Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 894 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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If Simon did snore, I didn’t hear him–we got a trifle affectionate when we got to bed and I fell asleep very quickly after we celebrated our bonding ritual. I didn’t even wake for a wee in the night, which is what usually happens–so when I did wake up, I was all sticky and needed to jump in the shower, much to Simon’s disappointment–but then he wasn’t sore or all gooey. There are definite drawbacks to mating if you’re the female, even excluding the risk of pregnancy.

While I showered I was cogitating on my recent experiences in Sussex–I was still bristling a bit when I thought about Dilly, but she was the saddo, not me. Thinking, that dwelling on these things would make me a grump with Simon, I tried to push them from my mind and when the girls came in to shower with me, I soon forgot and revelled in the joys of parenthood.

They were pretty well old enough to dry themselves and to wash their own bodies with supervision occasionally. I still washed their hair and put in some conditioner, then combed it, styled it and dried it.

Today was Sunday, I wondered if that strange clergyman was holding his service at the motorway service areas. Sounds an appropriate place for it, I wonder what the energy has done to his back–it certainly seems to have affected his brain. It was the headline in the Echo–Simon got one at the station when he came home. His car has been in the garage for the final bit of its re-spray–remember he damaged it when Henry was shot–they couldn’t get an exact match for the colour, so he had to wait until now. He came home by taxi, reading his Echo en route. As soon as he saw the headline, he knew it was me–well Trish, who is probably far more angelic in all aspects than I, is too young to drive–so the odds weren’t exactly in my favour of denying it to him.

He got the truth out of me and we bonked then slept. Okay, I can’t have babies, but practicing the making of them is good fun anyway.

I tidied up the girl’s hair and they went off to dress. The snow was more or less gone now and when they heard the boys would be riding with Leon, they wanted to go as well. I refused them, suggesting that they should try and talk Julie into borrowing my mountain bike and taking them out somewhere on their bikes. That idea grabbed them, so they went off to hound Julie into submitting to their combined will.

Over breakfast, she acceded to their demands quite graciously, especially when learning that Leon was taking the boys out on bikes. What she didn’t know was, she was going in the morning and they were going later, probably after lunch.

I had a nice piece of silverside of beef, so was doing a roast lunch for a change. I’d invited Pippa and she was bringing her two boys plus their bikes. Leon was going to be busy supervising four boys–but I thought he was capable, or I’d never have considered it.

Julie and the girls went off after breakfast–she was disappointed–but she covered it well and after I adjusted the saddle a fraction for her and pumped the tyres up to suitable pressure–she followed behind the three minxes, who were giggling and yelling to each other.

I saw Leon cycling towards them from the other direction–of course he stopped and chatted with Julie for several minutes. It was too far away for me hear anything, but once he saw me watching he came on to the house. Once he did, I cautioned him about thinking of Julie as a girlfriend. He gave me an old fashioned look, but I made up some story about it being part of her fostering that she didn’t have boyfriends, which he accepted with a shrug.

The two boys were already spreading muck on Tom’s veg patch, so all Leon had to do was dig it in. I got on with cooking lunch. I put the joint in the oven and did the vegetables, then made up some horseradish sauce and two kinds of mustard–an English and a milder French sort. I don’t like either, but Tom and Simon do.

After a while I put in the roasties having par boiled them–actually, I did them in the microwave, it’s quicker, then did the batter mix for the Yorkshire puds. I looked out the window–the sun was shining, but there was no one digging the garden. Just in case they’d stopped for a breather–I waited for a few minutes before going out to see where the boys were.

They were nowhere to be seen, and when I checked, their bikes were gone as well. I would have words with Leon when he came back and also with Julie. I’d have thought the pills would reduce her sex drive–maybe they do the opposite? Either way, she was particularly vulnerable and as I had no way of gauging Leon’s response if he found out–she could be dangerously vulnerable. Leon isn’t the most articulate individual and might therefore translate his feelings into actions with his fists.

I suppose this is why we have childhoods and the transitional adolescence–to learn about ourselves and others. In my case, the latter was wasted, it didn’t really happen and I had to go from boy to woman in one step–at least Trish and Julie will have the chance to transition and evolve into their adult phases at a reasonable rate, not the rush job I had.

I was very frustrated when I went back onto the kitchen and banged a few pots about. Simon wandered in, eventually–he’d been reading the Sunday papers, complaining you didn’t get the same class of pervert exposure you used to.

I walked away from his supposed joke, I wasn’t in the mood for that sort of schoolboy humour. After he wandered off with a coffee, Tom came in and said he’d had an email from Esmond Herbert who was a bit annoyed that I’d put the phone down on him, and suggested I apologise to him.

It was the wrong moment. “If I see Esmond Herbert again, I shall take a pack of Paxo and stuff it where the sun don’t shine,” I glared at him.

“Dinna tak thon tone wi’ me, lassie, or I’ll put ye o’er ma knee an’ skelp yerr airse.”

It was a ludicrous thing to say, and I should just have laughed and walked away but I couldn’t could I? I always have to make things worse.

“I doubt you could have done that ten years ago, let alone now, old man.”

“I beg yerr pardon?” he glared at me.

Fortunately for both of us Simon came in and somehow defused the situation–“Can I smell something burning?” he asked and I gasped and ran to the oven just in time to save the Yorkshires. By the time I’d finished, he’d walked out of the kitchen with his arm around Tom’s shoulder, presumably smoothing the ruffled feathers.

I did a quick fruit salad and whipped some cream for dessert and had just finished putting both in the fridge when all the kids came back. Then Pippa arrived with her two and their bikes–I told the boys, my boys and Leon, they’d have to ride again with our two guests–they nodded and smiled. Maybe I should get on my bike and do a long ride to calm me down.

Lunch was a reasonable success–the girls quickly laid the table in the dining room while Tom carved the meat–okay, I’m a traditionalist in some ways–while I dished up vegetables and provided condiments.

While the adults boosted their caffeine levels, the boys went off on their bikes–all five of them, the girls I kept behind to help me clear up the kitchen. While the smaller ones were occupied, I took Julie off to one side and gave her a stiff talking to.

“Just what do you think you’re doing with Leon?”

“Nothing, why? He’s nice.”

“Nice–I first met him brandishing a knife in this kitchen after he’d broken in, and Simon nearly killed him.”

“Kewl,” she smirked.

“Cool!” I squawked, “Someone could have been killed.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Look you, silly girl–what if he finds out about you? He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer–he might hit you or worse?”

“He won’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?” I demanded.

“He knows.”

“He knows what?”

“About me.”

“What?” I nearly fell over.

“I like, told him–he’s kewl about it.”

“Oh,” was all I could say, and try not to fall over.