The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3070 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 tucked all the youngsters in and left their bedroom which is more like a small dormitory of some exclusive girls’ boarding school, and leaving it I nearly fell over Danielle who was sitting by the door.

“What on earth...?”

“Hi, Mummy, I was just listening to the story, it’s different to the first one, in that you used an acorn cup as an amplifier.”

“Well unless you want to hear a professor roar, you’d better get back to bed—aren’t you cold?”

“A bit,” she said sitting with her nightdress pulled down over her knees as she leant against the wall.

“C’mon, to bed with you.”

“She won’t be able to make me go back, will she?”

“No, we adopted you, so she has no claim over you at all.”

“Good, because she dumped me in that bloody home and I’d still have been there if you hadn’t rescued me.”

“Was it that bad?”

“They’d never have let me be a girl, would they?”

“I think dealing with Trish just about taxed them to exhaustion, but then you didn’t want to be a girl then did you?”

“I wouldn’t have admitted it even if I did.”

“Because you weren’t thinking it.”

“I dunno what I was thinking half the time, avoiding that knobhead Bowditch was one of the priorities, playing soccer was another.”

“Why did they put you in the home?”

“She didn’t want me, she loved some guy who didn’t want any children cramping his style and as she loved him more than me, it wasn’t much of a contest, was it. Because I didn’t like him I used to cause trouble, that was when he messed around with me.”

“Why didn’t you tell her or your teacher?”

“They wouldn’t have believed me—would you take the word of a six year old hooligan against a top scientist.”

“Scientist? Can you remember his name?”

“Nah, but I think he played with radar or jet aircraft.” It wasn’t enough to identify him and bring him to justice. “I know when they told me they were putting me in a home, I thought that at least his messing with me would stop—though in some ways, i enjoyed the attention if not what he actually did.”

“You don’t need to talk about it, sweetheart, if you don’t want to.”

“I know; so I went to the home and learned to fight, especially with Bowditch.”

“Tell me about him?”

“Not much to tell, he was big and fat and liked hurting people—typical bully, I s’pose. He left me alone when I borrowed a tennis racquet and bashed him over the head with it. That was ’cause he was bullying Billy having pushed Trish down the stairs and she was in hospital I think.”

“He does sound like a typical bully, doesn’t he?”

“Were you ever bullied, Mummy?”

I tucked her into bed before sitting on the edge of the bed and replying to her question.

“I was bullied by everyone, or they tried it. I got used to being beaten up and humiliated by the headmaster who was probably worse than the boys.”

“I remember him at Mr Whitehead’s funeral.”

“Of course, you tipped the drink over him, didn’t you?”

“Nah, that was my twin brother, I’d have hidden behind you.”

“I’ve seen you playing football, fear isn’t a word I’d associate with that.”

“Yeah, well when you pull on a soccer jersey it gives you courage, especially an England one.”

“I can believe that.”

“It really does, Mummy, you’re no longer just some hot chick, you’re an international athlete representing your country...”

“...Type of hot chick?”

“Well natch.”

“I’ll go and see Mr Henstridge tomorrow, d’you want to come?”

“Nah, playin’ soccer.”

“I hope your kit is clean?”

“Yeah, course it is, I ironed it earlier on.”

“Ah, that’s what you were ironing.” I made all the girls iron their own clothing as soon as they were old enough. It was a change that Danni accepted very easily and she makes a few quid from Sammi who doesn’t like doing it and pays Danni to do it for her. Julie has on occasion when she’s been busy. It’s good for them to learn basic housekeeping skills especially as appearances still seem to be more important for girls or women than men.

There are some adverts I’ve heard on the radio about the undue attention paid to the appearances of young women compared to men and what a negative effect it can have on them. The whole of western society is designed around controlling women because men are scared of women’s sexuality. I’m not sure why it is, unless it’s because women can control men using their bodies and men’s urges or perhaps it’s because they need to keep ownership of women to be sure of the paternity of their children, which I’m sure is an Old Testament thing and which probably originated earlier once men started owning land.

I presume women acceded to it because men were stronger and more aggressive and ever since have been possessions of their men. You see girls trying to make themselves more attractive to boys as they react to their hormones and men flaunting their women as if to show off their possessions. It’s all pretty sick when you look at it in a neutral context, but that’s what happens. It’s all got so sexualised that you have girls of seven or eight talking about plastic surgery to make themselves more sexually alluring because it’s what they see on television or the internet.

I tucked Danni in and left as she was drifting off to sleep. I’d call Henstridge first thing and he’d fit me in somewhere. I’m a good customer and pay promptly so he’ll see me and although he’s expensive, he’s also good. Danni hadn’t decided if she wanted to come or not but I’ll speak to Sister Maria and arrange for her to come away from school if necessary, assuming she will want to come. I know I would if only to make sure it was being done to my satisfaction.

Was I bullied? Wasn’t I just, but in lots of ways it made me stronger and nowadays no one bullies me because I won’t let them. A lot of it works because their initial threats frighten the victim who may fight back at first but usually gives in if it goes on long enough. Once the relationship exists both bully and victim play their parts to maintain it, possibly unconsciously. I would never play ball—or concede to bullies, so I got the violence either threats or physical beatings or verbal abuse. It hurt but I endured it and finally, most of them left me alone except the real homophobes like Murray, though occasionally there would be renewed interest if he attacked me, some of the thugs would follow suit and he did nothing to stop it. I’m so glad things are different there now, my old school, I mean.