The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1823 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I called the college and explained Phoebe’s situation. They were sympathetic, but had already started their courses.

“I think she could manage to catch the others up, you know.”

“Um, but it’s nearly three weeks and the other problem is funding. It might be too late to get funding for a new student.”

“The funding isn’t a problem, if necessary I’ll find that. What is your average qualification for in-take, five GCSEs?”

“We’ll accept four if they interview well.”

“She’s got eleven–all C grade or above.”

“Why isn’t she doing A levels?”

“She wants to be a hairdresser,” (at the moment).

“Could you bring her in this afternoon? If she impresses, we could possibly squeeze her in.”

“What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

“We’ll be there.”

I told Phoebe what I’d done and she was almost moved to tears. She gave me a hug and then hugged Julie who was getting ready to go off to work. I couldn’t decide if she really wanted to be a hairdresser or if she was so in awe of Julie that she just wanted to be like her. I was pretty sure that Julie hadn’t noticed, but it must be quite an achievement for a transwoman to be a role model for other young women. That made me feel very proud. Julie had done really well at hairdressing and some of the other beauty therapies, even though she’d been doubtful at first, and I was just so pleased for her and with her. If Phoebe wants to follow her, she could do worse.

After a delicious lunch, at the earlier hour of noon, I sent Phoebe off to get herself ready and went off myself to do the same. I decided on smart casual, and wore some fitted dark red bootleg trousers with a matching jacket and white silk cowl necked blouse–with black ankle boots with two inch heels, it felt a comfortable arrangement.

Phoebe came down wearing a short dress over leggings. She also wore ankle boots, but hers went outside her leg wear while mine obviously were mostly hidden by my trousers.

I’d kept my makeup simple and my hair I wore down with a little plait taken round from the front to the back, which kept my hair out of my eyes and hopefully would stop it being blown about by the blustery wind. Phoebe had hers in what I can only describe as idiosyncratic–she had her hair in bunches–about six of them at various places on her scalp. Her makeup was also heavier than usual. Oh well, I suppose she’s making some sort of self statement. If Neal had seen her he’d be hopping up and down.

I drove to the college and we found the beauty and hairdressing part–I had been here before once or twice with Julie but that was a while ago. Phoebe followed me into the reception area.

The woman who’d come to meet us approved of Phoebe’s hair and makeup, declaring it showed creativity and individuality–it did that all right–I was glad we weren’t going shopping afterwards.

I was led to an area where they showed me students practicing manicures. Suddenly I was asked to sit at one of the tables and before I knew it I was getting my nails done. I realised that they were separating us so they could have a proper look at Phoebe without me interfering.

So for the next half an hour, my nails were soaked and cleaned, cuticles pushed back and my nails shaped, then painted in a dark red pearlised colour not too dissimilar to my jacket and trousers.

“I love your outfit,” said the girl treating my digits.

“Thank you,” I said smiling.

“You didn’t get that in Asda, did you?”

“Uh no.”

“I’ve never seen a blouse like that, how d’you get into it?”

“It pulls over the head and has two tiny zips in the sides.”

“Wow, it’s beautiful–where did you get it?”

“In London.”

“What, John Lewis?”

“Uh no, Harvey Nicks.”

“Oh wow, I can’t even afford to look in there. That’s like Harrods for the under sixties, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, I never go in Harrods. If I want a green carrier bag I go to Marks and Spencer.”

She laughed at my silliness. “I wish I could afford some decent threads, but my old man’s a bus driver.”

“It’s a very necessary occupation. Lots of people would have to walk long distances without buses and they need someone to drive them.”

“I’ll bet your husband isn’t one though, is he?” I’d had to take my wedding ring off earlier so she could soak and cream my hands.

“He works in a bank.”

“I don’t think I could do that, handling other people’s money, sitting behind that glass shield and dishing out dosh.”

“He works in the offices rather than in the trading area of the bank.”

“Oh, yeah that I could do, ’cept I don’t have the brains.”

“Yes, but you’ve made a lovely job of my nails–my husband couldn’t do that, so each to his or her own.”

She beamed at my compliment and when I realised my nails were now dry I slipped my hand into my pocket and slipped her the five pound note I had secreted there. Her smile got wider.

“Have you ever had a leg wax?” she asked me.

“Yes, my daughter does them for me.”

“Is she a beautician, then?”

“Yes and hairdresser.”

“Did she train here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh what’s her name?”

“Julie Kemp.”

“Oh wow, I know Julie–her mum’s a lady–you’re Lady something or other, I can’t remember,” she blushed.

“I’m Cathy.” I said firmly trying to keep things on an even keel.

“Yeah, but no wonder you can shop in Harvey Nichols.”

“I work for a living as well.”

“What in the bank?”

“I have acted as a consultant for them, but no, I teach at the university.”

“What banking?”

“No, I’m a biologist.”

“What earthworms and things?”

“Not exactly, admittedly biology covers all living things, but I’m an ecologist.”

“What’s that then?”

“I study biological systems, primarily mammals and particularly dormice.”

“Dormice? Did you see that film back a while ago about dormice?”

“Uh yes, yes I did.” I felt myself colour up and it suddenly got hotter.

She looked at me again, “Oh my god, you were in that film, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I presented it and wrote it.”

“Oh my god, I’m doing a film star,” she shrieked, and I wanted to disappear through a hole in the floor because I knew everyone’s eyes were on me. So much for anonymity–next time I’ll just say I work at the university, though I suppose nice clothes do tend to give one away somewhat.