The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1865 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Who were those two men?” asked Erin as we departed the restaurant.

“A couple of my old teachers.”

“Funny, I always think it odd when men teach at girl’s schools.”

“Erin, I went to a boy’s school–remember?”

“Damn it, Cathy, give me a chance–I represent one of the loveliest, sexiest women in England and you expect me to remember she wasn’t always this way?”

“So who’s this lovely, sexy woman? You’ll have to introduce me some time. She might be able to teach me a thing or two.”

“Very funny, you know exactly who I mean.”

“Erin, if you were describing me, I don’t recognise myself in your description.”

She bid me stop outside one of the department stores and to look in the window which was dark and acted like a mirror. “Tell me what you see?”

I peered into the glass, “I can’t see anything, it’s too dark.”

“I mean reflected in the glass.”

“You and me, why?”

“Describe what you see.”

“You and I and people passing behind us–damn, look at my hair, goodness what a mess.”

“Your hair looks fine.”

“Oh come on, it looks like Einstein on a bad day.”

“It looks fine. Now, tell me something.”

“If I can.”

“Why can’t you accept a compliment?”

“Sorry, were you complimenting me?”

“You know darned well I was, stop being obtuse, it doesn’t befit the rest of your image–designer suits and PhDs.”

“Designer suits and PhDs? You have a wonderful sense of description, matched only by your humour.”

“Why can’t you accept what you are? Hold on...” she grabbed a young chap who was passing. “Excuse me, would you say my friend here is good looking?”

The man stepped back and eyed me up and down while I blushed furiously. “No,” he said and Erin’s face fell while I felt shocked. “She’s bloody gorgeous.” He winked at me and walked on.

“See?” she challenged me.

“He might have been partially sighted or have a learning difficulty.”

“Okay, let’s try another,” she was just about to stop another passer-by when I said, no, rather loudly.

“You’ve made your point,” I conceded.

“So what did your teachers say?”

“The only reason I spoke to them was that they were reminiscing and I heard my name mentioned in vain–or my previous one. They were laughing at the torments I suffered and I wanted to prick their bubble.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Was it worth it–revealing yourself to them?”

“I thought so.”

“But now you’re not so sure?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if embarrassing two old fools was worth the effort?”

“Yes–no–oh I don’t know anymore.” I felt a mixture of affront, embarrassment and bewilderment.

“Cathy, you’re a beautiful, respected and powerful woman with loads of responsibilities and huge potential, so I ask you again, was it worth it?”

“Probably not.”

“With a probability of one, I’d say,” Erin continued reading me the facts of life. “You need to move on and leave these dinosaurs behind, they’re only old fossils now–a product of their times. This is now, move on.” She put her arm round me and pulled me close to her. “You’re also one of the nicest people I know and love.”

I sniffed back the tears which were threatening to wreck my mascara and it took several minutes walking to let go of the guilt I now felt. I suppose she was right, I needed to let go the tormented adolescent and concentrate on the adult woman, which is where my present and future lay. The chance for a cheap retaliation was too tempting and I took it. Perhaps it said more about me than it did them, now instead of satisfaction I felt a degree of disgust with myself. Why are these things never straight forward?

“Well, darling girl, I have to leave you and go back to work, what are you up to?”

“I thought I might do a bit of Christmas shopping before it all gets too crazy.”

“You sound so organised, Cathy; you put me to shame.”

“Anything but, I’m as disorganised as anyone, ask my children.”

“Children will always drop you in it, girl, so never ask them anything about which you want a sensible answer.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

She hugged me and we air-kissed, then a moment later she slipped across the road through a break in the traffic and was gone, presumably back to her office which is a little distance away, perhaps she uses a taxi or even the bus–nah, Erin on a bus? Ridiculous.

I’d forgotten how difficult shopping here can be with hordes of people whose main intent seems to be to obstruct me while I go about my daily business. Nothing new there then?

Two hours later I was fighting my way through the rush hour traffic having forgotten how bad it used to be. Portsmouth is bad enough, this is worse. Bristolians really shouldn’t be allowed to drive, they’re dangerous enough on bicycles.