The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3125 by Angharad Copyright© 2017 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.

The phone rang an hour later, “Hello, this is Stan Pickerskill, could I speak with one of Danielle Cameron’s parents?” At least it wasn’t someone checking we were in or wanting to sell me double glazed socks or anti-badger ballistic missiles; mind you Tom would possibly buy the latter after a couple of Meles meles dug up his vegetable patch looking for worms. As he’d only just planted peas under cloches, badgers weren’t his favourite mammal.

“This is her mother, Cathy Cameron.”

“Could we arrange a mutually convenient time to get together with Danielle to discuss her future in international and domestic football?”

“That’s going to be difficult, as both Simon and I work Mondays to Fridays and after the weekend, Danielle will be back in school.”

“I could probably do a weekend, Mrs Cameron. I’m concerned that after showing us what she can do on a soccer pitch that she gets properly represented in negotiating future contracts.”

“She’s already under contract with Portsmouth, Mr Pickerskill.”

“I suspect that won't present too much of a problem and I believe I can improve on the peanuts they’ll be paying her.”

“She’s still in school, so I can’t even contemplate her moving from Portsmouth and I don’t fancy her commuting for training and matches.”

“I see, how old actually is she?”

“Fourteen.”

“Good grief, she is young, but she is so talented—she must be the youngest female player to represent England at this level.”

“I accept she is pretty special.”

“Right, I’m going to have to check up on a few things being as she’s so young, how about I try to set something up for next weekend, that is the one after this.”

“I’ll try and have my husband present, he’s in business so understands contract law better than I.”

“What d’you do, if I might ask, Mrs Cameron?”

“I teach at the university.”

“A very laudable occupation, expanding young minds.”

“Sometimes, the problem is we expand them, then they go down the student’s union and after a certain amount of fluid is imbibed, it seems to shrink their brains back down to what they were before they came to us. Quite frustrating at times.”

“I’m sure, nevertheless, I’ll bet you’re more than up to it. What subject do you teach?”

“Biological sciences.”

“Very interesting, I’m sure,” he lied down the phone, “I’ll be in touch soon.”

It’s probably just me but I have a sort of built in dislike of agents, or did before I met Erin, who has done really well for me but she is so pushy at times it makes me cross. These days she really does understand how busy I am so doesn’t push things. I’ve been writing a book on harvest mice, not a text book but neither is it just a pretty picture book and I had lots of research done for it. That cost me quite a bit but paying a good researcher is one way of easing the pain or boredom of digging through indexes (yep the correct plural for books) or catalogues running down facts. The downside, is they produce loads of paper for you to read but it does help to offset any insomnia I might have—though falling asleep in my lunch break is a nuisance.

I glanced across at the box of paper that Janice, my researcher, had sent me. The box had five reams of copy paper in it originally, I suspect it has the same amount of printed paper in there now. She’s an ex biology student from Sussex who graduated a year after me who, when she heard about my change of lifestyle, a few years ago sent me a good luck card with her business card inside it. We met up when I was researching the dormouse book, and I thought I had pretty well everything published about Muscardinus but she found me a few new references and sources and showed me her value. She does lots of networking, so has entries to people and places I’ve never heard of. She doesn’t come cheap, but she is good and quick if I need that element too. When I asked her why she didn’t have a try at writing, she just shrugged and said that doesn’t do anything for her but digging about in libraries and archives, does.

I looked down the drive, there was no one hanging about and I almost felt a sense of anticlimax. I worried all night and got up with the adrenaline coursing through my veins only to find the enemy hadn’t turned up.

I’d spoken to the girls who were happy to stay indoors for the moment at least. If nothing happened by lunch time, I’d take them out somewhere. Julie and Phoebe were in work, Sammi was up in town still getting invites from the security services, Jacquie was at university, I think, Meems was playing dolls with the younger girls including Pudding and Fiona while Trish was probably constructing a thermo nuclear device abetted by Hannah and Livvie, just to prove it was possible with old washing up liquid bottles and toilet roll centres and just a smidgeon of plutonium she got online from amazon.co.ru. It’s cheaper than Iran apparently and came double wrapped in copies of Izvestia, so no expense was spared. Blue Peter will probably give her a badge if it works.

Danielle, her of the moment, had her breakfast and went back to bed—she is a teenager—and is probably using up her call allowance on her mobile as I write this. Mind you it’s not unknown for the girls to phone each other or text if they’re in a different room—at home. Mobile phones have a lot to answer for.

David came over to prepare lunch and seemed surprised I was at home today. “Tired from yesterday—oh, everyone thoroughly enjoyed your packed lunch.”

“Oh good, what d’you want for today and what’s for dinner?” He went and consulted the clip board by the fridge. “Oh, that’s going to take some time to prepare.”

“I’ll do lunch if you like, the bread machine is on so I’ll make some soup if you like.”

“Which one?”

“I’ve got some ham stock in freezer, I’ll do pea and ham.”

He agreed and while he made tea I got the box of stock from the freezer. I’ll defrost it in a large pot and soon chop some vegetables and I cheat, I use tinned peas plus a few dried split peas.

Half an hour later my soup was simmering on the Aga and I left David fiddling about with some intricate sauce required for a new recipe he’d created. I went upstairs to get our own superstar footie player up and I was right, she was on her phone chatting to Cindy or one of her class mates. I’ve never spoken to any of them but I have seen her walk out of school talking to them and I know they meet up in town at weekends. She never invites them here because they wouldn’t come, being titled puts them off and me being a professor frightens them. Meee—frightening? Ha that’s a laugh.