The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1214 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I dressed differently to the way I had in my dream, but still wore trousers with an embroidered silk top over a camisole, and a warm suede jacket. Simon wore his suit, or one of them. We were about to leave when his mobile went off. That didn’t happen in my dream so I felt secure–so far.

He came back from his call, “There’s a problem at the hotel.”

“Oh well, I’ll cook us something.”

“No way, it’s your birthday, we’re going out.” He can be so masterful–when I let him. Can’t do it too often, he’ll think he’s in charge.

“I don’t mind.” I stroked his arm, “I really don’t.”

“I do, and they’ve got us a reservation at a French Bistro.”

“Oh, which one?”

“I can’t remember, but I’ve got the coordinates here so the satnav will find it.”

I began to feel distinctly uneasy. “I don’t know, Si, why don’t we just stay in?”

“They have the same chef who used to be at the Green Room.”

“So?”

“I’d like to eat there.”

“Wherever, there is.”

“Look, I was too busy writing down the coordinates to remember the name–now are you coming or do I go by myself?”
That question nearly got him a negative response. I walked away from him to see Tom–“How’s the cold, Daddy?”

“Och, I’ll be fine in a day or twa.”

“Take care.”

“Aff ye go an’ enjoy yersels.”

I left him feeling very uneasy. However, Simon practically frogmarched me to the car. “Want me to drive?”

“No, I’m quite happy to drive,” and besides I wanted to keep the keys in my bag not his pocket.

After a very quiet drive, I had to concentrate on dealing with the ice and snow although it did seem to be raining, so possibly the return would an easier journey. “In here,” Simon indicated a turning to our right. I turned into the car park–it looked familiar. My unease grew.

We ran round to the entrance from the car park and I was horrified to see Delia and Arthur Duttine sitting in the dining room. I turned on my heel and ran back to the car. A moment later Simon came running back after me. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“Because, this is my dream, Simon, it’s coming true.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I have to get back and see how Tom is.”

“He’s fine, now just get out of this car and let’s go and have a nice dinner.”

“No, Simon, I won’t.” I started up the car.

“This is preposterous–get out of that car now.”

“No, I love you Simon, but I’m going home–now.”

“Don’t do this, Cathy.”

“I have to, Si–when Arthur chokes, make sure you face him away from the fish tank when you do a reverse abdominal thrust.”

“What are you talking about? Cathy, Cathy–stop.” I ignored him and drove off leaving him running behind for a few yards swearing at me. Then he gave up and walked back to the restaurant.
I drove home like a demon, I felt that time was of the essence. I rushed in and into the study. “Whit ‘re ye daein’ hame?”

“How do you feel?” I gasped.

“I’m fine an’ weel. Whit happened tae yer meal?”

“I didn’t feel hungry.”

“Whaur’s Simon?”

“I don’t actually know, but I expect he’s still at the restaurant.”

“Fa’ why?”

I looked at him–“Okay, I’ll tell you, fa’ why.” I related as much of the events in my dream as I could, including his funeral. At first he looked concerned especially when I started blubbing, then when I finished he gave me a tremendous hug and began to laugh.

“I don’t think it’s at all funny,” I said sobbing again.

“I dae. I’m very touched by thae fact ye were prepared tae gi’ up yer dinner fa me, ‘specially an yer birrthdy. It’s verra noble o’ ye.”

“You’re very important to me.” I hugged him.

“Aye, sae it’d seem.” He hugged me again.

“You are, Daddy.” I hugged him and he nearly squeezed me to death.

“Sae ‘re ye.” He coughed for a moment and I hoped he wasn’t going to start haemorrhaging from his lungs. “But dinna worry, I’m no gang onywhaur until I’ve finished ma malt.”

I glanced at his glass and he laughed.

“Och, no that, that’s jest a wee dram, I mean thae twa cases in thae cellar.”

“You have two cases of malt whisky in the cellar?”

“Aye, I got a special offer.”

“How many bottles is that?”

“Aboot twenty foor gi’r tak twa dozen.”

“You have four cases in the cellar?”

“Aye, I s’pose I must hae aboot that.”

“If that means you’ll live a lot longer, then perhaps I’ll buy another case for you.”

“Weel, it cuid be, efter a’ it means watter o’ life.”

“What, whisky?”

“Aye, in the Gaelic.”

“I think you may have told me that before.”

“Whit aboot yer dinner?”

“Um–yes my tummy’s rumbling–I’ll make a sandwich, d’you want one.”

“No furr me, hen.”

I made myself a sandwich and sat watching the telly until I fell asleep. The front door closing woke me up. Simon called me then walked into the lounge. “That was a good meal, pity you didn’t stay.”

“Did Arthur choke?”

“Oh yes, how did you know that–but the goldfish got his dinner.”

“Did you do the thrust thingy?”

“Me–ha ha–no way, no some other bloke did it.”

“You should have rung, I’d have come and got you.”

“Nah, I got a cab–what I saved on your meal paid for it.”

“So they didn’t give you a lift back?”

“No–they couldn’t, ha ha.”

“Why not?”

“Their Jag got stolen from the car park.”

I rushed to see if Tom was alright and he was snoring, sound asleep in his bed. Had I managed to change things enough? I was unsure but went back down to Simon and made us both a drink of tea.

“How’s Tom?”

“He seems to be alright at the moment.”

“What was really weird, was what happened after we discovered Arthur and Delia’s car had gone. He went to call the cops and his phone rang as he took it out of his pocket. Apparently, her father had just collapsed with blood coming from his lungs.”

I shuddered–it seemed the Angel of Death had passed us by this time round. I didn’t wish Delia’s father any harm but I was exceedingly glad I’d changed things about a bit.

“Anyway, I mentioned you’d dreamt all that an’ she said she’d like to come and talk to you when her mum was better. I gave her our phone number–she really wants to meet you.”

“I know–she’s a reporter for the New York Times.”

“Oh,” Simon looked bemused, “She didn’t mention that bit–did I make a boob-boo?”

“Yes, but I expect I’ll survive, unlike her father.”

“Funny that–maybe I should have got you to blue light him.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Can’t remember if I mentioned it or not.”

“What?” I gasped and felt quite ill.

“Ha ha, the look on your face,” he wiped his eyes and said, “C’mon girl, let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

“How what’s done?”

“Lurve–for the makin’ of. C’mon, let’s give you a real birthday prezzie…”

I just groaned and hoped he’d fall asleep quickly if I strung things out in the bathroom.