The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1217 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Julie’s provisional driving licence came the day before her birthday. The car had been valeted when it was repaired, so that meant I didn’t have to get it done. Christmas was the other thing, as it says in the nursery rhyme–it’s coming. I don’t know if any geese are getting fat, but some of them probably would be well advised to make their last wills and testaments.

Turkeys voting for Christmas, might be apposite to the British electorate at the last election. I don’t think half of them know what’s coming–still, as a well meaning Guardian reader, I’ll stamp my foot loudly. I did ask Simon if we were related to a certain Prime Minister, he went a nice shade of pink and told me, “Probably–some of my ancestors liked to put it about.” I did wonder about becoming Cathy Watts again, and thought, I am in my professional role, so I left it.
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Oh well, life goes on. I had agreed Julie could go out with some of her friends to a pub and have a meal. I’d even been there and set it up for them; there would be six of them, all girls. I would pay for the meal, two bottles of wine and some soft drinks. After that it was up to them. I would also pay for a taxi to take her and collect her to and from the pub. She wanted to go clubbing afterwards–but that’s typical teenagers, give ‘em an inch and they want something the size of Texas. As she was working the next day, I told her no. She looked at the car keys hanging up and agreed to my terms.

Whenever she does something like clubbing, it ends in trouble. It happened when I first picked her up off a rubbish pile and also when she went out with Phoebe. So I felt happy that she’d acquiesced gracefully. I’d also booked her a set of driving lessons starting from Sunday. I’d be sad to lose my little Mercedes, they are such lovely little cars but I needed something bigger and the 4x4 does provide that.

She went off to work on her scooter thing–yes, we’d even managed to get that repaired for her, so she doesn’t do badly. I know she has had lots of problems with abuse and then that rape, but she does see Stephanie regularly and she also has counselling in between–at least I assume she does, they send me a bill every month. I did used to ask how she was getting on, but she got embarrassed talking about it to me, so I left it up to her to come to me if she wants to talk.

I’d had a long talk with Trish about her attitude to the others and of course she cried all over me. I know she’s only six going on twenty six, but emotionally she is only six, if that. I believe Isaac Newton was a nasty piece of work, so I don’t intend to let her go that way. The problem appears to be with Julie and Danny mainly, she isn’t like it with the others–well occasionally, with Billie–but Livvie and Meems she gets on fine with. I wonder if it’s because they’re natural females? Hmmm–makes ya think.

What will happen when Julie has surgery–I reckon Trish will be totally wound up by it. I suppose at the moment she could feel a bit superior because she chopped her nuts and Julie still has hers.

There is almost a reversed seniority here, Meems was with me first, Trish a while later, Livvie who was her friend , then Billie and Danny came for Christmas and stayed, finally, our solo teenager, Julie. How time flies.

The girls were at school and had got used to going in either my mean machine or the Mondeo. The novelty had worn off for them, but not for me–I didn’t go that far in it because I was worried about fuel economy. Unlike my dream, Henry hadn’t undertaken to pay for my fuel–when I mentioned it to Simon, he laughed, telling me to dream on, and to remember Henry was a Scotsman and there were no pockets in a kilt.

He got uppity when I reminded him that he was a Scot too, and so was I officially, for that matter, having been born there by accident, in the lovely town of Dumfries. I admit, I only tend to think of myself as one occasionally, having been raised in Brissel.

I got on with my chores. With half a dozen kids there was washing and ironing to do every day, not to mention mounds of food to prepare. I did manage to do a bit on the mammal survey–I’d written to the Mammal Society, which is of course in Southampton about circulating their members with a request for more records of sightings. They actually were providing quite a bit of data already, but now’s the time to get people thinking about taking part from the spring onwards. I was a member myself, which reminded me I couldn’t remember when I was due to renew my subs. Like most charities, they’re always after money, so I’m sure they’ll let me know.

Someone had sent me a nice photo of an Arctic hare in its white coat, Lepus timidus is slightly smaller than the brown hare, and is only found up in the north of the country, Scotland, Lake District that sort of area. The photo was beautiful, showing the white fur nicely camouflaged against the snow–except the way the sun was shining it wasn’t quite as well camouflaged as it might have thought. Poor little bunnies aren’t anything like as common as they used to be–mainly through farming practice–haven’t seen a hare for ages. Because of their interesting behaviour and solitariness, witches were often seen as shape-shifters which included transforming into hares at times. I think they’re lovely animals and I don’t mean jugged, either. Dancing hares, as per the mad March variety are a delight to see–I’ve been privileged to watch them a few times and it always gives me a lift.

They used to say it was two males ‘boxing’ but it’s more likely to be a male and female–she perhaps rebuffing his advances–nothing new there then.

Tea time was a mad scramble, Julie flew in, screeched at us all that we were making her late, and shot off in a cloud of perfume and lace accompanied by the clatter of heels to her taxi, without a by your leave. I know she was late getting home, but her behaviour was verging on unacceptable. Even Danny, with whom she gets on really well usually, he worships her, got the rough edge of her tongue tonight.

I put the kids to bed after I’d calmed them down. Meems had been sworn at and had got very upset. Had I known beforehand we’d have had words before she left–I hoped she’d come back in a better mood–it wasn’t us who made her late, but one of her clients arriving late for an appointment.

At about eleven fifteen I thought I heard a car door, but obviously it wasn’t here–perhaps on the main road. There is a lay-by not far away and people do stop, usually to water the bushes on the way back from the pub–the nettles grow really well there.

I heard a car revving up and driving off a bit later and assumed it was whoever had stopped in the lay-by. At midnight, I mentioned to Si that Julie should have been back by then.

“She’s a teenager and it’s her birthday, don’t keep on her case–didn’t you do stupid things when you were young?”

“I always let my parents know where I was.”

“We know where she is, the pub.”

“It closes at eleven.”

“Plus drinking up time.”

“That still leaves half an hour–where is she?”

“Probably chucking up her dinner in the back of the taxi.” He chuckled to himself at that prospect–he hates taxi drivers–calls them a plague on the roads.

I went to the kitchen window and glanced down the drive. “Si, did you move the Merc?”

“No–why?”

“It’s not there.”

“Don’t be silly.” He came and peered through the window, then went out onto the drive. “It’s gone.”

I glanced up at the key board–the keys were gone. We’d given Julie the car for her birthday and I’d told her to put the keys there until she was driving it–she could in theory have done so with an experienced driver on her provisional licence.

“The silly cow, she’s driven it off, or one of her friends has.”

“Oh well, I’ll take the keys back when she gets home,” said Simon, “she’ll get them back in a month’s time.”

“At least by then she’ll have had some lessons. Silly girl.”

“Very,” said Simon, locking the door–“C’mon, let’s go up to bed.”