The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2665 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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“We’re having the grand opening of the new visitor centre on July the fourteenth,” I announced at breakfast.

“You realize that’s smack in the middle of the TdF,” Danni replied.

I could feel my face fall, that’s what Simon had been on about—oh well, I’ll have to watch it on telly later. How could I have missed his allusions to that? Must be getting old, stupid or lost the plot—probably all three.

“There’s one of those every year, so I’m sure I’ll manage to survive for a day or two,” I said trying to make light of my oversight. The fact was that the planning for such an event would take weeks—I wondered how good Delia was at such things and was it fair to dump it on her shoulders? It’s the sort of thing Daddy would have dumped on me once I started working for him—in fact he did or partly concerning the conference we had and to some extent that night I had to act as hostess which nearly got me killed and did so for Mary. I shuddered.

“You okay, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“Yes thank you, sweetheart, just thinking of something which wasn’t very nice.”

“Oh dear, can I help?” she smiled at me as Danni and Trish were squabbling over the cornflakes.

“No it’s fine, darling, it’s something from the past, so it’s long gone.”

“Well, I’m a good listener.” She sounded like someone three times her nine years. All these kids were so precocious at times it was frightening but I certainly wasn’t going to burden her with ghosts from my past.

I went to the study to pack my laptop and a few files I needed and she followed me. “I really am a good listener, Mummy, if you want to share with me.”

“Thank you very much for your kind offer but it really is something from some years ago and it just came into my mind, I don’t know why—but it was resolved.”

“Not those rascally Russians, was it?” she probed.

“No it wasn’t, it was something to do with the university.”

“Oh not when Spike was lost?”

“Yes, you found out—now can you and your sisters get your stuff together or you’re going to be late.” She ran off with a giant smirk on her face and I felt a bit down because I lied to her but I could see no other course except to be cross with her and she was trying to help me, so that would have been worse—least I thought so.

“Why did she get upset over Spike, she always finds her way home?” asked Trish.

“How many times has she been lost then?” asked Danni.

“Two or three at least, in the old days Mummy was always mislaying her.”

Huh—these kids have over active imaginations—it was only twice, once when Meems nearly deafened her and the other was when I was up in Bristol and she ended up in the loaf. Goodness, I could have cut her in half. I shuddered again.

“See, she isn’t over it, she did it again,” said Livvie.

“Are you all right, Mummy,” asked Trish, “only Livvie thinks you have some remaining trauma from your past regarding Spike and we all think you should share it with us so we can help you reformat it.”

“Reframe it, dumbo,” corrected Livvie.

“Yeah, reframe it—I was close,” she hissed at her sister.

“Yeah, like miles away.”

“Well you ask her then.”

“Livvie did ask me and I told her I was fine, I’m not going to say this again but I don’t need help reformatting, reframing or reorganising my memories, but if you lot don’t hurry you’re going to make yourselves late and I shall be late for my first meeting. So, MOVE IT.”

We were all mobile a few moments later and then it was simply a question of dealing with the Portsmouth traffic—it really is chronic. I dropped the girls off at the end of the road charging Danielle with delivering them to school safely as I shot off to attend my meeting—with the rest of the university council. I was surprised they hadn’t noticed that I was wearing a suit and makeup—I suppose they were too busy trying to psycho-analyse me.

The rest of the morning was as boring as watching paint dry but the internal politics of these committees are so dynamic you have to stay awake and be reading the body language and subtexts to know who is allied with who this week. I’m seen as the iconoclastic member who brought down the previous administration and thus to some extent the king maker, as the next vice chancellor won’t succeed without my support.

As this exercise had cleared out some of the deadwood, I and one or two others of more recent vintage had asserted ourselves and they had backed me in disposing of the previous council—however, the day to day business was simply dead boring, exciting only to necrophiliacs such as some blowflies and certain beetles.

At lunch I was invited to accompany some of my bloc to lunch and thought I’d better go to maintain contact with them. Once we’d ordered—mine was a tuna jacket potato—Vivian Lewis asked me if I’d thought about standing as chair of the council. I’d chaired the council in emergency meetings but that was all, so I hadn’t thought of it.

“That’s a great idea, Viv,” agreed Prof Runthorpe, who was an even more recent member than I was and who had allied with us younger set.

“I don’t know, I’m just so busy,” I said trying to pass the buck.

“Oh c’mon, Cathy, you’re a natural leader and you did sort of stir things up before.”

“I don’t know, look we’re about to open the research facility at the nature reserve, so I’ve got a bit on my plate at the minute.”

“Look, if Rowena stands as secretary you could leave most of it to her,” Tim Runthorpe wasn’t helping. Rowena Phillips or Dr Rowena Phillips was a bit of a loose cannon, so having her as the secretary of the council was something I wasn’t at all sure about. Fortunately she wasn’t there but she had made it known she fancied the job. I certainly didn’t have time for that, secretary is always the busiest job on any committee, chairing it just means doing what the secretary tells you to do plus banging the odd pair of heads together—metaphorically of course.

“What about you doing the secretary’s job, Viv?” urged Carol Rathbone, “I suspect our chairwoman in waiting might be more agreeable to that, I know I would.”

“Oh God, I don’t know if I’ll have time,” said Vivian, feeling a little of the pressure I’d had earlier, but I’d certainly be happier with that arrangement. “What d’you think, Cathy?” she asked me.

“It could work, you and I together,” I said trying to sound non-committally positive.

“Right, so we’ve got our dream team, Cathy as chair and Viv as secretary,” smirked Runthorpe.

I smiled and excused myself before they voted me in to do something else and I did have a meeting. I wonder if Mr Obama leads as exciting a life.