The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1864 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I paused my reminiscence while I combed my hair, which was getting very long and needed trimming, and then dried it. I was aware of Trish watching everything I did without saying a word. I rubbed in moisturiser and checked my legs and oxters for any hair growth. She slipped off her pyjamas and did the same. I hadn’t noticed her body for a while and it was starting to take shape, her hips and bum were slightly wider and her waist slim. Her nipples were still small on a fairly flat chest, but they were slightly puckered. The low hormone dosage she was on was beginning to have an effect. I said nothing.

She showered while I roused the rest of the crew, I had a meeting in Bristol with Erin about turning my dissertation into a book. I had a spare copy with me and she had seen an electronic version already. She had a literary agent meeting us for lunch.

While the others got themselves showered and dressed, I did my makeup and hair and dressed in a suit and blouse, one which was a bit like one from the seventies, with round collar in a green boucle material. The blouse was a collarless white short sleeved affair in silk with contrast ribbon around the neck and cuffs in a green which matched the suit. I wore black court shoes and black shiny tights.

“Wow, you look nice, Mummy,” observed Livvie and the others agreed, so a vote was unnecessary.

“Where are you going, looking so smart?” asked Julie, who’d raced down the stairs, grabbed a slice of toast and her coat and headed for the door.

“I have that meeting in Bristol, remember?”

“Oh yeah, wish I was coming with you–byee,” she called to all and sundry.

Stella had agreed to collect the girls from school, so I packed my laptop and the hard copy of my work in the boot and after dropping the girls at school, dropped Phoebe at college. She can get a bus back, but not one there–crazy. She pecked me on the cheek as she went, and said, “You look really nice, Mu–Cathy.”

I thanked her and watched her enter the building before driving off to find the motorway and finally Bristol. Although I’d spent most of my life here, it wasn’t home anymore and felt a sort of remote familiarity.

We were meeting at a nice Italian restaurant near Park Street at midday, so I had an hour to check the house before I went on into town. It was in reasonable condition and the garden was well kempt and the pile of post for me was tied in a bundle on the table in the hallway. I flicked through it, keeping half a dozen items and tearing the others into pieces before dropping them into the recycling sack.

At ten to twelve I was walking from the car park to our meeting, my handbag over one shoulder and my laptop in its case in the other hand. For once it wasn’t raining, though I did have a telescopic umbrella in the laptop bag along with the hard copy of my work.

Erin was waiting for me and we had a quick hug and air kiss before sitting down at a table in the corner. She had a spritzer and I agreed for her to order one for me. A few minutes later, our literary agent arrived, one Danielle Dornleigh, who assured us she specialised in non-fiction works, having a BSc in science publishing. I didn’t know there was such a thing. She was a bit older than me and full of her own importance, dropping names like autumn leaves. Amongst the mulch of science celebrity were names such as the blessed Attenborough and St Dawkins who sits at his right hand, with the angelic Brian Cox at his left.

“Cathy is quite well known in the mammalian/ecological world as well, you know.” Erin went to my defence while I sat back and blushed. I got so warm at one point had to take my jacket off. It was then that Ms Dornleigh spotted the label in my retro jacket.

“My God, it is Chanel–your suit,” she gasped ignoring what Erin had said.

“Uh yeah,” I nodded surprised by her enthusiasm.

“I just love their stuff, I only wish I could afford to buy it. How can you on a lecturer’s salary?”

Erin jumped in, “You don’t really know much about Cathy, do you?”

Danielle blushed, “I um know she did the survey and wrote it up, which we’re here for and she did a BBC book based upon a documentary on dormice. I know she works at Portsmouth and went to Sussex university.”

“I thought you people did your homework. I’m gifting you one of the hottest names in popular science, and you can’t be arsed to have the grace to at least do some background on her. This is Cathy Watts, otherwise known as Lady Catherine Cameron, and soon to be Dr Cathy Watts.”

“Uh, Erin, the PhD isn’t confirmed yet, I have to meet the panel yet for interview.”

“Cathy, these things are just rubber stamps, if you didn’t have a chance they wouldn’t invite you to apply,” she shot back at me.

“Cameron as in the banking family?” whispered a rather shocked Danielle.

Erin nodded and smirked.

“Jeezuz, I have my mortgage with them.”

Erin’s smile got wider, I just felt embarrassed.

The meal was okay, I only had a minestrone soup and a pudding, my appetite had been affected by the company. Ms Dornleigh had to dash, thankfully, so Erin and I were able to have a latte coffee in peace.

“Despite her appearing to be a prat, she’s good at what she does, and I expect as she said, she’ll suggest how we convert the text from scientific paper to readable non-fiction book.”

“Quite honestly, I can’t say I’m that interested in working with someone who is more impressed with my clothing label than me as a person. Why did you have to tell her my married name?”

“She needed a bit of grounding.”

“So do I,” I rose and went to the loo. Coming out I spotted a face I hadn’t seen since I was in school. It belonged to one of my ex-teachers, whom I presumed to be retired from corrupting adolescent minds. His name was Chalmers, although we called him Charmless which was nearer the truth. He was with another of my ex torturers, Mr Raymond, a geography teacher.

I was tempted to speak to them, especially after they watched me walk to the toilets, I saw the reflection in one of the several mirrors that hung in the restaurant. Walking back, I heard a bit of their conversation: “Do you recall that funny kid we had, the one who kept turning up in a dress, what was his name, Potts or Watts or something?”

“Oh God yes, half the boys fancied him, probably because he was prettier than their sisters, bent as a four bob watch.”

“What happened to him, I wonder?” asked Raymond.

“Oh he did that Lady Macbeth thing, didn’t he? Perhaps he went on to become an actor or something.”

“Or a female impersonator.”

“Yeah, our very own ladyboy.” They both laughed loudly enough for a waitress to glance at them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said sitting down at their table.

“Hello, my dear, to what do we owe this pleasure?” offered Chalmers his eyes glinting.

“I couldn’t but overhear your conversation.”

“Oh, which bit was that?” asked Raymond.

“The bit about one of your former pupils, Potts or Watts, was it?”

“Oh yes, you know the little fairy, do you?”

“If it’s the person I’m thinking of, yes.”

“He was always dressing up in women’s clothes and upsetting the boys. Mind you he looked more at ease in them than he did in boy’s–so you know him?”

“I think so.”

“How does a lovely lady like yourself know weirdos like him?”

“You’d be surprised who I know. But you were wondering what he was doing?”

“Yes, d’you know?” asked Chalmers.

“Yes, she’s just completed a PhD, lectures at a university, makes films, is a mother to half a dozen children and is happily married to a peer and a millionairess in her own right, so obviously your teaching stood her in good stead.”

I watched their jaws drop as they imitated the inmates of an aquarium.

“You said, ‘she’?” queried Chalmers.

“Yes, she, she’s a woman, didn’t you know, and by all accounts a quite attractive one.”

“She’s got children?” gasped Raymond.

“Oh yes, several.”

“Bloody hell,” sighed Chalmers, “no wonder she made such a good schoolgirl.”

“Married to a peer?” said Raymond.

“Oh yes, Lady Catherine, now,” I beamed.

“Cathy, I have to go in a minute,” Erin called over to me.

“Just coming,” I called back.

“Cathy? It’s you, isn’t it?” gasped Chalmers as the penny responded to gravity.

“Perhaps, bye gents.” I said as I left them spluttering in their puddings, their eyes glued to my ample backside as I sashayed back to my table.