The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1881 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

David had done a stroganoff for dinner and I was eager to compare it to mine. Mostly it’s a non starter, the comparison I mean, after all he’s a professional cook and I’m just a hungry amateur. Now and again I think my meal was better, but most of the time it’s a non-contest, his is just brilliant. I wonder how much longer he plans on staying–I can’t believe he’ll be here forever, but while he is, I’m going to enjoy every mouthful.

The kids busied themselves with their homework, I set them to going up chimneys and down the mine later. Catherine was playing with Puddin’ and they were chattering away, but in a language I didn’t understand. I left them to their conversation which seemed to centre upon a soft toy–one of my deformed dormice, I think they all had one, this one was pink–yeah, I know.

In the beginning I created the deformed dormouse soft toy, but because there would be arguments over whose was who’s, I made them all different colours. Believe it or not, there’s even a green one somewhere. The kids don’t seem to worry about the inaccuracy–if they did, then none of them would want to touch a twelve inch high dormouse, would they?

I went upstairs to change and have a little wash to freshen up. I’d just come out of the bathroom when Trish knocked and entered the bedroom. I turned my back and began pulling up my panties, then put on a bra before turning round to look for my top.

“Phoebe was telling us that you had a friend who was flooded.”

“Yes, that’s a long time ago.”

“She said they all thought you were a girl.”

“Yes they did.”

“I think you were always a girl, it’s just your mummy and daddy didn’t realise it until it was too late.”

“Too late for what?” I asked slipping some jeans on and then some socks.

“Too late for you to be their daughter. Didn’t they know daughters are better than sons?”

“That isn’t always true, Trish, and look at Danny, he’s a nice lad and a good son.”

“’Cept he’d rather play football than help in the house or garden.”

“Aren’t there things you’d rather do than your chores?”

“Yeah, but I do my chores first.”

“That’s called being self-disciplined or self-controlled. It’s a sign of maturity.”

“Is that like being grown up?”

“It most certainly is.”

“So am I more grown up than Danny?”

“Shall I say, girls usually mature more quickly than boys.”

“So I am–he he, wait till I tell him.”

“Ah, if you do, that would actually mean you aren’t.”

“But you just said I was.”

Oh boy, dealing with the interview panel should be a piece of cake compared to dealing with children. “In some ways you are, in others not quite so much.”

“Oh,” she said dejectedly.

“Now, how about we tidy your bedroom before Daddy gets home?”

“You’re the grown up one,” she said and ran off. I shook my head grabbed a pair of old shoes and went into the girl’s room and began to tidy things up.

It took me an hour, and I found two pairs of knickers which had been tucked down the side of the bed–dirty ones of course–but why there? I dumped them in the laundry basket then tidied up all the beds.

I did Danny’s room as well, but decided the older girls could all do their own. Mostly they did without much prompting, especially Julie who was becoming very houseproud of her own room, at least compared with Sammi, who stored her clothes very tidily but left old crisp packets and chocolate bar wrappers under the bed and elsewhere. I did an inspection once a month and anyone’s room that was messy, got a reduced allowance that month. I was trying to teach them the value of money as well as good behaviour and tidiness.

By the time I went down, David had banged the gong and was dishing up. I discovered Simon and Sammi were home and I got a hug and peck from each of them.

“Daddy said I could go,” beamed Danny.

“I told you once we find out how much it is.”

“He told me you’d said it was okay,” Simon looked a little angry.

“Depending on how much the cost is.”

“I’ve got a good mind to say no, Danny. You were playing us off against each other.”

I made a face at Simon to let it alone. The poor kid is always in the doghouse just because he’s a boy–not really–but boys do tend to do stupid things.

“He’s got to learn, darling.”

“Can we just leave it until we find out the cost?” I asked, and he nodded, but was far from happy about it. I looked at Danny, “Your father’s right, you shouldn’t try to play us against each other, so I think you’d better behave yourself until this trip thing happens, don’t you?”

Danny was looking discomforted and blushing heavily. “I’m sorry, Mum, Dad. Can I leave the table?”

“Yes, go on.”

The rest of the meal was uneventful, and finally it was just Simon and me who were sitting at the table. “That was lovely, David,” I said as he cleared the table.

“Glad you enjoyed it, I hear you make a pretty good one yourself.”

“Good but not as good as yours.”

He smiled and switched on the dishwasher, “Anything you want before I go?”

“No, that’s fine, thanks.” I said, and he left wishing us both a goodnight.

“So, how was Bristol?”

“Okay apart from all the rain.”

“Bad, eh?”

“I haven’t seen rain like that for fifteen years.”

“Much flooding?”

“In places, but the transport system was completely overwhelmed. I couldn’t have got home if I’d wanted to, except by helicopter.”

“Okay, I believe you.” He patted my hand. “What’s this about you helping someone out with mopping up.”

“When? Not now I haven’t.”

“Phoebe was on about someone you knew in Bristol who got flooded.”

“Yeah that was years ago. She was fascinated because I had to borrow some wellies and the only pair I could get belonged to Siá¢n Griffiths. They were shiny black with butterflies on, so they all thought I was a girl.”

“What, even your friend?”

“No, I was in school, so the kids all knew I was supposed to be a boy, but his parents didn’t. They thought I was his girlfriend.”

“I’m jealous already,” he said laying a hand on mine, which I hoped wasn’t an act of ownership.

“You know all this anyway, I was always being mistaken for a girl.”

“No–I know you sometimes had to dress up as a boy–but much of the time the disguise wasn’t very good, and people saw through it.”

“I love you, Simon Cameron.” I said, my eyes filling with tears.

“So do I, I mean, I love you too, Cathy Cameron, and I’m so glad you agreed to be my wife. I think I’m the luckiest man alive.”

I stroked his arm and said, “And why is that, my husband?”

“Because you’re sitting closer to the kettle than I am, so you can make the tea.”