The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2079 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Meems managed to wangle her way into the novelty provided by Cindy, who was once again the object of a makeover by the elder girls, but this time they included the younger ones too. Danny who’d been hanging around Cindy was offered a makeover but declined it, which was when he came and found me to grumble about it.

“What d’you find attractive in Cindy?” I asked him.

“She’s my age that’s all.”

“You realise...”

“I know she used to be a boy, but then half the women round here used to be, no biggie.”

I blushed and he noticed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Mum, I don’t think of you that way...”

“But it’s true, nonetheless.”

“Yeah, but you were already a proper woman when I met you, so to me you always were one.”

I smiled back at him, “Okay, I’d appreciate it if Cindy didn’t find out.”

“She won’t from me. I wonder if she rides a bike?”

I glanced at my watch, it was ten past eight and still light. “I don’t know about her, but I do.”

“What, now?” he gasped.

“Why not?”

“Let’s do it,” he said, and dashed off to change before I changed my mind. I spoke to Stella, telling her what I was doing and that I’d be back by nine.

“So I’m your deputy again?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you a badge for next time,” I said rushing off before she could comment. By twenty past eight, Danny and I were clipping into our pedals and off. Him being fitter and not zapped by oestrogens meant he pushed me all the way of the ten mile route we took. In a couple of years, he’ll outdo me for speed and endurance–the sacrifice of being a woman.

We raced back to the house, me beating him by a couple of seconds and we were both hot and sweaty as we put the bikes away. As we entered the house, Trish–painted like something from a French brothel–saw us in cycling clothes and began to wail that she hadn’t been invited to ride.

I dismissed her grumbles, some people want it all, but very few of us get it. I showered and checked what Alan was up to in the greenhouse. It was becoming dusk and he whispered that he’d managed some filming.

When he came back to the house having stored all his equipment in a secure shed his eyes nearly popped out when he saw me breast feeding Lizzie, Cate had noticed and was hanging onto my leg like a lovesick spaniel while yelling, ‘Mummy, Mummy’ until I felt I was going to have a headache.

“She’s not yours, is she?” he asked seeing her clad in pink–I know, not my choice.

“Why d’you think I’ve been adopting a low profile?” I said suggesting she was.

“I didn’t think you could...” he looked at me.

“There are lots of things people didn’t think I could do.”

“Wow, congratulations.”

“She’s not mine, she’s a colleague’s whose wife died tragically when tiny-wee here was but days or weeks old. He, understandably, had a bit of a breakdown and is still in hospital so I’m looking after her pro tem.”

“I’m an orphan, d’you want to adopt me?” he said smirking.

“So am I officially, though as you know, Tom unofficially adopted me.”

“A benefit to both of you,” he suggested.

“It is to me, not sure how much help we are to him.”

“I’ve telt ye tae often tae repeat it f’ Sassenachs.”

“I’m not a Sassenach, I’m originally from the Isle of Man, so I’m a Manxman.”

“Och weel that’s different.” Tom placed his arm on Alan’s shoulder and they wandered off down the garden chatting away like two old friends. I simply carried on refuelling the baby who had now nodded off while sucking. They often do, it’s one of the most comforting things a baby can do, and while attached to her breast is close to her heart as well and possibly even detects that too. Certainly, the way women carry babies, left handed–even if they are left handed, is thought to be because the baby can hear her heart beat while held against her chest or side, not because it frees up the right hand to do other things. Women apparently pick their babies up and hold them to their left sides, resting them on the hip bone when the child is larger, innately, while men carry them in all sorts of ways. When I read the article about this I was delighted to recall that I’d picked up and carried babies the female way. The funniest one was Simon, who carried Cate at arm’s length in case she puked on his jacket–she didn’t–she caught his leg instead.

Cindy seemed happy to go off to bed with the younger girls, though she undressed in the bathroom emerging in a pair of frilly pyjamas with pictures of teddy bears all over them. I read them a chapter of a Gaby story and she was hooked asking to read the book. The other girls went off to sleep while she was still reading the book.

I looked in on them an hour or so later and she was still devouring the ‘Wunderkind’ though she did promise she’d put the light off when she finished the chapter she was reading. I didn’t believe her, I thought she’d probably sneak at least one more than she said but she was on holiday and tomorrow was Sunday.

The following day, she was awake and reading avidly. I can’t remember the last time a book did that to me–held me so tight I couldn’t put it down. Mind you an article about Arctic ground squirrels in the latest edition of Mammal Review was very interesting, especially their use as indicators of climate change; as was the article about breeding success of leopards, apparently in the study area, unattached adult males kill up to forty per cent of leopard cubs, presumably to lessen competition for scarce food resources or to possibly improve success of their own offspring. Lions were the next highest killers of leopard cubs.

Sometimes predation is done by unlikely creatures, or what seem unlikely at first. During my researches on harvest mice, Micromys minutus it appears that amongst the regular predators of baby harvest mice such as stoats and weasels, were pheasants. Perhaps the next time one of them runs in front of the car I won’t feel so guilty when it gets squished.

“You could always borrow the book, you know,” I said quietly to Cindy.

“It says there are some more in the series.”

“Yes, I think we’ve got them all, but I’d like them back if you borrow any.”

“Of course, I love the story, it’s fab.”

“Especially if you like cycling.” I smiled and suggested she might like to come down for breakfast before the multitude woke up. Stepping into slippers, she followed me down still clutching the first Gaby book.

“Have you heard from your mum?” I asked her when we were in the kitchen.

“Not yet, she said she’d send me a text. This is awfully good of you to put me up.”

“You’re very welcome, now what would you like to eat?” As she was pouring herself some cereal Alan came in, he’d been filming since first light. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked me to participate as I was tired enough now. Trish and Livvie came galloping into the kitchen accusing me of stealing Cindy while they slept. Thus began another day in the Cameron household.