling the morning was darker than it had been the day before. I remembered that the snow had probably gone; washed away by rain. Simon was still sleeping when I slipped out, washed and dressed. I crept downstairs to enjoy a quiet breakfast if I could–Tom was up but he took his coffee and my Guardian into the study with him.

I felt a twinge of irritation because he always gets coffee on it; then I thought about how life might have been had the dream not warned me. I really wasn’t sure what was going on, except it was someone’s turn to die and I just got Tom to duck the ‘incoming’ as I believe they call hostile fire in Afghanistan.

I stopped thinking about war, its futility and causes make me too angry to allow me to start the day that way. I finished my tea and poured myself another cup buttering my toast and nibbling it. Trish was the first one down, followed by Julie who was back at the salon and had miraculously got herself up and it was only half past seven.

Trish and I had a little chat, she was concerned that I hadn’t had my celebratory meal for my birthday. I tried to explain that I hadn’t felt well enough to enjoy it, so had come home as Daddy had met up with some others and was not on his own.

“But I heard him swearing at you, Mummy.”

“No, I think that was at his trousers, he got the zip of his flies caught in his underpants.”

She squealed with laughter, “Silly Daddy, how did he do that?”

“I suspect it was because he was as tight as a tick.”

“What does that mean, Mummy?”

“He’d been drinking and was somewhat inebriated.”

“Oh, and he couldn’t undo his zip?”

“Nor get his trousers off over his shoes.”

“He went to bed in his trousers?” she laughed.

“Not really, he went to bed with his trousers pulled down inside out, still attached to his underpants by his zip and over his feet because he was wearing his shoes.”

“That is so funny, Mummy.”

“You might not think so if it was your husband.”

“Is he like it now?”

“No, I undressed him in case he woke needing the loo, he could have broken his neck.”

“Oh,” she gasped, “I hadn’t thought of him hurting himself.”

“Hi, Mummy, Trish,” said Julie flopping down at the table. “Could you run me in, today, Mummy, it’s chucking it down.”

“Yes of course I will.”

“Can I come too?” Trish decided she wanted a ride in the new car.

“You’ll need to go up and wash after your breakfast.”

“I’ll have breakfast when we come home,” suggested Trish.

“No deal, kiddo, eat your cereal, have a piece of fruit and some toast plus a drink.” She grumbled but finished her breakfast. Julie and I waited in the car for her.

“What happened last night?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You coming home by yourself from the restaurant.”

“I changed my mind. I’m a woman–remember, cats and women can do so.”

“But it’s not like you to come home early.”

“It’s what happened. Ah, here she comes.” I jumped out and opened the door for Trish, the handles are quite high. She scooted in and belted herself to the seat.

“This is very nice, Mummy.”

“Yes it is. Hold on here we go.”

“What’re you going to do with the Mercedes?” asked an anxious Julie.

“I think Daddy was going to sell it, why?” I teased her.

“Oh, I was hoping I might have it.”

“You haven’t got a licence yet.”

“No, but I’ve applied for one and I’m saving for driving lessons.”

“You’ll need an old banger to learn on, not a good idea to let a learner near a newish car, they tend to wreck the clutches.”

“Wossa clutch, Mummy?” came a voice from the backseat.

“A group of eggs from the same nest, why?”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Mummy. Cars don’t have eggs.”

“Well, for that matter, Gramps often calls you hen, but you don’t lay eggs, do you?”

“No, silly Mummy.” She gave an embarrassed laugh.

“The clutch is the thing which enables you to change gear in a manual transmission,” offered Julie.

“Oh is that the bit that disengages the gear box from the drive?” Trish asked grinning.

“Look here, clever dick, if you knew all along, why did you ask me?” grumbled Julie.

“I wanted to see if you knew.”

“’Course I do, I know loads about cars,” Julie boasted, but was always on thin ice when she did so to Trish who would always create cracks under victim’s feet before letting them walk out further.

“What’s synchromesh, I read it in a book but it didn’t say what it was?”

“Summin’ in the gearbox, why?” floundered Julie.

“What’s double declutching–is that robbing two bird’s nests?” Trish pursued her quarry ruthlessly.

“I dunno, do I?” shrugged an embarrassed Julie, “Ask Mummy, she can already drive.”

“What is it, Mummy?”

“I think you already know, so I’m not telling you. If you don’t know, then you can research it by yourself when we get home.”

She huffed and puffed in the rear of the car but I was adamant knowing she was quite able to find it on Wiki or elsewhere on the internet or in a whole pile of books we have, including a version of Britannica.

We dropped Julie off at the salon, “Nice wheels, Mummy,” she said as she disappeared through the door of the place of beautification.

I turned the car round and we headed back home, “You, Trish Watts, can stop winding up your sister.”

“She’s a bit of a big head at times, so she asks for it.”

“She can be difficult, but then so can you.”

“But she tries to boast when she knows nothing about things.”

“She has a bit of an inferiority complex, especially with you.”

“Does she–so why does she brag?”

“Because she is trying to hide her inferiority, it might mean you won’t feel confident enough to pop her balloon.”

“But I won’t argue unless I know something about the subject.”

“You know that, and I know it but Julie seems a bit of a slow learner in some areas.”

Trish giggled with a sort of glee that immediately got up my nose. “Serves her right,” she giggled.

“Trish, she may not be as clever as you but she has a certain amount of life experience more than you, in fact nearly three times as much. She knows about a lot of things you can’t learn from books. Show her some respect for that.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I shall intervene if you don’t–and you’ll like that even less.”

Her expression, as I could see it in the edge of the rear view mirror changed from being smug to sad. “You always get cross with me, Mummy.”

“No, I’m not cross, that will happen if you don’t do as I ask. I’m actually concerned because you are a gifted child but I want you to be a grounded, gifted child, not a bigheaded, unfeeling, intellectual snob.”

“You’re cleverer than Daddy, aren’t you?”

“No, he’s just as clever as I, he’s got a master’s degree too.”

“He can’t do the crossword in the paper–the big crossword.”

“That isn’t a sign of anything but the way your brain works. I can’t always do it either and he does do the Sudoku, which I can’t.”

“Is that because you don’t like figures?”

“Probably, who told you that?”

“Daddy did, he said if you could conquer your fear of mathematics, you’d be much cleverer.”

“Oh did he now?” The cheek of some men–if he had another brain cell, it would be lonely.

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