The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1307 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We were just finishing clearing up after dinner, and Maureen wandered out to the kitchen and said, “Ma’am, could I have a word?”

“Yes of course.”

She looked round and about and said, “In private?”

“Hold on one second,” I went over and closed the kitchen door and dropped the catch. “That’s about as private as we can get.”

“Thank you.”

“Please, do sit down,” I invited Maureen pulling out a chair from the table and sitting on the one next to it. Since her surgery, she’d blossomed tremendously and although she’d never be a beautiful woman because of her size, she was getting by much better than before. I felt anxious for her, what was she going to tell me or ask me?

Maureen sat and began fidgeting, I assumed trying to pick the way she wanted me to tell me whatever was troubling her.

It was so tempting to interfere or interrupt her process because it was uncomfortable to me, however, the small amount of training I had in dealing with student’s personal issues meant that I knew to sit and wait patiently for her to start. If it was very painful then, she might not be able to verbalise it at all.

I was tempted to offer some tea, but that would have provided a distraction and enabled her to avoid the issue which was troubling her.

She looked at me, “It’s difficult, dunno where to begin.”

“Wherever you find it easiest.” I smiled at her and touched her hand.

She smiled back at me, “About fifteen year ago, I was just finishin’ with the navy as a matelot–we had a bit of a get together, like, and I ’ad too much of the oh-be-joyful and woke up in bed with this woman. Apparently, we done it like, an’ she fell for a baby.”

“Lots of babies happen that way, are you sure it was yours?”

“Oh yeah, we ’ad tests done, and he’s mine okay, an’ I paid maintenance and all that for ’im, still am as a matter o’fact.”

“I see, what’s his name?”

“Andrew.”

“Nice name,” I was trying to show I was still with her without leading her.

“Aye, Ma’am, but I ’ad little to do wi’it, other than pay.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He wants to meet me.”

I had a feeling this was coming. “Do they know about your situation?”

“I dunno, I don’t think so.”

“Ah, I see your problem. Do they live locally?”

“Nah, she moved to Eastbourne.”

“I see, so how can I help?”

“Well you got more experience with kids than me, could you speak to him for me?”

“To explain what you’ve done, you mean?”

“Yeah, and see if’n he still wanna see me.”

“D’you know why he suddenly wants to see you?”

“Not really, though he did say somethin’ about ’is mother moving up north, some bloke she’s with ’as a new job up there.”

“So d’you think he’s looking to live with you?”

“I dunno–I dreads to think why it’s all ’appened.”

“Let’s put the kettle on–I find a cuppa helps me think things through.” I rose from the table and switched on the kettle–it never rains here, we just have the odd tsunami come past and shit all over us. I made the tea and placed a mug of it in front of Maureen and one for myself.

“When is all this going to happen?”

“In a month or there’bouts.”

“Doesn’t give us a lot of time. Have you spoken to his mother?”

“Not recent, like.”

“Might that be the first thing we need to do.”

“I dunno, ’ow she’ll take it?”

“Does she work?”

“I think so–in the local Asda.”

“So what exactly would you like me to do?”

“Speak to ’em for me.”

Nothing too difficult then. “Do you have a phone number?”

She passed me the letter from the boy’s mother. I can’t say even her ex because it was a one night stand. I read it. “I’ll just make a note of the number.” I went to get up for a pen and paper and Maureen told me to keep the original.

I got up and collected the cordless phone. “D’you mind me referring to you by your old name?”

“No, course not.”

I dialled the number given on the letter. The paper was ruled and had been taken from an A4 pad such as those used by students. The writing was legible but immature like I’d expect from a thirteen year old girl, the spelling wasn’t very good either.

A male voice answered, “Hello, could I speak to Cilla Bromley?”

“Who is it?” asked the voice.

“Cathy Cameron, I’m Maurice Ferguson’s employer.”

“Yeah, ’ang on,” I heard the voice calling, “Mum–some woman on the phone for you, she’s Dad’s boss.”

I heard a woman’s voice ask, “What does she want?” and the boy replied, “’Ow the ’ell do I know?”

Finally after some noises presumably caused by the phone being passed over and she spoke to me.

“Mrs Bromley, ’ere, who are you?”

“Hello, Mrs Bromley, I’m Cathy Cameron, Maurice’s employer.”

“I s’pose it’s about my letter, innit?”

“Yes it is.”

“Why can’t he talk to me hisself?”

“Look it’s a bit delicate to deal with over the phone, could I come and see you and we could discuss this in person.”

“Don’t he wanna see ’is kid?”

“That isn’t the issue.”

“Oh alright, when d’you wanna come? I don’t ’ave a lotta time.”

“Would you be available tomorrow?”

“Yeah, could be, what time?”

“I have to take my girls to school, how about eleven?”

“Yeah, that’d be okay, I ’as to go t’work in the evenin’ tomorrow.”

“Right, so I’ll come and see you about eleven tomorrow morning.” I clarified and she agreed.

I looked at Maureen and she looked very worried. “What’ll I do if he thinks I’m a freak?”

“Carry on with your life, if he thinks such things, then it’s his problem not yours.”

“I’ve never been much of a dad to ’im.”

“When did you last see him?”

“About fourteen year ago.”

“So he has little concept of you then?”

“Only what ’is mother’s told ’im.”

That did little to allay my concerns. She didn’t seem one of the sharpest knives in the drawer, but she had managed to get Maureen to support her child, so she wasn’t stupid either.

“Are you going to come with me?”

“Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go–look come with me and stay in the car, if I think she’s going to freak out, I won’t say you’re with me. If she looks as if she might cope, we could try it.”

“I dunno, I don’t wanna spoil things.”

“How would you do that? You’re a lovely woman with a heart of gold, who could fail to like you?”

“Cilla or Andy?”

“That would be ironic wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, more bloody typical.”

“So, I’ll collect you after I’ve taken the girls to school and then we’ll see if we can sort this out–I’d bring your knitting if I were you–it might take a little while.”

“I’ll bring me laptop and do some costin’s on your kitchen if that’s alright?”

“Fine, I’ll see you about quarter to nine.”

“Thanks, Ma’am.” She left and I sat back down at the table. Simon came in.

“The door was locked, problems?”

“I’ve got to take Maureen to Eastbourne tomorrow.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“It’s confidential for the moment, hopefully I’ll know more tomorrow.”

“Oh, like that is it?”

“Yep, ’fraid so.” I felt like Sidney Carton as I walked up the stairs that evening, walking up to meet Madam Guillotine to save his friend’s life. “It’s a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done...”

“And a far better rest I go to than I have ever known,” Simon completed the quotation. “Sale of two titties, wrong play innit?”

“You idiot, Simon,” I said laughing and I put my arms around his neck and kissed him.