The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2977 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

---

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.
*****

Thinking back to my schooldays, Tom Brown’s they weren’t, but I suppose I should be grateful for how well things eventually turned out. I was abused but it seemed to have had little negative effect upon me other than to make sure my children weren’t abused or that in coming from a place of abuse, they were reassured it wouldn’t happen while they were with me.

Diane came in with a notebook in her hand. “John Stephens from Bristol just called asked you to ring him back.

I blinked at her, “Why didn’t you just put him through?”

“I tried but you were so far away in the clouds you didn’t hear it ring.”

“You’re joking,” at least I hoped she was or I had a problem of some sort.

“Yes, I was,” she started laughing.

I glowered at her and she roared with laughter. She’ll have to go.

“Oh Boris has withdrawn from the prime ministerial race.”

It took a moment to work out what she was saying. “What?”

“Boris Johnson, the favourite for the PM’s job is no longer standing.”

“How come?”

“Seems his little friend, the poisonous Mr Gove stabbed him in the back.”

“Why?”

“Simples,” she said imitating some stupid advert featuring talking meerkats, “He wants the job himself.”

“He has all the charisma of a dead haddock.”

She snorted.

“And you could always eat the haddock.”

“So Boris’ opportunism came to naught.”

“It would appear so,” she agreed.

“How are the mighty fallen?” I offered while thinking serves him bloody right, he only joined Brexit because he thought it could get him the main job and now his lieutenant has stabbed him in the back, how very Julius Caesar and how fitting for a Classic’s graduate. If it wasn’t so serious I could quite enjoy watching the political system self destructing.

“Don’t forget Dr Stephens,” she handed me his number.

I dialled it and wondered what he wanted, probably something to do with the mammal survey. “Stephens,” was the answer when the phone was picked up.

“Hi John, it’s Cathy Watts.”

“Thanks for getting back to me.”

“That’s okay.”

“Any chance you could spare us a couple of hours some time?”

“Might I ask to do what?”

“That site you surveyed when you did the summer school a few years ago.”

“What about it?”

“The numbers seem to have gone crazy.”

“I hope that means in a positive sense, most places seem down this year.”

“Well the figures we’re getting are almost double this time last year. I thought I’d do a survey myself and wondered if you’d like to come as well as it was originally your site?”

“When are you proposing to do it?”

“When are you free?”

“What’s today, Thursday, is tomorrow too short notice?”

“Tomorrow would be excellent and the forecast isn’t supposed to be too wet.”

“Where d’you want to meet?”

“Pointless two of us driving all the way up towards Gloucester.”

“Pick me up at my parent’s house, what time?” We agreed a time and I gave him the address. It would mean an early start. I’d possibly stay over the night before though the kids won’t like it. I informed Diane of my day out tomorrow and she sighed. “I will be working you know and driving up to Bristol and back.” She huffed and continued typing.

When they found out, the girls were all furious as they were still in school for two more weeks. However, once the furore had died down Danielle came to see me and told me that she only had to attend for exams and she had none tomorrow, so she could come and help me with the survey. As she has helped before I allowed her to come and told her to pack quickly.

We set off after dinner. Tom agreed to take the others to school once the protest had abated. Stella agreed to help keep an eye on the others and bemoaned the fact that she was working because if she’d had more notice, she’d have come with me for Puddin’ to see her grandparents. That nearly knocked me over and I told her she should go up there anyway and see Des’ parents, if she wanted to break the journey she could stay at my house or why didn’t she arrange to stay with them? She wasn’t sure about that, but I know Puddin’ would enjoy it.

The drive up was tedious but uneventful except for a very heavy shower while we were on the motorway. It brought back memories of some of the accidents I’d witnessed and even lost a car in through no fault of my own. I can still remember Simon pleading for me to get out of the car and I was reluctant to do so because it was raining. He was so right, my car was written off by the driving of one or two stupid drivers, other peoples’ lives were also written off, so I had little to complain about.

I took milk and teabags with me, as well as some bread for breakfast, the rest should have been there. Checking the fridge showed they were but the butter substitute was all furry, so that went in the bin and I dashed down to Asda to get some fresh stuff, just a small tub to tide us over. Then we made up two beds—I know unnecessary laundry—but I didn’t want to share with Danni, especially as she’s a young woman now and a little self conscious about it.

“Is this Nanny and Gramps?” she asked pointing at a photo of my parents.

“Yes, though it must be ten years old if not older.”

“They look nice.”

“Appearances can be deceptive, remember they thought more of their church than they did of me.”

“Yeah, but you sorted that, didn’t you?”

“Sort of, at least with my dad I did, Mum was already dead before then.”

“But she taught you to cook and stuff like you were a girl, didn’t she?”

“Okay, that was a minor act of rebellion which might well have been perpetrated to get one over on Dad rather than its effect upon me.”

“What about all the girly stuff you shoved in her face?”

“What d’you mean?”

“The long hair, the Lady Macbeth and some prize you won for counting dead hedgehogs—you were seriously weird, Mummy.” This coming from the girl who will wear eyeliner and mascara to walk round woods looking for dormice.

“I think I prefer, unconventional.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

We slept quite well and as predicted she looked as if she was going clubbing except for the jeans and wellies, her hair was immaculate so was her makeup. I managed a ponytail and some moisturiser. I wondered if I was setting a good enough example but we were going to the woods not the town centre or a garden party, but despite being an international soccer player, Danielle is much more girly than I am and this was the boisterous boy who got into fights over his sister Billie. I mused as we finished our breakfast and waited for John Stephens to call.