The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1140 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

On the Friday evening Simon came home and I felt much safer, almost able to relax for the first time in days. Arguably, I can ‘look after myself’ but being a woman does tend to make me feel vulnerable, especially as the men these days seem to be growing so big. Six feet tall seems nothing these days, so my five foot seven is absolutely nothing. True, lots of women are smaller, but there are quite a few who are much taller, too. Anyway, I was glad that Simon was home, and he glossed over the fact that I’d spent nearly five hundred pounds on tyres during the last week.

The gates were now kept locked and we had installed tiny little spy cameras all over the place, which radioed back to a central computer. They were like security lights, in that they were activated by movement. I’d have liked ones which were activated thermally, and took infrared pictures, but they were too expensive.

In one of the outhouses, remember this place was a working farm sixty or so years ago, so in one with basically a roof and walls on it, I left an archery target prominently displayed. I didn’t really have any intention of shooting anyone, unless I caught them slashing my tyres or damaging the cars, and then I’d have loved to shoot them up the arse while they bent over–or perhaps a little in front of it–it might discourage them from breeding.

Toby was ready to be discharged from hospital, but couldn’t, because he would be at home alone. I agreed with Simon, that Stella, Jenny, Julie and I would call in on a rota basis to cook him a meal and pick up any washing. We’d also spend a couple of hours with him. He was moving around better, but still having some difficulty standing up straight–although the doctors said it was more psychological than a real fear his wound would open again.

Julie had been to see Toby in the morning on her way to the salon, she liked him and he, being unaware of her original gender, flirted with her which she loved. I had made her promise that she didn’t do anything with him–he was at least ten years older than her, probably more, and despite his apparent sophistication, he might still feel angry if he thought she was offering more than she could deliver. She seemed to understand and promised not to get compromised, but she did enjoy flirting with him. Her body was increasingly feminine and her hair, which changed either colour or style quite frequently, made her look very convincing as a female.

Simon had actually made suggestions that he would fund surgery for her for an eighteenth birthday present. I’d thought she was hoping he’d buy her a car. Oh well, given she isn’t seventeen yet, it’s a while off and lots could happen before then.

After feeding the brood, Simon and I went over to Toby’s house to feed him and pick up any washing. Trish and Livvie were doing it for pocket money and Billie was ironing it. I’d had to let Mima take over cleaning Tom’s desk or World War Three would have broken out. Danny decided he wasn’t doing domestic chores for someone else, and we left him doing gardening for Tom to earn his pocket money.

We arrived at Toby’s about seven, just as the daylight was fading. I asked him how he was and he said his boss had been to visit and had I felt my ears burning. I asked why.

“Well you said something about his wife needing to get her breast checked out.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, she had a persistently itchy nipple or something.”

“I can’t remember–once I’ve passed on the message, it seems to fade from my mind.”

“Well, he made her go and see the doctor, who referred her almost immediately to see a breast surgeon–she has Paget’s disease of the nipple.”

“What’s that?” I asked, I’d only ever heard of Paget’s disease affecting legs, and that was because we had an old neighbour whose leg was horribly deformed by it.

“Some sort of tumour of the nipple.”

“Yuck, sounds horrible.”

“She thought she had a touch of eczema, but it was this Paget’s thingy.”

“Oh, so what happens now?”

“She’s going in for surgery in a fortnight’s time. He knew you were coming to see me tonight, so he’s left a note from his wife for you.” Toby handed me an envelope which obviously contained a card of some sort. I opened it.

‘Dear Lady Cameron,

Caprice Wetherspoon.’

“Goodness, people don’t usually write me things. They’re effusive in their thanks until they leave hospital and then forget all about it, which might not be a bad thing.”

“The Boss seemed to think you’d actually saved my life.”

“I’m sure he’s exaggerating.”

“Um–the surgeon agreed, he told me in confidence...”

“Which you’re breaking,” I interrupted.

“...not really, anyway, he confided that you’d actually stopped the bleeding before I got to the hospital–something about your magical touch.”

“Was that Ken Nicholls?”

“Yes.”

“He thinks I can do all sorts of things including leap tall buildings at a single bound, fly faster than a speeding bullet and so on.”

“Ouch–don’t make me laugh, Cathy, but you are funny.”

“Are you being insulting to my good lady?” teased Simon, pouring himself one of Toby’s beers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, squire,” Toby cheeked back.

I warmed up the meal I’d taken over to his house in his microwave, and served a few minutes later. He was quite appreciative. “That is so much better than the ready meal I’d have bought from Waitrose or Tesco,” he said, licking his lips.

“Don’t get too used to it, you should be able to look after yourself in a few days according to the hospital.”

“Nah, it’s gonna take months of your cooking to get me fit again, isn’t that right, Simon?”

“Dunno, mate, could depend upon what beer you have in, this stuff is very average.”

I knew they were winding me up, so I insisted on watching Coronation Street, which is a programme I loathe, but I knew they’d hate it even more. Sometimes, you have to cut off your nose to spite your face just to get even.

I washed up his dishes–this guy is having a laugh, isn’t he–while he chatted with Simon, and we were ready to leave at about nine. I collected his washing and my handbag and was following Simon out of the door when he suddenly raised his hands above his head and began walking backwards back into the house. I glanced past him and saw two men wearing ski masks and holding sawn-off shotguns.