The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2776 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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I did take myself off to bed earlier than usual. I skipped dinner had a drink of milk and a biscuit and was between the sheets by eight o’ clock. David wanted to know what had happened to me as he’d made what he thought was one of my favourites.

Danni told him I didn’t feel well and was having an early night which he seemed to accept. He told her he had a new book to read and might also go to bed early. In the end Simon had to chase the girls up to bed and got Danni to read them a chapter of the latest Gaby book.

I was so sound asleep that I didn’t hear or feel Simon come to bed, though I was vaguely aware of him getting up the next morning but went back to sleep. I woke when the radio came on at seven and rose after listening to the headlines. Was it a bomb that downed that Russian airliner? No one was saying for sure just yet pending further investigations—except the airline—who would insist their plane was airworthy. From the descriptions of the debris field being over forty kilometres it did tend to suggest the plane broke up in the air at quite a high altitude. At this stage a small bomb would be enough to down her. What a horrible thought, two hundred and forty people, men, women and children dead because of some nutter with two pounds of plastic explosive or something similar. Disgraceful doesn’t even begin to describe it. How can anyone kill children in cold blood? Assuming it was bomb, it seems there are some people who can and I despise them.

Even though they were Russians, not my favourite government at the best of times, I can still feel sympathy for those who died and their families. After all, it was unlikely to be full of mobsters so the crimes were perpetrated against the ordinary people which will probably gift Putin the vote the next time he wants to stand. Talk about tosser, doesn’t come into it.

I thought about the plane and the causes of its crash while I showered. I didn’t want to think myself into such a position that I found myself in a dying person just so curiosity could be assuaged so concentrated on getting my hair sorted and then roused the girls. Danni looked much better, so I decided she would go to school. She continued to feel apprehensive but I made her take her games kit for her games lesson, which would be football. It was raining, so I didn’t envy her one bit.

I could well remember our gym teacher making us run round the playing fields before we played any sort of sport—to warm us up. I could almost hear his baritone voice telling me to get my girly arse out of his sight and I and half a dozen others who didn’t enjoy physical exercise would dutifully trot round the fields sometimes stopping to pick wild flowers. One day we all came back with daisy chains round our heads—he went bananas at that. We had to report to him every lunch time and run round the fields or if it was raining, round the gym for half an hour. I got quite fit at one point.

It was wrong to suggest that I didn’t like physical exercise, as I enjoyed riding my bike and walking, but I didn’t like competitive sports especially contact ones because I was a girl and didn’t see any purpose in it. To punish me, I was made to play rugby and they taught me to tackle. I was rubbish but I knew the theory which in all fairness has been useful once or twice since. But then surprise is half the effect, men don’t expect to be tackled to the ground by a woman, so when they are it almost shocks them.

I’ll probably never have any upper body strength, so I have to do it from behind otherwise I would get hurt, but an ankle tap is amazingly effective in bringing someone down. If you watch any sort of rugby match it will be used umpteen times and mostly the person ‘tapped’ goes down.

The riot at the table brought me back to the present and I had to raise my voice to stop the squabble between Hannah and Livvie over a book. It seems they both had to read it for school as had Trish who had been the only one to do so. I didn’t want to know the details because it wouldn’t be beyond her to have hidden it after reading to prevent the others from doing so. In the end, I let Livvie keep the book and while they ate, I got a kindle version for Hannah to read.

Danni missed all the fun by being more attentive to her eye makeup than her breakfast, who upon learning of the skirmish chuckled, telling everyone she had a copy in her room they could borrow with pleasure. Then she ate her cereal with great delicacy as she didn’t want to smudge her lip gloss. I reminded her she was going to school not the salon and she sighed and said, “Pity.”

I asked her if she meant it and she smiled and told me, “No.”

“I hope not, because if you wanted to do hair and beauty we could enrol you at the college after you do your GCSEs.”

“No thanks, Mummy,” she said then paused. She said she wanted to be a teacher but perhaps she was thinking that to be so would draw attention to herself. “I’ll have a think, if I change my mind, I’ll let you know, Mummy.”

“Make sure you do. D’you want to do some more time at the salon because I can ask Julie and Phoebe,” both of whom had already left for work while she was applying her ninety-ninth coat of mascara.

“So can I, Mummy—they’re my sisters in case you forgot.”

“I wish I was a sister,” sighed Hannah and whilst I understood her frustration, I didn’t think the girls would be any different towards her if she was officially adopted. We hadn’t heard from Ingrid for some while but that didn’t mean she wasn’t plotting something, or perhaps was busy with her sleazy occupation or boyfriends.

How anyone can sell their body for money astonishes me but I’ve never been that hungry or in need of cash for drugs or booze, which lots of the street girls are. I’ve heard in parts of Spain you can see girls sitting on folding chairs near major road junctions while they wait for lorry drivers or whoever to buy their wares, which are often on display in outfits which look more like they are going clubbing than to work. I feel really sorry for them, then remember the number of transwomen who have to resort to the same sort of work to survive or pay for their treatments. In a high-risk occupation like prostitution, a vulnerable group like transwomen are even more vulnerable and many don’t survive it.

I was so fortunate in so many ways, that I needed to count my blessings much more often.