The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2097 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next morning, after breakfast, I was checking my emails when Roger, one of my post grad students sent me what seemed a worrying missive.

‘Cathy,
The group has checked the nest boxes at two sites for the past month and only found two dormice–looks like they’re in trouble from the winter.’

It didn’t surprise me though it did alarm me. We’d had one of the most miserable winters in recent years with a very cold spring. I hated to think about the numbers of animals and birds that had perished in the cold and wet. If there was a god, and I fervently believed there wasn’t, then he was either completely powerless, in which case he hardly makes the grade of god, or he’s a mean, heartless bastard who needs a quick dose of deicide.

I looked up Roger’s number and gave him a quick ring. The conversation was short, he agreed with me that it was almost certainly due to weather conditions. I spoke to Tom afterwards and he agreed we should up the captive breeding programme to try and replace some of the missing, presumed dead, dormice. He agreed to feed them while I was away on holiday. I called Danny and we quickly changed and cycled to the university.

He helped me clean the dormouse area–which is basically removing uneaten fruit and other foodstuff. The nuts and acorns we leave. They’ll keep for days without going mouldy. I also deliberately removed some partitions and allowed larger groups to mix in the hope they might do what Simon was after last night. Okay, the saddle felt a bit hard this morning, so you can draw your own conclusions.

By the time we returned home we’d done about fifteen miles and I was both hot and bothered–it was so close, the atmosphere. They were talking thunderstorms, but so far nothing had happened.

We’d just wiped down the bikes and locked them away when Simon walked out to meet us. “Have you got a formal gown?”

“Not really why?”

“According to Dunstan, the Ogilvies are having a summer ball the first weekend we’re up there–we’re all invited.”

“Damn, I’ve just remembered, I’m due a headache that day.”

He glared at me. “You married me for better or worse, sickness and in health, love honour and obey–remember?”

“On your bike, Cameron, I didn’t agree to obey anyone.”

“Oh did I say that, Freudian slip an’ all that, the rest is true.”

“I have vague memories of saying something apart from I do, why?”

“You’re the Laird’s wife.”

“So you keep reminding me.”

“Well, seeing as we’re a couple of rungs up the ladder from them, we have to attend. In days gone by if we’d declined, they’d have taken it as an act of war and we’d all have been knocking the porridge out of each other.”

“Aggressive lot aren’t you?”

“May I remind you, you have rhesus negative porridge in your veins as well.”

“That would account for my ineptitude on the bike earlier.”

“What would?”

“Having porridge silting up my vascular system–I wonder if you can get someone in to drain the system and flush it, like they do with the central heating?”

“I doubt it. Look, we have to go to their wretched ball.”

“We haven’t got to have one in return, have we?”

“No, they’re off to Australia for three months afterwards, but we’ll invite their staff over to our barn dance.”

“We will?”

“Yes, apparently they’re all wanting to meet you after they saw you on telly.”

Oh shit–why did I have to make that film? And now harvest mice–I never learn do I? Talk about hiding in plain sight. “What am I supposed to wear?”

“A dress.”

“Duh, I know that, what sort of dress?”

“A long one, ask Stella, she’ll know.”

“What sort of dancing is it?”

“There’ll be some traditional Scottish dancing plus a bit of general ballroom.”

“I can’t do either very well.”

“Neither can I, don’t worry about it, we’ll get someone in to coach the kids for a week or so, they can teach you.”

“Who?”

“The kids, who else?”

He swore under his breath.

“I’m not that bad am I?”

“Probably, but I’ve just thought I’ll have to wear a frigging kilt.”

“Why? I thought that was only to weddings and things.”

“Nah, we always wear the tartan to formal occasions.”

“Nice, I get to see your hairy knees,” I smirked. He swore again and went inside. I followed a few yards behind still smirking. Stella was busy with Lizzie.

“Oh there you are, you can take over–I’m sick of nappies and poo.”

“Gee thanks,” as she turned to leave I called after her, “Stella?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

She frowned at me but nodded.

“Stella?”

“Yes, Catherine.”

“I need some help.”

“Rubbish, you’re about the most competent baby sorter I know.”

“Not for the baby, for a ball the Olgivies are having while we’re at Stanebury.”

She burst out laughing, “Am I glad I’m staying put.”

“Why?”

“Well to start with, they’re a social climbers, so it’ll all be very traditional, which is a laugh, as they’re about as Scots as Welsh lamb.”

“Oh,” this wasn’t encouraging me to want to go.

“There'll be Scottish country dancing, which means you’ll need to wear a plaid.”

“What like a travel rug over my shoulder?”

She laughed, a bit like that, the men wear one like that, we lassies wear a finer one with a brooch, I might still have one upstairs somewhere. Get yourself a white dress, calf length or longer.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’ll need to wear one too. Ask Dunstan, he might have some in the house somewhere.”

“This sounds like Burns night.”

“Yeah, without the haggis.”

“I’m so unsure of all this.”

“Go on, you’ll enjoy it. He’s thick as two short planks and she’s as ugly as a dog’s dinner, so you’ll really shine.”

“I’d prefer to be a wallflower on this occasion.”

“You can’t, you’re the senior pair of aristos–they’ll treat you like royalty–just remember to act as if it’s deserved and treat them all with contempt.”

“I think I prefer the idea of the barn dance we’re having for the estate staff, we’re having the Olgivies’ staff over for that.”

“That you will enjoy, and the minions will love you for it, they haven’t had one for ten years or more. Dad hated the things, he preferred to pay them a bonus instead.”

“I think I can see why.”

“Go on, just relax and enjoy it, you can disappear after a couple of hours and they won’t miss you.”

“What will I need for that?”

“Anything you like as long as it looks expensive.”

“Stella, I’m trying to act as an egalitarian here.”

“Forget it, I’ve got a dress you can borrow, you’re going to cause problems for Simon if you carry on with your socialism. He only keeps the lid on things by acting superior and wearing expensive clothing, cars and any other material possession you can think of–so big jewels, designer everything and so on.”

“But that is so superficial, Stella.”

“I know but it works–if you don’t believe me, ask Dunstan.”

“That’s another thing, calling him by his surname–it’s like being back in school.”

“It’s the tradition, and that’s how he likes it.”

“He might but I don’t.”

“Hey, just do it.”

“Why couldn’t I have fallen for an academic instead of an aristocrat?”

“It’s your karma–you musta cocked up big time last time around.” So saying she waltzed off cackling to herself.