Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 963 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Simon came home on Friday evening, so I nearly overslept on Saturday morning. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be riding a bike today, even with a gel saddle–and Simon had that silly smirk on his face when he woke up.

I roused Julie, who had to rush to dress and apply her makeup whilst I made her breakfast and did her a packed lunch. The other girls came down just in time for me to tell them to get Simon up to get them breakfast while I drove Julie to work.

“So who’s this boy who thinks I’m a fox?”

“How can you be a fox? To start with if you were a fox, you’d be a vixen.”

“Okay, who thinks I’m a vixen?”

“No one as far as I know; why?”

“You told me yesterday that you knew someone who thought I was quite a fox.”

“Dunno who that was,” I shrugged as I was driving, swerving to miss a pheasant. “I don’t know, they grumble about a few daffodils planted in the countryside, but you rarely hear anything about the millions of pheasants released every year to keep the gunslingers happy.”

“What are you on about, mother dear?” said a bored face.

“Did you know you’d only put mascara on one eye?” I asked.

“Oh no, shit and double shit,” she said digging out the makeup from her bag, and pulling down the vanity mirror in the sun visor.

“Why don’t you wait until we get there? Less chance of you poking yourself in the eye.”

“I’m alright–hey, careful, I nearly had my eye out then...”

“Well get up earlier next time, then you wouldn’t have to rush.”

“I’d have got up earlier if my mother had woken me earlier.”

“Why is it always someone else’s fault?”

“Because it is–it can’t be mine, I’m nearly as perfect as my mother.” She snorted immediately after she said this, so I took it as just a bit of fun.

“What did they do to your hair yesterday–? it looks really nice.”

“I’m not telling you unless you say who told you I was a fox.”

“Suit yourself, but it looks like a demiwave to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a stupid old woman–like Browne–moo-cow.”

“I suppose I am giving up my lie-in on a Saturday to drive ungrateful teenagers about. I hope you enjoy your walk home.”

“What? You’re like gonna make me walk home?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Julie–I’m just informing you that I shall be too busy to come and get you later.”

“What? You promised to come an’ get me.”

“When did I promise that?”

“Um–I can’t remember.” She blushed and looked aghast.

“I don’t remember saying any such thing.”

“I can’t like, walk home in these.” She pointed at her heeled shoes.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be able to stand about all day in them either.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you’d make me walk home, like, did I?”

“Obviously.”

I pulled up at the salon and she got out, slammed the door of the car and walked away without waving, storming into the shop and shutting the door of the shop without looking back to me. I drove home.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Simon.

“Julie and I had a bit of a set to in the car.”

“So? She’ll have forgotten by tea time.”

“Um–not necessarily.”

“Why?”

“I told her she could walk home, I was too busy.”

“Are you?”

“No, but she cheeked me.”

“So–teenagers are like spaniels, they crap on your carpet one moment and have forgotten by the next.”

“Not if you rub their noses in it while it’s still warm.”

“You did?”

“Metaphorically, of course.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go and get her then?”

“That’s up to you, but it could give her ideas of divide and conquer.”

“Not necessarily, I shall say I came because you asked me to.”

“You as in her or me?” I asked.

“You–as my wife and lover.”

“I’d leave the last bit off if you’re speaking to her–she’s sex crazed enough now.”

“She’s a teenager, Cathy.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Could she walk home from there?”

“She could if she’d worn comfortable shoes, but not in the heels she wore today.”

“I thought she spent all her time standing or walking about in the shop?” Simon looked confused.

“So did I, so why has she worn silly shoes–I have no idea.”

“When do you wear silly shoes?” he asked me.

“Usually when I’m going to silly things where they expect me to be wearing them, such as meeting my husband, attending meetings, giving lectures, appearing on television...”

“Okay, you’ve made your point–which of those applies to Julie?”

“None that I’m aware of–unless she’s meeting up with someone at lunch?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know, Simon–it’s not Leon.”

“How d’you know that?”

“He’s just arrived here.” I watched him park his bike and chain it by the garage. Tom walked up to meet him and they walked off towards his vegetable garden.

Simon turned to look out of the window–“Oh, has someone put new fillets on the garage roof?”

“It’s under the edge of the roof, Simon–but yes, Maureen spent much of the week doing it.”

“By herself?”

“No she had and an army of seven foot tall, naked Amazons to help her, why?”

“Oh,” he said and his eyes widened, “I wish I’d come home earlier.”

“Only women can see them.”

“Bloody typical. Right, have you got that shopping list?”

I passed him the sheet of paper with the list of items I required from the supermarket. “Thanks, darling.”

“You said you had loads of washing to do.”

“ I have–why not take the boys with you?”

“To a supermarket?”

“Yes–male solidarity–or something.”

“They won’t want to come shopping with me–will they?”

“You won’t know until you ask them–unless you’re taking the Jag, then they’ll go.”

“They won’t will they?”

“I’m willing to bet they will.”

“How much?” Simon’s eyes gleamed.

“You’re a millionaire, Si, what do you want money for?”

“Okay–if I win and they turn down the shopping even with the Jag–you can wear silly shoes and sexy underwear all day.”

“Under my clothes, I hope?”

“Duh?–Of course, what d’ya think I am?”

“Can I plead the fifth amendment?”

“Ha ha–an’ if I lose, and they come with me–I’ll buy you some nice stockings while we’re out.”

“That’s a win–win for you, isn’t it?”

“I have to pay for the stockings, don’t I?”

“Yeah, a couple of quid, I have to stand about in silly shoes all day doing the washing–you should try it, some time.”

“No thanks–okay, I’ll be your love slave all night–how’s that?”

“I’m still sore from last night.”

“Jeez, Cathy, help me here–what is you want me to do if I lose?”

“Wash my car and clean it inside as well.”

“If I know you’re wearing sexy undies, I will anyway.” He pulled a silly face–actually it looked remarkably like his normal one–oh.

“I am actually.”

“You are what?”

“Wearing sexy undies.”

“Prove it,” he challenged.

“Go and ask the boys if they’re going with you?”

“Lemme see your undies then.”

“Simon, grow up!”

“Spoilsport.”

“If I remember correctly, you told me I could make any item of clothing look sexy.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I think you’ve just been hoist by your own petard.”

“I think you could be right–have we got any car wash?”

“Yes–boys, do you want to go out with Daddy in the Jaguar?”

“Yes please, Mummy,” came back the unanimous reply.

“Is that two nil?” I asked.

“Looks like–why?”

“The Mondeo could do with a wash, too.”