The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1655 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Driving back to the house, I asked Jacquie if she’d made any decision about what she wanted to do.

“I so want to feel part of a family.”

“Even one as crazy and dysfunctional as ours?”

“Oh yes, Mummy, it’s lovely crazy.”

“Some days, other days it can be less than lovely crazy.”

“Are you trying to put me off, Mummy?”

“No, just trying to avoid being prosecuted under the trades description legislation.”

“You are funny.”

“You noticed.”

She fell about laughing.

Back home I cleaned the salmon and wrapping in foil with butter, garlic, dill and some mushrooms, I popped the fish into the slow oven on the Aga, and then set about cleaning up the mess.

We had lunch, and Stella arrived just as I poured a cup of tea–I’m sure she can smell it. “Oh thanks, Cathy, I’ve been dying for this for the past hour,” she said snatching my tea before I could protect it. Fortunately there was enough hot water in the kettle to add to the teapot to pour some more.

“Oh town is dreadful,” wailed Stella.

“I could have told you that,” I had no idea she’d gone to town or why.

“Into predictions now, are we?”

“Only those based upon previous experience and observation, in other words empirical evidence.”

“That’s right, cover up your black arts with jargon and gobbledygook.”

“I’m not. You suggested I could have predicted that town would be busy, as some sort of divination. I explained that my prediction was based upon evidence of previous experience and observation–which it is.”

“Evidence of absence is not absence of evidence,” she said haughtily back at me.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I just like saying it.”

“Fine,” I shrugged as Puddin’ came wandering through.

“Fine, fine, fine,” she said and wandered back out.

Stella was now undoing herself to feed Fiona, who was getting a little grumpy, probably because Stella had kept her waiting. “They have to fit into my arrangements not the other way round.”

“Stella, that child is only nine months old, how can she accommodate your needs? She can barely identify her own.”

“She does, we had a long chat about morality and right and wrong.”

“I suspect the long chat was a monologue by a deranged mother, wasn’t it?”

“You can be so cruel, at times, Cathy.”

“It’s true though isn’t it?”

“Well of course it’s true, she’s only nine months old.”

I shook my head in disbelief, Stella had blustered her way through an argument again. How had that happened? And, why did I allow her to do it to me?

“Any more tea?” she asked.

“No, you’ll have to make some more, do me a cup while you’re at it.”

“What did your last servant die of?” she muttered to her herself as she filled the kettle. “I do things for everyone and they just take me for granted.”

“But of course, woman is the nigger of the world.” I said almost asking her if she wanted me to get my violin out. It would have been metaphorical if I had because I couldn’t play a note, however, while I’d been on the computer the other night, I’d listened to someone playing the Mendelssohn fiddle concerto, Sarah Chang or Nigel Kennedy or someone like that and I felt so envious of their skill. And what about the composer? Poor old Felix Mendelssohn, worried himself to death before he was forty, how could someone conceive and then work on the idea of a theme like that? If there is any evidence of a god, and this more emotional than empirical, it has to be in the arts, of the beauty of music or painting or poetry or even of a starlit night or lightening dawn. These things speak to our emotions, not our cognitive skills, we emote the significance of them. Last night I could look out and see four other planets, Venus, Jupiter, Mars and the moon. It’s pure magic to conjecture what that means, four different worlds, all in the sweep of an eye. Amazing.

“You can’t say that word,” Stella said to me as I loaded the bread machine.

“Which word?” having no idea what she was rambling about.

“The N word.”

Having been waxing lyrical about the wonders of the solar system in my own mind, I’d moved on from whatever it was she was grumbling about.

“You what?”

“You said the N word, it’s racist and politically incorrect.”

“Oh that? I was quoting John Lennon.”

“That’s no excuse–don’t let Puddin’ hear you saying such a word–she’ll be repeating it at nursery and we’d have the Stasi here the next day.”

“Okay,” it was no big deal to me as I wasn’t using it offensively nor would I dream of doing so. “So what were you doing in town?”

“Getting Trish a birthday present, why?”

“I just wondered.”

“Well now you know, and with two babies in tow, it was no easy task.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very grateful for your efforts.”

“I doubt it, children have far too much these days and aren’t grateful for any of it.”

“Are you suggesting my children are spoiled brats?”

“If the cap fits, wear it.”

“Stella, that is so unfair, they might be guilty of many things, but I try to instill a sense of politeness in them all, so anything you give them will be appreciated and they will say thanks.”

“Well, we’ll see in a couple of days won’t we?”

“Yes, won’t we.”

I left the kitchen in a huff and went to see what Jacquie was doing with Catherine. I went upstairs and they weren’t in the baby’s room nor in Jacquie’s. I called to Jacquie and there was no answer.

I came back down and checked the sitting and dining rooms, then round to my study and the library. Given that Jacquie was acting at times more like a five year old than a young adult, I began to feel a little worried.

I ran into the kitchen and Stella began to harangue me again. “Have you seen Jacquie and Catherine?” I asked insistently.

Stella looked at me oddly. “They went outside ten minutes ago while we were talking.”

“I didn’t see them,” I confessed.

“No you seemed to be preoccupied with one of your dormouse thoughts.”

“I haven’t got time to argue, hell, I’ll have to go and get the girls in a minute.” I ran through the kitchen and out into the garden calling Jacquie. I couldn’t see her and she wasn’t replying. My blood pressure shot up and my anxiety went off the scale. What if the evidence wasn’t all false? Oh my goodness–don’t think about it.

I ran up the garden, birds were singing and the sunshine was glorious but I was oblivious to it all as I frantically searched for the two. Finally, I spotted the buggy up in the orchard and rushed up towards it.

“There you are,” I said angrily at Jacquie, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I did say we were coming out into the sunshine, Mummy.”

“When?”

“Ten minutes ago, honestly, Mummy, ask Aunty Stella.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy, don’t be cross with me, I won’t hurt baby Catherine–oh is that what you thought? Give a dog a bad name–is that it? I thought you believed me, Mummy, the one person I thought I could trust.” She got up, plonked Catherine in my arms and ran back to the house crying.

“Oh shit,” I said loudly and Catherine’s bottom lip curled and she began to cry as well. Isn’t life just bloody wonderful, and now I was going to be late collecting the girls. T’riffic.