The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2096 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“I take it you don’t want Peter to come away with us?”

“No, no way. I mean, Cindy’s coming how would she cope with him?”

“I have no idea, Dan. She might cope quite well, she might not.”

“And what if he rumbles her?”

“He shouldn’t, she’s been attending a girl’s school for some little while.”

“Yeah, but Trish had to rescue her, didn’t she?”

“In typical melodramatic manner.”

“What does that mean?”

“Trish has a flair for the dramatic doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, so? She’s a girl.”

“Meaning?” I challenged feeling he was getting sexist.

“Well you’re all dramatic compared to boys.”

“Are we?”

“Course.”

I frowned at him and he sniggered.

“Predictable, am I?” he nodded and sniggered some more. “Did you not hear of Trish’s rescue of Cindy?”

“Cindy said she came flying in and knocked down two of the girls who were threatening her.”

“She somersaulted in like Uncas in the ‘Last of the Mohicans’.”

“I think that was Chingachgook.”

“What was?”

“The one who somersaulted in and stabbed the bad guy, Magua, Uncas and the girl went over the cliff, if you remember?”

I didn’t. “Oh, did they?”

“You fell asleep when it was on if I remember,” he gently chided me.

“Did I?

“You fell asleep during Lord of the Rings.”

“I did?”

“Yesss, my pweciousss.”

“Ugh, don’t, that character gave me the creeps.”

“I think it was meant to.”

“In which case it was very successful.” I watched him for a moment, he’s becoming quite good looking, he’s going to be popular with the girls in a year or two. “So what do we do about Peter?”

“Nothing, he’s not our problem, Mum. Just ’cause he’s acting girly doesn’t mean you have to adopt him.”

That put me in my place, but he was right. It wasn’t my problem, he had parents who had some responsibility to help him, I was simply the mother of a friend who had been similarly affected by the sexual assault they both experienced but who had seemingly survived it better, or coped better with it. No wonder I like dormice, they don’t seem to have these problems–as far as we know?

They say that marsh harriers have males which mimic females in plumage and behaviour to avoid harassment by larger or more aggressive males, so perhaps dormice do it as well? I doubt it, marsh harriers are predatory birds and predators are usually more aggressive, dormice eat insects at times but are hardly top of the food chain. Females might show some resolve in protecting their young, but essentially they’re pretty harmless. Like all rodents they have large front teeth but don’t seem to use them very often for their defence. Leastways, not in my experience and I’ve handled dozens if not hundreds of them.

“Mum?”

“Yes, darling,” I replied shaking off my reverie.

“You were miles away then, weren’t you?”

“Sorry, an idea came into my head and I just went with it.”

He shook his head. “So you agree that Peter isn’t our problem?”

“I wasn’t thinking about Peter, I was thinking about dormice.”

“Have you got to feed them?”

“Gramps did earlier.”

“If you have to do it tomorrow, we could go on the bikes.”

“We’ll see.”

I left him to his thoughts which were becoming increasingly mature for a boy of thirteen. At his age I was arguing with any and everybody.

“Where’ve you been?” demanded Simon when I entered the kitchen.

“Talking with Danny.”

“What about?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, Oedipus and all that.”

“What,” I gasped.

“You know, he kills me to marry you.”

“Are you crazy?”

“No, that’s what happened in the Greek myth.”

“I know that, Simon.”

“So why the silly questions?”

“I couldn’t believe you were actually on about it, Sigmund Freud, you definitely ain’t.”

“I don’t know, a beard might be quite fetching–and cigars.”

“Cigars–over my dead body.”

“Depends upon the cigar,” he retorted dead pan.

I glowered at him and he snorted.

“You know he died of cancer of the jaw probably from smoking.”

“No I didn’t–poor bugger.”

“Yes, not a nice way to go–we had a teacher die from it while it was in school. He was the only one who could make maths make any sense to me. He suffered for a couple of years before it killed him–had umpteen surgeries to his face–poor chap.”

“Indeed.” He paused for a moment, “So the cigars are a no-no?”

“Definitely.”

“So what about Oedipus?”

“What about him?”

“I meant our son.”

“His name is Daniel.”

“So you told me.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, quite categorically.”

“In which case it must be so.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

“Good.” There were lots of other things more patronising that I could have said but didn’t.

“So what did you talk about?”

“If you must know, it was about whether we invited Peter up to Scotland with us.”

“Peter the–uh...” he made a snipping action with his fingers.

“The eunuch, yes.”

He blushed, “That’s a bit cruel isn’t it?”

“It’s true and you were the one making the silly gestures.”

He blushed even redder, “Okay, so I asked for that.”

“We decided that it wasn’t in anybody’s best interests to invite him this time.”

“Is that what Danny said?”

“He put it more bluntly than that, but essentially yes.”

“So we have one gender confused boy who hasn’t been adopted–yet. You might be improving in your obsession, Cathy.”

“Very funny–not. The boy has got loads of problems and I do feel for him. He apparently dressed up as a girl while Dan was there–not very successfully, apparently.”

“Why, he’s got a sister, hasn’t he?”

“Yes a very pretty girl, Danny went out with her for a while.”

“He was dating?”

“He had a sort of girlfriend.”

“He’s got two sort of ones now.”

I gave him a withering stare.

“Okay, that wasn’t politically correct.”

“Simon, it was downright hurtful. Peter is still suffering PTSD and Cindy has declared herself a girl. So you were out of line on both counts.”

“Babes, I didn’t mean it like that, I was just being...”

“Your usual insensitive self?”

“Okay, point taken.”

I wished it was. He doesn’t usually refer to me as anything but female, nor our ‘daughters’ but anyone else seems to be fair game even though he must know it cuts through me like a hot knife through butter. I might be a little oversensitive but if I am he seems to be equally insensitive.

I love him to bits and I think he loves me, but sometimes I wonder if the relationship will last until we’re old and grey and wrinkled–at times it looks increasingly unlikely.

“At least you’re coming to Stanebury,” he said smiling.

“You’ve organised a nanny?”

“I haven’t personally, but it’s in hand–you will have one of exemplary skills and dedication.”

“Okay, then I might well come.”

“Let’s go to bed and see if it’s true.”

“What?”

“You might well...”

“Simon, that is dreadful...”