The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1497 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Whose car is that out front?” asked Simon rushing into the house. I’d sworn the kids to secrecy on pain of no more chocolate for at least ten thousand years give or take a millennium.

“My Jaguar?” I asked creaming potatoes to put over the minced meat for the cottage pie I was making.

“No, not your Jag, the vintage one next to it.”

“Vintage one?” I said trying to sound perplexed.

“Yeah, there’s an old S type outside.”

“S type what?” I pleaded ignorance.

“An S type Jaguar, it’s parked right next to yours.”

“Next to mine?”

“Yes, come and see.” I resisted his trying to grab my arm to pull me out of the kitchen until I’d placed the cottage pie under the grill to brown.

He virtually dragged me into the drive way–“This beautiful old lady, whose is it?”

“Alex Whitehead’s why?”

“Where is he, I’d love to have a ride in it.”

“He’s not here at the moment–now and go and change and wash your hands because dinner will be ready very soon.”

“Is this Whitehead chap about a bit later then?”

“Possibly, look behave yourself and I’ll persuade the owner to let you have a ride in it, maybe even a little drive–if you’d like that, of course.”

“It looks in such good nick.”

“I’m told it’s in very good order.”

“She’s a beauty, just look at that bodywork, it’s had hours of polishing to get a lustre like that–there’s no rust on the chrome-work, she is an absolute beauty.”

“Dinner first, and I’ll see if I can get you a ride.”

His response was to kiss me passionately on the lips, say, “Yes, Mummy,” and practically dance into the house and upstairs to change. While he was changing I opened a very large tin of baked beans–I know, I could regret it later–and put them on to warm in a pan.

I wondered how long I could string him out before he twigged it was my car. I spoke quickly to Julie, who thought it was a hoot, so did Jenny and Stella. The fact that he didn’t recognise the name of its previous owner showed how much he shared in my world, which was a trifle disappointing.

The cottage pie went down a treat followed by a proper rice pudding and ice cream–one of my favourites. Simon was sitting as if he was on top of an ant’s nest and I naturally drew out the meal as long as I could, even suggesting we had ground coffee, which takes a bit longer to make in the cafetiere. I asked him to make it while I cleared the table. He practically bounced from the table to the kettle and nearly dropped the cafetiere.

“You’ll need the big one,” I told him.

“I don’t want one.”

“Go on, I’ve got some lovely new Columbian beans, very rich–you’ll love it.”

“What about the you know...?” he whispered.

“It’s in hand, you’ll get a ride alright.”

“You sure?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Um...”

“Simon, I’m not a banker, so I’d hope for a little more faith and trust in my honesty.” I said this quite sternly to him. After all, I wasn’t telling him a direct lie–he would get a ride.

“Oh okay,” he made enough coffee for everyone including some hot milk, courtesy of the microwave. I rinsed out the jug and popped it in the dishwasher.

“So anyone else coming for a ride in the vintage Jag out there?” Simon asked looking and sounding like a vintage schoolboy.

Most shook their heads except Danny, who was in on the joke. “I wouldn’t mind a spin in it, too, if the owner will allow it.”

“I’ll ask for you, son,” Simon patted him on the shoulder and Danny on pretext of homework ran off before he gave the game away laughing. The other children except Julie left the table as well and I could hear them chuckling in the sitting room. When he finds out he’ll kill me–oh well, at least I’ll die laughing.

We drank the coffee and Stella tried to engage Simon in a deep conversation about some bonds she’d seen advertised in the financial pages of my Guardian. I hadn’t noticed the ad, but then I had been quite busy and still was.

Simon didn’t want to talk, he wanted a go in the car and how he stayed polite to his sister’s inane questions, I’ll never know. Finally his patience ran out and he told her to call the bank and speak to one of the financial advisers. Then he started drumming his fingers. “Where’s this guy Whitehead?”

“Oh he’s not here, he left the car here while he’s away.”

“So how could you ask him to give me spin?”

I picked up my Blackberry and waved it at him.

“I hope you didn’t try to email him–bloody network’s down.”

“So I heard,” another chance to delay him.

“D’you know why?”

“Oh c’mon, Babes, since when was I literate in things electronic?”

“There’s been articles in the Guardian about it.”

“There’s been all sorts of stuff on Facebook and elsewhere, people are threatening to cancel their contracts.”

“Well normally I’m more than happy with the service.” I tried to drag out the conversation, “So are you, aren’t you, Stel?”

“I don’t have a Blackberry do I? I’ve got an iphone, innit?” she smirked and waved it at me.

“Don’t look at me,” said Julie, “I’ve got an HTC.” She waved the bright yellow thing at me, one of those with a foldout keyboard.

“Yeah, well don’t lose it, that paid for Mark Cavendish for the last few years.”

She rolled her eyes, “You and cycling, Mum, you need to get a life. You’re a bit old for lusting after men’s bums in tight fitting lycra.”

“She might be, but I’m not,” said Stella loudly.

“Nor me,” agreed Jenny.

“I’m not that bloody old–I’m two years older than him–that’s all.”

“Dunno if he’s into older women,” Julie threw back at me.

“Ha, you cheeky little moo,” I started the name calling.

“He’d be into me more than you,” she posed across the table, lifting her long hair and letting it fall gently on her neck and shoulders.

“You had extensions done?” I gasped and she smirked.

“I was just going to say that,” interrupted Stella.

“They cost a fortune,” I commented wondering how she’d paid for them.

“I only had to pay for the extension pieces, Mary-Lou was learning how to fix them an’ I volunteered.”

“Mary-Lou?” asked Stella her right eyebrow raised as if in disbelief.

“Yeah, she’s from somewhere in the States, she says it’s a Godforsaken place, um, Daytonia or something like that.”

“Daytona?” Simon was still alive but possibly losing the will to live. “That’s where they do the speed records, on the beach–it’s in Florida, I think.”

“No, it’s not there then, I’d know that because of Disney Land.”

“Florida is quite a large state,” Simon was now drawn into discussion.

“No it’s where the Wright brothers came from, she mentioned them.”

“They didn’t come from Daytona–more like Dayton, that’s somewhere like Ohio, I think.”

“I think you’re right, husband mine.” I agreed.

“What about this ’ere car then?”

“Don’t go mad in it and for goodness sake don’t bump it?” I said handing over the keys. “Danny, you going with your dad?” I called and he came into the kitchen wearing a fleece jacket.

“Oh wow,” said Simon, looking at the key, “I’m really looking forward to this, c’mon kiddo–anyone else coming?”

We three women shook our heads no.

“Your loss, c’mon kiddo, I think it’s even got a wooden steering wheel.” They left and we all fell about laughing.

“He’s gonna kill you,” said Stella, “but it will be worth it, his face when he finds out.”

“I dunno, when he finds out I might be prevailed upon to let him use it while his is in dock–I think I might be in a useful bargaining position, don’t you?”

“Yeah–but for what–make it big, whatever it is?” Stella exhorted.

“Oh I will,” I said not having a clue if there was anything I actually wanted.