Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad.
part 74.

As the door drew open I was met by a young woman holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers. "Are you Cathy Watts?"

I nodded an affirmative, concerned that she should see me in such disarray and with makeup probably all over my face.

"These are for you, are you alright?" She passed me the flowers.

"Yes, I had a bit of an upset with my boyfriend, and I'm on." Lying was becoming so easy.

She gave me a knowing look and offered, "Looks like he's sorry," she nodded at the flowers which threatened to overwhelm me.

"Yeah, maybe," I wasn't going to be drawn any more, "thanks." I closed the door and struggled with the bunch of vegetation to the kitchen table. Attached to the outer wrapper was a card. I opened it and read the following:

'I hope we can work through this as I'm getting rather fond of you.
Missing you,
S. xxx'

I puzzled over the note. It could mean he'd spoken to Stella and she may or may not have told him. I didn't know, nor would I until I spoke to one of them. Was it his car I saw? I didn't know that either.

The white van had gone, presumably it belonged to the florist. I needed to go and see my father before it got any later. I cleaned myself up as best I could and making sure I had my car and house keys, set off for the hospital.

Of course it was too late to catch either the sister or a doctor to discover his prognosis, and the staff nurse nabbed me as I entered the ward. "He was getting quite upset, he thought you weren't coming."

"I'm sorry, I got a bit caught up in things. Is there anything he needs?"

"Don't think so, does he drink at all?"

"He likes an odd glass of beer or wine and even the occasional brandy, but he isn't much of a drinker. Why, did you want me to bring him in something?"

"It might help him a little. He doesn't like hospitals, but then who does?"

"Okay, I'll ask him which he'd prefer." She nodded at me and I went off to sit with my father.

"Gaffy, Gaffy!" he said loudly, his eyes brightening up as I approached his bed.

"Hi Daddy," I kissed him on the cheek. I gave him the two magazines I'd bought for him. He thanked me and put them on the bed.

We chatted as best we could. His frustration at trying to speak was painful to behold and I felt very concerned. He was going to take a lot of looking after and I didn't have either the time or the resources to do it. I felt guilty as well as worried for him.

He told me as best he could, that he was frightened I'd left him, abandoned him might be a better description, although he wasn't capable of saying it. I didn't deny it, my father was one person to whom I would not lie, especially now. So I answered in questions and half statements, "Does it look like it? Why did you think that? I got waylaid, I'm here now." I refused to give any statement about the future.

Half my mind was on Simon, wondering what he knew and his response if he did. Had he sent those flowers knowing my situation or did he assume it was the past abuse? I wish I knew.

Once or twice Dad caught me not paying attention and it was needed to understand what he was saying. Eventually, he managed to tell me that they had organized an assessment by a speech therapist for monday. He was hoping she could help him speak more clearly. They had also put him down for physiotherapy. Perhaps he could become self sufficient again, I sincerely hoped so for entirely selfish reasons.

At about seven, having helped him with his supper, I left promising to bring in a bottle of brandy the next day. I confirmed I would go and see the bank as well and arrange a temporary power of attorney to manage his affairs until he was well enough to take them back. It was something I wasn't too happy about because I didn't want to know about his financial affairs or anything else. I was an expert on dormice not a financial manager.

I drove home and popped in a supermarket en route, getting most of the things I needed - I'd got my keys but left my list behind. I hoped it was stress not dementia.

My funds were looking a bit low, so it was going to be necessary to see the bank anyway. I'd chat with Daddy tomorrow and get his agreement to borrow some.

I got home about half eight and there was a message on the ansafone from Simon, asking me how my dad was and to call him back.

I ummed and aahed for ages before I picked up the phone and dialled the cottage. To my surprise Stella answered. "What are you playing at?"

"What do you mean?" I asked feeling completely thrown by her attack.

"Telling Si to ask me about you. I told him nothing, it isn't my place to. If you want him to know you can do your own dirty work. Don't ask me. You know what I thought a few days ago, I haven't changed my mind."

"Yes but I don't want to hurt him," I whined in my defence.

"That is the only thing we seem to have in common," she blasted at me.

"No it isn't, we both love him."

"What?"

I repeated my previous statement.

"If you love him then how can you put him through all this?"

"Because we both believe in honesty to each other."

"Has he told you all about himself, all his failed romances, his fights, his drinking?"

"No, he hasn't."

"Well until he does, I'd keep quiet about your little problem."

"It's a bit more fundamental than that Stella. The relationship is founded on the premise that he's a man and I'm a woman."

"Yeah, so?"

"I'm not a woman am I?"

"Only in the biblical sense. Look I know what you're on about but until things get a lot more committed, I'd keep quiet about it. Tell him when he starts talking about marriage."

"What?"

"You know what I mean. Look it's good that he has someone as nice as you to play with. His relationships usually don't last very long. Given his record, I'd wait a bit and let him either show his intentions or see if he screws up again."

"You don't sound too hopeful?"

"Maybe this time things will be different but I doubt it. He usually screws it up within a month or two, the only time it lasted longer was when the girl he was seeing was seconded to Africa for a couple of months and the note she sent him took two months to get to him."

"Oh dear, poor Simon." I remarked.

"No poor Stella, Simon is the wealthy one.

"You know what I meant."

"Well I'm afraid you can't speak to him, he's up in Town again today, had to take the train, his car went phutt after the garage managed to start it."

"Has he been in London all day?"

"Far as I know, why?"

"I thought I saw his car outside the house this afternoon."

"Nah it's up at the garage, he's using a Saab."

"Oh, must have been someone else then."

"Must have been. How is your dad?"

"About the same, he got upset 'cos I didn't get in to the hospital as early as I'd like and certainly not as early as he'd like."

"If he's feeling weak and watery, he would. Just think about it for a moment, he's lost his independence and needs you for the first time in his life. So he's in a bereavement situation again, very soon after the other. It's not a nice place to be."

"I appreciate that, but have my own life to lead and with a chance of a government grant to do what I love doing. His dependency frightens me as much as it does him. I may never get a second chance to do this."

"Well just because you're a woman doesn't mean you have to sacrifice your career, not these days."

"No but it sure lays a whole mass of guilt on me."

"Don't let him do that, you don't owe him anything."

"My head tells me that, but my heart somehow disagrees with it."

"The advice of your Auntie Stella is, do what makes you most happy because you don't get second chances in this life. Look I've got to go, talk soon." She rang off leaving me with my thoughts and a pile of dirty dishes.