Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 846 by Angharad

It was Friday, I had frantic shopping to do, the girls were finishing school after lunch and I had all the usual food stuff to do and yet more Christmas shopping. My own fault, increasing the size of my foster brood meant more prezzies were needed and that was all time consuming–especially when Tom said, here’s some money get the girls something for Christmas, and then Simon more or less did the same.

Asked what they wanted to buy, they had both answered, ‘Oh you know, something they’ll like.’ Why I should know, is something of a mystery to me–I don’t have any more idea than they do, other than I do listen when the girls say things. The thing they seemed to want this year was a swimming pool or a trampoline. I did point out that a swimming pool would cost thousands of pounds which we wouldn’t spend anyway, because it was excessive but a trampoline would be possible although they’d have to share it. The other thing I thought about was a computer or keyboard instrument for each of the older girls and a new bicycle for Mima.

Simon knew someone ‘in computers’ so ordered a laptop for each of the older girls and I organised a new bike for Mima. I got a new iPhone for Simon, and satnav for Tom’s new car. Stella I bought a new MP3 player, which she can plug into her car and Puddin’ would be the new possessor of a computerised mobile to hang over her cot–it projects whatever pictures you load into its memory–to keep her amused. If she’s as bright as my three, I’ll download Lady Chatterley for her to read.

The queues in the supermarkets were ridiculous, so in the end I came home and did an online order to Waitrose and agreed for them to deliver it tomorrow. I’d already spent so much by then that I did a big order and thought I’d worry about it later.

Stella and I had been invited to the school carol service, so we decided we’d go despite my heretical views, I can sing carols as out of tune as the best of them. We thought we’d better dress up for it so I wore a longish skirt in a wool material with some boots, a jumper and a jacket. Stella had trousers and cardigan on under her duffle coat–I told her she looked like Paddington bear–well she would have with a sou’wester.

The carol service was sweet and they were saved my rendering various carols into sonic ordeals because I didn’t know many of the ones they sang. So we didn’t hark any herald angels or wash shepherd’s socks, let alone the three kings–one in a bus and one in a car, with one on a scooter sounding his hooter. Cor these kids won’t have ever lived until they’ve massacred some carols.

On the way back, Stella and I sang some of the unauthorised ones much to the amusement of the girls sitting on the back seat of my car. What happened to Puddin’, I can hear you ask–we took her with us, well they needed a baby Jesus for the nativity scene... Only joking, we did take her and she slept through the whole thing in Stella’s baby carrier thing–looks like a back to front papoose thingy. She woke for our personal carol service in the car on the way back, probably because of the giggling aliens on the back seat.

Did I tell you they’d asked me to read the lesson–me, a born again agnostic? The headmistress wanted me to be known so that when she announced I was doing the prize day, it wouldn’t be too much of a surprise to other parents. I didn’t really want to do it, but in the end I agreed–I had to, they’d put it in the programme. Hopefully as an infidel, they won’t try and persuade me to become a governor–that would be a step too far, probably for both parties.

I’d nearly forgotten about the reading, until Stella reminded me–I’d read through it weeks ago when I’d been asked–just after the dormouse film, and the governors decided I had a nice speaking voice, although I suspect the headmistress was the real culprit.

It was quite funny because the nursery class were also invited to the carol service and when I walked up to read the lesson, Mima shouted out, ‘Mummy’, it did wonders for my nerves–like shattering them. How I don’t have a nervous twitch, I’ll never know.

The girls were really pleased to have three weeks off–I tried to pretend that as they hadn’t been in school as much as the others, they had to go in on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. They didn’t believe me so the joke was on me.

On the way home my phone peeped for a text message which Stella read for me, I had to do the dormice on Sunday 27 and Monday 28, so I asked for volunteers and had three. I’d better put a gag on Meems when we go, Spike still has white hairs from last time they met.

Back in the house, Stella said to me, “You did that reading really well.”

“Seeing as I don’t believe any of it, maybe I did.”

“It’s a romanticised view of what they believe happened.”

“Why do they still believe it? Only because it absorbed the Mithras stuff, it was all added long after the event and the elevation of Jesus to the godhead. It’s all baloney.”

“Cathy, you’ll be telling me there’s no Santa Claus next?”

“No, he’s real, I saw him in John Lewis.”

“Thank goodness for that, I began to think I wouldn’t get any presents this year.”

“Mummy, can we have pizza again tonight?” Livvie had been sent by her co conspirators to plead their case.

“What d’ya think?” I asked Stella.

“We don’t have to eat it, do we?”

“No, I’ve done us a casserole in the slow cooker.”

“They could always have a bit of both.”

“I doubt they’d manage both, although Simon loves the things–bloody cardboard food.”

“Oh c’mon, Cathy, some of them are quite good, I’m surprised you don’t make your own.”

“I don’t particularly like them.”

“If you made them yourself, you’d be in charge of what went on them.”

“I’ll think about it, but it doesn’t inspire–I’d rather do pasta than pizza.”

“Fair enough, but tonight they get pizza?” pleaded Stella.

“Okay, but no more before Christmas.”

Simon arrived home as I was dishing up the pizza and he and the girls finished it before I’d finished dishing up the casserole for the grown ups! So he and they had some of that too. Stella was quite right, but I’m still not that interested in making them from scratch.

The girls were delighted to have Simon home early and he slipped me the key to his car as he played with them in the lounge. I managed to sneak the two laptops in without them seeing me, and they went up into the attic room wardrobe to be wrapped when the girls were in bed.

I was nicely settling down to my evening when the phone rang. “Can you get that?” I called to Stella.

“It’s Nora Cunningham for you, Cathy.”

I wonder what she wants? I asked myself as I took the phone. I mean the home should have closed by now or at least moved to Wantage–perhaps Williams F1 team will adopt them? They have a place near there. “Hello, Nora.”

“Hi, Cathy, look I’m terribly sorry to dump on you, but you know you volunteered to have those two kids?”

“Um–yes,” oh bugger, me and my big gob.

“You couldn’t take them for Christmas could you?”

“How long over Christmas?” Poo, poo poo!

“Is two weeks possible?”

“Have they got everything they need, clothes wise and so forth?”

“Absolutely.”

“What are they and how old?”

“Two boys–is that okay?”

“Nah, turn ‘em into girls and I’ll take ‘em–unless you want me to do it?”

“Oh dear, I’m sor...”

“I’m joking, Nora, I’ll take them, how old are they?”

“Nine and ten,” she sighed down the phone.

“I’ll need to get them some presents to unwrap, what do they like?”

“Oh anything, they’ll have stuff from the charity to open.”

“Do they have bikes?”

“No–you can’t give them bikes, Cathy.”

“Watch me--don’t you dare tell them.”

“You are so kind, Cathy.”

“Don’t thank me, I’ll stick ‘em on Simon’s bill, he just doesn’t know it yet.” She laughed, thinking I was joking, I wasn’t because I knew Simon had access to a charitable fund through the bank and they’d give us a grant towards it. We then discussed the logistics of her depositing the kids with us, tomorrow looked like the day!