The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2925 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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For the first time I really saw Debbie completely lost, she was floundering in an ocean of life which was outside her experience. I wanted to intervene but if I did, if I rescued her, the girls would have no respect for her. She had to swim for shore by herself while sat there watching every painful stroke and feeling it every bit as much as she did. She knew I was Lady Catherine Cameron, the problem was she didn’t seem to know who Lady Catherine Cameron was—not really.

“If you wanna see it sometime, I’m sure we could take you,” offered Livvie.

“D’you know if Schrodinger’s cat is alive or dead?” asked Einstein—though in actual fact that would be an insult to Einstein or Schrodinger. Einstein couldn’t stand Quantum theory and declined to have anything to do with it. Perhaps I need to start nicknaming her Planck, but that would seem like an insult, like thick as two short Plancks—nah doesn’t work and Heisenberg is too long to play with. I’ll stick to Einstein and everyone will know who I mean.

“What?” gasped Debbie looking at Trish.

“Schrodinger’s cat, it’s a conceptualised illustration demonstrating the duality in Quantum Mechanics.”

“I know that.”

“You do?” Beamed Trish feeling she’d found a likeminded soul.

“I did a year of physics before switching to biology.”

“Why?” Trish seemed perplexed by her statement.

“I decided I wanted to work in the real world not one in my head.” Needless to say I enjoyed hearing that statement.

“What about Quantum biology?” asked Trish having watched a programme about it on television.

“What about it?”

“Well doesn’t it begin to explain lots of things which were never explained in biology, like how do birds learn to migrate along certain pathways?”

“It may do, or it may not,” said Debbie giving Trish back a Quantum answer but she was too young to appreciate it.

“It does, I watched this programme on it...” continued Trish, intellectually nonpareil,
but lacking in experience of argument.

“Just forget it sweetheart, go and build a fusion machine...” I teased her.

“You’d be surprised if I did.”

“A little but I’d be immensely proud of you as they presented you with your Nobel prize.”

“You think they would?”

“I’m certain but you might have to rewrite physics somewhat.”

“Oh I’ll probably have to do that sometime, anyhow.” Her modesty was overwhelming some days, but today wasn’t one of them.

“Is she for real?” asked Debbie as Trish and the others withdrew to watch some film on the television.

“She is and believe me she actually knows what she’s talking about.”

“How old is she?”

“Ten, nearly eleven going on twenty five.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever met a kid like her before.”

“She is very gifted though at times a little short of patience with ordinary mortals like me.”

“Go on, she must take after you, you’re her mother.”

“I’m afraid all my children are adopted.”

“All of them, even the little ones?”

“Cate or Catherine was almost willed on me when her mother died of a broken heart after her father and older sister died in a car accident. Lizzie, the youngest, I agreed to look after for her mother who hanged herself—she was one of our technicians, so was Neal, her father, he died after never recovering from his wife’s death. We think she had some sort of postnatal depression, he just went to pieces afterwards. I was supposed to be having her until he recovered enough to look after her but he never recovered. They were both lovely people, Phoebe is his sister, so Lizzie’s auntie.”

“How have you got Phoebe as well?”

“Her mum died from cancer and she came to stay with us and sort of grew into another daughter.”

“How come they’re all girls—don’t you adopt boys?”

Mima arrived and saved me having to answer Debbie’s question. “Mummy, the button’s come off my dowwy’s cardi, can you sew it back on?” She presented me with the garment and the button.

“How come you can’t do it?”

“You do it betta an’ quicka.”

I sent her off to find my repair kit inside my sewing box. She returned in moments rattling the box, which is actually an old highland shortbread tin, which was originally my mother’s. I threaded a needle with a small length of cotton and doubled it before knotting the end, then quickly sewed the button on before shipping off any excess cotton with my needlework scissors and handing the garment back to Mima.

“Thank you, Mummy,” she said before scurrying off back to her dollies which she was playing with Cate and occasionally when they tolerated her, Lizzie as well.

“You’ve obviously done that before,” said Debbie looking at me with a curious expression.

“More times than I can count. She pops them off for a pastime. It’s hardly rocket science.”

“I never learned to sew—not even a button.”

“Didn’t you learn in school?”

“No—they didn’t do it.”

“Your mother obviously didn’t show you then?”

“No. Is that where you learned, from your mum?”

“Mostly, I’ve acquired ideas and the odd lesson from other people. I’ve done a few things over the years, made or altered curtains, did some dressmaking with Danielle and the others, shortened trousers and so on.”

“Wow, can you show me how to shorten trousers? I bought some the other week and unless I wear stilt high heels they’re too long, though the fit everywhere else is perfect.”

“Bring them into work tomorrow and I’ll show you how to do it, I’ll bring my sewing kit in.”

“That would be absolutely brilliant.”

“It isn’t rocket science. It’s a skill and requires a bit of planning and practice. Come on through to the study and I show what you need to have for doing some easy repairs and alterations.” I called Danielle and asked her to bring Debbie and me a cuppa.

I was busy showing Debbie my sewing box when Danielle arrived with the tray of tea and biscuits—my Lotus ones—where did the little bugger find those? “Cindy’s on the phone, can she come over?”

“Yes, but I’m not promising to take her home afterwards?”

“Okay,” she dashed off before I could change my mind. She hadn’t been over for ages and she wasn’t a bad kid really.

“You were saying that Danielle is good at football?”

“Yes, she’s a school girl international and has also played for England Ladies.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? It seems they all have your superpowers—you don’t wear your knickers over your tights, do you?”

“Only when it’s very cold—don’t wear tights very often.”

“They can get a bit warm in certain areas.”

“Quite. So what colour are these trousers?”

“Actually, there’s two pairs—one pair is black and the others are grey.”

“I hope it’s bright tomorrow or we’re going to struggle—why don’t you go and get them now and we can use my machine to over-sew the cut ends.”

“Oversew?”

“Yes, an interlocking stitch to stop them fraying.”

“You sure about this—I mean I don’t like to impose.”

“Go and get them, I’ll set up the machine.”