Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 660 by Angharad

I lay awake listening to the children talking with Simon at the same as time scanning the ‘Today’ programme on Radio 4. The news was full of disasters not least an airliner disappearing over the Atlantic with two hundred plus passengers on board, one of them an eleven year old kid from a prep school in Bristol. Then a story about two distraught parents who drove to Beachy Head and jumped off with a rucksack containing the body of their five-year-old son. The three bodies were found at the base of the cliffs. I mused how I’d feel if I lost either of my girls–I might take a trip to Beachy Head myself.

I’ve actually been there, it’s just a bit of the Downs that runs down to the sea, ending with large white chalk cliffs. It’s a very popular spot with suicides, so much so that the Samaritans paid for a phone box to be kept nearby, in case they could talk would be jumpers out of it.

It’s a lovely spot, and we walked there from Eastbourne across the Sussex Downs, with a pub a bit further on and open fields. Can’t think why it’s so popular with suicides except it is quite high, some four or five hundred feet. Strikes me as a such a sad thing to do at such a beautiful place.

Suddenly I remembered we had to get Trish ready for school, and I almost jumped out of bed. “Come on, action stations. Girls, in the shower please, Si are you going to take Trish or shall I?”

“Is there a posse at the gate?” He peered out the window, “Nah, it’s clear at the moment. I’ll take her if you like, you can collect her.”

“Okay, I’ll give them both a wash and brush up.” I sped into the bathroom behind the two giggling monsters and we all three stood under the warm water and washed. I did most of the washing, and the drying–the girls standing passively as I rubbed them over with the towel. Then with a towel wrapped around them at breast and another turban on their heads, I sent them into their own bedroom to put their undies on.

I had barely put my own on when they were back giggling again like a pair of freshly washed marathon runners. I took them back to their room and Trish pulled on her school dress–it was forecast to be warm–short socks and sandals, while Meems helped me put a summer dress on her, a blue affair with yellow flowers on it. She liked it, anyway.

I dried three lots of hair, starting with Trish, for whom Simon would be making cereal and toast. I plaited her hair, then dried and did the same with Meem’s, and finally dried my own, pulling it into a ponytail. Today, I had work to do, including washing and cleaning, baking bread and sorting the dinner. I pulled on some green shorts and an almost matching tee shirt–which fell a little short of my waist.

I had to almost beat Simon off me, and remind him that he had to take our daughter to school. He’d forgotten, it seemed. It made me worry a little, if men had two brains, albeit, small ovoid ones, why couldn’t one of them remember anything besides sex? I was smirking at my own joke when Simon scowled at me. “Sandwiches,” he said and I jumped and blushed.

I quickly made up a packed lunch for Trish, with a tuna sandwich, some salad in a sealed box, a yoghurt and a small chocolate biscuit–a ‘Penguin’. Simon saw it and immediately lapsed into a very old joke.

“Why don’t elephants like penguins?” he said already laughing.

“I don’t know,” sighed Trish, knowing it was going to be unfunny.

“They can’t get the silver paper off,” Simon roared and so did Meems, probably because Simon was laughing.

“Actually, they have a plastic wrapper nowadays.” Trish said this as she finished her toast and Simon glared at her, while I snorted because it hurt too much to stifle the laugh.

After Simon had taken Trish off to school and Tom had decamped to the university, Stella and Puddin’ came down and Stella allowed Meems to help feed her, which had her almost bouncing with joy. Without Trish crowding her out, Meems was able to ‘play mummies’ with a real baby. Stella seemed happy to watch the pair of them so I got on with my chores.

I was sorting the washing when Stella came out to the utility room. “Where are the little ‘uns?” I asked.

“I put Puddin’ down for a nap and Mima has decided to take one too.”

“Okay, I won’t vacuum for the moment then.”

“I did ask you this before, Cathy.”

“You did?” I asked wondering what was coming next.

“Yes I did, and you were noncommittal about it.”

“I was?”

“Yes you were.”

“I was, then. So I’ll probably be the same again.” I had no idea what she was on about, but it sounded like I should remain consistent.

“I thought you might, but I’m going to ask you again, anyway.”

“Fine,” I tried to sound as if I had some idea of the topic in question. Of course I didn’t.

“Well, will you?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said in response, “I still feel the same about it.”

“Damn,” she said, “I had a feeling you’d say that.” She walked disconsolately from the utility room. Then she came back in again. “Could we do it the same time as you get married.”

I was now completely confused about this subject. “Seeing as that’s a moveable feast and I need to speak with Marguerite about it, I’d have thought that would be too vague for your purpose.” What the hell was she on about, doing it the same time as I got married–do what? Go shopping?

“No the timing is fine, it would also mean everyone who needed to be there would be there.”

“They would? Oh I’m glad about that, should make it easier.”

“It’s a shame you’re not really interested.”

“Sorry about that, you know me.” I had absolutely no idea what we were discussing, and to admit it would make me look even more stupid than I usually do.

“I’ll have to find someone else then. Simon seems fairly happy about it.”

“Well, you know Si, always eager to please his little sister.”–Mainly because he’s scared of her.

“You should check if yours are, then we could do it all together.”

“I don’t know, Stella, I mean if I can’t with yours why should I do it with mine?” Do what though? It still wasn’t obvious.

“Maybe they wouldn’t let you anyway,” she sighed and wandered off again.

I took the washing out to the line and while I pegged it out to dry I tried to figure out what she was on about. It still made no sense, and I did think I’d perhaps go and ask her and confess my ignorance.

I walked back into the house and the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, Cathy, it’s Laura.”

“Is Peaches, okay?”

“Yes she’s fine, look could you do me a favour?”

“That depends upon what it is?”

“Yeah, natch. Look it’s a big one but it’s important to me.”

Was everyone going to talk in riddles, today? Or was I being particularly obtuse? “What is it?”

“I have to go and see my ex about his payments of child support, he’s not very good at it?”

“Don’t the CSA*, do that for you?”

“No we opted not to use them, but he’s started defaulting and I know if I go and see him, he’ll cough up the amount owing and be more regular in future.”

“What are you taking with you, a gun?”

“Yeah, like I wish I could, but then if I shot him, he’d be unable to pay anything, wouldn’t he?”

“You have a point. So what’s the favour you want?” I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

“Could you have Pea for the weekend?”

“From when to when, exactly?”

“Friday from school and I’ll collect her from school on Monday evening.”

“Possibly, can I get back to you, I need to check with Si and Tom that there’s nothing else going on?”

“Yeah, ’course,” she gave me her mobile number.

I put the phone down and fumed. Peaches warned me about this. Where did her ex live? Did it take a whole weekend or was she taking the proverbial?

I called Simon.

*CSA - Child Support Agency.