The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2632 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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“Why are you crying, Mummy?” asked Livvie, “Is it because of Billie?”

I was too choked to speak so nodded tears running in streams down my face.

“She’s okay,” offered Trish and she doesn’t want you to worry about her.

“I know, I know,” I managed to squeeze out of my constricted larynx.

“So what you crying for?” Trish could be very direct when the mood took her and logic was stronger than empathy most of the time.

“I miss her,” I sniffed.

“We all do, don’t we Liv?”

“Course, but it’s different for mums, innit, Mummy?”

I nodded not sure that I really wanted a discussion on the various levels of grief experienced by different age groups. I suspect that I bonded more with my children than they did with each other, or perhaps just more quickly. I suspected that it was because I needed to be a mother as much as they needed mothering which was more than they needed siblings.

Carefully drying my eyes and sniffing my sinuses clear, I went to pick up my bag. Standing by it was Danni and her shoulders were shaking—she was crying. She and Billie were particularly close, with Danny the big brother getting involved in several fights on her behalf. I put my hand on her shoulder and waved the others away. Then I drew her into a hug. “Why’d she have to die, Mummy? It’s so unfair.”

“I know, sweetheart. Why—I don’t know, I don’t understand any of it or the reality of what some of you just saw.”

“You didn’t see her, then?”

“No, I don’t know why—perhaps too many barriers or filters.”

“For someone who’s dead, she looked really well,” then realising the absurdity of her statement she laughed, then laughed uncontrollably and finally wet herself. There were embarrassed laughs from behind us. I grabbed some paper hand towels and gave them to her steering her past the others to a toilet up the corridor.

“Clean yourself up as best you can, stick some toilet paper in your knickers if they’re wet, they’ll soon dry out.”

“What about my tights?”

“Put it between your knickers and your tights, hopefully it’ll dry both of them, or take your tights off, we’ll go home now instead of shopping.”

“I was looking forward to going to the shops. I always spoil things, don’t I?” She started to cry again.

“Sweetheart, go and clean yourself up, accidents can happen to anyone, especially those of us with modified plumbing.”

She nodded an scurried off to the loo. I went back to find Livvie cleaning up the lab floor. “Oh thanks. Darling, that’s very kind of you.”

“’S alright,” she said putting the paper towels in the bin and rinsing her hands, “No one else was gonna do it,” she looked accusingly at Trish and Meems.

Danielle returned sans tights. “Couldn’t I buy some more pants and tights, Mummy?”

“If we went to Asda or somewhere like that we could.”

“Please,” asked Danni and the others agreed. So that’s what we did. We went to Asda and she bought a pack of panties and a pair of opaque tights, paid for them and then went off to the toilet to put them on, taking a spare bag to shove her damp panties in. Once she was redressed the mood seemed to lighten and we all browsed the store the younger girls buying makeup while I bought some flour and yeast for the bread machine.

We had a snack in the coffee bar there, although I prefer Morrison’s cafe, then we did a couple of hours doing the chain stores. Nobody bought anything but they had fun trying stuff on, especially in the shoe department which had Trish trying to walk in a pair of four inch courts. She couldn’t, but Danielle could. Then they dared me. Well, never one to run away from a challenge I found a pair in my size and strolled up and down the shop a la catwalk style. The girls were in fits of laughter as I hammed it up.

Until...yeah, the manageress came up and tapped me on the shoulder. The girls were laughing so much at my antics there was a danger of someone else wetting their knickers. With the tap on the shoulder that nearly was me.

“Excuse me, Madame...”

“Oops, sorry—just having fun with my daughters.”

“Oh that’s fine, we like to think shopping is fun.”

“Oh good,” I went to take the shoes off and replace my own when she completely surprised me.

“Look, madame, we’re having a little fashion show tomorrow evening and we’re short of models. You look a size twelve or fourteen—would you be prepared to help us out? It’s for a good cause—the children’s hospice.”

“I’d have thought I was too old.”

“Not at all, we need people in their late twenties as most of our clientele are probably that age not teenagers.”

“She’s thirty one,” offered Trish smirking.

“You look good on it, madame; I’d have said more like twenty five.” I knew she was probably just soft soaping me into helping but I poked my tongue out at Trish who frowned at me.

“What time tomorrow?”

“It starts at seven thirty, but we’d need you here an hour or so before to sort out the stuff you’ll be modelling.”

“What time is your match tomorrow, sweetheart?” I asked Danielle.

“Half ten, why?”

“Would your daughter care to model for us as well?” The manageress glanced at Danni whose face lit up.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “I’m a size six.”

“If I could just take your names and a contact number...”

I just managed to stifle Trish from spilling the beans. “It’s Cathy Cameron and my daughter is Danielle.” I gave them my mobile number.

Back in the car Trish was miffed that she was too young again, “Why didn’t you tell them you were Lady Cameron?”

“It wasn’t appropriate or necessary.”

“But it’s your title.”

“So is Mrs and doctor, but neither would have been important in fact they might have made things worse. As it is she thinks I’m a housewife and mother, who probably got myself pregnant very young in having Danielle as someone only eighteen years younger.”

“What about Jacquie and Sammi or Julie then?”

“Thank goodness they weren’t here, that really would have caused confusion.”

“You coulda told her we’re adopted.”

“No I couldn’t, she didn’t need to know it and it’s not good to tell people too much about yourself, which is one of the criticisms of the internet and places like Facebook, youngsters especially, give away too much information about themselves to paedophiles.”

“I won’t do that,” exclaimed Trish blushing.

“You nearly did, or gave unnecessary information about Danni and me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she started to get all moist eyed.

“I know, it’s sometimes what is called unwitting disclosure and is especially common in youngsters and old people.”

“So how come you didn’t?” she said and leant back in her seat so I couldn’t reach her.