The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2338 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We’d resolved, or appeared to have resolved Danielle’s problem at the school and she seemed happy to be going again. For all her grumbles, even Trish seems to enjoy going to the school and mostly the teaching is at least as good as a state school. It appears that some of the so called, ‘free’ schools, which were introduced by this government, are in trouble with teaching standards. The idea was that group of people could get together, put together a business plan, which if accepted by the Department of Education, meant it received direct funding from government and the local authority had little or no say in its running or funding. It immediately attracted all sorts of religious groups and the number of Islamic schools had mushroomed. Personally, I think religious schools should be banned—I know, total hypocrisy—especially those which are based on foreign cultures.

Recently, it’s been shown that several Islamic schools weren’t fit for purpose and have been closed. It didn’t surprise me, and while I might sound like a UKIP supporter, I’m not by the way, I believe that if people want their children to have an Islamic education, do it separately keep the schools secular with some sort of multi-faith appreciation, but keep religion out of the classroom. Also why are they practising Sharia law in places? The law of this country is one of the most respected in the world, if people come here to live, why can’t they accept the legal system rather than bring their own. It certainly isn’t allowed in Islamic countries, why should we be any different?

This didn’t help me sort out what to do with Stella’s little friend. Perhaps I should get Trish to develop some neurotoxin, like curare and make a blow pipe and shoot Mitchell—nah, it would have to be slower acting than curare, or we’d have a dead body on the drive and a hysterical Stella. Poor old Stella, talk about unlucky in love.

I wondered what Jim had found out beyond what we knew yesterday, and what really worried me, what would Stella do when she found out that everyone knew except her that her devoted boyfriend was actually a plant and probably in the employ of a Russian group. I don’t even know if his name is Mitchell, I suspect not.

Nothing happened that day or the next. He didn’t come to see her but they spent over an hour talking on the phone—I suppose it’s easier for him to deceive her by phone, fewer nonverbal to hide.

Danni’s schooldays continued unabated by bullying or other interruptions and she played for her school team and scored a couple of goals which won the match. She also continued to play for Portsmouth ladies and scored for them before being ‘taken out’ by one of the opposition defenders. I managed to sort her ankle and set Jason after the other player who made no attempt to play the ball. It was recorded on film by the team coaching staff and I’m instigating a private prosecution for assault perhaps GBH. The referee did red card her, but having seen Danni’s ankle with stud marks and bruising, I wanted some sort of legal compensation to stop her playing ever again. It could take months but I don’t care if we stop her.

I was mulling this over and looking at the photos we’d taken of her ankle when Stella came into the study. I showed her the photos. “I thought you’d fixed her ankle?”

“I did, this what it looked like before.”

“The bitch, nobble their best player and stop them winning, primitive and dishonest but effective.”

“Dunno, they lost despite crippling Danni.”

“Oh good, serve ’em right.”

“Think I’m gonna stop for a cuppa, want one?” I said pushing the computer keyboard away.

“I’ll make it,” offered Stella popping off before I could even stand up let alone take a step. I got the impression she wanted something—baby sitting—I expected.

She came back about seven or eight minutes later with two mugs of tea. We adjourned to the sofa. “Right, now you can tell me what you really want.”

She went a deep scarlet and nodded. I waited for her to speak, which made a silence of a couple or three minutes so interminably painful, I nearly interrupted several times.

“It’s about Roger,” she began and I nearly died.

“What about him?” I tried to ask casually.

“D’you think he’s kosher?”

“With a name like Mitchell, he could be Jewish, I suppose, why?”

“No, not Jewish—I mean on the level.”

“Like a gold digger or something?” I asked still trying not to seem terribly interested.

“Not exactly, but he gives me some strange mixed signals.”

“Such as...” I asked.

“Like he phones every day but he won’t allow me to call him.”

“He did say he was in the security services or police or something, didn’t you say?”

“Yeah, I did say.”

“So that could be difficult to take personal calls.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She finished her tea, “Thanks, Cathy, I knew you’d be able to see through it.”

“Why is he hiding from us, bring him in to meet us sometime.”

“He’s a bit shy.”

I wasn’t one bit convinced of that. “James Bond never struck me as a wallflower.”

“What? You’re comparing fiction and real life.”

“No, I suspect most spies and coppers are able to deal with most situations and therefore can’t believe he’s shy unless he’s avoiding us.” I suddenly realised I couldn’t say too much without tipping her off.

“I did tell him you were a bit of a Rottweiler.”

“Gee thanks, Stella—I thought they only ate babies.”

“I hadn’t finished, a rotty with a heart of gold.”

“Not sure if that’s much more of a recommendation.”

“I could hardly say you were an angel, could I?”

“If he’s patched into the security services he may already know.”

“Oh, he seemed quite interested in you when we went out the other night, perhaps that’s why.”

I shrugged pretending I’d talked enough then as a final remark added, “He seems to know all about us, yet we haven’t even seen him let alone spoken to him.”

“Okay already, I’ll see what I can do, all right?”

“Yeah, I’m really curious to meet him now.”

“Well hands off, this one is mine.”

“I thought you had a few qualms about him.”

“Yeah, well until I resolve those don’t frighten him off by healing his fallen arches or reversing his vasectomy or...”

“I promise I won’t do any of those.”

“Or anything else, if you chase this one off, I’ll kill you myself.”

My tummy fipped.

“Now why should I do that?”

“Because you did before because you’re prettier and more vivacious than I am.”

“Stella, you are drop dead gorgeous, so stop whingeing and make some more tea.”