The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2002 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“You could have phoned to say you were all right,” I accused.

“I didn’t know it was missing.”

“But you must have done–where have you been all day?”

“How would I? I was shopping.”

“All day?”

“Yes–you’ve done it too, so you should know.”

“But Henry’s on his way.”

“What for?” she paused for a moment, “You didn’t tell him I’d gone in the harbour?”

I remained silent and blushed.

“You did tell him I’d gone in the harbour?”

“I was working with what was thought to be the most likely situation.”

“But you didn’t think to check with me?” Now she was doing the accusing.

“How was I going to do that? Send out a carrier herring?”

“One of these–not seen one before, it’s magic, you press in some numbers and it rings.” She mocked me and at the same time speed dialled her father. “I’m okay, the excitement is over–my car was nicked.”

I presumed she called Henry who said something and she passed the phone to me.

“Cathy, what is going on?”

“I’m sorry, favourite pa in law, but it seems the police misinformed me and I passed on the information. Stella has surfaced and is playing hell, so if you could give me ten minutes I could make the first reports correct but in a sack not a car.”

Henry roared with laughter over the phone, “It’s tempting at times. So her car was stolen and she didn’t know?”

“So it would seem.”

“Well, I’m nearly there now so I might as well come and see you all.”

“I did ask David to expect visitors.”

“I shall definitely come then.”

I returned the phone to its owner who wandered off talking to her father. I collected my own mobile and sent a text to Simon who replied he and Sammi were on their way–he’d perform sororicide later. I had to check the meaning of that although I was pretty sure what it meant. Chambers dictionary confirmed my understanding.

I checked with David that dinner was in progress and also to discover what it was. It transpired he was doing a pasta dish with three different sauces–one was tuna sauce, so I knew which I was having. For dessert, he’d made some ice cream with real raspberries–so that was pudding sorted as well, and the entry was some soup he’d quickly knocked up. I was interested to compare it to my soups–his was tomato and basil.

I’d never known anyone called Basil that I could murder and shove into a blender, David obviously did. Oh well, the tomato would hide the colour of any blood. I shook myself–what stupid ideas passed through my thinking equipment–now tomato and Stella soup–I could have managed that with Simon’s help...

“Mummy, have you seen the kitten?” asked Mima.

“No, Meems, why is she lost?”

“I dunno, I’s wooking fow hew.”

I flicked on the decoder built into my ears and offered to help her look. We went upstairs calling her and found her curled up on Trish’s lap, who was lying on her bed reading something on her iPad.

“Mrs Thatcher is dead,” she announced.

“Who?”

“Mrs Thatcher–look,” she passed me her iPad and I read that the previous Tory PM had croaked, and that there would be ructions at her funeral. I only had vague recollections of her as the woman who sold off GB plc to the highest bidder along with council houses but prevented councils from using the money they got to build new ones. I knew I wouldn’t miss her.

“If they aren’t going to bury her for a week, isn’t she going to smell a bit?” asked Trish and Meems made suitably disgusted noises.

“No, they’ll keep her in the fridge.”

“In parliament?”

“No, whichever funeral director is doing the funeral or even in the hospital mortuary.”

“Wossa mowtwy, Mummy?”

“A mortuary is somewhere designed to store dead bodies, they’re usually kept chilled and they preserve the body, stopping it from deteriorating.” I wondered if I’d already said too much but she nodded, sat on Trish’s bed with her sister and began stroking the cat.

I handed the iPad back to Trish who returned the activity on it back to Kindle and began reading again, “Did Darwin really sail in a dog?”

“A dog? Oh the Beagle–very funny–look Grampa Henry is coming soon, so perhaps you’d like to tidy yourselves up somewhat and I can pretend we look after you properly.”

“Grampa Henry–oh goodie, c’mon Brambs,” she dropped her iPad on the bed and grabbing the kitten under her arm she proceeded downstairs. How the cat didn’t scratch her arm off, I’ll never know, but she didn’t even make an attempt to move, uncomfortable as her carrying position must have been. I only wished I’d had a disposition like hers, though possibly one or two of my family might be permanently absent now if I had.

I heard the doorbell ring and Trish with cat still tucked under one arm opened it. Obviously a stranger must have spooked her because she scrambled free and shot back up the stairs as I was descending them–either that or she wanted to read more about Darwin on Trish’s tablet. In this house you never can tell.

The other piece of livestock showed up and bounced all over Henry and the children who went to greet him. The girls particularly know how to play him like a musical instrument. It makes me seethe–only because I can’t–and they do it instinctively. I suppose I started to learn a little too late, it’s difficult to flirt with your dad if he thinks you’re a boy.

We sat in the kitchen, Stella was summoned and they hugged then chatted for a few minutes before we got to the main event and David produced the pasta–penne in a large pan which he scooped out and plopped on the plates, then he offered a Neapolitan sauce, a Bolognese and a Cathy-nese sauce, which caused me to blush and the rest to laugh loudly. I settled for the tuna.

Tom emerged from his study–I wasn’t even aware he was home, and he tucked into a small plate of each. I suppose if they’d have done a chicken curry flavour it would have been a Tom sauce, or would that involve a recently deceased male feline–or bits of–meat balls anyone?

Simon and Sammi appeared and decided to eat before squabbling or murdering younger sister–sororicide. A glass or two of wine later and Simon appeared to abandon or forget his violent aspirations and he and Henry discussed whether the car would be repairable or not.

“I’ve had it for ages, Cathy’s had about five since then,” complained Stella.

“Yes, but Cathy is my wife,” declared Simon meaning quite what, I’m not sure.

“Get me a Jag and you can marry me,” offered Julie bringing the conversation down to the usually bedlam.

“There’s an old one in the garage, can’t Auntie Stella use that?” asked Livvie and Danny, Henry, Julie, Simon and I simultaneously snapped, “NO.” It was as near to unanimous as we ever get.