The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1347 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I let her soak her hand under the cold tap–I certainly wasn’t going to do anything which might be construed as healing her, however vaguely.

The police duly arrived and I explained what had happened and while one of them watched her, I took the other officer to collect the knife as evidence. He bagged it and shook his head.

“Weren’t we here the other day?”

“Um–you might have been,” I blushed.

He shook his head and walked back to the house. They examined her bag to see if there were any other weapons as they couldn’t handcuff her due to her injured wrist.

“Ms Lawrence is asserting you assaulted her for no good reason.” The officer who’d been with her stated, his partner held up the bag with the knife in it.

I quickly made a statement and they left taking Ms Lawrence with them–presumably to a hospital–it looked broken–but given she was trying to slash me with it, I had no regrets.

“What was that lady trying to do to you, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“She was trying to make me prove I can heal people by stabbing me and hoping I’d heal myself.”

“That’s silly,” she said and flounced away, “Bloody silly,” she said and giggled because I didn’t pick her up on it.

“Shit, shit, shit,” said our mobile pygmy and I blushed. Much more of this and I shall book in next door to Stella at the clinic. Sometimes I did wonder if I should see if I could swap the kids for a budgie or something which I could talk to and get some response but without a load of lip.

“That was a pretty dumb thing for that woman to do–coming at you with a knife, she obviously doesn’t know of your reputation as a crime fighter.”

Oh boy–more of the myth of Cathy the wonder being–perhaps I should have stayed home that day Stella hit me off my bike–is this all a dream–no rephrase that–nightmare might be more apposite.

I suppose there have been good times as well as the struggles, except recently there seems to have been one thing after another. I could do with a holiday, but then I’d have to take the children and it wouldn’t stay much of a holiday for long.

I gave them all a snack and a drink while Jenny made us some tea–then we sat down for five minutes before sorting out the next meal.

Over dinner, Simon asked about the attempted attack in the garden and discussed with Tom about getting some fencing organised to make it harder for people to get in. They decided to speak to Maureen about it–so that means they’ll ask me to speak to Maureen about it.

Does anything happen here unless I do it? Not much by the look of it. I enjoy being the centre of attention but not the only responsible adult in the house given there are three adults as well as me, plus one sub adult perhaps one of them would like to organise things now and again.

“What d’you think about fencing off the house, Cathy?” Simon was dropping it in my lap.

“I suppose it’ll keep the deer out of Daddy’s veg garden.”

“I meant to protect the children and you of course–not that you seem to need much protection.”

“I’m not sure creating a fortress is going to achieve much.”

“Oh–why not?”

“Because we become prisoners inside it–like those gated communities in the States, they don’t make the problem go away, they just hide it from those rich enough to live there. We don’t need fencing, we need a better, safer world.”

“I don’t disagree with those sentiments, but until we achieve that Utopian aim, how do you feel about getting some fencing?”

“I think it’s a waste of time and money and advertises we have something to protect.”

“Yes, my wife and children,” said Simon with irritation.

“I’m not convinced it would keep out nutters like Lawrence, she was desperate to prove I was her mystery healer.”

“The fact that you happen to be wouldn’t have some bearing on the case?” asked Simon.

“Goodness, I feel like Clark Kent being asked about Superman.”

“You don’t even wear glasses, Mummy,” observed Danny munching on his second portion of lasagne.

“No, my sight is okay.”

“But Clark Kent does, it’s part of his disguise.”

“Oh I see.” I said.

“Pretty rubbish disguise if you ask me,” offered Julie–I think just proving she was still awake.

“Yeah, well it seems to work for him,” Danny was squaring up for an argument with his older sister.

“I think it’s pretty weak, a pair of glasses and a shirt and tie.”

“There’s that lovely scene in the last movie where he spends ages looking for a phone box to change in.”

“Oh that’s right,” I remembered enjoying the Brandon Routh version of Superman when it was shown on telly and pleased that they’d retained John Williams’ Superman March in the title music. It’s so iconic.

“The fact that it’s fiction and pretty absurd fiction means that anything goes,” suggested Simon, making a point which I couldn’t disagree with. “I mean a man who can fly and is indestructible–how is he propelled when he’s flying? Does he jump into the air and does that propel him or has he some sort of motor in his underpants?”

Julie thought that was hilarious.

“I remember seeing some silly article in New Scientist which suggested that if Superman actually had sex with Lois Lane his sperm would shoot straight through her and through the earth into outer space.” Simon was now in his element.

“That’s a thought, doesn’t he have a kid in the Superman Returns film?” Julie was encouraging him.

“Obviously theory and practice are different,” I suggested before clearing the table to load the dishwasher. Trish came to help me.

“People can be disguised very easily–look at Gaby, she combs her hair differently and they all think she’s a boy.”

“The fact that she switches between roles is part of the plot mechanism, darling, because it means that Drew can end up as Gaby even when he doesn’t intend to, it’s almost comic effect at times.”

“Is there a Gaby comic, then?”

“No, darling, can you fetch the dirty cutlery?” I dismissed her to avoid any further questions.

Simon and Danny took the rest of the children out into the garden to play with a tennis ball, I went out to check my washing and brought it in to air before ironing tomorrow.

While they were busy I did some more reading of my lines for this ‘ere play thing and began to worry that I’d never manage to commit it all to memory in time for rehearsals. I should never have allowed myself to be bullied by a bunch of kids–but now I was stuck with it.

I would have to check with Matt or the school to see when rehearsals were scheduled to start–presumably with just sitting and reading it a few times with discussions about how we stage it, stage directions, scenery and all that stuff which can help to create the illusion of mediaeval Scotland.

As if life isn’t busy enough Erin phoned to ask if I’d thought any more about the harvest mouse film–I hadn’t and when I mentioned doing the play, she asked if she could come to watch it and bring a friend with her.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked.

“Toby Rushland,” she said as if I should know him.

“Who’s he when he’s at home?” I asked cheekily.

“Oh nothing, just the biggest impresario in the West End at the moment.”

“Why would he want to see an amateur production of Macbeth?”

“Because I’m your agent, that’s why.”

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, then you can think again.”

“Successful agents think one step ahead of everyone else,” she said laughed and put her phone down.