The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2588 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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David did jacket potatoes for dinner—that is jacket potatoes with trousers, waistcoats, shirts, ties, underwear and shoes and socks. To say the spread was sumptuous would be an understatement. Personally, I think he was out to impress Helen and it worked. When Si and Sammi came home, yes she decided to escort her dad in case there was any trouble—he’s twice her size—he asked what was for dinner. I told him jacket spuds. He said quite loudly, “Jacket spuds—I thought we had a chef here.”

“I think you should see the food before you try to rate it.”

“That sounds like you know something I don’t.”

“I think I can honestly say I know lots of things you don’t, and you probably know things I don’t. One of mine is never to underrate David’s cooking—the man is a genius. Now go and change and bring down your appetite because you’re going to need one to do dinner justice.”

An hour later he was groaning because he’d eaten too much. Danni was looking at her lap—I suspect she was texting. A moment later she was asking to leave the table and then she walked through the kitchen with Kiki.

“Where are you taking the dog?” I asked.

“She wants to go out,” she replied blushing.

“She does or you do?”

“She does.” The blush got redder.

“Sent you text did she?”

“Yeah—um, I mean no—she’s a dog, Mummy.” If the blush got any redder there wouldn’t be enough blood in her body to keep her brain supplied with oxygen.

“I knew you’d notice eventually.”

“Be careful, we don’t know who is about.”

“I will,” she rolled her eyes.

“I mean it, girl. There are some very nasty types around.”

“Okay—okay, I know there are.”

“You don’t want to take Livvie as a bodyguard?”

“Ha ha, very funny—I don’t think.”

As soon as she’d gone outside I called Trish to go up stairs and see who she met using the image intensifier—it was now dark outside. She and Livvie charged upstairs frightening one kitten who shot into the kitchen, jumped onto the draining board, slipped and fell into the bowl of water in the sink. Flew out of that and fell into the swing top bin. If we’d filmed it and sent it to Youtube it would have clocked up thousands of hits in a few hours. It was so funny—until in her efforts to get out of the bin she knocked it over and came rushing out covered in all sorts of debris, including a plastic bag round her neck and a paper bag over her head. A moment later she ran into the table leg and stunned herself.

I managed to grab her and disentangle her from the refuse, and while she was still a bit disoriented wiped her over with a damp cloth to reduce the risk of her smelling like a bin liner.

Trish came back and reported that Danni was talking to some girl she’d let into the drive—they’d gone into my bike shed. I asked her who the girl was but she said she couldn’t say, but it wasn’t Cindy. My curiosity piqued I grabbed my coat and slipped out of the door.

A few moments later I’d stolen out to the shed and heard voices. I decided the easiest way to identify the caller was to just casually walk in—assuming they hadn’t locked the door. Amazingly, they hadn’t and as I waltzed in calling, “You pumping up your tyres, Danielle?” the two of them turned and faced me.

“You’ve plenty of neck, young woman,” I said to the visitor.

“Um—hello—um—Dr Watts.” The girl said blushing and avoiding eye contact.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here before I call the police and report your breach of parole.” I brandished my mobile phone.

“I came to say I was sorry, perhaps I’d better go.”

“I think that might be a good idea.”

“Mummy, I’d like to talk to her.”

“After what she did to you?”

“I didn’t die did I—an’ I got to play for England, which I wouldn’t if I ’adn’t ’ad the surgery.”

“You very nearly died—did you know that? Also you didn’t know that the surgeon would be able to furnish you with a vagina and vulvae, you might have ended up like her or worse—dead.”

“But I didn’t, did I?”

“Only because Mr O’Rourke was duty surgeon.”

“I knew that,” said Pia.

“Knew what?” I demanded.

“O’Rourke was working that day.”

“Who gave you the right to take my son away?”

“Saved you the bother of changing him into a girl.”

“How dare you?”

“You made him stay as a girl for a month.”

“That was meant to put him off.”

“Didn’t exactly work, did it?”

I could feel my colour rising but not from embarrassment rather from vexation and frustration. Part of me wanted to pick this weirdo up and throw her over the drive gates.

“No because someone with a penknife decided to cut her up in a rather delicate place. You nearly killed my son.”

“She was never in that great a danger.”

“Don’t tell me you had the expertise to create a vagina and so forth...”

“Can’t be that hard, dissecting the other bits was easy enough, except...”

“Dissection usually is easy, it’s destructive and a one off process.”

“No it ain’t.”

“I suspect I’ve done more dissection than you, I’m a biologist if you recall.”

“Yeah, so? Done any on still alive things?”

“Don’t be disgusting, you siwwly wittle boy.”

“I’m a girl now remember—I don’t have any nuts.”

“Since when did that constitute being a girl?”

“How about since you did it?”

“Don’t talk to my mum like that,” Danni said forcefully.

“But it’s true, she has her balls cut off and is a proper lady, I cut mine off and I’m a nothing. It’s not fair.”

“I think there’s a bit more in being female than mere absence of male gonads.” I decided I’d talk this through with her then send her away if she promised not to return—ever. If she didn’t promise or broke her word, I’d report her to the police and she’d be rearrested. I didn’t want her anywhere near Danielle.

“That’s all Danni has—no balls.”

“If that’s what you think, you clearly have no concept of the damage you did to her or even to yourself, nor do you understand anything about gender identity and those of us who’ve suffered because of it.”

“Yes I do, I sorted it for her to get her gender changed, didn’t I?”

“No you didn’t, you just made it nigh on impossible for her to remain as a boy without years of constructive surgery.”

“Same thing innit?”

“No, Danielle could have stayed as a boy without her genitalia but it would have made participation in sport—her raison d’être—very difficult. She’d also have needed testosterone injections regularly.”

“Well it didn’t stop Lance Armstrong, did it?”

“Don’t try to be clever, you could have destroyed Danielle.”

“But I didn’t did I—an’ she went on to play for England—bet she wouldn’ta if she’d stayed a boy.”

“You can’t possibly know that...” I was feeling quite riled, my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked at it.

‘Mum b careful sum1 out in drive. Tx’