Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1400
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(aka Bike) Part 1400 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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Special xiv Centennial edition, with free throwaway plot and characters.
New improved edition with the magic ingredient male cow poo.
Buy while stocks and pillory last. Special discount for bulk purchasers and callers with guns.
I’d barely got home from speaking with Sister Maria about my concerns for Billie when the phone rang.
“Charlie?” asked a male voice.
“Sorry, you must have the wrong number, there’s no Charlie here,” as I said this a cold shiver ran through me.
“Don’t hang up — sorry I can’t remember what you call yourself these days. Lady something isn’t it?”
“Who is this?” I wasn’t far from slamming the phone down.
“It’s your Uncle Arthur.”
“Yes?” I said while thinking, what does he want?
“Look, I know you and Doreen didn’t exactly hit it off...”
“You could say that as the understatement of the twenty first century.”
“Look, she’s seriously ill.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” actually I didn’t give a toss, but I tried not to upset him, he sounded as if he was having difficulties coping.
“Thank you. I don’t know quite how to phrase this, she’s asking to see you as her only neph–um–niece.”
“What’s the matter with her?”
“She has kidney disease–which has caused her kidneys to fail. She could die–I’m so worried, Char–sorry, I can’t remember your name.”
“Catherine.”
“Yes, of course, Catherine, could you come and see her before she dies?”
Just what I needed–not–a trip to Swindon.
“If I do, I’ll have to bring my baby with me and also Stella’s little one–I’m breast feeding both of them.” That should shut him up for a moment.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that, it sounded like you said you were breast feeding a baby?”
“I am, but there’s two of them.”
“But you’re a bo–um–not equipped to do that–are you?”
“Yes I am.”
“Oh–the things they can do these days–your baby, did you say?”
“Yes, my baby.”
“Congratulations–we–um didn’t–um think, I mean know you were pregnant.”
“It’s not as if we’re a close family, Uncle Arthur.”
“No, I suppose not–could you come and see her?”
“Is that really a good idea, if I scared the life out of her last time we met, how’s seeing her going to help?”
“I don’t know–um–Catherine, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Look can I call you back–I’ve just got in from the school run.”
“School run?”
“Yes, taking my girls to school.”
“How many children have you got?”
“Seven, I think at the last count–they won’t sit still, so counting is difficult.”
“Seven? Good lord–how doyou cope?”
“We manage.”
“Goodness–yes, I can see why you’ll have to call me back.”
“Exactly, I’ll need to speak with my hubby, see if he can come home early to help in my absence.”
“I see. Are you really Lady something or other, or is that just a wind up?”
“Well, I’m married to a man who’s called Lord Simon Cameron.”
“Yes, but that’s just one of those civil partner things isn’t it?”
“No, that’s not allowable between a man and a woman at the moment, so we settled for a normal wedding.” He must be reeling from all this, poor chap–but I’m enjoying it.
“Not allowed between a man and woman, but you’re...”
“A boy with boobs who’s breastfeeding her baby.”
“I’m sorry, this is difficult to take in.”
“But you met Simon a while back, remember you called when you were in Southsea.”
“Of course we did, and you were Catherine, yes–no, I don’t really remember.”
“I’ll call you back, Uncle Arthur.”
“I’m going to the hospital this afternoon.”
“I’ll call back very soon, promise.”
“Okay then, Char–I mean Catherine–this is all too much for me.”
“Yes, I can appreciate that. Take care, I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Who was that?” asked Stella as I staggered into the kitchen.
“My Uncle Arthur. You may remember they came by a while ago, they were at my Dad’s funeral.”
“Oh, what did he want?” she asked.
“My Auntie Doreen is very poorly with kidney failure.”
“Oh, you going to blue light her?”
“I don’t know–I hadn’t got that far. I think I need a cuppa and think.”
“Where does she live?”
“Swindon.”
“Oh, the land of roundabouts.”
“Yep, you can get dizzy simply by driving round the place.”
“You’d better express some for these two, if you’re going off for the day.”
“I thought that if you came with me, we could take the little suckers with us.”
“Dunno–you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Probably not, but it’s the best I can do.”
“What about the other kids?”
“Shit, I was supposed to call Stephanie about Billie–it’ll have to be tomorrow now.”
“What’s wrong with Billie?”
“She was talking with a very deep depression yesterday, sounded almost suicidal.”
“Oh, so which one is your priority? Billie or Auntie Do?”
“I’ll see if Simon can get home a bit early, he could help with Billie until we got back.”
“Simon? Does he know which one is Billie?”
“That was very catty, Stella, your brother is actually quite a good parent when he wants to be.”
“Want, being the operative word,” said Stella dismissing her brother.
“I’ll call him.” I did just that and he agreed to come home early to help Jenny.
When I told Jenny, she shrugged–“I expect we’ll manage.”
“Are you sure?” I felt very guilty.
“Yeah, Tom will be here too, so between us–besides, Danny is very good with Billie, and Julie will be home just after six.”
“Okay, I’ll call Uncle Arthur and say we’re on our way.” I returned his call and agreed we’d come up right away.
It wasn’t quite like that, we had to sort a whole pile of things for the babies, then sort out baby seats and so on. After this we had to sort the babies–feed and change them–we got off an hour later.
We made good progress and stopped between Salisbury and Marlborough for a snack before continuing onto Swindon. There we went to see Uncle Arthur and he was in a state.
I left Stella with the babies at my aunt and uncle’s house then took Uncle Arthur to the new hospital, The Great Western Hospital.
“Who’s this?” asked Auntie Doreen.
“Your–um–niece–um–Cha–I mean, Catherine,” spluttered my uncle.
“Do we have a niece?” she challenged him, “I thought it was a scrawny nephew, but then he always looked more like a girl than a boy. You’re not my nephew are you?”
“No, Auntie Doreen, I’m your niece.”
“Are you sure, girl?”
“She’s got a baby,” explained Uncle Arthur, making everything as clear as mud.
“Yes, but she could be the father,” accused Doreen.
“She’s come a long way, Do, an remember, she’s Lady Catherine.”
“Oh lord, I feel awful.” With that she closed her eyes and died–well she would have done if I hadn’t been there. Instead I took her hand, sent Uncle A for the nurse and spoke to my aunt.
“Look here, you can’t die just yet you silly old cow, so listen carefully–I know you can hear me. Look for the blue light, it’ll appear like a blue sun–follow it, and don’t disappoint me, because the alternative you will not like–I promise.”
I flooded her with blue light–how can I do that for people I don’t even like very much–the Hyacinth Bucket of the family–and poor Uncle A even looks a bit like the bloke who plays her husband.
The kidneys were quite badly damaged, the nephrons and glomerulus were in a bit of a state and I’d just about sorted them when the nurse arrived with Uncle Arthur.
“Hello, Mrs Porter–can you hear me?” she said loudly at the same time shaking her arm.
“Of course I can hear you, I’m not deaf, just resting my eyes.”
The nurse gave Uncle A a real glare before she walked stiffly away.
“We thought you’d gone, thank God you didn’t. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Do,” Uncle A was virtually in tears.
“You’d have to go and live with your favourite niece, wouldn’t you?” she threw back at him. Now I realised why I had to be there. I also knew she’d make a full recovery which she certainly shouldn’t have done, but no one twigged I’d been involved–except perhaps Auntie Do, who I swore to secrecy–threatening her with a total relapse which would take months of agony to kill her. It was pure male cow poo, but she didn’t know that.
I left my aunt and uncle at the hospital and drove back to Stella and the babies.
“The strangest thing has happened,” she said.
“Not Billie?”
“No, don’t be silly, Cathy, I mean about me–I started gushing full cream about twenty minutes ago. I’ve fed them both and I’m still dripping.”
I began to laugh, had Trish been doing anything I wondered or was it just her milk came through, or even did the blue light fix her while I was doing Auntie Do? I suppose we’ll never know–Stella doesn’t.
We had just loaded everything and two babies in the car when my mobile rang.
“Cathy?”
“What’s the problem, Jenny?”
“Did you take Billie to school this morning?”
“Of course, I even saw the headmistress about her, why?”
“She wasn’t there when I went to collect them and the others didn’t see her at lunch.”
A cold shiver ran up my spine and settled in the pit of my stomach. “We’re on our way, have you called the police?”
“Yes, nothing so far.”
I chucked my Blackberry into my bag and jumped into the car.
“What’s up?” asked Stella.
“Billie’s missing.”
“Oh no,” she gasped, “What are you going to do?”
“Get home asap,” I said slamming my foot to the floor leaving tyre marks behind us.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1401
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(aka Bike) Part 1401 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I really don’t recall much of the journey home, except Stella telling me to slow down at times and reminding me that we had two babies on board. That did cause me to think for a few moments, and also to reflect on the fact that I wasn’t the greatest driver in the world.
At one point Stella was on the mobile phone to Simon, who had been told at the office that one of his kids appeared to be missing. He immediately called the police and the school had been searched and she wasn’t there.
He wasn’t terribly pleased that they all thought her transgender status made her a bit strange, at least in their eyes–in Simon’s view, she was just an ordinary kid who was trying to deal with life and small urinary problem. That she had been sexually abused some years before was in his opinion very much more of a handicap to her and other children than having the wrong sexual organs.
When I heard all this later, I hugged him and thanked him for his defence of our children’s normality. True, Trish is a bit strange, but that’s because she has a brain the size of a small planet, not because she used to be classed as a boy. She is a little girl now in everything but ovaries.
Once we got past Salisbury, a giant bottleneck usually, I felt a little easier–probably because the end of our journey was in sight. Finally, after what seemed like an age we pulled into the drive, nearly hitting the police car which was parked in my usual space. I grabbed Catherine and ran into the house, leaving Stella to bring her baby and the luggage in. I noticed Danny going out to help her.
“Any news?” I demanded waving the female copper away until I’d spoken to Simon. He shook his head.
“Lady Cameron, I’m WPC Brown, I’m a family liaison officer.”
“Congratulations, Simon, look after her, I’m going to the school.”
“That isn’t a good idea, Lady Cameron.”
“In your opinion, perhaps, but that is where I left my daughter this morning and where I will commence my search for her.”
“But, Lady Cameron...”
I grabbed my bag, jumped in my car and powered off to the school. I wasn’t surprised to see police cars there, but the number did catch me unawares. Still if it meant they found her, so much the better.
I demanded to see Sister Maria and after kicking my heels for a good fifteen minutes I was allowed to speak with her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said when I approached her.
“So you should be, I particularly asked you to keep an eye on her because she wasn’t acting her usual self.”
“I know, and I don’t know when she went. She was in registration, but no one seems to remember seeing her after that.”
“You don’t do registration for each class?”
“No, mornings and afternoons, that’s all.”
“So she could have been missing since nine o’clock?”
“I’m afraid so. If anything has happened to her, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“She’s still alive.”
“How can you be sure?”
“As sure as I know that tooth abscess hasn’t healed properly yet, has it?”
“No, it hasn’t.”
I turned round and slapped her face. She looked aghast at me.
“It’ll heal now, pus couldn’t drain.”
“Why, yes, it feels easier. Thank you.”
“You thought I’d hit you for losing Billie?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“If I had, it would have been much harder and you’d be lying on the floor.”
“Oh–I didn’t have you down as a violent person.”
“I’m not, but those of us who aren’t violent usually, have difficulties controlling it once we get started.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I hope you never do, it’s not a pretty sight and I make the angel of death look like an amateur. I’m not proud of it, neither do I regret it. I protect my own whatever happens and whatever it takes.”
“You’ve hurt someone, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and I’d do it again.”
I need somewhere I can sit quietly, if I can meditate on her energy, I can find her.”
“What when all these police have failed?”
“With all due respect, and I’m sure they’ve worked jolly hard, I know they do when children are involved, but I do know her and I have that advantage of being able to tune into her.”
“My tooth feels much easier.” I don’t know if she hadn’t listened to what I was saying or she was trying to distract me, but I wasn’t playing.
“Somewhere quiet, if you please.”
“The chapel is quiet, it’s been closed for a couple of weeks because we had a bit of a flood when one of the radiators leaked. It’s a bit cold in there, that’s the only thing.”
It also has all this religious symbolism everywhere, I’ll bet, but I said nothing other than it would do fine. We went in through the priest’s entrance and the robing room at the side of the chapel. It’s a modern lock and makes very little noise.
I followed her into the chapel proper and she put up her hand to stop me and to shut me up. She pointed ahead into the chapel by the altar. I tip-toed up to her and there in front of us was Billie. She was kneeling before the altar and on the floor by her was a kitchen knife.
“Jesus, you have to make me a girl or I want to die. You helped my sister Trish–she used to be Patrick. She cut them off and she survived, because I believe you helped her. You even helped her to have the job done early when she was wounded there and they made her into a proper girl.”
I felt tears run down my face and Sister Maria was silently weeping too.
“I’ve asked you every night to make me into a girl. I’ve prayed and prayed and each morning, when I look, that stupid sausage is still there. Why? Why can’t you perform a miracle for me–I’d do it for you.”
I wanted to intervene, to rush in and hug her to tell her that she was perfect as she was; except I knew she wouldn’t believe me because she wasn’t perfect in her own eyes.
“You’ve given my mummy magical powers to heal people, even sometimes those who are dead. Why couldn’t you give her the power to make me into a girl? Why have I got to wait another seven or eight years just to have this stupid sausage removed. I want it to go–if you make it into a girl’s bits, I’ll love you forever and always do what I can to help you.”
By now, I was having difficulty seeing what she was doing, my eyes were running so much and the lump in my throat was the size of an asteroid.
“Jesus, you’re supposed to be my saviour–save me–or let me be a proper girl in heaven.”
She picked up the knife and despite the lump in my throat I screamed, “No, Billie, don’t.”
She turned round and I was already running towards her.
“Mummy?”
“Darling, please put down the knife.”
“I can’t, Mummy, I have to do this. Jesus will save me–he promised us he would.”
“Sometimes He can’t always do that, my darling, sometimes we have to work through these things ourselves.”
“I am working it for myself, He won’t let me die, Mummy.”
“Please, please don’t do this darling–look, we’ll talk to Stephanie, see if we can do something to hurry things up.”
“They won’t, they have their rules.”
“But the rules said you couldn’t have hormones and you got them, didn’t you. Stephanie is on your side, you know.”
“You grown-ups are always telling me lies.” She was crying, “I was told lies when I had to do those horrible things. I was told I’d like it. It was horrible, and he used to touch me and I felt sick–it was so nasty–he was so nasty. Grown-ups tell me lies. Jesus wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Billie, darling, have I ever lied to you? Have I ever hurt you?”
“No, Mummy, but I gotta do this–I don’ wanna be a boy anymore, I’d rather be a dead girl.”
I’d edged a few yards closer. “You don’t have to be a dead girl, you can be a live one, honestly, I’ll ask Stephanie to see what she can do or where we can go to hurry things on.”
“No, Mummy, I wanna do this now.”
“Can I please at least have one last hug from you before you do this?”
“You’re trying to trick me.”
“I’m not, darling–I love you.”
I stepped forward and she stepped backwards, away from me.
“Please, darling, give me one last hug and then you can do whatever you like.”
“You’re just saying that, you want to grab me and take the knife.”
“You can keep the knife if you want–you can stab me if you want–I don’t care. If you die because of this–I’ll just die too.”
“You can’t die, Mummy, you’re an angel and the others need you. I’m a nothing, not even a boy or a girl–a nothing.”
“You’re not, you're my daughter, my child and I love you. You are perfect, no matter what you think at this moment, believe me you are perfect.”
“I’m not–I’m an abomination, it says so in the Bible–I’m a sinner.”
“Please stand still, Billie, I don’t like talking to you as you walk round the place.”
“You want to catch me and take the knife.”
I stepped forwards and she stepped back straight into the arms of Sister Maria, who in the panic she stabbed and screamed.
“Oh Jesus, I’m going to see Him,” she gasped and fell down a large red patch spreading over her abdomen.
“Go and get help and don’t you dare run away–hurry,” I said firmly to Billie who seemed shocked.
“I didn’t mean to do it, she frightened me.”
“Run and get help.”
“I can’t, the door is locked, I’ve killed her, haven’t I? I didn’t mean to, Mummy, I didn’t mean to.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1402
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(aka Bike) Part 1402 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I had no keys to get out, Sister Maria was now unconscious and bleeding profusely. She looked awful. What on earth do I do? First principles–try to stop bleeding. The knife was lying on the floor, I kicked it away, and ripped my way into the unconscious nun’s clothing. She had on a pretty cotton petticoat and I tore a strip off it and used it as a pressure pad against the wound, at the same time trying to pour blue light into her.
“Take my phone out of my bag and call the ambulance,” I called to Billie who was curled up like a ball on the carpet in front of the altar, whimpering.
“BILLIE,” I shouted and she stirred, “Get my mobile out and call the ambulance–NOW.”
She looked at me like a zombie, she stood up and promptly fainted. Oh shit with a capital F. The blood flow seemed to be easing, which might be because most of it was already out on the floor or in the nun’s clothing or because my efforts were paying off. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop to check, call for help or check Billie–and all of this in front of the altar and the crucifix in the middle of it.
I looked up at the tortured figure on the cross and challenged it to help one of its followers. Then I laughed–what was I doing? I didn’t believe in fairy tales, and even if he’d stepped down from the cross and offered to call the ambulance, I wouldn’t have believed it.
However, a few minutes later, an event which could be interpreted as my prayer being answered–or just plain coincidence, which I prefer–a woman cleaner walked in and I called her to help.
“Jesus, mother of God, what’s happened–you’ve killed her.”
“No I haven’t, but if we don’t get help she could die, please, in my bag use my phone to call for an ambulance.”
“I don’t like to go into another woman’s bag,”
“This is an emergency–please?”
“Oh this is a nice phone, one of them blackcurrants. What do I do?”
“Just dial 999 and ask for the ambulance.”
Eventually, she did and within minutes sirens could be heard approaching. “What happened to this one–you killed two of them?”
“That’s my daughter and she’s fainted.”
Billie sat up and promptly vomited all over herself and her school uniform. It was going to be one of those days.
The paramedics came dashing in, the cleaner managed to get it together enough to let them in and they rushed over to her. “What happened?”
“She got stabbed, the knife is over there.”
“Okay, let’s have a look.” He pulled the pad off the wound and looked at it and then at me. “Okay, where’s the entry wound?”
“Under the pad.”
He removed the pad and asked again, “Where?” I looked and the skin was intact.
He then shook her and she opened her eyes. “Can you hear me?” he said to her loudly.
“No need to shout, help me up.”
“What happened?” he asked her.
“I was doing the flowers when I had a terrific nosebleed and must have fainted. I think I had a knife with me, I didn’t fall on it did I?”
“No ma’am, it’s over here,” he pointed.
“So what happened to your dress?” he asked.
“Nothing, oh Lady Cameron, what are you doing here?” she winked at me.
“I came to see you, headmistress.”
“What’s this about stabbings?” asked the paramedic while his colleague connected her up to an electric sphygmomanometer. He showed his senior colleague. “Your BP is okay. If you’d been stabbed it wouldn’t be, that’s for sure–especially where this lady thought the wound was–that would have been straight into your liver. Major bleed.”
They did a quick ECG and that was normal too.
“I can’t figure this out, there’s enough blood here for a major incident, yet you seem fine–I think we ought to take you in for a check up.”
“No, I’m fine, I get the odd funny turn, overdoing it the doc says, I have to see her in the morning, I’ll be okay, really I will.”
“And this knife is yours?”
“Yes, I brought it in here–it’s an old kitchen knife.”
“You’re sure no one tried to attack you?”
“I’m positive. I had a nosebleed, see.” She had certainly had blood come out of her nose but not from a nosebleed.
“Okay, if you get any more symptoms dial triple nine.”
“Sorry, I must have misunderstood the situation.” I said blushing.
“Yeah, it happens. This your kid?”
I nodded.
“What happened to her?”
“She fainted when she saw the blood. Then she was sick–squeamish I suppose.”
His colleague looked her over. “She’s okay, just a bit smelly–any probs get her to the hospital or your doctor. She’s okay now.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry for what was obviously a wild goose chase.”
“No prob,” he said, he did his paperwork and they left.
“Mrs Fitzwalter, could you clean up the mess–that’ll be all for tonight.”
“Of course, Headmistress, ‘ad me all a flutter for a bit.”
“I’ll–um–take my phone back, if you don’t mind.”
“They’re nice, them blackcurrants, in they?”
She put my phone back in my bag and I helped the headmistress stand up, she seemed remarkably calm. I washed my hands in the vestry or whatever they call it, and we wiped some of the sick off Billie who was still whimpering. Then Sister Maria led us back to her house, where she asked me to make some tea while she showered and changed and then got Billie to do the same–she went and got some clothes from the lost property cupboard.
We talked as we drank the tea, and Billie sat quietly on the sofa.
“Thanks for helping me out there,” she said.
“Me helping you? It was either Billie or I who’d have been charged with murder or manslaughter. I think you waking up like that and thinking so clearly, did us more favours.”
“No, Lady Catherine, it is I who must thank you. Okay, the incident was an accident, I tried to grab the knife and frightened her. Then as I slipped away–and I was dying–I saw you fighting to save my life–and the colour of the energy that surrounded you was just beautiful–only God could enable you to do that–I know you don’t believe, but his generosity isn’t limited to those who believe, because sometimes they aren’t worthy of it.”
I went to interrupt but she gestured me to be quiet.
“I don’t know if I died or not, but I saw Our Lord and He told me I was in safe hands–so for that alone, it was worth a little pain. Then I sort of dreamt I saw this wondrous woman, who told me that she was with you. I asked her her name but if she gave it, I’ve forgotten.”
“Shekinah,” I said quietly.
“Yes, of course, Old Testament stuff. She also told me that you were special but you wouldn’t listen to her, and that she’d had to organise the excitement today to get your attention, because you don’t listen to her.”
“I think it might just be a bit of shock, making you dream vividly.”
“She said you’d deny it.”
“Well let’s face it, who in their right mind would nearly cause one of my children to kill herself, then stab you and have you nearly die so you could drift in delirium and imagine you saw her–especially when a stamp is only thirty four pence.”
“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”
“You were unconscious–it was endorphins or low blood pressure–you imagined it.”
“Why can’t you accept what I’m saying, instead of pooh-poohing it?
“Because I don’t believe it, I’m not belittling your experience–if you think you saw Jesus–good for you.”
“You know the name Shekinah, don’t you?”
“I did lots of Bible study when I was a kid–part of the reason I see it all as gibberish now. All of this stuff is still rattling round my brain somewhere.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“You mean, if it’s real?”
“Yes, because I think it is.”
“It might be for you, but I’m sorry, even if it were; but how could I believe in someone or thing who caused harm to my daughter and to you–nah, they can go to hell for all I care.”
“But it’s your destiny, Cathy.”
“Nonsense, there is no destiny unless you say each one of us will die, that’s all our destiny–and the successful ones will reproduce as well. That’s it.”
“You sound like Dr Dawkins.”
“He plays my tune–I whole heartedly agree with him–opium of the masses and all that.”
“You realise that if you don’t take notice, the Shekinah will do something you can’t ignore?”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.”
“Oh, I’d stake every penny I own on it–it’s sure as eggs is eggs.”
“I have to go,” I rose from the table, “have to get this one to see Dr Cauldwell.”
“Heed what I said, if you ignore her, she’ll make you listen and today’s incident will be like a picnic.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1403
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(aka Bike) Part 1403 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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Billie trotted along behind me to the car, then got in behind me and pulled on her seat belt. She said nothing all the way home which suited me fine. I was trying to get my head round the dilemma of being special to some obscure Hebrew goddess. As I did the old epithet, Those whom the gods love, die young, kept slopping about my remaining brain cells. I didn’t feel particularly afraid because I suspect it’s another mythology, and besides how can a mythical entity harm anyone?
Despite my apparent nonchalance, what Sister Maria had said concerned me. I didn’t understand the blue light or from whence it emanated, let alone why it chose me–I mean, special yeah, but no more than the other few thousand transsexuals in this country–are they being threatened by a goddess? I doubt it.
I need to talk to someone who might understand my dilemma without any judgementalism, and I think I know who. I reassured myself that I was responding responsibly to Maria’s warning, because that’s what it was. I felt silly doing anything other than dismissing it, but what if she was right?
I’d wait and see what this other person thought. We arrived home and Billie went to change into her own clothes while I explained what had happened and put her soiled uniform in the washing machine.
They were all relieved to see her safely home and made a fuss of her, but she wanted to go and lie down–she did promise she wouldn’t run off again or do anything to hurt herself–the incident with her headmistress had shocked her somewhat–she wasn’t the only one.
I explained what had happened and how after apologising to the police for her aberrant behaviour, I had a chat with Sister Maria.
“So the blue light triumphs again?” smiled Simon.
“By itself, no, that required the connivance of Sister Maria who doubtless will go to confession for telling porkies.”
“If she hadn’t, you could have been done for murder.”
“I know, I could have had fourteen years to think about things in between slopping out.”
“How about we all go out for dinner to celebrate the return of the lamb who was lost and my wonderful wife?”
“Who was equally lost–by all means you go, but I’ll stay home with Billie and the babies. I’m really not hungry anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll go and get a Chinese for those of us who are hungry.” He called up the local takeaway, and made his order–then set off to collect it.
I checked on Billie, she was fast asleep, then after showering to remove the debris of the day, I changed into some jeans and a tee shirt and went to phone someone from my study, closing the door after me.
“Cathy, what a lovely surprise–how is married life suiting you?”
“Um–it’s okay I guess, same as before with titles?”
Marguerite laughed at the other end of the phone.
“Have you some time to talk, I need some advice?”
“Um–I could probably manage half an hour–is that okay?”
“That would be splendid, thank you so much.”
“Okay, what could be so important that you need to talk with a priest? Don’t tell me Jesus wants you for a sunbeam, because if you do I shall drive up there and slap you one.”
“Ah no, it’s a bit more complicated than dealing with Iron Age carpenters.”
“Ooh, that was catty.”
“Sorry. Look, let’s get straight to the point–how much do you know about the Shekinah?”
“Old Testament Hebrew goddess/feminine principle/female face of God–how’m I doing?”
“Better than most. Do you believe in her?”
“You mean do I believe she could exist?”
“Something like that yes.”
“It’s possible, God manifests in so many ways.”
“Could it all be something in my head?”
“That’s possible too–there’s a but coming though, isn’t there?”
“Yes, she seems to have invaded the mind of someone else who issued me a stern warning that I needed to listen to her–the Shekinah–or pay the consequences.”
“Very Old Testament.”
“Exactly.”
“What is the Shekinah wanting you to do?”
“That’s it, I don’t know.”
“Have you tried communicating with her?”
“Look the last time I tried communicating with a mythical character, I was seven years old and sending messages up the chimney to Father Christmas.”
“Did it work?”
“No, I got a bloody football not a tea set.”
“Do you accept that the Shekinah might exist?”
“Not really–and would I be talking to myself–like all those poor buggers in church on a Sunday?”
“Thank you very much.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I see, so you make exceptions for me and my imaginary friend, do you?”
“For you, Marguerite, I’d accept anything and make exception any time.”
“Flattery may work with gods and goddesses but not their foot soldiers.”
“It was intended as a statement of the esteem in which I hold your advice.”
“When in a hole stop digging.”
“Um–okay.”
“You need to talk with this entity–how you conceive her is less important than the communication, so see her as a goddess or as a part of your higher-self, if you want to be Jungian, about it. But settle down quietly somewhere, meditate and see if you can make contact.”
“What do I say to her if I do make contact?”
“Whatever you like, but no hostilities; that achieves nothing. Be open but no arrogance–scientists act like priests of old–remember I was one, you still are.”
“Arrogant–me? I’m ever so ‘umble.”
“Cathy, this could be serious.”
“What you actually believe this thing exists?”
“Do you believe in the blue light you’ve used to heal people?”
“Isn’t that self evident?”
“Of course, but I needed to start with some base level. The fact that you’ve used it means it exists.”
“Yes.”
“So where does it come from?”
“I have no idea, do you?”
“I have my own ideas but they wouldn’t help this discussion. But consider for a moment that they are a manifestation of the Shekinah, the female principle behind all healing.”
“Hang on, that’s a bit sexist, isn’t it?”
“It might be somewhat stereotyped, but if we take the masculine principle as being primarily destructive and the female one as constructive–as the opposite ends of the spectrum–then most of us sit somewhere between regardless of sex or gender.”
“Okay, so the Shekinah is up towards the female end of the spectrum?”
“She is the opposite end of the spectrum.”
“But if she punishes me or mine because I ignore her, isn’t that hurting rather than healing–and more masculine than feminine?”
“No because she sees herself as healing you in punishing you. Once you understand what she wants you to do, you will be healed, in her eyes.”
“But I’m not sick.”
“No, but you don’t accept yourself very well, do you?”
“I do–I’m just a bit more critical–because I know what’s going on inside me–motives etcetera, and they aren’t always very nice.”
“Okay, so you’re no Mother Theresa, but then she wasn’t as pure and perfect as they sometimes like to make out.”
“Probably not, but I’m no saint, shall we say I’m closer to the sinner’s end of that spectrum.”
“You’re human–my goodness–that’s quite a discovery.”
“Very funny.”
“Talk with her, allow her to show you what she wants and humour her, she has the wisdom of millennia on her side.”
“Age doesn’t always mean wisdom.”
“No it doesn’t–especially in your case.”
“Hey, that was below the belt.”
“Only because you wear it as a headband.”
“True,” we both sniggered.
“Is that any help? I have to go, I have the mother’s union people about to arrive.”
“It’s always a help to speak with you, Marguerite, thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome–oh, and may the God you don’t believe in, watch over you. God bless you, Cathy.”
“And you, reverend.”
“The doorbell–the mother’s union have arrived–bye.”
My own doorbell rang as I put the phone down announcing the arrival of Stephanie–I went to wake Billie.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1404
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Billie was awake, “I’ve been thinking, Mummy.”
“Oh good, all those school fees are paying off.”
“Mummm–mmeee.”
“What were you thinking?” I asked sitting on the edge of the bed.
“About what happened–I nearly killed Sister Maria.”
“I don’t know about that, I was there.”
“Yes, you saved her didn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“She’s going to be cross with me when I next go to school, isn’t she?”
“I don’t think so, but it might be nice if we take her some flowers and a letter of apology.”
“Will you help me write it?”
“I tell you what, you do it first and then I’ll help you from there, so do a rough draft first and I’ll help you, okay?”
She sat up and hugged me, “Thank you, Mummy, you’re the best mummy in the world.”
“I think that might be a slight exaggeration, so how about we say the best one in this room–but only until you have some children yourself.”
“But I can’t have children–can I?”
“I didn’t necessarily mean you gave birth, but adopted or fostered some–that’s how I started.”
“And look what you ended up with.”
“I have the loveliest children I could wish for, and I love you all.”
“Thank you, Mummy.”
I hugged her and kissed the top of her head, “C’mon we’re keeping Stephanie waiting.”
I left them to it, having sat with them both to explain what had happened at the church and its consequences. Stephanie’s eyes nearly came out on stalks when I mentioned the accidental stabbing.
“So, this woman survived?”
“Yes, of course she did, so you’re not working with a pair of criminals–besides it was an accident and Billie was in a strange place before and throughout the episode in the chapel.”
I left them to it, making some bread for the morning and doing myself a boiled egg for my tea. I love boiled eggs, they were the first solid food I ate after surgery, when I had to cope with clear soup and milkless tea–yuck. Years later I heard someone had drunk Bovril, I wished I had instead of the tea.
I’d made a bowl of cereal for Billie which she ate, and I’d done a quick omelette for Stephanie with some ham and mushrooms. She wolfed it down, then she and I shared a cup of tea, while I breast fed Catherine.
“Watching you do that, I can’t really believe you’re not a natural female.”
“I thought I was the officially deluded one.”
“Yeah, sure–you’re one of the sanest people I know.”
“Could I have that in writing?”
“For a fee, yes.”
Billie went off to play with the others and I shouted, “Ten minutes and then it’s bed time, see if Gramps will read to you.”
“How is she doing?” I asked Stephanie, closing the kitchen door.
“Okay–today was traumatic but she said she saw some woman standing behind you pouring blue light into you when you were trying to save the nun.”
“She saw it?” I gasped.
“So she said.”
“Today’s incident is quite bizarre, but what would you say if it had been suggested by someone I respect, that it was all designed to make me communicate with the Shekinah?”
“I’d say you were absolutely barking, why? This is the sort of paranoid delusion associated with severe mental illness and some personality disorders of a sociopathic type.”
“I thought you might.”
“You’re definitely a cycle path.” She sniggered and I rolled my eyes.
I explained about the energy–she knew about some of it–but was astonished when I suggested I’d actually brought one or two back from the brink–I didn’t like to say i was raising the dead, she might have Christian qualms about that.
“So, let me get this right, you feel that some ancient Hebrew goddess is channelling this energy into you for you to heal people?”
“Yes, in a nutshell.”
“What does she get out of it?” Stephanie had asked what I’d been thinking for some little while.
“I’m not su–I don’t know,” I shrugged.
“Quem Jupiter vult perdere, dementat prius” said Stephanie.
“Something about Jupiter sending madness. It’s a long time since I did any Latin.”
“Those whom God destroys, he first sends mad.”
“Oh, is that a diagnosis?”
“No, it was something that I learned verbatim in my first lecture on psychiatry. From then on I saw it as a challenge to try and stop as many destructions as I could. Sometimes I win, but not always.”
“Do I detect an element of hubris?”
“Possibly, psychiatrists are apparently the group of medics most affected by the God complex.”
“I just thought they were all mad?”
“Perhaps, but as they say it takes one to know one.”
I made us some more tea. Sitting down I glanced at Stephanie’s abdomen. “What are you staring at?” she asked suspiciously.
“Are you seeing anyone at the moment?” I asked her.
“Why, what did you see–cancer?”
“There is something growing there.”
“Oh hell–can you fix it–I mean blue light it, or however you term it?”
“No, I can only help things which are broken.”
She looked at me, “Waddya mean?”
“You’re having a baby.”
“What? How can you tell?”
“I just can.”
“This Shekinah thing?”
I shrugged.
“Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“No, only that it’s healthy.” I lied but she wouldn’t thank me for saying.
“Shit–how did you do that?”
“Could you be pregnant?”
“I shouldn’t be, I’m on the pill and he used a condom to be double sure.”
“Well, you are.”
“Shit.”
“Stephanie, please don’t abort it, will you?”
“I think that’s for me to decide don’t you?”
“It is, but I have a feeling you need to have this baby.”
“So it can screw up my life?”
“No, look, I’ll help all I can with babysitting and so on.”
“I need to think about it.”
She left a little while later in a sort of daze. I was bit worried for her driving and asked her to let me know she got home safely. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her, but the energy was insisting I did. Now she’s going to avoid me and what will my kids do when she’s on maternity leave?
Tom had put the younger children to bed and read to them, I checked on Danny and he was lying there staring at the ceiling. “What’s the matter, kiddo?”
“Oh hi, Mum.”
“What’s on your mind?” I asked sitting by the bed.
“Billie told us what happened–pretty frightening.”
“So why does that make you think?”
“Well, is she cracking up?”
“Certainly not.”
“She’s not going to stab one of us is she?”
“No, of course not, she’s fine.”
“She was going to do a Trish, wasn’t she?”
“A Trish?”
“Yeah, chop her goolies off.”
“Was she?”
“So she said.”
“I don’t know.”
“Makes me sweat just thinking ’bout it.”
“Well don’t then.”
“Mum?”
“Yes, Danny?”
“Thanks for being there for us all.”
“Darling, I do my best to be there for you all as much as I can, but we’re a family so we’re all there for each other, not just me.”
“Yeah, course.”
I bent down to peck him on the cheek and he put his arms round my neck and kissed me on the cheek instead. Once more I went downstairs with a glow in my whole being.
“He kissed you again, did he?”
“Who?” I gasped at Si.
“Danny, who else?”
“How d’you know?”
“You have something about you, which I recognise from the last time he did it: either that or you’re ovulating or pregnant.”
“I wish,” I sighed.
“We can go and have another try,” he said his whole face lighting up.
“C’mon then,” I couldn’t turn him down again–well I could have, but I happen to love him.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1405
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As we were going to bed the phone rang, I was about to ignore it then thought it could be Stephanie, although she should have been home at least an hour or more ago.
“Hello?” I said just as Simon hissed me not to answer it.
“Cathy, it’s Steph–sorry it’s so late.”
“That’s okay, problems?”
“I got a pregnancy tester on the way home–you were right.”
“Congratulations.”
“I don’t know if I want to be pregnant, Cathy.”
“Please don’t do anything for a few weeks, until you’ve really thought about it–get some advice from someone you trust.”
“Cathy–you patient, me doctor–remember?”
“No, I’m not very patient at all–and you’re not the doctor in this case.”
“I feel totally shocked–I feel like getting totally pissed out of my head–but I guess that might hurt the little darling, so just in case I keep it–I’d better not.”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
“I feel so alone, Cathy.”
“I’ve been there, not a nice place–what about the father?”
“He’s not with me anymore, we split up last week.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not, he was a total arsehole–now I’m stuck with his fucking child.”
“No, he or she is your child, he or she didn’t do anything to you, so don’t bear a grudge against him or her.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Wait and see.”
“Do you know?”
“How would I know?”
“Your blue light thingy.”
“It doesn’t tell me everything.”
“You know you bitch, don’t you?”
“I’m going to bed, Stephanie, perhaps you should go to yours.”
“I think I want rid of it.”
“Don’t rush into anything, you might regret it.”
“I haven’t got time to be a mother.”
“How d’you know until you try it?”
“I need to talk to someone.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow, Steph, try and get some sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know–I’m sleeping for two now.”
“Goodnight, Steph.” I put the phone down and lay down next to Simon who was already in bed.
“Stephanie is pregnant?”
“Yes, I told her tonight and she’s done a test to confirm it–it’s a little girl.”
“I get the impression she’s not over the moon.”
“No, right now she’d love a visit from Mrs Moon.”
“Eh?”
“A period.”
“I thought you could be pregnant and still have periods?”
“Darling, you are well informed.”
“All those Cosmos Stella used to buy.”
“You read Cosmopolitan?”
“Only in the bog.”
“Why do men read in the toilet?”
“Why don’t women? At least you’re on your own.”
“True–unless you have little kids with you or pets–they don’t like you to do anything without them.”
“What even taking a crap?”
“Yes, haven’t you had a dog or cat follow you into the loo?”
“Dogging me?”
“Or purr-suing you?”
“Neither, in my house we used to shut the door–I mean, how can you take a shit with a dog looking up at you?”
“I don’t know, didn’t have one; we had a cat.”
“Don’t tell me, it wanted to do the crossword in the paper you had with you?”
“I won’t, like I said women don’t usually read in the toilet.”
“So what did the cat want?”
“She used to follow me everywhere.”
“A bit like me?”
“No, she was beautiful.” Oops, what did I just say?
“Thanks, I needed cheering up.”
“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean it like that–cats have a beauty which is unique–so do dormice–and so do people. Your beauty is physical, but it’s deeper than that, you have this inner beauty...”
“Never mind the platitudes, Cathy–get ‘em orff.”
“Yeah, okay.”
My heart wasn’t in it tonight though I don’t think Simon noticed. I was thinking more of Stephanie and her problem and also my jealousy. Am I telling her to keep it because I find it ironic that women who can have babies seemed to value their fertility to little–taking it for granted–whereas women like me who would do almost anything to have my own baby–grieve for their loss. I know it went with the territory, but I still feel sad about it.
I made a short trip to the bathroom, weed, washed and slipped back into bed–Simon was asleep, hopefully with a smile on his face. I tossed and turned before falling into a restless slumber.
”So you managed to save the nun?”
“No, madam, it was you who did that, I merely drew your attention to it.”
“We suppose the same with the child called Jemima, and your snobbish Aunt?”
“Yes, madam, I’m aware that I have no powers save that of ordinary women.”
“You don’t even have those–do you?”
“If you mean the ability to create and bear life, no, ma’am.”
“You gave up your right to be fertile in order to play at being a woman?”
“If that’s how you see it, ma’am, I’m not going to argue.”
“That’s exactly how we see it. You failed as a man so now you think being a woman would be easier.”
“If you say so ma’am.”
“There is dissent in your heart, Catherine or should we call you Charlie?”
“I’d prefer Catherine if it’s agreeable to you, ma’am.”
“So you’re hiding your irritation from us–don’t tell me you’re exercising self-control?”
“I’m trying to be respectful, ma’am.”
“Oh how precious–shall we write this in our diary, Catherine Cameron showed a goddess some respect?”
“If it pleases you, ma’am.”
“What would please you, Catherine?”
“To be allowed to raise my children until they’re self-sufficient, and to spend some time with my husband and adoptive father.”
“And were we to grant this, what would you do for us, Catherine?”
“To try and understand and perform whatever the task is that you have for me.”
“It could be more than one?”
“Then, the same would go for those.”
“Why are you suddenly cooperative, Catherine?”
“Because I realise that that’s what I have to do.”
“Say that again, if you please–it’s music to our ears.”
“I’m trying to understand and perform whatever the tasks are that you wish me to perform.”
“Now we are getting somewhere–why humans are so stupid mystifies even us.”
I remained silent, though I suppose she could read my mind anyway, though she wasn’t showing any reaction to what was rushing through it.
“Don’t you crave your own child, fathered by that simpleton you married?”
“He may be a simpleton in your eyes, ma’am, but I happen to love him.”
“How d’you know we didn’t make that happen?”
“I don’t, but if you did, I’m very grateful.”
“But you don’t crave his child?”
“I do, ma’am, but that is secondary to making sure the ones I already have responsibility for, grow up and reach as much of their potential as they can.”
“You are being restrained tonight, Catherine, but then we did give you a baby that was only weeks old.”
“You gave me a baby?”
“Of course, who else?”
“You killed a whole family?”
“Yes–yes, we suppose we did–naughty us.”
“Why?”
“So you could have a baby to rear–we enabled you to breast feed–so why are you complaining, it was what you wanted, wasn’t it–a baby?”
“Yes, but not at the expense of her whole family–that is...”
“A real tragedy, but someone usually profits from another’s misfortune.”
“Look, bring them back, let them live and raise baby Catherine, how could you kill a child, Daisy was only six?”
“Easily, would you like us to demonstrate on one of your children?”
“No, ma’am, if someone has to die, then take me.”
“Why should we do that? How would you learn a lesson if you were dead?”
“Please, ma’am, don’t harm my children–take me instead, let them live.” I was sobbing my heart out when Simon shook me awake the put his arm round me.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
“She wanted to take my children,” I sobbed on his shoulder.
“Who did?”
“The Shekinah.”
“It was dream, Cathy–just a bad dream.”
“I tried to be good, but she really annoyed me, then she told me she killed all of Catherine’s family so I could have a baby of my own.”
“C’mon, babes, it was just a dream–it’s all stuff and nonsense–no one’s gonna hurt you or any of our kids while I’m about.”
There was no point in arguing with him, he wouldn’t understand–this was a female thing–even if in her eyes I wasn’t one–I supposed I must have been enough of one for her to even come to me–not that that is such a good idea. Oh boy–she really put the wind up me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1406
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I didn’t sleep much that night and was awake, probably running on adrenaline when the alarm came on. Simon was up and into the shower while I sat on the bed. I woke the girls and showered with them, one after the other, except Billie–she asked to shower by herself.
After breakfast, I ran the girls to school and took Billie to see Sister Maria who looked very well considering she had died yesterday. She didn’t even have a scar, not the slightest one. Once Billie was reassured she wasn’t in trouble, she settled down to getting back to class and catching up on the stuff she’d missed the day before.
Getting back into my car, my phone rang–it was Stephanie, she was being sick–she was pregnant. I invited her over and she arrived shortly after I got there. It struck me as incongruous that I was counselling a psychiatrist–well, okay, befriending.
She sat and drank water while I relaxed with a cuppa as I fed the little mother-sucker.
“You look so natural, sitting there feeding her.”
“Do I? It’s not hard really.”
“How did you produce the milk?”
“It happened spontaneously.”
“You woke up one day and started lactating?”
“More or less, yes.”
“Fortunate for her.”
“Yes, I suppose it was, although having a whole family wiped out is hardly good fortune, is it?”
“No, I suppose not. Are you going to tell her?”
“Yes, as soon as she can understand, I’ll point out that I’m not her original mother.”
“Just a very good adoptive one.”
“I try to be, never sure if I succeed or fail.”
“Your kids love you to bits–I don’t consider that failure, do you?”
“I suppose not. How d’you feel now?”
“Okay, I suppose–the nausea has gone–though not sure if I can cope with this each day.”
“Have you gone sick today?”
“No, I’m on leave this week, was having a new kitchen floor laid–I had to get out, the smell of the stuff was making me retch.”
“You’ve left strangers in your house?”
“No my cleaning lady is there watching them like a hawk.”
“Cleaning lady? Doesn’t anyone do housework themselves anymore?”
“I do some when she’s off–I don’t have time usually.”
“I suppose not.”
“How’s Billie?”
“Billie is okay, it’s me that was crapping myself last night.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I dreamt of the Shekinah again.”
“And?”
“She told me she killed the wain’s entire family just so I could have my own baby.”
“That’s a pretty big confession, even for a goddess.”
“I just felt sick and she threatened to harm one of mine–I woke up.”
“What if this is simply two parts of you in conflict, throw in a bit of guilt and the sky’s the limit.”
“You mean the whole thing is in my head?”
“That’s the most realistic hypothesis–I mean, gods and goddesses are mythological beings not real ones–like the tooth fairy.”
“The tooth fairy doesn’t go round wiping out entire families, does she?”
“Generally no, but she has been known to get cross with the odd tooth being presented twice.”
“Quite right too.”
“So you think this is all in my unconscious, do you?”
“I’m a psychiatrist, where else would I look for it?”
“What if it’s real?”
“Then I think I’d need to alter my own perspective somewhat.”
“Which is what I’ve been trying to do, avoid confrontation and argument–she’s so arrogant–where’s all the god of love stuff, I mean she’s suppose to be the feminine principle or the feminine side of god.”
“Ah, she’s Old Testament not post Jesus–that’s where the lovey-dovey stuff comes from, and even He didn’t push it that hard. Until then it was good old fashioned, zapping enemies with earthquakes and thunderbolts, or the equally reliable surfeit of H2O.”
“Eh?”
“Biblical floods–deluge of apocalyptic proportions–Sodom and Gomorrah–that kind of thing.”
“Noah’s ark?”
“Yeah, I guess–that’s not your task is it?”
“What to build an ark–I hope not, can you see B&Q having so many cubits of gopher wood–whatever that is.”
“Maybe marine ply will do just as well.”
“I couldn’t make a garden shed let alone a sea going vessel, besides, something that always puzzled me about the Noah story, was how did he feed the carnivorous animals, and where did he keep the woodworm and deathwatch beetles?”
“I think it’s an allegory.”
“What? You mean it didn’t happen?” I feigned surprise.
“Of course not.”
“So how come people go looking for the remains of the ark on mountains in Turkey?”
“Why do they go looking for UFOs?”
“Because they’re stupid?”
“No, they’re looking for something to transform their lives, by believing in something out of the mainstream.”
“But if Noah and his ark didn’t happen, people will never find it, will they?”
“Of course they won’t, but some need to prove everything in the Bible is true–whereas most is allegorical or the recording of the mythologies of an earlier oral tradition.”
“So the next time I wake up having a nightmare with some Old Testament goddess threatening my children, do I just tell her to go away she’s an allegory?”
“Um–dealing with entities seemingly in habiting the unconscious is less black and white. I think you just have to say you will cooperate as much as you can in reciprocation for her cooperation.”
“Isn’t that a partnership of equals?”
“Yes, of course it is.”
“Um–goddesses seem to think they are above humanity.”
“If they need you to exist they...”
“Need me to exist?”
“Yes, without believers they are just folk memories or myths in a book.”
“If she did what she said she did, she’s a bit more than a myth in a book.” I made some more tea. “By the way, you won’t be sick anymore?”
“How d’you know?” Stephanie looked surprised.
“I’ve just fixed it–courtesy of our imaginary friend.”
“That’s the bit I have difficulty with–where is this energy coming from?”
“The Shekinah.”
“It can’t, can it, she’s just a fairy tale.”
“You try telling her that when she’s thinking of zapping one of your kids.”
“But she didn’t, did she? What if all this is just some form of guilt being acted out in your head?”
“Guilt?”
“Yes, you couldn’t save Catherine’s family and feel guilty. You have a baby you feel should have been raised by her natural parents, even though you’re doing a good job yourself.”
“I can’t believe that’s right–where does the energy come from?”
“I don’t know, I’m a shrink not a phenomenologist. I mean does it actually exist or is your experience of it some sort of compensation mechanism?”
“But other people have seen and felt it too–what’s that mass hysteria?”
“No but you can get shared delusions or hallucinations, especially under stress.”
“So I’m deluded?”
“I didn’t say that, Cathy–I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
“Oh, that scar you had on the top of your leg which stopped you wearing a bikini has gone.”
“What d’you mean it’s gone?”
“It has gone, vanished–is no more–you know the sketches from Monty Python.”
“Sadly, I do.”
“Want some lunch?”
“Okay but then I have to get back and see what they’ve done to my kitchen floor.”
“Fine–I’ll make some soup.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1407
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Stephanie excused herself to go to the loo as I poured some stock into a saucepan and began processing vegetables–peeling, chopping or slicing–before being dumped in the now boiling stock. I added some lentils and pasta, some chopped chicken and left it on simmer.
“Has it gone?” I asked.
“Has what gone?”
“The scar on the top of your leg.”
She blushed, “I–um–forgot to look.”
“Steph, I don’t believe you, it’s the main reason you went to the loo.”
She blushed again, “How did you know I had one in the first place?”
“I had a picture in my mind of it shrinking and disappearing–so go and check.”
“No, I can wait.”
“You can wait for what, Dr Cauldwell?” asked Jenny coming into the kitchen.
“Cathy suggested a scar I’ve had since I was sixteen has disappeared.”
“And you haven’t looked?”
“No.”
“She has, Jenny, she just won’t admit it’s gone.”
“Where was it?” asked Jenny.
“On the top of her right thigh–a piece of glass from a blown light bulb stuck in her leg, just missing the femoral artery.”
“How d’you know that?” gasped Stephanie.
“I dunno, do I? It just appears in my head, like watching a newsreel.”
“You saw it happen?”
“I dunno if it was it, but I saw something happen. A bulb exploded and a piece of hot glass ended up embedded in your leg. You had surgery, hence the scar.”
“They had to operate to find the glass. Horrible stuff, had gone quite deep.”
“It’s gone anyway, I hope you eat chicken.”
“Yes thanks, how can you be so sure it’s gone?”
“Easy–I saw it go.”
“Go on,” urged Jenny and she was practically frogmarched to the loo.
She re-emerged a few moments later. “I can’t–um–find it.”
“I hope you’re referring to the scar–because otherwise you might have problems with intimate relations.”
“Trust you to take it that way, Catherine Cameron,” Stephanie shot back.
“Is there any cure for a dirty mind?” asked Jenny.
“Yeah, brainwashing,” I offered–well it seemed to fit.
“Ever since your brain got washed, you haven’t been able to do a thing with it, have you?” Stella entered bearing her baby, behind her waddled Puddin’ who became very bashful and clung to her mother’s skirts which had the unfortunate consequence of lowering it to half mast.
“Nice knicks, Stell,” I smirked as her skirt slipped down revealing a pair of pink silky panties.
“This b awful child, I’ll murder her before the day is out.” Stella exclaimed trying to pull up her skirt one handed. I stepped in and took the baby and she managed to pull it up properly.
“Shit, shit, shit,” said Puddin’ and went off on a trundle round the house.
“Nice vocab, Stel,” said Stephanie smirking.
“You can thank her ladyship for that,” she nodded at me.
“I don’t remember saying it, so when she picked it up–God knows,” I began my defence statement.
“They’re a bit like blotting paper–except a specialised blotter–they pick up exactly the things you don’t want them to hear fastest.”
“Why’s that, Steph?” I asked checking the soup and cutting some bread.
“I don’t know if any one knows for sure, but it’s probably something to do with reaction the first time they say it. Have you tried to introduce some nicer things?”
“How?” asked Stella.
“Here she comes, watch.” Stephanie waited until Pud was a few yards away when she deliberately dropped her bag saying, “Oh golly gosh.”
Moments later, Pud picked up Sephanie’s bag dropped it, and said, “Golly gosh, silly cow,” and walked out of the room again.
Once we all stopped splitting our sides trying to suppress the laughter, Stella accused me of another faux pas, which I disingenuously tried to explain away as not guilty.
“But I’ve heard you say it,” insisted Stella and Jenny agreed.
“Out-voted, Cathy,” declared Stephanie.
“I demand a recount.”
“Oh no you don’t,” said Stella and Jenny in unison.
“Look; don’t disturb me when I’m stirring my cauldron,” I snapped back as I checked the soup.”
“What is it?” asked Stella who hadn’t seen me make it.
“Cream of eye of newt,” I replied.
“Oh I quite like that, better than wing of bat, can’t stand that one.”
“Can’t do that one–all British bats are protected–Gareth would be on to me in a second, and you’d have to stand bail or look after the kids, Stella.”
“You wouldn’t get sent down for a first offence.”
“No, but I’d have to ask for the court to take a number of previous convictions to be taken into account.”
“That was said with conviction, so the court is prepared to hear the defence in Case number 69, Cameron vs Vagina.” Stephanie said this so quickly it was obviously not new.
“Shouldn’t that be, Regina?” I queried.
“I’ve used that line half a dozen times and no one has noticed the sleight of tongue.”
“That’s our Cathy, all tongue and no action,” quipped Stella
“I thought you said she was the Queen of Fellatio?” Challenged Jenny.
“I thought that was an island in the Pacific,” I offered
“Nah–that’s Clitoris,” Stella countered.
“I thought that was a Greek Island?” I threw back at her.
“Is it related to the Islets of Langerhans?” asked Stephanie.
“No it’s more insular–or should that be insulin?” I responded. I’d done quite a bit of physiology as had Stella. We all cracked up except Jenny who looked bewildered.
“Islets of Langerhans are bits of the pancreas which secrete insulin,” Stella enlightened our wage slave.
“Ah,” said Jenny, “Isn’t that where you catch the Eurostar train?”
“No that’s St Pancras station, not pancreas,” corrected Stella.
“I prefer to fly than go through holes in the ground,” stated Stephanie.
“I wondered whose broomstick I saw outside,” Stella was now on a roll.
“Yep, I parked it next to yours,” Stephanie hit back.
“Children, please–lunch is served,” I said loudly and began ladling soup into dishes.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1408
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After lunch, Stephanie went back home to see how her kitchen floor was progressing, she promised to call back if she needed to talk. I was still as confused as ever about my experiences in dreamland–were they as Stephanie suggested, merely my different personality components sorting themselves out and dealing with my own guilt and needs about the children? Or was there something else going on? We were no wiser about the source of the energy and the fact that Trish once upset the telly by throwing energy at it showed it could be manifest.
I had a little while before I needed to collect the girls so I contacted the physics department at the university. I eventually got through to a post grad student who understood that I wanted to measure something if it was possible.
“What are you wanting to measure?”
“Look, this is rather difficult but I need you to take it on trust that what I’m going to tell you happens, and this needs to be done in confidence.”
“Can’t think you’re going to tell me anything new–we do all sorts of tests here every year.”
“Okay, I seem to be able to produce enough energy at will to blow a television.”
“Okay, that’s a bit different, where does the energy come from?”
“That was question two after you got some sort of measure on things.”
“And you’re not wearing man-made fabrics and just building up static?”
“No.”
“Can you call by tomorrow at the department–say ten o’clock?”
“Fine–I have to be available for three to collect my children.”
“Oh it won’t take that long.”
“Fine, I’ll be there. Anything I have to wear in terms of clothing?”
“Have you a cotton tee shirt and shorts?”
“Yes.”
“Bring those or wear them.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
So it was that the following day at noon that I had one very unsure physics post grad student calling his professor, who appeared half an hour later.
“These are the readings you’re getting?” asked the professor.
“Yes, Professor Harris.”
“They can’t be–it’s not humanly possible–is she wearing some sort of device?”
“She says not, but obviously I can’t search her.”
“You’re not using any sort of medical device?” he asked me.
“Like what?”
“Pacemaker, things like that?”
“No.”
“You haven’t had breast implants or anything?”
“No, but I am breast feeding a baby.”
“Right, that shouldn’t make any difference.”
I waited for instructions.
They asked me to produce the power while they scanned me. “This machine must be faulty, no one can produce that amount of energy–not in those wavelengths.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The machines are telling us you’re producing microwave energies like the proverbial kitchen machine, only on an industrial scale, but that when Paul(the student) tried to measure its effect against meat, it changed to a higher wavelength and began changing the meat–as if it was being turned back to its live state. That is weird.”
“Could we try it with a live animal–a mouse or something?” asked Paul.
“I’ve got a better idea–Professor, when did you have your prostatectomy done?”
“I beg your pardon,” he looked rather miffed.
“Okay, I scanned your body and it told me you had had surgery there.”
“You scanned my body?”
“Yes.”
“What with?”
“I just visualise it and it shows me where things have happened or are happening. Your prostate still has cancer cells, your femur looks much better since the hip replacement and your heart is doing okay with the latest stents.”
“Is this some sort of hoax?”
“No, I came because I’m trying to understand something.”
“What reading my medical records?”
“No, I scanned your body.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Please scan this Paul,” I stepped in front of the machine and concentrated on the professor’s prostate and coronary blood vessels, while holding his hands–partly because I wanted him to stay in front of the machine with me.
“Jesus, my chest is on fire,” said the professor sweating profusely, “I don’t think I can take much more.”
“Nearly finished–so shut up.”
“Fuck, that was cold,” he said stepping back.
“You said you were getting too hot so I changed the energy for sorting your prostate.”
“You sorted it?”
“Yeah, you should find it’s back to normal now as is your bladder and urethra. Your sexual dysfunction should be clear and I suspect your wife will be pleased, but do wait until tomorrow–oh you won’t need the Viagra. Your coronary arteries are clear now, but stick to your diet–low fat oh and plenty of exercise.”
The man looked at me in astonishment. “How long have you been able to do this?”
“A couple of years.”
“But this is amazing–you could save thousands of lives.”
“Um–no–been there done that–why should I sacrifice my life for others when I have children at home who need me.”
“It wouldn’t be a sacrifice, just a clinic for those incurable by other methods.”
“Where does the energy come from?”
“According to our machines from you, the main centres being your heart and forehead. But it is so intense the readings go off the scale.” Paul showed the chart to his professor.
“We need to set up experiments–this is potentially the most exciting event in modern science.”
I began moving towards the door, “Um, I don’t think so.”
“You can’t expect me not to want to study this–its potentially so exciting.”
“I can’t do this–it’s too dangerous.”
“We won’t do anything which endangers you–I promise, our machinery is checked regularly.”
“It isn’t your machines that scare me.”
“Surely we don’t scare you?”
“Not personally, but once it gets out my life will be a living hell.”
“We’ll keep your name out of things, Mrs–um–Smith.”
“No, I wanted to know if this energy was measurable–it is. Now before you say anything, please listen carefully. You Professor Harris, if you say one word of this to anyone, it will undo all the healing you’ve received and you will die within the year of cancers deriving from the prostate.
“You, young man,” I addressed Paul, “if you say one word, will find that the clot which has been forming in your leg will throw off an embolism and your life will be in danger. At the moment, I have dispersed it–watch what you’re doing next time you play cricket.”
“You’re threatening us,” said the professor angrily.
“Please, you might be clever but you don’t listen. I won’t do anything except leave here. If you break this confidence, you will undo the healing you’ve received and the original consequences will result–what I’ve done is interfere in the natural disease process to reverse it–it only works as long as you cooperate.”
“But this is so big.”
“Professor, science isn’t ready for this yet–neither are you, or you’d listen.”
“What are you?”
“If I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me,” he said grimly.
“What d’you think I am?”
“Some sort of angel–except I don’t believe in goblins and demons and so on.”
“Maybe you need to change your perspective a little.”
“And as long as we keep quiet about this the healing will continue?”
“Yes, you will remain healthy from those conditions for several years, both of you. Oh and Paul, don’t think about taking sodium warfarin and then trying it on–you’ll be dead before it can help.”
“I wish I’d never met you,” he spat.
“If you hadn’t tonight would be your last one. The clot was forming beneath the bruise in your saphenous vein.”
“This is so unfair–the greatest discovery in recent years and we can’t say anything.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t, I just explained the consequences of what would happen if you did. The energy feels threatened by exposure and returns to its source, undoing the healing it gave.”
“That is scary,” he said.
“If I could give you a tip–concentrate on fusion–you’ll get there in the end, and whoever does will probably get a Nobel prize.”
“Wow–you can foretell the future too?”
“Sometimes; goodbye gentlemen.” I left while they were still floundering. They had some thinking to do, I had loads of my own. I gave one last goodbye to them and the data they’d collected became meaningless–they had no evidence they could use except anecdotal. I, however, had one or two scans generated by the machines–copies of what they’d lost and lots of food for thought.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1409
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“You seem rather pensive, tonight,” Simon remarked. I was seated at the kitchen table with a cold cup of tea by the side of me and about which I’d completely forgotten.
I looked at the scum forming on the top of the tea, “Put the kettle on will you, darling?”
I heard him flick the switch and a moment later the water was roaring as it heated to boiling. He took the cold cup and emptied it down the sink, then produced another of my mugs — this one declared, ‘Trainee Genius’, which I might give to Trish when she’s a little older, she doesn’t drink tea or coffee at the moment–at least not very often, whereas I do. I have my own mugs because unlike the others I don’t like drinking from a thick cup or mug, so I have bone china mugs. Okay, so I’m a cup snob–sue me.
Simon sat opposite me with a glass of Guinness. He sipped his drink and I sipped mine luxuriating for a moment in its reviving qualities. “So are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“What’s been on your mind and where you were all day?”
I sighed, “Okay. I went to the university physics department and confused them.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I asked them to see if they could measure the energy which comes from me when I heal someone.”
“Was that wise?”
“Look, I’m trying to understand it, and I thought if it was measurable, it could tell me something.”
“Was it and did it?”
“They measured it, but perhaps unsurprisingly, it was paradoxical.”
“Paradoxical?”
“Yeah, it changed at different points like microwave energy at one point and then zooming off into ultraviolet wavelengths at another.”
“Were you controlling any of it?”
“A little, they did scans of it and produced these.” I showed him the printouts.
“Is that you behind all this swirling?”
“Yes, they suggested two points of concentration my head and my heart.”
“Hardly surprising is it? I suppose this is it flowing from your hands?”
“I suppose so too, I don’t really know and I don’t think they do either.”
“So is this something new to science?”
“Only insofar as the production site, humans aren’t supposed to be able to do it.”
“Oh I dunno, Mark Cavendish produced a few watts himself this afternoon–he won another stage.”
“Oh bugger, I forgot it was on.”
“There’s probably highlights on the internet somewhere.”
“Yeah, I’ll look tomorrow.”
“I thought you were interested?”
“I am, but this worries me.”
“Why–so, I married an alien–so?”
“Thanks, Simon, you give me so much support.”
“Why do I feel as if you just told me off while appearing not to?”
“Because I did, dumbo.”
“Ah, that would explain it.”
“Jeez,” I sighed.
“It’s a good job you have voice recognition software on your computer.”
“Why?”
“To start with, as far as I know, computers don’t do irony, and it would be a very confused machine, seeing as you rarely say what you mean.”
“I rarely say what I mean? You’re always telling me off for being too direct with people.”
“That’s different.”
“What is? Now who’s being indirect?”
“You can be too direct with outsiders but frequently talk obliquely to us–here at home.”
“Do I?”
“If you didn’t I’d hardly be raising it as an issue would I?”
“I suppose not.”
“So, are you an alien, then?”
“As much as anyone born in Dumfries and raised in Bristol is.”
“Yeah, I suppose that would have an impact–talk about different environs.”
“I don’t think I want to at the moment.”
“Okay–what about these microwaves–can we save on the electricity bills–have you cook the dinner instead? Am I safe–would I get cooked if you got too passionate in bed?” He shook his head, “Nah, you never get that passionate.”
“You what?”
“You never get that passionate. I do all the passion–you lay there like a wet blanket waiting for someone to hang you on the line.”
“I do not, I’m every bit as passionate as you, and I don’t fart and go to sleep afterwards.”
“No, you fall asleep during.”
“How can anyone fall asleep while having six inches...”
“Seven,” he corrected.
“Seven? Have you been doing exercises?”
“Very funny.”
“No it isn’t, you told me it was six inches long.”
“No I didn’t, it’s seven, always has been–well since I’ve been an adult.”
Of course, I did the worst possible thing, I went and got my sewing basket and a tape measure. “Right let’s sort this now. Here’s seven inches–you aren’t that big, that’s for sure.”
“It’s not going to just stand up for any old measure you know–besides that’s cold and you know as well as I do, cold makes them shrink.”
“If that’s the case how do polar bears, seals and penguins manage to get it on?”
“How do I know, you’re the biologist.”
“True–hmmm–I can’t say I know–don’t get many polar bears in Hampshire.”
“I’ve an idea,” declared Simon, “Let’s go to bed and make mad passionate love and forget about microwaving polar bears with long willies.”
“I wasn’t thinking about such things–but I am now–you are weird, Simon Cameron.”
“I’m weird? Take a look in the mirror Watts. At least I’m not lethal alien.”
“You make me sound like some sort of virus. You’re Scottish born as well.”
“So? I’m a fully paid up porridge eater, not some gone to ground, sleeper variety, like someone we know.”
“Oh yeah, I turn into Robert the Bruce at the stroke of midnight.”
“Ugh–do you? Remind me not to be givin’ you all my passion while you turn into some arachnological fixated bloke–I mean it could get embarrassing.”
“When I was a dormouse fixated one, you coped.”
“Cathy, you were never a bloke–okay–well, except for the purposes of me winning this argument.”
“You can’t win an argument–that’s not allowed.”
“Since when?”
“Whenever I wrote down the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, here.” I handed him a sheet of paper with some wording I’d got from a birthday card years ago.
He began to read them aloud. “The boss is always right. In the event of any disagreement, rule 1 applies.”
I smirked and he frowned.
“That’s a bit heads you win, tails I lose.”
“Just a bit.”
“A bit?”
“Alright, a big bit–so what?”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1410
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So, we finished bantering and went to bed. Simon, my one track minded bedmate, had but one thing on his mind, whilst I was still trying to understand what had happened at the university.
Thankfully, they didn’t recognise me–I was without makeup and my hair tied back–so I hope I looked plain and uninteresting. I’d have to remember to wear some smarter clothes and makeup when I went back to my department, so I wouldn’t be remembered as the boring woman with the megawatt output.
As soon as we were in bed, I began to worry that I might be dangerous to my family. What would happen if I did microwave Si while he was on the job? Yeah, I know he’s only half baked so it wouldn’t make a lot of difference, but seriously, I could kill him.
“C’mon, girl, get ‘em off.”
“I’m not really in the mood, Si.”
“You never are these days.”
“I’m sorry too much going on in my head.”
“All that multi-tasking, see, sometimes there are advantages to having only one functioning brain cell.”
“I guess I’m just not that much of a sexual animal–that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it but it seems I’m not as interested in it as you.”
“Yeah, seems to be the story of my life–being attracted to women who can live without sex for years at a time.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No, but one of my previous girlfriends was–I began to think if she was in training to be a nun in a closed order.”
“Was she?”
“No, she left uni early because she got herself pregnant by one of the lecturers.”
“Oh, so how come you and–um–I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know.”
I felt very guilty. Here was my long suffering hubby, suffering again but it wasn’t really my fault–I just wasn’t that much into sex–well not tonight. Yes, I did get periods of being more interested and they did seem to form a regular pattern but was that wishful thinking and self delusion or was it real and possibly attributable to the hormones?
I sat up and kissed him, he began stroking my nipple and kissed me back. I took the aggressor’s role and pushed him back onto the bed and began working to arouse him–it didn’t take long. Neither did the next bit, and ten minutes later I was washing myself before returning to bed and slipping alongside my sleeping spouse.
I sat and watched him for a short time, I did love him but today I didn’t fancy him or anyone else for that matter. If Johnny Depp or George Clooney had come into the bedroom I’d probably have preferred to talk to them about film making than wanting to bed them. Next week it could be different, but I doubt it. A few days each month is about all I seem to have and that wasn’t too long ago if I remember.
But then I’ve never been that interested. As a kid I didn’t know who I fancied and for what, I was far more rapt in my own thoughts studying girls because I so badly wanted to be them. There was a girl in our road who used to wear far too much makeup, especially mascara but I so badly wanted to be her. I’m sure she thought I was weird because I used to stare at her–taking in her clothes, the changes in her body as puberty took off–hers not mine–the way she did her makeup and her hair and the clothes she wore.
In hindsight, I can see that she was the town bike, she dressed and acted like a slag but she was a contemporary role model, unlike my mother who seemed to be more chaste than the Virgin Mary. I know they must have done it at least once–because I was born–but I could never imagine my parents actually doing it. They probably did, I was just unaware because their generation tended to be more private than my own about personal matters.
I remember Hawkeye Pearce–yeah, he was nicknamed after the Mash series on TV, I suppose I was lucky I wasn’t called Klinger–anyway, he always bragged as if he was getting it every night and twice on Sundays. However, one day he came o school and something was different about him–he’d lost his swagger a bit, but there was a more mature confidence about him–he’d managed to get his leg over at last and the reality was something far more powerful than he realised.
It meant nothing to me then other than as an outsider I could observe more objectively than most of them–a little like the thing with girls–I watched them much more closely than most boys did–yet if one of them had offered to take my virginity, I’d have run a mile, probably two. Lust was something that appeared in my little life much later than my contemporaries from what I could understand at least. Okay, now and again I see someone who does something to me–as Gareth did at the first meeting–but that must have coincided with my little window of desire–a couple of days per month.
Simon’s eyes were moving under his closed eyelids, so I concluded he was dreaming–I wondered if it was about me and what we had just done–or was it about his work or something completely different.
One day we might have machines that can be plugged into the head to show what is going on inside the head, complete with pictures–though I’m not sure I’d want anyone looking inside my head. I suppose it would finally resolve the old chestnut of what dreams are about and how different men’s and women’s brains really are–probably not very different at all.
I remember reading some research which suggested that we were more alike than we liked to think and differences, apart from being pushed by the psycho-pop people to sell their books, were very small if anything, and that the application to life was the major difference. Women think about babies because they live in that environment traditionally, follow tradition in wanting babies and so on. Boys only thought of football or sex all the time because they were following stereotypes and it was what they assumed all other boys did. They were wrong because at least one boy in my school was thinking more about babies than football–except, I suppose I don’t fulfil the usual criterion for identifying boys and never did.
Of course all these research papers tend to have critics who found the exact opposite in their research. Money was sure that sex and gender behaviour was learned and possibly influenced by things like hormones–but it seems he could have been wrong in at least one case–which implies it must be inherent, genetically programmed. At least that’s what most of us afflicted by contrary gender impulses tend to claim–so who am I to disagree?
I felt my eyes getting tired and my head was nodding, so I cuddled down next to Simon, he of course turned over towards me, so I faced away from him and allowed him to put his arm round me, even though he was fast asleep. His apparent need to protect me even when asleep, gave me a tremendous sense of love for him and I fell asleep thinking about how much I loved him rather than the more difficult experiences of the day.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1411
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The girls only had one more day in school whereas Danny had a couple of days next week as well. He had a new found passion–cricket–at which he was quite good, at least he thought so. The final week in his school culminated in a cricket championship between the four houses: apparently each played the others and the two with the most points played each other in the final. He was looking forward to the competition.
The girls however were looking forward to their respective end of term parties and I had to help each one of them take some food and drink to these. Of course they hadn’t told me, so we had to call by Morrisons to get some food and drink for each of them. At least they each got what they wanted to take with them and I did a small amount of shopping too–milk and some bread, that sort of thing.
We were doing quite well for time until we got to the checkout, when some chap in the queue next to ours was taken ill–he collapsed–went down like a stone, smacking his head on the conveyor belt housing as he went.
There was chaos as first aiders and others rushed about getting in each other’s way and I was surprised but pleased that when the paramedics arrived–there was an ambulance getting diesel at the petrol station attached to the supermarket–the man was still alive.
I had to hush the girls from suggesting I help him, although Trish confirmed what I suspected–the light was being drawn from me by the injured man. She could see it, I could feel it as a slightly cool sensation on my forehead and near my heart.
Back in the car, Trish suggested, “It was only you who was keeping that man alive, wasn’t it, Mummy.”
“I don’t know, Trish, I was just feeling concern for him, because he really bashed his head as he fell.”
“Fank goodness our shoppin’ wasn’t on fat conveyor belt, it would have been covered in bwud.”
“Ugh,” declared Livvie, “I don’t think I’d want to eat it after that.”
“Nor me neither,” agreed Billie, while Trish and Mima simply made faces and pretend retching noises. Sometimes the girls are a delight–today wasn’t one of those occasions.
I took them to school and returned home to find Jenny and Stella feeding both babies–Jenny with a bottle and Stella the old fashioned way. Puddin’ was wandering about looking for a socket to insert her fingers into, after she’d wet them–but thankfully, didn’t actually know what a socket looked like, so failed miserably in her attempt to get curly hair and electrocuted all at the same time.
Seeing as the babies were sorting out the two adults, I went to play with Puddin’ and we did dressing up dolls and putting them to bed–we all sleep in our Sunday best, don’t we? This kid is as strange as her mother–mind you, I suppose months in the company of the household nutter, viz. Stella’s sister in law, would make any child a bit strange.
I was saved by the rattle of cups and the sound of the kettle boiling which indicated the babies had been topped up and hopefully had had an oil change as well.
“I thought the sound of the teacups would bring you from wherever you were hiding,” teased Stella.
“Natch, but I could see the babies had everything under control, so I went to play with Pud.”
“Where is she?”
“Taking the legs off the dog, I think.”
“She’s what?”
“Well she had the chainsaw and was last seen heading towards Kiki.”
Stella laughed but went to check all the same. Jenny smirked, “Okay, where is she?”
“Asleep on the sofa, why?”
“Stella will kill you.”
“No she won’t, she can’t cope with cooking for more than about three–so I’m safe, but she might kill you as an example to me.”
"Examples of what?" asked Stella giving me an old fashioned look.
“An example of baroque music,” I said quickly.
“Is that right, Jenny?” Sella demanded.
“Oh yes, Stel, it’s right.”
“So what was this example of baroque music, then?”
“Um–I can’t remember what you said now, Cathy–was it–um–the four seasons guy?”
“What, Frankie Valli?” asked Stella.
“I think she meant Vivaldi, Stella.”
“I was going to say,” said my sister in law, blushing.
“This is what happens when you eavesdrop on others,” I teased her.
“I wasn’t–I just happened to overhear a bit of your conversation.”
“A likely story–don’t you agree, Jenny?”
“Absolutely, now we can see where Puddin’ gets it from.”
“Just a minute,” said Stella beginning to froth at the knickers, “You leave my babies out of this.”
“Did you find her?” I asked.
“No–where is she?”
“Perhaps the dog killed and ate her.”
“Don’t be silly, Kiki’s a spaniel.”
“So, spaniels can be bad tempered especially towards children.”
“Kiki is soppy with everything, she’s a lot safer with kids than you are.”
“Are you implying that I wouldn’t be safe at the hands of children or t’other way round?”
“How can you be threatened by children?”
“I didn’t say I was–that was you.”
“Cathy Cameron, stop fibbing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Hey, you two, have you seen this?”
This turned out to be a report of an earthquake off the coast of Portsmouth yesterday.
“Did the earth move for you?” I asked Jenny.
“Can’t say as I’ve noticed.
“Nah, nor me.”
“Obviously the end of the world.”
“Yeah? As long as they do it quietly I won’t mind so much.”
“That sounds a bit defeatist, Cathy.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So, just how did you mean it?”
“I didn’t sleep very well last night–so I possibly don’t care as much as I might after a normal night’s sleep.”
“Oh, I see–I thought you were getting kamikaze in your old age?”
“Divine wind? That would only be if I was planning on blowing myself up.”
“Off,” corrected Stella, “You’d be blowing off.”
“I’ve got to go and collect the girls–enjoy having them under your feet all day for the next umpteen weeks.” With that rejoinder, I set off to collect my party girls and hoped they hadn’t drunk too much pop–I’d hate to have them sick in the back of the car.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1412
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The girls were as fizzy as a bottle of pop and I drove back wondering how I’d manage to keep them busy everyday for the next seven weeks. There are times when I suspect I’m not entirely suited to looking after children.
I needed Simon to get at least a week off, preferably two and we needed to go away for at least part of the time. We’d left it too late to organise passports, so it would have to be in this country–but there are loads of places to go and it’s not as if we’re exactly hard up. A holiday cottage would be nice, but it would mean I’d be on duty every meal time unless we went out for dinner.
Hotels are okay but they tend to be noisy, people drinking and then calling goodnight to each other at two in the morning, or they stand under your window or by your door and talk in hushed loud voices. It’s like being back in my student bedsit.
A house overlooking the sea would be nice, just a change of view and I hope some peace and quiet.
I left my plotting until after the children had gone to bed and Jenny and Stella were talking in the lounge. I was in my study doing some searches on the internet for houses with sea views and ninety three bedrooms. Actually, we’d need four or five bedrooms but loads of beds. Si and I would need one room and Catherine could come in with us, the girls would need a room, and Julie and Danny would need separate rooms so we needed a minimum of four bedrooms. We’d have to take two cars with some inflatable mattresses because nowhere would have enough beds and bedding for our brood–so we’d take some sleeping bags as well.
Simon came in to see what I was doing. I told him and he was shocked. “Holidays? You mean being locked up with you lot all day and night?”
“We are a family and you are nominally the head of it.”
“Can’t Tom go with you, or Jenny?”
“No, I’d like to give Jenny the time off and Tom deserves a break from us too.”
“Take Stella, I’m sure her girls would enjoy it.”
“I’m sure they would, but I’d like to take you and our children and no one else.”
“I don’t think I can get time off in the near future, things are pretty volatile at the moment.”
“Well take your laptop with you, you can check every day and give necessary instructions.”
“I don’t know, babes; I wish you’d given me some warning.”
“What d’you think this is?”
"I'm sorry, but it isn't enough," he went to walk away and I snarled at him.
“You make me sick, I’m going to bed.”
I closed down my computer and went upstairs leaving him sulking downstairs. I can’t believe he couldn’t get some time off in August or even the first week in September. We could even do now. I could be packed in a day and ready to go the next day.
I was reading when he came up to the bedroom. “Look I’m sorry, babes, but I just can’t do anything for weeks. I’ve looked at my diary and I’m chock-a-block with appointments. Maybe we should look at half term.”
“Yeah, maybe or maybe I’ll see if Iain is free.”
“Iain?”
“Iain MacPherson, the actor.”
“What for?”
“To come away on holiday with the kids and I.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I do, but then you’re far happier in your little office playing the stock market than being with your wife and kids.”
“That’s not fair, I even moved offices to be home quicker.”
“You rarely are though, are you? I think you moved offices to have less of a commute–less wear and tear on you–you don’t come home early that often.”
“I have a very senior position, you know that.”
“Yes, but so do you here–you are a father to seven children–what could be more important than that?”
“I employ about thirty people in my division of the bank, they depend upon me for their livelihoods.”
“And how many of them are having a week or two off during August?”
“I have no idea, I leave that to personnel and my secretary.”
I felt so angry. We never go away. I wanted to slap him, he always puts his job before us unless I complain to Henry and I’m damned if I’m going to this time.
I kept my temper and actually slept reasonably well. I stayed civil with Simon at breakfast although I declined to give him a kiss before he went–my diary was too full.
I spoke with Julie when she came down and she blushed when I mentioned holidays, on a little questioning, she explained she wanted to go with two girlfriends in September. I felt a bit hurt but at least she had a reason and I suppose it would mean that we’d need one less bedroom.
Danny had his cricket tournament next week, so he wouldn’t want to go away until after that. I got the girls up, and after they had breakfast, I took Danny to school leaving the girls with Jenny.
“How would you like to go away for a week’s holiday?” I asked Danny.
“Yeah, where?”
“I don’t know yet, I’ll have to see what I can book–it’ll be this country.”
“We goin’ up to the castle?”
“I hadn’t thought to, I was thinking more Devon or Cornwall.”
“I’d rather go to the castle.”
I fumed silently, am I wanting something unreasonable? It began to feel like it.
“Oh, Mum, there’s a football summer school, in August–any chance I could go to that?”
“Get me details. What if it clashed with dates available for the castle or somewhere else, which would you prefer?”
“Um,” he blushed and I knew he’d prefer kicking a ball round than coming away with his so called family.
We arrived at his school and my Cayenne caused a little excitement–it is still a Porsche. Danny got his cricket bag from the back of the car–it contained his bat and his pads and probably a few other bits and pieces too, including his box a protector for his dangly bits against fast bowlers and other dangerous animals.
“Is that your mum, Maiden?” asked a boy, also dressed in cricket whites and carrying a similar bag to Danny.
“Yeah, why?”
“Gor, how come someone as beautiful as ’er ’ad something as ugly as you?” He laughed and so did his mates.
“I’ll remember that when I’m bowling,” said Danny quietly.
“Oh I’m scared,” mocked the other boy.
“I’m not,” said Danny with a coldness that worried me but not the boy. I had to leave him to fight his own battles and he seemed reasonably adept at it, but if I were that boy, I wouldn’t want to face my son in ordeal by cricket ball because he sounded as if taking prisoners wasn’t an option.
“Can’t you introduce me, Maiden, I’d love to give ’er a good seein’ to.”
“Fuck off, Clayton–nah you can’t can you, better watch out I might incapacitate your wanking hand–then you’d be in trouble.”
“If you do, Maiden, I’ll make you kiss it better and kiss something else. Yeah, Maiden’s a good name for a fairy like you.”
They wandered out of my earshot still swapping insults. Part of me hoped Danny did manage to bowl something that either caught the boy’s fingers or his groin or even bounced up and hit his elbow–not to do any real damage–just to give him a few minutes agony.
I drove home in a grumpy mood and the day didn’t get any better when Jenny asked if she could take a week off the following week–her bloke had leave. I could hardly refuse her, could I?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1413
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Enquiries about the football school at Danny’s school, meant it coincided with the week Jenny would be away, if I took the four girls and the baby, would Stella cope with keeping an eye on Danny in the evenings, making sure he washed his kit and his neck and got a meal?
Si would be home eventually in the evenings and he could help supervise Danny, except with him in charge it would be all fast food or going out to eat. Could they live on pizzas and chips for a week–I don’t see why not–it might be good training for his stomach if ever he goes away to uni, as half the students live on chips or other junk food for several years.
I felt guilty, though why should I wait for another week or two to take the girls away? If Danny wants to attend this soccer school thing, he’ll have to show some maturity in helping to look after himself. If necessary, I’ll get some ready meals in, which they can just microwave — all the big supermarkets do them and so do Marks & Sparks.
I casually mentioned to Stella that I was thinking of taking the girls away for a few days and she nearly became apoplectic. I won’t be able to cope on my own with two babies and Simon and Tom.
“Julie will be home in the evenings and Simon isn’t disabled, just clueless. Besides you used to cope when you and he lived together, and you held down a full time job.”
“Why can’t we come with you?” She asked–she wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Where’s Gareth–he hasn’t been here for a few days?”
“He’s off on a course–they’re making loads redundant–so he’s been lucky to keep his job.”
“How long is his course?”
“Until Friday.”
“So he’ll be home at weekends and evenings as well as the others. He seems a capable type–I’ll bet he can cook a bit.”
“Yeah, but why should he–that’s yours or Jenny’s job, and why can’t she do it–we pay her enough?”
“Stella, I pay Jenny.,” Okay, I use Simon’s money, “So she works for me, the fact that she helps you is a bonus, but I still pay her. She has an entitlement to take holidays, she’s chosen the same week I’m going to be away.”
“Huh, abandoning me–I get it.”
“Stella, it’s hardly abandoning you–okay, you have two small children to care for, but that’s all. You’ll have up to four other adults in the house while I’m away and catering for them isn’t exclusively my job anyway. I am trying to help Tom with his survey as well.”
“You wouldn’t need a holiday if you hadn’t done that play thing–that’s what has exhausted you–playing Lady Macbeth.”
“No it hasn’t, besides am I not allowed to do one or two things as well? I haven’t actually been away on holiday since I met you, and certainly not since I married Simon.”
“You went up to Scotland, and stayed at the hotel in Southsea–that would count as holidays in anyone’s book.”
“The trip to Scotland was trying to hide from some serious criminals if you remember, and using the hotel in Southsea is usually avoiding someone somewhere else as well–hardly holidays are they?”
“You didn’t cook, clean or do anything else, so I’d call it a holiday.”
I was tempted to respond detailing the little she does regularly, but it would only antagonise her. She seems to think I’ve replaced the role of housekeeper and mother to her, the babies and children and all the other adults as well. It ain’t necessarily so, and I’m just warming to the idea of telling her so in explicit detail.
Just then Jenny walked in, “Why the long faces, ladies?”
“Cathy told me you’re going away the week after next and so is she.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Who’s going to look after the house and feed everybody?” moaned Stella.
“As you’re the only one not working, Stella–looks like it’s you. That’ll make a nice change for you, won’t it?”
“I’ve got two babies to look after.”
“They don’t take all day, do they? In Africa, mothers only stop doing heavy physical jobs when they start going into labour,”
“I don’t see what politics has to do with anything.”
“Politics?”
“Yes, Labour.”
“I meant labour as the effort of expelling a child from your womb.”
“Oh, that makes a little more sense, but it’s mainly nonsense.”
“Well, if you were working in Africa, you’d have been back ploughing fields and so on a few hours after giving birth.”
“There is no way I could sit on a hard tractor seat for even a couple of hours.”
“Tractor? Who said anything about a tractor?”
“Well, I assumed they’d be using tractors.”
“Sadly you’d be wrong, most of these people are too poor to afford tractors or the fuel to power them.”
“That’s lack of investment.”
“Subsistence farming isn’t a bowl of cherries.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, but that’s not my fault.”
“You enjoy eating fresh fruit and veg out of season–since this mostly comes from third world countries–it is partly your fault.”
“It most certainly isn’t–you do the shopping–I only eat what you put on my plate.”
“Oh well, Stell,” started Jenny, “now’s the chance to change all that.”
“But I don’t want to change it, do I?”
“Fine, but you could find that come the revolution, you’ll be the first into the tumbrel.”
“Which revolution are we discussing here?”
As they only used tumbrels in one revolution that I’m aware of, Stella is being deliberately obtuse in the hope that someone will save her. From the way Jenny is maintaining a hostile reception to Stella’s whining, she certainly isn’t going to rescue her anytime soon.
The circular argument went nowhere quickly, but as I refused to postpone my holiday–like I do every year–I managed to get out quickly enough to avoid being drawn into the recriminations. I went to start lunch.
I had no sooner put some jacket potatoes into the oven when the phone rang. It was the school, Danny had a suspected broken finger–he was at the QA. Just what I needed–not. If I spend much more time there, I shall ask for my own parking place.
I drove off to get him with Trish and Livvie. When we found him he had his hand swathed in bandages and was looking rather sorry for himself.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That prat Clayton hit out at a slower bowler and I was at silly mid on, I tried to catch him but the ball hit the end of my finger. I felt this intense pain–the Xrays show it’s the end bone in my index finger.”
“Terminal or distal phalange.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1414
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“Can I see your finger?” asked Trish.
“They only just put this bandage on,” protested Danny.
“Oh well, this will take longer then.” Trish grabbed his hand and he pulled it away.
“That bloody well hurt.”
“Well hold still then.”
“Just what are you trying to do?”
“Fix your finger, stupid.”
“Children please don’t start squabbling, life is fraught enough.”
“Let me see your hand.”
“Get stuffed.”
“Mummy, he won’t let me fix his finger.”
“Danny, please humour her.”
“If this hurts, you witch, I’m gonna stick your broomstick where the sun don’t shine.”
“Mummy, he’s threatening me.”
“Danny, just let her do it, okay?”
“Aw, Mum, she’s hurting it.”
“I’m not, Mummy, he’s lying.”
I stopped the car and turned round to the back seat. “For God’s sake stop acting like a six year old, Danny, and let her fix your stupid finger.” Before he could respond I turned back and rejoined the traffic.
I tried to see what Trish was doing in the rear view mirror, but she was below the level of sight.
“God, that’s hot,” squealed Danny and Trish giggled.
“There it’s done,” declared his younger sister.
“It had better be, ’cos I want to do some bowling tomorrow, especially at Clayton.”
“If you can’t bowl tomorrow, don’t blame me–it’ll be because you’re a wuss.”
“How does it feel?” I asked Danny.
“A bit better–she’s not as good as you.”
“Yet,” protested his sister.
We arrived at home and on entry I asked Stella to examine Don Bradman’s finger. She looked at it, felt it and squeezed it, made him wiggle and curl it. “Nothing wrong with it,” was her conclusion.
“I think you owe your sister an apology, don’t you?” I reminded my son.
He sloped off to find her and tell her. Moments later she was with me telling me what he’d said, then she giggled. “Should I have told him it was you who did most of it?”
“Nah, I’d let him think it was you, he might show you a little more respect in future.” I beckoned her to listen to me carefully. “How would you like to go for a little holiday?”
“Where?” she whispered back.
“I thought Devon or Cornwall.”
“Can’t we go to the castle or up to your house in Bristol.”
“Bristol?”
“Yeah, I like it when we go there.”
I hadn’t actually thought of that, I suppose, because it wouldn’t be much of a holiday for me. We could take a run up there tomorrow and check on everything, come back the next day. Is it worth it? All the aggro of packing with tiny wee, and the other girls–just for one night? I suppose we could do two, that would be more interesting.
Trish disappeared and a few minutes later she reappeared with Livvie and Meems and Billie came along moments later. “We all wanna come to Bristol, Mummy.”
“Okay, I’ll see what we can do.”
“Can we see the Great Britain?”
“I’ll see, I thought I’d taken you there?”
“Yeah, but we just did it in technology.”
“I wanna go to the zoo, Mummy,” whined Mima and I was beginning to think I should have stayed in bed.
Danny returned minus his bandage and tossing a cricket ball–four ounces of cork wrapped in leather. He tossed it to me as he walked in. By reflex I caught it, if I’d thought about it, I’d probably have fumbled it and it could have hit one of the girls.
I handed it back to him and told him to put it away in the house. He suggested I should try out for a women’s cricket side as my catch had been a good one. I told him to go and put his ball away before I confiscated it. He made a face at me and ran off.
“That ball could have hit me on the head,” complained Trish.
“But it didn’t, did it?” I responded.
“But it coulda done.”
“But it didn’t, so stop complaining about things which didn’t happen.”
“It woulda hurt, too.”
“Trish, shut up and go and do your homework.”
“I haven’t got any.”
“Okay, I want an essay on why we should visit the SS Great Britain.”
“Bah,” she said and stormed off.
“Meems, I want pictures of at least two animals you might see in the zoo.”
“Can we go shopping, Mummy?” asked Livvie.
“I expect we could.”
“Where all the department stores are.”
“Near Park Street, are you looking for anything?”
“No, I just want to look at some department stores.”
“You could do that in Portsmouth.”
“Nah, I wanna see the Bristol ones.”
“If we have time, we’ll see.”
“Can I see the bike shop, Mummy?” asked Billie.
“Bike shop–there’s several in Bristol.”
“The Specialized one.”
“They’ve got one there have they?”
“Yes, Mummy and I’d like to look at it.”
“I might, too.”
“Mark Cavendish is riding one these days, and he won another stage.”
“The Manx Missile strikes again.”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“I’ll have to see if I can find it on the internet. Find out where the shop is, if it’s too far away from the other things–too bad, if it’s not far, we may well manage to include it.”
“Thank you, Mummy.”
The doorbell rang and before I could answer it, one of the girls called to say I had a visitor. I wasn’t expecting anyone so was intrigued to learn who it was. I was astonished to see Mrs Browne-Coward standing at the door.
“Oh, hello, to what do I owe this pleasure?” I said just hiding the twinge of sarcasm I felt it needed.
“Ah, good afternoon, Lady Cameron; could we talk in private?”
“Come through to my study, Danny, make us a pot of tea please.”
“Yeah, okay,” he yelled back from somewhere.
“Come through, Mrs Browne-Coward.” I led her through to my plush new study and invited her to sit on the chintz sofa that stood in the window.
“This is very nice, I love this material,” she said rubbing her hand over the fabric.
“Yes, it’s a Liberty’s design, I got a local company to make up the covers.”
“I love the matching curtains.”
“Yeah, they did them at a discount for ordering the covers from them.”
“It’s quite comfortable, too.”
“I know, I sometimes sit there to read.”
“Very nice–good light too.”
“The window might have something to do with that.”
“Yes, of course–sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
Danny came in bearing a tray with a pot of tea, some mugs, some milk, sugar and a biscuit tin. I thanked him and he bowed and asked, “Will there be anything else, milady?”
Mrs B-C roared with laughter, and I waited to administer the coup de grace until she stopped laughing.
“No, Fi-Fi, that’ll be all for tonight.”
Danny blushed, looked daggers then sniggered. Mrs B-C nearly wet herself.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1415
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“I love the rapport you have with your son, Lady Cameron.”
“He’s a good lad,” I said hoping that Danny was close enough to hear my commendation. I poured us each a mug of tea and we sat and sipped it for a few moments.
I felt like saying, ‘What d’you want?’ but politeness prevented me, I just hoped that she didn’t want me to intercede with the bank, because then I’d have to say no. I left her a few seconds to speak her piece before prompting her.
“I really like this fabric,” she said rubbing her hand over the cushions on the sofa.
“How can I help?” I asked grabbing the brown-cow by the horns.
“Oh yes, there’s some woodland at the back of our garden centre which the owner is talking about clearing and just leaving a screen of trees to hide a slurry pit.”
“I’m not sure what I can do to stop him, especially if he has planning permission.” I felt some sympathy for her, after all the smell would be pretty awful.
“We wondered if there were some dormice there, he wouldn’t be allowed to do it, would he?”
“You want me to do a survey–to see if there are any dormice?”
“Yes, that would be helpful, and if there aren’t any, could we buy some off you and put them in there?”
“I can’t do that, apart from the fact that it would be deception, it wouldn’t be a good idea to just dump dormice anywhere–that would be in breach of my licence.”
“Oh.”
“But I’ll happily come and have a look round the wood and if there are signs of dormice, might be able to insist the council check it first.”
“That would be wonderful, especially if they found any.”
“Someone would then have to commission a full survey, which might be enough to make him site his slurry pit elsewhere. Have you objected on the grounds it could have an adverse affect upon your business?”
“Yes, but the council surveyor bloke said the trees would hide it so we wouldn’t be affected by it.”
“What about the smell?”
“He said the prevailing wind would blow the aroma away from us.”
“I wonder how he’d like it at the bottom of his garden?” I still didn’t like the woman but she did have my sympathy.
“When could you do your survey?”
“At the weekend would be the earliest. I’d need access to walk through the woodland to look for signs of dormice. How big is the wood?”
“A couple of acres, I think. What do I need to do to get you access?”
“Speak to the council and tell them you suspect there might be dormice there. They will then have to organise someone to take a look, they usually ask the mammal group or the university–either usually come to me.”
“That would be brilliant.” She finished her tea and was getting ready to leave when she looked a little embarrassed before she said, “Look, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye in the past, but I’m grateful for any help you can give us.”
“Speak to the council.”
“Yes, I will.”
My mind was taken from the meeting when we suffered some major damage to the outbuildings with one of those freak whirlwinds–it took the roof off two of them. Admittedly, they were tiled but they were in reasonable repair until a force of nature turned up and turned the tiles to terracotta confetti.
We counted ourselves fortunate that none of the cars were damaged and more importantly, none of my bikes were although some of the tiles belonged to that garage.
Danny helped me drape a tarpaulin over the hole in the roof of my bike workshop and weigh it down with some bits of timber. He scrambled about the place like a monkey, up and down the ladder, but he did the job really well.
He’d come home early from school, his team was in the final of the cricket competition and he’d taken three wickets and made a dozen runs, so he was quite pleased with himself–and I was proud of him too.
I called Maureen to come and survey the damage and organise repairs–the insurance company wouldn’t be too helpful if past experiences were anything to go by and Simon reminded me the whole place was grade II listed, so repairs would have to be very sympathetic to the existing buildings.
Maureen arrived the next day and I left her to do her survey while I expressed some milk for Jenny to feed Catherine, as I was going to watch Danny play in the cricket final–sadly, Simon couldn’t get the time off work, but he promised Danny a new bat if they won.
Two of the girls came to cheer him on, Trish and Livvie–Meems decided to help Jenny and Billie felt it was too much risk, given she’d attended the school previously as a boy. I could see her point.
We left Maureen to it with her tape measure and clipboard, plus her digital camera–what did we do before them? Danny looked very pleased with himself, getting three of us to support him, especially as Livvie had borrowed Simon’s posh camera with its telephoto lens and tripod, to take pictures of the competition.
For a seven year old she seemed to take quite good photos and Trish was there with her compact camera to take some snaps as well. I was quite pleased that Livvie seemed better at something than her sister and that Trish recognised the fact.
Danny’s house is named after Admiral Nelson, who although he wasn’t a son of Portsmouth, sailed from here and had his flagship preserved for posterity here. The rival house was, Dickens, as in Charles, the author who is one of Portsmouth’s most famous sons.
We settled down in the picnic chairs I’d loaded in the boot of the car to watch the match. The first ball had no sooner been bowled than my mobile went off. I noted the number calling and walked towards the car park to take the call.
“Hello, Cathy.”
“Hi, Pippa, how are you?”
“Okay, looking forward to my holiday in a couple of weeks if Tom doesn’t work me to death first.”
“I’ll have a word if you like.”
“Don’t do that, he’ll double his output.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Can you do a preliminary survey of a woodland for dormice?”
“When?”
“ASAP–the council are sitting on some planning application and they’re worried that the owner might decide to clear fell on the premise that he’s going to replant.”
“Tomorrow soon enough?”
“I knew we could count on you, we’ve not got any students available who could have done it, and the mammal group are unavailable–least their dormouse person is, and the Mammal Society would have asked you anyway.”
“Looks like it’s my destiny–kismet Hardy.”
“Kiss you Hardy? Who d’ya think you are, bloody Nelson?”
“Yes, no–but I’m watching Danny playing cricket for his house, which is Nelson.”
“Oh okay, I’ll tell the council you’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Fine, I’ll get the results through to you and Natural England if there are any suspected–then we’ll have to organise some nest boxes and survey tubes.”
“Both? Thought you did the tubes first and then the nest boxes?”
“Ah, but there’s a paper been done by some people in Devon who’ve shown that dormice use different nesting places at different times.”
“Have we got a copy of that–I don’t recall seeing it?”
“How would I know? I saw it on the Mammal Society’s website. I’m surprised they didn’t ask me to peer review it.”
“Um–that could be my fault–someone phoned ages ago and you were tied up with something–and I told them you weren’t available.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Sorrreee.”
I felt a hand pulling on my jacket, “C’mon, Mummy, Danny’s going to bowl.”
“Gotta go, Pip, Danny’s bowling.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1416
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It’s a very long time since I’ve watched cricket match, the format was twenty overs. For the uninitiated, each side gets to bowl twenty overs at each other or a hundred and twenty balls are unleashed–one at a time–duh–during the other team’s innings. They have to try and score as many runs as they can in that time while losing as few wickets as they can.
The object is to score the more runs, so the team with more runs wins. In the event of a tie and winner is required, the team with the more wickets left wins. If that doesn’t work, go and toss a coin.
Each team had eleven men, who field or bat. The batsmen have just one life and once given out by the umpire, the next man comes in to bat, which is why it’s called an innings. The bowling side have a bowler and ten fielders one of whom is a wicket keeper, who stands behind the wicket to catch the balls the batsman misses or lets go.
A run only counts if the two batsmen cross, which then means they have to continue to the other end of the pitch–twenty two yards, and the non-striking batsman then takes strike or faces the bowler, unless it was the last ball of the over. When one batsman is better than the other he might try to retain strike because overs are bowled from alternate ends. A bowler is not allowed to bowl consecutive overs.
There are two boundaries, one which if the ball reaches counts as four runs, or six if it clears it. The batsmen may of course run the four or six runs if for instance the fielding side fumble the ball or drop a catch.
Batsmen are given out if the bowler clean bowls them, ie the ball hits the wickets and the bails are dislodged, or the batsman can play onto his wickets, mis-hitting the ball which travels on to the wickets or stumps.
A batsman may also be caught by any of the fielders including the bowler and wicket keeper, or stumped by the wicket keeper, if the batsman is outside his crease, a line about a yard in front of the wicket perhaps playing and missing a ball. A batsman may also be run out, failing to get to the crease from a run where the fielding side throw the ball back to the wicket–at either end and the bails are removed with it. Occasionally, batsmen have been known to try to run when it hasn’t been safe and both have been run out being caught halfway down the pitch, the fielding side managing to throw the ball two both ends and remove both sets of bails.
So essentially the contest is between a bowler who is trying to entice a batsman to play at a ball which is unsuitable for some reason, and which he’ll either miss or hit into the air near a fielder who will catch it. In most schoolboy cricket, there is little subtlety, and it’s usually about bowling at the wicket and hoping your opponent doesn’t hit it too hard or skies it–hits up into the air. Unlike baseball, the batsman doesn’t have to run if it’s not safe to do so–the non-striker usually decides to call his colleague to run or not. It’s all good fun, providing you’re not hit by bat or ball–both are hard and hurt, and have caused fatal injuries in the professional game. Hopefully that wasn’t going to happen today.
I got back to my seat as Danny ran in and bowled his first ball which the batsman played at and missed. The second ball he cut to the leg side for two runs to much applause from the Dickens’ supporters. The third ball he stepped aside to do the same thing and the ball cut back and bowled him removing his leg stump. Ths resulted in many cheers from the Nelson supporters and in Livvie actually getting a picture of the ball hitting the wicket. I was impressed with both of them.
At this point Dickens were ten runs for one wicket off four overs, three balls of which were still to be bowled. The next man in was Clayton and he and Danny exchanged insults. He checked for middle and leg stumps, and in ran Danny, who bowled a perfect Yorker–the ball bounced under the bat as the batsman went to strike and his middle stump was removed. Clayton was furious and threw his bat down declaring he wasn’t ready and it was no ball and so on. The umpire pointed his finger and gave him out–for a duck (no runs).
Danny was now on for a hat trick, three wickets in three balls, however, his next opponent played and missed but survived the delivery.
We all cheered like crazy, calling ’owzat, every time the ball went anywhere near the Dickens’ wickets. Danny, took two more wickets in his four overs, which was pretty good, four wickets for ten runs. Dickens were all out for seventy four runs. There was a short break and the teams switched over, and now Nelson were in to bat.
Danny was batting at number four, which is quite high in the order for a bowler. Unfortunately, he was in before he expected to be as Nelson lost both openers for six runs after only three overs. They needed someone to take the fight back to Dickens and Danny stepped up to the crease to give it his best shot.
Clayton was bowling, so revenge was in his mind. I’d never seen a boy bowl so fast and I’m not sure Danny had either, just managing to duck under the bouncer which would have smashed into his helmet.
The next ball did the same and Danny ducked again. He was safe but there weren’t many runs being hit. Clayton thought he could intimidate his smaller opponent, but while Danny was lighter, his reflexes were faster and the third bouncer from Clayton got the royal treatment–Danny sidestepped and swivelled hitting the ball over the top of the wicket keeper and clearing the boundary got the first six of the day. Clayton was livid, so was I. The umpire shouldn’t have allowed him to bowl three bouncers in a schoolboy game.
In the next over the runs began to come and both Danny and his team mate hit a four. Then it was back to Clayton. He tried a full toss at Danny who responded by hitting it back at him and scoring another four. Clayton then tried bowling differently and each time Danny smashed it to the boundary, by the end of that over, Nelson were over forty runs, twenty four coming off one over.
Clayton was taken off. Nelson lost another wicket and another before they reached fifty. It was now swinging back in Dickens favour, as only Danny was making much impact, he was already on thirty six.
Dickens’ bowlers seemed to lose their concentration and Nelson got to sixty before losing another wicket, Danny was on forty eight. They had two more wickets left, it was going to be close.
By the nineteenth over, Nelson were on seventy four, they needed one more run to win. Clayton came back on again and Danny faced him. He bowled another short ball which bounced up and hit Danny in the face, he fell like a sack of coal. I stood and gasped.
The teachers were running to the fallen boy and Clayton was swaggering about with a huge smile on his face. Trish looked daggers at him and I made her stay with Livvie as I went to see Danny who was now sitting up with a shiner coming up on his left eye.
He rose to his feet a little unsteadily but insisted he batted on–if he’d retired hurt as he should have done–they’d have lost, he and his team mate were now the last remaining batsmen.
Clayton let fly another bouncer and Danny wobbled out of its way. Trish was doing something, muttering and moving her hands. I watched in dread as Clayton fired another cannonball at my son who again managed to get out of its way.
The next ball was on the wicket and Danny just got his bat in the way in time. His eye was swelling and I wasn’t sure how much he could actually see. The last ball of the match, and Clayton bowled a last bouncer–which Danny hit back at him and was about to be caught when Trish waved her hand at Clayton and he moved his hands up to his face and the ball followed them smashing into his nose. He fell down like a lead weight, blood spurting from his nose which was undoubtedly broken.
In the ensuing chaos the two batsmen ran and crossed making it seventy five runs–Nelson had won. Supporters ran on to the pitch and Danny was lifted onto their shoulders, Clayton was still receiving attention on the ground, although I knew he wasn’t as badly hurt as he was making out.
I spoke to Trish. “What did you do?”
“Meeee, Mummy?”
“Yes you, Missy.”
“Nothing, honest,” she smirked.
“Oh, that’s interestin’,” said Livvie looking at some photos on Simon’s Nikon. I looked to see what was interesting and in a series of three shots, she had Danny hit the ball and one of Clayton going to catch it with a blue flash directly in front of his eyes. The final shot was the ball catching him in the face.
“So you did nothing?” I accused Trish.
“Nothing you can prove,” she blushed.
“There’s a photo there with the evidence,” I said tersely to her.
“Um–I’m afraid not, Mummy, I accidentally deleted it,” Livvie waved the camera.
“Don’t you dare let me catch you using the light for your own advantage again,” I scolded Trish.
“Well the other boy was trying to kill my brother, and he nearly succeeded, so I sent some light to the ball to help him see it. It was still attached to it when Clayton tried to catch it, ‘snot my fault he can’t catch.”
I sent a text to Simon to say Danny had won the match, he sent one back sending congrats and to say he’d bought the bat already–having complete confidence in his son. I think Danny would have got the bat anyway, Simon was so pleased they got to the final.
The girls and I thought Danny displayed great courage and spirit so he was our hero anyway, and this time after he was presented with the cup which actually stays in school, he came back to the car with us and he made no complaint about Trish trying to reduce the swelling round his eye.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1417
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The day after Danny’s triumph on the cricket pitch, was the last day of his term and coincidentally a Friday. I’d agreed I’d collect him from school as he had stuff to bring home–he didn’t say what, but I assumed it was too much to carry on the bus.
Jenny was starting her holiday the next day and I wasn’t sure what I was going to be doing. Bristol seemed like the best option but somehow so much had happened in the past week or so, even the girls weren’t saying much about going.
I left Catherine with Jenny and Meems and Trish, Livvie and Billie came with me to collect their elder brother. I had reassured Billie that no one would recognise her and as we stood by the car waiting for Danny, whose black eye had receded miraculously to slight bruising, several of her previous classmates walked past without any recognition.
She almost cringed when the first one went past, then I saw her stand more erect and her little buds poked through her thin tee shirt, resembling more or less the other girls of her age group who were emerging from the school. Trish was jealous until I suggested that if she had boobs at seven by fifteen they’d be down to her knees.
We didn’t see Danny’s arch enemy come out of the school, apparently we learned later that he was at home nursing a very sore nose. Danny eventually arrived saying goodbye to several of his friends–I had no idea he was so popular. No one recognised Billie; she had half hidden behind me when Danny’s friends came with him to the car.
“Who’s the girl?” one of them whispered not too subtly to him.
“Which one? The old one’s my mum, then there’s Trish, Livvie and Billie.”
“Billie, she’s nice,” whispered the boy.
“Don’t be daft, she’s my sister.”
At this Billie stepped out of the shadows and slapped Danny on the arm, “Pig,” she said rolling her eyes. He simply sniggered and the boy blushed.
“This is Roy, Roy my sister–she likes bike, takes after Mum.”
“You like bikes, hey maybe we could all go for a ride some time, what sort of bike have you got?”
“I’ve got a road bike,” she said self-consciously.
“What a racer?”
“Yeah–only, I’m not good enough to race.”
“Probably better than my mountain bike–it’s okay, I s’pose, Trek with twenty four gears and disc brakes, what make is yours?”
“Specialized, like one of my mum’s bikes.”
“Neat, well I gotta go–see you for a ride sometime?”
“Um–maybe, I’ll have to ask Mum.”
As I was standing not two feet from her, I smirked and then acting all serious, said, “I hope your intentions towards my daughter are honourable?”
He looked at me blankly–what sort of education do these kids get?
“If I let her go for a ride with you, you’ll behave yourself?”
“Oh yes, lady.”
“How did you know my mummy was a lady?” interrupted Trish.
“Eh?” he gave her a look of total astonishment followed by one of contempt, “All girls older than me are ladies,” he didn’t add, ‘dummy’ but it was there by inference.
“My mummy is a lady, Lady Catherine Cameron.”
He looked at her while he processed the data she’d given him. “Oh, I didn’t know that–so how come your name is Maiden?” he asked Danny who blushed.
“I married after Danny was born,” I offered to change the subject.
Roy blushed brightly, “Sorry, Lady Catherine, I–um...”
“It’s okay, Roy, no offence was taken.”
“Twit,” Trish muttered behind me.
Several of the others said they’d like to go for a ride as well, so Danny was charged with setting up a date during the holiday for them all to get together.
The cardboard box he’d been carrying it transpired held half a dozen shields and other trophies he’d got for sport, mainly football, but now one for cricket. He also presented me with a letter asking me to allow him to play for a junior cricket team at Southsea–apparently one of the teachers at the school helps to run it and would collect and bring him home after the games and practice sessions.
“This clashes with your football school–so you’ll have to make up your mind which you’d like to play?”
“Oh, does it–I didn’t know,” Danny shrugged.
“You were fab at the cricket yesterday,” cooed Trish.
“Yeah, pretty, like, cool,” agreed Livvie. This only caused to send the boy’s decision into even greater uncertainty.
“What should I do, Mum?”
“Why don’t you sleep on it after you talk it over with your dad–he knows more about the football than I do, but I know he used to play cricket.”
“Um–okay.”
I thought it was more appropriate for Simon to deal with that one–although I was happy to buy him extra kit if he needed it. We clambered into the SUV and I drove us to small cafe which did nice ice creams. Swearing them all to secrecy, I bought us all an ice cream soda with which we toasted our sporting hero, then we ate them and went home.
After dinner, Simon made the most of his new role as sports consultant. I was washing up when I noticed all the children except Puddin’ and the babies were in with him. Danny appeared smirking about something.
“I’m playin’ cricket, Dad convinced me,” then he gave me a cheesy grin and went off out into the garden, followed by the others.
Simon appeared and put the kettle on. “Tea?” he asked me.
“Is the Pope a Catholic?” I replied.
“I thought he was German myself,” he replied.
I shook my head and glared at him.
“I think I quite like my son coming to me to ask for advice.”
“Well you’re the one who bought him a new bat.”
“This is true,” he agreed handing me a mug of tea.
“So what was all the secrecy about?”
“What secrecy?” he tried to look innocent.
“Why were all the children in with you? Or was it a committee meeting?”
“Sort of, I sort of offered them a choice.”
“Choice? Choice of what?”
“It doesn’t concern you–you’re going to Bristol, aren’t you?”
“I doubt it, the girls haven’t mentioned it for days, I think they’ve lost interest.”
“Oh, so you might be available?”
“Available–for what?”
“Ah–there’s the rub.”
“C’mon, Cameron, spit it out.”
“Are you available next Saturday and Sunday?”
“To do what?”
“Never mind, are you available?” his eyes were dancing so I knew he had something other than his arms up his sleeves.
“I s’pose so, I was only going to watch the end of the Tour, see if Cavendish could keep the green jersey by winning the sprint in Paris–but I could tape it.”
“So is that a yes?”
“Yeah, I suppose it is–now what have I agreed to?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you, but seeing as you’ll kill me if I don’t, I better had.”
“Tell me what?”
“We’re all off to Paris on Saturday, so you can see the end of the race in person.”
I was totally stunned.
“The kids don’t have passports?”
“Yes they do, I organised that a couple of weeks ago.”
“You’re not teasing me, are you?” He had promised once before and it fell through, though it wasn’t exactly his fault.
“Nope, the tickets are in my brief case, we fly from Southampton at mid day, and back on Monday morning.”
“Simon, you are bloody wonderful.”
“So you’re pleased?”
“Of course I am–this tea is exactly how I like it,” I said taking a sip and watching him glare at me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1418
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I lay talking with Simon in bed as we cuddled up together. “I can’t wait for next week,” I purred.
“Why–what’s happening next week?”
“Paris, silly.”
“We’re going tomorrow.”
I giggled, he does like to tease me.
“I’m serious–look you’re the TdF fan, when did it start?”
“Third of July.”
“And what’s the date today?”
“Um–twenty second, I think.”
“And how long does it run for?”
“Three weeks.”
“So what would twenty one added to three make?”
“Oh shit!” I exclaimed.
“I made it twenty four, myself,” he chuckled.
“You’ve got time to pack–I ordered a minibus to collect us and take us to the airport.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Of course you have.”
“I’m booked to do a dormouse survey tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“In a woodland near the Browne-Coward’s garden centre.”
“Oh, what does that involve?”
“Walking the woodland and looking for nuts or acorns which show signs of dormouse activity.”
“Can I or the children help?”
“You can help pack for me.”
“It’s not one of my better attributes.”
“I’ll do you a list–I’ll do the survey as soon as it’s light.”
“You’re going to make yourself ill, girl.”
“I’ll survive, have you still got that Dictaphone thingy?”
“In my desk, why?”
“I’ll dictate the lists of things you’ll need to pack.”
“Is this going to work?”
“It has to, the girls will pack their own stuff and Danny can do his too.” I jumped out of bed and ran to his desk to find the recording device. I walked up and down the kitchen making lists then, wiped them and started again.
In the end I wrote them down on paper–it was easier. I would pack my own stuff when I got back. Essentially, the baby was the problem–but how could I blame her for anything. Why didn’t I start packing as soon as he said it? Why did I lose a week somewhere? Am I going doolally?
I glanced at the clock–it was one in the morning–I’d been busy for nearly two hours. Geez, where did the time go?
There was no way I’d be ready in time, I sat at the table and wept. I felt a hand on my shoulder and almost leapt out of my skin. I’d fallen asleep at the table. “Come to bed, it’s very late.”
“I can’t, Si, bugger I fell asleep.”
“Look, Dad and Monica are coming to look after the baby tomorrow morning.”
“When did you organise that?”
“After you jumped out of bed.”
“Oh–I can’t let Monica stay here, I need to clean the kitchen and bathroom and tidy the house.”
“Cathy,” he said sharply.
“What?”
“You need to come to bed or I’m going to cancel the whole bloody thing.”
“You can’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that–the kids will be so disappointed.”
“So would I, but I’m not having my wife work herself up into a frenzy.”
“But Cav could get the green jersey.”
“And you could have a total breakdown.”
“I won’t–I’m strong, remember.”
“We all have our breaking points.”
“All right, I’ll come to bed, but I won’t be able to sleep.”
“What were you doing just now?”
“I just closed my eyes to think of something.”
“Do you normally snore while you’re thinking?”
“I wasn’t snoring–was I?”
“What d’ya think woke me up.”
“You lying toad–even if I was snoring you wouldn’t be able to hear me upstairs.”
He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the ceiling, through which the sounds of snoring were emanating–it was Daddy. I clasped my hand over my mouth but began to snigger which made Simon do the same. In a minute or less, I was giggling hysterically and had to run to the loo.
When I came out of the door of the cloakroom, Simon scooped me up and carried me up to bed. I got into bed kissed him, told him I loved him and then made him prove he loved me when I put my cold feet on his leg.
Somehow, I fell asleep, but was up by five and pulling things from my wardrobe. I washed, dressed and suitably clad for walking in woodland, set off in my car. I had my notebook, a hand lens, some plastic pots I’d had tuna pate in and my camera.
I was actually at the woodland and parking in a lay-by at six. The gate of the entrance was locked with a very new and expensive padlock. I don’t think the landowner was entirely friendly.
A quick survey found two areas which would be most promising–they had hazel bushes, some oaks, sycamore and lots of undergrowth below the trees, which dormice love. All that was missing was honeysuckle, and I found some of that as well.
The next bit is boring–you scan the ground for hazelnut shells or acorns which have been eaten by dormice. It’s that easy–mind you finding them isn’t. The holes they make have a smooth edge to them with diagonal tooth marks inside the rim of the hole–hence the hand lens.
By seven I knew there had been dormice in the wood, I’d found a dozen or more shells which met the criterion. Whether there were any here now, is another matter. Then I spotted a dormouse nest in the undergrowth–that made it almost certain we had some here.
My delight and attempts to photograph it were cut short when a shotgun was fired over my head, showering me in bits of shot and I heard a dog barking. I took to my heels and legged it, clearing the gate in a single leap with the dog hard on my tail.
Standing out in the road, I gasped for breath and was still doing so when the farmer arrived. “And just what were you doing–bloody trespasser.” The gun was pointed at me.
“If that gun is loaded I’m calling the police.”
“I have every right to escort you off my land.”
“You shot at me without even challenging me–what sort of moron are you?”
“You call me a moron–I wasn’t doing anything illegal.”
“Neither was I.”
“So what were you doing?”
“Bird-watching.”
“So where’s yer binoculars?”
“In my bag.”
“Let’s see ‘em, then?”
“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.” I have a way with words, which one day is going to get me murdered–it could be today.
“You cheeky bitch, I’ve a good mind to set the dog on you.”
“Fine, carry on. I’m standing on a public highway having been chased here by a man with a gun and a vicious dog, who is threatening to either shoot me or set his dog on me. He’s already fired his shotgun at me from a distance.”
“Who are you talking to?” he looked bemused.
“The police, smile you’re on candid camera.” I took a picture of him snarling at me nearly as nastily as his dog, and the gun was in full view as pointing at me through the gate.
“You’re jokin’?”
“I never joke about guns–I hate them. I’d have your licence handy–you may well lose it. Byeee.”
I walked off towards my car, some fifty yards away still talking to the police when I heard the bang and saw the window of my car shatter. I turned in disbelief and he fired again, I threw myself into the hedgerow and the shot hit my bag as felt bushes in my face.
“Are you alright?” asked the police person.
“He tried to shoot me, hit my rucksack.”
“Get away, there’s an armed response unit on its way.”
“The bastard shot the side window out of my car.”
“Get away–let the uniformed officers deal with it.”
“Get away–I feel like sticking it up his arse and pulling both triggers.”
“Lady Cameron, please get away, let the uniformed deal with it.” Moments later there was a helicopter flying overhead and I was running up the road as he shot at me again.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1419
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(aka Bike) Part 1419 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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While the TdF riders would soon be dealing with ordeal by time trial, I was having a trial against time myself. I explained to the officers at the incident what had happened–hell, they had some of it on phone–they record them routinely now, they insisted I went down the station to give a statement.
Was I trespassing? I had been asked to do the survey, so assumed it had been cleared–I was lying of course, but they could check with the council and Natural England–and my future brother in law isn’t going to let me down, I hope.
Why hadn’t I told the man what I was doing? He was holding a gun and I was trying to get away. Eventually, I managed to get away after signing a statement. I drove like a demon to get home, it was now after eleven o’clock.
I explained briefly to Simon what had happened and he called the Porsche dealers to come and repair the side window and touch up the paintwork. While he negotiated with Herr Porsche’s men, I threw clothes and shoes into a bag and then dived into the shower.
I chucked combs and brushes into my bag as well as makeup and perfume, rushed downstairs–then back up again as I’d left my watch behind. I was pulling my still damp hair into a ponytail when the taxi arrived–a twelve seater minibus.
No one had checked how heavy their bags were–I had a camera and netbook in my rucksack as well as a heavy overnight bag. The driver chatted with Simon while I tried to stay awake and calm with a handful of overexcited children, most of whom hadn’t really been on a plane before.
We got caught in traffic to the airport–seemed like everyone had the same idea. Eventually, we got to the dropping off point, and the driver agreed to come back and collect us on Monday about lunch time. With a trolley laden with enough luggage to resemble an emergency evacuation of a whole city, we tramped the airport looking for our check in. It was the opposite end and they were calling for late passengers.
Simon got caught for about seventy pounds in excess baggage and we hadn’t left England yet–what about all the life sized models of the Eiffel tower the kids will want to bring back? Curiously, my main bag was okay, and they gave me an old fashioned look at the size of my hand luggage.
They were still calling for boarders for our flight, so we had to run to the departure lounge–being rushed through the baggage checks–where Meems couldn’t get her shoes back on, so we ran onto the aircraft with Simon carrying her barefoot and me running after with her shoes and her little bag.
We did get on the plane before it was airborne but it felt as if it was only just. Of course we were scattered all over the place, Meems sat in front of my seat which was an aisle seat, I was next to an enormous lady who smelt of BO and lily of the valley. She was sweating profusely and the pulse in her neck was visible.
Simon was sat opposite Livvie who was behind Trish, and Danny was in front of Simon. I’m sure it’s all as clear as day–very foggy one–still we were only going to be flying for about an hour. The lady next to me was becoming agitated and selfishly, I thought, if she makes a fuss, they’ll send the plane back to Southampton if it takes off at all. We taxied to the runway and the woman was moving about like her knickers were on fire–I even looked to check–if they had been, if her derriere was sweating like her top end, she’d have quenched the flames.
The man on the window side of our row of three seats ignored the woman and I wasn’t sure if they were together or he was ignoring her distress in the hope it went away. If that was the case his strategy was pants.
I tried to think how nice it was that Henry and Monica had been to come and abduct Catherine for a day or two–then realised they were staying at our house to keep Stella company, or Monica would, Henry would be glued to the telly watching the race–he was a keen cyclist–drinking Tom’s booze.
My airborne neighbour began to hyperventilate. “Calm down, it’ll be alright,” I said to her, and laid my hand on hers, which was digging her nails into the armrest.
“Go to hell,” she said and continued her shallow and rapid breathing.
“Have you flown before?” I asked.
“Mind your own fucking business.”
Was obviously showing my superb people skills today, one had tried to kill me and this one was being obnoxious.
“Take slow deep breaths,” I said ignoring her rudeness.
“When I need your help, I’ll fucking ask for it.”
I decided the man next to her was either profoundly deaf or wasn’t with her. The plane began to accelerate down the runway and she began to panic. As we left the ground, she was wrestling to undo her seat belt and shouting.
I tried to calm her down until we levelled off and an airhostess galloped up to see what was going on. She told the woman to behave or the plane would divert back to Southampton. I felt like saying, if it does it will be without the foul mouthed female sitting next to me–because I’ll drop her into the Channel–she’d probably bounce like one of Barnes-Wallis’s dam-buster bombs and destroy the flood defences on the Thames.
The woman continued to struggle and I got out of my seat to let the airhostess–the trolley-dolly, deal with big Bertha. I was standing talking to Simon trying to scheme how we could open the rear door and drop her out without anyone noticing.
Everyone was looking at her as she swore at the hostess, when Meems got out of her seat and went up to the woman. “Can I sit with you, wady, ‘cos I’m scared.”
Watched in horror as Meems calmly got into my seat and the noise stopped, they were holding hands and I know energy was passing from Meems into the woman because she was drawing it from me.
I sat in Meems seat, ready if necessary to eviscerate the stupid woman if she so much as sweated on my daughter, but they were sitting together and the woman was reading Mima a story. There were some sighs and gasps as we landed but we got there.
I couldn’t get out of the plane quickly enough and was down the stairs very rapidly to marshal all my troops before we went through immigration. Being EU citizens it was a formality and we were quickly through, the woman walking along with the man who’d been sat with her and both were smiling sweetly at Mima, who held on to my hand tightly.
The jamboree at the baggage reclaim area was like a giant jumble sale, and I held onto the children while Simon collected our mountain of bags, and I was wondering how anyone could have written a musical about it–the baggage area, I mean–you never heard of Carousel?
We found a minibus taxi which took us to an hotel on the Champs Elysees, and through which Simon had arranged seats for us near the finishing line and from where we could also see a huge TV screen. This was absolute magic and I had to kiss him, even though we were still in reception. Just fancy–tomorrow, I get to see the end of the tour and today, we’re going to see the Eiffel tower. Pure magic.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1420
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I couldn’t believe it, we were actually half way up the Eiffel tower, and none of the kids were complaining. We finally got to the viewing platform and the views were breathtaking. I was aware that while we were sauntering round the French capital, a group of cyclists were turning themselves inside out in the time trial races.
In another capital, not a million miles away, many people were in shock and mourning as it became obvious that over ninety people had died in a shooting spree and bomb attack. That and my experience of the morning had reinforced my dislike of guns.
I reflected on the fact that someone had damaged my car and tried to damage me. Part of me wanted to be angry, wanted to shove the gun down his throat and then I reflected on the tragedy in Norway and my anger left me. I looked over at Notre Dame and despite its beauty, I felt less and less inclined to believe in this loving God, who on one hand appears to be omnipotent and in the next minute is impotent. Strikes me as hogwash. Mind you, the appearance of some old biddy from the Old Testament in my dreams, has frightened me to death a couple of times–just as well that’s all it is–my imagination.
Meems, who’d been holding my hand moments ago had slipped my grasp and I looked round frantically for her among the crowds. Then my eye alighted on the cause of her separation from me. That woman, yeah, the nuisance from the aircraft, was standing about twenty feet from me and looking very pale. ‘Oh poo, I hope she’s not having a coronary.’ Meems was standing next to her comforting her and she was drawing energy through me.
As I walked over towards them, Trish seemed to be intent on proving gravity by dropping Livvie’s camera and a feather over the side of the tower. I grabbed the camera and gave it back to a relieved Livvie. “That experiment has already been done–no need to repeat it.” Trish pulled a face and pulled her hand back through the netting.
“Are you alright?” Probably the stupidest question in the English language, because we ask it of people who patently aren’t alright. We see someone fall down a flight of stairs–are you alright? Duh. Anyway, what else do you say to a stranger who is looking ill? Nice day? Nah, don’t think so.
“I am terrified of heights,” gasped the woman.
“So I noticed in the aircraft.”
“Oh, I thought you looked familiar.”
“C’mon, Meems, leave the lady alone, we’ve got to go.”
“That’s right, leave a fellow countrywoman alone in a place full of foreigners.”
“Half of the foreigners speak perfect English, and we’re actually the visitors here–it is France–not Battersea.”
“How did you know I came from Battersea–have you been spying on me?”
“Why would I spy on you? I don’t even know you–or didn’t before you made a fool of yourself on the aircraft, and again here–if you don’t like heights, what are you doing up here, if that isn’t a silly question.”
“My therapist said I needed to face my fears.”
“Yeah, well maybe they should be here with you then.”
“They are somewhere, they were on the plane too.”
“What that bloke who was sat next to you?”
“Yes, he’s a psychologist.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he’s got a PhD.”
“What in, collecting stamps?” I offered this Transactional Analysis joke, but she was oblivious to it.
“No, in psychology–it’s from an Ivy tree university in America.”
“I think you mean Ivy League, Harvard, Stamford and so on.”
“No–definitely Ivy Tree, I’ve seen the certificates.”
“Are you funding the trip?”
“Yes, of course I am.”
“Thought so.”
“Why d’you say that?”
“I suspect he’s a cowboy–check out his footwear next time.”
“But he was in Yellow Pages.”
“So is my plumber, but he doesn’t know anything about psychology either.”
“What?” she shrieked.
“You want to be cured?”
“Yes of course.”
“Sit up a chimney and rub salt on yourself.”
“I don’t understand.” She looked total bemused but her colour had improved and I was close to sorting her.
“You won’t, see this feather?” I took the feather Trish was holding.
“Yes, of course I can see it.”
“Close your eyes.”
“I certainly won’t.”
“You will–now stop arguing. Hold out your hand.” She did so and I placed the feather in her hand, which she closed upon it.
“What are you holding?”
“A bird’s feather.”
“That’s what you think–it’s actually an angel’s feather–feel its energy?”
“Goodness, yes–yes I can.”
“Your phobias are cured, safe journey home.” Before she could open her eyes I snaffled all the children into the lift and we descended back to terra firma.
“I thought you didn’t like heights?” Simon asked as we got to the bottom.
“I can’t stand them.”
“What were you talking about to that strange woman–she looked familiar–it was her wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was her, I was asking her if she fancied Cavendish for the green jersey?”
“Yeah, sure you were.”
“Why do you never believe me when I say anything?”
“Dunno, why do I never believe you?”
“C’mon, I’m starving,” I announced walking back to the hotel.
We had a delicious meal, each of us ordering our fancy from an extensive menu–I had fresh tuna steak and it was really good–tastes very different from the tinned stuff, which I also like. The kids all had pizza–which looked better than the stuff back in Pompey–but still resembled inflated cardboard with bits of cheese and meat on. Si had some sort of chicken dish–poussin boots?
The kids were put to bed and Si and I shared a bottle of wine in our room before going to bed, where much to his disgust, the combination of a poor night the day before, stress, fresh air and exercise plus the effect of two glasses of burgundy meant I zonked like a kitten. I think I may even have been purring when I went off.
The next day, Sunday, we had a mooch round the Louvre and saw the glass pyramid. Tom Hanks wasn’t there, however, so I had to make do with Simon. We also did Our Lady (Notre Dame) after the service had finished and then grabbing a baguette for lunch, we processed to our seats for the end of the race.
Much of Paris had been closed down for the event–which let’s face it, is the biggest sporting event in the city’s calendar. In fact Le Tour, is right up there on a par with the World Cup and Olympics, except it happens every year unlike the rest.
We took our seats and watched the large screen TV as the race drew closer. It was such a dawdle–until they got to the Champs Elysees, where after BMC, Cadel Evans’ team had led to this point, all hell broke lose and we watched the hundred and odd riders flashing past eight times before the final lap.
I was definitely there to cheer on Mark Cavendish, the most successful British rider to compete at the TdF, if he won this stage, he’d have twenty of them under his belt in four years–not bad for a twenty six year old.
There was a break away by Ben Swift, another Brit, riding for Team Sky, and suddenly it looked as if everything was going wrong for the sprinters as half a dozen others joined him and they got up to forty two seconds on the peloton.
It looked as if the Manx Missile (Cavendish) wouldn’t be launched until Lars Bak slowed things down in the breakaway group and Swift and the others ran out of steam. Then we wondered if team HTC-Highroad would run down their own rider. Bak pulled out as the main teams launched their sprinters, but it was no contest HTC’s well drilled team did what they’d done four times already this tour and at the end of the train was Cavendish. When Mark Renshaw completed the lead out, the Manx Missile fired and not even Sky’s Boasen Hagen could stay with him–Cavendish made it into the history books–the first Brit to win outright, the green jersey–the sprinter’s or points jersey. I was so excited, my throat was sore from shouting, and someone could have abducted all my kids, and Simon and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Finally, I looked down at Danny, “People were looking at you, Mummy, you were shouting so loud.”
I blushed, “Sorry, darling, I was so rapt in the race–did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah, course–I’d quite like to try bike racing.”
“Is this before or after winning the Ashes and the World Cup?”
“In between,” he said and sniggered.
Photo:Notre Dame de Paris, Wikimedia
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1421
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“Can we try and get Cav’s autograph?” asked Danny.
“We can try, dunno if we’ll be able to get anywhere near him.” Danny Trish and I set off towards the team areas, and although the area was restricted, we spotted Mark Cavendish talking to someone.
I waved my programme at him and called, “Mark, could you do an autograph for my son?”
He gave me a thumbs up but continued talking for a moment, then wandered over and winked at Danny. “Enjoy the race?” he said.
“Yeah, that was so kewl, I’d like to try racing bikes,” Danny said totally in awe of the man in the green jersey.
“Well, best thing to do is join a club, see the British Cycling website for your nearest one.” He scribbled his name on my programme and as we walked away we met one or two other riders, including Tommy Voeckler who’d held the yellow jersey for so long. He signed our programme too, so did Geraint Thomas and Alberto Contador.
By now we were in quite a press with the crowd. I was pushed against the barrier and I felt my backpack being moved. I was most concerned for Trish and Danny being crushed against the barriers.
There was a squeal and then a scuffle, I managed to turn round and Danny was holding the arm of someone who had my purse and my passport in his hand. Some big bloke grabbed him–he turned out to be a plain clothes policeman.
He grabbed the thief and pushed him out through the crowd, asking me to accompany them, I grabbed Trish and Danny and we followed them.
In quite good English, he copper told me that they’d been watching the gang for sometime but they always managed to move the stolen purses or bags to an accomplice and they’d disappeared before the police could swoop. However, this time, Hawkeye Watts had seen the hand undoing my bag and when he grabbed my purse with one hand the other pushing me into the barrier, she’d grabbed him by something convenient at her height–his bollocks–no wonder he squealed. Then Danny got in on the act and grabbed his arm before he could move the goods to his accomplice and the police were watching and swooped–arresting him and taking him away.
I didn’t have that much money in my purse but the inconvenience of cancelling cards and of course the loss of my passport could have caused all sorts of problems. The man was Albanian and a gang of several eastern European nationalities had been operating in the city for some weeks.
Once we got clear of the crowd, I thanked my two game children for their swift action in saving the day. I did, however, caution Trish not to grab just any man by that part as it might be embarrassing, not to mention damaging. After all, when she’s older she may want them to have everything in working order under their kilts. “Nah,” she shook her head, “I’m probably gonna be a thespian.”
I nearly choked trying to stifle a snort, taking her literally, she was already one of the best little actresses I knew–if she meant something else–that was an area I couldn’t help in, but I knew a GP in Salisbury who probably could.
We got back to Simon, Mima, Livvie and Billie who wondered where we’d been. When I explained what had happened he shook his head. “I’ve been to Paris, Rome and Madrid and nothing has ever happened except having a good time–I bring you to Paris once and you get your bag dipped. Trouble follows you about the place, doesn’t it?”
“Huh, I didn’t ask the bloke to try and pinch my stuff, t was only the quick thinking of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson here, that saved the day and my property.”
“I grabbed his goolies, Daddy.”
“I hope you washed your hands afterwards,” was Simon’s response.
“Not yet, but I will before we have tea.”
“Can we go back to the hotel, I’m starving?” I said to Simon, though it was difficult through all the noise.
“Just keep your purse where you can see it.”
We walked back to the hotel in the Paris sunshine. I should have been reflecting on the racing but instead I was contemplating all the inconvenience that would have been caused had that bloke managed to get pass my stuff on to his accomplice. Trish had seen him, the accomplice as he made off after giving her a filthy look. I was surprised she hadn’t managed to take a photo–unlike me, by the time I remember how to activate the camera part of my Blackberry, the subject would have been miles away.
Tea was nice, cakes and tea in the garden of the hotel before dinner at seven where I stuffed myself with salmon en croute and some of the most delicious profiteroles I’ve ever tasted.
Simon had steak and the kids a variety of smaller meals, I think Livvie had the French equivalent of fish and chips and Trish had sausages. Billie had a pasta bake and Danny steak a bit smaller than Simon’s.
The kids went to bed early and we sat and cuddled on the bed before falling asleep ourselves–all that fresh air and excitement.
The next day we took a stroll along the river for a short while before having our taxi take us back to the airport and by lunchtime we were back at Southampton and being collected by our minibus driver. The journey back was uneventful and I suppose everyone felt a bit down after the relatively exotic atmosphere in Paris.
My own recollection will be of the HTC team getting on with what they do so well, deliver Cavendish to the launch point and then let him get on with it. Once that happens, there are few sprinters who can live with him.
Back at home, Danny delighted in showing his programme to Henry, who presented Danny with a copy of Cavendish’s biography, Boy Racer. Danny set off to read it after lunch–we brought it back from the chip shop with us, although the minibus driver wasn’t too keen on the idea. Simon gave him a good tip and he shut up after that.
The babies, according to Monica, had been little angels although they had been amused by Puddin’s vocabulary and they reckoned they could spot several Cathy-isms amongst it. I denied all knowledge of such things which of course just made them argue even louder.
Stella seemed in good form having had her father there for the weekend, never quite sure what she thinks of Monica, whom she occasionally refers to as, ‘the nose’ despite Monica having had surgery on her schnozz some years before.
Catherine almost bounced out of Monica’s arms when she saw me and I got loads of lovely smiles and gurgles when I took her.
So ended my Paris weekend and I have no regrets whatsoever.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1422
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I was already in bed when Simon emerged from the bathroom having completed his ablutions–brushing his doodahs and flossing his wotsits–or perhaps it was the other way round–who cares.
He got into bed and looked at the crossword I was doing in the Guardian. I’d had to steal it back from Daddy’s study, where it had probably been since breakfast. I rarely get to see it even though I pay for it, albeit with those token things, so I do get a discount.
“Four across, is passage,” he said and handed me back the newspaper. I looked at the clue and he was probably right, it certainly fit ‘Extract from voyage (7).’
“Um–I think you’re probably right.”
“Probably–probably? Of course I’m right–I always am–it’s just that usually you refuse to acknowledge it.”
“Well I’m acknowledging it now, both with the clue and our weekend. That was fantastic–the kids loved it and so did I. Thank you, darling.” I kissed him on the cheek.
“Is that all I get, a peck on the cheek?”
“Why, what else would you like, my lord and master?” I said coyly and laid down on my back.”
“Um–what’s on offer, then?” he said chucking the paper off the bed and tickling my breast through my nightdress.”
We kissed and his hand moved lower stroking my leg. “Fortune favours the brave,” he said quietly.
“Only if they have good counsel, preferably Queen’s variety,” I cautioned.
“Yeah, with you about it’s trying to decide what’s brave and what’s suicidal,”
“You make me sound like some sort of hazard.”
“Um–yeah, death-trap variety.”
“Oh wonderful, now I’m a danger to humanity.”
“No, Cathy, just to individuals–that lunatic in Norway was a danger to humanity, can you imagine how crazy he must have been to cold bloodedly kill seventy odd people?”
“Si, I don’t mind which we do, discourse or intercourse but not both.”
“Oh right–right, lie back and think of England.”
“Why?”
“Well they beat India, didn’t they.”
“Did they,” I yawned.
“I thought you liked cricket?”
“I do sometimes; I thought you liked sex?”
“Instead of cricket–that’s a tough one, Cathy.”
I closed my eyes and my legs and pretended to be asleep.
“Can I bowl a maiden over?”
“Didn’t know you knew any,”
“It was figurative.”
“Don’t do numbers.”
“That’s not true is it, you crunch numbers for the survey all the time.”
“I’ve got a computer program that does all that–I’m practically innumerate.”
“Huh, the way you were adding up all the points in the sprinter’s competition and working out time differences of the different riders, enumerate may be more applicable than innumerate.”
“So you’ve got my number have you?”
“I think so, missus.”
“Well if you don’t climb this mountain soon, I’m going to deem you out of time and have to disqualify you.”
“But you can’t, I’m at least fifty percent of the field, let alone the peloton.”
“Ah, but I’m the referee,” I poked out my tongue and he began to tickle me. One of the things I cannot deal with is tickling–I hate it so much I’d agree to anything to stop it–I shrieked at him to stop but he continued and I ended up wetting the bed. I couldn’t help it–I lost control–I did try to tell him.
So the upshot was instead of him having his oats, he helped me strip and remake the bed, after which both of us had gone off the idea and he agreed he’d get his oats tomorrow–courtesy of Scott’s Porage.
I thanked him again for taking us to France and after kissing him I turned over and went to sleep–I was exhausted.
I awoke the next morning having a really strange dream. I was in a French hotel–not the one we’d stayed in–and I couldn’t find the toilet. No one I saw could speak English or understand my schoolgirl French and I began to feel close to tears, when I pushed open a door which was a toilet–the gents. I didn’t care, I ran in and squatted down backwards over the urinal and was just about to wee when the radio came on and I managed to stop myself, jumping out of bed and rushing to the bathroom.
At least I didn’t have any dreams about Old Testament goddesses; that really would have finished me off. I showered and went down to make Simon’s porridge, it wasn’t Scott’s it was Jordans’ organic oats or whatever–and he ate them with salt, I prefer mine with sugar. Usually, I don’t bother–I prefer cornflakes–but I had some today as I was making some for my lord and master, it seemed like a good idea.
He sat eating his while I sprinkled sugar on mine and then chopped up a banana and mixed that in as well. “I don’t know how you eat it like that?”
“Likewise,” I quipped back.
“I used to eat it like that when I was a kid, but when I grew up I...”
“Put away childish things,” I offered finishing a mangled quote from St Paul.
“You what?”
“When I became a man, I put away childish things.”
“You’re not a man,” he grumped at me.
“I know I’m not–probably better than any living soul–I was quoting St Paul.”
“What for?”
“Because what you said reminded me of his epistle to the Corinthians–‘When I was a child, I thought like a child,’ and so on.”
“Oh–yeah–’course.” His answer suggested he’d known all along what I was saying which was patently untrue, but I chose not to challenge it. I’d had a lovely weekend and I wasn’t going to spoil it for a silly argument.
He finished his breakfast and kissed me before leaving for work. I was starting to clear up when Daddy appeared. He looked in the pot–there was probably a portion of porridge left. He asked if he could have it and I warmed it up for him, he added salt as well instead of sugar–perhaps I was the odd one out? Don’t answer that–I suppose it could be a man thing–nah, it was a Scottish thing–okay, so I should eat it the same, but I prefer my porridge sweet not savoury–and with real cream–yummy.
I sat talking with Daddy until I heard the patter of tiny hooves–it was Danny. “Catherine’s crying,” he mumbled.
“Well why didn’t you pick her up?”
“I can’t feed her can I?”
“No, but you could have brought her down to me.”
“Yeah, I s’pose–’cept she’s all wet and smelly.”
“So were you once upon a time–in fact, after you’ve been playing soccer–you still are.” I chuckled at his discomfort so did Daddy.
“Don’t you laugh, too, Gramps, you’ll only encourage her.”
“Och, she needs nae encouragement frae me, dae ye, hen?”
“Probably not, Daddy.”
“I’m awa’ tae ma office–I’m oot th’ nicht.”
“Oh yes, the Dean’s dinner group–okay, have a good time and behave yourself,” last year he fell asleep during the speeches and landed up with his face in his dessert. I told him he’d get his just deserts–it wasn’t quite how I was expecting it to happen.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1423
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Once everyone was up and breakfasted and the major chores started–stripping beds, doing the laundry, cleaning the house and so on–it was pretty well lunchtime. I admit I had bribed the kids, I promised to take them over to the hotel for them to use the swimming pool and maybe an ice cream afterwards.
I had Trish stripping beds, Livvie putting the dirty washing into the machine, Danny was hanging it on the line, and Meems was vacuuming anything that stayed still any length of time–we had to move Stella twice. Stella was really getting into breastfeeding and even Puddin’ got a top up now and again when she felt she had so much milk.
I fed Catherine once or twice a day, but she was eating solids most of the time, and developing teeth or razor sharp gums and a bite like a badger. My nipples frequently felt like someone had pulverised them, hence the fact that I often only fed her once a day. I did try to explain the cause and effect rule–bite me and go without–but she doesn’t appear to be much interested in basic logic–bit like Si.
Lunch came and went and I made them help me clear up which took another half an hour, so by the time we got to the pool, it would be at least an hour since they ate, and it wasn’t a big lunch–just the usual bread and water–they have gruel on Sundays if they’re good. I decided I’d swim with them–well at least be in the pool to try and minimise the risk of one of them drowning. Stella stayed home and agreed to keep an eye on Catherine.
I can’t remember the last time I actually swam–it’s not my favourite form of exercise probably because I’m not too good at it. We drove up to the hotel and after parking the car, we moved through to the leisure part of it, getting nods of recognition from the more senior staff.
Danny went off to the boy’s changing area and the rest of us went off to the girl’s. Billie was a little anxious but the costume I’d bought her had a frill which helped to disguise any little bulges, besides which, the coolness of the water would also shrink things up somewhat.
We girls trouped through to the pool and the kids eased their way into the water, oohing and aahing as the water reached up their bodies. I remember doing it when I was a kid and the others called me a girl then, they just jumped in and splashed me.
I had one eye on the girls who by now were splashing about in the water and the other on the entrance way wondering where Danny was. Usually boys take about ten seconds to change and are waiting for us not the other way round.
I called the girls to the side and told them to watch out for each other for a few moments because I was going to find out where Danny was. I walked back to the changing rooms and called his name outside the male changing room. There was no response. My heart flipped.
Just then a swimmer came up and was obviously going to change back. “Problems, luv?” he asked.
“My son came in here to change twenty minutes ago and I haven’t seen him since.”
“He’s probably in the pool already.”
“Would you mind looking for me?” I asked him.
“Yeah, course I will, what’s his name?”
“Danny,” I felt quite anxious.
The man went in to the changing room and few moments later came rushing out–I’ve found him, he doesn’t look too special.”
I followed him into the room and he pointed to Danny lying in a heap in a cubicle with a head wound, he was unconscious. “I’ll get help,” he said and rushed off.
I felt for vitals–he was breathing and had a pulse, but he also had a nasty wound on the top of his head. Could he have slipped and brained himself? We might never know, because he may well have no memory of it when he does wake up.
I knelt down beside him and talked with him–it’s a well known fact that unconscious people can sometimes hear what people are saying to them and hopefully my voice would be special to him.
“Hello son, it’s me Cathy, your mum. Help is on its way, so just relax and know that I’m here to look after you and we’ve sent for the experts so we can get you checked out. Just look for the blue light which I’m sending to you in bucket loads.”
I could feel the energy concentrating about his head and I hoped he hadn’t sustained any brain injuries. The male bather returned with a manager whose face fell once she saw who was involved and I’m sure she swore under her breath.
“Lady Cameron, what on earth has happened?”
“You tell me, we girls went to change and waited for him to come and when he didn’t I came to find where he was. This kind gentleman went and found him and has since summoned help.” I nodded to the man and thanked him. He went on to his cubicle to change.
“What d’you think has happened?” asked the young manager.
“I have no idea, he might have slipped and bashed his head or someone might have hit him–except I’d hoped this place was beyond that.”
“Indeed we are, Lady Cameron, I’ll launch an investigation as soon as we get him off to hospital.” With that sirens were heard and a few minutes later two paramedics appeared. They did the vitals bit and a blood pressure and ECG.
“Right old son, we need to get you on the stretcher, this might be a bit uncomfortable, but bear with us.” He nodded to his companion and said, “On three, one two three.” They lifted the boy as if he were a feather and placed one of those neck brace things on him and connected him up to oxygen.
“You his mum?”
“Yes, but I’ve got my girls in the pool, can I sort them out and come on to A&E afterwards?”
“Yeah sure, what’s his name?”
“Danny Maiden.”
“Right, Mrs Maiden, we’ll see you there.”
“I thought your name was Cameron?” said a bemused manager.
“Mine is, his is Maiden,” I said coldly.
“Fine–have you got his stuff?”
She handed me the key which was lying on the floor next to where he’d been. I opened the locker and took his clothing out–his little wallet and his mobile weren’t there and I know he’d brought them. I mentioned this and we both went through his belongings again. The manager agreed they weren’t there. It now began to look as if robbery might explain his injuries.
She disappeared and came back with a bag into which she placed all his belongings. I thanked her and went to find the girls. When I explained that Danny had had an accident, there were groans of dismay. I wasn’t sure if this was because they were worried for their brother or because I was making them leave the pool.
I changed and dressed and then helped Meems while the others sorted themselves. “Wiwl Danny be all-wight?” she asked me.
“I hope so, Meems, but he had a nasty gash in his head.”
“Could you see his brains?” asked Trish in a very matter of fact way.
“No I couldn’t and I’ll thank you to be a bit less gruesome. This is your brother we’re talking about.”
“I’m trying to see him with a gash on his bonce so I can send him healing.”
“Okay, is everyone ready–let’s get to the hospital.” Once in the car and prior to starting it, I called Simon who offered to come as quickly as he could to the hospital. I drove on once again. If I spend any more time here, they’re likely to designate a parking bay for me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1424
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I was delighted to see Ken Nicholls on duty when we eventually arrived in A&E. “Good grief, woman, you’re dangerous to know.”
I shrugged, “You forgot the mad and bad bit.”
“Mad and bad?”
“And dangerous to know, someone described Byron as such, Lady Caroline Lamb, I think but I’m not sure.”
“For a university teacher you’re quite well educated.” He smirked at his own joke.
“How is my boy?” I asked going straight to the point.
“We’re doing some imaging at the moment–X-rays and a scan. What happened to him?”
“We don’t know, possibly someone hit him.”
“What with–an axe?”
“I don’t know, I went looking for him when he didn’t appear at the pool–we were all going swimming–he was found slumped in a cubicle, and his watch, his phone and wallet are all missing.”
“Robbery–did they need to half kill him?”
I shrugged, “I’d just like to find them to ask them why?”
“And then kill ‘em?” he asked matter of factly.
“I don’t know what I’d say or do after that.”
“Images coming through, Mr Nicholls,” called a voice from the office.
“Excuse me, work to do–I hope.” He disappeared into his office and reappeared a few moments later.
“That was quick,” I commented.
“Looks pretty straightforward for a neurosurgeon.”
“What d’you mean?”
“He’s got bits of bone in his brain–there is no way I’m going to try and sort that when we have experts down the road in Southampton.”
“Oh, can I see him?”
“When they bring him back from the scanner–sorry, Cathy, it looks pretty serious.”
I stood there looking at him and tears formed in my eyes and began silently running down my face, “You mean he could die?”
“Possibly not that, but there could be significant damage to his brain.”
“Dear God, no.” The tears began to flow in earnest and I heard the kids call, ‘Daddy’.
“Any news?” asked a familiar voice.
“Waiting for the scan results–doesn’t look good.”
“In what way?” Asked Simon.
“He could be brain damaged,” I gasped and burst into sobs.
Simon put his arm round me and held me. “Let’s just see what’s what before we start speculating shall we?”
Ken Nicholls went back to his office and returned. “He needs to be seen by a neurosurgeon asap, the scan shows a swelling on the brain–the ambulance is on its way, will you go with it?”
“Of course, Si can you take the girls home?”
He nodded, “All for a fucking phone,” he muttered under his breath. There were tears in his eyes when he looked at me, “If he dies, I’ll track down the bastard who did this and stick that phone down his bloody throat.”
“We don’t know if anyone did it, he might have slipped and banged his head and then been robbed,” I cautioned.
“But that’s murder by neglect.”
“It’s nasty but it isn’t murder.”
“To ignore someone who’s obviously injured and unconscious–needs an ambulance.”
“I know, Si–I called one.”
“I can’t believe some people.” He shook his head.
A trolley with my unconscious son came back into A&E and a pair of paramedics appeared from the other direction. “Taxi for Southampton,” called one of them.
“I’ll see you down there–gimme the keys for the Porsche.” I handed him the keys and kissed him, he hugged me. “He’s gonna be okay–he’s gonna captain England and the MCC yet.”
I hugged him tightly, “Drive carefully,” I urged him.
“I will, say bye to Mummy,” he exhorted the girls.
I sat in the back of the ambulance while it flashed through the late afternoon traffic, sirens and blue lights helping us on our way. I talked to Danny the whole time, sitting next to him while the ambulance bounced and buffeted its way west.
“Are they always as bumpy as this?” I asked the paramedic in the back with us.
“Only when Lewis Hamilton is driving,” he joked but I wasn’t really in the mood for humour–my child could be dying and so far all the energy I was pouring into him didn’t seem to be doing anything.
Suddenly we were there and the two paramedics pulled the gurney out and ran with it into the emergency entrance and I walked round to the public entrance. Once I’d explained who I was I was taken through to a small ante room and left there on my own–Danny was straight down to theatre for an operation to reduce the pressure on his brain.
I sat and closed my eyes and began praying to a god I didn’t believe in–I didn’t think it would help much, but it gave me something to do.
I found myself meditating and a little while later saw a woman standing before me. “Why have you sent for us?”
“I beg your pardon, I haven’t sent for anyone,” I retorted.
“You have, you have offered up prayers and exhortations to us.”
“Have I? I’m sorry but my son is very seriously ill, if you can help–name your price, if not please leave me alone.”
“I see, you don’t believe in us until you need us–how convenient.”
“Look, Shekiwhateveryou’recalled, either help me or piss off and leave me in peace–I don’t do torment.”
“Why should we help you?”
“Because a child’s life is at stake.”
“Why should that concern us?”
“Because you’re a woman.”
“We are a goddess.”
“That’s still female and females are supposed to care about children.”
“Their own, surely?”
“No, everyone’s children–I’d fight tooth and nail to save anybody’s child.”
“Prove it.”
“Okay–show me what you want to do.”
“In that cubicle is a child with kidney failure who is an almost exact tissue copy to you. Go and offer your kidney.”
“Okay–if you’ll save my child.”
“That wasn’t the bargain–you said you’d fight to save any child–that’s one you could save–prove it.”
“Okay–I will.”
I marched over to the office and told them I was a relative of the child and could they do a quick tissue type. They asked me to leave my name and address and they’d be in touch tomorrow–tissue typing needed specialist staff–they weren’t available now.
I walked back–“I tried,” I said to the woman-thing.
“So did we, we failed too–not a good day.”
“I don’t believe this–you call yourself a goddess, claim all sorts of wondrous abilities yet when the dice are loaded you pull out–you chicken shit.”
It probably isn’t a good policy to antagonise a goddess however pathetic one considers them to be. “We will take your life in exchange for the boy.”
“Go ahead, but he has to be completely recovered.”
“You doubt us?”
“Totally, I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”
“For a condemned woman, you seem very defiant.”
“I don’t fear you–so do your worst, you old crone.”
I sat down expecting pain or something to happen. Suddenly there was an enormous blue flash and I fell off the chair. As far as I could tell I was still alive.
“Go and save your son,” the voice reverberated in my head.
“What about the girl with the kidney failure?”
“She’s going to die.”
“No–let her live as well–take me instead.”
“Do not make demands on us.”
“Why not, you do on me?”
“You are here to serve us.”
“I’m sorry but I’m trying to do that, to make your name be associated with the feminine principle–the nurturing and preserving of life. You bring children into the world–you must care about them–if not then I can’t see what sort of female you are.”
“You are prepared to give your life for some stranger’s child?”
“If necessary yes.”
“You are certain of this price?”
“Just do it.”
There was another blue flash and after I regained my senses, I stood up and was buzzing with energy. Obviously I couldn’t walk round the hospital to see either of the children. So instead I sat and meditated sending the energy right through the place helping all who needed it, but especially my son and that little girl with the kidney failure.
In my imagination I saw myself standing over both the children pouring in the energy and healing their injuries. Anyone who saw it wouldn’t recognise me, they would just see a blue star shining so brightly they wouldn’t be able to look at it for long, but the injuries would heal as they watched–miracles? Yeah, okay, but it’s what I was told to do by higher authority–an embarrassed deity–so who am I to argue?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1425
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I sat in the anteroom, exhausted. I heard a commotion in the corridor outside and moments later a man in blue scrubs burst into the room. “Are you the boy’s mother?”
“Oh no, he hasn’t died?” I gasped tears forming and blurring my vision.
“No–no he hasn’t died, but the strangest thing has happened.”
“What d’you mean?”
“We always do our own scans before operating as things can change in the patient since the one at Portsmouth.”
“I don’t understand,” I was confused, if Danny hadn’t died what had happened?
“He was in the MRI scanner and there was this blue flash and the computer on it went off and the machine stopped–like it was hit by a power surge. Of course we needed to get the child out of the machine–suddenly it all started up again and scans his head and there’s no injury.”
“But there was a gash in his head?” I felt quite strange and had to sit down.
“Are you alright, luv?”
“Just felt a bit giddy. So you’re saying he’s healed?”
“As far as we can tell, but how or why I can’t say. It seems the whole hospital was hit by some huge power surge and three patients who should have died have recovered, like some huge miracle has happened.”
“Where’s Danny?” I asked as collected myself.
“He’s sleeping in the recovery room, I’ve got another waiting who had a sub-arachnoid bleed, she’s walking round asking to go home–she couldn’t even focus her eyes before. What’s happened?”
“How should I know?” I said trying to avoid any suspicion being pointed at me.
“There’s a bloke in orthopaedics waiting to have his leg off, he’s walking better than he did twenty years ago. What has happened?”
“I don’t know–but I presume you’ll be checking up on all these so called miracles?”
“Lady, we have a baby with spina bifida who was awaiting surgery–her back has healed; another baby with meningitis we were expecting to lose at least one limb–she seems to have regenerated the damaged blood vessels. Something wonderful has happened tonight–and I just wish it would do so every night.”
“I’m sure–can I see my son?”
“Sure, we’ll get him sent up to a ward, we’ll keep him in overnight just in case this miracle is short lived or I’m dreaming the whole thing.”
“Could I get a cuppa?”
“I’ll get them to send one up to you–why don’t you go home and get some sleep–you look all in?”
“Yeah, as soon as my husband comes I will.”
I began to feel my eyes closing with tiredness and I was half scared to fall asleep in case that was when I died. I had made a bargain and was prepared to pay up, except I’d liked to have had the chance to say my goodbyes–especially to Simon. I hope he can cope with the children. Maybe he’ll find someone else to help him–I hope he does.
As sleep overwhelmed me I felt myself mumbling, “Beam me up, Scotty.”
I found myself in a large hall lit by the most amazing light–it seemed like there was a wonderful golden sun sitting right outside the windows–could hardly see anything it was so bright.
“You are here to pay for your impudence,” said the voice in my head.
“I suppose so–I never renege on my word,” I replied.
“Stand before us while the charge is read.” I half expected to see a crocodile waiting to gobble up my heart because it sure wasn’t going to be unblemished. Then I realised it was the wrong mythology–that was Egyptian, this was Old Testament or thereabouts–not that it has much influence on dormice.
I drew myself up to my full height but had to close my eyes to avoid the blinding light. “How do you plead?”
“I did what I had to do to save the lives of two children.”
“Is that guilty or not guilty?”
“I don’t know what the charges are do I?”
“Just say guilty or not guilty.”
“You’re going to find me guilty anyway, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“What happens if I plead not guilty?”
“We’ll weigh your heart to see if you’ve been lying.”
I wasn’t now but I certainly had done in the past. “Okay, guilty.”
“The court accepts your plea, have you anything to say before we carry out the sentence?”
“Only that I love my husband and my family and have done what I thought was necessary as a wife and mother to protect them, and would do so again.”
“You show no remorse?”
“For what? Being a wife and mother–for nurturing my children, even if I couldn’t give birth to them? I consider that to be the essence of being a woman and more especially a mother. I plead guilty for every offence of love I’ve perpetrated and regret for every time I could have and didn’t. Yeah, I’m guilty of being female–do your worst.”
“Catherine, the court has certain sympathies with your position and is aware of your efforts to care for and educate several children who would otherwise have lived poorer lives. You have used the healing energy we gave you, mostly with discretion and with a degree of compassion. You have not used it for personal gain or aggrandisement.”
I waited for the axe to fall–why all this bullshitting?
“We therefore sentence you to life on earth and to continue your task of mother and wife. Be gone and do not upset us in future or we shall not show such mercy again. It is time you have some respect for us–we therefore withhold the healing gift until you show that respect. Be gone from our sight.”
“Babes, are you alright?” I heard Simon’s voice and struggled to open my eyes.
“Um–yeah,” I yawned so he may not have actually understood what I said.
“How’s Danny?”
“Okay–I think.”
“There’s a pile of TV cameras outside, apparently something weird happened earlier–not you, was it?”
“Me? Nah–far too tired to do anything weird.”
“Yeah–I noticed,” he frowned and then smirked when I glared at him.
We went up to the ward and Danny woke briefly smiled at us then went back to sleep, I told him we’d be back tomorrow, he sighed and slept. Simon then walked me back to the car park and his waiting Jaguar.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, except my healing gift has gone.”
“How d’you know?”
“Oh I know, alright.”
“Okay, I only asked.”
He drove past the television vans and the reporters standing in front of the hospital doing their stories.
“Did you have anything to do with all this?” he nodded towards the BBC van.
“What d’you think?”
“I think you did–disasters and miracles seem to happen when you’re about, babes, so this would be something of an amazing coincidence wouldn’t it.”
“Um, no comment.”
“So what happened to the healing energy?”
“There was a big blue flash and I felt it stop.”
“But you were trying to heal someone?”
“Our son, and a little girl in the renal unit, plus some babies in...” I yawned and felt my head rest against Simon’s shoulder. I was safe now and slept all the way home.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1426
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The next day, Danny was released from the hospital and he seemed to have no ill effects from the assault. The police of course were sceptical that one minute he’s at death’s door and the next he’s coming home with no scars.
They did however, agree, after pressure from Simon and the bank, to trace the phone. A raid was scheduled and a couple of men were arrested, one of whom had a history of robbery and mugging with violence, often bashing the victim with a piece of lead pipe. One such piece of piping was found and Simon who’d observed the raid saw one of the suspects hit a policeman and run up the road. Si pursued him in the car, and then jumped out and decked him–holding him until the police arrived.
There was talk of charging Simon with assault until the policeman who’d been knocked down during the attempted escape, spoke up in his favour and there had also been the suspicion that the escaper was carrying a knife.
Eventually, the CCTV at the hotel showed the thug, a man called Alfie Cawston, and his brother Dominic Cawston, in the hotel at the time of the attack on Danny. His wallet and phone were found in their possession and forensics were checking out the piece of lead pipe for any traces of Danny’s DNA on it, because it could well have been the weapon used.
The police were disgusted, a twenty five year old using a weapon to subdue an eleven year old child–had Simon not become involved, then one of the men might well have been found to have received a few bruises from resisting arrest. As it turned out, he got them from doing just that, only via Simon’s large fist.
Danny thought his dad was wonderful, so did I, but I couched it in a concern for his safety and the potential for him being charged with assault–because if he acquired a criminal record he might not be allowed to hold a directorship of the bank–that made him sit up and take notice. When Henry got to find out about it, he was effusive in his praise until I mentioned the potential for an assault charge. He shut up rather quickly too.
The days of the school holidays, weather permitting began to take on a regular pattern. Jenny looked after the baby while took the others out on bikes or running. We didn’t run far and they were fresher afterwards than I was.
We also played football, where Danny and Trish outclassed the rest of us–so each day they got some sort of exercise. Danny used Stella’s bike and Livvie needed a new one, so I bought some second hand ones via Ebay for Livvie and Meems.
With less chunky tyres on Trish’s bike, she seemed to keep up with the others athough I seemed to spend much of my time mending punctures, freeing jammed chains and at one point straightening a wheel after a crash.
I was actually feeling quite a bit fitter after two weeks of exercise–although, I was rising with Simon, doing a half an hour’s riding before the kids got up and I set up the turbo in the garage–but like an exercise bike–it’s brain numbing, unless you have the expensive one with a video screen and you can play in virtual races. They have one at the hotel and it’s good fun, but I wouldn’t justify the cost for a personal one. Mind you, half an hour on the turbo and I’d done the equivalent of ten to fifteen miles distance–on the road, I rarely got near that because of the traffic.
One Saturday morning Billie and Danny asked me to take them for a more challenging ride, so while Si distracted the others, we slipped out on the bikes. We did about ten miles keeping up a constant ten to twelve miles an hour, which for a couple of kids I thought was quite good.
On the return leg of our circuit, I raced off and did another lap while they headed for home–I caught them merely hundreds of yards from home. The next day, a Sunday, we did the same thing and the little twerps hammered home when I went off to do the second lap. They were back before I caught them.
I was determined to improve on my speed and time for that, so I continued my exercising and turbo riding, setting the machine to push me harder–my legs were jelly-like when I got off it and I nearly fell over a la Bridget Jones–remember the part in the first film when she got off the exercise bike and keeled over?
Simon seemed to be enjoying his role as a dad, playing football and cricket with the kids, mainly for Danny’s sake but I noticed that Trish and Billie could play them quite well when they thought no one was watching.
Danny had missed out on the soccer school because of his trip to Paris, but he felt he’d got the better deal, and he was sure he was going to be the first British rider to win every stage in the TdF. As no one has ever done that of any nationality, at least not in recent years, I suspect it might be easier to win the lottery each week.
To win one stage is pretty good going, to win twenty like Mark Cavendish, is outstanding and I think it’s appalling that his remarkable achievements are unlikely to ever get him the BBC Sports Personality of the year, because some knuckle dragging footballer or half-wit golfer will always beat minority sports like cycling. That professional cyclists are actually amongst the fittest athletes in the world, doesn’t seem to count in the world of the media dominated sports.
Having said that, Sky do sponsor the major British team, so they are putting something into the sport, by sponsoring British Cycling and Team Sky.
On the second week of our regular rides, Billie came to me with a problem. She normally tucks her genitalia back behind her, but of course you can’t do that and sit on a bike saddle without a risk of damage or at least great discomfort.
I tried to suggest that no one would see the little bulge in the front of her cycling shorts because they had a pad in them anyway, but she was still upset by her unwanted bits. In the end, we bought her a small racing shirt–a Team Sky one naturally–except I wasn’t paying for a Pinarello bike for her–which I altered. It was originally far too big for her, and I made it narrower, so it still draped down over her crotch when she was riding. It would have driven me mad, but she pretended she was Victoria Pendleton and the problem was resolved.
Of course, playing lots of sports there had to be some mishaps and it happened when Danny limped home from a cricket match with a broken finger. He assumed I could fix it–but I couldn’t and he was very disappointed in me.
Trish was disgusted that her blue light abilities seemed to have dried up as well, so it seems it was done through me in some way–I don’t know how. Part of me was relieved, it was a great responsibility–though it had come in useful a few times. I resolved not to let any of them go near a swimming pool unless the blue light returned.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1427
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“My finger hurts,” said Danny loudly, not to me but rather at me. I ignored it, I was replacing the chain on my Scott and had both hands full.
“Did you hear me, Mum?” he asked directly.
“Of course, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Can’t you zap it, like you used to?”
“No.”
“You could fix your bike afterwards, zap that too.”
With a feeling of resignation, I looked up at him–my back appreciated the opportunity to stand upright–which even though I had the bike on the stand, required me to bend over to work on it.
“Danny, I told you all the other day that I have lost the ability to channel the blue light. How long it will last, I have no idea, but I spent the first twenty odd years without it, so I guess I’ll have to cope for a bit longer. Alas, that means you’ll have to as well–sorry and all that.”
I bent down again lifting the now clean chain back over the sprockets of the chainrings. “Look, it’s gone all black.” He practically poked me in the eye shoving his finger in front of my face.
I stood up once more examined his hand and shook my head, “That’s just bruising, if it’s causing you so much trouble I’ll try and get you into see Dr Smith this evening. I could put it in a sling, then you’d have to rest it but it would mean you couldn’t come riding with us this afternoon.”
“You taking us out riding?”
“No, I’m just sorting this bike because I got fed up with house work.”
“Oh, so you’re not riding?” Obviously irony as well as sarcasm was lost on him.
“Of course I’m riding, why d’you think I’ve just spent twenty minutes cleaning this chainset?”
“Oh great, I’ll tell the others.”
“I thought your finger was so sore you needed a general anaesthetic?”
“Feels better now,” he ran off before I could break any more of his digits.
I had cleaned up three bikes and re-oiled them, I’d also replaced the brake blocks on Billie’s, she said it had felt like she was riding with the brakes on–she was the back brake had seized. Took me ages to dismantle it clean it, lube it and refit it and then do the brake blocks. At least the cables were okay, so a shot of lube down those as well and I was finished.
I stood up straight and my back told me it didn’t like me bending over for the past two hours. I’ve got a chair in the workshop, which was useful for working on the brake once I’d removed it–then I could sit at the bench–but I couldn’t get on with sitting and working at the workshop stand, to start with, sometimes you need to move around. Oh well, it was all done now and so was I. A cuppa would be priority number one then, think about lunch.
“We goin’ widin’?” asked Meems.
“After lunch, perhaps.”
“Danny said we was.”
“Were.”
“Wot?”
“Danny said we were, not we was.”
“Well ’e did.”
I gave up, I could never win a verbal spar with Meems, she’s from a different planet with entirely different forms of pronunciation and grammar. Either that or she speaks a foreign language and I hadn’t noticed. She’s seen two different speech and language therapists and both were bald by the time they’d finished–I think they went off to work in Afghanistan–it was easier.
I did try zapping her a few times including when she was asleep, the spot on her nose healed but her speech stayed the same. I have a feeling when she’s ready she’ll sort it herself.
She gave me a hug while I waited for the kettle to boil and I stroked the top of her head, “Are you coming out on the bikes with us?”
“Uh huh,” she said nodding, she didn’t always, sometimes she stayed behind with Jenny or Stella and helped with the little ones, but not today.
I drank my tea, Jenny came and had one as well, Stella was out on her own and she’d agreed to babysit the two babies and Puddin’, who’d been watched by Meems and Trish while Livvie and Danny had been playing a computer game.
I did a salad for lunch, hard boiling some eggs and grating some cheese to go with it. For a treat I opened a pack of crispy bacon which I broke up and mixed with the cheese. I drained off the new potatoes, shoved a knob of butter on them sprinkled some garlic on them and mixed them round in the dish.
Half an hour later, nothing remained of my efforts–a party of very hungry locusts had flitted through and scoffed everything except the patterns on the plates. It was one o clock and I reckoned we could start riding about half past or quarter to two–give them a chance for their lunch to go down.
I glanced out at the weather as Jenny helped me clear up the dishes, the previously sunny sky was clouding over and it was feeling very heavy and humid. “When is Stella supposed to be back?” I asked her.
“Twelve,” she sighed.
“Nothing new there then?”
“No, she does seem to work on her own time schedule.”
“You’ve noticed?”
“I ought to have, she does this to you or me often enough.”
I shrugged, “She’s family, so what can I do? But if you want to complain, I’ll back you up.”
“Nah, not worth it, she get’s funny sometimes even if she’s in the wrong.”
“Stella is never in the wrong, it’s just that you can’t appreciate the complexity of her argument.”
“Y’wot?”
“Never mind, I’ve forgotten what I said now. Here she comes, or at least it’s her car.”
“Where’s Gareth these days?” Jenny scratched her nose.
“I–um think they’re having some time from each other.”
“He’s dumped her then?”
I shrugged, I didn’t know the answer and I wasn’t going to speculate.
“Pity, she could do with a good secure relationship, I thought he was right one for her, not so sure now.” Jenny was prepared to speculate but I didn’t answer her, Stella came in and went straight up to her room without so much as a murmur.
“Oh, nice of her to say hi,” Jenny quipped.
“She will when she comes back to earth.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I think she’s been to see her therapist, she often takes a bit to unwind after that.”
“Oh–look, d’you want to take the kids and I’ll stay about the place in case she needs some help.”
“I will if you like, but I thought you were looking forward to some fresh air?”
“I’ll go out in the garden with the littlies, tie them down over an ant’s nest if they misbehave.”
“You’ll have to coat them in jam then, we’re out of honey.” I pointed to the cupboard.
“Goodness, Cathy, if anyone heard us talking they’d be sending in a social services squad to take the children off to safety.”
“That’s how I got ‘em, still if they did, I’d have more time for riding.”
“You’d miss ‘em now, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would, I’d have to justify my existence, work for a living that sort of thing, at the moment–I do a bit and leave a bit.”
“You don’t leave much, some days I have a struggle to find enough to make it look like I’m working.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Jen, right, I’ll give Missy Muppet her feed and go and change and take the peloton out for an airing.” Which is what I did; at a couple of minutes after two we mounted our bikes and set off along the cycle path with me keeping a wary eye on the sky.
About half an hour later it became darker, and large blobs of water began descending upon us. None of us had waterproofs–we’d have died from heat exhaustion if we’d been wearing them. There was a flash and a bang and the celestial fireworks went off over head as the rain began to teem down in torrents.
Thank goodness Stella was at home, the déjá vu of how we first met was too strong to forget, and now she could wipe out a whole family.
“Mummy, doan wike funner,” said Meems dropping her bike and running to me for hug.”
Just then, there was another clap and the ground seemed to tremble, a flash and a tree was hit across the road. Suddenly, even Danny was coming closer for a hug, the bikes lying on the path. Another bang and this time even I felt afraid–I think the ground did tremble.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1428
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We stood the bikes up on the path, leaning against each other and then just waited for the storm to abate. I felt the wet oozing down inside my shorts and was pretty sure the others must have been in similar positions–uncomfortable.
“I wanna go home, Mummy,” said Meems now wet through and crying.
“We can’t, sweetheart, we have to wait for the storm to stop.” Another clap of thunder happened, slightly further away.
“I’m code, Mummy, an’ I’m wet–wanna go home.”
“We can’t leave the bikes, Meems.”
“Stupid bike,” she cussed, “doan wanna wide no moe.”
I think we were all getting a lesson in reality. I stood up and felt my shoes full of water, my feet were cold and I felt thoroughly miserable and I’m an adult–sort of–so what the kids were feeling I could only guess.
“C’mon the rain’s easing, let’s head for home.” I said showing my leadership qualities.
“I’m all wet, Mummy,” declared Trish echoed by the others.
“So let’s get home then,” I directed them to get back on their bikes and got loads of grumbles and groans. I clipped into my pedals and my saddle chafed on the wet shorts, my feet felt cold and miserable and all I wanted was a hot shower and cuppa. I set off and they reluctantly followed, I hoped, hearing my caution about brakes with wet rims–they don’t work so well.
There followed a migration of damp velocipedes the hissing of the wheels accompanied by the whingeing of the riders. We hadn’t gone that far but by the time we’d got home, I began to understand why women sometimes murder their own children. However, trying to explain that I felt as wretched as they were didn’t seem to cut any ice. I’ve done some long rides in my time, sixty mile audaxes and so on, but none felt as long as that day.
Once home, I made them help me wipe down the bikes, which brought more grumbles, but I felt they had to learn the responsibility of looking after their equipment–which they wouldn’t if I did it for them.
Finally, we hit the showers and the hot water was heavenly, in a double sense for me–whenever I have dreamlike visits to heaven or wherever I go, I’m in hot water–just thought I’d share that with you. After warming my chilled marrow, I washed my hair and dried off, patting my hair to damp and then wrapping it in a towel until I was dressed–warm dry clothes–bliss–I began to realise what shipwrecked survivors must have felt like after rescue.
I dried my hair and did it in a French plait, tying it off with a small ribbon, which matched the velour top and corduroy pants I was wearing–a sort of deep pink.
Danny was first down, he was in shorts and tee shirt and I gave him a drink and a chocolate biscuit, he went off to watch something on telly–cricket probably. The girls came down in various combinations of clothing. Billie had a summer dress and leggings, Trish was in jeans and a tee with a hoodie on top, Meems was in a dress and sandals, Livvie, like Billie was in leggings with long sleeved tee and pair of short shorts. They’d done each other’s hair which I only needed to adjust a little. They were fed and watered after which I could sit down and drink the tea Jenny made for me.
“So you pissed off the gods of the weather as well did you?” Stella joked as she sipped her tea.
“Yeah, thankfully Thor’s aim was off a bit today.”
“The sun’s shining now.”
“Good, it’ll help to dry the cycling kit I’ve got in the machine, though my shoes will take days to dry out.”
“What about the children’s shoes?” asked Jenny.
“I’ll leave them by the Aga, they’ll dry over the next day or two–fortunately, they all have more than one pair of play shoes or trainers.”
“The machine is on the final rinse,” observed Jenny, “mind you, you all looked like drowned rats when you came in.” She laughed and Stella looked triumphalist at me.
“Yeah, I didn’t know rats could squeak so loud when they’re drowning,” I smirked.
“I nearly came to look for you,” said Stella, “I usually manage to find you in thunderstorms.”
“Yeah on passing through me.”
Jenny looked strangely at us, “I’m missing the point here,” she said.
“When we first met, I was on a bike and Stella was in a car. She hit me off the bike and into a hedge.”
“I didn’t, she rode out in front of me in the rain and with no lights on.”
“It was daylight–she simply didn’t see me.”
“Well it was difficult visibility.”
“So you should have been driving more slowly.”
“I was.”
“Yeah–for you that means under mach one.”
“So, the sonic boom should have told you I was coming.”
“I was on a country road, where was I supposed to go.”
“You went into the hedge eventually,” she smirked.
“Upside down, watching my bike bounce from under me.”
“Whoa–sounds like there’s some unfinished business between you two.”
“She scratched the front of my car.”
“Scratched your car–you scratched all of me and the bloody bike.” I was beginning to get angry–we’d never really talked it through and Stella was in wind up mood. I slammed down my mug breaking the handle off it which I flung on the table. “I’ll be in the workshop.” So saying, I stormed out of the kitchen and across the drive to the garage I’d converted into my workshop.
I slammed the door shut behind me, regretting it a little later because it was so warm. I wiped down the bench and greased the vice, rearranged the tools and spares–I keep a stock of tyres and tubes, plus all the bits and pieces I’ve accumulated over the years–half a dozen saddles, spare wheels, chainsets, mudguards–you know the sort of stuff–most people’s garages have a box full of it–I have a garage full along with a dozen or more bikes, some in various stages of dismantling or rebuilding.
“Wotcha doin’ in here, Mummy?” asked Trish.
“Tidying up.”
“It was tidy already, wasn’t it–it’s always tidy in here.”
“Has the cricket finished?”
“Dunno–got bored–’s’not the same as watchin’ Danny.”
“I know–gi’s a hug.” She waltzed over and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“Sorry I moaned so much.”
“It’s alright kiddo, I felt as fed up as everyone else.”
“Did you?”
“Of course I did, I don’t like thunderstorms anymore than you do, and I hate getting wet.”
“That makes me feel better,” she said and snuggled into me.
I held her to me, “The warm shower was nice, wasn’t it?”
“Lovely,” she said hugging me tightly, “Were you scared, Mummy?”
“A bit,” I answered without explaining that I was more scared for them than myself.
“So was I, ‘specially when that tree got hit.”
“That was frightening wasn’t it, did you smell the pine afterwards?”
“No–what’s pine?”
“It was a pine tree, and when you burn the wood of the tree it contains tar or resin and it smells–that tree smelt the same as a pine fire.”
“The lightning burned it?”
“Gosh yes, it would boil the sap in a moment–it’s the equivalent of firing a laser into it.” I knew she had some idea of lasers because the school took them to a laboratory where they were using one.
“Wow, it gets that hot?”
“It’ll melt steel, which requires a thousand or two degrees I believe.”
“Crikey, thank goodness it didn’t hit my bike–that would have made me cry.”
If you’d been on it kiddo, it would have made you fry, a communication I didn’t pass on to my daughter.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1429
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The sun streamed through the window of my workshop and I watched particles of dust moving in it–to think we’re breathing these things all the time. Trish, snuggled against me once again, her hands round my waist.
“I like being a girl,” she said.
“What prompted you to say that, missy?”
“I dunno–I like cuddling with you–an’ girls can do it easier than boys.”
“That would seem like a lot of fuss to go through just so you could cuddle your mum.”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it.”
“As long as you think so, that’s okay.”
“Oh I do, Mummy. I’d never want to be a boy ever, ever again.”
“It’s okay, Trish, just calm down–no one is expecting you to become one ever again. Besides you’re female legally as well–so you couldn’t become a boy if you wanted to.”
“Do you ever wish you were a boy again, Mummy?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart, I can’t say I ever think about it.”
“I’m glad you’re a girl too, Mummy.”
“I expect you are, sweetheart–look, I’ve got things to do.”
“Why did you break the cup?”
“I dropped it on the table, it broke.”
“Jenny said you threw it on the table.”
“I did not, I threw the handle but it was already broken then.”
“Are you going to buy a new one?”
“I’ve got plenty in the cupboard, Granny Monica, gave me a pile yonks ago.”
“Are you going to choose one, a special one for you?”
“Not this time, Trish, I keep breaking them or they get dishwasher damaged. If I use different ones all the time, it should reduce the risk of one cup breaking.”
“Yeah, you could break them all,” she laughed.
“I’ll have to take that risk–anyway, let’s lock this up and you can help me choose a cup for today.”
We shut the garage up and headed back to the kitchen, Stella was feeding Fiona. “Can I watch?” asked Trish who was fascinated.
“If you like and your mother doesn’t mind you associating with dangerous drivers.”
“Stella, don’t involve the children–any issues are between you and I.”
She looked angrily at me, then agreed. I owed her quite a lot–in clothing alone–half my wardrobe originated in hers.
“I owe you quite a lot, Stella, you gave me the push I needed to jump-start me; by myself I was going nowhere fast.”
“Dunno–if you hadn’t saved my life at various times I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”
“I don’t think I can answer that on the grounds that if I hadn’t been there, you may not have been at risk in the first place.”
“I hadn’t thought of that–yeah–it’s all your fault,” she looked at me and laughed, waking the snoozing Fiona who began sucking like a vacuum cleaner.
“So are we quits?” I asked.
“Yeah, quits.” We shook on it which once again woke the baby who began turbo suction once again. “’Ere, Fi, don’t suck my nipples off, there’s a good girl.” I laughed, been there done that got the stretch marks–they don’t mention that do they when they talk about breast feeding?
“Choose a cup, Mummy,” urged Trish.
“I’ll use this one today,” I said picking down a mug with a picture of a black cat on it. “It reminds me of Inky.”
“Can we have a cat, Mummy?”
“I’d be worried about the main road, darling. Cats tend not to have much road sense.”
“A bit like me,” said Stella winking at Trish.
“What’s road sense?”
“It’s knowing when it’s safe to cross a road.”
“I could teach a cat to do that, Mummy–we learned in school, Look left, look right and then left again, looking left and right and listening all the time until you are safely across.”
“You certainly know how to cross the road, but I doubt you could teach a cat–they’re far too independent.”
“I’m sure I could, Mummy.”
“I think I know a bit more about cats, darling, so the answer is no.”
“’Snot fair,” she said and stamped out of the kitchen.
“That was you, twenty or thirty...”
“Can’t be thirty years, I’m only twenty seven now.”
“I was going to say minutes,” said Stella who laughed at her own joke and woke Fiona up who started crying–serve her right.
“Are you going to put the banshee to bed?”
“Yes, why?” she tried to comfort the little one who was playing at inconsolable.
“I need to start doing dinner–may I?” I held out my hands for the squealing baby, who Stella handed over to me while sighing.
Rocking her a little over my shoulder and whispering in her ear she went from screaming to listening in about ten seconds, followed by a massive burp and then a series of aftershocks. Two minutes later I handed her back to Stella who stood transfixed.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Get her to shut up?”
“I had a feeling she might have some trapped wind, but by squealing she’d resist me breaking it for her, so I just whispered to her. Did they teach you about arguing–when people get louder, you get quieter–they have to shut up to hear what you’re saying–works with babies too.”
“So I see.” Stella took her off to sleep for an hour or two. “Once I’ve got her settled, d’you need a hand?”
“Yeah, come and help me do the veg and we can chat.” Stella and I hadn’t talked like we used to for ages–one of the changes which comes with children I suppose. She arrived back about ten minutes later. I gave her the broad beans to shell.
“What’s happening with Gareth?”
“I wondered when you’d get round to asking.”
“When are you going to get round to answering–we are concerned you know?”
“Yeah, I know–okay–the truth is–no idea. He hasn’t phoned, written or texted, emailed used jungle drums or carrier pigeon.” To add emphasis she sighed then gave a great shrug.
“Oh dear, sorry about that–I’d hoped it was going to work out for you this time, Stel.” We stopped and had an impromptu hug.
“All men are bastards,” she said.
“Some are bigger ones than others.”
“Yeah, like dicks.”
Her comparison confused me for a moment then I felt embarrassed.
“Is Simon okay in that department?”
“I’ve got no complaints,” which was very true–he could have loads but not that was aware of.
“Gareth was huge...” she offered then snorted, “...for a fieldmouse.”
“He gave you Fiona,” I tried to defend him a little–he had seen her at her worst and I wasn’t surprised he’d gone.
“Did he? Without blood tests I’m not sure,” she fired back.
“Were you seeing someone else as well then?”
“I had some catching up to do, did a few one night stands.”
“Oh, Stella, you silly goose–you could have picked up anything from HIV to Hep B, especially with your training, you should have known that.”
“I did know that–okay–okay, it was stupid.”
“What were you trying to prove?”
“Nothin’ in particular–why?”
“I just wondered. I love you, Sis, please don’t mess yourself up again–I don’t have the blue light to sort things anymore.”
“Yeah, so you said–must have upset Shekinah quite a lot.”
“There are no gods, Stella, just our need for something bigger than us and a laziness in moral thinking.”
“Not just fear of death then?”
“Perhaps that as well–those beans ready?”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1430
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“Are you sure Fiona isn’t Gareth’s?”
“Not sure about any of it–don’t care enough to find out.”
The way Stella spoke she sounded a little depressed but I wasn’t sure. “Have you tried calling him?”
“Why should I? He’s the one who left.”
That appeared to be the facts as I knew them too, however, I felt she could be making more effort, although that could be said of Gareth, as well. Part of me wanted to fix it–but I had to let them make their own choices–it’s just so frustrating. Why is it we can solve other people’s crises but get our own so wrong? Don’t bother sending answers on a post card, I know why–wood for trees syndrome because we’re too close to the problem and, not being emotionally involved means you can make more objective decisions
Apparently most decisions we make are done through emotional mechanisms not logic–you know, you go to buy a new car–the one that is free from vehicle excise duty–very low emissions, has a safety factor off the top of the scale, does a million miles to the litre and then you see one that is dangerous, expensive, top of the range excise duty, horrendous emissions–but you fell in love with it, because it matches an outfit you have, is the same colour as your dog, has the most amazing gadget for telling you what the temperature of the deepest part of the Pacific Ocean is–so you can predict the next El Nino. Some of us would buy the original choice, some of us would be tempted. Personally, I’d want to know if it could seat ninety five children–so I might not fall for the flash motor–Simon would every time.
“I said do you want me to slice the carrots?” Stella said poking me.
“Sorry–was far away.”
“Not thinking about Gareth, I hope.”
“No, I was thinking about Si actually–why would I be thinking about Gareth?”
“Because you fancy him.”
“I don’t–I did for five minutes, but you laid claim to him–end of story as far as I’m concerned.”
She stepped back and looked at me strangely–“You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I have nothing to hide–he’s very good looking, and seemed to be a very nice chap–but then perhaps I got that wrong.”
“No, he’s a very nice bloke–’cept he buggered off and left me–with his kid.”
“I thought you said you weren’t sure.”
“Oh the one night stands bit–that was pure fantasy on my part–he’s little Fi’s dad alright.”
“Why make that bit up–about the one night stands?” I was confused about this but I had an idea why she did it, which turned out to be right.
“Wanted to see what you said?”
“And did I say it?”
“Yeah, but not the way I was expecting.”
“I see, so what were you expecting me to say–Go get it while you can–or, Get thee to a nunnery.”
“More the latter, I guess.”
“Oh, so it was a wind up?”
“Not entirely, I did nearly do it a couple of times–met a couple of absolutely gorgeous guys one night at that new club.”
“New club–I don’t think I know the old ones.”
“Oh yeah, sorry forgot–I’m Cathy recluse, I only live through my husband and children.”
“That’s a bit uncalled for,” I gently protested because part of it might have been true.
“Well look at you, twenty seven and past it.”
“Past what, exactly?”
“Pulling a good lookin’ bloke–that’s what.”
“I don’t need to Stella–I have the one I want.”
“Oh that’s right, rub it in.”
“It isn’t a case of that, and remember you set that up as well.”
“God, I’ve been good to you.”
“I know that, hence my dislike of not being on good terms with you.”
“In case you miss out on something you mean?”
“No, not that at all–I’m just grateful that we met–okay it could have been under more positive circumstances–my life changed for the better in leaps and bounds. You were my catalyst.”
“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” She beamed and carried on slicing the carrots–until she cut her finger. Stella can do things in the kitchen, she just chooses not to, which is probably just as well most of the time. I made her stand with it under the cold tap until the bleeding stopped.
“That’s bloody typical–I end up in the poo helping you again–you are dangerous to be near.”
“Took you long enough to work that out, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, I’m gullible.”
“That isn’t a word I’d use to describe you, Stella, complex, might be; game-player extraordinaire, certainly.”
“Oh I don’t know, you seem to get what you want from me–look at your wardrobe.”
“What? I haven’t asked for any clothes from you–you usually just chuck ‘em at me and say you’ve finished with this or that.”
“Do I? You must hypnotise me or something, I can’t remember any of it at all.”
“Oh come off it–has your finger stopped bleeding yet?”
“Why feeling guilty are we?”
“No, I want to wash the carrots and you’re in the way.”
“Huh, what a way to be described by my sister and best friend–I’m in the way.” She sounded like she was in a film and about to be murdered by an unfaithful husband or lover–drama queen–didn’t even start to describe her.
“Yeah, get ootta ma way,” I shoved against her with the colander.
“Hey, watch it, hen,” she said in what sounded like a variant on Glaswegian, “or I’ll stick ye.”
“Oh wull ye noo?” I replied using my Lady Macbeth accent.
“Aye, sae I wull,” she riposted.
“Aye, an’ wi’ whose airmy?”
“Och, I dinna need ony help, fa tae dae that.”
“Ye, huh, ye couldnae knock tha skin o a rice pudden.”
“I’ll stick ye, sae I wull.”
“Ye hav’nae ony glue, ye daft gowk.”
“Now you tell me,” she said in normal English.
“Mummy, why were you talking like Gramps?” asked Livvie.
“We were having a bit of fun.”
“It didn’t sound like fun to me, I thought Auntie Stella was going to stab you. I had my finger on my mobile phone ready to dial nine, nine, nine.”
“You can see she’s one of yours, girl,” Stella remarked to me.
“How can you say that, apart from the fact she’s beautiful.”
Stella glared at me, “No, you idiot, as prepared as a girl sprout, and taking things too seriously.”
“Mummy, Auntie Stella’s being horrid to me,” Livvie hugged my waist and was close to tears.
“Don’t take any notice, darling, Auntie Stella’s just teasing you.” I put my arm protectively round her.
“Yeah, I was only joking.”
“I didn’t think it was jolly well funny,” Livvie threw back at her as she stumped out of the kitchen.
“How to win friends and influence people,” I offered.
“Oh thanks, Cathy, and there’s me thinking you didn’t have a sense of humour.”
“I do, it’s just different to yours.”
“So I see.”
“Aye, it’s a sair fecht,” I said mimicking Tom.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1431
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By the time Simon came home the silliness had finished and the liver and bacon casserole cooking in the Aga was ready, as were the vegetables Stella had helped me prepare.
“Mummy and Auntie Stella were talking like Gramps does,” said a little voice dobbing us in.
“What d’you mean, Trish, talking like Gramps does?”
“You know, using Scottish words.”
“Scottish words?” asked Simon.
“Yes, they were talking like Scottish people do.”
“Well they are both Scottish, so how would you expect them to talk?”
“Silly, Daddy, Mummy’s from Bristol–I’ve been there, it’s in England.”
“Ah, I see where you’re going wrong, young un–your mother may have come here from Bristol, but she wasn’t born there.”
“Mummy, where were you born–it was Bristol, wasn’t it–Daddy’s wrong, isn’t he?”
Simon was smirking like the cat that got the cream plus the rest of the meal.
“I’m afraid he isn’t, darling , I was born in Dumfries.”
“How d’you spell that?” she asked so I spelled it out for her.
“Dum–fries? Sounds like stupid chips.”
“You missed the M out of chips, Trishy,” suggested my husband.
“There is no M in chips, Daddy–I thought you could spell better than that.”
“Well the joke is dead in the water anyway.”
“My Dum–fries joke, Daddy?”
“No, oh never mind–when’s dinner, have I got time to shower and change?”
“If you’re quick. I can give you fifteen minutes maximum.”
“Okay–that’ll do.” He ran off up the stairs.
Trish laid the table as I checked the meal–it was nearly ready. “Hmm, smells good,” said Simon returning and he gave me a little hug and kiss, “So does the food,” he added.
The meals in this house are far from silent, so when everyone goes quiet, I assume the food is either very good or so bad they’re trying to eat it quickly to kill the taste. Of course Danny eats like a wolf on a starvation diet, Billie used to until we severally pointed out to her that girls don’t shovel it down like there’s no tomorrow.
She actually accepted it when she saw how Trish and Livvie ate, and also how Julie did so–although I’d had to educate two of those three about table manners. Anyway, all of our girls now ate a bit more daintily without being affected.
This brought to mind an experience we had in a quite nice coffee shop in Southsea. I was sitting with two of the girls, I think it might have been Trish and Julie when a woman with two or three teenage girls came in and sat opposite. They were all fashionably dressed and one of the girls was extremely pretty causing Julie to sigh that she wished she looked like her.
We sat and drank our teas or coffees, I don’t remember which when the mother arrived back at their table with drinks and cakes and the very pretty girl took a great mouthful of cake and began to eat it with her mouth wide open–it was like looking at a human cement mixer–and made me feel quite queasy.
The girl was easily fourteen or fifteen possibly even a year older, but clearly no one had taught her to close her mouth when she ate–which is something most people learn by about age seven. It was very disillusioning–so I’m a snob, sue me.
There was fresh fruit for afters–and there were no takers for that, mind you the piggy-wiggies round the table had just about licked their plates clean, so I assumed they’d enjoyed it.
I started to get up to make some drinks when Simon stopped me and nodded at Julie who took the hint and made us teas and other drinks. “That was so filling, I feel absolutely stuffed,” Simon declared, undoing his top trouser button.
“Yeah, that was pretty kewl, Mum,” added Danny. He’d managed to force down second helpings like Simon, and I suspect was probably feeling rather full. Between them, they’d eaten half a loaf plus goodness knows how many potatoes, assorted veg plus the liver and bacon. They used the bread to soak up the gravy which was quite thick and rich–as one tends to get with liver dishes.
I drank the tea which Julie had made for me, and she sat alongside me. “Dunno what’s going on this weekend but we saw loads of old biddies today–the blue rinse brigade–surprised not to see you an’ Auntie Stella there.”
“Very funny.”
Julie obviously thought her joke was, because she snorted at it and sounded like a goat with hayfever–which set Trish off–she got the giggles which rapidly transmitted itself to the others. Simon tried to assert himself which just made things worse.
By the time the kids were excused from the table, it had descended into total chaos and I was glad to let them go so we adults could talk amongst ourselves. We none of us knew why Julie’s salon had been so busy with wrinklies, and the best guess was a party of them were staying nearby–they often come to Southsea or Hayling Island just before the season starts or just as it finishes when the prices come down.
“But it’s school holidays,” protested Julie, “the oldies shouldn’t be here now.”
“Why ever not?” I challenged.
“They should be home knitting or stirring their cauldrons.”
“Perhaps they were practicing their broomstick flying skills instead and dropped into your salon.” Stella joined the fray.
“Coulda been,” Julie was forced to concede, “like I said, I was surprised not to see you two with ‘em.”
Simon sniggered and we both glared at him. He went off to see what the youngsters were up to and his trousers nearly fell down–he’d forgotten about doing his trousers back up. So we had the last laugh. Once he’d gone it was girl talk until I suggested we needed to sort out the dishes about half an hour later.
Tom arrived home about five to midnight, he was less than sober but did stop singing the Scottish Soldier when I opened the door for him–he couldn’t find his key–it was in his hand.
“Faither, whit are ye up tae–ye’re more plastered than an interior wall,” I used Scots, as English didn’t seem to compute.
“Och, Catherine, dinna be sae hard on an auld man, it’s a sair fecht.” He staggered past me and up the stairs, whereupon Simon followed him up to make sure he didn’t fall down them. “Och ye’re a guid lad, Simon Cameron,” he kept saying as they disappeared up the stairs. I checked him a short while later, he was fast asleep lying across the bed and snoring like a lawn mower. Simon helped me turn him so he was at least up and down the bed not across it, and we left him lying on his side. He slept in his clothes all night because he was daft enough to appear in them the next morning asking me to phone his office to say he was working from home that day. He took an aspirin or two and went back to bed until mid day.
Sometimes I wondered exactly what my role was in this house–it seemed at times, that mother was the primary one–for three adults, one sub adult and six children, plus sorting out Jenny’s troubles at times. She was nominally renting Maria’s old house–which would be Catherine’s one day–but rarely stayed there, although her fellow did much of the time as it was more relaxed than staying at the naval base. It was making a nice start for Catherine’s savings in the rent she paid, so I supposed I shouldn’t grumble.
The house in Southsea was being rented by a senior manager in the bank and he was paying a good monthly rent–subsidised by the bank–so I set up savings accounts for the other children out of that. Quite when I’d tell them what I’d done for them, I wasn’t sure–possibly when they went to university–if they go of course.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1432
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“What time is it?” I asked bleary eyed as Simon was dressing at the foot of the bed.
“Go back to sleep, I’ve got to go up to Town.”
“What for?”
“This Euro-crisis thing–we could lose loads.”
None of this made sense to me, especially how some lily-livered investors or speculators could cause a national currency to fail or lose billions. “I didn’t think you were that linked to Europe.”
“Of course we are, and the States–it’s all one big trough these days and we take turn dipping our snouts.”
“I thought the States was in a mess–haven’t seen the paper for a couple of days–Daddy took it to work.”
“They’ve managed to avoid a default–but it’s a total mess–thanks to those fruit-cakes in the tea-party who have the Republicans by the short and curlies. It’s mad the loonies are running the asylum.”
“Or the tail wagging the dog?” I added trying to show I was listening.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Are we going to be alright–I mean if something awful happened to the bank?”
“Yeah, we have some squirreled away which is untouchable and the bank is public liability covered.”
“I’ll have to go back to work if we need it.”
“I think we’ll manage, babes, but it’s nice of you to offer–must go and do my hunter gatherer bit.”
“You’re not going anywhere without some food inside you.” I started to get out of bed before realising I was naked. “Oops, where’s my nighdress?”
“Oh babes, get dressed before I forget what I’m supposed to be doing and do you instead.”
I wiggled my bare bum at him as I picked up my nightie from the floor by the side of the bed. He slapped it and I jumped up. He pulled me round and kissed me, “I love you, girl.”
I held him tight then kissed him passionately–“I love you too, darling.”
“C’mon, breakfast, I’ve got to catch that train or I’ll be late for the board meeting.”
“Well you drive carefully–I don’t want you hurting or killing yourself in that car.”
“If I did, you realise you’d inherit my shares and my place on the board.”
My stomach did a flip–“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard but don’t believe you–what do I know about banking?”
“You’re a fast learner and besides we do have advisers–financial, legal and so on. We do very little without brainstorming even the most bizarre outcome.”
“I’ll bet I was one you hadn’t considered.”
“Not entirely, I discussed it with Dad and Stella before I married you.”
“I should hope so, I talked to Spike and she gave me great advice.”
“Which was?”
“How do I know–I don’t speak dormouse–who d’ya think I am, Dr Doolittle?”
“I’d have thought you did speak it, I mean that bloody thing used to do everything you told it to, including performing tricks.”
“Oh come off it, Si, she does exactly what she wants like all dormice and pretty well all animals except possibly dogs–they’re stupid enough to listen to humans–the most destructive and malicious of all vertebrates–if we were some sort of bug, it would be something like Escherichia coli.”
“I think that might be something of an over-generalisation, Cathy.”
“Breakfast,” I said quietly before dashing down the stairs to make him some toast and coffee and myself tea. I had the kettle on and the bread in the toaster before I glanced at the clock–“Si, it’s only half past four.”
“I did tell you to go back to sleep.”
“Why so early?”
“The meeting is at seven, I have one or two things to do first.”
I kissed him again and buttered his toast offering him the marmalade I’d made a few weeks earlier with the girls. Billie had bottled some of it and Trish and Livvie did the rest. He slathered it thickly on his toast while I poured his coffee. It was just beginning to show a glimmer of daylight–the days were noticeably shortening and I shivered a little at the thought. Then wondered how we’d cope without all his money–I’d done so before I met him, besides I had some of my own and several properties that were paid for, so we’d get by–and I was prepared to work–even stacking shelves in a supermarket if I needed to–after all loads of other decent folk did it and I had in the past when I was a student.
While he was eating, I rushed upstairs and dressed very quickly and offered to take him to the station. He declined so I insisted and he shrugged. I quickly drank half my tea and scoffed a banana. He shook his head and grumbled that I didn’t eat enough.
I took him to the station in my Porsche and reluctantly let him go–I loved him so much–I didn’t want him to go away from me–at the same time I knew he had to go and I was being silly.
It was just after five o’clock when he left me and scampered after the train which was just arriving. I was left without much purpose. It was too early to go back and do things, and too late to go back to bed–besides I was too wide awake now.
On a whim I drove to the flats where I’d spent a very different year in very different accommodation to how I lived now–how things can change. I stopped and gazed at the building, I wondered who had my old room and were the two miscreants still there–I doubted it–that was three or four years ago–how time flies.
I turned down the road and passed the Patel’s shop–Mr Patel was still there opening up–goodness he worked some hours. I stopped the car and grabbed my bag–I checked I had my purse–I’d buy a few things to say thanks for old time’s sake.
He’s gone back into the shop and had his back to the door as I went in. He turned round but didn’t recognise me. I gathered a few bits and pieces–his prices were significantly more than the supermarket–but so what?
He rang things up on the cash register and just before he got to the end I saw a croissant I fancied–was really awake and hungry. “Could I have that croissant, as well, Mr Patel?”
He looked at me, “I know you, lady, don’t I?”
“I’ve probably changed a bit since we last met.”
“It is, Catherine, is it not?” He stared quite hard at me.
“I knew I couldn’t fool you, Mr Patel.”
“Vait there,” he disappeared into the back of the shop and moments later came back with his wife. “See, it is her.”
“My goodness gracious, it is her–Catherine–vhy have you taken so long to come and see us–come through, Raj, I make us all breakfast.”
“You vant me to close the shop?”
“No, you elephant’s vinky, just come through vhen it’s quiet–come, my dear,” she led me through to the back of the shop and their little sitting room.
In a halting manner–mainly because of the interruptions from customers–I related how things had progressed since I’d last seen them.
“You are married voman with children–my goodness–you don’t vaste time, Catherine.”
“Worse, you realise who I married?”
“No–some tall, dark and handsome and mysterious prince,” she joked.
“He’s tall, dark and handsome but only a viscount.”
“Vhat is viscount?”
“He’s an aristocrat–Lord Simon Cameron.”
“And you are married to him?”
“Yeah, he tricked me into it.”
“He tricked you?”
“Oh he knew all about my past, and I’ve been sorted for three years now.”
“Sorted?” Mrs Patel looked at me in astonishment.
He looked on and sniggered, “She is now voman down below, like you, yes?”
“More or less,” I blushed.
“Ah, now I see–proper voman, now,” she nodded.
“Yeah–no regrets.”
“You’re very pretty lady,” she smiled, “Ve very proud of you.”
“Vhy are you up so early?” asked Mr Patel.
“Simon had a board meeting of the bank in London, I ran him to the station.”
“You are married to Cameron the bank owner?” Mr Patel gasped.
“Yes, sorry I thought you realised that.”
“Oh dear, he’s not our favourite man–let me show you.” He poked about in a small filing cabinet and pulled out a file then handed me a sheaf of letters to look at. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with the bank and its customers, especially a dispute. I glanced at my watch, it wasn’t yet six–I continued reading.
“They’re going to foreclose your business loan?”
He nodded.
“Why–you’ve paid all you owe to the present?”
“Ve vere late two months–I vas ill, and ve forgot.”
“Okay, I can’t promise anything but I’ll talk to Simon and see what we can do.”
“Oh thank you, Catherine, you are such helpful lady.”
I paid for my shopping and drove home. What had I got myself into now?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1433
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I wasn’t sure what Simon could do to help–but I was sure he’d listen–how wrong can you get?
“I need to discuss this with you, Si.”
“I’m sorry, Cathy, I’ve had twelve hours of banking money problems.”
“But I said I’d try and help them,” I protested.
“You shouldn’t interfere in things that don’t concern you, should you?”
“But it does, your bank is wrong and causing all sorts of problems for these two old people.”
“It’s not my bank, Cathy, it’s our bank–and I’m sure there’s an explanation. Tell them to go and see their local branch manager, I’m sure he or she will sort it out.”
“They haven’t so far–I’ve seen the correspondence and they’re looking to foreclose.”
“I’m sorry, Cathy, I don’t know how you find these lost causes but I am just too tired to talk about anything with the word bank or money in it–end of discussion.”
He did look very tired and just sat on the sofa with Meems and Trish cuddled up to him watching some inane children’s film–what happened to good stories like Little Women and the Railway Children? Now it’s all sci-fi and fantasy, CGI graphics and special effects. There’s too much violence as well–no wonder half the six year olds are psychopaths–they’ve been killing things for years on their computer games or watching other people do so on film.
After dinner, roast lamb–Si’s favourite–I tried to butter him up but he fell asleep and stayed that way all night. I left him in the recliner in the sitting room having failed to wake him enough to get him upstairs.
He woke me the next morning–another early start. “Uh–what time is it?”
“About five, why?”
“What are you doing up?”
“Another meeting.”
“What about?”
“They’re trying to get us to buy bonds from Spain and Portugal.”
“I thought they said Italy was the next big risk?”
“I’m not touching anything that madman’s had anything to do with.”
“What old botox face?”
“Sounds like the one.”
“He’s done very well out of things.”
“People like him always do.”
“So will you buy bonds from Spain and Portugal?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Why not?”
“There’s enough bad debt about now without us picking up millions of pounds of it.”
“Oh okay–what about the Patels?”
“Who?”
“The old couple with the shop near my old bedsit.”
“What about them?”
“The bank is trying to foreclose their mortgage.”
“Sorry Babes, it happens.”
“But it’s not fair.”
“Tell ‘em to write to the ombudsman–they’re pretty good.”
“That could take months.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I want it sorted now.”
“I could say the same for this economic crisis–I didn’t cause it nor can I cure it, but I could be out of a job because of it.”
“Don’t be silly, darling–you’ll always have a job–you own the bank.”
“I might not if this gets any worse.”
“But yesterday you said we’d be okay.”
“That was yesterday, this is today.”
“Oh–so you won’t help the Patels.”
“Sorry, babes, got real things to deal with not your next favourite lame duck story.”
“You don’t mind if I do then?”
“I’ve gotta go–I overslept because someone forgot to bring me up to bed.”
“I couldn’t wake you.”
“Gotta go–see you tonight–something light will be okay.”
“I’ll get you some liquid hydrogen–that should be light enough.”
“Yeah–bye.” He went without even kissing me goodbye–he is worried, I’ve never seen him like this before–still he didn’t say I couldn’t help the Patels. I went into the shower and after dressing in suit, got the kids up and watched them have breakfast–it’s like feeding time at the zoo–in the chimpanzee enclosure, only without the PG tips.
Next I called the Patels and asked for the branch of High St Bank which they’d dealt with. I told Mr Patel, I’d call him back. A bit later I called the bank and set up a meeting with the manager–he didn’t have anything for weeks–until I said I was Lady Cameron, suddenly he was free at eleven–who said the age of chivalry was dead?
I called the Patels and told them I’d collect them at half past ten. They sounded like headless chickens on the other end of the phone–they’d have to close because they couldn’t get anyone in at that short notice. I did wonder if Trish was busy–but if she sat in for them, by the time we got back, she’d be looking to take over Walmart.
“You’re looking very posh, Mummy?” noticed Livvie.
“I have to go to a meeting–so I hope you’ll all behave yourselves.”
“Where you goin’?” asked Trish coming in on the end of the conversation.
“I’m going to a meeting at a bank.”
“Can I come–you might need some help?”
“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart, but I think I can manage–if we need reinforcements, I’ll be sure to call you.”
“If I’m not too busy by then–see ya,” she said and marched past us. Livvie rolled her eyes and we both sniggered, a little voice called, “I heard that.”
‘Here I am, brain the size of a small planet parking cars,’ the quote from the Hitchhikers Guide to the Universe came to mind and I smirked again.
“You’re laughing again, Mummy,” noticed Livvie.
“I was thinking of a very funny book which when you’re old enough, I shall loan to you read.”
“Why can’t I read it now? I can read you know.”
“I know, sweetheart, but the jokes are all grown up ones and you’ll enjoy it more when you’re a bit older.”
“Like when I’m ten?”
“A little older than that, I think.”
“What, like twelve?”
“Probably more like sixteen or seventeen or even older.”
“That’s, like, really old, Mummy–that’s like nearly as old as you.”
I can always count on my children to keep me grounded–before I kill them–grrr.
I set off at ten and collected Mr Patel–his wife was staying in the shop–she was too nervous to come with us. I shrugged, made sure we had the relative documents and drove to the bank, parking in the staff car park. If I get clamped–heads will roll.
Mr Patel followed me into the bank, I was walking quite quickly despite my heels–working myself up to asserting myself in this meeting. It was five to eleven and we waited, Mr Patel, fumbled with his papers and I did some breathing exercises–continuing to breathe, was I thought, a good idea.
Eventually, we were shown into Mr Pilbeam’s office. He shook hands with us–he was all smiles, until I painted the picture of the case I was there to represent. He made loads of excuses and it was only when I suggested if he couldn’t resolve this that I went to see my father in law, Mr Pilbeam had a sudden change of heart and within two minutes had redrafted the terms of the loan and credited Mr Patel with everything he’d paid, effectively wiping out the alleged outstanding amount and cancelling the foreclosure. He did, however, point out that he could only do this once–even for me. I smiled graciously, shook his now sweatier hand, and ushered Mr Patel out before he bowed any lower and banged his head on Pilbeam’s desk.
He was effusive in his praise for me and the nice Mr Pilbeam, and insisted on giving me the largest box of chocolates he had in the shop. Oh well, the locusts I live with will make short work of them–I don’t eat many chocs myself–too sweet and too fattening.
Mrs Patel made shrieking noises when her husband told her what had transpired and how wonderful I’d been. Well–we all know that as fact, don’t we. I’m just kinda wunnerful.
Simon apparently didn’t think so–the grapevine had obviously got as far as him and he played merry hell with me–“I told you not to interfere in things that don’t concern you.”
“The bank manager was very helpful, he rescheduled everything quite easily.”
“Cathy, you don’t listen–I asked you not to interfere.”
“No, you told me you wouldn’t–I’m someone different.”
He groaned threw his newspaper up in the air and stormed out of the room. I didn’t think now was the time to show him a questionnaire I’d been sent about married life–oops.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1434
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“Are you still mad at me?” I asked him cuddling against him in bed and rubbing Mr Happy gently with my fingers.
“You’re not going to get round me like you usually do,” he said but we both knew it was out of his hands and into mine–literally.
“I’m sorry it upset you but they were desperate.”
“If they’d come in and spoken with their local branch I’m sure something could have been arranged which suited them better. We’re not monsters you know.”
“What’s this then,” I giggled and closed my hand.
The trouble with Simon is that he’s easily influenced–especially by little ol’ me. He forgave me–well that was a foregone conclusion, I did have to work a bit for it but so what. In the end everyone was happy–the bank would get their money, the Patels kept their shop and Si–well, I’m not going to tell you everything, am I?
He was asleep in post orgasmic bliss–I was still awake, washing myself afterwards had woken me up–I’d have quite liked to read but I didn’t want to disturb my lord and master–did I?
Banking is going through a tough time at the moment, and although we won’t go bust, Simon is having to work very hard for his money and that includes making some very difficult decisions–like reducing the workforce and making savings in any area they could.
They still made a profit of over a billion pounds, but that was down on last year and they do have some shareholders, although most of the shares are owned by the family. I wasn’t aware that I was one of the shareholders but apparently I am–just as well their accountant does my tax forms. I’d seen his associate, a nice young woman called Jill White who informed me I was quite a wealthy woman in my own right.
“I know I’ve got several properties and they bring in an income, and I have the salary from the bank, and a little from the university for the survey work I do, what else is there?”
“Your shares.”
“Shares? I don’t have any shares–do I?” If I did it was news to me.
“Yes the bank made you a gift of them when you married Simon–it’s a strange arrangement, you can’t sell them except back to the bank and that’s at a knock-down price, but you get to keep their income and any dividends.”
“Do I?”
“Yes the bank gives you more every year on your birthday.”
“Since when?” this was news to me.
“Since you married; it’s something all family members receive.”
“Will my children?”
“Only when they reach twenty one, until then the bank makes payments to a trust for each of them, and your sister in law’s children as well.”
“I knew nothing of this.”
She called up a screen and each of my kids had trust funds of over ten thousand pounds, except Catherine–being so young she had the starter of a couple of thousand.
“And your assets,” she changed the screen and I looked at the figures.
“These are wrong–surely?”
“No–they’re absolutely correct–it updates by the day and the figure on the bottom is the amount of tax you are liable for.” I gasped, that was bigger than I thought I owned.
“I’m paying that much tax?”
“Yes, twenty thousand pounds give or take a little, but that’s on an income of nearly two hundred thousand.”
“Two hundred thousand?”
“Yes, with personal assets of one million two hundred and seven thousand–not including your properties-which of course would be liable to capital gains if you sell any except the one you live in.”
I suddenly felt quite sick. I was sitting on this fortune which was accumulating faster than I could spend it, and this was the first time I could see what Simon and Henry had set up for me.
My parents had left me their house and an accumulated amount of about a hundred thousand pounds–so in my eyes I was quite well off. Simon had offered to invest it for me and had turned that into five times what I gave him, and that was after tax. Our family was paying off the national debt.
“How much have the bank given me?” I asked and she pulled up a different screen, she showed me the shares and what they were worth, the price I’d get back from the bank if I disposed of them–that was nearly half a million–okay, I’d get hammered for tax–but I did nothing for that–except marry Simon, and most days I’d pay for that myself.
“Simon is pretty well a genius at making investment profit–which in this day and age is a great asset–you realise that several US banks have offered him a salary of ten million to go over to them and he turns them down.”
“Simon–my Simon–ten million? Jeez.”
“He’s very old fashioned in his loyalties to the family firm without him they’d not do half as well.”
I was shocked–I was married to the financial equivalent of Superman, someone with the Croesus touch, a veritable alchemist–and yet he remained as down to earth as anyone I’d ever met–more than some.
“The way he’s set this up for you–anything you don’t use in your accounts is invested usually in bonds with a guaranteed return. So by not spending too much your account is accumulating–thirty thousand this year–and you won’t be taxed on them until next year because that’s when the interest is due, then your ISAs–they’re stuffed to the maximum–and of course there’s no interest payable on that. At the current rate of enhancement, you should have several million in your account by the time you retire.”
I couldn’t believe it–me, someone who isn’t turned on by money was stinking rich–at least by my standards. I needed to think about things. I thanked Jill, signed my tax return and authorised the payment due by the end of July.
That was two weeks ago, it still disturbed me–millions were starving and I was rolling in it. I spoke with Simon, who of course knew all about it. Part of me felt irritated, he practically knew how much I had in my purse and his income was a secret to me.
He seemed to know that I was holding this small resentment and he told me to guess at how much he earned. I knew the guy from Barclays was the highest paid bank man–apparently, Henry was next, then the bloke from HSBC and then my little Simon. He earned two million pounds last year with a similar amount in bonuses.
I was astonished then angry–it was ridiculous and I told him so. He then explained how many people were involved in helping him spend it. He gave away a fortune to charities and apparently, he’d taken over the ownership of the castle and estates. Henry was wanting to sell them so Simon bought them off him for a peppercorn–it costs him over a million a year to maintain plus any losses the estate makes.
“Why didn’t you tell me about all this?” I asked him when he did tell me.
“Why? You’re worried by it aren’t you?”
“Of course, I mean it’s like film stars and other overpaid types.”
“Cathy, I keep over a hundred people in employment in Scotland.”
“Oh, okay–I’ll shut up then.”
“It all sounds very feudal, but it isn’t–well okay, it is, but it’s a benign sort–I employ two people to make sure the others are well looked after. I make them work, but that keeps them happier and they do produce some income, but there’s a shortfall every year. It’s a drain really and one day we may have to sell it but it’s been in the family since fifteen something, so I’d hate to be the one who betrayed his ancestors–some have gone to great lengths to protect it.”
“Like what?”
“Murder, treason–is that enough?”
“Yeah–don’t tell me any more–I’ll feel haunted the next time I go to Scotland.”
“Like the castle.”
So–here I am–Bonny Prince Simon is zonked and I’m worrying about having too much money, while he’s exhausted trying to keep what assets the bank has increasing enough to keep shareholders happy. Boy, why did I have to inherit a conscience–life would be so much easier without it.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1435
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I watched Simon sleep for a while, it was amazing how he could in view of the stressful nature of his work and his neurotic wife, who not only saddles him with more children than he can count, she then accuses him of causing her to have too much money. She’ll have to go if he wants peace of mind rather than a piece of her mind.
I gently stroked his hairy chest–it wasn’t very hairy compared to some of the pictures you see of men who look like a cross between gorillas and bears, but it was enough to remind me of the difference between men and women–my chest was quite small for a biological male–and somehow I’d managed to grow myself quite a pair of breasts, which had grown some more since I’d began breast feeding baby Catherine. Sometimes when I looked at them in the mirror, it looked like they had large veins in them and I wondered if I could get varicose veins of the boobs?
Simon stirred a little and I kissed him on the cheek, he smiled a big beaming smile before turning over and facing away from me. I snuggled into the back of him and fell asleep smelling his body
I woke some hours later with something tapping against my hand–it was his morning um–I could feel myself blushing–anyway, his erectile tissue midway between his knees and his waist–well, you know what I mean.
“I need a pee,” he said jumping from the bed, “and your hand isn’t going to make that any easier.”
I hadn’t deliberately set out to touch his doodah, my hand just ended up there while we slept. I was still quite tired and couldn’t face the thought of sex first thing in the morning so I got up and began dressing to make his breakfast. He came back into the bedroom–“Wattaya doing?”
“Getting dressed, so I can get you some breakfast.”
“Not yet, I’ve got a day off today–so c’mon back to bed.”
“You’ve got a day off?”
“Yeah, so c’mon back to bed–nudge nudge, wink wink know what I mean, squire.”
I wasn’t going to face a full five minutes of Monty Python sketches, so I went to the bathroom and then sneaked downstairs when he wasn’t looking, and switched the kettle on. I was standing facing the work top with my eyes shut, almost asleep when a pair of hands went round my waist and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I was still shaking when I realised it was Simon and he hugged me as I wept.
“Hey, silly, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I know,” I sniffed, but it still upset me.
He sat me at the table and finished making the tea. “What brought this on?” he asked placing a mug of tea in front of me while he sat opposite.
I felt even more stupid–I didn’t know what made me upset–I just was, not having slept very well didn’t help either.
“You sure you’re not coming on?”
I looked blearily at him, some days he made little sense other days he made none at all. Today seemed like one of the latter. “Coming on what?”
“You know, coming on.”
“On what?” I repeated.
“Your period,” he rolled his eyes skywards as if you silently ask for strength.
“Ha ha, very funny.” I said then burst into tears.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it then? You know damn well I can’t have them.”
“Keep your voice down, unless you want the kids up this early.”
“What time is it, then?” I couldn’t see the clock.
“Five.”
“Not again.”
“Not what again?”
“I seem to wake up at five most mornings.”
“Well, c’mon drink your tea and let’s go back to bed–I know a way to make you sleepy.”
“Is that all you men think about, bloody sex?”
“I wasn’t actually thinking about that–I was going to read to you.”
“Read? Read what?”
“This book on hypnosis I found.”
“Hypnosis?”
“Yeah, it’s called something like, How to make every woman love you.
“You haven’t got a book like that, have you?”
“No, but it was worth it to see your face when I said it.”
“Were you going to read to me?”
“Yep, from, A History of British Banking.”
“You’re right, it probably would send me to sleep–who’s interested in subjects like that?”
“Um–bankers, economists, historians, general readers–how would I know?”
“So who wrote it some stuffed shirt professor while he was stuck up his ivory tower?”
“Yeah–got it in one.”
“Oxford or Cambridge?”
“He went to Edinburgh actually.”
“Oh–big deal.”
“And you’ve met him.”
“Wow–I’m sure I’d remember him if I had.”
“You would.”
“I don’t know any historians.”
“Yes you do.”
“Who?” I challenged him.
“My dad for starters.”
“Yeah, well he’s hardly going to write a book about bloody banking is he?”
“Why not? He’s a banker.”
“He’s too busy banking or whatever you call it when he runs a bank.”
“Chairing? Managing? Leading?”
“Yeah–that sort of stuff.”
“Writing a book?” continued Simon.
“He’d hardly have time would he?”
“He must have done.”
“How d’you know that?”
“Because it’s his book.”
“What he lent you his copy?”
“No–he wrote the bloody thing–okay.”
“You’re joking?”
“No I’m not–he wrote the book–why d’ya think I’m reading it?”
“Because you’re a banker?”
“You must be joking–it’s as dry as dust a subject as you can find.”
“Oh–so why are you reading it then?”
“He gave me a copy and asked me to let him know what I thought of it.”
“Oh, and what do you think of it?”
“I haven’t actually opened it yet.”
“So you don’t really know if it is that dry, do you?”
“It came with a free bottle of water.”
“Really?”
“No, you daft bitch,” he shook his head–okay, so I’m gullible and a bit dim, especially when I haven’t slept very much.
I yawned and felt like more tears would come but they didn’t until I yawned again my eyes watered and I had to wipe them.
“C’mon, I know just the thing to make you sleep.”
“A good relaxing rub down.”
“I don’t want sex, I already told you that.”
“I wasn’t offering any, I’m still sore from last night,” he said almost causing me to fall off my chair.
“So what’s in it for you?”
“Pleasing my wife, seeing her relax and sleep–knowing she’s enjoying it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Never more so.”
Now I did feel confused; nevertheless, I did go back upstairs with him and stripped off and he did massage me with lavender oil, which was heavenly–apart from the smell, which isn’t my favourite. He was quite correct, I did fall asleep and didn’t hear him get up to see to the kids.
At eleven o’clock, he brought me up a cup of tea and told me he thought I ought to get up now because he was taking us all out for lunch, and I should look like an aristocrat’s wife, especially as his children were making the effort.
I pinched myself quite hard–damn, I bet that’ll bruise now–but he was still standing there holding the cuppa. I hadn’t dreamt it, including the bit about the book, because that was on the bed and it was by pa in law. I must be delirious or crazy.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1436
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I took my time showering and doing my hair, then dressing and doing my makeup–he wanted an aristocrat’s wife–I’ll give him one. I arrived downstairs wearing my best bib and tucker and smelling like a million dollars. Actually, I don’t know what a million dollars would smell like, so I improvised and used some Chanel No 5.
Simon was wearing a smart casual corduroy jacket in burgundy with some plain hopsack trousers. His shirt was open, but it was one of his handmade ones, so it always looks delicious.
The girls were in dresses and cardis and Danny was in his best trousers and shirt, with a zip up jacket. Tom was wearing a suit and Stella and Jenny were also togged up. It seemed like we were all going.
Moments later a minibus–luxury variety turned up and we all piled aboard. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“Wait an’ see,” was all he said, so I sat back and hoped Catherine wouldn’t puke on my best dress. Once we headed into Southsea, I knew or shall we say I was pretty sure where we were going. I wasn’t wrong, and the bus pulled up to the hotel where Simon could safely get staff discount.
We were led to the Green room, which as I’ve mentioned before is a very nice restaurant. The surprise was in being led to the same table at which were already sitting, Henry and Monica–of course the girls abandoned restaurant etiquette and rushed to see them and get a kiss and a hug. Danny followed a little more sedately and those of us carrying babes came last.
We all embraced and kissed. “Henry, Monica, what a lovely surprise,” I said as we seated ourselves with the help of the very attentive waiting staff. Catherine and Puddin’ were put into high chairs.
“My idiot son didn’t tell you I’d arranged this little get together?”
“No, he didn’t.” I looked daggers at Simon who’d pretended it was his idea.
“Are we celebrating something?”
“Yes, I’ve been granted visiting professor status at Edinburgh.”
“Oh wow, congratulations,” I said loudly and he nodded his acceptance of my compliment.
“Visiting prof of what?” asked Stella.
“Banking and banking history–seems like I have two idiot offspring.”
“Does it pay well?” she threw back at him.
“It’s an honorary title and I give one lecture a year.”
“It’s more a question of how much he pays them rather than they pay him,” said Simon trying to get his own back on his father.
“Sounds more like it,” agreed Stella, “Talk about buying degrees and things.”
“I have a degree and a doctoral degree, so I don’t think I have anything to prove.”
“Not in Ancient Babylonian banking methods, you don’t,” quipped Si.
“Is that what your doctoral thesis was in?” I asked Henry.
“A comparison of Babylonian and Mesopotamian banking methods and recording.”
“Gosh, how long did that take to research?”
“Two years–I spent so much time at the British Museum, they thought I was a member of staff.”
“So did you get to read all those clay tablet thingies?” I asked–it was more interesting than reading his book–of that I was pretty sure.
“Not at first, but by the time I finished I was translating them for the museum.”
“Wow, I think that’s amazing, reading something that hasn’t seen the light of day for thousands of years.”
“Yeah, like reading a laundry list,” Simon interjected.
“Most of it is pretty mundane, but it was fascinating to think people all those years ago lived similar lives to us.”
“Yeah, Mercedes Benz did a good line in chariots back then, even had a pocket for carrying your laptop.”
“iPod,” added Stella.
“Excuse my children, a supreme example of what happens when you have a policy of sparing the rod.”
“Huh, the only rod you knew was made of split cane and was used for catching salmon.” Simon was not going to let his father bask in any glory today.
“Talking of salmon, I’ve ordered for everyone–it’s salmon for the main course, with melon starters and lemon and lime sorbet for dessert–nothing too heavy for lunch.”
“Sounds fine by me, Henry,” I tried to keep things civil.
“Creep,” hissed Stella.
“Behave child,” said Henry to his daughter or I’ll disinherit you.”
“You did that last year, Dad,” reminded Simon.
“Did I, oh okay–I’ve reinstated you–I’ll disinherit you again tonight.”
“Such a loving family,” said Monica sighing deeply.
“They’re only playing,” I replied.
“Playing–so why do they use live ammunition?” she said back.
“It’s perfectly safe, Mon, he’s such a lousy shot he couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a shovel,” Simon forgot the human tape recorder was present and she began chanting, ‘cow’s arse.’ Simon buried his head in his hands.
“Hello, little girl,” said the waitress to Puddin’.
Her reply wasn’t rocket science to predict–“Cow’s arse,” she said repeatedly and giggled. The waitress laughed and went off to get her some mashed potato and salmon.
“Here’s to Henry and his new professorship,” I said, raising my glass of champagne.
“Speech, speech,” called Jenny and Simon groaned not to encourage him.
“As dinner is on its way, I shall keep it short. Thank you to all of you for coming to celebrate this day with me. It’s quite a fillip for the bank and I shall try to uphold the great reputation we hold upon the high street...”
As Henry spoke Simon’s mobile rang and to my annoyance he answered it–getting up and walking from the table just as the melon arrived. He came back looking very serious. “Sorry to interrupt, Dad, the Hackney branch has just been attacked and set on fire.”
“You’re joking?”
“I wish,” he replied.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Not as far as we know.”
“That’s one blessing–sorry folks–looks like Simon and I are needed elsewhere.”
“Shouldn’t you eat something first?” Monica advised.
“I’ll have some sandwiches made up while we wait for the helicopter.”
“Can I come too?” asked Trish.
“Not today, Trish, it might get a bit dangerous.”
“Keep safe,” I wished both of them.
“We will, I’ve got a lecture to deliver yet.” Henry said leading Simon off towards the kitchen.
“That’s all we needed, these morons attacking a bank–now the police will be forced to do something.” Monica didn’t sound too impressed by the Metropolitan police.
“I think it’s quite difficult, the hooligans seem to be quite mobile and are using these things to plan and communicate.” I showed my Blackberry–apparently the approved mobile phone of the criminal protesting and looting class.
“I hope this won’t spread to Portsmouth,” noted Jenny.
“I think that’s unlikely–it’s mainly big cities that are being stirred up–London, Birmingham and Manchester.”
“And Bristol,” said Tom reminding everyone he was still there.
“I hope your house is safe, Cathy,” Monica said as she received her melon starter.
“So do I,” I agreed.
“Can we go and see?” Trish never one to miss a trick, floated a question.
“I don’t think it’s likely, sweetheart, it’s well away from the city centre and places like the Horsefair or Park Street are more likely targets.
“Would all the money be safe, Gran, I mean if they set fire to the bank?” Livvie had been obviously thinking about the problem for several minutes.”
“Yes, darling, the vault is pretty well bomb and fireproof, though they’d lose some in the ATMs and the trading floor.”
“The machines in the wall and where most of us go to speak to a bank teller or draw money out.”
“Oh,” said Livvie and we heard a helicopter land on the helipad on the roof.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1437
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Monica and Tom seemed to be getting on well, despite the absence of the two leading men, the rest of us chatted and the meal was a reasonable success–especially in my eyes–I hadn’t had to plan, shop, cook and clear up afterwards.
Two hours later, Simon and Henry returned–just in time to get the bill. They both looked tired and irritable. Simon sat beside me and ordered a stiff brandy, his father asked for the same.
“How bad is it?” I asked knowing that he wouldn’t have been able to tell me, but the conversation had to start somewhere.
“Terrible to bloody awful.”
“Nobody’s hurt though?”
“That is about the only saving grace–we owned the whole block the bank was in. There were half a dozen shops, a dozen flats and maisonette plus some garages. They’ve all gone–just a mouldering heap by now.”
“So people’s homes have gone up in smoke?”
“Yeah, our building, but our tenants homes–all gone.”
“What sort of shops?” asked Stella.
“A pharmacy, an ironmongers, a small Polish food store, a betting shop and a burger joint.” Henry knew his tenants.
“That’s pretty awful, but is it any worse than losing all your personal possessions–your photos, your kid’s toys, your best frock or favourite underwear. Possibly a pet or two–it’s dreadful.”
“Why did they burn it all down, Mummy?” Trish looked perplexed.
“I don’t know, sweetheart, probably a lot of different reasons.”
“Don’t they like you, Daddy, to burn your bank?”
“Probably not, Trish, they see us as undeservingly privileged–born with a silver spoon in our mouths.”
“I wasn’t born with a spoon in my mouth was I, Mummy?”
“No, darling, only Grampa Henry, Daddy and Auntie Stella, could be so described.”
“Wouldn’t it be dangerous for a baby–it could swallow the spoon?” she looked quite concerned.
“It doesn’t mean it literally, Trish, it means born into a wealthy family because in the days when the phrase was coined, ordinary poor people ate with wooden or pewter spoons.”
“What’s putrid?” she asked, “it sounds rotten.”
“Pewter is a metal made from lead and tin, it’s a grey colour.”
“Oh–sounds horrid.”
“No, it isn’t horrid, it’s very old fashioned but in the old days they didn’t have stainless steel and anything else either affected the food or drink or was affected by it, so they came up with pewter which did the trick until something better came along.”
“Poor people couldn’t afford to eat, could they, Mummy?” Livvie was entering the discussion.
“Years ago, even as recently as fifty or sixty years ago, if you were out of work or sick the money you got to help you pay your rent or food bills was very little.” I started a narrative. “Sometimes they received a tiny amount from the parish–the local council or charitable body–or they could even end up in the workhouse.”
“If fey was out of work, how could fey go to a workhouse, Mummy?” Meems was taking an interest.
“The workhouse was a place where people were sent to work for their food and shelter. It was deliberately austere, so the food was little and basic and the work was hard to discourage them from staying.”
“Sounds awful, Mummy,” concluded Livvie.
“Sounds like school,” opined Danny although his grin showed everyone he was joking.
“You could always come to our school,” smirked Billie and I was delighted that Danny didn’t put her down as he could have done. Instead he just said, “All those nuns–no thanks.”
“Nun but the brave,” suggested Trish, should be the school motto.
“Do they sing out of doors?” asked Simon.
“Sing, Daddy?”
“Yes you know–opera and stuff.” I could see where this was going but Trish couldn’t.
“No–why would they sing opera? Woss opera?”
“I just thought it was convent garden,” beamed Simon right over the heads of the children the adults groaned.
Trish still looked perplexed. “I don’t get it, Mummy?”
“Daddy was joking–Covent Garden in London is where they do operas.”
“Oh–wossanopera?”
“Opera is a form of musical theatre, frequently sung in Italian. The singers have very trained voices so they can produce amazing vocalisations.”
Trish looked blank.
“They can sing very high notes and things and hold the note.”
She shook her head.
“Gramps has got some–if you ask him nicely he might play some bits for you.”
Daddy nodded and winked. “No Wagner,” I mimed to him and he groaned.
“You wannopera, you gotopera,” Danny handed her his phone–somehow he’d patched into You-tube and she listened to some on his phone.
“Taxi’ll be here in a minute,” said Simon looking at his watch, which drew a close to the proceedings. We bid goodbye to Henry and Monica and they walked with us to reception which meant all the reception staff became very active, even though we knew they worked at less than half that pace normally. Henry thought it was very funny and suggested the same happens in the bank when they know he’s around.
“How come it doesn’t happen when I visit?” Simon complained.
“It does when I do,” I agreed with Henry.
“Huh–right, I’ll have to sack a few tomorrow–that should get their attention,” Simon asserted.
“It’s Saturday tomorrow, Si.”
“Yeah, we’re open in some branches in the morning–I could go in and read the riot act.”
“I don’t think it’s bank staff who need to be read that,” I considered.
“Well okay, you know what I mean–shake ‘em up a bit.” He paused then merrily called out, “Come on kids, the peasants are revolting,” it didn’t go down terribly well with the reception staff and I noticed some black looks from them. However, the next moment the minibus taxi arrived and we all climbed aboard and set off for home.
By the time we arrived home, I had barely enough space to go and change and get the tea ready. Fortunately, only Simon felt hungry, so I warmed up some curry I had in the freezer and did him some rice. It wasn’t the salmon Henry had promised but the way he tucked into it, he didn’t seem to care. The rest of us had egg and cress sandwiches and a sponge cake I’d made the day before–I added some jam and a bit of whipped cream and that was tea. Needless to say, the children quickly demolished the cake after eating two sandwiches each. I didn’t actually get to sample it, but maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing–I’d had too many spuds with the salmon–so cake wasn’t really something I needed to eat.
While the children played or watched television, I asked Simon what would happen with the damaged bank. “We’ll send in a team to secure any money that’s in the vault–it’s only a large safe, so if the fire was that bad it might all be ashes.
“How much would be in there?”
“Fifty thousand give or take a bit.”
“That’s a lot to lose.”
“Not really, if it has burned we’ll get the money back from the Bank Of England, we hand over the lot with what info we have and their forensic team look it over–it’s amazing what they can deduce from the rubbish. Then they pay us what we agree is there–it’s all recorded.”
“I thought your records would have been burned.”
“No–it gets sent immediately to head office by computer.”
“Oh, so you should get most of it back?”
“Yes, what’s more worrying is how many jobs we’ll have to offer to those whose branch no longer exists.”
“Oh–not so good.”
“That’s the worst bit,” he agreed, “and the bit I hate.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1438
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Simon was pretty wound up with the destruction of the branch of his bank. He’d thought they tried harder than most to play fair with their customers and this was the reward they got.
“I doubt it was customers who burned it down,” I said when we were in bed. He was lying on his back and I was cuddled into him stroking his chest to relax him.
“Yeah–just those scum bags who looted the shops.”
“I think it might be a mistake to generalise–each one of them might have a different reason for doing it.”
“Yeah, well that’d just give me a different excuse for terminating each of the bastards.”
“Then you’d be as bad as they were–look on the bright side–no one was hurt.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right–Mary bloody Poppins.”
“I know something Mary Poppins never did.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“Like this,” I gave him a quick squeeze in the pyjama pants and bit his nipple before rolling over onto my opposite side.
“You bitch,” he squeaked before pinching me on the bum, which caused me to squeal. Our wrestling match ended in something equally tiring but much more enjoyable and I ended up falling asleep very quickly.
The next morning I realised I’d have to change the bed and getting out saw that I already had a bruise on my buttock. Simon spotting my little marker from the previous night offered to kiss it better but instead bit the other cheek–he told me it was Christian to turn the other cheek–before he locked himself in the bathroom, for safety.
It was during my wait to get into the shower that I heard of the tragedy in Birmingham, where three young men had been killed by a driver–possibly deliberately. The news bulletin gave eyewitness accounts and it sounded very like murder–the three victims being part of a group of local residents who were trying to protect local homes and businesses against looters.
When Simon came out of the shower instead of me slapping him for his attack on me, I told him to listen to the radio. “Oh bugger,” was all he said. I left him listening to it while I showered and then fed Catherine before dressing and getting the others up for breakfast.
I offered to go with Simon to see the bank and Jenny and Stella agreed to watch the others with a bit of help from Tom–they were going to help him in the garden–eat all his strawberries, I expect.
So at eight, we set off for Town, Simon with his small brief case and me with my backpack bag and camera. I thought photographs might be useful for the bank to use on its website–before and after–assuming they had some before photos.
We went by train and thence a cab which couldn’t get beyond the end of the road–it was a crime scene after all. However, the police let us enter when Simon told them who he was and I pretended I was part of the damage assessment team–which in some ways I suppose I was.
He was angry and grew angrier as he looked at the fire damage–“They stripped it bare, what did they have to burn the fuckin’ place down for?”
“I don’t know, darling, but it seems that’s what they do.”
“Where were the bloody police?”
“I think that van outside was a police one, so it looks as if they were outnumbered.”
“Well they should have known better–what do I pay all these stupid taxes for if they can’t protect my property and staff.”
“Don’t get upset, it won’t fix anything and just makes me feel sad.” I sniffed.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he put his arm round me, “I’m just angry, I suppose.”
“I understand, darling, but what’s done is done.” His phone rang and he walked off to talk to one of his staff so I busied myself taking photos. The safe had been removed, so I hoped that was by the police or the bank not the looters–if so, just look for some with nasty hernias or a truck with a remote arm.
“They think the money’s safe,” he put his arm round me again.
“Only think?”
“Yeah, they can’t get the safe open–the lock seems to have been damaged in the fire.”
“So if someone had taken it, they may not have been able to open it either.”
We both laughed at the vision of frustrated bank robbers trying unsuccessfully to open the safe.
“What about oxy-acetylene?” I suggested.
“Could set fire to the money inside or any other documents–house deeds and so on we store for safe keeping.”
“How big is the safe then?”
“Quite big.”
“So how did they move it?”
“With a crane and lorry.”
“And how big is this branch?”
“Small to medium–we have bigger ones in the city and in places like Manchester and even Bristol.”
“Yeah, we need somewhere there to keep our seashells and coconuts.”
“You are crazy, missus.”
“Yeah, comes from living with you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Granted.”
“You what?” he stood facing me.
“I thought you’d farted, that’s when you usually say it.”
“Say it?”
“Yeah, pardon.”
He shook his head, “C’mon let’s go before I have an uxorial induced breakdown.”
“Doesn’t the tube go out there?” I teased.
“Probably. Oh shit, too late.”
“Lord Cameron, Lady Cameron,” a thirty something man in a striped open necked shirt and corduroy trousers approached us.
“Jonathon,” acknowledged Simon to the stranger–I’d never seen him before.
“Sorry, Cathy, this is Jonathon Elwood our union shop-steward.” I smiled and nodded, though like Simon I felt anything but happy to see him.
“I hope we’re going to be able to offer temporary jobs in other branches to our staff here?”
“Look, Jon, I’ve left that to the management team to look at–I simply came to see how bad the damage was.” Simon was on the defensive and trying to charm hs way out of things.
“Of course, I’m aware how compassionate a company we are.”
“We had to make those cuts, Jon, and you know it.”
“We still lost two hundred of my members.”
“If we hadn’t done it, you could have lost a whole lot more–I managed to keep all our branches open, most of the other high street banks have closed some, Lloyds are closing hundreds of branches.”
“Moving the investment HQ to Portsmouth cost a hundred jobs.”
“It saved three million in operating costs and thus two hundred jobs. I can move it back if you like and sack another hundred to pay for it.”
“No thanks, Lord Cameron.”
“We’re just going, good bye.” Simon turned me away from his union rep and we walked away while he was still tongue tied.
Out of earshot, I spoke, “You sweated blood over those jobs, if he thinks you enjoyed it, he must be some sort of moron.”
“He’s just doing his job, babes, and I’m trying to do mine.”
“And I love you for it.” I stopped him, stepped in front of him and kissed him.
“Wow, that’s the best bonus I’ve had yet–I wonder if I could get the others to take theirs in kisses?”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1439
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“While we’re up here, anywhere you want to go?”
“What for?”
“I dunno, new outfit or bag–you know things women come to Town for.”
“In the circumstances, I don’t feel comfortable spending unnecessarily when there are people who’ve lost everything.”
“That happens every day, somewhere.”
“But I don’t see it, Simon. When I do see it, I feel it would be somewhat insensitive.”
“Okay, but I did offer.”
“Yes, and I’m very grateful for it.”
“How about we go and find somewhere nice for lunch?”
I wasn’t too sure about that either, but then I wasn’t in training as an ascetic and I knew he’d be hungry–he always is. “Is there somewhere close by?”
“Not quite, ah good, the cab’s still waiting.” We walked back to it and Simon gave instructions to the driver who drove off down roads I’d never seen before. To be honest, I don’t know London that well. Okay, I can get lost in Oxford Street or Trafalgar Square–I did when I went to watch the Tour de France prologue which went round Hyde Park.
We ended up somewhere in the West End, Soho I think, and he paid off the cabby before escorting me down some steps into an Italian restaurant. Given that I usually only snack at lunch, I suspected that I was going to be tempted to eat too much so I’d be sleepy all afternoon. I decided I’d set my boundary and stick to it, Simon could do what he wanted–he would anyway.
He ordered a full meal for himself, I settled for a bowl of minestrone soup and some ciabatta. I drank water; he downed a half carafe of Chianti along with his pasta. Neither of us ordered a sweet, although we did have coffee, mine a latte; his a cappuccino. He got the bill and we took another cab to the station and home. I read the Guardian I’d lugged round with me all the way home, Simon fell asleep and snored. As we were in first class–I usually travel standard–passengers gave me evil looks because I couldn’t shut him up. If they think that was bad, they should try sharing a bed with him when he goes into reverse thrust...
I was relieved when we got back to Portsmouth, although I had a little difficulty in rousing him. However, I did achieve it and we walked–or I walked he staggered back to the car park. “You can drive,” he yawned and passed me the keys. Wow, I get to play with his precious Jaguar.
It wasn’t much of a play, we were home in about twelve minutes just as the clock in the hall was striking half past three. Simon sloped off to the sitting room and zonked on the sofa, while I was left to tell the children all about what we’d seen. I was rather glad I’d taken the photographs, they helped save me lots of difficult descriptions.
Meems in particular, had little concept of a building gutted by fire–where you can look up through charred timbers and masonry to the sky above. I took a couple of photos like that–three storeys of destruction–what a mess and what a smell.
They couldn’t understand that there's quite a bit of soot about the place and that it was still wet from the fire hoses and various foams and things they use to douse the flames. All I could try to say was that the heat was enough to set fire to some of the bricks–which is pretty damn hot.
We then had a discussion on this–none of them believed me. I tried to explain what they were seeing on the computer, that the changes in the colour of the bricks was due to them combusting, but they couldn’t get their heads round that. Wood burns, stone doesn’t.
Then I had a brainwave–I went onto the internet and showed them a volcano–that’s molten rock–which is often on fire–that spews from the business end of it. If it gets hot enough, rock and ergo, brick will burn. I’d forgotten how challenging teaching could be.
Trish of course then went into overdrive talking about all different sorts of volcano. Danny rolled his eyes and sloped off while the girls sat there and listened politely to their sister while being just the tiniest bit bored–okay, bored rigid. I did manage to shut her up by an offer of ice cream, which caused a stampede into the kitchen.
I called up to Danny who couldn’t hear me because he was blasting music–Fleetwood Mac–my CD–and he was damaging his ears to The Chain which they use for the Formula 1 racing on BBC, which he also likes. Strange creatures men and boys, watching noisy machines whizzing round in circles at two hundred miles an hour and saying they enjoy it. I’d rather watch cycling any day or even cricket.
I put some large potatoes to cook in the slow oven as jacket spuds–Meems saw me and licked her lips–“I wuv jacket ’tatoes,” she said then went off to play with her pram.
Tom told me that he’d enjoyed having a group of locusts destroying his strawberry beds. He’d managed to collect just enough for dessert, the rest had been eaten as soon as they were picked and even those he managed to save had been endangered until he’d brought them indoors and shut them in the fridge. I was half gearing myself up for tummy aches and diarrhoea–but thankfully none of that happened.
I made up a tuna in mayonnaise with chopped onion and herbs to go in the potatoes and prepared some salad to go with it. The strawberries I used for a cheesecake, which while not my favourite, was enjoyed by the others. I’d have preferred a flan except I didn’t have a spare flan case and was too lazy to make one.
Simon did wake up after I sent the girls to get him, and he sat and yawned his way through dinner, grumbling about the rabbit food which Tom had started, opining that he, ‘wisnae a dormoose an’ whit wis ’rang wi’ chicken curry?’
I told both the men that they weren’t rabbits or dormice because those creatures didn’t carry the same amount of body fat as the men did, even prior to hibernation. I’d been trying to keep Tom’s weight down a little especially after he had that heart attack earlier on, and Simon was just eating too much and exercising too little.
I suppose in all fairness, neither would say anything to me if I were to accumulate an excess of adipose tissue until they wanted to parade me in front of others–then they’d say something. I was actually in reasonable shape through watching what I ate–it certainly wasn’t through cycling or other exercise–although I did do quite a bit of running about after the children, especially in the holidays.
Tom had borrowed the first of the Harry Potter films from the library, so they all went into the sitting room to watch it with him–except he’d be asleep before the second reel. I checked up on them after I’d cleared up and he was fast asleep which made the children giggle and temporarily woke him.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1440
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“I don’t think I can do this pregnancy bit,” Stephanie sounded distressed on the phone.
“Why not?”
“The sickness to start with, oh bugger here I go again–ring you bac–ugh.”
“Who was that?” asked Stella.
“Stephanie.”
“Oh is she coming over?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Oh, okay–going to feed the brood.”
“Fine, if you’ve got any over put it in a bottle, will you. Milk can fail.”
“Not me, I’m a real gusher.”
“Save your breath, Cathy, they don’t listen anyway,” I said to myself.
I was drinking a cuppa when the phone rang again, assuming it to be Stephanie, I answered it. “Hello? Stephanie?”
“Mrs Cameron?” asked an Indian sounding voice and I assumed it was a cold call for future sales.”
“No, this is Tidal View, cat psychology unit–do you have a psychotic cat?”
“Mrs Cameron, this is New Scotland Yard.”
“Oh,” my heart nearly stopped, “What’s wrong?” I racked my small brain trying to think if any of the kids were out and could they be in trouble. I determined they couldn’t–they were all in waiting for the rain to stop. So it had to be Simon–he was in Portsmouth–why would the Metropolitan police be calling me? It had to be a hoax call.
“Nothing is wrong, we are trying to contact your husband.”
If they were genuine they would know his number. I decided they were a hoax or worse, some sort of scam. I put the phone down. Moments later it rang again–the same voice. “Look if you don’t push off I’ll call the police.”
“Mrs Cameron, I am the police.”
“Well go and catch some criminals then.” I put the phone down again–bloody cheek of these scammers.
I continued ironing the sheets–I didn’t always need to, but I forgot this one was on the line and it got too dry and all creased. The phone rang again and I ignored it, then I heard Stella’s voice.
“Cathy, pick up the bloody phone.”
“Why is it Stephanie?”
“No, it’s the bloody police.”
“I think that’s a scam.”
“This one isn’t–pick up the bloody phone.”
Bugger, I put down the iron careful not to place it on anything that could be damaged by the heat. Reluctantly I picked up the phone, “Hello,” I said aggressively.
“Mrs Cameron,” said the same voice.
“It’s Lady Cameron, actually.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me, Lady Cameron, I need to contact your husband urgently.”
“Well phone his office, he’s got secretaries there who should be able to find him or take a message.”
“They are not answering.”
“Strange–they’re open–it’s a Monday morning, for God’s sake.” I had better things to do than chat to the plod–and I still wasn’t convinced.
“Do you have a mobile number.”
“Yes.”
“Could I have it, please.”
“No.”
“Please don’t be obstructive, Lady Cameron–I could have you arrested.”
“I’m taping this call, if you’re not who you say you are, I’ll contact the genuine police, if you are then making threats will achieve you nothing except an early retirement.”
“If everyone I talk to today is as awkward as you, an early retirement sounds good.”
“Why are you phoning, you usually send someone round.”
“We are greatly understaffed and over taxed.”
“I just paid my tax bill and you think you’ve got troubles.”
“I meant taxed as in over stretched–I don’t have time to send officers on wild goose chases.” He began to sound as if he may be real.
“Who did you say you are?”
“I’m Chief inspector Ranjit Singh.”
“Can you prove that–and I don’t mean that in a trivial way.”
“I could have you arrested, would that convince you?”
“No.”
“Please hurry, Lady Cameron, I am a busy man and have better things to do that play games with you, even if you have a title, too many ordinary people are waiting for me to help them.”
“I can’t give you Simon’s personal phone number, but I will try and contact him to ask him to phone you back if you give me yours.”
“But of course, my number is...” I wrote it down. I was still suspicious. If it was to do with the bank they’d have surely gone through head office which is in the Strand.
I called the local police and asked for a number to Scotland Yard, or more correctly New Scotland Yard, the Irish republicans blew up the old one about a hundred years ago. They needed some reason for answering my query and eventually came back with several numbers for the Met–none were similar to the one Inspector Singh had given me.
I dialled the first one and asked if I could speak to someone in charge. I eventually got a sergeant, who was probably as bored as I was. I explained my situation and he made um noises every so often. “So do you have a Chief Inspector Singh?”
“Dunno, luv, what number did he give you?” I repeated it to him four times. “Don’t sound like one of ours, luv.”
“Well why don’t you call it and tell whoever answers it that impersonating a police officer is a criminal offence?”
“Could do I s’pose, hang on–I’ll put you on ’old if I can remember ’ow t’do it.” I waited while some horrendous rendition of Mozart’s fortieth symphony was butchered over the telephone line. “They rang off, luv–can’t ’elp no more.”
“Sorry if I tired your only functioning brain cell,” I said sarcastically and put the phone down.
I became a little anxious about things but called Jim Beck. “Cathy, how nice to hear from you–what can I do to help?”
I explained my dilemma, he began clicking his computer–“That number is allocated to–oh it’s a holding company–so it definitely ain’t the Yard. You haven’t tried calling Si, have you?”
“Not yet, why?”
“Don’t, they’ve probably got a scanner fairly near and will get his number from your call. I’ve got a number for him, I’ll call him and warn him. Even the land line may not be safe, but don’t use a mobile–they’re so easy to intercept or scan.”
“Thanks, James, I called the police. They were about as much use as a concrete enema.”
“Interesting concept that.”
“What?”
“The plod being useful except for directing traffic.”
“What’s going on, Jim?”
“I have no idea, but I hope you’re going to ask me to find out and offer to pay me for doing so.”
“Usual rates?”
“For you, Cathy, I’d even go straight.”
“Just find out what’s happening and let me know if Simon or anyone else is in any danger.”
“Your wish is my contract, will do.”
“Shouldn’t that be command?”
“In more romantic times perhaps–nowadays, a more commercial approach seems to be the zeitgeist.”
“If I’m paying you, stop chatting me up and get off your arse and do something.”
“Ooh, I like dominant women,” he joked.
“No you don’t–now get to work, or I’ll introduce a penalty clause.”
“As long as David Beckham takes them–I don’t mind.”
“David Beckham, takes the penalties–I think he’s rather nice.”
“He’s got more ink on his body than the front page of the Guardian.”
“So he has.”
“I’m going,” I said and put the phone down–I then wondered about who this latest creep was. He definitely sounded Indian, but that could have been a ruse, if James was right–whoever this person was–or his friends are–they could be quite hi tech villains. I sat and thought about it–normally, I’d have called Si on his mobile and given them the number accidentally. I was amazed that I’d smelt a rat and didn’t.
The phone rang again. I picked it up and said loudly, “Stop calling me you creep.”
“Oh, Cathy, “ wailed Sephanie’s voice and she burst into tears. Oh bugger.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1441
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Stephanie eventually stopped crying and I invited her round–she was on leave apparently. She’d have to cry on my shoulder while I did the ironing–I suppose it would mean I wouldn’t have put water in the iron if she wept all over the laundry. See, Sagittarians are optimists, though quite why she’s coming to see me is confusing–it’s to do with the pregnancy–I’ve never been pregnant, gee whizz. Oh well, I suppose I can make her cups of tea and boil lots of water–no–that’s what they do in all the films when someone’s having a baby–dunno what for–I mean, have you ever tried boiled baby–sounds revolting.
By the time she’d got her act together and got to us, I was making lunch–I’d pretty well finished the ironing–being pressed for time–you’re supposed to laugh or groan, don’t care which–I did it quickly, meaning I didn’t do anything which was necessary, like knickers and things. I had one friend who used to iron her bras–I know, well mine usually have that anti-slip stuff on the straps and things and probably wouldn’t like being ironed–let alone the mess you’d get if it melted on the bloody iron–doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Stephanie’s here, Cathy,” called Jenny and she preceded her into the kitchen with an armful of bedding.
“Hi Steph, that’s not more washing is it?”
“Yes, Livvie spilt squash all over her quilt.”
“I only just finished the last lot,” I grumbled.
“That’s it, I’m getting an abortion.” Stephanie turned and walked back towards the front door. I had to run after her then rush back because the croutons I was making were beginning to char rather than brown. She followed me back then smelling the food, she rushed off to the cloakroom. It wasn’t turning out to be a good day–anything but.
Stephanie sat in the sitting room–what else would you do there? Good job we don’t have a drawing room–none of us are any good at art–I’m joking of course, we’re all brilliant, I draw the curtains twice a day. Back to real life–I fed the children and other adults present except Stephanie with soup, bread and croutons. I had some which I gobbled down and Stephanie had some toast and tea. I spent an hour listening to her worries and concerns over the pregnancy and birth, and worse raising a child.
“I thought you were an expert on child behaviour?”
“Other people’s, yes I am.”
“Well won’t yours be similar if not the same?”
“God, I hope not–I deal with psychotic children whose major problem is their neurotic parents, usually but not exclusively mother.”
“That’s put me in my place,” I observed.
“No–it wasn’t you I was meaning–of all the parents I meet, you must be one of the sanest.”
“God help the others then.”
She laughed at me, “You’ve been such a good friend to me, Cathy.”
“I’d have thought it was the other way round–you sort out my kids and I feed you–seems a bargain from my point of view.”
“No, I don’t have many friends, you’re always ready to listen without judgement or even without offering advice. You should train as a therapist.”
“I did, I have my licence.”
“You do, when?”
“Oh for a few years now–the only stipulation is that my clients must all be dormice.”
“You silly fool,” she laughed and her whole countenance brightened up.
“I’d have thought you’d have loads of friends,” I offered.
“Nah, once they discover I’m a psychiatrist they either want free therapy or run away. No you’re about the only woman I can call my friend.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s meant as one.”
“More tea?”
“Please, my tummy feels better now.”
I rose to put the kettle on and the doorbell went, “Someone smelling the teapot, I expect,” I said walking towards the door.
“Good afternoon, I am Chief Inspector Ranjit Singh of Scotland Yard, this is Detective sergeant Brice.” My stomach flipped. “I’m looking for Lady Cameron.”
“I am she, do you have identification?”
He looked aghast but fished into his breast pocket to show me his warrant card as did his sergeant. It looked alright, but then I’ve hardly examined one before so they could be forgeries.
“Did you phone this morning?”
“Why should I do that?”
“I don’t know, but someone using your name called wanting to speak with my husband, or so he said.”
“And did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Speak with your husband?”
“I have no idea, but if he did it would surprise me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because we rumbled him.” He asked how and I explained about calling the local plod and then his lot. “They’ve never heard of you at the Met HQ.”
“That does not surprise me, dear lady.”
“Don’t tell me, last bastion of imperialism?”
“On the contrary, I find everyone very helpful, perhaps you’re confusing us with the House of Commons or the Foreign and Colonial Office?”
I stood and gold-fished.
“May we come in?” he asked and I let him and his sidekick through the door and into the dining room. “A very lovely house.”
“Thank you, there should be about two million children charging about the place creating mayhem–excuse me a moment.” I went in search of assorted brats and found them all–well the mobile ones–sitting with Stephanie who was reading to them. I returned to the dining room and offered our intrepid detectives–I presume they’re intrepid–detectives are suppose to be, aren’t they?
So before any further ado, I made teas for all who seemed to want them, left Stephanie babysitting the whole litter, including Puddin’–her with the expanding vocabulary–and the bigger ones, even Danny–and went to chat with the coppers in the dining room.
I gave the Indian Inspector the number his imposter had offered me and he had his sergeant check it out. They came up with the same result as Jim, only slower. I then asked him why he had come to see me.
“Have you spoken with your husband today?” he replied.
“At breakfast, why?”
“No one has seen him since he left for work–he didn’t arrive there, neither did the safe which was recovered from the bank in Hackney–hence my involvement and not your local force.”
“You’ve checked with his HQ on the Strand?”
“We even spoke personally to Lord Henry Cameron–it seems your husband has disappeared, and we think the coincidence of the safe also disappearing into thin air is too much for pure serendipity.”
“We went up to the site of the rioting and the burnt out buildings–the safe had gone then, and I’m sure Simon spoke to someone to ensure it had arrived where it was supposed to.”
“You are sure of this?”
“No–it’s recollection–I was far more interested in taking photographs and then we were interrupted by some trade union rep for the bank, so we left very shortly afterwards.”
“I see. Do you remember the name of this man?”
“No–but Simon knew him so I assume he was kosher.”
“So he is Jewish?”
“No, I was using it as a slang term–you know–bona fide.”
“Ah, you know Latin?”
“Some, but I’m not implying he was an ancient Roman.”
“No–I understand perfectly.”
“So Simon has just completely vanished–presumed kidnapped?”
“We might assume so, it is possible that he has gone somewhere and forgotten to tell anyone, or been taken ill or had some other mishap, perhaps his car has broken down.”
“If it had he’d have called his office and let me know.”
“You seem to be taking this very calmly, Lady Cameron.”
“Don’t be fooled by appearances–my tummy is churning like a butter factory–it’s happened before but then I got him back.”
“You sound disappointed by his recovery?”
“No–I went and found him and got him back–you lot were worse than quicksand at a beach volleyball tournament.”
“You have a very imaginative turn of phrase.”
“Comes of working with dormice–they have huge vocabularies.”
“Do they now? I didn’t know.”
“Of course they don’t–they’re dumb-fuckers like my idiot husband, what’s he got into now?”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1442
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The chief inspector was shocked by my outburst–mind you so was I, my language is usually more delicate. “Does your husband know you have such a low opinion of him?”
“I actually have a very high opinion of him.”
“So why were you so rude about him?”
“Why aren’t you out looking for him instead of sitting there drinking tea?”
“Lady Cameron, we had to establish some facts about the case.”
“What facts? There aren’t any other than Simon is apparently missing, are there?”
“Even that needed to be checked out–you seem unmoved by the news, yet you say you love your husband.”
“I’m not going to burst into tears in front of strangers, am I? Now please go and find him and do let me know.”
“There is something you are not telling me, isn’t there?”
“No–I don’t think so–I’m just waiting for you to leave so I can get the Batmobile out and go and look for him.”
“What is this Batmobile?” asked the senior detective and I had that feeling you get when a throwaway line becomes the subject of a discussion.
“It’s from the film, Batman, sir, it’s the rocket car Batman uses.”
“Who is this Batman?” asked the inspector and I began to wonder if he was the right man for the job.
“He’s a comic book crime fighter, sir, that they’ve made films of, you know, like Superman,” rattled on his minion.
“Superman–I’m aware there is a play by George Bernard Shaw about Man and Superman, or something of that name.”
“No sir, this is based on an American comic book character.”
“You learn something every day, I shall take my leave, Lady Batwoman.” He gave a little bow and followed his sergeant back to the car, who was still trying to explain who Superman was, I hope they don’t get on to X-men.
As soon as they were gone I called Jim. He had no further news other than he was sure Simon was somewhere in the Portsmouth area. He admitted it was more of a hunch than based on any information. He had tried calling Simon’s Blackberry and there was no answer.
I called Henry. He too had heard nothing other than they were looking for Simon. I then decided to drop my bombshell, which was pure bluff. “Okay, what was in that safe?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, no one has possibly kidnapped Simon for a measly fifty grand.”
“You’d be surprised how little needs to be on offer for criminals to do stupid things.”
“I’d be surprised if there is anyone stupid enough to mix it with Special Branch or MI5, which is who would get called out if a leading banker disappears, and is why no one at the Met seems to know him–he is Special Branch, isn’t he, our Inspector Sing?”
“Yes, alright, he is–what of it?”
“I’ll ask again, what’s in that safe apart from money?”
“Documents.”
“Documents? What sort of documents?”
“I can’t tell you that over an unsecured line.”
“You’d sacrifice your son’s life for a piece of paper?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cathy, I have a meeting to attend, goodbye.” He rang off.
I wondered what sort of documents people leave with banks–house deeds, wills, stocks and shares, anything I suppose that’s small enough to keep in a safe and sufficiently valuable to pay for its storage because none of it is free.
I was washing up the cups while I cogitated and saw Jim’s Porsche come up the drive. Stephanie came out to the kitchen–“Your kids are such good fun, you know.”
“You haven’t been reading to them all this time, have you?” I’d forgotten she was there.
“No, we’ve been playing Monopoly.”
“Did Trish win?”
“Um–yes–why?”
“She always does, she beats Simon, and he’s like a psycho when games have money in them, even toy money.”
“Well she is quite clever, but she says you beat her last time.”
“Only because I cheated.”
“Cathy, that is dreadful–how did you do it?”
“I learned how to roll the dice so I knew which numbers would come up and I avoided her hotels.”
“You can cheat rolling the dice?”
“Yes, look, can you stay a bit longer and help Jenny and Stella with the kids–I have to go out–it’s rather urgent.”
“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“Yes, Simon has disappeared–don’t tell the children.”
“Who’s the stud with the Porsche?”
“He’s gay, Stephanie.”
“Bugger me,” she said.
“He might if you ask him nicely,” I smirked and she gave a look that would kill a fully grown elephant. Fortunately, I’m not an elephant.
I grabbed my bag and jacket and went out to meet Jim by the back door. “Where are we going?” he asked as I walked towards his car.
“The safe contains documents–it’s not the money.”
“The plans for the Olympic stadium, so the rumour goes.”
“Why are those valuable?”
“It includes the data on the security measures–wiring, passwords, number codes–all sorts of things.”
“What are they doing in one of our banks in Hackney of all places?”
“The word is, that one of the project managers is a friend of the branch manager who agreed to take them for safe keeping every night.”
I groaned.
“Well it’s better than having them taken from his home, which would be less well protected.”
“Why couldn’t they leave them in the office?”
“They need to check things like security numbers and codes fairly regularly–they change them every day or week or some such routine, using a plan–probably a list of randomly generated numbers.”
I groaned again.
“Oh it gets better–there’s some memory sticks with the whole lot on, plus financial data and names and addresses of all sorts of people.”
“In that safe?”
“So they say.”
“And it just so happens the riot happened outside–what a coincidence?”
“The word is that it was no coincidence–the people with a need to acquire it–got in rent a mob, who stirred up the local shitheads–and a few hours later the bank mysteriously catches fire.”
“Are you telling me the riot was deliberate to get that safe?”
“Yes.”
“So where does Simon fit into all this?”
“That I’m not sure of, I suspect either he knows the code to open the safe or they’ve got him hostage and want the bank to swap the codes for him.”
“They’d never do that? The government would be involved and they never give in to villains or terrorists. What am I saying? That’s my Simon out there. C’mon, Jim, we’ve got to do something.”
“Like what?”
“Go and see the branch manager from Hackney.”
“I thought of that–he’s in protective custody, as are his family.”
“How big is this safe?” I asked, I had no idea.
“It’s about the size of a large wardrobe, about two metres high by a couple wide and deep. It weighs several tons.”
“Who is supposed to have moved it?”
“Oh the firm who did that have been gone over by the plod, good and proper. One of their senior manager’s family was held hostage while they moved the thing, only to lose it en route to the bank. Simon was in overall control of that.”
“No wonder he and Henry flew over the riots and then went up there with me the next day.”
“He was in charge of its removal.”
“Well, I can’t see a bloke with a sack truck pinching it, so it needs a crane and somewhere with either the codes or a good cutting device to get into it and while they’re doing this, the security people would be changing everything at the stadium. It would cease to be useful to an enemy or terrorist.”
“Sorry, stick to dormice, Cathy. The plans are comprehensive, so anyone with the right sort of engineering background could decide just where to explode a bomb or crash a truck or plane to cause maximum damage and mayhem. They might have to change the Olympic venue.”
“They can’t do that, Cavendish just won the pre-Olympic road race.”
“There’s more to life than bike racing, Cathy.”
“You sound like Maddy Peters.”
“Who the hell is Maddy Peters?”
“A girl in a story whose friend is a passionate bike racer.”
“Duh!”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1443
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“Sometimes I don’t believe you, Cathy Cameron. Your husband has possibly been abducted and you’re talking about some fictional character.”
“Shush, my kids think she’s real.”
“Who?”
“Maddy Peters.”
“It’s a kid’s book?”
“No, but it’s suitable for children. I’ll bet you’ve read the Harry Potter saga.”
“What’s that got to do with anything, I’m hardly quoting Hermione every five seconds am I?”
“Perhaps it would help if you did.”
He huffed and puffed as he got in the car and started it. “Where to, ma’am?”
“Just wait a moment will you.” I tried to tune into Simon, but the blue light wasn’t there. I was sure he was alive but that was all.”
“This would be a whole lot easier if he had a tracker on his car,” Jim sighed and I turned and kissed him. “What’s that for?”
“He has got a tracker–after mine was stolen, he had them put on all the cars, including Julie’s Smart car.”
“Who’s the tracking agent.”
“Hang on it’s on my phone.” I looked it up, called the company and they ran their software, they gave me the coordinates and Jim put them into his sat nav.
“I’m surprised the police didn’t do this,” he said as he floored the accelerator and we screamed out of the driveway.
“Who’s to say they didn’t?”
“So why interview you?”
“You don’t think they’d leave him dangling out there on his own do you?”
“Hmm, they might have interviewed you to make it look like they were going through the motions–and then strike.”
“This is the police we’re talking about?”
“Hush a second–can you hear it?” Jim silenced me. There was the distinctive drone of a helicopter. “I think he could be following us. Hold on, I’ll do a quick detour.”
Jim suddenly drove the car into a multi-storey car park and we went round and about then out through the exit, which cost me two pounds. In the films they manage to avoid paying without having the roof of their car ripped off.
We came out of a different side of the building–the helicopter was hovering above it. “They’re following us, now are they goodies or baddies?”
“It’s not the copper chopper,” I said having seen that several times.
“So they might be following us by sight, no thermal imaging etcetera. Hmm, hold on tight.”
For the next ten minutes, Jim drove like a madman–I mean the certifiable sort, round roundabouts the wrong way, we jumped two red lights and headed for the dock area.
“Of course, there’s no guarantee than Simon is actually with his car, is there?” he asked out loud.
“He’ll be with it unless forcibly removed from it. The first night he had it he wanted to bring it to bed with him.”
Jim chuckled, “Know the feeling–if I get really fed up–sometimes I just take this out for a spin–occasionally, I’ve been known to sleep in her.”
“You men are nuts–I mean if I fell asleep on my favourite bike–I’d fall off.”
“You mean you prefer your push bike to that piece of German engineering parked in your drive?”
“Yes–why?”
“And you said I was nuts–compared to you, I’m the sanest person I know.”
“I have it on good authority that I am sane too; how many people do you know anyway?”
“Look, missus, while we’re arguing, Simon may be being tortured or being given a truth drug.”
“That won’t work on him,” I said.
“How d’you know–they can’t train you against those.”
“They can, remember he’s a banker, he lies for England.”
“I thought he was Scots?”
“He is, but his father does it for them.”
“Oh,” he smirked, “You’re something else aren’t you?”
“Yeah, a woman, I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“Yes, very funny–nearly there, and we seem to have lost the helicopter.” He pulled up in a yard belonging to a warehouse and pulled out a tray from under his seat, from which he took an automatic pistol–which he loaded and placed in the back of his trousers, his jacket covering it from behind.
“Do we really need that–you know I don’t like guns.”
“I sincerely hope our friends feel the same way, in which case, I’ll save on the cartridges. The place we want is over there.” He indicated a yard full of shipping containers.
“We haven’t got to search all of those have we?” To my eye it looked as if there were hundreds of them.
“No, only the ones on the bottom.”
“Why those ones?”
“They’re hiding a car in one, remember?”
“True,” I hadn’t thought of that. “D’you think the safe is in the same container?”
“Could be, there’s so much noise going on that you could practically have a brass band practice in one of these and no one would pay any attention.” There was a background noise of machinery and engines of lorries and trucks.
We managed to get past the security man on the gate and began walking up and down the rows of containers. “Oh well, one good thing,” Jim said loudly just above the din.
“What’s that?”
“If it had been Southampton, we could have been here for weeks.”
Southampton is a container port with thousands of the metal boxes stacked several storeys high.
“This used to be part of the naval base until the Luftwaffe found it, seems they could prime some of their bombs–flattened the lot–didn’t find half the people who worked here.”
I shivered despite the fact that it was supposed to be August and summer time.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked obviously seeing me shiver.
“Dunno–someone walked on my grave.” I’d had a strange chill run right up my spine.
“Hush,” he placed his finger on my lips, then pointed at the container we just passed. He placed a small magnet thing on the side of it and screwed an earphone into his right ear. How he could hear anything with all the noise, goodness only knows but he finally decided that there was nothing in there of interest to us.
“What was all that about?”
“Oh–just playing a hunch, sometimes women are like cats–they sense things–more than men do at least–we’re like blocks of wood in the sensitivity stakes.”
“I had noticed,” I smiled back at him.
“Look out,” he pushed me to one side as shot rang out. He dodged behind a container. “Go back to the car and call the plod, tell them what’s happening and get some reinforcements down here.”
“What about you?” I asked anxiously.
“I’ll try and make sure no one leaves.”
“Don’t scratch Simon or his precious car, will you?”
“Here,” he threw me his keys, “call the plod, but if I come running, get that car ready to go and quick.”
“I’ll put the roof down, shall I?”
“Not yet–it gets dusty if you do that.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready to go and quickly–it’s an adverb.”
“What is?”
“Quickly, it describes how we shall go–which is a verb.”
“Just go,” he said shaking his head. I ran back to the car and dialled nine nine nine. I told the police what was happening and they promised to come as soon as they could. I repeated that we’d been shot at, and they told us it would definitely be today they would call.
Once in the car, I adjusted the seat and mirror and started the engine–it purred into life. I liked this car–but then you knew that anyway–however, it’s not really suitable for half a dozen kids.
I was sitting there watching across to the container yard when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, someone was walking up behind the car holding something that looked suspiciously like a gun. I waited until he was nearly at me and threw it into reverse, running him down in the process. I drove forwards and jumped out, he was lying on the ground the gun just beyond his grasp. I picked it up and pointed it at him.
“You have a choice, you can tell me where my husband is and also the missing safe or I can shoot you, or if you prefer, I can reverse the car over you and crush you from the feet upwards–yes, I’ll do that–never mind my husband–I’ll find him anyway–but I’ll squash you first.”
I hoped I sounded like a total psycho–he acted like I did, and when I got into the car he screamed at me to stop. I went back a yard first, he was really yelling then. He couldn’t move so the initial impact had hurt him or he was a very good actor.
I got out of the car and walked up to him, still brandishing the gun–I think I was pointing it in the right direction–“Are you going to tell me?”
“Yes, okay.” He paused and I pretended to ease the trigger. A shot rang out and he fell back and shuddered, then blood began pouring from his chest. I jumped and looked at my gun–I hadn’t shot him–oh poo. Another shot rang out and I could see a man with a rifle standing on a bank of stacked containers. I went to run round the car for cover and a different pop happened and the man with the rifle fell backwards dropping his gun. I got back in the car and turned it round–if Jim came running, he’d have about two milliseconds to get in before I went from nought to sixty in about four seconds–sod global warming.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1444
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I sat in the Boxster and waited, I could hear the odd pop of gunfire and finally, sirens. Up above appeared the police helicopter, and the sirens came closer. Jim appeared running like hell, he literally jumped in the car and I floored the gas, almost colliding with a couple of police cars as they sped the other way.
“Why the emergency escape?” I asked him as we slowed down some half a mile from the trouble. More sirens sounded behind us, the police we having a real party. We could still see the helicopter circling over the yard.
“Some of the goons had outflanked me and they weren’t terribly friendly.”
“What happens if they shoot the helicopter down?” I asked aware that they had quite powerful guns.
“It’ll make quite a bang when it hits the deck.”
“Don’t they take evasive action?”
“Probably, the main use is to direct the cops to pick off all the villains.”
“All? How many are there?”
“About four, I think–I got one, so there were five before.”
“Six, I had one down and his friend with the rifle shot him–the one you got.”
“No, I didn’t shoot him, I missed him, I shot one of those who tried to come up behind me.”
“So who shot the guy with the rifle?”
“Someone with another rifle and a very good aim.”
A large black car pulled across in front of us and I had to brake hard to avoid hitting it. Two men jumped out both wearing fatigues like the police have but with no badges on them. “Get out of the car,” they said with menace. We obeyed because the car pulled across behind us tended to mean we weren’t going anywhere.
We were marched across to the large car in front of us, “Ah, Lady Cameron, I knew you were holding back on me.”
“Inspector Singh, how nice, I held nothing back from you, however, you held loads back from me.”
“The privilege of my job, alas.”
“Did you know where Simon was?”
“Not exactly.”
“Have you rescued him yet?”
“It’s a work in progress.”
“No, it’s the plans you want isn’t it?”
“What do you know of plans?”
“Enough.”
“I think I must ask you both to get in the car.”
“I think I must decline, I want to check my husband is alright.” Just then one of the men in fatigues went to grab me, I sidestepped him and kicked him in the chest, he flew backwards landing on his colleague. Jim jumped in the Porsche–the roof was now down and I was only a couple of steps behind him. Somehow he managed to steer it past the two blocking cars and we sped back to the gunfight at the OK corral.
“They let us go, didn’t they?” I said to Jim as he parked the car in a yard across the road.
“Probably, but it explains your sharpshooter.”
“How’s that?”
“They’re paramilitary police.”
“What like redcaps?”
“No, they’re just military police, these guys are like the police SAS.”
“Oh, so how come they let me deck one of them?”
“Maybe they’re playing us like you do a trout.”
“I thought that was a quintet by Schubert.”
“That education was wasted on you, wasn’t it?”
“Probably, just an ignorant hayseed at heart,” I sighed.
“Yeah, sure you are, a very wealthy hayseed, though.”
“So–I like quality hay.”
“Keep back,” shouted a copper–this one was in uniform with a bullet proof vest on.
“My husband is in there somewhere.”
A copper with lots of bits of metal on his shoulders came up, “And who are you?”
“Catherine Cameron, who are you?”
“Chief Inspector Willis–now please leave! This is an unsecured area.”
“Have you found my husband yet?”
“We haven’t done a search yet, there might still be gunmen there.”
“Can’t your helicopter tell you that?”
“The helicopter had to withdraw.”
“Who are the guys in fatigues running about the place?”
“I have no idea–they’re not police.”
“Oh, I just wondered.”
He spoke into his radio, “Okay begin the sweep.”
“Can we help?”
“Yes by keeping out of the way.”
“He’s ex Commandos and I lived in Bristol for a number of years.”
“Lady, I don’t care if you fought in the Boer War, you’re keeping out of my way or I’ll have you arrested–is that clear?”
“My great grandfather probably fought in the Boer war.”
“I don’t care if your great Aunt Nellie did, stay here or I’ll arrest you.”
“You wouldn’t have arrested my great aunt Nellie–she’d have brained you with her brolly.”
“Okay, you’ve been warned, Catherine Cameron, I’m arrest...”
“Um–there’s a bloke behind you with a gun.”
“This isn’t a panto.”
“No, and he’s not the Jolly Green Giant.”
Jim stepped away his hands in the air and I did the same. “You won’t fool me with that old trick.”
I smiled but kept my arms in the air. When he noticed his officers dropping their weapons and raising their arms he turned round. “Who the hell are you?”
“Okay, copper all the guns on the ground, now handcuff yourselves together.”
“Put the gun down, sonny, you can’t escape–the area is surrounded.”
“You gonna argue with this?”
“That’s an M60, I doubt your flak jacket would stop those rounds,” Jim offered advice to the inspector. “That’s a big gun.”
I regarded the man carrying it, he was huge about six foot six inches, nearly a foot taller than I, and probably double my weight, but it wasn’t fat–this bloke kept himself in shape.
“I know what it is,” the inspector answered Jim, “Look, you won’t get away, just put the gun down–there’s a good man.”
“Do as I tell you or you’re all dead.” I looked at the gun, he had a small belt of bullets on it, enough to shoot all of us twice over. Why didn’t I go home for a change of knickers–I was beginning to feel I might need them.
“You’re making an awful mistake, put the gun down.” The inspector sounded as if he had a death wish.
“Next thing you say is your farewells–‘cos you’re gonna die if you open that big mouth again.”
The colour drained from the policeman’s face and he capitulated and dropped his pistol on the ground. He then handcuffed himself to his colleagues and they handcuffed themselves to a post. They wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. Jim was made to join them, which left little ol’ me.
“Hey, bitch, can you drive?”
“Yes,” I said feeling myself increasingly in need of those spare knickers.
“You’re gonna drive me in that,” he nodded to the big police Range Rover. At least my practice with the Cayenne would stand me in good stead, what really worried me was that they could hardly allow someone to run about the place with a rather large gun and if they took him out, I could cop it as well.
“Okay, bitch, get in the car, I’m gonna be right behind you, with little Tommy here. An’ you,” he indicated the inspector, “tell that chopper to stay away or I’ll shoot it down.” With that gun, he might well be able to do so.
I sat in the car and my knickers felt damp round the gusset–I hoped it was only sweat. “Okay, bitch drive,” he said getting into the back seat of the car right behind me.
I decided there and then, that no matter how much he apologised later, I’d never invite him to a dinner party.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1445
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My whole body felt suddenly very sensitive, perhaps waiting for a bullet through the head or spine. I was very aware of the sunshine streaming through the windows of the car despite the tinting. I was stealing a police car and had a lunatic sitting behind me with a rather large machine gun. There was no way they could let him loose on the streets–he could create mayhem–however, I had a feeling I wouldn’t enjoy how they stopped him. Which meant one thing–I had to stop him first.
I still had a pistol stuck down the rear of my now sweaty trousers and just to emphasis this point a rivulet of salty water ran down my back and under the gun, which I could feel poking into my damp back. I could feel my bra sticking to my chest and under my breasts. My brain was working at a hundred miles a second but there seemed no easy answer–except that whatever happened, my existence in this world was going to end quite shortly.
I wasn’t going to dwell upon it, it stopped me thinking how I could minimise the numbers of other people who might end up sharing my fate. Oh well, everything has to end one day–might as well be today as any other–I’ve achieved more than I ever thought possible and known a happiness beyond anything I could have envisaged in my wildest dreams–yeah, today could be a good day to die.
Then I thought about Simon–was he safe? Would anyone else bring my children up as I’d intended to do, and what affect would my demise have upon them and the others in my family? I felt maudlin for a second then decided I was actually angry.
“Drive, bitch,” urged my unwanted companion.
“I have a name, you know,” I spat back.
He laughed out loud, “Like I care.”
“Sod you, I’m not playing this game you muscle-bound lunatic.” I went to get out of the car.
“If you don’t drive this car, I’m gonna shoot all of them and then you.”
“You can’t drive, can you?” I said, and laughed. I felt my life was only seconds from ending and it gave me a sort of bravado.
“Drive, bitch,” he said loudly, “Or I’ll kill you first.”
“Then what’ll you do? It’s a long walk from anywhere to here.”
“You won’t care, you’ll be dead, bitch.”
“If you call me that once more I’m going to get very angry and then you’ll be sorry.”
He roared with laughter and the car shook gently. I could see that the problem with his gun was that it had to be stuck out of a side window, it was too long to manoeuvre in the car.
“Bitch, I am gonna kill you,” He said very menacingly in a monotone.
“Maybe not,” I turned round and pulling the pistol from my trousers pointed at him. His reaction was to laugh, “Call that a gun?” he laughed and with a sudden movement he slapped it out of my hand. “Now you’re gonna die.”
My head was spinning–it certainly looked as if my luck had finally run out. Then he lurched forwards there was a loud bang and he stopped as blood and brains flew everywhere. He slumped backwards onto the seat, I grabbed the pistol and jumped from the car. One of the men in fatigues walked up and took the gun from my unresisting hand. He was carrying a rifle in his other hand. “Thanks for keeping him busy until I could get in a shot.”
The handcuffed coppers were releasing themselves and I stood there hyperventilating, then was violently sick. Two of the police were grumbling about the mess in their car. Someone had just died violently and they were worried about a bit of blood–okay, lots of blood. Bugger–I was covered in it too.
Jim walked over to me and I fell into his arms and began to sob. “It’s okay,” he said comforting me. “You were so brave–I am so proud of you.”
“I wasn’t brave–I couldn’t find the ignition switch,” I sobbed, and he laughed. “It’s not funny,” I protested.
“No, ’course not,” then he laughed again and I laughed as well.
He wiped the blood and goo off my face with a cloth and bottle of water he kept in his car. I agreed to visit the police station later to give a statement, then wandered off to the yard with all the containers. Jim followed me. “He’s not here.”
“How d’you know?”
“They searched it after the shooting finished.”
“How come they didn’t see muscles and his pea shooter?”
“Good point.” We both began walking and calling Simon.
After about quarter of an hour we’d walked to the opposite end of the yard and we began calling again. I felt so despondent, I’d really hoped we’d find him alive and well but as we walked back and fore along the lines of containers I began to think it got less and less likely.
I called, “Simon,” one last time and thought I heard a banging noise. It was probably from the industrial site echoing and Jim was wanting to get me home so he could get himself back to his office and his high-tech gizmos.
I yelled again and once more heard the bumping. It was coming from a container stacked three high and from the top one. I called again and the bumping responded and this time Jim heard it. “How on earth do we get up there?” I asked, because there was no way I could climb it.
“Stay here, I’ll get help.” With that he ran off, I shouted to Simon that we were trying to organise a rescue and he banged back, presumably to say he understood or to hurry up. Jim came running back with two uniformed policemen. They appraised the situation and went off, telling us both to stay there. Jim and I chatted, and called to Simon–there wasn’t much else we could do.
Suddenly a large motor started up and a crane thing started moving towards us making quite a lot of noise. A clamp thing was secured to the two ends of the container–I hoped we had the right one–and while we were moved out of the way–it picked up the large metal box as if it were a tin can and then lowered it down to the ground.
It took a further five or ten minutes as the locks were forced with crowbars and finally the doors were thrown open–inside it seemed to be filled with boxes and for one horrible moment I thought we had got the wrong one and my stomach did somersaults. Then banging emitted from within and we started to lift the boxes out–they were just a facade to hide Simon, who was sitting on the floor of the thing his hands behind his back trussed up with cable ties and his ankles similarly fixed, duct tape was across his mouth.
As soon as I saw him, I dashed in and hugged him, sobbing all over him. I pulled the tape off and he shouted–he wouldn’t need to shave those bits for a few days. “We couldn’t find you,” I sobbed.
“I’m so glad you did, can you get these things off my hands and feet, I’m bursting for a pee?”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1446
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We got back to the house quite late. Simon was physically well, a little dehydrated and mentally, he seemed to cope with being abducted very well. He’d never felt they were going to harm him, which I found odd as they were carrying guns and had shot someone–and the guy whose brains had stained my jacket–was, I thought, capable of pretty well anything nasty to achieve his ends.
We were all debriefed and Jim somehow managed to evade being asked how he owned a hand gun when they were illegal in private ownership. He also contrived to hide it, so they didn’t get to confiscate it. The one I’d had was taken and I was quite happy for it to go. After all, it wasn’t mine, although its previous owner had no further use for it.
Inspector Singh led the questioning but avoided giving me any answers about who these people were–the bad guys. To me they’d all appeared to be Anglo Saxon sorts, but that didn’t mean they were locals.
The safe had been recovered, but they’d managed to open it and take some of the contents–so the case was still very much live. Simon told me on the way home that they’d taken the memory stick, which wasn’t recovered from any of the bodies, so either they’d passed it on to an accomplice or it was loose in the yard somewhere. The police were out in force looking for it, so I heard. Good to hear my taxes are being well spent.
We snuggled down in bed together and I drifted off to sleep in his arms, waking myself up with a start when I dreamt the bloke with the gun was there. I woke up sweating and feeling quite sick–having to go to the loo to regurgitate my supper.
I got up from the loo, turned and seeing a pair of male legs, screamed my head off. It was Simon of course–in his underpants and tee shirt–looking very sleepy until I screamed. Of course, I felt extremely stupid and asked him why he hadn’t spoken instead of just creeping up behind me. He told me he had spoken but I was too busy barffing to hear him.
Danny came rushing in moments later, and Tom hobbled along–one slipper on, one in his hand. Stella and Jenny either slept though it or stayed where they were. I told Danny I’d had a bad dream about the police thing that day, and he accepted it and went back to bed. Tom went off to make himself a nightcap–to help him sleep–natch. Simon asked if I’d like a drink–I asked for tea, then realised he’d meant a brandy, which I didn’t want.
We ended up down in the kitchen drinking tea at two in the morning, and sharing our feelings about the experiences we’d had. “It’s a good job that copper shot that bloke.”
“Which bloke?”
“The guy in the car with you, with the cannon.”
“Oh him?” I knew exactly which one he’d meant before he added his exaggeration.
“Why?” I asked and prepared myself for a very macho answer.
“If you’d driven that car, they could have done you for theft of police property and you might be in custody now.”
“Would you come and visit me?” I asked coyly.
“That would depend.”
“On what?”
“I’d have to find someone to look after the kids first, wouldn’t I?”
“That’s really sweet of you, to care for the children.” I felt really loving towards him.
“Well, I wouldn’t be able to go out on the town unless we had a babysitter, would I?”
“Especially with two broken legs, darling,” I smiled back at him and he roared with laughter.
“C’mon, let’s go back to bed, it’s getting cold.” He picked up the mugs and dumped them in the sink then put his arm round me.
“You wouldn’t go out on the town would you–I mean if I was in custody?”
“You wouldn’t break my legs would you?” he shot back.
“That man really scared me.” I said snuggling up to him when we’d got back to bed.
“Nah, you’d always come out on top.”
How d’you work that out?”
“You’re a woman, you always get one over on us men.”
“Not always.”
“When did I last come out on top?” he asked and I honestly couldn’t remember.
“If you’re quick, you could come on top now,” I said as seductively as I could, bearing in mind I felt as turned on as a torch without a battery. He didn’t refuse the offer and okay, I enjoyed it more than I thought I was going to. I sighed that I’d have to change the sheets again in the morning but fell asleep quite quickly.
We woke up being invaded by four aliens who left little room in the bed for us, so I got up and went to shower. Trish followed me in. “You have blood on your leg,” she said pointing to a mark near the top of my leg. “Are you having a period?”
“No, that’s–um–from–c’mon let’s shower.” I decided I wasn’t going to tell them things they didn’t need to know. However, a bit later on I overheard Trish talking to Livvie, ‘They had sex last night...’ I walked away blushing as they giggled.
Simon was out talking to Tom in the garden, where they were both admiring Danny’s efforts to keep it both tidy and productive. Danny was weeding, but by the blushes he was showing he was well aware of the conversation and being the subject of it. When he saw me coming out to the garden, Danny picked out a lettuce, wrenched off the root and shook away the soil. “Here we are, Mum,” he said handing me the plant.
“Oh thanks, Dan, you’ve got this patch really looking neat and tidy.”
“I only do what Gramps tells me to do.”
“I ne’er tell’t ye tae pull a lettuce,” teased Tom.
“Leave the poor boy alone, he knew I needed one for lunch.”
“Aye whit’s fa’ lunch, I’m fair starvin’?”
“Lettuce,” I smirked and Danny sniggered–he knows how much Tom hates salad.”
“Aye, weel, I’m awa’ oot fa ma piece.”
“Suit yersel’, hen,” I replied and Simon laughed out loud..
Despite his threats, Tom actually stayed for lunch, which was jacket potato with salad and either tuna or cheese. During the meal, I asked Simon if there was any news about the missing memory stick and he said he hadn’t heard any.
“You need a memory stick, I’ve got a spare one, Mummy,” offered Trish.
“No, darling, this is a special one which was lost yesterday–the police were looking for it when we left them. I wondered if they’d found it.”
“Oh,” she said and looked a bit flat until I thanked her for her offer, and Simon did so as well. She perked up immediately her dad took notice of her. Typical isn’t it, I spend hours doing things for her or with her, and he looks her way once and she nearly falls over in her rush to get his attention. Typical little girl, no wonder men still rule the roost if women will continue that behaviour when they’re adults–jumping through hoops to get attention–drives me nuts.
“Cathy, did you manage to get the marks off my seats afterwards?” Simon asked me.
I blushed, “Um–not yet, darling, haven’t had a moment, I’ll go and check them as soon as we finish lunch.” That was the blood and guts I had on my clothing–him and his precious seats.
“Don’t forget now, will you?”
“Of course I won’t, darling.”
When I checked a little while later there weren’t any marks, it was all dried into my jacket, which was probably ruined but I could hardly complain could I–the marksman had saved my life. I was just locking his car when the police car drove into the drive and Inspector Singh got out of it. Just what I needed.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1447
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“Good afternoon, Lady Cameron, I trust you are well despite your recent experiences?”
“I’ll live, which is more than one or two other people will.”
“They chose to join the wrong side and to play with guns–it is a dangerous practice.” I hoped he wasn’t going to throw platitudes at me all afternoon, if he was, I’d probably confess to anything from Jack the Ripper to the Kennedy Assassinations just to avoid it.
“How can I help you, Chief Inspector?” Politeness meant I kept it civil even though part of me wanted to ask him to leave and never darken my doorstep again.
“We are still looking for the memory device, which is missing.”
“Yes, I was told that yesterday.”
“Old news,” he sighed, “I am so sorry, but it is important we find it.”
“In case it fell into the wrong hands you mean?”
“Quite so, in fact in the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic.”
“Like terrorists?”
“Exactly so–with so many people in London next year, the casualties could be great.”
“In which case, I hope you find it.”
“Yes, I do too. Do you mind if we ask you some more questions, and your husband also?”
“I’ve got better things to do, but I suppose you’re only doing your job.”
“You are too kind.”
“Tea?”
“That would be much appreciated.”
I sat him in the sitting room and went to make the tea. I called down the garden to Simon that the Inspector would want to see him and he went down to the sitting room to see him, get it over with, I suppose.
I made the tea and took it through, they paused while I gave them each a mug and a plate of biscuits, then I went back to the kitchen to get mine. The girls seemed very quiet, so I looked in the dining room and Trish and Livvie were both looking at something on her laptop. They were watching something very impressive because they oohed and ahed every so often.
I walked across to see what it was–it was impressive, a three dimensional plan of a building, which Trish was moving round to see different aspects and elevations. “Thinking of becoming an architect are you, Trish?”
“Hi, Mummy, ’s good innit?”
“Yes, where did you get it?”
“It was on the top of your bag.”
“What was?”
“The memory stick.”
“What memory stick?”
“This one,” she pointed to said device plugged into a USB port on the side of her machine.
My stomach flipped over, “What else does it have on it?”
She showed me masses of data, about different buildings including the velodrome and schedules, code words and so on. I told her to disconnect it and to erase any which she had on the computer from the flash drive.
She protested but I told her it was important that she should do as I said because the police were in the house and looking for this very thing. She cooperated after that and finally detached the device and handed it to me.
“Come with me, young lady.” I marched her to the sitting room and knocked and entered. I held up the device and said, “I think this is what you’re seeking.” His jaw dropped, “I found her examining it on her laptop–Trish, please explain to the Inspector how you came to find it and loaded it on to your computer.”
“I’m not going to jail, am I?” she said holding tightly on to my hand.
“No, young lady, not if you tell me the truth.”
“It was tucked just inside Mummy’s bag, which she left by the door of her study. I hadn’t seen her use that sort before–it was sixteen gigabytes–an’ I just wanted to see what was on it–honest–I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”
“Has anyone else seen it?” he asked.
“Only Mummy and Livvie.”
“This is password protected–how did you get into it?” He looked at me as if I was guilty not only of stealing it but in trying to palm my guilt off on to my daughter. He didn’t know Trish.
She explained it was very easy to break the code–she has a program for it which she downloaded over the net–now my jaw dropped. She had to modify it a bit, but she got into it and was watching it when I happened on the two of them.
“You mean to tell me, you decoded the password?”
“Yes and set a better one,” Trish beamed at him.
“Is this possible?” he looked at me in bewilderment.
“She has an IQ of one hundred and sixty.”
“But she is so young.”
“Tell me about it,” I offered back to him.
“I’m seven,” Trish snapped at him, "I’m not just a dumb kid, you know.” I nodded in agreement.
“What is the new password?” asked the Inspector.
“The first ten Fibonacci numbers–only in reversed order.”
“What are these Fibonacci numbers?”
“They were invented in India, so you should know, Mr Inspector.”
“Lots of things were invented in India, including curried elephant, but I know nothing about it.”
“Curried elephant–yuck–you’d need a big pot for that, wouldn’t you, Mummy?”
“Don’t worry, darling, I won’t be adding it to the menu any time soon.”
“Good, I’m rather glad–yuck–sounds horrid.”
“The Fib–whatever numbers–you were telling me.”
“Oh those, everyone knows about a Fibonacci sequence, don’t they, Mummy?”
Simon snorted.
“Tell the nice policeman, Daddy.”
Simon looked at me, sighed and began to explain how the sequence formed, each number being the sum of the previous two and so on.”
I gave Trish a piece of paper and she began to write a sequence down–quicker than I would. She explained as she went along and then showed how she’d created her codeword writing it down for the copper. He shook his head, “And she is seven?” I nodded and rolled my eyes in a tell me about it expression. “She is precociously precocious.”
“Something like that.”
“How did you get the memory device, Lady Cameron?”
“I don’t know, in fact, until a few minutes ago I assumed it was lost or in somebody else’s hands, I was quite shocked when I saw the girls playing with the program, which I’ve made her remove from our computer.”
“I am afraid I will have to seize the computer.”
“No,” said Trish.
“I am sorry, young lady, but I have to.”
“No, you can’t.”
“But I can and will.”
“No–if you do–I won’t tell you the other part of the code.”
“What code?” Inspector Singh demanded.
“To open the memory drive.”
“There is more code?”
“Yeah, anyone could work out the Fibonacci sequence–even Mummy.”
“Thank you, darling, last week you told me all I could open was a tin of soup.”
“You annoyed me then.”
“So sorry, I’m sure.”
“What is this other code?”
“If you take my laptop, I won’t tell you.” Trish was bargaining with the police, not that there was anything to stop him taking her computer once she’d spilled the beans.
“If you tell me, and show me your computer has no parts of these plans on it, then I won’t take it, but I might have one of my men come and see it to make sure it’s okay.”
“He’d better not take it either.”
“I promise he won’t.”
She took him to her computer and he poked and prodded but it was obvious he didn’t know very much about them. He made a call on his mobile and we sat and waited while some technician arrived.
“What is the rest of the code word?”
“I thought your clever dick man was going to find it?”
“Trish, please you are wasting police time and he can arrest you for that,” I said curtly to her.
“It’s easy, take a progressive letter from each of the planets in the solar system, including the sun and moon.”
“That won’t work, sweetheart, the moon and Mars only have four letters.”
“You count them back and fore, M-A-R-S-S-R-A-M,” she spelt out how it would work, and she was seven–bloody hell–did I feel inadequate? The Inspector wrote it all down under her direction. He looked stunned when he’d finished.
As we finished another cup of tea, the technician arrived, accepted a cuppa, set up his computer and checked the flash drive–he was glad he was given the password sequence. “Jesus–who dreamt that up?”
“I did, easy innit?” smiled Trish.
“You’re ’avin’ me on?”
“We are not, Mr Cadbury, she appears to have a very mature brain inside that petite body,” confirmed the Inspector.
Next, Cadbury examined Trish’s computer which had its own password, she challenged him to find it. He conceded defeat, saying he’d never have got past the one on the flash drive if she hadn’t told him. She beamed and said, “It’s easy, it’s–trishs-computer.”
“I put that on,” I gasped.
“See, told you it was easy,” she said matter of fact.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1448
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The chief inspector and his computer geek left, taking the small flash drive with them, but leaving Trish’s computer behind. Simon was tickled by the way she’d run rings round the detective–although she could me as well–with computers at least.
I asked him how much of the money had been recovered from the safe–all of it was, so were all the documents, especially the Olympic plans. It was all over at last–thank goodness.
Simon begged to differ, they hadn’t caught Mr Big, nor did they know the reasons for his attempted theft–but to organise riots just to cover up the theft of the safe was a step too far for most criminals. To start with, how did the bad guys know the stuff was in the safe? Though it was reassuring they couldn’t open it without Simon’s help–less so that he had helped them. My vision of him as a hero holding out under torture was way off. He’d agreed almost as soon as they took him–I smelt a rat here–it was all a set up, apparently both he and his car were carrying tracking devices in case one broke down.
It was quite simple, he let himself be kidnapped to determine where the safe was. He let them open the safe–which was the dangerous part–once opened they could have killed him. Thankfully, they didn’t.
So who organised it? Who was the mastermind? I had no idea, I do dormice, not criminology. Was I interested? Yes and no–they’d taken my Simon and frightened my children and me for that matter–and cost me whatever Jim’s fees were. So I suppose I was interested.
So that’s why he was so cool and calm when we rescued him–he was expecting it–though not by me–but MI5 or whoever. In which case he ought to get a firmer contract next time because they weren’t much help this time–well, okay, they saved my neck from the gorilla with the M60–or the police–not sure who were more frightening.
We ordered pizza which the kids love as you all know, I had mackerel in tomato sauce on toast–at least I got some Omega three oils, all they got was crap with cheese sprinkled on the top–but they were happy and so were Simon and Stella–Jenny had an evening off so I had to look after Catherine myself–no big deal. I wonder if my milk tastes fishy after I’ve been eating it?
I was sitting in the kitchen after dinner feeding the baby, Stella had fed Fiona earlier and was watching some film on telly with the rest of them–oh that came today–the telly. I forgot it in all the excitement of the police and the memory stick. We now have a large plasma screen in the sitting room–for the rugby world cup–and, little does Simon know–The Vuelta Espana. Anyway, they were all in there watching the latest gadget and I was in the kitchen feeding my wain when Jenny came home earlier than I expected.
She let herself in by the back door, presumably because she hoped no one would see her–except of course, I did. “You’re back early,” I called to her but she ignored me and ran upstairs–not a good sign–although she might just need a bathroom.
I waited and burped Catherine–she does some whoppers–then I changed her–perhaps fifteen minutes after Jenny came in. I gave the baby for Simon to hold and made him turn the sound down a little–they’d all be deaf in a week–then went upstairs and knocked on Jenny’s room.
“Yes?”
“Are you alright?”
“Why?”
“I just wondered.”
“Why?”
“Can you open the door?” I refuse to talk through it.
“Um–I’m busy a minute.”
“I’ll wait.” She was moving about inside her room–possibly she had undressed.
“Okay,” she opened it part way, “What d’ya want?” The light was off and she was standing in partial shade.
I pushed past her and switched on the light, “What’s going on?” I demanded.
She sat on the bed her face in her hands, “I finished it with Tony, tonight.”
“I’m sorry, anything I can do to help?”
“No, I just want to go to bed and forget about it.”
“Are you sure?” I was tempted to sit on the bed by her but she still had her face in her hands–was she hiding something?
“If you need some time off...let me know?”
“Thank you, Cathy.” Her face was still buried in her hands. “Has he hit you?”
“I’m alright,” she murmured from her hands.
I pulled her hands away and she turned away from me but not before I could see a bruise over her cheek and her eye swelling. “I’ll get some ice.” I flew down the stairs feeling very angry–there is no need to hit women–unless you’re another woman and then you should know better.
I returned a few minutes later with an ice pack and some paracetamol which I handed to her. She mumbled a thanks and took them. “If you want to talk, don’t hesitate to say, okay?”
“Actually, Cathy, can we talk for a bit?”
“Of course,” I sat on her bedroom chair facing her–she had quite a shiner coming up.
“Me an’ Tony haven’t been gettin’ on too well lately. I think he’s been seein’ a Wren at the base, so the physical side has been lackin’ almost entirely for a month or two.”
“I see,” even Simon and I get together more often than that.
“An’ I confronted him tonight an’ screamed at him–he like lost it too, and hit me.”
“That’s no excuse, you know.”
“I know–an’ I told him.”
“You could go to the police if you wanted to.”
“I seen enough police to last me a lifetime since I lived ’ere with you.”
“Sorry about that, if they sent a car round for something, I expect they don’t need to give an address, they just say–that bloody woman again.”
She laughed.
“So it’s final is it? No chance of mediation?”
“Not after he hit me, no way.”
“Well if you change your mind, let me know.”
“I won’t–I mean you wouldn’t after anyone hit you would you?”
“I’d probably hit them back.”
“Yeah, maybe I should of.”
Her mangling of the English language seemed unimportant; I just hope my kids didn’t pick it up from her. “Rarely does more violence help–usually makes things worse.”
“Yeah, I s’pose.”
“Anyway, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Thanks, Cathy, you’re the best boss I’ve ever had.”
“How many have you had?”
“Um–two, three if you count the paper-shop I used to work for when I was kid.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that,” I muttered as I left her to sort herself out.
When we went to bed, all Simon wanted to do was to buy all these HD videos now we had the telly to see them on, so I actually had to ask him to shut up before I could tell him about Jenny.
“Oh, is she okay?”
“She’s nursing a black eye–the bastard hit her.”
“Did she go to the police?”
“No.”
“She could, you know.”
“Yes I know, they treat domestics more seriously now, but only because so many women are crippled or killed in them.”
“Men get killed too, you know–we’re not all primeval swamp creatures–women can be just as vicious–especially the youngsters of today, there are stories everyday of girls beating each other up after they get drunk, or shoving glasses in each other’s faces.”
“Yeah, that’s one element of the blurring of gender roles I don’t like.”
“Cathy, women have always been violent–this sugar and spice stuff is total crap–miner’s wives and fishwives have a long reputation for physical violence as well as verbal abuse.”
“I know–and bullying of girls by girls goes on–they tend to be more covert than boys–boys hit each other or threaten it; girls do it with texts and emails or Facebook.”
“It’s just as bad.”
“Worse–because the bullying only comes to light when the victim kills herself–it’s really virulent.”
I stopped and thought about a story I’d seen in the paper of on the internet of some fourteen year old killing herself by stepping in front of a train because she was bullied by a gang of girls. I was roused from my reverie by the noise of snoring–Simon was fast asleep, I turned over after elbowing him and the noises stopped for a moment.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1449
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The next morning at breakfast, Jenny eventually appeared, complete with shiner. The kids were out messing about in the garden and although I sympathised with her position and the embarrassment she carried as a consequence, I felt that had she come down with everyone they could all have asked how she got it and it would have all been done with. Now she would prolong the agony as everyone asked her individually–oh well, her choice. I told her trying to mask it with concealer would look even worse–if she wanted to hide it, get an eye-patch, she’d look like Captain Pugwash, but that’s up to her.
In the end she went out to the garden and spoke to all the children. When she came back in, I asked what she’d said to them. “The truth. I told her I had an argument with my boyfriend and he hit me, consequently he was my ex-boyfriend. They all thought hitting me was unreasonable and supported my ditching him.”
“Good, I’ve taught them something then.”
“About relationships or hitting women?”
“Hitting anyone does not advance your argument and shows a clear lack of logical thought, which is far more powerful than violence. It might not be as gratifying, but more useful.”
“Gratifying?” she looked disconcerted.
“Yeah–what’s that old joke, frustration is the feeling experienced when you are unable to beat the shit out of some arsehole who so richly deserves it.”
“Really, Cathy, you are quite violent, aren’t you?”
“Only by inclination. In practice I control my feelings quite well–well those sort anyway.”
“Have you ever hit anyone then?”
“My boxing skills are very poor, but I’m reasonable at kick-boxing.”
“Wow–could you show me?”
“Stella taught me the basics, but she seems to have stopped doing it since–it’s a good workout and might come in handy.”
“You’ve kicked someone then?”
“It’s helped me a few times–I’m not violent, but I don’t run away if it confronts me.”
“Wow, you’re a real revelation.”
“I thought everyone knew about it.”
“No–can we do some?”
“Later, we have chores to do and children to amuse as well as feed. Perhaps later on.”
Which was what we did–the chores–feeding offspring and amusing them. Finally, when they went off to do something else–burning down the neighbours house or sheep rustling–we changed and went out to the shed with the sandbag hanging there and I showed her a few basic kicks and about balance–I read a lot of this on the internet–in all martial arts, balance is essential or you end up missing your kicks or being unable to avoid your opponents.
We spent about half an hour and were both dripping with sweat by the time we finished. Jenny thought it was exhausting, but really good. It was the best work out I’d had for a long time–and I expected to be stiff the next morning–I must do it more often as well as cycling.
I showered and got dinner–it’s funny, when I was a poor student, I’d only occasionally buy a chicken and eat it for five or six meals, now it disappears in one. Admittedly, I’m no longer poor nor do I eat it all myself. However, those days are well and truly gone. If I told Julie that I’d made a chicken last a whole week, finishing with chicken and vegetable soup for the last two days, she’d think I was crazy. But then she has more income as a hairdressing apprentice than I did as a graduate student doing my masters. Any spare tended to go on bike stuff or things like computers or mobile phone top ups. How different that is since Si gave me the Blackberry and paid its contract–not that I abuse his generosity and only use it for necessary things.
Life is so different now–I can’t believe the changes from when I first came to Portsmouth as a feminine youth and now live here as a married woman, a titled married woman, with six children and a baby.
I was lost in my reverie when Jenny came into the kitchen and aimed a mock kick at me. I jumped backwards and knocked the china gravy boat off the worktop and broke it.
“I’m sorry–I was just so full of what you taught me today.”
“Please, let’s get one rule straight–you don’t use it in inappropriate places unless it’s for your defence from physical harm.”
“Okay, I won’t do it again.”
“I know you won’t, because if you do, I’ll either fight back and you could get hurt, or I’ll fire you on the spot–possibly both, depending upon how angry I feel.”
“Oh, it was that stupid?”
“Yes, it was–I’ve broken Tom’s parent’s gravy boat–I’ve got a mess all over the floor and I’m trying to finish this meal.”
“Sorry, I’ll clean up the mess.”
“Make sure you get all the bits, because they can cut the dog’s feet, or anyone else who happens to walk barefoot in here.”
“Yes, boss.”
It reminded me of a boy I knew who always carried a sheath knife with him when we went bird and nature watching. This one day, we felt a little threatened by a gang of kids–all younger than us–he pulled out this knife and began waving it about. Today, that could get him arrested for threatening behaviour, and especially with the way the plod are towards knives–which is understandable given the number of stabbings there are–thank goodness guns aren’t freely available.
I left her clearing up the mess while I checked the stuffing–I’d made my own sage and onion with some stale bread–yes we do have some occasionally–some chopped onion, dried sage and salt and pepper. I also added some chopped dried garlic–it tastes so much more interesting than shop bought stuff.
The dinner was cooked as Tom and Simon came in together–so I left it to them to decide who would carve the meat and who would open the wine. I felt after the past few days I’d deserved a glass of wine. Simon handed the carving knife to Tom and went off armed with the corkscrew in pursuit of a suitable wine for chicken.
I passed Tom the plates and he loaded meat on each one. I added veg and placed them on the table. The gravy jug was that–a jug. Tom asked where the gravy boat was and I explained it had been smashed that afternoon.
Jenny blushed and admitted it was her fault. He looked at her and noticed her black eye. He enquired if it had been acquired at the same time. She told him the truth and he was disgusted with her ex-boyfriend. He also admitted he couldn’t stand the gravy boat and only kept it in the hope that frequent use might end its long life–seems he'd got his wish. I, however, determined to get another, preferably stainless steel tomorrow. I like gravy boats and feel it’s how gravy should be served, not from a Pyrex jug.
I watched her as she and Tom chatted over the dinner table and thought if I’d had access to the blue light, I could have sorted her eye in minutes–oh well, we live and learn.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1450
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My intentions were to go shopping for a new gravy boat even though we may not need one for a few days. I hadn’t been shopping for ages other than food shopping, so I felt I deserved a few hours out.
Jenny, as an act of penance agreed to look after the children while I went to the city centre and looked for the aforementioned crock. However, as my story seems to show repeatedly, plans and fruition seem often to be separated by this thing called life.
I was just about to leave when my mobile peeped to indicate a new text message. I checked it. ‘How u doin ? Sian’ Instead of replying I called her. “Hi Siân.”
“Cathy, there’s a nice surprise.”
“I was just about to play truant from my infants. What are you up to?”
“Nothing much, it’s my day off.”
“How about we get together–I have some shopping to do–but it shouldn’t take more than a few months.”
“We could do lunch as well.”
“Sounds good to me, hold on while I tell the household slave I’m going to be longer than I originally intended.” I spoke with Jenny who upon learning I was going to Salisbury, said she’d like to have come as well. I pointed out that such onerous labours were the responsibilities of rank and seniority.
“I thought you were going shopping?” she asked looking bemused.
“I am–byeee.” I turned and walked briskly from the house and was down the drive before anyone noticed my car had gone.
The drive to Salisbury was tedious, two sets of road works with traffic lights and then some moron in a four wheel drive had managed to drive it up a rather large oak tree and the police were in attendance.
It really gets my goat, these imbeciles who drive these things and who rarely ever take them off road unless it’s to mount the pavement to run a red light or drop darling Trixie off at private school. They should ban all 4 x 4s unless they’re owned by a farmer. I felt happier with that idea until I remembered I wasn’t driving my little runabout any more and blushed.
Somehow the traffic in Salisbury was running freely and I had to check I was in the right city–it’s usually a nightmare. I crossed the city and headed for Wilton which is where Siân and Kirsty lived. My sat nav took me pretty well to the door–of the wrong house but I was able to correct the mistake and pulled into their drive.
“So this is where the great and the good of Salisbury reside,” I said to my friends after giving them hugs.
“Nah, neither great nor particularly good,” suggested my friend.
“Just wealthy?” I offered.
Siân riposted, “I’m not married to a banker like someone we know,” and Kirsty sniggered.
“Hey, you two, I didn’t marry him for his money–although I have to admit it comes in handy.”
“Come and have a coffee, Cathy,” said Kirsty going back into the house, however, Siân and I were so into our conversation neither of us heard the invitation, so we both laughed a few minutes later when Kirsty shouted: “Coffee, Cathy, come.”
Siân led me into the house–an old Victorian detached property on three storeys plus a cellar. While Kirsty finished the coffee, Siân gave me the grand tour–it was huge: five bedrooms, three reception, a kitchen, three bathrooms, a cellar comprising a two bedroom self contained apartment which they let to a young couple who worked for the Earl of Pembroke in the nearby Wilton House. It needed some further restoration but it was going to be some house.
We returned to the kitchen and drank the coffee chatting with Kirsty. “So you two rattle round in eight rooms and a kitchen?” I cheekily asked.
“Yes, we both have a study–Siân needs one for her paperwork and I need somewhere to write my sermons and do my pastoral work.”
“Pastural work,” I joked, “You look after sheep and cows do you?”
“Only Siân’s friends,” she snapped back very quickly.
“I suspect you’ve been asked that one before,” I offered as a peace token.
“You guessed right.”
“So how’s life in the cathedral?” I asked trying to switch the subject.
“It’s fine thank you when we’re not overrun with sheep and cows or tourists.”
“And they’re still okay with you two living together?”
“Yes–they don’t exactly ask, and I don’t volunteer–the bishop knows, but he’s pretty laid back about it–others suspect–but we haven’t made too much of it, so they are just guessing.”
“I’ve never understood why it becomes a religious issue, it’s not as if you’re known adulterers.”
“What?” Siân gasped.
“Well, it doesn’t say in the ten commandments that you can’t marry who you love, just that you mustn’t covet his arse or his wife.”
“I think that reads ass, not arse, Cathy,” Kirsty corrected me sniggering.
“Okay, so that’s adultery and bestiality that’s illegal, what about same sex relationships?”
“That’s mentioned elsewhere in the Old Testament, but its validity in a modern world is questionable.” Kirsty continued, “Culture in Palestine a few hundred years BC would be very different to today’s, they would face very different challenges and issues–so I practice what it says in the New Testament–love thy God and thy neighbour as thyself.”
“If you were living on the Green in Salisbury, next to the cathedral, would God be your neighbour and would you need the first bit in the exhortation?”
“Smart arse,” giggled Siân.
“What the one I coveted of my neighbour?” I threw back at her.
“Has your neighbour got a nice arse then?” she fired back to me.
“Has she? No–she’s about a hundred and ten, has more hair on her face than Tom, and walks with a limp–she does however, have a donkey.”
“I didn’t think you had any neighbours?” Kirsty queried.
“Not immediate neighbours, no, she lives a couple of miles down the road.”
“And she has a donkey?”
“Yes, Siân, she has a donkey.”
“I love donkeys,” she said, “ever since we rode them on Weston beach–d’you remember?”
I hadn’t, “Are you sure it was me?”
“Yes, Cathy, because the woman who ran the donkeys thought you were a girl–remember?”
“No,” I shook my head, this was one bit of memory which had slipped away.
“Right,” Siân took a deep breath, “my parents took us and because it wasn’t that nice we didn’t change into our cozzies but stayed in our ordinary clothes. You however, fell over in the mud–don’t ask me how–and we cleaned you up but the only clean clothes we had were a pair of my shorts and a frilly top, which you borrowed and wore seemingly unself-consciously. I called you Charlie and she assumed you were a girl–your hair was quite long in those days, too.”
“You know I can’t remember any of that–I remember we went to Weston and Clevedon a few times with your parents and even over to Wales a couple of times–but that one is a blank.”
“She’s in denial,” laughed Kirsty.
“No she fell in de-mud,” quipped Siân–hold on, I might still have a photo of it.” She jumped up and ran off upstairs.
“She could be hours,” sighed Kirsty, “What were you shopping for–anything in particular?”
“Yes, Jenny and I managed to break Tom’s ancient gravy boat. I need to look for a replacement.”
“I think we’ve got a spare one here somewhere,” she rose and went to a large cupboard. “This any good?” she placed a porcelain boat and saucer on the table.
I picked it up, “It’s beautiful, Kirsty,” I said as I examined it–“Gosh, it’s Royal Doulton.”
“So, it’s only a crock and it doesn’t go with any of the china we use so if it’s of any use, do have it.”
“Goodness, let me pay you for it?”
“Okay–you can buy me lunch.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Deal,” I offered her my hand and we shook on it.
Siân reappeared with an envelope full of ancient photos, “Here–see it is you–wearing my clothes–nothing new there then.” I took the photo and looked at the two figures sat on the donkeys–it looked like two girls. “And this one,” she handed me another, the same two girls were eating ice creams on the pier. I showed them to Kirsty.
“Want me to do some copies?” she asked.
“Yeah, then you can prove to your kids you had a girlhood as well,” suggested Siân.
“Yes please,” I said to Kirsty, and to Siân, “That would be a bit of sleight of hand wouldn’t it?”
“No, you’re dressed as a girl, and believe me, you acted like a girl most of the time, which was why my parents were happy to have you come with us–they knew you’d behave yourself, like any other little girl.”
“Did they actually say that?” I gasped.
“More or less, when I told them you’d become Cathy, my mum replied, ‘Hardly a surprise is it?’ and Dad just said, ‘Well, he was more girl than boy anyway–I hope she’ll be happier.’ Dad always was the laid back one.”
“Pity they couldn’t have said something to my parents,” I mused aloud.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1451
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We didn’t go to Salisbury after all, we had a wander round Wilton. This is the same place where they made those luxurious carpets but the factory has since gone and there is a small shopping complex on the site. We examined it thoroughly and I bought one or two things, but nothing much.
After that we went to the local pub which did quite delicious bar meals–I had a tuna pasta bake–well I was getting withdrawal symptoms, with a side salad. The girls both had chicken Kiev which also looked quite tasty.
We then strolled along the river up towards the military headquarters, it’s the army main base for land forces, so there were plenty of uniformed types about and we also saw several young women pushing prams and pushchairs who we were sure were all army wives.
How could we be sure? I don’t really know but there is something about women who are married to soldiers which sets them apart from civilian wives. To see if we were right we followed two women who we’d decided were army wives and sure enough they went into the base where presumably they had housing.
Nearby is Salisbury plain, which is a relatively large area of land a significant section of which is under the control of the military and they use it for exercises. However, it isn’t all military as Stonehenge also resides on the plain, as does its predecessor, Woodhenge.
I know dormice are my thing, but I happen to know that henge means an enclosure with a bank and a ditch, the ditch inside the bank–so Stonehenge is an enclosure with a bank and ditch and the familiar stones–the trilithons, the blue stones and the slaughter stone. Woodhenge, if you should ever go there, has no wood–that long since perished but they put concrete posts in the holes they found, which would once have contained loads of wooden posts–and these things were about three feet in diameter and there’s over a hundred and fifty of them. Henge monuments were Neolithic, so go back about four or five thousand years–yeah, they’re even older than Tom.
Back to Salisbury plain–I remember listening to a radio documentary which was made on army land. They do all sorts of training there, house to house street fighting, tanks and large scale exercises and apparently, they have a mock up of an Afghan village complete with supposed Afghans and Taliban fighters and so on to give the British troops a chance to experience what the place is like before they’re sent there. I don’t think they grow much in the way of opium poppies in Wiltshire, so that’s a bit different from hostile climes like Afghanistan.
I always thought a plain would be flat–it isn’t. There are lumps and bumps, little valleys and small hills, thick woodland and signs telling you to keep out–unexploded ordnance. It’s also rich in wildlife–people have to keep out, so things like stone curlew and great bustard exist here, albeit in small numbers–and I was pretty sure there would be dormice in some of the woodland–must check if we’re monitoring them–and all of this is a stone’s throw from Wilton and Salisbury.
We didn’t have time to go to Wilton House, the country house of the Earls of Pembroke, the original being a buddy of Henry VIII, who profited handsomely on the dissolution of the monasteries and was given the land of Wilton Abbey on which was built the first house. It’s quite spectacular and well worth a visit–but I’ve seen it before and we didn’t have that much time.
Back at the girl’s house we refreshed ourselves with a cuppa and a piece of cake which Kirsty had made and then I took my leave and drove back homewards. I’d really enjoyed my day out, we talked about schooldays and how Siân had helped me survive the bullying by staff and pupils at my high school.
Kirsty hadn’t heard much of this before and was horrified. When we told her about the Lady Macbeth episode, she was doubly horrified and asked why no one had reported it to the education authorities. Possibly because my father was in agreement with the maltreatment I received, because he thought it might cure me of my girlish tendencies. He admitted later, when we became more or less reconciled that he’d been mistaken and had been doing it for his sake rather than mine. He also admitted that he was afterwards proud that I’d succeeded despite his efforts to stop me and was in fact very proud of his beautiful daughter.
Kirsty was almost in tears listening to us talk and she did shed one or two when I told her about my interaction with Dad while he was in hospital. She seemed to think my devotion to him was bordering on saintliness.
I disabused her of that in no time–there was nothing saintly about me at all. Siân disagreed and suggested I’d been chosen to do all the healing because of it. Kirsty was very interested in that and particularly so when I mentioned my encounters with the Shekinah. I, of course, pooh-poohed it as my unconscious mind trying to grasp the impossible, Kirsty, however, had a different view.
“What if God does exist, and this feminine principle sought you out by whatever method it uses.”
“Kirsty, look I respect you’re a woman of the cloth, but even for you I can’t believe God exists except in your imagination, let alone having a feminist branch run by that crabby old crone. It just doesn’t stack up in a scientific universe. Where’s your evidence?”
“Surely your ability to heal some very sick people speaks of the love of God for his people.”
“Bit of a quantum leap isn’t it? Why did He need me to do it for him–thought he was omnipotent–so why the middle man or woman? Why does he need clergy to interpret for him–isn’t that all part of the general con that religion is?”
“Do you think I’m deliberately conning my congregation?”
“Not you especially, Kirsty, I respect your faith because I believe you feel it’s true. However, I can’t for the life of me see how you can be so self-deluding.”
“Perhaps, you’re the one who’s delusional, not seeing the gift of healing as just that–a gift from the Almighty, a reward for the love you’ve shown to others, taking on children in need of a mother–and dysfunctional adults who’ve all prospered under your care.”
“It was curse, not a gift, and I’m not sorry it’s gone.”
“Gone?” gasped Kirsty.
“Yep, it just petered out and I’m no more able to raise the dead than most people.”
“Cathy, that’s verging on blasphemous–only Jesus and his saints can do such things.”
“I think you’ll find all sorts of holy men and women have been able to do it through all ages.”
“You couldn’t do that, could you?” Siân chucked in.
“I don’t know if I managed it or not, but one or two folk I got back to health looked pretty dead to me.”
“That can be deceptive,” she suggested wearing her doctor’s hat.
“Fine–anyway, I have to go and sort out half a dozen juvenile delinquents and feed them.”
We hugged and I took my leave, just as I was going they both said we must keep in touch more often and I agreed. Kirsty also said quietly, “You were blessed, Cathy, you are special and the gift will return when you are ready to accept it for what it is.”
“Don’t hold your breath, kiddo,” I winked and she smiled at me. They’re a lovely couple and sometimes I envy Kirsty her faith, it makes everything so much easier to understand than the truth.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1452
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I had time to reflect on my afternoon with the girls. I liked them very much but wondered if Kirsty’s need for religion and my dislike of it would act as a barrier between us. Siân if I remembered correctly from our distant past wasn’t too bothered one way or the other–I can’t believe her medical training would have changed her mind except away from supernatural explanations, so how did she end up with Kirsty?
It appears that Siân was doing her houseman’s job, otherwise known as internship, in Salisbury at the infirmary, I think she said, when Kirsty came in with one of her parishioners–she was a curate. The old lady–the parishioner in question–had collapsed and Kirsty had offered to go with the ambulance to the Accident and Emergency department, for moral support.
Siân was the examining physician in A&E and apparently their eyes met over the injured old biddy and they fell in love. I don’t know what happened to the old lady, in a comedy film they’d have started making love across her unconscious body–but this isn’t a comedy film, it’s life–so presumably, they controlled their passion until they were both off duty.
It’s not quite as bizarre as my meeting with Simon, or even more bizarre encounter with Stella on that dark and dreary afternoon in July. I wonder how many other people’s lives are transformed by a thunderstorm?
Come to think of it–after being hit off my bike as a boy–I didn’t go back to that role at all. From then on I began to transition, I hadn’t looked at it like that before. Stella had literally knocked me out of my previous body and life and into this one. I had no complaints–I probably did need to be bump-started like a reluctant car. Stella had also been amazingly generous to her protégé giving me clothes and her time, and the day we went to my mother’s funeral, I was so glad she was there.
Funerals are scary things, and not knowing how my father would react to me appearing in a dress made it even scarier. I was grateful for her support then and ever since. Occasionally she hits below the belt, but then occasionally she isn’t her usual self and becomes a superior and unkind sort of hyper-shrew.
I’m aware that I can also adopt a persona which is unlikely to be described as nice, and that my family occasionally are on the receiving end of it, especially Simon–but then, every so often my wonderful husband transforms into an insensitive jerk who has as much skill in dealing with women as my negative persona has with men.
I wondered what the children were doing and were they missing me? This gave way to the rather dark projection of how would they cope without me were I to be dead or absent for a long time? I suppose they would, Stella and Jenny would have to work hard and Simon would have to pull his finger out–but he can do it when he wants to.
Julie could be a useful second line of support, although she’ll be laid up herself during the next year when she has her surgery–she’s turned out to be a really pretty girl which I am so pleased about. She doesn’t have my fat bum, in fact hers is possibly a little on the small side, but she’s quite thin anyway and she does have a reasonable bust line.
Of the others, Trish is young enough to be very female looking as she grows up, her hips look as if they may be spreading already with the tiny dose of hormones she’s having now. Livvie and Meems are natural girls so hopefully will grow up with none of the possible inadequacies we alternative females might have.
Billie still worries me a little–she’s so quiet much of the time–she rides her bike fairly regularly but she doesn’t seem to be very girlish–she doesn’t read very girly books, even Trish does that and Julie seems to enjoy Mills and Boon now and again, although her fave is Bridget Jones–which I still haven’t read myself.
Billie doesn’t seem to enjoy sewing or knitting either. Now and again, I’ll sit down with whoever wants to do some needlework. Trish and Livvie are there like rockets–they both enjoy sewing and egg each other on, occasionally with disastrous results–Trish came home one day from school in tears, she’d sewn her embroidery to her skirt. Livvie thought it was hilarious. Took me all evening to sort out.
Meems is baby crazy–she just loves looking after babies and playing with her dollies. If Stella or I are looking for assistance with the babies, Meems is the one we want to see come to help. I hope that means she will want to be a children’s nurse or even a paediatrician rather than getting up the duff as soon as she can. I hate to see schoolgirl mothers because it can damage two lives, if not more than two.
Danny–my only boy–he’s a likeable kid with a huge heart and a capacity for loyalty and commitment to a person or cause which borders on dangerous at times. He’s a great team player, being prepared to sacrifice his own goals for the rest of the team–sometimes I wish he could show Trish how to do that.
The traffic seemed to almost vanish and for a few minutes I was alone with my thoughts–I was so relaxed–a nice day out–the prospect of a less relaxing evening but I could do a sewing one–make two of them happy at least and now and again Julie joins us too. Jenny can sew but rarely comes with us to my study as she’s usually looking after Catherine or one of Stella’s little oiks.
Suddenly there was a flurry of brown and I swerved to avoid the deer which had dashed across in front of me, however, I lost control of the car and the next moment I was driving through a hedge and the car seemed to turn over on its side and rolled down an embankment towards a stream. I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head and everything went black.
I came to hanging upside down in my seatbelt, my head was pounding like I had a blacksmith using it for an anvil, the light was fading and I thought I could smell diesel. My car had stopped at the edge of the stream, I could hear the water running but I couldn’t see very much, my eyes seemed to be gummed up and I couldn’t move my arms to help clear them.
There was an after-taste of blood and vomit in my mouth and my tongue was sore–I considered I’d probably bitten it. The irony that my swerving to avoid a deer–a British mammal–might possibly have done for me, wasn’t lost and had I not been in so much pain, I might even have smiled at it.
No one had seen my accident, and now it was dark they wouldn’t for hours. I realised that I might die and I wondered if my musing about the children would come to pass. I felt my consciousness struggling to hold on and the darkness seemed to wash over me...
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1453
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Simon came up to me and I felt very coy and flirtatious, I kept batting my eyelashes at him, he swept me up in his arms and we adjourned to a nearby room where we made the most magical loved ever experienced–the orgasm nearly blew my head off and I didn’t want it to end.
“You’ll be pregnant now,” he said, "women always are after a screamer."
“Screamer?”
“Yes, the way you were shouting, they probably heard you down at the chip shop.”
“Oh I could just eat some chips, could you get them to put some honey on them?”
“Honey?” he looked strangely at me.
“Yeah, I fancy some honey.”
“Fancying things, eh? I told you, you were pregnant.”
“So, what shall we have this time?”
“A white rabbit, we’ve got the dormouse and the Mad Hatter.”
“Good choice–where’s my chips?”
He left and came back moments later, “They didn’t have any honey, Winnie the Pooh had it all, so I got chocolate sauce instead, with mustard.”
“Lovely,” I licked my lips and wolfed down the chips. I slept for a few minutes and was then sick, vomiting up another baby.
“This is no good, it’s a brown rabbit,” declared Simon shoving it in his pocket.
“That’s because it was chocolate sauce.” I said and we both laughed.
“It was white chocolate,” he said laughing louder.
“So look again,” he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a white mouse which bit his finger and turned pink. We both laughed, then it bit his finger again and he dropped it and the pink mouse ran out through the open doorway.
“Oh look,” he said, “a door mouse.”
Trish appeared–she was much bigger and presumably older. “I’m off to my interview now, Mummy.”
“Interview?”
“Yes, for the president’s job.”
“President?”
“Yes, Mummy, President of the United States–the salary is pretty good and lasts four years with a good pension scheme afterwards.”
“I thought you had to be American born?”
“No, not since the Chinese bought the franchise from McDonald’s, anyone can do it if they get past the interview.”
“Oh, maybe Daddy should have a try?” I queried.
“No, he was the last one and you can’t do it for more than eight years–don’t you know anything?”
“Apparently not?”
“Where’s Livvie?”
“She’s gone out for a ride.”
“I didn’t think she liked kangaroos?”
“This is a racing kangaroo, carbon fibre pouch–you know?”
“Did Daddy buy it for her?”
“No, she did some begging.”
“Good girl, we all have to earn a living.”
“What’s Mima doing?”
“She’s working as a female impersonator impersonator.”
“Run that past me again, will you?”
“She’s impersonating a female impersonator.”
“Oh, well that’s all right, and Danny?”
“Danny’s gone off, cycling to the moon for the weekend.”
“I hope he took enough water.”
“There’s water on the moon, remember?”
“Yeah, but it might not be any good to wash down the green cheese.”
“I’ll tell him to take some extra, though the pockets in his wet suit are pretty small.”
“Tell him to take a small bottle and his magnifying glass, then before he drinks it he can make it look bigger.”
“Why not get a big bottle and look at it the other way to make it smaller and then he’ll be able to carry it in his pocket.”
“I can see why you got ninety three degrees, Trish.”
“Ninety four, Mummy, I got a PhD in Cow Pats at the University of Slurry.”
“And Catherine?”
“She’s the new Pope, can’t you remember anything?”
“I’d have thought you’d have enjoyed being Pope, Trish?”
“Yeah, but she looks better in a white dress.”
“True, still you could always be an archbishop or something when you finish being president.”
“Nah, not challenging enough.”
“Well Catherine being the first Buddhist female Pope, is quite a challenge.”
“Gotta go, Mummy,” she kissed me on the cheek picked up her violin case into which she loaded some jelly babies and left.
I poured myself another bowl of porridge from the cement mixer and soaked my feet in it then fell asleep.
“It’s going to be alright,” said Simon.
“What is?”
“Damn, I’ve forgotten,” he said and scratched his head.
“You didn’t tell me you were president?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“I wondered where you went for eight years.”
“I meant to leave a note, but there was no ink in my pencil.”
“Pencils don’t have ink, darling.”
“Ah, that might be why it wouldn’t write then, I couldn’t get the big rounded bit in the ink bottle.”
“Big rounded bit?”
“Here,” he pulled something out of his breast pocket.
“That’s a wooden spoon, darling.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Bugger, I just sent a case of them to the stationery cupboard in the office.”
“Stationery or stationary.”
“Both, it wasn’t moving when last seen.”
“It was stationed, then?”
“I suppose so, look I’ve got to go–help Dad make some more money at Monopoly.”
“What with hotels and things?”
“Nah, photocopier, we can make millions that way if you have the right coloured paper.”
“But that’s only toy money,” I said bemused.
“Yeah, but we own a bank, so the customers believe anything we tell ‘em.”
“Isn’t that a bit illegal?”
“No, the government said everyone is entitled to make some money for themselves, we’re just making rather a lot of it.”
“Oh, don’t be late for dinner then.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like eating on my own.”
“What’re we having?”
“Roast sloth, once I can get it to the oven, they move so slowly.”
“I’ll be back next month, then.”
“Okay–don’t forget to bring me some more fruit.”
“Fruit–any particular sort?”
“Green berries.”
“Green berries?”
“Yes, like blackberries only green.”
“Why d’you want those?”
“To make phone calls–what d’ya think I wanted them for?”
“Internet?”
“No, I use my slippers for that.”
“Fine, see you next week.”
With Stella as ambassador to Yorkshire being held hostage by white rose growers, I’d have to ask Tom to get me some fresh gravy–the train had stopped running and without more gravy, it wouldn’t be on time to deliver the coal to the dairy. How they squeeze milk out of it, I’ll never know–clever these Japanese–perhaps it’s sushi coal?
God–everything hurt–which had I felt better might well have confirmed I was still alive. I felt hands pulling and pushing me–must be the milkman again–I wish he’d get another horse, pulling his cart is just too much hard work.
“C’mon, Lady Cameron–Cathy–stop struggling–we’re trying to help you.” How absurd, the voices–no one can help me, there’s only one pair of roller skates. “Give her a shot,” I think one of them said–I waited for the gun to sound but it must have had a silencer or something, because all I felt was a little pin prick in my arm.
Next thing, I was floating up towards the sunshine–like lying on a beach without the jelly fish in your crack. Oh wow, I could see the earth beneath me, the blue planet–only it was pink–duh, must be gay pride day–yeah, that would explain it. Oh, I feel sick...
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1454
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I hate being sick–you know literally, not being ill, although some people use that as a euphemism for puking their hearts up. I had just been sick, disgorged contents of stomach, vomited, had a rainbow or Technicolor yawn, hueed, upchucked, been ill–I expect you get the idea. My head was pounding, felt like that bloody blacksmith had come back from lunch.
I had no idea where I was nor who was helping me–you see–well I couldn’t, I couldn’t open my eyes. So I could have been anywhere–aboard the Tardis for all I knew, though with my luck, Titanic would have been more likely. I heard someone calling ‘Doctor’ so it could definitely be the Tardis–that’s okay then, I hope he’s got his sonic wotsit so he can sort out my head–feels like I have more than a screw loose, my whole stupid head feels loose.
“Gonna be sick,” I heard my voice say and it made me jump.
“Well don’t do it all over me this time, Lady Cameron.”
“Who’s this Lady Cameron? The doctor? I’m Charlie Watts, wannabe biologist.”
I felt my stomach heave again and the protests, “No, in the pot you silly woman.”
Woman, what woman? Maybe she’s in the next bed–I assume I’m in hospital–I’m lying down and I don’t think it’s on the floor. People around me–who–God knows but they seem to be trying to help me. One of them is a doctor–hospital is favourite. At least my brain is sort of functioning.
“Okay, rest there a minute luv, we’re going to send you for some X-rays, you’ve taken quite a bash on the noggin.”
That might explain the head ache–hang about–he just called me luv? Must be gay, oh well, I don’t care–just wanna sleep, get rid of this headache. I felt myself being pushed along–I was still lying down but it felt strange–I still couldn’t see anything.
Pushed poked pulled and X-rayed, why did they ask me if I was pregnant? Men don’t have babies do they? I was left to lie for a short time then I was manhandled onto a very uncomfortable bed thing and told to lie as still as I could, then they started up a lawn mower right by my head–the noise went on and on. I was at screaming pitch by the time it stopped. I was moved again and sick again. Why did they call me a dirty girl? I feel like I’m in some parallel universe–I’m Charlie Watts, biology post grad student–I think–I think I got my degree–my head hurts too much.
I was eventually placed in a bed–I still couldn’t see, but I could feel sheets being pulled up over me. “Lady Cameron, we’re going to mount a drip and that will include some pain killer. As soon as we’ve finished your husband can come into see you.”
Must be sharing a room with some Lady muck or other–geez, the NHS must be strapped for cash if they’re sharing rooms with mixed patients–or suddenly very progressive–nah, it’s the NHS–besides, Lady Muck is probably about seventy five and in hospital because she swallowed her tiara, or something equally obscene.
“Hi Babes, I brought you some flowers,” said a man’s voice and then he kissed me. Bloody hell–I nearly crapped myself–only I think I’d emptied my guts the other way.
“We were all so worried when you didn’t come home, thank goodness for the tracking devices, though yours wasn’t sending too much of a signal–you’d think Porsche’s would be a bit tougher than cheapo four by fours, wouldn’t you?”
He must have been talking to the woman in the room–I don’t have a 4x4 nor would I want one–well okay they could be useful for fieldwork, but gimme a good ol’ British Land Rover any day, not some over-priced German tank.
“They say you’ve had an awful crack on the head, girl–mind you they showed me a photo of the car, total write off, but I think the insurance will cover it.” I felt a hand placed on mine and I jumped. “Cathy, it’s only me, Simon–you’re quite safe.”
In jumping I jerked my head and the pain shot through me, I felt tears run down my cheeks.
“Don’t cry, my darling, we’re just so pleased you’re alive, can you talk?”
I felt his hand on mine again, he was so gentle and his hand felt huge. I cleared my throat and he offered me a drink, I felt a straw being placed in my mouth and I sipped the cool water. It made gurgling noises as it went down my gullet.
“How d’you feel, babes?”
“Who are you?” I said croakily.
“What? I’m your husband, Simon, you’re my wife, Catherine.”
Oh shit! Does this guy need glasses, or what? Here I am, a bloke, lying here–okay, probably in one of those horrible hospital gowns–and he thinks I’m his wife? What is he, demented or something?
“My name’s Charles,” I said in a whisper–my throat felt sore.
“No, Cathy, it used to be don’t you remember? You’re Cathy now, we got married last year and we have seven children.”
Seven kids–must be talking about a litter of puppies or kittens–silly old fool, though he doesn’t sound that old.
“Excuse me, Lord Cameron, we need the doctor to look at her again.” This was a woman’s voice.
“I’ll see you later, Cathy,” he pecked me on the cheek and left.
“Your husband is very nice, Lady Cameron, he’s brought you some terrific flowers. Okay, lie back, the doctor’s here to see you.”
“Nurse,” I whispered–my throat felt so dry and sore.
“Yes?”
“Why does everyone think I’m a woman?”
“Because you are. Now just relax, here’s the doctor.”
I’m a woman? I wasn’t before I came here–was I? The doctor introduced himself although I wasn’t listening to anything he said. I felt like I’d been caught in one of those spooky stories where people are shocked out of their bodies and into someone else’s. Car accident? I don’t have a car, just a bike–so maybe that’s what happened–some rich biddy hit me off my bike and crashed at the same time and we swapped bodies? Sure, and my name is Father Christmas.
“Lady Cameron, there is some slight swelling of the brain which is pressing upon one of the centres of vision, which is why you can’t see anything. I think the swelling will reduce–we’ll give it another twenty four hours–if it isn’t resolved, we might have to operate–I’ve prescribed some drugs to help reduce the swelling and take the pain away–I need you to rest, so just lie quietly and try to sleep if you can. Sorry about the peeping, that’s just a machine monitoring your vitals. I’ll be in to see you tomorrow.”
I tried to rest–well, my body did, but my mind was racing. How could they imagine I’m a woman–if I’m in a hospital gown they must have noticed that and my flat chest. I moved my arm–the one without the drip in it–Bloody hell! I’ve got tits. I felt down below–oh shit–there’s a catheter coming out of somewhere and it sure ain’t a willie. Either I am more screwed up than I thought, or someone has done a number on my–you know what. I felt a cold shiver run up and down my spine–what had happened to me? I’d rest now and try and get some answers in the morning.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1455
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I slept eventually because I think they put something in the drip, until then I heard the nurses come in and check on me, once or twice they gave me a little drink–but no food. I suppose they were worried about having to operate or possibly that I’d decorate their bed for them.
I awoke lying on my back and feeling alone and frightened. I had no idea what time it was or where I was. I heard a nurse enter–I presumed it was a nurse–and I asked her the time. A male voice answered, “Four a.m. go back to sleep.” I asked for a drink and he held the straw to my lips.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked him.
“Sure, can’t promise to answer though.”
“I think you’ll be able to answer this. Where am I?”
“Southampton General Hospital, neurology ward.”
“Oh,” that wasn’t what I was expecting–I lived in somewhere or Sussex, was it Sussex? Can’t remember. “Can you tell if I’m a man or a woman?”
“Look, luv, I’m not sure what’s happened to your head but you are most definitely female.”
“Oh, okay, thank you.”
“That’s okay, why the uncertainty?”
“I thought I was a bloke before I woke up here.”
“Well if you were someone must have touched you with a magic wand, because I’ve never seen hips like yours on a bloke. I helped to lift you on to the bed yesterday–now go back to sleep.”
“No chance of a cuppa, is there?”
“Oh alright, but don’t tell anyone or they’ll shoot the pair of us.”
“That’s okay, you sound a nice person to die with.”
“Eh? I’m not planning on dying for a long time yet, luv.”
A little later he came back with the tea and sat me up in the bed and I drank from a mug which I held in both hands. I felt almost human again–if not the right sex. I fell asleep sitting up and was disturbed by someone telling me they were going to wash me. It was a young woman by the sound of her voice.
“You’re getting some lovely bruises coming out,” she said.
“Am I?” I asked.
She handed me the cloth to wash my groin and breasts–they felt tender, especially on one side. She then wiped my face. “Your face is black and blue, air bag I suppose.”
“No idea, can’t even remember having a car–you sure I didn’t come off a bike?”
“The report says you were cut out of a Porsche Cayenne, up near Salisbury.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Not for you.”
“What d’you mean?”
“You’re only married into one of the richest families in Britain.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, the Cameron’s, they own a bank or something.”
“That must be a mistake.”
“They don’t seem to think so. You’ve got cards and flowers from several of them, as well as from your children.”
“I haven’t got children.”
“You have and you were breast feeding the youngest, so we’ll have to extract some milk or you’ll lose it.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry–it doesn’t hurt–it might a bit because you’re a bit bruised.”
“But I’m a bloke, how can I breastfeed anything?”
“Look let me get the breast pump–it might all come back to you later, and then you’ll regret losing your milk.” I sat there and shut up, no one was listening to me anyway, so I thought I’d keep quiet and be thought a fool.
She came back and stayed with me for about fifteen minutes while the machine buzzed away. “Looks okay, I’ll get it checked out and next time we can send it to the prem baby unit, they’re always looking for breast milk.”
Oh well, I was being useful in some respects. I was taken for another scan and they told me the swelling was coming down and hopefully I’d be able to see in a day or two–unless the optic centre was damaged. Wonderful, so I sit here in the dark–actually it isn’t dark–I can see light. I put my hands in front of my eyes–it was darker, and then lighter when I removed them–I hoped I was getting my sight back.
A new voice entered my room, “Hi, Lady Cameron, I’m Dr Sylvia Pascoe, I’m a psychiatrist–we’ve got your previous medical history from Portsmouth, including a report from Dr Anne Thomas–ring any bells?”
“No, who’s she?”
“Your psychiatrist, seems she supervised your transition from male to female.”
“You mean I changed sex?”
“That’s what it means, you also got legal reassignment and got married to Lord Cameron and adopted seven children.”
“Seven children?”
“That’s what it says.”
“I don’t actually like children.”
“It seems you did, because they have you assessed as being a very good mother.”
“Mother–oh shit.”
“Lady Cameron–are you alright?”
I felt quite woozy–I’m a mother? Yeah, I know that guy, Simon, told me but I wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. What a situation to be in–here I am in bloody Southampton, living someone else’s life or should that be wife? It’s like some spooky story about body swaps–oh and I appear to be blind.
“No I’m in hospital–people who are alright tend to avoid them.”
“Very true, so what is wrong with you–as you see it?”
“Apart from seeing a psychiatrist, you mean?”
“You resent me seeing you?”
“Not really, it’s just news to me that I saw one before–a bit like this body, a husband I don’t recognise, and a whole school full of kids.”
“What can you remember?”
“Not much–I think I’m a biologist or something like that and I think my name is Charlie Watts–but anyone else or anything else–has gone. Like my sight and I am scared.”
“They’re hopeful that might return, like your memory.”
“Might isn’t good enough, is it?”
“I’m sorry. May I ask you, don’t you find it odd that you claim to be a man yet you have a woman’s voice and talk like one?”
“Do I? Maybe they altered my vocal cords.”
“Not according to your records.”
“Do you not hear it as a female voice?”
“I dunno, possibly–I don’t know what I think anymore.” I felt tears run down my face–what was I going to do? I wasn’t sure I’d cope with all this handicap–I either run away, and I can’t do that until I can see, or I live someone else’s life. What a choice?
“You’re upset, I’ll call and see you tomorrow.”
“That’s more than I can you.”
“I’m sorry, unfortunate turn of phrase–however, I’m brunette, five foot four, brown eyes and about eight stone.”
“Thank you, what about me–what do I look like?”
“A bit the worse for wear at the moment–you’re a red head, shoulder length hair, green eyes, not counting the bruises, they say five foot six and about eight stone seven.”
“That’s a bit light for a bloke?”
“You aren’t one any more, you’re a woman named Cathy. I know it’s hard to take on board at the moment but trying to deny it is only going to make things harder–believe your friends and family, they’ll guide you back to your life. I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see you then.”
“That would be good,” she said and I heard the footsteps recede into the distance.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1456
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I spent the rest of the day being prodded and poked, having this measured or blood taken. I was changed–no that had happened some time earlier–I meant the bed was changed. I managed to feed myself–I had toast for breakfast–I could cope with that, although I suspect all the butter went on one slice. I could manage my tea as well, once they put it in my hands.
I racked my brains until I got so tired that I fell asleep. Then I was woken because someone had dropped in some clean nightdresses–mine apparently. The nurse helped me put it on. I was allowed to stand by the bed while she did so and I admit I felt very unsteady on my feet. I was allowed to lie back on the bed and apparently whoever had brought the nighties and toiletries in, also brought my MP3 player. Even unsighted I knew how to operate it though I have no idea how long I’d had it, but it made a change from hospital radio.
Placing the headphones on my bonce–I can’t use those stick in your ear ones–my ears are small inside and they hurt–I switched on the player and immediately I liked the music this Lady Cameron part of me had chosen. I felt relaxed for the first time since being here.
I woke for another cuppa–I was getting quite good at finding my mouth–I suppose it’s big enough. One of the tracks was a film score–Lord of the Rings–I remember going to see it–no them, there were three films and I went with someone, but who. He bought me popcorn–which I don’t really like that much–so he ate most of it.
He? Jesus–I must be queer–no hang on, I’m female–phew, that’s a relief. I wonder if it’s that Simon bloke who took me? Just how many men have I been out with–and what did I do with them?
“Mummy,” I heard a young voice shout and assumed it related to a visitor down the ward–I suppose I’m on a ward somewhere–bloody blindness is a real pain. Next thing a small hand grabbed hold of mine and I nearly jumped off the bed.
“Mummy–well, say something,” said a youngish voice–sounded like a girl, but I’m not very good with children.
“Um–hello–um–I can’t see–who are you?”
“It’s me, Trish, Mummy.”
“Hello Trish.”
“I love you, Mummy, when are you coming home–oh can I ’ave a grape?”
“No idea, help yourself.”
“Auntie Stella brought me an’ Catherine to see you.”
“Where is Auntie Stella?” I asked but there was the sound of chomping alongside me, so she’d found the grapes alright.
“I’m here, Cathy,” I felt and smelt someone come close and she pecked me on the cheek. “I’ve brought the baby, so you can give her a feed.”
“I can’t see to feed a baby.”
“Just open your nightie and pop out a boob, she’ll latch on to it.” Before I could protest, she pulled open the front of my night gown and pushed the baby on to me. Realising that babies need support, I somehow managed to get my arm round her and held her while she suckled me. Until she bit me–it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. Stella then helped her to find my other breast, she also passed me a cloth to wipe my breast.
“You’ve got some lovely bruising on your face, girl,” said Stella, and I winced. “You have no idea what happened then?”
“I can’t remember where I live let alone anything else.”
“With us, you live with us.”
“Who’s us exactly?”
“Me, an’ Livvie an’ Mima an’ Billie an’ Danny, an’ Julie an’ Catherine.”
“Ooh, is this your baby?” said a new female voice which I assumed was the nurse who attended me earlier.
“I suppose so.”
“’Ere gimme a cuddle,” I felt the baby being taken from me, “I’ll bring ’er back in a mo, just gonna show the girls.”
“Don’t shake her about too much she hasn’t been winded,” I called after her. Why did I remember that?
“Mummy, can you remember anything?”
“Not a thing, that’s Trish isn’t it?”
“Well yes,” said Stella curtly, “seeing as the baby is too young to say much, and I only brought one other with me–because she insisted. She’s missing you, and you’ve hardly taken any notice of her.”
“I let her eat my grapes,” I protested.
“That hardly counts–and to think of all the fuss you had to get her and keep her.”
“I couldn’t walk when I came to you, Mummy, and you fixed me–I can walk for miles now. You mended Mima, too–d’you remember?”
I shook my head, which didn’t hurt quite so much and felt the tears run down my face. The little girl handed me a tissue, “Don’t cry, Mummy.” She sounded as if she was going to burst into tears as well. This was awful.
I shook my head again and I could see her–it was fuzzy–but this pretty little thing stood in front of me and I’d never seen her before in my life. There were tears running down her face and she was holding onto a very attractive woman, who I supposed was Stella. I think she’s supposed to be Simon’s sister.
I looked down at myself, resplendent in a pale blue nightdress, with broderie anglaise on the bodice and the hem, my toenails were painted pink and my one foot was showing a lot of bruising. I looked at my hands–they didn’t look very masculine ones–and surely they can’t alter those can they?
“Can you see?” asked Stella excitedly.
“Yeah, sort of, it’s not very clear but yes I can see.”
“Did you fix her?” she asked Trish, who shrugged.
“Fix me? I think when I shook my head I must have shifted something." Just then, the nurse returned with the baby.
“She’s lovely–they all wanna take ’er ’ome with them.” She went to hand her to Stella and I held out my arms–and when she saw me do so, she got very excited and began squealing and cooing. I took her and held her to me, she of course went for my breast again and I let her find it and feed some more.
“You can’t remember being a woman or a mother, yet you took her like you’ve done it forever–obviously your maternal skills are innate.” I looked up at the door and a youngish thirty something woman stood there. Her voice was almost familiar.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” asked Stella.
“I’m Sylvia Pascoe, your sister’s psychiatrist.”
“She can see, Mummy can see,” said Trish excitedly.
“I think I’d better get Dr Evans to come and check her out.” The nurse walked quickly out of my room which was a single one, closing the door behind her.
“I wondered if you could see–the way you took that baby implied you could.”
“I hope you’re not going to try and tell me it was hysterical–I don’t have a womb, so it can’t be.” I smiled at her but it was a false one. The baby snuggled into me and went to sleep. I adjusted my grip to accommodate her.
“Some things you apparently don’t forget,” Dr Pascoe smirked at me.
“She’s good with babies,” offered Trish, “often looks after Auntie Stella’s for her too.”
“Especially baby dormice–eh, Cathy?” quipped Stella.
“Am I?”
“You have a favourite one, Mummy, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, Trish.”
“But you do, she’s called Spike,” the child began to cry. Stella put her arm round her but Trish wasn’t finished yet. “You supposed to be better now.”
“I feel a little better, the headache is easing.”
“See, I can do it as well as her,” insisted Trish.
“Do what?” asked the psychiatrist.
“Make her better–what else?” the child almost sneered at the doctor.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1457
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Dr Evans appeared with the nurse, he examined my eyes with his ophthalmoscope thing or whatever they call it. “What happened?” he asked me.
“I shook my head and the shadow seemed to ease and since then the sight has become clearer.”
“You’ve obviously moved something, we’ll try and do another scan tomorrow,” then to the nurse he said, “Let me know immediately if there’s any deterioration. Oh, hi, Sylvie, didn’t see you there.” She was sitting cuddling my baby.
“Hi Miles, I’m having a crafty cuddle of Lady Cameron’s baby.”
“Your baby?” he asked me–he’d obviously read his notes.
“Yes, my baby,” I replied thinking he could go and stick that in his pipe and smoke it.
“Right,” he looked stunned and then nodded to his colleague and left.
Dr Pascoe sniggered, “The look on his face was priceless, he’ll go and read his notes again.”
“I’m used to being a freak so I don’t care one way or the other.”
“We’ll come back,” Stella grabbed Trish, “we’ll go and get a drink.”
“You’re a freak are you?” asked Dr Pascoe.
“Of course I am.”
“But one who’s good with babies?”
“If you believe the word of a child.”
“I don’t see why she’d lie to either of us.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“You’d better take her,” she handed Catherine back to me. She snuggled into me and went back to sleep. “She recognises you alright.”
“I’m not going to argue.”
“You’re not going to accuse a baby of lying are you?”
“Of course not–but she’s tired, she’d have slept in your arms if you’d let her.”
“No she wouldn’t, she recognised I wasn’t her mum possibly by voice, and she wanted to be back with you.”
“If you say so.”
“Look, will you–the evidence is in front of you.”
I felt tears run down my cheeks as I glanced at the sleeping infant in my arms. “This is all a bit of a shock.”
“I suppose it must be. Any more ideas about yourself coming back.”
“No–I wonder if someone has notified my parents and what will they say when they see me?”
“What with a baby? You’re hardly a teenage mum, are you? No I think they’d be delighted to know they have a lovely daughter who’s so kindly given a home to seven children.”
“Would they be pleased–what if they disapproved–of me, I mean?”
“Isn’t that their problem?”
“Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?” In walked Siân.
“Blow me down, Siân, haven’t seen you for ages.”
“Hi Sylvia, Cathy, sorry I didn’t hear about this until this morning. ?h is this your baby–she’s gorgeous.”
“Apparently, you’re Siân aren’t you?” I asked pretty sure she was.
“Of course I am, you were going home from me when you crashed.”
“Was I?”
Siân looked across at Sylvia Pascoe, “She’s got post traumatic amnesia–had a severe concussion, only just got her sight back.”
“Jeez, Cathy, you don’t do things by half do you?”
“Apparently.”
“So what can you remember?”
“Nothing very much–I don’t even remember having this body.”
“You what?”
“She woke up unable to see, unaware that she’d had gender surgery some time ago.”
“You thought you were still Charlie?”
“I wasn’t sure who I was but that name came to mind,” I replied.
“Charlie was one of the prettiest girls, for a boy, I ever met–don’t you remember the Macbeth business?”
“Remind me,” I tried to cover up my loss of memory.
“Oh no, do you or don’t you?”
“Okay, I don’t.”
“What happened?” asked Sylvia Pascoe making notes.
“Cathy was living as a boy but was really more girlish than half the girl’s school. They did the school play of Macbeth, and she was forced to play Lady Macbeth, she was absolutely brilliant and no one believed she was a boy–mind you she had very long hair and we dyed it auburn. They made her dress as a girl for a few weeks to get into role. It was intended to make her feel uncomfortable, but she played it with such gusto that it backfired on her. Her dad didn’t approve of her feminine proclivities at this time and he used to beat her or generally make life difficult. When she changed over he had a stroke and she visited him very regularly and he seemed to change his mind–actually becoming proud of his daughter. When he was dying, he held on for her to say goodbye and died in her arms.”
I felt tears rolling down my face. “My mother’s dead too, isn’t she?”
“Yes, you told me that was just after you’d transitioned, you got to the hospital with Stella just in time to see her and she died.” Siân explained, except I knew that bit.
“She called us angels,” I said still weeping silently.
“You remember?” said Sylvia quietly.
“Just that bit–it was in Bristol Southmead, wasn’t it?” I asked Siân and she nodded.
“I suppose little bits are coming back.”
“But not of your desire from such an early age to be a girl?” asked the shrink.
“Not so far.”
“Geez, Cathy, you were cross dressing in nursery and swapping footballs for dolls,” Siân revealed.
“Was I? So why has it stopped?”
“Who knows?” suggested Sylvia Pascoe, “It may be the concussion or the shock of the accident.”
“But I’m stuck as a woman?”
“I can’t believe this,” Siân gasped, “You’ve spent your whole life wanting to get to where you are now, with your husband and family–you were so happy when you came to my house–and now you’re telling me it was all a mistake?”
“I don’t know–I don’t know anything–I don’t even know myself.” There was an embarrassed silence for a few moments.
“I’m sorry, Cathy, but seeing you there with that baby and she feels secure with her mother–I only wished that you felt as happy as she does with the situation. I think it’s a tragedy, I really do.”
I wiped my face–“I don’t even know what I look like–probably a total mess.”
“That doesn’t sound like a man talking,” Siân commented.
“Well, I’m not one, am I? I’m stuck with this body now aren’t I and all these bloody children.”
“Not to mention a husband,” smirked Siân.
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
Siân produced a mirror from her bag, “I’ve seen you looking much prettier, remember your face is quite bruised and will be for several more days.”
I took it from her, “Do I want to do this or not?”
“Only you can decide that,” suggested Dr Pascoe.
I held up the mirror, “Bloody hell,” even with the bruising all I could see was a woman looking back at me–it looked as if I had no choice except to cope with things as they were. It struck me that I was probably feeling how a female to male transsexual felt, the exact opposite of how I’d apparently been for most of my life. Ironic or what?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1458
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I handed the mirror back to Siân and swallowed. “We weren’t in school together were we?”
“No you went to the boy’s school and I went to the girl’s. I remember you were so upset because we’d sat together in junior school and infants.”
“In Mrs Montcrieff’s class,” I said though why the name came to me I have no idea.
“Yes, she made you sit on the naughty chair because you had a fight with another girl over a doll, she wanted to put ...”
“...the green dress on and I wanted the dolly to wear the red outfit. I could be a bit stubborn.”
“Stubborn? The average mule has nothing on you–but d’you remember she pulled your hair, which was quite long then, and you slapped her. Unfortunately the teacher didn’t see her provoke you, but we all heard the slap–I think you pretty well flattened her.”
“Let that be a lesson to anyone who tries to take my dollies,” I said smirking.
“She’s even worse if you so much as breathe on her babies,” Siân commented and Sylvia kept scribbling.
“How d’you know that?” I demanded.
“For some reason your children have been the target of two or three attempts at kidnap and each time you’ve got them back yourself, sometimes with help, sometimes not. I mean it’s not long ago you rescued Simon–you told us about it the other day.”
“I did? Oh that was down by the docks at Portsmouth–another bit of memory. Why is it so fragmented?”
“That’s the nature of brain injury, it shakes everything up and as far as we know each memory is only a few connections between brain cells, so some might be missing or incomplete. A regular Athena, aren’t you?” Dr Pascoe looked up from her scribbling.
“What d’you mean?” I asked.
“She was the goddess of wisdom and warfare, of the female arts and civilisation,” continued the psychiatrist.
“Not a bad match for our sometimes girly, sometimes aggressive girl, here.” Siân smirked at me.
“Warfare? Oh come on, I hate violence.” I protested even though I knew I wouldn’t win this one.
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Siân smirked again.
“Hamlet,” I snapped identifying the play from which the quote originated.
“Spot on, so we can include the arts and civilisation to our Athena look alike.” Siân was having fun with me.
“Was she covered in bruises as well then?” I asked.
“If she was, she could just magic them away–she’s a goddess, remember–she had a few more tricks than the average GP,” Siân was enjoying herself.
“Perhaps I should try that then.” I joked, “I call upon my divine powers to rid me of this bruising and restore me to my normal self.” I sat there and nothing happened. So I clicked my fingers, trying not to disturb the sleeping infant.
“Did you see that?” asked Dr Pascoe.
“See what?” Siân and I both asked.
“There were sparks when you clicked your fingers–oh my God–look.” The shrink sat open mouthed as did Siân.
“What? What’s happening–cor, it’s cold in here.”
“Can’t you see it?”
“See what?”
“There’s a bright blue light encircling you–Jesus–can you see this, Siân?”
I felt this intense coldness surround me and like a whirlwind seemed to whip up into a mini tornado. Then it stopped and the two doctors were sat there with staring eyes and goldfish mouths.
“What the hell was that?” asked Dr Pascoe.
“Haven’t a clue,” replied my friend.
“Did you see it too?”
“I think so–but what I saw I couldn’t say.” Siân seemed unusually lost for words.
“You didn’t see anything–okay?” I demanded.
“What d’you mean? Something happened with a swirling blue light and your bruises have gone. I have to document it.”
“If you do, bad things will happen,” I cautioned.
“Like what?” Dr Pascoe asserted herself.
“In a week’s time, your mother will fall and break her hip–if you keep this quiet, she’ll recover well and very quickly. If you don’t, she won’t recover at all.”
“That’s a threat–it isn’t a good idea to threaten a psychiatrist, missy.” Dr Pasco really got up on her high horse.
“I’m not threatening you–I’m giving you a choice about the future.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You lost your appendix when you were sixteen and it caused you to miss your brother’s birthday party, which miffed you because you were sweet on his friend Christopher–although it was a wasted effort because the delay nearly killed you, and Christopher is gay.”
“How d’you know that?”
“The energy you saw is telling me that your choice of analogies is quite appropriate, it’s also telling me that this thing will befall your mother next week and you cannot escape it–however, it might have a positive or negative outcome depending upon how you respond to this information.”
“This is what you told me about before isn’t it, Cathy? I never thought I’d see it though.”
“I lost it after an argument with the entity which it presents as. I got annoyed and it removed itself from me. In some ways I was glad because it’s a two edged sword. Why it came back I have no idea.”
“That’s you, isn’t it, Cathy?” exclaimed Siân.
“Who else were you expecting? Now if I can get my clothes, Stella and Trish can take me home–I’ve got loads to do.”
“Just minute, Catherine Cameron, you made threats against my mother.”
“I didn’t, I reported the future, but with a choice–the light will help you or not depending upon if you help it or not.”
“That’s a threat in my book–no one can predict the future, except in a massively simplistic way.”
“Okay, Dr Evans is going to come rushing in to say all his X-ray films of me have gone blank.”
“When?”
“About now.”
In rushed the neurologist, “This is crazy–all those X-rays we took of Lady Cameron have gone blank–we’ll need to redo them.”
“Save your money, Dr Evans, I’m going home as soon as I can get some clothes, or like this if necessary.”
“You can’t, we have to make sure the brain injury has resolved itself.”
“It has.”
“I think I might have a better idea of that than a lay person,” he said irritably.
“Not this time, Miles. Discharge her,” instructed Dr Pascoe.
“With all due respect, Sylvie, I’m the neurologist and if she removes herself from this hospital without my sayso, she does it at her own risk, because I won’t be held responsible if she collapses from a cerebral infarct or bleed.”
“Just get me the forms, I’ll sign myself out–okay? Then you can all go and play doctors and nurses on someone else.”
“Just who do you think you’re talking to?”Dr Evans glared at me.
“You, Dr Evans–thank you for your wonderful care which has cured me so quickly–oh by the way be careful of that left ankle.”
“What?”
“Do as she asks, Miles,” Dr Pascoe seemed a little anxious.
“There is nothing wrong with my ankle–oh get off my ward–get rid of her, Sylvie.” He stormed out of my room and stepped awkwardly on some wet flooring, his foot went from under him and twisted as it went. By the time others went to help him he was limping badly.
“Jesus Aitch Christ,” said Siân.
“Better not let Kirsty hear you saying such things.” I warned my friend.
“What is this–some sort of black magic? You wished that on him, didn’t you?”
“No, the energy gave me a glimpse into the future and I tried to pass on what it told me.”
“Doesn’t do the lottery numbers, does it?” asked Siân.
“I’m afraid not–that’s serendipity.”
“Pity.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1459
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As I lay in bed that night, I felt unable to sleep. Simon was in blissful repose having regained his wife and normality to his life–he had all he wanted. I on the other hand, felt twitchy and restless.
I couldn’t remember why I’d crashed, as far as I could remember, I drove fairly steadily and had no need to speed–even the police considered the scene of the accident didn’t indicate any excess of speed–they reckoned I’d have been dead if I had. They had sent me notice of intent to prosecute for driving without due care and attention which would mean a fine and points on my licence. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t sleep–I felt very peeved by the notice.
I’d also lost my car–which although I’d have called it a Chelsea Tractor a year or two ago, I did find it comfortable to drive. I’d have to arrange something soon to do the school run–I’d talk with Simon in the morning, assuming I’d been to sleep by then.
I slipped out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown–it had become quite cool in the evenings as August petered out into September. Autumn was definitely on its way–the problem was summer had barely intervened between spring and the incoming season. August–something of a misnomer for the wettest month since 1993.
I arrived downstairs in the kitchen moments later and was quite glad the Aga in there always meant the room was warm–at least down the end by the Aga. I switched on the kettle well aware that a cup of tea would mean I’d have to wake to go for a wee later–but it might relax me and let me get off in the first place.
I made my tea in the cup, dangling a tea bag in the hot water for a couple of nanoseconds–I don’t like it very strong–which might also wake me up even more. A good splosh of milk and I sat down by the Aga and warmed my toes.
My head was still full of my recent experience–I’d actually remembered most of what I’d said and felt while I was unsure of who or what I was–and it concerned me, which is the polite way of saying, it frightened the brown stuff out of me.
Ever since I was knee high to a dormouse, I felt I was a girl, so why in all that’s great and wonderful did I think I was a boy–I mean I didn’t think that when I was one–so why did it happen?
Then the reappearance of the blue energy and its complications–where did that come from–I thought I’d been deprived of it for speaking my mind. Having said that, I always thought the goddess stuff a bit much–well actually I thought it was total cobblers and probably a figment of my fertile imagination.
I mean it had to be–how else could it be? There's nothing out there except space, dark matter, dark space and various cosmic rays and things. Okay, the fact that they are still discovering things almost daily means there could be lots yet to be discovered–even the Higgs-boson particle–which would make the Wheelchair guy as Homer Simpson described Stephen Hawking, very cross if it did occur, as he doesn’t believe they exist. At least I think I got it the right way round but at one in the morning I’m not at my intellectually most brilliant.
“They do exist,” said a voice.
“What do?” I asked out loud before clenching my buttocks–who was speaking?
“Higgs boson particles as they’ll soon prove at Cern.”
“Who are you?” I looked up to see a woman standing before me. She was elderly but exuded an air of youth which seemed incongruent. She wore a silver grey dress and matching shoes.
“I think you know that, Catherine.”
“If I did why would I bother to ask you?”
“You called us up in the hospital.”
“I don’t think so, so perhaps you’d like to leave by the same way you came.”
“We find you still as arrogant as before, we had hoped the accident would bring you to your senses.”
“My senses, yes–I could have died.”
“We would never have let that happen.”
“As if I believe that–you’ve boasted about killing others–what difference would one more make–please go.”
“We cannot leave you now–you called us.”
“You’re mistaken, I didn’t, now go.”
“No, it is you who are mistaken, Catherine–you called upon your divine powers. We represent that power–and we also serve to remind our chosen bearers of that power of their obligations and responsibilities.”
“No–I was joking.”
“You didn’t reverse things, so we don’t believe you.”
“Would you?”
“We have no opinion on such things, we simply observed your actions. It is our estimation that you have learned little from this episode and may need to take further action to educate you.”
“I could have driven at the deer,” I’d suddenly recalled what happened.
“We knew you’d never do that–you are too kind hearted towards animals.”
“I thought that was supposed to be an advantage in your view of things.”
“It could be, but it may also be seen as sentimentality which is a weakness.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot you wipe out whole families to present me with a child so I could breastfeed her.”
“You are preparing the next generation of our helpers.”
“You keep away from my baby–d’you hear?”
“Restrain yourself, Catherine, your baby will never suffer at our hands.”
“You old crone, what d’you consider wiping out all her family as then, if that isn’t suffering? What is she going to think when she’s older?”
“She will be pig-headed like you and require convincing of our intentions.”
“I’m not convinced of your intentions yet, they seem anything but godly.”
“Alas morality is something which is culturally based and not relevant to us–we do what the universe requires of us, just as you will do for us.”
“Like hell.”
“I don’t think you would like hell, we gave you a recent taste of it and you called us up to help you.”
“I didn’t, one of the doctors challenged me so I responded as I thought in fun.”
“You invoked us–you are therefore now beholden to us.”
“I’d like you to go, I need to sleep.”
“If we do go this conversation will happen in your sleep.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to speak with you.”
“Look what d’you want of me? Say your piece and leave.”
“I think you misunderstand us, Catherine,” suddenly I was frozen to the chair. I literally couldn’t move, my body seemed disconnected from me so while my mind worked it couldn’t rouse my body from its paralysis. “We can speak to you whenever we wish and you will listen–won’t you?”
I couldn’t say anything or move a muscle but I suppose they read my mind, which wouldn’t take very long–about twice the length of time it would take for that of a politician.
The voice droned on and on and I was still rooted to the chair where I fell asleep and Simon found me the next morning.
“What on earth are you doing here? he asked dressed in his underpants and tee shirt as I blinked at him. In reply I burst into tears.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1460
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“What are you crying for?” he asked looking bemused and sleepy.
“Just hold me,” I sobbed and thankfully he did just that. His body felt warm against mine and I felt protected in his strong arms. I leant my head on his shoulder and just inhaled his scent–that felt comforting too. If ten years ago someone had told me that smelling a man’s tee shirt would relax me, I’d have thought they were certifiable. I guess we all change somewhat with experience of life.
“C’mon, it’s only five o’clock let’s go back to bed for a couple of hours.” I let him lead me up the stairs and then cuddle into my back once we got into bed. I was asleep in moments and I was still in the land of nod at eight when the girls came in to see where we were.
I felt refreshed, considering how little sleep I’d had, unless of course I’d nodded in the chair and dreamt all that stuff about being beholden to some ancient crone. I didn’t remember eating any cheese last night, but something gave me that funny dream.
I gave the children breakfast and Danny went out to help Tom with the garden, Simon took Billie and Meems out with him–he wanted to go into town for something, and Livvie was helping Jenny with the laundry. I was giving Catherine a feed, which I presume was what Stella was doing upstairs with her baby when Trish came up to watch me.
“How come you didn’t go with your daddy?” I asked her.
“I didn’t want to.”
“Fair enough, I’m going to do some cleaning when this little monster has finished sucking me dry–you going to help me?”
“I s’pose so.”
“Don’t get too enthusiastic,” I said sarcastically.
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Just a moment young lady, you don’t speak to me like that–I’m your mother and deserve some respect.”
“You didn’t show any to the goddess, did you?”
I felt a cold shiver run down my back, “What d’you mean?”
“I saw you talking last night and you were quite cheeky to her.”
“I think you must have dreamt it, sweetheart.”
“No I didn’t, I heard you come downstairs and I was going to check you were alright. I waited in case Daddy came with you, but he didn’t so I came down and you were talking to someone. I peeped through the crack at the back of the door and there was some old lady here and you were being very off with her.”
“Was I now? Perhaps she was being unreasonable to me?”
“She was an old lady, so you should have shown her respect, Mummy. That’s what you teach us to do, and they say the same in school.”
“The old woman had come here without my request, and I was asking her to leave.”
“She was the goddess, Mummy.”
“I don’t care who she was, had I known you were watching, I’d have thrown her out.”
“No you wouldn’t, that would be very bad manners, besides she’d have done something nasty to you. She made you crash your car, and I don’t want you to get hurt again–it was horrible to see you in hospital when you didn’t know who you were and couldn’t see–you didn’t even know who I was.”
“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment to you, Trish, but I’m not at all happy about having some old crone telling me what to do.”
“You tell me what to do.”
“That’s different, I’m your mother, I’m responsible for you.”
“Maybe she’s ‘sponsible for you?”
“How can someone be responsible for me, I’m an adult, I’m autonomous.”
“That’s a big word, Mummy.”
“Sorry, kiddo, it means I’m able to take responsibility for myself which gives me some degree of freedom to do things.”
“Am I tonimouse too?”
“No, you’re still a child, so Daddy and I or anyone we designate as responsible makes decisions for you, like when you’re in school it’s your teachers who are responsible.”
“So if I do something wrong, it’s my teacher’s fault?” She smiled at this concept.
“Not quite, sweetheart. It would depend upon what you did wrong–I mean if you didn’t learn something properly, then it might be because someone didn’t show you how to do something properly.”
“They don’t, sometimes I have to show them how to do it properly–I mean there I was with Sister Lucrezia Borgia, and she was trying to tell me how I did my sums was wrong–I proved to her I wasn’t wrong, she was, my way was faster and better.”
“Why do I do these things–arguing with Trish I mean, she won’t listen or baffles me with some irrelevant sidetrack.”
“Yes I’m sure you did, dear, now back to the old woman–this is my house, so I can tell some uninvited visitor to leave if I want.”
“Would you have called a pleeceman?”
“I might have done.”
“That would have been a mistake.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He wouldn’t have been able to see her–only girls can.”
“How d’you know?”
“She told me.”
“She spoke to you?”
“Yes, of course she did.”
This was news to me–“When?”
“Last night, but she’s come to see me before then.”
“Has she now?”
“Oh yes, Mummy, she told me I was far cleverer than you are–she said you were so obstinate you must be stupid.”
“What did you think about that?”
“I told her you were the best mummy in the world–even if you were thick.”
“Gee thanks, Trish, I’ll do the same for you sometime.”
“But I’m not thick, am I?”
“No you’re not, girl. Look if she comes again you must tell her to only see you with me–I don’t want her coming to you when you’re on your own.”
She shrugged, “She said you’d complain if I told you–she was dead right.”
“It’s a matter of protocol, if she wants me to treat her with respect, she must show me respect as your mother.”
“She comes to see the baby, too.”
“She does what?” I felt a coldness spread from my solar plexus.
“She’s been to see the baby.”
“How d’you know?”
“I seen her pick her up and whisper some foreign words to her–the baby laughed.”
“Can you remember any of the words?”
“No, but they sounded foreign–one was Yod, I think. What’s it mean, Mummy.”
“I thought you said I was the stupid one?”
“No, she did, not me.”
“Yod is a Hebrew letter.”
“What’s a Hebrew?”
“It’s an old term for the Jews and their language and culture.”
“Is she a Hebrew then, Mummy?”
“I don’t know what she is–certainly the name, Shekinah comes from Hebrew, so it could be she is.”
“What was she saying to the baby?”
“I think she might have been blessing her.”
“How d’you know?”
“I have a feeling she might have been saying one of the names of the Hebrew god Yaweh or Yaveh.”
“Is that good, Mummy?”
“I hope so. It’s the name of the god mentioned in the Bible.”
“Oh well he’s good, isn’t he, Mummy.”
“I don’t know, he does some pretty nasty things to people he didn’t like.”
“Yes, but he was Jesus’s daddy, wasn’t he?”
“Allegedly.”
“What does, ledgedly mean?”
“It means, so they say.”
“Oh,” she looked rather worried. “They could do DNA testing couldn’t they, Mummy?” I had to look away.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1461
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Simon came back with the girls as Trish and I finished the vacuuming. The girls all went to play and I made the adults a cuppa. Jenny and Stella took theirs into the dining room, leaving Simon and I alone in the kitchen.
“You never did say why you were sleeping in the chair.”
“I got tired.”
He growled and continued, “Why were you down here in the first place?”
“I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d disturb you, so I came down and made myself some tea.”
“So why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I was seething at the police threatening to do me for driving without due care–it was a bloody deer, shot out of the hedgerow and I swerved to avoid it.”
“Shoulda hit it.”
“I know that now–stupid creatures, they make dormice seem bright by comparison.”
“I once swerved to avoid a hedgehog and ended up in a ditch.”
“Were you hurt?” I enquired.
“No, but it buckled the front wheel of my bike.”
“So many of those poor little things are killed by people who are driving too fast in towns–it’s perfectly easy to see them and to either avoid them or stop and get out and push them across the road. I did that once on the M4 when I borrowed my dad’s car to help a friend collect some stuff from Swansea University.”
“What did your friend say?”
“Oh she wasn’t with me, she was in Swansea–fabulous campus, overlooks the sea.”
“So you can remember the accident?”
“The first bit–I was so cross that that old crone had caused it.”
“What old crone–I thought you said it was a deer?”
I blushed, not the cleverest thing to say, especially as he’d think I was nuts because he couldn’t see her himself. If I told him only women could see the Shekinah, he’d really go off on one.
“Did I say crone? I must still be tired–I meant to say doe–I think it was a doe that jumped out in front of me.”
He gave me an old fashioned look which suggested he didn’t believe me, but in the cause of maintaining world peace he wouldn’t challenge me.
“Maybe you should see a doctor?”
“I’ve just been surrounded by them–nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t sort out.”
“Well if it doesn’t, I think you should see Stephanie or Anne Thomas.”
“What for? I’m not mentally ill–I haven’t needed a shrink since I had my surgery. Besides, Stephanie seems crazier than I am at the moment.”
“All pregnant women are crazy,” he said dismissively.
“I’m surprised you included the word pregnant,” I said sarcastically annoyed at his sexism.
“You what?”
“You implied or inferred all women are crazy.”
“If the cap fits ...”
“That’s like me saying all men are bastards.”
“That’s what women like to believe isn’t it?”
“This one doesn’t.”
“Because you’re crazy–QED.”
Before I could say something in response, he put down his mug and ambled out to the garden. I retaliated by banging pots about in the kitchen while I prepared the lunch–fresh bread with salad and smoked salmon and or hard boiled eggs.
The girls were fractious, possibly they picked it up from Simon while they were out, or he bought them drinks or sweets with colouring agents that make them uncontrollable. Twice I had to reprimand Livvie and Billie, who were arguing about nothing, which sucked in Trish–who can never resist an argument. She in turn said something which got Mima going, and before they were finished even Danny was at it. Simon and Tom looked on in amusement which made me even more angry, while Jenny and Stella stayed aloof.
After I’d quietened down the children, I glanced at Jenny and Stella–there was something going on between them–but what? They were avoiding eye contact but it felt deliberate. Oh no–they’re not going lesbian on me are they? Not that it worried me as such, I was just worried it would have a disruptive effect on the household. Jenny had become such a part of the team I couldn’t really cope without her, so I couldn’t afford to have her mooning over Stella.
Yep, there they go again, little sideways glances at each other like they would with a man. Oh well–who am I to cast the first stone–good luck to them.
I was distracted for the rest of the meal watching them and their body language. I wondered how long it had been going on–had I missed it before? My observation of the two women hadn’t gone unnoticed. I was clearing up when Trish spoke to me.
“Mummy?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Why were you watching Auntie Stella and Jenny?”
“Was I, darling, I didn’t notice–I was miles away.” I was lying but I hoped she wouldn’t spot it–fat chance.
“Is it because they’re doing things together?”
“Are they?” I pretended I wasn’t interested.
“Yes they are, in Auntie Stella’s bedroom.”
“How do you know?”
“I watched them.”
“You’re becoming quite the peeping Tom aren’t you?”
“No, I’m a girl, remember?”
“Okay, a peeping Thomasina.”
“No, the door wasn’t closed and I heard a funny noise and went to look and Jenny was...”
“I don’t think I need to know, Trish–please don’t look again.”
“But Jenny had her hand up...”
“I don’t care what they were doing, I don’t want to know.”
“But it was so big.”
“What was?” I asked.
“The thing, Jenny had in her hand–I think it must have had batteries because I couldn’t see any wires.”
“Trish, that is too much information–I don’t want you to look again or to speak to others about this–understood?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“What goes on in the bedroom is sacrosanct. Do you understand?”
“No, Mummy–what does that mean?”
Oh bugger–me and my big words. “It means it doesn’t concern anyone else.”
“Does it?”
“Yes it does, so keep it to yourself.”
“Oh okay.” She trotted off to find the others and prove her cleverness to them.
“What was all that about?” Simon casually walked into the kitchen.
“All what?”
“You having a go at Trish?”
“About ten minutes why?”
“What’s that about the sanctity of the bedroom?”
“I was trying to get her to tidy her part of their bedroom.”
“You’re a bloody awful liar, Cathy.”
“Of course being a banker you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“Charming.” He sloped off to his office and once again I felt I could have handled that better.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1462
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Simon sulked for an hour or more–he avoided me and was short with the children. When he’s cross with me or them, they become my children. Meems actually came out crying after he told her off. I resisted the urge to roll up my sleeves and go and punch him on the nose because I assumed it would make matters worse.
When Tom finally came in from the garden he somehow noticed an atmosphere and asked me about it. I explained that Simon was suffering from PMT and being horrid to all of us. He washed his hands, poured out two glasses of Guinness and told me he’d sort it out. I left him to it.
Dinner was chicken supreme, or my version of it, essentially chicken bits in a white savoury sauce served with rice and in this case broad beans. For dessert, I made a strawberry flan, using a bought flan case, which I’d serve with ice cream–the kids would eat it anyway.
That was looking after itself so I went to my study and did a little on the mammal survey. I was quite a bit behind so any minutes I could spare were useful, Tom came past and saw what I was doing and smiled appreciatively–he doesn’t always say much but he misses very little.
He asked me if I’d like to do any teaching in the coming term–I agreed I’d do the odd hour here and there, mainly on ecology and ecosystems. I knew that’s where he was weakest on his staff cover, and I suppose it is my subject.
He also confided that he would send some of the second years in to listen to it because he wasn’t convinced they’d got a proper understanding in their first year. He went off to his study and returned with two essays–a quick scan showed they hadn’t got much from the course or from their textbooks or internet. I mean we have a whole section in the library on ecology and ecosystems–where do they think I got my information from–yeah, okay–I did some field work too. Maybe that’s what they need, some practical learning.
I went back to finishing the dinner and Tom and I discussed it while I worked, he agreed and asked me to lead some field studies. I told him on condition that he organised some babysitting. That got him huffing and puffing. Mind you the thought of facing class of spotty yoofs and girls wearing enough makeup to cover a battleship, all with a tremendously bored expression made me realise how little I’d missed it.
Then when I tell them I won’t allow them to do field trips in miniskirts and Ug boots, there will be groans and an undercurrent of chatter which I won’t be able to hear well enough to understand but it will disrupt the class.
I asked Tom if I could borrow some third years to assist on the field trips and he nodded, so that might be the answer. Oh well, something to look forward to–the next holiday period. Then I’ll have bored children at home–oh joy. Maybe I should drug them all and run away.
After dinner which went down quite well except one individual who suggested chicken curry might have been better use of the chicken, the children went to watch something on television while Jenny and I cleared the table. I watched her again and there was definitely something going on between her and Stella. Much more of the schoolgirl crush behaviour and I’d say something.
After I’d fed Catherine and played with her a little, Meems came in and she took over amusing her baby sister, while I called Danny in to try on some trousers I’d bought him. I had to take them up about an inch and he grumbled that he was missing his fave prog while I made him try on his new school shoes with the trousers.
“Fine, instead of me doing this, you can spend an hour every evening while I teach you to sew, and you can hem these yourself.” He suddenly went very quiet and stood remarkably still. If he’d called my bluff, I’d have made him do it–it’s how I learned–by messing about when my mother was trying to shorten my trousers and she did that to me. I learned how to do a very neat hemming stitch, then the next time I had some sewing to do, she made me do some of it–in the end I enjoyed it but didn’t tell her that. Then she caught me with the embroidery and we had that terrific row which culminated in my father beating me. I don’t think Danny’s in any danger of that from Simon, were he to take up embroidery.
The rest of the evening, I spent sewing name tags in the girl’s gym kit, even their socks. It’s such good fun and whiles away the time so quickly that my mood improved dramatically–no it didn’t, it is so bloody boring that I nearly fell asleep while I was doing it.
I sent them up to bed and checked on them about fifteen minutes later, I read them some of the most recent Gaby book and they all snuggled down and went to sleep, at least I left them to sleep and went to make myself a well earned cup of tea. Stella had gone out to get some batteries–for what, she didn’t say, according to Si who was doing the crossword in the paper.
Jenny was putting Fiona to bed and I asked her where Stella was. “Dunno, she mentioned something about having to go out for something or other.” She blushed as she spoke but I said nothing, I felt like reminding her that I paid her not Stella, but left it this time.
Stella came in as I was making my tea, “You could have said you were going out,” I said as a welcome to her.
“Since when have I got to get your permission?” she fired back.
“You don’t but we could have done with some more milk, Si forgot to get it yesterday.”
“Here,” she said and handed me a six pint bottle.
“You noticed?” I said smiling at her.
“No, Si asked me to get some.” With that she breezed past me and up the stairs.
I seem to be missing out on something–oh yeah, it’s called life. After my tea I set the bread maker off to make a loaf ready for the morning–I wanted it still hot enough to melt butter or the spread we use instead–low fat stuff supposedly safer and full of omega three oils and vitamin D. I do try to keep us healthy–well some of the time.
I did some more survey work and went to bed with a whodunit by Donna Leon, I barely got through the first page before I fell asleep dropping the book which hit Simon and he dropped his book on his crotch and severely injured his manhood–that’s what he said. When I offered to kiss it better, his pain seemed to pass instantly, so he missed out on that as well.
However, I’d been asleep and now awake again I found it difficult to get off again. I felt like making myself a hot drink but the memory of the last time made me think twice–mind you, if I catch that old crone near my kids–goddess or no goddess–she’ll end up in ICU.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1463
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Danny went back to school a few days before the girls–the joys of the state school system. I did offer to send him somewhere else but he was of the opinion that only wealthy ponces and poofters went to private schools. I did try to point out that his sisters went to a private school, but he seemed bored with the discussion.
After his hearty breakfast, Si ran him to school in the Jag. That made up for going back earlier than the girls. I was using the Mondeo that Tom had bought but rarely used–it was almost the household run-about and used for shopping and things. It went like a train–the two litre turbo diesel being pretty nippy about the place.
Everyone ate a pretty good breakfast, especially Simon, who upon smelling the fresh baked bread, ate half the loaf almost before I could slice it. He also scoffed half a jar of strawberry jam, which was all we had so I determined to do the family shop once I’d cleared up and popped into the university to check on a few things, including how many hours I’d be working and when.
Despite the increase in tuition fees, something with which Americans are more familiar than we Brits, we didn’t have any shortage of takers for the biological sciences courses.
It was good to chew the fat with Pippa, who’d been away for two weeks in Rhodes with her boys–if they were half as brown as her, I’d still be jealous–I tan like a milk bottle–just freckling which Simon thinks is cute–men, aargh.
We got chatting about the intake and Pippa said, “We’ve had loads of enquiries from girls.”
“Well, it appears that they tend to do better in exams than boys and the gap is growing.”
“No, we sent out a new prospectus for the courses and the demand for those has been double last year.”
“Why?”
“Try page fourteen,” she said passing me a copy while she went to make the coffee.
I flicked through the glossy paper to the relevant page. I nearly fell off the chair when I read it.
‘The department is pleased to welcome back Lady Catherine Cameron, who is possibly better known to you as Cathy Watts, dormouse expert, ecologist and film maker. Cathy is returning to the department part time to teach on our ecology and field biology units. Her courses are very popular, so there is a possibility that later applicants may not find places.
Lady Cameron is returning to teach here juggling her home and family commitments with her busy career, which includes being one of the main administrators of the Mammal Survey of Great Britain, and will be heavily involved with the European one which is due to start in 2015.
She is married to Lord Simon Cameron, who is a leading banker. They have several girls and a boy.’
It showed the photo of me with the dormouse as per the bank campaign–fortunately, with my auburn hair, I no longer resembled the poster photo so didn’t feel so uptight about them using it. Pippa returned with the coffees and took one in to Tom–I hope she poisoned it.
“When did they do these?” I waved the brochure to her.
“Back in the spring.”
“I only said I’d do some teaching here the other night.”
Pippa shrugged, “He obviously knows you better than you think.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No, he’s been in a meeting half the morning and has another in a couple of minutes.”
“Can you let him know I’ve seen the brochure.”
“You want him to have another heart attack?”
“No, I’m going to prevent that happening ever again.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m going to rip out his heart as soon as he comes home this evening.”
“I found having the boys calmed me down.”
“The kids aren’t the problem it’s misbehaving adults who mess up most of my time. I seem to spend hours clearing up after them–and he’s as bad as any of them.” I nodded towards his door.
“I think he’s a lovely old chap, I wish my kids had him for a granddad.”
“He’s fine as a granddad, it’s his sleight of hand stuff you have to watch for. Ever since I’ve been here he’s bitten off more than I can chew, because I always end up sorting it out for him–from his laundry to the mammal survey.”
“That’s men, Cathy, get over it.”
“Geez, thanks for the sympathy.”
“You’re welcome–I have to go and take minutes of this meeting.”
“Oh okay, I'll wash the cups and go and see how Spike is.” After sorting the crockery, I strolled down to the labs and walked straight into Neal Allen.
“Well look who it isn’t? Our very own celebrity lecturer and millionairess.”
“Thanks, Neal, I knew I could rely on you to keep me grounded.” We hugged and he pecked me on the cheek. “How’s Glo?”
“Tom didn’t tell you?”
My stomach turned over, “No, what’s happened?”
“She’s just started maternity leave.”
“Oh wow, that’s wonderful–when’s the baby due?”
“In about eight weeks.”
“Does the father know?” I asked poker faced.
“Yeah, course–why you...” he chased me round the lab both of us laughing. I ran into the dormouse area and suddenly I really missed this place. I’d had my ups and downs but mostly I’d enjoyed my time here.
“Where’s Spike?” I asked.
“Our celebrity dormouse lives here, we couldn’t get a gold plated nest box for her on account it would get too cold.”
I slid open the nest box and pulled her out, she was fast asleep and woke with a start, however, when I spoke she sat there blinking and waiting for a hazel nut which Neal supplied.
“She remembers you,” he said in surprise.
“We’ve been through a lot together.” I stroked her gently as she munched on the nut–no other dormouse had allowed me such liberties unless they were torpid or hibernating. She was now at least four years old, if we were both lucky, she might make it to six. I stroked her again and popped her back into her nest box.
“You haven’t seen our new addition have you?”
“Which is?”
He walked on and beckoned me to follow, which I did. He led me into a room which I’d never seen before and it was also full of cages. “The herpetology collection,” he said indicating the tanks.
“Snakes, or lizards?” I asked, I wasn’t too keen on snakes.
“Both, including the slow-worms which are like a bridge between the two.”
“Got those in the garden–d’you know they can live to about forty years?” I quite liked slow-worms once I realised they ate things like slugs.
“Reptiles do.”
“Not always–my lawn mower tends to be a bit of a death trap to them.”
“Cathy, you shouldn’t they’re protected.”
“I don’t do it–I leave the lawn to someone else but we do unfortunately kill the odd one. What are they doing here?”
“Captive breeding–under licence of course.”
“For release?”
“That’s the plan, but first we have to set up our breeders.”
“Sounds like you could show ’em what to do.”
“Thanks, Cathy, I suppose we could always feed them dormice babies.”
“Don’t you dare, or I’ll mince you up and feed you to them.”
“That’s fighting talk.”
“Yeah, but it’ll have to wait–I’ve got to do the supermarket shop.”
“I’d have thought with your money, you’d have done it online.”
“They can’t get the truck up our drive.”
“How many kids do you have now?”
“Last count seven, why?”
“How do you cope with seven bloody kids?”
“Eight, if I count Simon.”
He laughed and I shrugged. We hugged and I left. I still had the brochure so words with Tom would occur sometime tonight.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1464
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One hundred and twenty two dozen for the dodecaphiles.
Why does it always happen to me? I went to my favourite supermarket and was well into my shopping, when some young kid came careering down the aisle with his trolley, you know balancing on the back of the trolley, and he slammed into some oldish lady who didn’t see him coming. I didn’t until I heard the thud of the trolley into her back and she was catapulted forwards against the shelving unit and buried under and avalanche of tins of beans and other canned veg.
The boy scrambled up and began to run away except he ran straight into one of the security men who’d been following him. There was a quick scuffle and he swung a kick at the security men connecting with his groin. The man bellowed and fell down. However, two men shoppers blocked his escape and he ran towards me. I stepped in front of him, pushing my trolley to obstruct his get away.
“Outta my way, bitch,” he spat at me.
“Make me, arsehole,” I jibed back.
He aimed a punch at me and I sidestepped and back kicked him in the chest, then spun round and caught him again. The first contact stopped him the second knocked him backwards and the two male shoppers grabbed him. By now a second security man had arrived and the boy was taken into custody to await the police.
The old lady looked in a bad way as they excavated her from the tins. A first aider arrived and they tended to her wounds, including a nasty cut on her head. She’d also messed herself–so was losing dignity as well as suffering an injury.
Lots of people stood about watching and about four were helping as paramedics arrived–she looked very poorly. The crowd was shooed away and the professionals left to deal with the injured woman. I wondered if I should have tried to help her more, though at the time it seemed stopping the youth causing more mayhem seemed the better idea. I assumed they had CCTV so that could be used in evidence against him.
I wondered why people did such silly things and in some ways was fortunate that I was looking at stuff on the opposite side of the aisle or I could have taken the impact instead of the old lady. Given I’d just had one head injury, I hate to think what might have happened had I sustained another so soon.
I carried on with my shopping until a policeman approached me and asked if I could go with him. I had to leave my shopping and go to the manager’s office. “I should have known it was you.”
“Why Sergeant Milsom, how nice to see you again.”
“You two know each other?” asked the younger PC.
“Just good friends,” I smiled at him–let him make what he wants from that.
“Statement please, Lady Cameron–is that you in this video?” He played a rather grainy picture of the whole incident, groaning when the security guard was decked by the kick and again when the youth confronted me and got dropped himself. “You shouldn’t get involved, you could have got yourself hurt.”
“I saw the old lady go down, she was really hurt, I couldn’t let him get away now could I?”
“But he’d shown he could be violent.”
“True, but his timing was poor–and I knew the two men coming towards me would help.”
“I see you let him take a poke at you first, what did he say?”
“He called me a bitch and ordered me out of his way. I don’t take orders from pip-squeaks.”
“So he was on borrowed time after that?”
I shrugged.
“Okay, Batgirl, let’s have a statement.”
I sat down and dictated one which I then signed. He thanked me and I went back to my shopping only to be told the old lady had died. That put a downer on the morning and once again I wondered if I should have offered to help her instead of stopping the tearaway.
Part of me wondered if she was dead by the time they dug her out of the tins, or so close to it that I wouldn’t have been able to help much anyway. I wasn’t sure about the blue light–did I possess it still or not? Part of me was frightened to find out and I was filled with self doubts about it.
They closed the shop only those who had shopping could pay for it and leave. There were loads of people being turned away by police as it all became a crime scene and subject to investigation.
I’d only done half my shopping, so like many I went on to a second supermarket to finish it–getting home well after what would normally be lunch time. Thankfully, Jenny and Stella fed the children, who I presumed otherwise would have killed and eaten them–a pack of ravenous girls can be quite dangerous–no chocolate bar is safe.
Trish and Livvie helped me put away the shopping, hoping that I’d got them some sweets–which I had–they all had a small pack of dolly mixtures, and I got my shopping put away quickly, a real quid pro quo.
Stella wanted to know why I was so late and only believed me when she saw a note on the BBC website of the old lady being killed at the supermarket. So then I had to give all the lurid details.
“How old was the youth?”
“I don’t know, about seventeen or eighteen, he was about five foot ten and looked in reasonable fitness.”
“If he was how come you managed to stop him?”
“My timing was better than his?”
“I taught you well, didn’t I?”
“You did indeed.” I humoured her–well, why not, and she had started me off on the kick boxing as she had in womanhood.
“Just as well you weren’t wearing that tight skirt you have,” offered Jenny.
“The red one?” I queried.
“Yeah, you’d have split it.”
“I suspect I’d have kept out of the way or just caught him with my trolley, which was plan B.”
“He’d have pushed past it, wouldn’t he?”
“No, I’d have rammed him from behind, that would have brought him down, but not necessarily stopped him–the kick did stop him, and the police supported that he’d threatened me, so I was acting in self-defence.”
“Oh good, normally it’s the police you’re defending yourself from.”
“Now, now Stella–that’s only half the time and they have been getting better.”
“Did you get my pads?” she asked.
“Pads?” I’d forgotten entirely.
“Yeah, I asked you to get me some bra pads.”
“Oh poo, I forgot. I’ll walk down the chemists and get you some, if you watch Catherine, I’ll take the rest of the brood with me–which is how I came to be walking with five girls and a mad spaniel. Okay, only four of the girls were walking, Puddin’ was in her push chair which Billie pushed most of the way, although Trish and Livvie also had a go and they also took turns with the dog.
The chemist’s shop is about a mile away in a little strip of shops and the walk cost me six ice creams as well as a dog chew, and the bra pads. However, the rain held off until we got home so everyone declared the afternoon stroll a success.
When Danny came home, he asked if he could have an ice cream from the freezer before he went up to change out of his school uniform and settled down to do his homework. This term we’d made an agreement that if he did his homework as soon as he came home every night, I’d give him a fiver on Saturday. He’d earned his first pound–to me it seemed the best way to encourage him to get it done and would hopefully improve his grades.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1465
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“Isn’t it about time you stopped acting like some Hollywood crime fighter, because one of these days you’re going to get hurt,” Simon said while we were lying in bed together.
“I don’t go looking for these things, you know,” I replied feeling a little hurt.
“No maybe not, but you don’t run away either, do you?”
“Would you?”
“I don’t know, but I’m a man–you’re not.”
“I’m glad you noticed–I was beginning to wonder if you would.” I decided to use a woman’s oldest trick to change the subject and he fell for it hook, line and sinker–mind you, I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it too.
“I think I’m rather glad I noticed,” gasped Simon, just before he fell asleep, his underpants still round one leg–okay, I rushed him a bit.
“Noticed what?”
“Um–oh–you’re a woman,” he yawned closed his eyes and zonked.
“Yeah, I’m the one with all the messy bits,” I hissed as I slipped from the bed holding my knickers under me to catch any seepage. I had a little wash, put on some fresh knickers with a panty pad, pulled on my nightdress again and got back into bed. Simon was fast asleep and didn’t move, even when I put my cold feet on his leg–only his heavy breathing told me he was still alive he lay so still. I turned on my side and fortunately went off to sleep quite quickly.
The doorbell rang, and as I seemed to be the only one in the house, I went to answer it. A young man stood before me, his jaw and teeth very misshapen. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, your bloody boyfriend did this to me.” He pointed at his face.
“Did you play rugby against him?” I asked thinking he looked a bit weedy to play rugby against Simon.
“No, I hit you off your bike, remember?”
I stepped back, the black hoodie looked familiar. “No, I don’t why?”
“I’d ha’ thought you’d remember me stabbing you.”
I felt a reflex pain in my chest and difficulty in breathing. I gasped and he smirked at me. “You remember me now, don’cha?” I nodded my response, still gasping for breath although he hadn’t actually touched me.
“Darren Entwistle?” I managed to get out, and he nodded and showed me that deformed grin–but then Simon had hit him in the face with his bike frame.
“I nearly died,” I gasped and felt some fear and anger growing in me.
“But’cha didn’t, look at me face.” I did and he was definitely deformed.
“I thought you were still in prison?” I was still having difficulty breathing properly and if he made any sort of move I’d be unable to run away–my legs felt like lead.
“Nah, out on parole.”
“What d’you want?”
“Get me face fixed–you’re a rich bitch, so you can pay for it–as your shithead boyfriend done it.”
“You had just stabbed me.”
“So? He coulda just grabbed me.”
There was little point in arguing and I wondered if I forgave him and healed on him perhaps he’d leave me in peace. I certainly didn’t want him near the children. “You’d better come in.” As I said it I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake, but he stepped into the house very quickly.
“Nice place,” he said his eyes everywhere.
“It’s my father’s house.”
“Rich is he, your dad?”
“No, but he’s lived here a very long time.”
“Sit there,” I indicated a chair in the kitchen. To my astonishment he did as I told him. “I might be able to fix your mouth.”
“You a dentist?”
“No, but I have some skills.” I began to call up the blue light and within moments he was grunting and groaning as I held his face in my hands, hoping some of the energy would also heal his twisted mind. After a few moments, he stopped squeaking and I moved away, his face was not only restored but improved–he was actually better looking and his blotchy complexion looked much healthier–his prison pallor gone.
“What you done t’me?”
“Put right what was wrong, I hope.” I stepped back and he rose and felt his jaw and his teeth which were now straight and regular.
“Bleedin’ ’ell, tha’s a good trick innit?”
“It isn’t a trick, it’s for real.”
He saw the mirror and walked towards it. “Bleedin’ ’ell, I look friggin’ ’an’some. Don’cha just fancy me and wanna ’ave sex wi’ me?”
“Certainly not–you tried to kill me, so you’re about the last person I’d want to have intimacies with.”
“Look at ya, big words an’ a education, big ’ouse and yet ya still shittin’ ya self, in ya?”
“I’ve sorted your face, now I’d like you to go.”
“I will once I done somethin’.”
“Do what?” I asked hoping it wasn’t anything too unpleasant.
“This,” he said and with that he pulled a large kitchen knife from the block and before I could move he stuck it into my abdomen. It felt like he’d punched me. I screamed but all the came out of my mouth was blood. He stepped back laughing as I staggered and fell backwards against the kitchen unit. “At least they woan ’ave too much problem cleanin’ up the blood, byeee.”
I saw a pool of blood building up on the tiled floor and heard the front door close as he left. I tried to call for help but my voice was croaky and my mouth tasted of blood. I felt my body weakening as my life force leaked out with the increasing pool of blood. I hoped it wasn’t one of the children who found me.
“Poor Catherine, still worrying about others.” With tired eyes I glanced up at the old woman standing there. “You’re too weak to be our emissary, too soft and good natured, though we thought you had your priorities wrong in the supermarket–you should have tried to save us, not apprehend the culprit.”
If she was the same as the woman who’d been hit by the trolley, I didn’t recognise her. I coughed and more blood oozed from my mouth and stomach.
“So weak and good intentioned, you forgave him, healed him and then he kills you–what a fool you are to have let him of all people near a collection of knives. Oh well, and to think you could have healed yourself.”
I felt myself slump down, sliding down the unit lying now in my own blood, choking on it, knowing my life would soon be over.
“Or you could have asked us to save you, but obviously you prefer to die than ask for our help. Goodbye, Catherine–you were obviously too nice to live.” The old woman smiled at me and turned to leave.
I screamed so loudly that Tom came rushing into the room and Simon fell clear out of the bed. I was sitting up in bed sobbing as Tom came in and Simon stood up, before bending down to pull up his boxers.
Tom put his arms round me and hugged me as I sobbed into his chest, “It’s alricht noo, it wis jest a bad dream, it’s alricht.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1466
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Tom took me downstairs following my awaking from my horrid dream and I heard the kettle boiling. It had seemed so real and felt so real–I hoped it wasn’t some sort of premonition–but surely the police have to notify victims of the release of the person who caused their trouble, and I was sure that I'd read, Entwistle had gone down for a number of years. The man was a crazy and shouldn’t be released unless they are sure he’s no longer a threat to women in general, and women cyclists in particular.
Simon arrived downstairs, having donned a pair of jeans to cover his hairy legs. “Feel better now?” he asked and I nodded. Tom excused himself and went back to bed. I sat and sipped my tea.
“Okay, what happened?” he said holding my hand.
“That man who stabbed me on my bike–he came here and stabbed me again.”
“He can’t, he’s in prison–I think he went to Rampton or Broadmoor, you know, where they send the real nutters.”
“Well that’s what happened, he stabbed me with one of my own Sabatier knives in this kitchen.”
“The swine,” said Simon, “d’you want me to arrange a little accident for him?”
“What d’you mean, Si?” I asked horrified.
“It’d probably cost a couple of grand, but he could fall downstairs and break his neck or some similar sort of accident or even hang himself.”
“You mean have him killed?”
“Worst case scenario–yeah.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not? I mean I’ve never done it before–but who’s to say it can’t be arranged?”
“Because it’s illegal, that’s why.”
“Yeah, so was stabbing you–but that didn’t stop him, did it?”
“Okay, but he was deranged.”
“Well I’m talking rearranged–but on a permanent basis.”
“No, I won’t let you.”
“Who says you’ll ever know about it?”
“I will, because the police would notify me if he died, I’m sure of it.”
“Would they? Dunno why.”
“So I’d know that I no longer had to worry about him.”
“Yeah, but if he threatened one of your kids–what then?”
“They’re our children, Si.”
“I meant our children, if he threatened them, you’d terminate him, wouldn't you?”
“I don’t know what I’d do, minimise the threat if I could.”
“By extreme prejudice, as the US military term it.”
“I don’t know, I’d hope I wouldn’t have to kill him–just neutralise the risk.”
“By killing him.”
“God, Si, you have a one track mind.”
“No, two track. I can think of sex and killing him at the same time.”
“I think you might like to rephrase that.”
“Um–okay, I wasn’t linking the two–in fact anything but...”
“You’re trying to demonstrate a form of multi-tasking?”
“Yeah, that sounds better.”
“I’m not sure I’m reassured that while you’re making love to me you could be plotting someone’s murder.”
“No, when you put it like that–perhaps I meant I could think of something apart from sex.”
“While we’re making love?” I wasn’t at all reassured, in fact I think it did the opposite.
“Yes–no, no, not while we’re making love–not literally–oh I give up, let’s go back to bed and make passionate love.”
“I’m tired, Si, besides I’ve had a horrible dream and we made love once tonight already.”
“Yeah, so–I’m not just a one shot willie, you know.”
“You might not be, but I think I am,” I yawned, “I’m still sore from earlier.”
“Oh–sorry about that.”
“’S okay, takes two to tango.”
“An’ I had noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
“That you’re female–and a sexy one at that.”
I blushed and sniggered, “I have a headache, Si.”
“I wasn’t trying to change your mind, you know–just stating my opinion.”
“Thank you for that, can I go and sleep now? I feel like a bit of wet rag.”
“Look, why don’t you go for a ride on your bike tomorrow? That always makes you feel better.”
“Si, I just had a dream about the bloke who stabbed me while I was on my bike if you remember?”
“Oh yeah–but you said it happened in the kitchen? That’s not gonna stop you cooking, is it?”
“No–okay, I take your point, I’m going to bed.” I rose shakily from the table and he offered me his hand which I took.
“If ever I see anyone threatening you or our children, I won’t just neutralise them, I’ll annihilate them.”
“Can we forget that for now, darling? I need to sleep–I feel sick with tiredness.”
“Tomorrow, I want you to consider hiring some more help round here–you do too much and you are the wife of a moderately successful business man.”
“I’ll see–we’ll talk tomorrow–right now, I just want to sleep.”
I missed breakfast–I slept through it. Jenny took the girls out and Si took Danny to school–he was well pleased–another trip in the Jag. Stella woke me about ten, with a cuppa. “What was the noise about last night?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“So I gathered, what was it about?” I told her and she looked pensive. “What if this Shekinah thing is trying to talk to you?”
“Oh come off it, Stella. It’s all happening in my mind–it’s my unconscious or imagination, that’s all.”
“You obviously have a frightening imagination then?”
“I suppose we each know what frightens us the most–like Winston in 1984.”
“Yeah, but there they used it against him in room 101.”
“But he knew what he feared most–rats.”
“And you fear the Shekinah?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“But your dream hardly showed you’d welcome her with open arms.”
“She doesn’t exist except as an allegorical entity of the female principle of the deity.”
“How d’you know?”
“The deity doesn’t exist, so how can part of nothing be something?”
“If it can exist in your imagination, why can’t it exist elsewhere?”
“It does, in Hebrew mythology–but that’s all.”
“What if she does exist but not as you imagine her, then what?”
“Then I can’t conceive her so she doesn’t exist for me.”
“What about the blue light, isn’t she supposed to be involved with that?”
“She took her time getting on that bandwagon, so it might be entirely coincidental.”
“What if it’s not?”
“What if it is?” I countered.
“Shouldn’t you be open to all possibilities?”
“Like the moon is made of green cheese?”
“No, feasible ones.”
“I am–it’s you who isn’t.”
“Hang on–I’m trying to help you by playing devil’s advocate.”
“This isn’t an ecclesiastical court.”
“Eh?”
“Where Devil’s Advocate came from.”
“You sure?”
“Think about it.”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Stella conceded.
“I’ve got a feeling it was about proving saintliness or something like that; it’s years since I read about it.”
“Well that would certainly apply to you?”
“What would?”
“Saintliness.”
“Are you mad?”
“No but you are, and I think it’s a requirement of being beatified or canonised or whatever they do to saints. Can I sell your bones as relics?”
“No, I’m still using them, and besides, I think Trish promised them to Kiki.”
“You’ll have to watch that child, or she’ll have made a takeover bid for the bank by the time she’s fifteen.”
“Could she hold shares that young?”
“Legally? Probably not, but I suspect that wouldn’t be a problem.”
“You might be right–sounds like they’re on their way home,” I said as the sound of children’s voices and a dog barking came closer.
“Why don’t you give Marguerite a ring about this Sheki-wotsit?”
“It’s all about time, Stella. I don’t have any.”
“Oh yeah, Si told me to remind you to hire another help for the house.”
“Yeah, I need a shower before I do anything–ta for the cuppa and the chat.”
“You’re welcome–it’s my turn tomorrow,” she just got through the door before I could launch my pillow at her.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1467
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I showered and dressed then went downstairs to receive a very enthusiastic greeting from the girls. “D’you feel better now, Mummy?” asked Livvie with a hint of concern in her voice.
“Yes thank you, I was very tired, but now I feel much better.”
“Oh good,” said Trish, “Maybe we can ’ave some dinner then.”
“Very good, milady, what would milady like to eat?” I said, curtseying in sarcasm. The others thought it was hilarious, but Trish, who at times seems to live on a different planet was ignorant of the fact that I was in fact mocking her.
“I don’t know, that’s your job isn’t it? What have we got?”
“Oh loads of stuff, milady, oak smoked earthworms, dried meal worms, fresh maggots, whole fresh slugs and boil in the bag snails–but we’re fresh out of puppy dog’s tails.”
“Can’t we have an egg or something?”
“Which sort of egg would you like? We have ant’s eggs–fish like those; snails eggs they’re quite small; fly’s eggs, and hen’s eggs.”
“Ewww,” she replied, “don’t fancy any of them.”
“Hen’s eggs? Are they the same as chicken’s eggs, Mummy?” asked Mima.
“They are indeed–would those suit your royal highness?” I again teased Trish.
“Yes thank you, Mummy–I’m not royal, am I?”
“I’m not sure what the law regards as such, but I suspect that Daddy’s family somewhere way back have some connection to royalty.”
“So I am royal?”
“I’m not sure, Trish because you’re adopted, not a natural daughter.”
“But you an’ Daddy are, so I should be–shouldn’t I?”
“I’m not, sweetheart, I’m a plain old commoner–a poor working girl.”
“Hardly poor, girl,” sniped Stella, walking past.
“Here, Auntie Stella will know more about her ancestors than I do.” I set Trish off after her.
“One thing I can tell you about my old ancestors...” she offered.
“What, apart from them being dead, you mean?” I quipped back.
“Damn, you’ve heard it before.”
“Stella, I might not be that bright, but I’m not exactly stupid, either.”
“Are you royal, Auntie Stella?” asked Trish.
“I’m not, no–wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy–it’s like some birth handicap.”
“Oh I don’t know, Kate Middleton seemed to get on alright,” I suggested.
“Jeez, she must be bonkers to marry into the world’s most famous dysfunctional family.”
“If she is, she’ll fit right in,” I smirked, “but it was a lovely dress.”
“Cathy, sometimes you can be so girly.”
“Yeah, so?”
“But you’re right, it was a beautiful dress–but that doesn’t stop her being mad.”
“I think I know the feeling.” I blushed as I said it.
“Just what is that supposed to mean?” she walked back to me, Trish still waiting for an answer to her question.
“Nothing,” I blushed even deeper.
“Are you insinuating that you married into a bunch of nutters?”
“Um–.” I continued displaying a series of shades of red.
“Quite right, all us aristos are barking–intermarriage you know. You remember that nonsense riddle about my father’s son?”
“Sort of, it refers to the individual themselves–this father’s so and so is my father’s son, that one?”
“The very one, well we’re so intermarried way back, it probably means something quite different, your father is your uncle, cousin, nephew and well since you joined us, your mother as well.”
“Gee thanks, Stella–I love you too.”
“Are we royal or not, Auntie Stella?” asked Trish now poking her aunt.
“If we are it’s a long time ago, probably two or three hundred years–back to the Stuarts or earlier, and in that respect would relate to the Kings of Scotland, not England. So your mother, who is Scots, despite her protests, could also be related. So pester her, I have to feed Fiona.”
“We must be royal, Mummy, if you’re related to some King of Scotland.”
“Trish, the closest I came to being Scottish Royalty was playing Lady Macbeth twice.”
“See, I knew we were,” she went off smiling while Stella had to turn away and hold her mouth to hide the giggles.
“Bitch,” I mouthed at her when she turned back, but she only nodded and went to fetch Fiona.
The rest of the day, Princess Trish, spent making herself a crown like tiara out of cardboard covered in aluminium foil, with some laser printed paper to act as jewels. She also cadged an old curtain to use as a cloak. If she’d had her wellies on, she would have looked more like Supergirl than Good Queen Bess.
Of course when Simon came in, he played up to her delusions of grandeur, making up some family tree back to James I (VI of Scotland). He had to carry her up to bed, as a princess was far too important to walk up the stairs. She seemed to forget if she was royalty through his side of the family, he was closer to it than she was and she should have been carrying him. Oh well, she operates on Trish logic, which is probably from the planet Zog or somewhere similar.
Later when we were on our own I berated him for encouraging her, “Fancy indulging her delusions with your fictional family tree.”
“It’s not fiction, we are directly descended from the Kings of Scotland.”
“Yeah sure, so are we, via Robert Bruce,” I teased–it was a bit of a joke in our family and I was nearly named Bruce as a consequence. You’d think he’d be the king of Australia, wouldn’t you?
“What would you do if you were?”
“I thought he was a bit of a man about town and left a whole truckload of kids about the place.”
“He might well have done, and your family might well have descended from them.”
“It’s so long ago, what does it matter? I’m having enough trouble making sense of the present to worry about history.”
“You know what they say about history?” Simon smiled at me.
“It’s bunk? At least Henry Ford thought so.”
“Apart from designing rubbish cars, he was wrong about history, too. Those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat the mistakes of history.”
“I think you mean, ‘Those who cannot remember the past are bound to repeat it.’ George Santayana.”
“Spot on, Cathy, you are wonderful.” He hugged me and kissed me, which seeing as I was feeding the baby, woke her up and she began to cry a little–I think she’s teething.
“Yeah, remember what Shaw said.”
“About history?”
“Yes, about history.”
“This is George Bernard Shaw?”
“Who else?”
“Well I don’t know do I? Could be Fred Shaw who works on the checkout at Tesco for all I know.”
I sniggered. “You loony, it’s GB Shaw.”
“So what did he have to say for himself?”
“Let me put it in context, we had a history teacher, Mr Davies, who was always quoting that one from Santayana to justify boring the pants off us. And one of the smart kids riposted with one from Shaw.”
“Well get to the point, what did Shaw have to say, or aren’t you sure about it?” he chuckled at his own joke, one of his more annoying habits.
“‘Hegel was right when he said that we learn from history that man can never learn anything from history.’”
“Well who’da thought George Bernard Shaw was such a philistine?” Simon said looking almost intelligent.
“He was supposedly quoting Hegel.”
“Yeah, but he sounds like a foreigner.”
“Who?”
“Hegel or whatever you called him.”
“Don’t forget, Shaw was Irish.”
“At least he had the decency to live in England.”
“They both believed in naturalism.”
“Yeah, he woulda been a naturalised Brit,” Simon smiled.
“Idiot, it’s about the balance of nature and so on–I’ve forgotten it all now.”
“You remembered more than I did–but then we didn’t do philosophy as such, more economics.”
“Shaw was one of the founders of the LSE.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You were the one who mentioned economics.”
“What’s that got to do with history?”
I burped Catherine, who let rip a big one which I think originated down in her toes somewhere. “I think the baby makes more sense than you sometimes, Si.”
“Only sometimes?” he looked rather abashed–“Tea?”
I nodded.
“I dunno, all that money an’ you had a better education than I did.”
“Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe.”
“Is that one of yours?” he asked making the tea.
“Don’t be silly, I don’t say anything worth quoting–that was HG Wells.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge.” Simon gave a deep theatrical bow.
“He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.”
“Who said that?” he asked looking perplexed.
“Some Old Testament bloke in Ecclesiastes.”
“I thought you didn’t like religion?”
“I don’t, but remember, it was rammed down my throat for several years and what I learned I might not use or believe, while at the same time I can’t seem to forget it.”
“Oh, I don’t have that problem, can’t even remember the eleven commandments.”
“Eleven?”
“Yeah, forgot the first lot, but the eleventh is do any of the others but don’t get caught.” He laughed at his own joke again and I sipped my tea and hoped the baby would stay asleep this time.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1468
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It was Saturday and apart from Danny playing football, we had no enormous commitments, other than checking the girl’s school uniform, which is what we did after breakfast. First off, shoes. They each needed new shoes–oh well, that’s the best part of two hundred pounds gone.
Working up from the feet, we checked socks and then tights–my list began to lengthen. The blazers were okay, at least for one more term, but skirts and blouses and cardigans needed some replacements. There was some recycling, Some of Trish and Livvie’s stuff was passed on to Mima. But I continued my list and we did underwear and finally coats. Thankfully, those were a little big to start with, if that makes any sense–I know what I mean.
Si went off to watch Danny play football, Jenny looked after the little ones and Stella and I went off school uniform shopping. We did most of it in two outfitter’s shops and spent a fortune. This was going to be Billie’s first full school year as a girl and I recalled how anxious I felt about Trish doing it–since she’s been converted, plumbing wise, no one could ever consider she has ever been anything but a girl, and quite a pretty little one.
Billie’s doing okay, though and she has relaxed quite a lot into her role although she’s still very self-conscious of a certain anatomical appendage. I know the feeling, and it was one I’ve never regretted losing.
We traipsed back to the car–I had the Mondeo–and loaded the assorted school clothing in it. Then we went for lunch. With the children accompanying us, it was pointless going anywhere special, they’re not old enough to appreciate great food or ambience–at the same time I wasn’t prepared to cross the threshold of a certain burger franchise. I’m happy to accept that fast food has its place–in my house the dustbin–and I know the kids love it and when they’re older they can take responsibility for clogging their arteries, but not while I’m directly in charge. We found a cafe which did children’s meals beyond sausage or fish fingers, beans and chips. In fact they did jacket potatoes for children and they were nearly as large as the adult ones but less than the cost of the adult ones.
Billie opted for a cheese and coleslaw one and the others opted for the same. For a change, I had tuna mayo with mine and some coleslaw as well. Stella decided she wanted chilli with hers, although she said it wasn’t very hot, as chillies go. I took her word for it, I don’t like them, full stop.
After we had a cuppa to wash down the food, and the children had ice creams, we returned to looting the shops–only in a figurative manner, we paid for all we took away.
I bought Danny some new shirts and underpants, and grey, sleeveless, vee necked sweater for school–the cold weather would be here quickly enough. The girls all had some new pens and pencils, for which their auntie paid and I found a lovely little dress and tights which I was sure would fit Catherine.
On the way home was the inevitable food shop and we bought some low fat sausages for tea, I was going to do sausage and mash–not one of my favourites, but it is enjoyed by most of the others. As with everything else, I had to buy three packs of sausages to make sure we all had enough.
On the return to home, after storing the shopping and getting a kiss and a hug from my husband, I set to organising the evening meal–he was delighted to be eating Cumberland sausages, despite them not being the circular form which I usually associate with the name.
Stella took the girls and gave them a hair cut–mostly just a trim, but she also showed them a couple more things they could do in terms of plaiting or pig tails. My sister in law is certainly much more talented at playing with hair than I am.
Once that was done, I left the sausages to cook in the oven and the tatties to boil on the top, allowing me time to check the new purchases before we put them away in the various wardrobes and drawers. I had some labels to sew by the look of it. I thought I might get Julie to help me–good practice for her. She quite enjoys simple embroidery like cross stitch, but as soon as I ask her to help me do ordinary sewing, like mending or labelling, she makes an excuse and clears off.
For once she stayed in that evening and I had her, Billie and Livvie helping me put labels in the girl’s school wear. Julie grumbled until I asked her to do Danny’s stuff as well, for which he brought her a drink of ginger beer. He was well pleased that his rather dishy elder sister sewed in his name tags, which seemed to please her. It pleased me too–I didn’t have to do it.
The kids settled down to watch some film in the lounge which Simon fancied as well. I had trousers to alter for Danny–just taking them up an inch–so I stayed in the kitchen where the light is best for sewing. Stella stayed and chatted with me and Jenny joined us, bringing down my wain with her. Of course I had to cease sewing and start feeding. Stella in just watching me began to seep through her bra and she expressed a full bottle of milk while we chatted–not easy over the buzzing of the pump.
“Did you spot that crossdresser?” she asked me.
“No, where was that?”
“In John Lewis, he or she was looking at skirts.”
Normally, I suggest that I can spot them a mile off in the dark, but I missed this one–in mitigation, I was trying to act as a human sheep dog and keep my flock together–they were all acting like sheep, or perhaps lambs would be a better description, they seemed to be gambolling all over the blessed shop.
“Passable?” I asked.
“I’ve seen better, but he wasn’t drawing too much attention to himself.”
“I think if they’re en-femme, it’s more polite to use feminine pronouns.” I challenged what seemed a little unsympathetic behaviour from Stella.
“It was Billie who spotted her.”
That didn’t exactly surprise me. Transgender folk seem to examine and analyse every seeming female they see and the slightest anomaly means they tend to stare until they make their minds up. They may or may not be looking for others, they might be simply admiring a certain look, in the same way that women check each other out for all sorts of reasons, some of which are more benign than others.
“I’m not surprised, Billie is actually much more aware of things than we give her credit at times.”
“But aren’t these people running a huge risk–if they get caught, it could ruin them.”
“Less than it used to be, I suppose if they’re top business people, politicians, judges or bishops–it might prove an embarrassment and halt their careers. Otherwise, do people care these days?”
“I’m not sure I’d be entirely happy with someone like that in the ladies,” said Stella making a face.
“Why, unless the door is missing, what difference does it make–and they can hardly use the gents, can they?”
“Aren’t I entitled to my opinion?” she grumbled.
“Of course you are, but you were so supportive of me, I thought you were okay with the whole idea?” Mind you, certain exhibitionist types used to annoy me, because the general public seems to tar us all with the same brush.
“You were different, you looked like a girl all the time.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you were out riding in boy mode weren’t you?”
“Oh that day?”
“Yes, the day I introduced you to cycle flying.”
“Yeah, I suppose I was.”
“I’ve got news for you, sunshine, you still looked more girl than boy.”
“I’ll bet no one has ever said that to David Millar,” I recalled the Saunier Duval racing strip.
“Why, most of those racing types are pretty skinny?”
“He’s six feet four and usually covered in dark stubble.”
“He’d make a bloody ugly woman then,” agreed Stella and we stopped to make some tea.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1469
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After dinner I mused upon Stella’s attitude to the cross-dresser she’d mentioned. I began to wonder why she mentioned it to me, after all I hadn’t seen the person concerned, and if I had, what difference would it make? I wasn’t in competition with them or anyone else for that matter. If I had been, who would I have been in competition with? Probably more other women–yeah–other women because that’s how I see myself, as a woman. So that begs the question: why would I be competing with other women? The answer: for attention.
Next question; attention from whom? Answer that would depend upon the situation, but often the competition is to be noticed by men. I am, however, happily married to the nicest one I know, so I don’t need to attract attention there unless I want to wind him up and remind him that there are other men out there who fancy me or perhaps to make other men jealous of him.
Now, I live in the real world and have seven kids to look out for, so I’m not looking to compete with anyone, besides, I’m not that competitive, she lied. I like Si to stroke my ego–I love it when he tells me he thinks I’m beautiful. I don’t believe it, because there are loads more beautiful women out there and some are younger too. The only advantage I have over many, is that I have no tattoos. I think they’re beastly things, and mutilate the wearer–I don’t care if they’re full blown tramp stamps or more discreet little butterflies or rosebuds–I think they look common. Tattoos are for sailors and even there they look horrible. So Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox may be prettier than I, but I’m afraid I think they look like Popeye with their inky detractions.
Sermon over, I sorted out the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher–it was making some funny noises so we might well need to engineer to come and look at it. I mentioned it to Tom who suggested as it was seven or eight years old, it may need replacement. That was my thought as well, and as we use it more than him, considered I should pay for the new one.
I spoke to Simon in bed about this and he was quite brisk in telling me to buy what I wanted, “We’re hardly short of readies are we–so just get on and replace it.”
“Is that what you’ll do to me when I get to my sell by date?” I asked him, thinking again about competition–should I be more aware of the opposition out there, after all, he’d be quite a catch.
“Yeah, sure it is–I already went online and ordered your replacement–they’re just growing her now.”
“Growing her?” I sat up and stared at him.
“Yeah, a sort of bio-robot.”
“An android?”
“Is that what you call ’em?”
“In science fiction it is.”
“Yeah, well I’ve ordered one that shags like bunny, cooks like Delia Smith, presents like a super model, and does what she’s told.”
“A Stepford wife?”
“A what?”
“The sci-fi film, The Stepford Wives, Stepford was a place where all the women were totally compliant to their husbands and looked like they’d stepped out of a beauty parlour.”
“Sounds good to me.” He smirked and I felt like hitting him.
“If you like women like that, why did you marry me?” I pouted coming close to a full blown sulk.
“You were available.”
“Is that it? I was available?”
“Yeah, course.”
“You’re not just winding me up are you?”
“Now why would I do that?”
“Because it’s an inherited trait in a family of psychopaths.”
“Nah–I mean that might be true, but my conscience pricks me every so often, so I can’t be a psycho.”
“And it would prick you if you dumped me for a beautiful yes-woman?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
I was pretty sure he was messing with me, but just that tiny smidgeon of doubt–make that self-doubt–meant I wasn’t completely sure. It also explained why I burst into tears and fled to the bathroom.
“Oh shit, what have I done now?” I heard him say as I shut the door rather more noisily than I usually do.
I heard him tap lightly on the door, “I was joking, Cathy, c’mon, come back to bed.”
I sat on the loo sniffing and sobbing. Why did these things happen to me–I mean, why do I get upset by them–I thought he was probably joking, so why am I feeling this pain inside me as if he’d shoved a knife in me? Why do I need him to say he loves me and that he thinks I’m beautiful? Am I that insecure? Perhaps I am–oh boy.
“Please come out and back to bed–I love you, Cathy and I’m sorry I joked like that. I thought you’d appreciate I was pulling your leg. I married you because I love you–without you I’d be lost. I think you’re beautiful and very sexy–come on out and I’ll prove it to you.”
What–he thinks after taking the piss I’ll come out and let him maul me about so he can prove how much he loves me? Sod that for a game of soldiers. He can cwtch me but that’s about it.
I wiped my eyes had a quick wee and washed my hands, then came out of the bathroom. I said nothing but got into the bed and lay on my side facing away from him.
“Aw c’mon, babes, I said I was sorry.”
“Just hold me,” I said, and felt my eyes fill with tears again.
He lay beside me and put his arm round me, “I love you, babes, you know that.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you do.”
“I hope we’re not going down the road of you not being a real woman again, are we?”
“Is that what you think?” I sniffed–he must be if he mentioned it.
“No, and I’ve lost count of the times I’ve told you that. You’re a woman, you’re beautiful, I married you and I love you–is that good enough for you? Why do we have to have this discussion about once every month–I don’t change my mind you know–leastways, not about you. You are the only constant in my life, which would be over without you and our children. Does that convince you?”
I didn’t know if it did that, but it certainly made me cry.
“How can I convince you?” he said after holding me sobbing for several minutes.
“I don’t know,” I sobbed back to him.
“I know it’s a sensitive point for you–but I do love you and I do consider you a woman, female, however you want to define it. You have a piece of paper–no–you have two bits which say you’re legally female and a whole family who agree with them.
“You have men leching after you on telly and I’ve seen it for real when you dress up. So why don’t you dress up tomorrow and I’ll take you out for dinner and we can make the whole world jealous.”
“No thanks.” I felt it was a consolation prize or peace offering to distract me. Yes, he knew I had a sensitive point about my biological sex, so why did he play on it? He knew I had little confidence when challenged by him or the others I love and trust and how much it hurts me–so why did he do it? If he loved me as much as he purports–why does he do it? And why do I let him? Why do I fall apart when he does it? I thought I was secure in myself–I have no illusions about myself–I know who I am and what I am–so why does it happen?
I know I can’t change the past, and although I live in stealth as a married woman, I still fear disclosure–why I don’t know. Everyone who’s important to me knows anyway.
I ran through some memories of facing down students and others who’d as good as accused me of being a man or a freak. I asserted myself challenged them to say exactly what they were thinking and each one of them backed down–saying they were mistaken or if I had been a man, which they doubted, I’d made the right choice in becoming a woman. I felt like I wanted to assert that challenge again–only to Simon. I turned over to face him and he rolled over onto his back and began to snore...
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1470
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The next day was Sunday, so apart from the Observer, it felt much like any other day. Actually, that’s not true–I was tired. I’d spent hours trying to analyse why I feel this self doubt and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s just part of me, like green eyes and at present, red hair.
If it weren’t Sunday, I might have been able to speak with Dr Thomas–oh she’s marrying Mr O’Rourke–did I tell you? Ah, now then was it this weekend they getting spliced or next–either way she’s got better things to do than listen to the ramblings of a loony like me.
So, did the next best thing, I spoke to Siân, who’s a doctor and has known me a long time. The fact that she’s gay adds another dimension–I don’t quite understand her and she doesn’t me–apart from that–you get the idea anyway.
The girls were out in the garden with Si and Tom, and Danny was showing them how to pick apples and tomatoes or dig potatoes or something–I wasn’t really too worried as long as they were safe and out of my hair for five minutes.
“He did what?” asked Siân.
“He wound me up and it pushed all my buttons. I know he loves me but he also likes to tease me at times. I don’t know why I have this sensitivity about my past–seeing as it’s no special secret.”
“I can–it’s something which hasn’t been integrated yet because it’s incongruent with your current life. You are so female, it’s untrue.”
“Yeah, I know that, that’s why I have problems.”
“No you dummy, I meant it as a comparison–hardly any woman I know is as womanly as you.”
“Oh, do you know that many, then?”
“Cathy, I know hundreds and most of them are gay.”
“Is that what I am really, a gay man trying to hide by changing my body?”
“This is England not Iran, besides, no you’re not a man of any description, you were hardly a boy. Did you know that Elsa George thought you were a tomboy?”
“Why would she think that?”
“Because you mostly wore male things, but she reckoned you were a girl pretending to be a boy.”
“Was she the plump one with the spiky blonde hair?”
“No that was Caroline.”
“Which one was she then?”
“Very tall, long dark hair, strikingly beautiful.”
“The one with the denim mini-dress, I always fancied.”
“The dress or the wearer?”
“The dress–what d’ya think I am?”
“I suppose you’d have wanted the over knee boots as well?”
“Natch.”
“So you are a fetishist then?”
“Can women be fetishists?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I thought it was a boy thing almost exclusively, sexual fixation on an inappropriate item.”
“It’s predominantly a male phenomenon, yes.”
“So you’re suggesting I’m male?”
“No I am not, Cathy, so stop twisting my words. If Elsa George thought you were female, you must have presented as such. I mean I always treated you as a girlfriend and my mum knew I was safe with you.”
“Safe? What d’you mean safe?”
“She knew you were a very girly boy, and she also knew my predilections.”
“She knew you were gay?”
“Well, when I only wanted a Barbie and Barbie relationship, not Ken, she knew something was up.”
“She knew from your playing with dolls that you were gay? What were you doing with them?”
“You don’t want to know, but think French and add one to twice thirty four.”
Maths was never my strong point but I can add and subtract. I can’t multiply–I don’t have any gonads. I suddenly got the picture of two sixes and turned one upside down.
“You were doing that with Barbie dolls–the cunnilingus stuff.” I was blushing, partly because it sounded like the Latin name for rabbits–the furry thing not the battery operated one.
“Ooh, now who’s flaunting her grammar school education?”
“Eh?”
“The cunny word.”
“I thought that’s what it was called?”
“It is, cunnos the Latin for vulva and lingo–to lick.”
“Now who’s showing off their education?”
“I’m a doctor, remember–these things get lodged in your brain. It’s just that you hardly ever hear anyone bar the odd lesbian use it.”
“I hope you mean the word?”
“Very funny–but then you seem to think you’re a gay man–and most of the ones I know are hilarious, so that would fit.”
“Thanks Siân, I really needed another kick in the self-esteem.”
“I’m only joking–for goodness sake, Cathy, get a life and stop moping about an accident of birth.”
“An accident of birth?”
“Yeah, like you told me, you were a girl with a plumbing problem–you got the wrong genitalia. It doesn’t matter because you got it sorted, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and start living. You can’t undo the past, anymore than you can live in the future, but you can plan for the latter by living in the now.”
“You’ve been reading too many Reader’s Digest articles.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Try listening to yourself someday.”
“Damn, I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“Well I did.”
“Okay, Miss clever clogs, put this in your pipe and smoke it. You’re a woman now and you’re stuck with it–so stop messing about with these bouts of self-indulgence and get on with things.”
“Self-indulgence? You cheeky mare.”
“Yes–that’s what it is, you need to move on, forget the past unless it has some useful quality in dealing with the present.”
“I like history,” I said indignantly.
“Fine–why did you bother calling me then?”
“Okay, point taken. How’s Kirsty?”
“She’s fine, thank you.”
“Good–I’d better get on and sort out the children.”
“See, spoken like a real man.”
“Was it?” I felt myself blush.
“No it wasn’t–Cathy, you never were a man. You’re a woman, so stop questioning the obvious and get on with your life. Kirsty’s just come back–gotta go. Byee.”
I put the phone down–I’d wasted a half a morning plus lost sleep over things. I’d go and see Dr Smith one day next week and see what he had to suggest. Yeah, get an impartial opinion and he’d tell me what he thought, not what I wanted to hear unlike some doctors.
I started getting the lunch–then paused. I walked out to the garden. “D’you still want to go out for lunch?” I asked Simon.
He looked at his watch–“We’d have to go to the hotel, too late to find anywhere else.”
“Okay, I’m going to shower–are we taking the kids?”
“We have a choice?” he asked.
“Not really–girls, inside and change into something–better still, in the shower please. Danny, you’ll need a shower as well.”
“Do I have to come?” He was digging potatoes.
“What will you have for lunch otherwise?”
“Och we’ll rustle up somethin’, dinnae ye worry.” Tom and he smiled at each other.
“I’ll stay with Gramps,” he said smiling at Tom.
“Okay, anyone else staying?”
“We’ll stay with Gramps too.” This was the opinion of all of them but Si and the two babies, which Stella and Jenny agreed to supervise and feed. It was just the two of us–the buggers did it deliberately, didn’t they–I’ll bet Si put them all up to it. I hope it cost him a fortune. However, I didn’t dwell on it–I went to get all neat and tidy and as girly as possible but in a sophisticated way–natch.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1471
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“I can’t remember the last time we went out for a meal together–I mean just the two of us.”
“I can, that bloke started choking.”
“You went home and left me to it, so that hardly counts, does it?”
“No it’s not a calculator,” I replied remembering the reason why I left that time–bad dreams and prophesies–hopefully no such difficulties today.
I’d popped on a dress I hadn’t worn for ages, black background with a line of quite large poppies which spirals round the skirt and then back over the bodice to disappear at my left shoulder. It has cap sleeves and I wore one of those short cardis which leave most of your back uncovered.
Simon likes the dress because the scoop neck means he can see a bit of cleavage and I wore my mum’s sapphire necklace and earrings, so my engagement ring fitted well with them.
We drove in Simon’s car, which meant he’d either not be able to drink or I’d have to drive home, and he doesn’t like anyone else driving his car, so he’d be restricted to one glass of wine with his meal. The weather wasn’t particularly good for the time of year, the winds making it feel cooler despite the sunshine and I was glad I’d worn the little cardi–in fact, at one point I began to wish I’d brought a better jacket with me.
The conversation on the way there was mainly about what we fancied to eat and he as good as threatened me that if I ordered tuna salad he was going to have me thrown out on my ear. I told him it was one of my favourite meals and if I couldn’t have that I’d have another–egg and chips. He nearly ran over some old bloke coming out of a newsagent’s shop. I smirked all the way to Southsea.
The obsequious assistant manager was on duty and he was at his unctuous worst, making Uriah Heep look assertive. Even Simon was fed up with him before we got to the table and politely told him to scoot.
Fortunately the head waiter was less fawning and we were left to peruse the menu while we sipped some fruit juice.
In the end I opted for rack of lamb, it was Welsh lamb which makes a difference, it’s probably the sweetest, and coming from Bristol, it was in reasonable supply. I had melon starter and Simon chose pate and sirloin steak on the grounds that I didn’t do steak very often. As he eats it almost raw, there is no way I’m going to cook it for him because it’s so expensive to get wrong. I mean if it was any less cooked it would still be walking round a field somewhere.
I know the theory–if you order medium or well done steak, you get rubbish–but surely that wouldn’t happen in a place where you can make ripples the size of a tsunami–would it? Apparently not, the steak met with his approval and my lamb was perfect–tempting me to eat more than I needed or had intended.
I declined the pudding, unlike my husband who is fast turning into one–he had sticky toffee pudding with custard. I settled for a latte coffee. Simon did drink three glasses of wine and was stupidly prepared to drive home until I told him I’d take a taxi if he did.
After something of a contretemps he accepted he could be over the limit–when I checked he’d had pretty well the whole bottle–and he handed me the keys to his precious Jaguar. The drive home was uneventful and probably slower than he’d have done it. I thanked him for my meal and left him struggling to get out of the car.
Minutes after getting home, I discovered that the others had had pizza–no wonder they wanted rid of me. I just don’t understand why people go so mad over a piece of burnt cheese on cardboard.
The rest of the evening was spent preparing for the girl’s return to school, making up piles of clothing. Checking it was all name tagged and getting them off to bed was hard work–they were all like bottles of pop. Even Billy was quite excited, she was starting to sprout a little on top so felt pleased that she now needed to wear a bra–after my shoes, it’s the next bit of clothing I feel happiest to shed when I go to bed or sometimes even before that–but then mine have grown quite a bit since I started breast feeding. All these celebrities who have one baby then write a book about it, and two weeks later are back to a size ten; are obviously not breast feeding.
Monday morning arrived before I was ready for it–must have been express delivery. I staggered out of bed and showered myself, got the girls up and showered and washed, then dried their hair. The next bit was time consuming as each wanted something different done with their hair, so we did that. Next they got dressed while I went down to do the breakfasts–I felt harassed the whole time and began to think that an extra pair of hands would be useful, especially when I went back to teaching.
Simon phoned just after I got back home from the school run telling me that he’d organised a new car for me and it would be there by lunchtime. I thanked him then spent the rest of the morning doing chores while wondering about what sort of car it would be. All I knew was that it was a few months old and very low mileage.
When the doorbell rang, I was busy breastfeeding Catherine and so Jenny went to the door. She came back a few minutes later with a car key and placed it on the kitchen table. I finished sorting Catherine, burping her, changing her etcetera and after I put her in her play pen with a few toys for her to eat–she’s teething–as my nipples will testify–I picked up the key without looking at it. I assumed it would be another Porsche or similar, so I was quite surprised to see a white car parked outside.
When I got to the back of it, I could see it had a leaping cat on the back and a disc on the front of the bonnet with a round logo with a cat’s head on it. The interior was amazing with leather seats and aluminium dashboard decoration. It was a diesel turbo and when I checked the ignition, came with a full tank of juice.
Purely in the interests of checking it out before embarrassing myself when collecting the children, I grabbed my bag and a jacket and took it for a test drive–it was so luxurious and only about three thousand miles on the clock–it was practically brand new.
I found out later that it had been leased to one of the directors of the bank who’d had to retire suddenly when discrepancies in his expenses were found by one of the auditors and the car was taken back by the bank. Simon got to hear of it and took over the lease–now I had the use of it.
It felt faster than the Porsche and more stable, closer to the road on cornering. I drove up to Southampton and back and on the motorway, it fairly flew along–mind you it has a three litre diesel engine with turbocharger, so I suppose it should. I would have to try not let this befall any disaster–my record with cars seemed less than useful.
One bit of fun, charging down the motorway, some of the other traffic seemed to think–white Jag–must be the plod, so they slowed down or pulled over. It made me smile, all the way home.
The girls loved it and Danny asked for a ride in it when he got home. Julie asked if she could borrow it and Simon asked if I liked it–I had to admit that I did and he explained how I could show my gratitude later. When I threatened to make him eat the key, he explained he was only joking. I then confirmed that I wasn’t. He was not best pleased.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1472
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I didn’t make Simon eat the car key and I did show him some gratitude when we were in bed–so both of us ended up feeling happy. I did wonder why I needed another car because the Mondeo is quite nice to drive and a useful size, but he told me that sometimes Jenny would need to use it especially when I started teaching again.
That set me off thinking about my duties and getting some extra help to ease the burden on Jenny. Although she had leased the house previously owned by the Drummonds, she’d never really lived there. She knew that Maria had died there and I suspect it creeped her out a little, even though I’d decorated throughout and replaced all the bedroom furniture. When I told her I was going to advertise for help and that I might offer accommodation with the job, she was happy to relinquish the lease.
I was thinking of converting the house in Southsea to three flats and asked Maureen to quote me a price and arrange planning permission. She would get tenders from builders and electricians and also an architect to supervise the conversion while she managed the overall project. There was someone using the house at present but his tenancy was up in October, so I didn’t expect too many problems other than dealing with officialdom and we weren’t changing the structure of the building outside, just putting in a bathroom and kitchen in each flat and furnishing them after redecorating.
Hardly anyone these days lived in such huge houses, except us and we were effectively three families. When the kids grew up and went their own ways, and Tom moved on–I thought I might consider doing bed and breakfast, even if I’m still working, I could employ someone like Jenny to run it most of the time.
I glanced at the clock, it was nearly two in the morning and I was about as sleepy as a kitten on speed. My head was buzzing with plans and I needed to do something different to relax. I slipped downstairs and made some tea and foolishly began writing a course for ecological studies. I finished at four, having drunk two more pots of tea.
Back in bed, Simon sort of asked and sort of muttered, “Where have you been?”
I replied, “Out on my bike,” and wondered what he’d say.
“Okay,” was the disappointing response.
At seven, I crawled out of bed like a dead dog–somehow the kitten had been transformed by exhaustion. Jenny offered to take the girls but I agreed with them they could go in the new car after I took Danny to school early–he was off on some school trip. I’d signed the form ages before but forgot all about it. I helped him make his sandwiches and slipped him a twenty pound note, which made him smile a thank you.
However, his face beamed from side to side when we arrived at the school and all his mates saw him disembark from a white Jaguar. He pecked me on the cheek and collected his bag. I heard at least one comment asking if he could introduce the speaker to his big sister. They wouldn’t believe I was his mum.
So far my day was improving and I dashed home and ferried the girls to school. Jenny told me we were short of milk and I decided I’d use the nice big boot of the car and get some groceries while I was at it. After this decision was made, things got worse.
Tesco was the nearest supermarket to the school, so I popped in there and had soon filled a trolley with food and cleaning materials–we needed more detergent for the washing machine and the dishwasher–not surprising with a family of thousands. I spent quite a bit of money, even with my club card deductions and vouchers, but on the bright side, I had two vouchers for money off fuel when I next needed some. I left the store in tired but relatively buoyant mood. It wasn’t to last.
As I pushed the trolley up to the car, my nice new shiny Jaguar, my heart sank–there was long scratch which went across both nearside doors and both were dented. I gasped in shock and then came the tears.
A man walked from the car behind mine, “I saw some little old lady in an old Toyota bash your car and drive off.”
“Did you get the number?” I asked and he shook his head.
“Sorry, I was pushing a very recalcitrant trolley and by the time I got there she was away. It was red coloured and quite old.”
He gave me his name and telephone number in case my insurance company wanted a witness. I dumped my shopping in the boot and went back into the store asking to see the manager.
“Could I have your name, madam?” asked the woman on the enquiries desk.
“Lady Catherine Cameron.” I said and watched her expression change. She walked to the back of the booth and dialled up a number, presumably on the internal house phone.
She turned back to me, “Lady Cameron, I’m just waiting for someone to take you up to his office.”
I thanked her and a few minutes later a young woman appeared and asked me to follow her. My stomach was doing somersaults and I dearly wanted to find a certain old lady and have her transferred to a secure unit because the other urge that was fighting to express itself, was to find her and her stupid car and crush it while she was still in it. What was I going to say to Si–he’ll play merry hell with me.
Mr Watson, the store manager, was most helpful. He reminded me that parking was at the owner’s own risk, and I pointed out that if he so wished I could take him to court to prove that his signs meant nothing in law. He blustered for a moment, suggesting that as this was obviously an incident between customers, the store wasn’t liable.
I pointed out that he had CCTV in the car park, which he agreed and we visited the control room, where with the man who operated it, we found a record of the accident. The women reversed all along the side of my car, then tried to get out but it was too close, so she then scraped the car again as she pulled out, straightened up and reversed again. It was probably at this point she discovered the damage to my car and decided to drive off. Sadly the number plate wasn’t visible.
I agreed with the manager that if he gave me a copy of the video, I’d drop all thoughts of suing the store. Reluctantly, he got his man to copy it onto a DVD. I hoped someone would be able to blow it up and enhance the number enough for me to find the old biddy and have her terminated. I wondered if someone at the university could help.
Back at the car I remembered I’d have to face Simon–but at least I had evidence to show I didn’t do the damage myself. On the drive home, I wondered what it was with cars and me–I also wondered what I’d say to Simon–he’ll be threatening to take the car off me. I was really dreading it when he came home tonight, he was not going to be at all pleased–last night all he did was brag about what a wonderful machine it was, ‘A Jaguar XRF or something,’ it doesn’t say so on the back so how am I supposed to know–the only one I recognise is his and that’s mainly because he has personalised number plates, S1 MON. He was gonna kill me, I just knew it.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1473
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I drove home via the university and spoke to someone in the IT department, he copied the disc and promised to phone me if he could read the number. I thanked him, then on spec visited the local Jaguar garage for an estimate of the damage–the bloke suggested it would be two new doors plus some re-spraying. He suggested the cost would be up to a couple of thousand. I had no idea if that was good or bad, but I needed Si to be home before I could get the name of our insurance company. Back to Si again and my execution probably in front of the kids to make an example.
By the time I got home, I was in quite a state–even Stella noticed, so it must have been bad. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I went to Tesco and while I was shopping some old biddy rammed the car and skedaddled.”
“Deliberately?”
“I managed to get the video, looks more as if she was too senile to do it deliberately, just generally incapable.”
“Have you reported it to the cops?”
“Going to once I’ve had a cuppa.”
She put the kettle on and went to look at it. “Simon will be pleased.”
“But I didn’t do it, I have the film to prove it,” I protested and burst into tears. She hugged me. “I didn’t do anything,” I sobbed.
“So you said, he’s still gonna be cross–want me to distract him?”
“No, I need to get it over and done.”
Stella made some tea and after drinking it I phoned the police and reported the accident. As no one was injured they weren’t very interested. I did point out the woman had committed two offences, damaging my car and failing to report an accident. I also unkindly suggested she might be a danger on the road. They gave me an incident number for the insurance company once I gave my name–it seemed they became much more cooperative–can’t think why, the circumstances hadn’t changed. However, unless I could supply them with the name or number of the other driver they couldn’t do much more.
“How many ancient red Toyota’s are there in the Portsmouth area?”
“Loads, we need more information than that, we hardly have the manpower to search every street in the hope that we find one with white paint on its bumper.”
“That’s okay, I’ll have my children doing that every night until we find her, it’s okay if I arm them, isn’t it?”
“I hope you’re being facetious, Lady Cameron. Look I know it’s a total pain and you’re quite correct in that the other driver broke at least two laws but finding her isn’t a priority we have at the moment.”
I rang off, then dialled Simon. He was in a meeting and his secretary told me he’d call me back. He did an hour later.
“What’s the problem, babes, I was told you sounded a bit upset–the children are okay?”
“I hope so, no it’s about the car.”
“Which one–not the Jag–God, you haven’t crashed it already?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Somebody ran into you?”
“Yes,” I said and burst into tears.
“You okay?”
I nodded, which was a bit pointless, then realised what I’d done, “Yes, yes I’m okay.”
“Phew, you had me worried for a moment.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t speak for a second.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I was in a supermarket and some old biddy bashed the side of the car and then drove off without giving her name or anything.”
“How d’you know it was an old lady?”
“Some bloke saw her and came and told me. He didn’t see her number–and I managed to persuade the supermarket to give me a copy of their CCTV.”
“Doesn’t that show it–the number?”
“No, I’ve left a copy at the university, see if their IT guy can make it out.”
“A copy, you have another?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ll get our IT department to have a look at it.”
“Okay–you’re not mad with me?”
“Why should I be?”
“I’ve only had the car a day.”
“It happens–especially to you, at least this one wasn’t a write-off.”
“I did ask the Jaguar garage for a quote, they told me it needed two new doors.”
“Okay, get some photos of it before it gets dark, I’ll speak to a chap I know, he’s brilliant at repairing bodywork–met him through Stella.”
“He’s a friend of Stella?”
“No, he repaired Stella’s cars, about three times a year if I remember correctly. I helped him get a business loan to expand his workshop–he’ll do a better job than the Jaguar garage–they charge over the top.”
“Thank you, darling for being so understanding.”
“Hey you’re my wife aren’t you?”
“That’s what the paper says.”
“Well then, so stop snivelling and make me a nice dinner.”
“What would you like?”
“To eat or to do afterwards?”
“To eat–you have a one track mind.”
“So, I’m a normal hot-blooded male.”
“I had noticed.”
“By the tooth marks on the bed post.”
“What?”
“Teeth marks, see, I live with this incredible sexy woman but she keeps me incredibly frustrated.”
“You lying toad, you had–we had–um–last night.”
“Did we? You know my short term memory is getting worse–they say it can be a symptom of sexual frustration.”
“Ha ha very funny.”
“I thought so–gotta go, lunch meeting.”
“Don’t you eat too much if you want me to cook something nice for dinner.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle two cooked meals.”
“It’s not you handling them that worries me, it’s you eating them.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting too big.”
“Rubbish.”
“Si, it takes you five minutes to walk past a mirror.”
“Yeah, well if you’ve got it flaunt it–so, I’m good looking.”
“I meant your stomach takes five minutes to go past.”
“Huh, I think I might change my mind about the car.”
“Getting your little man to look at it?”
“No, being cross when I get home.”
“Fine–I’ll see you later–much later.”
“What?”
I put the phone down.
I did start a nice meal for him, a chicken casserole which I placed in the slow oven once it got up to temperature, it would have about five hours to cook.
I was doing some ironing when the doorbell went. I answered the door to a very nice looking older man–about fiftyish.
“Lady Cameron?”
“Yes,” I replied wondering who he was.
“Is that the car?” he pointed to my Jaguar.
“Yes,” I followed him to it. He made notes and took digital photos.
“Tell your husband I’ll have it in next week.”
“Tell him who? I’m sorry I don’t know who you are.”
“He didn’t tell you?” I shook my head. “Bert Darnley, I do bodywork repairs–done quite a few for your ’ubby a couple or three years ago.”
“For him or his sister?”
“’im I think, he ’ad a Saab, nice car but he was always bumping it or scratching it.”
“I believe he did have a Saab.”
“I’ll give you a ring before we come to fetch it–it’ll take about three days to do.”
“Will it need new doors?”
“Nah, we can pull those dents out–takes a while so does the painting–nice car the XFR.”
“Yes it is.”
“Be in touch,” he waved and left. I went back to my ironing and considered what I’d say to Simon. Stella came through a bit later.
“Someone at the door–earlier?”
“Yeah, Bert Darnley.”
“Who’s he when he’s at home?”
“Simon told me he used to repair your car bodywork.”
“What for, it was Si who was always scratching or bumping his, not me.”
“I had a feeling that’s what he meant.”
“Who?”
“Mr Darnley.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1474
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I took Mr Darnley’s card and stuck it on the notice board in the kitchen. This was covered with pictures by the children, cards of various tradesmen and the odd postcard. At the top of the board, which is quite a large one, more like that you’d see in an office than a kitchen, is a family photograph, with Tom seated in the middle and all the rest of us pests surrounding him. I don’t remember who took it, probably Leon, but it’s just a lovely picture and I smile every time I look at it. The only one missing is Fiona and there’s a separate one of her, albeit quite small, I took with my Blackberry.
I wondered how Leon was doing, I don’t think I mentioned that he decided to join the army. I’d never have believed it myself, and when he mentioned it, I felt like telling him I thought it was a less than good idea, then considered it wasn’t my place to tell him what to do with his life. I did ask him what his mother thought and he told me she wasn’t very happy with it. I think I understood what she was feeling.
I tried to point out that the prisons are full of ex-soldiers–one in four convicted prisoners are ex military, and that a significant number of those in mental health institutions are or living rough as ex soldiers too. He told me he knew and it didn’t put him off.
I then asked him what he think of killing someone or seeing one of his mates blown up or shot and he told me it would be tough but he’d cope. I wasn’t so sure. We train our soldiers to kill, overriding their natural reluctance–unless they’re psychopaths–but we don’t train them to cope with it. More British soldiers who fought in the Falkland Islands have killed themselves than died in action, as a consequence of what they did or saw in that campaign.
I’m not anti-military, I’m anti-war. I don’t want my children to suffer because of it. I do believe in having a viable defence force to protect British interests around the globe, although I suspect the current government has cut it to the bone–fancy scrapping the Harrier and HMS Ark Royal–which gave us the capacity to fly strategic missions anywhere. Oh what do I know? More than the idiots in government, it would seem.
Anyway, Leon has done his basic training and been posted to Afghanistan. He didn’t have time to visit, but he did phone and thank me for keeping him on the straight and narrow–he also asked me to keep an eye on his mum, who if you remember, suffers from MS.
Jenny went to get the girls in the end, with the Mondeo. I was too ashamed to drive the Jaguar with its war wounds. When they came home, they all stopped to examine the dents and scrapes and I had to tell them the story. It was fast becoming boring to me.
Trish immediately asked for the DVD and once I handed it to her she disappeared off to her computer. Billie went with her, but Livvie and Mima stayed to be with me in the kitchen. Mima laid the table while Livvie helped me finish doing the veg.
Simon came home and I showed him the damage to the car, he told me that the quote he’d got from Mr Darnley was less than half what the dealership wanted. I suppose the old sexist scam of robbing women because they don’t have a clue nearly paid off. Had I been alone, I’d never have known of Mr Darnley.
We had dinner and I deliberately kept Simon’s smaller than usual–to him a diet is too little of a good thing–in the hope that he would lose a little weight. He grumbled and found some unused spud and veg helping himself to seconds. He’d have eaten less if I’d given him his normal amount.
Trish talked with him about the progress she was making on the number plate, so after we finished Si went off with her while Julie and I cleared up. As she isn’t usually so helpful I suspected there might be an ulterior motive. There was.
“Mummy–um–you remember Phoebe?”
“How could I forget her, the pair of you nearly got yourself murdered.”
She blushed, “But we didn’t, did we?”
“Cut to the chase,” I instructed her loading the dirty dishes into the washer.
“Can she come down this weekend?”
“Providing you both behave yourselves, and that she has her mother’s blessing.”
“You are really brill, Mummy, d’you know that?” She hugged me.
“It’s funny that the appellation only applies when I do what you want, isn’t it?”
She smirked and hugged me again. I’d just finished loading the machine when the phone rang and as I was nearest, I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Can I speak to Lady Cameron?”
“Which one?”
“There’s more than one?”
“Yes there’s three.”
“Three? Blimey, the one with all the kids.”
“That’s me.”
“Blimey, why couldn’tcha say that in the first place?” I had a feeling it was going to be one of those days.
“What d’you want, I have all those kids to get to bed?”
“You know Theresa, Leon’s ma?”
“Yes, what about her?”
“She’s fallen over and is asking for you to come.”
“Hadn’t you better call the paramedics–this is more their territory than mine, I’m a teacher.”
“She wants you, missus.”
“Hold on. Julie–can you sort the girls out? looks like I have to go out.”
“Where?” she asked and I waved her away.
“Is she hurt or bleeding anywhere?”
“Just get here,” the phone went dead. Wonderful–now is this real or something more sinister? I checked the last caller number and it was Theresa’s mobile. That didn’t mean anything, a well planned kidnap would take care of that, trying to lull me into thinking it was a genuine call. Then again, it could be–oh shit, sometimes having all this money and status is more of a liability than a help.
I called Simon, who popped out of the dining room, “This child is a genius,” he beamed at me, “We’ve got half the number already.”
“I’ve just had a call from someone telling me Theresa has fallen and is asking for me.”
“Who’s Theresa?”
“Leon’s mum.”
“Oh, that Theresa?”
I rolled my eyes, “I’m suspicious, will you come with me?”
“Yeah, course I will.” He ran upstairs to change out of his suit and five minutes later he was back down. We went in the Mondeo, leaving his car in that street could have been asking for trouble–like someone ‘keying’ it all down the side.
He knocked at the door as I stood behind him, I don’t know why I felt suspicious and let’s face it, he’s not much more help than I am if it comes to physical stuff.
A woman answered the door, “Who are you?” she asked Simon.
“He’s with me,” I answered stepping from behind him.
“It’s you we need, not Moby Dick.” I nearly smirked, perhaps Si would get the point I was trying to make earlier.
“We come as a pair, he’s my husband–besides if she needs picking up, Simon will help won’t you darling?”
He nodded, still smarting from the Moby Dick appellation.
I followed the woman into the house, it was cleaner than the first time I visited it, and Leon had obviously used some of his money to decorate it. In the living room, Theresa was sprawled under a chair. “Is dat you, Cathy?” she gasped.
“Yes, Theresa, it’s me.”
“Tank de Lord, my redeemer comes.” I thought that might have been a bit over the top, but only by miles and Miles wasn’t here, just Simon and I.
I squeezed between the upturned chair and a bookcase, “It’s the paramedics you need, not me.”
“Dey can’t do nuffin’ fo me, you can–get doin’ it, please.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Me heard me back snap as me fell, me’s only alive ‘cos I linked to you.”
“I’m not Jesus Christ, Theresa,” I tried to play down her expectations.
“No you still got da powah, him dead.” I decided a religio-philosophical debate was probably not appropriate now but would challenge the assertion she made at the first opportunity.
I began to scan her body with my hands, “I’m not sure I can still do this,” I said feeling a little buzzing in my hands.
“You still got it, me can feel it–oh dat hurts, it burns as hot as fire.”
I felt Simon standing in the doorway, “What happened?”
“Theresa has hurt her back, I’m trying to get her comfortable so we can lift her out of here.”
“Okay, gimme a shout when you’re ready,” he said and walked back to the car.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1475
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“Da pain is easin’,” said Theresa as I continued to apply what I hoped was healing energy.
“Don’t you think we ought to call the paramedics? If you have injured your back, they have special lifting equipment.”
“Me don’t want no ambulances, me jus’ needs you, you have da powah.”
“I’m not happy with this at all, Theresa, I think we need a health professional here to make sure we’re not doing more damage.”
“Jus’ pull me up,” she insisted and now all I wanted was to get away and back to the safety of our home.
“Simon,” I called and nothing happened. “Simon,” I called again only louder. Still no one came. “Hold on a moment Theresa, let me get Simon, he’s probably talking to someone in the street.
“Who would he know round here?” she asked and I shrugged which was pointless as her head was still hidden by the chair. “Me can feel me feets,” she declared from under the chair.
“Oh good,” I said and walked towards the front door muttering, ‘If you’re stood talking while I’m in here doing all the work, it’ll be you who needs the ambulance, Simon Cameron.’ I got to the door and right outside was parked the Mondeo but no sign of my husband. Where the hell was he?
I looked up the street and down it, I even walked into the middle of the road but there was no sign of him. He’d seemingly vanished into thin air–unless of course some Japanese whalers had appeared. I shouldn’t joke, but he is getting quite plump and he always blames my cooking. I tried to explain that he was responsible for what he shoved down his throat.
Puzzled and not a little concerned, I returned to the house and went to speak with Theresa. “Simon seems to have gone off somewhere.”
“Oh dat’s jus’ great, why does we have to suffer dose men?”
“They’re quite good at carrying the shopping,” I said trying to keep it light hearted though all the while I felt uneasy.
“Me suppose so, where’s Peg?”
“Who’s Peg?” I asked although I did have suspicions that it was the woman who’d let us in to the house.
“Me friend, she opened da door fa you.”
“She was here a minute ago. Peg?” I called but there was no answer. Things were getting even stranger now–one thing was certain, she hadn’t run off with Simon–he may have run from her, but not the other way round.
I went in search of her but couldn’t find her, I went back to Theresa, “Looks like they’ve both disappeared.”
“Why is dat?”
“I have no idea.”
“You better help me up den.”
I certainly didn’t anticipate trying that by myself. I pulled the over turned chair away from her and righted it. I didn’t know why I hadn’t done that in the first place it gave quite a bit more room.
I eased Theresa into a sitting position, and then got her to turn round and adopt a kneeling position, I then pushed the chair towards her and helped her clamber up it. A few anxious moments later and she was sitting in it looking exhausted.
“Who’s da old woman?” she asked me, her eyes beginning to glaze over.
“Old woman,” I looked around but was on my own save for Theresa and she seemed to be going into a trance or a petite mal. Or perhaps it was shock from her fall? I tried to speak to her but she looked at me with a strange expression and her eyes were obviously not seeing me.
“Good evening, Cathy,” she said in a voice which wasn’t her own.
“Theresa?”
“No, she is taking a little rest and allowed us to use her body.”
“Who’s us?” I felt quite worried.
“We think you know that already, Cathy.”
Well it sure as hell wasn’t EIIR, who is the only person I’ve heard talk in the first person plural; her and that loony goddess thing–shit, it’s her again.
“What d’you want?” I asked angrily, “If you’ve hurt my Simon, you can go take a running jump.”
“Simon is fine. He and Peg think they’re helping to free a trapped hedgehog.”
“What d’you mean think?”
“They are both standing in the rear garden completely oblivious of anything, but they are both safe.”
“They’d better be.”
“Or what, Catherine? What are you going to do to us, seeing as you’re a mere mortal and we are a goddess?”
“So you keep reminding me and as I keep reminding you, I don’t believe in fairies or Santa Claus.”
“That is a great pity, we have met both.”
“That figures,” I replied.
“We think you are being disrespectful of us–you will apologise.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to apologise–you set this whole thing up–I should be home helping Billie with her homework.”
“We agree that we caused this to happen, please be ready to remove your clothing.”
“What for?”
“You will need to be anointed.”
“Annointed–what for?”
“You are the chosen one, it is written that you will be anointed.”
“I don’t think so, written where?”
“You must believe us.”
“I wouldn’t believe or trust you if you were the last goddess on earth.”
“We are not.”
“Pity,” I mumbled.
“We think your disrespect needs challenging, which of your children would you like to die first?”
“You what?” I gasped, “You can’t do that?”
“As they say in the films, ‘Just watch us,’”.
“Stop it, don’t you dare hurt my children.”
“It always works, except in the case of the pharaoh–he was too stubborn for his own good.”
“Pharaoh, as in Egypt?”
“The very same, we took his firstborn.”
“And you want me to respect you? You’re just a megalomaniac.”
“We are a goddess, you don’t seem to understand.”
“No I don’t understand. If there is a God, and you’ve just terminated one of his models. He isn’t going to like that very much.”
“Our brother will understand.”
“If he’s a typical male god, I think there could well be a large difference in what is said and done. Simon has known me a couple or more years, he still complains that he doesn’t understand me.”
“Our brother is a god, he will understand; he understands all.”
“In which case he’ll understand why I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“You have an indebtedness to us, you have no choice in the matter.”
“Try me, missus. Now open this door.” I pulled at the door to the room which had been open a few minutes before.
“You have no choice, you have been chosen.”
“I’d like to call a recount.” I paused, “Chosen for what?”
“You will learn in time.”
“I want to know now.”
“You are unready to learn this now.”
“Learn what?”
“You will know this as you become ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To do our bidding and fulfill your purpose.”
“Will you stop talking in riddles and cut to the chase?”
“There is no point in us telling you now, you will not understand.”
This worried me somewhat–understand what? Some form of higher emotion or experience–like grief? What if being ready meant losing someone close to me?
“I hope this being ready doesn’t mean any of my family or friends suffering?”
“We are unable to tell you.”
“I know because I’m unready–who d’you think I am, Ethelred?”
“Who is Ethelred?”
“You’re a goddess, find out.”
“Your insubordination will bring you grief.”
“Let this woman go, what has she done to you?”
“She was a convenient way of summoning you.”
I was speechless with anger. “How dare you use human beings as puppets?”
“It is our privilege.”
“And you wonder why I want nothing to do with you?”
“You have no choice.”
“Maybe.”
“It is written.”
“Writing can be erased or unwritten.”
“You would dare to challenge the scriptures?”
“I’ll challenge anything I suspect is wrong.”
“This is blasphemy.”
“How can it be blasphemy? The scriptures were written by men–men can be wrong.”
“You think too much.”
“Perhaps you think too little.”
“Shall we kill her, this woman of no significance, to teach you a lesson?”
“If you do, then I shall guarantee to never be ready for your purpose.”
“You will be ready.”
“I prefer to be asked, not told; led, not driven. If you want me to respect you, show me you’re worthy of it, release her and cure her disease.”
“Would you prefer we gave her suffering to you?”
“No, I asked you to take it away from her as a demonstration of your munificence.”
“And what will you do in return?”
“I will respect your generosity.”
“Very well–she will remain in remission as long as you respect us.”
“That wasn’t what I asked you to do?”
“We do not bargain with humans.”
“Pity, no wonder there’s little respect amongst rational people for belief in superstition, which is all religion is and the scriptures the scribbles of disturbed minds.”
“You want her to die?”
“That’s up to you, I told you what I asked for and what I was prepared to give in return.”
“She will die then.”
“Fine, let her die, but find another chosen one, because I just quit.”
“It is written.”
“Rubbish, now kill her and stop wasting my time or do as I ask you.”
“Your insubordination will cost you dear.”
“Yeah, I’ll stop believing in fairies and Santa Claus and stop others too. You lot only exist because people believe in you.”
“We were here long before human kind.”
“Fine, go deal with a dinosaur and leave me in peace.”
I turned to leave and a force whirled me round and slammed me into the door backwards.
“She will remain in remission as long as you respect us.”
“Thank you, that was all I asked you to do, your generosity is respected greatly, your ladyship.”
“Your courage would be commendable were it not based on stubbornness and stupidity.”
“Perhaps you do understand me after all.”
An iciness seemed to fill the room and pass through me, the front door slammed and Theresa slowly came round. “How d’you feel?” I asked her.
“You still have da powah?” she said stood up and hugged me. “Cathy, you is a miracle.”
“I think negotiator might be nearer the truth.”
She roared with laughter and Simon followed Peg into the house, “Bloody hedgehog,” he said loudly.
Peg was laughing, “The more he tried to free it the worse it got tangled.”
“We have to go, Theresa–you should be okay for a bit.”
“As long as you have da powah, me is fine.”
“C’mon, Miss Dynamo, let’s see if Trish has done the rest of that number plate,” said Simon grabbing my arm, “Bye, Theresa, Peg.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1476
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“You managed to fix her then?” said Simon casually as we drove home.
“If I told you what had happened you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me,” he said glancing across at me before looking ahead at the road.
“Okay, where to start...”
“The beginning is usually the recommended place.”
“You know this healing energy which attached itself to me?”
“I wouldn’t say I know, but I know what I think you mean.”
“It appears to have an entity attached to it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It has a sort of personification.”
“Right. What sort of personification?”
“An Old Testament goddess.”
“And?”
“Well she has manifested to me–she only does so to females, so Trish has seen her.”
“Okay, so I can’t see her?”
“That’s what she said.”
“I don’t know if I feel relieved or affronted.”
“If I were you, I’d say relieved.”
“Okay, so I’m relieved that I can’t see her–what did you see?”
“I’ve seen her several times, usually as an old woman who talks in the first person plural.”
“The royal we.”
“Exactly–only I don’t bow and scrape to anyone, especially something which I suspected was merely a figment of my imagination.”
“She’s not that weird is she?”
“Very funny–not; no she’s a real psycho who’s always threatening to harm or kill someone to teach me a lesson, she apparently caused the crash I was in.”
“The one with the Cayenne?”
“Then it’s possibly a good job I can’t see her–that car cost forty grand, babes.”
“You have to bear in mind that goddesses don’t usually care much about material things, including us humans.”
“Charming–I’m beginning to really dislike this old crone and I’ve never even met her.”
“Further encounters haven’t exactly endeared us to each other.” I possibly made the understatement of the century, so far.
“So why has she come to you?”
“I’m the chosen one, apparently.”
“Sounds like she’s been watching too much of the Matrix, Keanu Reeves wasn’t there was he?”
“If he had been, I wouldn’t have been calling you would I?” I felt myself blush.
“An’ there’s me thinking it was Johnny Depp you would be unfaithful with.”
“Only in mind.”
“Oh well, they can’t touch you for psychic adultery.”
“You’re speaking from experience by the sound of it,” I threw back at him.
“Ouch–so what’s this old crone got to do with you being the chosen one.”
“I don’t know–I don’t know what I’m supposed to be chosen for and hope it isn’t some sort of mission impossible.”
“I don’t know, Tom Cruise is about your size,” he sniggered.
“I was thinking more sticky ends.”
“Like how?”
“Like the lead character in the New Testament.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Simon loudly.
“Yes, him.”
“What? I was looking at the tits on that girl–she’s positively deformed.”
“Simon, I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you and you’re gazing at girls with large mammaries.”
“Large? She’d have been taller lying down.”
“No she wouldn’t, they tend to fall to the side–believe me I know.”
“Since when have you been looking at big bazongas?”
“Since I grew a set–remember?”
“Oh c’mon babes, she was twice your size.”
“Si, I was trying to talk to you about what happened.”
“Oh yeah, back to you playing the part of Keanu Reeves–can you do martial arts, run up walls and flip over?”
“No and neither can they, that was done with wires; I saw a programme on the making of it.”
“Aw, babes, you’ve spoilt the magic of it for me now.” He groaned and pretended to be very sad–it was all nonsense of course.
“Just take me home will you?”
“What about playing Mary Magdalene then?”
“Eh?”
“Well you can ’ardly play Jesus can you–unless he had the operation as well.”
“Sure, that’s why he disappeared for three days–he nipped over to Thailand.”
“Missed out on the electrolysis,” said Simon so matter of factly that I nearly burst out laughing.
“Simon, just remember we’re talking about a high ranking prophet here and in some mistaken viewpoints, the son of God–but only after the Council of Nicea and Constantine’s interference.”
“Ah yes, how many Constantines can you balance on the head of a pin?”
“Exactly–but my situation is with Old Testament deities.”
“Why? Aren’t they old hat now?”
“Apparently not and they tend to have rather primitive moral senses.”
“In what way?”
“Such as threatening to kill my children or me, or even you.”
“In which case it really is just as well I can’t see her–I’ll give her goddess.”
“She did something to you tonight.”
“Who did?”
“The Shekinah.”
“Who?”
“That’s the name of the goddess, the Shekinah–or the female aspect of God.”
“When?”
“You thought you were rescuing a hedgehog.”
“I was–I was there, remember.”
“You were in the garden, standing still–it was all happening in your mind.”
“I was bloody well there–I should know.”
“I saw you from the window, you were standing quite still and so was Peg.”
“And just what were you doing?”
“Arguing with the goddess, who came through Theresa, like she was some clairvoyant medium.”
“How come you get all the best jobs, an’ I get all the shitty ones?”
“It is a female deity and I suspect she might be a trifle sexist, but then the male manifestation was a misogynist.”
“What, Jesus?”
“No, God.”
“What about the widow’s mite?”
“What about it? Silly bugger ended up buying songbirds to kill–like bloody Malta.”
“They don’t sacrifice birds there do they?”
“No they just shoot the poor little things–did you know there’s some horrible disease killing finches, mainly greenfinches and chaffinches but has also infected sparrows and yellow-hammers.”
“Is that more of this bloody chutzpah woman thing?”
“Shekinah,” I corrected.
“That’s the one. How did you conjure her up in your imagination?”
“I’m not so sure I did now.”
“Well don’t look at me–I had nothing to do with it.”
“Yes I know, she was far too intelligent an entity for that.” Two can play games.
“Ha bloody ha–we’re home.” He parked the car and after we left the car he clicked the bleeper and locked it.
“The girls are in bed,” said Jenny as we went into the house, “But it may be a good idea to show yourself–they might settle down then.”
“Okay.” She promised to make some tea when I came down again.
“Mummmeeee,” squealed Trish and they all sat up, “did you see her?”
“See? See who?”
“The old lady.”
“Theresa?”
“No, the Shek thingy.”
“Shrek?” asked Billie winding her up.
“No, the goddess thingy.”
“She was here?” I felt very angry.
“Yeah, that’s what I was tryin’ to tell you.”
“Okay–she won’t hurt you.”
“I know, an’ I got her to promise not to hurt you or Daddy, too.”
I looked at her, seven years old and already light years ahead of me. “Okay, bed now and sleep.”
“What shall I tell her if she comes again?”
“Tell her to deal with me and to leave you alone or I’ll be very cross.”
“Okay–night, Mummy, love you lots.”
“Yeah, we love you too,” echoed the others.
“I love you all very, very much–now go to sleep before I strangle the lot of you.” They all started to giggle and I knew I’d said the wrong thing–again.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1477
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I began to feel like this was some B-film horror movie in which I and my family were being pursued by a some sort of phantom which had homicidal tendencies, which felt totally at odds with the healing element. Then again, that lioness goddess in ancient Egypt was on one hand the goddess of destruction and healing, and Athena–a warrior goddess who was also goddess of learning. I’m sure there are loads of other dualities where divinities are credited with doing opposite things–perhaps like the surgical advances that occur in wartime because they have almost unlimited opportunities to experiment.
I was tiring of this goddess stuff, what was this special thing I was supposed to be doing and when was I supposed to do it? Did it relate to the environment? If not then I’d wasted most of my life so far. Actually that’s not true, anyone who’s ever handled a dormouse will know that they are worthy of protecting, being about the only rodent which does no significant damage to human interests.
I itched to get back to doing something with the environment again, especially if it wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing–yeah, I’m developing this bad girl persona–am I bovvered?
The next day, I was astonished to find that Mr Darnley phoned to come and collect the car. One of his men arrived, took the keys and off it went. When I asked why they’d brought it forward, the man just shrugged and said he’d been told to come and collect it.
Trish hadn’t been able to distinguish two of the digits on the film of the red Toyota, however, when I went to get some diesel for the Mondeo on the Monday after taking them to school, I was pretty sure I saw it filling up with petrol–or at least I was fairly sure I recognised the driver.
I took the number, and then approached the driver. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman as she went back to her car.
“Yes?”
“I believe this car hit mine in the car park of Tesco’s store last week,” I stood with my arms folded.
She mirrored me, “It wasn’t me,” she said.
“There’s white paint on the rear bumper, which I’m sure matches that on my car.”
“Can’t be, I wasn’t there.”
“I have a copy of the CCTV film which shows you were.”
“You’re lying.”
“I think it’s you who might be employing terminological inexactitudes and quite deliberately so.”
“What?”
“You’re the one who’s lying.”
“Prove it.”
“I will, I’d like your name and address and the name of your insurance company.”
“They’re in the car,” she said and I stood back while she got into the car, locked the doors and drove off at speed nearly running over some chap walking back to his car after paying for his fuel.
She obviously thought she was Stirling Moss, although he was a brilliant driver and extremely charming. I decided that pursuit was not the best policy and went to the police station.
I explained what I was there for and was wanting some assistance in identifying the driver who when annoyed or embarrassed drove like a demon. He shrugged, “It was on private property, nothing to do with us.”
“I see, so if I happen to run over a pedestrian pushing a trolley and kill them, then it’s not your concern?”
“If someone was injured, we want to know.”
“But she’s guilty of causing damage, failing to stop at the scene of an accident and then failing to report it.”
“No one was hurt.”
“It caused loads of damage to my car, which I have to pay for.”
“That’s a civil matter.”
“Her actions were verging on criminal, and her driving was reckless–go and see the CCTV of her leaving the filling station.”
“There’s a website you can contact to start claims against other drivers, I suggest you use that if you wish to pursue her for damage to your car.”
“What if one of my children had been in the car when she hit it?”
“We’d have prosecuted you for negligence–it’s an offence to leave a child alone in a car for more than a few moments.”
“It only took a few moments for her to bash in the side of my car, I could have been taking the trolley back to the trolley park.”
“But you weren’t, you said she did it while you were in the shop.”
“Maybe I’ll just pay a couple of heavies to go round and rough her up?” I mused aloud, it wasn’t my intention but he didn’t know that.
“If you do, we know where to come to find you.”
“Or cut the brakes on her car.”
“It sounds as if you don’t think it would make much difference to her driving, so why bother–and it could get you a jail term. Is it worth becoming a jailbird just to get even?”
“I should like to see her banned from driving.”
“Bit severe, isn’t it?”
“She’s annoyed me twice now and isn’t dealing with the consequences of her actions. She’s like some ancient teenager. How long will it be before she kills someone?”
“That isn’t your problem love–then it becomes ours.”
“Well, I shall keep an eye out for her and if I see she has hurt someone, I shall make sure the local paper knows all about your reluctance to deal with her.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Certainly not, it’s a statement of fact.”
“That you’ll create a stink?”
“Shall we say, I’ll bring it to the attention of the local media.”
“Sounds like a threat to me.”
“Oh well you can replay your CCTV and see that I wasn’t making a threat, just suggesting possible outcomes. I hope your CCTV got that.” I smiled at the camera.
I’d just got back into the Mondeo when my mobile went and it was the chap from the university–he’d pretty well got the numbers, I asked him what they were and he read them to me over the phone. They were the same as the car driven by the woman I’d approached in the filling station. I thanked him, and would sent him a few bottles of wine to show gratitude.
Back at home, I checked Trish’s efforts, she was nearly there which for a seven year old was pretty impressive. I ran check for the website which would identify the driver. I don’t know if it was the same one the copper had meant because I had to pay to use it–however, twenty five quid later, I had a name and address.
I sent Simon an email passing on this info, so he could notify the insurance company. He wrote back thanking me and saying he’d be home after six. Quite why he did that I don’t know, he rarely gets home before six most of the time.
I started the ingredients for a cottage pie, cooking loads of potatoes and mince–no not together–duh. When I went to collect the girls, I had a large tin of it browning in the oven, together with a smaller one for Simon.
I collected the girls and told Trish that I’d seen the old lady again–the car driver, not the goddess one–and that the bloke from the university IT department had cracked the image to confirm the number of the car.
She was rather miffed that I hadn’t waited for her to finish it. I tried to explain that it was needed more quickly than she could do, but that I was grateful for her efforts. I gave her a chocolate bar to eat after her dinner which she put down on the dining table and someone else ate–I suspect, Danny who was seen chewing something before the meal although he denied it. She found the wrapper in the bin and wanted to do DNA and fingerprint testing on it. I found another one and she hid that one away.
Comment or we send the cats round - an' you don't want that to 'appen, do yer?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1478
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I showed Simon the name and address of the miscreant driver who had besmirched my big cat. He sniggered, Miss Louisa Alcott, Orchard House, 13 Concord Avenue, Southsea. I’d checked on Google and it was near Clarence Parade, so quite close to the sea.
Simon sent an email to the legal department of the bank asking them to initiate proceedings against the woman for damage to the car of one thousand pounds. In other words they would threaten in legalistic terms to take her to a small claims court to recover the money. The letter would be sent by recorded delivery so we’d know she’d got it.
As the week progressed we heard nothing, then on Friday evening, Julie arrived with Phoebe who’d be sharing a room with her. Simon had helped put up the portable bed in her room, so when they arrived after brief greetings they went up to Julie’s room much to the annoyance of the lesser females who wanted to be included in the big girl stuff.
I made dinner for us and we were just finishing the dessert, homemade yoghurt and fresh fruit salad, when the door bell rang. Phoebe was nearest and offered to answer it. I was collecting dirty crocks when there was a tremendous noise from the front door of shouting and a large dog barking–which of course set off Kiki.
Simon leapt to his feet as I was stuffing dishes in the washer, and went quickly to the door, “What’s going on here?” I heard him shout followed by, “You keep that dog under control.”
By now were all curious and perhaps worried about what was happening. I got to the hallway just as a woman’s voice said, “That’s what I think of your letter, you bully.” Then the door was slammed and I saw Simon staring at an envelope. When I got to him he showed me an envelope filled with what looked and smelt like dog poo.
We took photos of it then dumped it in a plastic bag and binned it, he then went off to the police. They didn’t seem interested, it was a civil dispute and as she hadn’t actually set the dog on him or threatened him, it seemed it wasn’t their domain. He remonstrated and asked to see a senior officer–he got no further than that. We had no witnesses. He showed them the photo of the dirty envelope and apparently the copper laughed. Simon was furious and promised to write to the Chief Constable. They even provided his address. By the time he came home he was buzzing with anger.
I spent the next half an hour calming him down. Then I called James and asked him to find out what he could about her. I was just watching the end of the Elite Women’s World Championship Road Race where Nicole Cooke couldn't quite get through the bunch to win it, she took fourth place and this is without much racing this year. At least Vos didn’t win it, although the Italians have done so ever since Cooke won the Olympic and World champion’s titles in 2008.
Anyway, I was so disappointed for Cooke not getting on the podium because of those nasty foreigners when the phone rang. “Hi Cathy, I’ve emailed you a load of stuff about your irritating old lady.”
“Gosh, that was quick.”
“You know me, missus, a fast worker.”
“Thanks, Jim.” I put the phone down and went to my computer.
I scanned the email, it appeared that our subject was seventy five years old, had two convictions for driving offences–driving without due care and attention, and speeding both this year.
She also owned her own house, was a retired teacher and had assets of about fifty thousand in the bank plus a pension of six thousand a year.
Then something which completely surprised me, she was a member of CASSM–a group which stood for, Christians Against Same-Sex Marriage. I didn’t like her much beforehand, now she positively made my hair stand on end.
She was a paid up member of the Tory party and the Royal Horticultural Society–the latter was the only thing to my mind that she had going for her, or should that be growing for her. I felt like sneaking into her garden and spraying weed killer on her immaculate lawn to spell ‘HOMOPHOBE’ but I’m not sure she’d understand. Possibly she kept the big dog to keep intruders out of her garden.
She won a prize for flower arranging–her own blooms–in the Southsea flower show, and a commended in the preserves section of the show, for her strawberry jam.
I’d like to preserve her–dump her in a large jar of formalin.
Simon was taking out a restraining order against her to ban her from our property and he told his legal people to start proceedings against her for the car damage. This would probably cost more than we recovered unless we were granted costs, which is doubtful in a small claims court.
We had nothing really juicy, apart from her intolerance to gay marriage. It didn’t say which church she attended, so it could have been any of them–I didn’t fancy staking the place to see where she went on a Sunday.
As I was still reading the first email, another arrived. James had found something in the local paper from three years ago:
‘Congregation upset at church outburst–members of a Southsea congregation were upset to hear one of their worshippers stand up and harangue the vicar, Rev David Wimpole, after he preached a sermon on tolerance of minority groups following the attack on a parishioner who had attended the Portsmouth Gay Pride March and had been badly beaten by a gang of yobs.
Louisa Alcott, accused the vicar of being a closet homosexual and of leading the church down the slippery slope towards doing the devil’s work for him. She said that homosexuals were evil and shouldn’t be tolerated on God’s earth, let alone encouraged.
When Rev Wimpole tried to reason with her she threw her prayer book at him, called him a poof and stormed out of the church.
Speaking to our reporter, Nigel Strange, she told him that the devil had infiltrated the Church of England, and the ideas of equality for minorities and women priests were evidence of her claims. When asked if she didn’t think her ideas were slightly old fashioned she quoted the Bible and set her dog upon our reporter.
Rev Wimpole, said he appreciated that everyone was entitled to their opinion and he regretted that Miss Alcott’s seemed rather lacking in old fashioned Christian values of love and tolerance of others. He suggested that were Jesus alive today he’d probably be marching with the supporters of Gay Pride to show solidarity with oppressed minority groups.’
The article was accompanied by a photo of both the vicar and the woman. He looked prettier than her, despite his beard.
I printed off a copy of both things and showed them to Simon who had come in from digging potatoes with Danny–actually he was digging potatoes with a spade, and so was Danny. They left them in one of the greenhouses to dry off before bagging them in large paper sacks.
Tom had been picking and storing apples with the help of the girls. We had a shed which was pretty well mouse and rat proof, which Maureen had improved during her days working for us. The door and windows fitted, the woodwork on the roof had been replaced and sealed with plastic stuff and the walls had been damp-proofed and sealed to stop little rodents burrowing in them. We stopped short at electrified fences and machine gun towers with searchlights–too expensive to maintain.
Simon read the emails and at first looked cross then sniggered at the second. “She’s what the navy call, a Dagenham station.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“One stop from Barking.”
“What?”
“Dagenham is one stop before you get to Barking on the railway.”
“Right.”
“Well go and make some dinner, then I'll let you watch the cycling in peace.”
“Okay, okay. I’m watching it tomorrow too, Cav could win the race if it comes to a bunch sprint.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the Aussies and the rest will just sit back and let the Manx Rocket fly away by himself.”
“It’s Manx Missile, and he’s well aware they’ll all be trying to stop him–but he’s still the best chance we have.”
“Well we’ve got two more rows of tatties to dig–it’s damned hard work, especially on the back,” he stretched and groaned.
“Go and take a hot bath and I’ll make some tea and bring it up.”
“Now you’re talking, girl.”
“Don’t get too carried away, I’m only making you one because I need one.”
“Oh poo,” he said and went upstairs.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1479
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(aka Bike) Part 1479 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I was so enthused by watching the cycle racing that I persuaded Tom and Jenny to babysit while I went out for half an hour’s ride–the problem was if they saw me they’d want to come and I wanted a half hour’s work out. Somehow, I managed to slip away and into the bike shed, where I had to pump the tyres of the Specialized up to the minimum 100psi. Then a quick flurry and I was out on the road and away.
Despite the stiff breeze I was in a state of virtual bliss, and was soon trundling along at a steady fifteen miles per hour. I did manage to find a bit of hill to climb and was half way up it when I realised how unfit I was. At the top my legs were burning and my chest felt tight as I gulped in the air and puffed and panted.
It struck me as wasted life compared to someone like Nicole Cooke’s who at twenty six was Olympic champion, had been world champion road racer, had won everything including junior world titles at road racing, mountain biking and time trialling. Me? I won a gonk in a raffle when I was a kid.
I sped back to the house, having managed about ten miles according to the computer–and that looked as if the battery needed replacement. Apart from being hot and sweaty, stiff legged, sore kneed, stiff necked and tender wristed–I felt great, and managed to re-store the bike and get in without anyone noticing.
Actually, they had so I had to deal with a long list of grumbles and complaints which I resolved by offering to take them all out with me tomorrow–early. Danny decided he still had potatoes to lift but the girls were all up for it–which was why I found myself eating breakfast at seven thirty on a Sunday morning, surrounded by an excited posse of girls–just what I needed.
They finally calmed down enough to eat some cereal, toast and a banana. I managed the toast and banana with two mugs of tea. After clearing this up, we went over to the bike shed and I checked tyre pressures and brakes–this took a further half an hour–so it was nearer nine by the time we actually set off along the bike path.
I don’t think Bonzini has anything to fear from my lot–racing cyclists they are not–with the possible exception of Billie who does seem to have a bit of an idea of what’s involved. She was in the lead most of the way as I sat back with the rest–Livvie and Trish having some convoluted argument about time and space differentials–I think. I must stop them watching Dr Who.
I had some braising steak defrosting for dinner, which I could whack in a casserole and leave in the slow oven of the Aga–which would then leave me free to watch the men’s race, which was on the red button from nine to about four. Sadly, I couldn’t stop for that length of time watching a bike race, but I was certainly going to watch bits, especially the last hour or so.
Back from our ride, it was now ten and the World’s had been on the telly for an hour–get rid of the kids and get the casserole on. I sent them all out to help Simon and Danny in the garden–I nearly locked the doors, but then they’d only ring the battery in the doorbell flat.
I made up a flour and herbs mixture and after trimming the meat rubbed it into the said mix, then fried it with onions and garlic to seal the meat–so this only takes a few minutes–I then took it out and shoved it in the casserole which I filled with a stock, carrots, celeriac, a tin of chopped tomatoes and some mushrooms. Then to get it going I popped it in the microwave to warm it up to simmer then shoved it in the slow oven.
I was rushing to clear up and dropped the remainder of the flour mix which took me ten minutes to clean up, I tried to slow down but was getting more irritated with myself, and rinsing stuff off prior to putting them in the dishwasher, dropped a favourite mug and broke it. If this was an omen for the bike race and Team GB, it wasn’t a good one.
By eleven, I’d finished in the kitchen and was humping a large basket of clean laundry into the lounge, where I set up the ironing board and got the iron and a supply of fresh water to steam iron things. Finally, I switched on the telly and eventually found the bike racing. There was a breakaway group of seven already and I’d only just switched on. Chris Froome and Steve Cummings were leading the Team GB train, which in turn was leading the peloton.
I nearly ironed my hand once, I certainly burnt my fingers a few times–it’s easy to forget that cotton which has just been steam pressed is actually hot–so interesting was the race.
I had to stop at lunch time–I’d actually done all the ironing–to feed the brood. I did scrambled eggs on toast using up half a tray of eggs in the process while Livvie made and buttered the toast. I’d informed them that dinner would be an evening meal because I wanted to watch the world championships. Then Simon accused me of deliberately obscuring the fact that Scotland were playing rugby in the world cup that morning.
We had quite a shouting match because I’d genuinely forgotten–I wasn’t that interested anyway–Wales play more interesting rugby than Scotland–besides they lost to Argentina–who Wales beat in a warm up game–see what I mean.
After clearing up from this meal–I went back to the telly to find Trish watching some film on Sky. I nearly strangled her–it was a wind up–she wasn’t watching it at all, she just bargained for chocolate to go away and give me control of the remote again.
I flopped in the easy chair with a cuppa and discovered there were now two breakaway groups and Team GB were still plugging away with the same train in the peloton much to Hugh Porter’s discomfort, while Chris Boardman made comments or corrected Porter’s mistakes about who was where.
It was so absorbing–it really was–that I closed my eyes–just for a moment–okay, it was half an hour. It was now nearly three o’clock and all hell was breaking loose and I had no idea what was what, except Team GB were still trundling along at the front of the peloton with a couple of Germans helping them and now a lone Yank.
Hugh Porter repeated how they were sticking to their plan despite all that was going on and I began to wonder if he might be right. I made some more tea to wake myself up and offered cups to the other adults and Simon. By the time I got back some sneaky Italians had formed another breakaway–I’d lost count how many there were now–ah this lot were caught–but the first lot and second lot had merged so we had a breakaway of about a dozen, including practically everyone but the British, Germans and USA. I’m sure my blood pressure was higher than when I’d been out on the bike.
Boardman and Porter played a game of spot Cavendish–‘he’s up with the rest of Team GB, no he’s further back with Geraint–his lead out man. Essentially, team GB kept ramping up the pace as we got ever closer to the final lap and they were catching up to the breakaways each time one formed. Brad Wiggins, he who broke his collar bone in the TdF, steamed away like an express train for what seemed like hours, taking the pace of the peloton to speeds from which it was hard to mount attacks or set up a train for sprinters–they had their own to line up–in one Mark Cavendish–the Manx Missile.
As they approached the finish, it became almost a free for all. The Aussies nearly got away, but Stannard was strong enough to bring the Brits back to the front, then as the sprint trains went off–Geraint Thomas lost Cavendish, who’d got himself blocked. Thomas slowed down to try and pick him up again but Cav had other ideas and just as it looked as if he’d missed the boat, the familiar figure emerged up the right hand side accelerating like he was on a motorbike, zooming past Goss and Greipel to take the win.
I was bouncing up and down, shouting and crying at the same time–we’d won it, Cavendish was the new world champion–we’d done it.
“What’s happened?” asked Simon and for a moment I couldn’t say anything except blubber. “We lost again, did we?” I shook my head vigorously, no. “So why are you crying?”
“We won, Cav won it,” I said blubbing some more.
“Women,” said Simon and walked out just as they showed a rerun of the finish from the helicopter and he missed it again. What a finish.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1480
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After the euphoria of the World Championships we discovered the Argentine had beaten Scotland in the rugby, so Simon had been saved an embarrassment, or so I tried to assure him. He wasn’t convinced–mind you neither was I.
“Why should I be embarrassed about seeing Scotland lose, they do it often enough.”
“But against the Argentine.”
“It’s not like being beaten by Namibia–I mean if Wales get beaten tomorrow, they’ll never be able to show their faces in the world cup again.”
“Why who are they playing tomorrow then?”
“Who are who playing?” he asked looking more blank than usual.
“Wales–remember, I used to live across the river from them, fortunately the woad wearers weren’t that good at swimming.”
“I just told you–Namibia, Wales play Namibia–they should put at least fifty points on them.”
“Who–Wales on Namibia or t’other way round?”
“Wales should stuff Namibia–that clear enough?”
“Very, sorry to seem a dummy but I don’t know much about sport.” I shrugged as I apologised.
“So where did Cancellara come in your bike race?” he asked.
“Fourth, beaten by Greipel in a photo finish.”
“And who was second?”
“Matt Goss, the Aussie.”
“Defending champion?”
“Hushovd, he got held up by the crash so didn’t contest the sprint.”
“And the make of bike Cavendish rode?”
“Specialized, not sure if it’s a Tarmac SL3 or the Venge.”
“So you don’t know much about sport?”
“No, you know I don’t?”
“Have Britain won the world championship before?”
“D’you mean men’s or women’s?”
“Men’s.”
“Yeah, Tom Simpson won it in 1965, the women have won it four times, the most recent being Cooke in 2008.”
“And you still don’t know anything about sport?”
“No, I already said so.”
“Who won the Ashes?”
“England.”
“Who are the defending Rugby World Cup holders?”
“South Africa, I think.”
“Who won the football world cup?”
“Spain? Not sure.”
“And you still know nothing about sport?”
“No, I keep telling you.”
“I see, I suppose you don’t know much about dormice either?”
“I have been known to write the odd paper on them and a book and a film–but there’s lots I don’t know.”
“Geez, Cathy, you should be on Mastermind–you have a better general knowledge than most people.”
“Sez who?”
“I do, for someone who knows nothing about sport you seem quite up on cycling with a reasonable amount of knowledge on other major sports.”
“I couldn’t tell you who won the golf or the baseball–hang on I know the golf was some Irish bloke.”
“Baseball is hardly important over here is it, like football or rugger isn’t to the colonials over the pond.”
“I thought the Americans played soccer and rugby?”
“They do babes, but not terribly well.”
“Didn’t they beat England once at football? I’m sure I saw something ages ago in the Guardian.”
“Probably, let’s face it, England got knocked out of the soccer world cup by a team from a girl’s blind school.”
“Which was further than Scotland or Wales got.”
“They do have a slightly larger base to pick from, a population of fifty million against five and three million respectively.”
“A bit like the cycling team–let’s see, Thomas is Welsh, Millar is Scots, Cavendish is Manx, Froome is Kenyan–the rest are English, I suppose.”
“That was a GB team wasn’t it?”
“Course–the others wouldn’t be in an England team would they?”
“Here’s a question you can answer.” Simon smiled and I wonder if it was going to be a trick one.
“Go on.”
“What time’s dinner–I’m starving.”
“Half an hour, I need to get some veg on.”
“Oh good–I’m going for a dip in the bath–to soothe my aching back.”
He went up and I rushed into the kitchen and checked the casserole–it was done. I quickly sorted the spuds and put them on to boil, using water from the kettle to speed things up. I did some curly Kale and some carrots and got everything ready to eat in half an hour or so.
At five, at least half an hour from when Simon went up to bathe, I decided to warn him dinner was ready. Livvie had done the table–Trish was moving satellites about on her computer, so we were almost ready to eat. I called up the stairs–no answer–he’s gone to sleep. I was tempted to send the girls up armed with some cold water–that would wake him up–knowing my luck he’d have a coronary.
I walked up the stairs calling him, I finally heard a muffled response and went to speak to him–he’d obviously fallen asleep. I knocked on the door and went into the bathroom–unlike the woman who wrote to an agony aunt–‘I’ve caught my husband masturbating three times in the bathroom, what should I do?’ The response was one word–‘Knock’.
Simon looked as if he’d just woken up and the water was cooling. “I’m waiting to dish up dinner,” I said looking at his bemused expression.
“I can’t move,” he said.
“What you’re stiff?”
“No–my back’s locked–I can’t get out of the bath.”
Now it was my turn for the bemused expression, “You can’t stay there,” Uttered from my lips without getting clearance from my brain.
“Suggestions for getting me out would be much appreciated.”
“Get rid of the water to start with.”
“I can’t reach the plug, can I?”
“I can,” I pulled on the chain and heard the water rushing down the drain. Five minutes later I offered him a towel to cover his nakedness. “C’mon, dinner’s spoiling.”
“I can’t can I?”
“C’mon I’ll help you.”
“You watch out or you’ll hurt yourself, I’m hardly a lightweight, am I?”
We began struggling and somehow we managed to get him onto the edge of the bath, where at least I could dry him and wrap him in a towelling robe. I tried healing on him but nothing happened.
“I know, as potatoes did this, if I rub you down with a spud you should get better–that’s how homeopathy works isn’t it–hair of the dog and all that?”
He laughed and groaned.
I called Stella, and between us we got him to the bed and I stuffed pillows behind him to sit him up, “I’ll bring some food up on a tray.”
“I don’t feel very hungry.”
“I don’t care–you eat and I’ll bring up some painkillers–you’re not taking them on an empty tum.”
“Okay–I’ll try not to die until I’ve eaten.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Joke,” he said but sounded less convincing than usual.
For the next hour I was running up and down stairs with food and pills and then drinks–Stella and Jenny did help me feed the mob and clear up–but I took the brunt of things again.
Maureen phoned about something and I mentioned Simon’s problem, she turned up soon after with a heat pad which we shoved behind him and switched it on. It seemed to help. She also gave me the name of a physiotherapist who visited. I left a message on her ansafone.
I helped Si to the loo before we went to bed. I was knackered as in totally. He looked to be pretty tired as well–I suspected we wouldn’t be growing spuds next year.
I kissed him as I got into bed and he groaned about his back. I started rubbing his thigh–“I fancy you something rotten,” I said as seductively as I could.
“Ha bloody ha,” he said and groaned, “bitch,” was an afterthought. Mind you I deserved it and I did snigger.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1481
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The next morning before I could do more than shower, Trish came running into the bedroom and bounced on top of Simon. he screamed out in agony and said some very unkind things, which caused her to run out even more quickly than she came in. I nearly did a double take because Simon was out of the bed and running after her muttering, “I’ll kill her.”
I called him back to heel and he stopped. “Your back’s better then?”
“Yes–good grief, it is too.”
“Perhaps you’d better go and thank her rather than kill her.” He sheepishly went off to do as I suggested. I’d find out more about all this when I took them to school.
I finished drying myself and did my hair, then dressed in my normal uniform of top and jeans–I have a wardrobe full of lovely clothes and I tend to wear these most of the time. I half expect Simon to ask why I bothered changing over to wear trousers, but I didn’t do it to wear pretty clothes, I did it because I feel better about me, and besides they’re women’s jeans–men’s would be too small in the arse and too big in the waist–my shape is decidedly female these days. Hopefully, my three transgendered children will be the same–assuming they actually remain transgendered. Not all kids who express apparent gender dysphoria are, so I hope that Trish doesn’t change her mind–it could cause her a few problems if she does.
By the time I got downstairs, Danny was down and eating his breakfast–he had some homework to finish when he got to school, so was going early. Simon came down with the girls and they were all giggling about something. I asked him to take Danny to school which he agreed to do. Danny was delighted until he realised not many of his contemporaries would see the car he arrived in.
Simon checked his mobile and told me his lawyers had received no reply from Miss Alcott. “If we go to court, it will look badly for her.”
“Why? What will happen?”
“Nothing initially, we’ll probably have to go to court two or three times, when we’ll apply for an authority to seize goods to the value of the amount outstanding and we could also apply for costs.”
“Will you or I have to go to any of those?”
“Nope, we’ll let the bank’s legal team sort it out and before we proceed we’ll actually have someone call and see her, see if they can talk some sense into her. It’ll be recorded on video to show a judge and then we start ramping it up and going for wipe out.”
“I don’t want to kill her, just make her see the error of her ways.”
“I suspect she might be of the leopard persuasion.”
“That sounds like Frank Schleck meets Jane Austen.”
“Who’s he when he’s at home?”
“Andy Schleck’s brother.”
“That does me a power of good.”
“I’m so glad.” I smiled smugly, it was obvious he had no idea.
“That doesn’t actually help–are they lawyers or something?”
“No–TdF riders. They rode for a team called Leopard Trek.”
“Its significance is becoming clearer if not its relevance–no don’t enlighten me, sometimes ignorance is bliss.”
“Tis folly to be wise,” piped Danny. “We done it in poetry.”
“Did it.”
“You done it too, cor, did they have poetry when you was little?”
I glared at him and Simon roared with laughter.
“Where’s Julie?” asked Stella emerging from her bedroom with Puddin’ in attendance and carrying Fiona.”
“Oh she left hours ago–she had to take Phoebe to the station to get back to Salisbury in time for school.” I’d almost forgotten she was staying with us it had been so quiet–mind you two days of bike racing on telly did sort of provide a modicum of distraction.
I finally managed to get the girls in the car. “What was that about jumping on your dad?” I asked Trish after she’d got settled into her seat.
“The energy told me I needed to make him move quickly.”
“What d’you mean the energy told you?”
“I just got this idea in my head, so I jumped on him.”
“Next time exercise a bit of restraint, will you? Sometimes ideas like that can be wrong and you might have made him worse.”
“But I didn’t, I healed him didn’t I, an’ I did it all myself–you weren’t there were you, so what d’ya know about it. I fixed him by myself.”
I wasn’t going to argue with her before she went to school because the way she seemed to be acting, she’d have wiped out a whole class by mid morning break.
“You always tell me off–only ‘cos you’re jealous, ‘cos I’m cleverer than you.”
“You have the potential to be cleverer than I am, but you have a long way to go yet, Trish. Life doesn’t always seem to favour very clever people, so I’d be careful who you tell.”
“What d’you mean, Mummy?”
“Just because you’re clever and some things come easily to you doesn’t mean you need to work less hard. Some people who are clever sit back and get very lazy and then their cleverness gets them nowhere. The other thing is some people are scared of cleverness or don’t like people who seem much cleverer than they are, so it could lose you friends.” I began to wish I hadn’t said anything.
“I won’t have any friends?” she said in voice full of emotion.
“I didn’t say that, you could have lots of friends, but you must stop showing off. Yes be bright and answer questions and do problems, but don’t rub people’s noses in it or you won’t have many friends.”
“I don’t do that, do I?”
“I’ve seen you do with Julie and it isn’t very nice. She isn’t as academically clever as you, but she’s good at what she does.”
“She’s very good with makeup and hair, Mummy,” offered Livvie.
“Well I hope I do better than a hairdresser,” said Trish dismissively.
“That’s a very unkind thing to say, we need good hairdressers and always will but we may not always want rocket scientists.”
Trish humphed and sat with her arms folded until we got to school–oh well she’ll have to work off her sulk by herself. She is only seven, I tend to forget because she acts about ten years older much of the time.
When we got to school she refused to hold my hand, which she usually does, although Mima and Livvie took advantage of that and grabbed a hand each; Trish walked by herself which I hoped wasn’t an indication of things to come.
In some ways she reminds me of myself–misunderstood and cleverer than many of my contemporaries who seemed to just poke fun. At least she doesn’t have the difficulties I faced in being a feminine boy, or she’s dealt with it sooner than I did, so maybe she’ll make it relatively unscathed.
I waved them all into school although little miss sulk ignored me, the others kissed me goodbye and seemed much happier with me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1482
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I arrived home just after nine and made myself some tea in the hope it would cheer me up and wake me up. Stella noticed my mood, “Why don’t you take that long face for a long bike ride?”
“I’ve got lectures to prepare.”
“Oh, well go and do them, then you can have a ride.”
“Yes, boss.” I poked out my tongue at her.
“If the wind changes you’ll stay like that,” she quipped back at me.
I bent into Quasimodo mode and loped off sideways, saying, “The bells, the bells...” I’m not sure who I was parodying because they were probably dead before I was born, but I suspect it was Charles Laughton. When I got to my study, I called up Wiki and found I was right on both counts–it was Charles Laughton and he died in 1962, before I was born. The film was made in 1939 so before my parents were born. I was brought up with various jokes about the character, like–What swings about the fridge in greaseproof paper? The lunch pack of Notre Dame. I didn’t say it was funny, although as a thirteen year old school kid I thought it was right up there with repeats of Monty Python–my parents thought they were dreadful–the Pythons; and Dave Allen, with his religious jokes, was beyond the pale.
I remembered his joke told in an Ian Paisley voice–a thick, Ulster accent–The Bible bashing, pulpit thumping priest was ranting and raving about the certainty of hell fire for most of his congregation unless they mended their ways, telling them there’d be lots of suffering and the gnashing of teeth. A little old man from near the front pews asked, “What about those who don’t have any teeth?” To which the priest responded, “Teeth’ll be provided.”
I was still sniggering when I picked up the phone on the extension in my study. “Hello?”
“How dare you terrorise an old lady; you big bully?” I was speechless. “Your threats and menace won’t work, you know. I have God on my side.”
Oh boy. I was tempted to ask her to name him as a co-respondent to see if we could sue the church as well.
“I’m not sure that guarantees a winning case in a court. I have conclusive evidence that you hit my car and until you make good the damage, we’ll pursue you through the courts.”
“You heartless hussy, how dare you?”
“Quite easily, you damaged my car...”
“I did not.”
“Don’t tell me it was your evil twin sister?”
“I don’t have a twin sister and I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a retired teacher so a responsible member of the community, what are you except bullies and usurers.”
“I’m a university lecturer, Miss Alcott, so I think I’m quite a responsible type as well.”
“Huh, I’ve seen your sort marching with the so called Gay Pride people–they’re all devils, d’you know that?”
“I thought Christianity was the religion of love?”
“Not the sort of love that dares not speak its name.”
“And which one is that?” I asked knowing the answer full well.
“Homosexuality–you’re not homosexual, are you?”
“Isn’t that an intrusive question about a very personal matter?”
“I knew it, you’re one of those disgusting followers of Sappho, an inhabitant of Lesbos...”
“I’ve never been to Lesbos or know much about Sappho, other than she was a poet.”
“A pornographer–writing that filth.”
“You’ve obviously read it.”
“Of course I have,” she snapped back unaware of the irony of the situation.
“I see, so you accuse me of being lesbian although I haven’t studied the poems of Sappho, yet you have read them and claim to be heterosexual?”
“I am nothing sexual, at all–you young people bring everything down to sex.”
“If that’s what you think, you have quite a shock coming. I’m sorry but I don’t have time for your haranguing me, I have lectures to prepare and meals to get ready for my children and husband. However, when I have time, I shall try to catch up on my missing classical education and read the poetry you mentioned.”
“You’re going to hell, you know that, don’t you?”
“Am I? If it’s full of people like you it will be hell.”
“How dare you, I’m a responsible worshipper. My place in paradise is assured.”
I wanted to laugh out loud, “If that’s what you believe, Miss Alcott, you’re more stupid than I thought–but I’m glad you’ve retired so you can’t corrupt the minds of our babies any longer.”
“How dare, you? You–you heathen.”
“Look I have to go, I have a series of lectures showing that Nietzsche was right, God is dead, and science was the killer.”
“You–you abomination.”
“For a teacher you have very limited vocabulary and even smaller imagination.”
“May the Almighty strike you dead.”
“He tried but was slow on the draw, I got him first.”
“You blaspheming abomination.”
I shook my head, “Look, don’t get so excited–if you have a stroke and die, I’ll put a charge on your estate, so you won’t get out of paying.”
“I refuse to pay you a single brass farthing.”
“I’m not asking for a brass farthing, I’m asking for eight hundred pounds to restore my Jaguar to its pristine condition.”
“Jaguar–ha–you swagger about, flaunting your wealth and persecuting pensioners–you are going straight to hell unless you repent your sins to Almighty God and throw yourself upon his mercy.”
“After you–I suspect your crimes against humanity will take a bit longer than mine.”
“Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”
“Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone; or would you prefer, Judge not lest ye be not judged.”
“How dare you quote the holy scriptures at me?”
“You started it, but I ought to warn you I have platitudes a plenty from the scriptures.”
“You demean even the writings of God and Jesus.”
“If you can give me the evidence that God or Jesus wrote them, I’d be interested in seeing it.”
“Of course they did.”
“In what language?” I was getting into this nonsense argument.
“Hebrew of course.”
“And Jesus?”
“Hebrew, you foolish girl.”
“Jesus spoke Aramaic.”
“He’d have written in Hebrew.”
“Possibly–but as the New Testament wasn’t started until after his death–it’s somewhat unlikely. As a carpenter, he might well have been illiterate.”
“You blaspheme the Lord.”
“Looks like, what’re you going to do, sue me?”
“You’ll pay for this–you’ll go straight to hell.”
“Teeth will be provided,” I said in a broad Northern Irish accent.
“What?”
“Go and take your medication, Miss Alcott, and have a lie down. I look forward in seeing you in court unless you come to your limited senses beforehand. Goodbye.”
I switched off the cordless phone.
“How’s the lecture coming on?” asked Stella.
“It isn’t–that was Miss Alcott on the phone.”
“Who’s she when she’s around?”
“The mad woman who hit my car.”
“Oh the crazy Christian?”
“If she’s what Christianity is about, then I hope Nietzsche was right.”
“What?” said Stella looking blankly at me.
“He was mad too, but I think I prefer insanity to insanitary–and I suspect she was going hard enough to have wet her drawers.”
Stella looked at me for a moment then burst out laughing.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1483
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I’d wasted a whole morning talking with a mad woman, so I adjourned to make some lunch–it was early, but it would mean I’d have an hour or two to work on my introduction to ecology lecture.
“When are you going to recruit some more help?” asked Stella as we munched our mousetrap and salad baguettes.
“I can only do one thing at a time, Stella.”
“Don’t tell the boys that, they think we multitask all the time.”
“It’s a fallacy, no one can do more than one thing at a time and do it properly.”
“Of course it is, but you know what men are like–a bit thick in the brain department.”
“I know someone who’s looking for work,” said Jenny helping herself to another cherry tomato.
“Tell me about them,” I said as she hadn’t identified them as man or woman. It was probably the latter, but you never know.
“Her name’s Keira.”
“Oh I did enjoy her in Pirates of the Caribbean,” chuckled Stella.
“I don’t think it’s likely to be Miss Knightley,” I suggested.
“Um–no, her name is Keira...”
“Dayley,” interrupted Stella who laughed and nearly choked on her roll.
“Very good, Stella, but no–she’s Keira Wolsey.”
“No relation to Cardinal?” Stella had the bit between her teeth–I just hoped she didn’t swallow it.
Jenny looked blankly back at her. “Henry VIII’s chancellor,” I advised although I’m not sure it helped very much.
“Wasn’t he the bloke with all the wives?”
“Divorced, executed, died, divorced, executed, died–after outliving him.”
“Wot?” gasped Jenny.
“The six wives, Catharine of Aragon–was divorced.”
“Anne Boleyn met the executioner,” I added.
“Jane Seymour died...” said Stella.
“In childbirth,” I finished.
“You two know lots, don’t you?”
“So does everyone–it’s only important if it’s useful–usually it isn’t.”
“Anne of Cleves–divorced,” continued Stella.
“Catherine Howard–executed,” I said showing I knew some history as well.
“Catherine Parr outlived him.”
“Lots of Catherines,” observed Jenny–so would you have been his seventh?” she laughed looking at me.
“I don’t think so–can’t think the Pope would have allowed a marriage to me, somehow.”
“Well weren’t there stories that Elizabeth was a boy?” Jenny was obviously into the alternative history market.
“There are always stories about individuals who are slightly different, especially when that individual is as important as Elizabeth was–but there was something on the radio the other day about her being paired up with some French prince who was into cross-dressing or his friends were but they fell out over religion–he was staunch Catholic and she was a real Protestant. But what stuck in my mind was that for entertainment, they built a bonfire and threw a bag of live cats into it.”
“Oh that’s sick,” said Jenny looking mortified.
“Makes television seem an improvement,” considered Stella.
“We seem to have gone off the point somewhat, Jenny, about your friend Keira?”
“Oh yeah, what d’you want to know?”
“Her experience with children, education, ability to work on her own and so on.”
“She’s like twenty three, used to be a nursery nurse but gave it up when one of the kids in her group got meningitis and died.”
“I can understand that,” said Stella.
“She’s done bits an’ pieces since, like shop work but she don’t like it too much and it pays pretty crap.”
“Ask her if she’d like to come for an interview–oh, and she has to be accepting of transgender children.”
“Oh she knows about you, including the dormouse tricks on the net, an’ she’s okay about it. I think she said she thought you were pretty brave to do what you done, and especially adoptin’ some tranny kids–most people wouldn’t have done it. She thinks you’re pretty kewl.”
“It’s more support for the house than a fan club I’m looking for, Jenny, but give her a call sometime and we’ll give her an interview.” I looked at Stella who nodded. “If she can produce some references it would be good and because I’m entrusting my children to her, I’ll require a CRB check.”
“She’ll have had one from the nursery,” said Jenny.
“We’ll need a new one, because it’s a different job and there’s a gap in between.”
Jenny pouted at me thinking I was using overkill. “Look, Jenny, there’s been several instances of paedophiles getting jobs in nurseries and teaching in the last year or two. I love my children, so I’m insisting upon the check being made before she works here–I’ll pay for it, or refund it quite happily.”
“But they can take months.”
“I think they can be hurried a little if the start date is given.”
“Oh, anyway, I’ll give her a ring.”
“Thank you–now I need to start doing this introductory lecture–what joy.” I returned to my study with a cup of tea and blank piece of paper. The phone rang as I started brainstorming–I decided to ignore it.”
“Cathy, it’s Mr Darnley, about your car.”
“Gosh, that’s quick,” I said to myself as I picked up the phone. “Hello, Mr Darnley.”
“Mrs Cameron, it’ll be a couple of days while we finish the painting–needs a couple of coats at least and we let them harden for a day before we do a second.”
“I thought that cellulose paint dried very quickly,” I was obviously labouring under a misapprehension.
“I’ve been doing this job for thirty years, Mrs Cameron, I know a bit about it by now.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were wrong, I just thought it dried like nail varnish.”
“Yeah, but according to my missus, nail varnish chips off–my paintwork doesn’t.”
“Fine, I believe you, Mr Darnley, I really do.”
“I was ringing because some reporter guy was asking questions about the car.”
“Oh, that’s interesting–did he say why?”
“He said that there were rumours that some rich bloke was terrorising some poor retired teacher about it, even though she’s completely innocent.”
“Don’t tell me, it was the Mail?”
“I think so, what’s going on?”
“Simon is trying to make her insurance pay for the repairs you’re doing, or at least that’s what he told me. She of course refuses to acknowledge that she’s responsible–but believe me–she is. I have it on film from the supermarket car park of her hitting my car and then parking alongside, opening the door onto mine and then getting back into her car and leaving without so much as a how d’ya do.”
“That would explain the line we had to rub down–her door–she should have some paint on her door edge.”
“She’s stirring up a hornet’s nest is she?”
“Looks like it, thought I’d best warn you–she sounds a right old nutter.”
“She is, she spent an hour preaching to me over the phone this morning.”
“Like that is she, hypocrite, I mean.”
“She is the epitome of bigotry, if they could pack it, she’d be a bigot in a bottle.”
He laughed at my fantasy. “I’ll ring in a couple of days, she should be ready then.”
“Thanks for seeing off the press, she’s a total lunatic as we’ll prove when we get to the courts.”
That was all I needed, the press poking about–let’s face it, they’d have a field-day. Transsexual mother adopts seven children after marrying wealthy banker. Three of the children end up having sex-change hormones and or surgery. She and some of the children have magical healing powers, she makes film about dormice and plays part of Lady Macbeth opposite Hollywood heart throb. I think there’s enough there to keep even the Daily Wail busy for a few days. I’ll have to warn the children and the others to be on their guard.
Sometimes I despise all this apparent interest I seem able to generate in tabloids, and sometimes I just hate it.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1484
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I managed to catch Simon before he went off to a meeting. “I can’t stop, Babes, meeting.”
“I rang on pure chance, just thought I’d let you know the old trout you’re persecuting has invited the tabloid which uses two syllables to investigate our little ol’ den of iniquity. They turned up at Mr Darnley’s shop and were asking questions.”
“Were they now?”
“I don’t like this one bit, Simon.”
“Maybe we need a balanced outlook, perhaps get the Guardian involved or one of the other quality papers.”
“Can't think the Guardian would want to be involved.”
“Isn’t it basically the trial of Darwinian science over creationists?”
“Perhaps: I suspect you’ve analysed it more than anyone else but couldn’t those icons be just flags of convenience, after all, at this moment she doesn’t know me as anything other than your wife and a mother of millions. If she knew about me or the children, she could really go on the offensive.”
“Is the Waily Dail likely to discover anything–I mean, investigative journalism to them is having someone go up to the barmaid and find out if she’s available after work for a good time.”
“I don’t know, I don’t want to let her win but if she affects our children I shall do something nasty to her to make sure she never annoys me or mine again.”
“Like what? I hope you don’t mean physical violence?”
“No report her to the police for hate crimes–if she goes within half a mile of my kids, I’ll have her sectioned as a lunatic, and the key of her room thrown away.”
“I like your style–hang on, I’m just coming–I’ve got to go, Babes, don’t let her get you down.
“I fear for the children.”
“I think if she starts on Trish, the young un’ll give as good as she gets.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Best go to your meeting.”
I blew him a kiss and he went off to meet with whoever for whatever they do in meetings. Not a lot usually.
I went and made some more tea, typed half a page finished my tea and went to get the girls feeling that perhaps I didn’t want to teach again. I’d give it some thought then discuss it with Simon and finally with Tom. He seems intent on making me get back into it, I’m not sure that I want to: possibly that part of my life is over.
I drove to the school and parked as close as I could, the weather was fine and I had sunglasses on plus a sun hat. I didn’t care if I looked like a ninny, as long as I was an anonymous one.
The problem of being anonymous is it relies on no one recognising you, in a school where I’d done two lectures and played the lead role in their school play, makes that a little difficult. Instead of the hat I shoulda used the false beard.
I’d scanned the crowd in front of me, and had picked out two I hadn’t seen before–a man and a woman. They could be new parents, or simply not there the same days I’d taken or collected the girls, or they could be reporters.
I walked towards the school as the little darlings let out. Normally my lot are first out today they weren’t–Trish was wanted for the football team again and she agreed to play–possibly because she thought I disapproved. In which case she had a surprise coming–I do approve–she has a talent and should use it.
The try outs for the school team were after school–which they knew last week–and Livvie and Mima also took their kit–shorts, tee shirt and trainers. Billie wanted nothing to do with it–but then she had more interest in cycling than the others.
Several mothers spoke to me, mainly calling hello to me and naming me as they went, the two new-comers seemed quite interested and followed me to the sports field.
Even I could see Trish’s skill with a football, her control of the ball was far superior to anyone else’s and in the two games she played–ten minutes each–she scored a goal.
Livvie was a bit too girly in the tackle and got beaten every time, but if she wants to play, I’ll get Danny to coach her. Mima had some idea but she got sent off for pulling the hair of a girl who tackled her. Billie was sort of cheer leader for the family, yelling and clapping every time one of her sisters touched the ball, and almost hovering above the ground when Trish scored, she was clapping so fast. I’d try and take her out on the bike at the weekend.
The mysterious couple it transpired were the parents of the girl whose hair got yanked by my youngest footballer. I asked Mima to apologise and she folder her arms, presenting the most sullen face I’d ever seen her pull.
The other couple weren’t too worried, he was impressed with Trish and told us he helped to run a junior team which consisted of girls and boys and he’d like her to try out for it. Trish was flattered but not that interested–we took his number in case she changed her mind. That’s Trish–a mass of contradictions.
As we walked back to the car, two men approached us, “Lady Cameron, why are you persecuting the old lady?”
I gathered the children closely to me, and told them to say nothing as we walked to the car. I shepherded the kids into the car and then found the journalist’s car was blocking me.
“Trish get footage of this, including their car number,” I called to her as she was best placed to see it.
I drove into the school, and as their car followed me, Sister Maria happened to come out and I slowed down to speak to her. “The car behind is following us, I’m pretty sure they’re tabloid reporters.”
“Whatever they are, they’re on private property so they can sling their hook.” She visibly bristled and drawing herself up to her full five foot five inches, she strode out to them and politely told them to go. When they didn’t, she told them to piss off. They got the message–sadly so did Trish on her mobile–for future use? Sometimes I wonder about that child.
The car, a large dark Vauxhall, turned round and sped off away from the school. I thanked the headmistress, who wanted to know what was happening. I explained what had happened about my car and she nodded. I got out of the car and spoke privately with her explaining my concern about the children being targets and she understood immediately. She promised to do all she could to make sure that the kids were as safe as she could make them, and she undertook to have a member of staff take a walk round the school before the morning and afternoon breaks and before the school finished at lunch or tea. If the reporters were seen, she'd report them as suspicious characters hanging round a school–the police would be there in minutes.
I thanked her and we went home by a rather circuitous route to avoid them waiting for us on the way.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1485
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(aka Bike) Part 1485 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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On returning home I briefed the others about what had happened and they agreed we needed to be more vigilant. I went down to the end of the drive and closed the gates. I sent Si a text warning him–they’re usually open. He sent one back acknowledging it–so if he crashes into them, it’s his own fault.
I called Maureen and asked her to make enquiries and get some quotes for making the gates electronically controlled. Electrifying them would have been good, but I suspect a teensy bit illegal–I wonder if fried journalist smells as bad as it sounds?
About five Simon called. “I’ve spoken to our legal eagle and he suggested putting out a general statement to the press.”
“Is that wise, might encourage more of the buggers?”
“He thought it would show that she has no case to make, but one to answer, and the problem is not our vindictiveness but her stubborn stupidity.”
“You have all the facts?”
“I think so–what’s with the gates?”
“We encountered two sewer rats at the school, the headmistress had to see them off,” he laughed at my account, in relating it to him I was reminded that Trish still had the encounter on her phone, including the bit where the head mistress was rather direct in her speech. I put down the phone from Simon and went off to find Trish.
From the giggles emanating from the dining room, she’d already downloaded the clip to her computer–she had. I warned her in no uncertain terms that if she ever showed it to anyone else outside the family or tried to use it against Sister Maria, I would punish her like never before. When I explained it would involve systematically destroying her computer and mobile phone as well as anything else that took my fancy, I think she got the point.
Livvie looked at me in horror, “You wouldn’t smash her laptop, would you, Mummy?”
I picked hers up and asked if she’d like me to demonstrate. She went rather pale and asked me not to damage her computer. I put it down and she thanked me then bit her bottom lip trying not to cry.
“I’m sorry if that seemed rather a brutal threat, but I want you all to realise that I expect certain standards of behaviour from you all, and if you wilfully disregard them, there will be very serious consequences.
“At this moment, as you appreciate, we’re under siege by the press again. I don’t want any of you to talk with them however harmlessly you think it is. Any quote you give them can be deliberately misrepresented and used against us. So say nothing.”
“Why are they so nasty to us, all the time?” asked Livvie who had calmed down.
“It’s not all the time, but we are a rather special family for all sorts of reasons.”
“Is that ’cos Trish an’ Billie aren’t proper girls?” she continued.
“That’s part of what makes us special, but please, never let me hear you describing your sisters as anything but female. Trish is now legally female, and as much a girl as you–apart from not being able to have babies, and we don’t know if Mima or you will be able to do that either.”
She’d obviously never considered that before and looked perplexed.
“But I’m a real girl an’ they can have babies can’t they?”
“Livvie, the process of pregnancy is very complex and there are quite a significant number of women who can’t have babies for all sorts of reasons.”
“It’s not that complex, Mummy,” interrupted Trish, “one of Daddy’s squirms comes out of his willie and swims up your angina and formalises an egg.”
I had to look away especially when Mima asked how it got through the shell of the egg. Livvie just looked disgusted and Billie looked confused. “I don’t think I want anyone’s squirms swimming up me,” she said and I had to leave the room.
My computer pinged and I opened my mailbox to find an email from the bank’s legal department, it was a statement which they would like my thoughts on before they released it.
It covered all the salient points accurately, mentioned the film from the supermarket showing the car hitting mine. It also confirmed that the intention of the action was to recover the costs of the repairs, which Miss Alcott was pretending to know nothing about, when clearly she did. That was it brief but to the point with no name-calling, simply stating the facts. I hoped it showed that there was no story other than that of a silly old fart who shouldn’t be driving.
I replied back to the legal department giving it my approval and they acknowledged and told me they’d distribute it immediately via their press officer. I didn’t know they had one. Hopefully, that was the end of that–but I was too much of a realist to believe life was that straightforward–Murphy’s law applied to everything–what can go wrong will go wrong. I also learned that putting a cover over the fan doesn’t keep all the excrement out, but it helps.
I checked the freezer, we had plenty of food–at least enough for a whole week if not two. I had loads of the bread mix and yeast so we could also have fresh bread. We had loads of potatoes and other fresh veg so, we’d survive as long as we could keep the invaders out. I was also aware that fortresses keep the inhabitants prisoners inside as much as they keep the attackers outside. Life always has consequences.
The next consequence was Tom. I forgot to let him know about the gates being shut and he drove into them. Thankfully, all he did was scratch his Freelander, but he destroyed one of the gates and bent the other. He was quite exercised about it until I explained that I’d been pestered by the press when collecting the girls. I also apologised for not telling him about the gates being closed. Oh boy.
Half an hour after phoning Maureen, she appeared with two men and they set about repairing the gates, as a temporary measure. She informed me that someone was coming to give a quote for electronically controlled gates and either CCTV type entry control or a voice one–or even both.
I asked where we’d put up the machine gun towers and she laughed rather vigorously, then asked if we wanted tank traps in the drive. Seeing as we don’t have too many come up the drive, the missile launcher would be sufficient.
“Have you ever seen one of those?” she asked me.
“One of those?” I asked, wondering exactly what she meant–I mean, in school, one of those usually meant what the others called me.
“Yeah, an anti-tank missile, the mess it makes is pretty comprehensive and the crew are turned to baked mince inside.”
I felt quite ill as my imagination threw an image of such horror across my internal visualisation system. How can we do such things to each other? Is it any worse than chopping each other up with swords–other than being more clinical and remote.
I'd seen and caused some horrible things even in my short life span, but the horror of full blown warfare, with both sides trying to kill and maim as many of the other side as possible, made me feel quite ill. I wondered how many of our young servicemen would bear the emotional as well as physical scars of such encounters.
I wondered too, about what it was that made young men want to get involved in such things–they must know the risks–or does testosterone and the chance of an adrenaline buzz make them feel invincible? Young men like a scrap–I’d never felt that way–no surprise there then.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1486
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(aka Bike) Part 1486 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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“I can’t think why we didn’t put electric gates in years ago,” Simon said at dinner.
“Possibly because it’s not our house,” I hissed at him out of the side of my mouth.
“Aye, it’ll be a guid idea,” nodded Tom, “I’ll pay hef o’ th’ cost.”
“More potatoes, Daddy,” I said offering him the dish of new potatoes dripping with low fat spread and chopped mint. We had lamb chops–must have been half a sheep by the time I put in a couple for everyone and three for the men. I know the roasting tin I used was pretty heavy.
A friend of Simon’s, a broker is also a part time farmer–well his wife is, and he keeps organic sheep. Sadly, male lambs tend to end up in the freezer–and we had a freezer full of expired sheep–all of it from Caradoc Llewellyn’s farm. There’s a name to conjure with, Caradoc Llewellyn–no doubt where his ancestors came from.
His appearance was as individual as his name, and when I opened the door to him–he delivered in his brand new Range Rover–I felt like shutting it in his face. He was a red faced, giant of a man most of whose features were camouflaged by a huge red beard and eyebrows which almost grew to meet it. His face on first appearances looked like two black pearls shining out of the business end of a bog brush.
“You’re, Cathy, I take it,” he said in a rich baritone voice, “Simon’s description was spot on. I’ve got one of our lambs in the back of the car.”
Lamb? What do I want with a small sheep running about the place?
“Whereabouts is your freezer–Simon said it was half empty.”
Ah dead sheep–that’s different. I led him through to the large pantry where the chest freezer is. I opened it, not aware that Simon even knew we had one, let alone its available capacity for filling with dead animals and fish.
“Yeah, that should be enough,” said Farmer Giles–or at least the voice seemed to emanate from the fur covering his face.
I was still in a state of shock–I mean a giant talking bog brush–the next moment he walked back from the car with two large plastic sacks of butchered baa and emptied them into the freezer, explaining what he’d brought and so on.
When I offered him money, he told me that Simon had sorted that already. I offered him a cuppa, but he declined, explaining he had a couple more deliveries to make before it got too warm. The meat was fresh having been killed the day before. My stomach flipped over when I thought about baa-lambs gambolling over the fields now in many pieces in my freezer.
I thanked him and off he went. That was just before that retired lunatic zapped my Jaguar with her Japanese rubbish and then declared war on us for trying to get her to pay.
When Si came home the night that the meat arrived and I mentioned that it had been delivered and how awful I felt about having half a dead baa-lamb in my freezer.
“Oh so old fuzzy face arrived did he?”
“Yes, he sort of resembled a large rat with beady eyes poking out of al that fur.”
“Good chap, old Caradoc.”
“Caradoc?”
“Yes, Caradoc Llewellyn, bet you can’t guess where he comes from?”
“His name is Welsh, so I assume that’s where his answers come from, but knowing you, he was born in Lincoln or somewhere about as far as you can get from Wales.”
“Damn, you spotted the trick question–not Lincoln, but not far from Lincoln’s Inn, in London.”
“He has a lovely baritone voice.”
“Yeah, I think he used to sing in a choir or operatic group at one time. He’s a broker by trade, gentleman farmer by hobby, think his wife looks after most of that.”
“He came in a huge Range Rover, with new registration plates.”
“Oh he’s pretty successful.”
“He’s a broker–what did he break?”
“A stock broker, you silly woman.”
“Well he could have been an insurance broker or...”
“Investment broker.”
“Yes, one of them.”
“Well he deals in stocks and shares and does quite well from them, has a farm up towards Winchester, commutes to Town every day he’s working–presumably does some of it by computer and of course he has a staff of half a dozen or more. So he only needs to be consulted on the bigger clients.”
All of this flashed through my memory as I passed the potatoes to Tom, who helped himself to a couple to use up the gravy he had left. Kiki had made short work of the bones from his plate. I wasn’t sure if it was good idea to give bones to dogs, having seen an article about all the problems they cause, but she certainly wolfed them down in pretty short order. She isn’t my dog and I suppose Tom knows what he’s doing–he’s had numerous dogs over the years, whereas I once had a guinea pig and cat–not at the same time.
The meal went down well, and I’d made a large apple pie for dessert–from the Bramleys in our own garden–and my own pastry–none of the frozen stuff–which was probably why it was like reinforced concrete. Actually, it wasn’t, it was shortcrust and it melted in the mouth, helped by copious amounts of custard, or sauce Anglais.
“Any response about the press release?” I asked Simon as we sat sipping a glass of red–the kids had gone to finish homework or watch telly.
“Yeah, she’s denying it, suggesting that the film is a forgery.”
“And do the tabloids believe her?”
“One does, the one we think employed Bill & Ben who tried to interview you.”
“Oh. I had a horrible feeling that could be the case–but surely we can get the supermarket to verify the video clip?”
“Dunno, they don’t want to get involved, they said they have notices saying you park at your own risk.”
“That’s bollocks, of course they have a liability, don’t they?”
“Yes, they can’t do you for bad parking if they don’t exercise some control, even if it’s contracted out–they are still liable.”
“Phew, I thought so. So what do we do next?”
“We get the legal team to point out their obligations and liabilities and explain how we’ll sue them if they don’t meet them.”
“But they’re one of the biggest companies in the country, they’re not going to take to being pushed around by you, are they?”
“I think they’ll see sense–this is for both of the companies, a trivial incident they’d like to go away. Dad chewed my ears off for involving the bank until I said it was one of our cars the old woman had hit. He changed his mind then.”
“You seemed to imply the supermarket would back you up?”
“Yeah, we handle quite a few of their larger financial transactions and underwrite some of their guarantees–financial ones of course.”
“I thought they were setting up their own bank?”
“Yeah, but with whom?”
“I thought they were doing it themselves.”
Simon laughed loudly, “No one does anything by themselves these days, so if one bank goes down, they all follow or take huge hits. It’s all so incestuous, if we didn’t own the bank, I’d think about doing the same as Caradoc or running a bookshop somewhere.”
“It would have to be quite a bookshop to enable you to run two Jaguars and a wife and kids.”
“Yeah–that would have to be after the divorce,” he said and chuckled to himself as I nearly dropped the dishes I was carrying.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1487
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(aka Bike) Part 1487 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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“I hope you were joking about divorce,” I said slamming some pots and pans down on the worktop.
“What?” his voice rose a register. “Of course I was–you don’t think I let go the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me do you?”
“What’s that then–your Jaguar?”
“Damn, you guessed that too quickly, I must make it harder next time.”
“If you divorced me, I’m not sure you’d be able to afford a bicycle.”
“That sounds like a declaration of war, missus.”
“No, it’s a statement of intent. I only give my heart once, if that recipient chooses to chuck it all away, then I have nothing left–but my children, and to pursue the one who destroyed me, to their destruction.”
“You’re not joking are you?” his expression one of shock. I stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs, however, I didn’t throw myself upon the bed and cry my eyes out, I was angry and needed to vent that energy before I said or did something stupid. I changed into some cycling kit and after donning some bike shoes, went over to the bike store, got down the Scott and set it up on the turbo. I did some stretches and then ten minutes warm up, before I really got into it and spent the next hour exhausting myself, and crying. I warmed down for a further ten minutes, then wiped down the bike–you tend to sweat all over it–locked everything up and went upstairs.
I showered and with legs still aching, I went into the bedroom to dry my hair. Simon was in bed, reading the FT. He spoke to me but I couldn’t hear him for the hair dryer. I said so and he went quiet. I brushed my hair and pulled on my nightdress.
The weather was unseasonably warm, which was nice in the day, but could make sleeping difficult–I can’t sleep when I’m either too hot or too cold. I walked towards the bed, “You said something?”
“Yes, Babes, look I’m sorry.”
“I should think you are.” I huffed and got on top of the duvet.
“Am I forgiven?”
“I suppose so, but that doesn’t mean it’s forgotten.”
“I understand. But before we go to sleep, I have to say that I love you with all my heart, and that you are still the best thing in my life. I might be quite well off in financial terms as you well know, but you make me feel the richest man alive and I would die an emotional pauper if you ever left me.”
“Fine, okay, I heard you loud and clear. I don’t know what I feel at this moment other than very hurt. Sometimes your so called jokes cut me to the quick. That was one. I don’t understand why you make them, unless you actually think they’re funny. I don’t. You know how insecure I feel at times, I have some stupid woman who is making my life hell and you joke about divorce.”
“I thought you could see it was a joke.”
“I knew you were joking or pretending to, what I didn’t know was the thinking behind it. Were you tired of me on an unconscious level, was this wishful thinking or the half jest whole earnest stuff. I got very upset, I am now very tired and would like to go to sleep.”
“May I kiss you goodnight.” He asked like a teenage boy on his first date.
I offered him my cheek and from the corner of my eye could see his disappointment. He pecked me on the cheek, wished me goodnight, apologised again and said he loved me. In return, I simply said goodnight.
I was too warm to sleep and my legs which had been like jelly were now stiffening up and as I stretched one I got cramp and had to hop out of bed–usually walking around was enough to ease it, but not tonight, instead the cramp spread and I fell down trying to yell quietly because the pain in my leg was excruciating.
The bedside light went on as my writhing woke up Simon. “Babes?”
“I’m on the floor, arrgh my leg.” The pain shot through me and my leg started to contract involuntarily, my knee bending and the pain worsening, and I was powerless to stop it.
Simon stumbled over to me, “What’s the matter?”
“Cramp,” I gasped then squealed in agony again.
“Okay, hold tight,” he grabbed my leg and pulled it straight and I squealed quite loudly–it did hurt. Then he began twisting my foot which seemed to ease the pain in my calf–next he began squeezing and kneading the muscles in the back of my calf and then he started to do the same to the muscles in the back of my thigh, and finally the front of my thigh. The pain eased and I wiped my eyes. He helped me up, my leg still hurt but more from the after effects of torn muscle fibres and Simon’s enthusiastic massage.
“Thank you,” I said accepting his help.
“You’re welcome.”
“I feel wide awake now–fancy a cuppa?” I said making a peace offering.
“You rest your leg, I’ll go and make it,” he said moving to towards the door.
“Si, I think you need something on your bottom half–if the girls wake up you’ll frighten them to death.” I cautioned him seeing a certain engorgement of blood in a part of his anatomy.
“Yeah, need a wee.” He went to the bathroom, pulled on his bathrobe and slipped downstairs.
I limped onto the bed, wary of moving my leg and starting it off again–when I was supposedly training at uni, I used to get awful cramp especially after riding in cold weather in shorts–caused me to buy my first cycling tights–ladies’ ones, the men’s were too big. I also drank India Tonic Water because it had quinine in it which was supposed to help.
A little later, Simon emerged with the tray of tea and passed me a mug of the steaming fluid. “Okay now?”
“Yes thank you, I haven’t had cramp like that since I was training at Sussex.”
“What cycle training?”
“Yes, I was hardly going to make the rugby team, was I?”
“Don’t they have a ladies team?”
“I’ve no idea, I never really fancied getting slapped down in the mud or wet grass by some sixteen stone woman just because I had a ball in my hand.”
“Funny, that was one of my fantasies,” he said and I snorted tea all over myself.
Once I’d cleaned myself up–quick rub down with a tissue–and stopped coughing, I could see the funny side.
“Good grief, you nearly smiled at one of my jokes.”
“I don’t know who frightens me the more, you or Danny.”
“Frighten you? I thought you were fearless.”
“No, I’m just an ordinary woman who does have her share of fears and worries.”
He put his arm around me, “I know, my sweet, but I’ll always be there to help you.”
“I do hope so,” I said and kissed him as a tear rolled down my cheek, “I really do.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1488
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(aka Bike) Part 1488 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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Despite the traumas of the previous night, I awoke feeling quite good–good about myself, about the snoring lump who was lying beside me, my children and life in general.
Why I felt like it, I couldn’t say, unless it was to do with resolving some issues with Simon. I slipped out of bed and felt my leg a little stiff–then remembered the cramp. I probably tore a few muscle fibres so I’d try and take things easy for a day or two.
Tom was down at breakfast when I arrived in the kitchen having woken the children, who were now washing and dressing. We chatted until the girls came down, after which it became impossible–they all chatter like a flock of starlings.
He told me that the university had been consulted by a developer about some land on which they were looking to build a dozen luxury homes. However, there was a small copse in the middle of it and it was reputed to have dormice there. Could I do a consultant’s job and survey it and do a report?
I looked at the time, Danny came down and I made him some toast, he didn’t want cereal. I made myself some toast and Simon came down and snagged it. I told him for that he could take Danny to school. He shrugged and Danny’s face lit up.
I did finally make some more toast and get to eat it, I washed it down with a cuppa and dashed back upstairs to change into my field clothes–some green cargo trousers, some thick socks a shirt with pockets and my waistcoat–actually a one of these things with loads of pockets and no sleeves. I picked up my lens, a torch, my camera a Mars bar and a bottle of water. I shoved all of these into my knapsack–an ex–surplus gasmask bag.
The weather was still remarkably warm for the time of year with blue skies and sunshine–how could I turn down a chance to wander in the woods? Finally, I packed my purse, binoculars and Swiss army knife–never know when I might need to extract a boy scout from a horse’s hoof.
I dumped my bag, walking boots and gaiters–there are loads of ticks about–together with a hat into the back of the Mondeo, while the girls were seating themselves inside it. When they learned I was dormousing, they wanted to come with me. I’d see more without them as a distraction. Jenny waved at me to wait and she trotted out with my mobile phone–honestly, I forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. I checked the battery and it was pretty well fully charged.
I didn’t particularly notice any journalist types near the house or the school, so felt happy dropping the girls off and walking them to school. Then checking the map–I don’t use satnav on principle–it’s okay for busy city centres but not general navigation–I can still use a map, so I do. Mind you I have computerised OS maps as well as the laminated ones I use for field work.
I drove up towards Soberton and found the area quite quickly, especially as there was a for sale notice on the edge of the field. I parked in a convenient old gateway, which looked as if no one had used it for several years–there was hazel and bramble growing immediately behind the gate. On closer inspection I could see the gate was off its hinges and only held up by a hazel bush growing up through it.
I checked I had everything, shoved me ’at on me ’ead, and after locking the car walked back towards the road to find a way into the field. Five minutes walk from the car, the hedge was thick and sported a nice variety of species of trees and shrubs and obviously hadn’t been cut back for some time. I estimated the hedgerow to be about ten or more feet across probably wider in some places, and there was hazel, honeysuckle and birch, together with one or two oaks and a handful of sycamores. There certainly could be the odd dormouse here, although at best I would only be able to find evidence that they had been here by looking for acorns and hazel cases that they’d eaten their way into.
It wasn’t long before I found some–dormice leave characteristic marks on the edge of the hole they gnaw to get at the nutritious kernel inside the shell. It looked promising.
A little further along and I was able to squeeze through the hedgerow, ease past some nettles without stinging myself–they were quite tall–and I was through into the field which was beginning to turn into a tangle of bramble and hawthorn with what looked like one or two ash trees forcing their way through the overgrown mess.
In the sunshine a few red admiral butterflies danced at each other in a flurry of wings, when I was a kid, I wondered why they were called admirals because you don’t find many butterflies at sea. Then I learned it was a corruption of admirable, so originally they were called red and white admirable and our sloppy use of speech has transformed them into dry land naval officers.
The bird song was pleasant as the sun warmed my back, most of the summer visitors would be well on their way, although I did see the odd swallow still feeding up for the long journey back to southern Africa–amazing that something that only weighs a few grams can travel all that way and back again to breed–assuming they survive the trigger happy morons of the Mediterranean coastal countries, like Spain and Malta.
I circumnavigated the worst of the scrub and entered the copse proper and began my task of checking for signs of dormice. It would be nice to see a nest, but they’re difficult to find, even for a relatively practised eye like mine–usually they’re found when the scrub is being cut back in the winter or early spring.
Ten minutes scanning the ground found me picking up promising looking shells and a quick check with my lens and bingo, I don’t know about lift off, but we had some evidence of dormouse presence.
An hour later, I had identified three more likely places of occupation and more shells which I was happy enough to identify as eaten by dormice. They don’t live in great profusion like other mice, so these shells could well be a couple of years old.
Using a compass I plotted roughly where in the wood I’d found the positive shells, made a few more notes and took some photographs. The next stage would be to put up some of the nest tubes and if occupancy occurred, go to nest boxes. It’s time consuming and I probably had enough evidence for Natural England to consider challenging any development plans.
I didn’t know if the land had been sold or was being looked at as a prospective site, I was tempted to put in a bid myself and see if the local wildlife trust was interested in helping me manage it for wildlife. Perhaps I’ll discuss it with Simon.
I finished my survey, at least this first level of it and drank some water on the way back to the car, where I discovered one or more birds had used the windscreen for target practice–wonderful. Oh well the car needs a wash anyway.
I stopped at some village stores at Soberton and bought myself a tuna roll, it was wholemeal, too. Okay, there was more salad than tuna but it did the job, along with a bag of cheese and onion crisps. Sadly, my Mars bar, which I forgot about in my bag was a gooey mess and I dumped it in a litter bin and bought a fresh one at the shop.
I called Tom and told him it was a probable for the dormice although I was happy for someone else to look at the hazel shells I’d collected because I was pretty sure they were dormouse debris.
Then the luxury of a leisurely journey back to Portsmouth to collect my kids, or most of them–all in all, not a bad day.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1489
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On returning home, I contacted the estate agents involved, Cross & Cross. The unconscious message of a double-cross, had sort of permeated my addled brain, however, I made enquiries about the land. Apparently someone had made an offer pending some enquiries–obviously the planning permission to develop the site.
After getting the evening meal underway, I allowed the children to have an apple and a drink to keep them going, I quickly drafted my report, which suggested there were likely to be dormice in the woodland/hedgerow. I also pointed out that given the variety of species in the hedge, using Peterkin’s formula, I estimated the hedgerow to be at least two hundred years old.
I included photographs of several aspects and took some of the shells found in the woodland, using the macro facility on my best camera. Once I managed the shots I wanted, I included them in the draft documents and sent them off to Tom. I wondered if Gareth Sage was still at the county office of Natural England.
Tom arrived home two hours later. He was late, having apparently had an unexpected visit from Natural England. Gareth had moved on and they were introducing the new officer, Dr Helen Maddison. As soon as he said the name, I had vague memories of a Helen Maddison at Sussex, in the year above mine. She was into pond life, if I remembered correctly, and was effectively intending to do freshwater ecology. I assumed she’d end up doing fish stuff for Defra or one of the water companies.
“She did her bachelor’s degree at Sussex,” Tom confirmed my suspicions, “wondered if ye knew her?”
“There was a girl in the year ahead of me, I think.”
“She saw you do your charity gig at the university, so she’ll be pleased to meet you formally.”
“So she can remind everyone about the weirdo she knew in uni?”
“I dinna think she recognised ye, ye hae changed a wee bit in recent years.”
“I suppose I’ll have to meet her anyway to keep my licence–the dormouse and shrew one.”
“Aye, it micht be a guid idea–she’s meeting me for lunch tomorrow, why don’t ye come tae?”
Part of me wanted to just run away and part wanted to get it over. The latter won and I agreed to go to lunch. I also discussed with Simon and Tom the sale of the land I’d surveyed.
“They want to build half a dozen luxury homes in the middle of nowhere? What for?” Simon wasn’t impressed.
“So people like Jeremy Clarkson can buy them.” My dislike of the Top Gear presenter was well known.
“Now, now–the hoi-polloi have to have someone to try to emulate,” Simon’s opinion wasn’t quite as cynical as mine.
“I hope they don’t, he hates cyclists.”
“Is that why you loathe him?”
“Partly, it’s also because he’s a sexist bigot.”
“That’s just his laddishness coming out.”
“He’s a bit old for that.”
“Sae, are ye gonna put in a bid fa thae land?” Tom brought us back to the real matter in hand.
“I’m tempted to put in an offer.”
“Have you actually got that sort of money to throw about?” Simon asked, “and if you bought it after surveying it for Natural England, could it be construed as a conflict of interest?”
“I hadn’t even thought of that–I suppose it could–damn, that’s me scuppered.” I shrugged and stood up to clear the table.
“There are ways to get round such accusations,” Simon smiled at me.
“I’m listening, go on.”
“The bank might be able to offer a long term low interest loan to a suitable wildlife charity.”
“How likely is that?”
“Depends upon how much they want for the land–more than a million will need to go to the board.”
“A million? I was thinking more in thousands.”
“If that’s the case, I should think it’s pretty likely.”
“So it needs to be a charity I have no association with, does it?”
“No, just not you buying it.”
“So, the local wildlife trust?”
“Why don’t ye wait an’ speak wi’ Helen tomorrow?”
“Oh okay, she should know the major players, shouldn’t she?”
“Aye, except ye–oor very ain superstarrr.” Tom rolled his Rs on the word star, so it sounded like a small motor.
“What’s the state of play with Miss Alcott?” I asked Simon.
“It’s gone very quiet, so she’s either scheming or discovered no matter what she does, we’ll crap all over her and has given up.”
“I hope it’s the latter, you just don’t know where you are with that woman, she’s crazy.”
“Teachers are inclined to be like that,” smirked Simon at both Tom and me. We ignored it, treating it with the contempt it deserved.
“What’re you going to wear tomorrow?” asked Simon as we lay in bed.
“Dunno, I suppose smart casual as I’m meeting them at Tom’s favourite restaurant.”
“Why not wear one of your suits–you’ve got so many lovely clothes and all you wear are your jeans.”
“I don’t want to overdo it, do I?”
“Overdo it? You’re an aristocrat’s wife, for God’s sake–they’re all one stop beyond Dagenham.”
“Ha ha, woof woof,” I said and he squeezed my boob. “Ouch, that hurt,” I hissed twisting his....too much detail? We called it a draw and agreed a truce.
However, the next morning after I took the girls to school, I got Stella to trim my hair and she persuaded me to put it up, so I let her do it. I always feel I look ten years older with my hair up–so I tend not to do it very often. Thankfully it wasn’t too fancy, just scooped up and held there with a large clip.
I wore my YSL blouse and Chanel suit, with black court shoes, I kept the makeup and jewellery very simple otherwise it would look as if I should have been heading for lunch at Claridges or Ritz. I did use some No 5, so at least it was in keeping with the suit.
I’d bought a clutch bag a while ago and never used it. It was black leather and matched my shoes, so I used it for a change–filling it with my Blackberry, purse, keys, lipstick, mirror and comb, and some tissues.
Sitting in the car, in the restaurant car park I felt albatrosses soaring in my tummy and immediately set about beating myself up with anger at feeling this way. I hadn’t transitioned last week it was nearly four years ago. I had an established position and full legal status–I even had to send my tax return to bloody Cardiff and on paper because they kept us ‘weirdos’ separate from the general riff-raff. Apparently, MPs and some Royals were also accorded such security. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but it only happened after they changed my birth certificate via the gender recognition people, before that, I paid my tax in the same way as everyone else.
I could see Tom’s Freelander parked in the corner, so he was already in there having his Guinness and waiting for his chicken curry. I assumed Helen was there too, because it was twelve twenty nine. Oh well, here goes. I climbed out of the Mondeo and locked it, then sauntered into the restaurant. Tom was sitting with someone, she was behind a post so I couldn’t see her very well, just long dark hair and she was wearing something beige and orange patterned–yuck.
Tom waved me over and taking a deep breath I walked deliberately to his table. He stood up and I kissed him on the cheek. “Helen, allow me to present my daughter, Lady Catherine Cameron.” He spoke without much accent, so that confused me for a moment–had I stepped through into a parallel universe–was the doorway a portal in more senses than I’d suspected?
“Cathy, this is Dr Helen Maddison, our new Natural England officer.”
I offered my hand and she accepted it, shaking it gently. “I’m really pleased to meet you, I had no idea you were Professor Agnew’s daughter.”
“Sort of adopted daughter, Daddy took me under his wing after my parents died a few years ago.”
“I see. You did that amazing lecture at Sussex a year or two back, with all the boobs and things from your documentary–apart from being entertaining it showed you had tremendous confidence and belief in yourself and your subject. I was very impressed by it and never thought I’d get to meet you in person.”
“Why not?”
“Well, an aristocrat’s wife, acclaimed film maker, nationally renowned mammal expert and dormouse specialist–and there was I advising Severn Trent Water on pond-life in their reservoirs.”
“I’m sure it was a very important job–reservoirs are key for waterfowl and amphibians not to mention their surrounding land for all sorts of wildlife.”
“Yeah, well seeing how well you'd done for yourself, I decided being a woman was no handicap and I finished my doctorate at Nottingham and managed to talk my way into a job with Natural England. So, see where your example can inspire women to follow?”
I wasn’t expecting this and my albatrosses began to mix it with king condors. Why couldn’t she just have said, ‘You’ve done okay for a tranny, haven’t you?’ Now, I could be setting myself up as something I’m not and if ever she finds out, she’ll kill me.
Why me?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1490
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“Helen wis jest tellin’ me aboot her plans fa’ this area,” Tom possibly sensed my unease with this woman and was changing the subject.
“I’m going to be trying to protect SSSIs* by educating the landowners rather than threatening them, and by pointing to good examples of good practice.”
“I wish you luck–sadly the good ones will always be good and the bad ones will always do what they want regardless of its impact upon the environment. I’ve heard stories of woodland cleared, of bats being removed or destroyed in their belfries as well real heroes in the protection of habitats or species.” I added to Tom’s introduction.
“I’ll need to update the SSSIs in the county by doing a survey.”
“I think you’ll find some of it has disappeared or been made smaller despite so called protection–the protection is useless unless you or Defra prosecute these perpetrators of environmental destruction.”
“Oh we intend doing so, don’t you worry your pretty head about that.”
Eh? Had she just patronised me? Cheeky mare. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” Tom glared at me as I said it, but I didn’t care–she wasn’t my guest, and I didn’t particularly know her at university.
“Cathy, the government has sent us directions for protecting the environment...”
“By relaxing planning laws so they can build anywhere?”
“No, they won’t be allowed to do that.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it. If it goes to the Environment secretary to arbitrate any appeals, the developer will win every time.”
“You’re very cynical,” she chided me.
“With good reason. I sincerely hope you’ll make a difference but I’ve seen good intentions ruined before by big money.”
“Not on my patch,” she said combatively.
“Ask Helen aboot yer wood,” prompted Tom.
“The university was asked to do an ecological survey of some land and I have reasons to believe there are dormice there.”
“Well if you think there are some there, there probably are,” she smiled at me.
“Thank you for your confidence, the land is up for sale for development.”
“Ah, that’s a different matter.”
“Now if I prove there are dormice there, and the developer pulls out, am I allowed to bid for the land myself?”
“Oh, that’s an interesting one–you mean conflict of interest stuff?”
“Exactly that.”
“Were you planning on developing it?”
“Yes.” When I said this Tom’s eyebrows nearly got stuck on his forehead.
“What sort of development were you contemplating.
“Possibly a couple of buildings, some utilities–you know, the usual stuff–for a nature reserve.”
Her expression went from outraged to irked as she realised I’d just played her like a fiddle. “Very funny, Cathy.” Then she looked at me long and hard. “You remind me of someone I knew vaguely at university.” I felt myself get very warm and my face was giving off several megawatts.
Just then the food arrived, Tom had his curry, Helen had an omelette and for a change, I had tuna salad with a jacket potato. The conversation died off as we tucked into our respective meals although I caught Helen glancing at me frequently during our repast.
Tom asked for the sweet menu and he had chocolate pudding, Helen ordered trifle and I opted for fruit salad and ice cream. We also ordered teas and coffees. The desserts arrived, just or otherwise and we started to eat them when Helen said, “D’you have a brother–as in twin brother?”
I blushed furiously and shook my head.
“There was a boy about a year below me who you remind me of rather a lot–except he was a boy and you’re obviously a woman–but he was a bit femme and quite pretty in some ways–they said he was gay but I don’t remember anything to confirm the gossip, so it was probably just that–he was into mammals if I recall.”
I said nothing but despite the ice cream I was getting hotter.
“You went to Sussex, didn’t you–which year was that?” If she didn’t know she soon would–oh sod it, let’s get it over with.
“I went the year below you.”
“Did you–so why don’t I remember you?”
“Probably because I’ve changed a bit.”
“Surely not that muc...oh my God.” She placed her spoon by the dish–“I’m so sorry, that was you, wasn’t it?”
“It could have been,” I agreed.
“Wow, you look a whole lot better than before–but I don’t believe anyone could–were you trying to be a boy or something back then?”
“You could say that,” I went with whatever explanation caused her the fewest hiccups.
“So you were really a girl all the time–that’s outrageous,” she clapped her hands with glee and laughed.
I shrugged and Tom gave me an old fashioned look before smiling at his guest.
“So how long did you keep the pretence up?”
“About twenty years.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My parents thought they had a son–I proved them wrong.”
“What–you changed over?” her eyes were as wide as saucers.
“In a manner of speaking–something was wrong with me, I didn’t experience puberty until I was put on oestrogen and my body changed significantly afterwards. I had some surgery then to tidy up things.”
“Wow, I’ve never met anyone whose done that before–you look even more terrific–that’s just amazing. So who knows–your husband obviously?”
“Those who need to know are told as and when but it’s largely irrelevant these days and I try to put it behind me.”
“Yeah, I can see that. You still look amazing. Thanks for telling me.”
“I hope you’ll respect my confidence, Daddy obviously knows, and was one of those who supported and encouraged my change.”
“Absolutely, my lips are sealed. You made the right choice didn’t you?”
“I think so.”
“I know so.”
“I hope it’s not going to cause any difficulties between us, I worked quite closely with your predecessor.”
“Oh Gareth, yeah, he’s a sweetheart. Apparently he got engaged to a woman who had mental problems–so he scarpered to a safe distance.”
“I know, it was my sister in law.”
“Oh shit,” she said under breath and blushed almost as deeply as I was sure I had earlier. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
“It’s true, Stella had some problems and he ran off.”
“Is it also true he fancied you?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, our relationship was purely professional at all times.”
“I’m just trying to remember what the office gossip said–nah, it’s gone.”
“Perhaps that’s just as well. I have to go I’m afraid, my little one is still on the breast and I need to get back to her.”
“You’re breast feeding her? I didn’t think that was possible–you must be female then really?”
“I tried telling people that all my life, it’s only in the last four or five years that they’ve believed me. Nice to see you again,” we shook hands, I kissed Daddy and left. Walking to the car a little rivulet of sweat ran down my back, I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that again–justify my existence.
* Site of Special Scientific Interest.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1491
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I did some shopping on the way home–the bit about needing to breast feed Catherine was a bit of a fib–but it had the desired effect. I’m astonished she didn’t ask about the baby, but maybe she’s not the maternal type. Can’t say it worries me one way or the other. So I was her first tranny–oh well, as they seem to be everywhere these days, I’ll hardly be her last.
I bought a few bits and pieces for the kids–some beads and bangles for the girls and a pair of football socks for Danny–I bought enough of the junk jewellery to include my nieces and was just heading back to the car when my mobile rang.
“Hello, Mr Darnley.”
“Mrs Cameron, your car is ready when you’d like to collect it.”
“If I can find someone to run me across to you, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Very good.”
“Do I need to pay you?”
“No, we’ll sort that out with Mr Cameron later–he’ll do the insurance stuff.”
“Yes and see if we can get a refund from the mad woman.” Just then the object of my scorn crossed the road a little way ahead of me. “I’ll see you later.” I shut off my phone and followed the old bat up the road. She had seen me but looked straight through me, out of context, I suppose I was invisible, especially as she hadn’t seen me with makeup on and my hair up. I was also concerned about her eyesight.
She went into an optician’s shop and I followed her, pretending to look at spectacle frames but listening to her conversation. “Macular degeneration–no we can’t do much for that, Miss Alcott.”
Oh poo, if I mentioned that it might blow her insurance cover, but I made a note of it. If I remembered, the macule was part of the eye near the optic nerve and degeneration speaks for itself. Actually, I think rubbish builds up by the macule or under it and it causes damage to the eye and hence sight. It’s one of the most common causes of loss of vision in older people. I felt sorry for her in some ways, especially if she was losing her sight. It might explain why she hit my car–but if that’s what she has–should she be driving? Probably not.
A friend of my mother had it and she had to stop driving, I suspect Miss Alcott is the same–now do I dob her in or keep quiet? I left the shop just before she did as she was still arguing with the receptionist.
She walked off in the opposite direction to the one I’d chosen, so I went back to the car and sped home. Jenny agreed to bring the Mondeo back after Stella in gratitude for the beads and bangles for her two girls, agreed to watch Catherine until Jenny came home and I’d take the Jag to collect the girls.
Driving down to the repairers, I asked Jenny if she’d heard anymore from her friend about the vacancy we had. She said she hadn’t managed to contact her, but she’d keep trying. I did ask her to let me know as soon as she did because we’d need to find someone else soon–I was starting at the university in just over a week’s time.
The car was immaculate, like it had just been driven from the showroom. Jenny went back home as Mr Darnley explained in boring detail what they’d done here and there and all parts in between. He certainly knew his stuff, which was more than I did and I was running out of time. I finally interrupted him to say I had to collect my children. He told me he was a grandfather so knew the drill well enough.
He handed me my keys and held open the door while I sat and then swung my legs round in the tight skirt I was wearing. He closed the door and watched me back as I reversed out of the yard and then turned to head towards Portsmouth and the school. The engine purred and she glided along as if on a cushion of air. Jaguar might be owned by an Indian conglomerate these days, but the ride is all British.
I parked a little away from the school as I didn’t want the girls to see my pretty pussy too quickly. They were impressed with the outfit and kept saying so as we wandered out of the school and we were nearly at the car before Billie noticed it–Trish was still in full flow upon my sartorial elegance and when could she start wearing heels that click-clacked on the road.
“You’ve got it back?” Trish blurted out as she stood about ten feet away.
“Yes, I’d have thought it was rather obvious, especially to one as observant as you’re reputed to be.”
She walked round the car. “Hmm,” she said, “I think they missed a piece here.”
“No they didn’t,” I walked up to where she was standing to see that someone had keyed the side of the car, leaving a deep scar in the paintwork. I couldn’t believe it. If I’d seen who’d done it, I’d have probably broken their arms. Vandalism makes me so angry–it’s totally pointless destruction, a mindless crime but not a victimless one. This time there were no CCTV cameras to assist me.
I felt so angry, I’d had the car a matter of days, all but one of them had been in a repair shop. I really did feel angry. Who would do such a thing? Some idiot boy who had nothing better to do than damage other people’s property.
If I spotted him as we drove home, I’d probably run the little sod over–I felt so angry. Whoever it was left not just the usual wiggly line–yes I’ve been keyed before–but one with some sort of signature design. Trish copied it on her camera phone and I went to the police station.
The desk sergeant was one with whom I’d had a previous acquaintance and his look was one of uncertain fear. I insisted he come and look at the damage and to give him credit he sent someone out to see it–a young woman community support officer. I wasn’t terribly impressed, but to my delight she was most interested in the crime. I held a tape measure alongside it while she took several photos.
“There is some kid or group of kids who do this usually to more up market cars. I’d love to catch them.”
“I’d love you to catch them–then allow five minutes with each–that would be long enough to rearrange their dentition.”
“Please Lady Cameron, never threaten violence, if anyone hears it they could cause you trouble later on.”
“But I’ve only just had the thing back after a batty old lady ran into me–twice.”
“Is that one who was in the paper calling you a bully?”
“Yes–all I want is for her to repay our costs, seeing as she caused the damage–oh and hang the little bastard who did that,” I pointed to the scratch, “hanging from the yard arm of the Victory.”
“You do become aggressive when angry don’t you?”
“She’s Scottish,” said Trish from inside the car.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1492
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The ride home from the police station was rather subdued and I was seething. I should have been feeling on top of the world, instead some little toerag with a house key or a coin had messed up my day–part of me would have liked to copy the scratch on my car onto his face–with a soldering iron–before I ensured he never bred–using a pair of garden shears to do the deed. If you think that’s bad you should see me angry, or maybe not.
We arrived back at the ranch and the girls ran into the house rather than stay with their somewhat unbalanced mother. I was looking at the scratch and talking to Mr Darnley on my mobile when Stella came out to see me.
“Bring it straight back,” I nodded to Stella, “I’m on my way.” I switched off the Blackberry and spoke with Stella, who commented on the scratch.
“I wonder what sense of achievement doing that gives the little twat who did it?”
“Not half as much as catching him would give me,” I replied. “Look, the repair man said to bring back down, can you watch the kids?”
“Yeah, aren’t they gonna want feeding?”
“I’ll bring back fish and chips.”
“Healthy eating night, okay.”
I drove back to the repair shop as quickly as the traffic would allow. Mr Darnley inspected the damage and called his paint-sprayer to see it. They reckoned they could repair it while I waited. I sat in the office and fumed, in two senses–I was angry and I could smell the cellulose paint they used.
“We’ve seen these marks before,” said Darnley, “I think you’re the third, we wondered if it was someone’s signature or initials?”
“My daughter is quite good on computers, I’ll get her to play with the image and see if she can identify them.”
The paint had dried and providing I didn’t bump it or get it wet before the morning, it would be okay. They also did it for nothing as they had the paint mixed from the previous repair. I drove home feeling much better, until I left the chip shop with a huge bill for fish and chips, some cartons of mushy peas, baked beans and mushrooms in batter, plus one of curry sauce for you know who. The cost was over sixty pounds.
They wrapped everything in double paper to keep it warm and I sped home, the car was a dream to drive–although a flashing blue light on the top would improve its way through the congested streets.
Simon had just arrived home and helped me carry in the cooling comestibles–I left the boot lid up to get rid of the smell of fish and chips. Despite it being less than hot, the food was well received–a real treat for the kids–I don’t let them have chips too often.
Trish was set to work to see if she could enlarge the scratcher’s logo or make sense of it. During this process, Danny went to try on his new socks and came back to show the girls. They all admired his hairy legs and teased him, however, his presence was valuable. He saw the image of the scratch which Trish had enlarged.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The scratch that was on Mummy’s car, why?”
“I know who done it,” he proclaimed.
“Did it,” corrected Trish.
“Yeah, whatever.”
My ears pricked up as I heard bits of the conversation–usually, I’m monitoring to make sure no one is saying anything too nasty to the others. “Did you say you recognise the mark?” I asked Danny.
“Yeah, it’s a kid in school, he does it on everything–desks, doors, walls, chairs–you name it he does it. He’s a right nutter.”
“D’you have a name?”
“They call him piggy or somethin’, I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Good lad, I’d be obliged if you could–then I shall go and see his parents.”
“If they’re anythin’ like him they’ll be big fat slobs with ’orrible ’abits.”
“Horrible habits?”
“Yeah, he smells–I think that’s why they call ’im piggy.”
“Lovely, perhaps I'll see the headmaster and let him deal with it.”
“It didn’t happen on school property, did it, babes?” I hadn’t noticed Simon behind me. “So he won’t be too interested.”
“If he knows the boy’s a one man crime wave of vandalism, he might.”
“Half the boys in school are morally challenged–you ought to know that as well as anyone.”
I took his point, but then I was an easy target and targets tend to attract psychotic marksmen, who feel they have a duty to take pots at you. I occasionally got revenge in school, showing them up as being dumber than I was, preferably before the whole class. I also got thumped once or twice for doing it and on one occasion it backfired and I got humiliated instead.
The boy in question was a nasty piece of work called Dobbs, Michael Dobbs but his nickname was Psycho and half the teachers were scared of him. He was firing pellets at the people in front of him with an elastic band catapult improvised on his fingers. Several boys jumped when he hit them, but none more so than I. It hit me smack in the back of my head, just above my ponytail–you’ll remember I had very long hair in protest at the school–and also because I liked to style it different ways when I was alone at home.
I jumped and squealed, “Ouch,” when the thing hit me–it bloody well hurt.
“You have something to add to the lesson, Miss Watts?” asked the maths teacher who was writing on the board when the assault happened.
“No, sir, I felt something hit me on the head–sorry, sir.”
“Something hit you on the head, Miss Watts?”
“Yes, sir.” I was blushing profusely, he was one of those homophobes who disapproved of boys with girlish hair as he saw it–so I wasn’t on his Christmas card list.
“I take it, it wasn’t the solution to this problem, Miss Watts.”
“No, sir.” I blushed some more–I struggled with mathematics unlike biology where I was pretty much top of the class.
“I suggest you keep your pretty little head focused on the subject in front of you rather than waiting for the universe to drop the answer into that girlish brain.”
“Yes, sir.” I was so embarrassed but the rest of my form enjoyed it, especially Psycho, who fired several more pellets at me though only hit me once more causing me to squeak again. This time the teacher saw him and made him scrabble about on the floor and pick up all the pellets and put them in the bin.
I was humiliated yet further because while Psycho was scrabbling about under my desk and chair, the teacher instructed him, “And no looking up Miss Watts’ skirts while you’re down there.”
Of course that just encouraged the little sociopath, who flapped at my blazer and said, “Oh pink frilly ones today, Charlotte.”
I was so embarrassed, I blushed enough to catch fire but was still quick enough to step on his fingers while he was under my desk, he jumped up and smacked his head on the underside of the desk–only his hair was extremely short, as in crew cut.
The teacher thought we were now quits and told him to behave or he’d send him to the head.
Psycho was one of a group who made it their career to try to humiliate me–however, life paid him back–he joined the army and got his legs blown off by the Taliban–I suspect it probably didn’t do much good to his middle wicket either.
“If I speak with the headmaster, at least I can get some idea about the family,” I said to Simon, I wasn’t going to let the little bastard get away with it if I could help it.
“What’s he going to do, even if you can prove it was him you can’t actually do anything and he’s probably too financially challenged to pay for the repair.”
“He has to know what he’s doing is wrong.”
“He probably does, babes, assuming he has a rudimentary sense of right and wrong, though loads of kids today seem unaware of the principles. So how d’you propose stopping him? Cut his hands off?”
“Just his thumbs would be enough, but no, just to warn him off. I don’t want my car damaged again.”
“I think watching where you park it would be more profitable than pursuing some halfwit juvenile who smells like a compost heap.”
“He’s worse than that, Dad,” offered Danny, and the girls given the cue, all went, ‘Yeewch’. Yeah my kids are predictable at times.
“I’d just drop it, babes–you got it fixed–it’s not your job to correct juvenile delinquents–c’mon, let’s have a glass of wine–you lot, bed in half an hour,” he said to groans of disapproval.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1493
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I spent the day working on my lesson plans or doing chores when I got tired of thinking or typing. I asked Jenny about her friend, who seemed to be avoiding her. I decided she obviously didn’t want the job, so I sent to a job agency a job description, salary I was prepared to pay, and a job profile. I wanted a female worker, who wasn’t worried by a transgender child, who could look after children and help about the house.
Seeing me doing this, Stella offered to pay towards it and we’d increase the hours, so she could have some help as well. Jenny sulked a little, she was sure there was a reason her friend didn’t come back to her. I was inclined to agree–she didn’t want the job. I was also insisting on references–these were my children we’re talking about.
I’d discussed with the children that I was going to employ another helper because I was going back to work–they knew it was coming but they didn’t like it–I understood. I was fortunate enough to have a mother who was always home–unless she was out shopping or cleaning the church–that sort of thing. At times it was a damned nuisance because I wanted to play with a new piece of clothing I’d acquired or bit of makeup and she was there, so I couldn’t.
I had very little anything because she used to clean my room–I offered but she became suspicious then, so I had to move my oddments to different locations at different times. I think she was suspicious because I was sure she used to watch me. I cured her of that, she was terrified of mice, and after sitting doing something deliberately furtive under my bed so she saw me and I acted guilty, I knew she’d look the next day when I was at school. I left a mouse in a box which she was sure to find.
When I came home she was hysterical and made me go and catch the mouse and kill it or take it away. It wasn’t real it was a fur covered thing for cats to play with which I’d rigged to a piece of elastic, when she opened the box, it moved and seemed to scrabble. She didn’t wait to see if it was real or not. I did it again with a realistic spider but she spotted that one.
She didn’t find my stash, because I built a false bottom in the wardrobe, which wasn’t very big but big enough to hide a thin dress, a bra, panties and some shoes and a few odd bits of makeup–a lipstick, some eye shadow and eyeliner. I didn’t dare use mascara in case I couldn’t get it off–until the Lady Macbeth episode occurred and then Siân and I went to town. My dad threw it all out once the supposed humiliation was over. I still refused to cut my hair.
Back to my kids, I know they prefer me to be home when they come home but I explained Gramps needed me to do this, so they accepted it, albeit with reluctance. I also explained I needed someone to help me and that they’d need to be aware that this was a house that supported transgender children.
Billie immediately felt I was getting at her but I explained I wasn’t, and that several of us had things to hide. I just suggested if she continued as she did at school, whoever we employed might never know just who was what. I promised that whoever they were, they’d never see any of my children naked.
When I got back home I discussed this with Jenny and Stella who agreed my policy and that they would enforce it. Jenny also promised not to let on who was what unless the new person guessed n which case she was to be sent to talk to me about it, or Stella if I was unavailable.
I decided that the contract would include a confidentiality clause, so if they blabbed about it, they’d be paying for it for the rest of their lives. The agency accepted my idiosyncratic rules, because I was paying above the odds for the work, and I wanted a permanent member of staff, so they weren’t going to send me their agency people, they were recruiting for me. They would get back as soon as they could.
Danny came home and was beaming, he had Piggy’s name--Peregrine Hoggett–no wonder they called him Piggy. I called the school and made an appointment to see the headmaster the next day. I also gave Danny a pat on the back, he’d done a good job. His reward, a trip in my car to school; while Jenny took the girls on to theirs. They weren’t too happy about that either.
I watched Danny swagger into school–I sat in the car listening to the radio and glancing through the Guardian, mind you part of me was also watching the car while there were kids about. My appointment was half past nine, it was not even nine yet and I was tempted to close my eyes–I could have set my phone as an alarm–however, I decided against it for several reasons, not least that I had mascara on and didn’t want my eyelashes to stick together. I wore a business type suit, another Chanel one, only this one definitely had the mark of Karl Largerfeld–I didn’t buy it, it was another of Stella’s cast offs.
At twenty five past, I walked from the car to the school, my heels clicking on the marble effect floors and at exactly half past the headmaster invited me into his office. I didn’t beat about the bush, I showed him the pictures Trish had printed off for me and told him that I understood he had a child in his school who habitually carved this design on everything. He blushed and denied it. I named the boy and he had him sent for. Danny’s caricature wasn’t an exaggeration–he was a wide as he was tall, his nose was running, which he wiped on his sleeve and he smelt–of something pretty gross–think muck spreader and you won’t be too far wrong.
When the boy arrived he was seated on the corner of the headmaster’s rather nice mahogany veneered desk, I was sitting at the side of the desk and the head was in his chair behind it.
We showed him the pictures which he denied all knowledge of–no surprise there then–I explained that if it happened again, I would have the police sent to arrest him. That frightened him and the headmaster. The boy was dismissed and the headmaster opened as many windows as he could.
“You have no proof, it’s pure circumstantial evidence if not hearsay. I accepted it probably was though there was one nice touch–as I left I noticed a mark on the headmaster’s precious desk. I pointed it out to him and when he examined it, it was the same as the mark on my car. I thought he was going to have a stroke he went very red and his neck began to throb. He promised me that it wouldn’t happen again because he was going to murder the little shit as soon as I left. I couldn’t help smirking.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1494
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“Did they hang draw and quarter him?” asked Simon when he got home.
“Who?”
“The juvenile car carver.”
“Eh?”
“The child who messed up your paintwork.”
“Piggy Hoggett, you mean.”
“Is that his name?”
“No it’s worse, it’s Peregrine Hoggett.”
“Perhaps his father was a bird watcher?”
“Or hoped he’d be a wanderer.”
“Is that what peregrine means?”
“Sort of, I think it means foreigner in Latin, but I can’t actually remember.”
“Isn’t that what Welsh means?”
“Foreigner? Yes–ironic or what that it’s what the Saxons who were foreign called the locals.”
“Mind you the English have been making the locals feel like foreigners in their own country for a very long time.”
“Only because they had the back up of the largest navy in the then world. I hope the Chinese have forgotten we overran them back in the nineteenth century, we certainly couldn’t do it now.”
“Not without aircraft carriers.”
“We’ll have some in ten years.”
“And planes on ’em ten years after that.” Simon raised his eyebrows then added, “So what about Piggy?”
I related the unhelpful headmaster and how he changed his mind after he discovered the carving on the front of his desk. He snorted then chuckled, “What is it with this kid, has he got a death wish?”
“I don’t know about that, but he seems to do it without any thought, so it must be some sort of compulsion.”
“Kilroy wasn’t here,” he said and smirked at his own joke.
“I don’t know what will happen to him but I suspect he needs help and a good bath, or at least a change of clothing.”
“A bit aromatic was he?”
“If you could imagine something dead in a warm room for a few days–you’d get an idea–if you did chemistry–think Butyric acid–it’s what puts the zing in rancid butter.”
“Wonderful." He said pulling a face.
"We used to call chemistry–pongs.” I beamed.
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me–you didn't call, biology–bugs, did you?”
“No, the true bugs are the hemiptera.”
“Look, little miss education, can’t you forget you’re a teacher for a moment?”
“Sorry, but I’ve been writing lesson plans and sorting notes for my courses.”
“I see and still in teacher mode?”
“Maybe–I haven’t done any classification for years, so quite how I remembered hemiptera, goodness only knows.”
“Did you remember it correctly, though?”
“Of course.”
“Did you check that after parking the car that it wasn’t vandalised by the compulsive...”
“I think repulsive is more appropriate.”
“Impulsive, compulsive, repulsive–let’s call the whole thing off.” Simon began to sing.
“I thought that was about the solanaceae.”
“The what?”
“You know...”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” Simon was pouting. Just then Trish walked by, “Hey, Trish, what’s the solar what?”
“Solanaceae,” I repeated.
“Potatoes,” she said hugging Simon, then went off to do whatever she was doing before.
“She right?” he asked.
“It’s a bit more than potatoes and tomatoes, nightshades, thorn apple and several other plants.”
“So how come we can eat potatoes but not deadly nightshade?”
“Because belladonna is poisonous and spuds aren’t?”
“Beautiful lady, is that what they call deadly nightshade?”
“Full name is Atropus belladonna.”
“Atrocious belladonna?”
“No Atropus–it’s a source of atropine and allegedly women in days gone by used to put a drop in their eyes to dilate their pupils and make themselves supposedly more attractive.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’d look more beautiful if you were spaced out?”
“Spaced out? It’s an alkaloid poison, given enough, I’d be laid out.”
“Don’t they use it in medicine?”
“Si, I’m a biologist not a quack, but yes they do use it to do something with slow heartbeat, it’s anticholinergic drug, so it has an effect on acetylcholine receptors.”
“Exactly my point, so if it gets in your carburettor, you’re stuffed–what’s for dinner? You notice how subtly I changed the subject there because I could see you were struggling to keep up with me.”
I was lost for words, I’d even forgotten what we were having for dinner despite cooking it. “I’ve forgotten.”
“See you meet a dominant intellect and you completely lose the plot.”
“Possibly, fortunately Trish doesn’t compete with me that often so I can get by.”
“Trish? It’s me who’s overwhelmed you this time by Socratic questioning and other clever strategies.”
“Since when has Socratic questioning meant asking a silly question?”
“Why is that your first?” he fired back at me.
I surrendered, I didn’t have time to waste in idle banter–it wouldn’t be so bad if we did it while we worked, but we don’t, he does it while I work. Seems a little unfair–I blame his parents–dropping him on his head while watching Monty Python. I checked the dinner, the lamb casserole–more of the recent lorry load of dead sheep we received–was doing fine.
“No solar panels in there is there?”
“What is so difficult about solanaceae?”
“Eating them raw?”
I shook my head, I wasn’t sure what medication he appeared to be on but he was obviously in a good mood. “Why are you in such a frivolous mood?”
“I won the lottery.”
“What the hundred and one million pounds?”
“No, a tenner.”
“You’re feeling good because you won ten pounds?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Why? Simon, you’re a millionaire, what difference does ten pounds make?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand, it’s all about principle.”
“But you’re a banker, you don’t have any?”
“Now you cut me to the quick, I’m haemorrhaging liquid gold here, you know?”
“Sure, go and change and leave the quick-fire jokes in the shower will you?”
“Now, I’m mortally wounded.”
“If you die while you’re up there you won’t get any dinner.”
“That’s right, add insult to injury, I suppose that means dessert is also out if I croak?”
“Not necessarily, but how do we insert banana split into your alimentary system–oh, I have an idea,” I said this with a gleam in my eye.
“Don’t you dare even think of it.”
“You’re a banana-phobe, aren’t you?”
“Only when we consider insertions other than oral.”
“Were we?” I acted innocent.
“Oh, you weren’t then?”
“Does it matter, the ice cream would ease things either way.”
“How d’you know?”
“Um, it was a guess–an anal-ytic one.”
“Very funny, I’m going to shower.” He stumped off which he does once I start punning back. Oh well, it gets very boring very quickly.
We ate and were talking afterwards when the door bell rang. “Mummy, there’s an old lady at the door.”
“Who?” I mouthed back at Livvie.
“The old lady who hit your car, I think,” she said very quietly.
“What does she want?” I asked out loud.
“Go and see and you might find out.” Simon was keeping his distance, so much for offering to protect me.
“Ah, Mrs Cameron, sorry to disturb you but I was coming to see about arranging to pay for your car–though I admit nothing–this is a goodwill gesture.”
I almost punched the air in triumph but something held me back. “Okay,” I paused.
“Unfortunately, I seem to have bumped one of your cars again.”
“Which one?” I gasped hoping it was the Mondeo–just for a change.
“Um–the Jaguar, I think.”
“Not my car again?” I gasped.
“Is yours a Jaguar, no it was the other one.” I heard Simon groan behind me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1495
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While I invited the old bat inside, Simon dashed out to see which car had been damaged and how badly. His Jag is his pride and joy so, this act would hardly endear Miss Alcott to him.
“Goodness, this is a big house,” she said as I led her into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She accepted an offer of tea. I glanced out the window to see Simon jumping up and down–I suspect he was a little worked up.
Tom showed his face and I introduced them, but he disappeared on the pretext of ‘marking to do’. He doesn’t do much teaching, professors don’t, he supervises a couple of PhD students, but that’s it. I suppose he could have been reviewing their work, more likely having a ‘wee dram’ and hiding.
I made tea and passed the old lady a mug. She thanked me and took a sip, remarking that it was a good cup.
“Why did you change your mind?” I asked because my curiosity was threatening to burst out of me.
“About what?”
“Accepting liability?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I can always make more tea if we need it.”
“Very well,” and she began her saga. She was persuaded by a number of her friends that the film did exist and one had seen it. She began to accept it was her. However she recognised that a public climb down would cause her lots of grief. I let her talk.
“I went to see our minister for advice and told him what I just told you. He asked me how long I was prepared to live with deceit in my heart. I knew then I had to find the courage to come and apologise and offer to pay for the damage.”
“Your minister sounds a wise man,” I said trying to support his advice.
“He is, and he knows his Bible inside out.”
“I went to a church which did lots of Bible study but I can’t say I found many of them very Christian, as I understand the adjective.”
“Living in a manner in which the Lord, was our exemplar.”
“Okay, being an agnostic, I can accept that from what I understand is the position of many Christians–such as being upright in their own lives and not rushing to judge those of others. I also like the idea of universal and unconditional love, but I guess not many people do.”
“Perhaps some of us have difficulty with that.”
“You need to read the Gospels again, especially those that have been excluded, the Gospel of Thomas is particularly worth the effort.”
“Sadly, my eyes won’t let me.”
“Hold on a moment,” I dashed off to my study located the book I wanted and dashed back. “Take a look at this,” I said handing her the Gospel of Thomas.
“But I can’t see it–not to read.”
“I think you’ll find the print in this is particularly amenable.”
He sighed and opened the book, “I can’t see–wait a minute.” She read out loud one of the verses, then flicked through it and read some more. She stopped and looked at me. “I could see–I can see you–how did this happen? The doctors said they couldn’t do any more for me.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“But I was half blind and now I can see–I can see. How has that happened?”
“I don’t know, I’m an ecologist not an ophthalmologist.”
She picked up the book again, “I’d like to think reading of the Teacher of Men has healed me, but while I have a strong faith, I believe you had more to do with it than the book.”
“But I’m a non-believer, other than in Darwin and evolution.”
“God works in mysterious ways, and through people.”
“I doubt He’d use me, even if I believed He existed.”
“He can use the most unlikely persons.”
“I think that might be pushing it in my case.”
“It’s never too late to believe, you know?”
“Or to stop–sorry but fairy stories, except as allegories, don’t do much for me.”
“I’m sorry you take that view, Mrs Cameron.”
“We’re all entitled to take which ever line we feel is right for us.”
“I suppose so–speaking with you is quite interesting.”
“My eyes are ever clearer, what are you doing to me?”
“I’m tempted to suggest that I’m helping the scales fall from your eyes–but I’d be telling fibs. I suspect, you are healing yourself, by being prepared to see beyond the blinkers you’d previously applied to yourself.”
“You sound like a modern day Jesus–talking in parables and performing miracles.”
“Hang on, I hardly talk in parables do I, let alone perform miracles.”
“You’re one of God’s angels, aren’t you, my hitting your car was meant to happen, it’s God’s work, to bring us together.”
“I think I prefer coincidence, meaningful or otherwise.”
“But you knew I’d be able to read the book.”
“An inspired guess.”
“Divinely inspired?”
“Not in my map of the universe.”
“Thank you for healing my eyes.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Despite being able to see again, I think I can turn a blind eye to your claims of innocence. I have received a miracle tonight, and whether you caused it directly or indirectly, I am extremely grateful–life will be worth living again. Thank you so much.”
I shrugged again–if I kept doing this she’d begin to wonder if I had some sort of tic.
“I take it you’d prefer I didn’t tell anyone about this miracle?”
“What benefit would it have?”
“Others would come knocking at your door.”
“I have children to look after, I don’t have time or the energy to speak to the world, I also have teaching prep to finish.”
“I know that so well.”
“So you see my point–I didn’t do anything–you did it yourself–any publicity is going to have queues outside the gates and I can’t help any of them.”
“You can’t or won’t?”
“Either–I have my own life to lead and my children to raise.”
“It might be God’s work you are refusing?”
“Tell Him to send me a job description.”
“What if He did?”
“I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Perhaps you need to take the scales from your own eyes, Mrs Cameron.”
“Ah back to imponderables–I prefer rhetoric.”
“Isn’t that for politicians?”
“Mayhaps. I think I need you to leave now, Miss Alcott before my husband comes in and threatens you with actual physical harm.”
“Is he likely to do so?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t crashed into his car.”
“It was only a little bump, I just thought I’d better tell you.”
“He seems to be coming in the back door, so perhaps you’d better slip out by the front door.”
“D’you mind if I borrow this book?”
“I’d like it back.”
“I promise to return it.”
“Very well.” I handed it to her.
“Now what about paying for the car–oh I suppose I’d better pay for this one too.”
“I’ll get Simon to contact you, he deals with all that.”
“I’ll wait for him to get in touch.”
“It might take a few days,” I said thinking he might have calmed down by then.
“Thank you, and God bless you.”
I smiled and showed her out. She got in her car reversed it perfectly and drove out.
“I’ll kill her,” muttered Simon when he came in.
“She has offered to pay for things.”
“Pay? I want her legs broken.”
“Don’t be so primitive, she can see a bit better now.”
“Pity you can’t apply your healing to the car–looks like I’ll have to borrow yours tomorrow.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1496
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At my insistence he took me out to see his car, there was a slight scratch on the front mudguard and perhaps a bit of a dent. “That’s still driveable.”
“Yeah, but Darnley will need to have to to fix it.”
“Drive it to work, get him to collect it and I’ll fetch you from work.”
“You don’t want me to drive your car, do you?”
“It’s not my car is it? It belongs to the bank.”
“Um, not quite.”
“Not quite? It either does or it doesn’t.”
“In which case it doesn’t.”
“So to whom does it belong?” I even managed to ask grammatically.
“Um, you, why?”
“Me?”
“Yes, it’s hardly a revelation is it? I mean it was your car which provided the insurance payout and with which I bought the new one. So it’s your car.”
“So why didn’t I get another Cayenne?”
“I thought you’d like the Jaguar.”
“I do, but I’d have thought they’d have just given us another Cayenne.”
“I thought you’d like the Jaguar.”
“Simon, you’ve said that once already.”
“So, maybe I mean it.”
“Or old people repeat themselves.”
“You bitch, I’m not old.”
“Well, stop repeating yourself then!”
“Cheeky cow, perhaps it was something important I was saying and making sure that little girly brain was taking it on board.”
“Is that a declaration of war, husband?”
“No, don’t be silly. Why would you ask that?”
“Because my small girly brain isn’t always synchronised with your large macho gob.”
“That would be obvious to a blind man.”
“But not to a sighted one.”
“Meaning?”
“Sometimes you can be such a prick.”
“Oh thank you very much.” He stormed off muttering and cursing as he went. I went back to my course and its preparation. At bedtime we negotiated a truce, though he was still spitting feathers.
After I go home from the school run, I called Mr Darnley. “Who would you say is the best person to check out a 1963 S type Jaguar?”
“Doug Wellington, why, who’s got one?”
“I have.”
“Mrs Cameron, he’d love to look at it, so would I, where can we see it?” I arranged to meet them at the house in Southsea in an hour’s time. I drove my modern Jag to open a garage to one that was older than I was.
They were both drooling over it, “You wouldn’t like to sell it would you?” asked Wellington.
“No, but I need to have it made roadworthy by tomorrow, if that’s possible.”
Wellington nodded, he noticed it was tax exempt so it only required an MOT test and service. The battery was flat, but using my car with jump leads, he managed to start it. The garage filled with smoke and I watched them both come out coughing and spluttering, I was sitting safely in my own car revving it for the extra charge from the battery.
Mr Wellington drove the veteran Jag away, followed by Darnley in an equally old Rover, which looked as mint as the old Jaguar. I wasn’t sure how I was going to play this. I could drive the old car and let Simon have this one, or let him drive the old one and take the risk that it’s irreparable if he prangs it. Actually, it’s probably more robust than the newer cars.
I drove home and still couldn’t make my mind up. I was clearing up after lunch when the phone rang. I answered it. It was Louisa Alcott.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Well, I can see now, I couldn’t yesterday.”
“Enjoy it then, read some of your Bible.”
“I’m not wasting time indoors when I could be out in the garden looking at my flowers or watching the sea. I can read during the evenings.”
“Look, I’m sorry Miss Alcott, but I have several things to do, not least collecting some of my kids from school.”
“They’re children, Lady Cameron, not the offspring of goats.”
“Okay, I have to collect my children, or some of them.”
“Very well, I don’t wish to sound contemptuous, but please don’t let these Americanisms infiltrate your speech–kids and chewing gum–and you as an aristocrat should know that better than most. You’re English, be proud of it.”
“Actually, I’m Scots, Miss Alcott, but I am proud of it.”
“But of course, with a name like Cameron, I hope I didn’t offend–but that’s your husband’s name–so are you Scottish too?”
“I was born in Dumfries, does that answer your question?”
“Yes, I suppose it does–pretty little town, where Robert Burns lived and died.”
“That’s the place.”
“Once again, you saved my life, Lady Cameron, thank you so much.”
“No, you did. I have to go.” I put the phone down. Then dialled the insurance company and arranged cover for the S type for Simon and me to drive it. I did consider Tom as well, but then thought he’s not into old cars–not after we got him to part with his old Land Rover.
I’d just put the phone down when it rang again and I was about to tell Miss Alcott to go away–for a long holiday–when I recognised the voice of Mr Wellington. “You car is ready, we had to replace the battery and did an oil change but she is in such good nick, if ever you want to sell her–give me first refusal.”
“I’m not planning on selling her, at the same time, I don’t know how much driving it will do.”
“Well, let me know, I’ll give you a good price.”
“If I do, I will let you know.”
“We’ll drop her round in about half an hour–I’ll send you an account in due course.”
I thanked him then went off to collect the girls. They were quite inquisitive about the old car parked in the driveway.
“We got visitors?” asked Trish.
“Don’t think so, why?”
“There’s a strange car there–didn’t you notice it?”
“No, I didn’t see any strange cars.”
“What’s that then?” she pointed and waved her finger at the elderly Jaguar.
“That’s my vintage Jaguar.”
“Vintage? Yours?” her eyes nearly pooped out on stalks, “How long have you had that?”
“Quite some time, why?”
“You had a Jaguar, that’s what it is, isn’t it–with the cat on the bonnet?”
“Yes, Mr Whitehead gave it to me.”
“Daddy will want to have go in it–so will Julie.”
“I might let Daddy have a go, but Julie will have to whistle.”
Trish laughed at my comment. She had a good look at the car, then said she preferred the new one. I suspected it was easier to drive, old cars don’t have synchromesh on some of the gears–so you have to double declutch and things. Simon might be more keen on doing that than I am.
I got Julie to collect him, which meant he was fuming when he entered the drive but completely forgot his anger when he saw the S type–especially when he realised it didn’t belong to a visitor. I was in for an interesting evening.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1497
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“Whose car is that out front?” asked Simon rushing into the house. I’d sworn the kids to secrecy on pain of no more chocolate for at least ten thousand years give or take a millennium.
“My Jaguar?” I asked creaming potatoes to put over the minced meat for the cottage pie I was making.
“No, not your Jag, the vintage one next to it.”
“Vintage one?” I said trying to sound perplexed.
“Yeah, there’s an old S type outside.”
“S type what?” I pleaded ignorance.
“An S type Jaguar, it’s parked right next to yours.”
“Next to mine?”
“Yes, come and see.” I resisted his trying to grab my arm to pull me out of the kitchen until I’d placed the cottage pie under the grill to brown.
He virtually dragged me into the drive way–“This beautiful old lady, whose is it?”
“Alex Whitehead’s why?”
“Where is he, I’d love to have a ride in it.”
“He’s not here at the moment–now and go and change and wash your hands because dinner will be ready very soon.”
“Is this Whitehead chap about a bit later then?”
“Possibly, look behave yourself and I’ll persuade the owner to let you have a ride in it, maybe even a little drive–if you’d like that, of course.”
“It looks in such good nick.”
“I’m told it’s in very good order.”
“She’s a beauty, just look at that bodywork, it’s had hours of polishing to get a lustre like that–there’s no rust on the chrome-work, she is an absolute beauty.”
“Dinner first, and I’ll see if I can get you a ride.”
His response was to kiss me passionately on the lips, say, “Yes, Mummy,” and practically dance into the house and upstairs to change. While he was changing I opened a very large tin of baked beans–I know, I could regret it later–and put them on to warm in a pan.
I wondered how long I could string him out before he twigged it was my car. I spoke quickly to Julie, who thought it was a hoot, so did Jenny and Stella. The fact that he didn’t recognise the name of its previous owner showed how much he shared in my world, which was a trifle disappointing.
The cottage pie went down a treat followed by a proper rice pudding and ice cream–one of my favourites. Simon was sitting as if he was on top of an ant’s nest and I naturally drew out the meal as long as I could, even suggesting we had ground coffee, which takes a bit longer to make in the cafetiere. I asked him to make it while I cleared the table. He practically bounced from the table to the kettle and nearly dropped the cafetiere.
“You’ll need the big one,” I told him.
“I don’t want one.”
“Go on, I’ve got some lovely new Columbian beans, very rich–you’ll love it.”
“What about the you know...?” he whispered.
“It’s in hand, you’ll get a ride alright.”
“You sure?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Um...”
“Simon, I’m not a banker, so I’d hope for a little more faith and trust in my honesty.” I said this quite sternly to him. After all, I wasn’t telling him a direct lie–he would get a ride.
“Oh okay,” he made enough coffee for everyone including some hot milk, courtesy of the microwave. I rinsed out the jug and popped it in the dishwasher.
“So anyone else coming for a ride in the vintage Jag out there?” Simon asked looking and sounding like a vintage schoolboy.
Most shook their heads except Danny, who was in on the joke. “I wouldn’t mind a spin in it, too, if the owner will allow it.”
“I’ll ask for you, son,” Simon patted him on the shoulder and Danny on pretext of homework ran off before he gave the game away laughing. The other children except Julie left the table as well and I could hear them chuckling in the sitting room. When he finds out he’ll kill me–oh well, at least I’ll die laughing.
We drank the coffee and Stella tried to engage Simon in a deep conversation about some bonds she’d seen advertised in the financial pages of my Guardian. I hadn’t noticed the ad, but then I had been quite busy and still was.
Simon didn’t want to talk, he wanted a go in the car and how he stayed polite to his sister’s inane questions, I’ll never know. Finally his patience ran out and he told her to call the bank and speak to one of the financial advisers. Then he started drumming his fingers. “Where’s this guy Whitehead?”
“Oh he’s not here, he left the car here while he’s away.”
“So how could you ask him to give me spin?”
I picked up my Blackberry and waved it at him.
“I hope you didn’t try to email him–bloody network’s down.”
“So I heard,” another chance to delay him.
“D’you know why?”
“Oh c’mon, Babes, since when was I literate in things electronic?”
“There’s been articles in the Guardian about it.”
“There’s been all sorts of stuff on Facebook and elsewhere, people are threatening to cancel their contracts.”
“Well normally I’m more than happy with the service.” I tried to drag out the conversation, “So are you, aren’t you, Stel?”
“I don’t have a Blackberry do I? I’ve got an iphone, innit?” she smirked and waved it at me.
“Don’t look at me,” said Julie, “I’ve got an HTC.” She waved the bright yellow thing at me, one of those with a foldout keyboard.
“Yeah, well don’t lose it, that paid for Mark Cavendish for the last few years.”
She rolled her eyes, “You and cycling, Mum, you need to get a life. You’re a bit old for lusting after men’s bums in tight fitting lycra.”
“She might be, but I’m not,” said Stella loudly.
“Nor me,” agreed Jenny.
“I’m not that bloody old–I’m two years older than him–that’s all.”
“Dunno if he’s into older women,” Julie threw back at me.
“Ha, you cheeky little moo,” I started the name calling.
“He’d be into me more than you,” she posed across the table, lifting her long hair and letting it fall gently on her neck and shoulders.
“You had extensions done?” I gasped and she smirked.
“I was just going to say that,” interrupted Stella.
“They cost a fortune,” I commented wondering how she’d paid for them.
“I only had to pay for the extension pieces, Mary-Lou was learning how to fix them an’ I volunteered.”
“Mary-Lou?” asked Stella her right eyebrow raised as if in disbelief.
“Yeah, she’s from somewhere in the States, she says it’s a Godforsaken place, um, Daytonia or something like that.”
“Daytona?” Simon was still alive but possibly losing the will to live. “That’s where they do the speed records, on the beach–it’s in Florida, I think.”
“No, it’s not there then, I’d know that because of Disney Land.”
“Florida is quite a large state,” Simon was now drawn into discussion.
“No it’s where the Wright brothers came from, she mentioned them.”
“They didn’t come from Daytona–more like Dayton, that’s somewhere like Ohio, I think.”
“I think you’re right, husband mine.” I agreed.
“What about this ’ere car then?”
“Don’t go mad in it and for goodness sake don’t bump it?” I said handing over the keys. “Danny, you going with your dad?” I called and he came into the kitchen wearing a fleece jacket.
“Oh wow,” said Simon, looking at the key, “I’m really looking forward to this, c’mon kiddo–anyone else coming?”
We three women shook our heads no.
“Your loss, c’mon kiddo, I think it’s even got a wooden steering wheel.” They left and we all fell about laughing.
“He’s gonna kill you,” said Stella, “but it will be worth it, his face when he finds out.”
“I dunno, when he finds out I might be prevailed upon to let him use it while his is in dock–I think I might be in a useful bargaining position, don’t you?”
“Yeah–but for what–make it big, whatever it is?” Stella exhorted.
“Oh I will,” I said not having a clue if there was anything I actually wanted.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1498
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While Simon and Danny were out in the car, I perused the bill I’d received from the garage. I’d paid it when the car was returned and after looking at it, I slipped it into the book, Whitehead had made for the car’s documents. It was one of those punched pocket thingies, and just flicking through it, I saw how much care he’d taken in restoring it–even having the engine converted to run on unleaded–and what do I do? Let a lunatic loose in it with one of the children.
I passed the time doing some ironing–I’d had enough of course work and lesson planning. I’d agreed to do some of the teaching in conjunction with Cowdrey Huntingdon–yeah, what a mouthful–but he was nice enough as plant ecologists go. Sadly my botany never got much beyond pistils and calyxes. I quite enjoyed slicing up greenstuff to stick under a microscope but killing even insects used to make me feel sick. We used locusts and cockroaches and the poor little buggers used to try like mad to escape the poison–usually chloroform–for some dumb teenager to cut into bits to see how they worked.
Lots of it can be done by theory–I avoided the chopping up bits–and still got the best marks in my year because I was prepared to research. I’ve still got a copy of Imms’ Textbook of Entomology, which I found in a second hand bookshop in Hay on Wye–yeah, where April Ashley was supposed to live. I never saw her there, but my dad would take me once a year to look at the bookshops. As I usually bought non-fiction books, he considered I was being a diligent student–sometimes I was.
Because I wore a unisex outfit of tight jeans and loose sweat shirt with trainers and carried a small backpack, with my long hair tied back in a ponytail, I was often addressed as Miss. Each time I felt a little victory, although I had to be careful when Dad was about or he’d have made me get my hair cut. I know all teenagers have issues with their parents, but transgender teens have extra ones as well as all the normal ones.
I’ve related how my mother showed me the basics of cooking, cleaning and mending clothes. She showed me how to sew on buttons and mend split seams; to darn socks, take up hems and replace pockets. I learned how to iron clothes, press trousers even cope with frills and ruffles–did she know more than she let on?
My father taught me how to do basic bike maintenance and I went from there. The other kids may not have like cycling with me, because I couldn’t keep up with them, but they used to come round if they needed advice on fixing the gears, or putting in new brake cables.
Back to my mother. I’ll never understand how she taught me to sew then got mad when she saw me doing it. The time my dad beat me was over some cross-stitch. True she’d never taught me any embroidery, but she had taught me how to handle a needle pretty well, so what could she expect–not a son who did embroidery, obviously. Possibly she got mad because I was cheeky to her or had been a bit of a pain in destroying her religious belief–I was one of those horrible kids who because I didn’t like something, I’d spoil others fun if they weren’t clever enough to see it coming. I was cleverer than both my parents and used my cleverness to destructive effect. Then if they’d been more accepting of who I really was, possibly I’d have been less inclined to be nasty.
I’ve tried to deal with it over the years and I’m never sure if I have or not. It did come in useful during a debate at uni, when my destructive rhetoric scuppered a motion, This house believes a woman’s place is in the home.
I was obviously against the motion, with two rather pretty girls, who were both feminists, the supporting team were two boys and girl who really just wanted babies and lots of them. Unfortunately, she was the one who felt the sting of my tongue as I spoke after her.
Of course, the retaliation came at me, that I obviously wished I was a girl otherwise why would I be against a motion which enabled women to fulfill their biological destiny and have babies. I quoted Bowlby on attachment and the importance of a significant parent, who needn’t necessarily be the mother. Yeah–I got heckled from the floor that I obviously wanted to be a mother. I blushed because it was true, but I did resist the urge to agree with them.
We won by thirty votes, sixty nine to thirty nine–mind you, it might also have been because the audience was packed with the university lesbian group. See, I have no delusions of grandeur. I also had no expectations that they would stop teasing me either, because they didn’t–stop I mean.
Lots of people at the university assumed because I was a bit–okay, quite a bit feminine–that I was gay. I had loads of blokes try it on with me but I ignored or politely refused them. The lesbians thought I was in denial so they tormented me at times. Funnily enough there was a small transgender group too, but I was so unsure of myself, that I kept away from them. Silly really, but life’s been good to me.
I continued the ironing, doing it the way I’d adapted from my mother’s teaching, even doing some frills on Mima’s dress, and reminiscing. The sound of a car engine and lights sweeping the drive announced Simon’s return. He was beaming when he came in.
“That car is magnificent,” he declared and Danny nodded in agreement. “Does Whitehead want to sell it?”
“I doubt it.” I said moving the dress on the ironing board.
“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“He won’t accept it.”
“How d’you know?”
“Because I do.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Simon was becoming irritated that he couldn’t buy somebody. Danny, aware of the situation left before he gave the game away, saying thanks to Simon as he left the kitchen.
“You’re welcome, son.” That expression nearly melted my heart like sunshine on an Easter egg.
“I know he wouldn’t part with it.” I shrugged and the iron hissed a jet of steam into Mima’s dress, and I continued pressing it.
“Bugger.” Simon went to the fridge and helped himself to a can of Guinness. “You want anything?” he asked.
“A cuppa would be nice.”
“Okay, I’ll make you a mug of gnat’s pee.” He often grumbled because I like my tea weak to helpless.
I heard the kettle boil and the tea bag dropped in the bin, then the fridge door opened and I heard a splosh of milk added to my tea. “I’ll put it on the table.”
I thanked him and watched him pour the stout into a glass. Then he sucked the froth out of the can, rinsed it and left it inverted on the draining board to put in the recycling box when drained.
“Would you like to use the car while yours is in dock?”
“What, your car?”
“No, I need that–the old one.”
“Whitehead’s one?”
“Yes, the S-type, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Course I’d like to use it, but not much chance of that, is there.”
“There is actually.”
“What? You’re not stringing me along here are you?”
“No, I have the owner’s permission for you to use it until yours comes back.”
“Oh you lovely woman–ouch,” he touched his hand against the iron.
“You can give me a kiss after I finish ironing.”
He sat at the table sipping his Guinness and looking like a cat who’d just found a big dish of cream. I would tell him eventually, but it would be an anticlimax if he thought all he had to do was ask me–now he thought he’d been really privileged and I didn’t want to burst that bubble too soon.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1499
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“And you’re sure Mr Whitehead won’t mind me using his car?”
“Yes I am sure and no, he won’t mind.”
“So how d’you know him?” Simon asked and I felt a dread coming down about telling lies–I hate telling lies, so I was going to have to tell half-truths, like we all do, especially those who are transgender.
You know the sort, “Do you get heavy periods?” asks a woman friend who doesn’t know.
“Um, no, I don’t get any periods now–they took my breeding equipment away,” which doesn’t really answer the question and implies without actually saying so that before there were periods.
“Did you have a rough time with the pregnancy, I was into eating all sorts of weird things–haven’t touched prawns in custard since.”
“Um, not really, but my sister in law, bless her, she was crazy for pineapple sandwiches.”
Back to Simon, ‘How did I know Mr Whitehead,’ oh boy. “Anymore tea?” try distraction.
“Yeah sure,” he put down his glass and went to the kettle.
“I love this little dress, don’t you?” I held up the frilly confection which I ironed for Mima–it was her favourite.
“Can’t say I get over excited about children’s clothes so it’s probably just as well you look after that aspect of life. Your tea.” He placed the mug down on the table. “Now this Whitehead chap.”
“Oh the owner of the Jaguar?”
He gave me a funny look. “Y-e-e-s,” he said exaggeratedly, “Is there another I might have missed.”
“Probably, but they didn’t leave their Jaguar’s here.”
“Convenient, wasn’t it?”
“I can get it removed, if you like.”
“So he lives round here does he?”
“Not round here, but not too far away, I think. You know what I’m like with geography.”
“Yeah, Disney world and Disney land.”
“There are two?” This was news to me, mind you I had no intention of ever going to either if I could help it, so what did it matter?
“Three, there’s a place near Paris and I suspect probably another somewhere in Asia, or in planning.”
“Gross,” I said sipping my tea.
“It takes all sorts, it’s not everybody’s cup of tea to watch the Tour de France.”
“It’s not?” I pretended to sound surprised if not shocked.
“Very funny–now this Whitehead bod, how does he know my wife and should I be concerned? I mean could he be giving her one while I’m in work?”
“Giving me one what?”
He rolled his eyes, “Jeez, Cathy, if you get anymore naive I’ll have to get a grownup to go with you on the school run.”
“I have Trish.” I pretended to be offended.
“It’s hardly the same, after all Einstein couldn’t do up his own shoes, could he?”
“I have no idea, Newton managed to run the Royal Mint while also researching umpteen areas including alchemy and magick.”
“Magic? He did card tricks did he?”
“No but I believe he taught himself Hebrew so he could translate some esoteric documents in Jewish mysticism.”
“Clever dick,” Simon dismissed one of the cleverest of all scientists in one phrase. What would he say about Mozart? ‘Good on keyboards?’
“Mummy, I’ve got a tummy ache,” Livvie walked into the kitchen looking quite pasty and holding her stomach.
“Okay, darling, do you feel sick?” And before I could do anything, she nodded and threw up on the kitchen floor.
Simon jumped up and legged it to the door, “No point in both of us dealing with this, I’ll get out from under your feet.” With that he was gone so quickly, I’m surprised they didn’t get a sonic boom over Gosport.
“I’m sorry, Mummy,” she said and threw up another lot, shaking as she did so.
“That’s okay, darling, come and sit down.” I led her to the chair Simon had been occupying until discretion got the better part of valour, or should that be velour? She sat shivering on the chair and I grabbed my cardigan and wrapped it round her.
I gave her a glass of water, which she sipped while I cleaned up the mess. Why does it always go under the fridge? I had difficulty holding on to my own dinner during the cleanup, the smell always gets to me.
Stella came in and smelling sick, went straight out again. “Whit’s that smell?” asked Tom watching me cleaning up.
“I was sick, Grandpa.”
“Och, d’ye feel ony better thae noo?”
“A bit, thank you, Gramps.”
“This wasn’t my cooking,” I called at his back.
“Aye, I believe ye,” he called back.
After I’d finished, I checked Livvie for other symptoms and signs like rashes or temperature. She had none. In fact she seemed cold, so I wrapped her in the travel blanket I keep in the dining room, behind the sofa. Then I sat her on my lap and she nodded off to sleep a few minutes later.
Simon poked his head round the door, “She alright?”
“Yes,” I wanted to add, no thanks to you, but refrained. “Can you check on the others?”
“Check ’em for what?”
“See if they feel sick or have been sick.”
“You’re better at this sort of thing than I am, why don’t you go?”
“Because I’m nursing this one, now please go and check–it’s not life threatening.”
“All right, all right, the things I have to do for a little peace and quiet,” he muttered as he went up the stairs. A very short time later, “Nah, they’re okay, I’m off to bed–seeing as some of us have to work in the morning.”
“It’s Saturday tomorrow, Simon–remember the most arduous thing you had planned was watching the rugby.”
“Of course–hope the Welsh stick it to the frogs. Night,” he said and he was gone.
I sat with Livvie a little longer–I fell asleep with her cwtched into me, waking at two in the morning. I staggered up the stairs carrying her and tucked her into her bed. The others seemed okay, thank goodness, all I needed was some mini epidemic of sickness with or without diarrhoea.
I cleaned my teeth and slipped into bed, Simon was well away, snoring like a pig. I lay there for ages worrying about the children before sleep finally got me.
The next morning, the sitting room was off limits except to serious rugby fans. I’d quite liked to have watched it but I had too many things to do. So far so good, no one else has been sick.
Two hours later, Simon stormed into the kitchen, “Bloody Irish idiot, fancy sending Warburton off for that–can you believe it?”
“Believe what, darling?”
“Wales lost to those neanderthals in blue jerseys because the frigging ref sent off their captain after seventeen minutes. The Taffs nearly pulled it off, scored the only try and lost by just one point. The Kiwis loved ’em.”
“So that’s it, France are the champions?” I asked.
“No way, the way they played today, a New Zealand second fifteen could take ’em.”
“So how come Wales couldn’t?” It seemed a reasonable question to me.
“I just told you, they lost their captain, a key player and one of the best flankers around.”
“Yeah, which means?”
“The frogs had a natural overlap.”
“So?”
“Cathy, if women had been meant to play rugger, they’d have had brains big enough to understand it. I’m going down the garden, chop some wood–pretend each block is a certain Irish referee.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1500
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While Simon was out in the garden, the post arrived. These days it’s all over the place and can be delivered any time between breakfast and tea. Most of it was addressed to either Tom or Simon, one was for Julie and the other was for me.
It didn’t look like a circular which is what I usually get, and the envelope was addressed by hand. Then I looked at it again, it was addressed to Miss C Watts. Now I was really puzzled, I mean, I’ve been Mrs Cameron for like yonks, so who hasn’t caught up with that? Probably some bridal shop mail-shotting every unmarried woman in Portsmouth.
I looked at the writing, it looked female, slightly sloping back and the loops were quite large, in fact the writing was–so a bit juvenile too. Compared to my forward sloping micrographia–I can read it so where’s the problem–those who can’t probably need an appointment with an optician.
Given that I’ve had nasty letters in the past, I opened the envelope with a sharp kitchen knife and shook out the contents, it was a handwritten letter in blue ink, and the script matched the envelope. I opened up the letter with the knife and a wooden spoon–it was to hand–trying not to touch the paper until I knew it wouldn’t need to go to the police. I flipped it over and there was a signature. I downed my implements and picked up the letter, reading it through quickly–according to Donna Leon, in one of her Brunetti whodunits, Italians can’t read very quickly. I obviously had no Italian in me.
I put the letter down and made myself a cup of coffee–I wanted something different to tea–just for a change, then I carried the letter through to my study, sat myself down and read it again, twice.
I drank the coffee slowly, partly because it was hot and partly because I wasn’t sure what I made of the missive I’d just received. I picked up the note again, the lavender coloured paper would not be my first choice, especially when enclosed in a brown envelope.
‘Dear Miss Watts,
I believe that’s the correct form of address for you now. I heard bits and pieces about you on the local radio and once on television. I knew you as a boy, and everyone, except possibly me, thought you were gay.
I remember the Lady Macbeth episode, you seemed to come alive in a skirt or dress, so I knew you were really a girl–and for a schoolgirl, you were quite an actress. But then people with gender problems are good actors aren’t they? Pretending to be one thing when they know they’re the other–then if they realise their dream–they have to pretend they were always this way, inventing memories of girlhoods they never had, of periods they’d give their right arms for and so on.
I remember you with your long hair half way down your back and the trouble it caused you with the school and I believe your parents too. I was sorry to discover they’d both died and you’d moved to Portsmouth–your neighbour in Bristol gave me your address.
So why have I sought you out and how did I know you were a really a girl? The answer is obvious, I’m following in your footsteps. You probably won’t remember me, a scrawny kid two years younger than you, but I worshipped you from afar. I wished I could have grown my hair and worn a girl’s uniform, even for a month like you did. You were my heroine, and I suppose in some ways you still are.
I saw you were living with some bloke when you were outted, I hope he knew beforehand, knowing you, I expect he did, when I saw you on the BBC Bristol news saying what you’d done and were planning to do, I was gobsmacked. You had the guts to face the media and tell your story–I suspect because someone else was going to do an exposé but it was still a brave thing for you to do.
I’m living as a girl now, or should that be woman? Not really, I live on my own, my parents disowned me, and I can’t get work for love nor money and until I can get a job, the NHS won’t give me the surgery. So I tend to get depressed–I’m sure you know what I mean.
I have no friends, just one or two people from our local TG support group, and they seem to be as useless as I am. Now, the point of my writing to you. You seem to have dealt with most of the issues including having a boyfriend and I’d just like to talk with someone who seems to have made it, because from where I’m standing, it seems a long uphill and lonely struggle and to be honest, I wonder if I’m going to make it.
I’m sorry to burden you, because I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than have your ear bent by a loser like me–but just a few words from someone who seemed destined to be successful in becoming a woman would help me no end.
At the moment, the only good thing I have going is sometimes babysitting my landlady’s little girl. It’s about the only normal thing I do except watch telly and walk. Walking’s supposed to be good to help stave off depression, so I do a lot of it.
I doubt you remember me, I was John Voyce, now Caroline. If you have a few moments to spare me, I’d be really grateful. Sorry if I’ve rambled.
Your ex-schoolfriend,
Caroline Voyce.’
Simon came in having worked up sweat with the axe, he wanted a drink. I offered him coffee but he wanted something cold. I got him an orange squash.
“I’ve just had a letter from someone who was in school at the same time I was at Bristol Grammar.”
He looked intently at me, “Do you know them?”
“I’m not sure. I have a vague memory of them.”
“What d’they want?”
“They claim to be transsexual and would just like to talk.”
“Why do they want to talk now?”
“I get the impression they’re desperate.” I showed him the letter.
“They sound desperate, what do you propose to do about it? Ignore it?”
“I’m not sure what to do, they give a phone number, I thought I’d give them a call.”
“To do what?”
“Not sure, I could pop up to Bristol, check out the house and possibly see them.”
“If you do be careful, you don’t know them or if they’re genuine. If you do arrange to meet them, do it somewhere public.”
“I was–if they sound genuine on the phone. I can’t leave it there without at least talking to them, can I?”
“Why not? I don’t hear you saying they supported you, so why should you help them? Haven’t you got enough gender issues with Trish, Billie and Julie, not to mention Maureen.”
“Shouldn’t the strong support the weak?”
“Possibly, but what you don’t want is a lame duck. For all you know she looks like a cross between a sumo wrestler and a gorilla.” He snorted at his own joke and even I had to smirk. “Could be why no one will employ her.”
“Could be. Talking of sumo wrestlers,” I prodded his belly, “You’re headed that way yourself.”
“What? I am not, I’m just cuddly.”
“Yeah, in the same way a killer whale is cuddly.”
“So, we make a nice pod together.” At my astonishment that he knew anything about wild animals at all, he poked out his tongue. “See, you’re not the only who knows about wildlife.”
“I’m impressed. Now go catch a sea lion while I call this person.”
“Sea lion? They eat fish don’t they?”
“They eat whatever they can get their gobs around, including sea lions.”
“You should be on telly,” he said and ran off before I could thump him.
I shut the study door, and dialled the number on the letter. We’re an unlisted number so I was happy calling from home.
“’Ello,” said a sort of indeterminate voice, neither male nor female, but it had a Bristolian accent–something I haven’t missed.
“Could I speak to Caroline?”
“Who’s calling?”
“My name is Cathy.”
“Is that, Cathy Watts?”
“I used to be.”
“You ’aven’t reverted, ’ave you?”
“No, I got married.”
“Crikey–to that bloke you were on telly with?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations–I can’t see anyone wanting to marry me.” A vision of Simon’s joke flashed through my mind.
“I didn’t think anyone would want me either.”
“So you changed your birth certificate and all that?”
“Yeah, and got married.”
“You were so girlish even as a boy, you’re not intersex are you?”
“Not as far as I know."
"‘Cos you looked so female in that uniform–d’you remember?”
“That was partly because my friend Sián helped me, she was at the girl’s school.”
“Well I’ve got a sister and she didn’t want to know–said I was a pervert or a freak, lots of women have problems accepting us.”
“I suppose the closer you are to the problem the harder it is sometime to see the issues clearly, emotions get in the way. My dad had problems with it until my mum died and he had a stroke–then he needed me and he changed his opinion. When he was dying, he waited for me to get there before he let go and he was asking for me in my new role.”
“You were lucky, my dad threw me out–the only reason I got this place was because the shrink I was seeing and the social decided I was a vulnerable adult. Mind you, I was lucky there, my landlady’s a real treasure and I sometimes get to babysit little Poppy–she’s a real darlin’.”
“Mummy, what’s for lunch?” Livvie was standing at my elbow.
“Ask Jenny to make something will you, darling? I’ll be along presently–there’s cold meat in the fridge and salad stuff.”
“Okay, Mummy.” She ran off to find Jenny.
“Sorry about that.”
“Did she call you, Mummy?”
“Yeah, she’s one of my adopted kids.”
“You’ve adopted children?”
“Yes, I have one boy and six girls.”
“Blimey, how did you manage that?”
“With some difficulty and a helpful judge.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s unusual and I accept I’ve been very lucky, although it does tend to make my life rather busy. One of them was sick last night–guess who got to nurse her half the night?”
“Yeah, but if some kid called me mummy, I’d die happy.”
“I actually felt uncomfortable with it at first, but they all persisted, even the seventeen year old.”
“You’ve got one of seventeen, but you’re only what twenty seven?”
“Yeah, but I was teaching students that age, so it seemed okay, and she likes it.”
“Geez, I wish you’d been my mother.”
“I think that might have been verging on absurdity, if you’re only two years younger than I.”
“Yeah, but that’s the sort of luck I get.”
“I’m not sure if I believe in luck, sometimes we have to trust to life and ourselves.”
“Yeah, ’cept so far, life hasn’t been too helpful.”
“Don’t give up, or you’ll have wasted all this pain for nothing?”
“I get so lonely.”
“I’ve done that one, it isn’t nice but I came through it and now finding a few minutes to myself is the difficult thing.”
“Well thanks for calling, I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could meet, is there–p’raps you could come and talk to our group.”
“About what?” I somehow thought dormice would be inappropriate for that lot.
“You know, how you made it–I’m sure it would inspire the others–I know it would me.”
“Where and when d’you meet?”
“If you let me know when you’re available, we can borrow a room at Mind.”
“Is tomorrow too short notice?”
“No, I’m sure I could get a few of our lot there.”
“Tomorrow afternoon then, where is the Mind place?”
“Gloucester Road, near the cricket ground.”
“Okay, I think I can find it.”
“Well you got my mobile number if you’re lost, gimme a ring, what time two or three?”
“Say, two and you can access this room and call one or two of your group?”
“They’ll all be there–I hope–especially if you can tell ’em how you got to be a foster mother. Some of ’em are doin’ alright but nothin’ like that. It’ll be great to see you again–though I suppose you don’t remember me, do you?”
“Not sure, skinny kid with ginger hair, was that you?”
“You do remember.”
“Sort of, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“That’s made my day, thanks for calling.” She rang off and I was left wondering if I’d done the right thing. I wondered if Julie was available for a ride tomorrow?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1501
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The next morning found Julie and me driving to Bristol. She did offer to drive–my Jaguar–no chance, but nice try. I’d packed us some food which we could prepare at my parent’s house, and we’d have time to check round the place, even mow the lawn if it was necessary–although I do pay someone to look after the house and do the garden, so it looks lived in. I couldn’t bear the idea of someone living in my parent’s house, so even though I had initially offered it to the Soames when their house caught fire, they never took up my offer–which upon reflection, I was glad about.
“So what’s this group about then?”
“They’re a tg group, that’s all I know.”
“So what can we like, expect?”
“I have no idea, probably a mixture of folk–some cross-dressers, some transsexuals, some who are exploring ideas to find their own level.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what it means either, but it sounded like a good idea when it popped into my brain.”
She snorted and smirked, and I chuckled too. “What are we gonna, like say to them?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why did you ask me to bring my hairdressing kit?”
“If it gets boring, you can help one or two with their hair or wigs.”
“Oh.”
“You have a problem with that idea?”
“Yeah, I usually work for money, I leave the charity stuff to you and Dad.”
“If you do do anyone’s hair or hair piece, I shall see your time does not go unrewarded.”
“We have a lady who comes to the salon, she wears a wig–she’s as bald as a coot, no eyebrows either.”
“Alopecia,” I offered.
“Bless you,” she said and sniggered.
“I’m glad you feel happy...”
“Yeah, but Snow White doesn’t like it.”
“Snow White? Sometimes you leave me standing with your associations. Good job you don’t have psychoanalysis, they do things like word association. A few minutes with you and they’d be as crazy as you are.”
“Huh? You said about feeling Happy, I just thought Snow White wouldn't like me feeling Happy.”
“Surely she wouldn’t want to see you unhappy?”
“M-u-m, Happy is one of the seven dwarfs.”
“Yes, but which one is happy, and are the others unhappy? If so why?”
“Probably because they took a long car journey with a smart arse like my mother.”
I smirked.
“What’s for lunch?”
“I brought us some salad stuff and cold meat, with some home made rolls.”
“Did you bring something to drink?”
“Some milk and tea bags.”
“Nothing cold?”
“No, but there should be some cans of cola or something else in the cupboard or the fridge.”
“Aren’t you supposed to switch the fridge off and leave the doors open?”
“I did, so they’ll be in the cupboard.”
“What will?”
The seven dwarfs, why?”
“Can we stop to get some cans then?”
“Okay, but you drink too much fizzy rubbish, it doesn’t do you any good, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah–I’m not going to live forever, anyway.”
“No but being a great big lump with no teeth and diabetes is hardly a turn on for most people.”
“But I need the caffeine.”
“If you need caffeine, you have a problem.”
“No I was up till about three watchin’ this like crazy film.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Okay already, I just think a can of Dr Peppers will sort me out.”
“A twenty minute power nap might do you more good.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She paused, “Are we gonna tell ’em we’re like real or what?”
“Real what? Real transsexuals?”
“You’re female now, anyway.”
“I can introduce you as my adopted daughter Julie, who’s training to be a hairstylist–that suit you?”
“Ummm–“ she shrugged her shoulders.
“Look, if it embarrasses you, no one needs to know.”
“I dunno if I want ’em to know I’m adopted.”
“Okay, I’ll introduce you as Julie, my daughter–let them sort it out except I suspect I mentioned it to Caroline, already.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Sorry, it was what they call unwitting disclosure.”
“Which is...?”
“Not being aware I was telling her something that could embarrass one or both of us at a future date. I could just introduce you as Julie, but then they’ll wonder if you’re a tranny too, or why you’ve come.”
“To advise them on hair and makeup.”
“If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll have.”
“Yeah, it’s what I want but I expect I’ll call you Mummy or some of that witless disclosure thing.”
“Unwitting disclosure, darling.”
“For you maybe, for me it’ll be witless–it’s Trish you shoulda brought.”
“I want to encourage or inspire them not frighten them to death.”
“Yeah, megabrain can be kinda scary.”
I pulled up outside a shop, “Go on hurry and get your jungle juice.” She ran into the shop and emerged with a clanking carrier bag which she put in the boot.
“What’s in the case?” she asked on returning to the car, “You’re not changing are you?”
“Yeah, I’ll be checking round the house–I’m not going to get all dirty and then wear the same things to speak to this group. I want to make a good impression.”
“Yeah, marry a banker and buy designer gear.”
“I notice you’re wearing some expensive clobber yourself.”
“Yeah, well I’m a successful stylist.” We chuckled about that all the way to the house.
The house was spotless and the garden in good order. We had a cuppa–or I did, Julie opened a can of Dr Pepper and sank it. She wandered about in the garden in the sunshine while I sat and did the Observer crossword all except one clue which annoyed me.
I made up the lunch, which took all of ten minutes and we ate it out in the garden. For mid October, the weather was remarkable, hardly any wind–perfect cycling weather and here am I trying to knock down the butterflies in my tummy by dropping food on them.
I changed into a summer dress–not an expensive one, I bought it in Marks and Spencer. It’s a green background and red and blue flowers over it; with a fitted waist, capped sleeves and a scooped neck. The skirt part is A line, so I suppose it fits my large backside reasonably well.
Julie changed too, she had on a light coloured vest top which just covered her bum, a pair of black footless tights, and a shirt over the top. I noticed when she walked the vest top exaggerated the movement of her bum–she looked very female. The hormones have been kind to her and must have caught her at just the right time before her pelvis completely fused because she has quite a nice shape, slim but with sufficient curves to make her look natural.
The traffic in Bristol was relatively light and we found the charity’s offices and parked on the road outside. The door was locked–wonderful. Then I spotted a doorbell and pressed it. We waited and by now we’d been there several minutes. Still no answer.
Julie looked at me and put her bag of hairdressing stuff down on the pavement. “It’s not a wind up, is it? I mean I’ve given up my bloody Sunday for this lot, the least they could do is open the bloody door.”
“I’ve got a phone number, hang on.” I fished out my Blackberry and dialled Caroline’s number.
“Are you lost?” she asked as she answered.
“No, we’re outside and have been for ages.”
“Oh, sorry, didn’t I tell you to come round the back.”
“No you didn’t.” I was feeling a bit cross now.
“Stay there I’ll come and get you.”
“She’s coming to get us,” I said to Julie.
“’Bout bloody time,” she sighed and looked at her watch–it was after two.
We stood around waiting for the door to open, when a red headed person came trotting round to us. “Cathy–wow, you look wonderful and who’s this?”
“This is Julie who’s come to help with hairdressing if anyone wants advice.”
“Hi, Julie, I’m Caroline–where are you parked?”
“There,” I pointed to my car.
“Wow, a white Jag, you could park it round the back.” So that’s what we did, all got in the car, and I was led to the car park and from there I could see a back entrance which doubled as a fire exit.
I locked the car and we followed Caroline into the building. Inside there were half a dozen people seated in a semi circle facing a table. I began to wonder if I’d done the right thing and especially so in bringing Julie.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1502
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“Hi everybody, glad those of you got my message were able to get here. I’d like to introduce Cathy, someone I went to school with, here in Bristol.” I watched Caroline as she addressed the group. She had put on some weight, well, hormones do that to you sometimes. She was still ginger haired, although that was darker than I remembered it. Back in school she was called Carrot top.
Facially, she wasn’t too bad, though some instruction in cosmetics and a good hairdresser would help her presentation and she lumbered about the place like a chimp in diving boots. If you wear heels best make sure you can walk in them before stepping out the door.
I glanced at the group. Two were wearing female clothes, two were dressed as men and two were possibly practising scarecrows. All of them looked like refugees from Oxfam and even those dressed as men had no coordination of wardrobe or colours.
They all needed help, possibly financially as well in basic presentation. Now was not the time to try and explain that living the dream and doing well was possible — claim forms for extra benefits might have been more useful.
“I first really saw Cathy when she played Lady Macbeth in the school play...” Caroline continued and I decided to interrupt her.
“Thanks, Caroline, I think they’ve listened to my CV long enough. Hi, I’m Cathy, and this is Julie and we’ve come to help try and advise you on presentation skills.”
“That’s okay for you. You’re both women, but we’re a different shape, so how are you going to be able to help there?” asked one of the group dressed in boy mode. I noticed Caroline was going to correct him, but my eye contact with her made her drop it.
“Women come in all shapes and sizes, as do men. If you wanted to impress as men, you’d dress smartly, hold your tummies in and shoulders back. The way you hold yourself would tend to convey that you were male and your status might be determined by your gesture and attitude as well as the cut of your clothes.
“Some of that applies to women as well. We throw our shoulders back because it pushes your chest out,” I demonstrated. “Emphasising one of our secondary sexual characteristics–female breasts.”
“Yeah, so you’ve got a nice pair, I haven’t.” The man was trying to negate anything I was saying. He had me down as someone who pitied him–I don’t know about pity, I was feeling rather more antipathy.
Okay, you could see my cleavage and despite the bra I was wearing they did move about a little, especially when I walked–not helped by my wearing heels.
“First impressions are paramount, people take on board what you are within a second of seeing you. If you look odd or strange they’ll take a longer look, and then things are going to go from bad to worse.
“So you need to look presentable for that first impression. Wear clothes that enhance your good points and disguise your bad ones. A fitted jacket with a flared hem can suggest more of a waistline and bigger hips than most male bodies have–but you need to be careful they don’t emphasise the shoulders.
“Tight skirts will possibly show small hips and bigger waists, so be aware of those when you’re wearing close fitting clothes. Avoid horizontal stripes they make you look wider and big patterns can also sometimes make you look broader.
“High heels are fine, providing you’re not already very tall, and you can walk proficiently in them. Avoid things that make you stand out unless you are confident in being able to pass scrutiny–if you’re six foot four and wearing five inch heels, you’ll bash your head on the top of the doorframe. You’ll also stand out like a sore thumb.”
Questions of a more constructive vein began to emerge and before long we were having quite a useful conversation. Someone asked about hair and makeup, and Julie offered to show them, which had them all enjoying her skills and the man who’d been awkward with me, had his eyes glued to her chest or her shapely bum.
One of those dressed as female, asked about coordinating a wardrobe and with some help from Caroline’s laptop, we were able to call up a few online shops and look at what sort of things were available and how to put a basic wardrobe together–including obvious things like colour themes, needs of workplace, social needs and so on.
Tea was made and together with chocolate biscuits we continued offering opinions for over two hours. At the end, the vote of thanks left us in no doubt that the group had thought we were biological females. They all left except Caroline, who was a little put out.
“Why wouldn’t you let me tell them that you were transgendered?”
“So I could completely disenchant them?”
“No, so you could inspire them to greater things.”
“I can’t tell them how to find and marry a wealthy man or get a good job. I wouldn’t dare advise them on designer labels because some of those are very attention seeking clothes and we both know you need to fade into the background much of the time.”
“But you have a good job don’t you?”
“I’m relatively lucky, I have a sympathetic employer who supported my changeover, in fact they encouraged it. They were also obliged by policies and the law not to discriminate–not everyone else is so lucky, especially in these straitened times. Let’s face it, if you have to lose staff to keep a business afloat, most employers are likely to retain their best staff and lose the rest including those who make things awkward for them, like full time trannies.”
“You think that’s acceptable, do you?”
“No, I didn’t say that, but we tend to be easy targets because what we’ve done makes us stand out in the crowd. It’s still relatively unusual despite the stories every week in the tabloids. We still cross quite a few boundaries of conservative types and they don’t feel comfortable–which I know is their problem–but it becomes yours if the conservative type is your boss.”
We talked as we washed cups and cleared up the room. Julie was quite happy, she’d done two makeovers and her victims, I mean clients, were really happy. “Why don’t we go for something to eat?” I suggested.
“It’s a bit early for most restaurants,” replied Caroline.
“Isn’t there a Wetherspoons near here?” I asked. This is a national chain of pubs which also do food–it’s not cordon bleu, but it’s okay and hopefully at this time we’d have some relative privacy. It transpired there was one about a hundred yards away. Caroline locked up and we walked to the pub which was open and still serving food.
“You look absolutely terrific, Cathy. Mind you, you always did.” Caroline was most generous with her compliments. “Compared to me.”
“Waddya think?” I said to Julie.
“I’ll have a mixed grill, please, Mummy.”
“No not about the menu, but about Caroline?” I watched her squirm as I spoke to Julie.
“Good potential,” she replied.
“That’s what I thought, if we could get you to a decent hairdresser and get a good cut done, lose the split ends, a nice outfit–preferably separates, with a fitted jacket or a long cardi.”
“Yeah, in something like a rust colour or even a nice shade of green.”
“I was thinking a pattern with coppers and beiges in it perhaps some green as well.”
“They had something like that in New Look the other week, Mummy.”
“Why are you calling her, Mummy?” Caroline asked Julie.
“She’s my adopted mum–okay?”
“Fine, except she can’t be more than ten years older than you.”
“Does that matter?” I asked, “Julie needed a parental figure and I was available.” Caroline shrugged.
We ordered food and I paid for it. It was eatable and for the cost, very reasonable.
“What are your job prospects?” I asked Caroline.
“In this climate, zilch to minus ten, why you got a vacancy?”
“I might have, but I’d need you to work on your presentation skills and we’d have to do a CRB check.”
“What? Are you serious?” she spluttered over her roast beef.
“No I always torment people like this.”
“Don’t take any notice of Mum, she’s a real tease.” Julie interjected.
“You have a job vacancy–really?”
“Yes I do–it’s nothing glamorous–it’s only as a helper in the house. I have one, but with seven kids plus my sister in law’s two young ones, it gets a trifle busy. There’s loads of laundry and housework, taking or collecting the kids from school at times and doing anything else I ask you to do.”
“Sort of housekeeper nursery maid?”
“Yeah, general slave work,” I smirked.
“When do I start?”
“I need to do the CRB check first. Sorry, but it is my children we’re talking about. I suppose as well I’d need for you to meet Stella, my sister in law and Jenny, my existing helper. It might be nice to meet the kids too, and Simon and Tom. We’re quite a little community.”
“You’re not just being nice, are you?”
“No, I have a genuine vacancy. If you accept and everyone is happy, once the CRB is done you could start. Meanwhile I need you to be more presentable, so we’ll take you out for a little shopping trip and visit to the salon. You’ll also need to work on your voice.”
“That’s amazing, what sort of salary are you offering?” asked Caroline.
“Nothing special, but you’d live in rent free and eat with us if you’re home. I would also hope to make it possible to enable you to study to get a job or academic qualification while you’re with us, so if you fancy training for something.”
“I’d love to be a nursery nurse.”
“I’m sure they do training for that somewhere in Portsmouth, so it could be possible.”
“Who’s going to run your group if you come to us?” Julie showed she was listening.
“It’s about time someone else did something to help, so that’s up to them.”
“Okay, we’ll set up a visit to the menagerie for next week or so.” I suggested and Caroline agreed.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1503
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On returning home, I mentioned to Simon that I might have found a new helper. I explained to him who it was, his expression changed. “Look, I don’t wish to sound prejudiced in anyway, but how many more of these gender benders are we going to have here?”
“You have a problem with that?”
“No, but with thirty odd million women in this country, how come none of them want to work here?”
“How do I know, I’ve advertised and even asked a recruitment agency to find someone, and so far they haven’t. Caroline needs a job and we need a pair of hands. Assuming that she doesn’t have a criminal record, I see no reason not to employ her.”
He was counting on his fingers. “Okay, there’s me, Julie, Trish, Billie, Maureen–can’t think of anyone else,” I said before he responded.
“You–you’re real as far as I’m concerned, so is Trish and Julie. Billie–she’s getting there. Maureen is an outsider, who I like very much but she’s not living here. This Caroline person will be and there will be more transgender women than biological ones–doesn’t that feel odd to you?”
“When you put it like that, yes, though counting the babies changes the balance a little. I just thought it would help her to grow in a safe environment for a year or two and then she’d probably be ready to move on anyway.”
“You can’t save the whole world, Cathy–least not on your own. It isn’t your responsibility to save all these other people either–the world is tough, they’ll find that out one way or another whether you help them or not.”
“I know that, but giving someone a chance to grow in a safe environment gives them a chance to be better able to deal with the outside world.”
“My wife. the Good Samaritan.”
“Sorry, darling, but I can’t help it. If I see a problem that I can help with, I tend to do so. You did the same for me.”
“No I didn’t, you were able to look after yourself.”
“What about the night you saved me from those ruffians at the bedsits?”
“Well, there were two of them, and if I recall, you dealt with one yourself anyway. If anything, you tend to protect me these days.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Look, we’ll have a look at this Caroline person...”
“Can’t she be; this Caroline woman, rather than person?”
“Okay, that was a bit insensitive of me–Stella needs to agree to her, and I’d like to get Jenny’s take as well.”
“I’m more interested in what Trish will make of her,” I smiled at him.
“Trish? Why Trish?”
“Because she sees right through people and tells you what she sees without complication. If she doesn’t like what she sees, she says so.”
“She is sharp, I’ll give you that–but she’s only seven, for God’s sake.”
“Si, she is physically only seven, but so far, is the best case for reincarnation I’ve ever met.”
“Reincarnation of who?” he asked looking bemused.
“Well it wasn’t Marilyn Monroe, although she was brighter than she made out, except in acting. I was thinking, Einstein–or rather hoping him rather than bloody Newton, he was at least autistic at worst a sociopath.”
“Sociopath polymath–sounds good, surprised some pop group haven’t used it yet.”
“Si, do you honestly think Isaac Newton would be a suitable subject for a pop song?”
“Why not? They’ve done James Dean, Elvis, Rasputin, Marilyn Monroe...”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me, don’t mention that to Trish either, I don’t want her making Elton John feel threatened.”
Simon sniggered, obviously thinking through the scenario I’d just suggested. “Don’t want her involved in the music business, it makes banking look squeaky clean.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, they’re all thieves and rogues–plagiarising each other–bad as journalists.”
“I thought that only applied to Pulitzer prize winners.”
“Yeah, but they rumbled him didn’t they, and he had to give the prize back.”
“Okay, so we’ve got Trish’s path plotted have we? Nobel prize for each of the sciences in consecutive years, and the other lot of the brood can collectively take the peace prize?”
“Peace prize?”
“Yeah, distracting Einstein from starting World War three.”
“Oh c’mon, Trish isn’t that bad.”
“Isn’t she? So you don’t think she’d start WWIII just to see if she could?”
“Not unless someone provoked her. She’s actually quite kindly in her own way.”
“You mean she’d kill you before using you for vivisection.”
“That would be dissection, vivisection means chopping up while still alive.”
“Ugh–that makes me want to throw up. Can’t understand why you do biology, chopping up all those little animals.”
“Si, when did I last chop up an animal?”
“Yesterday, for dinner.”
“Very funny,” I said sarcastically as he sniggered at his own joke. “You know I hated killing things just to identify them or dissect them.” These days, my biology was reduced to watching, weighing, counting, recording or making films about things, not dissection, which I personally disliked.
He snorted and chuckled even more. “You are so predictable, Cathy.”
I shook my head and after pecking him on the cheek went up to bed. We talked and cuddled for a while but I was quite tired and nodded off to sleep.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Transgender Villa, the house where most of the inhabitants are changelings–not fairie folk, just fairies. The fact that all the women here were men, makes it the highest concentration of sex-change weirdos in Portsmouth, possibly making Portsmouth the sex-change capital of Europe.’
I watched in horror as the television cameras bore down upon my home. Some had come from long distance, bearing names like Fox News, which filled me with dread. How did they find out? We only had twenty five trannies living and working here during the week and thirty at weekends. Is that so terrible? They had to live somewhere, and since the Camerons went and Tom retired to a retirement home, I had extra room.
I’m sitting in the bath when a video-camera points in through the open window. ‘Smile you’re on TV, or should that be TS, Charlie?’ I threw my rubber duck at him but he just laughs at me. ‘If you had someone called Martin living here, you could call it, Sex change and mart.’ He laughed horribly and I flung my shampoo at him. I missed of course because it was such a girly throw.
‘Simon left because he wouldn’t get a sex change is that right?’
‘No,’ I shouted and he climbed in the window and tried to grab me. ‘Get off me you bastard,’ I shouted and tried to fight him off.
“Cathy, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.”
“Leave me alone, leave me alone,” I shrieked and woke myself up. I had my hand in Simon’s face and was trying to pull out his eyeballs while he was trying to stop me falling out of bed.
“Ouch, ouch,” he was saying quietly to himself as I left nail marks in his cheek. Suddenly I realised where I was–it was a dream. Then I saw the blood on his face and realised it was scratch marks–no wonder he left me in the dream–I was horrible, really horrible.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1504
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Despite being seriously wounded, Simon clasped my sobbing body to him and hugged me. He held me tightly and eventually I calmed down enough to speak. “I’m sorry,” I managed to say before more tears overcame me and became emotionally aphasic again.
“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe with me, alright.” He gave me a little squeeze to show I was protected by him and I nodded but kept crying, as much upset by my attempt to blind him as the dream, which now seemed ridiculous.
I calmed down again and he asked me if I was okay, I nodded my response. “Bad dream?”
“Yes, some man was attacking me while I was in the bath.” I shuddered as I spoke.
“I hope it wasn’t me?” he replied.
“No, of course not–I’m sorry, I scrammed you.”
“Okay, apology accepted, if you’re okay, I suppose I’d better see the damage.” He hugged me then got out of bed and went into the bathroom. I followed behind, blushing with shame. How could I do such a thing–it’s like hurting one of the children–I could never do that consciously.
He was bathing his face with cold water on his flannel. I apologised again, saying I didn’t mean it. He looked at me in the mirror, “God, I’d hate to think what you could do if you did mean it.” I blushed even deeper red.
He finally allowed me to dress his wound with some antiseptic cream and a plaster. I was wide awake and felt I wanted a cup of tea. I mentioned this to Si and he agreed he could drink one as well. We slipped down to the kitchen.
“Are you sure you’re okay with possibly having Caroline as a helper–if she’s suitable, of course?”
“Yeah, if you’re happy, then I am too.”
“You can be so sweet sometimes, Simon.”
“Sometimes? I beg your pardon, I’m sweet all the time.”
“Yes of course you are, my mistake. It’s just that sometimes you are extra sweet, to me at least.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I just wanted to acknowledge it.”
“Oh, okay.” I think I saw his chest puff out.
“You don’t have to like Caroline, if you don’t...”
“You’ll get very cross.”
“Eh?”
“If I don’t like her.”
“No, if you don’t like her we won’t employ her.”
“If she’s a friend of yours she’s probably perfect for the job.”
“She isn’t a friend exactly...”
“She isn’t an enemy, I hope.”
“No, she went to the same school as I did, so she was a vague acquaintance.”
“She’s younger than you then.”
“How d’you know that?”
“First, if she was older you’d have remembered from school. You don’t, so she must be younger. If you liked her, you’d know more about her.”
“Goodness, Sherlock, you astonish me.”
“So I was right then?”
“Um–no, but it was a good try.”
“Huh,” he said placing his cup noisily on the draining board. “I’m off to bed–you coming?”
It was now well after half past two and I was really tired as we got back into bed. “Is that what really happened in your dream?” Simon asked as he pulled the bed clothes back over him in our lukewarm bed.
“I told you, some strange bloke from the press tried to grab me when I was in the bath.”
“Weird,” he said and lay down to sleep. I didn’t want to dream it again, so I lay there and worried. I must curb my need to solve other people’s problems. I shouldn’t have as good as offered the job to Caroline. Simon is right to have reservations, we’re a household, not some sort of tranny reserve, where hunting is illegal.
I don’t deserve him, I felt as I drifted into a troubled sleep. When Trish woke me at half past seven, I felt like a zombie. I think I possibly acted like one, too. I lumbered round the house rather than my usual graceful gait–ha, you believed me, too. I’m about as graceful as a rhinoceros in a china shop.
While I was eating my slice of toast and drinking my tea, the radio mentioned some place in America where they had someone release a whole pile of wild animals which the local police shot. They shot eighteen Bengal tigers–one of the rarest of the big cats. Some local resident was saying he was glad they did it, because once they’d tasted human blood... What a total fucking idiot, pity the police didn’t shoot him, too.
Apparently the bloke who owned them, the animals not the police, let them loose, then shot himself. I’m glad he did that, because it saved me the trouble–why did he have all the animals in the first place? Why did the state allow him to collect them? Planet America is a strange place.
At lunch time, I heard Gaddafi had been killed and how everyone was celebrating. I felt very distant from them, anyone’s death is a tragedy, even the bloke who released the tigers. Sometimes I wonder if I’m on the wrong planet or something because I seem to be swimming in the opposite direction to everyone else. If that’s the case, then the law of majority tends to suggest I must be the one in the wrong. But then, I’ve always been a goat, not a sheep–an individual, not a follower.
“You seem very quiet today,” remarked Stella.
“Yeah, didn’t sleep very well.”
“So it’s just tiredness, then?”
“Probably, why?”
“I just wondered, that’s all.”
“C’mon, you usually have a reason for saying things like that.”
“No–okay, I could see you thinking about something which looked like it was a bit of a problem. At least your expression suggested you were struggling with a problem.”
“I was thinking about all those poor tigers in the States. They were all shot.”
“Yeah, bit sad, but at least they didn’t diminish the wild stock, did they?”
“I hope not–I just thought it was ridiculous that he was allowed to keep them like that without some sort of provision for disposing of them–like to zoos.”
“It’s done now, so it’s not worth worrying your pretty little head about–now, what’s the real problem?”
“Did I do the wrong thing in inviting Caroline to apply for the job here?”
“Ah, that’s much more like it.” She stared at me then said, “No, you didn’t do the wrong thing, I don’t mind if we have a man or a woman doing the job as long as they’re safe with the kids and can do the job.”
“I thought Simon felt as if I was setting up a tranny sanctuary.”
“You did that ages ago when you took on the children and then Maureen–so far your judgement has been very good, and I don’t think we’ll have to shoot any who escape.”
“Shoot any who escape? What are you on about?”
“Tigers–trannies–never mind.”
“That is a bit sick, Stella.”
“Yeah, okay. Hadn’t you better go and collect the girls, it’s three o’clock.”
“Oh no,” I jumped up and grabbed my bag and car keys.
“Cathy.”
“Not now, I’m late.”
“Cathy.”
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to wear shoes?” she said when I turned and faced her.
“Oh bugger,” I said as I looked down and saw my bare feet. What was happening to me?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1505
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“You know this new lady, Mummy?” said Trish’s voice from behind me.
“Which new lady is that, sweetheart?”
“The one who’s coming to mind us when you’re back at the university.”
“You mean, Caroline?”
“Is that her name?”
“Yes,”
“Do we get to interview her as well?”
“As well as what?”
“As well as you grown ups?”
As an idea, it hadn’t even entered my head, let alone what passes for a brain inside it. “Usually children don’t get to interview the home help.”
“But she’ll be looking after us, won’t she?”
“Partly, Jenny will be about much of the time and you didn’t interview her, did you?”
“No, but we were young and innocent then,” Trish continued in a rather calm way and I nearly ran into the back of the bus which had stopped in front of me. Young she might be, innocent possibly but she still runs rings round most of her elders, including me.
“We’re not doing formal interviews.”
“So how will people decide then?”
“Decide what?”
“To hire or fire her.”
“That’s my job, no one else's, so don’t start getting any smart ideas.”
“Mummy?”
“What now?”
“The bus has moved.”
I let in the clutch and felt undermined by a seven year old. Perhaps I needed assertiveness training? Or maybe just a holiday where I’m isolated from children with IQs in the thousands. She’ll keep on and keep on until she gets what she wants, so why do I try to prevent it? I might as well give in from the beginning and let her run the show–then I remember she is only seven, so that’ll have to wait until she’s ten at least.
“So do we get to interview her, Mummy?”
“No you jolly well don’t, and that’s an end to the matter. If you mention it again there will be consequences.”
“But she could be dangerous?”
“I doan wann someone who’s dange-awous,” Mima added to the noise going on in my head.
“Not half as dangerous as I am; now if you don’t button it, buster, you’ll find out why I’m deadlier than the male.”
“Is wetters dange-awous, Mummy?” Mima sounded quite frightened.
“Letters–dangerous? No of course not, why d’you think that?”
“You said you were deadwier than the post.”
“No, Meems, deadlier than the male, as in man or male creature, the usual line is the female is deadlier than the male. It applies to all sorts of insects and spiders who will kill the male, who is much smaller, when he tries to mate with her.”
“We were mating in school today,” beamed Trish.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We looked at how animals mate, did you know swans mate for life and so do albatrosses.”
“Do dohmooses mate for wife, Mummy?”
“I don’t think so, Meems, but I don’t have data to back that up–it would need lots of DNA studies to see if the same female mated with the same male over a period of time.”
“When I’m gwown up, I’m going to study dohmeeces wike Mummy does.”
Oh, that’s the first time I’d heard that particular gem.
“We watched a film of praying mantissas having sex, Mummy. It’s gross, she bites off his head while they’re doing it–sex that is–it’s true isn’t it, Mummy.”
“That’s siwwy.”
“Have you ever bitten off daddy’s head when you’re havin’ sex, Mummy?”
I managed to avoid the bus by inches.
Once we were back at home I gave them a piece of fruit and a drink sent them off to change into their play clothes and related my nightmare journey to Stella, who nearly wet herself. “Praying mantissas?” She laughed. “What is a mantissa?”
“Something in maths if I remember.”
“And she wants to interview, this Caroline?”
“Yes, so she said.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t interview you before she allowed you to adopt her.”
“She did go and see the judge, if you remember?”
“Oh God, so she did. I’d forgotten that.”
“You do when you’re old,” I said. She nodded her agreement, realised what I’d said and chased me round the kitchen.
Later the day was ended by making dinner, dealing with some of the mammal survey stuff–some bloke in Yorkshire reckoned he’d found dormice–he sent pictures–they were so unrealistic it was laughable. He’d stuck plastic mice on the door of his house and the adjacent bushes.
Simon agreed with the girls in principle over interviewing staff who’d be looking after them. I asked if customers interviewed bank staff? That would be telling, he replied. You can see where Trish gets it from.
Caroline was coming to the house to meet everyone anyway, so they’d have a chance to meet her and talk with her. I was sure if Trish had any reservations about her, she’d tell me–she’s usually pretty forthright.
Simon went rather quiet after that, unusually so. He also drank most of a bottle of wine, which he hadn’t done for a very long time. I wanted to know why, and if there was something I could do to help him, but he was asleep by the time I came out of the bathroom–almost as if he was avoiding me.
It was the next morning, the last day of school for a week for the children when I heard something on the radio. Simon had gone into work very early, which wasn’t how he’d been for some time–and I admit I enjoyed seeing more of him.
‘News is coming in that a major retail bank has possibly lost hundreds of millions of pounds which were loaned to Colonel Gaddafi two years ago. So far, no one from the bank concerned has been available to talk to us about this matter. The bank hasn’t been identified but we’ve noticed that High Street Bank plc shares have been trading at up to twenty per cent below their average yesterday.
And now for the weather...’
Oh bugger–surely it wasn’t them who lent money to that old buzzard in Libya–were the two stories the same or different ones? I’d have to see when I got home from the school run. I’d set the video to tape the rugby for him, though I saw later that Wales were beaten by three points, which would hardly cheer him up–apparently they lost the last two games because they couldn’t kick penalties–didn’t know David Beckham played rugby.
I was doing baked fish for dinner, so spent some of the afternoon flouring the fish, which was plaice, and putting it on trays in the slow oven. I did duchess potatoes to go with it and petit pois and baby carrots. I did a fresh baked rice pudding for dessert.
I got the girls as usual and gave them a biscuit and a drink–they’re always ravenous when they come home–and told them we’d wait until six for dinner, as Daddy would be home about then.
He still wasn’t home at half past six–well if his bank was in difficulty–he’d possibly be working late. I fed everyone but myself, I’d wait for Simon, surely he couldn’t be much longer?
At half past seven, I called his mobile and left a voice message.
At nine, I called Henry. Simon had left work at the usual time–he had no idea why he wasn’t home. I began to worry.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1506
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The children were in bed, Stella and I were sitting in the kitchen wondering where Simon was–wherever it was, he wasn’t answering his phone. I was now feeling very worried, it wasn’t like him. Surely, he hadn’t been kidnapped again, had he? A silly sort of Monty Python scenario came to my troubled mind.
Terry Jones in drag, “Where the ’ell ’ave you been–your dinner dried up three weeks ago?”
Graham Chapman, “Sorry, dear, just been kidnapped again.”
TJ: “You need to stop working in that bank.”
GC: “Yes, dear, you’ll have to go back on the game again.”
TJ: “Can’t do that, it gave me bunions last time–unless I can do it in slippers.”
GC: “Are those the ones I gave you for Christmas?”
TJ: “No, the cat ate them, I stole these ones from John Lewis.”
GC: “Didn’t know he took the same size as you.”
“Are you alright, Cathy?”
“I’ve got a pounding headache.”
“Why don’t you go and lie down, I’ll wait up here.”
“No, I’ll be okay–I keep getting this feeling that I’m high up and I can hear water.”
“High up? High up where?”
“I can hear the sea, that’s what it is–it’s the sea.”
“The sea? What’re you on about?”
“Oh my God–I know where he is?” I jumped up, grabbed my bag and a coat and dashed to the car.
“Cathy, where are you going?”
“I’ll ring you when I get there, if he comes back I’m wrong, call me will ya?” With that I jumped in the car and screamed out of the drive. Fortunately the roads are pretty quiet that time of night and I made good time to the motorway and headed east.
I kept thinking positive thoughts about how much I loved him and how the children were asking for him, and how worried we were. In return I felt this darkness but I could still hear the sea.
I don’t usually recommend speeding, but this car was quite happy to zip along at over a hundred miles an hour, although I found occasional cars pulling out in front of me had no idea how fast I was coming up behind them. Most saw the white Jag and assumed it was a police car, pulling over to let me pass.
I sped through the night, the car eating the miles along the A27. Chichester came and went, Arundel, Worthing and Brighton followed. I kept going, having to modify my speed in the more urban areas, but mostly I was belting along. I passed Lewes and branched off onto the A26 heading for Newhaven, where the ferry goes from.
This was all new to me, I’d never been here before, but my inner Sat-Nav system was telling me where to go. To the coast, it kept telling me, to the coast. I passed through Seaford now on the A259, which went up and down like a switchback, then finally, I came into East Dean and I could see signs for Beachy Head, a tall chalk cliff beloved of suicides. Not so long ago a whole family jumped the three hundred or so feet to the shingle below.
I drove on towards Eastbourne, somewhere I had been before and then made a right onto a single track road which leads to a pub near the famous beauty spot–though once you’ve seen one cliff, you’ve seen ’em all. Near the footpath to the cliff and the South Downs way, is a phone box. It’s paid for by the Samaritans to try and talk would be suicides into thinking again. It was here I saw Simon’s car.
As you will imagine, I felt a mixture of relief and horror. I was in the right place but would I be in time? I exited my car and pulled on my fleece jacket. It felt cold and the breeze was coming in off the sea. In the glove compartment of my car, I always keep a Mini maglite, with spare batteries. I fumbled with the box and after withdrawing the torch, I shoved the box with its spare batteries in my bag and flung the strap over my head and shoulder. Then I followed the thin beam of light which I shone on the track in front of me.
I decided to walk, obviously as quickly as I could, but running was out–the footpath was too rough, and a sprained ankle would help no one. I’d visited Beachy Head once before, several years ago and had forgotten how far the beauty spot was from the road. The darkness felt eerie and the wind strengthened as if in attempt to slow my progress. A sheep called from nearby and I shuddered, another coughed and I jumped.
How much further did I have to go? It seemed like miles, then as the sound of the sea got louder and the wind colder, I knew I was close to the cliff path.
By now my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and I could just about make out the path. I switched off the torch to save the batteries and continued in the gloom.
Here I was at last, Beachy Head, a small promontory with the long drop below it. There are similar places all along the coast from Kent to Dorset, beyond which the chalk gives way to sandstone and igneous rocks like basalt and granite in Cornwall.
I tried to look round me, but the gloom was too dark–so where was Simon? The thought of him having stepped or jumped off the edge made me shudder, if he had then part of me wanted to do the same–how could I live without him?
My eyes already moist from the coolness of the onshore breeze, began to leak tears and my sight became worse. I wiped at them with my fingers, where was he? I couldn’t believe he’d jumped–not from simple denial, but because I’d know if he was dead, and he wasn’t, I just knew it.
I started to call, “Simon, Simon where are you? Where are you darling?” Then I heard him, a small whimper to my right. I switched on the torch, he was half sitting, half kneeling, and crying.
I sat alongside him and laid my hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“I’ve wrecked the bank.”
“I’m sure you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have. In one transaction I’ve undone a hundred and fifty years of my family’s history.”
“If that was the case, why didn’t Henry tell me that when I spoke to him?”
“Why should he tell you? It’ll be all over the papers in the morning.”
“I’m sure we’ll cope somehow. C’mon, let’s go home and see how you feel after a night’s sleep.”
“I’ve disgraced myself and the bank–I’ve dishonoured the family and you. I have to do this, to make amends.” He rose, and once upright, began to walk towards the sea and the cliff edge.
“No, Simon, no.”
“I have to do this. Go home, Cathy, forget I ever existed.”
“How can you do this to me and our children? We love you.”
“I’ve shamed them.”
“You will if you kill yourself.”
“What d’you mean?” He paused.
“Whatever has happened, I’m sure we can work out somehow. It won’t be easy, but we’ll do it. If you kill yourself, you will shame me and our children. They’ll see you as weak and selfish.”
“But I have to do this ...”
“I thought you were strong, and generous. You offered to look after me and our children. You tricked me into marrying you, promising to look after me, to love me and cherish me. You’re a liar–you don’t love me–you’re just a selfish, weak boy, more wrapped in his own pain than that of those who love him. Go ahead, jump over the cliff, but don’t expect me to excuse it to our children. Don’t expect me to ask them to forgive you your selfishness, and don’t expect me to, either.”
“I do love you,” he was sobbing, “I do, I do love you.”
“Then prove it! Come to me and hold me in your arms once again.” The tears were streaming down my face, “Prove to me that you love me. Kiss me and hold me, be there for me.”
I could see he’d stopped and was looking towards me. “I love you,” he said and fell down in the grass, weeping. I went to him and held him so tightly I was sure we’d both have bruises the next day. “I’m sorry,” he kept mumbling, and I held on to him for all I was worth. If he was going to step over the cliff, he’d take me with him and I wasn’t planning on going quietly.
I don’t know how long we sat there. The grass was wet with dew and I was cold and stiff. I think Simon had slept a little, I cuddled and hugged him, trying to keep us both warm.
“C’mon, let’s go home,” I said to him and he nodded and we struggled to get up, stiff and damp in the now cold wind that came from the sea.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I love you, you don’t have to thank me for saying so.”
He stopped and drawing me to him, kissed me deeply. “I wasn’t thanking you for loving me, I was thanking you for having a belief in me and for being there.”
“Let’s go home,” we each put an arm round the other, and with my little torch lighting our way we walked back to the cars.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1507
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I hardly remember driving home and Si was naturally worried about his car but in no fit state to drive it, so I promised to drive him back if necessary tomorrow morning. We got home in the wee sma’ ‘oors, had a hot drink and went to bed. I was still very tired the next morning when the children woke me, but I slipped out of bed got them breakfast and told them on no account to bother their father.
Then against my better judgement I was about to ask Stella to come with me to Sussex to collect Si’s car when Tom appeared. Okay, he’s hardly Jensen Button but he’s a competent driver, so I asked him instead. He drove me in his Freelander, after I took Simon’s spare keys and we chatted happily most of the journey much of it about the courses he wanted me to run.
I asked him if he’d heard anything bad about the bank and he said he hadn’t, however when we put the radio on for the news at ten o’clock, there was a story, twenty per cent had been wiped off the bank’s shares through a mistake in some investments which had gone wrong.
I listened to Henry saying that he was sure the bank would recover and asking deposit holders and investors to keep faith with them. Robert Peston, the BBC business editor reckoned the bank had lost over a billion pounds in the past twenty four hours and that there were talks about mergers and so on. I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.
We got to Beachy head and I collected Simon’s car and we drove to the pub and had a hot drink before starting back. Tom told me to carry on, he’d tootle along in his own inimitable way and I could fly along if I wanted. Because the car meant so much to Simon I was actually quite nervous of driving it.
Once I was back on decent roads, ie the A27, I did up the speed a little and fair flew along until I spotted the police car up ahead of me. He pulled me over and with my heart fluttering I stopped and got out of the car.
“Is this your car, madam?” he asked in the noise of the traffic belting past.
“No, it’s my husband’s.”
“I see, could I have your name, please.”
“Certainly, it’s Catherine Cameron.”
“Right, that’s fine, the car is registered as being owned by Simon, Lord Cameron, so you must be Lady Cameron?”
“I am,” I said politely but felt like asking if he’d worked it out by himself.
“Do you have any ID on you, because this car was reported parked by Beachy Head last night.”
I showed him my driving licence and he looked at it carefully. “You’ve changed your hair colour?”
“Yes, I’m usually mousey.”
“Suits you. Can you tell me why the car was parked there overnight?”
“My husband drove out that way last night and was taken ill, I collected him in my car and came back this morning to get his car.”
“Okay, Lady Cameron, just doing my job.”
“I appreciate that, the number of cars stolen each year.”
He smiled and told me to continue my journey and wished Simon a speedy recovery. I thanked him and set off again, only to be passed by Tom as I waited to enter the traffic stream. He didn’t stay ahead of me for long although I did keep an eye on my speed and for traffic cops.
When I got home I recognised Henry’s car in the drive. He and Simon were having a private conversation in my study—I suspect we all knew what it was likely to be about. I was mostly concerned that if he was reprimanding Simon, that he’d undermine what I’d managed to do last night.
I made a light lunch and when Henry appeared, invited him to stay and eat. He thanked me but said he had to return to London post haste. I then asked him how Simon was, given he’d taken it so much to heart.
“I’m glad he did, he lost us half a billion pounds yesterday.”
“On the radio they said a billion,” I wasn’t sure who to believe.
“Yeah, they rounded it up to the nearest whole billion, silly buggers—it tend to undermine what steps we take to correct things and then spineless investors start removing their savings, even though the Chancellor said they would back the bank if necessary.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.
“Only keep that idiot son of mine out from under my feet while I sort out this mess.”
“I’d have thought you’d want him to help do that, after all he’s made you loads of money over the years.”
“Who told you that? Him? I thought so. He makes money by doing what I tell him to. This time he went off on his own and it came crashing down on his head, so I’ve suspended him—there’ll need to be an enquiry.”
“Oh.” I was devastated by this revelation.
“I appreciate what you did for him last night. He might be a right royal pain in the arse, but he’s still my son. Keep him safe, Cathy.”
“How long will he be off?”
“Until I say otherwise. Sometimes you have to be a tough parent to keep them safe.”
I smiled at him.
“You know that one already by the look of it. I have to go, hopefully this will sort itself out by Monday and I can start recovering the deficit.”
“What did he do?”
“He tried to buy a small American bank, which went belly up as soon as he bought the shares.”
“Isn’t that tantamount to fraud?”
“Absolutely, but we’ll probably have to go to court to get the money back, and that could take months if not years.”
Henry left and I went to see Simon. He was sitting in my chair staring at a photo of the children I have on my desk. “How d’you feel?”
“Crap—the bastard suspended me.”
“On pay or not?”
“On pay.”
“I think he was within his rights to do so.”
“But if I could have had a bit of time I’m sure I could have sorted things.”
“Perhaps you could, but that decision has been taken from you, so stop fretting and relax for a couple of days. Then start to plan what you would have done to correct things. Write it all down and I’ll make sure Henry sees it.”
“You should have let me jump last night.”
“And what would I do with two Jaguars?”
“Can we go and collect it?”
“Tom and I did so earlier, it’s outside.”
The pig actually checked—I felt like suspending him too—on a rope from the beam in the garage. Shit, what am I saying? I love this man to bits, I’d never hurt him.
“Cathy, there’s a dirty mark all along the nearside, what have you done to my car?”
“You what?” Hurt him?—I’ll bloody kill him with my bare hands, ungrateful twit.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1508
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“Let’s have lunch, then you can wash the cars–ask Danny to help you and perhaps the girls would like to play with you too.”
“What?”
“I said let’s have lunch…”
“I heard what you said.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t think I’ve got the patience to cope with them all at the moment.”
“Okay, I’ll do something with the girls, you get Danny to help you.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope with them under my feet.”
“These children have been waiting for you. They know something is up, but probably unable to understand quite what it is–I’m not entirely sure I know–but while the outside world may decry you and hunt for your blood–your children will love you and support you and help you through this crisis.”
“Not if they’re under my feet.”
“Okay, then you’d better go up to the guest room and stay there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, this is my home.”
“It’s also the children’s and they don’t have any choices in the matter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that either you cope with them, or you call the hotel in Southsea–I’ll help you pack.”
“But last night you were telling me how much you loved me.”
“I still love you, but I don’t have to tolerate this, ‘woe is me attitude.’”
“Oh thanks very much, you can stick your lunch.” He marched back into the house. I looked at his car–it was some mud that was down the side of it. I looked at my own, it had dirty marks on it as well, and so did the vintage Jag, when I checked in the garage.
I love that man to bits, but he has to learn to cope with the family, especially if he’s going to be on gardening leave for a few weeks. I went back into the kitchen and was serving lunch when a taxi arrived. Puzzled I went out to see if he had the wrong address.
“Taxi for Cameron–to Heathrow?”
“Heathrow?” I repeated in astonishment.
“That’s what they told me.”
“There must be some mistake, no one here’s going to Heathrow?”
“Look, lady, that’s what I was told to do, so here I am doing it, okay?”
“I still think there’s been some mistake…”
“Okay, cabbie, sorry to keep you.” Simon came up behind me with a suitcase and his laptop bag.
“You’re going to Heathrow?” I gasped.
“I’m going to Kansas, see if I can sort out this thing with the bank.”
“Have you spoken to Henry?”
“No, and I’d be obliged if you didn’t either. I hope to be back in a week or so.”
“Just like that?” I stood with my hands on my hips.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll ring you when I get there.” Before I could respond he pecked me on the cheek and got into the car, the driver put his case in the boot and off they went. My ghast was flabbered to say the least.
I know he’s been to the US before, which is more than I have, but some of the people over there won’t take too kindly to anyone poking about in their business, and his cut glass accent and titles won’t protect him from being shot. In fact they may well make it easier to see him as an alien–from a different planet–well, he is–so shooting him won’t necessarily be so frowned upon.
That these people he’s after are crooks makes it quite possible that they wouldn’t stop at doing whatever to prevent his investigations–which I presume he’s doing, trying to clear his name and find some other bugger to blame.
I applaud his nerve if not his actions. Especially as it could affect what Henry does. Simon should have spoken to his father. All I can do is tell him he’s gone away for a few days to sort himself out. I’ll have to tell the children the same. Sometimes I just feel like running away myself–except I don’t have that as an option–oh, the joys of parenthood.
“Where’s Daddy gone?” asked Livvie.
“He’s gone away for a few days, he’s got some work to do for the bank.”
“I thought they’d sus…” Stella began the sentence and I glared at her, it was a miracle that she didn’t spontaneously combust, so searing was my glare. “…suggested, yeah, the bank suggested he go away to think about things.”
“Where’s he going?” asked Trish.
She knew where Kansas was, and probably so did Danny and Livvie. “Um he didn’t say, but it’s far enough for him to find some peace and quiet.”
“We’ve been quiet as mouses all day,” sighed Livvie.
“Mice,” corrected Trish.
“We’ve been as quite as mouses all mice,” said Livvie, not thinking about what she was saying.
“No, silly, we’ve been as quite as mices all day.”
It’s amazing what a little education can do to alter your life–little being the operative word. I decided not to play the grammar fascist and let it go. Stella was hiding behind her hand, though tears running down her face tended to give the game away–she was crying with laughter, or mourning the assassination of the English language by Trish.
“C’mon, let’s wash the cars–everyone in wellies and coats please–yes your playing coats.” I went and changed as well, and for the next hour or so I supervised half a dozen kids playing with hoses and brushes as they cleaned off the cars. The dirty mark on Simon’s car came off with little problem.
We cleaned: my car; Si’s car; Tom’s Freelander; Stella’s Fiesta and the Mondeo. They were gleaming as we wiped off the excess water with chamois leathers. We even polished my car and the Mondeo. Tom’s didn’t need it, as he waxes it quite regularly and Stella’s was okay too–actually, I’d had enough by then but at least I didn’t call a taxi to go to Heathrow to avoid any more, unlike someone we know.
Simon remains unpredictable and occasionally selfish. Alright, it isn’t my reputation that’s being dragged through the mud, but he could show some appreciation of his family for their support throughout all this.
It was about midnight when he phoned to say he was at New York and was waiting for a connection, to Kansas, I presume–he didn’t say to where. I know it’s a huge country so there are loads of ways of traversing it. I wish he had James or someone like that with him, someone who might keep an eye on him and try to keep him out of trouble.
First thing the next morning, I called James and asked him if he could go and help Simon. We agreed a rate and he went off to pack.
I sent Simon a text telling him what I’d done and that James would find him. He texted back.
‘Find me? I’m not lost! I can handle this, so stop him. S.’
‘Please, humour me. Love C xxx’
‘Bah humbug!’
'How clevr of u 2 remember Scrooge was a banker.’ I pressed send and switched off my phone and went to make some tea.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1509
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The next day seemed to drag, I did chores or amused the children in between feeding them. Caroline phoned while I was out–I’d forgotten all about her since this business with Simon. Now what did I do? We’d sent off the CRB form, but they take ages to clear. What could I tell her–except to get a decent haircut and some new clothes. I asked Julie to go and see her and gave her a couple of hundred quid to get her a new outfit or two. Julie’s eyes widened into saucers at this opportunity for some fun–I did warn her to keep things normal–so none of her outlandish ideas. Caroline was to be a nanny cum housekeeper, not a disco dancer. She went off to call Caroline and set up a date.
Eventually, James called–he’d found Simon, who was not best pleased to be chaperoned. He pointed out the risks of dealing with ‘these ruffians’–a phrase which had me snorting. Personally, I thought they were total cads, or the vernacular equivalent, which isn’t usable in a children’s story–and it goes without saying that none of them had parents who were married.
The girls were in bed and Danny was sitting reading a football magazine when he asked where Simon was?
“How should I know?” I lied back to him.
“Because you would.”
“How d’you know that?”
“Because I do. You went to stop him killing himself, didn’t you?”
“Where did you hear that?” I was going to blister whoever had told him.
“I overheard you talking with Auntie Stella. He was at Beachy Head, wasn’t he? People only go there for one reason.”
“To admire the view?”
“Yeah, on the way down.”
“What are you implying?”
“I just told ya, you went to stop him jumping over the cliff.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I dunno, look, I’m not goin’ to tell anyone, am I?”
“I hope not.”
“He’s my dad, and you’re my mum–I won’t do anythin’ to hurt you ever, I owe you both too much.”
“You owe neither of us anything. We adopted you because we wanted to, because we wanted you. We are both so proud that you decided to come to us as our son.”
He came over to me and hugged me, and I pulled him down to sit on my lap and I held him. “I love you, Mum,” he said and buried his face in my shoulder. He was sniffing, and I suspect, trying not to cry.
“I love you too, son, now are you going to tell me what the problem is?”
“I don’t want Dad to die,” he said then burst into tears.
“What gave you that idea?”
He sobbed for a couple of minutes and was inarticulate, eventually he got himself under control and he told me that he was worried that Simon had gone off to kill himself.
“He isn’t going to do that–he’s trying to clear his name.”
“But the bad guys are in like, America.”
“I had noticed. That’s where Daddy is, trying to meet with them.”
“But they could shoot him or get someone else to.”
“Yes, I know, which is why I asked James to go and act as his minder.”
“James the commando bloke?”
“The very same.”
“Thank you, Mummy, I was so worried.”
“That’s okay, now I think it’s bedtime, don’t you?”
“Okay,” he got off my lap and pecked me on the cheek. “Mummy?”
“Yes, darling.”
“Can I have the old Jaguar when I’m old enough?”
“Oh–I can’t honestly say one way or another. To start with we might have to sell it to help pay off Daddy’s case.”
“Gosh, a billion is a thousand million–is that what that car is worth?”
“No, of course not. It’s only half a billion, and in someways I’m glad they use the American billion these days.”
“Why?”
“Because originally a billion was a million million, but it seems some of the colonials couldn’t count that far.”
“Wow–that’s like loads more, isn’t it?”
“Just a bit.”
He went off to bed and I checked on him half an hour later. He was fast asleep with a book open but face down on his chest. I looked at the title, it was Caroline Cossey’s autobiography. Why was he reading that, and when did he take it? I checked the others and they were fast asleep.
Catherine was restless, so I fed her which relaxed me as well. Cossey might have been a Bond girl with Roger Moore as 007, but she can’t breast feed as far as I know. Why do we always get catty when we think someone is more beautiful than we are? I could never model anything, but then she can’t act–oops, there I go again–miaow.
I sorted the baby and went downstairs to lock-up. Tom was in bed, as were the other adults. I looked in on Julie when I went to bed and she was asleep, her little flat screen TV still on, albeit very quietly. I switched it off.
After cleaning my teeth, I got into bed and felt the absence of my partner and bedmate. I hoped he was alright, assuming that no news was good news. I fell asleep eventually, putting out the light after I’d read some of my book–a whodunit by Donna Leon.
I was vaguely aware that someone had got into bed with me, I assumed in my somnolent state that it was Simon, however, when I woke the next day Trish was tucked into my back. I lay there and watched her for a while before an eyelid fluttered and she opened it and looked at me. I’m not sure that she actually saw anything, because it closed again and she seemed to resume sleeping, then a few minutes later it opened for the second time and then so did the other eye. She seemed disoriented for a moment. I smiled at her and she beamed back and then yawned and stretched.
“To what do I attribute this honour, young lady?”
“I went for a wee in the night and thought you might be lonely.”
“I see, and was I?”
“I didn’t ask, you were snoring.”
“Snoring? I don’t snore–do I?”
“Not as loud as Daddy does, he sounds like tractor.”
“Are you teasing me?” I checked.
“No, honestly, Mummy–you was snorin’.”
“Okay, so were you?”
“ Meeee?
“Yep, that’s why I was awake before you?”
“But I can’t snore, Mummy, I’m just a little kid.”
“You sounded more like a piglet than a baby goat.”
“Uggh, that’s like, horrible.”
“This little piggy went to market...” I tickled her and she squealed. “See, I told you you were more like a piglet than a goat.” She laughed and ran off to the bathroom to wee.
While she was gone I checked my mobile, a text from Simon: ‘Easy peasy, Ive appt with bank 2moro.’
I sent one back: ‘Be careful–the kids r v worried 4 u. I luv u. Cxxx’
My phone peeped, I picked it up expecting a response from my most recent text, instead it was one from James. ‘so fa so gud, S made contact–meet 2moro–will keep eyes wide open. J.’
I sent him one back: ‘Ty, do keep him safe. C.’
Trish emerged from the bathroom and another day in paradise began...
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1510
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I was on tenterhooks the whole day while waiting for Simon’s meeting with the Bank he bought. Hang on, if he bought it, then surely he could just walk in there and demand people deal with him. Maybe that’s what he did. Knowing Simon, it might have been.
Surely, the person he should be speaking with is their auditor. I looked up the US Bank’s website–the name had been on the news, Kansas Eagle Bank. They had twenty branches all over the state, including Kansas City. It gave a list of directors and President and Vice President–my dad always used to suggest that in American corporations, they were so corrupt, they needed someone to look after the President’s vice. I used to laugh because I thought he meant the thing we had in the garden shed attached to the workbench. I now know that vice can have a very different meaning–mind you I thought venial was something to do with blood vessels.
Talking of which I heard a quote which suggested that, “God gave men a brain and penis and only enough blood to use one of them at a time.” Must remember to tell Si that one when he comes back–maybe not, he’ll think I’m getting at him.
I took the kids cycling–those who wanted to come–it was quite tricky in the crosswind. Well if Bradley Wiggins can get blown off in the TdF, what chance Billie or Trish, or even me staying on. We did stay on but it was such hard work, we cut it short–the ride that is, and instead of going to a particular cafe to have an ice cream, we came home and had one there instead.
Danny had gone to play football with some friends but would be home for lunch. He asked if he could bring some of them home. I said he could if he let me know numbers. I sent Jenny to the supermarket and she bought a pile of large baps–a round flat roll–which I think Americans call burger buns. My only problem with that is the term bun, unless we’re talking hairstyles, a bun is a sweet bread roll or cake, so not something you shove a burger in-or I wouldn’t anyway, it might not taste right with currants.
Back to lunch, and Jenny got a bag of burger baps and a pack of twenty four beef burgers. I already had a big thing of tomato sauce, so I hoped we’d be equipped to deal with a few boys.
We’d got back from our ride and showered when Danny sent me a text, ‘Only 7 comin, couldn’t pussuade the rest.’ I did a quick count, I had lettuce and tomatoes, which I sliced, then I put the whole two dozen burgers in the Aga, half in the hot oven and half in the slow one. We had the same number of wholemeal rolls.
I opened a pack of paper plates and napkins and got ready for the stampede. Amazingly, they didn’t arrive for an hour, so I put the cooked burgers in the slow oven and put the others in the hot oven. By the time the footballers came, they were all cooked and I placed lettuce and tomato in each roll. The boys got two each, the girls got one each and there were enough for Stella, Jenny and me to have one as well. Tom managed to eat two and the littlies had one between them.
I made up some lemonade in our soda streamer thing, and the kids drank all I could make. Finally, I gave them an apple each and told Danny to use the second garage if they wanted to sit and chat. It’s big and has a collection of various chairs in there, stacking ones, some garden ones and even a deck chair. He finally came in at tea time–saying they were all impressed with the burgers and the size of our house. He was glowing with pride when he reported this to me.
I reminded him it was Grandad’s house although we’d paid for the extensions. What I didn’t know, was that Tom had transferred the ownership to me about two years earlier.
After lunch, I returned to my investigations on the bank in Kansas and finally found the name of the auditor. I sent a text to James giving him the link to the website and the auditor’s name. He wrote back saying that was who they were seeing later. I was pleased that Simon had some idea of what he was doing.
I did us a dinner of cheese and ham omelettes with jacket potatoes–we’d eaten most of the salad stuff at lunch, so it had to be coleslaw, which I made freshly–I spoil these kids.
The children were watching some DVD when Simon rang. Trish answered it and of course, they all wanted to speak with him–at least I had time to make a cuppa to take with me to the study, where I eventually spoke with him.
“Hi babes,” he began the conversation.
“Hello, darling, how’s it going?”
“Pretty well–it was the auditors who blew the whistle when the sale of the bank was announced, sadly not in time to stop the money being sent. The President and two of his vice cronies took the money and ran, probably to South America. I hope it’s Argentina, we can declare war on them again and win.”
“Si, we don’t have an aircraft carrier anymore.”
“Bugger, maybe I should get Dad to buy the Ark Royal and the Harriers and send it down to Montevideo.”
“I thought gunboat diplomacy went out with Palmerston and George Canning.”
“Nah, it still goes on, it’s just we don’t have a big enough gunboat any more. I mean with something the size of the Nimitz, most people don’t want to play rough do they?”
“Nimitz? That sounds like something you feed to cats.”
“What? It’s a huge aircraft carrier thing.”
“Oh, like Ark Royal?”
“Yeah, like two Ark Royals joined together.”
“Oh, pardon my ignorance–tell you what, we’ll knit you one.”
“That’s probably the only way the Royal Navy will get one.”
“So what happens next?”
“I get a deposition from a judge to examine the books with the auditors, who think there were two sets being kept.”
“And then what?”
“We’ve already got Federal arrest warrants out on the guys who ran, and once we have the evidence, we go back to court to get our money back.”
“What happens to the Kansas bank?”
“Dunno, if we get our money back, can’t say I care.”
“Yeah but there’s going to be people who lost their jobs and things.”
“They would have anyway.”
“Not if you took over the management, put in a new team, prove Henry wrong.”
“Prove him wrong?”
“Yeah, he said you only ever did what he told you to do.”
“Oh yeah, if I did we’d still be a merchant bank. No, it was my idea to take over the bank which we eventually called High Street.”
“Really?”
“Yes, would I lie to you?”
“You are a banker,” I reminded him.
“Damn, you remembered.” We both laughed. “I’ve got to go if the bank actually looks saveable, I might think about it, but I could be here some time.”
“Just be home for Christmas.”
“God, that’s two months away–geez, I hope to be back long before then.”
“Love you, Si.”
“I love you too, babes. Talk to you soon.” He rang off and I had to go and wipe my nose.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1511
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The next morning loomed and Mr Humphrys dissected another politician on the Today programme. While my consciousness rose and I began to listen to what he was saying, I became aware of a warm spot in my back. No, I hadn’t wet myself, I had company again.
“I’m not actually lonely, you know,” I said to a smirking Trish.
“No, but I was.”
“How can you be lonely? That room is like girl’s dorm.”
“What’s a dorm, Mummy?”
“It’s short for dormitory, a place for sleeping–usually for several people to sleep. The dor bit is from the same root as in dormouse, because people saw them in torpor or hibernating, they seemed asleep.”
“Sleeping is the same as hibernating?” Trish looked bemused, I keep forgetting she’s only seven.
“No, in hibernation the body winds its metabolism down, so breathing slows, heartbeat slows and so on. The animal has usually found somewhere that’s warmish and dry and they make a nest and curl up and wait for warmer weather in the late spring.
“I should hate to hibernate.” Trish cuddled up to me, “Unless you were there too, Mummy.”
“Polar bears do it with their cubs and I think other bears do as well.”
“Hibernate?”
“Hibernate with their cubs.”
“You know everything, don’t you, Mummy?”
“No and I’m glad I don’t.”
“I thought you’d like that?”
“No, life is a continuous learning experience. Even when we die we learn something.”
“I don’t like talking about dying, Mummy.”
“Okay, let’s get some breakfast and wake up your sleepy siblings,” which is what we more or less did. There was the usual spat over the jam between Livvie and Mima, and Danny grabbed the last piece of toast which had Trish growling at him.
I only ever experienced sibling rivalry when I stayed with friends. In our house, there was always enough food at meal times, although I don’t recall eating that much–in fact, my dad used to get cross with me for eating so daintily. “You eat like a bloody girl,” he used to say before stuffing a huge lump of food in his mouth.
My mother used to defend me, “Leave him alone, just because he doesn’t shovel his food down like a demented miner, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“But he’s like a bloody nancy,” my father would grumble, spitting small bits of food as he did so.
“Derek, you’re supposed to be setting him an example, so please don’t talk with your mouth full! It isn’t a particularly pleasant sight.”
I’d smirk, contented that my role model was my mum, and he’d get red in the face and bang his hand on the table, making us both jump and gasp. “Don’t you laugh at me, boy,” he’d growl and spit more food on the table.
Upon reflection, we none of us knew how much things would change in the next ten or fifteen years. They’d both be dead and I’d be a mother to so many needy children, as well as the wife of an aristocrat.
I often wished my mother was still alive and able to guide me in things maternal. I’d have loved for her to have helped me plan my wedding, and for my dad to have given me away–but it wasn’t going to happen, and without Tom’s support and advice I’d still be hiding in that bedsit like a retarded caterpillar, unaware that pupation and emergence as an imago was possible. Who’d have given odds on the chances that I’d meet some homicidal nurse in a thunderstorm, and who’d be the one to literally knock me out of my comfort zone and out of the closet in one hit.
If I was religious, I could see all sorts of lovely coincidences that it was all meant to happen, which would imply that God had made me gender confused. In which case it would be proof positive that he was a sadist–no one should have to undergo such torments when young. I’m only glad that I could help spare my children some of those same anxieties.
But of course, everything happens for a purpose–what a load of cobblers–only insofar as cause and effect. Beyond that, it’s pure serendipity. Yeah things happen, but only within the laws of physics.
Back to the breakfast table and the chimps tea party taking place there at. Trish had now got involved and she and Billie were squabbling about a book. I could have done what my dad did and bang the table, instead I withdrew and no one noticed for several minutes.
My mobile rang and I could see it was Henry. My tummy did a somersault. “Hello, Henry, how are you?” I bluffed.
“Is Simon about?”
“Um–no, he’s not here at the moment.”
“Typical of my idiot offspring.”
“Henry, that’s a bit unfair–you are so judgmental at times.”
“Funny that when I am, you, always come out top of the class. Cathy, you’re a wonderful benchmark, but sadly my own children will always fall so short of your exemplary style.”
“Henry, please–they do their best and you should acknowledge them for it.”
“I do by recognising their stupidity.”
“It was Simon’s idea to set up High Street Banks.”
“He told you that I suppose? He didn’t also tell you that I was thinking about it before he was even conceived, did he?”
“It was a short conversation, and some while ago.”
“I’ll bet it was short. I will admit that he suggested we take over the bank chain which we did eventually buy out, but only because he saw an article suggesting they were in difficulties.”
“So, he does his homework,” I defended his arse at all costs.
“Sometimes–but whether it was an act of God or meaningful coincidence, I wouldn’t like to say. Perhaps you could ask him to present himself to the investigations committee on Friday morning at the headquarters.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you, Cathy. How are the children?”
“Fine, thank you, Henry.”
“Let me know what they’d like for Christmas.”
“I will, I know what I’d like.”
“What’s that, m’dear?”
“For you to believe he was innocent of the accusations against him.”
“I’d like that too.” He rang off and I sent a text to Simon.
I received a reply a few hours later. He called me.
“What’s going on?” he asked as I answered the phone.
“Your disciplinary committee is meeting, you’d better get back over here and quickly.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll book a flight–we’re on the verge of busting this case. Tthe auditor’s evidence will hang draw and quarter ’em.”
“Where’s James?”
“He’s getting the car.”
“Where are you?”
“Across the road from the auditor’s offices.” I heard a loud background noise and the signal stopped.
I waited and nothing happened. I kept trying to call him back, but disconnected was all I could get. I began to get frantic. What on earth had happened?
An hour or so later, James called. “Hi, Cathy, can’t stop–Simon’s okay, if a bit shaken.”
“What happened.”
“Some nice person bombed the auditor’s office–killed twenty five people.”
“You’ve got to get away from there,” I exhorted.
“Just changed our flight times, we leave tonight.”
“Oh God, look after him, James.”
“I will, although it could be tougher than I first thought.”
I checked on the internet and there was news of an explosion in Kansas City in an accountant’s office, thought to be caused by a faulty gas main. I didn’t care, I wanted Simon home as soon as possible.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1512
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It was difficult concentrating on the children when I was so worried about Simon and James. Stella asked me what was wrong, and I hinted I’d tell her later.
Once I sorted out the kids, big ones down the mines, little ones up the chimneys, we were able to grab a cuppa and go to my study. “Right, Cameron, spill the beans,” she said.
“This is for your ears only, and you must promise me you won’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone.”
“You mean you’ve got some juicy goss and I can’t circulate it?”
“What d’you think you are, a water pump?”
“Who?”
“Look, either you swear to secrecy or I won’t tell you.”
“Oh all right, I cross my heart to lift and separate,” she said smirking. I simply shook my head. “Oh don’t go all superior on me.”
“This is serious, Stella, someone tried to kill my Simon.”
She snorted and put her hand over her mouth but the glare I gave her nearly melted the nylon in her bra straps, and she looked at me and said, “You’re not joking, are you?”
“I was never more serious, Stella.”
“Who was it?”
“Someone in the bank who ran off with all that money.”
“They tried to kill him–where? Where was he when they tried to kill him?”
“He was meeting the auditors, but their office was bombed moments before Simon and James were due to go in.”
“You’re joking.”
“Tell that to the families of the twenty five people who died.”
“Oh my God! That is awful–but Simon’s okay?”
“Yes, James let me know they were both okay.”
“I’m surprised it hasn’t been on the news, I mean a bombing like that is an act of terrorism. Where was it, London?”
“Kansas City.”
“So how was Simon involved?”
“He’s in America.”
“But he’s got to appear before the investigating committee on Friday.”
“He said they had evidence that the bank was on the rocks before they sold out, evidence that was suppressed. The auditors raised the alarm after hearing of the buyout and subsequent farrago. They’ve been helping Simon to build a case to take to the US courts.”
“Gee whizz, no wonder you’ve been so quiet about him. I thought he was hiding out somewhere.”
“He’s trying to clear his name. I only hope all the evidence wasn’t destroyed by the bombing.”
“How can someone justify killing twenty five people?”
“You tell me.”
“When’s he coming home?”
“As soon as they can, hopefully with enough evidence to clear his name.”
“Could that prejudice the court case?”
“I don’t know–I don’t know if this is an internal enquiry or something to do with the financial watchdog.”
“How did he get lured into it, anyway?”
“You’ll have to ask him that–but I suspect he was trying to broker a good deal for the bank and they hooked him before making off with a load of dosh.”
“Yeah, but they still made two billion profit.”
“Who did?”
“Our bank.”
“They made a profit of two million after Simon’s mistake?”
“Two billion, Cathy–least that’s what the telly said.”
“And they’re worried about a few measly quid he lost?”
“It was like five hundred million pounds.”
“So?”
“Well, that means they’d have profits of two and a half billion, so the top people could have sliced off extra bonuses...”
“Stella, that’s Simon and Henry you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah, so we’re all fat cats then?”
“I know, it fills me with shame some days–I have no idea how much Simon earns or how much he’s got.”
“Lots.”
“How d’you know, Stella?”
“He usually gets a bonus of a million or two.”
I think I went white and had to sit down. “A million or two? I thought most of that was in shares.”
“Some of it is. He’s the second biggest shareholder after Daddy, then there’s a couple more and then there’s me and then you.”
“Me? Know I have a few shares, but not that many, surely?”
“I thought your accountant explained that to you. The family are paid out in shares mostly, but you see, the more shares, the more dividend you get, and if that’s shares, then you get even more next time–good fun isn’t it?”
“What about the other shareholders?”
“We hold the largest block in the family.”
“BP shares are on the up again too. Simon and Daddy have a wodge of those too. They buy cheap, hold on to them and sell when they’re at the top of the share price. You need money to do it, and to know what you’re about, otherwise you can lose a fortune. Simon’s very good at it.”
“Henry said he always told Si what to do?”
“He likes to think so. Simon knows what he’s doing most of the time–he gets it wrong now and again, but usually it’s in single millions, not hundreds of.”
“So why does Henry have such a low opinion of him?”
“Because of you.”
I looked at her in disbelief, “Because of me? How?”
She shook her head, “Puir wee naive Cathy,” she shook her head again. If she did it much more she’d become dizzy.
“What d’you mean, naive?”
“He fancies you like mad, and is jealous of his son.”
“But I don’t fancy him and I’m married to Simon.”
“That doesn’t stop men, so he runs Si down to make himself look big.”
“It just makes him look stupid, in my eyes anyway, because I only have eyes for Simon.”
“It’s a boy thing, they show off if a girl takes their eye.”
“Even if she’s not available?”
“Even if–you are so naive sometimes, girl.”
“So it would seem–I just can’t believe anyone who knows my past could fancy me.”
“We’re not holding that discussion again. You are a very attractive woman, most men would die to have you...”
“Especially if Simon found out,” I added, feeling uncomfortable with the whole idea. I cope with the idea that Simon finds me attractive, he even tells me so now and again, but when I look in the mirror–I just see me–and that does little for my ego. I think Stella is more beautiful than I am. So is Julie, and the younger girls will probably be gorgeous. I’m just so lucky that Simon fell for me even if I think he must be blind.
“Yeah, Si wouldn’t be best pleased.”
“Surely, there can’t be that many blind men about can there?”
“I’m not playing that game, Cathy. I told you earlier. You know what I think about my horrible sister in law.”
“Ah now you’re being honest, I’m horrible or grotesque.”
“You’re horrible because whenever you’re about I have to live in your shadow.”
“Only because I’m bigger than you.”
“No, you silly bitch, because you’re more beautiful than I am–and I hate you for it.”
“Yeah, in the book, Frankenstein hated his monster.”
“I don’t see the...oh, I see, you see me as a Frankenstein and you’re the monster–ha ha very good. Yeah, a bolt through your neck would do my ego no end of good.” She went out of the room laughing.
I sat there for a minute, rapt in my own thoughts until a text came through on my phone.
‘Back on Thurs LHR at 19.30–can you collect us? J.’
All I could think was, thank goodness, then realised he’d be facing the committee the next day after such a long journey–then I felt anxious.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1513
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I’m not sure I remember all the silly things I did for the remainder of that day and much of the next. I went to put the milk in the oven and the cereal in the fridge. I made up a bread mix and forgot to switch the machine on. After a while I had Trish following me round to see if I remembered all I was supposed to do.
Jenny was a godsend, she looked after the kids much of the time. I did take them out on the bikes on the Wednesday and we spent an hour or two cycling round one or two bike paths and along the front. At least I got that right, and once again began to realise that Billie had a bit of talent in that area.
Danny was riding Stella’s bike, and he shot off ahead of us all then came back after a while. Billie asked if she could chase him if he did it again and I told her she could if she stayed on the cycle path and took care not to hit anyone–cyclist or walker. You sometimes get people walking dogs and they seem to leave their brains behind when they start perambulating Fido–and those extending leads are a total menace. The number of times I’ve nearly come off or decapitated some poor little pooch because I didn’t see the extended lead.
The dog owners get so snotty too. They don’t care or realise that they have a duty not to put themselves in harm’s way by being a traffic hazard–and that includes keeping an eye out for cyclists. And, why do they bother picking up dog poo in a plastic bag and then toss it into the hedge? Very biodegradable–not.
Anyway back to the Cameron’s very own Tour de Pompey, Danny shot off again after commenting how boring it was at Mima’s pace. This time Billie was just waiting for him to go and she flew after him. Okay, he’s bigger and stronger and not taking oestrogens, but he picked the wrong place and with the rise in the path elevation, he slowed and she didn’t–she passed him and he nearly fell off with shock. We could just see it from where we were. Of course he then went off after her and the next thing they were both hammering back towards us and nearly hit Livvie off her bike as they came past us. Trish yelled at them as well, not that it had any effect.
I warned the others that if they did the same again, I was going to race them so they were to continue to stay together and catch us up as they could. I think they understood. Our two sprinters caught us up again and it wasn’t more than about ten minutes before Danny was off again and Billie was hard on his wheel. I pulled over the verge and went up the road clicking up the gears as I stood on the pedals. They had a lead of about fifty yards by the time I got going and it was hard work catching them, which I did eventually–having to get to over twenty miles an hour to do so.
Of course, I was all sorts of a cheat for chasing them, which left me speechless–that and the fact I was puffing like on old steam engine.
Thursday it rained, and because it was such fun, it rained some more. I had a house full of irritable children, two or three of whom wanted to cycle again–not in that weather.
We went shopping–that was a mistake–apart from the food we bought on the way back–nearly two hundred quid–they all wanted something from the George section. Asda is part of the Walmart group so I tend to avoid it, but that’s where they wanted to shop, so we did.
Actually, George stuff is quite good, especially for the money–I try not to think about the sweatshops where it was probably made. The girls each had a top or a skirt, Danny had some new jeans, I chose some knickers for each of the girls and some underpants for Danny. We also got some panties for Puddin’ and some little vests for Fiona.
We had an early tea, I did a casserole which I made in sufficient quantity to keep some for Simon and James if they wanted some. I wasn’t very hungry, so I just had a couple of biscuits and a cup of tea.
To get to Heathrow for half past seven was going to be a nightmare–just catching the rush-hour traffic at its worst. However, that’s what I had to do. I had several volunteers offer to keep me company but I wanted to be alone–part of me actually hoped James would head off as soon as I picked up Simon. I just wanted to be with my man, if only for a few minutes before we went home.
I hate Heathrow and most other large airports, you can’t stop anywhere near where the arrivals exit the building–especially after the attack on Glasgow airport a couple of years ago. I parked in a short stay space–how can they charge those sorts of fees? It’s just ridiculous. The car park was going to cost almost as much as the fuel to get there. Bloody robbery and just about daylight, too.
I had an hour to wait. Si was supposed to text or call me when he was through customs and I’d drive out and collect him and possibly James. I sat listening to the radio and I think I must have nodded off–I hadn’t slept very well since he’d been away–because one moment I was listening to Radio 4 and the next minute I wasn’t.
I can’t have locked the car because, the first thing I knew about anything was being woken with a hand over my mouth–from behind and an American voice saying, “Just keep quiet, bitch, and you’ll be okay, got it?”
I nodded.
“I have a gun aimed at the small of your back, even if it doesn’t kill you, you’ll be in wheelchair for the rest of your life–understand?”
I nodded. Shit–this bastard seemed to know what he was doing. Who was he and what was he? I could only assume it was an advance guard to get Simon and possibly James as well.
“I’m going to take my hand from your mouth–I don’t want to hear a sound–okay? So no questions–I’ll give you instructions as and when you need them–so just sit quiet and listen to your radio–an’ don’t try nothin’–or you’ll be dead or crippled.”
My heart was pounding.
“Nice seats these, there won’t be much of a bang if I have to shoot you, just a nice big hole in you, an’ that would be a shame on the walnut dash.”
What was I going to do? I was fresh out of ideas. I couldn’t move out of the seat very quickly and to make matters worse, he made me put my seat belt on. Even Houdini would have been challenged to escape from this one.
Sweat ran down my back and a trickle went from under my arm, the adrenaline was flowing and I knew I was going to die, because if he thought I’d lead him to Simon, he was singularly mistaken.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1514
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(aka Bike) Part 1514 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I decided that on no account would I assist in him assaulting or killing Simon, I would die first. However, as the shock of my visitor passed, I began to think desperately how I might escape.
He’d told me I couldn’t talk–so that precluded trying to con him or play games with him. If I could cause him to fire his gun, preferably without me being in front of it, then it was possible that help might arrive.
His problem was that I assumed he was going to kill me anyway, so I had nothing to lose except my life, which wasn’t likely to last very much longer anyway. I was therefore a great deal more dangerous than he thought. If I could get the gun away from him and stop him from getting near my neck or throat, I might just survive this.
I began to look for weapons I could use, in my bag I had a multi-tool, one of those things with pliers and screwdrivers and a knife blade. My Blackberry was also in my bag. My bag was on the foot well of the passenger side having slid off the seat when I came into the car park.
If I couldn’t somehow disrupt his attempt, then the bottom line was accelerate like hell and emergency stop or actually hit something. He wasn’t wearing a belt, so he could end up flying through the windscreen, though with my luck, he’d probably smack his head on mine and kill me. See, those adverts for wearing rear belts did have an effect–on me at any rate. How useful it would be was yet to be determined.
I felt a dribble of sweat run down my back and I was sure my bra cups were sticking to my breasts, my whole top felt damp and sticking to me. Oh well, it showed my autonomic system worked.
My phone rang and we both jumped–that he didn’t shoot me either meant his reflexes were better than mine or the safety was on. The Blackberry rang again.
“Who’s that calling you?” said the voice from behind.
I glanced at the clock on the dash, it was after half past seven. “It’s probably my husband.”
“Answer it, but don’t try nothin’.”
“I have a gun in my back–although I believe these seats have a metal plate in them to protect the spines of the passengers.”
“Ain’t gonna stop a slug.”
For a second I thought he was talking about molluscs, then realised he meant bullet. Of course it wouldn’t–it was purely a figment of my imagination–but it was casting doubt and making him have to rethink his plan.
All this time my phone was ringing. “Answer it, bitch.”
“I can’t reach it with the seat belt on.”
“Undo it then, but no tricks.”
“You have a gun or have you forgotten that?”
“Don’t get cute with me.”
I undid the belt and let it reel back. I leant forward and picked up my bag, which was zipped up. I sat back up and undid the zip. My fingers were sweaty. I hoped his were. Of course, by now the ringing stopped.
“D’you want me to see who it was?”
“Yeah, hold it up where I can see it.”
Which I did with my left hand, whilst my right hand was extracting my multi-tool from my handbag which was still on my lap. I unlocked the key pad and it showed Simon had called. “Would you like me to call him back?”
“No, he’ll call again if you’re to meet him.”
“Probably,” I agreed. I put the Blackberry down on the armrest between the two front seats. With two hands, I eased out the blade from the tool, my sweaty fingers making it more difficult.
The phone rang and vibrated and again we both started, I went to pick it up and fumbled it on to the passenger seat. He leant forward to grab it and I turned quickly and stabbed him in the face–actually catching him in the eye. At the same time I pushed the seat back and opened the door, rolling out onto the ground and round the next car.
I heard the door open and he screamed at me, I was rolling under a 4x4 and probably making my clothes very dirty. He was still screaming at me and he fired at something. I heard more voices and screams. I hoped he hadn’t shot anyone else by mistake; but at least help would arrive now.
Another shot was fired and he was ranting that he was going to kill me. I suppose now he had reasonable grounds for doing so, I was lying on the cold concrete shivering and trying not to make any noise.
I saw him stagger past the car, blood dripping as he went, he was still shouting abuse and presumably in pain. I heard male voices shout, “Armed police, freeze.”
For a moment nothing happened, and it felt like minutes. Then a single shot rang out followed by two automatic weapons firing a burst and his legs buckled and he fell face down onto the ground, blood spraying from his face as it crunched against the concrete.
I stayed where I was. The only thing more dangerous than a criminal with a gun was a copper with one. Sirens sounded from everywhere and a police car screamed into the car park and feet jumped out. They began searching and it wasn’t long before a face and machine gun were pointed under the car. “You, out and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“I’m not armed,” I said and wriggled out slowly from under the rusty car which had hidden me.
Again it seemed like hours before I was allowed up and allowed to relate what happened. I led them back to my car–there was blood inside it, but less than I’d expected and the multi-tool lay on the floor in the rear, the blade still projecting and covered in the red stuff.
Thankfully my Blackberry wasn’t bloody, and the police allowed me to call Simon to let him know what was happening. Then they went and collected him from the exit and brought him and James up to the car park. Once I saw Simon, I just lost it and dissolved into tears in his arms. It was quite some time before I was coherent again.
The car was a crime scene, and we were taken away to the police station at Heathrow to make statements. James they let go after about an hour. Simon and I were kept until eleven o’clock. We were both dozing in the chairs by then.
Henry sent a driver round to collect us. To say he was miffed with us for not telling him where Simon was, at the same time he told us he would be pleased to see the evidence Simon had with him at the enquiry meeting the next morning.
We stayed at Hampstead that night, neither of us sleeping very well despite our tiredness. I kept waking up thinking there was a gun pointed at me, which meant I sat up whimpering and all sweaty and this woke Simon each time.
At one point I went and washed because I felt so sweaty, and it helped because I did finally sleep. James came and collected me after breakfast. My tummy was full of wind so I had to eat something and Mrs Jameson told me she wouldn’t let me go until I’d had some porridge and a bacon sandwich, washed down with two cups of tea.
I said my goodbyes to everyone, wished Simon good luck and left with James in his Boxster. Once my tummy stopped rumbling I settled down for the ride home.
“That was pretty quick thinking with that hoodlum, yesterday.”
“It was high risk, but it worked, sadly he had to die.”
“If he hadn’t, Cathy, you would have.”
I shuddered, “Let’s talk about something else,” I said changing the subject. “How’s your love life?” I asked and he nearly swerved under a bus we were overtaking.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1515
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The children were very pleased to see me and made the usual fuss. I tried to put the experience in the car park behind me, but I felt very unsettled. I went to sit with the children in the sitting room while James chatted with Stella and Jenny in the kitchen.
Much to my embarrassment, Puddin’ came to sit on my lap which made Mima jealous and the others laugh. Stella came in with a cup of tea for me and nearly dropped it when she saw Puddin’ sitting there.
“And just what d’you think you’re doing young lady?”
She giggled and hugged me. Stella shook her head and said, “I don’t know, missy, you’re a terror,” which of course only made her giggle some more. Finally, she lifted her off and handed me my tea. I thanked her. “James just told us about the car park incident.”
I tried to be nonchalant but it had upset me. I shrugged but inside I felt anything but casual about it.
“Why don’t you give Anne Thomas a call?”
“I might.”
“Do it–go on–do it now.”
“Alright, alright I will. Excuse me kids.” I took my tea with me and went to my study and shut the door. A couple of years ago I knew her number by heart, now I had to look it up.
Much to astonishment, her secretary told me she was free and put me through.
“Hello, Dr Thomas, this is Cathy Cameron.”
“Do I know you?”
“You saw me last as Cathy Watts, I’ve got married since then.”
“Of course–sorry–it’s been a while. So, how are you?”
“I’ve lots going on.”
“I see, so why are you ringing me after all this time?”
“Yesterday some man tried to kill me...” I started to cry, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and I sort of told her on the phone what happened.
“Dear, God, what an awful experience–look, I have a space about three o’clock this afternoon, perhaps you’d better come and see me.”
“Thank you, Dr Thomas–I’ll be there.”
I put the phone down and returned to the family. “You’ve been crying, Mummy,” observed Trish. She rushed over to give me a hug, followed by a general stampede of the others.
“Why you cwyin’?” asked Mima.
“Yes, Mummy, why have you been crying?” added Livvie.
“A nasty man, wanted to force me to lead him to Daddy.”
“Why’d he want to see Daddy?”
“A few days ago, someone in America played an awfully nasty trick on Daddy which got him into a lot of trouble. I can’t go into the detail because I don’t know it and even if I did, I don’t think any of us would understand it. Daddy has been in America investigating the matter with some help from some good people over there. Unfortunately, the good people were attacked by a bomb and a number of them were killed–the bad people were trying to stop them giving the evidence Daddy needed to help sort the matter.”
“Did the man have another bomb, Mummy?” asked Danny.
“No, he had a gun and I presume he was going to shoot Daddy.”
“And you stopped him?” deduced Trish.
“Partly, I injured him and the police shot him because he was running round with a gun shooting at people.”
“Did they kill him?” asked Danny.
“I’m afraid so, darling.”
“I’m glad they shot him,” declared Billie, “he might have shot you.”
“That’s probably true, sweetheart, but I find it sad that anyone has to die violently and unnecessarily.”
“But he was a bad guy,” accused Danny, “he was threatening you, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“Were you scared?” asked Livvie her eyes as big as saucers.
“Mummy’s not scared of nuffin’,” Mima said loudly and hugged me.
“Don’t be stupid, if the man had a gun Mummy would be right to be scared–he coulda shot her.”
“But he didn’t, she’s supa-mummy.” Mima decided that was an end to the argument and shouted down anyone who wanted to pursue it. In the end I had to shout to quieten everyone down.
“I’m still upset about all this, so I’d like it very much if we didn’t talk about it again. I’m going to see a doctor this afternoon to talk it through with her, because it was very unpleasant.”
Danny and Billie were shooting each other and I had to ask them to stop because I thought it was in very poor taste. There was no way I was going to disclose the actual details to any of them–they were too wretched and gruesome.
Stella showed me the Guardian which reported that an armed mugger was shot dead by police at Heathrow.
‘It was thought the man, who appeared to be American had taken a Scottish woman hostage, although she managed to escape him, injuring him in her escape. He then began firing at random at other members of the public when armed police arrived. He ignored their warnings, fired upon them and he was shot dead by the police at approximately seven fifty last night. An inquiry will be launched to determine the full facts of the case.’
“Sae, ye’re a Scot efter a’,” Stella said in very bad Lallans.
“I thocht ye ken tha’ already, y’ muckle pudden heid.” I replied in like manner which had the children stopped in their tracks and looking puzzled.
“Why you talkin’ wike Gwamps?” asked a bemused Mima.
“She’s Scottish, an’ we all talk like that, dinna ye ken?” teased Stella.
“Who’s Ken?” asked Danny.
“It’s the Scottish for know,” Trish said with authority.
“So what’s the Scottish for yes then, clever dick?” Danny fired at our resident genius.
“Aye, but it isn’t that sort of no, it means to know something, not no meaning, not yes.”
“So you’re just a Ken-all, are you?” Danny wasn’t going to let her win the argument without a fight.
“No, she’s a Trish-all,” said Billie.
“I am not, I was only trying to explain, if you’re too stupid to understand, that’s your problem,” she stamped off in a huff.
“Aren’t you glad you came home?” smirked Stella.
“If I go and do lunch, perhaps they’ll find something else to fight about.”
“Jenny’s got that on the go, she’s doing scrambled eggs.”
“Yummee,” shouted Livvie, “Can I have tomato sauce on mine?”
“Me too,” added another voice, which I think might have been Billie’s. I left them arguing about that and went up to my bedroom, Trish was lying on my bed crying.
“Don’t get upset over that, it isn’t worth it.” I said rubbing her back.
“He called me a know-all, Mummy.”
“Well you can sound as if you think you know everything.”
“But I was tryin’ to help–they’re all so stupid.”
“They’re not stupid, at the same time, they’re not as clever as you–but then, very few children are.”
“I’ll bet you were, Mummy.”
“I was fairly smart, but you’re cleverer than I am.”
“No I’m not, you know much more than me.”
“Only because I’ve been about a bit longer. I use experience to cope with you sometimes, just as you will one day with your children.”
“I can’t have any, can I?”
“Neither could I, but it hasn’t stopped me being a mother to you and all the others.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be able to.”
“No it doesn’t, but there are children out there who need mummies and daddies to care for them. I hope the universe is able to find them all one of each, and that you’ll be one of the mummies.”
“I hope so too, Mummy,” she said giving me a massive hug.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1516
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(aka Bike) Part 1516 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I duly attended my appointment with Dr Thomas and we discussed my recent experience in detail and she decided to try some relaxation with me. She asked me what the most ridiculous thing a man could wear would be. I hesitated because I couldn’t think of anything. In the end, just for something to say, I said, "Stockings and suspenders."
“Okay, I want to imagine you’ve woken up with a man sitting behind you in your car wearing stockings and a suspender belt. He has a silly hat on his head and in his hand he carries a banana.
“He threatens you with the banana which he says is loaded, and you tell him to split.”
I sniggered.
“He threatens you again, and this time you jump out of the car and run away to a safe distance. He struggles out of the car to chase you but he can’t catch you, can he?”
“No.”
“Why is that?”
“He can’t run in the stilt high heels he has on.”
“Does he look ridiculous?”
“Yes, he does. The hat is like a witch’s hat, with a flower sticking out of the top of it.”
“Does he frighten you?”
“Not really he looks like something out of a comedy show.”
“Can he hurt you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Anything else you want him to do to him to make sure he can’t hurt you?”
“Yes, make him two inches tall.”
“Okay, as soon as he starts to chase you, he shrinks to two inches tall. What happens next?”
“He meets next door’s cat.”
“Okay, he meets your neighbour’s cat.”
We ran through the scenario of me waking to find this weirdo in my car and me running away only to watch him shrink and be splattered by next door’s tabby.
“If you find yourself thinking about the incident again, try and remember how we changed him into something that can’t hurt you ever again.”
“I know, he’s dead, so he can’t hurt me–but he might have friends.”
“From what you told me, the object was to try and destroy the evidence that your husband was bringing back to England. He’s presumably taken that to the bank and their legal team will help to place it before the appropriate authorities. So their efforts would now be a waste of time and risk. I can’t believe they’d still be after you.”
“I still have to make a proper statement, I was too upset yesterday.”
“I’m not surprised–but you did marvellously to escape him.”
“I didn’t mean to stick it in his eye, that was horrible and I’ll remember his screams as long as I live.”
“It was the risk he ran by trying to hurt you or Simon. That you were so resourceful when most hostages would have just done as he told them, shows he underestimated you and your ability to defend yourself. He got his just deserts. You have no need to feel sympathy for him he was probably going to kill you. You didn’t kill him, the police did after he tried to kill them. What you did was self-defence. You should feel proud of yourself, not anything negative. Your quick thinking and resourcefulness saved your life and possibly that of Simon and other bystanders.”
“A man still died though, didn’t he?”
“Being an assassin is a dangerous occupation, he assumed the risk from you was low–his wrong decision cost him his life.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“What if he killed all those people you told me about in Kansas City? Do you feel so badly about bringing about his apprehension?”
“I don’t know.”
“If it wasn’t him, then it was one of his friends–hopefully the American authorities will track them down and apprehend them.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
“If he had shot or hurt Simon, or worse, one of your children, and you survived, what would you do then?”
“I honestly don’t know. If I was angry, I suppose I’d be capable of anything, so I might avenge my family–I don’t know.”
“You did what was necessary and should feel no guilt. Let it go, Cathy, and see him for what he was, a lowlife who got his just deserts.”
I thanked her, made an appointment for the following week and went home feeling exhausted. Simon was home when I got there so after I’d had a cuppa and made a fuss of the children, he told me about the enquiry.
It was quite an ordeal, not helped by the fact that we’d been up half the night and him having to deal with a hysterical wife and her nightmares. I added that bit. He did tell them of the bombing and the attack on me and what could well have been an attack on him.
The enquiry was very sympathetic, having heard about the incident at Heathrow, and the chairman asked him to convey his regards to me and his admiration in my dealing with the attacker.
It seems if I heal someone, the press are after me; if I hurt someone everyone tells me what a good girl I am. So if I hurt them and then heal them, everyone should approve–what a stupid idea?
Simon presented the evidence that he’d been able to collect from the auditor, who’d perished in the bombing. Someone placed a bomb in his office, under his desk. He died instantly.
I asked him I should change the car as it seemed full of bad luck, he told me not to be silly, he’d also arranged for the police to let a valeting firm know when they’d finished with it and he’d have it cleaned for me, inside and out. I thanked him and asked how long he thought it would take for all that to happen. He shrugged and said he didn’t know. He had, however, arranged the hire of a car for me, a Vauhall Safira or something, which had seven seats or something similar. Might be more useful than the Jag, but don’t tell him.
“So did the enquiry exonerate you?” I asked him.
“They have to mull it over and decide. They’ll let me know within two weeks.”
“Oh great, so you’re suspended for two weeks?”
“Three, actually. Dad went ballistic when he learned I’d been in the States.”
“I’ll bet he’d have done the same, “ I postulated.
“Yeah, he did actually say that, but I disobeyed his instructions so have to take the consequences. On the other hand, he decided that because of your devotion to duty as their environmental adviser and in protecting the life of one of their directors and the evidence he was carrying, you should be in for a good bonus at Christmas.”
“I don’t need a bonus, Simon. I got you back in one piece, that’s all I ever wanted out of this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell him to pay the bonus into my account instead then.”
“What–my bonus?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“Why not, if you don’t want it?”
“Because I said so–how much is it likely to be?”
“About a hundred grand, why?”
I felt the room spinning.
“Cathy, Cathy wake up, it’s not that much money. Cathy...
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1517
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I came to sitting on the floor with a head that felt like it was a bucket–a metal bucket–and someone had belted it with a hammer. Simon helped me up and I went to the cloakroom and was sick. After rinsing my mouth I felt a little better. I had swooned apparently, not quite a faint, but enough for me to end up falling into his arms. He sat me down and I recovered quite quickly.
I made some more tea–that usually makes me feel better. “So, if you’re going to be home, I can tell Daddy I’m okay for next week to start my teaching and tutorials.”
“Eh?”
“You can help the others look after the children, I’ll express enough milk for Catherine.”
“Eh?”
“You said that before.”
“Who said I was going to become a babysitter?”
“I did. We’re a married couple, I’ve done my stint now it’s your turn.”
“That’s why I pay people–I can’t look after children.”
“Why not? I did.”
“But you’re female.”
“Legally yes, but genetically, no. So if I can do it, so can you.”
“But you’ve got a female brain, you enjoy that sort of thing.”
“So do some men.”
“Look, watching them for an hour or so while you pop to the shop or get your hair done, is fine. Taking Danny to play footie and even staying to watch him, or Trish for that matter–is okay. Looking after them all day–uh uh.”
“You’ll have Jenny and Stella to help you, and it’s only Catherine, and sometimes Pud and Fiona. If Stella goes out, she’ll express milk too.”
“I can’t deal with babies–it’s bad enough when they’re twelve years old, let alone twelve months.”
“At twelve months, they’re almost toddling, certainly crawling.”
“Ugh, I hate creepy crawlers.”
“Simon, why are you being such a wimp? They’re bairns not barracudas.”
“Och why didn’t ye say so afore?” he said in a very poor accent.
“Because...I don’t know, why does it make a difference?”
“Aye, I’ll jest need tae fill them wi’ porridge each day an’ they’ll be jest fine.”
“Whit?” Now he had me at it. “Sae, it’ll be alricht then?”
“No it bloody well won’t. Look, I’ve said all along that I’ll pay for all the help you need, but I’m not turning into a house husband–we’re not doing a role reversal–or I’m not.”
“You forgot to end it, so there and stick your tongue out, like so.” I stamped my foot for good measure.
He merely shrugged. “What about this trannie thing you were supposed to be employing?”
“Trannie thing? Excuse me, but even taking into account your genetic proclivity for idiocy, that is a bit much. Caroline is living as a female, and I’d be grateful if you’d accord her with the same courtesy you give other women.”
“You gave me to understand she was a cross between a haystack and the back of a bus.”
“No I didn’t. I suggested she needed a little assistance to perfect her act and sent Julie to help her. After all, I had Stella helping me–and she was a huge help, especially in the beginning.”
“Nah, you had what it took, even I could see that.”
“You’re joking–I fell over my own feet and poured wine all over you, remember?”
“Of course I do, it still makes me chuckle now. Okay, you were rather gauche and awkward–still are when it comes to cars–but you exuded this innocent vulnerability and naiveté.”
“Did I?” I felt my face glowing with a blush and my eyes moistened.
“Yeah, it was all a bloody act; underneath you were a toughened, homicidal maniac.”
I stood there looking on in horror, “Is that what you really think of me?”
“What?”
“I said is that what you really think of me, a tough maniac or whatever you said?” My expression had gone from one of dreamy nostalgia to that of extreme irritation, and Simon was the one likely to get scratched.
“I was joking–alright?”
“No, it’s not alright–you keep doing this to me–I–I’ve had enough, Simon. I think you’d better leave.”
He looked at me in total astonishment. “What?”
“Just take your stuff and go.” I turned and walked away from him and began rinsing dishes in the sink.
“Cathy, look I’m sor...” he put his hand on my shoulder and I shook it off. “You’re not serious are you?”
“If I am?”
“I’m devastated. A day or two ago, you were prepared to give your life to save mine and now. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything then.”
“I’ll get my stuff, I’ll be at the hotel if you want me.”
I heard his footsteps leave the kitchen and I saw the tears falling from my cheeks onto the draining board. I hadn’t thought this through, was I being a total idiot? Probably–but then so was he. He had to learn not to be so judgemental and dismissive. Even if Caroline is a total mess, between the girls and Jenny and Stella, they’ll knock her into shape. Why did he still have to use such a pejorative term and after all this time? I thought he understood and would have learned some sensitivity by now–but he hasn’t–he’s still a public school twit.
I dried my eyes before the children spotted I’d been crying again. I followed him up to our bedroom. “Making sure I take all my stuff?” he said a hint of resentment or bitterness creeping into his tone.
“No, I came to talk with you, but it seems you’d prefer to cast innuendos instead.”
“I’m sorry, please let’s talk.”
“Okay.” I sat on the bed and hugged my knees. He sat opposite me on the ottoman I keep spare bedding in. “I need you to stop being so pejorative to any minority group that takes your fancy.”
“It was a joke.”
“Jokes are supposed to be funny. I mean whoever burned down that magazine’s offices in Paris, didn’t think an anti-Islamic cartoon was very funny.”
“Yeah well that’s something else, and I’m not getting into that one.”
“Okay, so what about Caroline?”
“I haven’t seen her yet, so maybe it was a bit judgemental of me. It’s just that I compare all of these people to you and most don’t compare–you are so female and beautiful one at that–they tend to look, well a bit weird.”
“So, Maureen looks weird, does she?”
“Not now, but she used to, and had no dress sense until you took her under your wing, plus she had all that facial surgery.”
“Because a group of thugs thought she was worthy of attack because she was different or weird.”
“Don’t try and paint me into that sort of category, because I’ve never aid a finger on a woman, even a tra–um–even a–you know...”
“A transsexual one?” I offered.
“Yeah, that’ll do.”
“I’m a transsexual woman, Simon.”
“No, never,” he shook his head. “No you were never a boy or a man, so you were different.”
“I might have been androgen insensitive, but officially I was a boy or youth.”
“I don’t agree–that’s how others wanted to see you because of the decision at your birth to call you a boy. They were wrong.”
“Or is it that you have a vested interest in seeing me as different from others like Caroline?”
“Like what?”
“You fell in love with me. Had you known I was supposed to be a boy, you’d have passed me by very quickly.”
“I can’t say, can I? I fell for you and still love you. I know of your history but it has no relevance to me–except your hypersensitivity to all things gender related–which as a crass male, I get wrong occasionally. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you–perhaps I’d better go. Where’re all my clean underpants?” He pulled open a drawer.
“You’d better stay, but please try to be less insensitive.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1518
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In bed that night, while Simon snored and dreamt of goodness knows what, I lay there my mind buzzing instead of resting. Had I really nearly ejected my husband, the man I love, in favour of some virtual stranger?
That sounded as if I was chucking one for the other, which of course it wasn’t. Simon will always be the only man I love and wish to live with. He is at times insensitive verging on stupidity, and at other times, can be the most amazingly supportive human being in the universe.
He was wrong to insult Caroline for which he apologised, and so he should. But if he insults another transsexual woman is he also insulting me? He says not because he doesn’t see me as transsexual, he sees me as a woman who had a plumbing problem–the definition I used to describe myself to Mr Justice Kenyon, when I achieved custody of Mima and Trish–crikey, that takes me back a while. I smiled at Trish’s audacity following the judge into his chambers, but she got what she wanted. Mind you, she usually does–including SRS years before she should have done, the little minx.
My mind went back to Caroline. Why did I owe her any loyalty apart from being transsexual and going to the same school. I owed her nothing. I’d offered her a job which was probably because I felt sorry for her and also had the arrogance to believe I could change her into someone who had a bit more of a passing resemblance to a female than her current incarnation. Did I owe her anything? Not really, I’d been a convenient speaker for her Bristol group and it had gone from there.
I’d involved Julie, rightly or wrongly–I suppose she was old enough to know what she was about–and she consented agreeably to her task. She was over the moon when she realised that none of the group realised we were also transgendered. I have to confess, I was also pleased and prevented Caroline from revealing our true backgrounds. Whether or not it’s a good idea to live in stealth, ie in secret, that’s how I live as much as possible. There are those who know–there are always those who know–usually from the dim and distant past, so you can never hide things from everyone–short of annihilating everyone who’d ever had contact with your family prior to your transition, and that clearly isn’t feasible or desirable. It would probably be a teensy weensy bit illegal as well.
I wondered what impact Julie had had on Caroline’s appearance. Several visions flashed through my mind–all of them alarming. I saw her dressed as a teenager, wearing short skirt and bared midriff and vertiginous heels and bright pink hair. Then that was replaced by someone dressed in footless tights with short shorts and revealing tee shirt, her hair and makeup dramatic to say the least. Surely, Julie wouldn’t do that would she?
I listened to the beached whale beside me: how come most had haunting songs, and mine sounded like a lawn mower in need of a service? How can he sleep like a patient in a coma while I toss and turn, my mind still rushing round my head faster than the Hadron collider?
I wondered if Caroline had been honest with me–would the CRB check find anything? If so, even if I like her, she’ll be out immediately. I sincerely hoped she had been neither dishonest nor listed with a criminal record. Mind you, if she’d changed her name, would they actually know? I suppose that would be up to a court or the prosecution to fully identify her–surely she hadn’t, she seemed so positive about the whole thing.
I then wondered how the children would take to her–would they like her? Would Trish try to supervise her? Probably, she did it with Julie, who at first got some benefit from it. Of course Trish hardly sees herself as transgendered any more–I mean how together can a seven year old get? She’s more sorted than I am.
I worried that Jenny and Stella would get on with Caroline. If I was going to be working much of the time, then I’d need to be able to relax without having to come home to sort out World War 3 or one of them in a sulk which could be measured on the Richter scale.
Suddenly, I realised that Julie would be having surgery in the coming months, assuming we got two opinions to back it as appropriate. I wondered if Stephanie would be eligible to give one of them?
Next week, I start my teaching again. I’m dreading it. I feel quite anxious because I haven’t done any for ages and I haven’t really finished my teaching plans or notes. I might have to wing it somewhat–not that that is unusual for me.
The ecology was easy enough–teach them the basics and then make them try to apply it with field trips. They don’t have to be exotic, we could do one round the campus or the promenade.
I’d have to check on the latest recommendations for the number of test sites you have to do to prove a species is present, for instance I suspect it’s different for reptiles to things like dormice.
On the Today programme, their racing tip yesterday was a horse called, Dormouse. I was tempted to back it–I wish I had. It came in at 20:1–those were the odds not its arrival time.
My stupid brain–why can’t it switch off and let me sleep? If I had real worries, like one of the kids was ill or Simon was missing, I could understand it–but none of this stuff it keeps churning up is genuinely worrying me. It almost feels like it’s having a clear out, before the next crisis hits.
I awoke with a start–I hadn’t even realised I’d been asleep. I was sweating like mad and needed a pee. I’d been sitting in my car listening to the radio when someone got in the back of it. I was just about to reach round and stab them when I saw it was Simon beaming at me–and my hand acted by itself, plunging the blade into his chest while he looked on at me in astonishment and I burst into tears.
In the safety of the bathroom, I checked myself for fresh blood–there was none–so I assumed I had only stabbed Simon in my dream. Mind you when I went back to bed he seemed unusually quiet and I had to cwtch into the back of him and hear his heart beating to know he was alive. Maybe I am crazy and need to see Dr Thomas more often.
I nodded off to sleep, turning over and presenting my back to Simon, who at some point during the night rolled over and placed his arm over my waist and held me tightly. When I woke and felt him holding me, I felt safe and secure and went off into a proper sleep from which I was woken some two hours later by the gang of aliens or were they illegal immigrants, who clambered into bed with us, their cold hands and feet everywhere–even Simon gasped and swore at them. A new day had dawned, about six hours before I was ready for it.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1519
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“You’re not listenin’, Mummy?” complained Billie.
“I am,” I lied and yawned.
“We have a girl called Cabbage in our class.”
“Is this a joke?” I asked waiting for the punchline–previous experience had shown Billie to be the Domestos of jokes, killing them all dead.
“Is she a vegetable?” called Danny from across the table.
“Is that her real name?” I asked.
“Yes, her name is Jill Cabbage.”
Livvie and Trish convulsed with laughter, one of them knocking over a glass while so afflicted. Fortunately it was empty of the blackcurrant drink it had previously held.
“Well the man who used to produce James Bond films name was Broccoli.”
“Was Broccoli? Did he change it to Parsnip?” said Trish loudly.
“No, he died,” I added quietly. There was relative silence.
“Was he eaten by a sheep?” asked Trish which brought more laughter.
“No, he died as we all must one day.”
“I don’t wanna be eated by a sheeps,” declared Mima and went off to find her dolls. She played with them quite frequently, I suspect because she controlled their world. In the real one, she was the bottom of the hierarchy at least until Catherine was more able to participate and thus be made the new base level.
The others were laughing at her as she walked off oblivious to their derision. I intervened. “Don’t laugh at people who don’t understand as much as you do, you know that Mima takes lots of things literally.”
“But, Mummy, everyone knows that sheep eat grass,” said Trish.
“And broccoli,” added Danny.
“That’s enough,” I said firmly and giggles followed stopping when I administered a stony glare to my assembled children.
It was Friday, the last day of the half term holiday and for which the best forecast of the week had been made. Danny had asked to go and play football and soon after breakfast he went off on his bike to play in a friendly game with some of his schoolmates.
Billie wanted me to take her cycling and as Trish and Livvie had found some new computer game to play, I agreed. Jenny was happy to keep an eye on things and Simon was there as was Stella and Tom–the latter having taken a day off to make it a long weekend.
I changed into my cycling clothes and Billie did the same and we sat together in the kitchen pulling on our cycling shoes. Billie was able to ride with SPDs, a sort of clipless pedal, the same as I used on most of my bikes. Then we set off to the bike shed and after we checked the tyres and brakes, I re-lubed the chains with a synthetic oil supposedly containing Teflon, the non-stick coating on many pots and pans in everyone’s kitchen.
I ran a clean cloth over the chains to wipe off any excess oil and we were ready to go. Once we warmed up, we set off towards Portsdown hill and the ultimate local challenge. Once we started on the hill, I kept up a steady encouragement of Billie who puffed and panted but stayed on the bike for at least half the climb. Even the attempted bribe of an ice cream didn’t push her any farther, she’d gone as far as she could. I stopped alongside her and praised her for her effort–in all fairness she’d done very well for a ten year old.
We crossed the road and stopped in a gateway to let her recover and have a drink. I offered her an energy bar which she took and ate ravenously. I ate mine with less urgency, sipping from my water bottle or bidon as posh cyclists call it.
“It’s Julie’s birthday soon, are you going to give her the operation as a birthday present?” asked Billie causing me to spray water over the gate. She had to wait until I’d finished coughing before I could answer her.
“Not as such no. The deal was that Daddy said he would pay for the operation privately once she was eighteen. She’ll be eighteen next month, so sometime in the new year, I expect we’ll organise it. I’ll ask Dr Smith to contact Mr O’Rourke and see if he’d do it for her.”
“I’ll be the only freak then,” she said sniffing.
“You’re not a freak, darling,” I said wrapping her in a hug.
“Yes I am, everyone else is either a girl or a boy, I’m still a nothing.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but they don’t operate on girls as young as you.”
“They did on Trish.”
“That was an emergency, but don’t get any ideas of following down that route because Daddy or I could end up in prison for allowing you to do so.”
“But it wouldn’t be your fault if I cut my balls off.”
“We nearly had a newspaper invasion when Trish did it. If they had got hold of the story, we’d have been pilloried by the tabloids. If you did it, they’d be baying for my blood–the woman who turns boys into girls, or some such nonsense.”
“But it’s not true.”
“That doesn’t seem to matter these days.”
“But I’d tell them I did it myself.”
“They wouldn’t believe you. They’d suggest I talked you into saying that.”
“That’s not true.”
“Look, I’ll make the same promise to you as I did to Julie, if you don’t change your mind, then we’ll pay for you to have the operation when you’re eighteen.”
“But that’s eight years away?” she cried, tears spilling down her face.
“That’s the best I can do, unless they allow it younger.”
“They do in Germany and Holland.”
“How d’you know that?”
“I saw it on the internet, a girl singer got it done in Germany when she was sixteen, and a British girl got it done at seventeen.”
“Did they now? Well you’ve still got at least six years to go, so we’ll see what the situation is then. I won’t make any promises other than to consider it if it’s legally permitted. If it isn’t, then we wait until you’re eighteen. That’s still younger than I was when I started hormones–which you’re already on–so stop complaining.”
The ride back down the hill was easier than going up, although it can get a bit dangerous if you’re slow on the brakes or if you’re too quick–you tend to tabletop as the pros call it–meaning go over the handlebars, the bike following you as it’s still attached to your shoes. With carbon fibre bikes that may be the last time you ride them, as sudden impacts can shatter the rigid frame. To have twenty pounds of aluminium bike land on top of you, especially your face or groin can be somewhat uncomfortable verging on painful, depending upon terminal velocity. It isn’t to be encouraged.
Although the sun was shining, the roads were wet and I warned Billie to keep her speed down, I had a supply of brake blocks if necessary, so using her brakes to slow herself down was okay. What did she do, but fly past me down the hill, whizz round a bend and disappear from view.
I cranked up the gears and shot after her, actually using the highest gear on the bike, which I don’t do very often–I’m no Mark Cavendish or even Victoria Pendleton. I couldn’t see what speed I was doing but it felt pretty hairy, the bike was catching the wind just a bit and my eyes were watering from the wind so I had to be doing forty miles an hour or more.
I whooshed round the bend and caught sight of her a couple of hundred yards ahead, I felt the wind catch my front wheel a little and worried about how she was coping. I had after all, more bodyweight to keep the bike on the road and twice as much experience as she did, if not more.
Then disaster struck, a car went past her blasting his horn, she lost control and the bike and Billie crossed the road and went through the hedgerow. I saw her somersault over the hedge and into the field as I struggled to stop my own velocipede and go to assist her along with the RAC man who saw it happen and stopped his van to call for help.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1520
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(aka Bike) Part 1520 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I reached the site of Billie’s crash–the bike was stuck into a hawthorn bush and the front wheel and forks were badly buckled. The RAC man was looking at the hedge and talking on his mobile. “Yeah Portsdown hill, Portsmouth side, you’ll see my van, okay.” He slipped the phone in his pocket, “I’ve called the ambulance.”
“Thank you,” I tried to force my way through the shrubbery but it was a vain attempt. “Stay still, Billie, I’m coming, Mummy’s coming,” I shouted, feeling a sense of frenzy and fear at the same time.
“There’s a gateway here,” called RAC man and I saw him vault over it. I ran after him but had to open the gate which delayed me by several moments.
I ran into the field and saw him rise from her lying so still and then he grabbed me and held me back. “Let me go, that’s my child,” I screamed at him.
“You can’t do anything for her now,” he said and held me.
“I can, I can, let me go.” I wriggled free and pushed him away and ran to where she lay face down her head at a strange angle, her helmet all broken on her head. I couldn’t really take in the scene before me.
I rolled her over on her back holding her head as I did so, she wasn’t breathing and her eyes, which were open were lifeless and unseeing. I immediately began chest compressions–I couldn’t remember how many, I just did them, thinking of the Archer’s theme tune.
“She’s dead,” said the man and in the distance I heard the wailing of the ambulance siren. “Her neck’s broken.”
“No,” I screeched at him, “I won’t let her die, I’m her mother.”
“I’ll go and get the parmamedics,” he said and walked off. I continued my urgent task, two breaths and thirty compressions.
“Hang in there kiddo, c’mon we can beat this, c’mon, get well and I’ll get you your surgery even if you have to go to bloody China. Please don’t die,” I pleaded with the lifeless body which lay in front of me, continuing the compressions and trying to call up the blue light to fix her.
Time seemed to standstill, I was still pounding away on her chest when the green uniformed male paramedic dropped down beside me. “Keep going,” he said and began opening his cases, then his colleague, a young woman arrived with more bags.
I kept up my chest compressions and the breaths, my back was hurting but not as much as my heart–the pain there was inconsolable. The woman began to take over and I stood and watched as they placed sticky patches on her chest and I knew they were checking for heart and possibly going to defib her.
“Stand clear–shocking,” said an electronic female voice. “Assessing–preparing to shock–stand clear–shocking.” I think I’ll remember those words for the rest of my life, they were repeated over and over as the two paramedics fought to save the life of my child. While I stood and watched though tear laden eyes, the RAC man his hand on my shoulder.
I watched as they administered injections and even put up a drip but it was all in vain. I went in the ambulance watching in a dreamlike state as the male paramedic continued to treat and save my child. I waited in the QA A&E department the RAC man having followed behind the ambulance with the bikes, and then came to support me until Simon could get there.
Simon had just arrived when the doctor came into the little room to which they’d taken us. He was Indian, I think, but his English was very clear. “I’m sorry, but your little girl didn’t make it.”
I think I screamed and then all I remember was Simon lowering me into a chair, before everything went black. I came round lying on a trolley in a quiet part of the hospital. I had a blanket over me and Simon was sitting beside me holding my hand. It took me a moment to orientate myself–then I felt as if I’d been deflated, disembowelled and crushed at the same instant. The pain I felt consumed my whole body yet everything felt numb.
“How ya doin’?” said Simon.
“I wish I was dead,” I replied and began crying. He held me and I cried some more.
“Feel up to going home?”
“I want to see her.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“I want to see her and hold her.”
“Okay, wait here and don’t move. I’ll go and find someone.” He left me clutching his soaking wet handkerchief and sobbing. I felt a total failure.
Sometime later he returned and told me they were getting her ready, then he put his arm round me and held me, a sobbing pile of snot and tears. “I’m a failure as a parent.” I heard myself say between breaths.
“You’re a wonderful parent,” he said and squeezed me.
“No I’m not, I let her die–it was my fault–I should never have taken her to that hill–she was too young.”
“It was an accident, Babes, it could have happened at any time to anyone. It’s just one of those things.”
“One of those things,” I screeched at him–we’ve just lost one of our children and you dismiss it as one of those things?”
“I wasn’t dismissing it, I was trying to say that you couldn’t have stopped it once it began. John, the RAC bloke saw the car get very close to her and heard the horn sounded before she wobbled across the road. He’s given the police a statement and gone to show them exactly where it happened.”
“She wasn’t going that fast–how can she be dead?” Nothing made sense to me.
“She landed on her head, the ground was hard. She broke her neck and she had brain injuries as well. Even your magic couldn’t sort all that.”
“What magic? I’m as useless as it is–and those religious morons have the nerve to tell me there’s a fucking God–where is He when we needed Him? In their fucking imaginations, the only place He ever fucking existed.”
“Calm down, Cathy, remember we’re going to see her in a moment–she’s at peace, let’s leave her there shall we?”
I looked up and saw Sam Rose standing before me. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. I nodded back to him. “I’ve seen the notes–if it’s any consolation, she wouldn’t have felt very much–it would have been very quick.”
“It isn’t any consolation, Sam. I couldn’t even say goodbye to her.”
“You’d like to do that now?” he asked and he led us away to the mortuary.
She lay on a small trolley, wrapped in a sheet and was cooling rapidly. Her body was stiffening with rigor but I was determined to hold her one last time. I kissed her and talked with her, asking her to forgive me and that I’d remember her forever and love her forever too.
I think I’d have stayed there until I starved to death but a porter came and Sam and Simon held me while he wheeled her little body away and I collapsed with grief into Simon’s arms and don’t remember much else until I woke up in my own bed with Stella hovering over me like my fairy godmother.
“How d’you feel?” she asked.
“I want to die.”
“What about the others?” she asked quietly.
“What others?”
“The other children, your other children–they need you more than ever now.”
“What for? I let one of my children die–perhaps they’d be better off with someone else.”
“Look, I know it’s a sad time and I share your grief, but I have no time for self pity, so get off your bloody arse and go and look after your other children–they need to mourn as well and they need you to help them understand what they’re going through. Lying there like wet lettuce isn’t going to help anyone–you have to be strong for them, you have to be a mother for them, Cathy. Now come on, get up, have a shower and I’ll go and make you some tea.”
I watched her go and my eyes still dripping tears dragged my stupid body out of the bed and lurched into the bathroom.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1521
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Only those who’ve lost a child can know the pain it causes, something deep inside you dies leaving a gaping wound through which your very soul seems to be exposed and damaged.
The children were bewildered. How could one of them go out with their most trusted adult, all fit and healthy one minute–be dead the next? They knew people died, they just didn’t expect one of them to do so. I knew that feeling so well, and in between giving them lots of cuddles and reassurance, I kept thinking, if only...
If only we hadn’t gone out on the bikes that day, or if only we’d stayed away from Portsdown hill. If only it had been me that died, not one of my children. If only...
Tom took himself off to his study, unable to face anyone–he still avoided me unless there were others about. I guess he didn’t know what to say, or that he was so upset because he’d already buried all those he’d once loved and hoped that as a grandfather he be spared doing it again. Life can be so cruel.
The RAC man, John Burnett, was such a help–because he saw it happen–his statement meant that mine was more or less a formality. The driver of the car which had beeped at her was found from John’s description and the driver prosecuted for driving without due care and attention. I don’t think they directly caused the accident anymore than my taking her to Portsdown hill did, they were simply factors all of which contributed to her death.
The children wanted to say their goodbyes, and we had a very tearful time at the funeral director's, they each hugged and kissed her and left a rosebud in the coffin. I was so upset that they called the ambulance–I passed out again–don’t know why–probably some hysterical reason.
Simon was wonderful throughout that week–the one between Billie’s death and her funeral at the crematorium. He helped with the children, he comforted them and entertained them. Stella was good as well, she and Jenny, who were both upset by our loss, soldiered on in the house as I did very little except sit around and feel completely empty.
At one point I was going to saw all the bikes into pieces–I’d got as far as finding a large hacksaw, when Simon spotted me and dragged me screeching from the bike store and confiscated the keys, which he hid.
Another day they found me curled up in Billie’s bed holding the pyjamas she’d worn the night before she died. Anne Thomas came and saw me twice and gave me sedation, which made me even more sluggish than my grief.
We had a mountain of cards, I think every girl in the school sent us one, and most of the nuns had also signed one. We had a visit from Sister Maria, although I was too upset that day to see her. Simon dealt with her.
I wasn’t sleeping at night, so during the day I was nodding off every time I sat down, Trish was marvellous, she stayed with me virtually all day, every day. Unlike her usual self, she remained quiet and observant–she was in fact watching me like a hawk–I learned afterwards that she was terrified I would die as well–she thought I looked so ill. That was probably not helped by the fact that I wasn’t eating–I couldn’t face food–I just felt sick all the time. Even the mention of it made me feel nauseous.
The funeral was a bit of problem too. As an agnostic, the last thing I wanted was the religious stuff which I thought disguised or distracted from the death of the individual. I certainly couldn’t go with the life after death stuff or the resurrection that comes with standard Christian fare. However, Billie was a believer in Jesus, so reluctantly I agreed that Sister Maria could perform a few prayers, otherwise it was going to be a non-religious ceremony.
When I informed Nora Cunningham–well Simon did actually, she came to see me the next day and asked if she could say a few words at the funeral. I agreed, although I decided I would do the eulogy myself–it was the only thing I could do now for my little girl.
Simon had registered the death. He had problems with the registrar because she’d not been living as a girl long enough to change her birth registration. He pleaded with the registrar, who gave him the death certificate spelled the way we’d changed her name, and he also allowed her to be registered as a girl. I don’t know how Simon managed it, but I copied one of the certificates and burned it at the top of the garden–letting her know that although she wasn’t a perfect as she wanted, she’d died a girl.
Trish asked me what I was doing when I set fire to the copy of the death certificate, and I told her I was sending it to Billie, she then asked if she could send her a note as well, in the end we had a whole box of paper to burn from all the children.
The day of the funeral, Stella had all the children decked out in school uniforms, looking as nice as nine pence. Simon and Tom wore dark suits and black ties, I wore a black suit with a white blouse, Stella, a navy dress and coat and Jenny a pair of dark trousers with a green tunic thing over the top.
We followed the coffin into the crematorium, Simon and I, surrounded by the rest of the children, who were bewildered by all those who’d come to say goodbye to her. The place was full of children, virtually the whole school had turned out. At the back I noticed John Burnett, the RAC man, standing discreetly behind the girls–such a nice man.
We entered the chapel to music from the film, Nanny McPhee which was Billie’s favourite movie. Tom acted as master of ceremonies, and asked us all to sit. He reminded us why we were there, to celebrate the short life of Billie King, and although it was time of great sadness and unfulfilled potential, she was much loved and missed.
Sister Maria read a short poem by Christina Rosetti, we sat in reflection for a few minutes, then Nora addressed the congregation.
“This won’t take long,” she said. “I knew Billie when she was quite young and very unhappy. She had been abused as a young child and with an inadequate mother who wasn’t capable of caring for her properly, she ended up in a children’s home–I was the manager–so I got to know her as well as anyone could in those days.
“We left her with another child at the home of Simon and Cathy Cameron for one Christmas. Apart from the fact that they were spoiled rotten, they loved it with the Camerons, and finally they were both fostered and then adopted by Simon and Cathy.
“Although she was with you just a couple of years before this tragic accident, I know that this time was the happiest in her short life. I know this because she told me. For the first time in her life she was truly loved by all in a family and she in turn loved them. For that, on her behalf I thank you all.”
Simon helped me to the front of the chapel, where I held myself up against the table they had there. I glanced at the notes I had. I couldn’t see them for tears and I began to think that just as I’d failed her that day, I was going to fail her again. I felt angry with myself and the adrenaline began to flow. I took a huge breath and dumped my notes on the table. I’d do this off the cuff, or from the heart.
“Thank you all for coming to celebrate this, the life of my adopted daughter, Billie. As a very polite little girl, she’d have thanked you all herself personally, but owing to time constraints, I can’t do that.
“Even though it was short life, I could talk about her exploits for the next few hours, but you’ll be relieved to hear I won’t. She came to us on a temporary basis and never left–until now that is. She brought her love and her troubles, none of which were so bad that we couldn’t help her to cope with them and she was really enjoying herself at her new school, where she fitted in very well thanks to Sister Maria, her various teachers and of course her friends and classmates.
“Whatever, else I say, I think Billie was happy until that last few moments when the accident happened. She loved her cycling and therefore I must conclude she died doing something she loved–can any of us ask for anymore from life? I am assured that her death was very quick and painless, for which I am grateful.
“I feel sad for her loss and for the potential she will never now achieve. As her adoptive mother, I will miss her for the rest of my life, because that’s what parents do–feel for their children all their lives. I’m saddened because she will never have the joy of educational achievement, of finding a satisfying career, of developing relationships and perhaps one special one. She will never know the joy of being a parent–or its sadness and pain.
“I’ve come here to publicly say farewell to my daughter, Billie, and also to tell her that she will live in my heart as long as it beats, and although we say adieu I will remember her as long as I live and with love.
“I thank you for the love you brought into our lives, goodbye sweetheart.” Simon helped me back to my seat where I sobbed into a handkerchief and was comforted by Mima.
Sister Maria asked us to pray and said a few prayers. Then to my astonishment and on reflection, delight, she had the school choir sing Faure’s In Paradisum, which was amazing.
As they finished the curtain came across and I don’t remember much after that.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1522
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When I recovered, an hour or so later plus a cuppa, I discovered that the school choir had done the Faure Requiem at Easter, and as Sister Maria wanted the school represented at the funeral, she had them practicing it for the days leading up to their gig at the crematorium.
Something I hadn’t bargained on was the press being there–well, the story of Billie’s death was in the local rag–so I suppose it was to be expected. The reporter, a young woman was blown away by the choral ending to the service and spoke with Sister Maria afterwards.
I saw the article in the paper the following day when Stella came home with it.
‘It was a tragedy, a young woman out with her mother for a bike ride when she lost control of her bicycle going down the notorious Portsdown hill crashed and died from her injuries.
In an essentially non-religious service, where the eulogies were full of lost potential for the young deceased, the whole thing took on another dimension of spirituality when young Billie’s schoolmates, in the shape of the school choir performed the ‘In Paradisium’ from Faure’s Requiem giving an added poignancy to the proceedings, making everyone break out in tears and goosebumps.
Sister Maria, the headmistress of the school, St Claire’s Convent School for Girls, said that Billie was such a lovely girl and that everyone liked her, and the choir jumped at the chance to say farewell to her in a choral manner. She added that Lady Cameron, Billie’s mother, had done much to help the school hardship fund, which awards bursaries to less well off pupils. Lady Cameron has presented prizes and entertained the parents and students with talks about her research on dormice and also about the making of her documentary about one of Britain’s shyest and cutest mammals. She had also performed in the recent production of Macbeth at the school, playing the part of Lady Macbeth.
The Camerons are great supporters of the school, having three other girls attending there and it appears the school is an equally good supporter of the Cameron family, demonstrating it in such an exquisite form and making everyone who was there come away remember the funeral for a very long time and of course, remembering the unfortunate young woman in whose name it was performed. Requiescat in pace, Billie.'
By normal standards, the author was both more erudite and accurate in her reporting and thank goodness there was no mention of miracles or absence of the same.
Going back to the aftermath of the funeral, Henry, who I hadn’t noticed at the funeral, arranged for refreshments at the nearest pub, which had a function room–thankfully. Somehow, Simon and Henry had half carried me back to the car and let me rest there in peace and quiet. When I recovered, I was taken to the refreshments, to say thanks to Sister Maria and the girls for their magnificent rendition of the requiem. Okay, I’ve heard better from professional choirs, but the poignancy was memorable and the motivation very laudable.
I tidied myself up as best I could in Henry’s Mercedes and was led by Simon to the function room at the pub. The whole place, which was buzzing with conversation, went quiet as we entered, me clinging to Simon’s arm and probably looking every bit as much of a wreck as I felt.
I was led around the room by Simon, shaking hands and thanking everyone who’d attended. Everyone said that they would miss her and there were many red looking eyes glistening with fresh tears. I’d never realised how much people liked her, she was such a quiet thing at home–but then with Trish about–most people would seem quiet.
After a quick cup of tea, I thanked everyone for coming, and Henry took the children and me home. The donations in lieu of flowers raised several hundred pounds and we had that sent to Mermaids, a self help group for the families of transgender children.
On the same day as the newspaper report of the funeral, which would be the day after it, Sister Maria came to see me. She wanted to know how I was–I showed her–a total mess, and to see how the other children were dealing with it.
They were less buoyant than usual but certainly not as depressed as I felt, which is normal–children are egocentric and as such see the world as orbiting their suns–whereas parents are aware of the multiple galaxies represented by their children. In one of mine, a significant star had gone out, and it showed.
Sister Maria presented me with a bouquet of flowers, which Trish immediately snaffled and went to arrange, almost before I could say thank you to their generous donor.
“Thank you again for the choir, it set the thing off magnificently. What a shame the only person who didn’t hear it was the one they performed it for.” I felt tears in my eyes.
“Ah well that’s where I’m at an advantage–I believe she did hear it as she ascended up to heaven.”
“I won’t argue with you, Sister Maria, but I think we’ll have to agree to differ, nice as your belief is–it still doesn’t resonate with me.”
“You’re entitled to your beliefs as much as anyone else, Lady Cameron. We stopped sending the inquisition round many years ago, you know.”
“Please don’t get me started on that one, and for goodness sake don’t mention it to Simon.”
“Why? Is he a scholar of the mediaeval period?”
“Not as far as I know, but he is of Monty Python, and one word about it will get you the whole sketch performed from memory.”
“Oh dear.”
“Sadly, a case of arrested development,” I offered, and she chuckled. She stayed for a cup of tea by which time, Trish had turned her offering of flowers into a wet mess on the kitchen floor–she dropped the vase lifting it off the draining board. Julie helped her to clean it up and Trish started again with her creative floral task.
She produced the second vase and we both commented upon her creative genius and how beautiful the flowers looked. I suppose both were actually true, the flowers were lovely and Trish’s arrangement showed that she had some bent for arranging them.
Puddin’ walked by muttering in robotic style, “Oh poo, I dropped it,” which she had obviously heard emanating from the kitchen and her elder cousin.
“Does she always do this?” asked Sister Maria, referring to Puddin’s ability to act like a mobile Dictaphone.
“Not always, but it’s quite common, and like most children, she only does it when any of us say something we don’t really want anyone else to hear.”
“Isn’t it ever thus,” sighed Sister Maria and quoted a few experiences of her own with either her sister’s children or those relating to children she was teaching. Her stories were very funny, especially the way she told them, and for a short time I forgot my grief and enjoyed myself.
She rose to leave and we hugged. “If you need to talk, feel free to drop by the school anytime,” she said, and I thanked her.
“Don’t forget, that the best way to remember Billie is to get on with your life and those of your children. Like Mrs Cunningham said, “Billie’s time with you was the happiest of her entire life. You did your best for her and she appreciated it. Now do your best for the others and for yourself. You’re lucky, you have a large family which you can actually afford to spoil. Do so, but don’t tell anyone I said so.” She winked, and left leaving me feeling a little better, but still with a residual sadness which I had a feeling was going to be with me for a long time.
(For those who haven’t seen the Spanish Inquisiton sketch, try the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uprjmoSMJ-o )
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1523
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The days came and went. I carried on in autopilot mode as much as anything. Tom had rejoined the human race but he was obviously suffering his loss. He went to work at the uni but it was obvious he was struggling as was I.
Caroline’s CRB check came through. Julie had been meant to go and see her again but given the things which had happened recently, she’d been unable to go. My course had been postponed until January, so at least I had a few weeks to get my head back in order. I arranged with Jenny and Stella that I’d go to see Caroline, check her out re clothing and general appearance and bring her down with me the next day. I’d stay overnight at my parent’s house and collect her the following morning.
I’d expressed some milk for Catherine, and besides, Stella had enough to supply a cheese factory. They reckoned they’d cope, especially as Simon was still on gardening leave–which was actually what he was doing much of the time when it didn’t rain.
Billie had been gone for nearly ten days, Each one had been an agony because I found myself thinking about her whenever I had nothing else to focus my attention on. I scrubbed floors, washed walls and even cleaned my car inside–it had come back from the police and had been valeted, but I did it again for something to do. It was easier than doing teaching notes and handouts.
Pippa had offered to type my notes if I dictated them, but I usually make alterations as I go, so it was easier to do my own and I’d get them done before January–in theory, anyway.
I drove up to Bristol, checked into my parent’s house, dealt with the mound of mail while I had a sandwich for lunch–I still wasn’t eating properly–changed into something tidier than jeans and sweat top, put on a little makeup and went to collect Caroline.
She had a room, a bedsit–been there done that–in a house off Gloucester Road, which is the main A38, near the cricket ground. I found her address and rang the bell, having parked about fifty yards down the road, which was the only space I could find. I’d slipped the photo of Billie in its case into my bag as I left the car, so I kept her memory with me in a tangible form. It was a lovely photo of her laughing because she was wearing her new school uniform. I sniffed and waited for the door to open.
Caroline was wearing jeans and shirt over a vest thing and looked fairly presentable, certainly better since Julie cut her hair. We hugged briefly and she took me up to her room. It was on the first floor and a reasonable size. She’d obviously been buying clothes because things were hanging on the doors of the wardrobe which I presumed was already full of clothes.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” she said and I thanked her. I showed her my photo of Billie and she said she thought she was a pretty little thing. She was. I held back the tears, and Caroline showed me the stuff she’d bought with the money Julie had taken up to her. She certainly had bucked up her ideas, and the couple of things she modelled for me, looked pretty good, especially with the new hair style and better makeup.
“Julie did quite a job on me, didn’t she?” Caroline observed, viewing herself in the full length mirror in a skirt and jumper.
“You look much better, girl.” I commented which made her blush–it had the same effect on me in the beginning–a sort of pleasant embarrassment–now it’s normality.
She needed some shoes, so we hopped in the car and went up the motorway to Cribbs Causeway, an out of town retail park with loads of shops. I marked the place where we left the car–I tend to get confused and once spent an hour in the Marks and Spencer car park trying to find my car–it has six levels.
I’d looked through her wardrobe and most of her shoes were heels–fine if you can wear them all day without getting sore feet, but most people can’t. I had on a pair of fairly low wedge moccasin type shoes which were comfortable for walking, Caroline wore a three inch court type shoe and before we got to the first shop she acknowledged her feet weren’t as comfortable as she’d like.
We found a nice slip-on loafer which went well with her trousers, in black. She decided to wear them and carry her courts in the bag. She was learning the reality of womanhood–comfort comes before looks unless you’re a teenager.
I bought myself a couple of bras in Marks & Spencer and she grabbed a pack of panties. She also saw a pair of jeans she liked, so we stopped and she tried them on and they fit without needing any alteration.
In a shoe shop we found some knee length boots with a two inch heel that she liked, so we added them to the pile we were carrying. Finally we got some new slippers, a couple of nightdresses and a dressing gown for Caroline and headed back to the car. It was five o’clock and we just got back to her place before the rush hour.
I left her there and went back to my parent’s house, set up the webcam and talked to all the children except Julie, who was still working. I asked them how school had gone and they asked me about Caroline.
I didn’t bother to change to go out for a meal. we went to a Wetherspoon’s pub and the food is adequate for the price. I wasn’t very hungry–I’ve had no appetite since the accident–but I pushed a slice of ham and a couple of eggs round the plate of chips, eating as much as I wanted, which wasn’t a lot.
“You must eat, Cathy, you’re starting to look a bit gaunt, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Yeah, I know, I just don’t fancy anything,” I was just going through the motions. Really, I’d be quite happy if I didn’t see any food ever again–it just made me want to heave. I did eat one of the eggs and a few chips, so by recent standards, a good meal. I had a slice of bread for breakfast tomorrow with which I’d make toast and I had a little pot of jam with me as well.
“Okay, so tomorrow, I’ll collect you at ten. Bring enough clothes for a month–we do have a washing machine and ironing board, as you’ll soon find out.”
“And the trial begins,” she said taking a deep breath.
“You make it sound as if it’s ordeal by combat–mind you with Trish, it might well be.” Caroline gave me a worried look. “I’m only joking, she’ll take you under her wing and mother you.”
“How old is she?”
“Seven, going on twenty seven–that’s her,” I pointed to her in a photo of the whole mob, including their proud dad.
“That’s your husband, is it?”
“Yep, that’s my Simon.”
“Nice looking chap.”
“Yep, but I saw him first,” I smiled and she looked embarrassed.
“Re that, I don’t know what I am anymore. The hormones mean I look at men differently, but until I’m sorted, I’m undecided what I am.”
“Relax, I was only pulling your leg.”
“Simon–he–um knows about me?”
“Yes, they all do.”
“What even the children?”
“Yes, we have no secrets from the children regarding that sort of thing. If they grow up seeing it as just a variation on the norm, hopefully they’ll learn to accept everyone who doesn’t pose a real threat to them.”
“Hello ladies, can we buy you some drinks?” Two thirty something men were standing alongside our table and I saw Caroline look decidedly uncomfortable.
“No thanks, boys. We’re just leaving.”
“Aw go on, stay a little longer,” said the dark haired one.
“I have to go back to feed my baby, my husband is looking after her and his shift will be starting soon.”
“You’re married? What about your friend, she isn’t wearing a wedding ring.”
“Her hubby is in the same branch as mine,” it was total bullshit but so what, they should recognise it. They were full of it themselves.
“Branch? What a bank or something?” asked the fair haired man.
“No, anti-terrorist, they’re Special Branch.”
“You’re shitting me,” said the dark one.
“Would I do that to you? I’ve got a photo of him here winning the marksmanship competition–no wait, it’s here somewhere...” I dug about in my bag but they’d got the message. We both roared with laughter after they left.
“That’s about the first time that’s happened to me.”
“You get used to it,” I shrugged.
“Nah, it only happened because you were with me. You’re a really attractive woman, Cathy.”
“Yeah, so they say. C’mon, let’s get you home. You have to pack yet and I have things to do as well.” So saying, we left the pub and I drove her home, then went back to my parent’s house.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1524
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When I got back to my parent’s house, I had a bath to relax me, made myself a cuppa to drink in the bath and phoned Si. I told him that I expected to be home about lunchtime tomorrow with Caroline.
He told me he’d been playing Monopoly with the girls–Danny won’t play it with Trish–and she bankrupted him. I suggested he try Scrabble next time.
“No way, I put that programme on her laptop a while ago and she usually beats it.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said sipping the last of my tea.
“Yeah, about the time you crashed the Porsche.”
“So that’s what she’s been doing on her computer?”
“Possibly, why?”
“So the next time we play she can beat me. Her desire to win is one of the few boy characteristics she’s carried into her new life.”
“Oh that’s a boy thing is it? So Ms Pendleton is similarly affected?”
“Oh I think any of the women top athletes have more than a little testosterone circulating, which we know drives it–plus of course, it’s their job to win or to try their damndest.”
“So what drives you then–you like to win, too?”
“Do I? I think it depends upon the contest.”
“Yeah, okay. Look, I have to sort out some stuff before I go to bed.”
“Okay, darling, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“This Caroline woman isn’t a real Gorgon, is she?”
“We had dinner in a pub and had two guys try to chat us up.”
“Yeah, but that was you they were after I expect.”
“No it wasn’t, they try to chat her up too. Frightened the poor woman half to death.”
“Ah, but my little Rottweiler saw them off, I expect.”
“They went when asked, I didn’t have to savage them at all. I just told them my husband worked for MI5.”
“Did you say MI5 or the M15–they might think I make motorways or something.”
“If I did I suspect they were concerned they could end up under one.”
“Too right–I’m Simon the...”
“Pieman, okay darling, night night.”
“I was going to say, terminator, but you terminated me first. It’s true what they say about you lot being deadlier than the male.”
“I’m not a mantis.”
“That’s a Spanish head-dress isn’t it or is it something to do with logarithms?”
“Go to bed, Si, your combat with Trish has obviously softened your brain.”
“Okay, night.” He rang off and I pulled the plug and got out of the bath, which was starting to get a bit cool anyway. I dried myself and then plastered moisturiser all over the bits I could reach. I don’t do it often enough, so get the odd bit of flaky skin and dry skin on my heels. I did think about painting my toenails but what was the point if I’d be wearing trainers to drive home?
I got to bed and read for a while, I was really getting into this Brunetti story, where they found the body of a man dumped wearing a red dress, high heeled shoes and makeup but with his face smashed in. I wasn’t sure how informed the author Donna Leon was about tranny prostitutes, most of whom are probably gay men rather than transgendered. Anyway, the Anonymous Venetian, was still a cracking yarn.
I put the light out about half past twelve and went off to sleep quite quickly as far as I know.
I saw Billie walking towards me, she was accompanied by a woman who looked ageless and was so beautiful it hurt to look at her face. I held my hands out to hug my child but the woman held her back.
“Can’t I hug my own child,” I asked tears running down my face.
“Don’t worry, she is safe, I shall look after her. I brought her to say goodbye and for you to know that the time she was with you was the happiest part of her life. You’re a good mother, Catherine.”
“Might I ask, who you are, milady?” I was aware this female figure was something special, the energy around her and the aura she had was something else.
“Yes, Catherine, I am sometimes called the Shekinah, but I have other names as well.”
“But–I’ve encountered you before–you threatened to take one of my children–so that’s what this is all about is it? Come to rub it in?”
“Please, Catherine, you are overwrought as one would expect from a recently bereaved mother. No we haven’t met before, and I certainly would not do any such thing as to hurt a child.”
“So can you give her back to me, then?” My heart rose for a moment.
“I’m afraid I cannot, this was Billie’s time, so nothing you could do would prevent it coming.”
“But–I’m sorry, I don’t believe in fate and such things except by dint of genetics.”
“Ah, that as well, they didn’t tell you that the injury triggered a brain aneurysm which would have burst the next time she’d taken violent exercise or shaken her head. Would you have preferred she’d been playing with one of the other children and have them think they’d killed her?”
“But if you’re a goddess, couldn’t you have prevented all that?”
“We are sworn to uphold the fate of humanity, to observe and not interfere.”
“What about the blue light? Is that you or the other woman who threatens me?”
“That came from me, Catherine, it is granted to special souls like yourself.”
“Special in what way? You mean transsexual?”
“No, special in the amount of love you have to give anyone who seems in need. Your light shines brightly in a world of darkness.”
“Oh.”
“Not many women would adopt seven needy children–but you did. Not many would forgo the fame that some of the healing you have done would bring–but you did, because you could see the greater view.”
“What about all the people I’ve hurt–I’ve killed people–I’m not special, unless you consider it applies to mass murder.”
“Your modesty is very becoming, Catherine, sometimes we have to operate in Geburah, where justice is sometimes hard on those who don’t observe the rules of life.”
“I don’t understand,” I was totally out of my depth.
“Sometimes we have to be the tough parent because we know unless we are, our children will suffer more by our not exercising control.”
“Yeah, but killing people–nice people don’t do that, do they?”
“Each time you did so to protect someone you loved. In putting your loved ones at risk, they had put themselves beyond the protection of our love and into the sphere of Geburah, where justice may be dispensed. It is cause and effect.”
“Can you please find someone else to be your executioner next time?”
“It is nothing to do with me, they bring it about on their own heads. If it wasn’t you, they’d cause someone else to do it. We all have freedom of choice, we can either do as we are meant to, or do other and pay the consequences.”
“So, in becoming an abhorrent in the eyes of God and so on, am I paying the consequences now–having all those I love taken from me as punishment?”
“Punishment? Why should we punish you?”
“Because I mutilated my body and chose to have a relationship with a man.”
“Catherine, what are you talking about? What you do to your body is your free choice, we are only interested in your spirit, your soul and you have one of a female. In fact it’s so strong in you that it hindered your development as male anyway. You are fulfilling your destiny, part of which is to be the mother of some needy souls.”
“Are you saying, I was meant to do all this–changing my sex and so on?”
“You had the freedom of choice to do it, you chose to do so and were rewarded with the power to heal those whose destinies you weren’t affecting.”
“If I stop people dying, surely that’s affecting their destiny?”
“Some of them weren’t meant to die until much later. Misfortune or stupidity meant they were at risk before they fulfilled their part in our overall plan.”
“Overall plan? What overall plan?”
“I’m afraid that is not for you to know about.”
“If you didn’t threaten to take my children, who was the other woman?”
“The Lillith, she fooled you into thinking she was me, did she?”
“Who?”
“Never mind, if you don’t know, it matters little, I grant you the power to send her away if she should trouble you again.”
“Why can’t you just stop her full stop?”
“I’m afraid things don’t always work the way humans think they should.”
I bit my tongue, I felt a respect for this woman/goddess thing and I suppose she was respecting me.
“What do I have to do to get rid of her?”
“You will know if the occasion arises.”
“Might I embrace my child one last time?” The tears started again.
She motioned Billie to come to me, we hugged and I kissed her. “I’m okay, Mummy, really I am.”
“Please take good care of her?”
“You can rest assured of that, now you must return to the world of the material.”
“Where am I now?”
“Farewell, Catherine.”
“Bye, Mummy,” called a little voice.
“Goodbye, darling.” I shouted as what felt like a whirlwind of light pulled us away from each other and I woke up with a start, my face wet with tears but a sense of peace inside me which hadn’t been there before.
I went for a wee, rationalising that it was all a self generated dream to take away my fears and guilt about my loss. I settled down in bed again, with the conclusion that no matter what it was, I felt so much better–my mind was at peace and although I had still the wound in my heart, the pain felt less. I went back to sleep.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1525
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I woke feeling so much better in myself. I remembered I’d seen Billie in my dream and we hugged before she disappeared with some woman who said she was looking after her. Total nonsense of course–life after death–I mean. When your number’s up, that’s it, curtains–probably of the crematorium.
Talking of that sort of thing, I had a vague recollection that the woman in my dream said Billie had an aneurysm or weakening of the wall in a blood vessel in the brain. Now did the accident cause it or was it there before?
It was eight o’clock and I’d eaten my toast, drunk a pot of tea, showered and was starving. I dashed off to the local Tesco, it opens all night so getting some fruit and some more milk plus a packet of porridge oats, was no problem. By eight forty five I was finishing my second breakfast and feeling as full as a pig. Do pigs eat that much? I had no idea.
I phoned the QA and asked to speak to Dr Rose. Amazingly he was there and not seeing patients. “What can I do for you, Cathy?”
“Exactly what brain injury did my Billie suffer?”
“She had multiple injuries and two major bleeds, she’d also broken her neck. Death would have been more or less instantaneous.”
“Was there an aneurysm?”
“Yes, how d’you know about that?”
“And was that caused by the accident?”
“No, it had probably been there for years, if not birth.”
“So she could have died at any time?”
“Very possibly, why?”
“You probably won’t believe me but for some time I’ve been having weird dreams, and they featured a woman creature who claimed to be the Shekinah.”
“You hobnob with the gods, do you?”
“Just one. She told me she had caused me to be able to heal but she always wanted something from me which I refused to give.”
“What was it?”
“She just wanted to control me, and threatened to kill someone close to me if I didn’t do as she wished.”
“And this was the Shekinah?”
“So it claimed.”
“Strange–oh well it’s all Old Testament if not pre-then.”
“Last night I had another dream and this lady was so different to the other one and she told me she was the Shekinah, and this time I believed her. She told me Billie was going to die anyway, but she let me say good bye to my little girl.”
“You said goodbye to her?”
“Yeah, I know–all in my stupid head–but it felt so real.”
“What else did she tell you?”
“She said she’d look after Billie, she also told me the other woman was the Lillith, whatever that is?”
“Traditionally, the first wife of Adam who was banished, and became a female demon–if you believe that sort of thing.”
“I don’t, but apparently if she appears again I can get rid of her, according to the woman last night.”
“Where did all this take place?”
“Oh, I don’t know some place full of sunlight, after I went through a curtain.”
“Tipparet.”
“Tip who?”
“The place where you were, according to the Kabbalah.”
“But that’s Jewish?”
“So, all the stuff you’ve been experiencing is Jewish mysticism, based on the Tree of Life, just be thankful you weren’t in Gevurah.”
“She mentioned that.”
“She did?”
“Yes, when I’d had to hurt people who were threatening me or mine. She likened it to cause and effect, if you’re bad you get punished.”
“So you were the punisher?”
“Yeah, seems like.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah to the power of ten.”
“Hold on, Cathy–yeah, give me two minutes. I have to go young lady. Perhaps we can talk about this again.”
“If I remember any of it. It was so intense–the aura that woman had–amazing.”
“Cathy, you have just looked on the face of God–most people die or become insane after that sort of experience.”
“Why? She was lovely.”
“You truly are special, young lady. Try and remember what happened, you have been truly blessed. I have to go.”
I put down the phone and made more tea. One of us was wrong, on one level part of me hoped it was Sam–there is no God–so it couldn’t happen. Then if he was right, I had God’s sister/wife/feminine side come and visit me with Billie, and she promised to look after my little scamp. What on earth is going on in my head?
I must have read about all this stuff years ago and forgotten–that had to be the answer–yeah it had to be. Why would God come to see me, in whatever sort of mode He was in? It makes no sense whichever way you look at it. There is no God, right? So why would his tranny side come and see me? Nah, it’s all in my head–except the blue light. Where does that come from? I felt a chill run down my spine–thinking about all this superstitious crap–that’s what it is–maybe Sam was right, and now I’m going to go bonkers.
I drank some more tea and it was time to lock up and go and collect Caroline. I’d sent Jenny a text asking her to make a loaf for lunch and to stop Simon eating it before then. I had one or two bits in the fridge and I’d bought one or two bits as well, so could knock up a tasty soup in half an hour, which with fresh bread–should be good.
“This car looks nicer every time I see it,” admired Caroline as we dumped her cases in my boot. “A white Jaguar, so romantic.”
“It doesn’t half show the dirt,” I said not really being sure of that because I hadn’t had it with me long enough to find out, there was always something happening to it. Caroline got into the car and I, on a whim, imagined I was casting a cover of the blue light all around and about it. I wondered if that would make any difference–if not it can’t do any harm.”
We drove through Bristol chatting and then got down to the roundabout to join the M4 and head east. As we did so, a huge articulated lorry, you know one with more wheels than a bike shop, came screaming at us, through a red light. I somehow stalled the car and for a moment I thought I’m going to be with Billie and I felt totally at peace. I closed my eyes and waited for the impact. It didn’t happen. I thought I must be dead and not noticed departing my body.
I opened my eyes and Caroline looked horrified. The lorry had stopped about a centimetre from us, just behind the overtaking mirrors. The driver got out, looked at how close he was, waved to us, reversed back and drove off before the police came.
Someone behind us beeped at us, so I started up the car and pulled away. Some ten or fifteen minutes later, Caroline said, “Can we stop at the services, I think I might need to change my knickers."
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1526
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We stopped at the Leigh Delamare services, not far from Chippenham. Caroline tootled off to the ladies whilst I grabbed a Guardian and some refreshments in the restaurant. Crazy prices they charge at these places, for the cost of a coffee, I can cook a ten course meal for a hundred and fifty people–well it feels like that. I got us two coffees and a doughnut each and paid a larger amount than my parents mortgage had been.
She eventually found me and we ate in relative silence. “You were very quiet back there.”
“Back where?”
“Where that lorry tried to turn us into mincemeat.”
“What’s there to say? We survived–end of story.”
“We could have been killed.”
“In which case I could have saved a fortune on two stale doughnuts.”
“You seem to take it very laid back.”
“On today’s roads it happens all the time.”
“Well I’ve never been that close to death before.”
“You get used to it.”
“What d’you mean, get used to it?”
“I have been shot at, stabbed, hit by cars, crashed cars, come off my bike and I’m still here.”
“Obviously St Peter doesn’t want you yet,” she joked.
“Pity, if he had me maybe he’d leave my kids alone.”
“Eh–oh, I see what you mean–sorry.”
“That’s okay. I said goodbye to Billie in a dream last night, so I feel better about things.”
“They say people often dream of their dead friends and rellies.”
“I do, but this is the first time one of them was accompanied by an Old Testament goddess.”
“Wow, heavy stuff–d’you remember any of it.”
I told her about my recollections and she looked at me in astonishment.
“More than heavy, you like get the Queen of Heaven as a guardian for young Billie and the magic to chase off this demoness thing you’d had pester before. My dreams are far simpler, waking up standing naked on the platform at Paddington or being locked in the ladies loo in some big office block that I’ve never been before.”
“C’mon, let’s go, I’ve just remembered I’ve got some mending to do, Danny ripped his trousers the last day in school.”
“You’re married to an investment banker and you mend the children’s clothes.”
“Yeah, so? Have you seen the price of repairs or alterations? No, I do my own, don’t you?”
“Um, no–I never learned.”
“Oh well, now’s your chance. Have you ever used a sewing machine?”
“Not really, Mum showed me how to wind a bobbin, but that was about it.”
“Okay, next time I get mine out, you can have a little go.”
“Do your other children sew?”
“They can all sew on a button, including Danny, and at a pinch, could hem a pair of trousers.”
“Wow, you really are a mother, aren’t you?”
I looked at her in disbelief–but then she really didn’t know me that well.
“Who taught you?”
“Primarily, my mother.”
“What, after you transitioned?”
“No, she died about that time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, and before you think the shock killed her, it didn’t.”
“It hadn’t even occurred to me,” she said but the way she was blushing, it had.
“She taught me when I was kid. I used to take her socks with holes in the toes and she got fed up and made me learn to do my own. She even gave me a wooden mushroom, which I’ve still got–it was my grandmother’s.”
“She taught you to darn socks?”
“Yes, and then it went to sewing on buttons, turning up trousers which were too long, sewing on a patch...”
“Making your own dresses?” chipped in my passenger.
“I wish, no I had to use what I knew and get a couple of books. I’ve made myself the odd skirt, but it’s more about altering off the peg things.”
“Could you show me? I have an awful problem finding things that fit as well as your stuff does.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky I guess, I have a female phenotype.”
“A female what?”
“Phenotype–body type, I’m AIS, so didn’t have a male puberty.”
“AIS, what’s that?”
“Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome.”
“Ah, good old testosterone.”
“Not much good about it if you’re a woman–unless you fancy having hairy boobs.”
“Um–no thanks.”
We turned off the motorway and down the A34.
“So what else did your mum teach you?”
“How to knit, embroider my name in my gym kit, the basics of cooking and cleaning. How to wash things by hand or use the machine, how to iron my own clothes–you know the usual.”
The usual? Gee whizz, Cathy, she treated you like a daughter. No mother teaches her son all that.”
“Mine did–so when I went away to university or got my own place, I could cope and not have to bring everything home to her.”
“What about knitting? She didn’t teach you that so you could make your own sweaters, surely?”
“No, that was a bit of a punishment.”
“Like petticoat punishment?”
“No, I came home one day when I was about twelve and had completely destroyed a jumper she’d knitted for me. She was so cross, she made me unravel it and re knit it myself.”
“What did your dad say?”
“He agreed with her, he was sick of holes in my clothes and things.”
“I don’t remember seeing you playing football in the playground?”
“I didn’t, but I got bullied, pushed over, fell off my bike, that sort of thing.”
“So he was happy to see you learning to sew and knit like a daughter.”
“No he wasn’t happy, but he saw it as punishing me for being careless with my clothes, especially my school uniform. There was one occasion when he was happy about it, or shall we say he became happy about it.”
“When was that?”
“My mum took a tumble and hurt her hand and arm, and he had a pair of trousers he needed taking up. He was going away for a conference thing and had bought two pairs of trousers to use with a sports jacket, they were a couple of inches too long.”
“And you took them up for him?”
“Yeah, I’d shortened a pair of my own jeans with my mum’s help, so I’d sort of done it before, and I’d hemmed one of her skirts when it came undone–just for practice she said–it was pleated, took me a couple of hours–but it did improve my technique.”
“I’ll bet.”
“So I came home from school one Friday evening to see my mother with her right arm in a sling. I had to cook the dinner and clear up, then my mother told me what I’d be doing over the weekend.”
“Taking up your dad’s trousers?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Did it make you feel like a girl, doing a little job for her daddy?”
“No it bloody well didn’t. He taunted me, told me at last a chance to show my girly skills. I so very nearly didn’t do it.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“He told me if I didn’t, he’d send me to school in a dress on the Monday.”
“But that’s...”
“Abuse.”
“Yeah–but weren’t you secretly pleased.”
“No, at that point I hated his guts, and that was when I started refusing to have my hair cut.”
“Cor, my heroine.”
“Eh?”
“Well I used to see you with your long ponytail and felt so jealous. Mind you, so did half the girls according to my sister. They used to call you Charlotte and refer to you in the female pronoun.”
“Siá¢n didn’t say anything about that?”
“You knew Siá¢n?”
“I still do, she’s a GP in Salisbury.”
“I used to dream about her, I fancied her so much.”
“She’s lesbian.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
That took me a moment to deal with. We were soon at Eastleigh and then in no time we were at the house.
“You don’t live here?”
“Yes, why else would I drive in here.”
“Bloody Nora, it’s like a bloody castle.”
“No, it’s like a sixteenth century manor house which became a large farmhouse, which became our house. C’mon in, I’ll introduce you to the members of the family who aren’t at work or school.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1527
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We entered through the back door through the lobby and into the kitchen which smelt of fresh baked bread–Jenny having done as I asked her. “Oh wow, this place is bigger than my whole bedsit.”
“I should hope so, it has eight bedrooms.”
“No the kitchen.” She stood at the door and peered at the kitchen. “It’s huge.”
“We do tend to eat in here unless we’re entertaining.”
“Oh crikey, an Aga, why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I don’t know, why doesn’t it surprise you?”
“Well, it’s so you, Lady Cameron, with your pearls and twinsets, an Aga was sort of de rigeur.”
“This house isn’t actually mine, it belongs to my prof, who is also my adoptive father.”
“Not the one you did the trousers for?”
“No, that was my natural father–when he died, Professor Agnew, or Tom as I expect he’ll tell you to call him–sort of unofficially adopted me. He lost his daughter in a car accident about twenty years ago and his wife had multiple sclerosis and died soon after of a broken heart.”
“Oh, poor man.”
“He invited me to come and stay with him, I was studying a masters at the time and it was a better option than the bedsit I was in.”
“He didn’t fancy you then?”
“Don’t be silly, he’s seventy, and he’s a delightful old chap. I love him to bits and so do the children, talking of which,” Puddin’ came into the kitchen and looked straight at Caroline.
“Anniecaffy,” she said and put her arms up to be picked up and hugged. After we’d hugged she looked across at Caroline. “Ugg ugg,” she said.
“What’s her name?” Caroline asked very quietly.
“Puddin’ is what we call her, though her name is actually Desireé. Oh, she wants a hug.”
I passed her over to Caroline who dropped her handbag and awkwardly grasped Stella’s little tyke. Puddin’ insisted on kissing Caroline on the cheek and struggled to be put down on the floor. “You silly bugger,” she said and walked away leaving me in need of a wee at the look on Caroline’s face.
“Pud, where are you, you little monster–oh, who are you?” I heard Stella’s voice in the kitchen.
“Um–I’m Caroline, how d’ya do?”
“Ah, Cathy’s friend, of course, where is she? Cathy, where are you?” I heard her shout as I pulled the flush and washed my hands. “I’m Stella, the little one’s mine, Cathy is my sister in law.” I entered the kitchen to see Caroline nodding.
“She dashed off towards the dining room if you’re Puddin’ hunting?”
“You could have introduced me,” Stella said reprovingly.
“I heard you both manage without me, Puddin’ has Caroline summed up nicely,” I smirked.
“Oh? What did she say this time?”
“Silly bugger,” I repeated.
“Well yes, if she knows you, she must be or will be soon. Welcome to the mad house, Caroline. If you’re not crazy you soon will be–what’s it usually take?” she looked at me and I shrugged. “Two weeks, give or take a few days.”
The bread machine pinged and I went and removed the loaf, covering it with a cloth as I put it on the rack. “Let me just get the soup started and I’ll show you round.”
She asked if she could help and I gave her some vegetables to scrub and chop while I retrieved the stock jug from the fridge and poured some in a large pot. I added some garlic and the onion which Caroline had chopped and began heating it.
While she peeled carrots, I started on the mushrooms–they were closed cap, so I just washed and sliced them and added them to the pot, which was now singing on the hot plate of the Aga. We chopped the carrots and some leeks I’d washed, some celeriac and some chopped cooked chicken I’d had defrosting in the fridge. In a few minutes, the pot was bilin’ as Tom wid say, and I showed Caroline round the rest of the house after we dumped her bags in her room.
“It’s like a castle,” said as we wandered over the new wing.
“Um–no, there’s one of those up in Scotland, at Stanebury.”
“You’re winding me up?”
I pointed at an aerial photo hanging on the wall in Simon’s study. “That’s Stanebury Castle.”
“Bloody hell–who are these people?”
“My pa-in-law is the Viscount Stanebury, one of the richest families in Britain. They are majority shareholders in High St Banks, and also Cameron’s Investment Bank. They’re worth more than the Queen, although she does have a lot of art works and property about the country.”
“I don’t know if I can cope with this, Cathy. I mean I knew you were married to some lord or other, but not with this level of wealth–it blows me away, it really does. I mean my parents have an Aga, or they did the last time I saw them.”
“Which was when?”
“Two or three years ago–once I got too girlified for them, they asked me to stay away.”
“Pity–but at least they’re still alive?”
“As far as I know.”
“Where there’s life there’s hope.”
“That would be nice to believe, but I don’t hold out much hope.”
“Well once you’ve settled in here, we’ll see how the land lies.”
“You’d be wasting your time.”
“We’ll see. Right get yourself unpacked, I’m going to rescue my soup and slice some bread, the others will be there by then.”
“Others?” she asked nervously.
“Yes, Simon and Jenny–I must assume they’re out shopping, as his car’s not here, and as the bread was baking, Jenny must have been here.”
“Do I look alright?”
“Yeah, if you didn’t, Stella would have said something, she didn’t, ergo you must be okay.”
“Really? She’d have said something?”
“Oh yeah, we met after she hit me off my bike in a thunderstorm.”
“What?”
“No, Watts, I was Cathy Watts, remember?”
She shook her head giving me an expression that suggested she was talking with a madwoman; she’ll fit in given a few more weeks, especially as we bought the bed from Procrustes.
“Go and unpack, I can smell my soup,” I dashed down the stairs and ran into the kitchen nearly bouncing off Simon who had two bags of shopping in his arms.
“Jenny suggested we needed a few things, so we went to get them.”
“Did you get more milk?”
“Yes, two six pinters.”
“Oh good. Caroline is upstairs unpacking, I need to stir my...”
“Cauldron?” suggested Simon.
“Er–yeah, howd’ya guess?”
He shrugged as best he could still holding all the shopping.
I tasted the soup, “Needs more salt and eye of newt–you didn’t get any perchance?”
“Nah, they sold the last lot to the Home Secretary, apparently she’s cooking up a storm.”
“You know her favourite radio show?”
“Waterboarding Karaoke?”
“Good but no, it’s Migration Watch.”
He chuckled, “Very good, now where d’ya want this lot?”
“Shove it up by the fridge, I’ll sort it in a mo–um–where’s Jenny?”
“Gone to get her hair done–obviously feels threatened by the new help.”
“She shouldn’t have any worries there,” I replied, as a nervous cough came from behind me. Oops–what have I said now?
I spun round and Caroline was standing in the doorway.
“Si, this is Caroline our new helper.”
“Oh hello, don’t stand out there–I’m Simon, Cathy’s better half,” he reached out and shook her hand.
“Right the soup is done, Si, can you slice some bread and leave a bit for Jenny? And don’t eat it all before it gets to the table.” I began ladling the hot fluid into soup bowls.
“Moi?”
“Oui, tu.”
“Okay, I’ll leave her two.”
“Eh?” I called behind me.
“You said leave her two, slices I presume.”
“Don’t take any notice of them, mad as hatters,” said Stella walking into the kitchen with Puddin’. “She wasn’t in the dining room.”
“Oh, where was she then?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder.
“Half way up the chimney in the sitting room.”
“I hope she had a brush with her.” I turned round with the first two bowls of soup and Caroline was standing there with an expression of total bewilderment–and the girls aren’t home yet.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1528
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Lunch went quite well and Caroline settled down once she discovered that I might be crazy, but I make a mean pot of soup.
“So, how d’you know Cathy?” Stella asked her, even though I thought I’d told her.
“We were at the same school.”
“Must be something in the water,” suggested Si.
“Nah, I reckon they used to put stuff in school dinners.” I offered my opinion, all of it nonsense.
“You didn’t have school dinners, Cathy.”
“So much for that idea,” concluded Simon. Well I can’t remember that far back.
“You’re not the same age though, are you?” Stella was back to her cross examination.
“No, I was two years behind her–she was my hero–ine.”
I blushed, I knew what was coming.
“Why was that?” asked Stella.
“She began to grow her hair and refused to get it cut. After a year or so, she had it down below her shoulders, used to wear it in a ponytail. The headmaster made her wear a pink scrunchie to embarrass her, but she wore it all the same. The girls used to call her Charlotte and were envious of her hair, it was always shiny and glossy and so thick compared to mine–I hate mine.”
“You’ve mentioned this yourself, haven’t you, Cathy?”
“Yeah, and that led to me playing Lady Macbeth and wearing a dress for a month aided and abetted by Siá¢n, on whom, Caroline here, had a crush.”
“Didn’t you?” asked Stella.
“Me? I had no idea about any of that, remember my hormones didn’t work, so that all happened a bit later for me. Besides, Siá¢n and I were like sisters, she taught me all sorts of things like using makeup, putting clothes together.”
“I wish someone had with me,” sighed Caroline.
“Don’t worry, Trish and Julie will take you on as a project, if Stella doesn’t get you first.”
“I thought you looked quite presentable,” Stella threw one back at me.
“That’s only because Cathy helped me choose these things.”
“I have to feed the baby.” She’d been asleep when I’d shown Caroline round the place, so we didn’t go in her room. I went and got her, she was awake and cooing at me and wanting to climb out of her cot.
I gave her a hug and took her downstairs. “This is my youngest, Catherine, unfortunately named after some strange woman her original mother admired for some unknown reason.”
“What’re you going to feed her?” asked Caroline making a fuss of my namesake.
I buttered a piece of bread and gave it to her and she started to suck it–you have to watch them with bread or they choke themselves. Stella placed a ladle of soup in a dish and handed it to me. I broke up some more bread and mashed it into the soup, then tested the temperature against my mouth–it was okay.
I offered her a spoon of the mush and she squealed and opened up her mouth. She was usually a dream to feed, even Stella could do it once Mima had shown her. For the next ten minutes, although there was some conversation going on in the background, I wasn’t really listening being too intent on feeding my baby.
I burped her and she cuddled into me snuffling away at my chest. “You’ll be unlucky there, kiddo,” said Caroline smiling. The smile faded when I lifted my top and slipped out a boob and the baby latched onto it like a piranha. “You can feed her?”
“Yes.”
“Bloody hell fire.”
“Buddy hellire,” came from the human Dictaphone followed by giggles.
“How can you do that?”
“Just happened–I didn’t take anything like prolactin.”
“Well, I’m amazed.”
“Julie wanted me to bring her with us when we spoke to your group,” I said.
“I wish you had, that would have got their attention.”
“I think young Julie achieved that alright.”
“I didn’t notice, too busy being restyled by her–though she is a very pretty girl.”
“I thought it might have been over the top and if you had managed to tell them I was also transsexual, it might have been seen as me stroking my ego in front of a crowd of less able types. No, I’m glad I left her at home.”
At this point, Catherine decided she’d inhale some milk, so started to choke. I patted her back and a few moments later, albeit a little red eyed, she gave us a wonderful smile–then threw up after burping. I heard Stella sniggering at Caroline’s reaction, she jumped a mile.
A diesel engine sounded in the drive and moments later Jenny arrived with a lovely new hairdo, it was quite short at the back and asymmetrical on the front having a long fringe which swept over one side from a parting on the other side. She’d also had her eyelashes done–tinted and extra lashes inserted. Now I think of it, ever since Julie had it done, Jenny had said she’d like to have some. Don’t think I fancy anyone with superglue near my eyelids.
She was introduced to Caroline, while I cleaned up the mess and fed the baby my other breast. Jenny warmed up her own soup and took some of the bread–Simon hadn’t quite managed to eat it all.
They chatted at the table while I changed Catherine and gave her a biscuit, which Puddin’ snatched, so she had another one and I asked Stella to control her tribe. Puddin’ had some soup and bread–we added some milk to hers to cool it down–inserting her in the high chair so she couldn’t create any further mayhem. I let Catherine down on the floor, she likes to crawl a bit and the kitchen floor is the easiest one–less friction–she sits on one foot and pulls herself along–apparently I did something similar when I was a kid. I left Simon to watch her while I cleared the table of the dirty dishes.
Jenny offered to collect the girls and Si said he’d go and fetch Danny, which in his sports car, Danny was bound to accept–he loves that car. I sent him a text to warn him–just as well it began to rain, so he’d have come flying out of school and straight onto the bus. I suppose the Jag is easy enough to see, in that there won’t be too many of them outside the school.
“Is there anything you’d like me to do?” asked Caroline aware that she should be working. I showed her where the vacuum cleaner was kept and asked her to do the downstairs rooms. I took Catherine upstairs for a nap while she was doing it–the noise doesn’t seem to affect her and she isn’t deaf, just used to living in bedlam.
Coming out of Catherine’s room, I looked in on the girl’s one. Simon had removed the bed once occupied by Billie and in its place he’d got a large photo of her, easily A3 size and framed, up on the wall. I looked at it and remembered the lovely smile she had. I’d never forget that smile as long as I lived. How cruel life can be to think that she wouldn’t have lived much longer even if she hadn’t crashed her bike. I wiped away a stray tear–it was a beautiful photograph.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1529
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I came down as Caroline was finishing with the vacuum cleaner, as she placed it back in the cupboard. “Anything else you’d like me to do?”
“I think the first couple of days are about orientating yourself, finding out where everything is kept and agreeing some sort of rota with Jenny. I’m going to give her the senior position because she has been here a while now.”
“No, that’s fine with me, I have to learn the ropes–will there be enough for two of us?”
“When I go back to work there will, most definitely.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of the children,” she said naively, I just smiled and hoped Trish behaved herself.
I started the dinner. I’d bought a large chicken which I popped in the oven and began to make some stuffing with real ingredients, not a packet of Paxo–dunno why, I suppose because Simon loves it, and he did put up that beautiful photo of my Billie. Least I suppose it was him.
Jenny drove the Mondeo into the driveway and a host of schoolgirls disembarked and rushed into the house. They came flying into the house because it was raining, and rushed straight into the kitchen.
Livvie was first to hug and kiss me, then Meems, then Trish who’d stopped to take off her raincoat. She came over and hugged and kissed me. “You makin’ real stuffin’?” she asked, seeing me plucking sage leaves off the stalk.
“Yes.” I looked across at Caroline, whom they hadn’t yet noticed.
“Can I ’elp,” Trish asked pulling off her cardigan–it wasn’t cold enough for a blazer yet–and washing her hands.
“I think perhaps some manners are in order.”
“Please can I help?” she asked sounding the aspirate excessively on help.
“Sorry about this–they haven’t seen me for a day and you’d think they’d almost forgotten me.”
“Who you talkin’ to, Mumm...” Trish wheeled round and so did the other two. “Who is she?”
“She?” I said dismissively.
“Yeah, that woman sitting over there?”
Caroline blushed.
“That lady over there is Caroline, who has come to help us round the house, including dealing with you lot.”
“Is she the one who used to be a man?” asked Trish, forgetting her own roots.
“Subtlety is never going to be your forte, is it?” I said back to Trish.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, looking bemused.
“Let me say this once. Whatever Caroline used to be, she is now a woman, and you will treat her with the same respect you’d show any other woman staying in this house. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mummy,” three voices concurred in a rather muted form.
“Go and introduce yourselves to her.”
“Cannive a dwink?” asked Meems.
“In a moment. Go and say hello to Caroline.”
“Do I ’ave to?” she replied.
“Yes–go on.”
“Awwight, keep you knickus on.” The other two started to giggle, but they made their way across to where Caroline was sitting.
“I’m Trish,” said our local genius, offering her hand, “Sorry if I sounded rude–didn’t mean to.”
“Nice to meet you, Trish, and I accept your apology.”
“D’you like physics?”
“I did some in school, why?” Caroline was wondering what was coming next.
“Can you show me–we’re doin’ physics in school an’ I wanna understand it all.”
“What are you doing? Measuring light and heat and things–the basics?”
“Yeah, but I can’t quite understand where Newtonian sort of integrates with Quantum–got any ideas?”
How to establish intellectual superiority in one hit; Caroline looked shocked at her, then across to me. I was sniggering.
“How old are you?” she asked Trish when the shock passed.
“Seven, how old are you?”
“Twenty six.”
“Younger than Mummy. She said she’s too old for all this mathematics stuff.”
“I think I might understand why she said it.” Caroline was still recovering.
“I’m Mima, an I doan wike physics.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mima. What do you like?”
“I wike pwayin’ wiv my dowwies.”
“I like dollies, too.” Caroline was digging her own grave, she’ll be knee deep in dollies in no time if Trish doesn’t blow her mind first.
“I’m Livvie, short for Olivia, which we think is a bit pretentious for a seven year old, don’t you agree?”
“I hadn't even thought about it, Livvie, but if that’s how you feel, that’s fine with me.”
“My father murdered my mum and then hanged himself–are your parents still alive?”
Talk about blitzkrieg–that one shocked me, too.
“Yes they are still alive, but I don’t see them very often.”
“Is that because you’re a transsexual?”
“Livvie, please don’t be so personal,” I said firmly.
“Well, it’s asking a proper question–have you had the op yet? Cathy my new and better mummy, had hers years ago, so she’s a real woman, now–are you?”
I walked over to Livvie and told her to apologise immediately and not to be so rude, or Caroline might not decide to stay.
“I don’t care she,” she said quite coldly.
“You will if we send you to boarding school,” I said with a degree of menace.
“You wouldn’t do that?”
“I’m going back to work, and Jenny can’t cope with all of you on her own, which is why Caroline was kind enough to offer to help look after you. So I think an apology is in order, don’t you?”
“Yeah alright,” she sighed and continued, “I’m sorry, Caroline, you will stay and look after us, won’t you?” She gave Caroline a hug, which was pure manipulation.
“I’ll certainly think about it.” Good for Caroline in not caving into her blackmail.
“Vis is my favowite dowwy,” Mima thrust a doll almost into Caroline’s face, “You can bowwow, vis one.” Another doll was shoved so close as to nearly get stuffed up her nose.
Danny and Simon came in together just as I was finishing the stuffing.
“Hi, Caroline,” said Simon, spotting her sitting in the kitchen, “This is Danny, go and say hello,” he pushed Danny towards our new resident.
“Hi, I’m Danny, d’you like football by any chance?”
“A bit, who d’you support?”
“Chelsea–they’re the greatest.”
“They are indeed,” Caroline agreed tactfully.
“Oh wow, Mum, she supports Chelsea.”
“Game for women,” teased Simon.
“D’you play at all?” asked Danny.
“Meee?” squeaked Caroline.
“Yeah, they have a women’s league here. Trish is quite good, she plays in school.”
“I can’t see me playing football, kiddo.”
“Oh well if you want a kick-about anytime, let me know.”
“Uh–that’s very kind of you, Danny. I’ll let you know if that’s okay.”
“Mum bought me a Chelsea kit last year–she’s ace–isn’t she, Dad?”
“Your mother spoils you all rotten–I keep telling her, spare the rod and spoil the child.”
“She doesn’t go fishing, Dad.”
“Pity, could do with some fresh Tay salmon–nothing quite like it.” With that, Simon wandered off.
Suddenly, Caroline and I were alone. “Sorry, they were all a bit full on, weren’t they?”
“I can understand it to a degree, if they’re not used to transgender people.”
“Um–they have me–or I used to be.”
“I don’t think so, Cathy, you’re something special. Seeing you now, I don’t think you ever were a boy, and let’s face it, thinking about when you were in school–you weren’t really one then either. You’re a really beautiful woman with some lovely kids.”
“Even if they are a bit intrusive,” I added.
“Yeah okay, but they don’t know me yet, do they?”
I thought, no, and neither do I, yet–I hope I don’t regret making the job offer.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1530
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Later that night when Simon and I were snuggled in bed together, I asked him what he thought of Caroline.
“She’s a bit shy, but then coming into this madhouse, anyone who wasn’t would have to be crazy or a total exhibitionist.”
“Possibly, apart from shy, what else did you think?”
“Hard to tell, ask me in a month or two–why, d’you have second thoughts about her?”
“Not really, it’s just getting used to someone new. I must stop employing transgender people...”
“Or adopting them, you mean?”
“Maybe–I just feel that maybe the kids are getting too exposed to it, what with Julie, Trish and me, and Maureen. I mean the average person probably doesn’t get to meet more than the odd one in a lifetime.”
“Dunno, I think it’s certainly the odd ones they tend to remember, whereas beautiful women like you stand out in their memory for other reasons.” Simon was gently stroking my breast as he spoke.
“And what reasons are those?” I teased him.
“I couldn’t possibly say in front of the children,” he said with mock coyness.
“What children?” I challenged.
“Oh, have they gone. See? I was blinded by your beauty?”
“You can hardly see anything it’s so dark.”
“Ah but your beauty and sexiness shines its own light, to those with eyes to see it.”
“You mean old lechers like you?”
“Hey, less of the old.” He began to tickle me and kiss me and before long we were making love. Afterwards, after I’d been for a little wash or it means changing the bed already, we lay cuddling.
“That was really nice of you to do that photo of Billie–it’s a really good likeness isn’t it?”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“It captured her spirit in essence, that beguiling smile. Pretty little thing.”
He held me while I got control of myself and wiped my tears. “Sorry about that,” I apologised.
“That’s okay, it’s still early days–so don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s going to take months.”
“Yeah I know,” I bit my lip. “Daddy’s asked if we’d like to inter her ashes in his family grave, so they can keep an eye on her.”
“What d’you think?” he asked.
“I think it’s a very nice gesture.”
“Okay, we’ll do that then–any idea when?”
“I hadn’t really thought too much about it. I think before, rather than after Christmas, to let the kids settle down to normality again.”
“Do they need to be involved?”
“Oh God yes! She was their sister, they’d be furious if we didn’t allow them to come.”
“Okay, let me know when you have a date in mind, oh and don’t forget to let Henry know, he sees our kids just as much his grandchildren as Stella’s lot.”
“Yeah, I will, hopefully I’ll be less upset than I was at the funeral.”
“That was shock, babes. It happened in front of you and was unexpected.”
“Did I tell you that she had an aneurysm.”
“What through the accident?”
“No, she had one in her brain so she wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway.”
“I thought they happened to old people?”
“No they can happen at any age, some of it is congenital–I did some research on it afterwards.”
“After the accident?”
“No, well, yes, but after I spoke with Sam Rose, he told me she could have died at any time.”
“At nine or ten years old–isn’t that just so–I dunno, words fail me. It all seems so unfair.” I could feel his body tensing as he felt angry about the seeming injustice we call life.
“Seems to be how things are, Si, just how things are.”
“You seem reconciled to it?”
“While I was away, I had a strange dream.”
“Oh yeah, what was that?”
“I saw Billie, she was brought to me by an angelic being who explained things and promised to look after her. I hugged her and told her I loved her and she told me she loved me and had been really happy with us. Then she went away.”
“Powerful stuff,” he commented, “but I can see how that might bring some solace.”
“Yeah, obviously my unconscious mind was trying to make sense where none exists, and to comfort me as well. Even though I’m suspicious of anything like that, it did make me feel easier. So I can understand how religion helps some people.”
“I can sense a but coming,” said Simon, pulling me close to him.
“But, I feel it’s all nonsense. Physics rules the cosmos, not some archaic divinity who is about as much use as a fountain pen is to a horse.”
“Didn’t Black Beauty use one to write his story then?” asked Simon with a disinenguous naíveté.
“No, he used a pen made from a sharpened equisetum.”
“Go on, what’s that when it’s at home?”
“Equisetum? It’s horsetail.” I heard him groan suitably offended by my pun. We lay cuddling a bit longer and I asked him about the bank. “When do you find out about the investigation?”
“When they’ve analysed the evidence. Thankfully, we were able to save some of it from the auditor, so I think I should be exonerated.”
“If they knew you as well as I do, they’d know you wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“I–um–did do a bit, Cathy, but I think I should be okay. I didn’t actually lose the money, someone embezzled it.”
“D’you know what a bezzle is?”
“Some sort of thing on a chisel, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it’s also according to JK Galbraith, the unknown amount of money that’s taken when someone embezzles it.”
“Sounds quite a good one to me.”
We cwtched for a bit longer and fell asleep, waking the next morning at just before seven when Trish came in and said there was someone downstairs. “It’s probably Gramps,” I grumbled half asleep.
“No it isn’t, Gramps is still in bed.”
“Perhaps Julie got up early.”
“She’s in bed too.”
My brain was slowly waking up, and I most definitely decided that it was too early for it to be Father Christmas.
“What about Auntie Stella?”
“She’s still asleep.”
“I give up, who is it?”
“I don’t know, Mummy, that’s why I came to tell you.”
“Oh alright.” I heaved myself out of bed, Simon was still comatose the other side of the bed. Really I should send him down to check it out but by the time he wakes up whoever it is will be long gone.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and slipped my feet into my slippers, then crept downstairs with Trish behind me. There was definitely a few noises emanating from the direction of the kitchen. I got to the door and gently turned the handle and pushed open the door.
An aroma of frying bacon mixed with fresh coffee and toast assailed my nostrils and I pushed the door open to be met by Caroline wearing one of my aprons, standing with her back to me as she cooked the breakfast. Seated all around the table were the rest of the girls.
“We’s havin’ a cooked bweakfast, Mummy,” Mima smiled at me.
“So I see, Meems.”
“Ah, the boss lady, must remember to curtsy and tug my forelock–one egg or two?”
“I don’t eat cooked breakfasts, Caroline.”
“Never mind, Mummy, I got you down here so you can watch us,” Trish beamed at me, which caused me the opposing desires to strangle her while hugging her.
“Go on, just a little bit of bacon and an egg,” Caroline cajoled.
“Oh all right.” Trish tugged me to the table and I sat down, whereupon Caroline placed a plate of bacon, eggs, tomato and mushrooms in front of me plus a rack full of toast. “Go and get Daddy, I may need help eating all this,” I whispered to Trish, who cantered off up the stairs to wake Simon.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1531
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Julie emerged before Simon came down and she looked on in horror at the plateful of cholesterol that Caroline had produced. Then came Simon to the rescue, he quite happily took up the challenge whereas I poured a cuppa and took two pieces of toast.
“That was a waste of time,” declared Caroline after she saw me with the toast.
“It was a very nice gesture and showed you were willing to act on your own initiative, however, I’m not a breakfast person, so please don’t do it again for me. I’ll ask you if I need you to cook for me.”
“Sorry,” she blushed and looked thoroughly ashamed of her effort.
“Don’t apologise, it’s a sweet idea but not for me. Simon will love you forever, but then he could eat for England–although he’s Scots like me.”
“You’re Scottish?” she asked in a way which couldn’t have sounded more surprised had she asked if I was really Lord Lucan.
“Yes, I was born in Dumfries, where Robert Burns lived and is buried.”
“I thought you were a Bristolian?”
“I think we moved there when I was a baby.”
“Crikey, there’s a surprise.”
I didn’t think it mattered one little jot, I’m still British and it changes nothing, except perhaps I’d support Scotland at various sports, like cycling–Chris Hoy and of course, Doping Dave–David Millar, whose kit I used to wear–until Stella hit me off the bike and shredded it on the hedgerow.
I mean it’s hardly like it means I come from a culture which is into cannibalism, though one or two meals I’ve had down here could have been made from anything, including human remains. Dumfries is hardly Mars, is it? It’s actually quite a nice little town with the river and so on.
“What’s so surprising?” I threw back at her.
“I just thought you were English.”
“Well I’m not, I’m an undercover agent, a sleeper, who’s going to stand for the Scottish Nationalists here in Portsmouth.”
“You won’t get many votes, will you?” she laughed.
“No of course not, I don’t see why it matters, I’m the same person you were talking to before you found out.”
“Oh yeah, it says more about me, I know. I was just surprised that’s all.”
“Look, Tom, Simon and Stella are all officially Scots. Only one talks wi’a Scot’s accent, an’ he didnae used tae?”
“You can do it to.”
“Only to an untutored ear, a real Scot would be holding me up against the wall, ‘Arr’ ye tryin’ t’ tak’ thae piss, Jimmy?”
“They wouldn’t would they?”
“No, but it’s quite easy to create racial stereotypes isn’t it.”
“What you mean like Bristolians are all thick?”
“No–that is a fact beyond dispute.”
“Yeah–hey, just a minute, I’m a Bistolian.” I kept deadpan face and merely shrugged. Then she saw I was joking and roared with laughter.
“I have to go and shower and take the girls to school.” I raced up to the bathroom and was showered in no time, dressing quickly my, still damp in places, body stuck to my undies as I pulled them up.
I swept a comb through my wet hair and dashed downstairs moments before Julie went off to work. I hadn’t really seen her to talk for a few days and she was pleased to give me a hug before she left. “Keep an eye on Caroline, won’t you–but nothing too outlandish–this isn’t ‘My Transsexual Summer’.
“What? I think they’re all really kewl, like.”
“Yeah if you’re into tattoos and piercings, which I’m not and neither are you until you have your own home, then you can do what you like.”
“That is so old-fashioned, Mummy,” she grumbled.
“So is caring about your children. I’ll stay an old fart if I have to.”
“I know, I love you, Mummy.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, I love you too.” She dashed off and a moment later I heard her car start and drive away.
“Did I hear you discussing that Channel 4 programme about the group of trans people?” asked Caroline.
“Yes, look I have to get the girls to school, we can chat about it when I come back.”
“Anything you’d like me to do?”
“Could you strip my bed and chuck it in the machine–Jenny will show you where everything is–where is she?” I looked around but she hadn’t come down for breakfast.
“I’ll go and find her.”
“Her room is across the landing from yours next to Julie’s.”
“Right, and go and see if she’s okay.”
“I’ll be back within the hour–c’mon girls, we’re late.” I scrambled the little darlings into the car even though Mima was trying to get Caroline to look after her favourite doll.
I dropped the girls off at school and spoke briefly with the headmistress. “Lady Cameron, I thought I’d let you know we’re looking for a couple of new governors for the school. Wondered if you’d be interested?”
“I’ll have a think and get back to you,” when I’ve thought of a good excuse why I can’t do it. I walked briskly back to my car, my hair nearly dry thanks to the wind. On the way home I popped into Morrison’s and got some more flour and yeast for the bread machine. Then it was back to home to see how Jenny and Caroline got on.
I carried my carrier bag into the kitchen to find Caroline sitting at the table reading my Guardian. “Haven’t seen one of these for ages,” she said looking up at me. “Stella showed me where the detergent was, your bedding’s in the machine.”
“Thanks; where’s Jenny?”
“I don’t know–her bed hadn’t been slept in. There’s a note for you.”
I picked up the envelope and tore it open.
‘Dear Cathy,
I’m sorry to let you down like this, but now you have someone else to help, I felt it was time to go. I’ve been seeing this guy for a few weeks and he’s asked me to move in with him.
Thanks for all you did for me,
Love,
Jenny.
PS my bank will take care of any outstanding pay you owe me.’
“Oh that’s just bloody wonderful,” I exclaimed as Puddin’ came past.
“Buddy wunneral, buddy wunneral.” She said and both Caroline and I smiled at the almost surreal quality of her mimicry.
“What’s happened?” asked Stella closely pursuing the family robot.
“Jenny’s left us.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Why?”
“She’s got a new bloke–hence the new hairstyle.”
“Well I’ll be...”
“Remember that robots have ears,” I quickly interjected.
“Oh yes,” she looked down at Puddin’.
“Mummy,” said the diminutive one, “Can I dwink?” she pointed at Stella’s breast.
“I’ll leave you to deal with that one,” I smirked at her.
“I’ve only just finished having my boobs sucked inside out by the other horror. C’mon then–I’ll catch you later, Cathy.” She left with Puddin’ holding on to her hand as they left the kitchen.
“So Jenny’s got some new bloke, has she? It isn’t because I’ve come–I mean the transgender stuff–she hasn’t gone because of that, has she?”
“If she has, then good riddance, but I happen to believe her and she says–oh have look yourself.” I handed her the note and went to switch the kettle on and then fill the bread machine.
In my life it never seems to rain but it pours. Now I’ll have to try and find someone else and without someone who knows the ropes to show them how I like things done and where everything is. Frankly, I’m disappointed with Jenny, and with myself for not spotting it.
Oh let’s have a cuppa and calm down.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1532
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I sat with my tea and sent a text to Julie. ‘Did u know Jenny had left?’ We were chatting about the television last night, when I got a response.
‘No, wen?’
‘Last nite’
‘Ur jokin’
‘Wish I was’
‘O bugga’
Simon came home after taking Danny to school. I showed him the letter and made him some coffee. “Looks a bit dumb to me, who is this bloke?”
“Simon, I know no more than you do. I’m concerned in the way that she has done this–so secretively. It worries me, either that she had some problem here or she was tricked or coerced into doing it. I had no idea she was unhappy, so if she was she didn’t make it known to me.”
“She said nothing to me, although she looked rather smart with her new hairdo.” The fact that he had noticed it was something in itself.
“That would back up the idea that she had something going on.”
“It wasn’t me coming, was it?” asked Caroline.
“I doubt it, but as I said before, if it was, then perhaps it’s just as well. I suspect the letter is as she says and she’s run off with some bloke.”
“Is she still renting the baby’s house?”
“No, she never did really do that–I let that to a couple of women students via a letting agency.”
“Not your students, are they?”
“I have no idea, I have nothing to do with it, as long as Catherine has an income from it and all the repairs are looked after. Have you let your cottage again?” I asked Simon.
“I think someone from the bank has it, or did. Someone is in there as far as I know.”
“How many houses have you lot got?” asked Caroline her eyes almost on stalks.
“Let’s see, I have my cottage and a villa on Menorca,” Simon said after pretending to count several on his fingers. “This is the property magnate,” he said pointing at me.
“I’m holding one or two in trust for the kids. “I have a house in Southsea, my parent’s place in Bristol, the Drummond’s house in Portsmouth, and another which I look after for someone else.”
“See, told you, and she calls me a capitalist,” Simon joked.
“You give capitalism a bad name,” quipped Stella, coming back and switching on the kettle.
“Where’s the robot?” Simon asked noting she was on her own.
“Having a nap, so any more goss on Jenny?”
“Nope, I can’t believe that she left without any notice or that she left us in the lurch like that.” I was still in a state of mild shock.
“Does seem atypical,” observed Stella, remaking cups of tea and a coffee for Simon, “And none of us seem to have heard she was even in a relationship, not even Julie?”
“No, I texted her and she said not. It is out of character, and it worries me, she was almost family.”
“You get too maternal, Cathy,” Stella gently reprimanded me. “She was a bit naive in some ways, and especially with men. That other bloke, the navy one, he was a waste of space, wasn’t he?”
“Didn’t he get a bit physical once or twice?” I wasn’t sure and hoped to stir other’s memories.
“Can’t remember, so it can’t have been that bad.” Stella stirred her tea, if not her memory.
“Don’t look at me, I have no idea what you girls get up to.” Simon decided he’d spent long enough in the hen party. “I’m going to see if I can get the mower working.” He finished his coffee and went out to the garage.
Remember this place is an old farmhouse, and the one garage is an ancient barn, not quite the size of a tithe barn, but pretty big. It will take several cars, the sit and ride mower, plus loads of other bits and pieces. In one part, an upper floor was added for the storage of seed and other perishables, and it was made as rat proof as they could make it. Maureen turned it into a secure storage place within the barn, also making it frost proof and replacing an old rotting window frame with a modern UPVC type. I don’t think we got planning permission for that, but you can’t see it easily, so no one from the council has said anything.
We did think about turning the secure room into an office, but then we did the extension and the need seemed to be less urgent. The problem of heating it was the major reason we didn’t do it, but when the builders were here doing the extension, we did get the roof insulated and plastered, so it might be more feasible one day perhaps to let. It’s not a priority as you will gather.
“I’ve never seen the barn open,” said Caroline, so I sent her off to help Simon.
“Most of the women I know wouldn’t be that interested in an old barn,” Stella poured some more teas. “I mean, what’s in there apart from that old wreck of yours?”
“That old wreck is quite valuable, and is wrapped up in sheets of plastic to keep the dust off.”
“I thought it was to keep Simon’s paws off it.”
“That as well; did I tell you Danny asked if he could drive it when he was older?”
“Nothing like making your position known at the earliest possible moment; what did you say?”
“True. I told him I’d think about it later.”
“I’m surprised Julie wasn’t after it.”
“Oh she was, but I told her to get some insurance quotes.”
“Oh, disappointed was she?”
“I think she decided that if she saved a few hundred a month, she’d be able to run it for three months in ten years time.”
“It’s only an old Jaguar.”
“Yeah, only an old Jaguar, but in mint condition, and doubling in price every four or five years.”
“Perhaps you should put your current one in mothballs now then?”
“I don’t think so, Stella, it’s too nice a drive.”
“Better than the Porsche?”
“If I’m honest, yes.”
“Ooh, get you.” She made a silly face and we both laughed.
“Cor, that barn is something else, isn’t it?” said Caroline as she returned to us.
“Yeah, it’s our super spider store. None of them got you then?” Stella teased.
“Uh, no.” Caroline looked very suspiciously at Stella and we both laughed.
“She’s winding you up,” I informed our helper, “She doesn’t like spiders, and assumes that no one else does either.”
“Can’t say I’m too fond of them,” Caroline confessed.
“Pity, there’s one in your hair,” Stella pointed to her.
“Where?” Caroline brushed at her hair with both hands. I hadn’t seen one so I suspect Stella was teasing again. Spiders, at least our native species, don’t worry me, although one or two are reputedly able to bite through human skin, I’ve never had a problem handling them. I can’t say I like the idea of one walking over my pillow in bed, but I’m not as bad as Simon, who hates them and who once fell out of bed avoiding one.
If you spend your time as an undergrad poking about in all sorts of environments looking for bugs and vertebrates, you learn to accept the odd creepy crawly as a fact of life–though I did squeal once or twice at first, and I still don’t like ticks and biting insects.
“I suppose I’d better make some bread, I bought the stuff on the way home and I have some nice mousetrap to eat with it for lunch.”
“Better hurry then, it’s nearly eleven,” urged Stella, so I went and loaded the bread maker.
“What’s mousetrap?” I heard Caroline asking Stella.
“Cheese, usually Cheddar.”
“Of course–sorry, you must think I’m stupid.”
“Only for working here, but don’t worry about it.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1533
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After lunch, Caroline and I went to collect the girls, and Simon went for Danny, who must have thought it was his birthday. The girls found us sitting in the car talking when they came out of the school grounds. To be honest, I hadn’t noticed the time until parents and children came walking past the car. I was tempted to go and look for them, but they knew where I’d be. Trish told us off for not waiting for them inside the school, and she had a point, but I told her not to try to patronise me or she’d be walking to and from school. She sulked all the way home, saying the equivalent of, ‘Come back, Jenny, all is forgiven,’ which made me want to smirk all the way home.
Simon was already there when we got home and Danny had gone to change to his play clothes. I sent the girls off to do the same and they all hemmed and hawed up the stairs. However, when they came back down, they each had a chocolate biscuit and a glass of milk waiting for them. Caroline offered to play chess with Trish, who was clapping her hands with glee.
While Fischer and Spassky fought it out on a chessboard, I got the dinner started. For a complete change I did corned beef hash with peas. I peeled a mountain of spuds and boiled them, then creamed them and mixed in two large tins of corned beef, which I browned under the grill while the peas warmed.
Surprisingly, it went down really well, so I’ll have to put that on the menu now and again. The fresh fruit salad and yoghurt also seemed to disappear double quick, and Caroline complained about putting on weight, yet she ate as much as anyone, more than Julie or I did.
After the youngsters went off to play or do homework, we adults sat round the table feeding the little ones and talking about Jenny. I don’t know about her ears burning, I’d have thought her whole body must have been getting very warm.
After about twenty minutes Trish reappeared and challenged Caroline to a rematch. Caroline had won the first rubber and Trish wanted revenge. Caroline mimed that she’d let her win and I told her not to let her under any circumstances, because given a little while longer and she will win, Trish that is. Intellectual challenge drives her like a pendulum, and she will overcome it however long it takes. I reckoned about two or three weeks, although having said that, she hadn’t yet beaten me at chess.
Julie was probably the member of the household who best knew Jenny, and she was horrified that she’d done the equivalent of a moonlight flit. She’d been up to the empty room and it was empty–all her clothes had gone, as had her personal effects, so this had been planned for some little while, and she must have removed things for days beforehand. She could, her room was private and she cleaned it herself. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in there before this latest incident, which coming so soon after the loss of Billie, really got me down.
The consensus of the discussion was how disappointed we all were with Jenny. Life went on however, and we had Billie’s interment which everyone attended. I laid the little papier má¢ché casket into the hole which had been dug, and we all threw some soil on top of it while saying goodbye to our loved one. We left the cemetery staff to fill in the grave and went home feeling very tearful and upset. Tom offered to have her name inscribed upon the marble headstone, which I very much approved.
A couple of days later, after dinner, Trish still hadn’t managed to beat Caroline, who it transpired, was the school chess champion, although Trish was getting better and I really thought I wouldn’t play her again, retiring unbeaten by our very own Isaac Newton.
Caroline, Stella and I were chatting with Julie who was trying to persuade me to have some eyelash extensions. I told her I didn’t want them, but Caroline was half interested. Julie was starting to do electrolysis training, and it just happened we had a nice victim lined up for her to practice on. We were all laughing about this when the phone rang.
Livvie called me, saying it was for me. “Who is it, Liv?”
“The hospital.” She went back to her homework.
That had me completely puzzled, everyone was here so no one had been whipped in by ambulance without me noticing. I picked up the handset. “Hello, Cathy Cameron here?”
“Lady Cameron?” asked the voice, don’t they ever listen?
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“Lady Cameron, we have someone here who has given you as next of kin.” My stomach flipped, had I forgotten someone?
“Who?”
“A young woman who is in theatre at the moment having a clot removed from her brain.”
“Who is it?” I asked my blood pressure now somewhere up near the roof.
“She won’t tell us her name, but said you knew her–she then became unconscious. Could you come down to the hospital as soon as possible?”
“I can’t think of anyone who’s missing–this isn’t some sort of joke is it?”
“I can assure you, Lady Cameron, we don’t have time for sick jokes at the Queen Alexandra Hospital.”
“Why isn’t she being operated on at Southampton? That’s the neurological unit?” It sounded fishy to me.
“We had the neurosurgical team travel here, she was too poorly to travel.”
I smelt a distinctively fishy odour and told the woman I’d be there as soon as I could. Then I checked the display and found it was a withheld number. Hmmm. I checked the number for the hospital enquiries, and after about ten minutes of being walked round the houses at premium rate, I spoke to someone.
“Did someone call me from there about someone in surgery? My name is Lady Catherine Cameron?”
“Hold on, I check for you.” I began to feel I’d thwarted a crude attempt to get me out of the house for some reason–probably not for positive ones.
“Hello, Duty Social Worker...” the voice sounded vaguely familiar.
“Hello, this is Catherine Cameron...”
“I thought you told me you were on your way here.”
“Sorry–I wondered if I should bring anything for this young woman, whose name I have no idea of.”
“Look, Lady Cameron, all I know is that she told us to contact you, then became unconscious and is in theatre as we speak. What you bring is up to you, but I’d be grateful if you could come down and help us identify her.”
“I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
I asked the others to put the kids to bed as I had to dash to the hospital, as someone was asking for me. Julie jumped up and grabbed her bag and followed me out to the car.
“This could take some time.”
“I can’t have you going there on your own, Mummy.”
I put my arm round her and hugged her. “Thank you, darling. If it seems to be an all-nighter, I’ll get Simon to come and get you.”
“We’ll see, I’m a big girl now.”
“I know.”
“It’s not Jenny, is it?” she asked as I drove as quickly as I could to the hospital.
“I did wonder, but why would she give me as her next of kin?”
“Search me, but you are sort of all round good egg, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes.” I parked and Julie got the ticket. If we were going to be here any length of time we’d have to get a special ticket to avoid being clamped–bloody hospitals. Then we set off to the high dependency unit where the social worker had arranged to meet us. My tummy was full of Rajah Brook’s bird of paradise butterflies, my record with social workers is hardly a happy one. Julie noticed my nervousness and put her arm round my waist, and I put mine about her shoulders–together we’d deal with anything.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1534
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We entered the hospital and on announcing our names to the receptionist, a woman in about her late thirties came out to us. She was very tall, at least six feet tall and quite broad with it, but I was pretty sure she was a natural female. Anyway, she stood head and shoulders above Julie and me.
“Good to meet you, Lady Cameron, I’m Serena Smollett, the medical social worker.” She acknowledged Julie and then led us both to a small consulting room where we all sat down. “I haven’t given you the full story, I’m afraid.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise me, but at least she was what she said she was and no one was trying to kidnap or kill me. “Perhaps you’d better do so now then,” I said quite dispassionately.
“We don’t know who she is, except her name is Jenny.”
Julie and I looked at each other, it was as we feared–had this bloke beaten her up or what? I kept quiet and waited for more information.
“She had a letter addressed to you on her person, which was all she had–no bag or anything.”
“Do I get to see the letter?”
“I have a copy here, the police have the original.”
“What did she do to herself?” I asked realising that a letter probably meant a suicide attempt. Julie looked at me in astonishment.
“She jumped off a motorway bridge.”
I bit my lip and Julie was genuinely shocked, shouting, “No,” raising her hand up to her mouth.
“How badly is she injured?”
“Very, multiple fractures, head injuries–she’s in a bad way. You know her though don’t you?”
I nodded, “I think so, if it’s who we think it is, her name is Jenny Bell and she worked for me as help and nanny. She left suddenly a few nights ago, left a note saying she’d found a new man and was moving in with him.”
“I see.”
“Why is she here and not Southampton which is the trauma centre?”
“She arrested twice in the ambulance, we were nearer so they brought her here. We’re trying to stabilise her enough to be airlifted to Southampton General.”
“Poor Jenny, Mummy, why did she do that?”
I put my arm round Julie and hugged her, “I don’t know, perhaps this lady can explain why.”
“It’s in the letter, it’s a bit incoherent but you will probably make some sense of it.” She handed me a sheet of obviously photocopied paper and I recognised Jenny’s rather immature scrawl.
‘To Lady Cathy Cameron,
If you reading this I’m dead. Im really sorry I left you in the lurch but you had Caroline to help you now and I had this chance with someone I really fancied. Im ashamed to say I took the little statuette thing from you desk Ben talked me into it. He sold it for two thousand and as soon as he had the money was off. Ive been a real fool and deserve to die for doing that to you. I hope you understand, can you bury me in my parents grave.
Love
Jenny.”
I felt a tear run down my nose and Julie took the note and kept saying, “No, no, no,” tears flooding down her face.
“The police are involved, but they said you’d recently lost your little girl in a cycling accident, so they’d come and see you tomorrow–they have to investigate any suicide attempt, and it did cause problems for several road users who witnessed the attempt. Whether there’s charges of theft to be laid is up to you, but they’ll explain that anyway.”
I took a deep breath, “I’m disappointed in her, I thought she had more sense. I’m also disappointed that she needed to steal something, if she’d needed money, I could have loaned her a couple of thousand.”
“We all do silly things when our eyes are clouded with affairs of the heart,” commented Serena.
“She is going to be alright, isn’t she?” Julie wailed.
“I don’t know, it’s in the hands of the surgeons, and might I say, God.”
Julie looked at me and I shrugged. I knew what she was thinking, go and heal on her, but nothing inside me was telling me to do that. Given that it didn’t work for Billie, for whom I’d have swapped my own life, it didn’t entirely surprise me that I didn’t feel driven to see Jenny. Maybe I was losing the power to heal?
Serena’s bleep went and she excused herself and went presumably to a phone. I sat hugging Julie. “Go and heal on her, Mummy–you’ve saved people like this before.”
“When I did, the energy was telling me to do it, it isn’t at the moment–maybe later?”
“No it’s ’cos she ripped you off, isn’t it–you’re punishing her, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. I’m disappointed in her, my father gave that statuette to my mother on their wedding anniversary.”
“The ballet dancer one?”
“Yes.”
“Stupid men, I’m glad I’m lezzie–fuck them–stupid men.” Julie buried her head in my shoulder and sobbed.
Probably three or four minutes later, Serena returned with Ken Nicholls. “Cathy, how nice to see you again. How d’you know this unfortunate woman I’ve been assisting with?”
“She was my nanny and help.”
“Oh dear.”
“How bad is she?”
“I’ll be surprised if she makes it, frankly, she’s in a real mess and is too sick to move yet. As soon as we can she’s off by chopper to the spinal unit at Soton.”
“Can I see her?”
“She’s in recovery at the moment–but as soon as she goes into ICU, I’ll let you know–if you can do some of your magic–she needs it pretty badly.”
“Can we wait?”
“Of course,” said Serena, “I’ll bring you some tea unless you’d prefer coffee.”
“Tea’s fine.”
While she was off getting the tea, I introduced Julie to ken, she looked like a panda and scooted off to the loo to wash her face.
“It’s that bad is it?”
“I’d say she has about ten percent chance of survival and about one percent of ever walking again.”
“The silly girl.”
“What’s this I hear about her stealing something?”
I showed him the note she’d left. He read it and shook his head. “Valuable, was it?”
“It was gold, a statuette of a ballerina about three inches tall. It was my mother’s.”
“What fools we are when we’re in love.”
“Or think we are.”
“Well that as well. I’m going to have a shower and change into a human being again. If you do perform your magic, let me know–they’ll page me–I’ll tell them to let you see her in ICU. I think she might be beyond anything even you can do.” We shook hands and he left.
Julie came back, her eyes red, but much of the offending mascara and eyeliner was gone. Serena came back with two cups of tea on a tray. She put them down and excused herself, more work to do.
“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” Julie said tearfully sipping her tea.
“It’s highly likely.”
“Are you going to just let that happen?”
“No, I’m going to see her as soon as she comes out of recovery. I’m going to need your support with this.”
“Of course.”
“So I’ll need you to be as positive as you can be.”
“Okay.”
“I mean that–when you see her, she’s going to look pretty awful.”
“Okay, Mummy, I’ll be positive.”
We sat and hugged and possibly even snoozed for a little while when there was a knock on the door and someone announced that Jenny had been moved to intensive care.
“Now watch what you say, she might be unconscious, but she could also possibly hear you, and negative things can have negative effects.”
“Okay, Mummy, I’ll be...Jesus Christ, she looks...”
“She looks okay, Julie doesn’t she. Hello, Jenny, it’s Cathy and Julie, we’ve come to say hi and hope you feel better soon. I still need you, you know, assuming you want to come back to our madhouse. All the family say hello and get well soon again.”
I waited for the nurse to go and sat down beside her, Julie went round the other side of the bed. What I did next, I had no idea because all I could see was her life system growing smaller by the moment. It looked very much as if she was going to die.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1535
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“What do I do, Mummy, I’ve never done this before?”
“I want you to just focus on bringing down the blue light and sending it to me, to boost anything that I produce.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“We need to work fast.” I indicated that Jenny was fading away quickly and Julie nodded her understanding.
I imagined the blue light coming down through me and into Jenny. “Jenny, I hope you can hear me. It’s Cathy and Julie, we’ve come to take you home with us, where you belong, but we need your help. We need you to focus on the light, a blue light, which we’re sending to you to help you find your way.
“You’ve had an accident, but you’re going to be okay, but we need you to help us help you get better. Wherever you are, we need you to come back to your body, follow the light I’m sending–focus on my voice–here take my hand.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it and felt the energy flow between us.
“I suspect you’re in darkness at the moment, don’t worry, we’re here to help you. Look for the light, a blue light, I’m sending it now to help light your way–come back to your body and come back to us, come back now. C’mon girl, we want to take you home. I know about the figurine and it’s okay–just come back to us–all is forgiven. We just want you back because we love you–you’re part of our family.
“All the children miss you and want you back with us. We all love you–so come back to us won’t you–just follow the light, the blue light–it will light your way for you.” I focused on sending the light into her and as before, time became irrelevant to me.
I felt a struggle going on inside her, as if part of her really wanted to come, and part was afraid or perhaps, very ill. I tried to send the energy around her head, which was very badly bruised–she’d jumped something like forty feet, which is more than enough to kill most people–it was miraculous that she was alive at all.
I sent the light down her legs and spine, both of which were badly damaged, to try and kick start any healing her body was trying to do. I was trying to remember her as we knew her, not this battered and bloodied body which lay bandaged and plugged into all sorts of monitors and drips.
I looked at my watch, it was after midnight, Julie was sleeping I think resting her head on her arm on the cot-side of the bed. She’d effectively given her all, and the way I felt, I had too. The nurse looked in and checked the machines.
I rose up on two very stiff legs, we’d been there more than three hours working on her. “How’s she doing?” I whispered to the nurse.
“Better than when you got here, I didn’t think she’d make it through the night–your talking to her certainly seemed to help.”
“I’m told that hearing is the last thing to leave you when you’re unconscious.”
“It is; which is why we ask visitors to be careful what they say in front of our patients.”
“I’d better take the other one home or she’s going to need a bed as well.” I gestured towards Julie, who was fast asleep. The nurse smiled and nodded. I walked round the bed and gently shook Julie, who took a couple of minutes to wake.
“We’re going home now, Jenny, we need you to get well as soon as you can, and I’ll be back in the morning as soon as I’ve taken the girls to school. Hang in there, girl, we want you to come home with us just as soon as you can. We love you, Jenny, hurry and get better.” I passed a final boost of light towards her and we left.
“Wow, did you see that ball of light you threw at her just before we left?”
“No I didn’t–good, was it?”
“It lit up the whole room–you didn’t see it?”
“No, I can’t always.”
“Well I could most of the time–at one point it was almost as if you had a laser burning into her at various points, very specific, I’d say.”
“It goes where it wants, I just try to supply it.”
“I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
“You did a good job, girl.”
“I had a really funny dream–this woman, dressed in gold came and laid her hand on your shoulder and told you everything was as it should be, and she had confidence in you and that unlike Billie, this was not Jenny’s time.”
“You saw that, did you?”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what, like happened–but I think it was a dream–this place creeps me out at the best of times.”
“I expect it was a dream, too, but you’re still privileged.”
“What, to have you for a mum?” she joked.
“Yeah, that as well–you have probably seen the Shekinah.”
“The what?”
“Some sort of divine entity or angel.”
“So why didn’t she touch me, only you?”
“She allowed you to see her, be satisfied with that.”
“I am, I think. So why didn’t you see her?”
“I was too busy trying to talk Jenny back to her body.”
“I heard you do that in the beginning–but it was quiet when I saw the golden woman.”
“Yeah, I was talking to Jenny with the energy.”
“Oh, is she gonna be alright?”
“I don’t know, but I know she will survive the night–so it should give them a chance to get her to Southampton to the spinal and neuro unit.”
“She is gonna be alright though, isn’t she?”
“I honestly don’t know, Julie, I hope so, but you saw for yourself the injuries she’s received–she is very seriously ill, and even if she does survive she might not be the Jenny we loved so much before.”
“What d’you mean? Of course she will–who else is she gonna be?”
“To start with, she could end up in a wheel chair if not worse. She might be brain damaged, although I was concentrating on that tonight. She could have all sorts of other injuries to various organs.”
“Like what?”
“Her liver or kidneys could have been damaged, her spleen–you name it, she could have damaged it–she fell forty feet.”
“How high is that.”
“About level with the top of the house–the roof ridge, I mean.”
“Ugh, that is high.”
“I know–so I really don’t know if she’ll make it or not and if she does, in what condition she’ll be.”
“But if we get her home, we can work on her and with her, can’t we?”
“To a degree, darling, but there’s only so much any of us can do–even with the blue light.”
“You mean, we’ve like wasted our time–she’s gonna die anyway?”
“No, the interventions we do with the light are always successful, but not always in the way we expect them to be.”
“Like what then?”
“Sometimes the light helps people to die more contentedly.”
“Oh yeah, just what we need–it’s all waste of fuckin’ time, isn’t it?”
I went to put my arm round her but she pulled away–“It’s all a waste of time–she’s gonna die anyway–you and your useless blue fuckin’ light.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but yes, she could still die.”
Julie walked slightly ahead of me, and by her sniffing she was crying–naturally upset by the brutality of the reality of injuries suffered by her friend, because she and Jenny were very friendly.
“The Shekinah seemed to say it wasn’t her time–that’s got to be good hasn’t it, sweetheart?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in fairy stories, as you call them?”
“Yes, but fairy stories are frequently some sort of allegory or parable with a definite message.”
“I don’t care, if she dies I don’t know what I’ll do...”
“Take heart, darling, and keep sending her your love–it will all help. C’mon, let’s get home–I’m gasping for a cuppa.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1536
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“She jumped off the motorway bridge?” said Simon almost rhetorically as I’d already told him she had. “They don’t usually survive that, do they?”
“I think that was the general idea, although her luck wasn’t in.”
“Or it was, depending upon your viewpoint,” he challenged me.
“Si, if she survives, and it’s only if; she is going to possibly be crippled and in pain for the rest of her life.”
“They can perform miracles these days with surgery and pain relief.”
“Si, they can’t do a proper repair of a herniated disc–they can’t cure a common cold, so what chance a totally shocked and smashed body. She looked as if she’d caught the express to London and every wheel had gone over her.”
“Oh–can’t you help her?”
“I’ve just spent most of the night there, with Julie’s help trying to help her–keeping her alive–because without that fundamental, the rest of healthcare seems somewhat irrelevant, doesn’t it?”
“Would they notice?”
“Ken Nicholls would, he’s pretty on the ball. It was on his say so that I was allowed to sit with her.”
“Yeah, he seems a nice guy.”
“Like many other dedicated health professionals, he works his socks off trying to keep people alive and well.”
“Yeah, okay, I knew I shoulda done medicine–ever since I watched Dr Kildare repeats, I shoulda realised the doctor always gets the girl.”
“Oh thanks, Si, now you’ve really made my day.”
He blushed and looked rather sheepish, “I didn’t mean it like that, honest, Cathy–I got the girl, what meant was had I been some dashing quack, I’d have got you sooner.”
“No you wouldn’t, some nurse would have grabbed you, got herself preggers and you’d have been stuck working to support her and her copious offspring for the rest of your life.”
“I might have done an abortion instead of marrying her.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well you became a banker then.”
“Yeah, screwing Joe public, much more fun than healing them–I’ll leave that to you and Ken Nicholls.”
“If I thought for one moment that that statement was true, I’d have been out the door and you’d never have got within a mile of me.”
“I was joking–why do you take things so seriously?”
“Si, I’ve had a hard day, I’m exhausted, and I’m going to bed.” I put my cup down and followed Julie’s example of going upstairs. She’d gone pretty well straight to bed. I checked on her while Si made the tea and she was in bed and asleep. I also checked on the others, they were also asleep, but the portrait of Billie made me choke up for a moment.
I checked them again, they were all still asleep. I looked in at Julie, she turned her head to look at me. “Hello,” she said sleepily.
“Hi, darling, I just thought I’d see how you were.”
“I’ve been asleep, I think, been dreaming about Jenny, and why she did what she did–she should have come and spoken to you, shouldn’t she?”
“Yes, but given her situation, that would have taken a great deal of courage.”
“And jumping off a bridge doesn’t?”
“That’s a different sort of courage, darling. It requires you to be brave for a few seconds once you’ve made the commitment. Living with the shame or disgrace of stealing and betraying someone’s trust might take a lifetime commitment to repay or try to repair that trust.”
“You don’t half think deep at times, Mummy, gives me a headache listening to it. But we helped her tonight, didn’t we?”
“We certainly tried to show her that we loved her and that love is unconditional.”
“Can she come back to work for us?”
“I don’t know if that will be possible.”
“So you lied to her–you told her she could.”
“If she was able to work here again, I’d be delighted to have her back–we don’t know if she’ll ever walk again–she might still die. She could have brain damage or be crippled in some other way.”
“Shouldn’t we have helped her die then, if life is gonna be so bad for her?”
“I let the energy do its own thing, darling, if it had decided to let her die, then it would have been what was needed.”
“I don’t want her to die, Mummy. It’s bad enough losing Billie, I couldn’t stand losing Jenny as well.”
“Perhaps that’s why she didn’t die, to spare us the pain of it.”
“But she’s going to be in pain, possibly for the rest of her life, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh my God, she could be a cabbage, couldn’t she, just lying there unable to do anything for herself. If she is, I swear I’ll finish her off.”
“And ruin your life too? How d’you think the rest of us would feel about that?”
“But you couldn’t let her live like a vegetable, could you?”
“I hope and pray that doesn’t happen. I do know that whatever happens, she’s going to need long term care and we don’t have facilities to provide that.”
“But you lied to her, you said she could come home.”
“In trying to heal her, yes, I said some things which might not be true.”
“So what’s going to happen to her?”
“I don’t now, but we’ll all do our best to help her as much as we can–agreed?”
“You bet–and I still want her home–home here, that is.”
“I know that, and I’d love you have that wish fulfilled, but we have to deal with a real world.”
“Sod that, I’m going to do all in my power to help her.”
“Right, well the first stage there is to get back to sleep because you have work in the morning.”
“Maybe I’ll go sick.”
“You have clients booked?”
“Yeah.”
“You must go–you have people relying upon you–if you can’t help them, how can you possibly show yourself capable of helping Jenny?”
“But that’s...”
“Go back to sleep, I’m sorry I disturbed you.” I closed her door and went down to the bedroom, Si was in bed reading my Cycling Weekly.
“Where have you been?”
“I checked on the kids, Julie was awake and we talked a little, why?”
“Did you see the article in the Guardian about Cav becoming a dad?”
“Doubtless he’ll do that with the same intensity he does everything else.”
He gave me a very questioning look but decided not to say anything, about which I was glad.
“What would you like for your birthday?”
“What?” I couldn’t believe how mundane he’d got and still coming down from my high drama, was unprepared for it.
“What would you like for your birthday–simple enough question.”
“I know that! Okay, you want to know what I’d really like for my birthday? I’d like my daughter back and I’d like my help to fully recover from her injuries, that’s what I’d like.” I went into the bathroom and sitting on the loo burst into tears–I felt like jumping off a bridge–the Severn Bridge and hoped they’d never ever find the body.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1537
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I was cold when Simon eventually persuaded me to come to bed. I’d been sitting on the loo for maybe an hour dealing with my grief and my tiredness. Sometimes I felt I just wanted to walk away from everyone here and never come back. I looked at my watch, it was getting late and I had an appointment with Anne Thomas at ten. But I made that when I had Jenny to help look after the babies. Simon will have to help, either go and have therapy instead of me or look after Catherine.
We cuddled, he felt nice and warm and I deliberately put my cold feet on his warm legs–he didn’t say anything–normally he tells me off–tonight he just held me. Sometimes I get tired of being the strong one and just enjoyed being held by someone–someone I loved.
I struggled up at seven, feeling I’d only slept for an hour or two. Even though I think it was probably four I’d had, it didn’t feel enough. I managed to rouse Julie and get the girls and Danny up and out. Simon took Danny, and I took the girls to school. I stayed in the car to avoid being asked by the headmistress if I’d stand as a school governor. I didn’t feel strong enough to say no.
Back home, I changed and put some concealer under my eyes to cover the dark lines, no point in letting her know too soon that I wasn’t coping with this grief thing. I waited until Simon came back and went off to my appointment.
It was as I expected, I was soon in tears as I explained how the new horror of Jenny’s suicide attempt had brought the pain of Billie’s death back to me. We talked about the dream I’d had with the Shekinah and she tried to use that to calm me down. She had spoken to Sam Rose who confirmed what he told me, that Billie had the aneurysm and could have died at any time even without the accident.
I came out feeling quite distressed and exhausted. However, I went to the hospital to see if there was any news on Jenny.
“She stabilised so well, we sent her by ambulance to Southampton this morning.”
Oh well, I did something right by the look of it. I felt a bit better, but still knackered with a capital K. I got some extra bread, milk and potatoes and went home. After a cuppa and feeding Catherine, I went back to bed for an hour. I’d made up a bread mix for the machine to bake, but what we’d eat with it, I had no idea. Simon came and woke me and told me that Caroline had made scrambled eggs to sit on top of our warm slices of bread. It was delicious. She’d added a small amount of Worcester sauce to eggs before she heated them in the microwave.
Rested and replete, I felt a bit better and went off to collect the children, well able to refuse the charms of the headmistress, except she didn’t turn up–all that wasted energy, I had really wound myself up to say no.
I stopped at a shop on the return drive and we each had an ice cream–I enjoyed it as much as the girls did.
Simon had ordered pizza for the evening meal which although I don’t like, I decided I’d have a cheesy jacket potato for my meal, so I popped the spud in the oven to cook while we waited for Tom to get home. He’d been warned it was ordered for six, the pizza that is and when it arrived it had virtually everything on, including what looked like its own penicillin.
Talking of which, penicillin that is, I remember as a kid being given a book with potted biographies of the great and the good, presumably to inspire me to go to university and discover the next medical miracle or excavate Troy or whatever. Of course, I wanted to be the next Marie Curie and discover some bizarre chemical which would magically change my genitals into female ones and win the Nobel prize for it. I also curiously wanted to play cricket for England, until my parents told me I was actually Scots born.
I also learned that playing about with all those radioactive chemicals had caused Madame Curie to die of aplastic anaemia, which I thought would be quite a fitting end for me as well–dying like some melodramatic operatic heroine. It’s not my fault, I saw a children’s film about her and that’s how they portrayed her end, collapsing at her laboratory bench. These days I suspect it would be very different and I’ll settle for dying of old age, having lots of grandchildren and great grandchildren to dote upon. I guess I just love children.
I learned much later that although Flemming took the credit for penicillin, he didn’t deserve it all–his researchers did much of the work and got left out, sounds a bit like some more modern winners, who conveniently forgot the people who helped them discover the structure of DNA. Science is every bit as competitive as sport and just as financially rewarding for a small number of elite. I’m quite grateful that ecology doesn’t command the fees that medical science does–there’s not much of a market for dormice or even saving the world, compared to selling drugs that might or might not do what they’re supposed to. Apparently only 23% of prescription drugs actually do what they’re supposed to.
I called Southampton General and they told me that Jenny was comfortable but still unconscious and they were contemplating surgery on her legs the next day. I got permission to visit and naturally Julie decided to come. Trish, we virtually had to lock in her room to avoid taking her, and in the end agreed she could help by sitting with Livvie and Mima to send us their love and healing light–I’d phone once we got to the hospital.
Portsmouth’s QA is a big general hospital, Southampton is a huge one, a regional centre for all sorts of things and has its own medical school. We eventually found the relevant ward and went and sat with Jenny. Her bruising was coming out and she actually looked a little worse, like she’d jumped off the bridge and been hit by a number of articulated lorries before the train got her.
Julie was still a bit squeamish about being there in some respects, but once we got started, she settled down and we plugged Jenny into the blue light and zapped her for an hour. Once again I spoke with her and told her what we were doing and how she was wanted back home and that we all loved her. This time we noticed her eyes moving under the closed lids and once or twice the lids flickered.
I kissed her on the cheek and she smiled. Julie kissed her and she smiled even more. “Is there something going on between you two?” I asked her jokingly and Julie blushed, whereas Jenny smiled again.
The next day I got a call from the hospital to say she’d opened her eyes and had asked for me. They postponed the leg surgery, sending her for scans instead, and found that her brain injuries seemed to be healing spontaneously. Julie and I went to see her that evening and were met by the Professor of Neurosurgery, who just happened to call by at visiting time–yeah, sure he did.
“I’ve never seen healing like this before,” he said in the sister’s office. He showed us two scans, one taken at Portsmouth and the other that day at Southampton. He pointed out the improvements in brain swelling and how tissue had regenerated. “It’s more like scans of muscle than brain tissue. Brain tissue doesn’t regenerate very well at all.”
I shrugged, “She’s obviously special then.”
“Undoubtedly, but I believe things changed after you visited her last night, and according to the notes from the nurse on ICU at Portsmouth, she improved dramatically after you visited her there–stabilising enough to be brought here.
“There are all sorts of stories circulating about the angel of the QA. Am I talking to her?”
“Sorry, I’m an agnostic, don’t believe in such things.”
“Neither do I, but we had a case here which seemed to be spontaneously healing and you were mentioned there as well, Lady Cameron. A Maureen Ferguson recovered incredibly quickly from life threatening injuries caused by a severe beating, including probable brain injuries.
“I did some further digging, and discovered a certain Luke Perryman had severe injuries which should have killed him but he survived after you helped him, although he subsequently died.”
“Yes, he hanged himself.”
“Oh yes, something about child pornography wasn’t it?”
“You know perfectly well, Professor Chesters.”
“So I do. I think I’ve caught me a real live angel, or even a pair of them–haven’t I?”
“If that’s what you think, you’d be mistaken but it’s allowed, even for professors. I live with one, he’s always making mistakes.” I smiled but there was no amusement in my eyes.
“Okay, here’s the deal. You go in there and do what you do and let me watch.”
“Then what?”
“That’s it.”
“Do I have your word on that?”
“Yeah, d’you want me to sign it in blood?”
“Ink will suffice. But there must be no follow up.”
“Meaning?”
“You can watch me simply talk to someone and to hold their hand. If it seems to help them, fine–but you don’t try to duplicate it, I won’t see any other patients, and you must tell no one about it.”
“Look, I’m a scientist.”
“So am I, Professor–I also have one of the best legal teams in the world at my disposal.”
“Ah so the angel uses the devil’s playthings,” he smiled.
“I don’t claim to be anything but extremely wealthy and married to a billionaire who owns a bank and very expensive set of lawyers. I am certainly no angel,” I smiled again.
“Okay, this intrigues me so much, I need to see it.”
“You probably won’t see anything much except me falling asleep while I talk to her.”
“I have never seen brain tissue heal like that–show me what you do.” I gave him a look of disdain, no one orders me about. “Please, show me.” I nodded.
Jenny was sleeping and didn’t wake even though I spoke to her. She smiled at my voice, so we had some degree of recognition from her. Things were looking up.
I sat and holding her hand talked to her for an hour. Julie held the other hand and immediately I felt a surge of power flow through me, Julie was becoming a very useful booster pack.
We stopped when I felt the power depleting and we both kissed her and told her we’d come back again. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled before falling back to sleep.
“I watched the bruising reduce on her face and neck–what is it you’ve got? What’s the blue stuff you were shining on her?”
I held out my hand and he took it, “This,” a surge flew through my hand and he was thrown backwards slightly.
“What happened?” he asked picking himself off the floor.
“I don’t know, you were standing there a moment ago and the next minute you fell backwards–perhaps you need a holiday, Professor?”
“There was something I was going to ask you but I’ve forgotten what?”
“Can’t be important then, can it?”
“You induced that improvement by suggestion–that was it, you did all that by a sort of hypnosis?”
I smiled at him. “I think you’ve hit on it.”
“I’ll have to get a psychologist in and do some trials.”
“Hmm, good idea.” I left him there and Julie and I went back to the car.
“What happened with him falling over?”
“The energy protected itself, it brought on a partial amnesia, he can’t remember what he saw, only what he thinks he saw.”
“So he can’t tell anyone?”
“He can, he can tell them that love helps to heal people, but we know that anyway.”
“You are one kewel cookie, Mummy.”
“Yeah, I suppose I am.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1538
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For the next couple of days Julie and I made our nightly trips to Southampton and healed on Jenny, who was improving each time. Finally she recovered consciousness completely and although I thought she was able, she declined to talk to me.
The following day, I sent in Julie to do the healing while I stayed in the car and sent her energy and love. She returned an hour or so later. “I got her to talk.” Julie looked pleased with herself.
“Oh, what did she say?”
“She can’t remember very much at all–well not about the bridge and stuff. She, like, remembers being with us and helping with the children, which she says she loved.”
“What about the bloke who persuaded her to go off with him?”
“His name was Benedict Pope.”
“That’s got to be a made up name,” I suggested seeing it as a reversal of the funny little man in the white dress who lives in the big house in Rome. Julie looked at me totally confused by my statement.
“How d’you know it’s made up?”
“I don’t actually know it’s made up but when the current incumbent in the Vatican is Pope Benedict, it seems highly likely.”
“I’d never have thought of that, and I’m sure Jenny didn’t.”
“You don’t do the Guardian crossword.”
“Huh, intellectual snob,” she said pretending to insult me.
“Yep, that’s me–so what else did she say?”
“Not much, she’d like to come back but feels you wouldn’t let her.”
“Did she give reasons?”
“She stole from you and left you in the lurch. She thinks you’d see her as unreliable.”
“I see, anything else?”
“Her legs don’t work–she’d probably be in a wheelchair.”
“That’s alright, she could sleep in the garage.”
“You what? She cannot sleep in the garage–you can’t do that to her...” Julie eventually noticed my silly expression. “I hate you, Mummy, you’re far too clever for me.”
“What d’you think–about her coming home?”
“In a wheelchair?”
“If she can’t walk, she’d have to use one.”
“Could she?”
“We’ll have to talk to the others, but I don’t have a problem with that, we’d have to make a bedroom downstairs, but it’s not impossible, just fiddly and we’d have to talk Tom round.”
“He was very upset when he heard of her accident.”
“He loves us all, Julie, even when we do stupid things–if he didn’t, he’d have chucked me out long since.”
“He loves you most of all, he sees you a his daughter–he couldn’t love you much more if you were.”
“Yes, okay, what else did Jenny say?”
“She felt embarrassed when you were there.”
“Why d’you think I stayed here this time?”
“If you know all this why do I have to bother telling you?”
“Because I like to confirm what I know. How about we have a drink on the way home?”
“Hey, that’s a good idea.”
We stopped at a pub on the edge of Southampton and had to deal with one or two men trying to chat us up.
“Why don’t I just say we’re lesbians?”
“Because, Julie, that will just make them want to try harder.”
“Why doesn’t it make them just go away?”
“It’s dropping a gauntlet to them, a challenge to their egos and also their testosterone. Imagine the kudos they’d give themselves, just screwed a lesbian, now she knows what it’s for and she loved it.”
“That is like, so gross.”
“Quite, but that’s how some men think–not all, Simon, thankfully is different–at least I hope he is. Others just find the whole concept of women being oblivious to their charms inconceivable. They also probably have fantasies of being in bed with two lesbians.”
“They’d kill him.”
“You and I know that, but well...”
“’Ello, darlin’, can I get yer a drink, an’ yer friend?” The voice belonged to a mid thirties man who thought the height of sophistication was a Ben Sherman shirt and jeans.
“No thanks, we’re just leaving.”
“Go on, stop for one more–go on,” he winked at me.
I looked around the pub, we weren’t far from the door to the car park. “Okay, I’ll have a vin rouge and she’ll have a Bacardi breezer.”
“As good as got,” he went up to the bar and we slipped out the door and into the car. I did tell him we were leaving. Maybe he’ll listen next time.
“Phew, that was close–I’d never have thought of doing that, Mummy.”
“Neither would I if we’d been any closer to the bar, or there’d been two of them.”
“It was you he was after, he kept looking you over.”
“I saw him doing the same to you, darling, and as you’re younger and more nubile than an old crone like me, I suspect you were the ultimate target.”
“Ewwwch, that’s like, horrible. He was about as attractive as a camel with whooping cough.”
I tried to visualise a poor dromedary with pertussis–it defeated me, instead I switched on the CD player and let the Mozart Requiem consume our thoughts for the next half an hour by which time we were pretty well home.
Julie went quiet and when the Lacrimosa began she was sniffing. I leant across and squeezed her hand, she squeezed mine back and I saw the tears run down her face. She smiled weakly at me and then looked ahead through the windscreen. She hadn’t really grieved, and now Jenny was looking as if she’d survive, she could concentrate on letting go her pent up feelings for Billie. I stopped a little way from the house and hugged her. She let rip for maybe fifteen minutes–really bawling and screaming–then she slumped in her seat, exhausted.
“How did you know?” she asked quietly.
“Intuition?”
“You’re getting too good at this, you’re like my real mum–able to read me like a book.”
“In which case, why didn’t she look a couple of pages ahead and realise what you needed to do to be happy?”
“Because she was more interested in her happiness, I guess.”
“How d’you know I’m not?”
“Intuition,” she said, beginning to giggle. Giggling is infectious, so we were both giggled out when we got home. I drank a cuppa and went to bed, much to Simon’s disgust. Julie had gone straight up to hers taking a glass of water with her. She drinks lots of water–it helps her feel less hungry when she’s trying to lose weight. I think she has a fabulous figure as did that creep in the pub last night. She thinks she’s overweight. Does my bum look big in this and all the other clichés.
It seems very few women are satisfied with their bodies, and fashion designers to plastic surgeons trade on that dissatisfaction to great profit. I find it rather sad, we can’t all look like Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox, so why do we bother? It’s bound to end in tears, and shouldn’t we all be looking for the inner beauty we each possess?
I looked at my naked body in the bathroom mirror–there were lots of things I could improve–I needed to lose a few pounds, especially from my waistline and my breasts weren’t quite as perky as they were–breast feeding, I suppose. My face–I won’t go there, it could take hours...
“Cathy, you in the bathroom?”
“Yes, darling, why?”
“I fancy a bit of you know, so bring your beautiful self out of there and be seduced by my romantic patter and masculine charms.”
I looked back at the mirror, “Someone loves me, so why should I care?” I called back through the door, “Be out in a minute. I hope you’re not sitting there in your underpants and socks, you know what a turn off it is.” I heard frantic activity from the other side of the door and sniggered–works every time–oh the power...”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1539
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“How’s Jenny doing?” asked my partner once he’d sated his lust and I’d washed it away–it tends to detract from the pleasure of the experience when you either have to go and have a little wash or lay there–oozing all night. Romantic it ain’t, even the thought that, it’s his seed that’s pooling in my panties, or gumming up my bum, or running down my leg–I think you catch my drift. If men were on the receiving end of sex, would they be as randy? Dunno, I’ll have to ask a passive gay man one day.
“Jenny’s coming on fine, they’ve splinted her legs instead of needing to operate, she has some sensation in them, but it isn’t very good. I suspect she’ll need a wheelchair, for the immediate future anyway.”
“Not so good then?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said, I think she’s doing very well.”
“Yeah, but the wheelchair...”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“She’s always been so vibrant.”
“People change.”
“You’re planning on having her home here, aren’t you?”
“I am–why? Got a problem with that?”
“Wasn’t the idea of her being here to help you?”
“Yes, but it seems we might be the only family she has.”
“You can’t just go round adopting strays–you’re not a registered charity.”
“Give me time.”
“To collect strays or become a charity?”
“Both.”
“You are the giddy limit.”
“Only if you have short horizons.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You said I was the giddy limit, and I suggested it depends upon where your limits are.”
“Oh very existential.”
“Why d’you have to be so uplifting one moment and absolutely depressing the next? Is it to stop me be becoming complacent?”
“You’re hardly complacent.”
“Some days I think I know you, and some days I realise I don’t.”
“Man of mystery, am I?”
“Not sure how I’d describe you–schizoid perhaps.”
“Schizoid–what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I told you I wasn’t sure how to describe you.”
“Schizoid–me? You’re the one seeing the shrink.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I think it’s probably true that, the sickest people never see a doctor.”
“Meaning?”
“One in four of us will experience some episode of mental illness–unless you’re schizoid, then it might be four in one.”
He missed my cheap jibe, he was deep in thought. “D’ya think I should see someone then?”
“Someone?”
“Yeah, like a shrink.”
“What for?”
“You seem to have a problem with me.”
“Simon, I love you–doesn’t that say something about you?”
“But you’re always saying you love me because I accept you.”
“No, Simon, I love you, full stop. That you accept me as I am, means I can have a relationship with you, like being your wife.”
“I like you being my wife.”
“I like it too.” We hugged together for a while.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cathy.”
“I’m not sure how I’d cope without you, either.”
“Better than I would–they say women cope better than men if a relationship goes pear shaped.”
I turned to face him, leaning my head on my hand, my elbow on the pillow. “What are you on about? This relationship isn’t going pear shaped. I’ve just told you I love you, so what’s the problem?”
“Sometimes I think you’re too good for me.”
“I’m too good for you? How on earth do you work that one out? I’m the weirdo remember? You just happen to be extremely wealthy and a pretty good dad to my children, and sometimes an excellent husband and friend to me. Yeah, I’m definitely too good for you.”
“I see other men looking at you, fancying you.”
“Eh? When was this? Passing the local loony bin or the rest home for the blind?”
He smirked at that remark.
“Simon, I can’t give you more than my love and my life. You have both, except for the bits I have to share with the children, and I’m very aware that I only have them because of you.”
“What about Trish and that judge?”
“Okay, she pleaded our case–I reckon he only gave in because he’d lose it on appeal against her.”
“She is a bit of a case, isn’t she? She isn’t autistic is she?”
“Stephanie doesn’t think so, she’s just very intelligent, so intelligent that normal brains can’t keep up with hers–she’s also not always very practical–she’s a theorist, an Einstein. She might well give you an equation to do something, like find a Higgs bosen. She’ll never be able to build you the particle accelerator–that would be Meems or Danny.”
“Eh?”
“Trish could describe a shoe to you, tell you about its functions, but sometimes she needs someone to tie her laces.”
“I’d always thought she was very practical.”
“She is if someone has shown her–like with the washing machine, or she can work it out. Billie is always the practical one, nowhere near as clever as Trish, but more grounded, she usually puts her right, or Mima.”
I stopped for a moment and thought about what I’d said. “Billie won’t be looking out for her now, will she?”
“Not in this world,” he said and pulled me close.
“I do miss her.”
“We all do, babes, we all do.”
I fell asleep in his arms, waking with my eyes all stuck together and needing a wee. Simon was fast asleep, his arm still round me. I kissed his hand and slipped out to go to the toilet. On the way back I looked in on the girl’s room and a stray beam of moonlight caught the photo, and Billie smiled back at me.
It would be nice to think it was something more than just a random chink of light appearing at just that moment. I don’t believe in gods or heavens or hells–I think life is what we make it here and now. It can be our heaven or it can be our hell. I think of children suffering in third world countries from starvation or disease, from needless civil wars fought by ideologically opposed men who seem unable to discuss and compromise upon their wants, making others suffer because they can. There is something dreadfully sick in this world and it’s called Mankind–that’s a misnomer, nothing very kind about us is there?
The photo was in darkness, and I began to feel cold, so I went back to bed and cuddled back up to my hot water bottle, Simon–I was so lucky.
The next morning, Caroline was up first and was well into starting breakfast–she was a quick learner, thank goodness. I asked her to be available when I returned from the school run.
I took the girls to school, and Simon once again took Danny. I popped in the baker’s on the way home and bought some cream cakes. When I got home, I asked Caroline to make some tea, which she did. She sat down looking very desultory, almost distracted in her manner.
“Hmm, that’s a nice cuppa,” and I opened the bag and placed the cakes on the plate.
“I suppose this is my pay off, is it?” she said, looking at the table.
“Pay off? I’m not sure I understand you?”
“You know, my assessment–not up to standard, have to let you go stuff.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s okay, Cathy, I’m a big girl now–I can deal with rejection.”
“Rejection? I don’t underst... Oh, you thought I was going to sack you?”
“Isn’t that why you asked me to be here, even got a cream cake sweetener?”
“No, I’m very happy with your efforts so far.”
“You’re not sacking me?”
“No, not unless there’s something I don’t know about.”
“I don’t think so.”
“So choose a cake before Simon sees them, he’ll eat the lot.”
She took a cream slice–good–I grabbed the apple and cream turnover, my favourite.
“Why did you want to see me?”
“I needed to speak to you about Jenny.”
“Jenny, is she better?”
“Not by a long way, but once she’s out of rehab, I’d like her to come here if she wants. Obviously, I need to talk it over with you as well as the others, because she could be quite disabled and thus take time and effort from all of us. I need to have your agreement before committing you to such a project.”
“It’s your house, I work for you–you call the shots.”
“I don’t work like that. I lead the team, no matter what Simon and Tom like to think...”
“I had noticed.” She smirked and took a bit of her cake, squirting cream up her nose.
“I like all my team on board.”
“I’m on board, Cathy. I love it here. The children are magic, especially the girls–Danny’s a bit standoffish but he’s a nice kid too. And the adults are all mad as hatters, but the love that’s here–it’s almost palpable, it’s so real. The others would do anything for you.”
“Would they? Even to the extent of bringing their own dirty linen down to the utility room?”
“That might be pushing it, but otherwise they would.” We both laughed, and Simon appeared poured himself some tea and helped himself to a cake. He was about to grab the last one when I smacked his hand.
“That’s for Stella.”
“She’s on a diet, so I’ll have it–it’ll go cheesy out of the fridge.”
“No it won’t–it’s you who needs the diet, not Stella.”
“I’m a fine figure of a man, am I not Caroline–and remember, it’s my money she uses to pay you.”
“No it isn’t, you lying toad.”
“Isn’t it? Oh, so what are you using that for?”
“My toyboy’s rent.”
“Oh okay.” He drank his tea and spotted the postman driving back down the drive. “Post is here.” He went off to get it.
“Mad as hatters are we? Possibly–must be the lead pipes or something.”
Simon came back in holding some envelopes in one hand and an open one in the other. “It’s from the bank investigation.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1540
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“What’s it say?”
“They want to interview me some more.” He looked quite shaken by it.
“Is this the bank who are running it?”
“No, the FSA.”
“I thought your evidence from the States was conclusive and pretty damning of the embezzlers who scarpered to Argentina or wherever?”
“So did I.”
“When have you got to go?”
“The twenty fifth–shit, that’s tomorrow.”
“You’d better get hold of Jason,” I suggested.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He went off to my study to make his calls.
“What’s all that about?” asked Caroline.
“Simon was involved in a series of transactions which went pear shaped. He purchased a US bank which went belly up as soon as they got the money, and he lost quite a lot of money. There were three or four men who escaped to south America with rather a lot of British money.
“Simon and a friend of mine went to the States because the US bank’s auditor contacted him with evidence which showed Simon had been conned. They were going to collect the evidence when the office blew up–officially a gas main, but we think it was a bomb. The auditor was killed and some of the evidence destroyed.”
“Crikey, you people lead exciting lives compared to us country bumpkins.”
“If I told people I was married to a millionaire banker, they’d all think I was a lady of leisure with the only problem being where to spend money next or which salon to patronise next. It isn’t like that–Simon slogs for his money and this is one of the first times he’s got it wrong–being taken for a ride–but the books were bent and he was fooled. It could still ruin him.”
“I thought they owned the bank?”
“Not entirely, they own about half of it or just over, I think. I have some shares apparently, though I leave it to Simon to deal with them. I got paid a dividend and accepted more shares as payment–on his advice.”
“How much did he lose?”
“About four hundred million pounds.”
“How much?”
“Yeah, it’s astronomical figures–distance to nearest star or whatever.”
Caroline looked at me, “Excuse me for sounding entirely self centred, but this won’t have any adverse effect upon my job, will it–you know–economies and so on?”
“No, don’t worry about that–there’s a bit left in the kitty yet.”
“Sorry, but I had to ask–I enjoy myself here so much–you’re all mad but very likeable.”
“Mad? Me?” I said affecting an exaggerated twitch, “I am perfectly sane–the voices say so.” Caroline nearly fell over laughing just as Stella walked in.
“That cake’s for you, Stella.”
“Not sure I want to eat it if it gives you funny turns,” she said, giving me a very strange look.
I affected a tic somewhat similar to the one Eric Idle used in the Life of Brian when they were handing out the crosses. Stella cracked up and Caroline had tears running down her face. “You should be an actress,” she said, wiping her face.
“She is an acclaimed one,” said Stella huffily. "Her Lady Macbeth has been compared to Judy Dench’s.”
“Wow,” said Caroline, “I saw it back in school and it was pretty special then.”
“Finish the sentence, Stella,” I urged.
“What d’you mean, I did finish it.”
“No you didn’t, you should have said my Lady Macbeth has been compared to Judy Dench’s pet dog.”
“I see, more false modesty–okay, you were an old dog, end of story.” Stella took a bite of her fresh cream cake and some cream shot out and hit her in the eye. Caroline and I nearly fell over laughing.
“Serve you right–got your just desserts,” I said and laughed uproariously.
“If I get cholesterol poisoning in my eye, I’ll sue you–giving me a booby trapped cake–huh, how low can a girl sink?”
“Yeah, keep your eye on the cream, Stel.”
We were still in hysterics when Simon came back. “I’m going to see Jason.”
“When?” I asked.
“Now.”
“Oh–d’you want me to fix you some food first?”
“Haven’t got time–I’m just going to change and collect some documents and off I go.”
“Anything you want me to do?”
“No thanks, dunno if I’ll be home tonight, I might stay at the ’rents.” He went off to change.
“Not what you were expecting?” asked Caroline.
“The letter, no.” I answered and Stella looked at me quizzically. “The enquiry people want him back to clarify some points.”
“Oh–but I thought it was all cut and dried?” she responded wiping some cream off her nose.
“I hope it is–but I’m not holding my breath–seems the universe is out to get us.”
“My money’s on you, kiddo,” Stella shoved a large wodge of cake into her mouth and muttering something else I didn’t catch, went back up the stairs, presumably to feed Fiona.
“You’ve had a rough time lately with all this going on, losing your little girl and then Jenny leaving you and...”
“Yeah, that’s life–I try to look on the bright side.” Simon walked through with a suitcase and an attaché case. I was rather glad he didn’t start singing the song from The Life of Brian, so he probably didn’t hear my comment.
“I’m off, Babes,” he kissed me and walked towards the door.
“Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Yeah–okay.”
“And, Simon,” I called as he went through the door.
“What?” he asked testily turning in the doorway.
“Good luck, darling.”
“Yeah,” he said and left.
I shrugged–“I hate these tribunal things–full of old farts who spend their days rushing round colanders.”
Caroline snorted and went off to clean the windows before she became as mad as the rest of us. I went upstairs and sat in the girl’s bedroom, staring at the photo and holding her nightdress.
“I’ve done all the downstair’s windows–outside anyway–I can’t do the others without a ladder.” Caroline called up the stairs.
“You do them from the inside,” I glanced at my watch–it was time to collect the girls. I sent Danny a text telling him Simon had gone to work and he’d need to catch the bus. He sent me one back saying he’d got mine.
I seemed to have frittered a whole afternoon sitting grieving when there were things I needed to do. Would this emptiness never leave me? Oh. I can disguise it or distract myself for short periods. but it’s always there as soon as I stop.
Even if the queen of the fairies is looking after her, it’s of little consolation–I miss my child and nothing is going to fill that void–ever. I dashed out to the car and just made it to the school as the children were emerging like ants from a nest on a warm day.
“Ah, Lady Cameron, have you had a chance to think about the proposition I made you?” asked the headmistress presumably relating to the vacancy on the school’s board of governors.
“No, one of my staff is very poorly and I have other things to think about.”
“We’d love to have you–on the board I mean.”
“Sister Maria, I have just lost a child, I have someone who tried to kill themselves jumping off a motorway bridge, my husband is being investigated by the FSA and I have a series of lectures to prepare for the university–I haven’t got time to think about anything that doesn’t come into those categories.” I collected my children and walked briskly back to the car.
“Why was Sister Maria, crying?” asked Livvie.
“Because she just stuck her head in a lioness’s mouth and got bitten. C’mon, let’s get home.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1541
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I was still bristling when I got home and to calm myself down called Southampton to see how Jenny was doing. Julie had spoken about going to see her one evening, now she off the danger list, and until my schedule had got derailed with Simon being called to London, I had fully intended to take her.
Thursday is Julie’s late night–they work up until about seven or eight–so it didn’t seem the best one to think about going to the hospital, then I got a text saying, they’d finished early and she was leaving to see Jennie by herself. I sent her a text saying come home and I’ll take you, but the cunning little vixen had switched off her phone.
All I could do was fume and look after the children. I had planned buying fish and chips on the way home, but had desisted so that Julie wouldn’t be left out. After hearing that Jenny had two legs in plaster casts–they’d operated to pin her fractures–I felt that she was doing alright as she was. That coupled with Julie doing her own thing and Simon stuck up in London, made me feel like not cooking–I must have been fed up–so I took Danny with me while the girls organised the table, and we went to the chippie and I bought fish and chips for everyone. I bought mushrooms in batter, mushy peas and baked beans; and for Tom, a curry sauce. I thought only in somewhere like Glasgow would you have fish and chips with curry sauce–so it felt almost acceptable.
After clearing up the mess and binning the wrappers, helped by Caroline, who was either very diligent or trying to make an impression. We finished the kitchen clean up and I told her to finish, that she’d done enough.
“This isn’t work, it’s like being part of a family,” she replied pushing all the right buttons.
“Yeah, but it can get very wearing very quickly.”
“Cathy, look, this is as close as I might ever get to keeping house for children and men–I’m unlikely to ever find someone who accepts me as his wife or partner, or a woman who fancies me.”
“So you’d accept either as a partner?” I was surprised. I suppose, rapt in my own little world, this came as a bit of a revelation. I know Julie enjoys going out with boys and even doing a bit of smooching with them, but I think she sees herself as attracted to women–possibly after her experiences with that excopper who beat her up.
She also had that bad experience with the kidnappers where they sexually assaulted her–so I suppose it’s not surprising she thinks she prefers women to men, I think I might , too.
“I think it’s so unlikely I shall ever find anyone who accepts me, so yeah, I’d live with an accepting dog.”
“There’s one in the conservatory, but her bed might be a bit small for the two of you.”
“Don’t tease me, please. I feel bad enough about things as they are. I see you and Simon together and envy you so much–no, envy is too strong a word, because that implies negative things–no, perhaps it is the right one–I envy you: not the money, although that would be nice; the companionship and contentment . You and Simon really love each other and it shows.”
I felt myself blushing.
“An’ I just feel I’m never going to...” she ran past me and up the stairs.”
“What’s the matter with Caroline, Mummy?” asked Livvie who just been brushed past in the doorway.
“It’s her hormones, I expect,” I said and shrugged.
“People always say that,” she said, “what’s it supposed to mean?”
“It means that most animals, certainly mammals, are sometimes driven by the chemicals that are produced inside them. Sometimes these chemicals happen because things like temperature can set them off, or day length. Some of the chemicals are called hormones, and these can affect the way you feel or act. In women, they have cycles of ovulation, which are controlled by hormones and they can definitely affect how you feel and act.”
“What’s ovulation?”
“It’s the production of an egg being made ready to be fertilised, and if that doesn’t happen it’s ditched, along with the lining of the womb which is what a period is, because the womb bleeds a bit getting rid of the old tissue.” The fact that she looked blankly at me meant I’d just talked over her head again.
“Okay,” she said and wandered off.
“What’s the matter with Caroline?” I heard Trish ask her a moment later.
“Oh she’s got PMS,” said Livvie and I nearly fell off my seat.
Once I stopped laughing, I glanced at the clock–it was nearly nine so I shooed the girls up to bed. I read to them for a short time, sitting where I couldn’t see Billie’s photo so I didn’t get morose and spoil it for the rest of them.
After kissing them all goodnight, I went up to Caroline’s room, I knocked gently and opened the door half expecting to see she’d hanged herself from the light fitting, but she was asleep in bed–or pretending to be.
I came down and did some ironing–it’s pretty mind numbing and less messy than scrubbing the floor. It was now ten, where’s Julie? The phone rang, I almost dropped the iron and ran to answer it.
“Hi, Babes.”
“Hello, darling, how’d it go with Jason?”
“It went reasonably well–I wish I’d had him with me the first time–he was tied up with a big case in Manchester, some Russian oligarch.”
“So you’re hopeful for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sort of–you can’t really tell until you speak with them.”
“What the tribunal people?”
“Yeah–bunch of old duffers who died years ago but nobody told them.”
“Well, please wait until they clear you before you tell them, won’t you?”
“Yeah okay–everything alright there?”
“I upset Caroline.”
“Doing what?”
“Being married to you?”
“Eh?”
“She feels she’s never going to find anyone.”
“She hasn’t been to the vet yet, has she?”
I snorted, “You mean the plumber?”
“Yeah, whatever–well, she hasn’t has she?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“So, what’s she upset for? If she meets someone as charming as me, she’s not going to be able to do anything about it anyway, is she?”
As this was getting a bit too close to my history, I changed the subject. “I’m a bit worried about Julie.”
“Oh, why?”
“She went to see Jenny by herself, wouldn’t wait for me, and he hasn’t come home yet.”
“Hasn’t she called?”
“No, nor texted.”
“Send her one.”
“I did earlier, little minx has switched her phone off.”
“I expect she’ll be alright, she’s quite resourceful, takes after her mum.”
“Ha ha.”
“I mean it, anyway, I’d better go in case she’s trying to call. Maybe she’s broken down.”
“Oh don’t say that, a girl on her own.”
“She’s got breakdown assistance, hasn’t she?”
“Yeah, but they can take half the night to get there.”
“Cathy, you worry too much–she’ll be alright. Look, I’m gonna go and get an early night–why don’t you do the same?”
“I won’t sleep until she comes home–I’ve lost one child, I’m damned if I’m going to lose another.”
“Keep your hair on, you weren’t the only one to lose a child–remember?”
“I’m sorry,” I sniffed.
“It’s okay, but I miss her too. Now dry your eyes and make yourself a cuppa and she’ll be home before you’ve drunk it, okay?”
“Yes, Si–thanks, I’m sorry I discounted your feelings...”
“Hey, it’s alright. Gotta go, love you, Babes.”
“I love you too,” I said to an empty phone.
“I made some tea and drank it,” I heard Stella go up the stairs to bed calling goodnight as she did.
Tom came and sat with me for half an hour before yawning and taking himself off ‘tae ma pit’.
It was now eleven and I’d run out of ironing and still no sign of Julie. If she gets home safe I’m gonna kill her. I opened up my laptop and dealt with some mammal survey correspondence.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1542
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“Jesus aitch Christ,” I swore at my computer. Are people naturally stupid or do they get training? I have some vacuous moron asking if reindeer are native to Scotland? Yeah, ten thousand years ago or more during the ice age, since when red deer are the dominant species north of the border.
I clicked on reply, glancing at the email addy it was to some vicar up in St Andrews. Oh well if he believes in god he must be a collect or two short of a prayer book. I thought that was quite good, collect or two. Amazing what crap stays in your head blocking space for more useful things.
Despite my irritation, I sent the Rev Eustace a polite response. I mean why is he writing to me? The biggest thing I’m suppose to deal with is coypu, and they’re introduced aliens which dig holes in banks in East Anglia. Like mink, they escaped from fur farms. If people want to wear fur, let them go and hunt for it. My mother had a fur coat–I bet it’s still in her wardrobe at home–I hated it. Actually I loved it, it was so sensual to touch and kept you as warm as toast–how do I know, I tried wearing it round the house. Then it dawned on me that little animals were bred to be killed for their coats–we couldn’t even eat them and it changed my feelings towards it forever. ‘It takes the skins of a hundred dumb animals to make a coat for one dumb human.’ Catchy innit?
What changed my mind was seeing a woman wearing a fox fur to church when I was about fourteen. It looked like a dead animal and I felt so sad and angry that one person’s arrogance could cost something its life.
It nearly cost me mine. I can remember saying to her, “Mrs Argyle,you have a dead animal round your neck. Was it hit by a steam roller ’cos it’s flat?”
She looked horrified at my nerve, unfortunately my father heard me and saw me smirk after the old battleaxe stormed off and I got a hiding when we got home, plus he made me wear my mother’s coat round the house for the rest of the day–boy did it get warm. Mum wasn’t too happy, the coat was one of her best wear and she didn’t like her grubby son wearing it, even though I’d been scrubbed and washed for church that morning.
It was nearly midnight when I heard the sound of a car in the drive, I dashed to the window and saw Julie park next to my car. She alighted from her Smart car and sauntered into the house.
“Where on earth have you been, I’ve been worried sick.”
She shrugged then espied the ironing hanging on the airer. “Geez, Mummy, you must have been worried, you’ve done the ironing.” It’s a well known fact in the house that when I’m worried I stop eating and do chores like ironing or washing floors.
“I told you where I was going.”
“The hospital visiting stops at nine.”
“Yeah, well it takes an hour in my car to get back here.”
“So what about the other two hours?”
“I’m nearly eighteen, Mummy, when are you going to treat me like a responsible adult?”
“When you act like one. Took two hours to say goodbye to Jenny did it?”
She blushed, “I did some healing on her.”
“I’d worked that out when you didn’t come home for me.”
“Well, I ’ad to know, didn’t I?”
“Know what?” I knew perfectly well what she meant.
“If I could, like do it myself.”
“And did you?”
“Yeah, course.”
“And–that didn’t take three hours?”
“Some old guy was passing and saw the blue light and he asked me to help his wife–she’d had a heart attack or something.”
“And?”
“Well I did, but she like arrested, is that the term?”
I nodded.
“They had people rushing from all directions.”
“A crash team.”
“No, there were no cars about, so nothing crashed.”
“They call the doctors and nurses who form the cardiac arrest team, the crash team.”
“I thought I felt a drain on the energy.”
“You felt a drain? I was doing this myself.”
“Sure–I mean of course you were–so how’s Jenny?”
“Getting stronger, she’s on an ordinary ward now.”
“That’s a good sign. Did you ask her if she wants to come back here?”
“Um,” she blushed and looked up at the ceiling, “Um not quite, she says she feels so embarrassed about what she did.”
“So she’s going to let that stop her coming home?”
“I’ll keep tryin’, Mummy.”
“What happened to the old woman?”
“I dunno,” she blushed again, which I interpreted as meaning she died.
“Are you going to her funeral?”
“No–what funeral?” she was absolutely scarlet.
“D’you want anything to eat or drink?”
“No thanks, I’m bushed–I’m going to bed.” She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. “Night, Mummy.”
“Good night, darling.”
I made some more tea–stupid I know–I’ll be running to the loo half the night, but at least I could relax and enjoy this cup.
I’d just boiled the kettle when Caroline appeared in her nightdress. “I thought you’d be in bed, Cathy.”
“Just having a cuppa before I go–kettle’s just boiled.”
“Oh great,” she made herself a cuppa.
We sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. “Feel any better?”
She looked up at me and had to process what I said before she could reply. “Yeah, sorry about that, just got so overwhelmed by everything.”
“It’s okay, it’s a stressful time for you, learning a new job, being a new person–it all takes it out of you.”
“You seem to cope. I wish I was more like you–I really do–you’re so beautiful to start with, and so cool under pressure.”
“I think you need to watch me a bit longer, I can be anything but beautiful and when I lose it, I lose it big time. It’s not a pretty sight.”
She gave me a look of disbelief.
“I’m human, Caroline, I’m a woman at the mercy of my emotions and hormones just like you. I’ve had a bit more experience of it that’s all.”
“But your relationship with Simon, it’s so lovely.”
“I like to think so, but we have our ups and downs–I don’t think I’ve tried to kill him recently–but other people have, so I don’t need to.”
“You sound like he’s Inspector Clouseau and you’re Cato.”
I chuckled at the concept of being compared to Peter Sellers’ bumbling detective and his manservant. “Yeah, except Simon gets the girl, Clouseau doesn’t.”
“He was married to Britt Ekland, I always wanted to be like her. She was a Bond girl, I’d love to be a Bond girl.”
“Caroline Cossey made it, perhaps you will.” I said giving her a challenge that I didn’t seriously think she was able to meet.
“Only if they need someone to play Rosa Klebb.”
“Does that count as a Bond girl?”
“Probably not, but it’s the best I could do unless you develop powers like Harry Potter.”
“You know I went to Hogwash not Hogwarts, same as you,” I said dead pan.
Caroline looked at me for a moment and then erupted with laughter nearly spilling her tea. “That is very good–you always did have a penchant for one liners, didn’t you?”
I looked at my watch, “Jeepers, it’s nearly one o’clock. I’d better get to bed.”
“See you in the morning,” Caroline called to me as she rinsed her cup.
“Yeah, night.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1543
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I listened to the radio as I came to, I missed Simon, his side of the bed was cold. The news about the economy, the public sector unions strike and the war in Afghanistan was the same each day, more or less. Then one story really got my attention.
‘The Department of Health has issued a notice about use of alternative therapies in NHS hospitals after an old lady died in Southampton Hospital while receiving healing from a young woman.’
I waited and waited but there was nothing more on the subject and I wondered if Julie had heard it. I went up to her room, she was still in bed and looked totally zonked.
I roused her and told her what I’d heard on the radio, she burst into tears and I told her she needed to get up or she’d be late for work. She told me she didn’t want to go. However, I have a particular averseness to people pretending to be ill, so I dug her out of bed before going down to start the breakfast, waking Danny and the girls as I went down
Julie came down and we tried to listen to the radio through the noise the girls were making and I shouted at them–perhaps louder than I realised–because Mima burst into tears. Then I noticed her eyes looked huge and when I checked on her tummy she had some spots coming out. I sent her back to bed with suspected measles. Just what we needed.
Julie did hear the mention of the news story despite Trish and Livvie being at loggerheads over something or other. When they started screeching at each other, I shouted again. Caroline had just joined us and I asked her to take over while I went to see Mima, who’d got back into bed and was asleep.
I asked the other two if they’d had measles and they said they had. Julie had left for work and I sent Caroline to get Catherine up and what to give her for her breakfast. I was just sorting out the screeching sisters when Julie came in and said she’d been sick. I sent her back to bed and phoned her salon to report her sickness. I hoped she’d had measles.
I somehow got the girls to school and reported that Mima had suspected measles and was told to take the others back home as well–they had a total ban on families who had infectious diseases–apparently starting the year the Swine flu epidemic didn’t quite happen, although I accept there had been some tragic consequences for some people.
I took them both home and sent them up to change into playing-clothes. I also warned them to stay away from Mima, who was sleeping. If they started fighting again I was going to lock them in the garden shed.
Danny was miffed, he’d missed his bus, so I ran him to school in my car which improved his mood–he’d had measles before, too. Back home again, I checked on my two patients. Mima was asleep and Julie looked quite unwell. I took her a drink and a bucket in case she was sick again. She looked at me and went to sleep again.
Caroline was heroically trying to feed a baby who also looked as if she had huge eyes and was very grumpy–so unlike her usual self. I gave her some Calpol and after changing her, took her back to her bed.
Caroline made some tea and I gratefully accepted the mug she offered me–my dormouse one–she’d finally remembered. I drank it while trying to contact Simon, I got his voice mail and sent him good luck for his tribunal thing.
When the downstairs loo began to overflow I really did think the universe was trying to drive me mad. Caroline offered to look at it and decided the washer needed replacing. Did I have a spare? I didn’t know–did I? I showed her the collection of DIY stuff we had and went back to finish my tea. She returned ten minutes later with a cistern washer, turned off the water and replaced the washer with a new one before switching the H2O back on. From someone who was envious of me, I was suddenly in admiration of her and said so.
“I did a plumbing course a few years ago, but never pursued it–sometimes I regret it–you know.”
“Did you qualify as a plumber?”
“Um–not really–it was a very basic course.”
“Would you like to train as one?”
“What a plumber?”
“Yes.”
“I hadn’t given it any thought since I finished the course, why what d’you think?”
“I think you need to make your mind up yourself, but if you’d like to, we could make some enquiries about training.”
“What about here?”
“We’d have to try and sort something out, wouldn’t we? I told you at the outset if there was some form of training you wanted to do, I’d help if I could.”
“It’s really good of you, Cathy, but I think this family needs me more than blocked pipes and dripping taps.”
“At the moment, yes we do–and thank you for putting us first.” I gave her a hug.
“No, thank you for being so generous as always.”
“We’ll perhaps look at things again when life is less demanding.”
“Fine, like when Jenny comes back.”
“That isn’t certain, and Julie healed on someone at Southampton last night and they died.”
“From her healing?” Caroline gasped.
“I doubt it, though the powers that be may not think so–they’ve just banned alternative remedies from NHS hospitals.”
“Typical government–sledgehammer nutcrackers.”
I nodded.
“How does that affect Jenny?”
“Neither of us had better show our faces at Southampton for a bit, had we?”
“Probably not a good idea–but I could go if you want to keep in touch with her.”
“That might be a very good suggestion, Caroline. Yeah, very good. Now stop surprising me or I’ll see if you can walk on water by taking you down the harbour.”
“More tea?” she asked.
“Please, I’m going to check on my patients.” Thankfully, they were all sleeping. I woke Mima and gave her some Calpol and took some paracetamol to Julie, who took a couple and went back to sleep almost immediately.
Stella, when she found out, turned her suite into a bunker instead of allowing her kids a chance to boost their immune systems. However, Puddin’ was in danger of turning into Spotted Dick by tea time, so the barriers were lifted and I was blamed for creating a global pandemic. Stella does have a penchant for overreacting, especially regarding her kids.
I checked with the doctor, who told me to keep them rested and well hydrated and offer Calpol to the children and paracetamol to Julie. Seems like I was doing all I could. Stella was still grumpy, and when she began to come out in spots I knew we were in trouble. It was curtains. Yes drawing the curtains–adults are more at risk of eye damage than children, so Stella was placed in a darkened room and it looked like Caroline and I would have a full-time job until we either got them better or got some help.
Simon sent me a text to say he was on his way home and wasn’t feeling too well. I replied and asked if he’d had measles. He didn’t know. Ain’t life just wunnerful?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1544
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Caroline and I had just about managed to meet everyone’s needs when Simon drew up, I told him we had a measles epidemic and if he hadn’t had it to go to the hotel.
He couldn’t remember. I’d spoken to Tom and he had had it as a child, so he would be of use when he arrived. Simon, brave to the point of stupidity, declared he’d cope with a few spots if he got it. I wasn’t so sure, but my heroic husband insisted he’d come and help, especially when he heard Stella and Julie were casualties.
We were having a short tea break, with the radio on just to brighten us up a little when the news came on.
‘We have a correction to make, the Dept of Health has not issued a notice that alternative therapies are banned from NHS hospitals and the report that a patient had died after receiving healing from a young woman was incorrect.
The person who died was on a different unit and was suffering from kidney failure. As far as we know, the person who had received healing was still alive, and comfortable. They had apparently suffered a heart attack and it could have happened at any time.
A spokesperson for the hospital said, ‘There is no evidence to suggest spiritual healing helps or hinders more established therapies, so we must conclude that it isn’t a significant factor in this patient’s condition. That the patient survived the arrest, is considered as a positive given her previous history of heart problems.’
The ban wasn’t lifted because it had never been made and the department recognises that all sorts of things prove helpful to individuals although they had not been proven. NICE–the National Institute for Clinical Excellence–offered no opinion on the matter.’
“That should make Julie feel a bit better.” I said smiling to Caroline.
“I should think so too,” she replied.
“I have no idea what you pair are wittering on about,” said my irritable hubby.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” I asked him.
“Yes, why?”
“You sound more irritable than usual.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep too well.”
“I think it’s probably something we have in common.”
“You were in your own bed.” He wasn’t going to concur on this one so I tried to change the subject.
“What happened at the tribunal?” I asked trying to sound interested.
“You want the full unexpurgated version or the edited highlights?”
“I think the highlights will do for now, darling, you can give me chapter and verse later if you want to.” After I’ve gone to sleep, I nearly appended but kept quiet instead.
“In short, it went as well as could be expected, Jason was brilliant and took them to task several times on points of law. He knows his stuff, that man.”
“So it sounds positive, when will you know?”
“When they make their stupid minds up. To my mind I did nothing wrong, so I should be exonerated.”
“Of course, darling, I’m sure they’ll see sense eventually. How did Jason feel it went?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Oh, is that ominous?”
“No that’s one of those big red things you see in London.” Si being nothing more than an overgrown schoolboy cannot resist punning at every opportunity; however, I chose to ignore it.
“Fine–I’ll wait to hear the official outcome then.” I bustled towards the sink and continued peeling the vegetables I was going to use to make the chicken soup I was going to give the sick members of the family.
“How come, it’s always you and me who never get anything?” he asked.
“Hi, Daddy,” said Trish hugging him round his burgeoning waist. “If you get measles, me and Livvie will look after you. Won’t we, Liv?”
“Won’t we what?” called back her sister.
“Look after Daddy if he gets sick,” she called back.
“Course we will. Hi, Daddy.” She lifted up her arms to hug him and he bent down and kissed both of them.
“So you’re not casualties?”
“No,” they replied in unison.
“So why aren’t you in school?”
“’Cos the others have measles–they sent us home.”
“Yes, they have a policy on attending school while possibly incubating bugs–you don’t. I set them some homework–have you finished it?”
“Um–not quite.” Trish looked slightly embarrassed.
“Well go and do so.” I sent them off to complete what they had been doing until Simon came in.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
“Translating the Bible into Sanskrit, why?”
“You’re joking?”
“Of course I’m joking, they’re doing maths, to start with.”
“Oh–okay, perhaps I’ll go and help them while you finish stirring your cauldron.”
“Tea, Simon?” Caroline offered him a mug.
“Now that’s more the welcome I should receive when I get home,” he smiled at Caroline, “Not being told I’m Mister Irritable?”
“I could have asked you if you were on?” I replied, “Because you sounded premenstrual to me.”
He said nothing simply rolled his eyes and went off in search of the girls.
“You two don’t half tease each other, don’t you?” Caroline said to me, handing me a fresh cuppa.
“We have a rapport which at times is designed to improve self defence techniques, yes.”
“I still feel envious of you.”
“That I can’t help, but I’m not divorcing him just so you can grab him.”
She blushed, “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”
“C’mon, or this ’ere soup isn’t going to be ready in time.” That took me the rest of the morning to finish. I zapped it with my hand blender and stirred in fresh cream. It certainly made the tinned stuff look pretty sick.
Lunch became a battle of wits and wills as Caroline and I tried to get our patients to eat some of the soup. None were really very interested, and irritatingly, those who weren’t sick couldn’t wait to get their grubby little paws on it. However, they had to eat shop bread, because I’d forgotten to make any fresh stuff.
Trish and Livvie each tucked away a big bowl of soup and several slices of bread and Simon offered to finish the rest of the pot until I told him to go and collect Danny from school. He wasn’t impressed.
“Mummy, that was the best soup, ever,” declared Trish.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“May we have it again tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure, it doesn’t keep like ordinary soup because of the cream in it.”
“I don’t think there’s much to keep,” suggested Caroline looking in the depleted pan.
“Enough for Danny to have a taste?”
“Er–just about.”
“Okay, I’d better do a loaf,” I walked towards the bread making machine.
“May I do it, Mummy?” Trish raced up to me.
“You can put the stuff in,” I told her.
“Can I help too?” Livvie suddenly became domesticated.
“You can weigh the ingredients for Trish to put in the machine.” Honour was satisfied and I supervised while it all took about four times as long as if I’d done myself.
I was going to send Caroline off to the supermarket and instead did an online order to Waitrose, which included some more fresh cream and chicken portions.
I got Catherine to suckle me for a short time. She was quite warm and I was worried about dehydration. I shoved another dose of Calpol down her and did the same for Puddin’ and Fiona, who both were as spotty as they come. Stella had zonked herself out of it, so I fed both babies with some milk she’d expressed the day before. Puddin’ will help herself, and hold the bottle while she drinks, Fiona is a little too small to hold a beer mug just yet.
It was after six when Si and Danny came home whispering and sniggering like two conspiratorial schoolboys. I wasn’t going to play and ignored them, they could either tell me what they were up to or I’d wait to see. If it was as stupid as they usually were, I might well donate Simon to Caroline and see if I can find a grown up man–they seem quite rare hereabouts.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1545
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The conspiracy seemed to spreading, Simon and Danny had started it and now I saw one or both of those whispering with the two girls who hadn’t contracted the lurgi.
I suppose I could be seen as hypocritical because I couldn’t stand there being secrets in the household and yet I lived my life in denial of a large lump of my past, insisting on the same denial in the lives of Julie and Trish and Billie before she died.
I had all sorts of strategies for justifying my denial–it wasn’t relevant any more, my legal status was confirmed as female; revealing my previous status could adversely affect my children–they all knew anyway; it could adversely affect my own status at the university–the place had a policy to cope with gender and sexual preference issues and to prosecute those who made any negative remarks; it could negatively affect my husband’s professional status–he came on telly and told the world he loved me, silly bugger in spite of my little problem, which was supported by his family.
Part of me felt it was legitimate to move on–we none of us are the same people we were in our childhoods or teens–we grow up by personal development and circumstance, sometimes assisted, sometimes obstructed by our parents and friends. I can also claim the old chestnut which all transsexuals use–I knew I was a girl in a boy’s body, (or vice versa), and seeing as I’m now a girl in a girl’s body, I’m very different.
How much the surgery matters is an individual affair. To me, it mattered quite a lot. It removed any ambiguity–I presented as female because that’s what I am–female. It enabled me to have sex, penetrative sex with a male, and to consummate my relationship with the man I loved. Back in the dark days when I was still struggling with pre-transition issues–i.e. trying to find the confidence to actually bite the bullet, I’d have said I was unsure if I wanted sex with anyone–in fact, I’d have probably baulked at the idea of a relationship with anyone, because I didn’t think I fancied either sex. Then along came Kevin the mechanic and liberated my libido which later fixated on Simon, thankfully.
Yeah, I was a woman–how did I know? I felt I was one, others accepted me as one without a second glance and I seemed to fit their check list of how women appeared and acted, without being aware of doing anything but what came naturally. Okay, so it’s totally delusional. As Janice Raymond so kindly pointed out, it’s really a conspiracy by the male medical profession to undermine the women’s movement.
I snorted to myself as I thought this last bit. The fact that I was thinking any of this showed my confidence was still paper thin on some things. On a good day I could stand my ground with anyone, on a bad one, let’s just say it wasn’t as good. I believe it’s a relatively common occurrence with new women.
Danny and the girls were whispering in the lounge and stopped when I went in to call them for dinner. Was I becoming paranoid, or were they out to get me? What really annoyed me were the silly looks and giggles they’d give when I interrupted them. However, I’d made my mind up not to say anything so I stuck to it.
I ate my dinner in silence, save for occasional snappy remarks to the children. Simon accused me of being irritable, and I left the table and my unfinished meal and went to check on my patients. I’d taken them fruit and biscuits, and drinks. None of them were really interested in much more than the drinks and the paracetamol/Calpol.
I gave Catherine some milk–old fashioned way–and she managed to suckle a little before her nose began running and she blocked up and had to breathe through her mouth. It distressed her, and I comforted her while she sobbed herself back to sleep–or was she comforting me? I felt like crying too.
Stella was able to feed Fiona and drank some energy drink herself while I force fed Puddin’ some milk and biscuits–little sod nearly took my finger off–they were chocolate biscuits. I also got an agreement from her to eat some ice cream.
Julie was trying to listen to her iPod, but kept falling asleep, and Puddin’ followed me asking for ice cream. If I’d put some white cream on her skin she’d have looked like raspberry ripple with her pink spots. Julie decided she’d like some ice cream as well. Of course when the children downstairs saw me dishing up ice cream, they wanted some too, and I had to send Simon out with Trish to get some more. Although we had an ice cream making machine, I didn’t have the time or energy to make some.
I asked Simon to get me some extra milk, pudding rice, and sugar–I thought I’d make a real rice pudding tomorrow and see if I could tempt my patients with comfort foods–if I couldn’t–I’d eat them, the pudding–doh.
Of course, they went off whispering and returned doing the same thing. This time I challenged them, and they claimed they were just indulging in a private joke. I didn’t believe them, told Simon he and Tom could put the girls to bed as I was going to mine–now. I ran up the stairs and shut my door loudly. Ten minutes later I was tucked up in bed reading more adventures of Commissario Guido Brunetti and his tussles with the criminals and corruption in Venice. I decided I’d like to go there one day and see the pollution for myself–I might also get a chance to see the Italian dormice in their natural habitat, and as I’ve never been to Italy, have a butchers at the place possibly Rome or somewhere as well. It does no harm to dream, does it?
I heard a knock at my door and ignored it. “Cathy?” came Caroline’s voice.
“Yes?” I called back in irritation.
“The baby has been sick–d’you want me to...”
I got out of my nice warm bed, and pulling on a cardigan, went to see what sort of mess little Cate was in. It was total–we had to strip the bed and wash her, including her hair, which went down like the proverbial lead balloon. So it was the best part of an hour later when I got back to bed where Simon was sitting reading my book.
I asked him for it back and he grumbled and handed it to me. “What’s your problem?” he asked.
“I’m tired.”
“Just that, is it?”
“Yeah, why shouldn’t it be?”
“No reason, except you’ve been going at the kids a bit the last day or so.”
“Have I?”
“Yes, you have.”
“Okay, you can look after them all tomorrow, and Caroline and I will go shopping.” Before he could reply I turned round, switched off my light and lay down with my back to him. See how he likes conspiracy.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1546
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After I turned my back on him, Simon sighed, put down the book and switched off his light and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, lay there getting more and more upset. What on earth was going on? I began to understand how the victims for This is your life must feel. If however, someone steps up to me with a big red book and says those words, I’ll snatch it off him and beat him to death–assuming it is a man.
Tomorrow was Saturday, I hoped the sick were feeling better, because I was feeling the pace. Life seemed to have become like a war, there was always some sort of attack coming, so I couldn’t get any rest or relaxation, and as for recuperation–it didn’t exist. At least Simon was helping, and thank goodness for Caroline who seemed to be a godsend, even if she did fancy Si.
I slipped out of bed and checked on the children. They were all sleeping, though Catherine seemed to be bunged up. I couldn’t remember how I felt when I had measles, other than it only lasted a few days. I hoped that would be the case for this lot, for all our sakes.
Saturday, was minutes away and I needed sleep, so I crept back to bed and snuggled up to Simon, who rolled over and put his arm round me. It was a purely unconscious act, he was fast asleep, so hopefully it meant he loved and cared for me. I slipped into sleep thinking about all the whispering.
“Here she comes,” laughed Livvie and she and Trish raced off giggling to meet up with Danny who also laughed and all three ran off. I tried to ignore them, but I felt tired and very very irritable. For the first time I began to envy childless couples.
It was eight in the morning on a Saturday and they were all up and dressed–what the hell was going on? I refused to follow them, and went to check on Catherine–she looked much better. I sat and fed her some milk and she sucked me dry quite quickly. I washed and changed her, aware that someone was watching me.
“C’mon, Mummy, we want breakfast.” Livvie called from the door, Catherine laughed when she heard a familiar voice.
“I’m busy, you’ll have to wait,” I snapped in response. “Get your father to do it for you,” I added. The bit they didn’t hear was, some reference to him being a lazy sod, which only occurred in my mind.
I carried my little bundle of joy downstairs after checking on Julie and Mima–both were missing from their beds; I hoped feeling better, and not just in the bathroom. “C’mon, Mummy,” Trish called from the kitchen. The last thing I was going to do was rush carrying a baby.
I pushed open the kitchen door and everyone was there. They all cheered and then began singing, “Happy Birthday to you,” very badly. I burst into tears as Trish and Livvie and Meems gave me a three way hug. Catherine, not quite sure of what was happening followed my lead and began to cry.
Simon took the baby and handed me a mug of tea while the three girls led me to a chair. I sat and realised what the whispering had been about. It was a conspiracy, yes, but for something nice. I’d been so rapt in coping with life, I’d forgotten what day it was–well I knew it was Saturday–but which one had eluded me. Daft or what?
Still nursing Catherine–who loved to be cuddled by Simon, she’s such a flirt–he passed me a small package. When I opened it, it contained a pair of earrings in what looked like diamonds cut into the shape of stars, and on a thin chain, an arrow with a bar across it, ï¦ which I recognised as being the astronomical sign for Sagittarius.
“Thank you, darling, it’s amazing what they do with Swarovski crystals.”
“Swarovski? Those are diamonds.”
I gasped and nearly dropped the little box. I hated to think what they cost. “But where can I wear them? They’ll be so valuable, I’d have to keep them in the safe.”
He chuckled, “They are Swarovski, but the metal is white gold, not silver, so they are quite valuable. That gave me a sense of relief, at least I could wear them now. Danny handed me a box which I saw on opening was a watch, with a bracelet. I thanked him.
Trish, Livvie and Meems handed me a large box, which was from the three of them. On pulling away the wrapping paper, I could see it was a new laptop. Daddy gave me another box which contained an iPad, while Julie gave me the wallet thing to go with it, and Stella gave me the plug in keyboard.
Catherine, Puddin’ and Fiona–or Fional, as she’d be in Bristol–gave me a new back pack computer bag. So all in all, I did really well. No wonder they kept whispering, stashing these goodies so I didn’t find them.
I managed to eat a slice of toast I felt so moved by their generosity. Okay, I know Simon chose most of it and also paid for it. “Did I need a new computer and an iPad?” I asked him a bit later.
“Yes, when you start teaching again, it will be very useful to have such a portable device which you’ll be able to download slides from onto a projector and so on. You can get extra memory, though I’ve had that extended almost as big as it will go.”
“But Daddy gave that to me, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but who chose it and actually wrapped it up–not him, that’s for sure.”
“I’m overwhelmed, I really am,” and I began crying with happiness.
“What’s wrong now?” he sighed.
“Nothing,” I sobbed, “I feel so happy–that’s all–I just wish Billie was here to share it.”
“How d’you know she isn’t?”
“I’d know,” I said and kissed him.
Despite all my patients showing some improvement, the dinner Simon had planned was cancelled and he ordered a Chinese meal instead, which for a change we had at lunchtime. It seemed that they were feeling better because all of the sick ate their share and much of mine.
Simon and I sat listening to the rain on the roof of the conservatory. “Nice birthday, so far?” he asked.
“Yes, I enjoyed all of my presents, including Caroline’s.”
He laughed, “A couple of pairs of tights?”
“They were Marks and Spencer’s, and it’s the thought that counts.”
“If you say so.”
“Listen to that rain,” I said, snuggling up to him. “Ouch, what’s that in your pocket?”
“Nothing, just an empty box.”
I kissed him and we were interrupted by Livvie. “Mummy, you’re wanted on the phone.”
“Bugger,” I said, and walked into my study. Simon was in here the other night so I probably won’t be able to find anything. I picked up the hand piece and discovered it was Erin calling to wish me happy birthday and ask how the new film was progressing? It wasn’t, so I stalled her, saying that Alan was busy.
“That’s funny,” she countered, “he wasn’t when I called him an hour ago.”
So I confessed that I was too busy, and she laughed, and after a couple of minutes small talk, she rang off. I put the phone down and nearly knocked the figurine my Mum left me, off the desk.
I stood up and was going to walk back to Simon when I suddenly squealed his name, he came rushing in. “What’s the matter, babes?”
“This,” I said holding the figurine, “Where did you find it?”
“I didn’t, Jimmy did, I simply paid the ransom.”
I thanked him profusely while crying all over him. “Don’t tell me, you’re so happy?”
“Yes,” I said nodding for extra emphasis.
“I’ll never understand women.” He sighed and hugged me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1547
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The measles was running its course and almost by the hour, my patients were improving, boosted it would seem by their Chinese meal. Obviously, mono sodium glutamate is the answer to illness, not antibiotics. I chuckled to myself over the absurdity of my thought and Julie asked me what I was laughing at. She’d managed to get herself dressed and had even applied some makeup, so she must be feeling better.
“I’d like an iPad, Daddy,” she flirted with Simon.
“I’ve already bought your present, young lady, and it isn’t one of those.”
“Christmas then?”
“D’ya think I’m made of money?”
“Yeah, why?”
Fortunately instead of it getting nasty, they both fell about laughing. We’d actually got one for her for Christmas, and I had a reason for buying it, which may become apparent at some point in the future.
I left them teasing each other. The youngsters were doing something on my new laptop–I think Trish was setting it up and Danny was watching something on the telly. I went quietly up to my bedroom and changed, then slipped out to the garage. I’d done an hour on the turbo before anyone found me and I suspect I was as red as the shirt I was wearing.
“Mummy, if I’d known you’d wanted to go out on the bike, I’d have come with you.” Trish offered, but in all honesty, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to ride with one of the children again.
I warmed down, and sipped the bottle of energy drink I had with me. They do apparently help recovery, as does sitting in a bath of cold water, which I wasn’t going to do. Simon came out to see what the girls were doing at the bike shed and saw me sitting on a bike coming to the end of the warm down.
“Oh,” he said, “It’s good to see you riding again.”
“I’m hardly riding, am I? Just trying to keep my legs going. Remember I’ve been stuck in the house for a couple of days. I needed some exercise and some air.”
“Anyway, good to see you in cycling shorts again–but then with your bum, it’s always good to see you in cycling shorts.” I was glowing anyway, so the extra blush I felt wouldn’t have showed and the bugger was gone before I could throw the bottle at him. I checked the computer, I’d done twenty two miles in a seventy minutes–hardly good enough for Team GB, but showed I could do a sustained effort.
“Ugh, you dripped on me,” said Trish, wiping her hand in my towel as if I’d just transferred bubonic plague to her grubby mitt. “Can I have a try?” she asked watching me get off the bike.
“It’s too big for you, sweetheart.”
“Not if you put the saddle down.”
“It is, that’s an adult frame, you have a children’s one.”
“I could ride that.”
“I said no.”
While I cooled off and finished my drink I wiped myself in the towel and went to rearrange some spanners I’d used ages ago and were out of sequence–sounds pedantic, but when you know exactly where everything is–it helps if you need something, usually in a hurry.
I heard a squeal and a crash and Trish was lying under the bike and crying quietly to herself. “That is four thousand pounds worth of bike you silly child. I told you it was too big, but you wouldn’t listen would you?” I was really cross. It sparked images of Billie lying dead in the field and I lost it.
I pulled her out and stood her up. She was shaken more than hurt, and I berated her until she ran away crying into the house. She’d buckled the back wheel–that could take ages to sort, or possibly even need a new one. Thankfully, I wasn’t using the carbon race wheels I have, not for a turbo. For a moment I felt like picking up the bike and flinging it as far as I could–it seemed that bikes were a disaster with my children. For two pins I’d get a skip and scrap them all regardless of cost. Stupid machines–death traps on wheels.
“What’s wrong with Trish?” asked Simon returning to the bike shed.
“She won’t listen that’s what’s wrong with her–for two pins I’d give her a bloody good hiding. It might improve her listening skills.”
“If I thought you meant that, I’d be on the phone to Dr Thomas. Now tell me what happened. Livvie came to the shed and he sent her gently back to the house to make some tea.
I explained about her falling from the turbo despite me telling her not to try and ride it. He asked if she was hurt and I told him that I didn’t think so, but perhaps Stella could look at her.
“Why can’t you do it, you’re her mother?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea at this moment.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m angry with her–she’s buckled a wheel–stupid child.”
“She is a child, Cathy. She’s seven years old, you’re twenty eight–you have four times her life experience ...”
I screamed that I could see Billie when I picked her up from under the bike and he took the bike away from me and held me until I calmed down, sobbing on his shoulder.
“Okay, it’s alright now, it’s not Billie; she’s at rest now where no one can harm her. It was Trish you saw, and she’s probably okay. I’ll get Stella to check her out. Now I want you to come in have a cuppa and go and take a bath or a shower and have bit of peace and quiet.”
“I didn’t hurt her did I?” I sobbed, now I was off on a guilt trip.
“I shouldn’t think so, she’s probably just shocked herself, and she brought it on herself.”
“I’d never forgive myself if I’d actually hurt her.” I sniffed and sobbed.
“I can’t see you ever hurting any of the children.”
“I got so mad, I was back in the field with Billie–I hate bikes–they bring me nothing but misery and pain.”
“No they don’t, they’re part of you. This wasn’t anything to do with bikes, this was a child overreaching herself despite you having warned her.”
“Like you said, she is only seven.”
“She is old enough to know when you tell her not to do something, and when she’s disobeying you.”
“She does tend to make her own rules–gifted children do.”
“Yeah, well that’s going to stop–she’s grounded until I say so.”
“Grounded?”
“Yes, no computers or mobile phones until I say she can have them back.”
“Well you can go and tell her then,” I said, reaching for the towel to wipe my face.”
“I will as soon as I’ve told Stella to look her over.”
“You’re a good man, Simon.” I hugged him and kissed him.
“Only because you’ve made me one. You know what they say, behind every great man...”
“Yeah, these days it’s a whole posse of advisers and researchers and spin doctors.”
“I meant the old fashioned one.”
“Which one’s that?” I knew exactly what he meant, I wanted to hear him say it.
“Behind every great man is his wife or woman–who in this case is even greater.”
“Oh so I’m the fat lady now, am I?”
“I love your bum in cycling shorts,” he said and grabbed my bottom.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1548
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I actually took the wheel off the bike as soon as Simon had stopped fondling my bum, and placed it on the jig–the wheel not my bum. This is essentially a frame for truing the wheel, which is about making it straight. It was quite a while since I’d done one, and the first one I did, I used the forks of the bike, after I turned it upside down. It took me days, I had a feeling that this might take some time too–something I don’t have much of at present.
I had the feeling of being watched and turned to see Trish standing in the doorway of my bike shed. I turned and looked at her. “Are you alright?” I asked her. Okay it was a valuable bike, but she was priceless.
“Yes, Mummy. I’ve come to say I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t broken your bike.”
“You’ve buckled the wheel and I’m not sure I can fix it.”
“I’m sorry, Mummy, I didn’t mean to.” With that, she burst into tears and I had to put my arm round her. “I know you didn’t fall off deliberately, but the bike was far too big for you, which was why I told you not to do it, because I knew you could get hurt.”
“Oh, Mummy, I’m sorry.”
“Being sorry is pointless unless it means you learn from the experience.”
“I will, Mummy, I will.”
“You say that, but you don’t–you are a very clever child, Trish, but you’re still a child, which means that I’m responsible for you. I’ve already had one child killed through an accident. If I’d had a second one seriously injured, I suspect there would be fresh cries to have you all returned to social service care.”
“They couldn’t do that, could they, Mummy? The judge man wouldn’t let them.”
“Trish, please listen to me. Now I know you’re young, but you’ll understand what I’m going to say. We’re special girls aren’t we?”
“Yes, you’re very clever too.”
“No, I mean in our being girls who can’t have babies.”
“Oh that,” she said dismissively.
“You might not like it, but it is a fact of life, and because of it, especially in my case, there are some people who would like to see me fail. They don’t like the idea that as a special girl, I should be allowed to adopt or foster children, and because some of my children are also special girls, they would really like to see me fail.”
“But that’s silly.”
“Yes, to you and me, it is, but that’s how it is. Not everyone feels like it, but there are enough to cause problems if they get the chance.”
“But I’m your daughter–it’s all official.”
“Trish, even if I had been your natural mother, they can still take you off me if they do it properly. By that I mean, if they go through the courts, they might claim I was unfit to look after you, especially after Billie died.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“Not directly, but if I hadn’t taken her up the hill, she could be alive today.”
“Auntie Stella said it was only a matter of time before Billie’s brain exploded.”
“I think she meant that the blood vessel in her brain ruptured, which would cause a massive bleed and she’d die.”
“My brain’s not gonna explode, is it?”
“I don’t think so, it’s quite rare, especially in children.”
“Oh good, had me worried.”
“Trish, have you understood a word I’ve said?”
“Yeah, my brain’s not gonna go pop.”
“Trish–you’re not listening–one more injury to one of you and be prepared to go back into care.”
“I won’t go.”
“You will, because if you don’t go quietly, they’ll force you to.”
“They won’t.”
“Trish, please look at me–you will do as they want because you won’t be able to stop it.”
“Yes I will.”
“Trish you won’t, if they have a court order, they can do as they wish.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Perhaps, but that’s the law.”
“It’s a stupid law.”
“That’s your opinion, but lots of people might disagree with you, and we have to go with what the majority want. It’s called democracy.”
“Even if they’re stupid?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why?”
How d’you explain the basics of a constitution to a seven year old? I did my best, but wasn’t sure if she’d latched on or not. She did however, pick up the basics of wheel truing very quickly. I gave her some things to remember and told her I would test her tomorrow. She went off quite happy after that.
With the fading light, I locked up and went back to the house. I wondered if Trish had come of her own free will or because she’d been told to. I managed to extract that she’d been threatened by Simon, which wasn’t what he’d been telling me. He hadn’t grounded her, because she’d talked her way out of that, so apart from her immediate shock and minor injuries, there was nothing wrong with her. And despite her apology and crocodile tears, I need her to understand if she does the same again and breaks a wrist, they could easily take her back in–and all because she didn’t listen to me. I get so cross with them all sometimes, none of them listen. And if the adults do it, what chance the kids? Homo sapiens yeah, what a misnomer that was.
I began to feel that there was an almost certain inevitability that the children would be removed from me one day. I wouldn’t be directly to blame, but that in itself wouldn’t stop things. It could still happen with Billie’s inquest, which was postponed. I might have to give evidence–oh pooh.
The thought of being investigated frightens me to death, especially if it came out in court–I’m not a saddo like that tranny who tried to pretend she was Katie Price and tried to embezzle money from her–she got found guilty and sent down. I haven’t done anything, but that won’t stop them baying for my blood. I have the nerve to be different.
It seems acceptable for a man to beat his wife and kids, yet it isn’t for a transsexual to adopt children, even ones who were worse in their obsessions than she was.
According to my Gender Panel certificate, I am female and to accorded the same as natural females with regard to the law. Okay, so Tony Blair cobbled together something which still isn’t right, but much closer to it than I expected it to be. I’m living proof that these things can work–at least until they stop working, which could be any day. I could possibly see why some people commit suicide–bankruptcy of public support and of the mindset in some in local government.
I walked back to the house to sit down and try to stop thinking about negative stuff. Looking at my calendar, I saw Stephanie was due this evening to see the others about Billie’s death–they seem to holding up remarkably well–it’s me who is going to pieces. Perhaps if I lie about my age, she could treat me?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1549
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I made a large cottage pie, by large I mean a cottage about the size of your average mansion. I knew Stephanie was bringing a colleague with her to meet our two transgender kids. I’d already agreed it with Trish and Julie that they’d have a chat with whoever it was Steph brought.
By the time they arrived, six o’clock, my ‘pie’ was browning gently under the grill and would do so for another half an hour–makes the top slightly crisp–delish.
Stephanie rang the doorbell and I let them in. She was accompanied by a very attractive man, mid thirties, dark curly hair and brown eyes. His very kissable lips parted to reveal snow-white teeth, and his tall stature, made this man very attractive. He was wearing a nicely cut jacket in dark blue corduroy, with black trousers and an open necked white shirt.
“Hi, Cathy, this is, Brendan, he’s Canadian and he’s been working with us for a couple of months now. Brendan, this is Cathy, or Lady Cameron, as she doesn’t like to be known. She’s like the Barnardo’s of Portsmouth, plus a comfort to pregnant shrinks. In short, she’s wonderful.”
We shook hands, the Canadian doctor and I, and Steph and I hugged, she was beginning to show a bit of a tummy but she assured me she felt well and that Brendan would be replacing her while she was on maternity leave.
I showed them into my study and I sent in Julie. Stephanie, then came out and chatted with Trish in Tom’s study. About forty minutes later they all came back to the dining room and I served dinner, the ‘mansion’ pie with mixed vegetables, and fresh fruit salad and cream for dessert.
Julie, who claims to be lesbian, was flirting with Brendan, she loved his accent which was from British Columbia, Queen Charlotte Island in particular, though he’d lived in Vancouver and Edmonton, where he did much of his training. He spent a summer in Seattle and then came over to London to the Tavistock Clinic, whence he came to Portsmouth at the suggestion of Stephanie who met him at a seminar. Her hospital trust liked him and he was offered a temporary contract as her maternity leave cover.
After dinner, he had a chat with Trish in my study and Stephanie spoke with Julie in Tom’s den. After another half an hour, Caroline and I did the dishes and cleared up then Stephanie, Stella, Caroline and Brendan came and sat with me in the kitchen and we chatted.
I brewed some tea and fresh ground coffee, although Steph was on fruit juice, and we sat and chatted while Simon, Tom and the others watched some weird film on Sky. I told Julie she could have a glass of wine if she went and watched the film while I had a chance to flirt with Brendan. She sighed but took the bribe.
I asked them how they’d got on and they both said fine, which I assumed meant both Trish and Julie. Steph asked how I was coping after losing Billie, and I admitted I wasn’t looking forward to the inquest. She nodded and offered to write to the coroner to say that my care of Billie had given her the best time of her life.
We chatted about everything and nothing, including the financial situation which was causing problems worldwide, the fears that Russia was about to get more years of Putin despite the electorate’s disenchantment with him.
“Let’s face it, Russia is getting worse, people there are either very rich or so poor they make church mice look wealthy, but then are we any better, bosses pay has risen to be twelve times that of the lowest paid workers compared to eight times a few years ago.”
We decided things were a little better than Russia especially the recent declaration to propose a bill to the state legislature in St Petersburg, outlawing any promotion of homosexuality, transsexuality and paedophlia to minors.
“How can they lump paedophilia with those two?” asked Brendan.
“I suspect it’s the right wing thinking that the first two could be screwing with their minds and the latter their bodies–children that is.”
Brendan smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think any of them are related and I’m not sure I like the term transsexuality, because in my experience, sexuality is part of identity and is different to gender although I accept there is some relationship between the two.
“I mean, we hear people saying I’m a gay man or woman, whereas surely they should be saying I’m a man or woman first and then describe themselves. So for instance, were you transsexual, Cathy, you’d surely not see yourself as principally transsexual, surely you’d be a woman first then transsexual.” I felt myself getting warm and Stephanie smirked, obviously Brendan didn’t know. “By the way, your tolerance of children who’ve been rejected by others is brilliant–a caring and loving parent, especially a mother is so important to child stability.”
I shrugged. “Children are children, they all bring their gifts and their problems. I’ve been very fortunate that I’ve had such lovely children.”
“Quite,” said Brendan, in his lazy Canadian accent. “That youngster of yours is something else isn’t she?”
“She’s quite bright, isn’t she?” I asked almost rhetorically.
“Quite, she turned the tables on me a couple of times, then she asked me about the process of grieving and how valid the theories of John Bowlby were today–and she’s what, seven years old?”
“She has access to the internet, as long as it’s not porn–we have a control on that–so she reads way above her age and sometimes her understanding.”
“She’s seven going on seventeen.”
“She can be a bit of a challenge,” I allowed.
Caroline excused herself and after saying goodnights, went off to bed.
“Is she transsexual as well?” asked Brendan.
“Is she?” asked Stephanie, challenging him to decide.
“Yeah–so how come the house of...”
“Transsexuals,” I supplied.
“Yeah, I mean Julie and Trish seem normal females like yourself, but Caroline–I take it she hasn’t been transitioned too long?”
“She needed a job, I needed a housekeeper cum nanny–she was suitable and available–problem solved.”
“And the kids like her?”
“Yes, everything is a bit unsettled still after the death of my daughter, Billie.”
“She was also transgendered, wasn’t she?” asked Brendan, still trying to work me out–I wasn’t going to help him except to answer truthfully any questions about myself.
“Yes, she died out cycling with me, apparently an aneurysm in her brain burst and she died at the scene.”
“I’m sorry,” he blushed–so psychiatrists can feel embarrassment.
“It’s okay, but we all miss her, she was a nice kid.”
“If she’s like your other kids, I’m sure she was. But that would be three transgender kids and a nanny, a bit of a...”
“Cluster effect, yes. They needed me, I can’t have children, so we sort of ended up together.”
“I wasn’t joking when I said Cathy was like the Barnardo’s of Portsmouth, let’s see if I can remember–first came Mima, then Trish. She came after you got Mima walking again after she’d been dumped on you. Then Trish got sent to you by Sam Rose, see if you could get her walking again and you did with a pair of your shoes. Livvie was a temporary measure until her parents died suddenly," Stephanie said euphemistcally.
“Next was Julie, who you found on a rubbish dump, then Danny and Billie were placed with you for Christmas and never went back to the children’s home.”
“You found Julie on a rubbish dump?” Brendan was astonished.
“Yeah, she’d been assaulted by some ex-copper who thought she was a dolly bird and provocatively dressed. Discovered his mistake and beat her up and dumped her. Her real parents didn’t like her cross dressing despite her attempts to explain to them, so I said she could stay with me. At the time I didn’t know how she’d take to someone who was only ten years older than she was and there were some ups and downs at first.”
“She’s a teenager,” said Stella, who’d been enjoying the conversation.
“Yeah, but she’s a nice kid at heart.” I qualified.
“True,” agreed Stella.
“Do you only see the good in people?” said Brendan and I wasn’t sure if he was making an accusation or asking a question.
“I try to see beyond the problem and into the person. I believe we’re all capable of redemption–whatever that actually means, perhaps rehabilitation.”
“You should be in child health, Cathy, we could do with people like you.” Brendan complimented me, and Stephanie added, ‘Hear hear,’ and I blushed.
“Who’d look after my dormice, then?” I said pouting and they all laughed.
As they got ready to leave, Brendan went to the loo, “Does he know about me?” I asked.
“Why?” asked Steph.
“Because he’s acting as if he didn’t.”
“Probably because he doesn’t then.”
“Shouldn’t you tell him?” I asked.
“Why, you’re not his patient.”
“Isn’t it in their notes?”
“If it is, I’ll temporarily remove it, he doesn’t need to know–if he works it out–okay, but otherwise, let sleeping dogs lie.” Stephanie seemed quite firm on the issue and Brendan arrived before we could talk any further.
They made their goodbyes and left.
“I think she fancies him,” offered Stella as I cleared the table.
“Don’t we all?” I said smirking, “He was rather dishy.”
Stella blushed and shrugged.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1550
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Everyone had recovered from their spotty experience and the girls were back in school, and Julie was back in work. On the morning that she was eighteen, we left a whole pile of cards on the breakfast table. She’d arranged for the day off and I was taking her to the local spa for the works, facial, massage, haircut, manicure, pedicure, leg wax–as I said, the works. She didn’t know this until she sat down and opened her cards.
She tore open the envelope of mine first, she recognised the handwriting. “So where are we going shop...?” She looked at the appointments and then the date, “Oh wow, Mummy–that is so ace.” She hugged me nearly cracking my ribs and danced about the table. What would she have done if I’d got her something she really liked?
I’d arranged the cards so that the last one would really blow her mind. She opened those from the girls, Danny, Tom, even Leon had remembered–though he was at a horticultural college somewhere in Sussex these days–which was definitely better than doing porridge, so perhaps we had helped him.
She had a couple of cards through the post which were presumably from her friends, one turned out to be from her natural parents with fifty pounds inside it. She was very surprised at that given their original hostility, and she still bore a fine scar on her throat from the attack by her father.
Simon was sitting sipping his coffee when she got to the last card, she tore it open. It had a picture of a kitten on it compared to the dormouse which had been on the one I’d given her. She drew out the card and opened the sheet of paper inside it, which she opened and read carefully, her hand shaking. She shrieked and burst into tears. Composing herself a few seconds later, she got up crossed to Simon and hugged him half to death, “Thank you, Daddy, thank you so much.” She kissed him on the cheek and thanked him again.
“Well what is it, then?” asked Danny, seeing her still crying.
“It’s not a pony is it?” asked Mima who’d recently decided she liked horses more than dolls.
Trish picked up the letter, “Oh my,” she said a moment after reading it.
“Yeah–and?” said Danny getting frustrated.
“It’s an appointment with Mr O’Rourke for four o’clock this afters for a preliminary examination prior to gender reassignment surgery.” Trish read from the letter.
“That all,” said a bored Danny, “ thought it would be something nice.”
“It is nice you, numpty.” Trish scolded her brother.
“It’s wonderful,” sighed Julie.
“When you getting it done then?” asked Livvie.
“We don’t know until we discuss it with Mr O’Rourke, but you’ll need to stop your hormones until he tells you to start again.” I advised.
“Will we get a date today–for the op, I mean?” Julie asked.
“I hope so,” I said and she hugged me again.
“Are you coming to the spa as well, Mummy?”
“No, I’ll take you there and collect you in time for your hospital appointment.”
“Is this NHS?” asked Julie.
“I wish,” replied Simon, “The car was cheap compared to this.”
“I really appreciate it, Daddy,” Julie was still weeping a little.
“I know, kiddo, and I did promise it to you in front of your mother, so she made all the arrangements, including my murder if I didn’t pay up.”
“You didn’t did you?” she asked me.
“Don’t believe a word of it, we provisionally organised this months ago. The last bit was getting the second referral from a shrink, which was why Brendan was here the other night.”
“He did a referral?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was a routine thing, mind you he did keep going on about surgery and did I still want it. I asked if he had a penknife because he could have done it there and then.”
“Would have been cheaper,” Simon sighed.
“Messy, I think,” I suggested.
“Ewwch,” was Mima’s opinion.
Danny laughed, felt his own crutch and blushed then went pale. “Aren’t you like, scared?”
“Of what?” asked Julie.
“Well, like once it’s cut off it ain’t like, gonna grow back is it?”
“God, I hope not–not everyone is as squeamish as you over a bit of surplus skin–you know,” Julie told him directly.
“I gotta go to school, happy birthday, sis,” was his parting shot.
While Julie got herself ready to go to the spa, I took the girls to school then ran her to the spa and arranged to collect her at three. By the time I got home, it was ten and I realised I hadn’t had any breakfast. Caroline, who’d been having a lazy morning, was pouring some tea as I walked in, so I sat with her and Stella, Simon having gone out for some sort of meeting at the bank.
“I wish I’d known it was Julie’s birthday,” she said.
“Sorry, I assumed everyone knew.” I honestly did, mainly because Julie went round telling everyone.
“I’ll pop out later and get something for her.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare card you can have,” I offered.
“No, I’ll only be an hour–there’s a CD she wants, I’ll get that.” Caroline finished her breakfast while I buttered the toast I’d just made.
The rest of the day went in doing chores and writing Christmas cards. I don’t believe in all this reason for the season stuff, because even to a moron, it has to be obvious that the original pagan festivities were about the winter solstice, Wassailing, Yule, Saturnalia and so on. I bought some cards which wished the recipient ‘A Kewl Yule’ as opposed to more usual ones, the rest were mainly, ‘Season’s Greetings’ with a neutral message.
I don’t go a bundle on Christmas, ever since Rocky my hamster died when I was five. In those days I believed in gods and thought I was punished for wanting to be a girl–yeah, even at five I knew what I wanted–but no one believed me.
I got kicked out of Santa’s grotto when I told him I wanted a doll’s house, a tea set and a new dress. He thought I was a girl until my dad, asked for a blue wrapped present–it was some cheap and nasty plastic breakdown truck. I took it down the garden, shoved a firelighter in it and struck a match–burnt to a cinder. Dad never did work out what the molten blob was, but I knew. Then Rocky died and I was sure god was getting back at me. I lived in supernatural fear until I went to high school and began to see alternative theories and beliefs–especially Darwin–I never looked back.
Even religion seems to evolve in a Darwinian way, the strongest tending to prosper at the expense of the others. Unfortunately, it always seems the top dog is the most aggressive and ruthless and if there was a god, he’d be disgusted by it, by the slaughter of innocents be they the wrong sect of Islam, or some poor unfortunates caught by the Lord’s Resistance Army, led by some loony who thinks he can talk to the Holy Spirit while massacring innocent women and children–oh well, some things never change–just the names.
At three o’clock, I went to collect Julie who came out looking lovely and waving her newly extended fingernails at me. Simon had agreed to collect the girls after his meeting, using the Mondeo while I took Julie for a quick cuppa at the hospital cafeteria and then we walked down to the clinic where O’Rourke held court.
“What if he decides I can’t have it done for some reason, Mummy?”
“Then we get a second opinion.”
“Like, where?”
“London, wherever, even if we have to go to Holland or Belgium, if it’s appropriate for you to have it done, then we’ll do it.”
“Thank you, Mummy,” she said squeezing my hand–I felt like she was eight years old not eighteen, as we walked holding hands down to the clinic. “I feel ever so nervous.”
“It’ll be okay, just wait and see.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1551
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The set up was the same as for NHS patients, except you got a bill at the end of it–or in this case, Simon had agreed to a total fee including surgery unless O’Rourke thought it inappropriate.
We waited for about ten minutes then the beaming Irishman called Julie’s name. “Will you come in, too?” she asked me.
“Is that a good idea?”
“I’m so nervous as well as being embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? He’s a surgeon who plays with private parts all day long.” Possibly not the best phraseology, but you get my drift.
“He hasn’t played with mine before, and if he says no, I’ll need you there, Mummy.”
“Okay, if Mr O’Rourke doesn’t object, but I’m not taking part, just sitting quietly in the background.” She nodded and still holding my hand, which now felt decidedly moist from her nervous secretions, we walked to the door from which the Irishman had called her.
“Ah, Julie, do come in,” he said as she walked through the door.
“My mum’s coming too, is that alright?”
I went through the doorway and his face lit up, “St. Catherine, how lovely to see you again–didn’t realise this was your lovely daughter.”
“I thought you’d spoken to Simon?”
“No, once I get d’referral, my secretary deals wit it all. I didn’t recognise d’name. Right, young lady, have a seat let’s get d’ formalities over wit.”
“I’m here purely for Julie’s moral support, so I’ll stay here at the back and keep out of the way.”
“Indeed ya won’t, sit yerself down beside her. Now, Julie, I’ve got the referral letters an it seems moi colleagues in brain shrinkin’ seem satisfoid wit yer gender condition. You certainly look d’ part. However, dem brain shrinkers don’t do d’ surgery, so I like to satisfoi meself dat yer really what ya claim t’be.”
I swallowed hard, I didn’t recall this grilling when I was done–but then I wasn’t just eighteen. Julie squeezed my hand and began to answer his questions, occasionally seeking clarification from me–which O’Rourke allowed without a murmur.
He questioned her for about twenty minutes and then invited her to lose her jeans and panties and sit on the couch. I stayed where I was while he pulled and pushed to see what material he had to recycle.
He invited her to redress and after disposing of his gloves, washed his hands and came to talk to me. “Seems a long toim since you were here.”
“Yeah, a couple of years or more.”
“Every ting all roight, is it?”
“I have no complaints, and as far as I know, neither does Simon.”
“Good, dats good t’ know Oi haven’t lost me touch.”
Julie rejoined us and he went through the mechanics of the surgery–this I had done with him although I think his technique had changed a little from my day. Hardly surprising, things improve with practice and new ideas come along all the time.
Then twenty minutes later, we left with Julie clutching a sheaf of papers, one of which was her date with destiny–January 8th–when she’d arrive for preparation the night before and surgery on the following day.
She looked exhausted but elated and on the walk back to the car she stopped, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, hugged me again and burst into tears. “It’s the most wonderful day of my life,” she said in between sniffs and sobs.
“I hope not the most wonderful, because I sincerely hope you’ll have several of those, when you find someone you wish to spend the rest of your life with, when you adopt children and so on. Any day can be wonderful.”
“But, I’ve lived for this day for so long, I didn’t realise it would happen so fast.”
“Do I detect a hint of uncertainty in there?”
“Oh no, Mummy, I want it done, like yesterday. But I’ve like waited for this for years and suddenly in a month’s time I’m going to be complete–that’s like wonderful. And I love you so much for reminding Daddy to organise it.” She hugged me again and stood resting her head on my shoulder. One or two passersby stared at us, but I didn’t really care and Julie wasn’t really taking much notice, she was up in the clouds somewhere.
“C’mon, let’s get home and share the good news.” I put my arm round her and steered her towards the waiting Jaguar.
“Can we just sit here for a moment while I take all this on board?” she yawned and closed her eyes. I thought for a moment she’d gone to sleep, which wouldn’t have surprised me–it was a very emotional day for her as it was for me when I was done. Sounds more like a tom cat than a people thing but I wasn’t sorry I had been done, and Simon was very pleased.
“It sounds silly, doesn’t it, Mummy, but I’ll feel like, more complete by having something cut off.”
“I think I, of all people, won’t argue with that scenario, and life is frequently beset by paradoxes.”
“What?” she asked looking at me in the gloom of the car park as the windows of the car began to steam up.
“I’ll explain when we get home, but I assume you understand the term, paradox?”
“No, not really.”
I do drop myself in it, don’t I? "Okay here goes, a paradox is something which appears to be or mean one thing, but on closer examination or investigation is something entirely different, frequently the opposite. Lots of religions operate in it and so does quantum physics–like Schrá¶dinger’s cat.”
“Whose cat?” she asked looking completely bemused.
'Oh poo, maybe she needs to talk to Trish.' “What you’re feeling is anticlimax, you’ve achieved something, a big something and now you’re looking round to see what’s next–which is the surgery. Once you’ve had that, you’ll be able to plan the rest of your life, although, in reality it doesn’t make that much difference to everyday life.”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to sit to wee.”
“You do now, don’t you?”
“Course, but I do have a sort of choice. Then I won’t.”
Was I picking up uncertainties in her voice and choice of words? I wasn’t sure, she denied it but I’d be horrified if she had surgery and then a couple of years down the road regretted it.
“You are absolutely certain it’s what you want, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mummy, I am absolutely certain–d’you think I’m getting cold feet?”
“No, but I’m starting to feel cold, let’s go home, shall we?”
“I can’t believe it’s all gonna happen in a month’s time–it’s just too wonderful. I must email Phoebe.”
“I think you’d better advise the salon as well.”
“Oh God, yes, I’d forgotten that.”
“You’re working tomorrow, you can discuss it then.”
“Will you come with me?”
“If I can get Caroline to do the breakfasts.”
“She will, I’ll ask her.” Julie closed her eyes and muttered to herself that she didn’t believe it.
She looked very tired and we were all supposed to be going out tonight to celebrate her birthday. I thought she needed an early night, not a celebration, but Si had booked a table and Henry and Monica were coming down for the meal–it was in the Green room of the hotel, but their food is good to excellent and we can leave the youngest children with a baby sitter–total bliss.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1552
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“What shall I wear?” Caroline looked at me and I just blinked. I had three daughters and a boy to get ready and she’s asking me what to wear. “I mean how formal will it be?”
“Smart casual is fine, but not jeans.”
“Can you show me?”
“Julie–can you help Caroline sort out an outfit for tonight?” I called the birthday girl and also indicated with a look that I wanted her to exercise restraint on Caroline’s appearance.
Then I rounded up the girls and sent them up to shower while I decided what they’d wear. I pulled out a dress for each of them and hung them on the wardrobe door, they’d also wear long white socks and black bar shoes.
It wasn’t long before giggling towel clad children came trotting into the bedroom, all wrapped in bath towels with a smaller towel on their heads turban style. At least they had put their dirty underwear in the laundry hamper. I told them to get dressed in a clean pair of panties and camisole and wait for me to come and do their hair before I dashed into the shower before Simon came up.
It was probably about fifteen minutes later that I was in my own undies, with a towel wrapped round my wet hair styling the girls’ hair into something other than the ponytails they usually wore to school. They helped each other dress to avoid spoiling their hair styles and I went off to do my own. I dried it, combed it and put it up, using one of those ring things over which it sort of cascaded, or that was the intention. It didn’t work to my satisfaction and as Julie was busy with Caroline or getting herself ready, I had to keep playing with my own hair.
I ended up with doing a raise like a ponytail at the back of my head, which dropped over the hair which I pulled back from the sides, so the majority of my hair was at the back of my head. The red shade had washed out to leave a sort of honey blonde effect, which seemed to suit me, although it was slightly lighter than my natural colour, which, given my recent experiences, would not have surprised me had it gone grey. Fortunately, it hadn’t.
I drew on a dress with a lacy plunge top, which probably revealed far too much of my chest, but which I knew would have Simon’s full attention. I sniggered as I recalled a joke that had been sent to me recently, it went something like: ‘Apple have now developed speakers small enough to implant in women’s breasts. The i-Tit as it will be called, was developed following complaints by women that men stared at their chests and didn’t listen to them.’
I did my makeup and wore the sapphire necklace and earrings my mother had given me, which matched my engagement ring. A squirt of Coco and I was ready. I’d wear a black jacket to keep me warm.
I was impressed with Julie’s creative efforts on Caroline and she had kept it respectable. Caroline was dressed in a black skirt with a black skinny top over which Julie had draped a set of red beads and a red and black scarf. She’d added a red belt and Caroline’s own red shoes to give a stylish outfit which was fine for this evening.
The next issue was transport. I opted to drive the Mondeo with the littlies and Stella. Si was taking my car with Danny and the girls, and Tom drove Julie and Caroline in his Freelander. We all set off at seven fifteen and pulled into the hotel in Southsea some twenty minutes later.
Simon assembled the troops–he likes to pretend he’s in charge–and we ‘marched’ into the hotel reception moments before it rained. It wasn’t so much a march as a saunter–at least for Stella and me, helped by the girls as we carried babies and associated impedimenta to be met by their baby sitting people. Julie sashayed, swinging her tail in the short leather skirt she wore over footless tights, which made Simon blush and the girls snigger. Caroline managed to walk reasonably well in the heels she wore without looking too much like a zombie on stilts.
Henry and Monica were waiting at our reserved table. Now divested of the babies, Stella and I could strut our stuff with the rest of them. We brought up the rear with our bulging bodices–she had as much cleavage on display as I did–both of us courtesy of breast feeding and both wearing little pads inside our bras to mop up any leakage.
Henry was introduced to Caroline, who was immediately hijacked by Monica, much to Stella’s amusement. I allowed Henry to peck me on the cheek and he does the same each time, ‘Cathy, run away with me, leave that idiot son of mine–make me happy.’ I always say no, and he shrugs and says in an exaggerated Scots accent, ‘Aye, a’ richt.’ Then we both laugh. Tonight was no exception.
Henry ordered wine and I reminded Si that if he was driving my car with my kids in it, he was to have no more than two small glasses. Henry was horrified, and called for a waiter to ask for the family suites to be made ready for tonight. As Stella and I were breastfeeding, we declined the alcohol, although I suspect a small amount wouldn’t do much harm.
There was no tuna on the menu, so I opted for salmon poached with watercress–Henry joked that they were probably stolen from the same river. I told him that it was unlikely, as they lived in different habitats–salmon liked a faster flowing water than watercress did. He riposted saying he hadn’t seen watercress swim. I told him that was because he preferred faster flowing rivers, but in my field work I had seen watercress in such slow water, it was like soup. It took him a moment to see my joke.
As I’d had pá¢té for my starter, I finished with a lemon sorbet and some tea instead of coffee. Julie had had two glasses of wine and was blushing, and Caroline seemed to be hanging on every word Monica said. I knew I was going home after the meal and so was Stella. Tom was looking happy and he and Simon definitely had more than a couple of glasses of the Rioja Henry had ordered.
When Henry announced there was dancing in the ballroom for those who wanted it, Stella, Tom and I were the only ones who stayed seated at the table. Tom was nodding off, and Stella and I didn’t fancy shaking our stuff in case we fell out of our dresses. We both fell about laughing when we discussed that. We also decided that we’d take two cars back with us–she drive the Mondeo with littlies in it and I’d drive mine with whichever of the children wanted to come home with us. I expected Mima would and I knew Danny was playing football the following morning.
Julie was really letting her hair down when we went down into the ballroom to reclaim the children, except they were all having fun dancing round each other. Henry was dancing with Julie, and Monica had Caroline well surrounded.
As soon as he saw me, Simon grabbed me and we waltzed round the ballroom, some chap he knew did the same with Stella. Okay, so our trip home was delayed, but by eleven, with rapidly flagging children, we made our way to the cars, Henry having agreed to send Julie home by eight the next morning by taxi if necessary. She was going to struggle going to work, but I was absolutely determined she would go.
Stella, her two little ones, Catherine, three very tired girls and Danny helped me carry everything back into the house. Danny let Kiki out and the way she shot out the door, I think she badly needed to go–she’s a very clean dog. I think Stella and I finally got to bed about half past midnight, sharing a quick cuppa before we went. I checked on the girls and Danny and they were all fast asleep. I read for a bit, alone in my bed while my husband, last seen cavorting on a dance floor stayed at the hotel. So much for the plunge bra, which I was sure would get him wanting to rush me off to bed. Seems that this time I got it wrong instead I fell asleep with Commissario Guido Brunetti in hot pursuit of some Venetian law breaker.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1553
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I awoke to voices and sleepily reached to switch off the clock-radio, only to realise it wasn’t coming from there. I opened a bleary eye and saw it was after two in the morning, and apart from the moon and the security lights it was pitch dark. I lay back and closed my eyes. Security lights? I almost fell out of bed as my foot caught in the duvet as I tried to get myself downstairs to investigate the noise.
I grabbed my dressing gown, something I hardly ever wore normally, preferring to dress before going downstairs. I tied the belt and scuffed into my slippers. I’d be a real fright to any would be burglars with bed hair and a maroon and pink dressing gown. I stepped noiselessly down the stairs walking on the sides of the stairs and leaning against the wall to keep my weight off the treads of the stairs.
Downstairs I heard muffled voices and saw the kitchen light switch on and cupboards open and shut. Damn, my knife block was in there, I could be stabbed to death and no one would know until the morning. Worse, I’d left my purse and mobile phone in my bag which was hanging from the back of the chair I’d occupied when drinking a cuppa with Stella before going to bed. I’d noticed its absence when I got upstairs, but was too lazy to come and get it. I doubted I would be again if I lived to tell the tale.
I heard two male voices, they were heavily muffled by the kitchen door which like most doors in the house is solid wood as a sort of fire door and in keeping with the rest of the place. They seemed to be searching for something as cupboards opened and shut with more noise than I’d expect from burglars, and surely the cars in the drive should indicate there’s someone home.
I crept to the door and leant against it to listen to the voices–yeah, I know, it sounds like I’m schizoid–and as I did so, the door opened and I staggered into the kitchen ready to fight for all I was worth.
“Oh hi, Babe, where’sh the can opener, I’m shtarvin’, Tom’sh hungry too, aren’t you?”
“Where’s Julie?” I charged him.
“She’sh with you, ishn’t she?” he drawled having difficulty standing still without wobbling to and fro.
“If she was, d’you think I’d be asking a couple of drunken fools where she was.”
Simon blinked at me a couple of times. “She’sh with Carolina, I think.”
“Caroline? She was being courted by Monica.”
“Yesh, exactly what I wash thinkin’–ishn’t it, Tom.” I glanced at Tom who was sitting in a chair trying to stop the room spinning by the look of his actions.
“Simon, you are a great disappointment.”
He looked at me and laughed, “You’re lovely when you’re angry.”
“Bah,” I screeched and slammed the door shut, probably waking the children and registering a blip on the Cambridge University seismic apparatus. I’d grabbed my bag and took it with me upstairs. Once up there I phoned the hotel and discovered that Julie was recorded as staying the night in the family suite. I thanked the night porter and silently cursed Monica if she’d so much as thought about touching Julie. I was also composing a letter sacking Caroline if she as much as touched my daughter either, even though I knew Julie was officially an adult–albeit a very young one.
Sleep became impossible and I lay there and fumed while I heard the voices drone from downstairs and occasionally cupboard door's bang. It went quiet and I thought I heard the back door open and close, then a short while later the same again. I must have dropped off because I woke when the clock radio came on and the dulcet tones of Jim Naughtie asking awkward questions of some cabinet minister.
I dragged myself out of bed and saw that I was alone. I pulled on the dressing gown once again and scuffed my slippers on before walking noisily down the stairs. On opening the kitchen door the sight which confronted me made me want to cry and laugh at the same time. Simon was sitting at the table fast asleep his one hand wrapped in a bloodstained hankie, in front of him on the table was a tin of corned beef and a hacksaw. Alongside this was a loaf and a tub of Flora margarine. Tom was sitting on the floor snoring.
It was when I went to clear the debris off the table I noticed the deep scratches and a groove cut into the oak table, which was about a hundred and fifty years old–the table not the scratches. I went absolutely ape and threw a bucket of cold water over both of them before reading the riot act. I wished I’d had it on video, it would win prizes for stupidity, from all three of us but I was just so mad. I left them spluttering and floundering and told them to clean it up before I got back with Julie. Dashing upstairs I washed and dressed and then jumped in the car to go and get her. It was half past seven and my temper was not improving.
At the hotel, I got the cleaner to let me into the family suite and found Caroline and Julie both fast asleep in separate beds in separate rooms and alone. I rousted them both and told them to hurry if they wanted a lift home. Julie groaned about feeling ill and I offered to help her out to the car naked, as it might wake her up, because she was going to work if it killed her.
It was actually after eight when I got them both in the car and then home. The kitchen was better than I’d left it, then I discovered Stella and the girls had done most of it–Simon couldn’t because of his bad hand. She’d had to dress it for him, he cut himself on the corned beef can. Serves him right, drunken fool–he couldn’t find the can opener–which was in the drawer under the draining board of the sink, where it always was. I pulled it out to show him and felt like beating him over the head with it.
Danny was eating his breakfast in the dining room to avoid the mess and what he knew would be the whirlwind the two men had unleashed viz. my anger. He went off to play football on his bike and I had momentary qualms but he was gone before I could say anything.
I got Julie washed and dressed and dosed with paracetamol and a cuppa before taking her to the salon, apologising for her zombified state to her boss who laughed. However, she didn’t laugh when I told her that Julie would be unavailable for a couple of months due to her forthcoming surgery. Instead she clapped Julie on the back, told her that was wonderful news and suggested they should have a drink at lunchtime to celebrate whereupon Julie groaned, rushed to the loo and was violently sick.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1554
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By the time I got back home there was a furniture restorer’s van parked outside and I couldn’t resist smirking when I saw it. I hoped that it would cost Simon plenty, because opening a tin with a hacksaw was a pretty stupid thing to do–to start with what about the filings off the saw in the food? Yuck.
I passed through the kitchen going in and there was no sign of anyone there but the table was missing, Tom appeared to refill his mug with coffee. “What happened last night?”
“Och, I dinna ken, ma heid is fair splittin’.” He rubbed his forehead and I shook mine in disapproval. “Dinna say anythin’ alricht?”
“Where’s the table?”
“They’re oot in yon garage.”
“Okay,” I decided I wouldn’t interfere, I’d see what sort of job was done first and then make Simon’s life hell if it wasn’t good enough. I made myself a cuppa and Caroline came down.
“That was a fabulous night last night, you lot really know how to party.”
“If you remember, I went home at half past ten with the children.”
“No, I don’t remember–I mean, I do remember but I didn’t know what time it was.”
“You met my step mother in law?”
“Oh Monica yeah, she’s amazing, she spends quite lot of time in France apparently.”
“Yes I know.”
“She buys and sells property out there, mainly to other Brits.”
“Yes I know, I have met her before.”
“Sorry,” Caroline blushed, “I just thought it was a fabulous way to live.”
“It helps to have a billionaire husband.”
“Yeah, I suppose it does,” she said as she made herself some tea. “Feels strange without the table. Just what did they do to it?”
“Simon, while under the influence, decided to make himself a corned beef sandwich only he couldn’t find the can opener, so he went and got a large hacksaw and gouged a piece out of the table. I went ballistic and he’s doing a penance, which if he’s lucky will only take the rest of his life.”
She sniggered then saw I wasn’t joking. “You disapprove of drunkenness?”
“Yeah, along with child cruelty and animal neglect, it gets on my list of behaviours to dislike.”
“So have I blotted my copybook?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Henry was supposed to send Julie home in time for work, so he might have done.”
“Oh, that might be my fault–I told him I’d get her home this morning and then overslept. Sorry.” She looked at the floor as we both stood drinking our tea.
“I see.”
“So I have blotted my copybook?”
“Yes, but all I’m going to say is in future, please don’t make promises you can’t keep. Oh and watch Monica, she swings both ways and is more predatory than a hungry Komodo dragon.”
“She seemed so nice.” And I thought I was naíve?
“Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”
“I won’t. How d’you know?” she said then the lights came on, “She tried it on with you, didn’t she?”
“Shall we say, I resisted her charms.”
“I’ll bet, and you were married to Simon? That’s not on is it?”
“I wasn’t then, I was going out with him, but it was my first real introduction to the Addams Family.”
She snorted tea and had to get some kitchen roll to wipe it up. “You are so funny, Cathy.”
I switched on the radio and after the usual politics and the fact that David Cameron was either the saviour who protected us from those nasty Europeans or the antichrist who sold his country down the river to stop a schism in his party. I probably sided with the latter even though we shared a surname.
I then heard about some ring tailed lemur which had been found on Tooting Common, suffering from hypothermia and dehydration. I checked the date it was December not the first of April, so the story was true. Don’t tell me, it was an illegal immigrant which fell off the undercarriage of a low flying jet. Presumably it escaped or was dumped from some collection of exotic beasts but the woman at the animal hospital needs to bone up on her classification. She described it as a monkey, it isn’t. It’s a primate–not in quite the same way the Pope is–but is separate from the apes and monkeys, in the same way the Pope is, oh, and you and I. We’re all primates and we split off from the other apes some three or more million years ago–well most of us did.
I was sent a link to contestants in a beauty contest, they were all Americans, so it was probably Miss America and they were being asked if evolution should be taught in schools. To their credit, most thought it should, but to describe it as a theory, when we have fossil records which prove it, and to include it in the same breath as creationism–which is fairy tales, with no evidence at all–made my hair stand on end. Still I suppose it was a beauty contest and not an entrance interview to Harvard.
Mind you when they asked British school kids if they’d heard of Mozart, many of them had but didn’t know why or who he was. People complain about dumbing down in the future. I have news for them, stupidity is alive and well and living in a town near them. I suppose if you asked them what an oasis was, they’d tell you it was a defunct rock band when we all know it’s the crumbly stuff flower arrangers use.
“Cathy?”
“Uh, yes?”
“I was talking to you and you seemed to ignore me.”
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
“Can I ask your advice?”
“Advice? I can give you an opinion but it won’t be advice.”
“Okay, an opinion then.”
“Did you realise that an opinion is an onion with pi in it?”
She looked strangely at me–okay so little things like that grab me. “Um, Monica invited me to lunch next week on my day off–should I cancel it?”
“She can be very generous and you did say you were lesbian–up to you?”
“What would you do?”
“She wouldn’t ask me in the same way.”
“Oh.”
“Have you had a relationship with a woman?”
“Um–only a one night stand, and that’s a misnomer–it didn’t stand, I couldn’t get it up, let alone do anything with it.”
“How old were you then?”
“Eighteen.”
“And that’s the only time?”
“Yeah–why?”
“In which case a romp with Monica might teach you all sorts of things.”
“But she’s your mother in law?”
“Yeah, it’s not me you’re in bed with, is it?”
“But she’s your family.”
“Yes, but you’re not, and you’re both adults.”
“When did you–you know–um–decide you were female–you know, liked men.”
“You probably won’t believe this, but I was sitting in Simon’s car, which had broken down and a rather rough but sexy mechanic came out and stole a kiss. I felt something I’d never felt before, until then I didn’t think I liked either sex.”
“So he awakened something in you?”
“Yes, apparently.” I felt myself blushing.
“We’re strange creatures aren’t we?”
“Only to men.” I smirked.
“Oh, I meant as transsexuals.”
“Speak for yourself, I’m a woman.”
“That bloody table is costing me an arm and a leg,” said Simon loudly as he entered the kitchen. “Any tea there?” Caroline switched the kettle on.
“Whose fault is that?” I asked him without any sympathy.
“Well how was I to know where you kept the can opener?”
“Simon, it’s hardly a sensible thing to try and open a can with a large hacksaw.”
“I was hungry.”
I decided I wasn’t going to debate the matter. “You could always have eaten the fingers you appear to have amputated.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
“I’m so glad, but I doubt it will teach you anything.”
“Hang on, I’ve had the damage repaired and it’s not your table, it’s Tom’s remember?”
“It doesn’t matter whose table it was, it’s your stupidity under the influence of alcohol which is what annoys me.”
“So I can’t have a drink or two now?”
“A drink or two, you mean a bottle or two. I know both you and Daddy can cope with one or two glasses of wine. To have been so drunk you nearly sawed your hand off, means you had significantly more than a glass or two. So don’t bullshit me–and don’t wake me up in the middle of the night either, whispering at the top of your voice. If you’re going to get pissed I’d prefer you stayed at the hotel like Julie and Caroline did.” I looked round and my housekeeper nanny had made herself discreetly absent.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1555
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I heard the van drive away and decided to see for myself, what sort of job had been done on the table. I went through to the drive and then to the garage to find the table. There just inside the open doorway stood the table and when I walked round it, it looked fine to me.
I was just about to run my finger round it to see if I could find the spot when Simon shouted, “Don’t touch it,” and I practically jumped out of my skin. He followed me into the garage. “It has to stand for an hour or two to dry off completely.”
“You frightened the wits out of me then,” I complained, I had physically jumped when he’d shouted.
“Sorry, but you were about to touch it.”
“Yes I was, it’s natural...”
“To try and see the repair, I know–it’s there,” he pointed to a place directly in the middle of the edge nearest the open door.
“I can’t see it.”
“You’re not supposed to be able to, not for what he charged.”
“How much was it?”
“I think that had best remain a secret, but he charges fifty quid for the call out.”
“Oh well, if ever you get fed up with banking, you know what to do instead.”
“Nah, don’t have the patience–you’d be better at it than I would–I’ve seen you tinker with bikes.”
“Talking of which, I haven’t got that wheel straight yet.”
“Can’t you get another one?”
“D’you know how much Zipp wheels cost?”
“C’mon, Cathy, it’s a bike wheel, fifty quid a pair down the bike shop.”
“This single wheel is worth about eight hundred and fifty pounds.”
“You’re joking?” he said and my face stayed absolutely still. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“No, remember I bought this bike to race.”
“But when I got it repaired before...”
“That was the rear wheel, why d’you think he loaned me a bike, didn’t you check the price he charged you?”
“I can’t remember, I doubt it was anything like that. Do they come as standard then?”
“No, I had this bike built, even Dave Millar would have been happy to ride it apart from the fact he’s nearly a foot taller than I am.”
“How tall is he?”
“Six foot four or five.”
“He is big, I thought bike riders were all small guys–you know light as a feather, zip up mountains because there’s no resistance.”
“Not time triallists, Wiggo is about six two or three.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah, if you saw him standing next to Cav, they’re like the long and short of it.”
“He’s not a climber is he?”
“Who?”
“Cavendish.”
“No, it’s something we have in common.”
“He’s only five six too, is he?”
“No he’s five eight or nine but he’s rubbish on mountains too.”
“I thought you climbed quite well.”
“Compared to you I do, but you’re rubbish on a bike full stop.”
“Gee thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The sledgehammer Sagittarian strikes again.”
“That’s me, and Julie–so you’d better watch yourself.”
“I am–bloody hedonists.”
“I beg your pardon, it wasn’t me who got plastered and tried to saw the table in half.”
“Okay, I paid for that already.”
“So, you gonna buy me a new wheel?”
“Not at eight fifty.”
“I think Wiggle do ‘em for about six hundred.”
“I could get a whole bike for that. Why not take it into the bike shop and see if he can do it–it’s got to be cheaper than that?”
I led him to the bike shed and opened it. “I didn’t know you had a spare key,” he said looking surprised.
“Only because you lot lose them–I had my own one cut which I keep on my key ring.” I pushed open the door and took the wheel off the jig. “There ya go,” see if he can do it while I get lunch. Hurry, or you’ll be late.” I shooed him out of the bike shed and locked the door again.
“And if he can’t?”
“I’ll give you the address of Wiggle and you can pop round and get me a new one–bring the old one back though.”
“Why?”
“If I have nothing better to do, I’ll give it another go.”
He walked off muttering and Mima saw him getting in the car and ran after him. She got in the car with him. The sky was becoming over cast, so I closed the garage door to keep the table dry. It didn’t rain just clouded over for a while.
I had enough eggs to scrambled eggs on toast, which meant waiting until Simon and Mima came back because it doesn’t keep very well–at least I wouldn’t want to eat it after it had been made for ages. Then I checked the bread–we needed more. So Livvie and Trish came with me to the supermarket and we got a couple of thick sliced loaves and one or two other bits and pieces. When we returned Simon was there.
“I thought you were getting lunch?”
“I was–we’ve been to the supermarket.”
“What are we having?”
“Scrambled eggs, why?”
“That all?”
“With toast–we needed more bread.”
“C’mon, I’ll treat you.”
“To what?”
“A pub lunch?”
“What happened with the wheel?”
“He said it would take a week. I asked him what a new one would cost and he said he could do one for about seven fifty.”
“You didn’t order one?"
"No, if I had I couldn’t treat you lot to lunch could I?”
“Why not get fish and chips?” I suggested, “But we’ll need to wait until Danny gets back.”
“He’s up in the shower now.”
“Oh, when did he get home?”
“About ten minutes ago. Right who’s for fish and chips?”
The girls opted for jumbo sausage and chips and Tom a curry sauce with his. Danny wanted a pie and mushy peas with his chips. I declined. “What are you eating then?”
“Scrambled egg.”
“With chips?”
“No, on toast.”
“And you suggested getting chips?”
“Not for me I didn’t.”
“If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand bloody women.”
“Creatures of mystery–that’s us, isn’t it girls?”
“What is?” asked Trish as Simon and Mima got back in his car.
“Nothing, sweetheart–I was just winding up your dad.”
“That’s cruel, Mummy, he’s not as clever as us.”
I looked at her in astonishment–she was probably right about herself, but not me. “What d’you mean?”
“Well he’s a boy isn’t he and they’re thick.”
“Some are but not all, and Daddy’s quite clever you know?”
“If he was that clever, he’d want to be a girl, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart, most ordinary boys are happy to be boys–it’s only those who are really girls like you, who wish to change things. And we do need boys and men.”
“To send for fish and chips?” she beamed.
“Amongst other things.”
“Other things?”
“Oh yes, they have their uses, but we’ll talk about that when you’re a bit older. You won’t understand now.”
“Oh you mean sex, do you, Mummy?”
I felt my whole body go cold and then start a blush from somewhere down by my toes up to the top of my head.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1556
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In the end I had boiled eggs. I love boiled eggs with toast soldiers. I did find the smell of chips overpowering and instead of making me want to grab one, I felt more like barffing. For chips, I really have to be in the mood. Today, I clearly wasn’t.
I left the table on the excuse of making drinks, which meant I had to go from the dining room to the kitchen, I switched the kettle on and cleared up all the chip wrappers and the little polystyrene trays they use presumably to keep things warm on the journey home. The smell of those was sickening as I stuffed them into a black bin bag. The few odd chips and things which had eluded the feeding frenzy I gave to Kiki then let her out in the garden. The sun had come out but there seemed more clouds about, and to the west it looked quite dark.
I thought about the wheel, perhaps I could have tried for a bit longer to straighten it but Simon had opened his silly mouth and I took advantage of it. I’ll have to get him something nice for Christmas–his wallet was looking a bit worse for wear, so the kids can get that for him.
I made a pot of tea and took it, together with cups and saucers, a second pot of hot water and some milk, through to the dining room. Stella and Caroline cleared the dirty crocks and took them through to the kitchen while I poured the teas. The kids didn’t want tea, so I sent them to make themselves drinks.
The phone rang and I heard Stella answer it. She seemed to chat for ages and when I looked her tea was getting cold. I added some hot water and put the saucer on the top of the cup. She popped back into the dining room, “Si, it’s for you.”
“Who is it?” he called back.
“Dad, so get your arse out here.”
“Charming,” he muttered, “finishing school was a waste of money in her case.” Stella came back to drink her tea and Caroline collected the dirty cups and saucers to put them in the dishwasher.
“What did Henry want?” I asked when he returned to the table.
“Where’s my tea?”
“Sorry, thought you’d finished it.”
“I might have done–he wants me to go to town tomorrow. They’re releasing the results of the enquiry on Monday and they thought it only fair for me to be briefed before it.”
“Why couldn’t you have gone in early on Monday instead of wasting another day?”
“Look, Babes, when he tells me to jump–I do so. He usually has his reasons.”
“Did he give you any clues?”
“No the guy running the enquiry wants to tell me himself.”
“Does he know? I mean Henry?”
“Probably, but he wouldn’t break a confidence.”
“Even to his son?”
“Especially to his son. He sets the standard he wants us all to follow.”
“So will you be getting an early flight on Monday to escape the furor?”
“If it goes against me, you mean?”
“Duh–well what’s the worst that can happen if they find you not guilty?”
“It’s an enquiry, not a trial.”
“It would have the same effect if you’re guilty.”
“I’ll be reprimanded, whatever, it was my signature on the agreement to buy that American Bank.”
“So you’ll look before you leap, next time.”
“Won’t be a next time.”
“What? You’re not leaving the bank–are you?”
“Don’t be silly, where else will they pay me a bundle for doing bugger all?”
“You work quite hard, don’t you?”
“Sometimes, then we make a profit.”
“Why not all the time?”
“Because timing is everything. It’s a bit like being a shark in a goldfish pond and waiting for the right moment to strike.”
“You could have problems with that analogy, sharks are marine fish and goldfish are freshwater.”
“Have you always got to be so pedantic?”
“Yep, I’m a scientist, remember?”
“How could I forget you telling me I could trust you, you were a scientist?”
“Did I say that?”
“You did.”
“When?”
“When we first went out together.”
“We had to be together, Si, otherwise you wouldn’t have heard me, would you?”
“You should have been a barrister–I could just see you eating defendants alive in the dock.”
“I might be an incisive interrogator, but I am definitely not into cannibalistic activities.”
“Oh I don’t know, you ate me one night if you remember.”
“Simon, there are children and women present.” I chided him.
“It was your first time too, wasn’t it?”
“Could you go and get the wheel back?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather try and straighten it than continue this conversation.”
He blushed, “It was you who wanted to do it if I remember correctly,” he continued.
“Simon, shut up, will you?”
He suddenly noticed that Caroline was looking at him with eyes as big as saucers. “Oh, okay then–but you did.”
It was I who was blushing when Caroline looked to say something, then changed her mind. She went to walk away came back and said to herself, “No, it doesn’t matter,” and left.
I didn’t see what went on between a man and wife as anything embarrassing, as long as it was kept in context and preferably in the bedroom. Simon had taken the whole thing out of context and deliberately, because he was trying to be funny. Thankfully, at bedtime he didn’t try to make me eat my words or anything else for that matter; he was too keyed up about his facing the music the next day. I asked him if he was taking Jason with him and he shook his head, he would do it alone.
“I’ll come with you, if you want–you stood by me when my reputation was in question.”
“When has your reputation ever been in dispute? You make Mother Theresa look like a mafia boss.”
“I remember a certain young man coming with me to the BBC in Bristol to support me in my hour of need–I had a tabloid after me if you recall?”
“God, that was years ago, and the only reason they were after you was because you were going out with me.”
“They as good as accused me of corrupting young people’s minds. I was only doing research then–not teaching.”
“I’ll ask the others to watch the kids, Stella has enough milk these days to feed a calf, so she could spare a couple of mils for Catherine; unless you want me to bring her along?”
“Certainly not, they’d probably ask her to testify against me.”
“Si, this is to hear the findings, not go on trial.”
“They go to the FSA, they could prosecute or disbar me from being a director.”
“They won’t–you were duped! Hell, it happened to RBS, and they pensioned off the guy with half a million a year. I suspect we could live on that alongside my meagre earnings.”
“I don’t know–this could ruin me.”
“Look we’ll put the girls on the game when they’re a bit older–that should bring in a few more quid.”
“I’ll bring shame on the family and the bank.”
“You won’t–you’re not like that guy in New York, are you?”
“Who–Madoff? No, that was a Ponzi scheme, and crooked from the word go, and he screwed them for billions.”
“A Bonzi scheme?”
“No, Ponzi, where the interest supposedly paid comes from later investors–it’s bound to be discovered in the end unless you have an unending investor clientele. That’s pure crime, mine was nothing like that.”
“I’ll come with you tomorrow, wear your best suit and I’ll do the same–we’ll be the Bonny and Clyde of High Street Banks.” I smirked, and he went quite pale.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1557
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I convinced Caroline and Stella that it was essential that I went with Simon the next morning and they agreed to look after the children. I could therefore shower and dress–in that suit–yeah, the YSL one. The one that I wore in the posters in the bank caressing Spike. I hadn’t long had it cleaned and with my silk blouse and court shoes, I looked every inch the aristocrat’s wife, aided and abetted by my sapphire jewellery. I did my makeup very carefully, doing the finest lines of liner on my upper lids and making my lipstick not too red against the blue of the suit, I opted for a violet-pink. A splash of Coco and I was ready–actually I wasn’t. It was peeing down outside so I had to wear a coat to go out to the car. I did offer to drive, but Simon said he was okay. If I had I’d have changed my shoes for the driving anyway, it marks the heels of shoes and boots–rubs the colour off them or leaves black marks.
I kept the colour of my accessories very sedate as befits a bank director’s wife, replacing the usually raunchy red with navy shoes and bag.
When Simon saw me before I put my jacket on, he said, “Forget the bank, let’s just make love all morning.” It was a tempting thought but I’d just ironed my blouse so I was going to wear it.
We drove in his Jaguar, and thankfully the traffic was fairly light, but then it was only just nine o’clock as we approached London. The appointment was at the FSA headquarters in Canary Wharf, not far from High Street’s own HQ,In one of the development’s high rise blocks. I suppose with the high cost of land, all modern cities seemed to be built of sky scrapers if not as high or many as New York, for which I was grateful, I hate them–to me, they are the business equivalents of the ivory towers of academe and the occupiers ARE about as much in touch with real life as visitors from outer space.
We parked at the bank’s headquarters and took a taxi the couple of hundred yards to the FSA, where we arrived five minutes early. I’d told Simon we could have walked, we were parked in the car park for half an hour, but he was worried that the wind or rain would mess my hair–well, that’s what he said, at any rate. If it was true, and why should I believe any different, you can see why I love this man and why I was showing solidarity with him now. If we’d had better babysitting arrangements, I’d have been with him the whole time.
We alighted the taxi and Simon paid and took his card for the return journey. We both had mobiles so could call him.
In the vestibule we found reception and then were directed to the meeting room, where much to my disgust, they wouldn’t allow me entry. I saw Monica coming out of the ladies and was tempted to try and hide. Instead I waved to her and she and I sat and talked while the boys and one or two girls had their meeting.
“I was disgusted,” I told Monica and she agreed. She’d come to show support for Henry and Simon and had also been excluded. “I think it’s sexism,” I opined and she nodded.
Instead, we talked about the children and she was interested in how I’d coped since Billie died. I told her, with difficulty, but I did manage to hold back the tears and therefore not spoil my eye makeup.
I asked her what she thought of Caroline. Her response caught me a little unawares.
“She’s a very nice girl, or will be one day with your help.”
“I thought she was doing alright.”
“She’s not like you, Cathy. The first time we met you at the hospital when Simon had been shot, I thought, ‘Hmm, who’s this pretty little thing?’ I knew we were going to meet you and I’d been warned that you were transsexual, or were in those days, but you completely blew us away. You were never transsexual, you were always female in mind and body. Caroline is part way there, but has a long way to go to be half as feminine and female as you are.”
I blushed and looked away.
“See, how demure you are–you were never a boy, Cathy.” What could I say? I simply sat there and blushed.
“Do you recall that day we met at the restaurant?” she asked me.
“That was the same day we met at the hospital, only lunch time, I came with Stella.”
“So it was. That’s right, you looked so delicious and I couldn’t believe you were supposed to have been a boy, but the only way I could think to find out was to seduce you–except you wouldn’t play. That’s why I’m so convinced you were never male, a man would have taken the bait–you were quite properly repulsed by the whole idea.”
“I was going out with your stepson, of course I was repelled by the whole idea as I’d have been if Henry had propositioned me.”
“You mean he didn’t?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure, he told me he did and you turned him down flat.”
“I don’t remember that–I think that’s his imagination talking. No, the only man I’ve ever wanted is Simon and that’s still the case.”
“What about Gareth Sage?” she nearly floored me with that one.
“What about him?” I replied casually.
“A little birdie tells me you have a soft spot for him.”
“He’s a very nice chap and I like him, but I’m married to Simon, and at the time Gareth was engaged to your little birdie.”
“I also believe that Des was after you before he settled on Stella, but it was you he wanted.”
“I’m not aware of that,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“So why did he leave his entire estate to you?”
“What d’you mean?” I blushed furiously, this was becoming very uncomfortable.
“I checked his probate and his will–he left everything to you, nothing to Stella or his baby.”
“I’m sure he was going to amend his will,” I said rather lamely, “after all, his death was very premature. Have you told Stella?”
“Of course not, and I presume by that remark, you haven’t either?”
“Um–no. I’ve ring fenced his estate, the rental for the house goes to pay for the upkeep of the house. When she’s old enough, I’ll give it to Puddin’, it’s rightfully hers.”
“I see, and why should I believe you, and what would happen if you died suddenly, before she reached maturity?”
“I’ve left directions in my will, the house is essentially a trust fund in her name, which I manage on her behalf.”
“Have you now, and why doesn’t that surprise me? Hmm, you’re too honest for this world Catherine, but it’s good to meet someone who has such integrity.”
“I’d be grateful if you told no one about this.”
“Unless you die suddenly and as prematurely as Des, I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
“Thank you. Now why are you trying to seduce Caroline?”
“I think that’s the other way round, dearie, she was chasing me.”
“That wasn’t what I saw at Julie’s party.”
“Things weren’t as they seemed at the party. But she amuses me and I offered her a chance to work with me in France if you can spare her.”
“I doubt it, not unless Jenny recovers very quickly and wants to work for me again.”
“Ah, the poor girl who jumped off the bridge?”
“Yes, but a very good worker.”
“And Caroline isn’t?”
“She’s very willing but hasn’t learnt all the ropes yet.”
“I like them willing,” Monica said licking her lips.
The door of the meeting opened and Simon emerged with Henry, neither looked very happy.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1558
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Neither Simon nor Henry would say anything. They ushered us out to the entrance way and a chauffeur driven car appeared, we were practically swept into it by our escorts.
“What happened at the meeting?” I asked.
“Wait until we get to lunch,” Simon said tersely. I looked daggers at him.
The car dropped us at a bistro place about half a mile away and Henry opened the door and indicated we should go through. The maitre de led us to a quiet table and Henry ordered a bottle of wine, some sort of Burgundy, I think. I reminded Simon he was driving, he reached into his pocket and handed me his keys and smiled. I called over a waiter and ordered a cranberry juice.
“I would recommend the Dover sole,” Henry said looking at the menu. After a quick glance I agreed, adding melon for my starter and sorbet for my pudding.
“When are you going to tell us what happened?” I asked both men.
“After we’ve eaten,” suggested Henry.
“Why not before?” I asked.
“Because I think it’s better after dinner, okay?” he said back firmly. I felt like getting up and walking out.
“Please don’t treat me like a school girl, Henry.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”
“So far you have. Monica and I are adult women in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I had noticed and also how especially lovely you look today, Cathy.”
I frowned back at him and waited for the meal. Each time either of the men tried to start up a conversation, I shut it down. “Let’s wait until we’ve finished eating, shall we?” Giving them back some of their own medicine.
Simon and his father more or less polished off the bottle between them, Monica having one small glass which she diluted with water. I was getting closer to leaving by the moment.
Finally we got to the coffee–the fish had been delicious and the sorbet was pretty good too.
“Now do we get to hear?” I said angrily.
“Let me finish my coffee,” smiled Henry.
“Henry, thank you for a lovely meal, but fuck you and your stupid son.” I stood up and as I left I asked a waiter to call me a taxi. Ten minutes later I was sitting in Simon’s car with my shoes on the passenger seat where he should have been.
I waited for ten minutes in case he followed me. He didn’t, so I started it up and set off for home. The traffic was heavier now and the rain was falling. I felt totally and utterly fed up. My efforts to support him had been treated like I was a child. It took an hour to get out of London and I was very pleased to find the M25 and thence the M3. The traffic on both of these motorways was fast and furious, and I felt like the whole world was setting out to annoy or abuse me.
I had to stop for a wee on the way down the M3 and I overheard two men talking as I came out of the ladies: ‘Probably some actress or model, those threads cost a bit and see the car she has?’ I smirked as I walked past, strutting my stuff in catwalk style. Let’s face it, I could hardly confess to being an ecologist while driving a gas guzzling sports car, could I?
Clear of the services, and plenty of juice in the tank, I threw caution to the wind and opened up the throttle at one stage doing well over a hundred miles an hour. I did slow down after a few miles and was doing well under seventy when a police car hammered past at speeds well in excess of the legal limit, blue and red lights flashing on the large BMW.
I returned home about an hour later, fed up and feeling like I’d eaten too much. I pulled on my shoes and went in. “Where’s Simon?” Stella asked looking up from reading my Observer.
“No idea.”
“What d’you mean?”
So I asked for her to put the kettle on while I changed. Seven or eight minutes later I was sipping tea and explaining why I nearly tipped my coffee over Henry’s head. I had left it untouched instead.
“What’s he playing at?” she asked taking drink from her mug.
“I don’t know, but I suspect we’ll find out tomorrow anyway, and I’m beginning to feel that I’m past caring.”
“I think I can see why.”
“I don’t like being treated like a child, and rather than cause a scene, I left after stating my position.”
“I don’t blame you, though I’m glad you didn’t douse Dad in cafe, it would have ruined a Savile Row shirt.”
“Big deal, he’s got others.”
“They cost about three hundred quid a piece.”
“What’s wrong with Marks and Spencer?”
“Nothing, he just prefers handmade ones.”
“As far as I know M&S don’t make them by foot.”
“Cathy, please don’t get argumentative with me, it wasn’t I who frustrated you.”
“I know, Stel, but I felt the whole day has been a waste of time. A total bloody waste.”
“It was you who wanted to go if I remember correctly.”
“This is true, however, Simon could have said no, but he didn’t. I had a nice chat with Monica, but that was about it. I hope Henry isn’t planning on coming here for Christmas, because I don’t think I want to see him.”
“Oh dear, he has offended you?”
“He sure has, old fool.”
“He’s only in his fifties.”
“Yeah, like I said, old fool.”
She put down her cup and chuckled. “You certainly have strong opinions, Cathy.”
“You noticed–well that’s more than my husband or his father have.”
“Well the less said the sooner mended.”
“Where are the children?”
“I knew you’d notice sooner or later.”
“Notice what?”
“No children, I told Caroline it wouldn’t work.”
“What wouldn’t work?”
“Selling them into slavery to a sweat shop in Hackney.”
I shook my head, she was barmier than I was and that was bad enough. “You’re crazy, now where are they?”
“We had to kill them all in case they talked.”
“Stella, please don’t you arse about, it’s bad enough when your father does it.”
“Oh okay, Caroline and Tom have taken them out for an ice cream.”
“And Julie?”
“She went out to see some friends.”
“I didn’t know they had any sweat shops in Hackney.”
“Oh it’s well known, especially in darkest Ruislip.”
“You are completely mad, Stella.”
“You noticed? It was your fault, me spending all that time on the funny farm.”
“Where life is beautiful all the time?”
“You know it?” she said and I nodded.
“They’re coming to take me away,” she sang and I joined in.
By the time we’d finished falling about laughing I heard the backdoor open and an in rushed Mima and Trish.
“Oh; Where’s Daddy?” asked Mima obviously seeing the car in the drive.
“He’s still up in London.”
“Oh,” she said and went off.
“Hi, Mummy,” Trish threw her arms round me and a cold nose touched against my cheek.
“Hello, Sweetheart.” I hugged her.
“Is Daddy okay now?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, he didn’t tell me so I came home.”
“Oh, shall I ring him?”
“If you want to.”
She went off and returned a little later. “He’ll be home tomorrow and he said he hoped you hadn’t bent his car.”
“Did he now?”
“I told him it was fine apart from a few scratches and a dent in the bonnet. He swore but told me he’d see me tomorrow.”
“Oh well, we’ll find out tomorrow what happened won’t we?”
“I ‘spect so,” she said and went off with Livvie.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnzHtm1jhL4)
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1559
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I spent a night in an empty bed, the empty space reminding me what a fool my husband could be. I expected he was staying with Henry and Monica in London, but I wasn’t certain and wasn’t concerned enough to enquire.
I had stormed out of a lunch with the three of them because I considered Henry and Simon were playing silly buggers with Monica and me. They knew the result of the enquiry into the US Bank imbroglio but had chosen to remain mysterious. Unless he came home early the next day, I’d find out from the media what the result had been, in which case he can expect to be blasted when he does get home.
I didn’t sleep very well, tossing and turning imagining different scenarios as a man read a statement from the enquiry team. However, one thing remained firm, my love for the idiot I’d married and my complete support for him.
At seven the next morning I struggled out of bed and into the shower, I dressed for warmth and woke the girls. While they showered and washed each other’s hair, I sorted out vests and slips for them to wear under their uniforms and I told them to wear their black boots as well. The rain lashed at the windows and I unconsciously shuddered as I recollected getting cold and wet going to school. My parents wouldn’t take me in the car, Dad having already gone to his office or current job, and my mother didn’t drive very often and we only had one car.
Wearing a full length coat or using an umbrella immediately gave the wearer/user the same status as an item of defecation. It was a boy’s school and boys are tough–so they thought, unless they had something wrong with them. Then they were bigger drama queens than most girls.
The only time I was able to wear a proper coat to school was during my Lady Macbeth period, and I borrowed Siá¢n’s spare one and used a brolly–we had such fun camping up that whole time. We’d paint my nails garish colours like blue or green which had the teachers reporting me or the headmaster telling me off. However, I’d managed to get a copy of the school’s rules for uniform and presentation, and it said nothing about the wearing of nail varnish. I’m sure the girl’s school did, but I was attending the boy’s one albeit in the girl’s uniform.
After a quick breakfast where I insisted they all had porridge and toast to warm them up, I took the girls to school and Julie dropped off Danny, who I made to take his coat with him. He grumbled and said it could get lost or pinched. I simply replied that it had better not, it wasn’t a cheap one.
Back from the school run, I checked the internet for news of High St Bank and there was nothing. I filled the bread machine and made some tea. Caroline reminded me that I’d had no breakfast, so I had a couple of biscuits with my tea, much to her annoyance.
At eleven I switched on the radio as I did the ironing, we had lift off.
‘The enquiry regarding the purchase of an Amercan bank by High St, has reported its findings. High St were lax in following the proper protocols which landed them with a half billion pounds of debt because the review of the Kansas bank had been falsified. The enquiry reprimanded the director who’d overseen the purchase and the board for not supervising him.
The bank has since tightened up the procedures for acquisitions so this shouldn’t happen again and the director concerned has been moved to another division according to Henry Cameron, the bank’s chairman. A report of the enquiry has been sent to the FSA who may decide to impose fines upon the bank for failure to follow appropriate protocols.’
So to which division had Simon been consigned? I smiled because it sounded as if he’d been playing football–he’s not in the premier league any more, he’s in the fourth division.
“So Simon got a bollocking then?” Caroline said as she brought me more clothes to iron.
“Looks like.”
“But he didn’t tell you yesterday?”
“No, they both kept saying later and I ran out of patience.”
“Don’t blame you, I mean you’d gone specially to support him–and you did look nice.”
“Thank you, Caroline. Want to take a turn at the ironing? I need to get some lunch started–jacket spud okay with you?”
She came round behind the ironing board and nodded. We could decide on fillings later, I had some salad stuff and coleslaw. I’d have tuna but there was cheese and ham as well. Stella loves jacket spuds, so I knew she’d be okay with one, and popped three of them into the oven.
Stella caught up with me while I was hanging clothes in the girl’s wardrobes. “So Si got his knuckles rapped?”
“Looks like. He could be fined as well according to the radio.”
“Unlikely, he was more incompetent than criminal, the FSA will simply uphold the reprimand and acknowledge the fact that the bank has moved him where he can’t do it again.”
“How d’you know?”
“I spoke with Dad’s secretary, Si’s going to head the retail division.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“For him it’s a sideways move, for the punter in the street, it’s probably a good move because he’s quite innovative, so he’ll be working on ways to increase customer bases.”
“What, drumming up new customers?”
“Certainly that; but also getting existing ones to stay and preferably spend more on services.”
We had our spuds for lunch and I did more work on the survey, two more reports of that ring tailed lemur and one of wallabies in Norfolk. I half expect to be told of grizzly bears in the New Forest or unicorns in Savernake. Some of this is just plain bloody daft.
The object is to help us understand the status of indigenous mammals, so to an extent, things like predators or competing aliens can have an effect–just look at the result of domestic cats in towns–they slaughter millions of birds and small furry things, but I suspect the impact on red squirrels is relatively small compared to the impact of the grey squirrel, which has driven the former into relative extinction in places. Mink were another pest and were accused of reducing water vole populations–now we know it isn’t mink who caused it, but destruction or loss of habitat. That doesn’t prevent mink from being a pest who need to be eradicated, but with the return of otters, the mink are thriving less. Otters will kill the smaller alien mustelid, so the return of the otter is helping to show that conservation does have a beneficial result on numerous levels.
I’m still waiting to see an otter in the wild, I’ve seen water vole which are still very endangered cute little things, except the one I saw wasn’t so cute. It had been mangled by a neighbour’s moggie and she brought it in to me to identify it. At that stage it was still just alive, but it expired moments later–like they do. It’s the equivalent of a baby sized human having a cuddle with a hungry, full sized Bengal tiger.
I was about to go to collect the children when a taxi pulled into the drive and Simon alighted from it. He waved at me as I drove out of the drive and I scowled at him. I hope he had asbestos underpants on, because he was gonna need ’em.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1560
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“So why couldn’t you tell me what I heard on the radio?”
“I–um–dunno, Babes, I think I was a bit strung up on it though.”
“Strung up? You’re bloody lucky I’m not stringing you up now. Don’t you ever treat me like an idiot again, and you tell Henry that too–because I tell you now, it’ll be the last time and it will cost you dear, more than some bankrupt place in a third world country.”
“Yes, Babes, I won’t, Babes.”
I left him red faced and blushing like a naughty schoolboy, which was how he behaved throughout. He didn’t attempt to defend himself, so the argument didn’t get off the ground. I was looking for a full on scrap and he stood there and took it–a bit like kicking a corpse. Maybe he is learning how to cope with me? I’ll have to try and stop being so predictable.
“Why you cwoss wiv Daddy?” asked Mima when I emerged from the dining room where we’d had our little discussion.
“Because he asked for it, he did a silly thing to me yesterday and I let him know it in no uncertain terms.”
“Naughty Daddy.”
“I think silly might be a better description.”
“Siwwy Daddy.”
“Quite–now I’m going to start making dinner, d’you want to help?” She did and she helped me make the sauce for the spaghetti bolognaise we were having that night. Primarily tomato puree and garlic, but they all like zapping things with the blender and a few cans of tomatoes plus some cloves of garlic cooked with minced pork–I use pork because it has less fat than even best minced beef–and it tastes just as good, though only Waitrose seem to do it.
I seal the meat and chopped onion in a tiny spot of water, stirring to stop it sticking to the pan, then add the tomato puree. Simmer it for about twenty minutes, stirring regularly while the wholemeal pasta cooks. It’s a simple meal which goes down well if a little messy. I make sure everyone has a napkin and uses it. Then wash those before the stains set. The pans are also messy, but my stainless steel ones clean up quite well.
As predicted the meal went down well, a little Parmesan sprinkled on top for those who want it–I most certainly did. I know it smells like old socks but it does add to the flavours of the meal. We washed it down with a glass of Chianti and I felt quite mellow afterwards.
Caroline cleared up the mess–well, I had cooked it–while we listened to Trish murdering a joke she’d probably misheard in school. It was actually funnier watching her tell it than the original had been. I won’t repeat it here because everyone older than seven or eight knows it anyway, and it isn’t really funny above that age–unless you get Trish to tell it, then it’s a scream.
She’d managed to talk her way out of the grounding Simon was going to impose when she fell off the turbo and buckled my wheel. Mind you when he collects it he might remember how she outmanoeuvred him again.
I needed at least one day to get presents organised, it was getting harder and harder to buy things the children needed. I buy everyone a new outfit, except Julie, she chooses her own and I pay for it, which means she doesn’t get the pleasure of the surprise like the younger kids do.
Trish had asked if we could go to church on Christmas day like the people in the story she’d been reading. I told her that I didn’t go to church because I didn’t believe in their religion, and I only went to them for things like funerals or weddings and that was for the benefit of the persons concerned, not some imaginary god.
She looked really sad and I felt a real monster. I compromised with her. “I’ll do a deal with you, I’ll take you to the carol service on Christmas eve but you must go straight to bed when we get home.”
“What time is it?”
“The carol service starts at seven thirty and finishes at nine.”
“Can the others come?”
“Of course.”
“Deal,” we shook hands and she went off to tell the others.
Tom came in and looked at me strangely, “Are ye feelin’ alricht, hen?”
“Yes, I’m fine; why?”
“Ye’re takin’ thae bairns tae thae carol service.”
“So, I enjoy singing silly songs and so do they. Are you coming?”
“Och na, I’ll go on Christmas day.”
“You can take them with you then if you like.”
“I thocht ye disapproved o’ religion?”
“I do, it’s opium of the masses and total bunkum, but hey, who listens to me?”
“I dae fa one,” he smiled, “ye’re more an angel than some o’ thae saints they tell us aboot.”
I blushed. “I’m no angel, Daddy, but thank you for the compliment.”
“We’re a’ entitled tae oor opinions, that’s mine.”
“Thank you,” I kissed him on the cheek, “cocoa?”
“Aye, why not.” I made him his cocoa and I also did one for Simon, while I had a cup of tea–Earl Grey–for a change.
We chatted about things in the department and I was a little anxious that Julie would be home post operative and I’d be going off to work at the university. Daddy reminded me that Caroline would be home as would Stella. When I thought about it, after a week or so in hospital, the worst bit was dilating–it felt like shoving a large pole up a small hole–using Simon instead was a very much better arrangement for both of us, though as far as I knew not one which would be available to Julie, who claimed to be a lesbian. I wasn’t convinced but her experiences with men had been traumatic, so possibly she would lean that way. Anyway that was for her to resolve, she knew I’d be happy to listen if she wanted to talk and she had Stephanie as well, whom she saw once a month.
I checked on the children, they were all asleep. My heart still ached when I saw the photo of Billie–such a sweet child–but these things happen even to sweet children. Simon had asked me if I wanted another child to replace her. It was kind of him to ask but I declined, it wasn’t like my pet rabbit had died, this was a child.
In some ways I hoped they would go to church on Christmas day because then I could put some flowers on Billie’s grave and spend a few minutes with her in peace. I know it’s not a grave, really, just where her ashes lie, but it’s something tangible for me and I still need something like that to cope with my grief. One day I might be able to let her go, but not just yet even if my dream suggested she was well cared for, I suspected that was all just my unconscious mind trying to come to terms with the tragedy.
There are many things in this world we don’t understand and possibly never will, but so far no one has produced any evidence of gods or goddesses that passes any scrutiny, all we have are myths and fables and the ramblings of seriously disturbed minds who are seen as prophets. Have God come and knock on my door or call by for a cuppa, or give me something I can check in a lab and I might start to believe.
“Penny for them,” Simon came up and hugged me, “Coming to bed?”
“Yeah, I feel quite tired.”
“You looked to be in deep thought.”
“Yeah, pondering the mysteries of the universe and what we’re having for dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh, that serious?”
“What the mysteries of the universe?”
“No–dinner,” he said keeping a straight face as he led me up the stairs.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1561
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“D’you want me to take the photo down?” Simon asked as we got into bed.
“Which photo?”
“You know which photo.”
“No, I like it–I feel she’s still with us–at least with me.”
“I suppose it is still early days.” He spoke almost as if he was talking to himself or making an aside to an audience I couldn’t see.
“What’s still early days?”
“Since Billie died.”
“Look here, Simon Cameron, if I want to spend the rest of my life mourning my child, I will. When I’m ready, I’ll stop and no one is going to tell me different.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So how did you mean it?”
“Only that we have several children, and they need you more than Billie does now.”
“I’m well aware of our other children and I feel I meet their needs adequately, or is this the beginning of a complaint that I’m not meeting their needs?”
“No, I think you look after them very well–admirably in fact.”
“So what is all this about then?”
“When Mima came out with me she told me that they don’t think you laugh as much since Billie died.”
“And you agree with them by the sound of it?”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“Well that’s to be expected.”
“What is?” he looked puzzled.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, life here has been a bit traumatic since Billie died, my husband has had to deal with a career threatening investigation–which has caused him to walk round like a bear with a sore head at times, I lost my house keeper and have had to train a new one, and I’m trying to deal with birthdays and Christmas–apart from that, everything is just fine and dandy.”
“Look, I’m sorry that I took up your energy and I know we screwed up the other day in not telling you the outcome of the investigation.”
“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”
“Sort of, look, I’m sad because we lost a child, but they are only foster children...”
“How dare you, Simon Cameron, how dare you.” How I didn’t actually hit him I’ll never know because I could have quite happily killed him at that moment. He’s said some pretty crass things at times but that had to be the most insensitive and callous of all time.
He certainly lit my blue touch paper and I stormed out of the room like some sort of incandescent firework. I went downstairs and locked myself in my study, which possibly wasn’t the best place to be but I needed to be alone. I grabbed the cardigan I keep on the back on my chair and wrapped myself in it and howled.
I cried for my loss, my other children, my stupidity in marrying a total moron. I cried because I was angry and wanted to hurt him, I cried for my pain and for what I suspected I would do tomorrow. I was going to ask him to leave, and if he refused, then I would. I’d go to the house in Southsea that Mr Whitehead left us. It was big enough to accommodate us all, minus one. Then depending upon how I felt, after I’d calmed down, I’d either consider going back to him or divorce. If the latter, I shall screw him for several million to enable the adopted children to have a good start in life
It was two o’clock before I stopped my head spinning round working through scenarios of all sorts of kinds, wondering if I could get a reduced sentence for manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility.
He’d had the sense not to follow me down–that would have caused a row which would have woken the whole house and upset the children–the adopted children, as he described them, then I realised he was wrong, he said foster implying we were only looking after them temporarily. I’ll show him temporary–the moron.
I did sleep because I heard the knocking on the door which woke me up. It was Caroline–they were searching for me. I was cold and my eyes were all gummed up with salt and felt like I was about a hundred and twenty eight.
I opened the door and she took one look at me and said, “What’s going on, you look like shit?”
“Simon and I rowed.”
“It must have been quite a falling out, he packed two cases and left about three o’clock last night. I heard him go out the back door and saw him carrying two cases. There’s a note for you.”
I tore it open. ‘Babes, I feel you need some space from me for the moment, I’ll be at the hotel.
I’m really sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean how it sounded and you were right to be offended. I love them as much as you and miss Billie, too. I know this is going to take you some time to get over. Let me know when you want to talk.
Once again, my unconditional apologies for a really stupid thing to say.
Assuring you of my undying love for you and the children.
Simon.’
“This sound serious if he’s packed his bags, Cathy.” Said Caroline so I showed her the note. She read it and then asked, “What on earth did he say?”
“I can’t tell you at the moment it’s too painful,” I saw my face reflected in the brass plate above the door handle. “I’d better shower.”
“He didn’t question your female status, did he?”
“Not this time, no. He did worse.” I left her holding the piece of paper and ran up the stairs to the bathroom and quickly stripped off and got in the shower, where the water both warmed me and seemed to revive me a little.
I got the children organised, they finished tonight for Christmas. The state schools had already finished but for some reason, the convent had things to complete–probably a few burning issues, like auto-da-fé which I believe is Portuguese. Not sure if they have any Portuguese at the convent–but who cares.
We’d made cakes and rolls, plus a trifle–Caroline makes wonderful trifles–for each of them to take. So breakfast was a bit rushed, tomorrow it would be less so, and I held on to that thought to try and maintain my slippery grip on my sanity.
“Daddy’s gone early?” Observed Trish as we got into the car.
“Yes, he’s gone away for a few days.”
“He didn’t say anything to us,” commented Livvie, “did he Meems?”
“No, Wivvie, he didn’t,” she replied.
“He’ll be back for Christmas, though I expect.” Trish postulated.
“I don’t know, darling, now let’s get this show on the road.” I drove carefully so as not to destroy the three trifles in the boot of the car. We’d loaded the bags with the rolls and cakes in plastic boxes on the base of the bag and the trifle laid on top in a dish with film over the top of it. With the luck I seemed to be having lately, I expected to find it all over the boot when we got to school.
That it wasn’t was something of a minor miracle–they’re supposed to happen at Christmas I believe, not that I believe in either–but at least our trifles were alright. The girls carried their own bags and I walked them into school. Fortunately, I managed to avoid the headmistress, ducking out of the place when I heard her telling some child off for running.
I hoped the girls would have a fun afternoon as Christmas might be less than satisfactory this year. What fun, I don’t think.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1562
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I spent much of the day in a dreamlike state, I was tired and emotionally completely empty, and I was supposed to be organising Christmas. Danny, Caroline and I managed to get the Christmas tree inside. Of course it was bigger than last year, but we dug it out and replanted it in a huge pot, which took the three of us to lift. At one point while we struggled, I know Caroline was going to say, “We could do with a man,” thankfully she didn’t, so I didn’t have to bury her in the hole we left.
Once we got the tree manoeuvred onto a large saucer atop a plastic sheet, I could task Danny with doing the decorating–he practically licked his lips at the prospect. I sent him up into the attic to find the decorations and some twenty minutes later and several trips up and down stairs, he began,
We had a growing pile of Christmas cards to put up, but the girls could do that when they got home. I went to collect them at three o’clock and when they arrived Meems was in tears.
Apparently, she was carrying her trifle across the classroom to the table where the food was kept and some girl walked backwards into her and knocked it out of her hands, breaking the dish as well.
“I’m sure it was an accident, Mima,” I said giving her a hug.
“I don’t wike her no more.”
“Oh dear, I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it.”
“Yes, she did, she had a twifwe too.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t as nice as your one would have been.” I really didn’t need this, I just wanted to get them home and changed and putting up the cards.
“I hate her, she’s howwibwe.”
“C’mon, let’s go home and then you won’t have to see her for a couple of weeks will you?”
They all got into the car and I finally got them home. When they saw Danny decorating the tree the three of them went ballistic, they wanted to do it as well. I felt like strangling the four of them and getting a kitten instead. Then I looked at the heavy brocade curtains and thought I’d keep them, the children, that is.
Caroline offered to light a fire in the lounge, so I took away the screen. I asked Danny to let the girls help him and he reluctantly agreed, so I sent them up to change.
“Where’s Dad, he usually helps me bring it in?”
“He’s away at the moment.”
“Yeah, at the hotel–why’s he staying there?”
“How d’you know where he is?”
“I saw the letter.”
“You shouldn’t read other people’s letters.”
“I wouldn’t if it hadn’t been on top of your desk, I went to borrow your little screwdriver set, the ones you keep in your desk drawer, and it was there. I couldn’t help it.”
“Okay, but please don’t do it again. We had a row over something dumb that he said and he left.”
“He is coming back though, right?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I expect so.”
“He’s gotta be here for Christmas, it wouldn’t be the same without Dad.”
“No it wouldn’t.”
“Tell him to come home, tell him it’s okay.”
“I wish it were that simple, Danny.”
“Course it is, just tell him–I’ll call him if you like.”
“I’m not sure I want him back just yet.” I could feel myself choking up and my eyes felt decidedly moist.
“Yeah, but we do–he’s our dad–like you’re our mum. I lost one lot of parents, I don’t wanna lose another.”
“You won’t son, I promise you that.”
“That’s what the others said, fucking liars.”
I was shocked by his language and by his argument. He was right, Simon should be here. If only he knew why we’d fought he might think differently. They must never know.
The girls appeared and Danny let them help, but on his terms. Caroline lit the fire and I crawled off to my study and locked the door, then I burst into tears. I did manage to control them and stopped after half a box of tissues.
I picked up my mobile and sent the following text.
‘The kids R asking 4 U. Ud betta come home. C.’
Five or six minutes later I got a response. ‘Wot do U want? S.’
‘2 go back 2 5mins b4 U sed wot U did.'
My mobile rang and I nearly dropped it as it rang and vibrated in my hand. It was Simon.
“Hi, Babes, look, what d’you want?”
“I told you.”
“Time travel isn’t possible yet, so what’s number two on the list?”
“You’d better come home, it might just stop me hanging all four of them from the Christmas tree.”
“Sounds like you need some help–I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what I felt apart from exhausted. I knew we needed to set some ground rules so it didn’t happen again, but just what and how I was too tired to think. I actually dozed in the chair because there was a knocking on the door and Trish’s voice was shouting, ‘Mummy, come quick.’
I jumped up and nearly fell over a pile of books by the desk. Stumbling, I tried to open the door forgetting I’d locked it. I finally managed to accrue the coordination required to unlock and open the door and I staggered up the corridor to the lounge where Trish’s voice was calling, ‘in here.’
I stepped into the room to be met with a picture of horror and absurdity at the same time. While Caroline had been setting the fire, some newspaper she was using had been sucked up the chimney. Fearing it could cause a chimney fire she reached up to grab it and was hit by an avalanche of soot. When I got there she was covered in it and looked like something from a poor slapstick comedy.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and by the look of things, neither did she. I sent Danny to get the vacuum cleaner and told Caroline to stay still. I was still vacuuming her when Simon arrived and he just burst out laughing until I gave him a Paddington hard stare and he quit the room. He was still guffawing outside but at least she couldn’t hear him.
It took a couple of hours to clean up the mess and poor Caroline spent ages and half a bottle of shampoo in the shower and she still smelt like the remains of a bonfire. Because she had stood still, Tom’s antique, or should that be, ancient, carpet suffered minimal damage and Mr Dyson sorted that, though I had to empty it twice.
“I thought you had the chimney swept?” Simon said when we were having a cuppa a bit later.
“I did, obviously they only did half a job, what with the rain and stuff it must have slid down the chimney and she dislodged it.”
“Better that than a chimney fire.”
“I’m not sure Caroline would agree.”
“Damn good vacuum cleaner that,” he indicated with his thumb behind him.
“Yes, but now it will need cleaning, new filters and things to get rid of the smell of soot.”
“Just as well you’re good with mechanical things then.”
“Oh no, that’s a job for the man of the house,” I said, and smiled.
“Tom?” he smirked back at me.
“Only if a younger one isn’t available by prolonged absence,” I countered firmly.
“What’s for dinner?”
“I have no idea, not had time to think.”
“Take away or d’you want to eat out somewhere.”
“Send for a Chinese.”
“What d’you want, dog in black bean sauce or kitten with mushrooms.”
“Don’t be disgusting–some stupid cow got sent to prison for six months for killing a kitten in a microwave, down in Devon, somewhere.”
“Ugh, what did she do that for?”
“To hurt the owner of the cat.”
“Pretty sick. I’ll order a complete meal for six, should be enough for about ten of us.”
“Okay, no more kitten jokes, I’m thinking I might get one for the girls, if Tom’s agreeable.”
“If he’s agreeable? He does what you tell him, same as the rest of us.”
“No he doesn’t.”
“You ask him.” He left to call the Chinese takeaway. I was left to my thoughts, am I that much of a tyrant? Maybe I am, but with a houseful of children and dysfunctional adults, someone has to take charge–don’t they?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1563
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In bed it felt good to have Simon back, though I expect he was half afraid to say anything in case it set me off again.
“How’s the new job?”
“Lots of admin, but as the Government are saying we have to ring fence the retail part of the bank, possibly I’ve got quite an interesting time ahead.”
“So you’ll have all those minions under you?”
“Yep, we have nine hundred branches so multiply that by a dozen or two and you’ll see how many workforce I have. It’s the most intensively staffed part of the whole organisation.”
“So isn’t that a really important part of the bank?”
“Yeah, but we don’t make any money from it, clearing banks don’t make money.”
“What about all the loans and mortgages people have through you–those make money.”
“Overheads suck that up, remember we do pensions for our staff, free life insurance plus inflation. Interest is so low that it’s very difficult to make money. I suspect that on a bad afternoon, I made as much profit as the retail bank does in a whole year.”
“So why did they move you?”
“To get the FSA off our backs–they’re not going to prosecute because we set new directives for acquisitions. I wrote them while I was here and Dad passed them on to the legal team to tidy up.”
“You’re actually quite talented, aren’t you?” I said giving him a poke.
“Wow, recognition in my own lifetime. Major talent I seem to have is saying the wrong thing.”
“You’re not the only one, I’m pretty good at it too.” I paused and kissed him. “Where are you going to be based?”
“The HQ is in London, where we went the other day, you know, Canary Wharf.”
“You’ve got to go back to London?” I gasped, why this hadn’t occurred to me before I could only plead tiredness.
“I told Dad I’d go twice a week, but that I wanted a private office with a dolly bird secretary in Portsmouth.” I chose not to take the bait.
“Which days? London, I mean.”
“Gonna vary it, as necessary. With computers and so forth, I should be able to run a multinational from my own bed.”
“No you won’t.”
“I didn’t say I was going to, only that I could. All I need is a laptop and a secretary or two to pass things down the line and so on. Malcolm is retiring after Christmas, which is when I really take over, so I’ll inherit his PA, Joyce, who is forty something, still a bit of a looker but has a mind like a rapier. She’s kept him afloat for years. I offered her a nice rise in salary if she’d work with me.”
“And?”
“She said, yeah. So hopefully, I’ll be there a week or two before I cock up.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“I could say I have meetings, why?”
“I need to do some shopping without the girls being there, or Danny, for that matter.”
“Could probably get the morning off–hell, no, I have to meet that twit Osborne.”
“The Chancellor?”
“Yes.”
“I thought he was in Brussels tomorrow, saving the Euro or the IMF or something.”
“These guys all have private jets or use the train and come straight back. I’ll check tomorrow. What are you getting the kids for presents?”
“The girls–clothes, jewellery, some DVDs and so on. Danny, wants another pair of football boots, so I’ll get him a voucher and he can choose his own.
“Little Catherine, should enjoy this Christmas a bit, she’s crawling round enough to mean we’ll have to watch the tree. Last year, Puddin’ pulled the lights off if you remember?”
“Yes I remember, took forever to repair them.”
“I’m going to cook a turkey, a beef joint and some ham. I think that should see us over a couple of days.”
“That’ll do you, me an’ the dog, dunno about the others.”
“So no main presents for the kids then?”
“Si, I don’t see why we should spend lots of money we don’t need to. They all have laptops, they all have nice phones, and so on. They have to learn they can’t just have everything just because we could afford to buy it. I want them to recognise how fortunate they are compared to many other people. So I’ve also bought them a charity present.”
“You bought them a charity?”
“No a present from a charity–like a sheep or a goat for a family in Africa, or a dormouse group in Kent.”
“You’re buying dormice in Kent for Africa? Not much meat on ’em is there?”
“No, you fool, I’ve got Trish some dormouse vouchers for a wildlife group in Kent, and Danny a sheep or some chickens, can’t remember now.”
“How many sheep have I got?”
“Um–you endowed a hospital for two million pounds.”
“Oh, ok–How much?”
“Your face,” I laughed, “wait and see, but you have got one so has Stella and Caroline.”
“I suppose you’ll get another pair of tights will you?” He said referring to my birthday present from Caroline.
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“Exactly, how hard did she think?”
“She probably thought I had everything.”
“So, she could have given you penicillin.”
“What for?”
“What d’you give the woman who has everything? —Penicillin.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“Course not, unless you get Trish to tell it.”
“Oh don’t, that joke she told about the runny nose was excruciating.” I laughed thinking back to it.
“No–it was, What d’you do if your nose goes on strike–picket.”
“That is gross, Simon.”
“The problem is she doesn’t know what a picket is.”
“Should have seen the miners round Bristol when I was a kid.”
“Aye, ’appen, lass, been down’t pit f’ twenty years an’ niver come up, like.”
“Is that Monty Python?”
“No, that was pure invention–MP was, ‘Cross beam on’t treddle’s broke.’”
“I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquistion–that’s the one isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Please don’t run through it now I need to go to sleep.”
“Okay, but remember that’s for two reasons, I love you and I love you and–three reasons–there are three reasons why. No–amongst our reasons...”
“Simon, shut up.”
“Yes, Cardinal Biggles.”
I turned over and he continued with his improvised Monty Python sketch–my own fault I suppose. However, when I reached behind me and grabbed something short and curly–he just gasped and shut up.
The next morning at breakfast, Tom asked if we were going to light the fire in the lounge today–it was a bitterly cold day. Caroline went absolutely puce which Simon much enjoyed. So I asked him to light it, he shrugged and agreed. I also asked him to bring in some logs. We usually have a basket of logs and some coal in a scuttle–it burns longer than the logs and doesn’t spit quite so much. We’ve got loads of apple wood this year, Tom chopped down some old apple trees and replaced them with new. Apple wood is supposed to smell sweet when it’s burnt.
We discussed who was coming for Christmas Day, and Si said he’d invite Henry and Monica, though he thought they were going abroad. I asked Tom if he wanted to invite Pippa and her two boys. He told me they were going to stay with her new man.
“It’s just us then?” I asked.
“Looks like.”
“Who else d’ya want, President Obama?” asked Stella pausing to bite her toast.
“No, he smokes, so he’d have to stay out in the drive if he did that.”
“I’ll tell him, he might just change his mind now.”
“Am I bovvered?” I said in my best Catherine Tate impression.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1564
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It turned out the Chancellor had postponed his meeting with the bankers, due to his having to save the Euro or some such thing. Personally, I doubt he could save anything, but then I am a Guardian reader.
The upshot was that Simon could take the day off and that meant I could go shopping. It also meant I told the kids I was going food shopping, so they weren’t very interested in coming with me.
So dressed very casually, well one doesn’t dress to the nines to go to the supermarket does one, certainly some of the photos I’ve seen of shoppers at Walmart, they don’t in the US.
I parked the car and went off to the shops and two hours later I had an outfit for each of the girls, some musical boxers for Danny–as a joke, plus a voucher for his new boots. I also bought Julie a couple of nightdresses–tee shirt ones, which she’d need for her stay in hospital. You need short ones for obvious reasons.
Tom got a pair of trousers, a new pair of secateurs and some socks, Stella a pair of boots I know she’d admired. Julie had got me an outfit for Caroline, so that was sorted. I bought clothes and toys for the three littlies as well.
I was making great progress until I ran into Sister Maria–yes the headmistress–who spotted me as I walked past a nice coffee shop. Somehow I let her persuade me to have a coffee–to wish me a Merry Christmas.
She ordered the coffees and cakes–well you need something to soak up all that caffeine–and then got to work. “Have you had time to think about being a school governor?”
“Yes.”
“Oh good, so you’ll do it?”
“No. I don’t think I’d be a good choice.”
“Of course you would.”
“I’m a born again agnostic.”
“Religious diversity is good.”
“You’d say that if I’d said Satanist, wouldn’t you?”
She smiled back at me and winked, “I wouldn’t have believed you, though.”
“But you do for the agnosticism?”
“Yes, your views are well known and sadly are occasionally shared by your children.”
“So, I like them to be able to form proper opinions.”
“At six and seven, are they able to do that?”
“If that’s the case how come you can teach them Catholicism, aren’t they too young for that, as well?”
“We are a church school.”
“But you teach them history and geography, or is that propaganda too–the sun moving round the earth and the Armada reached England?”
“It’s not propaganda, it’s Catholic tradition.”
“Which is paganism dressed up with Latin words and the name Jesus inserted here and there.”
“I think it’s a bit more than that, Lady Cameron.”
“So you actually believe the Bethlehem stable stuff, do you?”
“It’s reported in the Gospels.”
“So, if Mary was subject to a virgin birth, how come the child wasn’t a girl?”
“Because he was to be the son of God.”
“Where’d he get the Y chromosome from unless Mary was a mosaic form of chromosome carrier.”
“It was a miracle.”
“That’s a cop out and you know it! The reality is, there never was a virgin birth because there probably wasn’t a Yeshu born to a Miriam in a stable in Bethlehem in the first place.”
She blushed, a Christmas carol sounded in the background. “Are you always so aggressive?” she asked.
“Only when I find intellectual laziness opposing reason.”
“Alright, so much of this is taken as an act of faith and is allegorical to an extent.”
“Faith is an emotional thing based upon belief, which is also emotional. There is no logic involved, you just cop out with belief every time.”
“If you’re trying to cause me to question my belief, it won’t work you know?”
“I’m not trying to make you do anything except see why I’m unsuitable as a governor for your school–and when I start teaching again after Christmas, I won’t have time.”
“I’m sorry you find me intellectually lazy.”
“That’s only ‘cos I’m aggressive.”
“I so badly want to keep liking you, Lady Cameron, but sometimes you make it so difficult.”
“I’d rather you respected me than liked me.”
“I do that already, but I also know you’re a really nice person, who’d do anything for someone in need.”
“With the possible exception of being a school governor.”
“Yes, with that exception. Now I shall have to look harder and find someone who could take your place.”
“I do have one name, who might just bite if you bait the hook with enough kudos.”
“Oh, and who would that be?”
“It’s a man, is that a problem?”
“Not at all, who is it?”
“Professor Agnew and he’s daft enough to believe, too.”
“And how would it be best to contact him?”
“Leave it with me.”
“You are very unpredictable, Lady C.”
“That’s really interesting, Simon is always saying the opposite until I catch him unawares.”
“You seem full of surprises. If you won’t be a governor, would you do a talk for the school again, like you did last year?”
“I’d need to think about it–I could do one on parthenogenesis.”
“Whatever that is.”
“Unfertilised birth.”
“I thought we’d called a truce about that.”
“Okay, how about evolution and Darwin?”
“Are you trying to annoy me, because I refuse to bite.”
“Ask Tom Agnew once you get him on the board, he’s quite a good speaker.”
“Isn’t he broad Scots–I don’t wish to sound racist but he can be difficult to understand.”
“He speaks English when he’s teaching, he only lapses when he relaxes and you get to understand him eventually. I suppose Aramaic wouldn’t be too easy either, would it?”
“Does he speak that too?”
“No but Mary and Joseph would have, and presumably any offspring they were alleged to have.”
“Meaning what?”
“That if the woman who you claimed to have given birth to your god were to come here you wouldn’t understand a word she said.”
“We would. Our Lady speaks to us all the time.”
“Um, I might have a bit of difficulty with that one seeing as she’s two thousand years old.”
“Remember the Assumption.”
“I think that might be too big an assumption for me.”
“Of course, science can explain everything.”
“Not yet, but it’s more plausible a belief than superstition.”
Sister Maria glared at me, “I think perhaps I’d better go and finish my shopping.”
“Don’t take personally anything I said, Sister Maria, you’re doing a good job as you are.”
“So why did you say those things?”
“Because I can’t honestly believe that anyone who is worthy of a degree can believe in fairies and other things.”
“Perhaps because we speak from personal conviction based on experience, not intellect like yourself, or have you had such a poor experience that it closed your mind to religious experience? How d’you think the healing you’ve done works. You were chosen by God to His work.”
“In which case he got the wrong girl, perhaps he should have chosen you.”
“He doesn’t make mistakes, Cathy.”
“Don’t get me started on that one,” I said tersely.
“I must go, Merry Christmas, Cathy.”
“Yes, you too.”
“I’ll pray for you.” She left before I could give her a riposte, as I feel she’s going to be calling a disconnected number.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1565
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After my unscheduled and difficult meeting with Sister Maria, I headed home via the supermarket and picked up a few things–yeah, and a few more and before long I’d got a trolley load and another hundred quid disappeared. I did buy myself a treat, though quite how I’d hide them from the others, I wasn’t sure.
The treat was a pack of Lotus biscuits which I’d only ever had in restaurants and cafes with a cuppa as a complimentary biscuit and then they come individually wrapped. I’d seen an ad on the back of the last one saying they available from supermarkets but had never seen them before, so I grabbed a pack and they are currently in the glove box of my car, awaiting a chance for me to smuggle them into the house and down to my study–I reckon I can put a box or tin in my desk or something to keep them fresh and hide them. Well, I’m sure Simon has stranger things in his desk drawer–I must ask him if ever he discovers my dark secret.
Waiting at traffic lights I noticed that the skin on my cheeks and nose seemed rather dry–okay, female skin is drier than male, and hormones make it drier still, cold weather tends to shrivel it up even more. I need to up the amount of moisturiser I’m using. Damn the lights have changed before I’d finished looking in my vanity mirror and Horatio Hornblower is driving behind me. I deliberately stalled the car to make him wait even longer and then pulled off quickly on the amber. Serve him right.
I got home and Simon and the kids were playing Monopoly–don’t they ever learn? Guess who was in the lead–it wasn’t my hubby–that’s for sure. I unloaded the car with help from Danny who’d been fiddling with some bits of wood by the fireplace. I was grateful for his help but it meant I couldn’t bring in my biccies.
I took the presents through to my study while he put the food away and by sleight of hand got my biccies in hidden in a bag from Debenham’s. A moment later they were in my desk drawer and I had a legitimate reason to lock the office to protect the presents. Then I had a brainwave–I’d hide Danny’s stuff and he could help me wrap the girl’s prezzies. See I’m not just a pretty face.
I called him after removing his stuff from view and he agreed to help me. We spent quite a nice hour together while the girls fleeced Simon at Monopoly. Good job it was only a board game or he’d have been employed by them–I’m sure that Livvie and Trish would have taken possession of his bank within a few rounds. I don’t know if it teaches them anything but ruthless capitalism, but it gave me a chance to get their stuff wrapped so saved me a bit of time in the evenings between now and Christmas morning.
With Danny’s help we soon filled the large cardboard box I’d kept for storing the presents and I only had to wrap his. In the supermarket, I bought a few amaryllis bulbs, so the older girls could plant something and watch it grow and Meems I bought a hyacinth, which was already planted.
Danny grumbled that he didn’t have anything like that and he quite liked seeing things grow. I knew that, he helped Tom in the garden quite a lot, so I bought him a propagator and some seeds and compost, so he could start to grow some plants in the early spring–in his case I thought vegetables might be more suitable, so it had things like broad beans and peas. So a bit more challenging than a bulb in pot which grows so long as you remember to water it occasionally, as seedlings will need to be pricked out and so on, which I know Tom will enjoy teaching him.
I had to find a way to explain to Tom that I hadn’t so much dropped him in it as given him a way to show he believed in the importance of early education by becoming a school governor.
So after dinner that evening, when he was feeling mellow and well fed on Dover sole, it had been a very expensive meal, but I like that particular fish and I couldn’t see the others settling for cod and chips while I wolfed down a whole sole. I topped up his coffee and not so much dropped the bombshell as placed a mine under him.
“I’m so pleased with the way that Trish and Livvie are doing in school, and Danny isn’t doing too badly either since I got him some coaching.” I should add the coaching was in football skills but he had to improve his marks before I’d arrange it. It did the trick, so it’s sometimes about motivation–if his average drops, so does his coaching. At present both have improved.
“Aye it’s a guid school, a’richt, mind ye, t shuld be f’ thae monny yer payin’.”
“But I think school education is so important don’t you, without a good start they don’t come on to us, do they?”
“They dinna, sae ye’re richt as ever.”
“But so many schools don’t do the job properly, do they, Daddy, they don’t educate children ready for university?”
“Aye, that’s richt enough.”
“So why aren’t the universities doing something about it?”
“Daein’ somethin’ aboot it–we dae, we complain tae the Department each year, f’ a’ thae guid it daes.”
“Why not do something locally, show them what’s needed?”
“Like whit?”
“Get yourself involved with one of the schools.”
“Cathy, I hae enough tae dae.”
“But if you were on a board of governors, you could influence things without too much input, four or five meetings a year.”
“Aye an’ wha’s gonna ask me tae do this,” he rolled his eyes in disbelief.
“Actually, I have just the person.”
“Whit?” he almost choked on his coffee.
“Sister Maria was asking me earlier today if you’d be interested in becoming a school governor, and with your CV and experience, I couldn’t think of anyone better qualified and it gives you a chance to keep the educational standards up for university entrance.”
“She’s right, Tom,” agreed Simon and Stella nodded.
“This is a bloody fait accompli, ye scunner,” he glared at me.
“Would I do that to you?”
“Yes ye wuld, ye schemin’ vixen.”
“No, Tom, scheming dormouse is more Cathy.”
He gave Simon a withering glance then laughed. “Aye, a’richt, I’ll hae a chat wi’ her.”
“I knew you’d be good at it, Daddy,” and pecked him on the cheek.
“Aye but not as guid as ye’re at schemin’.”
I shrugged, if you’ve got it flaunt it, if you haven’t scheme for it.
I sent the headmistress an email a bit later while I drank my tea and ate a couple of the Lotus biscuits without anyone knowing–I felt really naughty, a bit like I did when I used to change into a skirt in my bedsit before it got out.
It had been a strange kind of day, what with the row–well–assertive discussion with Sister Maria, the shopping and then wrapping of the presents–I still had Danny’s to do, so while he was in bed, I wrapped his and put them in the box with the others.
A strange day, but one where I actually managed to complete one or two things, which made a nice change. Tom and Simon were still arguing in the kitchen when I set the bread machine to make a loaf for breakfast and Simon beamed at me–he loves his bread–but it’s beginning to show. He doesn’t know it yet but his New Year resolution is to lose some weight, but I’ll probably lose as much chasing him to either diet or exercise.
I kissed them both good night, checked the children and went to bed. I didn’t hear Simon arrive so I must have been asleep.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1566
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“Mummy?”
I glanced through weary eyes at the voice from the other side of the table. “Yes, poppet.”
“You know we’re not having anyone else to dinner on Christmas.”
Where was Julie leading with this one? “Not at the moment, why?”
“I wondered if I could invite a friend?”
“You could I suppose, who is it?”
“Um–a girl I know.” The body language and blushes meant this was more than just a friend.
“Who–what’s her name?”
“Tash–um–Natasha, she works at the salon and doesn’t have any family.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty, I think, why?”
“She’s a special friend is she?”
“How did you guess?” she looked very coy and embarrassed.
“You told me, or your body did.”
“My body?”
“Yes, you blushed and acted very differently to how you would were you talking about anyone else at the salon. How come she’s got no family at only twenty?”
“Okay, she’s gay–okay–they don’t like it so she left them.”
“Julie, I don’t have a problem with it and I doubt anyone else will either providing you’re discreet.”
“Discreet, what’s that supposed to mean? It means you don’t like her ’cos she’s gay.”
“Please sit down and let me finish before you jump to conclusions which are erroneous in the extreme. I told you I have no objections to anyone on the grounds of their sex, gender or orientation providing it’s between consenting adults. So by all means invite your friend, but if you’re going to have a face sucking contest, please go somewhere private to do it. I’d say exactly the same to you if you brought a boy here.”
She sat down again, “So, by private, you mean if we went up to my room?”
Now it was my turn to blush. She’s eighteen, so legally an adult but it’s in my household–oh boy, the problems don’t get any smaller as the kids get bigger.
“I think I’d be happier to think that you wouldn’t go the whole way until after your surgery and you knew her a bit better. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“What d’you mean, all the way?”
I was aware she wasn’t taking her hormones at the moment so something could start working again and if it did and this Tash girl got pregnant? No, think of something positive.
“I mean, no penetrative sex, a kiss a cuddle and a fondle. That should be enough, surely.”
“Penetrative? She’s lesbian, Mum–doh.”
“I’m just concerned that in the heat of the moment she could allow you to use something before you lose it in a couple of week’s time.”
“She’s gay, she doesn’t do boys.”
“You’re not a boy, except in one small place–but one small place could cause lot of trouble, and people do strange things in the throes of passion.”
“Is this a confessional?” she beamed at me.
I blushed a bright pillar box red, “No it isn’t–but you’re still under my rules here.”
“Relax, Mum, she wouldn’t be interested in doing that, and neither am I–okay? Girl guide’s honour, dib dib dib and all that.” She did a Guide’s salute with three fingers raised.
“Okay, she can come but you behave and not frighten your grandfather.”
“Fricht? Wha’s gonna fricht me?” Tom drifted into the room.
“Morning, Daddy, oh I was just telling Julie she could have her friend here for Christmas dinner but they weren’t to wear anything too outrageous.”
“Yeah, my friend Tash.”
“Tash? Daes she hae hair on her lip?”
Julie laughed, “No, Gramps, her name is Natasha, but everyone calls her Tash.”
“Och, noo I ken.”
“She’s gay,” added Julie and Tom nearly choked on his coffee.
“She’s whit?”
“She’s a lesbian–like me.”
He recovered very quickly. “I see, sae whit d’ye want me tae dae?”
“Nothing, Gramps, but I didn’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Misunderstandings? Whit d’ye think I’d make a pass at her?”
“No, I–um...” Julie blushed scarlet.
“I think Julie just wanted to tell you that this is her girlfriend.” I interrupted and hoped that would close the matter. “Toast?”
“Aye, jest thae one.” He looked at Julie, “I’ve been dealin’ wi’ gay boys an’ girls for forty year an’ nivver had a problem yet; sae I think ye’ll both be safe wi’ me.”
“Of course, sorry, Gramps, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s okay, hen, no offence tak’n.” She walked over and pecked him on the cheek and he put his arm round her. I gave them some privacy making the toast until I heard her say she was off to work. She pecked me on the cheek and collecting her coat and bag left.
I offered Daddy the plate of toast and he took a slice. “It’s her first crush–so it’s deadly serious, and she’s very sensitive about it.”
He simply shrugged. “I’ll love her whit ever she is or wants tae be?”
“I think that probably goes for the rest of us too, Daddy, but at the moment it’s important that we tell her that. She’s growing up fast and in a couple of weeks she has a very important moment to deal with.”
He paused eating his toast, thought for a moment then remembered what was happening to Julie in a couple of weeks. “Och, her operation.”
“Yes, I have no doubt she wants it and that she’ll be pleased when it’s over, but I think she might be a little scared of it, she is only eighteen and it’s quite young to make such a permanent decision.”
“Why, d’ye think she’s tae young?”
“I hope not–but I made a promise to her if she waited until she was eighteen, I’d help her get the surgery. I think she’s ready for it, but I can’t say I’m certain because it is a very big step to take for her.”
“Surely, she couldnae go back tae bein’ a boy again?”
“I doubt it, she has rather rounded out a bit and I don’t think she’d pass as a boy even if she wanted to.” I’d never seen her as a boy nor much of anything boyish in her.
“Whit’s Caroline goin’ tae say?” He was more perceptive than I gave him credit for at times.
“That I cannot say.” I think any romantic feelings there were purely Caroline’s who I think lusted after Julie but did control it, so it wasn’t a problem–thank goodness. I did think she was too old for Julie so someone nearer her own age sounded better. I couldn’t place this Tash girl at the salon, so she could be new or possibly a customer.
“Ye’re happy wi’ her daein’ this?”
“Which the surgery or having her friend here?”
“Her friend.”
“As happy as I can be. Julie has had a troubled life so I’d be happy to see her happy. If this girl makes her happy, I’ll be pleased for her. But teen romances often don’t last, so we have to wait and see and help her as we can. It’s all very new for her and with this operation hanging over her like the sword of Damocles, she’s got lots to think about. As to her orientation–that’s her affair, I’ll do whatever I can to support her, as you just said–we’re her family and we’ll always be there for her as long as she’s honest with us.”
“Aye, we will.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1567
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“Shouldn’t you be counting money somewhere?” I said to Simon as he appeared at the table.
“Don’t,” he said rather thickly, “I think I’m going down with man-flu.”
“Take some zinc, there’s some in the bathroom cabinet.”
“I want to get rid of it not waterproof it.”
“Zinc apparently can help to boost the immune system and is proven to help with colds if taken at the first sign.”
“It’s not just a cold, it’s much worse than that,” he sneezed for emphasis.
“Just don’t give it to Julie, she’ll never forgive you.”
“I thought we’d bought her an iPad to give her.” He smiled weakly.
Caroline arrived and she was coughing and spluttering, “Sorry,” she croaked, “I’ve got a very sore throat.”
“Right you guys, Julie has asked if she can invite her girlfriend to Christmas dinner, and I told her she could.”
Caroline’s face flinched but then she was about to cough. “Girlfriend?” asked Simon.
“Yes, like boyfriend and girlfriend, or in her case girlfriend and girlfriend.”
“She’s um–er...” spluttered Si.
“She’s lesbian, yes.”
He coughed. I poured him an orange juice and he sipped it. “This girl is gay, then?”
“That’s what lesbians are usually called, yes.”
“An’ you’re alright with that?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I? Nor do you–none of us do. It’s Julie’s affair how she sees herself sexually, nothing to do with us except to accept her.”
He sneezed loudly, “I’m going back to bed, I feel awful.”
“I think I will too, if that’s alright, Cathy?” Caroline peered over her glass of juice.
“Yes of course, but do try and eat something, you’ll feel better–remember the saying, feed a cold and starve a fever.”
I couldn’t tempt either of them, so I let them go back to their beds. Danny came to the kitchen moments before a gaggle, or should that be, giggle, of girls appeared. They were in high spirits, buoyed by the imminence of Christmas within a matter of days. They each opened a new date on their advent calendars and scoffed the chocolate. Hopefully wasn’t going to be a problem with this sitting.
I helped them make toast and encouraged them to take a vitamin and multi-mineral pill. This is mainly because they stay in to school dinners during term time, so I hope it means they get everything they need including good ol’ Zn.
“What are we doing today, Mummy?”
“I have some chores to do, which you can help me with if you like...” The sullen faces seemed to indicate they didn’t. “...okay, we won’t do that afterwards because there won’t be time by the time I’ve finished my chores.”
“Do what, Mummy?”
“It’s pointless me telling you because I won’t have time. Caroline isn’t very well and neither is Daddy, so I have to do most of the jobs today.”
“I’ll help if you tell me what we were going to do.” Livvie was trying to negotiate.
“I haven’t got time to discuss it now, I have things to do, so if you’re not going to help then clear off out of my way–I’ve got soup to make.”
“I’ll help you make soup, Mummy,” offered Trish.
“What can I do?” asked Meems.
“You and Livvie can do the dusting and the vacuuming, take it in turns–Liv, you do the Dyson in the lounge, and Meems you dust in there, and then swap over in the dining room.”
They went off squabbling then came back saying the Dyson smelt of soot. I gave them the other vacuum cleaner and then had a brainwave, I got Danny to clean out all the filters on the Dyson but to be careful and note how he got them out and put them back the same way. He was quite taken with an opportunity to dismantle something–we had the instruction book as well–I just hoped I wouldn’t spend half of Christmas rebuilding my best vacuum cleaner.
Trish and I peeled veg and washed them, then chopped or diced different things and added them to the steaming pan of stock. In half an hour I could leave it to simmer while she cleaned up the sink, and I went to check on the others. Livvie was flitting about like the Sugar Plum Fairy using the feather duster as a magic wand, while Meems was pushing the vacuum cleaner with grim determination. They weren’t actually damaging anything so I left them to it and went on to check how Danny was coping with my Dyson.
He’d actually done rather well and I helped him reassemble much of it and to both our surprises, it worked afterwards and much of the sooty smell had gone. We both laughed at the memory of Caroline covered from head to toe in the stuff but it must have been quite unpleasant.
We ate the soup and fresh bread–remember I made some for breakfast which we didn’t need–for lunch and I took the seriously ill pair a bowl of soup and a wodge of bread–which they both ate, so obviously their conditions were worsening–I didn’t know whether to send for the doctor or a drama critic.
The treat I was talking about was to take Kiki for a walk up through the old farm and round to the woodland beyond it. Amazingly, all wrapped up in coats and wellington boots, they seemed up for it–there were squabbles about who should take the dog, but once again I made them share the duty. Meems was quite happy to walk holding my hand so I left to to the other three to take turns at being dragged behind the dog.
At about the half way stage I produced a small drink and a chocolate bar for everyone which went down very well. In return for us walking his hound, Tom was sharing the babysitting with Stella, who’d done very little else except drip milk everywhere and consume food and drink. At times I think her laziness drives me to distraction. Once I calm down I realise she has problems as well as being bone idle by nature, but occasionally I have make a little dig at her that I’m actually the mistress of the house not the hired help.
We’d got back about twenty minutes when the rain started and I felt very grateful that it had held off–to whom I felt grateful I’m not sure, but today, the weather was alright, usually, it spoils things. Danny was rinsing off the boots before we put them in the cupboard and he dashed in to say it was precipitating, or words something like that–on the other hand he might have been talking about vegetables, peas in particular if I remember correctly.
Simon had roused himself by this time and was sitting in the lounge watching the television. Caroline was still in bed and I checked on her when I had a few minutes. Apart from her cold, she’d been crying.
“Want to tell me about it?” I said quietly.
“I think you know what’s upset me.”
“Apart from the cold?”
“Yes.”
“I can guess, Julie and her friend?”
“Yes,” she sniffed and wiped her nose.
“She’s a teenager, Caroline, and a free spirit.”
“I thought she had feelings for me,” she sobbed.
“I’m sure she does, in fact I know she does, but not of the sort you may have thought.”
“I always get things wrong–who’s going to want a thing like me?”
“At this very moment, not many, but when you feel better and back to your normal self, you can look quite attractive.” Okay, I was exaggerating a little to boost her moral but she hasn’t been transitioning that long, so needs to refine her look a bit more–she’ll get there but it takes time.
“Not compared with you, you look so natural–but then you always did, even that time in school. D’you know half the sixth form fancied you?”
“I’m glad I didn’t then–goodness knows what would have happened. But I do have a bit of a head start on most people–remember my body doesn’t do testosterone–so my shape was just waiting for something to fire up the puberty which happened with alarming rapidity once I began taking pills.”
“Didn’t your parents wonder about that–you know, voice not deepening and so on?”
“No, it meant I wasn’t out ravishing girls and my size remained fairly constant so clothing fitted for ages. It also meant I was seen as the school weirdo–but then you knew that.”
“You were my heroine,” she said sneezing.
“Sounds like you’re allergic to me these days.” That made her laugh and she promised to come down for dinner a bit later.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1568
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The next day was Christmas Eve, and that meant all hands to the pumps. Simon had gone into the bank, to an office in Portsmouth, to sign some letters and speak with his team. He takes over officially after New Year so he’s been picking his senior management team–actually most are the ones who were there before–but he likes to pretend he’s in charge.
I spent the morning doing last minute shopping hoping the butcher would deliver all the stuff I’d ordered after I’d got home. Danny and Livvie came with me and we flew round the supermarket with a long list of things.
Then it was home and tidying everything away and clearing up. I nearly didn’t hear the butcher call because I was busy with the vacuum cleaner on the stairs. Trish heard the bell and answered the door. I paid the man and she helped me load the turkey and other bits into the fridge–thank goodness I remembered to make some space for it.
I left them all with bits to do and sneaked out for a short while, returning without any of them noticing. If they had, I’d have said I went to top up the car with diesel. I came back into the house carrying some logs and set about lighting the fire in the lounge. The bed of the hearth was still warm from the previous fire so the kindling caught very quickly and within minutes the logs were starting to crackle and spit as they began to burn. I put the fireguard up and switched on the lights on the tree. It wasn’t my favourite time of year but it looked as if Christmas was on its way.
Tonight we were having a steak and kidney pie, so I made the pastry–like hell–I had some premade stuff which works just as well and takes half the effort. I rolled it with Trish watching me, and fitted it to the large dish I was going to use. I took the meat and mushrooms with some onion, which had been simmering for a short time and spooned it into the pastry lined dish then rolled a lid for the pie, making a vent in the centre which I lined with a little rim of pastry and Trish then helped me decorate the pie with leaves we cut from the remainder of the pastry. I painted it with milk, and popped it in the oven.
The bits of pastry which were left over, I let Trish roll into a small turnover which we filled with some mincemeat–which is anything but meat, being a mixture of chopped fruits and spices and used to fill the Christmas mince pies. The originals had real meat in them but these days we use sweetmeats. We popped that in the oven as well and an hour later, we each had a little slice of Trish’s mince pie with a drink of tea.
This year I had hoped to make my own stuffing, oven drying the breadcrumbs and so on, but with Jenny gone, I had to save time and use a packet one. They’re not too bad but it isn’t the same–but like so much of home cooking, it is time consuming, chopping onion and sage, so as I said, it would be a packet variety. I usually added some garlic and one or two other bits and pieces to make it more memorable, but that was for tomorrow.
Julie was out this evening and I had cautioned her about drinking and driving, saying that if she hurt herself, her operation would be postponed indefinitely, and I know Simon would reconsider funding it if she was done for drink driving. I hoped I could trust her.
Caroline was well enough to dish up dinner, so I dashed off to Southampton to see Jenny. I’d heard she was doing quite well considering her injuries and I’d bought her a dressing gown, nightie and slippers for a Christmas present.
I entered the ward and her bed was pointed out. She was sitting in a wheel chair and chatting to another patient. When she saw me she looked in pain, but I think that was more embarrassment than anything. I hadn’t seen her to speak with since her accident.
“Hello, Jenny, how are you?”
“Pretty good, thanks, Cathy.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve brought your Christmas present. It’s all labelled so you’ll be able to see which is from whom.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Is that a surprise?” I asked in mock horror.
“No, of course not–you were the best boss ever.”
“Still am, if you want to continue working for me.”
“What? You’d take me back after what I did?”
“I never let you go, so you still have a month’s notice to work.”
She seemed unable to work out if I was joking or not. I was, as it happened, but I did want her back, even if she wasn’t that capable of working.
“Then you sack me.”
“Did I say anything about that?”
“Um–no.” She looked into her lap and the tears came–they had to–to wash away her guilt. She did steal from me, which wasn’t very nice but then she was easily led and had fallen for the wrong sort of bloke, who abused her and pushed off and then she’d jumped off the motorway bridge and miraculously survived. “I’m so sorry, Cathy, I really am.”
I sat with her and held her while she sobbed her apologies, which I knew were heartfelt. I also knew she wanted to come back, but felt that her place had been taken by Caroline. I suppose it had, or rather some of her chores had been taken over by Caroline, but no one had replaced her.
The catharsis over, we drank a cuppa together and she brought me up to date on her progress, it would still take months before they discharged her, as she needed physio and other things to keep her going. I also could see she was on a catheter bag for urine–not unexpected in a spinal injury. I knew that once I got her home I could help her to regain some of her previous skills and possibly some of her mobility. However, I couldn’t say any of that until she came home, which so far she hadn’t said she would.
“I’d like you to come back to work for me.”
“Like this?” she pointed to the wheelchair.
“Half a loaf is better than no bread at all.”
“For who?” she looked at me with more tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I could face you all, sitting in this thing.”
“At least you’d be amongst friends who love you lots.”
“It’s so tempting, but what would I be able to do?”
“I’ll find things for you to do, don’t you worry, and Caroline still needs some supervision.”
“I’d be queering her pitch though, wouldn’t I?”
“She knows you’re coming back, she is more than happy for it. In fact she rather looks forward to it.” That was speculation, I didn’t know any of it other than we had discussed Jenny’s return with Caroline who hadn’t voiced any objections.
“Gosh, it’s a lot to think about.”
“Well you have a little think while I speak with the ward sister.” I went off to speak with the woman I assumed was in charge and she was in navy blue, which is the usual colour of sister grade nurses.
I asked her a couple of questions and she made a short phone call. “Okay,” she said.
“Great. I’ll tell her.”
“Okay, kiddo, here’s what we’re doing. We’re packing.”
“Packing?”
“Yes, you’re coming home for Christmas.”
“What?” She burst into tears.
“Unless you’d rather stay in this place?”
“No,” she sobbed shaking her head in disbelief.
I left her to recover and continued putting her stuff in her case. We cleared her locker and she put her personal things in her handbag.
“How have you managed this?”
“I offered Simon as a hostage.”
“You what?” Then she worked out what I’d said and laughed. “You’re still as crazy as ever.”
“So they say. The bad news is I have to bring you back on Tuesday.”
“So, at least I’ll get a bit of a break.”
“Absolutely, so let’s go Jo–or should that be Jen?”
“How are you going to cope with me and all your children?”
“I’m not, they can look after you, and you can look after them–I’m just going to cook my dinner and get rolling drunk.”
“Can I get drunk too?”
“No, not on my booze,” I said with a serious face then we both laughed like drains.
“I haven’t got the children anything.”
“Any what?”
“Presents.”
“They get plenty–the real gift to them will be seeing you–that’s better than something in gift wrap under the tree.” I’d actually bought something small for her to give them, which were in the back of the car. If they hadn’t released her I’d have said I’d brought them back from her. If they’d wondered how she’d got them, I’d have had to make something up.
The sister gave me a bag of bits which Jenny would need to use and that included her medication. She gave me a quick chart of that, mainly pain killers but also something to help with bowels and so on. You don’t think about all this when you can walk.
I was given a quick course in transferring her from a chair to a bed and they loaned me a special board thing as well. I had to sign for it all and finally, half an hour later we were going down in the lift and her first sight of freedom for weeks.
“I can’t believe I’m going home for Christmas,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
“Mother Christmas strikes again,” I said loudly as the door of the lift opened and some old couple gave me a very funny look.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1569
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The journey home was fairly straightforward once I’d helped Jenny into the car, with the wheelchair folded in the boot alongside her case and the presents I'd taken for her and for her to give the children.
We chatted and she was so relieved to be out of the hospital, albeit just for a weekend. On getting home, I called Simon out to help me and he was gobsmacked. He did however pick her up like she was a doll and carried her into the house while I ran behind with the wheelchair.
Once repositioned, we wheeled her in and met the family, all except Julie whom it appearred was staying with Tash overnight, and I suspect not to go to the carol service.
Jenny was mobbed by the girls and then more gently by Danny and the other adults including Caroline. I made us some tea and then quietly ate a sandwich, as I hadn’t had any of the pie I’d made earlier.
The rest of the evening was taken up by bringing a bed downstairs into the library for our guest, and she was to call my mobile if she needed anything in the night. Caroline and I would help her with her medication and Stella and I would help with washing her and toileting. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was doable and we were going to do it.
A little later Trish came to speak with me. “Are you going to do some healing on Jenny?”
“It might be too late, darling, the injuries are old now and they might not be suitable for any healing.”
“You’re gonna try though, aren’t you?”
“You don’t think I got her here just to help me stuff the turkey, do you?”
“Oh goody-good, can I help you when you, like do it?”
“Stuff the turkey?”
“No,” she rolled her eyes and waved her hands about, “silly, heal Jenny.”
“Of course, sweetheart, I’m going to need all the help I can get. Something we’ll need to take into account is whether she wants us to try.”
“Of course she will, she isn’t stupid, Mummy.”
“No, but you have to bear in mind that if we try and it doesn’t work, she could feel even more hopeless than before. If we do it, she has to understand the possible outcomes, and a negative one is one of those.”
“I thought we had to believe in it?” Trish looked puzzled.
“No that’s Father Christmas.”
She rolled her eyes and went off again.
Later just before I went off to bed, I went to wish Jenny a good night’s sleep. “You know, this place seems so familiar and yet different.”
“You’re seeing it through different eyes. The house is the same, it’s you who has changed.”
“Don’t I know it,” she pointed to the chair.
“Julie will be surprised when she comes in tomorrow.”
“With her girlfriend?”
“Yes, a girl called Natasha, or Tash for short.”
“Lucky thing; to have a future and someone to love her.”
“We all have futures.”
“Mine went for a burton, with that bastard Burton.”
“Is that the man who told you he loved you?”
“Yes, I was a fool–I’ll never believe a man again.”
“Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, most men are okay, some are magic and some are shits.”
“How come I always meet the shits? Cathy, why I do I always end up with them?” She began to cry. “And look at me now, who’s going to want some fool in a wheelchair. I wish I’d died, why couldn’t you let me go? I wanted to die–this is your revenge is it–because I took that stupid ballet dancer thing. You’re going to punish me–that’s it, isn’t it? You got me here to get your own back.” She ranted at me and for one of the few times in my life I actually hit someone. I slapped her on the face. It had the desired effect in shutting her up.
“I’ll tell you why I brought you here. We see ourselves as your family, and we actually care about what happens to you. I brought you here because this is where you belong, amongst people who love you. I also brought you here because I hoped it might help to heal the trauma you’ve undergone in the injuries, the shock and the shame. I brought you here because I wanted to show you you could still have a future, here with us–that some sort of life was possible. It seems I was mistaken.
“The ballet dancer thing, was important, but we managed to recover that. It was important because it belonged to my Mum, and despite the way she sometimes treated me, I know she loved me and I loved her. Obviously these things are not important to you. Go to sleep now, if you’re so unhappy here, I’ll take you back to the hospital tomorrow.”
I got up and walked away from her–I knew this was coming, this storm. It had to for healing to take place. You have to debride a wound to encourage granulation tissue to form. I was trying to do that, I hoped it had worked or I would be driving to Southampton tomorrow.
“What’s the matter with you?” Simon said as I got into bed.
“I think I might have made a huge mistake.”
“Come and tell me all about it,” he said and wrapped me in a hug.
I explained what I was trying to do with Jenny. “I thought as much. Look if it works, it will be positive, if it doesn’t at least you had a try. If she goes back to the hospital, then we know she really has changed and perhaps in which case it would be just as well if she did go. It’s up to her–you’ve done your bit. C’mon, get to sleep, busy day tomorrow.”
His understatement was true. The girls had us up at six and they’d been waiting for an hour before they disturbed us. I checked on Jenny when I got downstairs, she was still asleep. So the children were really quiet during breakfast, which was a bigger surprise than if I’d bumped into some old fat bloke in a red suit coming down the chimney.
Once the breakfast was cleared, I put on the oven to warm and prepared the bird. Trish went to see Jenny and told me she was awake. Caroline took over in the kitchen, while the girls went to wash and dress. Stella came down and between us we washed and dressed Jenny after toileting her. It was hard work and Stella kept saying, “Ah this takes me back a bit to my student days.” I was tempted to say something rude, but didn’t.
I did Jenny a breakfast of porridge and some fruit with a cup of coffee. On returning to collect the dirty dishes, she asked me to wait a moment. “I don’t have a lot of time, Jenny, so if you want to go back to the hospital, just say so.”
“I don’t. I mean I don’t want to go back there. You were right last night, I do belong here. I wish I could help.”
“You can, I have to go out in a little while, you can come with me if you want.”
“Yeah, course I will, where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you just yet. I’ll explain later.”
“Okay, count me in, can I go in the chair?”
“No, we’ll need the car.”
“Okay.”
I told Caroline what I needed her to do and shoved the turkey in the oven. It was going to take a few hours. Then I checked the girls who trooped off with Tom to go to church. Once the coast was clear, I got myself cleaned up and dressed and a little later helped Jenny get her coat on.
We got into the car and after loading her chair I drove off. A short time later I pulled into the cemetery and unloaded her. I wrapped her legs in the blanket and gave her the flowers to carry as I pushed her.
I left her a few yards away while I spoke with Billie, Catherine and Tom’s late wife, Celia. I took the flowers and placed them on the grave. Then I gave Jenny a chance to reflect on her time with Billie before we left and went back home to the warmth of the kitchen.
“Nice kid,” said Jenny as we drove back.
“Yes she was.”
I’d promised her I’d return at Christmas so she wouldn’t be left out, I’d also placed a card to her when I lit the fire the day before. I know, I’m crazy, but I’m coping with this the best way I can.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1570
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“It shoulda been me who died, not some innocent kid with her life in front of her.”
“You what?” I was busy chopping vegetables. Jenny was seated in her chair at the table preparing sprouts–well it’s not Christmas unless Tom falls asleep in the chair after lunch and farts himself silly–must make sure he doesn’t sit too close to the fire–you know, methane is explosive.
“It should have been me who died, not Billie.”
“I don’t see the relevance of that statement unless peeling sprouts has turned your mind.”
“It’s quite easy to see, she died and I lived–it should have been the other way round.”
“How could it be the other way round? This wasn’t some contract with some vengeful god, it was an accident–she crashed her bike and suffered a brain aneurysm. She was dead in moments and could actually have suffered the aneurysm before the accident. You tried to kill yourself–you made a decision–a stupid one. You survived. It isn’t negotiable, so stop punishing yourself.”
I heard a car pull into the drive. Minutes later, Julie arrived with Tash. Part of me would like to say Tash was seven feet tall and had a hairy chest, but she wasn’t, she was young, extremely beautiful, with a figure to die for.
“Hi, Mummy, this is Tash.”
We shook hands and Julie glanced across the kitchen.
“Jenny? My god, it is Jenny.” She literally ran to her and they hugged and cried together.
“Jenny was my housekeeper until she had a nasty road accident,” I told Tash.
“Ah, so Julie didn’t know she would be here?”
“No, I got her from hospital last night, just for the Christmas weekend.”
“A nice surprise. Is there anything I can do to help with the dinner?”
“How about we all have a cuppa–I’m gasping for one.” I suggested, and Tash spotted the kettle and filled it.
“You coulda told me, Mummy.” Julie was wiping her smeared mascara.
“I didn’t know until last night that they’d let Jenny out with me. Mind you, if she doesn’t eat all her sprouts, she’ll have to find her own way back to Southampton.”
“If I eat enough of them, I can switch to turbo charge,” she called back.
Tash and Julie made teas for everyone and we stopped momentarily to drink them. I basted the turkey amongst several hmms and ahs. “Mummy, is a brill cook,” Trish informed Tash.
“This is Trish,” said Julie. “Don’t play monopoly or cards with her.”
“Why ever not?”
“She’ll clean you out–she’s got a brain the size of a planet under that mop of hair–and she knows how to use it.”
“Have they found the Higgs boson yet? They were promising to get preliminary results last week. I’ll bet they got something wrong with the computer program, I knew I should have offered to go and help them, but Sister Charity would have been awkward about it again. She refused to mark my calculus–I mean, she’s supposed to be a maths teacher, but she’s like, hardly Sir Isaac Newton, more like the apple.
“D’you think Schrodinger’s cat is alive or dead?”
“I hardly know the Scrodingers, I think they’re clients of Julie.”
I rescued Tash from Trish–sounds painful, doesn’t it? “Don’t pay too much attention to her. She likes to suss people out. One of these days I’ll have to invite Brian Cox to dinner, that should keep her busy for an hour or two.”
“Who’s Brian Cox?” Tash looked bemused.
“Rock musician turned particle physicist turned television presenter.”
“Oh, he’s not a friend of Liam Gallagher, is he?”
“I doubt it, he’s a professor at Manchester University, these days.”
“Well Oasis come from Manchester, don’t they?”
“They might well do, but I suspect they operate in different universes, somehow.”
I had to leave her to deal with the dinner, and she sat and talked to Jenny while Julie organised the dining table–it has an extension in the middle but it is possible to trap little fingers, so Trish and the others had to be kept away from it. Then it had to be dusted, and the large damask table cloth found and draped over it. Assisted by Trish and Livvie, Julie set up the table with cutlery and glasses for the meal. It was at least an hour away but I like things to be done early.
Caroline, Stella and I did the dinner while Jenny gave Catherine a bottle, mostly of Stella milk, mine is beginning to dry up. Both seemed to be enjoying themselves and obviously Catherine recognised Jenny, because she clapped and cooed at her.
Dinner was served, Daddy did his Selkirk grace and we all tried not to laugh. Then the serious business of stuffing faces began. It lasted about an hour and ended with trifle, rather than Christmas pud–none of us like the stuff, but we all like trifle, and Stella makes a mean one.
The clear up was a family affair, and everyone helped so we could retire to the lounge to listen to the Queen’s speech. Daddy made the most fuss about it, but he missed it, falling asleep in the chair ten minutes before it started.
Trish inveigled Tash into a game of cards, and Julie and I slipped outside with Jenny for a few minutes. We did an pretty intensive healing on her and she reckoned she could feel some of her toes afterwards. We decided we’d try again tomorrow.
I stopped for a cuppa, then popped on the bread machine and began preparing a buffet tea while the others watched the telly. Caroline came to help me when she realised what I was doing.
“Pretty girl, that Tasha,” she observed while putting out the pickled onions.
“Very, and she seems quite nice, too.”
“I think she’s gorgeous. Pity I won’t ever have anyone like it.”
“Don’t get bogged down on physical things, Caroline. Passion fades quite quickly, friendship is much more important and a person’s inner beauty.”
“Yeah, I know, but I still think she’s gorgeous.”
“So was Jenny if you recall. Physical beauty can fade overnight.”
“Jenny is still lovely,” she protested.
“Well why don’t you go and tell her that–she’s resting on her bed at the moment. Give Stella or me a shout if you want to transfer her.”
“Yeah, okay. Hi, Jenny, I’ve come to torment you.”
I concentrated on my buffet but the back of my mind wondered what would happen if two broken people got together. Would they heal each other or fall apart? I sipped my tea–good question.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1571
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Boxing Day, traditionally the day when the servants were given their Christmas boxes, is the day following Christmas in the Anglo Saxon tradition ie the twenty sixth of December.
Christmas Day had petered out with everyone being rather full of food and chocolate in the case of the children, though in what ratios I wouldn’t like to say. The adult’s ratios would have been between food and alcohol. I had a glass of wine, but that was all, Simon and Tom made up for the rest of us and Tash seemed able to drink her share, too. Julie stayed pretty sober because I suspect she was waiting for me to instigate another go at healing Jenny.
Jenny, because of her medications didn’t drink, and I think that Caroline had very little as well. They spent much of the evening talking together and I doubt they were swapping recipes. Simon, Tom and Danny were talking sports, which much to Julie’s disgust, Tash quite enjoyed. She’d certainly heard of Mark Cavendish and considered him worthy of the BBC Sports Personality of the Year, so she can’t be all bad. Makes a change from golfers and footballers, neither of whom have much in the way of the dedication required to ride the TdF. Most footballers seem to need a week between matches, so how would they cope with riding two hundred kilometres every day for a week, some of which would be up and down mountains? Not terribly well, I should think.
A full eighteen holes of golf is about five miles–wow, some sport, I know an old man who regularly walks that far with a dog and doesn’t stop every two minutes to ask the advice of a caddy–no he only stops if the dog considers the odd tree or lamp post needs sniffing or watering. I reckon I get more exercise running up and down stairs doing housework–and a top golfer can earn up to five hundred million pounds if he can stay there for four or five years. I think there is something very wrong with the state of this world, when some over rated tosser can earn that sort of money for playing games which spoil a good walk and there are people, especially children, scratching a living in less developed countries, by sorting through rubbish tips and removing anything remotely recyclable–during which time they must expose themselves to all sorts of infection risks and hazardous substances. Something is very wrong.
I made a mental note to up my regular donations to Save the Children.
Back to Christmas Night: after Dr Who, which I saw most of, we played a couple of board games with the girls–that is, Stella and I did. Then I sent them to bed and read them some of a modernised version of A Christmas Carol. Reassured that Tiny Tim wouldn’t die before the next excerpt thy eventually went to sleep.
Catherine and Stella’s little ones had already been put to bed and thankfully stayed there, asleep. At ten Stella and asked Jenny if we could get her to bed on the assurance that Caroline could come and chat with her afterwards. She eventually agreed and queried why Caroline couldn’t also help put her to bed or wash or change her.
I’d thought I’d been fairly sensitive in having Caroline help with the less than intimate bits, which Stella and I had dealt with–now Jenny was changing things. If that’s what she wanted, be it on her own head. Stella witnessed the query, so there could be no doubt that it was Jenny’s own idea. If they had been a couple already, I could understand it but they didn’t really know each other that well. That’s people for you.
Boxing Day: When I came down to check on Jenny, she was washed and dressed and Caroline had her sitting in her wheelchair at the kitchen table eating her breakfast. Now, either a miracle must have happened, in which case why is she still in the wheelchair, or she let Caroline do it all for her, or at least assist her including toileting and putting her in the special panties she wears to keep her clothing clean. I decided not to say anything beyond a morning greeting.
Soon after I didn’t have much chance anyway as the rest of the mob turned up with very healthy appetites, so I had to pour some swill in the troughs for them–much of which seems manufactured by a well know US cereal company.
Twice I had to ask Caroline to do something for me, because she seemed to be turning into Jenny’s personal maid, which would have been fine if I didn’t need her to help me as well. I made one or two sharp comments and she seemed to appreciate the situation a little better.
Julie and Tash were the last two down–there’s a surprise–and I told Julie I wanted to have another go at Jenny’s back once she’d had breakfast. Half an hour later we had a good go, mobilising Trish to the cause as well. I don’t know if she helped, but Jenny was certainly able to feel her feet more than she had the day before. We all agreed it was positive, given the damage to her spine from impacting from thirty feet onto concrete and tarmac.
Si and Tom were amusing the children–I did say amusing, listen more carefully; I was stripping little bits from the turkey to make a stock for some homemade soup, chopping vegetables and trying to listen to the radio as well. Caroline came in to speak with me.
“Could I speak with you, Cathy?”
“Sure, if you can do while I make the soup.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Carry on–oh, d’you want to close the door?” I indicated the kitchen door, which once closed tended to mean not to disturb me except for emergencies.
The smell of the stock cooking and the bread machine doing its stuff made me feel quite hungry but I resisted the urge to snaffle one of my Lotus biscuits and let my tummy rumble, unrequited.
“You’ve probably noticed I’ve spent a lot of time with Jenny.”
“I assumed she was giving you advice about helping me run this place.” I said disingenuously.
“Yeah, some of the time we talked about the house and so on.”
“Oh good, she was very organised.”
“Yeah–um, we also talked about–um...”
I stopped dicing carrots and swede and looked at her very intently. “Yes?”
“Um–lots of things–um?”
“I can’t believe you’ve come to ask my advice on small talk, have you?”
“Yes–um–I mean, no. Oh this is so difficult.”
I turned the gas down under the soup, I had a fair idea of what was coming so the meal would have to wait.
“Okay, Caroline, sit down and just say it.”
“Say–um–what?” she mumbled having seated herself at the table.
“What’s on your mind about Jenny.”
“Oh that, yes–um.” She paused and I looked at the clock, if she doesn’t get started on the tale in the next few minutes, lunch is going to be very late and I would have to prompt her. “I–um–think–um...”
“We’ve done that bit, now what were you thinking about?”
“I really like Jenny.”
“Yes, I had noticed.”
“Oh–that obvious?”
I nodded and smiled, I hoped with encouragement rather than mockery.
“I think she likes me, too.”
“So, why do you need to tell me this?”
“I’d rather like to take the afternoon off and take her out in her chair for a walk.”
I edited the sentence so it made sense and nodded, “Okay, I can give you two hours after lunch, but I’ll need you back for four o’clock.”
“Great–yeah, that’s great, thanks, Cathy.”
“Of course if you finish lunch before two, you can have a bit longer, but I need to get back to the soup or we won’t be having it at all.”
“Yes, boss.” She scampered out of the kitchen and I went back to chopping veg trying to concentrate on not putting in too many fingers or slices of, into the soup.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1572
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Caroline and Jenny reappeared almost dead on four o’clock. It was a grey day and starting to get dark–well darker than it had been much of the time and the wind was freshening. I was once again in the kitchen drinking tea and looking to do a turkey pasta bake. I was also boiling a large ham joint so there would be stock for soup for several days–possibly pea and ham–if I had any split peas left.
I was laying alternate layers of pasta and turkey meat when Caroline pushed Jenny into the kitchen. I poured on the sauce and placed a layer of sliced mushrooms on the top then laid some sheets of cheese on top of that and popped it in the oven. That was the second dish and we should now have enough for everyone.
“Good walk?” I asked finishing my nearly cold cuppa.
“Bracing,” said Caroline.
“Lovely, but cold,” said a rather blue nosed Jenny.
“Hot drink?” I asked them.
“Tea or coffee’s fine for me,” said Caroline.
“Have you any hot chocolate?”
“I have indeed.” A few minutes later and they were both sipping their hot drinks and I had a fresh cup of tea. “I have a feeling you want to talk to me–am I right?”
“Jenny does, I’ll catch you later.” Caroline went off, presumably up to her room to change or wash or snort coke or Pepsi or whatever else she does up there.
“I rather like Caroline.”
“So I gathered, she certainly likes you.”
Yes, I know,” she blushed.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
“I’d like to come back here when I can.”
“That’s okay, all we need to do is negotiate with the doctors as to when and how, and what we need to do to accommodate you.”
“You are so kind, Cathy.”
“You’re a valued member of the household, even family.”
“Even after what I did to you?”
“I thought we’d dealt with that. You’ve certainly paid a higher price for your mistakes than I or the law require of you.”
“Yeah, that was another one of them.”
“So is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“Um–not quite.”
“Pray carry on then.”
“Eh–oh yeah, it’s difficult.”
“How is it difficult?”
“I hope you won’t feel offended.”
“Why should I?”
“I see you and Julie and Trish as like real women, but Caroline is a feminine bloke.”
“Right, so that’s how you see her/him?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, but she’s more of a tranny than a woman, an’ I find that sort of a comfort.”
“Because she won’t treat you like more macho men would?”
“Yeah, I’m right off masculine men, but I quite like Caroline.”
“Because she’s non-threatening, or less so than ordinary men?”
“Absolutely; she’s just nice and gentle–different.”
“So, you’d like to move in with her when you return from hospital?”
“If that’s possible?”
“It’s possible. I think we’d be looking to convert the old stable into a sort of bungalow for you, assuming Tom is happy of course. It is theoretically his place.”
“Is that going to cost you lots of money?”
“Probably–but that’s life.”
“You are so kind to me, I really don’t deserve it.” She began to sniff and I passed her some tissues.
“Does Caroline feel the same, about moving in together?”
“In principle she does ...”
“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, she’d like to go on and have the operation but I’d like her to stay as a man–down there.”
“Ah,” I didn’t want be drawn into this decision; “So you need to sort that between you.”
“I was hoping you could speak with her.”
“I’ll listen to her, but I’m not prepared to say anything other than I’ll support whatever decision Caroline makes, to have the op or not, or even to revert to being man–but I don’t think she’d like to do that.”
“No, neither do I, but I think I could live with her as she is.”
“Talk it through with her, and let me know–but take your time, all of this is rather sudden, and I suspect any decision made in a hurry will cause repentance at leisure.”
“You’re probably right.”
I shrugged, “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment, but thank you for being so understanding and helpful.”
“I try to be, sometimes with more results than others. D’you need the toilet or anything?”
“Oh yes, please, I’m sure this bag is full.” I looked and it did look pretty full to me.
After dinner, I was loading the dishwasher when Caroline came out to speak with me on the pretext of bringing through some more dirty crocks.
“What did you think of what Jenny told you?”
“I see her taking and you giving, but if it’s what you want, we’ll accommodate you both somehow.”
“She’s very vulnerable at the moment.”
“So are you.”
“No I’m not, I’m tougher than I look.”
“So, because you’re so tough, you fell for Jenny while on the rebound from Julie.”
“I didn’t have a relationship with Julie.”
“But you’d like to have done, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve got Jenny now.”
“I’m not sure who’s got who, but do be careful–if you think you want to go the whole hog, you’ll have to tell her, not let her dictate what you feel or want to do.”
“She doesn’t.”
“I’m neither blind nor deaf, and she leads you on a song and a dance as she wishes. Be very careful. She might just suck you dry and throw you out again.”
“I’m prepared to take that risk for her.”
“That’s between you two–let me know when you’ve made the decision.”
“I think I’ve more or less made it.”
“No, that’s reflexive stuff–you need to think about it seriously for a year or two.”
“I have.”
“Caroline, you haven’t–you’re excited that a pretty young slip of a girl finds you attractive in a dress, but there’s more to being happy than pleasing someone else. You also need to please yourself.”
“It’s what I want, Cathy.”
“Is it? And what if she decides she wants you dressed like a man again?”
“I’ve still got some of my previous wardrobe.”
“Bully for you. Come back and tell me in two weeks at the earliest, and see how you feel about each other and what ye want to do.”
“Two weeks? I know now.”
“Fine, where’s the issue then in waiting for two weeks?”
“It’s fine. Two weeks then.”
“Caroline, please make sure anything you buy today is what you want, not second to someone else’s wishes.”
“It isn’t.”
“Fine so it’ll be the same in a couple of weeks then won’t it?”
She left the room feeling under-gunned by the resident sharpshooter. I wondered if she really knew what was going on.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1573
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“So what’s troubling you now?” Simon asked as he stroked my leg and rather than enjoying it, I found it irritating.
“I’m a bit concerned about Caroline.”
“Why?”
“She seems to have fallen for Jenny.”
“I thought I saw them together earlier.”
“Yeah, well Jenny likes Caroline as she is, a sort of she-male.”
I waited while Simon got his head round that one. I suppose it’s my fault, I’ve spent the last few years trying to stop him thinking of pre-ops as possessing a male organ, even if it was an ineffectual one, and now I was reminding him of what he’d been asked to forget.
“Right, does that make them lesbians or what?”
“I have no idea because it would depend upon how they saw each other and themselves–after all it’s just a label isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’m concerned that Jenny is manipulating Caroline into staying as a functional male and possibly even to reverting.”
“Isn’t that between them?”
“Yes, that’s my point–men are relatively easily manipulated by women, especially pretty ones and what’s the saying, they are made fools by love–or lust.”
“I wasn’t easy to–um–manipulate was I?”
“Yes of course.”
“Oh,” he squeaked as if I’d just popped his ego balloon. He paused for a moment, “But if Caroline claims to be a woman, shouldn’t she be more difficult to mess with–I mean you are.”
“I’m not sure what I think about Caroline, which was one of the reasons I offered her a job–so she could experiment within the role and earn some money. While being gainfully employed, this would count as part of her real life test.”
“But you said that Jenny was manipulating her, so implying you think Caroline is acting like a man.”
“I’m really not sure what I think, except I’ve watched Jenny push her buttons and seen Caroline respond like a love sick duckling.”
“Duckling–don’t they usually say puppy?”
“She follows her around like a newly hatched duckling–they imprint on the first moving object they see.”
“Ah yes, the bloke with the balloons.”
“Konrad Lorenz, yes.”
“Goodness, it’s like going to bed with Wikipedia.”
“Well, I’m good between the covers,” I said and then blushed. Fortunately we were lying in the glow that came from the streetlights and the light in our driveway.
“That you are, allegedly–would you care to conduct a scientific experiment?” Simon said and I could just make out a bit of a smirk on his face so I knew it would be a rude suggestion.
“Like what?”
“Well, let’s test the hypothesis that you, like wiki are good between the covers.”
“Simon, if this is meant to be a demonstration of manipulation by you of me, when I say no, you must promise not to cry.”
“Boo hoo,” he said, several times and we both lay there shaking with laughter. “Are you game then?”
“If I was you’d be shooting at me.”
“True, here grab my blunderbuss and...”
I won’t go into all the jokes we cracked while we sort of relaxed each other, but he did go on about muzzle loaders quite a bit. I said very little, it being thought impolite to speak with one’s mouth full.
When we were lying there sated and becoming sleepy, Simon suddenly said. “If she’s got spinal damage, how will she be able to have sex anyway?”
“Depends upon how badly her damaged her spine is, I suppose.” The idea of not being able to feel anything down below or worse, not control bladder and bowels, made me physically shudder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, someone just stepped on my grave.”
“How could they, you’re not dead yet?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Nah, you’re female, you never say what you mean.”
“Si, that was a sexist stereotype and I’m greatly disappointed.”
“You just proved my case.”
“How?”
“What you meant was, don’t say that it annoys me.”
“So?”
“You didn’t say that though, did you?”
“That fact that you were able to decipher the core message shows that I did say what I meant.”
“Or it could mean you’ve manipulated me into understanding you.”
“Which is more than I do you, I’m going to sleep now, night night, darling.” I pecked him on the lips and turned over and drifted off to sleep. He was still talking but not saying anything worth listening to as per usual.
Sometimes it must seem as if I’m incredibly arrogant in my relationship with Simon–I’m not, we know each other very well, and yes, we can push each other’s buttons with occasionally explosive results, we also love each other and I hope would be able to talk through anything that was a real issue.
I fell asleep dreaming about Jenny holding up red balloons in front of Caroline who was following them and wagging her tail–goodness even my dreams seem to have mixed metaphors. I remembered the dream because half way through it I had to get up and wee–it’s better than lying there and doing it. It was certainly much cooler in the bathroom especially as I was absolutely starkers. I had to think for a moment when Simon had got my pyjamas off, but somehow he must have done and presumably I let him–oh yes, now I remember and felt my nipples harden. I felt about the place and my PJs were down by his side of the bed, so he had taken them off me–oh well, we are married–just as well, and his kisses were so tender–especially down–um–back to sleep. Damn, I feel quite randy now.
I did go back to sleep which was just as well as Trish came in and plonked herself between us. “Ooh, I can feel Daddy’s willie,” she giggled and Simon sprang from the bed and into the bathroom as if the cat had bitten him somewhere–except we don’t have a cat–yet.
A bit later, I said, “I hope you weren’t sexually abusing our daughter.”
“No I wasn’t, it was my morning wake up call to go for a pee, how did I know she was going to jump on it.”
“Awww, shall I kiss it better for you?”
“You can when we go to bed, like you did last night.”
“It wasn’t sick then, as I recall,” I pretended to be trying to recollect it.
“It wasn’t until fifty pounds of Trish hit it.”
At that point I lost it completely and couldn’t see for crying with laughter.
“Why is it that if a man’s willie gets bashed it’s funny, if a woman bumps her tit, it isn’t?”
“I don’t know, historical, I suppose.” I continued helpless with laughter.
“Hysterical you mean.” Obviously unamused, he walked briskly out of the bedroom which made me laugh even more. Don’t ask me why, but then I thought of the old joke–Man who walk through airport turnstile sideways, going to Bangkok. It set me off again and it was several minutes before I could gather my remaining wits and go down to breakfast. Of course Caroline was dancing attendance upon Jenny and it was really beginning to annoy me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1574
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“Look I know you’re both an item, but would you mind not rubbing it into our faces every few minutes?” I almost snarled at Caroline.
“Who got out of bed the wrong side this morning then?” she retorted.
“I pay your wages, I’d like you to help me as well as running round for your girlfriend.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that you wanted me to do anything.”
“Take an hour off and take Jenny with you.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
I bumped into Simon by the kitchen door. “Carry on like that and you’ll be advertising for a new housekeeper.”
“I might need one anyway.”
“Oh?”
“They won’t stay, the council will find her a bungalow or adapt one–they have a legal obligation to–and they’ll live happily ever after.”
“I thought you’d told them they could stay here?”
“It wouldn’t work, would it?”
“What about when Julie comes home, won’t she need someone to look after her?”
“I didn’t, Stella will be here, so it’s just a question of giving her some time to play with her cucumbers.”
“Her what?”
“The plastic dilators they give you to stretch the vagina–remember it’s all scar tissue and that shrinks–so has to be stretched.”
“Obviously, I wouldn’t want yours to shrink, perhaps we should...”
“Mine gets stretched often enough, and it’s more pleasurable than the plastic bullets.”
“Plastic bullets, cucumbers, dildoes, dilators–have they any other names you’re not telling me?”
“In the beginning, it feels like you’re shoving a large post–a square one at that–into a very small round hole. It also feels like the post hasn’t been rounded or planed. It hurts.”
“Like childbirth in reverse?”
“It’s certainly an uncomfortable way to lose one’s virginity, to a nurse with a gleam in her eye and big arm muscles. If she’d shoved it much harder, I’d have had a sore throat for weeks.”
“I thought she was teaching you how to dilate not do blow jobs?”
I looked at him for a moment and wondered if I’d married the missing link or should I call the local asylum and see if any of their inmates was missing, ’cos they have one who looks and sounds just like Simon.
“Anyway, I have to take Jenny back tomorrow.”
“Oh yes.”
“And Caroline will have to look after the children, I can’t do it all myself.”
“I could run her back for you, obviously have to use your car.”
“The Mondeo would be easier, it’s an estate.”
“Fine, I’ll do it then.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to do?” asked Caroline a little later.
“Simon is going to take Jenny back to Southampton tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll tell her–do you mind if I go with them?”
“No you must be due a day off–take it tomorrow.”
“Thanks that’s awfully decent of you.”
“I’m sorry I was short with you earlier.”
“That’s okay, it surprised me, that’s all.”
“I told you I wasn’t all sweetness and light.”
“You did indeed–however, you are still the best employer I’ve ever met.”
“Go and tell her.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Oh and Caroline...”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t become a doormat. You can’t see it because you have stars in your eyes, but I can.”
“See what?”
“She’s playing you and reeling you in.”
“How can you see that?”
“I’m a woman, I know how to play the game,” I nodded at Simon passing.
“You did that with him?”
I coughed instead of answering.
“But I’m a woman too, aren’t I?”
Not if Jenny has her way, which may not be all bad, because I’m beginning to have some doubts myself. “Shall we say, I’ve been at it a bit longer than you and leave it at that.”
“You think she’s gonna get me to revert, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what the future holds for any of us.”
“No you don’t, so stop guessing on my behalf. I’ll do what I want and what I think is best for me, and at the moment that means being with Jenny.”
“Fine–it’s your life–I wish you both happiness.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised?”
“I am, you seem inconsistent, one moment you’re criticising her and the next wishing her happiness.”
“I’m wanting you to be happy too, Caroline and I’m not convinced you want the same thing, that’s all.”
“But we do, we both want to be happy together.”
She couldn’t see my point and I felt we’d discussed it long enough. “Fine, I’ll speak with Tom about converting the old cowshed into a bungalow. If he’s happy, I’ll get Maureen to have a look and get some quotes.”
“Wow, that’s serious money.”
“I want you both to be happy and that means having somewhere to live.”
“Will you be able to heal her some more?”
“Perhaps a little–the injuries are possibly too old or there might be some other reason which I don’t understand. It works with me, the energy, not for me. If it did, I’d have saved Billie.”
“Of course–I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, she’s been through a lot and improved in ways you won’t appreciate because you didn’t see her in the beginning. The healing has helped with that, but I can’t say she will ever walk again.”
“D’you think that’s some punishment?”
“For what?”
“For running out on you and for stealing from you.”
“Oh come on, the first is a breach of contract thing and the second is petty crime for which she’d have got probation or suspended sentence not a life one to be carried out in a wheelchair. I think I understand where she was coming from and why she did what she did, including the bridge–but the punishment was all by her own hand, nothing to do with me.”
“She felt she’d let you down.”
“She did, but she won’t be the first and probably not the last either. Anyway, we’ve settled any outstanding business between us, so in that regard, we’re quits which means a new leaf has been turned over.”
“She really loves all of you.”
“I know and we love her too.”
“She knows, she thinks you’re the most angelic person she’s ever met.”
“Obviously she hasn’t met many then.”
“I couldn’t comment, could I–but don’t put yourself down, boss–you’re still the best.”
“Go and sort her out and find out what she’d like for lunch–it’ll be turkey in some shape or form.”
“I know I’d love a curry.”
“Okay, I’ll make you heathens a curry–us believers–in functioning taste buds–will have something different.”
“You sure?”
“It is written.”
“Oh–okay.”
And so it came to pass that a curry was delivered to those who wanted to eat it, and the moving finger kept beating the eggs which made an omelette for those who abstained from the spicy dish–Catherine, Puddin’ and me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1575
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The curry was a moderate success, and the partakers thereof smiled. Even Tom smiled a little though it should have been chicken, not turkey, and a bit hotter than I was prepared to make it for the children. It didn’t worry me, I’d pleased the majority, and he does eat the stuff with such monotonous regularity his guts must either be scorched to hell or like firebrick.
I ate my omelette in relative peace and quiet and it was also enjoyed by Puddin’ and my little one, who is mostly talking gibberish but does say the odd word–some are very odd.
After clearing up we watched some film on the telly with James Bond wearing cowboy hat and fighting aliens or something–I think I preferred the animation with Reese Witherspoon we saw on Christmas Day. I left them to it and did some survey work on my computer and ate a few of my hidden biscuits The way I hid them and ate them in secrecy made me feel like an alcoholic must do when they hide their habit. I’d have to buy loads of packets next time and hope the kids didn’t like them too much. I couldn’t do that with alcohol, so maybe there is a difference.
I daydreamt for a moment while some photo or other was downloading.
‘I’m Cathy Cameron and I’m a biscuitoholic,’ Nah doesn’t sound right and as for a ten or twelve stage plan and belief in a supreme being, who isn’t called Obama–nah, not for me.
Besides which if you give up chocolate, biscuits and cycling–you don’t live longer, it just feels like North Korea. They probably do loads of cycling over there, oh well better get a move on. I finished up the most recent tranche of letters/reports and closed down the computer.
Livvie came through to see where I was, “Can I have a biscuit, Mummy?” for a moment I thought my secret was undone–then realised she was just asking out of politeness before laying waste the biscuit tin.
“There’s some mince pies there I think.”
“Can I have it hot with cream?”
“I’ll come and do it for you, see if anyone else wants one, will you?” She ran off and I went back to the kitchen, we had probably about eight left and half a tub of cream. Of course everyone but Tom wanted one. I counted them on my fingers. There were eight. Being full of biscuits, I didn’t want any, so it was just about right. I popped them in the Aga and about twelve minutes later they were ready. I put them on a plate and poured a spoonful of cream over each one and then helped Livvie and Trish carry them into the lounge. Tom was in his study, presumably having a wee nip o’ somethin’.
I returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on, Julie had come down with Tash and had a cuppa with me, they’d been upstairs listening to music–or said they had. I couldn’t do anything about it, except trust them and hope I wasn’t being too naíve.
After I got the girls to bed and then Danny, I felt whacked. I asked Jenny if she needed Stella and me to get her to bed and she told me that Caroline could manage it; so I said goodnight and went to bed. Julie and Tash wanted to watch some late night film and Simon eventually came on up apparently after realising he was playing gooseberry. “An’ it’s my bloody telly,” he whinged as he undressed, I was trying to sleep but was still upset by the Caroline and Jenny relationship.
“What’s the matter?” he asked me and I told him. “Oh for God’s sake, Cathy, just let them get on with it, if they mess up, it isn’t your fault is it?”
“If I hadn’t brought her back for Christmas...”
“But you did, and for the best of reasons, you couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“I should have seen it coming?”
“Why?”
“Because we had two lonely damaged people who I was bringing together, it had to be on the cards–I knew it really–I just didn’t foresee the outcome.”
“Hang on a mo, you brought Jenny back knowing that Caroline would go for her?”
“Sort of, I wasn’t sure, but back then, part of me wanted them to get together, because they were lonely and everyone else had someone.”
“You were matchmaking?”
“Perhaps I was.”
“In which case, it serves you right, manipulating them like that–except it didn’t go quite as you planned, did it?” Adding a moment later, “You’re like someone out of a Jane Austen novel, matchmaking and manipulating.”
“Mrs Gaskell is better at writing those sorts of characters.”
“Whatever, just let it go. If you interfere again, you’ll only make things worse.”
“I’ll try.” I did try, but not too successfully I had several dreams which upset me, and I kept waking up feeling their relationship was doomed. I also woke up worrying about Julie and her operation–what if it wasn’t a success? I arranged it all, so it would be my fault again. I wondered if I could get a job as a warden on an island somewhere that was uninhabited–preferably one with dormice on it. Nah, I’d miss the kids and Simon, and depending upon my mood and needs, not necessarily in that order. I turned over and watched him sleeping–like a plump angel. I gently stroked his arm and he smiled–still fast asleep.
I was up early, then discovered our two pairs of lovers had been up all night–not together–but in adjacent rooms. Seems they talked the night away. Part of me felt amused by this and part of me felt jealous. It seemed a long time ago that Si and I had done such things and now we were knee deep in children.
I went and fetched Catherine and fed and bathed her, then while we waited for the others to wake, we sat looking at a book and she pointed at things and in her baby gibberish told me what they were–not that I’d ever seen a purple and green zebra, but that may be due to my specialising in European mammals of the small and cuddly variety.
Finally Simon came down and was followed by yawning children, all female, who wanted food, and quickly. It was a pity he couldn’t take them with him to Southampton and I’d have sneaked back to bed for a couple of hours. Oh well, the joys of parenthood.
Julie and Tash went up to bed and would sleep until lunch time, I felt like joining them, I was beginning to fade and momentarily woke up to see Simon and Caroline take Jenny back to Southampton. I saw them off, Jenny thanking me for a much better Christmas than she’d expected or deserved. She was still playing games, and I refused to join in, shrugging and wishing her well with her therapy. I waved them off in the company of the three girls and we went back in and began clearing up the mess.
I went and collected the dirty laundry and asked Trish to sort it for me, then Livvie would put it in the washer and Meems would transfer it to the drier. Because it can be quite hot, I usually empty the drier. We had two lots to do and it took much of the morning, especially as I began to iron it straight after the drier.
Lunch was a sandwich, and Simon arrived back by himself–Caroline had opted to stay with Jenny for a few hours and would find her own way back.
Two conflicting lines went through my head, ‘Love makes fools of us all,’ that Shakespeare guy knew his stuff didn’t he? The second is a Swedish proverb: ‘Love me when I least deserve it, because that’s when I really need it.’ Life sure is complicated.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1576
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“So who are you going to manipulate next–me?” Simon glared at me.
“I do that all the time.”
“You what?”
“Don’t be so hysterical, Simon, it’s what women do–we do it from the moment you’re born to the moment you die.”
“What, to men, you mean?”
“Baby boys to the elderly.”
He sat down and scowled at me. “Why?”
“Because much of the time it’s the only way to get you to do as we want. You have muscle, we have sex and guile–it sort of evens things out.”
“Okay, I know about womanly wiles, it’s part of the mythology of masculinity–you’re saying it isn’t a myth?”
“Am I?”
“So surely Caroline should be part immune to it?”
“Some women manipulate other women as well as men, it’s harder, but possible.”
“So Caroline is harder to do than I am?”
“Sadly not, least not for Jenny.”
“And you–you play her all ways don’t you?”
“She doesn’t fancy me, I’m her employer.”
“Doesn’t she hell?”
I blushed. “No, it’s Julie she fancied, but Tash put an end to that.”
“She idolises both of you, with good reason–you’re both cracking bits of crumpet, and one of you is my wife and the other my daughter–makes me a very proud man.”
“That’s why you are easier to wrap round my finger than a piece of thread, and the girls do it all the time.”
“Only because I let them.”
“Of course, big strong, tough Daddy, chooses to let them have or do things, not because they run rings round you.”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
“I see, I wrote something on a piece of paper in this envelope. I believe it’s something you’ll do against your better judgement because you can’t say no to your daughters, or me.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing illegal or immoral.”
“Well that’s something, I suppose.”
“Please may I have a biscuit?” Trish appeared in the kitchen.
“No, come back later, Mummy and I are talking.” Trish looked at Simon with huge eyes and mouth wide open.
“But I’d like a biscuit now, I might not be hungry later.” Trish wasn’t used to being told no to reasonable requests.
“And I said no, and when I say no, I mean it, so clear off.”
Trish looked at me in astonishment, “Come back a bit later and you can take one, alright, sweetheart.”
“A chocolate one?”
“If you like.”
“Okay,” she shrugged and walked back out muttering, “Crabby old git.”
“I heard that,” Simon called after her. I snorted.
“As the kids seem rather quiet, I thought, perhaps you could come and give me a back rub.”
Now Simon looked at me in astonishment. “Yeah, okay.”
I looked at my watch, “We don’t have long.”
“Right, let’s get on with it then.”
“Ah, there you are, Daddy,” Julie came into the kitchen.
“Look, I’m busy, Jules, can it wait?”
“Um–not really.”
I held out my hand to him and he stepped towards me. “It’ll have to.”
“You know you said you’d take Tash to the station?”
“Yeah, I will, when’s her train?”
“In half an hour.”
“What? You’re joking?”
“I’m not.”
“Can’t you take in her your car or your mother’s?”
“But, Daddy, you said you’d take her in your XK. You promised.”
“Look I’m busy.”
“But you promised.”
“Can we wait half an hour?” Simon looked at me.
“Sorry, I have an appointment later.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I have to take Mima to the dentist–remember?”
“Oh bugger, can’t you cancel it?”
“No and my back is quite tense.” I licked my lips.
“But I gave my word, Babes–I have to take her.”
“You don’t.”
“I promised.”
“You promised she could go to the station in the XK, you didn’t say you’d drive it.”
“Isn’t that hair splitting?”
“No, she could still go in it.”
“How?”
“Let Julie drive it.”
“Oh yeah,” Julie punched the air.
“What?”
“It’s insured, I checked recently.” I licked my lips and moved my shoulders up and down.
“I dunno, what if she crashes it?”
“She’ll drive very carefully, and it is insured.”
“Oh, I’ll take really good care of it, Daddy.”
“If you so much as get it dirty, I’ll postpone your operation–d’you hear me?”
“Such a drama queen, Daddy, I’m only going to the station.”
He glared at her and put the key on the table, she snatched it up and ran out of the room squealing with delight.
“This had better be worth it,” he said to me.
“Oh it will be–that I guarantee.”
“I’m going soft in the head.”
“As long as it isn’t somewhere else,” I smirked and pulled him up the stairs.
We had an hour of passion before I had to shower and dress and take Mima to the dentist. It was only a check-up but I like to maintain these things when I can, and she’s still a bit nervous about being poked about, even though the dental surgeon is a very attractive Polish woman who makes her laugh.
We got back and Simon was washing his car and scowling at me. “I was had, wasn’t I?”
“In what way?” I sent Mima into the house to change into her playing clothes.
“I saw what you wrote on the sheet of paper.”
“Oh,” I blushed and smiled at the same time.
“Proves you were right though doesn’t it?”
“It was a pretty crude effort, but if you were aware of the more subtle ones–well, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I can’t believe you did it–I can’t believe I did it.”
“You did enjoy your little self though didn’t you?”
“That’s beside the point, you warned me it was coming then led me by the balls right into it.”
I looked as innocent as I could and smiled at him.
“Men have strength and muscle,” I said putting my arm round his waist and holding myself against him.
“Yeah, and brains in their dicks.”
“Not having one, I couldn’t possibly comment, could I?”
“What am I going to do with you?” he said shaking his head.
“Rub my back for me?”
“What again?”
“No at bed time.”
“Okay, you’re on.”
“If I was I’d be more surprised than you, darling.” I kissed him and chewed his lip.
“You are some woman, d’you know that?”
“Uh huh,” I kissed him again, “Tea?” I said and slipped away and into the house.
Julie was sitting in the kitchen painting her nails, “That was amazing, Mummy, you said he’d let me take her, but I didn’t believe you for one minute–that car is absolutely brilliant.”
“And you’ll watch the children tomorrow.”
“Yeah, like we agreed–you’re not gonna be, like, all day, are you?”
“No, I’ll be back some time in the afternoon.”
“Yeah, that’s like, fine. I hope the little squirt enjoys it after the effort you’ve gone to.”
“Oh he will, he thinks David Beckham is the bee’s knees.”
“Yeah and about as much bloody use on a football field, if Daddy’s right.”
“It’s not your father I’m taking to meet him, is it, and Danny thinks he’s wonderful.”
“Yeah but Foyle’s, helluva long way to go to get a book, innit?”
“If it makes someone’s dream happen, it’s worth every minute of it.”
“I mean, he’s too thick to write his biography, isn’t he?”
“I don’t care if Mickey Mouse wrote it for him, so long as he signs it and shakes hands with Danny.”
“Cor, true love,” she said and strode off blowing on her nails.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1577
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Danny and I took the train up to London and then a cab to Foyle’s Bookshop in Charing Cross Road. It was years since I’d been there and they now had a cafe as well–there wasn’t one back in my student days, which was the last time I’d been there. But then, several Waterstone’s now sported coffee shops, as did other independent bookshops. Even M&S had coffee shops in many of their stores, which would have been unheard of ten or fifteen years ago. Seems it’s an easy way to make profits, or of getting people into the shop in the first place.
The queue for Beckham’s book-signing was well out of the shop by the time we got there and he’d arrived early, apparently. I’d worn comfy shoes and a good coat over my jeans and fleece top and I was glad I had. It was cold standing out in Charing Cross Road. Seeing the road sign made me think of Helene Hanff’s book, which was made into a play and then into a film. A real weepie. If you haven’t seen 84 Charing Cross Road you missed a cracker, a real woman’s film starring Anne Bancroft and Tony Hopkins. Um, I think I might buy the DVD as a treat while we’re up here.
We waited nearly an hour to meet the great footballer, and David Beckham was every bit as good looking in the flesh as he is in photos, apart from the tattoos. He happily shook hands with Danny while I took a quick picture–there were grumbles because no one else seemed to have considered it, and the queue was growing.
“Would you like a coffee, David?” I said quietly to him.
“Oh please, darlin’,” he replied, and we went and got him one. I took another sneaky picture of him accepting it from Danny, whose hands were shaking with excitement. He was totally overawed by the celebrity, whom I respect for not being carried away with his fame/notoriety. No matter how famous he becomes, he’s still an ordinary lad at heart with feet firmly planted on the ground.
I found a copy of the film of Hanff’s book and we bought that. I felt quite pleased with myself, and I knew Julie and I would enjoy it, as probably would Stella. The underlings would be a bit young to appreciate it, and the men would probably feel a bit bored. It’s pure sentiment–but extremely well done, all we needed now was some chocolate and a box of tissues.
While we were in that part of London we went to the National Gallery and looked at a few paintings, Danny was astonished at how big some of them were, including the Monet Waterlilies. Much as I like the Impressionists, I really enjoy the Canaletto’s which have an almost photographic quality about them. Having been reading some of Donna Leon’s detective stories based in Venice, the Canaletto’s brought a new dimension to the place–even if they were hundreds of years earlier. I’ll bet back in those days, Commissario Guido Brunetti, would have had even more murder, corruption and intrigue to deal with than in the modern era.
We had lunch in a Spaghetti House near the National Gallery, then had a wander round Trafalgar Square before heading back to Waterloo to get the return train. It brought back memories, the last time I remembered being in Trafalgar Square the whole place was full of cycling fans, the main roads were all closed and Hyde Park was full of the circus which is the Tour de France. I was a marshal for the second day which was on the London to Ashford stage–great memories, even if I was sort of pre-transition then, by about a week–when Lady Cameron chose to send me into orbit from my bicycle. Happy days.
“Mum, this is us.” Danny was pulling my arm–I was back watching Dave Millar lead the TdF through Erith.
“Oh, is it?”
“Were you asleep?” he asked.
“No, just thinking, sweetheart,”
“You looked asleep to me.”
Maybe I was, or simply thinking with my eyes closed. Certainly, the gymnastics with Simon when we went to bed were enough to tire him out, well and truly. I was a bit sore, I usually am if he gets too vigorous, and it is made of quite a bit of scar tissue, although I have enough sensitivity in my clit to get some enjoyment from it, but I have to use a lubricant–I know, like loads of older women. Too much information, I know.
“Did you get to meet Daffy Duck then?” asked Simon as we sat down to eat dinner.
“Yeah, we got some good photos didn’t we, Mum?”
“We got some photos. Whether they’re good ones is another matter.”
Simon continued to gently tease Danny who wanted to download the photos onto his computer.
“Where’s Caroline?” I suddenly realised she wasn’t with us.
“Southampton, I guess.” Stella answered, “She was moping about so much, I told her to go and see her blessed Jenny.”
“Did you know that a Jenny is a name for a female donkey?” declared Trish.
“I wouldn’t tell that to our Jenny, if I were you. She has a kick like a mule.” Simon attained new heights in his jokes, they were now only ten miles below the level of decency.
“That would seem apt, Caroline making a donkey of herself to see Jenny,” Stella said very quietly to me.
“Perhaps, still that’s up to her.”
“Dunno, seems more like a lovesick boy than girl.”
“Do they act differently, then?” I asked in all innocence.
“Oh God, yes. You should have seen Simon when he first got the hots for you.”
“I’m not sure I would like to have seen him then.”
“He had it worse than Caroline, by miles–and then when your little secret popped out,” I cringed at the metaphor, it sounded like something had fallen out of my knickers, which didn’t happen–least not when he was about.
Simon had gone off with Danny to see the photos of the book signing. I was much relieved to hear they’d all come out sufficiently well for him to load them onto his computer. What I didn’t realise was that the Daily Wail would have a picture of Danny handing over a cup of coffee to his hero. Seems someone else took his own photo.
We only found out when Pippa phoned up and told us to look on their website and sure enough it had the photo which was almost identical to ours and the caption, ‘Coffee, Sir? Danny Maiden gives the former England captain a much needed drink at a book signing in London. He was really excited to meet his hero.’
Of course he then had to dash off and buy a couple of copies from the local shop–local? It’s half a mile away. I did manage to save a copy of the online format for him, because newsprint tends to deteriorate quite quickly–goes very yellow.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1578
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With Danny’s new found fame preserved for posterity both on paper and computer, he seemed happy and went off to read. Julie had gone off to meet Tash who was apparently returning from visiting her parents.
“You mean she came to us rather than her own parents?” I was astonished.
“Yeah, she wanted to be with me.”
“Oh well, I’m glad we could accommodate her then.”
“Anyway, I’m off to see her.”
“Drive carefully.”
She stopped and looked at me and then at her car keys. “There’s no chance is there?”
“No chance?”
“Of her coming to stay with me, I go in on Monday, could she like stay for the weekend?”
“On the same terms as before, nothing more than kissing and cuddling.”
“You are an angel, Mummy.” She threw her arms round me and kissed me. “I’ll see you later.”
“Drive carefully.”
“I always do,” she called back as she left.
I went into the kitchen and discovered that a picture had fallen from the wall and cracked the frame–amazingly, the glass was fine, but the frame had large crack and a piece had broken off. I shoved some newspaper on the table and went to the cupboard coming back with a tube of superglue. I dripped a little into the crack and pushed it closed for a couple of minutes, it was certainly smaller. I then dripped a little onto the area where the chip had come off and carefully inserted the missing piece using a piece of kitchen towel. It seemed to have fused, and the crack around it seemed quite small, certainly invisible from more than a foot or two away. I dripped a little more onto the broken area and left it to dry for ten minutes then re-hung the picture.
It was one of Tom’s a pictures of a spaniel carrying a dead pheasant. It wasn’t a favourite of mine, given my very strong anti-hunting opinions, but he liked it and apparently it was quite valuable.
I remembered the argument I’d had with Simon in this very house the first time I’d stayed here, when I’d helped host the meeting which got us the funding from the government and Simon’s bank. It was the first time we’d slept together, and I was all glued up and we’d had a difficult few days, partly because Simon realised he was in a difficult position as a sponsor of something being run by his girlfriend–or should that be, would-be girlfriend. At that stage he knew nothing about me other than I was gauche, hypersensitive, tearful and keeping several balls in the air and a couple up in my body cavitiy.
When I thought about it, I was trying to maintain my status at the university, waiting to do a viva exam, trying to look after my dad in hospital, who would only eat food I made for him, run back and fore to Bristol from Portsmouth, and hide my original status from Simon while at the same time desperately wanting to tell him. The fact that I didn’t crack up must say something about me–I know, it shows–I didn’t fully understand the situation.
We got the funding to run the survey, I got my MSc, I also got my man–which was the biggest event in my life, because he actually coped with me pre-surgery, knowing what he was taking on. Okay, I found out the bastard was hiding the fact that he was the son of a bloody aristocrat and that on marrying him I didn’t just become Missus, I became Lady–not bad for a boy from a grammar school. I snorted when I thought about it like that. I’d achieved more than I ever expected to and again a major point was in being able to foster and then adopt children. That three of them had been GID was possibly a mixed blessing–it meant they had a home with acceptance and understanding; it also meant I had to be careful I wasn’t seen to influence them.
The last few years had seen some tricky and sad times as well, losing my parents at the start of my journey–my mother especially–was difficult. I did reconcile things with my dad whom I also miss. He’d been horrid to me all my life until Mum died and he had the stroke–okay, in between those things he did begin to change, because I was all he had.
I watched Stella change from my mentor, to my student as her mental health suffered and her unfortunate choice of men seemed to make things worse, not helped by pregnancies. Thankfully that resolved itself and she seems better these days and is enjoying the role of mother. She’s not as helpful to me as she could be–in fact at times she’s downright lazy–but I still love her as the sister I never had.
Losing Billie was the biggest upset of my life–I don’t think I shall ever get over the way she died; despite my brain inventing all sorts of Old Testament goddesses to look after her and ease my pain. I know she wasn’t my natural child, but I like to think I’ve bonded with all my children and provide a loving significant adult figure in their lives. I try to be a role model and frequently fail my own standards, not as new woman, but as a mother. I don’t give them as much time as I should because I have selfish needs of my own.
If I compare myself to my own mother, I can see where some of my sense of the role comes from. She was a typical housewife who didn’t need to work because Dad earned enough for her not to. She was therefore dependent upon him financially for the most part, and saw her role as supporting him and running the home as well as looking after me. She taught me lots about cooking and cleaning, mending and so on, yet seemed to ignore my obvious feminine streak which was a mile wide, probably because it annoyed my dad–who tried to toughen me up by beating it out of me. I wish she’d lived long enough to see me become her daughter and come to my wedding. But then if she had lived, I might not have been talking to either of them. How things can change for the better or worse in a twinkling of an eye.
I jumped when a pair of arms gripped me and I was kissed on the back of my neck. “Simon, you frightened me to death.”
“Sorry, couldn’t resist it, what were you thinking about?”
“Lots of things–all of them in the past.”
“Like what?”
“Like the first time we stayed in this house together at Tom’s dinner party–d’you remember?”
“How could I forget? You were as prickly as a cactus with nettle rash.”
“What?”
“Well you were, I nearly left you if I remember correctly.”
“You didn’t though, did you? You stayed and held me.”
“Yes.”
I turned and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“What was that for?”
“You didn’t leave me then or subsequently–I love you so much.” I hugged him and felt myself sniffle.
“You didn’t leave me either, even though I’ve arguably given you just cause many times over.”
“Yeah, well don’t push your luck, Simon Cameron.”
“I don’t, babes, I count my blessings everyday and you’re the first one each time.” With this sentimental twaddle, I burst into tears and cried all over him. “What did I say now?” he said as I blubbed onto his shoulder.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1579
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(aka Bike) Part 1579 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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New Year came and went without much ceremony. The kids went back to school, and Julie, who’d been working over some of the Christmas period, also went back to work. She was due to finish on January 7th and go into to hospital the following day. She opted to work because she felt guilty about being off for six or eight weeks, but her boss was quite happy. It appeared that Tash had started at the salon and made up the numbers of stylists required to keep it functioning. Julie was still the apprentice, but the other girls said they would cover her absence, which given how prima donna some stylists can be, showed how much Julie had integrated into the salon. She actually loved it there, nearly as much as she did her bed–and that was before Tash was sleeping in it.
“So when I’ve been done, Tash and me can have a full relationship?” Julie tried to pin me down.
“If that’s what you want, I suppose as no one can get pregnant, just don’t push your luck and please respect the privacy and sensitivities of other members of the family.”
“Oh great, when can she move in with me?”
“Julie, she can stay occasionally. She isn’t moving in with us.”
“But she’s good with the girls, and Danny thinks she’s beautiful too.”
“I don’t care. If you want to start a living together relationship, you need to get a place of your own.”
“Like how am I supposed to find a place on what I earn?”
“Welcome to real life, this is what the world is like, I’m afraid.”
“That’s alright for you to talk, you’ve got two or three houses.”
“When I was doing my master’s degree, I was living in a bedsit and after paying my rent, I had twelve pounds a week to live on.”
“So why didn’t your dad pay for you?”
“A bit like your natural father. We didn’t see eye to eye and consequently we didn’t speak much, either.”
“Still, twelve quid is as much as I have to spend each week.”
“Out of that I had to pay for my food and any extras I wanted, which was why when I suddenly got pushed into transitioning by Stella, I had very few clothes to do it with.”
“So how did you manage?”
“Stella did give me a pile of her castoffs which were like pennies from heaven. Some were very expensive things which had hardly been worn if at all.”
“Wow, good ol’ Auntie Stella.”
“My dad, after Mum died, gave me a cheque for a thousand pounds.”
“Kewel, now why can’t my dad do that?”
“Probably because he’s just forked out goodness knows how much for your surgery.”
“Oh yeah–but you haven’t?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She blushed and decided not to risk it.
“Julie, it’s my responsibility to provide you with adequate food and shelter until you leave the house to set up your own place. I’m not obliged to pay your alternative accommodation as well. Setting up a place of your own is known as showing your independence. If you’re being subbed by either Daddy or me, or anyone else, you haven’t achieved independence.”
“But you were subbed,” she said back angrily.
“I wasn’t. I just told you I was living in a horrid bedsit owned by a charity who help students who can’t afford anything better.”
“When did you move in here with Gramps?”
“Much later, I’d finished my degree and was working for the university.”
“I’ll bet you were earning more than me.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, I was only doing so many hours a week until Gramps found some funding to pay me more.”
“What about when he got the money from the government after the dinner party?”
“What about it?”
“He told me the only reason Portsmouth got the project was because you charmed the pants off the undersecretary. Did you have to sleep with him more than once?”
“The only person I’ve slept with is Daddy.”
“That isn’t how Gramps tells it.”
“Well that’s the truth.” I felt very hurt that Tom had told fibs about me, even if it sounded like a good story. If he was telling Julie who else did he tell that? She dashed off and it was quite a bit later when she returned.
“Sorry, Mummy, he said you only stayed with Daddy, but he meant you were such an influential member of his team, and because you were very pretty too, the politician guy fancied you and gave you some extra funding.”
“Oh, did he now? Did he tell you I wrote most of his proposal for the survey?”
“Oh I knew that already, he tells everyone that. We all know you’re a clever dick–um–less.” She blushed, “Gotta go.”
“A clever what?”
“Byeee,” she called.
Caroline was once again in Southampton, and I was making do as best I could, doing bits and pieces about the house and bits of my teaching plan–I started the same day Julie was having surgery. Things felt manic, and when at tea time Caroline waltzed in I was ready for a showdown.
“Are you cooking tonight?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I just wondered if I needed to fix myself something to eat.”
“How is Jenny?”
“She’s okay, why?”
“I thought you might be doing her therapy?”
“No, I go to sit with her and talk.”
“All day?”
“Well it takes an hour or so to get there and another one back, why?”
“I could have done with some help in the house today.”
“Sorry, but my first priority is Jenny.”
“Are you resigning from here then?”
“I thought you were going to get the cowshed converted for us?”
“Only if you were still working here, or that she wanted to come and live here.”
“She does, I was going to come as her helper.”
“I see.” The bare faced effrontery took my breath away for a moment.
“So you won’t be working here then?”
“No–I’ll be looking after Jenny, won’t I?”
“That wasn’t how I saw it, Caroline.”
“So you’re withdrawing your offer then?”
“I didn’t make the one you think you thought you heard me say. I offered to convert the cow-byre on the understanding that you’d still be working here, and assisting Jenny as and when. I was hoping that she’d be well enough to undertake some jobs as well.”
“We’re not your slaves you know.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“I’m sorry, Caroline, but I think I need you to think very carefully about your position here.”
“You’re sacking me?”
“I’m asking you to decide your priorities.”
“I told you, Jenny is my priority.”
“And you’re not prepared to work your trips to Southampton around your duties here?”
“Not if you’re going to be so unhelpful–I can see what you’re up to, trying to get out of spending some money–you rich bastards are all the same.”
“I’ve already asked Maureen for quotes, so I’m ready to push ahead with the cow-byre conversion.”
“Yeah but it isn’t for me an’ Jenny is it? It’s for Julie and Tash–I know how you lot work.”
“No it isn’t. I hadn’t even thought of it for that reason.”
“You can’t lie to me–so she can babysit your spoilt brats and you can stuff your job just as far up your arse or fanny as you can reach. I’m going.” She stormed off up the stairs stamping as she went.
Stella came in a few minutes later. “What’s the problem with Caroline?”
“She accused me of all sorts of things and told me to stick my job where a monkey puts his nuts.”
“Charming–so who’s going to look after the house?”
“I have no idea, I’ll have to get an agency in to babysit Catherine for me.”
“Can’t you take her to work with you–stick her in a big dormouse cage or a large specimen jar?”
“I don’t suppose you could sit her until I can find someone?”
“I’m an aristocrat, darling, not a nursemaid.” With that she turned on her heel and sauntered off leaving me speechless.
“I’ve packed up all my stuff, I’ll come back and move it as soon as I have somewhere to keep it. Here’s your key.” Caroline placed it on the table rather forcefully and picking up two bags, went out the back door and walked down the drive.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1580
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(aka Bike) Part 1580 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I ran out after her; “Caroline, aren’t you being somewhat hasty about this?”
She turned and looked at me with contempt, “You’re the one who decided, so you can jolly well live with it–I don’t honestly care.”
“Fine, if that’s how you wish to play it. I shall pay you until the end of the month in lieu of notice. I shall have your bags put in the garage, I’ll need to clear your room for your replacement.”
“See, I knew you wanted me out.”
“I gave you a chance to do a number of things, you chose to do none of them except run after your heart’s desire–that’s fine, but I’m not sponsoring you. If you stay you work. I’m not a charity–I have needs as well as aspirations.”
“The plumbing stuff was all talk wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t–I’d have sponsored you for that, but on the understanding you helped me in return, by working for me.”
“How was I supposed to keep house for you, look after Jenny and do a course in plumbing?”
“I didn’t say it would be easy, you’ll find it even harder now.”
“Thanks to you–you lied to me about the conversion of the cowshed.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Caroline, but I won’t be talked to in such a manner. I’m still your employer, or was. You are well out of line.”
“Ha, look who’s talking, the big Saint Catherine–I’ll make my own way, good bye.” She turned away and walked down the drive. I was speechless with sadness and fury at the same time. If she’d wanted to talk about things, I’d have done so, but her off hand attitude might mean I was well rid of her.
I was saddened that I couldn’t help Jenny or her, but you can’t help people who won’t be helped. I sighed and went back indoors, where I bumped into Simon.
“What’s the matter?” he asked me.
“Caroline has just walked out on us.”
“What after all you did for her?”
“I tried to do for her–she seems to have willfully misunderstood much of what I said.”
“Oh well there are plenty of others out there looking for work–but can we do without the weirder element.”
“You mean transgender?”
“Yeah–how about normal, just for a change?”
“I’ll try and appoint the best person I can find, I might try an agency except it will be expensive. Stella isn’t being very helpful.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Nothing, only I asked if she might look after Catherine while I was in work.”
“And she said no?”
“Yes, but a bit more haughtily than that.”
“What did she say?”
“I’m an aristocrat not a nursery maid–or words to that effect.”
“Aristocrat–she’s a single mother who’s only coping because we help her. I think I might have a little word in her shell like.”
“Please, no more unpleasantness, I’ve had as much as I can cope with for a day or two.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m just describing the lie of the land and how she fits in it in reality not in her dreamlike imagination.” He bustled off and I half expected to hear shots fired, but it stayed quite quiet. I thought back to my early days when Stella was the most favourite woman in my whole universe. She was kind and generous, funny and yet supportive. She loved Simon and seemed to take to me, we both loved her. How she seems to have changed since the babies and her break-down.
I went out to the kitchen, I didn’t feel much like doing anything, however, I found a couple of packs of back bacon and some eggs. I threw some potatoes in the fast oven and began preparing for a jacket spud with bacon and egg, tomatoes and mushrooms.
Simon returned about half an hour later, the potatoes were nearly done and the bacon was nicely grilled, the rest of the meal except the eggs was coming to conclusion.
“She’ll be down to apologise in a moment.”
“What did you say to her? I hope you weren’t too unpleasant–she is your sister after all.”
“I just told a few facts of life.”
“And?”
“That she wouldn’t cope without us.”
“Gosh.”
“I also pointed out that she needed to get off her fat arse and do something, or I’d start charging her rent at a proper rate.”
“You can’t do that, it’s not your house.”
“So, I’m acting as intermediary for the owner.”
“That’s Tom.”
“I’ll think you’ll find it’s you, actually, babes.”
“No, it’s Daddy’s.”
“He told me a little while ago he’d put it in your name.”
“Put what in my name?”
“This place.”
“He can’t do that?”
“I think he already has, with the caveat that he can live here as long as he wishes.”
“Of course he can, it’s his bloody house.”
With that Tom walked in with the dog. “Och that wis a fine walk.” He bent over and gave his dog a pat on the head and then placed fresh water in her bowl. She lapped at it.
“That’s right isn’t it, Tom?”
“Whit is?”
“You’ve transferred ownership of this place to Cathy.” Simon said and I waited with bated breath.
“Aye, but ye wisnae supposed to tell her.”
“Sorry, but it became necessary.”
“Daddy, a word if you please,” I said, and practically dragged him to his den.
“Whit’s a’ this aboot?”
“What on earth are you thinking about? This is your house, you can’t just give it away–like that.”
“I didnae, ye part own it anyway.”
“We funded some of the extension, but that was for our convenience.”
“Aye, well I jes’ gi ye thae rest o’ it.”
“But it’s your home, Daddy.”
“Aye, and I hae residential rights until I decide ither or die. I’m quite happy wi’ it.”
“I’m not, I think it’s too much.”
“Weel, if ye keep me alive fa’ seven yeers, ye get it tax free, or sae I’m led tae believe.”
“I don’t need another house,” I muttered as I wandered back to the kitchen.
Dinner was imminent, and when Stella came down rather red and puffy eyed, I had to put off her request to talk until after we’d eaten. She didn’t like it having built herself up to say whatever it was she was going to say, and I'd deflated her with a single stroke.
I called Trish to lay the table and began to dish up the meal. It went down rather well–rubbish food always does. I suppose it wasn’t too bad, I did grill the bacon, and the eggs were poached rather than fried. Oh well, it filled a few holes.
Stella helped me collect up the dirty dishes and brought them through to the kitchen. She waited while I loaded the dishwasher and as soon as I switched it on, she started.
I hushed her and made some teas, “Right, let’s sit down and talk like sisters, shall we?”
She burst into tears and I hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “I really am.”
“Stella, we’re sisters in more ways than by marriage. I owe you my life.”
“What? You’re the one who’s save mine more than once.”
“Okay, I owe you my sanity. You led me into womanhood, and guided me through the process. You gave me loads of advice support and clothes. You introduced me to Simon and the rest of our family. I’ll never be able to thank you for all that.”
“What?” she stood there gawping. “You owe me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Cathy, you owe me nothing, but I’ll accept your love as my sister and your support for me and my babies. My debt to you is immeasurable and of course I’ll look after Catherine while you start teaching again, though I hope we’ll find a replacement for Caroline soon. I don’t think I could cope with this place and the babies, even if you could.”
“I couldn’t. I’ve emailed one or two places already asking them to recruit for us–oh and no weirdos, Simon stipulated.”
“Oh, pity, they’d fit in with him rather well.” She added and we both hugged and laughed.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1581
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“Just what did you say to Stella to cause such an epiphany?” I asked Simon who was lying in bed reading Cosmo.
“I just told her a few facts of life.”
“Such as...”
“Don’t piss Cathy off or you might find yourself homeless.”
“You didn’t say that–did you?”
“What d’you think?”
“I think if anyone at the bank sees you reading Cosmo, you’ll have even less credibility than before.”
“Don’t change the subject, what did you think I said to Stella?”
“I hope you told her that I needed her help or I’d be up a gum tree without a paddle.”
“Interesting metaphor.”
“Yeah, I suppose you think I’m too easy on them, don’t you, inexperienced in dealing with underlings–sort of green behind the ears.”
He started to snigger, “Are you mixing up these metaphors on purpose?”
“Have to get your attention somehow or another.” I took the magazine off him and realised that it had rather a lot of pictures of Megan Fox flashing a new tattoo in some skimpy swimming costume. “She couldn’t swim in that.”
“Why not?” he asked snatching back the magazine.
“Her boobs would fall out, to start with.” I glanced at Simon who had his eyes closed and was nodding.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I said, but he shook his head.
“I’m a red blooded, heterosexual man, I enjoy pictures of scantily clad women, especially pretty ones with nice bodies.”
“Fine–I don’t,” I grabbed the magazine and chucked it.
“Prude,” he said pouting.
“I’m not, but I don’t find it edifying lying here watching you heavy breathing over soft porn pictures.”
“Soft porn–that’s Cosmo, it’s read by women all over the world.”
“Most of whom are under fifteen.”
“What? How can fifteen year olds afford it?”
“How do I know? I used to read it in doctor’s waiting rooms.”
“When did you read it then?”
“When I was about twelve or thirteen.”
“You haven’t read it since?”
“I can’t say I’ve not read it at all since, but as you well know I don’t read women’s magazines. Most are just glorified advertising vehicles or full of articles or pictures of starlets or wannabes who have no relevance to my life.”
“Julie reads it.”
“Julie reads OK and Hello Magazine given the chance–hardly brain enlarging stuff is it, except for men of a certain age who are known to keep their brains in a small part of their anatomy–which can enlarge. Quite how it migrates from there to a space between their ears after they’re fifty is one of the unexplained miracles of human biology.”
“So you think my brain’s down there, do you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did, you said men of a certain age.”
“I meant those between twelve and twenty-five who spend most of their time trying to make something longer by pulling it all the time, however, it’s quite elastic, and snaps back.”
“And quite how do you know so much about all this–you didn’t have a brother?”
“If you recall, I went to a boy’s grammar school. The topics of conversation were amongst the inmates usually limited to sexual matters and how they relieved their frustrations when the spotty little gits couldn’t get a girlfriend.”
“Oh, yeah I suppose they do tend to be subjects for discourse, don’t they?”
“My experience was limited because I was seen as the outsider and had to be careful not to be anywhere near the loos or I’d likely be beaten up.”
“Why?” He looked astonished.
“Lots of them thought because I looked girlish, that I was gay, and they’d either try to proposition me or attack me.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of it that way. How did you cope when you had to wear the girl’s uniform?”
“I hardly ate or drank anything during the day.”
“Was that wise?”
“Probably not, but I did lose some weight, not that I was overweight, consequently my waist got even slimmer. When I went back to trousers afterward, I had to buy girl’s ones, the boys ones wouldn’t stay up, my waist hip ratio was too far out of the range.”
,
“Didn’t anyone notice?”
“Possibly, they were as unisex as I could get, although some were a bit bum hugging. It’s funny, my hips were wider than a normal boy’s but my bum and breasts didn’t seem to grow much until I started hormones. Probably not a bad thing, or I’d have been right up a gum tree.”
“Without a paddle,” he added and snorted. “When are you going to replace Caroline?”
“I feel awful about doing it. Until I brought Jenny back for Christmas, she was doing alright. Since then she seems to have fallen for her big time.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that–they were here together and nothing seemed to be happening, so why now?” Simon pondered.
“I have an explanation for that; remember that before her accident, Jenny wasn’t that oversubscribed with boyfriends, and afterwards, I suspect she thought she’d never have anyone. I believe Caroline had the same sort of feelings, of being alone by dint of her transitioning. She wasn’t interested in men, but very few women are interested in MtF transsexuals, so it looked as if she’d also be alone. I’d picked up on this from both of them and sort of put them together.”
“Oh yes, you said something about matchmaking the other night.”
“My intention was to show them that two lonely people might still find love or affection, and I suppose I encouraged it when each of them mentioned they found the other attractive or attentive. I’m not sure Jenny actually likes the idea of being with a transsexual for several reasons.”
“But Caroline was available and gave her attention, right?” Simon found my suggestion feasible.
“Yes. I didn’t necessarily expect it to last and I still don’t, because Jenny will get tired of her or him if she can get her to revert.”
“So Caroline is rushing up a blind alley?”
“I think so, and by being funny with us, she’s queered her pitch in her main support group. Even Julie is annoyed with her, and Julie was her best friend here.”
“I thought you said she fancied Julie?”
“She did and was gutted when Julie showed up with another girl–I think that pushed her farther into this relationship than she would otherwise have gone.”
“Hoist by your own petard comes to mind.”
“I know, but how was I to know they’d click as quickly as they have? I just can’t see it lasting without Caroline becoming a doormat and reverting.”
“Let this be a lesson to you.”
“It is, I only wish I could do something to unwind it all.”
“Like get Jenny to walk again?”
“I don’t do miracles, her back and pelvis are so badly damaged I don’t believe they could be healed.”
“Have you tried recently?”
“Not since Christmas.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t think it can work.”
“I thought you said the energy was autonomous, it chose who it worked on.”
“I did and I believe it is, and it doesn’t seem to be drawing me towards Jenny. That isn’t to say it wouldn’t help her, but it might not be appropriate at this time.”
“But surely if it was going to restore her, it would need to work sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, it might be that it will help her accept her fate rather than trying to change her physical state.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, is that why it hasn’t converted any of your tranny friends or relatives into real females–um–I mean biological females–um–you’re real enough.” He blushed so I let him live.
“I don’ know what happens there, but I suppose it doesn’t consider it to be a disease–which it isn’t, it’s a variation on the norm, with outcomes frequently dependent upon choices made by individuals. So I or any other neo-female, can’t have babies even with the blue energy.”
“Just in case it’s changed its mind, shouldn’t we keep practicing–making them that is?” Simon beamed at me.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1582
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“You’re always asking me about my school days, what about yours?” I asked Simon, who was wondering how he’d get the magazine back which lay on the bedroom floor.
“Nothing much worth reporting, we used to skip prep every now and again and go behind the rugby changing rooms and drink and smoke. Same as any other public school boy, really.”
“They taught you to dance, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, supposed to put a veneer of civilisation on us, for five thousand a term they had to show something, so I could ask for a nice wine in French, use the correct cutlery at a meal and curse in Arabic.”
“Arabic–you took Arabic?”
“No, one of classmates was a Saudi, so I used to be able to say things like, Your mother has a face like a camel’s arse.”
“Go on then say it,” I urged him.
“I can’t, I’ve forgotten it–we were both drunk while he was teaching me.”
“I thought Muslims weren’t supposed to drink.”
“Ha, he was pissed half his time there. They wanted to expel him, but his dad was some dignitary at their embassy, ambassador or something, and the government wouldn’t let them do anything to upset our friends in the Middle East, they might stop buying our tanks or warplanes.”
“I wasn’t aware we had anyone like that in our school, though expulsions were rare, I suppose I came as close to it as anyone.”
“How come, I can’t imagine you as anything other than a model pupil?”
“I got blamed for all sorts of things, if they were beating me up, then when they saw the head, they’d say I propositioned them. They nearly always called me she. I remember a boy called Lewis Jones accused me of looking at him and started laying into me, when Murray asked him what had happened he said, ‘She was trying it on, sir.’
“Murray then asked for clarification, ‘Who is she–this is a boy’s school, and the only women are teachers, kitchen staff or admin support–so who is this she?’ Of course he knew the answer and having dismissed Jones with a light reprimand–as good as if you’re going to do it, don’t get caught–he dealt with me.
“Charlotte Watts, that’s what he called you, Watts. But then I suspect you like that don’t you?" I said nothing but I felt like agreeing with him–but didn’t on principle, it added to his paranoia. “You fairies make me sick, but I can’t expel you for your perversions, I promised your father I wouldn’t.” That surprised me, then I remembered, they were both masons. So a funny handshake was all that kept me in this school.
“I suppose you’d like it if we transferred you to the girl’s school so you could giggle and wiggle with the rest of the trollops. I wish I could, but that would create a real stink, more than the smell that surrounds you most of the time–you smell like a French whore.” It wasn’t my fault, Siá¢n had squirted me with some of her perfume on the way to school, and it was quite strong.
“I thought I told you to keep that hair in a ponytail” he shouted at me, some spittle landing on my face–how I didn’t throw up I’ll never know. I had the scrunchie in my pocket and he made me put it on. Mind you my hair was longer than it is now.”
“Blimey,” Simon looked at my shoulder length hair, “Longer? How much?”
“About three inches.”
“And you refused to cut it?”
“Absolutely. The dress code said hair had to be clean and tidy. Mine was. Occasionally if I really wanted to wind him up, I’d get Siá¢n to plait it for me. On one occasion, she did it in plaited pig tails–he went berserk and told me to either put it back into a ponytail or go and put on clothing more appropriate to it. I went home to lunch and came back in the girl’s uniform that Siá¢n had loaned me. I came very close to getting expelled. Instead he made me wear it for the remaining two days of the week. I also had to stay in school during break times in case I got beaten to death.”
“You looked like a girl, acted like a girl and they wanted to beat you up–what were they, total morons? Hitting girls, I can’t abide that at any price.”
“Ah, but officially I was still a boy, so I was seen as at best a curiosity–one or two enjoyed the way Murray’s blood pressure rose whenever I was about–I think they were hoping he’d have a fit or a stroke, he never did of course. The rest saw me as a weirdo who confused them or caused them to question their sense of male and female, and possibly their own masculinity.”
“So you had some supporters?”
“Mr Whitehead, only I didn’t know it then, and one of the women teachers who tried to intervene whenever she was near if I was getting battered.”
“Did you get hit very often?”
“Yeah, all the time, pushed and elbowed, books knocked from my hands, that sort of thing.”
“And you didn’t try to fight back?”
“Not with fists. That would only encourage them.”
“They could have done you serious harm, ruptured organs, damaged your face–I’m amazed you survived such an ordeal. How anyone could call you a wimp or weak is beyond me, you were twice as strong as any of them.”
“I knew that, they were too thick to work it out.”
“Didn’t Caroline go to your school?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know her then. She was two years below me and...”
“I know, I had Stella and as my sister she was difficult to ignore completely. So did you ever fancy any of the boys or girls?”
“You have got to be joking, I saw loads of girls I’d loved to have been, but fancy any of the boys–yuck–they were all that reminded me how women had evolved from the primeval ooze that is adolescent male.”
“Hoy, what d’ya mean women had evolved from the primeval ooze?”
“Primeval slime?” I offered.
“That’s better, primeval zit would be more apposite, but you’re a woman so you wouldn’t know about such things.”
“I didn’t, but a friend of Siá¢n’s had the most awful acne. She really did have a face full of craters. I think she got dermal abrasion in the end, poor kid.”
“So when did you start fancying boys then?”
I blushed as I recalled the memory of Kevin or whatever his name was, the bit of rough who kissed me while I was sitting in Simon’s car, and I came in my pants. It was as if a veil had been lifted and I was free to take part in relationships with the opposite sex–or boys, in my case–after all, I was now living as female–not just a girl, but female–and female is a sex, not a gender. Okay, I wasn’t in any hurry to experiment or experience what had been opened like some Pandora’s box, but I knew who I was and where I stood from then on.
“Hello, anyone home?” he waved his hand in front of my eyes.
“Yeah, I was trying to think when I started to fancy boys–or a boy–it was going out with you. Initially, I was just doing the mechanical thing, justifying myself as a girl by going out with a man, and as you offered, well.”
“And?”
“I succumbed to your charms and discovered that I was female in every sense.”
“Well, let’s face it, Babes, you never had a chance when I turned on the charm...”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1583
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(aka Bike) Part 1583 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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At breakfast the next day Simon said, “I can’t believe that they let you turn up in school wearing the girl’s uniform–didn’t anyone say anything to the press?”
“If they had, I’d have been expelled for being weird, or they’d have made up some story about a girl coming for specific tuition, or lessons unavailable in the girl’s school. Anyway, I have a few more things to worry about than that today.”
“Like what?”
“Like Julie going for her op.”
“Oh yes, that’s tomorrow isn’t it?”
“She has to go in tonight for tomorrow. I have a list here–she’s not to eat anything much after lunch.”
“I’d have thought she’d be too scared to eat very much anyway,” he replied.
“Scared? Why would she be scared?”
“Well, I mean it’s...” he looked down at his groin, “It’s a very sensitive place.”
“It’s certainly a place about which she’s sensitive–but no longer after tomorrow.”
I’d allowed her to have Tash here overnight, so she didn’t show at breakfast, and by mid morning I was becoming worried that she wouldn’t be ready in time. I knocked on her bedroom door. Inside I could hear what sounded like cries of passion. Fearing what might be happening, I knocked again and entered. Tash was waxing Julie’s groin. So it wasn’t cries of passion but pain. I blushed and apologised and beat a hasty retreat. I hoped that she wouldn’t come out in too much of a rash and prevent the surgery being feasible–it wasn’t the cleverest of ideas.
They eventually came down for lunch, which, although it was a Sunday, I made a thin soup–it was on Julie’s list of permitted foods. I felt sorry for her watching everyone else eat loads while she had to keep to the strict diet. However, this was something she had wanted for a long time. I was loading the dishwasher when she came over with their dirty plates. “We’ll need to do a checklist to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”
“I’ve done it all already, Mummy.”
“Did you check the list they gave you?”
“Yes, and Tash did too.”
“Oh well, you’re technically an adult now, so I suppose I need to treat you like one occasionally.”
“Are you taking me into the hospital?”
“Yes–what time do they want you there?”
“After tea–six o’clock, I think.”
“Okay, I’ll run you in, but check the time just in case.”
“Okay, okay–um–Mummy, can Tash come with me?”
“As long as she appreciates they’ll have things to do–did you take the laxative they gave you?”
“Yes, I think it flushed out my Christmas dinner.” She smirked at me, unaware of what lay in-store for her when she got there–bowel washes and enemas–all good stuff.
“Can you take her home afterward?”
“If she’s ready to go when I leave you, yes.”
“I’ll tell her.” She suddenly stood up and hugged and kissed me. “I love you, Mummy, and tomorrow is so important–and it’s all down to you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart, and I think your father’s chequebook might have had some small part in it too.”
“I know, but I can’t face him at the moment–I’m sure he thinks I’m making a huge mistake.”
“He’s a man, so he’d fight to the death to keep his meat and two veg, but he knows you’re not, and d’you honestly think he’d pay out thousands for something if he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do?”
“If you told him to he would.”
“I think you credit me with more influence than I have.”
“Go on, Mummy, you’re the boss round here, even Kiki does what you tell her.”
“If that was the case she’d stop crapping in my snowdrops.”
Julie giggled nervously.
“Everything is alright, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, course it is; and I’m scared to death.”
“Scared? Scared of what?”
“Scared I could die, Mummy–scared that the surgery might not work.”
“But O’Rourke has a wonderful reputation, he’s worked on me and your sister, and we’re both fine.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“I saw some things on the internet about failed vaginoplasties and they were truly horrific. It scared me–until I saw them I’d never have believed such a mess was possible.”
“Well, anything could happen, but it won’t–I expect the pictures you saw were of surgery done by unqualified surgeons.”
“Some of them died.”
“I’m afraid surgery always carries a risk, darling, but I survived and so did Trish. I have total conviction in Mr O’Rourke, so I expect you to be fine. I’ll come and see you as soon as you’re back from surgery.”
“Will you bring Tash?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, they won’t always let boy or girlfriends in until you feel a bit stronger.”
“Will you try?”
“I’ll follow the advice of the hospital, if they say okay, then I will, if not I’ll let her know you’re okay.”
“I’m still scared shitless, Mummy.”
“That might mean an enema isn’t necessary.”
“Enema–they don’t do an enema, do they?”
“They have to check your bowel is empty to reduce the risk of infection.”
“Oh dear god, they don’t, do they?”
“I’ve had one, it’s nothing, really.”
“They always do them in porn stories.”
“Why are you reading porn stories?”
“I just did–for a year or two before I came here.”
“I can only guess why they do them in porn stories, but in a medical sense it’s to reduce the risk of coliforms getting into the wound.”
“Cauliflowers?” she looked aghast at me.
I couldn’t help laughing, and shook my head, “No, dear, coliforms–bugs from the gut, you know the colon.”
“Phew, I thought you said cauliflowers–I wondered what they did with cauliflowers.”
“Not a lot, I should think.”
We hugged and she told me she’d like me to check all her stuff. I removed the ipad from her bag and she grumbled. “I’ll bring it in with me when you’re capable of using it, which won’t be for a couple of days–it cost a lot of money, and I don’t want it stolen. Take your MP3 player in with you for now. I’ve got a small lockable metal box you can borrow with a chain, so you can keep your ipad and things in there and lock it round the leg of the bed, should be safe enough then. Right, I have to organise a meal for the rest of them, I suggest you take Tash and go out for a walk or upstairs out of the way.”
She kissed me, called Tash and they went upstairs again. I did my usual chore of making yet another meal and serving it, although I didn’t feel much like eating any, I was anxious for her as well. Finally, it moved towards six and she gave everyone a hug and a kiss and I took a tearful Julie and Tash in my car to the hospital.
The nurse told me they’d be busy with her for the next hour, so I excused myself–Tash went off to the restaurant to wait, she was going back to the ward. I felt guilty, but I was teaching tomorrow morning, and had some other things on my mind–like where I’d filed my lecture notes for the first series I was doing. Why is my life so complicated, I only want to do everything and be everything to everyone–not much to ask for is it?
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1584
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(aka Bike) Part 1584 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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I was worked up the next morning and despite having little sleep, adrenaline seemed to keep me going enough to get the girls to school–their first day back–and me to the university. I even had my old office back–yeah the broom cupboard that was too small for storage.
I sent Julie a text telling her I was thinking of her and would call the hospital in the evening–she was due to go down for surgery about one o’clock. I had some teabags and milk with me, so made myself a cuppa and ran through my lecture notes. Mima had been drawing on the back of some of them–yeah, I know, I should have put them safe.
The lectures were an introduction to ecology, so I could wing much of it anyway, and I gave them a reading list as a handout. The thing is that the lectures are a primer for later fieldwork, which is when it gets interesting. We do an assessment of a few sites including the foreshore–get to practice my bird watching and a woodland environment.
The course is an optional one, so I’m not sure how many will take it up–hopefully not many, then they’ll either drop it next term and I won’t have too much marking to do. I finished my tea and shoved my notes back in my lappy-case along with my laptop which I’d use to control slides and so on. I was using my favourite lecture theatre–not. This was the very room in which Spike did the famous abseil down inside my blouse.
The technician was a new guy named Tim Mortimer, who was introduced to me by Gloria, who was now doing part time since she’d had a baby–I didn’t mention that before, did I. She hadn’t married Neal yet, but she would when she got round to it. She showed me piccies of her new wain and I showed her some of Catherine and the others that I had on my Blackberry.
Tim set up my laptop and told me everything was ready. I went into the lecture theatre and it was absolutely packed. It holds over a hundred, and they were standing at the back and sitting on the stairs. 'Oh shit, enough marking here to last a couple of years. Oh double shit.'
I navigated my way down the steps and onto the dais which has a large desk or table for demonstrations and so forth.
When I stepped onto the dais a loud cheer went up which made me blush–after this anything I do short of a striptease is going to be an anticlimax. I held up my hand and called for quiet after clipping on the microphone.
“Okay, thank you for the enthusiastic welcome, but let’s not forget this is a place of learning, not the X-Factor. I’m Cathy Watts and I’m overwhelmed by the number of you here obviously keen to learn about ecology. My own specialty is small mammal ecology, so at times we’ll use examples from that, but ecology refers to any habitat anywhere. For the more perceptive of you, yes this is where the Youtube clip happened. I have now mentioned it, and as far as I am concerned that is it. Anyone else who mentions it out loud will likely fail my course for not paying attention. For those who haven’t seen it.” I clicked on my computer and the lights dimmed and in glorious high definition, I watched Spike get spooked, run up my sleeve and jump down my blouse. Needless to say, I was wearing a pair of jeans and a polo-neck jumper, not the blouse.
It got a huge laugh and I blushed again. I did every time I saw it. “So that’s it over and done, as I said, anyone who mentions it again will get a fail.” I then ran through the timetable and also that I would see if we could get a bigger room next time after asking if everyone there intended taking the course–they apparently did.
An hour and half later, I was exhausted as I watched them all file out of the theatre. Tom came down to see me. “Oor celebrity teacher hasnae lost her touch.”
“I am knackered. How am I supposed to run fieldtrips with a hundred students?”
“Aye, I ken, we’ll hae tae split them up, e tak’ some an’ Neal can tak’ some.”
“They’re supposed to get ten hours of practical, and thirty hours of tuition–it’s not possible with that sort of number because I can’t do any more hours.”
“Wuld ye believe, I haed tae turn doon anither twenty students.”
“Why?”
“Ye’re famous, ye’re a titled lady, a film maker, superhero and wonder mum, they all ken aboot yer exploits. Nearly every female first year wanted to do yer course, even those daein’ chemistry.”
I’m a non-celebrity, get me outta here. I shook my head, “If you have another twenty students wanting to do this, can we run two groups of sixty–at least that way they all get a seat.”
“Aye we cuid,” he nodded.
“However, if I’m doing twice my hours, I want some extra preparation time and double pay.”
“Okay,” he shrugged.
That surprised me. He agreed without argument, simply handing me an envelope which stated exactly what I’d suggested. The crafty old sod had pre-guessed me. I was a little miffed, but realised it brought extra money to my budgets in the university and would give me a bigger pool to recruit my dormouse patrols from.
It was one o’clock when Tom took me to lunch together with Pippa. We were back at two and I went and did preparation for two classes for the remaining hour before going to get the girls and take them home.
Stella whinged about Catherine, but shut up when I told her about my day. At six my mobile peeped and the nurse I’d left a bottle of wine, texted to say Julie was back from theatre, but wouldn’t be available to visitors until the next day. I sent her a bouquet of flowers. I also called Tash to say she was back in her room, and I’d go to see her tomorrow.
I told the others and they all whooped with joy. I changed and spent the next hour making a large cottage pie which the girls love, so does Simon. I was so tired I nodded off in the kitchen while reading a text book. Actually, I was looking for a reference, but couldn’t find it. Trish found me and woke me up, then made me a cuppa. Then she asked what I was doing and when I explained, she flicked through the book and found it in ten minutes. I suppose I was a bit tired.
I did stay awake long enough to get the girls to bed, but I was in mine not long after, and fast asleep. It wasn’t to last–it never does, does it? At about midnight–two hours after I’d been in bed–Simon came and woke me.
“Wossamatta?” I grumbled at him.
“Babes, wake up, the hospital phoned, we have a situation.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1585
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(aka Bike) Part 1585 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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“What d’you mean, we have a situation?” I asked, looking at him. He was still dressed and his side of the bed hadn’t been disturbed. “Haven’t you been to bed yet?”
“No I was watching a film with Tom and Stella.”
“What time is it then?”
“’Bout quarter past twelve.”
I sat up in the bed and rubbed my eyes. “What’s happened?I hope Julie is okay?”
“It wasn’t Julie they phoned about.”
“Who then?”
“Caroline.”
“Caroline?”
“Yeah, she’s in the QA, she was coming back to see you–she and Jenny had a big falling out and she got hit by a car while running to catch a bus to come out here. Your friend Ken Nicholls is duty surgeon–she’s in a bad way.”
“Oh my God! Okay, I’ll get dressed. Ask Stella if she’ll watch the children?”
“I already have.” Simon began to take his clothes off as I was donning mine. I was about to say something when he began to pull on his jeans and a checked shirt. “I’m only changing–don’t want that hospital smell in my working suit.”
“Hospitals don’t smell now–not like they used to, so I am told–of carbolic and other disinfectants.”
“Well, I’m not taking the risk,” he added while lacing up his trainers. By now I was dressed and I combed my hair back into a ponytail and added a red scrunchy. I grabbed my handbag, keys and coat as he pulled on a fleece jacket and zipped it up.
“We’ll take my car,” he said as we ran out to it, “I’ll drop you at A&E and park up, then come and find you.”
“Okay,” I agreed and jumped in his car.
We were at the hospital and I was running into A&E within twenty minutes. “Hi, it’s Cathy Cameron, Mr Nicholls sent for me.”
The receptionist wasn’t impressed. “Take a seat while I try and contact him.” I walked to the nearest chair feeling riven with frustration and worry. Caroline hadn’t been exactly my flavour of the month lately, but I was still fond of her.
“Cathy?” called a familiar voice and I saw Ken beckoning to me, I jumped up and walked quickly to him. “Come on in, nice to see you again, pity it’s always with some disaster or other.”
“How is she?”
“She was dressed as a he, well mostly. It was the panties and bra that caused the paramedics a little consternation because she otherwise looked like a bloke with a ponytail. They found your address on her and I advised the police to contact you. She’s in a bad way I’m afraid.”
My stomach flipped and I felt sick as he led me into a cubicle in which I barely recognised my former housekeeper, who was black and blue in places and bleeding in others. She was attached to drips and a respirator.
“We’ve done some preliminary X-rays and she’s due in theatre in the next half an hour–I’m going to have to remove her spleen and possibly her right leg. She’s got a smashed right orbital, so could have lost the sight in that eye and there are some fractures to the skull above the eye. Spinal damage is minimal considering the other things, but she must have been caught by the right leg and swung up into the air, it’s broken in three places and partly severed at the knee.”
“How long have I got?”
“I’m expecting to have a theatre crew ready in twenty to thirty minutes. See what you can do.”
With a nurse watching me, which didn’t help my concentration, I sat by the side of Caroline, as close as the machines would allow and grasped her hand. “Hello, Caroline, it’s Cathy–I’ve come to help you.” I felt my body flooding with energy, which, considering I’d been in bed half an hour before, surprised me a little. Perhaps my own adrenaline encouraged it, but in seconds my whole body was buzzing–almost literally and I felt her hand trembling in mine.
“Jesus Christ,” said the nurse and ran out of the cubicle.
I knew I was glowing with energy and I suspected Caroline would be too. The energy had its own agenda, and I saw it focusing on her head and then on her leg, with just a residual amount allocated to her abdomen.
I had never known the energy flow through me as strongly as it was doing. Even when I’d healed one or other of the children, it hadn’t been as strong. I felt Simon behind me, his eyes wide with surprise as he saw the energy passing from me into this battered and bloodied body of our housekeeper.
“Wow,” said Ken’s voice from behind me.
“Please,” I asked quietly and he shut up. He allowed me three quarters of an hour and sent Caroline for scans and X-rays while I sat and drank a cuppa in the A&E office.
“It was like a cross between lasers and lightning flashes–amazing,” he said.
“I feel knackered,” I said, nearly dropping my cup.
“While we’re here, any chance of seeing Julie?” Simon asked cheekily, and Ken picked up the phone.
“She's asleep, but you can pop up and see her for a minute–don’t wake her up.” Simon practically dragged me to the lifts as we sped up to her ward.
“She’ll wake up, she’ll sense I’m there.” I said, but he pooh-poohed it.
“Not if you don’t zap her, she won’t.”
“Suit yourself,” I replied and he dragged me onto the ward. The nurse knew who we were and I stood at the foot of her bed. ‘Nil by mouth’ it said above her bed alongside Mr O’Rourke and her name, Julie Kemp.
She was peaceful, but I could see her eyes moving under her eyelids. She was dreaming–no she wasn’t, her eyes popped open and she smiled at me, “Mummy?” she called so quietly it was barely audible.
“Hello, darling, how d’you feel?”
“I’m a woman, Mummy, I’m really a woman now–I feel wonderful, but a bit tired.” She yawned and closed her eyes, slipping back to sleep.
As we went back down to A&E Simon asked, “Is it really that tiring being a woman?” I declined to answer him with anything other than a yawn. He shrugged.
“Okay, the good news,” said Ken, looking at images on a computer, “she doesn’t look brain damaged, and the swelling around her eye is reduced by half. I don’t know how, but her blood vessels–the femoral artery and down to the popliteal has seemingly healed itself, she’s going to have some big scars, but the leg looks safe. You’ve done it again, haven’t you, you and that blue stuff–I just wish I could bottle it.”
“Sorry, Ken, it won’t let me control it, so I doubt it would allow you to shove it in a bottle like a genie. Please–none of this happened–okay? Can you control your nurse.”
“I hope so, you see, if she tells anyone about this because it involves a patient under treatment at this hospital, I’d get her struck off for breach of patient confidentiality.”
“I’ll do worse.” I said trying to look mean.
“Like what?” he asked.
“I’ll strike her off my Christmas card list.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1586
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(aka Bike) Part 1586 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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Simon took me home and I slunk up to bed and back to sleep, I was so tired I think I just undressed and slipped between the covers wearing a bra and panties. I didn’t hear Simon come up, but he was there when I awoke in the morning.
It was half past seven and I crawled out of bed and woke the girls, then went up the stairs and called Danny, who grumbled, but rolled out of his bed. “Don’t forget you have football practice tonight.”
“Uhh,” was his response, I think, I didn’t wait for further noises as I was on my way downstairs and into the shower. I didn’t wash my hair to save time and checked on the girls while draped in a towel. Livvie appeared to be acting as bathroom monitor and the other two were getting themselves dried. I left them to dress and dashed down to start the breakfast. A few minutes later Simon appeared, grabbed the piece of toast I’d just buttered and went off to work. I started again with the toaster.
I did eat some toast eventually, and washed it down with the lukewarm tea I’d been too busy to drink while it was hot. I grabbed my laptop and notes, left Stella sorting out Catherine, and escorted the three girls to the car. Then it was drop them off and get to the university.
Tom was already there and I went to see him. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this.”
“Dae whit?”
“Run these classes, let alone extra ones.”
“Ye’ve already deferred them frae last term–ye hae tae dae them, hen.”
I shook my head and went to my office and ran through my notes again. I found the mistake that had jumped out at me yesterday and corrected it. Then it was more of yesterday’s stuff to a relatively small class–about forty who’d missed out on yesterday. I was now going to be teaching two classes of seventy or eighty students.
I went to the lecture room and set up with the help of Tim, the new technician. A few of the students were waiting for me and asked me to sign their dormouse books. In return I asked them why my class was so popular.
“Cause like, they say you’re a fun lecturer,” said one young woman who looked about fourteen except for the heels she was wearing. They made my three inch boots seem very low.
I ran through more or less the same format as yesterday and decided I didn’t much care for doing repetitions, so half way through I threw my notes up in the air and instead of teaching them, I made them teach me. There were one or two had an idea of ecology because they’d done biology at A level. There were several who were there because they genuinely wanted to know what it was all about, and one young man said he came because his father fell in love with me when he saw the dormouse film and he was disappointed that I wasn’t wearing shorts today. Oh well, ask a silly question.
At lunch time, I dashed into the hospital to see Caroline–she was well out of it, but I sat there for half an hour and gave her a boost. They’d sutured her leg and were very hopeful of it healing well. By the time I’d finished, I was certain it would heal well.
I was allowed up to the ward where Julie was to deliver her iPad. She looked tired but elated. “I can’t believe I’m really a woman, now?” she effused all over me.
“Darling, the operation doesn’t make you a woman, it merely confirms your status as one,” I explained to her.
“You know what I meant, I’m so happy, Mummy. I really am.”
“Good, you can tell Daddy when he pops in to see you later.”
“I dreamt I saw you last night.”
“It wasn’t a dream.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, they called me in to help with Caroline. She was hit by a car last night.”
“Our Caroline?” she looked aghast.
“’Fraid so.”
“Is she alright?”
“Don’t know yet. She’ll live, the energy has seen to that, but what sort of damage has been done is hard to say.”
“Can I go and see her?”
“Certainly not, you can’t leave your bed for a week, so be patient–no pun intended–and when it’s time I’ll make sure we go and see her. I need to go and get the girls from school.” I kissed her and apologised to the ward sister for being there longer than I’d intended.
I went back to the university and did some more work on the programme of lectures, and it was only when Pippa bleeped me, I saw the time and rushed off to collect the girls.
As I was waiting for them to erupt from the doorway like lava from Vesuvius a very handsome man arrived. He must have been late thirties about six foot tall, dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. I was standing a little apart from a group of three mums who obviously knew each other.
“Nice day,” he remarked to me.
“Hmm,” I agreed nodding.
“Excuse me, but you look familiar.”
If this was a chat up, he needed some new lines. “I’m sure I don’t.”
I felt his eyes boring into me again and wished the girls were here so I could go. “I know I’ve seen you somewhere.”
“Probably here.”
“Could be.” He shook his head and just then the door opened and dozens of cloned girls escaped through the portal and to the arms of doting and wealthy parents. Trish and Livvie were talking with another girl as they strolled out, other girls rushing round them to escape.
The three of them casually walked up to us. “Hello, Mummy, this is Jo, she sits next to us in scripture–she doesn’t believe either.”
I felt myself blushing, and the little girl grabbed hold of the man’s hand. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s my fault that Jo tends to question the nuns about religious matters–I’m a scientist.”
“My mummy is a scientist too, aren’t you, Mummy.” Trish was in her element.
“Allegedly,” I muttered.
“She’s knows all about dormice,” beamed Trish and I blushed even more.
“That’s it,” said the man.
“What is?” I almost stepped back in surprise at his declaration.
“Where I’ve seen you.”
I looked blankly at him hoping he wouldn’t mention the Youtube clip.
“In my bank, they have a poster of you holding a dormouse.”
“High Street?” I asked and he nodded so I nodded back.
“An’ she’s made a film and writted books about dormice.”
“Of course, last year, that was you on the BBC–lovely documentary–watch out David Attenborough. So any more in the pipeline?”
“No too busy teaching.”
“Oh, where?”
“The university.”
“What, here?”
“Yes.”
“My wife teaches there, in the marine biology unit.”
“What about you, where do you do your science?”
“I work for QinetiQ–so it’s all a bit hush-hush.”
“Porton Down,” I muttered.
“Mostly. Oh I’m John Downes, my wife is Kate, I’d love to talk about environmental stuff–why don’t you come over one afternoon with your girls and they could play with Jo while we chill out with a spritsa and some Mozart and a chat about the environment. Bring hubby of course.”
“I’d have to speak with Simon, but it sounds nice–oh I’m Cathy, Cathy Watts.”
“No you’re not Mummy, you’re Lady Catherine Cameron.”
“Oh my goodness–you did the Scottish play–here, didn’t you?”
“Um–yes.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, look you must come over, here’s my number, I know Kate would be delighted to meet you, even though you both work at the same uni. Well, well, we both loved your performance.” He offered his card, then his hand, which I shook gently.
We got into the car and I watched him drive away with his daughter in a large four wheel drive thing.
“Mummy fancies him, don’t you, Mummy.” Said Trish giggling and I found myself getting hot and bothered.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1587
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(aka Bike) Part 1587 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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It was after dinner, when we were on the way to hospital that I asked Simon about going to see the man I’d met earlier. “But you don’t know him, how can we go for drinks?”
“I know he works for QinetiQ.”
“The MOD people?”
“Yes.”
“I think I’ve got some shares in them somewhere.”
“Is there anything you don’t have shares in?”
“The French Government.”
“What?”
“They’re going to lose their credit rating.”
“How can a government lose its credit rating? That’s stupid.”
“The American rating agency S&P is going to downgrade it by one point–could cause the Euro some more trouble.”
“That is ridiculous, how can an American agency downgrade a national government’s credit rating when it doesn’t seem to notice that its government is bankrupt–they borrow more than anyone.”
He sniggered, “Well, that’s the way it happens, mind you if the Chinese sold all the US bonds they have, the US economy would collapse overnight–then ours would follow a matter of hours later.”
“Best hope the Chinese don’t sell then.”
“The Chinese and the Arabs own more of the US than the government does.”
“So, they probably own more of the UK than anyone else does–let’s face it, the government has sold all the family silver long since.”
We pulled into the car park and I jumped out and loaded coins into the machine. Then we both walked up to the wards holding hands. I couldn’t remember when we’d last done that. “Never mind the sick, let’s go back to the car for a quick grope.” Simon almost echoed my thoughts except I’d never tell him that.
“Certainly not,” I lied, “You need to go and see your daughter and accept her thanks for making her whole.”
“Is that whole with a dubbya or not?” He smirked and I glowered back at him.
“You have a one track mind.”
“So?” he shrugged.
We split up at the shop, he went in to buy some chocolates for Julie while I went up to see Caroline. I asked how she was and was told she was awake. She was now in high dependency rather than ICU. I hoped that meant progress.
“Hello,” I said warmly and her bruised face looked up and winced.
“Oh it’s you,” she said.
“Who were you expecting, Princess Anne?”
“What d’you want–apart from gloating?”
“I think I’ve missed something here, shall I go out and come back in again?”
“No, just go back out and stay there.”
“Why the hostility?–I’m not aware that I’ve done anything to you.”
“Apart from sacking me, making me homeless and losing me my girl.”
“How did I do the latter?”
“She told me you’d said it wouldn’t last and she agreed. Why couldn’t you keep your big nose out of it–but no you have to interfere, don’t you?”
“If you want me to go, I will.”
“And don’t come back.”
“Oh one thing before I go, if you want to do that plumbing course, I’ll sponsor you.”
“How am I supposed to do that, my leg nearly got ripped off.”
“That’ll be alright now.”
“Sez who?”
“I do, and so do the surgeons.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot you pretend such things.”
“How did I lose you your girlfriend?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I’m asking you.”
“Speak to her, she’ll tell you about your poison, you two faced bitch.” Hearing this was like standing on a rake and I almost ran out of the ward in tears. I went outside and walked up and down before I controlled myself enough to go and see Julie.
As I walked I could only assume she meant that I had let them get together and then tried to stop them once I’d realised my mistake. But until I saw that Jenny was going to make Caroline miserable in the long run, I hadn’t seen the danger–now it was too late and I had to accept my mistake. I felt awful.
Instead of going up to Julie I went back in to Caroline.
“What d’you want now?”
“It appears you think I owe you an apology, in which case I apologise unreservedly.”
“So that makes it all alright, does it–you saying sorry?”
“No, that isn’t what I said. I accept that I let you get together because I could see you were both nursing a pain of loneliness, although that was after bringing Jenny home for Christmas. I hoped maybe you could help heal each others pain. It was a mistake.”
“You told her to drop me,” she spat at me.
“I thought she was going to stop you from persisting with your transition because she didn’t want to live with you in that state.”
“So what business of that was yours?”
“I believed you when you told me you wanted to become a woman.”
“I did then–then I fell in love with Jenny.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry I fell in love?”
“No, sorry that I helped you get together.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew Jenny better than you did, and knew it was doomed from the outset.”
“And still you let it happen.”
“I didn’t think it would happen–I thought you’d become companions or good friends, not fall in love.”
“Well I did, and then she dumped me. Why didn’t you let me die? Why couldn’t you let her die? Always interfering aren’t you? Know better than anyone don’t you?”
“Apparently not. Anyway, I’ve apologised, I can’t do anymore than that.”
“You won’t do anything else you mean–just walk away from the mess you leave behind–poor little rich girl, didn’t mean any harm–sorry I destroyed your world, gotta go, have shopping to do.” Caroline said this in silly voice, mocking a rich debutante type of girl, which I certainly wasn’t.
“I brought you down here to work for me, to provide you with a safe environment to get your life test in and earn some money. I was also prepared to fund your classes to do plumbing because I didn’t think you’d want to work for me forever. I accepted your word that you really were transsexual, and really did want to transition. I was wrong there too, wasn’t I? No real transsexual would allow anything to stop them transitioning.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Yeah so did I, goodbye.” I turned to leave.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I trusted you to be honest with me, you weren’t.”
“Honest? Ha–this from the woman who offered me a job and us a home then withdrew it in the same breath.”
“I offered you a job because I needed someone to look after my children when I was working.”
“If you have children, shouldn’t you be looking after them, not paying someone else? You want it all, don’t you–the penny and the bloody bun?”
“It obviously seems that way to you, doesn’t it, even though that was clear to you from the beginning, and initially I’d hoped that you and Jenny would be there working as a team. Then she left, wrongly as it sadly turned out and she made things worse by trying to kill herself.”
“She’d have succeeded if you hadn’t interfered.”
“I’m not certain of that, I suspect she’d have been a very disabled and unhappy woman.”
“She is now or hadn’t you noticed?”
“I’m well aware of how she is, but at least she has a chance of some sort of life.”
“In a wheelchair.”
“Would you prefer she was confined to a bed unable to move any of her limbs?”
“Of course not.”
“The same for you?”
“What?”
“You wouldn’t have died, just wished you had. You’re going to walk again–okay, you’ll have scars–so no miniskirts without tights–but hey, you’re no longer transsexual are you–so does it matter? I’m going, I wish you well, both of you.”
“Both of us?”
“No, both of you, the Caroline side of you and the masculine side. Good job you kept your bedsit in Bristol isn’t it?”
“You kept the rent paid on it?”
“You know I did, but then I’m such a mean manipulating sort, I suppose you’re going to accuse me of planning it all.”
“My place in Bristol, it’s still available?”
“Yes, the rent is paid until the end of March, after that it’s your problem. Goodbye.”
“Cathy?”
I started to walk, “What?” I said without turning back.
“Thank you.”
I walked out of the ward without saying anything and without shedding a tear.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1588
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(aka Bike) Part 1588 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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The walk from Caroline’s ward up to the female surgical one where Julie and Simon should be, served to let me dump the emotions from the previous interview. Caroline was a free agent once they discharged her from hospital, she had somewhere to live until the end of March. I didn’t know how she would cope, or should that be he? Whatever they were, they were no longer my problem, neither was Jenny. Although I’d offered her a place with us, I sincerely hoped she wouldn’t try to accept it. I think our paths have diverged too much to make them even parallel. I’m obviously too generous before I think things through–must try to rectify that.
Once on female surgical, I simply followed the laughter and knew it had to be Julie’s bed. Sure enough, Simon was entertaining our daughter and some of the nurses with the story of me and a certain Ken Young over whose head I dumped a dish of trifle. He was the man who pretended he couldn’t get funding for a sex-change op but was actually taking the piss–he was angry about the money being spent on such surgery and just making a noise about it. I saw him in a cafe and ordered a trifle which I then deposited on his head.
“Ah, the trifle queen,” announced Simon as I arrived at Julie’s bed.
“But why did you tip the trifle over his head, it’s not as if you needed a sex-change, is it?” The nurse looked me up and down carefully.
“I thought he was being a pig, and he disturbed my lunch talking about people as if they were objects. I offered my opinion in trifl-e-cate.”
“Very funny,” she laughed and went back to her duties.
I gave Julie a hug and a kiss. “How does it feel?” I asked her knowing that I’d not had much trouble at all I hoped she wasn’t either.
“It’s okay, I took some painkillers a while back–it’s missing out on food is the problem.”
“Yeah, does tend to get to you by the third week,” I offered casually.
“Three weeks? You said one,” Julie almost squealed.
“So, I was lying.” I shrugged, it is only one week without solids, but I couldn’t resist winding her up.
“You told me it was only a week she’d be off food–that’s all you were,” Simon was thinking out loud–I’d have to have words about this, if he starts thinking, we could all be in trouble.
“How’s Caroline?” asked Julie.
“She’s doing very well, or he is.”
Julie looked very concerned, “He?”
“Yeah, he or she is doing alright, but will be going back to Bristol once he’s discharged.”
“But I thought Jenny and she were coming back to stay with us?” Julie was a little out of the loop on this one.
“No–as far as I know, Jenny will be in hospital for some time and Caroline is going back to Bristol.”
“Why?”
“Julie, it’s a very long story.”
She looked at her watch, “You’ve got the best part of an hour–so spill.”
Simon made himself comfortable and I drew up a chair from an empty bed across the ward. I looked round the place, in Julie’s four bed bay, she was the only patient. Oh well, it made it more private.
“Okay, you sure you want all this?” I asked and she nodded. “No one comes out of it very well, including yours truly, or perhaps that should be especially, me.”
“Why, Mummy, you did your best,” protested Julie.
I hushed her, “I saw Jenny in hospital and on a whim asked if I could take her home for the Christmas weekend as I thought it would help her and resolve some of the pain she was feeling. I couldn’t have got it more wrong had I tried. She was lonely and so was Caroline. I let them get together, in fact encouraged it because two lonely souls could console each other. Not thinking it through, partly because I thought that Jenny was into blokes and so Caroline wouldn’t be of interest other than as a friend. I was right, she wasn’t of interest, but that didn’t stop her falling for Jenny in a big way. Then Jenny got naughty and began causing Caroline to think about reverting back to being a man.”
“But that’s stupid, if you’re a woman you can’t go back to being the man you never were in the first place, can you?”
“I agree totally, Julie, but Caroline was well and truly hooked, and it was partly my fault.”
“No it wasn’t–they were both adults,” Julie said firmly.
“Not quite, I think Jenny had changed since her humiliation and then accident. She was now looking to revenge herself on any male she could find, and Caroline walked into her sights–her gun-sights. Caroline being even more of an ingénue than you are, was a lamb to the slaughter.”
“What’s an angie-new?” asked Julie and Simon nearly fell of his chair.
“An innocent,” he supplied.
“So why didn’t she say that?” Julie protested to Simon.
“Because she’s a smart arse,” he retorted.
“Why is it wrong to use appropriate words if you know them, it’s not as if I was talking in Greek.”
“No, Babes, it was most definitely French.”
“Sacré bleu,” I gasped.
“Show off,” called Julie.
I shrugged, “You’ve either got it or you haven’t,” for effect I shrugged again.
Julie shook her head. “Well you haven’t, Mummy.”
“Doh,” I folded my arms and pouted. Simon sat there and laughed like a drain–sometimes I hate that man.
We chatted on with Julie until visiting time was over and I collected her dirty nightdress and gave her the clean ones. Her iPad was working fine, and she had watched some stuff on BBC iPlayer using her headphones with the pad.
I was more a user of laptops, especially as a net book will do more than an iPad in terms of running other bits and pieces like a dongle or a disc drive. My net book was also lighter than the iPad. Still, I suppose it’s about personal choice, and Julie was into iPods and iPads and such things, I wasn’t.
We kissed and hugged and so did Simon and her, it was nice to know they had a good relationship. As we left she said again, “I really can’t believe I’m a proper woman now–I’m so pleased.”
“Well that’s all down to your dad.” I said, apportioning praise where it was deserved.
Blushing like a pink lady apple, Simon replied, “I think it’s down to your mum, all I did was sign the cheque. She organised it all.”
“Well thank you both, then.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m glad the worst is over,” I lied, the worst was yet to come when they shove a fence post into a small cavity, but why spoil things for her?
“So it’s all over with Caroline then?” Simon half asked as we strolled back to the car.
“I think so, in some ways I’m glad it’s happened because I suspect she wasn’t quite as transsexual as she might have thought.”
“I find that very odd,” he said.
“Odd?” I echoed.
“Yeah, I mean you’re either transsexual or you’re not. You either want tits and a fanny or you don’t–surely you know if you do or not, don’t you?”
“I did, not everyone does. One of the unfortunate things about being part of a group is getting caught up with the excitement of others. It only takes one transsexual to be in a group of cross-dressers and half of them catch it and want to go full time and have surgery and hormones. It can destroy relationships or marriages which were just about on the edge of coping with the occasional cross-dressing.”
“You think Caroline was just a cross-dresser?”
“I don’t know what she is or was, except I don’t think she was a full transsexual, or isn’t yet. Don’t ask me what she is, because I don’t know.”
“Unlike Julie and you?”
“Um–I like to think we’re women, or Julie will be once we get the forms done and have her reassigned legally as well as physically.”
“Hmm,” he sighed to himself, “It’s funny, I really never thought of you as anything but, nor Julie, or even Trish and Billie, but Caroline–something about her that didn’t quite fit.”
“So why are you asking me?”
“I wondered if you’d picked up on it too. You had, but Julie hadn’t.”
“I’ve been about a bit more than Julie–Trish had picked up on it without recognising it.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me,” he said and bleeped his key at the car.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1589
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“How was Julie, Mummy?” asked Trish as we entered the house.
“She’s fine, she sends her love.”
“Can we go and see her?”
“I expect so, I’ll speak with the ward sister tomorrow.”
She jumped up and down with excitement. “How is Caroline?”
“Getting better.”
“Good, when is she coming home?”
“She isn’t–least not to here.”
“Who’s going to look after her when she does go home?”
“Darling, that isn’t our problem. She doesn’t work for me anymore, she left–okay?”
“Why did she leave?”
“Because she wanted to.”
“Why did she want to?”
“Because she did–I don’t know why in fine detail, all I know is that she wanted to go and so she did. She’s an adult, they can make their own decisions, they don’t need to ask for permission.” I was lying, but how can you explain all that happened between us to a seven year old?
“I don’t think you wanted her here anymore, did you?”
“What I wanted is irrelevant, it was her decision to go back to Bristol.”
“Is she going to live in your old house?” asked Livvie who’d joined the pack seeking for gossip.
“No, she has a place of her own.”
“Can we go and see her next time we go to Bristol?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not, we like Caroline.”
I took a deep breath–“Okay, I didn’t want to tell you this, but I don’t think she’s going to be Caroline anymore.”
“Don’t be silly, who’s she going to be then,” asked Trish.
“She changing her name I s’pect,” suggested Livvie which was part right.
“What she gonna call herself, Mummy?”
“I don’t know–now enough of these questions, it’s bedtime.”
“Is she gonna be a man again?” asked Mima who’d stood patiently waiting to ask her question.
The other two snorted and laughed until I said, “Yes, probably.”
“You was wight, Twish.”
“Was I? I only said she’d changed since Jenny came back.”
“You said she’d changed back.”
“Yeah, like she was when she first came.”
“Oh–I don’t understand, Mummy,” Mima came and stood beside me. “If she’s a wady, how can she be a man?”
“I knew it,” said Trish, “That would explain why she didn’t come for her clothes–she wouldn’t need them.”
“She was coming back for her clothes, she was hit by a car trying to catch the bus while trying to come out here.”
“Oh,” Trish looked puzzled.
“How can a wady be a man, Mummy? I mean Juwie and Twish are stiww girwls?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, I expect she thought she was a woman, but after trying it decided it wasn’t right for her. She’s entitled to think again after she’s tried something isn’t she?” Mima nodded.
“C’mon off to bed with you,” I shepherded them up to their room and stared at the photo of Billie.”
“It’s okay, Mummy, we tell her all the gossip,” said Livvie, making me almost choke with the huge lump that forming in my throat.
“That’s kind of you,” I managed to get out before pretending I needed a wee and disappeared into my own bathroom. I heard toothbrushes buzzing the other side of the wall and knew they were cleaning their teeth. It gave me a minute or two to compose myself. These things always get you when you least expect it.
I tucked them in told them a bit more about Julie’s hospital room and then left them to sleep. Downstairs Stella was laying in ambush. “Have you advertised for a replacement housekeeper yet?”
“Yes, I emailed the paper lunchtime.” I’d done it from my Blackberry.
“When are they going to run it?”
“Tomorrow I hope, I got a box number and I asked for references. You can help me interview.”
“Alright–oh, I might know someone who could be interested.”
“Tell them to apply, except you’ll have to declare it at interview that you know them.”
“If they’re transgender–tell them not to bother.” Simon had obviously heard part of the conversation.
“Very funny, Cathy’s the one who knows all them, I only know normal people,” declared Stella blushing. Simon guffawed and took some while to stop laughing.
“That is so funny, Stel, none of us know any normal people unless they’re customers or patients or students. Hey, that’s a good idea, why don’t you ask if any of your students want to earn some pin money, babysitting?”
“They should be too busy studying, that’s why.”
“Rubbish, they’re down the union or the pub whichever has the cheaper beer.” Simon had been a student, he should know.
“Some, most of the girls I teach I don’t know at all well unless they’re in the second or third year, and I shouldn’t think they’d be interested.”
“Why not, there can’t be that many openings for counting dormice, and we pay better than McDonald’s.”
“Would you like fries with that dormouse, madam?” said Stella, causing Simon to lose it again.
“Very funny. For your information, husband and sister in law mine, we teach them a few more tricks than monitoring dormice. They can do all sorts of surveys, explain the legal ramifications of the Wildlife and Countryside act, especially with regard to protected or scheduled animals or plants. They can also explain how environments and habitats are at risk and how to protect them. It’s quite a comprehensive course, you know?”
“And you teach them all of that–a hundred and twenty students?”
“A hundred and forty, no I only do the introduction and some of the fieldwork.”
“Big group for fieldwork isn’t it?” Simon wasn’t letting up.
“Yes it is; which is why I’ve spent the last couple of days trying to sort out how we do that, split them up. It means they won’t get as much practical as we’d like, but that’s life.”
“Didn’t you devise the course?”
“Yes, Simon, you know very well I did, with Tom’s help.”
“He told me it was now his biggest course.”
“Is it?” I pretended to be uninterested.
“You know it is.”
“Si, I don’t care–it pays me a salary–so the more the merrier, up to a point.”
“You must be pretty close to that now.”
“It’s a hundred and fifty.”
“How would you run fieldwork with one hundred and fifty students marauding in a woodland?”
“We wouldn’t, it would all become virtual fieldwork until the second year.”
“Virtual?” He looked shocked by my answer.
“Yeah, you know, with computers.”
“I know what it means.”
“Alan, you know, my cameraman, has been helping me develop a module which we’re trialling with some volunteers, if it works, we’ll offer it elsewhere. I did a small write up with Alan in an ecology journal and we’ve had loads of enquiries.”
“D’you get the money or does the university?” Trust Simon to come down to filthy lucre.
“We share it.”
“How much?”
“One third each and one third goes into further research to improve it. Alan’s got a friend who is a real computer geek who’s looking at some ideas we thought up to make it more realistic, interlinking with film and making it more interactive. Should be good.”
“How much are you expecting to make?”
“About a hundred thousand a year if we managed to interest a dozen or more universities. Sussex was top of the list.” I blushed, but felt vindicated by that.
“Your alma mater–not bad at all–for a housewife.” He suddenly ducked past me and ran up stairs.
“Let him go,” said Stella, “don’t get mad–get even.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1590
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(aka Bike) Part 1590 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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The next day I received amongst the post a curious letter.
“Dear Advertiser,
I see you want housekeeper/nanny, I can do job, did do job in my own country. Can get referens if you want.
Plees give me intervue, you won’t regret.
Irena Popova.”
I showed it to Stella who looked at it for several minutes. “She’s not American is she?”
“I have no idea, why?”
“Her spelling is awful.”
“Her name looks more Russian.” I suggested.
“Not a mafia plant is it? As soon as we’re out they kidnap or murder our children?”
“She lives in Havant.”
“Well that should disqualify her.”
“I’ll give it a couple more days. So far I haven’t been deluged with applications. What about your friend?”
“Ex-colleague, I told her the ad was in the paper, if she doesn’t apply, that’s her lookout.”
Three days later I was feeling exhausted. Stella was too and I decided to phone Irena Popova–to at least have a look at her. She agreed to come the next day. I told Stella of the time and she was happy with it. I had to rush back from the school run with the girls and I asked them to give me feedback on what they thought of her.
She arrived promptly at four o’clock and Trish let her in and led her to the dining room where Stella and I were waiting. She wore a uniform for an old people’s home for which she apologised, but she had to rush off to as soon as we finished.
I heard Trish chatting with her as she led her through. She seemed to have struck up a quick rapport. “Do you know our cat is called Schrodinger?” she said to our visitor.
She laughed, “Is cat in box live or dead?”
“You’ve heard of Schrodinger?” said Trish with glee.
“Yes, I heard Schrodinger when in university,” she said with a lightness in her voice.
“You did quantum?”
“No, I biologist.”
“Oh,” Trish sighed, “Not another one. That’s my mummy with the light hair and the other one is my auntie Stella.”
“Thank you, young lady, I’m Irena; how you do?” she held out her hand to Trish who shook it gently and blushed.
“She’s a biologist, Mummy.”
“Please do sit down. Tea or coffee?” I offered our guest who took tea with milk–so much for Russian tea.
“You said you’ve done housekeeping and nannying before?”
“Yes, in Latvia–where I come from.”
“Yet you’re a biologist?”
“I study biological science in Riga.”
“And yet you’re looking for a job as a housekeeper?” I was intrigued.
“Latvia in EU, but degrees not seen as good as Oxford Cambridge, so no one want biologist, but they do want housekeeper.”
“Assuming we did offer you the job, because it involves children, I’d have to do a CRB check–I presume you had to have one for the residential home you work at now?”
“No, what is CRB?”
“Criminal Records Bureau. We ask them to check on you to make sure there is no record of you being involved with paedophiles or anything likely to be harmful to children.”
“I have to go–thank you for tea.” She rose to leave.
“Irena, please wait,” I asked and she stopped and turned.
“I have to go.”
“Why, what is on the police records?”
“I have to go.”
“It’s prostitution isn’t it?”
She stopped suddenly and said, “How you know?”
“Did you get arrested in a car park after two women rescued you?”
“How you know that?”
“Did you also receive a box of toiletries for the following Christmas?”
“Yes, how you know that?”
“I sent them.”
Stella looked as if she was having a stroke–“No,” she gasped.
“You rescue me?”
“I suspect the police rescued you. We sort of facilitated it, right Stella?”
“Bugger me,” said Stella who still looked in shock.
“I thank you for your kindness, but I must go now.”
“Irena, were you tricked into prostitution?”
She nodded and the tears began to flow, “I leave university an’ they tell me job for waitress/hostess in London–pay good money. They lie, but it too late. You save me, I thank you but must go now,” she wiped her face.
“Irena, how old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty two, why?”
“Is there anything else on your record we should know about like drugs or violence?”
“No, I victim–I done nothin’ wrong–they beat me an’ rape me and made me go with horrible men. I hate them.” The tears were back.
She turned to leave and I called again, “How much do they pay you at the home?”
“Six pound per hour.”
“And you have a home to run as well?”
“I live in bedsit–not nice but it do for now.”
“You don’t have a partner?”
“No longer, he go off with bimbo girl with bigger tits.” At this Stella snorted and Irena glared at her. “It not funny.”
“I think it was rather the way you said it than the act.”
“Okay, I say funny things in English.”
“Your English is fine. If I was to offer you the job, would you take it?”
“How much you pay?”
“I’d pay nine pounds an hour for a forty hour week, the hours have to flexible to fit in with the needs of the family. I also offer food and a room.”
Her face lit up, “Can I see room?”
Stella took her up and showed her the room which Caroline had used while I quickly called Jim. Stella took her time showing her the house and kitchen while Jim did a search on his networks. He came back to me in under ten minutes.
“Just a record for prostitution–it’s not really a conviction–she asked to stay in the UK and it was granted. She works in an old people’s home in Havant, has a degree in biological science from the University of Riga. Either she’s genuine or a very sophisticated plant.”
“How long would it take to find out the latter?”
“I can check with CIA and FBI, but that will take a few days.”
“Can you get a photo?”
“Yeah, got one here, will email it.”
“Thanks, Jim, send me the bill will you?”
“Yeah, usual terms, why are you interested?”
“I need a housekeeper, Jim, she’s the only applicant.”
“Oh–okay, I’ll get it started as fast as I can.”
“Good man.”
“Yeah, a real saint–that’s me, doesn’t compare to an angel though, does it?”
“Go and earn your fee.” I put the phone down and Stella came back with Irena. “So what d’you think?” I asked her.
“Lady Stella show me the babies–they lovely girls, you house is nice.”
“If I offer you the job, it would be provisional on the CRB check and the taking of references. Would you be interested were I to offer it?”
“I be stupid not to.”
“How much notice do you have to give?”
“Two weeks.”
“Okay, depending upon the outcome of your references and the CRB check, I’m offering you a job as a housekeeper cum nanny. I’d like you to start in one month’s time, the job is live in as I described, the average week is forty hours, but we might require flexibility on that. If you work over that I’ll either pay you overtime or give you time in lieu.” I handed her a job description and the terms and conditions.
“You pay pension too?” She asked looking at the paper.
“Yes.”
“Can I go and think about it, it seem too good to be true.”
“How long will you need?”
“I call you tomorrow. I like to talk with my mother in Riga, she give me good advice–she tell me don’t go to London. I wish I listen to her–but that long time ago. Jobs in Riga not good. I say yes unless mother say not to.”
“Sounds good to me.” We shook hands and I gave her a lift to Havant, with Trish sitting in on the ride. On the way back I asked Trish what she thought. “Apart from being a biologist, she’s okay. Can she cook?”
“I didn’t ask her, but I’m sure she’ll learn–oh and there’s nothing wrong with being a biologist.”
“Unless you like physics, Quantum rules–yay.”
I just shook my head, if she’s like this at seven, what the hell is she going to be like at seventeen? Oh boy.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1591
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(aka Bike) Part 1591 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
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“So you offered her the job, just like that?” asked Simon.
“She was the only applicant,” I said, justifying my action.
“Isn’t that a little suspicious in itself?”
“I saw the advert, I thought it looked okay,” Stella offered.
“There’s two and a half million unemployed in this country and the only applicant is a bloody Lithuanian?”
“Latvian,” Stella and I said together.
“Whatever–what if she’s a Russian agent?”
“I’m having that checked.”
“With the CRB–just great, as if they’d recognise a terrorist if they saw one?”
“Um–yes, with them, along with MI5, MI6, CIA and FBI, plus anyone else Jim can think of.”
“Oh,” he blushed, “I’ll ask our contacts if there’s anything going down over here, could be a sleeper.”
“Oh she’ll sleep here, same as the others did.”
“No, Cathy, a sleeper–a term from espionage, it means...”
“An agent in deep cover who becomes operative as demand requires, maybe after several years.
“If you know what I meant why did you ask?” Simon sounded rattled.
“Who stole your dolly?” I said to him.
“What are you on about?”
“Never mind,” I said rolling my eyes and Stella smirked.
“Are we going to see Julie tonight?”
“Yes, the girls want to come as well.”
“Well why don’t you take them and I’ll stay home and guard the house.”
“Stella and Tom are here as well you know?”
“Yes, Babes, but we make such a good team–the three m...”
“Muppets,” I offered before he could do more than start the word.”
“Well if we are musketeers, he’s definitely Porkous,” Stella said and looked away.
“I thought it was Porthos,” I said, then looking at Simon’s growing waistline, wondered if she might be more correct.”
“Yeah, I think I could see myself filling Oliver Reed’s shoes.”
“I thocht he played Athos,” said Tom, “Frank Finlay wis Porthos.”
“How did you remember that, Daddy?” I asked in admiration.
“Och, it wis on o’er Christmas, ye didnae see it?”
“No–you know I didn’t–I was too busy trying to...”
“Play matchmaker,” Simon said without any emotion.
“I’m going to do jacket potatoes for dinner–sadly they’ll have to be microwaved ones–or we’ll be late getting into see Julie.”
“Okay, you lot who wants pizza?” called Simon and got loads of yeses from the other room.
“Okay, you can order them–I’m doing a jacket spud, Stel?”
“Please,” she nodded.
“Och, no, I’ll jes’ hae a pizza wi’ a’ on.”
“Okay, Tom, one pizza with everything coming up,” Simon picked up the phone and began dialling. I hate the bloody things, I mean I could have melted some cheese on cardboard if they really liked it that much. I popped two spuds in the microwave, set it for ten minutes on full and also set the grill on the combi oven, so they do taste a bit better than just microwaved. Then I nuked them.
Stella and I had finished before the pizzas arrived, we had cheese and salad–the others had–it makes me feel ill just to think about it–total crap–and about as Italian as chop suey.
Thankfully the girls wolfed down their unmentionable fast food and while they were doing so, I laid out an outfit for each of them. I changed quickly and then supervised them, it’s not just boys who forget to wash their necks. Finally we got to the hospital only ten minutes late, that mainly because Simon wanted to argue about some old film which I’d never heard of. Tom had, and they eventually looked it up on Wiki–they were both wrong apparently.
Driving to the hospital, I recalled another film in which Oliver Reed starred, one based upon a story by H.E. Bates, The Triple Echo which I saw after much searching once I heard, a man disguises himself as a woman to evade the MPs who were looking for him–he’d deserted from the army during WWII.
Sadly, he still looked like a bloke in a dress, but given that most of the others one saw on TV or film were send ups, so this was at least a straight role. I suppose I was impressed at the time and wished I could have played the part–or better still, Glenda Jackson’s part–brilliant actress.
I cautioned the girls that we’d be sent out if they made too much noise, and I think we should have been, only two visitors to a bed, but after a little time they were dotted round the ward talking to the three other patients who’d been put into Julie’s four bedder. Two of the ladies had no visitors, so Trish and Mima soon sorted out that deficit and came back munching grapes and sweets. Livvie soon defected, much to Julie’s amusement and also came back a little later with eatables.
Julie was still having the dreaded injections to prevent DVT and flashed an elegant ankle in her white elastic stockings–oh how it brought it all back to me. I wondered if she’d find jeans uncomfortable for a while, I know I did–just too hard on a tender spot.
She looked really well and although she was complaining about the food, non residue diet–I remember it well–yuck.
“We just ’ad pizza,” declared Trish, who knew it was a favourite of Julie’s.
“Shut up,” said Julie tersely.
“I had ham and pineapple on mine, Mima had three cheese and...”
“Shut up,” said Julie through her teeth.
“Gramps had everything...ouch,” Trish rubbed her head where the pack of tissues had hit her. “What ya do that for? Mummy did you see...”
“Well shut your big gob then.”
“Mummy...”
“Trish you were beginning to annoy your sister.”
“Ha, I didn’t make all this fuss when they did my operation,” she said in disgust, and went visiting the other patients, just before we left she came back and in full view of Julie ate a small bunch of grapes with great deliberation after which she flung the stalks at her big sister and ran off giggling.
“That wasn’t very nice throwing bits of grape stalks at Julie, was it?” I suggested once we were back in the car.
“She asked for it.”
“Trish, you were tormenting her, talking about food.”
“I was trying to cheer her up,” Trish protested.
“Like hell,” said Livvie and I reprimanded her, so all I needed to do now was annoy Mima and the three of them would be sitting there pouting and sulking on the back seat of the car.
We returned home via the supermarket, we needed more milk, and then it was time to get them into bed after a biscuit and glass of cow juice–hence the stop at the supermarket. On coming downstairs I discovered Tom and Simon were still talking about films and looking them up on Wiki to see if they got the various facts correct.
Stella made some tea, and after drinking it I went to bed and read my most recent acquisition of the Donna Leon novels about Commissario Brunetti. I was well lost in my imaginary world of Venetian canals and historic palaces when Simon came up to bed.
“How was Julie?”
“Okay,” I replied irked by his disturbing me.
“Good, is she using her iPad?”
“Yes,” I said, my irritation showing.
“Good book is it?”
“Simon, shut up and go and take a long soak in the tub will you?”
“Oh great, here I am asking about our children and she forsakes me for some bloody Dago in Venice.”
“Don’t be so racist, darling, besides Dagos come from Spain.”
He slapped his hand against his forehead, “I don’t know why I bother–I really don’t,” he muttered as he went into the bathroom while I chortled from behind my book.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1592
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I was asleep by the time Simon came to bed–I have no idea what he was doing in the bathroom, but it took him long enough for me to finish my chapter and nod off. I can’t honestly say I was aware of him getting on the bed either, usually I am, so I must have really gone off.
The next morning, which by the way came round far too quickly, I woke to find Trish standing alongside me saying she had a tummy ache. It took a moment for me to really wake up and stagger to the bathroom with her where she was promptly sick and then had diarrhoea–just managing to sit on the loo–unfortunately before she got her knickers off. I might not have felt sick beforehand but I certainly did after I’d undressed her and shoved her in the shower quickly because I didn’t want her to get a urinary infection.
She was sick in the shower and again while I was trying to dry her. I took her back to her bed with a bucket and she sat rather than lay down in case she was sick again. I got the other two washed and dressed and to school, but midway through the morning I had to go and collect Livvie who was being sick, I got Mima while I was at it and sure enough by tea time she was being sick too.
Danny was the next casualty, before we found that the hospital had closed two wards because of the Noro virus–one of these nasty sickness and diarrhoea bugs which is usually caught from touching infected door handles but can also be airborne.
I let Simon know and he opted to stay at the hotel whence Stella had fled with her two littlies and Catherine. The latest from her was they were okay. I was washing everything down with antiseptic and hoping it missed me. Somehow it did, though it got Tom and he spent a very uncomfortable two days feeling quite rough.
I emailed Julie only to find it was her ward which had it and of course the children had been handing foodstuffs in the hospital. Oh boy. I nearly wore the washing machine out doing changes of clothing and bedding; so why didn’t catch it was astonishing–I did wear my Marigolds to do the bed changing or mopping up sick or poo and I was sick once, but that was just at the smell of it not because I had the virus.
The big danger for Julie was dehydration if she caught it, but possibly because she wasn’t eating anything, she escaped-the only one on the ward: she was also the youngest, which could have been a factor too.
I ate very little for the next day or two because the smell of disinfectant and vomit did little to act as an appetiser, rather the opposite. I’d contacted the university and my classes were cancelled, although I emailed them some background reading to give my students. Apparently, on the first day they showed a DVD of the dormouse film, the second they gave out the reading list.
So, despite the fact that I didn’t actually succumb to the dreaded virus, I stayed home in case I was infectious. The next week, we were all back to normal and I was to collect Julie to bring her home as soon as she could pass urine. I phoned at lunch time and she hadn’t managed it, despite them shoving loads of fluid down her and the catheter being out some three hours.
I waited until I collected the girls before I called again, this time on my mobile and Julie had weed. We all went to collect her, the girls staying in the locked car until I brought Julie back to them. There was much cheering and kissing and she sat very carefully in the front seat of the Jaguar despite the very soft cushion I’d placed on the seat. I smirked not because I thought it funny but because it reminded me of how I must have looked when I was collected.
“You comin’ for a bike ride?” Trish asked her elder sibling.
“Yeah, but only because I’d doing a triathlon tomorrow,” responded big sister much to the amusement of the other two. I asked them if they knew what it was and they didn’t so Julie got to explain once I’d hushed Trish. I knew one thing, I’d never make a triathlete because I was too poor at swimming.
Julie hadn’t managed to see Caroline, which had annoyed her. Caroline had been discharged the day before she was able to go and see her. They did however talk by phone and apparently Julie agreed to go and see Caroline in Bristol when she was driving again. I wasn’t sure what I thought about it, but at eighteen, Julie was considered an adult by the law, even if I thought she was a bit naíve. Considering the abuses she’d suffered, Julie was remarkably unaffected by them, which I think contributed to her charm as an ingénue. She was also becoming a very attractive young woman with a delightful figure–or would be once she gained a bit of weight again on her breasts.
At home she teased Trish about having the virus, saying it was a judgment for being horrid to her while she was in hospital. I didn’t hear about it until several days later but apparently, for all her bravado about beliefs and things, Trish really did wonder if Jesus had punished her for being a naughty girl. Tempting though it was to try and maintain it and her better behaviour, I felt obliged to tell her I thought it was a nonsense, and the infection was much more due to bad luck than anything else–well, that and poor hygiene in the hospital by staff or visitors and or the children themselves.
Trish then convinced herself that the old woman who gave her the grapes was a witch or a murderess, who had tried to kill her with poisoned grapes. Perhaps it would have been better leaving the blame on the supernatural.
Simon, Stella and the babies at the hotel were fine, except the night he got food poisoning–not from the hotel food but a sandwich he bought at the motorway services–a tuna one. He told me he’d never eat the stuff again, which was a pity because I was doing tuna jackets–I told him he’d have to have trousers instead. He failed to see the funny side of it though Trish thought it was hilarious–or she’s finally flipped from genius into insanity–presumably not, though insanitary might have applied to her when she went down with the tummy bug.
I got back to my teaching and somehow stuck with the two huge classes I’d started with, something which had been unheard of before. I actually did a questionnaire to ask why people were enrolling for it and it appeared that the majority who were young women thought they’d like to present a TV programme or to make one and become instantly rich and famous. I did point out that they needed to get some years of learning in first so they could direct and script as well as narrate such a programme–they couldn’t seem to understand that bit.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1593
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The following Monday, I set off for work after dropping the three girls at school. It seems the school was continuing to call in parents to collect children who were vomiting all over the place. I’d given my three little bottles of hand rub to be used after washing their hands–it contained an antiseptic which claimed to kill most things, but hopefully not the person using it.
My classes were as large as ever, in fact the Monday one seemed larger than usual and there were very few seats left–what was going on here? I asked Tim to try and do some sort of count at the same time I sent round a sheet for the students to sign. We had twenty more than we should have.
Now, if those who shouldn’t have been there were there to learn about conservation or ecology, I didn’t mind them coming to learn. If they were there in the hope they’d see a film of me trotting round in shorts, they would be disappointed, and it being January, I wasn’t going to wear them to lecture either. I had on a pair of jeans and a top which advertised the Mammal Society with a picture of a dormouse on it.
It appeared when I threw my notes into the air and they all cheered, I began to understand what the attraction was–they wanted some anarchy, or what they considered it to be. From then on, I had a set of notes I could throw in the air while having a second set which were laid out on the desk in front of me.
Once we’d got over the basics of what ecology is all about–understanding biological systems in the context of habitats, I could involve the students in participating in the lectures–we even did a quick study on the ecology of students, which they found amusing. We even decided that with the increase in tuition fees bringing some up to nine thousand pounds a year, students might potentially be registered with the WWFfN as endangered species.
The next day, I arrived on the bike as Simon took the girls to school, having a meeting in Portsmouth, however, I changed from my lycra to a pair of jeans and top. This resulted in groans of disappointment from some of the boys–I couldn’t see why, and that morning we did the ecology of cyclists in which I included a few pictures of Vickie Pendleton and Mark Cavendish as well as some taken of the public as they were out cycling. One or two even recognised yours truly in one or two of the pictures I showed. We were able to show that the spectrum varied significantly in terms of survivability depending upon habitat–town cyclists were more at risk from large lorries–apparently this applies more to women than men. The men were more likely to get squished while jumping red lights, so behaviour can have an effect upon the different groups. I had a large table of statistics from the CTC on cycling casualties, so we had some official data to support our speculations/observations.
At the bottom of the table I included a statistic which I’d made up claiming that dormice were unlikely to be at risk from cyclists and some wag asked if cyclists were endangered by dormice? I let someone from the floor answer it–they were less polite than I’d have been.
On the Wednesday, Tom came to see the phenomenon for himself. When I’d finished he addressed the class telling them that only those students who were registered with the course would be eligible to take part in the field work. There were groans at this, he did however agree to let them continue to attend my lectures.
He was well aware that once we progressed beyond the introductory stuff, only those who read the books and did the coursework would stay with the topics I was teaching, which would necessitate some mathematics and statistics. I was pretty convinced the numbers would drop then–he didn’t seem worried, which surprised me.
When I challenged him about it he smirked as he explained it showed his department was still well supported unlike chemistry which might even have to consider merging with another department. That worried me, as science becomes increasingly sophisticated and our understanding of its principles also expands we need people of all types and expertise to help us continue to understand the basic principles of what this world is all about.
I rode home and went to change to collect the children in the car when I heard funny noises emitting from Julie’s room. I went up to the next floor from my own bedroom to find her rolling about on the bed unable to remove the dilator which was causing her some pain. I called for Stella who after dripping loads of lubricant on it managed to extract it without prolapsing her vagina. It seemed she hadn’t used enough lubrication. Stella did an examination afterward and seemed to think everything was okay, but suggested Julie didn’t dilate for a couple of days. The way Julie was looking before Stella managed to free the entrapped plastic, I wondered if she’d ever dilate again–I’d have to speak with her in a day or so.
The next morning, I wasn’t actually teaching, rather trying to sort out groups for the fieldwork; I had three other leaders one of whom was a little unenthusiastic about doing it, and I knew if there was the slightest provocation I’d end up losing him. He was just looking for an excuse to pull out–he had a reputation for being a lazy sod, and a walk through woodland was probably too energetic for him.
The phone rang in my office. “Hi, is that Cathy?” asked a female voice.
“Yes, who’s that?”
“I’m Kate Downes from the marine biology section.”
The name rang a bell, but not in any context I could hastily recognise. Thankfully, she gave me a context.
“You met John when he was collecting Jo the other day, she’s in the same class as two of your daughters.”
“Ah yes, the man from the MOD.”
“QinetiQ actually, but yes he researches weapons.”
“I suppose someone has to,” I said without enthusiasm.
“Look, I’m being very cheeky and wondered if you could collect Jo with your three tomorrow, and I’ll collect her from you later? The thing is John has to have a wisdom tooth extracted and I suspect it will involve lots of drama, groans and bad language–I’d like to spare Jo that if I might.”
“Yes, fine, as long as you give her a note to show the headmistress, so it doesn’t look as if she’s being abducted. I can probably offer her some tea as well–is there anything she doesn’t eat?”
“We don’t eat much meat–but she will eat it.”
“Okay, that’s fine, I’m sure I can find something she’ll eat and hopefully enjoy.”
“She has a tiny appetite, I think a jelly fish eats more.”
“How much ecology do you do in the marine courses?”
“We integrate it, so it features as part of most of them, why?”
“I’m looking for another leader for fieldwork–I have one who doesn’t want to do it and I’d like to replace them.”
“I’ll come over and speak with you about this sometime next week if that’s okay, I presume you’re paying for the time?”
“Oh yeah, none of the professionals work for nothing, unless they’re doing something they enjoy–like me with dormouse surveys.”
“Of course, Lady Dormouse–I am curtseying although you can’t see me.”
“Please, I get enough teasing from my students.”
“I’ll bet–are your class sizes shrinking?”
“No mine seem to be expanding, don’t know why?”
“You’re a celebrity–enjoy it while it lasts.”
“I’ll be glad when it fades a little.” With that we ended the conversation and I got back to number juggling.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1594
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Not long after I’d put the phone down from Kate when my mobile rang. “Hi, Cathy,” it was Jim. “I’ve checked with everyone I can think of including a tame Russian I know who used to be KGB, no one has heard of your Latvian lass–leastways not in a negative sense, so I’m going to have to conclude she’s clean.”
“Oh well that might have solved my housekeeper vacancy.”
“Why, what happened to Jenny?”
“What didn’t happen to Jenny? She ran off with the family silver with some bloke she knew who dropped her once he got his paws on the money. She then tried to kill herself by jumping off a motorway bridge and failed and is now in a wheelchair.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that she seemed a nice kid.”
“She’s changed. I had someone who was doing the year’s life test working as her cover and she tried to convince them to give it up and revert to male. Pretty well succeeded then she dropped them.”
“Oh a Mrs Do-as you’re-done by.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“Strange things, women.”
“Hey, watch it.”
He laughed down the phone. “I’ll send you the bill then.”
“I expect a ten per cent discount for insubordination.”
“Yeah, I’ll take it off the price increase.” He rang off before I could say anything in reply.
The phone in my office rang–why couldn’t anyone realise I was trying to work? I picked it up. “What?” I said abruptly.
“Who pinched your sweeties,” asked Pippa.
“I’m trying to work and my bloody phones keep ringing.”
“Oh well, you should try working here–happens all the time, plus Mr Grumpy keeps sending me to make tea or coffee.”
I laughed, “He makes his own at home.”
“Yeah, well he doesn’t have slaves there does he?”
“No. What did you want, surely not just to complain about our much loved boss?”
“No, you have a visitor, should be with you any moment now.” I jumped when there was a rap on my door.
“Thanks,” I don’t think. “Come in,” I called. Normally my door is open unless I have tutorial or other form of meeting. Today it was closed to try and deter casual callers. The door opened quietly and behind it stood Gareth Sage.
“Will you see me?” he asked quietly I almost said sheepishly, but seeing as he’s Welsh I have to be careful or I’ll end up with someone declaring a Taffw ¬ ¬a on me, it’s like a fatwa only done with sheep.
“Oh–suppose you’d better come in.” I sat him down and before he could say anything I asked if he wanted tea, he nodded and I went off to make us some. A few minutes later I still didn’t know what to say, so I threw the ball back to him.
“I suppose you thought you’d never see me again?”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“I’d like to try again with Stella, if she’ll have me back.”
“Shouldn’t you be talking with her rather than me?”
“I wondered if you might ask her to see me.”
“It would be better coming from you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“How do I do that?”
“Send her a letter, ask how your daughter is.”
“I was coming to that.”
“Glad to hear it.” If I sounded a little sharp it was because I wasn’t sure what I thought about him anymore. I know I warned him about Stella but I wasn’t expecting him to disappear like that. If he runs off again, I’ll never speak to him again as long as I live.
“You must think badly of me.”
“I assumed you had a reason for disappearing without a word.”
“I couldn’t cope–that’s the reason. Suddenly everything seemed ten times more complicated and difficult. I ran. I’m sorry, but I got scared.”
“You could have sent stuff to your daughter.”
“I opened a trust fund in her name.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“In case they tried to interfere with it.”
“I think as her dad you can do such things. She’s a bonny kid–want to see?” I dipped into my bag and pulled out some photos, I knew one of them was of Catherine and Fiona together.
“Could I borrow this to copy it?”
“No, I’ll get you one of your daughter if you tell me where to send it.” He handed me a card. “If you have a decent printer, I’ll email you some.” I noticed the email address on his card.
“That would be great.” He sipped his tea. “So how do I speak to Stella?”
I picked up my mobile and speed dialled home, “Hi sweetheart, can I speak with Stella? She’s out, so who’s looking after Catherine and her two? You’re looking after Catherine–you be careful picking her up.”
“She’s not there then?”
“Sorry, you could always try a bit later.”
“If I rang you, would you ask her to speak with me?”
“I can’t guarantee she will.”
“I know, but I was very fond of her–still am.”
“Okay, I’ll try but I guarantee nothing.”
“Thanks. It’s good to see you again too, Cathy, I think you should have gone for the UN job–you’d have been so good at it.”
“You didn’t hear then?”
“Hear what?”
“Billie died.”
“What? Your Billie?”
“Yes.” Who else you twit.
“Oh I am sorry? What happened?”
“We were out cycling and she crashed apparently she had a brain aneurysm and was dead before she hit the ground.”
“She had the aneurysm before or after the crash?”
“She had it without any of us knowing about it, it could have popped at any time and she’d be dead in seconds.”
“Oh God, I am sorry–I had no idea. Lovely kid.”
“Yeah,” I wiped my eyes and nodded.
“Look I’d better go. I’ll try and ring later, I have some meetings to do, but please tell her I really want to see her again–and you–bye.” He stood up and waved then left while I sat there still sniffing. I had no idea how Stella would react–let’s face it, I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. He’d lost weight, looked even better and he was beautiful before. I glanced at his card, he was still with Natural England–oh, regional officer now.
Mind you, I’d have done my PhD by now if I hadn’t got waylaid by Simon and half a dozen kids–not that I’d change anything except Billie’s health. I started to tear up again and shut the door. Half an hour later I was composed enough to go and get the girls
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1595
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Stella was back by the time I got home with the girls and I had some difficulty looking her in the eye. “What are you up to, Cathy Watts?”
“Page ninety three where he finds the body in the garage, you?”
“Ha ha, very funny. Now what’s going on, Watts?”
“Nothin’,” said Trish walking past the kitchen. Stella rolled her eyes.
“Is everyone called Watts deliberately stupid, or is it genetic?” she asked, looking at me quizzically.
“I don’t think it’s my genes,” I said. “Only when I wear a skirt.”
“Will I ever get a sensible answer out of you?”
“Depends upon you asking a sensible question,” I answered, hoping I’d misdirected her.
“You’re up to something, Watts,” she said.
“No I’m not, I’m doin’ my homework,” Trish called as she walked past the other way. At this Stella started to laugh and we both ended up with a giggle fit which left us out of breath and with tears streaming down our faces.
“Cor, that was nearly as good as sex,” Stella sighed and with a faraway look in her eye added, “and that stupid Welsh swine was a damned good lover.”
My tummy flipped, I had an opening, but did I want to use it? I waited until she came back to the present. “Would you take him back?”
“Doubt it, takes more than good sex to make a relationship.”
“You were a bit strange when he left.”
“A bit–I was totally barking–but he ran. Men–ha–they always run.”
“I think he was really fond of you.”
“So why’d he run?”
“Perhaps he couldn’t cope–men are a bit like that, Stella–look at Simon, he sticks his head in the sand or runs away. They apparently feel emotional things more than women and they can’t handle it.”
“They feel things worse than women?–come on ...”
“According to one text book I read they do.”
“So how come we have more empathy–isn’t that about feeling what the other person is feeling?”
“Ah empathy is different. It’s not about feeling what others feel as far as they’re concerned, it’s about what they’re feeling.”
“Yeah, sod everyone else.”
“That’s a bit dismissive, Stella, they get overloaded and they don’t offload like women do. We network things, they store it up–repress it and it comes back to bite ’em.”
“You sound very sympathetic to him, but then you always did fancy him, didn’t you?”
“It was purely window shopping, I’m married to Simon, remember him? Big chap, not very bright, but extremely generous.”
She almost smirked, “He’d fall apart if you did the dirty on him, you realise that, don’t you?”
“Yes and I’m not; but it proves my point that men can’t deal with emotions, because they’re terrified they’ll lose control and when that happens, someone gets hurt, often the individuals themselves.”
“Wadd’ya mean?”
“They often kill themselves.”
“So do women, or would if certain people didn’t interfere.”
“Not as often as men, or shall we say they tend to succeed more often than women who do more para-suicides.”
“What, they jump off things or out of planes?”
“You know bloody well what I mean. You’re a trained nurse.”
She laughed at me, “Yeah, but you were rambling on like a college professor, so I let you continue.”
“Bitch,” I snapped at her.
“If ya got it, flaunt it.” She pretended to buff her nails, then she nearly knocked me over, “So when did you see him?”
“See who?”
“Taffy, the Welsh heartthrob.”
“Who?”
“Gareth bloody Sage Ph. bloody D.”
“Who says I saw him?”
“I do.” I felt myself get rather warm. The bitch, she’s so much better at these mind games than I am. I should have kept my big gob firmly closed.
“What makes you say that?” I was still very hot and a rivulet of sweat ran down my back.
“You do, you’ve seen him, haven’t you? Spill, Watts!”
I looked round, but Trish wasn’t at the door, so she obviously meant me. Why was I blushing–she hadn’t said she didn’t, or wouldn’t, speak with him. “Okay, he called by my office this afternoon.”
“Oh yeah, wanted to enrol on a course did he?”
“Now you mention it–no, he wanted to know how you were, and Fiona, of course.”
“So why didn’t he come to me?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“He’s just driven into the drive.”
“Oh shit and look at me. I’m like a scarecrow,” she flapped and ran off upstairs.
“Can’t say I know many scarecrows who wear Gucci,” I said to myself as I walked to the door.
I opened the door, “I thought you were going to phone?”
He looked sheepish again, well, he is Welsh, or could that be New Zealand–two tiny countries surrounded by sheep–duh–populated by sheep, yeah that’s better.
“Sorry, I had to pass this way so I thought I grab the bull by...”
“The testicles?” I offered.
“I thought the expression was, by the horns?”
“Yeah but I’m updating the English language when I’m not saving the world.”
“I think I prefer the original expression.”
“Yeah, I was probably thinking about Stella...”
“Oh, is she likely to turn violent?”
“Wouldn’t you if you were effectively jilted at the altar?”
“I didn’t jilt her at the altar–we hadn’t got that far.”
“You left her with your baby.”
“On your advice.”
“It was hardly advice. It was more to give her some space for a short time.”
“Oh, I thought you said 'run for it she’s crazy'–so I did.”
“At least you can claim English isn’t your first language.”
“But it is, Cathy.”
“I suppose you want me to ask her if she’ll see you?”
“I’d be most grateful if you would.”
“Okay, wait here.” I strolled up the stairs and knocked on Stella’s door–remember she has a suite of rooms not just a bedroom.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, he wants to see you and the baby.”
“Are you going to stay?”
“I live here, remember?”
“No, stay with us, I mean.”
“No way, I value my life–besides I don’t want to learn any new profanities.”
“Any what?” she stared at me in surprise.
“Profanities, you know...”
“I know what profanities means, I just wondered why you said it?”
“Possibly because I have a rather good vocabulary.”
“You What?”
“I used to be, now it’s Cameron if you remember.” I began to wonder if I should have checked my life insurance before I came up here.
“Go and get him,” she said, rolling her eyes again.
“D’you want me to take the little ones?”
“What for?”
“In case–you know...”
“No, I will stay perfectly calm–it’s you who winds me up–not Gareth.”
“Meee? How could you?”
“See, you’re at it again–now push off and show him up.”
“I thought he’d showed himself up already.”
“When has he been here?” she looked horrified.
“I didn’t mean that definition of showing up–oh never mind, I’ll go and get him.”
When I got downstairs Gareth and Trish were in deep discussion about Schrodinger’s cat. “I just hope he didn’t die in the basket.”
“He’s not a real cat, Trish, it’s a theoretical cat.”
“Is that one of Possum’s cats?”
“What?” Gareth look bemused.
“You know, like Mr Mephistopheles.”
“Oh, TS Eliot.”
“No, there’s no cat called TS Eliot, I know them all by heart. There’s the Jellicles and...”
“Trish, please behave,” I said curtly as I entered the kitchen.
“But I am, an’ there’s no cat called TS Eliot.”
“TS Eliot wrote the book.”
“No, that’s Old Possum.” She wasn’t going to be diverted.
“Go on up Gareth, you know which one it is.” With that he set off up the stairs.
“Mummy, here look, it says Old Possum’s book of practical cats by TS El–oh.”
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1596
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Trish and I sat and read Possum’s Cats and both laughed. “Did you know that the stage show Cats is based on these characters?”
“No, what’s Cats?” she looked blankly at me. I keep forgetting she’s only seven.
“It’s a stage show, you know musical with dancing.”
“Sounds nice.”
“I believe it is or was–ran for several years. I was going to go and see it but never got round to it.”
“Why not, Mummy?” she put her hand on my lap.
“The show was booked up for months in advance and because it was so popular, it was quite expensive.”
“Do they have it on DVD?”
“I don’t know, Trish, probably.”
“Why don’t we look in the library, Mummy?”
“I suppose we could.”
“C’mon, let’s go and do it now.”
“What about the others?”
“They can come too, and Julie will watch Catherine.”
“I don’t know, she was babysitting earlier.”
“I’ll get her to do it.”
“And just how will you get her to do it?”
“I’ll tell her if she doesn’t do it, her fanny will stick out again.”
I snorted, “You can’t say that.”
“Why not, she’d listen, wouldn’t she?”
“I’ll go and ask her.” I decided to recover the initiative from this seven year old gangster.
“If she says no, tell her what I said.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“Bah,” she said and stomped off, presumably to find her library books.
Julie was more than happy to sit for an hour, Catherine was in the sitting room with her anyway, she was playing with some stacking pot things. She asked if I could get her a DVD and I agreed to look. Walking back to Trish, the title seemed quite familiar and when I looked on the shelf we already had it. I walked back and gave it to her. She was very pleased. The film, Monty Python’s Life of Brian.
When I got back to the others they were all waiting with a bag of books each. “Okay, remember what the date is on your books and make sure you take them back to the library in time–so don’t tell me the day after. If you haven’t finished them, we can renew but if you incur any fines, you can pay them.”
Trish shrugged, Mima nodded and Livvie complained. Nothing changes. We piled into my Jaguar and set off for the library. Thankfully it didn’t close for another hour. Trish and I went to look at the films while the other two went straight to their favourite bookshelves.
Trish did locate a copy, in a couple of minutes flat, so sometime in the next day or two we’d have to watch Cats. Oh well, I’m sure it’s more entertaining than listening to Stella and Gareth argue.
I had a quick browse of the detective novels and found a Donna Leon I hadn’t read, so I snatched that off the shelf. The girls needed a few minutes longer so I gave them just five minutes. They each came out with an armful of books, so they’d be quiet for a night or two. They enjoyed reading and I bought them loads of books as well. Some were more successful than others.
I’ve always been a bibliophile, from childhood onwards my bedroom has bulged at the seams through the number of books I had. Nowadays with the extension, I have floor to ceiling shelving in my study plus some more in our bedroom, so I suppose I must have a couple of thousand books. Yeah, must have–I’ve got over two hundred on birds or watching them–I nearly specialised in ornithology, but can’t say I regret my dormeece for one moment, they are just so cute and have given me so much pleasure.
I parked in the drive and although it was getting dark I could see well enough to realise Gareth’s Land Rover had gone. Was that a good or a bad thing? I locked the car after the kids had disembarked and run into the house–it was starting to rain.
Gareth had said he was only passing by–yeah sure–I just happened to go out to the library and there was a copy of Cats. Yeah sure.
“How was she?” I asked Julie, picking up the little terror who was busy trying to repot one of my African violets.
“No trouble–you should watch this film, Mummy, it’s good.”
“I saw it in the cinema.”
“Wow are you that old?”
“No, it was in a film club at Sussex uni.”
“Didn’t have you down as an arty-farty type–well not the arty bit anyway.”
“Huh, thanks for the reference. There’s lots you don’t know about me, girl.”
“Like what? Remember I’ve seen the scrap book Mr Whitehead made of you.”
“That’s only what he knew about.”
“I see, so don’t tell me you were running a brothel at the age of ten?”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” I walked off carrying my baby who tried to shove her favourite doll up my nose and squealed when I stopped her. She squeals like a personal safety device–a thousand decibels of high pitched ear damage. And no she wasn’t related to Mima. “Thank you, darling, I always wondered what being deaf was like–I have much better insight now.”
I took her into the kitchen with me and put her in her bouncer which she adores, she squealed with delight this time and bounced up and down–I’m afraid they don’t do anything else–or aren’t supposed to. While she giggled and bounced I began to get the dinner ready. I wondered if I’d ever manage to hand over responsibility to Irena or whatever her name was. I’d tried calling her several times to confirm the appointment and for her to sign the enclosed contract.
After dinner, I’d get Simon to come with me and check out the address we had. I suppose she could be away or changed her mind. While I thought about it, I called James.
“Well, two calls in one month–is this a record?” he said as he picked up.
“You haven’t found anything else about that girl I asked you to check, have you?”
“No, has something happened?”
“I tried to call her to remind her to sign the contract–I sent her one.”
“Has she gone home prior to working for you?”
“I have no idea, except she doesn’t return my calls–I’ve left several messages on her voicemail.”
“That mobile or landline?”
“Mobile.”
“Have you got the number handy?” he asked and I recited it to him.
“I thought I might get Simon to accompany me to her address tonight and see if she’s alright.”
“Want me to take a look?”
“You could do.”
“I’ll pop down there tomorrow first thing, I’ll let you know what I find.”
“You have her address?”
“Yes, I did the checks for you, remember?”
“I hope nothing’s happened.”
“I doubt it, these Eastern European types are here to make money, so she might have had a better offer.”
“I doubt it.”
“She might have seen the exposé the Sunday Times did on you and slave labour.”
“Now if you’d said Daily Wail, it would have been more convincing.”
“Okay, leave it with me–I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Usual rates, I take it?”
“Yeah, shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks.”
“Hours you mean?”
“Of course, what did I say?” he laughed.
“Go and set your alarm so you’re up nice and early.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He rang off and I felt a bit better. Hopefully he’d find a neighbour who could tell him she was away or whatever. He also had a photo of her so if she was there he’d find her and I might learn if she was going to work for me or not. I returned to my role as domestic goddess–well if it’s good enough for Nigella...
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1597
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I got ready to dish up the dinner when Tom came in and after I pecked him on the cheek, he told me there was an article in the local paper I should see. For all of a couple of seconds I wanted to read the paper but he took it away with him. I continued my housekeeping and only after clearing up the debris from dinner did I remember the paper.
I asked him about the paper and he sent Livvie to get it from the lounge. I made some fresh tea and settled down to read the paper. “What am I looking for?”
“Ye’ll ken when ye see it.”
I sipped my tea and read the front page and felt a sense of dread. I hoped there was nothing negative about the university, my students or me. On page five I saw what he’d been on about.
‘Southampton Entertainer is found dead.’ was the headline. I felt quite ill when I read the article.
‘Keith Sunderland, otherwise known as Mae Vest was found dead in suspicious circumstances at his flat above the nightclub he ran with his partner Bernard Thomas, better known as Lottie Totty. They were well known as a drag act who hosted the ‘Crosser’s Club’ in the city.
Over the last two years they gave lots of would be drag acts a chance to show their wares and their sequins as they entertained the ‘owls’ of Southampton. They also apparently offered a place for cross-dressers to change and relax in a club atmosphere.
Passers-by heard a commotion at approximately 4.00am and police were called after screams for help were heard. On entering the building they discovered the body of Mr Sunderland in one of the bedrooms. It was thought he’d been strangled. A man was arrested at the scene and is helping the police with their investigation.’
“Is it the same one?” I asked thinking back to the time when I was suspended for allegedly trying to run down on my bike a student who’d told me he wanted a sex-change. I spent a few uncomfortable days while the police investigated. He left the university and dropped the charges and only after Tom insisted I be returned to my post, was I allowed back to the university. I wondered what had happened to him–he was mad as a hatter, but I wouldn’t have wished that on him.
“Aye, I reckon it’s him.”
“Poor man.”
“Ye feel sorry f’ him?”
“Of course, once he left and the police told me there was no case to answer and I got back to work, it was all over as far as I was concerned.”
“What’s all this?” asked Stella.
“Oh about three years ago I had a student come to see me to tell me he wanted to change sex. I wasn’t that interested in being involved, I’d sorted myself, was no expert on the matter, and frankly, I wasn’t that interested in what others wanted to do.”
“Quite right too,” Stella nodded, “why should you, unless you knew them beforehand or were part of some support group?”
“I told them the university would support them and to go and see student health or their doctor, which was all I was required to do. He’d seen my TV appearance with Simon when we announced our engagement and tried to kill the interest of the press.”
“It pretty well worked didn’t it?”
“Yeah, more or less, we gave the BBC an exclusive and the rest did an article the next day and that was that. I don’t think the locals covered it once the nationals ran it. Anyway, young Sunderland...”
“Young? Come off it Granny,” heckled Stella.
“He was younger than I, okay not by much maybe five years, but he came to see me in private thinking I would help him. I did, but only by the minimum required and he went off in a huff. I didn’t think he was kosher anyway.”
“Just as well, if they’ve been circumnavigated it leaves less skin to make the vaginal tissue.”
“Don’t you mean circumscribed?” I said laughing.
“Maybe,” she shrugged, “Get on with it, Watts.” Tom was chortling away to himself.
“Anyway, he went off in a huff and then on the way home, I was cycling, I was so deep in thought about the incident, I nearly hit a pedestrian who stepped out into the road. To my horror, I saw it was him. He ran off, reported me to the university for attempting to run him down, called the police and generally shit stirred. He tried to make out I’d attempted to kick him as I went past.”
“You’d fall off wouldn’t you?” Stella reasoned.
“Precisely my point, but it was only when the plod examined the CCTV of the incident could they see I was telling the truth.”
“Like you always do, St Catherine.” Stella was now taking the piss.
“Except when talking to you, sister dear.”
“Or the tax man?” she queried.
“No you’re confusing me with a certain football manager.”
“Of course. You know me, football managers, university teachers–they’re all the same overpaid and under occupied.”
“In Italy, I’ve been led to believe you might be right, over here, no they’re not the same. University teachers are worse.”
“Worse are they?” Confirmed Stella making Tom choke on his tea.
“Definitely, we’re far worse than football managers when it comes to pay.”
“You’re over paid?” Stella looked askance at me.
“No, much worse paid, what did you think I meant?”
“I was beginning to wonder. So the man you tried to kill is dead–saved you the effort of another try.”
“Stella, I didn’t try the first time–he lied and was proved to have lied.”
“So did you do a contract on him? Simon has contacts.”
“Simon doesn’t wear contacts or glasses. His sight is fine–although he keeps telling me I’m beautiful, so maybe it is defective.”
“Could be,” agreed Stella, and I glared at her until she sniggered. “This bloke is dead, end of story.”
“I had no idea they had a drag club in Southampton.” I confessed my ignorance.
“Why should you? Lots of women see drag artists as insulting.”
“I must admit it tends to make me cringe rather than laugh.”
“Cathy, unless they’re very good, and by that I mean beautiful as well as genuinely funny, not just misogynistic, I tend to find them very tedious–but then stereotyping is.”
“Aren’t you doing just that, stereotyping drag queens?” I asked her.
“Probably, I haven’t seen that many except on telly.”
“I don’t think I’ve watched any live, isn’t my thing, and the ones on telly, except the one who gave Anne Robinson a run for her money on the Weakest Link, bore me. Sorry, I feel uncomfortable with it.”
“I can understand that,” offered Stella, “Too close to home, perhaps?”
“No, more a question of I’m wanting to be taken seriously as a woman, and they’re doing the opposite.”
“Ah, but you have an advantage, you are a woman, so why shouldn’t people take you seriously–they do, don’t they?” She had me there.
“I dunno,” I shrugged but really it showed my Achilles heel yet again and I wanted to burst into tears with anger at myself. One day I hoped this would go away and stay away, but obviously not just yet.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1598
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Once Tom had gone to wash his hands I asked Stella how things had gone with Gareth. “He was delighted with his daughter.”
“What about her mother?” I queried.
“Oh she loves her daughter all the time.”
“Very funny, now answer the question sensibly.”
“I’m going to dinner with him on Saturday.”
“Oh good, he’s a nice man.”
“Cathy, he left me in my hour of need.”
“I think he might have needs too, Stella.”
“But mine were more important.”
“To you yes, to us probably as well, but he may have thought that you had sufficient support from your family, yet he might not from his.”
“From his what?”
“From his family.”
“He probably would.”
“You know him better than I do.”
“Yeah, carnal knowledge, good, innit?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Oh poor Cathy, nobody loves her,” cooed Stella making me want to hit her.
“Please, I have a headache.” I rubbed my forehead.
“I thought that was to avoid sex, not because you wanted it.”
“I don’t want a headache, Stella.”
“No but it comes from sexual frustration, doesn’t it? We all know you fancy him rotten.”
“Stella, I told you before I am happily married, albeit to someone who seems to have to go to London more often than I’d like, but he is my husband and I love him. I am not therefore interested in anyone else.”
“Loads of married woman say that.”
“They may well do so. I happen to mean it.”
“But you do fancy Gareth, don’t you?”
“I find him attractive and good company, but I don’t want sex with him.”
“Keep saying it girl, you might believe it one day.”
“D’you think I’m lying?”
“Not deliberately.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I felt a little irked by her insistence that I fancied him–so what if I did? It was none of her business, unless I did something about it and she was still seeing him–then she could complain. The fact that I have a strong moral sense about infidelity–I dislike it intensely–should alert her to the fact that even if I thought Gareth was a veritable Adonis–which I do–I wouldn’t do anything about it because it would be so hurtful to Simon, and I love him and he loves me.
“I think, little sister, that you can’t always control your hormones any more than any other female; especially when faced with such an adorable man as Gareth.”
“He’s very good looking, I’ll grant you, but shouldn’t we be seeking more than just a list of conquests–that’s a very male thing.” Now would she get dirty and hit me below the belt?
“So he doesn’t do anything for you then?”
“He would if I let it, but I don’t, Stella. I’m going to say this once more and that’s it. I’m happily married to the man of my dreams, and we both love each other to bits.”
“I know and I’m jealous as hell.” She walked away as Tom came back into the kitchen.
“I tak’ it ye dinna want tae go tae his funeral?”
“What, Gareth’s?”
“No, ye numpty, young Sunderland’s.”
“No I don’t, thank you very much. He was a screwed up little shit, but I wouldn’t have wished that on him. It wasn’t his partner who did it was it?”
“Aye, I did wonder mesel’.”
“Mummy, Julie asked when tea would be ready?”
I glanced at the clock, it was nearly six. “Julie asked or you did?”
“Julie asked, but I’m hungry too.”
“How about fish and chips?”
“Oh yes, Mummy, shall I tell the others?”
“You can ask the others who else wants them.” She ran off to confer with her brother and sisters. She came rushing back a short time later.
“Yes, Mummy, we all want them.”
“Okay, now are you coming with me to get them or staying with Gramps and laying the table?”
“I’ll come with you, Mummy–shall I ask Livvie to do the table?”
“Yes, you could do.” I went to collect my jacket and purse and a bag to carry them home in. They often offered a cheap paper bag which tore rather easily, so I usually took one of the supermarket ‘bags for life’ with me. These are more substantial than the ordinary plastic carriers, some are quite tough in fact, and are supposed to be replaced free of charge by supermarkets if they break or wear out. I don’t think I ever remember to take them back when broken, I just chuck ’em and I suspect most other shoppers do the same.
Trish and I had a nice chat as we drove to the chippy. She was telling me all about her schoolwork and her new best friend, Jo Downes. Apparently Jo had mentioned the fact that her parents had invited us to go and see them, so she was wondering why we hadn’t gone.
“Um–I think Daddy suggested we wait for some better weather and the longer evenings, then you could play in their garden–anyway, she’s coming home with us tomorrow.”
“Is she? Can she stay over?”
“I don’t think that was the plan, Trish. Her mummy is coming to get her during the evening.”
“But she could stay over, couldn’t she?”
“Perhaps at some future time, yes. I think I’d like to see how you get on with her tomorrow first.”
“She’s my best friend, Mummy.” An element of the contemptuous was entering her tone so I shut up. I didn’t want to argue with her–I’m her parent, I don’t argue with a seven year old, even one with a six figure IQ. I say, she does–an arrangement I quite approve.
There was queue in the chip shop–there always is when you feel in a bit of a rush. “What did Gareth want, Mummy?” It wasn’t really a topic for conversation in a chip shop queue.
“He came to see Auntie Stella and Fiona.”
“What for?”
“I rather think that’s between them, don’t you?” I tried to close down the topic.
“Not if he buggers off again like he did last time.” I heard sniggers from other queuing customers.
“Trish, I wish you wouldn’t use such language.”
“You do,” she protested and there were more sniggers.
I felt like standing up and preaching a sermon on personal privacy, but I suspect it wouldn’t be terribly well received. “I’m an adult, Trish, you’re seven. It doesn’t become a young lady to be heard swearing.”
“S’not fair,” she grumbled and there was more chuckling and sniggering heard.
“I’m afraid a lot of life is like that. Just take for instance the people in this queue–if I started swearing like a fishwife, they wouldn’t like it, possibly enough to say something. However, you doing it, becomes funny because it embarrasses me.” I heard murmurs from the queue.
“That’s not fair, Mummy.”
“That’s life, sweetheart.”
Suddenly she walked out from the line and said loudly to the queue, “You let my mummy swear if she wants to.” I think I actually shrivelled into my jacket like a tortoise pulls back into his shell.
Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1599
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We arrived home with a large bag of fish and chips, and me with a complex about ever going there again. I hadn’t felt as embarrassed since Murray called me out in front of the whole school, addressing me as Miss Watts. I couldn’t even remember what I’d done wrong that time–it didn’t take much such was his homophobia although to me the ironic thing was that I wasn't homosexual, I was female.
I got similar treatment after the play, yeah the Scottish one, I was still dressed in the girl’s uniform, mainly because it pissed him off, but also I enjoyed wearing it. He called me out again as Miss Watts and I was told to face the school.
“Much as I disapprove of your sexuality MissWatts, I saw the play last night and I was impressed by your skills as an actress. It also appears the local paper was equally impressed, because they have written at length of your performance.
“Normally, behaviour like yours, is seen as anarchic and anti-authority and brings this establishment into disrepute. Last night it appears that you redeemed some of that and brought some respect to the school from the press.
“They seem to think you were a normal female, although we all know otherwise. In the interests of the reputation of this school, it appears you had better continue wearing the girl’s uniform until we consider it appropriate to stop. Naturally, Miss Watts will be accorded every respect shown to members of the fairer sex,” he warned the rest of the school.
The school laughed and whistled, he’d turned triumph into disaster–instead of saying nothing, he had to build me up and then drop me. He could have told me this in private. I suppose he did have a message for the rest of the school to stop bullying me–at least while I was doing the play. If I came to harm before it ended then it would be embarrassing–they didn’t have a replacement for me, and I couldn’t see many volunteering to understudy me. Of course they could have used one of the girls from next door, but then they’d have to accept they couldn’t do everything themselves, the woman attendant was played by one of the teachers–a female one.
I ceased my revery as we turned into the driveway and I parked the car alongside Tom’s Land Rover. I decided I’d say nothing about the incident at the chippy and hoped that Trish would do the same.
Julie and Catherine were sitting at the table, well, Catherine was in her high chair, and Fiona was opposite in her one. They were like two tennis umpires both of them squawking as soon as they saw me appear with the food. Normally, I’d have salt and vinegar put on mine, but because the little ones were having a bit, I declined the offer of the condiments.
Stella passed me a warmed plate and I placed the wrapped cod and chips on it and passed it to the table. Trish and Livvie shared a portion, and Mima and the three little ones shared hers. Catherine grabbed a chip and chewed on it squealing as she did, which set off the other umpire. I think we regained control at deuce.
I was about half way through mine and struggling, and Danny had finished and was drinking his cola. He must have just shovelled it down. I stopped, overwhelmed at the amount before me–I couldn’t comfortably eat any more.
“You want some more, Danny?” I asked and he nodded, he pretty well emptied my plate as well. Okay, so he was playing football two or three times a week, but even when I was that age I couldn’t remember eating half that amount–I’d have been sick.
“We did have a couple of real gluttons at school, one of whom uncannily resembled Billy Bunter, in fact they used to call him Bunter. I remember one break time seeing him demolish two fruit pies and couple of buns before eating a chocolate bar. I felt ill watching him and didn’t eat the packet of crisps I’d taken with me.
I wonder what happened to him? At the rate he was going he’d be in coronary care by now, or the diabetes clinic. Sometimes I did think about looking on those reunion sites to see if anyone showed up–not that I’d want to go there. I’d met one or two of my ex-contemporaries and hadn’t really like any of them, even. Caroline, or whatever she was calling herself now, hadn’t really resonated with me.
Perhaps I was the problem–I hadn’t made many friends in school or university until I’d come here and transitioned. It seemed the defensiveness I’d shown, possibly seen as an aloofness, which kept people away from me relaxed when I came to Portsmouth. My return to Sussex to do the talk showed that some had coped with my change over. I didn’t think I was too interested in my old school to be bothered enough to find out what they thought. They should have known though, as it had been on television and in the press. I’d moved, on so they were irrelevant in my life.
“A penny for them, Mummy,” Julie next to whom I was sitting disturbed my daydream.
“Oh, it’s nothing, darling.”
“You seemed to be scowling at something.”
“Was I? Okay, I was thinking about some of my schooldays.”
“Oh do tell us, Mummy,” she replied and the terrible twins agreed. Danny in comparison, asked to leave the table. He was tired of my reminiscences or appeared to be.
“C’mon, Mummy, tell us about when you played Lady Macbeth,” called Trish, and I was about to start when the phone rang and they all groaned. It was Stephanie. She was cancelling her regular appointment with Trish because she was going into hospital for a caesarean section next week.
“Oh dear, not problems, I hope?” I commented.
“Yeah, looks like breech, so in I go and out she’ll pop.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Not unless you can see a couple of dozen patients for me while I’m on maternity leave.”
“I meant personally, as you well knew.”
“Nah, I don’t do girl on girl, and besides I’m too fat–can’t see my toes. Oh, how is Julie?”
“Would you like to speak to her?”
“No it’s okay, is she well?”
“I think so, she’s grumbling about dilating.”
She chuckled, “So you failed in your maternal duties and didn’t warn her?”
“If I had she’d have changed her mind.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Imagine having somewhere which is possibly a little numb but also tender and tight, and then imagine shoving something which feels about the size of a twelve pounder shell in said place.”
“So why do you do it, if you know it’s going to hurt?”
“Why do women have babies? They know it’s going to hurt, yet some have several, forgetting the pain soon after because it’s a worthwhile result to have the baby. Dilating is a bit like that, for some it will always be painful or uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons. Some will find eventually when all the swelling has reduced and as normal sensation has returned as is going to, they can actually induce pleasure there or can with the help of an aid or a partner.”
“Are you in the latter category?” she asked.
“Thankfully, yes, I hope Julie is too.”
“Absolutely. Well, love to you all, I’ll be in touch some time.”
“Good luck with the Caesar.”
“Thank you–byeee.” She rang off and I returned to the table. I was able to divert attention from my schooldays by giving Stephanie’s news from which ensued a lively discussion.