The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2450 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Why can’t they give us all guns...” asked Danni.

“So you can shoot each other?”

“No the bad guys.”

“Have you ever seen someone shot?” I enquired of my newest daughter.

“Um—not really.” She went a lovely deep rose pink.

“It’s not very nice. Depending upon the type of gun, ammunition and where they hit the victim causes the outcome. If it’s a head shot, you could get bone and brain plus plenty of blood and CSF, all over the place, including on you if you’re close to them. If the head doesn’t stop the bullet you could be hit too, by something distorted which will knock an even bigger hole in you. If it’s a body shot...”

“I think I get the idea, Mummy, it isn’t good.”

“It’s actually very bad for all concerned.”

“You shot someone didn’t you?”

“I fired on a car load of terrorists with an AK47, or Kalashnikov, who were firing at us. I happened to hit something, they didn’t. They drove into a loch and drowned.”

“You saved everyone’s life.”

“No I didn’t, I killed four people.”

“But they were trying to kill you.”

“That doesn’t make what I did any more acceptable.”

“If you hadn’t they could have killed you and the others, including a policeman.”

“I am not proud of what I did.”

“Well I’m proud of you; you did what you had to. That’s pretty cool by my reckoning.”

“It isn’t in mine. Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, ’course.”

“When are you going to tidy that bedroom of yours?”

“Mum, we’re under siege from some bad-ass money lender, and you want me to tidy my bedroom?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s right with it?”

“Danielle, I know you had reservations about being a girl but you are and that means keeping your stuff clean and tidy.”

“Why does it?”

“Because women’s clothes are often easily dirtied or creased and girls are expected to look neat and tidy most of the time.”

“Hah, you should see half the girls in my class—they look like bag women.”

“I don’t care what they look like, they’re not my responsibility, you are. So until you’re able to exist separately in your own place, you will do as I tell you or we’ll send you away to school.”

“I’m not going to no boarding school.”

A thousand pounds a term and she still sounds like an Essex girl who lives ‘darn sarf.’

Simon decided he was going to live after all and came rushing down the stairs to tell me there were men with guns in the orchard.

“Yes I know, darling. They’re costing you a fortune.”

“They are? How’s that?”

“This isn’t cricket, darling, it’s slightly more important than that.”

“What are you on about?”

“The situation.”

“How’s that anything to do with cricket?”

“You keep saying, howzat. It’s an expression used in cricket.”

“Oh god,” he groaned and buried his face in his hands.”

“D’you feel ill again?”

“Only with your logic.”

“Is that a compliment or time to stop for a moment.”

“No it isn’t a compliment—it’s a bloody expression of annoyance.”

“No need to swear, dear.”

“You could make a saint swear.”

“My mother used to say that.”

“Doh,” he said and started banging his head on the cupboard. “Start again. Why are there men hiding in the orchard?”

“Are they carrying guns?”

“Probably—yes, they’re carrying guns.”

“They’re two of James’ friends.”

“On our side, do the police know?”

“I doubt it.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them?”

“Why?”

“In case they shoot each other?”

“The two, shall we say, free lancers, know of the police and are keeping out of their way. They’re here in case the police can’t cope.”

“In which case, shouldn’t we have extra police?”

“Then we would have people shooting each other.”

“Great. Are we paying for these two extras?”

“You are, yes.”

“Great. No wonder I have no money.”

“Simon, you’re one of the richest men on the planet, only Bill Gates, Putin and your dad have more.”

“Putin?”

“Yeah, the guy in Russia, head of organised crime at the Kremlin, the man who starts World War Three.”

“Oh that Putin.”

“Yeah, good ol’ Ras.”

“Thought his name was Vlad the impaler, Putin.”

“If you said that to him he’d be more put out than Putin.”

“Oh very funny. If this Cortez bloke sees armed plod everywhere won’t he just wait until they get bored and go home?”

“Quite possibly.”

“So when can I go back to work?”

“Anytime you decide life isn’t worth living, because he’s likely to be just behind you—Cortez, that is.”

“D’you honestly think that?”

“I hope you’ve made your will—in my favour, of course.”

“No, I left it to the cat.”

“I hope she’s got a good lawyer.”

“Jason.”

“Oh,” was all I said but I think my expression said it all.

“Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No, why?” I blushed, the last thing I wanted to discuss was Jason making overtures to me.

“Fine, you know he fancies you like mad?”

“What? How can he, he knows my history and everything.”

“I don’t think he’s looking at the past somehow.”

“But surely that affects the present and thus the future?”

“Obviously not for everyone. Some people just accept what they see. Not everyone is as obsessed with their shortcomings like you are.”

“Oh thanks, Si; you certainly know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“You are wanted—by everyone who knows you.”

“Especially, Mr Cortez.”

“I suspect his needs may be somewhat different.”

“I hope he’s just dying to meet me.”

“I hope he meets an armed copper or the fairies at the bottom of the orchard rather than you, babes.”

“I think we might have something in common.” I smiled, all he needed to say was something naff like, ‘You mean besides both starting off as boys,’ and I’d just fall apart.

“What time is visiting? I’d like to go and see Sammi.”

“You’ll need to clear it with PC Plod and Noddy.”

“Si, they might be less efficient than we’d like but they are out there risking their lives for us.”

“Yeah okay, point taken, but you still have to clear things with Noddy and Big Ears first.”

“Fine, I’ll go and speak to them.”

I set off down the drive using my hand to shade my eyes from the sun which is still shining most of the time. It’s been a brilliant summer. “Lady Cameron?” said one of the police.

“Sorry, I don’t know your names.”

“Mick and he’s, Ryan.”

I suppose I could have responded with permission to call me by my first name but decided to keep it fairly formal. This was a business arrangement not a social club, so if they got shot or I did, none of us would be as upset as we would knowing each other.

“I’d like to go and see my daughter who’s in hospital.”

“Sorry, no one is allowed to leave without an escort.”

“Just to go to the QA?”

“That’s our orders, and we don’t have enough manpower to escort you.”

“Okay, I’ll just go and phone your super.”

“Feel free, that’s what my orders are.”

I stormed back into the house in high dudgeon.