The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1202 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Girls, where did Grampa Henry go?” I’d been so worried about Simon that I’d forgotten it was he who’d taken them to town.

“Dunno,” said Trish and she shrugged.

“What you mean, he was in that fire?”

“No, he left ages ago, we stayed with Daddy.”

“Daddy asked him to get something,” offered Livvie.

“But you don’t know what?” I asked.

“No, ‘course not,” she had her hands clasped in front of her and she was twisting her body from side to side in real, little girl mode. She was also blushing, so I knew she wasn’t telling me everything.

“But you think Grampa is safe?”

They all nodded.

As we walked away from the area, I managed to find my bicycle–I was surprised that no one had taken it, or even the lights or the computer.

“How are we going to get home, Mummy–we can’t all sit on your crossbar?” It’s a ladies bike so has a sloping bar and even carrying one might have proved difficult. Just then a taxi dropped off a customer, and I managed to stop him. By taking off my front wheel, the bike went in the boot and we all rode home together.

It was during this ride that my mobile rang and Henry spoke to me. “What the hell happened? I turn my back for two seconds and that idiot son of mine burns the office block down.”

“Your idiot son is still missing,” I said tersely.

“Oh, are the girls alright?”

“Yes, I’ve managed to round them up, I’m taking them home at the moment.”

“Don’t they know what happened to Simon?” his tone was much more conciliatory this time.

“He apparently stayed behind to help injured people into the helicopter–no one’s seen him since.”

“Silly bugger didn’t forget to hitch a ride himself did he?”

“Henry, this is my husband we’re talking about who at this moment is the equivalent of MIA. I’d be grateful if you showed some respect for him and some feelings for me and the girls.”

“With all due respect, Cathy, I’ve known him longer than you have and I know what a twit he is. When he flew out to join us one year on holiday, because he had to attend some pop concert instead of coming out with us, the idiot got on the wrong blessed plane–took the British consul and his staff two ruddy days to find him. Instead of Menorca, the idiot had got on a plane to Morocco.”

“I don’t think he had much choice of helicopters today.”

“Perhaps he’s at the airbase or a hospital–probably one in Nova Scotia, knowing him.”

“By helicopter?” I asked angrily.

“Okay, Haverford bloody West, then.”

“I’m going now, Henry, in case my idiot husband should be trying to contact me.”

“What one knock for yes and two for no?”

“Henry, that is cruel.”

“Okay, I’m off to the hotel if you want me. When he turns up, tell him to give me a ring.”

“Don’t you mean if he turns up?”

“He’ll turn up, believe me. Bye.”

I was really cross with his insensitivity, I could be a widow as we speak, and he’s joking about it.

“Was that Gwamps, Mummy?”

“Yes, Meems.”

“Did he get the...”

The question was never finished as three other girls shouted at her, “Hush.” Consequently she burst into tears and then Livvie who was next to her had to give her a hug to shut her up.

“Are they all yours?” asked the Cabbie.

“Yes, plus two more at home.”

“Bloody Catholics,” he muttered under his breath.

“We’re not, actually. We’re from the Church of St Mammon and St Croesus.”

“Where’s that then, I thought I knew all the Portsmouth and Southsea churches?”

“It just burnt down.”

He pulled into the drive and we exited the vehicle, “But that was a bank, wasn’t it?”

“Spot on,” I paid him, but the tip was only half of what it would have been had he been less prejudiced.

Once in doors, I sent the children up to shower and went with them, they smelt of smoke and other things. Once dried, they came down for a supper and a big hug. It was while we were doing this my mobile rang, this time it was Simon.

“Hi, Babes.”

“Where are you? I’ve been out of mind with worry about you?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I’m at Southampton.”

“Don’t tell me, you got the wrong helicopter, Henry said you would.”

“Oh did he? He’s never going to let me forget that is he?”

“I neither know nor care, I’m just so pleased to hear you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, my suit is wrecked, look, the chopper crew are going to bring me back to Pompey, I’ll get a cab from there back to the car park and pick up my car.”

“I don’t think so, there was a very large bang, so your car might be under a heap of rubble now.”

“Okay, I’ll get a cab home then.”

“Do you want someone to collect you from the naval station?”

“No, dunno how long this is going to take, I’ll get back when I can.”

“Be careful, oh and Si?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“I love you too, Babes.”

“Oh–nearly forgot–will you call Henry on his mobile, he’s staying at the hotel tonight, needs to see the damage in the morning.”

“Will do–gotta go, they’re calling my flight.”

I breathed an enormous sigh of relief. He was safe! Mind you if they find out he’s a banker they might chuck him out over the sea. What on earth was he doing at Southampton and would he have been quicker coming back on the train?

I let the kids stay up a little later that night, they were all in bed by the time Simon got home and he smelt of a combination of smoke, some sort of fuel–presumably what helicopters use, whatever that is? The final constituent was drink–he was a tad merry and very verbose. At least he doesn’t want to hit me when he’s drunk, just talk me to death–just as painful but takes longer.

“Simon, it’s nearly midnight, where have you been?”

“Well I ‘ad to buy the guys a drink, now didn’t I? One thing led to another and we ended up in the Ward Room–well the station commander came to see me, an’ he had a drink and then he bought me one–I’m a hero, d’ya know?”

What, for living with me and six kids? Is what went through my mind, but what I said was, “How would I know, Si, I haven’t seen you since this morning.”

He then went on to explain in great and rambling detail how he saved all the people from the roof, going last himself like a captain leaving a sinking ship. I pointed out that captains are supposed to go down with their ships. His answer was unprintable ‘fa a game o’ sojers’ and was probably the first time I ever heard him use a Scottishism.

Once he’d eaten he fell asleep in the chair, so I threw a blanket round him and left him to sleep it off in the chair–I went to bed and tossed and turned half the bloody night. In one event, more than half my family could have been annihilated–I was frightened more than I have ever been and we have no news of what happened or why?