The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1505 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“You know this new lady, Mummy?” said Trish’s voice from behind me.

“Which new lady is that, sweetheart?”

“The one who’s coming to mind us when you’re back at the university.”

“You mean, Caroline?”

“Is that her name?”

“Yes,”

“Do we get to interview her as well?”

“As well as what?”

“As well as you grown ups?”

As an idea, it hadn’t even entered my head, let alone what passes for a brain inside it. “Usually children don’t get to interview the home help.”

“But she’ll be looking after us, won’t she?”

“Partly, Jenny will be about much of the time and you didn’t interview her, did you?”

“No, but we were young and innocent then,” Trish continued in a rather calm way and I nearly ran into the back of the bus which had stopped in front of me. Young she might be, innocent possibly but she still runs rings round most of her elders, including me.

“We’re not doing formal interviews.”

“So how will people decide then?”

“Decide what?”

“To hire or fire her.”

“That’s my job, no one else's, so don’t start getting any smart ideas.”

“Mummy?”

“What now?”

“The bus has moved.”

I let in the clutch and felt undermined by a seven year old. Perhaps I needed assertiveness training? Or maybe just a holiday where I’m isolated from children with IQs in the thousands. She’ll keep on and keep on until she gets what she wants, so why do I try to prevent it? I might as well give in from the beginning and let her run the show–then I remember she is only seven, so that’ll have to wait until she’s ten at least.

“So do we get to interview her, Mummy?”

“No you jolly well don’t, and that’s an end to the matter. If you mention it again there will be consequences.”

“But she could be dangerous?”

“I doan wann someone who’s dange-awous,” Mima added to the noise going on in my head.

“Not half as dangerous as I am; now if you don’t button it, buster, you’ll find out why I’m deadlier than the male.”

“Is wetters dange-awous, Mummy?” Mima sounded quite frightened.

“Letters–dangerous? No of course not, why d’you think that?”

“You said you were deadwier than the post.”

“No, Meems, deadlier than the male, as in man or male creature, the usual line is the female is deadlier than the male. It applies to all sorts of insects and spiders who will kill the male, who is much smaller, when he tries to mate with her.”

“We were mating in school today,” beamed Trish.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We looked at how animals mate, did you know swans mate for life and so do albatrosses.”

“Do dohmooses mate for wife, Mummy?”

“I don’t think so, Meems, but I don’t have data to back that up–it would need lots of DNA studies to see if the same female mated with the same male over a period of time.”

“When I’m gwown up, I’m going to study dohmeeces wike Mummy does.”

Oh, that’s the first time I’d heard that particular gem.

“We watched a film of praying mantissas having sex, Mummy. It’s gross, she bites off his head while they’re doing it–sex that is–it’s true isn’t it, Mummy.”

“That’s siwwy.”

“Have you ever bitten off daddy’s head when you’re havin’ sex, Mummy?”

I managed to avoid the bus by inches.

Once we were back at home I gave them a piece of fruit and a drink sent them off to change into their play clothes and related my nightmare journey to Stella, who nearly wet herself. “Praying mantissas?” She laughed. “What is a mantissa?”

“Something in maths if I remember.”

“And she wants to interview, this Caroline?”

“Yes, so she said.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t interview you before she allowed you to adopt her.”

“She did go and see the judge, if you remember?”

“Oh God, so she did. I’d forgotten that.”

“You do when you’re old,” I said. She nodded her agreement, realised what I’d said and chased me round the kitchen.

Later the day was ended by making dinner, dealing with some of the mammal survey stuff–some bloke in Yorkshire reckoned he’d found dormice–he sent pictures–they were so unrealistic it was laughable. He’d stuck plastic mice on the door of his house and the adjacent bushes.

Simon agreed with the girls in principle over interviewing staff who’d be looking after them. I asked if customers interviewed bank staff? That would be telling, he replied. You can see where Trish gets it from.

Caroline was coming to the house to meet everyone anyway, so they’d have a chance to meet her and talk with her. I was sure if Trish had any reservations about her, she’d tell me–she’s usually pretty forthright.

Simon went rather quiet after that, unusually so. He also drank most of a bottle of wine, which he hadn’t done for a very long time. I wanted to know why, and if there was something I could do to help him, but he was asleep by the time I came out of the bathroom–almost as if he was avoiding me.

It was the next morning, the last day of school for a week for the children when I heard something on the radio. Simon had gone into work very early, which wasn’t how he’d been for some time–and I admit I enjoyed seeing more of him.

‘News is coming in that a major retail bank has possibly lost hundreds of millions of pounds which were loaned to Colonel Gaddafi two years ago. So far, no one from the bank concerned has been available to talk to us about this matter. The bank hasn’t been identified but we’ve noticed that High Street Bank plc shares have been trading at up to twenty per cent below their average yesterday.

And now for the weather...’

Oh bugger–surely it wasn’t them who lent money to that old buzzard in Libya–were the two stories the same or different ones? I’d have to see when I got home from the school run. I’d set the video to tape the rugby for him, though I saw later that Wales were beaten by three points, which would hardly cheer him up–apparently they lost the last two games because they couldn’t kick penalties–didn’t know David Beckham played rugby.

I was doing baked fish for dinner, so spent some of the afternoon flouring the fish, which was plaice, and putting it on trays in the slow oven. I did duchess potatoes to go with it and petit pois and baby carrots. I did a fresh baked rice pudding for dessert.

I got the girls as usual and gave them a biscuit and a drink–they’re always ravenous when they come home–and told them we’d wait until six for dinner, as Daddy would be home about then.

He still wasn’t home at half past six–well if his bank was in difficulty–he’d possibly be working late. I fed everyone but myself, I’d wait for Simon, surely he couldn’t be much longer?

At half past seven, I called his mobile and left a voice message.

At nine, I called Henry. Simon had left work at the usual time–he had no idea why he wasn’t home. I began to worry.