The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1484 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I managed to catch Simon before he went off to a meeting. “I can’t stop, Babes, meeting.”

“I rang on pure chance, just thought I’d let you know the old trout you’re persecuting has invited the tabloid which uses two syllables to investigate our little ol’ den of iniquity. They turned up at Mr Darnley’s shop and were asking questions.”

“Were they now?”

“I don’t like this one bit, Simon.”

“Maybe we need a balanced outlook, perhaps get the Guardian involved or one of the other quality papers.”

“Can't think the Guardian would want to be involved.”

“Isn’t it basically the trial of Darwinian science over creationists?”

“Perhaps: I suspect you’ve analysed it more than anyone else but couldn’t those icons be just flags of convenience, after all, at this moment she doesn’t know me as anything other than your wife and a mother of millions. If she knew about me or the children, she could really go on the offensive.”

“Is the Waily Dail likely to discover anything–I mean, investigative journalism to them is having someone go up to the barmaid and find out if she’s available after work for a good time.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to let her win but if she affects our children I shall do something nasty to her to make sure she never annoys me or mine again.”

“Like what? I hope you don’t mean physical violence?”

“No report her to the police for hate crimes–if she goes within half a mile of my kids, I’ll have her sectioned as a lunatic, and the key of her room thrown away.”

“I like your style–hang on, I’m just coming–I’ve got to go, Babes, don’t let her get you down.

“I fear for the children.”

“I think if she starts on Trish, the young un’ll give as good as she gets.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Best go to your meeting.”

I blew him a kiss and he went off to meet with whoever for whatever they do in meetings. Not a lot usually.

I went and made some more tea, typed half a page finished my tea and went to get the girls feeling that perhaps I didn’t want to teach again. I’d give it some thought then discuss it with Simon and finally with Tom. He seems intent on making me get back into it, I’m not sure that I want to: possibly that part of my life is over.

I drove to the school and parked as close as I could, the weather was fine and I had sunglasses on plus a sun hat. I didn’t care if I looked like a ninny, as long as I was an anonymous one.

The problem of being anonymous is it relies on no one recognising you, in a school where I’d done two lectures and played the lead role in their school play, makes that a little difficult. Instead of the hat I shoulda used the false beard.

I’d scanned the crowd in front of me, and had picked out two I hadn’t seen before–a man and a woman. They could be new parents, or simply not there the same days I’d taken or collected the girls, or they could be reporters.

I walked towards the school as the little darlings let out. Normally my lot are first out today they weren’t–Trish was wanted for the football team again and she agreed to play–possibly because she thought I disapproved. In which case she had a surprise coming–I do approve–she has a talent and should use it.

The try outs for the school team were after school–which they knew last week–and Livvie and Mima also took their kit–shorts, tee shirt and trainers. Billie wanted nothing to do with it–but then she had more interest in cycling than the others.

Several mothers spoke to me, mainly calling hello to me and naming me as they went, the two new-comers seemed quite interested and followed me to the sports field.

Even I could see Trish’s skill with a football, her control of the ball was far superior to anyone else’s and in the two games she played–ten minutes each–she scored a goal.

Livvie was a bit too girly in the tackle and got beaten every time, but if she wants to play, I’ll get Danny to coach her. Mima had some idea but she got sent off for pulling the hair of a girl who tackled her. Billie was sort of cheer leader for the family, yelling and clapping every time one of her sisters touched the ball, and almost hovering above the ground when Trish scored, she was clapping so fast. I’d try and take her out on the bike at the weekend.

The mysterious couple it transpired were the parents of the girl whose hair got yanked by my youngest footballer. I asked Mima to apologise and she folder her arms, presenting the most sullen face I’d ever seen her pull.

The other couple weren’t too worried, he was impressed with Trish and told us he helped to run a junior team which consisted of girls and boys and he’d like her to try out for it. Trish was flattered but not that interested–we took his number in case she changed her mind. That’s Trish–a mass of contradictions.

As we walked back to the car, two men approached us, “Lady Cameron, why are you persecuting the old lady?”

I gathered the children closely to me, and told them to say nothing as we walked to the car. I shepherded the kids into the car and then found the journalist’s car was blocking me.

“Trish get footage of this, including their car number,” I called to her as she was best placed to see it.

I drove into the school, and as their car followed me, Sister Maria happened to come out and I slowed down to speak to her. “The car behind is following us, I’m pretty sure they’re tabloid reporters.”

“Whatever they are, they’re on private property so they can sling their hook.” She visibly bristled and drawing herself up to her full five foot five inches, she strode out to them and politely told them to go. When they didn’t, she told them to piss off. They got the message–sadly so did Trish on her mobile–for future use? Sometimes I wonder about that child.

The car, a large dark Vauxhall, turned round and sped off away from the school. I thanked the headmistress, who wanted to know what was happening. I explained what had happened about my car and she nodded. I got out of the car and spoke privately with her explaining my concern about the children being targets and she understood immediately. She promised to do all she could to make sure that the kids were as safe as she could make them, and she undertook to have a member of staff take a walk round the school before the morning and afternoon breaks and before the school finished at lunch or tea. If the reporters were seen, she'd report them as suspicious characters hanging round a school–the police would be there in minutes.

I thanked her and we went home by a rather circuitous route to avoid them waiting for us on the way.