The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1698 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“If I tak’ ye fa lunch, ye’ve to agree no greetin’ the day.”

“Okay, Daddy, I promise not to greet anyone.”

“Och, ye scunner, ye ken fine weel whit it means.”

“Okay, I won’t cry all over your curry, that better?”

“Aye, I’ll see ye in heff an’ oor.”

I hadn’t planned on going to lunch other than a flying visit to the refectory for a sandwich and a cuppa, both of which are passable and reasonably priced. Instead I’d have a tuna jacket potato–hmm, I could quite fancy that today. Tom had called me about something else–the meeting on Friday–and when he offered to pay for lunch, I assumed he wanted me there for a reason. I looked at the letter from the United Nations again. I wondered if the two were connected. Too bad, I gave my answer last time, I haven’t changed my mind.

I dealt with the rest of the post and freshened my lipstick, checked my hair and wandered up to his office, the offending letter in my handbag. I offered to drive as he was wanting his usual glass of Guinness–though how he could drink that stuff was beyond me.

I took us to his usual luncheon venue and we were shown to his usual table and he ordered his Guinness and an orange juice with lemonade for me. When those came, he pretended to peruse the menu only to order his chicken curry with rice and I held to my original idea of a tuna jacket. While they went off to fish for the potato or dig up a tuna fish, we chatted.

“So what was the reason for inviting me out to lunch?!

“I prefer tae eat wi’ someone, why?”

“I thought I might have to sing for my lunch.”

“Nah, I’ve hear’d ye in yon bath–nae thanks.”

“So that’s it, you just wanted my company?”

“Aye, whit’s wrang wi’ that?”

“Nothing.”

“Guid, here comes oor food an’ I’m starvin’.”

He tucked into his curry with gusto as I tried to eat my jacket spud as elegantly as I could, until I dropped some into my lap, which of course missed the serviette and landed on my velvet trousers.

He chuckled, “Aye, watch ye dinna drap ony.”

I blushed as I cleaned up my little mess, licking my finger and scraping at the mark before wiping it with the paper serviette. I became aware of him watching me, “What’s the matter I asked, noticing he had a faraway look in his eye.

“Nothin’,” he replied.

“Yes there is, what is it?”

He blushed and avoided my gaze, “Och it’s nothin’, it’s jes’ ye minded me o’ ma Celia, ye looked jes’ like her.”

I smiled at him and placed my hand on his, “If I do, then I regard it as a great compliment.”

He went beet red and finally gave me an embarrassed smile, “Aye, it wis meant as ain.”

We finished eating and I asked for a cuppa, he opted for an espresso coffee–one of those would have had me bouncing off the ceiling with the caffeine hit. I reached in my bag for my handkerchief–well okay–a tissue, when my hand brushed against the envelope. “D’you anything about this?” I asked passing him the envelope.

He took it glanced at the logo on the front of the envelope and then extracted and read the contents. “When did this arrive?”

“This morning.”

“I thocht ye telt them ye’re no interested.”

“So did I.”

“Sae, who’s reminded them o’ye, I wonder.”

“I have no idea, but my answer is the same–I’m not interested.”

“Hae ye daen onythin’ yet?”

“No, I thought I’d speak to you first.”

“Because ye thocht I wis responsible?”

“Something like that,” now it was my turn to go red.

“Aye, weel it wisnae me.”

“Gareth?” I queried.

He shrugged, “Esk him.”

“I could I suppose, except I’d hate to scare him off when things between him and Stella look a bit better.”

“Dinnae esk him then.”

“It couldn’t be Sussex again, could it?”

“Ye mean, Ezzie Herbert?”

“Yes.”

“Could be, I’ll esk around.” He glanced at his watch, “Drink up yer tea, I’ve a meetin’ in ten minutes.”

I dropped him off at the university, only this time I had my laptop with me and drove home immediately afterwards. When I got home, Jacquie was rushing round like a headless chicken.

“What’s the matter?” I asked as I entered the house.

“It’s Puddin’, we can’t find her.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes, of course we have.”

“Let me change and I’ll go looking for her, you keep a watch on Fiona and Catherine. Where’s Stella.”

“She’s out looking for her.”

If I knew Stella, she’d be frantic and wouldn’t be able to see the child standing in front of her. I rushed upstairs and pulled off my trousers and shoes and pulled on a pair of jean and trainers, swapping my blouse for a tee shirt and a pullover on top. There was still a coolness in the breeze.
I decided I’d start at the top of the house and work down. I could hear Stella calling out in the drive. I couldn’t believe she was outside, but then she could be inside and in danger: children do such silly things like falling asleep in washing machines.

I went up to the attic rooms and checked everywhere. She wasn’t there. Down to the next floor, and I started with the children’s rooms–she wasn’t there, I checked my own, she hadn’t got stuck in the wardrobe and fallen asleep. I looked in Tom’s–or would have done but his room was locked–unusual, we never lock bedrooms.

I went into Stella’s suite and checked everywhere there, she wasn’t under the bed or stuck in a cupboard or even in her own bed. Then downstairs and once again, she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Stella came in and we hugged. She was crying and certain she’d never see her baby again. I asked Jacquie to make her cup of tea. While she was doing so, I asked her if she’d changed some of the beds today as I’d asked her. She told me she had. I asked which ones–her answer, Tom, Stella and Danny. An idea was forming.

“Was Tom’s room locked?”

“When?”

“When you did the bed?”

“’Course not, I wouldn’t have been able to do it, would I?”

“Because it was just now when I tried it.”

“I didn’t lock it, I didn’t know it did lock.”

“Calm down, I wasn’t accusing you.” I looked at Stella, “I might have solved our problem.”

“You’ve found her?”

“I might have done, I need a newspaper and a hair grip.”

We tried banging on the door and calling her and all we got were whimpers in return, Stella asked her to unlock the door but it was obviously beyond the wit of a frightened toddler to do. So I did what I watched my dad do when a neighbour’s kid locked himself in their bathroom–remember Dad was very practical.

I slipped the newspaper under the door and then began working at the key. It took me about ten minutes to work the key into a neutral position and push it out of the lock, it falling with a metallic ping on the floor. I pulled through the newspaper and recovered the key and unlocked the door. Stella was through and into the room in a moment, two ticks later she was back out with her elder daughter.

I left them to their reunion and went in search of that brain food, a cuppa and plain chocolate digestive.