The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1299 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Um–darling,” I said quietly to Simon after we’d cleared the table, the kids had gone to watch something on the telly, which was the latest must see thing.

“How much?” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” I queried his query, which is probably better than queering his pitch, but no matter.

“How much d’you want?”

“Oh, I see–well if you’re giving it away, it’s Trish’s birthday next week, she’ll be seven the same as Livvie.”

“What are we going to give her?”

“I thought we could buy her a Harrier jump jet if the RAF is selling them off.”

“Yeah okay,” he said his nose still in the Financial Times.

“How much?”

“I’ve no idea, but I’d have thought five or ten million.”

“Yeah–eh? How much?”

“Why don’t you put that paper away and listen to what I’m saying.”

“Okay,” he folded it up and before he could look at it again, I whisked it away. “Hey, that’s my paper.”

“I’m well aware of that, darling, I got full marks for I-spy when I was a kid.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Not a great deal–now, Trish’s birthday present.”

“What this time?”

“I’ve ordered her a new bicycle.”

“We’re going to need a larger garage.”

“No, when the builders were here I got them to put some brackets on the wall, so the ones not being used can hang up there.”

“And who’s going to lift them up there, you could hurt yourself.”

“You are, who else?”

“What? Geez, I walked into that one didn’t I?”

I smiled sweetly, “I can do my own, they only weigh about fifteen pounds.”

“Amazing what they can do these days–plastic bikes, light as a feather and go like a rocket.”

“That depends upon the engine.”

“Yeah okay, I get the message.”

“Si, if you rode more often you’d do much better.”

“I know, but like you I haven’t got the time.”

“I’ve also got her some clothes and other bits and pieces for the other kids to give her.”

“Okay, how much d’you want?”

“Half?” I suggested trying to keep it fair.

“How much is that?”

“About three hundred for the bike and say another fifty for the other bits.”

“Three fifty?” I nodded, “I’ll do a transfer when I remember it.”

“Okay, no hurry, tomorrow’s fine.”

He glared at me, “If I remember.”

I smiled sweetly, “Oh there is one other thing.”

“How much is that going to cost?”

“You nothing much, me loads of time. We might have to increase Jenny’s hours for a few weeks.”

“Why, what have you done now?”

“You know Matthew Hines, the actor?”

“Do I? I can remember Scarlett Johansson and thingamy from wossit, you know the one with large lungs.”

He was trying to wind me up so I ignored him, “Matthew Hines played that copper in that TV special they did a few weeks ago, you know where they fought each other in the swimming pool at the end.”

“I think I’d have remembered better if it had been Scarlett Johansson fighting someone in a swimming pool.”

“I know you saw it because you stayed awake right through it.”

“Is that the one with the terrorists trying to set off a nuclear weapon in Henley on Thames?”

“No–that was Michael Caine–at least I think it was. No this was the one with the serial killer, killing off Asian models, including one Thai ladyboy.”

“I don’t remember at all.”

“He looks a bit like–um–Brian Cox, you know that dishy particle physicist.”

“Who?”

“Professor Brian Cox, the one all the younger women want to shag and the older ones want to mother–then shag.”

“I’m sure I’d remember him for that reason–what’s he done?”

“He did a series on the solar system.”

“Oh that guy, who looks like a PhD student.”

“He looks pretty young but he’s extremely bright as well as sexy.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like physics?”

“I woulda done if he’d been teaching me.”

Simon rolled his eyes, “I think I’ll buy you a chastity belt for your next birthday, you floozie.”

“If you do, I’ll throw out all your Scarlett Johansson DVDs.”

“Okay–we’ll call a truce.”

“If you hide them and try to renegotiate, I’ll declare it null and void.”

“Damn, I had a good place to hide them too.”

“Anyway, I’m going to be working with Matthew Hines.”

“What’s he doing–a voice over for you?”

“No, he’s playing Macbeth.”

“Yeah–and?”

“I’m playing Lady Macbeth.”

He looked at me with total bemusement. “This is a joke, right?”

“No.”

“A spoof–for Children in Need?”

“No.”

“Macbeth–as in the Scottish play?”

“The one and the same.”

“Why?”

“Probably because you’re too busy to do it,” I threw back at him.

“Not one of the witches?”

“No, I’m playing Lady Macbeth to Matthew Hines, Macbeth.”

“Where?”

“At Trish’s school.”

“Oh well, you had me worried for a moment.”

“How?”

“Well, if it’s with a bunch of schoolgirls all dressed up as Roman soldiers, it should be quite fun.”

“Roman soldiers? Macbeth is tenth century dark ages in Scotland–though I doubt you’ve ever heard of it?”

“The dark ages? Yeah it happens every year from about September through to March, especially up there.”

“Look, Si, this is fairly serious thespian stuff.”

He snorted at that, and I’m sure you could think exactly which word was going through his mind and it wasn’t thespian.

“Gordon Rashley is directing it.”

“The bloke from the RSC?”

“Yes.”

“I saw his Lear at the Barbican, can’t remember who played it, some old git–but the direction was brilliant. How has a tuppenny-ha’penny outfit like that school pulled in names like that? Don’t tell me, Spielberg is producing it?”

“I asked that, no it’s Melvin Cabbage.”

“Melvin Cabbage?”

“Yes, Cubby Broccoli is dead isn’t he?”

He shook his head, “That wouldn’t normally stop you.”

Now it was my turn to glower at him.

“So it’s housewife superstar is it?”

“No, that’s Dame Edna,” a character that I cannot stand.

“Of course, possums.” He chuckled like a demented prawn at his own joke, and believe me, demented prawns–you don’t want to know.

“I’ll buy you some gladioli if you like.”

“Um–I’ll take a rain check on that.” He shook his head, “My wife with all these actors and directors–will you have to wear director’s knickers?” he laughed again.

“I think you mean, directoire knickers, Si, and no I’m not wearing bloomers even for a director.”

“So when does this all happen?”

“I’m awaiting confirmation of dates of the play and rehearsals.”

“I’ll come and watch every rehearsal, sitting with my shotgun across my lap.”

“If you do, I’ll poke it somewhere the sun don’t shine and pull both triggers.”

“You would too, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ll let you ruminate on it.”

“What about all the publicity? You’ll have the national press poking about and they have a couple more brain cells than the local rag.”

“I did mention that to Sister Maria before I agreed to do it.”

“Don’t tell me, she got the Spanish Inquisition to make you do it.”

“Natch.” I shrugged as he went into full Monty Python mode and recited the whole sketch. It’s funny the first few times.