by Angharad
After a relatively light lunch, Tom asked to take Mima to feed the ducks. I agreed on the condition he wrap her up warmly, it was really cold, a raw penetrating cold. As he left I told him I was going to be busy for an hour or so, and winked at him. His face broke into a broad grin. Stella appeared, lagged to the gills, and went with them, carrying the remains of a stale loaf.
I nudged Simon and said, “Come on upstairs,” the smile on his face was huge. As soon as I got into the bedroom, I started taking off my clothes, so did he–actually, he started taking off his own clothes. I opened my wardrobe and flung his bib-tights to him, while dragging my own over my feet.
“What’s this for? I thought you wanted a bit of–you know…”
“I do, a ride on the bikes.”
“What? It’s bloody freezing out there; let’s stay here and you know.”
“Simon, I need a bike ride, either you come with me or you stay home.”
“But I thought you wanted…”
“There’ll be time for that later.”
“How long are they going to be out then?”
“About an hour, why?”
“It’s hardly worth going for a bike ride if we’re going to dash back, to–you know.”
“What? I was talking about when we go to bed.”
“Yeah, but with the eye of Horus in the room it’s much more difficult.”
“It would be even harder on a bicycle, come on, last one out’s a sissy.” I ‘d slipped on my sports bra, my thermal vest and socks while he was whingeing. Then I pulled on my long sleeved shirt and ran downstairs with my cycling shoes and sat at the bottom of the stairs to put them on, over which I pulled my overshoes. My feet would still get cold, but at least I’d tried to keep them warm. I was feeling very warm, the struggle to get the stretchy overshoes on had made me puff a bit.
Simon swaggered down the stairs, “Is this really a good idea, Cathy?”
“Stay home then, or come with me, just stop whingeing like some schoolgirl who forgot her gymknicks.”
“I beg your pardon, but I don’t believe I have been.”
“Pity the human tape-recorder isn’t here, she’d capture the emotion if not the verbatim evidence.”
“Who or what is the human tape-recorder?”
“Mima the dweamer,” I smiled and pulled on my jacket, zipping it up to the neck. Then pulled on my balaclava and tucked it inside the collar of my jacket.
Simon paused while he pulled his ski mask over his face, it was one with holes for eyes and mouth. “Does our darling hostage to fortune, know you call her names?”
“Sorry can’t hear you, you look like a terrorist or SAS.”
“You look like Sir Gallahad.”
“Come on then, let’s go find the grail.”
“That story is full of holes,” he quipped.
“Don’t tell me, the holey grail?”
“You’ve heard it before?”
No, Simon, I know how your puerile little mind works, “Must have done,” I shrugged and opened the garage. The tyres were okay, I did a few quick stretches and pedalled the Scott out onto the road with Simon just behind me.
We set off up towards Cosham and the hill. Simon began to lag further and further behind, and I thought I was the unfit one. I waited for him at the top of a hill, it was bitterly cold, the easterly wind was taking no prisoners. It was three o’clock near enough. I waited until ten past, then started to worry. I was also very cold.
I set off down the hill, at the bottom on a bit of a bend is a pub. There was no sign of Simon anywhere. Then I spotted the Tarmac–his bike, an S Works Tarmac, one of the fastest made.
I parked mine alongside his, and chained them together. I was going to give him a piece of my mind and possibly park my bike up his backside. Any chance he’d had for a bit of nookie later, had just been frozen out. I stormed into the bar, there were two or three men drinking there, they just looked at me as if I’d arrived from another planet.
I went back out to the hallway and in through the door marked, ‘lounge bar, if the rat was hiding in here, I’ll chew him up in front of everyone, he’ll deserve it. I wasn’t quite so cold, warmed mainly by the volcano which was driven by my temper. Did he think I was so stupid, I wouldn’t notice?
I opened the door and strode in. “Hello, darlin’, you lookin’ for your bloke?”
“Looking for him? Yes, I have to find him before I can kill him.”
“Oh no, darlin’, some bloke with a white van’s just tried that.”
“What d’you mean?” my solar plexus flipped and felt very cold.
“He’s in the back kitchen, the Missus is tryin’ to patch him up.”
“Oh shit!, Can I go through?” my emotions in the form of the volcano, just collapsed in on themselves. I should have had more trust in him, I should have known he wouldn’t let me down like that. I hope he’s not too badly hurt. Oh shit, shit, bloody shit.”
I entered the kitchen more humbly than I had the bar. Simon was sitting on a carver and looking quite pale. A middle aged woman, with huge hips, was bending over him. “Does that hurt?” she asked.
“Ow, yes.” He looked up and saw me, “Oh hi, Cathy. Guess who got knocked off?”
“I didn’t notice anything wrong with the bike,” I said numbly.
“It’s got some scratches, it rolled over with me, bloody van caught my shoulder with his mirror, I’ve done my knee again.”
“Oh ‘ello, dear,” said big hips,” he’s cut his knee, gonna have a nice bruise there later.” She’d put some form of dressing on it. I walked in and could see his leg raised on a stool. “Took a heavy clatter.”
I held out my hand to him, “How are you?”
“I’ll live, but I won’t be riding home I’m afraid.” He squeezed my hand.
“Thank you for looking after him, if there’s any charge?”
“Goodness no, I was disappointed to see he didn’t have blue blood.”
“He did, but the government made him change it, so he’d look less like an alien.”
“So you must be, Lady Catherine?”
“You have the advantage, madam?” I replied, like someone out of a second rate Victorian novel.
“June Wiggins, you met me ‘usband, Alf, in the bar.”
“Very briefly. I’d better go and get the Mondeo if we need to carry the bike back.” I kissed Simon briefly. “Thank you Mrs Wiggins, I won’t be long.”
“No relation to Bradley, I take it?” said Simon as I swept out of the door. I waved to the landlord as I dashed through his lounge bar and out to the bikes. I relocked Simon’s, there were one or two small scratches that I’d missed earlier.
Moments later, I was back on my Scott and pedalling like hell. As I came through the edge of the city traffic, I was flying down the center of the road, with the slight hill behind me, I was easily exceeding the speed limit of thirty miles and hour. The odd car beeped at me, but I was gone, well into my cadence and flying, driven by adrenaline.
I came screaming into the drive passing Tom and the others just before they got to it. I jumped off the bike, and locked it in the garage, then ignoring them, I ran into the house. “These flaming overshoes,” I huffed and puffed as I pulled them off and then my shoes.
Tom called something, but I was halfway up the stairs, I grabbed my trainers and quickly donned them lacing them with speedy fingers. Then back down the stairs and the duck feeding detail were standing in front of me.
“Excuse me,” I reached past Tom to get my car keys.
“Where’s Simon?” he asked.
“He got hit off by some van, he’s back at a pub on the road above Cosham.”
“Two questions, do you need me to come to help? And, are you going to take your cycle helmet off?”
“Oh, shit.” I unclipped it and dumped it on the hall table. “You can come if you like, but I need to hurry.”
“Is he badly hurt?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll have a better idea when I’ve seen him walk on it.”
“What about the bike?”
“I think it’s okay, least I hope so.”
“Get your priorities right, Cathy,” said Stella, and I wasn’t sure if she was being funny ha ha or queer.
“Can you look after Mima, I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” She nodded her reply and I leant over and kissed the child. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Is Daddy hurted?”
“He’s bumped his bad knee, I’m sure he’ll be alright.”
“Can I come to see him?”
“No, love, you stay here, I won’t be long, we need the space in the car for the bike.”
I watched a large tear fill her eye and roll down her cheek, “Daddy hurted,” she said and began to sob. I wanted to pick her up and hug her but time was important, especially if we had to go to the hospital, at least we were over the right side of town.
“Come on, girl, let’s go and get him.” Tom grabbed my arm and steered me towards the car.
Comments
See, Simon's idea was better
That was a mean thing Cathy did, teasing Simon like that. Then she rides off and leaves him. As Stella said, “Get your priorities right, Cathy,†Oh well, at least it wasn't a black van, that would be uber bad news.
KJT
Sir Charles Panther
"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin
It really is awful when ...
... something like that happens to someone you love. My SO had a couple of bad experiences when I had serious nasties on my bike but she got her own back last year. She came off in the lanes and one of her companions phoned me at home. Suffice to say I almost beat the ambulance to the scene.
Angharad nicely catches the panicky feel here. Unfortunately a small but significant minority of motorists think cyclists disobey the laws of physics in that they are infinitely thin and travel from place to place at zero velocity.
This saga continues to appeal. Thanks.
Geoff
Dunno about the laws of physics
But a large number of cyclists around here disobey the traffic laws, cutting between cars, weaving in and out of traffic, riding in the pedestrian path, etc. A friend of mine got quite a surprise a few years back when a cyclist ran a stop sign and hit the side of her car. Then the cyclist claimed it was Rita's fault even though Rita had the right of way.
Of course, Cathy would never do that. ;-)
KJT
Sir Charles Panther
"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin
The author doesn't
run red lights or cycle on pavements, unless the latter are designated shared cycleways-footpaths. I don't use them too often, too much hassle with pedestrians - they don't look where they're going, and with dogs - geez! Nearly stuck a front wheel up a dog's arse the other week, at over a hundred quid each (wheels that is)it comes a bit expensive.
Nearly got squashed a couple of years ago, a large articulated truck came past me, about a yard away at the front, but getting narrower as he came past. I pulled off the road, and his tail went past almost brushing the kerb. I'd have been under his back wheels. Sadly I didn't manage to catch him, or i would have told him where he could shove his wagon, and offered to show him!
So as I cycle like an angel (apart from swearing at drivers) I suspect my heroine will too.
Angharad
Angharad
Good for You, Ang!
But too many cyclists think that they're morally superior (not polluting the atmosphere or something)and therefore entitled to break the rules of the road.
OTOH, having ridden a bicycle from time to time, I also know that the rules of the road were not written for the convenience of cyclists. (Do they have four-way stops in Britain? What a stupid idea!) So, I understand cyclists that don't obey stop signs: the local cops won't usually be bothered to ticket a cyclist.*
OTOH, having been a motorist from time to time, I also know the frustration of being behind a bicycle doing 20 kph in a 50 kph zone when most cars would be doing 60-70 in that zone.** I guess it boils down to everyone should be as considerate as possible of others. There is no room on the roads, where lives may be at risk, for ideologies like "I'm right because of the environment!" or "I gotta get to ________ and I don't have time for no slow cyclists".
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
* Here in Ottawa, every September, the cops have their STEP programme (STEP = Selective Traffic Enforcement Programme)which means they *do* enforce the bicycle laws in a sort of "let that be a lesson to you!" sort of thing. The rest of the year, they can't be bothered. (The labour cost of having an officer appear in court as a witness to such a minor charge isn't cost effective in their opinion.)
** Cops around here don't ticket unless you're going 20 kph over the limit and, when they do ticket, it's for 20 kph less than what they clocked you at. It's something to do with case law here requiring them to be absolutely sure of the speed -- something along the lines of "I know I clocked him at 135, so he must have been doing 115 at least."
x
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
In 50kph zones in the UK ...
... (certainly in England anyway) most traffic will be doing less than 50kph (30mph) because speed limit enforcement is very strict these days. 60/70 kph is definitely a nono and asking for a ticket and points on your licence which add up to a driving ban. The only place where speeding is common is the motorway system when most car/light van traffic overtakes if you're sticking to the 70mph (115 kph) speed limit. As there are no non-motorised road users there it doesn't bother me too much.
I don't think it's cyclists who feel morally superior so much as motorists feeling guilty (and envious :) ) and assuming a moral inferiority LOL. As most of my riding is on quiet back lanes these days I see fewer cars than when I was commuting 50km/day. I'm sure both Cathy and her creator are, like me, responsible, law abiding cyclists who obey all the traffic regulations scrupulously.
Geoff
OK Quuestion Is
Was Simon targeted for some reason, if so WHY?
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
So, now Simon has..
fallen off a bike... Is he going to start wearing skirts?
Okay - But, I think he's one lucky bloke, in more ways than one.
Cathy is still going off half cocked... Thought she'd started getting control of her anger response. I guess she didn't stick her foot TOOO far in her mouth... Well, it'll be interesting to see what happens next.
Thanks,
Annette
Just a Thank you
Dear Angharad,
This is just a general thank you for continuing to write EAFOAB. I enjoy reading the continuing exploits of Cathy and co. The humour, the emotions, the interplay and yes, the puns.
I hope keeping your readers happy, doesn’t impinge too much on your spare time and other interests.
By the way, there is an unusually fascinating article on Rebecca Romero in today’s Sunday Times. It is also available at Timesonline/ sport/ big interview. Sorry I am not very good at links. Anyway I think it is well worth a read
Thanks once again.
Anne G.
Toddler English?
Or should that be English toddler?
Jemima is cute and all, but I've never heard a kid talk anything like her. . .
Maybe it's because all the toddlers I've known have been American and had parents with professional degrees, but. . .
Maybe its just that none of the parents I've known would permit adults to talk to their kids with "baby talk" and that had some influence. . .
Or maybe Mima does have an organic speech impediment. . .
Mine did
My youngest had the same problem. The school worked well into the 3rd grade to get it fixed. Never knew what the problem was.
It's always the bad knee.
That happens in Boston all the time. Just recently a doctor on his way to the hospital was hooked by a truck mirror, had to have a lot of stitches in his hand, he's a surgeon.
Cathy was being unfair, Simon had his leg in a cast.
Cefin