The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1658 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“C’mon wifey, make my sandwiches,” the voice said, I just knew that if I was poked or prodded once more I was going to either rip someone’s head off with my bare hands, or cry all over them. I was trying to work out which needed less energy when I was prodded again–that does it.

I opened my eyes and sat up quickly, taking my agitator by surprise–she let out a squeal. My blurry focus cleared to reveal Livvie crouched back against the wall her arms up to protect her face. Where had she learned that? I’d never ever hit her and I was pretty sure no one else here had either. She looked terrified.

I calmed down instantly and opened my arms, she looked at me for a moment and then came for the hug. “Sorry if I frightened you, sweetheart,” I apologised. Si walked in with a towel wrapped round his waist, I waved him away and he shrugged and went to dress in the bathroom.

“You frightened me, Mummy.”

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to–I must have been dreaming that something horrible was poking me.”

“Trish is still asleep in bed.”

It took me a moment to appreciate the joke she’d just made, “Oi, Trish isn’t that ’orrible.” She laughed in relief.

“Has anyone ever hit you?” I asked her as I cuddled her into me.

“Mummy used to sometimes, my previous mummy.”

I don’t like people hitting children, in fact I don’t like anyone hitting anyone else, even with boxing and other aggressive sports. Hitting things is wrong. Right, having made my line in the sand I noticed the clock was showing only six am. Damn, I had another hour yet before I needed to get the children up.

“What about my sandwiches?” asked Simon, and I was caught between the urge to go back to bed for sixty wonderful minutes, or get up. If I went to bed, I could cuddle Livvie, and if I got up, I could fix my husband a breakfast and hand him his sandwiches as he went off to work, him giving me a peck on the cheek as he left.

“Your sandwiches are in the box in the fridge, I’m going back to bed–you coming, Liv?”

She nodded and two minutes later we were cuddled together under the duvet, me spooned round my daughter. “Why did you come into see me?” I asked her.

“I had a nasty dream, my dead daddy was trying to come in the window–he was a zombie or something.”

“Zombie?”

“Yes, some girl in school was telling us all about some film she saw last week, it was all about zombies.”

“There’s no such thing. The original term was something to do with voodoo, a religion of the Caribbean, and it was related to people who were in a deep trance, like they were hypnotised. They follow instructions blindly, so they seem to the onlooker as if they’re dead. They’re not of course, merely in a trance.”

“What’s a trance, Mummy?”

Oh boy–don’t you just love ’em?. Now then the real answer–like I’m gonna be if I don’t get this hour’s sleep. Oh no, the clocks go forward on Trish’s birthday.

“A trance is when someone is in a state that might look like sleeping, but they’re not asleep–like someone sleep walking.”

“I’ve never seen that–sleep walking–is that like Michael Jackson?”

“No that was pretend zombies.”

“Ooh that is like, frightening me, Mummy.”

Oh poo. “Come and cuddle, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“We have a French test today–can you protect me against that?”

“Um–that is really horrible–tell you what, I’ll let you stay home from school and you can get a job down the meat factory, pulling the guts out of chickens. You don’t need to go to school for that, but nearly any other job you have to.”

“Ugh, Mummy, that was worse than zombies.”

“Yeah, the sort who work there are probably all zombies.”

“Ugh, Mummy, I don’t think I’ll eat chicken, ever again.”

“That’s a shame, darling, you’ll have to eat bread and water for tea then.”

“You’re horrible, Mummy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I was nearly asleep when she said, “They don’t really pull the guts out of chickens do they?”

“They have too sweetheart, or the meat would go all funny. You have to be careful doing it, because if the gall bladder breaks it makes the meat taste horrible.”

“You could always get a job plucking the feathers off the chickens.”

“Plucking the feathers?”

“Yes, you can’t eat a chicken or a turkey or any other bird, without pulling the feathers off it. You can’t eat the feathers.”

“Do chickens have feathers?”

Looks like I’ll be taking some kids for ride in the country this weekend. “Of course they do, all birds have feathers.”

“How do things like cats eat birds then? They swallow them whole, don’t they?”

“I think that would depend upon the bird, but most would need to tear off bits of bird, they’d probably tear the skin to get at the flesh. Foxes pluck birds they catch, so do birds of prey, and there are supposedly ways of telling the difference as who plucked what.”

“Do you know everything, Mummy?”

“Me? No I don’t. I don’t know much about anything, and even if I did, there’d still be loads I didn’t know or understand. Remember that knowing things by itself isn’t much help to anything, it’s how you use it that matters. The application is the important thing. I know how a car engine works–but that’s only in theory. I don’t know enough to be able to fix it if it stops working.”

“But the man in the garage does, doesn’t he, Mummy?”

“I hope so, darling.” I heard a car start, and Simon was presumably leaving. Was it half past already? I might as well have got up, except I wouldn’t be having this lovely cwtch with Livvie, who so often gets overlooked unless she’s fighting with Trish.

“You’re not really scared of this French test are you?”

“Not really, Mummy. Did you know, Trish speaks French like a native?”

I knew I was about to wound up, so I allowed her to deliver the punch line. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, like a native of Outer Mongolia.”

“You’d better not let her hear you saying that, she’ll have your guts for garters.” Possibly not the best thing to say, but it’s a common enough English expression. But in the context of the earlier conversation–which I was stupid enough to start–not the cleverest thing I’ve ever said to a seven year old. I just wanted her to appreciate education or lack of it has consequences.

It went quiet for a moment and I wondered if I’d have long enough for a power nap then Livvie started talking again.

“Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are the chickens alive when they pull their guts out?”