(aka Bike) Part 1000 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
When I came back from the bathroom Billy was still lying in the bed crying. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was face down on the bed, hugging his pillow and sobbing quietly. I sat beside him and ruffled his hair, “What’s the problem?”
It took him several minutes to control himself and finally he blurted out, “I don’t want to wear a dress.”
“Do I take it you’ve gone off the idea of being a girl?”
He nodded and spluttered something which I assumed was yes.
“That’s okay, in fact, I’m actually pleased.”
He gave me a curious sort of glance.
“I’ve actually got enough daughters, which was what I tried to tell you earlier. I’m pleased that you’re one of my sons. All mothers love their sons you know, sadly not all sons love their mothers.”
“I love you, Mummy,” he hiccoughed.
“I know you do, son–so much in fact, you thought I’d prefer you as a girl. That’s quite a sacrifice to make, but the truth is, it would upset me more than please me. I’d still love you, but I’d be sad.”
“Why, Mummy?”
“Because it would show I’d failed to give you enough love as a boy to want to remain one.”
“But what about Trish and Julie?”
“I keep telling you, they have always wanted to be girls and hate being boys. I really think of them as girls with a small anatomical problem rather than girls stuck in a boy’s body–which doesn’t explain anything really.”
“So you don’t love them any more than you love me an’ Danny?”
“No. I love you all the same. I just find it harder to gel with boys because I’m not one, but I shall try harder. Do you forgive me for getting it wrong?”
He sat up and put his arms round me, sniffing into my ample chest, “I love you, Mummy, you’re the best Mummy there is.”
“And I love you too, Billy boy, you’re one of the best sons there is.” I hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head.
“I was silly, wasn’t I?”
“No, son, you were anxious and scared. I was the silly one.”
Thankfully the rest of the day was easier and I managed to persuade them all to muck in and help. The morning was busy but by lunchtime we were nearly ready to go to Southsea.
I packed the car full of towels and changes of clothes and with the girls in my car, the boys and Julie in Tom’s, Stella had Puddin’ and spare everythings. We set off for the party and hoped to meet Simon there a little later.
The journey with three excited kids in the car was far from easy–they kept complaining about the traffic and wanting to bounce about in the back seat, while I, deprived of sleep, was struggling to stay even tempered. We eventually got to the hotel and almost as soon as I stopped the car the girls were off and I had to call them back.
“Don’t you dare go running off like that, you could have been knocked down.” They all stood with hands in front of them and eyes fixed on the floor. “Take a bag each and carry them into the party room.” They did and once again scampered into the hotel. Stella came in next and parked beside me, and I carried Puddin’ while she grabbed several bags and hauled them into the foyer.
As befits the owner’s family we were immediately assisted by two porters who took all the bags and led us through to the party room, which is their events room, but it was done up like a dog’s dinner with pink balloons and ribbons and a big banner saying, Happy Birthday Livvie. I met the young couple who were going to entertain the kids, and they told me to relax and enjoy myself. If I could have booked into a bedroom and slept for a couple of hours, I could have relaxed and enjoyed myself.
Tom and the boys arrived with Leon and Julie–they seem to come as a pair these days. Somehow, Julie had purchased one of these artificial vagina things and had glued it on, calling me to see it before she dressed again.
I was shocked initially, then cross that she’d spent so much money–I asked her how she’d managed it? She’d done in cahoots with Stella, who’d helped her apply it. The manufacturers claimed it could be used for swimming, so we’d soon find out–I had a surreal moment when I imagined the lifeguards seeing this thing floating in the pool and wondering what the hell it was. I had great difficulty not sniggering at the thought–just the silliness of it. Anyway, hopefully, it won’t happen, and Julie will keep her virtue and her little secret safe. I did tell her I took a dim view of any sort of full on sex, even with a rubber fanny. She poked her tongue out at me in dissent and told me to ‘wise up’. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.
The other children arrived from three o’clock onwards and the drips and drabs became a full torrent. I was delighted that Sister Maria did come and told me she had her swimming cossie with her and intended to wear it. I admired her for her fortitude, not that she had a bad figure, and it was nice to see her in jeans and a top–being off duty.
By the time everyone was there, we had probably twenty kids plus at least twenty adults if not more. The timetable was play in the pool for an hour, then some snacks and pop, some entertainment and games, then the official tea and finally the cake and blowing out of the candles, cutting the cake and everyone having a bit with distribution of the goody bags.
Even with our discount it was costing several hundred pounds, so I thought they could each have one such party and that’s it. I gave the timetable to the adults and followed the shrieking horde as it went down to the swimming pool, of which we had exclusive use. There is another member’s pool attached to the gym, but we wouldn’t be using that today.
I changed and swam a bit, but mostly played with the girls. The boys seemed happy messing about with Leon and Julie, who actually looked very nice in her bikini–one with a tiny skirt to ‘give’ her bigger hips.
An hour later, the senior poolside lifeguard blew his whistle and everyone was asked to leave the pool and to get dried and dressed for the next part of the party. I was intrigued as how they were going to do things, but then had to concentrate on drying my hair and that of three girls. We all dressed and were collected a short time later and led to the function room, where the kids had a glass of juice and a biscuit.
Next the young couple entertained us with comedy and juggling, a unicycle and some songs–he played the piano-accordion and all the kids were singing along with him and his partner.
It was now half past four and still no sign of Simon. I began to worry that he might have had an accident, then I got dragged off to play in some of the games against the other parents.
Henry and Monica arrived and after greeting them, I asked if they knew where my husband was. They didn’t–assuming he’d be here by now, if not earlier. My fears were not alleviated despite Henry’s cheery reassurance. Once the kids spotted them, they were caught in an avalanche of grandchildren, which they both enjoyed.
After they’d run off some high spirits, we had a sit down meal at two long trestle tables, and the kids were offered a variety of snacks such as sandwiches, sausage rolls, sausages on sticks, crisps, fruit and jelly and ice cream. There were numerous other snacks some of which were aimed more at the adults than the children, so everyone should have been able to find something they liked. I had a tuna roll, just to keep me going–long enough to eat a second.
We then had a hiatus while faces were stuffed and the noise actually dropped significantly. Then the cake with candles burning was brought in and Livvie blew out the candles in two goes, while we all sang happy birthday.
As the goody-bags were being distributed, my mobile rang and I recognised Simon’s number.
“Simon, where are you, the party’s nearly over?”
“It is for you, darlin’,” said a woman’s voice I didn’t recognise.
“Who are you?” I asked angrily, “And where is my husband?”
“Keep your wig on ladyboy, hey that’s good, lady-boy, ha ha.”
“Who are you and what are you doing with Simon’s phone?”
“Oh he gave it to me to ask me to phone you.”
My tummy flipped, who the hell was she? “To phone me about what?”
“To say he’s fed up with a fake female, so girly-boy, he’s coming away with me.”
“Where is he? Let me speak to him.”
“He’s fine, he’s just picking up the rest of his stuff from your house.”
“Let me speak to him,” I demanded but tears were streaming down my face.
“No time, girly-boy, byeee.”
I snatched up my bag, asked Henry to get the kids home safely and charged out to the car. I nearly bumped another one as I screamed out of the car park, then I was on the main road and heading back to Portsmouth. My eyes were streaming and felt so sick and angry both at the same time. If I hurried I might just catch him and find out what was really happening.
I didn’t see the van, not until it crushed in the side of my Audi and I felt myself being turned upside down and scraped along the road. Then while I was still moving everything went black––
(aka Bike) Part 1001 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I felt sick and there was something wet on my face and in my hair, I couldn’t open my eyes, they were sticking together and I could taste blood. My head, was pounding like someone was hitting it with a large hammer and it was resounding like an empty bucket. I no longer felt I was moving, but I was upside down. I vomited and passed out again.
In the distance were voices. Was I dead? My body felt numb although it was still upside down–so I couldn’t be dead. I had no idea what happened, or how it happened. I couldn’t even tell you what car I was in or what I was wearing. I think I could just about remember my name–I’m sure I could, but not just for the moment.
The voices got louder, and now there were sirens. I had no idea where I was–there was no pain, so perhaps I was dead or even dying. As long as there is no pain–I don’t care.
I felt some movement and things started to hurt. I couldn’t scream like I wanted to my throat felt blocked and my breathing wasn’t sufficient for me to scream. I think I might have moaned, what’s it matter I’m probably dead?
“Okay, darlin’, we’re goin’ to get you out as soon as we can.” There was more scrambling or movement and it hurt again, all over. “Stay with me, darlin’, don’t go to sleep–I need you to stay awake.”
Sleep, oh that would be wonderful, my head is pounding. I’m shaking and my head is pounding so loudly–hang on, I’m not shaking and what are those creaking noises? The noise is much louder, like some sort of engine and somebody is holding me. I thought I was in the womb waiting to be born, upside down, head engaged waiting to be born. Will they smack me on the bum?
I feel several pairs of hands? Yes hands–midwives? They are holding me and something is put around my neck.
“Watch it, we’ve got a bleed somewhere–go on, I’ve got her.”
The voice sounds nice, it’s male and caring–like a father. I wonder if it’s my daddy?
“Jee–zuz, get something on it, quickly. Stand by with a drip, or we’re gonna lose her, where’s that fucking helicopter?”
I wonder who they’re going to lose–not me, I know my way around these parts–um, I can’t think of the names–but take my word for it, I do. I groaned as the pain seemed to shoot right through me–up and down my spine like a thousand knives being inserted into me one after the other–no wonder there’s blood–all those knives.
I’m being laid down on a bed or something, now perhaps I can sleep. Oh now there’s lots of noise and the wind–I can feel the wind, and I’m moving–I’m falling, down a deep, deep hole. I feel dizzy and sleepy and–
The pain is unimaginable–so if I’m dead, I’m going to complain about it. I can’t move. Perhaps there is a hell and I’m in it. Oh well anything’s better than being surrounded by God-bother–oops, I’ll have to be careful, if I am in hell, there could be loads of them here to punish me, and for me to reciprocate to them.
“Cathy, can you hear me?”
Shit! they know my name and what is that beeping noise–not some form of lie detector is it?
“Cathy,” continued the female voice, “I’m Dr Talbot, Cynthia Talbot. You’re in Southampton General Hospital, you were in road traffic accident and you’ve been quite badly injured. You lost a great deal of blood, so you have drips attached to you and because you were struggling with the nurses, we’ve had to immobilise you. The good news is, we expect you to make a full recovery. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep and ease any pain you might be having. Sweet dreams.”
I’m sitting on a cloud and some idiot with wings keeps handing me a harp and I keep handing it back. “I can’t play this,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I’m not in the musician’s union,” I said.
“That doesn’t matter down here.”
“Down here?” I queried.
“Of course down here, the devil has all the best tunes, didn’t you know?”
“Are Beethoven and Mozart down here then?” I asked the harp distributor.
“See those two over there?” They pointed to a distant cloud.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well that’s not them, it’s Elvis and Kurt Cobain.” There was demonic laughter and I started to slip through my cloud, I was falling again and then there was blackness.
“Cathy, open your eyes darling, you have a visitor.”
“I can’t,” I squeaked, “I can’t open my eyes–I’m blind,” I felt myself crying and felt very scared.
“Oops, the bandage has slipped, hold on, there, now try.”
I struggled, my eyelids felt as if they’d been sewn together and someone had left the pins in. I managed to prise one slightly open and the light was searing. I closed it again quickly.
Someone touched my hand, “It’s me, Julie, Mummy. We all wanted to come to see you–we’ve been so worried, you’ve been here a week an’ we didn’t know where you went–you just ran out of the hotel and disappeared. The police came and told us you’d been in an accident and we were so worried. Gramps brought me–we don’t know where Daddy is, no one has seen him–get well soon, Mummy, we all need you.” I felt her kiss me on the cheek and I presume she left.
“Mummy,” wailed a small voice, “I wuv you so much, get better soon.”
“Mummy, it’s Trish, we all miss you and need you to come home–here, hold my hand and I’ll see if I can sort you out–there, can you feel the energy. Rats, I can’t see any, that’s not bloody fair, we should be able to heal you like you help others. I’m going to complain to the nuns when I go back to school.”
“Hi, Mummy, it’s Livvie, can you get better soon, we all miss you and you make better food than Julie or Auntie Stella. Love you lots.” She kissed my hand and left.
“Och, whit a mess–yer car wis a write aff, they had tae cut ye oot, the van driver died. It wis his fault, sae thae polis said. Whaur’s Simon, we canna find him an’ Henry has nae idea neither. Och, I’ve only jes got here–och alricht–I hae tae go, Cathy. Get weel soon, we miss ye, ye muckle heid. Whit were ye doin takin’ aff like that? Och, all richt. I hae tae go. Get weel soon, hen.”
“Mummy, it’s Danny and Billy–you look awful, Mummy...”
“You shouldn’t have said that, dummy,” hissed one voice.
“Sorry,” was hissed back, “Actually, Mummy, you look a beautiful as ever, I was only jokin’, honest.”
“He was, Mummy, get well soon, we’ve brought you a card–I’ve put it with all the others on your locker thing. We gotta go, come home soon, Mummy, please.”
“Well, Mrs Cameron, you have oodles of fruit and flowers and cards–aren’t you going to open your eyes to look at them.”
I would have shaken my head to say no, but it hurt too much.
“Come on now, Cathy, if you don’t cooperate with us we’ll be forced to send in the physio-terrorists, and you know what sorts of things they make you do. So come on, open your eyes, or say something.”
“Oh my goodness, it’s the miracle woman–so how come you can’t do one for yourself then? Oh I suppose that’s how it works is it? I mean Jesus couldn’t save himself on the cross, so what chance have you got?
“I didn’t recognise you at first, the air bag bruised your face, but don’t worry, it’s clearing up nicely. Come on have a little drink for me–good girl.”
(aka Bike) Part 1002 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I’d be lying if I told you it took me months to get home from hospital, because I spent a few more days then insisted they let me go. For some reason, they couldn’t believe my rate of healing, except possibly one night sister, who wasn’t at all surprised.
In truth, I wasn’t as quickly healed as I pretended, but they let me home and I wasn’t going back to hospital without the medical equivalent of a court order. Back at home, after my first collapse, Julie and Stella, not to mention the others did more to help than they ever had. I did most of the cooking, which seemed to please most of the family.
Simon hadn’t been seen since the night of my accident, and I was quite hazy about the details and not having shared it with anyone else, I couldn’t help the police much at all. It might seem as if I was taking it all very calmly, the very opposite was more true, but everyone was watching me and stopping me from doing anything on my own–apart from the cooking.
Speaking with Henry and Stella, it seemed very odd that he could have been kidnapped for a ransom–unless something went badly wrong. As far as Henry knew, there was nothing missing from the bank, and since all his passwords had been changed, he’d be very little help to any organisation trying to access the bank.
We seemed to be getting nowhere, and as the days progressed I grew fitter and stronger, and more depressed. It seemed increasingly that I was going to be a widow. My thoughts about the wedding blessing were firmly put on hold, until a pair of kilts appeared which Simon had ordered before he disappeared. It caused an uproar at the bank when the firm tried to claim on his card, quite innocently as it happened. Henry had to smooth it over.
The boys were astonished by the kilts, and were very reluctant to try them on until Tom showed them his, and looked anything but effeminate in it. I also told the others while the boys went off to change, that any teasing would be dealt with severely. So when they came back down wearing the tartan, they were greeted with gasps of delight, not derision. They actually looked rather fetching, and I wished Simon could have been there to see them.
Henry came over to see the boys in their new finery and we chatted afterwards, when the boys went back upstairs to change out of their new best clothes.
“Any news?” I asked knowing the bank had employed a private investigation firm as well the efforts the police were making.
“No, they report every week but nothing beyond what we know.”
“I find it astonishing that there has been no ransom demand–what happened to it? Did the man carrying it get killed on route?”
“They’ve actually looked at that scenario, and nothing seems to fit it; so what were they trying to get from us?” Henry stroked his chin in thought.
I couldn’t remember what was said, other than it was a woman’s voice–I thought, and people remember me appearing to be very angry or anxious or even both. I assumed from that, she’d said something insulting or hurtful to me–but why?
Common sense suggested that even if he’d decided to drop me and the rest of our family, he wouldn’t have left the bank–it paid too well. As his account had been frozen as soon as it was noted he’d gone, they couldn’t take anything. Henry had caused a new joint account to be made to enable the family expenses to be met, although I could have survived on my earnings for a while at any rate.
“Nothing is missing, except Simon, and it doesn’t make sense.” Henry grumbled and sipped his tea.
I went to eat another biscuit–I was in danger of becoming a comfort eater and put it back into the tin. Then an idea popped into my under used mind. “Henry, we’ve been waiting for them to try and take something from the bank.”
“Yes–that’s the usual consequence of kidnap, and I can’t see him voluntarily leaving his wife and children or his overpaid job.”
“What if we’ve been looking at it upside down.”
“What do you mean?”
“How about, if someone put something into the bank?”
“Keep talking,” urged Henry.
“I don’t know–some money from drugs or a computer virus.”
“The money laundering we’d detect, and the money we spend on IT safety is like a king’s ransom.”
“But you’re looking for attacks from outside. What if it was internal, put in by a trusted person who couldn’t be released until it had happened.”
“Well, Cathy, that sounds like a cheap thriller plot, but it’s as good as anything we have to go on.”
“I’m thinking, it’s something big which could potentially ruin you, and it’s imminent, like in the next few days.” I was cuddling the Paddington Bear which Simon had given me. “He’s alive,” I said, without knowing where the ideas had come from.
I stood up and with tears running down my face, I repeated, “He’s alive, I know he’s alive.”
“How do you know, woman?” Henry grabbed me and held me by my upper arms.
“I just do, he’s alive but we have to move quickly, because they’ll kill him once they’ve achieved what they want.”
“You’re not making any sense, Cathy.”
“Henry, believe me, it’s something they’ve put into the bank–I just know it.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but computer virus keeps coming to my mind.”
“Okay, if I hadn’t seen your spooky stuff in action before, including some bullets I have in my desk drawer, I’d think you were crazy–but, it could just be what’s happened.”
He clicked his mobile phone and began barking instructions for the head of IT to be waiting for him when he got back to London. Then he called up the helicopter to collect him from Portsmouth.
“Where’s Grampa Henry gone?” asked Danny. He looked disappointed that the source of small gifts of money had gone before he could tap him.
“He had to dash to the bank for a very important meeting, but he loves your kilts.”
“They don’t look too poofy, do they?”
“Poofy? What? Tell that to Mel Gibson.”
“Who’s he?”
“He did Braveheart,” I replied, without telling him how Hollywood had mangled the story of William Wallace.
“Who’s he?”
“Go and look it up, but he was anything but a sissy, that’s for sure.”
He went off to use the internet and Billy came up to me. “I didn’t look like a girl, did I?”
I hugged him, “No, you looked like a highlander.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone from the highlands of Scotland, and they were as tough as the land they lived on. Go and talk with Gramps, he can tell you far more than I can.”
I watched him walk up to Tom’s study and tap lightly on the door, then presumably when invited, he opened the door and entered. I hugged my Paddington, and hoped the person who gave it to me would be with me soon.
(aka Bike) Part 1003 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
It seemed any doubts the boys had about wearing kilts were quickly dealt with and I half expected them to be running about painted in woad,or the Windsor and Newton equivalent. They asked me to get the DVD of Braveheart over which I had misgivings–it’s a bit violent and the best bit was the music by James Horner, yeah him of Titanic fame. I told them I’d speak to Gramps about it.
I had another shock, it seems I had ‘slept’ through the election and we now had a namesake for a Prime Minister. I don’t suppose my single vote would have made any difference but I do like to exercise it, and it would have been the first parliamentary election I could have voted in as me. I suppose next year, I’ll have to take part in the census–I was still in school at the last one.
On the Saturday morning, I saw the boys out in the garden fencing with two pieces of stick, I tapped the window but they just ran off and presumably continued out of sight. Oh well, they are boys so I should expect it.
I hadn’t seen Henry since I suggested the bank was under attack. I began to wonder if my intuition was failing me, in which case was my belief that Simon was still alive, also a delusion. I refused to give up hope, I had to believe he was coming home again–anything else would be disloyal to him. He’s a tough cookie–so he’ll survive.
I wondered what the purpose was in calling me that night? I can’t believe the accident was anything other than that–an accident. The guy in the van apparently died at the scene–the steering wheel turned him into a human kebab. I shuddered at the thought–what a wretched way to die. Mind you the airbag in my car caught my nose and face, which was where some of the blood came from. Thankfully it didn’t break it, so I didn’t lose my girlish charms–ha ha. My face is still bruised but not as bad as before. I’m driving the Mondeo until Simon turns up and can sort out the car situation. He did promise me another Merc which would be nice, but let’s get him home first.
Leon arrived, so I won’t get much help from Julie when she gets back from the salon. Stella drove her into work to give me a little lie in, with three giggling aliens. It’s not the same without listening to them tormenting Simon–I wonder where he is?
Whenever I think of him, all I see is darkness. At first I thought it meant he was dead then on reflection, decided he could be blindfolded.
I was doing the lunch while the two boys helped Tom and Leon plant some more vegetables and also some flowers for me. I had bought some dahlias a while ago they should be showing by now.
My mind was definitely absorbed by the food I was preparing, the boys had asked for sausage and mash for tea, so I was making egg salad for lunch and boiling a dozen eggs was a bit of a pain, trying not to have them pop in the pan before they were hard boiled.
The phone rang, I answered it, expecting it to be something mundane like the Pope was asking for advice on contraception, or President Obama wanting to adopt a dormouse–you know the sort of stuff that happens.
“Hello?”
“Ah, girlyboy, you are still alive–your husband won’t be much longer unless you do as we tell you.”
Was this the ransom demand? Had I sent Henry on a wild goose chase?
“Who are you?” I’m not really violent but a large part of me wanted to meet this insulting cow and punch her lights out.
“That is not important, you will be called soon, be prepared to do exactly as we say or your precious Simon will breathe his last.”
“How do I know he’s still alive?”
“You don’t.”
“If anything has happened to him–I shall hunt you down and personally destroy you like the sick puppy you are.”
“Making idle threats doesn’t worry me, girly boy.”
“You wouldn’t be the first who underestimated me and went home in a body bag.”
“Do all you fake women have such fertile imaginations?”
“Probably not, but I hope you’ve made your last will and testament and made your peace with your god, because it is my intention to send you to meet him.”
“You sound more like a man than a woman.”
“The female of the species is more deadly than the male–as you will find out quite soon enough–just don’t start reading any long novels or watching any serials.”
“You are so funny, lady boy, maybe I shall kill you and all the world will then see what a sham you are.”
“Feel free to come round and try it, but bring your own shroud.”
“Maybe I would kill all your children first before you, while you watch helplessly, although eunuchs can’t have children, unless they steal other people’s. Is that what you did.”
“I am going to kill you, you sick bitch.” My blood was practically at boiling point, but I was trying to sound calm, even though my tummy was doing backflips and somersaults.
“You don’t even know who I am.”
“I’ll find you–so prepare to die.”
“Oh for a sissy boy, you do talk a good fight, don’t you.”
“For a Russian you speak with very little accent.”
“My dear, sissy boy, I’m as English as you are.”
“I’m not English–so do your homework, bitch, and take good care of my husband and I may kill you quickly.”
“You will be contacted and given instructions, do exactly as you are told or Simon will die horribly.”
“I’m not doing anything until I know he’s alive.”
“You’d better, or you’ll guarantee his death.”
“No–you’d better prove to me that he’s alive and unhurt, or you’ll be wasting your breath, and I’d save that if you can, while you can. Prepare to die, bitch.”
“You are starting to annoy me, I shall have him hurt for that.”
“Be very careful what you do to him, because I’ll do it tenfold to you.”
“I am so scared, I have goosey bumps on my arms.” I knew now she wasn’t a native, she was probably Russian.
“Don’t worry, death sorts that out along with all your other problems–you ugly cow.”
She laughed and rang off. I put the phone down and it rang almost immediately.
“Hello?”
“Hi Lady Cameron, Special Branch here, you kept her on long enough for us to do a trace. A squad is heading over to give her a welcome.”
“Be careful, I don’t want Simon injured.”
“We have some experts in dealing with these situations assisting us.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Thank you um–who are you?”
“Detective Inspector Wheatland.”
“If you catch them, I’d like five minutes alone with her.”
“If we do, you know that’s not possible.”
“A girl can dream.”
“Of what, though–murderous intent?”
“Gosh you must be psychic.”
“No, I have a few minutes of you two trading death threats.”
“Why are Special Branch involved?”
“Your husband is quite important.”
“He is to me.”
“I’m sure. We’ll be in touch, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
I went off to wait, and while I did so, I raised the lid on the well in the garage and retrieved something, made by Smith and Wesson–a British owned company, apparently.
(aka Bike) Part 1004 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I stored the illegal firearm in my knicker drawer, wrapped up in an old tee shirt. Whether it would work or not, I had no idea, but having it in the house made me feel safer–not something I’d have subscribed to a while ago. I also checked out my compound bow and my quiver, I had about ten arrows. All were target arrows but with that bow, could make a nasty dent in anyone they happened to hit.
I was geared up for a fight if necessary, but my mind was diverted to more immediate matters when a police car came hurtling up the drive and an officer ran up to the door.
“Have you found Simon,” I asked him, having almost fallen down the stairs in my haste to open the door.
“Are you Lady Cameron?”
“Yes,”
“Can you come with me, madam?”
“I grabbed my bag and shouted to Tom to keep an eye on the kids.”
Then just before I got in his car, I asked to see his warrant card.”
“But I’m in uniform, madam.”
“Please humour me, I’ve been kidnapped by bogus police once before.”
“Here you go,” he pushed his card into my hand and it looked genuine.
“Thank you, where are we going?”
“Central police HQ as far as I know.”
“Any news on my husband?”
“I dunno, Lady Cameron, I’ve not heard anything, but that isn’t always surprising. Hang on we’re in a hurry.” With that he switched on the blues and twos and we screamed through the streets into the town centre.
It was verging on a white knuckle ride and I will happily admit I was scared throughout. I went into the reception area and a woman PC asked if I was Lady Cameron and led me away through one of those key pad doors and up some stairs to a large office.
A tall jovial, red faced man looked up as I entered, “Lady Cameron, I presume?” he extended his hand, “Severus Wheatland, how d’ya do?”
I shook the proffered hand which was like a shovel compared to my daintier puddy. “Sorry, but I presume you were around before Harry Potter?” he looked about forty.
“Yes, it’s an old family name, trust me to get lumbered with it. My friends call me Sevvy.”
“Cathy,” I replied. “I’m still not sure why special branch are involved?”
“I can’t tell you everything as it’s very sensitive, but if I mentioned that the Russian ambassador is also missing, I think you’ll understand better.”
“Did you find anything from the phone call?”
“No, they were all gone, but we did pick up on a mobile phone message and raided that address, where four people were shot. I’m afraid I’ll need you to look at the deceased to see if your hubby’s amongst them.”
“Is that police marksmen or the SAS?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, but I can tell you it wasn’t the police.”
“I believe at the Iranian embassy siege they shot one bloke twenty eight times, I hope my Simon hasn’t been shot like that.”
“I don’t know, they’re making the bodies presentable so if you could come with me, I hope we can deal with this bit first. I was led out to a car and we drove at speed to an industrial estate and into an unlisted factory.
We hardly spoke throughout the drive and my stomach was churning–what if the blackness I picked up for Simon was this–his imminent demise? I felt quite sick.
We viewed the bodies and I was mightily relieved to discover none of them were Simon, one of them was a woman–a pretty one, aged about thirty, her blonde tresses were flecked with blood and I noticed a wound to her neck, presumably the fatal shot. I wondered if it was the woman with whom I’d sparred on the phone. I felt sick and had to rush outside where I spewed up my lunch all over a rose bush.
“We think one is the missing Russian dignitary, but none is your husband?”
I shook my head, “Was that the woman I spoke to?”
“I have no idea, my dear Cathy, but I suppose she could have been.”
I threw up again, so obviously my tough talking was just that–I had no stomach for all this violence any more, assuming I’d ever had it in the first place. “Can I go home now?”
“I suppose so, but I want an officer with you at all times.”
“Will he be armed?”
“Yes.”
“Look when this happened before they killed them and left me alone.”
“I suppose you’d prefer it if we just gave you a machine gun to protect yourself?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hear you’re quite useful with a Kalashnikov?”
“Not really, but there are times when I do wonder if I should invest in one.”
“No, then we’d have to arrest you for illegal possession of a firearm.”
“But if it’s known I’m at risk, why can’t I get some sort of emergency licence?”
“And we find you shot the postman.”
“Well if I did it would be the guy who keeps delivering next door’s stuff to us.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“It’s half a mile away.”
“Ah, maybe you could claim provocation?”
“Much more of this and it could be insanity.”
“Come come, I’d heard you aristocrats were made of sterner stuff?”
“I’m probably the exception that proves the rule.”
“Oh,” he shrugged, “not from what I’ve heard.”
“Why can’t people leave me in peace to live my life–I don’t interfere with them?”
“Alas, I think some have a grudge against the bank, or the UK or perhaps even, an imagined slight against you personally.”
“I thought that had been resolved, the scrap we had before.”
“Apparently not–some of these people have very long memories and very short tempers. Not a good combination in people with guns.”
“So why aren’t you lot picking them up when they come into the country?”
“Who says either we or MI5 don’t pick them up?”
“So how come they got Simon?”
“They changed targets at the last minute, they were apparently going to hit the Governor of the Bank of England.”
“Oh my goodness, why?”
“I think because he has bank in his title.”
“Gee whizz, these guys are dangerous because they’re so amateurish.”
“That’s a good point, if they were ex army or KGB, they’d have far more idea. I think they’d been watching Simon for a while and he was vulnerable driving down from London. They had a bogus police car and pulled him over–we have it on motorway camera. He was taken away in the bogus police car, which we found a couple of days later burnt out. It’s quite vexing.”
Vexing! I can think of a few choice words and that ain’t amongst ‘em.
They ushered me back to the car and were taking me back to the central police station when they got a call over the radio that something was happening elsewhere. Ten minutes later, after another blue light dash, I found myself sat in a police car outside Tom’s farmhouse.
A young officer briefed us. “They shot in in two 4x4s and rounded up all the occupants. We saw at least four gunmen.”
“There are six kids, plus a teenager and an old man in there,” I gasped.
“Where’s the teenage girl?”
“Still at the hair salon where she works on a Saturday.”
“The other woman went off in a Fiesta.”
“That was Stella, she’d be going to collect Julie.”
“Make sure it doesn’t come back and interrupt things,” said Wheatland to the young officer, who nodded and went off to talk on his radio.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“We wait,” said Wheatland.
(aka Bike) Part 1005 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Do we actually know these people have Simon?” I asked.
“No, not for certain, but it’s probable.”
“And now they have Tom and my children.”
“That I can confirm.”
“If someone will loan me a gun, I shall go and get my children back.”
“Sorry, we can’t do that, which you well know. I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait this out. We have trained negotiators and a firearms team on its way.”
“That is my house, those are my children and my adopted father–if you think I’m going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs for the next three days–forget it. Besides, I need a change of clothing.”
“I see, I’d have thought being married to a banker, you could afford to buy something.”
“What’s that got to do with it, that is where I live and I don’t accept that a bunch of clowns should stop me living in it as I normally do. Besides that, my children are in there and I’m not, they need me.”
“They have the professor.”
“But it’s me they’ll want.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s a baby in there, too. You can’t just ignore her, she could become ill quite quickly, I need to go and see to her.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t allow that, Lady Cameron.”
“Is this a police state?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, in which case just keep out of my way.” I opened the car door and ran straight at the policeman who tried to grab me until I sidestepped and whacked him with my bag as I went past. He fell over but wasn’t hurt. I then ran up the drive and went straight to the back door–which much to my surprise was unlocked.
I stepped inside and was immediately pushed over and my bag taken from me. There were two of them, the man with the gun pointed at me and the woman who was tipping my handbag onto the kitchen table. “D’you mind, that bag is a Louis Vuitton, it cost a lot of money.”
“Ha, the capitalist pig squeals.” I recognised the voice from the phone. “So, you are going to kill me are you?” She then hit me in the stomach and punched me as I doubled up from her blow. I could taste blood, my lip was stinging and felt like I’d had collagen injections.
She kicked me, and I took the blows, but it bloody hurt.
“You gonna kill me, huh? I don’t think so.”
I felt blood drip from my nose, and it felt very tender. My eyes were watering and things were a bit blurry. Had I made the wrong decision? Dunno–but having made it, I had to run with it.
“I came to see my children, they’ll be very frightened, and there’s a baby–she’ll need feeding.”
“This creature, is a boy–Igor–maybe I should let you rape him, so you can compare him to a real woman.”
I heard the man with the gun laugh behind me. “Then I kill him?”
“Later, perhaps. They won’t attack because we have children here–and their precious boy-mother.” She grabbed the back of my hair and pulled me to my feet, that hurt too. This sonofabitch was going to deserve payback in spades.
I was dragged through into the lounge and unceremoniously dumped on the floor before my children. They were all sat on the floor around the feet of Tom and Leon, who were tied and gagged on two dining chairs.
“Where’s the baby?” I asked.
“Get the baby for him, Igor.” The gun man went off upstairs to collect Puddin’. I glanced around and five horrified children sat and stared at me in disbelief. Then all hell broke loose.
“Don’t you hit my mummy,” Trish launched herself at the woman who swiped at her and missed but caught Meems who fell backwards. Danny flew at her and as he made contact so Billy jumped on her as well. Meems was crying but I think okay. I stood up and with two kicks caught the woman under the chin and in her chest. Her head hit the floor with a crump and she lay still.
I said to Danny to grab Puddin’ when the man came back. He did a moment later, Danny snatched the baby and I swung the chair at his chest. He got one arm to it, but it knocked him backwards and his gun dropped which Billy snatched from the floor, rolling away as he took it.
Igor was obviously hurt, the way his one wrist was hanging it looked broken. He laughed and came at me, I sidestepped at the last moment and kicked him on the side of his face as he went past. He careered over a settee and hit the floor with quite a thump. He staggered to rise to his feet and Danny bashed him on the head with a bottle of Tom’s single malt.
He stood up, looked at Danny and as he stepped towards the boy I landed a flying kick which knocked him into the fireplace where he smacked his head on the hearth and lay still.
Trish was releasing Leon and Tom. I took the gun off Billy, who was shaking with fright. Livvie was standing looking aghast and holding the baby.
“As soon as I can secure the front door, get them all out,” I hissed at Leon who nodded. He took the baby from Livvie and Trish took her hand. They followed me out to the hallway. There was no one to see.
I opened the door and they all ran for it. I went in search of my quarry and hopefully my husband. The woman groaned as she lay on the floor, Igor, I suspect was dead or dying in the fireplace.
The police saw four enter the house, where were the others? As the kids ran towards the road, shots rang out from upstairs, which were returned by police snipers and the sound of glass smashing was followed by a thump upstairs–damn, that’s my bedroom, I’ll need to get the carpet cleaned now. I wonder if blood comes out with one of those steam things?
I crept up the stairs and exchanged shots with a man who jumped out of the window and ran off up the garden. I crawled into my bedroom and saw the intruder there was probably dead. I got to my wardrobe, and pulled out the bow and the quiver. Then a few moments later with the gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans, I jumped out of the window and went stalking my prey.
He’d cut himself somehow, probably on the ledge of the veranda in Stella’s room. I set up the bow as I stalked my quarry, and by the time I reached the orchard, I was ready to loose an arrow.
He fired at me, hitting one of the apple trees, I fired back and the arrow caught him in the shoulder. He screamed and fell backwards. I loaded another and walked calmly towards him, he was squealing and trying to wriggle towards his dropped gun. I kicked it away and aimed at his groin.
“Unless you want me to give you a one stage sex change on the end of this arrow, tell me where is my husband? Where is Simon Cameron?”
He whimpered and shed loads of tears, I loosed an arrow which grazed his leg and he screamed. I loaded another. “Oops, I missed, oh well, this time.”
I drew back the bowstring and he screamed, “I tell you, don’t shoot.”
“Where is he?”
“Empty farmhouse, at Soberton Heath.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” the man lay back and cried, “Don’t kill me.”
“I’m here,” I called to the police swat team, “It’s okay, I disarmed him.”
The clods still charged in and snatched my bow and pushed me to the ground. Once I was allowed up I actually slapped the man in charge, hard enough to drop him. He charged at me and I caught him with a kick to the chest. He fell back and lay there gasping for breath.
“If any of you lays one finger on me ever again, I’ll beat the crap out of you and sue you for compensation. And believe me I can.” They stood around open mouthed.
The injured Russian was led away with my arrow still in his shoulder.
“I should be charging you with assault with a deadly weapon,” said Wheatland.
“You should be thanking me for saving the lives of several of your officers. Now I want you to take me to an empty farmhouse at Soberton Heath. That’s where Simon is.”
“How do you know that?”
“The man with the arrow in his shoulder told me on condition I didn’t turn him into a pin cushion.”
“He confided in you, I take it?”
“He wanted to help me find my husband. I can be very seductive when I want, you know.”
“Even with a bloody face,” he passed me his handkerchief, and I gingerly wiped at my nose and mouth.
“What about the three indoors?”
“All still alive, the one in the fireplace has serious head injuries, and the woman on the floor has a concussion.”
“Good, when it’s better let me know, I’ll hit her again.”
“You realise she has a broken nose and the side of her face is caved in, I think her cheek is smashed and possibly her jaw as well. It won’t improve her looks.”
“She threatened to kill my children, if she died, I’d have no conscience about it.”
“You could be charged with manslaughter.”
“I was unarmed she was holding a gun, my kids attacked her when she hit me, I just helped them a bit.”
“You were unarmed, what’s this then?” He took the pistol out of my jeans.
“That belonged to her, the bow is mine–I want it back and all the arrows, including the one in our helpful intruder’s shoulder.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.”
“Get me to Soberton Heath or take the consequences.”
“One more statement like that and I’ll have you arrested.”
“If you do, you’ll be retired faster than the speed of light. I have some very powerful friends.”
“Your father in law isn’t above the law, you know.”
“I have friends more powerful than him–when you’re ready to risk your pension to find out, let me know, unless you’d prefer to finish your career back on the beat. That could be arranged too.”
“You’re not joking are you?”
“No, where’s this flipping car, or shall we go in the Mondeo?”
“We’re going by helicopter, which if my ears aren’t deceiving me, is coming now.”
(aka Bike) Part 1006 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
As we sped away up into the air, I could see a convoy of police vehicles moving from Portsmouth, north and west towards Soberton Heath, a place I only knew as somewhere I went through on occasional bike rides.
In a relatively short time, we were over the area, which was wooded on the one side of the A32 road–I must do a check there for dormice, I thought to myself as we circled round and about–but for now, we were hunting bigger game–rats, of the two legged variety.
“They could be anywhere,” I sighed, “What if he was lying?”
“With you threatening to kebab his nuts on an arrow, I doubt it. Would you have shot him in the goolies?”
“How do I know, all that mattered was he thought I would.”
“True, but would you have?”
“If it meant saving Simon’s life, then, yes I would–I think. It’s different talking about it in isolation compared to the heat of the moment.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“I’ve cycled round here.”
“What from Portsmouth?”
“Yes, why?”
“You’re quite fit then?”
“Not at the moment, I rarely get time to cycle these days.”
“Pity, it’s good exercise.”
“So they say, ooh look, a Jaguar just like Simon’s.”
“You what?”
“Down there,” I pointed, “the Jaguar is the same colour as the one Simon has.”
He spoke into his microphone and the chopper did a pass around the house and this time had the computerised camera working to try and read the number plate.
“What’s his number?”
“SI 09 CAM.”
“The camera is picking up a CA, can’t see the rest for trees,” said the observer sitting up with the pilot.
Wheatland ordered his cars to close in on that farmhouse.
“It is a Jaguar,” confirmed the observer, “I can see the cat badge on the back.”
“Can we go down and see what’s happening?” I asked.
“No, one of the reasons for bringing you along up here is you can’t get involved in any fistcuffs.”
“But my Simon could be down there,” I wailed.
“If he is, the swat team will do its job and get him out. They train for it, they’re not natural born killers like some people.”
“So you go to the cinema,” I teased.
“Infrequently, too busy chasing ne’er do wells.”
“Got a definite on the car, sir,” came a voice from below us.
“Treat with great caution.”
“Get my husband out safely, please,” I squealed into the microphone.
“We’ll do our best, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
The link went quiet and we soared away hovering some distance off. The police vehicles blocked all exits and entrances, and we could see men scurrying about like ants. It felt unreal.
“Can’t we go any closer?” I asked.
“No, if they start shooting we’re practically defenceless.”
“I thought you had a gun,” I poked him in his jacket, “there in your holster.”
“A pistol would be lucky to hit a house from anything further than twenty or thirty yards away.”
“How come Clint Eastwood can shoot the balls off a fly from a hundred yards away with his Colt 45?”
“That is pure fiction, he’d be lucky to hit the town from that range. More bystanders got hit than gunslingers.”
“Go and arrest him under the trades descriptions act.”
“The wild west is a bit out of my jurisdiction, but if he ever shows up over here with a six gun, I’ll arrest him, that’s the best I can offer.”
We watched the drama below us, the flashes of thunderflash grenades, which deafen and disorientate their targets–presumably by pressure wave stuff and the organ of balance in the ear.
Men were rushing to and fro and I wished I was down there to see where Simon was, and that he was okay.”
We watched in silence, the police stormed the farmhouse, and although two men tried to escape via the back, they were soon caught.
Ten minutes later, “Building secured, no sign of target, sir.”
“Okay, Inspector, we’re coming down.”
We landed in a field across the road, and I was very restrained in my desire to rush across and look for myself. Walking with Wheatland into the house, I caught sight of movement above us and pushed him away, a bullet zinged between us and a copper fired back. We ran for cover at the back of the house.
“I thought you had secured the area?” Wheatland chided his colleague, the one I’d hit earlier.
“I don’t know how we missed him, we have three other captives, so I can issue the order to shoot full stop.”
“That’s up to you, Inspector,” Wheatland wasn’t taking responsibility for any deaths.
Once again a bullet zipped near us, and we ran further behind the house.
“Keep down, Lady Cameron, you seem to be his target.”
“Meee?” I squeaked, “Why me?”
“If we catch the bugger, I’ll be sure to ask him.” With that the Inspector in charge of the swat team ran round the corner and straight into a bullet–in the face. He fell backwards, and Wheatland called for a medic.
We dragged him back with us, he was quite a big man and took some hauling. I pulled a handful of tissues from my bag and tried to staunch the wound. I also threw some healing at him–well he was on my side, even if he was a bit limited by red tape.
An ambulance tried to come around the back of the building and withdrew because it was fired upon.
“Will you get that bastard?” Wheatland shouted at the police trying to get a clear shot at the lone gunman.
“He’s got a rifle of some sort hasn’t he?”
“Yes, possibly one of those collapsible things that convert into a pistol and you screw on a barrel and so on. How’s he doing?”
I was throwing rather a lot of blue energy into my patient, and thankfully the bleeding had stopped. I needed this to be quick, I wanted to speak with the man who was shooting at us, because I was sure he knew where Simon was.
I suppose we were there for about twenty minutes, by which time I could confidently predict my patient would live, I did have to push his brain back in and heal it, although I wondered if he used it much anyway.
Finally, a paramedic came scrambling though the hedge on foot, he’d run around the woodland to get to us. I left him with the wounded man. I picked up the bulletproof vest we’d stripped off him, and while there was a bit of blood on it, it said police in nice big letters, so hopefully I wouldn’t be shot by a copper.
Wheatland was peeping around the corner at roughly where the shots were coming from. I reckoned he was on a flat roof over a bay window, which had a small wall around its edge.
I grabbed the vest and the officer’s machine pistol, and dashed into the house. I found the stairs and stopped to don the vest and check the gun was loaded and the safety catch was off. In a pocket I found a spare stun grenade. That could be useful.
I made my way up to the attic and crept slowly across the floor, some of the boards were missing and it stank of mildew and rotting flesh. I nearly stepped on the corpses of some jackdaws, which had obviously fallen from their nest, nearly fledged too.
I spotted an opening under the eaves where the tiles or slates had fallen off and I estimated he was almost directly underneath me. I pulled off another tile or two to make the hole large enough to squeeze through wearing the vest.
I scrambled through and found I was about twelve feet above him although I couldn’t see him because he was under a ledge. I primed and dropped the stun grenade. It exploded on impact, exactly as I’d wanted it to. However, the blast blew me backwards into the attic, and through the rotten boards crashing onto the floor beneath.
The lone gunman stood up and I saw his shadow against the window in front of me, there were several shots and he fell backwards into the room. It wasn’t a he at all, it was a young woman about thirty and she was rather perforated by police snipers.
I crawled towards her, she was still alive but very injured and barely breathing. I started to push some light into her, but she was resisting me. I’d never encountered this before–surely she didn’t want to die. I wanted her to live, because I was sure she knew where Simon was.
I tried to talk to her but her eyes seemed to glaze over and she sighed as blood began to bubble from her mouth. I sat there with her, “Don’t you die on me you bitch, c’mon, stay with me,” I spat at her as I pushed the energy into her blasted body, then realised, she wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway because of my grenade. Oh shit!
(aka Bike) Part 1007 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I suppose I had five or ten minutes to work on the girl before reinforcements arrived to see what happened. I managed to stop the bleeding and one of the bullets had worked its way to the surface and I was able to remove it.
I was so engaged in what I was doing, I didn’t realise that I was being observed. Pushing the energy into the woman and talking to her I was completely absorbed in my task. Another bullet rose to the surface and I removed it, I reckoned there was a third and it felt to be deep inside her close to her heart, having penetrated a lung on its way. I drove the energy deep into her body, and felt myself forming like a sling of it to draw the bullet out.
My sling was very fragile and her organs felt stuck together with glue. Sweat was rolling down my back as I pulled and pulled on the bullet and simultaneously plugged the hole with light to heal it. I had to work fast, the girl’s heart had stopped and she wasn’t breathing.
Finally the last bullet came to the surface and I laid her flat and began CPR, breathing the light into her lungs and pushing it into her heart as I practiced my ministrations. She coughed and gurgled and began breathing for herself, and I turned her on her side, so she could cough up whatever muck was in her throat.
I had just done this when there was a cough behind me, and I spun round to see two swat officers standing watching me.
“Did you just do what we think we saw you do?” asked the taller of the two.
“That depends upon what you think you saw me do.”
“You pulled the bullets out of her and started her heart again, somehow stopping the bleeding at the same time.”
“Yeah, there was this blue light all around you,” said the second.
“What if I denied what you assert you saw?”
“How did ya do it?”
“Who said I did it?”
“There are three damaged slugs there, they’ve obviously hit something.”
“Maybe they hit the wall.”
“C’mon, lady, they didn’t I saw them come out of her body–I’m pretty sure I put at least one of them there.”
“You realise if you say what you saw, then you’ll destroy my life and that of my children?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be pursued by the press and followed by loads of people who think I can help them. I can’t help them all–I don’t have the time or the power, plus I’d like some time to myself and my family.”
“So why did you waste your power on scum like her?”
“I have problems with people dying for nothing,” I opined firmly.
“Yeah, but why don’t you save your energy for the good guys?”
“I’ve used it once for your inspector.”
“Yeah, but he’s still down, I saw the paramedic with him.”
“I think that might be because he’s trying to find the wound, which should have healed by now.”
The woman stirred and two guns were cocked and pointed at her. She sat up and stared at me then at the two police holding guns aimed at her. “Why you save, Anna?”
I shrugged my shoulders, “Perhaps I think enough bloodshed has occurred.”
She gave me a look which suggested she didn’t understand.
“I want the killing to stop.”
She nodded.
“Where is my husband, Simon Cameron?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.” I didn’t, I was convinced that she knew. Every sinew in my body was telling me that she knew.
“Is truth, I don’t know.”
“Do you know who I mean?”
“Sure, man we take from car.”
“Yes that one. Is he still alive?”
She shrugged and said, “I don’t know, mebbe he is, mebbe not, Anna not know.”
“One of your group told me he was being held here, would he lie?”
“Depends how you ask him.”
“I threatened to kill him.”
“And he talked–typical man.”
I picked up the machine pistol and fired it about a foot from her. She didn’t bat an eyelid–one tough cookie. I fired again and a splinter of wood hit her wrist, which caused her squeak and rub the injured arm.
“What’s going on up there?” called a disembodied voice on the radio.
“It’s okay, sir, gun malfunction.”
“See it doesn’t happen again, people could get killed by stray rounds.”
“Very good, sir, we will.” The young copper fibbed to avoid embarrassing me.
“I’d tell her if I were you, Anna, she might not miss next time and she might not revive you next time.”
“I can’t, the energy only works once.”
“So if I was to shoot her now–she’d stay dead?” asked the taller copper.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Good thing too, bloody terrorists.”
“Anna not terrorist, Anna fighting to overthrow capitalist system before it destroy my country.”
“So why don’t you work in your own country and leave us alone?”The tall policeman voiced a not unreasonable question, which might have been rhetorical.
“Simon Cameron, he big investor in corrupt business and government.”
“So why not expose him–show the world what he’s doing and set him free for the legal system to charge him as appropriate.”
“He own legal system, buy best lawyers and judges–forgone conclusion–Anna say, kill him.”
“This woman has just saved your life you ungrateful bitch.”
“I not ask to be saved.”
“Just as well then, innit?”
“I don’t care–you kill me, see if I care.”
“I just took three bullets out of you–you might not care, but I bloody well do. I’m not saving you so you can end your stupid life because you pissed off some copper with a hair trigger.”
“Anna not ask you help.”
“You want me to put the bullets back into you?”
“You do with Anna as you want, I never talk.”
“I admire your stubbornness, but unfortunately, I need to find my husband and that means I don’t play by the rules anymore than I have to. I put the life back into you, I can draw it out just as easily.” It wasn’t true, but she didn’t know that.
I stepped towards her and she rose and struggled to avoid me, falling backwards in the process, nearly down through the hole in the floor. Then she thought about diving from the hole in the rotten flooring, I saw it in her eyes a second before she went, and I grabbed her while she struggled to get through the hole.
The two coppers came and pulled her back, then as they were walking away, one fell through the rotten floor and shot the other one as his gun went off. She saw her chance and pushed me over hitting the wounded copper as she went. He was bleeding quite badly and I had to make a choice–try and save him or apprehend the Russian woman and try and find where Simon was.
It wasn’t a choice, it was a dilemma.
(aka Bike) Part 1008 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I saw the young copper fall, blood oozing from his neck and he lay flailing and frothing as his life ebbed away. I called out for help, but we had two injured officers as the one who’d fallen through the floor was lying motionless on the floor below.
Meanwhile, the Russian woman stumbled away and was clear of the area in seconds. I stopped to tend to the haemorrhaging young copper. I hoped I could do the same for him as I had for the young Russian.
“Relax, thrashing about makes it bleed more, so just relax.” I took the small first aid kit he carried and held the pad against the wound. The bullet had taken out some blood vessels in his neck–he was unconscious a moment later.
“Keep breathing,” I exhorted him as he gasped and his chest stopped moving. “Keep breathing, dammit.” I couldn’t hold the wound and do CPR. I drove the blue light into his wound talking to him as I did so, telling him to stay with me, I could save him.
It didn’t work, when a paramedic got to us, the young policeman was dead. A terrible accident–killed by one of his mates. What a thing to live with. I got up with difficulty my legs were stiff from kneeling in one position trying to save him, and my hands were covered in blood, which was now sticky or dried, it had got under my nails and splashed on the vest and jeans I was wearing. I burst into tears, and another copper led me away after giving me a hug.
They were still treating the man on the floor below–it didn’t look good. It transpired that he died as well. It wasn’t a good day for the police–and I felt to blame for it. If I hadn’t gone after the sniper, they wouldn’t have come up after me. If I’d left her to die, they’d both still be alive. Then the energy decided it would save her and let them die–what sort of thing was it? I vowed never to use it again, and told it to leave me and my family alone. It was a curse.
When I recovered, I was being handed a cup of coffee by Wheatland. “What happened to the Russian girl?”
“What Russian girl?” he asked looking blankly at me.
“The one we tried to arrest upstairs, it was in a tussle with her that the two officers got killed, one fell through the floor and broke his neck and the other was shot by the first as he fell.”
“What a mess–I didn’t see any Russian girl, only the ones we managed to arrest and they’re on their way to the local nick. Don’t worry, we’ll find your Simon.”
“Yeah, I just hope he’s alive when we do–she seemed intent on killing him.”
“Your mystery Russian woman?”
“Yes. How could you not have seen her?”
“Very simply, she didn’t come past me.”
“And you were here all the time?”
“Yes, why?”
“Where the hell did she go then?”
I drank my coffee and washed my hands in the water provided by the ambulance. I was still upset that two people had died, especially two young men who possibly had wives and families. Violence sickened me, yet I seemed to get involved in it trying to protect my own, or those trying to help me do that.
I went back into the house, most of the windows were boarded up, so where had she gone? They weren’t convinced in my story about the woman, perhaps thinking I was in shock. I was upset, I wasn’t shocked, I could still think and function well enough.
She had got downstairs, I knew that much. I didn’t know if she was armed or not. I knew she would be pretty desperate so I had to be careful. In the fading light, I searched through the ground floor, where could she hide?
There seemed nowhere. I searched again and then I saw it. The fireplace was big enough to get up into. There was also soot, fresh soot on the hearth and footprints in it. I walked away and went to find my handbag, then using my mirror, I looked up the chimney–she wasn’t there, but when I then looked up it using the little LED torch I have on my key ring, I could see she’d been up there.
I wiped the dirt off my hands, more police arrived and started closing the building off as a crime scene. I gave a statement and was taken off in a police car. I showed them the chimney and the footprints and the way they noted it, showed they thought I was crazy. I think I heard one of them say, “Father Christmas, I expect.”
They drove me back to the police HQ, where I was able to wash properly. I still wore bloodstained clothing, which I intended to dump as soon as I got home, but apparently they, the police, wanted it as evidence. They gave me one of those paper all in one suit things. I was allowed to keep my shoes.
After yet more questions and a further statement, they took me home. There was a police car parked in the drive and its occupants were in the house drinking tea with Stella.
She already knew we hadn’t found Simon, presumably the official grapevine, via the police radios. After learning Henry had taken all the children to the hotel, I went up to shower.
I wandered into my bedroom with just a towel wrapped around me and stopped in surprise when I saw the Russian woman sitting on my bed wearing some of my clothes. However, it was the gun she was holding which caught my attention.
“You certainly have a nerve,” I said when I managed to breathe again.
“I want to know something.”
“So do I, where is my husband?”
“Get dressed and do it quietly.”
I towelled my hair and combed it, then pulled on a top and jeans over suitable underwear. I finished with socks and trainers. I wanted to be mobile enough to take this woman if the opportunity arose.
“What do you want to know?”
“How you save my life?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did, I see you pull me back from void and all blue light.”
“It was the light which saved you, I just happen to bear it. It chooses who it works with and who will benefit from it. I have little control. I couldn’t save either of the police who died when you escaped.”
“I know, I saw them die–but no matter–“
“It mattered to me, they were two young men, they’d have wives and families.”
“You care too much–it weakens you.”
“No it strengthens me, it gives purpose to my life.”
“Life can have purpose, but we talk too much. We go now.”
“Go where?”
“To see your precious Simon.”
“If you’ve harmed him–“
“You’ll what, fix him again? Ha–just shut mouth and do as I tell you.”
We left via Stella’s balcony, in the same way I had in pursuit of the intruder I’d shot with the bow. I had to trust her–which wasn’t easy, not helped by the fact she had a gun and I didn’t. Then I remembered the one in my knicker drawer, which would probably have resulted in us shooting each other. Assuming I survive, I must move it in case one of the kids discovers it and shoots themselves or one of the others.
We went out through the orchard and round in a wide circle to the main road where she’d parked a car. “You drive, and no trick.” As she had a gun and she was leading me to see Simon, I wasn’t going to start anything until I’d explored that lead. After that, anything could happen.
We drove towards Waterlooville–I wonder what that commemorates–and off to one of the villages up that way. Then finally we turned up a narrow track and stopped in front of a barn.
She prodded me with the gun, “Go,” she said.
I walked into the barn, inside I saw a man lying on some straw holding a gun. He was injured by the look of things.
“Where’s Simon?” I demanded.
“You make him good again, and I show you Simon.”
“I can’t–I can’t do this anymore.”
“You heal him or I kill you and leave Simon to die–he starve in three or four weeks; he have lots of fat.”
(aka Bike) Part 1009 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
She pushed the gun into my back and I nearly fell on her injured companion. I tried to think of Simon as being nearby, but all that did was make me want to cry–and that wouldn’t help anyone.
I looked at the man before me. He was very pale, in fact he looked very ill. “This man needs a hospital.”
“No hospital, you fix and quick.”
Hell’s bells, where do I start. He was sweating, and as I moved to touch him he started and pointed the gun at me. His hand was shaking. The woman barked something in Russian at him and he relaxed the gun.
I examined him more closely. His shirt was heavily bloodstained in the abdomen–it appeared that he’d been shot or stabbed. He should have been in an operating theatre, not lying in a barn with all sorts of infection about. Actually it smelt as if he possibly already had an infection, which explained why he was sweating and shivering.
“He needs a surgeon and antibiotics–he’s got an infection, for goodness sake.”
She rested the gun against the back of my head, “Fix him or I blow your brains up.”
Her mangling of the English language didn’t help me focus. “Ask him to move the gun, I need to touch his hand.”
Once again she barked an instruction at him and he moved the gun further away from me. I touched his other hand–it felt icy cold–this did not bode well.
I imagined the blue light coming into my body from all over the universe and I then focused it on moving it into his. I was asking it to save his life so I could find Simon and save his–no I didn’t ask it, I begged and implored it to do as I asked so I could find Simon.
I thought I saw blue energy flow between us, but that could have been pure wishful thinking on my part. Holding his hand in my right hand, I placed my left hand on his chest. He whimpered, and I felt his friend standing behind me. I had no doubt she would kill me if I failed. I tried to keep this out of my mind.
My hand felt very warm on his chilled skin, and at one point he seemed to be having a convulsion. His head lolled back and his eyes rolled up into the top of his sockets, his mouth drooped open and his tongue fell out of the corner–then he started to shake, like he was shivering violently. I held on, and noticed he’d dropped the gun–he’d also wet himself–I hoped that was all he’d done–he was smelly enough now.
I closed my eyes and poured the energy into him, willing him to get better, to heal and to allow me to find and rescue Simon. My hand seemed to move lower and I winced as I realised it was on his wound. The wound was fibrillating like a damaged heart, it felt like it was heaving with maggots. Then my fingers closed on something small and hard and I pulled it away–it was the bullet, so something was happening.
My hand returned to his wound and it felt like it was red hot, my hand felt like the element in an electric kettle, I wasn’t surprised when he groaned tensed and fell back. Then it all felt normal.
“What you do to him? I kill you,” she shrieked and pulled me away–I was exhausted and part of me couldn’t have cared less if she had.
He said something and she looked at his bare midriff which now just showed a dent, the wound had otherwise healed. She laughed and almost whooped with delight, then she turned to me and cocked her pistol. I suspect she would have shot me but for him telling her not to, I think her name was Katya, least that was the only word I recognised.
She hugged him and pulled him to his feet. I wondered what would happen now. “Where is Simon?” I shouted, “I did what you asked, now tell me where he is.”
“I forget, goodbye,” they started to walk away laughing, except he’d left his gun behind. I leapt on it and pointed at them.
“Where is he, you bitch?” I pointed at them and pulled the trigger–nothing happened.
“It’s empty, you stupid cow,” she said and pointed hers at me. I noticed the safety catch was still on, I clicked it to the off position and pulled the trigger again. The gun barked and I fell over backwards. I didn’t hit anything but they took to their heels and ran.
“Where is he, you bastards?” I screamed at them, then collapsed to my knees sobbing. I don’t know how long I was like that when I heard a quiet bumping noise above me in the barn.
I shuddered, and grabbing the gun, looked all round me. Then the bumping noise again. It was definitely from above me. I began to go up the small staircase which led up to the loft above the main part of the barn. My hand was trembling as I held the gun, “Who’s there?” I called and the noise got louder.
I walked towards it and called again, this time it was definitely louder and seemed to be becoming from inside a pile of bales of hay. “Simon?” I shouted and it banged twice.
I switched on the safety catch and tucked the gun into my jeans–then began to pull down a number of bales of hay. I was sweating and growing very tired, but persisted. If necessary, I’d tear down the barn with my bare hands.
I kept moving the bales and finally, thought I could see something, I worked even more feverishly. Then I beheld something wrapped up in a sheet, I dragged at it, and underneath, bound up and gagged was Simon. I nearly thanked the god I don’t believe in.
With fingers which couldn’t work fast enough I undid his gag, “Oh, Babes,” he said, “I thought you were never coming.”
“Geez, Si, let’s face it, I was looking for a needle in this haystack–what the hell are you doing here?”
“Waiting to be rescued by the most amazing woman on the planet.”
“Yeah, well she couldn’t come, so I had to.”
“If you hadn’t shouted, I’d never have heard you, that hay stuff was like sound proofing.”
“I’ll remind you of that the next time you tell me I’m shouting.”
“I’ll never complain of that again.”
I untied him and it took us several minutes for him to stand and a further ten minutes for him to get down the stairs and onto the ground. He was very wobbly and had to lean on me to walk away.
“How are we going to get home? Have you got a car?” he asked.
“No, but I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”
“I could do with a drink–I don’t suppose you have any water?”
“Look, there’s a house over there, let’s go and ask for help.”
“Better hide that gun then.”
I tucked it down lower in my waistband and pulled my top over it. We walked slowly to the farmhouse and up to the front door. Simon didn’t smell too sweet.
“How long have you been there?”
“I dunno, days I think. It was dark up there, so I have no idea and they took my watch–the one my dad gave me.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“What for? I have loads of them, if you remember. It was just that that was a nice one.”
I rapped on the door and it opened, a little with a woman’s face peering out the crack. “Can you help us? My husband isn’t very well–could we have a drink of water and could you call the police?”
“P-o-l-i-c-e? What for?”
“Just tell them it’s Cathy Cameron, and where we are, they’ll come to collect us.”
“Go away–I don’t want no gippos here,” her retort was so unexpected I froze in disgust, allowing her to slam the door shut.
“Can you believe that?” I looked at Simon. Then sitting him down, on the door step, I shouted through the letter box. “Will you call the police, please and could we have some water? I’ll pay for the bloody stuff–he’s ill, so stop messing me about.”
I heard footsteps approach the door and expected the door to be opened and her to offer us a glass of water. Instead I stared in horror as shotgun barrel poked out of the letter box and I jumped to one side as it was fired at us.
“You stupid cow,” I yelled as if it would have made any difference.
“Clear off you beggars.”
It was only with enormous self control that I didn’t shoot through the door with the pistol and kill the stupid bitch. Instead, I ran to the back of the house and then came dashing back. “Can you drive a tractor?” I asked, and Simon nodded.
(aka Bike) Part 1010 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Our tractor ride didn’t go far, we were stopped by police perhaps two miles down the road–whereupon we were arrested by two young coppers who weren’t interested in our stories. At least Simon was given a drink of water at the station–personally, I’d have held out for a cup of tea.
So having found Simon, I was separated from him by being locked in the adjacent cell. I’m beginning to think I won’t give much to the Police Benevolent Society this year.
Simon had been relatively quiet, it was me who did all the mouthing–so I was put in the cell first. I assumed he was in the next one.
Eventually, I extracted for questioning–“You realise you can make a call to your solicitor?”
“I’d prefer to phone my father in law, who will bring a brief with him.”
“I see, who’s your father in law, Mrs Camero–um, are you the Cathy Cameron?”
I smiled and nodded.
“Oops–someone has messed up...”
“Big time! Can someone get my husband out of the cells and bring down a senior officer to speak with him?”
“You were carrying an illegal firearm–that’s a five year sentence.”
“I am quite happy to explain how it came to be in my possession.”
“Do you have Lord Henry’s number handy?”
“He’s at their hotel in Southsea.”
“I’ll get you a phone.”
“Any chance of a cuppa, I’m parched.”
Of course Henry got us bailed–or me, I had the gun, Simon was let go. It was difficult trying to explain why I’d been kidnapped by the bandits, without giving my other activities away. I let them think I was negotiating a ransom for Simon and I managed to prise a gun from one of them and they skedaddled.
They seemed to accept that–the lies bit, it was the truth, my search for Simon which they looked surprised at. I then had to explain that I thought they intended to kill both of us. That they accepted. I gave a description of the woman and what I could remember of the man. Seeing, or not seeing, because I had my eyes shut much of the time, made it difficult.
I was able to describe her clothing very accurately, and also the type of car she had, a black Jeep Cherokee. By now that’s probably been ditched and another bought or stolen.
Talking of cars, Simon was pleased to discover the police had his pride and joy in their pound, and it was only going to cost him–he got cross at that and they agreed to return it to him free of charge. I offered to bring him in the next day to collect it, assuming I wasn’t a jailbird by then.
Henry, who collected us after springing us from the nick, took us back to the house where we had a quick shower and changed clothes, then he took us to the hotel to see the children. They of course were pleased to see us again, once we could get them out of the swimming pool.
Meems did actually hug her Daddy while she was still dripping wet, and I don’t think he cared one bit about her being like a fresh caught haddock. The others I promised a hug once they were dry–my thin dress would not look very presentable sticking to my underwear.
Needless to say, we had a celebratory meal at which Henry toasted me for saving his son–yet again. The other adults cheered and I had another chorus of, For she’s a jolly good fellow, while sitting and blushing like an infrared lamp.
Maybe I should retire to the countryside and breed dormice–I’m quite good at that–and give up all the heroics. Maybe not, I’d be widowed in about three weeks and someone has to keep an eye on Simon and his ability to attract psychopaths. I wonder if I fit into that category?
I wondered where the two escapees were–I mean, they’d be hardly likely to send me a postcard, would they.
We stayed overnight in Southsea–we were all too frazzled to drive home, and Tom had brought Kiki with him. Simon went to bed early after kissing me and telling me that the only thing which kept him alive during his ordeal was seeing the children again and kissing me.
I let him kiss me until he fell asleep, which sadly he did quite quickly, and he slept until ten the next morning. I’d actually cadged a lift to collect my car, came back, collected all the children in the Mondeo and took them home to change for school. They were all a bit miffed at that, but it was a normal school day–or as normal as we get.
Later I collected Simon, who looked one hundred per cent better, and we went off to get his car from the police. While at the police HQ, I was asked to speak with Wheatland.
“Your descriptions were very good. Your adversaries were two ex government agents–no wonder they eluded us. Katya and Gregor Romanov.” He showed me a photo of each of them, although her hairstyle had changed, it was her all right.
“No wonder she managed to kidnap me from my own bedroom–she was good–especially as two police officers were downstairs at the time.”
“You were lucky, she’s a trained assassin.”
“Now you tell me.”
“And now you can tell me something, why did she kidnap you?”
“It’s all in my statement.”
“He was wounded, wasn’t he?”
“So? I’m no doctor.”
“So–you’re the mysterious healer, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. Katya received three direct hits, we have it on video, any two of which would have killed her. Yet she rose from the dead and escaped us.”
“If I was this mystery character, how come I couldn’t save your colleagues?”
“The most obvious answer is, you didn’t try to. However, I know what a compassionate women you are, and I know as well that they found you trying to keep young Winston alive, despite his massive blood loss. So the answer is, I don’t know–perhaps we all have a time to die, and that was theirs.”
“You know as much as I do then.”
“I know more than you think I know. I know Gregor was injured because we found his blood on some bales of straw. We also found some on the gun you handed over. But, Lady Cameron, next time you pinch something, don’t use a tractor–they’re far too easily spotted.
“Who was the woman who tried to shoot us?”
“Oh yes, Miss Branston.”
“Is she as mad as she seems?”
“According to the statement she made, you threatened her and then stole her tractor.”
“She did the threatening, and fired a gun at us–isn’t that an offence?”
“We only have your word for that, she categorically denies it.”
“The lying old bat–I’ve got a good mind to see if we hold her overdraft.”
“Please don’t do any such thing–her fiancé hanged himself in her barn about twenty years ago.”
“Why? Did she threaten him with her pop gun too?”
“The conclusion of the coroner’s enquiry was a bit fudged, he even managed to suggest it was misadventure, rather than suicide, so she got the insurance payout, but it was a reduced one–they settled out of court, after she sued them.”
“So what d’you think happened?”
“I have no idea, but it’s unlikely he could have done it on his own.”
“Why, it only takes a rope, somewhere to hang it and something to jump off?”
“He had an artificial leg, so how do you reckon he got up on the stool he was supposed to have stepped off?”
“How do I know? Maybe he hopped up?”
“No, it was a bar type stool, and was four feet high.”
“Someone helped him or he was cleverer or more determined than you think?”
“That’s what the coroner decided, so that’s all that counts. I’m a policeman, I uphold the law–I don’t make it.”
We shook hands and I followed Simon back to the house. I decided I’d never tell him Katya was a known killer. He was finding it difficult enough now. I did wonder if we’d ever meet again–if so, one of us might not be so lucky next time.
(aka Bike) Part 1011 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“I can’t breathe, help, I can’t breathe,” Simon thrashed about in bed, his arms flailing made it difficult for me to calm him.
“Simon, calm down, you’re safe.”
“I won’t tell you anything you bitch,” he grabbed me around the throat and began to squeeze.
He was still fast asleep and the way he was going, I’d be ending up on the long sleep. I tore at his hands but they kept squeezing my windpipe and I was beginning to feel frightened.
I pulled at this thumbs but he was so strong, that in the end I had to hurt him to stop him. I punched up between his hands and caught him on the jaw. He bit his tongue, shouted and fell back–I rolled out of bed, coughing and spluttering with eyes streaming, really believing he would have killed me.
“What happened?” he asked as I switched on the light. He sat up, “God, my tongue hurts and my jaw–what’s the matter with you?”
“Someone just tried to kill me,” I gasped, my throat was still hurting.
“What now?”
I nodded unable to speak.
“Who was it, where are they?” he leapt out of bed presumably to apprehend himself, though I’m not sure he would apprehend this very well at all.
“It was you,” I coughed and spluttered.
“What?” he asked aghast.
“You nearly killed me.”
“Cathy, I wouldn’t harm you for the world.”
“You were dreaming.”
“I was, that bitch was trying to kill me.”
“Yeah, well I tried to calm you down and you decided to strangle me.”
“Oh my God, I didn’t did I?”
“It’s not something I’d make up,” I showed him the marks on my neck.
“Oh God, I am sorry.” He wanted to hug me, but for the moment I didn’t want him near me. I asked him to make me a cuppa, and went into the bathroom to put some cold water on the bruising. When he came up with the tea, I dabbed it dry and rubbed in some moisturiser–very gently.
“I am so sorry, Cathy.” He passed me some tea and I thanked him. “I can’t believe I did that–must have hit myself in the face too.”
“No, that was me, trying to avoid you killing me.”
“Wow, you pack a punch,” he said ruefully rubbing his chin.
“So would you if you thought it was your last one.”
“That bad was it?”
“If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have killed me, my voice box feels very sore.”
“I’m so sorry, Babes, what d’ya want me to do?”
“I don’t know, I hope this is a one off.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“If you wake up next to a dead body which closely resembles mine–you’ll know it wasn’t.”
“I can’t believe I did that–how can I say I’m sorry?”
“Si, you’ve said you’re sorry and I believe you.”
“God, if that happened again or anything happened to you–I’d never forgive myself. I couldn’t face life without you...” he choked and began to sob, “I’d kill myself,” he added.
“And who would look after the children?”
“They’d have to go back into care or something.”
“Simon, those are our children we’re talking about–they love you, how could you even think of such a thing,” I was crying too, now.
“They wouldn’t let me keep them and how could I cope anyway?”
“You’re a resourceful chap, you’d think of something.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t adopt any more until this is sorted.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Put the adoption business on hold until I’ve been locked up or cured.”
“We’ll do no such thing, those boys have been waiting all their lives to be in a family, really in a family.”
“Of a murderer?” he sniffed.
“I’m sure plenty of your ancestors did it.”
“Things were different centuries ago.”
“Yeah, they didn’t have digital watches and computers–so they had to kill each other much more low tech.”
“No, things were different in those days.”
“In what way?”
“Well, life was cheap.”
“Not to the owners–besides, tell that to the families of those three women in Bradford.”
“What women?”
“The three women sex workers who were murdered by that criminology student bloke–the Crossbow cannibal.”
“Well they probably asked for it.”
“I don’t believe you just said that.”
“Why? They chose to do what they did for a living.”
“Simon, they all had problems with drink or drugs, like lots of street girls–they were working to feed a habit.”
“Well then.”
“Simon, they were still young women–you know, sentient beings, who felt pain and loved their families–very few women would work the streets if they could help it–it’s very dangerous and soul destroying work.”
“C’moffit, Babes, no one forced them to do it, did they, they made choices.”
“Did they deserve to die because they made some bad decisions? That’s like saying you deserved to at the hands of those bandits because you chose to do banking.”
“Oh c’mon, Cathy, how is banking like prostitution?”
“You mean apart from screwing their customers?”
“Oh very funny, I don’t think.”
“I wasn’t comparing the two professions, I was suggesting that you blaming the girls for their own deaths would be like someone blaming you if that Russian secret service woman had killed you.”
“Secret service? What’s this about secret service women?”
“Katya Romanova, was a renegade secret service agent.”
He went pale–“She could quite easily have killed me, couldn’t she?”
“Without a qualm, I suspect.”
“Shit, Babes, I coulda died.”
“The three women all did die for some pervert’s gratification.”
“Yeah, but I coulda,” he swallowed, “I mean, me–I coulda died.”
“Life is cheap is it?”
“Okay–point taken. I was wrong about the prostitutes.”
“They were women, Si, you can’t kill a job, only the holder, who is a person.”
“Okay, okay–you know what I mean. I suppose you want me to sleep on the settee?”
“Did I say that?”
“No but you keep moving away from me.”
“You frightened me.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I know, I’m sorry too, but it really frightened me.”
“I’d better go then.” He got off the bed and began to walk towards the door.
“Get back into bed, Simon, and stop being so silly.”
“Silly–I nearly strangle my wife and she calls me silly.”
“C’mon, get back in and let’s go back to sleep–and I’ve got to get up in four or five hours, I need my beauty sleep.”
(aka Bike) Part 1012 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
To sleep perchance to dream My dreams are as nasty as Hamlet’s. I won’t repeat what happened in it save to say that I awoke feeling terrified and sweating like a hard ridden horse. It was nearly seven according to the digital clock, so I eased myself away from Simon’s arm, which had been around my waist and went to the bathroom to wee and shower–not at the same time, I hasten to add.
I came out feeling cleaner but not necessarily much more alert. I tried to remember what had spooked me in my dream, but it had gone. I roused three girls, two boys, and one teenager. They all grumbled but got out of bed when I threatened the cold wet flannel treatment.
The girls all showered one after the other and I combed and dried their hair and put them in pigtails, plaits or for Meems a ponytail. That done, they dressed themselves and came down to where I had breakfast started and lunch boxes finished. Despite my tiredness, my body seemed to be performing quite well without conscious input.
I ate a piece of toast–I know I should have more, but I don’t seem to be very hungry these days, and my throat was still a bit sore. Trish frowned at me then gave me a hug.
“C’mon, eat your breakfast,” I told her but she continued to hold on to me–the little tyke was healing my neck, because by the time she let me go, I felt a lot easier. I managed to eat a banana while she gobbled down her cereal.
I popped a scarf around my neck just in case when I took the girls to school. No one else had noticed except Trish, possibly she was more awake than the others or just more observant. I decided I wasn’t going to worry about it.
I came back via the supermarket where we’d had the scene with Julie’s parents. Thankfully they weren’t there so I shopped and left, but having thought about them I did wonder how they were.
One doesn’t have to like people to think about them, in fact soldiers probably spend as much time thinking about the enemy as they do their loved ones. Perhaps that’s why I was thinking of the Kemps. After all, this was the initial battleground. Just a bit of association based on past experience, or was it?
When I got home, lugging bags of shopping into the house, I called for help–none seemed to be forthcoming. I trudged down to the car and hauled another four bags of assorted food stuffs and cleaning products up to the kitchen.
Where was everyone? Simon’s Jag was still there, as was Stella’s Ford. Tom was working at the uni; so where were Simon, Stella and Julie? Irritated, probably from lack of sleep, I filled the kettle and switched it on, then began to put away the shopping–filling the fridge, freezer and larder. By the time I’d finished the kettle had boiled. At first, I was going to make myself a cuppa and blow the rest of them. Then I thought better of it and went looking for them.
I went through the lounge and dining room–no one there, I called and a muffled voice replied, I ran upstairs, something wasn’t right. Stella opened Julie’s the door of Julie’s room inside which I could make out the shapes of two others–presumably Simon and Julie herself.
“What’s up?” I started to ask when Stella put her finger to her lips. I glanced in the room and Simon was sitting cradling Julie who was sobbing in his arms.
Stella led me into the boy’s room and shut the door. “Her father phoned while you were out.”
“What did he want? He promised he’d leave her in peace unless she initiated the contact.”
“Just shush and listen, her mother is seriously ill.”
Part of me wanted to say, “Good, it couldn’t happen to a nicer person,” but I didn’t, I simply made my impression of a goldfish.
“Julie’s mum has had a stroke.”
“Oh,” visions of my father came to my mind. “How bad is it?”
“Not good, according to her dad.”
I swallowed my bile and asked, “What do we need to do to help Julie?”
“Simon is comforting her, she obviously wants to go and see her, but her dad thinks it might make her mother worse.”
“Surely she’s not thinking of reverting, is she?”
“I don’t know, she hadn’t said that as far as I know, but who says she won’t?”
Simon had either seen me or heard me talking with Stella. “Who’s looking after Julie?” I asked him.
“She’s gone off to sleep, so I came out to give her some space.”
“What has she said?”
“She blames herself.”
“Oh here we go, I’m a little pervert tall and thin, why not come over and kick my head in?”
“Cathy, get off your high horse and listen,” he growled at me; “She thinks that the falling out with her parents has caused both of them to become ill. She wonders if perhaps you went to see her mum and did some of your magic, she would be able to go and talk to her later.”
“I can only do it if the energy wants me to. If it doesn’t, or seems to imply it’s her time, nothing will happen except perhaps to make her more accepting of it. Besides, she possibly hates me more than Julie–I’m the pervert who stole and corrupted her son. I’m the devil incarnate to the power of ten.”
“Would that make you Billionzebub rather than Beelzebub?”
“Simon, go and take a running jump, will you? I’m trying to make sensible suggestions and you revert to schoolboy humour as usual. Life isn’t one big Monty Python sketch, you know?”
“Pity,” he sighed, “Okay, Crabby Cathy, what’s the plan?”
“Where is she?”
“The QA.”
“Maybe I could do this from a distance?”
“What send her healing?”
“Yes.”
“Worth a try, what do you need to do?” Simon seemed in favour–it meant he wouldn’t have to separate us, Julie’s two mums. It would also mean, she wouldn’t improve from my healing her, only to have another while trying to kill me for doing it. Oh well, life is full of little ironies.
“First I need a cuppa–I’m parched, then I need to be left alone to try and tune into her and send the light and dare I say, some love, too.”
“Go in our room and I’ll bring you up a cuppa.” Simon disappeared down the stairs. I peeped in Julie’s door. She was sleeping and Stella was sitting in the doorway of her own room, listening for Puddin’ and Julie. Sometimes she does her share, okay, not too often, but she can be an absolute brick.
Simon brought up a tray-load of teas and I took one and sipped it. Stella had one, and he took the remaining two up to Julie’s room. He tapped gently and went in. I heard him close the door behind him. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him sitting in there with her, but he wasn’t under my feet, and he was doing something useful.
I finished my tea, went for a comfort stop, as they say, then shut my bedroom door. Ssitting cross legged on some pillows on the bed, I began to focus on Julie. I planned to use my love for her as a sort of bridge to get to the old lady. I sat and tuned into the teenager and started to move the energy about.
(aka Bike) Part 1013 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I pictured Julie’s mother in a hospital bed and surrounded it with light, then when it seemed appropriate, I took the light closer to her. I didn’t do too much, because I didn’t want her to pick up on me and then use it to reject Julie. For all her faults, she’s still Julie’s mother.
I discovered when I emerged from my room that I’d been occupied for over an hour, and I wasn’t sure about the others, but I was hungry. I popped up to Julie’s room and she was sitting on the bed listening to her MP3 player.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Okay, I guess–it’s still sad, even if she was an old bat.”
“She’s still your mother, Julie.”
“No, you’re my mother now.”
“It’s all very flattering, but I’m at best in loco parentis.”
“What does that mean?”
“In place of your parents.”
“Yeah, a replacement parent, that’s what you and Daddy are.”
“If that was the case, why are you upset?”
“Who said I was upset?” she lied.
“I know when you’re not telling the truth, Julie.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” I had to be careful that I didn’t tell her it was because I was her adopted mother.
“Why’s that then?”
“Because I look after you and have got to recognise your body language and a few other things about you.”
“Like a mother would?” Oops, here we go.
“Like a scientist who’s trained to notice things, and someone who cares about you.”
“Which is more than she does–so I’m not upset.”
“I see, so the red eyes are caused by something else, are they?”
“Yeah–hayfever.”
“I see, so why were you cuddling with your da–um Simon?”
“I was cuddling with my Daddy, because he’s a good cuddler.”
“He is that, I won’t disagree, but I will disagree about what you’re saying about your mother.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I shall do that,” I smiled, “I just wanted to know how you felt about things and if you wanted to send her some flowers.”
“What for?”
“Perhaps to say, that even if you’re unsure if she cares about you, you care for her.”
“Do I?” she blushed.
“Please don’t mess me about, Julie. I’m going to make some sandwiches. If you want some, come down in ten minutes–okay?”
“Yeah, okay, I heard you.”
“Yes, and don’t have that on too loud–you’ll damage your ears.”
“As if you cared.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I care.”
“Do you–thought you weren’t my mother.”
“This argument is facile, I’m going to make lunch–be there.”
“Yes, Mummy, no Mummy, three bags bloody full, MUMMY,” she yelled at me as I left her room.
“What was all that about?” asked Simon as I came into the kitchen.
“Teenagers, that’s what.”
“Oh. She’s still upset then, is she?”
“She’s pretending she isn’t.”
“What ever for?”
“She’s a teenager.”
“So? I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”
“Fine. What would you like in your sandwich?”
I prepared some sandwiches and when Julie didn’t come down, Simon went to see why. He returned a few moments later with her in tow. I decided not to say anything because I thought it would just add fuel to her fire.
We ate in silence until Simon asked, “Did it work?”
“Did what work, darling?” I replied.
“The distance healing?”
Julie stopped eating she gave me a very funny look and said, “I wondered if you’d try it.”
“Try what, sweetheart?”
“You know what I mean, don’t be so mysterious.”
“I’m not being mysterious.”
“You tried to help that old bag who gave birth to me.”
“I wonder if Puddin’ will ever feel the same about you, Stella?”
Simon smirked but Stella stared at me, “If she does, I’ll tell her you were her natural mother.”
“Her birth certificate won’t agree with that.”
“Shush, I told her she was hatched by you from a dormouse egg.”
Simon sniggered and even Julie smirked. “Be a nice trick if I could do it.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“So, are you going to heal this old witch or not?” Stella was very direct much of the time.
“I don’t know if she’d let me near her.”
“Or me,” voiced Julie, “and I’m not pretending to be a boy just to please her.”
I went back to my own mother’s illness and how she’d died in front of me as Cathy. It is one of the saddest moments of my life.
The phone rang, and I went to answer it. I spoke to the person for a couple of minutes and then went back to the lunch table. “That was Tamsin, a friend of Maureen, who is now back in Pompey at the QA.”
“Oh, can I go and see her?” asked Julie.
I was about to correct her but thought better of it and stopped myself. “Yes, we’ll go this evening. Apparently she’s asking after us.”
“Oh great, what shall we take her?”
“I don’t know, how about we have a quick squint in Asda for a nightdress or some slippers?” I suggested.
“Great idea, Mummy, when will we go?”
“If Stella will sort out the wreckage, we could go on the way to collect the girls.”
“Good ol’ Stella,” she muttered, “Leave it to Stella.”
Simon nearly fell off his perch at her lament–apart from sorting Puddin’, she’d done very little–no wonder she’s always tired, she doesn’t do anything to alleviate her boredom.
I went to freshen my makeup and check my hair, and Julie did much the same, we left ten minutes later. In the supermarket, we found some nighties but couldn’t decide on Maureen’s size. I thought she would have lost weight, but Julie was sure lack of exercise would cause her to balloon, we compromised, buying a very loose one and one that was a bit more fitted. I also found some toiletries and a sponge bag.
They were hardly super presents, but we bought some wrapping paper and a card, and I nominated Julie to wrap them while I made dinner. She shrugged and didn’t notice when I bought two bunches of flowers.
After collecting the three (dor)mouseketeers, we drove home and Trisha and Livvie went to help Julie wrapping things, while Meems went to sit with her daddy. Simon loves it.
After dinner, where everyone helped to clean up, Julie and I went to see Maureen, with a card signed by all the children and the bunches of flowers. We parked at the hospital and began the long trek to the wards from the car park. I wandered into a ward and Julie followed me, then she stalled when she saw her father sitting at a bedside.
“What are we doing in here?” Julie hissed at me and stopped dead in her tracks.
“Bringing this to your mother.” I handed the flowers to her dad.
“Thanks,” he said, “I’ll pop them in a vase. Hello, Julie, you alright?”
She shrugged, “Yeah, s’pose so. How is she?”
“She sleeps most of the time, I’m glad you could come to see her–I’ll wake her up.”
“No–don’t,” urged Julie.
“Leave her sleep, Brad, Julie go the other side of her and lay your hands very lightly on her.” Shaking her head and mumbling, she did as I asked. I glanced at the bed head, her first name was Shirley. “Just relax, Shirley, let yourself sleep because it will help you feel better. Besides, you’re so sleepy you can’t open your eyes even if you try.
“I want you to concentrate on my voice–I am an angel who has been asked to help you get better by a young lady called Julie, whom I believe you know. She is very worried about you and loves you dearly. I am going to help your body heal itself, and also your mind, because it would seem that the bitterness you’ve carried along with you for so long has brought about this illness. I’m going to touch your forehead and you will let go all of the bitterness and hurt you’ve held on to for so long. There, feel it go and suddenly you feel so much lighter and younger.
“Your god has asked me to help you to stop it returning, so we’re going to collect it all up in a sack and tip it in the river which is flowing beneath the bridge we’re standing on. Go on, tip it all into the water and watch it washing away into the sea. It sinks and breaks up, so it can’t come back. Your god doesn’t want you to be sad and bitter all these years, he wants you to spread happiness and kindness amongst your friends and family. As a proof of this, see the blue light coming down from the sun which is shining on you. As it reaches you, feel its warmth–the warmth of love and compassion, coming straight from your god to you, via me the angel of healing.
“You will sleep now, but you will remember you were visited by an angel who helped you to literally see the light, the light and love of your god. Sleep now and be healed.”
I nodded to Julie who kissed her mum on the cheek and walked away quickly. I shook hands with her dad as he came back with the flowers.
“How’d it go, with her an’ Julie?”
“That’s to be seen, but she’ll make a full recovery in the next couple of weeks, and I think you’ll find she finds something to help her discover a new zest for life.”
“If that’s the case, it’ll be a ruddy miracle.”
“Oh they do happen,” I winked at him.
“When you’re about, they seem to.”
I put my fingers to my lips, “Hush, keep it to yourself. It’s our little secret.” He nodded and I followed Julie out to the corridor.
“Is she gonna be okay?”
“Better than that, she’s going to become a born again human being.”
Julie looked at me, “You what?”
“I’ve taken away the blockage which has stopped her from being a full human most of her life. Did you know she was abused by her uncle?”
“No–I don’t think anyone does?”
“I’ve taken away that pain–it’s been there since she was thirteen. She now has a chance to grow anew. Of course it’s up to her, but I think you’ll find an improvement.”
“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” She threw her arms around me.
“Careful, you’ll ruffle my feathers.”
(aka Bike) Part 1014 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Are we going to see Maureen, now?” asked Julie.
“That was the plan.” I spoke as we walked towards the ward she was on. “Of course we might not recognise her because she’s had some plastic surgery.”
“Yes, she was badly beaten wasn’t she?”
“The brutality shown by those morons was indescribable,” I felt my anger rising and walked on quickly to try and abate it. “Still if she’s back in Pompey, then her neurological stuff must be okay.”
“Yeah, Mummy, or she’d still be in Southampton, wouldn’t she?”
“Well that’s my reasoning.” I felt more guilt than anything–I’d not been to Southampton as much as I’d liked. Still I suppose the episode with the bandits had taken some of my attention.
We entered the ward asked for Maureen and were directed to a private room. We walked to it, knocked and entered, “Only the posh can afford private rooms,” I said as we wandered in.
Our mood changed moments later. Maureen was sitting in a wheelchair, with a bag attached to a catheter. Her face was still bruised but actually looked much better than when I’d last seen it.
“Well look who’s ‘ere?” she said and Julie rushed to hug her. “Hello, ma’am, good to see you again.”
I walked over and kissed her on the cheek, “You too, you look a bit better than the last time I saw you.”
“Probably, the surgeon was pretty clever, given me some cheekbones and a narrower jaw line.”
“So I see, yes very good. What’s with the wheelchair?”
“Yeah, that I’m still coming to terms with it, ma’am, you’re goin’ to ‘ave to tell your pa in law, I can’t do ‘is banks.”
“Why?” asked Julie.
“I’m afraid the ol’ legs don’t work no more.”
“Why?”
“They’re not quite sure, can’t decide whether it’s me back or me brain. I said it’s gotta be me back ‘cos me brain’s never worked.”
Julie tittered, then I saw a tear run down her face, “Can you fix her, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, I can but try.”
“Try what?” asked Maureen.
“Mummy does miracles, don’t you, Mummy–I can help, too.”
I ran my hands over Maureen’s head and down her back, which was difficult in the chair. “No, it’s no good, I can’t feel what I’m after, could you lie on the bed?”
“Yeah, if you gi’s an ‘and.”
Julie and I helped Maureen pull herself out of the chair and on to the bed, Then we hauled her over on to her face. I then scanned her spine with my hands. “It’s here, something’s happened here,” I prodded her lumbar area.
“I bashed it when I was a youngster, fell down some steps on my first ship, HMS Portsmouth, believe it or not?”
“So it’s an old injury–I don’t know if I can do much for that, Maureen.”
“Please, Mummy you must try, I’ll help if I can.”
“Okay, sweetheart, you hold Maureen’s hands, and see if we can get a two pronged attack going.”
I watched as Julie held on to her friend’s much larger hands. Then I placed my hands on Maureen’s lower back and she jumped.
“Bloody ‘ell that’s ‘ot,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Is it? Sorry, I don’t have much control over things.” I kept firing in the energy.
“Oh, it’s not so bad now. Just like you lit a fire on me back.”
“Yeah, only a small fire though, in case it sets off the smoke detectors,” I joked.
I worked on the affected part then moved up and down a little from that site to work on other bits.
“Cor, that’s cold, ma’am.”
“Sorry, Maureen, I don’t have a temperature regulator. Okay, that’s it for now.”
We turned her over on her back and she looked at me peculiarly. “What have you done?”
“Nothing much, why?”
“I can feel a bit in me feet.”
“Don’t tell anyone who did it.”
“Why, what’s gonna ‘appen.”
“I’m not entirely sure, what I’ve tried to do is weld the nerve fibres together again.”
“So why couldn’t the surgeons have done that?”
I shrugged and Julie said, “Because they’re not angels, Mummy is.”
“Let’s see them wings, then?” Maureen smiled at me.
“I need to go, I’m afraid–I feel shattered. I’ll be back tomorrow to see if I can do any more.”
“Can I come too?” asked Julie.
“Probably, we’ll have to see–if you do you’ll need to give me a hand round the house.”
“Yeah, course I will.”
“Oh we brought you some nighties, any washing to do?”
“No ma’am, Tamsin’s doin’ that for me. Thanks for what you done.”
“Do you need any books or anything to read.”
“Nah, I’m struggling with one already.”
“I picked it up, goodness, The Republic.”
“Who’s that by?” asked Julie.
“Plato.”
“Who?” asked Julie.
“A Greek philosopher died about 350BC.”
“347, ma’am.”
“What nearly two and half thousand years ago?” Julie’s maths was better than her general knowledge, slightly. “So what did he philosophee–ise, then?”
“Lots of moral stuff, was concerned with concepts of controlling the emotions with the mind and stuff like that.”
“How come, I’ve never heard of him?”
“Ever had a platonic friendship?”
“Yeah, course.”
“That comes from Plato.”
“Oh, hey that’s kewl.”
“Arguably the more progressive forms of most religions are neo-platonism.”
“Crikey, Mummy, you know everything, don’t you?”
“Far from it. If you asked me detailed questions, I couldn’t give you many answers, but I know a little about lots of things.”
“I think you’re so clever and wise.” Julie put her arm around mine in a partly proprietary manner. “And my loco parent.”
“Hey less of the loco.” I smacked Julie on the bum and she squeaked, then laughed. “So what’s with the philosophy?” I asked, rather rudely I thought afterwards.
“I thought if I can’t use me body, better make me brain a bit quicker, an’ Tamsin ‘ad this book so she brung it in f’ me. Funny thing is, one of the docs is a bit of a toffee-nose, well, since ‘e seen me readin’ Plato, ‘is attitude ‘as changed. Asked me what I thought of proost. I thought ‘e meant some French beer–one of them gnat’s pee ones, so I told ‘im I thought it was a bit watery.”
I burst out laughing, “What did he say to that?”
“Not a lot but he said ‘e found it very heavy, and ‘e left ‘cos the consultant came round. Anyway, ma’am what’s so funny?”
“Proust is a rather verbose Frenchman, who was a novelist and sort of philosopher, very into Existentialism.”
“Oh, I done the wrong thing then.”
“No, if you told him you thought Proust was a lightweight, he’s probably too frightened to ask you why, in case he can’t understand your answer.”
At this we all had a good laugh, and then Julie and I helped Maureen back into the chair and left.
“Is she gonna get better?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, I hope so, but I’m not sure–I’ll keep trying though.”
“Thank you, Mummy,” she said pulling my arm round her as we walked back to the car.
(aka Bike) Part 1015 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
We spent a day of frantically doing the chores, so that when the kids came back from school we were able to feed and water them, and ourselves and then get ready to go and see Maureen.
The weather had turned warmer and I was able to wear a skirt without a draught blowing up my nether regions–okay it keeps them aerated but it also freezes your bum off–despite the layer of fat around it.
In fact I wore a dress and tarted things up with some makeup and bit of jewellery. The dress was a tiny floral print in a cornflower blue, with a square neck that showed a bit of cleavage, it was sleeveless and fitted at the waist, coming to just above my knee. I had a white linen jacket with it in case it got colder when we came home.
So compared to my epitome of decorum look, Julie looked like she was going clubbing–her bag was big enough to carry a club too. She had on a sparkly red vest thing with a black pelmet skirt, footless tights and ballet type shoes. She also carried a jacket, in black needlecord.
We clomped out to the car, despite the flat shoes she was wearing, they made a noise on hard surfaces, my white wedge sandals didn’t–well not nearly so much.
“You look nice tonight, Mummy.”
“Thank you sweetheart, so do you.” I glanced at her large sequin covered bag. “What’s that sticking out of your bag?” I pointed to the sheets of paper projecting from the top of her bag.
“Oh that,” she blushed and pushed it back into her bag, “something for Maureen.”
“Like what?”
“Promise you won’t laugh.”
“Why should I laugh?”
“I looked up that book by Plato on the internet, and I printed off what it said on Wiki for Maureen. I think she was struggling.”
“Did you look up Proust as well?”
“Yeah, I did a bit on that too. Why would anyone want to read all that stuff?”
“Some people enjoy that sort of stuff–I mean, why would anyone want to count dormice?”
“I dunno–um, to see if any were missing?”
I laughed and she blushed. “That’s a valid reason, but maybe the reason for them missing is important, like they’re indicators of what we’re doing to this planet.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“I thought so, here we are–goodness if I spend much time here they’ll let me use the staff car park.”
“Is it any closer to the wards?”
“Probably not.”
“Could they designate one for visiting angel?”
I snorted and then roared with laughter. Anyone hearing us would have thought Julie just got me out of the asylum. We continued in high spirits until we got to Maureen’s room. She was reading her book and looking perplexed.
“I can hear the wheels turning,” I said as we went in, “Shall I bring some oil tomorrow?”
“No, bring me someone who can ‘elp me understand this–it’s bloody ‘ard going.”
“Nothing that’s worth having comes without some effort,” I said and smirked. “I have the answer to a maiden’s prayer.”
“What’s that then?”
“Little Miss Julie, who is now steeped and well versed in all the intricacies of Plato and his Republic. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
She blushed like a holly berry. “Um–no I don’t, but I did a printout for you from the internet which might help you.” She passed over the sheaf of paper.
“Bless you, girl,” Maureen hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.
“So how’s the back?” I asked putting down my bag.
“I dunno, but I’ve ‘ad like ragin’ toothache all day.”
“Toothache?”
“Yeah, in me big toes.”
“Ah, obviously a case of foot and mouth. I brought a gun just in case we need to shoot you.”
“The docs seemed quite pleased when I told them, but gave me some pills for it–didn’t do no good though.”
“Okay, so we’re possibly getting somewhere–want some more healing?”
“Like I ‘ave to answer that.”
“I’m afraid so, it proves I’m not assaulting you.”
“Well, yeah, course I do, ma’am.”
Once more we helped her onto the bed and I pushed the blue light into her spine and once more she complained of heat and cold. The toothache was now in her whole foot.
“What are y’doin’ to me, ma’am?”
“Trying to weld the nerve fibres together I think.”
“ ‘Ow appropriate for a welder.”
“Actually, what I’m doing is heat treating your backside so the next time you cough your knickers will fall off.”
“You couldn’t arrange for something else to fall off, could ya?”
“Unfortunately not, I only act as a channel for the energy, what happens after that–isn’t my decision.”
“That’s bloomin’ funny then innit?”
“Not really, it means I can’t abuse it.”
“What’s to stop it abusin’ you, ma’am?”
“I don’t know other than I trust it implicitly.”
“That’s good enough f’ me then, ma’am.”
We were still chatting when a strange man arrived. “Is one of you, um, Julie, is it?”
“That’s me,” said Julie, stepping closer to me.
“What’s the problem, Mister um?” I challenged.
“I’m Dr Wetherspoon, and you are?”
“I’m Cathy Cameron, Julie’s foster mother.”
“Ah, look I know all about Julie from her dad. Her mum was very ill but is making huge progress since she visited. I wonder if she could do so again.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Julie.
“Look I know you’re changing into a girl, but your dad knows that and I think he’d recognise you, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t me who improved my mother.”
“Who was it then–your twin sister?” he spoke the last bit as a joke but he was quite sarcastic.
“It was I,” I said putting my arm round Julie’s waist in support of her.
“Oh–I thought she didn’t get on with you?”
“She doesn’t–in fact she hates my guts.”
“So how could you have helped her?”
“You mean beside spontaneously combusting while she watched–I suppose by talking to her.”
“So you spoke to her and she got better?”
I nodded.
“Just like that?”
I nodded again.
“So you’re like some horse-whisperer for people?”
“Yeah, that’s as good a description as any.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I can’t remember, why?”
“Because it did something to her that I couldn’t–I just wanted to know what it was.”
“I told her I was an angel who’d been sent to heal her, and told her to get better.”
“You’re sure that’s all?”
“As far as I can remember, why?”
“She spoke about there being a blue light which surrounded her.”
“I must have told her to see it.”
“Are you some sort of psychotherapist?”
“No, I’m a biologist.”
“She’s an angel, really,” interjected Julie.
“Is she,” he scoffed.
“Yes, she’s healed my mother, she saved my father earlier on.”
I tried to stop her but she ignored me.
“She saved me months ago and helped me be myself, she saved Maureen when she was beaten up, and is helping her to walk again–she’s saved loads of people in this hospital.”
“The mystery healing woman. I am delighted to meet you, could you see some more of my patients?”
“I’m sorry–I can’t and I’d be obliged if you’d keep this to yourself–I have five other children besides Julie, and I don’t think having the press chasing me would do them any good at all.”
“I see–but think of all the good you could do?”
“I do frequently, and I also think of all the bad things that could happen to me and my children because of it. I have a life too–you’re a physician, do you work twenty four seven?”
“No of course not, everyone needs some rest.”
“If you spread rumours of miracles or mysterious healing, I’ll be pursued every moment of the day by people looking for miracles.”
“I see–okay, I’ll say nothing, except it’s a crying shame you couldn’t help more people.”
He offered me his hand and I shook it gently. At the same time I was aware of the pain he had in his neck.
“Bloody hell–my whiplash, it’s easier.”
“If you breathe a word to anyone about this, it will come back ten times worse.”
“Is that a threat, Mrs Cameron?”
“No, a prediction.”
“Read tea-leaves too, do you?”
“No, nor do I patronise people. Good day Dr Weathervane.”
“Wetherspoon, Dr Wetherspoon.”
“Quite, good day.”
“D’you think ‘e’ll keep ‘is word?” asked Maureen.
“I don’t know.”
“Will you really make his neck ten times worse, Mummy?”
“No, of course not.”
“So that was an empty threat then?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know that does he?”
Julie and Maureen giggled.
(aka Bike) Part 1016 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning I’d only got home from taking the girls to school when the phone rang, I picked it up and carried it into the kitchen where I continued nuking the mug of milk to which I was going to add some coffee in a moment.
“Hello?”
“Cathy?” said a male voice.
“Yes, who’s that?”
“Sam Rose.”
“How’s my favourite paediatrician this morning?”
“Well, and you?”
“I’m fine thanks.” I poured in a small amount of Tom’s sticky brown fluid and stirred the milky mess.
“I hear you met a colleague of mine and sorted out his whiplash.”
“That wouldn’t be Dr Weathercock, would it?”
“I suspect that just about sums him up, but he tells me you’ve been performing miracles on his patients.”
“He didn’t tell you who it was then?”
“No–only someone who’d had a stroke and who’d been visited by their daughter and seemed to make magical progress by the next day both physically and mentally.”
“She’s Julie’s mother.”
“Oh.”
“It’s gone quiet.” I remarked because it had.
“Sorry, I was of the opinion that she was the equivalent of the wicked witch of the west, and you’re making her better?”
“I go where the healing energy leads me, and I try to be non-judgemental about it.”
“Okay, I was being judgemental, I apologise.”
“I wondered if I most wanted to strangle her or help her, the question was answered for me. I saw into her past and realised it had much to say about her present.”
“It does for all of us; bad experiences can have negative outcomes in later life.”
“Yes, whereas positive ones don’t usually.”
“They can to some extent, they used to say you can’t praise children too much–well I think you can. I have had in the last couple of years two housemen who I suspect might have been praised too much by their mothers–they were both useless and very lazy. I was glad to see the back of them when they went off to do their internship with another specialty–hopefully surgery.”
“Why surgery?”
“Surgeons tend not to tolerate anything they haven’t arranged, they are control freaks–in the nicest possible way, they don’t like finding lumps and things they weren’t expecting or have bleeds that shouldn’t happen. Theatre is a bit like a restaurant kitchen and tempers get frayed. Those lazy youngsters might learn a bit about themselves in a hot theatre while being encouraged by the consultant to go and take a running jump.”
“I see, and all done in fluent old English.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Only as the main attraction.”
“Pity–but back to business, I have spoken with Dr Wetherspoon and impressed upon him the need for his silence in the matter of Julie’s mother and his neck–he said you’d make it ten times worse if he said a peep about it.”
“Oh did I? I can’t remember that, but it might have happened.”
“I just thought I’d let you know, he was really pleased with his own cure, apparently it’s been a nuisance for some time.”
“Oh good; I like a satisfied customer.”
“If you’ve got some spare energy–I have one or two very sick children who could do with your magical touch.”
“I said I wasn’t going to do any more.”
“I know, but these kids are really nice and they don’t deserve the lot fate has handed them.”
“It doesn’t always work.”
“Neither does my stuff.”
“Will you be there this evening?”
“I could be, what time?”
“After seven.”
“See you then.”
“Sam...”
“Yes?”
“If it does work, the parents must say nothing.”
“If you can give them back their children, I think they’ll agree to anything.”
“Dress it up as if it was a new treatment, not a miracle.”
“Okay–I’ll tell them a little white lie.”
“What have you told them so far?”
“Nothing, except I can’t do anymore.”
“I’ll leave it with you then.”
“Yeah, seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
I hate to see children suffer, it’s bad enough seeing adults in trouble–but I didn’t want to fail, having perhaps given either the kids or their parents a false hope. I mean, the whole idea is still ludicrous to me–it’s impossible under the rules of science as I know them. I know we’re full of static electricity and electromagnetic stuff but being able to focus it to do certain things seems bizarre–but that’s what I think happens.
When we arrived at the hospital, I sent Julie to go and see Maureen and see what she could do on her own.
“What, like by myself?”
“That’s usually what going on your own means.”
“But I can’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I like, just do.”
“Go and try, you might be pleasantly surprised.” I hugged her and went off to meet with Sam Rose in the children’s ward. I love kids but seeing sick ones always makes me feel so helpless for them.
“Cathy, good to see you again.” He embraced me and kissed me on the cheek, then winked as he stepped back.
“Nice to see you again, Sam.”
“We have two children I’d like you to try and help, one has an inoperable brain tumour, the other AML which isn’t responding to our treatment. The parents are here because if you can’t help–the kids won’t last more than a day or two.”
“No pressure then?” I threw back at him.
“Sorry, but you are their last hope and I’ve warned the parents that what we’re going to try is controversial, and very likely won’t help, but it just might. They want you to go for it.”
“What about the children?”
“I told them there was a very beautiful lady coming to see them to try and make them better.”
“Better tell she couldn’t come–I’m here instead.”
“Cathy, never put yourself down. You are a gorgeous and very lovely woman with a talent given to very few.”
“Nah, I can teach most people to count dormice.”
“This is serious,” he said looking at me.
“I know–okay, let’s do it.”
I met the young lady with AML first, bone transplants hadn’t worked, nor had the chemo. I sat and talked with her while her parents went for a coffee and a walk. Her name was Susie, and she was seven.
“Are you really a lady?” she asked me.
“Do I look like a man?” I replied wondering if she’d seen through me.
“No, silly, I mean, Dr Sam said you were lady someone or other.”
“Oh did he? Yes I am Lady Catherine, but you can call me Cathy, because all my friends do.”
“I’d like that, Cathy. Gosh, your hand feels very cold.”
“Does it?”
She nodded and I watched her slowly close her eyes and drift off to sleep. For a moment I thought the energy was releasing her from her body, until I saw her chest continue to rise and fall. My eyes were bleary with tears–why does this have to happen to such innocents? It seems so unfair.
I shook myself–compassion but no involvement. Treat this like a job, and do it as well as you can. I imagined myself able to see inside her body and also able to differentiate between good and bad cells. The former I nurtured, the latter I zapped with a blue laser. Apparently, I spent an hour with her, after which she seemed to wake up and smiled at me.
“You’re not a lady are you?”
“I thought we’d agreed I was?”
“You’re an angel, really, aren’t you?”
“Am I?”
“Yes, while I was asleep, I saw you flying with other angels to fight my leukaemia.”
“Did you now?”
“Yes.”
“Can we keep it our little secret? Because if anyone else finds out, I might not be allowed here again.”
“ ’Kay,” she smiled at me.
“Okay, Susie, you might feel a bit yucky later, but tomorrow you will start to get better.”
“Will you come and see me again, Cathy?”
“No, I’m only allowed one visit.”
“That’s sad.”
“It’s the rules, I’m afraid. Now, sleep and feel better tomorrow.”
“ ’Kay,” she said sleepily and yawned. I left her to sleep and avoided her parents by a few seconds.
The next child was a toddler, a child of three years and a few weeks, who had developed some rare sort of tumour of the brain. They had tried chemo and radiotherapy, but being so young, they couldn’t really blast it with either without killing him or damaging his heart so badly he’d die anyway.
He was sedated because of the pain he was usually in. His parents were asked to go for a coffee while I worked. It seemed the best thing to avoid contact with them, because if it didn’t work, we would each feel less upset with the other. To see desperate parents is something that wrenches even the most hardened heart almost as much as the sick children.
Sam came in with me. “If you can’t do anything, I don’t think this little mite will be with us this time tomorrow.”
“Sam, please.” I felt tears fill my eyes.
“Give it your best shot, Cathy.”
I nodded, too choked to even speak.
I looked at the little boy in front of me, he was on a drip, but I managed to lift him and cuddle him as I’m sure his parents did. I wanted to surround him in blue cotton wool and hug him.
Although sleeping, he snuggled into me and I sat nursing him, my hand holding his resting head as he lay cuddled into me. I felt the energy surrounding the two of us–a new experience, and was it a good or a bad thing? Was this little guy going to make it, or was it helping me to ease his last hours?
I almost felt it was doing the latter and I found myself pleading with it to give him a chance at life. Okay, I was getting involved, and I know thousands of kids his age die every day, especially in the third world. But I’d been involved, and I wasn’t going to walk away from it without a fight.
I became angry with the energy–how dare it use me without any say from me? If it wanted my help, it had to help me. Save this child and I’d be more amenable to doing what it wanted in future.
I felt something at my heart, like it was a hand squeezing tighter and tighter. I felt dizzy and sweaty and I could hardly breathe. I realised if I let the child go, I’d feel better again, as if the energy was bluffing me–him or me.
I clung onto the child with the last ounce of strength I could find, if the Grim Reaper was coming, he’d have to snatch this child from my arms, and I was holding on tight. I could feel everything becoming distant and I fell back, still clutching the baby as everything went black.
(aka Bike) Part 1017 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I saw myself in monochrome clinging to the baby being approached by an ancient hag. There was no scythe, beloved of pictures of death, just this old woman with an intense stare of the coldest eyes I have ever seen.
I had faced death a few times before, maybe more than someone my age should encounter, so it was only a matter of time before my luck ran out. I felt her trying to take the baby from me by sheer will, and to my disgust my arms were weakening.
There were no words, just a battle of wills, the old woman versus me, the young–and she seemed to be winning. It was almost as if the baby was made of ferrous metal and she had a magnet and was drawing him out from my weakening grasp.
My arms were tiring and it seemed ridiculous that an old woman could have such strength, but she continued drawing the child. I redoubled my efforts and wracked my brains to consider how I could neutralise some of her strength. I began to visualise a rope of blue light around me, holding the baby to me and anchoring me to the bed.
She seemed stumped, but I wasn’t celebrating yet, she wasn’t done. She pulled a knife from the bag she was carrying which I hadn’t noticed previously, but which was just the right size for the baby, so she would carry off the tot in her bag. Could she carry me in there? Perhaps, it might be a stretchable thing.
She menaced us with the knife, threatening to cut the ropes. I imagined the light surrounding us in a shell which was resistant to her attack. I knew that I had to keep up the visualisation, or she’d breach it and we’d be lost. I needed to attack, not just defend, because all the time I was growing more tired and she seemed unaffected.
I imagined a hand moving out of the blue light, which snatched at her bag. She turned to slash at it with her knife, and as she did so, I imagined a blue rain falling upon her. She began to retreat, then pulled an umbrella from her bag.
The blue hand pulled the umbrella from her, and she slashed and cut it with the knife. It fell to the ground and faded away. I imagined a blue laser which I fired at the umbrella and destroyed it. she began to get wet from the blue rain and ran away again–I fired a light of love at her and hit her in the chest. She fell and I saw a huge hole appear in her. Although I felt compassion, I threw more love at her and she began to look like a slug does when you put salt on it, she writhed and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
The baby began to become restless and I woke to find Sam Rose and a nurse, one ready to take the baby, the other to help me. I had a sphygmo cuff on my arm and a monitor on my finger.
“Crikey, Cathy, you had us worried, you had virtually no blood pressure, and your heart had practically stopped.”
“How’s the little one?”
“His vitals look as good as they’ve done for days. I’m sending him for a scan in the morning, see if your magic has worked.”
“I don’t ever want to do this again, Sam–it’s too difficult.”
“I’ll try not to ask you.”
“No, never again, Sam–my own children need me to see them through to adulthood. If I die saving someone else, who’s going to look after my kids?”
He shrugged and shook his head.
“No–my priorities have to lie with them first. I think both your children will make it, but I had to fight hard for both of them–I can’t do it anymore, it takes too much out of me.”
“Thanks for doing what you’ve done, I know their parents will be delighted.”
“I hope so, I’m going to collect Julie and go home.”
“She went home hours ago–it’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“What?”
“We didn’t like to disturb you, it looked like you were both locked away somewhere else.”
“Yeah, on the astrals, if they exist.”
“Astrals?” he looked confused by my reply.
“The astral plane–oh never mind, let’s just say I was lucky this time.”
“You are a wonderful woman, Cathy.”
“It’s funny, people only seem to say that when they want something.”
“Now would I do that to you?”
“The answer is no.” I stretched and pulling my jacket on, I walked out of the fire door to avoid the happy parents, and went on down to the car park and drove home. Although shattered, I felt a sense of achievement. I’d actually prevented the death of a child–not a bad day’s work, even for me.
I didn’t go up to bed. Instead I lay on one of the settees in the lounge and set thealarm on my phone to ring at seven. It seemed to ring far too soon, and I had to prise open my eyelids where the mascara had stuck them together. I made a mental note to remove my makeup before sleeping next time.
I made myself some tea to try and regain some sense of humanity, because I felt like a zombie. While I drank it, Tom appeared. “Whit happened tae ye last nicht?”
“Oh don’t, Daddy, I’m knackered–I’ll explain later.”
“Julie telt us ye wis healin’ some bairns.”
“I was, now I need a shower to try and wake up, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Aye, but ye ne’er dae, dae ye?”
“There’s nothing much to tell, I did some work on two little ones, a girl with leukaemia, and a boy with a brain tumour. I hope they’re going to be a lot better now, but I can’t be sure.”
“Whit aboot yer ain bairns?”
“Yes, I’m sorry it went on a bit. I didn’t think it would take so long, and I suppose I knew you and Simon would look after them. I did mean to be home, I’m sorry.” The tiredness and the unexpected criticism brought tears, and in the next moment he was holding me as I wept on his shoulder. “They were going to die–I couldn’t let that happen, could I?”
“Och, I’m sorry, pet, I didnae mean tae upset ye. Of course ye did thae richt thing.”
“But I did neglect them, didn’t I? I’m a lousy mother.”
“No ye didnae, we wis here, an’ yer bairns wis guid, like a’ways.”
“Thanks, Daddy, for being here for them and for me.”
“It’s ma pleasure,” he said, hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. “Julie said Maureen wid be hame soon.”
“Oh that’s good news, I think our teenage tearaway is turning into a nice young woman, don’t you?”
“Aye, she’s a bonnie lassie.”
“I must go and shower.” I went up, and after removing my makeup, jumped in the shower and hoped the warm water would wake me up a bit.
“Where were you all night–you dirty stop out?” Simon barked at me when I went into the bedroom to dress.
“I was with a young man most of the night, we held each other very tight and whispered sweet nothings, why–what were you doing?”
“Trying to work out how to set the washing machine, we had to get Trish to come and show us.”
I snorted, “Well that just about typifies a certain type of man, doesn’t it? Why were you putting the washing on–you don’t usually?”
“Stel had nappies to do, so we made up a load, you know ...”
“You could have done a half load wash–there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
He glanced at the clock, “It’s half seven, what time have the kids got to be in school?”
“Oh poo, I’m going to be late,” I groaned as I stepped into my knickers, and nearly fell over. “Get the boys up, will you?”
(aka Bike) Part 1018 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Some days I wondered why I loved Simon, he could be a totally, self centred, unthinking twit–and that was before he was awake. On other days, I couldn’t understand how I could live without him. Today, was a case in point. He saw how tired I was, so he not only got the boys up but took the girls to school for me, while I collapsed into bed for another hour.
I woke about eleven feeling still sluggish but better than I’d been earlier. I got up and strolled downstairs and heard voices from the kitchen.
“You’ll have to tell her,” said Stella.
“Why, she hasn’t noticed so far,” reasoned Simon.
“You mean, yet–because she will.”
“I might be able to replace it by then.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’ve been on the internet and had some interesting replies from possible sources.”
“Si, it’s almost irreplaceable.”
“Give me a few days, let’s see what I can find.”
“And if she notices?”
“She won’t–just keep her out of the dining room.”
“You’d be better telling her and getting it over with,” advised my sister in law.
“What? She’ll kill me–you know what she’s like when she’s angry–a grumpy tiger would be a pushover compared to her.”
This conversation confused me. What was in the dining room they didn’t want me to see? There was nothing of mine in there, it was all Tom’s furniture–and what about the washing machine, last night? What is going on?
I slipped into the dining room, everything seemed in order, although there was a mark on the table and a smell of fresh polish. I looked at the table again, the red velvet table centre and the silk flower arrangement looked okay–well the flower arrangement needed a bit of tidying up but it didn’t take me very long.
It was an assortment of different coloured roses which complimented my mother’s damask tablecloth, which had been given to her by my grandmother. It was probably sixty or seventy years old and one of the few family heirlooms I’d brought down here.
I closed the door quietly behind me and walked into the kitchen, the two conspirators almost jumped out of their skins. “Hello, Babes, I didn’t hear you come down–feel better?”
“Yes thanks, and thanks for taking the girls to school, I really appreciate it.” I glanced out of the window–“Looks like a good drying day, I might do some washing–anything you want doing?” I asked them both and they each looked guilty of something very serious.
“Simon?” I asked enjoying the chase.
“NO, um–I mean, no thanks.”
“Rubbish, there’s stuff in the linen basket upstairs, plus anything Tom’s dumped in there. Stella?”
“I’m okay, Cathy, just a few smalls and I’ll do them by hand later.”
“Okay–I’ll go and get the linen basket.”
“I’ll get it, Babes. Stel, make Cathy some tea–c’mon sis.”
This sudden concern for my well being was very touching but it seemed a bit OTT seeing as I hadn’t actually died or been seriously ill. But it was good fun seeing Simon trying to make up for whatever he’d done. Oh well, I’ll play a little longer and then beat it out of him later. Only joking–I’ll tickle him to death instead.
I drank the tea Stella made and thanked her for it and Simon for bringing down the washing. He insisted I show him how to sort it and so on. This was getting sillier and sillier. “Why the sudden need to be able to do the washing?” I enquired.
“Well, Babes, you never know if you’re ill or called away by the UN or whatever, and the girls and the lads will need some clean knickers, won’t they?”
“I don’t think the boys will need clean knickers exactly, but the girls certainly will.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t mean it as literally as you’ve taken it.”
“So as I’m not dead or on the way to New York, how come you’re playing Chinese laundries?”
“Eh?”
“Why are you standing in front of the washing machine with one of my bras in your hand?”
“Oh yeah, I was just wondering if this went in with the whites?”
“What colour is it?”
He held it up, “Um–white?”
“Does that answer your question?”
“Yeah, I suppose it does.” He chucked it in the machine and picked out some of his white shirts and put those in as well.
“There’s matching panties for that bra,” I told him.
“Is there?”
“Simon, don’t be so dumb–you bought me the set–remember?”
“Did I? I have good taste, don’t I?”
“Exquisite–I mean you chose me, didn’t you, unlike the lingerie.”
“Of course, I did,” he hugged me and we kissed.
“I chose it, you just paid for it. Mother’s day last year–bring back any memories?”
“No. No it doesn’t–are you sure it was me?”
“No, it might have been my lover, I’ll have to introduce you sometime.”
“If he’s got as good taste as I have, I’m sure I shall like him.”
“I don’t know, he’s very hot blooded–you wouldn’t find him sorting through my smalls–unless it was taking them off me before he made mad passionate love.”
“I see, how long does this take?” he asked pointing at the machine.
“Can be an hour or so, why?”
“Switch it on then, Babes, and let’s go upstairs.”
“I don’t need to strip the bed, I did that last weekend.”
“It isn’t the bed I’m planning on stripping...”
.
If this was an old fashioned film, we’d be lying there all aglow sharing a fag, but as neither of us smokes, and the machine was coming to the end of its cycle I started to get up.
“Where you going?” he asked as I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Ugh, the bathroom,” I rushed out of the room holding a tissue under me as I did so. A little wash later, I felt happier, if a bit tender as I dressed. I kissed him and told him to get up.
“Oh, I told Julie she could go shopping for a new skirt or something–I gave her a few quid.”
“I wondered where she was.” He was lying, he’d sent her off to try and replace whatever it was he’d damaged–um, Sherlock Cameron will work it out eventually and make the criminals pay for their heinous crimes. No wonder he sent me off to bed, it was to buy himself time, not concern for my well being–more concern for his own neck. Simon, I’ve rumbled you–you hypocrite.
“Let’s have some lunch–cheese on toast do?” I asked him.
“Yeah, fine.”
He escorted me downstairs and into the kitchen where Stella glared at him. I wasn’t sure if she was jealous, or cross, because he should have been emptying the machine. Instead, she was doing it.
I made some lunch while Stella hung the laundry out on the line–Julie could iron it tomorrow–well, why keep a dog and bark, and she does very little most of the time. After I’d cleaned up from lunch, I picked up the dusters and the furniture polish.
“Where’re you going with those?” asked Simon the pitch of his voice rising as he spoke.
“To polish the dining suite, why?”
“Um–don’t overtax yourself, Babes, you were exhausted last night.”
“A bit of polishing is hardly going to do that, is it?”
“Give it here, I’ll do it, you go and have another cuppa and put your feet up.”
Who was I to argue–I began to wonder where my Simon had gone and who this strange lookalike was? The good fairy–no definitely not, as a certain tender spot could attest.
(aka Bike) Part 1019 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I volunteered to go and get the girls which he seemed happy with, and I wanted to do some shopping as well. I left after lunch seeing as he was doing my chores for me–did that experience with the Russians change him? Duh–it’s Simon, and a Cameron never changes his pedigree (far too posh for spots).
I’d changed into a summer dress with a thin shower proof jacket over it just in case. However, the way the sun was shining, it was unlikely to get used. It didn’t, I left if on the passenger seat while I popped into one or two shops.
As I was coming out of one shop, I was sure I saw Julie walking ahead of me in a very busy conversation on her mobile phone. I wondered if that could be with someone I know rather intimately? I was willing to bet a pound to a penny it was, and by the animated conversation and her expression, it wasn’t going too well. Now then, do I let her see me or not?
She had walked straight past me, in her miniskirt and footless tights with a loose fitting shirt thing over the top of it. Her sequinned bag would give her away even if she was trying to hide.
I was looking for ideas for a new outfit, she was going in and out of antique shops. What had they broken? Perhaps it was Tom they should be hiding from, not me? I haven’t got any heirlooms at the house, well except the tablecloth and that was on the table. Wasn’t it? I thought for a moment–I’d straightened up the flower arrangement, was it there then? Sure it was–that’s why I had a vase of roses to match it. For a moment, my heart was all aflutter, then I calmed down.
I decided not to follow Julie, especially when I saw some interesting things in a little boutique that looked my sort of shop. It’s not true that women are born to shop, we can’t get there by ourselves until we’re old enough to be allowed out alone, and then there is the question of money. So it’s something most of us discover from seven or eight upwards. My girls love to shop, whereas the boys will for videogames or sports things–but we go there and straight back. They don’t much like to browse, which the girls do.
I looked at my watch–damn, I had to go and collect my pretties from their educational establishment. I turned back out of the shop doorway and nearly bumped straight into Julie.
“Mummy–um what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Um–I’m shopping.”
“Well there’s a surprise, I thought you were going to try walking across the harbour after curing Maureen the other night.”
“Me? I just sat and talked with her until they threw me out–you were still with the kids, so I got a taxi home.”
“I see, sorry about that–what’s in the bag?”
“Oh just a skirt.”
“Can I see it?” I asked knowing it was unlikely to be one.
“When I get home, I’m not sure I’m gonna keep it yet.”
“So show it to me then.”
“Um–I’d rather not until I’ve tried it with some other stuff.”
“Oh, okay–what colour is it?” I tormented her.
“It’s sort of red.”
“Long or short?”
“Haven’t you got to collect the girls?”
I looked at my watch, “Oops, yes, are you coming with me?”
“Um–no thanks, I want to look for a top.”
“Okay, see you later, sweetheart.” I hugged her and walked briskly back to my car.
I collected the girls and began my inquisition of Trish, “What was Daddy washing in the machine last night?”
“I dunno, he didn’t know which button to press to start it–he also hadn’t put any detergent in it.”
“Why not?”
“He thought ‘cos it says automatic, it does it all automatically by itself.”
“So you did it for him?”
“Yeah, Auntie Stella was upstairs sorting out Puddin’–I ‘spect she woulda known, wouldn’t she?”
I actually didn’t know, but I agreed with Trish’s surmise because it saved a whole load of discussion which would have been pure speculation.
“So, how was school today, girls?” I asked and we had a more meaningful conversation.
“Sister Maria gave me a note for you, Mummy.”
“Did she–you haven’t done anything, have you?”
“No, it’s about speech day I think.”
“When’s that?”
“End of June, I think she said.”
“So she told you what the letter was about?”
“No–I opened it and read it–course she told me.”
“Trish please don’t speak to me like that–it’s not nice.”
“Sorry, Mummy.”
“I should think so. Now if you get your homework done in time, I’ll order some pizzas.” They all shouted in support of the suggestion. I was pretty sure there was a jacket potato I could have. I just don’t like pizza–it’s junk on a cardboard base.
“What does Sister Maria want you to do, Mummy?” asked Trish.
“Present some prizes, I think, why?”
“Just wondered.”
“You pwesentin’ pwizes, Mummy?”
“Probably, I’ll have to check my diary and see if it clashes with doing the washing.”
Trish laughed loudly at this statement, closely followed by Livvie.
“Why’s you waffin’ at me?” protested Mima.
“We’re not, stoopid–we’re waffin’ at Mummy, she was jokin’–okay?”
“Trish, don’t be mean to your sister.”
“I wasn’t–she was being dim.”
“I’m not dim–you’re dim and stupid,” fired back Mima.
“Girls please. You are supposed to be gentlefolk, please act like it.”
This had all three of them laughing hysterically. Maybe I should try being a stand-up comedienne for kids–the secret is to say things which appear to be totally unfunny to me, and they howl with laughter. Come to think of it, so do most adults–mmm, back to the drawing pin–see what I mean?
I parked the car, and not having bought anything meant I didn’t have to carry it home. I followed the girls into the house where we met Julie. “Tried on the skirt?” I asked.
“No, I took it back, didn’t really like the colour.”
It was obvious she was lying, she avoided eye contact–although teenage girls tend to sneak eye contact, they usually look at their feet. However she was blushing and I just know she was lying–maybe it was the fact that her nose grew about four feet.
If her nose did grow four feet, would it start to run? I had no idea where that stupid question came from, but it sort of reminded me I had been a schoolkid.
I made the girls a drink and they went into the dining room to start their homework and I went to order the pizzas, when I mentioned it, Simon–bless him–offered to pay. Now I know something has happened.
The boys were already doing their homework on the table and they and the girls ignored each other. It puzzled me for a moment until I realised that was how they were–they didn’t acknowledge each other without a reason. Oh well.
I looked at the table, they had books propped up on my damask table cloth. “Don’t get ink on that cloth, will you?”
They all replied with a groan that they wouldn’t. “Wassup with ‘er?” asked Danny.
“Dunno–fell off her broomstick, I s’pose,” answered Trish. If I hadn’t been laughing so much I’d have punished her.
“You cheeky little maggot,” I chided her, which made them all laugh even more. “That cloth is a family heirloom and I don’t want ink on it–it’s supposed to be roses, not inkspots.”
“Funny lookin’ roses,” said Danny.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s birds and fairies.”
“What?” I gasped and walked up to the cloth. It was too. “SIMON,” I yelled but I think I just heard his car start.
(aka Bike) Part 1020 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
For some reason, Simon sent me a text about an hour after he ran off from the house:
’Soz Babes, Sdnly remembrd mtg @ hq. B bak 2moro. S xxx’
By this time my initial anger had subsided a little and I was now only homicidally cross. Nobody would tell me what had happened to my tablecloth, the kids, except Julie were unaware that the tablecloth was any different to my one. At a glance, apart from the pattern it looked similar and I learned a long time ago that people see what they expect to see, until shown otherwise–so if it’s in a skirt, it’s a woman–unless she acts strangely, which is what gives away many cross dressers.
I searched high and low for the remains of the tablecloth, but it was nowhere to be found. I even turned it into a game and told the children there was a chocolate bar for the one who found it. None of them did. The pig of a husband of mine must have taken it with him–why?
Anyway back to my being deceived–once I discovered the change, it was really obvious, the fake being only half as heavy as my Gran’s original, apart from the much prettier pattern which fitted in with my rose display.
I saw the children to bed and read to them, then on coming back down, decided to deal with Julie. The phone rang, I answered focusing more on grilling Julie than whoever was calling.
“Hello?” I almost snapped down the phone.
“Hello, daughter in law.”
“Henry, what d’you want?”
“Gee thanks, Cathy, you really know how to cut to the chase.”
“Sorry, I was planning on becoming a widow within a day or so.”
“What’s he done this time?”
“Ruined my grandmother’s tablecloth.”
“Good lord, is she still alive?”
“No, but it’s one of the few reminders I have of her.”
“I see, make him buy you another.”
“It’s irreplaceable, Henry, that’s the point.”
“Oops, of course it is–sorry; I tend not to be very nostalgic.”
“You’re not?”
“No–give me modern stuff any day.”
“So, why don’t you get rid of that pile of stone you have mouldering in Scotland and build a bungalow?”
“It isn’t that simple, it’s a listed building registered with Historic Scotland, along with the suits of armour and the rest of the junk–but apart from that, my kids would kill me if I even thought about it.”
“You might only have one of them to worry about tomorrow, which should make it easier.”
“Such a simplistic approach to life, Cathy–sometimes I envy it.”
“So, to what do I owe this call? You’re not planning on petitioning for clemency on behalf of your errant elder offspring, are you?”
“Good lord, no; let him face what’s coming to him–I trust your judgement implicitly.
Henry frequently took my breath away with his nonchalance. “After all, I still have one child left.”
“I don’t know how far she’s implicated in this treason.”
“I see; I think you’d have to decide if it’s worth twenty years inside for it.”
“Good point, couldn’t I claim provocation?”
“I don’t think marrying into a family of interbred loonies would give you sufficient grounds, you’d still go down for quite a hefty spell.”
“Damn, I can’t spell hefty, besides I have to do the girl’s speechday.”
“Presenting the prizes?” he asked.
“Yes, I think they want a little talk first.”
“Well you’ll wow them so much, they’ll book you for the next fifty years.”
“I think my girls will have finished there before then.”
“Plus you wait until I tell Stanebury School that their new lady of the manor presented prizes at a school–you’ll be so popular, especially being a television personality as well.”
“Henry, you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
“I’ll see. Of course if you run a way with me after you’ve murdered my son, I’d overlook it for a year or two.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Henry, but wouldn’t you be worried I’d murder you as well?”
“Don’t be silly, Monica’s been trying to do it for years–I’m unkillable.”
“Not quite,” I reminded him.
“That was beginner’s luck for you, girl. Anyway, to the point, lovely though it is beating about the bush with you, where is my idiot son?”
“How do I know? He left here two hours ago.”
“Well he was due at a meeting here half an hour ago.”
“Oh no, you don’t think anything’s happened to him, do you?”
“Why would that prevent you terminating him personally?”
“Yes–um oh, Henry, now I’m worried to death–what if he’s been caught by those nasty people again?”
“What traffic cops?”
“No, our Siberian friends.”
“He doesn’t know any bears does he?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Had I better call his mobile?” I felt really worried now.
“That was switched off a few minutes ago–hence this call.”
“Oh Henry, now I’m really worried.”
“Hold on,” I heard him cover the phone and mumbled voices sounded in the distance. “He’s just arrived, do you want to speak to him?”
“No–I’ll kill him–just wait till he gets home, worrying me like that.”
“Oh by the by, have you found a new car yet?”
“No, I’ve been using Tom’s Mondeo.”
“We have a spare Audi TT two plus two, if you’d like it?”
“Would I be able to get the girls to school in it?”
“I should think so, I’ll get it sent down for you to see and try. If you don’t like it, don’t worry we’ll find something else for you.”
“You’re so kind, Henry–how about if you kill him and we’ll run away together, plus six kids, of course.”
“I have to go, Cathy, your big galoot of a husband has just come in and we can start our meeting. Bye.”
I put down the phone and sighed with huge relief, Simon was safe. I did wonder at one time if his PTSD had recurred–he hasn’t made an appointment for that, and unless he became worse I can’t really do it for him. Oh well, let’s go and torment Julie.
The phone rang before I could step away from it. I snatched it up, “If that’s you, Simon, I’m still going to kill you, so don’t go begging me not to,” I joked down the phone.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Catherine, but I’m not Simon,” said a male voice. I blushed and felt extremely stupid.
“Who’s that?” I gasped.
“It’s Sam Rose–I hope you were only joking about the maritalicide.”
“The what? Killing my marriage?”
“Your husband to be precise, though I’m not sure the term actually exists in a Latin form, but maritus and marital relate to husbands if my schoolboy Latin serves to remind me–however it was a long time ago.”
“What the Latin or the schoolboy?”
“Both,” he said with a sigh and I laughed. “That sounds better,” he remarked and I blushed.
“Whatever it is, Sam, the answer is no.”
“I haven’t asked the question yet.”
“It’s still no.”
“Oh, Cathy dearest, do listen before dismissing me out of hand.”
“I can’t do anything for your patients, Sam, the last effort nearly killed me too.”
“Yes, I realise that, which was why I was going to ask you what you were doing on Saturday evening?”
“Saturday, why?”
“Well, I’d like to take you out for dinner to say thank you for what you did for me, the other night.”
“I don’t know, Sam, Simon might not like it.”
“My intentions are entirely honourable, I promise–beautiful though you are.”
“I don’t know, Sam–when do I need to give you an answer?”
“Speak with Simon first, but there is a slight complication.”
“I knew it, you have another sick child.”
“I have a ward full of sick children–but that’s not it–I need you to dress formally, if you would.”
“What for?”
“We’re going to a concert afterwards.”
“In long dresses?” I gasped.
“I think I’ll stick to a dinner suit, if you don’t mind.”
“But what sort of concert?”
“Mozart, I hope you like his music?”
“Wow, I haven’t been to a concert of classical music since I was a kid.”
“You are obviously long overdue–the clarinet concerto is amongst the works on offer.”
“I just love that piece, Sam.”
“I thought you might.”
(aka Bike) Part 1021 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What happened to my tablecloth?” I demanded of Julie.
“How would I know, I was with you, remember?”
“But you might have witnessed things after that?”
“No, I was just asked to go and find a similar cloth if I could.”
“You didn’t see the old one, then?”
“Only when it was on the table–I think it’s so old fashioned, so I don’t look at it if I can help it.”
“You aren’t secretly related to Henry, are you?”
“I wish.”
“He is rather nice–he’s sending a car for me to try.”
“What is it?”
“Another Audi.”
“Yeah, but which one, Mummy–some are kewler than others.”
“Oh I don’t know, some T something or other, plus two.”
“A TT?”
“Could be, I know more about bikes than cars.”
“Oh wow, Mummy, that’s like a mega kewl chick-mobile.”
“Is it, I’m sure he said the previous user was a man.”
“It’s a girly car but it’ll do well over the ton–what is she, a convertible or the coupe?”
“How do I know, all I know is it’s an Audi T something plus two.”
“Everyone will be jealous of you when you take the girls to school.”
“Why? It’s only a car–it does exactly the same as the Mondeo.”
“Yeah, but with attitude, Mummy.”
“I thought cars were boys toys?” I thought she was being a bit boyish in her enthusiasm for gas guzzling motors.
“Couldn’t they say the same about bikes, Mummy?”
Um hoist by my own petard. “Only if you tinker with them,” I fired a deliberate reply of self deprecation.
“Which you do, Mummy–so it’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Only because I was taught the rudiments and couldn’t avoid it.”
“They were rude were they?” she teased me.
“My language was on occasion, when I couldn’t fix something or shift a nut.”
“Shift a nut–what are you a squirrel?”
“I’ve been called worse, as I’m sure have you. Not being very big or strong, meant occasionally I couldn’t grip a nut hard enough to turn it–my hands were too small. Sometimes when riding, I can’t always pull the brake lever because they’re too big for me to reach.”
“Do you believe that thing about long ring fingers in men and longer index fingers in women?”
“I can’t tell which is longer–what do you think?” I held out my hands palm down.
“The first finger possibly, I think, Mummy, it’s very close.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, it’s about being exposed to hormones in the womb.”
“Perhaps you were exposed to oestrogen when you were very small and it made you very girly in build and so on.”
“Am I that girly?”
“I’d say so–yes, you look like someone who had hormones when they were on puberty so they grow up looking like a girl.”
“I didn’t as far as I know, in fact I didn’t start them until I was about twenty or even twenty one–and that’s when I noticed my body really changing.”
“But you don’t have an Adam’s apple or anything male about you? Wasn’t it hell in school?”
“I’m inclined to think I’m sort of androgen insensitive, either that, or I don’t produce much testosterone. Yes, school was at times, very difficult, and I got tormented and assaulted quite a few times.”
“Yeah, been there–done that.”
“Which is why I’m trying to avoid Trish having the same experiences.”
“Why, what happened to you?”
“You don’t want to know?”
“Yes I do.”
“I went to a boy’s school and we were doing a play–usually, we invited girls from the girl’s school to take part but the year before there’d been some sort of funny business, so it was decided the boys would do their own play without the girls. They picked a play without too many girl’s parts in it.”
“An’ they chose you?”
“I was sort of a target. Compared to most, I was smaller and slighter. I also refused to cut my hair, so it was long and I must admit I went to a ladies salon to get it trimmed, which wasn’t very often. My friend Siân encouraged me to camp it up a little. Well, guess who got to play Lady Macbeth?”
“Did you volunteer, Mummy?”
“No way. The headmaster called me to his study–I can see it now:
“Watts, Mr Cambridge has asked you to try for the drama group.”
“Yes sir.”
“And you accepted?”
“No sir.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to, sir.”
“I see–even though he has said he wants you to join in?”
“I’m too busy, sir.”
“Doing what?”
“Study, sir.”
“But this is only for a few weeks, Watts.”
“I’d rather get good A-levels, sir.”
“But you will anyway.”
“I’m not as confident as you, sir.”
“Watts–you look rather distinctive, as I’m sure you’re aware. Do you get teased by the other boys?”
“No, sir.”
“That isn’t what I’ve been told.”
“Sorry, sir, I have no idea what you mean.”
“I think you do, Watts.”
“Sorry, sir, we’ll have to disagree on that one.”
“So how come I have a report of Wittering trying to rip your head off because he thought you were a poof, and he doesn’t like poofs?”
“I don’t remember that, sir, unless he was trying to show me a new wrestling move.”
“Watts, wrestling is a rather macho sport, you wouldn’t last two minutes against a third former–he was trying to beat you up because you look different–you look like a girl, especially with your long hair.”
“Do I sir? That’s only your perception.”
“It isn’t only my perception, once or twice I’ve been asked by staff if you shouldn’t be over the road in the girl’s school–sometimes I think you should.”
“Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, sir.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Watts.”
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I want you to play, Lady Macbeth.”
“Sorry, sir, I don’t want to.”
“I don’t think you quite understand your position here, Watts.”
“I do sir. If you think I’m being teased now, what will happen if I did as you asked.”
“I’ll see to it that get extra protection.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“But you will, won’t you?”
“I don’t think so, sir, my parents wouldn’t like it.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“I’ve just spoken to your father and he agrees with me that it would be a good idea for you to play the part–he thinks you study too much.”
“He’s never told me that, sir.”
“You will play the part.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t want to.”
“We all have to do things we don’t want to–I have to keep your effeminate arse in my school, so I’m going to put it to good use, Miss Watts–you will play, Lady Macbeth and if I don’t get full cooperation and as good a performance as I think you are capable of, I am going to make your little fairy life, very difficult–do you understand?”
“Yes sir, you’re threatening me.”
“Not at all, Watts, I’m encouraging your individualism, while enabling you to develop new skills–now you bloody fairy, get out of my study and down to the drama group before I have you sent to train with the rugger team.”
“Crikey, Mummy, he sounds an absolute pig–surely he couldn’t have made you do it, could he?”
“If my parents had backed me–no, he couldn’t, but my father felt it would embarrass me into getting my hair cut and becoming more butch.”
“Did it?”
“No–I pissed him off, by getting it dyed auburn.”
“You went redhead?”
“Well yes, lots of Scots are redheads, so I thought it would be in keeping, except it clashed with the pink scrunchies they made me wear. I bought some green ones, it went fine with those.”
“Didn’t you secretly want to do the part?”
“Part of me did, I was still sorting myself out, and what I wanted to do and be–and it’s one of the best roles in Shakespeare, unless you do Romeo and Juliet or Merchant of Venice–and even there the women are a bit wishy washy.”
“So you did it?”
“I had to, and they made me wear a long dress right through rehearsals.”
“Why?”
“Because they could. It was supposed to be so the others would see me more as a girl.”
“And you’re smaller than the rest and with shoulder length hair?”
“Well below my shoulders.”
“Wow–were you any good?”
“The local paper thought I was girl, and refused to believe I wasn’t. They thought I was very good–I used to have a copy of their review but I think my dad disposed of it in one of his tantrums. My mum was a bit upset by the review, but pleased I did it as well as I could.”
“Couldn’t they see what you really were?”
“They didn’t want to–remember; there are none so blind as those who will not see.”
“Wow, my Mummy, the famous Shakespearean actress–you are amazing.”
“Yeah, sometimes I think I am, too.”
(aka Bike) Part 1022 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Julie disappeared about nine thirty and I assumed she’d gone to bed, but at ten she came back waving a piece of paper. “Look what I’ve found,” she chuckled.
“What have you found?” I asked puzzled by her action.
She held up the sheet of paper and began to read, “It’s from The Bristol Evening Post.”
“What is?” I had a horrible feeling that I knew what it was.
‘The Scottish Play is an all or nothing drama for schools to produce, all too often the tragedy of Macbeth, is enthusiasm over dramatic skills. Tonight, however, we witnessed two central players who carried the other lesser mortals along with them, a brooding Macbeth (John Alsop) and his hectoring wife (Charlotte Watts) were outstanding.
We were led to believe that this was an all boy cast but the beautiful Lady Macbeth, must be an import from a local girl’s school, whose clear diction of Shakespearean English, shows she could be one to watch for a future on the boards as she moved from scheming to madness, trying to wash the blood of the murdered king from her hands.
Macbeth brooded magnificently and his impression of a caged tiger awaiting his fate gave atmosphere to the whole final act, unfortunately, the poor lad who played his nemesis, Macduff, was a bit weedy for the task of killing the giant Macbeth, however, he delivered the severed head in a sack which bounced noisily off the stage when thrown down–getting a few laughs when there should have been a sense of triumph or tragedy.
The three witches were deliciously disgusting albeit in a camp sort of way with their eye of newt and wing of bat recipes, which even Delia Smith would have difficulty marketing. But the three boys (Sean Lithgo, Geoff Spooner, Warwick Wilson) who played them obviously enjoyed themselves.
For all that it was an enjoyable evening, and the audience gave a standing ovation to the two leads, ending with a bouquet being presented to our delightful leading lady, who richly deserved it.’
“See? Yyou were marked for greatness even then,” said Julie, and Tom demanded to know what we were talking about.
“Whit’s a’ this?” asked Tom taking the printed sheet from my hand. He read it and smiled, “Och, I could hae telt them that, course she’d be a guid Lady MacB, she’s frae Dumfries.”
I blushed and Julie laughed. “They had you down as Charlotte, why was that, Mummy?”
“I suppose because that’s what they put in the programme, some clever dick thought he’d strike a blow for homophobia, and instead of putting Charlie or even Charles down, they changed it to Charlotte. They called me all sorts of names in that school–but I still didn’t get my hair cut.”
“And it was red, you said?”
“Yes I went auburn for a couple of months until it washed out–my dad hated it, so I was tempted to do it again–but he’d have killed me. Actually, the whole thing backfired on him, because as I said before they made me wear a long dress for all the rehearsals, which made me look quite female much of the time, especially with my hair down. I did have a set of photographs of the play at one time, but I think he probably burned them. The stage makeup was a bit heavy, but it got up his nose, so it was fine with me.”
“What did they do for padding?” asked Julie scooping her hands over her breasts.
“I had to wear a bra, with some birdseed in–I know bras didn’t come into being for hundreds of years after Shakespeare’s time, but sticking a couple of oranges down my front wasn’t acceptable to me, and the bodice of the dress wouldn’t have held them very well.”
“Can I show this to the others?” Julie waved the sheet of paper under my nose.
“Aren’t they going to notice the name discrepancy?”
“I’ll tell them it’s a mistake.”
“Trish won’t be easy to persuade, but as she knows the truth anyway, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” I shrugged my shoulders, I suppose they all may know one day–and I’m not sure what they’ll think or if it will matter. Some of it I suspect, could be dependent upon how Julie and Trish complete their transitions and deal with post operative lives. The girls I think, will deal with this easier than the boys–because their relationship is different to me from the boy’s one. Boys are supposed to love their mothers and want to kill their fathers and so marry their mums–well something like that if Freud is to be believed. Giving rise to that old and very corny joke–Oedipus, schmedipus, what’s it matter so long as he loves his mudder.
“Daddy, do you know what happened to my tablecloth?”
“Whit tablecloth?”
“The damask one in the dining room?”
“It’s there isnae it?”
“No, that’s one Julie got earlier today.”
“I dinna ken,” he shrugged and went off to bed.
“Presumably Daddy knows,” mused Julie, “or he wouldn’t have asked me to get another one.”
“Yes and his plan nearly worked. Trish didn’t say anything to you, did she?”
“No, Mummy, other than having to show Daddy how to work the washing machine–I mean, it tells you on the front what to do.”
“Yes but he’s not exactly the patient sort is he–you know, sit down with the handbook type–he’d much rather press some buttons and regret it.”
“Perhaps that’s what he did?”
“What ran the wrong cycle?”
“Could he shrink it?”
“I suppose, or turn it yellow.”
“Or scrub it too hard and wear a hole in it?”
“Why?
“Because he spilt something on it, like wine or tea.”
“Why not just tell me? I’d have understood–accidents happen.”
“Maybe he was too frightened to tell you.”
“Why?”
“In case you killed him.”
“Do I look like a murderess to you?”
“Lady Macbeth was, wasn’t she?”
“Um no, she just planted the knives on the grooms, whom Macbeth then killed when the alarm was raised. More of an accessory after the fact than a direct perpetrator.”
“Oh, I thought she killed someone.”
“She does–herself.”
“Oh–that happens a lot in Shakespeare, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, it also happens too frequently in transgender people, too.”
“Um,” she blushed.
“Oh I didn’t mean it like that, Julie–but too many people find that they don’t get support or public opinion goes against them. To do what we’ve done takes tremendously thick skin, and a degree of determination if you want to succeed.”
“Yeah, I think I’m beginning to understand that.”
“The other thing is that no matter how successful you are, unless you wear it on your sleeve the whole time–in which case you can’t integrate as a female, only as a tranny–you’re watching over your shoulder all the time.”
“Do you still worry about this then, Mummy?”
“Yes–unfortunately I do. We none of us ever become fireproof, just flame retardant.”
(aka Bike) Part 1023 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I went to bed and actually missed Simon, the bed felt very large and lonely–damn his meeting at that wretched bank, I mean, he’s supposed to be recovering from PTSD or something. What could be so important that he’s had to go into a meeting when he’s supposed to be on sick leave?
I reached for my mobile and sent him a text. ‘Miss u, C x.’
I settled down and tried to relax but I couldn’t. Suddenly my mobile peeped indicating a text had been received. I picked it up with bated breath only to find it was from my supplier offering me cheaper calls in Europe. I deleted it in disgust and put the phone back on the bedside table.
I turned over and tried to sleep on my side but I felt my eyes getting moist and before long there were blobs of water hitting the pillow. For a moment I didn’t hear the phone beep, then I realised it had and turned back to snatch it off the table. I had to wipe my eyes before I could see it clearly enough to read.
‘Miss u 2, b bak 2moro luv u. S xxx’
Of course this caused me to cry some more and then I felt ridiculous for doing so, but at least he said he loved me. I felt embarrassed looking a total wreck while reading his text, but resisted the urge to get out of bed to comb my hair before rereading it. That would have been too much.
When I’d calmed down I did go to the loo again and cooled my eyes with some cold water, before taking Paddington to bed with me–so romantic, wearing wellies to bed!
I turned the pillow over to avoid the wet bits and amazingly I went to sleep thinking romantically about Simon–I know, I sound like a lost cause but I did miss him and he is my husband–a phrase which still feels impossible–but isn’t simply because I have a piece of paper which says I’m female.
When the alarm started the radio the next morning, I really didn’t want to get up but thankfully my sense of duty meant I rolled out of bed and was in the bathroom before I was fully cognizant of the fact. I showered and felt a little better, I combed my hair, finished drying myself, felt some blubber coming on my waist and poked out my tongue which looked rather coated.
I dressed and roused the three misskateers, then woke the boys. I also roused Julie and asked her to help. To my surprise and delight, she actually got out of bed. The boys got themselves ready except, Danny realised he hadn’t had his sports kit washed. I sent him to put it in the machine on a short cycle–not shorts cycle. Meanwhile I got the girls up and helped them shower and did their hair. Then they dressed while I went to organise breakfast.
Danny was down watching the washing machine. “How about helping me–watching that won’t make it finish any quicker you know?”
He shrugged and kept muttering that he’d be late. “And whose fault would that be?”
“The stupid machine.”
“The machine isn’t stupid, it’s programmed to do certain things, and once it’s finished we can pop your stuff in the tumble dryer and hopefully it’ll be dry enough for you to take to school. Now come on–help me lay the table.”
He grumbled, but did start fishing packets of cereal from the larder and I made some tea and some toast. I limited myself to one slice and a banana, plus the essential cup of tea–without it, I’d never manage to do anything.
The girls arrived, as did Billy, who seemed half asleep and was only up now because Julie was nagging him like crazy. He was grumbling, but she was harrying him and he didn’t retort, probably because she’s quite a bit older than he is.
I made the girl’s packed lunches–why couldn’t they have school meals like everyone else? I’d try them again, or I’d try and persuade Trish. If she had them, the other two would be a pushover and it would save me several valuable minutes in the mornings. Time is always so short before the school run. I wonder if I could teach Trish to drive–nah, she wouldn’t be able to see over the steering wheel.
Danny’s kit went into the dryer and it was still warm when he threw it into his bag–did I mention he plays football for the school? They have a tournament coming up, I must see if I can get to some of it, show him some support.
“When does it start?” I asked about the tournament.
“Today–it’s a knockout thing.”
“What time?”
“This afters.”
“Okay, I’ll come with the girls when I collect them.”
“Thanks, Mum.” I gave him a hug and he went off with his tail in the air. I gave Billy one too, so he seemed a bit happier. Funny creatures, boys.
I told the girls to remind me that we were going to watch Danny play, and they were quite excited about supporting their brother. I thought I’d better pack some warm clothes, as we seemed beset by cool breezes.
Simon got home by lunch time, I was busy making the bed when he came in and snuck up to the bedroom and goosed me while I was bent over the bed with both my hands tucking the bottom sheet in. Of course I shouted and then chased the silly galoot down the stairs.
On catching him, I hugged him until he kissed me–Julie groaned, she was doing the mountain of ironing that had accumulated and making quite a reasonable job of it. I asked Simon to make us some tea and went off to finish the bed.
I’d stripped Tom’s, too, so had enough for a load for the washer. I stuffed the linen into the machine and poured in the detergent and the softener. “I had some trouble with that the other night.”
“Oh yes, not with a certain tablecloth, was it?”
“How did you guess?”
“Shall we say my eyes still work, even if my brain doesn’t.”
“Okay, I’ll come clean–I spilt some wine on it and it wouldn’t come out.”
“It should have done, if you’d put it straight in on a cool wash.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Now you tell me, if you’d done so before...”
“Okay, I asked Stella, but she wasn’t sure, and by then I’d stuck it on a hot wash.”
“Simon, you give new meaning to the phrase helpless male.”
“Yeah okay, don’t rub it in.”
“It was a special tablecloth.”
“I know.”
“So why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I knew you’d be upset.”
“Only at the deceit you practiced.”
“Sorry, I was trying not to upset you.”
“Sure it wasn’t just saving your own embarrassment?”
“Yeah, that too.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, poppet.”
“Did you know that Mummy was an actress?”
“Yeah, she demonstrates it most days.”
I scowled at him and he poked his tongue out at me.
“No, seriously–she played Lady Macbeth.”
“She’s just an old drama queen.”
It was a good job I wasn’t doing the ironing. He might have got himself injured.
“Here,” she shoved the sheet she’d copied from the internet of my review.
Simon took it and read it and his smile broadened. “I’ve always known she was a girl, really.”
“You’re about the only one,” I said, and he hugged me as I started to sniff in his arms.
“No, my family has always thought that of you, including my crazy sister–we have no doubts, so why do you?”
“It goes with the territory, I’m afraid.”
He hugged me and kissed me, “Never let anyone think you’re anything but a complete woman.”
“But I’m not, am I?”
“As far as I’m concerned you are–end of argument. Oh, I have something for you.” He handed me a plastic bag which, when I opened it, contained a damask tablecloth.
“You found another?”
“No, I found a specialist cleaner who has more or less restored it to its original condition–there is a very slight stain, but it hardly shows, it’s so faint.”
“Thank you.” I kissed him and hugged him with my head on his shoulder.
(aka Bike) Part 1024 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
After lunch I changed, told Simon he was coming with me to support Danny’s football game, and pulled out some clothes for the girls to change into–I’m sure they didn’t want to wear school uniforms at a football match.
Simon accepted the instruction quite placidly, in fact, he suggested he’d enjoy it more than I would. If one of the boys hadn’t been involved, he was probably correct–the football World Cup, I anticipate with all the glee of an undertaker in a society of immortals.
I asked Tom if I could borrow the Mondeo, and when he found out why, he said he’d come to watch as well. I did ask Stella, who declined, on the grounds that Puddin’ would get cold. Fair enough, but at least I asked.
I was just about to leave with Julie, when the phone rang. It was Tamsin, Maureen’s friend. Julie took the call and I shouted, “Can you take her number and I’ll call her back.”
“Maureen needs to see you,” Julie held her hand over the speaker on the phone.
“Won’t tomorrow do?”
“Tamsin says it’s quite important.”
I took the phone off her, “Hello, Tamsin, this is Cathy Cameron, what’s the problem with Maureen?”
“Hi, Lady Cameron, look I can’t talk over the phone, but Maureen needs to see you and as soon as poss.”
“Is she still on the same ward?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make no promises, but I’ll try and get in this evening. If not tomorrow.”
“She’d appreciate tonight.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Lady C.”
I put the phone down and swore. Julie looked at me with an open mouth. “I didn’t know you knew words like that, Mummy.”
“C’mon, or we’ll be late.” We dashed out to the car and drove off to the convent to collect the girls. They were able to change in the back of the car with a bit of help from Julie and me. Then we set off at speed for Danny and Billy’s school.
I spotted Simon’s Jag and Tom’s Freelander in the car park. We, of course, had to park a hundred yards down the road and walk. I asked Julie to bring the bag I had in the boot–which contained drinks and snacks for the girls and older members of the family.
Looking along the touch line, we eventually spotted Simon, Tom and Billy talking with Danny, yet there was a game going on. We walked as quickly as we could and the girls hugged Simon and Tom.
“Why aren’t you playing?” I asked Danny.
“I’ll be on again soon,Mummy, it’s a tourney.” He rolled his eyes and I looked to Simon for an explanation.
“It’s like five aside, they play on a smaller pitch.” I looked and noticed that they had divided the pitch into two smaller ones, using the width as the length. “They only play fifteen minutes per half.”
“So how many games have you played?” I asked Danny.
“We’ve played three, but I was only in two of them.”
“How come?”
“We have a squad, Mummy. It’s knackering.”
“It’s what?” as I gasped so Simon and Tom sniggered.
“You get very tired, and I wanna play in the final if we get there.”
“When is that?”
“We’re in the next round, then it’s the semis, an’ if we win that, we’re in the final.”
“I see, do you want something to eat?” Silly question to a boy. He had a banana and a bag of crisps. So did Billy, and the girls each had an apple. Danny then came back for a drink of orange.
“So, are you going to play in this next year?” I asked Billy.
“Me? Nah, I’m not good enough.”
“Maybe we could get you coached to improve your skills.”
“Not that interested, I think I’d like to do bike racin’.” I didn’t realise he had such taste.
“What sort?” I asked.
“Mountain bikin’, looks like fun,” continued the younger boy.
“Oh,” I felt my dreams of a TdF winner in the family, dashed before I’d even gone to sleep. But then Cancellara used to ride mountain bikes, and so did Nicole Cooke, before they grew up and went for road racing. So maybe there was a chance still?
“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“No, kiddo, we’ll make some enquiries and see if there’s a club you can join.”
“I’d probably need a new bike.”
“If necessary, I’m sure a birthday or Christmas would take care of that.”
“Would you come out with me, Mummy?” Billy gave me a look that wouldn't have been lost on Kiki when there was food about.
“We’ll see.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“I haven’t said no, have I?”
“No,” he answered, then gave me a lovely smile.
“Can girls play football?” asked Livvie.
“Yes, there’s even an England ladies team.”
“I wonder if they do it in school?” she continued.
“We’ll ask tomorrow.”
“Oh goody gum drops.”
“What is?” asked Trish snaffling a bag of crisps.
“Livvie asked if we could find out if there’s a girl’s football team at your school.”
“Oh yuck,” was Trish’s response to that.
“You might enjoy it,” I challenged.
“I didn’t before–besides, what about the showers?”
“Okay, point taken.
“I wanna pway socca, too.” Meems had decided on a sport.
“Okay, we’ll cut the grass down by the orchard and get Leon to make some goal posts.”
“D’ye think he’s up tae it?”
“No–I’ll probably have to get someone in to do it, until Maureen comes back–oh that reminds me, Daddy, she wants me to go and see her this evening. Could you help Simon get the wains to bed.”
“Och aye, it’ll be ma pleasure.”
“It’s not wainin’,” Mima took exception to my form of address.
Tom laughed and left the explanation to me.
We watched Danny play in the next game–which they lost despite his scoring a goal. He had another drink and Simon gave him a leg rub.
They played in the semis–there were only four teams taking part–but it got rid of some energy. They won that, so they progressed to the final, where they lost, even though Danny scored again, his goal wasn’t enough to stop them losing by three goals to one.
He was bitterly disappointed when he went off to shower, and we think he might have said something to one of the other team, because he ended up in a fight in the shower getting a black eye and knee in the groin. He came out from the building last, and Simon dashed over to see why he was walking oddly.
I put the others in the car and went to see for myself. I wanted to call one of the teachers, but Danny asked us not to, because he’d get in more trouble than the other boy. “Didn’t a teacher see you?”
“I told him I slipped on the wet floor and hit a corner.”
“And that would give you a black eye and sore willie?” I queried, almost a ‘pull the other one’ situation.
“Yeah, some of the cubicles have door frames.”
“Okay–are you going to be all right or do you want to see a doctor?”
“I’ll be okay, Mummy, you worry too much.”
“We’d better get some ice on it when we get home,” I suggested.
“You’re not puttin’ ice on it–it’ll be cold.”
“That’s generally the idea.”
“It’ll freeze it off.”
“If that was the case, Trish would have tried it by now.” He gave me a wry smile and nodded. “C’mon, let’s get you home because I have to go and see Maureen after dinner.”
“Fish and chips?” called Tom.
“Yeah, fine with me,” I replied and he sped off to the local chippie.
(aka Bike) Part 1025 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The fish and chips were delicious, and everyone tucked in, including Stella. She was going out on a date, so Julie had agreed to look after Puddin’ probably for a certain consideration–honestly, kids today are so mercenary.
I changed into something a little more suitable for hospital visiting and set off, leaving Simon, Tom and Julie to sort out the kiddiwinks. Danny had declined ice on his gonads, and I didn’t feel that laying on of hands–just there was appropriate either, well not from me at any rate. If Trish or Julie wanted to try by other means, that was fine. They could try and improve his black eye at any rate.
Simon told me the new car will arrive tomorrow–this was the new Audi TT thing. I wasn’t impressed by the fact that it cost a mint and went at the speed of sound in first gear–I simply wanted something that went safely and smoothly, carried at least three children and the shopping. Okay, so for my brood I need a minibus and trailer, but much of the time, it’s only me in the car. Speed I prefer as a cyclist–then I can’t go fast enough.
I wore a skirt for a change, and Julie made some comment about not recognising me in a skirt. I gave her a Paddington hard stare and she suddenly remembered something she had to do. The kids all gave me a hug and told me to wish Maureen a speedy recovery. I assured them I would, Trish gave me a handmade card for her, which I promised to pass on. I wondered about taking her in something, but decided I didn’t really have time.
The trip to the hospital was uneventful–thankfully and I suddenly thought, I could have ridden there on my bike if I checked the batteries in the lights. Oh well, I was there now, so I went on to her ward and up to her room. She was sitting in the chair by the side of her bed, snoring like a chainsaw.
“Sorry, I’m not Prince Charming,” I said giving her a peck on the cheek.
“Uh–wuh–wot?” she uttered while waking up, “Oh, it’s you ma’am.”
“I told Tamsin I would come.”
“Yeah, she said you’d try.”
“I have and here I am.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So how are you?”
“I’m okay–apart from not earning any money while I’m in ‘ere. I’m surprised my landlord ‘asn’t kicked me out.”
“Why would he?”
“ ’Cos my rent won’t ‘ave been paid.”
“Why won’t it?”
“The little matter of me ’aving nothing in me bank account.”
“That shouldn’t be the case, Tom and I have been paying you a half salary while you’ve been sick.”
“You what?”
“We’ve been paying you a half salary while you’ve been in hospital.”
“You are an angel, you really are.”
“I don’t think our angelic friends deal with such mundane affairs as rent.”
“No–they get saints like you to do it for ‘em.”
“Before we take this discourse any further on such numinous subjects...”
“Luminous what?” Maureen interjected.
“Not luminous, numinous.”
“Which means?”
“To do with divinity–spiritual stuff.”
“Oh gawd.”
“Yeah, Him as well.”
She began to laugh loudly, and I’m afraid in a very masculine voice, so I shushed her and explained her mistake. She blushed and apologised.
“If it sounds as if I’m criticising you, I’m not, I just want you to integrate as fully as you can.”
“Yeah, I know, thanks anyway, ma’am.”
“So, apart from my divine origins, what else did you want to tell me?”
She chuckled again, “You are a one, in’t ya?”
“Probably, but you asked me to come in urgently, I’m here.”
“Oh that, well you’ve answered most of me question ‘fore I asked it.”
“Can we start at the beginning, because you lost me completely there?”
“Sorry, ma’am; you still putting money in me bank account like, ‘as kept the landlord off me back. I thought I was gonna ‘ave to ask yer for a letter to say I was employed and ‘ed get ‘is money eventual, like.”
“Oh well, I did something right–how’s the walking?”
“With me elbow crutches, I can potter–like a drunken dormouse though.”
“I’ve seen a few dormice in my time, but I don’t think I’ve seen a drunken one.”
“It was a metaphor.”
“I thought it might be.” I winked at her and she chuckled again.
“You are so good for me, ma’am–you’ve ‘ealed me, an’ kept a roof over me ‘ead. You’re a bloomin’ miracle worker.”
“No I’m not, I’m trying to hang on to a valued and skillful worker, who’s having a few problems. How soon before you can drive again?”
“Dunno, ma’am, they ‘aven’t said nothin’ about that yet.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t. Look when you get home–if you need any shopping done, let me know.”
“Thanks, ma’am, but I think you got enough to do, in’t ya?”
“I keep fairly busy, but my offer is genuine, and I mean it.”
“I know, ma’am, an’ once I’m mobile, I’d like to start measurin’ up stuff again an’ get on to it soon as I can.”
“I know, no hurry–I don’t think anything will fall down in the near future.”
“You know, I can feel me back warm just talkin’ to you.”
“Imagination, I expect.”
“No it in’t, ma’am, I in’t the imaginative sort.”
“Okay, we won’t argue about that–how long before you go home and do you need anyone to collect you?”
“No thanks, ma’am, Tamsin ‘ll come an’ get me with a taxi when they give me the old ‘eave —‘o from ‘ere.”
“Well, you have my number if you need me, don’t hesitate to ring.”
“Thanks, ma’am, I won’t.”
“Won’t what? Forget or ring?”
“Forget.”
“Good–we make progress. Now is your flat suitable for someone with mobility difficulties.”
“It’ll be okay, I think–they’re gonna assess it.”
“Let me know if you need some help.”
“I will.”
“Simon has contacts everywhere and is very good at using them.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
“No need to thank me, plus of course if you’re short of money–let me know.”
“I think you done enough already.”
“Yes, but I am married to a bank–so it doesn’t embarrass me to be asked.”
I asked for Tamsin’s number and after leaving the ward, called it and arranged to meet her there tomorrow after I left the girls at school and Julie at the salon. Goodness, was it Friday already? Where does the time go?
I couldn’t remember going to Maureen’s flat, but I thought I’d take some flowers or a pot plant and some dusters and polish and see if I could spruce things up for her. I wasn’t going to have it decorated or carpeted even if it needed it, because that would be interfering in someone else’s home. If someone did it to me, no matter how well intentioned, I’d be very angry indeed.
When I got home I was exhausted, and after a cuppa went to bed. Simon was fiddling on his computer–so it was probably work related–he’s supposed to be off on the sick. I drank my tea and flounced off to bed, with his last sentence ringing in my head. “But, babes, I’ve made them half a million since we’ve been talkin’.” No wonder his father wanted him back in the office.
I explained the conversation with Maureen and he simply shrugged, “If she needs somewhere new, let me know, I’ll pull a string or two–I’ve got some favours I can call in.”
“For a psycho, you’re really nice.”
“Takes one to know one,” he said before going back to his computer while I went off to bed with Simon Brett.
(aka Bike) Part 1026 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning, I could see that Danny’s eye was a little better and he was walking less stiffly. “How’s the um–you know?” I asked, and he blushed as much as I did.
“It hurts a bit, Mummy, but I’ll live.”
“I hope it’ll teach you not to get involved in fights unless you can’t avoid them, and that is pretty rare.”
“I’m told you’re quite a good fighter, Mummy.”
“You were misinformed, I try to avoid violence at every opportunity.”
“Auntie Stella says you’ve kicked ass a few times.”
“Auntie Stella is prone to exaggerate, and I don’t care for vulgarity, Danny, especially as I have never knowingly kicked anyone’s donkey.”
“Eh?” he looked perplexed.
“Ass, is a donkey stoopid,” Billy chided the older boy.
“An ass is also another name for a fool.” I informed our growing breakfast party.
“But the Americans say ass all the time for bum.”
“They might, they live far enough away for me not to worry about their differences with the mother tongue, but you don’t.”
“It’s arse,” Billy sniggered.
“That’s the English form, but it’s still vulgar, and I don’t want to hear it. Everyone got that?” I looked around the room at the sleepy faces who were still trying to understand what I was preaching about this time. I knew they used words like that all the time in school, because they did in my day, and sometimes a lot worse. However, in trying to set some standards of home life for them, I had the job of policing them, which I knew Tom would support, Stella might on a good day, and Simon would in theory–but would forget most of the time.
We had breakfast and I collected together some cleaning things and put them in the car. “Why you doin’ that?” asked Meems.
“Doing what, sweetheart?”
“Those wags.” She pointed at the cloths I was loading in a bucket with a few cleaning sprays and polishes.
“I’m going to meet Maureen’s friend Tamsin and we’re going to give her flat a quick clean up for when she comes out of hospital.”
“I’d wike to hewp, Mummy.”
“I’d like to, too,” said Trish.
“I’ll tell Maureen that I had a whole load of volunteers, but I’m sure that we’ll manage for now, maybe next time.”
They seemed to accept that, perhaps because I’d left the door ajar rather than closing it completely. Having said that, I thought it unlikely we’d need to do it again, but on the proviso that I’d never been there before. It might be a little palace or it could be a pigsty.
After I dropped Julie off at the salon–interestingly, she said nothing about the flat–I took the girls on to school. We spoke to the headmistress and discovered there was a girl’s football team, and any of them could opt to do footie for their sports lessons. Livvie put her name down immediately for next term, and so did Meems. Trish was a bit more circumspect, but under pressure from her sisters, she agreed to put her name down for now, but she could change her mind if necessary later. I thought I would get them kicking a ball about in the garden with Leon or Simon and possibly Trish could have a chance to explore bits of boyhood she could take with her, rather than dismissing it all as unwanted rubbish.
If my love of cycling hadn’t been so great, I could quite easily have stopped doing it because it wasn’t a girly thing–but hell, there are loads of women who ride bikes at all levels, the same with football–I hadn’t pursued that one because I was useless at it, but could ride a bike a bit. Maybe, I’ll improve my football skills if the others give me some help and encouragement.
So, I could have gone overboard on girly hobbies, sewing and knitting and collecting dolls–I did some of those, I can sew a bit and enjoy cooking, but I don’t think I have too many other interests that are usually associated with women unless you include taking bikes to bits and rebuilding them. It’s a joke, so relax.
I arrived at the address Tamsin had given me, it’s not in the most salubrious part of the city, but I was reassured to see it was quite a nice old house with Maureen’s car parked outside. Tamsin, I hoped would be there and pressed the bell listed as belonging to flat 2.
I heard footsteps approaching and my mind began to create pictures of how Tamsin would appear. The voice sounded younger than Maureen’s, and I wondered how old she was along with every other possible question that could form in the seconds before the door opened.
The door drew open and behind it stood a man who was about thirty something. He had longish hair, which was tied back but was also receding at the temples–typical male pattern baldness.
“I hope I have the right place, I was expecting to meet Tamsin?” I said guardedly.
“That’s me,” said mine host, and you must be Lady Catherine?”
“It’s just Cathy.” I held out my hand, which was accepted, and then I entered the hall.
“I can’t believe that Maureen knows someone as beautiful as you, Lady C.”
“Sorry?”
“I said, I can’t believe...”
“I heard that, but I don’t understand why you said it.” Oops; how to make friends and influence people, this ain’t.
“Sorry, but people like us don’t usually move in such high circles or get to know such beautiful women as yourself.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and on a physical level is very superficial, seeing as most of it is as much a matter of luck as anything else, it’s hardly a priority in anything other than a sexist society.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that–I’m sorry, I’m making it worse aren’t I?”
“They do say when in a hole, stop digging.”
“What I meant to say, is, you’re a very beautiful woman, and I’m jealous that Maureen has you as her friend.”
“I still don’t know what you mean, unless you’re saying you fancy me–in which case, I’d better go now. I’m happily married with six children.”
“Six kids, blimey–you don’t look old enough.”
“Appearances can be deceptive,” but not in the way you’re thinking, buster.
“Can we start again? I’m Tamsin, I’m pleased to meet you, and yes I do think you are very beautiful but I don’t have any ulterior motives–I mean my intentions are honourable.”
“I thought we were here to give Maureen’s place a lick and a polish?”
“Yes, follow me.” I followed the tee shirt and jeans clad individual up a flight of stairs. As I watched his bum wiggling a bit too exaggeratedly for a man, I noticed he was wearing girl’s jeans with embroidered back pockets. I also couldn’t decide whether he was gay, or transgendered–not that it really mattered.
“How about a nice cuppa before we start?” He led me into a small but very cosy flat which was immaculate. Of course, Maureen was ex Royal Navy, they are taught to be tidy because there isn’t much room on a ship.
I seated myself at the small dining table and waited for the tea.
(aka Bike) Part 1027 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The room was presumably a sitting cum dining room, with a small table at which I sat, plus two easy chairs either side of an ornate fireplace which still had the original Victorian tiles in place. In the place where a fire would once have burned was displayed a small vase with some artificial poppies giving a focus for the eye.
The carpet was oatmeal and the chairs were a floral pattern with an oatmeal coloured background. Presumably much of this was from Maureen’s previous life before she lost her job when she began her transition. The windows were flanked by beige curtains with poppies, and some flowery net curtains covered the window panes.
Tamsin produced the tea and placed the pot upon the mat on the table. “You’d better be mother,” she said and the handle was pointed towards me. I stirred the pot and poured two cups of tea.
“How long have you known Maureen?” I asked, trying to get some sort of grasp of what exactly Tamsin was without being so rude as to ask.
“Oh a few years now. We met at a local TV/TS group.”
“This was presumably before Maureen transitioned.”
“Oh crikey yes, she was still Matt then.” It’s funny how we hang on to our initials when we change our names, or how so many of us do–me included. “How did you meet her?”
“At our doctor’s, can’t remember what I was there for, but he asked if I knew of anyone who could offer someone a job who’d fallen on hard times. After meeting Maureen, I realised I could offer her some work restoring some of the outbuildings at my adopted father’s house. She came over and we discussed it and she took it on. We were going great guns until she was attacked.”
“She told me that you were a wonderful employer.”
“Not really, she was a dream to work with, and very conscientious. If she comes home, how is she going to get up those stairs?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Very slowly,” Tamsin shook her head, “I dunno.”
“I can’t see the hospital being allowed to discharge her in that case.”
“But she’ll go crazy if she stays there much longer.”
“There should be some half-way house for continuing rehab before she can come here again. Otherwise she’ll be really stuck.”
“Yeah,” agreed Tamsin, “either at the top or bottom of the stairs.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Not a lot at the moment, I used to be an electronics technician with the navy, but they found some female clothing in my locker during an inspection and kicked me out when they found I didn’t have a girlfriend.”
“What, for having some clothing in your locker? That’s pretty pathetic.”
“They were clamping down on gays.”
“But a pair of knickers in your locker doesn’t make you gay, does it?”
“No, I was gay before the knickers–it was a fair cop, as far as that was concerned.”
“I find this so disgraceful about the armed services–they claim to be non-discriminatory yet they are anything but.”
,
“In those days, it was frowned upon, and if you kept your mouth shut they tended to turn a blind eye. When they had evidence of any sort, then it got a bit sticky.”
“If ten per cent of men are likely to be gay, then a significant number of servicemen are–so how can they pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“They’re like so many women who marry gay men, what they don’t want to see, they ignore.”
“So are you a gay man or transgendered? Sorry to be so blunt.”
“Me, I’m a gay tranny, and proud of it. Unlike Maureen, I don’t want me bits cut off, where’s the fun in that?”
I could have told him, but I didn’t. I sipped my tea and wondered what there was to do in the flat. In the end it was nothing. We rearranged a minute amount of dust, and I left Tamsin to lock up. I drove home and got some fresh fruit and veg on the way.
Turning into the drive, there was a strange car parked in my usual spot. I parked next to it and looked at the silver intruder–it had the joined rings of Audi on its bonnet and I suddenly remembered they were bringing the car for me. I locked up the Mondeo and carried my shopping and my cleaning bucket with me into the house.
“See your new chariot?” beamed Simon.
“It’s a bit small, isn’t it–I thought you were going to get me another little Mercedes?”
“Oh c’mon, Cathy, this is the ultimate girly car–one hundred per cent pudenda power. Let’s give it a test drive.”
“Can I just put this fruit away?”
“Well ‘urry up then, I’ll buy you lunch somewhere.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Been on the choccie biccies have we?”
“No–just not very hungry.”
“C’mon, let’s give this pussy-mobile a bashing.”
“Simon, you are being very vulgar, and extremely sexist.”
“Yeah, what’s new?”
“I’m not terribly happy listening to it, besides, I thought the ultimate pussy car was a Lotus Elan.”
“Gawd, which part of history are you coming from?”
“Emma Peel had one.”
“This thing will eat it.”
I don’t know why, but I had this horrible vision of this silver German thing eating poor Mrs Peel’s Lotus. I hesitated, and Simon pulled me along and jumped in the driver’s seat.
“I thought this was supposed to be my car, Si?”
“Yeah, but I have the keys.”
“So I see.”
“Get in and stop whingeing.”
I did as I was told, because I decided not to make an issue of it. It was very plush, lots of knobs to twiddle and so on, CD player, missile launcher, machine guns, vertical take-off and submersible mode–yeah, I suppose it was okay. Just in case you think I picked up James Bond’s latest car by mistake, I’m exaggerating a little–it didn’t have machine guns, just a single Gatling gun.
Simon left half the tyres behind as we screamed up the road. “If we get done for speeding, it’ll be points on my licence not yours,” I complained.
“Yeah, so?”
“I don’t want points on my licence.”
“Tough,” he retorted and put his foot down. We ended up flying up the A3 to Petersfield where we had lunch in a pub by the river and spent half the time chasing flies away–despite the warmer weather, and it felt quite sultry. There was still a cool breeze, although it didn’t stop Simon wanting to eat outdoors, hence the flies sharing my tuna jacket spud.
He had a couple of pints of Guinness and informed me I could drive back–probably while he snoozed. With a degree of trepidation I got in the car and adjusted the seat. Then I cautiously eased out of the car park to head south back to Portsmouth. I watched the speed like a hawk, the slightest pressure on the throttle and she simply shot off like a rocket.
After a few miles of moaning at my girly driving, Simon nodded off and snored, so I put on the radio and listened to the afternoon play while he snored in accompaniment. I began to get the feel of the car and it became easier to drive, although the ferocious acceleration frightened me a little. At one point, I did give her some welly and we were doing a hundred. That frightened me a bit, so I went back to watching the speedo very carefully, which was just as well, because ten minutes later we had a jam sandwich come past us and I hadn’t noticed him approaching. I wondered if his BMW would catch us–probably and he’s been trained to drive like a loony, I’m just a natural.
I dropped Simon off at the house. He was quite miffed to be woken up, but I needed his seat for the girls. I was tempted to take the Mondeo, but I knew they’d be pleased to see the new car. The two older girls did a game of rock, paper, scissors, and Livvie got to sit in the front. After we got home, the boys wanted a ride in it, so I took them with me to collect Julie from the salon.
When she came out and saw the new car, she was very enthusiastic about getting her licence next year, and could she borrow it when she’d passed her test? I suppose there’s nothing wrong with unbridled optimism–but I suspect the insurance premium would be something close to the value of the car for a new teenage driver. Thankfully, I had nearly a year to practice saying, no.”
(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.
(aka Bike) Part 1029 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
In fact, I spent far more than just the cost of the bike–I decided I’d teach him to use clipless pedals, the Shimano SPD system, so we had to get a pair of shoes and then some shorts, so I went the whole hog and bought him a shirt as well.
Because he’s not very big, and the shop didn’t carry any children’s kit–there’s a surprise, I found a small women’s size shorts and top, and the shoes were too. Now before I’m accused of turning one of my kids into a transvestite, it was only the labels which gave the game away and they could be lost quite easily.
He already had a helmet and I had a pair of mitts which would probably fit him–some cheapo ones I’d bought ages ago which were actually too small for my hands–which are quite small. They’d also go quite well with the rest of the kit, which was all turquoise, grey and black. The shoes were grey and if I remembered correctly; the mitts were light blue and grey.
We got home to find that Simon was playing football with Danny and the girls, while Tom and Leon were doing gardening. This mean the coast was clear to sneak the kit in and put the bike in the garage with the rest of them.
After speaking with the others and making some tea for myself–Simon came in for one as well and the kids came for a cold drink, which I duly dispensed. “Did you sort out returning the car?” I asked him.
“Can you see it?” he asked almost snottily.
I looked down the drive, “No–have they taken it already?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know–but I’ll accept it looks like it.”
“You don’t think I’ve hidden it round the corner in case you decide you like it tomorrow, do you?”
“No, Simon, I don’t. I don’t want any bad feeling over this either.”
“Excuse me; but it doesn’t work like that. I pulled all sorts of strings to get you that car–that’s senior manager or even director level.”
“I appreciate you thought it was a treat, but it wasn’t. I need something bigger and less fast.”
“I see so you bought a new bike?”
“No, I got that for Billy, he wants to try road riding, possibly to do some racing when he’s a bit older.”
“So what are you going to use? The last I heard you were going to buy a new car?”
“I’m borrowing, Daddy’s Mondeo, for the moment.”
“So that’s why you were up early, conniving with Tom?”
“No, I had to take Julie to work and I wanted to get some new tyres for Billy’s old bike, then we saw that one and he tried it.”
“I see, so you’re favouring one over the others?”
“Not really, I supported Danny playing football; I’ve got the girls all sorts of things over the past few months, including school uniforms. This time I’ve given Billy a chance to become an individual and try something different.”
“Which you just happen to be very good at?”
“Come off it, Si, I’ve hardly ridden for months.”
“But it is your sport?”
“Yes, what’s that got to do with it?”
“You were just waiting for one of them to show the slightest sign weren’t you?”
“Slightest sign of what?”
“Being a cyclist.”
“Not particularly, but nothing I say is going to convince you otherwise, so I’m not even going to respond to it. Will you collect Julie from the salon after half past four?”
He glowered but agreed, “What are you going to be doing?”
“Possibly still out with Billy or getting dinner started, why?”
“If you’re out with Billy, and I’m collecting Julie, who’s going to look after the girls and Danny?”
“If necessary I’ll ask Leon, but I suspect Daddy will, or even Stella.”
He sighed, his bid for the moral high ground had failed.
“Excuse me, I have to fit some new pedals.” I pushed past him and went to the garage. It didn’t take long, and I have several pedal spanners, which made it easier. Billy came out to see what I was doing to his bike. I sent him in to put on his new cycling shoes and we measured them up, marked them and fitted the cleats.
For the uninitiated, cleats are small metal plates which fit to the soles of cycling shoes which are quite hard. The cleats fit into the pedals which have a tightening mechanism, so they can be adjusted for optimum comfort.
Billy and I fiddled with the pedals and the shoes and also the riding position to give him optimum drive and minimal chance of injuring himself. We took probably an hour to do that, and then I had him practising clipping in and out of the pedals–he grasped it more quickly than I had. However, it usually takes one or two falls before you remember all the time–especially if you’ve been used to riding with ordinary pedals.
Having finished setting up Billy’s bike, I did the lunch while a very red-faced Simon gambolled about on back lawn with four kids and a football. We had lunch and after clearing up, by which time nearly an hour had elapsed, Billy and I went out for our ride.
As we went, I made him practice how to clip in and out of his pedals, it takes a while to learn or to master the technique, but he was doing fine–you usually do until you have to stop quickly and forget–then whack–down you go and it hurts. Next, I made sure he knew how to brake and how to change gear. It sounds easy enough, after all he’s already got a bike with gears, but I wanted him to do it properly and smoothly. He was a ready pupil.
Finally, we did a ride, going out along the bike path and soon after on to the road where some experience in traffic is essential to learn how to ride safely. I admit, I rode differently to my usual style of zipping in and out of traffic–to teach Billy the safe way to ride in it. He seemed to get the hang quite quickly. Then we reached another bike path and as it seemed clear, I challenged him to a race to the next lamp post. I let him win because I wanted see him ride–he was developing a reasonable technique. He then challenged me–well, I couldn’t let him have it all his own way, and it would show him there are faster riders, so not to become complacent.
Okay, I’m bigger, stronger and more experienced, so I beat him without much effort, but give him a year or two and he’ll be giving me a better race, but for now–I thrashed him. I was actually standing by my bike when he stopped suddenly, forgot to unclip and fell down–on the grass verge, thankfully, but it reminded him that there a few things to think about in learning a new skill.
He wasn’t hurt, and he lay there laughing with the bike lying on top of him and me shaking my head at him and smiling. I helped him up and checked him over and then the bike. He seemed to be enjoying himself and on his own, out of the shadow of the genius level girls and the larger more aggressive Danny, he was revelling in the attention he was getting. I hoped he was doing it because he wanted to, not just to get my attention.
On the ride back, I pushed the pace a little to see if he could last and he managed to stay with me for speeds under twelve miles an hour. I’d forgotten to fit him a computer, and as I think I had a spare one in the shed, I’d do that for him later.
As we approached the drive, I asked him if he’d enjoyed himself and he asked if we could ride again tomorrow. I told him I’d think about it.
The girls came running to see his new bike, they then got theirs out and rode up and down the drive. Danny looked a little jealous, although I know he wants a new pair of football boots for his birthday. The girls seemed unaffected by my largesse to one of their siblings, seeming to understand, when they need something, they’re likely to get it and that the system takes it in turn.
Simon and his Jaguar had gone, presumably to collect Julie–she likes his car, which was why I asked him to get her. Leon, had gone home early, his mother had some engagement, so asked him to go early to escort her–he wasn’t too happy because it meant he couldn’t do his usual tongue wrestling with Julie when she came home.
As I showered after my ride, I mused on the day. It had been good to get Billy interested in something, it had been difficult dealing with a churlish Simon, but at least the girls had helped me with that–playing football with him, he’d had some fun I think, so hopefully his mood would improve by the time he came back–however, some sort of black cloud seemed to hover over me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that life was about to get difficult again–although the type of challenge it would pose was unknown. Possibly I was becoming a bit paranoid–it’s been a good day, what’s going to go wrong now and spoil it? I would find out soon enough.
(aka Bike) Part 1030 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Stella as I slaved in the kitchen organising a meal which would make feeding the five thousand a doddle.
“Dunno–fed up with Simon being a twit.”
“It’s what he does–and he’s pretty good at it. What specifically has he done this time?”
“I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t have got married.”
“It must be pretty serious if you’re thinking like that.”
“Not really, it was that car.”
“Yes, rather flash wasn’t it?”
“Too much for me.”
“Oh I don’t know, you can put on a bit of a turn when the mood takes you.”
“Which is not very often; I wanted something like the cars I’ve had before, just a runabout with room for three or four kids and the weekly shopping.”
“You could borrow Tom’s spare car for that.”
“I am–I mean on a more regular basis–I asked Daddy if I could buy it, he said no, just borrow it.”
“Well that just saved you ten grand, then.”
“But Simon thinks I copped out–unable to buy a car of my own.”
“So–does it matter?”
“He’s grumpy because I turned down his choice of wet-dream cars...” as I said this Stella burst out laughing. “What did I say?”
“His wet-dream car.”
“Oops, did I say that?” I blushed, “Well, I was thinking it–I mean, he has a nice car already, why did I need to join the jet set?”
“Because you’re his little wifey.”
“So?”
“Well the future Viscountess of Stanebury needs to look the part.”
“Yeah, but that means walking round in a Barbour, with a shotgun under my arm and smelling of stale horse sweat.”
She burst out laughing again, “We’re not all Thelwell characters you know.”
I laughed at this and we hugged, still giggling like insane schoolgirls. I stirred the Bolognaise sauce and decided it was time to put the pasta on to boil.
“Who would be little Maudie if we were?” I asked.
“Oh, I think that would have to be Trish; I can just see her bouncing along on the back of a large overfed pony, can’t you?”
I couldn’t actually, Meems perhaps, Livvie possibly, even Billy, but not Trish. Billy–why had a said that? What am I thinking? I felt myself blushing.
“Something wrong?” asked Stella.
“No,” I replied shaking the idea from my head, “I took Billy riding this afternoon.”
“I take it he enjoyed it?”
“He wants to go again tomorrow.”
“You know he’s out polishing his new bike?”
I glanced out of the window, “That’s a novelty that won’t last.”
“Yes, but it must be nice to have a mum who can ride with him and fix his bike when he needs help.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” I asked because I couldn’t pick up on her tone.
“Strange question,” she gave me a funny look, “no, I wasn’t, I thought it was rather nice for both of you–I mean, he takes after you more than his dad.”
“What?” I gasped.
“He looks more like you than he does Simon, and he’s quieter than Danny, who is a real boy.”
“Oh my goodness–are you implying he’s a bit feminine?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am–yeah, he’s a bit girly in some ways, isn’t he?”
“Oh shit–what am I going to do?”
“Do? Do about what?”
“About Billy–he can’t stay here.”
“I thought you’d adopted him?”
“Not quite–no, he can’t stay.”
“Cathy, calm down–now what are you babbling on about?”
“I can’t have another transgender child here, someone will say something and they’ll think it’s all my fault.”
“Who said he was transgendered?”
“You did.”
“I most certainly did not, what I said was he’s a bit girly.”
“Well, that’s what they used to say about me.” I absently stirred the sauce and turned the heat down.
“In your case, you were a girl–so what’s the problem.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be though, was I? Not until you got your hands on me.”
“If I remember, a certain little boy, and he was little, told me he was taking hormones because he was growing tits–so don’t lay that one on me, missus.”
“I don’t want Billy to follow in my path.”
“He doesn’t even know, does he?”
“No–but you know what I mean–over identification in a house full of women.”
“Over identification of what?”
“The female role.”
“What about Tom and Simon, and Leon, plus Danny? They’re male, aren’t they?”
“But Simon and Leon are only here at weekends.”
“He’s in school most of the week, he’ll have plenty of role models there, plus–isn’t all this supposed to happen before he’s four years old to have a marked effect upon him?”
“Is it?”
“I think so; gender roles and identity develop quite young. I mean, when did you realise you were a girl?”
“I was four or five, I think.”
“There you go then.”
“But what if he’s gay or something?”
“So what? If he is you’ll have nothing to worry about will you?” She winked at me and realised I hadn’t thought it was funny.
“They’ll all accuse me of causing it.”
“Cathy, I thought it was pretty well proven that you can’t catch homosexuality from someone else. It isn’t a disease. It’s probably a genetic thing.”
“God, I hope so.”
“I thought you were well informed on all these things?”
“It’s different when it’s your family.”
“No it isn’t–the same mechanisms will apply, and besides, he’s your adopted child, you got him with all his baggage, and so far I think you’ve done a good job on all of them.”
“Have I? I do wonder.”
“Cathy, stop doubting yourself–you’re a good parent and excellent mother, just because you didn’t want to drive a flash motor, doesn’t mean you’re bad.”
“No, but I bought him a girl’s bike.”
“So? Does he know?”
“Yes–I had to tell him.”
“So, he’s hardly gonna catch transsexualism from a bike saddle–is he?”
“I s’pose not.”
“Here comes Simon with Julie.” Stella was looking through the kitchen window and watched Simon park his car and the two of them walk towards the house: moments later they came in through the back door and then into the kitchen.
“Hi, Mummy, Auntie Stella.”
“Hello, sweetheart,” I gave her a hug.
“Um–that smells good, I’m starvin’, hardly had time to do anythin’ today. I’ve done fifteen shampoos–look at me ‘ands, they’re red raw.”
I passed her some hand cream, which she smoothed on to her slightly pink skin. Stella looked at me and sniggered–“Now that’s girly,” she said and I laughed as well.
“What’s so funny?” asked Simon.
“Nothing–it was something we were talking about earlier.”
“Where’s Puddin’?” he asked Stella.
“Trish and Meems were looking after her, why?”
“I wondered what they were burying in the garden–that’s all.”
“What?” she shrieked and ran down the garden.
Simon stood and roared with laughter, “Serves her right, the lazy cow.”
“What does?” I asked with a little irritation.
“She’s got one kid to look after to your six, and she dumps it on anyone she can, even a blessed six year old.” He looked towards Julie, “Enjoy your ride home?”
“Yeah, it was brill, Daddy.”
“See–some people in this house can appreciate a decent car when they see one.” Before I could pour half a gallon of hot sauce down his trousers he waltzed out of the kitchen and into the lounge, followed by Julie with my hand cream.
(aka Bike) Part 1031 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
On Sunday morning, quite early–it was only eight o’clock, I took Billy for his second ride. He seemed to think he was up to it, so we went a bit longer and did fifteen miles. I also took him up on to the downs and we had to stop a couple of times for him to get his breath back. However, he kept insisting he was enjoying it. We pulled over into a car park at one of the viewpoints and stopped for a drink and some energy bars.
There were one or two cars about, presumably walkers or dog owners. We were busy admiring the view over the sea when a dog came bouncing up to greet us. Billy was initially a bit frightened but he soon relaxed when the boxer dog licked him and went bounding off back to its owner.
“Fancy seeing you here?” said a familiar voice.
I looked around and saw a familiar face, “I didn’t know you had a dog,” I said.
“Yes, dumb animal is the right description for him, too.”
“Is that Dr Sage, Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Good grief; you haven’t cycled out here on a Sunday morning, have you?”
“Yes, we have.”
“Good for you and your daughter, sorry I’ve forgotten your name um–“
“It’s Billy, and I’m a boy.”
“Whoops, sorry about that, I forgot your mother had boys as well. You haven’t reconsidered about the UN job, have you, Cathy?”
“No, why?”
“It’s still open. I now have three professors who think you should do it.”
“I don’t have enough seniority to do it, it requires a professor to do it.”
“They don’t seem to think so.”
“You’re not offering enough money.”
“Probably not, but it’s a hugely prestigious appointment.”
“If it was, you’d be trampled in the stampede for it.”
“Oh we’ve had several applicants, but none we consider suitable.”
“So how come I’m suitable?”
“You’ve a proven record of producing a quality product, whether it’s counting dormice and promoting their conservation, or setting up a national survey, or making a very educational but entertaining film. What you do, you do well.”
“I still have six kids to look after.”
“Employ someone to help.”
“Find someone else.”
“Have another think, Cathy. Talk it over with Tom and Simon.”
“I don’t have time.”
“I really think you should seriously consider it, I’ll email you the latest job description.”
“You sent me one before.”
“It’s changed–I’ll send it on to you.” He gathered his dumb mutt, put it in the back of his Land Rover and drove off.”
“Why did that man think I was a girl, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, kiddo–probably because he’s not used to children.”
“Is it because I was riding a girl’s bike?”
“No, sweetheart, he wouldn’t be able to tell without looking at it very closely.”
“Is it because I’m small?”
“I don’t know–does it bother you?”
“Sometimes I think you’d love me more if I was a girl.”
I put down my bike and bid him do the same, then I grabbed him and told him quite categorically, “I love you for who you are. Being a boy or a girl doesn’t make any difference to me, or to the others. We all love you.”
He hugged me and I heard and felt him sob. Why did this have to happen? Had I precipitated it? I hoped not, but perhaps I had unconsciously.
“They sometimes call me girly in school.”
“Who does?”
“Some of the kids–Danny has had fights because of it.”
“When did this start–recently?”
“No–for ages. It’s ‘cos I’m small, isn’t it?”
“You’re small and delicate looking.” and very pretty for a boy, “Tthat’s possibly why.”
“Is it nice being a girl?”
“It’s okay–yeah, I think so, but then I would, wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re a lady?”
“Yes, but I’m sure if you asked Daddy, he’d tell you it was better being a boy.”
“People wouldn’t laugh at me if I was a girl, would they?”
“I didn’t know they laughed at you now.”
“Sometimes they do.”
“Oh, sweety-pie, I wish you’d told me.”
“So you could make me a girl?”
“No, so I could stop them teasing you.”
“They said I look like you, they saw you on the telly.”
“Who are they, Billy?” I asked hugging him.
“Boys in my school.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Yes, but if you complain, I’ll get even worse bullying. Jonathon Napier’s mum complained and he ended up in hospital, where they pushed him in front of a car.”
“Good gracious–didn’t anyone do anything about it?”
“If they did, they’d have something awful happen to them.”
“Do you want me to see if I can get you transferred to another school?”
“What, like Trish and Livvie’s school?”
“That’s a girl’s school, silly.”
“Maybe I’d be better off being a girl–Trish an’ Julie are.”
“Yes but they felt they were girls inside. They haven’t chosen to be girls because they thought life would be easier, in fact, it probably makes life harder–talk to Trish about it.”
“I have, she said I’d like their school, apart from the religion stuff.”
“You talked with Trish about attending a girl’s school?”
“Yeah–well, about her goin’ to it, an’ I said it sounds nicer than my school an’ she said I’d like it there.”
“Except you have to be a girl.”
“Maybe that’s what I shoulda been?”
My stomach began to flip over and over–in some ways our household is the safest place in the universe to ponder such things, and even try them, but what would social services say? I need to speak with Stephanie, and she needs to see this young man before he says or does something silly.
It was now nine o’clock and I called Stephanie, then asked her to hold. “If I ask Dr Stephanie to see you, would you talk to her about this?”
Billy nodded.
“Sorry Steph, look you’re not going to believe this...”
“Try me?”
“Billy is possibly wishing he was a girl.”
“Oh, not entirely surprising in your household, is it?”
“Well, I was surprised by it.”
“You must be the only one, then. So if he can’t beat ‘em he wants to join ‘em–is that it?”
“I think I’d like you to ask him that.”
“Okay–when d’you want me to see him?”
“When are you free?”
“I’m not, I come at huge expense–this afternoon, and the dinner had better be worth it?”
“Fish or meat?”
“Hmm–decisions, decisions–you don’t have any lamb, do you.”
“I have a leg of lamb for dinner, curiously enough.”
“You’re a bad liar, Cathy.”
“It can be arranged.”
“Say, sixish?”
“That’s fine, see you then.”
“What’s happening, Mummy?”
“Dr Stephanie is coming for dinner, and to speak with you.”
“I won’t have to wear a dress will I?”
“Not unless you want to–do you?”
“I don’t know,” he hugged me and burst into tears and it was all I could do not to follow suit. It was going to be a long ride back.
(aka Bike) Part 1032 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Billy and I got back to the house in a reasonable time, although both of us had lost the urge to improve our cycling performance. I did manage to suggest to him that when we couldn’t go out regularly, I’d set up the rollers so he could do some riding, but he wasn’t to do it without letting me know. I also pointed out that I found cycling a good way to mull things over when they worried me, and sometimes the best answer presented itself to me during the ride.
“Will I know what I want to do when we get home?”
“I don’t know sweetheart.”
“Will you know what you want me to do?”
“I already do–I want you to be happy. Personally I think that would be for you to remain as a boy, but if you think you want to be a girl–then so be it. If you want to be a bit of both–that’s up to you.”
“A bit of both, Mummy?”
“Yes, you know be one or the other most of the time, going to school that sort of thing, but to sometimes be the other at home or with the others.”
“Won’t they think I’m strange?”
“It’s not as easy to cope with, but I’m sure they would, because they love you.”
“I don’t know, Mummy–I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s why Dr Stephanie is coming to see us for dinner, so she can use her special skills to help you decide.”
“She won’t cut my um–you know–off will she?”
“No, that I can categorically answer–she’s a psychiatrist not a surgeon. C’mon, let’s go home.” Which is what we did.
“Good ride?” Simon asked.
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what I said, some of it was good.”
“You’re getting very strange in your old age, girl.”
“Little piggies have big ears.”
“Wanna talk?”
“Somewhere private–let’s go over to the bike workshop.” I told Julie to keep an eye on the others while Simon and I had a talk.
“What happened?” he asked and I explained it as best I could.
“He’s brought this up before hasn’t he?”
“Yeah a couple of months ago.”
“So it’s obviously on his mind.”
“Yes, it’s not something the average boy talks about–but then this household is a bit different.”
“You could say that again–so, what do we do?”
“I think we listen to Stephanie’s advice, and then discuss it with Billy, and if necessary, with the others.”
“He didn’t want to play football with us, he rarely wants to do much in the way of rough and tumble, like Danny does or even the girls occasionally–so he is different.”
“It might just bewilder him, if he’s never done it before–it might be a step too far.”
“They’ve been here six months, I thought they had settled in.”
“They are both traumatised and dealing with lots of negatives. Sadly, even we can’t be positive all the time–real life gets in the way, and if they do wrong, I have to tell them.”
Simon shrugged and nodded.
“I have to go and shower then buy a joint of lamb–I’ll see if Waitrose have any Welsh lamb.”
“Ooh, yes please, will you do roasties with it?”
“Simon, you’re getting too fat now–roast potatoes are just junk food like chips.”
“No they’re not, when you make them, they’re wonder food.”
“Fine words butter no parsnips,” I replied.
“Oh can you get some of them too?”
“I am going to shower, and see where our youngest son is–why don’t you do something with him?”
“Like what–paint his toenails?”
“Simon, that was crass. I meant like do some male bonding with him.”
“How do I do that?”
“What did your father do with you?”
“Gave me a shotgun and told me to reduce the local wildlife.”
“I don’t think we’ll be doing that–I’ll buy him a dress first.”
“I don’t know why you have such a downer on guns?”
“Have you shot anyone?”
“Course not.”
“Well when you have, come back and we’ll discuss it.”
I had my shower and after dressing and sorting my hair, I called out if anyone wanted to do some shopping with me. Trish came running up and so did Billy. It rather looked as if Simon’s male bonding with Billy hadn’t worked too well–there’s a surprise.
“Can we call in Asda, Mummy,” asked Trish.
“If you like–we can go there instead.” Which is what we did. I got a trolley and as soon as we got into the store, the two of them hared off to the clothes section. By the time I caught up with them, they were going into the changing rooms with armfuls of clothing.
I stood outside with my trolley carrying some potatoes and carrots and waited. I could hear giggles from inside the cubicles–the two of them were in the same one. I’ll shoot that Trish, what is she up to?”
“They yours?” asked the girl in charge of the changing rooms.
I nodded and answered, “’Fraid so.”
“Wanna go and see what they’re up to? I’ll watch your trolley.”
I thanked her and made my way down the row of changing cubicles–they weren’t hard to find. I poked my head around the curtain and Trish squealed, then giggled. I gasped, Billy was wearing a white dress with a pattern of tiny rosebuds in pink and red over much of it. On his feet he wore red slip on shoes, and behind him there were several more dresses hanging up.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked him.
He blushed and nodded.
“Okay, just pick two dresses that go with the red shoes, we’ll get you some panties and camisoles and some socks.”
“May I have some tights, Mummy, like you wear?”
“If they do them small enough–okay, we’ll go and look.” He pulled off the dress and put on a red one with blue circles on it. It wouldn’t have been my choice but it went with the shoes. Trish went and hung the surplus clothing on the returns rail and Billy dressed in his jeans and top. He didn’t look very masculine at the best of times, but suddenly he looked very feminine. No wonder Gareth guessed wrong. This wasn’t going the way I expected.
“You haven’t put him up to this, have you?” I hissed at Trish.
She looked indignantly at me, “Certainly not–you can take a horse to water, but you can’t make him swim.”
“Drink,” I corrected her.
“Yes please, Mummy,” she smirked.
One of these days I’m going to murder that little madam. We got the rest of the essentials, a pair of girl’s pyjamas, some panties, some camisoles and some tights, as well as a pack of short socks. I drew the line at that–I’d spent enough for something which I hoped was going to be a nine days wonder. If it wasn’t–don’t go there.
We worked our way up and down the store, and of course Trish insisted we get a bracelet and a necklace plus some lip gloss and smellies for Billie, her new sister. Trish was thoroughly enjoying the exercise, and Billy seemed to be happily accompanying her to his doom.
Was I being weak in not stopping this and making him wait until he’d seen Stephanie? Had Trish steamrollered him into this? So many imponderables, and now they were dragging me off to the little cafe place for a drink–maybe a cuppa would be useful–we still have to face Simon and the others yet. Oh poo.
(aka Bike) Part 1033 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The kids–I nearly said girls, had a cake and a soft drink while I sat with a small pot of tea, wondering what I had just done. I had just spent nearly a hundred pounds on two dresses and red patent shoes for my son. It isn’t for a fancy dress party–so am I crazy?
Trish was jabbering like some sort of electronic game, and part of me wished I could take her batteries out–just to get some peace and quiet. My head was pounding and I felt quite sick–what had I done?
Trish kept yakking on and on. “Trish, if you don’t be quiet, I shall take all this stuff back.”
She looked crestfallen, her bottom lip curled and I half expected tears or a tantrum. Billy put his arm round her and she snuggled into him. Was it the act of a big brother or sister? Am I paranoid or are they out to get me?
I sipped my tea and took an aspirin to ease my headache. Trish stayed snuggled against Billy and they were watching me, wondering if I’d burst their little bubble.
“Trish, you stay quiet please because I’m talking to Billy. Billy, do you want to keep this stuff or would you like a computer game to the same value?”
His face fell as I started this sentence and a smile rose by the end of it. Why hadn’t I thought of this before–appeal to his boy-self rather than pandering to his negative girly image. I glared at Trish, who sat and fidgeted with her shoe to avoid eye contact with me.
Billy sat looking at me, presumably trying to work out what I wanted him to say, which was not at all what I wanted him to do. “Look, say what you feel–I won’t be cross either way. Don’t say something to please me if it isn’t what you really, really want, and that goes for pleasing Trish as well. Which would you prefer, to keep all this girly stuff or look for a computer game?”
Trish stopped playing with her shoe and crossed her arms and sighed. Her bottom lip was curled over in a wonderful pout–she was far from pleased with my stand against her having a full size Barbie doll.
Billy looked at her as if to ask what to do, then he looked at me.
“Look why don’t you go a for a little walk around the cafe and think by yourself. There are no right or wrong answers–I won’t be cross with you which ever you choose. So off you go, Trish and I will have a little chat while you’re gone.”
He was reluctant to go by himself, but eventually he did. Trish pouted again, she was expecting a telling off, she wasn’t disappointed. “I don’t know who was responsible for this trying and buying surge this morning, but I need Billy to show me that it’s what he wants, because if it isn’t, it could cause him real problems later on.”
She pouted and I saw her eyes moisten. I expected her to protest but she didn’t.
“I know you’re only trying to help him, but he has to make his own decisions and in his own time–even if he is transgendered it has to be his realisation not your encouragement. Do you understand?”
She nodded and tears rolled down her cheeks.
I held out my arms and she came and sat on my lap and sobbed, “I’m sorry, Mummy, I thought it was what he wanted.”
“It might still be, but you have to learn not to steamroller people. Not everyone has your strength of mind–do you understand?”
She nodded and dried her eyes on her hankie. Billy returned, and seeing her sitting on my lap with her hankie in her hand, his face changed to one of concern.
“It’s my fault not Trish’s.”
“What is?” I asked trying to remain calm and neutral.
“It was my idea,” he blushed and looked at the floor.
“What was?”
“Trying on a dress.”
“So?”
“I thought you were blaming Trish.”
“I wasn’t blaming anyone–I’m not looking to blame anyone, I’m trying to give you the chance to be happy, whichever way you want to go. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“I think so, Mummy.” He looked me in the eye and then rushed forward and hugged me, then burst into tears. Oh boy, I suppose we could have picked a better place for all this–like in the baked beans aisle. People were starting to look, but I glared back at them.
“What is she doing to those two girls?” said one deaf old biddy to her equally deaf friend.
“Come along, let’s finish the shopping while you decide what you want to do.” I gave him a tissue and picked up my handbag.
Trish began to push the trolley and we headed off to the butchery section to pick up a leg of lamb and some fresh mint from the greengrocery. Half an hour later, we were standing in the queue to pay with Billy holding one of my hands and Trish clinging on the other, when Billy said, “I’ve decided, Mummy.”
“Shall we wait until we get outside and we can have some privacy.”
“Okay, Mummy.”
I felt Trish squeeze my hand, not in affection but in her tenseness. She glanced at Billy and I knew what she was wanting him to decide. He however, looked straight ahead as if he needed to keep a set idea in his head or he’d lose his resolve. I think I knew what he was going to say, but I tried to stay neutral.
I paid at the checkout and we all three pushed the heavily laden trolley with its wayward front wheels towards where I thought I’d parked the car. Then all three of us helped to unload the shopping into the back of Tom’s Mondeo.
“Trish, would you please sit in the car and watch the shopping, while Billy and I take the trolley back?”
She huffed and puffed, but after I gave her a hard stare, she accepted her fate and got in the car.
I let Billy push the empty trolley back to the collection point and he redeemed my pound coin and handed it to me.
“So, you’ve made your decision?” I asked him.
He nodded, “Yes Mummy.”
We were facing away from the car.
“And this is what you really want to do?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“You’re not going to be cross with me?”
“Why should I be cross?”
“Because I want to be a lady like you.”
I felt this coldness in the pit of my stomach–that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He cheated–he was supposed to say if he wanted to keep the clothes or have a computer game instead. This wasn’t fair, bloody kids they don’t play by the rules.
I tried desperately not to show my hurt, because I didn’t think he was gender confused. I was sure he was trying to increase his place in my life by becoming more like me or like people he thought I loved more than him–girls. Where had we gone wrong–or had I gone wrong?
“So you want to keep the clothes?”
“Yes please, Mummy.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
He burst into tears–why does he keep throwing me like this?
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I put my arm around him.
“You don’t want me to, do you?” he sniffed.
“I don’t mind one way or the other,” I lied, “if it makes you happy, that’s all that counts.”
“Thank you, Mummy,” he said as we walked back to the car where an expectant Trish sat watching us through the window.
(aka Bike) Part 1034 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What did you decide?” Trish pressed her older bro–um–sister?
“I want to be a girl,” Billy said quietly, then repeated more loudly and confidently, “Yes, I want to be a girl.”
“Yay,” shouted Trish and nearly hugged him to death–um, hugged her? This was doing my head in, as they say in some circles.
I got them to belt up–their seat belts–what else? Then I drove home with them jabbering together in the back. I planned a quick lunch and then to tidy up a bit before Stephanie arrived.
“Are you going to wear one of your dresses to see Stephanie?” I asked Billy.
“Um–I dunno, what’ya think, Mummy?”
“That’s entirely up to you, darling.”
“What d’ya think, Trish?” he asked her.
“Oh yeah, I think you should.” Well she would, wouldn’t she?
“Don’t you interfere, now, Trish–this has to be Billy’s decision, not yours. I think we all know what you think.”
She sat back and huffed, her arms crossed angrily across her chest. We were heading for a clash as she was too young to understand how imperative it was for Billy to make his own decisions about this. I sometimes get the impression that she’d like everyone to be female.
“We’ll tell everyone over lunch that Billy may be wearing dresses on occasion–I don’t think anyone will have too many problems with it, but if they do, they have to be heard as well. You two understand?”
“Yes, Mummy,” came in unison from the back seat.
“We don’t know what Danny is going to think about this.”
“Why shouldn’t he like it, Mummy?” asked Trish.
“Because he’s going to be in an even smaller minority than before: that can be threatening to some people.”
“He’ll be okay,” voiced Billy.
“How d’you know?” I asked him.
“ ’Cos I told it ’im I might, an’ ’e thinks it’s okay.”
I wasn’t as convinced and until I’d heard it from the horse’s mouth, I’d remain healthily sceptical.
We got home and Simon and Tom were talking and looking at the garden, Leon was standing with them and the two younger girls were playing dolls on the lawn. They rushed up to see us, “Did ya get one?” squealed Livvie.
“Course she did,” answered Trish and they high fived, then Livvie and Billy did and I began to wonder if I was being controlled by a conspiracy. They all ran off squealing into the house with Billy and Trish carrying the clothing bags.
“What’s all that about?” asked Simon.
“I’m not entirely sure–but I might have been had.”
“Oh–in what way?”
“If I say those bags contain two cotton dresses and some shoes, and they’re too big to fit Trish or Livvie, I think you’ll understand my drift.”
“He’s done it then?” asked Danny.
“Done what?” I asked playing dumb.
“Joined your lot–he said he might.”
“Oh did he now? Come and have a little chat with me, Danny.” I walked him over to the bike shed and shut the door after us. “So when did he say this?”
“Oh ages ago.”
“How did he say it?”
“I think he said he was fed up with being a boy and wondered what being a girl would be like.”
“Go on...”
“Not much else to tell, they’re always calling him a sissy or a girly, so he’s taken their advice.”
“And what d’you think about it–I mean if he does start dressing like a girl?”
“So long as he don’t expect me to fancy ‘im, ’sokay with me–free country, innit?”
“You’re not worried by him changing sides, so to speak?”
“Nah, not at all, s’long as they don’t want me to become one as well–then I might get a bit cross, like.”
“Good man, I know it’s too early to get you some new football boots, we’ll wait until September for that, but how about some new trainers?”
“Oh yeah, Mum, that’d be fab. Could I have some new shorts, too?”
“I expect so, we’ll get some next weekend.”
“Kewl, can I ’ave Nikes.”
“Let’s see what’s available shall we?”
“Yeah great, thanks, Mum.” He gave me a kiss and a hug then ran off into the garden. I noticed he had changed his form of address to me to a more grown up form.
I struggled with the shopping back to the house only to be confronted with Billy in the white flowery dress, his hair in pig tails and it looked as if someone had been at my makeup–because I don’t remember buying him any mascara.
He did a twirl for me, and I nodded and said, “Yes, very pretty, young lady–are you going to show the others?”
“Um–d’you think I should?” He blushed very red.
“They’ll have to see you sooner or later, won’t they?”
“Will you come with me, Mummy?”
“C’mon then, because I have lunch to get.” I escorted him out to the others who were still talking and looking at the garden, as if it was an on-site planning meeting. “Excuse me, gents, this young lady is, our daughter, Billie.”
Leon’s eyebrows went up a fraction but that was all. “Pretty dress, is it new?” asked Simon as if breaking the ice.
“Yes, Daddy, I’m glad you like it.”
“Did you choose it?”
“Um–yes, with some help from Trish and Mummy.” I stood behind her and rolled my eyes.
“Gi yer Granpaw a wee hug then, lassie,” Tom held out his arms. She ran to him and he lifted her off the ground. “Did ye dae yer own makeup?” he asked her.
“No, Trish helped me.”
How did I know that was coming, “And Livvie did my hair. D’you like it?”
“Och ye look bonny, so ye dae.”
While they were all talking I got the rest of the shopping in. I was inches from the door when Julie appeared and she wasn’t trying to swallow Leon’s tongue–had they fallen out?
“Hello, sweetheart, grab the door for me, will you?”
She did and when I asked where she’d been, she’d been shaving her legs–then I noticed she was wearing very short shorts.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing tights with those?” I asked her.
“Too hot, Mummy.”
“I’m going to need some help with tidying round after lunch–Stephanie’s coming.”
“Who she gonna see this time–Trish, I s’pose?”
“No, your new sister, Billie.”
“Who–oh shit, he’s done it then?”
“Done what?”
“Decided to become a girl–attention seekin’ twit.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Nothin’, why?”
“Because this is important, what did you mean?”
She sighed and shrugged, “Well he’s jealous of us girls an’ he thinks it’s easier to be a girl. Typical bloody boy.”
“If that’s the case, he may not last the course.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t.
“Stephanie is the expert.”
“You like, think so?”
“Yes, don’t you?”
She gave me a knowing smile and shrugged before walking out to join the others in the garden.
Trish came racing down the stairs–“I thought I asked you not to adversely affect him.”
“I didn’t affect him, Mummy–that was his genes.”
“Were they too tight?” I joked.
“No, Mummy, his genetic code–his genes.”
“Ah, his chromosomes.”
“At last,” she muttered and sighed, “yes, those ones–”she walked on out of the kitchen to see the others muttering, “Some bloody biologist––”
(aka Bike) Part 1035 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I have never had this sort of trouble with dormice, I thought as I made lunch. At least I didn’t have to make any formal announcement–Billie had sort of done that, albeit without much subtlety.
I was putting the lamb into the oven after lunch when I had a horrible thought; if Billie goes girly, then I can hardly let him sleep with Danny. Oh shit, that means I lose the spare room. I won’t say anything for the moment, but if there is a problem, I’ll have to split them up.
The dinner was cooking nicely, although Julie, and the girls had worked well to help me get the place looking inhabited before Stephanie arrived. I spotted her driving her Mazda sports car into the drive and parking it next to the Mondeo. She had a little look at Simon’s Jaguar, then came up to the house.
Trish had also spotted her, because she flung open the door and dashed out to meet her. I don’t think I ever did that to any psychiatrist I knew. Obviously the innocence of youth–or Trish is scheming again–little monster.
I met Stephanie as soon as she came into the house and she presented me with a bottle of wine, “My contribution to the repast,” she smiled. I thanked her and asked her if she wanted to eat or see Billie first.
“Can the food wait for half an hour?” she asked.
“Certainly.”
“I’ll see our newest patient first then, if that’s okay–then I can relax.”
“Fine, Tom is still playing with his vegetable patch, so you can use his study. I’ll stick a notice on the door for you not to be disturbed.”
“Sounds good.”
“Want a drink of anything first? Tea, coffee, soft drink, water, booze?”
“Water sounds fine, it’s warm in the car.”
“Yes, but this may be all the summer we get, so enjoy it.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Here’s the study, organise it as you wish–oh, Billie decided this morning that he wants to dress in girly mode–so I got him a dress. Unsurprisingly, Trish was an enthusiastic supporter of his transformation.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes, “There’s a surprise.”
“Exactly, anyway, here’s your water, I shall go and find my newest daughter.”
“Cathy?”
“Yes?”
“He doesn’t know about you, does he?”
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be certain.”
“Okay, I’ll maintain the status quo then.”
Billie was sitting with Livvie and Trish, who were calming her down. I’m still not at all sure about this latest convert to the cause, but I suppose I should do the courtesy of employing the appropriate pronoun depending upon how he/she is dressed.
I’m beginning to appreciate why some employers say they’ll accept one change, but not a flitting to and fro. I beckoned Billie to accompany me to Tom’s study and I knocked on the door. On entering, I introduced, Billie as my newest daughter and then left them to it. I went back to the kitchen for a very long half hour wait.
I washed and chopped the mint leaves with a knife and began making the mint sauce. I suppose I was unconsciously monitoring my actions because I would otherwise have cut some of my fingers off.
I heard the study door open and Billie shot past me and upstairs. I wondered if something went wrong and was deciding whether I demanded to know what had happened when Stephanie called me from the study.
“Why did she rush upstairs?”
“I asked her to stay by herself until I’d spoken to you.”
“Oh, that sounds ominous.”
“Not really, I didn’t want her gossiping with Trish and co until I’d spoken with you.”
“Okay–do we have a diagnosis?”
Stephanie looked past me and at the door which to my thinking meant she was going to be evasive to try and hurry her way through the door.
“Yes and no.”
“Surely you either have or haven’t?”
“Cathy, you of all people should understand the imprecisions of the art of psychiatry.”
“Whatever happened to science?”
“Playing with disturbed or damaged minds is a far from perfect science.”
“Can I have that in writing?” I cheeked back.
“If you’re looking for a reduction in fee–tough.”
“I had a feeling that might be your response.”
“I’m pleased I didn’t disappoint–people these days can’t seem to cope with rejection.”
“So, let’s have it then–your imperfect diagnosis.”
She glared at me. “Billie is transgendered, I have no doubt of that. Whether she’s a full on transsexual such as Julie or Trish–I have some doubts.”
“Is there any way of removing those doubts?”
“In a longer term study, yes.”
“How long?”
“...Is a piece of string?”
“Oh great,” I sighed–just what I needed, “dinner’s practically ready, so if you are?”
“Yes, we’ll talk of this again–oh did you know he was sexually abused?”
“Before he came here I hope?”
“Natch–when he was about three years old.”
“God–that makes my blood boil.”
“Well, before you have a stroke, how about you serve my dinner.” She smiled sweetly at me and I glowered at her before returning to the kitchen to dish up. As I turned to leave, she fired off a salvo, “I’m glad you’re not one of my patients–bottling up resentment isn’t good for you, you know.”
“Yeah–tell me about it.”
At dinner, Tom carved the meat and I ladled vegetables on everyone’s plate. The meat was delicious, even if it was New Zealand lamb, which is okay, but not quite as good as Welsh. Never mind, everyone ate far too much and a few imbibed too many as well.
I kept looking at Billie, wondering exactly what was going on in her little head. She looked quite feminine at the moment, but puberty can’t be too far away–then all sorts of strange things might happen. I wish I knew how best to help her–but if a professional like Stephanie was unsure how to proceed, what chance did I have? Tomorrow, I was going to have a visit to the university and do some dormouse correlations–I’m losing touch with my roots and my other needs, which I ignore at my peril.
After dinner had officially finished–we’d got to the stage where everyone was picking bits of meat out of their fillings and drinking wine or coffee. The kids had been dismissed except Julie, and Stephanie addressed us.
“I told Cathy that I wasn’t sure what pigeon hole applied to Billie. However, for the moment we go with the transgender path and I think allow her to dress in female garb whenever the mood takes her.”
“So–is she like, transsexual then?” asked Julie.
“I don’t know yet, but there are a number of issues which need resolving and she’ll need support for from all of you. If they are resolved, her original boy identity might resurface and dominate–but it’s not certain–these things tend to make themselves up as they go along.”
I sighed to myself–that’s all I bloody well need.
(aka Bike) Part 1036 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I excused myself from the table to organise the kids for bed. It took me nearly an hour and when I came back they were all still sitting at the table talking. I crashed about in the kitchen loading the dishwasher and then asked if anyone wanted tea or coffee–they all did. So I ended up making those as well.
“You’ve missed an interesting conversation, Cathy,” offered Stella.
“Oh did I, well it’s the maid’s night off so I had to cover,” I riposted sarcastically, which rolled off Stella’s back like water off a duck.
“Have we got any more milk?” asked Stella.
“Why don’t you go and look in the fridge?” I said sweetly back to her, and the look she gave me was very queer, but she rose and went to the kitchen. I was very tempted to say something very nasty.
“By the way, Simon, I’m going back to work next week so everyone except the children will have to do their own catering, washing, cleaning and so on.”
It was the wrong thing to say, Simon spat coffee all over the table–thankfully not my grandmother’s cloth, but it’s likely to mark the table. “You’re going back to work?” he looked horrified.
“What about the kids?”
“I shall continue to look after Daddy and the kids, but I’m fed up with being treated by everyone as the housekeeper.”
Julie and Stella said nothing, Julie blushed and Stella got up and left her coffee behind, shutting the door loudly as she left.
“Why don’t you get someone in?” asked Stephanie.
“Why should I have to do it–I do more or less everything here, and I’ve decided I’m not going to any longer.”
“Fine–just bear in mind you don’t need a family upset while Billie is trying to decide who she is.”
“I’ll continue to support all my children.”
“So is it just Stella, you were getting at?” asked Stephanie.
“Not entirely, Julie could do a great deal more than she does.”
“I thought she was, is this true, Julie?” asked Simon.
“I do most of the ironing,” the teen replied.
“Is that all? I’m paying you fifty quid a week to help your mother.” Simon became a little more agitated.
“I do anything else she asks me to–don’t I, Mummy?”
“You don’t exactly look for things to do though, do you?”
“I don’t like to get in your way.”
My jaw almost dropped at this–like Stella, she is a lazy lummock who’d prefer to daydream and paint her nails rather than waste any energy on housework.
Stephanie sniggered and I glared at her. She was my guest so I couldn’t say much at all and besides, she had done me a favour, or perhaps Billie, so I tried to keep calm. Julie made a tactical withdrawal soon after and Tom yawned and went off to his study for his nightly nip of single malt.
“Whose fault is it that they let you get on with things?” asked Stephanie, “Because it sounds as if you’re your own worst enemy–a common enough occurrence with women; especially those who think they are irreplaceable.”
“I thought part of the reason for keeping Julie here was to help you?” Simon looked quite irritated.
“You’re here at weekends, do you see her doing much?” I asked him.
“No, but then she’s working at the salon.”
“She doesn’t do any more in the week than she does at weekends, and Stella is a waste of space.”
“She’s always been lazy around the house–too high a caste for menial work.” Simon sniggered at his own joke.
“I know I’m not a blue blood like you lot, but I assumed marrying you brought me up to equal status, or is this a delusion of mine?”
“Princess Di married the heir to the throne, but she was never accepted as a member of the royal family, was she?” Stephanie observed.
“I think that’s a bit different, Steph,” Simon observed, “Princess Di didn’t do the cooking or clean the place, they have an army of flunkies to do that.”
“So why not get someone to help Cathy?”
“Steph, we’ve talked about this ad nauseum, I’ve offered to pay and she doesn’t do anything about it.”
“So why don’t you?” Stephanie challenged him.
“Because the person who’d be supervising it is Cathy, I didn’t know how to switch on the washing machine the other week–had to get Trish to show me.”
“But you’re agreeable to funding it?” asked Stephanie and Simon nodded. “So what about it, Cathy get someone in to help?”
“Okay, I’ll organise a job description with the others–Stella can also contribute to the job description but it will cost her, she can help with the funding.”
“Is she working these days?”
“No,” Simon replied very sharply, “but she’s got her own income–so it’s not like she can’t afford it.”
“I was wondering more about her needing someone to help.”
“To do what? She’s such a lazy bitch, she takes all day to do bugger all.” Simon was on his soap box.
“She does babysit now and again when I have to go out or take one of the kids somewhere,” I offered in mitigation.
“And that takes her all day?” Simon had used his soap box to mount his high horse.
“She does have her baby to look after.”
“Cathy, what are you doing? You accuse her then defend her–what is it you actually want?” Simon now turned his guns on me.
Perhaps I’d asked for it–I no longer knew. All I wanted now was to go to bed and sleep–and if I didn’t wake up in the morning, that would suit me just fine–then they’d miss me–but only until they found some other sucker.
“I think I’d better go, it’s getting late.”
“The spare room is made up, if you’d like to stay,” I told her.
“I–um–don’t like to put you to any trouble.”
“Yeah, stay Steph, I’ll open another bottle of wine or would you like a brandy?”
“That would be nice, are you having one, Cathy?”
Simon roared at Stephanie’s query, “She hardly drinks at all–except copious quantities of tea.”
I blushed–I just wanted my bed, now through my own fault, I was going to have to stay up longer. I yawned and showed my tiredness.
“You look all in, why don’t you go to bed?” Stephanie suggested, “I’m sure Simon can show me to the spare room.”
“Okay, I’ll leave a nightdress on the bed with a toothbrush, some towels and some clean panties.”
“Goodness, you are organised,” she gasped, “In my house you’d need to make the bed first.”
“I did it while I was upstairs, so it’s all aired.”
“Go to bed then, it will be interesting to see how they all interact at breakfast.”
“What the kids or the adults?” I asked her and she mimed, ‘both’.
I kissed them both goodnight and went to sort out some stuff for Stephanie, nightie and so on, when I passed Stella’s room–the door was ajar and neither she nor Puddin’ were there. Her handbag was missing and the bed hadn’t been slept in. I switched on the light.
Attached to her pillow was one of those semi sticky label things, the message was short. ’I know when I’m not wanted, good bye.’
I snatched it off the pillow and ran downstairs to show the others.
(aka Bike) Part 1037 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Looks a bit juvenile to me,” said Stephanie, glancing at the note.
“She has a history of suicide and parasuicides.”
“How can she have a history of suicide–it’s something you only do once.”
“Stephanie, she very nearly died, which was what she intended. I interrupted it by chance and she nearly didn’t make it.”
“And some less convincing ones?”
“No they’ve been mainly for real, I’ve stopped it twice.”
“Where’s the baby?” asked Simon.
“She’s gone too,” I felt sick with worry.
“Okay, search the house from top to bottom–I’ll go and look outside.” Simon didn’t so much spring into action as lurch. He got his foot caught between the table leg and his chair and nearly fell over.
I rushed up the stairs–I knew she wasn’t in the guest room, but I checked anyway. Then looked in the girl’s room and Tom’s–he was in bed reading. When I explained, he jumped out of bed and started to dress.
I looked in her room again, even opening the wardrobe in case this was a wind up–she wasn’t there.
I checked all the other rooms–she wasn’t in the house, as far as I could tell. Me and my stupid big mouth, why couldn’t I have just ignored her like I usually do? It was doubly stupid to have acted up in front of Stephanie of all people–now she’ll know what a nutter I am.
“Her car’s still there,” said Simon coming back inside.
“So she’s on foot?” I deduced.
“Well who’s a regular Sherlock bloody Holmes?” Simon could be quite cruel when the mood took him.
“Don’t be like that,” I pouted.
“Well, duh, like she levitated and flew off like Superman–did you check to see if her cape and red wellies were still here?”
“Si, don’t be silly–this could be serious–there’s a baby involved.”
“I know there’s a friggin’ baby involved, if it was just looking for that stupid cow, I’d have left her to come to her senses and come crawling back after a night on the back doorstep–but a baby is different: not that she’s fit to care for one.”
“She’s quite a good mother,” I protested.
“Yeah, sure she is, only good mothers use their babies as blackmail collateral.”
By this time Tom had dressed and come down to help. “Weel, any news?”
“No, Daddy, she’s still missing, with Puddin’.”
“Hae ye called thae polis?”
“Not yet.”
“If she’s no foond in an hoor, we call them–richt?”
“Aye,” I sighed lapsing into Lallans myself.
“Cathy, you and Stephanie stay here in case she comes back, we’ll go and search the outbuildings and orchards.”
“I wonder if she took her mobile?” I suddenly thought.
“Yeah call her up and bollock her some more and then if she tops herself we can go to bed.”
“Simon, stop acting so spitefully. You don’t mean it,” I chided him and he waved his arms about protesting at his sister’s stupidity.
“I don’t think she’s being stupid,” Stephanie said quietly, “After all she has you all running round like headless chickens, because she knows you will. It’s juvenile, but clever juvenile.”
“So what should we do?” I asked.
“Have you her mobile number?”
I knew it by heart and gave it to Stephanie who dialled it–“It’s ringing.”
There was a response.
“I’m glad you picked it up, Stella, this is Stephanie–yes I’m still here, I’m staying the night. Okay, before you do hang up–Puddin’ is safe and well? Oh good. Please don’t do anything that would put her at risk, will you. Yes I know you wouldn’t, but my responsibility as a doctor is to make sure you won’t.”
They chatted for a moment or two longer, then Stephanie said in a matter of fact way, “Look why don’t you come back and we can discuss it–I promise to chair it and yes, Cathy and Simon will refrain from sniping at you–or I’ll exclude them.”
“Please come back, Stella,” I shouted at the phone, now with tears streaming down my face. “It’s all my fault.”
Stephanie waved at me to shut up, “Okay then, we’ll see you in five or ten minutes.”
I ran upstairs and dug my night vision glasses out and hiding behind the curtain in my bedroom, scanned the driveway to get a clue as to where she was. She snuck out of my bike shed–probably the only place Simon didn’t check, because it’s usually locked.
I probably wouldn’t have checked it too carefully either, because she never goes in there. I dashed downstairs, the key was missing from its usual place on the key rack. I’ll bet she hangs on to it in case she wants to disappear again. I’ve a good mind to add a staple and hasp lock and keep all the keys.
But that attitude isn’t going to solve anything was it? I needed to be conciliatory and work towards safety for Puddin’; so I’d bite my tongue and keep my thoughts to myself.
She came in five minutes later. The dining table was cleared and Stephanie sat at a place in the middle of the far side, she made us sit around the table with the neutral Tom nearest to where Stella would sit.
Stella entered the dining room and placed Puddin’ on the sofa, she was fast asleep and hopefully would remain so until this was resolved. If necessary, I could run from the table and intercept her with the baby to stop her running off again. I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, because she’d never forgive me.
For the next hour, Stephanie drew up comments from all of us as to what we thought the problem was and how to solve it. Next she drew up a list of the most important items and got me to type them up and print off a copy for everyone. I did as I was asked, knowing full well I was responding to stereotype again–but for the sake of getting to bed before it got any later.
She then went through the five main topics and made sure we were all agreed they were the most important ones. We did.
“Right, now this becomes a contract and I want you to sign every copy–that’s right, each other’s copy too. I’m well aware this isn’t a legally binding document, but it does give you a framework to use to understand each other, and because you signed each copy, none of you can claim it was a trick or anything.
“Might I suggest we all now adjourn to our beds?”
As Stella picked up her baby, I spoke to her, “Look, I’m sorry for what I said, but I was very tired.”
“So that makes it alright then, does it?” she snapped back at me.
“No, but I wanted to apologise, if you don’t wish to accept it, that’s up to you.” I turned to walk out of the room and she gripped my arm.
“Look, I think we’re all a bit fraught, how about we start again–as the sisters we are?”
“I’d like that,” I said and hugged her.
In return she handed me Puddin’ to have a little cuddle and the little angel stayed asleep.
I thanked Stephanie, who told me she’d stick it on the bill, I smirked and pointed at Simon, she smiled back at me and nodded.
(aka Bike) Part 1038 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning I awoke and lay watching Simon sleeping, he looked so peaceful and even innocent. How could I ever doubt him? More importantly, how could he not trust me–after all, I’d saved his miserable neck a couple of times–so he owed me.
I chuckled at the thought–he didn’t owe me anything, he’d actually saved me a few times too, by having the strength to overcome his prejudices to love me. Stella had been a tower of strength and so had Tom. I’d done lots for them, but they had for me too. Stella might be a lazy cow around the house, but she did bump start my whole career in womanhood, both literally and metaphorically.
When I thought about the other members of my family, Trish, Livvie and Meems, plus Danny and Billie and Julie–they had all taught me something about life and possibly about myself as well. I was still worried about Billie or Billy or whoever he wanted to be–I’m not sure what transgender means, because I don’t know if it actually means anything at all, it’s such a nebulous sort of term.
All I knew was that he or she was tucked up in bed wearing a nightie with pink bunnies on it–which shows what a poor biologist I really am–maybe Trish was right the other day, some bloody biologist?
Of course she’s as pleased as punch because it makes her less of a weirdo if everyone else is changing gender–maybe it is contagious? I edged away from Simon–I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I see people making declarations on Gay and TG websites,’proud to be whatever.’ I don’t know if I believe them. I’m not proud to be anything but female, or even human, or myself or foster or adopted mum to my children, wife to Simon and adopted daughter to Tom.
I’m not proud to have been transsexual, neither am I ashamed of it–it just is, or was, and I always saw it as a temporary thing that I passed through. Perhaps I’m deluding myself--as I can never be a normal woman–whatever one of those is. Stella is, but she’s far from normal–I hope, because I can’t say I’d particularly want to be like her, except the ability to have children–and that is a temporary situation, which only lasts about thirty years. Okay, it’s a long temporary situation.
Aw shit, I’m going to get up, lying here musing just makes me get all maudlin. I slipped out of bed and went downstairs. I was sitting in the kitchen watching the clock tick round drinking a cup of tea and enjoying the solitude when the pink bunny wearer complete with fluffy slippers came down and intruded into my privacy.
“Mummy,” she came and sat on my lap, “I’ve been thinking–;” which probably means Trish has been sowing seeds again.
“What have you been thinking?”
“About my name.”
“You’re very lucky to have a name which can be a boy’s or girl’s.”
“I’m not sure I think so–an’ it’s not very feminine.”
“Well I can see one immediate advantage.”
“Can you, Mummy?”
“Yes, if you keep it the same no one will call you by the wrong name, will they? I’d have thought that was the sort of thing which could give the game away, don’t you?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but what about those people who already know me–they might recognise me if they hear my name is the same.”
“They might recognise you anyway–unless you change your appearance dramatically.”
“How could I do that, Mummy?”
“Change hair colour and style, choose what clothing you wear, to make you look taller or shorter or fatter or thinner.”
“What, stuff a cushion down my knickers?”
“That would make you different and pregnant looking.”
“Ugh–I hated it when my previous mummy was pregnant.”
“Why was that?”
“She was always sick, and then she got so fat, and I knew she wouldn’t love me any more when she had a new baby.”
“How old were you then?”
“Four, I think, and then she died and they saved the baby.”
“So who looks after the baby?
“My dad I s’pose.”
“But he couldn’t look after you too?”
“I did something horrible, Mummy.” He began to cry.
I hugged him to me, “Hey, now nothing can be that bad.”
“It was, Mummy.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“If I do, you won’t love me anymore.”
“Isn’t that for me to decide–and I thought we’d all agreed that we’d all love each other no matter what.”
“You might not love me when you find out.”
“What could you have done that was so horrible that you are frightened to share with me?”
“It’s very bad, Mummy.”
“If you don’t want to tell me–that’s okay.”
“I was a bad boy, Mummy.”
“Okay, but you’re a good one now, or maybe even a good girl, now.” I wondered if he was going to tell me about the sexual abuse–sometimes it screws kids up so much they believe they must have provoked or caused it. I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to hear the fine detail unless it helps him to reframe it.
“I killed my previous mummy.”
I wasn’t expecting that–so what do I do, wait for a full confession and call the police? “What makes you think that?”
“When she was having my little brother, I told God I wanted them both to die.” And they did QED?
“What makes you think you caused it to happen?”
“I did, I was a wicked boy and I should have died too.”
“I don’t think it works like that, Billie–besides, if it did, God must have been having an off day because the baby was born anyway.”
“I prayed for it to happen and it did the next day.”
“Why did you want your mummy dead?”
“Because she was going to have my baby brother, and I didn’t want anyone to share her.”
“So it was jealousy?”
He shrugged and continued sobbing.
“If you had caused your other mummy to die, and I don’t think for one minute that you did, how could we let her know that you’re sorry?”
“We can’t she died.”
“What if I have a way we could do it, would you like to do it?”
“Oh yes.”
“Is that why you want to be a girl–because the boy you, did something dreadful?”
“Dunno,” she shrugged.
“Did something bad happen to you, Billie?”
“My uncle played with me and made me play with his willie until some white stuff squirted out the end of it.”
“What did you think of that?”
“It was, like, totally yucky–I mean, I never have white stuff squirt out of mine, it was only his that did it.”
“I think all men’s willies do it, Billie, did he make you do it again?”
“Yeah, loads of times–an’ he used to play with mine but it never squirted, though it would go hard and feel funny. Then he put his finger up my bum and I squealed and Daddy came in. They had a tri’ffic row and I never saw him again–he told Daddy that I liked him to touch me.”
“So he told lies.”
“Yes, and Daddy believed him–I was sent away after that.”
“I see. Billie, I don’t think you did anything wrong either to your mother or to your uncle. I believe your mother died just of complications in childbirth, it happens sometimes, and as for your uncle–he doesn’t sound a very nice man.”
“How can I tell my old mummy I’m sorry?”
“We’ll write her a letter and burn it–I’m assured it goes straight to wherever she is now.”
“But she’s dead, Mummy.”
“Doesn’t matter, for an important letter like this, the angels deliver it personally.” I didn’t believe it, but she might.
“Can we do it, Mummy?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
So that was what we did. She wrote a short note, and the two of us went up the garden to the bonfire site and I took some matches. We set fire to the letter and watched the smoke go up into the sky. Then we hugged and came back in and had some breakfast.
(aka Bike) Part 1039 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
As we ate, I tried to learn a little more about Billie’s original home life–when I thought about it I felt guilty, I tended to think more in terms of getting Danny and her into our routine, rather than understanding what hers had been. Maybe I wasn’t such a wonderful mother after all?
“When did you go into the home, sweetheart?”
“When I was four I think, they put me into nursery class.”
“And your father did this?”
“He said I was a bad influence on my younger brother.”
“And you were four?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“So you were at the children’s home longer than you were with your dad?”
She counted on her fingers, “Yes.”
“Did you like it at the home?”
“My dad’s home? I can’t remember–the other place was okay, they like looked after you, but not as well as you and Daddy do.”
“So you’d still like us to adopt you?”
“Oh yes, please, Mummy–I want to be your daughter, like Trish and Livvie and Mima are.”
“I see. For the moment, I think we’ll have to keep the daughter bit our little secret, so you’ll still have to go to school as a boy. Then if you still want to be a girl, we’ll see about things after the summer holiday. Dr Stephanie will have had a better chance to assess your needs as well, so we’ll all know what to do a bit more by then.”
“I don’t want to go back to being a boy, Mummy.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we don’t have a choice. We need to handle this very carefully or the social services people will be trying to take you away–thinking I’m trying to corrupt you or something equally nasty.”
She pouted at me, but I thought I needed to set some firm boundaries about how we were going to do this. I still felt that the girly stuff was based more on need for attention and affection than an identity thing, in which case it would soon fade.
I thought I’d better have a chat with Nora Cunningham, see if there’s any history of this with Billie–I wondered if she was in today. Billie and I roused the others, and I helped the girls shower each other and dry their hair. I left them to dress themselves.
Billie grumbled about having to be a boy again, and I agreed she could stay home today–but only today. I asked Simon to call the school while we took the girls in to their school. On the drive there, I had to tell Trish and Livvie to stop the hard sell to Billie.
“And who is this young lady?” asked Sister Maria, probably fully aware of the truth of the matter.
“This is my sister, Billie,” gushed Trish.
“And would you like to show her over the school?”
Before I could say anything, Trish and Livvie had dragged her off and Sister Maria had invited me to her office. “I’m not sure how to ask this, but wasn’t Billie, Trish’s brother, when I last saw her?”
“Um–yes, a few things have happened since then.”
“So I see.”
I explained what had happened in a quick précis, and Sister Maria looked aghast and shook her head. “So that little darlin’ has had to cope with rejection from her dad, and blaming herself with killing her mother, and was abused by her uncle–bejabers, Lady Cameron, you do know how to pick ‘em.”
“I was horrified when she said she wanted to be a girl. I mean, what are social services going to say if they find out? They’re going to think I’m some sort of pervert who feminises boys.”
“Surely with Dr Cauldwell’s help you can prove that you’re doing what is required of a caring and compassionate foster mum?”
“If it comes to that, I hope so too. I did contact her as soon as I heard what Billie wanted to do.”
The phone rang on the desk and the headmistress picked it up, mouthing, ‘excuse me’. I pointed at the door and she shook her head. “Hold on, I’ll ask her.” The headmistress covered the phone and said, “Billie is apparently in the year five classroom, and she’s been offered the chance to sit in with the girls of her own age to see how she likes our lessons–she says she’d like to.”
“She’s only been doing this for a couple of days;” I said in a horrified voice, “Is it wise to expose her to this? What happens if she’s rumbled–nine year old girls can be quite cruel?”
“How about if we leave her for one lesson and see how she copes. If you phone in we’ll say if you should come and get her or if she could stay longer.”
“I don’t know, Sister Maria. I think it’s too soon, and I’m concerned that she’ll be discovered, and then what do we do if she does transition and needs a new school?”
“Well just let her stay for the first lesson, and then take her off home.”
“What is it?” I was concerned it was religious education.
The headmistress looked at her timetables, “Year five — history.”
“That should be innocuous enough,” I said, sighing and wondering how Billie and history interacted.
“Um–perhaps: we’ve been looking at what history is in relation to us as individuals.”
“What do you mean?”
“The girls have been working in groups, sharing their personal histories and writing up a project.”
“Maybe I should collect her now?”
“Let’s see what happens, shall we–if she’s going to live as a girl, she’ll have to learn to be as tough and adaptable as her younger sister.”
“Trish is a very special girl in all senses of the word.”
“Oh I think we already know that–did I tell you she corrected her teacher again, who made the mistake of mentioning dormice and not knowing as much about them as a certain young lady. It certainly made her check her facts, and she found she was in error.”
“What did she say about dormice?” I was intrigued.
“She got their longevity confused, she thought they only lived about two years and it’s actually...”
“About five, of which they will have probably slept half to two thirds,” I finished for her.
“Of course–it’s your subject, isn’t it?”
“I know a bit about them.”
“Enough to make a wonderful film about them–look; why don’t you go and take a little walk and see how she is in half an hour’s time. I’ll make sure the teacher doesn’t let anything untoward happen.”
I accepted her invitation to take a short walk against my better judgement. Part of me felt, cynically, that they were recruiting another, that Billie had been tricked into staying and was possibly even now trying to escape a fate worse than death as a class of nine year old girls tore her to pieces–emotionally, anyway.
I didn’t walk any further than the car, where I sat and called Simon. He’d seen Stephanie off to work and given her a reasonable breakfast with decent coffee–not that disgusting stuff, Tom drinks. I explained why I was late coming home and he was concerned for Billie.
“How could you let that happen?”
“Teachers are trained to recognise child abuse. Because she was challenging me over Billie’s change of appearance, I had to let her continue or risk someone saying something in official circles.”
“How do you know that isn’t what they’re doing now–strip searching her or whatever? They’re Catholics–it could be the Spanish Inquisition for all you know.”
What I did know, was that if he’d started the Monty Python sketch, I’d have become mysteriously disconnected.
At half past nine, I went back into the school and Sister Maria led me to the year five class. “Good morning girls,” she said and they all replied, “Good morning, Sister Maria.” She continued, “This lovely lady is a real lady, Lady Cameron, who will be presenting the prizes on speech day. How do we address guests?”
“Good morning, Lady Cameron.”
“Good morning, girls.” I smiled back all the time my knees felt like jelly.
“Now girls, who would like to give Lady Cameron an example of the personal history exercise, we’ve been doing? Yes, Genevieve, you’ll start us off.”
“Thank you, Sister Maria, Lady Cameron. My family originates in France, where my grandfather worked with the resistance to the Nazi invasion. He later escaped to England where he worked with General De Gaulle and met my grandmother. After the end of the war, he came to live in England, where they had three daughters; my mother, Anne-Marie, is the youngest....”
Billie seemed genuinely disappointed to leave the class, and hugged with the other girls in her group. However, I felt safer to have got her out of a potentially risky situation before she blew her cover, especially if she ended up there next term.
(aka Bike) Part 1040 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I sent Billie to go and tell Simon all about her adventure at the school–she had gushed about it all the way home and how she’d like to go there next term. I was still trying to extract my heart from my throat where I was sure it had lodged more or less permanently.
I called St Nicholas Children’s Home and spoke to Nora, who came out of a meeting to speak with me. I apologised for distracting her, but she was very gracious saying it had been a boring meeting anyway.
“I need to know about Billie.”
“What do you need to know?”
“Well, as you know, I have in place the machinery to adopt her.”
“Her? Last seen, Billy was a boy–if a bit of a weedy specimen.”
“Ah,” I blushed at my Freudian slip–or was it a full set of lingerie? “She seems to think she’d rather be a girl at the moment.”
“He what? Why are you calling him her and she?”
“It tends to be the protocol we adopt when someone is running around in skirts.”
“Cathy, what are you doing to him?”
“At the moment, simply indulging what I hope will be a mere dalliance in dresses, because she thinks girls get more attention or have more fun.”
“They do outnumber the boys in your house.”
“Yes by two to one.”
“Yes well, is that counting Billy as one of them or not?”
“Not–something doesn’t feel right about her presentation–it’s different to Trish and Julie.” And mine, I didn’t add.
“Sounds like you need a good shrink.”
“Oh, been there done that–Dr Stephanie Cauldwell.”
“I’ve heard she’s good but expensive.”
“True on both counts, Nora, but tell me more about Billy?”
“Not a lot to tell, mother died and father couldn’t get on with the elder son for some reason. We never did get to the bottom of it, but suspected a sexual abuse somewhere. Dad used to let several people babysit for Billy, so we had loads of suspects but no evidence.”
“It was the uncle–the dad’s brother.”
“How d’you know that?”
“She told me.”
“What have you got that I haven’t? I spent weeks talking to him and he told me nothing–well nothing of any use, nor our counsellors and therapist.”
“Money?”
“Very funny, milady–but what else?”
“I have the universe’s revenge on parents and teachers.”
“Which is?”
“The dreaded Trish.”
“Good lord, how is she doing? Patrick seems a long time ago.”
“She is fine, and doing very well at school, but then she has an IQ in four figures compared to ordinary mortals like me. However, she has this misplaced idea that all men would be happier if they were women, or all boys, girls.”
“I take she’s leading Billy down the garden path?”
“Shall we say she’s a stronger character than Billie, who is a bit wishy washy at times.”
“That’s how I remember him, always the follower, never the leader–but I thought we’d dealt with that by having Danny with him. What does he think about it?”
“He’s coming along nicely–so laid back unless he’s playing football, although it was let slip that he has had one or two fights over Billie.”
“Yeah, he was protective of Billy while they were here. He’s all boy, though.”
“As far as I know–but then until this weekend, I thought Billie was too, although of a different format.”
“Did you think he was gay or something?”
“Not especially. When Julie had some girlfriends over, the two boys were on sentry duty in case they caught sight of anything slightly sexy. Danny is also slightly besotted with Julie, despite knowing she was a boy before coming to live with us.”
“It makes you sound as if you’re a factory for turning boys into girls.”
“I know, which is what concerns me, and could, I suppose be colouring my opinion of Billie–it just doesn’t feel quite right, and I think she could have a transgender element within her–perhaps become a cross-dresser when the mood takes her.”
“I don’t envy you, Cathy, all of your kids seem damaged in some way, don’t they?”
“That’s what life does to you if you don’t have a strong support system.”
“Which thanks to you, they all have.”
“No not just me, we’re a team–the whole family helps each other,” most of the time but we don’t divulge the caveat.
“Anyway, I hear the natives are getting restless, so I shall have to go. Maybe I’ll pop by some time and see the children, seeing as three of them came from here.”
“Feel free.”
We said our goodbyes and I went to the kitchen to make some tea while I decided what to do for lunch. Simon must have heard me putting the kettle on because he arrived in the kitchen moments later.
He gave me a hug and we had a little kiss. “What d’you fancy for lunch?” I asked him.
“You,” he said and began chewing my ear.
“Be sensible, darling. Besides, my fat content is far too high.”
“Perfect for me,” he said and pulled me close to him again. It was lovely in every way, but its timing–I had Billie home, come to think of it, where is she?
“Where’s Billie?”
“I dunno, why?”
I wriggled free of him, “Make some tea will you, darling, while I see where she is–it’s too quiet.”
He groaned because I’d asked him to do something, but shrugged at my question. Just then Stella came in with Puddin’, she’d been out for a walk with Pud in the push chair. She hadn’t seen Billie either.
“Make the tea, Si, I’m going to look for her.” I walked through the house calling her name but there was no answer. I walked upstairs and thought I could hear a funny noise. I walked very quietly towards her and Danny’s bedroom and she was curled up on her bed sobbing.
I walked into the bedroom speaking quietly as I did, then I sat on the bed and pulled her into a hug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
For several minutes she couldn’t speak, and I heard Simon call from downstairs to say my tea was poured. I held on Billie, feeling her body shudder with sobs. I tried to imagine a blanket of blue light surrounding us both, keeping out the world and its worries and distractions. A little while later she stopped sobbing and drifted off to sleep in my arms.
I continued to visualise the blanket of light and tried to imagine it taking away her cares and woe, enabling her to know what she wanted to do with her life and giving her the courage to do it.
She gave an enormous sigh and shuddered and her body went limp. It was then that I caught sight of the box of tablets which had fallen off the bed. I felt my whole being go cold and I screamed for help.
(aka Bike) Part 1041 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon galloped into the room followed by Julie, while I sat and wailed on the bed holding the lifeless child.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I think she’s OD’d.” I pointed at the packet on the floor and he bent to pick it up.
It was a pack of Stella’s barbiturate tablets. Oh shit–these are really dangerous, I didn’t even know they were being used these days.
Stella finally came into the room, “What’s all the fuss about?” she asked calmly.
“These,” I flung the packet at her; “How many were left in here?”
“I have no idea–I thought I’d thrown them out.”
“Was it half full or more?”
“I can’t remember, why?” she looked at the unconscious figure lying in my arms. “Oh bugger–get an ambulance and tell them it’s barbiturate poisoning–a nine year old. NOW.” She pushed Julie out of the room, who fled down the stairs to make the call.
“Are we going to embarrass her as well?” Stella asked me.
“What–she’s dying, and you’re worried about embarrassment?”
“Hopefully, she’ll be okay–when did she take them?”
“She was awake when I found her, she’s been out for five minutes at most.”
“Okay, let’s strip her, and redress her in her pyjamas, so at least she won’t be asked too many awkward questions.” I could see her point and between us we took off the dress and panties and replaced them with her previous pyjamas.
Within minutes the ambulance sirens were heard, Simon picked up the unconscious child and carried him downstairs. Julie let in the paramedics, Stella handed them the empty packet.
They wired up the unconscious child to the various monitors and then dashed out to the ambulance. Simon and I got ready to run to his car to follow. “If we’re not back, collect the girls.” Stella nodded to say she understood the message.
The ambulance screamed off with sirens blaring and blue lights flashing, Simon hammered along behind in the Jaguar. I jumped out and rushed in to Accident and Emergency while he went to park the car.
“Yes, madam?” said the receptionist.
“My child has just come in by ambulance, we suspect a barbiturate overdose.”
“Okay, can we take some details–?”
I suppose they were necessary but the whole bloody planet seems to run on forms of one sort or another. I filled them in and then went to sit in the waiting area where Simon joined me a few minutes later.
I was called and a nurse took me off to a small office. “It’s very unusual for children to take an overdose, we’ll have to report this to the appropriate authorities. How did your son acquire the tablets?”
The inquisition went on for some time. At the end I asked if Dr Rose was on duty. The nurse went off to find out. “Does he know your son?”
“I think so, he certainly knows me.”
She disappeared again and returned saying, “He’s on his way over.”
“Thank you.”
Sam Rose appeared a few minutes later and when he did, he saw me engulfed in a hug by Simon.
“Well, well–to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“It isn’t a pleasure, Sam, one of my foster kids took an overdose of barbiturate.”
His face dropped. “Which one?”
“Billy, the nine year old boy.”
“Any reason?”
“He’s been a bit different for a couple of days, then decided he’d like to be a girl.”
“Nothing new there then?” Sam replied shaking his head.
“It was for him, but Trish and Livvie encouraged him. I let him dress up over the weekend and he came with the other girls when I took them to school. The next thing I know he’s sitting in with the other girls his age and before I could rescue him, he’s halfway through a history class, working in a small group with some of the other girls.
“He said he really enjoyed himself and when we got back he was full of it the way he was talking with Simon. I went to start making lunch and wondered where he was. I went to look and found him sobbing on the bed. he went unconscious while I was trying to talk with him. It was then I saw the tablets and we called for help. They were barbiturates, which Stella thought she had disposed of.”
He shook his head, “Nasty little drug, barbiturate.”
“They use it for putting animals to sleep, don’t they?”
He nodded. “I’m surprised Stella was using it. Has the child been seen by a shrink of any sort?”
“Yes, Stephanie saw him on Sunday.”
“Yesterday, and she didn’t pick up a suicidal ideation? She’s slipping.”
“Sam, we don’t know it’s a suicide attempt, do we.”
“Taking a pile of pills? Whatever else could it be?”
“We don’t know until we can talk to her,” I held on to Simon’s arm as I spoke.
“I’ll go and see how he is.” He left and I looked at Simon and my eyes filled with tears.
“She’ll be okay,” Simon whispered and hugged me.
“Have you noticed we’re talking about her as if she was a girl?” I observed.
“Yeah, I suppose we are, but then apart from Tom and I, and little Danny, it felt as if everyone else was.”
“Should we let Stephanie know?”
Simon shrugged, “Better see what Sam says.”
“I just don’t know how it happened.” I cuddled into him.
“Perhaps she thought they were sweets?”
“Come off it, she’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but she’s not stupid.”
“Right, this is how you’re going to play it,” said Sam re-entering the office; “I suggested it’s an accident, he thought they were sweets. Stick to the party line and I’ll do what I can to hush it up.”
“We will, is she going to be alright?”
“She? There’s a little boy in there–and yes, he’ll be fine. Very sleepy for a few hours, but he’s going to be fine.”
“Should we tell Stephanie?”
“I’ll give her a ring and ask her to phone you.”
“When can we take Billy home?”
“Hopefully in an hour or two–so if you want some lunch, I’d get it now.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said but it didn’t stop Simon dragging me off to the hospital cafeteria, and judging by the amount he ate, his appetite was unaffected.
I sipped a cup of tea and pushed the sandwich he’d bought me around the plate. “How can you eat at a time like this?”
“A chap’s got to keep his strength up, missus. I mean, I have to support you as well as all the others.”
“I have my own job, Simon, I contribute too.”
“Yeah, I know you think you do, babes.”
I decided that it was hardly the right time or place for an argument, so I said nothing.
My mobile rang and vibrated in my bag, and I answered it: “Hello?”
“Hello, ma’am, it’s Maureen.”
“Hi, Maureen, can I call you back we’re rather busy at the moment.”
“Of course, ma’am–I was just calling to say the doc says he thought I could start back to work in a week or two.”
“Can we talk about it later, Maureen, I’ll call you later.” I rang off and put the phone back in my bag. It was the last thing I was going to think about for the moment.
(aka Bike) Part 1042 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
They allowed us to take Billy home around tea time. He was still very sleepy, and Simon carried him to the car, wrapped in his jacket. I sat in the back seat with him and cuddled him.
Stella had collected the girls by the time we got home, so we had a reception committee. We put Billy to bed and they each agreed to sit and watch over him–which wasn’t one of my best ideas. We had to move Trish–she thought watching over him meant he should be awake and watching back.
Danny wondered what had happened to Billie, as he came back dressed in pyjamas, instead of more girly wear.
We opted for the official line, that Billie had mistaken some pills for sweeties and it had made him ill and he needed to go to hospital.
The evening seemed to fly by and I ended up tucking Billy in before I went to bed. Danny was fast asleep in the bed next to him, and as I kissed them both and went to leave the room, Billy woke and smiled at me.
“How are you, young man?”
“Tired,” he yawned.
“So am I, kiddo–so I’m off to my bed. Goodnight.”
“Night night, Mummy. Oh Mummy...” here we go I thought–but I was wrong. “Mummy, I saw my first Mummy while I was asleep an’ she’s not cross with me–she liked my letter, and she said I was in good hands, with you an’ Daddy.”
“Oh, good–I’m really glad you talked with her.”
“An’ she said she doesn’t mind if I’m a girl or a boy so long as I’m happy.”
Tired as I was, I couldn’t pass up this chance to continue healing the rift he’d imagined between himself and his birth mother–I sat on the edge of his bed. And we spoke in whispers.
“Did you give each other a hug?” I asked him.
“Oh yes, she liked my summer dress.”
“Did she?”
“She told me that if she’d known I liked to wear dresses, she’d have bought me one.”
“That was nice of her.”
“Yes, she was nice and she told me I wasn’t to blame for her dying.” I could see tears forming in his eyes from the light over the stairs.
I hugged him and he began to sob, “I miss her, Mummy.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” I held him and rubbed his neck trying to soothe him.
After a little while he seemed to nod off to sleep and as I tried to lay him flat, he clung on to me and whispered, “No,” so I stayed there, almost asleep myself. Finally, he sighed, “I love you, Mummy,” and curled up and went off to sleep, so I made my escape and crawled up to bed.
I’d been there an hour, Simon was reading while I changed and cleaned my teeth. “What took so long?”
“Billy woke up and wanted to tell me a few things.”
“Like why he overdosed?”
“No, Simon, he’s nine years old–not nineteen. No he was telling me he talked with his real mother while he was unconscious. It was really sweet.”
“I thought his mother was dead.”
“She is, but that doesn’t stop us talking with them.”
“I thought you were a rabid scientist.”
“I am.”
“So how in your Darwinian view of the universe could he talk with his deceased mother?”
“Does it matter if it all happened in his delirium? If it gave him comfort–then it’s sweet.”
“Oh, I agree entirely, I just wondered how you’d sidestep your own prejudices to explain it.”
“What do, you mean?”
“Well, in your reality it couldn’t happen.”
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about my reality, it’s Billy’s we’re discussing, and if that allows him to talk to dead parents, that’s fine with me–after all, I spoke with my mother in a dream at least once or twice.”
“Did you, or did you imagine you did?”
“Probably the latter, but it doesn’t worry me one way or the other.”
“Surely one way leads to sterility and the other to a massive change in belief?”
“Nah, I’ve nothing to lose either way.”
“How come?” He gave me a very questioning look.
“Oh, c’mon, Si, it’s nearly one o bloody clock. I am shattered.”
“You can’t answer it–that’s fine with me.”
“Refusing to answer it on the grounds that I might damage your belief system isn’t the same as declining before I decline through tiredness. Good night.” I switched off my light and snuggled down in bed. He was left spitting feathers. Thankfully, I fell asleep before he thought of a suitable answer.
I walked towards the young woman. “You’re Billy’s mum, aren’t you?”
“Yes, so are you, aren’t you?”
“Only because you’re unable to do it, I hope I’m doing it as you’d have liked to do it yourself?”
“You’re doing it differently because we’re different, but you do it with love and that’s all that matters. He’s very fond of you, you know.”
“He misses you dreadfully.”
“I know, but you’ll get him through it.”
“I hope so, but I don’t want to replace you in his heart.”
“You won’t but he’s got one big enough to accommodate both of us.”
“I’m sorry about the girl stuff, but he did ask me.”
“That’s okay, he always was a bit of a girl and it’s better he tries it now and abandons it than regrets it for ever after.”
“What happens if he doesn’t abandon it?”
“Oh you’ll cope–you’ve done it before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so. What happened with his uncle?”
“I have to go, take care of him well, won’t you?” Before I could respond she was gone.
I woke up with a start. We’d been talking in the lounge, which was where I was now–sitting in my nightdress on one of the sofas. How on earth had I got there? I must have sleep-walked. That is creepy. I glanced at the clock–it was three in the morning. I shivered.
On the way back to bed I checked on all the kids–they were all fast asleep. In a matter of moments, I was too.
Normally when I remember dreams, it’s because I woke up during or just as they ended and my conscious mind kicked in and conveyed them into memory. This time, I did wake up soon after, but also that I was somewhere other than expected to be, the lounge not my bed.
If I were of a fanciful nature, part of me could argue that it was so I would remember and think about it all, including her claim that it was okay for Billy to become Billie if it was going to make him happier.
It didn’t make waking up the next morning any easier though–I was absolutely shattered and I suddenly remembered, it was the convent’s speech day on Thursday, it was Tuesday today–oh poo, I’ve got to organise a speech and stay awake while I give it!
(aka Bike) Part 1043 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next few days were murderous. I kept Billie at home and she wore the two dresses, which I made her wash and iron—if she was going to play girl, she was going to do it properly. Julie was still a little suspicious of her new sister, but Stella trimmed her longish boy’s hair into a passable girl style, which she was delighted about. I was completely unsure what to do next, except to play it by ear.
I wrote a speech for the school and scrapped it twice. When I collected the girls I spoke to the headmistress and she told me something about ten minutes was long enough—she added, how long will your girls sit still listening to old fogies spouting at them.
When I asked if they had a projector system which could show a DVD, she said they did. I then knew exactly what I was going to do. Apparently the format of the prize day was a short religious service by the priest attached to the school, then the introduction of the worthies—chairman of the governors and one or two others, then finally me as guest of honour.
After the prayers and a hymn, the chairman would report to the parents and children then the other worthies would say a few words if they wanted, finally when all the kids were completely bored to tears it would be my turn to speak and then to present the prizes.
The more I thought about it, the more I was sure that it would either go down like a house on fire or a lead balloon. In which case they wouldn’t invite me again—and probably ask me to remove my kids—nah, they wanted the money.
I let Billie paint her finger and toenails, or actually, Julie I think, did the artwork—Trish and Livvie were livid, and insisted Julie paint their toenails as well—school didn’t permit painted nails or makeup.
On the Thursday, I took the girls to school as normal and then after a bit of paperwork, I got an early lunch. Simon had gone to work from the branch in Portsmouth, and Maureen was meeting him there to discuss the building security—they needed new bars on the windows and some sort of electronic scanning system. Maureen was involved with it anyway—it all went over my head, but they had saved hundreds of thousands by turning down the heating a few degrees as per my earlier suggestion. So I was still in Henry’s good books.
After lunch, I went and showered and did my hair, which Stella blow dried and set for me. I was going to wear it down. I wore my YSL suit and silk blouse with navy shoes and matching bag. I had my laptop with DVD and my prompt cards—not that I would really need them, but I’ve never done this before—except that thing at Sussex.
I set off early and popped into the university on the way to the school and borrowed a teaching aid from them—now I was ready.
I had difficulty parking the Mondeo at the school, even the playground was in use as a car park. Fortunately one of the teachers spotted me and led me into a vacant space which was just big enough for Tom’s chariot.
I carried my stuff into the school and was taken to meet the other guests. I was the youngest by about five hundred years and the only one without a hearing aid—I was beginning to feel that this could be a lead balloon outcome.
Sister Maria plugged my DVD into the laptop that was connected to the projector which also had a sound system. I placed my other teaching aid under the table at which we sat on the stage.
The priest, a Father Abelard, was a kindly old soul who did the prayers and the hymn quite quickly. The other worthies were introduced and they said a few words. By the time it was my turn the kids were becoming a little restless.
I could see several of them wondering who I was and why I was guest of honour. Sister Maria stood and said, “Thank you for your patience girls, but I suspect you will enjoy our guest of honour, Catherine, The Lady Cameron, who is a scientist, film maker, teacher, mother and wife, and one of our foremost authorities on Muscardinus avellanarius. I give you the Lady Cameron.
There was a polite round of applause as I rose to my feet, I picked up the box from under the table and set it on the top. I took a sip of water and hoped that I didn’t start coughing—my luck held.
“Mr Chairman, Headmistress and other guests, girls and parents, thank you for inviting me to talk to you and to present the prizes afterwards.
“I think everyone has been sitting long enough, so would you all like to stand up and turn around and shake hands with the person sitting behind you.” There were murmurs of surprise, but everyone complied with my request.
“Thank you, now you all have one more acquaintance.” There was a ripple of laughter and I knew it could possibly be saved although I doubted they’d ever invite me again.
“I’m sure that usually your guests have riveting speeches to make to you—I don’t. I could bore you to death with facts and figures about my specialist area of study or I could show you. I think you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve chosen the latter.
“My specialist interest is in British mammals, and in one in particular, which apart from being wonderfully interesting is also about as cute as they come—the common or hazel dormouse.
“Some of you may have seen my film a few months ago,” there were murmurs probably of, ‘That’s where I’ve seen her before.’ “Well relax, I’m not going to make you watch it again, though the BBC do have a DVD of it available for sale if any of you are desperate to see it. What I have for you are some of the out-takes. For those of you who don’t know what those are—essentially, they’re the bits where things went wrong, either with the equipment, I forgot my lines or did something equally unusable.
“The moral of it all for you all, is primarily, if at first you don’t succeed—you’re probably a natural as a film maker.” I pressed the start button and they all saw Spike jump down my jumper, then Alan chased by the owl, me falling over the log and various other mishaps.
I did include a bit where it went right, just to prove I could do it properly at times. When I finished the film, they’d all been laughing themselves silly for fifteen minutes and there was a rousing round of applause which continued for a couple of minutes.
I asked for quiet and eventually got it. “As you can see, I don’t take myself too seriously, but I do take my work deadly seriously—even so, it can also be fun. After the presentations are over, those who wish to see a real live dormouse will be able to—I have one here with me.” A ripple of excitement went through the audience, which wasn’t entirely unexpected.
I handed back control to the headmistress. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a prize day like that before, thank you, Lady Cameron for an educational and entertaining time, and I’m sure lots of us will hang on afterwards to see your dormouse.” She then called out named pupils and they walked out to the stage, accepted the envelope I gave them and shook my hand.
I was horrified to hand an envelope to Trish, who of course was best student in her year, and Livvie got one for most improved student. Actually, nearly everyone got something, which was time consuming, but fun. The envelopes contained a book token.
At the very end the old priest gave a closing prayer and the headmistress ended the meeting. Of course dozens of them came to see Spike, who because it was so warm, was in a torpid state. I lifted her out of the nest box and she was curled up, her tail over her nose as she rested in the palm of my hand.
After it was all over, I popped her back in the box and closed it firmly. I also retrieved my DVD and three children.
“Lady Catherine, that has to be the most entertaining speech day I’ve ever attended, and student and teacher, I’ve been to a few, I can tell you. Thank you so much for your time, I know how precious it is to you. Thank you, as well for sharing your love of your subject and the gift you have to communicate it to others. I hope you’ll come back one day and talk to us again.”
The headmistress was suitably impressed, so it had worked—not only that, but the chairman and the priest also enjoyed it and nearly shook my arm off as they left.
Naturally my kids were more impressed with Spike than with me—mind you, I suppose they see me every day, Spike only visits on special occasions. Children have a way of bringing one back to earth, don’t they?
(aka Bike) Part 1044 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Why do I find it unnerving to see my son wearing lip gloss and a dress—both of which I bought him? I’m beginning to understand what my parents must have gone through and other friends and relatives when I changed my lifestyle.
Okay, I should be sympathetic because I desired it for myself when I was in that same situation, but it feels really funny to have the boot on the other foot. If that’s what Billie ultimately wants, to live as a girl, then I’ll accept and cope with it, and possibly it’s just the novelty that’s the problem.
With Trish and Julie, it was different—I didn’t know them as boys, so I had no great change to make in my attitude; their changeover was more of an intellectual thing for me, the emotional stuff came later as I got to know and love them. With Billie, I loved him as a boy so I have to make change in my perceptions, although I still have her as my child and therefore I will love her, full stop. I suppose it’s a bit like sending a kid to uni and helping them get a good degree in something or other and then watch them throw it all away because they want to be a pop singer or an actor.
If it’s truly what they want, then you have to let them do it and still love them—I don’t know which is the harder bit. When they start dating or settle down with someone, what if I don’t get on with their most loved? Oh dear, what a horrible thought.
It was Friday and I’d just returned from taking Julie to work and the three mouseketeers to school, Billie was still off while I worked out what to do next. We had an appointment with Stephanie at ten, so Billie had spent most of the morning pestering Stella to help her look just so. She certainly looked very presentable—though I’m not sure what I think of nine year olds wearing lip gloss: but then, the other week I saw a girl who couldn’t have been more than about eight wearing more makeup than a pantomine dame and higher heels, whilst her skirt only just covered her knickers. In a couple of years, if she continued like that she’d be jail bait. That was something I was determined to prevent in my children—although Julie and I had the most awful rows, usually commencing with me saying, “You’re not going out like that.”
Her defensive questioning, “Why not?”
And my illogical riposte, “I’m your mother, that’s why!”
I know she wondered about, “No you’re not,” but thought better of it.
How do I know this? It happened at breakfast this morning. She wore a vest thing which kept falling off her shoulders and a mini skirt which showed her panties when she moved. In the end we compromised, she changed into her shorts with leggings—the footless ones, and I let her keep the vest on. If her boob enhancers show or fall out while she’s washing someone’s hair...oh well.
Before I could contemplate facing the traffic again, I needed a cuppa which my newest daughter made for me, while I changed into something a bit tidier—I promised I take Billie out for lunch—only to somewhere like Morrison’s café, if she behaved with Stephanie and answered her questions honestly.
This was the first appointment I’d been able to get with the good doctor since the pills episode. We still don’t know what happened, and our main hope is that Stephanie would get to the bottom of it.
I changed into a dress, a bit more elegant than Billie’s and also threw on some make up and jewellery. “Can I spend some of my money and buy myself a girl’s watch, Mummy?”
“Yes, providing you only buy an inexpensive one for the moment.”
“Can I go to the same school as Trish, in September?”
“I think we need to see about that a bit later. If it becomes necessary, then I think Sister Maria would be sympathetic to the idea. It’s what we do in the interim that matters most for the moment.”
“You’re not gonna send me back to school with boys, are you, Mummy?”
“Shall we wait and see what Dr Stephanie recommends?”
“She won’t send me back will she?”
“Billie, calm down—no one is going to do anything until you’ve seen her, and then her advice I discuss it with Daddy. Then we discuss it with you and perhaps even the others—after all, whatever happens has some impact upon the others, even if you went back to being a boy tomorrow, it has some affect upon Danny and Livvie and Meems and Trish. It also has an affect upon us adults too.”
“Grown ups just want everythin’ their own way,” she pouted and ran off upstairs. Stella intercepted and waved me away. I glanced at my watch, it was half past nine.
“Tell the drama queen we have to be at the doctor’s in less than half an hour, so she’d better get her bum down here now.”
“Or what?” Stella challenged me.
“Stella, please don’t interfere, without Stephanie’s agreement, she will be removed from here by social services, and then what will happen?”
“Okay, I’ll send her down asap.”
“If it’s longer than ten minutes, she loses out on her lunch.” I felt irritated and I wasn’t sure why? Maybe I’m grieving for the loss of my son? Or is it just that this is slipping out of my control and I’m a self confessed control freak? At least I’m aware that I have a problem—yeah, me of all people.
Billie came downstairs with Stella. “No more bullying, missus,” cautioned Stella.
I glowered at her.
“It’s a red card next time.”
“What are you on about? I haven’t bullied anyone—I’m just forceful, because we have an appointment we need to keep and I refuse to let the animals run the zoo. Someone has to take charge.”
“Bossy boots,” snapped Stella.
“That’s me—c’mon, missy or we’ll be late.”
We drove most of the way in relative silence, then Billie said, “You don’t want me to be a girl, do you?”
“What I want is of little consequence. If it’s what you need to do—in which case you can count on my full support and all those of the family.”
“It is, Mummy, I absolutely need to be a girl.”
“If Dr Stephanie agrees—and that won’t be today, then I’ll do all I can to help you.”
“What if Dr Stephanie says no?”
“I’d prefer not to think about that until it happens, which you assure me won’t. If it’s really what you need to do?”
“Oh it is, Mummy.”
“Okay, sweetheart, but it’s not just me you need to convince is it? Oh and redo your lip gloss, you’ve got some on your nose.”
(aka Bike) Part 1045 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I sat in the waiting room, while my newest daughter met with Dr Cauldwell, anxiously trying to make sense of the crossword. I don’t know why I bother. The compiler was Paul, and his puzzles take me ages to do. In the end I abandoned it and read the news story half a dozen times, even the letters page couldn’t hold my interest and there was nothing but football in the sports section or Wombledon.
I sat and watched the others in the waiting room. A small child played with some toys while her mother watched lovingly. I wondered why they were there—then my question was answered, a second child came out of one of the consulting room doors and the mother went to speak with the doctor who appeared behind her child. Everyone was smiling. I felt happy for them, but sad for myself—why do I think this new found transgender thing with Billie is all wrong? What is it that doesn’t ring true?
My first worry would be that it’s taken so long to materialise—Trish was already refusing to answer to Patrick before she came to me, and Julie was also in female form before we met—albeit only for a matter of hours: but it does make a difference. Why would a child who is aware of a family tolerant of things gender different, wait six months before declaring himself?
I tried to answer it myself. If it were me, what would I think? I’m still traumatised from abuse—maybe, but aren’t there usually other signs, like withdrawal or bed-wetting or something?
Boys are naturally boisterous, Danny is—he rushes about the place like a turbo charged wild boar on steroids. Billy, as a boy is less boisterous, less noisy and until the cycling, less sporty. But that doesn’t make him transgender.
He’s never shown much interest in clothes or jewellery, unlike Trish, Julie and real girl, Livvie. He, until very recently had no interest in dolls, he did like the computer and was better at it than Danny, but he’s not academic material—unless he’s been hiding his light under the proverbial bushel. I suppose if this was distracting him—it might explain things. Oh hell, this is a circular argument—I’ll leave it to the professionals. No I can’t, they can be conned—but by a nine year old? Even a cute one should be rumbled—shouldn’t they? I wish I knew.
Finally the door opened, “Cathy, could you come in please?” Stephanie summoned me from the limbo of the waiting room.
I went in and Billie was sitting on the sofa opposite the door. She'd been crying.
I pointed to the sofa, and Stephanie nodded, so I went and sat with Billie, “You okay?” I asked and she nodded.
Stephanie seated herself opposite us, “Billie has been telling me how she was abused by her uncle.”
I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked her quietly, and she nodded, despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re safe now, you know that—I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“You don’t believe I’m a girl, so how you gonna b’lieve the rest?” she sobbed against me. Oh poo, now I felt guilty as well as confused—life doesn’t get any easier, does it?
“I just don’t want you to make a mistake, sweetheart.”
“I don’t have to have my dick cut off yet, do I?”
“You don’t actually have to have it cut off at all, unless you want to,” I tried to reassure him.
“Oh I want it cut off, I don’t want to be someone like my uncle.”
“What makes you think you would?” I was horrified. I looked at Stephanie and she sat there looking concerned. “What do we do now?”
“I shall be taking some advice and seeing if it might be possible to start a criminal investigation.”
“Can you do that? I thought it would be too late, now.”
“It’s never too late for serious crimes, and child abuse is pretty serious,” Stephanie offered.
“Yes I know that, but isn’t it about chances of prosecution?” I challenged.
“Ultimately, from a legal perspective, yes, but from my point of view it’s about the healing of the child and dealing with the trauma it caused and continues to cause.”
“Do children become transgendered because of previous sexual abuse?” I asked, still not entirely convinced.
“They certainly can.”
“I thought gender identity was fixed by four?”
“Not always, and we still don’t understand the mechanism.”
“In which case, I owe you an apology, pumpkin,” I hugged Billie, who sniffed and nodded. “I’m sorry that I doubted you, but if Dr Stephanie says you are gender dysphoric then I suppose you are.”
“I haven’t actually said that yet, and we don’t use that term these days.”
“I thought GID was gone, so what is it now—surely not transsexual?”
“Gender variant, gender different, transgendered,” she shrugged, “perm any four from ten.”
“You do the football pools?” I asked in disbelief, if she did it would be so incongruent.
“My dad did, trying to win enough to pay off my student loans and my debts.”
I smiled at her, “Student debts?”
“Yeah, I’m still paying them off.”
“But doctors earn a fortune.”
“Compared to banker’s wives?”
“Compared to my earnings,” I asserted myself.
“Yeah, I probably do earn more than you, but then I’m working longer hours than you.”
“Paid work, yeah, depends upon the definition of work, I think six kids generate plenty of work by itself.”
“Okay, martyred mum syndrome is it?”
“Only on bad days—what about this young lady?” I asked.
“Carry on as before—you’re doing fine.”
“Am I? Does Billie agree with that? I looked down at her and she nodded.
“What about education—I can’t send her back to her previous school, can I?”
“If I give you a letter, what about the convent—they seem to cope with Trish, so I’m sure they’d cope with someone as quiet as Billie, wouldn’t they?”
“Trish had been living in role for weeks before she went to school, Billie has only been a week.”
“I wanna go there, Mummy, they liked me when I did that lesson.”
“I’m just concerned, darling, that’s all, plus the uniform and so on for a few weeks. Can’t I keep her home for a few weeks, it’s nearly end of term anyway?”
“Okay, I’ll write a letter for you to absent her from school. I’ll recommend that she has the rest of the term off for medical reasons.”
“Is bullying a medical reason?” I asked.
“If I say so, then it is.”
“Okay—what do we do now?”
“I think you need to expand her wardrobe—I’ve seen that dress twice.”
Billie hugged me and agreed emphatically—what could I do but agree as well, I was out-voted.
“See me next week, unless, you know...” Stephanie smiled and held open the door for us.
“Is she?” I mouthed at Stephanie as we left.
“Dunno yet, quite possibly,” she mouthed back.
As we went back to the car, I began to try and work out what the chances are of a population of transgendered individuals in one household like ours were? Very remote I’ll bet.
(aka Bike) Part 1046 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I took Billie into town and bought her a few more things, a couple of skirts, tops, a pair of jeans, some sandals and a pair of girl’s trainers. She chose a new watch and paid for it herself as we’d agreed.
After putting our purchases in the car we went to a small café for lunch—because I felt guilty. I took her to a small Italian place, a bit more up market than Morrisons, and they sell the best ice cream outside Italy. I’ll do anything for their strawberry, but don’t tell anyone.
We had a minestrone soup and had just ordered some ice cream and a latte coffee for me, when Billie went very pale. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Don’t look now, but that boy is in my class.”
I glanced up at a reflection in picture glass, “Does he know you?” I asked quietly.
She nodded back at me. I looked again in the glass and saw they were sitting right by the door. The ice cream arrived as did my coffee. “When we’ve eaten these, we’re going to the ladies, okay?”
She nodded, “Won’t they see me?”
“No, walk slightly behind me so I’m blocking their view, then as we pass them come level and then slightly in front—I’m bigger than you, so you should be able to hide enough for them not to see you—now enjoy your ice cream.”
We used my blocking her to get to the loos, then after we’d done the necessary and washed our paws. I wiped off her lip gloss and painted some of mine on—which is darker. Then some mascara and blush, she looked about four years older, and her eyes widened when she saw the effect.
“You like?” I asked and she nodded enthusiastically.
“Don’t get too used to it, this is a disguise, now we walk out in plain view, but I want you to act more like a twelve or thirteen year old, so just look straight through him if he looks at you—he’s only a kid and you’re grown up by comparison—okay?”
“How do I do that, Mummy?”
“Move your bum a bit more, carry your bag over your shoulder and keep your head up straight.” I did a quick demo for her and she laughed and nodded. “Ready?” she took a deep breath and nodded.
We stepped out into the café and she held my hand for a moment, then I pushed her in front of me, “Strut your stuff, kiddo,” I whispered to her and she did just that. By the time we got to the door, all that was missing was the runway of a catwalk.
I watched the boy who was watching my daughter with more lust than recognition and he was nine or ten—it’s quite frightening, no wonder we’re up to our eyeballs in teenage pregnancies, the kids are so sexually precocious, but don’t see beyond the itch in their pants to the broader picture.
Once clear of the café, Billie held, my hand again. “That was so scary, Mummy,” she squeezed my hand for emphasis.
“Better get used to it if you want to switch to being a girl. Loads more people will know you as boy than a girl, and every now and again you’re going to meet one of them. The chances are they won’t recognise you, but the more astute ones might.”
“What does that mean, Mummy—the more stute ones?”
“Astute—it means perceptive—oh boy, the cleverer ones who really look at things, not just glance at them. Oh by the way, the lad back in the café, he gave you a good look—I think he fancies you.”
“Donny Egbert—how gross! Yuck—he’s like a cross between a pair of dirty socks and a compost heap.” She pretended to be sick.
“Yeah, that just about sums up what I saw, too.” I smirked and when she looked at me she began to giggle—probably more in fear than anything. I checked the time and decided we had an hour before we collected the girls.
I bought her some more underclothes and socks, a couple of pairs of tights and a plain navy skirt, which were almost like school uniform ones. A quick trip around the supermarket and then to the convent. “Stay in the car!” She pouted but accepted my instruction. I didn’t want anyone from the school to see her—she shouldn’t be wearing that much makeup at her age and although I could justify it to myself, I didn’t want an argument with anyone else, especially Trish, as we walked back to the car.
Of course, while I waited who should appear but Sister Maria, “Ah, Lady Cameron, the school’s favourite speaker, how nice to see you.”
I blushed, “Um—yes, sorry about that—the dormouse was a bit OTT.”
“Did you realise we’ve had twice as many girls request to do science than usual since your visit.”
“Coincidence?”
“I think not—it’s that time of year when we do our options for the following year, and half the school wants to do biology.”
“Oh well, fifty per cent discernment.”
“Fifty per cent? No, a hundred percent—the other fifty want to do zoo and botany.”
“Quite right too. What better way for them to develop an understanding of the world around them?”
“Maybe—sadly, they’ll all be disappointed, our science team is rather depleted.”
“There should be plenty of science graduates looking to teach, so recruitment shouldn’t be a problem.”
“It all takes time and of course they’ll have seen the ultimate in teaching, so anyone else will be a disappointment, won’t they.”
“You flatter me, Sister Maria, well beyond what I deserve.”
“I reserve the right to have my opinions, I’ve seen a few teachers in my time, and some of them have it, and some don’t. You have it in spades.”
“Thank you,” what else could I say? I did blush—again.
“Perhaps we could invite you to come and talk to our biology students once a year.”
“What about? Motherhood and apple-pie?”
“If you wish, although I suspect you’d enjoy talking about ecology—inspire our A-level classes to do biology or ecology at university.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course—but it would be the high point of their academic year.”
“Please—my head won’t go in the car if it gets any bigger.”
She laughed, “How is your newest daughter—do you wish to register her here yet?”
“It could well be heading that way.”
“Where is she at present?”
“She isn’t, I’m keeping her at home for the moment.”
“Would you like her to come here for the last week or two of term?”
“Much as I’d like her to attend school rather than miss any, I’m not sure she’s up to coping as a girl full time, especially in a stressful environment like school where she could be rumbled. It could threaten any future plans, if she persists with her life change.”
“I could have a word with her classmates.”
“What, tell them she used to be a boy?”
“No, of course not—say she’s been ill, and isn’t always herself—that should cover a multitude of sins.”
“Wouldn’t that make her a target for the bullies, which is one of the reasons I’ve taken her out of the state school. She doesn’t need to be pointed at or seen as different.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Cameron, I’m not making myself very clear, we have a number of children here who have suffered a number of illnesses, accidents, traumas and so on. It’s our policy to integrate those students with those who’ve been more fortunate, and we try to ensure that no one is victimised because of something negative that’s happened to them.
“If you change your mind, let me know, I’m sure we could accommodate her here for the odd day, or even a whole week—and it might make it easier for next term—in her deciding she wants to come here or not. Better than enrolling and hating it.”
“I haven’t got her uniform or anything, yet because we haven’t decided anything.”
“Don’t worry about that, as long as she’s tidily dressed—as I’m sure she’d be, a skirt of course—and we’ll accept her as an provisional student.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it and speak with Billie about it—I’ll get back to you.”
“Oh good—I’m sure that coming here would be good for her—Trish and Livvie are doing so well.”
“They’re exceptional kids anyway, what about Mima?”
“She’s doing okay, although we don’t seem able help her with her speech problem.”
“You won’t be the first who’ve tried.”
“I’m sure.”
“Mummy,” was said by three voices and soon followed by the bodies of the owners.
“Hello, girls.” I greeted them and soon we were on our way home with a postmortem about why Billie was allowed to wear makeup, and they weren’t.
(aka Bike) Part 1047 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“‘Snot fair,” sulked Trish, “she can wear makeup an’ I can’t.”
“Trish, I explained that it was as a disguise to get her out of the café.”
“Don’t care, ‘snot fair, I wanna wear makeup too.”
“I think you’re going to be wearing your nightie when we get home, young lady.”
“No I won’t.”
I stopped the car and turned around to face my backseat passengers. “Trish, when we get home you will change into your nightdress, you can then have some cereal or toast and you will go to bed. Do you understand?”
“That’s ‘snot fair, too.”
“I don’t care. You will not openly defy me without definite consequences. I gave you a chance to withdraw and apologise. Instead, you continued to cheek and defy me. The consequences are that you will go to bed early.”
“I don’t care, I won’t sleep.”
“Trish, don’t push your luck—you’re acting like a spoiled brat—and if I were you’d I’d quit while you’re ahead. Anymore cheek and the punishment will grow.”
She leant back in her seat, arms folded and she mimed, “I hate you.”
“Sadly from your point of view, I love you, and will continue to do so despite your actions or words. I’m your mother, and you will do as I say, no matter what you think.” I turned back and drove them home.
I sent Trish upstairs to change and went to start cooking the dinner.
Billie followed me into the kitchen, “Can’t you let Trish off? It’s sort of my fault that this happened.”
“That’s very kind of you to intercede on her behalf but it’s too late—she pushed her luck and now has to take the consequences. In the words of the Bible, ‘As you sow, so shall ye reap.’”
“Mummy, for someone who is always God-bashing as Daddy calls it, you seem to know a lot about the Bible an’ religious stuff.”
“Religious stuffing, yes, that’s an accurate description. It was stuffed down my throat in junior school, and ever since I’ve disliked it intensely.”
“That’s all right, Jesus will forgive you.”
I ruffled her hair, “Yeah, I suppose so.” I decided I wouldn’t bother trying to explain anything else and upset her or the applecart.
Trish sulked into the kitchen and I made her a bowl of cereal and some toast. “What are you having for dinner, Mummy?”
“Lamb chops, why?”
“But that’s my favourite, Mummy ...” The tears began to flow and I felt a total monster, but I was going to hold firm.
“Maybe you’ll learn when to stop trying to cheek me or insist on your own way.”
“I’m sorry, Mummy.”
“It’s too late now, sweetheart.”
“But ‘snot fair.”
“Life rarely is fair, you have to learn to cope. If I let you off now you’ll cheek me again, no matter how you promise, you won’t keep it.”
“I will, I promise, Mummy—cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I won’t let you off—you can go upstairs and wait in your bedroom until dinner is ready, then you can come down and eat, but straight to bed afterwards, and you can keep your nightie on. Now go, or it’s bread and water for the next week.”
She hugged me, apologised once more and ran off before I could strangle her. I must not give in to her—little besom. Once again, she outwitted me—dammit.
I banged pots and pans about in the kitchen and the others took the hint and kept out of the way. I sent Billie to take off her makeup and she looked at me completely clueless. “Go and ask Livvie or Trish—there’s some remover pads in the bathroom—try not to get the stuff in your eyes.”
Minutes later Stella arrived with Julie, who now had jet black hair. I decided to just ignore it—life is far too short for all this stress. I wonder if I took the UN job, would they allow me to run away to New York? At the moment, it looks rather an enticing prospect.
“Thanks for collecting her, Stella.”
“‘Sokay, that smells good.”
“Lamb chops.”
“Oh goody.”
I carried on with my cooking and Stella came down and asked, “Why is Trish in bed? Is she ill?”
“No, she was naughty and didn’t take the hint to stop when I made it perfectly clear she was dancing in a minefield.”
“Ah, the delights of youth.”
“No, the rewards of foolishness.”
“I’d better go before you send me to bed as well then.”
“Can you ask Livvie to lay the table?”
“She was upstairs with Billie in the bathroom.”
“Okay, Danny, can you lay the table, please.”
He came out to the kitchen and began clucking like a chicken then he pretended to strain—“Nah, it’s no good, I can’t lay anything, sorry, Mum.”
Stella sniggered, and I sighed loudly, “What is the matter with them all tonight? It’s not Friday the thirteenth is it?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Must be a full moon then. Can you lay the table while I dish up?”
Despite further protestations and sympathy from everyone but me, I sent Trish back to bed—I knew perfectly well she’d only read until the others came up, but on her own she might reflect on her behaviour and modify it. Knowing her it would be to get round me next time without any hitches. Life with her is like playing chess against a supercomputer.
When I took the others up to bed, she was still awake and reading. I read them a story and tucked them all in. Then I kissed them and told them I loved them all.
“When is Billie gonna come in here as well, Mummy? asked the chosen one.
“There isn’t room for another in here, that would be four—it would be more like a dormitory than a bedroom.”
At this they all shrieked, “Lights out at nine, candles out at ten.”
“You what?”
“It’s what Auntie Stella says.”
“It’s very rude.”
“Why is it rude, Mummy?” guess who wanted to know?
“You’re not old enough to understand yet.”
“Is it about sex, Mummy?” Trish continued to torment me.
“No, candles are a fire hazard, now go to sleep.” I blushed and left behind a gang of gigglers whose cackles were clearly audible downstairs.
“I thought you put them to bed?” Stella chuckled.
“Just because I haven’t actually killed anyone yet, doesn’t mean I won’t before the night is out.”
Stella giggled and went back to loading the nappies into the tumble dryer. I had a quick cuppa before chasing the um—other kids to bed. When I got them upstairs, Danny asked me, “Mum, how long have I got to share a room with a girl?”
“You seemed happy to share with Billie before.”
“Yeah, that was before she went all girly—I can hardly do so now can I?”
,
“So where do you suggest I put her or you?”
“Can’t she go in with Julie?”
“Hardly—Julie is virtually grown up, and sharing with a youngster would be unacceptable.”
“I’ll share with her then.” His eyes sparkled.
“Over your dead body—and believe me, the first time you upset her, it would be. Besides, what’s the difference between Billie and Julie?”
“Julie’s got tit—um, she’s more grown up.”
“And you seem to have booked a passage on the Titanic and be heading straight at the iceberg.”
“Yeah—okay.” He shrugged, and I smiled at him. Hhe’d lost his little game but had the nous to know when he was beaten.
Simon arrived full of himself, so after he’d eaten he told me was pleased with himself. I asked why and he explained he’d sold a large tranche of BP shares for a client and the commission had paid for a present for me.
“You bought me a present?”
“Yep,” he fished in his pocket and brought out a small oblong box which was gift-wrapped. I wondered if it was a bracelet.
“Thank you, darling,” I said and kissed him.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Of course.” I smiled and gently eased open the package trying not to tear the paper.
“Just rip it open,” he exhorted.
“No, I don’t like to.”
“I think we can afford new paper, we don’t have to save the old stuff, ya know.”
In the end I had to cut it with the kitchen scissors, and on opening it and seeing what it was I squealed. “Oh, thank you, darling.” I hugged him and kissed him.
“It’s outside, or had better be.”
I rushed to the drive and there sitting next to his Jaguar was an A class Mercedes. My eyes filled with tears and I hugged him. “How can I thank you?” I kissed him again.
“When we get to bed, we’ll consider it.” he winked at me and then said, “Well aren’t you going to try it?”
Before he could change his mind I grabbed my bag and ran down to the car.
(aka Bike) Part 1048 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The car looked silver or light grey in the fading daylight, and was the five door version of the popular small Mercedes. I unlocked and got in, Simon stood at the door waving me off. The controls were very similar to what I remembered of the previous one I’d had, only this one had about half the starting mileage, of about five thousand—it wasn’t new, probably an ex-demonstrator; I didn’t much care.
She started up with a purr like a well fed and spoiled pussy cat, and I found the lights and set off down the road. It only had a quarter tank of fuel, so I went to the nearest supermarket and put in a half a tank, just to keep me going for the rest of the week.
I might have been wearing rose-tinted spectacles, but this was an even better drive than the previous one and that had been my favourite until it met with the accident on the motorway. I reckon I’d been grieving for it ever since, so this was really good, and made my recent worries fade into the background, if only for a few minutes.
Sometimes I think I’m pretty rotten to Simon; then again, he’s often so obtuse he deserves it all—maybe we deserve each other. I knew I could seat three kids in the back, if I now have four to convey to school, they’ll still fit in it—although one will have to sit in the front with me.
That brought me back to the present—time that is, not gift. What was going to happen to Billie? I’m not at all sure about her going to school until she’s had more practice as a girl. She does seem to be picking it up pretty quickly, and I don’t know if she’s a natural, or has been coached by the others. That’s the problem with a house full of girls, they are so interactive and in a positive way, whereas boys seem to fight.
I wondered if the bike rack would fit the car, as I passed a car carrying bikes on the roof. I might try and get out early tomorrow for a ride—wonder if Billie wants to come? I’ll mention it tomorrow, see if Simon will supervise the others for an hour or so. Damn, I have to take Julie to the salon tomorrow—have to be when I get back.
I drove around for about half an hour, it went perfectly—the car that is. When I got home, Simon was watching some of the World Cup, and as England were now out, he decided to support the Germans—which was probably the kiss of death to them as well. Oh well, not my sport, and the TdF was due to start soon. I wondered how the Brits would do in it—Cav might win a few stages but he isn’t in the sparkling form he was last year, and while I admire Wiggo—I doubted he’d ever win it, however, I’d be so pleased if he did. Where was Armstrong likely to finish? Was there any truth in the drug allegations by Landis, and what was his motive? Lots of intrigue, which I suppose will one day be sorted, but it does affect the sport—my sport, and it’s shameful.
Once I got back home Julie was waiting with a cuppa, “What are you after?” I asked suspiciously.
“When I pass my test, can I borrow it, Mummy?”
“Borrow what?” I played dumb.
“Your car, the little Merc, I’m sure I could drive it.”
“We’ll discuss it when you’ve passed your test.” That should give me a few months to think of an objection, or to save for a small car she could have instead. Not the greenest policy, but every teenager wants to learn to drive.
“When are you seeing your friends again?”
“Dunno, they seem to have slipped off the map.”
“Haven’t you made any at the salon?”
“There’s one, a girl called Amy, who seems quite nice, but we’re always on opposite lunch breaks so we don’t get much time to talk.”
“I suppose there’s always good ol’ Leon.”
“Yeah, I s’pose.”
“Oh, he seems to have lost his sparkle for you, then?”
“Not really, I like him—but he is a bit limited an’ since I’m workin’ on Saturdays, it does make it more difficult.”
“The course of young love never runs smooth.”
I drank my tea as Simon emerged in bath robe fresh from the shower. I smirked at him.
“Well?”
“It’s wonderful—thank you so much, darling.”
He smiled warmly, “I’m ready for you to show your appreciation,” he raised his eyebrows a couple of times and hinted that he wanted me upstairs.
Oh well, I suppose a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I finished my tea and we went up to bed. Ten minutes later I’d cleaned my teeth and had a little wash and tidied myself up, squirted on a little perfume and was wrapping myself around Simon who was struggling to carry me to the bed while still kissing me and not dropping me or falling over before we got there.
At the time it was very romantic—when I thought about it the next day, it seemed very funny—but nice funny.
We spent an enjoyable hour touching each other’s erogenous zones and finally making love in a gentle and caring way—no hurrying or selfish interest, rather a desire to please or maximise the pleasure of the other. After it was over I was exhausted and fell asleep very quickly and I suspect Simon did too. I was sore the next morning and I was glad I’d set the alarm, otherwise Julie would have been late for work.
After a quick breakfast, I took her to work, and although we talked a little, I’d managed to say nothing about her hair colouring—she looked like she was heading towards Goth styles—not sure I was happy, except they didn’t seem to get into as much trouble as some of the other groups did. Of course this could have been a misapprehension on my part—not an unknown occurrence.
“Geez, Julie,” I said loudly as we arrived at the salon.
“What, you haven’t finally noticed my new hair colour?”
“No—I’ve just seen the new ear piercings, is that why you got your hair done, to distract me?”
She blushed and refused to look me in the eye, “Course not, Mummy—I just thought I’d have a change.”
“Hence the half a pound of metal in your ears?”
“No, Mummy, had those done ages ago.”
“Please, before you do anything else to your body, consult with me. I’m still responsible for you.”
“Aw c’mon, Mummy, I’m nearly seventeen, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t care, and don’t you dare even think about a stupid tattoo.”
“I won’t, Mummy,” she said as she got out of the car. “If I get one it won’t be stupid.” Then she ran from the car before I could say anything, and dashed into the salon, waving before she shut the door.
Sometimes I wondered if being a parent was all it was cracked out to be.
(aka Bike) Part 1049 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“And do you know why she changed her hair colour?”
Simon looked up from his newspaper, “No, but I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“She has about seven piercings in each ear.”
“Really?” he continued reading his newspaper.
“Simon, this is our daughter, we’re talking about...”
“Yes, dear,” he continued reading.
“Oh thanks for your involvement.”
“It’s a girl thing, you usually deal with those.”
“Self-mutilation isn’t a girl thing.”
“I’d hardly call it that, Cathy, I think you’re overwrought.”
“I am not, just because I care what our children are doing to themselves—you’re a fat lot of help.” I stomped out of the kitchen and upstairs where I met Billie coming down them.
I looked at her and said sharply, “You, Missy, can take that lot off right now.”
“Why, Mummy?” she was close to tears.
“Because we’re going for a bike ride—yes?”
“Oh yeah, Mummy,” she turned and flew up the stairs.
I went up and changed into my cycling strip, tied my hair back in a ponytail and clomped down the stairs followed shortly by Billie.
“Going swimming are we?” said Simon sarcastically.
“No, I’m taking my newest daughter cycling. Look after the others won’t you—we’ll be about an hour.”
He gave me an expression of disbelief as Billie and I slipped past him and out to the bike shed. I checked the bikes over quickly. “That back tyre looks a bit soft, put some air in it,” I instructed Billie.
“I don’t know what to do, Mummy.”
I showed her how to open the Presta valve and push on the connector from the track pump and secure the connection by lifting up the locking lever. It took her a few goes and the tyre was nearly flat by the time we got the connection sorted. Then there was much puffing and panting as I explained we needed to get the pressure up to at least one hundred pounds per square inch.
At about sixty psi, she looked at me with pleading eyes. “Come on, at least another forty pounds.”
“I can’t, Mummy.”
“I think you’d better get some practice in—because if you have a puncture out on a ride, you’re going to be stuck, aren’t you?”
She shrugged and said, “I’d have to ride it back with the flat tyre or walk.”
“If you ride on a flat tyre, you’ll wreck your tube and possibly the tyre, or worse, the actual rim. That gets expensive as well as being bad cycling practice.”
“But, I can’t mend a puncture.”
“I’ll show you how, the proper way and also with these self adhesive patches, which are okay for getting you home, although generally, I carry a spare tube, sometimes two.”
“Have I got one, Mummy?”
“No, I thought one of the others could buy you a small saddle bag and the rest could buy you the bits to go with it, a few tools and a nice pump—like this one.” I patted the Topeak ‘Road Morph’—one of the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a few over the years.
“What, for my birthday?”
“Yes, if you’re happy, that is?”
“I—um—was hoping for more girl stuff.” She looked at the floor.
“Don’t you think riding a bike is girl stuff, then?”
“Oh yes, Mummy.”
“And being able to fix minor stuff, too—is that girl stuff as well?”
“Um—I don’t know, Mummy. I guess most kids would get their dads to fix it.”
“So have you never heard of self-sufficiency?”
“I think I’ve heard of it, but I dunno what it means.”
“It means being able to things for yourself and being independent, it’s very feminist, because it makes you equal in some ways to boys or men.”
“But you’re a lady, Mummy—how do you know all this?”
“Because my Daddy made me learn, and once I found I could do some things, I tried more difficult things, and sometimes I made mistakes, but mostly, if I put things back as I found them, they worked reasonably well. I used to write it down if I had to adjust anything—so many turns to loosen or tighten something.”
“Did your daddy tell you to do that?”
“No—he’d given up once I had the derailleur in bits. That was beyond him, and he just said, ‘You can put all that back together or find someone who can, because you’re not getting any new stuff.’ So that’s what I did.”
“What’s a drailer?”
“Derailleur—it’s the type of gears most bikes have—very basic but reasonably efficient, some people prefer hub gears, but the best of those are very expensive...” I looked at her and she had a glazed look in her eyes. I wondered if I was doing the same to her that my dad did to me, only she’s running away from it, whereas I fought back by learning more about bikes than he did. It was the first area where I could actually intimidate him. In the end, he used to ask me to adjust his gears and repair his brakes when he broke the cable. It gave me a great sense of self belief—I was good at something and he knew it.
,
“Do you like fiddling with bikes, Mummy?”
“Yes, why?”
“But you get all dirty?”
“So? Lots of girls have a thing about horses, and I’d rather get my hands dirty with a little bit of oil than horsesh—um droppings, wouldn’t you?”
She paused to think about it then did something unbelievably girlish, “Ugh, horse poo,” she said as she made a face and put her hands up in front of her upper chest and wiggled her fingers in disgust.
“Right, Missy, before I let you ride out on your own—you’ll need to make sure you have your mobile with you, and be able to fix a puncture. Until then, you can only go out with an adult or a club. Okay?”
“Will I need a big club—‘cos I don’t think I’ll be able to carry it, Mummy.” She gave me a expression of bewilderment and all I could do was to laugh and hug her.
“You, nit, I meant a cycling club—not some device for bashing people. Mind you, one or two people I’ve met would probably be better if someone did give them a good bang on the head with a club.” I mimed riding by and bashing people on the head and she giggled.
We did eventually get our ride in—we did ten miles again, which she coped with very well—next time we’ll do twelve or more. She had certainly got the idea of clipless pedals—in fact it was me who nearly fell off, I was so busy watching her that I very nearly forgot to unclip myself at some traffic lights—I only just made it, getting my foot down before I fell in front of a parked car the driver of which would have thoroughly enjoyed my fall from grace.
Back at the house, Leon was weeding the vegetable patch as we arrived. He’d met Billie in her new guise before, but he still did a double take at her painted fingernails. I could almost see the wheels turning as he thought back to last weekend.
“Good ride?” he asked, standing bent over the potatoes as he plucked some unfortunate weed from the rows of nascent spuds.
“Yes, she’s improving—aren’t you sweetheart?”
“Not compared to you, Mummy? Do you know what a drailer is, Leon?”
“A drailer—you don’t mean derailleur, do you—you know bike gears?”
“You do know.”
“Yeah, I s’pose I do.”
“Can you mend them?”
“Depends what goes wrong, I can do the basic adjustment of tightening the cable after that I take it to the bike shop, why—yours aren’t broken are they?”
“No, Mummy, knows lots about bikes and she can mend drailers, too.”
Leon looked at me, “I’ve seen her workshop and all those tools—so I believe it. A lady of many talents, your mum.”
I blushed as Billie agreed with him. My embarrassment was short lived when Trish suddenly appeared and with hands on hips demanded, “And where did you go?”
It’s probably just as well there were witnesses present, although I suspect they’d have helped me bury the body—she isn’t that big.
(aka Bike) Part 1050 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“And since when have I been answerable to you, madam?” I demanded of Trish. My tone and demeanour meant that I was looking for trouble, and she flinched before trying some bravado.
“You’re my mummy, so of course you need to let me know where you are.”
“Oh do I? That’s funny, because I thought it was the other way round, you let me know where you are because I’m responsible for you, not you for me.” Again I kept the tone very assertive and she was beginning to back down.
“Um, I was joking, Mummy–really.”
“Well I didn’t find it very funny–I think you need a lesson in humility.”
She looked very uncertain and her bottom lip twitched, she is only six going twenty six, but thankfully I can still pull rank. “What d’you mean, Mummy.”
“You’ve annoyed me in front of Leon and Billie, both your elders and betters. I want you to apologise to both of them for being silly while I was talking with them, and then you can apologise to me.”
She said she was sorry to both of them, and by the time she got to me, she was in tears and hugging me around the waist. I took her inside, and pulled her away from me, and said, “Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes, Mummy,” she sobbed and I hugged her and told her she was forgiven, provided she didn’t do it again. She could now go and lay the table and she could help me in the kitchen while I made lunch. She went off with slightly more spring in her step. I love her to bits, but she has to be kept on a tight leash or she begins to run riot. I’m dreading what she’ll be like as a teen–at least she can’t get pregnant.
I went and changed and came back to the kitchen. She was busy making me a cuppa and I gave her another hug, “I much prefer you when you’re being helpful, rather than giving me grief–you’re a good girl most of the time, but now and again you do upset me.”
“I’m sorry, Mummy, I don’t like to upset you.”
“I hope not, sweetheart, or you will be in trouble. Now, enough of this; let’s do a bread mix.” She chuckled and went to the pantry and got out the ingredients for making a loaf. I sipped my tea as I watched her measure them out and add the water. Then she secured the lid and switched it on. “Good girl, you remembered.”
“Yes, Mummy, you’re a good teacher.” Flattery will get you anywhere, except with your mother, however, I didn’t react.
As we prepared the meal together I asked her where Livvie, Danny and Meems were?
“They’ve gone out with Daddy.”
“Oh, where?”
“I dunno.”
“So how come you didn’t go as well?”
“Wasn’t enough room for me in his silly car.”
“I’m sure he could have taken one of the others–my car is there, he could have used that.”
“I think he prefers real girls.” She looked away.
“What are you then–Scotch mist?”
“No, silly, but I’m not a proper girl either, am I?”
“Of course you are, my darling,” I hugged her and she sobbed.
“I think he’s fed up with us pretend girls.”
“If that was true, he’d have left me yonks ago.”
“But you’re a proper girl now, Mummy.”
“As proper as they can make me–but being a woman is about what you feel inside you, not just your hormones and periods. While that would be nice, it isn’t going to happen for any of us–so we have to cope with it, and so do those who love us. Daddy loves us all in spite of our shortcomings, which he understands.”
“I wish he did, but I don’t think he does.”
“He seems to be okay with Julie and Billie.”
“Billie is your favourite.”
“What? She isn’t, I’m just trying to help her through to a stage where she can be a bit more confident as a girl, if that’s what she feels she is. You of all people should understand that.”
“I do, but I want you too.”
“You’ve got me, so what’s the problem?”
“You don’t take me out on your bike.”
“You’re a bit small, darling, when I do take you out you’re tired after about two miles. Billie’s a bit stronger, because she’s older.”
“Will you take me out on a bike when I’m older?”
“If you’d like to, of course I will. In fact, it would give me enormous pleasure.”
“Would it, Mummy?”
“Of course it would, I love cycling and having one or more of you really interested would be wonderful for me.”
“I’m going to be a cyclist just like you, Mummy.”
“We’ll see, kiddo, a lot of water will flow under the bridge before then.”
“I will, Mummy, I promise.”
“We’ll see.”
“Can I help, Mummy?” Billie walked into the kitchen.
“Haven’t you changed back into ordinary clothes yet?”
“You told me to change into these, you didn’t say to change out of them.”
“Where have you been?”
“I washed the bikes with a cloth I found in your workshop, then Gramps asked me to help him put in some bean sticks with Leon. He says I looked really pretty in my cycling kit.”
“Oh, did he now?”
“Anyway, can I–oh, you’ve been cryin’, Trish.”
“I’m okay,” she shrugged off her sister’s approaches.
“Suit yourself.”
“Billie, go and tell the others to start washing themselves up for lunch–then run up and wash and change yourself.”
She disappeared, “Right, young lady, are you okay now?”
“Yes, Mummy. Oh, Mummy?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I love you, lots.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” I put my arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze.
Simon returned with the other kids as I was dishing up lunch–a quick risotto and ciabatta bread with sliced tomato and lettuce. I didn’t make the bread, but it needed to be eaten–I know I could have made minestrone soup, but it was a bit warm for that.
After we’d eaten and the girls were playing together and Danny was out with Tom and Leon in the garden, I had a few words with Simon. “Why didn’t you take Trish with you?”
“I said, first three can come with me to the office. She was fourth and I didn’t have room.”
“You could have used my car or the Mondeo.”
“I could have, but I didn’t want to.”
“She told me she thought you only liked real girls.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“To an adult, who doesn’t have insecurity problems.”
“What?”
“Trish thought you’d left her behind because you preferred to have real girls with you.”
“But she is a real girl as far as I’m concerned.”
“Tell that to her–I tried, but she was quite upset about it.”
“Oh bugger, I didn’t mean it like that at all. There just wasn’t room.”
“It wasn’t the brightest thing you’ve done.”
“I can see that now. I suppose I’d better go and tell her.”
“Why don’t you take her with you and collect Julie from the salon.”
“I suppose I could–what about the other one?”
“Other one?”
“Yes, Billie.”
“You could take her as well, which I suppose would prove your point of seeing them as ordinary girls–but to be honest, I think you need to spoil Trish a little bit. After all, Billie had my entire attention for an hour or so this morning. So, just take Trish.”
“Okay, I just want to do this paperwork and get it in the post, so she can come with me to the post office first and then we’ll collect Julie.”
“The post office is closed on a Saturday afternoon,” I challenged.
“The collection there is later, and besides, the shop next door does delicious ice cream.”
“I see, you’re going to bribe your way back into her affections.”
“Well, it usually works with her mother and her auntie.”
“It might not next time, sunshine–go and do your paperwork.”
(aka Bike) Part 1051 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
From the conversation I had with Trish a little later, it seems any hurt Simon had caused was forgiven–she sold her worries for an ice cream. Sounds good to me, pity we can’t all do it.
Julie was very pleased to ride home in the Jaguar, and doubly so because the other apprentice saw her getting into it. At least she hadn’t got any further piercings. Simon did notice and apparently made some comment about them, which irritated her, according to Trish.
I pushed no further with my questioning. At last Simon seemed to be supporting me in my efforts to keep the kids on the straight and narrow. As I was preparing the dinner, I saw a strange car come into the drive, or it was strange until I saw the occupant get out and walk up the drive.
The doorbell sounded and I let someone else answer. Judging by the voices at the door it was Julie and they chatted for a little while before I heard footsteps come to the kitchen. “Look who’s here, Mummy.”
I turned around and feigned surprise, “Maureen, how lovely to see you again.”
“And you too, ma’am.”
I walked over to her and initiated a hug, she is so much bigger than I am, it was like being engulfed by a bear. “Are you really recovered now?”
“More or less, ma’am.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I could start back to work on Monday.”
“Okay, but I only want you to work part time, although we’ll still pay you your full hours.”
“You can’t do that, ma’am.”
“Try me.”
“Don’t argue with her, Mo, you won’t win.” Julie winked at me as she offered her advice.
“Are you staying to dinner?”
“I shouldn’t like to put you to any trouble, ma’am.”
“No trouble–be ready in about forty minutes. Julie, send Trish and Billie in, would you?”
“Sure, Mummy,” she started to the door.
“Oh, and Livvie, as well.”
“ ’Kay, c’mon, Mo, tell me about the fight.”
“Julie, behave yourself,” I called after her.
“Only joking,” she called back.
The three girls arrived and I detailed them their chores, with Livvie helping me directly in the kitchen–to avoid any claims of favouritism. Trish is more use, she seems to have grasped the bits of cookery that I tried to teach her, whereas Livvie isn’t really interested. That makes it harder work to get things done, but I have to be seen to be fair to all of them.
Danny popped in to ask about something and I told him he was clearing the table and washing up–loading the dishwasher–so nothing too arduous for the young man. At least he knows how to use it, which is more than Simon does–or claims to know. Sometimes I think, ignorance is bliss with my hubby, so he pretends not to know.
Over dinner, Maureen told us how she recalled having vivid dreams about me calling her back from the void. She was convinced she’d have died without my help to heal her. The girls all told her bits about different things they’d witnessed, and of course Trish and Julie claimed to have magical powers, which I refused to admit about myself, because I believed there was something scientific which would explain it all one day.
Maureen was convinced I had the healing skills of an angel, which of course Trish whipped up to a frenzy level. I continued to deny all of it.
Maureen insisted she wouldn’t have got her recovery as quickly without me. “When you were workin’ on my back, ma’am, an’ I ‘ad no feelin’ in me legs like, then suddenly things started to work again, but only after you done something to me back.”
“I’m sure that was pure coincidence, Maureen.”
“Me specialist didn’t think so, he said you was like an angel.”
“He obviously doesn’t know me, does he?”
“Aye, that’s true, alricht,” Tom chuckled.
“In the kitchen you’re an angel,” offered Simon, and I began to feel a cringe coming on, I wasn’t to be disappointed, “In the bedroom, you’re a veritable demon.”
I blushed and promised myself, I’d rip out his liver and eat it when we got to bed, which would surprise him more than a little–on the other hand, that would make an awful mess in the bed–I wondered if I could lure him into the bathroom–easier to clean up.
After we finished, Danny cleared the table and put the dishes into the washer as I’d asked him, and the rest of us went into the lounge while Simon, Daddy and Maureen talked about the contract with the bank. I wondered if I’d ever get my sheds finished.
The kids played snakes and ladders while Stella and I drank some tea and chatted. I think we were both happy just to have some adult female company to chat with. She was saying she needed to get some new clothes for Puddin’ and could do with something herself. We discussed what various experts were recommending as fashionable–not that I always agreed with them.
Stella decided she wanted a new outfit plus some new jeans. Seeing as she has at least a dozen pairs that I know about, plus probably some I don’t, I wasn’t sure what she was buying them for.
Then she let drop that she had a date next week. Julie heard that bit and began questioning her. Stella blushed and said it was just an evening out with a man friend.
“What’s his name then?”
“Rob.”
“Rob what?”
“Rob a bank?” was my contribution
“Very funny, he works in banking.”
“Not for High Street, I hope.”
“Don’t be silly, he works for Barclays.”
“Not looking to change ships, is he?” I asked.
“What d’you mean?”
“Maybe he thinks you could give his career a leg up?”
“I don’t have anything to do with the bank, do I?”
“No, but your father and brother do.”
“Meaning what?” she became indignant.
“Nothing in particular, but you do have some very powerful contacts.”
“When has my father ever listened to me?”
“Quite regularly, in my recollection.”
“Not about business–that’s Si’s bag.”
“What is?” Simon asked coming into the room–“Maureen is going.”
“Oh okay, I’ll come and say goodnight.” I stepped out of the lounge to be followed by a flock, or perhaps more truthfully, a swarm of children, who beat me to the dining room and then swarmed all over Maureen. It was fully ten minutes before she got rid of them all, and she seemed to enjoy every moment of it.
She left promising to come over on Monday to discuss what I wanted to do to the sheds–I thought we’d already done that months ago, but she’d obviously forgotten–not surprising given the beating she took from those thugs.
Once I got the kids all in bed, I called up a website and ordered a few things. “What are you doin’, Babes?”
“Ordering some new wheels, or bits of.”
“Bits of?”
“Yeah, I’m going to build some new wheels for the Scott.”
“What’s wrong with the ones on it?”
“Nothing, except I can do some better ones.”
“You can do?”
“Yeah, I’ve ordered rims, hubs and spokes.”
“You’re going to build them, yourself?”
“Yeah, who d’you think built the last ones.”
“You did?”
“Sometimes your perception verges on paranormal, Simon.”
“You’re taking the piss.”
“ Me? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
(aka Bike) Part 1052 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning was Sunday. I woke Billie gently and told her to get dressed in her cycling togs. After a quick breakfast we were off out and trundling along at over ten miles an hour. Billie seemed comfortable, so I pushed it up a couple more and before long we were doing twelve and she wasn’t aware of it. apparently. I kept the speed fairly constant and five miles later, she was still hanging on to my back wheel. I signalled a stop for her to rest a moment and drink. I was just warming up nicely.
“We’re going up on the downs in a minute.”
“Um–do we have to?”
“Yes, I want you to be able to climb a bit, and that only comes from practice. Now don’t worry, I’m going to talk you up the hill.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I’ll show you, it’s easier than trying to explain it to you.” So I did. Basically, it’s simply about distracting someone from what they’re doing until it’s finished. When I first learned to cycle my dad did it to me, and then after a while a sense of competition came into our cycling and I was able to outclimb him by the time I was about thirteen. I still wasn’t a strong rider, and even though I kept up my riding, I felt too shy to join a racing club, so went and joined the CTC–The Cyclist’s Touring Club, sometimes called the Cafe to Cafe club or the Cake to Cake club, given their enjoyment of tea and cake stops.
By the time I left home and went to university in Sussex, I could ride all day at a reasonable touring speed, and climbed as well as the others in the club did–sadly, this wasn’t enough to qualify for the cycling club at uni, because it was a racing club. In fact, when I went out with them a few times on training rides, they left me behind and then told me to check out the girl’s team, as they were sure I’d fit in there much better.
I did coincide a ride or two when the girls were out, and I couldn’t even stay with them, so I went off got some advice about training and did so with a sort of zeal that I’d only ever thought of as being religious.
I rode three times a week, did some gym exercises and running. I got a bit stronger but still had no muscle definition, and at five foot seven, weighed nine stone or a hundred and twenty six pounds, dripping wet. In the words of my mother, I was like a matchstick with the wood scraped off.
In some ways I was pleased to be thin. My shape was like a prepubescent child, albeit a tall and quite toned one. I felt like a girl inside, but was too embarrassed to do much about it or even think about it–well consciously, I was. In my day dreams I was already a girl and looking increasingly like one.
I was fortunate in having thick luxuriant hair, which my ex-school friend Siân had encouraged me to grow and have cut like a girl’s. Even tied up in a ponytail it looked girlish against my narrow shoulders, and I was frequently assumed to be female from behind. It secretly thrilled me, but embarrassed me when others were about.
Of course, when I eventually took oestrogen, it kick started a puberty–a female one and my hips broadened a little and I grew breasts with large nipples–I didn’t however, grow any taller just more female. It was at this point that my homicidal sister-in-law and I bumped into each other.
I’m grateful for the bump-start she gave my new persona, because without her I might still be sitting in my room plotting my changeover instead of doing it. I lacked courage, she lacked restraint, and between us, Cathy was launched into the world.
I talked to Billie about what she wanted to do with her life, and the school thing in particular. She seemed set on going to the St Claire's Convent school. She seemed quite confident in her decision, that she wanted to go to school as a girl with other girls. I didn’t challenge anything and found that her body coped easily with the climbing while she was distracted. Much of hill climbing is about attitude, think you can’t do it and you won’t. When we stopped at the viewing point a little later, she was surprised she’d climbed without noticing it.
We rested and looked across over the city and out to the English Channel beyond. Then when she’d got her breath back, we shot back down the hill and she squealed all the way down–but, her pretended terror was really elation. She managed to stay in the saddle, because on a fast downhill, a few road bumps and you can bounce out off it very easily. I’ve even bounced out of my clipless pedals.
I complimented her on her ride both up and down the hill. She’d done really well for a novice and we rode home even faster than we left. Billie stayed with me and seemed pleased with herself, which I encouraged. I could still leave her for dead, but proving it would do what, possibly destroy the nascent rider inside her?
“Mummy, Maureen was looking much prettier yesterday, wasn’t she?”
I had to think for a moment–she’d had some facial reconstruction after the beating and her jaw was narrower and her cheekbones higher. She looked much better, but I hadn’t noticed–so much for my observational skills.
Back in the drive, Trish and Livvie were racing each other up and down the tarmac watched by a bemused Gramps. It appeared Trish wanted to improve her cycling skills and strength so she’d be ready to ride with me. I admired her dedication and spirit, and told her if she was still keen at Christmas, I’d either buy her a child’s road bike or make her one. She rushed off like a lunatic and nearly ended up in the fish pond.
Livvie told me she wanted the same for Christmas as well, and that she was going to be the next winner of the Tour de France. I tried to point out that the TdF was for men, and she protested that it wasn’t fair, girls should be allowed too. I tried to explain about the Grande Boucle, but she’d zipped off after Trish and also barely avoided the fish pond. Oh well, one of them might stick at it. Two minutes later, Trish came back hauling her bike–the front wheel was buckled and she had scratches on her leg and arm, and was holding back the tears very well. It looked like I had some wheel repairing to do, but first I gave her a hug and kissed her injuries better.
While I was trying to straighten the rim of the wheel, I heard a car pull into the driveway, a very quiet car. I peeped out and saw Henry alight from it. He spoke with Tom and walked into my workshop.
“How’s my favourite daughter-in-law?”
“Fine, thank you, Henry. And you?”
“I’m okay. Look, we have a small dilemma.”
“So are you here to see Simon?”
“No, it’s one that needs your assistance.”
“What’s happened; dormice in a hedgerow where you want to build?”
“A bit more international than that.”
“Oh, sounds intriguing.”
“I have the possibility of handling all the United Nations accounts in Europe.”
“So?”
“It appears they’re still looking to fill an ecology post.”
“So? I turned it down.”
“Apparently if I’m able to persuade the top candidate to accept the interview, they would look more favourably to engaging the bank for their routine currency transfers and other bread and butter stuff.”
“Not interested.”
“Cathy, this is worth several million to us, plus the kudos of serving the UN will open doors all over the world.”
“Tough–I’m not interested.”
“Cathy, I’m asking you to at least attend for interview.”
“What for, I don’t want the job–I have six children here who need me.”
“What if I could demonstrate that they’d cope with some extra help in the house, and that they’d want you to do it?”
“What if you can’t?”
“I’ll have to accept your refusal.”
“If they say no, then it’s definitely over?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay–ask them.” Why did I wonder if I’d done the wrong thing?
(aka Bike) Part 1053 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I carried on straightening the wheel from Trish’s bike, hoping that Henry wouldn’t use too much bribery and corruption. Of course he did, and for the most part succeeded, he ran into some trouble when he asked Trish.
She happened to be standing outside my workshop when he spoke to her so I heard the whole thing.
“Hello, Trish, how ya doing?”
“I’m fine, Gramps.”
“Good, how would you like a trip up to Scotland to the castle?”
“No thanks–we went there before and people were trying to hurt Mummy and me.”
“I promise there won’t be any this time.”
“I don’t want to, Gramps.”
“Why not, you’ll have a wonderful time.”
“I don’t like your castle, Gramps.”
“Look, Mummy is going to take the United Nations job and so we need to help her. If you come up to Scotland with the rest of the family, she’ll have time to do her job properly, won’t she?”
“She doesn’t want to do that job, she told me.”
“A girl can change her mind, can’t she?”
“Yes, Gramps, but Mummy doesn’t do things like that.”
“Oh, so when did you become an expert on your mother?”
“I’m not an expert on anything, Gramps. Are you?”
“Only banking, I’m afraid, why?”
“So you’re not an expert on Mummy?”
“No, but then neither are you.”
“I’m not, Gramps, but I didn’t say I was, an’ I know she doesn’t want to do this job. Dr Gareth asked her, and she likes him very much.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard her tell Auntie Stella that she had the hots for him, but it was never going to work because she loved Daddy.”
“Who is Dr Gareth?”
“He’s a nice man who Auntie Stella also fancies.”
“What? Both of them like him?”
“Yes, he’s very good looking. Even Daddy said that.”
“What–Simon knows this man, too?”
“Oh yes they met and liked each other–Dr Gareth is really nice, you’d like him too.”
“Would I now?”
“Oh yes, everyone likes him.”
“So do you like him?”
“Not especially.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wanted Mummy to do that stupid job.”
“What stupid job?”
“The same one you want her to do.”
“How do you know that?”
“She discussed it with Daddy, and he thought she should do it and she said she didn’t want to because she had six children to look after who needed her more than the United Nations.”
“I see, but if she had some help about the house, you wouldn’t need her so much would you?”
“I don’t understand, Gramps.”
“If someone helped her with the housework and cooking, took you to school and so on, she’d have more time to do the job wouldn’t she?”
“I like my Mummy to take me to school and she’s a good cook.”
“I’m sure she is, but she’s a very special lady and the rest of the world needs her to help them to protect wild animals which are becoming extinct–do you know what I mean by extinct?”
“Is that the same as endangered as they mention in the International Union for Conservation of Nature Red Data Book.”
“You what?” spluttered Henry, and I nearly wet myself eavesdropping inside my workshop. “How do you know about all that?”
“Mummy told me, and I read it in one of her books.”
“You read her books?”
“She gets all sorts of nice books–really magazines from the Mammal Society, and she has one all the time called, Nature, but it’s got too many hard words in it so I don’t see it too often. Grampa Tom reads that one, too.”
“You read Nature?”
“Only bits of it, it’s too hard really. I much prefer Gaby stories.”
“What are they?”
“About a boy who’s really a girl, but he doesn’t know it until about book seven, who’s very good at bike racing–his mum is the world champion bike racer–in the books of course.”
“I see, a boy who’s really a girl who’s world champion–maybe I can see why you read Nature.
“The book from the Department of the Environment was nicer. That was on dormice. Have you met Spike? She’s really nice–oh, she’s a dormouse–that’s dor with one ‘O’ not two, because it comes from the French, Dormier means to sleep, from the Latin, Dormio, because they sleep half their lives.”
“Goodness, child, you know an awful lot for your age.”
“Not really, I like to read a lot. Did you know Mummy played Lady Macbeth when she was in school and got a very nice review in the local paper?”
“No I didn’t.”
“They could tell she was really a girl because they thought her name was Charlotte.”
“Did they? How do you know?”
“Julie found it on the internet and printed it off. She had long red hair in those days–she dyed it of course.”
“When she was in school?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she went to a bo---never mind.”
“She did go to a boy’s school because they didn’t know she was a really a girl.”
“Like your Gaby character?”
“Yes, only Gaby is a better racer and she turns into a girl spontenously.”
“Do you mean spontaneously?”
“Probably, I sometimes get big words mixed up a bit but I know, Muscardinus avellanarius, because I practiced that one.”
“Mustard what?” asked an awestricken Henry.
“Muscardinus not mustard, Gramps. It’s a dormouse. If you come inside I can show you a picture of one in Mummy’s book.”
“That’s okay, Trish, I know what they look like, I just didn’t know their Latin name.”
“You do now.” I imagined she was beaming at him, she always does when she’s embarrassed you with her intellect. “I have to see if Mummy has mended my bike wheel–I crashed it. She says she’s going to buy me a racer like Billie’s–she’s such a lucky girl.”
“Doesn’t it worry you that a couple of weeks ago she was a boy?”
“No, I knew she would be more comfortable as a girl. Girls can tell, you know.”
“Ah, that would explain why it was such a surprise to me. It’s not going to happen to Danny as well is it?”
“Oh no, Gramps, he’s a proper boy–Mummy didn’t want Billie to be a girl, she liked him as a boy.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Billie had to work really hard to convince her.”
“I don’t suppose you helped her, did you?”
“Only a little bit, she’s too girly for me.”
I snorted at this, and they realised I was possibly listening, so I walked out into the drive–“Goodness bending over that truing vice doesn’t half hurt your back,” I groaned, holding my lower back.
“Did you realise this child reads your professional journals?”
“Henry, nothing surprises me about Trish.”
“That’s a very lackadaisical attitude, young lady–if she’s reading those, what else could she be reading?”
“Like the annual report of your bank, you mean?”
“Ha bloody ha, no–like adult only material.”
“I wasn’t aware we had any of that here, why?”
“Well she hardly reads age appropriate stuff does she?”
“She does, Henry, but it bores her–she gets through a Famous Five book in a morning–my journals keep her going for a bit longer because she has to look words up.”
“Surely she doesn’t understand them, does she?”
“Not all of it, but she often gets the gist of it.”
“How d’you know?”
“She asks me questions if she gets stuck, or she’ll speak to Tom about it.”
“That’s not natural–is it?”
“It is for a kid with an IQ of above one sixty.”
“Oh!”
“Absolutely. So did you ask them?”
“Oh about the job–they all seemed happy with it.”
“I thought Trish said no?”
“So you could hear us?”
“I could hear her.”
“Well the majority wins anyway.”
“I thought it had to be unanimous to win.”
“I don’t recall saying that.”
“You implied it.”
“I think you misheard me, Cathy–or is it Charlotte Macbeth?”
“Oh she told you about that did she?”
“She did. Your hair was long in those days then?”
“Longer than it is now. I got it cut when I went to Sussex. Didn’t want to give them the wrong idea.”
“If you’d left it, they would have got the right idea a lot quicker.”
“Yeah, perhaps you’re right.”
“Invariably, my dear girl,” he said with an insufferable smugness.
(aka Bike) Part 1054 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Have you done my wheel, Mummy?” Trish pestered as I was talking to Henry.
“More or less, don’t bash it again, or you’ll have to wait for a new wheel.”
“Okay, Mummy,” she grinned and I gave her a Paddington hard stare, but it was wasted on her. I restored the wheel to the bike, checked the brakes and gave it back to her.
Henry watched me and poked about in my tools and equipment. “You seem to know your way around a bike.”
“Sort of, why?” I asked him back.
“I used to find it very therapeutic to come home from a hard day and tinker with a bike or two.”
“Depends upon what’s wrong with it. Some jobs can be challenging and I prefer to be in an even mood to deal with them, nothing like dropping a pile of ball-bearings to improve a temper.”
He smirked, “Been there done that–I never did a job like that without having some spares, just in case I dropped them. Just poking round here, you have spare cables and bearings, brake pads–it’s like a professional bike tech’s workshop.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment–after I found the shops were closed whenever I needed a new part, I decided to keep a few in stock of the most likely ones to need replacing.”
“So I see–you have a very practical mind, Cathy. I like to see that in people I employ.”
“I see, so this where you crank up the pressure is it?”
“No, because I think that if you really thought about the UN job, you’d see it was made for you.”
“Before my children, maybe I’d have agreed with you, except I feel inexperienced for such a role–it should go to a respected expert in the field, someone who has an international reputation–like a professor–such as Esmond Herbert.”
“You realise he’s one of the panel who considered you should be approached.”
“No I didn’t–why did he do that?”
“He heard you talk at that evening thing you did there and he thought you were a good candidate.”
“Oh come off it, Henry, how could he decide that after one casual talk I did?”
“He has been watching your career more closely than you think–although he did have some confusion at one point, he thought you were two people.”
“With the amount of things I have to do, it might be easier if I were.”
“Look, Cathy, you need help about the house–someone to do the donkey work and for you to have what time you have spare as quality time with your family.”
“I’m too young and inexperienced to do this job–how do I deal with top politicians and captains of industry? They’ll treat me like a child.”
“If they do, I’m pretty sure you’ll make them regret it–otherwise use your charm and grace and they’ll all be eating out of your hand. Beautiful women can twist men around their little fingers.”
“Well maybe you should get Cheryl Cole to do it, then.”
“Don’t be silly–we want someone who knows all about ecology, about the mechanisms involved in conserving habitats and thus species.”
“You’ve been well briefed.”
“Well of course, I’m trying to persuade someone I know will tie me in knots if I’m not.”
“Henry, I wouldn’t do that to you–I respect you far too much, and besides, as my pa in law, I’m very fond of you.” I pecked him on the cheek–“Let’s go and get a cuppa.”
We sat in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting. “May I ask you something?”
“You can ask but I won’t guarantee an answer you’ll like.”
“What do you really think of the world?”
“It’s a lovely place that we’re rapidly destroying.”
“So what can we do about it?”
“Be less interested in greed, and be more conscious of the fact that if the wildlife goes, we’re probably not too far behind it in the extinction stakes.”
“Why should that worry us?”
“Apart from the fact that we’re destroying our children’s heritage, we’re also destroying the biosphere–it only becomes a matter of time before we destroy ourselves. Countless species are disappearing which we’ll never see or analyse and which might provide us with new resources or drugs if we had the time to conserve them. It’s probably too late already for many of them.”
“So you don’t think we’ll be able to clone them back into existence?”
“I don’t know, but it might be possible in a few hundred years, by which time we’ll have reduced the planet to miles and miles of monoculture rice and wheat or soya to feed the dozen billion parasites of which species we are members.”
“So how do we stop it happening?”
“It’s too late, we can’t.”
“It’s never too late, Cathy, there is always something one can do.”
“To achieve what, a solitary dormouse which can’t breed by itself; or some exotic bird in what was the tropical rainforest. It’s too late. We had our chance and decided we wanted petrochemicals and money or power.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s nothing personal, Henry, you’re generally a good man–it’s mankind, ever since they escaped from the slavery of the Garden of Eden, they’ve been multiplying and consuming resources. With too few natural predators, and too little disease, we’ve multiplied until we’ve become the problem.”
“Garden of Eden? I didn’t think you believed all that stuff?”
“I don’t, but it serves as an analogy which others can understand.”
“So you’d stop it if you could?”
“Stop what?”
“The destruction of the planet.”
“Weren’t you listening? It’s too late already.”
“I told you it’s never too late to do some good.”
“Well I think it is.”
“So that’s it then?”
“Yep.”
“So you don’t care about your children?”
“What’s it got to do with them?”
“Well from your devilish scenario of an end to the world, it’s bound to affect them.”
“It won’t happen for a generation or two, they’ll be okay–in the short term anyway.”
“Isn’t that hypocrisy?”
“What is?”
“Pretending you care.”
“I do care.”
“About yourself.”
“I thought that was your mantra, Henry.”
“At least I’m up front about it, Cathy dearest, whereas you preach, but don’t practise.”
“What do you mean, the mammal survey is going to help save what we can.”
“Oh whoopee doo, the mammal survey–so listing a few mangy foxes is going to save the world, is it?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I felt myself getting very hot under the collar as my temper began to rise.
“Your survey is hardly going to save anything is it–the most it will do is show how woeful the position is.”
“Isn’t that a starting point? Without knowing what the position is, how can we convince governments to act? They won’t do anything until we can prove what is most effective in countering the problem.”
“You just told me it was all a waste of time.”
“It is, to a large extent.”
“That isn’t the same as a total waste is it?”
“What are you trying to prove, Henry?”
“That you can make a difference, that it isn’t too late.”
“Okay, explain to me how I do that, then?”
“You play upon the largest stage you can; you take your case to the highest courts to the most powerful governments; you use the organisations that can get you heard. You educate and influence; you keep researching and proving your case; and you keep shouting it to the world–eventually people will listen.”
“Will they? Who is going to listen to a transsexual–a freak, the tabloids will have a field day. Then my children will be at risk again–it’s no use.”
“So why did you make the dormouse film?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“No, you sold me the idea–I merely helped to fund it.”
“I wanted to share my love of small furry critters which happen to be the most loveable and inoffensive animals in the country. I knew I could do that.”
“Didn’t you risk being exposed?”
“Yeah, but I agreed it with Simon and Tom and the kids.”
“Did it happen?”
“No, you know it didn’t.”
“No, you charmed the whole country with a presentation that was as cute and sexy as your little furry charmers. Every man between the age of fifteen and ninety five wanted to sleep with you, every woman wanted to hold a dormouse and look as sexy as you did. Cathy, you charmed the country and subsequently, many other places. You could do this to the whole world if you tried.”
“What, by making another film?”
“Not necessarily, you could do it by using the world’s largest conservation organisation.”
“Who’s that, WWF?”
“One with more clout than them, one who gets the attention of world leaders and of governments, one which...”
“I can see where this is going, sorry, Henry. I can’t do it.”
“You could, what you’re saying is you won’t.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“Fine, just don’t cry any more crocodile tears about extinctions–because you had a chance to do something and chose not to take it. Like I said earlier, you’re a hypocrite. I have to go, thanks for the tea.”
He looked reproachfully at me and walked to the door.
I sat at the table and burst into tears.
(aka Bike) Part 1055 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Why are you crying, Mummy?” Livvie came into the kitchen and hugged me.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart, I just feel sad.”
“Grampa Henry, didn’t upset you, did he?”
“He’s part of it, but it wasn’t just him.”
“Why does he want to take us to Scotland?”
“I think he thought you might like to stay at his castle.”
“Are you coming?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m not going then, and I’ll bet Trish won’t either.”
“It might be nice to get a break from me for a little while.”
“No it won’t, I like having you as my Mummy. Are you going to take that stupid job?”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t want you to, Mummy. I don’t want someone else taking me to school or making my dinner.”
“Unfortunately we can’t always have everything as we’d like it.”
“I know that, Mummy, but I’ve lost one mummy. I don’t want to lose you as well. That would be horrid.”
“You aren’t going to lose me, darling.” I hugged her to give some physical reassurance.
“I hope not, Mummy, that would be awful, really awful.”
“I promise, darling.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Billie wandering as Livvie and I hugged.
“Gramps wants Mummy to take that job, and she might leave us,” wailed Livvie.
“Oh no, you can’t do that, Mummy.” Billie immediately burst into tears and I put my arm around her.
“Liv are you comin’–wassup, why are you cryin’?”asked Trish. I was fast running out of arms.
“Mummy’s gonna take that job an’ leave us.” It was Billie’s turn to grizzle.
“You’re not are you? That would be so unfortunate,” stated Trish. She came and hugged me from behind.
“’Snot fair,” wailed Livvie.
“What isn’t fair?” asked Danny.
“Mummy’s gonna leave us,” wailed Livvie like an upset banshee.
“Why?” he asked in return.
“She’s gonna take that job.”
“Oh–well I suppose she could save more animals that way.”
“What about saving her children?” Livvie asked the awkward questions.
“She’s already done that, we’re all safe here, aren’t we?”
“I s’pose so,” agreed Livvie.
“Of course you’re all safe and I haven’t decided if I want to take the job or not.”
“Yeah, but we get to stay in a real castle,” beamed Danny. “I’ll bet it’s got suits of armour and swords an’ things.”
“It has, big deal,” Trish was unimpressed.
“I wonder if Gramps would let me wear one?”
“No–they’d be too big for you–you’re only a kid, they were made for men,” chided Trish of her brother.
“Yeah, I knew that.” Danny blushed.
“No you didn’t or you wouldn’t have said such a dumb thing.” Trish was on the offensive.
“Course I did, I was just thinkin’.”
“That’ll be a first, then.” Trish continued.
“Hey, that’s enough.” I said loudly.
“Well he didn’t know,” complained Trish.
“Never mind, it’s not important.” I tried to calm things down, the way I felt the last thing I needed was squabbling siblings.
“I did so.” Danny insisted back.
“No you didn’t–an’ I know, ‘cos I’ve been there, haven’t I, Mummy?” Trish tried to cause me to take sides.
“You have been there, but I said it wasn’t important.” I tried desperately to stay neutral.
“I knew she’d take your side, ‘cos you’re a bloody girl.”
“Danny, I did not,” but he wouldn’t have heard me, he went dashing out of the door.
“Right, that’s it–all of you out of here now–give me some peace and quiet. Go on, everyone out.” I shooed them all out of my kitchen and shut the door. I began to clean and peel vegetables, trying to think while I did them.
There was no reason why any of those who wanted to, couldn’t go to the castle when school broke up anyway–that had nothing to do with the job. They’d all get a chance to see the castle when we did the wedding blessing–hell, the way things were going it would be in time for Hogmanay.
Why did they all want me to take this job? What was Henry’s real motive, it wasn’t money, he argued too passionately for that–he’s usually quite cold blooded about money? Did he have any real feelings for the planet? If so why did he cut down a stand of trees last year?
I’m not the only person who could do the job, there must be thousands of ecologists who are as well qualified as I am, some of whom would be better qualified or more experienced, so why me?
Few if any of them will have the history I have, so would actually be a safer bet than I am. Okay, I have a title–through my husband, so hardly to my credit–but I suppose it would sound impressive, but then Monica would be more so, as the Viscountess of Stanebury–I’m only Lady Cameron.
I made my mind up weeks ago, I said no, so why can’t they accept that? At the same time, Henry said some quite important things. Do I really want to save the planet, or am I content to fiddle while it all burns?
Some of it is beyond redemption, and money will continue to allow illegal logging and beef farming in South America, although we now know it isn’t just for burger chains. My dormice are probably safe, partly because of legislation and partly because they are a high profile animal, whose cuteness makes them easily marketable in the conservation stakes. My posters have excited a huge amount of interest–mainly because of the cuteness of Spike and YSL suit.
Was Henry correct in describing me as a beautiful woman? It’s a nice thought, although I don’t necessarily accept it. Goodness, I need to think, and I could do with talking to someone outside it, but who knows enough to offer a reasonable opinion.
I took my address book out of my bag and after consulting it tapped in some digits on the phone. “Hello, Abi?”
“Yes, who’s that?”
“It’s Cathy Cameron.”
“Cathy, hi, how are you?”
“Have you got a few minutes?”
“A few, why?”
“I’d like your opinion on this UN job they’ve advertised.”
“They haven’t advertised it, it’ll be a shoe-in.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Gareth Sage asked me to apply for it.”
“Oh did he now, I know they contacted Esmond about it and he was miffed they didn’t ask him to do it.”
“I’d have thought he’d be a better candidate than I am.”
“Dunno, that was a pretty good talk you did down here–they’re still talking about it, although they know you’re an alumna, no one remembers you, and if they did, they’d have a problem equating Charlie with the beautiful Lady Cameron.”
“I’m not beautiful, Abi,” I blushed.
“Okay you’re not–not my problem if you want to deny your good looks. Why d’you think Dilly was so unpleasant, she was jealous.”
“Oh no, how can she be jealous of me?”
“Quite easily, you have looks and money, a readymade family, and a title to boot. All that’s missing is a top job, so it’s the UN for a couple of years and a chair here when Esmond retires.”
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
“You won’t have heard that I said no.”
“You did what?” she almost shrieked down the phone, “Don’t be so bloody stupid, woman! Go for it!. Don’t you see how this could raise the profile of women in academia?”
“Oh come on, Abi, to start with, my history hardly does justice to the feminist cause does it–and universities have had an equal opportunities policy for years.”
“Cathy, I don’t care if your path to womanhood was the usual or otherwise. I don’t give a toss if you came from the planet Zog, officially you’re female, and a beautiful one, so go for it. As for universities having equal ops policies, yes they have, but they nearly always appoint men. Shatter the glass ceiling if you have the chance–you have daughters don’t you?”
“Yes, five.”
“Bloody hell, what are you doing, cloning them or have you got a photocopier?”
“No, they just happened. This place is like the old woman who lived in a shoe.”
“Well think of them, they might become academics, and if they’re as clever as their mum, they could well become professors.”
“Two of them are extremely bright, one is already super-bright.”
“There’s your answer–do it for them.”
“I was turning it down for them.”
“What are you, stupid? I have to go–we have guests, byee.”
I put the phone down–she seemed to think my first duty to my kids was to take the job. Bugger, why does everything have to be so complicated?
(aka Bike) Part 1056 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I put the dinner on to cook and sent an email to Gareth asking to see the revised job description. I then started to draw up a job description for someone to work for me in the house.
My machine peeped to indicate a new email, it was Gareth. “Dear Cathy,
Sorry but you gave me to believe you weren’t interested, so we’ve offered the job to someone else. Gareth.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just read–all that soul searching and the swine had asked someone else. Bloody typical. I felt completely let down by him, then when my anger had abated, I realised I had brought about my own downfall. If I’d really wanted the job, I’d have gone for it from the beginning.
I wondered how much power a UN adviser would actually have–probably very little, less possibly than a top professor, especially one who enjoyed sparring with the media. In which case I needed to firm up my act and get myself noticed as an academic.
While the meal cooked I schemed–I was going to use the mammal survey and a handful of articles from it to remind everyone I was still here, still researching and running a household.
When Simon came in for dinner, I gave him the job description and asked him what he thought. He approved judging by the smile he had at the end of reading it. He nodded and I knew then he’d fund it. After dinner, while I was cleaning up he asked me what it was all about. I told him I was going back to work as soon as we had some help.
“What sort of work?”
“I have a film on harvest mice to make, that will take a year and I need to organise somewhere to do the breeding, we’re going to do most of it in a studio sort of setting.”
“Isn’t that going to show compared to your other film which was mostly filmed in the field?”
“Not really, we’ll do the close up stuff, then film the outdoor sections and combine them. Effectively, I’m going to grow some corn in a glass house to which we’ve introduced a few harvest mice, then we can film them in close-up, pan out and mix with genuine field shots. I’ll give Alan a shout and set up a meeting.”
“Where are you going to do that?”
“Haven’t decided yet, I’ll have to set up some technicians to keep it all looking natural, cost it all and see who I can sell it to.”
“Before you’ve made it?”
“I think the BBC will be interested, especially if I do the narrative myself, in short skirts or shorts.”
“You, using sex to sell something? What about your feminist principles.”
“I’m going to make them regret not waiting for me at the UN.”
“What do you mean, not waiting?”
“They’ve offered it to someone else.”
“Oh, bad luck, you should have gone for it at the start.”
“Nah, this is going to be better, I’m going to resume my teaching in September.”
“And make a film–bit of a tall order isn’t it?”
“Not really, Alan will do much of the filming without me, once I tell him what I want, then we do the outside work. In the meantime, I’ll be involved with the survey and doing a little teaching, mainly to keep my dormouse project running.
“With regard to my feminist principles, conserving the planet for the future of all its inhabitants is the ultimate in feminism, my films, my survey and the opportunities they will give me for building a public platform to protest at government and industrial policies and how they impact on the environment.”
“I see–wouldn’t that have been easier from the UN?”
“Maybe, very often these posts are tied to certain policies and thus in hock to governments who are usually more interested in their economic policies than making sure there’s a world there for them to enact them in. Obama came in full of what he was going to do–apart from castigate BP he’s done very little–the US is still one of the largest polluters and consumers of fossil fuels.”
“Don’t go picking a fight with him, Cathy–we still do loads of business with US firms, I don’t want to be on his kicking list.”
“I won’t be fighting with him directly, unless he starts it, just reminding him and his countrymen of their obligations to the planet and challenging him to put his money where his mouth is.”
“I know I should have gone to that reception when I had the chance, now we’re more likely to have the CIA watching us.”
“Why?”
“If you annoy their president, they tend to get a bit upset.”
“I won’t be annoying him, just reminding him of his obligations, or that of his government. Personally, I think he’s a big disappointment, but that’s just my opinion.”
“Well BP shares have partly recovered. We bought a pile when they went down the other week and have made a modest profit.”
“Who’s we?” I asked him.
“Me, I suppose.”
“Is this the bank or you personally?”
“Me, the bank wasn’t interested.”
“How much did you make?”
“About a million.”
“You made a million dollars trading BP shares?”
“Pounds–and yes I did.”
“Wow, you clever boy.” I kissed him.
“There’ll be capital gains to pay, but we’ll make a reasonable profit even after that.”
“Is this just opportunism?”
“Sort of, but I thought I ought to be putting some pennies aside for the wedding thing and also to set the kids up when they’re older without eating into our own money.”
“But didn’t you feel you were risking some money on buying shares?”
“Babes, BP is one of the most reliable companies in the world, it will always recover from such a position–it always does. Shell is the other one who innovate a bit as well.”
“What about Exxon and the other oil giants?”
“No thanks–Shell and BP are as far as I go, apart from a few smaller British companies–we’ve got some interest in one in the North Sea, who’ve just hit some more oil and gas.”
“How do you pick them?”
“Very carefully, if it’s my money.”
“Goodness, I’ll never contribute that much to our children’s inheritance.”
“You don’t need to, babes, you’re going to give them another sort of inheritance, the eco-warrior queen who saved the world–the bits we don’t own.”
“Bits we don’t own?”
“Yeah, the bank has been buying up agricultural land as an investment, we own a few thousand hectares.”
“So I could end up filming on our own land?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Shouldn’t I be consulted about maintaining an ecological balance, as your advisor?”
“Yeah, why haven’t you advised us?”
“I am, cut me in or get very lonely in bed.”
“That’s a bit primitive for a sophisticate like you, Cathy.”
“Yeah, well I’m relying on communicating with your primitive urges to negotiate my corner.”
“Fine with me–wanna see some of our stuff on Google?”
“You bet I do.” I put my arm through his and we went off to play with the computer.
(aka Bike) Part 1057 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“This is all owned by the bank?” I asked as he pointed out a significant swathe of farmland and what looked like woodland attached.
“Yes, least I think so, I’ll get them to send you a list, then if you want to start exploring to see where you might find harvest mice, we’ll write to the tenants and ask for their cooperation.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Sussex, I think, you looking for more dormice?”
“If it hasn’t been surveyed I might run my eye over the woodland.”
“How long would that take?”
“The official Mammal Society guide, is to look for the most promising parts and give them twenty minutes each, if you find discarded hazel shells or acorns with the dormouse trademark hole, then you know you have a strong likelihood of them being there. Then you put up long boxes, and if there’s nest material in them after a month or two, it gives more likelihood, then you do nest boxes.”
“What about harvest mice?”
“They make nests in corn and in the under-layer of woodland, such as brambles. The mice are smaller than dormice and are in fact, the smallest rodents in Britain.”
“What; smaller than shrews?”
“Shrews aren’t rodents, they’re insectivores.”
“They’re all little furry things to me.”
“Each to his own, darling; all stocks and shares look the same to me.”
“If you say so,” then he made some improper suggestions and we went to bed. I fell asleep before he finished which annoyed him more than a little. I woke as he was making a withdrawal and he dripped some goo down my leg. I know, we’re not supposed to talk about these things, but they do happen–like when you turn over and it all runs out of you–all good fun.
I was very sore the next morning. Simon had an early start and I’m not sure he’d actually forgiven me although he did kiss me before he left. I showered and very gingerly dried myself, then after dressing and doing my hair, got the kids up for their final week of school.
I took Billie with me when I transported the three mouseketeers to school, I had some food shopping to do and thought the exposure to the public would do her good. Because she’s quite delicately built, she looks the part, especially since Stella cut her hair in a more feminine style, also her voice is quite squeaky as boys are frequently at that age.
After wandering around the supermarket, we had a drink and a biscuit in the cafeteria and then popped the shopping in the car. I really like the new Mercedes, and while my favourite mode of transport will always be a bike, this car was fast moving into second place.
Back at home, I was surprised to hear that Henry had phoned and I was to call him back. When I did he was in a meeting but his secretary told me she’d get him to call me as soon as he came back to the office.
I’d set Billie and Julie some chores to do and was busy looking over survey entries when the phone rang. I picked it up to find as expected, that it was Henry.
“Cathy?”
“Hi, pa in law.”
“Simon told me about the UN job.”
“I didn’t really want it in the first place.”
“That’s beside the point; you’re the best person for it.”
“I doubt it, there’s no shortage of ecologists these days.”
“There are with your pedigree.”
“Oh come off it, Henry, you do tend to overestimate my very modest experience.”
“I speak my mind, and you’d be good at the job.”
“Well they’ve offered it to someone else, so stop worrying about it. I’ve decided that I’m going to make the harvest mouse film and do a few papers on the early survey results. Much more kosher in academic circles than being tosser in chief in an antiquated and much loathed organisation.”
“It’s still an upward step for you, young lady.”
“I’m not so sure, now what’s this about the bank buying up agricultural land?”
“It’s been good investment recently, why?”
“Because I think you should be taking advantage of having an ecologist on the staff to get it looked at and seeing where you might offer grants towards things like hedge laying and tree planting.”
“Good idea, what’s it going to cost?”
“Dunno, I’d need to see the land and what was needed where. There might be grants available from Defra or Natural England, so you could possibly use those or improve them–make a competition with cash prizes, plenty of options. You can use it then as your green credentials or even on your advertising as the greenest bank.”
“I like having you as my ecology adviser, Cathy, you are always full of good ideas.”
“So is Simon, but you don’t always listen.”
“It’s nice to hear you defend your husband, Cathy, but he’s wrong quite often too.”
“He wasn’t with the BP shares, was he?”
“He told me he was looking to set up some trust funds for the kids, so I didn’t insist he did it for the bank.”
“Oh, you let him do the deal privately?”
“Yes, I want my grandchildren to prosper.”
“I’m delighted the way that you and Tom have taken my assorted waifs and strays to your bosoms and called them family.”
“I’ll leave the bosom bit to you, Cathy, you’re somewhat better equipped in that department. As for adopting them as my grandchildren–of course I did, I feel as much for them as I do for Desiree.”
“I also think you’re absolutely brilliant with accepting the gender variant ones.”
“Cathy, they are kids–full stop. I’d love ‘em if they had one leg and two heads...”
“Oh good because I was called by a children’s home where they had a child just like that...”
“I was being metaphorical, Cathy. Don’t take me so literally.”
“So you aren’t completely open to children?”
“Never mind your hypothetical moral questions, what about the UN job–no one has been appointed yet.”
“I don’t care, I’ve decided what I’m doing and that’s an end to it as far as I’m concerned.”
“We’ll see about that, if it’s still vacant, I want your arse behind that desk.”
“Henry, I’m too busy.”
“No you aren’t kid–everything else can wait, if that seat’s still empty.”
“You’re not listening, Henry, I am very busy and I don’t want the job.”
“We’ll see, gotta go, ‘nother meeting.”
“Bye,” I said to an empty line, then muttered to myself, “Henry, I don’t care what you think, I know what I’m doing and it ain’t that stupid job, as Trish called it.”
“We’ve finished, Mummy,” Billie came to tell me that they had finished the ironing.
“Did you get to have a go?”
“Yes, Mummy, it was great fun.” We all think that the first time we do it, it palls after a few hundred hours have been spent taking the creases out of something which as soon as it’s worn will have just as many creases as it did before you ironed it.
“Okay, take it up to the various bedrooms and lay it carefully on the beds. They can each put it away later.”
“Okay, Mummy.” She trotted off like a pixie in a trance, give it a few more days and she’ll be as sick of housework as the rest of us.
(aka Bike) Part 1058 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
On the Tuesday, after dropping the girls to school, I took Billie out for a ride–we did fifteen miles and she seemed to cope quite well. We bumped into Anne Summers who does triathlons and other silly things. She told me that they needed members to restart the university cycling club.
“I haven’t done any regular cycling for a year or two, let alone any racing.”
“It doesn’t matter, come out for a few training rides–it’ll be nice to have an aristocrat on our team sheet.”
“Don’t you dare! If I race it’ll be under my maiden name, but I don’t have a licence, and I’m too busy, Anne. It’s a lovely idea but with a houseful of kids, it’s not really practicable.”
“Get them to come out with you, like this young un, I’m Anne, what’s your name?”
“Billie,” she said very shyly, blushing furiously.
“Do you think your mum should come out with us?”
“Don’t know,” she said looking at the road as she stood precariously with her legs either side of the crossbar.
“Do you like riding?”
“Yes I do,” she took a sneaky peep at her inquisitor.
“So would you like to ride with us when you’re a bit faster?”
“I dunno–maybe.”
“For goodness sake, Anne, she’s only nine.”
“Nine and she has a road bike?”
“It’s what she wanted.”
“Cor, your mother spoils you, girl–I wish I’d had one at your age.”
“She’s going to buy one for Trish, too.”
“You got shares in a bikeshop?” she joked.
“No, but it was a grave mistake I didn’t.”
“Mummy mends bikes, don’t you, Mummy?”
Now it was my turn to blush.
“You could be our mechanic, Cathy, if you like playing with bikes.”
“I haven’t got time–I’ve another film to organise plus my teaching duties and six kids to look after.”
“Six? Jeez, girl, how did you manage six at your age?”
“I adopted them.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“That’s as maybe, but they needed a loving home, and I try to give them one.”
“Six kids, talk about a challenge–is she a good mum?” Anne asked Billie.
“No.” As Billie said this I waited for the other shoe to drop and nearly fell off my perch. “She’s the best mummy in the world.” She smirked at me, but then beamed at Anne.
“I reckon she must be to adopt six kids.”
“It all works very well most of the time, they’re all pretty good–because if they’re not, I flog them and lock them in the garden shed which is full of cobwebs and spiders and the roof leaks when it rains. Isn’t it so, young lady?”
“No, she never hits us and doesn’t even shout very often except at Daddy, and usually he’s asked for it.”
“So she’s really an angel in disguise is she?”
“Actually she is, and she uses her powers to make people better.” I was blushing but couldn’t stop Billie gushing without drawing attention to myself.
“D’ya think she could use her powers to make me a better cyclist?” asked Anne, and completely confused Billie.
“No she only does it if you’re ill or hurt.”
“Like the healing angel person who appears at the hospital now and again?”
“That’s her,” Billie pointed at me.
“What your mum?” gasped Anne.
“Don’t be silly, Billie–she’s pulling your leg,” I joked.
“I’m not...”
“Because a kiss and a hug makes them all feel so much better when they feel ill or bash themselves, that’s what she means.” I glared at Billie who went quiet.
“For a moment there I thought I was going to have to check you for wings,” smiled Anne.
“Nah, not me–you’re more likely to find a pair of horns and cloven feet.”
Anne looked at her watch, “Crikey, is that the time? I’ve got to go.”
I looked at mine, “Oops, we have to as well, see you.” I nodded at Billie who remounted her steed and we trundled back home.
“I wasn’t lying, Mummy,” Billie said as we rode.
“I know, sweetheart, but remember you’re not supposed to say anything about that to anyone.”
“But she’s a friend of yours.”
“She’s more of an acquaintance, kiddo. I don’t know her that well; I’ve only ridden with her a few times, that’s all. She’s a good rider, but she’s also a nurse tutor or something, so she could say something unwittingly and then we’d have the press knocking on the door again.”
“I’m sorry, Mummy, I was only trying to say how special you are.”
“I know, darling, but maybe next time just think before you say anything. Like I have to when I introduce you as my daughter instead of my son.”
“But I am your daughter now.”
“Yeah, but you were my son for a bit longer, so I have to think what I say about you.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Come on, it looks like rain.” We put on a bit of a spurt and got the bikes back in the shed just as drops of heavy rain began to fall. “Oh well, it’s what the gardeners were praying for,” I said as we walked back to the house.
It rained off and on for the rest of the day, and much to my embarrassment, it took me several minutes to find the windscreen wipers on the new car. Billie stayed home with Julie, and when I left they were loading the bread machine–so hopefully we’ll have some fresh bread for breakfast tomorrow, if the scavengers don’t eat it all before then.
“Can you play chess, Mummy?” Trish asked as we scampered to the car.
“Why, darling?”
“Sister Maria was showing us how to do it. I like the horsey ones best.”
“Were you playing too, Livvie?”
“Yeah, my old dad showed me the moves, but I think it’s boring.”
“Daddy plays, I think, and I expect Gramps does too.”
“Can’t you, Mummy? I’ll show you, the horse moves forward one and then goes two to the side, or forward two and one to the side. Oh it can go backwards too, Mummy. Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“It’s the only the horsey that can jump over the others.”
“It’s not a horse, it’s called a knight,” Livvie said loudly and Trish shut up for two seconds.
“What’s going on over there?” I asked out loud, puzzled by a young man and an older woman who were having an animated conversation with lots of gesticulating going on. “Something not right.” Then in the next moment, he pushed her and she fell over and he ran off with her bag.
I stopped the car and told the kids to stay put, while I struggled with my coat in the wind and rain. The woman didn’t appear to be moving. I looked back to the car, “Trish, call for an ambulance,” I shouted back to her.
I bent down to examine her and could see blood oozing out from the back of her head, she had a pulse but it was quite weak but she was still breathing. I had nothing with me to use as a dressing and I wasn’t wearing a skirt, so I couldn’t do the bit they do in the cowboy films and rip off half my petticoat and bind her head.
Trish called back to ask where we were for the ambulance, and I glanced up at a street sign and shouted back. By now a group of people were gathering, and we managed to hold a couple of umbrellas over the supine woman.
Someone suggested putting a coat under her head, but I advised against moving her as we didn’t know what injuries she had. The blood was oozing faster now and I felt very concerned.
“They’re coming, Mummy,” Trish yelled from the car. A couple of minutes later sirens were heard and a police car arrived, he put his waterproof over the woman and realising he couldn’t do anything else he asked if anyone saw what happened.
“I did, a young man was arguing with her and he pushed her, she fell and I think she must have banged her head. He ran off with her bag.”
“Can I take your name, madam?”
“Sure, it’s Cathy Cameron.”
“That’s not Lady Cameron, is it?”
“Yes, why?”
“Things do seem to happen when you’re about, don’t they?”
“Really? It’s just coincidence, you know.”
“I’m sure it is, Lady Cameron.”
Sirens sounded and an ambulance arrived and we all stepped aside for the paramedics to do their job. They seemed to know the policeman.
As I went back to my car having given my address to the young copper, Trish announced, “I took a picture of it.”
“Of what, sweetheart.”
“The man knocking the old lady down.”
“Show me,” I urged hoping she hadn’t, but she had. In fact she had done it on video so we had the whole episode. I was obviously honour bound to show the policeman and took it from her to show him.
He walked over to the car and said to her, “Hello, Trish–well you’re a clever young lady, aren’t you.”
“My teacher says so. I beat her at chess today.”
I shook my head, why didn’t it surprise me? And worse, she wanted me to admit I could play–no way. The way I play, she’d humiliate me in a few games.
“Do you mind if I borrow your phone to show my boss these pictures?” asked the copper.
“I suppose so,” sighed Trish, probably unaware that her cleverness had put her in an invidious position. She is very possessive of her phone.
“I’ll bring it back when we’ve finished.”
Yeah, I thought, in six months time.
(aka Bike) Part 1059 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“When will I get my phone back, Mummy?” asked Trish.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I replied, hoping it wouldn’t be very long, as they can copy these things so quickly these days, and I could see no merit in keeping the original but then maybe that’s why I’m not a policewoman.
“’Snot fair, I help them and they keep my phone,” she sulked and pouted as we walked into the house.
“We saw a mugging, Gramps,” Livvie excitedly told Tom.
“An’ the rotten police kept my phone.”
“Whit fa did thae polis keep yer phone?”
“’Cos I filmed the man bash the old woman, Mummy gave it to the policeman, Gramps–it’s snot fair.”
“They’ll gi’ it back when thae money’s run oot,” he teased her.
“They’d better not, I spent last week’s pocket money topping it up.”
“Och, they’ll love ye, bonnie lassie.”
Trish didn’t approve of his teasing and flounced off, much to his surprise. “We saw the dirty rotten mugger, run away and Mummy said the old lady’s brains were all over the pavement.”
“A slight exaggeration,” I added as I went to make some tea.
“Oh the police phoned, Mummy, can you pop down t'the nick to give a statement?”
Tom looked anxiously at me. He was aware that I’d been beaten up by some rogue coppers some while ago.
“No, if they want to speak to me, they can come here. Did they leave a number?” Julie nodded and handed me the scrap of paper on which she’d written it. I dialled the number and was eventually put through to an inspector.
“Thanks for calling, Lady Cameron, when could you pop in to make a statement?”
“When hell freezes over plus a few millennia.”
“Oh, did I say something wrong?”
“No you didn’t, but I was badly beaten while under false arrest by two of your colleagues. The settlement I got pays for my children to attend private school, but there is no way I will ever set foot in your HQ again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise, I’m fairly new here. Do you mind if I send someone to your house to take one?”
“Not at all, Inspector Plummer. By the way any chance they could return my little girl’s phone, she’s nagging me about it already.”
“I’ll see what I can do to expedite things, my kids are as bad, if I threaten to confiscate their mobiles, they soon toe the line.”
I thanked him and informed Trish they would return it as soon as they could. She thanked me and went upstairs to change. I got on with sorting the meal, a cheese soufflé and salad.
We hadn’t long finished eating when the doorbell rang and Julie who answered it called me. I went along to find two police officers standing there. I invited them in and we went into the dining room.
They were direct and to the point, I made the statement and then called in the three girls. Mima saw nothing much, as she was looking out the other side of the car. Livvie was sitting in the middle seat only watched when Trish started filming it, and Trish asked where her phone was.
“Is this it?” asked the younger of the two coppers, producing her Nokia from his pocket. She looked at it, then took it and switched it on. The film was missing but she still had all her credit and her address book.
“Thank you,” she said, “What do you want to know?”
She actually described in detail what she saw, which was more than I remembered. I suppose she did have slightly less to think about than I did. After she spoke to them I signed it on her behalf and she skipped away very happy with her recovered property.
“She’s a live wire,” said the woman police officer.
“Don’t tell her you play chess. She’s warming up to take on the world champion next week.”
The WPC laughed, “She’s just learned to play has she?”
“In school, today. I think I’ve got a computer programme somewhere if she gets really bored.”
“She sounds pretty bright,” commented the younger one.
“She is extremely bright, IQ well above the norm, makes me feel inadequate at times.”
“What? I thought you were a university teacher?” he said, looking aghast.
“I am, but even I know when I’m outgunned. Fortunately she doesn’t know it yet. When she gets to her teens, she will be a real trial, I suspect.”
“Yeah, I guess she will.”
“How is the old lady who was mugged.”
“If I say this now a murder enquiry, does that answer your question?”
“Oh no,” I gasped and felt myself go cold.
“I’m afraid so, she died from a nasty head wound–brought on a stroke.”
“I am sorry.”
“You did all you could, ma’am, but you’ll appreciate we’re looking for this guy as a priority now.”
“I can imagine. Did the film help?”
“Oh definitely, but it’s not quite clear enough to identify him. His hoodie hides most of his face.”
I frowned, could I have done more for her? Was it her time to go? Oh boy–I wish I’d tried now.
“We have to go, there’ll be a big press conference tomorrow. We hope someone saw or knows him. They’ll show the film then and hope it brings in some help from the public.”
“How old was the lady?”
“Seventy nine, I think, her husband was rushed into hospital when he was told. She only went out to get an echo. He’s apparently in a bad way, heart attack, poor bugger.”
“So in a single act of violence, he could have killed two people.” I observed and felt even worse for not trying to save her.
“Yeah, these punks are a real pain, usually feeding a habit of some sort. I’d hang the bloody lot of them.”
After expressing his opinion and radical solution, the two coppers left, taking the statements with them. I felt very guilty, I had declined to use my healing because a crowd was gathering. I sat at the table and felt a tear run down my face.
Trish came in, “Wassup, Mummy?”
“That old lady died.”
“The one we saw pushed over?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that shouldn’ta happened, I sent her blue light.”
“Sweetheart, it doesn’t always work like that.”
“What’s the point then?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t.”
“She should be gettin’ better, not deader.”
“I shouldn’t think the police made a mistake.”
“But I sent her blue light, Mummy. She should have got better.”
“Sometimes people die anyway, darling.”
“But they shouldn’t, not when I heal on them.” She was quite indignant, as if the old lady dying was an affront to her specialness.
“These things happen.”
“But they shouldn’t–did you heal on her?”
“No, I didn’t, I was too busy trying to organise help.”
“Oh well that’s why, if you had she’d have been okay.”
“Trish, you can’t possibly know that.”
“Seems that’s what happened, oh well, better luck next time.” She went off again completely devoid of any guilt or sense of loss or even failure.
I was left wondering if she or I had the more correct attitude.
(aka Bike) Part 1060 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I took the girls to school next morning, and dashed back home to watch the press conference on the local TV channel. Julie and Billie were pestering me to let them go shopping, and as they had their own money to spend, I agreed they could go. There was a bus in about ten minutes. Seeing as Julie is sixteen and Billie nine, I thought they’d be okay on their own–Julie has so much confidence now, she’d be okay with Billie and besides, they could phone me if there was a problem.
I sat glued to the box, and watched while a senior officer spoke about the old lady and how she’d been brutally murdered for her purse and the fifty pounds it contained and how her murder had led to the death of her husband who collapsed and died when he received the bad news .
I’m not sure I’d have described the murder as brutal, more accidental but the robbery was directly responsible for the death, so it was murder. They played Trish’s video and attributed it to her, describing her as a very intelligent six year old daughter of a university teacher.
As there must be dozens if not hundreds of university teachers in or around Portsmouth or Southampton, I didn’t feel too aggrieved at the description in identifying us as a family.
The man was still at large at the time I was watching the press conference, although the police were very confident they would identify him in the next day or so and then catch him soon after. I switched off the telly and got on with some admin work on the survey–I had some letters for Tom to comment on before I responded.
On the sightings of weird and wonderful things, we had the usual large black cat killing sheep reports from Cornwall and Somerset, which I discounted, despite the photos one of the reports included. Anyone who knows anything about how big cats kill should know that they ankle tap the victim, crush the chest with a thump from a front paw, and then asphyxiate by clamping on the trachea with their powerful jaws.
Dogs however, attack anywhere they can get a hold and will rip the throat out of a poor sheep to kill it. The photos showed just that, a dog kill–the report went into the reject box.
Stella and I had a sandwich for lunch and so did Puddin’, who was now crawling a bit. She sat and chewed and sucked on the crust of bread she had. She was teething and biting anything and everything.
“Where’s Julie and Billie?” she asked, Stella not Puddin’.
“They went shopping, Julie wants a new skirt or something and Billie just wants to look round the shops–they’ve both got some money, so why not?”
“Have they caught that bloke yet?”
“The mugger?”
“Yep, him.”
“Dunno, they hadn’t this morning.”
“Put the news on.”
So I switched on the local radio programme for the one o’clock news. According to that the police had had hundreds of calls identifying the mugger and were hoping to make an arrest soon.
“The old chap died as well then?”
“Yes, he died of shock I suppose, he was eighty two or something.”
“Two birds with one stone,” commented Stella, “or a double whammy.”
“Sadly, yes.” I agreed.
“When do the kids break up?”
“The girl’s tomorrow, Danny on Friday.”
“Any plans?”
“Sometime I have to organise a wedding blessing.”
“Got your dress yet?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“Perhaps we should go looking very soon.”
“Who’s going to look after the kids?”
“Julie can, she is sixteen and being paid for the privilege, what about this home help you keep on about?”
“I gave Simon the job description. He was supposed to be drawing up some adverts and publishing them in the local paper.”
“I’ll remind him when he comes home,” she grinned. Any chance she had to nag Simon, she loved, especially if she could tease him as well.
I cleared up, Stella changed Puddin’ and put her down for a nap.
“What d’you think of these short shorts all the youngsters are wearing?” Stella asked showing me a picture of some Hollywood starlet looking absolutely ghastly in them.
“If you have the legs for them, I suppose they’re alright.”
“You have nice legs, why don’t you get a pair?”
“I’m twenty five, Stella, not fifteen.”
“Sorry, I forgot you were so elderly–twenty five year olds are wearing them, you muppet.”
“Not banker’s wives with millions of kids.”
“Why not? You act as if you were a hundred and twenty five. Simon is twenty nine, not ninety nine.”
“I have a wedding dress to sort out when I have time to shop for clothes.”
“You won’t find one of those in bloody Asda.”
“Why, have you been looking in there?” I teased.
Her eyes narrowed, “No, but I checked in Tesco for you,” she finished up with a tongue poking. I chose to ignore her.
“Have you looked on line?” She said after thinking for a moment.
“What, on Tesco?”
“No, you muppet, in various bridal shops–there’s quite a few on line.” So that’s what we did. I was astonished at the range available, some of which were pure delight and others, I wouldn’t have been seen dead wearing.
“Do you want a train?”
“I thought we were going by car,” I replied, playing dumb.
Stella glared, “I suppose I asked for that. Oh look at this one.” She pointed to a rather delicious looking dress with a scooped neck and long narrow sleeves which came to a point on the back of the hand. The skirt was quite full and gave way to a short train. “You would look lovely in that.”
“I dunno, Stel, I'd look all arse and tits.”
“So? Simon would enjoy it.”
“I thought he’d be wearing a suit, but I don’t care...”
She slapped me on the arm, “Here, what time have you got to get the girls?”
I glanced at my watch, “Damn, I’ll have to go in a moment–don’t get them on this, we’ll never get the computer back, and I want to make the choice, not them.”
“Okay, okay–keep your ‘air on, missus.”
It was still raining so I pulled on my thin jacket which was supposed to be shower resistant. I wondered if that included wedding showers, whatever they were–something American. Well I wasn’t having one, that was for sure. Once we’d sorted a date, we’d have to ask that little girl from the hospital, Daisy, if she still wanted to be a bridesmaid. Oh boy, why didn’t we just forget it, after all we’ve been married for a few months now–and this would be just a pointless expense.
I was absently walking towards the door when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Mummy, help.”
“Billie?” My heart almost stopped. “Billie, are you alright?”
“Listen good, bitch,” said a male voice and I felt physically sick. “I got your two girls. If you testify–they die, understand?”
The phone went dead––
(aka Bike) Part 1061 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I was totally devastated. Who was this person who somehow had my children? Stella came to see why I was standing with a strange expression on my face and tears running down it.
“Aren’t you going to–what’s wrong, Cathy?”
“Some bloke has got Julie and Billie.”
“How do you mean–like, kidnapped?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“He told me not to testify.”
“The bloke who killed the old lady?”
“I don’t know, but I presume so.”
“How did he find them?”
“I have no idea. What are we going to do?”
“I know exactly what to do.” She picked up the phone and dialled, triple nine. “Police,” she said. Then a pause and she said, “This is Stella Cameron, my sister in law and her children witnessed the mugging of the old lady yesterday, two of her children appear to have been kidnapped by someone telling her not to testify.” She was then put through to a police officer dealing with the case, who said they would send someone straight over.
She then phoned Tom, explained what had happened and he agreed to collect the girls. She then left messages for Simon and Henry. Finally she took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen, sat me at the table and put the kettle on. As it boiled we heard a car speedily pull into the drive and two men and a woman walked quickly up to the door.
Stella led them into the kitchen and they introduced themselves, although my shocked brain couldn’t take any new information on board. All I could hear was Billie calling me for help and the man’s coarse accent.
Over a cup of tea, I managed to explain what had happened as I understood it, though at times I suspect I probably sounded incoherent. The police looked quite concerned.
“Right, Cathy, if I might call you that, I don’t know what this call is all about. To start with we have the crime on film, we have your statements to say when and where it happened, and the film itself has a date and time on it. As it was shown to an officer within minutes of the offence, we know it hasn’t been tampered with and enough of it has been shown for it to enable over a hundred people to identify the man.”
“Who was it?”
“We believe it’s a low life called Donny Baker. He’s done time for this sort of thing before to feed his habit, of heroin, coke, smack, in fact, anything he can ingest or inject. Not to put too fine a point on it, he’s a total shithead.”
“Why has he got my girls?”
“Good question, we didn’t identify you or them, so I don’t know–but I intend to make it my business to find out as soon as I can. Where were they going?”
“They went out to catch the bus while your press conference was on this morning.They were going shopping.”
“To town?”
“Yes, I think so. Julie is sixteen and Billie is nine, so I thought they should be able to go together quite safely. I was wrong.”
“I have two daughters who are younger than yours and they go to town by themselves most weekends, it’s where they hang out with their pals.”
“I shouldn’t have let them go.”
“Why not? I mean how were you to know they’d run into Donny or one of his friends?”
“That’s what I keep telling her,” added Stella, pouring more tea.
“But how did he know they were my kids, unless he saw them leaving here and how did he know where we lived?”
“I have no idea, Cathy,” said the more senior policeman. He’d checked the number display on my handset and I identified it as Billie’s mobile. “It’s obviously off now, because we can’t trace any sort of signal. I’m going to leave my colleague here with you, and we’ll introduce a phone tap in case he calls again. Do you have any up to date photos?”
I flicked on my computer and skimming them quickly so they didn’t see Billie in her previous manifestation, printed them off a copy of her and Julie.
“The older one is quite is a very pretty young woman.”
“I think so, but then all my kids are lovely.”
“You don’t look old enough to have a sixteen year old daughter.” Observed the senior flatfoot.
“They’re adopted, Chief Inspector,” explained Stella, “and the reason is, they’re both transgendered, Cathy is their umpteenth foster mother and she decided to adopt them.”
“You mean these are two boys?”
“No, they’re two girls with a plumbing problem,” Stella explained.
The copper looked baffled for a moment, then the penny dropped and he smirked and nodded. “So are all your kids transgendered?”
“No, just three of six.”
“That’s a pretty high ratio for the average family.”
“There’s nothing average about the Camerons, Chief Inspector. We don’t do anything by half,” commented Stella.
“So I’m beginning to understand–you’re not related to the banking people are you?”
“We are the bank, Chief Inspector. My father is the chairman.”
“So could the reason for the kidnap be monetary or even revenge, someone whose mortgage you called in?”
“How would I know?” Stella shrugged.
“If I don’t need to testify, why did he take them?” I mumbled in the background.
“You’re the woman who did the dormouse film,” said the Chief Inspector.
“Yes, don’t tell me you’ve seen it on Youtube?”
“Youtube? I meant the one they showed on the BBC, my daughter wanted to become a biologist if she could play with dormice all day.”
“It’s what I did for a couple of years, it was good fun.” I smiled as I reflected on it.
“Are you making any new films?” he asked.
“Trying to do one on the harvest mouse, the smallest of the rodentia in this country.”
“They’re cute little critters, too.”
“Very, with prehensile tails unlike dormice, who have fleshier hairy tails.”
“And those big eyes.”
“Indeed.” I smiled, thinking about Spike and bygone days, everything seemed so simple in those times.
Tom arrived with Trish, Livvie and Meems. They all rushed in, not sure what had happened, and when we explained they were all aghast and then in tears. I had a massive hug from all three of them. Danny was collected from the school bus by a policeman and we had to explain to him what had happened. He was mortified too.
“So what do we do now?” he asked the Chief.
“I’m afraid we wait.”
“He could be killing them for all we know?”
The older man nodded.
“Well get out there and stop him.”
“Out where?”
“You must know where this Donny Baker bloke hangs out.”
“We do, and don’t worry, we have teams out looking for him, but we don’t know it’s him who has your sisters.”
“Well it sounds much like it to me. I feel like goin’ out there an’ lookin’.”
“Danny, please stay here, I don’t want anyone else to be at risk.”
“Worrabout school?”
“Unless this thing ends tonight, then I think you finished earlier than the others.”
“Yessssss!” H punched the air. I suppose from his point of view there was a silver lining to this particular black cloud.
The phone rang and we all jumped. The Chief Inspector counted me down to answering it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Babes, any news?”
(aka Bike) Part 1062 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Hello, darling, no there’s no news at all.”
“You told the plod?”
“I have some very nice policemen and women here now. They think they know the name of the man we saw assault the old lady, but so far they haven’t located him or the children.”
“I have an important meeting tomorrow morning but I’ll be home as quickly as I can afterwards. I wish I could be with you now.”
“So do I, darling, see you tomorrow.”
He rang off and I suspect he’d kept the call brief in case the police were monitoring the calls but also in case the kidnapper was trying to call. He didn’t, at least not for a couple of hours by which time I was becoming slightly hysterical.
The phone rang and I snatched it up before the copper could count me in. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mummy can you come and get me.”
“Where are you?”
“By the back of Debenhams.”
The Chief Inspector pointed at two of his people and they ran off like scalded cats.
“Are you both okay?”
“It’s only me, Mummy, he still has Julie.”
“Okay, darling, go into the shop and wait by the counter until the police arrive, they’re coming to bring you home.”
“I was so frightened, Mummy,” and she began to cry.
“It’s okay, darling.” I heard a police radio crackle behind me. “There’s a policewoman looking for you, when you see her go to her, she’ll bring you home safely.”
“I can see her, Mummy, she looks a nice lady.” Then the phone went dead.
The police radio crackled, ‘Got her, guv, we’re on our way back to the house.’
We all breathed a sigh of relief. We were still concerned for Julie, but I felt she had a slightly better chance of survival than a nine year old–well until he tore her knickers off, then he might have a bit of a surprise.
The twenty minutes it took for Billie to come home was like a life sentence. I have never known time go so slowly–it was even worse than listening to Simon snoring while watching the clock tick by. Finally, a marked police vehicle with blue lights flashing burst into the drive and pulled up by my car. I opened the front door and Billie broke away from the policewoman to almost jump into my arms.
Billie was very distraught for several minutes, and we couldn’t ask her any questions until she’d calmed down. Apparently, they’d been watching Trish’s video on the news in a shop and she had said it was Trish’s video to Julie. Some man had overheard her and the next minute, they were standing by the roadside waiting to cross and a van drew up in front of them and they were pushed inside it by two big men. It sped off and they’d spent all afternoon in it.
That explained how they’d been identified, pure bad luck in having one of Donny Baker’s friends nearby when she commented on the film. He’d obviously followed them and arranged the kidnapping. I suppose it could almost have been Baker himself, for all we knew.
They’d been blindfolded and so didn’t see the men who grabbed them, other than they were rather big. But at nine, most adults probably do seem quite big. The van was dark coloured, which wasn’t much help. If they’d snatched Danny and released him, he’d have known which model and year it was–there aren’t many cars he doesn’t recognise. Billie is more of a girl unsurprisingly, and seems to have little interest in cars and things–though she does seem to like bikes, which makes me rather pleased.
She still had her bag with her and she handed me a note. It was a piece of plain paper with the note scribbled in pencil.
Lady Camron, Dident know you was a lady, an a rich bitch. Games changed. Im sending back the scrawny one, you have two hours to hand over £250,000 if you want the pritty one back unharmed. Dont try to delay, or she wont be so pritty no more. Keep the cops of the fone.’
“How am I going to get my hands on that sort of money?” I cried, if he harmed Julie I’d have him tracked down and disposed of.
“I’ll give Daddy a ring.” Stella went off to speak on her mobile to Henry.
“There are ways to raise a ransom, but it usually takes a few days,” said the Chief Inspector.
“One advantage of having your in laws own a bank.”
“It’s a bit low, isn’t it, sir?” asked one of the younger officers.
“I think he’s looking to do a runner, false passport across to France or Spain and off he goes into the distance.”
“What does he look like, and is he as uneducated as his letter suggests?”
One of the underlings tapped away on a computer and up came a picture of our most wanted. The best word I can think of to describe him is, nondescript. According to the details he was about five feet eight, slim and a rather bland face with long blond hair. There was something about him that struck me and I tested my theory.
“Has he ever been known to wear women’s clothes?”
The one on the computer tapped away and shook his head. His boss shrugged and said, “If he has we don’t know about it, why?”
“I’ve got a feeling that’s how he plans on escaping.”
“What–in drag?” gasped the younger copper and chuckled, “he won’t keep his hard man image then, will he?”
“Not if they find out in the nick,” chuckled back the Chief Inspector. “Can’t see how you can guess that,” he added, “though he has been known to use disguise before on a job.”
“I have a feeling in my water,” I added and went off to wee. Afterwards, the feeling was just as strong. Stella returned and confirmed the bank was putting together a special consignment for us. It would be treated with a special dye, so ten minutes after exposure to air, the notes would become bright green and any handling after this would make the hands green as well. The dye is indelible and lasts for several days. A special courier was on his way to the house.
An hour later I received an email from a Google account. ’Bring the money yourself to the HS bank and put it in the rubbish bin outside. Once i seen you done it, I’ll let the prity one go–probably. If I so much as smell the filth, she won’t be prity no more. Be there by 6pm tonite.’
“You can’t do it, I’ll have one of my women officers go in mufti,” declared the Chief Inspector.
“I shall do it. But we can’t put a brief case in a rubbish bin. Call Henry, Stella, and tell him not to use the dye, we’ll have to use a plastic bag.”
“But if the guy gets away he can use the money.”
“He won’t get away.” I said through my teeth.
“Lady Cameron, you will deposit the money and walk away or I’ll get one of team to do it. I give the orders on this one.”
“Chief Inspector, I’m not one of your team–so stick your orders.”
“Carry on like this and I’ll have you arrested for jeopardising and obstructing a police operation.”
“If you do, you’ll be drawing unemployment tomorrow.”
“It’s an offence to bribe or threaten an officer.”
“I’m not making threats, I’m stating a fact.”
“Please do as I ask, I want your child returned safely.”
“You think I don’t, Inspector?”
“Of course not.”
“I want her safe and him in custody for a very long time.”
“So do I,” agreed the Chief Inspector, “we don’t have much time either.”
I glanced at my watch, it was nearly five o’clock.
(aka Bike) Part 1063 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Part of me just wanted to get out to the waste bin by the bank and do the drop. However, if I thought that creep was watching me, as well as half the Hampshire Constabulary, I wanted to look like a lady–by that I meant someone of status and elegance. I brushed my hair, checked my makeup and my clothes–I’d exchanged the jeans for a free flowing skirt and a matching jacket. Finally I sprayed some perfume on myself and grabbed my bag. I took the bag of money from the courier, it was all cling filmed together, piles of fifty pound notes–five thousand of them. They’d sealed them in such a way as to be amenable to shoving into a bin, and they were in a black drawstring carrier bag.
I walked to my car and drove into town, I was told to park a short walk from the bank, to go into the shop next door, buy a newspaper and then throw the bag in the bin and put the newspaper over it as casually as I could.
My shoes clomped as I walked nervously up the street, I went into the shop, bought an Echo and pretended to read it, then as I got to the bank I tipped the bag of money in it and threw in the opened newspaper. I then walked on. I knew the police were watching, so I went on to the public loo and dashed inside. The skirt and jacket were reversible, in a different colour. I wrapped a scarf around my hair and pulled on a pair of sun glasses, then went back towards the bank, my handbag inside a cheap cotton shopping bag. I hoped I looked very different.
I stepped aside for a scruffy bag-lady who smelt like last week’s fish pie, and who swore at me in an incoherent way. I watched her lumber past and go towards the bin. My heart was in my mouth. Was a police trap going to be spoilt by some dirty old crone?
She abused some more people near the bank and picked up some fag ends from the gutter, then went to the bin. I froze in horror, she was going to take the bag. In my almost torpid state I saw something I hadn’t noticed before, she had on a pair of relatively new trainers on her feet. She was the pick up and probably a man, not a woman.
I shook myself, she was digging in the bin but walked on without taking much if anything out of it. Was this a recce? She moved on, swearing at people and I noticed at least two men stiffen then relax.
She knew it was there, when would it be collected? I went back to my car and sat with the engine running. I was there for half an hour and it was getting very warm. Then I saw the dark van emerge, driving slowly down the street behind me. It rang some bells with Billie’s description. This could be the hit.
It cruised up to the bank and the next minute, something was thrown out of it on the one side and someone slipped out of the near side and grabbed the bin, then it accelerated away from the area. I drove as quickly as I could behind it.
The item jettisoned was Julie, who was staggering about in a daze. I pulled up alongside her and shouted at her to get in. She did, and I screamed off after the van.
“Are you alright, flower?”
“No, it was horrible, they threatened to kill me.”
“You’re safe now,” I commented accelerating after the van.
“That’s their van, Mummy, why are you following it?”
“I have some unfinished business with them.”
“I don’t, Mummy.”
“You can stay in the car, then.”
The van headed for the motorway, which was when I spotted the police helicopter, high up in the sky. Behind me appeared a rather powerful BMW which I suspected was an unmarked pursuit car. I let it come past me, but kept on the tail of the van which was now speeding well above the legal limit.
A police car appeared behind me with blue lights flashing, he signalled for me to pull over. I decided to comply.
“Excuse me, madam, but did you know you were exceeding the speed limit?”
“Was I officer? In which case you were too, even more than I was because you caught me up.”
“Ah but I’m allowed to in the pursuit of my duty.”
“Are you? How nice. Well it’s been lovely talking to you.” I slammed my foot down and sped off. I knew it was likely to be filmed and charges could be made against me, but I was prepared to take the risk. I decided they were pulling me over to keep me out of the hunt. I wasn’t going to play.
Of course, he came after us and I quite happily led him out to the motorway, where the helicopter was circling ahead. I hammered towards Southampton, which was where I felt they were going. Julie sat quietly, her knuckles white with tension.
In the distance I spotted the dark van, the BMW was right behind it and looked powerful enough to stay there–that was until they threw the waste bin out of the van, which bounced once and took out the windscreen of the police car which then swerved and hit a truck, a wheel flying off it, meaning an end to its participation in the hunt.
We managed to avoid the debris, although it was touch and go at one point, and I suspect a few more shunts occurred. I had to swerve first one way then the other to avoid a car in front.
The police car which had been chasing me no longer appeared in the rear view mirror, so I presumed he’d either been damaged or stopped to help clear up the mess. I knew more were likely to appear at the next junction, but I kept going shadowing the van.
I removed my headscarf, hoping I looked slightly different yet again. The two litres of turbo charged diesel engine were likely to be able to stay with a Ford transit, so we kept it in sight.
Sure enough at the next junction a pursuit car appeared, a Jaguar this time and he went screaming after the van, this time the van seemed to throw some paint at them and it splattered across the windscreen and the powerful Jag crashed into the barrier and ground to a halt.
“Why are we following them, Mummy?”
“Somebody has to.” I replied wondering how we were going to stop them. The road ahead seemed to clear of traffic and I formed a plan. I drew level with the van and saw the window was open on the near side. I dropped back and made Julie put on my scarf, so they didn’t see her until we were right up with them. Then we pulled level and I opened my window, pulled the pin on my powder fire extinguisher and lobbed in through their open window, I immediately dropped back and changed lanes as I watched the van swerve, and drive across the carriageways before hurtling up the bank and flipping over on its side.
A police car was hammering up behind us in the distance and I drove on to the next junction and left the motorway taking us back to Portsmouth by the back roads.
I knew the police wouldn’t be too happy with me, but I did sort of even things out somewhat–I also thought I’d better get Henry to bring his counsel with him to the house. It was going to be a less than pleasant evening.
(aka Bike) Part 1064 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Are we safe now, Mummy?”
“I think so, sweetie–well, you will be, I suspect the police may want to roast my arse somewhat.”
“Why?”
“I sort of interrupted their game.”
“Aren’t girls allowed to play it then?”
“Only if you’re in the official team.”
We pulled into the drive and immediately a police officer asked me to go with him. I followed him into the study. The Chief Inspector was there.
“You couldn’t resist getting involved, could you?”
“He had one of my children.”
“I don’t care if he had you by the balls, you should have kept out of it. I told you that pretty directly.”
“Chief Inspector, with all due respect he managed to evade two of your pursuit cars.”
“I’m aware of that, but we had him under obs via the helicopter. What did you throw into his van before he crashed?”
“A fire extinguisher, why?”
“What sort?”
“A powder one, once you pull the pin out it doesn’t stop until it’s empty.”
“That would explain why he ran up the embankment. It was very clever trick but it could have been a lethal one.”
“I noticed that the road was practically clear of traffic.”
“We had a stinger set up down the road.”
“So how come I didn’t see it?”
“We withdrew it as soon as we realised you’d stopped him. You interfered in a police operation, you could have been hurt, so could the daughter you so wanted to protect. I thought you were intelligent, Lady Cameron, I seem to have misapprehended you.”
“What happens now?”
“I want to talk to your daughter and get a statement. Then we all go home. I shall talk with my superiors and what they recommend is what will happen. If that means prosecuting you, then it’s your own fault.”
“I accept that risk. Do you know how the people in the van are? There had to be at least three of them.”
“They managed to survive your attack and the crash only gave them cuts and bruises–thankfully. If they’d been badly injured, it could have resulted in my arresting you.”
“What about the two pursuit cars–how are they?”
“I don’t know, one was hurt, we’re still waiting on that. The bin went through the windscreen.”
“I know, I saw it.”
“And still you went on the attack?”
“I let you have a second go before I did.”
“Oh thanks, you were too kind.”
I shrugged.
“This isn’t over yet, and don’t think your in laws will save you just because they own a bank.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I acted on my own, I’ll defend myself if necessary.”
“Please send in your daughter.”
I went and spoke with Tom and then saw the rest of the kids. They all hugged me, especially Billie. “I’m glad you’re both safe, Mummy.”
“Me too,” I replied and hugged her, “Sorry I had to dash off to drop the money.”
“That’s okay, Mummy.” We hugged again.
“Mummy?” Trish had a puzzled look on her face.
“Yes, darling.”
“They said you stopped the van from escaping–how did you do it?”
I explained what had happened and the trick with the extinguisher.
“That was so kewl, Mummy.” Trish seemed in genuine awe.
“Not really, the police seemed to consider I was being foolhardy, and possibly if I hadn’t been so cross with the man, I might agree with them.”
“He wasn’t very nice, was he?”
“No, sweetheart, he wasn’t. He shouldn’t have pushed the old lady down, in doing so he caused two people to die. Then when he kidnapped two of my girls, I’m afraid I had to become actively involved.”
“You’re like Nepotism, the ancient god of revenge,” suggested Trish.
“I think you might mean, nemesis, nepotism is something else entirely,” I corrected her.
She looked confused, “What’s nepotism then, Mummy?”
“In simple terms, jobs for the boys.”
“Does that mean girls don’t get them?”
“No, it could mean jobs for the girls too. It’s people getting jobs or positions of power because of who they are rather than what they are or what they can do. So it’s like Sadam Hussain making his sons head of this or that because they were his sons not because they were the best people to do the job.”
“Is that like Grampa Henry giving Daddy his job?” asked Trish trying to work through things.
“I don’t think either of them would like it if you suggested it, and I suspect it isn’t quite true–remember Daddy has a degree in economics, so he is qualified to do his job.”
“Do you have a degree, Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I have two, a BSc and a MSc.”
“Is that why you work for the bank, too?”
“Partly, they needed an ecological adviser and I was asked to do it.”
“Do you think Gramps will give me a job?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, what are you going to study?”
Trish rubbed her chin for a moment, “I don’t know, Mummy, maybe I’ll count dormice, too.”
“Well, my study areas are changing, now we’ve got the go ahead to microchip them, we’ll have far more information about individual animals.”
“I wanna win the bike race,” said Billie.
“Which one?” asked Trish.
“The big one.”
“Like the Tour de France?” asked Trish waiting to pounce.
“Yeah, that one.”
“You can’t, dummy, it’s for men only.”
“Yeah, well that’s not fair–so I’m gonna be the first lady to win it.”
“You can’t dummy, it’s only for men to ride in.”
“Yeah, you said that an’ I don’t care, ‘cos I’m gonna win it.”
“How are you gonna beat men, even Mummy can’t beat men racing.”
“She beat Daddy.”
“He doesn’t count,” Trish was getting into killer mode and I needed to stop it.
“Right, who’s for pizza tonight?” It worked like a charm even if it meant I’d have to eat cardboard for dinner.
While we were waiting for it to arrive, I sent a text to Simon: ‘Got girls back, plod not impressd wiv my initiativ. Luv C xxx.’
He sent one back a little while later. ’Sod plod, have QC will travel if nec. Si xxx’
I replied, ‘Ty, lol, C xxx.’
The police packed up and as they left, the Chief Inspector asked me if I’d had Julie checked over by a doctor. I asked why and he suggested I speak with her.
After dinner–I don’t like pizza–I drew Julie to one side, “The police suggested you should have a check up by a doctor, why, what happened?”
She blushed and tears formed in her eyes.
“What happened, sweetheart, did he hurt you?”
She blushed and tears ran down her face, “He made me have sex with him.”
I hugged her, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“I told him I was on, so he did it up my back end.”
I began to wish he had been hurt, like enough to kill him. I got Stella to watch the others while I went and talked with Julie. He’d apparently fancied her as soon as he saw her, and it was one of the reasons for letting Billie go, Julie had told him she’d do it with him if he let Billie go.
I hugged her and thanked her for protecting her sister. I also decided that I would take her to the hospital.
“What for–I’m not bleeding that much?”
“He’s a known drug abuser, he could be carrying all sorts of diseases.”
“Oh, does that mean I’m going to die?”
“No of course not, but the sooner we get them to do some tests, the quicker we can sort you out. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“You’d have killed him.”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s why.”
“C’mon, let’s get you down the hospital and get some advice.”
(aka Bike) Part 1065 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I waited in casualty, while the medics gave me funny looks after I explained what had happened to my foster child.
“Let me get this straight, this girl isn’t a girl, but a boy who lives as a girl and has been kidnapped and buggered by the kidnapper, who’s a known drug user?”
“Mostly right, except Julie isn’t a boy, she’s transitioning to female and is doing her real life test.”
“So she’s a transsexual?”
“Yes, you have a problem with that?”
“Obviously you don’t,” said the doctor.
“Why should I?”
“Well, was she held to ransom, or is she just gay and selling you a line.”
“As I was carrying a quarter of a million pounds about to get her back earlier this evening, and half the Hampshire Constabulary were hunting for her–I don’t think she was telling me fibs. Please examine her and do whatever tests you have to do to make sure he hasn’t given her any nasty diseases.”
He actually did so and returned about half an hour later. “Her rectum has received quite a savage assault, I’m sorry that I doubted you before. I’ve called in a surgeon to check her out, she may need to stay overnight. I’ve started her on retrovirals, so hopefully that should help prevent HIV, and we’re running tests for Hepatitis A, B and C.”
“Okay, thanks for that.”
“Did you know that three men assaulted her?”
“Three? No, I didn’t.”
“If we could get any health records from them, it would help.”
“They’re all in custody, I’ll see what I can do.”
I tried in vain to get to speak to someone who could help from the police, either they couldn’t help or weren’t senior enough, couldn’t divulge confidential information even if they knew it. I left threatening law suits and called Henry.
While the political flavour of ministers and Secretaries of State changes, the civil service don’t. Henry knows several at the top end and within half an hour of speaking with him the hospital had a print out of the health records of all of the three prisoners.
The doctor was hopeful that the drugs would protect her, and the surgeon wanted to try and do a repair the next day–she was quite badly torn apparently. I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t complaining about it more than she had, maybe she’s tougher than I thought.
I went and sat with her. “Why didn’t you tell me about this assault?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“No I didn’t because it came as something of a shock to me. Now tell me the real reason.”
“I was ashamed, Mummy.”
“Why should you be ashamed? You were the innocent party, weren’t you?”
She sobbed and nodded.
“Did it hurt?”
She nodded, “Like buggery,” she added and smirked.
I snorted, and squeezed her hand.
“Did you enjoy it?”
That broke the dam, apparently part of her did. She saw it as confirmation of her attractiveness to men, except it hurt more than she thought it would and then some. It also was more prolonged than she thought and when the other two joined the assault she tried to dissociate from her body. Now it was hurting like hell, even though they’d packed it with dressings and antiseptics.
Tomorrow, according to the surgeon, they were going to do a bowel wash and then he was hoping to be able to repair the worst of the tears. She was understandably anxious.
She was partly disgusted because she had agreed to do it, I reminded her why–to save her younger sister. I did wonder if part of her was curious about being penetrated to feel some sort of vindication of her gender belief. It was going to be a job for Stephanie, all I could do was be supportive and protective. Vindictive would happen later.
I wasn’t to know it, but apparently on remand a few days later, when it got out what the three abductors had done, Donny Baker had a mishap with some hot water, he managed to drop quite a lot of it in his groin–did I mention it was very hot, like boiling. There were stories that the doctors had to amputate his dangly bits, but they might have been simply stories. I suspect the blue light wouldn’t have helped too much had I been near, probably because I would have refused to let it.
I got Julie home the next day, she was quite dopey and slept most of the time. She had to be on a residue free diet for a couple of days and then eased back into a normal diet plus the use of mild laxatives to avoid straining.
I’d love to say she was an exemplary patient, but she wasn’t–she was in pain and she let us know about it. She reckoned it hurt more after the repairs than it had before. I took her back for a check up and the surgeon was very pleased with the results so far, so he said to me. Julie however, gave him a piece of her mind to go with the piece of her arse, he already had.
The salt baths helped and brought back memories of my SRS, that and the non-residue diet. I hoped she would cope better with that if and when it happened. She still had nearly six months to go of her life test.
The other children were, as expected, very supportive of their big sister whom they revered as a heroine, Billie was especially attentive, fetching and carrying like a personal slave and that was despite me telling her not to. I suppose she felt guilty.
We decided to let the others know what had happened to her. The younger ones thought it was dreadful if not impossible, Trish nearly went into convulsions over it trying to work out how it could happen–it seemed not to compute in her map of the world and she got quite worked up at one point.
“Is that what you do with Daddy?” she asked me when we were on our own.
“No it isn’t, but we do have penetrative sex sometimes.”
“What does he do?” she looked completely baffled.
“He comes inside me, in my vagina in the same way that most men and women have intercourse.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?” she looked a bit disappointed.
“Sometimes.”
“I don’t think I’ll be doing that–too gross.”
“It can be something beautiful as well, Trish.”
“Ugh! I don’t think so.”
“Not too many years ago, I’d have agreed with you, but these days I can see something more in it and it can also be very pleasurable.”
“You said it hurts, Mummy.”
“Not always, and I’m doing something very personal for Daddy, which I know he loves.”
“He wees in your wotsit and you enjoy it?”
“No he doesn’t wee, he produces special fluids, which if I were fertile could combine with eggs to produce babies.”
“You said he sticks his willie inside you–willies are for weeing through.”
“Not only for weeing, Trish.” Oh boy, how do I get these jobs? I got the laptop out and we called up a few sites on the internet and she eventually got the idea. She still thought it was gross, but then at her age, I had no idea it went on. When I did eventually find out what happened and who put what, where–I thought it was pretty gross, my contemporaries thought I was probably gay, so I didn’t discuss it much with them. My puberty seemed to be delayed anyway and I only recalled my first orgasm because it was so unusual happening in Simon’s car while he was standing outside it and that cheeky mechanic kissed me and it happened spontaneously. Not exactly how I expected things to be, but until then, I considered myself asexual–I think I’m quite happy I got that diagnosis wrong.
Trish might well consider herself as I did myself, but if I’m honest, I hope she’s wrong and is able to find someone she loves and who loves her and that they can have some sort of physical relationship–it is important for most people.
(aka Bike) Part 1066 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
With all the work Stephanie was doing with my kids, I almost felt like her employer. Trish was just a question of keeping her stabilised, she’d done really well in school finishing top of the class and Livvie was tenth. I was so pleased with both of them.
Billie was dealing with issues of abuse and Julie had the trauma of the rape to deal with. The surgery had worked really well, that surgeon chap was absolutely brill, and within a week, she had more or less normal function in her derrier helped with moderate applications of laxatives.
I saw the young doctor who’d initially treated her and he came over to apologise while we were waiting for her surgery follow up. He told us that his girlfriend was a nurse and they were working nights together and when he mentioned Julie’s case to her, she told him to do swabs for the police for prosecution–which he did. She also told him to refer Julie to the rape counsellor, but apparently Julie declined–all this was news to me.
Finally he looked at Julie, “My chat with Claire, my girlfriend opened my eyes a bit to what you’d gone through–I’d been on duty for the best part of twenty hours, so I wasn’t at my best. I’m sorry, Julie, I wasn’t as helpful as I might have been nor as accepting as I should have been. I’m sorry, and I will understand if you wish to complain about it.”
Julie looked most embarrassed and looked at me for guidance. “I take it you’ll be a bit more understanding of the next transgender person you see?”
“She isn’t the first I’ve met, but she is one of the prettiest–you obviously take after your mum,” he said flannelling both of us. Julie blushed like a light bulb–one in a stop light. “If they’re like her, I might not just be nicer, I might fancy them.”
“She’s only fifteen, so before you say something you regret, it might be best if we say we accept your apology.” I looked at Julie who was still blushing but nodded her agreement.
“Thank you gracious ladies,” he bowed and walked away.
“What a tosser,” I said to Julie.
“Oh I dunno, I thought he was quite dishy.”
“Yeah–like syrup pancake, sickly sweet and no substance.”
“So why did you accept his apology?”
“Because if we did any other, it would have caused more trouble than it was worth, plus you could have been a marked patient next time you needed this place.”
“Oh, I see. The surgeon was quite nice, he told me he thought I was very convincing as a girl.”
“I should hope so, with all the coaching Trish and I have given you.”
“Trish?” she gasped.
“Yes, Trish, she has been a girl a bit longer than you,” and while we’re at it, Livvie has been one for longer than I, but no one has twigged me yet.
She was discharged as treatment complete and we went home. It was ten in the morning and as the day was turning warm, I asked the kids if they’d like to go anywhere. They wanted to go to the beach–but not Southsea–‘we always go there’.
“I suppose we could go to Hayling Island,” I proffered.
“Why can’t we go to Hastings and invade like Willie the Conk did?” Trish does enjoy her little jokes.
“Who wants to go?” I asked and they all did, including Julie. I felt like asking why. Instead I asked them to pack a towel, their bathing costumes, some sun cream and a change of clothes and a coat in case it turned cooler.
It looked like we were off to Hastings.
We used the Mondeo, because it was the only thing big enough to take them all. We put two seats in the boot, they lock in, and there are two seat belts–Tom had this done especially for us to carry everyone. Trish and Livvie sat in the back, Danny and Billie sat with Meems in the back seat and Julie sat very gingerly in the front passenger seat.
We arrived at Hastings about lunchtime, and after parking the car at exorbitant cost, traipsed off to find some food. Despite my protestations we ended up in McBurgers and they had burgers and fries. I had the sandwich I’d smuggled in plus a tea, which I hadn’t. Then it was off to the beach.
It’s mainly a shingle beach so the kids were disappointed. Trish and Livvie wanted to know where William landed. I told her I thought it was a bit further east at Norman’s Bay. The battle took place at somewhere called Senlac hill which is near Battle, named after the Battle of Hastings where William of Normandy defeated Harold Godwinston, an abbey was built there and it’s now a school.
Of course, after they’d finished messing about on the beach, Julie, lolling about in her bikini enjoying all the attention she was getting from adolescent males, Trish, Livvie and Mima running in and out of the sea and squealing, while Billie and Danny swam a bit. I think she was worried her boy bits might show under cossie, but they didn’t.
Julie lay on the beach sunbathing and getting her first tan lines, whilst I sat under the umbrella I’d brought with us, keeping out of the sun. The boys who were ogling her didn’t know the cleavage she was showing was mainly courtesy of the bikini bra, but it did her self esteem some good, I hoped. The cleavage I was showing was all organic and home grown, as were the wrinkles and cellulite.
At one point, Julie was blissfully snoozing lying prostrate, her bra undone for a better tan, and Danny ran up with a cup of seawater and poured it on her back. She jumped up and squealed, then screamed at him in less than ladylike language, realised she was flashing her less impressive chest and wrapped a towel round her while sitting and fuming.
I couldn’t do anything for trying to stifle the sniggers I was suffering–it was quite funny. She had her own back when some bloke tried to accost me as I was sitting reading the Guardian.
“You’re quite a stunner, aren’t you?” said this rather lethargic lothario.
“My husband seems to think so.”
“You jest. You’re far too young to be married, I suspect you’re still at university.”
“I am at a university, but teaching there, and I am married with six kids–I’m older than I look.”
“Mummy, may I have an ice cream,” said Julie in her best little girl voice, getting her own back.
“That’s your daughter?” he gasped.
“One of them–I was very young.”
“Yeah, so I see.”
“What time is Daddy collecting us?”
“When he gets off duty, darling.”
“Off duty, what does he do?” asked our would be chat up master.
“He’s a chief inspector of police, why?”
“Give him my best,” said the drippy guy and he beat a hasty retreat.
“That was a lie, Mummy dearest.”
“Yeah, so?” I snapped back, “It had the desired effect.”
“That is very true.”
After the beach, we went in search of ice creams, and after ingesting them, set off for the town of Battle, where the demise of Harold happened.
We had a quick look at Battle Abbey school, and then walked up the hill where it all happened. The kids were running about when Trish suddenly stopped them. “Mummy, is this where King Harold died?”
“I believe they said it was under the high altar of the abbey, but lots of other men died here as well.”
“Are we like walking on graves?” asked Billie.
“I doubt it, but I don’t know–it was a long time ago, nearly a thousand years. So if you are, I’m sure the occupants won’t mind.”
However, they decided that they didn’t want to visit a battlefield anymore and asked me to take them home. I actually agreed with them. Battlefields aren’t places for children unless it’s to teach them respect for those who perished there and the futility of much of it.
On the way home I explained what I remembered from history that the English had marched from near Newcastle in three weeks having defeated a Viking army there, to fight another battle here in Sussex. They should have won, but William tricked them and Harold was killed, leaving things open to a Norman invasion and generations of virtual slavery of the common folk.
(aka Bike) Part 1067 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The day after our jaunt to Hastings, we were back to earth with a bump, when I was clearing up the dishes and a policeman knocked on the door. “Lady Catherine Cameron, I have a warrant for your arrest...” he went on to caution me.
I asked him if he minded waiting a few minutes whilst I changed–I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. He ummed and aahed and then said, ‘okay’.
I asked Stella to call Henry and tell him what had happened, then leaving Julie in charge, I changed into a skirt suit, grabbed my handbag and went with him in the police car.
At the station, I had to surrender my bag and any objects in my pockets, they placed them in a locker and I was taken to an interview room. The Chief Inspector arrived with another man in a grey suit. He was introduced as Superintendent Chivers.
“You are allowed a single phone call, do you wish to call someone?”
“I did that before I left home, thank you.”
“The Cameron money won’t get you out of this one, Lady Catherine,” said the Chief Inspector.
“Can we have that remark recorded?” I asked firmly and he gave me a very old fashioned look.
“This is an exploratory interview, you may well be charged at the end of it, but at the moment it’s informal,” explained the Superintendent.
“I don’t see any point to this, if you believe I’ve committed an offence, please charge me so I can be bailed to instruct my own counsel on your failure to follow protocols and procedures as laid down in the Home Office Manual of Policing Guidelines. You might succeed in a minor charge of interrupting a police operation, while I sue you for a huge settlement which will probably mean you have to lay off half your workforce.”
“You think that’s clever do you?” asked the Superintendent sarcastically.
“No, I think it’s dreadful, but it’s what your negligence and lack of proper procedures warrants. Nice word warrants, I was presented with one this morning. I’m just repaying the compliment.”
“Your type make me sick, this is all a game to you isn’t it because at the end of the day you can just buy justice as you feel like it.”
“Superintendent, this isn’t a game. Firstly, I don’t like being threatened, secondly the way my daughter was treated by the man sitting next to you is disgraceful–she suffered a serious sexual assault which required surgery and yet he did nothing to help facilitate this, nor consider an examination and or taking of swabs for DNA of the perpetrators, or for her to see a therapist or counsellor for this assault.”
“Is this true?” asked the Superintendent and the Chief Inspector shrugged.
“My original involvement in this case was as a witness of the assault on the old lady by Donny Baker, and my daughter’s capture of it on her mobile phone. Then two of my girls were abducted by Baker or his accomplices and a demand for a ransom made. I was asked to act as courier for this ransom to the drop and one of my girls was released in giving me instructions. After the money was collected my remaining daughter was thrown out of the van and I went and collected her. I pursued the van because I was unaware of any police vehicles doing so.
“We followed at a distance and saw two police pursuers being stopped by the escaping gang, in fact possibly some of the officers were injured in their attempts to stop the van.
“I saw the gang escaping as the police seemed to have withdrawn, so I interceded and caused the van to pull off the road–the motorway was quiet at the time–and crash on the embankment, whereupon more police arrived to deal with the event.
“I then came home and made myself and my daughter available for police interview, being unaware at that stage that she had been sexually assaulted. This was rather casually brought to my attention by the Chief Inspector and I took her to the hospital for necessary treatment. I have since been arrested and here I am.”
The door was knocked and a young policewoman came in and handed a note to the superintendent. “Your counsel has apparently arrived, I’d be grateful if you could make a statement of all that you have just told me, and for the moment I am suspending the arrest warrant while I investigate your claim. Once you have made the statement, you are free to go.”
He rose and practically hauled his colleague through the door, in came my legal help and we drafted the statement and I signed it, he witnessed it and we handed it in. He gave me his card and told me that if the police attempted to talk to me about this, I was to inform him immediately and he would sit in on it or ask a colleague if he was in court. He seemed really nice but like most QCs underneath would be a very quick mind and a ruthlessness that is very good to have on your side. He also complimented me on coping on my own and passing the ball back to the police. So instead of coming home as a future jailbird, I considered I’d done reasonably well in fending off an attack.
The girls were pleased to see me, Danny had gone to play football with some friends, which Stella had agreed to. Julie was waiting for Leon to arrive for some tongue wrestling, and had posted the picture Trish had taken surreptitiously of her and me sitting on the beach in our bikinis, on her facebook page. One of these days, that Trish and her camera-phone are going to come to a sticky end.
I took Billie out for a bike ride later and when we got back I had a box of bits from the cycle shop for my new wheels, when I had time to get round to making them. I then had to take Trish and Livvie and Meems out for a bike ride, on which Billie accompanied us. Trish seemed quite jealous of Billie’s new bike and it looked very likely she would be getting one for her birthday or Christmas.
Simon arrived during the late afternoon, and so did Stephanie to see Julie–who resented that she was separated from Leon to go and speak with her. While she was with us I had her see Trish and Billie.
By the time she’d finished it was dinner time and I served a roast chicken with various vegetables, which Tom carved and the gannets in my family gorged upon. Even a five pound chicken does one real meal with this hungry crowd, led by Simon who licked his lips in anticipation.
I chatted with Stephanie a bit later, she seemed to think that Julie had coped really well with the assault and that Billie was doing fine too, despite her abduction. Trish was as clever as ever, and perhaps needed watching for prevention of trouble due to her cleverness.
“What d’you mean?” I asked.
“Clever kids get very easily bored and they sometimes use other children as counters in a sort of abstract chess game. The problem is they don’t associate the misfortunes that might befall their ‘counters’ as happening to real people, because all that matters is the game and possibly winning it.”
“So they don’t see the consequences of their actions?”
“Yeah, exactly that because it’s an intellectual, rather than emotional thing so they don’t engage emotionally.”
“But Trish does engage emotionally, she’s very aware of the feelings of others.”
“Good, keep reinforcing that, just be aware that teenagers sometimes seem to lose that engagement and it can get very unpleasant.”
“Are we talking Midwich Cuckoos here?”
“Um, I don’t think she’s telepathic is she?” Stephanie laughed and we went to have a cuppa before she left.
(aka Bike) Part 1068 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I woke the next morning determined that Simon could have the pleasure of baby sitting. Julie would be there, she was still on sick leave from the salon, so he wouldn’t be on his own, Tom was about as well so between them they should be able to cope. The alternative was to place Trish in charge, but I wasn’t sure I wanted my own inadequacies as a housekeeper and parent shown up.
I had a reason for my subterfuge, Stella and I were going shopping in Southampton. She quickly warmed to the idea over an early breakfast, and we were gone practically before the others were awake.
I’d chosen Southampton because it had more of the particular shops I wanted to visit and because I knew I might be trying things on, I dressed accordingly, some fairly low court shoes, no stockings or tights, a wrap around skirt and a thin cotton top plus some of my nicer underwear.
After parking the car for the day–that was going to double the cost of my purchase–how can these car park people sleep at night? As the old joke goes, ‘At least Dick Turpin had the decency to wear a mask when he robbed you.’
Actually he was a thug who murdered several people including an old woman whose brains he dashed against a chimney breast because she wouldn’t tell him where her money was. He was hanged–just desserts in those days.
We then had to have a cup of coffee and a cake before we moved on to the main event–shopping. The latte was okay and the almond slice was nice but I needed to get stuck in or I’d give up. Stella grasped my elbow and we set off for our day of exploration.
In the first shop we tried, I thought the prices were far too high and the merchandise too fiddly for my taste–Stella muttered at me as we left.
“Look, Stella, even if I saw what I was looking for, I’d still want to see the other shops just in case they had something even nicer.”
“Or cheaper, knowing you. I can tell you were born in Scotland.”
“The price is important but not at the expense–no pun intended–of everything else. If I see what I want then we’ll look at the others and come back if nothing beats it.”
“So what are you looking for exactly?” she queried.
“I’ll tell you when I see it.”
“That really helps me to help you find it,” she muttered.
“Look, you’re here as a second opinion, for which I shall buy you a reasonable lunch.”
“Not a slap up meal then?”
“No, with me it’s simple bribery and poor luncheon.”
She groaned, obviously suitably impressed and we went on to the next shop.
“That would suit you,” she suggested pointing at a mannequin.
“It isn’t really what I wanted.”
“Never mind, try it on.”
“You serious?” I challenged.
“Absolutely.”
So I did, unfortunately they had a fourteen in stock, and I admit I was more impressed than I thought I’d be. But it wasn’t what I wanted. The trouble was I knew what I had in mind but I couldn’t describe it.
I tried on something else which I like better but she didn’t–I thought she had taste, perhaps I was wrong. Mind you it was a bit tight over the bum–so did it look big in this–yes it did. On to the next emporium.
Whoever says they really enjoy shopping, could be telling fibs. My little toes were getting sore, so I had to stop at a chemist’s shop and buy some blister plasters and stick them on my toes. It felt much better–my own stupid fault, wearing a tight shoe without stockings on a warm day. They were bound to rub.
Shop number three had some lovely stock but the only one I liked they didn’t have in my size, I did squeeze into a twelve which Stella liked, but I’d never be able to breathe in while wearing it.
Shop four had exactly what I wanted but not in my size–in fact they only had one and that was a poxy size ten, that’s okay if you’re an anorexic dwarf, but not for me. The woman offered to get me one in two weeks, but I declined for now.
The fifth shop was very disappointing and we went for some badly needed lunch and an even more needed rest for my sore toes. In a pub called the Duke of —ellington, which some vandal had removed the ‘W’, perhaps a jazz fan–we settled down to have, steak and ale pie with new potatoes and salad. Stella sipped a buck’s fizz, whilst I rehydrated with a lemonade and orange juice.
“Did you tell the others what you were looking for?” asked Stella.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’d have had at least five volunteers to help us and we’d have got nowhere fast.”
“We aren’t now are we?”
“We don’t appear to be do we–still we have at least four more shops to do.”
“But how can you possibly find something you can’t even recognise?”
“I shall recognise it, I just can’t describe it.”
“A fiver says you don’t.” Stella decided to try and call my perceived bluff.
“A tenner says I will, although I can’t guarantee they’ll have my size.”
“Fair enough, a tenner it is.” We shook hands and the bet was sealed.
The pie was okay, though I suspected I could make a better one myself–at least I didn’t have to cook it. We finished our drinks and set off for more shops.
In the next three, despite there being a huge selection, nothing took my eye. The fourth was actually closed when we got there–how frustrating. According to the notice, they closed at lunch time on Saturdays. Wonderful.
As we strolled back, I went in a charity shop, as much as anything to see if they had any shoes in my size as my toes were rubbed raw, even with the plasters. I found some hardly worn casuals and bought them on the spot.
“Seen this, Cathy?” Stella pointed to a dummy in the window. She was joking but as soon as I saw it, I knew it was the one.
“What size is that dress?” I asked pointing to it.
“A twelve I think, want to try it?”
“If you don’t mind, I should.”
“Gi’me a couple of minutes.” The elderly lady cleared the window and pulled the dummy out, then proceeded to undress it and after some ten minutes, she passed me the dress. “Fittin’ room’s in the corner.”
Stella throughout this operation was sniggering quietly to herself–I could hear her in my mind–‘a charity shop’–she’d say in a voice which Dame Edith Evans would be pleased to produce as a Lady Bracknell character.
I struggled into the dress, it was big enough or would have been comfortably so if Stella hadn’t forced me to eat the profiteroles with cream. She practically made me eat them so she could have the lemon meringue.
“You alright in there m’dear?” asked the elderly shop assistant.
“Fine, thank you, the zip is harder to do up than I thought.”
“What size shoe are you?” she enquired as she pulled the zip up to the top of the neck.
“Six, why?”
“I think we have the originals to match it, hold on, I’ll look.”
I waited and could hear Stella tapping her heels as she got bored looking at the books. The old lady reappeared, “You’re in luck, they’re a six.” I slipped them on and they were so soft. I looked at myself in the mirror once more then stepped out into the shop, Stella was looking out of the window watching the traffic.
“Well–what do you think?”
“Sorry,” she muttered as she spun around. “Oh my giddy aunt–that’s it, Cathy–that is it.”
I agreed entirely, so I bought my wedding dress and shoes for twenty five quid. Next week, we would bring the girls and organise the bridesmaid’s dresses and order Danny’s kilt.
(aka Bike) Part 1069 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
We hung the bridal gown in Stella’s room, as it was less likely to meet with prying eyes. They were all playing in the garden when we got home and we got the most cursory of welcomes–a wave from one or two of the girls as we walked from the car to the house.
In the cold light of day, we examined the dress and could find nothing wrong with it at all–the old lady who’d sold it to us told us they’d had it cleaned, so I felt really pleased with it. We placed it in a dress bag and hung it in Stella’s wardrobe and then after putting on some jeans and checking my sore toes, went out to see what was going on in the orchard.
They were all looking for something–it turned out to be Leon’s watch, it had fallen off his wrist while he was carrying stuff to the compost heap and he wasn’t sure where. It was one his mum had given him so it had enormous sentimental value. Sighing, I joined the hunt.
I rarely went into the orchard, too many stinging nettles and so on, but before long the kids had me identifying caterpillars and wild flowers. Danny even caught a grass snake by the compost heap before I could warn him to watch out for its stink glands. European grass snakes can bite but they’re not venomous unlike the adder or viper. Their main defence is to secrete absolutely stinking fluid which you don’t want to get on you or your clothing–Danny achieved both.
I sent him indoors and made him chuck his clothes in a bucket of soapy water and to go and shower until he smelt normal again. In the end, Tom went and borrowed a metal detector from a friend and even then it took over half an hour to find it. Thankfully it was still working.
Dinner time, I ordered an Indian meal for the others–which Simon and Tom thought was wonderful. Stella had some, but I made do with a sandwich, being still full of profiteroles and steak and ale pie. I also thought I might want to wear that dress again in a month or so and I needed to keep my weight stable if not lose a few pounds. I told Billie, we’d be riding most mornings but early–she rolled her eyes and grinned. Trish wanted in as well but her bike was too small to keep up with us. I tried her on Billie’s old MTB, and thought if I replaced the tyres it would be easier for her to ride.
So taking her with me, we set off for the supermarket and hopefully some new tyres, which I could fit and give her a bit more opportunity to ride at a more reasonable speed.
We drove past Paget’s Cycles (est. 1976) and the lights were all on. I stopped the car and told Trish to stay put in the locked car. I squinted through the window and two or three men were removing bikes–and what looked like good bikes. I called the police, and then noticed a mobile number on the front door. I called that and asked if they were having workmen in over the weekend.
“Workmen–no, why?”
“Because there’s a gang of men removing bikes.”
“Are you for real?”
“Yes, it’s Cathy Cameron, you’ve sold me and my family several bikes.”
“Oh yes, I remember you now.”
“I’ve called the police, but I thought you might want to know.”
“I’m on my way.”
I ran round the block there was a large transit van parked outside and they were loading bikes into it. I made Trish get out of my car and parked it in the middle of the lane so the van couldn’t leave by one end.
Sirens wailing introduced the police and I sent them down to the other end of the lane. The van was intercepted and two of the three men were caught. The third came running up the lane and seemed to fall over something, it might have been my foot, I seem to be careless with them these days. I sat on him and a breathless policeman came trotting up behind, “I’m getting too old for this,” he puffed.
The owner of the shop arrived a short time later. I helped him unload the van and to catalogue with the police what the robbers had tried to steal. It took us a good half an hour.
“How can I ever thank you, Mrs Cameron?”
“Well, this is going to sound bizarre, but I was just going to the supermarket to see if they had some tyres for a child’s MTB.”
“I’m sure we have some somewhere.”
“Actually, what I’d really like is a road bike to fit her ladyship,” I nodded at Trish.
“Oh,” he almost blanched as he took on board what I’d said.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m happy to pay, but if I could take it with me tonight because I’m taking one of my other girls out for a ride tomorrow, and she wants to come as well.”
“I’ve got an ATB boxed upstairs, but I haven’t got time to assemble it tonight–I have to wait for the locksmith to come and repair the back door.”
“That’s fine, if you have one in her size, I’ll assemble it–no problem.”
“You know a bit about bikes then?”
“Enough to assemble one, yes.”
“Mummy has her own workshop and she’s making some wheels for her bike.”
“You build your own wheels?”
“Yes.”
“Unusual for a woman.”
“My mummy’s a lady,” piped Trish.
“Yes, I know that, young un.”
“She’s Lady Cameron.”
“Lady Cameron?” the bikeshop man looked confused.
“Yes, she’s Lady Catherine Cameron, aren’t you, Mummy?”
“The dormouse lady?”
I blushed and nodded.
“Of course you are, you look different to your film.”
Well that was a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one. “Probably, I’m not wearing shorts am I?”
“Nor the mini skirt,” he had a faraway look for a moment. “Just what are you looking for?”
“A bike that Trish can use to come with us tomorrow, she has a Barbie thing at present.”
“What about a trailer bike?”
“I have one of those, all it does is slow me down.”
“How old are you, missy?” he asked Trish.
“Six, why?”
“They really don’t do much more than an ATB for kids her age, a road bike would be too expensive. You could put road tyres on it.”
“I’ve already got one she could use, twenty inch wheels. If you have some high pressure tyres for one of those...?”
“Not really, but I do have road tyres.”
“I’ll leave it. Thanks anyway.”
“She’s just too small for standard equipment.”
“I’ll have to think about building her a bike.”
“Even that would pose a challenge, let me know if we can help–if you still want those tyres?”
“I’ll take some–but I insist on paying for them.”
“Pop by sometime then and we’ll settle up, thanks for saving my stock.”
“Bikes are sacred, this was like robbing a bookshop or a church.”
He laughed, “You certainly have your priorities right, Lady Cameron.”
“My friends call me Cathy.”
“I’m Roger.” We shook hands and I left with my tyres.
“Where have you been?” demanded Simon.
“Getting some tyres for a bike.”
“That took nearly two hours?”
“Well there were two tyres.” I joked but he didn’t seem to share my humour.
“We were worried sick, given the recent events, couldn’t you have phoned?”
“I’m sorry, Si, the bikeshop was having a few problems.”
“Bikeshop? They close at five thirty...”
“Mummy an’ me caught some baddies robbin’ the bike shop.”
“Cathy–is this true?”
“I just need to do these tyres, can you put her to bed?” I said and slipped out the door.
(aka Bike) Part 1070 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I had changed one tyre by the time Simon caught up with me. “Right, missus, what is this about preventing a robbery at Paget’s?”
“Pass the tyre lever, will you?” I held out my hand and he grudgingly placed the blue piece of plastic in my hand. I slipped it around the deflated tyre rim and after a small amount of fiddling removed the tyre.
“I’m waiting,” he said impatiently.
“I expect Trish gave you chapter and verse, I didn’t do much except my civic duty and call the plod.”
“She said you tripped one and sat on him.”
“I might have done, can’t remember.”
“Cathy, what if he’d roughed you up.”
“He was winded by his fall and lay there groaning. I simply helped him lie still while we waited for the plod to arrive.”
“You take too many risks, Cathy, you have children to consider now.”
“I’m well aware I have children to consider, but I want them to grow up with a firm idea of right and wrong, and not to be the sort of person who stands by when wrong is done.”
“If they’re like you, they’d be lucky to make it to maturity.”
“Better that than to live to old age regretting one’s impotence.”
“Eh? I thought only boys suffered from impotence.”
“That is a very specific use of the word, I was using it much more generally.”
“Don’t try to confuse me with semantics, young lady, I’m concerned about your continual risk taking.”
“Yes, father, I’m well aware that you’re trying to control me.”
“Very funny–control you? Ha, more chance of training a polar bear.”
“They’re very intelligent animals.”
“Read the Guardian, do they?”
“Yes, the Arctic edition, but they can’t do the crossword.”
“Why?”
“They can’t hold a pencil, can they?”
“How would I know? You’re the mammal expert.”
I shrugged. “Did Trish go off to bed okay?”
“Yes, I gave her a little cuddle, she wanted to read but I said it was past lights out, and she said, ‘Lights out at nine candles out at ten.’ Where does she get these things?”
“You’re asking me? Try Stella–sounds like one of her dormitory stories.”
“Why would they be using candles in a bedroom, they’d be a fire risk, wouldn’t they?” His face was dead pan so if he was playing stupid he was doing a very good job of it. “And wouldn’t the house mistress, or whatever see the light flickering?”
“Simon, I think it refers to a different use of candles.”
“What else could you use them for–cooking something? You know midnight feasts.”
“Simon, I accept that young adolescent women might well be snacking after they’ve gone to bed, but I suspect the use of candles in that phrase which I believe is an urban myth about Roedean school, is somewhat different to your understanding.”
“Like what?”
“Use your head, Si, oh pass me that pump will you?”
“My head?”
“What do young adolescents think about most of their waking hours and dream about at night?”
“Sex?”
I nodded.
“Good lord, what is Trish thinking about–you need to talk to that daughter of ours.”
“I don’t think six year olds are consumed by sex, even in this family, I suspect she was repeating something she’s heard Stella say, given the feed line you offered of lights out.”
“Oh–maybe you should have words with her just in case.”
“I had words with her last week, she thinks sex is disgusting. Mind you, so did I until a year or two ago.”
“Before you met me?” Simon smiled blithely.
“Actually no, it was Kevin.”
“Cathy Watts, you told me you were a virgin when we got together.”
“I was–do you remember the rough neck who kissed me in your car, when it broke down?”
“Vaguely, why?”
“He didn’t peck me on the cheek like I said he did, he kissed me on the mouth and it caused me to do something I’d never experienced before.”
“Oh yeah, which was?”
“I had my first orgasm,” I blushed trying to hide it by bending over to pump up the tyre.
“You had you first orgasm in my car while being kissed by a bit of rough? I can’t believe that–that is sick.”
“I thought it was rather beautiful,” I thought back to it and a warm glow suffused my body.
“Didn’t you do it in the bath or in bed while having fantasies of um–Lance Armstrong or Eddy Merckx?”
“No I did not, now that would be sick.”
“I’d have thought you’d have fancied a young virile cycling champ.”
“Simon, I was so naive, it was unbelievable–I had no feelings for anything, let alone men. They were big hairy arsed things who called me names and hit me from time to time.”
“And, Kev’s kiss lit your fire did it?”
“I don’t know what it did except confuse me. If you recall, I said virtually nothing in the car all the way back to the bike shop.”
“I thought you were a girl then.”
“I was–with a plumbing problem, if you recall?”
“Oh I remember all right, gave me quite a shock when you told me the truth.”
“It gave me quite a shock when you said you fancied me, you and Kev, were the first to ever say such a nice thing to me.”
“Was I?” he beamed, “I was the first? Really?”
I nodded. I couldn’t remember who said what first, not that it matters. “The only terms used to describe me until then were pejorative ones. You saw me as I really was, whereas others had seen me in the wrong context, so drew the wrong conclusions. In some ways I’ve quite enjoyed seeing them again where they haven’t recognised me from before and looked at me with lust in their eyes. If they knew, they’d get quite a shock.”
“That’s all in the past isn’t it, Babes?” he put his arms round me as I was fitting the wheel back on the bike. “I mean you don’t see Kev now, do you?”
“See Kev? Why, are you jealous?”
“Of course not–young whippersnapper–you’re my wife, so I have you safely...”
“I’m your wife, Simon, but you don’t actually own me, you know.”
“Of course not, I wasn’t going to say that as it happens.”
“I’m glad to hear it, now let me just put the brakes back together.” I bent down to do up the quick release on the vee brakes, when he stroked my bottom. “Ouch, bugger, I’ve cut my finger.” I shouted and jumped as he tickled my rump. “Look what you made me do.” I held up my finger dripping with blood.
“Sorry, babes, but your bum looked so sexy bent over like that.”
“Well pass me a tissue then, I don’t want blood everywhere.” He did so and I wrapped my finger in it, “Damn, that hurts.”
“Shall I kiss it better for you?”
“Not unless you fancy a mouthful of oily blood.”
“Not really.”
“Right well you reset that brake and I’ll go and stick this under the tap.”
I walked to the sink in the corner of my workshop and stuck the bloody finger under the cold tap. It stung.
“Um–Babes–um–what am I supposed to do?”
“Good grief, have you never reset the quick release on bicycle brakes before?”
He shook his head.
“No even on side-pull?”
He shook his head again.
“So who did yours when you were a kid?”
“Dad was the bike rider, he always did it.”
“Weren’t you curious about what to do?”
“If I was, it became expedient to let him do it.”
“Simon, I am disappointed in you.” I wrapped a sticking plaster around the injured part and showed him how to reset the brake. “See, easy isn’t it?”
“If you’re into such things.”
“Want me to show you how to do it on the side-pulls?”
“No, how about showing me your quick release,” he said and pulled me into him and kissed me.
(aka Bike) Part 1071 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Billie and I came back from our ride. She was doing quite well, another ten miler and I pushed the speed a little on the way back. We collected Trish on her mountain bike and we went off again. I spent a little while with Trish explaining how the gears worked as her previous bike had none, being the single speed Barbie thing. I also had the saddle on its lowest setting and she was just able to reach the pedals.
Billie and I used Trish’s ride as a warm down, she was working hard to make much more than ten miles an hour, and I thought she’d get fed up but she didn’t. We did five miles in a circle and she agreed it was enough when we arrived back at the house.
When we got there Danny was busy pumping up the tyres on Stella’s bike, which he could just ride with the saddle down low. I also moved it forward for him. “I hope she said you could borrow her bike, because your perfectly good one is over there.”
“Yes, she said I could try it–I’ve never ridden a racer, can we give it a go, Mum?”
The other two were tired by now and I nodded. I gave him a quick run over the gears and brakes, he’d never used flight deck compatible ones before–these are combined brakes and gear changer levers–the brake levers push sideways to either raise or lower the gears, and the brakes are conventionally pulled to stop the bike. I have problems with these sometimes because my hands are small.
Danny picked up the mechanics of the system quite quickly, as had Trish with the idea of gears–I know some adults who seem unable to work out how to ride with gears, which like a car you change up or down depending upon engine noise, or the engine driving the bike, your legs and body. If it’s going too easy go up a gear, if it’s too hard go down a gear or more. If you want to go faster pedal harder or go up a gear and so on.
I took Danny out for the same ride I’d done with Billie and he coped quite well, he said he was game for next time. Finding him some shorts wasn’t going to be easy locally, so when I had a spare few minutes I’d look on the internet. Having said that he seemed to cope with the saddle with no problems so maybe until we rode further, he wouldn’t need padded shorts. I rarely ride without them, but then, my modified bits can get a bit tender on a race type saddle.
At about ten thirty, just after I came out of the shower, I was called downstairs to receive a bouquet of flowers from Paget’s Bikes (est 1976), for saving their stock. I was rather pleased and sent them an email thanking them.
“They coulda given you a bike, Mum,” grumbled Danny as he read the card attached to the flowers.
“They could also have given me nothing, I didn’t ask for anything, which reminds me, I owe them for two tyres. I’m going to check on the dormice at the uni, anyone coming?”
How can I explain six children following me through the staff entrance? They all wanted to come. It was a warm day and I managed to find a torpid one for them to each hold for a few moments before we put it back into the nest box in the breeding area.
Gloria was on duty that day and she looked aghast at all my group. While they were busy counting things, I spoke with her. “Are they all yours?”
“Fraid so, I’m going to see if I can trade them in at the monkey house later.”
“How do you cope with six kids?”
“Some days better than others, on a bad one I have seven if you include Simon.”
“I hear you’re talking about coming back in October,” Gloria checked the validity of the grapevine.
“That’s the plan, I’m also trying to do the start of the harvest mouse film and organise a wedding blessing up in Scotland.”
“What’re doin’ with all that spare time?”
“Trying to get back to some cycling fitness.”
“Oh, so when’s the blessing?”
“I haven’t actually arranged a date yet but before the start of term and after the midges have gone over.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve got my dress, so that’s one thing sorted. Simon is looking after the kilt for Danny, and Stella and I will sort out the bridesmaids soon, I hope.
“How many are you having then?”
“One, two, three, four, five plus another possible.”
“Six–crikey, I’d be lucky to afford two.”
“Not set a date then?”
“No, we can’t afford it.”
“How much do you need?”
“Cathy, I have no idea–depends where we go for the wedding and the honeymoon.”
“Would you consider somewhere like Southsea for the wedding?”
“Of course I would, but where?”
“A hotel–I know the owner, I’ll see if I can get you a special rate.”
“I’ll have to speak with Neal, but I’m sure he’d be happy.”
“If you want a church wedding, I can’t help but a hotel I can, and I suspect I can get at least twenty per cent off the usual price, and the food is delish. Keep an eye on the kids, while I make a phone call.”
I spoke to the general manager of the hotel and explained my predicament–well Gloria’s. He recognised me and told me that depending upon the actual date he could offer between twenty and forty per cent discount. I thanked him and went back to Gloria. She was suitably impressed and promised to get back to me. I told her it was the manager she needed to see and she took the phone number.
By now the kids were getting a little bored, even dormice won’t entertain them for very long unless they’re running about. I noticed a couple of youngsters climbing up some wire inside the cage and Mima let go one of her ear shattering laughs. I didn’t realise dormice could move so fast.
Before we came out, I’d asked Stella to research available dates up in Scotland for our nuptials. When we got back, she’d left a list of dates on the fridge door. Apparently, she’d taken Puddin’ to the baby clinic–which was the first I’d heard of it.
I glanced at the list and crossed out one immediately. “What’re you doin’, Mummy?”
“Looking at dates to go up to Scotland.”
“Why did you cross that one out?”
“Same week as the Tour of Britain.”
“Oh, what’s that?” Billie ducked as I pretended to swipe her.
“Can we go and see some?”
“The race?”
“Yes, Mummy, the race.”
“Perhaps, you might be in school then.”
“Who might be in school, Mummy?” Big ears arrived.
“You and Billie.”
“When?”
“Trish, when the Tour of Britain bike race is on.”
“Oh–can’t we go and see some?”
“I don’t know if you’ll actually enjoy it–there’s a lot of standing round and the race comes through quite quickly–whole thing passes through in fifteen or thirty minutes.”
“Is Wiggley Braddings riding?”
“Do you mean Bradley Wiggins?”
“I might, and the boy racer.”
“Boy racer?” I looked blankly at her.
“The book you bought the other week.”
“Oh, Mark Cavendish, you mean?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Winner of fifteen stages in the Tour de France.”
“Is that good, Mummy?” Trish looked at me with genuine curiosity.
“I’ll say; it’s twice as many as any other British rider has achieved.”
“So, will we see him, Mummy?”
“No.”
“Is he that fast?”
“Perhaps, I suspect some of the other riders think so. But, he won’t be there, he’ll be riding in America.”
“Oh, poo.”
“Geraint Thomas will be there–he’s an Olympic gold medallist.”
“Is he fast?”
“Oh yes, very fast especially when he’s riding team pursuit.”
“What’s that, Mummy?”
I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, oh well, here goes. “You know when you see them riding in groups around a velodrome...”
(aka Bike) Part 1072 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Whilst we were eating lunch, I glanced at the dates Stella had left for me. Nosey glanced at them too, “What are those, Mummy.”
“What do they look like?”
“Um–dates of the year.” Trish beamed.
“So now you know.” I wasn’t going to talk without being tortured.
“Dates for what, Mummy?”
“Just dates, why do you want to know?”
“ ’Cos I do.”
“Because you’re a nosey-parker, more like.”
“I’m not,” she blushed, “You’re a meanie.”
“I’m not just a meanie, I’m a meanie with secrets.” I smirked and she pouted.
“You are a meanie.”
“And you’re nosey.”
“So? I’m interested.”
“In other people’s business.”
“No, I’m not, you meanie.”
“If this was your business, you’d know what it was all about, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, course I would.”
“Therefore, if you don’t know, it can’t be any of your business, can it?”
“No, I s’pose not,” she huffed away from the table and I smirked again. Julie grabbed her and whispered something in her ear and her face lit up. She walked back to me and said, “If it’s something to do with you, then it will have a knock on effect upon us, so we need to know.”
“If I’m badgered mercilessly, I might tell you, but then, I might change my mind and scrap the whole idea, so you’d be no better off, would you?” I scowled at her.
“So these dates are about something you’re going to do on one of them?” she was walking up and down like Perry Mason before a jury.
“Objection,” I exclaimed.
“Overruled,” said Julie who was pretending to be a judge and she banged the table with her spoon.
“Oh is it now, if you lot aren’t careful I’ll introduce Sharia Law, bundle you up in burkahs and sell you off as child brides.”
“No way, am I wearing a burket, or whatever they call ‘em,” said Danny.
“They’d have a bit of a surprise when they undid the wrapping,” said Julie and they all sniggered.
“Are they like a Barbour, Mummy?” asked Livvie.
“Yeah, they ’ave a ’ood, but they’re not waterproof.” Julie was having some fun with the ignorance of the younger ones.
“Not really, Liv, a Barbour is a waxed cotton jacket, a burkah is an all encompassing cloak thing through which only your eyes can be seen via a slit.”
“Ugh, sounds horrible, Mummy.”
“Lots of women wear them in Arab countries.” I informed them.
“We’s not going to a Awab countwy ah we, Mummy?” Meems decided to increase the confusion.
“That’s what the dates are for, there’s six of them, she gonna sell each one of us off as child brides.” Julie stirred the cauldron and cackled.
“You’re not are you, Mummy?” Trish began to look a little anxious.
“Is that what you think?” I challenged.
“I dunno,” shrugged Trish.
“Do you honestly think that I’ve gone to the bother of adopting you all or trying to, just to sell you off?”
“No, not really, Mummy.” Trish went for reconciliation and part of me wanted to frighten them all–just for a moment–but I remembered it would be me who had to deal with bad dreams and wet beds, so I resisted my horrible urges.
“You might have done,” stirred Julie.
“No she didn’t,” shouted Trish, becoming angry with her elder sibling.
“How do you know? Julie threw back at her.”You don’t know what those dates are for any more than we do.”
“I know Mummy wouldn’t do anything nasty to us.”
“Only because she hasn’t so far.” Julie’s reasoning was superior in its cynicism to Trish’s.
“She loves us, don’t you, Mummy?” Things were getting a bit out of hand and I noticed a few trembling lower lips amongst the younger age group.
“Of course I do.”
“You only have her word for that...” continued Julie, but I was being hugged to death by the others, who felt a need to physically touch me for their comfort and reassurance.
“Oh shut it, Julie,” spat Danny, who was the last to join the group hug.
Once it was over and the kinder reassured, I decided I would spill some of the beans, besides which Stella was parking her car and she’d tell them anyway.
“Okay, these are possible dates for our holiday.”
“Yeh,” squealed Billie, “Where are we going, Mummy?”
“Scotland,” scowled Trish, “to that rotten castle.” She sat with her bad face on and her arms folded.
“The castle–oh wow, can we go, Mummy?” Suddenly Danny was all ears.
“I don’t wanna go,” sulked Trish.
“It’ll be an adventure,” suggested Billie.
“It was an adventure last time. They tried to kill us, didn’t they, Mummy?”
“What the ghosts?” piped Danny, going off on his own fantasy.
“There aren’t any ghosts, the nasty people were Russians, weren’t they, Mummy?”
“They were gangsters, and they won’t trouble us again, Trish.”
“Mummy killed ‘em all,” sang Danny as he danced around in a circle.
“No she didn’t,” protested Trish, “It was the soldiers who got them.”
“They have soldiers at your castle, Mummy, like at the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace.”
“Don’t be silly, they were out in the woods waiting for the Russians.”
“There are woods?” Danny seemed to be excited by all the possible things his fantasy castle could provide.
“Is there a dungeon or dragons, Mummy?” Billie enquired.
“I met no dragons, except a Russian one, and I don’t remember about dungeons–but they could be useful for keeping you lot under control.”
“Did you slay the dragon, Mummy?” asked dancing Danny with great excitement as he re-enacted the slashing and stabbing of something with his imaginary sword.
“No I didn’t, and she went back to Russia.”
“She flew to Russia?” his eyes were as big as saucers, “Did they pick her up on radar?”
Trish rolled her eyes and I nodded to him.
“Did you get any photos, did she breathe flames an’ things?”
“No such thing as dragons,” announced Julie as Stella came through the door with Baby Puddin’, “is there Auntie S?”
“Is there what?” asked a harassed looking Stella–“I’ve been down that clinic for two bloody hours just to get her weighed, I coulda stayed home and done it. Bloody health visitors get on my tits.”
At this all the kids burst out laughing and Stella stood in the middle of the noise looking totally bemused. “What did I say?”
“You said the T word,” I shrugged at her.
“What are the dates for, Auntie Stella?”
“Cathy and Simon’s wedding up in Scotland, why?”
Silence fell amongst the throng.
“Thanks Stella,” I said and wondered how we’d deal with the next group of questions.
(aka Bike) Part 1073 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
There was a short lull before a cacophony of voices yelled, “Can I be a bridesmaid?”
“Did I say something wrong?” mouthed Stella to me.
“QUIET,” I shouted and there was a moment of silence followed once more by raucous noise. I shouted again and silence fell once more. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “You can all be bridesmaids, but we don’t have a date until I discuss it with Daddy, and we have to ask Daisy if she’d like to come and be one too.”
“I don’t wanna be a bloody bridesmaid,” said Danny.
“Aww go on, it’ll be fun,” teased Julie. Danny ran off out into the garden.
“Mummy, who is Daisy?” asked Trish.
“Daisy is a little girl I met in hospital who wants to be a bridesmaid and I invited her to be one when I got married.”
“Did you make her better?”
“I might have helped.” I shrugged. I remembered avoiding her and her dad, Paul and the surgeon whatever his name was. I collapsed trying to heal another kid and she died. Stella called the ambulance and I ended up in A&E. I almost ran away because I couldn’t face promising to heal his wife. I was a coward. Part of me seemed suited to the role, because I didn’t want to ask her now, I felt ashamed of my fear of responsibility for something I had little or no control over.
I left them asking Stella questions while I called Sam Rose.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” said Sam.
“Do you remember a Daisy Drummond?”
“Of course I do, you made her walk again.”
“I didn’t make her do anything–she just got off the bed and walked.”
“You sure it wasn’t, ’picked up her bed and walked,’”
“Sam, unless you were built like Samson, you wouldn’t be able to lift it let alone pick it up. Hospital beds weigh a ton.”
“Why are you asking about Daisy Drummond?”
“I promised to have her as one of my bridesmaids.”
“I thought you were married?”
“I am, but the family expects a big church thing up in Scotland, so we’re doing a blessing with all the trimmings.”
“And you wonder if she wants to be a bridesmaid?”
“If she’ll forgive me.”
“Forgive you?”
“Yes, I ran away if you remember.”
“You weren’t very well if I remember.”
“I was scared shitless.”
“A very precise medical term.”
“What is?”
“Being scared shitless, it happens to doctors all the time, especially paediatricians who are frequently unable to do much for their young charges.”
“Sam, you are a wonderful doctor.”
“Why thank you, Lady Cameron, you’re no bad yersel.” He affected a very poor Scottish accent. “Together, we could be unbeatable.”
“Sam, you’d get yourself struck off for superstition.”
“I don’t know if that is actually a capital offence, but they’d probably lump it under gross misconduct and ask me to fall on my sword.”
“Shouldn’t you fall on your stethoscope, being a doc an’ all?”
“I think it takes a long time to kill you that way, in fact you’d probably get through a few years pension first.”
“Oh, then the government wouldn’t like you.”
“No they wouldn’t. To them, money always comes first.”
“A bit like bankers.” I teased.
“Don’t get me started on them, they’re responsible for all...”
“Sam,” I interrupted, “Simon is a banker, and my outlaws own a rather large edifice which deals with money: in fact; quite a few of them.”
“Oh yes, I forgot.”
“Yes, I’ve married a long line of usurers.”
He laughed, “Not that bad is it?”
“Not at all, I can have all the money I want–except I don’t want it, I want my children to grow up to be happy and contented adults, doing useful jobs and being aware of the needs of others as well as their own–and I hope that of the other denizens of this planet.”
“What a refreshing young woman you are, Cathy. If you ever get fed up with Lord wossisname, come and live with me.”
I actually blushed over the phone, is that possible?
“You still there, Cathy?”
“Yes, I’m still here–one of the kids wanted something,” I lied.
“What do you want to do about Daisy?”
“I’d like to contact her and ask her if she’d still like to be a bridesmaid?”
“Would you like me to ask her parents to call you?”
“That would resolve my dilemma in some ways wouldn’t it?”
“Are you happy that I tell them about your reason for wanting contact?”
“That’s fine, Sam, tell them whatever you like, and if I don’t hear in a day or two, I’ll know she doesn’t want to be involved with me–which is fine.” I felt a tear roll down my face, I felt so ashamed of running away that part of me hoped they wouldn’t call.
I left it with Sam and went back to the kitchen where Stella was still besieged by barbarians. They were using weapons of math disruption, trying to browbeat Stella into giving them which date was most likely.
They were all talking at once so I slammed the kitchen door and they all jumped, including Stella. “You mother’s here, she can deal with it now,” she said and disappeared rapidly.
“Right you lot, first things first: I haven’t decided a date, so no amount of annoying me will produce one faster and could result in me cancelling the whole thing. I haven’t decided on a colour scheme, but I will, and you will wear it. you will also wear whatever style I decide on. This is my wedding blessing. If you want to do all the choosing, you’ll have to wait until you get married yourself. Now go and play while I make the dinner.”
I went and found Danny who was polishing Stella’s bike. “Don’t let them get to you because you’re the only boy. You’ll look dashing in a kilt.”
“I’m not wearing a bloody skirt.”
“Danny, I thought we’d agreed that all the men would wear dress tartan kilts with sporrans and all the trimmings.”
“I’m no bloody fairy despite living here.”
“Is that what you think the rest of them are?”
“I dunno–I’m sorry, Mum, I jus’ don’ wanna be laughed at?”
I hugged him as he cried on my shoulder, he was nearly as tall as I was. “Danny, the event is taking place in Scotland, all the men will be wearing kilts, showing off their hairy legs and knobbly knees, with various knives and daggers stuffed in their socks.”
“In their socks?”
“Yes, ask Daddy or Gramps to show you their ceremonial knives.”
“Would I have one of those too?”
“I don’t know what the age limit is on allowing boys to wear one, but providing you promise to take care of it and not do anything silly with it, I’m sure Daddy would get you one as well. But ye cannae wear ain wi trewsers, only wi a kilt, dae ye ken?” My Lallans is pure rubbish, despite being born in Dumfries waur Rabbie Burns died.
“Okay, if I can have one of the knives, I’ll wear a skir–I mean kilt.”
“You’ll need to talk with Daddy, but I’m sure he’ll sort it out to both your satisfactions.”
He hugged me, not realising he’d lapsed into a more juvenile form of address despite being the great age of ten going on eleven.
I left him polishing the bike and a promise to clean mine too–can’t be bad. I’d just arrived back at the kitchen when Stella called me. “Cathy, it’s Maria Drummond.”
“Who?” then the penny dropped, my tummy convulsed and I took the receiver. “Hello?”
(aka Bike) Part 1074 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“H–h–hello?” I squeaked down the phone.
“Hello, is that Cathy? I’m sorry I don’t have your other name.”
“Yes, I’m Cathy, Cathy Cameron.”
“I don’t think we’ve met but I feel I almost know you.” She sounded confident, compared to my terrified state.
“You do?” my voice went squeaky again, so what must she have thought of me.
“Oh yes, Daisy and Paul told me so much about you and how you helped both of them to cope with the accident, and how you helped me, too.”
“Did I?”
“Yes you did, and I’m grateful to be able to say thank you personally.”
“I don’t think I did very much.”
“Dr Rose said you were very self-effacing.”
“He did? I mean, did he?”
“He also said you were honouring a promise you made to Daisy when she was in hospital.”
“I did say that when I got married she could be one of my bridesmaids, it was offered as a promise.”
“I think it’s incredibly sweet of you. I’m sure she’d love to, if only to thank you for the help you gave her.”
“I was hoping she might find the experience fun as well.”
“I’m sure she will. When is the wedding?”
“It isn’t actually a wedding, it’s a wedding blessing–but with all the trimmings. We actually got married a few months ago, but my in-laws wanted to put on a bit of a show, so we’re organising one for them. I haven’t got a date yet but it will be end of August early September.”
“Oh okay, as far as I know we’re available. Where is it?”
“At Stanebury.”
“Where’s Stanebury, it sounds like Wiltshire.”
“No, it’s a little further north than Wiltshire, it’s in Scotland.”
“Scotland–that’s funny, because we nearly went to Scotland for our holiday this year. Your in-laws live up there do they?”
“They have a place up there,” I tried not to frighten her off. When you tell people it’s a castle they tend to go all funny and run away.
“Oh well, we get to see a bit of Scotland, a few old castles and things.”
“Indeed, there’s a castle at Stanebury.”
“This isn’t going to be in the castle is it?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Crikey, how posh–Daisy will be impressed. She’s never been to an event in a castle. Your in-laws must be quite rich.”
“They’re quite comfortable, I think the phrase is, and as they want this blessing up there, they’re paying for most of it.”
“Wow, I wish my parents in-law had been, we scrimped and saved for all ours ourselves.”
“Our actual wedding was a relatively small affair, this will be a bit grander.”
“How many bridesmaids are you having?”
“Six.”
“Cor, what ages are they?”
“One of sixteen, one of ten, two aged six and one five year old; plus Daisy if she wants to come.”
“I’m sure she will. Look could we meet sometime–I’m happy to come to you if you’re busy, or we could meet somewhere convenient to both of us.”
“I have the girls off school at the moment, though Julie could watch them for an hour, but maybe Daisy would like to meet them as they’ll be her fellow bridesmaids, or should that be sister bridesmaids? So would you like to come over?”
“I’d love to.”
“What about lunch tomorrow?”
“I don’t want to put you to any bother.”
“Come for lunch tomorrow, say about half past twelve?”
“That’s really kind of you. Daisy said you were a nice lady, she was right.”
“I try to be–I don’t always succeed, but I try.”
“Is that more self-effacement?”
“I like to believe it’s honesty, admitting my flaws.”
“As long as they don’t blind you to your good points.”
I gave her directions and we agreed to meet tomorrow. I got on with preparing the dinner, a lasagne with a fresh fruit salad dessert. I’d tell the others over dinner what was happening tomorrow.
They were all happy with my arrangements, only Stella had anything to ask, perhaps because she’s lived with the Cameron wealth for her whole life, she knew some of the pitfalls attached to it. “You told them we were using a castle as a venue, you didn’t mention it was our castle, did you?”
“No, I thought that might scare her off.”
“It does, they either think you’re some relic of the late mediaeval period or some nouveau riche who acquired their money selling drugs or guns.”
“You mean you’re not?”
“Good lord no, we did it when it was both fashionable and legal, now it’s neither, besides being so passé.” Goodness, how can you be so snobbish about snobbery?
So the next morning, we set off with the Cameron cycling club, and did a ten mile ride, came back, had breakfast and after showering and dressing, I set the chores each would do.
Although the weather was warm, I was going to do soup. Trish was in charge of making a loaf for the purpose. Livvie was looking after tidying up, and Billie and Danny helping me make the soup.
Julie went with Stella to the supermarket to get the necessary constituents for a new fresh fruit salad, melon, kiwi fruit, apple, that sort of stuff; plus some fresh double cream and some butter for the bread–we always use Flora, but it’s nice to have the choice of butter if you prefer it.
When they got back, Julie and Mima did the fruit salad, and we left the soup–carrot and coriander–to keep warm. I did a second loaf because I felt with all of us there, we could quite easily run out of bread.
By midday we were pretty well ready to receive visitors, the place looked tidy, we put some fresh flowers in the vase as a table centre, the place looked and smelt clean–in fact it smelt of fresh baked bread, yummy.
The kids were all clean and tidy, the girls were all wearing a little bit of makeup and some perfume, Danny was in his clean jeans–did I have to plead with him? He succumbed to threats about sharp pointy bits of metal to stick in his socks, or a lack of them if he misbehaved–I won’t be able to use that too often.
The food was ready, and I suddenly looked at my own clothes–I was wearing my jeans and old tee shirt–poo. I ran upstairs and changed into a pair of cut-offs in green embroidered material and a near enough matching shirt top. I threw on some makeup and a squirt of smellies, put on some jewellery and my watch, tidied up my hair and went down.
“I do like Calvin Klein clothes on you,” said Stella.
“Are they? I hadn’t noticed–they just saved me having to shave my legs.”
“A likely story,” she huffed and just then a car drove into the driveway and parked alongside Stella’s Ford.
“They’re here,” shouted an excited Trish.
“I take it, that’s them,” observed Stella as we watched a woman–heavily pregnant, waddle up the drive holding hands with a girl aged about six.
“She didn’t say anything about being pregnant,” I commented.
“Does that make a difference?” asked Stella.
“Of course not, but we could have gone to her to make it easier.”
“Would it be easier to feed the five thousand or drive a couple of miles to meet them?” Stella asked drily.
“Oh well, here goes, stand by your beds, guys,” I shouted to the kids who looked at me as if I was completely barmy. Sometimes I think I am.
(aka Bike) Part 1075 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The doorbell rang and as I walked to it I quickly checked myself in the hall mirror–no bits of cabbage stuck to my teeth–after breakfast? I am going barmy. I opened the door and welcomed our visitors in.
“Hello, Daisy, and you must be Maria,” we shook hands, “I’m Cathy, do come in.”
Daisy handed me the bunch of flowers she was holding, “These are for you, Auntie Cathy.”
“Why thank you, Daisy.”
I was astonished but secretly delighted that my brood had waited until I brought the visitors in to meet them. I led Maria and Daisy into meet the other bridesmaids, Danny, and Stella.
The kids seemed to get on quite well and Trish and Livvie were soon taking Daisy off to see their doll collection, with Billie and Meems tagging along behind.
“It’s so nice to put a face to the name at last.” Maria sat down quite elegantly given her size. “You were so kind to Daisy in hospital,” she winced and made a face. “My sprog is kicking I’m sure he’s going to be a footballer.” We all smiled politely.
“Whose are all the children?” she asked after adjusting her position on the chair.
“Mine,” I smiled waiting for the inevitable statement of surprise.
“Even the teenager?”
“Yes, sort of.”
“Sort of?” she looked questioningly at me.
“Yes, she’s my foster daughter,” I smiled, I didn’t want to give too much information away and besides I was sure that Maria was too polite to ask too many questions.
“Teenagers can be so challenging,” she sighed.
“Is that the voice of experience?” I asked.
“I have a sister aged sixteen, she is the bane of my mother’s life.”
“Oh,” I noted politely, knowing that I would hear as much as she wanted to disclose.
“Her name is Theresa, but she calls herself Tess, mum found out she was on the pill about a month ago.”
I was about to say it was better than unwanted pregnancies, but the size of my guest reminded me to avoid the topic. “She didn’t tell her, your sister didn’t tell your mum, I mean.”
“Goodness no, we’re a family of devout Roman Catholics, she nearly had a stroke.” With names like Maria and Theresa, it was hardly a surprise, however I did refrain from claiming to be a devout agnostic. Instead I looked at the woman in front of me, her short dark hair was nicely cut, and her maternity dress looked like it was from the Next catalogue.
“What did she do–your mother?” I asked.
“Nothing–not until she consulted the Father.”
“The father? Is she not...”
Maria blushed, “You’re not Catholics are you?”
I blushed more from my thoughts than my reply, “Um, no,” thank goodness.
“Mum went to see our priest, Father O’Malley.”
“Of course, ‘scuse my ignorance, we’re rather secular here.”
More embarrassed silences and blushes.
“Shall we eat?” I called the children, Danny and Julie were already in the dining room and I asked them to supervise the handwashing of the others.
“Can I smell fresh baked bread?” asked Maria sniffing.
“I have a bread machine.”
“Oh goodness, I was talking to Paul about one of those only the other day. Do you–um–I suppose you do find them, good.”
“They have one drawback.”
“They do?” she looked worried.
“Yes, it smells so nice that everyone eats more bread than is possibly good for them.” I smiled and she relaxed and smiled back.
I dished up the soup at the table and Trish wandered round carrying a basket of freshly sliced wholemeal bread–it was still warm. Then she sat next to Daisy and they were gabbling away like two old friends.
The meal was a success, and we did start the second loaf as my lot had seconds of soup–greedy hounds. Then the fruit salad and cream disappeared in record time, Daisy and her mum tucking in with the rest of them. Stella and Maria chatted easily and I felt able to slip back and fore to the kitchen without being noticed, mainly to make drinks for everyone. Julie and the adults had tea, the kids some orange juice.
“May we leave the table, Mummy?” Trish was being extra polite in front of Daisy, perhaps she should come again.
“Yes, darling, show Daisy your computer.” They all thundered off to play.
“How old are you, Julie?” asked Maria.
“Sixteen.”
“Can I ask, would you go on the pill without your mother’s consent?”
I nearly swallowed the cup as well as the tea.
“Um–not really,” blushed a very embarrassed Julie.
“She’s on the pill, she had a slight hormone imbalance.” I intervened to save further embarrassment. It was sort of half true.
“Oh,” gasped Maria.
“Yes, doctors prescribe it for irregular periods and so on.” I was heading into potentially dangerous territory but I was hoping that politeness would steer us clear of too much on that subject.
“Of course they do, I’m sorry, Julie.”
“When’s the baby due?” I asked changing the subject.
“Anytime now, they gave me the eighth as the actual day, but I don’t think I’ll go that long.”
“What is it–do you know?” Julie decided to stay rather than hide up in her room.
“Definitely a baby,” joked Maria and we all chortled, “though sometimes it feels like a baby elephant, an eight legged one, who delights on dancing on my bladder–talking of which–where’s the––?”
I directed her to the cloakroom.
“Can I go out on Auntie Stella’s bike, Mummy?” Danny was bored with the female company.
I looked at Stella who nodded, “If you take care and stay on the cycle path. Don’t go too far.”
“Thanks, Mum, Auntie Stel.” He was gone before Maria came back.
I glanced at my watch, she’d been gone ten minutes, a long wee? I’d wait a couple more minutes and then go and see.“D’you think she’s okay?” I asked Stella, it was now nearly fifteen minutes.
“Better check, I suppose.” She rose from the table and went to the cloakroom and I cleared up the dirty crocks.
Moments after I’d loaded the dishwasher Stella poked her head round the door and said, “Houston, we have a prarlm.”
“Wossup?”
“I think she’s going into labour.”
“Well you’re the expert, I’ve only delivered dormice.”
“C’mon, Cathy, I haven’t done anything for the last couple of years and that was advising people how to avoid the pox. I last did maternity, about seven years ago.”
“Stella, the only time I’ve been in maternity, I was the parcel being delivered.”
“You came to see me.”
“I was only visiting then.”
I accompanied her to the cloakroom, Maria was groaning. I then did the usual and inappropriate thing, “Are you alright, Maria?” it was quite obvious she wasn’t.
“My waters have broken and the contractions are coming thick and fast.”
“Is there anything you want me to do–call an ambulance?”
“Oh–OH, I think it’s coming.”
“We need to get her out of the cloakroom, Stella and we need an ambulance.”
More groans were emanating from behind the cloakroom door.
“Can I call your husband?” I asked in between groans. There was a horrible thump sound and the groans stopped.
“Maria, are you okay?” I shouted, “Can you open the door?”
A soft groaning noise came from the other side of it.
“I think she’s fallen off the toilet.”
“I’ll call the ambulance,” said Stella rushing back to the kitchen.
I stood looking at the lock on the cloakroom door, even if I managed to force it, she was likely to be lying behind it. Oh shit.
(aka Bike) Part 1076 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Call the police as well,” I shouted after her. My brain began to work again, time was of the essence–this woman could die and so could her baby.
I ran outside to the window, it had bars on it, on the outside and even if I could remove them, there was a lock on the inside of the quarter-light. Bugger, this was getting worse. Entry had to be via the door, how else could we do it? The door was solid, a proper wooden one. The floor was solid, the ceiling?
I tried to visualise what was directly above our cloakroom, the top of the stairs. I ran back out and grabbed a hammer and cold chisel, a wide one called a feathersplitter and designed for lifting things like floor boards. I remembered my dad lifting floorboards when he wired in something like a light. I rushed upstairs and by this time Julie had realised something was up.
Julie somehow understood my garbled message and helped me tear up the landing carpet, we ripped it back and began bashing the chisel with the hammer lifting up the ancient boards. The first was the hardest and by the time we had a second up we were getting the hang of it. Underneath, the ceiling was made of lath and plaster stuck on with horrible black mortar. I knocked a hole through and could see we were at least in the right place. I then smashed away for all I was worth, knocking a hole big enough for me to drop through. The mess down below was dreadful and Tom would have a fit when he came home.
Then finally, ruining a pair of CK pants and top, I wriggled through the hole feet first and lowered myself down on to the toilet cistern and then, via the pan to the floor. I wasn’t sure if Maria was breathing or not, and she was covered in the horrid black dust from the ceiling.
Moving her in the small space was going to be a challenge and I was trying not to hurt her then thought, what the hell, and yanked her leg out of the way, pulled open the door and, with Julie’s help, manhandled her out into the hall.
At this point several of the girls appeared to see what all the noise was. “Keep them away,” I shouted and Julie shooed them back into the lounge where they’d been playing. Stella went in with them, picking up Daisy and taking her with them despite her protests and screams for her mother.
We laid Maria on her back and I tried to see if she was breathing, there was vomit all down the front of her, so I really hoped she was. I asked Julie to get a cloth and some towels and she hared off faster than I’ve ever seen her run. She was back as I decided Maria had stopped breathing. I asked Julie to clean up her face and mouth, while I began chest compressions–apparently that’s what you do these days.
At this point the paramedic arrived, a single one on a motorbike, an ambulance was apparently on its way, stuck in traffic. With a stomach that really didn’t want me to touch her mouth, I held her nose and blew twice into her mouth, I saw the chest rise and fall.
I started the compressions again as the paramedic pulled out his scissors and began cutting open her dress, then her bra and I had to stop while he placed electrodes over various bits of her body and plugged them into his defibrillator. He urged me to continue, so I did, compressing her ribs and praying I wasn’t hurting the baby.
The machine decided it wasn’t ready to shock, and the young paramedic took over the compressions, really bashing them in, he pressed the machine again and after an electronic voice said, ‘analysing’ he continued. Then it told him to administer a shock, we stood clear and her body jolted with the force of the surge of energy.
He continued his compressions, and handed me a mask to put over her mouth and nose which had a bag attached, to breathe for her. I compressed the bag and I think I saw her chest rise. The machine suggested we had some heart activity and told us to stop. Her heart was beating and I felt such relief. I was tired and filthy dirty and had ruined goodness knows how much clothing, when the paramedic shouted at me to continue with the bag I nearly burst into tears.
The ambulance finally arrived and they loaded her up and drove off within moments, with words like Caesarean being mentioned. I sat in a heap and sobbed.
“Is she gonna make it?” asked Julie.
I shrugged, I had no idea–nor about the baby.
I called Maureen and asked her to come asap to examine the mess I’d made, and I went upstairs to shower–I felt so dirty. I also cleaned my teeth and used a mouthwash. My hair still damp, I dressed and went down to see to Daisy.
It’s so difficult explaining to a six year old what had happened; made more difficult by not knowing if either her mother or new sibling would survive the ordeal.
Using Maria’s mobile we managed to get hold of Paul and told him what had happened, he was in Northumberland and would take hours to get home. I told him to see about flying down from Newcastle to Southampton and someone would collect him. He told me he’d call me back on her mobile.
I took Daisy into the hospital to see if there was any news about her mother. The roads were as clogged, I suppose the kids were on holiday and every parent with a car was using it to block the roads. I’d have been quicker cycling but couldn’t have taken Daisy with me.
Whilst the reception staff were sympathetic, they couldn’t seem to get any news other than someone had been rushed into theatre who had come in by ambulance. We sat and waited.
When Paul phoned to say he could get a flight and be down around six in the evening, I told him Tom would collect him. I then phoned Tom and told him briefly what had happened. He immediately agreed to collect Paul and bring him to the hospital.
It seemed I only met Maria on emergencies, last time she’d crashed her car, and my bike had been wrecked. Back at home, Maureen had come, cleaned up the mess and relaid the floor boards. Apparently, the whole ceiling would need to come down and be replaced. She would do it next week but would need to speak with Tom first; or so Stella told us later.
We waited, cuddling together hoping that Maria and the baby would be okay. I was praying, but I’m not sure to who or what. Finally after we’d been there an hour or more, probably longer, I was called and led to an interview room. We walked hand in hand and I felt Daisy’s nails cutting into my skin, she was gripping so tightly.
We were taken into a small consulting room. “You are?” asked a man in blue scrubs.
“I’m Cathy Cameron, and this is Daisy, Maria Drummond’s daughter.”
“You’re a friend, I take it?”
“Yes, she was taken ill at my house, I had to smash in through the ceiling to get her out of my cloakroom, she’d fallen across the door.”
“Ah, that would explain why she was covered in black dust–lath and plaster I take it?”
I nodded, “Her husband’s in Northumberland but gets back to Southampton airport at about six, my father is going to collect him.”
He nodded, “Okay, the state of play is this–we have a very sick new born, who may or may not make it, and we have a very sick mother, who may or may not make it. It’s in the lap of the gods, I’m afraid. They’re both in intensive care. I’m sorry, but we’ve done what we can.”
“Can we see them?”
“You can see the mother, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for the young un, she’s pretty sick.”
“She’s dealt with it before, her mother had a nasty accident a year or so ago and ended up in the neurological unit at Southampton, Daisy was quite badly injured herself, weren’t you, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Auntie Cathy fixed my legs and helped Mummy, didn’t you?”
I blushed by way of an answer.
“This is the young lady whose legs spontaneously healed and she walked about a short while later?”
Blushing still, I nodded again.
“Are you the one who has done a few minor miracles here?”
“I wouldn’t say I did anything, but it seems to happen near me.”
“Right, young woman–Nurse, take her up to see Mrs Drumond and also to the baby if she can. I have to go, another emergency–do what you can, eh?”
(aka Bike) Part 1077 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Maria Drummond was asleep or unconscious with a large dressing across her tummy, presumably where the caesarean section had been performed. I held Daisy close to me and felt her body tremble as she whimpered, “Mummy,” and began to sob.
“C’mon girl, let’s see if we can help her get better.” I said to her and gave her a squeeze.
“Like you did before?” she looked up at me with big, round red eyes framed by tears.
“Like we did before,” and before she could challenge the, we, I reminded her that it was her who insisted I help her mother last time.
I sent her round the bed and told her to hold her mother’s hand. I clasped the other one and watched suspiciously by the nurse, began talking to Maria.
“Maria, it’s Cathy, remember you were in my house when you were taken ill. Your baby is born and is fine, so we need you to concentrate on getting well again, so you can look after your two lovely children. Daisy is here with me, and between us we’re going to make you well again.
“At this moment, you are surrounded by a blue light...”
“I can see it, Mummy,” squealed Daisy, “it’s very pretty and sparkly.” I smiled at her description.
The nurse was less enthusiastic but equally impressed, “Holy shit,” she exclaimed, “How do you do that?”
I closed my eyes and ramped up the power–well, I imagined it was flowing through me to my patient and that it was concentrating where it was needed and healing all the parts of Maria which were damaged.
She’d been without oxygen for several minutes, so was she brain damaged? How damaged was she inside with a baby on its way down her canal only for it to become stuck as she passed out? Had all the placenta come away and was she bleeding internally, not to mention her body chemistry and the effects of anaesthetics and other drugs.
I asked the blue light to correct all that wasn’t healthy and my whole body tingled with the power as it moved through me. I lost an awareness of where I was and began to float into a dark space where the only light was coming from me. I was aware I was wearing a Persil white gown and my wings carried me effortlessly to where I needed to be.
Floating before me was a baby girl, she was attached by a long thin string of light to something which I assumed was her physical body. The distance was increasing by the moment as she floated up past me and nearly out of sight, the cord holding her becoming finer and more strained by the moment.
I flexed my wings and flew off after her, realising how important time was, and how fast she was drifting upwards. I was flying at my fastest speed and I became anxious I was too slow, and she would pass from the physical world into this void of darkness.
I redoubled my efforts, throwing love and light at her, trying to pull her back or slow down her progress. I closed in on the infant, and after what seemed like hours later clasped her to me, careful not to break the silver cord which attached her.
I kissed her and transferred some light into her flaccid body and as I swooped down carrying her ethereal body back to her physical one, I talked to her–telling her that in few moments she would feel a horrible pain as she rejoined her body, but that would be necessary for her heal and for her to start breathing. I kissed her again, told her she was much loved and allowed her physical body to draw her ethereal one back into itself. I stood alongside as the two merged and she cried, causing a midwife to look up and come rushing over to the incubator. I knew she was going to be safe now and sped back to her mother.
Maria was lying motionless, her body monitored and assisted by machines. Daisy was clasping her mother’s hand in both of hers and praying for her mother to recover and wake. I could see my own body sitting in a trance holding on to Maria’s other hand.
Standing at the foot of the bed was a large dark thing–yes, thing. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was moving onto the bed and was going to suck the life out of Maria. I placed myself in front of it between its rank presence and the body of my patient. I could feel it trying to make me disappear, I looked and the blue light was fading inside me and I felt myself growing weaker.
“Mummy, you must get better–please Auntie Cathy, please help her,” Daisy wailed and I focused my attention once again on protecting Maria from this vampire.
Once more I felt the darkness trying to crush me, and I imagined a lamp inside me being turned up, being transformed from a little candle into a hugely powerful mercury vapour lamp. It took several moments and I thought I was going to succumb to the darkness, then gradually I managed to concentrate more and more on the light increasing to the point my eyes were hurting it was so intense.
Suddenly, there was a surge of the power as if the sun itself had come to visit us and I heard an enormous bang, then all the machines began beeping furiously and the nurse was rushing round like the proverbial blue-arsed fly.
“Auntie Cathy,” I heard a voice calling me back into myself, and I slowly opened my eyes.
“Hello, Poppet, did I nod off?”
The machines had stabilised as sister came into the room and switched them off and back on.
“What the hell happened?” she asked the nurse.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?” gasped the nurse who looked rather pale.
“Try me,” demanded the sister.
“I don’t know if I can describe it, but the lady sat by the bed seemed to be throwing out this blue light all over the patient and her daughter.”
“What d’ya mean throwing?”
“Well this blue light came out of her and into the patient, then she had this thing standing behind her.”
“What thing?”
“I dunno, some tall thing with wings, like an angel–whose smile and eyes made me feel very strange.”
“Oh come off it, you’ve been watching too much bloody Dr Who.”
“No, honestly, I felt reassured that everything would be alright. Then the machines began to show the patient was in distress but I couldn’t move to do anything, like I was held by some invisible force. Then the angel seemed to be fading and I began to wonder if the patient was dying. That seemed to last for ages, then suddenly everything went very cold and I felt the angel was growing bright again–then bang–there was like a power surge which made me see stars, the machines went bananas and the angel was gone, but the patient’s vitals were all normal, for the first time since she’s been here.”
“Mummy,” squealed Daisy, and we turned to look at the bed, Maria had opened her eyes and was smiling, albeit weakly at her daughter. Daisy hugged and kissed her mother. “I love you, Mummy,” she said.
“I love you too, flower,” she smiled back. She turned her gaze to the sister, “How is my baby?”
Before the sister could respond I interjected, “She’s fine.”
She looked over to me, “Thank you,” she said before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
(aka Bike) Part 1078 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Daisy spent the night at our house, Paul spent much of the evening with Maria, sitting at her bedside while she slept.
On the way out we went to see the baby, a little girl as I’d seen in my astral travels, as we were shown the baby, the nurse or midwife on the unit said loudly, “That’s her, how did she get in?”
“What d’you mean?” asked the senior midwife who’d shown us in.
“You know that child had breathing difficulties.”
“Yes,” agreed the senior midwife.
“Well, I heard the baby cry–I mean, I was more expecting the poor little mite to die and she–“ the woman pointed at me, “was standing there, with some tall white thing behind her, she looked straight at me, smiled and disappeared. How did she do that? The unit is locked to outsiders.”
“Clearly you were mistaken,” I tried bluffing, “I was sitting with my friend the child’s mother, and Daisy, the baby’s sister. I didn’t leave the room, did I Daisy?”
“No, Auntie Cathy, but the angel did.” She smiled, no, positively beamed at me. Never expect children to back you when you are obviously lying.
“I didn’t see any angels, Daisy, you must have dreamt it.”
“I did not, Auntie Cathy, it was you who fell asleep; remember?”
“Oh, maybe I did.” I smiled. Anyway, Sprog Drummond was doing all right, so Daisy and I went home and she slept in my bed, I kipped on the couch in the lounge. Well wouldn’t want the neighbours to talk.
Paul Drummond came round at about ten, he looked like someone who’d spent a night under a hedge, having lost a fight with a cat first.
He hugged me after he’d given Daisy the most all engulfing hug I’ve ever seen. The poor thing completely disappeared for several moments and I wondered if I’d have to do CPR. She popped out, crying with joy–her daddy was here, and she’d seen an angel and couldn’t wait to tell him.
I made them both sit down and gave him a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich, while she had some cereal and toast.
“Maria told me you’d pulled her back from the void, again–that’s twice now.”
“Tell her, third time unlucky–I won’t be allowed to do it again.”
“You won’t be allowed? Does someone give you orders?”
“It wasn’t I who saved her, the universe did–possibly because it has plans for her or has need of her. Maybe your new daughter is someone special.”
“You are assisted by angels, surely this means God sends you to help people.”
“A thousand people died in Pakistan this week, why should he save two people in Britain, one of whom is only hours old? Why didn’t he save the thousand and let the two perish?”
“I don’t know, do I?”
“Neither do I, and please don’t go on about mysterious ways, because it’s a load of cobblers.”
“But don’t angels belong to God, they work for him don’t they?”
This was a tedious argument, because I’d been through it before. “Angel comes from the Greek and means messenger. References to angels vary, what people see or experience is different, and that is as much a cultural reference as anything else.”
He looked blankly at me, “Lady Cathy, Daisy is six, she hasn’t had too much in the way of exposure to culture, has she?”
“She’s had enough, you’re Catholic, so there are images of angels everywhere, in churches, books, television, even the internet. She’ll have seen them. She experienced the energy of angelic form last night, it resonated with her and she interpreted that unconsciously with angels.”
“So, what are you getting at.”
“If you’d been brought up to believe it was something different, you see or feel something different. Most people are insensitive to natural energies, they screen or filter them out unless you tell them they’re there. Then, they see or feel all sorts of things–like fairies or sprites, or angels–depending on how they recognise their folk heritage.”
“I thought fairies were–um–fairy tales?”
“So where did the fairy tales originate and why are they so universal?”
“I don’t know–I’ve never thought about it before.”
“Are there any energies in this room?”
“I expect so, there’s electric appliances, so background radiation and so on.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, there’s you and me?”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Okay, there are two lines which run through this room, one goes that way and the other flows in the opposite direction. You can’t see them, can you?”
“No, of course I can’t.”
“But they’re there, right?”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
“Fine, I’ll show you them.”
“How are you gonna do that?”
“With these,” I picked up two brazing rods, in which the end had been bent over to produce a handle. “Dowsing rods.”
“You gonna find water?”
“You can find most things with these, so I am told. I have searched for water and pipes and wires. Our plumber showed me how to do it when I was a kid, I’ve done it on and off ever since. Oh this line is red, and that one is green.” I moved onto both lines and the rods moved to indicate flow. “Like to try?”
“I don’t know what this has got to do with Maria and our baby.”
“Nothing, but I’m trying to prove a simple point at the moment.”
I showed him how to loosely hold the rods and they moved in his hands, he was less sceptical now. I showed him how to get the rods to indicate direction of the energy. He was quite impressed. Sceptics always are when they can’t explain something.
“They are picking up on energy, probably electromagnetic and possibly caused by water movement, or the spinning of the earth or some other such mechanism. Let’s face it, the earth is one big electromagnetic generator–a gigantic dynamo. It has pathways for the energy to move, over a sort of grid system, these are two such lines.”
“Can you dowse for angels?”
“I expect so, although I can’t say I ever have; you can try if you want. I’ll see if I can call up the energy. Stand away from the lines and when you feel something is happening see if the rods will point to it. Ready?”
He nodded, and I sat down and began to think about Maria and her baby, I felt the energy coming, flowing into me and I heard him mumbling something to himself and standing at various angles to me. I became aware of the mysterious tall creature which was almost overshadowing me, as they say in mediumistic circles.
“Bloody hell,” I heard him say and it broke my concentration. The presence faded.
“Something wrong?”
“No, I saw it with my own eyes, I looked into her eyes and I felt reassurance and peace, my family will be okay. Thank you, Cathy, you might not think it but you do God’s work.”
“I’d have to disagree on the semantics.”
“You know what I mean, those eyes were so beautiful, they were so full of love.”
“Shouldn’t they be?”
“The universe doesn’t love anyone.”
“How do you know?”
“How can it?”
“Same way your god does, only I see positive energy instead of anthropomorphised love.”
“But those eyes were love, absolutely full of it.”
“Did you ask them why all those people died in Pakistan–and please don’t tell they were the wrong religion, because to me they’re all wrong.”
“No I didn’t.”
“I think we’d better leave it there. I’m not trying to disprove anything, just enabling you to see things differently if you want to.”
(aka Bike) Part 1079 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What would you like to do with Daisy?” I asked Paul.
“I don’t know, I hadn’t really given it much thought, I’m afraid.”
“She can stay here, assuming she wants to, until you have organised yourself and Maria. There’s no hurry to take her back for the moment, unless either you or she feel a need.”
“I can’t believe someone would walk into my life and save my daughter and my wife, then do it again with a different daughter.”
“Oh well, sorry if I’m becoming predictable.”
“Predictable? You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met you are so generous that I feel overwhelmed.”
“I’m sorry, if you’d rather take Daisy and go.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. Forgive me, I sound ungrateful for all the help you’ve given us–it isn’t true. The truth is I feel embarrassed because I shall never be able to pay back the things you have given us...”
I put my finger to my lips to indicate he should be quiet.
“You owe me nothing, I was simply being a good neighbour and there is nothing to forgive. Now, go and see Daisy and talk it over with her and see what suits you both best. Either way, I won’t be offended.”
He went off to speak with his daughter and I cleared up the remains of the dishes and started the machine. I saw them go out to the garden, possibly for some privacy and Trish came in to see me.
“Is Daisy going to stay with us, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. If she does, it’s only until she can go home with her parents.”
“Yes I know that, Mummy. If she does, she can sleep with us.”
I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, given Trish’s little anomaly, and as for them all in the bath or shower together–that was a definite no-no. I quickly explained this to Trish, who understood very quickly what I meant.
If Daisy did stay, then I might need to reorganise the sleeping arrangements for the period. I tried to think what I should do.
Billie came in and asked if we would ride tomorrow, I told her that I wasn’t sure, as it would depend upon whether or not Daisy stayed with us. If she didn’t, then we’d do so again as soon as we could.
Just then Danny came in and asked to borrow Stella’s bike and I mentioned Billie wanted to ride, so he went off to find her. Trish thought she was missing something and asked where Billie and Danny were going. I told her and she wanted to go as well. I asked her to wait until I could take her myself. She shrugged, ‘Okay’ and went back to whatever she was doing before.
I was making bread–actually, I wasn’t, I was filling the machine to make some more as we were down to less than half a loaf. I looked in the freezer, we had some shop bought bread, which could mean I did something on toast, like eggs or sardines for lunch. Before then I needed to know if Paul and Daisy were staying for lunch. However, I didn’t like to interrupt them.
I began to poke about in the freezer, I was sure some of this stuff had been in here since the last ice age, ten thousand years ago. However, I didn’t find any bag or tub labelled Woolly Mammoth in Tom’s inimitable hand. I did uncover some ice cream which was probably stored during the Devonian period, when the country was a hot desert. This cold dessert had shrivelled to a creamy yellow goo which would probably stick down ceramic floor tiles. I chucked it in the bin before it began marching across the floor and ate the dog.
Paul and Daisy walked back in while I was reaching in to the bottom of the old chest freezer, as opposed to the standing fridge-freezer. Daisy came rushing in shouting, “Auntie Cathy,” just in time to see me lose my footing and fall headlong into the wretched appliance and the lid shut on top of me.
It was dark, I was wedged upside down with ice particles from the lid going down the back of my tee-shirt, my face was also dangerously close to some unknown fish component that was probably as old as I was.
The lid lifted and Paul peered inside. “Are you okay?”
“I think I’ll finish the rest of my yoga practice somewhere warmer, if you don’t mind.”
He laughed and helped me out, grabbing the back of my jeans and yanking. I thanked him and wiped my hair with a towel.
“You do lead an exciting life, Lady Catherine,” he said.
“I know, I’m trying to cut down on the adrenalin but it seems to follow me round. How about some tea?”
He nodded and I went and made some. I waited for him to broach the subject and made small talk, which bores me silly.
“If your offer still stands, could you have Daisy for a few days until we get the baby and Maria home. Then I’ll take over.”
“Of course. Is there anything Maria needs, toiletries, nightdresses and so on?”
“No, I’ll go home and get all those and some more stuff for Daisy and I’ll take her in to see her mum, then bring her back here later, if that’s okay with you?”
“Of course. Will you both need to eat–later I mean?”
“I hadn’t even thought of food to be honest.”
“I’ll do some dinner for six o’clock.”
“That would be brilliant. Look, I hope you don’t mind, but we’re thinking of calling our daughter, Catherine.”
I blushed, “Not after someone I know is it?”
“She’s a bit of a saint in her own way.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t know her then.”
“You don’t mind do you?”
“I’d feel honoured.”
Now he blushed, “It was Maria’s idea; she said without your help, neither of them would be here.”
“An exaggeration, I’m sure.” Cor, it was getting warm in here.
He went off with his daughter and I thought of my girls' relationship with Simon. Part of me felt a little jealous–a father daughter relationship is something special. He took Maria’s car, which had been in the drive since she’d arrived in it with Daisy.
I spent the rest of the time with Julie and Stella, moving beds and things to different rooms. I agreed in the end that Daisy could sleep in the same room as the three younger girls and impressed upon them about Trish’s and Billie’s secret. So while Daisy was here there’d be no mass baths or showers, and I wouldn’t be showering with them either. There were grumbles but I explained that her parents might do things differently, and while there were no rights and wrongs in how people dealt with nudity within the family, families were different, and we’d play safe. I think they understood–Mima was always the one who concerned me. She had a very perplexed look upon her face.
“Woss wong wiv Biwwie’s wiwwie? She awways had one? So has Twish.”
Oh boy, some days I think I’ll do something simple like peace envoy in the Middle East or Afghanistan.
(aka Bike) Part 1080 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I think Meems eventually understood what I was trying to say about keeping some secrets in the family, securely in the family. It had probably taken about ten or fifteen minutes–it felt as if it had reduced my life expectancy by as many years. Oh well, if she blabs, she blabs. I’ll kill her later and feed her to the stuff in that ice cream tub–I’m sure it’s a manifestation of The Blob or Creature from the Black Lagoon. You can see how I spent some of my grant–watching B-movies at the SU film club.
I remember coming out from watching a film at the student’s union based on a story by John Wyndham, which we all thought was triffid. We saw Myra Breckenridge amongst others, and I dreamt about looking like Raquel Welch–if only–that would have been an Incredible Journey, wouldn’t it? I suppose I shouldn’t complain, I’ve done alright really–in fact I’ve done better than most genetic females when I look at all my blessings–but this won’t get dinner cooked so I’d better get stuck in.
I roasted a chicken for dinner, and with our assembled throng, the poor little five pounds of cluck, wouldn’t go very far, so I added some sausage meat stuffing mixed with mushrooms and sage and onion. I roasted a whole kilo of potatoes, and did carrots and broccoli for the other veg. The dessert would be strawberries and cream if anyone survived the main course. I didn’t bother with a starter–for ten or otherwise.
At six the meal was ready and we waited for our guests. Tom was back from uni, Stella had scrubbed Puddin’ until she shone, my lot were washed and dressed in suitably clean clothes, even I had changed so I no longer resembled a refugee from Oxfam. I was wearing a skirt for a change and Stella, who was in trousers, kept calling me a tranny–until Julie had a word with her and she blushed and apologised. One day she’ll grow up and I’ll wake up and find the past three years has been a dream.
At half past six, I aborted politeness and we served dinner. I dished up two portions and kept them in the cooler oven of the Aga. I was surprised at Paul’s lack of communication, he had a mobile, I’d called it from Maria’s.
We all ate and I saved some strawberries and cream for them to follow the two meals which were beginning to dry up a little despite me covering them. I rang the hospital while Julie made drinks for everyone.
“Hello, it’s Cathy Cameron–I’ve been expecting Paul Drummond to come here for dinner and drop off his daughter as she’s supposed to be staying for a few days; so he could spend more time with Maria and the baby. Nothing has gone wrong with either has it?”
“As you’re not a relative I can’t give you any info about our patients, but we haven’t seen Mr Drummond all day.”
“Are you sure? He left here before lunch and took Daisy with him to collect some clothes to bring back with her so she could stay here for the next few days.”
“I’m pretty sure, hang on I’ll go and check for you.” She went off and I could hear various hospital noises in the background–I could almost smell the tangy antiseptic odour which also tends to linger especially in older hospitals. “No, he hasn’t been in since he left this morning.”
“If he does come in, could you ask him to call me, he should have my number.”
“I’ll leave a message with Mrs Drummond for him to call you.”
“Thank you.” I rang off wondering about the wisdom of telling her anything, she’ll probably worry herself sick now.
I’d put the girls to bed and was gazing at the empty bed in their room when Tom came up the stairs, “Cathy, I think ye’d better come doonstairs.”
He had a very grave look on his face and my tummy flipped over as I followed him down the stairs. In the hallway stood PC Andy Bond and he didn’t exactly look happy with life.
“Andy,” I said acknowledging his presence.
“Lady Cameron,” he replied in a very formal manner.
“To what do we owe this honour?” I joked trying to lift the gravity of the situation.
“It’s no honour–we found your address amongst the wreckage of a car.”
My whole body shook and Tom put his arm round me.
“What happened?”
“We’re making enquiries at the moment, hence my visit here.”
“Was it a small red one, the car I mean?”
“It was a Peugeot 105 and it was red.”
“What time was this–the accident I mean?”
“About eleven thirty. There were no survivors.”
The room spun round and round and I felt myself fall backwards. Tom caught me, or at least slowed down my descent and Andy grabbed me before I hit the deck. I found myself sitting on the hall carpet, propped against the wall with my head bent over a bucket and Stella rubbing my cheek.
“C’mon, Cathy, you’ve had a bit of a shock.” My response–to throw-up my dinner into the bucket.
My head was pounding as I tried to integrate the new information into the data base stored between my ears. I think they were trying to tell me that Daisy and Paul were involved in an accident and neither survived it.
“She was six years old,” I said and the tears started, “and he’d just got a new baby.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Catherine, but that’s how it looks. We’ve obviously been to the registered address but there’s no one there.”
“No there wouldn’t be, his wife’s in hospital, she’s just had a baby.”
“In Portsmouth?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll need to inform her.”
“She’s been very ill herself, this could cause a relapse.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s my duty to inform the next of kin.”
“Even when it might add to the body count?”
“We tell the hospital, it’s up to them what happens after that.”
“Are you sure it was Paul and Daisy?”
“The bodies of a man and child were found in the red Peugeot, and an elderly couple died in the other vehicle.”
“What happened?”
“A head-on collision. No survivors. We’re still trying to put together the events leading up to the accident. I’ll need to inform any other family.”
“I got the impression that there weren’t any other family, but I’m not sure.”
“We’ll check with the hospital.”
“Ask them if they want me to come in to be with her.”
“Is she a close friend?”
“Not until very recently, but if there’s no one else I’m available.”
“Thanks–are you going to be alright, Cathy?” His concern meant he forgot his formality for a moment.
“I’ll be okay, I hope Maria and baby Catherine will be.”
Andy Bond left and I sat and howled, by myself in the kitchen. Life was such a bitch and all that stuff about the universe and positive energies was total fucking crap. How could there be anything positive about this shit hole we call earth when little girls die in such horrid circumstances. Where’s the justice in that? Where’s this bloody god they all believe in? Some fucking good he did.
I sat and cried and fumed and ranted at the dishwasher–well, it was as useful as anything else to shout at. Finally, I sat and cried and was actually dozing I think when Stella came in.
“The hospital’s phoned...” she said.
(aka Bike) Part 1081 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“The hospital?” I asked almost absently, to say I felt distracted would be an understatement of herculean proportions.
“Yes, the hospital, apparently Maria is asking for you.”
“What can I do? The poor man went off to his death thinking that his god had reassured him that he and his family would be okay. What can I do except mislead people?”
“Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself, you didn’t cause the accident–but you can help the surviving members of the family.”
“But he thought he saw an angel.”
“That’s in the past, Cathy, let’s focus on the present and plan for the future shall we?”
“But he was misled.”
“So bloody what? Forget it and go and help Maria and her baby, she needs you more than ever.”
“What if she doesn’t know–about the accident–I mean.”
“She does.”
“How do you know?”
“The police told her.”
“Why? That has to be the biggest act of insensitivity I can think of–what are they playing at? Trying to kill her?”
“I don’t know, but she is asking for you.”
“I’ll go in the morning.”
“You are going now–go on, get off your misery train and go and help her and her lovely baby.”
“How d’you know she’s a lovely baby?”
“All babies are lovely.”
“To their mothers.”
“Yes, to their mothers.”
“I was apparently an ugly little sod.”
“Nothing new there then–go on, d’you want me to call you a cab?”
“No, I think I can find the hospital, I seem to spend half my life there.”
“Yeah, well drive carefully–remember you have six kids not counting Simon.”
“Okay, I’m not going to alleviate my guilt by killing myself.”
“What guilt? You didn’t do anything you stupid cow, now go and see if you can help Maria.”
“If I hadn’t invited her that day, none of this would have happened.”
“Don’t talk so ridiculously.”
“Well it’s true.”
“Where’s your evidence? It’s poor logic, Cathy, and even worse science.”
“It’s cause and effect. If she hadn’t come here she wouldn’t have been taken ill, the baby would have come on time and Paul and Daisy wouldn’t have driven on that road and been killed.”
“So what about the sun?”
“The sun, are we talking big ball of fire in sky or raggy newspaper?”
“I was thinking solar powered celestial object, but it might also apply to the tabloid toilet paper.”
“Yeah, so? I see no relevance to either.”
“Well they both came out that morning, so they must be responsible too.”
“Stella, I was talking to the man shortly before he died.”
“So? How do you know the others weren’t as well?”
“That is fallacious logic.”
“So is yours–unless you directly caused his accident, you can’t be guilty of anything but self-centred, self indulgence.”
“Don’t hold back anything here, Stella, let it all out.”
“Oh I will, now get over to that hospital before it gets too late.”
I did as she told me–well, twice in my life doesn’t show any traceable patterns does it? Of course I went to ICU only to be referred to maternity and thence to Obs & Gynae. I’d probably walked about half a mile by the time I found her.
“Visiting was over hours ago,” said the nurse as I walked up to the nurse’s station.
“I was asked to come to see, Maria Drummond.”
“Who are you–some sort of counsellor?”
“More of a friend.”
She went off to speak with a colleague. “You’re that freaky woman who does strange things, aren’t you?”
“Do you mean like writing letters of complaint about impertinent nursing staff? If so, that’s me.”
The nurse went bright red and momentarily shook with anger, then controlled herself and her stupid tongue and told me she’d go and see if Maria was still awake. She was gone a few minutes and I began to wonder if I was wasting my time.
“This way,” said the snotty nurse leading me down to a private room.
“Any chance of a cuppa? I’m sure Maria would love one too.” I asked not so much as a deliberate wind up but because I felt in need of one.
She glowered at me but after shrugging went off I hoped to make one for us.
Maria was lying in bed and looked about bad as I felt. It wasn’t so much that she had an air of gloom and despondency and unfathomable sadness, so much as she seemed to personify those human emotions.
She looked up and saw me, then burst into tears, “Oh, Cathy, what am I to do?”
“I am so sorry this has happened.” I said hugging her and we both cried for several minutes.
“Why? Why has God done this to me?”
“I don’t think it works like that, Maria, it’s just one of those things–an accident.” Either that or the Demi-urge is as imperfect as the Gnostics claimed.
“But why save us, the baby and I, for the two most wonderful people to be taken instead?”
“Like I said, Maria, I don’t think it works like that.”
“Is that because you have no faith?”
“No, funnily enough but it does enable me to see it slightly more clearly as simply some bad luck, a random accident which could happen to anyone at any time.”
“But why us, and why now?”
“The answer to that is, why not?”
“How can God let such awful things happen?”
“If there is one, and have grave doubts, perhaps he’s powerless to stop it?”
“How do you mean?” Then before I could say anything useful, she stopped and said, “Oh the Jesus model–he died for our sins, he stays with us in our suffering and somehow shares it–you are such a comfort, Cathy.”
How could I tell her that wasn’t any of how I meant things? Therefore, I didn’t, I just shrugged.
“When they told me, I wanted to die–but that’s sinful, isn’t it?”
“No, that’s normal and part of the grieving process along with the shock of receiving the news.”
“I can’t believe they’re dead.”
“Neither can I,” I agreed.
“Will you help me look after baby Catherine?”
“I’ll do what I can, did you have something particular in mind?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t fancy going back to that house–all it will do is remind me of those who aren’t there–and I don’t think I could stand it.”
“You’ll have to face it sometime, Maria, or let it dominate your life.”
“I know, but not just yet. I need time to take it on board.”
“I can understand that, it’s an enormous shock. Do you have any family you could stay with?”
She began to cry and shook her head. “They died in a plane crash when I was young.”
“Your parents?” I asked and she nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“I grew up in a children’s home and so did Paul, so we were determined to give our kids a normal family life in their own home. Why did God do this to me?”
“I don’t think it has to do with any gods, just two cars and some unfortunate driving.”
“Paul was such a good driver, so it must be the other one’s fault.”
“The accident investigation will show who if anyone was at fault.”
“Have I been so wicked to have all this punishment placed upon me?”
“Maria, I know they say Catholicism is founded on guilt, but none of this is a judgement on anyone. Can you think of anyone more innocent than Daisy? Is she being punished as well?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s done to punish me?”
“Maria, I can’t prove it, but I am sure that the system doesn’t work like that–didn’t your god say, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me?’”
“Yes and I know both Daisy and Paul are with Jesus now.”
How can I argue with that–even though there is no evidence for any of it–I suppose if it brings her relief, I’ll agree. I nodded and sniffed back the tears.
“Cathy, can I ask you a huge favour?” she said after pausing for a short time.
“Of course you can, though I can’t promise to deliver.”
“This you can, if you want to.”
I was intrigued by her question and its enigmatic rider. “Go on,” I added.
“If anything happens to me, will you look after my baby?”
You know that feeling when you sit on something cold and wet?–well it happened to me just then. “What’s going to happen to you?” I asked aghast at her suggestion.
“Nothing if I can help it, I have to live to look after my baby–but given what’s happened today, and my past record, would you–like bring her up, even adopt her.”
“But nothing is going to happen, Maria. Surely lightning can’t strike three times can it? I mean, the odds are infinitesimal.”
“I need to know, Cathy, for my own peace of mind–please, do this for me.”
“On the basis that you don’t do anything to accelerate any process–alright.”
“You surely don’t think–that’s a mortal sin, Cathy. I’d go straight to hell and never see my lovely daughter and my beautiful husband again.”
I nodded, in the hope it might just stop her doing something unfortunate to herself or the baby.
She became very tired and despite the cup that cheers eventually being delivered by another nurse, I left her to sleep and went home my head buzzing and my stomach churning.
(aka Bike) Part 1082 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I spent an anxious night dreaming about car crashes and being unable to prevent them. I kept seeing Paul and Daisy going off to their deaths and couldn’t make them hear me. I woke the next morning with Trish snuggled into the back of me.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked when she opened one eye to take a peep at me.
“You were making such noise, it was the only way I was going to get some sleep, Mummy.”
“What d’you mean?”
“When I came into bed with you, you calmed down and went to sleep.”
“Oh did I?”
“Yes,” she yawned.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about being mothered by a six year old. “I suppose that now we’re awake, we’d better get up and have some breakfast.”
“What time is it, Mummy?”
“Six o’clock, why?”
“I’m going back to sleep, night night.”
I turned over and cuddled round her, “Thank you, missy mouse.”
“Uh?”
“For being a lovely daughter.”
“Oh–you’re welcome,” she yawned and within a few minutes seemed to go off to sleep or was faking it. I stayed spooned round her and realised what Maria had lost, I wept silently for her and eventually slept myself.
Stella woke me with a cup of tea, which was nice of her. It was ten o’clock and Trish had gone down and had had her breakfast without waking me. They were all being very nice to me, but I still felt like shit.
I skipped breakfast and had Julie berating me–“It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“So how come you skip it, then?” I riposted.
“I don’t, Mummy, you won’t let me–so why should you be allowed to.”
“Because I’m the big cheese round here, that’s why.”
“That’s not fair,” she pouted.
“Tough, that’s what you signed up for–read the small print.”
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“That’s what they all say, but it’s a watertight contract.”
“What is?”
“I see, trying to use ignorance is bliss defence–that won’t stand up in court, either.”
“I’m going to play on the motorway it’s safer than arguing with you.” She turned on her heel and strode out of the room. I sniggered then ate a banana–apparently they contain vitamin C, potassium and calcium. I now contained it.
Lunch would be needing some planning, I shoved the bread machine on and while it was starting looked to see what I could use to make soup. I had some leeks and loads of potatoes, garlic and stock–we had a soup in all but completion.
While it was all cooking, I sat and read some of my Guardian. A new health scare, a Neolithic house and more misery from the government–nothing new there then. Maybe they should publish a headline as a wealth scare, although the way things were going only the wealthy will be able to live here–which is perhaps how the Tories would like it.
My phone peeped and one of my students sent me a link to the Daily Telegraph, I smiled as it appeared some dormice were holding up the planning process for a supermarket in Cornwall. They had a so called 'expert' sussing the place–pity they didn’t give me a shout. I like Cornwall, and maybe the events of the last couple of days would have been avoided.
No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t change the past; even Superman was pushed to make the earth spin backwards. Of course in doing so he’d have destroyed the planet and killed everyone but Lois Lane, but he was in love... That reminds me, I used to have a Superman tee at one time, can’t remember when I last saw it let alone wore it. Maybe I should find it, the kids would laugh–or would they? Have they seen or heard of Superman? Julie should have, but the others–I don’t know, maybe Danny, but the rest are too young.
I sat and did the crossword, well the easy one–and I struggled with that. The kids had either forgotten me or were under instructions to give me some space. I found some ironing that Julie hadn’t done and set to. A while later, it was all done and so was the soup and the bread. Hot bread with soup–it doesn’t come any better.
I called in rent-a-mob and we ate. They were all polite but no one said much about anything to me. I presume my recent experience was the elephant in the room, and no one was going to admit they could see it.
After lunch, I showered and went to see Maria. She looked ill, with dark rings under her eyes, mind you, I suspect I didn’t look much better. The baby looked to be improving and I hoped she’d make a suitable substitute for Daisy–not that anyone can replace a lost child.
She talked endlessly about the plans they all had, which were now consigned to the dustbin. She also asked me if I was strong enough to identify the bodies, as she wasn’t, and the police were pressing to start an inquest. My guilt made me agree to do it, although I berated myself all the way home. Surely things like dental records and the circumstantial evidence of the registered keeper of the car, was enough. However, I said I’d do it, so do it I would.
I left Maria after an hour, called the police on the way home and asked them if they could take me to and from home if I agreed to do it. Reluctantly they agreed, after whingeing that they weren’t a taxi firm, and I retaliated by informing them that I didn’t have to do this at all.
All the way to the mortuary I hoped that the bodies would be of someone else, I didn’t care who as long as I didn’t know them–then I realised that meant someone else would have had to die and if they had, where were Daisy and her dad?
I threw up–I couldn’t help it. It was them, only it wasn’t them any more–just empty bodies, cold and with unseeing eyes. I won’t describe the injuries, but that’s why I threw up. I wanted to hug the little mite, cold as she was but they told me it wasn’t a good idea. Instead I stroked her face and kissed her icy cheek. I also kissed Paul’s cheek and then left. I was distraught all the way home and had to go and lie down for an hour when I got home. Stella gave me a stiff brandy to drink and after a short time I fell asleep. She ordered a takeaway and my family dined while I slept.
They say if you kiss the dead, you don’t dream of them–it worked that evening and I slept right through the night, waking the next morning to find Bossy-boots once again my bedmate.
“Did I keep you awake last night?”
“Your snoring did for a time,” she yawned. I hugged her and told her I loved her.
“If it had been Daddy and me instead, would Maria have identified us for you?”
What a profound question from one so young–I hoped my answer was up to it. “No, I’d have had to do it myself.”
“I’m glad of that,” she said and I knew she was worried that her little secret could be revealed even after death. How sad is that?
(aka Bike) Part 1083 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next day was a Friday, and after dropping Julie off to the salon, Trish, Livvie and I did a supermarket shop. Not the most exciting thing to do, but they all like eating and someone has to bring home the bacon. As well as bacon, we bought eggs and loads of other things.
After lunch, would you believe a bacon sarnie, I went to see Maria and Trish asked me if she could come too as she’d liked Daisy. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not–she could construe it as demonstrating what she’d lost and I still had. However, Trish practically begged me to take her although I had to stop the others also coming, drawing the line at Trish.
I let her dress as she wanted; she wore jeggings with a dress over the top and her trainers. Not my idea of fashion, but I suppose it’s the generation gap thing. I put her hair in a plait and we left. Oh I was in what I think the ‘mericans call clam diggers, but we don’t have many clams in Portsmouth, with a white cotton button up top over a lacy vest thing.
Why am I telling you this–well, on the drive to the hospital, I managed to get some chocolate down the front of the white top and ended up going in wearing just the vest–yeah, I know, I shouldn’t be eating chocolate but you can ask Trish about that, she brought it with her.
Maria looked even lower in spirits than the day before, if that was possible. She looked at us with dull eyes, that to me showed that her internal light was almost extinguished.
Trish walked up to her, put her arm around her and kissed her. Maria regarded her for a moment as if she’d just come out of a trance. “Daisy, is that you?”
Trish glanced at me and I wasn’t sure what to say, but she was working to her own agenda. “No, Maria, it’s Trish, Daisy’s friend.”
“Oh,” the tears began to roll down the woman’s face. “I thought you were Daisy for a moment.”
“I’m afraid Daisy isn’t here anymore, but I came to see you because you’re a nice lady and I know that you feel very sad.”
“Do I?” she replied almost vacantly, “I don’t think I feel anything anymore.”
“But you must, Maria, you have a baby who needs you.” I noticed that Trish maintained some sort of contact with Maria all the time she was talking–so I knew exactly what she was doing. I tried to visualise my own energy boosting that of my daughter, so as not to complicate things.
“What do you know? You’re too young to know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t know what you’re feeling, Maria, but I do know what it’s like to lose my mummy.” She paused for this to sink in, “And if Mummy Cathy hadn’t found me, I know my life wouldn’t have been as happy as it is. I’d have been very sad all the time and maybe want to stop living.”
“That’s how I feel; I want to stop living and having all this pain.”
“That’s how I felt, Maria,” Trish was gently rubbing her hand up and down Maria’s back, “I never ever thought I’d feel good or happy again. I was sent to a children’s home where they bullied me and one day one of the boys pushed me down the stairs and I hurt my head and my legs wouldn’t work. It was horrid.”
Maria was looking at this little girl–this amazing little girl–with the stirrings of something in her eyes. She put her arm round Trish and pulled her close. “I had to go to a children’s home too, my parents were killed in a plane crash. My daddy was an engineer, quite a clever one and he was going out to Africa to help them do something or other and Mummy went with him, for a week or two–“ she looked into the distance; “the plane crashed into a mountain.”
“You were left on your own?” said Trish with eyes as big as dinner plates.
“I was staying with our neighbours and they told me I couldn’t stay with them any longer, so they put me in a home. I hated it, I ran away twice.”
“I did that too, but they caught me,” said Trish, “an’ I didn’t have any treats for a month.”
I sat totally transfixed by this child prodigy who was finding ways to communicate with this bereft woman that I’d never have thought of, and I knew she’d been in a home as a child. I wondered how much of it was innate or even instinctual and how much was from somewhere else. Did the blue energy which she was pushing into Maria, help her to plug into Maria’s needs and so approach her through them? Whatever was happening, it was fascinating to watch.
“When did you leave the home?” asked Trish.
“When I was nineteen, I met Paul–he was at another home and it was love at first sight. We got married two months later and lived in a pokey little flat. He got some qualifications and I got pregnant, but our lives seemed to take off and we moved to a small but modern house and managed to afford his dream car–the Subaru. It was too fast for me and I crashed it, ended up in Southampton neuro unit where I would have died if your new mummy hadn’t helped me.”
“I still couldn’t walk when they sent me back to the home and Dr Rose asked Mummy to take me for a short time to see if she could get me walking. I didn’t really care–I thought if I couldn’t walk they wouldn’t bully me. I met my new mummy and we had the same surname, which was funny.”
They both chuckled at this. “Like a sort of sign, was it?”
“I don’t know, but she was such a lovely lady but she’s sneaky, she tricked me into walking by having Mima leave a pair of high heeled shoes in the lounge and then she teased me into trying them.”
“Cathy teased you?”
“No, Mummy wouldn’t do a thing like that, it was Mima who teased me. Mummy had me walking by the end of the day.”
“Your sneaky mummy didn’t bring you to get round me, did she?”
“Oh no, she isn’t clever enough to do that–coming to see you was my idea.”
“Do I believe you, Trish?” asked Maria.
“It was her idea entirely. I didn’t think it was a good idea and then when she got chocolate on my top, I began to wonder if it was a big mistake. It seems not.”
“I can’t believe a child of six could reach inside me like that and light something which I thought was dead.”
“When I went for judicial review regarding my fostering of Trish and Mima, because I fell out with a social worker who then was determined to stop me, Trish went after the judge and asked him to let her stay with me–she followed him into his chambers.”
“What? You didn’t, did you, girl?”
“I could see he was a nice man and that he liked my mummy, so I went and asked him–he was okay about it.”
“Wow, I can see you’re a real live wire.” Maria smiled and her eyes lit up perhaps from the energy provided by this live wire–whom I sometimes viewed as a loose cannon, probably self loading and computer controlled. “Will you come and see me again?”
“If you promise to get better, I will.”
“I’ll try.”
“Is that a promise?” asked Trish.
“Yes, okay–it’s a promise.”
“Then I will, remember you have a baby to look after.”
“I know, Trish, I know.” Maria looked at me, “Does she always work you like this?”
“No, she’s been especially gentle on you–just don’t play cards or chess with her and never for money.”
“Awwww Mummmmeeeee,” complained a certain young lady.
(aka Bike) Part 1084 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Are you going to help Maria, Mummy?” Trish asked as we drove home.
“If I can–but you know that already. Why did you ask?”
“If she doesn’t want to live at her house any more, she could stay with us.”
“Trish, if we have any more people staying at our house it will look like an evacuation centre for refugees. All we need is for someone to turn up with their goat...”
“It would eat all Gramps vegetables and flooers as he calls them.”
“Probably, they tend to be quite good at eating all the things they’re not supposed to.”
“It would be quite nice to have our own billy-goat. We could call it Gruff, like the fairy tale. Would we get milk from it? People have goat’s milk don’t they?”
“I’m afraid Billy-goats don’t give milk, they’re boys.”
“Does that mean I won’t have milk, because I’m a boy too, really?”
“Um–usually lactation–that’s producing milk occurs after pregnancy.”
“Oh,” Trish looked down at the foot well of the car.
“I’m not sure why you’d want to, but in theory, it is possible to cause some male breasts to produce milk, by giving the right hormones.”
“So I could do it then?”
“Shall we say it’s not impossible, and leave it at that.” I had no idea why she should suddenly be wanting to breast feed and I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask. If and when she was ready, she’d tell me.”
“When can I start taking the pills to make milk, Mummy?”
I nearly ran into the back of a van in front of me. “What did you say?”
“Maria is going to need help feeding her baby and it would help if I could do some for her.”
I wanted to scoop her up in a hug and squeeze her to show how much I loved her. “That’s very kind of you, Trish, but I think Maria knows what she’s doing and the healing you gave her seemed to do her a lot of good.”
“I did do some good, didn’t I, Mummy?”
More than you’ll ever know, sweetheart; “Yes, darling, you did lots of good.”
“Why did you tell her not to play me at chess?”
“I was joking with her, it was a way of playfully telling her how clever you are.”
“Am I clever, Mummy?”
Only about two points below genius–“Yes, darling, you’re very clever.”
She smiled and clapped her hands together and I could see her milk teeth in the rear view mirror and I had to consciously remember that this was a six not a sixteen year old.
“I think Maria would do nicely,” she whispered to herself.
“Do nicely at what?”
She hadn’t meant me to hear that bit and she went a lovely shade of pink. “Um–nothing, Mummy.”
“Tricia Watts, don’t tell fibs, spit it out.”
She went even deeper pink and finally spluttered her way through her idea that Maria could help me in the house and I could do some dormouse counting. Seeing as I’d been thinking along similar lines I wasn’t sure if this was convergent thinking or what.
However, the first priority was to get her well again and the baby safely looked after, the whys and wherefores were less important at this stage. Once she was well again, then we could see what she wanted to do–she could turn us down.
“When can I take the pills then, Mummy–to give me milky titties,” she thought that was very funny and chuckled away to herself.
“When you’re grown up, if you grew milk carrying breasts you’d look like a hunchback in a fortnight, assuming you didn’t fall flat on your face at the beginning. Personally, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“I just want to be like a mummy, Mummy.” She looked hurt by my remark as if she’d said something wrong.
“You can do the same as I’ve done, fostering or adopting children who need mummies and or daddies.”
“But you don’t have any babies.”
“No, I have you and the others instead, and I wouldn’t swap you for anyone.”
I glanced in the mirror and she was smiling through very watery eyes.
*Authors note — Owing to my bike crash earlier today, I’ve had to cut this one short as my leg is hurting and distracting me, oh and Bonzi was seen bringing a saw into the kitchen.
(aka Bike) Part 1085 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I wondered what would happen about funerals for Paul and Daisy, as they would need post mortems and inquests. Officially it wasn’t my problem, but seeing that woman in that hospital bed looking forlorn until Trish did her magic, made me realise that she would need support to get through it all. In some ways I’d be delighted if she had someone who could help her organise it, but I very much doubted it; which meant yours truly would get involved. I never learn do I?
In my short lifetime, perhaps the most important of the parables from the New Testament is that of the Good Samaritan. I was brought up to believe in helping others — we collected money for starving people in Africa, for oppressed peoples in other places–it seemed the only people my parents wouldn’t help were those who were different.
So gays, transgendered and others of different life choices were seen as beyond the pale; which attitude presumably they chose, my parents that is. So while they raised money for people in Africa they’d never met, they couldn’t even raise a smile for their transsexual child because I’d chosen the wrong path.
We all make judgements about people, if they appear to be a threat or a friend, or a potential mate at the most basic of levels, but to my mind being judgemental is plain wrong and when I am judged by others and they make an erroneous job of it, I really enjoy proving them wrong.
Anyway, with my upbringing to believe in the story of the man from Samaria who would be a second class citizen to most Judeans or Galileans, I felt a comfortableness–I too was second class citizen or outsider to most normal people. But the important thing was despite this being how we might be perceived it didn’t affect my capacity to do what I considered as good deeds for others. A belief I still have.
I was running these things through my mind when Stella offered me a cup of tea. I knew that she too could be as helpful except she perhaps wasn’t as practised in the art of noticing other’s needs, perhaps she wasn’t needy herself.
“Are you collecting Julie?”
I looked at my watch, I had an hour to go before I needed to. “Yeah, I’ll do it, I just want to sort my emails and do a bit of the survey stuff.”
“Don’t forget the time,” she said handing me the mug of tea.
“I’ll set my phone alarm,” I replied but forgot. The result was that Julie phoned and I then had to rush to collect her while she waited outside the salon wearing a very short skirt and footless tights.
“You’re late,” she said crossly to me.
“I’m sorry, I got into something and the time just flew.”
She huffed and puffed, “Can’t wait till I’m seventeen and I can get a car of my own.”
I felt the same, but I thought I’d challenge her assumptions. “You could always cycle to the salon.”
“What? It must be at least ten miles.”
“It’s three,” I corrected.
“I’d be all sweaty and smelly.”
“Not if you didn’t rush.”
“What about in the rain.”
“You can get waterproofs.”
“No thank you, I’d rather walk.”
“Shall I stop the car so you can get some practice in?”
“Mummy–why are you being so mean to me?” She pouted and looked about eleven.
“I’m not. How much have you saved towards a car?”
“Nothing yet, why?”
“I suppose you were hoping you’d find Simon in a generous mood were you?”
“Maybe,” she blushed, “Or you’d let me borrow yours.”
“Think again,” I said feeling protective of my little Merc. We’d have to get her an old banger if we did allow her to drive.
“Huh–that’s just typical isn’t it? I’ll bet you got to drive your mother’s car.”
“Yes I did.”
“So why can’t you continue the tradition?”
“My mother’s car was an old Ford Escort not a Mercedes. If I’d bashed it, it wouldn’t have mattered too much, but if this car was damaged it would cost a lot to repair.”
“Oh I see, so it’s all about money is it, not about your daughter’s happiness or safety.”
Oh this was such good teenage guilt throwing–didn’t I do some at her age, although I could never be as honest with my parents. I can remember having a row with my dad about getting driving lessons.
“What’s wrong with your bike–plus if it breaks down you can usually repair it.”
“If I was a girl I bet you wouldn’t be saying that, would you?”
“Charlie, you aren’t a girl, except maybe you nag and whinge like one, so the point is irrelevant.” Ten years later he had to reassess the situation and in fact gave me his car.
Perhaps I need to keep a more flexible attitude myself, although playing the good Samaritan didn’t necessarily mean splashing out for cars for wayward daughters.
“Let’s wait until you’re seventeen shall we and see what Daddy says.”
She looked at me in total disbelief, “Mummy, you weren’t like listening were you? I just like, said that, not two minutes ago.”
“Sorry dear, had to concentrate on the road,” I sighed with relief.
“What for the traffic?”
“Indeed.”
“There hasn’t, like, been any for ten minutes.”
“Ah but it’s all about anticipation–reading the road and being alert to it.”
She mouthed, ‘Bullshit’ and I smirked, she was right but there was no way I’d admit it.
“So I can go out tonight, then?”
“Go where?”
“I just told you, the other girls, we’re going out to celebrate Lyndsey’s birthday.”
“Where?”
“Some wine bar in town.”
“You’re not eighteen yet.”
“I’ll bet you used to go to pubs before you were eighteen.”
I did but got thrown out even after I was eighteen, being baby faced. I shouldn’t complain it’s done me good ever since.
“I tried but was never served, even at uni I used to be challenged and had to carry an ID card.”
“A bit of makeup would have sorted that.”
“I didn’t wear it in those days.”
“Why ever not?”
“My parents wouldn’t have approved.”
“Gor blimey, maybe I should be glad for small mercies then?”
“It might be useful to reflect upon that.” I hinted that her parents wouldn’t have approved either.
“In some ways you and Daddy are quite good parents, ya know.”
“Oh, I’m glad we get some things right.” I said while thinking, snotty little mare.
“Can I go then?”
“How are you going and coming back?”
“We’re gonna get a cab both ways.”
“Okay, if that’s how you do it, be home by half past midnight.”
“Oh, Mum, come off it, I’m not gonna be ready till nine.”
I glanced at the clock in the car, “It’s going to take you three hours to get ready?”
“Well–yeah.”
I shook my head, “Half past twelve is your curfew, if you’re not back you can kiss any support from me for your own car.”
“So, if I’m like, back home by half twelve you’ll like, help me get a car?”
“I’ll speak with Simon, that’s all I’m promising.”
“Yes,” she exclaimed and punched the air.
(aka Bike) Part 1086 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I realised that arguing with teenagers is like trying to prove a cat wrong–neither have any concept of it and both are entirely self-absorbed, it therefore becomes an object lesson in futility. However, if I strongly disagree on grounds of safety or morality, then I can be just as obstinate and I have greater fire-power via my some degree of holding the purse strings. Simon might be the banker, but I run the house even though Tom owns it.
I thought back to that first time I came here, when Tom asked me to be his hostess. How naive I was back then, how naive I am still, seeing myself as comparable with the Good Samaritan. I obviously have a healthy ego, which is probably necessary to make it through transition–you have to believe in yourself a certain amount or you ain’t gonna make it. Being reasonably presentable as what you are trying to portray helps, but it isn’t everything; at the same time I recognise the assistance I’ve had from my family–my current family, who have closed ranks and supported me more than I can ever repay.
“You’re looking wistful,” remarked Stella.
“I was thinking back to the first time I came to this house, Tom asked me to act as hostess to a very important dinner party.”
“He knew a bit of totty would give him the edge over the others.”
“I beg your pardon–bit of totty–explain yourself, madam.”
She sniggered then roared with laughter.
“Bitch,” I muttered and then laughed too.
“So who was there then?”
“The Under-Secretary of State for the Environment, some lovely Spanish chap who looked like Antonio Banderas, and some bloke from a bank whose name escapes me.”
“Oh, that bad, eh?”
“Well yeah, you see one banker see ‘em all.”
“Oh come off it, they can’t all be as boring as my big bruv.”
“No that’s true, and I did end up sleeping with the banker–apparently we needed the funding.”
“That was before you’d had–“ she made scissor-like actions with her fingers.
“Yes.”
“So how did you manage?” she blushed and so did I, however in for a penny...
“He’d had so much to drink he fell asleep, I told him the next day what a stud he was and he went away quite happy.”
“Clever you, that always works, providing they are very drunk, but you have to be careful they don’t want to do a repeat in the morning.”
“I’d have said I was too sore because of his size.” I was now as red as a pillar box.
She sniggered, “I’ll have to keep that one in mind.”
“Just make sure they don’t want to kiss it better.”
That did it, she almost collapsed laughing. “Can you remember what you wore?” she asked when she’d recovered.
“Yes.”
“Well–what was it?”
“A dress.”
“Duh,” she looked at me and shook her head, “I knew that stoopid, what dress.”
“Oh one some old tart gave me with poppies on it.”
“Is that the one I gave you?”
Now it was my turn, “Duh, like how many old tarts do I know whose clothes fit me?”
“I bought that in Paris, I’ll have you know. Never got round to wearing it.”
“Well I did and I felt the bees-knees in it.”
“So what other women were there?”
“Only the caterers.”
“What? You got to strut your stuff in front of a cabinet minister, a top banker and some guy from the EU? And you end up sleeping with the banker who turned out to be a total wan–banker?”
“More or less.”
“What was wrong with the Spanish Inquisition?”
“All he was interested in was taking cuttings from Tom’s garden.”
“A vegetarian, but he didn’t want to pollinate you?”
“No–but he was rather dishy, what I remember of him.”
“So who else fancied you?”
“Apart from Tom, I have no idea–I mean I could hardly ask them could I?”
“No, but if they have a lump in their pants when they say goodnight, you get a fair idea, don’t you?”
“Stella, I don’t go around staring at men’s crotches.”
“Don’t you? I do–and their bums when they’ve gone past.”
As we were talking Simon appeared, “Hello, Babes,” he kissed me.
“Did you know your better ‘arf ‘ere, was unfaithful to you in his very house the first time she entered it?”
He did a double take, “No, when was this?”
“At some dinner party with politicians and a banker, who apparently gave her more than his funding.”
“What, you mean Tom gave a dinner party?”
“Yes,” said Stella, nodding for emphasis.
“So? Was he a good screw?” he asked looking at me.
“Definitely,” I said.
“Oh well that’s alright then, what’s for dinner, I’m starving?”
“I haven’t started it yet.”
“Get a Chinese delivered! You like those don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m happy to make something.”
“No, order one in, I’d like to talk to my harlot wife–upstairs.”
I did as I was asked and ordered the set meal for seventy five–only joking, got the set meal for six, it would there in half an hour. Mind you it cost seventy five pounds.
“So what’s this all about, Miss Watts?”
“Oh I was reminiscing about the first time I came into this house, and she asked me. I decided I’d wind her up and told her I slept with the banker.”
“You did.”
“So it was all half truths, well that bit was.”
“I remember you wanting to tell me something, but I was so gone on you that I didn’t let you tell me–I am so glad I didn’t.”
“Why?” I asked although the answer was obvious.
“Because I might have lost you.”
“I love you,” I said and jumped onto him and he fell backwards onto the bed with me still on top of him.
“Everyone does,” he said, smirking, and I began hitting him.
The takeaway arrived before I could do any serious damage, he was laughing so much there was more chance of him overdosing on endorphins than me hurting him.
Julie came down wearing an outrageous outfit which left very little to the imagination and Simon and I simultaneously said, “You’re not going out like that!” At which she burst into tears and flounced upstairs slamming the door behind her.
“You’re her mother–go and deal with it!” My lord and master commanded.
“Yes but it’s you she wants to buy her a car, you have the stronger negotiating position.”
“I don’t do tearful women.”
“She isn’t a woman yet, she’s a spoilt brat throwing a tantrum.”
“I don’t think I can differentiate, so you’d better go.”
“I’ll go,” said Trish, rolling her eyes and sighing, at which Simon snorted soy sauce all over his clean shirt and I gasped.
(aka Bike) Part 1087 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“I wonder what Trish said to her,” Simon pondered as we lay in bed.
“I can guess at the message, if not the wording,” I offered.
“At least she had some of her body covered the second time she came down, so whatever it was, it worked.”
“I find it quite frightening at times that in a few years she’ll be telling us all what to do.”
“She does already,” chuckled Simon. “D’you know she has an opinion on the economy?”
“No?” I gasped.
“Yes, she read some article in your bloody Guardian about what Osborne was doing wrong with his cuts, and she agrees with the author.”
“Yeah, I saw that, was by their financial editor or some such, made sense while I read it.”
“She’s absolutely right, this coalition shower couldn’t run a bath.”
“Ah, but they’re going to bash the bankers, so that’ll be popular.”
“Yeah, and who’s gonna make their money for them? Manufacturing? Ha no wonder the Germans are doing so well with exports and so are the Frogs, they still make cars to export. What cars do we make? Even Jaguar and Land Rover are owned by the Indians. We don’t make any now.”
“What about Moggies and Supersevens?”I ventured though I wasn’t sure.
“Yes Morgan and Lotus are still British made, and half the F1 cars are run from over here.”
“I used to know a girl who was a computer tech with one of the F1 teams.”
“How did you know someone on a F1 team?”
“She was TS as well, used to ride a bloody big motorbike.”
“At least Julie made her curfew,” he sighed.
“Only just and she was pie-eyed.”
“Drunk as a lord–and being one, I ought to know.” Simon laughed at his own joke and so did I, though I’m not sure if I was laughing at the bed bouncing up and down with his laughing, or at his joke.
“I’m going to sleep now, darling,” I pecked him on the cheek and turned over to face away from him. I hope to beat him to sleep because once he started to snore I’d be climbing the walls unless I was also asleep.
He muttered to himself for a few minutes, probably because he hadn’t got his wicked way with me. I was far too tired and at the moment with all that was going on, just staying awake was as much as I could manage.
I drifted off thinking about how I could take Trish and Billie out for a ride, I was also wondering if it would be worth me trying to build a bike for Trish.
”Hurry up, Mummy, you’re slowing down my averages,” Trish called back to me as I tried to keep up with her. We’d come a long way since she’d started racing on the bike I made for her. Now she had her own workshop and was making her own bikes and racing them, with interest from a sponsor to take her on to his team–although she was more interested in finishing her master’s degree–not bad going for sixteen. It was funny that cycling got her interested in engineering, and I know that Aerospace were making overtures to her university–bloody Cambridge.
I’d been doing some regular riding, but ever since she’d had her op in Holland, she hadn’t looked back, and there was always a load of boys hanging around her–mind you she’s blossomed into a very attractive young woman.
She still tells Julie what to do, although Julie has been married a couple of years now, runs her own salon and does the works from pedicures to hair extensions. Simon set her up with a few months rent and a loan to take over a rundown business and she’s doing very well. Her hubby runs his own specialist bakery business, ‘Knead the Dough’.
Billie’s doing okay, but very quietly. She’s training as a paediatric nurse, a choice she made after Stella had her second baby–when she married Ken. Ken’s been a great support for Billie, encouraging her to complete her nursing degree.
Only Meems left now, Danny went off to the Royal Airforce and became a pilot, he’s married, with one little boy, though we hardly ever see them these days. He does see Trish now and again when she’s at uni, because Danny’s based at a station in Suffolk. Neither Simon nor I were in favour of him joining up, but he was eighteen and we couldn’t stop him. I suspect he only did it to get away from all the women in the house–mind you when they weren’t nagging him, they were spoiling him.
Henry’s practically retired now, so Simon is chairman in all but name. We see each other once every week or two, when I’m not flying to Geneva or New York, well the United Nations is such a pain to work for. Still another year and it’s rumoured that a certain university in the south east with whom I had some contact as an undergrad will be looking for a professor of mammalian biology and ecology.
“Come on, Mummy,” said Trish’s voice. Then suddenly she was pulling on my arm–I was falling off my bed? “Mummy, Meems has been sick in her bed.”
I struggled out of bed and staggered into the girl’s bedroom, Mima was sitting in a pile of vomit and crying to herself. The smell–ugh. I took her into the bathroom and cleaned her up, sat her on the loo and wrapped her in a spare towel while I remade her bed and settled her down again, then put her bedding in the washing machine. It was three o’clock when I go back to bed and Simon was lying on his back snoring Colonel Bogey.
I crawled back into bed and five minutes later Trish came in beside me. “What’s the matter with you?”
“It smells in there,” she said and cuddled in between Simon and I. A little later a tapping on my back just as I was going off, “Does, Daddy, always snore like this?”
“No, sometimes it’s worse.” I hissed back.
“What, whoa, hold him, Stella, while I get back on...” Simon suddenly said and both Trish and I dissolved in laughter. “Hold still you swine...” Simon continued his problems with a recalcitrant horse–maybe it was a night mare? I snorted at my own joke and Trish giggled behind me.
“Have you ever thought about becoming an engineer?” I whispered to Trish.
“What do they do?”
“They design or make machines, or buildings and so on.”
“Dunno,” she yawned, “do they make bikes?” she asked sleepily and next thing she was fast asleep while I lay there listening to Simon playing all the parts of Beethoven’s Choral Symphony. It was going to be another long night.
(aka Bike) Part 1088 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“I think we’ll have to postpone the wedding blessing,” I said to Simon over Trish’s head.
“This mattress feels like I had someone’s knees in my back all night,” Simon said loudly knowing full well we had an alien in the bed. Some giggling emanated from between us. It got worse when he started to tickle her and she had to rush off to the loo or wet herself.
“You did that on purpose didn’t you?” I accused him.
“Did what on purpose?”
“Tickled her, because you knew she’d have to wee if you did.”
“Oh so that’s wrong now is it?”
“No, I’m astonished.”
He looked over at me, “Why?”
“Because you actually are capable of reasoning things through with the children.”
“Eh?” now he looked astonished.
“You had obviously considered that little bony knees needed a wee so a quick tickle and off she goes.”
“Yes, why?”
“Oh nothing, but obviously I can leave the children under your careful gaze while I go and see Maria.”
“What was that about weddings earlier?”
“Oh, we can hardly hold the blessing if Maria is staying here can we?”
“When did you decide that?”
“Trish did the other day, why?”
“Does Tom know, it’s his house after all?”
“Yes and he’s quite happy.”
“So are you going to invite her today?”
“That’s the plan, dunno when she’ll be discharged from hospital.”
Trish came back in, “Mima’s been sick again,” she announced and I groaned and jumped out of bed. When I went into the girl’s room, she was still fast asleep and hadn’t been sick. I went back to the bedroom and Trish was cuddled up to Simon.
“You little minx, she hasn’t been sick at all,” I glared at her.
She giggled, “Saved me having to climb over you.”
“You asked for that,” said Simon roaring with laughter.
I knew when I was outgunned, so I went down to have my breakfast in relative peace and quiet. Tom was drinking the liquid mud he called coffee.
“Morning, Daddy,” I said and pecked him on the cheek.
“Aye,” he said and nodded back.
“Meems was sick in the night, I had to change her and the bed–oh poo, the machine.”
“I wondered why there wis beddin’ in it.”
“Now you know as much as I do.”
“Whit’s wrang wi’ her?”
“No idea, could be a bug; she could have eaten something; I really don’t know.”
“Puir wee lassie,” he sipped his coffee.
“I thought it was always, puir wee soul.”
“Are ye accusin’ me af nae bein’ able tae speak ma ain language?”
Only the twinkle in his eye stopped me from bursting into tears. When I didn’t reply he looked more kindly at me, “Whit’s wrang, lassie?”
“Nothing, Daddy, I’m just tired and as soon as I try to enact my plans someone up there shits all over them.”
“Och, dinna be upset, it happens tae us all.”
“Yeah, I know–but for believers–they can always complain; me where do I write?”
“Jes’ ask yer question in yer hairt, ye’ll get an answer.”
“That presupposes there’s something there to reply.”
“Does it, och weel, perhaps ye won’t then, yer choice.”
“Talking of choices, before you dash off, it is alright if I ask Maria if she’d like to come here for a bit?”
“Aye, as lang as I hae ma pit an’ ma study, I dinna care wha comes.”
“She could become a long term investment.”
“Whit d’ye mean, lang tair-rum?”
“Well, if it seems to be working out, I thought we could invite her to become housekeeper, so I can go back to work.”
“Aye, guid idea, Trish’s wis it?”
“That little minx...” I told him how she’d tricked me out of bed and he laughed loudly and warned me that, ‘I’d hae tae watch that yin.’ As if I didn’t know already.
Two hours later, Minnie the minx and I were shopping before going to see Maria. I’d taken her because she’d asked me. Meems seemed okay, not covered in spots or anything, and no temperature. Simon said he’d keep an eye on her, so we’d have to wait and see. If she did have something we’d have to postpone Maria with her new baby until it was sorted.
After a quick lunch at a little place off the high street, we arrived at the hospital. Maria wasn’t there, neither was the baby. I spoke to the nurse, ‘She’d been discharged.’
I rang her mobile, she didn’t answer. I could only assume she’d gone home. Suddenly one of those very cold sensations in the pit of my stomach happened. I grabbed Trish and we ran like mad to the car.
“What’s the matter, Mummy?”
“Probably nothing, do up your seat belt.” I drove very quickly out of the car park and off towards her house. Of course the usual Saturday afternoon traffic was clogging up the streets and it seemed to take forever to get there.
We turned into her road, a little cul de sac of terraced houses presumably originally inhabited by dockers and shipyard workers, some looked veritable palaces. Then we saw the ambulance and my blood ran cold. I slammed on the brakes and throwing Trish the keys ran down the street. I stopped just in time to avoid making a fool of myself as two paramedics came out with an elderly man on a stretcher chair, complete with oxygen and face mask.
Phew, what a relief.
“Did you think that Auntie Maria was in that ambulance?”
“For a horrible moment I did, sweetheart.”
“Which is her house?”
“I can’t remember the number, but it has a red front door–I’ve only been down here once before.”
“None of them have a red front door, Mummy.”
“Um–no they don’t, sweetheart.”
“Is this the right street, Mummy?”
I blushed, felt stupid and answered, “Um–maybe not.”
“You’re worried about her aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well don’t, she’s being looked after by a lovely angel.”
I nearly threw up, “What did you say?”
“She’s being looked after by a lovely angel and she says she’s okay.”
“How do you know?”
“I just saw her, her road is the next one over. She said the door is unlocked.”
“What about the baby? Did you see the baby?”
“She said Baby Catherine was safe and waiting for you.”
“Trish,” I gasped as tears began to run down my cheeks, “If this is some game, I am going to be so cross.”
“It’s not a game, Mummy, I seen her, honest.”
“Come on,” I grabbed her hand and started to run, I was in no mood to mess about moving the car.
We arrived in the street and I ran down it, Trish was having difficulty keeping up with me. I saw the red door and tried it, it opened first time. “Maria,” I shouted as I went in and began searching the house. “Stay there,” I snapped at Trish, who was now snivelling unaware of what might have happened.
It was in the main bedroom I found her. She was in her wedding dress clasping a photo of Paul and Daisy. A bottle of pills lay beside her and a note addressed to me.
’Dearest Cathy, Thank you so much for your friendship, it means such a lot to me. Baby Catherine is in the back bedroom, I gave her a good feed and there’s a spare bottle in the fridge. Please take good care of her, she’s yours now–you said you’d always wanted a baby. I’m with Paul and Daisy and I’m happy again now. Please don’t be cross with me.
Love,
Maria.
I felt her, she was nearly cold. I ran into the back room and the baby was just waking up. I made it to the bathroom just in time to get my lunch down the loo. I don’t think I’d ever felt so devastated in my whole life. If only we’d gone to the hospital a bit earlier, or not had lunch or...
I dialled 999, “Hello, police please.”
(aka Bike) Part 1089 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
After the recent run of tragedy, the gods of whatever, spared us the indignity of an officious policeman. The two who turned up were Andy Bond and a very nice WPC called, Trina.
By that time I’d carried the baby downstairs and was warming the milk. “Where’s Maria, Mummy?”
“She’s upstairs.”
“Can I go and see her?”
“I’m afraid not, sweetheart.”
“But maybe I could cheer her up again.”
“I’m afraid no one will ever cheer her up again, darling, she has died.”
Trish looked at me in total disbelief, “NO,” she shouted and ran upstairs before I could stop her. I had the baby in one hand and a bottle in the other, when the doorbell rang and in walked the police.
I handed the bottle to Andy and the baby to Trina, “Hold these, I have to bring Trish down.” I fairly flew up the stairs and found a sobbing Trish kneeling by the side of the deceased woman. “Come on darling, you can’t do anything more for her.”
“But the angel said she would be alright,” cried Trish, almost banging on the bed in anger.
“She is now, sweetheart. She no longer wanted to be alive, darling, and she believed she would be reunited with Paul and Daisy when she died.”
“Will she?”
I looked into her sad eyes, “I don’t know, sweetheart.” She let me take her hand and I picked her up and carried her downstairs.
Downstairs, Andy was feeding the baby, and as soon as we were back, Trina ran upstairs and I heard her talking on her radio. “What brings you here, Lady C?” asked Andy.
“I came to offer her a temporary home and a job.”
“Hello, young Trish,” he smiled at her.
“Hello, Mr Bond.”
Trina came down, “How long have you been here, madam?”
“Sorry, Treen, this Lady Catherine Cameron, and her daughter, the delightful Trish.”
“Lady Cameron, how long have you been here.”
“I don’t really know, about ten or fifteen minutes, I think.”
At this point we were distracted by baby Catherine giving an enormous burp and throwing up all over Andy’s uniform. Given the tension in the house, we all laughed.
I took over the baby feeding with Trish helping while Trina showed the note to Andy.
“Is this her writing?” he asked holding up the note.
“I don’t know, I can’t say I’ve ever seen it before, but when I read it, I assumed it was from her as it suggests. Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Just tying up loose ends, Cathy.”
“Have a look in her address book, that’ll give you something to compare it with.” I suggested.
“Good idea,” Trina replied and went looking for said book. “Got it,” she called from the hallway.
“What happens to the baby?” I asked.
“If your friend’s wishes are followed, she goes to you.”
“I’d like to take Trish home in a minute, if that’s alright?”
“Of course, we know where you live, Cathy.”
“What about the baby?”
“I’ve called Social Services, it’s the rules, I’m afraid,” Trina shrugged.
“Look while we’re waiting, can I get some advice from the maternity unit at the hospital.”
“About what?”
“This little mite, she was there until last night or this morning.”
“Oh, okay, carry on.” I carried the sleepy baby through to the hallway and looked up the hospital number. They offered some bottles of breast milk if I needed it and the name of a popular brand of formula baby milk.
I placed the baby in her carrycot and tucked her in, then began looking for spare clothing and nappies and began to pack a bag either for me or for the duty social worker.
A doctor arrived and certified the body as extinct of life, and the police could then arrange for it to be removed. I asked if I could go and wash her before she was moved, and Andy nodded. I pointed at Trish and he called her to him. Amazingly, Trina came and helped me.
The sad thing is, that upon death, bodies tend to void contents of bladders and bowels, and so need to be washed. After we’d done it, it struck me that perhaps Trina wasn’t necessarily being so nice, as vigilant–after all, if I’d killed her, I could be removing the evidence.
She went white when we rolled the body over and air was dislodged making a groaning noise. I knew it was coming, but it still made me jump a little. Afterwards I combed her hair and placed a clean nightdress upon her. I knew there’d be a post mortem, so this lovely young body would be cut about. I also stripped and remade the bed, removing the dirty linen to the washing machine.
I called Stella who asked Tom to collect some milk from the hospital for the baby, she was very upset to hear of the continuing tragedy. I decided if the baby was given to my safe keeping, I’d try to make sure we had some nice photos of her original family so she’d never lose a knowledge of her identity and her roots.
I found a card from an undertakers and called them, they were dealing with Daisy and Paul, they’d had a call from the police so were expecting to collect Maria as well.
“Who’s organising the funerals?”
“Until now, Mrs Drummond, is there a near relative?”
“I don’t think so, but I don’t honestly know, I’m prepared to do it for them, because I knew them and this is all so sad. If a relative or someone with more claim on the responsibility turns up, I’ll happily stand aside.”
“Well we’ll work with you then, Lady Cameron.”
“I’m also prepared to stand the cost if necessary.”
“I doubt anyone else will challenge you on that, my dear.”
“Daisy was going to be a bridesmaid for me–I was married months ago, but we’re having a formal blessing and I’d promised her she could be one of my bridesmaids.”
“That’s very sad.”
“Look, if I was to organise a dress and floral headdress could she be buried in it, so she’d finally get her wish?”
“I don’t see why not, unless someone else turns up to challenge it. I think it’s a lovely idea.”
“They’re Catholic, so that means burial doesn’t it?”
“Usually, but not always, if the lady is proven to have taken her own life, it might be an issue.”
“I think the coroner would find it would be while the balance of her mind was disturbed through grief and recent traumatic childbirth.”
“Oh the poor girl,” said the man from the undertakers.
“We’ve cleaned her up and put her in a clean nightdress.”
“The private ambulance is on its way.”
It arrived moments later, while a small crowd of neighbours gathered outside and net curtains twitched across the road. The body was removed and Trish had fallen asleep sitting on Andy Bond’s lap while we waited.
Finally a very harassed social worker arrived. “I have no idea where I’m going to place her, my usual neonate foster family are away this week.”
“I’m happy to take her, you can always come and get her from me if it’s deemed necessary.”
“Are you on our list?”
“Only a black one, why?”
“The deceased did leave a note requesting Lady Cameron had custody of the baby.”
“Oh did she now, why involve me then if you’ve decided everything?” she said very snottily.
“Because the law demands it. Personally, I can vouch for Lady Cameron as being a suitable person,” offered Andy Bond, “and we know where she lives.”
“What are you going to feed her on?”
“I asked my father to collect some breast milk from the bank at the hospital.”
“Oh so you assumed you were going to have her, did you?” she asked aggressively.
“On the contrary, I knew how busy you’d be, so thought I could save you a few minutes if you felt you had to remove her. She’ll want another feed within an hour, and this time she’ll need changing.”
“You mean you didn’t change her when you fed her?”
“No, she went off to sleep and the nappy wasn’t dirty, just a bit of wee in it.”
“There are some clean nappies, I take it?”
“Of course there are, Maria might have been distraught about the death of her husband and daughter, but she was a good mother.”
“Oh, she’s that Mrs Drummond?”
“Yes, her husband and daughter were killed a few days ago.”
“Oh, poor girl, you may take the baby with you until more permanent arrangements are made. Be prepared for an inspection, she is very young.”
“Very well–look I’d like to see if I can assemble an album of photos of her real family so she knows who she is, is that okay?”
“Jolly good idea–you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“I have several adopted children. I try to encourage them to be true to themselves.”
“Take good care of her, won’t you?” she offered me her hand and I shook it warmly.
“I will, I hope your day improves.”
She looked at the sleeping baby and stroked her face, “You be good for your new foster mum, won’t you.” Then to me she said, “She’s gorgeous isn’t she?” I nodded. “Her name is the same as yours, isn’t it–is that a coincidence?”
“No, it’s the greatest honour I’ve ever been accorded.” I sniffed when I remembered Paul telling me.
“Good girl,” she nodded and left to bustle up someone else’s path.
Andy went and got my car, Trish helped me pack everything we could find for the baby, including a collection of photos of Daisy and Paul and Maria. I even took their slim volume of wedding photos. I wanted the name of the priest who married them if the undertakers knew it. He’d be the right one to do the funeral.
Then after we packed up the car, Tom arrived with the milk and took a few more things, then the police locked up the house and we drove away back to our house. I was exhausted, but determined if necessary to fight legally to honour Maria’s last request–to look after her baby.
(aka Bike) Part 1090 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I was really glad that Tom had turned up, we were able to load the cot plus a few other bits and pieces in his car. He’d brought enough milk to last three or four days. As the baby was quite small, she was only likely to take small feeds every three or four hours. The carrycot was the sort that fitted to wheelbase so could be used as a pram. This baby was no more than a week old–suddenly I realised what I was taking on and felt a twinge of panic.
I had just strapped the carrycot into the car and loaded the folded wheels in the foot well in front of it. Trish was sitting on her booster cushion, peering into the cot with such love. “Don’t worry, baby Catherine, my mummy will look after you–she’s the best mummy in the world; an’ I ‘spect Auntie Stella will help too. I know I’m going to enjoy being your big sister, and Livvie, Meems and Billie will love you too. I dunno about Julie, don’t think she’s into babies too much–she’s into boys.” She rolled her eyes in mock disgust.
“Whit’s thae matter?” Tom asked seeing me standing and trembling.
“I don’t know if I can do this?”
“Why not?”
“She is so small and vulnerable.”
“Aye, she is, sae ye’ll hae tae be carefu’, won’t ye?”
“I don’t know if I’m capable of it, Daddy, I really don’t.” I felt a tear form and run down my cheek.
He hugged me. “Ye’ve no din sae bad sae far.”
“But she is just so small.”
“Stella managed, wi’ yer help, I think ye can dae onythin’ ye set yer mind tae.”
“It’s the end of my career, isn’t it?”
“That’s fa’ ye tae decide, noo is not thae time–c’mon, let’s get yon wains hame.” He hugged me again, and I dried my eyes, nodded and got into my car. I followed him back to the farmhouse.
One of the advantages of a house full of young women is there is no shortage of willing baby feeders or sitters. Unfortunately, with the baby being so small, feeding her required an adult. Stella offered to do the first one whilst I got the evening meal.
I called Stephanie and told her what had happened, especially Trish’s part and she said she’d try and call by tomorrow depending upon what was for dinner. I reminded her I was foster mother to a week old baby and she said she’d be over tomorrow for certain.
I asked her what to do tonight if there were any bad dreams, and she asked for who? I told her Trish, and she asked if I was sure if that was who I really meant?
“What d’you mean?”
“I believe you have some issues about death, don’t you?”
“Do I?” Was she reading my mind, or acting on information she’d gleaned.
“You’ve had a fair few these past couple of years, including close family and friends and children. Children’s deaths are always traumatic for adults, even those unrelated to them.”
“I can’t say I was that close to Maria or Daisy, or Paul, for that matter.”
“Didn’t you save their lives?”
“I helped a bit,” I blushed as I deliberately understated my part.
“Sure you did–so you had an investment in them. Just as we get a high from seeing somebody get better from our efforts; whether that’s as parents, teachers or healers, our act of giving means we are investing in them. The fact that you were going to offer her a job, that you felt guilty for her traumatic birth and the death of her family, shows you felt a great deal for her. You need to deal with your pain as well as that of others, you know.”
“Are you just touting for more custom?” I cheeked her back trying to hide my vulnerability.
“I wouldn’t see you anyway, too many potentials for crossed boundaries.”
“Perhaps I should give Dr Thomas a call.”
“By all means, do that, but with all due respect, I suspect you need a counsellor or psychotherapist, not a psychiatrist, you’re not barmy are you?”
“That’s a matter of opinion–I mean, who in their right mind would take on board a week old baby when they can’t cope with six existing kids?”
“Somebody who has a great love for the baby and compassion for her mother and other family, and who has an oddly old fashioned view of honour in this time of designer labels and disposable morals.”
“Are you saying I’m a dinosaur?”
“No, you silly sod, I’m saying you’re a woman of great compassion and principle.”
“Oh,” I blushed and remained silent.
“Cathy, if we had more like you in our world, we could right so many wrongs–now I’m preaching. I’m getting jaded by the endless streams of teenage mums who haven’t got a clue of how they’ve messed up their lives and that of their baby, because they don’t know any better. I’ve got an ex patient who is a grandmother at twenty nine. What chance have these kids got? At least yours will have some sense of right and wrong, of being loved and wanted and of self-value. They’ll have role models who are successful and have done something with their lives, and they have a whole family of adults who love them and support them. There are thousands of children and babies in this country, who, if they had a mother like you would do alright for themselves. The tragedy is, they won’t.”
I felt myself feeling very warm and squirming, I still found it hard to take compliments. “Thank you, I think.”
“You’re a very special lady, keep it that way. Now what’s for dinner tomorrow?”
“What do you fancy, pork or lamb?”
“Yeah, they’ll do,” I heard her chortle.
“This isn’t Cathy’s carvery, you know?”
“I know it’s the Cameron home for waifs and strays, isn’t it?”
“It’s beginning to feel like it.”
“Look, I’ve got a friend who’s a psychotherapist, she doesn’t come cheap but she’s very good. I’ll ask her if she’s got room for a new client–that’s if you’d like me to?”
“I suppose I have to start somewhere, should I tell Dr Thomas what I’m doing?”
“You can do, up to you–but I can guarantee she won’t mind one bit.”
“How can you do that?” I asked.
“She’s sitting opposite me drinking my best Merlot–want a word?”
“Is that appropriate, I mean she’s off duty?”
“Hello, Cathy, how are you?” came the familiar voice of the woman who’d saved my life and my sanity.
“I’m fine, thanks, how are you?”
“Fine are you? Just from the gist of what I’ve heard now, you’re saving the world again.”
“If only, Dr Thomas, or just three individuals–I’d settle for that.”
“We rarely get what we want, Cathy, and when we do it rarely seems to be what we thought we wanted. You always wanted a baby, I can remember you saying so–a week old infant is as close as you’re ever going to get. Love her, protect her but also enjoy her. It’s dreadful that in the universe granting your wish, that someone had to give up a baby, especially in such sad circumstances, but make the most of it you may never get another chance to shape a life quite as completely as this one. Your other children call you Mummy, but they have known another parent, albeit an unsatisfactory one for the most part. This little one won’t. Despite you telling her about her birth mother, it’s you she’ll see in that role–enjoy it, you were made for it.”
“Are you suggesting I brought this about by wishing for it?”
“No, I didn’t mean that at all. I’m saying it was your dearest wish to have a baby–you have one–take the opportunity in both hands and enjoy motherhood from practically the beginning–but make sure you have some time for you. See Stephanie’s friend, but make that hour your time. I have to go, take care–oh and you know where I am if you need me.”
“Yes, thanks–bye.”
I stood there wondering what all that was about–did I wish for this? If so did I cause it to happen? If I did that would make me a monster, causing the deaths of three lovely people just so I could feed and change nappies on a baby. Oh shit.
(aka Bike) Part 1091 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
There were no bad dreams that night, unless you count mine and I’ll save those for my therapist, who apparently could see me on Monday, such is Stephanie’s power of persuasion. Talking of the good doctor, she duly appeared on Sunday afternoon and after eating her share of a leg of lamb, took Trish with her into the study and spent an hour with her.
I didn’t see her go, I was doing my bit with our new arrival, feeding and cleaning up the mess afterwards. I redid her nappy and sang her to sleep, rocking her gently in my arms–finally laying her in her cot when she’d gone off. I turned round and nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Simon–how long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” he said, “to wish you were my mummy.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I saw the bond that seemed to be forming between you two already–you’re not going to give her up, are you?”
I motioned him to come from our bedroom, which looked almost like a cross between a nursery and a Mothercare store room. “Look, when that child is old enough to ask questions about her real mother, I’d like to be able to say that I knew her and what a wonderful woman she was, who simply died from a broken heart.”
“She’s young enough not to have anything said to her, she’ll take you as her mother anyway; so why bother with complications?”
“Si, I’m not her mother, I’m her foster mother and at most could only be her adopted mother.”
“But she doesn’t know that, does she?”
“But she will one day and then she’ll know we deceived her.”
“How will she find out?”
“Because the paperwork will say so–and I’ll tell her.”
“Isn’t it just an unnecessary complication? What good will knowing do her?”
“The relationship between parent and child is sacred, building it on lies is unforgiveable. I want her to know who her mother was, like I do all the children here. If they choose to call me mummy after that, that’s their decision.”
“I still think it’s over-complicating things, somewhat.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, dear husband, but I’m the one who’ll be stuck with dealing with it and that’s how I’ve decided to do so.”
“Very good, milady, I’ll inform the other staff,” he said bowing to me. I slapped him on the arm as he left.
On Monday, I took the baby with me as I went for therapy. I knew it wouldn’t be appreciated by Jane Stanley, the psychotherapist, but I decided the baby would stay with me even though Stella told me she’d cope for an hour.
“Cathy?” asked the tall woman, who was wearing a pair of designer jeans and Ralph Lauren top. She had short grey hair, wore tiny diamond ear studs and a gold bangle on her right wrist. “I’m Jane Stanley, come on in.”
I picked up the carrycot and she visibly winced. Tough, I thought.
I set the carrycot down by the side of an easy chair and made myself comfortable. Jane came in and sat opposite me picking up a file.
She told me about herself, at least her professional self, and explained her boundaries. She then asked me to tell her a bit about myself and what I felt wanted out of seeing her.
I wasn’t sure I liked her and felt defensive. “I’m Cathy Cameron, married to Simon we’ve been married about six months.”
“Is this your first baby?” she nodded at Catherine.
“She’s not mine, well she is for the moment, her mother died on Saturday and asked me to take care of her. So I’m fostering her and will look to make the arrangement more permanent as soon as I can get my solicitor on it.”
“Was this a close friend, the baby’s mother?”
“Not especially, we hadn’t know each other that long, but she’d started her labour in my cloakroom and then her husband and daughter were killed in a car accident a day or so later after leaving my house.”
“So there are issues of guilt?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do as an occupation?”
“I’m an ecologist and teach at the university, help to supervise the British Mammal Survey and make documentary films.”
“You lead a busy life then–and of course, your new addition will complicate things a bit more?”
“Yes but the other kids will help.”
“You have other children?”
“Yes, six.”
“Six?” her jaw dropped a little and I hope she didn’t see me snigger.
“Yes, until now, Mima was the youngest at five, then Livvie, Trish, Billie, Danny and Julie who’s sixteen.”
“How can you have a child of sixteen–you’re what–twenty five or six?”
“Twenty six.”
“Don’t tell me you conceived at age ten because I don’t think I’d believe you.”
“Me? No, none of them are mine, I’ve either fostered or adopted them.”
“Why six–it’s quite a large number by modern standards?”
I nodded at the carrycot, “Seven,” I corrected her.
“Quite–why?”
“Because they needed me.”
“So it was their need, not yours?”
“I accept I have needs too, but one or two would have met those.”
“So why the football team?”
“Circumstances arose where they stayed with me and didn’t want to leave.”
“Or you didn’t want them to leave?”
“Some of it, but I guess they enjoyed being a part of a family rather than living in a home or a dysfunctional family.”
“So you take on other people’s problems?”
“I try to help.”
“And who helps you?”
“My husband when he’s there, my adopted father, my sister in law and my kids.”
“Friends not help too much, then?”
“Most of them live away from here, so they can’t.”
“Your adopted father–are you adopted?”
“Not really–my dad died after a stroke, which happened after my mother died suddenly. He died about a year or so ago and my professor, sort of became my father figure. He asked me to move in with him as he had a large house and he sort of became my adopted father. It’s not a legal thing, but he sees me as his daughter and I call him, Daddy. The kids all call him, Gramps, and he feels part of the family.”
“He has no family of his own?”
“No his wife died and his daughter was killed in a car smash.”
“Repeating themes,” she said to herself, “So you sort of adopted each other and fulfil a need in each other’s lives?”
“The house is full of people who help each other along. The children all decided they would be siblings even though they’re all from different families, they decided they’d call me Mummy and Simon, Daddy, Stella, Auntie Stella, and Tom, Gramps. It was their decision which we all accepted after discussing it with them.”
“So you didn’t ask them to call you, Mummy?”
“No, I thought Auntie Cathy was sufficient, they decided it wasn’t. They wanted me as a mother in name as well as role.”
“And you agreed?”
“Eventually: I wasn’t too happy to begin and tried correcting them explaining that they had mothers and I didn’t want them to lose sight of that. One had been abused by the birth mother and said she didn’t want to remember, she wanted me to be her new mummy.”
“And you agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you always so amenable to suggestion?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Say, I wanted to call you Mummy, too–how would you feel about that?”
“Embarrassed,” I felt myself blushing.
“But you let other people call you it, why not me?”
“You’re older than I am to start with, they were all children.”
“Including the sixteen year old, to whom you’re more like a big sister in age terms?”
“I’m sorry, but this line of conversation is annoying me, I’m leaving now.”
I stood up and pulled on my light jacket.
“Sit down, Cathy, we haven’t finished.”
“You might not have done, I have. Send me the bill, because I won’t be back.”
“At least tell me why?”
“I came here to deal with my guilt and grief, all you’ve done is to undermine what self esteem I have. Okay, I can’t have kids myself, but I can still be a mother to some who need one–you don’t actually have to have delivered them yourself to bond with them and give them a chance to grow into decent adults.”
“You’re a one woman charity, aren’t you? Out to save the world?”
“No, I can’t save the world against the other six billion morons who are trying to destroy it; or save all the abused or damaged children even in this town–but those who have found their way to me–I’ll do my damnedest to protect and nurture until they can look after themselves.”
“Are you a religious person, Cathy?”
“Religion? Ha bloody ha, yes–I’m a fundamentalist agnostic. I’m a scientist, I believe what I can see with my own eyes and can test or replicate.”
“Is your husband a scientist, too?”
“No? He’s a banker, why?”
“Simon Cameron,” she said quietly to herself, “Not the Simon Cameron?”
“Is there another?” I picked up my handbag.
“So you’re Lady Catherine Cameron, the dormouse lady?”
I blushed, “Yes.”
“Ah, some of it makes sense now.” She had a gleam of triumph in her eyes.
“I’m glad it makes one to you, goodbye.” I picked up my baby in the carrycot and walked towards the door.
“Oh, you’ll be back,” she said to my back.
“Don’t bet on it, missus,” I spat as I left.
(aka Bike) Part 1092 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
By the time I arrived at home I’d calmed down and didn’t want to dot a certain therapist in the nose.
“How’d it go?” asked Stella.
“Bloody awful–won’t be going back there again.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t like her.”
“I thought people fell in love with their therapists?”
“Eh–nah, she’s not my type–never did go for supercilious old bags.”
“She made that good an impression?” Stella disappeared before I could respond, emerging moments later with a mug of tea. “How’s junior?”
“She’s adorable, and slept ever since I left home–she grizzled in the car then zonked and has been asleep ever since.” For a moment I scared myself, then heard her make a whimpering sound. “Hungry, I expect.”
“She’s made an impression on you, Cathy Cameron.”
“Yep, she sure has.” I picked her out of the carrycot and she glowered at me, her hair all standing up and her rear end smelling of happier times. I hugged her, and laid her on the changing mat.
“Can I help feed her?” called Trish, who was the first through the kitchen door, followed by a herd of elephants all trumpeting similar messages.
“Not yet, she’s too little, but when she’s a bit older, you can all have a try, but only if Auntie Stella or I am here to supervise, okay?”
They all agreed albeit reluctantly.
“Small babies need special support when you hold them, because their heads are too heavy for their neck muscles and they roll about which could injure them.”
None of them seemed aware of this. I put the bottle of milk to warm in the little heater thing and started to change her. “Trish, find me a clean nappy; Livvie, the wet wipes please; Meems, the nappy liners; Billie, the bum cream; Danny–“ he just waved and disappeared. “Jules, can you pass me a clean babygro and pants?” She brought them over.
“Hey,” grumbled Stella, “I have to do all this by myself.”
“Learn to delegate–it has its advantages.” I was joking, because the novelty would soon pass, they just wanted to be part of the newest inmate, like they would a new puppy or kitten. Then it gets boring and finally a chore–at least that’s what happens to rabbits and guinea pigs–maybe it’s different with babies, especially in a house primarily filled with supposed females. I wonder if this could be used as some test of genuineness of true gender difference? Probably not. Not all bio females are into babies, and some find them a total turnoff. Personally, I was in my element–even better than dormice–well at the moment–in the middle of the night it might be different. I wonder, if I had to electronically tag this one and weigh her each time I take her out of her nest box?
I cleaned her up, fed her and after winding her carried her about for a bit trying not to have too big a grin on my face. I was feeling a sense of fulfilment I’d not had with any of the other kids–I looked up at the sky and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in, for her to be allowed to stay with me. Talk about bonding–I was super-glued to her.
Trish took some photos of me holding her–all without flash. Then I let each one of them hold her for a bit, even Meems, the real doll girl.
“She’s got my finger,” squealed Livvie and the baby shuddered in Meem’s arms, she nearly dropped her. So I took her back.
“Please all of you, don’t shout or squeal near her, she can’t really see you yet but her hearing is very good, so you frighten her.” The baby–my baby–oh please God–was yawning, so after talking to her, I put her in the cot and rocked her off to sleep.
My life was going to get so mundane but I was loving it. Who ever thought I’d get a week old baby to look after like my own? Then I thought about the cost and my joy was cut short, replaced by a sense of guilt. The reality was, I was here for her needs, not the other way round.
Life is strange, so are humans, we interpret things for our own ends, just as I had then–but it’s what keeps us human, if egocentric.
After lunch, and with Stella’s assistance, I took the rest of the brood–who wanted to come–for a bike ride. All but Mima came, and she was happy to stay at home and help Stella with her new sister.
Trish struggled on the ride, I let Danny and Billie go off ahead whilst Livvie and Trish rode with me on the boys old mountain bikes–only just coping with the size of them. I had changed the tyres to make it easier for them, but they still struggled.
The girls seemed to enjoy the challenge and weren’t complaining, so I shelved my idea to ride with the two older kids first and then take the rest out afterwards, the older ones getting a second ride–obviously at a slower pace.
In the evening after the kids were in bed, I went looking on ebay for second hand bikes in more suitable sizes and managed to find some with twenty six inch wheels but with quite small frames. They were only a tenner each, and all I wanted was the frames–the rest I could build myself–probably at night, instead of sleeping. I also set up my turbo in the spare garage and was going to try and do half an hour a day on it to try and get my legs back in shape–for cycling again.
Simon thinks I’ve got quite nice legs, so who am I to argue? I checked my emails before I shut down the computer, the funeral director had sent me an message.
“Hi Lady C, How did he know that?
Funeral is at Our Lady of Sorrows, on Thursday next at 2.00pm, with committal at the municipal cemetery afterwards. Usually, that’s for family and gentlemen only. I have arranged for refreshments to be made available at the public house down the road from the church, The Royal George, for 3.00pm. It will be a family (multiple) burial and I will need the dress for the little girl. What about her parents?
I decided that I’d try and get Maria’s wedding dress cleaned up so she could wear that, and I’d see if Paul had a nice suit he could wear for his final journey. Tomorrow, Livvie and I would go and look for a suitable bridesmaid’s dress for Daisy. I would take Livvie because she was closest in size in my estimation for trying on dresses for fit. I’ll ask her first of course, but I think she’ll be pleased to do it. If not, it’ll have to be Trish, but she is a little taller than Livvie–not that dress length will matter too much for someone lying down–dammit–this was important, the most important outfit of this child’s life and she happens to be dead, but it is important–so no corners will be cut.
I emailed the undertaker back and asked him for measurements, especially height for Daisy and told him everything else seemed in order. He’d asked the priest at the church, who apparently knew the family slightly, to do the service–better than nothing I suppose. Looked like I was still chief mourner.
(aka Bike) Part 1093 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning I spoke with Andy Bond, explaining that I needed to gain access to the Drummond’s house so I could provide clothing to the undertaker. He went off and found some information about their solicitor, so I called them.
I spoke to a Mr Harper, who again consulted some documents. “Ah, Mrs Cameron, you wish to gain access to the property to provide the undertakers with clothing for the various funerals of my clients.”
“Yes, the police suggested you might have a key.”
“We do indeed, I also have an amendment to her will naming you as executrix of her estate and any surviving children as major beneficiaries. She asked me to attend her in hospital—she was much taken with you, Mrs Cameron, because she stipulates that any remaining children be awarded to your care and custody. In return, once her estate is liquidated, you should be paid ten thousand a year towards the cost of maintaining her child or children. On achieving the age of majority, they will then receive the remainder of her estate.
“We are charged with investing her assets to maintain a maximum return. If the child doesn’t achieve majority, the residue of the estate comes to you or your children.”
“I don’t need her money.”
“Possibly not, but on behalf of her surviving daughter, we are pursuing a claim against the driver who caused the deaths of her husband and elder daughter. It could be worth many thousands of pounds.”
“I’m sure little Catherine will be glad of it later, although I’m sure she’d have preferred to have her parents and older sister.”
“Quite, it’s a very sad case.”
“Anyway, if I call by, I can borrow the key.”
“As you will be disposing of the estate on her behalf, you can keep it—all we require are a copy of any accounts produced by disposal of her assets. You are entitled to claim expenses. Oh please bring some form of ID with you, preferably with a photograph.”
“Will my university ID badge do?”
“I’m sure that will be fine, we’ll need an address too, for correspondence.”
“Fine, I’ll bring over a letter heading.”
“Splendid, we look forward to meeting you, Mrs Cameron.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being snotty or just a professional reserve and distance. Oh well, did it matter? I can’t sack him anyway and I’ll bet he creams off loads from the investments—Simon could have got the bank to do it for far less—you can do that when you own it.
I asked Livvie during breakfast if she would mind helping me with Daisy’s dress and she agreed with enthusiasm. Trish was a bit put out that I was only taking Livvie with me as she felt some link with the family, having met Maria a couple of times. I told her she could help Stella feed baby Catherine if I wasn’t back in time. She huffed and puffed, but she acquiesced eventually.
Stella was being an absolute brick through all this and her recent practice with a baby was so useful, not to mention plenty of spare clothes which had hardly been used. Whilst I enjoyed playing with my new dolly, I had loads to do to try and deal with other issues and also with trying to keep her.
Of course social services called while I was out, but Stella dealt with them and they seemed happy with our care of the baby. I primed my own solicitor to start exploring if we could foster on a long term basis or adopt. Knowing how much he got paid last time, he was quite keen to accept the instruction.
I collected the key after I showed my University of Portsmouth staff ID badge, not realising that when they updated it after my marriage, they included the title Lady, not Mrs. It caused a few deep breaths, especially when they twigged just to whom I was married. ‘Oh that, Simon Cameron, the banker.’ Especially as I was wearing jeans, an old shirt and a denim jacket—I probably looked like any other punter who has access to assets of many billion pounds—it doesn’t sound so much if you say it quickly.
I rushed about the house with Livvie collecting the soiled wedding dress and a suit from Paul’s wardrobe. I hoped it fitted him; I added a shirt and tie and some shoes socks and underpants.
For Maria, I took the lingerie she’d been wearing when we found her and had washed them in the machine, they were dry now and I’d iron any wrinkles which had appeared. We dropped the dress at a cleaners who after checking it, said they could do it but it would need at least two days and would cost fifty pounds. I nodded my agreement, offering an extra ten if they could remove the stain completely from the back. They seemed happy to try, but on the grounds they didn’t damage the material. I got Paul’s suit cleaned as well, it seemed mean not to.
Then we went to some bridal shops. Stella and I had done this earlier so I knew what I wanted. I found a pretty pink long dress which fitted Livvie quite well. I phoned the undertakers on my mobile and they gave me the exact measurements I’d wanted—in fact, they emailed them to my Blackberry. The dress would fit without any alterations, and we bought some shoes to go with it and some pretty underwear. It seemed so ironic that the poor kid had to be dead to wear the wretched dress. At least I felt I’d made the effort. I paid for the dress which caused some excitement in the shop.
“That’s a lovely dress, isn’t it? You’re a very lucky girl.” The shop assistant said to Livvie.
“Oh it’s not for me, it’s for someone else,” answered my adopted daughter.
“Oh, well she’s very lucky then.”
“No she isn’t. She died last week and so did her daddy, her mummy died a couple of days ago.”
The woman blushed so red I almost posted a letter in her open mouth.
“We have to go,” I said snatching my card back and picking up the dress and other things. Back in the car I said to Livvie, “You don’t have to explain everything each time—it was too much information.”
“So what should I have said, Mummy?”
“Perhaps just agreed when she assumed it was for you.”
“But that would be dishonest, Mummy, and you said you hated it when we told lies.”
So there I was once again hoist by my own petard—wonderful. Still we were going home to see the others and feed the baby—my baby.
(aka Bike) Part 1094 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I dropped the clothing to the undertakers and suddenly it was Thursday. I was getting the hang of having a young baby, with Stella’s help, and here I was leaving her to Stella’s tender mercies while I went off to the funeral. Trish wanted to come as well, but I didn’t think a funeral service would be any place for a child. There were protests and tears, but I held firm and went alone.
I wore a dark suit and a raincoat—the weather had turned unsettled and it wasn’t as warm as August is generally expected to be. On my feet I wore boots with modest heels, I would attend at the grave-side and drop in the few flowers I carried with me. Made sure my makeup was waterproof but even then there was a risk that I’d smudge it all over.
Inside each of the coffins I had placed a small gift, a teddy for Daisy, a wedding posy for Maria and a golfing glove for Paul—he was apparently very fond of his game. I also put in a photo of the baby for each of them. I was invited to the undertaker’s to see them all before they sealed the caskets and while I was afraid what I’d see, I actually went and said a personal goodbye and gave them their gifts. I also kissed each one of them on the forehead and left. It was an hour before I got home I was so upset. That was on the Wednesday and here it was, the funeral.
The priest did a good job and I stood and sat at the appropriate times, and even managed the odd amen. The church bore a respectable crowd and I was a little concerned that I appeared to be sitting on my own in the front row.
The eulogy was very moving although I couldn’t go with the ‘being called to Jesus’ bit but then it wasn’t my show. Otherwise I sat quietly and wept with most of the other people who were there. I glanced around at the decor of the place and felt totally alienated by the iconography— it did nothing for me, let alone console me.
After, at the committal, I stood in the rain holding my umbrella in one hand and my three flowers in the other—a white rose, a red rose and a large ornamental daisy. On the signal from the priest I dropped my flowers one at a time onto the coffins and then walked from the grave. Others did similarly and followed me away. Afterwards, the priest and I thanked every one for coming and then invited them back to the Royal George for refreshments.
“Are you Maria’s sister?” asked several of the mourners, and seemed surprised when I said I was just a friend.
I was pleased to see Andy Bond there, and he explained he always tried to attend a funeral for anyone with whom he’d been involved. The refreshments were the standard fare of tea and sandwiches. I wasn’t hungry and the lump in my throat made swallowing even the tea difficult.
How could a whole family be wiped out in such a short time? All that was left was the little bundle of joy in my house and I would do all I could to help her understand her past.
The funeral director spoke to me afterwards. “I think your idea of dressing them in their wedding things and the little girl in the bridesmaid’s dress was delightful—d’you know, I’m sure after we did it, the whole place felt lighter, as if they approved.”
I shrugged, “I don’t know if they did or not but to me it seemed to be appropriate.”
“How is the baby?”
“She’s fine, she’s doing well on the hospital milk—I get fresh breast milk from the hospital although we have to try and get her on to a formula one next week. Apparently, they can only supply it for so long.”
“I think you’re very brave to take on someone’s baby, especially as you lead such a busy life.”
“She is such a sweetheart, she wakes once in the night and takes her feed very nicely and goes back off no problem.”
“You’re very lucky, all mine played hell during the night, and one used to get colic.” A tall woman stood next to me. She looked me up and down, “Are you the Cathy who helped Maria after the car accident?”
“Only insofar as I went to see Daisy each day to let Paul spend time with Maria.”
“I heard you’re something of a healer or a witch.”
“I’m actually a biologist, so I think you may have the wrong Cathy.”
“No, I think you’re the right one and you were very uncomfortable in church, why was that?”
“I’m agnostic.”
“Um—that’s interesting, you’re not into the goddess, then?”
“Goddess? No, I don’t believe any of that mumbo-jumbo stuff, it’s just words.”
“Is it? Her presence in you is very strong.”
“Is it, sorry I don’t feel it.”
“Just relax and let it come through, she will guide you.”
“I’m doing alright by myself so far, at least I think so.”
“Well, she has told me to inform you she is waiting when you change your mind, rejoice in her, she only comes to those females she judges worthy of her help and never to men. Let me know if I can be of assistance.” She shoved a business card in my hand and left. I shoved it in my pocket, the last thing I needed at the moment was being admitted to a coven or something similar, especially to worship a goddess who couldn’t tell a real female from a wannabe. I was getting tetchy. I tried to eat something— a small tuna finger roll—hoping it would boost my blood sugars; as that could explain my crabbiness.
I spoke with several other mourners, one who’d worked with Paul who told me several stories, which I’d have to document, so I could pass them on to Catherine. One or two were friends of Maria, and again I was asked if I was a relative, although the priest had said both Paul and Maria were raised in children’s homes. So maybe it wasn’t just me who failed to listen properly to the eulogy.
I did try to listen to the bit about Daisy, but the, ‘suffer the little children’ made me feel angry. Then when he went on about how both Maria and she had recovered miraculously from earlier injuries, ‘they were surely blessed.’ I felt like standing up and asking if they were, how come we were attending their funerals?
I didn’t of course, it would serve no purpose except to upset people who were upset enough. Maybe they had been blessed, who was I to disagree? After people began to leave, I thanked the pub landlord for the spread and left.
I drove up onto the downs, parked in a view point and howled for half an hour at the injustice of life, at its unfairness and how could any god or goddess, for that matter, take the life of a six year old child?
After I’d totally ruined my eye makeup I wiped my face and went home to try and recover from my sadness.
(aka Bike) Part 1095 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Stella and the baby got me through the rest of that day. The other children seemed to get on my nerves, and it was only at bed time that I was able to apologise to them for my bad mood. I explained that seeing a little coffin alongside two big ones brings home what is inside— a dead child—and it upset me.
It would have been nice to have had Simon home with me, but he was busy advising a financial think tank which suggested what we all knew anyway—that the proposed government cuts were going to hit the poorest hardest. It seems these days that he’s much more involved in financial strategies than commodities. I hope he doesn’t spin off into politics which seems to be the way he’s going. Hopefully, he’ll be home tomorrow night or Saturday.
I did eventually sleep, although I kept seeing the coffins. I was walking along a dark country lane which felt more Mediterranean than England, and the tall hedges behind the stone wall which lined both sides of the lane, seemed like olive trees or figs—I don’t like either, so I wasn’t tempted to try them.
I became aware of something stalking me from beyond the trees and the hairs on my neck stood on end. I carried on walking, though I picked up a piece of stick which felt like olive wood to use as a cudgel if necessary were I attacked.
The light was fading as I trudged along the lane and the lane descended into a sort of valley before rising in the distance up the other side. I wasn’t sure where I was going but I seemed to know I had to go through this dip before I could rise up the other side.
I wanted to run, but the surface of the lane was far from even, and I worried about falling and being an easy target for whatever was stalking me. At the bottom of the dip, I came across a gateway, and there leaning against the gate was a beautiful woman, with long dark hair. Her eyes were blazing like two emeralds, and I was a bit afraid to gaze into them, however, I felt politeness was important and I wished her a good evening.
“A good evening to you, too, Catherine.”
I had to stop and face her, “You know my name, madam,” I replied keeping things very formal and polite.
“I know all about you, Catherine.”
“Might I ask how or why, as I don’t consider myself important enough to be worthy of such study.”
“Every woman is important to me.”
“That’s good to know, madam.”
“Even those who bear my essence but have to labour to express it.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
“Those who like yourself came to womanhood by a less traditional route.”
“Oh that,” I felt myself blushing.
“Yes that, you’ve had to fight for recognition of your female spirit.”
“I suppose that’s a succinct way of saying it, yes.”
“Oh, I’m very succinct—it comes with age.”
“Well, I must say you don’t seem that old to my eyes, but I have a sense that you might be ageless,” I was feeling less threatened, but felt something very unworldly about this lady.
“Ageless, yes, that will do nicely: you’re a good woman, Catherine, even if you struggle to accept your own spirit of femaleness.”
“I’m sorry, madam, but I’m not sure I understand you.”
“Accept who and what you are.”
“I do, madam.”
“Do you? If so, how did you have the impertinence to consider that I, of all divine beings, couldn’t distinguish between a real female and a wannabe?”
I blushed brightly enough to be seen in the dark. “Um—I’m sorry if I offended you, it was unintentional.”
“So do you retract what you said?”
“I do if it caused offence, madam.”
“My essence is strong in you, therefore you must be female—quod erat demonstrandum—or don’t you understand these modern languages?”
“I understand, madam.”
“Good, listen to my voice when I speak to you in future.”
“I shall try, madam, how will I know it is you, and not my mind playing tricks on me?” I thought I answered that quite well.
“Oh we have a real doubter here—your name didn’t used to be Thomas, did it?” She laughed, and I felt the whole place echo with it. I felt my erector pilorae muscles pulling on the hairs of my skin giving me goosebumps.
“I’m sorry, madam, I didn’t mean to cause offence.”
“Didn’t you? Believe in yourself and your female essence.”
“I shall try, madam.”
“And listen to that small still voice inside which comes from deep within, from a place of calmness and tranquillity.”
“There isn’t much tranquillity in my life at present, madam.”
“Which is why I am here addressing you now—for an intelligent woman, you can be very slow, Catherine.”
“I’m sorry, madam, it’s been a very tiring day.”
“You make excuses.”
“No, madam, but I find the death of children very distressing.”
“Ah, but only if you believe in the limitations of the physical world and not look beyond it.”
“Madam, I’m sorry but I’m a scientist, trained to investigate the physical world.”
“And yet you use the healing energy I give you.”
“You give me?” I spluttered.
“Yes, where did you think it came from?”
“I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t abused it or failed in using it?”
“I don’t think so—no, your restraint has been commendable, and you have helped those of your daughters who also bear my gift, to show restraint also.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome, continue to exercise my gift to you intelligently, but listen to my voice guiding you.”
“I will try—might I ask your name, madam?”
“Of course, you don’t know, do you?” She laughed, and the valley echoed her laughter.
“I’m sorry, madam, I don’t.”
“I am Shekhinah.”
“Thank you, I’ll remember it.”
“Yes you will—now sleep and feel my essence in you.”
I woke the next morning knowing that something had happened during my sleep. It was six in the morning and yet I felt buzzing with energy—I heard baby C gurgling as if someone was entertaining her, yet when I looked there was no one there. I got up and lifted her from the cot, she squealed and gurgled at me in recognition, and I held her to me.
“You know, wee yin, something happened in my sleep and didn’t understand a word of it. I held her to me and she began to suck my breast through my nightdress. “You’re wasting your time there, sweetheart,” I said to her before feeling a wetness and strange sense of pleasure from her sucking. “Yuck, you’ve made me all wet now,” I said looking down at my nightdress only to realise something else was happening—I was wet at both nipples—I was lactating—spontaneously? Then in my head I thought I heard feminine laughter and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
(aka Bike) Part 1096 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The baby was gurgling and shrieking, and I was crying when Stella staggered in, “D’you know what time it is?” she growled at us.
“Look, Stella, look,” I pointed at my wet nightie.
“Look at what, she’s been sick down you has she?”
“No, here, you hold her a moment.” I passed the baby to her, then pulled off my nightie, standing there in a just a pair of panties. “Look,” I repeated and squeezed my nipple and a drop of fluid appeared at its tip.
She dabbed a finger against it and my nipple hardened and another drip appeared. She tasted her finger, “Hmm, I think it’s milk–have you been on anything, like FSH?”
It took a moment for me to understand what she meant, “No, nor prolactin,” I shrugged and two drips of milk fell from my breasts.
“Here,” she handed me back the baby who latched onto my breast and began sucking. For a moment it felt very uncomfortable as if they were being turned inside out, then that eased, presumably as the milk began to flow and became almost pleasurable.
I sat on the bed feeling a lovely sort of exhilarated bemusement with this wonderful baby sucking and chewing on my nipple. Stella picked up my nightdress and draped it around my shoulders.
“Are you sure you haven’t been taking anything?”
“No, I swear it seems to have just happened.”
“Did your breasts feel funny or anything, swollen or tender?”
“I can’t honestly say I noticed–hang about, my bra felt a bit tight when I dressed yesterday, so I changed it for another one–but that happens sometimes.”
“It happens to biological females, why should it happen to you? You don’t get periods, do you–or do you?”
“No, of course not. But my body sometimes feels like it has its own rhythm or cycle–I mean I feel randy every so often, or grumpy.”
“Just like a menstrual cycle–but no menses?”
“I wish–no. Just the bloating and mood changes.”
“So what’s caused this–and don’t tell me your blue light did it?”
“I have no idea,” I swapped the baby to my other breast, “Ouch, you little bugger, don’t bite.”
Stella chuckled an evil laugh.
“Well I had this funny dream last night.”
Stella yawned, “Go on, I’ll buy it.”
“No–seriously, it was weird, seriously weird.” I went on and described what I could remember from the earlier slumber.
“What was this fairy or angel’s name?” she asked me.
“Sheck or something like that only longer.”
“Shrek, oh that is so funny–she wasn’t ten feet tall and green was she?” Stella fell backwards on the bed causing the bed to vibrate which in turn woke up the baby and she began suckling again.
“Shek, not Shrek, you idiot, something like, Shek-nah, no Shekhinah that was it, Shekhinah.”
“Where did you dream that up from?” Stella wasn’t impressed by my dreams, “Not the same place as the one when you were crawling under your bed trying to find your bike?”
“How d’you know about that one? I’ll murder Simon when he comes home.”
“He’ll be pleased about the express dairies,” she laughed.
“He can get his own, this is all reserved for wee yin, here.” I stroked her head and she began suckling again.
“Did she fall asleep?” Stella laughed at the baby.
“I could murder a cuppa, Stel.” I said hinting strongly.
“All right, I’m not going to get much more sleep now anyway. I’ll bring Pud down and we can change them in the kitchen and have tea at the same time.”
So that is what we did. I popped on a bra and shoved some tissues in the cups and pulled on a top and a pair of jogging bottoms. My breasts felt really strange, like they’d had the centres sucked out of them–I suppose they had in some ways. I was still bemused when I got down and Stella had Puddin’ on the changing mat and was putting a new nappy on her.
“Phwoar, she doesn’t smell too fresh, Stella.”
“Neither would you if you’d spent all night in the same nappy.”
“I’ve had these panties on all night and I don’t smell like that,” I accused jokingly.
“I see, I suppose you and Baby Cheeses there, along with Shrek-wossit, have clean dry nappies.”
“Um–not quite, little Katie here, has done a whoopsie–lovely, looks like mustard.”
“I’ll bet it doesn’t smell like mustard.”
“Mustard gas, maybe,” I laughed dumping the nappy liner in the bin then putting the nappy in the bucket of nappy cleanser.
We sipped teas and chatted while I burped baby C and Stella fed Puddin’. Puddin’ was now having some solids as well as milk, and she had grown quite a bit compared to the small size of my charge.
I laid my baby down in her carrycot and she went off to sleep again, and Stella popped Puddin’ in the high chair, where she played with a spoon and the empty dish of whatever puree she’d been eating. Stella sat at my computer and asked for the name of the creature in my dream. I told her and she typed it into Google, apparently there are several ways of spelling it.
“What did you find?” I asked unable to see the screen from where I was sitting.
“You didn’t make the name up did you?”
“I have no idea–why?”
“You must have heard or read it somewhere,” she asserted.
“I could have done, why?”
“Well, if that weird dream of yours wasn’t just eating too much cheese...”
“I didn’t have any cheese yesterday, did I? No, I didn’t.”
“Like I said, if any of that was more than just a weird dream...”
“Yeah–well come on–tell me what you’ve found,” I urged her.
“Your little friend with the green headlights is heavy stuff.”
“What are you on about?”
“It’s Hebrew-Judaism stuff.”
“What Lillith and that sort?”
“No more fundamental than that, the Shekhinah is the feminine principle of the godhead.”
“What does that mean?” I was even more confused.
“The female face of God.”
“In Hebrew mythology,” I asserted determined not to take the religious stuff seriously, “it’s just a myth, a fairytale–and they talk to the universal unconscious. It’s all archetype stuff–Freud and Jung–that’s all it is.”
“Yeah sure, so you meet this goddess in your dream and the next moment you’re carrying more milk than a five gallon churn. Coincidence, or what?”
“It’s pure coincidence–the dream was all archetype stuff, going down into the unconscious, a full moon, gateways, olive and fig trees. All well known symbolism, that’s all it was. The lactation may or may not last, and could have been caused by all sorts of things.”
“Including Divine intervention?” Stella looked quite serious.
“No–that I don’t accept–for starters, how could something that doesn’t exist in any shape or form intervene? No way.”
“I suppose if you allowed the possibility of it, they’d throw you out of the Richard Dawkins fan club,” teased Stella.
“Yeah, that too.”
(aka Bike) Part 1097 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Tom was the first to come down, and asked why we were up so early, so I told him. He nodded as if it were an everyday occurrence that a previous male was breastfeeding. When I asked him if he didn’t think it was a little unusual, he simply shrugged and told me that the usual was the rare event these days, especially since I’d lived with him.
Stella had gone back upstairs as Tom and I spoke, and I asked him if he was growing tired of my living with him. He suddenly looked at me and said, “Hen, if ye hadnae come tae stay, I’d hae lang ago drank mesel’ tae ma grave.”
“I sometimes wonder if we’re all a bit much for you to cope with, the noise and the hustle and bustle.”
“Ye’re a’ fine, I like it like that. I’ll be a lang time deid, it’ll be quiet enough then.” He placed his hand over mine and squeezed gently. “Ye mean thae world tae me, ye an’ a’ yer bairns. Ye’re ma family, ye ken.”
“I know, Daddy, I just don’t want you to think I take you for granted.”
“Jest a wee bittee, but I like that because that’s hoo families ought t’be.”
“I suppose so, what would you like for dinner tonight?”
“Is chicken curry oot o’ the question?”
I shook my head, “I’ll do you a chicken curry if that’s what you fancy.”
“Aye, weel jest mind ye put some curry in it this time, ye fergot last.”
I spluttered instead of answering him and he chuckled. I kissed him on his cheek–an unusually unshaven one, before I went to see where my tribe was, especially Julie, who had to go to work.
I woke Julie and took a look at the others. They were all asleep. Essentially, they were all capable of making themselves a small amount of breakfast cereal and even making some toast in the toaster. They could all also wash themselves or help each other to wash and dress in my absence. I was firm believer in making children independent for reasons of their own self esteem, and also to save my time and energy for more important things. I suppose the influence of my mother coming through, which had helped me more than a little. As I came downstairs I did wonder what she’d think of my brood–probably run off in horror. Nah–she’d love ‘em.
While Julie breakfasted, I quickly washed and dressed, replacing the tissue in my bra. I really needed to get some nursing ones and also some proper pads. Oh boy, what fun.
An hour later I was in Mothercare, looking at nursing bras and tried one or two on, trying not to leak on them–I hadn’t thought about that element of breast feeding, ruining all my clothes. I also bought some wipes, some cream and took a leaflet on it. On Monday, I thought I’d better give my GP a call and get some advice.
I bought four bras and a big box of pads. The size which seemed to fit was–to my horror–a D cup. I felt like I had a set of bumpers on the front of my chest, which every time I moved dripped. Was this a blessing or a divine joke? Yeah, Shekie old girl, I have so much female essence in me, my cup runneth over–a D cup to be precise. I chuckled to myself as I left the shop convinced the woman I walked past thought I was barmy.
I bought a couple of things for our new arrival and an extra pack of terry towel nappies, the Gold Seal ones, or best on the market. Then I grabbed a couple of cheap tops just in case the milk did ruin my clothes. My breasts felt heavy and tender as I bought groceries and the tops in the supermarket. I had enough for three or four meals, including some chopped turkey for Tom’s curry, plus curry powder, chilli powder and some turmeric.
I would have a jacket potato for my meal, the others could have a mild curry, but Tom’s I would spice up a bit because I knew he’d enjoy it. Quite how much to use, I wasn’t sure, I’d have to see as I went along.
I also got them poppadoms and loads of basmati rice, plus some chutney and plain yoghurt. I seemed to spend my whole life shopping or doing housework–maybe I did need to get some help, even if I wasn’t planning on doing much paid work for a few months. I suppose the universe, or Shekhinah or whatever had made sure the baby was my priority–at least that was what I told myself.
In the supermarket pharmacy, I enquired about a breast pump and they had one, so I bought it, at least I wouldn’t be tied to little Cat all the time. Mind you the way my bra was feeling, I began to wish she was with me so she could have relieved the pressure. I began to get an appreciation of how domestic dairy cows must feel when it gets close to milking time.
I dashed home and delegated the unloading of the shopping to Trish and Billie, who had the misfortune to be standing about doing nothing. I ran upstairs, changed into a proper nursing bra, grabbed a handful of pads and dashed down again.
Little topsy was stirring and I picked her out and spoke to her. Her face lit up, and she was nuzzling against me trying to find my breast. I sat down, pulled up my top and opened the cup of the bra and she was on my nipple like a clamp. She sucked so hard it hurt and I stroked her face telling her to take it easy.
“Where do these go, Mu–wowee.” Trish came up to me and gasped as she saw my breast in the baby’s mouth. She plonked the shopping down on the kitchen table and stood and stared, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.
Billie came in and followed suit. They watched in awed silence, gasping when I switched breasts and popped the baby on t’other one. Eventually, Trish asked the obvious, “Will I be able to do that one day?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, until this morning, I didn’t think I could.”
“How did it happen?” asked Billie.
“I don’t know, spontaneous emission?”
I was aware of a noise behind me and footsteps. “Hi, Babes, I’m ho–” Simon stood behind the two girls his eyes out on stalks.
“Don’t I get a kiss then?” I pouted at my husband.
He pointed at me still feeding the baby, and with astonishment in his whole expression, seemed lost for words.
“Spontaneymus missiles,” suggested Trish to her father’s surprise which baffled him even more.
“I think she might mean, spontaneous emission,” I suggested.
“I think I prefer her phrasing, and you can point them at me any time you like.” Simon said with a strange expression of future bliss in his eyes, “Do you do deliveries?”
(aka Bike) Part 1098 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
It took a little while for everyone in the family to learn of my little miracle in turning into a feeding station for the baby. Julie was disgusted that I hadn’t told her at breakfast, and sulked.
When I popped out my queen sized boobs for the baby to suck on, I seemed to replace the television as the entertainment for the night. “Can I have boobies, too, Mummy?” asked Trish pulling up her top and showing a flat chest.
“Me too, Mummy,” said Livvie doing the same.
“I wannem too,” added Mima and Billie stood behind her nodding furiously.
“What’s made it happen?” asked Simon, his eyes absolutely riveted to my exposed breast. I shrugged because I didn’t know the answer.
“Um–I did it,” said Trish blushing.
“How did you do that?” asked Billie.
“I asked Jesus to help us feed Baby Catherine.”
I was a bit alarmed at the religious implication, which I assumed was a red herring, but if Trish believes in such superstitious outcomes, she’ll be hooked on it for life. Now wasn’t either the time or place to have a word with her, and even if I did it wasn’t guaranteed to have much effect.
In a recent study, people were shown to hold fast to erroneous views even after they were shown evidence which proved them wrong, and this was based on an emotional judgement not a cognitive one. So if you believe something, even if it’s wrong, you’ll still believe it after being shown it’s wrong.
Simon looked at her in astonishment, “Pity Gordon Brown didn’t know you a few months ago,” he added and smirked.
“Did he want to breast feed? I could still ask for him,” Trish volunteered.
“No, doesn’t matter now, we have a right tit in his place instead.” Simon opined and I cringed at his language. “Still maybe you could do it for Dave the Chamaeleon instead, he’s got a new baby–yeah, give his wife a hand with feeding his baby.”
“I’ll ask tonight, Daddy, when I say my prayers.”
This was news to me, but I couldn’t let Simon make her a butt of his jokes. “Don’t be silly, Simon–Daddy’s joking, Trish, he doesn’t mean it.” I glowered at Si who got the message, that if he wanted a milkshake tonight, he’d better behave.
“Yeah, I’m only joking, kiddo.”
Trish folded her arms and huffed and puffed before deciding that the bag of sweets he was offering as a bribe was sufficient compensation. It took her at least two nanoseconds; then she snatched them from his hand and she and Livvie, Mima and Billie went off to eat them.
Danny came home and asked what was for tea, “Milkshakes, get in the queue,” said Simon as he noticed what I was doing.
“Is that–um, I mean–are those real?” gasped Danny nearly walking into the back of a dining chair.
“Yes, what did you think they were–oxygen tanks?” I said back.
“Wow, kewl.” I unplugged the baby and he saw my nipple–“Yeah, really kewl.” He ran off up the stairs to do what–I didn’t want to know. He reappeared ten minutes later looking very flushed and Simon sniggered. I was too busy changing the baby’s nappy to say anything.
It took me three quarters of an hour to prepare the curry and I made two lots, adding some stronger spices to that meant for Simon and Tom. I ladled in a few large spoonfuls of curry powder and chilli, mixing it into the sauce and simmered for a few minutes. Then I dished it up for everyone–the rest getting the mild one, the two men the stronger version.
I sat down and ate a jacket potato with some of the chopped turkey I’d baked in a gravy sauce. “I hope it’s not too hot,” I said to Simon, who sniggered, Tom also smirked.
“It cannae be tue hot, lassie,” commented Tom.
“You’re absolutely right there, Gramps,” agreed Simon.
They took well loaded forkfuls and a moment later they gave me a very strange look. “I did warn you it was hot.”
Mima sniggered and Trish smirked.
Simon fanned his open mouth with his hand, then gulped down a glass of wine. Not the best thing to do to cool one’s gullet.
“Yoghurt,” I spluttered through a mouthful of potato.
By this time, Tom was looking decidedly red faced, so I plonked the carton of yoghurt in front of him. He tore it open and dumped a pile on his plate, which he then shovelled down his throat. Simon grabbed the carton and swallowed down the yoghurt. It wasn’t true that you could hear his throat sizzling as he swallowed.
Neither men ate anything else that night and Tom didn’t even have his usual tot of whisky, he just sipped ice water for the rest of the evening and neither seemed to want to talk much either.
The girls thought it was hilarious, and even Danny, who enjoyed his curry chuckled, “It cannae be too hot, lassie,” he joked in a very poor Scots accent.
“You be careful, I don’t think Gramps is feeling in a good mood,” I cautioned him. He giggled then went very red and left the room.
After all that, my jacket potato was very nice.
In bed later that night, I expressed some milk into a bottle with Simon hovering obviously wanting to be involved but being a bit schoolboyish about asserting himself.
“Oh for goodness sake, Simon, if you want to work the pump, do so–don’t faff about like an ataxic melon.”
“Like a what?” he blushed.
“Here, stick this over my nipple and squeeze the rubber bulb,” I handed him the pump, “Gently–geez, you don’t know your own strength–you nearly sucked out my thymus then.”
He blushed and with shaking hands tried again, the power I realised suddenly I had over this lump, who was nearly twice my size and strength made my head swim. He was absolutely fascinated by a simple act of nature–well okay hardly simple in my case, but the only chance he’s likely to get to play with a pair of lactating boobs.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this?”
“Why? Who else should I ask?”
“No, I mean–I never thought you’d be able to do this.”
“I’m not, you are.” I knew perfectly well what he meant but I was in need of a bit of play.
“No, you, producing milk. I mean, how did you manage that?”
“I have no idea, maybe Trish was right.” I shrugged and the pump slipped off my breast and he nearly spilt it.
“Can I try some?” he asked blushing and almost squirming.
“Let’s see how much we have first.” I took the pump and tipped it into the bottle. I had about half a bottle. It would do for a small feed. “Pop that in the fridge for me will you, oh and rinse out the pump and pop it in the Milton box. (A chemical disinfection container for bottles and other baby things).
While he was gone I drank half a glass of water, I knew I had to keep hydrated if I wanted the milk to continue flowing. He came rushing back puffing and blowing like an old man.
“Where’s my taster?” he said looking at the bedside table for a glass of my magic juice.
“Still in the box.” I said and smiled flirtatiously at him.
“Oh, I see,” he said and climbed on the bed.
“You’re going to have to earn it.”
“I just did, I took the stuff downstairs for you.”
“Huh, I could have got one of the kids to do that and they wouldn’t expect any reward, they’re happy just to help.”
“Cut to the breast–I mean chest–I mean chase,” he spluttered and I giggled so much that some milk oozed out.
“Help yourself–the milky bars are on me!” I giggled and you can imagine what happened next.
(aka Bike) Part 1099 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I’ve discovered another disadvantage to this breast feeding lark–unless, I wear a wet suit, we both get covered in sticky fluid when making love. Not a lot, but enough to make a shower necessary before going to sleep–which meant drying my hair and combing it and by which time, tiny wee was awake again and looking for a pre-breakfast snack.
Simon of course went to bed and was asleep quite quickly whilst I sat there nodding off as the baby emptied my flotation tanks. In the end I wrapped a towel around her in case I did drop off, so she wouldn’t fall.
I did nod for a few moments and her chewing my nipple woke me–I think she wanted the other one or a bacon sandwich–anyway, she got the former. She fell asleep on my breast, so did I. We woke with quite a start when Simon, woken by the light still on, came to see why I was sitting in the chair rather than sleeping.
I changed the baby’s nappy and put her down to sleep–it was nearly three o’clock and I had no idea how long I’d sat there. I pulled on my nursing passion killer with its pads and almost fell into bed, drifting off almost as soon as my head touched the pillow, ignoring Simon’s request for a top up.
The next day, it didn’t rain, so we all went for a walk–except Julie, who was waiting for Leon to arrive–waiting in bed, so I told her in no uncertain terms she needed to get up and dressed. In response, she pulled the duvet over her head. So I locked both back and front doors and took the keys with me. Knowing Leon, he’d get on with some gardening when he arrived.
In the end we met him as he was riding to the house and Tom gave him instructions on what he wanted done. Danny decided he’d go back with Leon, I guessed he needed some male bonding, so I let him go. He’d also act as a gooseberry to the young lovers.
We were out for an hour or so, enjoying the sunshine if not the cool breeze, Simon pushing the pram like a proud father and me holding hands with as many of my kids as I could. They’d change over every so often, so Trish would hold one hand and Livvie my other, and Mima would hold her hand and Billie would hang on to Trish. Then ten minutes later, they’d all swap round and someone would push Puddin’ and another would hold Stella’s hand. The only one who wouldn’t change was Simon, he was hanging on to the pram for grim death.
When I asked him later, I knew the answer was really, that this was the closest thing we’d ever have to our own baby, but his answer in typical flippant schoolboy style was, “I have to protect the owner of the milkshake factory.”
“That’s me,” I scolded.
“No, that’s her,” he pointed to the pram, “you are the factory.”
“Oh great, I love it when men objectify women.”
“Don’t go all feminist on me.”
“Oh, I see, it’s okay for you to go all macho male chauvinist but not for me to defend myself.”
“Me, male chauvinist? Is that what you think? Here take your bloody baby.” With that he turned on his heel abandoning the pram and Trish and Livvie squabbled over who was going to push it. I simply stood there with eyes filling with tears–not sure if I was hurt or angry.
“Don’t cwy, Mummy,” said Mima, holding my hand and Puddin’s pram with the other. I smiled at her and nodded, although a tear did escape and run down my face to drop onto the pavement.
Stella and Simon were fifty yards down the road and she was letting rip at him. We walked on slowly and Tom put his arm round me, “Storm in a teacup,” he said and we walked on.
It was always stupid little things we fought about, though rarely in front of the kids. I was as guilty of starting them as he was. So when he came back, marched back by his ‘prefect’ sister, I apologised before he could say anything.
“I’m sorry, darling, I’m just a bit tired and tetchy this morning, so I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
“As much my fault–you know I don’t think of you as a sex object–you’re a wonderful person, and I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I kissed him and all the kids cheered, talk about embarrassing.
A bit later we bumped into an old lady, “Lovely mornin’,” she observed.
“Yes, just right for a walk,” I replied.
“You doin’ the Sunday School walk?” she enquired.
It took a moment for me to understand what she said. “Oh no, these are all mine,” I smiled.
She looked horrified, “You need to learn to say no to him,” she advised and bustled on.
I smirked and Trish pulled on my sleeve and asked, “What did she mean, Mummy?”
“I think she thought I had enough children.”
“Oh a girl can’t have too many children, Mummy.”
“We’re not talking about shoes, Trish. Children are a responsibility, they take time and effort, not to mention money.”
“But we’re worth it,” she sighed.
I hugged her and agreed. Then of course I had to hug Mima, who then went back to holding Simon’s hand–he was walking with Tom and hadn’t heard my conversation with the old lady.
We walked in a big circle coming back to the house via the cemetery, where Tom laid some flowers on his wife and daughter’s grave. We all stood back while he did this, then he picked up the baby and carried her to the grave.
“What’s he doing?” asked Livvie.
“He’s telling his wife and daughter about his latest granddaughter.”
“Oh–but they’re...”
“Yes, it helps him cope with his loss to tell them anyway and it harms no one does it?”
“No, I s’pose not,” Livvie accepted.
Simon put his arm around Livvie’s shoulder and began to walk away, “Some people believe they can talk to their dead loved ones, and who are we to say they can’t? As Mummy said, it does no harm and perhaps makes him feel better.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she answered before they’d gone out of earshot.
“They think she’s bonny,” Tom handed me back my bundle of joy. “They also think it’s lovely that ye can breast her.”
Trish gave me a funny look as she stood holding the pram waiting for the return of its occupant–it was her turn to chauffer her sister about. My expression back to her meant not to say anything and she shrugged.
“I think so too, Daddy and I’m glad they approve.”
“Och, they do that alricht, ye ken–but then they think thae wurrld o’ma dochter an’ a’ her bairns.”
I linked arms with him as we walked away from the graves, “You’re a wonderful man, Tom Agnew.”
“Aye, sae Celia used tae say–ye’ve no’ bin talkin’ wi’ her?”
We both laughed and walked on with a bemused Trish pushing the pram in front of us.
(aka Bike) Part 1100 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
On the Monday, I contacted the school and left a message for the headmistress or school secretary to call me back. At about eleven, the headmistress rang.
“Hello, Sister Maria, you remember my new daughter, Billie, well if your offer still holds, I’d like to enrol her at the convent.”
“The offer still stands, Lady Cameron, and if I remember she has a similar plumbing anomaly to Trish?”
“Very succinctly put.”
“I’ll arrange for the forms to be sent to you, I hope she’ll like it and settle in as well as her sisters–I’m afraid if she doesn’t you will be liable the whole term’s fees.”
“Yes, I understand, will you send me a list of what the uniform needs are again?”
“I will, indeed.”
“Thanks, that’s one more thing off my list.”
“I look forward to welcoming all four of your daughters next month.”
“In a few years there could be another one.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I have care of a baby, whose parents actually were Catholics, so assuming she’s still with me she’ll come to you as well.”
“I hope you’re having her baptised.”
“Not for the moment–I just haven’t got time, besides I’ll have to check if she’s already been done.”
“How old is she?”
“Three or four weeks.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that is young.”
“Sadly, her parents are both dead and the mother asked me to look after her.”
“Goodness! See, your fame as a Good Samaritan spreads far an’ wide.”
“I think my reputation as a soft touch is probably even more widespread.”
“You are far too self-deprecating. Is the baby taking to the bottle?”
“I don’t know, at the moment I’m feeding her myself.”
“You’re breast feeding her?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought you said...”
“Yes, I did–but somehow it started spontaneously.”
“The Lord be praised, this is a minor miracle.”
“Well please keep it under your hat, I don’t want it generally known what’s happened.”
“God moves in mysterious ways, Lady Catherine.”
“So I’m told.”
“Maybe all those miracles you perform for others has caused another to made for you. You certainly deserve it.”
“I see it rather more mundanely than that, but if miracles are being given, then the recipient is the baby more than I, and after losing the rest of her family, she deserves a break.”
“Indeed she does, poor little mite.”
“I’ll await the forms.”
“I’ll post them meself,” she assured me and I rang off.
Next I spoke briefly with my GP and asked him to call me back. He did at the end of his surgery. After a quick chat, he offered to come by on his way home for lunch, which he did.
He examined me and the baby, and concluded she was okay, and that I indeed was producing milk in sufficient quantity to feed her. He also agreed to take her on as a patient. He spoke to most of the other children and agreed that Billie seemed to look far happier as a girl. I explained about the new school, and he grimaced–"I know what the fees are like, I’ve got two at a private school.”
“You could have stayed for lunch,” I said as he was leaving.
“I think you have enough to do, besides, I have to walk the dog.”
“You must be a dedicated pet lover,” I teased.
“Me? No, I need the walk more than him, it de-stresses me, so I do it morning, noon and night.”
“I use a bicycle for the same thing.”
“With seven children, how do you find time to ride a bike?”
“With difficulty.” I smiled and shrugged. He left, urging me not to overdo things. I promised him I was looking for some help around the house.
After lunch, I sent an advert to the local paper requesting a box number. It went:
Help needed running a busy professional household, with several children. Experience necessary, references required. Will need to be cleared by a CRB check. Apply in writing with CV to Box no. ???
Later on, Maureen appeared and I asked her about converting the room above the old stables into a small flat. She knew a builder who could do it. I asked her to get me a quote. I’d spoken of doing this before with Tom, who’d agreed in principle, but it was still his property and he’d need to agree. We couldn’t extend the house, it was a listed building, grade II. I suspected the stables were too, but with Maureen on the job, I felt sure we could get someone to do a decent job and not annoy the planning authority. I decided if we could offer accommodation, we’d find it easier to fill the vacancy–although that in itself created new complications as well. I would have to get any sort of lease organised by the solicitor, and it needed to be tied to the job. The last thing I needed was someone in the flat who was no longer doing the job, because evicting tenants can be a real pain.
Some of you might wonder what happened to Simon’s cottage–well, he let it out and had trouble with one tenant who defaulted on the rent but refused to accept the eviction notice we tried to serve on him.
I’m not sure how Simon got rid of him in the end, and I’m not sure I want to know. What I do know is how exercised Simon was by the experience and how close he was to murdering the individual, who was a right pain.
The people in there now are delightful and no problem at all. Mind you, I’d been lucky with the tenants of Des’s old place–so far they’d been model ones. Mind you, he worked at Bristol University, a reader or something.
I fed the baby–I was getting used to sopping wet nipples and using pads. I expressed some milk most days and there was still plenty for tiny wee. In a few more weeks, the younger children could help me feed her with a bottle, but for the moment it was adults only, which included Julie.
She was a bit of help around the house but I informed her she was doing beauty and hairdressing at college from September. She flounced about the place but I held firm, and eventually she agreed to give it a go. I wasn’t sure how committed she was to anything but lazing about and tongue wrestling with Leon, but then she is a teenager. Although some of those are absolutely driven to achieve something with their lives, Julie wasn’t one.
“Well you did alright, marrying into money.”
“I have two degrees, Julie, and I worked full time until fairly recently, and still have part time jobs with the survey and the bank.”
“Both of those are a doddle aren’t they–money for old rope.”
“Are they? I spend a couple of hours a day doing them, usually after you’ve gone to bed. No, the money Simon pays you lying in your bed when you’re supposed to be helping me, now that is a doddle.
“Perhaps you will find some man to keep you in your idleness, but I doubt it–so as I have a commitment to at least making you qualified to earn your own way in this world, you are going to college to learn a skill.”
“I think I wanna do tattooing and piercing.”
“Fine, but you’re doing hair and beauty first.”
“What if I don’t wanna do it?”
“I’ll cut off your allowance and only feed and clothe you for work you do at home. Oo,h and I’ll only pay the minimum rate.”
“Now you’re getting mean.”
“No, I’m getting tough. You don’t seem to learn the easy way, so I’m going to make you do it the hard way–it’s your choice, but learn you will.”
“Wanna bet?” she mouthed as she left.
“I’m willing to bet your room here, that you mend your ways or look for another billet. I can let your room to my new help.”
She burst into tears and ran up the stairs slamming the door.
“Wassamatta with Julie?” asked Trish.
“I just gave her a reality check.”
“Wassat?”
“Okay, basically I told her if she didn’t shape up, she could ship out.”
“You can’t do that, Mummy. you promised us we had a home for life with you?”
“I promised you a home for as long as you needed one. in return, you lived by my rules. Julie seems incapable of doing so, so I’ve given her a final warning.”
“But you can’t throw her out, Mummy.” now Trish was in tears.
“I didn’t say I was going to throw her out, I implied it, because I wanted to get her attention. Now she might listen.”
That night I was just putting the baby down after a late feed when I thought I heard the front door close. I ran downstairs and the chain wasn’t on it. Someone had gone out. I couldn’t see anyone in the drive. I raced upstairs and checked all the rooms, Julie’s bed hadn’t been slept in and there was a note on it.
‘You made me do this. J.’
Oh great, just what I need, I picked up the phone and called the police.
(aka Bike) Part 1101 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“How old is the young woman concerned?” asked the police switchboard.
“Fifteen.”
“Oh, a teenager?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have a car do a sweep along your road.”
“Is that all?”
“You have no reason to suggest she’s about to harm herself?”
“She did once before, but I found her in time.”
“She has probably gone off in a sulk, but we’ll have the car do a couple of sweeps, what was she wearing?”
“I don’t know, she left without me seeing her.”
“Okay, what’s her name?”
“Julie Kemp.”
“And you’re Mrs Kemp, I take it?”
“No, I’m her foster mother, my name’s Cathy Cameron.”
I checked the baby and then knocked on Tom’s door, I explained what had happened and that I was going checking for her myself. He sleepily agreed to listen out for the others. I dashed up to my room, found my image intensifier and slipping on a coat, put a torch in my pocket and with the dog on the lead, set off to look for her. I paused at the gate, asked the blue light which way and it seemed to indicate the direction towards town. I set off at a brisk pace and the dog kept wanting to stop and sniff lampposts and telegraph poles. Eventually she got the message that I was in a hurry and walked with me.
Thankfully I had a plastic bag with me, because she pooed a bit further on. I cursed her, then scooped it up and popped it in a litter bin–one more irritation and she’d be following it.
I decided that I’d walk fast for a couple of miles because if she was beyond that, she’d have had to have had a lift. It was possible that she’d ordered a taxi or even hitched–neither were without risk to a young woman alone–but the latter would be verging on suicidal.
My heart was beating nineteen to the dozen as I now began to jog along, glad I’d worn trainers and jeans–although my heavy breasts bounced up and down in my bra–wonderful, I thought I could feel something damp running down my chest.
We got beyond the street lights and I donned the image intensifier, as we walked I scanned the fields. I stopped for a moment and asked the blue light which way, and again it directed me–I hoped in the right direction.
We came to a gateway with a footpath running through a field. Surely, she hadn’t come down this way? I consulted the light and it suggested she had. It was pretty dark and I was in danger of falling over the stupid mutt I’d brought with me. I had the dog whistle, so I let her off and concentrated on watching the path through the image intensifier. A little out of the lights from the road and passing traffic I saw something which looked like a group of people. My adrenalin started to flow and I slowed down to a near crawl.
As I got nearer, I could hear arguing–it sounded like a girl and a man, and the girl sounded remarkably like Julie. I crept forward a little further. I was sure it was Julie but who were the blokes?
“Where’s the money?” asked the man roughly.
“You promised me a lift to the city centre and somewhere to stay.”
“Changed me mind–now gimme the money.”
“But you promised me,” Julie was nearly hysterical.
“Tough shit, you little tart,” he raised his arm and backhanded her across the face.
The fear which had been collecting in the pit of my stomach now turned to anger and I tried to assess what I had as weapons–mainly surprise and the dog’s lead–the plastic handle of the retractable lead.
I blew the whistle and heard barking not too far away.
“’Ere, wassat?” asked the other man.
“Some stupid dog, now bitch, where’s the dosh, or do I have to get really nasty.”
I heard Julie pleading not to hit her again. I got closer and realised they might see me against the light from the road. They seemed to have some sort of torch but it wasn’t very bright–a bit like the two assailants.
I circled round them and then crept in really close. I had my torch in one hand and the dog lead in the other. The nasty one was bent over Julie, so I ran in, kicked him hard between his legs from behind following it with another to his back side pushing him onto his face. He made an awful groaning noise as he went down.
The second man I caught full in the face with the dog lead–the plastic box bit, and then did a back kick to his chest. He fell over backwards swearing at me.
I grabbed Julie and her bag and started running with her towards the road. “C’mon girl, leg it!”
“Mummy?” she asked still crying, blood on her face from the blow she’d received.
“Who else, now run.” I switched on the torch and as we ran, Kiki found us and ran alongside us barking.
We stopped at the gate and I looked behind us, the two would-be robbers were following us. We continued running down the road towards home when a police car hove into view. He pulled alongside us. “Everything all right?” Clearly it wasn’t.
Within minutes we had blue lights flashing all over the place and one of them was the dog handler, with two big German shepherds. I was almost hoping they met the two miscreants who’d pursued us.
We got a lift back and made statements at the house, where I made them coffee and sandwiches–they were going to miss their break in dealing with us. It bought us sympathy.
“How come you’ve got one of these?” asked the larger of the two plod, picking up the image intensifier.
“I’m a biologist and do work with dormice, which are nocturnal.”
“Did you see that film a while back about them, well cool that bit of fluff who presented it.”
“That wis ma dochter,” Tom arrived and put his arm round my shoulders.
“Wow, it was a brill film, how d’ya do some of that close up stuff?”
“With great difficulty, I only presented the film, I didn’t film it myself.”
“Aye, she presented it, wrote it, directed it and co-produced it.”
“A very talented lady,” admitted the plod.
“Aye, she’s that a’richt.”
“And she’s your daughter?”
“Aye, and thae young lassie wha sterted a’ this is her dochter.”
“Well either you had her very young or you’re older than you look.”
“She’s my foster daughter. We had a bit of a row and she ran off.”
“So she was the reported runaway?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, a domestic–you didn’t hit her did you?”
“No, the larger of the two men who were arguing with her did that.”
“Then you clobbered them both and the two of you ran off?”
“I told you this before.”
“Yes, I know Mrs Cameron, I’m just checking I understand it, because I have to write a report.”
His radio pipped and he excused himself to talk to it. He came back a few minutes later. “We have reports of two men seen running through people’s gardens not far from where we found you.”
“Which means?”
“It corroborates your story a bit more.”
“I’m no liar.” I asserted angrily.
“I didn’t say you were, but you’re not saying who you really are, are you?”
“Yes, Cathy Cameron, and I’m a biologist at the university.”
“You’re also married to Lord Simon Cameron, so that makes you Lady Cameron if I’m not mistaken.”
“So?”
“You have something of a record with our department.”
“What a criminal record–I have not,” I almost screeched this at him.
“No, madam, shall we say we seem to attend to events in which you feature, about ten times as often as the average godfather.”
“Are you implying that I’m a criminal?”
“Far from it, because usually someone gets busted, whether it’s a bent copper or a regular felon, don’t seem to matter. You’re a regular trouble magnet.”
“I am not, I mean, I didn’t ask those two men to accost my daughter.”
“No, you just rescued her and laid ‘em out.”
“I temporarily disabled them so we could run away.”
“Yeah with kicks in the goolies.”
“Do you have any better suggestions?”
“Not for temporarily disabling–none whatsoever,” he said with a smirk. “I’ve got a good idea who our Laurel and Hardy characters are, so tomorrow I’ll feel a couple of collars and one of them’s balls.”
“Do you have enough evidence for a conviction?”
“That’s not up to me, but I doubt it. However, when I tell him who beat the crap out of him, I doubt he’ll come anywhere near you again.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t, he might want revenge.”
“Nah–because if he even thinks about it, I’ll spread it around that he got duffed by a dolly-bird teacher. He’d never live it down.”
I made a disbelieving face.
“Trust me, I know these two–they’ll be telling stories of being done over by a whole gang to explain their bruises. If someone starts spreading rumours that it was woman who did them both, and single handed, they’ll be a laughing stock.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Don’t worry, these two pond scum won’t bother you or your family again–I mean you might not show mercy next time.” He winked and both police officers left.
(aka Bike) Part 1102 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“We need to talk in the morning, now off to bed with you.”
“Yes, Mummy,” Julie pecked me on the cheek and went up the stairs. I quickly cleared up the kitchen and expressed some of the milk from my breasts–they were feeling full and uncomfortable. I drank some water and washed out the pump, put the boob juice in the fridge and went up to bed.
I was just dropping off nicely when the baby started, whimpering, then crying. I felt miles away and would have quite happily slipped off to sleep. Instead, I forced myself out of bed and after wrapping her to me with a towel, went back to bed and let her suckle me as I dozed. My biggest fear was actually falling asleep and rolling on to her, but I didn’t really sleep–just dozed. I switched breasts and she chewed up my other nipple.
It was four o’clock, no wonder I was so stupefied. I managed to change her and put her down again, then literally fell back into bed and asleep.
I awoke with a shock at ten, Trish was standing beside the bed with a cuppa. “I must get up–I need to feed the baby,” my breasts felt huge and heavy.
“Auntie Stella’s done it, she’s downstairs in her carrycot.”
“Oh, what did she use?”
“The milk in the fridge.”
“Oh yeah,” I’d forgotten about it. “Where’s Julie?”
“She’s downstairs doing the ironing and she put some bread mix in the machine.”
“She’s doing the ironing?”
“Yeah, a big pile of it.”
“Oh all the bedding–I did it the other day.”
“She’s had Livvie doin’ the polishing, an’ me doin’ the dustin’, and Meems has been tidying the books down by the sofa.”
“What about Billie and Danny?”
“They’ve gone with Gramps to do some shopping.”
“I’d best get up–I need a wee and some breakfast.”
“Can I make you some toast, Mummy?”
“If you like, I’ll be down in ten minutes, so wait for five before you start–there’s nothing worse than cold toast,” I called to her shadow, but she’d gone. I quickly washed and dressed–I had a bruise on my instep from where I kicked the yobbo last night.
Stella made some fresh tea and Trish presented me with some cold toast, but I couldn’t be cross with her, and besides, Kiki helped me eat it–she didn’t seem to mind it cold.
“Thanks for doing the ironing, sweetheart,” I said to Julie.
“It’s part of my job, isn’t it?”
“Yes of course it is, but thanks anyway, it looks like you’ve made a good job of it.”
“An’, Mummy?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“I’ll do that course, you like, want me to do.”
“The hairdressing and beauty one?” I checked.
“Yes, Mummy.”
I made her put down the iron, and gave her a huge hug. “Julie, when you’re good, you’re an absolute angel.”
“Yeah, an’ when I’m bad, I’m a devil–I know.”
“No, you’re a teenager.”
“Isn’t that the same?” she sighed.
“No, not at all–you’re still a teenager now, but a helpful one and a caring one.”
“I learned some things last night, Mummy.”
“Did you, sweetheart–in which case it wasn’t a wasted evening, was it?”
“Don’t you want to hear what I learnt?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“One of them I think, I do.”
“Okay, sweetheart, fire away.”
She swallowed and her eyes began to fill with tears. I felt for her and hugged her again.
“I realise,” she sobbed, “that you must really love me, and I’m like really sorry for messin’ up so often.”
I felt choked myself and found it difficult to reply. “We all love you, Julie. It’s one of the reasons I get so cross with you at times, because I know you’re capable of doing better.”
“I jus’ get so mixed up, Mummy–I feel so messed up inside, that I jus’ wanna hurt someone.”
“When I took you on as a foster child, I talked things over with Daddy and Gramps. We knew you had issues and that it would test us, but we resolved to cope with them. Last night, I failed you as a parent. I lost it and said some things I should never have said. I can’t take them back, but I apologise because I am wholeheartedly sorry for what I said.”
“You had a right to say them, Mummy–I was jus’ bummin’ about doin’ as little as possible, because someone else would always do it instead. I could see how busy you were, but even then I didn’t try to help–because, I’m lazy, I s’pose. Then when you could feed the baby–I felt you were more female than me, and I hated you for it.”
I nearly fell over. “You hated me for that?”
“I’m sorry, Mummy, maybe I’d better leave–I don’t deserve your love.” She made to walk away from me.
“Julie, you get back here,” I said loudly.
“How dare you decide how and when I love people–and who deserves or doesn’t. Love is unconditional, it isn’t about deserving or being worthy, because love doesn’t work like that. Anything which does–isn’t love. Do you understand?”
She stood, shocked at my outburst and nodded at me.
“I don’t choose who I love, love chooses that for me. I love all my children equally. You all have different needs, so it expresses itself in different ways–but I love you all as much as each other, from yourself down to baby Catherine.
“I accept that whilst I’m not your birth mother, each of you have found your way to me because you need me, and I in turn need something which you give to me. I can’t explain what exactly, because I haven’t really thought this through, but I’d say you need my love and protection and perhaps guidance–and in return you give me a sense of fulfillment I wouldn’t otherwise have.”
“Do you think God or the blue light makes it happen, Mummy?”
“I don’t know if it has a name, and even if it does, it’s irrelevant–I don’t even know if it’s all just fortunate coincidence–synchronicity, as Jung called it. I just don’t know.”
“I like the idea that God or the blue light, made it happen.” Julie smiled.
“The Shekhinah,” I corrected.
“Wassat?”
“The feminine principle of the godhead, according to some authorities.”
“Hey, that sounds good–sounds like a pop singer–shake that booty, Shekhinah.”
“I think that might be seen as disrespectful by some.”
She blushed, “Yeah, sorry.”
“C’mon, finish the ironing and I’ll make us all some lunch.”
“Okay, Mummy. Oh an’, Mummy.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you, too.”
I smiled with eyes brimming with tears and nodded before dashing into the loo to wipe my eyes. It wasn’t the end of our journey together, I knew that: we’d still have rows, and differences of opinion; but for now–we had a truce, where we managed to say to each other some important truths, which would make our next stage possibly a little less bumpy. All in all, it was turning out to be a better day than I had anticipated at four o’clock this morning. Yeah it was a good day.
“Mummy,” yelled Trish, “baby’s awake and she’s pooed herself.”
(aka Bike) Part 1103 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Dealing with tiny-wee–except her wees were anything but tiny–became the next priority. You can hardly explain to a three week old baby, ‘Sorry kid ya gorra wait, gorra feed the others first,’ can you? Besides I felt as if my mammaries were becoming full close to capacity and it would be ironic if I was the first woman to be killed by them exploding.
I picked up my bundle of joy and she stopped crying, restarting when I decided it was better to change her than feed her first. I didn’t think poo would do her skin any good at all and getting some into her bladder could cause all sorts of infection problems. So a change of nappy after a quick bum wipe/wash, then a feed.
Her priorities were different and she bawled the whole time until at last clean and dry, I undid the cover on my bra and she practically swallowed my boob. Okay, a slight exaggeration–but you get the picture.
Of course she was ravenous and took it down too quickly–I thought that only happened with bottles?–apparently not. She stopped and I winded her, whereupon she gave a huge burp and brought up half her feed–all over both of us. The joys of motherhood. Stella stood watching and laughing, Julie wasn’t sure what to think and Trish was disgusted. “You need to teach that baby it’s rude to burp.”
I wiped myself down with a spare nappy, and we started again–on the feeding. It went easier this time, in fact she was so relaxed, she kept falling asleep and I had to stroke her cheek to keep her feeding. Of course she pooped again and I changed her completely then–she grumbled rather than cried and after Julie gave her a cuddle–I was changing myself–we put her down to sleep and Trish helped me make some lunch.
Tom arrived with the other two as I made scrambled eggs on toast with chopped tomatoes for a bit of extra colour and flavour. After lunch I expressed some milk, watched by the three younger girls–they were fascinated that I could get milk out of my boobs and how big they seemed to be compared to usual.
Certainly they drew the attention of men. When I was last in a shop, the man serving me looked at my bulging chest the whole time. I wasn’t impressed and reminded him at the end that it was customary to look people in the eyes when you talk to them not talk to their chest. He blushed and stuttered an apology and hoped that I wouldn’t report him–I didn’t, I have better things to do.
The afternoon faded into evening and once more meals became my priority. Trish and Julie fed junior from the bottle while I started dinner. Trish had been itching to do this, since she’d fed Puddin’ by bottle in the hospital incubator. I sat her down and placed the baby in her arms, and showed her how to support her head. She clucked like a mother hen and Julie agreed to watch the two of them while I popped the chicken in the oven.
Julie burped her and I watched as Trish and Meems changed her nappy and cleaned her up. I was quite impressed–I don’t normally associate Trish with dolls–which she doesn’t really care for, but she does seem to like real babies. I wondered if she might like a life size doll–but then rejected it. There is no substitute for the real thing, and that seems to be where her interest lies.
After a roast dinner, we settled down to watch a video of Fantasia, one of the best Disney cartoons ever made–considering it was made so long ago, the imagery and music combinations are absolute magic. The girls love it, and I promised they could watch it through to the end before they went to bed.
Billie and Livvie wanted to help feed and change Baby C tomorrow, and I promised they could if they behaved. Danny looked bored and asked if he could go and see his friends tomorrow. I told him I’d probably let him, depending upon the weather. Then after I got the girls in bed I went to chat with him.
“You regretting coming to live with a bunch of women?”
“It can be a bit borin’, Mum.”
“You’re not enamoured of babies?”
“If that means do I like ‘em? Not really, I’d rather be out playin’ footie or with the lads.”
“Where do you plan on meeting them?”
“Over by the rec. We’re gonna play football.”
“What time?”
“About ten, I think.”
“You could cycle there, couldn’t you?”
“On my MTB?”
“Yes, don’t forget to take a lock with you.”
“So I can go?”
“Yes, but don’t get into any trouble, will you?”
“Muuum,” he protested.
“Suuuuun,” I replied.
“Okay, I promise.”
“Take a change of clothing with you and some waterproofs–the forecast for tomorrow looks a bit iffy.”
“Okay–thanks, Mum.” I bent down to hug him and he kissed me on my cheek.
“Oh, by the way, if all goes well, the adoption should go through next week, according to the solicitor.”
“That’ll be good, can I change my name to Cameron?”
“I take it you mean your surname?”
“Muuum.” He protested and I sniggered.
“See how you feel later, we’ll discuss it after the rest goes through.”
“Kewl,” he said with a big smile on his face.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about them giving up their old surnames, I suppose because I could see some benefit in keeping their links with their original families–perhaps I was wrong. I wouldn’t stop any of them from doing it, nor would I encourage it.
I loved all my charges, of that I was sure. I didn’t always like what they said or did, but loving and liking aren’t the same, as I tried to explain to Julie earlier. I felt sorry for Danny, given what had happened to the other boy who’d come to stay with us. I still wasn’t sure about Billie. So far she seemed to be enjoying being a girl–maybe when it got a bit more intensive such as school, she might change her mind and revert. I would have to arrange some extra appointments with Stephanie for her and also do one for Julie, perhaps Trish too–though she seemed to stay level headed and cheerful.
I wondered if anyone had replied to my advert, I asked for it to be inserted for three nights–it was lovely having my own doll to play with, except she was hard work and the drawbacks from breastfeeding were becoming apparent–it was very time consuming, and unless I expressed enough to the bottle, also meant I couldn’t delegate much of it.
I wanted Simon to do some–bottle feeding, of course–you didn’t think I meant growing his own–the mind boggles. I wanted him to feel a strong bond with the baby. I mean, he’s actually very good with all the kids, though I do wonder if he sees them as his kids, or an indulgence to me?
If that was the case, the latter, I mean, I’d be very disappointed in him. He’s so good with Meems–who’s his favourite. He tries with Danny, but isn’t very good at it, Trish terrifies him–she is so bright, and Livvie is a bit of it all–she’s bright but doesn’t know it quite as well as Trish, whose confidence seems to grow weekly. What she’ll be like in ten years–I dread to think–she’ll either be an absolute angel or a total monster.
I went to bed with this playing on my mind and was woken in the night by another little monster craving my flesh–well all right, certain fatty appendages which spout boob juice. Would I ever learn to cope with this disturbed nights bit?
(aka Bike) Part 1104 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
One of these days I would actually throw John Humphrys out of the window–not him personally, but the radio, through which his voice was irritating me. I groaned silently, afraid any noise would wake the baby–the excuse I needed to turn off Mr Humphrys. I leant over and reached for the radio and in my sleepy carelessness, I knocked over the bedside light, which clattered to the floor and woke up my baby.
I cursed, and swiped the radio off the bedside cabinet, somehow instead of the radio alone, I now had the radio and the alarm thing buzzing at me. Oh for a hammer, a big one.
Trish came rushing in to see what was happening, and helped me clear up the mess before I went for a wee and came back to see to the baby. Trish was already sitting on the end of my bed nursing her–in fact, she seemed as if she was trying to get the baby to suckle her flat chest.
“Um–what are you doing, Trish?” I asked and she nearly dropped the baby. I stepped forward and took her.
“Nothin’, honest, Mummy.”
“So why is your pyjama top rolled up your chest?”
“Um,” she started to sniff, and I invited her to come and sit with me. “I was seeing what it felt like to breast feed.”
I chuckled and ruffled her hair, “You silly goose, you have to have breasts first, and even then it’s a bit hit and miss.”
“How can you do it, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, darling, I’m just lucky I guess.”
“I want to be able to do it too.”
“Well, by the time you’re grown up, it might well be possible for you to breast feed if you can find a baby to do it for.”
“I’ll find one okay.” She said that with a cold, calculating everyday sort of tone that made me shiver.
“Yes, I suspect you will.”
I opened up my pyjama top and then my night bra–yeah, I have to wear them all day and night or get milk down everything. I let the baby clamp onto my breast and while Trish sat and oohed and ahhed at this, I thought back to my wearing of bras.
I first wore them while I was at school–until my dad found out–apparently one of the teachers spotted it through my grey shirt and I had to surrender the two tee shirt bras I’d bought, which he cut up with scissors and handed back to me.
I spent the next few evenings sewing them back together, but they never did work again so I had to chuck them. I bought another and he chopped that up as well and gave me a hiding. He mistakenly thought he could knock my girlishness out of me–he failed and had the grace to admit he was wrong before he died.
Once I started the magic pills, my hips grew more than my boobs and my waist, which wasn’t very big, got smaller. My nipples doubled in size and darkened in colour a bit–I’m quite fair skinned, so they didn’t go very dark. Eventually, I started to grow boobs after taking the pills for months–two fried eggs, but they were all mine and I was so chuffed to be wearing an A-cup. Of course, I then had to wear a sweater over my shirts or a jacket to hide my greatest achievements.
I eventually realised if I wore a sports bra or a bandage, I supported them and hid them, so until I was either in transition or practising for it, I tended to hide them. But, and here’s the irony, I couldn’t wait to have to wear a bra–I felt so fulfilled, even if it wasn’t. Then a year or so down the line and I have to wear one as breast growth really kicked in and I was living in role and discovered, like heeled shoes, the nicest things about bras is taking the damn things off as soon as you can. Now, I’m stuck wearing one because my boobs are so big and heavy they pull on my chest muscles, and secondly, I need something to hold the pads in place, or I leak milk everywhere.
I switched the baby to my other breast and felt something touch the other one. Trish was licking my other breast–what do I do now? She looked up at me and blushed. “Sorry, Mummy, I just wondered what it tasted like.”
I put my arm around her, “Okay, sweetheart, don’t cry–but don’t tell the others, okay?”
She nodded, and I hugged her with my free arm, while the baby clamped herself to my full breast. I disengaged her and burped her, she grumbled and I put her back on the second breast. She sucked away for all she was worth, then she started to go off to sleep, sucking just occasionally.
Trish spotted this and giggled, “She’s gone to sleep, Mummy.” Of course this woke up the wee yin, and she began sucking away again. When she was finished I put her down for a short while and cleaned myself up.
Then accompanied by Trish and Livvie, I went down and put the kettle on. I decided it was time I bathed our new arrival, I had done so before, but not perhaps as often as I should.
With my two helpers, I put the water into the baby bath and put it on the kitchen table. Then alongside but not too close, I popped Baby C on the changing mat, stripped her off and removed the smelly nappy and babygro–the all in one suit thing she was wearing.
Having wiped off any residual poo or wee with baby wipes, I picked her up and checking the water again, put her gently into the bath, holding her head and neck with my left hand. Then while I talked to her, I wiped her hair and body with a flannel with some baby wash on it; then rinsed it off–which was the bit she didn’t like. Until then she’d giggled and kicked and laughed at Trish and Livvie who tickled her and made silly noises.
At one point she kicked as Trish was bending down over her, and she ended up with a face-full of water. Livvie laughed until the baby kicked again and she got splashed all down her pyjamas.
Once she was clean, I lifted her out on to a towel which I’d laid out on the changing mat and I let the two girls pat her dry, I don’t know who was chuckling the most the girls or the baby. Then we creamed and powdered her, with Trish being fascinated by her groin.
“What you looking at?” asked Livvie.
“Nothing,” she said in a normal voice but under breath, I heard, “I wish I had one.”
“What a front bum?” said Livvie, obviously hearing it as well.
“Yeah,” she said and ran off upstairs.
I dressed Baby C and after a quick top up, put her down to sleep while first, I went to see where Trish was, and secondly, to get the others up and breakfasted.
(aka Bike) Part 1105 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I searched upstairs but couldn’t find Trish–where was she? Maybe she hadn’t gone upstairs. I roused the rest of them and for the moment Trish was a secondary concern.
Once they were all stuck into their breakfasts, I asked Livvie where Trish was. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. A lot of use that was. I asked the rest of my huge brood and none of them had seen her.
I called upstairs but there was no response. I asked Stella to keep an eye on the rest and went to look for her. Julie sensed my now growing unease and came outside with me. We walked up and down the garden calling her name but nothing, we neither saw nor heard her.
I now began to worry. She was very clever intellectually but she was still only six years old, a child in anyone’s currency.
I went back indoors and called her again. Julie stayed out and began looking through the sheds and outhouses. Why was she so upset? She’s seen the other girls when they’ve been in the bath or shower and okay, there’s sometimes a bit of teasing goes on about her outie rather than an innie, she always seemed to take it in good heart–she knows they wouldn’t wish her any harm. But then she knows that when she’s old enough, if she still feels the same, we’ll have her see the best surgeon we can afford wherever and whoever that is. The same will be true for Julie and Billie–although, I do have doubts about Billie–in some ways I see her as a failed boy rather than a girl, if that doesn’t sound too patronising. Trish, I see as a real girl, who has held that conviction since she was a toddler according to the home.
Still philosophy wasn’t going to find this little girl, I began to look upstairs again. I started at the top of the house and worked my way down, no sign of her. I spoke with Julie–she wasn’t anywhere in the outbuildings.
By now, Tom and Danny–who was miffed he was missing his football, led a search of the garden and orchard, helped by Billie and Livvie. Meems helped Stella watch Puddin’ and Baby C. They were to shout if they found her.
My anxiety was rising faster than a Saturn 5 rocket, where on earth could she be. I went upstairs again, she wasn’t in the girl’s room, I even tried under the beds–except they’re all drawer divans, so she’d be pushed to get under one of those.
Bathroom? I checked their bathroom, she wasn’t there, mind you someone had left the hot tap running. I called her again and again, pleading with her to show herself.
I went up to the attic floor again and called, no sign. Back down to the first floor–again nothing. I looked in my room, even in the wardrobe–the cupboard was bare. I decided whilst I was there I’d have a quick wee and try and rethink where she might be.
I walked into the bathroom sat on the loo and nearly died. There poking out from the shower curtain over the bath was a pair of feet and legs. I jumped up almost weeing in my pants. I drew back the curtain and screamed.
Stella came rushing up and sat me down on the loo while she examined the body. “Ambulance,” she said into the phone, whilst I threw up into the washbasin. She said who she was and where she was. “We have an accident, a child has got a severe laceration and is bleeding profusely, yes, I’ll try and stop it, just get a wagon here quickly.”
I sat there crying when Stella turned and smacked me across the face–“For Chrissake, Cathy, do something to help or this child’s going to die.”
Her tone and the slap woke me from my stupor and I grabbed some sanitary towels and held them against the wound. From my muddled understandings, it looked as if she’d tried to castrate herself, from behind her little scrotum. There was a vegetable knife lying beside her.
Sirens soundeded what seemed like hours later, though it was only minutes, and moments after that, two paramedics came dashing up the stairs with their boxes of stuff.
“How long has she been like this?”
“I don’t know, we’ve been looking for her for maybe twenty or thirty minutes.”
“So, she is actually a boy?” he asked.
“She’s transgendered, she sees a psychiatrist, but lives entirely as female.”
“Okay, her BP is very low, we’ll need to set up a drip to try and stabilise her, then off to the QA. Get a coat.”
They had a drip up in minutes and then he carried her out to the ambulance while his colleague held the drip. I carried their cases down for them, then climbed in the ambulance with her.
“Is she your daughter,” the paramedic asked as his colleague drove like a demon to A&E.
“My adopted daughter, is she going to be okay?”
He shrugged.
They rushed her into A&E and I was made to go to the waiting room, where ten minutes later, Tom arrived looking as worried as I was.
“I called Simon. he’s on his way. Whit fa’ did she do this, hen?”
“I don’t know, Daddy,” I sobbed as he put his arm round me. I was so glad he was with me.
Eventually I was summoned to an interview room. “I’m afraid the police will have to be informed.”
I nodded.
“It’s only a formality, she’s in surgery–but it looks like she’ll lose one if not both testes. I take it she did this herself?” He looked at me and I nodded. “She has a history of gender dysphoria. Are you her mother?”
“Her adopted mother.”
“I see Dr Rose is one of her consultants–do you mind if I bleep him?”
I shook my head. He dialled and a couple of minutes later the phone rang.
“Hi, Sam, it’s Pete Woods, I’ve got one of yours just admitted in theatre.”
I assumed Sam asked who.
“Trish Watts, yeah attempted DIY sex change. See you in a few then.” He looked at me, “He’s coming down.” I nodded my understanding.
A little later sipping a cup of tea I related the morning’s events. Sam Rose was astonished at my feeding a baby without any chemical help, and then nodded when I mentioned seeing Trish trying to do it and then being upset at looking at the baby’s genitals.
“I can see why she might have done it, but normally she’s so level headed,” Sam observed and I nodded. A woman police officer arrived and I had visions of being taken out in handcuffs for child neglect.
However, statements were made and I was told to expect a visit from a senior officer who would decide if charges were to be made, and of course good ol’ social services. She then left.
“If you need support, let me know, Cathy, I’ll happily stand up in any court in this land and tell them what a splendid mother you are.”
“Thanks, Sam.” He gave me a hug and left.
Simon arrived a little while after we were allowed up to Trish’s room. I sat and held her hand and talked to her as she slept. She was now a castrato, but as far as they could tell, the wound was clean and they’d stopped the bleeding.
Simon kissed and hugged me, shook hands with Tom, and then kissed his daughter, “It’s okay, sweety-pie, Daddy’s here,” he said to her and stroked her cheek, I’m sure I saw her smile for a moment.
I told him what we surmised had happened and he shook his head. “Is that Stephanie woman, any bloody good?”
“Yes, and the kids all like her.”
“So how come this has happened, then?”
“I don’t know–I’m half sure that Trish won’t really know either. I think she’s felt so handicapped by her anatomy, that she saw the baby and just flipped.”
“But without taking her panties off, you wouldn’t know, would you–so why the rush to chop off her nuts?”
“I think they’d only just descended and she was very conscious of them, hating them.”
“So did you, but you didn’t try a DIY job, did you?”
“Only because I knew it would count against me–it was very tempting, very often.” I hung my head.
“Geez–zus,” was all Simon said.
Tom nodded sagely, he’d seen his own daughter go through all of this, so he had some insight. “Mebbe, I’d better go an’ help at hame.” He hugged me and then patted Simon on the shoulder. Then he leant over and kissed Trish before leaving.
(aka Bike) Part 1106 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I sat holding Trish’s hand as she slept. One thing was certain, she would never be a boy again. However, while her full recovery was of paramount importance I had some other fish to fry, as they say.
“Social Services are going to be a pain,” I said to Simon, hopefully out of Trish’s hearing.
“Why? These things happen.”
“Do they? How many six year olds castrate themselves in your social group?”
“Um–okay, it’s an unusual occurrence.”
“They’ll try to prove I’m an unsuitable person as a mother and take the kids off me.”
“What? That’s ridiculous–you’re a brilliant mother.”
“Yeah, here’s the evidence,” I nodded at Trish.
“But that could have happened any time.”
“I know, but they’ll still try neglect or insufficient supervision or some such thing.”
“Okay, Sam Rose is on your side, so will Stephanie. I need to make a phone call.” He nipped out of the little room and I concentrated on Trish.
“Come on, sweetheart, get yourself better.” I stroked her forehead.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled and said, “Mummy,” then they closed and she drifted off again.
“Okay, we have a barrister standing by, she specialises in child custody cases.” Simon looked pleased with himself.
“How much will that cost?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, because I don’t know if it’ll work.”
“You have a better suggestion?”
“Not at the moment, but we have to make sure the judge or whoever, doesn’t think we’re using money to steamroller all before us.”
“But we are.”
“I know, but I’d prefer it was done with subtlety.”
“If it worked, I’d nuke the whole county council.”
“Yeah, I expect you would,” I sighed and mumbled.
“What?”
“It’s got to be good.” I lied but he was quite happy with the deception.
We sat with our baby for a couple of hours, she did wake and apologise and we both forgave her and told her that her recovery was all that mattered. She cried and went back to sleep.
Sam Rose came to see her and me, and reiterated his willingness to act as a professional witness if necessary. I hugged him and thanked him.
A little later, Julie came up with the baby in a carrycot and a bag containing all sorts of things. “We haven’t got any more milk,” she said handing me the baby. I opened my bra and she sucked on my nipple so hard, I suspect when she let go, it would be about three feet long. Julie handed me a note from Stella which I read while feeding the baby.
‘Cathy,
I hope Trish is okay, she lost a lot of blood. I’ve taken the liberty to engage a nanny to help look after the kids. The contract will last for a month with an option to renew, Daddy’s picking up the bill for now.
Love,
Stella.’
Suddenly everyone wants to help–I hope because they can see this is serious and not just because Trish was ill.
Simon came back with a tray of tea and some sandwiches, “Oh hello, Julie, d’you want a cuppa?”
“No thanks, Daddy, I’ve got to dash back, Gramps is waiting in the car park. See you later, Mummy.”
She pecked me on the cheek and ran off.
“Oh, you have your hands full.”
“I can still manage a cuppa,” I stated grabbing one of the teas.
“I need to get a photo of you doing that, it’s just so beautiful.” Simon was in raptures, but then it wasn’t his lungs being sucked out via his nipples. I began to wonder if Baby C was some sort of alien, like in all those B-movies.
I showed him the note. “Good idea, my sister is starting to use her brain for more than stopping her eyeballs rattling about in her skull.”
“Stella has done more for me since I’ve been looking after the baby, than since she knocked me off my bike that time.”
“That was three years ago.” He shook his head, “Three bloody years ago.”
“Never mind another eleven and they’ll give you parole,” I suggested switching the baby to my other boob after burping her. She whimpered then gave a huge burrrp and began to hiccup. Simon thought that was hilarious.
She sat in my arms trying to focus on the noise of him laughing, only to jerk each time one of the peristaltic convulsions occurred. He roared with laughter and she began to cry. I put her back on my breast and she calmed down immediately.
“Mummy, can I hear the baby?” a weak little voice came from the bed.
“Yes, darling, I’m feeding her at the moment.”
“Oh, can I go to my own bed then, this one’s very hard.” Then she went off to sleep again.
A nurse came in and wasn’t at all sure about a young baby on a ward. I explained I had to feed her and she tutted and left after checking on Trish. I shoved her down in her carrycot and she slept. I drank a few glasses of water and sure enough, began to leak from my udders.
I expressed quite a lot of milk and stored it in the bottle Stella had packed in the bag.
“Why don’t you take her home and get some rest, I’ll stay with Trish,” offered Simon.
“Unless you take her, remember to put the milk in the fridge.”
“No you go, here;” he dangled his car keys in front of me.
“You mean I get to drive the Jag?”
“No, you can catch a bus–of course you get to drive my car, just take care of it.”
“It would be better if I stayed and you took tiny wee home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous–now you promised to love honour and obey–so do it.”
“I did no such thing, and I’ll do no such thing. I’m an independent woman.”
“I thought you read the Guardian,” he joked.
“Ha ha,” It was better than his usual fare.
“Go on, get some sleep, see you later–oh and save some milkshakes for me.”
“On yer bike,” I said back to him and picking up the carrycot and the other bag, struggled down to the lift and thence to the car park.
I drove home worrying too much to think about which car I was driving, it was a means to an end, nothing more. I felt shattered but we got home safely and I handed the baby over to Julie while Danny grabbed the bag and carried it in.
I gave them all a quick resume of what had happened so far and then went off for a little snooze. Livvie came and lay alongside me, she was very worried about her sister.
A couple of hours later, a strange woman brought me in a cuppa, “Hello, Lady Cameron, I’m Jenny Bell, your nanny–if you express some milk, I’ll feed the little one for you.”
“There’s some in the fridge I hope, I did half a bottle before we left hospital.”
“I’ll go and look, you stay and rest.”
I lay back on the bed and seconds later I was comatose again.
(aka Bike) Part 1107 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Excuse me Lady Cameron, but you’re going to need to express some more milk.” Jenny Bell produced a tray with the pump and a bottle on it, plus another cup of tea. “Have you tried the battery ones, they’re much quicker?”
“No I usually use the baby powered one,” I threw back at her.
She smiled and left. I drank the tea, went to the loo and began sucking out the precious fluid. It came out in buckets–well, okay, that’s an exaggeration but it certainly flowed faster than previously and it felt quite a relief when it was done.
I went for a shower, then took it down to the kitchen and popped it in the fridge, it was pretty well a whole bottle full. I drank some water and felt my boobs filling up with baby juice again. At this moment, I had great sympathy with dairy cows.
After tidying myself up somewhat, I set off for the hospital in Simon’s totty mobile and after parking it went up to the ward where I saw Simon and Trish in deep conversation.
“Muuummmeee,” she squealed and probably shattered windows on three floors.
I rushed in and gave her a hug and a kiss. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”
“A bit sore.”
“So you won’t be trying that again, will you?” I gently chided.
“I won’t need to; my goolies are gone for good.”
I shook my head and gave Simon a kiss and a hug. “How long has she been awake?”
“About half an hour, she hasn’t stopped talking ever since.”
I glanced at Trish, she blushed and giggled. I wondered what sort of hormone therapy she’d need as she grew up–she sure wouldn’t be having a male puberty and I remember reading about how injecting male hormones into girls masculinises them but also stunts their physical height. I wondered if the same happened with biological males or would they just go for a female model of development?
I sat hugging her while she sobbed onto my chest, and I wondered if I’d be allowed to keep her. If social services got their way, it was anyone’s guess. I had some enemies there. I felt like telling Trish how she could have jeopardised everyone’s future–but what would be the point? She is six years old and looked very small in that hospital bed.
Simon decided he’d go home and have shower and an hour’s kip, he’d come to collect me at nine o’clock when the visiting ended. Trish was upset when she realised she’d have to stay overnight.
Sam Rose came by a little later and once again offered his help, Trish overheard the conversation. “What do you mean, Mummy?”
“What’s that, darling?”
“About social services–I won’t go with them again, if I can’t stay with you–I’d rather die.” With that she began to climb out of bed and, Sam was pushed to calm her down and get her back into bed.
“I think you’d better get Stephanie here, PDQ,” he said very quietly to me.
“Could you give her a shout for me?” I pleaded to him with my eyes.
“Okay, Cathy. I’ll see if she’s about this evening.” He left us after kissing Trish and hugging me. I pecked him on the cheek and thanked him.
I’d managed to calm Trish down, telling her that I wasn’t planning on letting anyone take anyone anywhere, but we might have to fight to stay together. She realised that she had caused this crisis with her DIY surgery and I argued with her that it was nothing to do with that, but an ongoing spat with Social Services. She didn’t look convinced.
A short time later, Stephanie poked her head round the door, “Is this a private party or is anyone invited?”
We invited her in and she went and hugged Trish, then came and gave me a similar greeting, before telling me to go and get myself a cuppa. Trish looked more than a bit anxious, “You’re not going to send me away?” she wailed.
“No, why should I do that?” queried Stephanie.
“Mummy and Uncle Sam were talking earlier.”
Stephanie gave me a vexed look. “I promise we’ll both still be here when Mummy comes back, okay?”
“Okay,” Trish reluctantly agreed.
“Thirty?” I asked pointing at my watch.
“Um–yeah okay, she’s looking tired.”
I wandered up to the hospital canteen and got myself a cuppa and a sandwich, I hadn’t eaten for a while and felt hungry and exhausted. I looked at my watch–fifteen minutes and I’d eaten the tasteless bit of bread and whatever they put inside it, and drunk the tea. I began to stroll back towards the children’s ward.
I wandered into the cubicle which they called a private room and neither Trish nor Stephanie were there. My heart nearly stopped and I had an icy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I rushed out only to see Stephanie walking Trish back from the loos. Panic over–I felt some milk run down my chest–great.
I let them back into the room, “’Scuse me, I’m leaking,” I went to go to the loo when Stephanie stopped me.
“So it’s true then?”
“What is?”
“You’re breast-feeding the baby?”
“Yes, so?”
“And without any external help?”
“Other than a baby suckling, no–why?”
“It’s fascinating, that’s all.”
I went and wiped myself down with some paper towels and changed the pads. I kept some in my bag just in case.
I fed Trish her tea while talking with Stephanie about nothing in particular, after which we spoke outside the room.
“She is paranoid that social services are going to try and take her away from you, or some of the other children.”
“Wouldn’t they have grounds to do that?”
“I don’t think so, none of the children are particularly at risk, which I think Sam and I could argue comprehensively.”
“But, letting Trish self harm is hardly a vote of confidence in my motherhood abilities, is it?”
“Did you let her? She hid from you and did it herself, with a kitchen knife.”
“Well I didn’t stop her, did I?”
“That’s not the same is it? You didn’t know she was going to do it, or you would have stopped her.”
“Of course. I nearly died when I saw her.”
“Is she your favourite?”
“Stephanie, I have no favourites, but each has a special relationship with me and probably with each other and the rest of the adults. Trish has a developing intellect which is way above anyone I know. The baby has a helplessness about it, much like Simon.”
Stephanie looked at me then creased up with laughter. “You are wicked,” she said then creased up again.
We talked a little longer, then she said, “This child is no more at risk from you or anyone else at your home than any other child in a safe and loving family. Now you have your nanny, I am happy that she should stay with you and the others, after all, she achieved what she wanted.”
“I thought she was trying to create a female pudenda?”
“You’re right she is far cleverer than you, Cathy. She knew she couldn’t do that herself but she wanted to stop being at risk of growing into a boy. She knew from somewhere that her testes were the primary cause of male hormones, so she set out to destroy them, hence the bleeding.”
“Did she just tell you that?”
“Indirectly yes.”
“My god, she is brighter than I am–except she could have bled to death.”
“Yes, that I think was a miscalculation.”
“The little minx.” I wondered just what went on in that head of hers.
Stephanie shrugged. “You have my mobile number, give me a shout if the SS try anything.”
“The SS?” then the penny dropped, social services. “Gotcha, thanks Steph.”
“You owe me a nice dinner.”
“When this is over, I’ll do you one.”
“You better had or I’ll have you sectioned,” she sniggered and after waving goodbye to Trish, left.
I settled down to read to her, when Sam Rose returned and had with him Dr Woods the casualty consultant. “Hello, young lady, you don’t remember me, do you?”
“Are you the one with cold hands?” she asked and he laughed and explained they’d used ice to slow the bleeding before she went into surgery. They both examined her and spoke for few minutes.
“Right, young un, if I let you go home tonight, do you promise to take things easy and not pull your stitches?”
Trish looked at him in disbelief, “I can go home, with Mummy?”
“Well, I was rather counting on her being there too.”
I felt tears fill my eyes and I thanked Sam who winked at me.
“You have to do very little walking for a day or so and if it starts to bleed or feel sore, you must tell your mummy so she can bring you back for me to see it.”
“What happens if you’re not here?” asked Trish.
“One of my team will see it for me–that good enough?”
“Okay.” She held out her hand and Dr Woods shook it. Sam stood behind him trying not to laugh his body was quaking with the effort and tears were rolling down my cheeks, I felt so emotionally wound up.
“Take her down in a chair, she is not to do excessive walking and certainly no running for a few days. She’ll need an iron supplement, she has quite a bit of blood to make up, so she’s going to be tired. But you can take her home. Bring her in to see Sam next week, okay?” he looked across to Sam who nodded.
“Thank you,” was all I could get out I felt so choked.
“I’m releasing her to your custody, which means I have every confidence in you as her mother and your family. I’m sure this is a one off.”
“Actually it was a two off,” said Sam sniggering.
“Smart arse, you know what I mean–she can’t actually do it again, can she?” continued Dr Woods.
“I promised you I wouldn’t do anything like this ever again,” piped a little voice from the bed.
“That’s right and we shook on it, so make sure you don’t.”
“I keep my word, ladies do, don’t they, Mummy?”
“Yes they do, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Lady Tricia.” The good doctor bowed to the bed and left laughing to himself.
I hugged Sam and thanked him. “Stephanie is coming for a meal soon, will you come too?”
“Cathy, don’t you have enough to do?”
“We have a nanny now, so things will be a little easier–please say you will?”
“Okay, but let’s all get over this first, right?”
I caught sight of movement behind Sam and Simon hove into view, “Dr Woods told me you needed a ride home.”
“Yes we do, Daddy, but you’ll have to drive tonight, I’m not allowed to exert myself,” answered a voice from the bed and we all fell about laughing.
(aka Bike) Part 1108 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Despite Trish’s cheery efforts earlier, she was in some pain as we took her home, and she spent most of the drive home cuddled into me in the back of Simon’s Jag. He carried her into the house and after she spoke quickly to the others, she was clearly very tired and went straight to bed.
The others were warned of severe consequences if they woke her, and being reasonably obedient, they were very quiet when they went to bed a short time later.
Jenny, the nanny, seems to be settling in quite well and takes no messing from the kids, although she is impressed by the cognitive skills of Livvie–wait till she gets to know Trish.
She was, after accepting a confidentiality clause, let into the secret of some of our kids. She was surprised rather than shocked, more by the numbers than the transgender. Stella told her that as we’d dealt with one, a couple more became no big deal. My past wasn’t mentioned, nor should it be.
I suppose Jenny is about my age, and has done her job for about five years. She had encountered a transgender kid before, although it wasn’t one of her charges, and that was a girl who felt she should be a boy.
I explained what had happened to Trish, and she was suitably horrified, although told me that she had met self harm before, but usually in older children, unless it was by accident. I introduced her to Trish, who was still very tired the next morning.
“Trish, this nice lady is Jenny. She’s going to help me look after my gang of ruffians.”
“There’s no one here called, Ian,” she said, “so, there’s no rough ones,” she informed me before yawning.
“This, Jenny, is my daughter Trish, otherwise known as motor mouth. If you play cards or chess with her, don’t do it for money.”
“Oh, Mummy, you’re always warning off other people. How am I gonna get the money for a boob job?”
“You can sell your body when you’re a teenager,” I responded.
“Is that by the kilo, Mummy?”
“See what I mean?” I said to Jenny. “Brain the size of a small planet parking cars.” I probably misquoted Douglas Adams, but felt it was appropriate.
“You like the Hitchhiker’s Guide? she asked me.
“Yes, although I read it when I was an undergrad.”
“Where was that, Lady C?”
“Sussex.”
“Oh, we used to live near Eastbourne.”
“Nice place, but Sussex Uni is nearer to Brighton.”
“We had a place in Meads Village.”
“Oh, very nice.”
“Woss Meads Village, Mummy,” Trish decided she wanted back into the conversation.
“It’s part of Eastbourne, which is near the downs and yet only down the road from the beach.”
“Yeah, nothing like, ever happened there, and suddenly someone was set on fire on the coastal path and like, suddenly it’s all nasty. My parents left and went to live in Cheltenham, and that’s where I trained for my NNEB and my Nanny’s diploma.”
“Gosh, I haven’t been to Cheltenham for yonks,” I said, “I used to live in Bristol.”
“Oh, like wow, practically neighbours, seeing as Bristol used to be in Gloucestershire.”
“Sort of, it was its own county borough, and still is, I think. England’s second city for many years,” I added.
“Was it?” Jenny seemed surprised, “I’d ha’ thought Birmingham or Manchester woulda been.”
“Ah, that was later, Bristol was a very important port. Remember, they had to dig a canal to Manchester.”
“Mummy, didn’t you tell us about the slaves coming and going through Bristol?”
“Fancy you remembering that, darling.”
“I remember everything you tell me, Mummy.”
“Ha ha, you don’t listen to half of what I say to you.”
“Yes I do, Mummy–it’s just sometimes I have it on my pause button beforehand.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right, you cheeky monkey.”
“Lady C, would you like me to get the baby up and feed her?”
“Please, I expressed some milk earlier, it’s in the fridge.” She went off and left me alone with Trish.
“She seems very nice, Mummy.”
“Yes, she does–I’m glad you like her, she’s here for a month, and then we see where we go from there.”
“Does she know about my–um–accident?”
“Accident? I don’t think that’s quite how I would have described it, Trish; but yes, she does know, and it isn’t a problem.”
“Oh good,” replied the blushing child.
“How is it this morning?”
“A bit sore.”
“D’you want to get up for some breakfast?”
“I’d rather be your little baby and you feed me boob milk.”
“I’d have to put you back in nappies then, and you’d have to go to bed much of the day and no telly or books, just a dummy and a mobile.”
“My mobile phone?”
“No, one of those dangly things you hang over a cot.”
“Oh–yuck, in which case I’ll come an’ have some toast.” I’d called her bluff. Besides, at six years old, I’m not at all sure how appropriate breast feeding would be. The conversation almost became surreal for a moment, and I had visions of these porn stories where grown men dress up like babies and poo themselves–yuck.
You also hear stories of women breast feeding children until they’re far too old to need it–and okay, it’s quite a pleasant thing to do, it’s surely not necessary after the age of a year or so–by that time, I expect our baby girl to be on bacon sarnies washed down with a pint of Guinness; and Trish to be doing her PhD at Oxford.
I was helping Trish downstairs when the doorbell rang. As I was closest to the door, I answered it. A woman I’d not met before flashed a name badge at me, “Mrs Cameron? Pauline Hewitt, Social Services.” Oh just great–exactly what I need at nine o’clock in the morning.
“You’d better come in. Please go in there,” I indicated the dining room. “I’ll be with you in a moment or two. Would you like a cuppa?”
“That would be nice, coffee if you have some, black no sugar.”
“Fine, I’ll be with you in a moment. Come along Trish, let’s get you sorted for breakfast. Julie?” I called for the teenager to come forth.
“Yes, Mummy?”
“Can you give Trish some cereal and toast for breakfast. I have to see a lady from social services.”
“Yes, of course I will.” She winked and knew I meant her to find Simon. She escorted Trish into the kitchen, where I made myself a cup of tea and Ms Hewitt a coffee.
I took them through to the dining room and shut the door. I passed over her coffee.
“Thank you, I expect you know why I’m here?”
“I can guess.”
“One of your foster children was seriously injured and is in hospital.”
“May I correct you there. Trish is my adopted daughter, and is no longer in hospital. That was her I was helping down the stairs for her breakfast.”
“Oh, I was given to understand she was at death’s door.”
“No, she came home last night.”
“Oh, we weren’t told.”
“Once we’ve had our drink, you can speak with her if you wish.”
“Um–yes, okay. Can you tell me what happened?”
I ran through the events of that morning, including my breast feeding the baby, to finding Trish later in my bath. I explained that she was transgender, and what that really meant.
“You have three children who are reportedly transgendered? Isn’t that rather a cluster effect, given how uncommon it usually is?”
“I suppose because we proved sympathetic to Trish, we found others coming to us. Billie, I’m not sure about, so I’m giving her space to explore her gender needs.”
“So if she isn’t transgendered, what is she?”
“She could well be transgendered, given it’s an umbrella term, so exactly how, we have yet to determine. Trish is definitely GID and wants surgery.”
“Which she started herself...”
“Yes, but as she’s six, I don’t know how much of the consequences she understands as yet.”
“You don’t think your own transgendered history affects your children?”
“No, because I don’t consider myself transgendered any more–I’m legally female, so end of process, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Couldn’t that be seen as almost self-delusional? Just because you’ve had your bits removed doesn’t make you female, does it?”
“Depends upon your definition of female.”
“Someone with XX chromosomes.”
“What about AIS or intersexed.”
“Can they give birth?”
“I don’t know, perhaps the latter can, but not all XX women can give birth. Your definition is very narrow.”
“Works for me.”
“Fine, mine works for me, and for most people I know.”
“Shall we see the child now? The injured one?”
“Trish, you mean?”
“Yes, that one.”
“I’ll go and see if she’s finished breakfast.”
“Can’t one of the others bring her through?”
“Yes, okay: I’ll ask Jenny, our nanny, to do it.” I called Jenny to bring Trish through.
“Nanny?,"
"Not really done your homework have you?” I smiled sweetly and waited with the enemy for Jenny to bring in Trish.
(aka Bike) Part 1109 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Lady Cameron, you’ll have to feed this baby or produce some milk for someone else to do so.” Jenny appeared with baby C.
“D’you mind?” I asked Ms Hewitt, who shook her head. She had an expression which looked as if she thought I was going to sit there with a bottle to show how femmy I am. Oh well this should take the smirk off her vacuous visage.
Jenny handed me the baby who immediately started looking for my boob. I lifted up my jumper popped open my bra and she clamped on–ouch, you little bugger, I think you’ve got a tooth coming.
Pauline Hewitt was gobsmacked–not to put too fine a point on it. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, I must say. Did you have to take something?”
“No, believe it or not, it seemed to start spontaneously,” I replied, unconcerned if she believed me or not. “Where’s Trish, Jenny?”
“Cleaning her teeth, she’ll be with you in a moment.” Jenny fetched the rest of the feeding clutter, including a cloth for wiping things which get spotted with milk.
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes, except she bites sometimes and I think she’s got some teeth coming.”, The suckling lessened as Catherine started to doze off. I stroked her cheek and she chomped, chomped, chomped again, her cheeks going in and out as she sucked out my milk.
I was patting her over my shoulder to burp her when Trish came in. “Hello, tiny wee,” she said to the baby and began making silly faces at her, which got the desired effect of gurgling, followed by a burp.
“Manners,” Trish pretended to scold her, but her tone and the silly face meant the baby shrieked with laughter.
After presenting my other breast to the baby and therefore quietening her, I introduced Ms Hewitt to Trish. “Trish, this lady is from social services.”
“Hello, Trish, how are you?”
“Alright, not that you care.”
“Trish, please be polite,” I instructed her.
“Why, she wants to take me away–well, I’m not going, so there.” She jumped back to me and linked her arm through mine.
“Trish, please,” I said, and indicated she should sit next to me on the sofa.
“I’m not here to take you away,” said Pauline Hewitt, quietly.
“Why are you here then?”
“Trish, it’s my job to check that children who have been hurt are safe.”
“I did it myself, no one else hurt me. Mummy an’ Daddy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t. So you hurt yourself? Why did you do that?”
Trish looked at me, “It’s alright, sweetheart, Ms Hewitt knows about your history.”
“’Cos I don’ wannabe a boy, alright?” she almost spat this out and then ran away.
“Oh, she is sensitive,” observed our social worker, whom I was beginning to reappraise.
“Yes, she’s terrified she’ll be taken from us–she was abused in a children’s home before, and she’s come on leaps and bounds since we’ve allowed her to be herself. However, it was like this the day she did it–I was busy with the baby and she ran off.”
“Gosh, you don’t think she’d do it again, do you?”
“No, she promised not to.”
“You’re very trusting of a six year old.”
“Trish has a very strong sense of honour. She’ll stick by her word even if it causes her pain. She knows what she stirred up, now.”
“I doubt a six year old would understand that, Mrs Cameron–did your nanny call you, Lady Cameron?”
“Isn’t that in your notes?”
“I don’t know–I’m going with what I’m seeing here.”
“Oh,” I unstuck my little boob-sucker, and after a sleepy burp, she went down in her carrycot and straight off to sleep. I wiped my breasts and redressed myself. “I’ll go and get her.”
“Do you mind if I meet your other children?”
“Depending upon who’s about, no–Julie, can you bring the other kids in to meet, Ms Hewitt, while I deal with Trish?”
“Muuum,” protested Danny, “I’m gonna play football, remember?”
“Not until you’ve spoken with Ms Hewitt,”I insisted.
“But she’s a social worker–it’s a waste of time.”
“And how would you know that, you haven’t met her yet?”
“’Cos I’ve seen loads of ‘em. Total waste of space, the lot of ‘em.”
“Danny, you will go and speak with her and, furthermore you will apologise for your rudeness, or you won’t be playing anything today.”
“Mu-uum.”
“Now, Danny,” I pointed at the dining room door. He scowled but went in and I heard his stuttered apology.
Trish was upstairs with Stella, and it took me ten minutes to persuade her to come back down. I insisted she apologise for her rudeness, which she did, sniffing back the tears.
Ms Hewitt asked her one or two other questions, mainly about school and her manner bounced back and she talked with enthusiasm about going back to school, until she remembered she had to try girl’s soccer. She wasn’t fussed on that at all.
Once Ms Hewitt had ascertained that we weren’t doing sex changes in the garage, and the children were all safe and happy, I showed her over the house and yard. When we got to my bike workshop: “Is this where your husband comes to hide for a quiet few minutes?” she asked.
“Good lord, no. This is my shop. Simon only comes in here when he wants me to mend something.”
“Oh,” she seemed visibly surprised by that.
“Some women enjoy tinkering with bikes, you know.”
“I suppose they do, it’s just you were the essence of femininity with the baby, and your strong but loving control of the children, was real motherhood and apple pie–an’ then this.”
“If it’s any consolation, I do the apple pies as well–I’m the primary cook and housekeeper.”
“It suits you, though I don’t know if Trish will be happy to be such–she’s quite articulate for a six year old.”
“Quite?, you don’t know the half of it. They had a lesson on the creation which didn’t suit her at all, so she came home, went on the internet, downloaded piles of stuff on Darwin and evolution–went back to school the next day and absolutely destroyed the teacher during the first lesson.”
“At age six?”
“Yes, at age six. She has an IQ almost off the scale–it’s frightening at times, she’s far cleverer than you or I.”
“I have a degree, you know.”
“Congratulations, I have two, and am trying to find time to finish my PhD. I teach at a university when I get some time back for myself.”
“Oh–obviously Trish takes after you.”
“How can she–she’s adopted?”
“Oh yes, silly me,” she blushed a brighter red than a brake light.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I asked as we walked back to the house.
“I wish you didn’t have so many children,” she replied to me.
“Why? Don’t you think we cope?”
“Yes, that’s why I said it, I have several who’d love to be in an environment like this. No one is going to take your children, though we will check back to see how everyone is progressing.”
“That’s your right and duty. Sorry, but I really couldn’t cope with any more kids, much as I love them–we don’t have space for any more.”
“No, I realise that. I’m sorry I questioned your gender change–I appreciate now, that you’re female, whatever previous records said, and a very proud mother.”
“Yes, I am. They’re all adopted, but we all love each other as if we were a biological family. The kids are so supportive of each other–okay we have the odd disagreement, but that’s healthy.”
“Of course,” she agreed. We shook hands and she left carrying her brief case and armful of files. I stood and waved her off, then realised I needed to feed the baby again–whose idea was this breast feeding lark?
(aka Bike) Part 1110 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“How did it go?” asked Simon.
“Actually, it went okay.”
He did a double take–“Hello,” he said loudly.
“It went okay, whether things will change, I have no idea, but she was very nice.”
“Are we talking social workers, here?”
“No, we were talking about England’s chances in the European championships.”
“You were?”
“No, you dimwit, of course she’s a social worker.”
“What; like an ant or a bee?”
I laughed at his joke, which for him was exceptionally good. “No she wasn’t a hymenopteran.”
“Who?”
“An ant or bee or wasp–the Hymenoptera, or wasp waists.”
“Yes of course, silly me–you can tell your mother did biology, can’t you?” he said to the baby.
Trish came in and he walked out down the garden with her, holding her hand–they looked a really odd couple, her tiny and him over six feet tall. I had no idea where they were going but my next job was to shove my chest in the mouth of the ever hungry bundle of fun who was stirring in her carrycot.
Stella came down with Puddin’ who was toddling around the place and falling over, the way that toddlers do, her legs stretched obscenely wide by the bulky nappy between them.
“Babby,” she said pointing at baby Catherine.
“Yes, that’s right, Auntie Cathy’s got her baby hasn’t she? Don’t want to adopt another do you?” she asked after she’d rushed forward to take sticky little fingers off the video player.
“Why, what has she done now?”
“Dropped my Rolex in the fish tank and knocked the head off my Royal Doulton figurine.”
“Not the ballet dancer?”
“Yep, that one.”
“You might get away with justifiable homicide,” I suggested.
“Nah, I’ll wait until you murder this one and I claim you killed mine too.” Stella made funny faces at my baby.
“I wouldn’t ever murder you, would I?” I asked the baby who waved her arms up and down as she chewed on my nipple.
“Just wait until she strangles one of your precious dormice.”
“Don’t listen to that nasty lady, precious, don’t listen to her.”
“Precious? You sound like thingamy from Lord of the Rings.”
“What, Gollom?”
“Yeah, my pwecious, we shall have to kill him, my pwecious.”
I laughed but, I’ve seen the films–baby Catherine was signally unimpressed at her auntie’s antics and definitely more interested in sucking my boobs inside out.
Simon and Stella met in the hallway outside the kitchen–“What’s got into her?” he asked obviously not picking up on her very poor impersonation.
“Dunno, she wasn’t Tolkein to me,” I joked, but it went over his head.
“Daddy is going into town, may I go with him, please, Mummy?” asked Trish.
“If you want to, I hope you’re not going to be walking her too far, are you Simon?”
“No–I’m popping into one of the banks to check out a couple of things, then we’ll be back–hour tops.”
“What about her lunch?”
“We’ll be back before lunch.”
I glanced at the clock, crikey, it’s only eleven–why do I feel so hungry? Ah, I forgot my breakfast. “Si, could you pass me in a banana, I don’t remember having any breakfast?”
“You didn’t–so how are you going to feed little un, here, if you’re neglecting yourself–good job I’m not your social worker…”
“No, ‘cos you’d need a corset for a wasp waist,” I threw back at him.
“You can bloody talk,” he said back.
“I thought you liked a bit of fat with your meat?”
“Cathy, I do–not meat with my fat.”
“Ouch, are you implying something?”
“Well if I was asked if I wanted a leg or a breast, these days there’d be very little difference–apart from the hairs on the leg.”
“You cheeky sod, wait till you want a milk shake.”
“Hmm–they could be fattening,” he said and they went out to his car.
I chatted with the baby, who has very little conversation, except loud burps and the odd gurgle–little mother sucker.
I finished feeding her, changed her and put her in her baby seat thing, which is like a recumbent with a strap between the legs to stop her sliding through. She can watch me and bounce a little herself.
I sat her on the floor watching me make soup for dinner plus putting a bread mix in the machine. I had some Panini in the freezer, so defrosted them in the oven. The soup was chicken, made from leftover bits and few vegetables, stock from cooking the vegetables the day before to which I added a little of the jelly from the chicken. I tasted it whilst it was cooking, and after a careful addition of salt and pepper, it tasted pretty good.
Billie came in and asked where Danny was. “He’s playing football, as far as I know. Tomorrow kiddo, we’ll have to go and get your uniform.”
“Uniform?”
“For the convent.”
“Will they really take me, Mummy?”
“They better had, I sent them a cheque a few days ago.”
She came and hugged me, “Thank you.”
“It’s okay, just do your best when you get there.”
“I will, Mummy, I will.”
“Watch, tiny wee for me, will you–I need to go to the loo.” I went off to the toilet and when I came back the phone rang. “Can you get that, Billie?”
“Do I have to?”
“If you would?” I deliberately ask her sometimes, because she’s embarrassed to talk on the phone. She thinks people think she’s a boy. As she has a squeaky voice, I don’t know why.
“Hello, Cameron residence, Billie speaking.” She paused, then said, “Oh, I think you’d better talk to my mummy.” She handed me the phone.
“Hello, Cathy Cameron, what d’you want?”
“Hello, Mrs Cameron, we have a boy here who seems to have fractured his ankle, he says he fell off his bike.”
“Is his name, Danny?”
“Yes, he said Danny Cameron, but we have no record of a Danny Cameron–just a Danny Maiden.”
“That’s him, he’s adopted.”
“Okay, we need someone to come and sign the consent forms.”
“What for?”
“His ankle will need surgery.”
“Geez, okay–I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Billie go and find, Auntie Stella or Gramps.”
I got the breast pump and expressed some more milk, then shoved it in the fridge and put new pads in my bra. I put the baby in her cot. Jenny came through, “Everything okay, Lady C?”
“No, Danny’s broken his ankle apparently. I have to go and sort things out. I’ve done some milk, can you feed her when she wakes?”
“Of course–anything else?”
“Yes, there’s soup for everyone here with Panini, they’re in the oven defrosting.”
“Hmmm, smells heavenly.”
“I have to dash.” I grabbed my coat and bag and ran off to the car. If I go to this hospital much more often, they’ll be asking me to join their superannuation scheme. Once I was in the car and concentrating on Danny, I picked up on his pain–it was his left leg. I started to send in the blue light–why hadn’t that happened with Trish?
By the time I’d parked the car, I was very centred on him, concentrating on his leg, which I even managed to do while talking to reception. “Not you again?” said Peter Woods in A&E.
“Oh you’ve got quite a few to get through yet,” I joked.
“How many kids have you got?”
“Seven.”
“Seven?” he gasped, “I can’t cope with two.”
“Have you operated?” I asked.
“No, not yet why?”
“His leg’s improving.”
“Nope–not without surgery.”
“I think you’ll find it is.”
“Okay, you seem adamant about it, let’s go and see.” He led me to a cubicle.
“Hello, son,” I said walking up and ruffling his hair.
“Hi, Mum, sorry, I fell off my bike, got my foot caught. Doesn’t hurt now.”
“This is remarkable,” Peter Woods looked at the ankle. “Where’s all the swelling gone? Is this the same patient?” He asked one of the nurses.
“Yes, Danny Maiden,” she looked through the curtain, “Yes, it’s him, why?”
Dr Woods showed her the boy’s ankle, which I continued to send healing to.”
“I want this re-X-rayed immediately, please. Sorry, Lady Cameron, you’ll have to go back to the waiting room.”
“Can I go with her?” asked Danny walking round the side of his bed.
“No–what are you doing, standing on it? Get back on your bed immediately.”
“It don’t hurt,” declared Danny, “See?” he stood on his bad leg.
“Bloody hell–I think I need a holiday,” said Peter Woods.
“You just had one,” said the nurse’s voice from the next cubicle. “Oh, that’s interesting, Dr Woods, look at this.”
(aka Bike) Part 1111 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Will you get back on that plinth,” shouted Dr Woods, who seemed as if he was fast losing it. “X-ray, please,” he pointed at Danny and the porter grabbed the boy and helped him into a wheelchair.
“Can you explain what is happening here?” asked Dr Woods, standing between me and the door.
“Not really,” I shrugged.
“So how come you predicted your son’s leg would be better?”
“Lucky guess?”
“And what about the person in the next cubicle?”
“The one with the facial injury?” I asked.
“How d’you know it’s a facial injury?”
“You must have told me.”
“I did no such thing–who are you and perhaps more importantly, just what are you? Because I’m sure none of this happened before you got here.”
“I thought strange miracles happened here from time to time, according to the paper.”
“Yes, but if that was the case, why aren’t you surprised?”
“Gosh, is my son’s leg getting better–you’re obviously an ace doctor to fix him so quickly.” I gasped melodramatically.
“Very funny–so how come you couldn’t fix your other kid?”
“There we are, see, I didn’t do any of it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your problem.”
“No–people who’ve gone through the windscreen of a car don’t heal spontaneously, they end up with hours of plastic surgery and faces like rail networks. That woman probably looks better now than she did this morning when she left home.”
“Oh well, lucky her.”
“Mrs Cameron, please stop being flippant and tell me what’s happening.” His bleeper went off–“I’ll be right back, you wait here please.” He ran off to the phone, he returned two minutes later.
“Okay, your son who had a clear fracture of the fibula, now has a healthy bone according to radiology. What happened?”
“How would I know?”
“Oh God,” he practically hit me he felt so frustrated, “Look, woman, for God’s sake tell me what the hell is going on.”
“I’m a scientist, Dr Woods. I have no idea what is going on.”
“But you’re causing it, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” I shrugged, “You show me how this can be happening with a scientific explanation, and I’ll tell you if I’m involved.”
“So what else is there? You telling me some sort of miraculous cure is happening; some supernatural event?”
“I’m not telling you anything–I specialise in dormice–this is clearly not created by dormice is it?”
“Dormice? What the hell’re you talking about?”
“I study dormice–that’s all I know about.”
“Is this a miracle?”
“Depends upon your definition of miracle–so that’s up to you.”
“No–look, I could have you arrested.”
“What for–saving a life?”
“Whose life did you save? Neither of them were at that degree of risk.”
“So the woman’s sub-arachnoid is okay then is it?”
“Sub-arachnoid? What sub-arachnoid?”
“The one you missed, perhaps?”
“Oh shit, I didn’t did I?”
I nodded.
“How do you know this?”
“I could say, it’s the voices, but that would freak you out–it would also be a lie.I don’t know how I know.”
“You are a human–not some reincarnation of Jesus or someone?”
“Not as far as I know–no, I’m perfectly ordinary, apart from being married to a banker.”
“Dr Woods, the lady is asking if she can be discharged, she feels okay now?” asked the nurse.
“Is she okay?” he asked me.
“You’re the doctor,” I gave back to him.
“Look, I’m having difficulty holding on to reality here–is she okay? I mean can I discharge her?”
“As far as I know, she’s healed.”
“Thank you.” He nodded to the nurse who went to see the patient.
“Can I take my boy home, now?”
“You’re the mystery healer, aren’t you?”
“Am I?”
“Yes–I just wish I knew how you do it?”
“Perhaps I don’t.”
“But you do–don’t you?”
“Do I? I don’t think so. There’s a lot of poor observation in science, or poor attribution or association. We see what we want to see. Ah, Danny, c’mon flower, let’s see if we can get home before all the soup is gone.”
He loaded his bike into the boot of the car, I could see I had a wheel to straighten. Then straight home and we just managed to grab some soup and a panino before Simon scoffed the lot.
“Billie seemed to think, Dan had broken his leg,” Simon posited.
“She must have got it wrong.”
“Yes, or did you do some more interfering there?”
“How would I do that?”
“With that blue light stuff, that’s how.”
“Allegedly.” I replied.
“I’ve seen it emanating from you.”
“Sure you have, you think you have–you can’t be certain, can you?”
“My eyes don’t lie to me, Cathy–I know what I saw.”
“No, we see what we expect to see, things that we don’t expect we don’t see.”
“How is new phenomenon discovered then–if no one sees what they aren’t looking for?”
“Because some people can see beyond the obvious, but they’re very few and far between. Most of us will see what we are conditioned to see. Take me as an example–what do you see?” I indicated myself.
“A very beautiful woman–you know what I see.”
“But I’m not am I? I’m actually a male with secondary female sexual characteristics.”
“You may think that, as far as I’m concerned, you’re all woman–now about these milk shakes...”
“Cathy–phone, it’s Sam Rose.”
“Saved by the bell,” I smiled sweetly at Simon and took the phone. “Hi, Sam.”
“Cathy, you’ve been at it again–Pete Woods has had to go home.”
“Why?”
“He’s just in meltdown–what did you do?”
“Like I told him, I don’t do anything, the energy decides who and when it will heal.”
“You don’t direct it at all?”
“Would you direct the Shekhinah?”
“Ah–is that what you think it is?”
“That’s what it has told me it is.”
“Fine–okay–just be careful.”
“Sam, what d’you mean. Sam? Sam?” The good doctor had rung off. Just what did he mean? Is he just a MCP–nah, not Sam–he’s a nice guy. Maybe I need to stop all this healing lark–after all, it’s always a bit risky. I’ll just do it for the family from now on–yeah, that’s what I’ll do–just the family. I felt better already, I wondered about the injured woman–would she be okay? I sincerely hoped so.
(aka Bike) Part 1112 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I puzzled some more about what Sam Rose had said about being careful with the Shekhinah–but without speaking to him again, I really didn’t know, and speculating is simply a waste of time.
The next day, Danny’s leg seemed okay as far as I could tell. He was running about as per usual and grumbled when I refused to let him play footie again. He kept saying it was unfair. Okay, so he’d hurt his leg falling off a bike–seems to be a recurrent theme in this family–rather than kicking a ball about, but, I didn’t know how strong his leg would be and decided to err on the side of caution. I made him stay home.
Of course, I had to take Billie shopping for her uniform, and that took three hours and loadsa dosh. Some of it strikes me as ridiculous–why does she need three pairs of gym knickers? 'Passion killers,' the girls I knew in school called them–mind you at that age, I’d have loved to have had to wear them. So do I feel deprived by not having had a girl-hood?–Sometimes. You can’t relive the past, all you can do is correct the mistakes for those coming afterwards. I was therefore determined for Trish, Billie, and in some ways, Julie from missing out on these formative years.
I mean, girls learn how to relate to other girls and boys from childhood–I had to learn quickly at the tender age of twenty, some do it even later–what chance a normal relationship then? I know, what is normal–we won’t go there again, it’s a convoluted argument.
“Do I get a milkshake tonight for being a good boy, Mummy?”
“Simon, grow up will you?”
“I will if I get a milkshake, later, hint hint.”
“It’s not supposed to be for your benefit, is it?”
“I thought as a banker, everything was for my benefit–did I get it wrong somewhere along the line?”
“No, I think that just about sums it up.”
“Hmm–I was being ironic, you know?”
“Gosh, were you–I’d never have guessed.”
“You can be so cutting at times.”
“Yeah, so?”
“What’s got into you?” He seemed a bit uptight today–not like Simon.
“Got into me–what about you?” I challenged back.
“I’m not the one casting nasturtiums,” he complained.
“Not much–woe is me–canni’ve a milkshake, Mummy? Don’t you think it’s bad enough actually having my tits sucked inside out by a two month old, to want to offer them to the world at large.”
“Don’t bother then.”
“Simon, don’t go all schoolgirl on me.”
“Schoolgirl?”
“Yes, all pouts and self pity.”
“Self pity?”
“Must you repeat everything I say?”
“Must I what?”
This was driving me nuts–and the most frightening part was I didn’t think he was doing it deliberately. He’d got stuck in that defensive mode which throws back most of what is being hurled at him.
“I have to go and do a stew for this evening.” I walked into the kitchen and of course the baby started up. Their timing is amazing, maximum effect with minimal effort. But she’d have to wait, I was busy.
“Can’t you hear this baby crying?” Simon said marching into the kitchen.
“Yes, my hearing is every bit as good as yours.”
“So do something about it.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy for a moment?” I was browning the meat for the stew, to seal in the juices.
“I thought this child had priority over everything else?”
“No, she’s a baby and important–but she has to get in the queue like everyone else.”
“Well, I was in the queue before her,” he said petulantly.
I couldn’t believe his attitude. I added the chopped onions to the meat and fried them together in the pan. For ten of us it requires quite a lot of meat and two onions, plus garlic and some pepper.
“Well, are you going to see to her?”
“There’s some milk in the fridge, it wouldn’t kill you to warm it and feed her,” I threw back at him.
“Why should I?”
“Because she’s a child of this household, and you’re nominally her foster father.”
“Tough,” he turned on his heel and stamped off.
“Oh boy–gimme strength.” I said to no one in particular, but felt this calmness inside me as if something inside me was damping down my desire to get angry or even hurt by his childishness. I called Julie, she was doing Trish’s hair in a French plait, so shouted back she was busy. Great.
I tried to imagine baby C watching her mobile and gurgling at it rather than screaming for my milk. Then I continued my preparations, adding the chopped carrots and tomatoes, then the mushrooms and setting it to simmer, I went to sort out the wain.
She was still screaming the odds, the first time I’d seen her as upset as this, then realised she had a bit of a cold about her, her nose seemed bunged and her breathing was less than comfortable. I bared my breast and she chewed hard on it–damn, that hurt. I pulled her off and she struggled to reattach. I ran a finger around her gums–she was definitely teething, so was the cold a teething one? Nobody else had one as far as I knew, so where would she catch one?
“What did you want me for?” asked Julie coming now it was too late.
“I wanted you to feed Catherine.”
“Oh, sorry I was doing Trish’s hair–waddya think?” I smiled, her hair was getting quite long and it made her look more than a couple of years older.
“I think it looks lovely. Where’s Jenny?”
“It’s her day off.”
“Oh of course it is. Is she back for dinner?”
“I dunno, do I?”
Teenagers can be so helpful.
“Can you check the stew, please?”
She went off to the kitchen and called back it was fine. I burped Catherine and then put her on the other breast, the first one was quite sore and I thought I could see tooth marks in my nipple–no wonder it bloody well hurt–little carnivore.
Tom came back from walking the dog and checked the potatoes for me, Julie had disappeared again–I learned later that she was doing Livvie’s hair, then Mima’s and finally the shorter tresses of Billie.
I eventually sorted out the little one, changed her and put her back down–then finished the stew–thickening it and dishing it up with an oven done jacket potato.
Everyone seemed to enjoy it bar Simon, who was still pouting and sulking. I tried to ignore it and with two of the girls helping me to clear up, left Tom to amuse him. A little later, Tom told me Simon thought I was neglecting him, and that the children were coming first every time. I felt like clocking him one, but what would that achieve?
I wasn’t looking forward to tonight–I felt like Snow White, going to bed with Grumpy.
(aka Bike) Part 1113 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The night passed without note. Simon grunted in his sleep when I woke to feed the wain, but otherwise he was a slightly distant normal. I wondered if Tom or Stella had said something to him, but there was no way I was going to ask.
I saw in Cycling Weekly that Cavendish had done well, winning some back to back stages of the Vuelta–so is first Brit since Robert Millar, to win stages on all three of the big tours. I was reading the CW when the girls came down for breakfast.
“Other girl’s mothers read newspapers at breakfast,” commented Trish.
“I can’t help that, sweetheart, they obviously don’t know what they’re missing.”
“Hmm,” she thought for a minute, “perhaps they don’t like bikes,” she suggested.
“Don’t like bikes?” I pretended to be horrified; “But everyone likes bikes–don’t they?”
Trish was in earnest mode and the fact I was teasing her went straight over her head. Livvie, however, noticed and smirked at me, hiding her expression behind her hand.
“Not everyone will like bicycles, Mummy–I mean not everyone likes chocolate or ice cream.”
“They don’t?” I gasped.
“No they don’t,” continued Trish, chattering like someone in their sixties.
“Why don’t they?”
“It comes down to a matter of taste,” she continued.
“Are you inferring I don’t have taste?” I challenged her.
“No, Mummy, ‘course not–you have exquisite taste.”
“We learned that in English before the holidays,” betrayed Livvie.
“What’s this about a major incident in Portsmouth at the weekend?” interrupted Simon.
“I have no idea–what sort of incident?”
“It was on the radio, an earthquake or something?”
“Oh that–it was...” I began.
“A stimulation,” Trish threw in before I could finish.
“A what?” asked Simon.
“A stimulation, really, Daddy, you should know that–it’s a pretend thing, so they know what to do in case it happens for real.”
“That’s a stimulation is it?” Simon asked.
“Yes, silly Daddy,” she said, walking away from the table.
“Did the FT arrive?” Si asked me?”
“Did you order one?”
“No, I asked Bev to do that for me.”
“Your long suffering secretary has plenty to do if I know you.”
“As secretaries go, she is well remunerated.”
“So she’s a well paid slave, then?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Cathy, she gets weekends off, so how can she be a slave?”
“I don’t,” I sighed.
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t remember seeing the Financial Times on the door mat, this morning.”
“That’s not good enough,” he picked up his mobile and whilst I poured him coffee, he sent a snotty text to his secretary. His phone peeped a few moments later and he said, “I might have known, it’s the newsagents–they didn’t have one. We’ll have to get a new supplier.”
“No we won’t,” I told him, “They send my Guardian every day, they remember the children’s various comics and Tom’s Independent. If you put in a regular order, they’d get it for you.”
“Hmmph,” he seemed livid. “They send trashy things like your Cycling Weekly, but forget the best newspaper on the planet.”
“I get this direct from the publishers each week.”
“Well there you are then, finished looking at the pictures, have we?”
“Why, do you want to look at them?”
“No, I’ll have a quick squint at this rag.” He picked up my Guardian and began leafing through it.
“It might be a rag, but they were the only one to approve of your advising Gordon Brown.”
“Not the only one, the FT did as well.”
“Bloody pink papers–I thought that was a term relating to gay newspapers?” I attacked.
“No, that is the pink press, the FT was printed on pink paper long before such things existed.”
I decided, that given my own situation, I wasn’t going to throw stones whilst living in a greenhouse. “Well, if you put in a regular order with the newsagents, I’m sure they’ll get you one each time.”
“I’ll make do with this now,” he started leafing through my Guardian. I walked away before I hit him–patronising twit. Where was the man I married, why the change? Maybe I’d speak with Bev and see if there was a reason for it from the bank. If I talked to Henry, he’d give Simon a rollocking, which won’t achieve anything. I want to make things better, not worse.
I fed the others and even offered Simon something cooked, but he stuck with toast and marmalade plus some cereal and half a pot of coffee. If I drank that much I’d be twitchy and hyper. He wasn’t unless this recent outburst was an example of that. Something to think about, all the same.
A day of domestic chores and keeping out of Simon’s way. He went off to the bank about ten, he was chairing some high powered meeting with the council and spending cuts. They use his bank, which brings in income, so he has to sweet talk them–even though it’s not his usual area. If the Chairman’s son is involved–it’s got to be good for customer confidence.
I suppose he’s under a lot of pressure–they made four billion profit since April, not as much as the very big banks, but enough to be next in the ratings after the big four–and growing more rapidly, even in bad times–or are those yet to visit us?
I’m convinced the government are setting us, the public, up for an asset strip of public sector resources. They won’t go short that’s for sure–whingeing about expenses, after what went on before, haven’t MPs and the banks got the message yet?
I fed my wain again and played games with the kids while the washing did itself, then found a few moments to call Bev, Simon’s secretary.
“Hi, Bev, it’s Cathy Cameron, Simon’s wife.”
“Good morning, Lady Catherine, what can I do for you?”
“Simon’s been like a bear with a sore head, is there anything at work which might be helping to cause it?”
“I can’t give details of bank stuff, I’m sorry–he’d shoot me.”
“Only if he found out.”
“This is true–I don’t know, it hasn’t got in the press yet.”
“What hasn’t?”
“Okay, but you didn’t hear it from me–okay?”
“Guides honour,” I said back even though I’d never been one.
“Okay–he’s got to make several people in his division redundant.”
“Ah, that might explain his strange behaviour.”
“One of them is a very old friend.”
“Oh dear.” That could explain why he’s been a bit strange, if I had to sack anyone, I’d be a nervous wreck.
“Yes, the poor chap has no idea what’s coming.”
“I thought the bank had done quite well?” but who was I to know these things?
“We have, and being spare of staff has kept us in the hunt. However, Lord Simon doesn’t like doing it; he’s clever but not ruthless. He’s far too nice to be a banker.”
“Is he now? I suppose he is. Thanks Bev.” Well that explained some of it–maybe he’s on the male menopause or whatever they call it? Anyway, I’ll try and avoid any extra pressure on him for a few days and see if he talks to me. Food for thought–now–food for kids–lunch.
(aka Bike) Part 1114 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon called late afternoon to tell me he wouldn’t be home for dinner–he was dining with some of the people from the meeting. He sounded thoroughly fed up, so he got my sympathy.
He arrived home about ten that evening looking totally worn out–the councillors felt they could keep squeezing until the pips squeaked–however, Si apparently told them he was going to cancel their accounts, as there was no profit in them.
When I asked him about the four billion, he told me that was the investment part of the bank; apparently, the high street stuff doesn’t make anything like as much money, but is a facility they offer for customers hoping they’ll make investments or leave large balances in current accounts–such as the council.
In the end, by calling their bluff, Si saved the account–worth tens of millions of pounds–but he had to pay for dinner as an act of goodwill. Good ol’ bribery and corruption are alive and well, and happening in a council near you.
I expressed some milk for tomorrow and we went to bed. I reminded him if the job was getting to him, he needed to talk to someone. I even suggested if necessary, he could do something else, and we’d get by on my pay. He laughed and said something about seven children.
“We could live on my pay, if you want to do something else, or train for it.”
“Yeah, pay school fees and feed our brood on the chicken feed you earn?”
“The kids could always go to state schools.”
“I thought the fact that they don’t is because they wouldn’t take transgender kids?”
I blushed, “Okay.”
“Besides, what happens if they decide they could cope without an environmental advisor?”
“I’ll have to live on less, won’t I? I’ve done it before.”
“Sure, you wouldn’t have a great deal of choice would you?”
“I thought I’d saved them a whole lot of money and so paid for myself.”
“You think you can do that every year?”
“Um–probably not.”
“You won’t, however, Dad appointed you, so no one is going to suggest we don’t need you.”
“But if you’re finding it too stressful, Si, you need to think about doing something else.”
“I actually like much of my job,” he said kissing me.
“Much?”
“Do you enjoy all of yours?”
“Not really, I hate marking.”
“I hate sacking people.”
“Have you got to do that, then?”
“Yep–next week. I have to call an old friend into the office, and after the usual pleasantries, tell him to clear his desk and leave. In fact, they don’t even clear their own desks–someone does it as soon as they come to my office.”
“Why are you sacking him, or is too personal?”
“If I dump him now, I don’t have to pay him as much as I would in two years, if I did it then.”
“Is this purely motivated by money?”
“Not entirely, but we are a bank in a capitalist society, so it is important.”
“Why else then?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Yes I do.”
“You don’t.” He reiterated.
“Why don’t I?”
“Okay–I’ll tell you, I’m breaking a confidence to do so, so please respect that.”
“Not a word shall pass my lips.”
“Yeah sure.”
“You don’t believe me do you?”
“No–but then I know what I’m going to say.”
“It helps if you want to speak coherently.”
He gave me a filthy look–“Look here, little miss scatterbrain–I’m not the one who’s conversation flits about like butterfly with St Vitus dance.”
“Sydenham’s chorea,” I corrected and smiled.
“What is?”
“The proper name for St Vitus dance.”
“How d’you know that?”
“We had a kid in primary school who had it, after rheumatic fever.”
“And you remembered it?”
“Obviously.” I rolled my eyes.
“Babes, I am a banker, I remember interest rates and the prices of commodities, or the FT Index–obscure Latin names for even more obscure diseases is not my thing at all.”
“So why are you going to sack him?”
“He’s homophobic–he cancelled someone’s overdraft because he found out they were gay, and he also got rid of a lesbian woman who was still within the first few months of employment, and less protected.”
“Presumably he gave a different reason?” I asked.
“Yes–unsuited to the job.”
“And instead of confronting him, you’re going to make him redundant?”
“We have an equal opportunities policy for customers and staff. Even before I met you, I campaigned for equality for all without conditions. Dad saw the potential in it and we vigorously enforce it–as my ex-friend will learn next week.”
“He doesn’t sound as if he’s really equipped to deal with people.” That was my observation for what it’s worth.
“Oh I missed the best bit.”
“There’s more?”
“Oh yeah, and I can even tell you what your comment will be, when I do?”
“Oh yeah, I’ll bet you can’t.” I felt I could hold it together to say something off the wall and collect the bet–such as, ‘my dromedary has been struck by lightning.’
“So what’s the wager, then?” he asked.
“A tenner?”
“Come off it, Babes, a tenner would hardly register–no, money’s no fun. Something else.”
“Like what?” I asked having a horrible feeling I knew what he wanted.
“A milk shake–if you lose, and if you win–what d’you want?”
I thought for a moment, “Okay, I’ve got something.”
“Which is?”
“If I win, you stop asking for them.”
He gave a very hurt look, but his keeping on about it all the time was so irritating. “If that’s what you want.” He took a piece of paper and wrote something down. “That’s what I predict you’ll say–I hope you have loadsa milk,” he smirked.
“Is this some sort of trick?” I asked.
“No, it’s what I suspect you’ll say when you hear what I’m going to tell you.”
I now felt less sure of things–no, I could remember my dromedary–so I should be okay. We shook on the deal and my stomach flipped.
“A year or so ago, we had a young woman apply for a job. She was the best qualified for it and interviewed really well.”
“You were there were you?”
“No I was told later by two other members of the interview panel.”
“Carry on.”
“At the end of the interview she was invited to ask questions, which she did–intelligent ones too. She wasn’t exactly model quality but attractive in a boyish sort of way. She asked one final question, after she’d asked about equal opportunities–it’s law anyway, but she confirmed it, then asked if it made any difference to her job prospects that she was a pre-op transsexual. Up to then she had a job offer almost written, after that he, my friend, or ex-friend vetoed her appointment and they gave it to a bloke instead.”
“The bastard.” I said before I thought.
“Dah-dah,” he showed me the piece of paper. “ D’you do strawberry ones?” he smirked.
(aka Bike) Part 1115 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What happened to the pre-op girl you nearly employed?” I asked Simon, who was in danger of drifting off to sleep.”
“Mmm–what?”
“The pre-op transsexual, what happened to her?”
“I have no idea–I wasn’t involved, didn’t find out about it till fairly recently, since then I’ve been building a case against him.”
“Do you mind if I get involved?”
“You can’t–you’re an advisor, you don’t actually work at the bank, do you?”
“No, I suppose not. Oh well, that’s the end of that then.”
“End of what?”
“I just thought it might be interesting to see what happened if you employed her.”
“She’s probably got a job by now, she seemed to be something of high flier potential.”
“All the more reason to nab her then.”
“It’s probably too late.”
“You can try, Simon, for me–“ I opened my bra again.”
“You are such a temptress at times, totally wicked.” He kissed me lightly on my damp nipple. “However, seeing as if I’d have lost the bet, these mommas would have been off limits, maybe you don’t like me sucking on them.”
“I have to be in the mood–which I am, just don’t suck too hard and remember, tiny wee needs this–but it’s a luxury item for you.”
“Yeah, but we all need a bit of luxury, now and again.” He clamped his lips gently over my left breast and ticked the nipple with his tongue–as he kept up this torment, I felt a rippling effect arise in my groin and slowly burn its way up to my breasts–it was so delicious I nearly floated out of my body, and I could feel milk oozing out of my right breast and dribbling down my ribs onto the bed–but I was paralysed with pleasure.
He pulled off my left breast and noticing the milk began lapping at my right. “I think you enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
“Hmmm,” was all I could say, before I drifted off into a post orgasmic stupor and fell asleep.
I awoke a little later with a towel over me and whimperings emanating from the cot. I slipped out of bed and picked up the baby, who smelt as if she needed changing, then stole downstairs to sort her out.
I cleaned her up and fed her–sadly, but perhaps fortuitously, she didn’t have quite the same technique as Simon–because I could have dropped her.
I got back to bed three quarters of an hour later and slept in. Jenny apparently collected the baby and fed her–Simon had given instructions for her to do it and not to disturb me. Some days I really do understand why I married him.
The kids were actually tidying up when I got downstairs, the younger ones in the house, Julie and Danny helping Tom pick the last of the tomatoes. He asked me if I could make chutney. I agreed to try, I mean if I get into a pickle over it...
I sniggered at my own joke and caught Jenny watching me. I’m sure she thinks I’m as crazy as the rest of the inmates of this house. “Enjoy your snooze?” she asked.
“I did, I’m going to have a cuppa and a piece of toast and get stuck in.”
“I think our task force has done most of it Lady Catherine, but that’s for you to decide.”
“Jenny, I’m not into titles, everyone else calls me Cathy, so maybe you should as well, unless we’re in something formal.”
“Thank you, Cathy, I shall. I was going to take the baby out in the pram if that’s okay?”
“Fine with me, if you harness up the other six, they could pull it for you.”
She laughed at my joke, “I’ll take the four younger girls with me, I thought we could walk to the park and back. I’ll take an apple for them and a small drink.”
“Fine, sounds like a good idea and the sun is shining.” I smiled at her and she rounded up the netball team to go out with her.
I was just finishing my toast when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, Babes, you woke up then?”
“Oh goodness yes, I’ve been busy since just after you left,” I lied.
“’Course you have, so Jenny must have been lying when I asked her to go and sort out the baby for you, and she said you were still zonked.”
“Um–” I felt myself blushing–the pig.
“I won’t keep you, I’m sure you have some shopping to do or other means of spending my money. I’ve had Bev track down our missing high flier and called her. She’s coming in for an interview tomorrow–you’re on the panel, so am I, so is Howard.”
“Who’s Howard?”
“The guy I’m going to sack.”
“Oh? Is that wise?”
“Look I’m rich and powerful, do I have to be wise as well?”
“How would I know, I only know about dormice.”
“Could be useful if ever we start taking acorns as investments.”
“At branches everywhere,” I squeaked already laughing at my own joke.
“Oh, yeah, you’re on the panel as Cathy Watts, I don’t want Howard to realise we’re doing a pincer movement on him. Oh she’s interviewing for your liaison officer and PA, so I want a job description and so on from you.”
“Eh? What do I need an assistant for?”
“Never mind that, I’m sure you’ll think of something–email it to Bev before four, oh and remember, it’s important that you make it sound urgent, because we’ve pulled all this together so quickly. So think of something for that, too. Oh she’s got degree in biology, hence the environmental bit.”
“I thought, I was down as your wife on the list of advisors?”
“No, Dad appointed you before we got married, and we tend to leave things alone unless individuals ask us to change them.”
“Fine with me. Let’s hope Howard doesn’t remember me from the dormouse film.”
“I don’t think he saw it–he’s more your beer and football type.”
“Lovely,” I sighed back, “Is she the only candidate?.”
“In reality, yeah, I’ve asked a couple of others to come and pretend they’re trying for it, just to make up the numbers. What’s for dinner?”
“I see, the way to a man’s heart is it?”
“Natch.”
“I think I’ll do some baked Dover sole.”
“I’ll be there–keep me some.”
I put the phone down and phoned Morrisons–reserving enough to feed the brood, although the kids would just as happily eat fish fingers–very few social graces amongst the lot of them–I suppose that’s my job.
I dashed out to the supermarket after lunch and collected my fish. I also bought some salad stuff and new potatoes, which were the other components of the meal. Danny grumbled, especially when I laid fish knives and forks.
“What are these for?”
“It’s cutlery, what’s it look like,” Simon responded.
“Where’s the normal knives and forks?”
“Those are specially designed for eating fish.”
“An’ chips?”
“No, not chips,” I started putting down the bowls of salad and then the hot buttered new potatoes.
“Oh rabbit food–great, I’m not a stupid rodent.”
“Neither are rabbits.”
“What are they then?”
“They’re lagomorphs of the family, Leporidae, like hares.” I hate to waste an opportunity to show my education.
“They’re leopards, stoopid–“ called Billie and all the girls laughed.
“No they’re not, you’re stooopid.”
“Children, please,” Simon asserted himself but the name calling continued.
Jenny walked in, “QUIET,” she shouted and the kids stopped instantly. “Thank you.”
Simon sat there with his mouth open.
(aka Bike) Part 1116 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning, after doing my bit towards sorting the children, I went upstairs and had a luxuriant shower, after moussing my hair, depilating my legs and underarms, rubbed in some nice creams, did my hair, then my makeup and dressed in my YSL suit and blouse, to which I added my red court shoes; squirt of perfume, and after being told by my kids, “You look nice, Mummy,” which boosted my ego, I went to the office building where the divisional headquarters of High St Bank was located. It was twelve o’clock and Simon had told me that we’d have lunch a short meeting to discuss the job we were interviewing to fill, and I’d have a chance to suss out Howard Sutcliffe, the man Simon wanted to dump.
Simon insisted that no matter what happened, I wasn’t to disclose we were married, nor was I reveal my own gender history. I was an ecologist who advised the bank and they were looking for someone to assist me in developing policies and implementing them. I couldn’t complain, I wrote the job description.
I parked my car and tottered to the reception desk, then took the lift to the fifth floor. The bank apparently owns this building but only uses the fifth floor, but as the local council were pulling out of the floor below, Henry was considering moving some more of the HQ staff to Portsmouth. Simon was half hoping he might be able to work from there himself with adequate computer support. Besides, he was doing less speculation and more management these days, so theoretically, unless he physically had to go somewhere, he could do much more from Portsmouth than he’d once been able to do. The added incentive of the council offering some relaxation in business rates to businesses moving to Portsmouth also tempted them. I’d be pleased if he didn’t have to go up to town so often.
I was given my visitor’s ID card and escorted to the office we were using as a prelunch venue, then in half an hour we’d have a buffet and do the interviews. I led into the room, “Ah, Cathy, how nice to see you again.” Simon embraced me and it was all I could do not to giggle. “This is Howard Sutcliffe, the third member of our panel.” I shook hands with him and felt my skin crawl. There was something wrong with him, physically–something very wrong. He looked quite well, but the tan was from a sun bed not a natural–outdoors, variety.
“So we’re looking for an assistant for you?” he asked in an unconvinced tone.
“That’s the plan–I’m too busy with my university stuff to do more than advise on environmental issues, so I need someone to implement policies the board agrees upon or are forced on us by government.”
“This a full time or part time post?”
“A full time one,” Simon answered for me. “I might combine it with one or two other bits and pieces.”
“This one of Henry’s ideas?” asked Howard.
“Yep, so let’s not disappoint him and we’ll all keep our jobs.”
“With all due respect to Miss Watts, why do we need an environmental advisor? I shouldn’t think they come too cheaply, do they?”
Before I could say anything Simon answered, “She saved us over a million pounds last year. What we pay her in return, is peanuts.”
“I stand corrected.”
We sat down at the table and over cups of coffee or bottled water, we assessed the three candidates. A man and two women, one of whom was the transgender one.
“I think I’ve seen this one before.” Howard held up the application form from Erica Heath. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of, she’s bad news.”
“Why’s that?” asked Simon as I felt myself growing hot.
“She’s actually a he, one of those transvestite types, wants a sex change.”
“Does it matter? If she can do the job?” I asked, trying not to sound more than a broad-minded liberal.
“Do you want these people representing you? Or the bank?”
“I don’t have a problem with it, do you?” I threw back at him.
“But she’s a bloke in a dress?”
“So, I’m not too worried about that, I’ve dealt with transgendered students before, and they caused no more hassle than ordinary ones.”
“It’s okay for you, Miss Watts. With your looks, you bring a sophisticated elegance to our image, but this one looks like a bloke in a dress,” he pointed at the application form.
“Maybe, with a bit of help, so will she.”
“You haven’t seen him, I have.”
“We have an equal opportunities policy, Howard,” Simon reminded his ex-friend.
“Stuff and nonsense! Why should we employ these freaks?”
“Because our policies say we have to, and so does government.”
“I can’t see what difference gender makes to the job,” I asserted.
“Not for natural men or women, like us–but for those weirdos, how can they deal with the public?”
“I still don’t see the problem.” I felt very vexed with this dimwit, and what was wrong with him? He was on steroids, his face was bit bloated, he was also on other drugs but what for? Retrovirals? Shit–he’s got HIV. Yep, that’s what it is–HIV, so is he a closet gay or just stupid with sex?
“I think we need to move on to the others.” Simon was chairing the meeting. “This chappie, Eldridge Cumberland, now there’s a name to conjure with.”
“A background in sociology and personal grooming–what sort of degree is that?” Howard was off again. Simon had confided that Eldridge was gay, and would mention it during the interview–he was also black and from Trinidad originally.
“Who’s the other one?” I asked.
“Rita von Dieter,” Simon managed to say without laughing. I didn’t say anything, but burst out laughing, as the names nearly rhymed.
“Christ–she did women and gender studies, another waste of time.”
“Are you always this judgemental?” I asked Howard.
“You laughed at her,” he replied defensively.
“I laughed at the way Simon said her name.” I heard him chuckle at that.
There was a knock at the door and in walked two ladies with a trolley and several plates. We withdrew our papers from the table and they proceeded to lay a cloth and plates of salad, cold meats and fish, sandwiches and other cold delicacies, then some cake and desserts, like gateau and fruit salad. There was enough for ten here to be eaten or left by three of us.
“Pity they didn’t invite the candidates for lunch, there’s enough food here for them and us,” I suggested, too late to be of any use–well, I’m an ecologist, we always get there too late.
“Yeah, we could have seen if any of them can use a knife and fork properly,” said Howard, using a knife like a pen, which wasn’t how I was taught to use one. Simon must have seen the astonishment in my face at Howard’s double standards.
Howard, went off to the loo and at last I could speak to Simon, “You know he’s got HIV?”
“You what? You’re joking? You’re not joking? Oh shit–that means I can’t fire him.”
“Isn’t he supposed to tell you if he suffers from any long term condition?”
“People don’t, even though we have loads of ways of hiding it from casual detection.”
“All three are out there,” remarked Howard as he picked up his plate again.
“I’ll get the girls to send them in. We get the chance to have a look at them, and they get a free lunch.” Simon shot off before anyone could object–well before Howard could. “They’ll be in in a moment.”
(aka Bike) Part 1117 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The first through the door was a tall black man, whom I presumed was Eldridge. He held open the door for his two companions, a rather plump blond girl and a redhead, who was taller, thinner and boyish looking. I think I knew who was who.
“Right girls and boys,” called Simon clapping his hands together; “This is, Eldridge, Erica and Rita, did I get that right?” he asked one of the candidates. “I’m Simon Cameron, the lovely lady, is my–I thought he was going to give it away–associate, Cathy Watts, and the ugly one’s Howard–even his mother didn’t love him.”
“Thanks, Simon, at least my parents were married,” Howard rebuked.
“I didn’t think it was legal with monkeys,” Simon threw back and I felt a need to intervene.
“Children, please, can we have a bit of decorum–you’re senior managers. What are these young people going to think about this organisation?”
“Yes, Mummy,” Simon winked at me as he spoke; I scowled in return, if he was going to sack Howard anytime soon, the last thing he needs is to be cracking jokes with him.
Howard nodded, and moved towards the food, avoiding our candidates as if touching one would contaminate him.
“Are you the dormouse lady?” asked Erica, approaching me–“I saw your posters and leaflets in the bank and I watched your film, too.”
“Ah, but did you learn anything from it?”
“It was immensely entertaining as well as presenting facts rather succinctly–though I didn’t go much on the fact that woodmice will eat the brains out of torpid dormice if they find them.”
“Yes, it was a bit gruesome, but I wanted to show how defenceless they are even with species we don’t associate with predation.”
“So it’s a mouse eat mouse world out there,” offered Erica, blushing.
“Very, do come and have some food.” I invited her to the table.
“I don’t think I could eat anything, I’m too nervous.”
“You should, it’s pretty good and you need some carbs to keep you alert.”
“Do you?” she seemed surprised.
“Yes, they found that girls who skipped breakfast didn’t do as well in exams as those who did eat some.”
“Is that right–oh well, I’d better have something.”
“Besides, we’re just as nervous as you–aren’t we Howard?”
“Aren’t we what?” he was sat on his own at the end of the table.
“As nervous as the candidates?” I repeated.
“If you say so.” He precluded any further discussion by stuffing half a roll into his mouth.
“Cathy, are you the one who made that absolutely adorable film about dormice?” asked Eldridge approaching me. He was flamboyantly dressed, but on him it didn’t look outrageous. However, his mannerisms were camp and I could see Howard appearing very edgy as he glanced at us.
“Yes, did you enjoy it?”
“Oh it was so cute, and you in your shorts and that top were to die for–didn’t the mozzies eat you though?” He smiled with huge Persil white teeth.
“Insect repellent–keeps most things away, so did a good dish of garlic bread.”
“Including your boyfriend, I’d guess.”
“Nah, nothing much keeps him away.” I avoiding looking at Simon who was busy talking with Rita.
“Ooh, lucky you,” squealed Eldridge, and Howard cringed. I smiled and blushed.
Eventually I rubbed shoulders with Rita. She was very interesting to talk to–a radical feminist who felt modern women pop stars and actors were letting the side down. She was also appalled by the objectification of children, turning six year olds into Lolitas. I was inclined to agree with her.
“Yes, I have to keep my two six year olds on a tight leash when we’re shopping. They all want to look like Cheryl Cole, who is quite a pretty girl, but sells herself to the youngsters in a very sexual way.”
“I agree,” said Rita, “she’s sending them the wrong messages–sex can’t get you everything, only hard work can do that.”
“Thankfully, my two are pretty bright and should do well in school, however the nine year old worries me.”
“How many have you got?”
“Children? Seven.”
“At your age? Did you have a litter?”
“No, we adopted several.”
“Oh–that makes more sense.” She seemed to be weighing me up. “You’re far too young to have had seven children unless it was one of those fertility drug births.”
“No, we adopted.”
“Right people, it’s time to get professional and personal. We’re interviewing Rita, Eldridge and then Erica.” Simon drew the lunch to a close and the panel took its place in a sort of semi-circle, the candidate sitting before us.
The interviews were much like any interviews, nervous candidates being questioned by nervous interviewers. I don’t like doing it, neither does Howard–he asked very little of any of the candidates. Simon, however, did very well as chairman, and also as lead interviewer.
I concentrated on academic matters, asking about education and how suited they were to the job being offered. Eldridge had a ball, several times when he talked with Simon it was very funny.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” asked Simon.
“Lying on a beach in Bermuda, watchin’ the triangles.”
“Is there more than one triangle in Bermuda?”
“Oh yeah, there’s loads, three on every bikini, to start with.”
With my boobs and bum, I’d need pretty big triangles, I thought to myself.
Rita, went on about the exploitation of women and quoted John Lennon’s song, which I hadn’t heard for a long time, but which I certainly wouldn’t want to sing in front of Eldridge. Simon talked with her for several minutes about how best to avoid being seen as an exploitative employer. Howard almost protested until he remembered just who Simon was–the boss’s kid.
Erica, was as far as I knew, the only genuine candidate, and she seemed the best suited for the job. She was shy and easily embarrassed.
When Simon asked her as he had the other two, was there anything she’d like to ask us, she dropped her bombshell again.
“Yes, I’m transsexual. Does your bank have an equal opportunities policy to deal with gender different people?”
Howard wanted to run out screaming. I blushed–though I don’t know why, and Simon was cool as a cucumber.
“We do. It’s not an issue, and we have employed transgendered people before. We don’t discriminate on the grounds of gender, colour, sexuality or preference. We also have similar policies on race, ethnic origins, some cultural matters and some religious ones. Obviously we can’t have every Muslim employee disappearing five times on a Friday, but we do try to enable them to practice their religion where it’s practicable.
“The same for people changing gender, we’ve allowed time off for hospital appointments and encouraged them to integrate with the rest of the staff–we actually have very few bigots employed, and any bad apples are removed before they make the rest of the barrel rotten. Is that not so, Howard?”
“Um–what? Oh yes, spot on, Simon.”
“How does the lady of the panel feel about transsexuals?”
“What d’you mean? I don’t have a problem, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I presume I’d be working with you quite a lot?”
“To some extent, yes,” I agreed.
“So are you happy to be working with someone who was supposed once to be a boy?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Providing you do your best, I really have no issues with someone who is gay, straight, transsexual, martian or mermaid. What I do have problems with is someone who doesn’t pull their weight, who lies or hides things from me. That you’ve revealed yourself at this stage tends to indicate you won’t do any of those things.”
“I hope not. I had an interview with this bank before, I didn’t get the job–possibly because I told them I was TS then as well. This time I feel it really isn’t an issue, thank you.”
“It really isn’t–not these days. There are some very talented people out there who previously were neglected or lived very constrained or nervous lives because of the fear of exposure. When the head of BP can come out as gay, and half the bloody government, why worry? We’re looking to employ whoever we appoint to do the job we’ve outlined in the job description, not to worry about what gender you are. Providing you comport yourself in your preferred role in a proper manner, this bank will support you all the way. Anything you’d like to add, Howard?”
“No, I agree with every word you’ve said Simon, and also with you, Cathy. I don’t think I have anything to add, other than to wish you well with your gender adventure.”
I glanced at Simon who nearly fell off his seat.
The interview finished and we quickly agreed Erica was the only satisfactory candidate. As they’d been asked to wait, she was called back in and offered the job, which she accepted and left in tears. The other two weren’t at all put out and accepted the expenses cheques quite happily. A hundred quid each seemed very generous to me, but I wasn’t supposed to see that.
Simon was concluding the proceedings when Howard caught him completely by surprise. “Can I give you this?” he passed an envelope to Simon.
“What is it?”
“My resignation.”
“You what?” Simon was totally taken aback.
“Would you like me to leave?” I asked.
“No, Lady Cameron, you might as well hear this too.”
“Oh,” I blushed and felt very uncomfortable.
“About twelve years ago, I went to Kenya for the bank. We were setting up a branch in Nairobi through the Bank of Nairobi. I got lonely one night and saw this drop dead gorgeous girl–well one thing led to another and we had sex–several times in fact. She was one of the best lays I’ve ever had, however, I paid for it–the bitch gave me HIV. Thankfully it’s been held by retrovirals, but I thought I might not be here forever and quite frankly, I’ve had enough of banks and especially this one–though their pension plan is good.
“So, before you sack me, Simon–I’m not stupid, and I heard that you were gunning for me, despite old times...”
“Sorry, Howard, I can’t stand bigotry, especially in those I think should know better.”
“If you get HIV, maybe you’ll develop some dislike of people with coloured skins or queers.”
“Howard, if you got something from practising unsafe sex–you’ve only yourself to blame. Most of the prostitutes in Africa have HIV or AIDS, or hepatitis–it was your own weakness or stupidity which caused you to catch it, so don’t blame the world. I suspect the poor woman you caught it from is dead now.”
“I hope so, the bitch,” snapped Howard and left. “Oh, I cleared my desk earlier, bye.”
(aka Bike) Part 1118 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I wasn’t entirely surprised that Howard knew I was Simon’s wife, and hadn’t been convinced that the pretence was a good idea. That he had walked rather than been fired seemed to resolve one problem–his vacancy would produce another.
Simon left me after a quick hug and a kiss, mainly to see who could be temporarily promoted to fill the gap. I went food shopping, although I did feel a bit over dressed for it. Most other women were in jeans and I was tottering about in four inch heels and designer suit.
As I paid for a large trolley load of food and cleaning supplies, the woman behind admired my suit.
“I do like your suit, my dear,” she said tapping me gently on the arm.
“Thank you, I’m quite fond of it myself.”
“You don’t see many women actually dressed up these days, it’s all slopping about in jeans and saggy tee shirts, or shorts and tights under a dress–I ask you, do they feel the cold or something?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “I know my own daughters wear things I wouldn’t put together, but surely some of that is generation gap and its application to fashions. I know I’ve worn things which I’m sure upset my own mother.”
She looked at me sideways, “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”
“Do you, I don’t know. I’m Cathy Cameron.”
“Oh, for a moment, I thought you were another Cathy, someone to whom I owe my life.”
“I’m not aware of anyone owing me anything much at all, let alone their life.” I blushed.
“Well this young woman hauled me out of the river with her dog’s lead.”
“Oh,” I said and blushed. “You’re not the newspaper chap’s wife are you?”
“It was you?” Her eyes sparkled, “Fancy meeting you in here. Look, let’s go for a coffee, the restaurant isn’t brilliant, but it’s clean.”
I looked at my watch, “I really ought to be going,” I blushed, I should be at home and these shoes were crippling me.
“Oh do come for a coffee, won’t take long.”
Weak willed as ever, I allowed myself to be dragged to the cafeteria and while I watched the shopping, she bought us afternoon tea–minus the seed cake. Why is it that these things happen to me? I mean Simon is far more famous than I and no one ever accosts him and asks if he’s Simon Cameron–perhaps they don’t do that in the city unless they’re serving a summons.”
“I’ve never had a chance to thank you for pulling me out.”
“I didn’t, that was the fire service, all I did was hang on to you until they arrived–nothing really.”
“If you hadn’t, I’d be dead now.”
“In which case, I’m extremely glad I did.” I smiled at her and sipped my tea, which for supermarket stuff, wasn’t too bad.
“Your name was different then wasn’t it?”
I blushed and had to think, I wasn’t Charlie then, was I? No, I was definitely me, because I had Trish with me. “Oh yes, I was Cathy Watts then, I’ve married since.”
“Yes, to a very fortunate Mr Cameron.”
“I hope Simon thinks he’s fortunate.”
“Simon Cameron? Not Henry Cameron’s boy? The banker?”
“Yes, Henry’s my pa in law.”
“I remember Simon and Stella growing up, we were acquaintances of the Camerons, so you’re Lady Cameron, now?”
“So they say–I’m not convinced that it isn’t all hogwash perpetuated by a social elite against the ordinary people.”
“Absolutely, which is fine as long as you’re in–hell if you’re not.”
“I feel in no man’s land, because I don’t fit with the cocktail set, but I don’t regard myself a peasant either.”
“I know the feeling, look why don’t you come to dinner, with hubby of course, and I’ll introduce you to some really nice people.”
“It’s very kind of you to ask, but I really don’t have time.”
“Oh, my dear you must make time–mixing is very important and to be seen to be mixing equally important.”
“Lady Townsend, with all due respect, I don’t mix–I just don’t have time, I have seven children to look after plus some work I do for the National Mammal Survey, I’m also trying to produce another film.”
“My dear, you are busy–seven children? Not all yours, I hope–if they are you’ve kept your figure remarkably well.”
“They’re all adopted, but we love them as our own, and I try to spend time with them each day.”
“What sort of ages are they?”
“Three weeks to sixteen years.”
“Goodness, that’s a challenge, but then a young woman like you, I’m sure you’re up to it–at the same time, I hope you have some help. I’m sure Simon can afford it.”
“Yes, I do, and Simon is very generous.”
“So he should be, a fine gal like you needs hanging on to. Well, I’m sorry I can’t persuade you to a dinner party–we could do with some new blood, and someone with balls like you.”
Why did I blush? I can’t say I’m too pleased about the description of having balls or being spunky–because I worked hard not to be such these days. I know, it’s only an expression, and I’m hypersensitive. Maybe I am, but I don’t like the expression anyway–it sounds a bit common to me. Oops, am I a snob? Oh well, can’t be perfect all the time.
I got my shopping home after getting rid of the magnate’s missus. Actually, she was a nice old trout, but I don’t fit in her universe and I’m sure as hell not going to act as her latest show and tell object or curiosity.
Simon was home when I lugged bags of shopping into the kitchen. “Where have you been, Babes, I left you three hours ago?”
“I’d have thought it was blindingly obvious,” I retorted stuffing a bag of groceries in his arms.
“Oh, it doesn’t usually take three hours, does it?”
Only when I have you with me, “No, but I ran into Lady Townsend.”
“What, Malcolm’s wife?”
“Sounds like something from Macbeth.” I laughed.
“She’s a sweetie.”
“That sweetie added half an hour on to my shopping time, and she was trying to inveigle me into going to one of her dinner parties.”
“Trying? People kill to be invited.”
“Not this people. I declined, pleading seven kids, one of whom I must feed or explode.”
“Milking time, is it?” he smirked.
“I wish just for a few hours you could experience what having heavily laden breasts feels like, let alone some little horror using them as teething aids.”
“I think I’ll pass on that one, if you don’t mind. I can’t say the desire to breast feed has ever been on my list of things to do.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” I teased.
“I think I’ll cope with the ignorance.”
“Can you finish unloading the groceries, I need to change.”
“Don’t ever change, Cathy–we all love you as you are.”
“If I don’t; I’m going to have milk marks on this suit jacket.” I kicked off my shoes and picked them up before running upstairs, my feet felt so relieved to be free of their torment.
Ten minutes later, dressed in a far more comfortable shirt and jeans, I had tiny wee clamped to my breast and a sense of fulfilment which transcended even hauling rich old biddies from rivers could.
(aka Bike) Part 1119 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon came and watched me feeding the wee yin, and again I asked him if he’d not like to be able to do it. He shook his head, “Nah, I’m just waiting to see if there’s enough for my cornflakes.”
“One of these days, O lord and master,” I began but then thought better of it.
“One of these days what?” he queried.
“Ouch, you little bugger–can’t remember, next time I want one of these without teeth,” I indicated the little baggage suckling my breast.
“That would mean she’d have to suckle you for a long time.”
“Um–true, okay, I’ll have to put up with IT,” I squealed as she chewed on my nipple again–not helped by the way she giggled afterwards, mind you, so did Simon.
“Is there anything to recommend being a woman?” he asked.
“I could say the same about men,” I retorted hoping he wouldn’t bring up that I’d tried and failed miserably.
“That’s where you fail to see the delights of watching all this sort of stuff and enjoying it, but as a spectator sport. Plus of course, I get to make love to a beautiful woman reasonably often.”
“Does she know about your wife and wains?”
“Um–maybe not,” he sighed, “dammit, if she finds out it’ll be over.”
“I won’t say anything then.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Mummy would you like a cuppa, ’cos Auntie Stella’s making one?”
“Thank you, Billie, I’d love one.”
“Don’t I get one?” Simon piped up as Billie was heading back to the kitchen.
“Sorry, Daddy, she didn’t tell me ask you as well.”
He sighed and shook his head, “I hope your convent can induce some brain activity, because it looks as if the state system signally failed.”
I hushed him, “She’s got a big enough inferiority complex now, don’t make it bigger.”
“Sorreeee,” he whispered back at me.
Stella came in with two mugs of tea, “Wotcha last slave die of then?” she demanded of Simon.
“I didn’t beat her enough, apparently.”
“At what?” she asked back as quick as a flash.
“Ludo,” he said and sighed again.
“I see girls outnumber boys in every aspect of academia except failure.”
“I think that research is sexist,” complained Simon.
“Sexist? How can that be?”
“It’s not comparing like with like.”
“Yes it is, it’s comparing the statistics relating to the number of boys and girls taking exams and getting university places.”
“So are you telling me that boys and girls are the same?”
“Not at all. The exams they take are though.”
“Still like comparing apples and pears.” Simon was on a wind up and for once Stella hadn’t spotted it. Mind you he was dancing on thin ice, not simply treading on it.
I listened, because I couldn’t go anywhere and also because it can be quite funny at times. Today it wasn’t and she stormed out in a huff, whereupon he dissolved in a fit of laughter.
“One of these days, you two’ll grow up somewhat.”
“Heaven forbid,” he shot back, “having a sister has got to give you some perks.”
“What’s happening at the bank?” I asked, wishing to learn what was going to happen with our latest appointee and latest vacancy.
“Hopefully, it’s making loadsa money, it’s what they do,” he said blithely and sipped his tea.
“I mean with Erica’s job and Howard’s absence.”
“Oh yes, I’m glad you mentioned it–I’m afraid I’ve had to scrap your PA’s job and Erica will help by covering some of Howard’s duties–under supervision of course.”
“Oh, glad you mentioned it.”
“Well, I know she was a bit in awe of my beautiful wife, so I thought it better she if she worked with someone else.”
“Very funny,” I replied sarcastically.
“Well it’s only due to my good lady’s intervention that this girl has a job at all.”
I couldn’t argue with that could I? “D’you think she’ll work out about my past?”
“Dunno–I mean it’s there if she looks for it, but why should she?”
“How would I know? Like you said, it’s out there if you know where to look.”
“Besides, it’s all ancient history now–I mean, you’re legally female–so who cares? If it’s still an issue, bring the baby in with you, and sit and breastfeed in the lobby. That should silence any dissenters.”
“Or fire them up.”
“C’mon, Cathy, this is old stuff, do we have to revisit it every five minutes? We all love and accept you, so who the hell else matters?”
“Sorry, I guess my self-acceptance isn’t as complete as I thought.”
“Surely the fact that I married you says something, doesn’t it?”
“I hope it meant you loved me.”
“Yes, but that I loved you as my woman–I’m not into marrying men.”
“Maybe you should try it–works for me,” I teased back.
He glowered back at me, “I think I’ll pass on that.”
“No fighting, you two,” said Stella passing by the door.
“We’re not. We’re discussing the fall out over Howard’s resignation,” I corrected her.
“What–Howard the bigot has resigned? That’s got to be good, hasn’t it?”
“He’s got HIV,” Simon added.
“Oh–not so good–he’s not gay is he?”
“No, he caught it from a prostitute in Nairobi.”
“Stupid man, serves him right.”
“I did try to point that out to him,” said Simon, “that he had no one but himself to blame.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About five years, why?”
“He should have known that most prostitutes in Africa carry HIV-AIDS.”
“He said she was absolutely beautiful,” I suggested.
“So is fly agaric, but I wouldn’t eat it–would you?” she replied.
“Amanita muscaria no thanks, although they used to in Siberia or somewhere up that way, they used to dry it and eat it then drink their own urine because it makes the hallucinogens even stronger.”
“Silly buggers–I s’pose it passed the odd long dark winter’s night.”
“Apparently, it’s where the idea of Father Christmas coming down chimneys comes from, because these shaman types lived in huts where the chimney was a doorway.”
“Ugh–apart from the alkyloids in the fungus, I wonder if they could see across the room through all the smoke.”
“I’ll bet it was draughty,” I switched the snoozing baby to my other breast.
“Can we talk about something much more interesting?” asked Simon.
“Like what?” snapped Stella.
“Like–what’re we having for dinner?”
“I hadn’t actually decided,” I said, moving the baby again.
“How about pizzas, Simon’s turn to pay,” chuckled Stella dodging the cushion he flung at her.
“Careful, you nearly hit the grandfather clock.” I blushed, if he had Tom would not have been pleased. Stella picked up the cushion and blushing, handed it back to her sibling.
“How about a Chinese take away?” asked Simon.
“Okay,” I agreed, “there’s a menu by the phone.”
“Nah, I’ll order the set meal for six, that’ll feed about ten,” which is what he did and very nice it was too, even if it did set him back a fair bit–but they did deliver and all I had to do was help clear up afterwards, so almost a night off for me–and that meant I had extra time to do some work on the survey around putting the kids to bed. All in all, a fairly successful day.
(aka Bike) Part 1120 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Life in the fast lane–yeah, sure, the only problem is I’m in the fast lane of a motorway riding a bicycle. The weekend was over and suddenly I was carrying four girls to the convent school. Billie was understandably nervous, though Trish and Livvie were trying to support her but I suspect they were making things worse. By the time we were actually parking, she was ashen faced and trembling.
“Take deep breaths,” I was saying to her while Trish was saying something else, so I sent the other three off to find their new classes while I stayed with Billie to calm her down.
Just by holding her and talking to her gently and calmly, she calmed down. Whether any blue light moved between us, who’s to say, but whatever happened; it worked and I walked holding her hand into the school and the headmistress’s office. She was welcomed by Sister Maria who led her off to her new classroom.
I was asked to wait for her to speak with me when she’d finished settling Billie in to her new class. I had no idea what it was about, and I was occupied with thinking about the girls having school meals instead of packed lunches. Jenny was happy to help me make them, but I felt they were all old enough to have school meals and to choose something reasonably nutritious.
Julie, much against my better judgement had managed to persuade Simon to sub her for one of those motor scooter things. It will only do a maximum of thirty miles an hour but it was the only way we could get her to go to college. Of course she could have used the bus but no, she wanted independence. I can understand her, but I don’t have to like it–I suppose I have a natural anxiety about those things. Even more than motor bikes, they have relatively small wheels.
On Saturday while I was busy with the younger children, Julie sweet-talked her foster dad to have a look at one of those machines, as Leon had managed to get a second hand one. I think Simon even had a go on it, so he was hooked: then when she suggested he could borrow it if she wasn’t using it, he agreed to buy her one. Then the helmet and a suitable jacket with over trousers; I didn’t ask what it all cost. Simon wasn’t so pleased with a pink scooter and helmet–somehow I couldn’t see him borrowing it too often.
I told her it was her birthday and Christmas present combined, but I knew he was just as generous with the other children, and Leon said he’d ride with her the first few times.
I hoped college would do several things–the most obvious being teaching her a skill and continuing some form of education, because they had to do other bits and pieces like English and business studies which included some book-keeping and spreadsheet usage. Secondly, I hoped she’d make some new friends, as she had a relatively poor social life and whilst I didn’t want her out every night on the town or clubbing or whatever teenagers do these days, I did hope she’d have some fun as well as learning something.
Now the kids are back in school, Jenny’s hours have changed, so she’s off between ten and three on a Monday to Friday, unless the kids are on holiday. It was her suggestion. If I wanted her to do some housework as well, she’d be paid overtime which seemed reasonable. Because I made my child slaves do it at weekends, the place didn’t look too bad.
Maureen came and did some decorating for us, slapping some paint about in the kitchen and bathroom, which are largely tiled anyway, but having the ceiling painted made quite a difference except the paint made me sneeze for days.
At three thirty I collected the girls from school and Billie was gabbling nineteen to the dozen, about this girl and that, and her form mistress, Sister Antoinette was the best teacher she’d ever had. It seemed all the worry in the morning was simply anxiety about the unknown, even though she’d spent a morning there before and apparently with her future class.
Trish was not at all happy about playing football at her next games lesson, but I told her she had promised to try it. In contrast, Livvie couldn’t wait to try, nor could Mima who wouldn’t be able to until her next year. Danny had promised to give them some lessons and I watched them on the back lawn, while he did all sorts of tricks with the ball and they stood and looked on in awe.
Finally, they had a go and he had them kicking the ball to each other, passing I think they call it. Trish seemed to have two left feet and I wasn’t sure if it was a deliberate affectation, especially when he mocked her and she kicked the ball straight at him and into Tom’s greenhouse. Talk about, bend it like Beckham.
Afterwards, I asked her to try it for a term and if she really didn’t like it, she could do something else. She agreed, amazingly with no conditions attached. Billie wanted to do cycling instead of football or hockey, but that wasn’t allowed. The grounds didn’t have cycle path round them and riding on the road was too dangerous, so she’d have to do that with me when I had time available.
The headmistress had asked me to stay to do her a favour. She wanted to do a showing of my dormouse film, and then have me answer questions afterwards. This was fund raiser so parents and other riff raff were invited. I suggested I do more or less the same as I’d done for Sussex university, with out-takes and bloomers on a DVD. She jumped at the offer. She proposed selling tickets at five pounds each, to which I suggested that they should be numbered and I’d provide three copies of my dormouse film for a draw afterwards. She overruled that and proposed a raffle as well, with my film as the top prizes.
“No one is going to pay a fiver to hear me embarrass myself,” I declared in disbelief.
“Oh yes they will. If the Holy Father himself came, we wouldn’t get a bigger turnout.”
“Oh come off it, of course you would.”
“Nah, he’s not that popular with many Catholics, partly because of his handling of the paedophile priests, and partly because of his background–he’s a reactionary, and we need to move forward.”
“Well I thought he was sold out over the weekend.”
“He’s not as funny to watch as you.”
“How d’you know that?”
“Speech day, if you remember? You enthralled them all and it was actually the PTA who suggested we ask you to come and talk to us again. Some of them are still chuckling about it.”
“Was it that bad, then?” I asked, hanging my head.
“No, Lady C, it was that good.” I wondered if she’d been to the same talk that I was at.
(aka Bike) Part 1121 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
On the Tuesday, Jenny did most of the breakfast stuff while I emailed Alan to see if he had any more out takes he could do for me. He replied, saying he’d look and see what he could do.
I took the girls to school and Danny went off to catch the bus. I always felt a little guilty that he went off on his own, and spent so much time on his own compared to the girls, who were like a pack of hyenas–they spent much of the time squabbling amongst themselves or giggling like demented pixies.
I did offer to take him for a ride in the mornings before school if he wanted, but he decided he wasn’t that keen, but I did promise him one for the weekend, depending upon the forecast. He was still using Stella’s bike and she seemed to let him borrow it as he wanted it.
Trish had more or less healed from her DIY surgery, and she grumbled about playing football, which she’d have to do today. Livvie in contrast, was well up for it. I took Trish aside and explained to her that I knew she could play much better than she pretended, and I wanted her to do her best when she did play.
“But, Mummy, it’s a boy’s game,” she protested.
“Are you playing against boys?”
“No, I s’pose not.”
“So it’s a girl’s game, and I want you to try your hardest. You’ll be at no advantage in having a sort of boy’s body, because at your age the sexes are very similar and when it’s time for puberty, they’ll be giving you a female one anyway. So get stuck in, the girls playing with you won’t be taking prisoners, so play as if you wanted to win. I know you can–so stop messing about–okay?”
“All right,” she sighed, “Don’t keep on about it.”
“I just want you to enjoy it as a game. It’s just that–a game, and increasingly is being played by women.”
“Okay, I said I’d try a bit harder.”
“No, Trish, you said you do your best, and I’m holding you to that promise.”
She shrugged again and went off to join the others.
I didn’t feel I was bullying her, because I knew that she was holding back, hoping it didn’t make her seem too boyish. I hoped I’d shown her that it wouldn’t be boyish to do her best.
I pottered about mainly doing the mammal survey. Someone had sent in lovely photos of fallow deer, but they were from a deer park in Dorset, so they didn’t count in our survey. Another, sent some pics of red deer from Leighton Moss RSPB reserve and they most certainly did count.
Red deer are the largest of the deer resident in the British Isles and are more common the further north you go, although I think they occur on Exmoor. They are so called because the colour of their coats is a rufous brown, and a big stag can be quite an awesome sight with five or more tines, and weighing up to 500 pounds, is a formidable animal especially to another stag. I have a vague recollection that while they’re growing antlers they don’t produce testosterone, but the antlers are caused by testosterone–so the biochem is quite complex. Some are unable to produce antlers, and are called hummels and one with antlers but no tines are called a switch. That’s about all I can remember, oh, and they would have been the deer hunted by Robin Hood, if he existed. Mind you it would take some arrow to bring down a large stag, seeing as accuracy with long bows was poor, maybe they weren’t at as much risk as films and folklore would have us believe.
I’ve tried firing a long bow, and apart from having to be built like a circus strongman and be about seven feet tall, you’d be lucky to hit the castle let alone anyone in it deliberately. The success of the longbow was its rate of fire, a mediaeval archer could loose an arrow every six seconds, so it was like machine gun fire. And they were often deformed having a larger arm on one side than the other–a bit like tennis players and fiddler crabs, plus they could shoot an arrow a couple of hundred yards. In the mythology of archery, there is a report of a Welsh archer attacking a Norman castle, putting an arrow through a four inch oak door and the hand of the defender trying to close it. It was Welsh archers who slaughtered the French knights at Agincourt and Harfleur and contributed to the English victory. The two fingered wave usually seen as gesture of some rudeness is said to originate from archers waving to French soldiers–who cut off their first and second fingers to render them useless as bowmen. Another suggestion is it was done by poachers against landowners, who would enact equally horrible punishments, such as chopping off fingers or putting out eyes. Lovely people our ancestors.
I collected the girls and Livvie was full of the football game, especially as her sister had scored a hat-trick of goals. Trish was unusually quiet about her achievements so I left it until we were home and I asked her to help me in the kitchen, conveniently closing the door on the others. We have an unwritten rule, if the kitchen door is shut–keep out–Mum’s in a bad mood or doesn’t want to be disturbed.
“I hear you scored three goals: well done, young lady.”
“Yeah–it’s all your fault.”
“My fault? You scored them.”
“You made me promise to try my best.”
“Yes I did, and I’m glad you did–I’m really proud of you, my big girl.” I gave her a hug and she began to cry. “What’s the matter, poppet?”
“They want me to play for the school team.”
“Well that’s an honour, isn’t it?”
“But what if someone says I was a boy?”
“Let’s deal with that if and when it happens. In a couple of years or so, you’ll be starting low dosage hormones, which will make your body very female as you grow. As it is, your body won’t produce many male hormones now thanks to your DIY job, so you’ll have more oestrogens going around than testosterone.”
“Is that good, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, we’ll have to get advice on that, but I suspect it will start to make you less and less male as you get older, and then the supplement of medicinal hormones will certainly make you look and feel female.”
“Is that what happened to you, Mummy?”
“Sort of, if I was red deer, I’d be a hummel, one without antlers, because my body didn’t seem to recognise testosterone, so I remained neutral or slightly girlish in my body size and shape until I started hormones, which caused me to have a puberty in my late teens early twenties.”
“I think you look really nice, Mummy, I hope I grow up like you–into a proper lady.”
“Um...” I blushed in response, “Shall we get this dinner on the go?” I said, changing the subject.
(aka Bike) Part 1122 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Where’s Danny?” I asked the girls after Trish and I got the dinner on the go.
“Daddy went to collect him,” said Livvie barely looking up from her computer.
“Oh, and would someone care to tell me why?”
“He was playing football for the school,” offered Billie, “He did tell you–anyhow, Daddy went to watch him.”
“Oops, I clean forgot,” I blushed and felt so guilty.
“Does that mean you’d have dirty remembered?” queried our very own genius.
“Eh?” I asked absently, and dashed back to the kitchen. I’d written something on the calendar, I’m sure I had. I checked–oh shit, he is too. Damn, it’ll be over now.
Moments later Tom appeared, followed by Simon and Danny. “Hello, sweetheart, how did you get on?” I asked my son.
“As if you cared,” he said dumping his bag on the kitchen floor and running up the stairs.
“I forgot,” I mouthed to Simon.
He nodded, “I only remembered because Tom reminded me.”
“I’ve got so out of meetings and diaries, I must be more disciplined.”
“Let’s face it, Babes, you’re busy much of the time. Anyway, the good news is, I’m relocating the office to Portsmouth.”
“Oh, are you?”
“I thought you’d be pleased–Dad wasn’t.”
“Well, of course I’m pleased–especially if that means you’ll be home more often.”
“That’s the idea, babes, now shall I go and have a word with that young man?”
“If you could that it would be wonderful–but don’t be hard on him will you, he’s finding it tough at the moment in a household which is rather skewed towards females.”
“Nah, I was gonna do some male bonding with him, and tell him that you do get very busy and can’t remember everything.”
“Thank you, darling.” I kissed him and we hugged before he went up to see Danny and I checked the dinner.
Trish laid the table in the kitchen and I began to dish up, sending one of the girls up to tell Simon that dinner was served. He came down a couple of minutes later with Danny, who looked rather tearful.
I placed my hand on his shoulder, “Is everything okay, sweetheart?”
He hugged me and apologised for being rude earlier, I glared at Simon who simply shrugged and shook his head–implying he wasn’t responsible for this.
I asked Stella to continue dishing up whilst I walked Danny out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “Are you sure everything is alright?”
“Yes, Mummy, I’m sorry I was cheeky earlier–but I so wanted you at my football game.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it went completely out of my head–next time apart from writing it on the calendar, can you remind me the day before.”
“I did, Mummy,” he rolled his eyes, “you even packed my kit for me, didn’t you?”
“No, that wasn’t me,” if it was I’m worse than I thought, “I think Jenny might have done it for you.”
“Oh, I thought you had, because of the chocolate bar wrapped in my towel.”
“No, I told Jenny that I always do that for all of you. Anyway, what happened with your match?” I asked him.
“We lost, but I scored a goal, they got a penalty in extra time–their player dived too.”
“Tell me about the goal you scored,” I insisted and he did. In the end he had to cut it short because all the others were waiting to tuck into their steak and kidney casserole, so we had to go back to the table. He seemed to cheer up after that, so when he was told about Trish scoring her hat-trick, he was suitably impressed and actually praised her.
I heard them talking after dinner was over, I was cleaning up in the kitchen and I don’t think they were aware I could hear them.
“You scored three goals–you musta changed, if anyone passed a ball anywhere near you at the home, you’d scream and run away.”
“So? I didn’t feel like it then.”
“You do now then, do you?”
“Not really, but Mummy made me promise to do my best–I did.”
“Yeah, but that’s against girls,” Danny brought her down to reality.
“Yeah so? I’m a girl too, remember?”
“Yeah, I know, but you weren’t in them days.”
“I was, or wanted to be–they kept confiscating any girl’s stuff I had.”
“You stole it from the other girls.”
“It was the only way I could get some.”
“It was still theft, Trish.”
“Alright, already–what else was I supposed to do–no one would believe me until Nora came, she was a bit better.”
“Seeing as she got you one or two things and allowed you to wear them and stopped the other kids beating you up, I think things were a lot easier.”
“Yeah, until I like, came here, and Mummy and the other grown-ups were just so nice. D’you know I’ve never been a boy in this house.”
“Yeah, whatever turns you on. Still, three goals–pretty good going.”
“Except, they like, want me to play for the school team next week.”
“’Course they do.”
“I don’t wanna, like do it.”
“Why not–you could get school colours by the summer?”
“Don’t wannem.”
“Why not?”
“What if people start to say I’m a boy?”
“Oh yeah–I forgot–will that ever be finished?”
“Not till I’ve had surgery to make me like Mummy.”
“If you’re as pretty as Mummy, I’ll ask you out myself.”
At this point I found it necessary to go out to the utility room and load the washing machine before my head got too big to get through the door.
“Babes,” called Simon from the kitchen.
“I’m doing the laundry.”
“Where did I put my watch?”
“Wherever you left it.”
“I know that–but where was that?”
“You put it down, Simon, why am I supposed to know where it is?”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, on the window sill by the kitchen sink.”
“See, I knew you’d know.”
“Yes, dear.” I only knew because I’d shifted it when I wiped down the sink and draining boards–which was where he’d left it, stupid man.
(aka Bike) Part 1123 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“D’you think Danny is okay?” I asked Simon when we were in bed that night.
“How d’you mean?”
“Is he happy here?”
“As much as any eleven year old adopted child can be, why?”
“I wonder if we’re failing him.”
“How–he gets all he needs plus some, loads of kids get less.”
“He doesn’t get as much of our attention as he’d like.”
“None of ‘em do, Babes; let’s face it apart from that little baggage over in the corner, none of them do, they’d all have your undivided attention all day long if they could.”
“I know that, darling, but he seems to come off worst much of the time: the girls are easier to cater for because it’s almost like dealing with a herd of them, whereas he’s alone much of the time.”
“He’s got Tom here if he wants a man’s company, and I’m here at weekends–soon to be most nights.”
“Most nights? I thought you’d be home every night?”
“If I’m home every night, how am I supposed to see my piece of fluff.”
I sat up and hit him, “Your what?” I said loudly, hitting him again for good measure.
“Ouch, I was only joking–stop hitting me–ouch.”
“You rat–that’s not a joke,” I spat and hit him again.
“Ouch, stop it,” he grabbed my hand, pushed me flat on my back on the bed and began to lie on top of me.
“Get off, you big lump,” I complained while he attempted to kiss me. Obviously his plan was to indulge in a play fight culminating in a quick bit of passion–however, his planning and application were slightly adrift and he either leant too far over or I’m stronger than he thought, because a moment later he ended up lying on his back on the bedroom carpet.
“Do you realise that is about the second or third time you’ve knocked me out of bed?” he said after getting his breath back.
“Is it, if you’ve woken the baby, it could go up to four times,” I asserted.
“Is that a threat, missus?”
“I’d have said it was more of a promise.” I stopped talking almost holding my breath as a couple of soft whimpers emanated from the carrycot. They stopped a moment later.
There were a few more a minute later and I got out of bed to see if she’d lost her dummy, she had and I checked it for fluff and popped it back in her mouth, she sucked on it hard for a few seconds and seemed to settle back off to sleep.
“Is she alright?” asked Simon who continued to sprawl on the floor.
“Look, if you’re going to play at rugs, shouldn’t you be lying on your stomach?” I observed.
“Gee thanks, never mind the fact that I’ve fractured half my ribs and vertebrae.”
“Si, if you’d even bruised a few ribs you’d be rolling about in agony.”
“Some of us are simply born tougher than others.”
“And more stupid,” I said to myself.
“And more–what, did you say?”
“I was agreeing with you, darling, you know as your little woman, I always do.” I said and fell onto the bed giggling.
I heard him getting up off the floor, “My little woman–my arse. You’re the most argumentative baggage I know.”
“Meee? I’m not,” I continued laughing, “I’m a good girl, I am.”
He leant over me and began to tickle me, that was it–I squealed and giggled helplessly, trying to struggle to get off the bed because I was in danger of wetting myself–which was when my foot accidently made contact with his nether regions and he groaned then disappeared from view.
Initially I didn’t realise what had happened, then finally managing to sit up I saw him rolling about on the bedroom floor holding his groin. “What’s the matter?”
“You kicked me, you silly cow, that’s what.”
“I kicked you? Did I? Oops. Sorry about that–but you know I don’t like being tickled.”
“I do now, shit, this hurts.”
“Here let me help you up,” I offered him a hand, whereupon he grabbed me and pulled me on top of him. “Works every time,” he declared perhaps a moment too soon, because as I fell my knee caught him fair and square in his nadgers and this time there was no play acting, his rolling about trying to breathe was real. Naturally, being concerned, I couldn’t move for laughing and my bra having slipped in the struggle, he had milk running down his face, which made me laugh even louder and is what finally woke the baby up.
I quickly helped Simon up and then went to the loo, finally picking up tiny wee and feeding her. While he was a bit sore, a bruise was beginning to show, he had the last laugh. He took a pain killer and went back to bed and sleep, whereas I was still feeding my brat half an hour later, because she’d suck twice and go to sleep, but woke immediately if I tried to put her back down in her cot.
I have no idea what time it was when I got back to bed, I was shattered and slept almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.
”Unless you start behaving, Danny, you give me no alternative but to send you back to the home.” I was giving him what for. He seemed older and much bigger, towering over me by two or three inches and much broader. He’d been smashing the place up–mainly his own stuff, but his room would need redecorating again. This was the second time he’d smashed up his room.
“Yeah, an’ what if I don’t wanna go?”
“I’m not prepared to allow you to destroy the house like this, you’re frightening the girls and me.”
“You? Ha–you’re not frightened of anything.”
“I am, I’m frightened of losing any of you.”
“That’s why you’re going to un-adopt me, is it?”
“I won’t do that, but I have to make you understand, you can’t do things like this without some sort of sanction.”
“You’ll be telling me you love me, next.”
“Danny, I do love you–I love all of my children.”
“No you don’t, you only love your girls or girly-boys, you don’t love me ‘cos I don’t wanna be a girl.”
“Please, Danny, I do love you. This is all just because I missed that one football match.”
“Yeah, see if you’d cared, you’d have remembered.”
“I had a lot going on, Danny, I didn’t do it deliberately–to begin with, Billie had only started a new school the day before, and Trish was giving me grief over playing football. Plus the baby and the school asking me to do a talk, and my survey stuff–I was simply overloaded.”
“You still could have come to watch me.”
“If I’d remembered, yes, I could have seen some of your game–but I was too stressed to remember.”
“Well let this stress you, then.” He picked up a chair and threw it at me. I felt it hit my head and it threw me backwards down the stairs...
“Stop struggling, Babes, it’s just a bad dream.” I heard Simon’s voice and I relaxed. “Come on wake up, you’re okay, just a bad dream.”
“Oh, it was horrid,” I said sobbing against him, “I must make more effort with Danny or we’re going to have trouble with him.”
“Hey, Babes, I’m here now, I’ll see he’s okay–promise, scout’s honour and all that.”
“You weren’t in the guides,” I mumbled and slipped back into sleep.
(aka Bike) Part 1124 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next morning, I felt like–well let’s say I knew what a bit of wet rag feels like. I struggled to rouse the girls and of course trouble woke up too, and I hadn’t expressed any milk. Plan B, Jenny gets them up while I feed the baby, if necessary, she can take them to school as well.
I couldn’t do very much to help with a baby clamped to my tit, but I did call up to Danny, to make sure he was up. Sitting in the bedroom, I suddenly realised Simon wasn’t here. The dozy git had got himself up and out without waking me. No wonder I love him.
Danny looked in as he came downstairs, he saw me feeding guzzles, and apologised. I called him back and he didn’t look too happy. “Can you spare a minute?” I asked him.
“Um–yeah, okay.”
“Shut the door.” He did as I requested.
“I’m really sorry I missed your match last evening.”
“Yeah okay, is that it?”
“Not quite,” I said and he sighed. “Look we seem to have developed a problem with our relationship. I didn’t see it coming and I want to sort it as soon as we can. How d’you feel?”
He shrugged, “A bit left out most of the time.”
“You need to muscle in. Don’t let the girls have it all their own way.”
“Yeah, but then you tell me off.”
I blushed, “Okay, I’ll try not to in future. I do love you, you know.”
“Yeah okay, I’ve gotta go.” He dashed out of my room and shut the door behind him. I felt a bit sad, I wasn’t sure I’d achieved what I wanted, which was a repair job–to build bridges between us. He tolerated my request rather than acceded to it. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Cathy,” called Stella, “I’ll take the girls, I need to go into town.”
“Okay, are you taking, Pud?”
“Yeah, nothing for you to do–see ya later.” I heard the car start up and drive off. I changed my baby, and took her downstairs where Jenny was washing up–well loading the dishwasher.
“Oops–sorry, Cathy, nearly forgot you.”
“Danny trying to do that is bad enough.”
“Oh, he’s still touchy is he?”
“Very, and I don’t know what to do next.”
“I think you’re doing really well as it is...”
We were interrupted by Julie dashing off to her scooter thing. She stopped, pecked me on the cheek and shouted, “Byeeeeeee,” as she went. Her scooter went putt-putt down the drive.
I made myself a cuppa and some toast which I ate with a banana. I wasn’t really hungry but I knew I’d be growling–or my tummy would–long before lunch.
“Anything you want me to do?” asked Jenny.
“I was going to strip my bed, I got some milk on the sheets.”
“I’ll do that, you look shattered.”
“I am–she woke up in the night and took ages to feed.”
“Oh, poor you.” I was in mid munch, so she’d run up the stairs before I could reply. I washed down the toast with my tea and I don’t remember nodding off, but I did, because Jenny woke me bringing the washing down. “Catching forty winks?” she smiled at me.
I yawned and nodded. I had a million things to do and was just engaging body and brain into the same manoeuvre when the door bell rang. Thinking it was Stella forgetting her key again–she regularly does it–I opened the door. It was the postman.
I signed for the package for Tom, and took the half a dozen letters which accompanied it, all wrapped up in a red rubber band–you see discarded ones all over the UK, showing that we still have some sort of postal service, until it’s privatised.
In amongst my three letters was a DVD from Alan and note:
‘Dear Cathy,
I found a few more funnies including the one of you running round squealing with the large moth caught in your hair, the one of me stepping on the adder and it trying to bite through my boot, and you falling off the log across the stream–that’s a classic.I await your schedule for harvest meeces.
Love,
Alan.’
I shoved the disc in my computer and cringed through the fifteen minutes of its showing. I’ll see what the kids think of it later, they’ll probably love it. I didn’t realise I was so girly when that moth got stuck in my hair–all I could hear was a whirring noise and felt this horrible sensation in my hair–ugh, it still makes me cringe. The one where I swallowed the insect was quite funny in retrospect. There I was doing my presenter bit, talking to camera and this stupid fly or whatever it was flew straight into my mouth and practically got inhaled. I stopped and coughed and coughed and coughed. Alan had to give me a drink of water–yuck, fresh killed insect.
I made Jenny and me some scrambled eggs for lunch–officially she was off duty, but we were chatting so she stayed for lunch. She went off to see her boyfriend in the afternoon–he’s in the Royal Navy, I think. She doesn’t say and I don’t ask, when she’s ready she’ll tell me.
Stella called to say she was going to be coming back about the time the girls came out of school, would I like her get them. I grabbed it with both hands. I cleared up the lunch and felt a bit better, then dashed into town and got Danny a little present. I know it could be seen as buying his affection, but it isn’t, it’s something he will use. I got back just before he did and left it on his bed, so he wouldn’t see it until later.
He came in and I asked him how school had been, he shrugged and grunted. “I need some new footie boots, Mum, can I have some?”
“If a please finds its way into your request, I’d think it was highly possible.”
“Yeah okay, pretty please with knobs on, may I have a new pair of football boots?” I glanced at the kitchen clock–“It’s only just four, c’mon, we’ll dash into town–or there’s that sports place out on the industrial estate, we’ll go there it’s quicker.”
I grabbed my bag and car keys, scribbled a note for Stella and dragged him off to the sports emporium. If I’d known his soccer boots would cost me nearly a hundred quid, I wouldn’t have bothered with the other prezzie. But there you go, that is life.
We got home and he had a grin from ear to ear, he’d got the Addidas boots he wanted–like David Beckham’s or some such thing. When he went upstairs, he shouted for joy and the girls went rushing to see what had happened–he came down in his favourite club football jersey–his other present.
(aka Bike) Part 1125 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“I see the fairies must have been,” I smirked seeing Danny so pleased with himself.
“Thank you, Mum,” he gave a huge hug.
“How d’you know it was me?”
“’Cos I do.”
I hugged him back, “Well don’t tell the others, they’ll all want one.”
“No I won’t,” spouted Trish, “stupid football–I hate it,” she added and went out of the room.
“This is probably a guess, but I get a distinct impression that your sister doesn’t like football.”
Danny thought that was hugely funny and burst out laughing. “Yeah, but she’s like, quite good at it.”
“One of life’s little ironies.”
“What’s an irony, Mum?”
“It’s when things seem to happen that are opposite to what they should be, so it’s ironic that Trish is good at football but hates playing it.”
“Hey, that’s clever, having a special word for it.”
“It’s been about for a long, long time, I think the root of the word is Greek meaning pretended ignorance, or something like that.”
“You’re so clever, Mum.”
“No I’m not; you confuse a good education with intellect. I had the former, I’m somewhat lacking in the latter.”
He went off shaking his head, so I think that went over his head, but at least he has some idea of what irony is.
I went in search of Trish who was doing her homework. The others had gone off somewhere else and I could hear giggling coming from upstairs. “How’s the down below, now?”
“Okay, thank you, Mummy–it hasn’t hurt since they took the stitches out.” It worried me that the skin would shrink and be less for them to make labia from–but she made a decision to lose her testes, and unfortunately, will have to live with the consequences, for good or bad. I know that’s tough on a six year old, but sadly they couldn’t stick them back in.
“What homework are you doing?”
“Geography, we have to fill in the answers to questions.”
“Like what?”
“Which country has water features called fiords?”
“And which one has?” I asked her.
“Norway, that’s right isn’t it?”
“It is, but they also have them in Denmark, because I’ve sailed along one.”
“Oh, they never told us that.”
“Norway is the one with the spectacular scenery along the fiords, so I’d leave it like that.”
“I shall ask our teacher tomorrow,” she said, “Any of the others wrong?”
I glanced through them, “No they look fine to me.”
“Good, thank you, Mummy.”
“You make me smile, girl.”
“Why?”
“Well you’re so competitive, but you don’t like doing it at sport, do you?”
“No, that’s for boys.”
“You tell that to Victoria Pendleton or Nicole Cooke.”
“I ’spect they’re clever as well.”
“Oh yes, they sure are.”
“Are you competi-wotsit?”
“Yes, I like to win when I enter something.”
“So maybe I take after you, Mummy.”
Sure you do–can hardly be an inherited factor–“Maybe, anyway, if you’ve finished you can lay the table for me.”
“What are we having, I’m starrrrrrrrrvin’?”
“Dromedary giblets on black bread, why?”
“Ewwwwww,” she said wrinkling up her face.
“Do you know how difficult it is to get bits of dead camel in Portsmouth?” I kept a straight face but she was screwing hers up in disgust.
“I don’t care, I’d rather have bread and jam than dromdy wibbles, or whatever you said, and I don’t mind brown bread, but black bread sounds horrible.”
“Okay, you can have a bit of bread and butter,” I said, trying to get to the kitchen before I started to laugh.
“What’s f’tea, Mummy?”
“Forty is two twenties, why?”
“No–for tea, Mummy?”
“I told you forty is two twenties.”
Livvie was starting to get irritated by my apparent stupidity, “Muuuuummy, don’t be so silly, what are we going to eat for our tea?”
“I’m being silly, well it made you think how to rephrase the question, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, so?” she shrugged.
“It challenges you to speak more correctly and to be more explicit in your questions.”
“Yeah, sure,” she said and I almost saw my statement go washing over her head without her taking any of it on board.
“We’re havin’ dromdy wiggles or something, aren’t we, Mummy–I’m not, I’m havin’ bread n’ butter.”
“What’s dromdy wiggles?” asked Livvie.
“Bits of dead camel.”
“Yuck, that sounds like, totally disgusting. Can I have bread and butter too, Mummy?”
“If you wish.” I left the two of chatting together while I finished the grated cheese which was going on the jacket potatoes. Dromdy wiggles indeed.
I quickly placed a salad garnish on each plate, popped the potato in the middle, sprinkled on the cheese and began carrying them to the table. I called them all once the first plates were on the table and they arrived in dribs and drabs afterwards.
“This isn’t dromdy wiggles,” stated Trish.
“Would you prefer them?” I shot back at her.
“Um, no thank you, silly Mummy.”
“What on earth are dromdy wiggles?” asked Stella trying to work out what Trish had mashed this time.
“Bits of dead camel,” offered Livvie.
“You mean dromedary something or others?”
“Dromedary,” said Trish, “Could be? Is that right, Mummy?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are they the one or two humped camels?” Stella enquired.
“Dromedaries are single humps, they also call them Arabian camels, the others are Bactrian.”
“Are they?” Stella wasn’t up on exotic ruminants. Then she said to Trish, “If a dromedary has one hump, and a Bactrian has two, what do you call a camel with three humps?”
“Pretty uncomfortable, I ’spect.”
“No, Humphrey.”
“Why Humphrey, Auntie Stella?” asked Livvie.
“Three humps–hump-free–hump-three, now do you get it?”
“Oh yes, Auntie Stella, that is so clever,” Livvie beamed at her auntie.
“Have you ever tasted camel milk cheese?” I asked Stella.
“Ugh, no.” She made a funny face and the kids laughed like mad at her.
“This isn’t camel’s cheese is it?” asked Danny poking at his potato.
“No, this is ordinary mousetrap,” I replied.
“Mousetrap, eeeewwwch,” said the girls in unison.
“Camel cheese is very difficult to get, because it’s difficult to make, it’s very low in cholesterol.”
“Yeah, okay–I’ll stick to this, thank you,” said Stella.
“Tomorrow, we’re having wallaby steaks,” I teased the girls.
“Wobbly steaks?” Trish’s eyes were like saucers, “What, you mean they wobble?” Before I could answer they were all giggling, including Stella, who was shaking her head and tears were rolling down her face, so I guess she found that rather funny.
(aka Bike) Part 1126 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon was back in London and I missed him, the bed felt cold when I got back into it after feeding the baby. I still love doing it, but it is taking its toll of me. I seem perpetually knackered. I only had just got back into bed and the bloody radio seemed to come on, grrrr some days I just hate Jim Naughtie. I mean he has to get up about four o’clock every morning, how can he be that cheerful and alert? Maybe he’s on something more than strong tea or coffee?
I rolled out of bed and staggered to the loo. Then got in the shower before I realised I hadn’t taken my knickers off. Oh sod it. Usually it’s earrings or my watch–which thankfully is water resistant. I did once go in there wearing my nightie, but that was proving a point to Simon so was deliberate on my part, although he still doesn’t know that–you know what men are like.
I dried myself off and rinsed off my knickers in the wash basin, wrung them out and left them to drip dry over the bath. After chucking on some clothes I woke the girls and sorted them after they showered, by which time I’d combed my hair out and tied it back in a ponytail. Once dried and in their undies, I blow dried their hair and styled it very simply. Trish and Livvie like ponytails, while Billie has two pig tails. They finished dressing while I dried my own hair, re-tied it up and went down to feed them.
Danny usually gets up whilst I’m sorting the girls, in that way he’s quite good. Julie is supposed to get him up, but it’s normally the other way round–he wakes her. I gave him a quick hug while the girls were squabbling over their cereal, he was pleased, he was taking his new football boots to school for a training session.
While they were all eating and talking, I expressed some milk for the baby and left it in the fridge, I managed to drink a cuppa while I did so, and scoffed a slice of toast as we walked down the drive to the car–Meems holding my other hand, Billie carrying my handbag and Trish running on ahead to zap the locks so we could get in.
We drove through the rush hour traffic, full of four wheel drives containing one child and driven by a twenty something woman, presumably the mother. The road works cost us a few minutes and did nothing for my temper, when as I was pulling out past the temporary traffic lights a motor bike came screaming past us horn blaring. I didn’t see him coming and I still believe I had right of way. He obviously came up the outside of the traffic queue and pushed his way past us. I was fuming–I mean, I could have knocked him off–or worse, scratched my paintwork.
I know we all get impatient, and on my bicycle, I do occasionally work my way past queues of traffic, but not when someone is pulling out. The last time I rode on my own, I nearly got doored by an obese middle aged lard-ball, who opened his car door without looking in his mirror. He didn’t like my greeting too much either, the fat moron–I expect he was going to get his newspaper and fags. He probably lives about two minutes walk away from the shop, silly man–the exercise would do him good–on second thoughts it might prolong his life, so forget that.
I walked the girls into school and after they’d gone off to their respective classes, I went to see the headmistress. “Ah, Lady C, how nice to see you–we have a date for your talk.”
“Do we? When is it?” I asked temporarily having forgotten about it.
“Friday the twenty sixth of November.”
“A week before my birthday–yeah okay, what time?”
“Seven o’clock, so some of the kids can come and see it.”
“Fine, I haven’t got my diary with me,” and before I could say out-takes, she’d scribbled it very neatly on a piece of paper and handed it to me.
“From your surprise, I take it that wasn’t why you’d come to see me?”
“Um–no, it was Trish’s games lessons.”
“Ah yes, the Wayne Rooney of St Claire's.”
“She doesn’t like playing it.”
“What? According to my games teacher, she was one of the few girls who seemed to have some idea of what soccer is about. Most of them run round in circles giggling.”
“They are only six years old.”
“Yes, but she could be the star of our team.”
“I don’t think so–she said she hated it and only did her best because I made her promise to.”
“Oh, I see–d’you mind if I speak with her about this, perhaps at lunch time?”
“Not at all, but if she’s really unhappy, I think I’d like to see what other games are available.”
“I take it she won’t like rugby either?” said the headmistress very quietly and sniggered.
“Rugby? I hope you’re joking.”
She nodded laughing so much she couldn’t speak. Once sanity returned, we discussed options. Hockey, or field hockey as they call it across the pond, was the other main winter game, with netball a second choice–they apparently play a basics game called First Step Netball and go on to High Five Netball once they’ve got the idea of the game–it’s a five-a-side game instead of the usual seven in the more grown up form.
I left it to the headmistress to speak with Trish, who would then tell me what she’d like to do. Netball brought back memories of humiliation in school. I think I mentioned that I refused to cut my hair and dyed it bright auburn for the Lady Macbeth thing I did. Well, they made me wear women’s clothes to school during the play’s run including the week before, from the dress rehearsal–so I could acclimatise to wearing skirts. If it hadn’t been so public a humiliation, I could have quite enjoyed myself, and getting ready before school and after getting home, I kept my school uniform on–it was made up of stuff from the lost property in the girl’s school.
Of course wearing a skirt meant I was exempt games, to avoid bullying in the changing rooms, or so I thought. Instead, I was told to go over to the girl’s school to play netball. They provided the little skirt and passion killer knickers all in navy, plus a top. I protested and was escorted to the girl’s school by a teacher who made derogatory remarks the whole way, including suggesting I stay with the girls once I got there. I asked him if he was going to play Lady Macbeth in my absence. He nearly struck me.
The girl’s PE mistress thought it was real hoot to have a boy, dressed as a girl, playing netball. Never having played it before, I was total rubbish–I kept getting my feet wrong, stepping out of circles and so on, including dropping the ball several times. Altogether, I went three times and each time I came away almost in tears. However, being totally pig-headed, I wasn’t going to back down and wearing the netball kit and the school uniform really pissed off my dad, who thought being made to wear them would cure me of my girlish tendencies. Did it hell? No way.
I sat for a few moments before driving home, thinking about my school days–Tom Brown’s they definitely weren’t and I sincerely hoped that Trish would do better than I did if she plays netball. My experience couldn’t have been any worse if I’d been asked to go to cheer leading with a girl’s squad.
(aka Bike) Part 1127 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I eventually pulled myself together and drove home after my reverie. I needed to make some more bread amongst other things. I made a new loaf and after a few more chores, lunched with Jenny and Stella on tuna salad. I fed the wee yin, and put her down after playing and talking to her. She’s becoming much more responsive and gurgles when she sees me. I suppose she thinks I’m a walking milk churn.
Stella had some shopping to do and offered to pick up the girls as she had to pass the school. I accepted her offer and soon after she went I set off to collect Danny from his school, something I don’t think I’ve done more than very occasionally. It was raining and I knew he’d be pleased to see me.
I parked as near as I could and watched for him but didn’t see him exit the building at all. He wasn’t at the bus stop, so where was he–football practice? I waited around and there was no sign of him–I was now feeling very concerned.
I walked into the building and there were now very few people about at all. It felt so strange to be in a relatively modern school and feel a total detachment from it. My own was an old building and wholly inadequate but we managed. How I’d manage in this place, I didn’t like to think. It had no character or soul–that was it, no soul to the place, no genius.
“Can I help you?” said a quiet voice from behind me but it made me jump all the same.
“Yes, I’m looking for my son, Danny Maiden.”
The voice belonged to quite an attractive middle-aged man who was running his eye up and down me with an expression declaring me to either be older than I looked or to be lying. “Daniel Maiden, hmmm, I think he’s in detention, please wait here I’ll be straight back.” He walked off briskly up the corridor leaving me to ponder why Danny was in detention–I hoped it wasn’t fighting again.
No more than five minutes later, the man returned with Danny. I knew something was amiss when Danny refused eye contact with me–was it just a bit of embarrassment?
“Would you care to come into my office for a moment, Mrs Maiden?” and he led us through a door marked, R E Edwards, Deputy Headmaster.
He indicated I should sit and Danny was made to sit beside me. “Well, Mrs Maiden...”
“I’m not Mrs Maiden, my name is Cameron, Danny is adopted.” I felt myself growing warm, yet the teacher blushed even brighter than I.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Cameron, Danny has been in trouble for fighting.”
“I see–do we know who started it?”
“Danny?” Mr Edwards gave my boy a chance to say something at last.
“It was after practice, I was in the showers and some shit took my boots. I think it was Mowlam, an’ I confronted him.”
“Someone took your new football boots?”
“Yes,” he said in a very choked voice and started crying.
“This is the first I’ve heard of this theft–are you sure you had them with you?” Edwards asked the boy.
“He did, because he left home with them this morning–I only bought them for him yesterday, and they cost over a hundred pounds. So I hope you’re going to make every effort to recover them.”
“Mrs Cameron, I assure you we will do everything to investigate this matter, which I’d prefer to keep between us.”
I handed him my card, the posh one.
“Lady Cameron? No relation to the banking people?”
“Yes, my father in law is the chairman. If necessary, I want the police involved, and I’d like you to get back to me on this within the week or I shall start asking embarrassing questions on high. Thank you, Mr Edwards, I’ll take him home now if you don’t mind.”
I left, grabbing Danny by the hand and half dragging him back to the car. Back in the privacy of the car I asked Danny to explain what had happened. He’d done his training in his games session after lunch and left his kit by the bench as he always did and went to shower. When he came back his new boots were missing. He didn’t know who had taken them but he didn’t like this boy, Gregory Mowlam, who was always teasing him and was a bit bigger, but Danny jumped on him when Mowlam asked him if he’d lost something and found it funny. They both got detention, but the games teacher wouldn’t allow Danny to say his boots had been taken. I was very cross at this but when I saw Mr Edwards driving hastily out of the staff car park, I decided it would wait until the morning.
“Hopefully, we’ll get them back–if not, we’ll have to get you some more.”
“I’m sorry, Mummy, I really am,” he sobbed and I put my arm round him and gave him a quick hug before we drove home. This incident had really upset him, and because he was upset, so was I–and when that happens things take note.
We drove for the most part in silence until Danny looked at me and smirked, “Did you see old Eddy’s face when he read your card, ‘Lady Cameron’,” he chuckled as he mimicked the Deputy Head. “He’ll learn you don’t mess with us Camerons, especially my mum.”
“Hopefully he’ll do his job and we’ll get the boots back undamaged.”
“Yeah or you’ll get him.”
“Danny, I don’t get people, I’m a responsible adult, we don’t do things the way you do them in the playground. Having said that, if I need to exert a little pressure on him to achieve our end; I will.”
“Yeah, you’ll get him.”
“That makes me sound like the Godfather, I won’t get him, I’ll simply remind him that I’m waiting for the results of his investigations.”
I stopped on the way back to buy him some cheaper boots. If he was playing that regularly, he’d need another pair–they weren’t that much cheaper, but at least I knew he could continue doing something he enjoyed.
“Thanks, Mum, you’re the best mum in the world.”
“No I’m not, but I try to do my best, which at times is sadly lacking.”
“No one else would have bought me more boots after I lost the first pair.”
“Let’s not go down that road, shall we? It’s important that you keep playing because I know how much you enjoy it.”
“It’s the thing I enjoy most.”
“Yes, I know–don’t lose those ones, or you’ll have to buy the next ones yourself.”
“I won’t, Mum, I promise I’ll keep these under lock and key if I need to.”
“Oh, and no more fighting–it doesn’t become a Cameron.” I knew I was lying, I’ll bet Simon’s ancestors were out bashing seven bells out of each other with great big claymores only a couple of hundred years ago–while mine were inventing steam engines–only joking, I have no idea if I’m related to James Watt or not, probably not.
(aka Bike) Part 1128 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Later that evening Simon phoned and I told him about the stolen boots. “What d’you expect, it’s a council school.”
“Yes, well I went to one of those as well, so don’t get all elitist on me. Not everyone wants to go to Eton and the Household Cavalry, even if they are stupid chinless wonders.”
“Eton and the Household Cavalry? Good gracious, woman, casting nasturtiums like that, what happens the next time we need HM escorted to parliament or trooping the colour?”
“Perhaps the Queen could catch a bus, like lots of other Londoners, it would be quite a novelty for her and she’s eligible for a bus pass at her age–perhaps she doesn’t know about free bus passes for pensioners; although I’ve heard tell she has an eye for a bargain–and they don’t come better than gratis.”
“This is sedition, ol’ girl, if MI5 are listening you’ll be locked up in the tower.”
“I doubt it, the local council would have to pay for the care of all our children, which would double the Budget Deficit.”
“Hmm, with this lot in power you might be right. Besides, it would be a first offence.”
“I do have the consolation that if they sentence me to be be-headed, because I’m the wife of a peer, they’d do it with a sword not an axe.”
“That’s a consolation?”
“Well yes, the sword can chop you in one hit, the axe can take several.”
“I don’t think I like this conversation, wee wifie o’mine.”
“It is a bit morbid, I suppose.”
“More than a bit, it’s positively full of morbidity.”
“Well okay, let’s talk about lessbid, then.”
“About lesbians?” he asked in a very perplexed manner.
“Lesbians? Who mentioned lesbians–I didn’t.”
Just then Trish walked past, “Lesbians? Billie said she would probably be a lesbian. What’s a lesbian, Mummy?”
I put my hand over the microphone of the handset. “If you didn’t know you wouldn’t be asking. Be off with you, you scallywag.” She disappeared giggling.
“Who was that?” asked Simon.
“It was Trish trying to yank my chain.”
“Oh, she’s a girl isn’t she?”
“Yes, I think that’s pretty well official these days.”
“You know what I mean, babes, so stop trying to pull mine. What are you planning to do about Danny’s boots?”
“Wait and see what the school does next. It’s Friday tomorrow, so they’ll have a weekend to sort themselves. I’ll start asking awkward questions on Monday.”
“I thought you were against the idea of using titles?”
“When it suits me, I’m happy to use them, and it seemed to impress the deputy headmaster. What I don’t understand is why the games master didn’t take Danny’s claim of theft seriously–so I’d like to meet him and ask him why.”
“Well don’t go pissing him off too much. He’s in a position to make life difficult for Danny.”
“If he does that, I’ll make all sorts of noises, including rude ones until he gets the message, I’ll also send Danny to a private school.”
“And who’s going to pay for all this?”
“How much money did you make today?”
“Before lunch a few hundred million.”
“Well then? I rest my case.”
“Ah, but I lost most of it after lunch.”
“So how much profit did the bank make from your connivances?”
“Twenty million, net I suppose.”
“And you’ll have a sizeable proportion of that.”
“A bit, shall we say, yes.”
“Your quarterly bonus would pay for all the kids to be schooled privately.”
“Just remember the kids are dirt cheap, it’s my wife who costs me a fortune.”
“I’ll remember that, darling, and make sure it’s true.”
He rang off before he had a nervous breakdown. He’s probably one of the most generous men on this planet, but he likes to have a moan–so I indulge him, then indulge myself–usually at his expense–and he has never once complained, but then Stella had pretty well trained him before I came along.
The next morning, Tom took the girls to school, Jenny cleared up after breakfast and I took Danny to school asking him to show me the way to the games teacher’s office. He was there, and I knocked and entered before he could say anything.
“Mr Bailey, I’m Danny Maiden’s mother.”
“Oh the boy I stuck in detention for fighting?”
“Yes, that Danny Maiden.”
“It’s school policy, and I did the same to the other boy as well.”
“I have no quarrel with you over that, but I do with the apparent theft of a valuable pair of football boots, which I’d only bought the day before.”
“He didn’t say anything about a pair of boots–mind you, you gotta watch them round ‘ere, they’d steal the milk from yer tea. Dunno why he didn’t say anything about them.”
“Apparently you wouldn’t let him say anything.”
“What, the little liar,” he went crimson in the face.
“Mr Bailey, Danny is many things, but a liar is not one of them.”
“You don’t know these kids like I do...”
“That is a patently absurd statement. He lives with me, I think I know him better than you.”
“You only see one side of him.”
“I think the same could be said for you–you only see the young man who lives and dies football, whose valuable boots were taken while he showered. Aren’t you supposed to supervise changing rooms?”
“I ‘ad to come and get something from the office–besides, it don’t do to hang around with thirty naked kids–gets you a bad name.”
I left him preserving his image as best he could–I didn’t think for one minute he was a pervert, just lazy and uninterested. I walked back towards the exit and bumped into Mr Edwards.
“Good morning, Mr Edwards.”
“Lady Cameron, how nice to see you again,” he lied.
“I went to have a word with Mr Bailey.”
“Just where I was going myself.”
“I’m sure you know the way.”
“I do, Lady Cameron, having worked here for twenty years, I think I do.”
“Any progress with Danny’s boots?”
“My investigations are still ongoing, Lady Cameron, but I’ll do my best.”
“I do hope so, Mr Edwards, I do hope so.” I said it in a way which almost made it a veiled threat. I hoped he got the message, because, if anyone could resolve this it was probably him.
I left and drove to the supermarket and did some shopping. I had stirred the pot sufficiently for the moment. I’d put the two teachers under pressure and led them to believe I’d keep the pressure on until I got a satisfactory resolution. It was all bluff, but they didn’t know that, did they?
(aka Bike) Part 1129 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon came home on the Friday evening and the extra pair of hands meant I had more time to catch up with the rest of the children. Trish assured me she had healed from her DIY surgery, but agreed to show me when she went to bed.
“What happened with the Headmistress?”
“Nothing, why, Mummy?”
“Football or netball?”
“I’m going to play both, see if I prefer one over the other.”
“I didn’t have much choice, it was play it or be in trouble.”
“Your school sounds horrible, Mummy.”
“Things were different then, they’re becoming a little enlightened these days but not enough to say things are okay, especially for children like you and Billie.”
“I’m quite happy, Mummy, my school is very nice.”
“Yes I know, sweetheart, but I pay for your schooling so I’d expect some degree of cooperation from them. Danny’s school isn’t nearly so helpful.”
“Aren’t you sorting them out? Danny said you were.”
“Did he now? I’m merely trying to get his football boots back because they were quite expensive.”
“Were mine expensive?”
“I can’t remember, darling, I asked Danny which ones to get for you and those are the ones he recommended.”
“Doesn’t he have some the same?”
“I don’t know–I have very little interest in football, now cycling shoes, I can talk about intelligently.”
“You are clever, Mummy.”
“Me? Nah, you’re just too young to spot me. When do you have to play football again?”
“On Tuesday and netball is Thursday. They want me to train for football as well as play in games.”
“How often is that?”
“Once a week. If we have any matches with other schools, they’re on a Saturday and that would mean I’ll have played rotten football three times in a week.” She sat on the bed and affected a very hard done by pose.
I laughed at her, “Trish, you are a real ham.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said pushing her hair off her forehead with a huge sweeping gesture.
I fell about laughing, thinking she should be taking drama lessons not football–she’s a natural actress. Still, I mustn’t put ideas in her mind, her choice of career must come from her not me or anyone else who isn’t qualified to give advice.
Simon and I didn’t have much chance to talk until later, when I brought him up to date on the rest of the brood.
“I’m disappointed with our Trish,” he said, gently stroking my neck.
“Why?”
“Her aptitude for sport.”
“Oh c’mon, Simon, she’s trying football and netball–give her a break.”
“I feel I should have been signing her up for London Scottish.”
“That sounds like an insurance company.”
He guffawed, “You really are precious sometimes, babes.”
“What have I done now?”
“An insurance company? They’re a rugby team.”
“Oops,” I blushed–well how was I to know. “I see Emma Pooley did well.”
“Is she in Trish’s class?” he asked.
Now it was time for me to laugh, “No, silly, she’s just won the elite women’s world time trial race in Australia.”
“I thought you were too busy to take any notice of anything much.”
“It was on the radio this morning.”
“You have time to listen to the radio?”
“Yes, while I’m feeding tiny wee.”
“A likely tale,” he huffed in mock disbelief.
I’d expressed some milk for the morning so Jenny could do the feed, and I’d done the night feed again–when is this little sod going to sleep all night? I snuggled back down and it seemed no time later that we got an invasion of four girls because daddy was home. He’d slept quite well, I was still knackered–I almost sloped off to Trish’s bed while they all cuddled with Simon.
Jenny took the baby and gave her a bottle, and I stumbled about trying to help the kids have breakfast. Danny, it transpired, had a football match so I agreed to take him along with his personal cheer team. We left Jenny to look after the baby, and all trooped off in the Mondeo, which Simon drove to watch Danny play.
The only consolation was seeing the games teacher look guilty when he spotted me standing on the touchline. I was so tired, I nearly fell asleep standing with Simon, leaning against him in the cool breeze, while the girls squealed with delight every time Danny touched the ball. In the first half he made a goal saving tackle–according to Simon–in the second half; he scored the winning goal. He came off the pitch with a smile that threatened to split his face it was so big, he’d proven his worth to the team, and done it in front of the people he most wanted to–his family, to wit, us.
We took Portsmouth’s answer to David Beckham home, and despite the noise, I dozed off in the chair–which apparently they noticed and left me for an hour. I was awakened to be told that Stella had done scrambled eggs on toast for lunch and to come and eat it before it got cold. I think I spent the rest of the day in shock at Stella cooking something.
In the afternoon, Simon did the food shopping for me–with a list–while I took those who wanted to come, for a ride. We did a few miles before turning back and had just garaged the bikes when the rain started, lashing down in torrents. I decided it was my lucky day, on a bad one it would have started at the furthest point from home.
We all scrambled back into the house and I put the kettle on. Simon came back just after, running in with the shopping. How someone can carry eight bags of groceries, I don’t know, but he did, dashing into the house while the girls held the door open for him. The girls helped me put it away, while Danny downloaded photos to his computer that Simon had taken while he was playing football. He was very pleased with that, especially as the goal saving tackle and his goal were both recorded.
Julie was wrapped up like ’The Mummy,’ when she came back from her salon. Leon was unwell with some sort of flu bug, so hadn’t come today, the consequence of which was after dinner, she showed Danny how to do some basic photoshop to his photos, adding captions as well as erasing ugly bits–that sort of thing. They worked together quite happily, while Trish and Billie helped me in the kitchen whilst Meems and Livvie sat chatting with Simon. Tom and Stella were talking as they watched Puddin’ in the baby-bouncer thing, she was shrieking at the top of her voice, she was so excited.
After checking the baby,I made us all a drink and I’d quickly baked a sponge while the oven was on, so we had a drink and a small slice of cake. I glanced about the house and thought, ‘This is how it should be–all of us interacting with other members of the family, and enjoying it.’ Would that it was always like it, but then I suppose we’d be like the bloody Waltons.
(aka Bike) Part 1130 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Sunday, was a family day, a mixture of chores and interactions in the household. Simon washed the cars helped by Danny and Julie: she also washed her scooter thing.
I washed all sorts of things, including the laundry aided and abetted by Trish and Livvie, who took it in turns to fill and empty the machine, sort the washing and fold it afterwards. Between them they can even cope with a sheet or duvet cover and we have a large machine, which wouldn’t look out of place in a hotel or commercial laundry. Simon and Tom bought it between them when it became obvious that our burgeoning family needed more than the old Hotpoint Tom had had for years.
Billie and Meems were helping me wash down the kitchen, they can get down to skirting boards and the bottom of doors more easily than I can. We were accompanied by the delicious smell of bread baking as we worked, which did nothing for my recent resolution to eat less and exercise more.
The final act of ablution was for me to wash the floor, which I did, restoring it to its pristine condition–I’m lying, but it was cleaner than before. Simon and his car wash team were instructed to enter by the front door to avoid walking near the wet kitchen floor. Unfortunately, I hadn’t told Tom, who’d taken Kiki for a walk and her great big spaniel sized feet left footprints all over the kitchen floor. Some days I really don’t know why I bother.
I was cooking a roast lunch, a leg of Welsh lamb, the cooker helped the floor to dry after I re-mopped it following Kiki’s dance all over it. We ate the aforementioned piece of meat with all the trimmings–fresh made mint sauce, roast spuds, roast carrots, cauliflower and the last of the runner beans from the garden. We were all so stuffed, I wondered if I should resolve to eat more and exercise less–it seemed easier. There was ice cream for pudding, which I did resist, which was more than Simon did: he had my portion as well.
We all went for a walk that late afternoon which was quite warm, although there was rain forecast and it arrived after we got back. It teemed down all night, and at one point, Simon and I lay listening to the rain lashing against the windows.
When I was a kid, I used to love hearing the rain, and sometimes would even sit in the car by myself listening to it, until I fell asleep, which I invariably did. Listening to it with Simon, took me back to my childhood and gave me a sense of security, lying there in his arms. I slept well that night and tiny wee didn’t wake until nearly six, when Simon had to rise anyway.
I fed her while he showered and then made us both a cuppa–he has his uses now and again. I changed the baby and brought her down while he had his breakfast; I had some toast while I watched her in the recliner.
Simon left at quarter to seven, promising to get the transfer to Portsmouth up and running in November or early December. I suppose it could be my early birthday present, and it really would be, I do miss him when he’s up in London.
I put the baby down for another sleep, and showered myself before rousing the girls, then Julie and Danny. They all showered and I sorted various hair styles, dressing as they showered. Once that was done, Jenny, who’d come down, helped with breakfasts and agreed to take the girls to school while I continued pressuring Danny’s school to return his stolen football boots. I was quite looking forward to seeing Mr Edwards squirm, because I was sure he hadn’t recovered them yet.
I sat in the car waiting for the school to do registrations and assembly, then settle down to lessons. I waited for twenty minutes, listening to Radio 4 and Start the Week: then I strolled into the school and to Mr Edwards door, upon which I knocked.
I was quite surprised when a strange man opened the door. “Yes, what d’ya want?”
“I wanted to speak with Mr Edwards.”
“He’s not here.”
“I can see that.”
“You are?”
“I’m Cathy Cameron, who are you?”
“Inspector Old, Hampshire Constabulary; what did you want him for?”
“My son had his brand new football boots taken from the changing room last week, Mr Edwards was trying to recover them.”
“Right, hang on, I saw a pair of boots in a bag just now.” He disappeared back into the office and came out with a clear plastic bag containing a pair of boots and Danny’s name on it. “Just a minute, these belong to Danny Maiden.”
“Yes, my son–he’s adopted and we didn’t change his name.”
“I suppose I can trust you.”
“I did mention football boots before you picked them up.”
“Okay, here y’are then.”
“Why are the police here, and where is Mr Edwards?”
“Look, Mrs Maiden–no, it was...”
“Cameron, Cathy Cameron.”
“That name sounds familiar, we haven’t met before have we?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“I’ve got it, it’s not the name that’s familiar, it’s you on the posters in the bank, isn’t it?”
I blushed, not many people seem to recognise me from them. “Yes, you’re very astute.”
“Ah, I’m good with faces–now you were holding some small furry thing–um, oh yeah, a dormouse.”
“I’m very impressed with your powers of observation and recall.”
“It’s me job, I’m a detective, so observation’s part of me work.”
“I’m a scientist and it’s part of mine too. I also ask questions, so where is Mr Edwards–not run off with the school funds, I hope?”
“He ain’t running anywhere any more, you have your boots, I think you’d better go.”
“Very well, thank you, Inspector Old.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs Cameron.”
I took the boots back to the car and went on to the local radio station where apart from inane pop music, there was more likelihood of hearing if something was amiss at the school.
I had arrived at home and was parking the car when the ten o’clock news came on. ’News is still coming in about the suspicious death of a teacher from Portsmouth who was found at his home late last night having apparently drowned in his own fish pond. Police are still at his home and haven’t released his identity. Local sources suggest it’s a Mr Reg Edwards, a teacher in Portsmouth, aged fifty one. We hope to have more news on that in our later bulletins. On to the weekend sport...’
So he was dead, a coincidence or what? Was it an accident–maybe he’d had a drink and fell into his fishpond, or was he pushed? My curiosity was piqued to say the least although I realised that as a breast-feeding mother of a two month old baby, I wasn’t most suited to investigating someone’s sudden death, but it concerned me because I’d met the man and although he was a trifle pompous, he had got the boots back, so maybe we owed him.
I went into the house deep in thought. “Oh you got them back then?” said Stella.
“What?”
“Danny’s football boots, you got them back?” she pointed at the bag.
“Yes, but the man who recovered them is dead.”
“Dangerous was it?”
“What?”
“Getting them back.”
“I have no idea, but I do intend to find out,” I said firmly, putting the boots on the kitchen floor.
(aka Bike) Part 1131 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The probability of Danny’s boots and the death of Reg Edwards being connected was very small. I know people get murdered for less, and not necessarily in exotic places like Haiti, it can happen here too. Most years you hear stories of folk being killed or injured for their mobile phones or their training shoes, so it’s possible but unlikely. I mean, they weren’t his football boots and I can’t see some arch criminal figure building an empire on stolen football boots–hardly Moriarty style is it, more Fagin and Artful Dodger, definitely down market.
I need to establish if the death was accidental or deliberate, which could include suicide but rather an inconclusive way to do it. From what I’d seen of Reg Edwards, he was more driving his car into a motorway bridge type, or even pills and booze–not see how long I can hold my breath in the fishpond, sort.
Despite my run ins with the plod, they were the people best able to decide cause of death and whether it was suspicious or not. I sent Danny a text and told him to listen to any rumours circulating about the death, it would be all over the school by lunch time.
I then had the local radio on most of the day, but they didn’t have any more detail than the bulletin in the morning, they just rehashed it and mentioned the name of the school, which would have reporters waiting outside to talk to people, parents, staff and even pupils.
It was raining when I got there so I managed to hide under my hat and umbrella, escorting Danny back to the car and thence home. He had a fistful of rumours but nothing rang true. Perhaps it was an accident after all.
I got them to call me for the news report on the telly, I was otherwise getting the dinner–some chicken portions, which I was doing in white wine sauce with cream–I spoil these kids, yet they would eat beans on toast with just as much relish. So generally, they’re easy to please most of the time.
I had just checked the chicken when they called me, so I shoved it quickly back in the oven and nearly fell over the dog in my haste to get to the lounge. There was nothing mentioned on the national news–hardly surprising, unless they mention suspicious circumstances. I went back to finish cooking the dinner–new potatoes with baby carrots and peas, and they called me back again.
It was the local news, for Southern England, and it was the third news story, so quite important in the editor’s or producer’s eyes. They suggested foul play hadn’t been ruled out and suggested some sort of head injury as well. The police weren’t saying anything–not an unusual event at this stage of an investigation.
I decided that he could have hit his head as he fell or he could have been hit on the head and then fell and drowned. Still nothing to go on. While I waited for the dinner to finish cooking, I was able to check news sites on the net, and found all sorts of speculation there, some labelled it a tragic accident, others, a possible murder. I tended to expect it to be the former, but they showed his house and the police walking in and out wearing those horrible overall things. For me, the important thing was I thought I recognised the road, so I’d take a drive down there tomorrow–a bit ghoulish, I know, but all in the name of research.
We had dinner, which was actually very good even if I say so myself. Stella did actually comment positively about it, which isn’t that unusual, then when the kids went off to finish homework or play, she added, “So, how’s the case developing, Sherlock Cameron?”
Jenny asked her what she meant, and she continued, “Well this teacher bloke who fell in his fishpond and drowned...”
“Oh yes, I heard about that on the news when I was taking the girls to school,” Jenny interrupted, “Just a nasty accident, isn’t it?”
“If it was, why don’t the police say so? It could be, but I don’t know, I have this funny feeling that it isn’t as straightforward as everyone would like to make it appear,” was my contribution.
“Cathy gets these funny feelings,” said Stella, “I keep telling her it’s irritable bowel or just not eating enough.” They both laughed.
“It’s okay for you to laugh, Stel, but what if I’m right?”
“You get to go on Mastermind and answer questions on it?” she threw back at me.
“Don’t be so silly. I simply hope it’s investigated thoroughly.”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” asked Jenny.
“We’ve all had experience of the Portsmouth plod, and they seem especially inept at times, especially when Cathy gets involved, isn’t that right, Sis?”
“We haven’t always had the most encouraging of experiences with them.” I blushed when I thought about the times I’d crossed swords with police up and down the country, including Scotland.
“Oh do tell,” said Jenny, settling down for a good gossip session.
“You can tell her, Stella, I’ve got things to do?”
“If you start playing your fiddle, I’ll know you’ve got it worked out, just don’t start smoking that awful pipe again.”
“Very funny, Watson, ‘the games afoot,’” I offered as I left probably misquoting Conan Doyle.
“So what are you then, a bloody chiropodist?” laughed Stella as I departed for my kitchen and some space to think.
After clearing up and clearing the kids off to bed, I wanted to deal with some emails and hopefully surf the web for any more titbits. Danny wanted to talk when I went in to tuck him in.
“So d’you think ol’ Reg was murdered?” he asked.
“What, by a ten foot goldfish called, Jaws?”
He laughed, “Hey that would be a good one, I like saw this film at Jack’s about all these piranhas getting into the water system and eating people in their bath.”
“I see, so a ten inch fish manages to swim down a half inch pipe, that would take some special effects, especially when it came to the shower nozzle.”
“I think it might have been a river or lake.”
“Someone dumped one in a lake here, it was caught by an angler.”
“Yuck, I don’t think I want to swim in a river or lake anyway.”
“It’s not always a good idea, partly because the water is rather cold and secondly, if it warms up, it tends to develop strange algae that kill people and dogs.”
“Maybe, it was algae that killed ol’ wossisface?”
“I sincerely doubt it. The ten foot goldfish is more plausible than that.” We both chuckled.
“D’ya want me to listen out for any more gossip?”
“Yes, please do. It will probably be just that, but you never know.”
“Cor, my mum the detective.”
“Don’t be silly, Danny, I’m just interested in what happened to him, and he did get your boots back.”
“Yeah, I s’pose he was alright, really.”
“Goodnight, son,” I pecked him on the cheek.
“Night, Mum–oh, Mum?”
“If you need football kit to be washed for the morning, you can go and whistle for it.”
“No, least I don’t think so.”
“Good, I might let you live until the morning then.”
He laughed, “No, I was gonna say, you’re the best mum in the world, least me an’ the girls think so.”
It was a good job it was dark, I was blushing and my eyes were very moist. “Go to sleep,” I threw back at him before he saw me sniffing.
(aka Bike) Part 1132 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
There were no reporters about when I took Danny to school the next day and the television van was also gone. Maybe it was an accident after all–probably the most likely scenario, I mean this is Portsmouth, not downtown Washington DC or even London, where the body count rises nightly. Yet there was something niggling away at me, making me want to question things, but how?
I drove out to Mr Edwards’s house, it was where I’d thought it would be, a detached house with a reasonable sized garden. I didn’t see any police in evidence, so with my camera hidden in my pocket, I parked the car and walked over to the house.
I wanted to see the fishpond, not for any gruesome enjoyment, but to see if it looked likely that he fell into it. It wasn’t visible from the road, and it was surrounded by gardens on three sides, at some point I’d have to trespass.
I walked in and up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. If there had been; I’m not sure what I’d have said. So I casually walked round the house to the rear garden.
There was the fishpond with police tape round it and keep out notices. I ducked under the tape and took some pictures of the pond, some stones were misaligned at the one edge. I wondered if it was where he fell. I closed my eyes and I thought I got an impression of him being hit on the back of the head before he fell. I also got the distinct smell of cigarettes, so either he or his assailant smoked, perhaps both.
I turned round and Inspector Old was standing the other side of the tape. “Can’t you read?” he asked me.
“Sorry, I needed to see the pond.”
“Funny, you don’t look much like the average ghoul.”
“I’m not, I needed to see it. He was struck from behind with a piece of stone, the assailant smoked.”
“I see, and how do you know that?”
“Which?”
“All of it.”
“I had a vision of it happening just before you spoke to me.”
“Oh and did your vision let you see the killer?”
“Not quite, but it was a man who was taller than him and I think he might have been left-handed, at least I think he was hit by the left hand.”
“I presume you deduced this from the way the footmarks in the grass looked, or was it from a freshly slaughtered sheep’s liver.”
“I’m not a haruspex.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “Not many people would be familiar with such a term.”
“I read a lot.”
“So it would appear.”
I shrugged, “You’re obviously an accomplished detective.”
“Unlike you, Mrs Cameron, or should that be, Lady Cameron? Now, do I arrest you for interfering with a crime scene?”
“Interfering? All I’ve done is examine it.”
“No magnifying glass, Dr Watson will be disappointed.”
“The sort I use means you need to be about two inches away from the subject you wish to examine.”
“Ah, yes, your dormice–what do look at, the faeces?”
“Only ever find those in captive animals, they spend most of their time in the tree canopy when they’re awake, so can poop anywhere. No we examine the shells of the nuts they’ve been eating.”
“Ah, tooth marks?”
“Yes, dormice have a particular way of eating hazel nuts and acorns.”
“Fascinating, now do I arrest you?” He nodded me to leave the pond side, lifting the tape for me to duck under.
“I’ll come quietly guv’nor,” I said holding my wrists out in front of me for easy cuffing.
“I did a little research on you after yesterday, it seems that few of my colleagues manage to reach pensionable age without some catastrophe happening to their careers once they meet you.”
“Must be all that liver gazing I do.”
“Shouldn’t think a dormouse has a very big one, has it?”
“No, but then with my lens, I might just be able to make out some minuscule message that everyone else misses.”
“Like today.”
“No, I didn’t have my lens with me today.”
“Pity, although Inspector Morse could solve the most outlandish crimes in two hours, including the adverts, alas, I take much longer.”
“Yes, but you don’t have Sergeant Lewis to help you.”
“How true, it would seem I now have a Lady dormouse, instead. There’s a reasonable coffee shop just a few minutes away, would you care to share notes?”
I nearly fell in the fishpond myself, here was a copper doing all the wrong things–was it just to wrong-foot me, or to discover what I knew? I’d have to watch this guy, he was very clever.
“Um–yes, okay. I’ll follow you then.”
“Is that so you can hide your camera in the car?”
Damn, he’d seen me taking the photos. “Okay, we’ll take one car, if you want.”
“No, we’ll take two, I have places to go after here, and I’m sure you do with dozens of adopted children. Tell me, did Charlie want so many children?”
“Charlie who?” I blushed.
“Charles Watts, noted authority on dormeece, suddenly disappears as you mysteriously appear. Then I look on the internet and after a bit of digging, I see why he had to go. I suspect you made the right decision, at least from where I’m standing, and the fact that you’re married, means you’ve done the gender panel thing. I’ve met the odd transvestite and even one or two transsexuals, but you take the biscuit. I’d never have known without my research.”
“But you just had to bring it up to show me how clever you are, didn’t you? I think I’ve changed my mind about the coffee. I’m a bit choosy with whom I take coffee.”
“Ouch, still a bit touchy are we? You will come to coffee with me, and you’ll also bring your camera with you–I want to see what you photographed. Follow me, and please no funny business, or you will end up in irons.”
I stormed my way back to the car–impudent prig, just who does he think he is? I turned my car round and followed him the half a mile to the cafe, parking next to him. We entered together and he led me to a quiet table in the corner. “How do you take your poison?”
“Latte,” I answered and switched on the camera. He looked at the pictures and shook his head.
“What were you photographing, I can’t see anything here?”
“The damaged or displaced stone along the side of the pool, it’s very recent.”
“Yes I know, our SOCO people examined every square inch of the place.”
“It’s murder though isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m right about the left handed man and the weapon, aren’t I?”
“Yes, how do you know that, are you an accomplice of the assailant?”
“No, I told you, I saw it happen in my mind’s eye. The blow was from behind and on the left side of Mr Edwards head. I saw the hand of the attacker.”
“Are you sure you weren’t there?” He went quiet as the coffee was delivered, he had an espresso, so he was probably a caffeine freak, too.
“No, only just now, but I had a colleague whose parents lived just round the corner.”
“Ah, so you know the area?”
“I wouldn’t say I know it, but I’ve cycled down this road a few times.”
“Ah, before you married into money?”
“Don’t be so insulting, I had a very nice bike before I met Simon. In fact, it was his sister knocking me off it that caused us to meet.”
“Oh, not so good.”
“The original impact wasn’t, but the consequences have been very good on the whole, and I love him very much.”
“I presume he knows about–um–your past?”
“No, of course not–do you think I’m stupid–of course he knows. He might not be a genius, but he’s one of the nicest men alive.”
“Good, I’m pleased for you–it must be difficult–um doing what you did.”
“It’s not easy, but I’ve been fortunate. Now you know all about me, how about some self revelation?”
“Sorry, me copper, you assisting my enquiries, I do the questions, you answer them.”
“I could report you for being a patronising twat.”
“Feel free, won’t be the first time.”
“No but my complaints tend to carry a bit of weight.”
“Now who’s showing off?”
“Your wife’s name–no, you’re not married, you live with Martina, who’s from abroad and you have one child, a boy called Gavin.” The information seemed to present itself in my mind.
“You’ve done your research, too? I’m impressed.”
“You had an injury here,” I touched his left shoulder, “It still gives you trouble.” I laid my hand on his shoulder and he winced.
“Jeez, your hand is hot, ouch it’s burning.”
“Keep still,” I chided him.
“Bloody hell, who are you?” he touched his injured shoulder and moved his arm up and down. “The pain’s gone–just who or what are you?”
“Not someone you want to mess with.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, simply some friendly advice. Tell Martina to keep Gavin off gluten, he’s developing an allergy to it.” I rose from the table, “Thanks for the coffee,” and left, not having drunk any of it.
(aka Bike) Part 1133 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The rest of the day went more or less as planned, but it was after dinner before I had a chance to load the photos and examine them. I was poring over them when Trish came in. “What ya doin’, Mummy?”
“Looking at these photos, there’s something wrong here, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
She gave the photo a cursory glance and asked, “Why is that stone back to front?”
“What d’you mean?” I asked in clarification. I was aware that one had been moved but I presumed that was during the assault. As the police had examined the area, surely they wouldn’t have missed it, or maybe even caused it, moving the stone then putting it down incorrectly.
“The edge is on the wrong side, see, compared to all the others.” She pointed this out with her finger, then skipped off to annoy one of the others. I hadn’t noticed, the stone was practically rectangular, but there was a distinct line on the edge which was nearest the pond, and the displaced stone was, as Trish had said, the wrong way round.
I didn’t know if it was important or not. I blew up the picture and the water edge had a distinct green tinge to it, whereas the side away from the pool was reddish. I thought my colour vision was pretty good–I’m good at matching clothes or materials and wall paper, that sort of thing–so why hadn’t I seen it? Senility–yeah, possibly brought on by lack of sleep.
I went to check on the cause of my disturbed nights. Mima was playing with her in her cot. Of all the girls, Mima is probably the most maternal–at least at this stage of their development. She does far more for both the babies, Puddin’ and tiny wee. Trish seemed to lose interest after she discovered she wouldn’t be able to breast feed until she actually had breasts, although she still liked to watch me feeding the baby.
I got them all to bed and was thinking of turning in after I fed the baby, when there was a ring at the bell. It was nearly ten o’clock and I wasn’t at all sure about opening the door.
The door is pretty solid, made of oak and several inches thick, so there is no lens to look through, you just have to open it and see who’s there. I engaged the chain and peeped round the edge of the door hoping someone didn’t throw acid in my face or stab me.
“It’s me, Inspector Old.”
“D’you know what time it is?”
“I do, and I apologise, but I’d like a quick word if you don’t mind.”
I let him in and as I did so the baby woke up. I picked her out and told him if he wanted a drink he’d have to make it. I led him through to the kitchen and he seemed quite happy making a pot of tea. I sat down opened my bra and attached the sucking device–to wit, one infant. His eyes nearly came out on stalks.
“Why didn’t you tell me I was wrong this morning?” he said handing me a mug of tea.
“Wrong about what?”
“You–you’re a real woman aren’t you? No man could do that, not the way you’re doing it.”
“If he grew boobs he could.”
“I doubt it–anyway, I’m sorry I got it wrong.”
“It’s irrelevant, now why did you come to see me?”
“To show you these.” He spread out a row of very good photographs of the fishpond, including one with Edwards’ body lying face down in it. It was most unpleasant. “Notice anything?” he asked.
I changed breasts for the human vacuum cleaner, “What am I looking for?”
“Oh, Sherlock, you do disappoint.”
I looked with renewed enthusiasm and finally spotted it. “The stone hasn’t been moved.”
“Exactly, you kept on about the stone, so I got the SOCO pix and when I looked, it hadn’t been moved and I checked with the investigation team, they hadn’t moved it, so somebody had.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I wasn’t accusing you, Lady Cameron.”
“Call me Cathy, I only use the title to get better tables in restaurants.”
“I’m Tobias, but prefer Toby.”
“I’ll bet you went to a private school, didn’t you?”
“Don’t tell anyone, but yes, I went to Winchester College. I suppose you went somewhere like Cheltenham Ladies College?”
“No, just Bristol Grammar School.”
“Well you’re a real tribute to them.”
“Never mind the flattery, what about this ‘ere stone?”
“What about it? I found out about an hour ago that we hadn’t moved it. I wondered if you fancied taking a look before it gets any later?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“Doesn’t Martina get fed up with your strange office hours?”
“It’s why she left me.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Oh I told her about the gluten, and she’s superstitious enough to believe you.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Much better, thank you–how did you do that?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Maybe not.”
“We’re looking for a colour blind murderer.”
“How d’you know?”
“Look at the colour of the stone's edge. It is definitely green, and the other edge is reddish. They’ve been laid with great care.” I pointed to the picture on my computer, “That one is back to front, the red colour is nearest the water.”
“So it is–your reputation is redeemed, Sherlock.”
“It was my daughter, Trish, who spotted it.”
“A chip off the old block, eh? Like mother like daughter.”
“Perhaps,” I chose not to elaborate.
After changing and burping the baby, I put her down and asked Stella, who was watching telly in her room, to keep an eye on my wain. I told her I was popping out with a copper.
“Just watch he’s not into rough stuff, because Simon will bend him into all sorts of unimaginable shapes if another one of them lays a finger on you.”
“I think this one is safe enough, and is probably more frightened of me than I am of him.”
“Good God, sensible plod–an unusual bod.”
“Before you run out of rhymes, I have to go, I’d like to get to bed tonight.”
“With the copper?”
“No–don’t be silly. Having said that he’s quite tasty.”
“You jammy sod.”
“Found another rhyme then?” I laughed and shut the door just before the soft toy hit it.
I pulled on a fleece jacket, as the evening was getting cooler, and grabbed my handbag and camera and also my powerful little LED torch. Then a few minutes later I was being driven away by Toby Old in his Saab.
“Tell me, what happened to the Southsea dinosaur?” I asked my chauffeur.
“It was burned down, possibly by students–senseless vandalism–seems to be what boys get up to after they’ve had a few drinks. If it was up to me, I raise the age for alcohol to fifty and bring back national service.”
“If they did the former, you’d have a long wait for a drink.”
“Cathy, I couldn’t care if I never had another drop–it causes so much trouble in the world, we’d be better off without it.”
“I quite agree, but I never thought I’d hear a policeman say so.”
“Ah, but I’m a slightly unusual copper.”
“Is that the great British understatement?” I asked as we pulled up outside Mr Edwards house.
(aka Bike) Part 1134 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
We parked outside Reg Edwards’ house. “Why couldn’t this have waited until daylight tomorrow?”
“I’m an obsessive, I couldn’t actually wait until tomorrow, and seeing as you were seemingly interested in the case, and were trying to make something of the stone being disturbed, I thought you’d be interested too.”
“I am, but I’m a little concerned that whoever bashed old Edwards might want to bash anyone who comes here at night.”
“You have the long arm of the law to protect you, and my arms are very long.”
“Thanks, Toby, I really needed to know you walked on your knuckles.” I sniggered probably from the fact that I was more than a little frightened. He roared with laughter. “Plus, as we don’t know who the killer is other than he’s left handed and colour blind, it could even be you, couldn’t it.”
“Oh thanks a lot, Cathy, I’m investigating this, not the suspect.”
“Perhaps I’ve seen too many thrillers, but there witnesses or investigators are often led to see something, only to be confronted by the killer, who then does what he does best and they follow suit of the earlier victim.”
“You have been watching too many films.”
“But for instance, you’re left handed.”
“How do you know that?”
“You did everything with your left hand and you’re wearing a watch on your right wrist.”
“Well, Sherlock, the art of observation isn’t dead.”
“But I will be soon, is that it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m a copper not a villain.”
“They can be the same, and you are red-green colour blind.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“You couldn’t see the difference in the stones.”
“You pointed out which was the problem one anyway, so I wouldn’t need to see it.”
“Except, I’d reversed it, so the stone was the right way round not the wrong way. You couldn’t tell.”
“Oh dear, you’re a clever woman, too clever by far.”
“So are you going to tell me what it’s all about before you kill me?”
“Why should I? Knowing isn’t going to save you–assuming I am the killer.”
“I’m curious, that’s why.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Satisfaction brought him back.”
“That’s only in nursery rhyme land.”
“Damn, you have just totally disillusioned me. Toby Old, if I thought you were the killer, I’d have left here some while ago, in fact I wouldn’t have got in the car with you.”
“How would you know, if I was or wasn’t?”
“You match the profile to some extent, but Reg Edwards was quite tall. The killer would have to be at least six foot two, you’re what, five eleven or barely six feet?”
“I might have been on tip toe or wearing high heels.”
“If you’d been wearing high heels, he’d have heard you coming and I suspect the SOCO people would have found evidence, so they might have been looking for a very tall woman.”
“Damn, next time I’ll have to wear high heels.”
“Have you worn them before?”
“Do I look like someone who ponces about in high heels?”
“Not without a lot of imagination, no you don’t.”
“I’ll take that as a negative.”
“Are we going to look at this stone at the pond.”
“Do you honestly think I’m the killer?” he looked shifty enough to be one.
“No. No I don’t.”
We got out of the car and although I was almost sure he was no danger to me, I still felt uneasy about being out in the dark, where an assailant could jump us quite easily.
We walked to the fishpond, torches cutting through the gloom like knives, the lights mainly playing on the ground beneath us because it was so uneven. Finally we got there, and Toby pulled on a pair of latex examination gloves and lifted up the stone which I indicated as being the wrong way round. There was nothing underneath it, so nothing had been buried or hidden there. It was probably the murder weapon–and a very effective one; being twelve inches long and weighing a couple of pounds, like a piece of thin kerb stone–the sort people use to line garden paths or fishpond edges.
Toby was putting it back in place and then he stood up when all hell broke loose. Toby stood up and suddenly someone ran between us and stabbed him, I watched as he seemed to fall backwards in slow motion, into the fishpond.
I shone my light at the attacker who was wearing a ski mask, who now came rushing at me waving a large bladed knife. Thankfully I reacted, rather than thought about things, and as he approached I threw my bag at his face which distracted him and I did a flying kick which caught him in the chest. He fell backwards and stumbled off over the garden fence and his escape.
My next task was to haul Toby out of the pond. He was bleeding profusely and nearly unconscious. Then, recovering my bag I called for help on my mobile phone. Once an ambulance was on its way, I tried to staunch the wound.
In the darkness, even I could see the blue light pouring from my hands into his abdomen–whether it was too little too late, I have no idea. From the amount of blood, I reckon he was caught in or near the liver–he could bleed to death if it got a blood vessel.
I kept urging Toby to stay with me, not to sleep–he could die. He struggled and even asked about the blue stuff. In the distance I could hear the ambulance. I hoped they’d find us in time.
I concentrated on stopping the bleed and shoved some tissues into the wound imagining them like a plug. The bleeding slowed to a trickle and then stopped.
Two paramedics came rushing in with a stretcher and minutes later they’d attached a drip and he was being taken out to their van. I ran behind, holding the keys of his Saab–I still had to get home. Under the streetlights I could see I was covered in blood–wonderful, another outfit ruined.
I wasn’t going to enjoy the questions the police were going to fire at me, and yet the thing that concerned me most was the survival of Toby. Now I knew he wasn’t the killer, but that was all I knew. In the dark, the man who attacked us could have been over six feet or not. I couldn’t tell–it all happened so quickly.
I followed the ambulance to the hospital where I knew I’d soon be met by police, I called home to tell Stella what had happened and for her to ask Tom to bring me a complete change of clothes and footwear to the hospital. Boy, what a mess.
I found a newspaper on the back seat of the car and sat on it to try and avoid staining the leather seats. My feet were wet, so were my trousers from hauling Toby out of the water, and the front of me was covered in blood. I was anything but the picture of propriety befitting a peer’s wife, and by the look of my reception committee, my sartorial elegance was going to be the last item on their list of questions.
It was going to be a long night, and I hoped we had enough expressed milk for the baby.
(aka Bike) Part 1135 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Ah, Lady Cameron–that explains things.” The voice I half recognised, the police Superintendent in front of me didn’t.
“Explains what?” demanded the police super.
“Why you have one of your men now recovering from an operation and not waiting for a post mortem.”
“Explain,” demanded the copper.
“I’m the consultant surgeon who has just cleaned up the wound to your man. He should have died–a stab wound like the one he received caught his liver and just missed his spleen. Quick thinking by, Lady Cameron, here, in staunching the wound helped to stop the bleed and save his life.” He winked at me, indicating that he knew there was more to tell but his lips were sealed.
“Well done, Lady Cameron, but what were you two doing in Mr Edwards garden at ten o’clock at night?” asked the senior copper. I explained what I knew and he nodded and hummed and hahd as I told my story. “He is a bit of a workaholic, but why he took you and not another colleague, I shall have to wait for him to tell me.”
“I suppose because I was able to tell him he was looking for a six foot or taller, left handed, red-green colour blind murderer.”
“Much of which fitted him?”
“Yes, so perhaps there are lots of them about.” I shrugged.
“How did he know you were going to be there?” asked the copper relating to the attacker.
“How would I know?” I shrugged again. I mean, if I knew, I’d have told him.
Someone came and spoke quietly to the senior copper and he looked disappointed. “The dog followed his trail across three gardens and it seemed to disappear.”
“Perhaps that was where he parked his car?” I offered.
“Possibly. We’ll have house to house enquiries in that road to check it out first thing tomorrow.”
“Did you find the knife, because I was sure he dropped it when I kicked him.”
“Not yet, of course he might have come back for it as soon as you left.”
“Why would someone want to kill Mr Edwards in the first place?” I asked.
“We’re not sure, and as the investigation is ongoing, I can’t tell you what we suspect.”
“Well I suppose drugs has to be the primary cause of violence these days.”
“That or drink.”
“Is there any record of Mr Edwards being involved with anything illicit like drugs, because he doesn’t seem the type.” I asked the superintendent, hoping he’d tell me a few things before he realised I wasn’t one of his team.
“None, absolutely nothing.”
“So was he trying to stop one?”
“That is the line we’re taking at the moment.”
Tom arrived with my clothes. “Ah, here ye are, fresh clothing fa ye.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” I said and pecked him on the cheek.
“Ye wee yin is greetin’ fa ye.”
“If this gentleman says I can go, I‘ll come home to feed her.”
“Who’ve you got to feed?” asked the super.
“She’s breast-feeding a bairn, so she is.”
“You have a baby to feed?”
“That’s whit I jest said,” Tom emphasised angrily.
“Then you must go, we know where to find you.”
I went off to the loos, washed down quickly and changed into the dry clothing. Tom took me straight home, where I showered and then fed mighty mouth.
“Whit we’re ye thinkin, tae gae oot at sic a time?”
“I know, Daddy, but Toby is a bit impulsive and we had to go now. He couldn’t wait until the morning.”
“At least in daylight, ye’d hae seen thae ither fellow comin’.”
“Well in October he’d have looked a bit odd walking round in a ski mask wouldn’t he? Therefore, people might have noticed what sort of car he had.”
“Dinna believe it, most folk canna remember whit they saw on thae breakfast packet they stared at fa ten minutes this morn.”
I switched the baby to my other breast, “I’m inclined to agree with you, sadly, people aren’t very observant, and only see what they’re told to see or expect to see.”
“Aye, there’s several things on youtube tae show that.”
“Yes, I’ve seen some of them, but it also applies to drivers not seeing motorbikes or bicycles because they aren’t looking for them.”
Tom watched me feeding the baby with a strange smile on his face. “Ye look sae natural daein’ that.”
I blushed.
I took the girls to school the next day and Tom ran Danny to school, where he was asked to keep his eyes and ears open. As he didn’t like the games teacher, he was inclined to want him to be guilty of some heinous crime, and I had to remind him it required evidence and proof.
At lunch time I had a phone call from the headmaster to come and collect him, he’d been discovered looking through Mr Bailey’s things, and was being suspended.
In front of the headmaster, I had to be seen to be angry or disappointed with Danny, but in the car on the way home, I told him what a twit he was to be caught.
“Well you told me you wanted evidence, I was trying to find some,” he protested.
“Danny, you have to think more widely. Bailey might be involved but he’s hardly going to have left evidence lying about in school where others might see it.”
“Let’s go do over his house then, I know where he lives.”
“Danny, don’t you ever learn? If we did such a thing, he’d know where to come looking for suspects.”
“I could wear a disguise.”
“Like what–a false nose and moustache?”
“I dunno, maybe a wig and different clothes.”
“The only wig we have is a girl’s one and the only different clothes are girl’s ones. Don’t tell me you’d be prepared to wear those?”
He blushed like a traffic light. “Okay–I wouldn’t, like, normally, but I might be prepared to get evidence on old Bailey.”
“There is no way you are dressing up in girl’s clothes–end of story.” Having seen almost everyone except Tom and Simon end up preferring skirts to trousers, there was no way I was going to add to the numbers of defectors, especially as Danny had protested his masculinity.
I mused over the facts as I knew them. There was a good chance the school was somehow involved in the circumstances or events leading to Mr Edwards death. However, it wasn’t a certainty. I needed more information, but where to get it? An hour later, I was holding a bag of grapes and sitting by Toby’s bedside opposite Martina, who glared at me.
“Martina, this is Cathy: Cathy this is Martina.” Despite Toby’s introductions we sat and glared at each other. She presumably wanted to talk domestic stuff while I wanted to talk about the case.
“Cathy saved my life, she plugged the stab wound after fishing me out of the pond.” Toby tried to enthuse some affection for me from Martina, who nodded and turned her glower into a grade two scowl. If I disappeared in a puff of smoke she’d possibly smile. What did he see in her? If her eyebrows and forearms were anything to go by, she probably had hairier legs than Kiki.
“Have you managed to put your boy on a gluten free diet?” I asked trying to break the ice.
“Not yet, I’m waiting for the doctor to say something.”
“He could be heading for coeliac disease.”
“I’ll wait to see what the doctor says.” Martina could be stubborn.
“Cathy gets these insights, darling, I think you should see the doctor about it.” Toby tried to bridge the distance which was increasing between us.
“I don’t believe in witches and old wive’s tales,” she snapped back.
“Fine by me, I’m neither–but while you’re at the doctor get him to check out your latest pregnancy, the embryo is looking a little odd.” Two can play dirty.
“What? You’re pregnant?” gasped Toby.
“No, of course not. She’s trying to split us apart.”
“Does Ricky know you’re carrying his baby?” I offered in an innocent tone which was laced with poison.
“Who’s Ricky, darling?”
“I have to go–witch,” she spat at me.
“Is she pregnant?” Toby asked me after an uncomfortable silence.
“Probably, but she’s going to lose it if she doesn’t take care–she’s drinking too much.”
“Shit,” he said loudly and began to sob.
(aka Bike) Part 1136 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I consoled Toby for a short while and when he calmed down I asked him who he thought might want to kill or injure him. “Apart from Martina, you mean?” he joked, although I didn’t consider it terribly funny.
He considered a whole pile of criminals he’d caught might like to do it, but very few would have the actual bottle to try it. He admitted he’d not thought of it that way assuming the attempt was connected to the Edwards murder, but he’d give some consideration to it just in case.
Personally, I maintained an open mind, probably because I didn’t have a clue, so suspected most of the six billion people known to inhabit the planet at present, at least that way I’d be right on one occasion.
Essentially, Toby didn’t know any more than I did, so having settled him down, I left and went to go home. I was accosted in the car park by Martina.
“Just what are you after?” she spat at me, “You and your mind reading games.”
“I want to see the person or persons who murdered Reg Edwards brought to justice.”
“Who’s he?”
“My son’s deputy headmaster.”
“Your son’s–you’re not after Toby...?”
“Sweet as Toby is, no, I’m happily married. However, I think sleeping with Ricky hasn’t advanced your cause.”
“What’s it to you, anyhow?”
“It is absolutely nothing to do with me, but I don’t like being glared at by someone who has even less moral high ground than I do.”
“You think you’re so clever don’t you?”
“No, but I’m studying for a PhD so I suppose it makes me brighter than you.”
“Just watch someone doesn’t mark that pretty face of yours.”
“Please don’t make threats at me because you don’t know who you’re messing with. I have the connections to destroy everything and everyone you hold dear.”
“I’d watch that son of yours, he might just meet with an accident.”
This pushed all my buttons at once and I turned quickly and slapped her. It wasn’t that hard but it was enough of a shock to nearly knock her off her feet. “Keep away from me and my family, you drunken slag.” I turned on my heel and walked away before I really hurt her. She called me names and threatened all sorts of retribution but I kept walking and just, kept my temper.
I drove home and it was only when I got there I realised how upset I actually was. I immediately called the superintendent whom I’d met at the hospital and told him what had happened. He cautioned me not to take the law into my own hands and to beware Martina, who was as Latin tempered as her name suggested. He also promised to keep an eye out for her making a complaint, although he doubted she would; he confided that he’d have loved to slap her himself for the grief she’d caused Toby.
I collected the girls myself, seeing as Danny was now home, and on the way home stopped at Reg Edwards house, I wanted Trish to see the site and if I’d missed anything.
I got the other three to wait in the car which I locked, and with Trish firmly holding my hand, I walked briskly round to the back garden and the pond. The stone was now back in its original place and although we removed it, there wasn’t any room under it to secrete anything but perhaps a sheet of paper or equivalent.
“Maybe it’s a marker.” She suggested looking into the pond.
“Marker–like for something in the pond?”
“Yes, or in the garden.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” I’d seen a garden rake leaning up against the wall, so fetched it and began dragging the pond. Nothing except old leaves turned up until I did a place directly under the stone, pulling the rake almost vertically up the side of the fish pond. As I drew the rake up, Trish grabbed the jar–a Kilner type, one of those with a plastic seal and a wire spring to keep it firmly closed. Inside was what looked like a roll of money and something else inside it. We popped it in a plastic bag I happened to have in my pocket and dashed back to the car.
Once safely ensconced in the car, I called our Superintendent again. He was just about to leave and asked me to go straight round to the police HQ with our find. He also cautioned me not to put any more prints on it than I could help.
I asked the girls if they minded, and they all agreed they didn’t, especially for the ice cream I promised them afterwards. A little later, we were at the police HQ and for once the police were nice to me and the girls.
“I should be cross with you, Lady Cameron, you trespassed on a crime scene yet again, and interfered with it.”
“I can always take this to the local paper or TV station, if you’d prefer it.”
“Then I should have to arrest you.”
“Okay, you can have it but I want to see what’s in it.”
“I don’t know about that, as your dabbling so far has caused you to be attacked and one of my officers to become stabbed.”
“That had little or nothing to do with me, Superintendent, I was nearly stabbed too.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
I handed him the bag and its potentially precious contents. He made a short telephone call and a few minutes later, a woman arrived wearing one of those funny all in one things they wear at crime scenes. She produced a plastic tray from a plastic bag and placed the bag with the jar on it. She then removed the jar and opened it–with some difficulty. Inside was a roll of twenty pound notes, which she counted, it was about ten thousand pounds. The bit in the middle was an old 35mm film canister inside which was a pile of diamonds. Even I knew they were worth thousands. The girls who until now had watched in silence gasped at the sparkling contents of the canister.
“Now then, how would a middle-aged deputy headmaster, earning forty thousand a year manage to acquire such a fortune?” asked the super.
“I have no idea, but then, do we know it was his, or was it just a convenient place to stash the loot, of which he may or may not have been aware?”
“Good question. Our lab people will do a toothcomb job on it all and see if there’s anything outstanding in the area which could relate to this. Thank you for your persistence, although I would caution you to keep away from the house and the pond from now on. In fact, if you go there again without police permission, I’ll have you arrested.”
“I don’t think I have to, do I?”
“Probably not–and you, young lady,” he addressed Sherlock Watts, aged six: “If you’re looking for a career, the police can be a very interesting job, and we could do with someone of your perspicacity.”
“What does that mean, Mummy?”
“You’re a smart arse, why?”
“I take after you, don’t I Mummy–you’re Perspex too?”
“Absolutely, you can see straight through me,” I replied and the superintendent nearly choked laughing. I kept my word and we went to a nearby cafe and they all had ice-cream sundaes.
(aka Bike) Part 1137 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Mummy, woss vose sparky fings?” asked Mima as they ate their ice cream.
“Diamonds, sweetheart.”
“Woss diamons?”
“Diamonds are jewels, which can be very valuable. Usually only the best ones become jewellery, but very small ones are used to make drills and things, because they are so hard. My nail file is lined with diamond dust.” I took the file out of my bag and showed it to the girls.
“Is this very valuable, Mummy,” asked Livvie.
“Not really, certainly those diamonds aren’t but they are useful because they will take years of filing my nails before they wear out.”
“Why did the men kill Mr Edwards?” asked Billie.
“I don’t honestly know. Perhaps he saw then using his pond or something like that. We don’t know if the diamonds are stolen or smuggled into this country. In fact we know very little, except we have the money and the stones.”
“What stones, Mummy?” Trish now wanted clarification.
“Diamonds are gem stones, so for quickness I called them stones,” which was a waste of time because then I had to explain it.
“Why are diamonds valuable?” asked Trish.
“Because they are quite rare, at least the better ones are. They come out of the ground and have to be cut by experts in order to show their structure and then they are categorised by how many carats they weigh.”
“Carrots?” laughed Trish, “That’s silly, why not potatoes?”
“Not carrots but carats, it’s a system of valuing diamonds and other precious stones, and in a different way the purity of gold.”
“Your ring is silver isn’t it?” Billie pointed at my wedding ring.
“No, it’s white gold, which means they’ve added another semi-precious metal to the gold to make it appear silver not gold. I think it’s rhodium they use.”
“Why can’t they just use silver, sounds silly to me.”
“I believe gold and silver have different properties when they use them for making jewellery.”
“It all sounds silly to me,” said the perspicacity kid.
“Well that’s people for you,” I declared before escorting them back to the car, just in time to see Martina drive past. She was so absorbed in me with part of my brood that she very nearly crashed into the car in front and had to do an emergency stop.
I hoped she thought some of the girls were friends rather than my children and I felt a little afraid for them. I quickly got them into the car and drove home. I’d thought about getting some shopping, instead I ordered a take away from the local Indian restaurant and everyone but I was happy to have some curry. I made do with a poached egg on toast.
Simon called that night and I explained how Trish had helped me find the money and diamonds. He was suitably impressed, and wondered how long it would be before she was running the bank. I told him I hoped she’d take on an academic career because it would do much more good than simply making money. He countered suggesting that the money she would need for pay and resources had to come from somewhere and banking made a load more than manufacturing.
I pointed out that hedge funds had helped an indebted US company acquire a healthy British one, so not all banking and finance was good for us, meaning Kraft and Cadbury. He passed that off as a government mistake, which would never have got past the monopolies commission had he been the trade minister but at the end of the day, capitalism is often seen as greed, and occasionally it is, as my example proved. However, British governments of all persuasions had thought it appropriate to allow the markets to reign supreme when they sometimes needed regulation, and it was also often a case of double standards. The US government calling for free markets while whacking on trade tariffs.
After I spoke with Simon, I read the news on the internet and saw that the Nobel peace prize had gone to a Chinese dissident, which the Chinese government declared a ridiculous thing to do. Personally, I thought it was brilliant and better than giving it to Mr Obama whose main peace offering had been to increase the number of troops in Afghanistan.
The Commonwealth Games were producing some excitement, but my mind was fixed on different things–like the death of a schoolteacher and Martina and her threat risk to my kids.
That night I dreamt I was in the orchard calling for Trish and Danny and I heard Martina’s voice saying I wouldn’t find them. I woke up feeling very anxious. Despite this, I went to see Toby after dropping the girls off to school, and brought him up to date on the findings from the pond.
“So is that it then–a storage place for criminals which he happened to see by chance and they killed him?”
“It could be, I suppose if they used it by day, he’d be in school most of the time. Who looked after his garden? It looked far too well cared for for a busy man to be doing it.”
“I dunno, why?”
“Well, wouldn’t they be the obvious person to investigate?” I offered.
“Yeah, could be.”
“Aren’t you going to be suggesting it to your super?”
“He’s probably done it by now.”
“What if he hasn’t?”
“I can hardly do it can I?”
“No, but you could suggest it if he hasn’t.” I offered him my phone and he rang his office and spoke with his sergeant. They chatted for some time and finally, he said, ‘Oh’ with a degree of displeasure.
“What happened? I asked him.
“The gardener has turned up dead.”
“Oh,” I said feeling a degree of disappointment.
“He got mowed down,” said Toby chortling before his laughter caused his wound to hurt.
I didn’t laugh at his sick joke, as it sounded as if another human had become yet one more murder statistic and that was a reason for sadness not humour, more myrrh than mirth.
“So was he murdered?” I asked, he could have fallen down the stairs or died in his own bed for all I knew.
“Looks like, unless you happen to sleep with a knife in your bed and roll on top of it, several times with your hands tied together.”
“A very determined suicide, then?” I said smirking.
“Yep, a bad case of gardener’s prune.”
“You mean where the gardener gets pruned.” I suggested.
“Yeah, I wonder if he was stoned first?”
“Oh, Toby, that is so bad.” I groaned and we both laughed.
Unbeknownst to either of us, Martina must have been watching because when I went back to my car, the tyres had been slashed. It cost me two hundred quid and a call to the police to get my car back to driveable. When I saw her again I’d have something to say to her and it wouldn’t necessarily be polite.
(aka Bike) Part 1138 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“You’re late,” observed Stella.
“I am well aware of that, some bastard slashed my tyres in the hospital car park.”
“Oh, what for?”
“If I knew that, I could send them the bill for the new ones.”
“You do seem to have an ability to make enemies, Cathy.”
“What? I spend all my time being nice to everyone, trying to keep the peace between the kids and this happens.”
“I don’t think the kids had anything to do with it, did they?”
“Of course not, but I try to help people, stand up for what I believe in and some arsehole with a penknife cost me two hundred and fifty flipping quid.”
“They did all four?”
“Yes, I had to call out a garage to replace them, luckily they had four suitable tyres available.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes, I thought it needed to be logged, but they sent someone out to see it anyway. He took some photos of it.”
“So who d’ya think did it?”
“Well, that Martina woman, Toby’s ex, has a screw loose and threatened my kids.”
“Not the cleverest thing to do to you; but would a woman be able to slash tyres?”
“I don’t see why not, don’t you think so?”
“I don’t think I could, could you?”
“I’ve no idea, why d’ya wanna go out and see if we can on your car?”
“Really, Cathy, that isn’t funny.”
“I was joking?” I teased.
“God, I hope so–but then, you are a registered psycho.”
“No, I’m a licensed one.”
“I thought that was the same.”
“Yeah whatever.”
“Mummy, when we ‘avin’ tea?” asked Mima.
“I’ll get it underway.” I retreated to the kitchen and started banging pots and pans about, and half an hour later, I was nearly ready to serve a chicken risotto. Tom of course grumbled that chicken and rice should be served only as curry, which prompted some discussion, but as the kids seemed to enjoy both, they managed to dissipate any strong feelings.
Sometimes I feel taken for granted and after the attack upon my car my skin felt rather thin and I was quite close to leaving the table and stamping up to my room. Trish seemed to recognise things weren’t entirely happy and started talking about how nice both were and that we hadn’t had risotto for ages.
I think I was very sensitive, but also surprised that I didn’t feel Tom was joking like he usually does, so maybe he’s had a hard time too. I didn’t enquire and he didn’t tell, but I noticed him staggering up to his bed after a couple of hours swigging a single malt in his study. I haven’t seen him like that for ages so something must be getting to him, I hope it’s not me.
By the time the kids were all in bed and I’d done the tucking in and story telling bit, I was ready for my own bed, and I was asleep within ten minutes of crawling into it. Of course, Simon had to phone about ten minutes after that and was a little put out that I didn’t want to talk. I had sent him a photo of the tyres, so he wanted to discuss it. I promised to call him tomorrow and rang off–then spent an hour watching the clock. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know I’d gone to bed–he’d been in a meeting most of the evening, trying to predict what this loony government is going to do next and whether the pound was going to take a bashing against other currencies. If the exchange rate goes down against the pound the bank loses money, unlike manufacturers who export things more cheaply–however, no one seems to take on board that exports might be cheaper and thus more competitive but imported raw materials are dearer. Still what do I know, I’m only a stupid housewife whose food bills are increasing weekly.
I woke early, obviously worrying about who had attacked my car and worrying if they might do so again or possibly the children next time. That frightened me more than anything else. I called Simon, who always seems to be up early unless he’s been drinking.
“I’m sorry I was short with you last night, but you had woken me up.”
“Sorry, Babes, that was the first time I could get back to you. You got the tyres sorted?”
“Yeah, cost me two hundred and fifty though.”
“Yeah, but as long as you’re okay, what’s it matter?”
“It matters because it was an unprovoked attack upon my property, and I’m not sure why.”
“I thought you said it was this madwoman, Martini or whatever.”
“I still think she could be responsible, but I’m not as convinced as before.”
“Why not?”
“Because it takes quite a lot of strength to slash a tyre.”
“Does it? I wouldn’t have thought so with a carpet knife, it’s not like you’re cutting through the tread where most of the steel is.”
“They were quite heavily slashed.”
“She could have got her boyfriend to do it for her.”
“Simon, you aren’t helping me to feel any better.”
“Sorry, Babes.”
“Tom was a bit funny last night, he got stewed before he went to bed.”
“They’re probably cutting his budgets.”
“Oh hell, I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“It’s all you hear on the news, so I wouldn’t have expected you to think of it, Babes.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” I snapped, quoting my mother.
“Yeah, but wit is the highest form of humour,” he threw straight back at me. Why hadn’t I thought of that when my mother scorned me.
I ended the call and went and showered, then got the girls up–their hair wasn’t too bad so I just combed it rather than washed it. Then after waking Danny and Julie, we went downstairs for breakfast. Tom was just finishing as we arrived in the kitchen.
“Is everything alright, Daddy?” I asked of him.
He stopped looked at me and said, “Aye, it’s chust fine.”
“I thought I might have upset you yesterday.”
“Och weel, if ye're gang tae serve foreign food, I prefer curry, ye ken.”
“Yes, I ken very well.”
“Och, weel that’s a’richt then.” He pecked me on the cheek and picking up his brief case and jacket, left by the back door to go to the university. I continued pouring cereals and making toast. About ten minutes later, he came back in.
“Have you forgotten something, Daddy?”
“Nay, I havnae, ye’ll need tae use the Mondeo the morn, they’ve done yer tyres again.”
(aka Bike) Part 1139 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Jenny took the girls to school with Tom in his Freelander while I waited for the police. Something which surprised me was the arrival of the superintendent, whom I’d have thought had better things to do than investigate vandalism to my car.
“Our paths seem to cross continually,” he observed drily.
“Who is doing this? Apart from costing me a fortune, it’s beginning to frighten me.”
“Isn’t that the whole point–to scare you, show you that they can harm you even when you think you’re safe.”
“If they touch any of my children, I won’t be answerable for the consequences.”
“That makes you as bad as them, though, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t claim to be better than them.”
“Don’t you? You saved young Old’s life–I’ve since spoken to the surgeon, a Mr Nicholls, he swore me to secrecy, which I respect–but you’re something special aren’t you, Lady Cameron?”
“Oh sure, maybe Dan Brown got it wrong, instead of Audrey Tautou being the last in the bloodline of Jesus, maybe it’s me. After all, I was born in Dumfries, which is closer to Rosslyn Chapel than Paris is.”
“I don’t think I’d base too much on Dan Brown’s ramblings, Lady Cameron, I believe they’ve been shown to be wild speculation formed from poor research, however, they are good cliff hangers or page turners.”
“Okay, so I can’t walk on water either, but then I don’t believe anyone ever could without the aid of technology. Now what about my tyres?”
“I think you’ll need some new ones.”
“I know that–what about protecting the new ones?”
“Perhaps putting it in the garage, or even closing the gates–it all helps you know.”
“What if they attack another vehicle then, like Daddy’s or Stella’s–I pointed to the other cars.”
“Who knows what they’ll do next, I certainly don’t.”
“Have you spoken with Martina whatever-her-name-is?”
“Toby’s ex, yes I have, she’s in the clear for this one.”
“How d’you know?”
“She was in hospital, she was drunk and slipped and twisted her ankle.”
“Who’s looking after her little boy?”
“Her mother, but I’m sure she’d be touched by your concern.”
“I think she’s touched already, stupid woman is going to lose her baby if she isn’t careful.”
“Oh, is she pregnant again?”
“I think so and I don’t think Toby had anything to do with it.”
“She used to be a nice girl you know, until they split up and she took to the drink.”
“So, if it’s not mad Martina, who is it? This I mean?” I pointed at the tyres which had had the walls ripped out of them.
“I don’t know, perhaps your mysterious attacker, the sinister, colour challenged one.”
“Anything on the diamonds? I hope they’re not blood stones from Liberia or Congo or somewhere?”
“They’re being examined to try and trace their provenance, a conservative estimate, is that they were worth between two and three hundred thousand.”
“Pounds?”
“Of course, I don’t deal in these new fangled currencies like Euros and Dollars.”
“A quarter of a million hidden in someone’s garden pond–what the hell is that all about? Why not just put them in a safe deposit box?”
“I don’t know, we assume it’s some form of money laundering.”
“What drug money?”
“Could be, or extortion or prostitution or any other of a myriad ways that organised crime makes its ill gotten gains.”
“Organised crime–you mean like the mafia?”
“Lady Cameron, are you alright, you’ve gone rather pale.”
He helped me over to a seat in the garden, “D’you want a glass of water?”
“No, I shall be fine, thank you.”
“You’ve encountered Mafiosi before?”
“If you’ve read anything about me you know I have.”
“They tend to come off worse, if I remember correctly.”
“So far, I thought we were beyond all that–perhaps they’ll never leave us alone.”
“I’m not aware of any intelligence which suggests there are Russians roaming the country looking to kill people.”
“Did they before then?”
“The powers that be, knew, why?”
“They could have told me, the bastards.”
“My thoughts entirely, we didn’t know until it all erupted on our patch–not nice.”
“Try being their target.”
“I’ll pass on that, if it’s okay.”
“What about the gardener?”
“Which gardener is that, Lady Cameron?”
“Mr Edwards, Toby told me he died suddenly.”
“He did, suddenly and violently–he was stabbed probably by the same or similar weapon to the one which perforated my inspector.”
“Do we know why?”
“This is confidential information, Lady Cameron.”
“So? It concerns me, and without me and Sherlock Watts, you wouldn’t have the diamonds or the money.”
“True–okay, but this goes no further and I won’t brook any meddling from you, so be warned–next time I’ll arrest you.”
“I’m not promising anything.”
“You don’t make my life any easier, Lady Cameron.”
“Nor you mine, so tell me about Percy Thrower.”
“Percy Thrower, you’re not old enough to remember him are you?”
“Yes, he set up the Blue Peter garden, I was an avid Blue Peter fan.”
“Our gardener is a Norman Cashman. We don’t actually know anything much about him other than his cause of death and he did several gardens for the great and the good, and Mr Edwards. He apparently did a few town gardens for a few pop stars and actors, TV presenters, you know the sort.”
“Like Alan Titchmarsh?”
“Yes–No, I’d hope he’d do his own–oh very funny,” he said as I sniggered.
“Do any of them have ponds?”
“They’ve been checked, don’t you worry–we found nothing.”
“You didn’t find much when you searched the Edwards house and garden.”
“We drained the others–no messing this time–there was nothing.”
“I don’t know, MI5 up the road and we still have organised crime–makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Lady Cameron, most of the crimes solved in this country are solved by simple old fashioned, coppers–doing what they do day in and day out. MI5 tend to operate on big stuff like terrorism, with Special Branch.”
“Yeah, and shoot the wrong guys.”
“The Brazilian chappy–that was unfortunate, but he could have been a terrorist and been carrying a bomb.”
“Rubbish–he wasn’t wearing a loose fitting coat or carrying a rucksack–they panicked and got it wrong.”
“Were you there?”
“No, of course not.”
“Neither was I, so I’ll advise you not to base your judgement on third party hearsay. A mistake was made, but those blokes are risking their lives every day for the rest of us. Just because they got it wrong that time doesn’t mean they do every time.”
“Spare me the lecture, Superintendent. To recap, Norman Cashman seems to only be related to the rest of this because he’s been killed by a similar knife to the one which stabbed Toby and because he looked after Mr Edwards garden and fishpond?”
“Yes.”
“And we don’t know if my tyres being slashed are related to any of it?”
“No.”
“Well, thanks for coming, give my regards to Mrs Superintendent.”
“Her name is, Caprice.”
“I’m sure she’s as individual as her name.”
“She is indeed.”
“Oh, Superintendent, tell her to see the doctor about her itchy nipple–it might be more serious than she thinks, but perfectly treatable.”
“What do you know about my wife?” he suddenly seemed very serious almost threatening.
“Only what I told you.”
“How do you know?”
“I get these ideas–dunno whence they come or why, but they tend to be right most of the time. I have to go and phone the garage, goodbye, Superintendent.”
(aka Bike) Part 1140 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
On the Friday evening Simon came home and I felt much safer, almost able to relax for the first time in days. Arguably, I can ‘look after myself’ but being a woman does tend to make me feel vulnerable, especially as the men these days seem to be growing so big. Six feet tall seems nothing these days, so my five foot seven is absolutely nothing. True, lots of women are smaller, but there are quite a few who are much taller, too. Anyway, I was glad that Simon was home, and he glossed over the fact that I’d spent nearly five hundred pounds on tyres during the last week.
The gates were now kept locked and we had installed tiny little spy cameras all over the place, which radioed back to a central computer. They were like security lights, in that they were activated by movement. I’d have liked ones which were activated thermally, and took infrared pictures, but they were too expensive.
In one of the outhouses, remember this place was a working farm sixty or so years ago, so in one with basically a roof and walls on it, I left an archery target prominently displayed. I didn’t really have any intention of shooting anyone, unless I caught them slashing my tyres or damaging the cars, and then I’d have loved to shoot them up the arse while they bent over–or perhaps a little in front of it–it might discourage them from breeding.
Toby was ready to be discharged from hospital, but couldn’t, because he would be at home alone. I agreed with Simon, that Stella, Jenny, Julie and I would call in on a rota basis to cook him a meal and pick up any washing. We’d also spend a couple of hours with him. He was moving around better, but still having some difficulty standing up straight–although the doctors said it was more psychological than a real fear his wound would open again.
Julie had been to see Toby in the morning on her way to the salon, she liked him and he, being unaware of her original gender, flirted with her which she loved. I had made her promise that she didn’t do anything with him–he was at least ten years older than her, probably more, and despite his apparent sophistication, he might still feel angry if he thought she was offering more than she could deliver. She seemed to understand and promised not to get compromised, but she did enjoy flirting with him. Her body was increasingly feminine and her hair, which changed either colour or style quite frequently, made her look very convincing as a female.
Simon had actually made suggestions that he would fund surgery for her for an eighteenth birthday present. I’d thought she was hoping he’d buy her a car. Oh well, given she isn’t seventeen yet, it’s a while off and lots could happen before then.
After feeding the brood, Simon and I went over to Toby’s house to feed him and pick up any washing. Trish and Livvie were doing it for pocket money and Billie was ironing it. I’d had to let Mima take over cleaning Tom’s desk or World War Three would have broken out. Danny decided he wasn’t doing domestic chores for someone else, and we left him doing gardening for Tom to earn his pocket money.
We arrived at Toby’s about seven, just as the daylight was fading. I asked him how he was and he said his boss had been to visit and had I felt my ears burning. I asked why.
“Well you said something about his wife needing to get her breast checked out.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, she had a persistently itchy nipple or something.”
“I can’t remember–once I’ve passed on the message, it seems to fade from my mind.”
“Well, he made her go and see the doctor, who referred her almost immediately to see a breast surgeon–she has Paget’s disease of the nipple.”
“What’s that?” I asked, I’d only ever heard of Paget’s disease affecting legs, and that was because we had an old neighbour whose leg was horribly deformed by it.
“Some sort of tumour of the nipple.”
“Yuck, sounds horrible.”
“She thought she had a touch of eczema, but it was this Paget’s thingy.”
“Oh, so what happens now?”
“She’s going in for surgery in a fortnight’s time. He knew you were coming to see me tonight, so he’s left a note from his wife for you.” Toby handed me an envelope which obviously contained a card of some sort. I opened it.
‘Dear Lady Cameron,
My husband told me about your hunches regarding people’s health, and that you’d suggested to him that I might have a problem with one of my breasts. He urged me to see the doctor, which I’ve done. There is indeed a problem, which I might have prevaricated about without your urging. I’m hoping that we’ve caught it in time and I’ll make a full recovery.
Thank you so much for your help, it’s much appreciated.
Yours sincerely,
Caprice Wetherspoon.’
“Goodness, people don’t usually write me things. They’re effusive in their thanks until they leave hospital and then forget all about it, which might not be a bad thing.”
“The Boss seemed to think you’d actually saved my life.”
“I’m sure he’s exaggerating.”
“Um–the surgeon agreed, he told me in confidence...”
“Which you’re breaking,” I interrupted.
“...not really, anyway, he confided that you’d actually stopped the bleeding before I got to the hospital–something about your magical touch.”
“Was that Ken Nicholls?”
“Yes.”
“He thinks I can do all sorts of things including leap tall buildings at a single bound, fly faster than a speeding bullet and so on.”
“Ouch–don’t make me laugh, Cathy, but you are funny.”
“Are you being insulting to my good lady?” teased Simon, pouring himself one of Toby’s beers.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, squire,” Toby cheeked back.
I warmed up the meal I’d taken over to his house in his microwave, and served a few minutes later. He was quite appreciative. “That is so much better than the ready meal I’d have bought from Waitrose or Tesco,” he said, licking his lips.
“Don’t get too used to it, you should be able to look after yourself in a few days according to the hospital.”
“Nah, it’s gonna take months of your cooking to get me fit again, isn’t that right, Simon?”
“Dunno, mate, could depend upon what beer you have in, this stuff is very average.”
I knew they were winding me up, so I insisted on watching Coronation Street, which is a programme I loathe, but I knew they’d hate it even more. Sometimes, you have to cut off your nose to spite your face just to get even.
I washed up his dishes–this guy is having a laugh, isn’t he–while he chatted with Simon, and we were ready to leave at about nine. I collected his washing and my handbag and was following Simon out of the door when he suddenly raised his hands above his head and began walking backwards back into the house. I glanced past him and saw two men wearing ski masks and holding sawn-off shotguns.
(aka Bike) Part 1141 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
With Simon blocking my view of them and hopefully, theirs of me, I dashed back into the kitchen, dumped the washing and after quietly closing the inner door, grabbed my phone and unlocked the door to the garden. I fled down the garden and out of the back gate and into a lane beyond.
I dialled 999 and was challenged and was given another number to ring. I did, good job it wasn’t an emergency.
“Emergency, which service?”
“Police, and hurry.”
“Connecting you.”
“Hello, police, what is your name.”
“I’m Lady Catherine Cameron, I’m calling from outside Inspector Toby Old’s house. Two men wearing ski masks and carrying sawn off shotguns have pushed their way in. My husband and Inspector Old are in there with them, please hurry.”
“A response vehicle is on its way.”
“I hope it’s an armed response vehicle. Get Superintendent Wetherspoon, he knows about this.”
“Lady Cameron, please stay calm and wait for the response vehicle to arrive.”
“Yeah, sure.”
At least there had been no shooting so far–which had to be a good sign. I felt like an awful coward, but someone had to raise the alarm. I wondered who the target was–if it was me, the other two should be okay. If it was Toby–not so good. They could have stabbed them both and be walking away from the scene. I dashed round to the front of the house. No one seemed to be leaving it.
A police car with blue lights flashing pulled up down the road, another blocked the other end and then as I darted back to the rear of the house, I heard the helicopter buzzing towards us like a giant dragonfly. It would alert everyone that something was going down, including the villains inside.
Back in the garden, I found some twine and tied it about a foot above the ground just outside the back door–I hoped Simon and Toby weren’t first out of the door. I presumed the police were evacuating neighbours, just in case. I spotted an open window and along the garden wall a ladder. Some security expert, our Inspector Old.
I just about managed to carry the ladder to the house and push it up to the window, my hands were filthy–I made a note to complain to Toby for future use. Then I started up the ladder when two coppers came rushing into the garden.
“What the hell are you doing?” one of them hissed at me.
“What’s it look like–can’t you see how dirty the windows are?” I hissed back.
“Get down, you silly bitch! you’ll get yourself hurt.”
“Only if I fall off. Be a dear and stand on the bottom will you?”
By this time I was up to the bathroom window and managed to pull it open and began to slither inside, trying not to grunt out loud with the effort. I pulled myself in, and almost doing a handstand on the washbasin, carefully eased my legs down and on to the floor.
I could hear voices from downstairs. They knew the police were outside. I had to be very careful now or we could all get killed. I did wonder about sliding back out the window and down to the garden.
The phone rang, I knew it would be the police trying to get the gunmen to surrender. I heard Toby answer it. He handed it to one of the gunmen.
I heard him speak to the police and they must have told him they were seen entering because that’s what he called to his mate. “The police say we were seen entering, so they were telling the truth, the bitch wasn’t here after all.”
“Pity, I’d like to give her a good seeing to before I killed her.” Ironic or what? A would be murderer fancies me. I’d like a few minutes alone with him, preferably with a small sharp knife and his genitals in my hand.
I looked in the bathroom–nothing much I could use in terms of arming myself. I crept carefully into the bedroom, nothing much except some men’s smellies and a bottle of brandy. I also found a cigarette lighter by some candles. A plan was forming.
The conversation with the gunman had been short and sweet. He’d laughed at the policeman calling him and put the phone down, saying something about hostages.
I could actually see him on the phone, because it was in the hallway underneath me. I needed something to make a hole in the bottle top. In the bedroom, in the drawer of the bedside table I found a penknife, Swiss Army type and within a few moments had made a hole in the bottle, then using a box of plastic drinking straws I made a long tube by forcing the end of one inside another. I then jammed the end into the bottle after unravelling a few yards of thread from a hand knitted sweater which I tied to a piece of paper.
Then after this I speed dialled Toby’s number, to my amazement the phone began to ring and one of the gunmen picked it up. I carefully tipped the brandy and steered the straw tube over his head, if he felt anything he didn’t say anything. I lit the paper and lowered it burning close to him.
Somehow he wasn’t looking, and either didn’t see or smell the brandy, until he became a human flambeau, to which he did react by dropping his gun and racing round in a blind panic, screaming.
His partner seemed equally perplexed, and then began beating him with a cloth, during which time I sneaked down the stairs ran down the hallway and picked up the dropped shotgun. I still hadn’t been seen. The smell of burning material, hair and skin was horrible, and activated the smoke alarm in Toby’s hallway.
At this point the unhurt gunman walked out to the hallway and reached up smash the smoke alarm which was peeping loudly and irritatingly. I whacked him on the head with the other gun and he dropped like a stone.
The burnt gunman must have seen me take out his pal and came rushing at me like a lunatic, brandishing a knife which looked like the one which had stabbed Toby. It was a dagger type. I was holding a gun and he was charging at me, so I pulled the triggers. The blast knocked me backwards and blew him across the room as he took the full force of it in his chest.
I lay on the hallway carpet as the police came charging through the door, presumably after hearing the shot. I was arrested and ambulances were called.
Back at the police station, Superintendent Wetherspoon kept shouting at me until I began to cry. “What the hell were you thinking of? Why did you go in there? You’ve interfered once too often–now you’ve killed someone. I’m going to charge you with manslaughter.”
Why did I go back in there? Because I knew they were going to try and kill Simon or Toby. I also knew they were after me. The concussed baddy was the games teacher, who had spotted the potential for the fishpond when he recognised the gardener at a visit to Edwards house for a staff barbecue. Apparently he’d taught him as a kid and known he was a bad ’un.
They were smuggling diamonds, according to Toby, which they did in items like sportswear, hence the missing boots–put in a false insole and you can glue thousands of pounds of diamonds to the underside of it.
I was spared the charges apparently, because Toby and Simon both testified that the gunmen were going to kill them, and that the one I shot was charging at me with a knife–which was the same one which had killed the gardener and stabbed Toby.
I was let off with a police caution to keep out of their way in future–there’s gratitude for you.
(aka Bike) Part 1142 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next few days were filled with mundane matters such as caring for the children, I never did go back to Toby’s house because I kept thinking about the man who got shot. Should I have tried to save him? I felt quite guilty about it all.
The police were frequent visitors: they explained that the games teacher and a gang of accomplices had been smuggling diamonds from West Africa for a couple of years. The usual method was in footwear, usually sports shoes or boots, where they attached them to a false insole
Through his connections the games master had set up a series of sports groups who invited teams of athletes to this country from Africa. Each team had a mule or carrier of the contraband diamonds, and their boots would be exchanged for new ones, the old ones being ‘loaded’ with diamonds.
Most of the athletes invited over were genuine, as were most of the people inviting them, and the inviters helped, coaching and supplying their visitors with new kit or equipment–so lots of good came from it.
Bailey wasn’t the brains behind it–he wasn’t clever enough–but was a major player in the group, being the one who supposedly felt passionate about the lack of resources people in the Congo and other African states had to suffer. He helped to create the groups in this country of footballers, basketball players, together with track and field athletes who set up the support groups and genuinely wanted to help their fellow athletes in Africa.
As they say it’s an ill wind which doesn’t do someone some good. This was an ill wind okay, of cynical abusers of a system which dealt in blood diamonds, smuggled out from countries split by civil wars or invasions by militias to pay for weapons and other items the various factions needed to pursue their illegal or immoral aims and murderous activities.
I vividly recalled hearing an interview with a woman who’d been raped and forced to watch her whole family slaughtered–it made me feel a mixture of outrage and compassion. I sent some money but now it seemed I’d done something more direct–I’d stopped, or at least slowed down some of those dealing in blood diamonds. I’m not naíve enough to believe I make more than a ripple on the pond, but every bit helps.
The man who got shot trying to stab me was eventually identified as the gardener’s brother in law, a Wayne Wykeham–when I heard his name I thought it might explain his antisocial behaviour.
According to the plod, he was a long time loser–drug and alcohol abuser, dabbling in petty crime, assault and prostitution, with convictions for all of these. His departure from the scene wouldn’t be missed by many, although it annoyed me that we write people off in their teens when we should be trying to rehabilitate them. End of sermon.
I saw Dr Thomas because I felt I needed to discuss my past few weeks. She seemed to think I was doing alright considering the stress I was under. When I revealed I killed someone, she was visibly shocked–she calmed down when I explained what had happened.
“Why didn’t you just wait for the police to resolve the problem?”
“I was worried for Simon, and also for Toby, given that they’d already stabbed him once–if he was the target, he could have already been dying in his own house.”
“You seem to take awful risks, Cathy, which is very much more boy behaviour than girl.”
“I do what I feel is necessary when those I love are threatened.”
“Like any other lioness, eh?”
“If you say so.”
After I spoke with the school, where a tribute to Reg Edwards was being planned, Danny was reinstated. He wasn’t overly pleased to go back there until he discovered he had a bit of a following after his fight and suspension.
Talking of the erstwhile deputy head, it seemed he was an innocent in the diamond business, and his first encounter with it proved to be his last. It seemed his gardener had built a few cavities in the sides of his fishpond, and given that diamonds are virtually indestructible, they could stay there indefinitely.
The money was payment for a small shipment they had sent out. They had contacts in the UK and European gems industries and seemed to move their merchandise about the place with minimal notice by police or customs and excise.
Once things settled down I seemed to go into a lethargy or depression, doing just enough to keep the kids and house clean and tidy, but not a lot else. Simon was convinced it was a reaction to the shooting of that man. I felt it was just a general staleness.
In the end, I took the baby and went off to Bristol for a few days while he got Jenny to look after the others, himself included while I was away.
I had a paid cleaner to keep an eye on the place–my house in Bristol, I mean, and her husband kept the garden in reasonable care, so it didn’t look empty.
When the girls found out I was going to Bristol they were quite upset, but when I explained it was only for a couple or three nights, they seemed happier–notice I said happier, they certainly weren’t happy–Trish almost implying that it was tantamount to child neglect.
Once we arrived, I made myself a cuppa and fed my boob-sucker, who then gurgled and cooed as I showed her round the place, before throwing up as we came down the stairs. It took me over an hour to clean it up while she sat and bounced in her recliner, making encouraging noises. I did manage to keep my temper, and after eating and reading, had an early night. I fed the demon before bed and she seemed to sleep most of the night, waking at seven.
I didn’t know if was the fact that I was home which helped me to sleep, or if it was just the break from the stress at home. I did things like spring cleaning, even thought it was October and really autumn. The weather was dry and sunny with a stiff breeze, so I washed loads of bedding and dried it. I cleaned carpets as well, with a machine I hired from a local shop. The dirt that came out of them with the steam cleaner thing, was frightening, especially as they didn’t look dirty to begin with. The stair carpet was the dirtiest and it looked brand new after I’d finished.
I used up some items in the freezer, which together with some fresh veg made a tasty stew and that was converted to a rich stock and subsequently a pan of soup after it met with my hand blender, being delicious with the bread I made in the machine I’d bought to take my father loaves in hospital.
The thought of that made me feel his loss again, and that made me think about Mum, and by the time I went to bed that night, I was really down in the dumps. However during the night, I had a dream in which my mother told me to count my blessings and to care for my baby and other children, not feel sorry for myself.
I awoke with a strong recollection of the dream, and considered my wrist well and truly slapped. We went home the next day with a little more energy and commitment, at least from me if not the baby–well, there’s always one isn’t there?
(aka Bike) Part 1143 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
We got held up at road works and nothing moved for about ten minutes, which gave me time to muse on my dream. I can’t say I remember much of it, other than my mother telling me that I had a baby and other children to look after and that they needed me to get my act in gear and pull my finger out and so on.
Dreams involving my mother seem to fall into two categories: those which seemed to show her in a negative light and those which did the exact opposite. I was happy to feel that in the past year, although the dreams had been few and far between, they’d all been positive.
I was convinced that all of them were due to my unconscious reprogramming events recorded in my brain, and that because in most regards I felt easier about myself, I could feel easier about others, including my father. It was a happy fact that I do believe my dad did come round to accepting me as his daughter and that Simon and I were an item. A few years before, he’d have flown into a homophobic rage and tried to kill me, yet when he met Simon, he seemed to like him and he gave his blessing to my being engaged. I admit I had a very strong negotiating position and his was very weak, but he honestly seemed to change when he saw how happy I was. I’m not religious as you know, but I like to believe that everyone should be allowed redemption, or the opportunity for it.
Because I thought better of Dad, I suspect the same happened for Mum, and as my feelings were more relaxed and I’d worked through some of my anger at their bigotry I found it easier to see her in a new and more positive light. That had to be it, anything else wouldn’t compute in my map of the world. However, the anomalies of her telling me I’d have loads of children and about the key under the dressing table were–just that anomalous. Where they came from I don’t know, though I’d guess they’d be wishful thinking and fragments of memory of the safe place under the floorboards in the bedroom.
The car behind beeped and I realised I was holding up the traffic, so let out the clutch and drove through the road-works–worn out carriageway, apparently.
I didn’t hurry back, so we stopped near Salisbury and met up with Siân. I sent her a text and told her I’d be bringing the youngest of my kids with me. When she opened the door and saw me with a baby, her eyes came out on stalks.
“This isn’t yours, is it?” she asked.
“Yes–I’m her foster mother, why?” I smirked.
“For a moment, I began to wonder–you were always so girly when you were younger, it wouldn’t have surprised me if you’d had some girly bits as well.”
“No, but I do need to feed her, or will in a few moments,” I could see her stirring since the car had stopped.
“Sure, d’you want me to warm the bottle?”
“No need.”
“Oh you have one of those automatic travel ones do you?”
“Yes, the original ones.”
“Which ones are those–Cow and Gate?”
“No, d’you mind if I sit down to do this?”
“No, course not, come on in.”
I carried the bag of changing things, the mat, clean nappies, liners and so forth, plus clothes and some wipes. I picked up the baby in my left arm, undid my blouse and bra and let her clamp on to me. Siân’s eyes nearly popped out for the second time.
“You’re feeding her yourself?”
“Duh? What’s it look like?”
“Crikey, what did you have to take to do that?”
“Nothing–it happened spontaneously.”
“What–? But that’s impossible.”
“No, it’s improbable, but it’s what happened.”
“Had you let her suck your breast before?”
“No–my boobs just began to leak milk and when she started to suck, they positively flowed with the stuff. I went and saw my GP who shrugged and said it was breast milk okay, and to see what happened. Here we are, months later.”
“Good God, that’s simply amazing.”
“I don’t know if any gods had a part in it, but if they did I’m extremely grateful, and this little monkey even more so.”
“I was going to suggest we went out to lunch because I thought you’d have a five year old with you, not an infant. So, I’ll knock us up a quick snack if that’s okay?”
“Fine with me, I’ll have to cook when I get home anyway.”
“So how did you get her, I mean she must have been a new born.”
“It’s a very sad story,” and while she prepared some jacket potatoes with cheese and salad, I told her the outline.
“Oh my God, so she killed herself, the baby’s mother? Oh how awful.”
I had tears in my eyes and just nodded, for a moment I was too choked to speak as I relived that horrible period when Trish and I discovered Maria Drummond.
“She took an awful risk,” said Siân, “what if you hadn’t rushed round to her house–the baby could have been very sick or even dead?”
“I hate to think, but she left me a note to ask me to look after baby Catherine, so how could I do any other?”
“Absolutely, and, girl, I hate to say it, but motherhood suits you.”
“You always did talk in clichés,” I teased her.
“I’m a GP, patients understand them.”
I sipped at the water she’d given me. “When’s lunch, I’m starving?” I declared ready to eat a horse.
“You always could stuff like a pig and yet remain thin–it would serve you right if you end up with boobs like pumpkins after all this feeding lark.”
“Jealous are we?” I threw back at her.
She pouted and said, “No of course not–yes you bitch, of course I’m jealous.”
“I’ll send Simon round if you want a...”
“Cathy, I’m not into men if you remember, so kind as it might seem, I couldn’t let Simon shag me even for a baby.”
“I was going to say, if you’d only let me finish–if you wanted a sperm donor.” She blushed like traffic light (yes the one that was changing) and then we both laughed.
“Where’s Kirsty?” I asked as I changed the baby.
“She’s on a course all day, so when you texted me, I was rather pleased, now I just feel broody–you horrible woman.”
“D’you mind if I gloat for a few moments, it’s such an unusual feeling and I’d like to enjoy it?”
“Bitch,” she snapped in mock anger, then we both dissolved in laughter just like old times.
I put tiny wee down for a sleep and Siân and I chatted for a couple of hours–Jenny was collecting the girls–with lots of laughter. “You know, when I look back to when we were in school, I can’t remember you as a boy at all. I mean we used to laugh like schoolgirls back then. No wonder some of our contemporaries wondered about you–what with your long hair and girlish body.”
“I didn’t see it as girlish, but I was lucky that I didn’t develop as male, so when I got oestrogens, it kick started a female puberty.”
“Given how you felt inside, I think you’ve been very fortunate. You know I had a youngster turn up with her mother, and knowing you made it so much easier to feel positive about being involved with the journey into womanhood. I was able to say that I had a good friend who’d done it, and because the kid was only eleven, I felt there was an opportunity for good transition–although I’d need some expert help to guide us all.”
“Did I tell you, that Billie has defected?”
“In what way?” she looked very concerned.
“Left the boy camp and joined the girls.”
“You mean, he’s living as she?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, so how d’you feel about that?”
“When it happened I was anything but happy, having Julie and Trish already, but it seems to be working out so far, she sees Stephanie.”
“Gosh–what are the chances of that happening, I mean four transgendered people in a group of six or seven? Phenomenally against, I’d think.”
“Oh well, obviously it was meant to be.” I glanced up at the clock, “Goodness, look at the time, I have to dash.”
I’d had a lovely time with Siân and we both promised to do so again. We hugged then I got in the car and headed for home, hoping to beat the rush hour traffic but knowing I was too late for that.
(aka Bike) Part 1144 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
It was three o’clock as we began to leave Salisbury on the A36, just when it began to rain. It had been a fine morning so loads of the school kids were caught without umbrellas or raincoats–not that some of them bothered, wearing just shirts or blouses. They’d have been in deepest doo-doo in my days, detention for not wearing the proper uniform.
On the outskirts of the city we passed someone holding a card saying Portsmouth, please. It was a young woman of about sixteen and she was soaking wet. I stopped the car and she came running up to it.
“I can take you to the city centre, is that any use?”
“That would be brill,” she said, her whole face lighting up.
“Hop in then.”
She got in and I introduced myself as Cathy, she said her name was Phoebe.
“So do you know Portsmouth?” I asked, making conversation, the baby having gone off to sleep as soon as the car started moving.
“I’ve been there a few times.”
“Where are you staying?” I asked aware that she only had a small grip with her.
“With my brother.”
“Where does he work, the dockyard?”
“No way, he works at the university, in the biology department.”
“Oh, I know some of them, what’s his name?”
“Neal.”
“Neal, what’s he do?”
“He’s a technician.”
“Is he, can’t say I know too many of them.”
“Apparently, he works with this woman–well she used to be a man–but he says she’s drop-dead gorgeous since she had a sex-change, so I don’t suppose she has had a sex-change, I mean, you can’t make a beautiful woman out of a man, can you? She’s been on the telly, too, she’s an expert on dormice and she’s always in trouble–she’s like a crime fighter.”
“So she’s beautiful, a crime fighter, on the telly, and had a sex change–she sounds pretty busy?”
“I’d love to meet her, I’d be able to tell in a moment if she’d been a bloke.”
“Well you’re cleverer than I am, I just accept people for who they want to be.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do too–we’ve got this boy in school, they say he wears girl’s clothes when he’s not in school. He gets bullied all the time.”
“Do you bully him?”
“No, me and a group of us girls, we sometimes let him hang out with us to keep him from being beat up. He’s alright I suppose. His name’s Steve, and we often call him Stephanie.”
“What’s he say to that?”
“He doesn’t seem to mind–he might even like it.”
“Have you asked him?”
“No.”
“It could be a good thing to do, and then if he doesn’t like it, perhaps you could stop teasing him.”
“Yeah, I might.”
“Is Neal working at the university, today?”
“I s’pose so. It’s his birthday, so my visit’s a surprise.”
“Perhaps you should let him know–what if he’s got something planned?”
“He won’t mind, nor will Glo–Gloria, they share a house, well they live together–she’s nice, although she seems to spend all her time looking after dormice.”
“For the crime fighting woman?”
“Yeah, I s’pose so.”
“Don’t you think you should call him, just in case?”
“Nah, I’ll do it from the city centre. He can get me on his way home.”
“I think you ought to call now.”
“Nah, I’ll do it later.”
“What if he’s away for his birthday?” I happened to know he was in Brussels with Gloria–she told me about it ages ago.
“He never goes away.”
“I’ve got a horrible feeling, someone told me Gloria was going away,” I dropped a hint like a brick.
“She wouldn’t go away on his birthday, she’d never do that.”
“She would if he went with her.”
“Oh crap,” she picked out her phone and discovered it had a nearly flat battery. “Oh crap and double crap–oops, sorry, um, Cathy.”
“It’s okay, here use mine, d’you know his number?”
“Oh, a Blackberry, nice.” She accepted my phone and dialled before I realised something.
“Cathy? No it’s Phoebe.” She put it on speaker.
“What are you calling from Cathy’s phone for?”
“Mine’s got a flat battery.”
“Yeah, but how do you know Cathy?”
“She’s giving me a lift to see you.”
“Where?”
“To, like, Portsmouth, stupid.”
“Who are you calling stupid? I’m not in Portsmouth, I’m in Brussels. So now who’s stupid?”
“Oh, crap, you’re not, are you? Like where am I gonna stay?”
“Let me speak to Cathy.”
“He wants to talk to you.”
“Tell him to hold on a second, I’ll pull over here.”
“Cathy, is that you?”
“Yes, Neal, hold on, I’m pulling over to a rest area.”
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“Short term memory loss, didn’t sleep too much last night–‘cos of her.” I indicated the sleeping infant.
“Aaah, isn’t she lovely?”
“Not at three in the morning.”
“Cathy, c’mon this call’s costin’ me a fortune,” Neal complained.
I took the phone. “It isn’t, Neal, I’m paying for it. Now what d’you want me to do with Phoebe?” who sat with her arms folded and pouted.
“Apart from strangling her?” he joked.
“She was trying to surprise you for your birthday.”
“She succeeded, too–stupid girl.”
“I could put her up, for the night.”
“Would you–that’d be brilliant, Cathy?”
“Yes, she can decide what she wants to do in the morning, as long as she doesn’t eat too much.”
“She does, she eats like a bloody horse.”
“I’ll see if I can find a spare nose bag.”
“Thanks, Cathy–can I speak to her again?”
“Of course, have a nice weekend, and don’t worry about her, she’ll be fine.”
I handed the phone back to Phoebe, who put it on speaker again.
“It’s me,” she said.
“You idiot for not letting me know, you behave yourself for Lady Cameron.”
“Who’s she?”
“The person whose phone you’re using.”
“Lady?”
“Yes, she’s married to a lord, he’s a nice bloke, called Simon.”
“Wow,” was all she said.
“So behave, Phoebs or I’ll tell Mum what a twit you are.”
“I’ll behave, have a nice birthday.”
Neal rang off and Phoebe handed me back the Blackberry.
“I take it you’re happy to slum it with me.”
“Ha ha, you’re Lady something or other, so where d’you live, a stately home, with a butler and loadsa servants?”
“Not quite, I live in an old farmhouse, which belongs to Professor Agnew.”
“That’s Neal’s prof–he said that woman, the beautiful one lived with his prof.”
“Oops, perhaps I’d better do some crime fighting–I know, I’ll arrest a dormouse, how about that?”
“I don’t like mice.”
“Dormice aren’t like housemice.”
“Aren’t they?”
“No, maybe I’ll show you one tomorrow.”
“If that’s your baby, you can’t have had a sex change–I’ll kill Neal when I see him.”
“Perhaps he meant someone else.”
“Yeah, mustadone, though you are quite beautiful.”
“Oh well, if I’m only quite beautiful, and your weirdo was drop-dead gorgeous, it must be someone else.”
We rejoined the motorway, and were home about twenty minutes later. As soon as I walked in I had an avalanche of children wash all over me. After dealing with that, I introduced Phoebe to the girls and to Danny as he walked through. His eyes were as big as saucers, and I think I recognised love or lust in them–she was quite a pretty girl.
I sent her up to shower and change while I shoved her clothes in the washing machine–they were quite damp. So, unfortunately, were her spare clothes, her grip wasn’t very waterproof. I loaned her some of Julie’s stuff as they were about the same size.
Jenny looked quite tired and I gave her the evening off, so she left minutes later.
“Who’s Phoebe?” Trish asked on behalf of the interrogation committee, “She’s not comin’ to live here, too, is she?”
“No, she came to see her brother, Neal, one of the university technicians, but he’s away, so she’s staying the night.”
“Oh, that’s okay then.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Cheeky madam.
(aka Bike) Part 1145 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Phoebe arrived downstairs about the same time Julie came in, I did manage to say that I’d loaned her some clothes before Julie started on like a character from the three bears–who’s been wearing my jeans?
Once Julie had changed–she was a bit scruffy after her ride in the rain, I properly introduced them, then left them to it.
Trish the self-appointed spokesperson for the rest of the family followed me out to the kitchen. “How long is Phoebe staying?”
“I don’t know, tonight, possibly tomorrow: why?”
She blushed, “I–um wondered if it was worth getting to know her.”
“Of course it is, she might be very interesting, Julie seemed to think she was worth the effort.” Just then Julie came into the kitchen.
“Mummy, can me an’ Phoebe go into town?”
“I’m just about to get dinner.”
“We’ll get a burger.”
“I don’t know, Julie, I promised Neal that I’d look after his sister–has she told her mother she’s staying with us?”
“I dunno, do I?”
“Please ask her to do so.”
“Can we go out then?”
“Remember you’re working tomorrow, and no alcohol; oh and take your phone with you. Make sure Phoebe’s mum has our phone number.”
“You worry too much.”
“It’s my job, make sure you do what I say or I won’t let either of you go. Oh and do any of you have a charger for Phoebe’s phone?”
“It’s the same as Livvie’s an’ it’s on charge now.” Julie scampered off while I worried if I’d done the right thing. I’d only moments before got the dinner on, when Simon arrived and then the baby wanted a feed.
I greeted Si with a kiss which had Trish tutting like an old woman, then I got the baby and started to feed her. “We have a visitor,” I told Simon as he sat watching me feed baby Catherine.
“Where, I don’t see anyone.”
“Neal, the lab tech from the Uni, his younger sister, Phoebe.”
“Where’s she going to stay?”
“With Julie, on the blow up mattress, if you could blow it up for me.”
“I suppose.”
“Well my hands are rather full at the moment.”
“Tell you what, send the baby to do the mattress and I’ll suckle you.” He grinned and stepped back out of range.
As he turned to go out of the kitchen, so Julie and Phoebe came in. “Oh, hi Daddy,” offered Julie to an astonished Simon. “We’re off out in a mo, can we ‘ave some dosh for the burgers?”
“But your mother is cooking?”
“Yeah, I know, she said we could go,” argued Julie and Simon surrendered and gave her ten pounds. Phoebe was absolutely transfixed watching me breast feeding.
“Anything wrong?” I asked her.
“Uh–what? Um no, I’ve never seen it before, that’s all,” she blushed.
“Can you save some for me cornflakes?” cheeked Julie and Phoebe’s jaw dropped.
“Don’t you listen to her, Phoebe–she’s an awful teaser,” I cautioned.
“Where are you going?” asked Simon.
“The Sailor’s return, they have live music on Fridays.”
“It’s raining, c’mon, I’ll drive you there?”
“What, in the Jag?” asked Julie expectantly.
“No, I’ll use your mother’s car–I’m low on fuel.” His reply caused Julie’s face to fall.
By the time he returned dinner was ready to serve and I delegated laying tables and so on to the girls who seemed happy to assist once the older competition was out of the way.
“I don’t know about Julie and Phoebe sharing, I mean technically, Julie is still...” worried Simon.
“A boy, I know, but the pills she’s been taking mean it’s all but redundant. She couldn’t get it up with a fork lift.”
He nearly choked on the bottle of beer he was drinking
“Besides, where else could she stay, Jenny has the spare room?”
“Okay, you’ve convinced me.”
Stella came down with Puddin’ who seemed too sleepy to eat very much.”
“What’s the matter with Pud?” I asked her.
“I think she has a teething cold, she kept me awake much of the night.”
“Och it wis yers I could hear, I thocht it wis Cathy’s.”
“Sorry, Tom,” Stella shrugged.
“Och, it’s alricht, they cannae help it.”
“There’s some rugger on Sky tonight, Tom, if you’re interested?” Simon mentioned to our landlord.
“Aye, I could be.”
While Stella and I cleared up the girls went off to the dining room to play on their computers and Tom, Si and Danny went to watch the rugby–Heineken cup or something.
“So where did you pick up the latest waif and stray?”
“Outskirts of Salisbury, she had a card asking for Portsmouth and it was peeing down.”
“She could have been a druggy or mugger or anything.”
“Phoebe is Neal’s younger sister.”
“But you didn’t know that, did you?”
“No I didn’t, but she was a drenched kid, who looked about Julie’s age and I didn’t want her catching pneumonia while I had a spare seat and was going to the same place she wanted.”
“You’re too soft, you can’t save the world, you know.”
“I’m not trying to, I’m just looking out for a young woman who could have been a wrong ‘un, but she wasn’t. Her mother knows where she’s staying, and so does Neal.”
“You got off lucky this time.”
“Stella, I think I could handle myself against a kid.”
“What if she grabbed your baby, if you were driving she could have done all sorts of things to her before you could intervene.”
“Phoebe was sitting in the front with me, tiny wee, was on the back seat behind me. She was perfectly safe.”
“She could have attacked you as you drove, stabbing you or blinding you.”
“In which case she’d have killed or hurt herself, wouldn’t she? I appreciate your concern, big sister, but it is unwarranted. She’s probably at more risk now out with Julie at a pub.”
“Does she know about Julie?”
“I haven’t told her, and have no intention of doing so.”
“What if she sees her in the shower?”
“The bathroom door does have a lock, you know.”
“I don’t know, Julie is a bit slack sometimes.”
“That’s up to her isn’t it.”
“So you don’t mind if she’s discovered to be a girl with something extra?”
“She has to learn to take responsibility for herself, Stella, otherwise she’ll never learn. If she chooses to tell Phoebe, which I think would be unnecessary; she has to live with the consequences.”
“But if she finds out half the kids here aren’t what they claim to be?”
“Stella, I thought you knew better than that–they are exactly what they claim to be, and I’d be grateful if you’d remember it.”
“I didn’t mean it like that...”
“I don’t care how you meant it, the fact that you thought it hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Cathy, I was trying to protect them–that’s all.”
“I know, but sometimes the best way to protect them is to allow them to live as they wish, so they grow into the role rather than rush it later in life, like I had to.”
“Sorry, I forgot you were so old, girl.” She poked her tongue out at me.
“C’mon, let’s have a cuppa while it’s quiet,” I suggested and switched on the kettle.
(aka Bike) Part 1146 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What time did you tell them to be home?” I asked Simon.
“I didn’t, I assumed you’d done that.”
“It’s eleven o’clock, d’you think you should go and find them?” It was more of a huge hint than a question.
“I expect they’ll be alright,” he said his attention going back to his book.
“They’re only sixteen, Simon.”
“Call Julie and tell her to get her arse back here pronto.”
“I expect she’ll have switched off her phone.”
“You won’t know until you try.”
“All right, already,” I said dialling her mobile number. It came back as unavailable. “She’s switched it off.”
“They’ll be alright.”
“I do worry about them, especially as one of them is a guest here.”
“Yes I know, I hurt my back pumping up that ruddy mattress.” He looked irritated by me.
“There’s an electric pump in the workshop for those sorts of things.”
“Now you tell me,” he sighed.
“I told you when I bought it.”
“When was that?”
“Months ago. It was when I bought the mattress.”
“Well that was still in the box.”
“Yeah, it would be, as we haven’t used it. The pump is the same, although I think you can use it for car and bike tyres.
“Cathy, I can’t remember all these gadgets you buy, I have more important things to think about.”
“I buy them to try and make all our lives easier.”
“Yeah, I expect you do, but it’s like your pen knife–it has so many gadgets on it, even one for getting boy scouts out of horse’s hooves. I’ll bet you can’t remember when you last used it?”
“Oh I’ve got a battery powered one now, also gets girl guides out of sticky situations, wanna see it?”
“Girl guides in sticky situations–the mind boggles.”
“You know up to their wellies in mud, that sort of thing.”
“How does it work?”
“Like a miniature helicopter.”
“Cathy, that is a personal fan.”
“Oh, I thought it was a bit small to get a Spitfire off the ground.”
“I think you’ll find a Merlin engine requires more than two AA batteries to get it going.”
“Perhaps you’re right, what about the girls?” Sometimes if I play stupid and let him lecture me it gets him in a good mood and he’ll do what I ask him to.
“Hmm, it’s half past eleven and Julie’s working tomorrow you say?”
“Yes.”
Just then Jenny came in. “Hi, I’m surprised you’re still up.”
“We’re waiting for Julie and Phoebe to come home.”
“Where are they?”
“In town, went to the Sailor’s Return for the music.”
“Gosh, that’s a bit rough, and I think I heard someone say there was a big fight there or outside, the Naval Provost was out and the police. Oh well, I’m off to bed.”
“Jenny, could you keep an ear open for the baby? I think we’d better go and find the girls.”
“If you want, don’t be too late though, will you?”
“Be back as quick as we can, c’mon, Si, get your shoes on.”
“Oh bugger,” he grumbled as he roused himself from his book and his chair.
Twenty minutes later we were near the pub–or as near as we would get by car. The police were out in numbers as were the Naval Provost. Simon parked the car and we started to walk.
“Where are you headed?” asked a young policeman.
“My daughter and her friend went to the Sailor’s Return to listen to the live music,” I said innocently.
“I wouldn’t let any daughter of mine go near the place, full of drunken matelots.”
“Surely they wouldn’t touch two youngsters, would they?”
“They’d touch anything and everything, madam.”
“Can we get through to find them?”
“I doubt it, there’s been a stabbing.”
“Surely my two aren’t involved in that?”
“I don’t know, madam, they could be witnesses.”
“C’mon, Si, let’s see how close we can get, we might be able to see them.”
The young copper shook his head but we walked on. A hundred yards closer we were challenged again, this time the copper was not going to let us through. “Sorry lady, there’s been a fatality–it’s a crime scene, can’t let you through.”
“But my daughter and her friend were here and they haven’t got home yet.”
“What’s her name?”
“Julie Kemp and her friend is Phoebe Allen.”
“Okay Mrs Kemp, wait here.” He went off a few yards and spoke into his radio for a couple of minutes.
“Someone is seeing if they can find the two youngsters. Personally, I wouldn’t let my daughter come anywhere near here.”
“Was it a man or woman who was stabbed?” I asked feeling very anxious.
“A woman, why?”
“Oh, God, Simon, it couldn’t be Julie or Phoebe, could it?”
“I expect they’ll be okay, Babes. They both sounded pretty sensible to me when I brought them in.”
The policeman’s radio peeped and he excused himself again, then returned. “They haven’t got anyone of those names still on site, so they’re either down the station or somewhere else.”
“If I call the station would they know if they’re there?”
“They might if you can get through, they were taking them off by the busload.”
“Have they caught the killer?”
“I can’t tell you, madam, even if I know.”
He gave me the phone number for the central police station and I called them, they took ages to answer and said they didn’t know, as they were still processing the people they’d pulled in for questioning.
I asked him to make some enquiries and call me back. He said he couldn’t promise anything they were so short staffed. “Will you take my name and mobile number?”
“Okay, but I’m not promising anything.”
“It’s Cameron, Lady Catherine Cameron.”
His tone changed immediately, “Is that the Lady Cameron?”
“As far as I know it is.”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll get back to you.”
“I thought you said name dropping was common?” Simon teased.
“There is a time and place for everything, this was it.”
“I see,” he smiled.
“Don’t you agree?” I asked him, feeling I’d transgressed some unwritten law, not that I was terribly bothered by protocols unless they helped me find the girls safe and sound.
“Oh absolutely.”
“So why the snotty question?”
“I just wondered, that was all.”
My phone rang and I had it up to my ear before a second ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, Lady Cameron, I’ve been right through all the females here and neither of your two are here. Two young women were seen running off after the stabbing with some bloke chasing them.”
“Not the killer, I hope?”
“That I don’t know, but we know they weren’t the victim, she was in her twenties.”
“You don’t know which direction they were seen running?”
“I don’t, Lady Cameron, I have to go, it’s bedlam here.” He rang off before I could thank him.
“They’ll be all right; there’ll be coppers around half the night if not all of it.”
Simon’s words didn’t reassure me or the knot which was tying and untying itself in the pit of my stomach. “Yes, so will the killer if they haven’t caught him. What if it was him who chased the girls?”
“Don’t torture yourself, Babes, we don’t know anything so let’s not speculate on what we don’t know.”
“Oh, Simon, I have a bad feeling about this.”
(aka Bike) Part 1147 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“I’m sure they’ll be perfectly okay, they’re both intelligent kids.” Simon was trying to reassure me, and he was probably correct, but I had this niggling worry gnawing away at my guts that he could be wrong.
“We don’t know in which direction they ran, if we did we might have a chance of finding them.” I mused out loud.
“Can’t you home in on Julie and find her?”
“No, because we haven’t actually been anywhere that she has been; I sort of need to pick up her scent.”
“Is that why you used to smell my shirts?”
“No, that was for purely carnal reasons. Now stop interrupting me.”
“Sorry for breathing.”
“Will you hush, how can I concentrate with all this noise.” I tried to concentrate on Julie and seeing her sending me a blue light beacon so I could locate her. She still wasn’t answering her phone.
I imagined seeing all round myself, scanning like a radar scope, and then I saw it, a very faint blue glow. I moved round to face it and saw I was facing in the direction of the docks–probably the least safe place to run.
Simon watched me walk in the direction of the docks and ran alongside me. “Where are you going?”
“To find Julie, where else?”
“You have a lead?”
“I sincerely hope so.” I was sending out my own signal to the beacon hoping she was okay and to try and reassure her that I was searching for her.
“Should we use the car?”
“Hush, Simon, the trail is very faint, I need to concentrate–and no, we need to walk.”
After ten or twelve minutes, I felt the signal was stronger, but she was inside somewhere, hiding, which explained why her phone didn’t work.”
The landscape became noticeably more industrial, and Simon was sure we were going in the wrong direction. I paused and the signal meant we turned left, which we did. It was getting stronger, we were closing in on it. Another five minutes and I knew she was in one of two old and derelict warehouses–it felt like a set from a crime film.
“She’s in one of these old warehouses.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, but I suspect the person who’s chasing her is also still about.”
“Why not call the police, then?”
“Would you come on the hunch of someone you don’t know?”
“No, but they do know you.”
“Sure they do, and if I’m wrong, they’d love it, assuming they came at all.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We wait and watch for activity.”
“Oh great, why can’t we just walk in and call them?”
“There could be a bloke with a knife hiding there as well–remember he’s already killed one person.”
“Yeah, but that was a woman.”
“So, does that make her less than a man?”
“No, it means he can beat women, I doubt he’d do it to me.”
“Si, if he sticks a knife in you, I suspect you’ll bleed just as much as I would.”
“Ah but the point is...”
“The point is the bit he’d stick in you, Si.”
“Very funny.”
“Hush, look over there,” I pointed to the further away of the two warehouses, “Is that someone moving about?”
“Cor, you must eat loads of carrots, I can’t see anything much at all.”
“C’mon, I think we might have our killer and our two girls.” Keeping in the shadows, I trotted towards the derelict building. Trying not to give myself away by heavy breathing, I paused before I crept across the road, Simon a couple of steps behind me.
Someone was shining a torch about the place and now we could hear him too. “C’mon girls, I won’t hurt you. I know you’re in here, come out now before I get cross.”
His voice made my flesh creep and I wanted to kick him right where it would stop him breeding, I felt Simon tense behind me and knew that he was having difficulty in staying still, he wanted to hit the guy.
I was glad we stayed hiding because it became obvious the man wasn’t alone. There appeared to be three of them and they were splitting up to search the site, which meant the girls might be discovered. We were too close for me to risk phoning, they’d hear my key pad peeping.
If we could take out one of them, that would leave one each to deal with. The problem was we didn’t know if they were armed and if so, with what? These days it could be guns or knives.
Simon spotted an old shovel and reached it back to us asking if I wanted it as a weapon. I shook my head, I’d already seen a piece of scaffolding pole. I reached for it, but it was stuck to the ground, not only that but it made a noise and one of the men heard us. I sat there making cat noises for a couple of moments before he recognised them for what they were supposed to be. He then went back to his search.
I tapped Simon and pointed to the left side of the building, then pointed to myself and the right side. I kept myself bent over and ran as quickly as I could and hid in the shadows, watching Simon disappear into the darkness at the other side.
I half knelt waiting for an opportunity to attack when I heard a metal clang followed by a yell, another clang and the sound of someone falling over. I guess he met Simon’s shovel.
This agitated the other two who were calling out and shining their torches everywhere until they found their injured and unconscious colleague. Then I saw the gun, its barrel glinting in the torch beam.
I picked up a piece of brick, waiting for him to walk towards me. After what felt like hours he did, moving his torch around like a searchlight. I picked up another smaller brick and lobbed it behind him. In the relative quiet it sounded like a bomb going off, he turned and fired his gun in the direction of my brick’s impact. I threw the other one at his head, missing slightly and hitting him on the top of his back. He spun round and fired, I ducked just in time, grabbing another brick as I did.
There was another clang of the shovel and I heard him fire again, I jumped up and threw again, this time catching him on the side of his face. He yelled and fired back towards me, the bullet zinging above me. I grabbed another brick. I could see the torch beam heading my way, and I crawled away to circle it. As he shone his light away from me, I hit him again with a brick and he screamed in pain and then called to me to show myself. Like I was going to–duh.
The shovel clanged again only this time I heard voices and saw the torch, Simon and the other man were fighting, only the gunman was moving towards them. I ran after him, releasing my final brick a matter of a couple of yards away. It hit him on the back of the head, he staggered, turned round and I hit him with an improvised rugby tackle, trying to grab the gun and him with different hands. As we hit the ground the gun went off and I smacked his wrist against the concrete floor, with my right hand and poked the fingers of my left hand in his face–hoping it was his eyes I met not his mouth.
He groaned and I felt his head go down on the hard surface, whereupon I pulled at his hair and smacked it down even harder. I felt his body go limp. I was picking the gun up off the floor when Simon shouted, “Watch out, Cathy.”
He was too late and the man’s boot caught me in the ribs and I went down quite hard. I heard Simon swear at him and felt rather than saw him lumbering towards the man. There was a tremendous clang and I felt a body fall over me landing very hard beyond me.
“You alright, Babes?”
“I think he’s hurt my ribs,” and I groaned and yelled as Simon lifted me up. God it hurt.
“Girls, it’s us Simon and Cathy, c’mon out it’s safe now,” Simon called to the darkness about us.
I began dialling 999 to call for help when I heard a young voice call back, “Is that you, Daddy?”
“Yes, it’s us, sweetheart,” I shouted back before making contact with the emergency services. The police were with us within ten minutes and an ambulance seconds later.
Simon had a stab wound in his left arm, the knife was lying near the outstretched attacker. That was the one who’d kicked me as I grappled with the gunman, and who received the focus of Simon’s wrath and the sharp end of the shovel. Si had nearly knocked his head off he was so angry at him hurting me.
Statements were taken and Simon’s wound was dressed. It was decided I had some bruised, but not broken ribs–all I knew was it bloody hurt. Julie and Phoebe were both safe and well, although the men were close to finding them a couple of times. The most they suffered were some scuffed shoes and torn tights where they’d been kneeling behind a small wall.
“She is, like, a crime fighter in’t she?” said Phoebe to Julie.
“Nah, she wasn’t really trying tonight, there were only three of them and she had Daddy’s help.”
(aka Bike) Part 1148 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Once we got home and discussed what had happened, it transpired that the girls knew nothing about the murder. They’d seen someone dealing drugs and had reported it to the landlady. She had gone to investigate and had been the stabbing victim.
Meanwhile, one of the drug dealers had seen them again and chased them. When they discovered they were being chased by more than one person they simply fled without any thought of where they were going. They hid in the derelict warehouse but couldn’t get a signal on the phone to say where they were. However, Julie had wished for me to find them and had kept seeing me coming towards her. So we had effectively picked up on each other’s thoughts. I don’t know how proven telepathy is, but it obviously works for some people.
The police almost considered charging us with assault until we showed them the gun and the knives the bad guys had, and as all handguns are banned in the UK, owning or possessing one is a serious criminal offence.
The one Simon had pole-axed because he kicked me was the most hurt. Seeing the bruises coming out on my side, I didn’t have too much sympathy for him, and thankfully neither did the police.
The issue of the kids going to that pub again never arose. What with the murder of the landlady and the fright they got, it’s unlikely they’d ever want to go near the place again. But until they got involved with the druggies, they had been enjoying themselves and liked the music.
Phoebe asked if she could stay over until Monday, and I told her not without my talking to her mother, which I said I would in the morning. Actually, it was already the morning, being nearly one before we got home. Jenny had fed the baby with a bottle and thank goodness, she slept through until seven. I was still exhausted and my side was very sore, but things could have been worse.
After breakfast, Trish, and a soak in the bath, helped ease the bruising although we took some photos and Jenny and Stella witnessed them. The rainbow colours all round me were very photogenic, contrasting with my white bra and pants.
I spoke with Iris Allen, Phoebe’s mum, who said she wanted her home on Sunday night, as she had school the next day–I said I would send her home after lunch, and that she was welcome to come again, but not by hitchhiking.
Her mother was very cross, having given her the bus fare, which she pocketed, as I’d done that myself when I was a kid, I could hardly complain. It was how I funded my first pair of heels, only my dad found them and chucked them out. Hiding my girl stuff when I lived at home was very difficult, as both Mum and Dad went looking for it. Except for the time when I did the Lady Macbeth, they did everything they could to stop me, and pretty well succeeded until I went to university and my opportunities were very limited until my final year: then I did have my own room and managed to collect a skirt and top, plus some shoes and undies and one or two bits of makeup.
However, the hours I spent locked in my room so I could wear them, meant I did do loads of work and perhaps explains why I got a good degree.
On the basis that Simon could have his wicked way with me if he took Phoebe home on the Sunday, he agreed–so any problem of her spending bus or train fares was negated. When she heard it was likely to be in the Jaguar, she handled her disappointment very well. So it does seem that expensive sports cars are girl pullers, not that they attract me–but then bikes do–okay, so I’m different–get over it.
After feeding the wain, I took a bus load of girls shopping with Stella. She’d managed to bribe Jenny to baby sit Puddin’, so was able to come with us. Of course, Julie was not impressed, as she had to work, but at least she had her little scooter thing to use to get there.
I bought Phoebe one of those long scarf things with tassels all over it. When she wrapped it round her neck, her head disappeared in a mass of cloth. However, it was what she wanted and cost me less than a tenner, so I felt quite happy with it. I got a similar one for Julie.
The rest of my brood cost me a fortune–Simon got off lightly, he went to watch Danny play football–they lost even though he scored a goal. Danny seemed to understand that I couldn’t go and asked me get him some new football socks–he was quite content with those, but I got him a new pair of shorts as well.
Billie wanted a new coat, and Livvie some shoes. Trish had some new boots, those ugly things, but she’d certainly worn the old ones with her skinny jeans and even with skirts and tights. I hadn’t heard anymore about the football team, and when Phoebe said she used to play for one, Trish seemed slightly less put off by it. I expected comments when we got Danny’s kit, but she didn’t say anything at all.
I asked Phoebe would she rather have gone to watch Danny, and she waved her scarf about and said no, very decidedly. For most teen girls, I think shopping is their main form of sport, and if some of them applied the same degree of dedication to sport as they did to poking round shops, we’d have a few more champions.
By lunch, my side felt much better and Trish had a silly grin on her face. I had wondered why she wanted to hold onto my arm all the time. I’d been too preoccupied with everyone to take too much notice, and her energy is very gentle. I tried on a top, or pretended to, so I could use the changing room mirror and the Technicolor was fading quite rapidly.
Tom and Simon took over the baby-sitting, Simon getting to feed tiny wee, while Jenny supervised and he also managed to change her. Much to his disgust, he actually enjoyed it, or so he confided later on–but by then, I’d got him so turned on he’d have pleaded guilty to assassinating Abe Lincoln if he could taste a little of my milk. I made him wait until after the baby had been fed and changed–he changed her, and did it really well–then I let him have his wicked way, which I quite enjoyed too.
On Sunday, I went to check the dormice, accompanied by a posse of children, all but one of which seemed to be mine. When they all come out with me, even the Mondeo struggles to accommodate them all–perhaps we need a minibus, not a car?
Spike was still with us and took some dried fruit from each of the kids–she was well above her hibernation weight, as were most of the others, and the breeding season had been good, all our breeding females had produced four young, and of the twenty born, only two hadn’t made it to hibernation time.
We were introducing a chipping system, whereby we inserted a silicon chip under the scruff of the neck of each dormouse which could be read like a bar code by a special reader device. It’s very similar to those used in dogs and cats to prove ownership. The idea was the chips would demonstrate each individual, so the data would be more accurate. In tests elsewhere, the chips seemed not to affect the dormice too much. Part of the reason for doing all our campus bred ones was to enable some of the students to learn the technique so they could do so on the woodland sites. I would do the odd one to keep my hand in, but my role was increasingly supervisory. I felt a touch of regret, but I didn’t have the time at present for all the field work, however, I did have time to collate records and do some of the supervision–not bad with half a dozen kids–maybe I should chip them.
(aka Bike) Part 1149 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Mummy, where do dormice live?” asked Livvie–she obviously didn’t remember seeing the film I made.
“They are so cute,” sighed Phoebe, “Where do they live, apart from university departments–fairy castles?”
“Don’t be silly,” scolded Trish, “they live in woodlands, don’t they, Mummy?”
“Mostly, yes, but they’re nocturnal so you won’t see them, just signs of them.” I added, trying not to make it sound as if I was narrating a documentary.
“Can we go and see some?” asked Phoebe.
“We can’t go and see any more dormice because they’re too close to hibernating now, and they need to save all the energy they can without our disturbing them. I could show you a woodland where there are some but all we can do is look for signs that they’ve been there.”
“Can we do that?” asked Phoebe.
“It’s just acorns and hazel nuts they’ve eaten.”
“There’s a special way they eat them?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Trish, “they use nut crackers.”
“Do they?” said Phoebe aghast.
“Yes,” said Trish, “they put them on a flat stone and bang them with another stone.”
“Gosh,” said Phoebe, “they don’t look big enough to do that; that’s really clever.”
“You are a fibber, Trish Watts, you know jolly well they eat through the top of the shell.”
Phoebe, realising she’d been had, blushed while Trish cackled with delight.
It had been dry for a couple of days so I decided we could visit a woodland where it was fairly quick draining. We all piled into the car and half an hour later were disembarking and walking up a woodland ride. The late afternoon sun wasn’t terribly warming but it gave everything a lovely orange-golden glow.
I pointed out different plants and Trish discovered some Amanita muscaria or fly agaric, which is the one with the bright red top, usually with a few fragments of the white veil left on it. We also found some huge bracket fungus on a dying tree, this forms like dull rainbow coloured semicircles sticking out from the wood of the tree.
A party of mixed tits were feeding high up in the branches and occasionally scolding us as we walked along, most coal tits and blue tits, but occasionally the louder call of the great tit was also heard. In the distance a great spotted woodpecker called and overhead a family of buzzards circled, mewing as they rode the thermals. It was a lovely autumn afternoon and I was close to feeling blissful, a whole pile of kids and they were all enjoying themselves–no whingeing about how far they’d walked or anything–it was pure pleasure.
As we strolled towards the reserve within the woodland, the sun and its golden tones, the birdsong, life felt so good–this is what it’s all about, the simple pleasures and as always I felt the rider to it–watch some bastard spoil it.
At first I couldn’t decide where the sound of the chainsaws were coming from, as the noise can echo or be disguised by the trees and bushes–then, with horror, I saw they were in the protected area.
I rounded up the children and made them stay together and wait for me, tree felling is potentially very dangerous. Then I ran shouting towards the men, three of them one with a saw the others cleaning up the timber.
“Hey, you can’t do that here,” I shouted at them.
“Yeah, sez who?”
“It’s a nature reserve with protected species.” I remonstrated.
“Like what?”
“Like bats and dormice.”
“Tough, bloody vermin the lot of them.”
“What permission do you have to fell here?”
“Plenty, why?”
“I’m calling the police.”
“Feel free.”
“As someone who is registered to use this woodland, I’m making a citizen’s arrest of you three men. Please stay here while the police come.”
“Are bats protected then?” one of the workmen asked his colleague.
“Don’t be daft, they’re just flying mice in they?”
“Bats are insectivores, not mice, and yes they and dormice are protected with fines of up to a thousand pounds per animal. There are nest boxes of both in this area and I would support Natural England in prosecuting you.”
“Oo the ‘ell are they?”
“Natural England is the government agency which protects the countryside, used to be called the Nature Conservancy Council.”
“Oo-er,” said the smallest of the three men, and he towered over me. I reckon they were illegally collecting timber for wood burning stoves, because the Forestry Commission who own the woodland wouldn’t permit felling in this area because of the dormice.
I dialled the police, I had their regular number these days. Before I could say anything, one of them snatched my Blackberry and threw it into the undergrowth and another pushed me over, while they jumped into their truck and started it up. They turned it round as I extracted myself from the bush into which they’d pushed me.
I stood and shouted at them, only to realise in horror that they were coming back at me. I jumped aside at the last moment and revisited the bush I’d fallen into before. As I jumped up again, I saw them heading for the group of girls, who all ran to either side of the truck but pelted it with sticks and stones as it went past. I tried to get the number but it was gone before I could see it fully.
I walked down to the girls, my ankle was hurting where I’d landed awkwardly so my progress was slow and Trish realising something was wrong rushed up to me. “Are you okay, Mummy?”
“No I’m not, look at the mess–they’ve taken down half a dozen nest boxes and dozens of trees, tried to kill me and run you lot down as well. Then to cap it all, I’ve twisted my ankle and they threw my phone into the bushes.”
“Poor, Mummy,” said Trish and she wandered up to the cleared site.
“Are you okay, Lady Cameron?” asked Phoebe, “You do lead an exciting life.”
“Don’t I just–thanks for suggesting we come here, the damage could have been a lot worse if we hadn’t.”
“Where’s Trish gone?” asked Livvie.
We looked around and she wasn’t to be seen. Damn, all I needed was for her to be kidnapped by elves to completely make my sodding day.
“Trish,” I yelled, it echoing round the trees.
A moment later she emerged from some bushes holding up something. It turned out to be my Blackberry. “Here you are, Mummy,” she said handing it back to me.
“How did you find it?” I asked in relative astonishment.
“I called it on my phone and went to the ring, it was easy, really.”
“Clever clogs,” I said hugging her, partly from relief that she was safe and partly because the Blackberry was a present from Simon. “I don’t suppose you got the number of the truck as well, did you?”
She nodded, and showed me the photo of the truck, clearly displaying a number plate, her phone also had a video of the truck trying to run me down. She really was a clever clogs, far more so than I was.
We sat down and I did phone the police. As soon as I said my name I heard a sigh from the other end. I did tend to have a bit too frequent contact with them. However, when I explained what had happened, they promised to send a car as quickly as they could. It was beginning to get dark and told them we’d walk back to our car.
My ankle was becoming very sore and I had to use a stick to walk at all. I did call Gareth Sage and report the event to him. As the Hampshire officer, he would need to know. He rang me back a moment later and said he was on his way, he knew exactly where I’d described to him.
It was dark by the time we got back to the car and Gareth arrived a few minutes later. My ankle was really swollen and it was obvious I couldn’t drive home. The police came a little later and told me one of them would drive my car home, the other would take me to the hospital–they insisted.
The girls and I waited while Gareth and the coppers drove up to the felled site, then returned. They saw enough to know that the area was badly damaged, Gareth was very angry at the damage and the attempt to hurt the kids and I. The police were shrugging their shoulders, until I asked Trish to show them her phone and its evidence. Given that she’d had one borrowed by the police before, she was a little reluctant. However, once they saw the truck, the number of it and the attempt to squash me, they almost licked their lips with anticipation.
“How much per animal?” asked the older copper.
“At least a thousand pounds or a couple of years in prison. Why?” asked Gareth.
“Oh good,” replied the copper, “This is Digger Mackay, he’s so called because he used to dig badgers and put them against dogs. When that got too hairy, he went over to illegal logging for firewood, but we never managed to pin much on him. This little lady has just guaranteed him a nice holiday courtesy of Her Majesty.”
“Trish and her mum are like Batman and Robin, aren’t they?” Phoebe said quietly to Billie, but loudly enough for most of us to hear it, and the two policemen laughed loudly.
(aka Bike) Part 1150 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I arrived home from the hospital swathed in bandages with an ankle that was diagnosed as sprained. It ached abominably and all I wanted to do was go to bed. Sadly, the children and especially the baby thought otherwise.
I was swamped with sympathy, then Stella presented me with a hungry baby and I couldn’t avoid feeding her because I had a bad ankle–in other words I had to get on with it.
Simon was livid that the wood thieves seemed to be getting away with things, and immediately went to see if they owed the bank anything. He came back ten minutes later and explained their mortgage was with another bank, although he’d talk to their chairman tomorrow and see if he could get it called in.
Whilst I was all in favour of a little revenge, I felt he was acting unprofessionally using the bank to further personal arguments. We discussed it and he actually told me that morally I was quite right, but he was still after blood–theirs. I told him that if I really wanted to get my own back, I’d leave the children there for a few days. Simon sniggered and told me he didn’t hate anyone enough to do that. Then seeing I was indisposed, ordered pizza for everyone. I told him I’d have a sandwich later. He shrugged and went to see what the kids wanted as toppings.
The next morning, my ankle felt much easier, so I suspect Trish had been busy sending me healing whilst she slept. She seems to be fast getting the idea of healing.
Whilst I was making a roast dinner, a traditional Sunday roast, Gareth arrived and reported on the damage to the woodland. He counted up to fifty trees felled and while they were a variety of species, and undoubtedly some nest boxes had been damaged or lost, he thought the site would recover if some planting took place quickly. Apparently he hoped to embarrass the Forestry Commission into funding it.
He also announced that the police had pounced on the house and yard of Digger Mackay and that evidence had been removed and arrests made. He told me they’d left their chainsaw in the woods because they’d run off so quickly after I caught them. Apparently the gang were caught about to leave the yard, so possibly were going back to the same piece of woodland again.
Trish’s video was pretty damning evidence, and the police were cock-a-hoop with it as they’d been trying to get a conviction for years. Witnesses were usually intimidated into revoking their statements by claiming they were given under duress by the police. I assured him, no such event would happen here, we’d stay with the case until he went down, hopefully for a long time.
About six nest boxes were destroyed, Gareth decided, and was going to prosecute on probability that at least one if not two were occupied, because my data tended to indicate that was the usual level. He’d apparently found all six and three of them had nesting material in them. He found no casualties in them either.
I started up my computer and he showed me a list of the nest boxes he’d found, I suspected that at least two more were involved. Had he checked the yard for them? He hadn’t and after a call to the police he went off to do so. He was back an hour later, they found them both, and inside one was a dead mother and four babies. He was prosecuting for five animals and the probability of injured or killed bats as well.
The police were looking to charge them with attempting to kill me and injure my children, as the video showed and as the number of the truck was so clear, it was unequivocally his, so bail was withheld. I’d have been quite happy for him to try and intimidate me, I suspect I might have had a very robust response. Thankfully, it wasn’t a question of finding out. If he’d hurt my children, I’d have had him hunted down and stuffed on top of a bonfire in his own yard.
I asked Simon if the bank might sponsor a fence around the site in the woodland, to keep deer out as well as poachers and thieves. He said he’d see what they could do and what publicity they could get from it.
Gareth stayed for lunch and was squabbled over by Julie, Phoebe and Stella. I kept out of it, not having quite forgiven him for the UN thing. He was still on about it, but with a young baby whom I was feeding myself, it wasn’t a good idea, and even he could see that–once he’d seen it, me breast feeding, that is.
Simon took Phoebe home to Salisbury as Julie became occupied with Leon–I think she challenged him to a tongue wrestling match–and Phoebe asked if she might come and visit again.
“If you’d like to–although after what happened, I’d have thought you’d be staying well clear of us,” I answered her question.
“Oh no, it’s the most exciting weekend I’ve spent since I went skiing with the school and four of the girls got caught in an avalanche. That was like, brill, too.” She seemed such a nice kid for an adrenalin junkie.
Gareth left, promising to come and see Stella one evening, which I think pleased everyone, especially as it gave him a link to the bank and their conservation fund, from which I was hoping they’d pay for the fencing for the dormouse site.
We were discussing it over lunch and Trish asked if the dormice would all have keys to get through the gate. I told her they wouldn’t, because they were dormice, not gate mice. I think I’ll put it in my diary, I actually got one over on her.
Gareth declared that during the summer no one would need a key. When I asked why, he told me that some gatekeeper butterflies would open and shut the gate for us. I chuckled but none of the others got it.
The gatekeeper or hedge brown butterfly is common along hedgerows, and frequently appears near gates, hence its name. We get them in the garden, especially down by the orchard, where we also have meadow browns and wall butterflies or wall browns. We do quite well for butterflies, because we have a range of habitats, although Tom doesn’t welcome the cabbage whites terribly much, except to spray them with soapy water, helped by various birds which feed on the caterpillars as they hatch. We never seem too short of cabbages, broccoli or kale, so Tom must be doing something right.
Of the various garden pests, the one I wanted to see ever since I was kid, is the death’s head hawkmoth, Acherontia atropos which lays its eggs on potatoes, although the adults will feed on honey in bee hives or bee’s nests–it appears impervious to their stings.
Oh well, back to normal tomorrow–school and a bit more on my survey work, once I’ve contacted Henry in a professional capacity to see how we–the bank–could get publicity for protecting the poor dormeeces. What’s the bet it’s my photo they use not his.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acherontia_atropos
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gatekeeper_Butterfly
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meadow_Brown
Wiki can’t seem to distinguish between the Wall (brown) and Speckled wood which are two distinct species, so I can’t do a link.
(aka Bike) Part 1151 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Henry was a bit crabby when I phoned him the next morning. When I challenged him, he explained he’d had too much to eat and drink last night at the Mansion House. This is the official residence of the Lord Mayor of London, so Henry would have been rubbing shoulders with the great and the good; thank goodness I’ve avoided that so far.
“Oh, is this a bad time to come with my begging bowl?”
“Cathy, this is a bank not a charity.”
“What big teeth you have, Grandmama.”
His response was to roar with laughter. “How much?”
“If you had £83 billion to spare, we could have aircraft on our carriers and a functioning library.”
“Don’t get me started on that,” he warned.
“We need some chain link fencing around some woodland. It was damaged by timber thieves, and if replanted, will be liable to deer eating all the trees.”
“What’s so special about this woodland that it needs a fence round it?”
“It’s one of my key dormouse sites and we lost eight nest boxes yesterday and five dormice.”
“How much are we talking?”
“I don’t know, I hope a couple of thousand–but it would give you a chance to use it for publicity–the bank comes to the rescue of endangered dormice, that sort of thing.”
“Get me some quotes, oh and will you appear in the photos for it?”
“If I say yes now, why won’t you?” I was learning to negotiate.
“Because you haven’t told me the price involved.”
“Okay, if you say yes in principle, so will I.”
“Okay–but don’t make a habit of it.”
“Just tell that lovely hubby of mine he has to make a bit extra to pay for my dormouse fence.”
“I’ll do no such thing, he’s under enough pressure as it is.”
“Why, what’s he doing today?”
“Showing the mayor of Portsmouth round the proposed offices there.”
“He didn’t tell me,” I said indignantly.
“Why, would you have wanted to be with him?”
“No thanks.”
“There’ll come a time when you’ll have to do the dutiful wife thing.”
“Perhaps, but I won’t be breast feeding then, I hope.”
“Oh yes, I forgot about that aspect of your current life.”
“I have this built in reminder who squawks louder than a fire alarm when I keep her waiting.”
“Ah the joys of motherhood–this is the little one whose family all died, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I still feel guilty about that.”
“Why? You didn’t kill them. If I remember the mother took her own life didn’t she?”
“She couldn’t bear to be parted from her husband and daughter.”
“Very sad.”
“Indeed.”
“Okay, get the estimate to me–email it, I’m going to be out of the office the rest of the day.”
“What, just to avoid me?”
“Cathy, it’s lovely to see a woman with such a healthy ego who isn’t also entirely wrapped in her own importance.”
“Me important–nah, I’m just a cow on two legs to one young lady, now she is important.”
“I think you’re a bit more important than that, say six or seven times more if I include your eldest child.”
“What Julie?”
“I was thinking more Simon.”
“Ah but he’s busy showing some horse round Portsmouth.”
“Horse? The mayor–oh now I get it, you are too quick for me this morning, young lady.”
“It could have been worse, Henry, it could have been a night mayor.”
“I’m going to my meeting before you drive me completely insane. Bye.”
“Bye, Daddy in law, and thanks.”
“Go away, you wicked woman.”
“I’m gone, ’bye.” I put the phone down chuckling as I did. I had a very good relationship with my pa-in-law, who indulged me almost as much as his son did. He told me that he thought of me as his daughter, except he fancied me like mad which I think was just a little boost to my ego from him. Although he had a reputation for being a ladies’ man, I trusted him implicitly–and there aren’t many bankers one could say that about.
I emailed Gareth to say the bank wanted estimates for the fencing and to make it snappy, as I didn’t know how long the money would be available. I’d caught Henry in a good mood, tomorrow he might be different, though I doubted it. Anyway, Gareth didn’t know that.
Jenny was out with the baby in the pram giving me time to do some proper work not domestic slavery. I was so into what I was doing, I’d forgotten Stella was still in the house.
“Cuppa?” she said poking her head round the kitchen door.
“Um, yes please. I’ve been so busy I didn’t notice the time.”
“So I see.”
“I’ve just emailed Gareth.”
“He’s coming over tomorrow night.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, can you keep an eye on Puddin’?”
“Yeah, one of us will, no probs.”
“Thanks.”
“You really fancy him, don’t you?”
“So d’you.”
I blushed, “I did, but I’m happy with what I’ve got, or would be if he lived here, not just stayed for weekends.”
“Simon’s a good man.”
“Can you put that in writing, please–maybe better not, if he saw it, it would probably kill him.”
“Cathy, you can be so cruel, sometimes.”
“Only sometimes, you told me ages ago that I was a psycho.”
“You misheard me, I said, cyclist.”
“A likely tale, and my hearing is pretty good.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t, you were probably distracted at the time.”
“Yeah, living with you does tend to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Drive you to distraction.”
“Huh,” she pretended to be hurt, and huffed about the kitchen–I was nearly persuaded that she was hurt until she began to snigger. Then she said, “Bitch,” and left me to my computer.
I began to wonder where Jenny and the baby were because they arrived back after I’d started preparing lunch. I’d made a fresh loaf which we had with a bowl of soup made with leftovers from the chicken and stock from the vegetables, plus of course some new chopped vegetables including potato and celery with a carrot, onion and some garlic.
Apparently Jenny had run into an old friend and stopped for coffee. I nearly told her to let me know next time, but she’s so good and I was worrying about nothing. I had to feed tiny wee, but that was to be expected, she was coming on nicely and had gained half a pound in the last week or so and was definitely teething the way she was chewing on her teething ring, or her hand. She already had one tooth in the front as my tender nipples would attest, looked like it was getting some company in the near future. I hoped it wouldn’t mean disturbed nights.
Stella came down with Puddin’ as I dished up the lunch, she was able to chew on a piece of crust and ate some of the soup, even though I knew it was likely to go through her, all those vegetables–but it would hopefully do her some good en route.
“What time is Gareth coming tomorrow?” I asked Stella.
“Sevenish, I think, why?”
“I’m trying to work out if you’ll be here for dinner or not, or if I’ll have an extra mouth to feed.”
“No–we’re going out to eat, I think–I’ll check and let you know in plenty of time. He’s supposed to phone me later,” she beamed.
Jenny and I looked at each other and smiled.
(aka Bike) Part 96 Dozen by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Gareth did phone her after he’d emailed me. The area of the woodland requiring fencing was a couple of hundred metres, the rest of the woodland being protected by existing fencing or some hawthorn hedging, which had been laid and trimmed less than ten years ago and was practically impenetrable–nature’s barbed wire–the other side of which was a dairy farm. So we couldn’t exclude deer entirely, just make it difficult for them. Some of the old fencing was metal poles and fence posts, which was more of a boundary marker than anything, and we had been planting hedging material inside it for the three or more years I’d been surveying the site.
I was miffed that the timber thieves had destroyed nest boxes and killed at least five animals. If only they knew how long it had taken to build up the population there, and the two cold winters we’ve had in the past two years makes it harder. I had a licence to take any underweight animals into the university labs to see if we could get them through the winter, and my survey team had removed one family–I guess they missed the other one. One of the problems of delegation–I like to think I wouldn’t have done so.
I was missing my practical work and wondered if I might do the odd session to maintain my handling skills and licence. Altogether we had five licence holders in my team, although mine was the most comprehensive one, the others being technically supervisees of mine.
The fencing was going to cost a fair bit, I won’t say how much in case any of you invest in the bank, although I thought it was worth it–I hoped Henry agreed. I sent him the quote.
He replied by email: ‘In view of the cost of this, I think a page three type photo with strategically placed dormice, would be in order.’
I have to give him his due, he’s a trier. I wrote back. ‘If you will, I won’t. How about a strategically placed Versace?’ I just happen to have a Stella cast off suit which should fit the bill.
‘The bank is not paying for a dress as well–who do you think you are, Stella?’
‘I’ll provide the clothing.’ I replied.
‘You shameless gold-digger, you have a deal, but I do want photos, so get your hair done.’
I was tempted to ask if he was paying for it but thought better of it. So far he’s been a great supporter, I wouldn’t want to annoy him. I sent an email to Gareth telling him Henry agreed, but telling him I wanted a sign of some sort on the finished fence commemorating the bank’s involvement–I was tempted to tell him I wanted it on his erection, but he might have got the wrong idea–wait until he gets to know Stella better–he’ll get loads of wrong ideas.
I summoned my madam de coiffure, “Oi mush, come yer a mo.”
“You got huskies in here?” asked Stella entering the kitchen.
“No just Hush Puppies, your pater wants me to have my hair done, what’ya think?”
“Seeing as it looks as if it’s spent the last six months up the Amazon while you were in Croydon, it needs doing.”
“Badly, I suppose?”
“Cathy, if you want it doing badly, I have plenty names of grotty salons. If however, madam would care to consult a genius...”
“I’m not letting Trish near it,” I interrupted spoiling her build up.
“Not Trish, you dipstick, me.”
“I suppose you have been known to wave a comb about.”
“Huh–that’s like saying you might have seen a dormouse.”
“Well, I mighta done.”
“Grrrrrr–you infuriating offspring of a canine.”
“Me? I was born under a wand’rin’ star,” I began to sing it almost as badly as Lee Marvin did in Paint Your Wotsit, only a shade higher in pitch. I must admit I prefer the sequel, Emulsion your bathroom.
Stella had her hands over her ears and Kiki was barking, “Please stop, I’ll do your hair for you.” I did as requested. “Thank you, I suspect if they do a horror version of that film, they could get you to do the soundtrack, people would turn white overnight.
“I’ll have you know I was in the school choir.”
“Which school was that, one run by the Royal National Society for the Deaf?”
“No, Bristol Grammar, I was the only sixteen year old male treble, all the others were about eleven.”
I began to sing, Thank you for the music,’ the Abba hit and she joined in with me. Jenny came to see what the noise was about, it wasn’t our singing, honest–it was Kiki’s howling. Well how was I supposed to know she didn’t like Abba. Then the baby woke up and I had to feed her. By the time I’d fed and changed her, it was time to go and get the girls.
I was playing the CD of Abba’s greatest hits, which I’d had ever since I first knew Simon. Trish grumbled, “Is this, Mamma Mia?”
Just then it came on, ‘Mamma Mia, here I go again...’ Trish put her hands over her ears and squealed loudly. “What’s your problem?” I said, pulling her hand off one ear.
She began giggling and then so did the others. It was several minutes before I could get any sense out of any of them. Eventually I did–apparently, whatever music I had on or the news on the radio, Trish was going to pretend she hated it.
“You little maggot.” I declared which set them all off again. I switched off the CD player, “Hmm, I know how to get my own back.”
“Betcha don’t,” dared the ringleader of the mutiny.
“Be careful, people have been known to throw themselves under buses rather than listen to my ethereal siren.”
“Wassat then?” asked Trish–when she gets a bigger vocabulary I’m in big trouble.
“My rendition of a popular dirge.”
“Mummy, please talk English, like wot the rest of us does.”
“Very funny.” Actually it was, coming from a six-year-old going on twenty-four.
“You gonna sing?” asked Livvie.
“It had traversed my frontal lobes.”
“Eh?” commented Billie.
“It went through ’er ’ead,” said Trish. How did she know that?
“Mummy sings nice,” Mima proved she was still awake, but then I hadn’t yet started my lullaby, and Brahms it won’t be.
I started up the car and pulled out on to the main road, then clicked the child locks, they’d have to bale out the windows to escape.
“Wotcha gonna sing, Mummy?” asked Billie.
“Something from a musical.”
“Not, Mamma Mia, pulllease,” pleaded Trish.
“Okay, here we go–” I coughed to clear my throat– “I was born under a wand’rin’ star…”
There were squeals from the back and they were covering their ears but I continued, I’ll show the little buggers not to try and put one over on me, and I continued my deliberate off key dirge. Well I enjoyed it.
I stopped when Trish, who was sitting in the front seat, pressed the CD player back on and we all settled to sing-along with Abba while we drove home.
(aka Bike) Part 1153 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Gareth duly collected Stella and I wished them both a pleasant evening. I really hoped they liked each other because they are essentially nice people, who perhaps deserve a bit of a break. They had both been unlucky in love, Stella with Des being killed and Gareth with his girlfriend being lost on a round the world yacht race. It was an all girl crew and they disappeared somewhere in the South Atlantic. They were all presumed drowned. I’d only found this out from someone who knew him from before his days in Hampshire, when he was a post graduate student at Cardiff doing his PhD, which was when he lost his girl, Fiona Somerfield. I did a search on the net and found a small mention of her. It was back in 2005.
Puddin’ was babysat mainly by Julie, who would use the exercise to blackmail Stella at a later opportunity, usually for money–I let it happen because I saw it as teaching Julie the basics of baby care. Livvie came to help me sort out wee yin, and changed her nappy under my direction. Trish was busy playing Danny on some video game while Simon watched in amazement–they’d both beaten him easily.
Billie looked as if she was sickening for something and went to bed early. I’d have to keep an eye on her. Tom was in his study and I went for a wee chat with him. I asked him if he thought I should do more practical work next year–the dormice would be going into hibernation now, so any found in the nest boxes under about 20g would be considered underweight and brought into the university. We had a session booked for next Saturday when all the nest boxes would be checked during the morning. I was involved in that and Trish and Livvie were coming with me along with a dozen other volunteers from the department.
When Phoebe heard about it she sent me a text asking if she could come too. I warned her that it was hard work, especially if it was wet, and she said she’d be fine, but could she stay for the weekend? I called her mother and agreed if she did come she would catch a bus or train or be sent straight back home–so no more hitching.
We considered that by next May, when the season really got going again, the baby would be six or seven months older and although still feeding from me, would be having solids too and thus able to be left for longer periods.
Tom suggested I should concentrate on the management of the survey and collating the data. After all, that was what my thesis would be about and the advantage of that would be finding new sites and having others check them for me to act as controls against my original sites.
This meant getting someone to survey some suitable sites and to use the Mammal Society’s recommended method. The initial survey would be for signs of dormice–mainly eaten shells of hazel and acorn with possible sightings of nests in suitable undergrowth.
How do you pick a suitable woodland? Well it needs to be able to feed them, so trees and shrubs like oak, Hazel, sycamore. They use honeysuckle bark for making nests with grasses, so that’s quite important if not essential. Once nuts eaten by dormice have been identified, then during the season, one puts up loads of tubes or long boxes–these are corrugated plastic tubes with a wooden insert which blocks the tube at one end, and which has a bit of beading across its base halfway down the tube. The idea is if the tubes are hung from branches facing the trunk of the tree, dormice will nest in them. If you find nests then the next stage is to put up nest boxes.
The tubes, which are actually rectangular things and flat packed when you buy them, need to be checked every week and because they don’t take long to put up, and are relatively cheap, tend to be used in their dozens–the problem being that checking them can be a pain unless you’re doing it as paid project, or have some poor deluded undergrad student who thinks he’s saving the planet to do it for you. Mapping the site is essential, especially when you put up permanent nest boxes and have different people checking them. In secure woodlands, we tend to put up fluorescent ribbons near the nest box so you can find them–they are very easy to miss otherwise. The other thing is to use GPS, which theoretically means you should find them all. However, as they say, theory and practice are only the same in theory, in practice they tend to differ.
The next stage once you have some data from a population is to chip them with the same sort of chips they use in dogs and cats–I know, dormouse and chips, yeah very funny–and then you can begin really collecting data because you know which mouse is which for certain. This means you can monitor weights, distribution and movement, and broods from females. Perhaps buccal scrapes, from the inside of cheeks, or even the needles used to implant the chips will give DNA and even more data can be collected, including possible family trees. So the prospects are very exciting–if the research grants are forthcoming. We have four proposals out at the moment, though with the cut backs the government are discussing, we could lose all of them. Henry might be good for one of them, but we’re talking quite large sums if we go to DNA testing because we’d need a bigger university to do that for us and that’s expensive. I have links with Sussex, so they’d do it for us if we could afford it, unless pissing off Esmond Herbert when I rejected the UN job counts against me.
“Ye should hae tak thae UN job,” Tom opined, he was consistent if nothing else.
“I think I told you I didn’t want it from the start.”
“Ye could hae done lots o’ guid wi’it.”
“I like to think I’m doing some good now, mainly to a group of children who were in need of a mother.”
“Och, dinnae be sae moralistic, ye could hae done that tae.” However, the sparkle in his eyes meant he was winding me up. So I didn’t take the bait. “Esmond thinks ye’re guid enough tae replace him in a few years.”
“I’m not sure I’d agree.”
“C’maff it, hen, ye’re his best student sae far.”
“Since when?” It was the first I’d heard of it.
“Hoo mony got firsts when ye were there?”
“I have no idea–I had my results sent to me.”
“Ye’re thae ony yin in thae last ten years. Why d’ye think I wis sae glad tae hae ye?”
“Because I reminded you of your daughter.”
“Och, that’s below thae belt, sae it is.”
“I’d better go and feed the wee yin, and see what’s happening with Puddin’, she’s looking after Julie for me.”
“Och, ye’re mad as a ha’er.”
“Yep, it’s sniffing all these dormice.”
(aka Bike) Part 1154 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
When I saw Stella at breakfast, it appeared the date had gone well. I took the girls to school and rushed back for all the gory details.
“So, spill the beans, Cameron,” I urged sitting with Jenny and Stella at the kitchen table with fresh cups of tea before us and more in the pot.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she feigned.
“You and Dr Gorgeous Sage, and get a move on! I have things to do.”
“Jealous are we, Cathy?”
“No, I’m content with my lot, and I’d like to see you similarly endowed.”
“Oh, trying to get rid of me, now are you?” she protested.
“Absolutely–now cut to the chase.”
“Chase? There was no chase, he behaved impeccably, we had dinner in an Italian restaurant and then went for a walk down by Gun Wharf Quay.”
“Awww, how romantic,” Jenny considered.
“What did you have to eat?”
“Tagliatelli, why?”
“With what, it’s boring by itself.”
“Oh I had bolognaise sauce, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well I was nicely distracted by my escort.”
“You go to an Italian restaurant and eat the equivalent of spag bol and blame it on the company?” I was astonished. Okay, so he’s beautiful, but for goodness sake, he’s not worth passing up a decent Italian meal, not when he’s going to be there afterwards, anyway.
“Not all of us are so dedicated to our bellies, Cathy.”
“Stella, life is about experiencing new things, even you should have been able to cope with two at once.”
“I did, I had some ice cream afterwards.”
I felt like banging my head on the table. “Well you were a cheap date.”
“Cheap date? We went Dutch.”
“A very cheap date.”
“Is he as nice as he looks?” asked Jenny.
“A perfect gentleman, but then Cathy knows this already,” Stella replied pointedly.
“I won’t disagree, he’s a very nice chap and I like to work with him on conservation issues because he’s so nice–he’s also quite bright, which makes a change.”
“What from Simon? Wait till I tell him,” gloated my sister in law.
“Actually I was meaning some of the people I’ve worked with over the years.” I said this probably more defensively than I needed to and felt myself blushing.
“Is he a good kisser?” asked Jenny relieving my embarrassment.
“How would I know?” Stella blushed.
“You’re not usually so slow off the mark,” I observed, twisting the knife a little.
“Oh and you’re such a fast mover are you? Simon waited weeks to get a kiss from you, other than a peck on the cheek.”
I didn’t want her to get into too much detail about my love life. In the early days as things were a bit different then. “I kept you abreast of the details without the use of thumbscrews.”
“True, only because you wanted advice–I was her courting coach,” Stella informed Jenny, who found it all rather funny.
“Coach? The only thing you taught me was how to use someone else’s credit card.”
“I was her retail adviser, too,” Stella beamed.
“I’m quite happy to admit that I was a relatively poor post grad student eking out a life in a student bedsit and that Simon was very generous to me–however, I found it more of an obstacle than a help.”
“Only because you’re so bloody independent. Jenny, can you believe she had this man who was crazy about her who was super-rich and she continued living in the bedsit instead of moving in with him? She only accepted the car he loaned her because her father had a stroke and she needed to go back and fore to Bristol to see him.”
“Wow,” said Jenny, “Did you know he was that wealthy?”
“Not at first, he told me he worked in a bank–how was I to know he practically owned it?”
“Cor, so you didn’t know the Camerons by reputation?”
“I didn’t know anything about them at all, and would possibly still be in ignorance if this one hadn’t literally bumped into me.”
“She bumped into you?”
“Um yes,” blushed Stella.
“She hit me off my bike.”
“Like, how did she do that?”
“She didn’t have any lights on her bike.”
“It was three o’clock in the afternoon, in July.”
“There was a terrific thunderstorm, I could barely make out the road, let alone that silly cow on a bloody bicycle with no lights–it was as dark as night.”
“One of the first things Simon told me was Stella gave women drivers a bad name.”
“He’s just a male chauvinist!” Stella said defensively.
“There’s lots I don’t agree that Simon says, but he was spot on then.”
“I’ve travelled with Stella and she seemed quite a good driver.” As Jenny voiced this opinion, Stella beamed at me.
“Make sure your life insurance is paid up if you do.”
“That’s a gross overstatement of risk,” Stella huffed.
“Fine, but I’ll stand by it.” I drew my line in the sand.
“Okay, you’re entitled to your opinion, even if it’s wrong,” Stella pronounced imperiously and Jenny snorted tea everywhere. “Just remember, if I hadn’t bumped you off your bike, you’d still be living in a bedsit and Simon would possibly be with someone else, not to mention all these waifs and strays you’ve acquired.”
“I’m not disputing all that, Stella. In fact, I wouldn’t have known you either, and that’s been one of the most important experiences in my life. You’ve taught me so much, like a big sister.”
“Do you mean that, or are you softening me up for the coup de grâce?”
“Stella, I mean it, you’ve been like a big sister to me ever since we met.”
“Awww, that is so sweet, Cathy, it would bring a tear to a glass eye.”
Jenny snorted another cup of tea everywhere and Stella winked at me. After she’d cleaned up, Jenny asked, “Have you no brothers or sisters, Cathy?”
“No, apart from a very strange Aunt and Uncle, I have no close family at all, hence my delight at having Stella as a sister, albeit with homicidal tendencies in cars.”
“That’s a downright lie–I demand a recount: especially on who has got through the more cars in those three or four years, c’mon, let’s count them.”
The bitch–I needed to qualify this statement. “How many have I caused to be damaged? None.”
“Ha, you had a Mercedes totalled on the motorway because of where you left it.”
“Stella, that wasn’t my fault, the road was blocked by a multiple accident.”
“Is that where you saved the baby?” asked Jenny.
“How d’you know about that?”
“I did a search for you on the internet and saw you’d had quite a chequered career, most of it saving lives or places. You were a regular boy scout.”
“I’ve been a lot of things, but not a boy scout.”
“I saw the BBC interview about changing over.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t think I tried to mislead you?” I was hot and bothered to the degree that I was astonished I couldn’t actually smell burning.
“No, you’re under no obligation to divulge such secrets–I’d never have guessed, and I suspect you made the right choice. I don’t see how you could ever have been a boy, let alone a scout.”
I blushed and felt the sweat running down my back.
“She was on the verge of transitioning sometime in the next hundred years,” joked Stella, “I pushed her into it, and apart from Puddin’, is my most important achievement, making two unhappy souls contented through each other.”
“When did Simon learn about your little secret?”
“Quite some time later, I wanted to tell him, she wouldn’t let me,” I pointed at Stella.
“He seemed oblivious of it, so why complicate the issue?”
“Complicate? Stella it was already complicated. Technically, he’d fallen in love with someone whose birth registration said, male.
“Oh yes, seeing as you were born in Scotland, you could have changed your birth certificate ages ago.” Stella smiled.
“What d’you mean?”
“Scottish law was different to English, you could have changed it earlier.”
“Now you tell me,” I gasped.
“Well, better late than never–what’s for lunch, I’m starving.”
(aka Bike) Part 1155 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Lunch proved to be something quick–Welsh rarebit. After clearing up, I managed to get some survey work done and to remind all my volunteers about the upcoming dormouse survey, the last of the year. I sent out emails making sure we had a licence holder at every site we were doing, then it was time to collect the girls.
The week seemed to fly past. Gareth came to collect Stella once more and she went over to his place once as their relationship began to develop. It felt really good to see her dressing up and wearing makeup again. There was a spring in her step and she had something about her which even Tom noticed.
“You look nice, Aunty Stella,” commented Livvie.
“Why thank you, Livvie, you look pretty good yourself.” Livvie walked about the place with a smile almost as big as Stella’s. She’d paid all of the girls to babysit Puddin’ who was no trouble except when she was teething and then guess who got to look after her?
So for a week I lived with Lady Stella, becoming prettier and more confident by the day. “You know you saved Gareth’s job, don’t you?” she said to me on the Friday.
“What d’you mean?” I asked making up a bed for Phoebe who’d be here tonight.
“They’re making redundancies in Defra and Natural England.”
“Yeah, so what did I do?”
“He’s prosecuting the timber thieves, which you effectively caught and your help with getting the bank to pay for the fencing, apparently makes him seem to be involved with the business community, which they’re trying to encourage.”
“Oh good–I’m glad I’m doing something right. Pass the duvet cover please, yes the grey one.” I finished making up the bed while we talked. “Nice nail colour,” I said noticing she’d painted her nails.
“Gosh, Cathy, Gareth has given me a reason to live again and it’s really through you, thank you for letting me have him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“C’mon, I know you fancied him and he rather fancies you, too...” As Stella droned on I had visions of a rerun of the Des situation. I still hadn’t told her that he’d left me his property and that I’d set up a trust fund for her daughter which all profits from the house went into, after repairs and refurbishments.
“I had nothing to do with it, Stella, other than working with him in his official capacity. That he asked you out, is nothing to do with me–I’m married to your brother–remember? And happily married, as well.”
“Methinks the lady protests too much,” was her reply.
“C’mon, Hamlet, help me carry this washing downstairs.”
The rest of the day was either talking to people about the survey the next day or getting the place ready for Phoebe, which Julie was looking forward to, although I told them they could only go to the cinema if they went out and no alcohol. She told me they were going to see some film about lesbians with Julianne Moore in it. Great, oh well maybe it will help her decide what she is–although I’m sure I saw something in the Guardian about both her and Annette Benning claiming they were straight. For goodness sake, they’re actors, aren’t they supposed to play anyone they need to, or is it especially challenging to do so to play someone who’s different to you? The world is crazy, too busy with its head up its arse concerned about its sexuality and what others will think rather than getting on with doing something called living.
I’d bought a turkey which I’d roast for tonight and do something with the rest of the meat tomorrow and Sunday. Tomorrow we could have turkey and chips–for those trying to wean themselves off meat–it would be the hell of cold turkey.
I had the bird in the oven from three o’clock and the vegetables started before I went to collect the girls. Sister Maria told me they’d sold most of the tickets for my talk on November 26th. I’d nearly forgotten all about it.
I left Stella in charge of supervising the rest of the veg while Trish and I went off to collect Phoebe, who was waiting for us at the bus station, with a used ticket. She gave us each a bone shaking hug and we got into the car.
“Lady Cameron, there’s something I’d like to ask you in confidence.”
I waited to start the car, “Okay, I’m not sure I can answer it, but I’ll try.” I assumed she’d spoken to Neal about my past–oh well, at least Trish knew about it and besides she was sitting in the back seat singing along with Kylie Minogue on her MP3 player and every so often very strange noises emanated from the back seat.
Phoebe blushed, “It’s a bit embarrassing,” she said very coyly.
“Please don’t feel embarrassed with me.”
“Okay, is Julie a boy?”
I blushed showing my embarrassment. “What makes you say that?”
“She’s got some dangly bits.”
“She showed them to you?”
“No, I saw them while she was sleeping, the bed cover slipped down and they showed through her nightdress.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” I asked.
“Um, it’s a bit personal, isn’t it?”
“I think it might be a bit personal for me to answer, too.”
“So that means she is, then?”
“Does it?”
“Yes, ‘cos if she wasn’t, you’d have said so.”
“Would I?”
“Yeah–wouldn’t you?”
“Would I?”
“I spoke to Neal and told him about you breast feeding, he said if you took the right hormones anyone could do it.”
“Ah, so now you think I’m a boy again? Are you sure you want to stay with us if we’re all weirdos?”
“Oh yeah, it’s like great fun, an’ I don’t think you’re weird, I like you.”
“So what about Julie, are you still happy to share a room with her?”
“Yeah, no probs–I don’t suppose she could get it up anyway–though part of me would like to see her try.”
“I’m not sure I can let you share a room with her, you’ll have to sleep in the dining room on the couch.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t allow underage kids to experiment with sex in my house.”
“What? I thought you were cool about all sorts of things being different yourself.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong there. I have very conventional views on what minors are allowed to do. By all means try it when you’re eighteen and somewhere else, but please don’t embarrass me or abuse my hospitality.”
She burst into tears, “I wasn’t gonna do nothin’, honest–can’t I stay with Julie?”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it now and I’d require an undertaking from both of you that nothing would happen. I’m a bit disappointed Phoebe.”
“Aw poo, I thought you were so cool an’ things.”
“I’m a parent, Phoebe, I’m also old enough to see beyond the barriers you have because that’s what I’m required to do, to see the consequences of certain actions, it’s the difference between being an adult and a teen. I’m sorry if it sounds boring, but that’s the way it is. Now if you want to stay, you can, but on my terms, or you can catch the bus back and I’ll call your mum to explain why.”
“What? You’d tell my mum you were a bunch of weirdos?”
“If it protected you and Julie, yes.”
“Wow, no shit.”
“Absolutely none at all.”
(aka Bike) Part 1156 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Phoebe sat quietly all the way home. In fact apart, from the noise of the car and Trish occasionally sounding like a ferret that had got its gonads caught in a gin trap as she sang along with Kylie; there was no noise. I wondered if the weekend was now going to be a negative experience for Phoebe, and part of me felt it would serve her right and part felt that I’d like Julie to have more friends.
I don’t have many, never have had. I wasn’t popular in school except as a target for bullies–until I did Lady Macbeth–then all the gay boys and one or two straight ones wanted me to go out with them–as a girl. In those days I didn’t have any feelings about anything, I assumed I was asexual, as many transsexuals are supposed to be. Then Simon happened and that car mechanic bloke, Kevin who kissed me and caused a little discharge in my knickers. I suspect he would still, which is why I haven’t joined his cycling club–that doesn’t mean I don’t love Simon, because I do more than ever. It simply means that I can window shop, like with Gareth–he’s lovely and if I wasn’t spoken for, I’d be fighting Stella for him–metaphorically of course.
We arrived at the house and after allowing Phoebe to put her bag in Julie’s room, I went to check on the turkey. It was pretty well done, so were the roasties and the carrots and cabbage were nearly so.
Tom was the first back–“Not turkey, ’tisnae Christmas is it?” His eyes sparkled and I managed to put the kitchen knife back into the block rather than between his shoulder blades.
Minutes later the Jaguar indicated the arrival of Simon and the lawn mower noise meant Julie was home. They came in together Simon with his arm around his foster daughter’s shoulder.
“Hi, Pheebs,” said Julie and the two teens embraced.
Julie rushed upstairs to change and I asked Phoebe to lay the table. She had no idea what to do and when I looked for Trish, she was missing. Livvie showed her what to do, and eventually we got the table laid–in the dining room.
“Don’t you ever like do that at home?” asked Livvie.
“What? We don’t like eat at the table, you can’t see the telly can you?”
“I don’t know, we don’t have the telly on during dinner, and besides, it’s in the lounge and we eat in the kitchen or dining room.” Livvie seemed disgusted by Phoebe’s home. She told me after the older girls had gone to the cinema.
Trish had gone to tell Julie that Phoebe had seen her dangly bits. I was about to dish up the dinner when Trish came to say that Julie needed me urgently. I ran up the stairs thinking she’d hurt herself only to find she was sitting on the bed looking anything but pleased with life.
“Phoebe knows about me, then.”
“So she said, I didn’t tell her.”
“No, Trish told me she like saw my dangly bits through my nightie.”
“I told you to wear knickers as well.”
“Yeah, but they’re so hot.”
“So are the fires of hell, allegedly, which is where you seem to be at the moment.”
“Yeah. Is she gonna stay?”
“As far as I know, but I have qualms about where she’s sleeping.”
“I won’t touch her.”
“I know that, but I can’t be sure she won’t touch you.”
“That’d be a waste of time–it don’t get hard anymore. She must have good eyesight, it’s got so small since I’ve been on the pills.”
“Is that a regret?”
“No way, I’d have felt happier if it had dropped off altogether.”
“Would have made life difficult for a surgeon who wanted to do a conversion for you.”
“Yeah, I s’pose so.”
“Mind you, you could always ask Trish, she has some experience in removing gonads.”
“I think I’ll wait, especially if Daddy’s gonna like pay for it.”
“That’s what he said, maybe he’s hoping to get a bulk purchase order with you, Trish and Billie?”
“He’s not, is he?”
I hoped the question was a rhetorical joke, but I had my doubts.
“Dinner’s cooked, c’mon let’s go and eat.”
The atmosphere over dinner was a little strained, with Julie seeming a little withdrawn from her ebullient entrance. Phoebe was flirting with Simon and Tom, and I realised how poor I was at it in comparison with her.
The meal itself was fine, and I did have some cranberry sauce, as well as sausage-meat stuffing, although I wasn’t trying to do an early rehearsal for Christmas. Tom tucked in despite his previous comments, while Stella played with her food while her mind was miles away, probably taking Gareth’s clothes off him.
Trish and Livvie squabbled about homework–they both had different ideas about which subject they should be doing. I was tempted to make them do both. Danny was telling Billie about his latest football match, and I sat and watched the interactions between the various diners.
Towards the end of the meal, tiny wee decided she wanted her breast meat and it wasn’t from a turkey. I went off to feed her in the kitchen and get some peace and quiet.
A little later Gareth turned up for Stella and they gave the older girls a ride to the cinema, from where Simon or I would collect them. Tom did his grandfather thing with the others, playing Monopoly with them. Even Danny took part, although we all knew who was going to win before it started.
I spoke with Simon about my concerns regarding Phoebe. “Yeah, but there’s little chance of them doing anything is there–not after all this time on the pills?”
“I have no idea–if they did, I suspect Julie’s sperm would be infertile, if she could actually produce any.”
“Could you?”
“No–but that was because I didn’t know how.”
“What, you didn’t pull Percy?”
“No–I had no inclination to touch it except to wee or wash.”
“Cor, Cathy you must be the only person in history who didn’t.”
“Quite honestly, it never attracted me.”
“Not even when it went stiff in the mornings?”
“It didn’t do that.”
“Not after the pills, no.”
“No, before the pills.”
“Are you trying to tell me it didn’t get hard, ever?”
“Yes.”
“Did you damage it?”
“Not that I’m aware of, except my father did kick me once there, but that was much later, and I was about to start the pills then anyway.”
“There must have been something wrong with you.”
“Probably. As things have worked out, I’m not complaining as I didn’t really have a male puberty, so I had a female one instead.”
“I’m not complaining either,” he observed.
“What do we do about where Phoebe sleeps?”
“Up to you, babes, I’ll support whatever you decide.”
“If I ask them to promise to behave, d’you think they will?”
“Probably, you scare me enough, so you probably terrify them.”
“Thank you very much,” I sighed, “I shall just tell them if they do anything they shouldn’t, Phoebe will be sent home and not invited again. How does that sound?”
“Terrific–let’s do that then–how about a little cuddle while Trish is breaking the bank?”
(aka Bike) Part 1157 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon and I were just getting comfortable for a five minute cwtch when the phone rang.
I picked it up off the bedside table, “Hello,” I almost chortled down the phone because of what Simon was doing to me at that moment.
“Mummy, can you come and get us?”
“Is the film over then?”
“It is for us–they threw us out of the cinema.”
“Why? What did you do–no don’t tell me over the phone, I’ll wait till I get there.”
“What’s all that about?” asked Si as I put the phone down.
“It seems the two girls got kicked out of the cinema.”
“Eh, what were they doing–throwing ice creams at the screen?”
“I have no idea but I shall find out when I collect them.”
“When’s that?” he asked blowing on the back of my neck.
“Now, “ I got up off the bed and began to straighten the few items of clothing I still wore, before redressing.
“Make ‘em wait for half an hour, it’ll do ‘em good.”
“After what happened last time, I don’t think so.” I finished dressing and grabbed my bag and car keys. “You could always come with me.”
What–um–yeah, okay.” He rolled off the bed and pulled on his trousers and the top he’d been wearing, slipped on his trainers and followed me out, grabbing his jacket as I pulled on my coat.
We chatted in the car until I spotted the girls and they came running over to the car. They were surprised to see me driving my own car and for Simon to be in the passenger seat. Usually he drove, mind you, I think Julie was surprised to see him there at all.
I pulled the car up the road until I found a spot where I could park and they could tell me what happened.
“We got into the film–there were loads of women in pairs there,” started Julie.
“Given the content, is that surprising?” I said quietly.
“Nah, s’pose not, anyway the film began and we had this group o’boys behind us an’ they kept kicking the backs of our seats.”
“So why didn’t you move seats?”
“The place was pretty full and we were there first, so they shoulda moved–I mean they shouldn’t be kicking our seats anyway.”
“So what did you say?”
“I asked ‘em politely to stop.”
“How politely?”
“She said, ‘Hey dickhead, lay off the kicking my seat’,” laughed Phoebe.
“I didn’t,” denied Julie, “I called him dickbreath.”
Simon snorted and I felt like banging my head against a wall somewhere private. “What happened next?”
“He told me and my lesbo girlfriend to do something very vulgar and get lost afterwards.”
“And, what did you do or say?” I asked as patiently as I could.
“It was her idea,” Julie blamed Phoebe.
“Um–well it seemed like a good one at the time,” said Phoebe shrinking down in her seat.
“What did you do?”
“We, um snogged in front of them.”
I had to admit I wasn’t expecting that, but I tried to keep a straight face while I could hear Simon trying not to laugh or gasp, unless of course he’d had a heart attack and was in death throes–it was hard to tell.
“Yeah, they made all sorts of obscene suggestions then, so I sprayed ‘em.”
“You sprayed them, Phoebe?”
“Yeah, sorrrreeee, I shook my bottle of Pepsi and held my thumb over the end an’ sprayed ‘em. Boy were they pissed.”
I wasn’t entirely surprised.
“One o’ them grabbed me, an’ Julie like decked ‘im with a straight shot to the side of ‘is ‘ead.”
“Yeah, me ‘and still ‘urts.”
“An’ that’s when they like chucked us out.”
At this point Simon lost it completely and I couldn’t decide if he was laughing or crying–it transpired he was doing both–I always know I can count on his support, except he couldn’t speak for laughing for ten minutes–and then his suggestion wasn’t what I’d have offered.
“Oh I needed a good laugh,” he said wiping his eyes, “C’mon let’s pop in the pub on the way home.”
I was so astonished I made no murmur of protest, I mean children I was responsible for had perpetrated lewd behaviour in a public place and then started fisticuffs–we should be punishing them, not celebrating, even if it was amusing.
Simon told me to pull into the Green Knight, and we went and found a table in the corner while he went off to get drinks–cokes for the girls and a St Clements for me.
“Why did you have to hit him?” I asked Julie who had some bruised knuckles.
“’Cos he wouldn’t let ‘er go, when I asked him nicely.”
“Did other people see you?”
“Oh yeah, all the women roared when we like, kissed.”
I’ll bet they did–why me? Why do I seem to find myself in this world which is spinning round quite happily and some idiot, often one of my family, does something stupid which disrupts everything? Okay, what they did was cheeky rather than funny–only a man would find it funny or sexy. I thought it was embarrassing. What would I have done? Moved seats–too many witnesses unless the police are called and then one could complain about kicking the seats. Why were teenage boys there anyway, apart from to watch the girls or women, especially in pairs who went to watch it–although listening to the critique of it on Radio 4’s Front Row it is a chick flick, but one which is handled very sensitively in dealing with same sex marriages and sperm donors in the US. They also had an interview on theToday programme with Julianne Moore, after which the interviewer declared himself to be star struck by the lovely Hollywood actress.
“Here,” Simon passed me the tray of drinks from which he removed his pint of Randy Stoat or whatever the real ale was called. I took a good sip of mine when he said, “I got a double vodka put in that,” which caused me to irrigate the table and cough like mad, much to the amusement of the girls. “I owed you that,” he said and went off to the gents.
Julie handed me a paper napkin thing which had been on the tray and I mopped up the mess I’d made. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d nearly caused him to choke to death, but I thought it was a pretty mean trick, and if he fancied going back to what we were doing before we came out, he had another think coming. Nah, I thought I’d have a lesbian experience instead, getting a girl to suck on my boobs and so on–only, I think when she’s only about three months old, they call it motherhood.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9134000/9134446.stm
(aka Bike) Part 1158 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
After making a spectacle of myself in the pub, snorting orange juice and lemonade everywhere, I wasn’t best pleased when Simon bought himself and the girls another drink. I sat there glowering at mine to which he’d said he’d added a double vodka. Of course he hadn’t, it was a wind up which he admitted when he came back from the bar.
I frowned at him for the rest of our stay, which they say is not a good thing to do as it uses more muscles than smiling and encourages wrinkles. The way this lot were going, I’d be a grey haired old lady by thirty.
Of course the girls were happy to have another coke, and to flirt with the young men in the pub, then hide behind the robust figure of Simon, who is over six feet tall and broad with it–brick sh**house comes to mind–and as an ex-rugby player, he’s quite useful in physical matters. I always feel safer when he’s with me. I suspect the two teens felt the same, because once or twice I had to caution them not to lead the men on or Simon and I would go on by ourselves.
We left the pub about ten o’clock and I hoped the baby would be good tonight because I seemed to be developing a headache, which is something I don’t usually get. By the time we got home, my head was pounding and I excused myself, took some aspirin and went to bed.
I felt rather than saw Simon coming to bed, and of course had to drag myself out at five to feed the vampire infant. Thankfully my headache had passed by then although I didn’t feel brilliant and I had a dormouse survey to coordinate–wonderful.
The little bugger kept falling asleep as she fed, and I had to wake her half a dozen times during her feed. I gave her a bit of Farex rice mixed with cow’s milk and she swallowed it down. Then after changing her and bathing her, it was pretty well time to get up anyway.
I had a relaxing bath, taking my tea and the baby with me, she sat in her bouncer seat, a recliner thing which has a mobile hoisted above it on a thing like a fishing rod, so as she bounces it dances about and she giggles and bounces some more.
I relaxed in the warm soothing water, to which I had added some smelly bath lotion stuff I’d got the Christmas before last, I also shaved my legs while I was in there. Simon staggered through half an hour later for a wee and muttered something.
I dried myself off and expressed some milk, which had collected quite quickly, mind you I had just had a drink, which helps. I dressed, took the milk downstairs to the fridge and then got the girls up. Julie was going to work, Phoebe, Trish and Livvie were coming with me ‘mousing’ and Danny would be playing football, which Simon would go to watch, taking Billie and Mima with him. Jenny would look after the baby and I expected to be home about lunch time if it all went well.
I did a quick breakfast and then went off to check my equipment. My scanner for the micro-chipped animals, my little balance for weighing them, a notepad and pencil for recording things, a torch, a penknife a bit of string and so on. Then a few thin plastic bags for weighing the mice and a couple of large see through ones for catching them from the nest box.
I decided I wasn’t going to chip any today, so those we caught which hadn’t been done would have to be recorded as such. I’d also got permission to remove any which were under weight, and for that we decided fifteen grams, and even that was pushing it–I’d have been happier with twenty. So I had some tape for sealing any boxes we took back with us plus their occupants.
I met up with the other mousers at the woodland and introduced my two girls. Another woman had brought her son, so we had three kids to watch out for as well as everything else–but at least the kids were all old enough to walk.
We had two licence holders in our group, which comprised four adults and three children counting Phoebe as an adult, and we had twenty five nest boxes to check–all of which I’d set up myself over the previous two or three years. The other groups would be checking similar numbers of boxes, which all told were about a hundred and twenty over five sites.
We split into two groups of two adults, thankfully the woman with her son went into the other lot. I set the protocol for the survey and Chris, the other licensee agreed we’d remove any underweights, he had a balance and microchip reader with him too.
The girls followed me and in our six nest boxes we had two nests but no occupants. We did a second line and had similar success. Chris had found two dormice and one woodmouse but the best was for last. In the last box we checked a weasel popped out–yeah, I know, pop goes the weasel, but when they do it makes you jump.
“What was that, Mummy?” asked Livvie.
“A weasel.”
“What was it doing in there?”
“It might have been resting or hunting.”
“Hunting, what does it hunt?”
“Anything small enough to kill or slow enough to catch.”
“Like dormice?”
“Sadly yes, they’ll kill any they find and eat them, but they also catch things like rabbits.”
“Rabbits, but they’re much bigger, Mummy.”
“Tell that to the weasel, they are ferocious predators and punch much above their weight, so do stoats, although they’re bigger than weasels, probably twice as big, and then there’s polecats too, although they tend to occur in the west of the country and they sometimes interbreed with ferrets. All of them are members of the badger family.”
My two were finally impressed by my wit and wisdom until I stepped into a rabbit hole and went rolling down the hill into a bramble patch. It shook me up, they screamed and the other adults had to help me extricate myself from the murderous thorns of the brambles. Fortunately, I was okay and once back to the cars, I had a quick coffee from my flask and felt well enough to continue, although I expected to find some bruises when I next sat in the bath.
At our second site, the same team did forty boxes, this time we did have some dormice, fortunately all above the desired weight–one male actually weighed in at nearly fifty grams and was too fat to escape the entrance hole, he just sat there like a little furry, black-eyed Buddha.
Trish and Livvie got to handle one each, and I showed them how to weigh the mice and check for a microchip with the scanner, which is like a banana with a LCD display up near the top, we call it the electronic banana. It’s brightly coloured for obvious reasons, as it’s put down in long grass and bushes, in poor light and needs to be found–they’re also not exactly cheap to buy, either.
It was half past one by the time we finished, Phoebe had stuck with the task throughout, and had been more of an asset than a hindrance, so I told her she was welcome to come again. She too had handled a dormouse–well, let’s face it if you let people do something, they remember the experience–and she was actually quite good at it. So when I told her she’d be welcome again, she told me she’d like that.
The ankle I’d twisted the other week was now playing up a little and I was glad to get back to the car and get home. once I took my boots off, it would swell like crazy, which I suppose serves me right for not looking where I was walking. At least I only rolled into a bramble patch, Alice fell through the rabbit hole into a parallel universe–mind you some days when I see what happens in this world, I do wonder if I might have done an Alice, because so little of what goes on makes sense to me.
(aka Bike) Part 1159 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Talking as a scientist, the first thing to do was to go back home or wherever and collate my data, and that of the other surveys. However, I had two young and one teenage starver with me. So we stopped at a cafe, washed our paws and ordered an all day breakfast each. Once I saw the bacon and eggs before me, I realised I was unlikely to ever become a vegetarian. Phoebe, despite being only as thick as a rasher of bacon, tucked into and demolished her lunch with gusto, plus a thick piece of apple pie and ice cream.
The two youngsters managed to eat their scaled down breakfasts, and a piece of the apple pie–I stopped at the first course and made do with a cuppa after mine. The drive home was a struggle, my ankle was really hurting and the boot felt very tight. At home I limped in and after soaking it in cold water, and then ice packs, I had Trish fussing round me and Simon tutting at my clumsiness.
Half an hour later, I got a chance to laugh at him–he walked into a cupboard door and gave himself a black eye. More ice packs and Trish’s healing touch.
“Have you ever thought your body might be asking you to sit down and rest a bit?” Jenny asked me as I sat with my foot elevated on a stool, feeding our growing vampire–who seemed intent on using my nipples as teething rings.
“I haven’t been doing so much lately–not since you came.”
“Lady Cameron, you’re hardly still for a moment unless you’re feeding the baby or doing something on the computer–and it surprises me you haven’t found a way of feeding her while on your blessed laptop.”
“Now that’s a great idea, if I sat sideways on to the kitchen table I could...”
“Oh no, you don’t. If you do that I’ll hand in my notice immediately. Babies need the full attention of their mothers when they’re feeding.”
“But if it saves time,” I protested.
“It doesn’t.”
“But of course it would.”
“Why don’t you do the ironing or vacuuming then as well?”
“The noise of the vacuum cleaner frightens her.”
“And the ironing?”
“I need two hands, if she could hang on by her teeth–ouch, don’t bite you little bugger–um, maybe not.”
“Okay, but you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, even a dormouse brain like me can understand your argument.”
“And do you agree?”
“I can see where you’re coming from.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“How about we call it a draw and you make some tea.” I deftly changed the subject and Jenny filled the kettle, giving me a very old fashioned look. Seems I can’t fool anyone these days.
“Why isn’t your ankle better, Mummy?” said a disconsolate Trish.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“I gave it some blue light.”
“I know, sweetie, it doesn’t hurt as much since you did.”
“Is it hurting then?” she squeezed it and a pain shot up my leg causing me to jump and the baby to pretend she was a stapling machine, clamping down on my poor boob. “Sorry,” said Trish, although the pain she caused was a great deal less than her baby sister who I’m sure had given me nipples like a sprinkler system. I was quite relieved to see she hadn’t quite bitten them off–it certainly felt like it.
“Yes, it’s still painful, sweetheart.”
“I’ll try again,” she roughly grabbed my ankle and I felt like asking her to just leave it in peace in case I jumped again and my nipples got amputated by the little carnivore sucking on them.
The heat she generated made me feel as if my foot was being burnt off and I felt myself sweating. Then it suddenly went cold and she let go of me, smacked her hands together as if she’d just finished a job and said, “That should do it, let me know if it doesn’t.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My ankle was black and blue when she started and suddenly it’s nearly normal colour again. Now I know such things are impossible but that was what I saw, and the swelling was going down very quickly.
“Quite an impressive trick. She doesn’t walk on water too, does she?” Jenny asked looking at my ankle.
“Only at bath time, she hates getting wet.” I replied and she laughed.
“How does she do it?”
“Search me,” I answered, hoping it would stop the questions.
“Has she always been able to do it?”
“No, it’s quite a recent development.”
“D’you think it’s related to her transgender thing–some sort of special quality she has to make up for or caused by her gender disturbance?”
“I have no idea.”
“But you can do it too, can’t you?”
“On what do you base that observation?”
“Because I could see what was going on. You were feeding her the power and she just channelled it back to you, didn’t she?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“No–okay, I’ll tell you what I saw, I saw this blue light moving from your hands into Trish, who in turn pushed it back into you. She isn’t big enough or strong enough to do it herself yet, is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please don’t treat me as a fool, Lady Cameron. I’ve heard rumours of a mysterious healer, a woman, not a child: who’s brought children back from the dead and adults from life threatening conditions–it’s you isn’t it?”
“They’re just rumours, tabloid stuff.”
“Why don’t you trust me?”
“I do trust you, d’you think I’d let you near my children otherwise?”
“You need me to help you care for them, so that’s just evading the issue.”
“If, and only if I said it might be me, what difference would it make to anything?”
She stopped and thought for a moment, “I don’t honestly know, but I wouldn’t tell anyone if that was your concern.”
I handed her the baby and did my bra back up and adjusted my clothing. I stood and my ankle felt almost back to normal. I was about to take the baby back to change her–preferably for one who didn’t bite, when Danny came dashing in.
“Mummy, come quickly, Phoebe’s done something awful to herself.”
“Watch her,” I said to Jenny who was left holding the baby quite literally, and rushed out of the door and up the garden.
Phoebe was lying very still on the grass and beside her was a football. “She went to kick the ball and she just keeled over, is she alright?” Danny explained.
“Get an ambulance,” I told him while I began an examination of the young woman. She didn’t appear to be breathing and I could find no pulse. I laid back her head gently to clear the airway and gave her two small breaths, then began chest compressions to Nellie the Elephant, which I hummed in my head.
Simon came rushing out accompanied by Jenny, “What happened?”
“She collapsed, according to Danny.”
“Ambulance?” he asked.
“I sent him to call one.”
“I’ll check.”
“Good,” I said feeling quite tired with my exercise in compressing the hapless girl’s thorax.
“Here, let me have a go, you blue light her.” Jenny knelt down, “It’s okay, I have a certificate to prove I can do it.” She took over and very competently. I moved over and laid my hands on Phoebe’s head, cradling it as I knelt above her.
“Phoebe, c’mon sweetheart, I need you to come back to me–home in on my voice and come back to us, come back now–follow the light I’m sending you, let it guide you back to your body–let it come–NOW,” I slapped her gently on the sides of her face and she gasped and opened her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked in a very shaky voice?
“We think you must have fainted, why?” I reassured her–it was totally untrue, her heart had stopped.
“I felt everything was black, like some awful dream and then I heard your voice and this wonderful beam of the most beautiful blue light led me back and I could hear you talking to me.”
“Yeah, well that’s what would happen when you faint, isn’t it Jenny?”
“Sure,” she said giving me a strange look.
The paramedics arrived and I explained what I thought had happened–sudden death syndrome.
“So how come she’s sitting up and talking?” the paramedic replied.
“I gave her a precordial thump and chest compressions.”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t have got her sitting up.”
“I guess I got lucky.” I said, “But please check out her heart, she wasn’t breathing and had no pulse.”
“Look, lady, I know you mean well, but I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years and I’ve never seen one yet who could sit up after a cardiac arrest.”
“Please check it.” I insisted and he did so finding something not quite right in the print out.
“What’s going on here?”
“Exactly,” I replied.
We ended up at the QA yet again, I’m thinking of reserving my own chair in the waiting room. After two hours of tests, it came back that she had a heart anomaly which would require further tests to confirm.
It was only when Ken Nicholls came into the waiting room that I knew I was in for trouble.
“You did it again, didn’t you?” he said to me quietly.
“Did what?”
“Stopped someone dying.”
“She’s fifteen years old for God’s sake, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but I need a hospital to do it, you did it in your back garden by all accounts.”
“Sudden death syndrome?”
“Looks like it, may never happen again, but they can do an operation to sort it–unless your magic can save the NHS the bother?”
“Like me to try?”
“Be my guest.”
We had to explain to Phoebe that Mr Nicholls wanted to try an experiment and I sat and talked to her, imagining my light working on the vagal nerve, which misbehaved and stopped her heart. Half an hour later, I deemed it was over, but recommended she had the tests back home, which Ken agreed upon–he would write and suggest that to her GP at the same time he winked at me when he said it. She was cured, I knew that but her mother wouldn’t until the tests were done.
I phoned her mother later who was all of a twitter, not surprisingly, and Simon took the girl home despite her protests that she was okay.
Later, when were washing up together, Jenny said, “You are the mystery healer, aren’t you?”
“It was your CPR which seemed to make her come round.”
“Lady Cameron, you know as well as I do that doesn’t happen. They usually die despite our best efforts or nothing happens until the paramedics or hospital.”
“We got lucky, or she did.”
“I saw you pull that girl’s soul back into her body, and the effort it took you to do it because she was dead.”
“Don’t ever tell anyone what you saw because I’ll deny it and so help me, I’ll get you struck off your nannies register.”
“I have no intention of saying anything to anyone.”
“Good.”
“Why can’t you trust me?”
“I’ve been betrayed before–I don’t take risks now, I get nasty.”
“Okay, d’you want me to leave?”
“Not at all, I want you to stay, you’re a very good nanny and a super person.”
“So why do you feel it necessary to threaten me?”
“You have access to the most precious thing in my life–my family. If the media were able to tie this down to me, the affect it would have on my children would be immeasurable. I will do whatever I have to do to protect them.”
“I believe you.”
“Good, now let’s have a cuppa and forget any of this ever happened.”
(aka Bike) Part 1160 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I’d been so involved with life, especially the dormouse survey and then Phoebe’s visit and collapse, that I hadn’t been paying much notice to the news. Then on the Monday morning as I was getting the girls ready for school, Danny was about somewhere, possibly trying to get Julie up for college, and the news on the radio mentioned something about a transsexual winning some Scrabble championship. Naturally my ears pricked up, and I had to shush squabbling schoolgirls whilst I listened to it. Trish also became suddenly alert as well on the longer report given about someone besporting a pink wig and PVC dress had won the national Scrabble contest, and who claimed they were transsexual.
Oh well, I’m sure they got some fun out of it from their choice of clothing and because it’s a one off thing, doesn’t do us much harm–by us I mean transgendered or more specifically transsexuals as a whole.
Perhaps it could be turned against us, as fetishistic clothing, and I couldn’t really argue that one, although lots of girls wear it too, to parties and so on. Can’t be very comfortable, like wearing a bin liner I should think.
On the other hand, just as we’re called names for that, we could argue back that in which case the defamers would have to accept we’re all a bit clever too, because not just any old Scrabble player can win national contests. I can play it, and have beaten Simon and Stella whenever we’ve played it, but I could no more play at that level than I could fly the next space shuttle–given the choice, I’d go for the shuttle every time.
Anyway, the tabloids could have their fun with someone who waved two fingers at them and still won the contest, so I didn’t take too much notice of it.
The rest of the day was spent doing chores and entering data as it came to me from the other survey groups–we had another four babies and mother to take into the university, so we’d feed her up and delay her hibernation by a few days to give her offspring a chance to survive, then they could all hibernate to their heart’s content.
At lunchtime, Stella was home, and we dined on some rice with cold chopped turkey and salad. “Did you see that thing on the internet?” she asked me.
“What’s that?”
“You know that lawyer character who got pushed under a train last week.”
“Lawyer? No, I have no idea what you’re on about.”
“You must, headlines of crossdresser pushed under train by woman, or man in women’s clothes pushed under train.”
“No, I didn’t see or hear it.” I was obviously busier than I thought last week.
“I dunno, Cathy, you’re sometimes on a different planet.”
“Sometimes I wish I was, one where people were a bit kinder to each other and less cruel and greedy than they are here.”
“Watch out Mother Theresa, St Catherine is here.” Stella enjoyed her little jokes.
“I am no saint, as you well know, far from it.”
“Dunno, you tend to act in such a responsible way, so God might like you for a sunbeam.” She laughed as I made a silly face at her.
“Anyway, what about this person who was run over by the train?” I asked.
“He or she was a top immigration lawyer who had done all sorts of good things, challenged the government several times and so on.”
“Well somebody needs to at times, what else?”
“They were seen being pushed under a tube train, by some woman. It was captured on CCTV as well.”
“That’s an unusual thing for a woman to do.” I wondered what the point of all this was going to be.
“Exactly, and it turns out the woman is a transsexual.”
“She doesn’t play Scrabble does she?”
“What? Scrabble? How would I know–but I guess she’ll have plenty of time to find out.”
I felt rather flat after being told all this–it would appear that the tabloids would have a field day with all this going on. I wish no one had mentioned any of it–why does the gender problem have to be highlighted in the headlines as I’m sure it was? I may not even be a factor in the case. I mean, I cut my toenails this morning and my being a woman had no effect whatsoever, well apart from having difficulty seeing beyond my boobs which were dripping milk.
“So I suppose you’re not going to want to be near me, Trish Julie or Billie if there are trains about?”
“Why?”
“Well, we might push you under one?”
“What for?”
“To kill you, why else?”
“Why would you want to kill me?”
“It’s what transsexuals do, apparently.”
“But women don’t, so why would you or any of you wish to do it?”
“None of us would, we’re more likely to jump under one than kill someone else.”
“Yeah, that’s what women do.” Stella declared crossing her arms across her chest.
Somehow the discussion had got away from me and I was becoming bored with it. Part of me wanted to say, but I’m not transsexual any more, I’m female, see my birth certificate if you don’t believe me. Then part of me knew I couldn’t deny my past anymore than I could pretend that with three children undergoing their own transitions, I couldn’t ignore the topic even if I felt it no longer directly applied to me.
I felt sick for the person whose life had been ended because someone else decided it had to; and for whom the last seconds must have been terrifying, not to mention the poor driver who was involved but not through his or her own making. It was a dreadful act, and in my humble opinion probably the work of someone who was just a tad crazy.
Thankfully the day got in the way of anymore discussions about Scrabble winning murderous gender benders, though I was about to leave to collect the girls from school when Simon rang.
“Hi Babes, get your glad rags on for seven–we have to go to a dinner.”
“Simon, it’s half past three, three hours isn’t sufficient notice for me to arrange babysitters.”
“I’ve done that, Jenny and Stella will do that, and I’ll pay for them to get in a takeaway of their choosing.”
“Where are we going to dinner?”
“A posh hotel.”
“Do I wear long or short?”
“How do I know?”
“Are you wearing a dinner suit?”
“Natch.”
“Okay, it’s long then.”
“Have you got one?”
“Yes I have.”
“Good, well dust it off and get yer arse in gear.”
“I’m going to collect the girls–next time I want a couple of days notice.”
“Blame my dad, he pulled out and we have to be present at this one.”
“I’ve got to go–the girls will be out of school.”
“Good girl.”
“Patronising twit,” I said to the disconnected phone.
I was a bit quiet driving home with the children and they noticed. “Are you okay, Mummy?” asked Livvie–Billie and Trish were arguing about something in the back.
“Yes, I was busy thinking. I have to go out tonight with Daddy, he’s going to pay for a takeaway, so I hope you’ll all behave for Jenny and Stella.”
“Can we have pizza?” called Billie.
“Nah, I’m fed up with pizza, let’s have a Chinese,” argued Trish.
“That’d be nice, a Chinese,” agreed Livvie.
“Yay,” shouted Trish, “Two against one, we win.”
“Remember Mima might not want a Chinese.” I reminded her.
“You wanna Chinese don’t ya, Meems?”
“I wike pizza, too.”
“Ha ha, that’s two each,” jibed Billie.
Somehow we got home without me strangling any of them, the pettiness was beginning to get to me and I was glad to escape to the bathroom, jump in the shower and wash away the cares of the day.
Stella came up and helped me put my hair up and I did my makeup a little more heavily than usual, using blusher and eyeliner and mascara and even a little eyebrow pencil. I splashed some perfume–Chanel No 5 about myself and then dressed in my long royal blue dress–one with a boned bodice and no other visible means of support. I’d only worn it once before and since then my breasts had grown somewhat, and it actually fitted me properly.
I put on my sapphire necklace and matching earrings and thought how well they matched the dress, the shot silk shimmering in the bedroom lights. I added a gold bangle and my gold plated watch. Just collect my bag and wrap and I was pretty well ready, it was half past six. I had time to kill, so I filed my nails and found some nail varnish–two coats later and I was ready.
Simon came dashing in, pecked me on the cheek and dashed into the shower. I got out his dinner suit, one of his dress shirts and a dicky-bow, his cummerbund and his cuff links.
“Wow, you look like a million dollars,” he said as I posed sexily for him, pouting and sticking out my one hip. Part of him suggested I was having the desired effect and I smiled as he struggled into his underpants and trousers with a little difficulty.
“What’s with this dinner, then?”
“Dad had to dash off to Canada for some important meeting, so I’ve had to stand in for him, and you for Monica.”
“Gee, how come we didn’t get to go to Canada?”
“Because he’s the boss and we’re not.”
“Oh, fair enough.”
We eventually got to the dinner–banquet would have been a better description, though I did manage to control how much I ate, so I was able to continue to breathe in the tight fitting dress, although I think I knew where every bone was.
The table we were on was full of other bank’s top brass, most of them Sir this or Lady that, however, Si was the only Lord and I was the only other aristocrat–albeit by marriage there too. So we were accorded some respect from the others. I was also the youngest there by quite a margin, but most of them were public school types with plums or silver spoons stuck in their snobbish gobs. If they did but know it, I was an oik but in deep cover.
After several bottles of wine had been emptied and tongues loosened, they got to discussing all sorts of things including news stories. The Scrabble thing they thought was hilarious. Lady Astrid Butterworth, thought it was a hoot, some trensvestite beating the top player by such a good word–she couldn’t remember what it was. Had we seen the piccies with the stubble and the pink wig?
“The word was obeisance,” I said curtly, I wasn’t amused. Not that they’d understand its meaning anyway.
“So it was, ladies and gents, we have someone who reads their Telegraph properly, or is it the Times?” she chuckled at me.
“Guardian, actually.”
“Eoh, I thought thet was read by teachers end social workers,” she tried to dismiss me.
“Yes, I’m a teacher.”
“Goodness, what d’ya teach?” she seemed genuinely curious.
“I’m a university teacher.”
“Oh, en intellectual, how interestin’.”
“Ev’ry gel needs a hobby, Estrid,” commented Lady Cynthia Brown-Smyth.
“Hobby?” gasped Simon, “She’s one of the world’s leading experts on Muscardinus avellanarius.”
“What’s thet when it’s et hame?”
“A dormouse, what did you think it was.”
“I hed no idea,” she blushed.
“I saw a naice programme on thase a few months ego,” said Astrid smiling, “Charles thought the presenter was quate dishy, didn’t you honeybunch?”
“Ebsolutely,” roared Charles across the table, “a tasty bit of tottie, eh what?”
“That was my wife,” said Simon angrily. “Tasty tottie, indeed.”
“Heng on old men, I meant it in the naicest sense, she’s a real beauty, just the job to liven up a nature programme, what?”
“Goodness, our very own TV star–do tell us about making a TV programme, better than discussing thase wretched trenssexual tapes who are busy throwin’ each other under train’s, don’t ya know?”
(aka Bike) Part 1161 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Do you have a problem with transgendered people?”
“Good lord, no, we have an electric fence rand the hice,” declared Lady whatever her name was Brown-Noser. Simon gave me his no bloodshed pleading look. I felt like a lioness who’s just wandered into a chicken coop–the birds were there for the taking, and in their drunken states, would be easy-peasy. Someone ordered more wine, it gets even easier.
“That’s truly funny,” I said to wossername.
“Oh is it?” she laughed.
“Yes, electric fences round houses are illegal.”
“Ooh ha ha,” she responded to my comment, “we’re illegal,” she laughed to her husband.
“Illegitimate?” he queried back, laughing like the facile, empty headed twat, he was.
“That too,” she roared. In fact the whole lot were falling about with laughter.
“Silly bastard,” called another which set off another round of laughter, tears were flowing copiously from laughter. I intended to perhaps make some others flow before I was finished.
Simon was tapping his watch, it was nine thirty, plenty of time to make my point and leave.
I stood up and faced the group. “So you think transsexuals are funny, do you?” My question was met with more laughter and hoots of derision except from Simon, who had his head in his hands and he was shaking it to mean no.
“What’s so funny about them?”
“Anyone who grows tits and has his willie cut off has to be funny,” screamed Sir Archibald Arsehole, or whatever his real name was.
“How d’you know, have you ever spoken to one?” I challenged.
“Why d’ya care about a load of freaks?”
“Because I’ve actually bothered to get to know one or two of them.”
“Why?” more raucous laughter.
“Because I try not to make prejudicial decisions, and certainly not without just cause.”
“Aren’t they just homosexuals who haven’t got the courage to face up to the truth?”
“Is that what you seriously think?”
“Yes, why?”
“Then you have an even smaller brain than my dormice.”
“I say, that’s uncalled for–I have a degree, you know?”
“If it’s in economics, it would explain why we’re in such a mess financially.”
“It is actually–hey, that’s a bit rough.”
“Rough, you ain’t seen anything yet. I tear out souls as a climax to my act.”
“Must keep our shoes on then, Charles,” called one wag, “protect our soles.”
“I have had students who were gender different.”
“Gender different?” he looked bemused, mind you I suspect it was a permanent state.
“Yes, they were of a different gender to the one commonly accorded to their biological state.”
“Is that why you were involved, being a biologist?” More laughs, but they were less, people were listening to me.
“No, I was involved because I’m a human being.”
“Oh, isn’t everyone?”
“There are many people on this planet who would be difficult to categorise as human because they don’t meet the criteria–of being intelligent, compassionate and aware of other creatures in sharing this planet.”
“Are your dormice aware of other creatures, then?”
“Of course they are, seeing as they are a prey species to weasels, snakes, rats, cats, owls, badgers, pigs and people.”
“What? They pray everyone else will leave them alone?” a few laughs supported the witticism, perhaps he wasn’t as drunk as I thought.
“No it means they have little defence against predators.”
“Is a hamster a prey species–‘cos the little b bit me, so he isn’t defenceless.”
I treated that remark with the contempt it deserved. “I was trying to explain what my experience of talking to transsexuals was.”
“Go on, then,” prompted another.
“You gonna make a documentary about them–endangered species and all that?”
“That’s only in tube stations, Astrid.”
I waited for the banter to die down, “Maybe I should make a documentary about it, but imagine this is a documentary and all my facts have been well researched.
“Most people with Gender Identity Disorder discover some problem with their ideas of gender and their identity, during childhood or adolescence–occasionally later. They grow up, except in a few instances where parents are sympathetic, trying to hide what they see as a weakness, because they’re brought up to believe that the qualities we generally attribute to women are a sign of weakness in men. Things like caring for others, enjoyment of children, talking about their feelings and listening to others doing the same.”
“What about shopping?” called someone from the far end of the table.
“Shopping isn’t sex linked anymore than masturbation is.”
“Do women masturbate then?” he asked astonished.
“Do you go shopping?”
“Occasionally, but...”
“You’ve answered your own question then.”
“Damn me, all this time I’ve believed her that the vibrator thingy was for her rheumatism. Astrid, do you mas...?”
“I think you be better leaving this discussion to when you get home.”
“No I won’t–if my wife is being unfaithful to me with a piece of plastic, I want to know now.”
“Well, what d’you expect–you couldn’t keep it up long enough to get it in let alone do anything with it.”
“I do not suffer from premature ejaculation.”
“No you don’t, it’s I who does,” she hit back, “An’ if it was any smaller, you could use it for eating winkles.”
I glanced at Simon who was still sitting with his head in his hands.”
“How dare you, you frigid old cow.”
“If I am frigid it’s only because you leave me cold, you unfeeling slob.”
“Ha, you can talk–if you had any consideration for me, you’d get rid of that plastic abomination.”
“If it could buy a round of drinks, I’d get rid of you instead,” she screeched back at him, the other users of the restaurant were now listening to the squabbles going on on our table.
“Astrid, eld gel, I think we need to get you hime.”
“Only if that impotent old fart stays somewhere else.”
“Charlie, you can stay et ire hise tonate.”
“You’re letting him stay with you?” Astrid began to accuse her friend. I walked over to Simon and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Take me home please.”
He looked at me before he registered what I said. “Satisfied?”
“No, but they are too drunk to make it worthwhile to do anything else.”
“C’mon then.” He handed me his car keys, “You better drive, I’ve had too much.”
“Me–drive the Jaguar? Okay–let’s go.” I almost dragged him through the door.”
Not only did I drive it, but in a silly frock with high heeled shoes on. We got stopped by the police but as my breathalyser test showed negative, he let us go.
“Crikey, that was a close call,” sighed Simon.
“Why, I’ve not had an alcoholic drink all night.”
“Oh, I know that, but I very nearly drove home tonight.”
We sat quietly for a while as I drove towards home, “What did you hope to achieve by exposing yourself?” he asked me.
“I don’t know, it just got my goat, that’s all.”
“Whatever you’d said would have been forgotten five minutes later and you could have been accused of being one yourself.”
“I was one, remember?”
“Yes, but why put our children and other family members at risk to prove a point?”
“Transsexuals aren’t weird–are they?”
“So it’s normal behaviour to push people under trains?”
“No of course not, but that was anomalous behaviour even by weirdo tranny standards.”
“Okay, it was unusual and sadly tragic, but why did you get involved? You only reinforced their prejudices.”
“If I did, I’m sorry–I wasn’t thinking beyond making my point and it could have reflected on you and the children. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, you know how I feel about all this, you have my unconditional support as a woman, and a very lovely one.”
“If this means you’re wanting to prove to me that you don’t suffer from prem...”
“I know, wait until after you’ve fed the baby,” he sighed.
“You’ve got it in one,” I smirked and we both laughed.
(aka Bike) Part 1162 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Waking up with Simon is always good, it reminds me that amongst all the three billion men in the world, one is special to me. I hope he feels the same about me, but knowing him he’d say something like, ‘Three billion women on this planet and I had to choose you!’ Depending upon which way he said ‘had’ would make or spoil my day. However, I’m not going to ask him anyway. Instead, I snuggled into his back.
It wasn’t for long, as Mima came in to cuddle with her daddy, and I got pushed aside. I could quite easily feel rejected by this, but I don’t, we have lots of little cuddles when Si is in work, so I’ll leave them to get on with it.
I showered and reflected on the night before–I have no remit to campaign for transgender people–perhaps I’d get them a bad name. I anticipated being able to slay the bigots with my classy rhetoric and sharp arguments–instead, they were so drunk, it was wasted on them or would have been if I’d been able to get into my stride. Simon was right, I was setting myself up as a martyr. In the end they made themselves look stupid because they turned on each other over what should have been personal matters–but I suspect, they never talk to each other in any meaningful way. Mind you, we don’t always do so either, which doesn’t seem to worry Simon half as much as it does me–then he’s a bloke, I’m not.
Downstairs, the girl’s trouped down for breakfast, they’d showered yesterday and as they didn’t have too dirty hair, I let them wash and dress themselves in their school uniforms. I’d called Danny who was yelling at Julie to get up, we could hear him quite clearly and her abusive answers back to him–some days it really did feel like we were a family.
Danny was playing football again today, and so was Trish. He was quite happy, she wasn’t. Once again I asked her to try her best and she promised she would. Livvie was keen to, play although by all accounts, Trish was the better player. Sometime I’d like to see her play with her ponytail bobbing about as she ran with the ball.
On the way home after delivering her and her sisters to school, I popped into the supermarket to fill up the fridge–having Simon home does make a difference, he eats the equivalent of half the rest of us.
While I was in there I grabbed my Guardian, and had a flick through the other papers. One of the tabloids carried a story about a ten year old Spanish girl who’s just had a baby. The sex of the baby was not being disclosed and I had a silly thought run through my mind, visualising the story going like so, ‘A ten year old girl has recently given birth to a baby. The ten year old mother whose age and sex can’t be revealed...’ Different cultures have different customs but I can’t see how any could allow this to be a societal norm, as surely the still growing mother would be damaged by the experience of carrying all that extra weight. Apparently the girl was Roma, or gypsy, so that explains that, suggested the tabloid. I decided it didn’t explain anything, and justified nothing.
I was really on my high horse now–assuming the actual pregnancy didn’t damage her badly, how equipped would a ten year old be to look after a baby? I can’t think that girls here are much different to those anywhere else in Europe, including Romania, I don’t believe an average ten year old has the mental and emotional resources to cope with motherhood and that applies to our own gymslip mothers who tend to be aged fourteen or fifteen, and still not able to cope without the support of a mother or other significant female. Even at my advanced years, I find it hard going so I can’t even speculate on how they see it–a millstone for fifteen years?
On speculation, after shopping I went back to the convent and walked down to the playing field and there were some girls playing football. I managed to pick out who I thought were Livvie and Trish and watched from a little distance.
Can’t say I know much about football, but I saw one girl score two goals and I hoped it was one of mine. Would they see me if I went any closer–surely not. I wasn’t actually in the school grounds but outside the fence on the pavement. I strolled a bit closer and then some more–it was Trish and Livvie and they both seemed to be playing as well as the others if not better. They were wearing different coloured vests over their football shirts, so I presumed they were on different sides.
Trish scored a goal and I knew it was her, because I could clearly see her. She high fived her friends and Livvie gave her a gentle push, being an opponent. The play began again and for some reason I swallowed some saliva awkwardly and began to cough, and it went on for a few moments until I was red in the face. Trish who was running towards the goal near me looked up and saw me watching her. She stopped and said loudly, ‘Mummy?’ when suddenly one of the defenders gave the ball a hard clout and it hit her full in the face and she went down like a sack of spuds.
I screamed her name and frantically climbed over the fence and ran to her. Her face was all bloody from nose and mouth and was swelling and she had difficulty breathing.
The games mistress, tried to order me away until one of the girls said I was Trish’s mum. She came back with a wet cloth to wipe away some of the blood and Trish revived a little.
Five minutes later, I had her lying on the back seat of my car as I sped towards the hospital, much to the disgust of the games teacher. Then I raced into A&E with her in my arms and insisted she be seen.
Ken Nicholls was on duty and recognised my hysterical rantings and told the nurse to find a cubicle for him to examine Trish. X-rays and ice packs later, I was reassured there was nothing broken as far as they could tell, but he told me to take her home and give her lots of love and blue light.
I felt so guilty, if I hadn’t been watching her she’d have been watching the ball and not me; and if I hadn’t insisted she play football, she wouldn’t have looked like a punch bag at this moment.
I was told to watch her and not let her sleep until bed time, and if she seemed to become drowsy, to call an ambulance because it could be a delayed concussion or shock. I felt really awful about it. Some mother I was–huh. I was totally disgusted with myself and to think I tried to take the moral high ground last night. I was a hypocrite and nothing else, unless you added failure as a mother.
By the time we got home I was ready to jump off Beachy Head, I was so full of self loathing. So when Jenny took over and helped Trish into the house I burst into tears.
Trish pulled free of Jenny and came over to me, “What’s the batter, Bubby?”
“It’s all my fault that you got hurt.”
“Doad be silly, Bubby, it happes, football is a dadgerous gabe–dow are you go-ig to heal by dose or dot?”
(aka Bike) Part 1163 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Lunch was rather meagre that day–I was too upset to eat and although I’d given Trish half an hour of healing, she didn’t look a lot better. She was, however, able to talk pretty well normally again.
“I’ve got black eyes,Mummy.”
“Yes, I had noticed, sweetheart.”
“Why?”
“It’s the way facial bruising goes...”
“No, I mean why have I? Your blue light is supposed to sort it out.”
“I don’t know, you know I’ve never understood it–just trusted it to do what was required. I assume from the fact you can talk normally again, not sounding like an otter with sinus trouble, means you can breathe properly again?”
“An otter with sinus trouble? What’s sinus, isn’t it a mountain in Israel that Moses went up?”
“Sounds like a definite case of Mosesitis,” how I kept a straight face I had no idea.
“What’s that, Mummy?”
“Mistaking things from the Bible, it’s a very widespread problem that affects half the population of the Northern Hemisphere and much of the Southern one.”
“But we were doing Moses in school and he went up Mount Sinus.”
“Yeah, I heard he got up God’s nose.”
“Don’t be silly, Mummy, God doesn’t have a nose.”
“So how are we created in his image then?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Forget it kiddo, I’ll just confuse you with my prejudices. I don’t believe what the nuns teach you because there’s no evidence about much of it at all, including how a group of people wandered about in Israel for forty years. It’s preposterous, even allowing for the fact that Moses was a man and obviously wouldn’t ask for directions.”
“What does preposterous mean?”
“Beyond belief, ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous?”
“Well it’s like a large group wandering round Wales for forty years and not being able to find the Brecon Beacons.”
“But Sister Claire said it was because Moses had annoyed God by smashing the Ten Commandments.”
“What, so He took away their sense of direction? Sorry, sweetheart, this is why I think much of it is rubbish, because it doesn’t make any sense to a modern reader. It was based on an oral tradition which was eventually written down.”
“Sister Claire said it was the word of God.”
“Yeah, don’t tell me ghost written by the Holy Spirit?”
“I don’t understand, Mummy.”
“It was a rhetorical question and one you’ll understand one day.”
“Is it the word of God?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, I very much doubt it but then I’m not sure there’s a God to dictate it or write it.”
“Isn’t that hennesy?”
“I think you mean, heresy, and yes it probably is–but it’s what I believe. Show me the evidence and answer my questions and I’ll believe.”
“Sister Claire said the evidence is all about us.”
“I think she’d need to be more specific to convince anyone but a believer, because science can counter that she is confusing emotion with cognition.”
“Big words, Mummy.”
“Yes, sorry, darling. I mean, she can say that simply looking about her she feels she sees the hand of her God. I can, however, see the same things and see only the evolution of the landscape and the things which live there.”
“I still don’t understand, Mummy.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart. When you’re old enough you can decide if you believe or not–there is no right or wrong, even though people get so upset about it they actually kill each other. That is wrong, and one of the darker things about religion.”
“What do you mean, Mummy?”
“Religion is responsible for the deaths of millions of people over the centuries.”
“Did it kill the Pharaoh’s son?”
“Back to Moses, are we?” I asked and she nodded. “I don’t know, there are people who believe that if the Moses tale is true, and it might not be, they have discovered evidence of the exodus from Egypt. Personally, I think it’s wishful thinking–they say if you look long enough you’ll find what you’re seeking, or think you have.”
“Are they telling me lies, Mummy?”
“That would be a very dangerous thing to say, Trish; what I would suggest is to accept what the nuns tell as being what they believe to be true. That doesn’t mean you have to unless you agree with them. I happen not to, but I want you and the others to make up your own minds when you’re old enough.”
“Do I take it with a pinch of salt then, Mummy?”
“Yes, that’d about sum it up. Like some people believe putting corks in bed stops cramp, you don’t have to accept it if you think it isn’t true, just don’t say so in a loud voice or you’ll be in trouble with them.”
“Will they burn a steak for me?”
“I think you mean will they burn you at the stake?” I corrected her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth and laughed, as soon as she touched her face and laughed the bruising disappeared.
“What’s the matter, Mummy?”
“Go and look in the hall mirror.”
“See, your blue light did work,” she exclaimed.
“Did it?” I said to myself then answered her, “Of course, darling. Now come and have some more to eat.”
I managed to force some ice cream down her, suggesting that if they’d had ice cream in those days, Moses would have discovered the Promised Land a whole lot quicker.
“Why is that, Mummy?”
“Well he could have followed an ice cream van to the nearest town.”
“You are silly, Mummy, that’s like saying he dropped his mobile phone on Mount Sinus.”
“Nah, he used to talk to a bush, and I don’t think it was the US President.”
“What–Mr O. Banana Bush?” she giggled at her joke.
“Absolutely,” I said trying not to sound too much like Tom.
“D’you want to come to collect the others after I feed the baby?”
“May I help you with the baby?”
“Of course you may, darling.” I was pleased to encourage her participation in babycare, because it isn’t something she usually does–surely it wasn’t the bang on her head, was it?
I fed the wee yin while Trish supervised, then I supervised whilst she changed her nappy, making faces and disgusting noises about poo, which the baby found highly amusing.
I wondered if Trish would ever be maternal material, but there’s a lot of time for her to grow up yet. If she becomes a high flier she might not have time anyway, let alone the desire, and she’d have to adopt or use a surrogate. That’s her business and who knows which direction her life will take when she’s older. Being very intelligent doesn’t always make it easier, especially when you consider the world is usually run by morons–well, they’re the only ones daft enough to believe they can sort everything–usually it just means they haven’t appreciated the seriousness of the situation.
(aka Bike) Part 1164 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“D’you enjoy helping me change the baby?” I asked Trish, who as I’ve mentioned before is more Mister than Dr Spock.
“I do when it’s just you and me, Mummy.”
“And the baby?”
“Well, yes of course, can’t change her if she’s not there, can we?”
I couldn’t fault her logic. “I suppose not. Are you coming to collect the others?”
“I could do,” she said diffidently.
“Don’t put yourself out, will you?”
“Oh all right,” she sighed, “I’ll come with you.”
We got to the car and realised the shopping was still in the boot, including a now molten tub of ice cream of a well known make. I grabbed the bags and ran back to the house, asked Stella to shove it in the fridge and then I dashed back to the car.
“I suppose you’re going to blame that on me?” Trish said as she got into the car.
“Of course.” I wasn’t but she can find that out the hard way. We chatted as we drove to the convent and I was pleased that the girls were waiting for us when we arrived, it meant minimal exposure for Trish. They all made a fuss of each other and hugged.
“You’re face is okay then?” asked Billie.
“Yeah, Mummy blue lighted it.”
“Did it hurt?” asked Mima.
“Like mad, ’specially when I did it,” Trish replied.
“Did you go to the hospital?” Livvie asked.
“Yes, but Mummy fixed it.”
“C’mon, girls, we need to get home.”
“Yeah, Mummy forgot to take the shopping out of the car, like the ice cream was all runny.”
“Eeeuuuch,” squealed three little voices in the closest thing to harmony I’d heard for a long time.
“Enough! In the car, please,” I asserted myself and to my surprise they complied–probably because they wanted to see the runny ice cream.
When we got home, Stella had shoved everything in the refrigerator except the Haagen Dazs, which she poured down the loo. She’d washed out the tub in case I wanted to use it for something else. I shrugged, all the children were too big even if we used the blender first–nah, it still wouldn’t work.
“I could just eat some ice cream, too,” sighed Trish.
“There isn’t any besides, you ate the last of the previous lot lunchtime,” I reminded her, tomato cheesecake with mushroom and chocolate mint chip, or something equally revolting. I let them choose the variety, gone are the days when it was plain vanilla, raspberry ripple or Cornish. Now you can choose from cat litter to enraged potato or maybe that was wild cashew–can’t remember. The bigger supermarkets like Tesco and Asda and even some Sainsburys now stay open twenty four hours during the week, mainly so you can actually see the full range of revolting ice cream: chocolate sewage with sea salt–oh, that might be the crisps. I let the kids choose, I don’t have the time to waste deciding which variety of cholesterol I want clogging my arteries.
We’ve had hedgehog flavoured crisps, so it’s only a matter of time before we have dormouse or weasel, I wonder if the Americans have skunk flavoured ‘potato chips’? I half expect to see, Road kill, flavoured, with the full taste of bashed badger, bent bunny and flattened fox–no artificial preservatives or colourings added except for the macerated maggots–no extra charge for the increased protein level–all fried in recycled engine oil to help save the planet. Okay so my imagination ran away with that one.
Essentially, I suppose we’re all so spoilt in the West, that we can demand almost anything that is saleable and expect to get it. I wonder what will happen when China and India really get their acts together and dominate global markets and also start selling to their own internal markets.
I listened to someone talking about a new MG car, which is nothing like the roadsters we in the UK expect from such a marque. However, it’s aimed at the Chinese market, where the new emerging middle classes want cars and the chap on the radio suggested they’d sell half a million a year there. Apparently the reason the Chinese bought MG-Rover, was to enable them to sell to their home market. To have started up a brand would have taken a generation and cost billions, so they bought an ailing British company for peanuts and its exotic name will catch on very quickly in China.
How the world changes. It’s going to change even more, and we might have to get used to the idea that as the Asian economies boom over the next ten or twenty years, the West will become the poorer nations. I suppose we’ve had our turn, but I’m mostly concerned how these developing countries will power their new cars and the consequences for the environment–not just the fuel to run them, but also the power to manufacture them–loads more pollution, and will they care if their biggest markets are home ones, about flooding through a rise in sea levels unless it stops them selling goods?
The world went mad years ago when advertising developed using psychological theories of the Freudians, and turned us from citizens into consumers. From then on, it’s got more and more stupid creating a financial model which is ultimately built on sand or fantasy. It has to one day come crashing down and the price of everything will presumably fall with it. It’s unsustainable, the earth isn’t capable of producing all the raw materials we need for everyone to have a four bedroom detached house with double garage and enough parking for the family’s four or five motors. I mean one point three billion in China alone would use up an enormous amount, plus all the fuel to run the cars and heat the houses. By the time that happened most of Africa and Southern Europe would be desert or under water and half the species of mammals and birds we have now, would be extinct–although rats would thrive–they always do.
(aka Bike) Part 1165 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The next day, Stella was going out with Gareth, he apparently had the day off, so I was busy tending two babies. Jenny had the day off too, so I seemed to spend much of the day dealing with dirty nappies or shoving food in the other end.
Stella waited until I got back from the school run before dumping Puddin’ in my lap, and of course my niece was teething and as grumpy as I’ve ever seen her. If I didn’t know better, I could have thought Stella was abandoning her to my tender mercies–and those were fraying by the time I had to get two babies ready to collect my motley crew from school.
I was hoping Julie would be home on time from college–then she left a message on my voice mail to say she was going to see a friend for tea and would be home later. My heart sank when I got that message. My mission now was to stay sane while looking after two babies, one five, two six and a ten year old plus Danny who’s twelve.
He was actually the saviour of the late afternoon, he and Billie took Puddin’ out in her pram–or should I say he offered, as he could see I was up to my eyeballs in babies, and the others decided to go with him. They were out for about an hour, it was beginning to get dark when they came home, and I’d managed to feed and change my wee yin, express some milk for a later feed and drink a cuppa.
When they trooped back in, I asked him what he fancied for dinner, hoping he’d see it as a treat.
“Dunno, what we got?” he replied in typical helpful soul style.
“What would you like?”
“I dunno, do I?”
“What did you have for lunch?” I asked him, he buys his own lunch from the school cafeteria.
“Macaroni cheese an’ chips.”
Not exactly an enthralling combination nor the healthiest option I could imagine. I checked the fridge, then the freezer. “I have some faggots here, what about those?”
“Yeah, they’ll be okay–can we have chips with them–oh an’ mushy peas?” This proved to be a popular choice so I loaded the meat balls in gravy into the oven and while they were cooking, sent Danny down the road to get a whole pile of chips from our local chippy.
Simon came home and sniffed the aroma in the kitchen, “Mmm, smells good, what is it?”
“I’m doing faggots, peas and chips for the kids, why?”
“God, I haven’t had those for ages–sounds good to me.”
Of course, I didn’t have enough for him, I was going to do Tom and him a curry, which was one I had in the freezer and was defrosting. I asked if anyone else wanted curry instead and Simon said he’d have some of that as well. No wonder he’s putting on weight.
In the end, I managed to quickly do myself some scrambled eggs on toast while the others ate all the faggots, the chips and the curry and rice. When they asked what was for sweet, I dumped the fruit bowl on the table and huffed off to make some tea.
“Why did you have eggs?” Simon eventually asked me.
“Because you lot ate everything else.”
“You should have said, I’d have made do with the curry.” He knew I didn’t eat it.
“You said you wanted the faggots.”
“You didn’t say I was eating your share.”
“True–never mind, my eggs were okay.” I made the tea and poured a few cups for myself, Simon and the older children.
Puddin’ woke and screamed the place down, and she didn’t want to eat or drink, just scream. I decided she had colic, and managed to persuade her to take some medicine. Of course the noise set off tiny wee, and Simon tutted when I asked him to sort her out. I told him there was a bottle in the fridge, but he’d have to warm it first. There were more tuts.
“Where’s Julie, shouldn’t she be helping you with this,” he pointed at the squealing baby.
“Why can’t you? You’re her foster father.”
“In theory,” he muttered barely audibly. “Meems,” he shouted, “Give me a hand here.” She came rushing out and practically took over–she’s five years old and knows more about babies than Simon ever will. She’ll also do almost anything for her daddy.
While I nursed Puddin’ until she calmed down, I watched Mima set up the bottle warmer and shove the bottle in it, then she lifted the baby out of her carrycot and handed her to Simon, then she laid up the changing mat and all the bits needed to clean up a baby’s bum; Simon stood holding the baby and looking very uncomfortable. He knows what to do–I’ve shown him loads of times. The difference is, Mima enjoys doing it and he doesn’t. He did once throw up while I was changing a rather smelly nappy, so possibly the memory stays with him.
Neither Trish nor Billie came to see if they could help, they were playing chess, and Danny and Livvie were watching, waiting to play the winner–we all know who that’d be.
Eventually Puddin’ went off to sleep again and I put her down–I felt quite tired. I went to see how Meems and Si were doing. Meems was sat on Si’s lap with the baby reclining on hers, with Simon helping to hold everyone together. They seemed to have things under control so I left them to it.
I looked in on the chess competition and our own Trish Spasky was slaughtering Danny, who should have known better than try his luck. I slipped out again and went to sit in the lounge, picked up the Guardian and was asleep two minutes later. I awoke when a general panic arose because they couldn’t find me. I suppose I’ve brought it upon myself that nothing happens unless I initiate it, or clean up afterwards.
When I went back into the dining room, Trish was playing Tom and he was hard pressed to hold her off. I let them finish before I announced the curfew–Tom won, but only just. Simon was sniggering.
“Why don’t you play her instead of laughing at Daddy?” I asked.
“I did, the little bugger beat me.”
I couldn’t resist a smile which turned into a chuckle.
“If it’s so funny, why don’t you play her?”
“I’m no chess player.”
“C’mon, Mummy, play me,” challenged Trish.
“No it’s too late.”
“C’mon, Mummy, play her,” chorused the others. I should have declined but I caved in to stop the noise waking the babies.
For my sins, I drew white and started. I only have one gambit, fool’s mate we used to call it, where you attack with your knight and smash down with your queen. I felt awful when it seemed Trish hadn’t seen it before because I’d beaten her in five minutes.
“C’mon, Mummy, play me again–puuulllleeeaaasse,” she begged.
“No, I agreed to play once–off to bed with you lot–NOW.”
“Rotten rabbit,” she muttered as she stumped up the stairs.
(aka Bike) Part 1166 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Having got Boris Spasky off to bed along with the others, I finally had a few moments to text Julie and tell her not to be late unless she wanted to sleep in the garden shed.
I glanced out the window and it was throwing it down, she was going to get wet–well that’s her hard luck, it wasn’t raining when she finished college. I checked on the little ones, they were both fast asleep.
“I cannot believe that you got a five year old to sort out the baby for you.” I complained at Simon.
“You know me, Babes, I don’t do babies.”
“That’s not true, because I’ve seen you feed and change them.”
“Nah, that was my good twin brother, I’m the wicked one.”
“So I notice. Well you won’t be wicked with me tonight, I’m too bloody tired.”
“Where’s Julie? I thought she was supposed to be helping you.”
“She’s gone to a friend’s, I’ve just texted her to come home soon.”
“Has she replied?”
As he spoke my phone peeped to say someone had sent me a text.
‘Its rainin–will cum wen it stops. Lol J x.’ I read it out loud to Simon.
“What time is it supposed to stop?”
“According to the Met Office, some time tomorrow.”
“Want me to go and get her?”
“What about her scooter thing?”
“She can catch the bus tomorrow and collect it. It’ll serve her right for messing us about.”
“Here,” I handed him my phone, “You can tell her then.” I left him to it and judging by the loud voices I heard a few moments later, she didn’t much go on the idea of him collecting her.
He came out to the kitchen where I was expressing some more milk, I had two cups of tea and I was dripping in my bra, so it seemed like a good idea. “Oh,” he said and his eyes lit up. “I could help if there’s a surplus.”
“No thank you, actually yes, you could help.”
Once more his eyes lit up and I thought he actually licked his lips.
“Make us a cuppa will you.” Well, I had to replace the fluid I was losing, didn’t I?
He did so, but rather reluctantly. “She’s coming home now.”
“She’ll get soaked,” I protested.
“That’s her lookout–she refused a lift home or to tell me where she actually was.”
“I’m not surprised, especially if she’s with a boy.”
“She didn’t say with whom she was,” he said irritatedly, “You wait till she comes home, I’ll give her what for.”
“Isn’t that rather counter-productive, a bit like calling a dog then hitting it when it comes back to you.”
“She’ll understand better than a dog.”
“Simon, she’s a teenager–I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right–okay, I’ll push off to bed and you can sort her out.” Before I could say anything he was gone–typical. He’s thought something through so problem solved. The fact that nothing has been done hasn’t occurred to him, it has in his mind, so it’s done. Thank goodness he isn’t a chef, most of his diners would starve to death.
I’d just finished expressing when Julie’s scooter thing came popping into the drive. It had actually stopped raining so she wasn’t as wet as I thought she’d be. Her mood wasn’t very good though.
“Where is he?” she asked peeping round the kitchen door.
“Gone to bed, why?”
“Oh–that’s all right then.”
“Is it? What did you have for dinner?”
“Some chips, why?”
“I’m responsible for you, remember.”
“Mummy, I’m sixteen, for God’s sakes.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, but you were fifteen when I found you on a pile of rubbish if you recall.”
“Oh trust you bring that up...”
“I was going to say, you thought you knew best then.”
“That was year ago–I’ve learned loads since then.”
“Julie, you’ve been living as a girl for less than a year–I worry about you.”
“Yeah, so you stop me having any fun.”
We were going into a circular argument and I didn’t need to be going to bed full of adrenalin.
“I’m not going to argue, I’ll just take the keys of your scooter–you can go back to catching buses.”
“Oh no you fucking don’t,” she snapped back at me.
“We’ll discuss this in the morning–go to your room.” I said firmly but calmly, although inside I felt like slapping her.
“You’re not taking my scooter,” she yelled at me, tears running down her face.
“Throwing a tantrum like a six year old will solve nothing–now go to your room, goodnight.”
I stood up and she stood in front of me. It looked as if she was going to say something but she seemed to think better of it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d hit me, but she didn’t do that either, she just burst into tears and ran up the stairs.
Stella came home as I was getting ready to lock up and go to bed. She was a little tipsy and wanted to talk about her wonderful Gareth. I yawned and said, “Tomorrow,” before heading to the stairs.
“The problem ish shome people are sho shelfish,” she slurred at my back.
“Is she home?” asked Simon lying in bed reading.”
“Which one?”
“The teenager.”
“Yeah, which one, Julie or Stella?”
“Oh, she’s just come in has she?”
“Oh yeah, she’s full of Gareth...”
“You had your chance, you could have been full of me,” he said drolly.
For a moment I had to work out what he’d said and how it related to what I’d said. I sighed and went to the bathroom, weed, cleaned my teeth and had a little wash. Maybe I’d like to be full of Simon after all–except when I came back to bed he was asleep–absolutely bloody typical.
I tossed and turned for quite a while before I managed to sleep. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Julie a few facts of life, nor was I anticipating Stella telling me about Mr Bloody Wonderful–I knew him first, maybe I’ll just remind her–nah, she deserves a bit of luck in the fun department.
If it was the summer, I’d be thinking about getting up early and going for a ride for an hour to blow the cobwebs away–sadly it’s not, and a handful of baby blubber will be yelling for a refill in a couple of hours, so I tried to think relaxing thoughts to go to sleep. Unfortunately, my mind knew I was trying to fool it so it went on the offensive and played me videos of Julie’s tantrum and Stella glowing or was that gloating?
(aka Bike) Part 1167 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Who did you go to see last night?” I asked Julie after Danny had managed to get her up.
“No one you know, so what’s the point of asking?” she snapped back. It was a good job Simon had left for his office. He'd have taken exception to her comment and acted on it.
“The point of asking is because I care what you’re doing and who you’re seeing. I know you don’t believe me and see it as interference or intrusion.”
“If I’d had fucking surgery, it wouldn’t matter would it?”
“Don’t swear at Mummy,” chided Trish.
“Oh shut up, half pint, so bloody goody-goody, aren’t you. I’m sick of this fucking place, like a bloody prison camp.”
Trish of course burst into tears and three other girls looked reproachfully at their elder sister.
“No one is forcing you to stay if you find it that bad, and there is no need to be so aggressive to your sister.” I tried to stay calm instead of throwing her out, which was my first inclination. Just stay calm, she’s got loads of issues and this is her asserting her right to test the boundaries.
“Huh, where could I go, I’m dependent on you lot.”
“If you really wanted to, I’m sure we could arrange a bedsit somewhere for you.”
“A bedsit? I’d be an even bigger prisoner there.”
“I lived in one for six months when I first came to Portsmouth.” I remembered it and some of the idiots I shared it with.
“Yeah, well you’re bloody wonder woman, ain’tcha? I gotta go.” She left early and without breakfast. It might have been a total wind up to test me, or she might still have been angry with me–though quite what she wanted me to do I wasn’t sure–and I suspect she wasn’t either. It’s make it up as you go along time.
“Ride carefully,” I exhorted her.
“Like you care,” came back the reply.
“Julie is very rude, Mummy,” commented Livvie.
“She’s a teenager, Liv. They all go through obnoxious periods, though admittedly, some are more obnoxious than others."
“What’s ognockers mean, Mummy?” asked Mima and I looked at her for a moment before I understood what she’d meant.
“Obnoxious?” I asked and she nodded.
“It means horrid and unreasonable.”
“I don’t fink she’s howwid or un weasonabew.”
“Ah, perspectives change with age, Meems.” I had just dug myself another pit.
“What’s perspexive?”
“When you look up the road and the cars which are closer look bigger than those far away, that’s perspective–I’m right aren’t I, Mummy.” Trish beamed her superiority at everyone, including Stella who was drinking water like it was being rationed and just groaned. I’m sure Gareth would be just as wonderful when her hangover had receded a little.
“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Trish.” Part of me could strangle her, and part of me loved her for her cleverness. All I’ve got to do is turn her into a human being and she’ll be fine–though my efforts with Julie weren’t proving too effective.
I eventually got them ready for school and we set off. Jenny was noticeable by her absence, so she presumably stayed out overnight. Her fellah must be home. I hoped Stella was capable of dealing with my wee yin as well as Puddin’ if she woke–I would have to drop the girls off and get back post haste.
Of course, there were road works and we got held up–is there anywhere in this country where they aren’t digging huge holes in the roads, and the number of potholes is disgraceful. The car bounces off some of them, on a bike if you didn’t see them, you could quite easily come off–in the rain or at night, it’s even more dangerous.
Several cyclists went past as we were stuck in the traffic choked road. “Perhaps we shoulda rode our bikes, Mummy?” suggested Billie.
“It might have been as quick with this morning’s traffic.” Finally we got the green light and moved on our way. We were late and I apologised to the headmistress, she advised me that several mothers were that morning, but added I would be prepared tomorrow, wouldn’t I?
The way things were going, I had no idea if I would or not. My only saving grace is that she needs me to do my talk in a couple of week’s time, so she’s being extra nice.
I drove round the congested area, heading north and then back in a big circle. That was nearly as bad. If I knew the weather was going to stay fine, I’d almost feel inclined to take the girls by bike–then Mima wouldn’t get there until lunch.
“That bloody brat of yours,” said Stella nursing her head and sipping soluble aspirin, “She started as soon as you left and stopped two seconds ago. Oh my poor head,” she whined.
“No comment,” I dismissed her whining and went off to see to baby Catherine. She gurgled when she saw me and waved her arms and legs. A moment later she almost sucked my nipples off.
After I’d finished feeding and bathing her nearly an hour had elapsed. Stella was still in the kitchen holding her head and muttering. “What d’you fancy for lunch–how about a nice big fry up?” She groaned and ran out of the kitchen swearing at me. The baby thought it was very funny, and so did I.
Jenny strolled in looking as if she hadn’t slept all night but had a certain smugness about her that and her funny walk tended to suggest she’d had too much bed and not enough sleep. The fact that she also sat down very gingerly confirmed my diagnosis–and the phrase, at it like bunnies came to mind, although mink might be more apposite–the males are rather rough lovers and frequently gangbang any hapless female they come across. Thankfully the return of the otter to many British rivers, is reducing their numbers. Otters will kill mink if they catch them.
“D’you mind if I start after lunch?” Jenny yawned.
“Am I keeping you up?” I asked cheekily, and she nodded before heading up to bed for a few hours.
I picked up the baby, and popped her in her bouncer thing, she sat and squealed at me, sucking on her hand until I relented and gave her her dummy. “Well, kiddo, looks like you an’ me are the workforce today. How about we do some ironing?” I asked and she giggled. “You’ve obviously seen me iron before,” I replied and she giggled and kicked her feet about.
“How can your daddy wear ten shirts in one week? Of course, he’s a banker and they’re not noted for their arithmetical skills, or we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in, would we?” The baby thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard and laughed while chewing on her dummy–she was still teething and chewing on everything, including me when she gets going. I felt my left boob–the nipple felt like tenderised steak. I had to put some cream on it, which meant I had to wash it off before the next feed.
Life is such fun, all this and ironing too–I’m such a lucky bunny, I yawned.
(aka Bike) Part 1168 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
At last the ironing came to an end and I took the clothing up to various bedrooms, thankfully Stella does her own, as does Jenny: Julie was supposed to be doing her own plus most of mine, and she seems to have forgotten that fact. I was tempted to leave hers for her to do, which she’d have to once she ran out of clean clothes, but that seemed simply provocative or confrontational. I left them draped on her bed so she’d have to hang them up herself and would hopefully notice I’d done them for her.
Simon can iron, but I’d prefer he spent time with the children when he’s here, which mostly he seems happy to do. I suppose I need to teach Danny, who’ll sweet talk one of the girls into doing it for him. His school shirts take a while to do as do the girl’s blouses–I’m so glad I sewed in name tapes or I’d never work out which was whose.
Back downstairs, I made some tea and while I drank it, I contemplated what was in the fridge that we could have for lunch. I suppose ice cubes are non-fattening, but not very tasty, look again. Tonight I was doing shepherd’s pie which explained the freshly killed shepherd in there, I had loads of tomatoes, so decided on a spaghetti Napoli and began its preparation–I checked for Parmesan and was relieved to see I still had some.
At one o’clock, it was all ready and I called Stella and Jenny to come for lunch, they did eventually, Jenny was yawning as she came into the kitchen and Stella looked less ashen faced than when I’d suggested the fry up.
Neither said they were very hungry but they devoured my tomato concoction with gusto–okay, there were some mushrooms and onion in it beside garlic and tomatoes and the pasta was wholegrain spaghetti.
“That was delicious, Cathy, I really landed on my feet when I arrived here, didn’t I?” Jenny smiled, disposing of the napkin she used to save spattering herself with tomato juice/sauce.
“I’m glad you think so,” I said smiling back at her.
“Huh,” said Stella and I knew a wind up was coming, “It’s all right for paid staff, whilst we unpaid slaves are expected to work for just the crumbs off the table.”
“I’ve worked for quite a few different families and households including some very wealthy and well connected ones, but none have made me as welcome as Cathy has–I’ll also bet the crumbs off the table are very nourishing,” Jenny defended me.
“The only one who gets fat off the crumbs is Kiki, and it’s interesting she usually sits by Stella because she drops the most. They say spaniels love babies and old people for that reason.”
Stella’s face was a picture and Jenny sniggered. “I’m not that much older than you, Missus,” declared Stella.
,
“Must be the mileage then,” I shot back and she looked daggers at me, Jenny was wriggling with laughter then rushed off to the cloakroom.
“She gone to be sick?” asked Stella.
“No, for a wee I think.”
“Huh,” huffed Stella and she drank her tea.
I went and got the girls, and on return began making the shepherd’s pie with minced lamb, probably from a sheep that died of old age in New Zealand. Why they can’t call it mutton? I don’t know, my mother used to make mutton stew which was lovely, although the meat was a bit sickly, it was so sweet. They don’t seem to offer it these days in supermarkets or the local butchers.
At six, the big tray of cottage pie was browning under the grill and I began to wonder where Julie was, she was usually home about six. At twenty past in strolled Simon and he seemed pleased with the prospect of a good old fashioned British meal. He’d missed lunch through a meeting overrunning and had made do with a cup of soup cadged from his secretary.
“What time are we eating?” he asked.
“I’m just waiting for Julie.”
“What again? You need to have words with that young woman.”
“I did, which might be why she’s not here yet.”
“God, Cathy, can’t you deal with a simple matter like that without complicating it?”
“Ah, that was why you delegated it–it was so simple.”
“Of course, women,” he sighed and went upstairs to change, “I’m going to have a quick shower.”
“Hurry up then, I’m dishing up in ten minutes, with or without Julie.”
“Great, I’ll have time to paint my nails as well.”
He missed my, “Grrrrrrrrr, men,” but Jenny didn’t and she snorted and nodded.
I did dish up and Simon was back down smelling of Paco Rabanne cologne and for a moment I was distracted from eating, however, we all tucked in except Julie, who was now an hour late.
On the pretext of putting the kettle on, I sent her a text asking her to let me know that she was safe. Half an hour later I’d had no response, I began to feel very uneasy. Simon came out to see where I was and I told him I was worried about Julie. He asked me if I wanted him to go and see if he could find her. I did but I wasn’t sure he’d be able to, she could have gone anywhere.
Jenny asked what the problem was when she saw us talking and me with a worried look. I explained the situation, and she told us to go and look for her, she’d put the kids to bed and she was sure Tom would read to them.
Simon and I slipped away and went off in my car towards the college, he was driving which would mean the next time I sat in the front, I wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals.
We drove out into the countryside for a mile, the way I would usually go to the college when I suddenly felt sick and made him stop the car. I chucked up my shepherd into a hedge. I couldn’t understand why, it was properly cooked and prepared–must be nerves worrying about Julie. I walked back down the road, the grass glistened with the recent rain in the headlights of cars. I continued walking back the way we’d come. Then I saw it, the pink scooter, it had gone through a hedge and down into a ditch. It was facing away from home–oh Jeez, it had been there since this morning. I ran back to the car and yelled at Simon to call the police. He ran back with me and two minutes later he was down at the scooter and the muddy water in which it was lying.
The rain started again and I felt like crying. “I can’t see her, get your torch from the car.” I ran back to the car and then back with the torch, the rain was pelting down, and I pulled out my waterproof from the boot and put it on. I held an umbrella as I stood on the roadside watching Simon poking about in the hedgerow and ditch.
I rang triple nine. “Hello, police please...”
(aka Bike) Part 1169 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The police came quite quickly after my emotional call. A patrol car arrived in minutes followed by another with a higher ranking officer on board. A WPC led me off to my car while the police talked with Simon.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” soothed the young police woman.
“We rowed last night because she was late coming home, and we parted on less than good terms this morning. She didn’t even stop for breakfast.” I explained to my new best friend.
“How old is she?”
“Nearly sixteen.”
“Is she a mature sixteen, or still a kid?”
“A bit of both.”
“Okay, would you like to describe her for me?”
I saw Julie in mind’s eye and burst into tears. Suddenly everything was drowned out by the sound of a tractor flying overhead and bright lights shining all about the area.
“They’ve got the chopper out, if she’s nearby, they’ll find her.”
“What in the dark?”
“They’ve got thermal imaging, they can even find someone who’s unconscious or...” she paused.
“Or dead,” I continued for her. “That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sorry–I wasn’t thinking.” Through my bleary tear filled eyes I saw her blush, the light from the helicopter shining through the windscreen of my car as it swept the area.
“D’you think she’s dead?” I asked ready to burst into tears again.
“No, it’s early days yet.”
There was a knock on the car door and a young copper wearing a reflective jacket popped his head into the car through the open door. “We haven’t found her yet. It looks like the scooter has had some sort of impact. We’ve got someone checking with the hospitals to see if anyone has been admitted with injuries that look like an RTA, are there any distinguishing features?”
“She’s sixteen, dark hair, about five foot five and eight and half stone I think. Her name is Julie Kemp and she’s–” I paused, was it appropriate to disclose her secret?
“And she’s what, Mrs Cameron?”
“She’s–she’s transgendered.” I covered my face with my hand.
“Yeah, so?” stated the copper in a matter of fact manner which almost made me want to kiss him. “No big deal these days–unless it’s a factor in her disappearance. She’s not likely to have changed back is she–I mean, we’re not looking for a boy are we?”
“No, I don’t think so, she’d rather die than...”I burst into tears again.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her, loads of teens go missing every day.”
“Do they leave behind their pride and joy?” I asked referring to her scooter.
“Um–I don’t really know, I’m just a dumb traffic cop really,” he shrugged.
“You don’t sound dumb to me.”
“Why thank you, Mrs Cameron.” He said and was about to close the door, when his colleague who’d been staring at me for a while made a deduction of her own.
“It’s Lady Cameron, isn’t it–the dormouse lady?
I nodded and sniffed.
“See he’s not so clever, Missus indeed.”
“Told you I was just a traffic cop, I’d better get back to the search.” He left us.
“Tell me about her, I don’t know anything about transgender women,” confessed my young companion, who looked about twelve but was probably about twenty.
“She’s been seen by a psychiatrist several times who diagnosed or confirmed the diagnosis. I found her unconscious on pile of rubbish about a year ago.”
“What?”
“She looked like a hooker, in over knee stiletto boots and micro mini. She’d been beaten up by a copper who thought she was older than she was and also thought she was a natural girl.”
“And you just took her in–like a stray kitten?”
“In short yes, she’d run away from home, her parents were anti anything they didn’t understand and they gave her a rough time. In fact they kidnapped her after I’d been given custody of her. We managed to rescue her.”
“Who’s we?”
“The police, while I mounted a distraction.”
“You did what?”
“I climbed in a window and distracted her dad so the police could break down the door and rescue both of us.”
“Rescue both of you?”
“He was threatening to kill her and presumably me as well, especially after I kicked him.”
“You kicked him?” she sounded like a parrot or very poor counsellor.
“Yes, it made him drop the knife, although he managed to cut her a bit before I got to him.”
“Are you always this crazy–climbing in through windows to deal with unknown dangers?”
“I felt responsible for her–I was her foster mother–I mean, I couldn’t let anything happen to her could I?”
“Sounds a bit above and beyond the call of duty for the average foster parent; let alone a foster mum.”
“So, I take my duties seriously.”
“Obviously–what d’you think has happened to her?”
“I don’t know, Simon suggested we come looking for her and as we were driving up along here I felt really sick so he stopped the car and I chucked up in the hedge. I don’t know why, but I started walking back down the road and I saw the scooter. Then I called you.”
“If you’ll pardon me saying this, but it sounds a bit suspicious to my police mind how you found the scooter.”
“I know, but that’s what happened. Surely you don’t think I harmed her, do you?”
“I don’t know, I hope not, but others will ask awkward questions about how you found her.”
“She went missing once before and I managed to tune into her and found her.”
“So why didn’t you do that this time?”
“I tried, all I got was this place and the scooter.”
“That’s a very strange story.”
“So, strange things happen to me–if you check my file, I’m sure there is one at your headquarters, you’ll see that for yourself.”
“I’m beginning to think I know some of those things–Russian mafia come to mind.”
“That’s me.”
“Wow, you’re a legend in your own lifetime in the annals of the Hampshire Constabulary. They tend to say that anyone who gets involved with you ends up either injured or loses their job.”
“Not everyone, some actually prosper. When’s the baby due?”
“March wh–how d’you know about my baby? I only did the test yesterday.”
“I dunno, I suppose I guessed, but it was the same with the scooter.”
“What you knew it would be there?”
“Not quite, once we’d stopped the car, I just had a feeling of dread and there it was.”
“You’re seriously weird, d’you know that?” She opened the car door and walked out into the rain. A few minutes later, Simon came into the car, he was soaking wet despite being loaned a police jacket.
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked him and he nodded.
The young traffic policeman came back and told us we could go home, someone would let us know if they found anything and they’d be out to speak with us tomorrow morning anyway.
Feeling very despondent, I started up the car and drove us home. Simon sat and shivered and I wanted him to hold me in his big strong arms and tell me everything would be alright, instead I thought I saw a few tears run down his cheek. This did not feel at all good.
(aka Bike) Part 1170 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Did you ever get a response to your text?” asked Simon as I parked the car.
“The one to Julie?” I asked and he nodded. “No, but then if her phone was switched off I wouldn’t would I?”
“No, I suppose not. You don’t think she’s just pissed with us and dumped the scooter to worry us, do you?”
“Si, she might be a teenager but she wouldn’t do something as stupid as that. I wish there was some way of knowing if she’d been to college.”
“What good would that do?” he looked even more forlorn than I felt, and I felt pretty bad.
“It would give us a starting place.”
“What about the scooter?”
“That’s what’s so funny, it feels absolutely dead–I’m not getting anything.”
“Could that mean she’s dead?”
“I don’t know–it might, but equally might not.”
“What do we do now?” he asked me as we walked into the house.
“Wait and see if the police find anything, which I think is unlikely.”
“Why?”
“With thermal imaging equipment, if she was anywhere near there, they’d have found her in a few minutes.”
“What even in the water?”
“Even if she was dead,” I replied and burst into tears.
“You don’t think she is, do you?”
“I don’t know, Si.”
Simon went up to shower–he was cold and wet–leaving me to deal with all the anxious faces.
“We don’t know where she is, I found the scooter which the police think could be damaged by a collision. They haven’t found her yet, or hadn’t when we came home. I don’t know any more than that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a cup of tea and I suspect Simon will need something a little stronger.”
I retreated to the kitchen and Stella and Jenny allowed me to escape without interrogation by Trish, who was bursting to ask something. Most of the time I can cope with and even enjoy her questioning mind, but tonight I felt very fragile and vulnerable.
I sat in the kitchen and drank my tea, then resting my head on my arms, I leant on the kitchen table and was asleep in minutes, staying like that until Simon found me half an hour later. He took me up to bed and I just lay on the top and slept again. I later found out he undressed me to my undies and put me into bed then cuddled into me and I slept all night.
I woke about six, wondering where the baby was–Jenny had moved the cot with Simon’s help to let me sleep. I was still exhausted when I woke, but I knew that was nerves or anxiety rather than anything else.
I slipped out of the bed only to discover I was in my bra and pants with a mouth which felt as if it had been carpeted. I showered and dressed after cleaning my teeth–that helped the furry tongue syndrome. Then it was down to make some tea and start wondering how I could find my missing child.
I looked at the photo I had of her, such a happy kid–sometimes, she’s a teenager, remember. I kept saying she was fifteen, she’s not she’s sixteen–she had to be to ride the moped thing–shows my mental state when I can’t remember how old my foster children are. Have I got too many to give them the attention they all deserve and need? Each one of them has issues, have I just bitten off more than I could chew?
I drank my tea and tried to focus on the face in the picture asking her to tell me where she was, and for my love to lead me to her. I felt myself falling into the photo, almost as if I was inside Julie. She was asleep or unconscious, like she’d been drinking or drugged. I tried to make her open her eyes so I could see where she was, but she was unresponsive–but I knew she was alive.
Now I had to find her before who ever had her discovered her shortcomings if they hadn’t already. I tried to send her love and healing light, but for some reason it didn’t get to her, or it did but I couldn’t follow it.
I grabbed a handful of biscuits and bottle of water, my handbag, my mobile and my coat and drove off. It was half past seven on a Friday morning and the rush hour traffic meant I couldn’t get the space to tune in to her. I drove off up on the ridge overlooking Portsmouth and parked the car. I locked myself in and started scanning the landscape before me, trying to get a hint of any direction where she could be.
An hour later and I had no sense of anything or anywhere. I switched on my phone and I had a text from Simon.
‘Where the hell R U? Si.’ I texted him back.
‘I’ll be back soon, tell the kids they can stay home if they want.’
He answered me a moment later: ‘2 late they’ve gon.’
I drove to Julie’s college and enquired about her attendance the previous day. She had apparently attended up to lunch time. The police had been there as well asking after her, she left during her lunch break and no one saw her since.
I asked if I could speak to her teachers or classmates but was refused. “The police have done all that, so we can’t allow you to disturb the class again.” I left with my tail between my legs and walked back to my car. Then I had a brainwave.
I stormed back into the college and found out which class Julie would have been in now. I knocked on the door and explained very quickly who I was.
“Look I understand you’re worried, but we’re running late–the police were here about Julie a little while ago.”
“If I can just borrow two minutes of your time and that of your class, then I’ll go.”
The teacher looked at me, “I don’t kn–go on, be quick or they’ll have my guts for garters.”
“Thanks.” I walked into the class. “Hi, I’m Cathy Cameron, Julie Kemp’s foster mum.” A buzz ran round the room. “I’m writing my mobile number on the board. If anyone has any info about Julie, please let me know. I’ll pay fifty pounds for anything that helps me find her, and if anyone helps me to catch the person or persons who have her–I fear she’s been abducted, I’ll pay them a thousand if we can get a conviction. There’s my number, write it down. Thank you.”
“Wow, that could get expensive,” said the teacher.
“My husband owns a bank.”
“You’re not one of those Camerons, I mean High Street Bank PLC Cameron?”
“Is there another?”
“I suppose not.” She blushed and looked a little sheepish.
“The reward includes teachers, or anyone you can think of who might be able to shed light on her disappearance. Oh, all calls will be in confidence.” I called the last bit to the class.
“I hope you find her, she’s not a bad kid.”
“She’s a lovely kid and I intend to.” I drove home hoping that I’d stirred up something which might help us, even if it pissed off the police. They have one kind of resource, I have another–or Simon does.
(aka Bike) Part 1171 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Where have you been?” demanded Simon.
“I needed to think.”
“Couldn’t you have done it at home?”
“No; no I couldn’t. I’ve also been to the college. She went in for the morning.”
“How come the scooter was where it was, then?”
“If I knew that, I’d probably know where she was.”
“You realise it’s bonfire night?”
“I hadn’t particularly.”
“The kids asked if we were going tonight.”
“Can you take them?”
“I can’t watch all of them can I? You’ll have to come.”
“I hate bonfires and I’m not that struck on fireworks.”
“It’ll do you good to get out for an hour.”
“I’ve just been out for an hour and all you’ve done is complain about it.”
“Pardon me for breathing,” he snapped and walked away. I was too tired to argue, not that I wanted to anyway. I felt like shit. I made some tea and found Simon, he was in the dining room standing looking out of the window.
“Would you like some tea?” I asked him.
“What?” he answered absently.
“Would you like some tea, I’ve just made a pot.”
“Dunno–drinking tea won’t bring her back will it?”
“No, but it helps us to deal with missing her.”
“Does it–it hasn’t so far.”
“I’m sorry–I’ll be in the kitchen.” I left him to his thoughts.
Jenny arrived a few minutes before Stella, Jenny had taken the girls to school and Stella had taken Danny, who was apparently upset at not finding Julie in her bed when he went to wake her as usual.
“Where did you get to?” They both asked me and I explained I’d been to the college to offer money.
“Won’t the police see that as dangerous?” asked Jenny, meaning the reward money.
“I don’t care. I’d happily pay a thousand or two to get her back.”
“I just meant in giving people ideas to either defraud you with duff info or give whoever is holding her the idea that she could be ransomed.”
“That’s the only reason I can think of for her abduction.”
“What, ransom?”
“Yes–I just hope she’s okay.” I felt tears roll down my cheeks and Stella hugged me.
“I’d better see to the baby,” said Jenny excusing herself.
“Simon wants to take the kids to the firework display.” I told Stella.
“Well you can’t do anything very much can you?”
“No, but it seems insensitive to be out enjoying ourselves while she’s missing.”
“But don’t the kids deserve some form of outing now and again?”
“I suppose so. You think we should go?”
“Yeah, it’ll take your mind off things for an hour or so.”
So that’s what we all agreed we’d do. Jenny would collect the girls in the Mondeo and we’d take two or three cars with us to the fireworks display at the rugby club. I’d get us a quick dinner and we’d go to watch the money burning–as you can see, I’m a keen firework fan.
Simon phoned his friend at the rugby club and we were told if we arrived early, the kids would be given sparklers–until they ran out, we’d also get to see the bonfire being lit. So he agreed we’d be there for six thirty.
Jenny came back from the school and I served up a thick vegetable soup with home-made bread, and some rice pudding afterwards–good stodge to keep them warm and stop them feeling hungry. Simon had two lots of each and we ate both the loaves I’d made that day.
We were ready to leave at six, everyone was wrapped up warm and Tom agreed to stay and keep an eye on the babies. I’d not eaten too much as I’d had to feed tiny wee, and I had a pile of chocolate bars in my handbag for the children afterwards.
We parked the two cars, Simon drove the Mondeo with all the girls–except Julie of course–and I drove with Jenny, Stella and Danny. We were there at six twenty and the kids were each given a couple of sparklers which they’d be lighting after the bonfire was set ablaze. It was a pretty big one with a guy on the top and I hoped they’d checked it for hedgehogs looking for places to hibernate.
It was quite dark and getting cold, so I stood to the windward of the fire–not wanting to smell like a kipper or Arbroath smokie. As the brand was lit which would start the bonfire, I could see the size of the fire properly for the first time–it was very big and the guy on top was life-size.
The fire was started and the flames lit up the surrounding area and for the first time I could see the guy in more detail, the clothes looked more female than male, so did we have a gal rather than a guy. I looked again, they were familiar. Oh my God.
I pointed at the effigy on top of the now growing fire–“Those clothes they’re Julie’s,” I said to Simon.
“Don’t be daft, you’re just hypersensitive.”
I watched again and I was sure a hand moved. “There’s someone in that–it’s not an effigy.”
“What?” gasped Simon. I pointed and we saw a leg twitch. “Holy shit,” he ran off towards the clubhouse as the fireworks began.
“What if it’s Julie?” I said out loud. Then I grabbed my penknife from my handbag, told Stella to watch the kids and dashed on to the fire, braving the smoke and flames. I reckoned I had no more than a couple of minutes before it was too late to save whoever it was.
People were shouting and yelling at me to get off as I was spoiling the event. However, I stuck to my task and cut the ropes holding the arms legs and torso of the victim. I could hear them coughing, so they were still alive.
My eyes were streaming with the smoke and it was getting very hot, I had a feeling the rubber on my shoes was melting and some of the flames were coming very close.
Moments later Simon jumped up to help me carrying a fire blanket which we threw over the ‘guy’ and between us we just managed to drag them off the fire and roll them on the ground to dowse the odd flame.
People from the club now came to assist, and we were all taken well away from the fire. I was coughing and spluttering and my legs were stinging a bit where my jeans had scorched.
We laid the ‘guy’ down on the grass and still clutching my penknife I cut away the sacking over the face and hands, it was a young woman–oh no, I fainted and I think Simon caught me–I don’t really know.
I woke up in A&E in the QA attached to an oxygen machine. Simon was sitting with me, still covered in dust and soot from the fire. I smiled at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, how’s Julie?” I enquired.
“I’m not sure, they were still working on her.”
“Who would do such a thing? Such a wretched thing?” I asked my eyes filling with tears.
“I don’t know, Babes, but if you hadn’t spotted her, she’d have had an agonising death, that’s for sure and much of the evidence would have been lost.”
“She was drugged and gagged,” I said sobbing, “she nearly died, who could hate anyone enough to do that?”
“I don’t know, Babes, but if ever I find out, someone will be in deep, deep shit.”
“Can I go and see her?” I asked the young doctor who came in to check my vitals.
“No, you just stay there–she’s in ICU, she’s very poorly.”
I made to get off the bed and Simon pushed me back. “Just rest there,” he said and I coughed and brought up a whole pile of grey black sputum. “Get your sea legs back first–eh?”
I lay back and wept.
(aka Bike) Part 1172 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I think I must have fallen asleep because when I awoke, Simon wasn’t there. I called for him and a nurse appeared and told me he’d gone home to shower and change. I sat up and a physio came in and explained she wanted to clear my chest. Well she started slapping me on the back and I began to think that clearing my chest was knocking my boobs off. I began to cough and brought up this horrible black scummy stuff. A couple of minutes later and I was able to breathe much more easily. I thanked her and she nodded and went off to torture another victim–I’ll bet she does water-boarding in her spare time.
I asked about Julie and the nurse went off to find out for me. She returned five or ten minutes later. “She’s comfortable and they hope out of danger. They’re still trying to analyse what she was given. They’re concerned about her kidneys but otherwise she’s coming on.”
“Can I go and see her?”
“Shortly. What’s this about you dragging her off a bonfire?” asked the nurse, “Did she fall into it?”
“Something like that, I don’t remember.”
“Only the press have been sniffing about like dogs round each other’s bums.”
“When can I see her?”
“I’ll go and phone the unit and see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” I sat impatiently and coughed from time to time, but it was less black. I must have inhaled more smoke than I thought. Goodness knows how Julie is.
“There’s a porter going to take you up in a few minutes. You’ll need to wrap a blanket round yourself.”
I looked down and realised I was wearing one of those disposable gown things. I felt down below–at least I still had my knickers on. The nurse came back with one of those hospital cellular blankets and I stood up and wrapped it round me like a giant shawl. I saw I also had some of those disposable slippers they provide. The porter arrived and he helped me into a chair. “I can walk, you know,” I said indignantly.
“Sit still or I’ll shove you down the laundry chute,” he barked at me and I sat quietly. It took an age to get to the ICU, and then he had to speak with the nurse in charge. She pushed the chair into a cubicle and there under a mass of tubes and wires was Julie.
“We didn’t realise she was a boy until we went to put the catheter in.”
“She isn’t, she’s a transgendered girl.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that–I mean anatomically, she has a willie.”
“No she suffers from vagina inverticus.”
“From vagi...oh? I see, yes, very good.” She blushed and laughed, “You obviously don’t have a problem with it then?”
“Why–do you?”
“No, no of course not.” She blushed again.
I got out of the wheel chair and sat next to Julie and rubbed the back of her hand, which felt a bit cooler than usual, yet when I touched her forehead, that felt warmer. “Is she on antibiotics?”
“Oh yes, quite a high dose–we think the drug she had taken...”
“I don’t think she’d have taken it voluntarily, she would either have been duped or forced to take it–she doesn’t do drugs.”
“Mrs Kemp, please don’t be so aggressive. I wasn’t implying she’d taken it for fun, but she did ingest it one way or another. Anyway, we think it might have affected her breathing and I believe she was caught in a fire and had sacking on her face, if that wasn’t very clean. However, it may have also protected her face from the heat a little.”
“It might have done, oh and my name isn’t Kemp, Julie is my foster child, my name is Cameron.”
“I’m sorry–I thought you were her mother–but you’re far too young to be her mother. Did you know she was transgendered before you fostered her?”
“Yes, it isn’t a problem–she’s never been anything other than a young woman to me–perhaps one with a particular issue, but all teenagers have something to deal with, even if it’s only their grotty parents.”
“What are you doing to her?” the nurse walked towards the machines. “Her oxygen level has increased to nearly normal and her kidney function is improving.”
“I’m not doing anything, am I? I’m just holding her hand–maybe she recognises my voice–hello, sweetheart, you’re going to be okay, can you hear me? You’ll be okay now I’m here.”
The nurse rubbed her eyes, “What are you?”
“Why?”
“There’s this white light surrounding you and Julie, I think I’d better get the doctor–maybe you’d better go.”
“Julie wake up and tell her you feel better.” I said to the supine child. Her eyes opened and she looked at me and smiled.
“Hello, Mummy, where are we?”
“In hospital, sweetheart, you’ve been ill.”
“Have I–I’ve had the weirdest dreams, Mummy.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
She gave a terrific cough and I held out the papier mache receiver and she spat out this almost black tar like gunge. She took some more deep breaths and coughed up another lot.
The nurse was stood mesmerised with her mouth wide open and her eyes bulging. “When you see the dentist next week, get him to check that crown you have on your wisdom tooth, there’s decay under it,” I told her.
She snapped back to life, “Dentist? How d’you know I’m seeing the dentist? What are you some sort of witch?”
“Why do people always see witches as wicked–most are actually very nice people, who do no harm to anyone–it’s against their religion.” I smirked.
“She’s an angel really,” said Julie before bringing up another pile of gunk.
“I’ve never seen anything like this in over twenty years of nursing.”
“It’s good to learn something new every day,” I teased.
“They say there’s some mystery healer that comes here–it’s you, isn’t it?”
“Me–nah, I just love her–that’s all you saw, a manifestation of my love–it just seems more visible with some people than others. When you have your cat sat on your lap, you’re doing exactly the same, only you can’t see it–what’s his name–Jefferson? Unusual name for a cat. Is it because your name is Davis?”
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
“My cat’s name?”
“A lucky guess, I suppose.”
“You are weird, Mrs Cameron.”
“Yeah, it’s teaching students for a while–it gets to you eventually.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“Not exactly–well okay then, a teacher of men.” I used the phrase especially. I could see the cross round her neck.
“I don’t believe in false prophets, how dare you use words from the Bible?”
“I’m neither a prophet nor false. You believe what you believe and I’ll believe what I believe and apart from never the twain meeting, we’ll get on fine.”
“I think you ought to leave.”
“If I go, so does she.”
“I think I’d better call the police.”
“That would be a mistake, call Mr Nicholls instead.”
“How do you know Mr Nicholls.”
“I know lots of people, including many of the police.”
She picked up the phone and bleeped Ken Nicholls. He called back a moment later. I could only hear half the conversation. “Hello, Mr Nicholls, I’m sorry to disturb you, it’s Sister Davis on ICU. I have a strange lady here who says she knows you, Mrs Cameron, I think she said she was, making my machines go funny. You’ll come over? Oh good.”
“He’s coming then?” I clarified.
“Yes, he asked if I saw any blue light? He also said you were an angel–what’s going on? God protect me.”
“You have nothing to fear from me, I don’t hang upside down in a wardrobe on full moons or anything like that. I would ask that you keep confidential what you’ve seen today–or I get nasty and sue for breach of confidence, and I always win.”
Her smile turned to a look of dismay, which was when Ken Nicholls strolled in. “Cathy, what are you doing here and wearing one our gowns–tut tut, Calvin Klein they are not.”
“Damn, I dressed in a hurry this morning...” I said and he bellowed with laughter.
(aka Bike) Part 1173 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Fortunately Simon had noticed I needed a change of clothes and so brought some in with him a little later. The chest physician had checked out Julie and agreed she could be moved to an ordinary ward and if she showed no further symptoms of breathlessness and her other problems were resolving, he thought she could come home in a day or so.
Simon took me home and I was pleased to see that Stella had brought my handbag back complete with chocolate bars. I had a cuppa and checked on the kids–they were all asleep, well except one–who once she’d reassured herself I was alright, went off to sleep.
“Do they know who abducted Julie and why?” asked Stella.
“Not yet, she doesn’t seem to remember too much about anything.”
“Surely, someone must have seen something?” she continued.
“I’m sure they did, but whether or not they report it, makes the outcome uncertain. There must be umpteen occasions, when she was taken–was she drugged first? When they crashed the scooter, and when they took her to the bonfire. There would have been people doing things round there all day–setting up the fireworks and so on.”
“I spoke to several at the rugby club while we were waiting for the ambulance, no one seems to know who the two blokes were who put Julie on the bonfire.”
“Were they young or old?” I asked, “Black or white, big small–what were they wearing?” I fired questions at him.
“They were both black, wearing gold lame evening gowns and cowboy boots,” he shot back–“They don’t bloody know because everyone was doing their thing and not paying attention to the two putting the guy on the top of the pile of wood. They did use a ladder, so they must have come in a car or van with a ladder on the roof.”
“So we don’t have a motive yet, either?” posited Stella.
“Aye, wis it personal tae Julie, or wis it aginst Cathy, or e’en thae Cameron clan?”
“That’s what’s going round in my head too,” I agreed, “maybe we need to go somewhere else?”
“Where?” asked Simon, “I suppose Dad could have the estate organised in a few days, open up the old place, get it aired.”
“No, Si, we need somewhere smaller not bigger–the bigger it is, the harder it is to defend or protect.”
“If it’s just Julie?” he suggested.
“I don’t know, send her away for a few days–if we can find somewhere safe, I suppose I could take her to Bristol with the baby.”
“Or we could send her to Hampstead.” Simon beamed at me.
“I thought it was Coventry you send people?” I played deliberately stupid despite being tired.
“Thae polis’ll want tae talk wi’ ‘er.”
“I know, I’ll give Stephanie a call first thing tomorrow and book a session with her as soon as Julie comes home, just in case.”
“I suppose if she can’t remember much, then it saves her some trauma,” said Stella.
“But until we find out who did it and why we can’t stop it happening again–I wonder if Stephanie can do hypnosis?” I’d heard that some people can even recall incidents whilst under a general anaesthetic while hypnotised, though I wasn’t entirely sure how easy it would be as it seemed to require very deep trance state. It might work for dormice–they spend half their lives in a trance, but not sure about teenagers–although it’s arguable they are just hibernating humans–which emerge from their sleep five or ten years later and resume being human again.
“Is she going to be safe in hospital?” asked Stella.
“Yes,” said Simon, “I’ve paid a firm of bodyguards to sit outside her door day and night until she comes home.”
“You didn’t tell me,” I said frowning.
“Well the police couldn’t or wouldn’t supply a guard, so I organised it. The hospital was okay about it.”
“Like what happens if he needs to go to the loo?” asked Stella, making quite a valid point.
“They only do four hours, so it shouldn’t happen.”
“Four hours–if it’s cold I need to go two or three times in that sort of period.”
“Not if I was paying you wouldn’t.” Simon closed that part of the discussion aggressively.
I excused myself and went to bed. I couldn’t sleep though, my head was buzzing with what ifs and maybes. My major concern was protecting the family. We couldn’t all have bodyguards, and even with them, things can happen. To try and take my mind off things, I tried to send healing vibes to Julie and I did finally sleep.
When I awoke the next morning, it took me a moment to realise that Simon wasn’t in bed. In fact it was obvious he hadn’t come to bed at all. My first thought was that he’d been taken and I rushed out of bed and dashed downstairs, nearly falling over the armchair at the foot of the stairs. In it, fast asleep with a broken shotgun across his lap was my husband. I was touched by his gesture of protection, though, I leant across and removed the gun without him rousing.
I then kissed him on the cheek and he muttered, “Not now, Rosemary...”
“Who’s Rosemary,” I demanded slapping him on the cheek.
He sat in the chair and roared–“I heard you come down the stairs, like a clog dancing elephant.”
“You were asleep, I even took your gun.” I protested loudly.
“Only because I let you.”
“So who’s Rosemary?” I clicked the gun together and pointed it at his groin.
“There is no Rosemary,” he said going pale.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, “and I’m not prepared to share you with another woman.”
“Cathy, there is no one else, honestly. There is no Rosemary, I only said it to annoy you. It’s a joke.”
I drew back the hammers. “You’re lying, who is she?”
“Cathy, don’t be stupid.”
I pulled both triggers and he practically pooed himself. I then showed him the two cartridges in my other hand. “It’s a joke, too. Can’t say I like yours very much.”
“Jeezuz H Christ, you really had me worried there.”
“I meant to, I won’t share you with another woman–just thought I’d let you know.” I handed him the gun and the cartridges, “I think this needs to be locked away securely.” Tom has a gun locker in his study, I presumed that was where it came from–though I didn’t know Simon had a key to it.
After I’d showered, he continued to complain about my frightening the proverbial out of him. “Simon, I came dashing down the stairs to see if you were okay, so to have you play such a tasteless joke on me needed some repayment. Besides, you know I couldn’t hit a barn door with a shovel, so you were quite safe.
“I thought your aim was pretty good–I’ve seen you fire a bow and heard the reports about what happened in Scotland with the police attack.”
“That was a Kalashnikov, a proper gun, not one of those turkey bashers, and it also fires so many bullets, you’re bound to hit something eventually,” I retorted going to make breakfast.
(aka Bike) Part 1174 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon and I made up after his tasteless joke and my dangerous one–I hate guns, so it made little sense to me either, but at the time it seemed like a good idea–a bit like riding my bike the day of the thunderstorm. If I’d seen what was coming, I’m not sure I’d have known what to do. Anyway, it’s all spilt milk under the bridge over which I leapt without a look and landed in the fire, which has burned pretty well ever since.
Trish came down and gave me a huge hug and a kiss, so that made me feel better, and when Livvie, Mima and Billie did the same I felt much better. I called Stephanie who was dashing out to have her hair done. I asked her to come and see Julie very soon.
“But I see her every week, already. What’s happened that’s so urgent–she’s been coming on fine?”
“Have you heard about the human guy left on the bonfire?”
“Oh, she wasn’t there to see that, was she?” Stephanie sighed in the background.
“No, she didn’t see it.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“It was her.”
“What was?”
“She was the guy on the bonfire.”
“Oh my God,” she said slowly. “Where is she now?”
“Still at the QA.”
“I’d have thought it would be Odstock Hospital for burns.”
“It wasn’t burns, I managed to pull her off before then.”
“You pulled her off?”
“Yes, with Simon’s help.”
“Are you alright?”
“As ever I’m going to be.”
“Are you sure–why not see Ann Thomas, you’ve probably undergone as much trauma as anyone else.”
“I’m okay.” I protested.
“Fine, let’s keep it that way, go and see Ann or I’ll have you sectioned under the mental health act.”
“Oh all right, you bloody trick cyclists are a pain.”
“I’ve got to dash, I’ll pop in and see Julie this afternoon.”
“Is that okay?” I felt embarrassed.
“No, I was getting my hair done for a date this afternoon, he’ll just have to wait an hour won’t he?”
“Lucky you,” I sighed unthinkingly.
“See, you do need to see Ann.”
“Okay, I’ll make an appointment.” I put the phone down.
“When can we see Julie?” asked Trish after she’d helped to clear the table.
“I’m not sure, sweetheart. She could be home in a day or two but as we don’t know who attacked her, I’m very reluctant to let any of you go anywhere.”
“If I can work that out, can we go and see her?”
“How can you do that?” I was astonished.
“Elementary, my dear Watts.” She disappeared in a mass of giggles.
I left her to it, she was doing something on her computer–her computer skills were coming on in leaps and bounds, Livvie who’s pretty bright as well, doesn’t always understand what Trish is doing–this kid is like, six years old–and I have no idea.
I found out later she was trying to hack the police computer, via an address in the Ukraine to disguise her identity. When I was six, I’d never heard of Ukraine, let alone trying to pretend I was there.
The firewall was too complex for her but she managed to get into the road surveillance system, including the recordings over the past few days. She called me two hours later–there was a picture of a youth or man riding the pink scooter. The size made it obvious the rider was male, although the helmet was Julie’s.
If he didn’t abduct her, he was certainly involved. She stored the images and printed off some copies. I’d be back to the college on Monday and showing the photo to all and sundry. He was big, so we could eliminate all the smaller men from the rider, although they could also still be involved.
Nothing was clear cut about this case. At mid morning, I had a call from the hospital, the police were waiting to interview Julie and she wanted me present. I wondered if Simon would be better to go, but she insisted on me. I spoke briefly with him, and he agreed to supervise the kids while I went to the hospital.
Leon had arrived and wondered where Julie was, I think it was Danny who told him what had happened and Leon became very angry. Julie wasn’t quite his girlfriend, but as close to him as any girl had ever got and he was quite distressed. Stella had to work hard to calm him down. He was spouting vengeance, but Simon told him to get in the queue.
Actually, I’m not so interested in revenge, I just want Julie and the others to be able to live a normal life, but that means negating the threat we believe her and possibly my other children to be under. How we do it, I’m not too worried provided we don’t end up in bigger trouble for doing it. Motive still wasn’t clear, unless it was a transphobic one. It’s not exactly uncommon, even I’ve experienced a bit of it or did in days gone by. But Julie is so pretty, unless you got her knickers off you’d never know she wasn’t a natural girl, she’s really blossomed from the hormones.
The interview was a waste of time. She couldn’t remember anything. She was upset when she discovered her scooter had been damaged–she didn’t know. She had no recollection of leaving college lunch time, she could only muse that she was probably going to get a kebab for her lunch–but she wasn’t at all sure.
I felt like showing them the picture of the bloke on her scooter, but then I’d have to explain that my younger daughter had hacked into the road system surveillance of the county council.
I gave a statement, out of Julie’s hearing–she wasn’t yet aware she’d been left to die on a bonfire.
“And you didn’t want to go to the firework display?” asked the woman Inspector.
“No, I only went because everyone else wanted to go, and they promised free sparklers to kids who got there first.”
“You seem to have some phenomenal coincidences in your life?”
“Yeah, don’t I just.” I shrugged.
“Someone up there seems to think you can work with Him.”
“Not me, I’m unconvinced and an unbeliever. Prove to me there is someone up there and I’ll reconsider my position.”
“For many, the coincidences would be enough. What were the chances that you’d be at that bonfire party?”
“I don’t really know, but I suspect the person or persons who did it weren’t expecting me to recognise Julie’s jacket.”
“How did you?”
“My friend Siân got it for her in Paris, so there aren’t too many about in Portsmouth.”
“Your husband didn’t notice it then?”
“Only when I pointed it out to him.”
“He is a man, so I suppose he wouldn’t notice what women were wearing unless it was very little or they were taking it off,” the police officer speculated, but it sounded about right. If the guy had been wearing a bikini, Simon would have noticed and Stella would have been able to tell you who made it. But it was very fortunate that the guy was wearing an expensive French leather jacket–why hadn’t other people noticed and why hadn’t I noticed it earlier? I noticed it because it was Julie’s jacket, not because it wasn’t the sort of thing that Guy Fawkes effigies usually wore. Then I’m not a copper, but I’m supposed to be a trained observer–or does that only apply to dormice and assorted furry things?
I went back to see Julie after the police left and Stephanie walked onto the ward. The sister rushed off presumably to find her a room–well she is a consultant psychiatrist, like Ann Thomas–which reminded me…
(aka Bike) Part 1175 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Julie didn’t need me to be there for her interview with Stephanie, so I gave her a hug and went off to do some food shopping and then home. Stephanie promised to speak to me if there was anything I needed to know–usually there isn’t much.
It took me an hour and a half to fill a large trolley with enough food to keep us going for a few days. If Simon stayed home, one day less. I didn’t think anyone could eat so much and be able to walk about, but he seems able to. I shall have to watch his weight because he sure ain’t going to.
I paid for my groceries and loaded the car, one of these days I was going to do it all online–even in the better supermarkets, it is a total pain and waste of useful time. Back home, my boobs told me it was time to either express or feed the wee yin. You might well have guessed it was the latter.
Tiny wee isn’t quite so tiny, despite my neglect and she now has the odd solid food as well, usually something like Farex or Farley’s Rusk. The latter we soak in milk until it becomes like sludge–but she eats it with relish. I also do a little bit of dinner in the blender and she’ll have a spoonful or two of that.
She had a bit of Farley’s in milk followed by breast of foster mother, chewed not shaken–little monster. Sometimes I’m really glad I’m a human, because the thought of being something like a mother cat feeding a litter of kittens with their needle sharp claws and teeth makes my eyes water. This little toad with just two teeth and jaws like a badger, sometimes makes me feel like I’ve had my nipples pierced–by a staple gun. She is definitely going to be a carnivore–she’s been practicing on me for over two months.
While I sat with the baby, I had time to reflect on recent days–boring it has not been. I still couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt Julie. I know she can be a pain in the arse, but really no more so than any other teenager, and I didn’t see stacks of other teens ready for chucking on the bonfire. Ergo, there must be a more specific reason; such as she did something or said something or witnessed someone else doing something or talking about it. I was speculating and wearing out my surviving brain cell–I suppose I should have got my super-brain computer thinking about it–we call her Trish.
On Monday, I would visit the college and show the photos to students and see if anyone recognised the rider on Julie’s scooter. After lunch, I went to visit Julie again, taking Trish with me. We also took the photo she’d found on the CCTV site to see if Julie recognised the rider.
She was asleep when we entered her room, but she soon woke up when Trish planted a smacker on her cheek. If she kisses like that with boys when she’s a bit older, they’ll be calling her Dyson, because it’s about the only thing with similar suction I’ve ever encountered.
Julie woke up lazily stretching and opening her eyes. “Oh hi, Mummy–Trishy, oh wow.” They hugged like they hadn’t seen each other for several months, not a couple of days.
“How did you get on with Stephanie?” I asked Julie.
“Dunno, she hypnotised me I think–I like went to sleep an’ when I woke up, she’d gone–I suppose she got bored an’ left. If she talks to you can you say soz from me, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“If she calls, of course I will–however, she knows what she’s doing, so if you slept, then it was probably meant to happen.”
“She could sleep through a firework display,” said Trish and then saw my expression which was not one of approval. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed to me and I gave her some more scorn.
“Don’t be daft,” replied Julie, “the slightest noise and I’m awake.”
“That isn’t what Danny says when he tries to get you up in the mornings,” I reminded her.
“Oh I do that deliberately, just to push his buttons.”
“It might be rather nice one day not to try and annoy him, but just get up and get yourself dressed.”
“Yes, you should,” agreed Trish, trying to divert attention from her own failings.
“Will I get my jacket back–from the police, I mean.”
“If it’s like my phone, it won’t fit you by the time they give it back,” Trish commented.
“I don’t know, we’ll get you another one sometime if they don’t–it might be forensic evidence, you know, DNA and all that sort of stuff.”
“Oh, d’you know this person?” I handed her the photograph.
“He’s got a scooter like mine.”
“It is your scooter, Jules,” beamed Trish, “I got it from the CCTV camera down the road from where they found your scooter.”
“Cor, you are so clever, you’ll have to show me how you did it.”
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Julie, it’s such a long winded process creating a fake identity so they can’t trace you. But she has promised me she wouldn’t try hacking into the military, because I don’t think it would be very funny to give the order to start World War 3.”
“The Prime Minister does that, Mummy.”
“Yeah, but if you said your name was Cameron, they’d probably think it was him. It gets very boring in those nuclear submarines unless you’re playing tag with the Russians or Chinese, or even the French or Yanks. I remember when I was in school in Bristol, we had this war hero bloke come and speak to us. He was with the submarines and he and another British sub together with an American one were about to attack a Japanese convoy in the Pacific, the two British boats got underneath the escort destroyers and were waiting for the Yanks to follow, when they bottled out and fled–apparently it was a very young crew. The two Brit boats got depth charged for nine hours. He was livid when the American avoided a court martial.”
“What’s a depth charge, Mummy?”
“It’s like a bomb that explodes under water and creates a pressure wave against the submarine. If it’s close enough, it can break the welding on the outer skin of the sub and it sinks.”
“But it’s under the water already, so how can it sink?” Trish protested.
“It’s sailing under water or even resting on the bottom, not lying on the bottom with the air and the pressure inside it escaping, which means if the sailors in it don’t drown or asphyxiate, they get crushed by the weight of millions of tons of water on top of them.”
“Yeeewwch,” Trish made a nasty face, “I don’t think I want to go down in a submarine, sounds dangerous.”
“Only if men are driving it,” I joked, thinking about the latest British sub which ran aground while sailing on its maiden voyage and had to be towed back to its depot.
“Do they have ladies in submarines?” asked an astonished Trish.
“I have no idea, but you certainly wouldn’t get me down in one either. They’re very cramped and noisy and I don’t trust nuclear power, except we’ll have to use it to keep the lights burning in future however much people object. Wind farms are a waste of money.”
“I thought you’d be all in favour of green energy, Mummy?” suggested Julie.
“They’re nowhere near as green as they’re made out to be and they kill large numbers of sea birds.”
“That’s it,” snapped Julie.
“What is?” I asked still thinking about wind farms.
“Bird, that’s the bloke’s name in the photo.” Julie looked pleased with herself.
“Bird?”
“Yeah, they call him The Vulture, he’s the guy who does fetching and carrying, and dishwashing at college. He’s a bit creepy, has funny eyes–like really heavy lids to them.”
“Like some types of vulture–well done, girl. Now all we have to do is work out why he abducted you.”
“Oh he didn’t did he? Yeeeeeuck.”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you didn’t give him permission to ride your scooter.”
“No way, he’s far too fat, he’d break it.”
Trish made a mime of someone huge sitting on something not strong enough to bear his weight and getting stuck between the handlebars and the seat as it bent in on them. It was quite funny–maybe she’s going to be an actor?
(aka Bike) Part 1176 (98 dozen) by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
A little while before we left, Trish and I gave Julie some combined healing. It sent her off to sleep and we left her sleeping as we made our way home. We stopped at a cyber cafe and Trish created an email account with Yahoo and then sent a copy of the picture plus the name we’d been given to the woman police inspector who’d come to speak with me. She’d left her card which made it easier.
An hour later, the inspector knocked on the door, Simon let her in. “Lady Cameron, I don’t suppose you know anything about this do you?” she held up the photo of the man on Julie’s scooter.
“Why would I know anything about it?”
“You didn’t send it to me, then?”
“No, I didn’t send it, but that looks remarkably like Julie’s scooter. What’s he doing on it?”
“It is Julie’s scooter, and we’re hoping to arrest him in the next few hours.”
“Where’s he live, I’m sure Simon would happily go and arrest him for you, although I suspect he would resist arrest and Simon would have to quieten him down, wouldn’t you Si?”
“Wouldn’t I what? he replied.
I held up the picture, “This guy is riding Julie’s scooter.”
“Where and when?” he asked walking up to get a better look at the photo.
“The date is on it, and it was taken by a camera half a mile up the road from where it was found dumped,” informed the inspector.
“Big Jessie riding a girl’s scooter,” he almost spat at the picture, so I didn’t remind him he’d had a go on it.
“The man’s name is Alfie Bird, alias the vulture, because he has hooded eyes like the bird of prey.” The inspector informed us and although she was technically incorrect, a vulture isn’t a bird of prey because it eats mainly carrion, red and black kite will also eat carrion and yet they’re regarded as birds of prey, and other raptors are equally happy to eat stuff they didn’t kill. Why waste energy when there’s fast food waiting for you?
Sadly the same laziness applies to mammalian predators as well and the red fox, Vulpes vulpes is quite happy raiding dust bins instead of killing rats and mice, mind you so is Kiki and domestic moggies are quite adept at opening black bin bags as are various gulls and corvids. Nature is adaptable, or some of it is–it can still come unstuck, as one consequence of bin bags was large numbers of gulls dying through botulism about twenty years ago. The bacterium Clostridium botulinus, is a nasty little anaerobe, which means it doesn’t like oxygen or need it to thrive. Black plastic bags in warm weather are just the right sort of environment it loves and it was growing in old foodstuffs in the bags. The gulls were ripping them open or helping themselves to the spillages from landfill sites and poisoning themselves. The same toxin which was killing them is the one that’s injected to people’s faces to reduce wrinkles or lines by paralysing tiny muscles and better known as botox–botulinum toxin. Other delightful members of the Clostridia are C.welchii, C. Tetani and C. difficile–all expert killers, the first two are gas gangrene and tetanus, bugs found in the earth or animal faeces.
“Who is this Alfie Bird?” I asked knowing he worked at the college.
“He’s a nasty piece of work, with more records than Madonna, all of them criminal.”
“How is he nasty?” I asked realising it didn’t probably apply only to his personal hygiene.
“He’s been done for violence, sexual violence, armed robbery and supplying drugs. He’s not exactly a big fish himself, he’s too stupid, but he has been used by different gangs to enforce or extort money, so he gets to exercise some of the violence for which he’s rather too well known.”
“Why would he have attacked Julie and did he?”
“We’ll have a better idea when we’ve spoken to him. I don’t know why he attacked her, or even if he did, but perhaps she saw or heard something she shouldn’t have.”
“If he’s sexually abused her, I’ll...”
“You’ll what, Lady Cameron?” asked the inspector.
“I’ll hope you catch him and he goes down for a long time.”
She gave me a very old fashioned look and her eyes narrowed. “I have to remind you that we take a dim view of people who take the law into their own hands.”
“Would I do a thing like that?”
“According to our records–yes–quite frequently.”
“Not recently, the thugs round here seem to realise that we deliver them back to civilisation sky-clad, with a bit of a walk to do.”
“Sky clad?” queried Simon.
“It means birthday suit and tends to be used as a description of some pagan celebrations, such as Wicca.”
“Wouldn’t that be a bit cold on a broomstick–birthday suit I mean?” asked Simon finding the whole interview hilarious.
“I don’t honestly know, I could tow you behind the car if you really wanted to know,” I offered. The inspector allowed her lips to twitch at my suggestion before returning to her poker face.
“We learned very little from Julie, it seems she was possibly taken after being drugged, they found traces of Rohypnol in her blood amongst other things. Before you go thinking date rape, we didn’t find any trace of that as far as we could see.”
“How do you know what happened to her, if she was either drugged or unconscious?” asked Simon.
“She was medically examined by a police surgeon who would know where to look for signs of sexual abuse.”
“It could have happened without leaving any marks,” Simon was becoming quite angry at the thought of it, especially as we knew it had happened before.
“I can assure you, our doctors are well trained.”
Simon looked at me and I wondered if the same idea went through his brain–At which well are they trained? I realised he wasn’t thinking the same when he said if he came across the guy first, he wasn’t sure how he’d react. I asked him to let the police deal with it, at the same time wishing I could have five minutes alone with him and a pair of tin snips.
“I honestly wouldn’t recommend any contact with him, Lord Cameron, he has escaped at least one charge of manslaughter because the witness withdrew his statement, we’re pretty sure because of intimidation. He’s a really nasty piece of work.”
“If he turns up here, he’ll leave in a body bag,” stated Simon impassively.
“Please, I’ve already asked you to avoid taking the law into your own hands, vigilantism achieves nothing but more problems for all concerned.”
“Oh it’s not me he has to worry about,” Simon said quite cheerfully.
“No?” said the Inspector.
“Oh no, round here the female is definitely much deadlier than the male.”
She looked at his slightest of smiles and then she looked at me and her eyes narrowed.
“We have a very savage guard cat,” I joked and she shook her head at me and sighed.
“You’ve been warned, if he shows up here, dial triple nine...”
“And ask for the ambulance?” suggested Simon.
(aka Bike) Part 1177 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What if ‘e comes at me with a point-ed stick?” said Simon in probably the worst Welsh accent I’ve ever heard and straight out of Monty Python.
“Who–Alfie Bird?” I asked.
“’Ere, come at me wiv a banana.”
“I have better things to do than encourage your silliness.” I sloped off to get the kids to bed and check my emails.
“D’you think that nasty man knows where we live?” asked Billie, sounding quite scared.
“I don’t know, kiddo, but I doubt he’d be stupid enough to come here. The police would be round here in moments once I phoned.”
“Don’t worry, sis, we’ll look after you, won’t we Liv?” said Trish confidently.
“An’ me, I’ww hewp too,” said Meems, “So don’t wowwy, Biwwie, we’ll pwotect you.”
“Thank you,” said Billie and slid under the bedclothes.
I read them a short story and tucked them in, then went down and chatted with Danny for a while. He went off to bed with his soccer magazine. I fed the baby and chatted with Stella and Jenny. Then they went off to bed and I put tiny wee down after changing her.
Finally, I got round to my emails, most of which were rubbish–although there was one from Sussex Uni.
‘Dear Cathy,
I appreciate you’re busy, but our membership was asked who they’d like to do our Christmas lecture and your name came up. Any chance you could say something profound about dormeece and shows a few more out-takes? The date is 17th December.
Could you let me know, oh the fee is two hundred, hope that’s enough to tempt you.
Kind regards,
Abi’
It was dated today. Did I have the nerve to do another talk there? I wasn’t sure, plus the fact, that it was okay to do a talk to a bunch of parents who are being fleeced for school funds but to do the same talk to a larger group of undergrads and graduates plus staff–was a rather different matter.
I wrote back telling her that I had a young baby that I was feeding myself and I needed to think about it, but would get back to her in a day or two. I had a reply minutes later.
‘Wow, is there anything you can’t do? Dilly is pregnant–donor obviously, but she’s really happy with herself...’
Yeah, just wait until you tell her I’ve beaten her to it, I thought as I read her email.
‘Can you let me know asap if you can’t come and I’ll see if Sir David is available.
Congrats on the baby.
Abi’
There was another point to consider, did I want to do it and face the likes of Dilly and Ezzie Herbert, especially as he’d wanted me to do the UN job. Given the credit crunch and all the austerity measures being promoted by various governments, funding ecological projects wouldn’t be high on the political agenda–so I’m glad I didn’t succumb to the temptation of doing something beyond my abilities, which I considered the UN job to be.
Simon came through as I was mulling these things over. “Hi, Babes, we goin’ to bed or what?”
“Why what’s the alternative?”
“We could do it on the kitchen table,” he smiled and winked.
“At this moment, I think I’d rather come at you with a banana.” I switched off my computer and went up the stairs.
I was in bed and reading Cycling Weekly when he came through from the bathroom, the very image of male sexiness in his underpants and socks. Why do they always keep their socks on until just before they come to bed?
He pulled on an old tee shirt commemorating some rugby match or other. Now if it had been the TdF, I might have been interested, but it wasn’t.
I felt his hand on my leg and moved my leg. “Oh, be like that then,” he grumbled.
“Sussex Uni have asked me to do their Christmas lecture.”
“On what?” he asked more out of politeness than real interest, his attention being focused on a bulge in his underpants and a corresponding dent in my pants.
“I think they want some more out-takes from the dormouse film.”
“Have you showed them the one of you falling in the stream? ‘Look she’s fallen in da water,’” he said pretending to be Bluebottle from the Goons.
“No, I don’t think I have, I’ll have to speak to Alan about that one. I suppose he could have lost it.”
“I’m beginning to think I have,” he sighed.
“Lost what?” I asked laying my magazine down.
“Not my virginity, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“Eh? I wasn’t thinking any such thing,” I said disdainfully.
“Not even a quickie?”
“Quickie what?” I asked disingenuously.
“A quickie shag, what else?”
“You mean you want to make love to me?”
“No, I haven’t got time for that, I just want some raw sex with the woman of my dreams.” His hand came back on my leg and he began to rub it gently.
“Don’t tell me she’s not available so your wife will have to do?”
“Something like that,” he allowed, then added, “Look are we going to fuck or not?”
“Could do I suppose, since you put it like that,” I sighed.
“Your enthusiasm is always such a turn on, missus.”
“Well, you know, I’m still sore after the milkman, the butcher, the baker...”
“Don’t tell me and the bloody candlestick maker?” Simon interrupted.
“Well he’s always welcome, dunno what we’d do without his wares.”
“Yeah okay, up school–up school–right up school.”
“Goodness, you went there as well?” I said naívely.
“Very funny, now stop yapping and get sh...” I switched the light off and simultaneously ran my fingers over his bulge before grabbing it. “Ooh,” he squeaked, the rest I’ll leave to your fertile imaginings, but I walked a slightly stiffly the next morning and sat down very carefully–dunno if blue light sorts such things out as well.
Billie was very glad that we hadn’t all been murdered in our beds until I pointed out that it was Monday morning and she needed to go to school along with all the others.
After breakfast and the school run, I emailed Alan to ask if he still had the clip of the stream episode. He wrote back saying he thought he’d sent it. I played the DVD and found he hadn’t, so he promised to do so later that day. He also said he’d made one or two more contacts for harvest mice and hope to schedule some filming in late spring. I told him I looked forward to it.
The post arrived and with it a typed envelope with a first class stamp on it. Inside was a badly made attempt at a blackmail type letter made from cuttings. I immediately put it down and found a polycover thing you stick in loose leaf binders. Then called the police.
the watcher.’
I looked at the note, you couldn’t really call it a letter and began to feel more angry than scared. If that fat bastard showed his face round here, if Simon didn’t get him first, I sure as hell would.
(aka Bike) Part 1178 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
After the police came and removed the note for forensic analysis and presumably to compare finger prints with those they had on record of Alfie Bird. If he’s dumb enough to have left any, he’ll soon be doing bird–it’s an offence to send nasty letters through the Royal Mail, and the missing apostrophe made it very nasty. He should get an extra six months for poor grammar.
Stephanie had gone to see Julie again, and had pronounced her well enough to come home, the physicians agreed and I was called to go and get her. Just as well I wasn’t doing anything important, only drawing up plans for world domination by the Mammal Society–actually, I’d moments before put the bread machine on and was thinking about lunch. Instead, I grabbed my jacket and car keys. I sent a text to Simon to advise him that I was collecting Julie from hospital.
The traffic was dreadful, why does everyone with a car always want to use it the same time that I do–and always in the same place? It took me forty five minutes to get to the hospital and park the car. I picked up my handbag and the small holdall with Julie’s clothes and walked to the ward to collect her.
She gave me a huge hug and then went to change into her jeans and top, plus trainers and socks. Ten minutes later, she thanked the nurses with a hug each and then we left the ward strolling back to the car park. We were being watched as we soon found out.
Crossing on the crossing with several other people, a car flashed past and nearly caught both of us. If I hadn’t seen movement from the corner of my eye and pulled her back, who knows what would have happened.
Several people saw and commented on the old red Cavalier that so nearly knocked us down. It happened so fast that were unable to see the driver or get the number. We took a deep breath and continued on to collect the car. Perhaps I was still tired from the previous night or what, but I didn’t realise that we were actually being attacked.
We stepped into the car park and the red car came screaming at us once again, I pushed Julie between some parked cars and had to scramble over the bonnet of another avoiding the maniac in the Vauxhall by inches. He then drove out at breakneck speed and I heard his engine whining in the distance.
“Are you all right, Mummy?” called Julie from between the cars.
I pulled myself out from the bushes at the edge of the parking spaces and told her I was. Alas, she wasn’t, she’d twisted her ankle and was limping heavily on it. Fortunately, my car was only yards away and I went and got it and she managed to scramble inside, throwing her bag on the back seat.
Safe at last, Mercedes make secure cars, they’re renowned for it, so I felt safe. We drove round the hospital road and a blue car pulled out in front of us and I had to do an emergency stop to avoid him. He stayed in front as we exited on to the main road and did he dawdle. The windows were blacked out so I couldn’t see who was driving but it felt like a little old lady, I mean I cycle faster than he was going.
He drove on past a crossing where I stopped to let some children cross and one of them almost thanked me–cor, recognition at last. We caught up with the blue car at some traffic lights and once again he drove off like a clockwork slug. In desperation, I pulled off to the left to avoid him and go home by a different route, he was beginning to annoy me.
Another A class Merc followed him through the junction although it was a red one. We went in a big dog leg to come back to the main road and suddenly from nowhere the blue car came screaming past us–at least I thought it was the same one.
“Is that the same car which nearly ran us off the road coming out of the hospital?” I asked Julie.
“Could be, yeah, it looks the same, why?”
“Why indeed? He was crawling along in front of us, though he pulled out like a maniac to do so. Now he’s overtaken us again and is slowing down again–what’s going on?”
“What d’ya mean, Mummy?”
“Why’s he slowing us down–someone going to take a pop at us?”
“Mummy, this is Portsmouth not Chicago and Alfie Bird doesn’t have the brains to plan something like that, does he?”
“Who said he’s planning it, what if it’s his boss?” I glanced at Julie who’d gone pale. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“That’s Alfie up ahead.”
He stepped out into the road carrying something in his hand, I accelerated past the blue car and opened my door as we drew level with Alfie, who was knocked flying. The impact cracked my window and probably dented the door, but we squeezed through between a bus coming the other way and the blue car, which now began to come after us.
“Call the police,” I instructed Julie but she seemed to have fainted, slumping forward in her seat against the seat belt.
I now had to try and lose the other car, which I suspect went much faster than mine. Coming up to a roundabout, I deliberately turned against the traffic flow and went down a one way street against the direction of oncoming traffic, somehow, we all managed to miss each other. Getting to the end, I did a handbrake turn and went back up the road passing the lunatic in the blue car who had finally worked out where I’d gone except he was now going away from us and I saw he’d also hit a taxi coming up behind us.
I sighed for a moment of relief when I heard a dripping noise, I glanced down Julie was bleeding from the chest and it was running off the seat onto the floor of the car. I don’t know what had happened but she was unconscious and bleeding heavily. I had one thought in my mind–hospital and quick.
I don’t think I ever want to relive that journey; suddenly the red car appeared again and tried to ram us, this time I saw him coming and he careered across in front of us and crashed through the window of a chemist’s shop.
I was now speeding well over the limit through streets with pedestrians and slow moving traffic, one hand on the wheel the other on the horn, beeping my way through, squeezing through gaps I’d never normally even try in a car park, now I was doing it at fifty miles an hour.
Approaching the A&E entrance to the QA and the blue car appeared again, this time with a police car on his tail, lights flashing and sirens wailing. To my horror it didn’t seem to stop him, he just kept coming.
I put my foot down and swerved into the A&E parking bay and stopped suddenly expecting an impact from the rear, instead he shot past us and got broadsided by an ambulance which caused him to fly up into the air and land on his roof.
A policeman came running up to arrest me and I pointed to Julie–“She’s hurt, I don’t know how.”
He took one look at her and ran into the hospital returning a moment later with two nurses and a gurney. “Gunshot wound,” he said breathlessly and pointed to Julie whom I’d sat back in her seat and had a handful of tissues over the wound.
We all lifted her onto the gurney and some more nurses and a doctor appeared, she was rushed back into the hospital and the copper stopped me and said. “You’re under arrest,” and read me my rights.
(aka Bike) Part 1179 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Wouldn’t you be better helping your friend with the accident over there,” I pointed to the inverted car and damaged ambulance.
“Oh yeah, and let you run away?”
“You know who I am.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You also know where I live.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I have five other children there, I’m not going anywhere except to see how my daughter is.”
“Gunshot is a series offence.”
“I didn’t shoot her, but I know who did.”
“Who’s that then?”
“Alfie Bird.”
“Didn’t know ‘e used guns. You’re still under arrest.”
“Go and help your friend, I’ll speak to your superiors later.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“I wouldn’t threaten a member of the county constabulary despite their stupidity.”
“Don’t push your luck,” he pulled himself up to his full six feet.
“I could say the same to you. Talk with your colleagues and mention my name, listen to their advice.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“I know who I am, it’s you I’m unsure about–oh, does testicular cancer run in your family?”
“What’s that supposed to mean.”
“The injury you got, what two years ago? I’d get it checked out quickly.”
“What d’you know about that?”
“Very little, but more than you it seems.”
“Look ‘ere, if you’re pissin’ me about...”
“If you don’t get it sorted in the next few months, you have five years to live. Now excuse me, I have to see my daughter.”
I pushed past him, leaving him standing in a daze, serves him right if he loses his dangly bits. I didn’t offer to heal on him because–well could you see me standing in the car park with my hands round his–um, you get the point, besides I had Julie to deal with. Maybe I was losing it but I didn’t feel she was under any great risk–perhaps I am losing it.
I spoke with reception, “Yes, it’s me again.”
“She’s in theatre.”
“I’ll wait–oh who’s the duty surgeon?”
“Mr Nicholls, why?”
“I just wondered.”
I sat in the waiting area and called home, Jenny agreed to sort out the baby and collect the girls. I sent Simon a text. ‘Ju shot, back at QA. Cx’
Half an hour later I got his reply, ‘WTF? Si.’ It might have been easier to respond to a specific question, so I let it go. Minutes later he called my mobile.
“Where are you, Babes?”
“I told you, the QA. I went to collect Julie and she was shot as I drove towards home.”
“Shot? Who shot her?”
“I think it was Alfie Bird, in which case he should be here somewhere too.”
“Why?”
“I hit him with the car.”
“You did what?”
“He tried to stop us after he set us up with two other cars to crash us off the road. I could see he had something in his hand, so I clipped him with the car. Looks like it was a gun. I was being chased by two cars and I didn’t notice for a moment that Julie had gone quiet and was bleeding. I rushed her here only to be arrested.”
“For what?”
“Probably dropping litter.”
“I’ll give Dad a call, I’ll get there as soon as I can–how is she?”
“In theatre, Ken Nicholls is the duty surgeon, so I’m hoping he’ll let me see her soon.”
“I’ll call Dad and see if he can call the plod off, better see if you can help Julie.” He rang off and I sat down to wait. Some while later, Ken Nicholls arrived, he looked very tired.
“Lady Cameron, this is becoming a habit.”
“It’s not my fault, I didn’t shoot her.”
“No–I know that, but this poor child.”
“Can I see her?”
“If you can bring your healer’s hat with you, yes–otherwise no.”
“I’m wearing it.”
“Follow me, kimosabi” he wandered off in his scrubs and I followed. He led me to a recovery room where Julie was linked up to oxygen and all sorts of machines. “Can you manage? The machines, I mean.”
“I’ll cope, thanks.”
“God, I need a drink, you?”
“A cuppa, white no sugar, please.”
I saw him nod to a nurse or technician and she left. I sat beside Julie and started talking to her.
“I’m here now, sweetheart, you’ve been hurt but don’t worry–you’re going to be alright–I promise. I want you to listen carefully wherever you are, I want you to start coming back to me–follow my voice and use the light I’m shining for you. Just look for it, it’s the brightest light you can see, brighter than the sun, just head towards it and let me know when you see it, then I’ll know you’re on your way.”
I watched her; she was lying very still, the machines bleeping gently in the background, then I saw her eyes moving under their closed lids. I knew then she was coming back to me, she was searching for the light. “Just follow it, I’m sending it to you like a beacon–follow it and my voice, feel the light contacting you and bathing you in its energy. You know only too well that it’s healing you, so hurry back to me, darling, so we can heal your hurt and then we can go home.”
I felt her clasping my hand tightly and her expression became one of pain. I poured energy into her and told her to relax and trust me. Eventually, she got the message and relaxed–then all hell broke loose. A huge man, the size of a large ape burst into the room and pointed a gun at me and by association, Julie.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“So, she survived did she? Oh well, I’ll kill two birds with one stone.” As he spoke the nurse came in with the cup of tea.
“I’m a bit busy, nurse, oh and he’s got a gun.”
“You don’t expect me to fall for that old trick do you?” he laughed at me.
“Not really, I mean if there was a nurse there with my cup of tea, she’d fling it all over you wouldn’t she?” Thankfully, she got the message and he turned and swore as the hot liquid went all over him.
I only had one chance, and I grabbed a drip stand and smashed it against his back and side. The gun discharged and he fell down. I jumped towards him and kicked his wrist, dislodging the gun, then I kicked him under the jaw and his head jerked back into the leg of another bed. He lay very still. The nurse screamed and half a dozen people ran in including Ken Nicholls, a security man and a copper who was in the building.
They dragged Alfie Bird out and loaded him on a gurney, he had a suspected fractured skull–well those beds are quite substantial.
“Jeez, Cathy, I’ve got enough to do without this,” Ken moaned.
“He’s had two goes at her now, if there’s a third I’ll kill him.”
“You’ve damn near done that now.”
“No, I hit him with the stand, he fell and banged his head.”
“Is that why his teeth are all over the floor?”
“He might have clamped his jaws together when he fell.”
“On the bed leg?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“And I was going out for dinner tonight–the missus ‘ll kill me.”
“Do you know that rather large hotel at Southsea?”
“The posh one?”
“Yes. How about you take her there tomorrow night and send me the bill–go to the Green Room–the menu there is delicious.”
“Are you joking?”
“No–I’ll tell you what, I’ll call them and arrange it–eight pm?”
“Why?”
“To thank you for helping my various kids.”
“It’s my job–it’s what I do, and besides, you’ve done just as much for some of my patients.”
“It’s what I do.” I shrugged and we both laughed.
“Mummy?” said a weak voice behind me.
I turned round and smiled at a little face which was blinking at me.
(aka Bike) Part 1180 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon appeared whilst I was talking with Julie. “What the hell has been going on?”
“Julie got shot as I was taking her home.”
“How?” he looked bewildered.
“She spotted Alfie Bird as we were driving home, I could see he had something in his hand, but I didn’t see what. It turned out to be a gun and he managed to get off one round as I clipped him with the car. Turns out he used to be a wrestler and stuntman, so he escaped most of the car.”
“Should have let Stella drive.”
“At that stage I didn’t want to kill him.” I shrugged, well, I didn’t–obviously the blue light stuff is softening my brain.
“How’s my girl?” he said to Julie.
“Better now you’re here, Daddy,” she played him like a natural daughter.
“I’ve done some work on the wound which is healing very quickly.”
“So when can she come home?” he gave Julie a hug.
“That’s not up to me.”
“Okay, I’ll get the security people back. The garage is sending someone over to sort your car, so I’ll take you back.” He wandered out of the room to make some calls and he came back a few minutes later, “All sorted. You,” he pointed at Julie, “behave yourself, don’t talk to any strange men, especially those carrying guns.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she said meekly while batting her eyelashes at him, I glared at her but she didn’t look at me.
By the time we left, the bodyguard chap was there, about the size of a brick sh...you get the idea, he was big he made Simon look small and he’s six foot tall. “I don’t think I’d like to keep him for long,” I muttered to Simon.
“Is that for feeding purposes or sex?” he shot back.
“Eh? Either I suppose, having that lying on top of me would probably crush me to death, but I was actually meaning feeding him. He looks like he might just manage one of those huge steaks they have in Texas, or wherever it is, seventy two pounds or inches or something like that. If you can eat it all in an hour, they give it to you. Very few succeed.”
“How do you know about that?”
“It was on the Today programme one morning while I was taking the girls to school, and I saw something on the internet the other day which reminded me.”
“That is one big steak, I think I’ve seen lighter fence posts.” Simon smirked at his own joke and I slapped him on his arm. Down in the car park, the garage were collecting my car on a suspended tow. At least I hoped it was the garage, because otherwise it was being stolen. It needed some work to the offside front and door and a new glass in the driver’s door. There was also the issue of the blood over much of the front passenger seat.
I got in the Jaguar with Simon and he told me they were sending a loan car to the house this evening, but he wasn’t sure what it was. We drove out of the hospital and I kept a very wary eye on the traffic, but no one jumped us or tried to close in on us.
“So, do we know why this Alfie bloke is trying to kill, you two?” Simon asked as he slowed down at traffic lights.
“Presumably because someone told him to.”
“I’d got that far already. Do we know who?”
“No, not unless the police have made some progress. I got a hate letter this morning telling me they were going to kill Julie, but not why. I can’t believe it’s because she forgot to return her library books.”
“CD or DVD?” he suggested smirking again.
“Nah, the council is strapped for cash, hiring hit men usually costs money. I really can’t think why they would pursue her so doggedly.”
“What, the council? Don’t they usually send in bailiffs not psychos if you owe them money?” Simon asked rhetorically.
“Look, if they were allowed to kill people, they’d be doing it to those who were on housing lists or use social services.”
“Like foster parents?” he said smiling.
“We own the others, she’s the only fostered one now–oh.” I wanted to hit him for outmanoeuvring me, but he was driving again, I’ll hit him later. “Let’s be serious, because this is far too important to joke about.”
“Okay, what do we know?” asked Simon, stopping at another set of lights.
“Not very much, only that Alfie Bird seems to have been engaged to kill her, and he’s indisposed.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“He did come in with a gun and was intent on killing us both.”
“If he was a stuntman, he can’t have been a very good one, can he?”
“Why–he survived my efforts to run him down? That’s pretty impressive in my book.”
“But when you whacked him with that stand he should have been able to roll with that, they do in the films.”
“Simon, the nurse had just thrown a hot cup of tea over his head, I hit him when he wasn’t looking, the stuntmen in films work to careful choreographies or they do get hurt, occasionally killed.”
“But aren’t wrestlers supposed to be able to cope with a little pain and still function?” Simon still wasn’t buying it that I disabled this human mountain called Alfie Bird.
“I hit him quite hard, then kicked him in the jaw, plus he banged his head on the bedstead. I think most wrestlers would find that combination difficult to deal with–he had a suspected fracture of the skull and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d broken his jaw on my shoe.”
He looked down at my feet, “It’s a trainer, for God’s sake not a toe-tector thing.”
“Yes, darling, but my foot was in it at the time–it makes all the difference.” I wriggled my toes, my foot was hurting a little, probably bruised over the instep.
“Okay, so you zapped him, fortunately for all concerned. Surely, walking into a hospital to shoot someone is a pretty kamikaze thing to do.”
“No more than trying to crash a car into another. Even if they’d succeeded, they could have been hurt as well, it’s all high risk stuff, and there was no guarantee they’d kill their intended targets.”
“Dunno, if the intention was to get you into hospital if not the morgue, then maybe they had ways of finishing you off in hospital--overdose of insulin–that sort of thing.”
“And we’ve just left our daughter there–perhaps we’d better get her home?” I said anxiously.
“She’ll be alright, they’re not going to try again so soon, are they?”
“I don’t know, it could catch everyone napping.”
“Look, the Jolly Green Giant at her door will stop anyone from harming her.”
“Not if it’s someone who looks official, like a nurse or doctor?”
“You don’t seriously think that could happen do you?”
“It could, and won’t they be busy guarding Alfie, so our poor Julie could be vulnerable.”
“Why would they be watching Alfie?” Simon looked at me.
“So they can question him when he comes to.”
“He’ll just plead amnesia, or the voices; besides if they knock him off, it would do everyone a favour.”
“That’s not very Christian, Simon.”
“Ha, coming from the president of the Richard Dawkins fan club that is very rich.”
“You know what I meant,” I prodded him. “Now, can we turn back and check on Julie?”
“What for, The Incredible Hulk is guarding her, so why not just say hello to the other children in your life and get a shower and some food.”
“But I’m worried, Si. I have this awful feeling,” I rubbed my solar plexus.
“Yeah, it’s called wind–have a fart, you’ll feel better.”
(aka Bike) Part 1181 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Simon insisted we continue home despite my pleading to return to the hospital. I dashed in, spoke quickly to the other children, ran up to the shower, dried and dressed in clean togs and grabbing some biscuits, took the keys to the Mondeo before Simon noticed what I was doing. I knew he’d be cross–he’d run out to take-away to save me cooking. He was still dishing up when I escaped.
Once I’d parked I ate a couple of the digestive biscuits I’d brought with me, and then walked to the hospital to check on Julie. I had to plead with the ward sister to allow me to go and see her, as official visiting was over. The gigantic bodyguard was standing impassively at her door, but recognised me and let me enter. Julie was sleeping–at least I hoped that what’s she was doing.
I rubbed her hand and held my breath–thankfully her eyes opened and she looked at me and smiled. “Hi,” she said and smiled again.
“Hi, yourself,” I replied, “How d’you feel?”
“I’m okay, a bit sleepy but otherwise okay. Why are you back here–I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow?”
“I got a bit anxious. If Alfie is still in the hospital, they might try something on him.”
“He’s in Southampton, someone fractured his skull apparently. He’s huge so they must have been even bigger.”
“Probably,” I blushed, thinking, maybe I do need to lose some weight?
“It wasn’t the bloke on the door, was it–he’s like enormous.”
“Could have been, he is pretty big–but then, it’s not size that’s important...”
“I know, it’s what you do with it,” she interrupted.
“Actually, not quite–it’s more a question of technique plus use of available weaponry.”
“Oh yeah, you carry around a spare club do you?” she seemed rather sceptical.
“No, but that drip stand for instance, would make a formidable weapon.”
“Sure and he waits while you empty it.”
“It was empty already.” I blushed.
“Crikey, Mummy, it was you who hit him?”
I nodded–“He had a gun. I had no choice. He was intending to kill us–I had to do something.”
“Wow, why are we paying the guy on the door? You’re far more dangerous than any of them.”
“Very funny.” I went to ruffle her hair and my phone bleeped. It was Simon texting me.
‘Wot RU playin’ at? Nusflsh-patient’s been killed in S’oton hosp. Was it U no hu? Si x’
“Oh dear,” I said aloud.
“What’s the matter, Mummy?”
“According to Simon someone has been killed in Southampton Hospital.”
“Did he say who?”
“No, he’s guessing, but you said he’d been moved.”
“Yeah, he had a head injury–that’s where they do brain surgery an’ stuff.”
“Yes, I know that. I wonder what happened, was it an accident or was he murdered?” I felt my worries were now becoming validated by this most recent event, although that was speculating on unknowns–I didn’t know for sure it was Bird. It could be anyone.
“So what happens when you go home?”
“Who said I’m going anywhere?” I riposted whilst squeezing her hand.
“Hmmmm, I feel really safe when you or Daddy are about,” she said snuggling down into the bed–“I feel soooo tired,” she yawned and closed her eyes.
I sat, feeling a lovely warm sensation, thinking that I was allowing her to feel safe. Suddenly, I felt a sudden jolt of energy flow through me into her hand, which went limp. Shocked, I stood up and couldn’t see her breathing. I screamed for help and pulling her flat, began chest compressions–all the while the energy was flooding through my hands and into her.
The bodyguard on the door had vanished by the time a team of doctors and nurses arrived–the crash team. They made me wait outside while they tried to start her heart. I was sure she’d been given something, probably by the person who was supposed to be protecting her.
More staff arrived, including Ken Nicholls, “What are you doing here?” he asked me.
“I was worried about her, she seemed to go off to sleep and then stopped breathing.”
“D’you think she was poisoned?” he asked.
“I’m not sure, but I think she could have been.”
“Get those drips out and preserve them, I want them checked by pathology in case of foreign agents.” He came back out to me, “Good job you came back.”
“Simon has just texted to say someone was killed at Southampton hospital.”
“Oh, not our not-so little friend was it? We sent him to the neuro unit.”
“I don’t know. How’s she doing?”
“We’ve got a very good crash team here, if anyone can save her, they will.”
“Thanks, I’ll just sit and see if I can help her recover.”
“Okay, I’ll get them to find you a cuppa as soon as I can.”
I nodded and sat down in the corridor, trying to connect with Julie. It wasn’t working. I sensed her wandering in unknown places, she was lost and distressed. She seemed oblivious to my light or my voice–in the distance I could hear the medics talking, the lead doctor was calling for so many mils of some drug or another. I heard the defibrillator charging–it whines, then the medic called–shocking, stand clear. I heard the phutt as it did so and the machine recharging. Tears were rolling down my face–was this how it was to end for her, murdered at age sixteen?
I’d lost count of how many times I’d pulled her through from the brink, and now some bastard kills her, betrays his trust and administers a lethal dose of something. I wanted him dead. I didn’t care who did it–if she dies, so does he. I felt the energy shut down in me, obviously influenced by my negative thoughts.
I sent Simon a text telling him the bodyguard probably has killed our foster daughter. He sent one back–I’m on my way.
I shut out the physical world and went deep inside myself–it felt dark, not helped by my recent anger and desire for retribution. I tried to distance myself from those thoughts, and think about Julie, positively about her. I tried to recall her laugh and her smile, things she did which showed her love for us and ours for her. I felt the atmosphere lightening. I kept sending her positive energy, telling her I loved her and for her not to give up on me, but to come back to me to follow my light and my voice.
I kept doing this over and over–sending her love, telling her we all loved her and not to leave us but to come back to us. I poured energy into my mind’s eye image of her wandering, but a light seeking her and finding her, then winding itself around her and drawing her back to me and to her body.
I visualised the light circulating round her chest and her heart starting–I could see it pumping, pushing the light round her body through her blood–it spreading, healing and oxygenating her body. I could see her sweat and hear her breathe again.
The leading medic came out of the room, “Mrs Cameron, I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I screamed, “You must keep trying–I won’t let her die.”
“Calm down, there’s nothing anyone can do–sorry.”
“You’re wrong, I rushed past him and as they were pulling down the drips and unplugging the machines, I ran up to her and slapped her face and thumped her chest with my other hand. “Come back, I told you, dammit, come back, we need you.” My tears fell on her face and something wonderful happened, she coughed and began breathing again.
“What the fuck?” exclaimed the young doctor, “Dr Hendry, get back here, quick,” he shouted and the departing medical team stopped and turned round.
I was asked to leave again while they examined her.
“What happened?” asked Dr Hendry.
“Search me, she slapped her, gave her a precordial thump and the patient coughed.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” I said loudly outside, “you just have to believe it.”
(aka Bike) Part 1182 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Is she some sort of witch?” Hendry asked Nicholls.
“Nah, an angel of mercy.”
“I was sure that kid had croaked,” Hendry continued.
“Anyone can make a mistake,” reassured Nicholls, “And Cathy is rather special.”
“Which one is Cathy?”
“The mother, why?”
“I just wondered–I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
I sat and listened as the two consultants chatted whilst watching Julie, whose respiration was now regular and her heart and blood pressure stable.
“She seems to spend an inordinate amount of time here, she has a big family and they seem to have more than their share of trouble.”
“Why’s this one in here anyway, I mean before the cardiac?”
“She was shot.”
“Shot? People don’t get shot in Portsmouth, it’s not Manchester or London or the bloody wild west.”
“Alas, this poor kid is the exception which proves the rule or something like that.”
“Why has she been shot?”
“Presumably to kill her, that’s the usual reason I believe.”
“Ken, that isn’t funny–now why was she shot, gang stuff?”
“Gang stuff? Doesn’t that usually apply to deprived areas with loads of unemployment?”
“Yeah, I suppose so–so these don’t come from that sort of background?”
“Did you see the mother in designer jeans and sweater? Those trainers cost an arm and a leg.”
“That means little, Ken, these days people go without food to buy designer wear. Are you trying to tell me they’re well off?”
“Cathy, the mother works for the university as a lecturer, she also makes films. Simon, her husband works for a bank.”
“Yeah, good white collar stuff–so?”
“Simon’s father owns said bank.”
“They’re millionaires?”
“Something like that, say, million spelt with a ’B’,” replied Ken Nicholls.
“She seems down to earth for a billionaire.”
“I don’t think she is, but pa-in- law is.”
“What sort of bank, a private merchant bank?”
“No, more mainstream than that.”
“Like Coutts?”
“No, like High Street.”
“But that’s one of the fastest growing banks in the country?”
“Spot on, Dr Hendry, can we discuss your family now? Or better still, how is my daughter doing?” I decided to interrupt their discussion as it was probably erroneous and besides, they were there to make Julie well again.
He coloured up like a tomato, “Um, Mrs Kemp,” he said looking at Julie’s name card over her bed.
“She’s not Mrs Kemp, she’s Lady Cameron,” corrected Nicholls.
“Sorry, should I curtsey or something?” asked Hendry joking about his mistake.
“No we stopped insisting on that weeks ago,” I replied. “Now how is she doing?”
“She’s doing fine, your majesty.” Hendry obviously didn’t like playing second fiddle to an aristocrat by marriage.
“That form of address only applies in Scotland,” I threw back at him–“direct descendant of Robert Bruce.” Which I believed was true on both sides of the family, I suppose I should have been grateful I wasn’t called Robert or Bruce–the latter name I couldn’t take seriously after Monty Python’s Australian sketch.
“Well, maybe I should bow then as my granddad was from Scotland.”
“So is McVities shortbread and Irn Bru,” I rebuffed him.
“Okay, Lady whatever, what did you do to your daughter?”
“Told her to get well.”
“Yeah, sure ya did.”
“Is it my fault that I seem to get more respect than you?” I felt irritated by this man.
“Because you’re wealthy?”
“No, because I’m who I am.”
“And who is that, exactly?”
“An agent of illumination.” I was staying deliberately obtuse.
“What, you sell light bulbs?” he quipped back.
“No I’m a priestess of Darwinism.”
“Excuse me? Didn’t Darwin sort of recant on his death bed?”
“He’s still one of the greatest minds of all time.”
“What making notes on earthworms?”
“He actually collated a study with dozens of volunteers doing his field work for him and was one of the first to appreciate the importance of Lumbricus to the health of the planet. It happens to be far more important than doctors.”
“Sure it goes to university for seven years...”
“Without humble earthworms very little would grow as the soil would be impoverished and un-aerated, millions of us would starve to death.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me, honey bees are more important than doctors, too.”
“Is that a question or a statement of logic?” I threw back.
“So if doctors are so irrelevant to your world, how come you brought your daughter here when she was shot?”
“It was closer than home, and getting blood out of sheets is a huge chore.”
“Oh very funny,” he replied meaning the exact opposite.
Simon arrived–“Where’s the guy from the door?”
“Oh he went ages ago,” I told him.
“He was supposed to stay here no matter what happened.”
“He didn’t, he disappeared about the time Julie arrested.”
“Arrested? Arrested who?”
“Cardiac arrested–her heart stopped,” you have to keep it simple for bankers.
“At her age?” Simon was very surprised.
“We suspect someone slipped her something, or put it in the drip.” I looked at the doctors, Ken nodded and Hendry shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m paying these guys a fortune, so it shouldn’t have happened–you wait till I see Morris.”
“Who’s Morris?” I asked.
“The CEO of Morris Security Services.”
“He doesn’t own a garage, does he?” I asked and it washed straight over Simon’s head–he’s obviously never heard of the MG marque.
“Not as far as I know. Are you coming home or what?”
“In the absence of our own garde loo, I suppose I’d better stay and watch out for her.”
“What about feeding the baby?” He turned to the two doctors and said, “She’s breast feeding the baby.”
“Send me in my breast pump and some bottles and I’ll do some here while I sit with Julie.”
At this Hendry’s eyes went very wide–I can only suppose he’s never seen anyone breast feed or express milk before.
“I’ll get some sent over from the maternity unit, if you’d care to wait Lord Cameron, you can take some home with you.” Ken Nicholls went off to use the phone and Hendry made another check of Julie.
“I think she’ll be alright now, unless she’s suffered some brain damage from the delay in restarting her heart.”
When he heard this, Simon’s face fell. I reassured him that she was okay. Hendry threw some black looks at me as if to say, ‘Stick to your earthworms.’ I looked back at him. “How is your back nowadays?” I asked him.
“It’s fine now thanks–hey, what d’you know about my back?”
“You have a chipped vertebra, you got it playing rugby at university–fullback I think, you were scared of him when you went into the tackle and consequently you got hurt. Here,” I touched him on the back. He jumped back and screamed with pain.
“What have you done?” he bent over then stood up straight, “Jeez, it feels better–what did you do?”
“Oh it’s an old trick we Darwinists do from time to time–but it should be better now.”
“What has she done?” asked Ken returning, “Bottles and pump on their way over. Now what did you do to him?”
“She hit me on the back, it hurt like hell then it felt great.”
Ken narrowed his eyes at me, “I thought you said you’d retired from that stuff?”
“Well, you know how I like a challenge...”
(aka Bike) Part 1183 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“What did she do to me?” asked Hendry.
“She–can I tell him?” Ken Nicholls looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. “My decision then?” he asked and I nodded. He paused for a moment.
“Tell me what? What is this between you three?” Hendry demanded.
“Okay, I’ll tell you if you swear to keep this secret,” Nicholls informed his colleague.
“If it isn’t illegal or immoral, I suppose I could.”
“Little Cathy here has magical powers.”
Hendry looked at him and burst out laughing. “You’re taking the piss, Ken, aren’t you?”
I shrugged again, and Nicholls shook his head.
“You’re serious, ha ha, that’s even funnier,” he laughed loudly and I could see Simon becoming a little irritated. I put my hand on his shoulder to calm him down.
“Let me put a question to you,” posited Nicholls.
“Fire away,” replied the sniggering Hendry.
“If you were to have an X-ray on your back what would it show?”
“A chipped vertebra, T8, why?”
“So if it wasn’t chipped, what would you say?”
“I’d say you had the wrong X-ray.”
“Go and get it X-rayed and see.”
“What’s that going to prove?”
“A starting point.”
“For what?”
“For a discussion.”
“Don’t be stupid, Ken, it was X-rayed last month, it’s not going to have grown bone is it–not in that time, if ever?”
“I’ll bet you a tenner you’ll be surprised.”
“If you’re so confident, make it twenty,” said Hendry.
“Why not make it interesting, how about a thousand?” Simon enjoyed a wager.
Hendry swallowed hard, “That’s getting a bit silly.”
“Go on, the winnings go to the children’s unit,” Simon urged.
“I can’t afford a thousand, it’s all right for you banking types.” Hendry looked very anxious.
“Okay, You give me twenty pounds if I win and I’ll give you a thousand if you win,” said Simon, who was showing a great deal more confidence than I felt.
Hendry seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Okay, you’re on.” He went off towards the Diagnostic Imaging Department.
“While it’s quiet, let’s go for a cuppa,” said Ken Nicholls, so we did. I also brought a bottle of water back with me so when I expressed, I’d be replacing some of the fluid.
The conversation at the restaurant had been about what drug could have been used to stop Julie’s heart and who had introduced it into the drip. We decided it could have been anyone who had entered the room, including our so called body guard. We’d left a nurse sitting with Julie with instructions not to move unless the hospital burnt down. She had paperwork to do so she was quite happy to sit down for five minutes and rest her feet.
“Why d’you think someone wants to kill Julie?” asked Nicholls.
“I wish I knew. If she does, she’s keeping it very quiet, which isn’t like her at all. She didn’t tell Stephanie as far as I know.”
“If she knows something very dangerous, would she tell anyone–it could endanger them too.” For Simon, that was quantum leap stuff.
“She’d have told me,” I boasted, although I wasn’t as sure as I pretended.
“Is that why that bloke Bird tried to kill both of you?”
I hadn’t thought of it like that, “Could be, but he’d be taking a huge risk in a hospital.”
“Maybe he was paid enough to make it worth his while?” suggested Simon.
“If it was him who died at Southampton, I think he needs to renegotiate his terms and conditions of employment.”
“Cathy, you are funny,” said Ken tittering.
“I’m not sure your colleague would agree,” I suggested.
“That’s his loss. I’d better get back–I wonder if your stuff has arrived yet?” we walked back down to Julie’s room where Hendry was waiting and showing the nurse some X-rays. Ken Nicholls looked at them saw the damaged vertebra and was about to tell Simon to pay up and look big. Then he saw the date–this was the old one. He asked Hendry for the new one and thankfully, the bone had regenerated. I took a deep breath, for a moment I thought I might have been losing my touch.
“Now dear boy, let me tell you a bit about our esteemed guest,” Nicholls put his hand on Hendry’s shoulder and they wandered off together.
“Your stuff is on the locker,” said the nurse pointing to a bag. I checked inside and there was a breast pump and a couple of screw top bottles. I sat down, made myself comfortable, pulled the curtain round me and undressed enough to start expressing. My boobs were bursting with milk, so I filled the two bottles in less than half an hour then pulled my bra back on. Someone had generously supplied some pads which I slipped into the cups of my bra and sat holding Julie’s hand.
Simon kissed us both, and took the milk home for the baby. I felt a slow but regular flow of energy passing through my hand and into Julie, it was obviously restoring her to where she needed to be. I tried not to think negative thoughts, it interrupts the flow and makes things take longer.
Two hours later, she pulled her hand away and her eyes fluttered open. “Mummy?”
“Hello, sweetheart, how d’you feel?”
“Where am I?”
“In hospital.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Oh, okay then.”
“Why was Alfie Bird trying to kill you?”
“Who’s Alfie Bird?” she asked and looked at me curiously. I wondered if she’d had too much juice.
“He’s a big fat chap who worked at your college.”
“Where?”
“In the kitchens, as a porter or something.”
“Did he? Dunno–can’t think of anyone like that–you sure it’s the right one?”
I wasn’t any more, except he had tried to kill me as well, though it was he who had the bruises. I wondered if it was he who was dead or had someone else been killed?
“Would you like a drink?” I asked Julie.
“Oh yes please.” She sipped the water down a straw, then a little later she nodded off to sleep again.
I was left to ponder a number of loose ends but came to no conclusions other than we were very fortunate to have Julie still with us. If she could come home tomorrow, I’d take her there as soon as I could.
Simon sent me text. ‘It was a bird at Soton. Take care of urself. Love Sxxx.’
‘Missing U. Luv C xxx’
Deciding there was only one way into Julie’s room, I pushed the chair up against the door and curled up in it and tried to sleep a little. I think they call it power napping, if you get twenty minutes you’re able to go on for a couple more hours. I did it on and off all night.
My phone woke me, Simon sent a text: ‘How r u? S xxx’
I sent back: ‘OK, wots for brekky? C xxx’
Half an hour later he turned up with two huge bacon and egg rolls and two cups of tea in take away polystyrene cups.
(aka Bike) Part 1184 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Breakfast over, Simon agreed to stay with Julie whilst I went home, showered and had a snooze, probably after feeding tiny wee. I stumbled out to my car, actually Daddy’s car, mine was being mended and I’d be pleased to get it back soon, although the Mondeo was better for taking more children. Being an estate car, we could fit two child seats in the boot area if we wanted. I wasn’t too keen on the idea, being a bit close to the back of the car if someone should run into us, but it did mean we could get most of the kids in the car. I did wonder about getting a people carrier but much of the time I wouldn’t need anything that big.
I drove home, yawning much of the way. If I hadn’t been so tired I’d have noticed the car following me–an unmarked police car. I wasn’t speeding or as far as I knew committing any offence but the next thing I knew, it was right behind me with all bells and whistles going plus the hidden blue lights in the radiator grill.
I decided that being tired and the weather cold, they could come to me. I pulled over and sat in the car. A uniformed copper approached my door, which I’d locked–I’m suspicious of everyone these days.
I opened the window enough to speak with him. “Excuse me, madam, is this your car? he asked.
“No, it’s my father’s, why?”
“Would you step outside, please?”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
“And if I decline your very generous offer?”
“I shall order you to step out of your vehicle.”
“It smells cold out there.”
“Sorry, but would you step out of the car? It won’t take long.”
“What won’t take long?”
“Issuing you with a ticket.”
“I don’t buy tickets from strange men, my mother told me not to.”
“Very funny–please get out of the car.”
“Can I see your warrant card?”
“What for, I’m in uniform.”
“Yeah but you can hire those from the fancy dress shop.”
He reached into his tunic and I saw the metal glint just in time and put my foot down screaming away from him and towards home. He obviously thought it was too public a place to shoot at me as I escaped, instead I saw him dash back to his car and the big BMW came flying after me.
I jumped a red light and narrowly missed a large truck coming up to the junction. I careered round a corner and skidded into a car park, where I ducked down below the windscreen. The fake police car went straight past. I waited half a minute and went out of the car park.
I looked in my mirror and they were just behind me–shit and double shit! I should have waited longer. They set their sirens wailing and lights flashing again. Everything but me stopped, I raced through the junction again and kept my foot down as I headed this time for the police headquarters. It was the easiest way to see if they were fake, I was pretty sure they were. I mean you can hire these cars if you pretend you’re making a film.
I managed to park the car and scramble into the building before my pursuers opted to drive on past. I knew then my suspicions were correct.
“Can I help you, madam?” asked the copper on the desk.
“Yes, I’ve just been chased by a fake police car, this is the number. The passenger has a handgun of some sort.”
“I see and where did this happen and when?”
He eventually took me seriously and a senior officer came down to speak with me, fortunately, it was the women CID inspector from the other day. “Lady Cameron, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
I told her, filling her in on the business in the hospital, the shooting of Julie and so on. She looked at me and shook her head. “You are certainly dangerous to be near, aren’t you?”
“Certainly not, it’s just some of us good sorts seem to attract bad sorts who seem intent on killing us.”
“Indeed, is Julie safe without you there?”
“My husband is with her, he’s hoping she might be let home after the consultant has seen her.”
“What twenty four hours after she’s been shot in the chest?”
“We tend to heal very quickly.”
“You must do,” she shook her head in disbelief.
“Can I go home now?”
“I wasn’t stopping you, but hopefully the pretend plod have gone, but I’ll ask a real car to accompany you home just in case.”
“I hope they’re armed, the bloke who stopped me looked as if he had a gun.”
“I’ll make a note of that, but I suspect that they won’t come anywhere near a real squad car.”
I quickly called Simon and told him to get a taxi home if he brought Julie, and explained what had happened to me.
“I can’t leave the Jag in the car park, some bugger might steal it.”
“Okay, if you’d prefer bullet holes in it.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Totally. They’re not after autographs, you know.”
“I’d gathered that much. You be careful going home.”
“I shall, let me know when you’re on your way?”
“Okay.” He rang off and I walked back to my car, a lemon curd sandwich followed me home and tooted his siren when I turned off into my drive, I waved them a thank you. For once I was more than happy to see the police while driving, usually they’re the last people I want.
I fed the baby and made a fuss of the kids–we’d decided–okay, Simon had decided it was too dangerous for them to go to school so he emailed the various educational establishments and had them email some work for them to do. Trish was the only one to have finished–I think hers was to design a newer, safer and more economical nuclear reactor and cost it–took her all of ten minutes. Actually, she was doing long division without a calculator, Livvie was struggling with the same sort of exercise but she was getting there. Meems was practicing her writing–no she wasn’t writing a novel–just a feature for the Times. Danny was reading a history text book and complaining it was keeping him awake and Billie was doing some geography with the help of her computer.
They were all pleased to see me, if only as an excuse to stop their homework for a few minutes. I told them they’d be off school for another day or two the way things were going. I spoke to the headteachers at both Danny and the girl’s schools, without being too informative–they were both suitably horrified.
Simon actually came home with a police escort. He’d called the station and they’d agreed to follow him home. Julie walked carefully from his car while he walked behind her, continually turning round in case someone followed them. This was becoming unbearable–especially as we didn’t know what it was all about.
The kids were delighted to see Julie and made a huge fuss of her. Once she’d calmed down I took her to the kitchen and we chatted, she couldn’t remember much about anything. She did recall some big bloke working at the college, but not his name. He was dead now, so it didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. It was his employer I wanted to discover and why they wanted several of us dead.
What did she have, or what did they think she’d seen or heard? What else could it be? If they’d only have asked us nicely, I’d have been happy to discuss things with them–well perhaps not happy exactly, but I’d have been polite if it had prevented this wild west nonsense–it’s like something out of a very bad spy story, with assassins popping up left right and centre.
I called Tom and explained, he said he’d be careful driving home–I told him to come early and to do so in day light on built up roads. He pointed out that we lived on the edge of the country and therefore built up roads weren’t always possible. I told him to stop arguing and get home safely. He laughed.
“Oh, Mummy, some policeman handed in Julie’s bag–I think she lost it the night she went missing.” Trish handed me the black leather bag.
I was going to give it to Julie who was upstairs when I wondered if it was her bag and could it have been handed in by the fake police? In which case was it a bug or a bomb? I walked towards the back garden as quickly as I could.
(aka Bike) Part 1185 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
Once outside I was able to examine the bag. I didn’t see anything particularly obvious as a bugging or explosive. I even opened up her mobile phone and looked inside there too.
I laid everything out on the bench in the workshop and realised she had two sets of keys, each with a fob of the infamous ‘Bunny Club’ and purporting to be ‘Bunnies’ Changing Room.’
Why did she have two key rings, the keys were quite different, one even looked like a deposit box type. I picked them up and went in search of Julie. I found her upstairs talking with Trish.
“Are these your keys?” I asked her holding up one group.
“Yeah, where did you find them?”
“Sure it’s not these ones?” I held up the other lot in my other hand.
“Oh, how come there’s two lots?”
“They were in your handbag.”
“Were they? Oh. I don’t remember picking up someone else’s keys.”
“Seeing as you can’t remember very much at present, it’s quite possible that you did pick them up thinking they were your own. The fobs are quite similar, even though the keys are very different; how many of us actually look at our keys unless we’re going to use them?”
“I do,” beamed Trish, but then she would, wouldn’t she?
“May I see?” asked Julie and I gave her both sets of keys. Her eyesight might be no better but her politeness was. “I have no idea where these came from.” She held up the second set of keys. “No idea at all.”
Trish almost snatched them from her grasp. “Hmm,” she said and I was surprised she didn’t pull out a magnifying glass and light her pipe. “What’s this for, Mummy?”
I felt gratified that I possibly still had a purpose to the Brain Box. “A deposit box, I think. They have them in banks.”
“There’s no car key,” she beamed, “So whoever owned them doesn’t have a car.”
“Not necessarily, Trish, they might keep them separately.”
“You don’t and you’re average,” she shot back and I thought about my keys, I did tend to keep all of them together–I used to, but since I changed the car I don’t.
“Sorry, Trish, but I don’t keep my car keys and house keys together on the same ring.”
“Well, you used to,” she sighed, as if I’d just caused her to have to rethink her all in one theory of everything, including proof of dark matter.
“I don’t now,” I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Besides, I wouldn’t describe Mummy as average. Being married to a millionaire makes her a bit special.” Julie having dashed to rescue my reputation from Mrs Average, turned me into Mrs Not-Average, but only because I was married to Simon. I mean does Mrs Average even go to university, let alone teach in one? Or make films, adopt every waif and stray in Portsmouth...?
“Never mind my reputation, where could you have picked up these keys and are they why people are trying to kill you and possibly have killed already?”
“I dunno, do I?” said Julie shrugging, “I can’t remember if I did pick ‘em up, like do I?”
“You musta done,” said Trish, “if they were in your bag.”
“I would suggest that it was probably in your college, as you disappeared during the lunch hour.”
“But if I’d been going for lunch, I’d have had my bag with me, wouldn’t I?”
“I’d have thought so. But then if they’d tried to knock you off your bike why didn’t they get the bag as well?”
We examined the bag. There was a buckle, which Julie said was always coming undone. So could it have done so during that lunch hour? But why didn’t Alfie Bird or whoever else was involved find it?
The mystery deepened. I mean, it could be a total red herring from the main play, a simple coincidence, but I thought it remote. So the mystery was possibly locked up with these keys–in which case it could also be unlocked by them.
The next question, do we hand them over to the police, or do we try and solve the mystery ourselves? So far we’d had very little publicity, despite the bonfire rescue and the car chase. The paper had mentioned a shooting, but then allowed it to go quiet. That’s even more curious than finding the keys.
I held out my hand and Trish gave them back to me. There were six keys, the deposit box one, a small filing cabinet type one, two Yale type front door keys, plus what looked like a mortice lock key, and a Chubb padlock key which must have fitted a very substantial padlock indeed.
“We have three keys which open a door to a building, another which looks like it could be for a filing cabinet or even a garage–some of those doors have quite flimsy locks. Then we have the padlock key, even that might be used to lock a door or a box or anything–it’s probably quite a big lock; and our deposit box key.”
Simon came up to see where Julie and I were and we discussed them with him. “Have you called the police yet?” he indicated the keys.
“The police only brought them back today,” said Trish indignantly, as if suggesting they’d had their chance, now it was ours.
“How did they know they were Julie’s?”
“Her address book was in there,” I replied.
“They’ve taken their time,” he stated.
“Perhaps they hadn’t got round to examining it–her purse has gone.”
“Any cards in it?” he asked, ever the banker.
“I cancelled those when she disappeared.” Ever the banker’s wife, I answered him.
“Good, I hate paying out to thieves.”
He picked up the key ring again, “The deposit box isn’t one of ours, pity.”
“You couldn’t have opened it anyway,” I said, “not without a court order.”
“Of course not,” he shrugged. “So you think these are what it’s all about then?”
“I can’t think of a better reason, can you?” I challenged.
“Not off hand no, so how did you get ‘em?” he asked.
“Si, I just told you we don’t actually know, but we think Julie must have picked them up because the fob is similar to one she has. I showed him the other key ring.
“Perhaps if you gave it back to them they’d leave you in peace,” he said.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“How do I bloody know?” I’m going to watch the telly,” he flounced off downstairs.
“We could put a photo on the internet asking if anyone had lost some keys,” suggested Trish.
“We could, but then it would confirm that we had them and that could be even more dangerous,” I cautioned.
“I could make up a false trail.”
“Trish, with all due respect, I suspect the people who want these back would have the wherewithal to see through that. It would also show we hadn’t given them to the police, and that we didn’t know what they opened.”
“Gosh you are clever, Mummy,” Trish declared.
I smiled in acceptance of her recognition, the old girl still had a few tricks left in her or was it just more experience than the young genius.
“So what do we do then?” asked Julie, “I don’t fancy being shot again.”
“That is the problem, Jules, I don’t really know.”
(aka Bike) Part 1186 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I had a dilemma: if I involved any police, however friendly they were, it would become official as soon as I did. If I didn’t, then I’d be on my own against someone I had no knowledge of in any shape or form. I didn’t know who they were, or how many of them, nor what they did, apart from rather nasty things to other people. They were presumably criminals, because anyone who did some of the things they did who weren’t criminal, were criminal if you see what I mean. James Bond gets away with being amoral or even downright evil, because he’s the good guy–it says so at the start of the book or film. Same with Jack Bauer in 24, although I’d stopped watching it several series ago, despite Keiffer Sutherland being very pleasing to the eye, his character verged on psychopathic at times and his wife had been murdered by his so called colleague–crikey, he had more problems than I but he was allowed to shoot anyone at will, which might make it easier if a tad messier.
I could hire some help, but are private investigators any good, or do they just cost loads of money? Most of what they do is presumably divorce or industrial espionage stuff, with finding the odd missing person in between. I wondered.
Common sense told me to turn what I had over to the police and let them deal with it, but a part of me wanted to know just who was trying to harm me and my family and why? Did I want revenge? I wasn’t sure–that’s a bit juvenile. What I wanted was to stop them doing it to me again or to anyone else. That would mean putting them away for a very long time or damaging them beyond recovery, either financially or physically.
I looked through yellow pages and then the internet. There were plenty of names but most of them seemed inadequate for what I wanted. I called Henry, explained what I wanted, he gave me a name–James Beck, ex military police and Royal Marines, with experience in Iraq, and Afghanistan. Great, if I find any roadside bombs he’ll be very useful.
I called the mobile number Henry had given me. It rang several times before a rather nice voice answered it. I don’t know about the caller, he could be a hairy dwarf with a broken nose and a squint but he had a voice like melting chocolate and I nearly put on a stone listening to him saying, ‘Hello.’
“Hello, I’m Cathy Watts, I have a problem with which I’m told you might be able to help.”
“Well it isn’t your syntax, Cathy Watts, so how can I help?”
“Could we meet, somewhere public, my life could be in danger.”
“We could, but you have nothing to fear from me.”
“Yes, my friend recommended you highly.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“I’ll tell you when we meet.”
“Okay. I have to warn you, I charge two hundred an hour up to a thousand a day.”
“Wow, I hope you work quickly then?” I said rhetorically.
“Oh yes, I’m a fast worker.”
We arranged to meet in a coffee shop in a department store in Portsmouth at ten the next morning. I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing, but now I wanted to get a chance to see who the voice belonged to. He’d be carrying a Guardian, besides, I knew to look for the guy wearing the trench coat–don’t they all wear them? I agreed to carry or be reading a Guardian myself–his suggestion, so he can’t be all bad, can he?
The children were off school, so I had to fib a little bit to get away from the house to meet with James Beck. I’d asked Henry not to mention my call to anyone, and being Henry, he’d respect that. I had made clear that I wasn’t doing anything against the family, so he was happy to believe me. At times, Henry is a super chap.
I left home at nine and caught the bus into Portsmouth. I left the car behind because I felt they were too easy to follow, or had apparently been so far. Perhaps I should have gone by bike, although it was cold and wet. I sat downstairs on the bus on one of the seats by the door, the long ones for oldies and disabled passengers. I sat there because I felt I could see anyone get on who might be a threat. I forgot that any seat in a bus except those on the aisle side, are potentially exposed in so far as it’s possible to see where someone is sitting.
The bus stopped and passengers got on. Then as it lurched forward to re enter the traffic, a window behind me shattered with a huge bang. I yelled and threw myself forward just in time to see a second slug drill a hole in the opposite side of the bus a foot from the first one.
Tyres squealed and a car drove off, the bus stopped and the driver came to see what had happened. I managed to excuse myself and walk towards the town centre, leaving the bus and its mystified driver behind. It looked very much as if we were all marked by whoever these maniacs were.
A bit further on, I flagged down a taxi and he took me the rest of my journey. I got to the coffee shop with two minutes to spare and sat with my back to the wall and opened my Guardian. I ordered a latte coffee and sat waiting for the enigmatic Mr Beck to arrive.
He was late, it was five past and I’d had two sips of my coffee and the complimentary biscuit. I’d also read the same letter four times and still had no clue what it was about.
A voice startled me as I was about to have my third sip and I nearly sprayed milky coffee everywhere. “Miss Watts?”
I looked up and saw a tall fair haired man, who looked about mid thirties, and whose brown eyes sparkled and his lips crinkled into a smile, showing regular white teeth. “Yes,” I managed to croak as I put down my coffee mug. “I take it you’re Mr Beck.”
“Correct, how d’you do?” he proffered his hand and I shook it. “May I join you?” I wanted to say, ‘Anytime’, his voice was as smooth as melting butter and I’m sure I had goosepimples.
He ordered a coffee, black and strong–hardly surprising, if he’d ordered a weak tea I think I’d have been disappointed; this was a man of action and my head filled with loads of clichés.
“May I call you, Cathy, I’m Jim by the way?” he paused, but continued before I could do more than nod my agreement, “Or do you prefer Lady Cameron?”
“Whatever–did my father in law speak to you?”
“Henry, good lord no, I did a search for you and came up with the dormouse lady; a clip on Youtube of one of the critters parachuting into your cleavage–lucky blighter; a clip of you and Simon telling about your forthcoming marriage despite your previous status and several references about acts of bravery–saving babies in burning cars and the like. If ever I need a back up in a tight situation–can I call you?” There was that perfect smile again–I must remember I’m married to Simon.
“You’ve done your homework, I’m impressed.”
“A bit, although I don’t know what you want–so, how may I help you?” My brain melted with his voice and I had to almost shake myself to concentrate on the business in hand. If Simon hadn’t got me first, I’d have been throwing myself at him body and soul. Shit, I hope he didn’t notice.
(aka Bike) Part 1187 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
At last I had a chance to explain my dilemma. He listened and his eyebrows raised when I mentioned the bonfire rescue, then the shooting and car attack, and finally the attempt on the bus.
“This is far more serious than I imagined, but it explained your rather nervous entry this morning.”
“How did you know I was nervous, you weren’t here?”
“Oh yes I was, you just didn’t see me. I sat in the corner over there,” he pointed, “reading a magazine. You just didn’t see me. I like to get to my venues early, it gives me a chance to assess my clients before they’re aware I’m present.”
I wasn’t sure if I was impressed or found it a little creepy, like he was some sort of voyeur, watching me–but then, the enemy were too; they were watching and not only me.
“Is this too big for you? Should I go to the police?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about all this, except scared.
“We’ll have to include the police eventually, but I’d like to have a poke about and see what surfaces from the muck-pile. The enemy, whoever they are, are big time–nothing local could do half the things they’re up to. Local boys would have come in and killed you all in one hit. These guys are trying to take you out one at a time to make it harder for the police to get a handle on things. I suspect it’s coming from the the Smoke. Did you bring the keys with you?”
“No, but I do have some photos. If it was the keys they were after, then if they got me, they’d get them too–and they’d have won.”
“Be very careful, or they’re going to win anyway. You’re fortunate that you have some resources to fight back. We’re going to need some help–but it’s going to cost.”
“Help?” I wasn’t sure how much of this I could actually afford, nor if I was happy with his spreading the information about.
“I have some friends, ex-service mates, whom I contact now and again when I need a bit of help. I think we need some poking about done, and we need some surveillance done to see who we’re up against. We also need some protection for you and your family. I don’t know yet if they know quite who they’ve picked on. D’you mind if I make a quick phone call?”
He walked out of the coffee shop and sat there, my coffee now cold–I asked them to warm it for me and was pleased that the waitress didn’t think I was weird in asking her.
Jim came back a few minutes later. “I’ll be candid with you, I’ve spoken to Henry, he’s told me to go ahead, I hope you’re happy with that?”
“I’d have preferred not to have involved him.”
“This is a much bigger job than you think.”
“Maybe I should just go to the police?” It wasn’t an option I wanted to take, but then I wasn’t sure I wanted to help fund some sort of covert war against some London based organised crime gang, either.
“You can go to the plod if you wish, but believe me, they won’t make much progress and the keys will end up back with the original owners, and some of your family will probably be dead or badly hurt.”
“But how can you protect us, the police have greater resources.”
“They have more, not necessarily better. Do you know who are based down the road at Poole?”
“The Lifeboat people.”
“Um yes, they are. But also some of my friends in the SBS.”
“The SBS? Who are they?”
“Special Boat Service.”
“I hate to say it, but I live on dry land.”
He chuckled, “They operate anywhere, I could tell you just a few of their exploits but have a look on Wiki.”
“We’re getting the army involved?”
“Royal Navy, actually but only incidently–they’re experts at collecting information while being able to handle themselves if it gets a bit rough.”
I had visions of Scotland all over again, and World War Three starting.
“But won’t the powers that be get involved?”
“Not entirely, besides if we sort out some organised crime, Special Branch will take credit or MI5.”
“This is beginning to get silly, I mean, it’s all about my foster daughter picking up the wrong blessed keys.”
“I suspect it’s been ripe for the picking for some time.” He glanced at his i-Phone, “They’ve rumbled someone was shot at on the bus.”
“Who have?”
“The plod, it’s on the BBC.”
“Oh, does that mean they’ll be looking for me?”
“Probably. Do some shopping on the way home–they won’t know will they?”
“I suppose not.”
“You have a mobile?”
I pulled out my Blackberry and gave him the number.
“Nice phone.”
“Simon gave it to me ages ago, but it still does all I want and more.”
He nodded. “I’ll send you a text as soon as I know anything. Go home and stay there, keep all the kids in, and if you see any strange men wandering about let me know immediately.”
“Why, will they be your people?”
“No–you won’t see my people, neither will the bad guys.”
“What about Simon and Tom, they have to go to work?”
“They’ll be alright for the moment; I’ll have them shadowed just in case.”
“This is becoming so much bigger than I thought it would. I just wanted to stop them trying to hurt my kids and now–well now, we’ll have a bloody aircraft carrier parked in the drive the way things are going.”
“If you want to buy one, I know someone who’s got one for sale–reasonable terms, probably arrange for a squadron of Harriers, too.”
“Stupid government cuts,” I said and meant it.
He nodded, “All governments are stupid, this one seems to excel at it. Oh well, they’ll realise when it’s too late–like they usually do. Go home, take a cab, go beyond your home, and walk back to it.”
“But that’s like, fields?”
“Yeah, they won’t be watching fields, just your house, and you have some protection there by now,” he said glancing at his watch.
“I hope no one is going to get killed in all this.” I said this with a sense of dread and foreboding.
“The object is to make sure if they do, it isn’t you or yours.” He said in a matter of fact way.
“Does anyone have to–to die, I mean?”
“I hope not.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Shall we say it could prove a bit more challenging than my usual work, although I’ve annoyed a few crime syndicates in the last year or two.”
“What if this is one of them?”
“I think I’d know by now if it was–so this is a whole new adventure.”
“Are you mad?” Here I was clenching my buttocks to avoid soiling my pants and he was revelling in it.
“Yeah, but don’t tell everyone. I have to go, things to do. I’ll be in touch.” He offered his hand once more and when I took it he kissed the back of mine. “You were never anything but female, and a lovely one at that. Adieu.” He walked away and I paid for my coffee bought a few things for the kids, and took a cab home–well half a mile beyond home. Then walked back. I didn’t see anyone near the house.
“Where have you been, Mummy?” asked Trish.
“I went shopping, see?” I displayed the bags and was soon overwhelmed by children looking to see what I’d bought. While they were distracted, I told the adults that no one was to leave the house, except Simon and Tom because it was getting dangerous. I told them briefly about the bus ride and Jenny gasped, Stella shook her head.
“One of the things about Cathy is, in her company there is never a dull moment.”
“Yeah but this like being in the war,” said Jenny, “I mean, it’s like a siege, isn’t it?”
“It will come to an end, and I hope soon.” As I spoke Stella gave me a very knowing look. I shrugged.
“Was he nice?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The man about whose dog you went to see?”
“Yeah, he was nice–yeah, very nice.” My hand tingled where he’d kissed it, but I was married to Simon, good ol’ Simon. Just as well, anyone with Jim would be worried his next job would be his last. He was fun, in a very dangerous sort of way, but the last thing I needed with six kids and one of Stella’s was an adrenalin junkie and I suspected that’s what Jim was. He positively revelled in organising counter ops against my criminal enemies and I suspect his friends were as bad. If it meant we could sleep safely in our beds at night, then I was very glad he and his friends were about.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Boat_Service
(aka Bike) Part 1188 (99 Dozen) by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I kept my Blackberry with me all day. About four o’clock, I had a text to unlock one of the outhouses and leave the key in the door. On no account were any of us to venture outside during the night. I did as I was told, wondering why the shed was wanted–perhaps for someone to doss down–except it would be very cold, the weather was not very good at all, with snow forecast in Scotland and the North of England.
“What’s happening outside, Mummy?” asked Danny.
“The people who kidnapped Julie might well be about, so we are to keep indoors–that means everyone.” There were some groans but they all agreed–why they grumbled, I have no idea as they don’t usually go out at night anyway–it’s cold and dark.
“Can we use your night thingy, Mummy?”
“What night thingy, Trish?”
“The one where you can see in the dark?”
“The image intensifier?”
“Yeah, the image in the tensy-fire?”
“I don’t know, if the bad guys think they’re being watched they might start shooting.”
“They won’t see us, we’ll look through the bathroom window.”
“The bathroom window has frosted glass, darling.”
“Yes, so they won’t be able to see us.”
“Um, sweety-pie, you won’t be able to see them either.”
“Oh damn.” Trish actually stamped her foot, just like a six year old–I had to think for a moment–she is a six year old.
“I think for the moment it might be best to stay away from the windows.”
“Mummy, I just seen a man disappear.” Billie came dashing to tell me.
“Saw,” I tried to correct her appalling grammar.
“No it was definitely a man.”
“You saw a man disappear.”
“’Tswot I jus’ said, innit–I just seen ’im disappear.”
I gave up on the syntax, after all I did understand what she said, “What d’you mean, he disappeared?”
“’E was trying to ’ide behind a wall–an’ ’e just got pulled behind the wall an’ didn’t come back. I think ‘e ‘ad a gun like Grampa’s.”
“Like Grampa’s shotgun?”
“I dunno, it ’ad a long barrel thing.”
I had a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Even with one or two Special Services men out there, the odds were surely in favour of the bad guys. I mean how many of each were out there? It would only take one with a gun to kill all of us.
My Blackberry peeped and I checked the text message. ‘I know who we’re up against–a nasty lot. Keep everyone in doors, even the dog. Jim.’
Simon and Tom had just come home. I called for everyone to meet me in the dining room. “Everyone has to stay indoors.”
“Why–apart from the fact it’s flippin’ freezin’ out there?” I hoped Si wasn’t going to get awkward.
“There are criminals out there, the ones who tried to kill, Julie and I.”
“I seen one disappear, Daddy,” boasted Billie.
“’Snot fair, they won’t let me look.” Trish stamped her foot again.
“Look at what? Who disappeared?”
“I asked Henry for some help, he put me in touch with a chap who’s ex-Commando. He’s out there with some of his friends.”
“What?” Simon almost went ballistic. “Don’t they know there are children here?”
“That’s why they’re out there, trying to protect us.”
“Can we shut the shutters, Tom?” he asked.
“Aye, we cood.” He and Simon began to pull back the curtains and the shutters were soon closed.
“I wondered what those were for,” said Danny, watching them. He followed them into the lounge and I heard a yell.
“What’s the matter?” I asked rushing after them.
“There was a man at the window and hand grabbed him round the face and he disappeared into the dark–it was horrible,” said the sobbing boy.
“Hurry up and shutter them,” I said to Simon and Tom who were standing facing the window with mouths wide open.
“Bloody hell–did you see that, Tom?”
“Aye, I did, I hope he’s on oor side.”
“Now you see why you’ve got to stay in?” I said, comforting Danny.
Both Simon and Tom nodded without saying anything, but they did hasten to close the shutters on the big bay window and the other smaller window.
“Even the dog has to stay in, okay, Daddy.”
“Aye,” he said nodding. He went into his study and I heard the shutter in there being closed.
“How about upstairs?” asked Simon, and we both ran up the stairs and started to close up the shutters there too. The second floor is attic, really and they don’t have shutters, but it would take someone with the climbing powers of Spiderman to get up there.
“Are those men being killed?” asked Danny.
“I don’t know–I hope not, but I don’t know.”
“Are they like ninjas?”
“Sort of, they’re special forces.”
“Like soldiers?”
“Yes, like soldiers, super soldiers.”
“What like Superman?”
“No, he’s a comic book hero, these are real men, who are trained in all sorts of things.”
“Like killin’ people?”
“Including that, yes.”
“I’m scared, Mummy,” he said clinging on to me. “It was frightenin’ to see the black hand grab the man round his face.”
“It’s okay, Danny, no one is going to hurt you.”
“But was the black hand on our side?”
“I hope so, I think so.” Actually, I couldn’t say one way or the other, except I couldn’t see a gangster from London taking someone out quietly, he’d just have shot them and possibly shot through the window at us as well. It was much more likely to be one of Jim’s friends.
I suddenly thought about the cameras we’d fitted before. I tried to find them on the computer but they weren’t working, maybe the Special Forces are camera shy–yeah, I think I know the answer to that question.
What I didn’t know was that there were raids being organised in London by some of Jim’s friends and some heavyweight thugs were being rounded up and evidence being collected. By the morning, MI5 were informed and very busy swarming all over various venues including our house, but I’m jumping the gun here.
During the night, Danny and Meems had bad dreams about giant black hands grabbing them. They woke the baby up so I had to feed and change her. It was a nightmare for all concerned. I awoke with a banging on the door. I ran down and shouted at Trish who was about to open it.
“Don’t open the door, we don’t know who it is.” I yelled at her.
She burst into tears and ran off. Just what I needed.
“Who’s there?”
“The police.”
“Can you show me some form of identity?” I yelled back through the still closed door. A warrant card popped through the letter box, it was the woman CID officer.
“Hurry up please, Lady Cameron, it’s freezin’ out here.”
I pulled back the various bolts and chains we rarely use, and opened the door, Simon threw me my dressing gown.
“We have a warrant to search the outhouses.”
“Hold on, I’ll get the keys.” I said and trudged off to the kitchen to find them. “What are you expecting to find?”
“We’ve had a tip off.”
“In which case I have a feeling the one you want is already open.” I pointed to it. She nodded and two uniformed constables ran up and threw open the door.
“They’re in here, ma’am.”
“We’ll check the others, just in case.”
Apparently they found six, bruised and bound thugs, all of whom were rather cold, and whom they took off in a police van. As it was departing two unmarked cars screamed into the drive and four men in suits got out of each. They showed some ID to the police inspector and she shrugged and left.
“Lady Cameron?” said the obvious leader of the suits.
“Yes, who are you?”
“Nigel Larsson, MI5. We have some questions to ask you.”
(aka Bike) Part 1189 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I invited the agents into the house once I’d seen what looked like reasonable identity cards. I put the kettle on and while it was boiling for teas and coffees, I had a text from Jim:
‘Don’t tell the cops or MI5 about the keys. JB’
So I didn’t. They asked who the villains were and I referred them to Jim as he’d previously told me to do. The interview lasted an hour, and I was informed that my ‘friends’ had routed a criminal gang, known as The South Bank Show, in a parody to an arts and culture show that was hosted by Melvin Bragg.
They spoke briefly to Julie who was still recovering from her ordeal and had very little memory of anything. I was congratulated for pulling her off the bonfire to which I answered that any woman would have done it. They chose to disagree. I suppose they’re entitled to their own opinions even if they are wrong.
I asked if the children were safe to go back to school without risk of being attacked or abducted, and was told to wait until the next Monday. Soon after they went, I had the police return to ask questions and I referred them to Jim as well or to MI5. I was evading the issue but so would anyone.
The police left and Jim arrived in a perfectly posh Porsche, Danny and Simon were well impressed. Me–it’s a means to getting from A to B and probably uses twice as much fuel as my little Mercedes.
He gave me a few minutes to change into some trousers and top, throw on a jacket and grab my bag when he whisked me off in his German chariot. “Where are we going?” I asked him.
“You’ll see.”
“I’d prefer to be told before we get there.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I hardly know you, James.”
“Oh, James is it? You sound like my mother. She always calls me James when she’s about to carpet me.”
“Okay, Jim, but I still hardly know you.”
“Didn’t stop you fancying me, though did it?”
I thought I was going to die from embarrassment I was glowing bright red like the stop light of a car. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.
“Your body language told me the truth even though your lips don’t.”
“What?” I spluttered.
“Anyway, don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe–unless you revert back to your previous sex. You see, I’d fancy Charlie more than Cathy.”
“You’re gay?” I wasn’t sure if I felt relief or disappointment.
“Why d’you think I left the services?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“I had to investigate a supposed Homosexual Circle at a naval shore base. I decided I couldn’t hack the deception any more. I told them and they asked for my resignation.”
“I thought the UK forces were okay with gay soldiers and sailors–it’s the ‘Mericans who aren’t.”
“I was a Royal Marines major being fast tracked, when they found out they decided they didn’t really need my services any longer. I threatened to sue for discrimination and they settled out of court. I did quite well out of it and set up my own agency investigating any and everything–do mostly industrial espionage or stopping it. Did you bring the keys?”
“I can’t believe you’re gay,” I said looking with unfocused eyes through the tinted windscreen as he hammered up the motorway. “And you egged me on,” I sighed, “I can’t believe it.”
“That’s okay, I didn’t believe you were supposed to be a boy.”
“I wasn’t–well only in dress, because my father kept destroying my secret wardrobe until they did Macbeth in school and I got landed playing Lady B. He made me dress as a girl all the time until the rehearsals and the play finished.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Not really because I wasn’t doing it because I wanted to–but I did enjoy pissing him off by appearing to enjoy it. I was so girly it was untrue.”
“You got some good reviews though, didn’t you?”
“How d’you know that?”
“I’ve seen them in the Bristol Evening Post, archive.”
“You do do your homework, don’t you?”
“My life may depend upon it–being one step ahead of the rest.”
“D’you play chess?”
“Sometimes, why?”
“I don’t think I’d like to play you.”
“I’m not that good, you know.”
“No, but you’re a better planner than I am. I’m a half baked Sagittarian who does things after seeing the big picture but sometimes trips up over the small print.”
“Isn’t it Sagittarius now?” he asked.
“I suppose it is, shows how much I was thinking–see, fine detail let me down again.”
“You have had other things to worry about–so when’s your birthday?”
“Friday, why?”
“I just wondered.”
“Hey, we’re heading for London–you could have told me.”
“Would you have come?”
“No.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see in about twenty minutes, traffic permitting.”
“I always knew when we were getting close to London on the M4 because of the increasing numbers of posh cars you see as you get closer.”
“Like Rolls Royce and big Mercedes?”
“All sorts, sports cars too.”
“Like this one?”
“Yeah, what is it again?”
“It’s a Porsche Boxster.”
“Is it? It’s quite comfortable–are these real leather seats?”
“They’d better be. For what I paid for it, I should have got the meat from the cow as well.”
“I have no idea about the price of cars, Simon buys them–I just drive them.”
“What are you driving at the moment?”
“A little A class Mercedes–it’s lovely.”
“So that wasn’t your Jag, then?”
“No, that’s Simon’s–the kids love it.”
“You don’t?”
“He rarely lets me drive it.”
“That’s a shame–would you like a go in this?”
“What–like drive this?” I gasped.
“Yes, would you like to?”
“I don’t know if I could.”
“If you can drive a Mercedes, you could drive this, I’ll pull over at the next services.”
I blushed–I’m not that good a driver and what if I bent his pride and joy? “Can we just get on and do what we have to do–I’m not that interested, really I’m not.”
“Cathy, please don’t lie–you’d love to give it a burn up the motorway–but you’re scared of it, aren’t you?”
“If you say so–you like to be right don’t you?” I sulked for the next ten miles while he chuckled to himself every so often.
He pulled into the next service area, and I refused to get out and drive his car. So we went for a coffee instead. “Go on, have a go–only take it as far as the next service area if it worries you.”
“What if I bend it?”
“I doubt you will, I suspect you respect lovely things–besides it’s insured for everything except nuclear war.”
Reluctantly, I got in and adjusted the driver’s seat–his legs were longer than mine. I started it after moving the mirror. I crept out of the car park and out into the slow lane of the motorway.
“Put your foot down girl, it won’t fall apart.”
I gave it a bit of wellie and it shot off like a rocket, so I took my foot off the throttle. It slowed down and after a couple of miles I got the idea of controlling this powerful beast.
Then as I was getting the hang of it, a car drew level, a large 7 series BMW and I thought I heard pops–I looked and some bugger was pointing a gun at us. Jim, told me to take evasive action, and I began to drop back and then accelerate past the gunman and his limo.
“I suspect that’ll be the one member of the inner circle we didn’t pick up last night.”
“See, I told you, you should have driven.”
“You’re doing fine–here he comes again.”
This time I did accelerate and meant it, weaving in and out of traffic at a hundred and forty miles an hour. The sweat was pouring off me as steered this earth bound fighter jet through the increasingly congested traffic. I pulled off at the next services and jumped out of the car–“You can drive, my nerves won’t stand anymore,” I yelled at him.
“You can take the gun then,” he put his hand into his pocket.”
“Oh no, that’s even more illegal than my driving.”
“Oh-oh, he’s spotted us, quick drive,” he said and I jumped into the car and reversed round the car park at forty miles an hour turning suddenly and straightening up just in front of the pursuing Beamer, who had to avoid us or get a paint job. He still needed the paint job as a Ford Transit van, bashed into the side of him as he swerved.
“Woo-hoo, ride it cowboy,” yelled Jim and I screamed out on to the motorway at about a hundred miles an hour, hoping the plod weren’t too close. They weren’t and by the time we hit South London, I’d got quite used to the car and the traffic.
“Pull in here.” I followed Jim’s instruction and even managed to park it tidily.
“Where are we going?”
“In here,” he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a building.
(aka Bike) Part 1190 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“Just what is this place?” We walked into a plush modern building all glass and marble but with no sign to indicate what it actually was.
“Keep your eyes open and your mouth closed and act as if you own the place.”
Jim led me to the counter which I presume was reception. “We’d like to examine a deposit box.”
“Do you have your key?”
“Yes, well my wife does, Kate if you could...”
I reached into my bag and fiddled for a moment before bringing out the bunch of keys. The woman behind the desk picked out the small key and examined it. Then she tapped in a number on the computer keyboard. Is that why they call them keyboards? I wondered–it was safer than thinking why and what we were doing.
“Follow me,” said the woman her bum swaying in her tight skirt and skyscraper heels and despite his claims to be gay, Jim’s eyes seemed glued to her gluteal muscles and sub-cutaneous fat.
We entered a private room with a desk or table in the middle of it upon which a large locked box was standing. The receptionist handed me back the keys and told us to press the bell on the table when we’d finished.
I picked up the keys and selected the deposit box one, I looked at Jim and he nodded. I inserted the key and turned the lock. Opening the box I wasn’t sure what I expected to find inside.
It was a series of manila envelopes, inside which we found treasury bonds–at a quick calculation there was over five million pounds. Beside that there was a hundred thousand pounds in fifty pound notes and some diamonds. The box was completely full.
Jim pulled a folded up cloth bag from his pocket and stuffed the bonds, money and diamonds into it.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, shocked by his action.
“This is mob money, I’d like to see it do something for charity, like build a hospital or school in Africa, feed the homeless at Christmas or pay for hostels for those on the streets.”
“What will they do?”
“Who, the homeless or the mob?”
“The mob.”
“Take out a fatwa on us, but so far they haven’t caught up with me.”
“I’m a bit more vulnerable than you with six children.”
“True, but think of all the good this evil money can do.”
“I am, I’m sure it could do loads, but I’m still worried about the risk.”
“There’s a High Street Bank just round the corner, let’s open a deposit box there and at least make it safe.”
“Um–I don’t kno–um, okay.”
“Oh and you get to keep the key.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re far more responsible than I am. I’d be tempted to spend it.”
We left the bank, after locking the keys in the box except the box key. Jim handed that back to the receptionist. “Should someone come asking for that box number, please give them the key.” We strolled out before she could answer.
“Was that wise, now they’ll know we stole their cash?”
“I don’t think it would have taken very long for them to look inside the box, there are safeguards for people who lose keys, you know, mother’s maiden name, that sort of thing.”
“MacDonald,” I answered.
“Yes I know.”
“Is there anything you don’t know about me?”
“Oh lots, like how the hell you’re breast feeding and how you have saved so many lives.”
“So many lives?”
“Yes, the children at the QA and various other people.”
“Who?” I bluffed.
“Look, Cathy, I know about the miracles you perform–a perfect little angel, you are, which is why you’re going to have the keys for this little lot, oh after I remove my fees. Ten K should do for the action the other night and continuing protection.”
“Am I still at risk?”
“Only as long as the Don Corleone of Sarf Lunnun is alive.”
“Perhaps we should take the money back, it’s worth nothing compared to my family.”
“Very well said, but I have a little plan to minimise the aggro.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to like this.”
“You probably won’t, but it’s very simple–we kill the bad guys.”
“We?” I gasped.
“Okay, I do the actual vermin control, you just act as the tethered goat.”
“I don’t like this, have we got a plan B?”
“Only reversing positions and I suspect I might be a bit better at the despatching bit.”
“Definitely.”
We entered the High Street Bank and after talking with the manager for a few moments–all right, I name dropped–my pa-in-law’s to be precise–and they provided a new deposit box which we locked after James removed ten thousand and I kept the key–actually, I asked them to send it to my local branch and for them to place it in a new deposit box and hold the key for me and only me, unless I was deceased and in which case to be given to Simon or Trish if he predeceased her.
Jim waited for me while I set this up unknown to him. I scribbled instructions on a note for Simon and had it sent through their internal mail system to his office.
“Happier now?” he asked.
“Yes, even if your plan fails, they can’t get their money back.”
“My plans never fail.”
“They could just shoot us down in the street,” I complained and shivered in the unseasonable cold.
“If they did they’d have to get past the two snipers who’ve been covering us ever since we got out of the car.”
“I can’t see them.”
“If you can, their training has been wasted.”
“How do they know where we’re going?”
“Duh,” he said, then I realised he knew exactly where we were going before he picked me up. I blushed.
“Watch out for the big black BMW, the one in need of a paint job–that will have pissed him off almost as much as emptying his piggy bank.”
“Doesn’t he have another car?”
“Undoubtedly, probably another similar one or a suitably large Mercedes in which to carry his ego.”
“And driving round in a Porsche isn’t?”
“You were rather glad of its acceleration a little while ago if I recall.”
“My little Mercedes is quite nippy.”
“Enough to outrun six litres of V12 BMW?”
“There are speed limits, you know?” It was a dumb thing to say seeing as I’d ignored them to escape our pursuers.
“I’ll let you think about that for a moment,” he said, then smirked when I blushed.
“Is his car bullet proof?”
“I have no idea, we’ll find out in a minute.”
“How do you know that?” I looked at him being able to predict so many of these things. He nodded up the road and double parked at the roadside maybe two hundred yards away was a large black BMW with its engine running, the exhaust was clearly visible in the cold and relatively still air.
“Don’cha just wish you were sat in the Porsche right now?” he said quietly.
“We could run for it.” I suggested, ever the optimist.
He felt inside his jacket and adjusted something.
“What’s that?” I asked knowing what it was.
“This here is a Smith and Wesson 500 magnum, even more powerful than Dirty Harry’s most powerful handgun. It’ll stop an elk, so a rat shouldn’t be too much trouble, should it?”
“What’s that he’s holding out of the window?” I asked noticing it wasn’t a shotgun or a handgun.
“It looks like a Mac 10 with silencer.”
“Whatever that is?”
“Just let’s say it can put a thousand holes in you in a minute.”
“A trifle excessive if you ask me.”
“I’ll remember to later–when I say run, get the fuck out of here.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
I looked up the street and the car started to move slowly towards us.
“Go–GO,” he shouted and pushed me away as he walked towards the centre of the road. I froze for a second then did as I was told–ran like fuck.
(aka Bike) Part 1191 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I didn’t actually see what happened, except little glimpses of the action in windows as I passed. I took the advice from Jim to run like a rabbit, and sprinted away as fast as I could on rather rubbery legs. Moments later, I heard like a pattering noise followed by ricochets and glass shattering. Then a boom, followed few seconds later by another boom, then another. The sound of tyres screaming, another boom and crash. One more boom and then a loud bang which shattered glass in windows all round me and endangered me as much as the bullets had.
I stopped and turned round. The scene before me was of total devastation. Most of the windows in the buildings on the street were broken, there was glass everywhere. A large car had smashed into a building and exploded, setting light to the building. I looked for Jim and it took me a moment to see him, he was lying in the middle of the road with two men holding rifles standing over him.
I ran towards the three of them, hoping they were his friends from the Marines. One saw me coming, picked up the handgun and made off into a building. The other waited until I got to them. “Good man the major,” then ran off like his friend had done.
I looked down at Jim, he was hit about three times, in the leg, chest and abdomen. The blood was pooling in the road about him. Sirens and footsteps sounded all round me. I felt for a pulse he had none. Common sense told me I should have legged it like his two colleagues but it has never been my driving force, which might explain why I have such an interesting life.
I knelt with my hands on either side of his head. “Okay, Jim, ignore the noise just focus on me. I suspect you might be in a strange place, possibly even a dark one. Listen to my voice, look for the light–a blue one–come towards it, let my voice and the light guide you back to me. C’mon, Jim, get your arse back here and now.
Someone threw a coat over him while I continued talking him back to his body, I felt his chances were quite slim although I was pouring the light into him it felt as if it was falling into a bottomless pit.
I kept at my task, a fire engine arrived and had to negotiate its way past us, then another came and they began fighting the fire, water began to run everywhere.
Two paramedics came up to me, “Where’s the light coming from?” asked one of them. “C’mon, luv, out the way let’s see if we can help your friend–though judging by the blood, it don’t look good.”
I glared at him and yelled like a banshee–they both stepped back and someone called them to assist another who’d been hurt by the glass–did I tell you it was everywhere?
I felt Jim start to breathe and poured more energy into him, another ambulance arrived and this time I got up and let them take over. They put up a drip and slapped on a couple of dressings to slow the bleeding, although I knew the wounds were much smaller than they’d been initially.
I picked up my bag and walked away, thankfully in all the confusion no one challenged me, despite the fact I had blood on my trousers and shoes. I walked back to the Porsche and got in–then I burst into tears and for several minutes cried and sobbed. I wiped my eyes, grateful that I hadn’t worn any makeup, and started the car.
It took me a little while to find my way back to the motorway and once there I drove as fast as the speed limit permitted. No one tried to stop me although I saw several police cars during my journey.
I got home pulled into the drive and continued until I got to the empty garage which had previously held a sit and ride lawnmower amongst other things. Simon had cleared it with the intention of putting his Jaguar in there. I parked the Porsche in there instead.
Simon, Tom and Trish came out to see who’d driven in. “Where’s Jim?” asked Si.
“He got shot, the gangsters got him.”
“He’s dead?”
“He wasn’t when I left him, but the London hospitals may have finished the job by now–he was hit three times.”
“Three times?” Simon gasped, “You’re okay?”
“Yeah, he pushed me away and dealt with the attack himself.”
“What happened?”
“We went to a bank and were walking down the road when this big limo which was waiting for us, came at us firing some sort of machine gun. Jim stood there and fired back, with this huge handgun thing he had. I was busy running the other way. He must have hit the driver or something because the car swerved into a building and exploded.”
“Bloody hell,” said Trish, “I always miss out on the action.”
“Ye’re supposd tae be a lassie, no a commando,” her grandfather chastised her.
“Aww, Gramps, I’m sure I coulda helped.”
“Sure ye cood, gettin’ thae way.”
Trish gave me a hug and I noticed the rest of the brood emerging from the house.
“I s’pose tae polis’ll be alang tae speak wi’ ye presently?”
“I don’t care, Daddy, I’ll tell them what I saw–nothing.”
“Is that blood?” asked Jenny looking at my trousers.
“Yes, Jim’s blood.”
“C’mon, go and change and I’ll pop them in the wash for you.”
By the time the police arrived I’d showered and dressed, had a cup of tea and even dried my hair. My clothes were drying in the tumble drier along with some of the children’s that Jenny had used to make up the load. The stains looked as if they had washed out from the black material.
The woman Inspector accompanied by a colleague from the Met force sat in my lounge drinking my tea and asking me questions.
“What happened?” asked the man.
“I didn’t see it, Jim pushed me away and told me to run. I did.”
“What happened to his gun?”
“I didn’t know he had one, I didn’t see it.”
“Someone shot the driver and the passenger with a very large calibre weapon, literally blew them in half.”
“I didn’t see it, sorry, I was too busy trying to dodge bullets and glass.”
“You drove his car?”
“Yes, I wanted to get home–I was scared.”
“You left the scene of an incident even though you knew the police wanted to talk to you?”
“I left because I was scared, so would you be if someone had tried to machine gun you.”
“I’d have stayed to speak to the police,” said the sexist twit from London.
“Before or after you changed your trousers–because believe me, you’d have crapped yourself.” I snapped back at him and I saw the woman Inspector smirk.
“I’ve been involved in incidents where firearms have been used, you know?” he tried to assert himself and his now damaged ego.
“So have I, and I still get frightened, because anyone who isn’t is either already dead or brain damaged.”
“So you don’t know who was involved?”
“When we drove up to London, a big black car tried to ram us on the motorway, I presume it was the same one which tried to run us down or shoot us afterwards.”
“How did they know where you were?”
“How do I know? You’re the detective.”
“Witnesses say they saw you come out of a bank?”
“Yes, my family own one, I called in a branch to try and speak with my husband to tell him I might be out all day, as Jim was taking me to lunch.”
“I see, you weren’t having an affair with Mr Beck, were you?”
I burst out laughing, “No, you moron, gay men don’t do with women, do they?”
“He’s gay?” the copper seemed quite taken aback.
“Yeah, so what?”
“One of my sergeants will be disappointed,” he sighed.
“I think I was, but I employed him for help in getting this gang off my back. He did a very good job, but might have paid a very high price for it.”
“Who helped him round up all the gangsters?”
“How would I know? He told me to stay indoors and keep the family in as well.”
“I get a feeling that you’re not telling me the complete truth, Lady Cameron.”
“I got the impression you were devoid of any feelings save for male superiority.” At this jibe the woman inspector snorted and had to pretend she was sneezing.
“If I think you’ve been withholding evidence, I shall be back with a warrant.”
“If you do, you’ll meet my charming but extremely efficient barrister, who seems to bring about more early retirements than government policy does.”
“Was that a threat?”
“From you? Yes it could have been–can I list that as police brutality? I have a witness, or is it more sexist twaddle?”
“We may need to speak with you again, Lady Cameron,” said the woman inspector, her eyes sparkling.
“But of course, Inspector.” They left, her smirking and him fuming at my impertinence. Impertinence indeed–he’s lucky I talk to the lower classes, next time it might be through the butler–now where’s he gone, Jeeves?
(aka Bike) Part 1192 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I found out which hospital was catering to Jim’s needs–Charing Cross–where they have the gender clinic, though I doubt he would need those services. I sent flowers and fruit, although I doubt he’d be eating very much for a while–I then had a very schoolgirl moment, imagining food falling out the hole in his abdomen and him wondering why he was losing weight.
It was a couple of days later before I was able to visit him. He was lying in bed reading the Guardian. “Six across, is ‘Pygmy Hippo.’
“I thought it was Pygmy shrew, no wonder it wouldn’t fit. What are you doing here?”
“It’s taken me two hours of trudging through snow and ice to get here, if that’s your attitude I’ll do the reverse journey.” I set to walk out of the door.
“Okay, you can stay, but I had to tell ‘em real men don’t do flowers.”
“Rejection number two, perhaps I’d better go home and pick my nose or darn the cat’s bum.” I rose again.
“I told you you could stay, isn’t that enough, do I have to be hospitable as well?”
“Mr Beck, when I got home the other day, I found some ten thousand pounds in my bag. Who put it there?”
“I thought it had been nicked–some bastard took my car–can you believe it?”
“As you were in possession of the money, how did it get into my bag?”
“You stole it?” he paused; “Um–it was apported. I give up how did it get into your bag?”
“Because you put it there, you dopey twit, but I did steal your car–it was a bit far to walk back to Portsmouth especially after that sort of send off and my trousers and shoes covered in your blood.”
“Yeah, someone said about my blood–yet I wasn’t anaemic and they can’t make out where I bled. They said it looked like I’d been wearing a bullet proof vest because I had three deep bruises.”
“Three bruises eh? I had more than that from kneeling down trying to keep you warm before the paramedics got there.”
“I can’t remember much about it–but I had this funny dream, which felt so real.”
“What dream was that then?”
“Well I felt I was floating out of my body and I could see you kneeling down by me and this stunning blue light which was passing between us, it was like a laser too bright to look at directly. I could see blood in the road all round me but I was drifting further and further away like I was an escaped helium balloon rising higher and higher into the air and you faded almost from view. Then I heard your aristocratic voice telling me to get my arse back down there or you’d kick it–or something like that, and the next thing I know I have this awful pain right through me and I’m in the back of an ambulance on my way here.”
“Must have banged your head when you went down,” I suggested.
“Those stories about the angel of Portsmouth are true aren’t they?”
“What the pub–spit and sawdust place–probably?”
“Be serious for a moment–I met the angel, didn’t I?”
“Did you, I dunno do I? It was you who claim to have met her, not I.”
“Can you convey my thanks to her–I owe her my life.”
“If I see her I will, we tend to operate in different social circles.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, however, if thanks are on the agenda, then I’d like it minuted that you definitely saved me by holding up the car and subsequently despatching it while I ran for cover.”
“Did I, I can’t remember–does that mean I can charge a bonus?”
“You weren’t that good, Clint Eastwood would have walked away from the scene, you needed a stretcher.”
“His is smaller.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said my eyes nearly falling out.
“His gun–his magnum, I mean.”
“Phew for a moment there I thought you’d destroyed the sexual fantasies of millions of women worldwide.”
“And a few gay men, his films are quite popular you know.”
“If ever I meet him, I’ll tell him that.”
“He might not appreciate it.”
“He’s pretty tough, I’m sure he’ll be able to cope.”
“Yeah, maybe. So where’s the Porsche?”
“Outside, I’ve driven about ten thousand miles in it since you gave me the keys. The kids love it for the school run and all the other mothers are envious. I shall be using it tonight to do a talk.”
“A talk?”
“Yeah, for school funds–I’m doing a talk about making documentaries about dormice. Actually, all they want to see are the out-takes, with me falling into a stream and so on.”
“The only time I ever wanted to be a dormouse was when I saw that one abseil down your cleavage–nice and warm and dark down there I expect.”
“You’re going to get gay men a bad name,” I joked.
“Yeah, it’s only you that has this affect on me, maybe it’s that bloody angel woman–she’s played with me ‘ormones, cured me of being a pouf. It’s a miracle I tell you.”
“She couldn’t get all the bullshit out though, could she?”
He smirked, “I guess not,” he said blushing.
“I have to go, let me know if you need anything.”
“I need you to visit ten times a day or as directed.”
“Jim, I have six children and a banker to look after.”
“Plus my bloody Porsche.”
“Yes, that as well.”
“You take good care of her, she’s almost as blue blooded as you.”
I laughed, “Yep, a blue blooded peasant, that’s me.”
I offered my hand and he took it and stroked it with his fingers then pulled it to his lips and kissed it. “If I was straight, I’d loved to have met you before Simon did.”
“I’m only here because of Simon.”
“He sent you–now I am broken hearted.”
“No, I didn’t mean that–I mean, if Stella, his sister hadn’t knocked me off my bike during a thunderstorm–oh, forget it, it’s a long story and I have to go. If you’d been a straight man and I’d met you before I met Simon, you’d have frightened the shit out of me. You still do, it’s part of your attractiveness.”
“That’s me, Jim Beck–the human laxative–no situation too binding. Is that what you really think?”
“I have to go, Jim. You’re a lovely man and I’m grateful for your help–but you’re not really my type–too dangerous. Bye.” I pecked him on the cheek and pulled my hand away before he could grab it and kiss me properly–because I had no idea what might have happened after that. I dashed out of his room with tears streaming down my face.
I took a cab to the station and took the train back home and while I sat pretending to read my paper, I mentally ran through a mantra of, ‘I’m happily married to Simon and we love each other.’
(aka Bike) Part 1193 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
“How was Mr Wonderful?” asked Simon, when I got home.
“Wonderful,” I said dreamily, just to see his reaction but he’d got wise to me and rolled his eyes.
“I thought you said he was a fair–he wasn’t interested in women?”
“He isn’t–not even in me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, why?”
“Well you said that as if you felt there was.”
“No the opposite, even sexy, wonderful, big arsed me can’t interest him in women.”
“Hmm, by the way talking of that arse,” he nodded at my derrier.
“Yes, what about it?” I felt some alarm–was there something wrong with my huge backside?
“We had a call from the grocer.”
“Grocer? We don’t have a grocer,” now I felt somewhat bemused.
“Anyway, the grocer phoned asking you not to sit on the bacon slicer because they were getting behind with their orders.”
“Simon, that is soooo old, and even more corny. Talk about a bum joke,” I shook my head in partial disbelief that he’d be using material that was old when I was a kid.
I asked him to order a takeaway because I had to do the talk to the school that evening. “Anyone for pizza?” he yelled and was practically trampled in the rush. I didn’t think my cooking was actually that bad but perhaps I was wrong.
I did an online order for Waitrose to deliver tomorrow, ordering a chicken for the weekend. I went to wash and change for my talk that evening. When I got downstairs the rest of them were stuffing their faces with pizzas–I don’t even like the smell of them. I grabbed a Mars bar and a bottle of water and picking up my laptop bag checked the necessary DVD was in there.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can, be good for Daddy and Jenny.” They all laughed as if they knew something I didn’t. “Behave you lot,” I scolded, which made them giggle even more. I left, deciding I would drive the Porsche today–probably for the last time.
I got it out of the garage and drove off to the school. I’d forgotten about the power and nearly accelerated through the fence. I pulled out into the traffic and headed towards Portsmouth City Centre and the convent. By the time I got there, I felt comfortable driving the mean machine–perhaps I had been too hasty with the Audi TT, still, I should get my own car back soon.
I parked the car in the playground and walked into the school, which was already buzzing–some of the teachers and students had come in early–just to hear me talk. What are they–mad?
The headmistress met me and delivered me to the stage where I set up the DVD of out-takes and tested their machine–it worked fine. I had never seen so many chairs laid out in that hall–I’m sure it contravened fire regulations–there had to be over two hundred seats, possibly even three.
“How many are you expecting?” I asked Sister Maria.
“Oh it’s a complete sell out and I could have sold them twice over, the governors wondered if perhaps we could do a second talk to allow those who couldn’t get tickets a chance to hear you.”
“Goodness, I don’t know–I mean it’s going to be old very quickly.”
“Please consider it, Lady Cameron, it would make a significant number of people very happy if you did.”
And a larger number if I didn’t, I thought to myself. “I’ll see, let’s get tonight’s over first, shall we?”
She smiled disarmingly and I hated myself for almost weakening there and then. The equipment sorted, I went and sat backstage to compose myself and think how I’d start tonight’s delight. I knew how I’d end it, like I did the film a plea for the dormouse and conservation of habitats.
I heard the place filling up, the noise was like a huge swarm of bees accompanied by scrapes and squeaks of chairs being moved. The air was full of expectancy and I felt very anxious that I’d fail to deliver the goods. The material was good, it was my delivery that worried me.
“Ready?” said Sister Maria and she held out her hand for me to shake and then to walk through the curtain with her. As we emerged there was a loud burst of applause which only stopped when Sister Maria raised her hand to quieten them.
“It gives me tremendous pleasure to present Lady Catherine Cameron who is going to talk to us about her experiences in film making. Some of you will remember the talk she did at the annual speech day earlier this year, which is one of the highlights of my time at this school. It was appreciated so much by those who were here that the board of governors almost demanded she return and talk to us again. We could have sold each seat twice and I have asked her to come and repeat tonight’s presentation for those who couldn’t get tickets today.
“Please welcome, ecologist, university teacher, researcher, film maker and mother to six children–Lady Catherine Cameron.” The noise was deafening and I hadn’t done anything yet except stand there. Oh shit.
I looked behind me then poked my head through the curtain. “Is everything all right?” asked Sister Maria.
“Yes, it’s fine–I just wondered who came on behind us and got all that applause.” A ripple of laughter ran through the audience–they were in a good mood and willing to be entertained by very old jokes–but not the bacon slicer one.
“Head Mistress, governors and staff, pupils and parents, ladies and gentlemen and anyone else I might have overlooked–thanks for inviting me back–usually, the only time I come back is to apologise.” They laughed again–they really wanted this to work and it did.
I talked for about fifteen minutes, described the clips, which were displayed by an index on the screen for me, so I could talk without notes; each heading prompting its own mini history which I dressed up, made humorous I hoped and told them. I showed some clips then repeated the formula. I did this for an hour and no one moved.
“You can see some of the hazards of film making, which at the time weren’t always quite as funny as they seem tonight. However, I do get asked why I made a film about such a boring and irrelevant creature like the dormouse. The answer is simple yet complex. I did it because I love dormice–they are some of the cutest critters about. They are gentle, no bother to anyone–unless you want to develop or interfere with a site upon which they live–they harm no one, nor do any economic damage. They are vulnerable and practically defenceless with a way of life which is so easily damaged by human activity. They are shy, nocturnal, tree living anachronisms only just hanging on to existence in this country which is on the edge of their range.
“They are protected in law, because they are seen as threatened, as are their habitats. Twenty or thirty years ago we knew very little about them–today, we know increasing amounts and because they are so well monitored on a number of sites, we’re learning a great deal about not only them, but the habitats and the other creatures which share the habitat.
“Dormice are lucky that they are cute and shy and relatively low density animals–I suspect that’s why they have got protection compared to some other animals like harvest mice which are also endangered. But as well, we have to remember that these wonderful creatures, with their fascinating life history are also indicators of how healthy our countryside is, which ultimately means how healthy our planet is.
“We all know how damaged the earth, the only planet we know for certain has evolved complex and sophisticated life forms in the universe. There are probably others, but we don’t know that for certain–yet, and possibly never will. So we need to rejoice in our uniqueness and protect and conserve this amazing orbiting piece of rock instead of attempting to exploit it for pure material gain and overpopulating it. Economists talk about economic growth as the panacea for all our financial woes: I would urge caution. The planet is a finite resource and we don’t know if we’ll ever find a way of moving elsewhere if we mess this one up. Some suggest it’s already too late–I don’t think so, but we are approaching a tipping point and we need to look to conserve habitats, environments, ecosystems before we lose them altogether. Extinction is forever and I’m not convinced cloning will prove a remedy for that in the foreseeable future if at all. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed my presentation, please do think how you can help our children to enjoy the company of dormice and other threatened species and ecosystems and for them to be able to pass them on to their children. We are the stewards of this planet, let’s act responsibly and fulfil that duty. Thank you.”
The hall erupted and people began to stand up and applaud, the head mistress came and shook my hand and the applause kept coming. After two or three minutes she hushed the audience.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, follow that as they say. I don’t think so. However we have a custom of asking someone to propose a vote of thanks, and tonight I’m calling upon a relatively junior student to propose that vote. Would Miss Tricia Watts please stand up–off you go, girl.”
I nearly fell off the stage when the diminutive figure rose–I didn’t even know she was here, she should have been in bed by now–no wonder Simon and the others were laughing when I left.
“Mummy, that was very good–you falling in the stream was very funny, so was the woodmouse running up your trouser leg, I hope he didn’t bite. On behalf of the school, thank you for doing this talk–oh and me and the others, love you very much–you’re the best mummy in the world.” She sat down and the place erupted with applause again, this time for her.
Then, when Meems came on stage with a bouquet nearly as large as she was I lost it and the tears came. I accepted the flowers and hugged her. Then Trish came up on the stage followed by Livvie, Julie, Danny, Billie, Simon and Tom. It felt more like, This is your life than a school talk. Simon hugged me and we stood together as a family which only a week ago people were trying to destroy–were we an endangered species deserving protection? It made me think for a moment.
(aka Bike) Part 1194 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
When we got home, Stella and Jenny asked how it had gone at the school. Julie was effusive in her praise, especially of Trish’s vote of thanks. “Yeah, Mummy was pretty good, she made ‘em laugh alright, but Trish’s vote of thanks stopped ‘em dead. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.”
“I gave Mummy da fwowes,” declared Meems muscling in on the act.
“Yes, and you presented them beautifully,” I said ruffling her hair. “So who dressed this lot?” I asked, indicating the three younger girls, who were smartly turned out including their hair.
“That was a joint effort, Julie and Jenny dressed them and I did their hair,” admitted Stella–“The problem was, we couldn’t start until you’d left. We were also so glad you took the Porsche. If you’d taken the Mondeo, they’d have had to take two cars to get them all there.”
“I told you I was going to impress–the irony is, I do a talk on ecology and turn up in a gas guzzler, with acceleration like a jet fighter.”
“Did anyone see you driving Jim’s car?”
“Only the headmistress. Mind you, I had a fight on my hands about who was going to ride home in it with me.”
“I see,” said Stella surveying my brood, “Who won?”
“Simon,” I said and Stella looked very strangely at me. “So who drove the Mondeo?”
“Trish,” I said–the look on her face was priceless.
“But she can’t---that’s illegal–you’re joking.” When we all burst out laughing she nearly hit me.
“I got to ride home in it, Auntie Stella,” beamed Danny.
“Yeah, ‘snot fair,” said Trish and the other girls nodded agreement.
“But you got to do the vote of thanks, and embarrass your mother in front of hundreds,” smiled Stella.
“I s’pose so,” said Trish, although I’m not sure at the tender age of six, she really appreciated the opportunity she’d been given. If she remembers it at sixteen, she’ll see what she had–a chance to steal my thunder completely, backed up by Meems.
I let them have some cereal and a drink, then sent them off to bed. I had a sandwich and a cuppa, which I hoped would stop the growling noises in my tummy. I went up and settled the children down, while Julie compared notes on my performance with Tom and Si. After settling Danny down, he was so pleased I’d let him drive with me, I announced to Simon that I fancied a glass of wine.
“Red or white?” he asked, heading for the wine store in the larder.
“If I have white, Julie can have a drop as well.”
“Oh wow, Mummy, you are on a high tonight.”
“Yeah, hence the wine–it might help to ground me.”
She came over and hugged me, “I love you, Mummy,” she said and rested her head on my shoulder.
“I love you too, sweetheart.” I gave her a squeeze and she sighed, then let go and went and sat down.
“What was all that about?” hissed Stella as she helped unload the dishwasher and put the dishes away.
“Sometimes things trigger actions or reactions. Tonight she became a big sister again, sharing her love with the other kids and receiving some back. I think it reminded her she’s part of a family–she was just checking.”
“Oh, okay–I just wondered, it seems odd seeing someone who’s about ten years your junior calling you mummy–doesn’t it feel odd?”
“It did at first, but you get used to things.”
“Yes I suppose you do, Puddin' is calling me Mamma, that makes me go all gooey.”
“I always thought they said dada first.”
“I wish Des had been here to see her.”
“Me too, I suspect it might have been the making of him.” She looked rather sad so we hugged just as Simon arrived with two bottles of wine. He gave us a funny look that usually would be accompanied by, ‘Women–huh.”
I left him to open the bottles which although not chilled, were pretty bloody cold–the larder is built onto an outside wall on two sides and stays cool even in summer, which is what it was designed for, keeping food cool in the days long before refrigerators had been invented. In country houses, the gentry often had an ice house to which lumps of ice would be taken to keep food cold in summer.
We drank the two bottles of wine between us–none of us were going anywhere the next morning, and all it meant was we each had two. Julie was glowing after the second one. So was I–my tolerance or lack of it, of alcohol is legend in the house. Simon reckons that Meems would stay sober longer.
It’s not my fault, I seem to absorb it very quickly and it goes straight to my head upon which I start being sick. Tonight that didn’t happen, my supper must have slowed it down just enough, mind you I zonked when I got to bed and slept right through until a hand was shaking my shoulder.
“Whaa–what is it–oh hello, sweety-pie.” I cracked open an eye.
“It’s snowed, Mummy, may we go and play in it?”
I heard Simon groan from behind me. “Hmm, I don’t know. It sounds as if there might be a yeti about.”
“Wossat, Mummy?” I was delighted to realise Trish didn’t know everything–yet.
“Go and look it up on the internet.”
“How d’you spell it?” she asked.
“Y-E-T-I.”
“May we go and play then?”
“Not until you’ve had a proper breakfast.”
“All right.” She skipped off and I got up, aware that the room had an unusually light feel about it. When I pulled back the curtains, it had snowed, though hardly enough to do much with.
I did get them to eat before they went out. When they did, they built a rather small snowman in the orchard.
I was watching them from the kitchen window. Simon put his arms about my waist and kissed the back of my neck. “What d’ya want for your birthday?” he asked quietly.
“A Porsche,” I said, and he laughed. I didn’t join him.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you turned down the Audi.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“It’s a bit expensive–I hate to mention we are going through a rough time at the moment.”
“Yes I know–but you asked what I’d like–that’s what I’d like, but I’d settle for a nice dinner somewhere, just the two of us.”
“Okay, I’ll sort it.”
“Thank you.” Just then the baby woke up again and I had to go and feed her. I told her it was my birthday soon, but she wasn’t very impressed. That’s the problem with babies, they’re too young to deceive or impress with either goods or cleverness.
I’d told her all about my triumph the night before and she fell asleep–honestly–she has a genius for a mother and she ignores me–impressed–oh yeah, but like Simon, it’s more with my breasts than my brains.
(aka Bike) Part 1195 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The week went by very quickly, in between taking the girls to school, feeding the baby and visiting Jim or being visited by the police myself, I seemed always busy.
The police weren’t entirely happy with my story but the only bit of video they had of it tended to agree with what I’d told them. Amazingly, Jim wasn’t in the video at all so they weren’t asking him about carrying a hand size field gun in his pocket. If he had been seen, they’d have arrested him for possession of a handgun, which are illegal in the UK — especially one designed to shoot Sarah Palin or was that a Moose–either way, they’re both large stupid creatures: one being a giant deer the other being a contestant on reality TV–are ’Mericans really dumb enough to let her run for the presidency–don’t answer that.
“Which bank did you go into?” asked the police.
“A branch of High Street, my father in law owns them, my husband works for them–I sent him a message, through their internal system.”
“Why couldn’t you phone?”
“I tried, he wasn’t answering, nor was his secretary.”
“What about email?”
“I did that as well, from my Blackberry.”
“Do you always try this hard to communicate with him?”
“Depends upon the message, I don’t go to London very often and I have a young family.”
“Given you’re transsexual, how did you manage that?” The detective from Scotland Yard had done some homework.
“I find that remark offensive,” said my lawyer.
“No, that’s okay, I’ll answer it. I fostered several children whom we have since adopted, the youngest being a few months old and I’m still breast feeding.” I emphasised the last part. The copper’s eyes nearly popped out as he got his brain round it.
“So was your husband gonna breast feed it for you?” responded the copper.
I could see Andrea Bright’s leg twitching. “That’s the second offensive remark, one more and we withdraw our assistance.”
“Fine, I’ll arrest her.”
“Fine, we’ll take you to court for wrongful arrest–it would be a pity to increase the level of unemployed but I’ll make an exception for you.”
“Are you threatening me, lady?”
“No, I’m pointing out the consequences of your actions, which are at best offensive if not transphobic. Lady Cameron is here of her own volition and is answering your questions reasonably, I expect some courtesy from you in reciprocation for hers.”
“I wanna know why it was so important she talk to her husband, ‘specially when she’s got a bloody nanny at home–don’t she do anythin’?”
“Jenny is a very good nanny and I’d already spoken to her. You must understand that having five children under seven is very hard work even for a professional nanny.”
“So why didn’t you just go home?”
“I take it you don’t have any children, detective inspector?”
“No–I ain’t married.”
“Ah, I’d heard that some gay men don’t like transsexuals.” Two can play at insults.
“I’m not gay–that’s bloody good coming from you–I suppose you had your dick cut off so you wouldn’t seem such a fairy?”
“That does it. This interview is over, I’m taking my client away.”
“If you do I’ll arrest him.”
Andrea went ballistic, “What sort of arsehole are you, apart from being so full of shit you smell. My client is female, legally and in all other respects, you have an obligation to respect her as such.”
“Do I, is that just because she can afford big shot barristers like you?”
“No, because it’s the law, dummy. I have recorded this interview, I shall be sending a copy to your superiors as well as the Police Complaints Authority. I hope you enjoy being back on the beat.”
Andrea took my arm and we walked out of the police station, once we got clear I asked her, “Do you really think they’d arrest me?”
“Only if they’re stupid.”
“Did you really record the interview?”
“Oh yes, I don’t believe anyone these days unless I can prove it. He was just a typical dickhead who though he was big shot because he can bully people.”
“The police have beaten me up before.”
“Have they now? When was that?”
“Oh a while ago, back in Portsmouth.”
“Not this lot then?”
“No.”
“Pity, we could have made more of it. I find it all so disgraceful–you’re female, your birth certificate says so. Okay, you can’t have children, but then neither can my sister and she’s spent a fortune on IVF treatment, they’re opting for a surrogate pregnancy now.”
“I’m sorry, it must be awful for her.”
“But you know how she feels?”
“No, I can’t say that can I? I can empathise with her, but that’s all.”
“Spoken like a real woman. Look I have to be in court in an hour, if you get any more problems with them, let me know immediately and I’ll come and spring you.”
“Thank you, Andrea, you’re very kind.”
“Simon is an old friend, but kind I’m not–he’ll be getting a suitably large account for this morning.”
“I’m going to see Jim, they should be letting him home soon.”
“Oh your partner in crime?”
“Yes, he’s the only reason I’m not lying in a mortuary somewhere riddled with bullets.”
“Yes, I saw your statement–horrifying that gangsters can get their hands on machine guns. However, I suspect that he wasn’t unarmed himself.”
“I didn’t see a gun.”
“No of course not.”
“I’m not lying, I didn’t see one.”
That doesn’t mean he didn’t have one or that you knew about it–knowledge before or after the fact. The car was riddled with bullet holes too and the occupants had been shot before being toasted.”
“I think there must have been some sort of gang war going on, bullets were zinging everywhere.”
“And you just happened upon it?”
“Not quite, we’d managed to have arrested quite a few of the gang, the big cheese was after us which we knew from the attempt on the way up.”
“Why were they after you and Julie before?”
“I didn’t stop to ask them, they didn’t look much like good conversationalists.”
“You can tell me, I am your barrister.”
“I don’t know,” I lied, the fewer people who knew about the keys the better, however, I needed to know what to do with the five million in my deposit box. I needed to speak with Jim. We parted, her off to court, me to Charring Cross Hospital.
It’s a huge general hospital on Fulham Palace Road, I was very glad I hadn’t had to go there for my treatment, but I did see one of the gender patients, at least I thought it was one, a female to male–short, broad hipped and lots of straggly facial hair, small hands and feet. They got out of the lift a floor before mine so I was left to contemplate what I’d say to Jim about things and the police being unpleasant.
I walked into the ward and asked if I could go and see him–it wasn’t officially visiting time. “He’s not here, he was discharged this morning.”
“Oh, he didn’t let me know.” As the nurse was making apologetic noises my phone peeped with a text.
“Maybe that’s him now, he wasn’t expecting you until visiting time.”
“Perhaps.” I dug in my bag and pulled out my phone.
‘We hve UR li’l frend, U hve our munny. Will be in touch.’
I felt my whole body begin to tremble–it wasn’t over.
“Are you alright, my dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” I heard from some distance away as I slumped to the floor still clutching my Blackberry.
(aka Bike) Part 1196 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and felt like throwing up. As if anticipating my need, the nurse produced one of those papier mache bowls and up came my breakfast. I had a drink of water and she helped me up.
“Do you get many fainting fits?”
“No, I think I probably ate someone who disagreed with me.”
“Someone? You don’t mean something?”
“I might, I must get home.” Somehow I managed to pull myself up and stand on initially wobbly legs, but as I started to walk, they felt stronger. I had things to do.
By the time I was back in the fresh air, I felt much better. I called Henry.
“My favourite daughter in law, what can I do for you?”
I ignored the double entendre. “The bad guys have got James.”
“James–James who?”
“James Beck, you know the investigator you recommended.”
“Which bad guys are they?”
“The South Bank Show, I believe he called them.”
“Oh did he now? A nasty lot by all accounts. Where are you–I can hear traffic.”
“Outside Charing Cross.”
“Get on a train then.”
“Hospital.”
“In Fulham, okay, get a cab I’ll meet you at ...” I flagged down a taxi and he took me to my rendezvous with Henry. He was driving his A6 Audi, and boy could that shift.
He navigated us through London and before long we were belting down the M3, neither of us spoke for maybe half an hour, my head still felt a bit fuzzy and he was concentrating on driving like fury.
He pulled up at Fleet services and he made me tell him the whole story.
“So Julie acquired these keys, got herself abducted, then you get her back and Jim helps you arrest half the bad guys when they attack your home. You work out where the safety deposit is and help yourselves to five million pounds of bonds and cash. No wonder they’re pissed, I think I would be too.”
I showed him the message. “I’m scared, Henry.”
“It could be a bluff, have you tried ringing Jim?”
“That came from his mobile, the only number I have for him.”
“It could be from an opportunist.”
“How would they know about the money?”
“Word gets out.”
“But I thought we’d got them all?”
“They’re like dandelions, complete eradication or they regrow and they have five million reasons to do so.”
“I thought they’d think the money was lost, exploded in the crash.”
“Cathy, grow up will you? They would know it was taken from the bank by a man and a woman, they’d have your descriptions and it would be all over the town by tea time. You’ll have a bounty on you.”
“What? That’s so unfair.” I griped and my Blackberry peeped.
‘Bring da munny 2 Eastleigh services, 11.00hrs 2moro, 2 swap 4 lover boy.’
“That seems fairly straightforward.”
“How do I know they aren’t lying?” I asked Henry.
“You don’t, plus the fact that he could well be dead by now.”
“Thanks, that really makes me feel better.”
“I’m not going to pull punches with you, Cathy, this stuff should have been given to the police to deal with.”
“I know, but they weren’t being very nice to me or Jim.”
“In what way?”
“They picked up on his being gay and me being transsexual.”
“I thought you’d be used to dealing with that by now.”
“It still hurts.”
“Cathy, it happens–deal with it and move on–let’s face it unless you could actually give birth, you couldn’t do much more to be accepted as female, could you?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged.
“You have six kids who love you like crazy, plus a crazy husband who loves you too, what else have you got to prove? You’re a beautiful young woman, accept it and get on with life.”
“So what do I do about this demand?”
“Where’s the stuff?”
“In your bank.”
“Okay, have you got the key?”
“I sent it to Simon.”
“Simon–are you crazy?”
“Why?”
“He’ll lose the bloody thing. When he was eleven, he passed his Eleven Plus exam. I was so pleased I bought him a brand new bike. By lunch time the same day, he’d lost it.”
“Lost it?”
“Yes, he went into a shop and when he came out it was gone.”
“Didn’t he have a lock on it?”
“Yes, round his seat post, but the bike wasn’t locked to anything. I refused to buy him another one, he had to earn it.”
“Oh, I thought that as a banker Simon would be trustworthy.”
“Yes he is, he’s just careless.”
“Oh poo,” I sent him a text. He had the key in his hand.
“Tell him to give it to his secretary now, we’ll collect it from her.” I did as I was told. An hour and a half later we were in Portsmouth at Simon’s office and in possession of the key.
Henry took it with him and he dashed back off to London. He would come to the house tonight with the bonds.
Simon took me home and after a drink and a snack, I had a short nap and went to collect the girls. I didn’t tell them Grampa Henry was visiting in case he was late. He arrived at seven and they all made a huge fuss of him.
I got most of the children in bed by nine and after their excitement with Henry, they were asleep by ten. Henry decided to stay over and had brought a case with him. He also had an aluminium attaché case, in which I presumed were the bonds and money.
After Julie and Danny were in bed, there was a light rap on the back door. My heart nearly stopped. Henry nodded that it was okay to open it. When I did two men in army fatigues stood there, in the dark with sunglasses on.
“Cathy, these are some friends of Jim who will be offering back up tomorrow.”
“Oh, do come in.” I invited.
They walked in and over a cuppa, we discussed our plans for tomorrow. All I was told was that once they had the case and we had Jim, I wasn’t to do anything stupid, just give them the case and take Jim back to my car–I was to use his Porsche.
Henry showed them the case, and the bonds and the money. They were busy counting stuff and looking at the bonds when he asked me to check the Porsche was locked safely in the garage. I thought it was an odd request but I complied to keep him happy. It was there and with a full tank of gas, I’d refuelled it after the talk the other night–okay, I wanted to have another go in it, and driving it to the supermarket and back was fun–got loads of stares–all of them envious.
I didn’t sleep very well, Henry took the girls to school and they loved it. I ran Danny to his–he always seems to miss out and he was glowing with pride when I drove right into the school car park before letting him out, several boys came up to speak with him before I drove off.
Then I drove home. Henry was waiting for me with the brief case. “Where are Tweedledum and Tweedledee?” I asked.
“They’ve been on site since about midnight.”
“Aren’t they likely to be seen and the police called?”
“Cathy, they’re snipers, no one will see them and if it goes pear shaped at least we have some back up. These guys could put a full clip in someone’s head before he could blink.”
“Why?”
“How would I know–I’m a banker not a soldier.”
“Oh so you are–how silly of me to forget.” I felt in a strange mood. Simon had gone to work despite his wanting to be involved. “What about your time with the SIS, Henry?”
“Eh?”
“The Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6–I’m not quite as stupid as you think I am.”
“Okay, I’m not squeaky clean, but that’s all you get.”
“For now.”
“Full stop.”
“No wonder you knew Jim.”
“Cathy, we have to go–now stick to the plan.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“In my own car, just watching.”
I hugged him, “Thanks, Henry, you’re wonderful pa in law.”
“I know,” he sniggered, “but having a wonderful daughter in law brings out the best in me.”
We set off for our cars, me carrying the heavier than it looked case plus my always heavier than it looked handbag, with kitchen sink attachment.
(aka Bike) Part 1197 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I was waiting at Eastleigh Services on the M27 between Southampton and Portsmouth by half past ten. I’d done one drop before when I rescued Julie. I was parked conspicuously–let’s face it, in a Porsche Boxster it’s hard not to be conspicuous.
It was bitingly cold and I kept the engine running so the aircon still worked–aircon in a convertible? I wonder if it works when the roof is down? I watched a delivery van park near the services building and two men in boiler suits took a large package into the concourse. Apart from that and the comings and goings of Joe Public and his friends and family, nothing seemed to be happening.
At 10.59 my phone peeped indicating a text. My heart thumped in my chest as I picked up my phone, which lay on the seat beside me.
‘U beta hve da munny. In da bin by da entrance get da bag. Put da munny in da bag. Will be in tuch.’
I got out of the car, slipping the phone into my jacket pocket–a leather and fleece bomber jacket Simon had given me for Christmas. I could feel the cold of the air through the jeans I wore and on my hands as I pulled on my leather gloves. My trainers slipped a little on the frosty surface of the car park.
It only took a minute or two to cross the car park and reach the two bins by the entrance to the building. In the second I found a cheap black rucksack and pulled it out, careful not to scatter much litter as I did so. I shook it clean and walked back to my car.
I sat back inside and put the case on the seat and transferred the money and bonds into the bag. Then sat and waited. My phone rang. It was Henry.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. They told me to transfer the money and bonds into the bag they left in the bin.”
“Nothing else?”
“No not yet, they said they’d be in touch.”
“They’re still sussing us out, I expect. When things happen, it’ll happen fast, just watch out and be very careful.”
“I will, d’you think this is a set up–I mean will they hand over Jim?”
“I have no idea, if they do he might be dead.”
“Oh God, don’t say that.” My tummy flipped as I worried about the man who’d saved my life.
A large motorbike drove in and the two riders dismounted and wandered into the concourse. For a moment I did wonder if that was our pick up but they seemed just normal punters. Could Jim be in the boot of any one of the cars in the car park?
The delivery men got back into their van and drove off. My phone peeped.
‘Walk down da slip rd 2 da Mway. Hold da bag in ur hand.’
Astonished at this request I got out of my car and locked it. God it was cold, the wind was rising a little and it seemed to go straight through my clothes and into my bones. As I walked, I saw the motorcyclists get back on their bike and head off to the petrol area. For a moment I wondered again if it was them, but they seemed ordinary. I walked past the fuel area and towards the exit road. A couple of cars and a truck came past, the truck hooting at me and pointing at the ‘no pedestrians’ sign. I walked on.
The motorcycle roared past me and then stopped, The man on the back shouted, “No pedestrians, are you blind?”
I walked on towards him. He got off and pointed at the sign, then suddenly grabbed the bag and pushed me over in one move. Before I could do anything he was back on the bike and they roared off down the motorway, towards Southampton. I was so cross with myself. I got myself up and saw an envelope with my name on it lying on the grass. I tore it open and inside it said, ‘In da gents’ I began to run back to the car park dialling Henry as I went. He met me at the gents toilet, and ignoring all protocols followed him in. I got one or two bemused looks as we pushed against the closet doors. The last one swung open and sat on the loo wrapped from head to foot in duct tape was Jim. It was pretty obvious he had nothing on underneath and there was bow tied round his neck.
Henry ripped the tape from his mouth, “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live, have you got a drink?” I rushed off to get him some water.
When I ran back Henry had hoisted him over his shoulder and was carrying him back to his car. I followed him back with the water. Once we got him seated, I held the bottle for him to drink.
“Let’s get you back to Cathy’s place and get this mess off you.”
“What about the money?” I gasped.
“It’s all fake.”
“But that means they’ll be back again.”
“They might.” Said Henry in a very matter of fact way.
“What about my children–this is going to really piss them off.”
“Your children?”
“No, giving the gang fake money is really going to piss off the gang.”
“It’s all being tracked.”
“I thought the tracker was in the case?” I offered not really sure of anything anymore.
“No, the bonds have little transmitters in the stamps on them, the batteries are in the wraps on the bundles of cash.”
“Crikey, how very James Bond.”
“Bloody amateur,” said Henry tersely.
“I’m going to follow a hunch, see you later.” I jumped into the Porsche and within a minute or so was flying up the motorway. The motorbike would leave even this baby behind, but if they went very fast they’d be asking for the police to take notice.
A few miles further on, I saw the white delivery van, and the bloke was closing up the back of it. It was one of those with a lift on the back. Why had he stopped?
I slowed right down and it came past me, only there weren’t just two men in it, there were four. Unfortunately, the Porsche is not the least obtrusive of cars for shadowing, so I made a note of the number, and called the police on my handsfree.
“I hope I’m not wasting your time, but there’s a large van acting very suspiciously on the motorway coming from Eastleigh into Southampton. I think it might be carrying drugs or illegal immigrants.” I gave the number and shadowed the van from a discreet distance.
Ten minutes later a police Jaguar came whooshing past and pulled them over. I stopped a hundred yards behind. Suddenly one of the policemen was holding his hands in the air. I called 999 and reported it.
The back of the van opened and the motorbike was lowered to the road, and the two riders donned their leathers and shot off, this time I followed. I could hear sirens behind me which I suspected were police going to the aid of their colleagues. I called them again and told them to stop the large BMW motorbike which was being followed by the Porsche, they’d come from the van and were perhaps armed. I saw the helicopter, flashed my lights at them and watched as they followed the motorbike.
I knew as soon as we got close to Southampton I’d lose them in traffic, a helicopter was something able to cope with evasive suspects in traffic, I turned off at the next junction and drove back on the non-motorway to home, in case the police were waiting for me on the M27.
I was anxious to learn how Jim was, but restrained myself and drove very carefully, putting the car back in the garage when I got home. I could see Henry’s car still in the drive, and I wondered what I’d see when I got indoors.
(aka Bike) Part 1198 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
The back door was locked which was a little unusual while we were about. I walked back to the front door and used my key to unlock the door, which creaked a little indicative of a need for some lubrication. I closed it as quietly as I could, the ancient oak still did a wonderful job in keeping the house and the outside world apart, and although it was probably a couple of hundred years old and weighed half a ton, it was in very good condition. Hardwoods like oak don’t suffer from things like woodworm anything like as much as softer pines.
I was tempted to call out but didn’t. We had pissed off the gang again, and unless they were all under lock and key, there might be further unwelcome interactions with them. I’d also heard of chief bandits running their empires from prison cells, perhaps not quite as Noel Coward did in The (“You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off”) Italian Job; but you get the idea.
I stood still for a moment, and all I could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the lounge. I walked further into the house and voices were coming from upstairs. I crept up the stairs walking on the edges of the steps to try and avoid any creaking from them. I paused to listen and heard Jim’s voice yelling in pain. I cursed myself for not having brought a weapon with me.
I wondered what had happened to Henry, Stella and Jenny. Perhaps they were all prisoners while Jim was being tortured. I heard him yell and swear, and I cringed. I don’t do pain well if at all, and others suffering makes me feel sick.
I crept to the top of the stairs and the screams–okay, yells–were coming from the bathroom, I paused outside the door readying myself to kick and punch as hard as I could. The door opened and I swung a wild punch at–Henry? Thankfully he ducked and I missed.
“I’m going to cross you off my Christmas card list, young lady.”
“I could hear the yells of pain from Jim, I wasn’t sure who was doing what to him.”
“Stella is taking off the tape, if you remember he was swathed in the stuff. Alas it’s also giving him a Brazilian, and I don’t think he’s too happy about it.”
I winced, “No, I shouldn’t think he is. Shall I make us all a nice cuppa?”
“Where did you dash off to?” asked Henry.
“I followed the motorbike.”
“It was long gone, wasn’t it?”
“It would have been if they’d gone on by themselves, but that white delivery van was obviously the one that was used to get Jim into the building, presumably in a box or sack or some other container. Then it set off ahead of the bike. However, I had a hunch that they would try and hide the bike and what better method than in the back of a lorry. It also gave the riders somewhere to take off their leathers.”
“You didn’t catch them did you?”
“The police did, I called them and told them I thought there was illegal immigrants on board. They were stopped and the bikers took off again so I phoned ahead for the police to stop them, there was also a possibility of firearms at the lorry, so I advised the police and they were all over the place like a rash. The helicopter was following the bikers, so I hope they got them.”
“Unless they went into an underground car park or something similar.”
“The equipment they have these days is amazing and it will still pick up infra-red through one layer of concrete, besides by then, the police on the ground will be closing in too and blocking all the exits.”
“Okay, my daughter-in-law is a regular genius.”
“Thank you, kind sir, recognition at last.” I did a mock curtsey. Jim yelled again and we both sniggered. “Poor bugger,” I said and Henry nodded.
“I’m making tea, how long are you going to be?” I called through to the bathroom.
“Nearly finished his waxing–about ten minutes,” Stella laughed back, “You did say full body, didn’t you Jim?” He squealed like a rat in a trap and I ran down stairs.
They emerged about ten or twelve minutes later, Jim looking red and sore in the places not covered by Simon’s bathrobe. He acknowledged me.
“How did they manage to catch you, I thought you were very aware of risk?” I asked the awkward question first.
“I hailed a cab; it was one of theirs. Two men got in beside me holding guns. Discretion became the better part of valour.”
“When I was a kid,” interjected Stella, “I could never understand what it had to do with velvet curtains.”
We all looked at her, but it was Henry who voiced the collective, “Eh?”
“Well, you know, discretion is the better part of velour,” she explained and we all groaned.
“The only joke there, Stella, is why you find it funny,” I suggested. She poked out her tongue at me and blew a raspberry. Stella is always so mature in her behaviour, like a good cheese.
I poured the teas and as we drank them, I brought the others up to date. Jim was quite impressed by the actions of a mere woman and said so. Stella came alongside me and suggested he was hung like a horse, my glare showed that I wasn’t the appropriate person to tell that to. She fawned over him, unaware that he would be resistant to her charms.
The local plod arrived and spoiled the party. They wanted to know this and that and we gave statements. While we were doing so Henry made a phone call. One of the copper’s mobiles went off and after answering it, they were a bit more circumspect and withdrew after just my statement and that of Jim, who suggested he was taken prisoner for a ransom, which the bank paid in fake money and bonds.
We both showed feigned surprise when the police suggested it was the same gang we’d been battling the week before. After they left, I asked Henry who he’d called. He shrugged, but when I persisted he shrugged again and said, “The Home Secretary, who else?”
“You have friends in low places,” I said quietly.
“Absolutely, remember I am a banker, so we know all the demons in hell and the most vile sort of monster, a cabinet minister who will have sold their soul long since in their craving for power.”
“A Faustian pact.”
“Yes, but this time the devil is the junior partner in wickedness.”
“I’d never thought of it that way round,” I admitted.
“Oh yes, politicians could teach Old Nick, quite a few tricks in despicableness and venality.”
“Damn, I have to go and get the girls,” I said looking at my watch.
“I’ll go and get them. You see if you find a few of Simon’s thing to fit Major Beck before I return with them. I don’t want them seeing naked bodies, it might give them the wrong idea.” With that, he picked up his keys and went to get them.
(aka Bike) Part 1199 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
I went up to our bedroom and pulled a few of Simon’s clothes I thought might fit Jim. He was taller and slimmer than Simon, however, I knew Si had one or two things he found tight and which wouldn’t be much too short for him to wear.
In the end, he wore a pair of Simon’s jeans which were too tight for Si, a shirt and pullover, some socks, underpants and a pair of sandals as his feet were a size bigger than Simon’s. The jeans weren’t much too short, because Simon had always worn them a little too long in the leg–they dated from a period before he lived with me, because I’d have shortened them whereas Stella let him walk on the hems.
While I was making some tea, and the bread machine was churning out the next loaf, Jim got chatting with Julie. “Where did you find those keys?”
“I dunno do I?”
“You don’t know or you don’t remember?” he asked her.
“Yeah, I don’t.”
I didn’t know whether she was being genuinely dumb or if she was just feeling pissed off with him.
“Okay, where could you have picked them up?”
“How do I know? I can’t sodding remember, got it?” With that she upped and stamped off to her room. I heard her thumping up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Jim as I placed a cup of tea before him.
“Probably, I take it you’re not especially familiar with teenage girls?”
“Apart from a sister, no and she’s in her twenties now. We were both away at school so I was spared the worst excesses.”
“So as a gay man, you didn’t have any adolescent issues?”
“Oh boy, don’t go there–I had so many hang-ups I was worse than a box of drawing pins.”
I had to think momentarily as to the relationship between drawing pins and hang-ups, it was obviously to do with hanging things up on walls.
“You don’t consider Julie might as well, besides which the shock of her attack seems to have removed any memory she might have had of events prior to and of the whole thing. She gets very frustrated wondering if she’s brain damaged or something?”
“Is she?”
“No, of course not–she’s just an excitable adolescent.”
“I’d have thought girls have it easier than boys–adolescence I mean.”
“I don’t think so, each have their own issues and they obviously affect individuals differently.”
“So how was your experience being a transgender person?”
“Awful.”
“Even as Lady Macbeth?”
“Yes including that.”
“I’ll bet you were as good as your reviews.”
“Well unless you have some sort of time machine, you’ll never know.”
“Didn’t someone film it?”
“Oh yeah, MGM out bid the BBC for the pure delight of seeing me ponce about in a long dress, saying, ‘Out damned spot, out I say.’ It would have been short listed for the Oscars, but only for screenplay. Unfortunately Mr William Shakespeare couldn’t collect his prize in person owing to him being dead for three hundred years.”
“Don’t get so defensive, in my school they used to film all the drama shows on 8mm film, it was always dreadful but at least it was a permanent record and also used for reviewing performances by the director.”
“Oh shit, there was one boy whose dad had one of those cameras, he might well have filmed it. I think Suggs was one of the attendants killed by Macbeth when he killed Duncan. I hated him, he kept touching my bum whenever I walked past him in that tight bloody dress, during rehearsals that is.”
“I thought the killing was done off stage.”
“Oh he played several bit parts, a soldier here, a steward there, and maybe even donated body parts for the eye of newt stuff.”
“Cathy, you are so funny. I so wish I’d met you before Simon had.”
“I thought we’d agreed that we had little in common in those terms.”
“Other than being attracted to good looking men?” he quipped.
I blushed, “I have my Simon, I don’t need to look at anyone else.”
“I saw you window shopping, Cathy.”
“So? You keep saying about fancying me, but that must be because you know of my past. I’d be of little or no interest to a gay man, would I?”
“Maybe I’m not exclusively gay?”
“Like that’s of interest to me?”
“Well it was worth a try,” he muttered, “fab cuppa,” he said a moment later.
“That definitely recommends me, then.”
“It’s important, I’m British, remember?”
“So?”
“Hush, I’m playing for time.”
“Time to do what?” I glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen, “Henry’s taking his time. I’ll bet he’s taken them for an ice cream.”
“It’s bloody freezing out there.”
“When did that stop children eating ice cream?”
“How would I know, you’re the young woman who lived in a shoe...”
“I’m glad you modified that, or I’d have had to kill you.”
“As if...” he laughed.
“I have my moments, ask Simon.”
“Oh I shall–I suppose you kill him then bring him back to life so you can kill him again?”
“Damn, you’ve worked out my secret.”
“Lady Cameron, you are an open book.”
“Hi, Mum, cannave a biscuit?” asked Danny walking into the kitchen and dumping his schoolbag next to the fridge while he poured himself a glass of fruit juice.
“I suppose so, don’t eat them all.”
“I won’t–where’re the girls?”
“Grampa Henry went to get them, he’s probably taken them for an ice cream.”
“Bloody girls, always get more than me.”
“That isn’t true, Danny–you’re late tonight.”
“Traffic is worse than ever, any more of these custard creams–I love ‘em.”
“You know where they’re kept.”
“Can I watch the telly?”
“Don’t forget you’ll have homework to do.”
“I won’t.” He scampered off to the lounge.
“Is he the only boy amongst that brood of girls?”
“I’m afraid so, why?”
“He must find it hard going at times.”
“We try to make sure he gets plenty of attention.”
“I admit he doesn’t look too neglected.”
“Providing he gets to play football every week, he’s as good as gold. Mind you, Trish is a good footballer, but she hates it.”
“How can she be good at it if she hates it?”
“You tell me.”
“Perhaps she takes after her mum–doing things she doesn’t like but is good at.”
“Like what–washing up?”
“Possibly, though I was thinking more in terms of the Ninja Cameron.”
“Who?”
“You forget that I have access to sources you don’t. I know about all sorts of episodes in your life which if half the plod read before engaging you in any form of combat, would surrender without a fight.”
“You’ve been reading too many of those Special Forces fictions by Andy McNabb.”
“No I haven’t, I’ve been reading police records.”
“Oh.”
“See, you know what I’m talking about, Maid Marion.”
“Exaggerations.”
“Some are signed statements.”
“By liars I expect.”
“Signed by Catherine Watts.”
“Definitely then.” I looked at the clock, “Where is Henry with my girls?”
“Perhaps his car has broken down?”
“He has a phone.”
“Muuum?”
“Ye-e-e-essss, Danny?”
“Come an’ see this.”
“I’m busy.”
“It’s important.”
“I’m sure it is.”
He came trotting into the kitchen, “There’s been a terrorist bomb in the town centre.”
“What?” both Jim and I exclaimed together before dashing into the lounge.