The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1448 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The chief inspector and his computer geek left, taking the small flash drive with them, but leaving Trish’s computer behind. Simon was tickled by the way she’d run rings round the detective–although she could me as well–with computers at least.

I asked him how much of the money had been recovered from the safe–all of it was, so were all the documents, especially the Olympic plans. It was all over at last–thank goodness.

Simon begged to differ, they hadn’t caught Mr Big, nor did they know the reasons for his attempted theft–but to organise riots just to cover up the theft of the safe was a step too far for most criminals. To start with, how did the bad guys know the stuff was in the safe? Though it was reassuring they couldn’t open it without Simon’s help–less so that he had helped them. My vision of him as a hero holding out under torture was way off. He’d agreed almost as soon as they took him–I smelt a rat here–it was all a set up, apparently both he and his car were carrying tracking devices in case one broke down.

It was quite simple, he let himself be kidnapped to determine where the safe was. He let them open the safe–which was the dangerous part–once opened they could have killed him. Thankfully, they didn’t.

So who organised it? Who was the mastermind? I had no idea, I do dormice, not criminology. Was I interested? Yes and no–they’d taken my Simon and frightened my children and me for that matter–and cost me whatever Jim’s fees were. So I suppose I was interested.

So that’s why he was so cool and calm when we rescued him–he was expecting it–though not by me–but MI5 or whoever. In which case he ought to get a firmer contract next time because they weren’t much help this time–well, okay, they saved my neck from the gorilla with the M60–or the police–not sure who were more frightening.

We ordered pizza which the kids love as you all know, I had mackerel in tomato sauce on toast–at least I got some Omega three oils, all they got was crap with cheese sprinkled on the top–but they were happy and so were Simon and Stella–Jenny had an evening off so I had to look after Catherine myself–no big deal. I wonder if my milk tastes fishy after I’ve been eating it?

I was sitting in the kitchen after dinner feeding the baby, Stella had fed Fiona earlier and was watching some film on telly with the rest of them–oh that came today–the telly. I forgot it in all the excitement of the police and the memory stick. We now have a large plasma screen in the sitting room–for the rugby world cup–and, little does Simon know–The Vuelta Espana. Anyway, they were all in there watching the latest gadget and I was in the kitchen feeding my wain when Jenny came home earlier than I expected.

She let herself in by the back door, presumably because she hoped no one would see her–except of course, I did. “You’re back early,” I called to her but she ignored me and ran upstairs–not a good sign–although she might just need a bathroom.

I waited and burped Catherine–she does some whoppers–then I changed her–perhaps fifteen minutes after Jenny came in. I gave the baby for Simon to hold and made him turn the sound down a little–they’d all be deaf in a week–then went upstairs and knocked on Jenny’s room.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“Why?”

“Can you open the door?” I refuse to talk through it.

“Um–I’m busy a minute.”

“I’ll wait.” She was moving about inside her room–possibly she had undressed.

“Okay,” she opened it part way, “What d’ya want?” The light was off and she was standing in partial shade.

I pushed past her and switched on the light, “What’s going on?” I demanded.

She sat on the bed her face in her hands, “I finished it with Tony, tonight.”

“I’m sorry, anything I can do to help?”

“No, I just want to go to bed and forget about it.”

“Are you sure?” I was tempted to sit on the bed by her but she still had her face in her hands–was she hiding something?

“If you need some time off...let me know?”

“Thank you, Cathy.” Her face was still buried in her hands. “Has he hit you?”

“I’m alright,” she murmured from her hands.

I pulled her hands away and she turned away from me but not before I could see a bruise over her cheek and her eye swelling. “I’ll get some ice.” I flew down the stairs feeling very angry–there is no need to hit women–unless you’re another woman and then you should know better.

I returned a few minutes later with an ice pack and some paracetamol which I handed to her. She mumbled a thanks and took them. “If you want to talk, don’t hesitate to say, okay?”

“Actually, Cathy, can we talk for a bit?”

“Of course,” I sat on her bedroom chair facing her–she had quite a shiner coming up.

“Me an’ Tony haven’t been gettin’ on too well lately. I think he’s been seein’ a Wren at the base, so the physical side has been lackin’ almost entirely for a month or two.”

“I see,” even Simon and I get together more often than that.

“An’ I confronted him tonight an’ screamed at him–he like lost it too, and hit me.”

“That’s no excuse, you know.”

“I know–an’ I told him.”

“You could go to the police if you wanted to.”

“I seen enough police to last me a lifetime since I lived ’ere with you.”

“Sorry about that, if they sent a car round for something, I expect they don’t need to give an address, they just say–that bloody woman again.”

She laughed.

“So it’s final is it? No chance of mediation?”

“Not after he hit me, no way.”

“Well if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I won’t–I mean you wouldn’t after anyone hit you would you?”

“I’d probably hit them back.”

“Yeah, maybe I should of.”

Her mangling of the English language seemed unimportant; I just hope my kids didn’t pick it up from her. “Rarely does more violence help–usually makes things worse.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

“Anyway, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Thanks, Cathy, you’re the best boss I’ve ever had.”

“How many have you had?”

“Um–two, three if you count the paper-shop I used to work for when I was kid.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that,” I muttered as I left her to sort herself out.

When we went to bed, all Simon wanted to do was to buy all these HD videos now we had the telly to see them on, so I actually had to ask him to shut up before I could tell him about Jenny.

“Oh, is she okay?”

“She’s nursing a black eye–the bastard hit her.”

“Did she go to the police?”

“No.”

“She could, you know.”

“Yes I know, they treat domestics more seriously now, but only because so many women are crippled or killed in them.”

“Men get killed too, you know–we’re not all primeval swamp creatures–women can be just as vicious–especially the youngsters of today, there are stories everyday of girls beating each other up after they get drunk, or shoving glasses in each other’s faces.”

“Yeah, that’s one element of the blurring of gender roles I don’t like.”

“Cathy, women have always been violent–this sugar and spice stuff is total crap–miner’s wives and fishwives have a long reputation for physical violence as well as verbal abuse.”

“I know–and bullying of girls by girls goes on–they tend to be more covert than boys–boys hit each other or threaten it; girls do it with texts and emails or Facebook.”

“It’s just as bad.”

“Worse–because the bullying only comes to light when the victim kills herself–it’s really virulent.”

I stopped and thought about a story I’d seen in the paper of on the internet of some fourteen year old killing herself by stepping in front of a train because she was bullied by a gang of girls. I was roused from my reverie by the noise of snoring–Simon was fast asleep, I turned over after elbowing him and the noises stopped for a moment.