The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1650 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Back from the ride–the bike ride that is, I went and showered and found the door opening and Simon, locked the bathroom door and then stripped off. “We have some unfinished business to see to,” he said and climbed into the shower with me.

Without going into details, I can say he did more than wash my back, and I felt more tired from showering than cycling, and I think Si mentioned something about a knee trembler, though my knees felt fine.

I cooked for the evening, we had a roast chicken with all the trimmings. It disappeared off the plates almost as quickly as I loaded them, with Daddy providing the surgical skills on the poor fowl. With the oven in use, I made up a real rice pudding, not one of those from a tin, and that followed the chicken down the gullets of my hungry brood. I could at least admit that my family waste very little food, the likeness of a shoal of piranhas may be unkind but reasonably accurate.

I checked that the kids had all completed their various homeworks, and asked Jacquie to listen to the girls read while I cleaned up the kitchen. I wanted to give them all a chance to get to know each other. Mima read from her school library book, Livvie from a Gaby book, and Trish from Darwin’s, Origin of the Species. I hope she did better than me–I gave up before completing the introduction. Though the voyage of the Beagle was much more interesting.

I was doing some ironing when Jacquie came out to find me. “Those girls are adorable–though Trish is a little frightening.”

“She didn’t ask about Schrodinger’s cat did she?” I asked as the iron hissed steam beneath my hand.

“She did actually.”

“What did you say?”

“I had no idea what she was talking about.”

“It’s quantum theory.”

“Physics?”

I nodded, turning Simon’s shirt on the ironing board.

“Want me to do some of that?” she nodded at the pile of laundry needing ironing.

“If you like, I’ll make us some tea.” I finished Simon’s shirt and left the iron for her to use while I filled the kettle.

She did some tea towels and I made the tea, then we both sat at the table and drank it. “That was a lovely dinner, Mummy.”

Now what do I do? Ignore it or make it an issue? Oh bugger, why don’t humans come with instructions on using them? I ignored it. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Nothing like home cooking–made with love.”

“I do my best,” I blushed a little–at least she had something positive to say about feeding her, which was more than the rest did, they took it for granted.

“It was lovely to sit with a family again, it’s so long since I did and even then it wasn’t really one, as I found out when they didn’t do much to support me. That policeman, Reg whatever, he told my parents his lies and they believed him, not me.”

“I’m sorry,” I reached out and pressed my hand on hers.

“Thank you, Mummy.”

Damn, there it was again. Can I cope with someone only eight years younger than I calling me, Mummy? I don’t know–although I suppose I got used to Julie calling me it as well, and that grated at first. I wondered what she wanted, because it seemed there were two options, she could be my employee as I thought we had agreed, or she could act like a daughter and give me a hand round the house and we pay her an allowance instead, with the usual family things of bed and board thrown in.

“Jacquie, exactly what do you want from me–us, the family?”

She looked at me with eyes brimming with tears, “I don’t know, Mummy–I just want to be loved–I’m sorry,” she said rising from the table.

“Please sit back down,” I said with a little gentle firmness. She did but looked very sheepish.

“I need you to decide, because I’m finding it very confusing.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy,” she sobbed, tears dripping onto the table.

“As I see it, and this is without much thought, so there might be further options available–so this is exploratory rather than definitive–but if you want me to act like a maternal figure towards you, I’m not sure I can have you as a paid employee. However, if that’s what you want, the maternal figure and a family, we could probably pay you an allowance in return for you helping round the house. If you wish to remain as an employee, I am happy to take you under my wing as an older woman, but more as an elder sister, and your other conditions would remain as we agreed.”

She looked at sea for a moment, possibly I hadn’t explained things that well for her, or was the emotion of the moment making it hard for her to take anything on board.

She took a deep breath, shuddering as she let it out, “When have I got to let you know?”

“There’s no rush, except we’d have to notify the probation service and probably the taxman. You might be eligible to some benefits as well, if you’re not working.”

“I’d love to belong to a family, but I understand your position, I think. I love calling someone, mummy again, and feeling them care for me–you’ve shown me more love–all of you have–than anyone else in the whole of my life. Most of the time I’ve been seen as some sort of monster to be spat on or abused, my pain being seen as justification for the abuse or hurt. They adjudged me a child killer and that meant it was open season on me, twenty four seven. Even after they let me out on licence, I was given the run around by some of the probation officers and the police when I went to register each week at a police station. Once they knew who I was, they treated me with total contempt. You have all shown me love.”

“Jacquie, where’s the Gapalgos islands?” Trish burst into the kitchen unannounced even though I’d shut the door.

“Look it up on wiki,” I said and glared at her.

“Oops–clever clogs done it again–least you weren’t having sex this time,” she went out shutting the door loudly behind her.

Jacquie just looked at me, “What was she on about?”

“She blundered into the bedroom earlier when Si got a bit amorous–sort of coitus interruptus.”

I’m sure she let out a sigh of relief, that we weren’t some den of iniquity practising wild sex in front of the children or worse involving them. “Oh I see, you don’t lock the bedroom door?”

“Usually, we are a bit more discreet.” I felt myself blushing, part of me felt in my own home and with my own husband, I shouldn’t have to explain my behaviour, but this wasn’t as straightforward as that.

She chuckled, “It’s perfectly normal for couples to get amorous at times, especially younger ones.” Then she looked rather wistful, “I wonder if it will ever be normal for me, Mummy?”