The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1868 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I slept after my tea and our little discussion and to my surprise, awoke the next morning feeling quite fresh. Simon wasn’t in bed, and for a moment I wondered what day it was. I looked at the clock and saw to my horror it was ten o’clock.

I scrambled out of bed only to meet Simon walking in with a cup of tea, “Ah you’re awake, good.”

“Good? I have to get the girls to school, and look at me.”

“You look as ravishing as ever, and as it’s Saturday. I gave the girls the day off school on the understanding that they behave like angels–or I’ll pull their wings off.”

“Saturday? How can it be Saturday?”

“Well because it usually follows Friday. Now please, if you have problems with the calendar, contact Pope Gregory or whoever is responsible–I do money, not dates.”

I worked out that he wasn’t joshing me and it was actually Saturday, so I hadn’t lost any days; mind you my brain felt so addled if he’d said it was Christmas Day, I’d have believed him. PhD–ha ha–I couldn’t pass a GCSE the way I feel at the moment.

I sat on the bed and sipped the tea, which was heavenly–so I knew Simon hadn’t made it. “Lovely tea,” I said pausing my thirst.

“Yeah, Jacquie made it while I read the riot act to the girls.”

“Where’s Danny?”

“Playing footie, Tom took him over and is watching him.”

“I feel such a fool, fancy oversleeping like that.”

“You had that bad dream which disturbed you for some time. Go and see Anne Thomas as soon as you can, you must have some issues to sort out.”

“Yeah, okay,” I sipped some more tea.

“If you don’t, I’ll call her and get her to send the plain van and strait-jackets.”

“Okay, I’ll call her on Monday, all right?”

“I’ll check and if you haven’t...”

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it, big boy?”

“Refuse to make you any more tea until you do see her.”

“Refuse to make tea, or have the girls make me some?”

“Both, bitch.” He knew his tea was only just drinkable to me. He liked it strong, and mine only had to catch sight of a teabag. I giggled and inhaled some tea. He laughed while I coughed myself silly for the next couple of minutes. “That’ll learn ya,” he said and chuckled to himself.

I showered and dressed, pulling my still damp hair into a ponytail with a big pink scrunchie. Every time I used one I thought of the day that Murray made me wear one in front of the whole school. I recalled he was in my dream last night, but he wasn’t the problem, the whole school was.

Downstairs I picked up my post after greeting the girls. Jacquie made me some toast while I slit open the three envelopes. One was from the literary agent confirming what she was to do, the second was from the insurance company about renewing the policy. I gave that to Simon.

I ate my toast discussing the menu for the weekend with David, completely forgetting the third white envelope. Then Trish wanted something and I went off to see what that was. She wanted to go out on her bike and so did Livvie. Meems was content to go out with her dad to get some more car polish, and Jacquie was happy to look after Catherine–she already had Pud and Fiona because Stella had gone out shopping.

It looked like I was volunteered to take the two older youngsters out on their bikes. I went upstairs and pulled on some cycling shoes. If I took the mountain bike, I could ride in jeans. I tucked my trouser legs into my socks and clomped downstairs.

The weather was dry and sunnier than they forecast, so it was nice to be out in the fresh air. I pulled on a fleece jacket and my cycle mitts, checked the girls had their helmets, and went out to inspect the bikes.

Two had very soft tyres, so for the next ten minutes I laboured over a hot track pump, then checked the brakes–they were okay–so, sunglasses and helmet on and we were off.

We trundled along the bike path for a couple of miles and I bought us all an ice cream. The sun was delicious and it would have been a touch warmer had there not been a rather crisp breeze. Half an hour later we were back at the ranch and securing the bikes in the garage. One of the tyres on my bike looked as if the wall was going, so once I’d had a cuppa and grabbed a biscuit I’d go out and change the offending tyre for a new one. I always kept a spare and it wouldn’t take me very long.

David had done a chicken curry for lunch, with exceptions like me, having a jacket potato–tuna, in case you wondered. I’d just come back from the bike shed and washed my hands when he dished up. I hate curry, but accept that some members of my family enjoy it. In fact most of them do, just Meems had a spud with me.

We somehow all ended up watching the rugby–I should have remembered there was cycling on from Glasgow, from the Hoy velodrome. England followed Wales in defeat from one of the southern nations, but perhaps not as ignominiously, as the Welsh had lost both their matches to lesser sides. At least Australia is a top team, if not quite as top as New Zealand. It amazes me that a country with a population about the same size as London consistently beats most everyone else at rugby, and has done for much of the previous century. Wales haven’t beaten them since about 1905, I think Simon said. Mind you, the population of Wales, is pretty small too.

Tom was delighted with his lunch, telling David he was nearly as good as the chef at his usual lunchtime restaurant. I intervened before David offered to give him another plateful–over his head. Tom apologised and said he was only joking. From the look on David’s face, he didn’t think it was very funny. I told him my potato was done to perfection as always. He blushed.

I helped him clear up and was loading the dishwasher when he reminded me about the letter I’d left behind on the kitchen table–he’d put on my desk, having noted it was from Bristol.

That intrigued me, so I went off down to my study to see what it was–possibly something from Erin? I sat down and pulled out the letter from the white envelope and gasped.

“You left your tea behind,” said Si bringing in my mug. “What’s the matter?”

I handed him the letter. He read it and said, “Oops–bit of a coincidence isn’t it, or are you getting into prophesy as well as healing?”

He dropped it on my desk and looked at the heading on the stationery, ‘Bristol Grammar School,’ they only wanted me to go and do a talk to the school about doing ecological surveys and my one in particular.

“You can always say no,” he said as I sat there and trembled.