Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1778

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1778
by Angharad

Copyright © 2012 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
-Dormouse-001.jpg

My mobile trilled and vibrated in my handbag. As I picked it out I was minded of what happened earlier when I did just that. It was the chief inspector.

“Mr Watts is lapsing in and out of consciousness, when he’s conscious he is still asking for his son. It’s in your court now, I’ve warned the hospital.”

“I’ll have a chat with Trish and see if she wants to go and see him, if she doesn’t, I’m not prepared to force her.”

“Fair enough–I’ll leave it with you then–while I go and have a little chat with the two morons they sent round to see you.”

I thanked him and called Trish.

“I’m not pretending to be a boy for anyone, Mummy.”

I looked at her: her long fair hair with a slight wave in it, the oval face with dimples and little freckles and her long sweeping lashes–she couldn’t pass as a boy if she tried. Then her slightly spreading hips and tiny waist, this was no boy.

“You don’t have to, however, it seems your biological father is dying and asking to see you, and I don’t feel inclined to want to turn down a dying man’s request. However, if you don’t want to go, I’ll understand.”

“I don’t know what to do, Mummy, I don’t remember him at all, he left her when I was born and I’ve never seen him since.”

“I wonder why he wants to see you now?”

“How would I know?” she said shrugging her narrow shoulders.

“Perhaps he wants your forgiveness for not being there for you?”

“How can I forgive someone I’ve never seen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we have to make him better?”

“I don’t think we can, Trish.”

“But you can make anyone better–can’t you–like Jesus did?”

“Trish, I am no son of god or whatever Jesus was, I don’t claim any magical powers and I am certainly no messiah or whatever the female equivalent is. The best I could hope to do is to make his death easier for him.”

“What’s wrong with him, Mummy?”

“Multiple organ failure which began as testicular cancer–it’s gone to his brain.”

“Perhaps he won’t remember I was a boy?”

“Perhaps–I don’t know–will you see him or not?”

“What d’you think, Mummy?”

“I think you have to make your own mind up on this one. Whatever you want to do is okay with me–you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“But you think I should?”

“I’m not saying anything,Trish.”

“I wish you would, Mummy. It would help me decide.” She took hold of my hand. “You would come with me?”

“Of course.”

“And stay with me.”

“Unless you told me otherwise.”

She took in a massive breath and let it out with a sigh. “Okay,” she said and squeezed my hand.

An hour later, I was holding her hand as we entered the ICU. I’d made her tidier and possibly more girly, she had on a sun dress and I put her hair in two plaits. She looked like any normal eight year old female–which was how I hoped I treated her.

“I’m scared,” she said in a tiny voice.

“So am I,” I said back in a whisper.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” she said a little louder and squeezed my hand again. It’s always puzzled me how we can be braver for others than we can for ourselves, but that was one of the anomalies of being human and this bizarre quality called altruism.

We presented ourselves at the nurse’s station. “He’s already got a visitor, I’ll tell her to go and get a cuppa for half an hour.” The way the nurse said this suggested that this was either his mother or Trish’s. I wondered which, but we didn’t see her leave. The nurse returned and led us to the bed in which this emaciated piece of humanity lay. He probably weighed about six stones (84lbs) and his skin and whites of his eyes had a yellow tinge suggesting liver problems.

“James, your daughter Patricia has come to see you?” announced the nurse to the barely conscious man.

He looked over at us, “I thought I had a son.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then they opened again, “You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you?”

Trish clung onto my hand and she was practically shaking with emotion. “Hello, Daddy,” she said in a wavering voice.

“Hello, daughter,” he said and held out his hand to her. She took it but didn’t release her other one which was still clamped to mine in a death grip. As soon as she touched him I felt a surge of power pass through me and into her and presumably into him. His expression froze and his eyes bulged. “Jesus,” he said quietly.

“No, Daddy, Trish.”

He looked at her startled before he digested what she said, then he lay back and laughed loudly. “God, you make me feel better, girl.”

“No, that was Mummy.”

“I’ve just been talking to your mother, who’s this lady?”

“How did you know she’s a lady?”

He roared again, “I might be dying, kiddo, but I can still tell a bit of high class totty when I see it.”

“I’m Cathy, Trish’s adopted mother.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he nodded at me, “You take good care of my kid now, won’t you?”

I nodded, although I felt like asking him why he wanted to see her when he’d been happy to ignore her for the previous eight years, but this wasn’t for me, it was I hoped some closure for both of them.

The energy boost he’d had would help him stay alert for our stay and be able to cope with his surprise.

“This is my mummy, now, Daddy. She’s a real lady, Lady Catherine.”

He took a moment to digest this as well, “No kiddin’?”

I nodded again.

“You done well then, kiddo. Give your old dad a hug and kiss.”

He threw open his arms but Trish looked at me before she did so. He looked so weak and she was buzzing with the energy I’d pushed into her as she let go my hand that once again he exclaimed as they made contact. However, he hugged her kissed her on the cheek and then let her go. I saw tears flow down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, kiddo. Looks like you were for me. Thanks for coming.” He looked suddenly very tired. “Thanks, f’ bringin’ her,” he gasped to me and lay back on the bed.

Trish grabbed my hand and squeezed it so tightly it hurt. “Is he...?”

“No,” I said quietly, “he’s exhausted.”

“Is he going to...”

I nodded.

“Could you save him?”

I shook my head.

“Goodbye, Daddy,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.

His eyes remained closed but his mouth smiled.

We left the unit and the nurse thanked us for coming, “He’ll die easier now.”

We both nodded and as we left Trish turned and hugged me and began to cry.

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