The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2804 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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When I got to bed Simon was already there and fast asleep, so my chance to talk to him on the girl’s behalf was limited, no make that impossible. I did think about trying to tell him while he was asleep but if it worked it could be seen as almost like trying to plant post hypnotic suggestions and i don’t want him to do what I tell him—well yes I do actually, but I want him to look at their business plan and make sure it’s viable and then lend them the money at a good rate. Instead I read some more of Elly Griffiths before falling asleep, book still clutched in my hands. However, I dropped it, lost my place and woke myself up.

It wasn’t cold, which was about all you could say for the dreary weather, which seemed to take every opportunity to rain or blow a gale. I also decided I wanted the lounge redecorated before Christmas. I’d ring Maureen tomorrow see if she could recommend someone.

I groaned, how could morning come round so quickly, plus someone was going to show me some massive secret of the universe instead I was awoken by screams or at least yells of pain followed by a crash and groans. I’d felt movement on the bed so I knew it involved Simon. Why couldn’t he let them kill him quietly?

I sat up and he was nowhere to be seen but the groans were getting louder. When I leant across the bed he was lying half under it. “What happened?” I was pleased with myself because I hadn’t asked him if he was all right.

“I got cramp and jumped out of bed—my leg just folded underneath me.”

I clambered out of the bed and went round to him, “Anywhere hurting?”

“Yes all of me, so don’t go making it worse.”

“Simon, it is six o’clock on a Sunday morning and I have been roused from my slumbers an hour before I was expecting to, so if I were you I’d think bear and sore head before you answer my next question. Is anywhere hurting to stop you getting up, with help from me, natch?”

“My leg’s sore but I don’t think it’s broken.”

I could arrange to correct that, I thought but said, “Right, let’s get you out from under the bed unless you’re going to clean up the fluff while you’re down there.”

“Very funny, here I am at death’s door and you’re making jokes.”

“I can go and select some sombre music if you want but we’re still going to have to get you up off the floor, or I could just throw you a blanket and go back to bed. It’s your call.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, woman.”

I yawned, it looked as if it might be one of those days—why do they always start so bloody early? “Me ridiculous, I’m not the one lying under the bed because he was a little potty.”

“That’s right, mock me with silly schoolgirl jokes.”

“Well if I told you one more sophisticated you might not get it.”

“You cheeky cow.”

“Okay, a photon checked into a hotel, asked if he had any luggage he said, ‘No I’m travelling light.’”

“That’s a joke?”

“Yeah, and I thought you were good at physics.”

“I was, c’mon help me up.”

“A decision at last.” We struggled with him groaning and me huffing and puffing, he is heavy—he’s my hubby, not my brother. After two very long minutes he was lying on the bed breathing heavily and grumbling.

“Oh hell,” he said.

“What’s the matter?” I wondered if we’d left a leg or something lying on the floor but I had a vague recollection of counting them—still, he’s the mathematician.

“I need a bloody pee.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Several minutes of struggle and he got to the bathroom where I left him to micturate in peace, threating to break his good leg if he so much as got a drip on the floor or the seat. When I went back he was sitting on the loo with his pants down round his ankles—he’d thought he’d better sit to do it. Well I, and thirty million females do it like that every day in this country.

I got him back to bed, anyone would think he’d fallen down stairs not out of bed. After this it was down to make some tea in the hope that the cup that cheers might stop me making myself a widow. As the kettle was boiling Tom came into the kitchen.

“Whit are ye daein’ up this time?”

“Simon fell out of bed and by the time I’d helped him up I was wide awake and I need to boost my tea levels.”

“When they did yer op, whit blood group were ye?”

“Twinings, why?”

“I thocht it mebbe Typhoo.”

He can talk, his is Laphroaig.

He made himself some coffee as the kettle boiled and I did a cup for Simon with tea for me. “That paper wis like auld times.” He beamed at me and I knew he was as likely to tell me how bad I was before as how good I am now.

“That bad, eh?” I answered putting milk in my tea.

“Och, of course not ye scunner, it wis guid.”

At least I’d got a positive response by opting to go for the negative one. “Glad you liked it."

"Ye need tae publish more.”

“Okay, I’ll resign and write papers instead.”

“Ye’ve got some guid research underway, why not publish some o’ it?”

“I’m just the supervisor, remember and I have four research projects to keep my beady eye on. Besides, our students have little idea of deadlines, so they just over run.”

“Aye, ye’re tae saft on them.”

“So you keep telling me, we’re also waiting for some results from Brighton on the DNA. You of all people should know how slow molecular biology is.”

“Aye, I ken fine weel.” He slurped his coffee, “Yer no expectin’ anythin’ unusual are ye?”

“No it would be unexpected but until we have the results, I can’t speculate—as someone keeps telling me, it makes poor science, or actually, puir science.”

“Aye, well jest ye remember it an’ we’ll mak a scientist o’ ye yet.”

“Don’t I have to be a crabby auld git, first?”

“Och ye scunner...”

“Talking of which I’d better take this coffee up to his lordship before it goes cold.” I excused myself and clambered up the stairs trying not to spill the hot fluids. I handed him his coffee.

“Wot, no biccies?”

It was only the thought of stripping the bed that stopped me pouring it over him. “No,” I said tartly.

“Well the length of time you were down there I thought you were making toast.”

“I was talking to Daddy about the paper I wrote last night and he proofed for me.”

“I could have proofed it for you.”

“If you’d been conscious, possibly.”

“That’s right get on to me cause I had a little drink.”

“You left your car at the rugby club, came home by taxi, which I had to pay, and then tried to get in the dog’s bed.”

“Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“I’ll bet you wouldn’t put your underpants on back to front either.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Take a look, I’m going for some breakfast.”