The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2794 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 awoke to the radio alarm and Jim Nauchtie was telling us that Turkey had shot down a Russian jet they claimed had violated Turkish airspace. I think I groaned. All we needed was a major war starting because one of NATO’s flakier members squabbled with expansionist Russia. The crew had been seen to bail out but one was thought to have died.

I was in the shower before I remembered what day it was, Tuesday, bugger I had to work. I roused the girls only to find Danielle was already up and packing her soccer kit. “Game tonight?”

“Yeah, Portsmouth schools against Hastings, I think, can’t remember.” Seems my amnesia is catching.

“I didn’t know you played for the city school’s team,” I said in surprise.

“Yeah, ever since I got the school’s cap.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did or tried to, you had your head up a dormouse’s bum or something.”

“Where are you playing?”

“Fratton.”

“What time?”

“After school. They send a car for me.”

“We’ll come to watch if we can.”

“Okay, you can give me a lift home.”

Breakfast came and went and I forgot to get something to eat, too busy feeding the others. By the time I’d got to the office my tummy was rumbling and instead of sending Diane to get me something, I dashed out to the nearest supermarket and bought us a toaster. We already had a fridge for the milk, so I got a small wholemeal loaf and some butter, plus some cheese. Half an hour later we were both eating toast and cheese and drinking tea.

Ever noticed how the smell of toast lingers? Well it did in reception despite leaving the door open for half an hour. Too bad. Tom came by at lunch time and insisted I came to lunch with him. I wasn’t that hungry having despatched two slices of bread and a hunk of cheddar as previously mentioned.

“Whit’s thae smell?”

“Smell, what smell? Can you smell anything, Diane?”

She sniffed a couple of times, “No professor, can’t smell anything.” We left to drive in my car with Tom giving me baleful looks and Diane smirking behind his back.”

“Whit wis thae smell?”

“Toast.”

“Och, I shud hae reco’nised it.”

“I bought us a toaster.”

“Whit’s wrang wi’ oor’s at hame?”

“Nothing, just too busy with sorting everyone else, didn’t have time.”

“Cathy, ye need tae look t’ yersel’.”

“Well, now if I forget...”

“Aye, just mind t’ open thae windaes.”

“I’ve got maintenance coming this afternoon to sort the window in our little kitchen. We couldn’t open it this morning.”

Despite not being hungry I managed to put away a tuna jacket with salad and a glass of cranberry juice. Apparently there was no reason for my summons to lunch other than he wanted my company. Ridiculously, although we live in the same house we can go hours without seeing each other. He slopes off to his study and reads or writes or does paperwork after dinner and I frequently go off to mine and that’s that. If I’m around the kitchen, he’ll sometimes come out for a cup of cocoa except he’d rather have a wee drap o’ watter o’ life—his single malt. I’d rather have cocoa and I don’t like it either.

I like chocolate, no correction—I love chocolate. I have a fridge magnet on my filing cabinet in my study which declares, ‘The only thing better than a good friend, is a good friend with chocolate!’ So my addiction to chocolate matches that of millions of women worldwide and quite a few men, however, I don’t like chocolate flavoured things, so all these exotic drinks, chocolate cake and so on doesn’t cut the ice with me. It has to be chocolate or chocolate coating, such as choccie biccies or mini swiss rolls—damn, I feel hungry again now.

On the way to collect a car load of schoolgirls, I stopped at a small supermarket and purchased chocolate bars for everyone. They all had changes of clothing for the football, so once we’d dropped Danielle off at the player’s entrance, we went to find seats in the stand.

Portsmouth girls won six nil. It was a massacre and Danni orchestrated it, scoring four herself and laying on the other two. She is clearly an extremely talented player who not only plays well she reads the game well—a footballing brain—the soccer pundits say. Since she had the tutoring and went to St Claire’s, her academic abilities have developed really well, too. She’ll never be as clever as Trish or Livvie, but then neither will I; but she is doing really well for herself and I am so proud.

We were home about half past six and I sent them all off to change. David had roasted a shoulder of pork and it was delicious, though personally, I don’t eat apple sauce, the others said it was exquisite. I’m sure it was. After I cleared the table, Si zonked in the lounge watching the telly, Daddy went off for his wee drap and I retired to my study to study a report Dan had sent me from the study centre.

They’d had further vandalism and an attempted break in. The building itself has steel shutters fitted to all the windows and the doors are reinforced security ones. Inside, any valuable equipment is kept inside a security cupboard—a small room with no window and a steel security door. We keep microscopes and telescopes in there and various other things such as the digital projector and the laptop computers. There’s over a hundred thousand’s worth of kit in the centre—I know because I purchased it for them—the bank got discounts on most of it. I sent him an email saying I’d be out to see him the next morning.

It really annoys me that anyone trying to steal from it is robbing the whole community but thieves rarely appreciate that, they’re looking for easy money, although everything we have in equipment is overtly marked, even a blind man would see it, it won’t stop idiots or those feeding a habit, from trying to get in and steal our equipment or look for money. That it’s off the beaten track is why they target it and why we have the security features including silent alarms to the Hampshire Constabulary.

Simon and I had a cuddle at bedtime but that was all, he was tired and I wanted to read my book, an Ellie Griffiths whodunnit though the last two I’d read featured murders of children which I didn’t enjoy but otherwise, having got used to her style and it’s writing in the present tense, I would finish it just to make sure Ruth, the heroine, survived the adventure. She lives in an isolated house on the salt marsh in Norfolk—sounds idyllic until an easterly blows.

Simon was snoring as I read to finish the chapter when my peripheral vision detected movement. I glanced up from my book and there by the door stood Billie. “Come quickly, Mummy,” she said and faded.