The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1319 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I took Trish straight back to school and knew I’d have ructions with both Billie and her when they found out they couldn’t have any pills for two weeks. But that was for later, I had other fish to fry.

I called Jenny and asked her to look after Puddin’ and Catherine because I had to go somewhere. She quite happily agreed, in fact when she’d arrived at the house this morning, she had a faraway look in her eye, so I suspect she had a good seeing to last night, which was more than I’d had–I’d had a cold shoulder, which I probably deserved–my Sagittarian tact had struck again. If all diplomats were like me, wars would have stopped years ago–as we became extinct.

I popped into the nearest supermarket and then after filling the tank with diesel, drove off to the motorway, heading east. Half an hour later I was stuck in traffic on the Chichester bypass and about half an hour after that I was negotiating my way up the hill in Arundel.

I was dressed fairly casually, in light green cord trousers and white top with a fleece gillet in an olive colour. It was a bright day, although the wind had a cool edge to it, so it was a day to keep on the move if you were caught by the wind.

I found the cathedral–it’s a large building and quite striking. However, I wasn’t here to explore architecture or even history, I was doing some detective work, and was glad I’d fortuitously chosen my lace up flatties if I was going to be wandering around a cemetery.

I paid for a couple of hours parking, another rip off, and entered the churchyard. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had a feeling that Catholics who topped themselves weren’t allowed to be buried in consecrated ground, however, I assumed that such things were mere technicalities when it came to wealthy people. After all, they spent years selling absolution to the rich from the mediaeval period onwards, so they were well versed in making accommodations.

There were no graves at the cathedral and while I was wandering round, someone who was doing maintenance asked if he could help. I said I was looking for someone’s grave and he pointed me over towards the London Road and the cemetery at St Mary’s. I looked puzzled and when I explained I was looking for someone who may have been Roman Catholic he told me their cemetery was in Bognor Regis.

Strange town this. I thanked him and wandered over to St Mary’s. Quarter of an hour later and I found what I was looking for a joint grave of Michael Dallimore and his wife, Margaret who died in 1997 and 1998 respectively. Perhaps they weren’t Catholic after all, I’d only assumed it because the cathedral is a Catholic one. James was wrong, but near enough right for me to rectify the error. I walked back to the car and picked the bunch of flowers I’d bought at the supermarket–some yellow roses, for remembrance.

There was a small vase thing at the grave which was marked by a single headstone with both names on it. I nipped the ends off the stalks with my penknife and poured a bottle of water into the vase then placed the flowers in it with a sachet of plant food.

I looked about me and there was no one within hearing range, so I told the grave that they had been remembered by her daughter in law who shared her sadness. I had validated her pain as best I could and looking at my watch I realised I had to get back to Portsmouth and collect the girls.

I’d just trudged back to the car and was thinking about grabbing a sandwich somewhere when my mobile rang. It was Simon, and I felt incredibly guilty.

“Where are you?” he asked me.

“I’m looking at some woodland near Chichester, why?”

“Damn, I was hoping we could have had some lunch together. I was a bit angry last night and didn’t have a chance to speak with you this morning–I had an eight o’clock meeting scheduled–I meant to say last night, but your asking questions about my mother put it straight out of my mind.”

“Why can’t we do it tomorrow, at least I’d be prepared for it then instead of surveying woodlands?” I was lying through my teeth and I felt incredibly guilty. If he knew where I was, he’d be furious.

“Let me see, yeah, I could do that–dress up smart and we’ll go somewhere nice.”

“Are you buying?” I asked cheekily.

“Don’t I always?”

“You do seem to like a traditional role in that regard.”

“Okay, I have sucker written all over me.”

“Yes, but you are a very generous one.”

“Aren’t I just? Okay, I’ll have a sandwich, what’s for dinner?”

“What d’you fancy?”

“Apart from you, my angelic wife, who wants to make everyone happy, nothing–you are my sustenance and sufficiency.”

“Are you turning cannibal or something?”

“No, but if I was, you’d be the one I’d want to eat, you always look good enough for me.”

“I’ve got so many oestrogens in me, if you ate me you’d begin changing sex.”

“Maybe I’ll start with the kids then.”

“They’d be less chewy and fatty.”

“That’s very true. Okay, gotta go, see you tonight.”

“Alright, darling, I’ll cook something nice.” He rang off and I texted James to tell him he had the wrong church.

He texted back: ‘Oops, was close though. J ’

I suppose I should be grateful I wasn’t bombing the area that could have been embarrassing not to mention antisocial. Like the cruise missile that NATO fired on Belgrade hitting the Chinese embassy because they had the wrong map or something.

I spotted a small general stores and they had sandwiches, so I bought a tuna in wholemeal bread one, and a bottle of water–the flowers had drunk my previous one. I ate it as I drove back to Portsmouth making sure I didn’t pass any police cars while waving my bread about–apparently it’s an offence to eat and drive–must be illegal to get crumbs all over the car or something: I mean it can’t be a safety issue, can it? If they were sincere about road safety, they wouldn’t let anyone under twenty five near a car, and boys should be forty before they’re allowed to drive unless they’ve had the boy racer part of their brains removed.

I got back to the school with about twenty minutes to spare and I spent the time thinking about what we could eat–then it came to me. As soon as the girls were in the car, I drove off to a specialist butcher’s shop I know and bought three pounds of special sausages–pork and leek flavour, then we went to the supermarket and got a large bag of potatoes–King Edwards–and as soon as we got home, I put the sausages in the oven and began peeling several pounds of spuds to do sausage and mash for Simon, it might expiate some of my guilt.