The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2016 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The afternoon went quietly after the ‘show’ with the dormice. I did some marking of assignments, a bit of lesson planning and on the way to collect the girls realised I hadn’t had any lunch–too late now. Back at home I made some tea and had a couple of digestive biscuits, the girls went off to do their homework and I fell asleep in my study with the kitten sitting curled up on my lap. I hadn’t even been aware she was in the room, let alone that she was on my lap. When I roused myself, she purrped at me and then stretched, sticking her claws in my leg. I squeaked and she jumped down to have a scratch after which she began to lick her bum. Well she certainly wasn’t going to kiss me after that manoeuvre.

David called us for dinner and I quickly detoured to the cloakroom and rinsed my hands and face. At dinner, some braised steak, which almost dissolved on your tongue, Daddy asked me if I’d met Russell Stanley.

It took me a moment to remember the name of the chap who was taken with my low cut top that was Russell something. I asked him if he was in microbiology and Daddy nodded. I told him in that case we had met.

“Whit did ye think?”

“About what?”

“Aboot him.”

“I didn’t have much time to form an opinion, why?”

“He’s nominated ye f’ thae faculty management committee.”

“I get the option of refusing it.”

“I’d prefer it if ye didnae.”

I felt like telling him that I was likely to implode if anyone asked me to do one more thing. “I don’t know if I have time for some boring committee.”

“As they control yer fundin’ it micht be a guid time tae tak’ an interest.”

That’s telling me, I said I’d think about it and moved next business.

“Whit’s this aboot someone near haein’ a heart attack in yer lecture?”

I didn’t recall anyone keeling over while I bored them to death. Then I remembered the lad with the fake nest box. I explained what had happened and he chuckled then told me I’d better not do it again in case someone did come to grief. It would be a few years before I could reuse it anyway–they’d all know about it.

Simon seemed very subdued and quiet all evening. When we went up to bed I asked him what was wrong. “We had a robbery today.”

“Gosh,” was all I could say.

“One of my staff got themselves killed.”

“Oh my goodness,” I mean what can you say.

“A young woman with three kids–she tried to intervene when an old man was hassled by the robbers and one of them stabbed her–she died minutes later. I’m meeting her husband and children tomorrow.”

What could I say? “Would you like me to come with you?”

“You’re so busy at the moment, babes.”

“I’m never too busy to support my family.”

“That would be really helpful.”

“Okay, which branch is it?”

“Bedminster.”

“Okay,” then the penny dropped. “Bedminster?”

“Yeah–why?”

“That’s Bristol.”

“I know.”

“What time?” I asked trying to escape my inattentiveness.

“Eleven.”

“Okay–how d’you want me to dress?”

“Smartly, you’re the chief exec’s bit of fluff and an aristocrat on top of it.”

“Okay. I’ll wear the navy suit.”

“Yeah, fine–just leave your tree rat at home.”

“Spike is at the university.” I wasn’t quite sure what he was on about.

“Well, it’s gonna be a sombre moment, I don’t want a bloody dormouse cleavage diving at the most embarrassing moment.”

“Simon that happened years ago and was a one off.”

“Yeah, well make sure it was.”

Does he really think I walk round with dormice stuffed in my bra? He’s probably just stressed–poor woman–what a thing to happen? Then I was seeing the odd detail of the little girl who was abducted and presumed murdered at Machynlleth–that was so harrowing and the accused, against whom the evidence appears to be mounting says he can’t remember what he did with her body. Is he just playing games with her parents who presumably would love something to bury and grieve over. He’s told so many lies already I can’t believe anything he says, but I suspect five minutes alone with her father would put him in a more receptive frame of mind. I hope she didn’t suffer too much, puir wee soul.

I went to sleep feeling very down and had strange dreams, from one of which I awoke in the middle of the night and had to go to the loo. By the time I was back in bed I’d forgotten what it was all about.

I showered and dressed and Tom agreed to take the girls to school until Jacquie volunteered, as she had some shopping to do, I told her to take the Mondeo and told her where the keys were. That took a little pressure off me and I was able to put on a light amount of makeup–essentially some waterproof mascara and eyeliner, with some pink lipstick. Then we went off inmy car–he thought it was a better more caring image than his devil may care sports coupe.

It was Friday and we listened to Desert Island Discs, though I didn’t take on board anything that was said, including who the guest was. I heard it insofar as it was audible, but I didn’t hear it, at least not consciously–it was simply a noise.

I think I might have fallen asleep at one point but Simon had the sat-nav just in case I got lost–in Bristol–no way. It was ten thirty, and for some reason Bedminster had been moved–well it wasn’t where I always thought it was–or had been.

We reverted to the sat-nav and arrived there at ten minutes to eleven, just enough time to pick up the branch manager and a huge bouquet of flowers which fairly filled the boot.

The branch manager was a woman called Heidi. She was very pleasant and we chatted on the way to the unfortunate woman’s house. The next part was not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination and I began to wonder if I’d been too hasty in volunteering my services. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I do grief better than he would, and I mean, what do you say to the children of a murdered woman? I hoped I’d be able to muddle through and in doing so help Simon to pass on his personal and the bank’s less personalised version.