The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1518 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

In bed that night, while Simon snored and dreamt of goodness knows what, I lay there my mind buzzing instead of resting. Had I really nearly ejected my husband, the man I love, in favour of some virtual stranger?

That sounded as if I was chucking one for the other, which of course it wasn’t. Simon will always be the only man I love and wish to live with. He is at times insensitive verging on stupidity, and at other times, can be the most amazingly supportive human being in the universe.

He was wrong to insult Caroline for which he apologised, and so he should. But if he insults another transsexual woman is he also insulting me? He says not because he doesn’t see me as transsexual, he sees me as a woman who had a plumbing problem–the definition I used to describe myself to Mr Justice Kenyon, when I achieved custody of Mima and Trish–crikey, that takes me back a while. I smiled at Trish’s audacity following the judge into his chambers, but she got what she wanted. Mind you, she usually does–including SRS years before she should have done, the little minx.

My mind went back to Caroline. Why did I owe her any loyalty apart from being transsexual and going to the same school. I owed her nothing. I’d offered her a job which was probably because I felt sorry for her and also had the arrogance to believe I could change her into someone who had a bit more of a passing resemblance to a female than her current incarnation. Did I owe her anything? Not really, I’d been a convenient speaker for her Bristol group and it had gone from there.

I’d involved Julie, rightly or wrongly–I suppose she was old enough to know what she was about–and she consented agreeably to her task. She was over the moon when she realised that none of the group realised we were also transgendered. I have to confess, I was also pleased and prevented Caroline from revealing our true backgrounds. Whether or not it’s a good idea to live in stealth, ie in secret, that’s how I live as much as possible. There are those who know–there are always those who know–usually from the dim and distant past, so you can never hide things from everyone–short of annihilating everyone who’d ever had contact with your family prior to your transition, and that clearly isn’t feasible or desirable. It would probably be a teensy weensy bit illegal as well.

I wondered what impact Julie had had on Caroline’s appearance. Several visions flashed through my mind–all of them alarming. I saw her dressed as a teenager, wearing short skirt and bared midriff and vertiginous heels and bright pink hair. Then that was replaced by someone dressed in footless tights with short shorts and revealing tee shirt, her hair and makeup dramatic to say the least. Surely, Julie wouldn’t do that would she?

I listened to the beached whale beside me: how come most had haunting songs, and mine sounded like a lawn mower in need of a service? How can he sleep like a patient in a coma while I toss and turn, my mind still rushing round my head faster than the Hadron collider?

I wondered if Caroline had been honest with me–would the CRB check find anything? If so, even if I like her, she’ll be out immediately. I sincerely hoped she had been neither dishonest nor listed with a criminal record. Mind you, if she’d changed her name, would they actually know? I suppose that would be up to a court or the prosecution to fully identify her–surely she hadn’t, she seemed so positive about the whole thing.

I then wondered how the children would take to her–would they like her? Would Trish try to supervise her? Probably, she did it with Julie, who at first got some benefit from it. Of course Trish hardly sees herself as transgendered any more–I mean how together can a seven year old get? She’s more sorted than I am.

I worried that Jenny and Stella would get on with Caroline. If I was going to be working much of the time, then I’d need to be able to relax without having to come home to sort out World War 3 or one of them in a sulk which could be measured on the Richter scale.

Suddenly, I realised that Julie would be having surgery in the coming months, assuming we got two opinions to back it as appropriate. I wondered if Stephanie would be eligible to give one of them?

Next week, I start my teaching again. I’m dreading it. I feel quite anxious because I haven’t done any for ages and I haven’t really finished my teaching plans or notes. I might have to wing it somewhat–not that that is unusual for me.

The ecology was easy enough–teach them the basics and then make them try to apply it with field trips. They don’t have to be exotic, we could do one round the campus or the promenade.

I’d have to check on the latest recommendations for the number of test sites you have to do to prove a species is present, for instance I suspect it’s different for reptiles to things like dormice.

On the Today programme, their racing tip yesterday was a horse called, Dormouse. I was tempted to back it–I wish I had. It came in at 20:1–those were the odds not its arrival time.

My stupid brain–why can’t it switch off and let me sleep? If I had real worries, like one of the kids was ill or Simon was missing, I could understand it–but none of this stuff it keeps churning up is genuinely worrying me. It almost feels like it’s having a clear out, before the next crisis hits.

I awoke with a start–I hadn’t even realised I’d been asleep. I was sweating like mad and needed a pee. I’d been sitting in my car listening to the radio when someone got in the back of it. I was just about to reach round and stab them when I saw it was Simon beaming at me–and my hand acted by itself, plunging the blade into his chest while he looked on at me in astonishment and I burst into tears.

In the safety of the bathroom, I checked myself for fresh blood–there was none–so I assumed I had only stabbed Simon in my dream. Mind you when I went back to bed he seemed unusually quiet and I had to cwtch into the back of him and hear his heart beating to know he was alive. Maybe I am crazy and need to see Dr Thomas more often.

I nodded off to sleep, turning over and presenting my back to Simon, who at some point during the night rolled over and placed his arm over my waist and held me tightly. When I woke and felt him holding me, I felt safe and secure and went off into a proper sleep from which I was woken some two hours later by the gang of aliens or were they illegal immigrants, who clambered into bed with us, their cold hands and feet everywhere–even Simon gasped and swore at them. A new day had dawned, about six hours before I was ready for it.