The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1199 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I went up to our bedroom and pulled a few of Simon’s clothes I thought might fit Jim. He was taller and slimmer than Simon, however, I knew Si had one or two things he found tight and which wouldn’t be much too short for him to wear.

In the end, he wore a pair of Simon’s jeans which were too tight for Si, a shirt and pullover, some socks, underpants and a pair of sandals as his feet were a size bigger than Simon’s. The jeans weren’t much too short, because Simon had always worn them a little too long in the leg–they dated from a period before he lived with me, because I’d have shortened them whereas Stella let him walk on the hems.

While I was making some tea, and the bread machine was churning out the next loaf, Jim got chatting with Julie. “Where did you find those keys?”

“I dunno do I?”

“You don’t know or you don’t remember?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I don’t.”

I didn’t know whether she was being genuinely dumb or if she was just feeling pissed off with him.

“Okay, where could you have picked them up?”

“How do I know? I can’t sodding remember, got it?” With that she upped and stamped off to her room. I heard her thumping up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door.

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Jim as I placed a cup of tea before him.

“Probably, I take it you’re not especially familiar with teenage girls?”

“Apart from a sister, no and she’s in her twenties now. We were both away at school so I was spared the worst excesses.”

“So as a gay man, you didn’t have any adolescent issues?”

“Oh boy, don’t go there–I had so many hang-ups I was worse than a box of drawing pins.”

I had to think momentarily as to the relationship between drawing pins and hang-ups, it was obviously to do with hanging things up on walls.

“You don’t consider Julie might as well, besides which the shock of her attack seems to have removed any memory she might have had of events prior to and of the whole thing. She gets very frustrated wondering if she’s brain damaged or something?”

“Is she?”

“No, of course not–she’s just an excitable adolescent.”

“I’d have thought girls have it easier than boys–adolescence I mean.”

“I don’t think so, each have their own issues and they obviously affect individuals differently.”

“So how was your experience being a transgender person?”

“Awful.”

“Even as Lady Macbeth?”

“Yes including that.”

“I’ll bet you were as good as your reviews.”

“Well unless you have some sort of time machine, you’ll never know.”

“Didn’t someone film it?”

“Oh yeah, MGM out bid the BBC for the pure delight of seeing me ponce about in a long dress, saying, ‘Out damned spot, out I say.’ It would have been short listed for the Oscars, but only for screenplay. Unfortunately Mr William Shakespeare couldn’t collect his prize in person owing to him being dead for three hundred years.”

“Don’t get so defensive, in my school they used to film all the drama shows on 8mm film, it was always dreadful but at least it was a permanent record and also used for reviewing performances by the director.”

“Oh shit, there was one boy whose dad had one of those cameras, he might well have filmed it. I think Suggs was one of the attendants killed by Macbeth when he killed Duncan. I hated him, he kept touching my bum whenever I walked past him in that tight bloody dress, during rehearsals that is.”

“I thought the killing was done off stage.”

“Oh he played several bit parts, a soldier here, a steward there, and maybe even donated body parts for the eye of newt stuff.”

“Cathy, you are so funny. I so wish I’d met you before Simon had.”

“I thought we’d agreed that we had little in common in those terms.”

“Other than being attracted to good looking men?” he quipped.

I blushed, “I have my Simon, I don’t need to look at anyone else.”

“I saw you window shopping, Cathy.”

“So? You keep saying about fancying me, but that must be because you know of my past. I’d be of little or no interest to a gay man, would I?”

“Maybe I’m not exclusively gay?”

“Like that’s of interest to me?”

“Well it was worth a try,” he muttered, “fab cuppa,” he said a moment later.

“That definitely recommends me, then.”

“It’s important, I’m British, remember?”

“So?”

“Hush, I’m playing for time.”

“Time to do what?” I glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen, “Henry’s taking his time. I’ll bet he’s taken them for an ice cream.”

“It’s bloody freezing out there.”

“When did that stop children eating ice cream?”

“How would I know, you’re the young woman who lived in a shoe...”

“I’m glad you modified that, or I’d have had to kill you.”

“As if...” he laughed.

“I have my moments, ask Simon.”

“Oh I shall–I suppose you kill him then bring him back to life so you can kill him again?”

“Damn, you’ve worked out my secret.”

“Lady Cameron, you are an open book.”

“Hi, Mum, cannave a biscuit?” asked Danny walking into the kitchen and dumping his schoolbag next to the fridge while he poured himself a glass of fruit juice.

“I suppose so, don’t eat them all.”

“I won’t–where’re the girls?”

“Grampa Henry went to get them, he’s probably taken them for an ice cream.”

“Bloody girls, always get more than me.”

“That isn’t true, Danny–you’re late tonight.”

“Traffic is worse than ever, any more of these custard creams–I love ‘em.”

“You know where they’re kept.”

“Can I watch the telly?”

“Don’t forget you’ll have homework to do.”

“I won’t.” He scampered off to the lounge.

“Is he the only boy amongst that brood of girls?”

“I’m afraid so, why?”

“He must find it hard going at times.”

“We try to make sure he gets plenty of attention.”

“I admit he doesn’t look too neglected.”

“Providing he gets to play football every week, he’s as good as gold. Mind you, Trish is a good footballer, but she hates it.”

“How can she be good at it if she hates it?”

“You tell me.”

“Perhaps she takes after her mum–doing things she doesn’t like but is good at.”

“Like what–washing up?”

“Possibly, though I was thinking more in terms of the Ninja Cameron.”

“Who?”

“You forget that I have access to sources you don’t. I know about all sorts of episodes in your life which if half the plod read before engaging you in any form of combat, would surrender without a fight.”

“You’ve been reading too many of those Special Forces fictions by Andy McNabb.”

“No I haven’t, I’ve been reading police records.”

“Oh.”

“See, you know what I’m talking about, Maid Marion.”

“Exaggerations.”

“Some are signed statements.”

“By liars I expect.”

“Signed by Catherine Watts.”

“Definitely then.” I looked at the clock, “Where is Henry with my girls?”

“Perhaps his car has broken down?”

“He has a phone.”

“Muuum?”

“Ye-e-e-essss, Danny?”

“Come an’ see this.”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s important.”

“I’m sure it is.”

He came trotting into the kitchen, “There’s been a terrorist bomb in the town centre.”

“What?” both Jim and I exclaimed together before dashing into the lounge.