The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1838 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Get the bitch,” yelled the one I’d hit with the wheel brace. His pal did his bidding and ran round behind me. I could see him in one of the car windows and I allowed him to grab me in a bear hug type grip. His friend picked up the knife in his left hand, the right one looked rather bruised and swollen. “I’m gonna cut you, bitch.”

He strolled towards me and as soon as he got in range, I used his friend as a prop and kicked the knife bearer in the chest. He flew backwards and over the bonnet of a little Peugeot, disappearing between it and a VW. I then back head-butted the man who held me and he immediately let me go, whereupon I stepped forwards and back kicked him at chest height.

The knife wielding one emerged from between the cars, he was breathing hard and swearing at me. He charged at me just as a police car came screaming into the car park, I jumped out of the way and the angry thug ran straight into his mate, stabbing him, albeit accidentally, in the abdomen.

Two ticks later two coppers were all over him like a rash. A second police car appeared and this one called the ambulance. I glanced at my watch, it was one o’clock and there was a real possibility that I might have to call someone to collect the girls.

The woman who’d been their first victim and I thought had legged it, was with the police, she told them that I’d rescued her.

“I suppose you were just checking the tightness of your wheel nuts?” asked one of the coppers sarcastically.

“Gosh, your powers of deduction are absolutely spot on,” I beamed back to him. The ambulance had now arrived and the wounded man was taken away. The other was arrested and taken away in cuffs in the second police car.

“I need you to make a statement, madam.”

I looked at my watch, “How long is that going to take? I have children to collect from school.”

“If we go now, you could be away in time to get them.”

I followed him back to the police HQ, the other officer sitting in with me. “I always fancied one of these,” said my passenger. “You must have a good job.”

“It suits me, but my husband got me the car.”

“What does he do?”

“Works for a bank.”

“Pretty high up, I should imagine.”

“His dad is higher up.”

“They both work for the bank?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Did my colleague take your name?”

“No, I thought your super duper computer would have told you that from my car registration.”

“It might have done but I wasn’t in the car was I? I was tackling the geezer with the knife.”

“I see.” I mused wondering why it took two of them and one of me–multitasking in reverse?

“What is your name?”

“Me? Cathy.”

“Cathy what?”

“It used to be Watts.”

“And now?” he asked avoiding the pun.

“Cameron.”

“Cathy Cameron?” he asked for clarification.

“That’s me.”

“Why does that sound sort of familiar?”

“I have no idea, I lied,” well if I’d answered him I could have been described as helping the police with their enquiries, and that would never do. I mean, as Andrew Mitchell, described them, ‘plebs’–well one just couldn’t, could one?

I was almost smirking as he struggled with his memory. “Cameron and banking, that rings a bell,” he muttered to himself. I concentrated on following the police car in front as it distracted me from laughing. “’Ere, what position does your husband hold at the bank?”

“Um, I’m not sure if it’s managing director or chief executive of the retail arm.”

“Jeez–you’re the dormouse woman, aren’t you?”

“I have been known to associate with them, yes.”

“Oh bloody hell, you’re the pension killer, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t knowingly injured a pensioner in my life.”

“The career cutter.”

“I seem to have a number of soubriquets.”

“All of them bad,” he muttered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, you’re Lady Cameron, aren’t you?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said and looked as if he’d messed his pants and only just noticed. “I liked your film.”

“Thank you,” I said and kept it polite but distant.

We entered the car park and he escorted me into the building, the desk sergeant’s face fell when he saw me. When I was asked to sit in the waiting area, I heard him ask the young constable, “What d’you bring ’er ’ere for–you know who she is?”

“She witnessed an assault and intervened.”

“She’s like bloody Batwoman–bloody amateurs.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing ’er in her Batgirl outfit,” said the constable unaware that I could hear him.

“Give it a rest, Cornwell, she’s out of your league by about ten divisions.”

“I dunno, Sarge, we’re all the same lying down, in we?”

The older man sighed, “She’s dangerous, get rid of ’er, I’m too old to give up my pension now.”

I was led to a bland room and dictated a statement about the incident. It was typed up and I read it and signed it. Then left. I got to school just in time to collect the three mouseketeers.

“Wotcha been doin’, Mummy?” asked Trish sounding like someone from Billingsgate market.

“Not a lot sweetheart,” I lied–it was easier than dealing with one of her post mortem interrogations.

“Wot? Nuffin’? An’ I bin in skewl lernin’ fings–dat’s not fair.”

“I’ll have you know, young lady, that I went to school to learn things, too, and for a jolly sight longer than you have so far.”

She pouted and looked away, Livvie and Meems started to giggle, and then Trish did as well. Finally we were all laughing as I drove through the gate into our driveway. “Someone sounds happy,” declared David, “We were expecting you for lunch.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I got distracted.”

“By the police?”

“Police?” I pretended to be surprised.

“You left your pen there when you signed your statement. Someone will drop it round later.”

Trish’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open for a moment, “Nothing, eh, Mummy?”

“Uh–well it wasn’t very interesting,” I tried to conclude the matter.

“That wasn’t anything to do with the assault in the car park was it? They said some member of the public intervened and saved a woman being attacked with a knife, and helped the police apprehend the attackers. Wasn’t you, was it, Cathy?”

“You’ve done it again, Mummy, you promised Daddy you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

“Did I? When was that?” That was a genuine surprise.

“You’ve done it before?” David looked astonished, “No wonder you were so cool at the funeral.”

“I wasn’t, I was genuinely frightened.”

“Don’t believe her, David, she’s the bank’s answer to Tonto, the Loan Arranger.” Trish roared at her own joke and so did David.

“Riding a white Jaguar called, Silver,” David showed his age a little.

I’d never seen the Lone Ranger, I was too young, but it’s part of Twentieth Century culture and there are so many jokes about the two of them, including one yet to be finished film with Johnnie Depp as Tonto.

Trish missed out the Jaguar joke, she’d seen even less of the eponymous hero of the fifties cowboy show than I had, which was zilch, but I knew his horse was called ‘Silver’ and everyone said, “Hi Ho, Silver and away,” as soon as the gallop from William Tell started.

“What’s for dinner, David,” I asked changing the subject.

“Tontollini–I mean tortellini,” he said and snorted while Trish began to giggle.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXRjuaEVK78