The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1834 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was lying in bed cwtching with Simon when we heard it first. He looked at me and I got out of bed. I opened the door, there it was again, a whimpering sound. I walked to the girl’s bedroom and Mima was tossing and turning and whimpering, obviously having a bad dream.

I bent over her and rubbed her forehead and spoke quietly to her, “It’s okay, sweetheart, Mummy’s here and you’re quite safe.”

“Man catched fire in the pwane,” she said her head moving back and fore.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, Mummy’s here, no one is going to hurt you, now just go back off to sleep and have pleasant dreams.”

“Mummy,” she sighed and relaxed. I stayed with her a few more minutes and she seemed to go off to sleep again.

I felt really cold as I got back into bed, “They all right?” asked Simon wrapping his arm round me.

“Yes, Meems was having a bad dream about the plane crash we witnessed.”

“Yeah, poor sod, any idea who it was?”

“No, the telly just said it was a local man.”

“You’re cold, here let me warm you,” he started to rub me and it did feel warmer, though I wasn’t aware my chest was particularly cold–however–he seemed to think it was.

The next morning, Sunday, the weather again stayed fine though the warm sunshine we’d had on the Saturday would be mostly lost to cloud as the day wore on. I woke early and slipped out of bed, grabbed my cycling kit and was away before anyone else woke–except Tom.I passed him out with the dog.

I did a quick ten miler managing a couple of small hills and then back to the house. It was only eight o’clock when I got back, I’d been out about an hour–I was definitely losing my fitness, but I felt warmer and a bit more exhilarated when I got home. I was in the shower when Simon decided to join me.

It’s not easy doing things in the shower except washing, probably because that’s all they’re designed for, not sexual gymnastics. Thankfully, it was all over before the kids woke up and came looking for us, by that time I was out and dried and drying my hair.

“What was that banging noise?” asked Trish.

“Banging noise?”

“Yeah, sounded like someone was banging on something and lots of groaning.”

“No idea,” I lied hoping I wouldn’t blush too much. “Perhaps it was Gramps, he was out with the dog earlier.”

She went away unconvinced if her expression was anything to go by. Simon was still in the bathroom and I heard him snorting, obviously trying to keep himself from laughing out loud. Once she’d gone he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped round his waist and grin on his face.

“Tom and Kiki, I hope they weren’t doing the same as us,” he said quietly and chuckled to himself. He made some obscene movements and I threw a pillow at him, which caught him below the belt and made him wince.

“Don’t be so crude,” I berated him, “Or are you going to be a schoolboy all your life?”

“Probably,” he said and smirked. I left the bedroom without speaking shutting the door more firmly than I needed.

At breakfast Meems seemed unaware of her bad dreams though she yawned once or twice. The rest of the kids just concentrated on filling their faces and my exercise made me do the same, two slices of toast and a banana and two mugs of tea.

“You’re eating lots today, Mummy,” commented Livvie, none of the others had noticed, or at least said anything.

“Yes, I feel hungry this morning.”

“Aye, ridin’ that bike o’yers,” commented Tom, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.

“You didn’t go for a bike ride and leave us behind, Mummy?” wailed Trish.

“Yes, you were still asleep.”

“Bah,” she said, “We might have seen another plane crash.”

“I sincerely hope not, that one yesterday was one too many.”

“It was int’restin’,” she said and drank her juice.

“The man died,” Mima said loudly.

“Yes, he did, probably trying to steer his plane away from the road and hurting other people.”

“He might have hit us,” Trish accused.

“I don’t think that was very likely, Trish, he landed nearly quarter of a mile away,” I answered her.

“That’s close for aircraft, don’t you watch those videos of near misses?”

“I think that relates to jumbo jets or other jet aircraft,” Simon joined the discussion, “because they’re like oil tankers–the ships I mean–difficult to manoeuvre.”

“The Red Arrows seem to do it alright,” Trish threw back at him.

“They are the world’s best aero display team and they practice for hours, and even they have the odd accident.”

“Oh yes,” I offered, “One of them was killed near Bournemouth a year or so ago.”

“What, one of the Red Arrows crashed?” Trish seemed shocked.

“Yes, his aircraft malfunctioned and crashed and rather than eject, the pilot got it out into the countryside and it crashed. He was killed but no one else was injured.”

“That’s vewy bwave,” commented Meems, “wike the man, yest-a-day.”

“Yes, I’m sure he was too,” I added to try and stifle any other comment.

Trish looked uncertain about any of this and asked to be excused from the table dashing off to the dining room where she’d be checking it up on her computer.

“Hawk trainer,” said Danny who’d so far remained quiet.

“What your sports shoes?” I asked.

“No, Mummy,” he said patronisingly, “that’s what they fly, Hawk trainers–the Red Arrows.”

“Oh,” well how was I to know? Now if it was bikes...

“Right, laddie, you and me in the garden five minutes,” Simon told Danny.

“What for?” Danny sighed.

“Hedge trimming, me trim, you clear up.” Simon was I think trying to imitate Tarzan, you know, Me Tarzan you Jane, stuff. I suppose I don’t mind as long as it’s me he sees as his Jane.

He suddenly yelled and stood up with Bramble clinging to his leg, which caused us all to roar with laughter. “Get this pest off my leg, NOW,” he said in between ouching and ow-ing I reached down and lifted her free of his trousers. “Thank you,” he said rubbing where she’d let her crampons dig into his skin.

“Aw, poor pussy, did the nasty man frighten you,” said Livvie and Simon just looked astonished.

“Nasty man? She was shredding my leg.”

It was the wrong thing to say because the rest of us just laughed at him. Okay, kittens have needles on every foot and haven’t learned not to use them on us until they get a bit older.

“Ye big Jessie,” piped Tom, hiding behind the Observer.

“It bloody well hurt,” whined Simon.

“Ask Kiki to kiss it better for you,” called Danny, dashing off to his bedroom.

“No way, I don’t want septicaemia,” Simon grumbled after him.

“Wossat?” asked Mima.

“Blood poisoning.”

“Ugh,” she replied and ran off in case it was catching.

“What’s cat scratch fever?” asked Livvie.

“I have no idea,” was my learned response.