The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2886 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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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Thank goodness it was Friday, if this week gets any longer I’ll feel like I’m ageing at double the normal rate. After dropping off the girls I walked into my office and there waiting for me was Diane with my cuppa and Colin Archibald.

“I tried to text you,” she said as I took my tea.

“My fault, my battery was flat, I haven’t checked it this morning.”

“Only spot you had free for two weeks—then we have exams, if you remember.”

“I remember,” they were end of year assessment exams, then we had the end of course ones, straight after Easter. Life would be easier to manage if Easter was a fixed date like Christmas—except, it’s a different fixed date for every denomination, Orthodox is different to Roman Catholic and so on.

“Does Mr Archibald have a drink?”

“Yes—duh.”

I gave her my best glower but she didn’t burst into flames—must be losing my touch.

“Follow me,” I said leading the way into my office. On my desk was a pot plant, an Easter cactus and the Defra file.

“Is this from you?” I asked putting the mug of tea next to the plant.

“Yes, a peace offering and before you say anything, I only give flowers or plants to women.”

“Okay. Thank you. If it’s a bribe, it’s a bit small.”

“Yeah, it would be if it was, but it’s a manifestation of my apology. After we spoke, and I’d already done my home work, I did some thinking. Everything you said was true—we don’t ask most adults about their genders or sexuality, even if we suspect they’re gay—it would be extremely rude—but we do it with transpeople. I don’t know why, but I suspect it isn’t just idle curiosity or prurience; it’s probably because it’s so far from our usual view of the world that we need to orient ourselves in some way. In your case, that isn’t necessary because you’re a very attractive woman and I know you’re married with children. I also know you’ve been something of a crimefighter and general heroine. Pulling kids out of burning cars and all sorts of other things, I am almost in awe of you. Finally, after messing up so badly and with my job on the line, which I suspect you knew or suspected, you give me the chance to make amends. You are something special, aren’t you?”

“You were never short of balls were you, Colin?”

He smiled at my use of his first name and shrugged. “Neither are you, Professor.”

“I am now—but that’s the last reference to it—now what d’you need to talk about?”

For the next three quarters of an hour he explained that Defra needed some data from the mammal survey but also wanted us to look at the state of several species of bird. I wasn’t sure we had the expertise to do that—I’m an experienced bird watcher and so are one or two others in the department but to do a survey of part of the county over six months was another matter.

I asked why the British trust for Ornithology wasn’t being used and he told me they had their reasons. “I hope this isn’t going to put us into conflict with another conservation body?”

“No, the reasons aren’t negative and I can assure you there will be no conflict.”

“And we get a grant to carry this out?”

“Yes, we’re also interested in the stuff you’re doing with Roehampton on bees and we’d like to part sponsor it.”

“So you get the data before we publish?”

“Yes, it helps to be prepared before the press come banging on the door.”

“Have you spoken to our colleagues in Roehampton?”

“Yes, there should be an email from them awaiting you.”

We also spoke about this new anti-pest chemical we’d derived from natural ingredients and the wasp farming to hunt leather jackets and their adult form of crane fly. As they seemed to have more money than I expected and our colleagues were happy, so was I to boost our budget by a couple of hundred thousand pounds—it would pay for me to recruit some new post grad researchers for a couple of years and the laboratory time required—so overtime for some of the technicians—that will go down really well or I might be able to offer our part timers more permanent hours. It all looked really good.

“So, tell me, why have you come to us.”

“Well you control the mammal data and you’re doing some of the research we’d like to be involved in. I managed to get the bird stuff thrown in as an extra if you were happy with the rest.”

“But you opened with that?”

“Yeah, I’m a lousy negotiator. I felt so stupid about...you know and this was going to be assigned and I remembered seeing you out once on a bike with binoculars hanging round your neck. I don’t suppose you still ride?”

“I do actually but not as often as I’d like—no time.”

At ten thirty he had gone back to his office, the regional one at Winchester. Perhaps things had gone better for us on reflection because of his faux pas in the beginning. Once he dropped his arrogance and I met the real Colin Archibald, he seemed quite a nice chap—not my type, although I fell for a rugby player—but I suspected we could do business again if necessary.

“Like the pot plant,” offered Diane bringing me in a fresh cuppa.

“You suggested it didn’t you?”

“Did I? Prove it.”

“We’ll need a saucer for it and I expect it could do with a drink.”

“I’ll make it some coffee,” wafted in as the door shut behind her.

“She’ll have to go,” I said to the plant but meant the exact opposite. I used to have one of these, a Schlumbergera back in my old bedsit except I forgot it in all the trauma of transitioning and moving on and it died. My mum gave it to me, so I felt sad about it. It used to flower at Christmas and Easter, so when it died I gave it a Christian burial—I’m lying, the caretaker threw it out while I was clearing the room.

Looking at the beauty of the plant reminded me of Mum and the fact that she only saw me fleetingly before she died, as if she was waiting for me. Perhaps she was. Thinking about her and her not really seeing me, she did when I had to wear the dresses to school and that bit I did for my dad’s friend in the office, where they all called me Charlotte. He was a nice chap pity he died. Given that she taught me so many skills associated with daughters rather than sons, I believe she did know about me really—though I’ll never be able to confirm it.

“You remembered you’re teaching in ten minutes?”

“What on a Friday?”

“Yes, covering Dr Freeman again.”

“Oh bugger,” I gulped down my tea and collected my notes as I went off towards the lecture theatre—‘Camouflage and Mimicry’—I hoped I could remember it all.