Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 719 by Angharad

I dreamt I was being cuddled by the sexiest man alive, I didn’t know who he was, except he was so handsome, and he held me and touched me in all the right spots. He was going to make love to me with such skill and tenderness and I was going to have the most earth shattering orgasm, it was going to blow me away. I felt his body on the bed, all around me … hang on … then a tap on my shoulder and a voice said, “Mummy, can we go swimmin’ again today?”

The moment, the most exquisite moment of my entire life was completely lost to three vermin who were bouncing around my queen-sized bed. I opened my eyes and glared at them for a moment. There was momentarily, murder in my heart.

“We love you, Mummy,” said Trish’s voice and my heart melted losing the malice it had awoken with. The dream was fading already, the love of these children would last much longer.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” I pulled myself up into a sitting position. It was seven o’clock, I could have done with another hour’s sleep, but that is one of the joys of children – or at least of parenting them – they wake up early until they become teenagers, then they become nocturnal, and sleep most of the day. I wasn’t looking forward to having three teenagers, assuming the system let me keep them until then – maybe, if they were obnoxious, I could give them back then? I viewed them with a jaundiced eye, nah, I was stuck with them.

“Can we go swimmin’ again?” I looked at Livvie.

“We’ll see, let’s organise some breakfast. Shall we eat up here or go down to the dining room?”

Trish wanted to eat up here, the other two wanted the dining room. We went down to the dining room. I had some cereal and fruit and a couple of poached eggs on toast, which together with a cuppa or two meant I was ready for most things.

The girls were able to try different cereals and fruit. They had never eaten mango, so they had a little piece and declared it nice. They weren’t so sure about kiwifruit, I did point out they had eaten it at home, but they’d forgotten. It was too sharp and gritty. They seemed to like lychees but not grapefruit.

After doing a taster of most of the fruit, they had some toast and Livvie had an egg too. Trish and Meems were full of melon and mango. I suppose breakfast took half to three quarters of an hour to get back to our room, where Stella was eating cereal and toast as we entered.

“Oh good, seconds,” said Trish, winking at me.

“Get yer own,” said Stella uncharacteristically brusque.

“I’ve had mine thank you, some of us get up early enough to do so.”

Trish was heading for deep water and an iceberg, so I grabbed her and walked her off to our room. “So what’s on the menu for today?”

“I don’t know, Mummy, you’re the mummy, you decide, I’m only a child.”

“I reckon you’re a leprechaun or some such similar critter.”

“I am not, I’m a little girl, so there.”

“Pity, it would easier to adopt a leprechaun, they’re not covered by all this child protection legislation.”

“I could pretend I was a leprechaun.”

“Can you say? Top o’ de mornin’ to ya. I did one of my awful renditions of a stereotypical Oirish accent, straight out of an American soap.

She actually did and sounded more authentic than I had. These children never failed to astonish and amaze me with their skills and perceptions. However, I decided that we would go for a walk in Southsea, where I was relatively unknown and get some fresh air.

Stella opted to stay in with the baby, just in case there was swine flu about. Her logic struck me as flawed. If it was about and one of us caught it she’d catch it from us, and presumably so would the baby.

I expressed this to her and she said she’d ordered face masks and rubber gloves. I suppose it would make her feel at home. She must be missing her career. I took the plunge and asked her.

“What? Missing all those whingeing old farts? I thought you did renal stuff?”

“Yeah I did, and while we saw some younger patients, most were ancient and we were playing the part of one of God’s waiting rooms. Remember, most younger people have healthy kidneys, but they can be affected by smoking and diabetes–anyone who smokes these days should be warned that they may not get NHS treatment again, unless they give it up.”

“I see, you’re on the fascist wing of the party are you?”

“No, I think it’s common sense, why treat people who smoke and drink too much when their diseases could be seen as arising from their stupid lifestyles. Shooting is too good for them.”

“It may be, but who are you to lay down the law?” I challenged.

“I’m me, Stella Cameron, nurse specialist and general good egg.”

“Some people might see things a bit differently.”

“Let them, you’re different, you’re an academic whose opinion I value.”

“Hardly, I haven’t done much of it lately, have I? Is it worth worrying about?”

“I don’t know, Cathy, perhaps, but then I’m the worst one to ask, am I not? Mine’s gone down the Swanney, and I don’t give a monkey’s.”

“You don’t miss your nursing?”

“No why?”

“I’d have thought you would. I mean training all that time and then dropping it.”

“Well life changes people, maybe not as dramatically as it did you, but I’m different from the woman who knocked another woman off her bike in a thunderstorm.”

“I hope not too different,” I felt nostalgic for the old days before children got under my feet and tied me down or tripped me up. Planning had to be done on a daily basis, it was too fluid to do any other. Like today, I had no idea what we’d do until we looked out of the window and saw it wasn’t actually raining. This had been a damned awful summer so far. Two scorching weeks in June and since then, cool, brisk breezes and rain most days.

I decided they could swim after lunch – at least an hour afterwards, if they were happy to let me have a bike ride. They all said, ‘aye’. Actually they didn’t, they didn’t know such words as aye and nay, and gainsayers. So my attempt to simulate a parliamentary vote, was wasted on their youth. “The ayes have it,” I said, like they do in Parliament.

“What’s wrong with my eyes? What do they have, Mummy?” Trish was becoming hypochondriac, looks like it has rubbed off from Stella. They say doctors and nurses are the worst patients, perhaps they are also the worst hypochondriacs?

I left the kids in the hands of Stella, who left Puddin’ in the hands of the hotel nanny. Stella and the girls went swimming while I pedalled around Southsea. The traffic was appalling, as befits a seaside town in the summer, or what we are led to believe is summer. They’re playing cricket–actually they weren’t today, it rained somewhat in Birmingham – they called it off for the day when some old man with a long beard was seen collecting two of all the animals he could find.… Still if all the other matches are abandoned or washed out, England win back the Ashes. Not the best way to do it, and for any Aussie captain to be the one who lost the Ashes, must be miserable. I suppose he’d have to fall on his bat or something similar.

It began to rain as I was heading back to the hotel complex. I wondered if it was all to do with global warming or just some natural phenomenon. I suppose we just don’t know.

I stowed the bike in the underground garage and locked it away, and was leisurely ambling back to my room for a shower when one of the hotel porters came rushing up to me. “Lady Catherine, come quick, it’s your little girl….” and ran off gesturing at me to follow.

Comment or vote or the kiddie gets it! (Singed*, Bonzi).

* singed, that'll teach him to sniff the oven! :)