The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1784 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I ran as quickly as I could, but she’d bundled Trish into the boot of her car and was driving off as I entered the car park, having to jump clear as she drove at me. My own car was on the road and thankfully, I’d put the keys in my pocket rather than my handbag which was still in the solicitor’s. In less than a minute I was heading in the same direction as the Rover 75 driven by Bernadette. She had a minute or so lead on me.

We drove out of the city and onto the motorway, now I thought I had her–my extra horsepower should give me the upper hand. However, just as I drew level with her, she braked hard and turned off the motorway while I had missed the turning.

I drove on until the next turning feeling totally gutted, here I left the motorway and then rejoined it to go back to where she’d turned off. I was driving as quickly as I could but within half a mile the road became quite narrow and then I came to a crossroads.

I tried to tune into Trish, but for some reason I felt unable to do so. I’d left my phone in the solicitor’s so I couldn’t even call them to ask for assistance. I crossed the crossroads as there was no sign of tyre marks on the other road and Bernadette had been shifting so I’d almost expect to see them.

In about ten more minutes I came to a village and wondered about asking for help, then a minor miracle–I came across the local postman who was about to get into his van.

“Excuse me, d’you know which house is Bernadette Watts’?”

“I should, I’ve delivered there long enough–okay, down here for half a mile, turn left then after a hundred yards turn right and then almost immediately left again, then after the house with the big fence, turn right and that’s her drive, it’s called ‘Cinders’.

I thanked him and drove on except I’d forgotten the directions. For the next fifteen minutes I drove round and round in ever decreasing circles until by accident I saw the house with the big fence and a small sign alongside it saying, ‘Cinders’.

It soon became obvious why the house was so called, the drive was made of cinders or ash which had presumably been rolled and compressed, although in places there were small potholes.

I parked in the entrance to the drive to prevent her escaping and proceeded on foot. Her car was parked in front of the garage and I could hear her shouting and Trish crying. My heart was beating like crazy and I wasn’t sure if I felt more anxious or angry.

The yelling was coming from the garage and I tried to open it surreptitiously but the door was one of those electronic ones and it stayed closed.

As I circled the house looking for an entry point, I heard what was being said. “Why are you wearing those silly clothes, you’re not a girl?”

“I am a girl,” sobbed Trish.

“You’re not, you’re a boy and your name is Patrick.”

“I’m a girl,” insisted my sobbing daughter.

I wanted to get in there beat the woman senseless and hug Trish. I’d promised her protection and look what had happened. She’d never believe me again.

I spotted an open window, the bathroom and wonderfully outside it was the breather pipe which carried away the waste from the toilet. I ran silently up to it and heard a door slam in the house. I had to hurry.

Of all drainpipes these are the easiest to climb because they’re thicker and better fixed to the wall, and thankfully, this one was metal–modern ones are often plastic. I gave the pipe a hard tug and it didn’t move, so now I started to inch my way up it, walking up the wall as my hands pulled me against the pipe.

It felt like hours but in reality it was only minutes and drew level with the window, feeling hot and exhausted. I heard the voices again and it spurred me on. I reached in and felt for the handles on the two larger side windows. They were both locked, then I discovered the key was still in the lock for the quarter-light. I managed to remove it and with a squeeze and some effort undid one of the larger windows and finally pulled myself into the bathroom. I was hot bothered and dirty but one more yell from Trish drove away my tiredness and the next surge of adrenalin had me creeping down the stairs walking on the edge of the steps to minimise noise.

I burst into the room from which the noise was emanating just in time to see Bernadette pull Trish’s dress off, “You’re a boy,” she shouted at her.

“No she isn’t,” I said loudly making them both gasp.

“How did you get in here?” the mad woman demanded.

“You should secure your windows better.”

“Mummy,” screamed Trish and she ran to me wearing just her knickers, which Bernadette grabbed and between the two of them the panties tore and a naked Trish jumped into my arms.

“He’s a boy–see–oh my God,” she gasped as her eyes alighted on Trish’s little fanny. She went extremely pale and the next moment she’d collapsed on the floor in front of us.

Neither Trish nor I could say anything, I hugged her and she dissolved into tears in my arms. She was still sobbing when I draped her dress back over her and sent her to my car to lock herself in while I dealt with her abductor.

She was still lying on the floor groaning as I called the police and the paramedics. She’d gone down with quite a bump, so there was a chance she’d banged her head. The fact that she was groaning meant she was still breathing so I kept my distance and avoided touching anything, including the torn panties lying on the floor.

The police were there in ten minutes and the ambulance a moment or two later. I gave a statement while the one paramedic examined her and the other gave Trish the once over.

The police had been looking for Trish, so when I called they diverted two cars to answer me. The way they came running down the drive showed they were treating it with all seriousness. For a moment I nearly got arrested. My story was backed up by the solicitor and Trish was able to make some sort of statement to a very helpful family liaison officer, a twenty something, very attractive mixed race woman.

It seemed that the dopey receptionist was busy weighing the mail at the back of the room facing away from the door when Bernadette Watts entered to make an appointment and saw Trish sitting there, miles away listening to her iPod. She just grabbed her and had her out the door before Trish realised what was happening, and she was bundled into the boot of the car and driven away. She was very scared but tried to stay calm, fearing that her mother might kill her rather than let her come back to me.

Bernadette was taken off in the ambulance and I called Stephanie to come as quickly as she could. Then it was home and I called Simon while Trish slept on the couch. He left work almost immediately and agreed to collect my bag from the solicitor’s on his way home. He was apparently in such a rush he nearly forgot Sammi.

When they got home, Trish had been seen by Stephanie and after a light meal, we’d had a quick bath together to clean off the day, and I put her to bed. I was sitting with her as she slept when Simon came home, and both he and Sammi dashed up to the bedroom when David told them where we were.

We all three hugged and looked on at the sleeping child. She looked so peaceful but what the long term effects would be, we none of us knew.