The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2408 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I woke to the doorbell being rung, I glanced at the clock as I sat up in bed. It was six in the morning, light, but not the time I usually rose. The doorbell rang again and I pulled on a cardigan as I stumbled downstairs. The bell rang again. Whoever it was I was going to give a piece of my mind, assuming I could actually spare it.

I unbolted the door and unlocked the mortise then pulled open the old oak door. I was face to face with a policeman. Immediately my heart rose and stuck in my throat—Simon or Sammi?

“Are you Lady Cameron?” he asked, and my knees nearly gave way.

“Yes.”

“Might I come in?”

Shock had caused me to hesitate, “Of course, sorry, still half asleep.”

He entered the kitchen following behind me. “Lovely house you have here.”

“Yes, it’s my father’s.”

“I see, what a brill kitchen, don’t show my wife she’ll tell me we need to move again.”

“I filled and switched on the kettle.”

“I’m sure you didn’t get me up at six o’clock to look round my kitchen.”

“Ah, no. P’raps you’d better make your tea first.”

“That sounds like bad news—you’ll have a cup?”

“Won’t say no—an’ yeah, I have some bad news.”

I decided I could wait until I was seated with a cup of tea before hearing whatever the bad news was. So five minutes later I sat myself down opposite him, aware that in my haste I’d forgotten to pull some slippers on and my feet felt cold.

The bad news was for Phoebe, somehow Neal had made a rope from strips of torn bed sheet and had hanged himself on the back of the door of his cell. There would be an enquiry and due to the fact he was seen as vulnerable, some heads would roll as a consequence. I wasn’t impressed.

“Do you want me to rouse Phoebe so you can tell her, or d’you want me to break the news?”

“As I’ve informed her foster parent, I’ll leave that to you if it’s okay?” It’s peculiar how the dirty jobs seem to always land on my desk.

“I presume there’ll be an inquest?”

“Yes, ma’am, the coroner has been informed. Funny he should do the same as his wife.”

“And which you were investigating?”

“Yeah, so I believe—oh well, another one sorted.”

“Is it? D’you really think so?”

“Is for us,” he took a very pragmatic view.

“It isn’t for the rest of us. He was a colleague of mine at the university, so was his wife. I foster his sister—it isn’t over for us, one bit.”

“Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean it like that. I meant as he can’t tell us or be prosecuted, no point in pursuing the investigation of his wife’s death.”

“You mean you thought he could be prosecuted as he was—he was quite ill, has been since his wife died.”

“Yeah, but that could be faked or guilt.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Er—no.”

“I did several times, he wasn’t faking it.”

“I respect your um—greater knowledge of him.”

“Thank you for that. I’m also fostering his baby daughter—goodness she’s an orphan.”

“Yeah, I s’pose she is with both of ’em dead.”

“Whit’s happened?” asked Tom entering the kitchen.

“Neal is dead.”

“Whit?”

“He hanged himself.”

“I thought ye lot were supposed tae be watching him,” he accused the young copper.

“Yeah, there’ll be an enquiry.”

“I shud think sae.”

“I’d best be off,” said the young officer before beating a hasty retreat.

“Hae ye telt Phoebe?”

“Not yet.”

“Shall I go and get her f’ ye?”

“No, I’ll get her, Daddy.”

“Aye, alricht, I’ll bide here awhile.”

“Okay.” He gave me a hug and I went upstairs. Phoebe was awake.

“It’s Neal, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Has he succeeded?”

“Yes.”

“Thought he would eventually. What are you going to do with Lizzie?”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Will you keep her?”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Please, Mummy.”

“I’ll talk to Simon.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She got out of bed and he hugged then we both wept.

“I knew he’d do it one day.”

“I must admit it doesn’t surprise me very much. We did try to tell the police he was a suicide risk.”

We sat on the bed and I held her for several minutes. “You’re all I have now,” she said quietly.

“You still have Lizzie.”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean—none of my original family survive, I’m so glad you agreed to let me live with you, Mummy.”

“I’m rather glad you asked to come to us. You’re a lovely young woman and it’s a privilege to have you here.”

She clung to me tightly and sobbed, I could do nothing but hold her and gently rub her back.

Noises in the distance meant her niece had woken. “I’d best go and see to her.” I said as I eased myself from Phoebe’s grasp.

“Yeah, better had.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, gotta be, haven’t I?”

“I’ll tell Julie.”

“Okay—thanks—an’ Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thanks for being there for me.”

“It’s my privilege, if not my pleasure this time.”

Moments after I told Julie what had happened she was down hugging Phoebe and I went to sort out the baby, who for some reason had quietened down again, then I saw Meems, lifting her out of the cot and walking towards me. “You took youw time, Mummy,” she scolded.

“I had to give Phoebe some bad news.”

“Oh yeah, wossat then?”

“Her brother Neal has just died.”

“Does ’at mean we can keep the baby?” She sounded pleased by the possibility.

“Meems, this baby’s daddy has just died.”

“So? Can we keep hew?”

Some days I didn’t understand my children and some days, I’m not sure I wanted to. Today, I understood perfectly what Mima was saying, but I don’t think I felt very happy with it.

I took the baby off her and we went down to the kitchen where I fed her watched by Mima who was feeling her own chest and expressing a silent disgust that she was too young to breastfeed. I felt like telling her to be patient. Had she been able at nine to do so, by thirty her breasts would be knocking on her knees. Not a pretty sight or thought. I did let her help me change the baby after we’d bathed her.

Over the next hour I watched all the rest of the family rise and come down for breakfast, Julie, who’d left Phoebe to Danni to sit with, had come down and gone off to the salon. She’d have to get some extra help or cancel people.

Once Jacquie had taken over from me, I replaced Danni with the grieving Phoebe and told her to see if she could help out at the salon. Half an hour later she was cadging a lift from Tom to do just that. It was nice to see the family pulling together during an hour of need, and even though none of them, except Phoebe and Lizzie were biologically related, they acted as if they were—in fact better than, some natural families.