The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2093 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

It was still dark when I woke up, my eyes were all gummed up and I had to peel my eyelashes apart before I could see the clock or anything else for that matter. It was half past two. I went for a wee and washed my eyes with some cold water. Back in the bedroom, I could see that Simon hadn’t come to bed. I wasn’t sure where he was but I felt in need of a cuppa and pulled my slippers on–I hate walking barefoot–especially if the cat’s been sick.

The kettle was just boiling when Simon walked, or more accurately, lurched into the kitchen. He looked as rough as I felt. “What’re you doing up?”

“I wanted a cup of tea, what about you?”

“Yeah, I’ll have one.”

“Why are you up?”

“I heard someone moving about.”

“You look awful.”

“Yeah, I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

“Why not?”

“I was thinking about what we said.”

I made two mugs of tea and handed him one. “And?”

“Neither of us came out looking very clever, did we?”

“No.” I sat down at the table and sipped my tea. “So what would you like to do about it?”

“Something I should have done in the first place–talk to you.”

“I’m listening.”

“What do I have to do to persuade you to change your mind about Scotland? I mean apart from my insensitivity, what is stopping you coming?”

I sipped some more tea. “Midges.”

“Midges?”

“Yeah, tiny little things with a bite like a badger.”

“I know what they are, Babes. Anything else?”

“I’m not happy about returning to a place where we all nearly died. Tom could have been killed, so could the girls. I go all cold thinking about it.”

“Fair enough, even though you know it could never happen again.”

“I’m well aware it’s very unlikely.”

“Stella knocked you off your bike, she could have killed you. You still ride a bike.”

“Only when I know Stella isn’t driving.”

He did a double take–“That’s not true, is it?”

“No,” I smirked, “but it made you think for a moment.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You are wicked.”

“You noticed.”

“A long time ago, it’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“That’s fighting dirty.”

“What is?” he asked feigning innocence.

“Bringing in emotional blackmail this early.”

“Sorry.”

“I should think so. I think my run in with Stella is hardly comparable with that of the Russian mafia.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, they’re professional killers, Stella’s just a gifted amateur.”

“This is true.”

“I’m also worried about the baby and what about little Cate?”

“We’ll take them. I’ll arrange a nanny or nursemaid or a whole team of them if that’s what it takes.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.”

“We’re not doing the wedding blessing.”

“Okay, but it would be nice if we entertained the estate workers once.”

“How many are there?”

“Not entirely sure, about fifty or sixty.”

“What sort of entertainment?”

“A garden party or evening do.”

“A dance or something?”

“We could do a barn dance–I don’t think we’ll have too much hay by then–I’ll make some enquiries, if not a marquee on the lawn.”

“How much would that cost?”

“It’s tax deductable–and my problem, not yours.”

I drank up my tea and rinsed out the cup. “I’m tired, Si, I’m going back to bed; you coming?”

He nodded and rinsed his cup.

It took me ages to get back to sleep. It was good we were back together and he was spooned around me–at the same time, it wasn’t the weather for close encounters and I was sweltering–like lying with my back against a radiator.

I must have gone to sleep eventually because I woke up alone. It was eight o’clock and Simon had gone to work. How he can do so after so little sleep astonishes me. He says he snoozes in the train–I reckon he must sleep in the office. I got out of the bed, the cup of tea I’d had in the middle of the night was seeking egress. After showering and dressing in shorts and tee shirt–it was almost too warm for a bra–I went downstairs and saw that the children were already out in the garden, the dirty breakfast dishes being loaded in the washer by Jacquie.

“Where’s Lizzie?”

“Stella has her, Simon asked us to let you sleep on.”

“Okay,” I made myself some tea and a slice of toast, I wasn’t hungry but thought it was better to eat something. I absently grabbed a banana and ate it with the toast. I suddenly realised it was Saturday.

“Where’s Simon?”

“He’s gone to get a haircut.”

I felt suspicious about that, “Usually Stella or Julie do that for him.”

“That’s what he said.”

I finished my breakfast and was placing my plate and cup in the washer when I glanced out of the window and a bright red sports car hove into view. The top was down and out of it stepped Simon.

I wandered out to see what was going on. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“I suppose so, where’s your usual car?”

“Being serviced.”

“They loaned you this?” I saw the Jaguar logo on the front of the red two seater.

“Sort of,” he said evasively.

“You haven’t bought another car?”

“Um–more leased it.”

“What does that cost?”

“About eighty grand.”

“There are people going to food banks and you’ve just bought an eighty thousand pound car?”

“I don’t see the connection.”

“It’s flaunting your opulence.”

“Oh, that all.”

“Well it is, isn’t it?”

“Cathy, if you say so, I’m sure it is. However, the fact that I earn what you consider obscene amounts of money, doesn’t make them any richer or poorer, but it might keep one or two in jobs a bit longer.”

“Making rich boy’s toys like this?” I nodded at the car

“Making, selling, maintaining plus all the minions who work at the bank or our service industries.”

“Service industries? I thought banking was a service industry, the oldest after prostitution and priesthood.”

“Yeah we are, but we also employ others like computer manufacturers, the people who make our credit cards and cheque books, who supply our cleaning items, the firms who supply...”

“Okay, you’ve made your point, but I’m not sure you made eighty thousand of them.”

“Perk of the job, have you seen your mail recently?”

“Not yet, wasn’t aware it had arrived.”

“Wanna come for a quick spin?”

“Not just now, darling, it looks a bit too fast for round here.”

“Yeah, it should go a bit, with a V8 five litre supercharged engine under the bonnet.”

“Si, I’m supposed to be an ecologist, driving here has probably destroyed the equivalent area of forest about the size of Wales.”

“I thought it was Belgium.”

“I wouldn’t know, not been there but I have been to Wales.”

“I might as well have a coffee then if I can’t give you a ride in the F-type.”

“I won’t ask what the F stands for, but I have one or two ideas of my own.”

“Very ladylike,” he said and snorted.

The post had been left sorted on an occasional table in the hall and I picked up my own while handing Simon his. I went back to the kitchen table and used a kitchen knife to slit open the envelopes.

One was from the bank. “This is unreal.”

“What is?”

“This,” I handed him the letter.

“No, it’s standard.”

“How can they justify it?”

“Standard practice, you’ve served for part of a year, they pay you for part of a year.”

“Simon, this is telling me they have just placed a quarter of a million pounds in my account–why?”

“You’re a board member and director–remember?”