Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 922 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was exhausted after my trip to the police station and my solicitor took me home. I thanked him and asked him to send me his account.

“That’s all been sorted, Lady Catherine–besides, it was almost worth it for the chat between you and the Chief Super–‘have you tried to find a phone box?’ absolutely priceless.”

“It’s not entirely original, Superman Returns used something along those lines, although it was a visual gag.”

“Film buff, are you?”

“Good Lord, no–it just stuck in my mind.”

“I saw the CCTV film–where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I didn’t learn it–it was off the cuff, quick decision stuff.”

“But the rolling kick–where did you get that?”

“I’ve seen it used in one or two films, The Last Of The Mohicans a variation was used by Chingachgook to kill Magua after Magua had killed his son, Uncas.”

“Crikey, you remember all the names, too.”

“I had to read the book in school.”

“Of course, it’s a book isn’t it? Longfellow?”

“No, Fenimore-Cooper–Longfellow, did Hiawatha.”

“Cathy, you are a mine of information.”

“Yeah, mainly about dormice.”

“Dormice–goodness, of course you made that rather excellent film, didn’t you.”

I blushed, “Um–yes, glad you liked it.”

“Anything else in the pipeline?”

“Not immediately, they want me to do one on harvest mice, but I’m too busy at the moment.”

“Goodness, you do lead a busy life.”

“With six children–yes, very. Speaking of whom, I’d better get in and see what’s happening–thanks for springing me.”

“Springing you–they were a bit dumb arresting you in the first place.”

“That makes two of us–I shouldn’t have walked away from the bank–but I’d done my bit.”

“Yes, so I saw. So are we going to see kick boxing in your next film?” he laughed.

“No, not until I do one on the kangaroo rat.”

I walked back to the house, and despite it being late all the kids were waiting for me, including Julie, who was walking better–then, her best friend is Trish. I was literally smothered with love as six kids tried to hug me and kiss me.

“Simon’s on his way home,” called Stella, "he phoned about ten minutes ago."

“Julie, darling, make some fresh bread for Daddy, will you?”

“I’ll do it,” squealed Trish and they both ran out to the kitchen, the crash of china breaking sounded immediately after.

“I’d just made you a cup of tea–I don’t think you’re going to get to drink it, though.” Stella shrugged, walked out to the kitchen and said loudly, “I don’t care who did it, you can both clean it up–NOW. The bread can wait a minute.”

“Oops,” I said and Livvie grinned.

“They were too hasty, Mummy.”

“Sounds like it,” I hugged the boys and the two remaining girls.

A short time later, I sent them all off to bed–no story tonight, it was far too late. I had a few grumbles but when I went to tuck them in, they seemed contented and sleepy. I don’t know about contented, but I was certainly exhausted. If Simon didn’t come soon, I’d be fast asleep.

I took some handwashing down with me and kept myself awake doing that in the kitchen sink. Stella sat and watched in amazement.

“You’ll get washday red hands, like that,” she said to me.

“Yeah, but it’s better than being strangled by my husband for being asleep after he’s rushed home from the office to see me.”

“He’s not rushing home to see you, he forgot some papers he needs.”

“What?” I gasped.

“You are so easy to wind up,” she snorted, then squealed when I threw a clean but wet pair of tights at her, which I’d just rinsed. She threw them back at me, so I hurled a pair of soggy Sloggis at her. I caught her exactly right, on the neck, so any water would run down the inside of her jumper.

“Lassies please, will ye no behave yersel’s.”

We both giggled like schoolgirls. I was hanging the very damp drawers and other smalls on the airer in the conservatory when Simon arrived. I didn’t hear him come in and he put his hands about my waist and I squealed, jumped away and nearly hit him with a pot plant.

“Hang on–it’s me,” he said in surprise, holding up his hand to protect himself. “Crikey, you’re jumpy.”

“Simon, I’ve been threatened by men with sawn-off shotguns, arrested by the police and had wet knickers thrown at me by your sister.”

“Stella threw her wet knickers at you? Golly–she hasn’t done that since she was about three years old.”

“I threw them at her first.”

“So they were your wet knickers? What is it about women that they throw such revolting things about?”

“What is it about men that they have to frighten the life out of you and then complain because you defend yourself?”

“Okay, point taken.”

“The knickers were clean–I’d just washed them.” I let him hug me and kiss me. “Are you hungry?” There’s a silly question–Is the Pope a Catholic?

“A bit peckish, why?”

“The girls made some fresh bread–can’t you smell it?”

“I had noticed, I was more concerned that my wife had been arrested for robbing one my banks–hence my visit.”

“No–I stopped a robbery of one of our banks, darling, remember I’m part of the family now–you know, for better or for worse, in banking or in spending–I’m your girl.” I beamed at him and he groaned.

“What did I do, marrying you?”

“Well, nothing illegal–I have a piece of paper which says that. Otherwise, I think it was probably one of your better decisions–and I suspect most of your family think something similar–I didn’t hear any objections when we got wed in front of them all.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realise I was marrying Batwoman.”

“Batwoman? Huh? I’m Dormouse Woman,” I declared brazenly.

“I don’t think it has quite the same ring about it–do you?”

“I’m more cuddly than a bat.”

“This is true,” he said hugging me once again. “Hmm, I can smell that bread–got any cheese?”

“Some Stilton, Cheddar and Brie, and loads of salad stuff.”

“Can dormice eat bread and cheese?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“C’mon, Dorgirl, let’s chew the cheese together.” He put his arm across my shoulder, then steered me back to the kitchen. The bread was still very warm and delicious. I nibbled on a crust with just a thin sliver of the mousetrap laid across the top and melting gently into the bread. Simon simply stuffed, steering slices and Stilton speedily stomach-wards, suddenly slicing, spreading and swiftly swallowing.

It seemed he ran out of appetite about the same time I exhausted my vocabulary of appropriate words starting with the letter S. I’m not illiterate, I can read and write.

“You seem very quiet,” he observed.

I stayed quiet, I could hardly tell him I’d been thinking of words to describe him clumsily cramming cheese, could I? “I’m very tired,” I chose to say instead.

“This bread is very moreish.”

“Perhaps I should call it Othello bread.” My brain was still working a little.

“Eh?” Simon’s obviously wasn’t.

“Moreish–Moor of Venice.”

“Yeah–so?”

“Simon, you’re such a Philistine,” I yawned.

“Yep, shoulda called me Goliath.”

“You’ve eaten half the loaf, Greedy Guts might be more appropriate.”

“Not just me–you had some too.”

“I had a small crust, Si, you ate the rest.”

“Well it doesn’t keep–does it?”

“Not in this house.” I sighed, removed the rest of the food from the table including the bread, while he started munching tomatoes. No wonder he was getting tubby round the belly–he ate too much too late.

He slept like a log after consuming enough cheese to sink a battleship. I, on the other hand had very little, had indigestion most of the night and horrible dreams, not about periods this time–but about going into banks–can’t think why.

The next morning he left early–I got up with him, even though I felt like a zombie. I vaguely remembered Stella was out tonight–it was Friday, wasn’t it? Her date with the traffic cop–should be interesting, I hope he doesn’t link her with my exploits in the bank–although I expect he’ll have heard about it.

I was doing the kids lunch boxes when the phone rang–“Have you seen the local television news?” It was Pippa.

“No, why?”

“They have a clip of someone disarming three gunmen in a bank in Pompey.”

“Oh poo!”