Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 927 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I’d never spoken to anyone about Siá¢n, and I hadn’t thought about the hair episode for years–I suppose thinking about Julie’s recent experience is what brought it back from the far recesses of my little mind.

My time at school wasn’t very happy–I did form one or two friendships but they didn’t last, and I spent most of my time becoming a bookworm, concentrating on my studies in between envying the girls their clothes, their bodies, their lives–their everything. Who’d have thought that by my early twenties I’d have made the jump myself, to their side of the fence. At age fifteen, I certainly didn’t think so–in fact right through college, I didn’t think so and let’s face it, if Stella hadn’t sort of knocked me into the middle of the next week, I could still be sitting alone in my little room playing with cosmetics or contemplating an end to everything. Instead, I’m a woman, legally now, with a husband and loving gang of kids, of whom I think the world–not to mention the other adults in my life, like Tom and Stella and Henry and Monica. I lost my childhood and gained a whole family–not a bad trade.

What would become of Trish and Julie–I hoped as they transitioned earlier than I did, they’d be even more successful–although that could take some doing, but maybe more adjusted would be a better way to describe it. I may be the Mummy of the family–the Matriarch–but much of the time I’m winging it, making it up as I go along and no one seems to challenge me. Does that mean I’m doing it right or that they have no more idea than I do?

I keep the place clean, everyone has a full tum and clean clothes. I give and receive love and in between I do some work for the bank, the university, Defra or me. The oven pinged disrupting my thoughts–where was Julie?

I called her and she came down in her robe, her hair all wet and looking suspiciously like her normal colour. “Did that stuff wash out?”

“More or less, Mummy, why?”

“I thought it was a permanent dye?”

“I wasn’t sure what it was, they might have told me, but I was so pleased to just be accepted as a girl and treated as one, I don’t remember–it’s only about the third time I’ve been in a salon.”

“Well that will soon lose its novelty.”

“Yeah, I s’pose it will.”

“I thought I’d taken you once?”

“Yeah, you did and I went once before I met you–the day before I met you.”

“And your ill-fortuned foray into feminine fancies?”

“Something like that,” she said blushing.

“Here’s your pizza–cuppa?”

She nodded and began eating the warmed up bread and cheese mess–I still don’t know how anyone can actually like them, but my family do. Maybe I should try making one and let them see how disgusting this stuff really is. Even if I bought the bases, I could make better toppings than this dog biscuit stuff they sprinkle on the top.

I might think about it after my report was finished. One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t get much of it done over the weekend. I watched Julie, she had changed her eating style quite significantly–instead of shoving the food down her throat like she did at first, she’s quite a delicate diner, eating the pizza with small nibbles. Why do they pick it up with their fingers? Don’t they have knives and forks in Italy–or is this an American custom?

“How was your day in the salon?”

“It was good, they made me work but it wasn’t too hard–I’ve worked harder here. It was mainly goferin’ an’ sweepin’ the floors. We had a bin bag full of hair by the end of the day.”

“Spare me the detail,” I winced and sipped my tea.

“Where’s Leon? He said he’d wait for me?”

“He tweaked his back gardening–Tom took him and his bike home in his Freelander.”

Trish came flying into the kitchen–“Oh there you are, The Princess Bride is just startin’, you gonna come an’ watch it with us?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Julie declined the invitation, “Me an’ Mummy are talkin’.”

“Suit yersel’ ye daft gowk,” said Trish mimicking Tom.

“Here, I heard that, lassie–ye cheeky wee monkey.” Tom came into the kitchen, “Awa’ an watch yer fil-um, afore I skelp yer lug.”

Trish squealed and ran away giggling.

“That squeal should come with a health warning,” I said rubbing my ears.

“Aye, I’ve telt ye afore, that young lassie is tae clever by far.” He looked at Julie, “Whit happened tae yer pink stripes?”

“They like, washed out, Gramps.”

“Aye, sae I see.”

“Tea, Daddy?” I pointed to ours.

“Nah, I’m awa tae ma den and ma single malt. Pity aboot thae hair, I wis jes’ gettin’ use’ tae it.”

“Someone mention tea?” Simon strolled into the kitchen, “the lounge looks like the Odeon children’s Saturday club.” He stopped and looked at Julie, “Your Barnet, it’s normal?”

“Sorry?” she said looking at him.

“Your Barnet, Barnet Fair–hair–it’s returned to normal.”

“It always was normal,” I interrupted, seeing a chance for a wind up.

“No it wasn’t–it was red and black like a tart’s knickers.”

“I beg your pardon?” I challenged him while Julie began to giggle.

“Her,” he pointed, “Julie’s hair was striped earlier.”

“Don’t be ridiculous–if it was striped earlier, it would be now–and I don’t think I like you comparing our foster daughter to a prostitute’s drawers.”

“It was–you got all uppity with me over showing my disdain.”

“That’s hardly a novelty is it, if she’d had her hair done today, she’d hardly have washed it again, would she?”

“You said it was permanent and we argued about the wedding.”

“I think you must have dreamt it Simon, we haven’t spoken about the wedding for days.”

Julie was on the verge of falling off her chair and I was having great difficulty keeping a straight face.

“It’s a bloody wind up–you bitch,” he pretended to strangle me, and all that did was make me giggle, at which point Julie did fall off the chair and Kiki started barking.

We taped half of the film and after we got the kids to bed on the promise of more tomorrow, I went and tucked Julie in and read her some more poetry.

“It’s much nicer when you read it to me, Mummy than when I read it in the book.”

“Poetry is meant to be spoken, read it aloud to yourself, it makes a difference and it’s only by reading it out loud do you discover its rhythm and metre.”

“I wish they taught us poetry like this in school–it was just stuffy and we made fun of it.”

“You can still have fun with it: ”I must down to the beach again, to the lonely sea and sky–I left my shoes and socks there–I wonder if they’re dry?”

“That was so funny, Mummy–you’re so clever.”

“No I’m not, that’s an old one I learned as a kid. C’mon, lights out and off to sleep.” I kissed her.

“I love you, Mummy, I’m so glad you found me, not anyone else.”

“Well not everyone else in Portsmouth is into the white slavery business.”

“You what?”

“I love you too, now go to sleep.”

“Night, Mummy.”

“Good night, Julie.”

“You’re a prize cow at times.” Simon said as we lay together in bed.

“Is that when the market’s bullish?”

“Eh? Oh very funny–clever clogs.” He leant over and kissed me. “Did you know, marriages where the wife is cleverer than her husband tend to falter?”

“Why’s that?” I enquired.

“I don’t know–you’re the brain box.”

“Simon, I’m a biologist not a sociologist–but I’d have thought it was an advantage.”

“What to have a clever wife?”

“Yes, seeing as women usually take responsibility for the relationship, having some idea of where it was going could be an advantage.”

“For the woman, yes–what about the poor old bloke?”

“Oh I expect she trades him in for a new model every so often–clever women are often so ruthless.”

“I love it when you’re ruthless with me–using me to exhaustion.”

“Simon–I thought you weren’t watching the film?”

“I wasn’t–why?”

“Well you seem to be living in Fairyland.”

“Fairyland? I’m no fairy–bloody cheek–I’d have thought you of all people should know what a red blooded heterosexual man I am.”

“Okay, try cloud cuckoo land, is that better?”

“You’re making a fool of me, aren’t you?”

“No, Simon, I’ll never do that to you.”

“What are you smirking at–I suppose you think I manage quite well by myself, don’t you?”

“Can I plead the fifth amendment or whatever the Yanks do?”

“Cow,” he snapped then began rubbing my udders...