The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2913 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 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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I slept for about three hours being woken by a very worried looking Trish holding a cup of tea. “I had a horrible dream, Mummy.”

“Did you?” I asked yawning.

“Yes, you were pleading with the golden lady to spare David’s life and when I woke up I saw his house was damaged and he was in hospital...an’ I hoped you was all right.”

“Better than your grammar,” I quipped wondering why we were paying three thousand a term—Jeez, the same as tuition fees at most universities. Perhaps we could send all of them to university instead and cut out the middleman?

“Eh? I don’t have a grandma.”

Some days you just know you should stay in bed and not talk to anyone because they either speak a different language or don’t understand yours.

“Never mind, sweetheart, David is fine and so am I. Is that tea for me?” I asked as she was in danger of spilling most of it on the carpet.

“Oh yes, I’m glad you’re okay, Mummy,” and she went to hug me still holding the tea—I think it was probably the quickest I have ever got out of and stripped a bed.

While the bedding was laundering I showered accompanied by Trish who’d also got drenched in the tea. Once we were dried and dressed we went down and I finally got my cup of tea. I was astonished that David was there preparing lunch.

“What are you doing here?” I said loudly.

“I work here, Lady Cameron, what are you doing here, in my kitchen?”

“Trying to get a fresh cup of tea.”

“Permit me,” he said and made me one immediately—recognition at last—don’t make me laugh.

“Thank you? Maureen is coming over after lunch to see what’s needed on your cottage as soon as we know, we’ll have someone start to do the work as soon as possible.”

He nodded and continued with his food preparations. I left and went to my study to drink my tea and try and get my brain into working mode. Trish came and sat with me. “I was really worried, Mummy.”

“It was just a bad dream sweetheart.” I put my arm around her after placing my cup on the coffee table.

“I thought you were being cheeky to the lady and she was going to be cross and let David die or do something to you.”

“It was just a dream, sweetheart.”

“I’m glad, Mummy.” She snuggled into me and we had a nice cuddle.

The lunch was soup with fresh made bread and was delicious, but then I tend to believe any meal I don’t have to make is delicious. We’d just finished when Maureen arrived to view the damage.

The wind was cold and there was showery rain in the gusting wind though it was far better than it had been. Her opinion was depressing, the roof would need almost complete rebuilding and some of the walls had been damaged. It was in a bad state, then with interior ceilings and decoration it would take at least a couple of months. We explored the other cottage adjacent to it and the roof had been damaged but not as badly and she reckoned that could be sorted in a week but as they would be insurance jobs we had to await the assessor for an official report and costings.

Amanda had the cottage next to David’s though she was away when the tree fell, however, she was due back tomorrow and we still had to find David some accommodation. Maureen suggested hiring a caravan, she could organise water and mains electricity, even a phone line and David nodded. As always, she had contacts and three hours later a four wheel drive vehicle appeared in the drive towing a large six berth caravan which we had parked up by the garage where my vintage jaguar was kept.

In a further hour we had electricity and mains water linked to it and even mains drainage from the shower and loo which went down through an inspection cover into the house sewerage. David was close enough to pick up from our routers so could use his computer or television. Danni and the younger girls helped him move his clothes and other personal items he would need for the next couple of months. There was central heating provided with bottles of propane gas and they supplied a large cylinder which they reckoned would last for at least a month if not more. I suppose it depends upon how much you use it.

I ended up cooking the dinner while David and half a dozen assistants helped him set up his temporary home. It was pork chops and as I placed two large trays of meat into the oven I wondered if the slices of apple I spread on top of them were a good idea or not or the cider they’d been doused in. Too late now, and while they were warming I started the potatoes and other veg. We eat the skins on the spuds unless they’re disgusting, so it’s just a question of taking off any nasty looking bits and boiling up what’s left. I did carrots, broccoli and peas, the latter a whole bag of frozen garden peas.

Half an hour later I added more cider to the chops and some single cream which of course curdled, then shoved them back in the oven to finish. David ate with us and made encouraging noises about my effort—he didn’t leave anything on his plate or otherwise. The girls helped me clear up and we left David to go and settle into his temporary home.

Later I sat in the kitchen looking at the Guardian when Simon emerged. He’d been about during the day but was doing things with a chain saw to the half a tree which had fallen and he also took down two trees which looked threatening to the main house. He’d apparently enjoyed himself playing lumberjacks and it was hard for me to refrain from singing the Monty Python song forever associated with hairdressers who really wanted to be lumberjacks. However, I knew if I started singing it at him, he’d run through the whole sketch and I’d be saddled with it for the next twenty minutes.

We were it seemed well supplied with logs for the next so many months. Seeing as we hadn’t had a fire since Christmas, we could be talking years not months. Danny helped him stack them in the woodshed and also against the wall of the woodshed, which was then covered in a tarpaulin.

By nine o’ clock I was sinking fast and after sending the younger girls to bed, retired myself with Simon only minutes behind me. I was asleep seconds after touching the pillow, hoping for no dreams about a certain OT goddess and as far as I know, I didn’t have any.