The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1474 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I took Mr Darnley’s card and stuck it on the notice board in the kitchen. This was covered with pictures by the children, cards of various tradesmen and the odd postcard. At the top of the board, which is quite a large one, more like that you’d see in an office than a kitchen, is a family photograph, with Tom seated in the middle and all the rest of us pests surrounding him. I don’t remember who took it, probably Leon, but it’s just a lovely picture and I smile every time I look at it. The only one missing is Fiona and there’s a separate one of her, albeit quite small, I took with my Blackberry.

I wondered how Leon was doing, I don’t think I mentioned that he decided to join the army. I’d never have believed it myself, and when he mentioned it, I felt like telling him I thought it was a less than good idea, then considered it wasn’t my place to tell him what to do with his life. I did ask him what his mother thought and he told me she wasn’t very happy with it. I think I understood what she was feeling.

I tried to point out that the prisons are full of ex-soldiers–one in four convicted prisoners are ex military, and that a significant number of those in mental health institutions are or living rough as ex soldiers too. He told me he knew and it didn’t put him off.

I then asked him what he think of killing someone or seeing one of his mates blown up or shot and he told me it would be tough but he’d cope. I wasn’t so sure. We train our soldiers to kill, overriding their natural reluctance–unless they’re psychopaths–but we don’t train them to cope with it. More British soldiers who fought in the Falkland Islands have killed themselves than died in action, as a consequence of what they did or saw in that campaign.

I’m not anti-military, I’m anti-war. I don’t want my children to suffer because of it. I do believe in having a viable defence force to protect British interests around the globe, although I suspect the current government has cut it to the bone–fancy scrapping the Harrier and HMS Ark Royal–which gave us the capacity to fly strategic missions anywhere. Oh what do I know? More than the idiots in government, it would seem.

Anyway, Leon has done his basic training and been posted to Afghanistan. He didn’t have time to visit, but he did phone and thank me for keeping him on the straight and narrow–he also asked me to keep an eye on his mum, who if you remember, suffers from MS.

Jenny went to get the girls in the end, with the Mondeo. I was too ashamed to drive the Jaguar with its war wounds. When they came home, they all stopped to examine the dents and scrapes and I had to tell them the story. It was fast becoming boring to me.

Trish immediately asked for the DVD and once I handed it to her she disappeared off to her computer. Billie went with her, but Livvie and Mima stayed to be with me in the kitchen. Mima laid the table while Livvie helped me finish doing the veg.

Simon came home and I showed him the damage to the car, he told me that the quote he’d got from Mr Darnley was less than half what the dealership wanted. I suppose the old sexist scam of robbing women because they don’t have a clue nearly paid off. Had I been alone, I’d never have known of Mr Darnley.

We had dinner and I deliberately kept Simon’s smaller than usual–to him a diet is too little of a good thing–in the hope that he would lose a little weight. He grumbled and found some unused spud and veg helping himself to seconds. He’d have eaten less if I’d given him his normal amount.

Trish talked with him about the progress she was making on the number plate, so after we finished Si went off with her while Julie and I cleared up. As she isn’t usually so helpful I suspected there might be an ulterior motive. There was.

“Mummy–um–you remember Phoebe?”

“How could I forget her, the pair of you nearly got yourself murdered.”

She blushed, “But we didn’t, did we?”

“Cut to the chase,” I instructed her loading the dirty dishes into the washer.

“Can she come down this weekend?”

“Providing you both behave yourselves, and that she has her mother’s blessing.”

“You are really brill, Mummy, d’you know that?” She hugged me.

“It’s funny that the appellation only applies when I do what you want, isn’t it?”

She smirked and hugged me again. I’d just finished loading the machine when the phone rang and as I was nearest, I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Can I speak to Lady Cameron?”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Yes there’s three.”

“Three? Blimey, the one with all the kids.”

“That’s me.”

“Blimey, why couldn’tcha say that in the first place?” I had a feeling it was going to be one of those days.

“What d’you want, I have all those kids to get to bed?”

“You know Theresa, Leon’s ma?”

“Yes, what about her?”

“She’s fallen over and is asking for you to come.”

“Hadn’t you better call the paramedics–this is more their territory than mine, I’m a teacher.”

“She wants you, missus.”

“Hold on. Julie–can you sort the girls out? looks like I have to go out.”

“Where?” she asked and I waved her away.

“Is she hurt or bleeding anywhere?”

“Just get here,” the phone went dead. Wonderful–now is this real or something more sinister? I checked the last caller number and it was Theresa’s mobile. That didn’t mean anything, a well planned kidnap would take care of that, trying to lull me into thinking it was a genuine call. Then again, it could be–oh shit, sometimes having all this money and status is more of a liability than a help.

I called Simon, who popped out of the dining room, “This child is a genius,” he beamed at me, “We’ve got half the number already.”

“I’ve just had a call from someone telling me Theresa has fallen and is asking for me.”

“Who’s Theresa?”

“Leon’s mum.”

“Oh, that Theresa?”

I rolled my eyes, “I’m suspicious, will you come with me?”

“Yeah, course I will.” He ran upstairs to change out of his suit and five minutes later he was back down. We went in the Mondeo, leaving his car in that street could have been asking for trouble–like someone ‘keying’ it all down the side.

He knocked at the door as I stood behind him, I don’t know why I felt suspicious and let’s face it, he’s not much more help than I am if it comes to physical stuff.

A woman answered the door, “Who are you?” she asked Simon.

“He’s with me,” I answered stepping from behind him.

“It’s you we need, not Moby Dick.” I nearly smirked, perhaps Si would get the point I was trying to make earlier.

“We come as a pair, he’s my husband–besides if she needs picking up, Simon will help won’t you darling?”

He nodded, still smarting from the Moby Dick appellation.

I followed the woman into the house, it was cleaner than the first time I visited it, and Leon had obviously used some of his money to decorate it. In the living room, Theresa was sprawled under a chair. “Is dat you, Cathy?” she gasped.

“Yes, Theresa, it’s me.”

“Tank de Lord, my redeemer comes.” I thought that might have been a bit over the top, but only by miles and Miles wasn’t here, just Simon and I.

I squeezed between the upturned chair and a bookcase, “It’s the paramedics you need, not me.”

“Dey can’t do nuffin’ fo me, you can–get doin’ it, please.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Me heard me back snap as me fell, me’s only alive ‘cos I linked to you.”

“I’m not Jesus Christ, Theresa,” I tried to play down her expectations.

“No you still got da powah, him dead.” I decided a religio-philosophical debate was probably not appropriate now but would challenge the assertion she made at the first opportunity.

I began to scan her body with my hands, “I’m not sure I can still do this,” I said feeling a little buzzing in my hands.

“You still got it, me can feel it–oh dat hurts, it burns as hot as fire.”

I felt Simon standing in the doorway, “What happened?”

“Theresa has hurt her back, I’m trying to get her comfortable so we can lift her out of here.”

“Okay, gimme a shout when you’re ready,” he said and walked back to the car.