Winking Dolomite (aka Bike) Part 590 by Angharad

By the time we got home, I was tired and very thankful that Simon had done his foster dad bit and put our two scruffy urchins back in their cages for the night. He was sitting with a glass of wine watching a soccer match on the telly. Did I tell you he was such a sophisticate? Okay, my sarcasm might be wasted then.

He poured me a glass of a very passable Chianti and offered some to Tom, who preferred his drop of distilled single malt. I kept telling him that whisky drinkers have higher levels of various cancers–his answer: “Look, hen, thank ye for carin’ but at my age something has to kill me.”

I respected his right to commit suicide over a few decades while enjoying himself. I suppose in a few years they’ll say the same about chocolate, but it won’t stop me eating it. Smoking? That is dumb, a tax on stupidity and I’ve never done it, well apart from trying one fag behind the bike sheds in school and being sick. It did me a tremendous favour by putting me off ever since.

The drive back had been difficult, Tom was offended by my scepticism and what he reckoned he could see. As I couldn’t see it myself, I had doubts about the objectivity of his observations. I mean, I could accept he thought he was seeing it, but was fooling himself because of his desire to believe it.

As to Puddin’s increased activity, there were probably loads of explanations including recognising my voice or something else I did or said. Who knows what babies are capable of doing, I mean we thought dogs were pretty stupid, but some can be taught to detect cancers or hypos in diabetics just by smell.

Okay the clever bit is the person who teaches the dog, but even so, the dog has to remember the smell and pick it out of many millions of others and then do what the trainer has taught it. I mean it’s a bit like doctors, they identify symptoms from many thousands and apply the treatment they were taught to do–which is one of the reasons they kill so many of us. Um, only joking, doc, honest.

Simon helped me undress again, and once I was horizontal I allowed him to touch my boobs–I mean he was beginning to feel like a monk, or was that monkey? Celibacy–now there’s a thought to conjure with, in one individual in particular, the guy in the white dress, it’s obviously turned his brain. Condoms don’t prevent the spread of HIV, my arse, or in this case his, ‘cos he’s talking through it again.

Simon did try to gently make love to me, but it was too painful. I suppose I did still have one hand that worked, and I um, relieved his, um, discomfort. Anyway, he went off to sleep and I mused over my conversation with Tom again, until I fell asleep. That lasted until I awoke in pain. I’d been fighting this awful monster, throwing balls of blue energy at it and I thought I’d won, then suddenly it struck and slashed my shoulder and I screamed…

“Cathy, it’s okay, you’ve had a bad dream,” Simon’s voice sounded a long way away.

“Oh, it got me, my shoulder…” I said thinking I was going to die.

“Cathy, nothing has got you, you broke your collar bone, remember?”
I managed to pry my eyelids open, the monster was leaning over me, I was about to throw all I had at it when it said, “Cathy, are you awake yet?”

“Simon? What are you doing in my dream?”

“This isn’t a dream, it’s real, you were squealing in your dream a few moments ago. You woke me up, and I need all the beauty sleep I can get.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I said without thinking about the words which emanated from my silly mouth.

“Huh, well thank you and goodnight.”

“Why? What did I say?”

“Go to sleep, goodnight.” He rolled over and faced away from me. Feeling contrite, I reached over and touched his bum–well how was I to know it would have that reaction. He squealed and fell out of bed.

He lay on the floor groaning. I struggled to sit up and switch on the light, goodness, it bloody hurt. “Are you all right, Si?” What a stupid question, but we all do it. We watch someone get their head nearly cut off and ask if they’re all right? Dumb or what?

“No, I’m bloody well not all right, I think I’ve broken my collar bone.” Oops! Now what do I do? I got out of bed and walked around to his side of the bed where he was lying on the floor.

“Where does it hurt?”

“In my arse.”

“Be sensible for a moment, Si, you said you’d hurt yourself.”

“I am hurting, I have this pain in the arse, she keeps assaulting me or damaging me.”

“I see, in which case I’d better not touch you then, in case it damages you even more.” I walked back round to my side of the bed and with a few twinges from my shoulder, got back into it. “Night,” I said and put the light off.

“Gee thanks,” came a grumble from the floor. I felt like saying motions from the floor have to be recognised by the chair, and Tom is asleep down the landing. I was now wide awake.

I heard Simon, grunt and groan some more then felt movement on the bed and he got back in. “My little body will be all black and blue tomorrow.”

“It will be if you don’t shut up,” I said, stifling my giggles–I mean, I couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding, and Simon is twice my size (except brain capacity, where he’s probably the equivalent of Kiki).

“See what I mean, domestic violence, it’s a real problem in some families,” he grumbled. “My wife beats me regularly.”

“Only at cycle racing and the Guardian crossword.”

“Well, you see it proves my point; I’m a bullied man.”

“You are full of bull, my darling, and they are all lies, so yes, a bull-lied man. Yes, I accept that statement.”

“You should have been a barrister, your ability to twist logic on a whim, would earn you millions.”

“I don’t need millions, my husband is stinking rich.” I began sniffing and said, “Pwoar, well one of the two anyway.”

“Thank you, dearest. You are the most loving psychopath I know.”

“Glad to oblige, now go to sleep before I…”

“Yeah, you and who else’ army?” he said and started to tickle me. I writhed and thrashed about the bed until I moved my bad arm, then I really squeaked and the tears came. “I’m sorry, Babes, I really am.”

“Huh,” I huffed and turned over with my back to him groaning in pain as I did. If he touches my bum, I shall get out of bed and beat him to death with one of my cycling shoes–well I’ve still got one good arm, haven’t I?