The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2635 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 wife, university professor, film maker and presenter, wildlife expert, magical healer and cyclist and runway model.”

“You forgot mother and general skivvy,” I yawned. The buzz I’d got from modelling was rapidly palling and tiredness was setting in. I turned over on my side, plumped up my pillow and started to slip into sleep.

“You’re not a skivvy, we have two housekeepers for that.”

“What?” I snapped, I had just about been asleep and now I was wide awake again.

“You’re not a skivvy, we have two housekeepers for that.”

I tried to stifle a yawn but was largely unsuccessful, “Who d’you think picks up your dirty underpants and socks then?”

“But we pay two people to do that.”

“No we don’t, there is no reason why you can’t put your dirty laundry in the wash basket, but no, you’ve got to just leave them lying on the bedroom floor or in the bath.”

“I’m sorry, Cathy, but it isn’t your job.”

“It shouldn’t be anyone’s job, you’re big enough and ugly enough to do it yourself and surely it doesn’t take any longer than depositing them on the floor.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise it still rankled you, I’ll endeavour to do better in future.”

“You said the last three times I’ve complained.”

“So I’m consistent then.”

I just knew he was grinning and I wanted to hit him he made me so cross with his glib retort. How can a fully grown man be so dismissive of his carelessness? I didn’t know, but I was losing patience and fast. He’s no longer a schoolboy. I resented that he had woken me up to tell me something I already knew and disapproved of heartily. Somehow I controlled my urges to really tell him what I thought and rolled back onto my side. I was now anything but sleepy, I was bristling and when he put his arm around me, I pushed it away. He got the message and muttering something to himself turned away and for the first time in ages we slept back to back. One day he might get the message, I could live in hopes.

It was probably an hour later before I managed to fall into the arms of Morpheus and I stayed there until seven the next morning when I rose grumpily from my bed like Aphrodite with PMS. I had showered and washed my hair, dressed and was half way through waking Danielle when she reminded me it was a bank holiday. So where was Simon?

No wonder they were all so content to go to bed late, they knew they’d have a lie in the next morning—duh. Talk about stupid doesn’t enter into it. How can anyone that dumb get to be a professor apart from friends in high places? Can’t even say it was big tits because mine have got a bit smaller since I stopped feeding Lizzie. She’s now on solids with some formula.

I checked the bed, no, I hadn’t overlooked his sleeping form, the bed was empty. Oh boy, has he got up to do some work or in umbrage, gone off somewhere. I checked the floor in the bedroom and the en suite—there were no underpants. Then in the dirty clothes hamper lay a pair. Goodness, maybe the penny has dropped—it was a full moon last night; is he turning into a (dum dum dum) a weir washer? Nah, he just forgot to drop them on the floor. I almost took them out of the hamper and threw them on the floor so I could grumble and pick them up and deposit them back there. Fortunately, the idea palled as sanity returned.

Downstairs, I found myself alone. He wasn’t in the study or any of the reception rooms. He wasn’t out with the dog, Tom’s coat was missing from the back lobby as was Kiki so it was odds on they were together, Tom and his dug, that is, though that wouldn’t necessarily preclude Simon being with them. The sun was shining, so he could be.

I glanced down the drive his car was still there, alongside the space where mine was. Was being the operative word, it was missing, so were my spare keys. The bugger had taken my car—what for? I’ll murder him if he damages it, anyone would think he owned it—I suppose he does, though he wouldn’t like it if I went looking for it in his car.

He’d recently replaced Stella’s Fiesta with a BMW 318 and Jacquie had been given the old one, Phoebe, who was learning to drive was offered Julie’s Smart car once the new Jaguar XE type comes out and Julie gets one of those. Some ecologist I am, we have almost as many cars in the drive as the M25 in the rush hour.

I decided to make myself breakfast—toast and tea with mashed banana on the charred bread. Jacquie came down with Lizzie and Cate followed on a few steps behind. I poured Jacquie a cup of tea she put Lizzie in the high chair and I quickly made up some formula and handed the baby the bottle. She drank a few gulps and threw it on the floor. It was going to be one of those days. I cut off a crust from my toast and gave it to her. She chewed hungrily on it. Was she teething? I asked Jacquie who said she was going to raise the matter with me. I suggested we gave her one of Kiki’s Bonios and Jacquie snorted tea everywhere. I didn’t think it was that funny.

Meems came down next with Cate, now it was all systems go and the thunder of hoof beats indicated the arrival of Trish and Livvie. Danni probably wouldn’t show much before lunch and eat her breakfast before she had lunch while remaining as thin as a lath. I suppose she burnt it off by all the training she does. Perhaps I should join a soccer team—as I couldn’t kick a ball to save my life—I knew what the answer to that would be.

Simon arrived home and wandered into the kitchen and I made him some coffee. “So where did you take my car?” I asked him, not that he’d tell me if he’d just cut the brakes.

“To the car wash, why?”

“I just wondered—but thank you.”

“It looked dirty yesterday when I came home.”