The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1028 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

When I got back with Julie, Tom was home, and much impressed with the car. In fact, it seemed everyone was except me. Later that evening when Simon and I were having a cuddle in bed, we chatted.

“So, what do you think of your new motor?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, it’s brill–you what?”

“I don’t like it.”

“You’re just not used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing–but it isn’t what I wanted. I’ll have another Golf or Mercedes but I don’t need something as fast as that, and I’d prefer something with three seats in the back. I don’t like having one of the girls in the front.”

“I’ll bet they do, though, don’t they.”

“I don’t care what they like or dislike. What I want surely is paramount? It’s been lovely trying it out, but it’s far too fast for my needs and is too small for all the stuff I’d like to carry.”

“You’ll get used to it, Babes.”

“I won’t.”

“You will, you know.”

“Tomorrow, I shall ask Henry to take it back, and if necessary, I’ll buy the Mondeo off Tom, or buy my own car from a dealer.”

“Do you realise what strings I had to pull to get you that car–it’s worth about forty grand.”

“Thank you for your generosity, but I don’t like it and I don’t want to drive it again.”

“Cathy, it’s just a question of getting used to it.”

“Simon–you aren’t listening.”

“Yes I am, but you’re whingeing about nothing, I know about these things.”

“I am telling you now, I will not drive that car again.”

“You’re joking–aren’t you?”

“No. So please get rid of it or I’ll ask Henry to do it myself.”

“This is ridiculous–you can get your own bloody car then,” he huffed and turned over away from me.

“I will, just watch me.”

“Have you ever bought a car before?”

“No, but I’ll learn.”

“Yeah, the hard way.”

“It can’t be that hard. Millions of people do it every year.”

“Okay, smart arse, you go and buy a car and see what happens.”

“I will, and it will be considerably cheaper than forty thousand.”

“Bloody women, never grateful...” he muttered over his shoulder at me.

“Stupid men, never listen–“I huffed back at him. I felt awful, he’d tried to spoil me and it had backfired. Then I wondered if he was spoiling me or controlling me? I couldn’t decide–if he wanted to surprise me, he wouldn’t have let Henry tell me what it was he was getting me, so that tended to suggest he was trying to direct me into what sort of car I should drive. The problem is, that until now I’d let him decide for me, and his choice had been quite good. It was only this one I didn’t like.

To my mind the car has to be functional and safe, it has to be able to carry five adults–so that way I know there’s plenty of space for at least five kids. It has to be able to carry my food shopping and be easy to park–I’m not the world’s greatest parker of cars. I don’t need it to break the sound barrier, and would prefer something more economical–I liked the Merc and the Golf, but anything would do–if necessary, I’ll buy Tom’s Mondeo. Yes, maybe I’ll ask him tomorrow.

I woke once having a funny dream where we were out in the country and I asked Simon to take us home, but he refused telling me that I’d have to walk everywhere from now on. It wasn’t too hard to spot the symbolism of that one.

The next morning, although I hadn’t slept well, I was determined not to let Simon know it. He’d snored most of the night and had ended up putting his arm round me for quite some time. I didn’t know if that was a reflex, or if he had unconsciously forgiven me–either way, I felt good about it.

I was down and spoke with Tom before Simon realised I was gone from the bed. I suppose women are sneakier, or are we just more determined. “Daddy, would you be interested in selling me the Mondeo?”

“F’whit?”

“I need a car.”

“F’whit is yon, silver machine?”

“That’s going back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like it.”

He gave me an old fashioned look as if I was acting like a spoiled brat. “Ye dinna like it?”

“No, it’s too fast and too small.”

“An’ ye wish tae buy ma Ford?”

“Yes.”

“It’s no fer sale.”

“Oh, okay–I’ll have to look for something else then.”

“Ye can use it like ye always dae, ye dinna need to buy it, ye daft gowk.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” I kissed him on the cheek.

Being a Saturday, I didn’t need to get the girls up too early, but I did need to rouse Julie. I did and she wanted to be taken to work in the Audi–I disabused her of this idea and she sulked into the bathroom.

Billy came out rubbing his eyes. “You not keepin’ the Audi, Mummy?”

“No sweetheart, I don’t like it and it’s too small for my needs.”

“Oh well, at least I had a ride in it.”

“Yes, now then young man, if I can find someone to watch the rest for an hour this afternoon, I reckon we should start doing some bike training together. Are you sure you want to do MTB racing?”

“I’m too small to do road, aren’t I?”

“Tell that to Mark Cavendish.”

“Is he small, then?”

“He’s not very tall, not compared to Dave Millar or Brad Wiggins, but he can outsprint all of them.”

“I’d definitely need a new bike for road riding, wouldn’t I?”

“Well, it could be arranged for your birthday–but, not if it’s going to be a five minute wonder.”

“No, I like cycling, Mummy.”

“Okay, we’re going to do a ten miler this afternoon–now what I can do is change the tyres on your current bike to make it more comfortable on the road, but you won’t have any traction off road. D’you understand me?”

“Okay.”

“Right get your bum in gear, let’s get some breakfast and we’ll go and get some tyres.”

He disappeared, and ten minutes later was downstairs. We ate and collected Julie who was still sulking but got in the car. After dropping her off at the salon we went on to Paget’s Cycles est. 1976. We strolled around the bikes, and to my astonishment, we found a road bike which looked almost Billy’s size. It was a girl’s bike, but there’s no obvious distinguishing marks except D4W on the frame in small letters. It was a used bike, but it was a class one and only two hundred and fifty pounds.

I asked him what he thought of it and he nodded when asked if he’d like to try it. We got the all clear from the assistant who came up to help us. I held it while Billy mounted it and the assistant made minor adjustments. It had toe clips, so we’d have to change the pedals at some point. Billy loved it and he tried it up and down the road. He could ride it. We brought him back in.

“Right, it’s a good bike, but it’s a girl’s one.”

“Oh,” he said and blushed.

“But does that matter–you’re not very tall and have small hands, so it might actually be an advantage.” To prove my point he tried a couple of boy’s bikes and they were too big–they were also much more expensive.

He thought for a minute and said to me, “Are you going to buy it for me, Mummy?”

“I might, but only if you promise me to use it regularly.”

“Oh yes, Mummy, will you ride with me?”

“I said we would today, let’s see where we go from there, shall we?” I knew he wouldn’t be safe riding it on his own, so it looked as if I would be riding more.

He put the seats down in the car while I paid for his bike–a Specialized Dolce, a good entry level bike and a real bargain, seeing as there wasn’t a scratch on it. We drove home with him smiling like a Cheshire cat, all I had to do now was explain to the others why he’d got a treat and they hadn’t.