The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2443 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Leavin’ on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again...” trilled Danni, getting sniggers from her younger siblings, although she was singing in tune in her soprano voice. It seemed that the last person to have their voice break in our household was Simon.

I awoke from my violin concerto induced slumbers and opened my eyes, hence I knew Trish and co were sniggering. Thankfully, the object of their amusement wasn’t aware or we’d have had some snappy comments. I glared at them and they went back to watching whatever was on the in flight televisions.

Waking up, I felt a need to get rid of the cuppa I’d had at the airport, and dumping the sleeping Lizzie into Danni’s arms, I rose and walked down the corridor to the toilet. Both of the conveniences had short queues, mainly women, so I carried on up to the tail of the machine and tagged on to the end of the queue.

I chatted with two women, then one woman and finally it was my turn to enter the sliding door and relieve myself. That felt better and after a wash of my hands, I opened the door only to be confronted by a nightmare. Before me stood Cortez, how the hell...? Then I saw the young man holding his arm and finally, Cortez was wearing handcuffs. He was being extradited, but on our flight—I’d get Jason to complain about that to the Justice Department.

Before I could say anything, he hit the young copper in the guts and then in the face. I stood there shocked before he shoved me backwards into the loo and grabbing some old lady’s walking stick he jammed the door shut.

“Gonna kill you this time,” he spat trying to get his hands around my throat. I managed to get my arm in the way and try as he might he couldn’t strangle me, though my arm was hurting from the pressure of the cuffs.

There was banging on the door and angry voices ordered him to open the door and come out. He swore back at them in Spanish while I struggled to stop him hurting me. I thought I could hear Simon’s voice but surely the police would deal with this attack.

Cortez pulled back from me. I was sprawled on the toilet whilst he leant back against the washbasin. Next moment, he slapped me across the face in a two handed movement which had me seeing stars. I could taste blood in my mouth and my eye seemed to be swelling up. He went at my throat again and once again I got my arm up. He went to hit me again but this time I saw it coming and punched him in the groin. He gasped and grunted something at me before he tried to kill me again with renewed vigour.

As I tried to fight him off I began to feel he was winning, he was stronger and standing, using his body weight to force his hands towards my throat. The banging on the door began afresh, and somehow the walking stick was dislodged. The door was ripped open and Cortez was dragged out by Simon. I heard two blows before he returned to rescue his sobbing wife from the toilet.

He walked me back to my seat, and I saw two policemen rolling Cortez on his face whilst they relocked his hands behind him. Walking me back, Simon was applauded by the other passengers and a trolley dolly asked me if I’d like a drink. I didn’t, I wanted to go home. She handed me some painkillers and a glass of water, then a few minutes later, returned with an ice pack.

Simon returned to sit beside me, he had a large brandy in his hand which was shaking slightly. I glanced at him and thanked him for rescuing me. He smiled and said, “Anytime.” It was then I noticed his bruised knuckles and grazed fingers. “Took me moment to get the door open,” he added and kissed me on the side of my face. Once the stick had been dislodged he broke the lock simply by dint of his strength, probably helped by adrenaline once he knew I was in there with that monster.

Somehow Lizzie slept right through the flight and a short while later, so did I, with Simon’s protective arm around me. Of course on arrival at Southampton, we were all asked to remain seated while police boarded the plane and Cortez was taken off and shoved into a police van. Then it drove off and we were invited to gather our belongings and leave.

If only...we were intercepted by the airport police and escorted off to an interview room. We had to give statements individually together with our names and address. After that I was interviewed for half an hour before they let me go to my waiting family and the taxi which had first brought us to the airport three weeks before and had returned to collect us.

I still had the ice pack in my hand as I clambered inside and sat next to Trish. Danni held onto a wriggling Lizzie who wanted my breast. I fed her on the journey home while the others pretended it was an everyday occurrence. It was, but the situation had changed from the house to this minibus taxi.

An hour after returning home we had the police at the door. They wanted to know why Simon had to hit him so hard. “The bastard tried to kill my wife, he was lucky I only wanted to disable him, part of me felt like killing him.”

I think they secretly sympathised with him, except they couldn’t say so. I’d deliberately not allowed Trish near my face which was turning nice shades of purple and black and my left eye was swollen and closing. They took photographs and suggested I see my doctor or went to the hospital. Once again I described how he tried to kill me before Simon stopped him.

“You realise he’s lost several teeth and you broke his nose and one cheekbone,” the most senior copper informed Simon who shrugged.

“If it were your wife in there how would you react?” Si threw back at the copper.

“It’s about excessive use of force.”

“He’d hurt one of you lot, he was trying to murder my wife. I don’t consider I used excessive force. I feel I was well within my rights to hit him harder, and if I see him again, I probably will.”

“Now, your lordship, I don’t think threats will help your argument one bit.”

“Well, I hope you remember about all this when some bastard grabs your wife and tries to kill her. Then you might have some idea what we’re talking about because at the moment you’re talking through your arse.”

Funnily enough they left soon afterwards, just as Jason arrived to organise our legal defence and counter petitions. He took loads of photos of my face, he also said as it was sub judice he’d put a blocking order on the press. All they were allowed to print was report of an assault on a fellow passenger by a prisoner being brought back to the country under police escort. Once they knew who it was, they’d be around the gate in herds. The gates were locked.