Wittering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 651 by Angharad

Mima invited herself with us as we drove to Trish’s school. I’d made up a packed lunch the night before with homemade bread rolls filled with salad and salmon, a pot of yoghurt, some fruit and a tiny pack of chocolate buttons–there had to be some bribery allowed. To drink was one of those flavoured milk things which Trish loved. It was all packed into her backpack and she carried it with her as we walked into the school yard.

We both hugged her goodbye and waited while she walked in with her friend Peaches. Her mother spotted me and said, “Look, about your offer to take Pea home with you?”

“Yes?”

“Any chance tonight? I’m involved with some nature programme that isn’t going too well.”

“No, what time are you likely to be back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“No problem, I’ll give her some tea, and if you’re that late, she can sleep at our place.”

“God, I hope I won’t be that late, but thanks so much.” I gave her my mobile number and directions to get to Tom’s house.

“The old farmhouse, the Georgian one?”

“Parts of it are older than that, but the façade is Georgian.”

“Wow, you live there?”

“Yes.”

“Goodness, I am moving in exalted circles.”

“Not really, it’s just a house, does exactly the same as a small modern terraced house.”

“Yeah, but on a grander scale.”

“I don’t even think about it.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t if you were brought up in it. Me, we have a small three bed semi, I’m the first in our family to own my own house. My parents had a council house, Dad worked on the buses, Mum stayed home and looked after us kids. They couldn’t believe it when I said I wanted to go to uni. I was the first to go there too, and I’m proud of being an assistant producer.”

“So you should be. So you work on the nature programmes?”

“Documentaries,” she shrugged.

“Sounds interesting.”

“It is, absolutely fascinating, I love it, but looking after her ladyship can be a problem, fitting it all in.”

“I’m sure; looking after my two can be a bit of a juggling job.”

“You work at the university, you said?”

“I’m on secondment at the moment, but yeah, I count dormice and advise on their conservation. I’m also involved with the mammal survey of Britain and Europe.”

“And you have two under six?”

“Yes, but they’re good kids, aren’t you, Meems.”

“Yes, Mummy, I’s a good girw.”

“Oh crikey, look at the time, I’ve gotta dash, I’ll ring you later, if that’s all right.”

“Yes, don’t worry, I’ll collect Peaches and give her some tea. Anything she doesn’t eat?”

“Shellfish and mushrooms.”

“Fine.” I took Mima’s hand and we walked to the car. “Come on, Mima, let’s get some shopping and sort out lunch.”

We got back home and I made some lunch, a salad with cooked ham I’d bought at the deli. It looked lovely and Meems ate it like there was no tomorrow. Stella let her help feed Puddin’ which made her day. I knew she’d be bragging to Trish when she came home, but then Trish would be doing so about what they’d done in school, so it seemed a quid pro quo.

Meems seemed to follow Stella about which meant I could do my chores more easily, the cooking and cleaning, washing, that sort of stuff. How can the average bloke feel he works harder than his wife? He comes home from the office or factory, eats the meal she’s cooked, wears the clothes she’s washed and ironed for him and sits in the house she’s probably cleaned as well, not to mention any children that might be involved. I know some modern men help out somewhat, but loads don’t, and it irritates me.

Simon has gone out to our local branch of the bank and is using their resources to plug into the main system. It means he’s home at night but he doesn’t do much except help put the kids to bed, if I’m lucky. Tom is more help than Simon. At least Stella is doing something now. It isn’t enough and looking after the baby isn’t half as bad as she makes out–she is a drama queen. Then at least I haven’t got lumbered with that yet.

I switched on the bread maker and poured the tea which had been brewing for a few minutes. I called Stella and she came in, followed by her shadow, my younger foster child.

I’d prepared the vegetables, essentially, I did a savoury rice mix doing mushrooms separately, as Peaches didn’t like them. I did some strips of chicken which I’d stir fry with some bean shoots. The soy sauce had plenty left in the bottle, so I’d get some more next week.

Then it was time to get the girls. Meems stayed with Stella as I drove to the school. Peaches and Trish were last out as usual. “Come along, you two slow coaches,” I yelled to them and they giggled. “You’re coming back with us tonight, Peaches. Your mummy is going to collect you from our house, and you can have some tea with us.”

She looked at me a little distrustfully at first. “I can show you my bike and my doll’s pram,” said Trish proudly.

“Okay,” said Peaches, “Mummy coulda told me.”

“I think she was so busy, this morning, sweetheart. It is difficult looking after children and doing a full time job.”

“She loves her job more than me,” said the child angrily.

“I doubt it, she thinks a great deal of you, which is why she asked me to collect you.”

“Before you, it was Mrs Smith, but she got fed up and said so. Mummy was very cross.” I wondered what I’d taken on, was Laura a bit of an exploitative type. I supposed we’d soon find out. If she was, she’d have a surprise coming and her opportunity to blackmail me re the programme could be minimised, it was due in June, so she only had a short time to do it, and if Simon was right, she’d be taking on a large and powerful organisation in the bank. I decided I’d wait and see what happened.

We got home and I made Trish change and to find something for Peaches to borrow, she opted for shorts and tee shirt. The weather had got rather warm so they were out in the garden and drive playing with Trish’s bike until I called them in for dinner.

I was half expecting complaints–I don’t eat that, or I don’t like this–but she ate everything in sight and asked for more. She ate mushrooms, she ate the rice, the chicken the bean shoots, bread, crisps, ice cream and some fruit. Even Simon who’d come home in time for tea raised his eyebrows.

The phone rang and Peaches said, “That’s Mummy saying she won’t be home can I stay the night?”

I picked up my mobile, the number was ex-directory. “Hello?”

“Hi, Cathy, it’s Laura, how is Peaches?”

“She’s fine and she enjoyed her tea.”

“Oh good, look, you offered to sleep her tonight?”

“I did,” I felt my tummy twist, Peaches was too young to be so cynical.

“Could you? This business is going to take longer than I thought.”

“Yes, no problem.”

“I told you,” said Peaches, “She did the same with Mrs Smith, soon you’ll get tired of me.”

“I hope not, and besides it’s not your fault is it?”

“No, but Mummy makes out it is. If I wasn’t here she wouldn’t need to bother people…” she began to cry, “Nobody wants me.”

I put my arm around her, “Look here, sweetie-pie, you are wanted. I’m sure your mummy wants you lots and I know she loves you lots. We want you to stay the night. Peaches, would you like to stay the night with us?”

“Yes please, Lady Cameron.”

“That’s a bit formal, isn’t it, why don’t you call me Auntie Cathy?”

“I’d like that, Auntie Cathy.”

“Good, that’s all settled then. You go and play and I’ll sort out a bed and some pyjamas for you. You’ll have to borrow some of Trish’s.”

Was I being exploited? I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell if she was working late or out on the town with her boyfriend or girlfriend for that matter. But we were home anyway and what difference did one more mouth to feed make?