The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2498 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Can I go and see Cindy after school tonight?” asked Danielle.

“What about football training?”

“Oh damn, I forgot about that. Bloody football...” she wandered off muttering to herself. I thought football was her raison d’être, not today by the sound of it. The joys of being a teenager. However, she had made a commitment so I would insist she honoured it.

She was still muttering when she got in the car. I said nothing but was determined she’d go to training if I had drag her there by her hair. To that end I told Delia I was going at three o’clock sharp no matter what. The universe was determined to try and make me late. At three o’clock as I was about to leave, the phone rang. I should have let it ring, instead I put down my handbag and answered it.

“Cathy Watts...”

“Ah, Cathy, glad I caught you, it’s Abi Alexander.”

What did she want? “Could I call you back, Abi, I’m just dashing off to collect my girls from school.”

“It won’t take a minute, Cathy.”

Ten minutes later I put the phone down. Abi had taken over as the survey co-ordinator at Sussex. She wanted a meeting with me, and she was prepared to come to me. I made the mistake of asking how Dilly was and her reply surprised me. Dilly had embarrassed her once too often and she’d thrown her out.

I don’t know why, but I assumed as they had a kid, that Abi and Dilly had a civil partnership. Apparently they hadn’t. Dilly had wanted it but Abi had always found an excuse to say no. I suppose my view of Dilly had been jaundiced after she upset me when I did the talk at Sussex. She was drunk and scornful of me as a woman, telling me I couldn’t have babies and teasing me until Ezzie Herbert rather pointedly dropped the fact that Dilly couldn’t either, and I had adopted or fostered children.

That night I could quite happily have wished Dilly dead, she had hurt me so much, but it seemed she was projecting her own fertility issues onto me. Of course now I wished her no harm but still couldn’t like her. “She’s dead, Cathy. She got breast cancer and died a couple of months ago.” I was horrified.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

“We split up a year eighteen months ago then a few months ago she phoned me and told me she was dying. I wondered if she was messing me about, but she wasn’t. She asked me if she could come home to die. I could hardly say no, could I?”

“No, not really.” What an awful thing to happen.

“She died on her thirty fifth birthday.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I had Barb living here with me and between us we nursed her until the end.”

“Barb?” I asked.

“Oh sorry, Barbara Altman, my partner. She’s the one who had our little girl—I’m too old for all that pregnancy bit.”

“I thought you had a child with Dilly?”

“No, we tried everything, but it wasn’t to be—she had a problem with her fallopian tubes—her eggs never made it to the womb. But Barb didn’t have that problem and courtesy of a sperm donor we now have a lovely baby girl, Annabelle.”

“Congratulations.” My memory was obviously not what I thought it was.

“Thank you.”

The conversation droned on for another ten minutes and I suddenly noticed the time and passed her back to Delia to set up the meeting. It was for the next morning—I thought I had some time to clear some paperwork but Delia thought otherwise. When I checked my diary on my Blackberry I discovered my change of timetable. ‘Ten o’clock, Abi Alexander—Sussex Uni.’ The rest of the morning was free, so I’d probably have to take her to lunch—oh joy.

I was late collecting the girls and Danielle was still being stroppy. I’d half expected her to have bunked off to Cindy’s. I suggested that Cindy came at the weekend. “Can she stay?”

I couldn’t think of a reason not to let her stay Friday evening but she’d have to go home on Saturday because Danni was playing football at Winchester on the Sunday morning. They usually travel by coach to away venues.

“You could have brung her to the game.”

“Danielle, I hadn’t said I was coming to your game.”

“That’s right, you never support me, do you?”

“I came to see you play last week.”

“Whoopee doo. The first one in ages.”

“I do have other things to do besides watching you play football.”

“If it was Trish, you’d go—you’ve never loved me, have you?”

A car, rush hour traffic and three other very embarrassed girls meant this wasn’t the place to argue the toss or to listen to the ranting of an aggrieved teenager, “Can we talk about this when we get home?” I said.

“That’s right, postpone it. You never give me time do you?”

I refused to answer, and drove home feeling my tummy churning like a cement mixer. Why did this have to happen today? Only the other day, she seemed to be doing so well, adapting to her new role so well, or so I thought. Is this all about that or something else? Would she tell me? Maybe I’ll strangle the other three at the age of twelve, if Danni hasn’t done so to me before then.

I made myself a cuppa and went down the study calling Danielle to come with me. She messed about before then so when she did come I was getting increasingly angry. Teens deliberately play to your weaknesses, no wonder so many get hurt. Did I do that to my parents? I don’t think so—they wouldn’t have let me.

She showed up ten minutes later. She’d gone up and changed into jeans and top. The way both clung to her body showed her developing figure, she definitely looked female. I shut the door to avoid involving any of the others.

“Right, now, young lady, what is all this nonsense about?”

“It isn’t nonsense, you don’t love me as much as the others, even though I became a girl to please you.”

That cut me like a scalpel, which it was designed to do.

“That’s what you think is it?”

“Yeah.”

“You honestly think I love you less than the others?”

“Yeah.”

“Because I can’t always get to your football matches?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t always get to Trish’s matches, either and she doesn’t make a song and dance like a five year old.”

“Oh that’s right, insult me why don’t you?”

“I’m not insulting you, I’m describing your behaviour. You didn’t act like this when you first came here, even though you were three or four years younger.”

“You hadn’t fucked me up with hormones and things, then.”

“I’d be grateful if you’d moderate your language, young lady.”

“I’m not a young lady, I’m a fucked up boy thanks to you.” With that she pushed passed me and ran upstairs.

Oh great, just what I needed.