The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2376 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Froome nor Contador won the Dauphiné, looks as if Froome’s crash hurt him more than he liked to admit. I hoped he was recovered and fit for the TdF because it certainly looks as if Wiggins is well off his form and probably won’t ride. If anything happens to Cav between now and the end of the tour, I’ll begin to believe there is a god and he’s a right bastard.

We had rain yesterday, it wasn’t supposed to happen and while temperatures west of us sizzled we had cloud and heavy showers. Oh well it pleased Daddy, it saved him watering his potatoes—apparently they need quite a lot of H2O.

Breakfast was a solemn affair, England had been beaten by the Italians at their opening game of the world cup. Why anyone was surprised I didn’t know. The manager was pleased with the way they played—duh? They lost, or hasn’t he worked that out yet—some of them are a bit thick.

Danny stayed up to watch it with Simon and I left them to it. Neither of them showed for an hour after the rest of us, they came down to eat after nine—oh well, for Si, that’s a real lie in, though I suspect he didn’t get to bed until well after one. Danielle could hardly keep her eyes open and nearly choked when she yawned and swallowed at the same time. Thankfully, Trish didn’t ask to stay up and I checked she wasn’t watching it on her iPad when I went to bed. I did promise her if England got any further than the quarter finals, she could watch those matches. She shrugged and said it was unlikely, which she confirmed at breakfast before her older sisters emerged.

Sammi and Jules had been out with Phoebe, they went to see a film or a play or a concert or something. They did tell me but I’d sort of lost the plot by then, this business with Vallance had taken more out of me than I thought. Anyway, the three older girls arrived downstairs looking the worse for wear, apparently it was a concert and they met some friends and so on. Simon wasn’t even aware they were out and they were fortunate he didn’t lock them out. They came home about three, sharing a cab between them—I wouldn’t let them borrow the Mondeo, good job too, they all had had too much to drink and were avoiding loud noises. Trish and Livvie only stopped making lots of noise when Julie threatened to murder both of them. They apparently ran off giggling.

As Phoebe isn’t yet eighteen, she shouldn’t have been drinking so I gently read her the riot act then told the two older girls off for letting her drink too much. They proffered excuses but I walked away declaring them invalid.

David was doing a roast pork dinner which smelt divine although I’m not sure our three hangover sufferers thought so. While everyone was busy, I slipped down to my study and called James.

“I’m confused why that young man changed into women’s clothes.”

“He said to accuse you of making him do it.”

“I don’t buy that one bit. That might have been his excuse but I don’t think it was the reason.”

“What d’you mean?”

“He was too comfortable in them, he’s worn them before and he walked very well in heels—most boys can’t do that without practice.”

“So he’s a tranny—big deal.”

“If that was the case why was he harassing me?”

“God knows.”

“It might have been simple jealousy, he would liked to have done it but couldn’t or was prevented from doing so.”

“Yeah, that could explain it.”

“Or was he a drag performer and therefore anti women.”

“He refused to see you as female anyway, so why go for you?”

“I think it was his wrongful perception that I was manipulating children into changing sex, like some megalomaniac pervert.”

“Well it’ll all come out in court.”

“I doubt that, they’ll only be interested in superficial reasons to back the chances of a conviction.”

“Does it matter so long as they convict them?”

“Yes, I feel uneasy about that young man.”

“In what way?”

“If he got a custodial sentence, I suspect he might harm himself.”

“Cathy, with all due respect, that isn’t our problem.”

“I know, but I have a bad feeling about him.”

“He tried to stitch you up for an exposure in a tabloid, the consequences could have resulted in your family being torn apart and the destruction of your professional reputation. They weren’t playing softball.”

“I know but I need to know more about him.”

“Cathy, it’s all sub judice.”

“But you could find out?”

“If we’re caught, we could face unlimited fines or imprisonment for contempt of court.”

“I’ll take responsibility for that.”

“I’d still lose my licence.”

“You won’t do it then?”

“I didn’t say that...”

“How much?”

“Usual rates, but if we find anything I’m not sure what we can do about it.”

“Thanks, Jim. I owe you.”

“You will, but at the usual rates.”

I’d just put the phone down when Simon knocked on my study door and poked his head round it, “Dinner is served, madam.”

“Thank you, Lurch.”

“What?” he gasped and I nearly fell off my chair giggling.

I thought he was going to ask me to who had I been talking so I distracted him, he’d go ballistic if he knew what I’d asked James to do. We ate a wonderful meal, even the hangover trio managed to stuff down their share of the pork and all the trimmings. Jersey Royals new potatoes, baby carrots, broccoli and mushrooms. Then homemade custard tart, not your powder from a tin but the real stuff made with egg yolks—I could hardly move afterwards, no wonder I’m getting fat.

Simon went off to sleep afterwards, hardly surprising given his late night. The glass or two of Merlot might have helped, it did Daddy, who went down his study to snooze in his favourite chair.

I went back down to my study with a cup of tea and inserted the name, Jeremy Butcher, in several search engines. After about ten minutes and dozens of negatives, I found one which looked like our man, then another. I sent the links to Jim after printing off what I’d found myself.

It seemed our Jeremy had an interesting background, of which one assumes the plod are aware. I wasn’t sure if this increased my sympathy for him or not, but it looked as if any custodial sentence would be a disaster for him—he didn’t look strong enough to survive that again.

I wondered what Jim would turn up other than his membership of SOCA. Hmmm, things were getting interesting—I really mustn’t get involved—yeah, like I ever listen to my own advice.

I filed the print out away and closed down the computer to hide my tracks just in case Simon happened to use my computer—he does occasionally.