The Weekly Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3284 by Angharad Copyright© 2021 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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The computer close-down we experienced was resolved by the evening, it was a ransomware attack. I'm not sure how they sorted it but the IT department under Gemmell took the credit for getting us back online and functioning. I wasn't happy, somewhere I smelled a rat and asked Sammi to investigate. I allowed her to enter the university system through my computer and about an hour later I had an answer.
She identified the computer terminal that had introduced the malware and gave it a code number, which she assured me would be identifiable. She also said she had downloaded some malware of her own onto this terminal which would manifest upon pressing the escape key with control. If we wanted the user of the computer identified could be shown to be the problem maker. She told me that ransomware is often introduced onto a system by unhappy or resentful users as a way of showing their displeasure and sometimes they then sort the problem or pretend to, to become the hero of the hour. Sammi told me that it's almost invariably a weapon used by men, so the perpetrator was probably one. I think I had a suspicion of which one. Once I had more than a suspicion, some evidence, I would offer it to Tom and it would then be his job to deal with it. The day ended better than I thought it would.

The next morning after taking the girls to school, "Did you see your idol was censured for attacking trans people?" asked Diane as I walked into the office.

"What, Sir David?" I gasped not believing he could be nasty to anyone who wasn't damaging the planet or something equally heinous.

"No, Richard Dawkins."

I shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"He effectively suggested that you weren't a real woman."

"He's entitled to his own opinions when he's talking about biology, especially evolutionary variety, I listen. When he's off on one about religion, I sometimes listen, when he goes off on one about something like that, I ignore him. I have ten young women who call me Mummy, his opinion of me regarding my gender status is irrelevant, my children and my husband and father are the ones who count. So thank you for being outraged for me, but I don't honestly give a monkey's."

"It was in the Guardian."

"So is, First Dog on the Moon and I suspect I'd enjoy that more."

"Pardon me for speaking."

"Don't get huffy on me, Diane. I am appreciative of your support but on this occasion, I'm fine with it, or will be once I've had my cuppa." I hinted and she simply sat there. I looked at her and gave questioning glances.

"It's on your desk, better drink it before it gets cold." That was telling me I nodded and she smirked, she'd enjoyed that - bitch.

Half an hour later Debbie rushed in and said loudly, "You see what that idiot Dawkins said about transwomen?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't describe him as an idiot, I think he's actually very bright."

"What? But he said we're not real women."

"I have some paperwork which says otherwise, so he's clearly wrong."

"But why did he say it?"

"I have no idea and care even less. He's a brilliant evolutionary biologist and opinionated atheist, but he's not sleeping with me or looking after my kids, so why should I care?"

"But he said it."

"I know, but I don't know why. I suggest if you really want to know, ask him."

She stood thinking for a moment and then looked at me, "Nah, I've got better things to do, besides you're right, we're legally women, so his opinion doesn't count."

"Exactly, so go and do some work."

"I'm invigilating."

"Take your laptop with you, but if you play patience do it on silent."

"You've obviously invigilated a few times?"

"Just a few."

She left sniggering. Diane appeared with fresh tea, "Well she went out happier than she came in."

"I have this effect on people, being a real woman." I said deadpan.

She looked at me then snorted. "Not a person who menstruates then?"

"Ugh, no thanks, don't do messy."

"So who is that in the photo of the pilot whale being dissected?"

"The unfortunate animal was one that was washed up near Brighton beach and the biology department of Sussex university were invited to take part in the dissection. I was wearing a waterproof overall and with my hair tied back and some yellow wellies I borrowed from one of the girls, I looked like a girl. The government vet who was supervising the dissection was looking for a cause of death, my tutor was looking to try and grab the skull and the brain before it deteriorated too much. I think he managed both, the vet kept calling me Charlotte, presumably hearing someone else call me Charlie as I'd got lumbered with assisting her. We took samples and she decided it was probably due to some sort of ear infection as the tissue was all inflamed there."

"Somebody the vet kept calling, Charlotte?"

"Yeah, essentially."

"Not you then?"

"I've been called worse."

"Yes, in this very office."

"By someone not a million miles away," I added to her statement.

"Touché," she said.

"So why are you looking at old photos?"

"I'm tidying up some old files. I've put them in a folder so you can take them home."

"Just chuck them out."

"But I'm sure your kids would be pleased to see their mum in her youth, especially the school girl ones."

"What? I threw them out years ago." I was genuinely surprised.

"Apparently not, it shows a photo of Charlotte Watts receiving a prize from the Bristol Evening Post for her portrayal of Lady Macbeth at Bristol Grammar School."

"Where did that come from? My dad went absolutely ape over it."

"Not," she pointed towards Daddy's office.

"Nah, my biological dad. He agreed with Murray, my headmaster who thought I was a bad influence on the school, that forcing me to dress as a girl would either cause me to leave or become more masculine..."

"I can see that worked a treat, then."

"Quite."

"Not a real woman, but a very pretty girl who grew into a beautiful woman. Dawkins is wrong."

"Forget about bloody Dawkins, will you?"

"Okay, no skin off my nose..." she wandered back to her desk and then back dumping the folder on my desk before returning to her office.

I tried to ignore it, the folder, that is, except you know the harder you try the harder it becomes and in the end, I succumbed and opened the folder. It was full of pictures and newspaper clippings about me, which I hadn't collected, so where had they come from? It turned out it came from my parents. Diane showed me the envelope which had contained them with a Bristol postmark and the address was in my father's hand, plus it gave him as sender.

I hadn't seen this folder before, so where had it been hiding? I asked Diane and she told me it was in the bottom of a filing cabinet that had come from Tom's old office. He must have had them, but why didn't he show them to me? I would ask him later.

Then Diane went back to her desk and handed me to open, a blank envelope, and once again in my father's quite neat, angular and forward sloping hand, written with a fountain pen, of course, there was a letter.
'Dear Professor Agnew,
I am sending a file of pictures and articles which my late wife and I collected about our child, we called Charles but I believe prefers to be called Catherine. As you may know, we had some difficulty with this change of status but nevertheless had some pride in his/her achievements. He/she doesn't know, we collected all this and I leave it up to you to show it to him/her or dispose of it as you see fit.
Sincerely yours,
Derek Watts.'

I had to reach for a tissue after reading it. I simply couldn't understand the double standards it showed. They were proud of me? So why did he try to kill me? I felt even more unsure of my relationship with my parents than I had for quite a while. They were ashamed of me, so they kept telling me, so what was all this stuff?

I scooped it all back into the folder and rushed out to the loo and wept silently as I tried to understand it all. I couldn't. Why didn't he leave it at the house for me to find? Why did he send it to Tom instead of to me? The more I learned of my father the less I understood him. He claimed to be proud of his daughter, just before he died. He and my mother kept up a facade of being ashamed of my effeminacy yet if so why collect all this bumf? It made no sense to me and upset me as well, stirring up feelings I thought I'd finished with - perhaps not.

I dried my eyes and after cooling them with wet tissues, reapplied my makeup and went back to my office and called Daddy. He immediately invited me to lunch and I accepted but asked him to pop by my office as I'd like his opinion on something. He agreed to come a few minutes early.

When I showed him the folder he coloured up and spluttered. He had forgotten about them, as they'd arrived several years ago, before my father had died, in fact, before he'd had his strokes. He meant to speak to me about them but didn't get around to it and then forgot them leaving them in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. He apologised for not speaking to me about them and was obviously a little upset by his not doing so. I retrieved the original foolscap envelope and replaced them in it, and threw them in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet and we went off to lunch. Neither of us spoke about it, choosing to enjoy our usual lunches. It had been a different sort of day.