The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1856 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Halloween and looking for shadows–um–I’m not superstitious, honest. I checked everywhere I could without disturbing the occupants of their rooms. The big girls were still chatting away in Julie’s room and hadn’t seen the cat, as it wasn’t yet midnight, I simply asked them to keep the noise down.

Our room had the door shut so did all the others except the girl’s room. The little bugger had to be in there. I crept in and tried to check it out without more than the light from the landing which only showed outlines. I couldn’t find her, the little monster.

I gave up some twenty minutes later and went to bed, Simon was already there and reading my book. “This is quite good, you ought to read it,” he said and I just glared as balefully as I could. “I’d be careful if I were you, if the wind changes you might stay like that.”

“Smart-arse,” was my endearment to him as I got into bed, wishing that I’d chosen to learn the bagpipes for when he wanted to sleep. Knowing my luck, he’d approve and go all Scottish on me, like some second generation immigrant to Canada or the US who seem to be far more interested in their roots than those of us who still live in Blighty.

I suppose that I’ve lived all my life in Southern England although technically my parents were Scots and so am I by birth, I’ve thought of myself as British, cheering on anyone from the four nations when anything sporting has been going on. Mind you, I think the thought of bagpipes probably frightens me more than Si.

“She writes quite well, this Donna Leon,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know, some bastard keeps stealing my books,” I said turning away from him.

“Yeah, you gotta watch those buggers.”

“One of them lost one of my books,” I whined.

“Alright, I’ll get you another if you tell me which one it was.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s a book isn’t it, a book is a book is a book.”

“She’d signed the one you lost.”

“I’m sure I can get you another one signed by her.”

“I’ll bet you can’t.” I pouted to myself and decided to ignore him for the rest of the night. I mean, what d’you when someone takes the book you’re reading and starts reading it themselves. It just isn’t cricket.

I eventually fell asleep but dreamt that Simon had gone to Venice to ask Ms Leon to sign a copy of the book and she refused telling him she’d signed one already and it served him right if he’d lost it. He argued with her, saying it wasn’t his fault he’d left it on the train, they’d been told to evacuate it post haste because there was a fire risk and he’d grabbed his coat and brief case and forgotten the book. He told Sammi off for not reminding him–she’d had a handbag, a coat and a laptop to worry about.

I woke needing a wee, so remembered the silly dream, playing it in my head for a second time to see what it meant–and I think my conclusion was–bugger all. I lapsed back into my comatose state and slept through until the alarm woke me the next morning. I can’t say I felt that refreshed though, because I woke thinking about Cortez, somebody on the radio was on about all these drug killings in Mexico, thousands of them over the past few years. My initial thought was, well perhaps Portsmouth isn’t that bad after all, then I thought of Cortez and hoped James and his friend were okay.

I meant to ask Si about it, see if he had any further communication but he’d gone to work. I have to admire Sammi; most teens act as if they’ve been super-glued to their beds, but she seems able to rise with the lark and go off to work. The bank is paying her about thirty five thousand, which seeing as she isn’t a graduate, is quite a good salary. Simon also gets them to pay for her season ticket on the train, so she does really well out of them. Then again, she’s turned their computer department upside down and shown up the security staff to be past their sell by date, digitally if not otherwise.

As I showered I recalled Simon telling me how she showed them up. She’d shown Simon that the security of his bank account wasn’t very good by hacking into it. He was quite understandably upset about it and got her to go to town with him. They had a meeting with the head of IT and then with the team of so-called internet security. Their leader was asked to the meeting and Si laid into him about complacency and incompetence. The man, Paul Connolly, claimed that the bank was secure and Simon challenged him to prove it.

Over the next week, Sammi hacked the bank every day and they seemed unable to stop her. Simon sacked the whole team the following week and appointed new ones who did manage to stop Sammi, half the time. The new team leader admitted she was good. The head of IT offered her a job and the rest is history.

When they came home that evening, I told Simon where I had found the kitten–sleeping curled up with Trish–when I went to wake the girls. Trish was totally unaware she’d been visited. I on the other hand was going to make sure the kitchen door was closed tonight before we went to bed.

“Oh you found her then?” was all he said.

“Yes, on Trish’s bed, they were curled up round each other.” He chuckled. “It’s not funny, I spent twenty minutes trying to find the little horror last night.”

“Was she causing a problem?”

“No.”

“Why worry, then?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What isn’t?” he asked patiently.

“She knows she’s not supposed to come upstairs at night.”

“Don’t tell me, you had a long and meaningful conversation with her about it?”

“Si, she’s a kitten.”

“Exactly.” He went off to change and I wanted to sulk. I felt like I’d just been made to stand outside the headmistress’s room for talking in class or something equally banal.

“You okay, Mummy?” asked Sammi.

“Yes, dear, just a bit tired.”

“Oh, Daddy got you this.” She handed me a bag containing a book.

“Why thank you,” I hugged her and pecked her on the cheek which made her blush. I wondered why he hadn’t given it to me himself.

I opened it expecting it to be an unsigned copy but to my surprise, it had been signed by the author.

Si came back downstairs, “Oh, I see Sammi gave you the book.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Notice it was a signed copy?”

“Yes thank you.”

“So why the long face?”

“It isn’t the one you lost.”

“No, I know that, this is one they got signed for you specially.”

“No, Simon, it isn’t the same.”

“I know, this one is to Cathy, if you look.”

“I saw that, Si.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“It’s the wrong book.”

“No, it’s a Donna Leon book.”

“But not the same one as you lost. That was ‘Suffer the little children’, this one is ‘Aqua Alta’.

“Well how was I to know?” he sighed and made a tactical withdrawal.