The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2411 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I awoke to the ethereal music of Geoffrey Burgon’s Nunc Dimittis written for a tv serial of Le Carré’s, Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy. I don’t remember the serial, being born after it was shown, but the music I had heard before and liked. I simply lay there feeling warm and comfortable and enchanted by the voice of the boy treble who was singing. I wished I’d had a voice as good when I was a kid, but I didn’t. It was better than most at school but I recall the music teacher saying I was more soprano than treble, implying I had a girl’s rather than boy’s singing voice. I was told often enough I had a girl’s speaking voice much to my father’s disquiet. He got fed up telling people that the girl who’d answered the phone was his son. In the end he told me not to answer the phone an instruction he eventually rescinded when he then had to answer it himself. Mum later told me that when people remarked on his daughter’s clear diction and speaking voice, he used to agree to avoid explanations as it embarrassed him.

I was quietly reminiscing when I felt somebody with cold feet clamber into bed with me, it was too big for Trish or Livvie. “Can I have a cuddle, Mummy?” It was Phoebe, whose red eyes with dark circles under them showed she hadn’t slept well last night.

“Of course,” I rolled over onto my back to make a cuddle easier for her. She snuggled up to me and rested her head on my shoulder, my arm wrapped around her. “Sad?” I asked gently stroking her back.

“Yes,” she sniffed, “It seems so unfair that Neal so wanted children but as soon as Lizzie was born he was unable to spend time with her—an’ now he’s dead.” She began sobbing, and I hugged her as best I could while she sobbed on my shoulder. “Why is life so unfair?”

“I don’t know, but at times it certainly seems to be.”

“Does god hate us? My family, I mean?”

Ask me an easy one. “I don’t believe in god as you know, so I can’t answer your question except to say, if there was a god, I doubt he’d even be aware of you or your family. So I doubt it’s personal, besides if there was a god, it would seem rather petty for a deity to visit disaster on a family for whatever reason. Wouldn’t bring in many believers, would it?”

“No I s’pose not,” she said almost laughing. Then after a short pause added, “Why did he have to die?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but in his confused state he decided to end his pain the only way he felt he could.”

“But surely you could have sorted his head with your magic light?”

“I tried several times but it didn’t seem to work.”

“Is that because god hated him?”

“I don’t think so. Sometimes it doesn’t work because it isn’t meant to, or the person who needs it prevents it getting to them by erecting barriers. Like everything else, it works sometimes and sometimes it doesn’t. I can’t say how or why, it seems to decide itself.”

“But that’s so unfair.”

“I’m afraid life is sometimes.”

“I don’t think I believe in god either, or he’s a real mean bastard.”

“Pheebs, I’m afraid we’ll never know what Neal was thinking of before he did what he did and simply speculating about it is pointless.”

“D’you think he was guilty, and that’s why he did it?”

“Guilty of what—missing his wife? Yes, he probably did, very much.”

“No, of driving her to kill herself.”

“I’ve neither seen nor heard any evidence that he was anything but a loving husband to Gloria and that she, probably suffering from post natal depression, took her own life through her depression. It happens even though it shouldn’t.”

“Do you always see the best in people?”

“I try to because most of the time that’s the real them. Occasionally I’m disappointed, but only occasionally and that might be due to them reacting to unhelpful circumstances.”

“I wish I was as nice as you, you really are an angel, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure I follow your argument, Pheebs, because there is absolutely nothing angelic about me.”

“Well I think there is.”

“In which case you’re squashing one of my wings.”

“Oh sorry,” she sat up quickly and I smirked. She glowered at me before her mouth crinkled at the edges and she smiled then laughed. “You’re wicked,” she declared before laughing again.

“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.”

“I can’t believe anyone ever thought you were a boy,” she said getting off the bed.

“Well, I’m afraid they did.”

“But you’re such a good mother.”

“People used to say that about a friend’s dog.”

“Mummy, I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Okay, be serious there, I’m going to have a wee.” When I returned from the bathroom she’d left my bedroom presumably to go back to her own. Had I blown it? See, I don’t believe I’m a good mother, I have to work hard at it and frequently get it wrong.

I quickly showered while it seemed quiet, then dried and dressed before descending to the chaos of the kitchen and breakfast. Except it wasn’t chaos, they were all there eating their breakfasts and behaving themselves. Phoebe was sitting next to Julie who was spreading jam on toast.

“Hi, Mummy,” offered Trish before having a slurp of milk.

“Tea?” asked Jacquie handing me a mug of the hot fluid.

I accepted it thanking her as I did so. It was just how I liked it.

“Shouldn’t you be in work?” I asked Julie.

“Not starting till ten.”

“Oh, okay.”

“About the only privilege of being your own boss.”

“That’s true,” I agreed, though not all the time but I wasn’t going to nit pick.

“Are you going to the salon today, Pheebs?”

“Yeah, now I feel better.”

“Well you would, wouldn’t ya, cwtching with Mummy, you’ve probably been sucking up all her energy,” said Trish with a slight hint of disapproval.

“No I haven’t, have I, Mummy?”

“No, darling,” I lied. She looked about a hundred per cent better.

“See,” she glared back at Trish.

Trish had one of those expressions which non-verbally said, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Thankfully, before they came to blows, Phoebe went up to shower then a little later she and Julie went off to the salon.

“Right, you lot, what would you like to do today?”

They all shouted something different and I instantly regretted what I’d asked them, next time I’d make the suggestion and they could say why they didn’t want to do it, and they would, they always do.