The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1491 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I did some shopping on the way home–the bit about needing to breast feed Catherine was a bit of a fib–but it had the desired effect. I’m astonished she didn’t ask about the baby, but maybe she’s not the maternal type. Can’t say it worries me one way or the other. So I was her first tranny–oh well, as they seem to be everywhere these days, I’ll hardly be her last.

I bought a few bits and pieces for the kids–some beads and bangles for the girls and a pair of football socks for Danny–I bought enough of the junk jewellery to include my nieces and was just heading back to the car when my mobile rang.

“Hello, Mr Darnley.”

“Mrs Cameron, your car is ready when you’d like to collect it.”

“If I can find someone to run me across to you, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Very good.”

“Do I need to pay you?”

“No, we’ll sort that out with Mr Cameron later–he’ll do the insurance stuff.”

“Yes and see if we can get a refund from the mad woman.” Just then the object of my scorn crossed the road a little way ahead of me. “I’ll see you later.” I shut off my phone and followed the old bat up the road. She had seen me but looked straight through me, out of context, I suppose I was invisible, especially as she hadn’t seen me with makeup on and my hair up. I was also concerned about her eyesight.

She went into an optician’s shop and I followed her, pretending to look at spectacle frames but listening to her conversation. “Macular degeneration–no we can’t do much for that, Miss Alcott.”

Oh poo, if I mentioned that it might blow her insurance cover, but I made a note of it. If I remembered, the macule was part of the eye near the optic nerve and degeneration speaks for itself. Actually, I think rubbish builds up by the macule or under it and it causes damage to the eye and hence sight. It’s one of the most common causes of loss of vision in older people. I felt sorry for her in some ways, especially if she was losing her sight. It might explain why she hit my car–but if that’s what she has–should she be driving? Probably not.

A friend of my mother had it and she had to stop driving, I suspect Miss Alcott is the same–now do I dob her in or keep quiet? I left the shop just before she did as she was still arguing with the receptionist.

She walked off in the opposite direction to the one I’d chosen, so I went back to the car and sped home. Jenny agreed to bring the Mondeo back after Stella in gratitude for the beads and bangles for her two girls, agreed to watch Catherine until Jenny came home and I’d take the Jag to collect the girls.

Driving down to the repairers, I asked Jenny if she’d heard anymore from her friend about the vacancy we had. She said she hadn’t managed to contact her, but she’d keep trying. I did ask her to let me know as soon as she did because we’d need to find someone else soon–I was starting at the university in just over a week’s time.

The car was immaculate, like it had just been driven from the showroom. Jenny went back home as Mr Darnley explained in boring detail what they’d done here and there and all parts in between. He certainly knew his stuff, which was more than I did and I was running out of time. I finally interrupted him to say I had to collect my children. He told me he was a grandfather so knew the drill well enough.

He handed me my keys and held open the door while I sat and then swung my legs round in the tight skirt I was wearing. He closed the door and watched me back as I reversed out of the yard and then turned to head towards Portsmouth and the school. The engine purred and she glided along as if on a cushion of air. Jaguar might be owned by an Indian conglomerate these days, but the ride is all British.

I parked a little away from the school as I didn’t want the girls to see my pretty pussy too quickly. They were impressed with the outfit and kept saying so as we wandered out of the school and we were nearly at the car before Billie noticed it–Trish was still in full flow upon my sartorial elegance and when could she start wearing heels that click-clacked on the road.

“You’ve got it back?” Trish blurted out as she stood about ten feet away.

“Yes, I’d have thought it was rather obvious, especially to one as observant as you’re reputed to be.”

She walked round the car. “Hmm,” she said, “I think they missed a piece here.”

“No they didn’t,” I walked up to where she was standing to see that someone had keyed the side of the car, leaving a deep scar in the paintwork. I couldn’t believe it. If I’d seen who’d done it, I’d have probably broken their arms. Vandalism makes me so angry–it’s totally pointless destruction, a mindless crime but not a victimless one. This time there were no CCTV cameras to assist me.

I felt so angry, I’d had the car a matter of days, all but one of them had been in a repair shop. I really did feel angry. Who would do such a thing? Some idiot boy who had nothing better to do than damage other people’s property.

If I spotted him as we drove home, I’d probably run the little sod over–I felt so angry. Whoever it was left not just the usual wiggly line–yes I’ve been keyed before–but one with some sort of signature design. Trish copied it on her camera phone and I went to the police station.

The desk sergeant was one with whom I’d had a previous acquaintance and his look was one of uncertain fear. I insisted he come and look at the damage and to give him credit he sent someone out to see it–a young woman community support officer. I wasn’t terribly impressed, but to my delight she was most interested in the crime. I held a tape measure alongside it while she took several photos.

“There is some kid or group of kids who do this usually to more up market cars. I’d love to catch them.”

“I’d love you to catch them–then allow five minutes with each–that would be long enough to rearrange their dentition.”

“Please Lady Cameron, never threaten violence, if anyone hears it they could cause you trouble later on.”

“But I’ve only just had the thing back after a batty old lady ran into me–twice.”

“Is that one who was in the paper calling you a bully?”

“Yes–all I want is for her to repay our costs, seeing as she caused the damage–oh and hang the little bastard who did that,” I pointed to the scratch, “hanging from the yard arm of the Victory.”

“You do become aggressive when angry don’t you?”

“She’s Scottish,” said Trish from inside the car.