Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 553 by Angharad

I changed into a skirt and top, with a jacket on top. On my feet I wore my boots, okay they have three inch heels, but they are comfortable and I feel happy to walk about in them. They also look fairly tidy if I am shown on camera. Having said that, I think the whole business is crazy and with the things that are happening in the world, I’m at best going to provide a side show or distraction.

I phoned Tom’s mobile number and left him a message on his voice mail. I thought it best in case he should see me on telly and throw another wobbly.

I made the girls promise to be good for Stella and told her what to give them for tea. Jacket potatoes with cheese, even she could sort that. I waited for the taxi, half an hour came and went. At forty minutes, my phone rang, it was the BBC to say my cab was held up but should be there in a short while. I was quite happy for the delay, it gave Simon or Erin more time to get there.

The tabloid man strode down my drive, he shouted that my time was up and I should speak with him. If I didn’t, the charity donation would decrease by a hundred pounds every ten minutes he had to wait.

His arrogance pushed me over the edge, and the bucket of cold water all over his shiny suit. He let out a yell and shouted all sorts of imprecations at me. I closed the window and pulled the curtains again.

Finally the taxi arrived, a large Mercedes with darkened windows. I pulled a scarf over my head, grabbed my coat and bag and said goodbyes to the kids and Stella. Les than a minute later, I was in the car, doors locked and heading out to Southampton as cameras flashed at my departure.

“What ’ave you done, luv? Murdered someone?”

“No, the opposite, I saved someone.”

“Cor, who was it? The Queen?”

“Not as far as I know. Not even sure of her name.”

“Well there is a rumour that some bigwig’s wife got pulled out of the river yesterday.”

“Who was that?”

“Well rumour has it, that it was Ellen Townsend, wife of the newspaper magnate.”

Sir Malcolm Townsend was a hugely rich and powerful individual, sometimes called the Kingmaker because he had built or destroyed many local and national politicians, bankrupted two football clubs, started a run on the pound, affected the outcome of two general elections, and brought down a supermarket chain he quarrelled with over advertising costs. He wasn’t someone to tangle with, or tango with! Had I saved his wife’s life? I wasn’t sure.

“So where did she fall in?”

“Again, I dunno for sure, luvvie, but it was said to be near that park, the one about a couple o’ miles back that way, can never remember the name of it.” He jerked his thumb to indicate the park was behind us. Oh oh, it could be the same woman. Maybe the BBC would know.

“So are you the local ‘eroine?”

“I don’t honestly know, it would depend upon how many women fell in the river yesterday.”

He chuckled, “Can’t be that many, can it?”

“How do I know, maybe there was a massed suicide pact organised by the WI or something.”

“Nah, they say she fell in trying to rescue ‘er dog, who got out anyway. Is that your one?”

“Could be, dunno about the dog, though,” I lied.

“Here’s the motorway, cor it’s busy tonight.”

“Looks like Simon will be there before me.”

“Who’s Simon, luvvie?”

“My fiancé, he was flying down from London.”

“Are there any flights about this time of day?”

“He was using the company helicopter.”

“Geez, we could do with one ourselves. What does ‘e do?”

I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, if I said ‘banker’ this guy was likely to make me get out on the middle of the motorway. “He works in investments.”

“I thought all them blokes was out of work?”

“No, not all of them bought toxic US debts.”

“Silly buggers, spendin’ more than they ’ad, and we get to bail ’em out. Bloody stupid if you ask me. If I did that, they’d be repossessing my ’ouse not givin’ me billions.”

“I agree.” I didn’t really want to talk about it. I spotted a magazine on the front seat. My heart lifted. “So is Armstrong going to win an eighth TdF?”

“What?” He looked at me in the rear-view mirror, “You know about cycling?”

“I ride a bit, wouldn’t say I knew that much. Watched the London stages of the TdF a couple of years ago, watched the Tour of Britain a few times, watch it on the telly, the TdF and the Giro, that sort of thing.”

“Cor blimey, you princess, are the first one to ever notice it and to actually know one end of a bike from the other. What sort d’ya ride?”

“I’ve a Scott and a Speciaized, and Simon has an S-works Tarmac.”

“To go in ’is ’elicopter?”

“Not quite,” I laughed. “He has a rather jaundiced view of cycling at the moment, he’s still limping where a van caught him with it’s mirror and knocked him off, hurt his knee.”

“Yeah, there’s some right bleedin’ idiots about. Nearly got totalled meself a couple of years back, some stupid doctor hit me off me bike, just as well he knew what t’ do. Cost ’im a few quid for my bike, though.”

“What did you have?”

“A Pinarello. I wanna get one of them Felt thingies Wiggo an’ Dopin’ Dave ’as.”

“Yeah, they look really nice. They did a thing in CW the other week, didn’t they?”

“The Missus ain’t so keen on the idea, so she’s gotta ‘ave a new car first, then I can ‘ave one.”

“This is a nice car.”

“Yeah, the BBC have practically paid for it, I do a lot of their collections and deliveries.”

“Someone has to, and it’s a very comfy ride.”

“Not far now.”

My phone rang, “Hi, Babes, where are you, I’ve been here ages.”

“Stuck in traffic, we won’t be long.”

“We, who’s we?”

“Me and my driver, why?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just I missed quite a big meeting, Dad was okay about it, but I don’t like to let him down. Who’s looking after the girls?”

“Stella, she was a bit reluctant but I got everything ready.”

“Are you wearing the dormouse suit?”

“No, they saw that last time.”

“Did they? See you in a bit then.”

“Erin said she was coming, too. Any sign of her?”

“I dunno do I? I’ve never met her, have I?”

“Okay, Julie Stevens is the contact person, why don’t you go and cadge some tea or coffee?”

“Yeah, good idea, Julie Stevens it is.” He rang off.

“This traffic goes from bad to worse. Mind you, I ’ad to run some bigwig down to Weymouth the other week, ‘ow they’re gonna manage when the ’lympics comes, God alone knows.”

“Well they have a year or two to go, and I believe they started the new road they’re building.”

“What sort of moron devised that, it won’t solve nothin’, just move the log jam along a bit.”

“They need to reduce the number of cars,” I opined.

“Too bloody true, maybe they’ll make you Minister for Transport, after this business is over, Ol’ Townsend is called the kingmaker, an’ it ain’t for nothin’.”

“I’m a biologist, not a politician.”

“What, you cut up rats and things?”

“Not quite, I’m a field biologist or ecologist, I count or measure things like dormice.”

“Dormice. ’Ere, ’ave you seen that clip on Youtube, with the girl juggling one, it goes down ’er front. It is so funny.”

“Yes, I think I know the one.” I blushed profusely which he must have spotted because he said.

“ ’Ere, that was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, if you say so.” Just then we drove into the Television centre and I escaped after thanking him. Why have they always seen that bloody video?