(aka Bike) Part 1869 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad
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“I can’t go near the place,” I sobbed.
“Fine, you don’t have to, it isn’t compulsory, and I expect it’s changed from your day.”
“Good,” I snorted, blowing my nose, “I won’t.”
“The downside is of course, you won’t slay your demons.”
“What demons?” I huffed at him.
“The ones which woke you up the other night. You’ve got unfinished business there, but that’s your business, so to speak.”
“That wasn’t demons, that was a bad dream,” I pouted.
“Semantics.”
“I didn’t know you knew such big words,” I teased.
“Public school education–remember?”
I sighed and nodded,
“It was completely wasted on me.”
“I don’t think so,” I said regaining some of my composure, “I think you’re wonderful.”
“Taking the piss on weekends is below the belt.”
“Si, I meant it, you are wonderful–to me, at any rate...”
“Implying I’m not to anyone else?” he looked quite hurt.
“No, that’s for them to decide–no, you took this scruffy urchin off the street and turned her into a silk sow’s ear–and she’s eternally grateful.” I wiped my wet visage before pecking him on the cheek.
“Don’t you mean a silk purse?” he queried.
“Nah, that’s people like Stella and Monica–me, I’m as ersatz as they come, a real silk sow’s ear.”
“Well, I think you’re beautiful at any rate,” he hugged me and turned my own comment back on me.
“Opinionated, aren’t we?” I joked.
“Damned right we are, we have great discernment and discretion.”
“And such taste,” I added smirking.
“Yeah, that too.”
“Or was it toast?”
“Yeah, that too,” he pretended he hadn’t heard me.
“Simon, you are completely barking, and you know what?”
“What?”
“I love you to bits.” I kissed him properly just as Julie came into the room.
“Oh get a room you two,” she mocked.
“We’ve got one, what are you doing in it?” Simon feigned irritation.
“Can I borrow one of your Jags tomorrow?”
“No,” Simon said loudly.
“What for?” I asked.
“To take some of the girls to Salisbury for a course.”
“On a Sunday?”
“Here,” she held up a piece of paper detailing a course on hair dyeing techniques.
“How many of you are going?”
“Six, including Pheebs.”
“Ask Gramps if you can borrow his Mondeo.”
“Okay, thanks.” She walked out of the door and we heard, “Yessss,” as she walked away.
“She’s been watching you in action,” Simon said before kissing me again.
“What d’you mean?”
“Well ask for the stars and you might get the earth you wanted in the first place.”
“You mean she wanted the Mondeo in the first place?”
He nodded.
“The little vixen,” I said under my breath.
“Yep, like her mum, she’s quite a fox.”
“Flatterer.”
“So, you love it.”
“I didn’t say that I didn’t, but I am aware of it, especially when you apply it with a trowel.”
“Moi? I am cut to zee quick,” he said sounding like Inspector Clouseau.
“You sound like Peter Sellers,” I said.
“It has been a hard day’s night and I, have been working like a dog...” he started off doing Sellers’ famous spoof on Olivier’s Richard III using the words of the Beatles hit song. My mother liked Paul McCartney and had all their early albums, so I was brought up with their music and had my own set of their hits. I’d also seen the films several times, and I know Trish and Livvie liked the two early ones, Hard Day’s Night and Help. We might even have them on DVD somewhere. Simon came to the end of his monologue and I smiled and clapped–I hadn’t been listening, but he wouldn’t know that, would he?
“You weren’t even listening,” he accused.
“Yes I was?”
“No you weren’t or you’d have noticed my mistake.”
“But you’re perfect, how could there be a mistake?”
He groaned, “Cathy, just because you’re perfect, a veritable angel, doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” I said, calling his bluff.
“I can’t stand conceited paragons,” he said and after kissing me got up and went to the door. “So my egotistical angel, what are you going to do about this?” he picked up the letter.
“Lay some ghosts?” I shrugged.
“Good girl,” he said winking at me.
Looked like everyone was manipulating me tonight. I washed my face and went to see if Tom had agreed to let Julie use his car–it was his car–well, it was registered in his name, but I used it as often as he did, probably more so, and David used it frequently for food shopping. It appeared he had, and she was on her mobile telling them all where to wait and she’d collect them.
“Who’s paying for this course?” I asked her in between calls.
“The salon, why?”
“What, for Phoebe as well?”
“Yeah, she does work there on Saturdays and holidays.”
“What about lunch?”
“We’ll get something there I ’spect. What were you crying about earlier?”
“Oh nothing, blame it on my hormones.”
“Eh?”
“You know, women’s bodies and all that jazz.”
“Eh?”
“I get a sort of a monthly cycle, don’t you?”
“I dunno, do I?”
“You do get grumpy for a few days about every month,” I observed, which was exactly the same as I did. I also got quite randy about the same frequency but I wasn’t going to share that with her.
“Oh,” she said, then blushing she said, “D’you get, you know–um–the hots every so often?”
“Sometimes, but not as often as your dad would like,” I smirked and walked away. I’d heard this said before by trans-women on oestrogen but it could just as easily be wishful thinking. One of these days I’d have to mark it in my diary and see if there was a pattern. I had a vague feeling I’d already done it once but that was a long time ago before we had all these children and I had a life and the time to indulge myself in all sorts of solipsistic analyses.
She laughed at my joke, “Now, what was in the letter?”
“What letter?”
“The one that was on your desk.”
“Nothing, why?”
“I think there was and that’s what made you upset.”
I glared at her, “Okay, miss smartarse, I was invited to talk to the school I went to in Bristol.”
“Hey kewel, what about?”
“Ecology and surveys.”
“Even keweler,” she smiled.
“Why?”
“Well, it shows that they’ve accepted you for the woman you are, like Sussex and all the other places you spoken. None of them have asked you to talk about changing over, have they?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Well then, they want you because you’re articulate and sexy and my mum.” She smirked and made me chuckle.
“You can get treatment for all these delusions you know?” I joked.
“Why? I’m happy with them.”
“You be careful with that car tomorrow, especially as you’ll have Phoebe with you.”
“Relax, Mummy, I’ll drive so carefully I’ll probably get stopped by the police.”
“Don’t joke about it, it could happen.”
“So, it’s all kosher isn’t it–insurance and tax and things?”
“Yes, but with six of you in it–and don’t let me hear you had any sort of alcohol.”
“Okay, I’ll just have bit of a spliff instead.” She ducked as I swiped at her, “You’re getting slow, old girl,” she giggled and ran off up the stairs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLEMncv140s (Peter Sellers' Richard III)
Comments
Now I'm wondering ...
if something is going to happen whilst Julie is going to or from this course. A kidnapp maybe.
Just have to wait and see,
Solipsistic analysis indeed, (bloody 'ell) I nearly reached for the OED but Chambers's sufficed!!!
Feeling very chirpy tonight. The blog explains why.
Good un Ang.
Thanks.
XX
Bev.
E.A.F.O.A.B. / Cathy slaying
E.A.F.O.A.B. / Cathy slaying those pesky demons thanks to Simon seems like the end of her down time and the setting for another adventure. That supposedly dead goon can return, or one of his thugs can cause problems for her and the girls.
May Your Light Forever Shine
MYDAYS AP
I suspected that I was a bit of a "cyclist" so I got an Ap called MYDAYS. Yes, and I don't just get irratable, I go positively wonkie.
Gwendolyn
One by One.
The stupid Demons from under our darling Catherin's bed dare stick there heads out, past the dust ruffle, only to find the adult women Catherin has become, ready to give them a good whack. Buffy would be proud of her demon slaying sister. Are we sure That Catherin is not a slayer in an English form?. Only Josh W would know for sure.
Huggles
Michele
Bailie's Misbehaving angle.
With those with open eyes the world reads like a book
Solipsistic Analyses?
Nah, it's yer biorhythms, or maybe yer cyclic whatsits, or yer 'mones, or ....
Too many toys and not enough room in the pram. (Stroller across the pond)
S.