Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 909 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was pleased to hear the hippopotamus was recaptured, if only because I knew someone would try and record it for the mammal survey. I’m half expecting someone to send in sightings of big cats–apparently there’s one been seen in Dorset recently–which probably means, an overgrown tabby was seen by a short-sighted elderly vicar as he drove past it at eighty miles an hour after dark.

I’d found Julie in my bed last night and she had clung to me in her sleep–she’d also had at least one nightmare of being killed by her father. I’m going to get a restraining order against her parents–I’ve left a note to remind me to call Rushton Henstridge to organise it.

I got up early because I was too hot in bed–so it’s five o’clock and I’m sitting here in my nightdress, fiddling on my laptop and dealing with survey stuff and drinking tea. Tom will be up in an hour, so I’d better get a move on, because I won’t get much done when he comes down. He’ll tell me all about his meeting and dinner and then walk the dog before he has his breakfast.

I’ve also made a shopping list of groceries we need–I’ll have to go to Asda or Tesco in case the other supermarket worries Julie. She told me he bundled her into the boot of his car–why nobody intervened, or at least called the police is astonishing. I can’t believe no one saw it.

I must make some bread as well–if I put the machine on next it could be ready for breakfast. So that’s what I did. The only qualm being, if they smell fresh bread at breakfast–they won’t eat the old first. If that was my only dilemma I’d be made.

Simon phoned just before I went to bed–I explained what had happened and he got very exercised about it–and told me off for getting involved. If I hadn’t, I think Kemp might have killed Julie anyway, and perhaps himself after. I can’t believe he isn’t upset by what he thinks he’s done–in which case, serves him right. His wife will probably go to her grave believing she’s completely right in everything. Oh well, she’d be resistant to any form of rehabilitation–so she can deal with her misery by herself.

Sometimes I wonder what could possibly happen next–but then with an Israeli hit squad killing some bloke in Dubai, with a plot straight out of a Freddie Forsythe spy thriller–shows it’s not just Portsmouth that’s going crazy. Also, the so-called woman assassin–could she be a man in disguise? Why not, the whole thing is so bizarre?”

I heard Tom come down and switch on the coffee maker–I think I’ve mentioned he likes it strong–it’s like the stuff that flows down the Severn Estuary after heavy rain in the Welsh mountains–viz. mud.

“Och, ye’re up early?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep–too much flying round my head, so I’ve done a couple of hours work on the survey.”

“I ken whit I meant to telt ye...”

I thought, here we go–memoirs of a university gossip–but it wasn’t. He had a student apply for the ecology course, who was a transitioning male to female–planned on making the change as soon as he left home. Apparently, the applicant had heard that someone at Portsmouth, had done so with the blessing of the university and wondered if they would consider doing it again?

“Can I cope with another one?” I asked him, I had two under my roof–did I want one on my course as well? The answer was, of course, yes–but only if they are academically up to it. I also suggested an interview might be useful–sometimes these kids are even more naive than I am–they think about how nice it’ll be to wear skirts and makeup whenever they want–unaware that most female students don’t wear either much of the time.

Tom agreed, he’d set quite a high entry requirement of A and two Bs minimum. I said I’d have to get involved anyway, but would prefer for it not to be disclosed at this stage. He agreed. I got another half hour’s work done while he walked the dog, then I went and showered away some of the tiredness before I woke the kids up.

For a change I bathed the girls–Julie came to see what all the giggles were about, and helped me dry them before she went off and showered herself. I thought I’d keep an eye on her for the next few days as Stephanie had suggested. She was going to call by in a few days to see her again. I hope Julie appreciates the special treatment she’s getting.

I quite like Stephanie, she’s completely barking–as one expects of a psychiatrist, but I think I’d like to cultivate her as a friend. I’ll see where it takes us, but maybe a shopping trip or something would be a useful idea.

The girls came down for breakfast and Julie rounded up the boys and brought them down. You wouldn’t think she’d been abducted yesterday–if anything, she seems even more normal than usual.

She dried the girl’s hair while I made loads of toast and poured bowls of cereal. They all seemed to enjoy themselves. Danny cracked me up–“I think, I’m gonna grow my hair, Mummy, so Julie can style it for me.”

“Yeah, it would look nice with a strawberry blonde top knot,” she replied.

Billy thought that was hilarious, and they ended up punching each other on the arm until I intervened and threatened to bang their heads together. Once they all stopped giggling–boys and girls, the boys blushing as well, breakfast resumed.

After dropping the girls at school, I asked Julie if she was up to visiting a supermarket–she said she was as long as I didn’t lock her in the boot. I wasn’t sure how much of this was bravado and how much was how she really felt.

We did Tesco and I stayed with her the whole time. We did alright until we got to the checkouts and some bloke a couple of checkouts over looked a bit like her dad. She grabbed my arm and shivered with fear. I was on the verge of abandoning the shopping when it was our turn. Somehow we managed to get through the checkout–with the woman on the till asking if Julie was okay. I passed it off by saying she’d been in an accident yesterday and wasn’t over it yet–but my husband was away and I needed the shopping. Her hostility melted away and she hoped Julie was better soon.

Turned out the woman behind us had a friend who suffered from post traumatic stress thingy–and he’d been treated by some psychologist in Southampton. I explained we couldn’t go near Southampton because Julie had been traumatised by a hippopotamus, when she was a baby.

Julie began to smirk at this, which thankfully, the woman didn’t see.

“I thought they caught that one?”

“Ah, this was a pink one.”

“I thought they were grey?” she challenged.

“They are generally–but the pink ones are the most dangerous.”

“They are? I don’t believe you.”

“In our case they were–she nearly choked on it.”

“She nearly choked on it? Don’t you mean the hippo nearly choked on her?”

“No, I know what I mean–I am her mother after all.”

“You must have been young when you had her then–you look more like sisters.”

“I was ten when she was born.”

“You’re joking? Ten when she was born.”

“I was.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“I’m not actually, I’m ten years older than her.”

A small group of eavesdroppers collected round us and what had started as a joke became slightly threatening to Julie–especially as the man from the other checkout queue had come to listen to the entertainment.

“I have to go, I have a whole crocodile to cook,” I said and before she could say anything, I pushed the trolley and pulled Julie with me. “Come along granddaughter,” I said loudly.

Once back in the car–Julie howled with laughter, before bursting into tears and requiring a hug from me before we could go home.

At this rate, I’m only going to be able to shop in Asda or Sainsbury’s.