The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2303 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I collected my thoroughbred from the group of assorted carthorses after she’d showered—one advantage of being post op. I was being a little cruel in my estimation of her colleagues, they all had some idea but not much talent. There were two others who showed more skills than the rest but were still behind Danni. Effectively, she played like a boy and the others like girls. In her defence she was used to playing against boys so was more physical and committed in the contact area, and played with an element of fearlessness. I wondered if this would change as residual amounts of testosterone ran out. Only time would tell, from my own experience, my competitive spirit hasn’t diminished but possibly my capabilities have as far as cycling is concerned; some of which I appreciate is from lack of time spent on the bike.

“Coo, like your mum’s car,” called Daphne Critchell, her mum had a Kia or something like that.

“We’ve got an old one in the garage, an S type,” replied Danni.

“Dunno what that is.”

“Special, worth loadsa dosh.”

“C’mon, we’re going to be late for dinner.” I urged her to get in the car. “Most girls don’t have much interest in cars.”

“Yeah, so? They don’t have a Jaguar S type in their garage.”

“Even if they did, I suspect most wouldn’t be too interested in it. I know you’re different, the way you play football is different, so be careful because people will be watching you and putting two and two together.”

“Can’t do much about that.”

“You can’t stop people noticing things or talking, but you can reduce their opportunity to observe things by not acting so flamboyantly.”

“I wasn’t was I?”

“Look, they know you’re good, they’ll also soon realise that your family has money. That will attract attention as well.”

“I can’t help that.”

“I know, but don’t flaunt your skills or your money.” She looked suitably penitent. “Oh, by the way, I got them to pay you something.”

She was looking out of the windscreen as we drove towards home and didn’t register what I’d said. “You what?”

“They’re going to pay you twenty pounds a week for attending training and playing.”

“Wow, how did you manage that?”

“I negotiated your contract.”

“But they weren’t going to pay me anything, I mean, I’d play for nothing.”

“I know you’d play for your love of the game, in which case they’d exploit you. I decided to show that I wasn’t going to let that happen. It’s only a token amount but at least by putting their hands in their pockets, they’ll remember you’re there.”

“I’d never have been able to do that.” She looked a little crestfallen.

“This was why I was saying last night about signing the contract after we renegotiated it.”

“An’ I was pretty dumb about that, I’m sorry.”

“We’ve dealt with that for now, if you’ve learned from the experience it was worth it, if you haven’t, I shall be very disappointed.”

“Oh I’ve learned, Mummy. You’re much cleverer and sneakier than I’ll ever be.”

“That’s a back handed compliment if ever I heard one,” I said and we both laughed. Once home, it was decided by the majority, that we’d eat before Stephanie saw Danni. That subdued her a little though her buoyancy about being a semi-pro woman footballer, helped her to grab a little kudos during the meal. Of course there was some teasing as well.

“If Wayne Rooney gets a hundred and fifty thou a week, you should be worth at least twice that.” Sammi gently pulled her younger sibling’s leg.

“I am, but I’m giving most of it to Mummy to hold for me, so I can retire at fourteen and have a big house and flash cars.”

“You won’t be able to drive ’em,” declared a triumphant Trish who’d finally managed to get into the conversation.

“I’ll pay a chauffeur,” was the reply.

“You can pay for your own boots as well,” I said quietly.

Danni and Stephanie disappeared into my study and I had a crafty nurse of Emily before I organised the clear up of the splendid meal David had cooked. It was pork cooked in a cider and cream sauce with apple and mushrooms. It was served with rice and baked tomatoes.

“Are the Chinese leaving you alone now?” I asked Sammi.

“For the moment. The usual source of trouble is Russia, since Ras has been president again, it’s got worse.”

“Ras?” asked Simon and Sammi and I sniggered. “C’mon, what’s the joke?”

“Who’s president of Russia?” I asked.

“That little pygmy, the balding one who fancies himself more than Narcissus did.”

“Yeah, but what’s his name?”

“Putin.”

“So add the Ras.”

“Eh?”

“If you prefix his name with Ras, what d’you get?”

“Eliminated?”

“Very funny.” The cheeky sod had got it the first time.

“Why do the Chinese want to attack you?”

“They like to gather information and it isn’t a group of hackers, it’s organised by the government. They start at the same time every day and finish at the same time. Typical civil servants.”

“But why attack the bank?”

“They want to buy us out.”

“To money launder?”

“Primarily, but they also need western currencies.”

“I thought the Russians did as well?” I continued to try and improve my understanding.

“They do but invading Ukraine doesn’t seem a good way to get it.”

“Couldn’t it all boil up into a war?”

“Don’t think anyone has the stomach for a major conflict,” was Simon’s take on things.

“So they’ll take out sanctions on a couple of dozen men?”

“Yep—all symbolic.”

“I suppose the Russians overrunning the Ukraine’s naval headquarters was symbolic too?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Einstein, if you understand what’s happening there, please explain to me why the Malaysian aircraft disappeared?”

“Oh that’s easy, it ran out of fuel and crashed into the Indian Ocean.”

“Si, that explains how it disappeared not why.”

“I don’t know that bit, do I?”

Obviously.

“Probably shot down by Pistorius.” He said a moment later.

“What?”

“The bullet he shot through the roof of the car finally hit something.”

Sammi sniggered and shook her head.

“He shot down an airliner with a handgun firing dum dum bullets?” I asked him.

“Yeah, it was only flying at five thousand feet.”

“He was hundreds of miles away.”

“Thousands,” Sammi corrected me.

“Yeah, it was a lucky shot.”

“The shot through the car roof was a long time ago.”

“I told you, it was a lucky shot.”

Sometimes I wonder what goes on between his ears. However, as the mystery over the missing airliner continues, Simon’s theory has as much credibility as some of the more outlandish ones. I suspect we may never know quite what happened other than it cost the lives of hundreds of innocent people, which to my mind will never be justified and is pure mass murder.

“Have they found the plane yet?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“So they may well have hijacked it to fly off to Venus.”

“Is that before or instead of Pistorius shooting it down?”

“Yeah,” he said and left the kitchen chortling to himself.

“I sometimes worry about Daddy,” said Sammi pouring us some tea.

“Only sometimes?” was my response.