The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2356 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Marc, it looks as if you’ve done pretty well for yourself as well.” I offered, thinking we’d talked enough about me.

“I’m not complaining, Char—I mean, Cathy.”

“What did you tell your parents to get the picture?”

“Oh that? I just asked for the photo of the girl he took helping us when we were flooded.”

“Didn’t he ask why?”

“Of course, I told him I’d bumped into her again and was seeing her for dinner.”

“And?”

“He said to pass on their regards and that you were welcome at their house any time.”

“That’s very kind of them.”

“They really liked you because you were the only kid from school who came and helped us.”

I blushed and shrugged my shoulders.

“Aye, oor Cathy is a regular guid Samaritan.”

“I can quite understand that, Professor. She helped me with English and Biology when we were in school, and I helped her with maths.”

“Sae ye were friends?”

“Yeah, I got a bit of stick for it at times but I was big enough to hold my own and they left me alone. Sadly, they didn’t always with Charlie, did they, kiddo?”

“I survived.”

“They say girls are tougher than boys.”

I shrugged.

“Have you never married?” asked Stella.

“Never found the time or the right girl. How Cathy has found time to do all she’s done astonishes me.”

“I’ve an army of slave labour, all these children think they’re here because we love ’em, they’re here to work, I have them up chimneys an down the mines before and after school every day,” I joked.

“Not just the children,” complained Stella and Simon nearly choked on his wine. I guess just one more example of empty vessels making the most noise.

“Goodness, look at the time, I’ve still got stuff to do to your system tomorrow, Professor.”

Daddy nodded.

“If you do what I suggested it should all feed back through the server to your satellites.” For a moment I assumed Sammi was talking about Star Wars or something, then realised she was talking computers.

“I might just try it.”

“It’ll work, I promise you.”

“Yeah, okay. Better go, thanks for a great evening, lovely to catch up with my first ever girlfriend again.” He pecked me on the cheek and went off to his car, a large BMW, I think. I waved him off and watched his car disappear up the road.

Clearing up Sammi helped me carry some of the dishes out to the kitchen. “So, whaddya think?” I asked.

“Pretentious dick.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, the I’ve got a PhD stuff. He might well have one but I could have sorted your system quicker, he hasn’t got a clue.”

“Oh.” I had no idea if that was the case or not, except Sammi wouldn’t lie to me normally, so I believed her.

“Sounds like you need to finish your degree and do some contracting.”

“Nah, the degree bit, yeah—part time stuff is slow, but I’ll get there. Contracting—no way, too uncertain, besides I like working at the bank dealing with cyber attacks and so on—it’s a new challenge each day.”

“Glad you like it, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I learned my lesson before when people, including me, thought I was something that I wasn’t really.”

“You mean the modelling?”

“Absolutely, I’m so glad I escaped all that.”

“You’d have made a very beautiful model.”

“Yeah, but at what price?”

I smiled pleased she’d seen a little bit of wisdom and used it.

“How come they never asked you, Mummy?”

“Meee? Too short, too ugly and too fat.”

“I suppose you may be a bit short but you’re beautiful and have a super figure.”

“I don’t think so and besides I don’t want to be a walking clothes horse. I’d much rather count dormice.”

The phone rang. “Who on earth is that at this time of night?” It was half past ten.

“It’s for you, Cathy,” called Stella, who characteristically had disappeared as soon as any work was required.

“Hello?” I said into the handset.

“Oh hi, Cathy.”

“Erin? It’s a bit late for social calls isn’t it?”

“This is not social, Lady C, this is business. I’ve just had the BBC on the line.”

“Yeah, so?”

“They’ve got an article on dormice coming up on the Today programme tomorrow, could they do a telephone interview with you as an expert?”

“What time? Remember I have to get my girls to school.”

“About quarter past eight.”

“I suppose so, what’s it about?”

“I’ll email you the brief now.”

I rang off and went to my computer. As I anticipated it was about a development on an area which contained dormice. Nothing new there then, but instead of listening to one of the Today presenters chewing up some politician, I was going to be in the firing line—oh boy. Why do I do these things? I’ll probably be awake all night now.

I read the brief again and then did some research on the internet on the place concerned. I checked with our data base, there was a definite for dormice and also some rare orchids. I checked the local university data base, they had loads of information on it and I read it with great interest. At least now I’d be able to offer a reasonable argument against the development, especially as there was a site of equal size available on a derelict factory two miles away, so why couldn’t they build there?

“Are you coming to bed?” asked Simon as I read through the data I’d printed off.

“In a minute.”

“Good.” He turned and left. I started going through the text with a couple of different coloured hi-lighter pens, trying to make things easier to find. Essentially, I’d have a minute or two to make my case, although the confirmed presence of dormice should mean the planning authority will reject the application, sadly what should happen and what does happen aren’t always the same thing. I wonder who’d be up against me for the development—some big-shot barrister or equivalent. Oh well.

“You said, ‘a minute,’” said Simon from the doorway.

“Mmm,” I continued my highlighting.

“It’s now twenty, stop that and come to bed.”

“Yeah,” I replied without listening.

“Cathy, come to bed.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Catherine—NOW.”

I almost dropped my pen. “You sounded just like my mother.”

“Eh?”

“She always used my full name when she was cross with me.”

“Well come to bed then.”
I put the cap on the pen and stood up. “I’m coming.”

“What were you doing anyway?”

“Some stuff for an argument I’ll have to put tomorrow.”

“Argument?”

“Yeah, as in argument for or against something.”

“I see, and what is this argument for or against?”

“Trying to stop a developer using a site which has dormice on it.”

“Oh, which one?”

“There’s more than one mouse, and I don’t know them all individually, you know.”

“Doh—which developer?”

“Hang on—Nuhouse, or something.”

“Oh dear.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s one of our clients—a big client.”

“This should prove interesting, then.”

“Shouldn’t it.”