The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2799 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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“What have you done to the weather?” asked Simon.

“It’s the weekend, it always rains on weekends.”

“I’ve noticed. I was going to clear some of the leaves for Tom.”

“Oh, I was hoping you were washing the cars.”

“Is Danielle around?”

“She mentioned going to see Cindy but I think she’s still here, try her room.” Instead he stood in the hall and bellowed.

“Danielle?”

“What?”

“Never mind what, you’re supposed to come when I call you.”

“I’m doing something.”

“What are you doing that is so important you can’t stop and come down here.”

“I’m putting my knickers on.”

“Hurry up then.”

He came in sighing and rolling his eyes, I was chuckling away like a demented gnome.

“You heard.”

“I did,” I said and chuckled some more. “Living here is funnier than most comedy shows on the telly.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed even louder.

“What?” Danni had arrived with hastily donned jeans and top, she was still barefoot.

“Right, we’re going to wash the cars.”

“It’s raining.”

“So?”

“An’ I’m goin’ out, ask one of the others.”

“It’s worth a tenner.”

“How long’s it gonna take?”

I listened as Simon negotiated with our teenage daughter, she’d give him an hour for the tenner. I used to deliver morning papers at her age and it took me all week to get that much. They don’t know they’re born. She dashed off to pull on her wellies and a waterproof and they both went out to wash the cars with our jet washer thing. She quite enjoys it really, must be the boy in her, despite all the makeup and purple painted nails.

I called the others to help me tidy the house. “How much?” asked Trish.

“I might be able to find you a chocolate bar if you do a good job.”

“Huh, Danni’s gettin’ a tenner for playing with the washer thing.”

“I didn’t offer her a tenner, if you wanted to get paid you should have got in first and spoken to your dad.”

“What sort of chocolate bar?”

“I could make you do it for nothing.”

“That’s child exploitation.”

“Exactly. You have two minutes to decide whether you’re going to help me for chocolate or for nothing.”

“Okay,” she said so half-heartedly, but I have things I want to do as well and they help make the mess.

“Right, Trish you vacuum, Meems go and look after the little ones, make sure Trish doesn’t suck one up the vacuum cleaner,” there were laughs at this. “Hannah you and Livvie can change all your beds and shove the dirties in the washing machine.”

“What’re you going to do?” Trish asked me.

“I’m going to mop the kitchen floor before David gets here, then do a bread mix, why?”

“Just wondered.”

“Well stop wondering and start vacuuming.”

“Slave driver,” she muttered and the rest giggled.

In an hour we had the place looking half tidy and I got Trish to flit round with the feather duster afterwards while Livvie polished the dining table and Hannah did the chairs.

Once they were done I got one of them to help me fold the washing and to take it to dry in the conservatory where we spread it over a series of clothes airers. It takes longer than the drier but it is much less harmful to the environment and cheaper.

After this I made them a drink each and they had the choice of a mince pie or chocolate. They all opted for the chocolate. I didn’t, I had a cuppa and a mince pie. So did Simon after he’d walked dirty marks all over my nice clean floor—I made him wipe them up before he got his tea. David thought it was hilarious.

Simon glared at him and said, “Look here, my man, I’m the boss in this house—my wife said so.” David, the maker of the said mince pies was in the process of eating one and nearly choked to death. I thought the pair of them were hilarious but then I was the one who was staring at the growing mound of ironing.

The helps we’d had were no longer here, Helen had gone for another job and Lorraine had had to leave to look after her mum who’d fallen rather badly and somehow broken both arms. Despite Simon telling me to replace them, I got fed up with recruiting and finding they left a short time later. I did consider offering the job on something like a trans website but given the problems we’d had before, I didn’t want to take the risk.

“I find it ludicrous that you can’t find someone to replace Lorraine, it’s hardly hard work is it and with accommodation.” The doorbell rang and Maureen appeared, Daddy had asked her to look at some storm damage to one of the sheds, I offered her a cuppa. “That’s right isn’t it, Maureen?”

“What’s that, Si?” She’d only recently stopped calling him his lordship or sir and that was only because Simon threatened to thump her if she persisted because he considered her a family friend.

“Cathy should be able to recruit someone to help her with the housework.”

“I didn’t know you were lookin’,” she said pausing to take a bite of mince pie, “These are good, ma’am.”

“They should be for what we pay him.” I nodded towards David. “You’ve heard of sleeping policemen, we have the dozing chef.” He knew I was teasing him and just laughed, so did the others.

“I might know someone who could be interested,” offered Maureen.

“Who’s that?” asked Simon and I almost coloured up waiting for him to choke on his tea when she mentioned it was one of her ‘trans’ fiends.

“It’s Amanda Dowling, nice girl, does some odds and sods for me in the office.”

“This is housework and babysitting,” I said glancing at Simon who so far hadn’t exploded.

“Send her up—Cathy will want a CRB check so make sure she understands.”

“Course; hold on I’ll ring her now.” She wandered out of the kitchen and we could hear her talking, then she strolled back. “She’s on her way, is the cottage still included?”

“It could be,” I replied looking at David who got used to having no neighbour for the past few weeks.

“Cause she’s havin’ to look fer somewhere, her lease has ended.”

“Unless I’m happy with her, I’m not going to employ her, even though you recommended her.”

“Quite right too, ma’am. But she’s a good kid an’ a hard worker.” Maureen went to look at the shed as Tom arrived, he’d been checking on the wildlife we keep in the labs, including my ‘tree rats.’ They both walked off up the garden.

I was just setting up the ironing board, Simon and David were still chatting as David made some more pastry—for more mince pies, the three dozen he’s made so far, lasted three days—and I haven’t eaten them all, when the doorbell rang. Stella had materialised from somewhere and answered it. “Young lady to see you, Cathy—sorry can’t stop, retail therapy.” I got to the door as she and her two little ones were disappearing through it.

Just inside the door stood a young woman with long blonde hair wearing jeans and fleece jacket, carrying a Cath Kidston bag. “I’m Amanda, are you Lady Cameron?”