The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2326 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

As we drove home I wondered if Dr Downes had really listened to what I’d said or just been polite in humouring me. Trish looked at me, “What are you thinking about, Mummy?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I smiled at her and her face lit up.

“What were you thinking about, Mummy; you looked ever so serious.”

“Did I? I was thinking about whether someone listened when I gave them a warning.”

“Was that Dr Downes?”

“It was, how did you know?”

“You went off to talk to him while I was dressing.”

“But that could have been about anything.”

She smiled disarmingly and coupled it with a look which said, ‘Pull the other one.’

“Okay, so I was warning him to ride carefully on his motorbike.”

“Did you see him have an accident?”

“Yes,” I blushed, this kid can read my mind.

“I saw it too, Mummy, with a big lorry.”

I pulled into our drive and parked. “Don’t tell anyone you have these visions, okay?”

“But if it helps them keep safe, Mummy.”

“Okay, be very careful who you tell because others may think you’re weird.”

“What like a witch?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“So why did you tell Dr Downes?”

“I owed somebody a favour and I think that was what they wanted in return.”

“The gold lady?”

Jeez, she’s done it again. “Yes.”

“Was that for saving me?”

“No, I borrowed a cup of sugar from her last week. C’mon, the others will be waiting to jump all over you.”

“We’ve got plenty of sugar, Mummy.”

“Must have been something else then.”

I almost dragged her into the house where they all hugged and jumped up and down, with much squealing and waving of arms—and that was just Stella. Okay, it wasn’t her but she did point at the kettle and I nodded. She made tea while the others went off to the lounge, my caution to Trish to rest fell on stony ground.

“For someone who’s just had meningitis, she looks remarkably well.”

“So, she’s a quick healer.”

“Or you are.”

“Yeah, the miracle healer went into her while I was in the loo.”

“Cathy, she’s one lucky girl.”

“Okay, so I shortened the odds a bit in her favour.”

“A bit?”

“Yeah, a big bit—satisfied now?”

“You’ve probably performed more miracles than Jesus.”

“Don’t be silly, I don’t perform miracles and I suspect if he existed, he didn’t either.”

“Yes he did, he turned water into wine.”

“That could be a mass hallucination brought about by suggestion.”

“Like hypnosis?”

“Yes, the same with the feeding of the five thousand.”

“If you could do the same, we all lose a bit of weight.”

“Stella behave.”

She sniggered. “You have awful problems about religion, don’t you?”

“I’ve told you about my parents ramming it down my throat every chance they had and the bible thumpers who preached at our church, it was all hell and damnation.”

“And you were at an impressionable age, so you’ve done really well to question it.”

“I’m glad I did or I could have been screwed up for ever more and still sitting in my bedsit fretting.”

“Maybe me knocking you off your bike was an act of God, then?”

“I doubt it.”

“It could have been, they say He works in mysterious ways.”

“Mysterious not devious.”

“Nah that’s you, he’s definitely the tall dark and mysterious sort.”

“How d’you know?”

“I done Sunday school too, Miss Smartie pants.” She said this in a real Pompey accent and sounded like a fishwife.

“Did you ever go up the Tor at Glastonbury when you were at school?”

“Yeah, loads of times, we used to go up there for a drink an’ a ciggy.”

“You didn’t smoke did you?” I was horrified.

“Nah, tried it a couple of times made me cough; you?”

“Don’t be silly, my dad would have killed me.”

“And you were too girly to try it, be honest.”

“How d’ya guess?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“He never said that.”

“Who?”

“Sherlock.”

“What are you on about?”

“You said, ‘Elementary, my dear Watson.’ He never said it in any of the stories.”

“So what?”

“I was just saying, that’s all.”

“Oh while you were out there was some transwoman on the radio complaining about using public loos.”

“Why are they dirty or something?”

“No, apparently they have a problem in the US and well I suppose it filled up a quiet day.”

“Quiet day? There’s that plane still missing, that ferry capsized in South Korea and Putin’s playing brinksmanship with Nato—nah, nothing much happened compared to someone not being able to use the right bog.”

“I thought it was an issue for all yo—um trans people.”

“I think it might be for those who are a bit too masculine to pass very well, though I don’t remember hearing anything about it much.”

“You wouldn’t would you? You weren’t a member of any group, were you?”

“No, but it gets in the local paper.”

“It would round here, that’s for sure.”

“There was that awful clip on Youtube of that girl in America getting beaten up by two women in a McDonalds when she went to the loo. That stirred things up a bit here, and I suspect the legislation we’ve had here would make it more difficult to involve the police.”

“Still happens according to the woman on the radio.”

“I haven’t experienced it, neither have Julie, Trish, Danni or Sammi.”

“Because you all pass really well as female.”

“They do, certainly.”

“We’re not playing games again, Cathy; besides I’m surprised you weren’t kicked out of the gents before you transitioned.”

“I was a few times. The first time was when I was still at school, Siân and I went shopping at the Horsefair in Bristol, we went for coffee and she went off to the ladies and I went to the gents and some old chap told me quite sweetly I was in the wrong loo. As he was watching me I had to use the ladies.”

“And no one challenged you?”

“Only Siân, she came out of the cubicle as I walked into the ladies so I had her cubicle. She thought it was hilarious.”

“I’ll bet. I take it you had your long hair in those days?”

“Yeah, but it was only shoulder length. Lots of boys had long hair.”

“Lots of boys don’t have your feminine features or they would have problems in the gents.”

“A la Danny and Peter?”

“Exactly.”

“On one occasion I went with my parents somewhere on the motorway, we stopped for a drink and a wee. Well they went for a wee, I went to get a newspaper to read about the latest stage on the Tour de France, the Guardian carries a daily report. I went to go in the gents and this woman cleaner or caretaker stopped me and said, ‘That way, young lady.’ I was so embarrassed I did as she instructed me and managed to avoid my mum. Boy, did I get hot and bothered that day.”

“But that was all that happened?”

“Yeah, fortunately.”

“And you were in boy mode?”

“Yeah.” I felt myself getting hot.

“Sounds like one of your Gaby stories.”

“Gee, thanks, Stella.” Her response was a cackle.