The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1601 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I ran to help Stella shut the door between us we slammed it shut and I turned the key in the mortise. Next I ran to the cloakroom and quickly shut the little window. Kiki started barking and Tom went to check the conservatory. He grabbed the dog and I hauled him back inside the French windows, which I locked. They were made of toughened glass, but by no means impregnable.

I rushed upstairs calling Danny to come with me, he flew up behind me, “Check there are no open windows, shut them and lock them.” He nodded and dashed off. “Pull the curtains too,” I called after him.

I checked a couple of rooms he was already running up to the next level and I followed on behind him. Anytime now I expected the phone lines to be cut and then something to blow the electrics.

Everything was secured. I ran downstairs to hear Stella on the phone to someone. “I tell you we’re under attack, I don’t know from whom, if I did I’d have told you. I told you my name, Cameron, yes like the Prime Minister, and my first name is Stella. Catherine, yes she’s my sister in law–oh you’ll send someone, well make it snappy we have women and children here–what–don’t let my sister in law run amok until you get here? Stupid man,” she switched off her phone.

Mine rang. I picked it up. “Cathy, will you open the bloody door.”

It was Simon, well I didn’t see what sort of car it was. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, why shouldn’t I be?”

“James seemed to think there was someone lurking.”

“Catherine West, just open this bloody door will you?”

West? There was something wrong, he was trying to warn me. Oh Geez what do I do now? If I leave the door shut he might get killed if I let him in and there is someone with him, we could all get killed. Tom appeared with his shotgun and stuffed two cartridges in it. Someone could shoot him before he got a chance to aim it especially if they used Simon as a shield. Why did he have to come home now? Was he actually out there? He could be, he might be calling from another planet for all I knew.

I stopped the call and called him back–engaged. I waited and dialled again I could hear his phone from the other side of the door. He answered it. “C’mon, Baby, let me in it’s freezing out here it’s no more than three degrees.”

So there were three of them–did that include him? I doubted it.

I told Stella to inform the police that we thought they had Simon hostage. I called him again, pretending to fumble with the lock then I swore loudly. I called him back, “Sorry, darling, the key has broken in the lock. We’ll have to use the back door, make sure you wipe your feet carefully.”

I ran round to the back door and switched off the lights, then I removed the inspection cover from just inside the door–goodness it was heavy. Tom stationed himself with shotgun inside the cellar steps Stella and Julie took all the children and went upstairs to my room and went under my bed. I grabbed the first weapons which seemed suitable, a large knife and my meat tenderising mallet.

To imagine the scene, I’m standing by the door to the side of it, I’m going to pull the door open and stay behind it, Tom is lying down on the cellar steps which are the other side of the door, so he should have a clear shot at whoever comes through it. I whispered, “On three,” I counted one and two then pulled open the door, shouting three as I did so. Simon was pushed in and he dived as far into the house as he could. The first man in behind him was too quick for Tom, but in his haste he fell down the hole left by the inspection cover and Tom fired at the second.

In almost the same instant, I slammed the door shut and whacked the bloke on the head. He groaned so I hit him again, he slumped and I locked the door.

Simon hauled himself up and picked up the man’s gun. We dragged him out of the inspection hole and into the kitchen. He had a nasty head wound and his legs were bleeding. Simon tied his hands behind him with a cable tie and I washed his head wound and wrapped a bandage round it, then I tore up a couple of tea towels and wrapped up his bleeding shins.

“Compassion for the enemy–ever the saint, Cathy.” Simon remarked as I finished my rapid first aid.

“Not really, I didn’t want blood on my hall carpet.”

“Oh,” he stepped aside for Tom to come through.

“Did you get him?”

“I wisnae tryin’ tae dae mair than freeten him.”

A minute later, a burst of gunfire hit the back door. We all ran towards the centre of the house, Tom coming last reloading his shotgun as we went.

In the distance we heard sirens and a helicopter overhead. The cavalry were on their way. I checked the prisoner, he was still breathing and bleeding–least his legs were. I tore up another tea towel and tried to make pressure bandages from them.

I heard cars speed into the drive and saw blue flashing lights through the curtains. The police were here. Two minutes later, the door was knocked and the police were indeed here.

I checked through the letter box, it was the real thing, and I opened the door to an armed response unit. “Not you again?” said the officer in charge, “Who’s trying to kill you this week?”

“We got one of them, perhaps you’d like to ask him?”

An armed policeman stayed at the door carrying a small automatic machine gun thing–I don’t know what you call them, but at least while he was there no one was coming in.

“What happened to him?”

“I removed the inspection cover inside the backdoor and he fell down it and banged his head.”

“He fell forwards and banged the back of his head?”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” I said innocently having placed the mallet in the sink.

He called for an ambulance and asked Tom if he had a licence for the shotgun. Tom showed him chapter and verse. Then he examined the back door after I’d put the inspection cover back on.

“Some trap,” he observed looking into the three foot drop inside it. Then he examined the bullet holes in the door. “No one else hurt?”

“No, officer.”

“Okay, we’ll need statements.”

The man on the floor began groaning and puked on the floor, the copper went pale and walked hurriedly out of the kitchen. I got some paper towels and wiped it up. We sat him up against a chair. He was still groaning.

Simon handed the copper the gun the man had dropped when I clobbered him. “He actually dropped this?”

“Yes, officer.”

“Bloody hell, you’re lucky to be alive–this thing will shoot through walls.”

“May we keep it then, could be useful for dealing with cockroaches.” I said innocently. Just then more sirens and two paramedics arrived with a stretcher, they wheeled the man away ten minutes later after strapping him to the stretcher thing. They complained about his hands being tied until the copper showed them the gun he’d been carrying. They went quiet and took the prisoner away.

“Shouldn’t the ambulance have an escort in case they try to free him?” I asked.

“Yeah, there’s an armed officer in the van with them.”

It was over an hour and several mugs of tea later that the police decided that whoever they were, they’d scarpered. A car was seen driving off at speed, but the chopper was told to keep checking out the house and the grounds for any further gunmen. There weren’t any, but they did see a badger.

“Aye, we puit food oot fer him each nicht,” said Tom smiling.

Finally the police left after some board was secured to the back door to hide the bullet holes.

An hour after that, just as we were going to bed, the phone rang and Chas and Dave had arrived.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1602 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Chas and Dave weren’t their real names as James had inferred earlier, apparently the name belongs to a couple of Cockney singers who had a huge hit with ‘Rabbit Rabbit’ or some such name. Can’t say it was one that I remembered. However, they introduced one of themselves as Chas and the other as Dave. They gave me a letter of introduction from James. It contained the code word that he’d agreed with me so these two were the real thing.

I called James and told him about the incident which had already occurred. “You took a prisoner? Good for you.”

“I don’t know he looked pretty dazed.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He–um–bumped his head on my meat tenderiser.”

“What one of those mallet things?”

“Um–yes.”

“You hit him with one of those?”

“Only twice.”

“Twice? Geez, Cathy, you’ll have rendered his brain to mincemeat.”

“He was threatening Simon.”

“Oh that’s different,” I thought I could hear him banging his head on his desk.

“Sorry, but they sort of surprised us and it was to hand, so I used it.”

“They had guns and you had a meat tenderiser–I’m surprised they didn’t all surrender.” He chuckled. “You never fail to surprise me, Cathy.

“Sorry, he was conscious when they took him off in the ambulance.”

“Don’t apologise, it was meant as a compliment. If ever they come to get me, I hope I have you as my back-up, girl.”

“I might need a bit more notice than you gave Chas and Co.”

“They’re supposed to be ready at a moment’s notice, silly buggers crashed their car.”

“Anyway, they’re here now, can I go to bed in relative security?”

“I should think so; can I talk to one of them?” I passed the phone to Chas and he and James spoke for several minutes.

Chas spoke to me just before I went up to my bed. “We’ll patrol the place all night so you’ll be okay.”

“They had some nasty weapons,” I showed him the back door.” He examined the bullet holes and muttered something.

He looked at the door frame and pulled out with a pen knife a few bits of shot. “You were fighting against a Kalashnikov with a shotgun?”

“I only had a meat tenderiser, Tom had the shotgun.”

“Which of you downed the captive?”

“Um–I suppose I did,” I explained about the inspection cover and he laughed.

“You mean to tell me you took out a hit man with a meat tenderiser and he had a machine gun?”

“Um–did I do something wrong?”

“No, Missus, you did extremely well, you used your major advantage, you know your territory, he didn’t.”

“I was always telling Tom that one day someone was going to have an accident with that inspection cover. Now I’m rather glad he didn’t do anything.”

“I’ll bet. Go on off to bed, if there’s a problem I’ll call your mobile.”

There weren’t any and we stayed in bed although I don’t think even the kids slept very much, I know I didn’t and I felt exhausted but couldn’t seem to switch off the adrenalin.

Simon and I talked on and off for a couple of hours and I think then that sleep overwhelmed me for an hour or two. I awoke feeling like death warmed up. I decided that the children would stay home today and almost felt like trying to hide somewhere, but I suspect they’d know all my usual hidie-holes and be watching them. Might as well stay here and defend ourselves.

I went upstairs and checked my compound bow. It was working fine and I had a few arrows left–actually a whole box of them, and these weren’t target arrows, they were aluminium killing instruments with a stainless steel barbed head, shafts painted matt black with black feathers except one silver one which was the guide feather. In the dark, these things would be almost invisible and would certainly inflict major wounds. If the police saw them, I’d be in trouble for possession of dangerous weapons, and I had ten of them plus a bow with telescopic sights. If you can draw it and hold it still, you are guaranteed to hit something. If you do, the wound might well be fatal.

Simon had puzzled why they had captured him coming home but hadn’t killed him. I didn’t know either unless someone else was the target–usually his dad. It wasn’t me or the children, of that I was quite sure and it certainly wasn’t Tom.

The troubles with the Russians had more or less stopped although the woman who’d cased the joint, could well have been Russian, but then she could have been lots of other things too. Neither of us were convinced the bad guys were necessarily Russian–so who else?

We didn’t know, though what if the intent was hostage taking for ransoms? Not the wild garlic, but the payment of blood money for safe release of loved ones. They didn’t look or sound like Somalis and even with lightweight boats, we’re a bit away from the sea so they’d have had a long walk and even longer ride back to Somalia.

The children were delighted to have the day off and Henry did suggest sending his car to take them away to Hampstead where he thought they might be even safer. I disagreed and insisted they stay with us.

James arrived at lunch time, by which time my frayed nerves and tiredness and the irritability with the children was in danger of killing one of them. So his visit was a nice diversion for a short while.

I made him a cuppa and he and Simon, Tom and I sat at the kitchen table. “Do you know who are doing this?”

“I’m about ninety five per cent sure.”

“Who is it?”

“The hit squad come from Argentina...”

“The bank takeover, they ran off to Argentina or somewhere down that way.” I said excitedly.

“They did indeed. It appears they have resurfaced and still have a lot of dollars they’d like to use.”

“They’d have even more if we hadn’t been able to freeze their assets.” Simon sounded very tired.

“Quite, which is why they’ve come back to get you and hopefully regain control of their assets.”

“About a hundred million, worth having, well for petty cash,” he smirked, “We’ve applied for an order to seize these in compensation for their criminality.”

“I thought they had been seized?” asked James.

“They have by the government, but I want some of our losses back and this seemed a good way to reclaim some.”

“So you want the government to release them to your bailiffs?” James and Simon were discussing the cause far more knowledgeably than I could have.

“More or less, could save some jobs.”

“So, now they’ve failed, will they toddle off back to South America?” I asked this question.

“I very much doubt it, these are hardened hit men...”

“Well one had a soft skull,” I interrupted.

“They won’t think twice in killing you all.”

“James that has really made me feel safe and secure.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1603 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“The bit I don’t understand is how Irena or whatever her name really is could repay us with such treachery?” I looked at James as if he was the fount of all knowledge.

“Are you certain it was her?” he replied.

“I’m not certain, but it looked very much like her, I think.”

“You think? How much time did you spend with her on the first meeting?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes.” I looked at Stella who nodded in agreement.

“Ten or fifteen minutes–so the woman who came here could have been anyone?”

“Not anyone, Vlad the impaler Putin, she definitely wasn’t.”

James shook his head, “Look I’m trying to be serious here, people’s lives are at stake.”

“Okay, it could have been her. It could have been someone who looked something like her. I don’t know.”

“Have you rerun the advert in the paper?”

“No, don’t think I’ll bother until this business is over.”

“Why not?” asked Stella, “It’d be an extra pair of hands and eyes.”

“It would also be another possible victim if there is any more violence.”

“I think Cathy’s right. We don’t need more strangers in the camp at the moment, besides they could be spies or worse.”

“Like last time,” I suggested.

“Quite,” James agreed, Stella shrugged.

So what do we do next?”

“Batten down the hatches and wait it out.”

“What if they just import a few more hitmen?”

“I don’t think they will, unless of course, this team enjoys some success.”

“Success?” queried Stella.

“Yes, if they manage to kill or injure one or more of you.”

“So why didn’t they just kill Simon?” I asked and Simon looked astonished, then ill.

“Probably because they thought they could get the rest of you in one hit. Let’s face it, the first one is the one which has the most surprise element and thus most likely to succeed.”

“Except they ’ad Mighty Mouse,” added Chas who’d just come in on our little conference. “Looks like the police are back.”

“Okay, check their ID and let ’em in,” instructed James.

A Chief Inspector, accompanied by a man in a suit were let into the house. The man in the police fatigues flashed his warrant card at me but I held out my hand to look at it in more detail, so he had to pull it back out of his pocket and almost sighed.

I could see his name was Wordsworth because it was on his jacket, but I wanted to see what his first name was. He was taller than Simon, and had a military bearing about him, no wonder he looked like someone who ran a SWAT team, whereas Tom and I ran a swot team.

“Who are you?” he asked James.

“Their security adviser, why?”

“Lot of use you were last night.”

“From what I hear, you weren’t much better.” James wasn’t intimidated by this man’s manner.

“If you or your two gorillas are armed, I’m arresting you.”

“And how are you going to find out?” James squared up to the big copper.

I stepped between them, “Boys please leave your playground games for outside. If you so much as touch each other I’ll throw both of you out.”

Chief Inspector Wordsworth laughed, exactly the reaction I expected. James shook his head. “She means it.”

“With all due respect, madam, please don’t make threats you can’t carry out.”

“Because you’ll arrest me too, will you?” I said angrily back at him.

“No, because I’ll put you over my knee and smack your arse.” I saw Simon step towards him, but I motioned him to stay back. James closed his eyes and Tom and Stella stepped back.

“If you try, you’ll regret it.” I spat back at him. The man in the suit shook his head.

The copper laughed at me and I slapped his face. He stopped laughing and stepped towards me, two seconds later he was lying on his back groaning. “She did warn you, Tim.” The man in the suit could speak.

“Where the bloody hell did you learn to do that?” asked the copper, now sitting up and rubbing his chest.

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not, except I could have shot you while lying on the floor.”

“If I thought you’d intended to shoot me or anyone else here, you’d be unconscious, not just winded. You’d also have inhaled your teeth.”

He shook his head and struggled to get up with his stab proof vest. He walked towards me again and held out his hand, I stepped away from him. He shrugged and withdrew it. The suit laughed.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Me? I’m from the Home Office.”

“His name is Mick Thomson, and he works for MI5,” said James.

“Well remembered, Jimmy boy. Right people, can we get down to talking about rounding up these South American morons, or are you all going to fight each other until you’re too tired to argue any longer?”

In lots of ways I’m surprised the security services hadn’t been interested in us earlier. Apparently they had, but had kept a watching brief until now because they thought they’d better take a hand. I suspect Henry might have had some finger in this particular pie, just as he’d arranged for a group of commandos to visit the woods the night of the battle of Stanebury.

Over cups of tea, the suited man, Mick Thomson, suggested what we do to prevent more casualties and against the Chief Inspector’s wishes, he declared that I’d be armed with a handgun in case the bad guys got in the house, in which case I’d be expected to shoot to kill–‘after all, you’ve done it before.’

I declined his offer.

“Not going to play with bows and arrows again are you, Lady Cameron?”

“If I was thinking of arming myself, that would be more useful.”

“Especially with nasty barbed arrows, eh?” he smiled as I’d imagine a spider does when something walks into its web and gets stuck. I felt myself blush. “They’re illegal, but then you know that, don’t you?”

“So are handguns.”

“Not on authorised personnel.”

“Why not give it to Simon?”

“With all due respect to your husband, you’re the one with the record in combat.”

“You make it sound like I’m a soldier or something.”

“No, dear lady, you’re far deadlier than most soldiers I’ve met.”

“Look if you’re planning a trap, and I suspect you are with us as the bait, why do we need any sort of weapons, and aren’t you expecting to take them alive or at least intending to?”

“These guys aren’t just hoodlums, they’re a death squad trained by their secret service.”

“Are you suggesting that they’ve been sent by their government?”

“Off the record, yes, they’d like the Malvinos back.”

“Stuff that,” said Simon, “not until all those sheep vote for it. They stay British and they’ve already said joining Argentina was a baaad idea.” Everyone glared at him and he blushed.

“What has killing us to do with achieving a political end?”

“In reality, very little but if they’d been promised much of the hundred million taken from your bank, they might just become interested.”

“Like common criminals?” I gasped.

“With that sort of money, it’s hardly common is it, dear lady?”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I retorted, and he smiled. He was a slimy wheeler dealer, but there was something about him which showed through all that crap, but he was no James Bond–then he wouldn’t be, that’s MI6.

“So, returning to our plan, here’s what we do...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1604 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Thomson’s plan was simple, I hoped that the team sent to kill us were equally simple. If not, there could be trouble. Because our farmhouse was a little isolated, they could afford to use it for a fire-fight if it became necessary. I thought that was a silly idea, we had children present and if they became collateral damage I’d feel like killing the whole damned lot on both sides.

With some help from a group of men who I suspected were soldiers, we temporarily reinforced one of the rooms–my study, would you believe–with sand bags and a metal door shield on the inside. If the house became under fire we were to retreat to the secure room and stay there until told everything was clear.

I got the kids to practice evacuation into the safe room though I wasn’t too sure about the whole place being lined with sandbags–it would take hours to clean up afterwards.

There was no real expectation of an assault in the next few days, they’d lie low and then hit us when we least expected it. However, had I been planning the hitm not the defence, I might have hit the second night because it wasn’t expected.

Reinforcing the room had taken several hours and the front door and back door also had some sandbags built around them to offer some safety to anyone trying to defend them, sort of like Sahara porches. By tea time the squaddies had gone and all we had were Chas and Dave, Jim having gone to do more research on the woman we’d saved and the one who claimed it was she who’d visited us.

Despite my disagreement, we were left a Heckler and Koch pistol which was handed to me, and the copper whose chest I’d kicked earlier, told me not to let the children play with it. Another quickly showed me how to use it and explained there were twenty rounds in it. What were they expecting, the Gunfight at the OK Corral?

Where was I supposed to keep it? I knew Trish would love to have a closer look at it and I suspected Danny might too. So it needed to be somewhere safe, away from small hands but accessible at short notice–I was not going to tuck it down my pants nor was I going to walk round with a holster, looking like a cross between a cowgirl and Modesty Blaise.

In the end I shoved it in my desk drawer and locked it, hoping that no one saw me placing it there. I left the key under my blotter in case I needed it quickly.

I was tempted to make the children sleep in my study but the rest of the adults considered it was safe for them to use their own beds, after all C&D were patrolling outside and both were armed.

So at midnight, I reluctantly went to bed tired, but the adrenalin meant I wasn’t sleepy. I lay there with Simon, talking very quietly and straining my ears in case something happened. I did eventually go off to sleep but my dreams were troubled by all sorts of horrible things including a flashback to the escape from the cottage in Scotland when we were ambushed as we met up with the police. Instead of the car going into the loch and staying there, the men inside it got out and came after me, seemingly bulletproof despite my emptying the Kalashnikov into them. I woke up sweating and with pulse racing.

I was pleased that it was only a dream, and slipped off to the loo. Coming back I looked out of the bedroom window. Somewhere not too far away I thought I heard a fox yelp. A moment later another answered it then a third. I’d never heard foxes like that.

I ran back to the bed and shook Simon. “Wassamatta?”

“There’s something going on, get the kids into the safe room.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take a look.”

“No you’re not, let Chas and Dave deal with it.”

“Yeah, okay.” By now I had my jeans on and was pulling a couple of sweaters over my bra–it was cold out there tonight. Next came a black fleece jacket and Simon’s ski mask. Black shoes I laced onto my feet were rubber soled I reached into the wardrobe and withdrew the bow and arrows, placing them in a quiver.

Simon was busy escorting the sleepy children down to the safe room as I grabbed the image intensifier and slipped out through the window and onto the veranda outside our window. I was aware that anyone with a similar device would see me but counted on not too many of them being about.

I surveyed as much of the garden as I could see from my vantage point and sure enough someone was moving about, though I couldn’t see if they were ours or the bad guys. I loaded my bow, just in case.

He was carrying some sort of rifle. It wasn’t Chas or Dave, they had small automatic weapons, Uzi’s or something. Now the problem was, could it be a soldier or a bad guy? He looked towards me and I ducked behind the wall.

Next thing he seemed to be aiming at the back door. He was going to shoot one of our defenders. Not if I could help it. He was standing leaning his rifle against a tree, probably sixty feet from me and seventy from the porch he was aiming at.

To my horror, I saw another two moving round behind him. I considered the range was within my capability and hoping he was a bad guy, I loosed the arrow and ducked down. I heard the screams–in Spanish as I slipped back inside the window and bolted both it and the shutters.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Simon as I turned to face into the room.

“Giving Chas and Dave a hand, why?”

“There are ten thousand frightened children down there waiting for you to comfort them.”

“My wardrobes over there, put on a dress and pretend to be me, I need to see where the other two blokes went.” I ran out of the room and across to Tom’s. Thankfully he wasn’t there but down protecting his grandchildren.

His window faces more or less over the back door, I couldn’t see either of the two who’d run behind the one I hit, but I could hear sounds of hissed instructions being called between Chas and Dave. I’d been told to leave them outside, they were ex special forces men who knew what they were doing. I hoped so.

I slipped open Tom’s window just enough to be able to see what was happening outside. I called quietly, “I hit one of them, there’s at least two more.”

“Copy,” called back Chas.

I heard a sound like a whizz and then a phutt. “Incoming,” called Chas and I spotted one shooting at him and another trying to outflank him.

“Bandits at two o’clock and twelve o’clock,” I called and he fired a couple of bursts, the two attackers threw themselves on the ground. I withdrew back to the house and locked the window.

Simon had called the number we’d been given and the next moment a helicopter sounded overhead and a searchlight began to shine into the trees and bushes. The cavalry had arrived.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1605 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

For the next hour the darkness was rent with the sound of small arms fire and sirens. I could see the headline in the paper the next day, ‘Firework display gets out of hand,’ or‘Military exercise alarms sleeping children.’ No one would tell the truth, it was beyond belief or more than the lies would be. An exclusive would be given to one paper or radio station and that would be it.

With the infra red equipment they have on helicopters these days it would mean all the bandits would be rounded up and hopefully an end to the whole business. Although in reality all it would take would be someone to draw up in a van outside the house with a bunch of flowers or a parcel and shoot whoever opened the door.

I wondered about making the property more defendable, getting stronger doors, shutters on the ground floor windows, an electric gate with a speaker and rebuilding the fences in something more substantial, like brick. It wouldn’t keep out trained operatives, who can climb six or seven foot walls quite easily, even with razor wire on the top of them. The machine gun post and control towers we’d leave for later.

I did think about trip wires in the woodland, but the kids play there and we have badgers and foxes which would trip them. It looked like some sort of compromise was necessary or we needed to move.

By three, the fighting seemed over and the helicopter had flown away–it was a naval one, a lynx with all sorts of weaponry aboard, but mainly used for the electronic surveillance stuff. The cavalry were a police SWAT team and a small team of special forces who so happened to be attached to a warship in Portsmouth harbour.

The man in the suit, Mick Thomson, wouldn’t give too many details, except to say one of the attackers was arrested having been injured in the knee with what looked like an arrow, except they didn’t know of any angry Cherokee in the area, so the man might have been mistaken and it could have been a bullet that hit him. The missile had hit the side of his leg and shattered his kneecap. I blushed but not through any sense of guilt.

With the injured man, another four were captured and carted off for interrogation. It was assumed the man running the show would escape, possibly via Spain, pretending to be a Spanish national. However, Thomson suggested he might have a surprise, in that the Spanish authorities were quite clued up and would attempt to arrest him as and when he landed there.

Two of the attackers were injured, one after resisting arrest and the other was shot but not badly injured. So five men caught, three of whom were wounded or otherwise injured by the defenders. Chief Inspector Wordsworth was also injured apprehending the one who resisted arrest–his nose was broken by the bandit head butting him. He apparently still caught the man and knocked him unconscious.

I attempted to thank all the men who had come to our rescue but Thomson told me he’d do it for me, and for the police and naval team, it was a real training exercise, only with live ammo.

“But they could have been killed?”

“Yeah, but the rest would learn from it.”

“That would be a great consolation to the family of the deceased.”

“Alas, that would be true–but we train these guys very well and if they get shot it usually means we either missed something or they did. These would be assassins may have been professionals, but they’re piss poor compared to our special forces lads, who could have killed them all and no one would have heard a thing.”

“So why didn’t they then?” I asked the obvious question, least ways I thought so.

“Just in case their leader was watching.”

“You’ve lost me,” well he had. I mean if they thought the guy was watching why didn’t they get him too?

“He was watching electronically, they were all wired up with digicams and sound stuff. The bangs and lights were enough for him to know we were ready for them.”

“If you were ready, how come we had to call you?”

“We were on yellow alert, to have this lot standing around all night would have cost a fortune, especially if they hadn’t attacked until next week.”

“No, but I had to pay for the two men we had protecting us.”

“Lady Cameron, it’s not as if this is a council house and your husband a street cleaner is it–I suspect you could afford it.”

“Yes but when Simon’s bonus is discussed, the media won’t be too happy, will they, even if I tried to explain most of it was spent protecting the family from terrorists–most of the public would probably be happy if the terrorists got him.”

“I feel you’re exaggerating somewhat, Lady Cameron.”

“A little, but you know how bankers are perceived by the public, it’s probably worse than estate agents and lawyers. I mean public opinion caused that bloke from RBS to eschew his million pound bonus, and I doubt terrorists have been after him.”

“I don’t think other banking families seem to attract the ire yours does, though I’m sure you don’t do much different to them in regard to financial activities and services.”

“I can’t comment on those, Mr Thomson, I don’t know what we do, let alone other banks, but I do know we won’t give in to anyone who threatens us.”

“I admire your spirit, Lady Cameron, but I think opening a bookshop might make fewer enemies than an international bank.”

He left after telling me to keep the H&K somewhere safe until he decided it wasn’t needed again. I protested that in doing so I was breaking the law and could end up with a prison sentence. He simply told me that would not happen provided it was kept safe and only used in dire emergency–‘after all, barbed arrows are hardly legal, are they?’ That did make me shudder a little and I resolved to hide them more effectively than just in my wardrobe. I was sure Maureen could design some sort of concealed cupboard for weapons. I had a flashback to movies like Kickass and some of Arnie’s where the hero had a whole room full of weapons suitable for sinking an aircraft carrier plus more guns than the average military magazine. I chuckled, a cupboard built into the wall of my study would do fine, and I could hide my biscuits in there too.

The next couple of days saw us recovering from the trauma of the attack. I also demanded the removal of the sandbags from my study–I couldn’t get to my biscuits, the drawer of the filing cabinet was blocked by sandbags.

I sent Maureen an email saying what I wanted and she replied that it would take a week or two to organise but that would be fine. It wouldn’t be a cupboard but a mock fireplace, which would have a real gas fire fitted to an external wall and the fireplace would contain two lockable but hidden cupboards with a release switch disguised as part of the decoration. It sounded quite good.

With Tom’s agreement, I also started pricing security gates making the front of the house more protected. Simon agreed to fund much of it as well as security lights and some infra red CCTV–could watch the badgers at night.

James would advise us on that except he was in Russia trying to discover about this girl, so some of the planning would have to wait. I wasn’t too disappointed, it seemed winter had arrived and everywhere was freezing so having the house knocked about again wasn’t appealing by any stretch of the imagination.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1606 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

With the threat seemingly lifted life could begin to return to normal–our sort of normal–yeah, okay we live in a parallel universe compared to everyone else but were still governed by the same laws of physics and politeness.

I’d arranged appointments with yet another speech and language therapist and at fifty quid an hour, I tried to make sure anything she did with Mima was optimised. After three appointments the woman spoke to me out of Mima’s hearing.

“I’m not getting anywhere, this child seems to either have some sort of neurological problem relating to her forming certain consonants or her tongue seems to be unable to move appropriately to form them. I’ve tried exercises which don’t work and I see two of my colleagues have tried at different times as well. I hate to admit defeat but she is incurable.

I knew the feeling, I’d done the, ‘Round and round the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran,’ until we were both tired and fed up. I began to wonder if the correct version was wound the wugged wock. The ENT bloke just shook his head and referred to speech therapy, they shook their heads and told me to get used to it. Meems didn’t seem too bothered but it would certainly make life harder as an adult. I even tried the blue energy–it wasn’t some sort of damage or illness so it wasn’t interested. All that happened when I really zapped her was the scratch she had on her nose healed up as we watched.

On the first weekend of February, when they were forecasting snow in different places, I took Meems with me to do some shopping, the other two were busy playing some new computer game Simon had brought home for them.

I was exhausted by the crowds of people buying as if they were going to be stuck in Alaska for the next three months. We barely managed to get enough milk for the week. I usually get three or four six-pintas, we managed to get three–the last three. I wanted some more bread, and the story was the same there, I got two thick sliced wholemeal loaves, the last two.

Okay, if push came to shove, I had a six pint bottle in the freezer and two loaves there as well, plus what I could make unless we had power cuts which don’t usually happen. Didn’t think the generator was up to running a bread machine. I got some more flour and yeast and sugar for the bread machine, in case I had to make our own bread. I do about half of it, but sandwiches or toast are usually commercial stuff, it fits in the toaster easier. Also the brand I buy with kibbled grain is quite palatable.

Meems and I were sitting it out in Morrison’s coffee shop watching the locusts stripping the shelves of all edible material, when I spotted Mrs Browne-Coward and the delightful Petunia. They had a large trolley piled high with all sorts of things, no wonder they made me feel thin.

My own trolley was pretty full, but then we did have significantly more people living in our house than I thought they did. I tried to look away, but she saw me and after depositing Petunia alongside me, blocking my exit, she went off to get their drinks or snacks.

“Hello, Petunia,” I said trying to act like an adult to a child I as good as despised.

“Hello,” she replied sulkily.

“Hewwo,” offered Meems and Petunia looked aghast at her.

“Don’t you talk funny?,” she observed of Meems.

“I don’t,” said Meems indignantly.

“You do, you sound like a twit.”

“I’m not a twit, you is a twit.”

“I said it first.” Petunia said sitting herself up to maximise intimidation.

“I don’t cawe, you’s stiww a twit, a big twit.”

The duchess of the garden centre came back with enough food to feed the foreign legion for a week, no wonder they both bulged in lots of places–all of them undesirable, except on elephant seals.

The two girls were still throwing the odd insult at each other so as soon as Brown-Cow arrived I excused us as we had other places to go. As we left I heard Petunia say of Mima, “That kid is a retard.”

“Wossa weetard, Mummy?” asked Meems as we recovered our shopping trolley.

“It’s an insult, Meems, just ignore it.” She did but only until we got home and then she asked our resident encyclopaedia, Trish. Trish then came bounding into me.

“Why did Petunia call Mima a retard?”

“I don’t know, why did she call her names?” I replied.

“She’s the retard, not Meems–silly cow, silly, brown cow,” she extemporised and went off laughing.

“I’s not a wetard, Mummy, them’s stupid.”

“No, people who are retarded have difficulty learning things compared to ordinary people, often because of brain damage or illness, like a stroke. You have no such difficulty, in fact you’re quite a clever little soul, so Petunia was mistaken.”

“Petunia’s a wetard.” She laughed to herself and went off to play.

I don’t think I have ever despised a child before in my life, except perhaps when I was a child myself–in which case Robert Bunthorpe who tied me to lamp post with my skipping rope after which he pulled down my trousers and threw them over Mrs Jenkin’s hedge followed quickly by my underpants. I was six and he was eight, he called me a sissy and told me only boys wore trousers. I hit him with a cricket bat the next day and my parents were called to the school.

Fortunately all I did was superficial damage although he left me alone afterwards, so I got a bollocking from my dad about not using excessive force at the same time his eyes were twinkling and he actually approved of me dealing with a bully.

When I hit Mary Samson with a cricket bat–yeah the same one–after she pushed me down in the playground, Dad read the riot act and I didn’t touch a cricket bat again until I went to high school.

So why did I despise Petunia? She was particularly objectionable–almost to the level of an art form. She was loud and aggressive, petty and mean minded–and she was a bully.

The only bully I couldn’t deal with myself was Malcolm Matthews, or Em-Em as he was called. He was a real psycho and also five years older than I was. He spotted me as wimp almost on the first day and made my life hell for a couple of terms. I felt powerless to deal with him. He took money off me, stole my packed lunches or any sweeties I had, and also took anything nice I had, like my first decent fountain pen.

Daddy had bought it for me when I went to the grammar school and within a month, Matthews had it. When asked why I was using the old cheap one I’d had in junior school, I told Dad I’d lost it. He was furious and I got a hiding. During it he noticed some bruising on my body, he stopped smacking me and asked what had happened.

Naturally, I told him I’d fallen and he didn’t believe me. In the end, on the threat of more punishment I told him that Matthews had taken it and beaten me up to get my pen. Dad played hell with the school and Matthews denied it all. There were no witnesses, he got off and I got beaten up several more times.

He terrorised several other younger boys and some of the older ones too. But in the summer term, he bullied someone too far and the next day they came armed with a kitchen knife and stuck it in his back–caught a kidney apparently and he died before the ambulance could get there. There was an awful stink after that, the boy who stabbed him got sent to a secure children’s unit and after lots of media exposure, the school finally sorted out some of the bullying–at least by the boys. Later on, much of mine came from the staff, the head master especially–but then I have gone on about him ad nauseam before.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1607 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Si.

“I was thinking about a boy in school who used to bully me.”

I could see synapses in Simon’s brain connecting–Meems–Petunia–bullying–Cathy. “How did he bully you?”

“Every way imaginable, he was completely obnoxious.”

“Oh.”

“He got his comeuppance, though.”

“How so?” Simon seemed quite interested.

“Another of his victims brought a kitchen knife to school and stabbed him–he died before they could get him to hospital.”

“We had a shooting.” He announced quite calmly.

“Really? In a place like Millfield?”

“Yeah, two of the sixth-formers fell out over a girl.”

“Cherchez la femme,” I offered.

“Quite.”

“So what happened?”

“The one shot the other, he was n the shooting club, took a rifle and a clip of bullets but instead of going to the ranges, he went into the school and shot his rival three times.”

“Bit excessive, wasn’t it?”

“He meant to kill him and did.”

“All over a girl–how sad is that?”

“Better than over a boy, perhaps.”

“Oh I don’t know, seems okay to me.”

“Yeah but you’re a woman.”

“I knew you’d notice one day.”

“I noticed before you were–how’s that for forward thinking?”

He had me there or did he? “Si, I’ve always been me, I was born me.”

“Okay, I noticed you looked a bit like you before you were you–properly, sort of–you know what I mean.” He blushed and I sniggered. “Bitch,” he muttered and I sniggered some more.

“What happened to the boy who shot the other one?”

“They sent him off to a young offenders, his dad was a politician in Greece or Italy, can’t remember. Probably out by now.”

“What about the girl involved?”

“Dunno, some local scrubber I expect.”

That took me by surprise and was dismissively–no contemptuously–sexist as well as snobbish. I told him so.

“Look, there were girls in Street and Somerton who loved to go out with the boys from the school, they thought we had money.”

“Did you have to treat them with such contempt?”

“Why not? They were only there for the goodtimes.”

“Even so, I don’t like the thought of you being so dismissive about women.”

“You are about blokes.”

“I am not,” I protested hoping I was correct.

“You were very deprecatory about the window cleaners the other week.”

“So were you if I remember correctly, besides they didn’t even get the bird poo off the windows.” A herring gull with laser guided bomb sights had caught all three of the windows in our bedroom–it was like carpet bombing only with more precision. Mind you if the windows had been opening, it might well have ended with carpet bombing.

“No they didn’t, did they? But did you have to go on about all men are bastards simply because he didn’t clean the windows very well?”

“I did exempt you and Tom.”

“Well I didn’t think much of your feminist rant.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He was pretty well proving I was right.

“You started it, girl, not I.” He had me there.

“Mummy, can I ’ave some ice cream–please?”

“Trish, you know as well as I do the correct way to ask for ice cream is, please may I have some ice cream?”

“Yeah, ’course you can, can I ’ave some too?”

Simon rattled with laughter while I felt anything but amused. “Don’t laugh you’ll only encourage her.” That only made him laugh more.

Emboldened by his laughter she said, “I’m waiting.”

“Yes, darling, you can wait a bit longer.”

“Like how long?”

“About two weeks.”

“Two weeks? I’m not waiting that long.” She went off to the freezer.

“Trish, if you so much as open that freezer, I’ll send you to bed this instant.”

“Well you do it then.”

“I have told you that you won’t get any ice cream for two weeks, you can make that three now.”

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed loudly and Simon nearly fell off his seat.

“Swearing is unbecoming in young ladies.”

“Bitch,” she muttered as she walked away.

I was flabbergasted by her behaviour and was about to call her back when Simon stopped me. “But I’m not standing for that,” I said angrily.

“No, carry on then and make things worse.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I thought we’d agreed if they swear we ignore it rather than give them a bat to beat us with.”

“She was being obnoxious.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t get anywhere did it? She didn’t get her ice cream plus you’ve told her that she won’t for three weeks for her cheek. So it’s all proved counter-productive.”

“It might have done,” I was still reeling at her vulgarity.

“She’s testing your boundaries–they stayed firm–she’ll feel secure.”

“No she won’t, she’ll feel my hand on her bum–the little minx has gone out to the garage, the one with the over-flow freezer in; I reckon she’s going to help herself.”

“She takes after her mother more each day,” Simon laughed.

“I thought it was you she followed, purloining things–you know, excessive overdrafts and that sort of thing.”

“A bank is intended for making money, Cathy. You’re confusing us with a charity–they also make money but no one complains about the size of their bonuses.”

“I didn’t know they got any.”

“Cathy, my sweet little innocent, they all get bonuses, bankers, CEOs of large companies, civil servants, doctors–the whole damn lot.”

“I don’t think Dr Smith gets a bonus.”

“Cathy, nice as he is, he’s still a contractor hired by the NHS as a GP. They’re all individual practices, independent businesses and quite well paid too. If they hit their targets, they get bonuses–I know we bank for them, remember?”

I felt quite disillusioned. I knew doctors were well paid and had no quarrel with it, except some took the piss rather and screwed even more out of the system than they were entitled to claim. It’s bit like MPs except the NHS has its own fraud squad, don’t think the House of Commons has unless it’s very recent.

I shuddered thinking about it, no wonder there’s so much immoderate behaviour, the system is funding it by giving excessive rewards to relative failures. The youngsters see it and want the same only in greater amounts. Is it surprising all the youngsters think that if they win Big Brother, they’ll be set for life. What idiocy is that?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1608 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I excused myself from Simon and almost snuck across the driveway to the garage and dragged open the door to surprise Trish who dropped the tub of ice cream, the lid flying in one direction the rest of it going in another.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

She stood looking at the ground, but offered no defence or apology.

“Right, you can take the tub and the lid and wash the lid under cold running water, then dry it, then you can put the id back on the tub and return to the freezer. NOW.” I said loudly and she picked up the tub and lid and ran across to the kitchen. Five minutes later she was back and placed the ice cream back in the freezer. “Now you can go up to your room and stay there until I tell you to come down.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy.” She started to cry, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“Too late, up to your room and stay there–go.” I dismissed her and she ran sobbing across the drive and into the house. I closed up the shed and locked it then went back to the house.

“What’s the matter with Trish, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“She’s been naughty and I’ve sent her to her room. Don’t you go up and talk with her, she’s being punished for deliberately disobeying what I said to her.”

“Oh, okay,” she went back to the dining room where she had her computer.

“Hard hearted Cathy,” said Simon when I returned to the kitchen.

“No, I was maintaining the boundaries which you said were so important.”

“She was at the ice cream was she?”

“I caught her as she took it from the freezer.”

“She dropped it?”

“She did.”

“That’s what she was washing?”

“The lid, yes, the rest of the tub landed right way up.”

“My wife the martinet.” He chuckled to himself.

“Children need to learn that I mean what I say.”

“Absolutely.”

“So why aren’t you backing me up?”

“You need back up?”

“Don’t be facetious, Simon, it doesn’t behoove you.”

“I thought you were a bit hard on her, no ice cream for three weeks.”

“That’ll be a month now.”

“Does she actually understand what you’re doing?”

“I think so, her comprehension is well in advance of her age.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

“Well you’re her mother, but a whole month without ice cream...”

“It’s probably longer since I ate any.”

“You’re twenty eight, Cathy, she is seven.”

“I’ve punished her, I might relent on the ice cream but she stays up in her room until I say she can come down–agreed?”

“I’m too tired to argue, Cathy. I think I’ll take the dog for a walk.”

“Why don’t you take Danny with you, do some male bonding?”

“He’s out playing football, isn’t he?”

“Oh is he–can’t remember where they all are. Take Meems then, she likes to walk with you or Livvie or even both.”

I left the kitchen and I saw Simon go into the dining room where the girls were. My own destination was my study where I did some more on the rodentia and the UK study.

I had this dinky software that enabled me to enter either a post code or an ordnance survey grid reference and it would include the site on the a map, which could be zoomed in or out, showing you quite a large scale or a small one. It was just tedious to enter the data. I did think of paying Trish to do it, but it’s too important and if it was discovered that she had done it, I’d be in all sorts of bother. Maybe I can find a student with enough functioning brain cells to do some of the donkey work–a big ask I know–but just maybe...

I did an hour of that before I got bored out of my skull and emailed the local paper to rerun my advert for a housekeeper. I don’t enjoy interviewing although I think Stella does, she’s into mind games as you might have noticed.

Thinking about all that and past occasions, I used to get so uptight worrying if we’d end up with someone who was transphobic and would react badly to Trish, Billie or Julie. As we don’t have anyone now with aberrant genitalia, it shouldn’t be a problem. I thought about Billie for a moment. I had a photo of all the children together with Stella, Simon and Tom from a previous Christmas and I still missed the little darling. I felt a degree of resentment towards the universe for loading so much upon such little shoulders then tried to console myself that her time with us had been as good as she could have wished for. She even died doing something she loved and she won’t have the problems of surgery and more stigma.

Tom had had her name engraved on the headstone of his wife and daughter’s grave, and we interred her ashes there. I got up and checked the dining room, the girls had gone out with their dad, I ran up the stairs and into Trish.

“Wash your face and hands and be downstairs in two minutes.” She was and met me at the bottom of the stairs where I gave her her coat.

“Where are we going, Mummy?”

“Out, in the car.” I pipped the locks and she got into the back of my Jaguar and onto a child seat.

I got in and dumped my bag on the front passenger seat before driving off. “Where are we going, Mummy?”

“You’ll see in a minute.” I drove to a supermarket and dragged Trish into the building with me. She offered to get a trolley and I told her we wouldn’t need one. I bought a pot of miniature daffodil bulbs which were just coming into flower and paid for them at the self service check out. Amazingly it worked without needing someone to come and sort it like it usually does.

Back in the car I saw Trish think of asking me again where we were going but then deciding not to. I pulled up by the cemetery and parked the car. Now she knew where we were going and asked if she could carry the plants. I nodded and handed them to her. She carried them in one hand, in the plastic carrier, the other she held on to my hand and I felt my irritation with her recede, so by the time we got to the grave I felt calmer and was able to focus on what we were doing.

We removed the flowers we’d left before and which were now dead, placing the pot of daffs into the vase so they’d stay upright as long as no one stole them or vandalised the grave–it happens, though I don’t understand why or who would do such things. If I caught them I wouldn’t be answerable for my actions, which would be extremely prejudiced.

We watered the pot and as Trish placed the vase back on the grave she spoke to her dead sister and the other occupants. I had a sense of love emanating from the grave which is total nonsense, there were two ancient bodies and a pile of ashes in the ground here that was all–obviously my imagination, yet Trish seemed to be surrounded by a beautiful rose coloured hue. Must have been some sort of reflection–sunset–a bit early. More likely my wishful thinking.

“Billie and Aunty Catherine liked the flowers, and Granny Celia thought they were lovely. She thinks you’re very kind but that you need to relax a bit more.”

“She what?”

“That’s what she said, Mummy, she said to enjoy your children and she says thank you for looking after Gramps.”

“Is she still there?” I asked my seven year old.

“No, she’s gone now.”

“Pity,” I said as we walked back to the car.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1609 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

As we got in the car, I looked at Trish–it was like that kid from The Sixth Sense “I see dead people,” but said in a matter of fact manner. This child was amazing. I caught sight of myself in the rear view mirror, I’d done some strange things too. Perhaps the strangest was when I rescued Julie from her dad, who’d gone a bit strange and threatened to kill her. He actually tried and somehow I caught her, stopped the bleeding and healed the wound. Perhaps Trish and I were suited to each other in the strangeness stakes. The rest of the family were relatively normal when graded on the Addam’s Family scale.

“You actually saw Celia, did you?” I asked Trish.

“Oh yes, she was looking at you saying that she wished she’d got to know you while she was alive.”

“Did you see Billie?”

“No, she wasn’t there, but she comes to the house now and again.”

“She comes to the house–you’ve seen her there?”

“Once or twice, Mummy, she comes to see you because she knows you worry about her.”

I nodded and felt my eyes growing moist.

“I think she’d love to be able to tell you she’s okay–she said they did try in a dream–but you seem unable to believe it.”

I felt tears run down my face.

“She’s here now, Mummy.”

“Where?” I gasped. I glanced behind me and Trish was sitting with her eyes closed as if she was in some sort of trance.

“I’m alright, Mummy, really I am. Granny and Grampa Watts and Granny Celia and Auntie Catherine look after me very well...”

I felt tears running down my face as the voice of my deceased daughter spoke to me while Trish remained in a trance, immobile and eyes closed.

“I have to go now, Mummy. I love you and thank you for the best time of my life. Please don’t worry about me. Goodbye–I love you, Mummy.”

“Billie,” I shouted in my grief and Trish seemed to jerk out of her stupor.

“Oh has she gone? I was going to ask her about Schrodinger’s cat.”

I sat and wept for several minutes while Trish attempted to console me finally when I regained control I asked her what she’d experienced.

“I was just sitting her while she was sitting next to you wanting to cuddle you but she couldn’t, so I sat back and let her talk to you. Then she said she had to go and she just disappeared. I heard you call and it was like I’d been asleep, but I hadn’t–had I?”

“I don’t know what to think, darling, I heard her voice–I’m sure it was her voice–and it was lovely and yet it brought back how much I miss her.”

“But she said she was alright, didn’t she, Mummy.”

“Yes she did, sweetheart.”

“An’ she said not to worry about her, didn’t she?”

“She did, my darling.”

“So you mustn’t get upset again or she won’t come to visit you.”

“How will I know she’s there?”

“She said you’d know.”

“Does that mean I’ll see her?”

“I don’t know, Mummy; she just said you’ll know.”

“Thank you, darling. I think we’d better keep this between ourselves don’t you, in case it frightens the others.”

“Oh Livvie and Mima have seen her several times.”

“At the house?”

“Yeah.”

“And said nothing?”

She shrugged, “They thought it would upset you.”

“She came to see them?” I wasn’t sure what I felt about that.

“No, she came to see you, she was always with you when they saw her.”

“So why can’t I see her? It’s like this blue light stuff–I’m the only one who can’t see it.”

“You try too hard, Mummy. It’s easy, just relax and it happens–can you see it now?”

I glanced behind me and Trish was engulfed in a beautiful peach coloured light. I nodded, “Yes, darling, I can see it.”

She undid her seat belt and leant over my seat and we hugged, then after she secured herself. “Do I have to wait a whole month for some ice cream, Mummy?”

It was mid afternoon, “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this either,” I said and we drove off to a little cafe and she had ice cream while I drank a pot of tea and tried to understand what had happened a little while before.

Had anything happened? Did I just imagine it? Was it just tiredness or grief brought on by my argument with Trish? I didn’t understand any of it, especially having a child who appeared not only to be able to heal but was also mediumistic–something I found so difficult to understand.

Obviously I must have had some sort of hallucination caused by stress and grief and imagined Trish had seen or done all that stuff. Yeah that was it, I hallucinated. I’d go to bed earlier tonight, that would help–yeah an early night.

When we got home, we saw the Porsche Boxster parked in the drive, James was here. Perhaps we’d have some info on that woman who came to the house. Trish and I walked back to the house holding hands. James was talking to Stella and Simon.

“Ah here she is, we wondered where you were. Everything alright now?” asked Si meaning between Trish and I.

“You mean the ice cream embargo?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded and smiled.

“It’s been lifted for the moment pending further discussions.”

Trish ran and hugged Simon and then Stella. “We went for a walk.”

“Where did you go?”

“We went up to the cemetery, Daddy, and put some flowers on the grave.”

“That was nice,” observed Stella.

“It was Mummy’s idea, but she let me do it.”

“What sort of flowers did you take?” Stella was just making conversation with Trish.

“Daffy-dils, in a pot.”

“Oh that was nice, they’ll last for a little while, won’t they?”

“Yes, that’s what we thought–unless some bar-steward pinches them.” I blushed and the others nearly died laughing. Trish simply walked away having delivered her knockout punch-line. Sometimes I wonder if she’s some sort of alien.

I made us all a fresh pot of tea and prompted James to tell us all.

“I’ve been to Latvia, Moscow and the Ukraine–no one has any idea who this woman was. None of the agencies have been using her, including covert stuff. She is a total mystery.”

“What about the real Irena or whatever her name was?”

“She’s in the US at the moment, working for her master’s degree in electronic engineering. She hasn’t been anywhere, she’s been seen every day by her teachers there.”

“This gets sillier and sillier, Jim–just what is going on?”

“I can only assume that the guys who hit you were from the Argentine, possibly to do with the ones who stiffed you over the bank deal. It was thought they were in Buenos Aires or thereabouts.”

“Could we find them and ask them?”

“They disappeared just after the attacks failed, it appears the secret service there are not too happy with their visitors on account of there being several of their operatives in British custody. The ambassador has been summoned to the Foreign Office for a dressing down. Mr Hague will enjoy himself no end.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1610 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“So, is that it, then?” I asked James.

“I’ll keep digging if you like but it’s going to get expensive and I really don’t know if I’ll find much else.”

“Why not try Buenos Aires?” asked Si.

“Sorry, I don’t want to disappear just yet.”

“Is it that dangerous?” I felt shocked.

“Not for normal tourists although their president has been trying to stir things up I hear, just because we’re replacing an old destroyer with a new one.”

“And the Duke is going to be flying a chopper about the place.”

“Duke?” asked Si.

“Yes, William Wales, Duke of Cambridge, part time chopper pilot.”

“How can he stand to leave that cracking crumpet behind for an island full of sheep–although, you did say Wales, didn’t you?” he smirked and James snorted.

“Simon, how dare you? Some of my best friends are Welsh.”

“Oh yeah, Offa’s Dyke,” snapped Stella.

“Stella, isn’t it about time you got over that?” I gave back to her.

“What’s this?” asked James.

“Nothing, a good friend of mine who happens to be gay worked with Stella for a short time and they got drunk together and she propositioned Stella who was suitably horrified and has been vigorously denying she’s gay ever since.”

“It wasn’t like that at all, your creepy friend Siá¢n was always sniffing round me.”

“She isn’t creepy.” I defended my ex-school chum.

“She’s nice,” added Julie.

“She’s okay and she’s a friend of Cathy’s, end of story.” My lord and master had spoken and for once I was quite happy with his opinion.

I thought back to my experiences with gay women, only Dilly had been a problem, so maybe I was lucky, on the other hand I wasn’t into gay women so they had nothing to fear from me or I from them. I was in competition with other heterosexual women–or would have been if I hadn’t landed Simon. These days I’d need a bigger net and winch–he seriously needs to lose some weight. Mind you, I’ve put on five pounds in the past six months, so I need to do some more exercise and less eating.

Julie who’d been sitting at the back of this group excused herself as her mobile began to emit strains of Lady Gaga. She returned a few minutes later. “Mummy, that was Phoebe, can she come down some time soon?”

I hadn’t thought of her for a long time. “I thought she was coming for Christmas, what happened?”

“Her mum wasn’t very well.”

I remembered that she’d been quite ill with cancer at one point, or at least of Neal telling me she was and he wasn’t the sort to exaggerate, except when he described me as beautiful. “Yeah, better make sure you can get the Saturday off first.”

“Oh I will, they owe me one, thanks, Mummy.” She practically skipped out of the dining room.

“I hope they don’t get themselves kidnapped again,” said Stella.

“Kidnapped?” James was suddenly interested.

“They were chased by a thug, that’s all, I went and picked them up.”

“Like hell, you rescued them in suitable Batwoman style.” Stella was always prone to exaggeration–at least as much as I was to understatement.

“Cathy, I can believe anything where you’re concerned, especially mayhem and mischief, they seem to follow you about like long lost friends.”

“Me?” I gasped, “Meeeee? Frankly I’m shocked Jim. Talk about give a girl a bad name.” My protests were dramatic and as sincere as secretions from a crocodile’s lacrimal glands.

“I have to support my wife’s assertions here,” said Simon as everyone tittered. “Nothing unusual happens while she’s present.”

“Mummy,” squealed Trish, “Mima’s fallen down the toilet.”

There was a momentary silence while everyone took this on board. “Hurry, Mummy.” Then as I left there was loud sound of laughing behind me.

“No, nothing unusual, Simon,” said James.

For some reason Mima had been standing on the toilet seat, not the cover but the actual seat and had slipped and both feet had gone down the loo and appeared to be stuck in the bit where it narrows and forms the channel which leads to the outlet.

She was crying and looked a bit shocked by the experience, which was hardly surprising. Thankfully, I’d cleaned the loo that morning, although I suspect it had been used, so I wasn’t too happy about putting my hands in the water. I sent Trish to get my kitchen gloves and she rushed back a minute later while I tried to calm Mima and Livvie stood about and generally got in the way.

Simon came to see what was going on and the boys were outside in the hallway trying to see as well. I managed to work out that one of her feet had twisted and was jammed on top of the other one trapping her. While I was trying to see how to free it, Simon came in grabbed her and with a sharp tug yanked her out, leaving her shoes behind which I then rescued.

On my suggestion he took her up to the bathroom and began to run the bath. I dumped her shoes in the kitchen sink and washed them quickly, leaving them to dry stuffed with newspaper. Then I ran upstairs where he was just about to pop her into the bath. She’d stopped crying by this time although her eyes were all red and she had some nasty bruises on her feet and ankles.

I bathed her and comforted her. It transpired she was standing on the loo seat because she was trying to rescue a spider because she thought I didn’t like them. I don’t mind spiders too much actually, having studied them at A-level and dissected a few–not something I liked very much. I don’t think invertebrates have too many pain receptors but I don’t like killing things unnecessarily. I remembered how one drop of chloroform on a bit of cotton wool and they went frantic and died. I suppose I would if someone dropped me in an enclosed vessel and poisoned me–ugh–too many memories.

I stopped doing invertebrate stuff because of the tendency to kill anything interesting and shove it in a specimen pot or mount it on cardboard. Museums have millions of butterflies and moths mounted on pins–it’s quite excessive to my mind, which is why I’d rather study living things in their systems/habitats than dead things in a laboratory.

The most dangerous thing to endangered species are probably biologists, a bit like the mental health team to a psychiatric patient.

I thanked Mima for her generosity of spirit but informed her that I wasn’t scared of spiders, unless I either walked into a web and it got on my face or my hair–then I got all girly–not a pretty sight in a woodland at night, when you can’t see the bloody webs; or, one of them appeared on my bed while I was in it. Then it has to be caught and chucked out the window. Crazy isn’t it. She offered to check my bed for spiders if I didn’t like them. I lifted her out of the bath and hugged her.

“Twish don’t wike spidas,” she said and we both laughed.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1611 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

As the days passed the memories of the attack by the Argentines faded except with regard to the razor wire and machine gun nests patrolled by soldiers. Actually, all we did was to put up new gates which were electrically controlled, including a back up for power failure. There was a call thingy on the wall which one could use on hands free or with a telephone type of handset.

Hidden motion activated cameras surrounded the property, which were hidden from a cursory view, and probably a more detailed one as well. Some of these had an infra red type of ability which meant they picked up heat generated images, so would work in almost complete darkness. We’d also supplemented the number of motion generated safety lights–yes those horrid things which come on like a floodlight when you walk past them.

The work had cost thousands of pounds and taken a couple of weeks and watching them paint the gates was probably more fun than listening to the media frenzy over who would be the next England football manager, but at last my team in the six nations rugby tournament, Wales had squeaked in against Ireland with practically the last kick of the match. Mind you if Wales had kicked all their penalties and conversions, they’d have won by a bigger margin, or if the try scored by Ryan Jones had been allowed. They meet Scotland next, so will have to endure Simon and Tom’s insults if they beat the Caledonians, and it is in Cardiff–so Wales have the advantage of a home game.

It’s an old Welsh joke that the shortest book in the world is the English book of rugby skills. As long as it doesn’t get translated into Welsh, I don’t mind.

Mima suffered no lasting damage from being flushed with success and her shoes dried out quite well too. I think we can also assume she won’t be standing on toilet seats for a while either.

Whilst talking of things sanitary, Julie poked herself a mite too hard and made herself very sore after her daily meditation with the magic bullet. I advised she sit in a bath of warm salt water and then rinse off and apply some antiseptic–I had some somewhere supposedly for ‘women’s intimate places’. Probably developed from sheep dip and they add perfume to it. Oh well, she won’t be cycling this weekend.

She was walking better and seemed to cope with the tiredness a lot better as well, so I suggested she might start thinking about going back to work fairly soon.

“Do I have too, Mummy, I mean it was major surgery and what if I’ve done some damage with you know...?”

“You’d have to shove it pretty hard to do that, as long as it was lubed and came out cleanly, you’ll be okay. The danger is in the removal+, not the insertion, it’s what would cause a prolapse. All you’ve done is probably tear some skin slightly, which if left alone will probably heal by itself, if not go and see Dr Smith.”

“I’d be far too embarrassed to do that.”

“Do what? See the doctor you mean?”

“Yes,” she blushed.

“Why?”

“Well he’s a man.”

“I know, the receding hairline, facial hair and deep voice gives it away.”

“No, Mummy, I couldn’t let a man see me–down there.”

“It was a man who built it for you–so what’s the problem?”

“I was asleep then, I didn’t see it, did I?”

“He’s a doctor, he’s seen loads of them.”

“I couldn’t, Mummy, I’d just die.”

“But you showed it to me?”

“Yes, but you’re my mother–an’ you’ve got one too.”

She was quick on the uptake this girl, seriously though, I can remember being very shy about myself to myself. I’d been shoving a lump of plastic up it for a week or two before I stopped and had a good look at it. It was still comparatively swollen but during the ensuing weeks it calmed down and looked better and better and I was more and more pleased I’d had it done by such a skillful craftsman. Seeing Julie’s I didn’t even stop to think about the privacy issue. She’d called me and asked if I could take a look because it was hurting. I examined it like I would a painful place anywhere, I suppose in much the same way the doctor would, objectively. It was only afterwards I was able to consider how clever the surgeon was and how real it looked. I could also see she was an almost natural blonde compared to my redder thatch.

In some regards I’d seen three recycled bits of plumbing–my own, Trish and now, Julie. All by the same artist, and all very neat jobs. Quite how they’d deal with the re-bore for Trish as she got older, I wasn’t at all sure. Still that would be more relevant in ten years than it is now and she’s just pleased to be indistinguishable from the natural girls.

If anything the low dosage of hormones she was taking were possibly starting to shape her a little already. She was skinny anyway, but I was sure she was either narrowing a little in the waist or her hips were broadening, possibly both. I’d need to speak to Stephanie once she had recovered from her caesarean. She did have a little girl–Emily. Sadly, the only girl I’ve been involved with naming was me. Oh well, it’s a minor point.

I was down sorting the dinner when Julie came down after treating her intimate injury. She was walking like a duck with piles and I couldn’t help but smile as I sliced carrots.

“Go on, have a good snigger,” she said more in fun than irritation–unless the antiseptic was irritating.

“You’re walking like John Wayne after a long day in the saddle.”

“Cyclist is he?” she asked innocently–or it seemed innocent.

“John Wayne was a movie star, made all sorts of cowboy and action films–Gerr off ya horse an’ drink ya milllk,” I said trying to drawl like the Duke, except my voice is several registers higher and so it sounded silly.

She laughed and shook her head. “What’s he been in?”

“Um, Stagecoach, The Man who shot Liberty Vallance, True Grit is my favourite.”

“But that’s a recent film, with Jeff Bridges, isn’t it?”

“That’s a remake, I liked the original with Wayne and Glen Campbell.”

She looked blank and shook her head.

“Go and look on Youtube, bound to be plenty of his clips on there–oh, his real name was Marion.”

“What?” gasped Julie, “He um–didn’t go the other way–did he?”

I laughed, I don’t think so, sweetheart, Marion is originally a boy’s name like Hilary and Jocelyn which have been mainly used by girls these days. It’s also spelt with an O rather than the female version of Marian, with an A.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen the name with the O used by girls.”

“You probably have, people call their children what they like these days, I mean even Bill Clinton called his daughter after his favourite football team.”

“Why is her name Manchester United Clinton, then?” joked Julie.

“No, Oxford United–that’s where he went to uni over here.”

“To study football?”

“No, stupid, to learn English.”

“Couldn’t he speak it before then?”

I shrugged my shoulders, either she’d poked her brain too hard with the plastic bullet or was taking the proverbial.

“Wossfadinna, Mummy?” asked Trish coming in to cadge a biscuit.

“Fish in a mornay sauce with new potatoes, carrots and peas.”

“Yummy–um–woss–mornee sauce?”

“Mornay, it’s a cheese sauce.”

“Oh yum, I like cheese.”

“Go and look up John Wayne on youtube and show your sister.”

She went off and returned a moment later to see how his name was spelt, by the time I had the vegetables cooked Julie was back, “Yeah, he was in some old film the other day, a war film I think–didn’t watch it, don’t like war films.”

“I prefer ones with a story over those with just loads of action–sort of Arnie films.” I offered.

“Oh I like some Arnie films, you just sit there with your brain in freefall.” She seemed to be in that state now.

“Would you like to lay the table for me, darling?” I asked her as I checked the fish which were in the slow oven.

“Yeah, okay–how many?”

“Everyone’s here except, Daddy,” I left her to count that up while I brought Catherine’s high chair out of the corner and next to my place–we tend to sit in the same chairs each time we dine–makes it easier for Stella and me to feed the wains.

When it came to dishing up, she hadn’t laid a place for Tom and we had to quickly move things round to accommodate him in his own kitchen–okay, I modernised it, but it was still his house.

Later on as I was clearing up, Julie came and said she was still very sore. I told her to go and rest, it would probably clear up overnight. It didn’t, she got me up in the night and she looked awful and had a temperature...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1612 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I dressed very quickly and left a note for Stella and Tom, then I threw a coat round Julie and led her down to the car. She was out of breath and looking very ill. Thankfully at that time of night the traffic was light and drove quickly to the hospital and got them to bring a wheelchair out to the car.

Then it was sit in the waiting room while they examined her. I did explain to the doctor that she’d recently had gender reassignment surgery and had been dilating before this happened. I thought it might stop him trying to shove something even worse up her vagina.

They had her scanned, by which time it was three in the morning and I was starting to feel spaced out. I watched drunks and unfortunates come in and out. The young doctor came to see me. “She’s acting as if she has some sort of infection, so we’ve hit her with a massive injection of antibiotics. I think she has an abscess or something in her vagina but I can’t quite see from the scan. We’ll get Mr O’Rourke to see her first thing tomorrow–why don’t you go home and get some sleep.”

“You’ve sent her up to the ward, have you?”

“Yes, she’s up on the gynae ward, she should start to stabilise soon–we’ll let you know if anything changes.” I gave him my mobile number and the house number and collected the car and drove home. It was now four o’clock and I was punchy with tiredness. I struggled up the stairs and lay on the bed.

I think I must have crashed out as soon as I lay down because I was still lying on the bed when the girls came to wake me up–I’d slept through the radio alarm.

“Why are you dressed, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

It took me a moment or two to work out what was happening. I told them about rushing Julie to hospital and they were horrified. Trish was especially horrified and asked if the same would happen to her. I told her I didn’t think so, that Julie had been unfortunate and somehow an infection had got in and she’d become ill.

“Why didn’t you blue light her, Mummy?” she asked me.

“I didn’t feel it was with me, so I did the next best thing and took her to hospital.”

“You should have called me, Mummy, I’d have saved her.” I hugged her and kissed her.

“I didn’t think of it, kiddo. Anyway, she’ll be seeing the surgeon in an hour or two and he’ll know what to do.”

“That nice Mr Rourke.” She smiled, so he’d obviously made an impression on her, even if she couldn’t quite get his name right.

I phoned the ward and they said she was comfortable but still quite poorly; they were expecting Mr O’Rourke during the morning and would be sure to call me if I was needed.

The girls had to be cajoled into eating and through tiredness I wasn’t at my most patient. Thankfully, Tom appeared and calmed things down and I went and sat with a cuppa and tried to get my head back in order.

Danny helped me make the sandwiches and then Tom took him off to school, while I drove our querulous trio to their place of education. Next week was half term, I hoped Julie would be better by then because I was beginning to feel I couldn’t cope any more. I’d check with the paper when I got home, see if we had any takers for my housekeeper job. If we had any more Russians turn up, I’d scream.

Back at the ranch, Stella had finally surfaced with Puddin and I got Catherine up and fed her while Stella sorted Fiona. As we dealt with the youngest members of the clan I brought Stella up to date on Julie’s predicament, as I understood it.

“I didn’t hear you, and I’m quite a light sleeper,” she remarked. I thought she slept like someone in a coma and had lost track of the times I’d gone in to deal with Pud or Fi while their mother stayed somnolent. She had no knowledge of my intervention the next morning except to deny it. One night I swapped the girls beds and she still had no idea that I’d been in to see to them. Sometimes I did wonder which planet she was from, it certainly wasn’t earth. However, the girls were well and seemed to be meeting all the criteria for development as was my own little bundle of joy when I took her for assessment.

I admit I had some run ins with the health visitor from our practice. To start with she couldn’t understand how I’d acquired so many children nor how I’d somehow managed to feed one of them spontaneously. I had to demonstrate it to her before she’d believe me. So we weren’t on good terms. When she found out I was a recycled female, she got very distant and in the end I went directly to the doctor for child assessments. He seemed to understand and calmed me down when I wanted her disciplined for lack of professionalism in dealing with me. I found out later she was a member of a fundamentalist church, all happy clappy and bullshit.

I’d just finished feeding Catherine when the phone rang, it was O’Rourke and we spoke for several minutes. He suggested the antibiotics were working but he was going to keep her in for a day or two to make sure she was healing. He decided she had a small ulcer at the end of her vagina which had perforated and become infected. He hoped it would heal by itself, if not he’d have to operate again and repair it. They’d know in a day or two, and for me to feel free to come in and do my magic if it saved another operation.

After lunch, I asked Tom to collect the girls and I went to see Julie. I’d sent Simon a text to say she was in hospital and he’d phoned to learn why. When I got the hospital, there was a large vase of flowers and basket of fruit on her bedside locker and all I’d taken was toiletries and spare nightdresses.

Julie still looked quite poorly and she had a drip presumably through which they administered antibiotics. She was lying in bed dozing when I arrived, and she was thrilled that I’d brought her iPod with all her other stuff.

We chatted and I sat and tried to heal her but nothing was happening, as if the light had left me or something had switched it off. I had no explanation and she was disappointed then became quite down.

“It isn’t my time to die is it, Mummy?”

“Of course not, perhaps it’s just me, I’m very tired and it has failed before through fatigue.”

“I hope so.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re going to get better. Mr O’Rourke is such a clever chap he’ll sort you out.”

“I think it’s so unfair, Mummy, I just get to be who I really am, and this happens. With my luck, I’m going to die a virgin.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her priorities were a bit different to my own and I told her that I was sure she’d be okay and when the time was right she’d find a suitable partner and be able to road test her new equipment.

I reminded her that Simon had sent the flowers and fruit and that he loved her as did we all.

“You’re just so lucky, Mummy, Daddy is one in a million. I wish I could find someone like him.”

“Yes, darling, he is a bit of a one off,” which has its blessings and drawbacks.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1613 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

In the evening, after an early tea, I took Trish with me to see Julie. I wasn’t sure if it was insurance because I didn’t seem to be able to do anything, or because she genuinely wanted to see her big sister.

Julie looked a bit better when we arrived, she was listening to her music and I brought the charger to go with it. She told us that Mr O’Rourke had packed her vagina with iodine stuff to help heal it. She said it felt really odd but it saved her dilating–she smiled but it was a very weak one.

While we were there the nurse came in and took her blood pressure. “I know you,” she said to me.

“I was here earlier seeing my daughter, perhaps you saw me then.”

“No–I don’t think so–I’ll remember in a minute.” She went off and as soon as she did, Julie said something about Youtube. Trish laughed and an old lady muttered something about children in hospitals.

I noted she didn’t have any visitors so I sent Trish over with some of Julie’s fruit to ask her if she’d like some. Julie and I continued talking with occasional glances to see that Trish was okay. She seemed to be in some earnest conversation with the old lady; they were both nodding and laughing now and again.

Finally she came back with the fruit. “I thought you were going to give it to the old lady?” I said to her.

“She didn’t want it.” I shrugged in response and Julie rolled her eyes. “She used to teach at my school,” announced Trish.

“Who did?”

“Mrs Pennecuik.”

“Is that her name?” I clarified.

“Yeah, she used to teach science–twenty years ago. We were talking about quantum physics. She met Schrodinger when she was in Ireland.”

“Who is Schrodinger when he’s at home?” asked Julie.

“A physicist,” I answered.

“He had a cat, Mummy.”

“The cat thing was a theoretical thing, Trish.”

“Waddya mean, theeretical?”

“Theorertical, it means it was just an idea like doing equations.”

“Woss equations?”

“It’s mathematics.”

“Oh sums,” she said dismissively.

“Ugh,” offered Julie, “I hated maths, was rubbish at it.”

“It’s not my strongest area, either. I tend to use computer programmes to do most of mine these days.”

“That’s cheatin’,” declared Trish.

“No, it’s using my brain–if I had to do the maths to resolve probabilities and so on from our population studies, it would take me hours. Instead, I stick the numbers in a programme one of our maths people devised and it does the number crunching for me.”

“It’s still cheatin’,” declared the brainbox.

“Okay, so it’s cheating, but so is doing the washing in a machine instead of standing at the sink and washing everything by hand. I tell you what, Trish, you can do all your panties by hand next week instead of me putting them in the machine.”

“Um–I don’t know how to do washing, Mummy.”

“I’ll show you, then you can do your own and if you like it you can do Livvie’s as well.”

“I’m not washing her knickers,” she said indignantly.

“But you’re happy to do your own?”

“Why can’t you do them in the machine like you usually do?”

“Because you think using shortcuts is cheating.”

“No it isn’t.”

“So me using one to shortcut my calculations is okay then, is it?”

“That’s different.”

“What’s different?”

“Your calculations aren’t all smelly like Livvie’s knickers.” Trish declared and Julie snorted.

“Livvie’s knickers aren’t all smelly.”

“They are.”

“No more than yours.”

“Mine aren’t smelly.”

“I didn’t say they were, what I said was Livvie’s were no more smelly than yours.”

“Oh,” she put the fruit down and sat on the chair beside me. She then began eating the grapes, so I left her alone and continued talking with Julie.

“I didn’t know Schrodinger went to Ireland,” I remarked unconsciously processing what Trish had said about the old lady.

“That’s what she said,” answered Trish. I handed her my Blackberry, “Have a look on Wiki.”

Two minutes later she showed me the text on my phone. Schrodinger was indeed in Ireland, setting up some university department. He also spent time at Oxford and the States. Strange man, lived with two women, into Eastern philosophies. Mind you Tom and Simon live with a whole tribe of women, Tom is pretty conventional in his beliefs, Simon worships Mammon and the women seem mostly rationalists, except Stella who is only rational when crazy.

“When you go to school tomorrow, tell Sister Maria that Mrs Pennecuik was a teacher there and is now in hospital. Perhaps they’ll send her a card or if someone remembers her, they may come and visit.”

“I’ll tell her, I’ll also tell her she knew Schrodinger–he’s famous.” For good measure she stood up and laid her hand on Julie’s leg, through the bedclothes and I saw a blue light gently work its way up Julie’s body; neither of them seemed aware of it but Trish kept standing and leaning on Julie’s leg. It went on for about ten minutes, then visiting time ended and we had to go.

Before I left I went to speak with the old lady. “I hope my daughter didn’t annoy you?”

“Not at all, she’s a charming child and very bright.”

“Yes, she keeps telling us,” I joked and she smiled.

“So you teach at university?”

“I try to.”

“That’s not what your daughter says, she says you’re very important, that her grandfather is a professor, you make films as well as teach and that she has five siblings. You’re a very busy young woman.”

I shrugged, “When you say it like that, it does sound that way, doesn’t it?”

“She also said one of your children died last year, but she still sees her at times.”

I blushed and thought I’d better laugh it off, “Well you know what children are...”

“The child’s name was Billie and she’s standing with you now looking at you with a great deal of love.” I was totally and utterly flabbergasted. “She says that she hopes one of the others will go cycling with you and that it wasn’t your fault that she died.”

I felt tears begin to form. “Tell her I love her too, please.”

“Oh she knows that, my dear. Oh she’s gone. She died in a motor accident, did she?”

“She crashed her bike while we were out riding, she had a brain aneurysm which no one knew about and died instantly. According to the experts, she could have died at any time. I still miss her.”

“I’m sure you do, anyway, she’s in a better place now.” She smiled at me, “Even if you don’t believe it.” I nodded and thanked her before excusing myself and collecting the chatterbox who was gabbling with Julie.

On the way home, I asked Trish if she’d seen Billie in the hospital. “Oh she’s been watching over Julie, she’s worried.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’d have spent more time trying to see her than talking with Julie, Mummy, and I needed you there to be able to give Julie healing.”

“Right, glad I was able to help.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1614 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next day, after taking the girls, I spoke with Sister Maria. “Does the name Pennecuik mean anything to you?”

“Not immediately, why should it?”

“Julie is in hospital at the moment and an old lady on her ward claims to have been a teacher here, she was science teacher I believe, she’d met Erwin Schrodinger when he was teaching in Ireland.”

“Come with me,” she said and I followed her into the office, she spoke with the secretary who shrugged then began to look in some old books which she got from a metal cupboard. “Do we know what period?” asked the headmistress.

“I have no idea, but Schrodinger died in the early sixties so it has to be that sort of time, I suspect. She was one of your lay teachers, I suspect because she said she was Mrs Pennecuik.”

“No, can’t find anything.”

“She was obviously a physicist.”

“Obviously?” queried the secretary.

“Yes, if she was pleased to meet Schrodinger, she was into quantum physics.”

“Oh, was she?” It had evidently gone over her head.

“Looks like I’d better go and see her, just in case she was an old teacher here.” Sister Maria sighed as she said this and I felt guilty. I began to wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

I did some food shopping and got some more pads for my bra. I wasn’t feeding Catherine quite as often, so my milk was less. I did, however, feed her at least a couple of times most days, just to keep our bond–besides I actually liked it.

I pondered over the appearances of the Shekhinah I’d experienced. The first one was soon after I got the baby and a day or two later I began to lactate. I felt fairly comfortable with her although something had been stalking me which I didn’t like. I suspect that was the Lililith, who then appeared herself claiming to be the Shekhinah.

Finally, the one who appeared when Billie came to say goodbye, was much more like the first one and her energy felt genuine. I still didn’t believe in gods or goddesses other than as archetypes a la Jung, but it was quite interesting how my unconscious mind seemed to work with these elements.

I remembered after the Drummond’s funeral that tall woman speaking to me about the goddess and giving me her card. I wondered if I still had it? Then I pooh-poohed it, load of tosh, just vivid dreams and wild imagination.

I got the shopping and as I went to pay for it, who should walk up to me but the woman from the funeral. “Lady Cameron, how nice to see you again.”

“Um–I’m sorry you have the advantage.”

“Of course, you meet so many people. Ariadne Dougal, we met at poor Maria and Paul’s funeral.”

“And Daisy,” I said tersely.

“But of course, might we stop our consumerism long enough to consume a quick coffee?”

I didn’t really want to talk to her, yet I had all sorts of questions, although I wasn’t at all sure that our realities or worlds had much overlap bar the need to shop for food.

I got us two latte coffees and we sat and sipped them. “How is the baby?” she asked, “You did take her on with you, didn’t you?”

“Yes, she’s fine.”

“Oh good, how awful for her family to die so tragically, but then, an angel stepped into the breach to save the day.”

“Angel?” I blushed.

“Yes, those whom the goddess favours are her angels. Her presence is strong in you.”

“Just who is this goddess you keep talking about?” I asked, throwing the ball back to her.

“Oh she has many names, but she will have given one to you to recognise her by–she has, hasn’t she?”

“Um–I don’t know, but the word Shekhinah has come up a few times but also Lilith.”

“Goodness, what a contrast–have nothing to do with the latter–she’s bad news. No, stick to the lady Shekhinah, a very powerful goddess, arguably the origins of the great God himself.”

“I was told it was a female aspect of the Hebrew god.”

“No, the goddess predates the god in nearly every culture, which is appropriate as we come before our children.”

“So are you trying to tell me she’s the mother of God?”

“Mother, sister, consort, wife–she is the essence of the female deity, and hence the essence of we females.”

“So would this goddess be present say in someone who was transgendered?”

“Hmm, a good question–I would think it’s entirely possible–yes, a two spirit person, yes, I think so, why?”

“I know someone who is transgendered who seems to have a very strong female feel to them.”

“Ah, she, I take it’s a she we’re talking of?”

“Yes, most definitely.”

“She could well be blessed by the goddess, some might think she is transgendered as a consequence of her blessing.”

“Run that past me again, if you would?”

“One of the suggestions for things like homosexuality and transsexuality is that the goddess has blessed those individuals, and her essence is strong in them.”

“I think quite a few of them would suggest it was hardly a blessing.”

“I don’t know, those she favours grow in ways we normal souls can only wonder at.”

“So why do think the essence is strong in me?”

“I can see and feel her presence in you–you have great power, or will have once you realise how to use it–you can mend people’s very souls. Oh, who is this delightful little child?” She looked down by the side of me. “Oh, dear me, she says she’s one of your children.”

I felt myself going cold.

“Um–Billie? Am I getting that right? Yes, she says her name is Billie, a pretty child who worries about you all, she passed not very long ago–is that right?”

I nodded and picked up my bag to grab a tissue, my eyes were growing moist. I pulled out my purse as well and opened it at the photo of the children. “That’s her,” Ariadne pointed straight at Billie in the photo, “isn’t it?” I nodded and the tears began to form.

“Oh you poor dear, don’t get upset, she’s fine but she does worry about you and her siblings.”

I dabbed my eyes hoping not to mess my makeup, then remembered I wasn’t wearing any. I blew my nose and felt a little better.

“She’s gone now, but she asked me to tell you to take Tish...”

“Trish, my daughter.”

“Quite so, to take Trish with you when you went to see Juliette?”

“Julie, my eldest daughter, she’s in hospital at the moment with a gynae problem.”

“Oh, poor child.”

“Did she say why I should take Trish?”

“Um–no, she didn’t.”

“How come I can’t see her?”

“I don’t know–you probably will when it’s appropriate.” She stared at me, “My goodness, the power is with you, indeed.”

“What d’you mean?”

“There are blue flames coming out of you and going into that old chap across the way–this is fascinating.”

“Which old chap?” I glanced round and saw an elderly man who was sitting almost in trance.

“Oh it’s stopped now.”

I looked again and he seemed to go back to eating his meal and looked a little better colour than he had a moment ago.

Ariadne grabbed my hand and gasped, “My goodness, the power is strong in you, my dear, let the goddess guide you and you will reap her rewards.”

“Eh?” my conversational skills were legend.

“Let her guide you and you will see and do things you wouldn’t believe possible.”

“Um–I’ve done that, I’d quite like to stick to my day jobs as teacher and mother.”

“I’m sorry, my dear, those whom the goddess chooses must do as she wills or pay a heavy price.”

“Oh,” I began to wonder if I already had.

“So nice to see you again, Lady Cameron, angel of the Shekhinah.”

Luvverly, just what I always wanted, not.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1615 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I just can’t go with all this stuff about goddesses, as for seeing Billie–it makes my hair stand on end. Perhaps I carry some of her in my magnetic field or people sense it from me and then think they’ve seen her. It would explain why I don’t. However, I took Trish with me when we went to see Julie.

Trish of course had to try healing Julie as soon as they finished the initial hug. Trish had her hand on part of Julie which I couldn’t have touched and I looked away while Julie exclaimed it was tickling her.

As I glanced round I noticed the old lady, Mrs Pennecuik seemed to be lying down. I tried to ask Julie if she was okay but my eldest daughter was well away in some sort of bliss while Trish pumped energy into her.

I went over to the bed, for a moment I thought the old biddy had croaked, but her chest was rising and falling so she was presumably breathing. In looking at her I must have touched the bed because she opened her eyes and stared at me for a moment before recognising me.

“Ah, Lady Cameron, you gave me bit of a start.”

I blushed, “I’m sorry, I’m came to see how you are,” which was generally true.

“I had a visitor this afternoon.”

I smiled, “An old friend I expect.”

“No, a young woman who is now headmistress of my old school.”

“Oh Sister Maria came to see you?” I feigned surprise.

“Seeing as you told her about me you could hardly be surprised now, could you?”

“Did I? I must have forgotten.”

“You’re a poor liar, my dear: she told me you said about me to her and she had to check back in the archives to find my maiden name.”

“Oh, did they?”

“Yes, it was Watts, or did you know that?”

“No I didn’t. It was my maiden name as well as my daughter’s original surname.”

“You had her out of wedlock, I’m disappointed in you, Lady Cameron.”

“No, she’s adopted, it was pure coincidence that we had the same surname.”

“Are from hereabouts?”

“Me? No, I’m from Bristol but was born in Dumfries, my paternal grandmother lived there.”

“Interesting, what was her name? Her Christian name, I mean.”

“Hannah.”

“And she lived in Dumfries?”

“Yes.”

“Curious,” she said and stared at me.

“What is?” Now she had me puzzled.

“I had an elder sister in law, Hannah who lived in Dumfries, in a house called Tam o’Shanter’s Cottage.”

I felt quite dizzy. “Are you all right, my dear?” she asked as I sat down heavily on the chair by her bedside.

“That was my Grandmother’s house, I’ve got a photo of it somewhere at home.”

“D’you know the name of your grandfather?”

“Um–I think it was Robert.”

“That was my brother, he died in nineteen seventy...”

“From lung cancer, he smoked a pipe.”

“Oh dear, it seems we could be related.”

“So how come I’ve never heard of you?” I asked as I felt my head clearing.

“Ah, black sheep–I was the archetypal romantic, clever intellectually but not so clever in dealing with life. I was reading physics at Cambridge when I came into contact with Professor Schrodinger. I fell in love with him.”

“Trish mentioned you knew Schrodinger, she’s always worried about his cat dying.”

She laughed quietly, “Erwin wouldn’t have hurt a fly, he was into all sorts of Eastern philosophies.”

“I believe he was into rather strange household arrangements as well.”

“Oh, our little ménage á¡ trois?”

“Um–yes,” I squeaked and went very hot.

She looked at me and chuckled. “I didn’t have you down as a prude, Lady Cameron.”

“I’m not,” I blushed even hotter if it was possible, “I’m just not into that sort of arrangement.”

“It was fun while it lasted, in Ireland of all places, then I came back to England and met Willoughby, he was such an accommodating man, let me have little flings as long as I described them to him afterwards.”

“So do I have any long lost cousins?”

“Sadly no. Willoughby was a lovely man but pretty well impotent–least he was with me. I think he might have been, you know...”

“Um–do I?”

“Yes, you know, one of them–you know, prefers other men.”

“Gay you mean?”

“Oh that much maligned word, in my day, gay had an altogether different meaning–now it feels as if...no matter, who cares what a silly old woman thinks?”

“Words do change their meanings, I mean a hundred and fifty years ago or maybe a little longer, the word girl referred to a young child of both sexes.”

“Did it now?”

“And all children were dressed as females until school age, if schools were available.”

“Are you a historian, Lady Cameron?”

“Um–no, I’m a biologist.”

“Ah, the soft sciences.” She chuckled to herself.

“I don’t know, I found it hard enough to study.”

“Compared to physics it’s somewhat imprecise.”

“Is it? My speciality is mammals, especially dormice.”

“Lovely little furry things–but what is hard science about them?”

“I can take a sample from them and get DNA analyses tracking their ancestry back for a thousand generations. It’s hard fact.”

“So, your point is?”

“That’s a soft science, but tell me, what is the universe made of? Seems like even dark matter and energy may be wrong after all–so it appears physics and chemistry aren’t so grounded after all.”

She laughed loudly. “Oh how funny–you should be a comedienne or a barrister.”

I sat there blushing furiously.

“You must be my great niece, only a Watts would use such logic–all wrong of course but most entertaining.”

A nurse arrived and shooed me away back to my two offspring. It seems my newly discovered great aunt was not to get too excited. The curtains were drawn round her bed and visiting time was over. Julie declared she felt much better and hoped to come home soon. Trish was full of herself as the healer dealer. I was still in shock at the discovery that I had a great aunt I knew nothing about. I would have to come and see her again. If nothing else she was quite a character.

Julie was discharged the next day, so possibly Trish had cured her first patient. I didn’t get to go back to the hospital for another week life was just so busy. I discovered that Mrs Pennecuik or my great aunt, had been sent to a hospice. When I asked if she had a terminal illness the staff would disclose nothing–patient confidentiality and all that.

It took me two weeks to find her, just in time to see her waste away. She was too weak to hold a conversation and there was so much I wanted to know about my family. She seemed pleased I’d been to see her and when I said goodbye, promising to come the next day, we both knew she wouldn’t be there.

The next morning I had a call from the hospice. “Lady Cameron, Mrs Pennecuik has very sadly passed away, she was in no pain and died in her sleep very peacefully. She gave you as next of kin, so perhaps you’d care to arrange her funeral.”

I put down the phone and felt tears run down my face. I’d lost someone who was quite a character and from whom I could have learned such a lot about all sorts of things. I also had another funeral to arrange. Bugger, I’d have to see if there was a will or instructions for the funeral–perhaps she was a bohemian as her erstwhile lover. Oh poo, more work.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1616 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I seemed to be busy the rest of that day, and just after I returned with the girls at four o’clock the phone rang. I was closest so I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Could I speak to Lady Catherine Cameron?”

“This is she, who is that?”

“Ah, Lady Cameron, I’m John Thorneton from Appleby, Crossdyke and Weightcombe.”

“Who are they when they’re at home?” I asked, admitting that they didn’t sound like a double-glazing company.

“We are a large firm of solicitors situated in Gosport, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us.”

“Sorry, look is this important because I do have loads to do?” and making a cuppa was a priority.

“I’m sorry, of course you’re busy, it’s regarding your late great aunt, Mrs Una Pennecuik.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Are you aware she named you as her next of kin.”

“Sort of, but only because the hospice manager told me.”

“If you could arrange her funeral, I’d be grateful but if you require any assistance, please do let us know.” He gave me a phone number.

“I presume there are sufficient funds to cover the cost of the funeral?”

“Oh yes, the estate should be able to authorise that.”

“Are you executors?”

“Yes, but we’ll obviously try to follow your wishes as regard to the funeral arrangements–you are her only remaining relative.”

“I’m not actually, I have an aunt–my father’s sister.”

“Oh do you now–we didn’t know that, could you give me details.” So I did.

“Does that make her next of kin?”

“No, your great aunt rewrote her will a few days ago and named you as her next of kin–so you will be chief mourner and as such will arrange the funeral within the guidelines she laid out.”

“Which are?”

“A non-religious ceremony before her cremation and her ashes to be sprinkled in Portsmouth harbour.”

“Okay, do I organise a death certificate or do you?”

“We already have, it’ll be waiting for you at the hospice if you then inform the registrar and bring us at least three copies, preferably five, we can get on and execute the will.”

“Do I choose the undertaker?”

“No, she did, the Co-op, she prepaid it years ago when they first diagnosed her cancer. We’ve already arranged for them to collect her body.”

I eventually finished the conversation with John Thorneton and organised the dinner. The evening was much as usual, I read the girls a story, chased Danny off to bed as soon as the football was over after making sure he’d done his homework.

Simon was up in town so I was alone in bed. On getting there I couldn’t settle to read my book, I just kept wishing I’d had more time to get to know Great Aunt Una. We weren’t a close family, as must be obvious, and my dad and his sister loathed each other. Mind you Auntie Do is quite easy to dislike. Uncle Arthur is a bit nicer but does what she tells him.

Did I mention they’d phoned while I was trying to make the dinner? Auntie Do would be onto anything where there might be money like a shot. Me–I’d be happy if she left all the money to the cat’s home.

“Char–I mean, Cathy?”

“Yes, Aunt Do?”

“Did you hear we’ve just lost a near relative?”

“Near? You live in Swindon, that’s miles away,” I said playing deliberately stupid.

“How can you be so glib at such a time?”

Quite easily you daft old gowk, “I wasn’t aware I was.”

“Your mother raised you to be a better than go for cheap jokes at a time of sadness.”

“So why are you sad, Auntie Do?”

“How can you be so heartless, Char–I mean Cathy? My Aunt Una has died, her solicitors called half an hour ago.”

“I didn’t know she existed until a week ago when I saw her in hospital.”

“Well that’s your father’s fault. I was well aware of her.”

“Were you, so you know what she did for a living then?”

“Um, in those days women were just housewives...”

“Of course they were, I mean Grandma was, wasn’t she?”

“Yes she was, so her sister would be the same.”

“Of course though it would be difficult while she was up at Oxford, wouldn’t it?”

“She went to Oxford–the university?”

“Yes, before she ran off with Erwin Schrodinger.”

“Who?”

“One of the founders of quantum theory.”

“I don’t like any of those pop stars, Cathy.”

“He was a theoretical physicist and so was she.”

“Goodness, well all that stuff isn’t much practical use is it?”

“Not unless you want to make atomic bombs and things,” I said because it was the most dramatic thing I could think of.

“Goodness, she didn’t make atomic bombs did she?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been to her house yet,” I almost laughed out loud. I didn’t even know if she had a house of her own.

“Well you be careful, young m–um–woman. I don’t want you blowing up her house and yourself of course.” Yeah as an afterthought. “When is the funeral?”

“I don’t know, I can’t get the death certificates until tomorrow, the executors made an appointment for me with the registrar. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Cha–Cathy.”

“You’re welcome, Auntie Do–I have to go, supervise the cook or the soufflés won’t be just right. Byeee.” God I despise that woman. She’ll probably ask the solicitor to read the will while we wait for the old lady to burn.

The next day, after taking the girls to school I got the death certificate from the hospice and went to the registrar who was a pleasant middle aged woman. I explained that until a week ago I didn’t know Great Aunt Una existed and were it not for Trish going to chat with her and discovering she used to teach at the convent, I’d not have spoken to her let alone discovered we were related. Is that meaningful coincidence or what? I suppose all coincidences mean something, but not in necessarily a Jungian sense.

I dropped the death certificates into the solicitors and they invited me to see the will when I asked about the specific arrangements–did she want flowers and so on.

Mr Thorneton was a very pleasant late thirty something man who was beginning to run to seed. His belly arrived a moment or two before the rest of him, but he was convivial in his job.

“She redrafted her will a few days before she died. Most of her estate goes to local charities including her old school, Oxford University and a University in Ireland. The money to the school is in the form of a grant of five thousand pounds a year for the best essay written by a sixth former on a science subject–she was going to say physics or maths, but after meeting you, she left it as a science subject. Apparently, you’ll be one of the judges.” Gee thanks, as if I haven’t got enough to do.

“She has left you a bequest of ten thousand pounds towards your dormouse studies and a bequest to your daughter Patricia of ten thousand pounds payable when she goes to university.”

“That’s nice, she’ll probably need it then, give her a step up. What about my auntie?”

“There is no mention of anyone else.”

“She’ll create hell.”

“She’s entitled to petition the probate court but the will is quite specific, Trish and your good self are apparently the only two of her family to have spoken to her since she went to Ireland. Apparently the rest of her family shunned her.”

“That was probably before my dad was born.”

“It might have been.”

“I suspect it was long before then, she had a fling with Schrá¶dinger and he died in 1961 or thereabouts.”

“Goodness–oh yes she was ninety years old, so it could have been a long time ago. Who was Mr Schrá¶dinger?”

“Quantum Physics?”

“Um–no,” he shook his head.

“Take a look on wiki when you have a few minutes.”

“I will. Oh, she was quite impressed with you and your daughter, she said it was a shame she was dying before she met you.”

“Yes, I felt the same. The money is nice but I’d have preferred to have known her and learned more about her romp with Erwin, and some of my family history as well.”

“Quite so.” He got me a copy of the will and I went off to the undertakers to sort the arrangements.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1617 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I hate going to undertakers or funeral directors or whatever they like to call themselves. I do however appreciate that we need someone to organise digging holes and dumping bodies or burning them, otherwise we’d be knee deep in corpses and the place would smell somewhat.

I remember being on the Isles of Scilly, St Margaret’s to be precise, the biggest one and smelling the sickly sweet odour of death. It was a hundred yards away and the breeze was blowing straight at me. It was seal but the stink was unimaginable. I suppose it would provide food for all sorts of things from bacteria to fishes, but the smell–phew!.

The woman I spoke to who was the local manager showed me the arrangement that Great Aunt Una had made, it seemed pretty comprehensive. It asked for donations rather than flowers and I made one there and then to the hospice in which she’d died.

The service would be led by a humanist chap who’d call me to make an appointment to come and see me. The funeral director could tell me nothing else except the date and time of the slot they’d booked at the crematorium. It was late morning and a wake would be arranged at a nearby pub–there’s plenty of those in Portsmouth. This one happened to be the Jolly Roger. ‘Captain, Jack Sparrow,’ went through my mind. I doubt GA Una would have understood or appreciated my thought.

The funeral was to be the following Friday at eleven thirty, so the wake would be just in time for lunch. I’d never been in that pub so I had no idea of what the food was like, it might be good or dreadful. It was all out of my hands and part of me felt relieved. I went home.

Amongst other bits of post, most of which were circulars or advertising flyers, was a letter in a plain white envelope. I took it into the kitchen passing Stella en route who said something which I missed initially but worked out to mean, she was going upstairs.

Julie appeared with the baby who was squealing at me and who clung to me as soon as I sat down. Jules made some tea while I opened the letter.

Dear Catherine,

(pp. John Thorneton)’

I read and re read the letter while I sipped my tea. I’m really glad I met her not for the money she left my dormouse studies or to Trish’s university fund, but because she was such a character.

Who’d believe that my rather staid middleclass family would have such a black sheep amongst it? I suppose I’ll be seen as one as well by future generations–except that there won’t be a future generation after me. Genetically, the line ends with me.

I hadn’t thought of that before in those terms. Okay, before I transitioned or had surgery, I was aware I’d be unable to have children of my own but my life was so troubled that I’d not have been able to cope with them had I been able to reproduce. So it’s only now, recognising that my parents would never have been grandparents except to my adopted children, whom they’d have loved, I’m sure–but there’d always have been something missing–they weren’t of their own flesh and blood.

I’d had the privilege and joy to be involved in seven children’s lives, sadly now only six. I couldn’t have had any for whom I’d felt any more love nor received it more than I had from these little lost souls. They’ve added something to my life and I hope I have to theirs. They may not continue my genetic line but they carry my spirit and I know, at least one of them also carries the spirit of Great Aunt Una, and I knew she’d approve.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1618 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Great Aunt Una’s funeral and subsequent cremation came and went. I gave the eulogy after talking with the humanist chap about who would do what. He was delighted that I’d found out so much about her in a relatively short time and he used much of that information–her bohemian nature and her love for Erwin Schrodinger, her being a sort of trail blazer regarding women scientists and so on.

It meant that unless I was happy to repeat this information, my eulogy was going to be somewhat short. After much thinking, I spoke about how we’d met and her letter to me. I mused on what might have been had we met before and how much I admired some of her motivation yet felt that she had missed out on so much by not having a family.

At the bun-fight at the Jolly Roger, I was accosted by my ‘loving’ Aunt Do. “How come she left you some money in her will and none to me, Char–um–Cathy?”

“She didn’t leave me anything, Auntie Do, she left some to my research projects.”

“Yes, but you can get round that, I’m sure.”

“What d’you mean, get round it?”

“You know, lose a bit here and there, if you need a new dress or something.”

“No I can’t, it’ll go to the university who will hold the money for my department who will then be able to allocate grants to people who submit plans for projects for dormouse studies.”

“I thought you controlled all that?”

“I have some input to it, yes, but there’ll be a proper committee to vet applications and award the money.”

“For a good party, no doubt–I know what universities are like.”

“No, absolutely not, it will go for properly costed and detailed plans, nothing else.”

“Go on, you can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Auntie Do, I’ve just told you what will happen to the money.”

“What about the bequest to Patricia, the least she could have done is come to her great great aunt’s funeral–I don’t see her here.”

“She’s in school,” terrorising the science teacher, “I agreed with Simon that we wouldn’t bring any of the children with us.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think funerals are appropriate places for children.”

“How d’you think they learn about death?”

“She’s well aware of death–she went to her sister’s funeral at the same crematorium. She knows what it is to lose someone she loved. All of them do.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you’d lost one–presumably social services know as well?”

“Naturally, she died from an aneurysm in her brain, could have gone at any time according to the coroner.”

“Oh, poor lamb. So how come Patricia got a grant to go to university? None of the others did, did they?”

“No, she was the first of us to meet Una and made quite an impression.”

“She did with us as well, little liar that she is.”

“How long is the drive back to Swindon?” I asked bored with her and her sort.

“Oh I see, change the subject why don’t you?”

“Yes I will, the old one had got old very quickly.”

“It’s alright for you, Catherine Cameron, you married a bank, I’m just a poor old pensioner making ends meet. To them who’s got money shall more be given.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know–blessed are the cheese makers.”

“Cheese makers? Where are they mentioned.”

“Brian book one chapter fifteen verse ten, why?”

“Brian? I don’t remember any of the disciples called Brian.”

“It’s an Apocryphal book. I believe the Council Of Nicea sorted out what would be the definitive version of the New Testament.”

“I think you’re lying to me, Cha–um–Cathy.”

“Would I lie to you, Auntie Do?” I meant the question rhetorically.

But she had to answer it, “Yes, I think you would.”

She called Uncle Arthur and they left her bustling him all the way to the car.”

“Why doesn’t he just tell her to bugger off?” asked Simon observing the behaviour of my aunt and uncle.

“He’s terrified of her.”

“He ain’t the only one?”

Finally, we were able to go on the pretext of collecting the children. Sister Maria had attended the funeral, representing the school, but had left immediately afterwards presumably going back to work.

The most interesting character had been an older middle-aged lady, who’d been a pupil of Una’s at St Claires and who was full of wondrous tales about their crazy science and maths teacher.

Apparently they had done the famous Piza experiment dropping two different things from the top of the church and nearly killed the parish priest, presumably not with the feather. Then she’d tried to replicate Benjamin Franklin’s experiment with the kite and the key during a thunderstorm and nearly electrocuted herself as the current passed down the wet string of the kite.

It sounded as if Una had been a magical teacher, everyone of her charges–discounting the electrical ones–passed their exams in maths and science and several went on to become scientists themselves, their curiosity piqued by the batty science teacher who’d shown her love and enthusiasm for the subject.

The kite experiment the next time she did it caused a blackout over half of Portsmouth when it touched against a high voltage cable on a nearby pylon and shorted the lot out. It was banned after that, and besides she was sixty years old and due for retirement.

Simon and I chatted as we drove to collect the girls, “I wonder if I’ll still be working at sixty?” I mused.

“Nah, you’ll definitely be over the hill by then.”

“Except by the time I get there, the age of retirement will have been moved back to ninety. How are they going to employ all these youngsters if they stop older people retiring? The jobs just won’t be there.”

“Ah but it’s cheaper if people die before they claim a pension.” Simon offered a pragmatic view compared to my naíve one.

“But that’s not fair, I’ll have paid into a pension fund and will get nothing out of it.”

“You will, not as much as if you’d been claiming for thirty years, but that’s a problem for your provider not the government, all they’re worried about is not having to pay your state pension. That’s where they lose money especially if they pay a set amount regardless of whether you’ve paid into it or not. If you want to show a profit, don’t pay any National Insurance or taxes for the next fifty years.”

“But that’s dishonest, Si,” I felt quite angry by his glibness.

“Yeah, but does it worry all those who do just that–I don’t think so?”

“Surely there can’t be that many can there?”

“You’d be surprised, babes, you’d be surprised–and apart from Scandinavia, this is the only place daft enough to fund them.”

“In some regards I’m proud of that, in others I’m ashamed of the few scroungers who milk the system and probably work as hard in doing so as those of us who work officially.”

“Well I’ve got no time for any of them, bloody parasites.”

“Things will change, Si, demographics will see to that, unless we develop a huge underclass and that will lead to nightmare scenarios, like some of these dystopian films and novels.”

“Better keep in with Arnie then, we may need him to come and punch some city in the mouth.”

“He’ll be too old by then, Si.”

“Oh bugger, who we gonna call?”

“The Ghostbusters?” I offered showing I wasn’t as uninfluenced by popular culture as I liked to think.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1619 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

That night I couldn’t sleep. As usual my problem didn’t affect Simon who snored like an angry lawnmower. I lay there for ages feeling my elbow was bruised after bashing his ribs so much. I tossed and turned then finally, fed up with Simon’s impression of a chainsaw, I slipped out of bed and after pulling on my dressing gown over my lilac coloured winceyette with purple bunnies–don’t, they were a present from Julie–I went downstairs.

The house was quiet apart from the sound of the fridge and the snoring coming from my room and Tom’s. I quickly made a cuppa and took it with me into my study where I snaffled a couple of my favourite biscuits. I was wide awake so I did some work on the mammal survey. My collation was coming together quite nicely and the recent mention of a dormouse in a Lyme Regis teashop–did it come from one of the teapots–a la Alice in Wonderland/down the Rabbit Hole. I doubt it but quite whence it came, no one seems to know. It’s hopefully safe now in a rescue place in Devon.

I didn’t use it as a record except as an eccentric entry, besides which Dorset seems quite reasonably populated as do parts of Somerset. I sipped my tea and felt a cold draught behind me. Goose pimples rose on my arms and I gave an involuntary shiver. It felt as if the door had been opened and cold air was coming in.

Given I’d been at a funeral that day and thinking about the recently deceased relative, I immediately chided myself for my superstition–there are no such things as ghosts or whatever, except in dreams, where obviously they could be my unconscious mind trying to sort things in symbolism or metaphor or whatever it used to file my thoughts and experiences for the day.

Besides if it was Great Aunt Una, I knew she’d never hurt me so I had no reason to feel fear. See, just rationalise these things and they go away. I went back to my cuppa and my survey–could I really get all this together in another year or so and offer it for my doctoral dissertation. The difficult bit was going to be correlating climate change with populations of different species and making predictions based upon that change. I’d been using some software for modelling things, my main subject being the dormouse but I was also going to be doing some stuff on harvest mice and the brown rat–how’s that for a contrast?

The black rat–Rattus rattus, the one blamed for spreading the black death–yeah it entered via Weymouth, so they say–so the Olympics will be the first time anything has happened there since the thirteenth century. Anyway, the Asian or black rat is a relative rarity here, it’s the larger brown rat, Rattus norvegicus which we have in surplus, like most European countries. They say, you’re never more than a few yards from a rat wherever you are in England–I expect they mean the brown variety of Rattus rather than the two legged sort which seem to be on the increase.

They carry all sorts of bugs including leptospirosis or Weil’s disease which is a very nasty bug indeed and can wipe out your liver and kidneys. Ironically, the latest idea on the black death is that it wasn’t carried by rats or their fleas because it spread to quickly–so it was probably human to human contact. So give a rat a bad name and...Bugger, that cold draught was back again. It felt as if someone had opened the back door or something.

I turned round but my door was closed, but just in case one of the outside doors was open–though I don’t know how or why it should be–I thought I’d better check–if one was open, who had opened it? Were we being burgled–bugger, my mobile was upstairs in my bag. I eased the chair away from my desk and stepped on tip toe to the fake grate I had and picked up the poker that was leant on the hearth–it wasn’t fake–the poker I mean, the hearth was. Holding it firmly, I quietly opened the door and almost silently walked along the hallway towards the door which exits from the extension to the back yard/garden. I could see in the moonlight that it was closed and a quick check showed it was locked.

I stole back along the hallway and into the kitchen opening the door as quietly as I could, now it felt very cold and my heart started to thump rapidly in my chest, the pounding in my neck and ears almost deafening. This could be the door that was open–I flung open the kitchen door and switched on the light, brandishing my weapon, a pound of Sheffield steel. There was no one there, yet the room felt cold, unusually cold.

I walked through and checked the back door, it was locked and bolted as well. I looked at the temperature display on the fridge, which gives the ambient temperature as well as the fridge and freezer. It was registering five degrees–that was colder than the forecast had suggested. I shrugged and turned to go and finish my survey stuff and close down the computer when I was confronted by a figure in the doorway.

For a moment it seemed as if the bunnies in my jammy trousers might need to do some coprophagy so great was my surprise. I froze and stared at the person before me. She, yes it was a female, stood about five feet ten and she looked keenly at me as if she was examining me. She was wearing some sort of long dress, it looked very old fashioned and had some sort of pattern on it but her skin looked very pale, deathly pale and her eyes had no sparkle in them and were a very pale blue.

She seemed to look me up and down and I wondered what the hell was going on, I seemed unable to move, although I could feel my fingers gripping the poker so tightly it was hurting them. A cold sweat formed on my brow and on my lip–it was so cold, yet my Aga was working I could hear it.

“Aye ye’ll dae,” she muttered to herself and her speaking seemed to break my trance.

“I’ll do for what? What are you doing in my home?” I asked in a voice which was barely above a croak, “Who are you?”

She looked at me calmly and smiled, “Ye’ll dae,” she said and faded before my eyes. I shook myself and dashed to the hallway, there was no one there. I switched on the lights and tore up and down the hall, then realising my children were upstairs I raced up the stairs and into their bedroom, then into Danny’s room and finally up to Julie’s. I could find no intruder anywhere.

People can’t just disappear–physics doesn’t allow them to–yet she seemed physical, albeit rather pale. I ran down to the kitchen and the temperature was sixteen degrees, much more like it.

I switched on the kettle and made myself a drink, as I was doing so Tom lumbered out and I nearly brained him with the poker.

“Whit fa are ye daein’ oot here, d’ye ken whit time it is?”

“I couldn’t sleep and came down to do some work, I thought I felt a cold draught and wondered if we had a door or window open, came into the kitchen and as I was about to leave I saw an old woman standing pretty well where you are, Daddy. She said ‘Ye’ll dae,’ and then she disappeared.”

“Whit d’ye mean, she disappeared?”

“She faded before my very eyes.”

“Whit’d she look like?”

“She was about five ten, wearing a long dress, quite old fashioned looking, very pale skin, blue eyes but they looked dead–you know, no life in them.”

He chuckled, “Soonds like ye’ve seen the White Lady o’ Stanebury.”

“What? Don’t be silly, Daddy. Stanebury’s four hundred miles away.”

“Aye, but fro’ whit Henry telt me, she can appear anywhere tae Cameron lassies.”

“That has got to be the biggest load of haggis droppings I’ve ever heard.”

He roared with laughter and I had to ask him to be quiet or he’d wake the children. Then he asked me to make him some tea and we sat at the table and talked about my recent experience. I had to admit his explanation was as feasible as any I could think of, I’d speak with Henry when I got a chance. I wondered if Stella had seen her. I’d have to ask her tomorrow.

I cleared up, switched off my lap top and went off to bed where Simon’s warm body felt really good to cuddle against, and within a short time I was asleep.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1620 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Stel, have you ever heard Henry talk about this ghost of a laird’s wife up at Stanebury?”

We were drinking tea after I returned from taking the girls to school.

“I didn’t think your rational mind believed in ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night?”

“I don’t but I was thinking about it last night.”

“You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

“Seen who?” I lied blushing, or at least feeling hot–perhaps it was the tea?

“You have seen her–go on admit it, you’re blushing like a school girl who’s just realised she was changing her drawers with the lights on and the curtains open.”

“I am not!” Why is it when one lie doesn’t work we tell another which isn’t going to work any better than the first one?

“Cathy, why don’t you just admit it, no one’s going to think any less of you?”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“Honest, cross my heart to lift and separate.”

“Oh, okay, I think–I only think–I saw her.”

“Aha, so your science isn’t much use now is it, Miss Dormouse.” She cackled like an old witch.

“You promised me you wouldn’t tease me.”

“So, I lied.” She snorted and giggled to herself. I just glared at her.

“You’re a rotten rabbit, d’you know that?” I said and she roared with laughter. It was several minutes before she calmed down enough to listen let alone say anything coherent.

“So, what happened?” she asked, I’d almost forgotten what we were talking about I felt so stupid.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I rose to get on with some of my chores.

“Yes it does–what happened?”

“Why should I tell you, you’ll only laugh?”

“No I won’t, c’mon little sis, sit down and tell big sis what happened.”

“Have you seen her?” I asked and she avoided eye contact. “So you have.”

She spluttered a reply which was lost in translation. I related what had happened and what I thought I heard the thing say. She nodded and explained she’d just seen her and wasn’t aware of anything being said.

“I suspect it was just my unconscious playing tricks, but I’m not sure because it went so cold.”

“Perhaps you’d fallen asleep, it always feels cold when you nod off and wake up with a start.”

“Nah, I was awake I did an hour on the survey stuff and it was the cold which drew my attention to it, felt like the back door was open.”

“I don’t recall it being particularly cold, but I was a kid at the time.”

“A kid?”

“Well, I’d done my hairdressing and was thinking about nursing and she appeared as if to tell me that I should do the nursing.”

“So does she appear in times of crisis?”

“Sometimes, or to tell you to pull your finger out if you happen to be mistress of Stanebury. Seeing as you’re not, I’ve no idea why she turned up–maybe she came south for the winter.”

We both laughed at that one.

“One thing is certain,” continued Stella.

“Which is?”

“She only appears to females–so any lingering doubts you might have over that...”

“Nah, if she’s that old she probably needs glasses.”

“Cathy, why can’t you admit that while your body might be imperfect, your spirit is obviously female?”

“I don’t know if I can believe in such things other than as a metaphor for will, as in will-power.”

“Cathy, you’ve seen people’s spirits, you’ve even shoved ’em back in people’s bodies. You of all people should be able to accept that.”

“It doesn’t fit my map of the universe, Stella, and I haven’t seen anything yet which makes me want to change that view.”

“What about last night?”

“What about it?”

“Your nocturnal visitor.”

“Could be anything, I might have nodded off and dreamt it, hallucinated it with tiredness, been mistaken...anything.”

“Including the Auld Wifie coming to inspect you as a future mistress of Stanebury.”

“That wasn’t one that I was considering.”

“Cathy, get real. This thing is real, whatever it or she is, it is only visible to women, to females because it’s attracted to their female spirit. You’ve seen that Old Testament thingy, Shekhi–whatever, she only comes to women.”

“Does she? I have no idea.”

“She gave you the power to heal, she told you her essence was strong in you.”

“I know, I know–look I appreciate what you’re saying but there are two problems–first, I have a real problem with all this mumbo jumbo stuff–it has to have a cause which is not supernatural–there is no supernatural–just superstition, all the rest is physics and chemistry. Second, I’m aware of my past–okay, I was a girl with a plumbing problem, but even if I pretend that’s true, I know it’s different. I know the truth.”

“Which is?”

“I was born a male and converted to female.”

“Could we rephrase that a little?”

“How d’ya mean?”

“You were born with a male body and a female spirit and soul and I think mind as well. That has been corrected as much as possible. You are legally female, your life is a female, shit–even your bikes are women’s ones.”

“So is that your masterstroke–your proof that if you ride a woman’s bike you must be female?”

“No, only if all the other bits are there as well. It’s not as if you ever grew into a man is it?”

“Hang on, I’ve got to feed the baby.” I picked her up out of her bouncy thing, she’d begun to whimper and cooed ‘Ma ma’ at me when I picked her up.

“She has no doubt what you are, does she?”

“I’m not aware that babies are very eloquent in discourse–jeez you little bugger–stop biting.” The baby giggled and bit me again.

“I suppose that happens to all men.”

“What does?” I asked Stella.

“Getting their tit savaged by a woman-eating baby.”

“Stella, your logic doesn’t follow.”

“Neither does yours, Catherine Cameron, now tell me, why are you scared of embracing femaleness?”

“I’m not,” am I? If I am it’s not something I’m conscious of. “I mean I see myself as female when I’m with Simon and I know he certainly does.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

“I told you, I became female by law and had to have my body altered–you didn’t, so we’re different.”

She picked Fiona out of the carrycot and began breast feeding her, “Yeah, very different.” She said a then laughed like a drain, waking up Catherine who started sucking like a vacuum cleaner.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1621 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I awoke with some surprise to see the sunshine bursting through the crack in the curtains and wondered if I’d overslept. It was five to seven, the alarm would switch the radio on any moment and as most news is bad news, I pressed the off switch and lay there watching the sunshine and listening to the birds.

Sparrows chirped and a goldfinch twittered somewhere nearby, I could hear strains of blackbird and dunnock interspersed with robin and great tit. Not far away a chaffinch made me wonder about the term songbird, and the pigeon hoo-hooing on the roof made me decide to get up. It wasn’t quite a dawn chorus but it was better than Messrs Humphrys and Naughtie.

A dog barked as I was dressing and I recognised it as Kiki, glancing out of the window I saw Tom bringing her back from her walk and she was dancing round him in the drive way, barking as went. I slipped downstairs and put the kettle on as Tom was wiping her feet–we’d had too many squabbles about dirty feet on my clean floor, so now he usually wiped her down, which made her smell a little better as well, spaniel ronk is not the best aroma with which to start the day.

“Whit nae bairns thae morn?”

“I’m going to have a cuppa first and then get them up.”

“Whit aboot Simon?”

“Whit aboot–I mean what about him?”

“He’ll be late fa’ work.”

“No he won’t he’s got the morning off, he has a meeting this afternoon, but that’s all.”

“Och some people hae an easy life.”

“Would you consider being married to me, easy then?”

“Och, it’s a sair fecht, so it is.” He filled his mug with treacle like coffee which I’m sure he buys cheaply as slurry from oil refineries, picked up my Guardian and disappeared into his study. I made my tea and drank it, then took Simon up a cup of coffee.

From then on it was all systems go and I chivvied the children and chased them down for breakfast as soon as they were dressed. Meems was having awful trouble doing up her cardi, she kept missing the opposing buttonhole so her cardi looked skew-whiff. She got angrier and angrier with it and in the end I had to intervene and do it up for her. She didn’t like it, but the way she was going she’d have been at it all morning.

At school, I of course bumped into Sister Maria. “Guess who we’ve got coming to speak to the sixth form this afternoon?”

“I have no idea.”

“Go on have a guess.”

“Mother Theresa.”

“Lady Cameron, please be serious.”

“The Archbishop of Canterbury.”

“This is a catholic school if you remember.”

“I have no idea.”

“You know him.”

“I know him? Not my pa in law?”

“Erm–no,”

“Thank goodness for that. I give up.”

“Matthew Hines.”

“Oh, that all.”

“Oh c’mon, Lady Cameron, he is quite dishy, I know all the girls fancy him like mad.”

“Even the lesbian ones?” I asked pointedly. She gave me a sour look and I smirked.

“That is not funny.”

“No it’s queer.” I smirked again and she shook her head.

“I only told you because I wondered if you’d like to make his acquaintance again.”

“Is his wife coming?”

“That I don’t know.”

“It’s her you want to talk to the children, she’s far more interesting than he is.”

“Oh–perhaps a future speaker.”

I nodded encouragingly, it would make it a bit longer before she pounced on me again. I think she might have read my mind because she gave me a very old fashioned look before shaking her head again. “She’s really nice and far more down to earth than he is.”

“She’s a model, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know if she’s still doing the catwalk stuff, but she was in the top bracket along with Kate Moss and Heidi Klum.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t a model,” she threw at me.

“Too short, most of them are six footers.”

“You make them sound like insects,” she sniggered and I chuckled at the prospect of haute couture dresses being worn by insects.

“What about that Australian man who looks so attractive in dresses?”

“Andrej Pejic?”

“Is that his name, he’s absolutely beautiful isn’t he?”

“Yes and I admire his refusal to be defined by anything other than what he wants to do. Apparently he suffers quite a lot trying to keep his weight down.”

“I suppose lots of the girls do too, they appear sometimes as stick insects, painfully thin.”

“Indeed, headmistress. I must be going, loads to do.”

“I expect you have, well if you’d like to hear what Matthew has to say feel free to come along at two o’clock.”

“I suspect I’d be something of a distraction to the poor man, but please give him my regards and to his wife as well. I hope their baby girl is well.”

“As you wish, Lady Cameron, I’ll certainly pass on your greetings to him and his family. I still think the two of you made a wonderful pair of Macbeths.”

“Um–I think I’d better be going, headmistress, loads to do.” I almost ran back to my car–the last thing I needed today was to be caught by Matt, okay the acting with him was fun while it lasted and I enjoyed meeting his wife, but we operate in different worlds–theirs is all glamour and luvvies mine is my family and the mundane, and I wouldn’t swap with them for all the tea in China.

In fact if I’d wanted I could have persuaded Si to take me to parties and clubs and we could have lived the good life until one us had liver failure or got into drugs and things. Instead he seemed happy to support my eschewal of the bright life for family life and we collected all our waifs and strays and enjoyed all their adventures too. Compared to that, the triumphs and tribulations of living with a bunch of misfits and melding them into a family, doing the clubs and parties of the A-listers sounds rather tame.

I thought back over some of the experiences I’d had, some I’d have preferred not to have happened but that’s life. On which stuck in my mind was the incident when Trish ran into the apple tree and nearly brained herself–for a short time she seemed to think she was Patrick again, which passed after some healing although she then became blind.

The episode with the bear with the sore head–which was one of those lucid dreams I occasionally have–remains with me to this day, so bizarre was it. I mean a talking bear, but then in dreams anything can happen–or at least in mine they do.

I did some shopping and went home. Part of me wanted to see Matt, if only to say hello, but thankfully the sensible bit prevailed–at least until lunch time.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1622 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Julie, can you look after Catherine for a couple of hours this afternoon?”

“I s’pose so, why?”

“I need to go out.”

“Where?”

“Why does that matter?” I challenged and felt even more guilty than I did before.”

“It doesn’t but usually you say where you’re goin’, that’s all.”

“Sister Maria invited me to something at the school.”

“I thought you avoided that place like the plague ’cos they always catch you for somethin’.”

“I’ll just have to take that risk won’t I?”

“So what’s next, Othello or ’Amlet?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, you got lumbered for talks or doin’ their plays for ’em, so woss next?”

“I have no intention of doing another play for them, my thespian days are over.”

“Goin’ ’etero now are we?”

“Going what?”

“You said your lesbian days were over–never ’ad you down as one of them,” she was smirking so I knew she was trying to wind me up.

“I said thespian, meaning relating to the stage, comes from some ancient Greek or other. Thespians are actors.”

“Oh, I musta misheard you,” she smirked.

I shook my head and left her to clean up the dirty dishes while I went to change. I decided I go smart casual, jeans–okay, DK jeans with a CK top, my ankle boots and leather jacket. I hadn’t worn it since I’d helped recover Julie from the Isle of Wight. It had been cleaned but thankfully she didn’t see me wearing it so there were no flashbacks. I had suggested she go and see her bio-parents but she always had an excuse for not being able to. I even offered to pay for her to go by the hovercraft but she declined.

They sent her a birthday card and a cheque, although she didn’t say how much it was for. While hanging stuff in her wardrobe, I discovered she’d ripped the cheque in half–it was for five hundred pounds. Perhaps she saw it as them trying to buy her, but she could have taken the money and run–or is she beginning to develop some sense of morality. I know when she first came to me, she’d have taken the money then. Unfortunately, I couldn’t raise the point because she’d accuse me of snooping–I hadn’t been but she wouldn’t believe me. Oh well, such is life.

I pulled on my Burberry scarf–I know, too much information–and went to the school. I hadn’t expected to see hordes of women there plus the press, presumably waiting to see Matt, he was a definite A-lister. There was also a couple of police on the gate stopping people entering. I beeped my horn at the crowd and some got out the way some swore at me. Eventually a copper came to see what was going on and I told them I’d been invited by the headmistress to the afternoon workshop.

“And who are you then, madam?” he asked me.

“I’m Cathy Cameron, Matthew and I did Macbeth here a few months back.”

“Did you now, so how come we don’t ’ave you on the official list of those who might attend?”

“Sister Maria only invited me this morning and I had to alter my schedule to come–I’ve got three girls here so will have to collect them anyway.”

“Hold on,” he said and he went to consult with his colleague. He returned, “Are you Lady Cameron–the dormouse lady?”

“That’s me.”

“Well you’re not on the list but you have a reputation for causing trouble, so you’d better go through.”

“Causing trouble? I don’t you know.”

“That isn’t what they say down the nick.”

“Probably an exaggeration, I’ve have had run ins with some of your colleagues in the past, but we’re on good terms these days.”

His friend opened the gate and I was allowed in. I parked the car and walked into the school and to the headmistress’s office. She was with her guest apparently but the secretary took me to the hall–I knew the way quite well by now. I slipped in through the door and sat quietly on a chair at the back, neither Sister Maria or Matt saw me.

“So, ladies, I give you Mr Matthew Hines,” said Sister Maria and sat down behind him.

“Thank you, headmistress, well, ladies, the last time I was here I was asked to do Shakespeare–you know, some old git who died ’undreds of years ago, an’ ’oo I’d ’nothing to do with since school.

“I mean, I was an actor–did drama school and all that, but we didn’t do Shakespeare, it was all contemporary stuff. I was essentially a film actor–you know, action–roll ’em–cut, that sort of stuff and I got lumbered with doing Shakespeare and with some amateur drama group students. As I came here, I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life–in fact, I saw my career in ruins and I half contemplated crashing the car so I couldn’t keep my promise through injury.”

The audience gasped at this revelation. I sat there feeling surprised myself–I had similar feelings before we did it.

“I’d had a video sent me of a woman doing some acting class with you lot and she looked as if she had some idea of what she was doin’, so I came and met with her. I mean, I could always crash the car on the way back, couldn’t I?” The girls laughed at this statement.

“I met with my presumed leading lady, and she was only an amateur as well–I tell you, I nearly died.” So did I, wishing I’d stayed home, I felt a hot flush coming on and a drip of sweat ran down my back and there was me thinking I’d save his bacon, his reputation and the play and it wasn’t so–least not in his eyes. I felt very disappointed and if I’d been able to leave without him seeing me, I’d have gone, there and then. Stupid man.

“It seemed she’d done the play when she was in school, but her workshop showed me that she had something–she knew the part and something that blew me away was when we met in a restaurant–our first meeting, my wife was heavily pregnant and we were late, so I expect my guests thought I was a right twit–we’d got held up by an accident on the motorway, but hey, I was buying them dinner at an expensive restaurant, so they could wait a bit.

“Turned out I’d made a number of wrong assumptions. The waiter knew them, so I asked if they dined there often–turned out they owned the bloody place. Boy did I feel stupid.” The girls laughed politely at this. “Anyhow, we, the three of us, just me an’ my guests, my wife was feeling a bit under the weather, ordered and over dinner I discovered just who and what I was working with.

“When you’re still feeling a bit unsure of what someone can do and how it might reflect on you, you tend to be a bit defensive–in my case that meant acting like a bit of a twit. I almost dismissed her when I discovered she taught at a university and wasn’t a professional actor. I said so to her and she just bit my head off.” A nervous sort of gasp went round the audience of schoolgirls.

“But it was the way she did it that absolutely gobsmacked me. She replied in character–talking in a flawless Scottish accent and as if she was Queen Gruoch, who was the real wife of Macbeth. I was totally and utterly blown away, she scolded me like she was a mediaeval queen–and boy did I deserve it. Not only that, but she taught me quite a bit about acting on stage and presenting myself.

“I mean, like most actors, I’ve got an ego the size of California–she didn’t take any notice of it, she corrected my lines when we were rehearsing and my accent when I got pronunciations wrong–she was so much more the professional than I was, and yet, I knew the tickets would be sold because of me. Ironic innit? But it’s her you want to come and speak to you not me–anyhow, it’s me you’re stuck with.”

Sister Maria got up and spoke to him very quietly and he almost started, he went very red and began to scan the audience. I knew then my cover had been blown and I was about to make a run for it when he said loudly, “Ladies, I’d like to introduce my partner in crime, Lady Cathy Cameron–come on down the front, Cathy.” The girls all turned round and applauded. I blushed and went reluctantly to meet Matt and Sister Maria.

The sod got me to re-enact the scene from the play when he tells her he’s just killed Duncan. Somehow I remembered enough of the lines to do it. The girls were so kind with their applause.

Then we did a question and answer session which we stopped because the bell rang and we ran out of time and I had three little piggies to collect. So what did I think of Matthew Hines–a great deal more by the end of the afternoon than I did at the beginning. His ego might still be as large as it was, but I know he can be honest and acknowledge the contribution of others to his success. Yeah, he’s okay.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1623 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was feeling contented with Matt when driving home I suddenly remembered he didn’t do the play in the end, he had some bug or other–um what was it? Oh yeah, glandular fever and he dropped out and Iain McPherson did it instead.

No wonder he was so full of praise for me, but why didn’t anyone challenge him? The headmistress knew he dropped out, she was at the performances, some of the girls must have known too. It’s crazy, he’s a big film star and good looking and they all forget or forgive everything. I’d have something to say to her when I next saw her–then I didn’t say much either did I? As if my head was filled with new memories which never actually happened.

Why didn’t Matt talk about making films or his latest one or anything except his huge flop–the play which he didn’t do? And why didn’t I challenge him, I mean I could hardly forget it all could I? Perhaps they all knew and didn’t like to upset the apple cart, I’ll find out when I next take the girls to school. How did I forget? I shook my head and reengaged my brain to deal with the riot happening on the back seat as Trish and Livvie squabbled over the ownership of some book.

On the return home Stella told me that there had been a phone call for me. “Okay, who was it?” Before she could answer I asked her if we’d had Iain McPherson to dinner during the play.

“I wasn’t here, remember–a little matter of trying to kill you again.”

“Oops–sorry, but I just went to hear Matt Hines talking to the sixth form at the convent and they all acted as if he’d done the play with me when we all knew he dropped out and Iain McPherson took over.”

“Alright, I’ll forgive you.”

“Thank you, who was on the phone?”

“Jenny.”

“Jenny who?”

“Jenny, the wheelchair guy–remember, now?”

“Oh that Jenny–what did she want?”

“To speak to you.”

“What about?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Did she leave a number?”

“Yes, it’s on the pad.”

I gave the girls a drink and some fruit and went into the study with the number Stella had written down. I wondered where Julie was, then saw her walking in with the push chair–she’d obviously taken Catherine out for a bit of air, so she must be feeling stronger–she could go back to college next week.

I dialled the number on the sheet of paper and waited until it rang and was answered. I recognised the voice immediately and my tummy flipped over. I really didn’t want to make this call. “Hello, Jenny it’s Cathy.”

“Hi, Cathy, thanks for calling me back.”

“What did you want me for?” I asked knowing what the answer might be.

“I’d like to come home, if you’ll take me back.”

Why do these things happen to me? I paused for a moment. “Are you still there, Cathy?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“You did say I could,” she was blackmailing me.

“We both said a number of things, some of which were less than pleasant.”

“So you’ve changed your mind have you?”

“I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“But you promised me...”

“I know I did, Jenny, but that was before you destroyed Caroline and was so offensive to me.”

“You were equally nasty to me.”

“If I was I apologise.”

“So do I. You’ve been so good to me, I don’t know why I did what I did with Caroline except I knew she wasn’t really transsexual and called her bluff.”

“I don’t think it was bluff, more a question of confusion.”

“Well I helped sort him out then.”

“I think that might be the exact opposite, I think you helped screw her up.”

“Oh, sorry–messed up again did I?”

“I think we all did. Look I need to talk to the others and see how they feel about having you back. I’ll also need to get the costings redone on the stable for the conversion.”

“You said you were going to have that done.”

“Yeah, well things got in the way including Julie being rather ill for a period.”

“How is she?”

“Much better now, but she was pretty sick.”

“So you saved the day again did you with your little miracles?”

“I helped a bit, so did the clever doctors and their medicines.”

“When will you be able to let me know–about coming back or not?”

“In the next day or so, how soon have you got to have an answer?”

“They want to put me in some disabled bungalow which is a soulless place. I want to be back with my friends, helping where I can–I can still babysit for you.”

“I have an advert in the local paper for a new housekeeper.”

“So that’s it then is it?”

“No–I said I’d speak with the others as soon as I can and I’ll get back to you.”

“Yeah, like you said I could come home.”

“I’ll call you in the next few days.”

“Don’t bother,” she said as I put the phone down.”

At dinner, we had salmon, I told the family about my call with Jenny. “So what d’you want us to do or say?” asked Simon.

“I don’t really know–do we have her back or do I say no and renege on my earlier offer?”

“I like Jenny,” said Julie and the girls all agreed with her.

“Can we cope with her–I mean, she’s going to need help to get to bed and to be got up–do we have the resources we need.”

“Daddy, it’s your house, what d’you think?”

Tom looked most uncomfortable. “Ye made a promise, Cathy, ye shud honour it.”

“I know but we’ve both changed–we could spend all this money and she might not decide to stay.”

“Isnae that her prerogative?” Tom asked.

“Don’t we have some say in it as well?” I asked him.

“Ye’ve gave yer word, Cathy, I expect ye tae honour it.”

“Anyone else have anything to say?” I asked but they all shook their heads. “So I should call her tomorrow and say yes, as soon as we get the stable reorganised for a wheelchair?”

Tom nodded in agreement and the others sort of agreed.

I felt like running up the stairs screaming–we could now be saddled with another liability. I felt sorry for Jenny, she had damaged herself badly when she jumped of the bridge and could we who are already stretched for care for the children cope with looking after another waif and stray. I guess some of me is going to find out quite soon.

I went back to my study and sent Maureen an email about the stables–they were down to look at in the summer. Now we’d have to do so earlier. I sent a text to Jenny asking her to call me again tomorrow morning or whenever it was convenient to her. I was anxious about the outcome of this latest venture and I had no idea if it would work or end in disaster.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1624 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The phone rang about ten o’clock and when I answered it I was relieved to discover it was Maureen not Jenny. I explained that I needed to bring forward the stable conversion–sounds like something out of the Gospels doesn’t it? She had plans drafted and approved so it was essentially about getting some quotes and then agreeing a schedule with the pertinent builder. She would get cracking on it immediately.

I’d just put down the phone from her when it rang again and I picked it up half expecting Maureen to say that she’d forgotten something, except it was Jenny calling.

“You asked me to call you back.”

“I did.”

“And the verdict?”

“Guilty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was guilty of offering you a home and my family are agreed that I need to honour my promises.”

“Assumin’ I stlll want to come.”

“You did last night.”

“So I did, but I coulda changed my mind this morning.”

“You have ten seconds to tell me if you want this place or not.”

“Yes,” she snapped in under a second.

“It’s probably going to take a month to do.”

“Okay.”

I could have punched her one if she was nearer–what had happened to the lovely young woman who used to work for me?

“I’ll contact you nearer the time it’s completed.”

“Okay,” I put my phone down feeling disgusted with her except it hadn’t been disconnected from her call and I heard her say to someone, “She swallowed it hook line and sinker.” I was sure I hadn’t imagined it–what was going on?

I had a cuppa and talked things over with Stella who seemed equally perplexed by Jenny’s attitude. I decided I wanted to see her, Jenny, that is, but I didn’t want her to know I was there, I wanted to observe her and see to whom she was talking. I called her back.

“Hello, Cathy, what d’ya want?”

“I’m going to need and address to send the lease and I suppose it would be useful to see what we’re planning to do to the stables.”

She agreed it would and gave me her address. It was a place in Shirley–that’s a district of Southampton not the first name of Ms Bassey. I found it on Google maps and after agreeing with Stella to look after the babies, Julie and I jumped in the car set off for the address.

It took about an hour to find it and a bit longer to park the car. She hadn’t seen it before but my number plate was almost as expensive as the car, CAT11Y, a screw being deposited between the two ones. I wasn’t into personalised number plates but I didn’t pay for it. Would you believe it took me two weeks to notice the number? And only then because he asked me if I’d memorised the number yet–I never did–until this one. His of course was S1MON, his dad’s was H3NRY, and his step-mother’s, MON164. Okay the last one took some imagination but it was as close as you could get to her name.

We split up and walking on opposite sides of the road in case we were seen went and cased the place. It was essentially a block of flats for the disabled being quite close to the hospital, there were ramps and things and all the door handles and bells were at waist level.

Her flat was on the first floor and something was bugging me. I knew she’d changed, she had when she was there at Christmas, but she seemed angry with me for some reason and I wanted to know why. So I rang the bell and the locked outer door opened without her waiting for me to say who I was. We both stepped inside and walked up the steps, although there was a wheelchair lift available.

“I thought you only came to suss the place,” Julie said as she followed me up the stairs.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So what are you doing now?”

“Sussing some more.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Nor me, which is why I’m doing it.”

She stopped me at the top of the stairs, “You don’t like it which is why you’re doing it? What are you a masochist?”

“It is Lent.”

“What’s been lent?”

“No, Lent, yesterday was Ash Wednesday.”

“What?”

“Never mind–it’s to do with Easter.”

She muttered to herself as we approached the door. “Oh, that Lent?”

I shook my head–Trish would have got it in seconds. I rang the doorbell and a voice called ‘Come in.’ So we did.

“Hello, Jenny.”

“Cathy? Julie? What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you, do we need another reason?”

“I suppose not.”

One could cut the atmosphere in the flat with a knife, “Nice place, well adapted, hope the stables work out as well.”

“It’s alright,” she said dismissively.

“Mind if I look round might give me some ideas for the stables conversion. I walked out of the room before she could answer and went into the bedroom, there were two beds in there, one with a hoist thing attached for helping her in and out of bed and the other an ordinary bed. She followed me in. The men’s clothes showed she had someone living with her.

“Have a live in carer, do you?” I asked trying not to show any emotion.

“Yeah, name’s Chris.”

“Christopher, I take it?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Is he planning on coming to the stables with you?”

“Yeah, he’ll be able to help me.”

“Okay, now tell me what’s really going on?”

“Waddya mean?”

“Jenny, you are not the person you used to be. Now I know circumstances have been difficult but the old Jenny wouldn’t have been trying to bullshit me. There is no reason for you to want to leave here and don’t give me the line about wanting to see my kids grow up, because that is offensive as well as being nonsense.”

“I don’t like it here and want to be back at the farmhouse.”

Just then the door opened and in walked Chris who said as he came through the door, “I managed to get some stuff–real skunk this time. Who are you?” he said to Julie.

Jenny and I went back to the living room and I introduced us, he wasn’t very pleased. He was also still holding the bag of cannabis he’d gone out to get.

“I can explain,” said Jenny as I was about to storm out of the flat.

“You have ten seconds,” I said and stood there arms folded.

“Since I hurt my back, the pain killers don’t work, the nerves are jangling all the time–the cannabis seems to help.” I was scanning her back and I suspect she was telling the truth. “I was hoping if we could live somewhere with a garden we could grow our own and save some money. This stuff is quite expensive.”

Whilst I had sympathy for her pain problem, no one was growing illegal substances in my garden–I couldn’t trust someone like that with my children in such close proximity, which was such a tragedy. Before she went off the rails, she had been such a good nanny-housekeeper. It was so sad, but that was in the past and I was about to let it go.

“You’re disappointed?” she looked at me with moist eyes but I wasn’t going to change my mind.

“Frankly yes, very disappointed. We could have been prosecuted and I don’t see how you could do this in a place with young children about.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that.” I think the apology was heartfelt, at least I accepted it as such.

Julie and I did a healing session with Jenny which exhausted all three of us but the pain was eased enough for her to cope without the drugs. I also expected her to begin to start to feel her toes again and be walking after a fashion in the coming months. How well she did was up to her. She’d never walk normally again but she’d be able to walk enough to function again–at least until old age stopped her.

We left, after wishing them both well.

“Is she going to make a full recovery, Mummy?” asked Julie as we drove to collect the girls.

“Not quite, but she could walk again if she wants to.”

“Why not a full recovery?”

“Ask the energy, I don’t make the rules, but it might be something to do with either the motive for the injuries or the fact that they’re old ones–and surgeons have been playing with them.”

“Oh–sort of makes sense, but you haven’t forgiven her have you? I wondered if that was a factor?”

“No, I don’t judge those I heal, because I don’t control it–remember, we’re just the vessels for something I still don’t understand.”

“Oh yeah, Shekhina all over,” sang Julie and I shook my head, she could be getting worse than Stella.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1625 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

‘Dear Jenny,

Cathy Cameron.’

I showed it to Tom, Simon and Stella, they all countersigned it unbidden by me. I had explained the situation as we had found it on our visit and Julie was able to confirm everything I said. I think she felt as saddened by our discoveries as I did. We’d both known Jenny in happier days when she’d been a wonderful help to us all and it was a real shame to see her as she was. However, the fact that she was using illegal drugs, albeit for a possible legitimate use, made me apprehensive and to feel threatened for the children and their safety is my first priority.

In mitigation, she was the one who broke the trust of our relationship and continued to do things which were deleterious to it, so I felt I had little option but to rescind the offer. When I spoke to Julie on the return journey, she agreed with me. I thought she’d be more sympathetic to Jenny’s use of cannabis but she was very anti drugs. Apparently a girl she knew in school nearly died from using ecstasy and after that Julie saw drugs as dangerous as well as undesirable. If I could get her to see alcohol in the same light, I’d feel much happier when she was out with her friends.

So much of the trouble with teenagers–fights, stabbings, assaults, vandalism and suicide–is made worse by alcohol. I’m not against people drinking but when they do so in excess it annoys me. To see footage of young women staggering down the high street in very few clothes and sky high heels absolutely sozzled, makes me scared and angry in the same breath.

They are at risk of anything from falling and injuring themselves to being assaulted or robbed. If they do it regularly, they risk liver disease or diabetes as well as the dangers of falling or being assaulted. That they wear so few clothes isn’t an issue to me, nor are the shoes–we should be able to wear what we like.

Tom pointed an article in the Guardian. “Hae ye read this?”

I felt like saying, how could I, you pinch it as soon as it comes through the letter box, I just pay for it. Instead I actually said, “Read what?”

He handed me the paper and I read the article, it was by Philippa Perry who’s a psychotherapist and wife of the eccentric artist Grayson Perry, who accepted some national prize for art in his best party frock. It certainly gave the tabloids a good laugh. I admit I was taken aback by his attire, but only because I’d never heard of him or his art–he made some wonderful pot or other–let alone his cross dressing as a little girl.

Then he did a documentary and showed himself in all his personae and I felt hed probably be a nice chap to know, very clever and talented and his dresses are all hand made for him. His dress maker was on Woman’s Hour and she was very interesting and was obviously very fond of her eccentric client. He also studied in Portsmouth, so that has to make him okay to this family.

It might sound as if I’m judgemental, I try not to be, but to do as the article in the Guardian suggested, give the children space to experiment in who they want to be. I thought about Billie and felt pleased that that was what I was trying to do for her. I wasn’t entirely convinced she was classic GID, but at least I was trying to let her decide what she was. I think she appreciated the opportunity and enjoyed the bit of girlhood she had.

I wiped a tear from eye and went down to my study and saved the article in a file I have for useful articles on transgender/gender identity. Most of those in the press are sensationalist or pure bilge if not bile. But this one was good and I could agree with nearly every word of it. I went onto the Guardian website but the comments and the battle being fought by intransigents on both sides made me ill. I wanted to comment that they were making emotional arguments and all had so many axes to grind the sparks were blinding them to the facts or truth, but I gave up after several attempts. It’s pointless commenting to those with closed minds and the more reasonable you become, the less they accept it. Humans are strange creatures, I almost wish at times I were a dormouse, I’d be hibernating now not seeing this bitching in my favourite newspaper.

How can anyone with a functioning synapse accuse the Guardian of an agenda to promote propaganda for transsexualism? It’s ludicrous, but that’s people for you.

Apparently we make most decisions on emotional input not logic, looking at the comments on the website sure made that a very safe assertion to make.

Trish came down to see me with Livvie. “Is Jenny not coming to stay with us again, Mummy?”

“Um, sorry, girls, but no, I decided I didn’t want her here anymore.”

“But we liked her, Mummy, she’s nice.”

“The Jenny we had living with us and working with us was a nice person. Sadly her accident changed her–no, she changed as she left us, she stole from me and she planned to deceive me again. She’s unreliable in every sense of the word and I need to trust anyone who works with us or lives in this house.”

“But we could cure that, Mummy. We could change her back to what she was before.”

“We don’t have the right to make people what we want them to be, we have to accept their right to be who they believe they are. In doing so, we sometimes have to agree to disagree. Jenny has chosen her path, it’s not one that’s congruent or appropriate here any longer. She is no longer welcome in this house.”

“Woss conguent?” asked Livvie.

“Like the school we go to,” suggested Trish almost making me laugh out loud.

“That’s a convent, silly,” chided Livvie.

“It means matching or agreeing with things. So people who come here to work or stay have to fit in with the rest of us. They have to accept the rules of the house, which are mostly fairly relaxed. They also have to accept that the safety of you children is a priority, if they don’t they may be described as incongruous or not congruent.”

“See, told you it wasn’t like our school–nah,” Livvie said and poked Trish before running off with Trish in hot pursuit.

I sat quietly and looked at the photo of all my children and wept for the one I still missed.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1626 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Did you send that letter to Jenny?” asked Simon the next day.

“Yeah, by recorded delivery.”

“So very official then?”

“Absolutely.”

“You didn’t think to take it yourself?”

“Why should I? She let me down more than once and was planning to do so again. I don’t think I want to see her again, period.”

“What about the advert for her successor?”

“We have three possible.”

“Is that all?”

“No there were dozens but three seemed to be most likely to fit the bill.”

“What are you going to do about the transgender business?”

“Nothing. We have no one here who is transgendered now. I’ll make sure each has a thing about diversity and how we don’t tolerate discrimination on whatever grounds.”

“So if you get some sort of mad Muslim turn up, you have to employ them?”

“No, I’ll ask how they’d feel about being employed by an agnostic, transsexual scientist.”

“And if they say they don’t have a problem?”

“I might employ them–but they’d have to be the best candidate.”

“Oh okay, when are you interviewing?”

“Tomorrow, why?”

“Who’s interviewing?”

“Stella and I are why?”

“Who’s looking after the kids?”

“They’ll all be in school, and Julie’s looking after the babies.”

“Okay, what’s for dinner?”

“Canard á¡ l’orange.”

“What?”

“Duck in orange sauce.”

“Oh, course–right, see you tonight.” He pecked me on the cheek and left for work. I roused and scrubbed three girls and one boy. He in turn woke his big sister who grumbled but came down to help. Since she’d recovered from this latest illness she seems to have matured a little. She certainly does more round the house than she used to.

The rest of the day was cleaning and cooking. We’d be showing the three candidates over the house so they saw what they were likely to encounter and then explain the job after which we’d interview them.

The duck was okay–though I prefer chicken. Daddy grumbled because it wasn’t in curry sauce, but I think he was teasing me. Anyhow, I didn’t blow a gasket so he just sniggered when Simon said how nice it was, we hadn’t had creamed quackers for ages. Simon’s humour never actually made it beyond junior school.

He then upset Trish by asking if when they went feeding the ducks stale bread, did it mean they didn’t need stuffing when he shot them. She snapped at him and stumped away from the table in high dudgeon.

At half past ten the next morning the first of the candidates arrived. They waited with a coffee until the other two appeared, one held up on the bus and the other got lost, sat-nav didn’t work properly.

They were all equally qualified, as Jenny had been. One was a black girl, Henrietta who had the most amazing huge white teeth. The other two, Jacquie and Anna were rather quiet by comparison possibly a little nervous–I know I was.

Henrietta, seemed the most interested in the history of the house–in fact she seemed to be the most interested in everything. However, she had one weak point, she wouldn’t be available on Sundays because she was very involved with her church. My tummy flipped over on that evidence.

“What if we needed you on a Sunday?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, my church needs me and God needs me every Sunday.”

“Every Sunday?” I clarified.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you for being so frank with us, we’ll be in touch in the next day or so if you’ve been successful.”

Off she went and in came Anna. She interviewed like a corpse. “Do you have any reason why you might not be available for work such as regular commitments, family, church what have you?” I asked.

“Um, my mother expects me home every night by seven o’clock–does that count?”

Doh.

Finally Jacquie. She stood about five feet six and was dark haired and dark eyed, a very dark blue, almost sapphire coloured. I hadn’t appreciated it before she sat opposite me. She was actually very pretty and at age twenty, could be company for Julie or a liability because of Julie.

“D’you drive?” she’d been the one who came late through the bus.

“Not yet, I’m learning, ma’am.” I nodded in response.

“Can you cook?” asked Stella, “We have quite a few bodies here, so it’s different to cooking for a small family.”

“I do plain cooking, ma’am–and I have some experience of cooking for numbers, worked for a catering firm when I was still in school.”

“Have you any regular commitments which might make you unavailable at times?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am.” She looked a bit bemused.

“The job is live in, which we explained earlier and is variable hours but with a basic of thirty eight per week. We do pay overtime at time and a quarter if you work beyond those hours. I should add that no one who has worked here complained about the pay and conditions but have finished with us for personal reasons.”

“That’s okay,” she said nodding to emphasise it was so.

“Any questions for us, which we’ll try to answer as honestly as we can?” I asked as we finishing up.

“Um–not sure how to put this, ma’am, but have I seen you on telly and in the paper?”

“Possibly, I made a film on dormice a while ago.”

“An’ you had a little girl die, last year, didn’t you?”

That surprised me. “Yes I did.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

She left soon after, Julie taking her into the town centre to the bus station. She gave us her opinion when she got home and we revived ourselves with a cuppa.

“Waddya think?” I asked her.

“She’s okay, a bit young–but hey, nothing wrong with that.”

Stella roared at that, “She’s older than you, Julie.”

“Is she? Crikey, how come she can’t drive then?”

“Not everyone is in a position to learn, let alone afford a car,” I suggested tersely.

“What’s on your mind, Cathy?” asked Stella.

“She’s holding back on something, otherwise she’s probably the most suitable of the three.”

“She’s not you know–is she?” gasped my sister in law, muttering, ‘not again’ under her breath.

“No, she’s not transgendered, but there’s something.”

“So are we gonna risk it?”

“I did put a probationary clause in the conditions, plus of course references.” I picked up the phone and asked Jim to do a quick check for us, there was also the CRB check but Jim was quicker and better, if loads more expensive.

“Jacquie Morse–that was a tricky one, it’s not her original name.”

“How d’you mean?”

“Her original name is Joyce Watkins–ring any bells?”

“No, should it?”

“She murdered the little boy next door when she was five years old–went off to a children’s psyche unit. Released after ten years and given a new identity, why did you want to know?”

“I was about to offer her a job as my nanny/housekeeper.”

“Oh,” he went quiet then added, “Well on the positive side she hasn’t killed anyone since.”

“Can you email me any details of the case?”

“On its way.”

Oh bugger, why does something like this always happen?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1627 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I went to my computer and printed off the stuff Jim had sent me and went back to the kitchen where Stella was making more tea. I scanned it and then passed it on to Stella.

“How can a five year old kill another child?” asked Julie. “I, like, couldn’t do it now and I’m eighteen.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I might know someone who does.” I went off to the study taking my tea with me. I called Stephanie, I’d not been in touch with her since her baby had been born.

She answered and we spent a few minutes catching up, I invited her over for dinner one evening, she said she’d prefer to come for lunch, so we agreed that for the day after tomorrow.

“Now tell me why you’ve called, Cathy?”

“I wanted to see how you were and meet up with you again and I also wanted your advice on a little matter.”

“I’m not working, Cathy, so I hope you haven’t got the kids lined up to see me when I come.”

“Of course not, no this is another matter.”

“I expect I shall regret saying this but–what is it this time?”

“Children who kill.”

“One of yours hasn’t done so have they?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Quite.”

“So what’s this with killer kids?”

“D’you remember the Joyce Watkins case?”

“Oh she pushed the baby into the pond and watched him drown, didn’t she?”

“Until I saw the press cuttings, I hadn’t remembered that.”

“I did my forensic report on that case–long after it happened, natch–but I know the details quite well, why?”

“I’ve just interviewed her for the job of nanny housekeeper.”

“You’re joking,” she almost gasped.

“I wouldn’t joke about such things, Steph.”

“No, of course not–are you sure it’s her?”

“Yes, I had someone check her out, she’s not using that name anymore...”

“There’s a surprise–that’s like saying, I’m Jack the Ripper, come to act as chaperone.”

“It was in Southampton rather than here, wasn’t it?” I checked.

“Yes, near Shirley.”

“My question is, do you think she’s safe now?”

“Ask me a difficult one, Cathy. How do I know?”

“You’re the expert.”

“Not with people I haven’t seen, I’m not.”

“I thought you said you knew everything about the case?”

“That was fifteen years ago, she could be completely different now–we all do some awful things as children which we grow out of as we mature. A five year old would have little idea of morality or even basic right and wrong. So her outlook would be very different at age twenty, unless she was retarded in some way and held at a younger emotional age.”

“She sounded quite pleasant although I suspect she could be a bit disorganised and possibly naíve.”

“Wouldn’t you if you’d been stuck in a secure unit for ten years?”

“Possibly or sexually precocious,” I suggested.

“Hoy, I’m the expert here, so no lucky guesses.”

“Is there any way you could get access to the notes on her when they discharged her?”

“No, certainly not.”

“What about if I was able to get hold of them?”

“Don’t you dare. Even if you did, I couldn’t look at them.”

“What if I invited her here could you have a look at her?”

“She’ll run a mile if you try to set that up.”

“Would you leave your baby with her?”

“I don’t know, Cathy, probably not.”

“My intuition is telling me she’s okay, my head is saying don’t touch her with a bargepole.”

“Snap. Okay, I’ll give you an opinion if you invite her to lunch the day after tomorrow, but it’ll be a very brief assessment.”

“I hope you’ll bring Emily with you?”

“No, I thought I’d leave her to play with the dog, of course I’ll bring her–you haven’t got any ponds, have you?”

“Yes, we do actually.”

“Bugger. Okay, I’ll see you what half eleven?”

“That’ll be great, I’ll invite Jacquie for twelve.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find that dissertation I did for my forensics course. I’ll email it if I can.”

“That would be brilliant, Steph.”

“It’s very boring.”

“I’ve done dissertations myself, Steph.”

“Not like that you haven’t, it’s medical jurisprudence–very boring, even booklice won’t eat it–too dry.”

“I’m a bit more resourceful than your average psocopteran.”

“What?”

“The book lice, part of the psocoptera.”

“Show off.”

“Um–not really, I did a project on them in my first year.”

“I thought you were into mammals, soft furry things like bunnies and those dormouse thingies you like so much.”

“Nowadays I am, but in those days, we had to do various types of animals including insects. I did a short paper on the ecology of booklice–they eat the glue from old books, and the fungal spores that digest it.”

“Ugh, too much information.”

After speaking to Stephanie, I called Jacquie Morse to ask if she could come for lunch the same day as Stephanie.

“Does this mean I’ve got the job?”

“Not quite, we’d like to speak to you again about one or two things and thought it would be less formal to do so over lunch.”

“Do I still have a chance of this job?”

“I would say a very good one.”

“Can I claim bus fares, I’m a bit short at the moment.”

“I’ll happily refund travel costs for both visits.”

“Thanks, okay, I’ll come. What time do you want me?”

“Twelve noon.”

“I think there’s a bus I can catch to get me there for that.”

“If you have a problem, call me and I’ll arrange to have someone collect you from the bus station.”

“Thanks.” She rang off and I felt quite anxious. I didn’t for one moment think she’d harm any of my children but just the thought of someone who deliberately killed a child made me anxious for my children’s sake.

I’d killed in defence of my children and myself, but those were adults and it was spontaneous, I didn’t think about it too much, I just did it usually as a reaction rather than a premeditated act–except once or twice when I’ve fired arrows at people and the occasion with the bottle of spirits firebomb. I did sort of plan that, but they were going to kill us all if I hadn’t.

I liked to think I’d saved more lives than I’d taken, so I hoped I’d evened things out a bit, but who knows.

I’d not long put the phone down when it rang from a mobile number and not one I recognised. “Hello?”

“Hello, is that, Lady Cameron?”

“Yes, speaking, who’s that?”

“It’s a long story, my name is Keira Wolseley and I found a message from Jenny which my roommate had taken absolutely months ago. I was away and came back last week–and I need a job–are you looking for anyone?”

“I could be, why don’t you pop in tomorrow morning about ten thirty.”

“Thank you, I will.”

I went back to tell Stella about the lunch date with Stephanie and then asked, “You’ll never guess who just phoned?”

“Um–Richard Dawwkins?”

“No, you idiot, try Keira Wolseley.”

“Who’s she when she’s at home?”

“Only the girl Jenny was trying to recruit.”

“Is that a coincidence, or is that a coincidence?”

“Oh well life is never dull, is it?” I asked.

“That’s gotta be the understatement of the century,” said Stella and we both fell about laughing much to Julie’s disgust.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1628 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Who is Keira Wolseley?” demanded Julie once we’d stopped laughing.

“Months ago, Jenny suggested her friend when I was thinking of engaging another housekeeper/nanny.”

“And she’s Keira whatever?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s so funny about that?”

“Well, Jenny couldn’t make contact with her so we let it go, then suddenly she emerges after I sent that letter to Jenny.”

“So you think Jenny has put her up to it?”

“Shall we say we haven’t ruled it out.”

“What for?”

“Assuming she has been planted, then I have no idea–some sort of attempted extortion racket if she finds something to blackmail us over, and so on.”

“We don’t have anything to be blackmailed about do we?” asked Julie and Stella shrugged.

“Only the fact that three of us have had gender reassignment surgery–and that’s old news now.”

“Dunno, with the way the Daily Wail threw a hissy fit over some kid being featured in the The Sun, they could have a field day with you for allowing gender surgery on a seven year old.”

“What was I supposed to do? Trish’s willie was practically hacked off, bearing in mind she’d already done a DIY orchidectomy.”

Stella who’d started this area of conversation went rather quiet which reminded me it was she who did the hacking when she attacked me with a knife and Trish tried to help me.

“Anyway, she’s happy she looks more like an ordinary girl and can use showers and changing rooms without any problems now.”

“Know the feeling,” smiled Julie.

“Yeah, well next time you shove a broom handle up it, just remember a natural vagina is only about five inches deep, although it is more elastic than an improvised one.”

“So does that mean I have to look for a bloke with a five inch willie who’s the same diameter as a pencil, Mummy?”

“I’m not sure I want to continue this conversation,” instead I went to do a few minor chores, an hour on the mammal survey and went to bed.

The next morning after getting the girls to school, I dashed home to change and check everything was fine for our meeting with Keira Wolseley. She drove up in a Nissan Micra which was less than a year old–and she needed a job? Right.

I let her in and we adjourned to the dining room with coffees. How to describe her–she was about five feet seven–so my height–buxom with dark shoulder length hair and a pretty face and brown eyes. If she had any dominating features, it was probably her very white teeth, which I felt a bit suspicious about. Only American film stars have teeth that white.

“You said you’d been away for a while?” I asked her.

“Yeah, did a job in the States, Washington DC, was a nanny to some senator.”

“Oh what did you think of Washington?”

“Full of nutters with guns, and that’s just the cops–the bad guys are frightening. I got mugged coming out of a shopping mall, I got to my car with a pile of shopping and some guy shoves me to the ground and drove off with my car, my purse and my shopping. They caught him but he crashed the car–they never did find my purse or the money and cards I had.”

“Still at least you weren’t hurt,” I offered trying to see the positive element.

“Hurt my knees–the bastard–hope he rots in jail.”

I glanced at Stella who winced at this remark.

She showed us some references from her previous employer which looked genuine, so maybe she was after all–can’t say I liked her that much.

“Have you seen Jenny since you came back?”

“No, she had an accident didn’t she?”

“Yes,” I confirmed but that was all I was going to say.

“Did she jump off a bridge or something?”

“You’d need to speak to her about what happened, it would be a breach of confidence were I to say anything.”

“Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of it that way–mind you she always was a bit temperamental–and always chose the most useless blokes–mind you her dad is that way, a total jerk.”

I explained the job and its duties and she raised an eyebrow when I mentioned five children and two of Stella’s. “You’ve got five children–you don’t look old enough to have five children,” she said to me.

“Thank you for the compliment, but I have five ranging from twelve to twelve months, plus another to whom I’m a guardian who is now eighteen. We also have my father living here, it was originally his house, plus my husband of course, Stella and sometimes her partner as well.”

“Wow, and you want one person to cope with all that?”

“I have for several months, but I’m going back to work after Easter.”

“How many hours?”

“A standard of thirty eight with overtime some weeks, with a live in element, so board is included when you’re here.”

She looked a bit as if she didn’t want that amount of work. Julie showed her round the place and she came back and declared how large the place was, in fact, much bigger than she thought.

“Does that mean you don’t want the job?”

“I think it’s probably too much for one person.”

“We have someone else in mind as well, so it could be a shared job.”

“Dunno–can I think about it?”

“Of course, I’m not actually offering you the job as such but if you are still interested let me know and we’ll discuss it.”

“Okay, thanks.” She left and I doubted we’d hear from her again.

“She won’t be back,” declared Stella.

“I doubt it too,” I agreed, “too much work as she sees herself essentially as a nanny, and looking after three children plus another four after and before school. I doubt very much if she’ll ever come back to us.”

“Shows what a gem Jenny was until she went off the rails,” suggested Stella.

“Off the rails–she was a total train crash.” I’d forgotten Julie was back with us. “I don’t think she’ll be back, Mummy, she’s too lazy. I showed her the kitchen and she nearly fell over when she saw the range and the all the pans hanging up. She said it looked like a hotel kitchen and she wasn’t no skivvy.”

“Oops, looks like we’ve met our match dear sister in law, the peasants are revolting.”

Julie snorted and had to go off to find some tissues, while Stella poker faced said, “In the old days everyone knew their place, since the nineteen sixties with free love and flower power, they all think they’re important–silly twat.”

Julie looked at me and snorted again then turned round to wipe her nose again. I hoped she wasn’t getting a cold because I could do without that going through the inmates of this upmarket asylum.

Oh well tomorrow should be fun, Jacquie Morse will be coming to lunch and so will Stephanie. I wonder what will happen.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1629 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I decided on the menu for lunch the day before, beans on toast with a side salad and spotted dick with penicillin for dessert. Actually, I did a tuna bake with tomato salad and an apple sponge with cream.

It was in the oven by half past ten, the tuna, that is, and the apple went in at eleven in the bottom of the oven. It was all ready by quarter to twelve, by which time Stephanie had acquainted us with baby Emily, who was totally gorgeous–loads of dark hair, dimples and the most infectious giggle I’ve ever heard.

“She’s such a happy chappy,” beamed Stephanie while the three of us drooled over her, even Stella looked broody.

“Are you sure they gave you the right one?” I asked Stephanie.

“You cheeky cow,” she responded but couldn’t hit me because I was holding her bairn. She was wearing a dark blue all in one thing, like an upmarket babygro, and it seemed to suit her colouring.

Of course, we had chapter and verse on the birth and the first month of being a mother–I mean no woman had done it before had they...duh. I managed to interrupt her enough just before Jacquie arrived to agree we wouldn’t reveal that Stephanie was a shrink. All the guilty parties agreed.

Jacquie arrived dead on time and I left Stella and Stephanie to watch the babies and our other guest while Julie and I dished up the meal. Instead of wine I served chilled elderflower pressé, which seemed to go down rather well, Stephanie being especially fond of it.

Jacquie seemed very quiet and ate very little. After the food was dealt with, I offered teas or coffees and she followed me out to the kitchen to ‘help’ me. “You know, don’t you?” she challenged me.

“Know what, Jacquie?”

“About me, my past.”

“Why is there something you didn’t tell us?”

“Lady Cameron, I may be naíve but I’m not stupid, that woman in there is some sort of shrink, isn’t she?”

“She’s a friend of mine and is on maternity leave, so she’s nothing at the moment.”

“Yeah, she’s still a shrink, I can smell ’em like I can coppers. You know about me don’t you?”

“I know that you paid for something you did a long time ago and that you deserve a chance at a new life. I also know that my children are the most precious things in my life and I try to minimise risk factors.”

“I don’t know if I want the job now if you’re going to be checking up on me every couple of moments.”

“What you did was tragic for all concerned. I’d like to help you move on and working here would give you a chance to develop a CV and a reference.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“I’m not giving charity, all you get from me you’ll have worked for and worked hard. I’m not a soft option, I sacked your predecessor.”

“Oh big tough guy, eh?”

“No, but I have some insight into what you did.”

“How dare you say that–how can you possibly know how I feel and what I did?”

“I watched my daughter die on a bicycle ride.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve also taken life.”

“What?” Her expression changed with her gasp.

“I’ve killed in self defence and defence of my children.”

She stood open-mouthed. “I can’t believe someone as elegant and demure as you could have killed someone. I can’t believe it.”

“Several times–it’s not something of which I’m proud, nor something I did easily, but if the need arose, I’d do it again.”

“And they jailed me for ten years–maybe they should have locked you up–compared to you–I’m, I’m a petty criminal. They made me show remorse, you show none. There’s something wrong here.”

“There was an investigation and it was adjudged that in acting as I did, I saved several lives, including two policemen as well as my family. No charges were ever brought.”

“The privilege of position and money–there’s a surprise.”

“I won’t deny it could have been a factor, but I don’t honestly think it was. They investigated pretty thoroughly.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I get ten years for killing one kid and you get off after mass murder. I don’t believe it.”

“I take it you don’t want the job?”

“I don’t know–there’s you worried about me frightening your children and I’m now concerned you might kill me. What if one of your children met with an accident–however genuine it was, are you going to track me down and kill me?”

“No, if it was a genuine accident, I’d help you as much as I could.”

“The baby I was convicted of killing–it was an accident you know; but how was I supposed to defend myself at the age of five years. I didn’t understand what I’d done–he fell in the water and I was paralysed–fascinated by him drowning. I can still see it–I see it every day. I always will. I didn’t drown him, it was an accident–it really was, Mummy, I didn’t do it on purpose–honest I didn’t. Why does no one believe me...?”

I watched as she reverted to her experience and the twenty-year-old reverted to five-year-old behaviour bursting into tears. It broke my heart to watch her, she was either very upset or an actress of such skill that even the likes of Helen Mirren or Meryl Streep would be acted off the stage. I held out my arms and she flung herself into them sobbing on my shoulder, the tears I could feel dampening my shirt.

I became aware of a buzzing round me and the energy surrounded us holding us for a few moments. She recovered herself. “Oh, I’m sorry, what happened? I feel quite strange.” I led her to a chair and she sat down quite shakily. “Phew–what was that all about?”

“It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“What was?”

“Little Micky’s death?”

“I don’t know anymore–they’ve turned me inside out over the years, I don’t know what’s what anymore.”

“I saw it happen.”

“What you were there?”

“No, just now–I saw it through your eyes, I watched him drown, it was horrible.”

“How could...?” She looked at me, “Who are you? What are you?”

“I’m someone you needed to meet to move on.”

“What happened?”

“You just moved on and left your past behind.”

“Wow–do I get the job?”

“No–you didn’t come to me for the job.”

“I did–least I thought I did. What did I come for then?” She looked bewildered.

“You came here to be healed, to be validated and believed.”

“What? You believe me?”

“Totally. You were wrongly convicted, sadly I can’t do anything to right that injustice except to give you a second chance.”

“Sorry, you lost me?”

“You did very well in your GCSEs didn’t you?”

“I got ten of them, but couldn’t stay there to do A levels.”

“I’m going to help you get funding to study for your A levels and after to get yourself to university.”

“What? Why should I believe you?”

“Because I believe you...”

“Thanks but how’s that going to help me?”

“I’m also prepared to put my money where my mouth is.”

“What? What does that mean exactly?”

“It means I’ll help you financially to support you through your studies.”

“How and why?”

“Let’s see what we can get from the system first, I’ll help with any shortfall.”

“Why–you hardly know me?”

“I know you more than you’ll ever know.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“Two things.”

“Yes...”

“Get yourself the best degree you can and make a career for yourself, second, help me make these teas before the natives get restless.”

She smiled a different sort of smile, one which emanated from her very soul if there is such a thing and her whole being lit up with it. “Who are you really?” she asked.

“Your fairy godmother, c’mon Cinders let’s get you to the ball...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1630 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Jacquie is going to be starting college in September to get her A levels.” I announced and she nearly choked on her tea.

“Good idea,” commented Stephanie who was breastfeeding little Emily.

“Dunno if I could settle back down to do that now,” mused Julie, who would be back at work and college herself next week.

“Between now and then, I’m going to offer you the job of nanny/housekeeper.” I said to Jacquie and Stephanie’s eyes bugged out. “If you want to think about it, that’s up to you.”

“When would I start?” she asked me.

“As soon as you’re ready.”

“How about Monday?”

“Fine with me,” it was now Friday.

“And it’s live-in?”

“There’s room and board, you’ve seen the room?” I asked and she nodded.

“I’ll bring some clothing with me.”

“If you like, Julie could collect a case or two over the weekend, save you carrying it all.”

“Is there a uniform?”

“Uniform? No why?”

“I just wondered.”

“No just wear your ordinary clothes, obviously, we don’t want you walking about looking like an escapee from the rubbish tip, but jeans are fine if you like them, or skirts if you prefer.”

“Do I get a clothing allowance?”

“No, you’re already getting free board and lodging, so that’s one expense you’ll have to bear yourself.”

“When do I get to meet the children?” as she said this I saw Stephanie wince, waking up Emily who having guzzled for the previous minute or two, burped loudly. Then she laughed at herself and was sick–all over Stephanie. She grabbed a clean nappy from her bag and wiped herself down.

“At least it doesn’t smell like formula milk does,” she said trying not to look embarrassed.

“The children are in school so it’ll be Monday evening before you can see them after I collect them.” She nodded at this, Stephanie was still watching her like a hawk.

About half-past one, Jacquie announced she would need to go to catch the bus. I nodded to Julie who agreed to take her into the bus station. I told them to make arrangements for collecting her clothes for Monday.

As soon as she was gone, Stephanie said, “Is that wise–employing her if she’s a convicted killer?”

“She’s not a killer, it was a miscarriage of justice.”

“They all say that, Cathy. Even the Kray twins were innocent in their eyes.”

“I can assure you, she is innocent.”

“She sold you a line did she–out in the kitchen.”

“No actually, we had a frank discussion. I told her I had killed several times and she thought I was joking. I managed to impress upon her that I was not. She was more frightened of me than I was of her. She relived her tragedy with the little boy who drowned–she was five years old, Steph, how can a five-year-old describe being paralysed with shock and then fascinated by watching the boy's struggles. He drowned before she was able to run for help.”

“So she says, I read the whole transcript of the trial and the expert witness statements. I think she pushed him and then let him die for some sort of perverse curiosity.”

“I saw it happen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cathy, you were still in Bristol in those days.”

“Out in the kitchen, I saw her relive the ordeal and the boy drowning. It was awful, but I saw it through her eyes. She didn’t kill him.”

“Cathy, she’s inveigled you to believe whatever she wants you to.”

“Stephanie, I’d have thought that you of all people would have some belief that people can and do change and that redemption does happen.”

“For someone who claims to be a Dawkins’ follower, you use a lot of religious language.”

“Would that make me a Dawkinsian?”

“No, try ambivalent.”

“I’m not ambivalent, I’m an agnostic.”

“So you keep telling me–though I’m not sure quite who you want to convince.”

“What d’you mean?” I spluttered.

“You keep talking about beliefs and redemption, you talk about souls and spirits, you let the children describe you as an angel. Hardly mainstream Dawkins is it?”

I blushed, did I give that impression or was she just trying to get back at me for suggesting she could be wrong about Jacquie? “Professor Dawkins is atheist, and uses religious language, so why can’t I?”

“Yes that bothers me about him, his militant atheism is as bad as the fundamentalists who’d burn you at the stake to save you.”

“I don’t think he’d do that, Stephanie, don’t think he’s into violence.”

“Except by his tongue.”

“I accept he does sometimes get a bit sharp but only because he has to deal with so many morons who have ideas of creationism and intelligent design down as scientific theories–yet with no evidence of either which stands any sort of examination. There are people who genuinely believe in Adam and Eve as real people instead of allegorical archetypes.” I defended the Oxford professor.

“You get the prize for gobbledygook,” offered Stella who was teasing me.

“Is it a cash one?” I asked.

“No it’s a dictionary full of unpronounceable twaddle.”

“Oh? Which dictionary is that then?” I’d never heard of it.

“The Dictionary of Unpronounceable Twaddle, what else.”

“I think you just made that up,” I said.

“I’ve got one upstairs,” she declared and went to get it.” I chatted to Stephanie while she was gone. She reappeared ten minutes later with a piece of card upon which she’d written in biro, A Dictionary of Unpronounceable Twaddle, which she had bent in half and shoved several sheets of toilet paper inside.

“It should help with all the crap you talk sometimes, Cathy.” Stella was always generous with her praise. Stephanie fell about laughing, quite literally, and I had to help her back to her chair–her fall had caused little Emily to bawl her head off, so even good babies have their moments. I tried to hide my smirk but judging by the dirty look I was getting, I didn’t do much of a job.

Stephanie took her leave and we waved her off. Stella asked me if I was sure that I was making the right decision in employing Jacquie. I told her that I was absolutely convinced I was. She wondered out loud if Stephanie was correct in seeing me as gullible and wanting to believe in redemption so badly. I pointed out that only sinners get redeemed, the innocent are proven guiltless eventually.

“Tell that to those who were hanged or otherwise sent to their ancestors despite protesting their innocence. You’re only innocent until the law decides otherwise.”

“Which is usually impartially,” I interrupted.

“Sometimes, it’s all getting more political–sometimes I despair we’ll never see a good hanging again.” This line was delivered absolutely deadpan. It was intended to wind me up because I was very anti-capital punishment. Instead, I agreed with her and she blew a raspberry at me–very mature.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1631 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

All weekend the children, especially the younger girls were like bottles of pop, ready to explode. They wanted to know all about Jacquie and when she was starting and myriad other things. I told them that they would find out when they met her on Monday, although if they cross-examined her like they were doing to me, she might not come at all and certainly not stay.

“We’re not cross, Mummy,” said Livvie looking bemused.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You did, Mummy, you said we were cross and examining her.”

“No, I said, cross-examined, which means you ask her difficult questions like they do in court.”

“But we’re not cross,” she insisted.

“It doesn’t mean that sort of cross, it means that a defence barrister asks questions of a prosecution witness, or a prosecutor questions a defence witness. That sort of cross because they are from different sides of the court, hence cross or even across.”

“Why not trans-examined?” stirred Stella smirking as she went past.

“Why not take a running jump, missus?” and received a raspberry in response which made the girls chuckle loudly.

Simon had taken Danny to watch a football match, don’t ask me which one, but I encouraged it as some male bonding for them both. I even encouraged Tom to go with them but he dismissed it, ‘he wis tae auld tae sit aboot in thae cauld.’ I offered to loan him my hot water bottle, but he said something unrepeatable and slunk off to his den with Danny trying not to snigger until the door was closed.

I’d talked it over with Si on the Friday night, the fact that I was sure Jacquie was innocent of the conviction she’d received. He accepted what I said because he always believed me–unless I said I had a headache–and suggested speaking to Jason about it, although his major opinion was to let sleeping dogs lie, unless Jacquie really wanted her life blown open again.

“Look what happened when one of the Bulger killers was rearrested for breach of parole conditions.”

“Si, that was a bit different, those two boys were quite a bit older when they tormented that poor child to death, and whichever one it was, he was guilty of downloading or handling child porn.”

“Okay, that one had some sexual content, what about that girl in the States who killed a kiddie so she could watch it die?”

“I know, but again she was much older, about nineteen if I remember and that was either an act of a sick mind or one of wanton wickedness.”

“Well I’d give short shrift to child killers, yeah short shrift and a long drop.”

“Si, you sound like you come from Texas, they execute murderers regularly there.”

“Yeah, well maybe they’ve got one thing right.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this, you’re not usually so fascist about things.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m feeling harsher towards these types of malefactors since I’ve become a parent myself–and aren’t you speaking with forked tongue, having killed to protect your kids?”

“That was done in the heat of battle and I’m not proud of it, I really did think it was kill or be killed and I still do. You’re talking of judicial murder of a very cold-blooded variety.”

“Well they say revenge is a dish best eaten cold.”

“Revenge? That isn’t the point of the legal system.”

“What is then?”

“To protect the citizen and his or her right to go about their daily lives and business without fear of crime.”

“So, hanging the criminals tends to reduce their numbers so thereby reducing the risk somewhat.”

“Like the Nazis did in the nineteen-thirties.”

“Why what did they do?”

“Announced they were going to hang the next so many people found guilty of housebreaking, and they did. It had a certain short-term effect.”

“Well then?”

“The policy was produced by Heinrich Himmler.”

“Oh, the SS bloke?”

“The same–remember as well, he and his cronies executed gypsies and gays in numbers, virtually crucifying them in things they called ‘singing forests’.

“That is sick,” he said pulling a face.

“I quite agree, but the problem seems to be that as soon as you become more punitive things move even quicker and it’s easy to lose control. So before long things are being driven by the tabloids and most of them are fascist in their outlook.”

“So waadda we do, let ’em go?”

“No, there are ways of punishing them, and the system which does so needs to be cold-blooded and accurate. But it shouldn’t be a matter of reprisal or retribution.”

“Yeah, so we care more for the perpetrators than the victims–thanks to all these do-gooders.”

“No we don’t–a civilised society is measured by the way it deals with its minorities and its prisoners.”

“Currently we’re too soft.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah, look at all these cyclists who’ve been killed by bad driving. What happens there–they get fined two Mars Bars and a packet of crisps and they’re free to drive again. They should get locked up if they kill someone.”

He was pushing my buttons and I’m sure he knew it. I’ve had so many close encounters on the bike, that I can’t discuss it rationally, so we eat out somewhere and they leave a door open for me and lock up everything. I know British Cycling thought sentencing was too lenient. I suspect they should stick to things they know, like cycling.

I looked at Cycling Weekly and there was his story of hanging those who ride bikes–um–those who don’t ride bikes? Oh I know, anyone who kills a cyclist with a vehicle should face a custodial sentence.

Um–maybe we should introduce criteria for hate crimes against cyclists like they have for trannies and gays. So does that mean any cyclist killing a tranny or gay could be done for hate crimes. Nah this is getting silly. I kissed him and turned over to sleep–I was pretty tired.

“You could always try bribery and corruption to change public opinion.” He carried on after I’d settled down.

“Simon, I want to sleep.”

“Just a thought,” he chuckled as he gently poked my fleshy buttocks.

“Yeah well here’s one for you, stop poking my arse or I’ll possibly be pleading provocation as my defence.”

“Defence? What defence?”

“The case I prove against you and why I had to murder you or face sleep deprivation.”

“Oh,” he squeaked and left me in peace although by then I was wide awake and plotting murder as I heard him snoring.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1632 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Puddin’s birthday had come and gone as had the rest of February–goodness have we done a sixth of the year already? I must sound like some old biddy, or maybe time does go faster when you’re busy. Being bored doesn’t seem to be an option in my life, though sometimes it might be nice to remember what it felt like.

Actually, no it wouldn’t, because it usually meant I was waiting for my parents to go out or go to bed so I could do some sewing or change my clothes. I daringly wore a nightdress for a couple of weeks then had it confiscated while it was drying. It was only a cheap one I bought in Peacocks for about a fiver, but it was another hit by the Stasi on my freedom. I didn’t buy another until I went away to Sussex and I left it locked in my locker in the uni when I went home for holidays.

Puddin’s party–she was three–crikey, I remember her being born–was it three years ago? Must have been if she’s three. She’s a proper little girl now and talks all the time, occasionally still doing her human tape recorder act, she occasionally plays with Mima and her dolls; though she also likes drawing and colouring things with her crayons–like the wallpaper in the lounge. Took us hours to get it off and that was with a steam cleaner thing.

Her party, oh yeah, well she goes to nursery three times a week so we had half a dozen three year olds racing round the place, treading jelly and chocolate biscuits into the carpets and generally running amok while their parents chatted amongst themselves or looked on–presumably happy it was someone else’s home that was being trashed–and these vandals were little girls–so much for the fairer sex.

It took us all day to clear up from that before the place felt like mine again. It’s not a palace but it’s relatively clean and tidy unless the kids are home. Danny leaves his bag anywhere, I fell over it once when I was walking backwards from the fridge with a tray of ice cubes. He got a piece of my mind that day.

So Monday the twenty sixth of February arrived and the girls were so excited they were going to meet with Jacquie when they got home. I reminded Trish she had football practice and she sulked all the way to school. The other two go as well but they enjoy it–I think Trish does too but she pretends she doesn’t. She hasn’t mentioned stopping yet at any rate and is still their top scorer with six goals from five matches. That’s on more than ‘Stanley Matthews’, who’s got five and a sore toe.

I settled Jacquie in when I got back from the school run. I showed her where everything was and gave her a rundown of my usual schedule about changing beds and what I cooked and so on.

She’d let drop she had a provisional licence and after lunch, she went out for a driving lesson I’d arranged for her. Her face was a picture when the instructor came to collect her. I left to get the three mouseketeers before she got back.

The drive home was a nightmare with three over excited schoolgirls bouncing on the back seat. Trish had scored another goal–apparently it wasn’t a practice but a match against another girl’s team. They won, one nil. Trish was full of herself and the other two were quite excited too and wound her up even more.

I parked in the drive and locked the car doors before we got out. “Right, girls, i don’t want you rushing in there and upsetting people. Go in put your stuff away–Trish put your washing in the utility room–I want you all to go up and change and once you’ve done that I’ll introduce you to Jacquie. Anyone who tries to make a short cut will be sent upstairs to stay there until dinner. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mummy,” said three dissident voices.

I had suggested Jacquie should hide in her room when she heard us coming back to give me a chance to control the rabble. Of course, Danny was first home and he thought she was hot. Mind you he thinks anything in skirts is hot, including his older sister–I suppose she is come to think of it, a very pretty girl with delightful figure, which since her surgery has developed even more. I hope I don’t sound jealous–nah, I don’t really want to wear those short-shorts and tights, even though I have reasonable legs.

The girls did as they were told and then assembled in the kitchen for a drink and a slice of pineapple. Then I sat them down and went up to get Jacquie, she said she felt quite nervous–Julie had had told her about our very own Isaac Newton, when she’d taken her to collect the bags she wanted to send here.

I led Jacquie down to the kitchen where our shoal of piranhas were waiting to strip the flesh of her bones. To my astonishment the girls acted very politely introducing each other as I asked them. Livvie’s introduction of Trish was really funny and had them all giggling and me laughing out loud as well.

“This is my slightly older sister, Trish. She is very, very intelligent–in fact Mummy thinks she has a bigger brain than a blue whale–which is why she smells slightly of salt water and plankton. Did you know they eat krill and stuff–though of course Trish doesn’t–she likes chocolate and roast beef–not at the same time, of course. We’re both seven. Trish likes to ask awkward questions, so Mummy says, it’s just her way of showing her intellectual–is that right?–superiority. Mummy says she’s a clever dick.”

“This, girls, is Jacquie, who has agreed to help us out while she waits to get to college. She’s very nice but is still learning the ropes, so please be patient and help her to learn where things are kept and how we do our routine. Anyone who tries to make fun of her or takes advantage of her not knowing everything, will face my wrath.”

“What’s roth, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“It’s what God does with men every so often,” quipped Trish.

“Yes, the Dies Irae. But I warn you he’s got nothing on me.”

“No, Mummy, it’s nothing to do with Desiree. It’s about God doing a hissy.”

Jacquie snorted and I shook my head, Livvie seems to have picked up Trish’s ability to mangle words.

“No, Liv, Dies means God, and Irae means rage, fury or wrath.” I wrote it down for her.

“Dies early, funny language Latin.” She muttered to herself–I had to agree the way she read it.

Later on that evening, I asked Jacquie how she felt after her first day. “After the way you treated me on Friday I shouldn’t have been surprised by the way you treat your children. You show them so much love yet there’s some discipline there too. I think I’m going to enjoy working for you.”

“Oh good, I’m looking forward to having you working with me, too.” We finished our cups of tea and she went off to bed to watch her telly and I went to my study to do some more survey work.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1633 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

It’s all very well for Henry to write to ask me what Trish would like for her birthday, I have to get our present for her first, and that’s bad enough. He suggested an iPod, one of the little ones, I think they call them a shuffle or something. Compared to the big ones which hold 160Gb, these only hold a couple, but enough to keep a little one happy. There is no way she’d fill all those gigabytes on the big ones–I think I’d be pushed and I have several hundred CDs. Trish has maybe twenty, so she pinches mine and loads them on to her computer. I know she’s an unusual child, but how many seven year olds listen to Wagner? Currently, I noticed my soundtrack from Titanic had disappeared, so I expect her to be singing along with Celine Dion. I didn’t like the film, which I thought was total crap, but the music is quite good.

On the Tuesday morning, Jacquie was up with us and helped get breakfast for the children–of course they all wanted her to get it for them, so I was able to have my cereal and some toast with a banana. I had a feeling it was going to be a busy day, and I was still trying to think of something for Henry to get for her majesty. So when Tom asked the same question, I suspect I overreacted. He went off to work in a huff and I felt all wound up inside.

In the end, I took Catherine out with me in the car and we popped into the university and I managed to speak with him and apologise. I suggested a silver bangle might be nice as she likes jewellery. That cheered him up, although of course by the time we’d finished the conversation, muggings had agreed to get it for him.

I went straight into town and got one for her, which I thought she’d like and was in our agreed price range. Then I bought her a portable DVD player and texted Henry that was what he’d bought her. He sent back his thanks. What were we getting her? I had no idea–I was tempted to think of a hand held GPS with maps and computer link, but wasn’t sure if she’d get much fun from it. She already had a microscope which she did use occasionally, but not that often.

I had ordered a binocular one with relatively low magnification for examining nut and acorn shells and also other things like insects, where I want to see the whole object not bits of. It would also be good for seeds and things, because the light could be shone from above the object as well as from below it. I also had a thing for connecting it up to a computer, though it wasn’t as easy as Trish’s one–and that was purportedly a toy. Some toy–it was very good.

I did think about a telescope but she doesn’t seem that bothered and to have to stand about in the cold and the dark while she had a two minute glance at the stars seemed a less than good idea–plus a good one would set us back nearly a thousand quid–too much for a kid’s birthday.

In the end, I found a PS3 and a couple of games, which they could all squabble over, plus they could buy her more games for Christmas. I called by Morrisons on the way home and did a quick shop and filled the boot of the car.

Jacquie made me a cuppa when I struggled in with the shopping and the baby, she also helped me put it all away, so she’d have an idea where things were kept. While I was out, Stella had supervised her stripping a couple of beds–the girl’s ones and remaking them. I have a huge linen cupboard, the size of a small bedroom and there’s a radiator in there to keep everything aired.

We have three of everything, like bedding and towels, so there should always be a clean set even if something unexpected happens. So far we’d coped with everything that had happened.

Once the washing machine had finished with the first load, I helped Jacquie do the third of the girl’s beds and also Danny’s. While that was washing, the first set were in the tumble drier. Sadly the weather wasn’t up to hanging stuff out on the line, so the next best was the drier.

I left Jacquie to sort out the next transfer while I fed Catherine, Jacquie came in to do something and seemed to be transfixed watching the baby at my breast. She was staring as if she’d never seen it before. I coughed and it made both Jacquie and the baby jump, the consequence of the latter was a mouthful of single cream down the front of my top. Wonderful.

“Sorry, Lady Cameron, I haven’t seen anything quite so beautiful before.” She blushed and ran out of the room. I put the baby down in her high chair gave her a teething ring and went out to the utility room where Jacquie was standing as if in a daze or a trance.

“Are you alright?” I asked her.

She started, then regained her composure before speaking. “I’m sorry, having been in an institution for so long, I missed out on all sorts of family life–and I’ve been on my own since. My family didn’t want me near them.”

“Even though you’re innocent?”

“They accepted the verdict of the court.”

“On a five year old? That’s preposterous.”

“They were worried about what the neighbours would say.”

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have come here.” She turned to leave the room but I blocked the doorway.

“Jaquie, please, it looks as if fate brought you here.”

“Why–I’m no good to anyone.” She began to cry and I hugged her.

“Everyone is good, it’s only some of the things we do which aren’t. Never confuse deed with the person doing them. You’ve been branded with all sorts of negatives, it’s going to take time to unlearn them and replace them with positive messages.

“You’re a lovely young woman, Jacquie, you’re going to beat this and the system.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” she said, “Perhaps I’d be better just leaving.”

“Run away again, is that it?”

“It’s worked so far.”

“Has it? So why are you standing here sobbing? Stand and fight your demons.”

“You don’t know what they did to me in that place.”

“No I don’t, but you can tell me if you want to.”

“I don’t know, I uh...”

“It doesn’t have to be now, any time. We’ll all support you–it’s what we do. You don’t get one of us, you get a whole family.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I don’t deserve this, I really don’t. You’ve been so good to me.”

“Not yet, but that’s because you won’t let me.”

“The last person who said they wanted to help, raped me. They did an abortion and I suspect wrecked me up inside. They treated me as if I was some sort of monster.”

“Jesus, Jacquie; you were a child–how could they–they were the monsters, not you.”

“I started my periods when I was twelve, I was raped when I was thirteen–after the abortion, I haven’t had one since.”

“Have you seen a doctor about it?”

“No. Who’d listen to me?”
“I will and I know a doctor who will, too.” I went to my study and called Dr Smith. He wasn’t in, but I managed to make an appointment for her that evening. I’d take her myself.”

Like I said, it was going to be a busy day.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1634 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We did a couple more chores, with me staying fairly close to Jacquie, I didn’t want to crowd her, nor did I want her to run off. I felt she was with us for a reason and that, I believed was to help her deal with her past.

I collected the girls after getting Jacquie to do some stuff with Stella and her two babies. Then after getting the three monkeys home, I gave them some cake to eat and drink, sent them off to change and told them if they did their homework I’d bring home some fish and chips. They all shot off upstairs to change.

After some effort I managed to get Jacquie to come with me to Dr Smith’s surgery and only after promising that I go in with her when she discovered it was a male doctor. I told her that he was lovely as well as competent.

She got quite anxious in the waiting room and I had to hold her hand–the blue energy flowed gently into her, making her relax without the rest of the waiting patients thinking we were arc welding or had a fire engine up our jumpers.

Dr Smith called us in–I’d filled in the form for a new patient with her help. “Lady Cameron, how nice to see you again,” we shook hands and he asked what he could do?

I explained Jacquie’s situation and she nodded that I had the basic facts right. He listened and his face went from smiling to grave. He asked her several questions and then asked if he might examine her. She asked me to stay with her and he nodded.

She had a scar across her abdomen, and he did a quick internal which made her start to sob, but she nodded for him to continue.

“I can’t feel a cervix, and the scars are redolent of major and rather careless hysterectomy. I don’t know if they had your ovaries as well. I’m going to refer you to a consultant, but it will take some time, I’m afraid.”

“How quickly could we get this done privately?” I asked.

He made a phone call. “Tomorrow evening, six o’clock, Miss Sabatini–she’s very nice. I’ll do a referral letter and email it to her, and a copy to you.” She nodded, she had an email address she could use through my computer.

“If your suspicions are correct, I hate to think how many laws have been broken including one by the medical team who dealt with you. They’ll probably have documented that there were complications and they had to do a hysterectomy, but it looks a real butcher’s job to me.”

“Is it worth reporting it?” I asked him.

“Let’s wait until we get her records through. Should only take a couple of weeks and it’s waited seven years. By that time as well, we’ll have an expert opinion from the consultant, which will probably involve a scan. If you’re lucky, they’ll do that NHS.”

“I don’t care Dr Smith, if I have to pay for that as well, I will.” I replied to his comment.

“I think you’d best just call yourself, Mrs Cameron. If the system thinks you’re loaded, they’ll want some of it,” he winked at me. We said our goodbyes and left, promising to return the next morning for some blood to be taken. They always do that in the morning because the specimens are collected after morning surgeries. I agreed to bring her after we took the girls to school.

Jacquie was effusive in her thanks to me when we got back to the Jag, and then burst into tears. I comforted her and she confessed she thought she was now sterile but was frightened to have it confirmed. I could understand what she was feeling–a bit I suppose like suspecting you’ve got some horrible disease and after tests going in for the results.

We stopped for the fish and chips, pity they don’t do tuna–oh well, I’ll have to have plaice instead. The others were all having cod. Jacquie said she didn’t want anything but I got an extra fish just in case she changed her mind–there’d be loads of chips and the girls never ate a full portion anyway.

She didn’t eat any dinner, instead going off to her room. I was worried about her and asked Julie to keep an eye on the chimps tea party while I went up to see if Jacquie was alright.

I knocked and entered and she started and went to hide something. I eventually persuaded her to show me what it was–a bottle of aspirin. I asked her to give them to my safekeeping and left her with two, which was all she’d need for her ‘headache’.

“You don’t need to mother me,” she said, “I’m twenty bloody years old.” Then she apologised and admitted she did think of taking all the pills.

“I’m not trying to mother you, but I am trying to help you. If you run away, or do yourself in, the bad guys win.”

“I’m beginning not to care–I just want it all to be over–I’m tired of being seen as a monster or being abused because people see me as less than human. I’d rather die than be like this all my life.”

“Then they win,” I repeated.

“They’ve won already, they destroyed me when I was five years old and finished the job when I was thirteen. I have no credibility–I’m a monster, some sort of freak.” She sobbed on my shoulder.

“I have some insight into how you feel about some of these things. I can’t say I know them all, but I have some experience myself of being an outsider and being ostracised by some people and abused by others who should have known better.”

She pulled away from me, “You can’t possibly know what it’s like.”

“I can and so can two of my children, all of them have been damaged. No one else would foster them–I’ve adopted them–you can be healed. I was by the love of Simon, and Daddy, helped by Stella and then the children–they gave me something no one else could–someone to protect, who needed me and my love, they also gave me love–unconditionally.”

“Why were you ostracised–for killing those men?”

“No, that was all hushed up because the powers that be had cocked up.”

“So why were you seen as a freak–a beautiful woman like you–how are you a freak?”

“I can’t have children.”

“You can get treatment for that, IVF and stuff.”

“Not in my case.”

“Loads of women can’t conceive, they’re not freaks.”

“Yes but most of those weren’t born as boys.”

She burst out laughing, “This is a joke, isn’t it? Are you trying to cheer me up by telling funnies?”

“It isn’t a joke, Jacquie, I was registered as a boy at birth.”

She looked at me, “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said shaking her head. “It would show, you’re a hundred percent female–I saw you feeding the baby–you couldn’t do that if you were a man.” She shook her head again. “Look, you don’t have to try and cheer me up, I promise I won’t top myself and that we can go and see this woman doctor tomorrow evening–you will come with me, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you come and have some food.”

“I’m not really hungry, thanks.”

“It would do you good, just have a sandwich or even some chocolate–have something to keep your energy levels up.”

In the end she came down with me and we ate my plaice and chips between us, Stella had shoved it in the slow oven of the Aga to keep warm, and it wasn’t too dried up–okay, it wasn’t too brilliant either, but it sort of filled a hole.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1635 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“What’s the matter?” asked Si.

“Nothing, why?”

“You’re tossing and turning.”

“Sorry,” I tried to lie still.

“So are you going to tell me or do I have to tickle it out of you?”

“It’s Jacquie.”

“I’d got that far myself.”

I sighed, sometimes his smart arse answers just annoyed me. “She was raped when she was about twelve and then had to have an abortion. Looks like they did a total hysterectomy as well.”

“Perhaps they had to?”

“Dr Smith thinks it was done by a butcher.”

“Oh.”

“Ever since she was convicted she’s been treated like some sort of monster. She was contemplating suicide earlier.”

“Oh, should we have her here with the children–they don’t need that sort of trauma, do they?”

His answer surprised me, he was thinking of the children, or was he? Was he thinking of himself–suicides are messy in every sense. “We can hardly send her away can we?”

“Oh I don’t know, perhaps that clinic Stella goes to?”

“No–she’s not going anywhere.”

“She’s your latest project is she?” He paused while began to glow incandescent. “She’s bad news, Cathy. Despite all your good intentions, she needs more help than you can give her.”

“So why did she come here?”

“Because you invited her in–remember?”

“She’s here because she needs to be–the universe sent her.”

“Got a hotline to God have we?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Listen to yourself, woman–the universe is sending you damaged goods for you to repair–maybe it’s you that’s damaged, you know exploding ego syndrome.”

“This isn’t ego, this is basic parenting skills–we have someone who was damaged as a child at age five–some of her emotional growth will have stopped then. At twelve she’s damaged again. She needs to build a relationship with someone she can trust, who doesn’t abandon her. She needs to feel a loving family round her, supporting her. I want her to realise through her interaction with you and Daddy and even Danny, that not all men are bastards–that some are human beings whom she can trust, who will help to help her build her ego strength and grow into the age she is emotionally. She needs all of us.”

“And what part do the girls play in all this?”

“I hope she can learn to respect those who trust her and need her to protect them and care for them.”

“Can’t we just get her a kitten?”

“Trish would have it off her in a flash, she’s always on about having a cat.”

“A rabbit, then?”

“No. Please just support me in this. I want her to feel safe surrounded by people who won’t judge her but who will show her love and trust.”

“She is your latest project though, isn’t she?”

“She isn’t a project–she’s a woman, flesh and blood.”

“So she can’t have babies then?”

“Hardly if they’ve taken her womb away.”

“But she’s still female?”

“Of course she is–why shouldn’t she be?” Where was he going with this?

“So lack of babies doesn’t disqualify her as a female?”

“No.” Stupid man.

“So how come someone I know and love, can’t seem to accept the same message?”

Oh so that’s where he was going–there’s a surprise, although I suppose I ask for it at times. “She was born female.”

“So were you, weren’t you?”

“My birth certificate didn’t think so.”

“But I thought you told me that being transsexual was a biological thing, not acquired through conditioning?”

“Most of the experts who seem to know what they’re talking about seem to think so, that sense of gender and sexual orientation are essentially programmed into the brain by age three or four, why?”

“So you were born female, QED, just because you can’t grow your own babies doesn’t stop you being female–so the next time I hear you agonising about not being a proper woman–I’m going ot point out to you that if you’re not, neither is Jacquie.”

“Sermon over now?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

I kissed him and rolled over to sleep–I didn’t of course–I was still worried about Jacquie–but why? I’m her employer not her mother. For goodness sakes, she’s only eight years younger than I. I shouldn’t be mothering her–and Si was right, do I honestly think she’d been sent to me by the universe to sort her out. Honestly, my ego must be about the same size as the sun.

The next morning, I was like a piece of limp lettuce and Jacquie didn’t look much better. We did manage to organise breakfast between us and then we both took the girls to school. We bumped into the headmistress who surreptitiously asked if Jacquie was transgender. My response was nearly to thump her–perhaps I over reacted.

After that we went to the doctor’s for her blood tests and then home after we stopped at Morrison’s for a cuppa. It revived us enough to get home–but I was so tired that after doing the bread machine I fell asleep in the chair where they left me until lunch time.

I did a casserole for dinner which Julie and Stella could serve, Jacquie and I were going to see the gynaecologist.

Miss Juniper Sabatini–I know, perhaps her mother liked gin–originated from Menorca–perhaps her mother did like mother’s ruin. The island is covered in the bushes apparently–I’m still waiting for Si to take me there so I can try and find the dormice they have there.

According to one text book they had a unique species back in the Pleistocene or some such time, but it’s only found in fossil form and rejoices in the name Hypnomys mahonensis.The one they have now is a distant relative, the garden dormouse or Eliomys quercinus. I’d love to see those in the wild but until I can get Si to take me to Spain, it’s just a pipe dream. According to the photos I’ve seen they’re quite cute but they’re bigger than our little hazel dormouse, which will always be my first love.

She was quite dark haired and eyed, although her skin didn’t seem too swarthy for someone of Menorcan extraction and her accent sounded more Oxford than Mahon. She was pleasant but brusque–I suppose it had been a long day–and she wasn’t at all happy about me being there while she examined Jacquie.

She confirmed all that Dr Smith had suggested–it looked like a total hysterectomy, she wasn’t sure about her ovaries, but the scar could have indicated they had those too. She was not impressed by the surgery.

“These are old scars, when were they done?”

“About seven years ago.”

“Not by a gynaecologist?” she sounded horrified. Then she looked at Jacquie, “But you’re only twenty now? Who the hell did this to you?”

Jacquie explained that she was in a young offenders institution and she had been raped by one of the officers and subsequently became pregnant. The abortion had caused the damage Miss Sabatini was seeing now.

“I’d like to see the notes of this, this looks like it was done by a general surgeon or even someone like an orthopod. No gynaecologist would have left you in such a mess.”

We were still awaiting the blood tests for hormones, which would indicate if the ovaries were still present or not. Sabatini was disgusted when she heard the full story. She also said that it was quite likely that the records would have been faked or lost–probably suggesting that you suffered some sort of problems with the womb and they had to operate as an emergency. It was probably all rubbish but it would be very difficult to prove.

I began to feel there was more chance of me seeing the extinct giant Menorcan dormouse than catching these bastards.

Miss Sabatini was to arrange a scan to see what was happening inside but she didn’t think there was the slightest chance of Jacquie ever having babies. We returned home feeling despondent, we’d learned nothing new but confirming our previous suspicions and the impotence we felt about catching the people who perpetrated these acts of abuse against Jacquie and other girls like her, left us both rather depressed.

So when Trish swanned up to tell me my translation of Dies irae was wrong, I nearly strangled her. “It means Day of Wrath,” she announced.

“Yeah so?”

“You said Wrath of God,” she smirked.

“Yeah, it relates to the Day of Judgement, so the wrath is going to come from God. So okay, I got it literally wrong, but technically, it means the same.”

She looked confused and walked away far less confident.

“How old is that child?” asked Jacquie.

“She’ll be eight in two weeks.”

“Bloody hell–I thought she was a thirty year old midget,” she said and we both exploded with laughter.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1636 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I had a tuna jacket potato for my dinner and Jacquie had a cheese one, neither of us had that much appetite but we needed to eat something.

Si came and sat with us, “How'd it go?”

Jacquie looked anxious for a moment, then relaxed. “I can’t have children,” she said and he nodded.

“That’s sad if you wanted them, but it isn’t the end of the world. We can’t have them either but we’ve found a way round it.”

“It would have been nice to have had the choice,” she said and left the table.

“What did I say now? It’s hardly news to her is it?”

“No it wasn’t news, but it was confirmed by two doctors, the latter a consultant. Possibly she hoped that her suspicions were wrong–we sometimes do deny things which are too horrible to take on board.”

“Why did they sterilise her?” he asked sipping his tea.

“I suspect that the abortion they did after she was raped was a hammer and nails job and they probably damaged the womb so much they had to remove it.”

“So the doctor who did it was probably a mate of the guy who raped her?”

“Quite possibly, these places are a bit us and them, I believe, which is why so many kids kill themselves in them. They can’t cope with the brutality.”

“It’s all a bit bloody, isn’t it?”

“’Fraid so, I doubt I can do much to change things but I might be able to help one survivor of it.”

“I used to think we lived in a caring, civilised society.” He finished his tea and sighed. “I was mistaken. My eyes have opened quite a bit to different issues since I met you.”

“The fact that you were amenable to question old values shows that you’re a good man, Si. That you challenge me sometimes is good for me too, I sometimes need to think differently about things. I’ve played the victim too long at times–your comparison with Jacquie last night, really hit home.”

“Um–sorry about that–didn’t mean to upset you, babes.”

“You made me think. That was good, and you have no need to apologise, I probably needed the jolt to make me rethink things. So, thank you.” I leant over and kissed him, he put his arm round me and pulled me closer to him.

“Er–Mummy, I think you’d better come quickly, Jacquie locked her door and I heard her moving furniture against it.” Julie looked very concerned.

We all raced up the stairs, “Jacquie, open this door please,” I called and knocked on the door. Simon flung himself at the door but it wouldn’t budge.

“Ladder,” I said and we left Julie trying to get Jacquie to open the door.

Simon and I rushed out to the garage and grabbed the ladder, it was just about long enough to reach the window. He extended it and I started climbing up it. Of course her curtains were drawn and the window was shut.

I called this quietly down to Simon who sent Trish to get a hammer. Then she climbed up the ladder and handed it to me. I waited until she’d descended and whacked the corner of the double glazed unit. On the second tap, it cracked and subsequent hits smashed the glass, I put my hand in and opened the window, then clambered in pulling the curtains open as I went.

The sight before me caused me to swear and scream for Simon. I ran to the door, Jacquie was hanging by a cord from a hook on the back of the door. The furniture Julie had heard was her kicking the chair away. I grabbed her round the waist and lifted her, calling for Simon to come quickly.

Moments later he was climbing in the window and moments after that he was cutting her down and between us we laid her on the floor. She had severe bruising on her throat but she was still breathing, we lifted her onto the bed and I sat with her talking to her quietly. If Julie hadn’t heard her, we’d have lost her. I was still shaking.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” she croaked at me.

“You’re under contract, dying would have been in breach of that. I told you I was a hard employer.”

Tears rolled down the sides of her face. “I wish I was dead.”

“Tough–I told you, if you do that, the bad guys win.”

“I don’t care–I’ve had enough of being a monster,” she sobbed.

I held her and stroked her, “The monsters were the people who did this to you. Please, I beg you, stick with us–we can help you, but it’s going to take time.”

“I just want out.”

“If you keep talking like that you’re going to end up in an institution again, and they’re not nice places. Here is more friendly, and the food is better.”

She smiled weakly at me. “I’m a disappointment to you. I’d better go.”

“You’re not going anywhere until I know you’re safe. Please stay here, amongst people who like you and want to help. It’s going to take some time for you to trust us, but it will be worth it.”

“I don’t know.”

“I hope Simon’s remark didn’t trigger this, did it?”

“No–well it added to my sense of uselessness, I really would be better off dead.”

“I don’t think I can prove that either way except to say, once you’re dead, that’s it, you have no chance of doing anything. If you stay alive, things can get better and I really do believe they will. But I need an undertaking from you to prove it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, I can’t watch you twenty four seven, so all I ask is that you give it a couple of months to see if I’m right. I know I am, because I’m one of those irritating types who is right most of the time.”

She shook her head. “For now.”

“If that’s the best you can offer, I’ll take it.”

“It is,” I helped her off the bed while the emergency glazier came and boarded up the window and cleared up the glass. I need to get in there with the vacuum tomorrow.

I put Jacquie in the guest room and I know Julie would be watching her like a hawk to make sure she didn’t try anything again tonight. I rubbed arnica into Jacquie’s throat and while I did so poured in the energy. She had a cold drink and went to bed.

It took Daddy ages to get the girls settled down and he had to read them two Gabysodes before they agreed to sleep. I told him he should have beaten them into submission with the book instead of reading to them. He gave me an old fashioned look then disappeared for his wee dram.

Simon was sitting at the table with a glass of red wine, he poured one for me, which I wasn’t going to drink but then I changed my mind and did so. “This is nice,” I said, taking another sip.

“It’s a Merlot, the good stuff.”

“Wizard, eh?”

“No, babes, that was Merlin.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1637 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I did manage to sleep that night, but it was very lightly, every time there was the slightest sound I woke and found myself listening for it. The consequence was that I was cream crackered the next morning, yet I had several things to do. I got the children ready for school, then took them there and while I was out, I called Dr Thomas and was fortunate in being able to speak to her. She gave me a name to call of a woman therapist, who would come to the house if necessary. I thought it was and called her. She could visit to meet Jacquie that afternoon. All I had to do then was tell Jacquie what I’d done.

I took in a small box of cream cakes–not the best thing for weight loss, but what the hell–it was bribery and probably corruption too.

I showed Jacquie the cakes and she nodded enthusiastically switching the kettle on. While it was boiling, I told her what I did. “I spoke to a psychiatrist I know and she recommended a psychologist who does visits. She’s coming this afternoon, I’d like you to speak with her.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’m going to be rather embarrassed. Look, I know it wasn’t your idea, but she’s supposed to be very good, so I’d like you to meet her and see if you think you could work with her.”

“What for? I’ve seen shrinks aplenty. They did me no good whatsoever.”

“You can swear if you like, though I prefer it if you didn’t in front of the children.”

“I swore enough in that place to last me a lifetime. At seven, I knew pretty well all the nastiest words in the English language, including the C word. I swore like a trooper because everyone else did and I was already seen as a weirdo, so I tried to fit in. Ever since I got out, I’m trying to use a more varied vocabulary.”

“Will you see this woman?”

“I don’t know...”

“For me, please?”

“You’re not my mother, Lady Catherine.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“My mother never bought me cream cakes.”

“I see, but I take it you like them?”

“Oh yes. Lady Catherine ...”

“Yes, Jacquie?”

“I wish you were my mother.” She burst into tears and I hugged her.

“I think I’m too close to your own age to adopt you, Jacquie, but perhaps I could offer the guidance-counsellor role, which I did and still sometimes do for Julie. Don’t forget, Stella is here as well, she’ll be happy to advise you too, or listen if there’s something you don’t want to talk to me about. Julie is here too–she’s had a rough time and come through it–she’d be only too pleased to talk with you or to listen.”

“You’re all so kind here.”

“We’re a family, although the only two who are actually related are Stella and Simon, the rest are a motley collection of children and adults who realised they needed each other and we’ve worked hard at being there for each other ever since. I suspect we’re actually more like a real family than some actual families–we occasionally have dog fights, but we work through them. We’re here for each other, and now you’re included in that family for as long as you care to stay. It means as well that you have to listen to others’ problems–but they’re usually easier to solve than your own.”

“Is this your idea? I get the impression you’re the driving force behind everything here.”

“I’m partly responsible.” She gave me a very disbelieving look. “Okay, It’s all my fault. I can’t walk away from people in need when I know I can help.”

“The good Samaritan.”

“Not the good Samaritan, more a case of good Samaritan syndrome.”

She laughed at me. “You’re such a good person, at heart aren’t you?”

“Sometimes–you should see me if someone is threatening my kids.”

“Hence the bodies in the orchard?”

“Shush–we don’t talk about that.”

“Did you really kill someone?”

“Yes–a couple of years ago. I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“It was self-defence, though wasn’t it?”

“Yes, they shot at us and I returned fire–with a Kalashnikov–they died.”

“Oh my goodness–that sounds awful.”

“It was, I still dream about it on occasions.”

“I don’t know how many I actually shot and how many drowned–they drove into a Loch and sank. It was some hours before the police were able to recover them, they were all dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shit, as they say, happens. Move on, we don’t have a choice–well not a viable one,” I quickly added when I thought she was going to disagree.

“I don’t know if I could live with myself if I actually did kill someone.”

“I found it surprisingly easy, except when I dream about it. They attacked us, and nearly killed one copper and badly injured another–I felt I had little choice but to return fire. The rest you know.”

“I still don’t know if I could do it?”

“I didn’t think about things, I just reacted–sometimes it’s better that way. My children were in the car behind–I had little choice, I certainly wasn’t going to let anyone kill them without a fight.”

“That does tend to add to the reasons for doing it.”

“I’m not proud of it, I would never have chosen to be in that predicament, but I was and I did what I did. Two policemen were killed by them beforehand, I felt more justified when I learned that.”

“I guess you would, Lady Catherine.”

“Can we drop the titles, I’m Cathy, okay?”

“I wish I could call you mother like the others do.”

“Jacquie, I wish I could let you, but could you imagine how that would look if we were out somewhere, or even here? I’m eight years older than you. Big sister maybe, but mother–I think not.”

“Big Sister is watching you,” she sniggered.

“Just Cathy then?”

“Okay, ma’am.”

I glared at her and shook my head which made her smile.

“Oh goody, cream cakes,” said Stella walking into the kitchen. “Oh, am I interrupting anything?”

“No, but Jacquie gets the first pick of the cakes.”

“Hah,” she said and pouted. “I don’t like you anymore, little sister.” She spoke in a squeaky child’s voice–the voice was squeaky not the child–we oil them regularly. In fact, most of the adults here are quite well oiled fairly regularly.

“Tough, Jacquie still get’s first choice.”

We finally did get to drink the tea and eat our cake. I had a chocolate éclair which surprise me–I’d have expected it to go first. Still that was to my good fortune, and it was delicious.

“Stella, I’ve got someone coming to see Jacquie at half past two.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m just telling you.”

“Telling me what?”

“See what I have to put up with?”

“Yeah, well you ain’t the only one,” said Stella, “I also have someone up with which I have to put.”

“Thank you, Mr Churchill.”

“Yeah, it was either him or John Humphrys,” said Stella winking at Jacquie.

“She’ll have to go,” I said to Jacquie who snorted tea everywhere.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1638 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

At two, I opened the door to a tall woman who wore a long skirt of a paisley pattern in mainly reds, on top of which was a bright green blouse, a red cardigan and a scarf of multicoloured stripes. This was set off with her bright red hair and contrasting pink framed glasses. She could only be poetess or a therapist–a colour blind one.

“Hello,” she said in quite an educated voice, “I hope I’ve got the right place, come to see Jacquie Morse, I’m Dr Elizabeth Todmorton.”

“Cathy Cameron, Jacquie’s employer–we spoke on the phone earlier.”

“Ah yes, nice to meet you, Mrs Cameron.”

She put down her brief case and we shook hands once she’d taken off her purple and black striped woolly glove.

“Would you like to use my study?”

“Sounds excellent.” I led her to my room and she stood at the door and did a panoramic view of the place. “Intriguing–oh, love the dormice.” She spotted a bronze ornament Simon had bought me ages ago of a nest of two sleeping dormice. “Wow, that’s heavier than it looks,” she said picking it up. Then she spotted a photo of a dormouse, and finally the original photo of me that was used for the bank’s poster. “You certainly have a thing about dormice, don’t you?”

“Just a bit,” I smiled, “I’ll get Jacquie, would you like a cuppa?”

“Could I have a black tea?”

“Earl Grey, Lady Grey, green tea, Darjeeling or bog standard?”

“Oh green, that would be wonderful. Are all these children yours?”

“Yes–the one on her own with the bicycle–she died last year.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I’ll sit here and fold my arms,” she said sitting herself on the leather sofa by the side of the fireplace.

I left her to play with her brief case and went and got Jacquie. “Dr Todmorton is waiting for you in my study. If you wait a second, I’ll make her tea and then I’ll introduce you.”

I made Jacquie a cup of coffee and took both drinks down on a tray, Jacquie was shaking too much to carry a cup or mug. “Just relax, she’s only going to talk to you.”

“The first time I heard that, a WPC took me to see the senior detective dealing with my case. I’ve never forgotten it since, nor relaxed when dealing with strangers.”

“Dr Elizabeth Todmorton, might I present my housekeeper and nanny, Jacquie Morse.” I put the tray down on the coffee table and left them to it, after asking the shrink to send me her account.

At three I had to go to collect the girls, and passed the Mercedes SLE parked in the drive–therapy obviously pays, for some people anyway.

The girls were in a funny mood when I met them at the school. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

“Trish asked about the Dies Irae and Judgement Day.”

“Asked who?”

“Sister Gonzales.”

“She sounds like a Yorkshire-woman,” I joked.

“She’s from Spain,” declared Trish.

“I was joking, Trish.”

She folded her arms and sulked.

“Okay, what happened?”

“She said that on the Day of Judgement only good people of faith will ascend into heaven with Jesus, all the rest will go to purgatory or hell, including the non-believers, homosexuals, transvestites and murderers.”

“Am I going to hell, Mummy?” asked Trish who had tears in her eyes. “I’m not homosexual am I?”

“No, you’re not going to hell nor are you gay, you’re a nice young woman.” This was why I worried about sending them to a convent school, some of the nuns were throwbacks to the middle ages, who believed all the crappy cant they dispensed.

“She went on about how those homosexuals who got married to each other would be going straight to hell–because the pope said so.”

“Does that mean anyone who changes from a boy to a girl will go to hell too, Mummy?”

I turned in my seat to face the back of the car, “Let’s get this over and done with once and for all. There is no heaven or hell, and any old buzzard who frightens children with threats of going to hell or purgatory is talking nonsense. If there is a hell it’s in this life and created and run by small minded individuals who believe fundamentalist rubbish, and whose prejudice makes those who are the target of their bigotry, feel like they are in hell.” I was well away on my soapbox.

“So I’m not going to hell?” Trish asked anxiously, not having computed my previous statement.

“No, darling, there isn’t one, just the nasty bigotry of some silly old women and one silly old fool in Rome.”

“Is that the pope?” she asked.

“Yeah, the old fool in the white dress, who represents the bride of the church in its marriage with Jesus.”

“Wouldn’t that be same sex?” observed Livvie.

“Probably,” I replied not having thought of it that way before.

“Hypotwits,” said Trish and they all laughed at her word mangling.

On our return, the Mercedes had gone and I made no mention of our visitor until I was able to speak with Jacquie on her own. “How did it go with Dr Colour-blind?”

“Oh I know, I felt like asking if her dressmaker had a good sense of humour, but you know these shrinks, they don’t always laugh at the same things as the rest of us.”

“She seemed okay to me, was she with you?”

“Yes, she was alright, at least she wasn’t shocked by my revelations, or if she was she hid it very well.”

“Did she believe you when you said you didn’t do it?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t–I didn’t think it was important–more the way I’d been treated ever since–until I came here–I told her that you and your family were the first group of people who accepted me as another human.”

I blushed but smiled, it was after all a nice compliment.

“I told her about last night and your dramatic rescue–and how I promised not to do anything to myself for a couple of months. She approved of your idea. I think she likes you, ma’am, because she said I was in exactly the right sort of caring environment to feel protected.”

“Good, when do you see her again?”

“Next week, she gave me a number to call her on if I felt desperate but she thought you could deal with most things from what I’d told her.”

Why do people build me up and then try to knock me down? I do my best for them as I can, it’s not always possible to do it to their timetable, and some are so ignorant even when you do what they want.

After dinner, Jacquie and I took the dog for a brisk walk, in the dark we could see Venus and Jupiter in conjunction and opposite them, Mars. According to astrology, Mars opposing Jupiter, my ruling planet, might explain why I feel so tired all the time. It’s probably as good an idea as any other.

Jacquie was knocked out to be able to recognise a few planets together with the full moon, which bathed everything in a silvery light–very atmospheric.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1639 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“I don’t wanna go to hell,” cried the little voice.

I listened again, “I don’t wanna go to hell, don’t send me to hell, I’m a good girl, don’t send me...” I was out of bed and into the girl’s room in seconds, stubbing my toe on the leg of a bed as I went, I cursed quietly and went to Trish’s bed.

She was fast asleep and her face was wet with tears. I stroked her head and spoke quietly to her, afraid the others would wake up, but they seemed to be asleep.

“Trish, this is, Mummy, just rest my baby, no one is going to hurt you or send you anywhere you don’t want to go. I’ll be here to protect you, no matter what, so just sleep and think of Mummy and Daddy being there to protect you.”

She sighed and said, “Mummy,” then seemed to relax and went back to sleep. I took my cold feet and hands back to bed but resisted the urge to shove them against Simon’s toast-like body.

“What was all that about ?” he asked and yawned.

“Oh the girls were talking with one of the older nuns and she told them all gays and transvestites were going to hell.”

“So, she’s neither of those.”

“I know but she’s got it into her head because she started life as a boy, she will go to hell when she dies.”

“If she does, she’ll confuse the hell out of the devil, like she does with us.”

“Simon, I told her there were no heavens or hells except in this life. I’ll speak with Sister Maria tomorrow and ask her to moderate such comments from her elderly staff.”

“God you’re cold, come ’ere, girl,” he engulfed in a gigantic cuddle and I soon warmed up again and fell asleep lying on my tummy on top of him–well partly across him, my legs were still on the bed. Of course, when we woke up neither of us could move for a few minutes, but I wasn’t cold.

I got up as soon as the radio came on–well as soon as I could actually move any of my limbs and my back which was as stiff as anything. It took a hot shower to restore basic movement helped by the fact that Simon followed me into the warm water. What we did in there–well–I can only say I was glad the kids were still in bed. We are married after all.

It sure loosened me up–and you can take that any way you like, I meant the shower of course. After drying myself and dressing, I called the girls to get up and supervised while they all showered. I then combed and dried their hair and did a single plait for all three of them, with a green ribbon tied in a bow at the end. I left them to get dressed whilst I went down to start preparing breakfasts.

Jacquie came down and I asked her to call Danny and Julie, who were usually down by this time. She returned a few moments later–they went back to sleep.

“You look better this morning,” I said.

“I feel much better today, must be this all-loving household. Did I hear one of the children cry in the night?”

“Yeah, Trish had a bad dream after what one of the nuns said to her.”

“Oh ... hell and damnation stuff?”

“Spot on–silly old trout. How anyone can believe all that shit is beyond me.”

“It’s easier than thinking, until you’re on your death bed, then you hope you go the right way ignorant of the fact that by being self righteous you’ve probably crapped on everyone below you and stepped on necks while climbing the ladder to heaven. I was a catholic–but the way they treated me–I’d rather burn in hell than be with them.”

“That sounds pretty definite.”

“It was one of their priests who raped me–several times–then told me I’d go to hell if I told anyone. When I got pregnant, they had to take notice of me–then had the nerve to send me to confession to seek forgiveness for the termination. I nearly died.”

“Oh you puir wee soul,” I said totally and unselfconsciously unaware of lapsing into Lallans.

“You are Scottish, aren’t you?”

“Sort of–look out, here come the light brigade.” The girls came rushing down demanding food with menaces. I told them we didn’t have any menaces and they’d have to toast and cereal as usual.

I waited while the girls went into school and then went in search of Sister Maria–she was off sick–did I want to see the deputy head. I decided I didn’t but asked if Sister Maria could phone me when she came back to work.

I went home via Morrison’s and filled up with fuel, and the boot of the car with food. Sometimes I think I could do with one of those articulated lorries calling at our place once a week because it seems I spend much of my life carrying that amount of food back and fore throughout the week.

Jacquie helped me put it away and she brought the baby down for me to feed, bathing her and changing her after I’d finished being sucked dry. I only feed her twice a day now from the breast, the rest of the time she has solids and seems to be growing quite well. She’s going to be tall by the looks of her and she’s such a happy wee soul.

She plays with her little dolls and her teddies–she has about seven of them and she loves me to read to her. I suppose it won’t be long before I can put her in with the other girls, until the older ones become self conscious as puberty awakens in them.

Trish woke again that night calling in her sleep about going to hell, this time she ended up in bed with us, it was the only way I could get her to stop crying. Thankfully, Simon is so tolerant of all this stuff and he went off to sleep again quite quickly, it was I who struggled for two bloody hours.

The next morning, I once again went in search of the headmistress and had she still been sick I’d have gone in search of the nun with the medieval views on religion, who would feel at home with the Taliban–something I was working myself up to tell her.

Maria was there, so she took the brunt of my anger and apologised, she would speak to Trish and sort things out. I did say that were I to meet said nun, I would give her a piece of my mind in very plain English. Sister Maria asked me to let her deal with it. She looked all in, with dark rings under her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to come back to school?” I asked her.

“I’ll be alright,” she said almost collapsing in front of me. I went out and told the secretary to hold all her calls until I came back to her. Then I went back to the headmistress and zapped her for twenty minutes–she nodded off during the session but woke up feeling much better.

“I really don’t know how you can do that and then deny the existence of God?”

“Quite easily,” I smiled at her and she shook her head. I took my leave and went to add to John Lewis profits via Waitrose.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1640 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

When I collected the girls Trish told me she’d been sent for by the headmistress, I played dumb.

“Oh, what she want to see you for?”

“I was fightin’.”

“You were what?” I turned round to see her and she roared with laughter.

“Gotcha,” she laughed and the other two conspirators also added to the noise, which went on to become a full-blown giggle fest.

I waited until sanity returned–I don’t know where it’s been except being absent most of my life–before I asked her if she had been to see Sister Maria.

“Yes, she told me that the nun who had told me I’d go to hell was misinformed and that I was a delightful young lady (raucous laughter from Livvie and Meems)–shrrup you two–and because I was good at heart, I’d go to heaven if I went anywhere. She asked me to keep it just between her an’ me and not say anything to the old nun who started it all.”

“Why was that?” asked Livvie.

“Because she’s old and set in her ways and doesn’t take kindly to learning new things.”

“Yes, that’s probably true of lots of elderly people,” I agreed.

“Is she as owd as Mummy?” asked Meems making me feel like Methuselah.

“Course she is, she’s probably nearly as old as Daddy–he’s older than Mummy.” Trish had a bit to learn about recognising the ages of people and even more about diplomacy.

“I suspect she’s more like Gramps’ age.”

“He’s not a silly auld galoot,” is he?” asked Trish.

“No of course not,” I confirmed.

“Oh yes he is, Mummy said he was.” Meems has a way of bringing you down to earth quicker than an unopened parachute. As I was likely to have said it about him I decided not to challenge her assertion.

I drove them home and they had a biscuit and a drink then went off to change into their playing clothes. Jacquie decided she could do with some air, so the three of them went out for a walk, with her taking our idiot spaniel with them.

That dog is so dumb–as soon as they produced the lead she danced all round the kitchen so they couldn’t fit it to her collar. Then as they were leaving, Trish who was holding said lead, walked one side of the table and Kiki went the other nearly strangling herself in the process. She was still coughing when they went out the door.

Danny asked for my help with his homework. As he asks so infrequently, I gave it my full attention. He was stuck on his science homework which was biology–I wonder why he asked me?

It was all about the amoeba–the single celled animalcule with the same IQ as George Dubya. He had to draw a picture of one to show all the bits–the nucleus, cytoplasm and so on. I told him we could do better than that, I had slides of them from my first year at Sussex.

I found them and Trish’s clever little microscope and we plugged it into the computer and after a bit of fiddling I was able to get it up on screen. He was suitably impressed. “Wow, if we had things like this to use, bugs would be much more fun.”

I printed him off a picture which he included in his work–it was stained with some sort of red stain–can’t remember which one now, so after playing about with photoshop, I managed to print him off one in shades of grey which he could then label. It was cheating, but I hope showed he had used some gumption–even if it belonged to me.

Then we researched it on wiki and found some very good clips of an amoeba moving and also one of it engulfing a diatom. He cited these clips in his homework and we also found a diagram of an amoeba with all the bits listed. Something I’d forgotten, if I’d ever learned it was that Amoeba proteus has 290 billion base pairs in its genome compared to 2.9 billion in the human genome. Danny asked me if that meant it evolved from humans? It was tempting to say yes, however, to explain what all that was about would have only confused him so I told him the higher animals had lost much of the primitive DNA sequences in their chromosomes and genes and that relatively simple or primitive creatures hadn’t. He could accept that even though he really didn’t quite know what I was talking about.

By the time the girls came back we’d finished his project and I went off to start making dinner while Trish complained about, “Who’s been using my microscope?” I told her she sounded like mummy bear in Goldilocks. I got a silly response–“Bears can’t use microscopes–silly Mummy.”

I then asked her which button they liked best on a video remote. She had no idea–the paws button–stupid. That made her laugh and she went off to tell it to the other two. Judging by the laughter emitting from the dining room, they thought it very funny.

Jacquie was feeding Catherine when I pulled the casserole from the oven–one I’d made earlier, and was waiting for the potatoes to cook before serving it. I called the locusts, saving some for Simon as he was working late.

The bonuses for High Street Bank plc were a bit down on last year, but I knew that Simon and Henry would certainly get their share of the profits, as would Stella who does little or nothing for them. I also realised that I’d get some more shares as a member of the family as would the children. I think Simon or the accountant told me I had at least a hundred thousand pounds worth of shares built up over the past couple of years. I found the whole thing mind boggling. I also knew Simon was expecting a bonus of at least half a million pounds and Henry would get two or three times that.

The American bank, the purchase and subsequent collapse was made a write off against tax and Simon’s attempts to recover the money was what had got him his bonus. It was so much easier with Robert Peston of the BBC explaining how things worked–a bit like me explaining things about an amoeba to Danny.

Simon came home tired but happy–his actual bonus was nearly a million, much of it payable in shares, which he was pleased about, the price had dipped a little so he got more for his award, which he reckoned was a good time to have them, and to sell them back to the bank a few years down the line when they were worth more. It was part of his pension plan.

I tried not to discuss things like that with him in case he told me something by unwitting disclosure–not that I’d do anything about it, insider dealing is a pretty serious offence–and we are squeaky clean.

It was getting close to bedtime for the girls, although being a Friday, they were allowed an extra half an hour. The phone rang and Trish got it. A moment later she seemed to put the handset down.

“Who was that?” I asked as Jacque and I cleared the debris from dinner.

“A wrong number, they wanted to speak to Joyce Watkins,”

Jacquie went very pale and slumped in a chair. “Why can’t they ever leave me in peace?” she sobbed, her head in her hands.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1641 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Who is Joyce Watkins?” repeated Trish.

“Never mind, it’s not important–and she’s not here is she?”

“No, Mummy.”

“So if anyone else asks–you have never heard of her and have no idea who or where she is–okay?”

“Yeah, okay, Mummy.” She shrugged and went back to whatever she was doing before she answered the phone.

“Who knows you’re here?”

“You do, Stella, your shrink friend, Dr Smith, the psychologist to came to see me, oh and the police and Home Office.”

“Why do they need to know?”

“I was convicted–I’m only out on licence. They could send me back at the drop of a hat.”

“That’s ridiculous. We need to find something to take it to the Court of Appeal, either evidence they missed or some legal point. Simon was supposed to be seeing someone about looking at the possibilities of that. I wonder if he remembered?”

I went and found him, he had, but so far had had nothing back from them. He didn’t seem to think it was too hopeful even though he trusted my conviction that Jacquie was innocent.

“If she’d smashed up a few bus shelters or burgled someone, she’d be free now.”

“Yeah, well murder is a different category altogether isn’t it?”

“I appreciate that, but the poor kid was only a baby herself at the time.” He sighed, “I’ll give Jason a ring tomorrow.”

“Thanks, darling.” I pecked him on the cheek. “Oh by the way, it seems the press might know who Jacquie is.”

“I thought that was all done in secret?”

“So did I, I know none of us gave her away so I assume it has to be the police or Home Office.”

“Brilliant. I’ll get Jason to put in a complaint–at least then it has to be investigated.”

“Thank you, darling–where would I be without you?”

“Right here rattling round with just Tom and Kiki for company and half way through your PhD.”

“Damn, if I’d known then what I know now...” I turned to leave.

“Yes?”

“What?”

“You said if you’d known then what you know now–you didn’t finish it.”

“Finish what?” He hadn’t twigged it was a wind up.

“Your statement, if you’d known then what you know now.”

“How can you possibly know about the future? Don’t be silly.”

“Me silly? If I am it’s because of living with a maniac like you.”

I cackled and told him I was going off to stir my cauldron at which point he realised he’d been had.

“Bitch,” he called at me as I went down to my study.

“Your turn to put the children to bed,” I called back and left it at that.

Amazingly, he did round the kids up and got them to bed, well the girls at any rate. Danny was watching something on telly, so Simon told him to get to bed when it finished. If I’d told him that, I’d have had to chase him up, because Si told him, he’d do it. I’m only the one who look after them every day...

I was checking emails when the phone rang again. I was tempted to ignore it but out of curiosity I answered it. “Hello?”

“Can I speak to Joyce Watkins?”

“Who’s she when she’s at home?”

“I think you know who she is?”

“So why am I asking you, then?”

“Because you know?”

“Your logic is a poor as your manners, now if you call this number again I shall report you to the police for harassment. There is no one of that name her, nor as far as I know ever has been or likely to be. What d’you want her for anyway?”

“You know why?”

“Do I? I know one thing buster–I’m reporting you to BT and the police, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it.” I put the phone down and swore at it.

Stella called by to say goodnight, and I told her about the second call for Joyce Watkins. When I took the girls to school next, she’d best answer the phone rather than Jacquie. She agreed.

On the Saturday, I did a food shop online and had Waitrose bring it to me. It wasn’t the same as doing it myself, but it was pretty good. I also ordered some stuff from Tesco and had them deliver as well. I stayed to support Jacquie while Simon pestered Jason to see what he could do.

Mid afternoon, just as Simon was about to settle down to watch Wales v Italy in the six nations, a large and burly copper with quite a bit of gold braid on his outfit rang the doorbell.

“Lady Cameron?” he asked when I answered it. “May I come in?”

I let him in and shut the door, “You are?”

“Assistant Chief Constable, Reg Burford. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

“Is there anyone else who should be here?”

“Yes, Miss Morse whom I believe you employ?”

“She’s out with the girls in the garden, they’re checking for frog spawn.”

He looked momentarily alarmed, “Is that wise?”

“Why, frogspawn is harmless enough, I ought to know, I’m a biologist.”

“Are you aware of Miss Morse’s history?”

“Are you permitted to break a confidence like that?”

“You obviously are aware.”

“I’m aware that a court of law convicted a five year old girl of something she didn’t do.”

“She tells a convincing lie.”

“Does she? So do policemen wanting an easy cop. They don’t come easier than five year old girls do they?”

“The case was thoroughly investigated, Lady Cameron. It was well presented and the judgement was fair.”

“We’ll see–I have a barrister looking for mistakes–as soon as he finds one, I’m going to get this conviction quashed and the Home Office sued for a record amount. This girl’s life has been completely messed up–do you know she was raped repeatedly by a priest at the unit, and that they did an abortion which resulted in her womb being torn out? Oh yes, the damages when they are awarded will make your salary look like peanuts.

“You’d better find out who’s responsible for the leak as well, because if we discover it was someone from the police–they’re going to lose their pension as well as doing a jail term.”

“For such a pretty woman you have a very nasty streak don’t you?”

“Those I look after I protect to my utmost. We’re having calls asking to speak to Joyce Watkins. It’s distressing a member of my household. Someone has leaked it, when I find out who–they are going to regret it.”

“Making threats doesn’t become you, Lady Cameron. Having a convicted child killer looking after your children could compromise your adoptions, as a court might not see you as fit to care for them responsibly.”

“I think I got that recorded,” Simon waved his mobile phone about. “Good these, aren’t they. Mr whoever you are under that weight of gold braid and other people’s taxes, unless you want to be on the rota for emptying parking meters, apologise to my wife now.”

“Fuck you,” he said and left.

“Simon, I think you might have upset him more than I did.”

“Good.” He dialled his mobile, “Jason, we’ve been threatened by a senior copper. Yeah got some of it recorded. Okay, will send it on. Bugger.”

“What’s the matter?”I asked him.

“Jason told me Wales have just scored and I missed it.” He went back to the telly and his seat next to Danny and Tom. I went out to see Jacquie with the kids. They were having great fun with buckets and nets.

I went back to my study and called Jim Beck–“Got a job for you.”

“Usual rates?”

“I should get discount for the amount of work I put your way.”

“I have lots of overheads including the hackers I use to open different sources of information.”

“Right, someone has leaked who Jacquie was. I want you to find out who it was, I don’t care if it’s the Home Secretary, I want them clutching their P45 as soon as we have proof.”

“Oh wow, real subversive stuff–love it.”

“Jim, whoever leaked it committed a crime which is more than Jacquie did. Find them and get proof.”

“Gotcha boss.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1642 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I went and comforted Jacquie who was now sitting in the kitchen. “What did the fat controller want? Me, I suppose?”

“I’m not quite sure insofar as he rubbed me up the wrong way, so he got Mrs Angry followed by Mr Intimidating. He went off in huff, threatening to report me to social services for employing you.”

“That’s easy enough to sort–I resign.” She rose from the table.

“Sit down, Jacquie! I need that in writing with six months notice.” She looked at me in astonishment then burst out laughing. “I know, I’m completely mad but I look after those I care about.”

“How can you care about me, you hardly know me?” Tears began to run down her face.

“I like what I know, and I believe everyone should be given the opportunity of redemption. That doesn’t mean I think you did what they accused you of, rather that you need to reintegrate into society to live as full a life as you can. If that makes me a pompous, arrogant woman in your eyes–so be it. I’m trying to help you as best I can.

“What if supporting me ruins your reputation?”

“What reputation?”

“I know you’re renowned for your dormouse studies, for making films, for adopting and loving difficult children, for your acting ability and public speaking–and for a bit of dormouse juggling.”

“I wondered if you’d seen that clip.”

“About four million people have.”

“And you think I have a reputation to protect?”

“Yes–there were rumours on the internet of some mysterious woman who has healed people like a certain New Testament character did, and who appears in Portsmouth and Southampton and one or two other places as well–always on the same days you were there.”

“That’s just a pure coincidence.”

“Like Clarke Kent being in the same place that Superman appears?”

“It’s just a malicious rumour that my real name is Clarke Kent,” I said with a dead pan face.

“You what?” She thought about my utterance and then started to chuckle, “You are completely barking.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay, how’s this–if you’re prepared to have me stay here and work with you–I’d love to.”

“That would make me very happy.”

“You are so much like the mother I’d wished I’d had.”

“Nah, I’m more your fairy godmother type.”

“No, you’re more like an angel–you know that Trish and Julie call you that, don’t you?”

“I know they’re awfully prone to exaggerate, and don’t let the facts spoil a good story.”

“They also said you had an awful problem with compliments. You know those kids would die for you, don’t you?”

“I hope they never have to prove it, or I for them.”

“Cathy, Mummy, whatever–you have one of the most loving and supportive families I could ever imagine. It all revolves round you because you give out so much love–it’s like radiation from some minor star–and you provide them with an opportunity to be themselves and love you back. You also give them boundaries, so they know how far they can push–and they do–but they feel safe with you, they feel loved and for the first time in their lives. I don’t know if you can appreciate how much that means to them–but it’s an enormous amount. And now, I feel so privileged to be part of this same family–it’s like all my dreams and Christmases happening together. The one thing I prayed for was for someone to be my mother,” she was now sobbing as she spoke.

I went to say something, but she raised her hand to silence me. “No, you have to hear this, all I ever wanted was a mummy to love me, to believe me so I could feel safe. You’ve provided this for me here. If I were to die tomorrow, at least I’d know what I’d been missing all those years. I’m so grateful, Mummy, I really am.” With that she threw herself at me and sobbed against my chest like a child while I held her and said soothing things.

I wasn’t comfortable with having an eighteen year old daughter given my own age, to have one of twenty was really pushing my buttons, but I let it go for now. This woman was so damaged after her experiences that my first priority was to stabilise her, let her explore her new environment, feel secure and safe, and then to grow from the damaged five year old who suffered all those years ago.

I held her for maybe half an hour, Simon looked in and went out again, so did two of the children. Finally, she pulled herself together enough to stand up and brush herself down with her hands.

“Look at me, I must be a complete mess.”

I smiled my reply.

“Thank you, Mummy, I do appreciate it.”

“Okay, now go and wash your face and tidy yourself up.”

She nodded, smiled at me and went upstairs.

“What was that all about?” asked Simon returning to the kitchen.

“Girl bonding. Don’t you do boy bonding with Danny?”

“Yeah, but we don’t cry and try to shrink each other’s clothes.”

“Maybe you should try it, it can be very liberating?”

“Um–I think I’m liberated enough.” He paused, “Scotland lost again–no surprise there then–come on get yourself and the kids tidied up, I’ve ordered a minibus to take us to the hotel for dinner–Dad’s paying.”

“Is he going to be there?”

“Yeah, with Monica for a change.”

“Oh, she’s back from buying up Europe then?”

“Looks like, she seemed to think for a few million she could buy half of Greece–Dad’s not impressed, because the wealthy Greeks have all come over here and are buying up bits of London.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Well, part of his side of the extra-curricular activities is to acquire nice properties in West and North London and to sell them for profit, sometimes hanging on to them for long enough to create that profit, occasionally letting them out until they appreciate in value. It’s a rich man’s game.”

“I’ll bet it is.”

“I also want to speak to him about your friendly neighbourhood cop–Jason said we have to be careful, because if they think about it, they could have Jacquie’s licence revoked and they’d take her back into custody.”

“That’s monstrous,” I said loudly.

“She’s with children here–despite her innocence–she’s got a conviction. They could use the safety of the children to re-arrest her.”

“That could undo all the good I’ve been doing with her.”

“We’re talking about the forces of oppression, here.”

“Can’t Jason put some sort of blocking order on them doing that?”

“He suggests that we keep her under supervision at all times.”

“That’s like house arrest. I’m not at all happy about it.”

“So Dad’s going to speak with the Chief Constable tomorrow, see if he can rein back his horses a little.”

“That would be good.”

“He also said you need to be less aggressive with the bluebottles, so try not to upset them.”

“But that last one threatened to send social services round to take back the children.”

“Okay, but no leaving any bruises–okay?”

“Okay. I’ll round up the children and Jacquie, you go and tell Daddy.”

“I think he’s staying put, he’s ordered a chicken curry to be delivered at eight.”

I shook my head, “He must have guts made of asbestos.”

“Nah, it’s like fire clay, burn it often enough and really does become flameproof.”

I wasn’t going to challenge his erroneous assertion, fire bricks eventually crumble after multiple burnings but it’s only a metaphor for Daddy’s digestive system. I went to gather the troops and get myself smartened up.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1643 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I sent the girls to wash themselves and dress. I decided that this time they would wear dresses and put out one for each of them. Once that was done, I did each of them a slightly different hairstyle. And gave them a squirt of cologne and sent them to play quietly and without getting dirty.

Then I showered and dried my hair before dressing in a dress and jacket and putting on some makeup, jewellery and smellies. Simon changed into a different suit and, I waited as Julie and Jacquie dressed themselves up to the nines–thankfully, Julie seems to have lost the urge to look as if she’s going off to work–as a hooker, so toned it down quite a bit–Simon would have asked her to change if she hadn’t. Jacquie had a limited wardrobe but looked tidy enough. I collected Catherine. She and Puddin’ and little Fiona would be looked after by the babysitting service at the hotel, so we could have an evening without worrying about little ones.

The bus arrived just as Tom was unwrapping his curry, we said goodbyes and he went to eat while we went off to Southsea. The journey was short but nice that someone else was driving, and we’d have the same driver to take us home.

Jacquie stayed close to me as we walked into the hotel, she was astonished at the way the staff were so obsequious to us, especially Simon; until I explained that his family were the major shareholder in the place. She was gobsmacked and just kept muttering, “It’s a different universe let alone world.”

It took me back to the first time I came here–I was almost in a trance as well, as I entered the Cameron’s very own palace–at least it felt like that. In just three years I seem to have become used to it. Now perhaps I should be surprised at my taking this bastion of capitalism for granted.

In the green room we were met by Henry, Monica was still upstairs in their suite ‘powdering her nose,’ as he put it. Stella whispered to me, “Hope she’s got enough powder,” which is a little unfair–Monica has a bit of a nose but it isn’t a huge thing, although Stella takes every opportunity to mock her over it, especially behind her back. I refuse to encourage her.

We introduced Jacquie to Henry, who was utterly charming to her, pledging his support for her during this period of pressure. He then flirted outrageously with me, with Simon egging him on on the grounds that it would save him thousands a year if I ran off with his dad. When I pointed out how much it would cost to replace all I did in the house, he suggested I come back for weekends.

After a fuss of the children, including Julie, who is really blossoming since her surgery, he and Si went off for a counsel of war while Stella and I handed the babies over to the babysitting service. I also handed over a bag full of jars of homemade baby food, which the kids love.

“I can’t believe your family own all this,” Jacquie observed to Stella.

“They don’t own all of it.”

“Oh,” said Jacquie blushing as if she’d made a mistake.

“They own about eighty per cent and the bank owns the other twenty per cent.”

“But you own the bank, don’t you?”

“Not quite, about eighty per cent.”

“Stop teasing her, Stella, they as good as own it.” Stella made faces at me. “Why don’t you show her round while we wait for Monica and the boys to come back?” Stella nodded and she and Jacquie went off to view the pool and the gym plus the other goodies like the salon, conference suite, mini cinema and dance floor.

They just got back after Monica and I exchanged pleasantries and Monica gave each of the children a present from France–the girls each got a piece of jewellery and Danny a French football shirt. They all seemed happy with what they had.

“Where’s mine?” called Stella.

“Here,” Monica handed her a small package which when she opened it had a set of very risqué lingerie inside. She chortled and blushed at the same time. Simon was given a French beret, and we all laughed at that.

“What’s Cathy got?” he demanded and Monica dived into her bag once more, then handed me a package. It felt soft and was obviously clothing. I hoped it wasn’t sexy underwear like Stella got–Simon might like it, but most of these things are so uncomfortable to wear.

I carefully opened the package and inside, much to my relief, was a green object–un maillot vert. This made the others chuckle, but I was quite pleased with my present, a green jersey with HTC on it–a copy of Cav’s jersey which we’d seen him retain and win in Paris. Danny reminded me of that wonderful afternoon and that he’d saved me from having my bag snatched.

Simon took his place alongside me and told me Jason had an angle and that Henry had an appointment to see the Chief Constable the next morning–the head copper was coming to the hotel for a breakfast meeting–and Henry was optimistic that it would go well.

We ordered and because none of us were driving, we could have some wine with our meal. I had a prawn cocktail starter–haven’t had one since I was a kid and thought they were the height of sophistication. For main course I ordered Dover sole with new potatoes and salad and for sweet, I would see if I could squeeze anything else down–usually ice cream or sorbet.

I’d just finished my starter when my mobile rang and seeing as it was James, I excused myself and went to take it out in the corridor. “I’ve got a name for you,” he said and sounded rather pleased with himself.

“Who is it?”

“My source, who is pretty reliable, suggested a certain Reg Burford, who was part of the team who investigated the original case.”

“The assistant Chief Constable?”

“The very same,” he chuckled, “isn’t he the guy who came to see you?”

“Yes, a fat twit with loads of silver braid on his hat.”

“Sounds like the type–I had to reward my source.”

“How much?”

“A ton.”

“A ton of what?”

“A ton, you know, a hundred–it’ll be down as entertainment expenses.”

I sighed, there seemed to be no honour among thieves or the people we employ to catch them, but it explained the visitation the other day. If we were able to overturn the conviction, then the team who investigated it would be discredited and he’d have a lot to lose at his level of pension.

I discreetly passed on this information to Henry after the meal and he nodded and smiled–“That sort of gen can be very useful.”

“What was the new angle that Jason had uncovered?” I asked in return.

“Jacquie was questioned without a parent or chaperone being present and there was no tape available for the initial interviews.”

“She was groomed?” I gasped, meaning she was primed to give the answers they required for an easy prosecution, which at five years old would be easy to do.

“Shall we say, it is quite possible and the missing tapes mean somebody doesn’t want us exploring those possibilities.”

I felt things were coming together and although we had a long way to go, it looked positive. Henry’s meeting tomorrow would be crucial, we had to stop Burford getting Jacquie recalled to prison because then she’d be beyond our protection. The next few days would be critical and we’d have to keep her away from any chance of encounter with the police.

I went to the toilet and returning I saw a police car parked in the car park. I motioned to Henry that I had a bad feeling about it. He sent for his chauffer and I called Jacquie. I explained what I thought was happening. She burst into tears and I had to call Julie to come and look after her. In the end we sent the two of them off via the rear entrance of the hotel, to go to a safe place which Henry had used before.

I said I’d arrange some clean clothing for them tomorrow and Julie smiled, she was off on another adventure and it was I who’d have to call her in sick tomorrow.

Sure enough, we were stopped as we left the hotel and they searched the minibus and the house. They had a warrant for Jacquie. I called for Henry to speak with Jason to get the warrant rescinded. The police were miffed and suggested they’d arrest us for obstructing them. I was about to go off on one when Simon shut me up and told them that she’d gone off to see family somewhere in the midlands as far as we knew. They didn’t believe us but neither did they have enough bottle to arrest him.

The next twenty four hours were indeed going to be critical.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1644 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Thae polis were here lookin’ f’ Jacquie,” Tom told us as soon as we arrived.

“Yes we met them at the hotel.”

“Did they find her?”

“No, Daddy, they didn’t.”

“Guid, I’m glad tae hear it, I hope she’s safe?”

“I really wouldn’t know, she went off before the end of the meal–could have gone to visit family–at least that’s what Simon thought.” I stuck with the authorised version.

“I’d hae thocht that ye wuld ken better than most waur she wis.”

“She did say something but I was trying to talk with Julie, wasn’t I?” I asked my eldest daughter who nodded and muttered something incomprehensible.

We’d also briefed the younger kids that Jacquie had gone to see some friends or relatives in the midlands. Fortunately, Daddy didn’t ask so they weren’t drawn into some sort of web of deceit. I felt bad enough that I’d lied to him but the less he knew the less chance he had to leak the information, albeit accidentally.

“I also found out a few things about our visitor and about the trial that Jacquie faced.”

“Aye, an’ whit wis that?”

“Burford, the copper who called here, was on the original investigation team and there’s evidence he coached her, or one of his colleagues did.”

“Coached her?” queried Tom.

“Yes, Daddy, they told her what to say–and that was pretty damning. She told the police, she pushed him in the water and watched him struggle–it was good fun–then he stopped and she thought she’d better get some help.”

“An’ ye dinna think it’s true?”

“The statement? No, to start with the boy fell in and she stood and watched in horror, frozen to the spot, before being able to get help. She feels guilty about it–but there’s nothing one can do about the past to undo it, is there?”

“No, if there wis, I’d undae it m’sel’.”

I put the girls to bed and reminded them that we didn’t know where Jacquie went, but she’d gone away, probably to relatives.” I read them some more of a Gaby book, something about a big society wedding somewhere in Germany and she danced with Prince William–total nonsense but it reflects well on our recently married royal, so I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded.

If he was broad-minded enough to invite one of his ex-crew members who was transitioning from MtoF, I suspect he’d cope with mention in a transgender story. If not, include me as a subversive, too. I’ll bet he doesn’t call his brother, Hal, either.

Later in bed ourselves, Simon and I discussed what we did next. He had several ideas, which he wouldn’t share with me, but he knew we needed to see what Jason could find tomorrow. So far he’d done very well. So had Jim, whose info I shared with Simon. So far so good. Henry’s meeting with the Chief Constable could be seen as pivotal, because if we could get him on side or at least neutral, we could go after Burford. I know Jason would enjoy that–in the words of Monty Python, “I’ve known grown men pull off their own heads rather than see him.”

For once Simon, full of venison and mushroom pie, fell asleep before he could take advantage of me. I wasn’t sure if I felt pleased or irritated by it. However, it didn’t keep me awake and my tiredness caught up with me before very long.

The next morning, at six, there was the sound of cars pulling up in the drive–seeing as we had electric gates–that was a puzzle. I jumped from my bed and roused Simon–the police were back. Before they could break down the front or back doors, I opened the front and asked them what they wanted.

“You know what we’re after, Lady Cameron?”

“If it’s my housekeeper, she isn’t here.”

“I have a warrant for her arrest.”

“And I have a digital camera which will record anything you do, with which my counsel can take issue in court.”

He pushed past me and so did several of his colleagues, they seemed to run all over the house including before I could stop them, the girl’s bedroom–checking under the beds and in wardrobes–despite the screaming children.

I was really angry at that, they could have waited for me to come up with them. I photographed them in the girl’s room. I protested and was warned not to interfere or I’d be charged with obstruction.

Simon was in the shower when they rushed in, I think he might have done it deliberately. Of course they looked in the bathroom and he pretended to go ballistic. I know he was on the phone moments later to his dad and then to Jason–both were unimpressed.

It took much of the morning to calm the girls down–I had to keep them off school. One moment they were asleep, the next huge great policemen in protective body armour were poking about under their beds. I did get several photos before I shouted at them–one for the family album had Trish flinging a tumbler of water over the head of one of them. The plastic receptacle just bounced off his helmet, but the water found its mark.

He was about to raise his hand to her when his sergeant called him off. If he’d touched her, his body armour wouldn’t have saved him, I’d have kicked him through the window, then run downstairs to finish him off.

When I mentioned this to Simon, he was livid. He calmed down when I said he didn’t hit her, but my video on the camera, showed him about to hit her and his superior calling him off.

“It’s easy to see now, why I believe Jacquie, isn’t it?”

The dog had been terrified and hid in her basket until the police went. I complained to Daddy who simply laughed. “Aye, she’s no as dumb as ye think.”

“Some bloody guard dog,” Simon said echoing my sentiments, she didn’t even bark.

We eventually had breakfast and then got dressed. I’d called Maureen to come and fix the gates, the police had disabled them and forced them open. That was going to cost them.

During the late morning, Henry phoned to say that the Chief Constable was not impressed with what had happened and that he would be out to see us himself after lunch.

We had a snack for lunch and the house was clean and tidy before our head police honcho arrived. He was polite and listened to what I had to say. He was especially so when I told him he needed to call his wife–she had problem.

“I’ll do it when I get back to the office.”

“Ah, I think you need to do it now.”

“What d’you mean–how d’you know what’s happening to my wife?”

“Cathy sees things, Chief Constable,” explained Simon.

His wife had got herself trapped in their garage, the car had rolled forward as she went to get something from the workbench in front of it. He’d called her mobile, as I told him to, and she’d fortunately had it in her trouser pocket–only because she thought she might have to call him from the garage while looking for whatever it was she was after.

He thanked me and rushed off to rescue her, phoning ahead to some of his officers to get there quickly. I knew she wasn’t badly hurt–and before you accuse me–I had nothing to do with it (this is Bike not Bewitched) I just picked up on her energy when he was talking to me

He called later to thank me, and I explained what I’d seen and also what I’d seen with Jacquie. I repeated that his men had caused damage to our gates and frightened the girls. He reminded me that they were executing a warrant, but he would arrange for any damage to be rectified, and apologised to the girls. I half expected him to arrange a guided tour of the cells for them, or perhaps that would be more likely to be me.

Jason emailed to say, the warrant had been rescinded and that he was pursuing Burford very nicely. Which I think is lawyer speak for the fact he was being anything but nice–or was going to be.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1645 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I dropped the children, the girls actually, to school and got back into the car, I had just turned it round and was headed out of the school when I got the shock of my life as Reg Burford sat up behind me. He’d obviously effected an entry to my car and was now looking at me via the rear view mirror.

“Just keep driving, Lady Cameron.”

I stopped the car–“I think you’d better leave.”

“Just keep driving, I have a rather large gun pointing at your back through the seat. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your husband to have to raise your children as a single parent.”

“Why should I? If you’re going to kill me anyway, why should I make it easy for you?”

“Because I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.”

“I don’t know where Jacquie is.”

“Can’t say I actually care where she is.”

“So why are you sitting in my car pointing a gun at me?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t think I need to talk to you though, do I?”

“Don’t you want to know what happened–what really happened?”

“Not really, I have a good idea and I can’t trust you, can I? So you could just as easily lie to me.”

“You said you thought you knew what happened.”

“I know what happened at the drowning, but not the interview with Jacquie.”

“She was Joyce then.”

“I know.”

I started driving, I wasn’t sure if he had a gun or was bluffing, but I wanted to know why he’d got into my car and what did he want to say. We headed up onto the downs finally stopping at a view point where there were no other parked cars. My anxiety began to rise.

“What did Joyce tell you?” he prompted me.

“She didn’t tell me anything.”

“You said you knew what happened?”

“Yes, I saw it happen.”

“You can’t have, there was only one witness, Joyce Watkins.”

“There are ways, Mr Burford, there are ways.”

“So what did you see?”

“I saw the little boy fall into the pond and splash round as he drowned. Joyce, as she was called then watched in horror and fascination. She was rooted to the spot and it was only when the little boy stopped struggling she realised he was drowning–she was only five. Then she shook herself and went to get some help.”

“It was too late then, she watched him die.”

“She was five years old, she was barely more of a child than he was.”

“She let him die.”

“She was transfixed by it all. She was five years old.”

“She knew wrong from right.”

“Don’t be ridiculous–she didn’t even meet the criterion for being aware of right and wrong. She was only half the age required.”

“She could have gone and got help.”

“Don’t you think she knows thatnow? Don’t you think she’s not aware she could possibly have saved him if she’d gone for help–but she was only five years old herself, barely more than a baby herself.”

“She let him die.”

“You let her perjure herself in front of a judge–you let the system send her to a secure unit. She didn’t need correction, she needed a mother.”

“If she’d acted responsibly, the child would still be here today.”

“You can’t possibly know that–he might have caught some horrible disease or been run over–a million different things could have killed him.”

“But it didn’t did it–it was her.”

“What about you? She wasn’t responsible for what happened–but you were; you were an adult and you deliberately got her sent away–how can you live with that?”

“No one died from what I did.”

“You self-righteous fool–how d’you define a forcible termination which destroyed Joyce’s ability to have children? What d’you call the bastard of a priest who raped her repeatedly and caused the pregnancy? She was twelve years old for God’s sake–how could you condemn her to that?”

“I didn’t know about that until recently–but she probably led him on.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous–he was an adult, she was a child–I know where the responsibility lies–so why aren’t you out investigating that crime–child abuse, instead of trying to make something out of nothing and destroy a child’s life. Why did you pursue the case like a medieval inquisition–it’s not like it was your child who died.”

I glanced in the mirror there were tears in his eyes.

“My God, it was your child.”

“Little Micky never hurt no one and she let him drown.”

“It was an accident, Reg, an accident.”

“She killed him, my boy.”

“How could you investigate your own child’s death? No one knew he was yours, did they?” I was forming this picture of an illegitimate child born to his mistress and no one knew, or if they did, they neither stopped him investigating the death or came forward at the time or since.

“Did you not have any children with your wife, Reg?”

“A bloody girl–I wanted a son, I ’ad a bloody son until she let him die. She ’ad to be punished–she killed my boy.”

“What you did was wrong, Reg.”

“I ’ad t’ do something, she ’ad to pay.”

“She paid severely, Reg, she paid with her own childhood and adolescence, with her innocence, with her ability to have children. She paid alright, but it wasn’t justice, was it Reg? It was revenge.”

He was sitting in the back seat sobbing, “My son, my Micky–he died, my boy...” There was no gun, as I'd suspected.

I quietly got out of the car and called police headquarters and asked to speak to the Chief Constable.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but he’ll speak to me.”

“Hold on, I’ll talk to his PA.”

“Hello, I’m Judy Scrimshaw, how can I help you?”

“By letting me speak to the Chief Constable.”

“What is it about?”

“Something which is going to prove very embarrassing to him and his force.”

“Could you give me more information?”

“Tell him it’s Cathy Cameron, Lady Cameron–he’ll speak to me.”

“He’s very busy, Lady Cameron.”

“So am I, and one of his senior officers is in great need of his help at this minute. So please stop obstructing me and put me through to him.”

“Please don’t take that tone with me, Lady Cameron.”

“If you don’t, you’ll be in all sorts of shit.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, you stupid woman, he’ll be roasting your arse, now put me through or I go straight to the press and your precious job will be irrelevant.”

“I don’t know ...”

“Just do it.”

Finally, I got through to him and he got the gist very quickly. He sent a car to collect his Assistant Chief from my car where I think he’d suffered some sort of breakdown.

An hour later I was sitting in his office and discussing the options with him. He appreciated that there was no way he could keep the lid on it, and at the same time he accepted that the Court of Appeal needed to be made aware of the new information and asked to rule the previous conviction unsafe and that Joyce/Jacquie needed to be exonerated and compensated for all the hurt she'd received.

He agreed that Reg Burford would be investigated, although it would be up to an independent enquiry to consider what the consequences of that would be. Burford was suspended immediately and probably in need of a good psychiatrist.

It was agreed that if Jacquie was in favour, the priest who abused her and the doctor who carried out the termination would be investigated, and if sufficient evidence could be found–they would be brought to trial. As this would have consequences for Jacquie, in giving evidence and coping with a trial, only she could decide.

I left after shaking hands with our Chief Constable, whom I considered to be an honourable man, and besides which, I had enough information to bring him down if he wasn’t. He thanked me for my assistance in resolving some dirt which had been under the carpet for too long and ruefully added, “We should really have some sort of notice on the top of every officer’s notes telling them to treat you with very great care, or watch their pensions shrink.”

“Oh, I think the grapevine already does that for any of them–and perhaps when this deadwood is removed–we can have a better relationship than previously.”

“Amen to that,” he said and I left the police HQ feeling better than I had for some time. I needed to speak with Jacquie, but first I needed to see Catherine and deal with some of the discomfort in my breasts and get some lunch. Poo, it was nearly three o’clock–I’d better go straight to the school and collect the girls. No wonder I felt hungry.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1646 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Let me get this straight, Robocop hijacked you and made you drive to a beauty spot on the downs and then you dissected his brain, he ’fessed up and broke down, and you sent for his boss?”

“More or less, it took a bit longer than that, but essentially, once he knew he was going to be caught, he told me what happened. Little Micky was his illegitimate son and he needed to punish someone for his loss.

“Apparently he abandoned the girl before the baby was born...”

“There’s a surprise,” observed Simon.

“So much of his relationship was in his head rather than hands on.”

“I’ll bet lots of parents are like that, especially fathers. They have this fantasy picture of how they’d like it to be, close ties with the kids, except they do nothing towards it. We saw it all the time at school, parents who loved their kids so much they sent them away to school because the child’s presence was inhibiting from doing what they wanted to do. Sure it costs money, but so do child minders and twenty four seven care is probably dearer than boarding school, if you take out tuition fees.”

“I have no idea, but I suspect boarding school would have killed me.”

“Why?”

“Oh come on, Si–a feminine and smallish child, I’d have been bullied to hell and back. Plus they’d have made me cut my hair.”

“Not necessarily, you could have told ’em you were Sikh, but you’d have had to grow a beard.”

“Beard? I’ve never shaved in my life.”

“Lucky you, it’s a prize pain.”

“Not for Daddy.”

“Well if you want to walk round looking like the business end of a sheep’s arse...”

“I beg yer pard’n, young Cameron, but whit’s this aboot a sheep’s errse?”

I don’t think I had ever seen Si’s face go bright red so quickly, he looked like he was about to have a stroke.

I left the two men to sort it out, I had better things to do than watch force feeding of humble pie. I’d fed Catherine and my breasts felt much more comfy than they had while I was sitting in the car with that smelly policeman. It was currently parked in the drive with all the windows open.

I went into the lounge and watched a rerun of Horizon, a BBC2 science programme which Trish and Livvie were watching. It was about the unconscious mind, which suggested that most of what we do and think we do is run by the unconscious mind.

Apparently we can only cope with doing a couple of things at once, proving that multitasking is myth, unless the subordinate task is so automatic that a second one can be indulged in, like riding a bike and talking with someone at the same time. Apparently they discovered by studying some woman knitting in some sort of scanner, they discovered that well learned tasks or activities are governed by one part of the brain which is very different to that which is required to learn a new task.

Not entirely surprising as we’ve known about nerve pathways for a long time, but seeing how it works is new. It’s also no surprise that one of the big investors is the US military–ironic that they are probably the most technologically advanced military in the world, and yet they still can’t beat fanatics. I know the argument is more complex than that, because western forces are looking to minimise casualties on both sides, where as the fanatics are uncaring about their own safety and so can frequently cause chaos even to technology. The British found the same with the Mad Mahdi, so invented the dum-dum bullet by cutting a cross in the front of a bullet, it meant that on impact it blew a huge hole in its target and even fanatics when hit by such a missile tend to stop immediately. It would probably stop a horse or a camel as well.

I caught up with Simon and Tom who were still talking in the kitchen when I went back there after the programme finished. I was quite pleased that I already knew much of what they were talking about–some of it was old science–such as a blind person being able to ‘see’ movement or the direction of it, though not being able to see with their eyes. We also have a secondary system which is much greater in things like fish, amphibians and reptiles which doesn’t feed into the visual cortex, so we can detect movement even when our use of the visual cortex is damaged and we are technically blind. It’s primitive but obviously useful. The blind chap they used in their experiment was able to correctly detect thirty seven out of forty movements, as the scientist concluded, ‘it was quite significant’. I’ll say.

As I watched that bit, I did wonder if that was why martial arts fighters and gunslingers used to stare into the eyes of their opponents, because they’ll pick up any movement by their non-seeing sight.

The only problem was that with gunslingers, they tended to shoot more of the bystanders than opponents–it appears it’s hard to draw, aim and shoot and actually hit the target at the same time.

Simon had closed the doors and windows of my car as it looked like rain–it probably did, it was another weekend coming up and he’d be glued to the telly most of Saturday watching the rugby. I suppose I might watch a wee bit here and there if I got the chance, “Efter a’,” as Daddy said, “Scotland micht jest beat thon Italians.” Simon was hoping to see Wales do a grandslam by beating France.

“Can’t any of the others win it then?” I asked casually.

His retort made me feel about two years old and two foot tall. “How can the others win it if Wales have already beaten everyone but France? A grandslam means beating all the others.”

“Well I didn’t know, did I? I’m a cyclist not a rugger player.”

“But you went to a grammar school, they all had good rugby teams, so you should know this by osmosis.”

“Well I don’t.” I felt like screaming at him instead I asked quietly, “So, Mr Smart-arse, who won the Paris-Nice, last week?”

“How do I know? Cavendish?”

“He’s a sprinter, it’s a stage race.”

“I have no bloody idea.”

“Seeing as you expect me to acquire information by osmosis, when I had nothing to do with the rugby team, except being abused by them, I’d have expected you to absorb information by the same system from sleeping with me–and believe me–you have closer contact with me than I did with my old school rugby team.”

“Very funny, who did win it–don’t tell me, Dave Millar?”

“No, Brad Wiggins.”

“I was going say him next.”

“Sure ye were,” I replied, “And I was going to explain the difference between a ruck and a maul, the offside trap and Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle.”

“While you make the dinner? I am impressed.”

“Go away the pair of you while I make dinner.”

“What’re we having?”

“Salmon–why?”

“No reason, just wondered, that’s all.”

“When is Henry bringing Jacquie back?”

“Tonight, I think, why?”

“I’ll keep her a meal, in case she’s hungry.”

“Jason is very cock a hoop with the events of the day, he thinks the Appeal Court will be bound to overturn the conviction and he’s pushing for a full pardon and compensation. He’s also got the local constabulary investigating the unit Jacquie was in–I think he has a name for the doctor and the priest.”

“I already have them, James got them and sent me an email while I was out. I have him tracking them down.”

“And you don’t believe in multi-tasking?” Simon almost gasped at me.

“No, it’s delegation–but then as a manager you’d be familiar with that, especially commissioning people who have special skills to use them.”

“Of course, I delegated you to do the cooking soon after we first met,” he said quickly and ran out of the kitchen as the wooden spoon I had in my hand crashed against the kitchen door a moment later.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1647 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Tempted, though I was to poison Simon’s fish, I decided against it–I might need him to babysit. So about forty minutes later we had baked salmon with new potatoes dripping with butter–actually, it was low fat stuff–and a green salad which included chopped spring onions and chives. Simon and Tom grumbled–perhaps their colons don’t need roughage but mine certainly does, and I’m the cook.

After dinner, Henry phoned to say Jacquie was on her way home and he’d just wined and dined her. I had some questions for her–sadly. Ones which wouldn’t be pleasant for her to answer but I needed confirmation of the two names I had.

Simon and I were chatting with Stella and Daddy, Julie was in the bath prior to going out and the kids were watching telly. “So who are these two monsters, then?” demanded Simon.

“What monsters?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“The two who abused Jacquie,” he rolled his eyes and I clenched my fists instead of saying something I might regret.

“The priest was Fr Daniel Donleavy, the doctor was, Dr Dennis O’Connor.”

“Do we know anything about them beyond their names?” asked Simon.

“No, other than they were at the unit at the same time as Jacquie.”

“Do we know where they are now?” asked Stella.

“Not as yet, Jim is working on it.”

“Are they still alive?” Simon asked a reasonable question.

“No, I know nothing other than the names–age or anything else is yet to be discovered.”

“Isn’t there a copy of the Medical Directory in the local reference library?”

“There’s probably one online, somewhere?” Simon answered his sister’s question.

“If there was, I suspect Jim will find it, of course, he might not be practising any longer,” I mused.

“It’s only seven or eight years ago,” Simon challenged, “So unless he was elderly, isn’t he likely to need to make a living.”

“Why don’t ye jes’ wait until Jacquie comes hame?” I’d almost forgotten that Daddy was here he was so quiet.

“Tea, anyone?” I decided to busy myself.

“Yes, I’ll help you make it,” Stella followed me to the kettle. “He’s a bit crabby today,” she remarked about Tom.

“I think he’s tired.”

“I’m awa’ tae ma study,” Tom rose and left the kitchen presumably to have a glass of whisky. Simon reached for the bottle of wine and poured the remnants of it into his glass.

There was very little so he asked for a cuppa. Stella and I carried them back to the table. He thanked me for his, then added, “If we assume these are the correct names and we find the characters using them, what d’we do next?”

“I’ve got Jim looking for evidence, if there are any other victims of their abuse, it might make life easier.”

“How do we do that?” he asked.

“We don’t, Jim does. If you want to help, you can contribute to his fees, it’s time consuming stuff, looking through records, especially ones he’s not supposed to have access to.”

“Ah, good old bribery and corruption–okay, I’ll split the bill with you. If we get evidence we do what–go to the police?”

“Yes, if they’re not interested we ask Jason about a private case for damages.” I was now looking at a mental list of processes we could follow.

“Aren’t you both forgetting one thing?” Stella said putting her mug down on the table. “Doesn’t this depend upon Jacquie wanting to prosecute these two–she might have to deal with media interest and not consider it’s worthwhile.”

“Yes, I was assuming she’d want to go after them, she might not.” I heard a car pull up into the drive–we were still waiting for parts to repair the gates. I looked out of the window and Jacquie was walking towards the door. The car beeped and drove off.
“Hello,” she said giving me a big hug, “Henry is absolutely lovely, so is Monica.”

“Have you been up in Hampstead, then?”

“Um, and the cook, she’s wonderful–taught me how to make pastry.”

“You heard the news?” I asked her.

“Yes, thank you for dealing with that crazy copper.”

“That’s okay, did you hear that Micky was his son?”

“No I didn’t–oh, no wonder he was so awful. How sad.”

“Yes, it is but that was no reason for him to set you up like he did. Anyway, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“He’s not dead is he?” she looked shocked.

“No, he’s under investigation and they have loads to go on.”

I made her a cup of tea, and she sat next to Simon. “So you enjoyed yourself at the family home, then?” he asked her.

“Oh yeah, it was brilliant, Monica took me out clothes shopping, and Henry took us out for dinner to a wonderful restaurant–I had a fab time.”

“Tell me,” he continued, and I had a feeling I knew what was coming, “do you remember the name of the priest who assaulted you and the doctor who performed the operation?”

“Why?” she asked and looked very anxious.

“Because we’d like to help bring a prosecution against both of them.”

“I hate them,” she said burst into tears and ran upstairs, leaving me holding her mug of tea as she went past.

“Well done, Si,” Stella shook her head.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked shrugging.

“You could have been a bit more gentle–she’s only just come back from hiding from oppression and you walk straight into it with your size twelve boots.”

“Oh c’mon, she’s had a wonderful time, Dad and Monica have spoilt her to death.”

“So couldn’t you have let her have one more night of indulgence.”

“We need to find these bastards so they don’t touch anyone else ever again.” He stood up in disgust, “What is it with you women? You claim men are the weaker sex–the human race would have died out with Adam if men had to have babies–and all that shit, then just run off in tears as soon as the pressure’s on?”

I didn’t wait for Stella’s response, I went up the stairs after Jacquie, still clutching the mug of tea. I knocked and entered her room, she was sitting on her bed weeping, her face in her hands. I placed the tea on the bedside cupboard.

“I don’t want to see them again, Mummy, they did horrible things to me–I’m frightened of them–I hate them.” I sat beside her and put my arm round her and she sobbed on my shoulder.

“If you don’t want to face them, you don’t have to. Simon was a bit heavy handed but he wants to clear your name and prosecute those who abused you. He wants to help, Jacquie.”

“I don’t want anything to do with it, it frightens me, Mummy–I don’t want them near me ever again.”

“Okay, darling–I’ll tell him.”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bear to see either of them ever again–I’d rather die.”

“Now, now, I thought we had an arrangement about such things.”

“I’d kill myself before I’d let them near me again, I mean it, Mummy, I will.”

“Message received loud and clear, sweetheart, now drink your tea and have an early night.”

“They won’t come here, will they?” she looked terrified.

“Who, sweetheart?”

“Those men, they won’t find me, will they?”

“No they won’t and besides, you have Simon and me here to protect you–but I suspect they’re probably more afraid of you at the moment.”

“I doubt it,” she said quietly and shuddered.

“Promise me you won’t do anything, and I’ll promise to protect you.”

She gave me a strange staring glance and nodded.

“Is that a promise, Jacquie?”

“Yes,” she sighed and nodded again.

“And I promise to do all I can to protect you from those men.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” She hugged me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1648 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I returned to the kitchen where Simon was sitting looking rather fed up and an empty wine bottle sat alongside his empty glass. “I waited to see if you wanted some wine, but you took so long I drank it for you. Was good, too.”

“You’re too kind,” I said but my sarcasm was wasted on his less than sober self. I picked up the bottle and the glass and removed them from the table, I placed the bottle in the recycling box and the glass on the draining board. Next I made myself some tea and asked Simon if he wanted some more–he laughed and said he didn’t.

“You’ve got a lovely bum, missus.” He laughed again.

“Glad you like it, because it’s the only one I shall have.”

“It’s very nice and I’d like to kiss it all over,” he laughed and nearly fell off his chair.

“I think you ought to drink some water, mister.”

“Nah, ’s bad for you, unless iss got fermented grapes in it–ha, ha.” He was fast approaching inebriation, though I suspect he’d not understand the word the rate he was approaching it. He rose unsteadily from the table and went to the loo–I heard him sometimes hitting the centre of the pan and other times missing it, he called “oops,” every so often and laughed some more. Finally, he staggered back out of the cloakroom and into the dining room where he fell asleep on the couch.

I went in the loo and wiped where he’d splashed with a soapy cloth and then rinsed it. It wasn’t as bad as it might have been, and after washing my hands I went to drink my tea. Then it was chasing the kids to bed time, which meant I’d be reading them a story as well. I waited while they changed and cleaned their teeth, and they got into bed. I sat looking at the photo of Billie and felt sad, then as they trooped into bed, I concentrated on reading to them–another Gaby story. Trish seems to dominate what they have read to them–this time the hapless youth seems to have migrated to Germany where they all think he’s a girl.

Eventually they settled down and I kissed them and switched off the light. I checked on Jacquie, who was fast asleep. I hadn’t failed to notice she called me Mummy during her distress nor had I attempted to refute the title because at the that moment she needed a parental figure to ease her pain. That was my role, or so it seemed. One day I’ll learn that I don’t have to sort everyone’s problems, but for now, anyone in distress seems to trigger a helping response in me, which I presume is the same for most people, seeing as whales and dolphins do it as well. It could be a common behaviour amongst social animals. Somehow, I can’t see dormice having the wherewithal to do it, although the mothers lick their babies at times, so perhaps they have different ways of soothing each other’s pain. Nah, they just bugger off and ignore it–sometimes I wonder if that’s a better response, it certainly leads to less effort and complications. Then they have up to four babies at least once a year, so they don’t have time to give their offspring like we do. Mind you ours take a bit longer to mature–like twenty years.

Of course, being more sophisticated than lowly rodents, we have more problems and they tend to be more sophisticated too. I sat drinking another cup of tea while I mused on Jacquie’s situation. We’d won insofar as we’d almost certainly won the right to appeal against her conviction. That would of course excite press interest which would put her under pressure. I had a feeling she’d either be holed up in the house for some time or somewhere else. Wherever it was, she’d need lots of support. Although I suspect she’d be delighted to have the conviction quashed, it’s going to stir up all sorts of unfinished business and hence her need for support.

How we supply that support, I don’t know. I won’t be home every day after Easter because the university summer term begins. Okay, much of it will be exams and revision, I’ll still be quite busy and I’ll have to get Stella to help me. I wonder if Stephanie would be interested in coming over now and again–not to analyse but just to keep an eye on Jacquie in case she needs support.

I knew once I got back to teaching, my classes were going to be huge, unless the delays have weakened their enthusiasm. Last time I spoke to Daddy about it he didn’t seem to think so. How can I possibly deserve celebrity status? There are much more dedicated teachers there than I, but I’m the one who’s been on telly. Thankfully, the radio shows failed to materialise, so at least that wasn’t an additional problem.

I checked on Simon. He was deado, so I covered him with a blanket and left him sleeping on the couch. Julie came in as I was about to go to sleep. “What’s with Dad?”

“Oh he had a small run in with Stella after being a trifle insensitive with Jacquie. He got drunk and is sleeping it off. I’m going to bed. Night, darling.” She pecked me on the cheek and followed me up the stairs. I checked Jacquie, who was still asleep, then went to my own bed.

I felt so sorry for the kid–she’d been condemned by a system which dispenses law, but not necessarily justice, and no one seemed to ask why or how it could happen. That it still seems to is iniquitous, but according to the internet there are campaigns still active about ongoing cases, where protesters have themselves been sent to prison for contempt of court. I suspect that while the majority of judges probably do a very difficult job well, there are one or two who don’t and during a career that could ruin a lot of lives.

There was very little I could do to rectify things. I had no desire to be part of the legal system, and I suspect it would prevent me if I tried–to become a magistrate or prison visitor. I know of cases where transsexual women had lived in a female rá´le for decades, even having full legal status, but they hadn’t even been called for jury service let alone to do anything more. So I suspect the system has ways of keeping out ‘outsiders’, or those of us who are different. They tolerate rather than accept us providing we don’t get too demanding–then they tend to stamp on us quietly, with no witnesses. As I tend not to do things quietly, perhaps they leave me alone.

As for jury service–I have no desire to sit in judgment of my fellows–even though I know someone has to do it–I’m happy it’s someone else. I don’t balk on paying my taxes, so that’s my contribution–yeah, I know so do others, but it takes a few hospital porters or cleaners to equal my tax bill–and I don’t get anything more out of the system than they do, which is okay with me.

Sleep finally came because I woke up to find Trish poking me. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Uh–what? What time is it? Downstairs I think, why?”

“Have you been fighting again?”

“No, why?”

“Just wondered.”

“You coming in for a cwtch?” I asked her.

She duly clambered under the covers with me and we cuddled tightly together.

“Where’s Jacquie?” she asked.

“In her bed, why?”

“No she’s not, I just checked.”

“She’s not just in the bathroom?”

“No, I checked.”

“Oh bugger,” I said to myself and jumped out f the bed and started pulling on some clothes. I dashed downstairs only to bump into Daddy who was making his treacle like coffee.

“Have you seen Jacquie?” I asked him.

“Aye, she’s oot wi’ ma dug, why?”

“Oh, okay–no reason–I’m just concerned for her.”

“Aye, Simon went wi’ ’er.”

Now that did suprise me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1649 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I decided to make myself breakfast and was just tucking into it when Trish came downstairs and Jacquie and Simon returned with the dog. He had his arm round her and I felt ever so slightly jealous.

“It’s a lovely morning,” he said, “Why don’t you go for a bike ride?” Immediately, instead of thinking, what a good idea, I began to wonder why he wanted me out of the house–what was he up to with Jacquie?

“I don’t know, I’ve got loads to do.” I replied trying to hide any emotion he might pick up from the tone. I hadn’t actually ridden since Billie died and part of me wondered if I ever would again.

“Can I come with you, Mummy?” Trish stood alongside me tapping my upper arm. It was an irritation.

“I haven’t said I was going yet, have your breakfast.” She reluctantly grabbed some cereal and began pouring it into her dish, her smile had turned to a pout.

“Suit yourself,” Simon dismissed me and walked past, presumably to go and shower. At least I knew he couldn’t have children with her–she’s quite pretty, but I’ve got bigger tits–then, she’s younger. I stewed in my own juices while I ate my breakfast, Trish was wittering on about something, but I wasn’t listening. Jacquie sat down and I wanted to be sick–how dare she try to take my husband away from me?

I rose from the table abandoning my breakfast and ran upstairs–I had to have it out with Simon, if he wanted to move on–so be it. I went into the bedroom, Simon emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him.

“Look, babes, about last night...”

“Are you having a relationship with Jacquie?” I didn’t beat about the bush.

“What?” he gasped, “Are you serious?”

“I never joke about such things.”

“I should hope not.”

“So are you, yes or no?”

“Have you taken leave of your senses–twelve hours ago you were criticising me for being insensitive, now you’re accusing me of having an affair. Listen to yourself, Cathy.”

“What d’you mean? You came in with your arm round her, smiling.”

“Yes, because last night I upset her. She woke early and went to go for a walk and I decided to go with her and take the dog. We settled our differences and I agreed not to push too much for an enquiry. She just wants to fade into the background.”

“And that’s all it was?”

“Promise, yes–you’re the one I promised to love, honour and obey.” He was trying to be funny but I wasn’t laughing. “Cathy, she’s calling you her adoptive mother, she’s all messed up–she’s been abused for God’s sake–I’m trying to support you in helping her to move on. I feel like she’s my daughter, not a potential shag.

“Only last night you were telling me how damaged she’d been because of the abuse she suffered–I wouldn’t dream of touching her–I feel more like her dad than a lover.”

I listened to what he said, I didn’t know if I believed him, and she was still younger than me. “Are you tired of me, is that it?”

“Tired of you? What are you saying–I vowed to be with you for eternity–how can I be tired of you?”

I felt tears welling up and spilling down the sides of my face. Had I made a big mistake again–now he would get tired of me.

“I’m scared of losing you, Simon. I love you so much, I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Lose me? Why would you lose me?”

“To someone younger, prettier and really female.”

“Cathy, this has got to stop–right now. You are the woman I love and chose to marry. I want no one else now or ever–but you must put all this unworthiness stuff away for good. You are my wife, how much more female could you be? You’re the one I love and lust after–you’re the one I make love to–what do I have to do–love you now to prove it?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me–it’s silly, I know.”

He walked over to me and held me and kissed me, “Jacquie s a pretty young thing, but she’s only a girl–I need a woman, and you’re the woman I need.” With that he pushed me back on the bed and began kissing me and massaging my breasts.

The towel fell away and I became aware of his manhood, hard and erect. He began pulling at my top and pushed his hands up under it, massaging my breasts, pulling on the nipples–I felt milk ooze out from them and he pushed my top up over my breasts and began to suckle me. Then while he was sucking one nipple he began to undo my jeans and pull them down. He was on the point of penetrating me, we were both huffing and puffing with lust when the door opened and Trish walked in–“Well, are we going out for a bike ride or not?” she demanded.

Simon told her to go out and come back in half an hour, muttering all sorts of imprecations under his breath. I began to laugh–the absurdity of it all–and another case of Offspringus interruptus.

In the end, we had to admit we’d lost the plot and I went and had a wash instead, after reducing Simon’s bulge with a little massage–thankfully the towel saved us from having to change the bed again.

I changed into my cycling kit and called to Trish to do the same. By the time I pulled free of Simon–who yanked me down onto the bed again, “I just love women in uniform,” he joked–and got downstairs, Danny, Trish and Julie were waiting to go out on bikes.

Danny and Trish–yes, they enjoy it quite regularly–but Julie? What’s she doing wearing lycra and a bike helmet? It transpired someone told her last night that she was getting fat–so five minutes exercise will be good for her soul and her figure–I don’t think.

“Where’s Livvie?” I asked.

“She’s still in bed reading, Mummy.”

“She’s okay, isn’t she?”

“She’s fine, Mummy, she just doesn’t fancy a ride today.”

“Did you finish having sex, Mummy?” asked Trish without batting an eyelid.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were having sex when I came in to your room, Daddy was giving you a good seeing to–are you in a better mood now?”

Julie and Danny sniggered behind her while I went bright scarlet faster than a traffic light.

“We were just having a kiss and a cuddle, Trish.”

“So why was Daddy shoving his willie between your legs?”

This question was accompanied by more sniggering, none of it from Trish. I began to think she had no idea of the discomfort she was causing me. She saw what we were doing recognised it as a behaviour, but drew no moral value from it at all. She was stating facts and asking questions–beyond that, it had no value to her whatsoever. Strange or what?

Once they stopped laughing we did have a ride–I might have been quicker walking–we went to Southsea and along the front and back–exhilarating it wasn’t, but it did eventually stop the sniggers.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1650 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Back from the ride–the bike ride that is, I went and showered and found the door opening and Simon, locked the bathroom door and then stripped off. “We have some unfinished business to see to,” he said and climbed into the shower with me.

Without going into details, I can say he did more than wash my back, and I felt more tired from showering than cycling, and I think Si mentioned something about a knee trembler, though my knees felt fine.

I cooked for the evening, we had a roast chicken with all the trimmings. It disappeared off the plates almost as quickly as I loaded them, with Daddy providing the surgical skills on the poor fowl. With the oven in use, I made up a real rice pudding, not one of those from a tin, and that followed the chicken down the gullets of my hungry brood. I could at least admit that my family waste very little food, the likeness of a shoal of piranhas may be unkind but reasonably accurate.

I checked that the kids had all completed their various homeworks, and asked Jacquie to listen to the girls read while I cleaned up the kitchen. I wanted to give them all a chance to get to know each other. Mima read from her school library book, Livvie from a Gaby book, and Trish from Darwin’s, Origin of the Species. I hope she did better than me–I gave up before completing the introduction. Though the voyage of the Beagle was much more interesting.

I was doing some ironing when Jacquie came out to find me. “Those girls are adorable–though Trish is a little frightening.”

“She didn’t ask about Schrodinger’s cat did she?” I asked as the iron hissed steam beneath my hand.

“She did actually.”

“What did you say?”

“I had no idea what she was talking about.”

“It’s quantum theory.”

“Physics?”

I nodded, turning Simon’s shirt on the ironing board.

“Want me to do some of that?” she nodded at the pile of laundry needing ironing.

“If you like, I’ll make us some tea.” I finished Simon’s shirt and left the iron for her to use while I filled the kettle.

She did some tea towels and I made the tea, then we both sat at the table and drank it. “That was a lovely dinner, Mummy.”

Now what do I do? Ignore it or make it an issue? Oh bugger, why don’t humans come with instructions on using them? I ignored it. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Nothing like home cooking–made with love.”

“I do my best,” I blushed a little–at least she had something positive to say about feeding her, which was more than the rest did, they took it for granted.

“It was lovely to sit with a family again, it’s so long since I did and even then it wasn’t really one, as I found out when they didn’t do much to support me. That policeman, Reg whatever, he told my parents his lies and they believed him, not me.”

“I’m sorry,” I reached out and pressed my hand on hers.

“Thank you, Mummy.”

Damn, there it was again. Can I cope with someone only eight years younger than I calling me, Mummy? I don’t know–although I suppose I got used to Julie calling me it as well, and that grated at first. I wondered what she wanted, because it seemed there were two options, she could be my employee as I thought we had agreed, or she could act like a daughter and give me a hand round the house and we pay her an allowance instead, with the usual family things of bed and board thrown in.

“Jacquie, exactly what do you want from me–us, the family?”

She looked at me with eyes brimming with tears, “I don’t know, Mummy–I just want to be loved–I’m sorry,” she said rising from the table.

“Please sit back down,” I said with a little gentle firmness. She did but looked very sheepish.

“I need you to decide, because I’m finding it very confusing.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy,” she sobbed, tears dripping onto the table.

“As I see it, and this is without much thought, so there might be further options available–so this is exploratory rather than definitive–but if you want me to act like a maternal figure towards you, I’m not sure I can have you as a paid employee. However, if that’s what you want, the maternal figure and a family, we could probably pay you an allowance in return for you helping round the house. If you wish to remain as an employee, I am happy to take you under my wing as an older woman, but more as an elder sister, and your other conditions would remain as we agreed.”

She looked at sea for a moment, possibly I hadn’t explained things that well for her, or was the emotion of the moment making it hard for her to take anything on board.

She took a deep breath, shuddering as she let it out, “When have I got to let you know?”

“There’s no rush, except we’d have to notify the probation service and probably the taxman. You might be eligible to some benefits as well, if you’re not working.”

“I’d love to belong to a family, but I understand your position, I think. I love calling someone, mummy again, and feeling them care for me–you’ve shown me more love–all of you have–than anyone else in the whole of my life. Most of the time I’ve been seen as some sort of monster to be spat on or abused, my pain being seen as justification for the abuse or hurt. They adjudged me a child killer and that meant it was open season on me, twenty four seven. Even after they let me out on licence, I was given the run around by some of the probation officers and the police when I went to register each week at a police station. Once they knew who I was, they treated me with total contempt. You have all shown me love.”

“Jacquie, where’s the Gapalgos islands?” Trish burst into the kitchen unannounced even though I’d shut the door.

“Look it up on wiki,” I said and glared at her.

“Oops–clever clogs done it again–least you weren’t having sex this time,” she went out shutting the door loudly behind her.

Jacquie just looked at me, “What was she on about?”

“She blundered into the bedroom earlier when Si got a bit amorous–sort of coitus interruptus.”

I’m sure she let out a sigh of relief, that we weren’t some den of iniquity practising wild sex in front of the children or worse involving them. “Oh I see, you don’t lock the bedroom door?”

“Usually, we are a bit more discreet.” I felt myself blushing, part of me felt in my own home and with my own husband, I shouldn’t have to explain my behaviour, but this wasn’t as straightforward as that.

She chuckled, “It’s perfectly normal for couples to get amorous at times, especially younger ones.” Then she looked rather wistful, “I wonder if it will ever be normal for me, Mummy?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1651 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

If I could have a relatively ordinary relationship, why couldn’t Jacquie, once we taught her to trust others. Simon was going to be so important here, to show her that not all men are predatory bastards, in fact, most men are okay and just as appalled by the behaviour of a minority as everyone else. The problem is, no one knows if someone is harmless until they either get to know them or they find out the hard way that they’re not–by which time it’s too late.

At times, life most certainly does appear to be a bitch. I sat quietly with Jacquie. “Why shouldn’t you one day have a loving relationship with someone?”

“Because I’m damaged.”

“So are lots of people, Jacquie, there are ways of moving on from that state and back to being relatively normal.”

“I don’t know if I could trust a man.”

“You went for a walk with Simon.”

“I watched him with the girls, they love him to bits and so do you. You know him better than I do, so I used yours and the girl’s judgement to expect him to be safe.”

“He is absolutely safe, I can vouch for that. So maybe, between Si and Daddy, you can start to learn to trust again. All of us here have been damaged, and we help to heal each other. While I can honestly say I didn’t suffer in the same way you did, I did suffer, so I have some insight, although I’m not trying to say I fully understand how you feel.”

“I don’t know how I feel, Mummy, so how can anyone else?”

“Well, hopefully that’s a transient state, and with our love and some professional support, you’ll move on and learn to trust again. I can’t promise you’ll ever have a loving relationship because that all depends upon finding the right sort of partner, whoever they are.”

“I doubt I will, not like you and Daddy.”

As these words impacted my lugholes I wondered what Si would think about her calling him Daddy? I’ll have to speak with him when I get a chance and tell him to let her call him whatever she wants as long as it isn’t abusive. He’s very caring in lots of ways, so I think he’ll be okay once I tell him what to think.

I’ve spoken briefly with the kids–they know she was wrongly imprisoned and that she was innocent. They also know she was abused while she was locked up. They are appalled and want to help. Like me, they’ve all been there to some extent, so have a natural empathy towards damaged people. However, I also have to make sure they don’t try to help too much because they are neither old enough to understand all the implications, and at this stage, I don’t need them making unwitting disclosures to Jacquie. I don’t want her to learn of my history nor Trish’s or Julie’s until she gets to know them as female. Once that is established, we might then be able to let her know the truth.

The other thing is, while we’re all trying to help her, she might decide she can’t cope with such a close knit group, who are relatively open with each other. She’s had to be shut down to survive in the institution, so I doubt she made any real friends–which makes the abuse all the more disgusting. The two people who might be expected to offer a professional compassion and listening ear, were the two who abused her. It just makes me angry.

While looking at the internet, I also saw some story from Holland about the abuse of boys by priests at a home and that some of the boys were castrated. I was beside myself with rage. I had to go and wash the kitchen floor to calm myself down. True it happened long before I was born, but once again, the people who should be trustworthy, betrayed that trust. I felt that life imprisonment would be too short a sentence for such betrayal.

Jacquie was looking at me in bewilderment. “Are you alright, Mummy, you seemed to go into a trance while I was talking to you?”

Oops, some counsellor I’d make, “Sorry, Jacquie, you said something which triggered a whole pile of thoughts and I couldn’t stop them.”

“You have been abused haven’t you? It happens to me so often.” She leant forward to hug me, “You’ve been so kind to me, Mummy.”

“It’s been my pleasure, now, I’m going to make some more tea and you can do me a kindness.”

“Of course, Mummy.”

“Pop upstairs and fetch little Katie down, I need to get rid of some of this milk.”

She nodded and ran up the stairs while I boiled the kettle. A few minutes later, we were sat at the table again and drinking tea while her ladyship suckled. I have to be a bit careful, because occasionally she does bounce around and I have tipped tea down myself, through her knocking the cup. Fortunately, it wasn’t too hot and also it hit me, not her. Much of the time she gets so relaxed, she nods off and I have to stroke her ear or nudge her to wake her up, and then she starts sucking again–or chewing. I’m going to end up with nipples like cauliflowers at this rate–little monkey.

Jacquie sat and watched me in awe–yeah, that’s the right word. It almost minded me of Trish and Billie who were always gobsmacked to see me feeding the baby and who prayed they’d be able to do it as well when they grew up. Sadly that can’t happen with Billie, but perhaps Trish will get the chance to find out–not that I see her with babies unless she’s an obstetrician or paediatrician. I could see her with robots–but somehow, not babies.

“I’d love to be able to do that, Mummy.”

“How d’you know you can’t?”

“I can’t have babies, can I, so it’s pretty certain.”

“I couldn’t have babies either, yet I managed it.”

“She’s not your baby?”

“I’m not her birth mother–alas, she died along with her sister and her father. I was asked by her mother to look after her. I haven’t regretted it one bit, except the fact that three lovely people died.”

“But she looks so at home with you?”

“I had her since she was only a few weeks old. She didn’t get to know her natural mother, although when she’s old enough to understand, I’ll show her photos and tell her as much of the story as I know. I want her to know and be comfortable with the fact that she was given to live with us by her mother as she died.”

“That is just so sad.”

“It was awful, Trish and I found her dead in bed.”

“Oh that is so tragic.”

“I know, I don’t know if I’ll ever come to terms with what happened, but the love she’s brought into my life is astonishing.”

“I think you’ve probably brought quite a bit into the lives of everyone who knows you, haven’t you?”

“Ah not quite, I’ve had my detractors over the years, but mostly they learn to leave me alone, and Simon is a huge support, so are the kids.” Huge yeah, I need to get him on a diet.

“You’re such a natural mother, aren’t you?” I let Jacquie clean and change Catherine’s nappy and take her up to bed. Natural mother–that’s a laugh–maybe I’ll be able to let her in on the unconscious irony, one day soon.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1652 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was sitting reading in bed when Simon came up, he’d been watching something on the telly–dunno what, wasn’t interested. I was doing the Guardian crossword, once I’d managed to pry Daddy’s fingers off it. It wasn’t going terribly well, the crossword I mean. It was one of those in which half the clues derive from one or two others and as I couldn’t get those, I couldn’t get the others either. I’m sure that sounded as cryptic as most of the clues I couldn’t understand let alone solve.

I waited while he went into the bathroom and finally emerged clad in tee shirt and underpants looking about as sexy as last week’s bin bag. He got into bed and we shared a toothpaste flavoured kiss.

He took the newspaper and glanced at the crossword, “Not doing very well are you?”

“No, have you come to help me?” I asked sweetly.

“No, I’ve come to ravage you.”

“I thought ravaging was done on Wednesdays.”

“What day is it today, then?”

“Thursday.”

“Oh bugger.”

“No that’s ...” Thankfully he saw my joke and roared with laughter, so I didn’t have to contemplate annoying my piles. He kissed me again.

“D’you know, Jacquie is referring to you as Daddy?”

“No I didn’t, I suppose that means she calls you, Mummy?”

“Much of the time, yes.”

“So, they’re only words.”

“Yeah, but so are lots of things which push people’s buttons–it only takes a few words to stir up a storm in the middle east.”

“Oh come off it, they’re pre-programmed to be nutters. Hey, did I ever tell you about the guy who went into a sex shop to buy an inflatable doll?”

“No, but I fear you’re going to.”

He ignored my comment. “Anyway he walks into this sex shop, and asks about the dolls and the bloke behind the counter asks if he wants male or female, then what colour he wants, then what religion.”

I rolled my eyes, I had a feeling I knew what was coming, so he might have told it to me before.

“Religion? Queries the guy."

"Yeah we got Christian, Buddhist, Jewish and Muslim. So the punter asks what the difference is?”

“The Muslim ones are self-inflating,” I interrupted.

“Oh you’ve killed it now–they blow themselves up, is the punchline.”

I didn’t think I’d killed very much except a silly joke with racist overtones. “Look, Si, what do we do with Jacquie?”

“I thought you were paying her and she was learning the ropes.”

“I’m not sure if it’s going to be as straightforward as all that, Si.”

“Why not, she’s an employee, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well you’re the one who employed her.”

“I know, because I assumed that was what everyone wanted.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not any longer.”

“Jeez, babes, you’ve lost me. If it isn’t what she wants or she isn’t what you want get rid of her and get somebody else.”

“It isn’t that easy, Si. I told you it was complicated.”

“Can’t you deal with it, then we can shag?”

“Simon, grow up will you?”

“Little Simon is trying to grow up and he wants to play with Little Cathy.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “This involves you as well, you know?”

“How? You run the domestics.”

“Because I suspect she wants to live with us as a member of the family.”

“I hope that’s not gold-digging.”

That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, possibly because I didn’t tend to think about money as anything other than an enabler. It doesn’t attract or excite me, not totally true, I get quite chirpy if I win a tenner on the lottery.

“No, I think she’s genuine, and I also think it could be the quickest way to help her heal herself.”

“What could be?”

“Letting her into the family.”

“Hang on, don’t I get a say in this?”

“Of course you do, now shut up and listen.” The look on his face was priceless. “What did you want to say?”

“I’d like to be consulted before we adopt or acquire any more lame ducks, especially as the last couple didn’t exactly pull their weight.”

“Who said anything about lame ducks?”

“You’re a sucker for people with hardships, real or imaginary. I’ll bet you used to cry when your mother read you fairy tales.”

“How did you know that?” I pretended to be shocked.

“C’m’off it, woman, I can tell when you’re taking the urine.”

Actually it was true, some of the things which happen in nursery rhymes or fairy stories are dreadful, just look at the latest one, with Snow White and her duel with her step-mother being the plot of a new film full of special effects. Oh no, that reminded me of the joke about the bloke who was driving when his car bumped into one being driven by a dwarf who was three feet tall. The little chap jumped out of his car and said, I’m not happy.” At which the other bloke said, “Really, which one are you then?”

“What are you smirking at?” he demanded to know.

“My mind, which seems to inhabit parallel universes at times...”

“At times?” he said loudly, “I’d like notice when it’s back in this one.”

“I remembered a joke, that was all.”

“About parallel universes? C’mon then, I don’t know any about that.”

Perhaps he did as well? I explained why I smirked and told him the joke about the dwarf. He thought that was hilarious. He is a bit predictable at times.

“So what are we going to do about Jacquie?” I asked him.

“Is that the punch line?”

“No, Si, I mean our Jacquie, what are we going to do?”

“I told you; let me know when you decide.”

“Look, she is so damaged and I thought ...”

“Most women want to have sex and raise the consequences as their children–my wife wants to adopt every one with a sob story who crosses her path. Cathy, she is twenty years old–you are twenty eight–do you not think it a little incongruous to be having someone only eight years your junior calling you, mother?”

“Which is why I wanted to discuss it with you.”

“You want to save her, don’t you?”

“I’m not a goalkeeper or a rescue service. I’ve encountered someone to whom such injustices have occurred, I want to try and help put them right. You were talking about courts of appeal and so on the other night.”

“Yeah, that sort of thing I can deal with: it’s messy and intense, but can have the most amazing buzz attached to it when you win. If she lives with us, she could be here for the next twenty years.”

“Does that matter?”

“Yes it does–I don’t need any further drains on my pocket–I have a wife and daughters who can spend it faster than even I can make it.”

“You’re a billionaire, Simon.”

“I was until I married you ...”

“Can we keep this on a serious level? We’re talking about a young woman’s sanity here.”

“Yours or Jacquie’s?”

“Perhaps both of us.”

“It’s going to happen regardless of what I say, isn’t it?”

“Yes, probably.”

“So why bother to ask me, then?”

“It’s a consultation exercise, like the bank does, you know: ‘How would you feel if we screwed you in order to give our directors loads of dosh as bonuses which they haven’t earned, but we like them?’ Isn’t that how you do it?”

“Nah, that’s far too subtle for us.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“Have you asked the children?”

“They’ll answer however they think I want them too.”

“You’ve got us all conditioned, haven’t you?”

“Yep, and Skinner thought he was clever doing it with rats.”

“Yes, very clever–now can we shag?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1653 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next day I spoke with all the children about Jacquie living with us as another sister, an older one for Julie. They were all perfectly happy with the idea–well not quite. Julie wanted to think about it.

“What’s the problem, the others are okay with it?”

“Yeah, but I’m the big sister–if Jacquie moved in–she’d become the big sister.”

“Ah, okay, so are you worried because of loss of status with the youngsters or because you are concerned she’s more female than you?”

She blushed and coughed and spluttered. So it was the female bit. What is it about trans women, that they have some sense of inferiority to those born with two X chromosomes. I know that I’m probably the worst offender, unless I see it in others, then I can put them right–I can’t take the mote out of my own eye though.

“Look, woman, what else do I have to say? The GRP thing is in progress, that should be a finalising of the fact in law. What else have you to prove?”

“What about when those louts who put comments on the Daily Mail say things like, ‘show us your ovaries,’ how do I deal with that?”

“There are lots of women who no longer have ovaries for all sorts of reasons and some who never did have them.”

“You mean like AIS women?”

“Amongst others, yes.”

“You’re AIS aren’t you, Mummy?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not that interested in finding out.”

“Oh, I would.”

“Why? What would it prove?”

“A biological cause.”

“And?”

“Well, I could show it was more than a whim of mine.”

“I don’t think many people have full gender reassignment surgery on a whim.”

“What about that one who sued the psychiatrist?”

“He was rather strange anyway and perhaps someone with stricter adherence to the Harry Benjamin rules might have prevented things happening, I’m not sure it would have done. He’d have gone to Thailand and got it done there, he was impulsive and immature, remembering him driving that boat up the river, he didn’t even know how to start it and was all for suing the vendor.”

“What about those whose medical research accuses us all of being delusional and cites all the ones who regret their surgery or top themselves after it?”

“You can prove almost anything you want by research, especially if you set out with an agenda to do so. On the other hand, the research should lead you to the conclusions which are demonstrated in the data, assuming the data is correct. It isn’t always. So if you want to prove SRS is wrong, you only talk to people who were misdiagnosed, had poor surgical outcomes or have some other reason for regretting it. Then you speak to those who disagree with surgery from a professional point of view–often coloured by extreme religious or political views held by the individual.

“Finally, you talk to one or two who are happy with the outcome and try to upset them, even if you don’t, you suggest in your survey only so many per cent were happy while a majority regretted it, and the same is true of the professionals you interviewed.

“Science can prove everything except the existence of god. If it did that, I’d want to double check the results. There is loads of bad science out there and some of the gender stuff is in that category.”

“But, Jacquie is still more female than I am, isn’t she?”

“Apart from chromosomes, where?”

“She’s got ovaries and so on, hasn’t she?”

“No, she hasn’t nor has she a uterus or even a cervix–it was all ripped away by a very poor piece of surgery.”

“So she isn’t any more female than I am?”

“I tried to tell you that.”

“Wow,” she beamed at her own pleasure-she was a female as a biological woman. Then her expression changed, “Poor Jacquie–must be a real bitch for her.”

“I’m glad that occurred to you, Julie–because that’s the lesson in reality for today.”

“Bit of a bugger though, isn’t it?”

“Very much so.”

“Can’t the blue light restore her to wholeness?”

“No, I tried that.”

“What about stem cells?”

“One day, but wombs are rather complex objects and a cloned one might not work or need to be removed. Remember, she has massive scarring and so on inside her.”

“Why did that happen?”

“She was raped at age twelve and was given a compulsory abortion by a doctor who was either drunk or incompetent or both.”

“Can’t she sue him?”

“We’d need to prove it was him and that he was negligent or acting against the best interests of his patient. If there are any notes from the period, they’ll have been written to support the action taken not the best course of action.”

“That really sucks, Mummy.”

“I’m well aware of that, I’m hoping Jason will find evidence which supports Jacquie’s side of the argument. Then we can go to town once we confirm the individuals concerned. If Jason gets them in court, he will destroy them.”

“Can we go and watch if he does, I think I could quite enjoy that.”

“You can if you want, I won’t be going. I rather hope the GMC prosecute instead and he gets struck off and the reasons perhaps can then be leaked to the sympathetic press.”

“Gets complicated, don’t it?”

“Doesn’t it just.” I tried to correct her grammar while agreeing with the spirit of her remark.

Daddy was fine, more grandchildren for him and possibly of an age, that had Catherine produced babies, they would be.

Stella was a bit harder to convince. “I don’t need any more nieces or nephews, especially long lost ones who are looking for handouts.”

“Stella, you know how much this girl has suffered.”

“Yeah, haven’t we all?”

“She isn’t transgender.”

“Okay, so she has one redeeming feature.”

“She needs us.”

“What can we provide no one else can?”

“A sense of love and trustworthiness; security and protection.”

“Because we’re wealthy?”

“I’m not especially wealthy?” Well I wasn’t.

“Cathy, last time I looked you were worth a couple of million.”

“How come?”

“You make films, you sell them, you work for the university and you raise the dead, isn’t that enough?”

“But none of those would accumulate anything like two million.”

“No, but together–plus the sell off a while back. Then, what if she’s gay?”

“So what?”

“You say that now but your body language and the questions you were asking tended to reveal a fear of lesbians and gays.”

“I’m terrified for the safety of my children.”

“You’re a liar, Catherine Cameron, but you might not appreciate me showing you why.”

“Probably not, no.”

“So go with the flow and stop worrying about things which might not happen.”

“You are in favour then?”

“No, just screwing with your head–it’s good fun, you should try it.”

“I might if I can ever hack yours off in the first place.”

“Tut-tut, Cathy dear, violence is no solution to any problem.”

For a moment, I was tempted to disprove her there and then, instead I went home to find more information on these matters–I can’t be the first and won’t be the last.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1654 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I decided that I would let Jacquie come to me when she was ready to tell me what she wanted to do. I’d got agreements that if she wanted to live with us as family, the rest of the motley crew were prepared to let her–which is as much as I could expect from them in principle.

It was then simply a case of waiting. It took another day. I’d taken the children to school–well the girls, Simon had taken Danny on his way to work–he tries to once a week, he knows that Danny gets a buzz from the ride in the Jaguar. I like it because it gives them a chance to bond. I reckon it’s easier for the girls, they wrap Simon round their little fingers by simple flirting. If Danny did that, I reckon Simon would be as worried as I’d be.

I’d done a supermarket shop on the way home and the queues were unimaginably bad–honestly, from the length of them, you’d think food was about to go on rationing. I know I shouldn’t make judgements, but the trolley loads some people buy astonish me. I had quite a load but there was one woman there who had two trolley loads–yeah–how’d you guess, I was behind her in the queue. She paid nearly two hundred pounds–and this is just an ordinary week.

Mind you, mine came to seventy odd quid and I didn’t have that many meals organised, but I did restock the fridge with some of the things I’d used recently. I also had to get more garlic and we’d used all the mushrooms and the salad stuff was running low–tomatoes and so on.

I got a special deal on a whole salmon, so that would do one full meal for the family plus some available for sandwiches or a salad the next day. Thankfully, I don’t mind eating the same thing more than once, and it seemed the family don’t either.

I struggled in with the bags of shopping–I keep a couple of the ‘bags for life’ in the car anyway, and took another two with me today–I filled them to capacity. Then, I bought a sack of Maris peer spuds on the way home from the supermarket–there’s a local farm shop I buy them from. I doubt they actually grow them, but they’re usually good quality and reasonable mixture of small and quite large potatoes, so I can boil them or use the bigger ones for jackets.

I’d planned an hour’s work on the survey this morning, but by the time I got home with the shopping and the spuds, I wasn’t going to have time. So my mood was not good.

Then as I said, I struggled in with these heavy bags and Jacquie is sitting at the kitchen table in tears. I put the bags down and asked her what was wrong. “He shouted at me.”

“Who did?”

“The man.”

“What man?” There’s only about three billion on the planet, so eliminating one or two would make life a little easier in identifying said individual so I can kick his arse.

“The man who shouted at me.”

This was going nicely round in circles. “Start again, Jacquie–who was the man who shouted at you?”

“The man who wanted to read the meter.”

Progress–good, “Okay, did he show you some ID?”

“He had a badge thing on and was in uniform.”

At least he was a genuine reader, “Why did he shout at you?”

“He asked if he could read the meter, I told him he could. He asked me where they were–and I didn’t know,” she burst into tears. I calmed her down a little and she continued, “He didn’t believe me and told me I was stupid–I don’t know where they are, Mummy, no one’s told me, have they?”

“Did he leave a card?”

“I think so,” she pulled out a piece of rather damp cardboard from her pocket. I took it from her and said I’d read the meter and phone it through to them. I made her dry her tears and then taking the card and a pen, I led her through to the garage with my old Jaguar, the meters–gas and electric were in there. This time it was asking me to read both.

I showed her where in the hallway of the house the spare garage key was kept and told her not to worry, she’d know how to do it next time. I phoned the numbers through to the call centre and asked to speak to someone. When I eventually did, I complained that I had my niece staying with us and how off their meter reader had been–it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know where the meters were.

Stella was out and had taken both her wains with her, so Jacquie thought she’d have an easy morning with just Catherine to babysit.

The woman to whom I spoke assured me that someone would speak to the meter reader and if necessary he would be retrained. I thanked them and passed this news on to Jacquie, who thanked me.

“I’m sorry, Mummy, I messed up didn’t I?”

“No–you didn’t know–so it’s my fault for not telling you where they were.”

“You’ve had to show me so many things, you haven’t had time to do it all.”

“Never mind, let’s have a cuppa, you put the kettle on and I’ll finish getting the shopping in.” I went back to my car just in time to see a rather large cat legging it with my salmon. I could have cried. I gave chase but he squeezed through a hole in the fence and up into the woodland beyond.

I stormed back into the house ready to marmalise any moggies I met. “What’s the matter, Mummy?”

“Some wretched cat has just stolen a whole salmon from the boot of the car.”

“Oh no,” Jacquie groaned.

“If I see him again, I’ll shoot the bugger,” I ranted.

“No you wouldn’t, Mummy, you’re far too kind hearted. It’s me you should shoot, because I delayed you. If I hadn’t messed up with the meter man, you’d have got the shopping in earlier and saved your salmon.”

I sat down and after drinking my tea, I phoned Morrison’s–they didn’t have another whole salmon. I tried Asda, they didn’t either but Tesco did. I asked them to weigh it, it was slightly bigger than my pussy purloined one, but I asked them to keep it for me and I’d be in to get it within the hour.

I asked Jacquie to check, Catherine’s nappy and if it was okay, to get herself ready and we’d take a trip into Tesco to get my fish. She rushed off to sort her messed up eye makeup while I strapped the baby in her baby seat–she was excited to be going in the car and didn’t help flapping her arms and legs about. It was clearly going to be one of those days.

Jacquie eventually returned and got into the car and off we went. “This is a lovely car, Mummy.”

“Yes, I quite like it. Simon got it for me when I crashed the Porsche.”

“You crashed a Porsche?”

“Yes, one of the 4x4 things, a Cayenne, a deer jumped out in front of me and I swerved and ended up going down into a ditch. It took them the best part of a day to find me.”

“Oh wow, you don’t do anything by halves, do you, Mummy.”

“You’re starting to understand me, Jacquie.”

Jacquie pushed the buggy with the baby as I stood in the queue at the wet fish counter–what a silly name–they don’t have a dry fish one.

“What a lovely baby,” said some woman behind me, “is she yours?”

“Oh no, she’s my baby sister, that’s Mummy, in front in the queue.” My heart jumped but I had my answer, we could speak about it on the ride back.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1655 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Driving back to the house, I asked Jacquie if she’d made any decision about what she wanted to do.

“I so want to feel part of a family.”

“Even one as crazy and dysfunctional as ours?”

“Oh yes, Mummy, it’s lovely crazy.”

“Some days, other days it can be less than lovely crazy.”

“Are you trying to put me off, Mummy?”

“No, just trying to avoid being prosecuted under the trades description legislation.”

“You are funny.”

“You noticed.”

She fell about laughing.

Back home I cleaned the salmon and wrapping in foil with butter, garlic, dill and some mushrooms, I popped the fish into the slow oven on the Aga, and then set about cleaning up the mess.

We had lunch, and Stella arrived just as I poured a cup of tea–I’m sure she can smell it. “Oh thanks, Cathy, I’ve been dying for this for the past hour,” she said snatching my tea before I could protect it. Fortunately there was enough hot water in the kettle to add to the teapot to pour some more.

“Oh town is dreadful,” wailed Stella.

“I could have told you that,” I had no idea she’d gone to town or why.

“Into predictions now, are we?”

“Only those based upon previous experience and observation, in other words empirical evidence.”

“That’s right, cover up your black arts with jargon and gobbledygook.”

“I’m not. You suggested I could have predicted that town would be busy, as some sort of divination. I explained that my prediction was based upon evidence of previous experience and observation–which it is.”

“Evidence of absence is not absence of evidence,” she said haughtily back at me.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I just like saying it.”

“Fine,” I shrugged as Puddin’ came wandering through.

“Fine, fine, fine,” she said and wandered back out.

Stella was now undoing herself to feed Fiona, who was getting a little grumpy, probably because Stella had kept her waiting. “They have to fit into my arrangements not the other way round.”

“Stella, that child is only nine months old, how can she accommodate your needs? She can barely identify her own.”

“She does, we had a long chat about morality and right and wrong.”

“I suspect the long chat was a monologue by a deranged mother, wasn’t it?”

“You can be so cruel, at times, Cathy.”

“It’s true though isn’t it?”

“Well of course it’s true, she’s only nine months old.”

I shook my head in disbelief, Stella had blustered her way through an argument again. How had that happened? And, why did I allow her to do it to me?

“Any more tea?” she asked.

“No, you’ll have to make some more, do me a cup while you’re at it.”

“What did your last servant die of?” she muttered to her herself as she filled the kettle. “I do things for everyone and they just take me for granted.”

“But of course, woman is the nigger of the world.” I said almost asking her if she wanted me to get my violin out. It would have been metaphorical if I had because I couldn’t play a note, however, while I’d been on the computer the other night, I’d listened to someone playing the Mendelssohn fiddle concerto, Sarah Chang or Nigel Kennedy or someone like that and I felt so envious of their skill. And what about the composer? Poor old Felix Mendelssohn, worried himself to death before he was forty, how could someone conceive and then work on the idea of a theme like that? If there is any evidence of a god, and this more emotional than empirical, it has to be in the arts, of the beauty of music or painting or poetry or even of a starlit night or lightening dawn. These things speak to our emotions, not our cognitive skills, we emote the significance of them. Last night I could look out and see four other planets, Venus, Jupiter, Mars and the moon. It’s pure magic to conjecture what that means, four different worlds, all in the sweep of an eye. Amazing.

“You can’t say that word,” Stella said to me as I loaded the bread machine.

“Which word?” having no idea what she was rambling about.

“The N word.”

Having been waxing lyrical about the wonders of the solar system in my own mind, I’d moved on from whatever it was she was grumbling about.

“You what?”

“You said the N word, it’s racist and politically incorrect.”

“Oh that? I was quoting John Lennon.”

“That’s no excuse–don’t let Puddin’ hear you saying such a word–she’ll be repeating it at nursery and we’d have the Stasi here the next day.”

“Okay,” it was no big deal to me as I wasn’t using it offensively nor would I dream of doing so. “So what were you doing in town?”

“Getting Trish a birthday present, why?”

“I just wondered.”

“Well now you know, and with two babies in tow, it was no easy task.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very grateful for your efforts.”

“I doubt it, children have far too much these days and aren’t grateful for any of it.”

“Are you suggesting my children are spoiled brats?”

“If the cap fits, wear it.”

“Stella, that is so unfair, they might be guilty of many things, but I try to instill a sense of politeness in them all, so anything you give them will be appreciated and they will say thanks.”

“Well, we’ll see in a couple of days won’t we?”

“Yes, won’t we.”

I left the kitchen in a huff and went to see what Jacquie was doing with Catherine. I went upstairs and they weren’t in the baby’s room nor in Jacquie’s. I called to Jacquie and there was no answer.

I came back down and checked the sitting and dining rooms, then round to my study and the library. Given that Jacquie was acting at times more like a five year old than a young adult, I began to feel a little worried.

I ran into the kitchen and Stella began to harangue me again. “Have you seen Jacquie and Catherine?” I asked insistently.

Stella looked at me oddly. “They went outside ten minutes ago while we were talking.”

“I didn’t see them,” I confessed.

“No you seemed to be preoccupied with one of your dormouse thoughts.”

“I haven’t got time to argue, hell, I’ll have to go and get the girls in a minute.” I ran through the kitchen and out into the garden calling Jacquie. I couldn’t see her and she wasn’t replying. My blood pressure shot up and my anxiety went off the scale. What if the evidence wasn’t all false? Oh my goodness–don’t think about it.

I ran up the garden, birds were singing and the sunshine was glorious but I was oblivious to it all as I frantically searched for the two. Finally, I spotted the buggy up in the orchard and rushed up towards it.

“There you are,” I said angrily at Jacquie, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I did say we were coming out into the sunshine, Mummy.”

“When?”

“Ten minutes ago, honestly, Mummy, ask Aunty Stella.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy, don’t be cross with me, I won’t hurt baby Catherine–oh is that what you thought? Give a dog a bad name–is that it? I thought you believed me, Mummy, the one person I thought I could trust.” She got up, plonked Catherine in my arms and ran back to the house crying.

“Oh shit,” I said loudly and Catherine’s bottom lip curled and she began to cry as well. Isn’t life just bloody wonderful, and now I was going to be late collecting the girls. T’riffic.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1656 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I pleaded with Stella to go and collect the girls for me, and she did so on condition she could use my car. I reluctantly handed over the keys. I was left with her two who were asleep at the moment, and my still sobbing baby–not counting, a probably sobbing twenty year old, as well.

I cuddled Catherine and she finally stopped crying. I placed her in the play pen with her favourite doll and dashed upstairs. Jacquie’s door was shut with a chair wedged behind it. I hope I don’t need to climb in the window again because I can’t get the ladder up by myself, Simon had to do it last time.

I listened against the door, there was crying coming from within–so she hadn’t tried to kill herself–yet. “Jacquie, will you open the door, please?”

The crying stopped for a moment, then, a response, “No, go away.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sweetheart. So either you open the door for me or I’ll have to call someone else to come to see you.”

“Who?” her tone sounded more anxious than aggressive.

“Your therapist, or I could call the probation service if you’d prefer?”

“No, I don’t want to see them.”

“Please open the door.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I need you to, Jacquie.”

“Please go away.”

“I will once I’ve spoken to you.”

“Promise?”

“If you promise not to harm yourself, then yes.”

“You’ll try to trick me.”

“I promise I won’t. I just want to talk.”

I heard a chair move and then the door opened a crack and half a face peered out of the split down the side of the frame. “Talk,” she said.

“Open the door properly, please.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Please, as head of this family, I have the authority to ask you to do as I say.”

“Tom is head.”

“That’d be news to him.”

“Simon, is then.”

“That would be an even bigger surprise. I’m in charge here, so please do as I ask, like a good daughter would.”

“I don’t want you as my mummy anymore, you don’t trust me.”

“That’s for you to decide, but you’re still under my roof so you must respect my rules.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“An’ if I refuse?”

“I will call the probation service.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Who is your probation officer?”

“Maggie Swinton, why?”

I pulled my mobile from my jeans pocket and pressed speed dial. “Could I speak to Maggie Swinton, please? Thanks, I’ll hold.” I looked at the horrified face at the door. “They’ve gone to look for her, she’s in the building.”

“No, please, Mummy, I’ll open the door.” The chair was moved again and the door opened. I clicked off my phone after saying to my answer service, “That’s okay, I’ll try again later.” I replaced the phone in my pocket.

She let me into the room. “Would you have sent me back?” she sobbed at me.

“I didn’t come to discuss that, I came to apologise. I panicked when I discovered that Catherine was missing, because I genuinely didn’t hear you say where you were going.”

“You actually thought I’d hurt her, Mummy?”

“I wasn’t thinking at all, sweetheart. Stella had wound me up and I discovered her missing and didn’t know where she was or where you were. I rushed all round the house and Stella said you’d gone out.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Mummy?”

“I did, I didn’t know what I thought. Possibly, part of me did relive old prejudices, I don’t know. If I did then I am ashamed of myself, because I know you didn’t hurt that little boy, so I honestly don’t believe you’d hurt any other child, especially one you knew.”

“You’re trying to confuse me now, aren’t you?”

“No, I’d like to help you, and I’d like you to trust me again, as I trust you.”

“But, Mummy, you didn’t trust me, did you?”

“Part of me did, part of me was so frightened I wasn’t thinking at all.”

“Why were you frightened, Mummy?”

“Because I worry about you.”

“In case I hurt your babies?”

“No, more in case you hurt yourself. I think you are far more at risk than my children.”

“That’s really why you came to see me, isn’t it, in case I revoke my promise and kill myself–that would really embarrass you, wouldn’t it?”

“Do you really think that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I’ve been very embarrassed before and lived through it–so think on that.”

“You don’t love me, do you, Mummy?”

“Why d’you think, I’m here now?”

“So you don’t have to explain to the police.”

“I’ve dealt with worse things with the police.”

“I don’t believe you, Mummy?”

“How about them finding someone in the drive with one of my arrows in him?”

“You shot someone with a bow and arrows?”

“It was self defence.”

“And they believed you?”

“He was going to shoot a bodyguard we had here.”

“And you killed him?”

“No, I hit him with an arrow, I don’t think it killed him.”

“Not much of a shot then, are you, Mummy?”

“It might be harder to disable someone than kill them.”

“Did you know the police don’t shoot to disable, they shoot to kill, they say because a disabled gunman can still shoot back. So they shoot to stop someone, or so one of my friends in the YOI said. Her dad was a copper, didn’t stop her beating an old lady to death for her pin number.”

“Charming friends you have.”

“She didn’t shoot someone with a bow and arrow.”

“Robin Hood did.”

“So are you, Maid Cathy, then?

“I think by being married, it would make me Mistress Catherine, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, I s’pose so.”

“Do I take it, you’ll honour your promise to me?”

“Why? You gonna shoot me full of arrows if I don’t?”

“Nah, it blunts the tips and the blood stains the shafts.”

“Ugh, gross, Mummy, too much information.”

“Probably. I must go and check on the baby, unless you’d like to do it for me?”

“Aren’t you frightened that I’ll kill her, I am a convicted killer you know?”

“No, you won’t harm her, remember you told an old lady that she was your baby sister–so that means you love her.”

“I could do it for badness.”

“I could say the same about calling the probation service or the police.”

“Or filling me full of arrows?” she smirked.

“Yeah, that too. Of course if I did that we’d have to dispose of the body, but we have a pit out the back, so some quicklime and you’d be no more very soon. Or we could do an old fashioned cremation on a log pyre, that almost completely destroys a body.”

“You are sick, Mummy, gross.”

“Not really, I’m a pragmatist. You hurt me, you pay for it.”

“But you’re an angel, Trish and Julie said so.”

“To some, the angel of death.”

“I thought you were a healer, not a killer?”

“And I thought you were wrongly convicted by a miscarriage of justice.”

“I was, Mummy.”

“So maybe, I really am a healer, an angel–but do you really want to test me? What if angels can also destroy? What about the last plague to befall the Egyptians, the Passover and all that?”

“I don’t think I like you, Mummy, you frighten me.”

“Do I? I don’t mean to, but to everything there is an equal and opposite reaction. At least according to Newton, there is. Perhaps he was right, but would you take that risk?” I felt like Dirty Harry, ‘This here is a magnum, the world’s most powerful handgun...’ it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

“But I want you to love me, Mummy, not hurt me.”

“Which is exactly what I want to do as well, so will you go and check on Catherine, while I check Fiona and Puddin’?”

She went off down the stairs and I went into Stella’s rooms–her two were still asleep. I wandered back downstairs wondering what I’d achieved–not much, I’d probably frightened her, I’d certainly frightened myself with my cold bloodedness, or pretend sang-froid. Sometimes I didn’t like myself at all, now might be one of them. But at least we were talking–so far.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1657 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Catherine was chuckling as Jacquie tickled her gently. I hoped she wouldn’t be sick, the baby, that is. If Jacquie is, I’ll make her clean it up.

“How about I make us a nice cuppa, before the others get back?”

“Did you let Auntie Stella drive your car?”

“I had to, in order for me to have time to talk to you immediately, I had to let her drive it–she drives a hard bargain as well as my car. However, if she has enough accidents on the way back, we should have time to eat a biscuit or two as well.

We sat at the kitchen table while Catherine nibbled on a ginger snap–she loves them–I loathe them, but she’s fairly safe with them, they are so hard that she only manages to scrape a little off at a time. When she gets bored she throws it on the floor and Kiki cleans up the mess. Okay, occasionally Puddin’ gets there first...I know, too much information–but it’s probably helping her develop an immune system.

Jacquie and I chatted as if nothing had happened, which was probably a bit of denial on both our parts. “How about we start again?” I suggested.

“Start what, again?”

“Our relationship. We’ve both made mistakes which hopefully we’ll learn from and grow.” I hoped that didn’t mean grow bitter and twisted.

“You can’t do that, can you?”

“You can, but it is slightly different to the first time because we know more about each other this time round.”

“I don’t know, Mummy.”

“Have a think about it.” As I paused, I heard a car pulling into the drive. “Here’s Stella and the girls, I’ll just go and check my car–can you watch, Catherine?” Before she could respond I was out the back door and greeting the girls, who each gave me a hug. Stella handed me the keys of my chariot.

I began to walk towards it. “There are no dents or scratches on it that weren’t there before I drove it.”

“There were none before, so there’d better not be any now.”

“It was just the slightest of scrapes,” Stella raised her eyebrows and the girls began to do what packs of young females do in such circumstances–they giggled. They were still giggling when we went back into the house and Stella was still goading them to further hysteria.

I eventually had to split them up before one of them was sick, which again is one of the consequences of too much of a good thing. Once they settled down and I asked Stella to stop winding them up–or I really would kill her this time–things became quieter. They had a drink and a biscuit and after changing went out to play for half an hour before they started their homework. I began organising the rest of the meal–the salmon was well cooked, as I knew it would be so I boiled some new potatoes which we’d have with a knob of butter and green salad. It was certainly the weather for it–almost unbroken sunshine.

Trish’s birthday was on Sunday and I needed to get her present–what–I had yet to decide. The problem is, they have all they need plus some. So unless it’s functional, like clothes, it’s pure trimmings or whimsy. I would get her some new clothing and probably a new computer program or game.

She already had a bicycle, I suppose I could get her one of those scooters the kids do tricks with. She had an adequate computer, and mobile phone. She had a MP3 player–she’d only be eight–at that age, I was still playing with tea sets and things, barely aware that computers even existed. Now look at things–not only have kids been technologised, they’ve also been sexualised, which is far worse. You can see six year olds wearing heels and makeup. By ten, they want implants, because they don’t think mother nature is being kind to them. How will they know, except to wait another fifteen years to find out.

But they won’t do that, so they rush into actions and repent them at leisure. I’m trying to prevent all that happening to my children because I realise it won’t enhance their lives, even though they can’t see it themselves and moan bitterly about my cruelty to them.

Simon and Tom came back so close together I almost wondered if they’d travelled in convoy. The meal was ready so while Si nipped up to change I began to dish up the fish, which I have to admit was absolutely delish. I also saved enough to make sandwiches the next day for several of us. Simon occasionally took them or got his secretary to run out and get him some. I thought I could produce a better effort than a sandwich bar and the next day, if Simon wanted sarnies, I’d make him some really nice ones.

In bed, I mentioned to him what had happened earlier. He listened intently. “You try too hard, that’s part of your problem. You also worry too much about the rest of the family–it might even come above being inadequate as a woman.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?” I knew he had me on that one, although I was trying to stop doing it–‘the I’m not a proper/real woman thing beloved of transsexuals. I’m not sure if the boys who went the other way feel something similar or not. Probably not if they’re really transsexual, because male egos worry about many other things but not about core things like that.

I asked him about sandwiches the next day and he told me that it would be lovely for him to have home produced sandwiches made by his lovely wife, whom he wanted to shag more than even having homemade sandwiches. How do you argue with such charm–yeah okay, more charm than a collection of goldfinches. We have a whole flock of them in the orchard and nearby woodland, you hear them twittering all day long if you’re out in the garden or drive. Don’t think any of them are on facebook yet though.

I wanted to ask Si how I should deal with Jacquie, but once he’d achieved ecstasy he fell asleep and was less aware of his environment than a hibernating dormouse. He doesn’t so much sleep as pass into a coma until the morning, whereas I can twitch and toss and turn all night long, worrying about the children, or Si or Daddy or the dormice, or the survey or my classes or–I think you get the picture. So, some of us are born worriers–neurotic even. Bugger, am I neurotic? I’ll be awake all night worrying about that now.

The next morning, I woke bleary eyed as I felt Simon get out of bed. It had to be time to rise for work. I struggled out and downstairs to make my lord and master’s repast. I buttered the bread I sliced and mashed the salmon with lemon juice and a little pepper before spreading it on the bread, adding thinly sliced cucumber and cutting the slices in half. I wrapped them in cling film and placed them in a sandwich box with some cherry tomatoes, watercress and trimmed spring onions. For his pudding, I copped out and shoved in a yoghurt plus a teaspoon. All he needed was a drink and his lunch was complete.

I wondered where he was. I left his sandwich box on the table and went to call him. Surely he hadn’t gone back to bed had he? He never does that. I crept back up the stairs was about to shout at him, “Simon, get up it’s stupid o’clock, when I realised he had gone back to bed–why not? It was barely three am. How hadn’t I noticed? There’s a bloody big clock in the kitchen, I simply didn’t look at it.

I went for a wee and slipped back into bed. Oh well, he’d have his lunch, but maybe not his wife awake to see him off–silly cow.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1658 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“C’mon wifey, make my sandwiches,” the voice said, I just knew that if I was poked or prodded once more I was going to either rip someone’s head off with my bare hands, or cry all over them. I was trying to work out which needed less energy when I was prodded again–that does it.

I opened my eyes and sat up quickly, taking my agitator by surprise–she let out a squeal. My blurry focus cleared to reveal Livvie crouched back against the wall her arms up to protect her face. Where had she learned that? I’d never ever hit her and I was pretty sure no one else here had either. She looked terrified.

I calmed down instantly and opened my arms, she looked at me for a moment and then came for the hug. “Sorry if I frightened you, sweetheart,” I apologised. Si walked in with a towel wrapped round his waist, I waved him away and he shrugged and went to dress in the bathroom.

“You frightened me, Mummy.”

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to–I must have been dreaming that something horrible was poking me.”

“Trish is still asleep in bed.”

It took me a moment to appreciate the joke she’d just made, “Oi, Trish isn’t that ’orrible.” She laughed in relief.

“Has anyone ever hit you?” I asked her as I cuddled her into me.

“Mummy used to sometimes, my previous mummy.”

I don’t like people hitting children, in fact I don’t like anyone hitting anyone else, even with boxing and other aggressive sports. Hitting things is wrong. Right, having made my line in the sand I noticed the clock was showing only six am. Damn, I had another hour yet before I needed to get the children up.

“What about my sandwiches?” asked Simon, and I was caught between the urge to go back to bed for sixty wonderful minutes, or get up. If I went to bed, I could cuddle Livvie, and if I got up, I could fix my husband a breakfast and hand him his sandwiches as he went off to work, him giving me a peck on the cheek as he left.

“Your sandwiches are in the box in the fridge, I’m going back to bed–you coming, Liv?”

She nodded and two minutes later we were cuddled together under the duvet, me spooned round my daughter. “Why did you come into see me?” I asked her.

“I had a nasty dream, my dead daddy was trying to come in the window–he was a zombie or something.”

“Zombie?”

“Yes, some girl in school was telling us all about some film she saw last week, it was all about zombies.”

“There’s no such thing. The original term was something to do with voodoo, a religion of the Caribbean, and it was related to people who were in a deep trance, like they were hypnotised. They follow instructions blindly, so they seem to the onlooker as if they’re dead. They’re not of course, merely in a trance.”

“What’s a trance, Mummy?”

Oh boy–don’t you just love ’em?. Now then the real answer–like I’m gonna be if I don’t get this hour’s sleep. Oh no, the clocks go forward on Trish’s birthday.

“A trance is when someone is in a state that might look like sleeping, but they’re not asleep–like someone sleep walking.”

“I’ve never seen that–sleep walking–is that like Michael Jackson?”

“No that was pretend zombies.”

“Ooh that is like, frightening me, Mummy.”

Oh poo. “Come and cuddle, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“We have a French test today–can you protect me against that?”

“Um–that is really horrible–tell you what, I’ll let you stay home from school and you can get a job down the meat factory, pulling the guts out of chickens. You don’t need to go to school for that, but nearly any other job you have to.”

“Ugh, Mummy, that was worse than zombies.”

“Yeah, the sort who work there are probably all zombies.”

“Ugh, Mummy, I don’t think I’ll eat chicken, ever again.”

“That’s a shame, darling, you’ll have to eat bread and water for tea then.”

“You’re horrible, Mummy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I was nearly asleep when she said, “They don’t really pull the guts out of chickens do they?”

“They have too sweetheart, or the meat would go all funny. You have to be careful doing it, because if the gall bladder breaks it makes the meat taste horrible.”

“You could always get a job plucking the feathers off the chickens.”

“Plucking the feathers?”

“Yes, you can’t eat a chicken or a turkey or any other bird, without pulling the feathers off it. You can’t eat the feathers.”

“Do chickens have feathers?”

Looks like I’ll be taking some kids for ride in the country this weekend. “Of course they do, all birds have feathers.”

“How do things like cats eat birds then? They swallow them whole, don’t they?”

“I think that would depend upon the bird, but most would need to tear off bits of bird, they’d probably tear the skin to get at the flesh. Foxes pluck birds they catch, so do birds of prey, and there are supposedly ways of telling the difference as who plucked what.”

“Do you know everything, Mummy?”

“Me? No I don’t. I don’t know much about anything, and even if I did, there’d still be loads I didn’t know or understand. Remember that knowing things by itself isn’t much help to anything, it’s how you use it that matters. The application is the important thing. I know how a car engine works–but that’s only in theory. I don’t know enough to be able to fix it if it stops working.”

“But the man in the garage does, doesn’t he, Mummy?”

“I hope so, darling.” I heard a car start, and Simon was presumably leaving. Was it half past already? I might as well have got up, except I wouldn’t be having this lovely cwtch with Livvie, who so often gets overlooked unless she’s fighting with Trish.

“You’re not really scared of this French test are you?”

“Not really, Mummy. Did you know, Trish speaks French like a native?”

I knew I was about to wound up, so I allowed her to deliver the punch line. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, like a native of Outer Mongolia.”

“You’d better not let her hear you saying that, she’ll have your guts for garters.” Possibly not the best thing to say, but it’s a common enough English expression. But in the context of the earlier conversation–which I was stupid enough to start–not the cleverest thing I’ve ever said to a seven year old. I just wanted her to appreciate education or lack of it has consequences.

It went quiet for a moment and I wondered if I’d have long enough for a power nap then Livvie started talking again.

“Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are the chickens alive when they pull their guts out?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1659 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Eventually seven o’clock came and we got up. I let Livvie come in the shower with me. “Will I get hair there one day?” she asked pointing at you know where.

“I expect so, most women do, although some remove it.”

“What, they shave it off?” she sounded horrified.

“Or have it waxed.”