Just how many more problems can Cathy cope with?

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 96.

On the way home I managed to find a breadmaker machine for thirty pounds. I looked at the instruction book and bought the ingredients necessary to make some bread. I was intrigued to see it could do cakes and things as well.

I quite looked forward to having a play later on, at the same time I was aware that I was increasing the risk of tying myself to my father. Not a future I anticipated with pleasure. I also wondered how much of his acceptance of me was based on his growing dependence, because there hadn't been much before it, except at my mother's funeral and that was an exceptional event as well.

I suppose her death had reminded him of his increasing risk of illness or mortality, which had then been ramped up by his hemiplegia. While I deeply desired a new relationship of accord with my father, it wasn't at the price of sacrificing my career.

Even if I was able to transfer to Bristol Uni full time, I wouldn't have time to do a PhD and look after him if he was discharged home. That I was debating this, showed my weakness. If things were reversed I doubted that he would do it for me, but that doesn't mean it would be right. No wonder kids are so screwed up by their parents, the conflicts can be so enormous, he was already exerting pressure on me to feed him while he was in hospital, why, the hospital food wasn't that bad? I know I've eaten there. If he thought that was bad he should try some Uni refrectories, there it was inedible.

I got home and was in the middle of washing the breadmachine before using it when the phone rang. I cursed and went and answered it, promising I wouldn't if it rang again.

It transpired that it was one of those annoying cold caller messages, to which I said, "No thanks," and put the receiver down. I had not got back to the kitchen more than two minutes and it rang again. Muttering abuse under my breath I picked it up again.

"What?" I snapped down the phone.

"That's a nice way to talk to your nearly sister in law," said a perky voice.

"Oh hi Stella, sorry I've had some stupid calls wanting to sell me double glazed, cavity wall, broad band or some such thing."

"Hey, sounds good, don't tell Simon he'll want one."

"Okay, I won't."

"Anyway, how ya doin'?"

"Well I got stopped by the police yesterday for being in control of a vehicle while crying. Then their bloody chopper kept me awake half the sodding night, and now my father has practically insisted I bake him bread and make him soup each day."

"So you're having a good time then?"

"Sure. I have some work to do for the university which hasn't been touched yet. I'm hoping to try and get some done tonight."

"What happened with the bike?"

"It got stolen remember."

"I know that, what about the insurance?"

"I spoke to them this morning, they are sending me a claim form. Then it will take about a month for them to decide how much I get."

"A month, doesn't the bike have a value then?"

"It does new, but mine is about a year old."

"Not like cars then?"

"Dunno, never made a claim for a car."

"Would you like to come out in a foursome next weekend?"

"Which day?"

"Saturday evening."

"As long as it isn't something like dog racing or speedway, yes."

"It's a dinner dance."

"I can't dance to save my life, Stella, you know that."

"Simon didn't appear to notice."

"No but everyone else was getting out of my way as if I was on my bike or something."

"It'll be fine, just wear your glad rags, Simon said he liked what you had on the other night."

"One of your cast offs I think."

"Yeah, which one?"

"I don't know, big poppy things."

"Not the hand painted silk one?"

"Could be, why?"

"That would be splendid, cost me fifteen hundred quid, never got around to wearing it."

"How much?"

"Fifteen hundred," I could almost hear her shrug her shoulders at the other end of the phone.

"Jesus Stella, what is it a Chanel or something."

"No, I can't remember the designer, could be one of these little ones that you get in little boutiques in Bath and places like that. I may have got it in Brighton. Can't remember now, it was a year ago."

"I don't think I've spent that much on clothes in my entire life, including shoes."

"Having Simon around helps, he's so generous."

"So I noticed, however I have threatened him that if he turns up here with a new bike for me, I shall beat him to death with it. I need to sort this myself, so can you help him understand?"

"I'll try but normally he doesn't take any notice of me unless he wants something, hence my mercenary ruthlessness." I wasn't sure that the end justified the means but I wasn't going to argue. I knew my time with Simon was limited, as soon as he knew about my history, he'd be off faster than a rocket.

"I've decided I need to tell him." I waited for her to object.

"If you do you do, it's not up to me, you know how I feel."

"I know Stella, but I need to be honest. In the three weeks since I've lived as Cathy, I've told more lies than in my previous twenty years."

"Sometimes women need to be economical with the actuality."

"This one doesn't like it one bit."

"Oh well. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"Exactly. Unfortunately, I still think he's going to dump me faster than a rancid chicken."

"Nah, I think the chicken would have the edge there, definitely."

"We'll see."

"Has he tried to shag you yet?"

"No he's been very good."

"Ooh, see you are a good influence on him."

"Me, I don't think so. Aren't you confusing me with Florence Nightingale?"

"I think it's me who gets confused with her, I'm the nurse remember, you play with little furry things, gremlins or whatever they're called."

"Wrong fantasy, mine are more Alice in Wonderland."

"Of course, the White Rabbit."

"Go away Stella, or I'll set the dormice on you."

"Be ready for seven thirty on saturday, we'll pick you up at your room."

"Okay," I thought, tell Simon to enjoy it because it will probably be the last time, once I tell him.

I went back to my breadmaker, "Now what?" I shouted as the phone rang again.

I felt like picking it up and saying, "Fuck off I'm out." Instead I got half way there and it stopped. Arghhh! I shouted and walked back to the kitchen. It rang again and I ignored it.

I had managed to get the machine ready, put all the ingredients in and switched it on when the phone rang again. I trudged down the hall and picked up the phone. "What?" I said sharply.

"Miss Watts?"

"Yes, who wants her?"

"This is Southmead hospital, you are advised to come quickly, we think your father has had another stroke."

"Oh no," I gasped and felt myself go cold. "I'll be there as soon as I can, thank you for calling and I'm sorry if I was abrupt, I've had stupid calls all evening."

"That's okay, drive safely."

"I will." I almost dropped the phone and rushed up to the bathroom, washed and peed and grabbing my coat and bag, slammed shut the door and jumped in the car."

The traffic was light and I got to the hospital in about twelve minutes, whereupon I parked, got my ticket and ran to the ward. I clattered into the ward, "How is he?"

"Not good, the doctor's in with him a minute, come and sit down and get your breath back." The nurse led me into the ward office. "The next twenty four to forty eight hours are critical. Until then we won't actually know where the stroke has occurred."

"Can't you scan him or something?"

"Moving him may well finish him off."

"Oh Jesus!" I sat and felt my recent life events fall into some sort of perspective. It was all irrelevant compared to this, this was life and death stuff. How could I have thought anything other than looking after him." Tears began to well up in my eyes and I felt a hot drip run down my cheek.

"Here, I'll get you a cup of tea." The nurse steered me to a chair and bade me sit. I did as I was told because there wasn't much else I could do. Even breathing seemed difficult. Oh bugger!