The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1591 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“So you offered her the job, just like that?” asked Simon.

“She was the only applicant,” I said, justifying my action.

“Isn’t that a little suspicious in itself?”

“I saw the advert, I thought it looked okay,” Stella offered.

“There’s two and a half million unemployed in this country and the only applicant is a bloody Lithuanian?”

“Latvian,” Stella and I said together.

“Whatever–what if she’s a Russian agent?”

“I’m having that checked.”

“With the CRB–just great, as if they’d recognise a terrorist if they saw one?”

“Um–yes, with them, along with MI5, MI6, CIA and FBI, plus anyone else Jim can think of.”

“Oh,” he blushed, “I’ll ask our contacts if there’s anything going down over here, could be a sleeper.”

“Oh she’ll sleep here, same as the others did.”

“No, Cathy, a sleeper–a term from espionage, it means...”

“An agent in deep cover who becomes operative as demand requires, maybe after several years.

“If you know what I meant why did you ask?” Simon sounded rattled.

“Who stole your dolly?” I said to him.

“What are you on about?”

“Never mind,” I said rolling my eyes and Stella smirked.

“Are we going to see Julie tonight?”

“Yes, the girls want to come as well.”

“Well why don’t you take them and I’ll stay home and guard the house.”

“Stella and Tom are here as well you know?”

“Yes, Babes, but we make such a good team–the three m...”

“Muppets,” I offered before he could do more than start the word.”

“Well if we are musketeers, he’s definitely Porkous,” Stella said and looked away.

“I thought it was Porthos,” I said, then looking at Simon’s growing waistline, wondered if she might be more correct.”

“Yeah, I think I could see myself filling Oliver Reed’s shoes.”

“I thocht he played Athos,” said Tom, “Frank Finlay wis Porthos.”

“How did you remember that, Daddy?” I asked in admiration.

“Och, it wis on o’er Christmas, ye didnae see it?”

“No–you know I didn’t–I was too busy trying to...”

“Play matchmaker,” Simon said without any emotion.

“I’m going to do jacket potatoes for dinner–sadly they’ll have to be microwaved ones–or we’ll be late getting into see Julie.”

“Okay, you lot who wants pizza?” called Simon and got loads of yeses from the other room.

“Okay, you can order them–I’m doing a jacket spud, Stel?”

“Please,” she nodded.

“Och, no, I’ll jes’ hae a pizza wi’ a’ on.”

“Okay, Tom, one pizza with everything coming up,” Simon picked up the phone and began dialling. I hate the bloody things, I mean I could have melted some cheese on cardboard if they really liked it that much. I popped two spuds in the microwave, set it for ten minutes on full and also set the grill on the combi oven, so they do taste a bit better than just microwaved. Then I nuked them.

Stella and I had finished before the pizzas arrived, we had cheese and salad–the others had–it makes me feel ill just to think about it–total crap–and about as Italian as chop suey.

Thankfully the girls wolfed down their unmentionable fast food and while they were doing so, I laid out an outfit for each of them. I changed quickly and then supervised them, it’s not just boys who forget to wash their necks. Finally we got to the hospital only ten minutes late, that mainly because Simon wanted to argue about some old film which I’d never heard of. Tom had, and they eventually looked it up on Wiki–they were both wrong apparently.

Driving to the hospital, I recalled another film in which Oliver Reed starred, one based upon a story by H.E. Bates, The Triple Echo which I saw after much searching once I heard, a man disguises himself as a woman to evade the MPs who were looking for him–he’d deserted from the army during WWII.

Sadly, he still looked like a bloke in a dress, but given that most of the others one saw on TV or film were send ups, so this was at least a straight role. I suppose I was impressed at the time and wished I could have played the part–or better still, Glenda Jackson’s part–brilliant actress.

I cautioned the girls that we’d be sent out if they made too much noise, and I think we should have been, only two visitors to a bed, but after a little time they were dotted round the ward talking to the three other patients who’d been put into Julie’s four bedder. Two of the ladies had no visitors, so Trish and Mima soon sorted out that deficit and came back munching grapes and sweets. Livvie soon defected, much to Julie’s amusement and also came back a little later with eatables.

Julie was still having the dreaded injections to prevent DVT and flashed an elegant ankle in her white elastic stockings–oh how it brought it all back to me. I wondered if she’d find jeans uncomfortable for a while, I know I did–just too hard on a tender spot.

She looked really well and although she was complaining about the food, non residue diet–I remember it well–yuck.

“We just ’ad pizza,” declared Trish, who knew it was a favourite of Julie’s.

“Shut up,” said Julie tersely.

“I had ham and pineapple on mine, Mima had three cheese and...”

“Shut up,” said Julie through her teeth.

“Gramps had everything...ouch,” Trish rubbed her head where the pack of tissues had hit her. “What ya do that for? Mummy did you see...”

“Well shut your big gob then.”

“Mummy...”

“Trish you were beginning to annoy your sister.”

“Ha, I didn’t make all this fuss when they did my operation,” she said in disgust, and went visiting the other patients, just before we left she came back and in full view of Julie ate a small bunch of grapes with great deliberation after which she flung the stalks at her big sister and ran off giggling.

“That wasn’t very nice throwing bits of grape stalks at Julie, was it?” I suggested once we were back in the car.

“She asked for it.”

“Trish, you were tormenting her, talking about food.”

“I was trying to cheer her up,” Trish protested.

“Like hell,” said Livvie and I reprimanded her, so all I needed to do now was annoy Mima and the three of them would be sitting there pouting and sulking on the back seat of the car.

We returned home via the supermarket, we needed more milk, and then it was time to get them into bed after a biscuit and glass of cow juice–hence the stop at the supermarket. On coming downstairs I discovered Tom and Simon were still talking about films and looking them up on Wiki to see if they got the various facts correct.

Stella made some tea, and after drinking it I went to bed and read my most recent acquisition of the Donna Leon novels about Commissario Brunetti. I was well lost in my imaginary world of Venetian canals and historic palaces when Simon came up to bed.

“How was Julie?”

“Okay,” I replied irked by his disturbing me.

“Good, is she using her iPad?”

“Yes,” I said, my irritation showing.

“Good book is it?”

“Simon, shut up and go and take a long soak in the tub will you?”

“Oh great, here I am asking about our children and she forsakes me for some bloody Dago in Venice.”

“Don’t be so racist, darling, besides Dagos come from Spain.”

He slapped his hand against his forehead, “I don’t know why I bother–I really don’t,” he muttered as he went into the bathroom while I chortled from behind my book.