The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1539 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How’s Jenny doing?” asked my partner once he’d sated his lust and I’d washed it away–it tends to detract from the pleasure of the experience when you either have to go and have a little wash or lay there–oozing all night. Romantic it ain’t, even the thought that, it’s his seed that’s pooling in my panties, or gumming up my bum, or running down my leg–I think you catch my drift. If men were on the receiving end of sex, would they be as randy? Dunno, I’ll have to ask a passive gay man one day.

“Jenny’s coming on fine, they’ve splinted her legs instead of needing to operate, she has some sensation in them, but it isn’t very good. I suspect she’ll need a wheelchair, for the immediate future anyway.”

“Not so good then?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said, I think she’s doing very well.”

“Yeah, but the wheelchair...”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“She’s always been so vibrant.”

“People change.”

“You’re planning on having her home here, aren’t you?”

“I am–why? Got a problem with that?”

“Wasn’t the idea of her being here to help you?”

“Yes, but it seems we might be the only family she has.”

“You can’t just go round adopting strays–you’re not a registered charity.”

“Give me time.”

“To collect strays or become a charity?”

“Both.”

“You are the giddy limit.”

“Only if you have short horizons.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You said I was the giddy limit, and I suggested it depends upon where your limits are.”

“Oh very existential.”

“Why d’you have to be so uplifting one moment and absolutely depressing the next? Is it to stop me be becoming complacent?”

“You’re hardly complacent.”

“Some days I think I know you, and some days I realise I don’t.”

“Man of mystery, am I?”

“Not sure how I’d describe you–schizoid perhaps.”

“Schizoid–what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told you I wasn’t sure how to describe you.”

“Schizoid–me? You’re the one seeing the shrink.”

“Thanks for reminding me. I think it’s probably true that, the sickest people never see a doctor.”

“Meaning?”

“One in four of us will experience some episode of mental illness–unless you’re schizoid, then it might be four in one.”

He missed my cheap jibe, he was deep in thought. “D’ya think I should see someone then?”

“Someone?”

“Yeah, like a shrink.”

“What for?”

“You seem to have a problem with me.”

“Simon, I love you–doesn’t that say something about you?”

“But you’re always saying you love me because I accept you.”

“No, Simon, I love you, full stop. That you accept me as I am, means I can have a relationship with you, like being your wife.”

“I like you being my wife.”

“I like it too.” We hugged together for a while.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cathy.”

“I’m not sure how I’d cope without you, either.”

“Better than I would–they say women cope better than men if a relationship goes pear shaped.”

I turned to face him, leaning my head on my hand, my elbow on the pillow. “What are you on about? This relationship isn’t going pear shaped. I’ve just told you I love you, so what’s the problem?”

“Sometimes I think you’re too good for me.”

“I’m too good for you? How on earth do you work that one out? I’m the weirdo remember? You just happen to be extremely wealthy and a pretty good dad to my children, and sometimes an excellent husband and friend to me. Yeah, I’m definitely too good for you.”

“I see other men looking at you, fancying you.”

“Eh? When was this? Passing the local loony bin or the rest home for the blind?”

He smirked at that remark.

“Simon, I can’t give you more than my love and my life. You have both, except for the bits I have to share with the children, and I’m very aware that I only have them because of you.”

“What about Trish and that judge?”

“Okay, she pleaded our case–I reckon he only gave in because he’d lose it on appeal against her.”

“She is a bit of a case, isn’t she? She isn’t autistic is she?”

“Stephanie doesn’t think so, she’s just very intelligent, so intelligent that normal brains can’t keep up with hers–she’s also not always very practical–she’s a theorist, an Einstein. She might well give you an equation to do something, like find a Higgs bosen. She’ll never be able to build you the particle accelerator–that would be Meems or Danny.”

“Eh?”

“Trish could describe a shoe to you, tell you about its functions, but sometimes she needs someone to tie her laces.”

“I’d always thought she was very practical.”

“She is if someone has shown her–like with the washing machine, or she can work it out. Billie is always the practical one, nowhere near as clever as Trish, but more grounded, she usually puts her right, or Mima.”

I stopped for a moment and thought about what I’d said. “Billie won’t be looking out for her now, will she?”

“Not in this world,” he said and pulled me close.

“I do miss her.”

“We all do, babes, we all do.”

I fell asleep in his arms, waking with my eyes all stuck together and needing a wee. Simon was fast asleep, his arm still round me. I kissed his hand and slipped out to go to the toilet. On the way back I looked in on the girl’s room and a stray beam of moonlight caught the photo, and Billie smiled back at me.

It would be nice to think it was something more than just a random chink of light appearing at just that moment. I don’t believe in gods or heavens or hells–I think life is what we make it here and now. It can be our heaven or it can be our hell. I think of children suffering in third world countries from starvation or disease, from needless civil wars fought by ideologically opposed men who seem unable to discuss and compromise upon their wants, making others suffer because they can. There is something dreadfully sick in this world and it’s called Mankind–that’s a misnomer, nothing very kind about us is there?

The photo was in darkness, and I began to feel cold, so I went back to bed and cuddled back up to my hot water bottle, Simon–I was so lucky.

The next morning, Caroline was up first and was well into starting breakfast–she was a quick learner, thank goodness. I asked her to be available when I returned from the school run.

I took the girls to school, and Simon once again took Danny. I popped in the baker’s on the way home and bought some cream cakes. When I got home, I asked Caroline to make some tea, which she did. She sat down looking very desultory, almost distracted in her manner.

“Hmm, that’s a nice cuppa,” and I opened the bag and placed the cakes on the plate.

“I suppose this is my pay off, is it?” she said, looking at the table.

“Pay off? I’m not sure I understand you?”

“You know, my assessment–not up to standard, have to let you go stuff.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s okay, Cathy, I’m a big girl now–I can deal with rejection.”

“Rejection? I don’t underst... Oh, you thought I was going to sack you?”

“Isn’t that why you asked me to be here, even got a cream cake sweetener?”

“No, I’m very happy with your efforts so far.”

“You’re not sacking me?”

“No, not unless there’s something I don’t know about.”

“I don’t think so.”

“So choose a cake before Simon sees them, he’ll eat the lot.”

She took a cream slice–good–I grabbed the apple and cream turnover, my favourite.

“Why did you want to see me?”

“I needed to speak to you about Jenny.”

“Jenny, is she better?”

“Not by a long way, but once she’s out of rehab, I’d like her to come here if she wants. Obviously, I need to talk it over with you as well as the others, because she could be quite disabled and thus take time and effort from all of us. I need to have your agreement before committing you to such a project.”

“It’s your house, I work for you–you call the shots.”

“I don’t work like that. I lead the team, no matter what Simon and Tom like to think...”

“I had noticed.” She smirked and took a bit of her cake, squirting cream up her nose.

“I like all my team on board.”

“I’m on board, Cathy. I love it here. The children are magic, especially the girls–Danny’s a bit standoffish but he’s a nice kid too. And the adults are all mad as hatters, but the love that’s here–it’s almost palpable, it’s so real. The others would do anything for you.”

“Would they? Even to the extent of bringing their own dirty linen down to the utility room?”

“That might be pushing it, but otherwise they would.” We both laughed, and Simon appeared poured himself some tea and helped himself to a cake. He was about to grab the last one when I smacked his hand.

“That’s for Stella.”

“She’s on a diet, so I’ll have it–it’ll go cheesy out of the fridge.”

“No it won’t–it’s you who needs the diet, not Stella.”

“I’m a fine figure of a man, am I not Caroline–and remember, it’s my money she uses to pay you.”

“No it isn’t, you lying toad.”

“Isn’t it? Oh, so what are you using that for?”

“My toyboy’s rent.”

“Oh okay.” He drank his tea and spotted the postman driving back down the drive. “Post is here.” He went off to get it.

“Mad as hatters are we? Possibly–must be the lead pipes or something.”

Simon came back in holding some envelopes in one hand and an open one in the other. “It’s from the bank investigation.”