The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2494 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Who?” I reiterated.

“I told you, Professor, with Esther Polley.”

I wondered how anyone could be sad enough to inflict such a name on their child. I could just see them calling a register, “Polley, Esther.” I just had to be careful not to shake hands and say, “Please to meet you, Ms Viscose.”

We had a lecturer, Jim Polley, I wonder if she’s a relative? Probably not, but the way he was sowing wild oats, he had to have had loads of kids. Thankfully I wasn’t his type, too boyish in looks—probably because I was supposed to be one back in those days.

Surely there can’t really be someone called Esther Polley, can there? I suspect stranger things have happened but it’s such a silly name and so obvious to anyone with half a brain. Presumably her parents didn’t see it. I wonder if she has a brother called Cotton? I was still sniggering when Delia knocked on my door and introduced Ms Polley.

I quickly looked her up and down, she didn’t look too synthetic or manmade. A tall but elegant woman entered my office. She could easily have been a model, with attractive face and figure to die for. I would guess her to be in her late twenties, but in these days of botox and facelifts who knows anymore?

We shook hands and I offered her a seat. I had no idea what she was here for and I suppose I should have said so, but I didn’t. “So, Professor, what did you think of our quotation?”

“Excuse me, Delia have you got Ms Polley’s quotation?” We made small talk while Delia went through her drawers. She came in with a file looking rather harassed. I thanked her and flicked through it. I still had no idea what all this was about and the letter headings of ‘Polymer Foundation’ didn’t really give me much of a clue. I looked at the most recent item dated for tomorrow. What?

“Our quotation is based upon a minimum of two hundred dormouse skins, which we assume you’ll be able to supply weekly?”

It was at this point I said something loud which roused Simon who then grabbed me and I woke up. When I told him what I could remember of the dream he chuckled at the girl’s name. “You have a wicked subconscious.”

“How can you tell that?”

“The name of the other protagonist, I mean, Polyester—it’s just so non-u.”

“Non me?”

“No you nit, non-u, out of step with society or the better bits of, frowned upon...”

“Ah, that non-u.”

“I knew you’d understand.” He said and I nodded but I didn’t have a clue what he was on about. He was nearly as obscure as the woman in my dream. Was I still dreaming or was I awake? I had no idea.

“You don’t want dormouse skins as well, do you?”

“They are being used as currency these days, but we have a few thousand in hand, so we won’t need any unless there’s a run on the dormouse.”

“What’s wrong with gold as a currency?”

“It’s cold and very heavy. You could probably fit a dozen skins in your pocket but very little gold—besides the Russians bought it all and are looking to capitalise on dormice.”

“Si, there are no dormice in Russia, far too cold.”

“So where are they getting them, then?”

“I have no idea, lover.”

“I was offered ten thousand of them yesterday.”

“Are you sure they were genuine Muscardinus?”

“Didn’t need them so I didn’t look to see if they were Dormarked.”

“You realise that since they became an international currency we have to check they’re genuine. There are dozens of fakes about, I mean half the country is breeding them in their spare room or in the garden. Counterfeit mouse skins are becoming a real problem.”

“You can say that again,” said Simon. I resisted the urge to do so because I couldn’t actually remember what I’d said.

“What’ll you do with Spike now she can’t breed anymore?” he asked me.

“I’ll have her skinned and validated.”

“Good idea, though she’s old so her coat will be manky compared to the younger ones you gave us last year.”

“It’s still a genuine Muscardinus.”

“True, okay I’ll get you the full price for it.”

“Good, she’d be disappointed if her pelt wasn’t as valuable as her offspring’s.”

“So do they exist in the wild now?”

“Possibly a few, but I’ll track ’em down for the bank, then we’ll have to close down the unlicensed breeders and confiscate their skins—should increase our holdings quite a lot.”

“They breed quite easily, don’t they?”

“Yeah, which is why we’re both millionaires several times over, see I told you they had to be good for something and my counting them would come in handy.”

“Too true.”

“I’m off to skin Spike then.”

“Give her my regards before you—um—you know.”

I was just washing the blood off my hands when I suddenly realised what I’d done. I screamed out loud and felt someone’s hands on me. “It’s me, Cathy, you’re having a bad dream.”

For the next hour I was inconsolable, how could I betray my baby like that? It would be like killing one of the kids. I tried to explain my dream to Simon who smirked which upset me and I cried again. In the end I got up and went down to make a cuppa. It was one o’clock in the morning. If that stupid ghost thing appears tonight I’ll zap it good and proper.

I sat at the table sipping my tea and feeling disgusted with myself. I know it was a dream but it seemed so real and my character seemed to be so different to my real self—or was that the real me? A ruthless dealer in anything that turned a profit. Part of me was so angered it almost wanted me to punish myself, but stubbing my toe against the table leg brought tears to my eyes and seemed sufficient to satisfy my retributive self.

I wondered what might have brought it on—we had homemade quiche—David does a delicious one, even makes his own flan cases—I use ready mades. It could have been food related, or something else like a sense that I’ve sold out to the powers that be, accepting the promotion and the thirty pieces of silver instead of being at the cutting edge like I used to be, chasing funding not dormice or even the survey much these days.

I had no more idea after my cuppa than I did before. I had stopped crying so wouldn’t shrink my pillow. I went back to bed and Simon was fast asleep. Sometimes I envied his ability to close his eyes and his mind and just sleep. I was back in bed but tossing and turning. I was just nodding off when Simon muttered something. I nudged him and he turned over muttering “...yeah, her with the big tits, gi’s a cop...” I gasped and didn’t know whether to kill him now or wait a few hours and do it.