The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2573 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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My conversation with Jim showed that we actually knew very little about what was going on. I tried enumerating scenarios but it got stranger and stranger. Was the political hoo-hah at the university part of the same problem as the sudden deaths? Was the death of the vice chancellor part of this? Was someone out to get me personally or was that symptom of an attack on the moderates at the university? You begin to see the picture—if you do tell me because all I have a box of assorted jigsaw pieces from half a dozen puzzles, some of which are missing. Compared to this finding dormice in a forest is relatively straightforward.

David banged the gong and I aborted my mental gymnastics and went for lunch. Trish appeared through the back door looking quite flushed. I sent her to wash her hands. “Where have you been?” I asked.

“In the garden with Danni, she was showing me some new soccer moves.”

“So where is she?”

“She went to put the ball away.”

I was just about to ask where she was storing the ball when she slipped in, “Cor, it’s cold out there, Mummy.”

“Try it standing on a touchline for two hours.”

“You had your enjoyment of Trish an’ mine genius to keep you warm, plus your big thick coat.” Her cheek was something else.

“Where did you put the ball?” I asked as David hurried us to the table

“In the old garage.”

“I hope you put the key back?”

“Yes, mother dearest.” At this, Trish fell about laughing and I felt in the minority.

Livvie appeared and sat next to me. “Enjoying your book?”

“Oh yes, Mummy.”

“You don’t find it a little too complicated?”

She looked very strangely at me and shook her head.

“Perhaps I’ll try it sometime.”

“Try whit?”

“War and Peace.”

Livvie started to laugh and so did Trish.

“Whit’s sae funny?”

“Mummy is.”

I glared at Livvie and she laughed even louder, mind you, so did Trish.

Meems and Jacquie arrived. She asked what they were laughing at and when Livvie said she was laughing at me, she whispered something to Meems, Meems started laughing as well.

I was beginning to feel more than a little cross from all this conspiracy. If there was a joke, they should share it. I was about to say something when David did it for me. “Instead of laughing at your mother like that, shouldn’t you include her in the joke?”

There was an embarrassed silence before Trish started to titter, before long there was a full giggle fit involving most of the younger girls. It was at this point that I lost it which of course only made matters worse. I should know better than to raise my voice to a giggling schoolgirl, it makes them giggle all the more.

I remembered being at Siân’s house one weekend and we started to giggle. Her dad got cross with us and we giggled even more. When he called me Charlotte, because that’s what he thought my name was, we were helpless with laughter and Siân wet herself, she ran off still giggling to the loo. I suppose it’s a form of mild mass hysteria.

Finally things calmed down and we ate a delicious Penne Neapolitan. Basically like a spaghetti of the same name, that is a tomato based sauce over penne rather than spaghetti. It was super, but then everything David makes is wonderful, he’s a brilliant cook.

“Now perhaps someone would like to tell me what was so funny earlier?”

Trish started to speak and laugh at the same time. When she saw my irritation she said quickly, “Livvie wasn’t reading War and Peace.”

“I clearly saw the cover and she was.”

Livvie smirked, “I wasn’t, Mummy. May I get the book and show you?”

“Please do.” She rose from the table and ran upstairs clomping down them again two minutes later. She handed me the book. It said, ‘War and Peace’ on the dust jacket and underneath that was a different book, a Harry Potter book. “So this is a joke, I take it?”

“Yes, Mummy; Trish printed off the cover from the internet and I slipped it into one of those plastic covers like they have on library books an’ everyone thinks I’m readin’ the Tolstoy.”

“Isn’t Buzz Lightyear in that?” quipped Danielle.

“What?” asked Livvie.

“Tolstoy or is that Tolstoy 2?”

“Ha ha, very funny not,” she replied to her big sister. I actually thought it was quite clever for Danni, but since attending St Claire’s she has continued to blossom academically—so I suppose it’s worth the investment in the long term and I actually believe if she wants to go to university, she has the ability to get there. A process that began when she stopped being a boy and we withdrew her from her school and employed a tutor to home school her. Was that coincidence or just the one on one tuition?

Simon arrived back with Cate and David offered him some lunch. Si declined saying they’d stopped and ate at McDonald’s which had the others whingeing. David cooks them a splendid meal and they’d have preferred a fast food cholesterol special. That’s kids for you, never satisfied.

I told him that Gasgoine was dead and he said he knew. It was headline news in the Echo. Seems someone there thinks his death was a mite suspicious. Tom gave me an old fashioned look before disappearing down to his study to sleep off his lunch; not a choice open to me being expected to entertain four or five young ladies. I suggested a sewing bee as it was raining and Danni asked if Cindy could come over. I agreed as it was half term, and she dashed off to phone her before I changed my mind.

As I gathered my sewing box and settled in my study while the girls got their stuff—they all have a cloth bag we made during a previous few sewing bees containing all their bits—I thought about the deception with the book cover. It’s certainly not a new idea, lots of kids read all sorts of things inside the innocent cover of some acceptable title. It also made me think if that’s what we were doing, hiding a biologically male body in the trappings of the female.

Reflecting on this I decided we weren’t simply because gender identity is deeper than the clothes we wear, though in the beginning, they do help the illusion for others to understand what we wish to portray. Before I got to wrapped up in my reverie Trish brought her sewing and I tried to puzzle out just what she’d done to her skirt, looks like we’ll have to re-tack it—great.