Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 2959

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike, est. 2007)
Part 2959
by Angharad

Copyright© 2016 Angharad

  
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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
*****

So Debbie had come round to my way of thinking. I wasn’t sure if that meant she had matured or that I was validated on my experiences and subsequent opinions. Did it matter? Not really, her life was hers to live and I had determined I wasn’t going anywhere near another support group, unless it was for orphaned dormice or confused professors.

Stella seemed to think the group had been pushing its own agenda, but what that was she didn’t seem to know any more than I did. The girls were horrified as I’d previously mentioned and fortunately, they had a family support group available should they need it so didn’t require external ones. I accept that can be a mixed blessing because families know all the background info and don’t pull punches in giving it straight to you, but sometimes you need that sort of response.

Monday soon came around and before I knew it, I was back in work supervising post grad students or invigilating exams. At least when doing that I could take my laptop and deal with emails or draft letters while occasionally wandering up and down the rows of desks—well little folding table things we use. I’ve got an old one in my office with my laser printer on it.

Invigilating is so boring. You can’t sit and read anything very deep or long because you need to be alert to any unusual behaviour in case of cheating. Also you may have a hundred very stressed individuals sitting there, usually youngsters but not always and heart attacks are not unknown or even epileptic fits. Then there was the young bloke who suddenly jumped up from his seat and yelled in agony before falling over in the aisle—he had cramp—he’d been running that morning and it was quite cool.

The other invigilator took him to the back of the hall and massaged his leg. He lost ten or so minutes of his exam time but he seemed able to continue. I settled down to my emails and to my astonishment received one from Dave Lane, Des’s father, asking me to call by the next time I was up in Bristol, though he wouldn’t say why.

I think I’d only seen him once since Des’ funeral when we were all rather upset but he had told me that the will would be a surprise to me as Des had told him he fell in love with me.

You’ll probably remember he was engaged to marry Stella when he died in a car accident, yet he left all his property to me, not her. I’d let the house and banked the money in a fund for Puddin’ as she was his daughter. I still couldn’t understand why he’d done it, because it seemed a strange thing to do, but possibly he was going to change it in Stella’s favour and didn’t have time to carry it out.

It had bothered me for a long time that he fancied me more than Stella who was a genetic female, but I had resisted his charms, one of only two women to do so whereas she hadn’t. Did that cheapen her in his eyes? Mind you, they’d had sort of sex while they were both at school, Stella told me she’d lost her virginity to him, which gave her a degree of kudos amongst some of the girls in her dormitory.

Des had met me first when I was still pre-op and had pretended to seduce me or attempted to, to wind up Simon. It had failed although I felt a sort of frisson from his efforts. He had an animal magnetism which made women want him sexually even though they knew it was potentially disastrous, especially for those in established relationships. Normally, Des didn’t seem to care about the women he seduced until he met me—or so I was told. I found it ludicrous. How could someone fancy me, especially when I didn’t have the wherewithal to consummate it and also that they knew about my shortcomings? It made no sense to me, but perhaps that’s how life is away from my tidy little ivory tower.

So had I wanted him, even though I was promised to Simon? In some ways, a definite yes. There was something about him that gave me a frisson of excitement, that doing something with him was wrong and you knew it but didn’t care—for that moment at least. Quite how I’d held out, I wasn’t sure except I’d tried to keep Simon in my mind the whole time I was alone with Des.

I had awful problems with my conscience regarding his will and my inheritance, as Stella got nothing nor did his daughter. I should have told her immediately but was too cowardly fearing it might make her do something stupid or destroy our relationship. In the end it did neither but at times it was close.

The exam finished and we collected the papers and dismissed the candidates. They possibly had other papers to sit, but this one was now over for good or not. I was very pleased it wasn’t one I had to mark.

Debbie turned up at lunch time and suggested we went for lunch together. I didn’t really want to as I’d heard enough about the weekend but she wanted to talk about her relationship with John, one of my technicians—should they get engaged? As they’d only known each other five minutes, I told her I thought she was rushing things. She told me it was John’s idea. I wasn’t sure I entirely believed her. However, she’d met his mum, so perhaps she was telling the truth. At least he knew about her history.

After lunch, Jacquie sent me a text to say the Aga wasn’t working properly. I called her and she said one of the ovens wasn’t working as was one of the hot plates. I told her to call the repair chap. I also wondered why Amanda hadn’t noticed and reluctantly, Jacquie told me that Amanda was in David’s caravan, which is parked in the drive way up by the garages as the builders are still working on his cottage.

It looked as if I may have to have words with David. I didn’t really care what he did in his own time but seducing the help on my time is a dismissible offence, surely he knew that?

David called me to say the Aga was kaput what did I want him to do? I asked him what the options were, telling him that Jacquie had called the Aga man. He said he’d cook on the gas range, which he usually does anyway, so why he’d phoned I wasn’t sure.

I finished up some emails arranged a meeting for the next day with some of my staff before heading off to the school hoping I’d be able to get everyone in my Jaguar.

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Comments

Gee, first to post?

Gee, first to post?
A nice normal day in Cathy's life. Storm clouds on the horizon Ang ?
Another likeable character, have I said how much I like Debbie ?
Just what is an ' Invigilator' ? what we call a 'proctor' ?
Just full of questions, aren't I ?

Karen

Calm before the storm?

I think I have learned to be suspicious of Bike episodes where things seems to be mostly right and normal.

Love the saga Angharad. Thank you.

Anne Margarete

Of course you can !

Angharad,

Of course you can get them all in the Jaguar. Any left over go in the boot with a torch, they will love it. Remember people this is fiction not reality.

However I can remember as a child being one of eight, four adults and four children in an old Standard Eight. Yes the boot was used to drive the mile and a half fom the pub to the camp site. Ah the good old days before Health and Safety.

A wonderful weeks worth of episodes, Ang. You encapsulated the problems of using a blanket term like 'Transgender' to cover a gamut of different individual needs and desires. Personally, I believe gender issues have no place being linked to sexuality issues.

Love to all

Anne G.

P.S. Come on people, more comments. This is the only payment a writer gets here.

Yes, why so few comments?

Is it because it is a lazy Sunday morning?

Anne Margarete

Amanda and David getting

close, More staff problems might be on the horizon for Cathy , Its clear that whilst David loves his job cooking for the Camerons he would really like to be sharing his life with someone special, Given how fragile he can be you just hope his next choice of partner (whoever that might be)is the sort that will understand him a little better than his last choice did ...

Kirri

Kaput Aga?

Rhona McCloud's picture

I thought the lifetime of those stoves was measured in generations even though they might have no original parts.

Rhona McCloud