Waggling Doggytails (aka Bike) Part 588 by Angharad

Simon had to help me undress for bed and I slept fitfully again, even with pain killers Co-Dydramol, I kept waking myself up as soon as I moved. Simon offered to get me a straightjacket but I declined his kind offer, then squealed as I went to slap him with my bad arm. Maybe I needed the aforementioned garment.

I was vaguely aware of an invasion of the bed by miniature aliens, but pretended I was dead–I’d heard they only took those they thought were alive. It all went quiet and I managed to snooze for a while longer. I thought I was dreaming because I was sure that I felt the bed move but I wasn’t disturbed. I knew I was right, the aliens have taken Simon–he must have moved. I drifted off again, so obviously, Simon’s well being can’t have been too important.

I was eventually woken by two voices squeaking, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mummy.” I opened an eye and they were standing waving a card and a bouquet of flowers at me. Behind them stood Simon with a tray of tea and I could smell toast.

I struggled to sit up–boy does that hurt, especially when you sit on the tail of your nightdress. I managed eventually, and they presented me with their treasures, which I accepted graciously. I opened the card and the kids had tried their hardest to sign them–actually, Trish’s writing wasn’t much worse than Stella’s, now I think of it.

Simon put the bed-tray–one of those things with legs on it–over my lap and I drank the tea he poured and even managed to eat one piece of toast before little hands pinched it all. Why is it that other people’s toast tastes better? It must be true, it affects children as well as adults.

The flowers were lovely, and I asked Trish if she’d help me arrange them later. She beamed with pride and nodded so vigorously, she was in danger of damaging her neck.

Of course, Mima wanted a job, too. I told her she could help me dress later and I told them they could both come with Tom and me to lay some flowers on his wife’s grave. They didn’t really have much idea of what that was all about, but I asked Simon if he could acquire some in the next hour or so, which he agreed to do.

After my tea, and visit to the loo, I washed and sort of combed my hair. Putting on panties was just possible, but I was in a lather by the time I’d done it. Mima then helped me slip on a strapless bra, do it up in front and manoeuvre it in place. By this time I felt like going back to bed.

I pulled on a skirt and some socks, both with Mima’s assistance, although it probably would have been easier by myself. Getting a jumper on was another matter, my arm was so painful as I pushed it into the sleeve. Finally, I did get it on and over my head, and my arm back into the sling afterwards. I slipped into boots and Mima struggled with the zips, but we got there in the end.

I combed my hair again and put on some lipstick, I was as ready as I was ever going to be; after a squirt of smellies, I was finished. I supervised the girls washing themselves, and then dressing, they helped each other–well, Trish helped Meems.

We trooped downstairs and Simon was coming in with the flowers I asked him to get. I took them and approached Tom. “I’d like to lay these on your wife’s grave, if you’re happy with that?”

“Yes, it’s okay, why today?”

“It’s Mothering Sunday, and I thought it might be nice to do so on behalf of my namesake.”

“That’s very kind of you, Cathy, do you mind if I come, too.”

“No, of course not, the girls and I are waiting.”

“Oh, can we take the dog, she needs a walk?”

“Why not?”

Some five minutes later we all set off to the cemetery. Even Simon came, which meant he’d surrendered the free time he’d have otherwise had. He held on to both the girls’ hands as we walked and they seemed so proud to be with their foster daddy. I carried the flowers and Tom had Kiki on the lead.

It took us about fifteen minutes to walk there, when we got to the grave, I wasn’t sure what do next. Had I been on my own, it would have been much easier, then I’d have talked to Celia and Catherine, laid the flowers and left. With everyone else present it was much more formal and I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

I asked Tom if it was okay if the girls did it? He smiled broadly and said, “That sounds a brilliant idea, I’m sure that Celia would have loved it.”

Simon went off to fill the vase with water and, between us the girls and I managed to undo the bunch of flowers and cut off the ends with my penknife–I did that while they each held the stem. Oh to have two hands functioning again. Then they ‘arranged’ them in the vase while Simon held it and he placed it back on the grave.

Tom was deep in thought and Kiki was sitting quietly at her master’s feet, I suppose she knew the routine when they came here. I glanced at him, there were tears in his eyes, and when he noticed me looking, he put his arm around me and after kissing me on the cheek, thanked me for a lovely gesture.

On the way back, Simon announced he’d booked a table for us at a pub restaurant, The Ruptured Squirrel or something. The girls thought it hilarious, and Tom smirked. I blushed, though I don’t know why.

We took the dog back into the house, freshened up and set off in Daddy’s old car to this pub. It was actually called the Fox and Rabbit, so again Simon managed to slip in his silly pub name and the girls giggled. He plays to the gallery, which is probably why they love him so much–his humour suits a five-year-old.

The meal was delicious, a straightforward roast dinner, but beautifully done. Of course, Si had to cut my meat up and teased me while he did so, while Tom did the same for the girls. They had chicken, Tom had beef and Simon and I had Welsh lamb–it was so succulent and sweet, I could have eaten it all over again.

During the meal, the chef came out to speak with the diners. “Is everything okay, madam, gentlemen?”

“Did you cook this?” I asked.

“Yes, is there a problem?”

“Yes, why can’t I get it to turn out the same when I cook it?”

“Trade secret,” he said winking, then added, “I get it supplied by an organic farmer from the hills above Abergavenny. It’s killed and delivered the same day. That was running round the hills three days ago.”

“Oh,” my mind's eye had a picture of a little lamb gambolling out in a field and then…”It tastes wonderful, I love Welsh lamb.”

“That is good stuff, I can sell almost as much as he can supply.”

“I wouldn’t mind some for my freezer,” I said.

“That is blasphemy if you freeze it, you might as well buy New Zealand lamb and save some money. That is premium meat, it’s probably better than they serve at the top London restaurants, the least you can do for the little lambs, is to serve it with respect.” He moved on to another table and I felt suitably scolded. Simon thought it was funny.

We carried on eating, it was too good to allow a little episode like that to spoil things. The pudding was lovely too, well for Tom and Simon. I couldn’t eat any more and the girls just had ice cream. However, the conversation with the chef had consequences.

As we left the pub and walked past the kitchen door, he once again emerged and spoke to me. I nodded and reached for my purse, it was expensive, but two minutes later, I was carrying a leg of organic Welsh lamb, which he told me to cook and eat within three days. Simon was licking his lips as we got in the car.

The rest of the afternoon, the girls played with their dolls while Simon sprawled asleep on the couch. Tom came and sat next to me.

“That was really thoughtful of you, this morning. I much appreciate it. Thank you.” He kissed me on the cheek again.

“Thanks for saying so, Daddy, I know I never met her, but it felt the right thing to do.”

“It was a beautiful gesture, and for her to have her grandchildren do it, was even more special.”

“Can I ask you a favour, Daddy?”

“Of course.”

“When sleeping beauty wakes up, can you run me in to see Stella and the baby, and Henry if we have time?”

“What about the girls?”

“Simon can look after them, he’d have to anyway,” I pointed to my sling.

“Of course I will, I’d like to see that thing you do with the baby, again.”

“What thing?”

“The blue light, thing. How do you do it?”

I sighed, how do you answer that?