Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 774 by Angharad

My sense of panic and despair rose as we searched high and low and still no sign of her. I cursed my stupidity – how could I have got so absorbed that I didn’t see her leave the lab. The doors had been shut and they are quite heavy fire doors, so how did she get out?

We called in a few other technicians and students who happened to be in the building and we searched it from top to bottom. It was now an hour since I’d noticed she was missing. Tom had got wind of what had happened and came in to see how we were doing. He took control to take some of the pressure off me – least I think that’s why he did it.

He again organised the search parties, this time with staff who had pass keys to make sure she couldn’t have got herself accidentally locked in a store room or cupboard. Our search party was now ten. I was told to stay in the lab just in case she’d wandered off and came back by herself – I suppose, it also meant I was out of everyone’s way while they got on with the job of searching. I couldn’t see for tears anyway.

I perched on a lab stool, reminiscing about my time with Mima. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Then I laughed when I recalled her visit and the day Spike went missing, only to parachute down on top of me a few days later. If only Meems could do the same, survive for a couple of days in the air vents. How would she get into one? Mind you, how did Spike for that matter?

Then the dread of having to inform the police, who may inform social services and as they have an axe to grind, could try to remove Trish and Livvie. Then my life really would feel over. How could I have been so stupid?

I tried to snap out of the self-pity that was multiplying inside like a fast breeder. It wouldn’t help anyone, especially Mima; besides, if there were outcomes they should be for the benefit of my children, Mima especially, so my feelings were very secondary. Even so, things could get worse. How is it I seem to lurch from crisis to crisis? Just when things are beginning to sort themselves out or on an even keel for five minutes, somebody screws it up – usually me.

I needed to learn lessons from this, the first being not to let any of them out of my sight ever again – except that isn’t feasible, children learn from taking risks. If they fall off their bikes a few times, they generally become better riders. We learn from our mistakes – well most of us do, sometimes painfully, as I was at this moment.

Oh where could she be? How will I be able to face Trish and Livvie, when they ask where their sister is and I tell them, I lost her. They won’t believe me and why should they? It seems too ridiculous for words, but tell that to the hundreds of parents every year whose children go missing, for all sorts of reasons.

If she got outside the building, it could only have been when the deliveryman was here, and I can’t believe he was here for long – but then how long does it take for a child to disappear? Milliseconds.

I went to see Spike, trying to recapture in my mind the fun Mima had on the few occasions when she’s seen my favourite dormouse. I walked up to the cages, Spike was nibbling on a nut of some sort. She should be asleep or at least quiescent, but no, greedy little tyke was eating.

Under the cages, are a system of cupboards, a bit like the cupboards under a domestic kitchen sink. We keep some of the food in there and other bits and pieces. I decided while I was there, I’d fill up the feeding dishes. I opened the first cupboard and brought out a sack of nuts and filled a couple of feeders. I replaced it and decided I’d scatter some berries into the release pen – this is the one with the framework where they get a chance to improve climbing and foraging skills and lose their familiarity with humans.

I opened the cupboard where the berries were kept and much to my astonishment discovered a small child, fast asleep with MP3 player plugged into her ears, so she wouldn’t have heard us calling her. For a moment time stood still – I couldn’t believe what I’d found, then I realised I wasn’t hallucinating when she opened her eyes, rubbed them and said, “Hewwo, Mummy.”

I pulled her out and hugged her to me, almost dancing around the place with a sense of joy – I’d been given a second chance. Total nonsense, but these things go through one’s head. “Canni’ve a dwink, Mummy?”

“Yes, Darling, in a moment. Let me just call Grampa Tom.” I held on to her with one hand while speed dialling with the other. “Daddy, yes, I’ve found her. She was in one of the cupboards under the cages, yes, call off the search.”

“Aye, that’s guid news, okay, I’ll tell the others. See ye in a few minutes.”

I took the bottle of milky drink out of my bag and she accepted it. “Have you been cwyin’, Mummy?”

“Yes, silly me. I thought we’d lost you.”

“I went into the cupboard, wike a do’mouse, it was my nest.”

“So I see, darling. You were playing your music were you?”

“Yes, Mummy, the music Twish put on fo’ me.”

“And you fell asleep?”

“Yes, Mummy, it was dark in the cupboard and I got vewy sweepy. Is you cwoss wiv me?”

“No, Darling, you’re safe that’s all that matters.”

Of course, Neal and I had to face the sharp edge of Tom’s tongue, nearly losing one of his grandchildren – children in the labs and all that. He did go on, but I felt happy to take the tongue lashing, because it sort of expiated some of the guilt I’d felt. Mima is only just four years old, she isn’t responsible for much of what she does – I am, for what I do and what she does. The same goes for the other two children. It was a salutary lesson and one I won’t have to repeat.

We have children – albeit usually from our own couplings, but those of us who take on the offspring of others as our own or natural parents –have a greater responsibility than we ever realise. It’s bad enough being responsible for a dog or cat, or in my case a pile of dormice, let alone small humans. Being a parent is such a responsibility, yet we take it on with very little thought most of the time. It’s also a tremendous privilege, to accept the trust and love they give us in return for loving and protecting them – when they aren’t hiding in cupboards.

All too often we see children running amok or being screamed at by their parents, frequently because the same parents have little idea of parenting, perhaps because their parents did a poor job. When they’re shouting at them or being abusive to them generally, they overlook the honour and privilege it is to have children.

I didn’t honestly ever think I’d have the care of any – obviously, I couldn’t have any of my own, as is the case with many transgender people – and I didn’t think adoption services would look too kindly upon me, for the same reason, even though I believe legally they aren’t supposed to, officially anyway. But there’s a shortage of young babies for adoption for normal couples, so what chance special people like me? Very little, unless they have problem children or those with special needs – usually psychiatric problems or physical handicaps. In the end they all need homes with loving parents or significant adults. Without that grounding, we sometimes fail to learn to love or trust – essential in relationship formation – and also how to pass on our learning and skills to the next generation.

I was fortunate in lots of ways, my early home life was loving albeit quite strict. The problems came after I’d bonded with my parents and learned a few boundaries – sadly, in regard to my identity and my gender behaviour, my internal guidance system and that of my family’s expectations were different and caused the problems I’ve mentioned earlier. That won’t happen with my kids – whatever they do, I’m going to love them to bits.

We told the other two what had happened and they thought it was quite funny. I only remember the pain and then the relief of finding her safe and sound. We have new rules about MP3 players and hiding places and I hope I impressed upon all three of them how important it is to let me know where they are – I can’t say at all times, because it isn’t practicable – most of the time – where practicable. It might save them a whole pile of trouble and me much pain and anxiety.

Tom had informed Simon, who came home that night to comfort me, which I thought was really nice of him – he’s a real gem, most of the time. I was glad of his strong arms around me when I woke up with horrible dreams – I’ll let you decide what they were about. I am so lucky to have him, Tom, Stella and my three girls, plus little Puddin’ of course. I must try and count my blessings more often, albeit in my own way.