The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1499 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“And you’re sure Mr Whitehead won’t mind me using his car?”

“Yes I am sure and no, he won’t mind.”

“So how d’you know him?” Simon asked and I felt a dread coming down about telling lies–I hate telling lies, so I was going to have to tell half-truths, like we all do, especially those who are transgender.

You know the sort, “Do you get heavy periods?” asks a woman friend who doesn’t know.

“Um, no, I don’t get any periods now–they took my breeding equipment away,” which doesn’t really answer the question and implies without actually saying so that before there were periods.

“Did you have a rough time with the pregnancy, I was into eating all sorts of weird things–haven’t touched prawns in custard since.”

“Um, not really, but my sister in law, bless her, she was crazy for pineapple sandwiches.”

Back to Simon, ‘How did I know Mr Whitehead,’ oh boy. “Anymore tea?” try distraction.

“Yeah sure,” he put down his glass and went to the kettle.

“I love this little dress, don’t you?” I held up the frilly confection which I ironed for Mima–it was her favourite.

“Can’t say I get over excited about children’s clothes so it’s probably just as well you look after that aspect of life. Your tea.” He placed the mug down on the table. “Now this Whitehead chap.”

“Oh the owner of the Jaguar?”

He gave me a funny look. “Y-e-e-s,” he said exaggeratedly, “Is there another I might have missed.”

“Probably, but they didn’t leave their Jaguar’s here.”

“Convenient, wasn’t it?”

“I can get it removed, if you like.”

“So he lives round here does he?”

“Not round here, but not too far away, I think. You know what I’m like with geography.”

“Yeah, Disney world and Disney land.”

“There are two?” This was news to me, mind you I had no intention of ever going to either if I could help it, so what did it matter?

“Three, there’s a place near Paris and I suspect probably another somewhere in Asia, or in planning.”

“Gross,” I said sipping my tea.

“It takes all sorts, it’s not everybody’s cup of tea to watch the Tour de France.”

“It’s not?” I pretended to sound surprised if not shocked.

“Very funny–now this Whitehead bod, how does he know my wife and should I be concerned? I mean could he be giving her one while I’m in work?”

“Giving me one what?”

He rolled his eyes, “Jeez, Cathy, if you get anymore naive I’ll have to get a grownup to go with you on the school run.”

“I have Trish.” I pretended to be offended.

“It’s hardly the same, after all Einstein couldn’t do up his own shoes, could he?”

“I have no idea, Newton managed to run the Royal Mint while also researching umpteen areas including alchemy and magick.”

“Magic? He did card tricks did he?”

“No but I believe he taught himself Hebrew so he could translate some esoteric documents in Jewish mysticism.”

“Clever dick,” Simon dismissed one of the cleverest of all scientists in one phrase. What would he say about Mozart? ‘Good on keyboards?’

“Mummy, I’ve got a tummy ache,” Livvie walked into the kitchen looking quite pasty and holding her stomach.

“Okay, darling, do you feel sick?” And before I could do anything, she nodded and threw up on the kitchen floor.

Simon jumped up and legged it to the door, “No point in both of us dealing with this, I’ll get out from under your feet.” With that he was gone so quickly, I’m surprised they didn’t get a sonic boom over Gosport.

“I’m sorry, Mummy,” she said and threw up another lot, shaking as she did so.

“That’s okay, darling, come and sit down.” I led her to the chair Simon had been occupying until discretion got the better part of valour, or should that be velour? She sat shivering on the chair and I grabbed my cardigan and wrapped it round her.

I gave her a glass of water, which she sipped while I cleaned up the mess. Why does it always go under the fridge? I had difficulty holding on to my own dinner during the cleanup, the smell always gets to me.

Stella came in and smelling sick, went straight out again. “Whit’s that smell?” asked Tom watching me cleaning up.

“I was sick, Grandpa.”

“Och, d’ye feel ony better thae noo?”

“A bit, thank you, Gramps.”

“This wasn’t my cooking,” I called at his back.

“Aye, I believe ye,” he called back.

After I’d finished, I checked Livvie for other symptoms and signs like rashes or temperature. She had none. In fact she seemed cold, so I wrapped her in the travel blanket I keep in the dining room, behind the sofa. Then I sat her on my lap and she nodded off to sleep a few minutes later.

Simon poked his head round the door, “She alright?”

“Yes,” I wanted to add, no thanks to you, but refrained. “Can you check on the others?”

“Check ’em for what?”

“See if they feel sick or have been sick.”

“You’re better at this sort of thing than I am, why don’t you go?”

“Because I’m nursing this one, now please go and check–it’s not life threatening.”

“All right, all right, the things I have to do for a little peace and quiet,” he muttered as he went up the stairs. A very short time later, “Nah, they’re okay, I’m off to bed–seeing as some of us have to work in the morning.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, Simon–remember the most arduous thing you had planned was watching the rugby.”

“Of course–hope the Welsh stick it to the frogs. Night,” he said and he was gone.

I sat with Livvie a little longer–I fell asleep with her cwtched into me, waking at two in the morning. I staggered up the stairs carrying her and tucked her into her bed. The others seemed okay, thank goodness, all I needed was some mini epidemic of sickness with or without diarrhoea.

I cleaned my teeth and slipped into bed, Simon was well away, snoring like a pig. I lay there for ages worrying about the children before sleep finally got me.

The next morning, the sitting room was off limits except to serious rugby fans. I’d quite liked to have watched it but I had too many things to do. So far so good, no one else has been sick.

Two hours later, Simon stormed into the kitchen, “Bloody Irish idiot, fancy sending Warburton off for that–can you believe it?”

“Believe what, darling?”

“Wales lost to those neanderthals in blue jerseys because the frigging ref sent off their captain after seventeen minutes. The Taffs nearly pulled it off, scored the only try and lost by just one point. The Kiwis loved ’em.”

“So that’s it, France are the champions?” I asked.

“No way, the way they played today, a New Zealand second fifteen could take ’em.”

“So how come Wales couldn’t?” It seemed a reasonable question to me.

“I just told you, they lost their captain, a key player and one of the best flankers around.”

“Yeah, which means?”

“The frogs had a natural overlap.”

“So?”

“Cathy, if women had been meant to play rugger, they’d have had brains big enough to understand it. I’m going down the garden, chop some wood–pretend each block is a certain Irish referee.”