The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1318 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Occasionally, it can be useful having a mother who’s a biologist–although the school would know this–I did help Mima do her homework, and probably told her too much about different sorts of fungi.

We looked at some under Trish’s microscope and after joining it up to the computer, we were able to print some pictures off showing some of the microscopic structures of the gills of cultivated mushrooms and some bits and pieces we collected in the garden.

I helped her label her pictures and made sure she had a superficial understanding of how some of the fungi worked and their contribution to recycling dead matter. We also touched on the fact that yeast was essential for making bread, cakes and alcoholic drinks and the less helpful varieties which caused thrush and athlete’s foot.

After I got them all to bed, Billie and Trish had made up their argument as soon as we got home, I sat down with Simon–remember him, he’s the bloke I married–and we chatted. I desperately wanted to talk about his mother but I couldn’t see how I could manage to introduce the subject–until Puddin’ began to cry for some reason and I had to go and sort her out. I think she was possibly teething, so I gave her some Calpol and settled her down again and she went off to sleep–Jenny had the night off.

“I’ll be glad when Stella comes back to reclaim her offspring,” Simon commented.

“Oh c’mon, that little one’s no trouble at all.”

“No, not when Jenny’s here.”

“I’ll bet you weren’t a perfect baby–were you?”

“How do I know, you’ll have to ask Dad but I doubt he’d know much.”

“No–your mother died, didn’t she?” I’d taken the nettle and grasped it.

“Yes, some time ago.”

“You never talk about her.”

“What’s there to say? She’s dead–end of conversation.”

“But you must have memories of her?” I pushed my luck.

“I have a horrible memory of going to her funeral and I’d prefer not to talk about it, okay?”

I’d given him a chance to talk and he didn’t take the opportunity, was that because he didn’t know what I knew. I’d push my luck one more step. “I know about her death, and I’m sorry.”

“What d’you know? Bugger all I expect other than what they stuck in the papers and Dad had to call in quite a few favours to stop the details getting out. Yeah, she killed herself–but can you blame her? Dad was a total bastard ruled by his fucking dick–it was only when he met with Monica and she threatened to separate him from his prized possession if he ever strayed with her, that he stopped cheating.

“My mother went through hell with him, then she started to drink and then got hooked on Valium. I suspect she might have used other things too. Did you get all that too, from Google?”

I blushed and shook my head.

“So I don’t suppose they told you she hanged herself naked in Hyde Park, did they?”

“Oh my God, I am so sorry Simon.” I felt tears roll down my face.

“I thought she’d be really happy with Dallimore, but the cheating swine tried one scam too many and got caught, she lost a couple of million through that and rather than face the music he crashed his stupid plane. No wonder she went crackers.”

I went to hug him but he seemed cold intent on punishing me for reminding him about the whole sordid affair.

“No, you wanted to know–so you can learn that she hired a private detective to follow Dad, he was screwing four different women at the same time plus my mother of course. She was so drunk most of the time, she didn’t even know they’d had sex. She was switched on enough to tell each of the four women about the others and Dad got really cross with her. That was when she left. Wanna hear some more?”

I wept quietly and shook my head.

“Good, I’m going to bed now–I don’t want to talk about her ever again–got it?”

I nodded and watched with tear filled eyes as he left the kitchen and went upstairs. How wrong could I have got it? Not much more than that. That poor woman, now I felt I had to lay some flowers on her grave because I was so saddened by her life with Henry and Michael after it.

I sent James a text. Five minutes later he texted back to say he’d do it.

I slept very badly, I was tormented by my sadness for Margaret and by the fact that I’d upset Simon. I wasn’t sure what I felt about Henry, other than his acceptance of me as his daughter-in-law, I wasn’t at all sure about him being the kindly pa-in-law that he’d appeared to be to me. I suppose he might have changed, especially with Monica holding his short and curlies–she frightens me and I don’t have any; but they say leopards don’t change their spots. So the next time he flirts with me, I may well feel differently about him.

Simon was asleep by the time I got into bed and we slept back to back that night. The next morning he rose early and was gone before I could get myself up to see him off. I hoped this was going to be just a storm in a teacup, but I only had myself to blame–I should have left well alone. My twenty-twenty hindsight is amazing.

I took the girls to school, although Trish stayed with me in the car and we went off to the hospital and the paediatric department for her appointment at half past nine. Parking is a pain and also expensive, but I eventually found a spot and paid the extortionate fee. I remember my father complaining about parking fees some time ago and he was only charged a fraction of what I’d just paid. He grumbled and said, “At least Dick Turpin had the decency to wear a mask.”

At the time, I thought it was really clever–Dick Turpin was a highwayman–notorious for his ruthlessness. He was a real low-life, beating some old woman’s brains out because she wouldn’t tell him where her money was. He was eventually caught and hanged. But there was a television series where he was the hero and did all sorts of good things against the corrupt establishment. What a travesty, but I thought it was brilliant until I learned the truth about the soulless thug in reality.

I put the parking ticket on the dashboard of the Porsche and we had to run to the clinic, where Dr Rose was running half an hour behind any way. Trish read the Financial Times while I amused myself with the Beano–okay, I’m joking. Trish was reading Wuthering Heights, quite why I didn’t know. I read it when I was about sixteen and it frightened the life out of me–the ghost rapping on the window–yeuch, makes me shudder just thinking about it–but then I was always suggestible.

Just before Sam Rose came out to get us my phone peeped and I had a text from James, just a couple of words–Arundel Cathedral. I had to read it twice, Margaret must have either been Roman Catholic or converted when she married Michael–though as a divorcee, I didn’t think the Catholic church would want anything to do with her. Oh well, if you have the money...

I went into Sam’s consulting room and we shook hands warmly. He also shook hands with Trish and said, “And how are you, young lady?”

“I’m fine thank you, Dr Rose–Mummy has put me on hormones, so I’m fine now thank you.”

He looked at me as if I’d just walked dog poo all over his best carpet. “Hormones?”

“Stephanie said she could have some plant phytogens.”

“I thought I was going to do some blood work today? Not a lot of point if you’ve started her on oestrogens is there, Doctor Cameron?”

“I’m sorry, Sam, I completely forgot about it...” We left Trish reading her book for a few moments while we spoke in the room next door. I explained what had happened and he nodded.

“So you gave in to her?”

“I thought I was just giving her the equivalent of a placebo?”

“All right. Take her home, I’ll see her in two weeks, stop the pills, I need to see what’s going on inside that little body. And you said Stephanie put Billie on Oestradiol?”

I nodded.

“I think I need some words with our little friend.”

“Billie was so down in the dumps, this has completely revitalised her even though she’s taking a very low dose.” I showed him the repeat prescription form.

He shook his head. “I’ll talk with Stephanie, take Einstein home and next time bring both of them in but stop the pills now. I’ll see them both in two weeks.”

“Yes, Dr Rose.” I felt about two inches tall.

“You’re welcome, Lady Cameron,” he said very stiffly.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I feel like a schoolgirl who’s just been told to stand outside the headmaster’s study.”

“Good,” he said, “Next time wear your uniform and be prepared for six of the best.”

“What?” I gasped–had I heard him right?

“That woke you up–didn’t it?” he roared with laughter and I blushed furiously.