Easy As Working For Nothing.
by Angharad
part: 395

The next morning, I awoke early and decided to get myself ready for the meeting at the university and then shopping with Portsmouth’s answer to Imelda Marcos. I don’t know which worried me more, probably shopping with Stella–I was a bit out of practice of retail therapy.

I couldn’t think of anything much I wanted, let alone needed; not that that would stop me. I considered that I might ultimately want to change furnishings and redecorate my house, to make it mine, but it would be for that reason alone as both decoration and furnishings were in reasonable condition. The other thing, was my uncertainty of occupation–if and when I married Simon, where would we live? I wasn’t going to think about that until I had to, life was complicated enough as it was.

I dressed in smart casual. It was supposed to be summer, but the trees were blowing quite hard in the breeze and it didn’t feel that warm. I pulled on my trousers, a tidy pair in black satin with a slightly flared leg. I partnered these with a red and black paisley sleeveless top, which was further decorated with beads and tiny sequins and had a quite a deep vee neck. One might say it capitalised on the effects of my Wonderbra; a combination Simon enjoyed me wearing. Over this I wore a needle-cord jacket.

In view of the fact that I’d be busy walking for several hours after my meeting, I went for reasonably comfy shoes, a pair of two and half inch courts with a rounded toe.

I wore my hair in a ponytail, as much to save it from the ravages of the wind as anything, and I kept my make up simple. I met Stella in the kitchen, she came down as I was buttering my toast. We hugged, and she made herself some coffee.

“You look nice,” she commented, taking a sip of her coffee.

“So do you,” I returned the compliment.

“What this old thing?” The old thing to which she referred, was a designer labelled pant’s suit in beige, with a small floral print in contrasting shades of beige and black.

She poured some milk on her cereal and sat down at the table with me. I munched on my toast. I’d eaten quite well today, cereal, a banana and now some toast–I didn’t know when we’d have lunch, or where, for that matter.

I dropped her off in Park Street, and we agreed I would text her when I left the uni and she could tell where she was, or wanted meet. Part of me hoped it would only be an hour or so.

Despite the university being officially on vacation, the car park was quite full and I managed to nab the last visitor’s space. I had to sign in and display a permit they gave me at the office. Then I had to wait for Mrs Valentine, the biology department administrator, to come and collect me. I wore a badge which declared I was a visitor.

Mrs Valentine, was not Shirley, but Geraldine, a vivacious thirty something with masses of dark chestnut hair and a smile that could melt concrete. We shook hands and she led me off to her office. It wasn’t palatial, but it was bigger than the one I’d had in Portsmouth.

“Are you staying in Bristol for long?” she asked me.

“It’s my home town.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you came up from Portsmouth.”

“I was in Portsmouth until recently, I had a disagreement with the management of the department and came back to my parent’s old house.”

“Oh, you’re living with your parents?”

“No, they’re both deceased, it’s my house now; although I tend to still think of it as my parent’s place.”

“I’m sorry. Yes, I know what you mean, if it was the family home, it remains that even if you’ve long moved out to your own place.” We both sat down after she poured us coffees from a coffeemaker. “You had a disagreement with your previous employers?”

“Yes, they did away with my dormouse breeding programme without telling me. I was off on sick leave for a while.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” She probed, presumably making sure I’d complete the job before croaking.

“Yes, I got stabbed while out riding my bike.”

“You got stabbed?”

“Yes, there was some lunatic who didn’t like cyclists, he’d attacked a couple of women riders previously, but he stabbed me in the chest as I rode past him. Caught me in the lung. I nearly bled to death.”

“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, “Where was this?”

“Outskirts of Portsmouth, going up Portsdown hill.”

“You cycle up there?”

“Yes, hills are there for cycling up.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Your professor gave you an amazing reference. He considers you one of the leading experts on dormice in the country, and says you are consulted by the government and one or two commercial institutions on mammal biology.”

“Rodents mainly, and dormice in particular.”

“You’ve published papers on dormice populations…” as she spoke I felt myself get warm. I was waiting for her to mention the disparity of name, instead she showed that Tom had sent copies, of the revised authorship, God bless him.

“I’ve spent hundreds of hours finding, observing and recording data on dormice in Hampshire primarily, but a little in Dorset, Surrey and Sussex. I started the process while I was at Sussex, where I did a paper on the ecology of dormouse populations. It was an exploratory paper and it got me the job at Portsmouth, so I’ve no complaints.”

“It sounds as if you might be just the person we need. We have some anecdotal records of dormice in two sites in the Forest of Dean. If that is the case they will need scheduling under the Wildlife and Countryside Act, to give them appropriate protection and responsibilities concerning that by the landowners.”

I nodded, aware of the administrative nightmare some of this stuff was, but if it protected the little furry things, I was all in favour. Once the landowner was informed they had protected species on their land, they had a responsibility to protect those species, including land use and management. In other words, no flail cutters on hedgerows where dormice were known to be, during the warmer months.

“Basically, Natural England, has charged us with surveying and assessing the sites and the surrounding area for the presence of dormice. We have a reputation for mammal biology…”

“I know, I’ve read some of your stuff on urban foxes and badgers.”

“So you’ll understand how we wish to maintain it.”

“Of course.”

“It seemed fortuitous, that you were in the area and available to undertake the work.”

“Possibly, depending on what is required and the duration.”

“Oh! Is there a possibility that you won’t be available?”

“If you want me to survey the sites over the summer or supervise the survey perhaps by some of your students, then I can. After the summer, I’m not sure what my plans might involve. I have a lot of involvement with the countrywide mammal survey and data should be coming in during the autumn on that.”

“I see, but you are available now?”

“After next week, I’m doing a summer school at the West of England uni next week.”

“Fine, well it would take a week or so to sort out a temporary contract. I think the best thing is if you could do a short paper on how you would propose to survey the site and involve undergraduates, that would be really useful.”

“A short paper? Have you any idea how long that takes?”

“Well a proposition for how a survey may be executed, and your costings. Would that be possible?”

“You mean like a tender?”

“Almost, I’m sorry, but we have to have a formal proposal and idea of the cost involved before we can respond to Natural England. We would also have to agree ownership of the data.”

“I see, given my interest in this species, the Hazel or Common Dormouse, then I should like the use of any data arising and would require it under the mammal survey anyway, so hopefully we can share that.”

“I’ll have to check that, you now what some of these academics are like?”

“Yes, being one, I’m well aware.” I smiled and she looked away blushing very slightly.

We talked a bit longer and I left there a little miffed that I had to do yet more work before anyone paid me. I suppose it’s almost like speculating to accumulate. I drove off to see Stella and wander round the shops until she was worn out or spent out. My mood had not improved.