The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1072 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Whilst we were eating lunch, I glanced at the dates Stella had left for me. Nosey glanced at them too, “What are those, Mummy.”

“What do they look like?”

“Um–dates of the year.” Trish beamed.

“So now you know.” I wasn’t going to talk without being tortured.

“Dates for what, Mummy?”

“Just dates, why do you want to know?”

“ ’Cos I do.”

“Because you’re a nosey-parker, more like.”

“I’m not,” she blushed, “You’re a meanie.”

“I’m not just a meanie, I’m a meanie with secrets.” I smirked and she pouted.

“You are a meanie.”

“And you’re nosey.”

“So? I’m interested.”

“In other people’s business.”

“No, I’m not, you meanie.”

“If this was your business, you’d know what it was all about, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, course I would.”

“Therefore, if you don’t know, it can’t be any of your business, can it?”

“No, I s’pose not,” she huffed away from the table and I smirked again. Julie grabbed her and whispered something in her ear and her face lit up. She walked back to me and said, “If it’s something to do with you, then it will have a knock on effect upon us, so we need to know.”

“If I’m badgered mercilessly, I might tell you, but then, I might change my mind and scrap the whole idea, so you’d be no better off, would you?” I scowled at her.

“So these dates are about something you’re going to do on one of them?” she was walking up and down like Perry Mason before a jury.

“Objection,” I exclaimed.

“Overruled,” said Julie who was pretending to be a judge and she banged the table with her spoon.

“Oh is it now, if you lot aren’t careful I’ll introduce Sharia Law, bundle you up in burkahs and sell you off as child brides.”

“No way, am I wearing a burket, or whatever they call ‘em,” said Danny.

“They’d have a bit of a surprise when they undid the wrapping,” said Julie and they all sniggered.

“Are they like a Barbour, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“Yeah, they ’ave a ’ood, but they’re not waterproof.” Julie was having some fun with the ignorance of the younger ones.

“Not really, Liv, a Barbour is a waxed cotton jacket, a burkah is an all encompassing cloak thing through which only your eyes can be seen via a slit.”

“Ugh, sounds horrible, Mummy.”

“Lots of women wear them in Arab countries.” I informed them.

“We’s not going to a Awab countwy ah we, Mummy?” Meems decided to increase the confusion.

“That’s what the dates are for, there’s six of them, she gonna sell each one of us off as child brides.” Julie stirred the cauldron and cackled.

“You’re not are you, Mummy?” Trish began to look a little anxious.

“Is that what you think?” I challenged.

“I dunno,” shrugged Trish.

“Do you honestly think that I’ve gone to the bother of adopting you all or trying to, just to sell you off?”

“No, not really, Mummy.” Trish went for reconciliation and part of me wanted to frighten them all–just for a moment–but I remembered it would be me who had to deal with bad dreams and wet beds, so I resisted my horrible urges.

“You might have done,” stirred Julie.

“No she didn’t,” shouted Trish, becoming angry with her elder sibling.

“How do you know? Julie threw back at her.”You don’t know what those dates are for any more than we do.”

“I know Mummy wouldn’t do anything nasty to us.”

“Only because she hasn’t so far.” Julie’s reasoning was superior in its cynicism to Trish’s.

“She loves us, don’t you, Mummy?” Things were getting a bit out of hand and I noticed a few trembling lower lips amongst the younger age group.

“Of course I do.”

“You only have her word for that...” continued Julie, but I was being hugged to death by the others, who felt a need to physically touch me for their comfort and reassurance.

“Oh shut it, Julie,” spat Danny, who was the last to join the group hug.

Once it was over and the kinder reassured, I decided I would spill some of the beans, besides which Stella was parking her car and she’d tell them anyway.

“Okay, these are possible dates for our holiday.”

“Yeh,” squealed Billie, “Where are we going, Mummy?”

“Scotland,” scowled Trish, “to that rotten castle.” She sat with her bad face on and her arms folded.

“The castle–oh wow, can we go, Mummy?” Suddenly Danny was all ears.

“I don’t wanna go,” sulked Trish.

“It’ll be an adventure,” suggested Billie.

“It was an adventure last time. They tried to kill us, didn’t they, Mummy?”

“What the ghosts?” piped Danny, going off on his own fantasy.

“There aren’t any ghosts, the nasty people were Russians, weren’t they, Mummy?”

“They were gangsters, and they won’t trouble us again, Trish.”

“Mummy killed ‘em all,” sang Danny as he danced around in a circle.

“No she didn’t,” protested Trish, “It was the soldiers who got them.”

“They have soldiers at your castle, Mummy, like at the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace.”

“Don’t be silly, they were out in the woods waiting for the Russians.”

“There are woods?” Danny seemed to be excited by all the possible things his fantasy castle could provide.

“Is there a dungeon or dragons, Mummy?” Billie enquired.

“I met no dragons, except a Russian one, and I don’t remember about dungeons–but they could be useful for keeping you lot under control.”

“Did you slay the dragon, Mummy?” asked dancing Danny with great excitement as he re-enacted the slashing and stabbing of something with his imaginary sword.

“No I didn’t, and she went back to Russia.”

“She flew to Russia?” his eyes were as big as saucers, “Did they pick her up on radar?”

Trish rolled her eyes and I nodded to him.

“Did you get any photos, did she breathe flames an’ things?”

“No such thing as dragons,” announced Julie as Stella came through the door with Baby Puddin’, “is there Auntie S?”

“Is there what?” asked a harassed looking Stella–“I’ve been down that clinic for two bloody hours just to get her weighed, I coulda stayed home and done it. Bloody health visitors get on my tits.”

At this all the kids burst out laughing and Stella stood in the middle of the noise looking totally bemused. “What did I say?”

“You said the T word,” I shrugged at her.

“What are the dates for, Auntie Stella?”

“Cathy and Simon’s wedding up in Scotland, why?”

Silence fell amongst the throng.

“Thanks Stella,” I said and wondered how we’d deal with the next group of questions.