The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1003 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

It seemed any doubts the boys had about wearing kilts were quickly dealt with and I half expected them to be running about painted in woad,or the Windsor and Newton equivalent. They asked me to get the DVD of Braveheart over which I had misgivings–it’s a bit violent and the best bit was the music by James Horner, yeah him of Titanic fame. I told them I’d speak to Gramps about it.

I had another shock, it seems I had ‘slept’ through the election and we now had a namesake for a Prime Minister. I don’t suppose my single vote would have made any difference but I do like to exercise it, and it would have been the first parliamentary election I could have voted in as me. I suppose next year, I’ll have to take part in the census–I was still in school at the last one.

On the Saturday morning, I saw the boys out in the garden fencing with two pieces of stick, I tapped the window but they just ran off and presumably continued out of sight. Oh well, they are boys so I should expect it.

I hadn’t seen Henry since I suggested the bank was under attack. I began to wonder if my intuition was failing me, in which case was my belief that Simon was still alive, also a delusion. I refused to give up hope, I had to believe he was coming home again–anything else would be disloyal to him. He’s a tough cookie–so he’ll survive.

I wondered what the purpose was in calling me that night? I can’t believe the accident was anything other than that–an accident. The guy in the van apparently died at the scene–the steering wheel turned him into a human kebab. I shuddered at the thought–what a wretched way to die. Mind you the airbag in my car caught my nose and face, which was where some of the blood came from. Thankfully it didn’t break it, so I didn’t lose my girlish charms–ha ha. My face is still bruised but not as bad as before. I’m driving the Mondeo until Simon turns up and can sort out the car situation. He did promise me another Merc which would be nice, but let’s get him home first.

Leon arrived, so I won’t get much help from Julie when she gets back from the salon. Stella drove her into work to give me a little lie in, with three giggling aliens. It’s not the same without listening to them tormenting Simon–I wonder where he is?

Whenever I think of him, all I see is darkness. At first I thought it meant he was dead then on reflection, decided he could be blindfolded.

I was doing the lunch while the two boys helped Tom and Leon plant some more vegetables and also some flowers for me. I had bought some dahlias a while ago they should be showing by now.

My mind was definitely absorbed by the food I was preparing, the boys had asked for sausage and mash for tea, so I was making egg salad for lunch and boiling a dozen eggs was a bit of a pain, trying not to have them pop in the pan before they were hard boiled.

The phone rang, I answered it, expecting it to be something mundane like the Pope was asking for advice on contraception, or President Obama wanting to adopt a dormouse–you know the sort of stuff that happens.

“Hello?”

“Ah, girlyboy, you are still alive–your husband won’t be much longer unless you do as we tell you.”

Was this the ransom demand? Had I sent Henry on a wild goose chase?

“Who are you?” I’m not really violent but a large part of me wanted to meet this insulting cow and punch her lights out.

“That is not important, you will be called soon, be prepared to do exactly as we say or your precious Simon will breathe his last.”

“How do I know he’s still alive?”

“You don’t.”

“If anything has happened to him–I shall hunt you down and personally destroy you like the sick puppy you are.”

“Making idle threats doesn’t worry me, girly boy.”

“You wouldn’t be the first who underestimated me and went home in a body bag.”

“Do all you fake women have such fertile imaginations?”

“Probably not, but I hope you’ve made your last will and testament and made your peace with your god, because it is my intention to send you to meet him.”

“You sound more like a man than a woman.”

“The female of the species is more deadly than the male–as you will find out quite soon enough–just don’t start reading any long novels or watching any serials.”

“You are so funny, lady boy, maybe I shall kill you and all the world will then see what a sham you are.”

“Feel free to come round and try it, but bring your own shroud.”

“Maybe I would kill all your children first before you, while you watch helplessly, although eunuchs can’t have children, unless they steal other people’s. Is that what you did?”

“I am going to kill you, you sick bitch.” My blood was practically at boiling point, but I was trying to sound calm, even though my tummy was doing backflips and somersaults.

“You don’t even know who I am.”

“I’ll find you–so prepare to die.”

“Oh for a sissy boy, you do talk a good fight, don’t you.”

“For a Russian you speak with very little accent.”

“My dear, sissy boy, I’m as English as you are.”

“I’m not English–so do your homework, bitch, and take good care of my husband and I may kill you quickly.”

“You will be contacted and given instructions, do exactly as you are told or Simon will die horribly.”

“I’m not doing anything until I know he’s alive.”

“You’d better, or you’ll guarantee his death.”

“No–you’d better prove to me that he’s alive and unhurt, or you’ll be wasting your breath, and I’d save that if you can, while you can. Prepare to die, bitch.”

“You are starting to annoy me, I shall have him hurt for that.”

“Be very careful what you do to him, because I’ll do it tenfold to you.”

“I am so scared, I have goosey bumps on my arms.” I knew now she wasn’t a native, she was probably Russian.

“Don’t worry, death sorts that out along with all your other problems–you ugly cow.”

She laughed and rang off. I put the phone down and it rang almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hi Lady Cameron, Special Branch here, you kept her on long enough for us to do a trace. A squad is heading over to give her a welcome.”

“Be careful, I don’t want Simon injured.”

“We have some experts in dealing with these situations assisting us.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Thank you um–who are you?”

“Detective Inspector Wheatland.”

“If you catch them, I’d like five minutes alone with her.”

“If we do, you know that’s not possible.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Of what, though–murderous intent?”

“Gosh you must be psychic.”

“No, I have a few minutes of you two trading death threats.”

“Why are Special Branch involved?”

“Your husband is quite important.”

“He is to me.”

“I’m sure. We’ll be in touch, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

I went off to wait, and while I did so, I raised the lid on the well in the garage and retrieved something, made by Smith and Wesson–a British owned company, apparently.