The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2906 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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Having reset the menu much to David’s annoyance, I told him that Ingrid had died that morning. “How d’you know?”

“I saw it happen.”

“What?” he gasped.

“She was hit by a car getting into her own car.”

“Jesus Christ, does Hannah know?”

“Yes.”

“How’s she taking it?”

“Very calmly.”

“She understands what it means?”

I shrugged. “I tried to talk to her about it but she didn’t seem very interested or concerned.”

“But it’s her mother who died.”

“I know, I did make that point to her.”

“Perhaps she’s in denial.”

“I don’t care if she’s in de Amazon, I’ve asked Stephanie to check her out.”

“Hence the change of menu.”

“Yes.”

“Look, if I can help in anyway...”

“Thanks, David, I appreciate that and I’m sure Hannah does as well.”

I went to see what the girls were doing, they were sat in the dining room on one of the sofa’s. “It’s not like she did anything for you is it?” queried Livvie.

“No, not like Mummy Cathy.”

“She’s amazin’ if a bit bossy,” Livvie continued. “When my parents died, I didn’t feel anything much ’cos they didn’t care much for me.”

“Yeah,” agreed Hannah, “she didn’t do much for anyone ’cept herself.”

“My mother even kidnapped me and Mummy had to get me back. She, my birth mother, nearly freaked out when she saw I had no dangly bits.” Trish got into the conversation.

“She saved Mima’s life, she saved Auntie Stella’s and Gramps plus loads more.”

“Julie said Mummy saved her life ’cos her dad cut her throat an’ if Mummy hadn’t climbed in through the window, she said she’d a died.”

“She’s wike a angew.”

“I think she is an angel,” said Livvie. I turned and crept away. I felt ashamed. If I were an angel, it must have been the angel of death because I sort of precipitated the accident in throwing the case back at Ingrid and over which she subsequently tripped and... It was horrible and I knew instantly that my healing skills couldn’t have saved her.

The four of them were talking in so matter of fact a manner that it made me feel really strange. I know that recent research suggests when we deal with emotional issues we switch off the network that runs analytical or critical thinking and the reverse is also true. We apparently switch off emotion when we try to solve problems or think logically about things. But when something as fundamental as your mother dying suddenly, surely the usual reaction is an emotional one, which in lots of people also hangs around until the reading of the will. So to be faced by this unflinching, almost disinterested response fazes me somewhat, more so than it seems the bad news does the children. I’m fascinated to learn what Stephanie makes of it. All that makes any sense for me is that the trauma is so awful they can’t take it on board.

Stephanie arrived with Emily and I immediately grabbed a cuddle with her. She’s such a nice little girl and so dainty. I soon had her chuckling and she played with some of Mima’s dolls while I talked with her mother.

I explained what had happened and my astonishment. She’s ten years old not a very small child, so she should understand the concept of death, even if it only applies to pets or roadkill. Stephanie agreed with me but also suggested she may be in denial, having compartmentalised her relationship with Ingrid as on hold or even over. That made some degree of sense. I asked for outcomes.

“I don’t know, Cathy. It would be pure speculation and ranges from PTSD to a period of mourning, with all suggestions in between. She might develop the screaming abdabs or go very quiet—neither sounded enjoyable.

University had finished for three weeks for the Easter recess which meant we’d start back on exams within a couple of weeks of returning. Most of the staff would be running revision classes for people who turned up—many don’t but those who do usually find it rewarding and we often find ourselves teaching bits and pieces we weren’t expecting but have been requested by individual students.

I’d have about a week off, the rest of the time I’d be checking exam papers—the questions and marking schemes, not the marking—although while that skiver, Freeman, keeps sending in medical certificates, we have to cope. I’m seriously thinking that I might let John our technician do some first year courses on a temporary or ad hoc basis. He’s got an MSc so is entitled to teach adults, which most of our students consider themselves to be, though not sure if I always agree with them. Some seem very juvenile and of course for many of them it’s the first time they’ve lived away from home, hence the party atmosphere of the first term. Usually by Christmas we manage to get through to them they have work to do or we’ll red card them.

I called Hannah to go and speak with Stephanie. She wasn’t very keen to go and I had to go and sit with her while Stephanie spoke with her. I actually sat behind her trying not to listen to what they were actually talking about. At the end Hannah thanked Stephanie and asked me if she could go and play with the others. I nodded and off she went.

Stephanie was writing copious notes and I made to leave her and she looked at me then pointed at the chair in front of her. I sat down feeling like a second former about to be interviewed by the headmistress about some misdemeanour like talking too much or wearing too much makeup to school.

Stephanie put down her pen. She interlocked her fingers turning the palms outwards she stretched her arms and hands making her knuckles crack. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Not much, why?”

“Your Hannah is a fascinating case. She claims her mother loaned her out for sex acts...”

I lurched for the waste paper bin and threw up my breakfast.