The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2151 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Can I go and see Cindy?” asked Danni.

“Have you got the bus fare?”

“I was gonna cycle.”

“It’ll mess your hair up.”

“Okay, I’ll take the bus–unless you’d like to take me?”

“No I wouldn’t, you’ve had quite a bit of my time recently so I need to spend some time with the others.”

“Okay, I’ll catch the bus–no biggie.” She took her coat with her and her bag and clomped off down the drive.

“I can’t believe that’s your son,” said Stella watching her bum rolling as she walked on the heels.

“You can’t, how d’you think I feel?”

“Guilty I expect.”

“Guilty?” I looked at her as Danni disappeared out of view.

“Yeah, they all caught transsexualism from you, it must be infectious.”

“So how come you and Simon didn’t?”

“Ah, we’re immune being true blue bloods, it only affects proles.”

“I thought plebs was the in word?”

“Only if you’re a chief whip.”

“I thought that had been shown to be a lie?” I was sure I’d read it in the Guardian once I managed to pry it from Tom’s paws.

“Anyway, compared to us, he’s a pleb.”

“Compared to your money, I suspect most people are.”

“It isn’t about material wealth, it’s about breeding. I mean Mr Gates from that dreadful software company that tried to take over the world, is richer than we are but he’s still a pleb as is that grocer chappy.”

“What Lord Sainsbury?”

“I wasn’t thinking of him, who’s that bloke in America who owns that grocery chain?”

“What Walmart?”

“Yes, Mr Walmart.”

“I hate to say it, Stella, but his name isn’t Walmart.”

“Well how would I know, I don’t associate with blue collar people.”

“Is owning an empire of supermarkets blue collar?”

“Well of course, he’s barely merchant class, is he?”

“Just billionaire merchant class.”

“Exactly, one doesn’t have to have breeding to be wealthy.”

“Who am I to argue?”

“Exactly.”

“Thanks, Stella, that’s made me feel a whole lot better.”

She gave a me a very serious stare then the corners of her mouth began to crinkle and a moment later she was practically rolling with laughter. What’s that acronym–ROTFLMAO. Yeah, that’s the one–describes my sister in law perfectly or it did for a moment.

“If you’ve finished your wind up perhaps you could feed Lizzie this morning, my nipples still have scorch marks on them from last night?”

“The things I do for love,” she sighed.

“Thanks.”

“Mummy, can we do some sewing today?” asked Trish.

“What about the others?”

“Livvie’s happy to do some, dunno about Mima or Cate.”

“Go and ask Meems if she wants to play dollies with Cate.”

“Okay–can we do some on the machine?”

“Perhaps, just remember that machine was my mother’s, so I don’t want it broken.”

“As if,” she tossed over her shoulder as she went in search of Meems.

Luckily, Mima was happy to play with Cate, she usually is, and so Trish, Livvie and I spent a couple of hours using the sewing machine. Trish is making a skirt for herself and Livvie is doing a cushion cover for their bedroom. I’m astonished they all still sleep together–well share a room–they have their own beds. As they get older they’ll become more self conscious and want their privacy. Fortunately we have two more rooms which are used as guest rooms at present, but we built them on in expectation that the girls would one day want their own rooms. Mind you if Stella found a bloke that survived to the wedding day, we’d have three more rooms. Some things it would appear are not meant to be.

After a sumptuous lunch of omelettes and salad which I had to make as David had the morning off–Hannah had to go to the dentist and Ingrid couldn’t take her as she started a new job this morning. She’s got a job with the tourist department. She’s been doing a course online–the crafty cow–and she’s used it to get this job. I think it’s brilliant even though none of us knew anything about it, except David of course and Hannah–duh.

I put the dirty dishes in the machine and told the girls we’d go out for a walk as it wasn’t cold nor was it raining. In fact they forecast a warm spell, though it looks on most weather forecasting sites as if it’s going to be short lived. Oh well, not much I can do about it.

I remembered that I had Sister Maria’s mobile phone number, so while the rest of them went off for a few minutes to avoid being asked to help me clean up, I rang her.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Cathy Cameron.”

“Oh, Lady Cameron, to what do I owe this pleasure?” If it was sarcasm, it was so gentle I missed it.

“I could need a personal tutor for one of the kids.”

“Oh, which one?”

“Dan–ny.” I nearly said Danielle.

“You haven’t thought to enrol her here, then?”

Am I that predictable? “It’s my son, Danny, I’m talking about.”

“That doesn’t usually stop them ending up here, does it?”

“This time I think it will.”

“Oh well, if she changes her mind, I’m sure we can squeeze her in somewhere.”

I was going to protest but decided against it. “Is there someone you might recommend?”

“There is...” and she gave me three names plus a website address for online education which you have to pay for.

I checked out the website and thought it would be a useful fallback position especially if the tutors objected to a transgender kid. I called the first one, a woman. She asked loads of questions including whether it was a boy or a girl, age, abilities and so on. Then what range of technology they had access to and how much the used it. I apparently switched pronouns a couple of times.

“Mrs Cameron, are we talking about a boy or a girl?”

“Um–she might be transgendered–hence my resort to private education.”

“If you can afford my fees, then I’ll cope with your undecided son stroke daughter. If she stays as a girl it might be worth speaking to St Claire’s convent.”

“That’s where I got your name.”

“The lovely Sister Maria, bless her.”

“The same.”

She reeled off her charges which until you add vat, seemed quite reasonable. She told me as I seemed undecided to give her a shout if I wanted her services and for how much of the curriculum I wanted my student to study. I decided we’d found a tutor if we needed her. Homeschooling would be a misnomer, if we used her, her students went to her house where she had a room made up as a classroom. That sounded fairly risqué until I remembered who’d recommended us to her in the first place.

Things were beginning to improve and I began to wonder if I’d resolved our problem until a phone call just after I finished talking with the tutor.

“Hello?”

“Is Dr Watts there?” asked a feminine voice that I thought I recognised.

“Speaking.”

“Hi, it’s Cindy.”

“Hello, Cindy, how are things?”

“Okay, I guess, Dr Watts, where is Danni, I thought she was coming over to us today?”

I began to wonder if my blood had frozen it ran so cold, especially in my solar plexus which felt like an iceberg.