Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 956 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The sun was shining as we trouped out to the cars. The problem is we need a minibus if we go anywhere en famille. I drove Tom’s Mondeo, and Simon drove Tom’s Freelander. Julie was miffed Simon wasn’t taking the Jaguar, she rather fancied herself riding round in it.

Simon took, Tom, Stella and Puddin, Julie and Danny–who insisted on sitting next to Julie. He still fancies her like mad, mind you she is a pretty young thing. I had the rest with me, plus oodles of clothing, swim suits and so on.

They were all so excited–you’d think we were going on holiday, not just away for the day. I think Julie was hoping to wear her new swimsuit, which accentuates her good points and hides the embarrassing ones. I packed mine, but I doubt I’ll wear it; just keeping an eye on six kids is enough.

We got to Southsea at about eleven–it took nearly two hours–there was some sort of road traffic accident–it’s a bank holiday, they’re virtually compulsory. There was so much traffic–I began to think everyone with a car was in or near Portsmouth. The kids were getting fractious it was taking so long and I was feeling frazzled, trying to keep everyone calm.

We were on the second disc of the Philip Pullman, Northern Lights trilogy, when we managed to arrive at the hotel. Simon had got there maybe ten minutes before us–no doubt due to his superior driving skills. I remember when he once said this in front of a group of people, I told him I didn’t play golf and walked away. They laughed for several minutes.

Henry and Monica came down to see us in reception, “Where have you all been?” he asked.

“There’s been an accident somewhere, screwed up all the roads,” Simon explained, “we saw an ambulance screaming past. So it might have been whoever was involved in it.”

“Oh, we heard something on the radio–wasn’t really listening where it was. They’re all over the place, nasty one on the A31 near the New Forest. Too many cars: too few driving skills,” Henry observed.

“Come on kids, let’s play,” said Monica, taking Trish and Livvie by the hand. "Swimming pool or bouncy castle?”

“Swimming,” they both shouted and took their swimwear. Danny and Billy followed them, with Mima running along behind.

“You going in?” Stella asked me.

“No fear,” I answered, "I’m not the world’s most convincing swimmer."

“How about a turn in the gym, use the stationary bikes–it’s all been revamped, so two or more can race against each other.” Henry was quite enthusiastic.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to get all sweaty, despite my body needing a workout.

“C’mon, Babes, give it a go.” Simon seemed unusually enthusiastic.

“Um–no, I’ll go and watch the kids in the pool,” I smiled at him and he asked Julie. She said she was going for a swim before lunch, she might do the bikes afterwards. Simon looked crestfallen. Tom decided to come and watch the antics in the pool with me.

I was most delighted to see Mima learning to swim, almost as well as I did. She seemed to have overcome any anxieties she had about the water, which said loads about her courage.

Despite my enjoyment of the children’s fun, I felt as if I had my own black cloud blotting out the brilliant sunshine which everyone else was enjoying. Tom looked at me and asked what was wrong. I couldn’t tell him–I didn’t know, but something was most definitely not right.

I saw the policeman walking towards us and wondered why he was here, I mean I have no relatives of any closeness, and surely my driving wasn’t that bad that I was going to be arrested. I didn’t see the WPC walking behind him.

“Cathy Cameron?” asked the copper.

“Yes, that’s me.” My stomach flipped.

“Could we have a word, Cathy?”

“Have I done something wrong?” I was feeling very anxious.

“Whit’s up?” asked Tom.

“And you are, sir?” the policeman asked in a forceful but polite manner.

“He’s my father.”

“Could we talk somewhere privately?”

I saw Henry walking towards the pool, “Just a moment, I’ll ask if we can use a room somewhere–Henry?” I called and ran towards him.

“What are the police doing here?” he asked less than happy about uniformed coppers strolling about the place.

“They want to talk to me.”

“What for?”

“I have no idea. Have you a private room we might use?”

“Yes, follow me,” he beckoned to the coppers and Tom walked with them.

Henry led us into a small room off the conference suite, telling reception we weren’t to be disturbed. He invited himself in on the ‘private’ word.

“Who are you, sir?” asked the copper.

“I happen to own this place––”

“He’s also my father-in-law–you may speak in front of him.” I answered before Henry lit his blue touch paper.

“There was an accident on the main road into Fratton a couple or so hours ago.”

“Yes, we were held up by it, what does it have to do with me?”

“There was a fatality.”

“I’m sorry, I still don’t see what this has to do with me.” As I said this my stomach was jumping like crazy and I felt quite sick.

“Are you alright, madam?” I heard him say from a distance and I felt someone catch me as I dropped.

Next moment I came to sitting in a chair with the police woman rubbing my hand and calling me while a bunch of men looked on.

“Wow, what happened?” I asked regaining control of myself.

“You fainted we think.”

“Goodness, what for?” I shrugged, feeling a bit washed out but otherwise okay.

“The accident, madam.”

“Oh yes, this morning.”

“The casualty was driving an old red Peugeot.”

I nodded to show I was listening. I knew someone with a car like that but who?

“They were carrying a note with your name and address on it. We traced you through that, and the car recognition cameras who saw two vehicles registered at that address heading for here.”

“How come you can track down the innocent but not ever see anyone doing anything illegal?” asked Henry aggressively.

“They tend not to do it in front of our cameras, sir.”

“Note, you say?” I confirmed. “Why are you coming to see me?”

“The individual involved appears not to have had any next of kin. We need to do an identification–sorry, you’re our best shot.”

“No friends?”

“Don’t know, madam–but you possibly knew them.”

“Who was this person with my name and address?”

“A Matthew Perkins.”

“Can’t say I know anyone of that name. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“They might have called themselves something else–um–they were wearing women’s clothes.”

I promptly threw up all over the carpet before fainting again.