The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1381 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“What are you looking so smug about?” Simon asked as I came out of the bathroom and donned my nightdress.

“Nothing, why?”

“I suppose it’s having Iain here, is it?”

“Iain? Oh, McPherson–no–I’ll be seeing him every day for the next week or so–by that time I’ll probably be sick of the sight of him–he certainly will of me.”

“Hmmm, curiouser and curiouser, said Alice.”

“Look, it’s nothing, okay–just a conversation I had with Danny–it’s nothing.”

“C’mon, spill the beans, Watts–tell Uncle Simon–I am his adopted father.”

I got into bed and said, “It really is nothing.”

“So, most of your conversation is but it doesn’t usually stop you telling me things.”

“You cheeky sod, just because I don’t spend all day shafting the public to pay my obscene bonuses, it doesn’t mean I’m a nothing.”

“I was joking, all right–sorry–I didn’t mean it, really I didn’t.”

“Danny gave me a hug and kiss when I wished him goodnight–that’s all.” I turned over and faced away from Simon. He put his arm round me but I didn’t acknowledge it.

“Danny did?”

“Yes, Danny.”

“Okay–I can see why you were pleased with yourself. What brought that on?”

“I didn’t stop to ask–it would have spoilt the moment.”

“Probably for the better.” He fell silent for a while. “Be interesting to see if he does it again.”

“Maybe.”

“What d’you mean?”

“It would depend upon the circumstances–tonight he was winding down ready to sleep–it might be weeks or months before I see him like that again.”

“You could always go and tuck him in.”

“That would be contriving things then, this was spontaneous. I'd rather wait a couple of years for another like tonight than manipulate him into doing it every night because it was expected.”

“Yeah, okay–you’ve made your point.”

“Of all the kids, except Julie, I see least of him because he does a lot of his stuff out of the house–I don’t know his friends or what he gets up to–other than so far no one has reported him to us or the school for anything. He doesn’t confide in me–well not much anyway–he has a good relationship with Tom–he loves the garden and seems to enjoy his time with Tom: but he doesn’t spend much time with me.”

“Because you’re his mother and he’s a boy–a normal boy, not a mummy’s boy–so I wouldn’t expect him to say much to you unless he had to.”

“I admit I find it difficult to get along with boys–too many negatives from my past, I suppose.”

“They’d pull your pigtails, would they?”

“Sure–actually–I had my ponytail pulled a few times.”

“Oh yes, you had very long hair didn’t you?”

“For a supposed boy child, yes.”

“I think we can ignore that classification–don’t you–not many boys I know have some of these,” he began stroking my breast.

I woke up a little tender–just as well I wasn’t cycling anywhere today. I showered and got the girls up and called Danny and Julie. She came down clutching her head–I didn’t ask her to have more wine. In fact, if I’d been there I might well have stopped her. One day she’ll learn–having said that loads of twenty somethings tend to suggest I could be wrong.

I sorted the younger children while Julie just had coffee and some paracetamol. The kids all thought it was hilarious and Jenny wasn’t very sympathetic either–poor Julie. She did go into work although she would be asking for Saturday off to help with the hairdressing at the play–we got her a pair of tickets for her boss to soften the blow.

At the rehearsals I felt like the amateur I was. Iain was so dashing as Macbeth–the thane of Cawdor, whose ambitious wife, brought a good man down. At least in the Shakespearean version, which we now know was very wrong. But even in his day, Shakespeare’s that is, the corridors of power were filled with ruthless types who’d have murdered their grannies for a shot at the throne–and it’s hardly better now, and probably never will be. Humans are not nice creatures–big brains, bigger egos and decreasing consciences means there’s always someone who’s prepared to risk all for a big enough prize–just look at the international football organisation–about as straight as a wiggly line.

Anyway, Iain was so good, once or twice I just stood there watching him, in awe. Then, a funny thing happened–I became Lady M–no, not literally, but suddenly, instead of being on the outside looking in watching them all acting so well, I joined them. A similar thing happened in school–except I was so frightened there for different reasons–here it was because I didn’t want to be the weak link in the chain.

I jumped in with both feet, feeling a sense of confidence because I knew they’d help me–they were professionals–I was at best an entertaining educator–these guys were real actors. It was so different to Matthew’s efforts, but they were so supportive of the girls who had relatively minor roles and me.

At first I suspected some degree of hostility and I suspect there was a little resentment–who was I? Some local nob’s wife, film maker and teacher–hardly qualifications for getting probably the best women’s part in all of Shakespeare and to act opposite a giant of the theatre–up there with Brannagh and Patrick Stewart. So what the hell was I doing there? Then it all clicked and when we ended the second act, Iain came over to me and said, “Weel done, Cathy, ye’re getting there–dinna worry aboot thae rest o’ ’em, they eat and shit, just like ye dae.”

I got better, I think, yet it all got harder–I found it drained me emotionally all the conspiratorial angst which drives my character to regret, madness and finally–suicide–albeit off stage.

At five o’clock, Gordon came up to me and told me that I was one of the best Lady Macbeths he’d ever directed. I nearly threw up, I was so gobsmacked. What I didn’t realise was there were four little faces watching me rehearse, and they’d been sat quietly with Sister Maria, who admitted afterwards she was drawn by the opportunity to watch some real actors at work. Personally, I suspect she was just as much in love with Iain as all the other women.

Iain spotted Trish and pointed to her then waved her over to us, she was followed by her sisters. “Hello again, young lady, who are all these?”

“My sisters, Billie, Livvie and Mima.”

He spoke to each one of them and took their hand and kissed it which resulted in lots of blushes and embarrassed giggles. I called over Sister Maria, whom I introduced to Iain and she got her hand kissed as well. That nearly had her exploding with embarrassment and the girls wetting themselves with laughter.

“This is the lady to whom all this is due,” I said once things returned to normal, “She’s the one who’s cajoled and threatened to get this thing off the ground, and it’s her fault you’re saddled with an amateur like me.”

“A very gifted an’ beautiful amateur–if Macbeth’s missus wis half as beautiful as ye, he’d hae killed half o’ Scotland f’ a smile frae ye.”

“No, my mummy wouldn’t let anyone be killed–she’d make them better, wouldn’t you, Mummy?” Trish interrupted and her sisters agreed noisily.

“I was fwightened, Mummy,” said Mima, holding on to my long dress.

“It’s alright, Meems, it’s only pretend–no one gets hurt and we all enjoy what we’re doing.”

“I don’t wike it.”

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll get changed and we’ll go home.”

“D’ya think his character demonstrates the baser man that Plato wrote about?” Trish asked Iain loudly and he looked at me and winked, I shook my head, she was something else, that girl.