World Doubting (aka Bike) Part 644 by Angharad

Simon went off to collect Trish in his flash motor, I carried on with the housework and dealing with Mima and the dog. Thankfully, Kiki was rarely any bother. Meems and I took her for a walk after lunch and she was very good—unless you count chasing rabbits. That took a bit of effort to get her back under control, but once back on the lead she was okay, and so was the dog. Really both of them were fine, once we got Kiki back on the lead and came home.

I prepared the meal for later and Meems helped me do the veg. She is becoming quite an accomplished vegetable washer, though it might be difficult to decide who got wetter, the veg or Meems?

Simon came home with Trish and she was hyper, the combination of school and the Jaguar might have been too much. She played up and wouldn’t shut up, squabbling with Meems and ignoring my instructions to her.

I got her a drink and a biscuit and asked her to tell me about her school day, which she did. I asked about lunch and she’d swapped half of her nourishing packed lunch for a plate of chips. Finally, I got the account of her coming back in the car with Simon. If what she was telling me was true, Simon was driving far too fast with her in the car. I needed to talk to him about it. He is a bit of a lunatic in a car, not as bad as his sister, but bad enough—perhaps it runs in the family, a sort of recessive gene? I didn’t know but I did know I was going to ask him to drive more carefully or I’d stop the girls going in the car with him.

It sounds awful, as if I was talking about a child or adolescent, not someone who is closer to thirty than twenty. Boys like to show off in front of girls—maybe that was all it was. But I’m responsible for her safety, and it felt appropriate to say something to him. I hoped I'd do it tactfully.

Stella brought the baby down and Trish and Meems squabbled about helping to feed her. In the end, neither did because of all the fuss they made. Instead I asked Stella to do it herself so I could organise the two kids.

Simon was busy on his computer, presumably saving the economy, we hardly saw him that day, except for meals. I wondered if sending stuff by wi-fi was secure enough and he suggested that he could encrypt it enough to minimise the risk. Suddenly everyone had computer skills, even Simon who, normally, is not renowned for them.

I left him to it, taking him in a cuppa and then calling him for dinner, the lamb shanks were okay and it appeared everyone enjoyed them. It was a basic meal but seemed to go down okay.

Tom, who’d been at the university all day, came home exhausted, though after a little snooze and dinner, recovered enough to offer to read to the girls. I decided he was much too tired and did it myself, reading them the start of the Gaby stories by Maddy Bell, which they enjoyed enormously, especially Trish, who had more appreciation of the sub plots as well as the surface level.

At bed time for the grown ups and Simon, I talked with him about driving with Trish. He of course, denied any wrong-doing, but I knew Trish couldn’t make things up, she was too young and had no reason to. He promised to take more care in future.

We kissed and cuddled a bit but I was so tired I could barely find the energy to sleep, so anything else was undesirable, much to Simon’s disgust. I’d checked Stella and the baby were okay. We had also organised registering the baby and would do that tomorrow. Honestly, these civil servants are hardly civil, and certainly not servants. I know they can be busy, but when she contacted them to register Puddin’s birth, they couldn’t fit her in for over a week. A spate of weddings, apparently.

She, of course, made a dig at me about weddings, so I told her I organise a registry office one for the following week if she was that anxious.

“Huh, that won’t go down well with Simon.”

“Simon will do whatever I want regarding the wedding.”

“Even if he does, Daddy will be furious.”

“I’m not marrying Henry, so what’s it got to do with him?”

“It affects all the family, doesn’t it?” she said, obviously unsure of its veracity.

“Does it? Can’t see why, except the guests will expect a free meal of a certain quality. I’ve talked this over with Henry before and he accepted it was my day, well Simon’s and mine, and we do what we want. Simon is agreeable to what I want to do.”

“Crikey, no Pitlochry wedding? That’ll upset a few of the old stagers.”

“Tough. Look, I’m too tired to argue—besides it’s pointless. I’ll do what I think is best for Simon and me, and the girls of course.”

“So you’ll do them out of being bridesmaids.”

“I’m not going to succumb to moral blackmail, Stella.”

“But you are if you do it hurriedly.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for a hundred years so they can be really right it’s for them.”

“Now you’re being silly.”

“I want you to help me organise the wedding when I’m ready, please don’t keep pressuring me. It just puts me off the whole idea.”

“Okay, I’ll help you, but don’t leave it too long, I could get a better offer.”

“If you do, you must act on it. Anyone we know?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“I just wondered, what’s his name?”

“No, for once it isn’t bloody Watts.”

“Oh yes, very good, Stella.” I said feeling hoist by my own petard.

Then I went to bed and zonked after a short chat with Simon. I suppose I must have been a bit tired. He said he was talking to me and I fell asleep in front of him. He woke me twice for all of half a minute. The funny thing is I can recall him waking me, but not what we talked about.

Obviously old age is taking its toll of my faculties.

[Author’s note: Life imitates art, I’m too tired to continue tonight, hopefully normal service will be resumed tomorrow when I get home.]