The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1173 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Fortunately Simon had noticed I needed a change of clothes and so brought some in with him a little later. The chest physician had checked out Julie and agreed she could be moved to an ordinary ward and if she showed no further symptoms of breathlessness and her other problems were resolving, he thought she could come home in a day or so.

Simon took me home and I was pleased to see that Stella had brought my handbag back complete with chocolate bars. I had a cuppa and checked on the kids–they were all asleep, well except one–who once she’d reassured herself I was alright, went off to sleep.

“Do they know who abducted Julie and why?” asked Stella.

“Not yet, she doesn’t seem to remember too much about anything.”

“Surely, someone must have seen something?” she continued.

“I’m sure they did, but whether or not they report it, makes the outcome uncertain. There must be umpteen occasions, when she was taken–was she drugged first? When they crashed the scooter, and when they took her to the bonfire. There would have been people doing things round there all day–setting up the fireworks and so on.”

“I spoke to several at the rugby club while we were waiting for the ambulance, no one seems to know who the two blokes were who put Julie on the bonfire.”

“Were they young or old?” I asked, “Black or white, big small–what were they wearing?” I fired questions at him.

“They were both black, wearing gold lame evening gowns and cowboy boots,” he shot back–“They don’t bloody know because everyone was doing their thing and not paying attention to the two putting the guy on the top of the pile of wood. They did use a ladder, so they must have come in a car or van with a ladder on the roof.”

“So we don’t have a motive yet, either?” posited Stella.

“Aye, wis it personal tae Julie, or wis it aginst Cathy, or e’en thae Cameron clan?”

“That’s what’s going round in my head too,” I agreed, “maybe we need to go somewhere else?”

“Where?” asked Simon, “I suppose Dad could have the estate organised in a few days, open up the old place, get it aired.”

“No, Si, we need somewhere smaller not bigger–the bigger it is, the harder it is to defend or protect.”

“If it’s just Julie?” he suggested.

“I don’t know, send her away for a few days–if we can find somewhere safe, I suppose I could take her to Bristol with the baby.”

“Or we could send her to Hampstead.” Simon beamed at me.

“I thought it was Coventry you send people?” I played deliberately stupid despite being tired.

“Thae polis’ll want tae talk wi’ ‘er.”

“I know, I’ll give Stephanie a call first thing tomorrow and book a session with her as soon as Julie comes home, just in case.”

“I suppose if she can’t remember much, then it saves her some trauma,” said Stella.

“But until we find out who did it and why we can’t stop it happening again–I wonder if Stephanie can do hypnosis?” I’d heard that some people can even recall incidents whilst under a general anaesthetic while hypnotised, though I wasn’t entirely sure how easy it would be as it seemed to require very deep trance state. It might work for dormice–they spend half their lives in a trance, but not sure about teenagers–although it’s arguable they are just hibernating humans–which emerge from their sleep five or ten years later and resume being human again.

“Is she going to be safe in hospital?” asked Stella.

“Yes,” said Simon, “I’ve paid a firm of bodyguards to sit outside her door day and night until she comes home.”

“You didn’t tell me,” I said frowning.

“Well the police couldn’t or wouldn’t supply a guard, so I organised it. The hospital was okay about it.”

“Like what happens if he needs to go to the loo?” asked Stella, making quite a valid point.

“They only do four hours, so it shouldn’t happen.”

“Four hours–if it’s cold I need to go two or three times in that sort of period.”

“Not if I was paying you wouldn’t.” Simon closed that part of the discussion aggressively.

I excused myself and went to bed. I couldn’t sleep though, my head was buzzing with what ifs and maybes. My major concern was protecting the family. We couldn’t all have bodyguards, and even with them, things can happen. To try and take my mind off things, I tried to send healing vibes to Julie and I did finally sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, it took me a moment to realise that Simon wasn’t in bed. In fact it was obvious he hadn’t come to bed at all. My first thought was that he’d been taken and I rushed out of bed and dashed downstairs, nearly falling over the armchair at the foot of the stairs. In it, fast asleep with a broken shotgun across his lap was my husband. I was touched by his gesture of protection, though, I leant across and removed the gun without him rousing.

I then kissed him on the cheek and he muttered, “Not now, Rosemary...”

“Who’s Rosemary,” I demanded slapping him on the cheek.

He sat in the chair and roared–“I heard you come down the stairs, like a clog dancing elephant.”

“You were asleep, I even took your gun.” I protested loudly.

“Only because I let you.”

“So who’s Rosemary?” I clicked the gun together and pointed it at his groin.

“There is no Rosemary,” he said going pale.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, “and I’m not prepared to share you with another woman.”

“Cathy, there is no one else, honestly. There is no Rosemary, I only said it to annoy you. It’s a joke.”

I drew back the hammers. “You’re lying, who is she?”

“Cathy, don’t be stupid.”

I pulled both triggers and he practically pooed himself. I then showed him the two cartridges in my other hand. “It’s a joke, too. Can’t say I like yours very much.”

“Jeezuz H Christ, you really had me worried there.”

“I meant to, I won’t share you with another woman–just thought I’d let you know.” I handed him the gun and the cartridges, “I think this needs to be locked away securely.” Tom has a gun locker in his study, I presumed that was where it came from–though I didn’t know Simon had a key to it.

After I’d showered, he continued to complain about my frightening the proverbial out of him. “Simon, I came dashing down the stairs to see if you were okay, so to have you play such a tasteless joke on me needed some repayment. Besides, you know I couldn’t hit a barn door with a shovel, so you were quite safe.

“I thought your aim was pretty good–I’ve seen you fire a bow and heard the reports about what happened in Scotland with the police attack.”

“That was a Kalashnikov, a proper gun, not one of those turkey bashers, and it also fires so many bullets, you’re bound to hit something eventually,” I retorted going to make breakfast.