Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 681.

Printer-friendly version
Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 681
by Angharad
  
-Dormouse-001.jpg

I reflected upon my afternoon as I made dinner. For a change I was doing some tuna fish, in a pasta bake. Okay, I know I like it and probably eat too much, this was skipjack, which is supposed to be less endangered. I’d just put it in the oven and was making up the fresh fruit salad for pudding—not baby Puddin’, but dessert pudding. I don’t do starters, and not that often do a dessert, but with strawberries in reasonable profusion and some melon, I had the beginnings of a fresh fruit salad, to which I added banana, orange and some apple, then drowned it all in apple juice.

I suppose it went really well with Livvie regarding Trish’s anatomical problem, I’m so glad it’s over—well at this stage anyway; we still have a long way to go. They only need to squabble and have it thrown around in the hearing of others, and it could yet end in tears. Assuming, Trish is allowed to stay with me, then I shall do my best to help her through to her surgery and beyond. Hopefully, she’ll eventually settle down with someone and reach her full potential on all levels. The same of course with Mima and Livvie, depending upon how long she stays with me.

It’s lovely that she wants to call me ‘Mummy’, but so sad for Laura, who is going to miss out on so much, so is Livvie’s dad. I wish we could get some details on what happened. Manslaughter? That could mean anything from drink driving to bashing her. I wonder when the funeral will be?

There was so much unfinished business with that little girl, I must say she seemed to cope with it so well—better than I would. I thought back to my mother’s funeral, I didn’t connect with it really—I was there, but in a sort of trance. Stella was there with me, she is such brick when she’s well. She is coping with her baby, so much better than I thought she would, it has helped her to get back into something like her old self. That gave me a warm feeling, the four of us, Simon, Stella, Tom and me—make a formidable team.

Then the three girls, plus Puddin’ when she grows a bit, will hopefully all bond together and support each other when they don’t need to involve the adults or we’re not available. So far the three musketeer(ettes?) Are doing well together—Meems is a little young, but they do include her sometimes and she loves playing with Puddin’, which pleases Stella no end.

I glanced out the window and Simon was red faced and puffing as he ran alongside Trish riding without stabilisers, so she’s cracked it too. I think I was about five or six when I learned to ride a bike, it’s so much better without those stupid little wheels attached.

Simon has done really well today, getting them both riding—mind you he could do with some exercise. I’ll bet he’s asleep early tonight—he might even go to bed early to avoid me, and my animal passions—I chuckled at my own joke. I enjoyed our sex, but I would suggest Simon was usually the initiator. Then life is more than sex, although in an intimate relationship it is important, and it can make or destroy the relationship if it’s a problem.

Some of this, the sex bit, I mean, is part of my difficulty with accepting myself as properly female. I still feel a bit inferior to biological women, even though the likes of Stella and Simon suggest I shouldn’t. I think anyone coming from my sort of origins would understand this point, I’m not a perfect female because most of the things which would make me so are missing. I don’t have ovaries or ova, my genes only have one X chromosome instead of two, and well, you know the rest.

I try to console myself with the other side of the coin, living as a female is different to being one biologically. Okay, so I don’t have the worry of periods or pregnancy, sadly, though I do seem to get cycles of moodiness and my breasts can feel bigger or tender at times. I can do girly when the mood takes me, but mostly I’m just me, as happy fiddling with bikes as sewing things or wearing dresses. What is important, is having the choice.

I have to give my girls some sort of role model, which I hope will mean they can also take from Stella and other adult women. My priorities now start with looking after my family, while trying to keep open my career, because motherhood is a little tenuous in my case and all of the children I foster could be removed from me. I’m constantly aware of this fact, which I hope I don’t convey to the girls unconsciously, they need to feel secure and we all do our best to provide that.

I remember feeling very secure with my parents until I realised I wanted to be a girl and began to give mixed messages to them and to my peers. I know I received plenty of beatings because of it. In some ways, I’m surprised I didn’t suffer brain damage or physical deformity because of it—hang on, Roddy and Big Ears beat me up when I was about ten, Mum had to take me to the doctor because I was so bruised down below. I told her I fell on to the crossbar of my bike.

Roddy and his brother Nigel Blyton, he nearly got called Enid, but his ears were huge so the joke was Roddy and Big Ears, not Noddy and B.E.. Kids can be cruel, we were all horrible little pigs to each other. I got called all sorts of names including Uno, which became Fiat, this became Fiona besides the obvious Charlotte and variations on that. At one point I almost asked if I could change my name to ‘punch-bag’ I was getting hit so often.

Anyway, back to my visit to the quack with a blue-black willie—it looked as if I’d dipped it in an inkwell, except it was hardly long enough to reach. I can remember walking strangely for a few days after that and sitting with an ice-pack on it hoping it would get cold enough to fall off. It didn’t. I wasn’t allowed to do games for a month and was sent to the library to study.

My dad had already aroused an interest in nature, he was an outdoors person, liked walking in the countryside and playing sport. We also used to ride out into the countryside and I can remember whining that I was cold or tired, it didn’t make any difference. Once I got a puncture and he stood and made me fix it myself. It made me more self sufficient, but it took me a few years to realise the advantages of it. I didn’t enjoy riding bikes until I went out by myself and then saw I could race them, which meant I could possibly improve my standing in my father’s eyes. Why do we need to please them so much?

Of course I was total rubbish, like I was at every other sport. I’ve previously said how my university cycling club, told me to go play with the girls. I would have done, except they wouldn’t let me play either. Then I bought my Scott Addict, using my student loan, and got serious about training and riding. From fifty miles per week at weekends, I was doing over two hundred miles a week. However, I never did get into the cycle team—reputations are hard to shift.

Back to Roddy and Big Ears, my beating, possibly not helped by a racing saddle could explain why my male puberty was non-existent, they pulped my goolies so lots of nasty testosterone didn’t get produced and I stayed smaller and pre-pubescent. It could be true, if ever I meet those two psycho brothers again, I must thank them—maybe not. I could just as easily be androgen insensitive, who cares, I need to look forwards not back. My future involves two five year olds and a nearly four year old; plus some adults, some dormice and possibly some harvest mice as well. I’ve got enough to think about without stirring up old traumas.

I glanced out of the window, two coppers were talking to Simon. What had happened now? Tom was out at an evening meeting—oh shit! I rushed out to the drive, “Is everything alright?”

“Mrs Watts, could we have a word?”

“Yes of course, it’s not about Professor Agnew is it?” my heart was thumping so hard it was threatening to come through my ribs.

“No, could we talk inside, away from little ears.”

“Si, can you come in too, please?” I asked him, and he disentangled himself from the kids.

We went into the lounge. “Mrs Watts, we believe you are fostering one Peaches Olivia Richards?”

“Yes, Oh God, you haven’t come to take her back have you?” I felt tears rushing down my face.

“Take her back?” the woman police officer looked strangely at me.

“Yes, her father was being investigated for manslaughter of her mother, up in Edinburgh. I assumed he wanted her back. She doesn’t want to go, she wants to stay here with us...”

“Mrs Watts, please, if I could say something?” said the male officer.

“I’m sorry, I just thought...,” I held tightly on to Simon, feeling almost faint.

“I have to inform you that Dr Anthony Richards is deceased.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid, it looks as if he took his own life this morning.”

“Oh my God, what do we tell Livvie?” I gasped, swaying so much that Simon actually put his arm around me to hold me up.

“Livvie?” asked the officer.

“Olivia, she doesn’t like being called Peaches.”

“I see, can’t say I blame her. Would you like us to stay while you tell her?”

“Before we do anything, where do we stand legally with her? I’m fostering her at the behest of her father.”

“I think that will need to be sorted afterwards. So you hang on to her for now.”

“He seemed rather organised before,” said Simon, “maybe he’s sorted that with his solicitor again.”

“That, I couldn’t say, sir, our job is to inform you of the event and ask you to pass this information on to the child, as her in loco parentis.”

“How did he die?” asked Simon, I was too shocked to say much at all.

“Officially, we can’t tell you, but the word is he hanged himself.”

“Poor Livvie, we don’t even know how her mother died, yet, nor when the funeral is?”

“Again, I’ve only got rumours, Mrs Watts, but they say they had a fight and he hit her and she fell off a veranda, bashed her head.”

“Oh!” I gasped, “that poor child.”

“Quite. Are you sure you’re able to deal with this without help?”

I nodded, “She’ll be okay in a minute, officer,” Simon added to my gesture.

“Very well, we’ll get on with our work then.” Simon saw them out and I heard Livvie say how she was a big girl and could ride a bike like her new mummy. “Who’s your new mummy?” said the copper.

“You just been talking to her, Mummy Cathy,” said Livvie, and I felt tears running down my face. “She’s a lovely mummy, better ‘an my old one.”

“Aren’t you a lucky girl, to have a nice new mummy?” said the woman copper.

“Yes, I am,” replied Livvie.

“So’s Mima an’ me, we like our new mummy, too,” piped Trish, “she’s a super mummy, an’ my gramps has got a castle in Scotland.”

“Gosh, you are lucky, aren’t you.”

“He’ll be my gramps too, now won’t he, ‘cept I haven’t seen the castle yet.” I didn’t hear any more, I staggered to the cloakroom and was violently ill. Simon found me a little later, I think I’d passed out.

05Dolce_Red_l_0.jpg

up
151 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

People do have a way

People around Cathy do have a way of dieing, at least if she has their children staying with her. Need to post her on a list, "Do not let this woman babysit for you."

Damaged people are dangerous
They know they can survive

talk about dark

humor. Whew, that takes it. I'll remind everyone that Stella is still alive and I hope destined to stay that way considering how many times Cathy has fought to save her.

Came close

It was a close call for Stella, as I recall. We had to threaten Angharad, she was gonna whack the whole bunch. ;-)

Damaged people are dangerous
They know they can survive

Please, please, please

tell me that you are a fan of Edgar Rice Buroughs. The more I read the more I want. Reading your stories is similar to eating peanuts, one isn't enought.

I mention ERB because he was a master of the cliff hanger and you seem to have a good grasp of it's usage.

Chocolates!

Chocolates Are my downfall, Like Brandies with the peanuts one is never enough!!!

Kirri

Hopefully

jengrl's picture

Hopefully, Livvie's father put his final wishes down in such a way that they will stand up in court. The worst thing that can happen is to have that precious little girl tossed into the system. She should be a clear candidate for adoption by Cathy and Simon. Cathy is legally recognized as a woman, so that should not be a problem anymore. I don't imagine that her trauma will be very serious, just as long as the Bean counters don't do something stupid and take her away from them.

PICT0013_1_0.jpg

Oops...

Quite a mess there, Stanley.

It's about time Cathy "collapsed"... Hopefully it's only temporary.

Otherwise, it continues to be interesting.

Thanks,
Annette

Guess I don't really see the cliffhanger here

Livvie's father probably took care of business before he killed himself. Issue will of course be grandparents. Ugh, that could get ugly. Let's hope they are the type who are starstruck with TV celebrities and British nobility.

Annette, I Am Not ;)

In the story. ;) OL! Edgar Rice Burroughs, eh? That'd make Cathy Rima: the Jungle Girl, or Jana of the Jungle. Cathy is so soft hearted that she, like Drew Bond, would rather forgive than pay back.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

I wasn't referring to you...

but I suspect that my intended referene to Mr. Laurel was missed by most, if not all.

Annette

Nah!

Most of us are old enough to get it, we just didn't want to say so. ;-)

Damaged people are dangerous
They know they can survive

Cathy and Simon are not even

Cathy and Simon are not even married yet and now have a "full house" of children. That is definitely a strange, but interesting way to start a family. Livvie is so lucky to have been taken in by Cathy and Simon; and now has two "sisters" also. I foresee these three little girls becoming very tight and loving with each other as they grow up. J-Lynn

Cathy

That answered one question, how did Cathy turn out so feminine? She owes the bullies something, but not a thanks. However, it was for the best, so let the sleeping dog lie.

You know, I'm pretty sure I would know if my kids were bullied. My boy had ADD, and tended to get into fights mostly though misunderstandings. Like the time an older kid pulled him from behind a bus that was backing up. My boy didn't see the bus, but thought the other kid (who was much older) was picking on him, and the fight was on! Oh well, no good deed goes unpunished.

Training wheels

I just had a vision, Cathy pedaling away on the Specialized with Training wheels on it.
Why does Cathy throw up at times like this, maybe too much tunah,(that's how I say it), (you know, Boston).
It's true what they say about those skinny racing saddles !!
Different coppers this time.

Cefin

Is it safe to say that

Is it safe to say that alcohol was involved ?

Cefin