The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2840 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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“So who are our guests tomorrow, and how many for dinner?” asked David as I entered the house behind a horde of giggling schoolgirls. What set them off I have no idea, I don’t think they did either—one of the joys of being a kid, enjoyment isn’t conditional, it’s spontaneous and total.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. The look that accompanied my answer told him not to push it.

“Do you know how many?”

“Yes, us lot plus two. Use the best china and silverware.”

“Ooh, someone posh then?”

“If I knew I’d tell you. Last time it was some total arsehole he couldn’t stand but he got the deal he was chasing. It could be something similar, I don’t know.”

“Did you see some guy was shouting the odds about another recession caused by the drop in oil prices and the crisis in China.”

“The oil business is designed by the Saudis to destroy the US shale oil industry.”

“That’s what they imply in the Guardian.”

“Must be true then. I’m going up to change could you do me a pot of tea?”

“Certainly, modom.” He bowed and then laughed as I gave the finger as I went out the door. Bloody servants, don’t know their place anymore.

It was certainly getting a bit cooler with more cold to come—wonderful, the junior doctors are on strike tomorrow—I hope they wear warm clothes on their picket lines, I’d hate for them to become ill, they may need a doc—oh never mind. I pulled on some jeans and a thick tee shirt over which I donned a cardigan—one with pockets; so much better for leaving tissues in when putting in the washing machine; ensures a more even dispersal of the little bits.

Back downstairs I drank down a mug of tea added some more water to the pot and asked the others if they wanted any. David already had one, Stella wasn’t back yet from work or the crèche, so only Danielle came for one.

“So what’s this about a dinner party tomorrow?”

“I only know he’s invited two guests?”

“Like who?”

“Like I don’t know, darling, so don’t keep on.”

“Okay okay, what have I got to wear?”

“You know your wardrobe better than I do.”

“No—I meant, have I got to wear anything special?”

“Smart casual, I expect. Mary Berry, here,” I nodded at David, “is the only one who’ll be in fancy dress.”

“Bitch,” was muttered from behind me and Danni nearly dropped her cup laughing.

“If it’s any different, I’ll let you know.”

“I wondered if I needed a new dress or anything?”

“No, you have plenty of clothes.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she smirked.

“You tell her, girl,” David offered her support.

“Perhaps you could have a new dress,” I said pretending to have had a change of heart.

“Oh?” she said her face lighting up.

“Yeah, I get your daddy to take it out of his bonus.”

“Bah,” said Danielle sounding like a frustrated sheep.

“You leave my bonus alone, missus, if you want edible food for tomorrow.”

I glared at him and he chuckled to himself. I went off to do some survey work until dinner was ready. Simon arrived with Sammi at half past six and Daddy arrived a few minutes later.

“So who are our visitors tomorrow, Daddy?” asked Danielle.

“What visitors are these then?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you old meany.” She was holding his arm and putting it over her shoulder—what happened to the kid who used to be my son, this was out and out flirting?

“Who said we were having visitors?” asked Simon.

“Mummy said you did.”

“When did I say that?”

“I don’t like know, do I?”

“So she could have made it all up then?”

“No, she doesn’t do things like that.”

“How d’you know that?”

“She hasn’t got enough imagination.”

Simon thought that was hilarious as did David. Someone else in the room wasn’t quite so sure of its humour value, viz. moi. However, I let her wrap Simon around her finger and con him out of forty pounds for a new dress. Serve him right, I thought. Either that or it’s just about enough to keep her in mascara for a week or two. I think she applies it with a plasterer’s float.

At dinner, Simon decided to put us out of our misery, “We’ve some guests coming for dinner tomorrow, with their little girl.”

“Who’s that?” asked Stella.

“Friends of your mother’s.”

They all suddenly looked at me as if I had the answer to the puzzle and of course I didn’t. The only friends of mine with a little girl were Siân and Kirsty or Stephanie and they’d have approached me not Simon. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“’Course you do.”

I racked my brain but unless it was Abi from Sussex I had no idea who else had a young child. “Well I can’t think of anyone.”

“We had dinner with them at the hotel.”

“Did we?” that was no use, we’ve had dinner with dozens of people at the hotel and none had a little girl as I remember.

I shook my head, I hated these guessing games, especially when it’s obvious even to a blind man, that I have no idea of who he’s talking. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do, you’ve just not thought hard enough.”

“No, well I’ve had enough. It seems obvious that you’re going to torment me and the others until we scream for mercy. Well stick your dinner party, you can host it yourself.” I stood up and stormed away from the table to go and sulk in my study.

About ten minutes later there was a tap at the door and in walked Julie with a cuppa. “Thought you might like this.” She placed it down in front of me.

“Thank you, darling. So did he say who was coming?”

“Yeah, some bloke and his wife.”

“And little girl, don’t forget her.”

“Sorry, yeah her as well.”

“Did he say who they were?”

“He said the bloke was coming to see if the bank would finance something.”

“So I’ve got to keep a young girl amused, have I?”

“I think that was being delegated to Meems and Trish.”

“Trish? Child care, she’s more Mr than Dr Spock.”

“Who?”

“Dr Spock was an American childcare specialist who used to appear on television with advice about rearing babies, Mr Spock is Leonard Nimmoy with funny ears, he who has very few feelings for anything.”

“I knew who Mr Spock was, I watched enough Star Trek, to boldly go...”

“To split infinitives.”

“What?”

“It should be, ‘To go boldly.’”

“What?” I could see boredom spreading across her face.

“So who’s coming?”

“Only some has been movie star and his supermodel wife.”

“What Matthew and Judy?”

“Yeah, I think that’s them, wasn’t he in a Bond movie?”

“I think he was, he rescues 007 and gets killed in the process.”

“Could be, can’t really remember.”

“I wish he’d said, your father that is. Oh hell, she’s coming and would look like a million dollars in a black rubbish sack, I’ve got nothing to wear.”

“You’ve got nothing—what about me, Mummy?”