The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1801 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I felt I was emerging from a lake, one full of treacle which sucked at me as I tried to pull myself free of it. Finally, after several false starts I did it, I got free and now I could find my way back to my loved ones.

I’d heard Simon’s voice taking to me, telling me things were okay, that I’d had a bleed on the scar in my lung but they’d managed to stop it and once they were confident I was strong enough, they’d take me off the assisted breathing and wake me up.

The problem was he always sounded as if he was the other side of the room or even talking to me over a wall. I felt him squeezing my hand, at least I think I did.

There were other voices too. They were usually female and they told me they were washing me or changing my bed. I took no notice of them, I was too busy trying to get out of the treacle lake.

How long all this went on, I had no idea. All I knew was that one day I opened my eyes and a very tired looking Simon was sitting alongside me, fast asleep. My eyes took a moment or two to focus, but it was him alright.

I cleared my throat–not easy when your mouth feels like it’s been carpeted all the way down to your oesophagus–Simon sat bolt upright and prised open his eyes. He glanced at me, and then looked away, glancing back a second later.

“You’re awake?” he said.

“I think so,” I replied my mouth thick with the carpeting.

He bent over me, “I was so frightened I was going to lose you.” Tears dripped off his nose onto my face. “I love you so much, babes.”

“Might I have a drink?” I said with difficulty.

He held a glass with a straw in it, one of those long bendy ones, and I sucked on it. The water didn’t taste very nice, but a couple of sips helped to freshen up my mouth.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“You started frothing blood and asked me to call for an ambulance. They took one look at you and brought you in here. You’ve been out for four days.”

“Out? Out where?” I gasped.

“Unconscious.”

“Oh.” I was obviously not quite with it yet.

“How are the children?” I asked after another sip of water.

“Fine, they all wanted to come in to see you, but I asked them to wait until you came home.”

I nodded. Talking took too much breath, and my chest hurt. It felt like they’d stitched it up with barbed wire. I wanted to look and see if they’d cut me open again. But eventually Si told me that they’d managed to do everything with a bronchoscope and a laser, cauterising the offending vein. My throat felt like they used an industrial laser and the wheels on it had caught on my tonsils.

They’d had to drain my lung which might have caused the soreness–sticking a hosepipe down my throat–one of the ones they use for cleaning out the drains in roads–the sort attached to a council bowser.

“How d’ya feel?” he asked after a time, most of which he spent staring at me.

“Like shit, you?”

He smiled and nodded. He still looked very tired, and I almost offered to swap places with him so he could get some sleep in the bed. He sported stubble that looked several days of growth. I suppose he could have been there for four days–that was frightening–who was looking after the kids?

“Who’s looking after the children?” I asked, my voice still quivering and my chest hurting with the extra effort to speak.

“They’re all fine. David and Jacquie, with help from Stella. Sammi and Julie help as well.”

“Did Sammi get home alright–didn’t she go out with someone?”

“I sent them both a text to say you were taken ill and they both came running soon after. They were really worried about you, especially when they saw the ambulance in the drive.”

“Sorry about that–I thought they’d take me straight down the tip and dump me. You could have found a proper wife then.” I felt my eyes fill with tears.

“I’ve got a proper wife now, and I’m talking to her. Don’t you ever leave me, Cathy! I couldn’t bear to live without you.” Tears were running down his face.

I nodded–it hurt to talk.

“Promise?” he asked, and I nodded again.

“Hurts to talk.” I managed to half croak and half wheeze.

“Okay.” He sat back and held onto my hand like a vice.

I drifted off to sleep and relaxed, he was still holding onto my hand, so I was safe. No one could hurt me while he was there, and I felt a surge of relief as I drifted away into a dreamless sleep.

I don’t know how much later I awoke, but he was still there, clinging on to my hand like his life depended on it, or perhaps he thought mine did. He was fast asleep again–I had to convince him to go home and rest or he was going to be ill as well, and that would over complicate things.

My chance came when Ken Nicholls came by. Simon startled into wakefulness by the door opening nearly fell off his chair.

“How are my sleeping beauties today?” asked Ken, and Simon was still too bleary to say much at all.

“Make him go home and sleep,” I rasped.

“Try not to speak too much, Cathy, in case it starts another bleed.”

I nodded. My family were going to love this–a mute mother who can’t tell them off–they’ll run riot. I’ll have to get an electronic bell or something.

Ken looked at my bedraggled husband, “She’s right you know, Simon. Go on home and get some shut eye. We can’t afford beds for both of you.”

Simon looked very hurt and was about to protest when Ken added, “She’s over the crisis. Go on home, we’ll call you if anything happens.”

I nodded at this and Simon saw it. I wished I hadn’t, because that started my head spinning and I felt I was going to be sick. I lay back and tried to breathe slowly and deeply, except that hurt, and I began to feel my heart rate increasing. I held my breath and released a slow exhalation and inhaled equally slowly, filling my lungs, but with less pain and eventually both the anxiety and the nausea passed.

Simon had been standing there watching me with a concerned look on his face. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

I smiled at him and said very quietly, “Go home and rest.”

He bent over and his rough face scratched mine, but I didn’t pull away. He kissed me and picked up his jacket and walked to the door. “I’ll be back later, love you.”

I blew him a kiss and he smiled as he left.

I was attacked by nurses checking blood pressure, drips and assorted other bits of me. “You need to drink more,” said one, then left me unable to reach my glass. I gave in and went back to sleep, too tired and too sore to say anything.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1802 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I finally got a drink when a different nurse came in with a fresh jug of water, with ice cubes in it–wow–service at last.

“Here we go, Cathy, have a sip of this,” she held the straw for me to suck on and it was cold but delicious. I took two or three slugs of the water and although it felt cold in my tummy, it felt good.

She sat herself on the edge of my bed holding a form and a pen. “The docs are mystified about why you should get the bleed. You haven’t had any injury, have you?”

I shook my head.

“You’re not taking any anticoagulant are you–warfarin or even aspirin?”

“No,” I croaked.

“Are you taking anything?”

“Oestrogen,” I croaked and it burned a little but not as badly as before.

“No vitamins or herbal stuff?”

“Cod liver oil.”

She wrote it down. “Anything else?”

“Um–garlic.”

“Garlic?”

“Yes.”

“What strength?”

“Can’t remember–high strength, I think?”

“How long have you been taking it?”

“Dunno–few months.”

“That could be it–strong allicin thins the blood, making haemorrhage more likely.”

“But why now?” I asked my voice feeling a little stronger.

“You had a chest infection, that and he associated coughing might have started it. I suspect the doctor will want to check you for allicin.”

“Another blood test?” I sighed.

“Yeah, good fun, innit?” She laughed and left me taking her clip board and pen with her.

I thought garlic was good for us? Perhaps I did over egg the pudding somewhat, I was taking several a day. Oops–have to think about this in future. Still it kept vampires at bay–until this lot with their syringes–doesn’t work against nurses.

I was fed, can you believe? Soup and rice pudding. I tried to tell them my teeth still worked it was my lungs which were the trouble. Still it went down well and I once again went off to sleep. If ever it becomes an Olympic event, I reckon I’m in with a medal chance. I’ve certainly had some practice recently.

“Hello stranger,” said a familiar voice and I opened my eyes to see a blurry Stella standing by the side of the bed.

“Hi,” I said back to her.

She bent down and kissed me on the cheek and gave me a hug. “I was under strict orders to do that from a whole herd of children.”

“A flock,” I corrected her.

“Flock?” she looked at me strangely.

“Yeah, you, you and you.” I managed to get out before it hurt to breathe again.

“Ewe, ewe and euch–God, that is so corny, Catherine Cameron.”

“Baaa none,” I said, and wished I hadn’t. Stella roared with laughter.

“So they haven’t treated your sense of humour then?”

“No–it’s still baaad.”

“I thought you looked a bit sheepish lately, now I know why,” she said seriously.

“Um–you couldn’t do me a favour, could you?” I asked her.

“What?”

“Get me a bed pan–I need a wee.”

“I thought I gave up all that up a few years ago–bloody bedpans...” she chuntered to herself as she went in search of a proper nurse. One came back with her bearing a papier má¢ché one which they slid under my bum. At least I could lie there under the covers taking my time to wee and something a little more solid.

“Finished?” Stella asked.

“Uh huh,” I nodded as well and she handed me the toilet roll. I wiped myself fore and aft–you really wanted to know that didn’t you? I then wiped my hands with some wet wipes and rubbed antiseptic gel into them. Once I’m out of this blessed bed, I’m going to spend an hour in the shower.

“I brought you in some clean nightdresses, some slippers and some toiletries. There’s a book in there as well–one of your Belgian detective ones.”

“Venetian,” I corrected.

“What is?”

“Brunetti, he’s Venetian.”

“Not a Martian then?”

“Eh?”

“Men are from Mars Brunetti’s from Venice–nah doesn’t sound that good does it?”

“No.”

“What?” she asked.

“No it doesn’t sound very good.”

“I also brought you in some squash–Ribena, if I remember correctly,” she said and I nodded. “Plus some–chocolate.” She produced a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk with a flourish.

Not my favourite chocolate, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I might be able to use it to bribe the nurses.

The nurse came back and removed the receptacle from under me–I began to appreciate how a car feels after an oil change–yeah okay, altogether now–flushed.

We chatted and when she noticed me starting to nod off, she took her leave, giving me a final peck on the cheek and mentioning something about shopping.

When I awoke a nurse was standing by the trolley thing that they can raise to go over the bed. “Food, Cathy?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Curried sprouts,” she said and laughed.

“Need this bed do you?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m off if that’s really what you have there.” I began to make out I was getting out of bed.

“Okay, you made your point–it’s a tuna pasta bake.”

“Oh, that’s different.”

“Indeed it is, a restaurant down by the quay sent it up for you.”

“What?”

“I believe they said a Professor Agnew had it sent in for you.”

“My boss,” I smiled.

“Ha, lucky you, my boss wouldn’t even send in a used wrapper, let alone a meal.”

“Have a piece of chocolate,” I said pointing to the bar on my locker. She did and I got my supper–at least I think it was–time wasn’t that important in hospital, seeing as I could sleep any or all of it. It was daylight–I think.

I could hear ticking as I ate my meal after the nurse enabled me to sit up. Unbeknownst to me, Stella had brought in my little travel alarm–according to that it was six o’clock, presumably in the evening.

I tried to read my book but couldn’t concentrate enough. At seven, Simon reappeared looking much better. For one thing, he’d shaved and his clothing was no longer rumpled, it also looked as if he’d slept.

“You look better,” I said smiling at him.

“So do you,” he replied.

The nurse came round with some teas and we both had a cup, then he helped me clean my teeth. No he didn’t take them to the sink and brush them–they’re still attached to the rest of me. Stella had brought in a tooth brush and tooth paste so I was able to clean them and he handed me a paper cup to spit in which he held at arm’s length to tip down the sink and deposit the empty into the waste bin. For him that was the equivalent of changing a dirty nappy–which he always managed to con Meems or Trish into doing for him–when Catherine was using them. It’s only at night now and she was staying fairly dry even then. When I get home it’ll be trainer pants for her.

He brought me up to date on each of the children and showed me a clip on his Blackberry of them all sending me a get well message. My eyes were very moist after that.

Then he conned me into recording one back to them from my hospital bed. I must have looked wonderful–greasy hair you could fry chips in, probably dark rings under my eyes and talking in whispers. He was pleased with the outcome–perhaps he was trying to get them all to leave home.

When he went, I was exhausted and zonked out like I’d taken a pill.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1803 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Over the next couple of days, I began to breathe more easily, didn’t need oxygen and started to do little things like visit the bathroom by myself. Okay, I was like a toddler walking round the furniture, but it beat using a commode which had been the earlier alternative.

When the nurses weren’t looking, I was doing exercises or walking round my room, which felt like a cell, but I was glad in some respects that I wasn’t in a shared ward, I just didn’t feel like being with people. Quite how I was going to cope when I got home worried me more than I liked to admit.

I still couldn’t concentrate to read–well to understand what I was reading–the mechanical bit of understanding the patterns of words was fine–it was making a meaning from them that I couldn’t be bothered to do. At times I became anxious about it. Okay, I was no Einstein, but I had two degrees and was working towards my doctoral submission–now I wondered if I’d ever finish it. I seemed to have lost my cutting edge and together with my increasing preference for solitude was turning me into a recluse.

When I tried to deal with this rationally, it was obviously due to a generalised weakness, not having the stamina to make my brain work for anything other than basic needs, such as mobility. I’d lost blood and might even be a touch anaemic, which would also add to my weakness and lack of energy. However, the doctors were talking about sending me home and I worried that I wouldn’t cope.

When Simon came in that evening, he met a red eyed weeping mess. Worse than that, I couldn’t tell him what was wrong–that he, along with the rest of humanity, was the problem. I began to wish I’d died, then I’d have been free of the onus of my life and someone else would have had to deal with it. I recognised I was depressed but I didn’t know what to do about it, save one thing, there was no way I was going to take any pills for it.

Simon left me in my incoherence and went to speak with the ward sister. She wasn’t there, so he got the staff nurse in charge and she wasn’t much help either. He left her with a demand to see the consultant the next day, then he came and told me what had happened and hugged me for a while. His visit was shorter than usual and I was glad when he went, sick of myself and angry with myself for being so useless to him. I kept thinking he should have married a proper woman instead of the ersatz one he chose.

I slept badly that night frightened of what would happen the next day. Would they decide I was mentally incompetent and lock me up somewhere? And frighteningly, would that be more pleasant than going home and facing up to my responsibilities?

I realised that over the past few years I’d taken in every waif and stray who’d crossed my path. I’d made a huge rod for my own back and was beginning to regret it. As they seemed to be coping without me, I began to wonder if they’d be better off without me altogether. I started to plan how I’d do it. Strange isn’t it that several people have tried to kill me and failed and now I’m thinking of how I might do it for them? Ironic or what?

The next day, I’d showered because one of the nurses bullied me into doing it. I thought about hanging myself from the shower fitment only to see that it wasn’t strong enough and I had no cord to use–I felt more useless and impotent than ever.

The same nurse bullied me into tidying my hair and dressing in day clothes, though I got my own back–I refused to eat breakfast. I also refused to speak with the doctor who came to see me–I just ignored him, retreating into my own little world. After ten minutes, he gave up and left me in peace. I’d won my first battle though it felt somewhat Pyrrhic in nature.

I think I might have nodded off because suddenly I heard Simon’s voice and he and some other bloke were arguing at times with raised voices. They both kept looking at me so I knew they were talking about me, but I wasn’t interested in hearing what they said.

Suddenly, Simon was pulling at my arm and I was shoved into a wheelchair and he pushed me out of the room and then the ward. He was muttering under his breath, so I don’t think he was very pleased with things. I was left in reception while he went to get the car. I did think about doing a runner, but didn’t have the energy any more than I did to throw myself under the bus that came past the hospital. I felt like I was an object of pity, sitting there in the wheelchair, and went further into myself.

After he manhandled me into the car–my car, by the way–he drove out of the hospital and instead of going to the house we went away from Portsmouth. I wasn’t sure if that pleased or worried me, it was just unexpected.

Then an hour or so later we turned into the clinic where Stella had spent so much time. I wasn’t sure if I felt good or bad about it, I think I just felt detached. I wouldn’t be here much longer, so they could do what they liked.

I was taken to a room, not unlike my hospital room, and very similar to the one Stella had stayed in. Simon hugged and kissed me and left promising to come back very soon. I didn’t really care, I wouldn’t be here anyway.

Some doctor bloke came and I ignored him too, he got fed up and left after telling me he’d soon have me better. I knew differently but wasn’t going to tell him.

I was brought pills and refused to take them. I was brought tea and refused to drink it. I also refused the food they brought. I had no need of food, not where I was going. I refused to change into my nightdress, so they left me alone.

A different doctor came and she tried to talk with me but I refused her any conversation, looking everywhere but at her. She sighed and got up and left. I felt my tummy rumbling and I felt a bit sick with wind, but it would pass–everything would, just a few more hours.

Still sitting in the chair, I tried to remember what of my own possessions I had with me. Nothing very sharp, nor was there a belt of any sort. This might not be as easy as I thought. I checked out the glass by the water jug and it was polythene or another of those unbreakable plastics.

I searched the room, I had nothing there I could use to put my solution into action. I’d have to get out and find a kitchen or somewhere that I could access something sharp or a piece of rope or thick string. That was when I found the door to my room was locked. It was a cell and I was a prisoner.

Unlike Stella’s room, I didn’t have a French window that opened onto the garden, just a window and that only had a fanlight that opened. I really was stuck here and I sat in my chair and wept.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1804 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I must have fallen asleep because I awoke with my eyelashes all stuck together and my neck was stiff. I rose from the chair and moved around doing some stretching exercises until the exertion caused me to feel breathless. For a moment I thought about how long it would take me to get fit again–the way I felt–forever.

I began to think about the children and what they were doing, especially little Catherine–I hoped Stella was still sharing her milk with her. Trish and Livvie will be going back to school, so will Meems. We fought so hard to keep them, for us to be their proper parents. I hoped Simon would manage to cope with them. Then there was Danny, a nice kid who just needed an opportunity to prove it. The older ones, Julie, Jacquie and Sammi, it’s going to tax Stella and Julie but hopefully they will help Sammi become the woman she so desires to be. I wonder what happened with her date? I’ll never know now.

I looked at the time. It was two in the morning. I calculated I had four hours to wait before they started checking on people–it’s usually about six in most hospitals. If you’re lucky, you get a cuppa then. Damn, I could murder a cuppa but if I asked for one, they’d probably dose it with something–nah, I can wait another four hours.

I went and sat back in the chair and tried to sleep. It was difficult, I kept seeing my kids and then seeing them at my funeral–that was really hard, and I admit I did shed a tear. However, I was adamant, I’d had enough of this life and it was time to end it.

I must have nodded again, because I woke feeling even more uncomfortable in the neck department–oh well, some quick traction with a bit of rope would sort that. It was twenty to six. Time to put plan A into action.

I lay down beside the bed on the side farthest from the door. I was tucked into the base of it, so that someone looking over the bed wouldn’t see me. It wasn’t quite high enough for me to get under it–but then if it were, they’d look under it. I calculated as it was they wouldn’t.

I nearly went off to sleep again because it seemed ages before someone unlocked my door and then noticed I wasn’t there and my bed hadn’t been slept in. “Lady Cameron? Where are you, Cathy?” she said loudly and even looked in the wardrobe and my small shower room cum toilet. “Oh shit,” I heard her say and she dashed off, doing exactly what I wanted, leaving my door unlocked.

I scrambled up and out of the door and into a toilet across the way just in time to hear two or three nurses come rushing into my room they looked round it and then went tearing off to start looking around the house–the clinic is in a large old manor house.

It went quiet and I looked around the room I was in. It was the staff changing room–brilliant. I found a tunic and trousers that fitted me, and hey presto, I was a nurse, especially when I pulled my hair up into a ponytail.

I slipped out of the room and looked for the stair case–I had a new plan. I walked past two nurses who were racing about the place–you haven’t seen this missing woman have you?

“Me, nah, I’ll shout if I do,” I said and carried on up the stairs–my chest was really burning and I had to rest for a moment to get my breath back. My body was really letting me down–but not for much longer.

It took me twenty minutes but I finally found my way to the roof access and stepped out on to the flat leaded roof, closing the doors behind me. It was late August but it was quite cool for the time of year and I gave an involuntary shudder.

I had a little time before they came looking here and I could sit and get my breath back so I could jump off with a degree of elegance–well composure might be a better word. I sat on the top of some sort of air intake and rested. My chest was still burning but not for much longer.

I glanced about me, there were small puddles on the roof and quite few piles of leaves and even moss in places where presumably a leaf mould had built up enough to let things grow. The edge of the roof had a wall around it which was about three feet tall, so I wouldn’t be seen from the ground until I was ready to jump.

I walked to the edge and glanced over, it looked a long way down. I don’t like heights at the best of times–oh well, keep my eyes closed when I’m ready to go. I wished I’d had a piece of paper to leave a note for the kids. There was a pen in the tunic but nothing to write on. I should have done that before I left the room, not that I saw much in the way of paper there then. I suppose I could have torn a page out of a book or magazine and used it, but I didn’t.

I felt cold as I contemplated my next and final action. Oh well, Once I hit the ground the shock would stop me feeling anything ever again. The height was probably about forty feet, a couple of seconds and splat–I actually laughed at that–hysterically and it took me a few minutes to get back control of myself. Nerves–people often laugh at inappropriate places when they’re stressed and moments from killing ones-self does seem appropriate to feel a bit tense.

It was then I heard a mewing and looked down to see a kitten rubbing itself about my legs. “Hello, puss, how one earth did you get up here?” Naturally it didn’t answer me, except to purr and rub itself even more. Damn, I was counting on no witnesses–but then the cat couldn’t talk could it?

It reached up and pulled at the trousers I was wearing, wanting to be lifted up. I bent down and picked it up and it rubbed its little face against mine. I of course burst into tears. I don’t know why.

I sat on the edge of the air intake holding the cat and stroking it. Its little body felt warm and silky and it made an awful fuss of me, as if I was its life saver or rescuer. I wasn’t, I had other business to deal with and I thought I’d better get on with it.

I saw people out in the grounds at the back of the house, so I went to the front–sorry, this is going to stain your immaculate driveway. I put the cat down and walked to the wall. It immediately jumped up on the wall and into my arms.

I dropped it down and pushed it away–it did the same again, purring and rubbing against me. “For goodness sake, cat, piss off will you–this is hard enough to do without you interfering.”

She jumped back on the wall and then into my arms again. For a moment I felt like hurling her over the edge–how dare she interfere? But she didn’t understand and was just showing me her unconditional love. Once again I burst into tears and sank down behind the curtain wall, the cat of course came and sat on top of me kneading me as they do when they’re happy. She curled up and lay in my lap as I sat there sobbing, before tiredness overcame me and I fell asleep.

A little later I felt people standing around me, “Come on, Lady Cameron, back inside you must be freezing.” Two women nurses and a man helped me up and before I knew it I was back inside my room hugging a hot cup of tea and sobbing–I’d blown my only chance.

Simon arrived a little later and played hell with them. “What were you doing on the roof, babes?”

“I was going to jump, but a black and white kitten sort of stopped me.”

“We saw no cat,” said the doctor.

“She curled up with me and I fell asleep.”

“There was no cat.”

The matron of the home whispered something to him. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

“Believe what?” demanded Simon.

“About ten years ago, we had a woman patient here who jumped off the roof and killed herself. She had been allowed to bring a young cat with her. She had the cat in her arms when she jumped–the cat also perished.”

I felt goosebumps all over. I’d been cuddling a ghost cat. “Take me home please, darling.”

“Are you sure?” asked Simon.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

The Trafalgar News. (aka Bike) Part 1805 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Picture: Trafalgar by Auguste Mayer courtesy of wikipedia

The doctor ummed and ahhed, but in the end because I was a voluntary patient, he had to let me go, charging Simon with my safety. I’d already promised Simon that I wouldn’t try anything silly again. I didn’t explain how I escaped the room–just in case I need to do it again sometime. Instead I told him some cock and bull story about walking through walls. The doctor accused me of being either very clever or mad. Simon assured him that I wasn’t mad–not in the biblical sense–whatever that meant. I could only assume he meant the story of Legion who had his devils cast out.

I prefer exercise to exorcise, so I’ll keep my demons fit instead.

We chatted on the drive home–again in my car. I said nothing wondering if his had broken down or met with a mishap but I could wait until we got home to find out. Heading back to Portsmouth I asked Simon if he would indulge me.

“What d’you mean by indulge? Buy you something, you mean?”

“We might have to pay some money.”

“How much?”

“I have no idea, but I shouldn’t think it would be more than forty or fifty pounds.”

“Okay,” he said looking suspiciously at me.

“Might we go home via Stubbington?”

“Where’s that?”

“The other side of Gosport, south of Titchfield.”

“As in thunderbolt?”

“The Gosport Thunderbolt? Was there a lightning strike there then?”

“No you nit, there was a film called The TItchfield Thunderbolt.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Well how was I to know?

“We saw it in school.”

By the time he’d finished telling me about this film in great detail we were passing through Gosport and not long after we were near Stubbington.

“Why are we coming here?”

“Ah, there–that’s where we need to go.” I pointed to a sign for the RSPCA animal shelter.

“This hasn’t got something to do with a cat, has it?”

I blushed and said, “It might do.” He shook his head but drove me to the Ark, as it’s called.

A little later we were looking round loads of cats and dogs–I wanted to take them all home. However, sanity prevailed and we eventually went home with a black and white kitten–one who looked like she had a dinner suit on with white gloves and socks–just like the one I saw and cuddled on the roof.

We had to provide details of address and prove it–fortunately Simon had his driving licence with him. We bought a whole pile of cat stuff from a carry basket to a bed and toys and kitten food.

Simon seemed disappointed that they didn’t have any lions or tigers to eat any trespassers. I did point out to him that it was somewhat illegal to have dangerous animals loose in the garden.

“They’d only be dangerous to intruders.”

“What would they eat if we had no intruders?”

“Well that would do as an entree,” he nodded at the basket on my lap which was making little squeaking noises every so often.

“You horrible man, this is my latest baby–the girls will absolutely love her.”

“I could never understand why Tom didn’t have a cat–most farms have them.”

“He’s had two, but they got run over.”

“So what’s to stop this one doing the same?”

“I’ll get Trish to teach her the green cross code–you know look left look right...”

“Yeah, look left and right and then bolt across whether it’s clear or not–splat. Right, kitten?”

“Take no notice of your silly daddy, he’s quite nice really.”

“I hate to say it, babes, but I can smell pat’s kiss.”

“I think I can feel it,” I put my hand under the basket and there was a wet patch.

“Well, I’m glad this is your car not mine.” At times Simon could be perfectly beastly and I was tempted to rub my wet hand on his jacket–but I’d have to get it cleaned so I didn’t bother. He pulled into a lay-by and I found a newspaper to put under the basket which soaked up any excess fluid.

When we got home, as soon as the car entered the driveway we had a welcoming party. They couldn’t understand why I asked them to keep quiet because they all wanted to squeal and shout and the kids were just as bad.

When I revealed the kitten–the girls squealed and I’m sure the poor little thing must have been close to a heart attack. Cats have phenomenal hearing, being designed for hunting small furry things which make very high pitched squeaks. I knew one which could hear a tin of tuna being opened five miles away, which exceeds my own ability to hear one a street away. I think my whole body is made up of a combination of oestrogen and tuna with the odd piece of toast filling in the gaps. My blood group is Earl Grey as opposed to the Royal family who run on Gordon’s gin–and the main reason they’re buried rather than cremated–they’d risk burning the crematorium down.

“What’s her name?” asked Meems while Trish ran off with the terrified feline in the basket.

“I haven’t decided yet, sweetheart.”

“Can we caw her Wooby-woo?”

“I think you might have problems with that, Meems.”

“No I won’t,” she said and stumped off in high dudgeon.

“What are you going to call it?” asked Stella as Simon got my bag from the car.

“I think, something like, Sprite.”

“Like the soft drink?”

“Um, maybe not. What about Blackberry?”

“We’d never know if you were calling the cat or looking for your phone.” Stella obviously wasn’t impressed by the names I considered.

“Bramble?”

“Better–especially as when she’s finished playing with us we’ll look as if we’ve been rolling in brambles.”

Just then Kiki came dashing out with her nose all scratched and she wouldn’t go back into the kitchen for love nor money.

“Godzilla might be appropriate,” smirked Stella as we went in expecting to see scratched bodies everywhere, instead the little monster was drinking milk from a saucer.

“No more of that today, it gives them diarrhoea,” I said loudly.

“But, Mummy, she was thirsty,” wailed Trish.

“Her name is Bramble, I just decided.”

“Good choice,” agreed Sammi, but Trish gave me a dismissive look as she’d obviously thought of something else. I decided I wasn’t giving in to her this time.

We found a place by the back door for her litter tray, and Simon had the dubious privilege of opening the grit they use and filling said tray.

For the next half an hour we watched as the little minx rushed about the place pursued by five or six girls, rolling silver paper balls or some of the toys we bought. Then as only kittens do, she flopped down and slept with her head inside one of Simon’s gardening shoes. Enough to anaesthetise almost any cat.

While Bramble kept the kids amused, Stella and David asked how I was–presumably comparing my version of things against what Simon had said. Then it was time for lunch and David had made a pot of beautiful tomato soup and some homemade bread–bliss.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1806 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

After lunch, I found myself nodding off and to Simon’s credit, he herded everyone out of the room and left me to snooze. I was still quite fragile–my chest hurt if I exerted myself and I tended to get short of breath–SOB in medical parlance, though I’m led to believe it means something different in the colonies.

I woke up about half an hour later to find I’d been draped in a travel rug–how kind of whoever did it. I folded it up and left it on the back of the sofa, put my trainers back on and went in search of my family who seemed to have disappeared without trace.

They hadn’t, they were all the lounge and when they saw me, Trish came running towards me, “Mummy, Bramble fell through the floor.”

“What?” I gasped, we’ve only had the poor creature five minutes.

Simon turned to look at me, “Hi, Babes, feel any better?”

“Yes thank you, what’s happened with the kitten?”

“She appears to have disappeared down here,” he pointed at a hole which had appeared in the floor right against one of the walls.

“Anyone sent for Maureen?” I asked.

“Not ten minutes ago.”

I approached the place in question, wondering how much else might be unsafe. This was the oldest part of the house, including the huge fireplace in which you could almost burn whole trees.

I bent down and could hear a plaintiff mewing from a little distance. I called the kitten but all she did was call back. I knew she’d been fed, so we had an hour or two to rescue her before she’d get very hungry.

“What is it, an old cellar?”

Simon shrugged, “I’ve tried calling Tom, but he’s not answering his mobile. The wine cellar is over the other side of the house and that’s all bricked up.”

“Is it worth checking if there’s any passage way between the wine cellar and here?”

“Seeing as you’re here now, I’ll go and look.”

“I’ll come with you, Dad,” offered Danny, and the two men went off to descend into the depths to see if they could get the kitten back through there. It was ages since I’d played troglodytes and gone down there. I wasn’t that much of a drinker, and the cellar was a creepy place plus you got cobwebs in your hair–or I did–yeuch.

“Couldn’t we put some meat on a hook?” asked Trish.

“Trish, it’s a kitten we’re trying to rescue not catch a shark.”

“Duh duh, duh duh, duh duh duh...” she sang trying to imitate John Williams famous score from the film, Jaws. I nearly laughed out loud–but it would only encourage her.

I sent her off to get the torch from the kitchen and when she came back I knelt down and tried to probe the gap with my hand shining the torch to see the size of it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see properly and when Mima tried to see as well. She nudged my arm and I dropped the torch, which brought further mewing from the kitten.

There was nothing else I could do. Trish tried to feel by shoving her arm through the hole but when Livvie mentioned there might be rats there she soon withdrew it. We’d have to wait until Maureen arrived.

I left Stella to marshal the troops while I went and made some tea–well, we Brits always do this in times of emergency, and when we’re just waiting for the next. Simon and Danny came up from the wine cellar, the former bearing a bottle of wine. “I didn’t know we had any of this down there.”

“What about the kitten?” I asked handing him a mug of tea.

“Oh it’s far too valuable to share with kittens,” he said dismissively.

“No sign of her, Mum,” said Danny.”

Maureen arrived and after grabbing a cuppa she went into the lounge to see what was what. She ummed and ahhed then went down the wine cellar, pulling a stethoscope from her pocket as she went. Simon went as well.

Minutes later, Tom arrived and was shown the hole in his floor. He was as surprised as the rest of us. Then he went down the wine cellar taking the bottle of claret back with him and muttering something about Simon.

The three came back up and agreed they would knock a hole through the wall in the cellar and see if they could rescuer her through that, Maureen would then cement it back up and also repair the hole in the floor.

Over the next hour Maureen sent for one of her workmen and some heavy tools like lump hammers and cold chisels and even a pickaxe and sledge hammer. It looked like we were setting up our own mine.

The banging began–only it wasn’t a bang it was a deep thud, thud thud, which made the whole house jar. I couldn’t do anything–the noise stopped me concentrating on anything and so I took the girls outside and we played ball on the lawn–or they did, I sat and watched.

The thudding stopped and we waited with bated breath, minutes later Danny emerged from the back door with Bramble in his arms. She didn’t seem too distressed by the whole experience, or should that be hole experience?

Simon called for me to come, and see so with a sense of foreboding, I went down the cellar steps. They’d knocked a hole through the wall at waist height about two feet square, removing about six or eight bricks or stones. My torch was still glowing about twenty five feet away. Simon shone the big lantern torch we have and it appeared we had a large chamber under the house which seemed reasonably dry. Neither he nor Maureen could explain why it had been bricked off, the storage space would be quite useful if difficult to access.

Danny came back having deposited the kitten with the girls and he climbed through and collected my torch. It was quite dusty and given the floor was made of flagstones I was lucky it hadn’t broken.

Maureen and Tom discussed the options–she suggested a surveyor and architect to ensure the safety of the room, and then to tidy it up and perhaps make an external door to the enlarged cellar.

“We could make it a games room,” suggested Simon.

It was certainly big enough to take a billiard table or a table tennis one. It would need artificial lighting and perhaps a window in any door they made–it was going to be quite dark. I left them to discuss it until I heard a yell of disgust.

Danny had gone through the hole in the wall again to look at something he saw against one of the walls. On closer perusal he discovered it was a pile of bones–human ones. That might explain why it had been bricked up but when and by whom?

I stayed to comfort Danny while Simon went up to call the police. Just what we didn’t need.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1807 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The word body, quite rightly, when articulated to police forces, tends to bring large numbers of them into your house. So it was this time–half of them seem to spend more time here than at the police HQ, so I suppose I should be used to it.

Danny gave a statement while several of them examined the pile of bones. Tom explained that he’d lived in the house thirty years and that the cellar had ended as far as he knew with the wall we’d knocked through. The look the police inspector gave him didn’t show he actually believed him. But surely, if he’d walled up a body there he could have disposed of it by now and certainly wouldn’t have invited the plod to walk all over it.

It took them a few hours to photograph and examine the remains, which they suggested had either been wearing a very coarse cloth or been in some sort of sack. It also appeared they’d been there for a large number of years, which didn’t exactly exclude Tom from putting them there but at least created a doubt in the minds of the police that he was the perpetrator of some heinous crime.

The forensic pathologist was pretty sure they were very old, meaning more than fifty years, but he also said that a hole in the skull tended to suggest the cause of death. We therefore had what appeared to be an old murder on our hands.

When they carried the remains out, Simon said quietly to me, “You not going to try and resurrect that one, then?”

“So she can tell us how she died?” I asked a bit louder.

“How d’you know it’s a female skeleton?” asked an alert policewoman.

“Just a hunch–I’m going to be fifty percent right anyway.”

She looked suspiciously at me. “You didn’t examine the body then?”

“I’m a biologist not an anatomist, besides I was up in the kitchen making you lot cups of tea–it’s just a guess.”

“My wife tends to sense these things,” said Simon, almost as if he was apologising for me or making it sound like an affliction.

“Oh,” the WPC said sceptically.

“What did you want me to say, it’s a female aged twenty six, called Hannah Smith, who was killed because she was pregnant and the squire who lived here shot her before she could tell his wife?”

She smirked at me, “If you tell me the date of the murder, it would help.”

“November the fifth, eighteen seventy nine.” I spoke without any thought at all and seemed to almost be in a trance as I said it.

“You all right?” asked the young policewoman touching my arm.

I took a deep breath, “I think so, why?”

“What did you just tell me?” she asked.

“That it was a woman.”

“No, after that,” she pressed.

“I don’t know–phew–it’s hot in here, Si...” I felt myself becoming very dizzy and I think Simon grabbed me. I woke up sitting on the floor having upchucked over myself. Lovely–not.

The young copper had written down what I’d said but I had no idea what that was, however, Sherlock Watts and Simon remembered enough for them to write it down as well.

Because I’d just been in hospital, Simon made me go to bed and called our GP who popped in at tea time.

“You seem okay, apart from a bit breathless so keep using the inhalers. What brought on the faint?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Knowing you, Lady C, I’d believe a lot more than I would from most people.”

So I told him.

“D’you get these things regularly?” he asked.

“D’you mean the faints or the psychic stuff?”

“Either?”

“No, thankfully, nor do I get headaches or have I suffered any head injuries.”

“Cathy, I’m aware you’re a bit special–you’ve done healing on me and I know Ken has used your skills several times. So some sort of maid got murdered because the wicked squire had his way with her?”

“I don’t know, possibly–it wasn’t that unusual in those days and the law supported the wealthier citizens rather than the poor–so no change there then.”

He gave me an amused look, “You are the wealthier class here, Lady Cameron.”

“So they tell me, but I’m still just an educated peasant in truth.”

“And all this emerged because of this little fellah,” he said picking up the kitten who’d curled up in my lap.

“Her, she’s a little queen–isn’t that what they call female cats?”

“When they’re pregnant, I believe so.”

“Hopefully, we’ll take steps to prevent that–don’t want history repeating itself, do we, Brambs?” Dr Smith handed her back to me and she sat purring in my lap again.

“You seem okay, so I’ll be off.” The doctor rose from the side of my bed. “If you feel ill, let me know–okay?”

“Of course.” I smiled at him but the look he gave me showed he didn’t believe a word of it. “So you’re not going to lock me up as insane or order a series of brain scans?”

“No,” he shook his head more as if in disbelief than answer to my questions. “Apart from your lung problem–which is healing–you’re as sane as anyone else I know.”

“Thank you,” I said and the wetness in my eyes showed the jest in my voice wasn’t entirely honest.

“I mean it, Cathy.” He squeezed my shoulder and left. The kitten and I went back to sleep until Simon came up with a tray with some dinner for me–roast pork with all the trimmings. Bramble squeaked when he took her away, I think she thought it was for her.

The next morning, I felt much better and Trish and Livvie wanted to play detectives and pestered me at breakfast to find out more about the person in the cellar. The police phoned to say the remains looked very old and they weren’t looking for anyone in connection with it.

Then the paper called. I told them if they could wait a couple of days we’d have more information for them and they’d have an exclusive if they held off as we asked.

“Things seem to happen to you and in that house, don’t they?” said their star reporter John Jackson.

“Nothing happened to me, Mr Jackson.”

“But you were there, when they found the body?”

“I live here, Mr Jackson, as you well know. Now you can either have some patience for me to do some research and then have the benefit of it, or you can go and play with yourself, like you usually do, and I’ll talk to another paper.”

“You have such a way with words for a boy, Lady Cameron.”

“That’s factually incorrect, Mr Jackson as you well know.”

“Just sweet-talkin’ you, Lady C, just sweet-talkin’.”

“Well before I become diabetic from your mellifluousness, Mr Jackson, goodbye.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look it up–I know you’ve recorded this conversation–goodbye.” I put the phone down and said to the girls. “C’mon, let’s go to the museum.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1808 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

We trouped out of the car and into the museum, Trish had her notebook with her and also her iPad. We talked to one of the staff about what we wanted and she went off to a room behind reception.

We chatted as we waited, about ten minutes, before the museum receptionist returned. “All we’ve got is a list of properties and their owners, I’m afraid.”

“Oh well, at least we might learn the name of the squire who owned the house,” I suggested and the girls were keen to continue.

It took about another ten minutes before we found the house and the year. “Here we are,” said Pattie, the museum assistant, “Squire Joseph Francis.”

“You don’t have anything more on him then?”

She trotted off to the backroom again. She returned with a piece of paper, “He died in eighteen ninety, during an influenza epidemic at age forty nine and is buried in the municipal cemetery.”

Trish made a note of this on her iPad but I still accepted the scrap of paper from Pattie. She suggested we try the library. So that was where we went next.

“We’re trying to find what happened to a maid who lived and worked at our house back in the eighteen seventies?” I said to the library assistant and just like Pattie, she was pleased to help. I gave her the details and I also offered what I believed was the maid’s name.

“It’s difficult unless she got herself married or some other brush with the law because they were the only ones who kept records.” She did a search for Hannah Smith and one for Squire Francis. “Nothing much–hang on, Hannah Smith, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Eighteen seventy nine–here y’go.” She turned round the computer so we could see it.
‘November 6th 1879, police were notified by Squire Joseph Francis that one Hannah Smith, a housemaid lately in his employ had decamped and taken one of his gold half hunter watches with her. It is thought she might have gone to see her sister in Altringham.’

She did us a print out and suggested we went to the records office at Winchester for anything else. The girls wanted to go but I didn’t feel up to it and suggested we do a computer scan of their records instead. We went home and after lunch, we went down to my den and I contacted the records office. For a nominal fee, I was able to do a data base search for Hannah Smith and Squire Francis.

All it turned up were Hannah’s birth and baptismal records, and we were able to download them, and Francis’ death certificate and his will. He still left two gold half hunter watches, and the house which we lived in plus two suits and a set of silver tableware. He left his widow the right to live in his dwelling until she died or no longer wished to reside there. He left her his bedding and the carpet in the drawing room.

To his son and heir, he left his library of forty books, and the rest of his estate, except twenty pounds which he left to his daughter, Josephine. It seemed strange that in those days women didn’t hold property if they were married and didn’t have the vote–both things we take for granted these days. In fact, in those days women and children were seen as chattels, the property of men–reduced to objects. Sound familiar, only now one needs to put sex in front of it.

Trish, Livvie and I filled in Stella, David and Jacquie with what we’d discovered–not a great deal. The local newspaper had written a short report of the fireworks paid for by Squire Francis in that year and held in his orchard for the children of the parish, giving the adults a glass of mulled wine and the children sarsaparilla.

I surmised that what had happened was she’d probably told him she was pregnant and may or may not have threatened him. He might have rendered her unconscious before shooting her during the firework display, dumping the body in the cellar possibly under a pile of sacks and later on having the cellar bricked up thus hiding the body. He also tried to lay a false scent by accusing her of doing a bunk with one of his gold watches.

“The shit,” exclaimed Stella making the younger ones giggle, “fancy killing her and then trying to make out she was some sort of criminal.”

“Having got her up the duff to begin with,” I added which made the girls fall about laughing. I was sure they had no idea what they were laughing at.

“Talk about a man’s world,” she sighed, “we don’t know we’re born, do we?”

“Not by comparison,” I agreed.

“I wonder what would have happened in your situation, about the vote I mean?”

“I wouldn’t have got it.” I replied.

“Why not–officially you’d still have been a male.”

“Yeah, but they’d have stuck me in prison or hanged me.”

“What for dressing as a woman?”

“For homosexuality.”

“But you’re not gay?” she gasped.

“Only because I believe I’m female and love a man as a woman does.”

“Exactly,” she said without seeing what I was trying to say.

“My physical and legal status has changed. In the old days it wouldn’t have. There weren’t any hormones or surgery available and the legal status would have been that of pariah, as happens in some countries now.”

“That’s disgraceful,” offered Jacquie, “it’s a medical condition.”

“I’m not sure even that is correct, I think it’s a variation on the norm which needs to become medicalised in order to change things. It’s arguable that the distress which can go with acute gender dysphoria can make people ill, but the critics say we should be changing perceptions, not bodies, so they can live with themselves.”

“Just how are they supposed to do that?” Stella enquired looking quite determined to attack any suggestion I made.

“Psychotherapy of some sort, I suppose.” I shrugged.

“The main reason they fund surgery in the NHS is because no one seriously believes you can change the mind like that, so they change the body and providing they get their assessments right, people are happier. It’s an organic thing, you lot have female brains, like gay women have masculine ones.”

“I really don’t give a toss about any of that, providing surgery is still available for those who need it. I don’t need to know what caused it. In my case I’m cured, I’m female–I have therefore changed sex as far as the law is concerned and that’s all I set out to do.”

“That you’ve got children and married a titled man–is irrelevant, is it?” Stella teased.

“No, it’s the icing on the cake only made possible because of the former, that I was allowed to change sex. Tony Blair is slated for loads of things but he did introduce the Gender Recognition Act–mind you only because the European Court forced him to do so.”

“So wickle Caffy’s all legit then, thanks to Tony Blair?” Stella joked.

“Not entirely, it was because several people were prepared to throw themselves upon the barricades of the European Court, supported by the European Commission and several top legal beagles who worked for little or no fees, including that one who was pushed under a train last year.”

“That was tragic,” said Stella, “Hey, what about this shooting in France then?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1809 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So, Sherlock, who killed that family in France then?” taunted Stella.

“How would I know?”

“Well you solved one which was nearly two hundred years old.”

“That was a bit more obvious; the one in France looks like an execution.”

“How could someone shoot a little kid?” Stella looked angry.

“I don’t know how someone could shoot someone in cold blood, full stop. It’s murder, cold blooded murder. It smacks of an execution and presumably was easier in France because their gun laws are laxer than here. Automatics in this country refer to cars or washing machines.”

“So any theories?” asked Stella.

“None at all beyond there being some sort of pay back suggested by the manner of the hit. I suspect the guy they killed either did something or is thought to have done something, which someone who is very nasty, didn’t like.”

“There you have it folks, Sherlock Watson strikes again.”

“It’s not funny, Stella, three people died and one child is very ill and the other is rather traumatised.”

“Okay, I wasn’t mocking their tragedy, but you seem to have more ideas than the Frog police.”

“We don’t know what they’re thinking or doing–I just hope they pull their fingers out and catch whoever did it.”

“They got that bloke back a bit, the one with the siege, the one who shot those Jewish kids–he was trying to do a runner and a sniper got him.”

“Can we talk about something else?” I’d had enough of killing.

“Like what?”

“The Paralympics perhaps?” I suggested.

“Those disabled people are so brave aren’t they?” suggested Jacquie.

“Don’t let them hear you say that, they’ll lynch you,” I cautioned.

“Why–I think they are brave.”

“They want to be seen as just doing their thing, the same as the rest of us.”

“But it’s hardly the same is it? I mean you go out on your bike, train hard and will probably beat other people in a race.”

“They do the same.”

“But, Mummy, they’re not the same, are they, if they’ve got arms and legs missing?”

“I hate to draw parallels with myself. How do you see me?”

“As a woman I’m happy to call my adopted mother.” Jacquie seemed unable to see the point I was trying to make.

“But I can’t be a mother, I don’t have any ovaries or a uterus nor ever did.”

“So what? I don’t have any either and I’m still a woman.” Jacquie wasn’t perhaps the best person to use this argument with, however, I’ve started so I’ll finish.

“But you did have some, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but no one knows it to look at you, do they. I mean, no one can see that, can they? They can see if you’ve only got one leg, or your head is missing.”

“I don’t think anyone missing a head is going to take part in the Paralympics, Jac.”

“Why ever no...oh, well you know what I meant,” she added and Stella nearly fell off her chair.

“What about zombies–do they have their own games–like the flesh crawl?” Stella had decided to be really silly, probably to change the subject once again.

“I have work to do,” I stood up and my chest felt a bit sore.

“You were given instructions to rest, so no work!” Stella was laying down the law.

“I can sit down and do some work on my computer just as easily as sitting here and talking.”

“Yes, but that’s not half as amusing for the rest of us.”

“Oh, so now I’m responsible for the entertainment am I?”

“Mummy, I don’t understand what you were on about–you know about the Paralympics.”

“If they didn’t look different, you wouldn’t be half as impressed by them. Yes, it takes a lot of courage to deal with an illness or injury or some sort of congenital or birth disability. But it does to become a top athlete as well. We should just celebrate their achievement without any sense of pity or sympathy–they’re doing their thing as best they can–let’s just be glad for them and accept them as they are.”

“In the place they held me there was a girl who was in a wheel chair.”

“Oh?” Why was I surprised just because someone is in a wheelchair doesn’t mean to say they’re incapable of a criminal act. Perhaps I have some rethinking to do?

“She knifed someone who talked down to her.”

What do I say in response to that? “Oh.”

“She was as tough as an old boot, didn’t stop someone pushing her down a flight of steps though did it?”

“And?”

“She died.”

“Oh.” I’m consistent if nothing else.

“I didn’t know her that well and fortunately I was out that day.”

“Out?” queried Stella.

“Yeah, I hadn’t long had my operation done and they had to send me to a local NHS hospital because I was still bleeding.”

I nodded, not having anything useful to add. “I’m going down to my study.” I said as I slipped out the door.

“Mummy, can we go out and play in the garden?” asked Trish who was still quite tidily dressed.

“If you change into your playing clothes and the others the same.”

“Thank you, Mummy, I’ll go and tell them.”

She doesn’t usually ask–what’s going on?

“Trish,” I called after her but my lack of breath stopped me calling loud enough. I sat at the foot of the stairs and a few moments later the herd of effalumps appeared clomping down the stairs.

“Hello, Mummy?” said Livvie.

“You’re not taking Bramble out–she has to have some inoculations, and besides, kittens have to get to know their new home before you let them out in case they get lost.”

“We won’t let her get lost, Mummy.”

“No–she stays indoors until I say she can go out.”

“S’not fair,” grumbled Trish. “She wants to go out in the garden and play.”

“I don’t care what you think she wants or doesn’t want–she stays in doors until I say otherwise. That’s an end to the matter.” I started to cough and my chest hurt quite a lot.

“Now look what you’ve done,” accused Livvie of her sister.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve made her cough and she’s got a bad chest.”

“No I never.”

“You did so.”

“I never.”

I couldn’t get enough breath to shout at them, so I clapped as loudly as I could. They both stopped and looked at me.

“Both of you, stop arguing. I’m all right, just go and play and leave the kitten with me.”

Trish handed over the kitten and Livvie helped me up. Bramble and I went down to my study and instead of working, we sat reading on my sofa–well until I fell asleep, or should that be, we fell asleep.

David came to ask what time I wanted him to serve dinner. It was some sort of braised steak concoction which I was sure would be delicious. I asked him to feed the children first and then I’d eat when Simon and Sammi came in. To be honest, I wasn’t that hungry.

“Would you like a cup of tea, oh and I did some almond slices–Stella told me you like them.”

“I do, thank you, that would be lovely,” I’ll deal with blabbermouth when I feel stronger.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1810 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It was Sunday, the girls go back to school tomorrow, Danny went back last week. I did offer to send him to a private school, but he decided he would stay where he was and pocket the money it would cost. As you can imagine we agreed to differ on that point.

The high point of my day was going to be watching the Tour of Britain cycle race which had Cav and Wiggo riding and it was expected to end in a bunch sprint which would release the Manx Missile. He won the first stage in last year’s race and the last one. Compared to the major tours, it’s only seven or eight days but is gaining recognition as a tough competition and attracts some top class riders as well as allowing some the second string British riders to race against the big pro teams. Okay, the TdF it ain’t but it’s a good race and a chance to assess the form of riders before the World Championships the following week. Could Cav hold on to the rainbow jersey? It would be brill if he did.

I spent the morning sorting out the girl’s uniforms for tomorrow and after an early and light lunch, was doing some correspondence on the mammal survey when the phone rang. It was about five minutes before the cycling was due on at quarter to two.

It was Neil, his mother had died. If you remember she had cancer and although I’d given her a boost, she succumbed to it after a long battle. Although he was married to Gloria at long last and she was expecting, this knocked him sideways as one would anticipate. I asked if there was anything I could do? Well you do, don’t you even though you know you’re tempting providence.

“Could you look after the dormice? I’m going to be a bit busy for a week or two sorting out the funeral and so on.”

“Of course.” That shouldn’t be too onerous even with a dicky chest.

“Cathy, could I ask a real favour?”

“Of course you can.” Look out he wants to borrow some money.

“Phoebe is really upset with all this going on. Could she come to you for a few days until I can organise the funeral.”

“No problem.”

“She gets on so well with your girls, especially Julie.”

“D’you want me to come and get her?”

“I couldn’t put you to all that trouble.”

“It’s no bother for a friend, and we all like Phoebe.”

“If you could that would brilliant–I’ll be indebted to you forever for this, Cathy.”

“What time would you like me to come?”

“The sooner the better–sorry that sounds really bad, but she really is upset.”

“She has said she’ll come, you’re not making her, are you?”

“It was her suggestion.”

“Oh.” That surprised me.

“I’d suggested our Auntie Dorrie, but she said she’d rather come to you.”

“Fine, give me a bit to change and I’ll come up and collect her–oh perhaps she’d prefer Julie to come and get her?”

“I think it might be better if you came.”

“She’s that bad is she?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, you go and pack her stuff and I’ll get myself organised–I’ll ring when I’m about ten minutes away.”

“You’re magic, Cathy. Thanks so much for this, I’ll really owe you one.”

“Mummy, you’re missing the bike racing,” Livvie came down to my study to tell me it was on. Looks like I was going to miss it full stop.

I asked Danny to record it for me, and then asked Julie if she wanted to come up to collect Phoebe.” She decided she would, even though she enjoyed watching the race–well she has ridden a bike, even if she’s never raced.

“How’s it going?” I asked Simon.

“Yeah, a breakaway has been brought down to just over a minute, they’ve got forty odd kilometres to go.”

“Who’s in it–the breakaway group?”

“Kristian House is the only one I’ve ever heard of. Team Sky are leading the charge.”

“Okay, I might get a chance to watch it later. Jacquie, could you make up a bed for the spare room? We’ve got Phoebe, a colleague’s sister coming to stay for a few days, her mum’s just died.”

“Will do, anything else?”

“Oh let David know we have one extra for dinner, would you?”

“I’ll go and tell him now.” With that she nipped over to David’s place in the old stables and I went upstairs to change.

“Want me to drive, Mummy?” offered Julie as we walked to the car.

“I think I’ll be okay, sweetheart. If I don’t feel up to it, you can drive back.”

She nodded and smiled. While I had more confidence in her ability than I did Stella, I was still very reluctant to let her near the steering wheel of my car, given her youth; but if push came to shove, she was insured to drive it–don’t I know it–it doubled my insurance premiums.

It took us an hour and a half to get to the Allen’s place, by which time the cycle boys would be nearing the end of the race and I’d miss the rocket launch. Cavendish is the most exciting finisher in the book–light the blue touch paper and off he goes with explosive speed and here I am driving into Neil’s mother’s driveway.

Julie had phoned, but they were still taken aback by our arrival–mind you bereavement does strange things to people. We had to wait while Phoebe finished shoving things in bags and by the time we left there, my car boot was almost filled to capacity.

“What did the funeral director say?” I asked Neil meaning about the date of the funeral.

“It’s Sunday so he can’t confirm the slot for the crem. He’ll do that tomorrow, I’ll let you know so you can send her back.”

“I can’t guarantee it’ll be me, but one of us will bring her up for the funeral.”

I hugged him and felt him sob. “It was a release in the end, Cathy. She’d been so brave, but the pain just kept on coming, no matter what we gave her. I think I might even have accidentally overdosed her. I might have killed my own mother.”

“Hey, no you didn’t–she died from cancer–you did your best for her as I’m sure Phoebe did.” I tried to comfort him while Julie was upstairs with Phoebe doing something similar I suspect.

Why do we always feel guilty when someone dies? Is it because we could have used the time better to be with them or done more for them? Or is it just part of grieving for someone you love?

I held him for a few minutes until he recovered his composure. “Sorry about that,” he said before he called the girls down for the trip home.

I let the two girls sit in the back, hugging each other while I steered the Jaguar back towards Pompey. The roads were getting busier, probably due to the fine weather but we had a bit of a shower as the sky darkened and cast its accumulated water vapour in liquid form at us.

I noticed the time was six o’clock and quietly switched on the radio and then listened carefully to the news and what I was waiting for, the sports news. I had to endure stuff about football, the end of the Paralympics and even Formula One–gas guzzling par excellence–before the bike race.

“Today’s opening stage of the Tour of Britain cycle race was won by twenty two year old Luke Rowe after Mark Cavendish fell heavily about a mile from the end...”

I didn’t hear any more, Cavendish fell, oh bugger.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1811 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Can you keep a bit of an eye on Phoebe if I nod off?” I asked Jacquie who agreed quite happily.

“She’s a nice kid isn’t she, and she got on really well with Sammi as well as Julie.”

“She’s been here a couple of times so she knows the younger girls too, and Danny just stands around and gawps at her. Mind you she is quite pretty and has a bit more up top than Julie–and for a brain swimming with testosterone–big boobs are important.”

Jacquie laughed, “No wonder he doesn’t give me a second look then.”

“Doesn’t he now–that shows how much you know then, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, you’ve grown a bit since they put you on HRT.”

“Goodness, you do have good sight, it’s about a centimetre.”

“That’s better than shrinking that much.”

“That's true,” she said and began loading the dishwasher.

“I wonder what time she’ll be back?” I asked Jacquie about Phoebe, who’d gone with Julie to the salon and was going to have a bit of a tidy up trim.

I fed Little Cate and discovered that my milk hadn’t dried up as I’d feared, but she’d soon sucked me dry. After this she toddled around giggling like something possessed, following Puddin’ who was also making similar noises. They seemed to play well together, so apart from making sure they hadn’t dismembered the kitten or hurt themselves, I left them much to their own devices.

I left Stella to watch the reduced flock–Danny and the girls were in school–courtesy of Tom, and I did promise to try and do some more of the survey. No matter how much I promise myself that’s what I’m going to do, I always end up becoming distracted by the internet–usually the Guardian site–today, a Monday, I did the quick crossword and then the cryptic. I’m a bit out of practice, but I did manage the Rufus puzzle in under an hour–so not too bad. The phone rang and I answered it, having just finished the crossword.

“Cathy, it’s Phoebe, d’you mind if I stay with Julie? The apprentice has gone sick and I’m helping doing hairwashes and tidying up.”

“Is that what you’d like to do, today?” I asked her.

“I guess so.”

“Fine, but if you get fed up, give me a call and I’ll come and get you–oh and don’t let her coerce you into doing it if you don’t like it or want to; okay?”

“No, it was my idea–I’ve helped out at a local salon at home a couple of times. I don’t think I’d want to do it for a living, but y’know it brings in some pocket money.”

“Fine, but let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t–thanks, Cathy.” She rang off and I felt a bit of a weight off my shoulders. I hoped that Julie hadn’t set her up just to keep out from under my feet. When we got home last evening I was knackered and I hadn’t done very much except drive a bit. My chest was easier, but I still got out of puff on exertion. I gave up with the survey and taking my inhaler with me, slipped across to the bike workshop and I did a few minutes on the turbo. I was gasping for breath, but after a short rest and use of my inhaler, I went again, this time I managed a quarter of an hour. I rested and did some more, making up an hour and a half altogether. I crawled back to the house and went to my study where I zonked for two hours. I can’t win.

David woke me with a cuppa–so any analogies to Sleeping Beauty end there. He also told me he’d made Cornish pasties for dinner which we’d have with chips and peas. I felt disappointed, he was capable of so much better than that until he told me we had poached salmon for lunch–in half an hour. I’d have thought he got the menus the wrong way round–but he said he’d asked Simon and the kids which they preferred for dinner–pasties won out.

With Simon, anything with chips would have won, and the kids are as bad, even though they all know better. Still, they haven’t had them for a few days, at least as far as I know, which means nothing. I reconciled myself that they’d burn it off in school, especially Trish who was down to play football this afternoon–they’re picking the under eleven side, and I told her if she wasn’t picked I’d make her do football until she finished university. She believed me.

I strolled into lunch–the fish was done in milk and was delicious with new potatoes and salad. Tom had agreed to check the dormice–how did I manage to get him to do that? By gasping for breath when I had to dash upstairs for Trish’s football boots. He took one look at me and told me, “Tae bide at hame, I’ll check yer blessed tree rats.”

I nodded my thanks, which means he’ll show Pippa what to do and she’ll have to do it tomorrow. At that moment, I didn’t care, I felt so exhausted.

Dr Smith came past at lunch time and guess what? David found him some food so he was well pleased; at least he was with the food, my breathing was another matter. “If you aren’t a bit better tomorrow, then it’s back to hospital with you.”

I groaned which made me cough and cough, and then just for luck, I coughed some more. He made me spit into a container which he would send to the lab. He also gave me a different antibiotic to use. “No booze with this one, okay?”

I nodded and coughed some more–well why waste the opportunity? Jacquie got my pills and Cate sat one side of me, Puddin’ the other and we all three fell asleep for half the afternoon. Stella went to collect the girls, leaving David in charge of the three weenies. He loved it, especially as he’d finished the dinner earlier, except the chips.

We were woken by Trish and Livvie racing in to see how I was. “Where’s Pheebs?” they asked almost in unison.

“At the salon, acting as the apprentice.”

“Like on the telly?”

“Eh?”

“The one with that bloke you don’t like.” That probably meant half those who do appear on the box.

“Which bloke is that?”

“Dunno his name, but he does the prentice.”

“Oh, Alan Sugar–can’t stand him.”

The girls chuckled, they’d pressed the right buttons and were waiting for the show to begin, instead I coughed and they got fed up with that almost as quickly as I did.

Phoebe came home with Julie and they were just in front of Tom, who beat Simon and Sammi. The pasties were nicer than any I’d ever eaten before, with a suet shortcrust pastry and the chips were delicious, if the smell of them wasn’t.

“You have a chef?” gasped Phoebe when I explained who David was.

“Yeah, we do.”

“Wait till I tell ’em I went to stay with my brother’s posh friends who have like, their own chef. You don’t have a butler as well?”

“Um, no–and we’re not that posh. I mean it’s not like all the pot plants have doilies under them, is it?”

She laughed herself silly at that one. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”

“Don’t you dare,” I shouted back and then regretted it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1812 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Picture courtesy of wikipedia: Napoleon's retreat from Moscow by Adolph Northen

“Whoo-hoo,” a yell filled my ears, thrusting me into wakefulness whether I wanted it or not. In the background the radio muttered away and in front of me Simon, clad only in his underpants was doing his version of a highland fling.

“What’s going on?” I glanced at the clock, it was just after seven.

“Andy Murray, he’s won the US Open.”

“And?” I asked angrily.

“He’s the first Brit to win a grand slam tournament for 76 years.”

“So?” I said throwing myself back onto my pillow although I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again.

“The first Brit to win a grand slam for 76 years.”

“What about Anne Jones and Virginia Wade?”

“What about them?” he asked.

“They won Wombledon.”

“Yeah, but they’re women.”

“Oh, I see, women don’t count,” I said loudly and immediately wished I said it quieter.

“Not in the men’s matches, no.”

“But you didn’t stipulate men’s matches did you? You said the first Brit.”

“On are we?” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you know that’s not possible.”

“I know that on average about once a month, you get incredibly crabby just like my pain in the arse sister.”

“I’m not crabby,” I had to pause to get my breath, “I’m merely pointing out a terminological inexactitude.”

“What?”

“You’re wrong, buster.” I threw a pillow at him which caused me then to have a coughing fit. It did save me from having one thrown back at me, but I think I’d have taken the pillow every time given the choice.

“You all right?” he said walking round to my side of the bed.

I sat there trying to get my breath, he handed me the inhaler and I took a couple of puffs. It helped, the steroid opening the bronchioles to their maximum enabled me to get a decent breath of air.

“I think you need to see the doctor again.”

“I’m all right, as long as I don’t need to shout or talk too much.”

“Go and see him!” Simon commanded.

“Bugger off,” Was my response, “I’m seeing the consultant in a couple of days.”

“So you’re going to put up with this continuing breathlessness are you?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Have you tried the girls healing you?”

“It doesn’t work on me, does it?”

“Have you tried it?”

“It won’t work.”

“Have you tried it?”

“No, but I’ve had the girls stand very close to me.”

“But they weren’t trying to heal you?”

“No–they don’t have to, it works by itself.”

“It might with you, but not with them.” Before I could say anything else he called Trish into our bedroom. She came skipping into the room. “See if you can heal your mother’s chest,” Simon said to her.

“Okay, mornin’, Mummy.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” I croaked and coughed.

She climbed onto the bed and put her arms around me and kissed me.

“I feel better already.” I said then blew it all by coughing again.

“Hush,” she barked and put her one hand on my back and the other she moved across my chest. “Here, I think,” she said and placed a cold hand on my skin which made me jump.

“Is it working?” asked an anxious Simon.

“No, her hands were cold,” I said, and started laughing which resulted in coughing. Trish shoved her hands on me again and this time her right hand became very warm, in fact uncomfortably so.

“Jeez, your hand is burning.” I said, but she clamped it to my chest while Simon in the background started singing, ‘Your little hand is burning–nah–it’s got to be frozen.’

I could feel the sweat starting to roll off me, but still Trish held her hand to me.

“It’s okay now, darling,” I said to her.

“Not yet–I’m doing this not you, Mummy. You wait until I say so.” I sat still and felt very hot.

I looked at the clock, but it was only ten past seven–goodness time seemed to have stopped, or maybe just the clock. Finally she pulled away. “That should feel better, Mummy, there was a small bleed but I’ve sealed that off and started re-granulation of the damaged tissue, you should feel better in a couple of minutes.”

“What did you say?” I asked her.

She stopped and turned around, “I dunno, what did I say?” She’d been in a trancelike state.

“Never mind darling, get yourself washed and dressed and get the others, up will you?”

She dashed out of the room and yelled at her sisters.

“Feel any better?”

I wiped my forehead and nodded, “The pain has gone, and I feel able to breathe a little easier.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t think of that earlier?”

“I did, but it didn’t seem to work for me. Phew, I feel exhausted.” I lay back down.

“Okay, you stay and rest. I’ll ask Tom to take the girls to school, he’ll be happy because Murray won.”

I felt myself drifting off to sleep and when I awoke a couple of hours later I was alone. The clock read nine fifteen. I took a deep breath and for the first time in a couple of weeks, I felt no pain. I struggled out of bed and into the bathroom, my chest seemed okay for the moment, and definitely better than it had been. I crept into the shower and emerged some twelve minutes later feeling much better and cleaner.

I went downstairs where Stella and Jacquie were talking, “How long is she going to be like this?” asked Jacquie.

“I have no idea–you should have seen her when she was stabbed originally. She very nearly died.” Stella was speaking from her first hand experience–she was there when it happened.

“Why did he stab her? I presume it was a man?”

“Yes, he had a thing about women cyclists. He’d assaulted several, but he kept the worst till last and stabbed her as she rode past.”

“How did they catch him?”

“Simon nearly beat him to death. He slashed at Si, who picked up his bike and tried to shove it down the bloke’s throat, broke his jaw amongst other things.”

“Wow, a bike sandwich.”

I walked in on them. “Am I too late for breakfast?” I said blithely.

“Hi, Cathy, I was just telling Jac how you got stabbed.”

“Yeah–I think I’ll go to talk with David about some food,” I said and walked on.

“Tea?” asked David as I walked into the kitchen.

“Please.”

“What would modom like to eat this morning?”

“Any toast, Monsieur le chef?”

“Eh oui, madame, assois-toi, s’il vous plait.”

“Merci, monsieur.” I said as he drew out a chair for me, just about exhausting any French I’d learned in school–no linguist me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3ZMpv9CnZk&feature=fvst

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1813 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“You’re obviously feeling better today?” said David as he did something with meat that I couldn’t quite see.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Did I hear Trish saying that she’d cured you, or something similar?”

“Don’t believe all you hear Trish say. She’s claimed to have discovered gravity at least once.”

“Did you mean for herself or full stop?”

“Trish doesn’t tend to differentiate, being the most important being in the universe.”

“Are you telling me she has a slight ego problem?”

“Yeah, just a little one; she happens to be super-bright and knows it.”

“Well I’ll never be a threat to her, that’s for sure,” David said while browning the aforementioned meat with some onions in a pan on the stove.

“Goodness, that smells heavenly,” I said hoping that breathing in the aroma wouldn’t cause me to gain any weight.

“It’s a good standard dish–a stewed pork with apple and cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon? That sounds interesting.”

“It has a different taste about it, although that doesn’t go in yet.”

“I associate it more with rice pudding than pork stew.”

“Your boundaries are showing–cooking should teach you to have few if any restrictions on what you cook together. Normally, I’d have used ginger, but you don’t seem to have any.”

“No, I made some ginger beer for the children back at the beginning of the summer holiday.”

“Any left?” he asked.

“Only some commercial stuff, I’m afraid.”

“Could I have it?”

I went and got it for him and put it down on the counter. To my surprise he opened the bottle and poured it all over the meat. Then he added mushrooms, more onion and garlic, tomatoes, peppers and carrots and put the lid back on the pot and turned it down to a very low simmer.

“What would you like for lunch?” David asked.

“I’ve only just had breakfast, David.”

“Well just have a snack then.”

“Like what?” I replied feeling ‘nice’ hungry.

“Boiled egg?”

I thought for a moment–I love boiled eggs. “Okay–with toast soldiers.”

“Fine. Half an hour?”

“That would be great. I’m going to see what time the bike racing is on.”

He smiled and I left him to do what he does best. I checked on the computer that ITV4 had coverage from 1.45pm with highlights of the day before the programme before that. My afternoon was sorted–all I needed was someone to collect the girls or remember how to set the video to record it.

The eggs were delicious and to my delight, Cavendish actually won the stage the day before–I set the video and got on with my chores–I did some ironing, the washing machine did the laundry.

At three I left and drove to collect the girls, it felt good to be in sufficient health to take back some control of my life. I was careful not to over exert myself just in case I upset what Trish had done for me.

She was delighted to see me and also pleased with herself because she had proof that her handiwork had been successful. She gave me a special hug and I felt a jolt of energy from her as we embraced–little monkey.

Back at home the aroma of David’s stew made my mouth water, and when I saw him adding cream and cider to the mix, I practically demanded a taste. However, at that moment the girls began to squabble–Trish wanted to watch something on the telly and accused Livvie of messing it up. After enforcing a truce–sometimes I think I ought to ask the United Nations if they have any spare peace keeper helmets–I discovered that my setting of the video had messed everything up and I hadn’t recorded the race after all, I’d got the wrong channel and recorded something from the BBC children’s channel, which they all sat down to watch.

I discovered on the ITV website that I could watch the highlights online, so I wasn’t too upset. I looked on the Cycling Weekly website and discovered that Cavendish had won another stage and because that offered a time bonus of ten seconds, he was actually the race leader. I doubted he’d be able to hang on to it in the more lumpy stages, but he had won a stage race earlier this year–so all things were possible.

I had an hour or more to kill before dinner, and suddenly remembered the dormice. Danny arrived as I was about to go out the door and on impulse I asked him if he’d like to come with me to check them. He dropped his bag, asked if he could change his blazer and said he’d right with me.

The boy’s a quick change artist. In less than five minutes he’d swapped his school uniform for jeans and a sweat shirt and we were off to the university. It was a good job we’d gone, Tom had forgotten–in fairness I hadn’t reminded him–so the wee darlings were waiting for some fresh fruit and nuts. I offer them fresh things like apple and plums when I can get them, and as well, we offer dried fruit, including currants and sultanas as well as hazel and brazil nuts.

I watched as Danny helped me clear out the old stuff and replace it with new. We also have to give them fresh pots of honeysuckle and some grass and moss for them to build their own nests. The grass is new season hay, and it’s astonishing to see how they make nests from all this stuff and then add some fresh green stuff every few days to maintain a moisture control in their nest boxes.

Danny seemed to enjoy what he was doing and on the trip home I asked him if he’d enjoyed it. “Yeah, it was all right,” which roughly translated meant he thought it was pretty good.

“Would you like to help me again?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay, we’ll do it again tomorrow–hopefully, just sorting the food, the rest we shouldn’t need to do for at least a week.”

“Okay, you gotta deal.” We shook hands very briefly, as I was supposed to be driving and not long later we arrived at home and an inquest from three irritable girls about where I’d taken Danny and why weren’t they invited?

“I don’t have to take you everywhere I go, and Danny is as much my child as you are,” I laid down the law.

“Huh, next time you can heal yourself,” said a disgusted Trish.

“Take that attitude Trish, and next time I’ll have to, because you won’t be able to.”

“Oh yeah, and why is that, then?” she asked in such a patronising tone that I nearly didn’t tell her why.

“Because such thoughts are negative and spiteful, and the energy won’t work with you.”

“Wanna bet?”

“No, I don’t, because unlike you, I don’t feel spiteful and full of myself, and I know I’d win hands down.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she bluffed.

“Go on then, bring up some energy, just make a ball of it like this.” I imagined a ball of shining blue energy in my hands and my hands grew quite cold.

“Wow,” offered Livvie obviously impressed.

“Mummy got wight coming fwom her hands,” observed Meems.

“Okay,” said Einstein accepting my challenge, which she then proceeded to lose. This was too much for her and she burst into tears and ran off up to her bedroom.

I stopped Meems from rushing after her. I went up myself without getting out of breath–that in itself was wonderful. Inside her bedroom she was lying on her bed and sniffing.

“Sometimes you have to do things with a pure heart, because too much of what you want will get in the way of what the universe wants or needs to happen.”

“You only do things when you want to,” she retorted.

If she was correct, I obviously had a long way to go myself if there is such a thing as a spiritual journey.

Whitehouse Barbecue. (aka Bike) Part 1814 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

House-warming, Washington Style, courtesy of the British Government 1814. (A painting by Tom Freeman).

It’s true that I often do things that I want to do, but as an adult, I also have to lots of things because others want me to do them.”

“I’m not an adult,” announced Trish.

“I know that, Trish; if you were I’d not be having this conversation with you.”

“So why are you havin’ it with me?”

“Because I want to help you learn to be the best you there is.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Mummy.”

“If I were to say, to make you the best girl you could be, would that make sense?”

“A bit more.”

“Okay, let’s stick with that then.”

“How did you beat me with the light?”

“I asked the universe to help me shine a light in the darkness.”

“It’s not dark–not yet, Mummy.”

“It was allegorical.” I never learn do I?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Look, I’m bigger than you, have more strength and experience. That’s why I won.”

“That’s not fair, you always win.” She pouted like an eight year old–unsurprising seeing as that’s what she is, I keep forgetting.

“Not always, and your time will come.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“It’s true, a while ago you couldn’t have helped heal my chest like that could you?”

“No, I s’pose not.”

“It’s a bit like conducting electricity, little wires can only cope with low currents, and to transport huge currents you need huge wires, like we see on pylons.”

“Why?”

“Because the strength of the current of electricity would destroy a small wire if we tried to run the large voltage we use on pylons through the wire that feeds your laptop. So the blue light needs to stay within the tolerances of your body size.”

“So when I’m as big as you, I’ll be able to do the things you do?”

“Possibly, there are other provisos, but I would think so.”

“So why can’t Daddy give more power than you, he’s bigger than you?”

“I don’t know, Trish. All I know is the energy seeks out those it wants to use it, so you should feel yourself very special to be chosen by it.”

“Are we unique?” she asked.

“We are as individuals, but as healers, no there are probably many worldwide.”

“Like how many?”

“I don’t know, Trish.”

“Huh, you don’t know much about it at all, do you?” She dismissed me.

“No, I probably don’t–but then, I’m not that interested in knowing too much about it, except that it will always let me know when it wants me to help it.”

“How does it do that, on the Bat phone?”

“Trish, please don’t be so cheeky.”

“Well, you tell me silly things.”

“In which case, this conversation is over. Go and wash your face and hands.”

“No.”

“Unless you do, you won’t have any dinner.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right, well you can stay up here just for that impudence, I’m also confiscating your laptop.”

“Hey, that’s mine, you can't take my stuff, that’s stealing.”

“No it’s confiscation, and as your mother I’m entitled to do so.”

“I don’t want you as my mother anymore.”

“Fine, we’ll go and see the judge again and you can return to the children’s home.”

“Fine,” she said and sat with her arms folded.

“I’ll be sorry to lose you, but if it’s what you want, then you can go back to the home. Of course, we’ll have to keep all the stuff you have now in case it makes the other children nasty towards you.”

“Why should it do that?” her bottom lip trembled a little as she spoke.

“Because you’ll have so much of everything, clothes, computers, mobile phone and so on. I’ll ask them what most of the kids have, and you can have the same. You’ll need a new school uniform, but they can buy you that.”

“Why will I need a new uniform, Mummy?”

“I’m not your mummy anymore, am I?”

“Who are you, then?” she now began to look a bit anxious.

“I’m Lady Catherine Cameron and you’re Miss Trish Watts. You won’t need your school uniform any longer because you won’t be going to your private school any longer. I pay for that, so unless you can get the home to pay for it, you won’t need it will you, you can go back to the council school.”

“But they used to beat me up.”

“Sorry, Miss Watts, that’s no longer my problem–you’ll have to take it up with the home, won’t you?”

“You mean I can’t stay here?”

“You can tonight, tomorrow first thing I’ll take the others to school and you to the social services office–we can pack the case now if you like.”

“I don’t want to go to the council school.”

“Sorry, Trish, that’s what other children do. If you’re no longer my daughter you’ll have to do the same.” This was tearing me apart inside but she had to learn this lesson.

“I hate you,” she said.

“You’re entitled to feel whatever you like, kiddo. Which nightie or pyjamas do you want to pack?”

“I don’t want to pack.”

“Okay, we’ll do it tomorrow. You’d better think what you’re going to say to the others, apart from goodbye.”

“The others?” A huge tear ran down her face.

“Yes, you’ll have to tell them why you’re leaving, won’t you?”

“Why have I got to leave?”

“We had an understanding.”

“What’s that?”

“An agreement. I said that as long as you wanted to be my daughter, I would love you as one. However, you just told me that you no longer wanted me as your mother, which means you no longer want to be my daughter. I can’t let you run loose on the streets, so it means the council will have to find somewhere for you to live, which will be a children’s home until they reassess you. That means you’ll be leaving and the others will want to know why. It was your choice.”

Suddenly the huge tear was joined by several equally large blobs of salty water as she burst into tears and clung onto me. “I want you to be my mummy, for always,” she said in a voice which was riven by emotion.

“Are you sure?” I asked quietly of the sobbing mess on my lap.

She nodded and sniffed, “Yes please, Mummy. I’m sorry I was nasty to you.”

“Okay, shall we start again?” I asked but what I was thinking was, I was sorry too, for calling your bluff, but sometimes we have to pull rank.

“Yes, please, Mummy,” she said and I hugged her. I felt my own eyes moisten as I thought I wouldn’t get away with that brinkmanship when she’s a teenager, so if I can knock it on the head now, it might not happen then–yeah, like hell.

Waterloo Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1815 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Picture from wiki: Lady Scotland forever - Scot's Grays charge at Waterloo.

~~~~~~

“What are you laughing at?” asked Simon across the table.

“This clue, or rather the answer.” I was indulging in the Guardian crossword seeing as Tom had forgotten to steal my paper and take it to work with him.

“Go on then,” he urged.

“‘Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing*,’ five and seven.” I read out the clue and the number of letters.

“Um–wool something?”

“Nope,” I smirked I’d got it at first reading.

“Um–something killer–no, something disguise,” said Simon sure he’d got the second part right.

“Nope.”

Stella was grinning at him as she fed Fiona.

“If it’s so bloody easy, you have a go,” he told her.

“I haven’t got a clue, something sweater or jumper–yeah, woolly jumper.”

“Isn’t that what you get if you cross a sheep with a kangaroo?” I suggested vaguely recollecting a joke from my school days, the ones before I lost my innocence probably aged about seven or younger.

“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically, “I suppose you’ve got it, the way you’re looking as smug as pig in shit.”

“Yep,” I smirked back at her.

She rose from the table still holding onto Fiona and came to look at the grid. “You haven’t got it, there’s nothing written down.”

“Because I haven’t written it down doesn’t mean I don’t have it.”

“Yes it does, you always fill them in when you get them.”

“Stella, I haven’t got a pen or pencil.”

“So, what difference does that make?” She realised what she’d said when we all fell about laughing. “Well you knew what I meant,” she said blushing furiously.

I watched the kitten come into the kitchen sniff her dish which was empty because she’d let Kiki eat the contents. I got up and offered her some cold chicken, which she wolfed down.

David appeared to start the lunch. “Okay, what’re you all laughing at?”

“Cathy was doing the crossword and she started laughing at one of the clues,” Simon incorrectly précised.

“Not the clue the answer,” I corrected.

David came round and made the same observation as Stella. I explained because I was too lazy to go and get a pen, I hadn’t filled in any of the lights.

“Which one is it?” he asked.

“Nine down, ‘Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,’” I read and pointed to.

“Disguise?” he offered.

“I said that, and she rejected it,” Simon complained.

“Disguise is eight letters, and wolf in sheep’s clothing is in disguise–it’s gotta be right.”

“It isn’t.” I insisted because I had a better answer.

“What is it then?” he wasn’t a crossword solver.

“You’ll love it when I tell you.” I preened.

“Well bloody well tell us then,” said Simon loudly.

“How come you’re not in work, today sweetheart.”

“I told you, Dad and I are going to look at a property on Hayling Island.”

“What for?”

“Another hotel, he seems to think property is a good investment at the moment.”

“Oh, is it?” I asked.

“I don’t think so–well maybe stuff for rental, but otherwise, nah.”

“Surely Henry isn’t that daft is he?”

“It comes as a defaulted mortgage, so in a way we already own it, or the bank does.”

“How big?”

“Not sure, twenty or thirty bedrooms.”

“Not that small either then, not round here.”

“Yeah, well–I still think he’s wrong–we’ve got one hotel with five star rating for the restaurant, and four for everything else–what do we need another for?”

“Perhaps he’s playing large scale Monopoly?” I joked.

“In which case why isn’t he buying Park Lane?”

“Hotels there are very expensive,” I suggested in response to my spouse’s question, “Ask Trish, she’s the Monopoly queen.”

“I don’t think I’ll bother.” Simon looked at his watch.

“What’s for lunch?” I asked David who was staring intently at the crossword.

“I can’t make hint nor hair of it,” he said sighing, “lunch? Oh yeah, macaroni cheese.”

“Mind if I pass on that? I’ll have a tuna jacket with some of the salad stuff. I’ll happily get it myself.”

“Me too,” said Stella.

“I’m out for lunch,” said Simon.

“Where’s Sammi?” I asked.

“Up in town, just because I’m down here doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to work.”

“Oh, so how did she go?”

“Taxi.”

“Oh, okay–just checking.”

“I’d prefer a jacket spud too, David,” said Jacquie.”

He looked around at us–“Looks like it’s jacket spuds then–dunno why you have a chef?” he said disapprovingly.

“Because we’re ostentatiously wealthy,” Stella growled.

“Speak for yourself,” taunted Simon, “I’m a poor working guy.”

“Can I challenge you on all but the last word in that statement,” she riposted.

“No,” he said and poked out his tongue at her, then blew her a raspberry.

“Tea, coffee?” called David switching on the kettle.

“Tea please,” I said while the others all wanted coffee. He waited until the water boiled and made me a pot of tea and then four cups of coffee.

“How come you got the paper this morning?” asked Simon.

“It was late arriving.”

“It’s only printed up the road, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I answered.

“So you looking for a chef in this hotel of yours?” asked David making my tummy turn over.

“I don’t know if we’re buying it yet, it’s a sort of repossession, so we might just sell it on and try to cut our losses.”

I thought that’s what Simon wanted to do anyway, yet there was a part of me which would like to make it work as a business first then sell it on. Some days I fancied doing something different, then I remembered I had to take Danny with me this evening to do the dormice cages. Perhaps I’d stay where I was career wise.

I accepted the cuppa and thanked David. He handed down a tin of cakes–how was I ever going to lose weight with him around? Oh joy–an almond slice–I snatched a piece before it all went. It didn’t take long–but then I did have two pieces.

Stella burped Fiona who’d gone to sleep while at her breast. The noise seemed out of perspective to the small size of her body.

“Bloody hell, you can tell whose daughter she is?” laughed Simon.

“What is that supposed to mean?” demanded his sister.

“Sounds like you after a couple of drinks,” he said with difficulty he was laughing so hard.

“Yeah, well, big bro, remember you taught me all I know.” She took a gulp of coffee and a moment later burped quite loudly herself, Simon roared and even little Fi giggled at her mother’s emulation.

“What’s this bloody clue again?” asked Simon.

“Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, five and seven letters,” I reread the clue for them.

“Nah, no idea, what is it then clever dick?”

“Anyone else want to guess?” I asked.

They all shook their heads no.

“You’ll kick yourselves,” I teased.

“I’ll kick you if you don’t tell us,” threatened Simon.

“Okay, the answer is...” the phone rang and I jumped up to answer it, it was one of those cold calls telling me I was worth thousands through missold insurance. I shut it off in disgust.

“C’mon, Cathy, what’s the answer?”

“It’s one of those insurance thingy calls.”

“No, the frigging crossword clue thing.”

“Oh that, cross-dresser.”

*Clue appeared in today’s Guardian cryptic crossword.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1816 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I collected the girls from school and sent them off to do their homework after they’d had a snack and drink. I’ve nagged them so much about hanging up their clothes and putting the dirty ones into the laundry basket, they sometimes do as I ask. Just in case, as soon as they’ve changed I try to check that dirty school blouses or dresses are in the dirty basket and not just thrown on the floor or behind the bed.

Danny arrived as I came down stairs and he mouthed, ‘dormouse’ at me and I nodded. Fifteen minutes later we were off to the university to feed and check the health of the captive animals there.

It was after five by the time we got there and the laboratories are usually shut by that time out of term time, and as the new intake doesn’t start until October, I was surprised to discover the door was unlocked. It could mean someone was carrying something bulky in or out of the place, or more likely, they forgot to lock the door after then entered or left.

I locked the door after we entered. Danny must have picked up on my surprise. “Isn’t that door usually locked, Mum?”

“Yes it is.”

“It was yesterday.” He observed and looked at me as if for guidance.

I shrugged, “I don’t know why it wasn’t, it’s supposed to be, there’s thousands of pounds of equipment in here, in each lab. So keep your eyes peeled–just in case something’s going on.”

“With your reputation, Mum, nothing would surprise me.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” I asked with mock indignation.

That was when we heard a door shut on the floor above and we both jumped out of skins.

“What’s up there?” he hissed at me.

“Bio-chemistry.”

“Have they got lots of stuff?”

“Yes, loads of very expensive stuff.”

“C’mon, let’s take a look,” he grabbed my hand and before I could suggest this might be a mistake we were creeping up the stairs. Each floor has a set of fire doors, so they concealed any noise we might have made, but we were pretty quiet anyway.

Once up the stairs and through the doors, we had laboratories in both directions. He pointed at himself and then to the left and me to check the right end of the corridor. I was very unhappy at this, to start with he was unauthorised to be here and as a child if he saw anything, what was he supposed to do?

So I overruled him and we stayed together taking the risk that someone could escape from the opposite end of the corridor while we were at the other. I mean, we were hardly likely to stop a gang of thieves anyway, but we did have our mobile phones and they had cameras as well as a means to call the police.

The department of Biochemistry had four laboratories on this floor, two which had doors near the top of the stairs and one at each end of the corridor. Alongside the stairs is the lift or elevator as they call them in the colonies. The door of this was wedged open, which in itself is an offence–there are keys available for working the doors, so they stay open if using the lift for loads–which they’re not supposed to do anyway.

The labs have a glass panel down the side of them so you can see inside without having to open the door–handy for checking for fires I suppose. It also meant anyone in there would be able to see us as well.

It was daft, if they’d had workmen in or having new equipment why do it in the evening when the number of students is very small out of term time and is usually only post grads or staff. It didn’t make sense. I was tempted to call the security desk in the main reception, except I didn’t have its extension number and the main switchboard would be closed now.

We crept up to the doors and peered through the glass panels, of the two central labs, nothing seemed to be happening. Off to number one, up to the left. This is the main laboratory and I know they have some very nice microscopes and computers up here let alone things like centrifuges and all sorts of testing equipment.

As we approached the door we heard voices. We both froze, I actually stopped in mid stride and had to lower my foot very carefully. I pushed Danny behind me and peeped through the panel, or would have done if some big bloke hadn’t been leaning against it. We had visitors or intruders? There was no way I was going to knock and ask, but the sounds of people moving things was apparent.

I motioned to Danny to go and find the security man and ask him if anyone was supposed to be here–workmen, deliveries and so on. I explained where he had to go on the campus–which not being that big–he should manage in a few minutes. I meanwhile would hide on the stairs and keep a watching brief. If it was okay, he was to call me on my mobile and I could go back to the dormice. He nodded and took off like a scalded cat.

I stood just inside the doors on the stairs and tried to see through the glass panels what was happening at Lab one. It was difficult, but hopefully I’d see them and could sneak downstairs before they saw me.

The minutes ticked by and I hoped Danny was able to find the security office, what if he didn’t? Did I just hide and observe, or call the cops or what?

I felt a drip of sweat roll slowly down my back, under my bra strap and then down the small of my back to deposit itself presumably in the waistband of my panties–lovely–I don’t think, and I was just standing watching.

I heard a door open and what sounded like a trolley being wheeled towards me. I switched to the other side of the stairs and threw myself flat against the wall hoping they wouldn’t see me. I couldn’t really make out any faces and the conversation was either very quiet or muted by the doors.

Something was rolled into the lift and the doors closed, a moment later I heard it start to descend just as my mobile began to trill. I meant to switch it to vibrate only, instead it trilled twice before I could stop it.

I shoved it to my ear, “Mummy, the security man says get the hell out of there.” I looked up as the door to the stairs opened and a rather large man stood there.

“Um, nice weather for the time of year, don’t you think?” I said as I stepped backwards down the stairs.

He glared at me and began to descend. I could hear Danny shouting at me to get out as I stepped slowly down the steps trying to maintain eye contact with the rather large and intimidating man who was about five stairs above me. I had another dozen to clear to get to the bottom and below me I could hear the lift door opening. Oops, now what?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1817 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The large individual advanced towards me and I think I was correct in assuming his attitude towards me was hostile. However, I knew there’d be no opportunity to ask him before he made his intentions known. He hadn’t said a word but his whole demeanour was one of menace.

As he advanced I retreated, a step at a time. My problem was complicated by the sounds of voices and noises from the lift door opening below me. In other words I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I assumed there were more than one below me, I decided I had to get past this moving mountain on the stairs. So to recap, I was going down the stairs although my preferred destination was actually upwards. I know, these decisions are always difficult–especially so when confronted by a large moving mass.

I did a quick assessment, my only advantage was speed; speed and agility–oh no–I sound like the Spanish Inquisition sketch from Monty Python, and this was anything but amusing.

From about two steps above me, Boris Karloff lunged at me I ducked underneath his arms only to have him grab and pull my ponytail. I squealed and brought my hand up hard in his groin, snatched and twisted as violently as I could. He squealed and let go, calling me names which I won’t repeat, as they weren’t very nice ones.

I scrambled up the stairs and grabbed one of the pieces of wood they’d used to wedge the lift doors open. I rammed it through the door handle on the stairs at the same time, I pushed the lift call button.

If my situation so far had been one of bad luck, it changed to one of good fortune. All three of my opponents were in the stair well when I summoned the lift and the equipment they were going to pinch was still in the lift. The doors opened and I was relieved to see it was just the equipment, I quickly shoved the remaining wedge between the doors meaning the lift would be jammed on the first floor.

I could hear the switches on the lift clicking and the doors opening and closing onto the wedge. For a moment I felt almost safe, as long as the lump of wood and the door handle held. Big boy had stopped rubbing his wedding tackle and was now heaving on the door and I did fear what would happen if he managed to pull it open. I was standing, sweating partly with fear and partly through exertion. I still had the phone in my hand and Danny was still connected.

“Woss’appenin’, Mum?”

“Are the police coming?” I gasped.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, ring off now, luvvy, and go and stay by the car.” As soon as he did that I called nine nine nine and asked for police. I’d just given the details of my besiegement when I was aware of the door from the laboratory opening behind me. Oh shit.

I turned and now facing me was a man who was even larger and uglier than his mate on the stairs. He grabbed me round the throat. In the films, James Bond always whips his hands up through his attacker’s breaks the grip and belts the bad guy in the mush–end of story. In real life it rarely works, what does is a trick they taught us on a self defence workshop a while back. It’s called break-away. It’s simple but pay attention, I’m only hopefully going to do this once.

While thug number four was busy trying to squash my windpipe into my spine, I raised my arm and turned away from him bringing my arm down on his wrists, the move has to be done quickly and suddenly. I broke away, and stepped back, my eyes were watering but I was still breathing. I was now in a state of war however, declaring it might have given the game away that I was really quite cross with him.

He lunged again and I dropped and twisted, kicking hard against his knee, the one which wasn’t bent. He yelled and fell, nearly landing on top of me. I rolled away and jumped up kicking the arm he was using to lift himself with. This time my heel wrecked his elbow. Somehow he managed to stand himself up and I obliged him by delivering a swift kick to his gonads followed by another to his chest and he flew backwards, groaning as some of his ribs cracked under my assault.

The assault on the door became more intense, I thought I saw all three of the others there, so I retreated to the lift, from where I could still hear the noise on the door. On the ground floor, before they could work out where I was, I jammed the trolley with the equipment against the bottom door of the stair well and legged it towards the car park.

Three police cars screamed onto the campus, sirens and lights working overtime. The security man directed them towards the laboratories as I ran away from them. Some of the police were carrying guns–why? Did they know something I didn’t.

“Who are you?” asked one of the coppers.

“I called, I was shut in there with them. I’ve tried to trap them in the stair well.”

“How did you do that?”

“It’ll be obvious when you get there–why have you got guns?”

“We thought we heard gunshots.”

“No, just them banging on the doors.”

The six burly bobbies went dashing into the laboratory block and I went to find Danny and hug him to death. He was actually crying when I got there, apparently so worried for me. To be honest, when we hugged I burst into tears as well.

More police vehicles arrived and another four coppers went dashing to help their friends.

“You’ve got bruises on your neck, Mum.”

I felt it, it was quite tender. “The guy who did it has a few, too.”

He brought his arm round me protectively. “If they get past the cops, you stand behind me, Mum. I’ll protect you.” That brought some more tears from me–my brave son.

The police eventually led out the three thugs from the stairwell. “We’ll need a statement, Miss.”

“What about the fourth one?” I asked.

“Fourth one?” he said, “Boys, there’s another–where is he?”

“Up on the first floor landing, you may need to use the lift, I wedged the door to the stairs.”

Three of them went back into the building while the other police escorted the would- be thieves into a black Maria–why do they call them that, it was white?

Some ten minutes later an ambulance arrived and two paramedics dashed in with stretcher. I had to think what had happened. Oh yeah, his knee, I knocked his patella off the bone. Tends to make walking difficult.

Eventually, the remaining thug was wheeled out on the stretcher and he yelled when he saw me. I was simply standing holding my son.

“He’s filing an assault charge against you, Miss–he’s quite badly beaten.”

“He tried to kill me,” I pointed at my neck.

“Okay, I can see bruising–did you have to half kill him?”

“Oh come off it, officer, he’s twice my size and weight.”

“I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” continued the copper. “Shit–you’re that banker’s wife, aren’t you?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1818 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Once we got the okay from the police, we went and fed the dormice; while in there people from bio-chem arrived to check over the damage caused by the thieves, the police were still in attendance. Once we’d finished with Spike and her pals we went and spoke with the police, who by now had an Inspector present.

We went to my office, which if you recall is near the laboratories and there Danny and I gave statements about what we witnessed, and consequently did.

“Why didn’t you just run off with your son?”

“I didn’t get the chance, they seemed to appear before I could get away, and then I got trapped on the stairs with one of them, and his intentions were anything but friendly.”

“He was the one we found upstairs?”

“No, he was with two of his mates that I trapped on the staircase.”

“Who was the one upstairs, then?”

“He was the one who tried to strangle me,” I pointed to the bruises on my throat.

“Did you have to half kill him?”

“I had to make sure he was of no further threat to me. You saw the size of him.”

“I saw he was quite a big chap, yes.”

“Well I managed to break away from his attempt to kill me, which I think he would have done.”

“So you just broke half the bones in his body defending yourself?”

“Yes, he just didn’t give up until I put him down for keeps. As far as I’m aware, self defence is still legal, or was I supposed to die in order for him not to get too upset?”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

“Do I? I protected myself against a larger opponent and tried to save the university from losing thousands of pounds worth of equipment.”

“You seem to have a record of violence, though, don’t you?”

“Do I? I think you’ll find it’s all in self defence.”

“But there appears to be a pattern to it?”

“Yes there is, they attack me and I fight back.”

“You’re not some martial arts expert, are you?”

“Nope, I’ve never done any of them, except a few things my sister in law showed me of kickboxing.”

“Oh like that Yankee film star, Richard wotsisname?”

“Richard Gere, you mean?”

“Officer and a gentleman?”

“I believe so.”

“Must be ’im then. Right, we’ve got your statement and that of your boy, clever young chap–he managed to get away without killing too many of them.”

“Next time I’ll let them get away with half the university, unless of course, they touch my dormice and then I’ll have to kill them all.”

“I hope you’re joking, Lady Cameron, otherwise I’d have to caution you.”

“What for?”

“Threatening behaviour.”

“It wasn’t threat.”

“Sounded like one to me; so what was it then?”

“A prediction.”

“Who are you Nostradamus?”

“No, I have a higher kill rate than he did.”

“You have a very strange sense of humour, Lady Cameron.”

“Inspector Milligan, it could be argued that the most absurd thing here is the law which protects criminals and persecutes victims.”

“So if you’re the victim, how come it’s the other guy who’s in hospital?”

“It’s one of those paradoxes, I showed him the sound of one hand clapping and he fell about laughing so violently he cracked a rib or two and banged his elbow and his knee.”

“Very funny, I don’t think.”

“Yes well you carry on persecuting the innocent, and the villains will love you.”

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

“So am I. I work here remember? Part of that job entails looking after the premises and the equipment.”

He went off and I drove us home. Simon was livid when I told him what happened, while in the other room Danny was elaborating on my tale of derring-do, to the extent that I’d disabled six of them, all armed with sawn-off shotguns.

“They’re talking of prosecuting you?”

“The copper said the guy I took out was claiming I assaulted him.”

“What about the bruises on your neck, get Trish to photograph them.”

“I think I need a doctor to do it, Trish could be accused of doing some Photoshop enhancing.”

“C’mon then, let’s go down the QA.” He insisted and all I wanted to do was eat my dinner and go to bed–I was feeling quite exhausted now–but we went and the doctor on casualty was Ken Nicholls, who happily took some pics and told me he’d write a report for me saying I had a bruised larynx, severe bruising on my throat and possible damage to my trachea.

“I don’t do I?” I asked in astonishment.

“If it stops you getting charged by those idiot plod, I’ll tell ’em you arrested twice while I was assessing you.”

“But that would be wrong.”

“Look, tell Simon to take a walk and I’ll do the kiss of life here and now.”

“Ken, behave yourself–you’re a married man.”

“Damn, you remembered.”

“Yes, now thank you for your support–did the injured one turn up here?”

“I can’t tell you too much about that–breach of patient confidentiality and all that.”

“I don’t suppose the second one came with bruised nadgers, did he?”

“I can’t reveal that, Cathy.”

“So you don’t want me to go and heal them then?”

“If you went through to the ward, you’d frighten the two of them to death.”

I sat and visualised the two men in the ward and sent them healing. “You can discharge them now.”

“What? How come–the one guy was down for surgery tomorrow.”

“He got mysteriously better.”

“But you haven’t touched him?”

“I said it was a mystery, didn’t I?”

“So why bother to half kill him if you were going to sort him out afterwards?”

“I needed the practice.”

“Which, the healing or the physical work out?”

“Perhaps both.”

“Won’t they realise it was you who did it–the healing, I mean?”

“I could always go on the ward and break a few arms and legs for you if you’d like to practice fixing them.”

“No thanks, I’ve got enough to do without fixing up those thugs.”

“Okay, next time I’ll kill ’em for you.”

“How about next time you just run away and let them get on with it?”

“Would you do that if you saw them stealing your equipment?”

“I think I’d have a good look at the size of them before I did anything other than leg it.”

“I didn’t get that chance, they were on me so quickly.”

“I still don’t understand how a mere strip of thing like you hospitalised a mountain of a man like him?”

“Speed, speed and agility; speed, agility and surprise...”

“There isn’t a fanatical devotion to the Pope in there as well, is there?” With that we both fell about laughing.

The phone rang and he took the call, “Sounds like your assailants have mysteriously healed and can go into custody.”

“Must be something in the air here,” I winked and left to find Simon who’d been patiently sat in the waiting room reading a five year old copy of The Field.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1819 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“What happens now?” asked Simon.

“I press charges for assault or attempted murder.”

“How could you prove the latter?”

“I think severe bruising around the throat shows it was more than a love bite and that he was intent on throttling me.”

“Do we even know who they are?”

“No, Si, so don’t start thinking about employing a hit man.”

“I wasn’t going to, more about to whom we send the bill for cleaning and repairs.” I glanced down at where he was looking, both the knees of my jeans were torn.

“The healing doesn’t work on denim.”

“Oh, pity, how did you know what I was thinking?”

“If I told you, darling, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, amongst my super powers, I can read your mind.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Not sure, what am I thinking about now?”

“That’s rude.” I slapped him on the shoulder.

“How the hell did you know that?” he was suitably amazed. I had no idea why. I can’t understand half of what he’s on about when he tells me what he’s thinking, let alone what’s actually going on in his mind. Seems he’s very gullible at the moment. As for knowing he was thinking about sex–well it’s Simon, and when he isn’t working, it’s about all he thinks about not having the distraction of liking football.

The next morning when I got back from taking the girls to school, Inspector Milligan called. “Tell me, Lady Cameron, how is it that two men, both of whom had injuries inflicted by you, suddenly recovered?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I played stupid.

“You assaulted two men last evening at the university, one of them quite badly.”

“Now that’s interesting, Inspector, because the way I remember it, they were attempting to assault me. In fact, I go so far as to suggest that one of them was intent on killing me.” I pointed to the Technicolor bruises around my throat.

“I accept you received some superficial injuries during the event, Lady Cameron.”

“If you’ve come to insult me, you might as well leave, Inspector.”

“No, I’ve come to inform you that, Igor Aronavitch, the one we assumed had a displaced patella and dislocated elbow, escaped custody last night after his miraculous recovery.”

“Is he Russian?” I asked.

“Romanian, I think.”

“And you think he might try to get even for my intervention?”

“I have no idea what he might try, Lady Cameron, but I did think it was only fair to warn you. Perhaps you’ll have a reconsider about how he suddenly got better?”

“Obviously he wasn’t as badly hurt as we all thought.”

“Obviously.”

“Won’t he try to get home?”

“I don’t know, Lady Cameron. We’re still holding his three friends, courtesy of your intervention, so he might feel he has a score to settle. If you do see him, please call for help, he might be more successful at inflicting more than a few bruises next time.”

“I see, and who do I call–Ghostbusters?”

“Very funny, Lady Cameron. I’d better be getting back to the station, prisoners to intimidate and all that, you know.”

I saw him out and warned the others that this creepy Romanian might be about. “I see, your playing Girl Scout has backfired again,” Stella was a bit irritated.

“Oh come off it, Stel, you’d have intervened as much as the next man.” My protests fell on deaf ground or was it stony ears?

“You have to be joking, Cathy. A whole lab worth of equipment isn’t so much as worth breaking a nail to protect. It wasn’t even your lab.”

“No, but it’s my university.”

“You went to Sussex.”

“It’s the one which sees fit to employ me and also Tom. I have some loyalty towards it.”

“Now you tell me.” She rolled her eyes and went off to get Puddin’ off Kiki, quite what they were doing I had no idea.

Anyhow, Puddin’ came past a couple of minutes later loudly declaiming, “Duckin’ dog.”

It might just be enough of an alliteration to avoid adding to her vocabulary when her mother hears her.

I spent the rest of the morning on the phone to Simon and then to the schools advising them that my children could be targets. Lunch, for which David made the most exquisite French toast, I have ever tasted. I have no idea if anyone else calls it that, but it’s essentially bread which has been dipped in beaten egg which is then fried to crispness. I went on my own to the university to sort out the dormice and then go to collect the girls. I doubted anyone would be stupid enough to meet me there again, so I felt quite confident.

I had a minor seizure when I saw someone come down the stairs as I entered the lab complex then recognised it as one of the technicians from Bio-chem.

“Hey, thanks for saving all our stuff–we’d have been up the creek next month without it.”

“You’re welcome, must go and check my dormice.” We parted and I entered our labs and did the feeding and so on. I locked the door on leaving and walked towards the car park. As I walked my phone rang.

“Hello?” I said stopping to answer it.

“Cathy, it’s Andy Bond.”

“Hi, Andy, how are you?”

“If you’re near the university, get away quickly, we think Boris has been sighted nearby.”

“Boris? The Lord Mayor of London?” My brain reeled, what would he be doing here and why would the police warn me about him–he’s crazy but relatively harmless.

“The big guy who escaped from the hospital...Cathy?” A shadow had moved to cover me and part of the path.

“Cathy? You all right?” I could hear Andy Bond.

“Um, I think the monkey has landed,” I said before the phone was ripped from my hand and hurled into the bushes.

“That was uncalled for, my husband gave me that as a Christmas present,” I protested.

“Too bad,” he said with a thick accent, “we have unfinished business.”

“I don’t think so, unless you want me to show you how I did it last time.” A bit of bravado usually does the trick–don’t show them you’re frightened–well, it’s supposed to work with dogs, perhaps it does with great apes.

“Now you die,” he said or more accurately growled and grabbed at me. The adrenalin was flowing in me–in fact, I suspect that was all that was flowing, my blood having frozen in fright. However, I managed to step away, avoid his grasp and plant a kick in his midriff which sent me flying backwards.

He just stood there laughing as I rolled over and sprang to my feet. The problem now was that he was between me and my escape, behind me lay the laboratories and it looked shorter to run round them than my attacker.

He lumbered at me like a runaway steam roller and I backed away until I was nearly in the bushes which separate the buildings from the pavement and roadway. I tried to run past him but he was surprisingly nimble on his feet.

He did come at me and I sidestepped, kicking the back of his knee as I dived away. He fell and I thought I’d made a gap to escape, but he grabbed my leg in a huge ham of a fist and pulled me back.

“You make Igor mad,” he said menacingly.

“I think you’ve been mad for some time, actually.”

He lunged at me and I feinted and then rolled behind him, kicking him in the bum as I went. He staggered into the bushes, which are things like roses and pyrocanthus–designed to stop people breaking into the laboratories by the windows.

“Stand clear, Cathy,” called a voice from above and I looked up and threw myself away from the bushes as the enraged gorilla stood up from amongst the herbiage and glared at me, looking up himself just in time to see a laboratory stool land on his bonce and drop him like a pole-axed wombat.

Moments later the sound of sirens filled the air and Stan, the techi from Bio-chem held me as I shivered and trembled at the groaning that was emitted from the bushes.

“Thank you,” I managed to get out as my teeth started chattering.

“Well, it looked as if you could do with a bit of help,” he said and I could feel the warmth of his body as he held me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1820 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“What happened?” asked a young copper rushing up to us.

“He’s in there,” Stan nodded towards the bushes from where a loud groaning could be heard.

“Shit, how are we going to get him out of there?” the copper scratched his head. One of his colleagues arrived. “Haven’t got a strimmer or a pair of shears, have you?”

Stan steered me away from the action and we sat for a few moments on a low wall in the sunshine. None of the police attempted to stop us or even question us, though I knew they would.

There were now about six of them, bashing away at the bushes with their batons trying to recover the Tar Baby, who was still lying in there as far as we knew. I sincerely hoped so, I didn’t want to see him again for a few decades, if ever.

“D’you want to phone your hubby?” asked Stan once I’d stopped trembling. I shook my head. “The professor?” he prompted. I shook my head again.

“I’ll be alright in a minute. Besides the police will want a statement.” I closed my eyes and enjoyed the September sunshine.

“Oh, I suppose they’ll want to do me for assault,” said Stan wistfully.

“Probably,” I muttered, “but I’m glad you got involved.”

“Yeah, so’m I,” he gave a little chuckle and hugged me.

“Cathy Cameron, I hope your husband doesn’t see you hugging strange men.” I turned to face the familiarish voice and saw Andy Bond smirking at me.

“It’s alright for you,” I sniffed.

“Why is that?” he asked looking especially innocent.

“Well, you’re blokes. He might have thought twice about attacking you.”

“Given the size of him, I suspect he wouldn’t have thought twice about attacking anything smaller than a grizzly bear.”

“Not even a grizzly cop, like you?”

“Ouch–from what I heard, you gave a sound beating last time.”

“Andy that was surprise; surprise and luck; surprise, luck and speed.”

“You’re not going to do the Spanish Inquisition sketch on me are you?”

“You’re not a Python fan are you, Cathy?” Stan the nerdy lab tech showed his real nerdiness.

“Um–no, but I’m married to one, worst luck.”

“My hovercraft is full of eels,” declared Stan and Andy guffawed, just as they brought their prisoner past us.

“You laugh at me, pig–you die,” said our foreign visitor to Andy who visibly paled.

“If you lay one finger on him, you’ll answer to me,” I declared.

“Bitch, you gonna die.”

“You didn’t say that yesterday–next time I’ll break both your legs and your elbows and feed you to the piranhas.”

Now he looked frightened until his bravado returned. “It will be you who go swimming.”

“Igor, if I were you, I’d take notice of what she says. She took out a whole squad of Russian mafia.”

“You lie, to Igor.”

“I’m not–when you’re in prison ask around a bit–they’ll put you right. You don’t mess with Lady Cameron–not twice.” Andy drew himself up to his full height as he spoke–he was still about six inches shorter than the Romanian.

“You–Lady Cameron?” he asked towering over me.

“Yes, why?”

“I hear about you–you bad news–I have to kill you next time.”

“Unless we get you first,” said Stan, and I half expected him to rip of his clothes and find he has an S on his underpants.

The Romanian glared at Stan who stepped back shrinking under his gaze.

“Take him away,” instructed the sergeant who seemed to be in charge.

“Next time–eh?” said the man mountain glaring at me.

“Piranhas,” I smiled falsely at him.

“Bah,” he said, “You die,” he yelled as they pulled and pushed him towards the van, his hands cuffed behind his back.

“What a nasty piece of work,” observed Andy Bond.

“Quite,” I agreed.

“Still, teamwork sorted him out.”

“How?” asked a puzzled constable Bond.

“She kept him busy while I dropped a stool on his head.” Stan beamed at his own achievement.

“We’ll need statements from both of you,” suggested Andy.

There arose quite a rumpus from the back of the police van and a copper flew out of the door, two more tried to grab the Romanian who fought himself free. “Excuse me,” said Andy and he rushed up to help his mates, speaking into his radio as he went.

“Do we help or hide?” asked Stan, suddenly realising we were mortal, or he was.

“Help,” I said and ran up towards the melee. Okay, it’s not very girly, but hell, if the mad Eastern European clobbered all the coppers, I was going to be in a worse position. I went to help while there were still a couple of them standing.

As I approached the fracas I could see he’d broken the cuffs somehow and was laying into the boys in blue something rotten. I helped the one who’d been thrown from the van to move away from the danger area. He was still calling up reinforcements while I left him, taking his baton with me.

The enraged thug saw me standing behind the three remaining coppers and ran straight at me. I jumped out of the way and cracked his left elbow with the baton as he went past. This of course enraged him even more, but once again, I played matador and hit his right wrist as he charged.

One of the police jumped on his back and tried to subdue him by choking him. He flung him off and only my attack of the Romanian stopped him from following up on the injured copper. I hit him as hard as I could on his right shoulder. He yelled and turned round just in time for me to aim a flying kick as his face. It caught his chin and he fell backwards heavily. The remaining two police jumping on his supine body.

He lay still and I began to worry if I’d killed him–he’d gone down like a felled tree. Sirens screamed to a stop and two police vans arrived. The groaning villain was lead away to the police van with four of them manhandling him.

An ambulance arrived and the three injured police were treated and taken away in the ‘ice cream van’. They were all walking wounded, I’d made sure none of their injuries were serious with a bit of help from my unseen helper in blue.

“You were magnificent,” declared Stan, “where did you learn to do that kickboxing stuff?”

“Here and there,” I replied.

“Wow, the aristocracy fights back.”

“That was anything but regal, Stan. That was good old underhandedness–works a treat every time.”

“You sure surprised him.”

“Yeah, I hope his headache lasts long enough not to forget what happens when he comes anywhere near me. Eventually he might just learn.”

“Yeah–or the piranhas get him. You haven’t actually got any in the lab have you?”

“Stan, I do dormice–but threatening him with those was hardly going to frighten him, was it?”

“Uh–probably not–they could bite him a bit.”

I rolled my eyes, “Stick to lab stools, Stan, they work for you,” I said handing him the one he’d dropped from the window.

“Yeah,” he said and shrugged.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1821 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Are we going to do the dormice, Mum?” asked Danny when he got home from school.

“No, I did them earlier.”

“Oh,” he said and looked very disappointed. “Is that bloke still on the loose?”

“Uh, I think they caught him earlier,” I fibbed, well I knew they caught him earlier.

“Oh good, wouldn’t want to run into him again–ugly sod.”

“Danny, please don’t use language like that in the house, you know what Puddin’ is like.”

“Yeah, small and furry.”

“No dear, that’s Kiki or Bramble.”

“I was close though, wasn’t I?”

“Not really.”

“If we’re not dormousing can I go out on my bike for a bit?”

I pretended to think about it for a moment or two then said, “Want some company?”

“What you–on the bike?” he gasped.

“Yes, I have ridden one before, you know.”

“Not ’arf.” He fairly ran upstairs to change so I thought I’d better do so as well.

We slipped away without the others noticing–the other children, that is–and set off up the bike path. A little later we were heading out of Portsmouth and over towards Hayling Island. We didn’t get there because I knew David wanted to serve dinner at about half past six to seven and Simon and Sammi would be back by then as well. The nights were also drawing in rather too quickly and with Saturday the Autumnal Equinox as well as the Women’s World Road Race championship, we turned back and got home at just after six.

A quick shower and I changed into a skirt and top, however, my feet seemed cold, so I pulled on a pair of long socks and some boots. It felt odd to be wearing boots in the house, but the weather was getting cooler, and my top reflected that–an acrylic sweater over a polo shirt.

Julie and Phoebe were sitting in the lounge watching something on telly when I walked past. “Good grief,” said Julie loudly.

I stepped quickly into the room, “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“You–you’re wearing a skirt.”

“Don’t be so rude,” said Phoebe elbowing her.

“I wear skirts when the mood takes me.”

“Obviously doesn’t take you very often then,” Julie smirked as she accused me.

“That is so rude,” Phoebe elbowed Julie again.

“Why is it of any consequence to you whether I wear trousers or skirts?” I demanded of Julie.

She shrugged and said, “Because you look half tidy today,” and shrugged again. Phoebe sat with her mouth wide open and shook her head. I suppose I had just been on the receiving end of a backhanded compliment.

Si and Sammi arrived as David was getting a little agitated about dishing up the dinner, so with everyone here, we could eat. Afterwards, because he was going out, David left the clear up to me. I did get some help from the girls–especially Trish and Livvie, but Julie and Phoebe seemed to have some big secret and left as soon as we finished eating.

I sat with Simon listening to Sammi, who was becoming more natural in her new role by the day. Simon had bought her a couple of new outfits for work–she’d gone with one of his secretaries–and bought two really nice suits with two new blouses to wear under them.

“You were lucky,” I said to her not really envious of her good fortune.

“Wasn’t I, just? I bought some new bras as well–I’ve grown a bit since I had the hormones.” She blushed as she said this and looked very young and innocent.

“I’m not sure I need to know that,” said Simon and he picked up the newspaper and went to sit in the lounge.

“Did I embarrass, Daddy?” she asked.

“I doubt it.”

“Should I go and apologise?”

“What for? He knows you’re taking them, the slightest wit would tell him they’re going to affect your body, especially where fat gets redistributed, so don’t take any notice of him.”

“I’d hate to upset him, he’s so kind to me.”

I went to the fridge, “Here, take him that, he’ll love you forever.” I handed her a bottle of light beer.

I made some tea and poured myself a mug and one for Sammi, who came back several minutes later.

“I hope you didn’t apologise,” I said.

She blushed very deeply, “I um, told him I wouldn’t say things like that again in front of him.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me he wasn’t embarrassed and that he was just pulling my leg.”

I shook my head, miserable sod. “Anything else?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Um,” the blush returned, “He said he was pleased I needed a new bra.”

I glowered, I’ll have words with him later about unnecessary conversations. We’d just settled down to Sammi saying about the stuff she saw in Miss Selfridge when Julie and Phoebe came down.

“Can we talk with you, Mummy?” asked Julie.

“Want me to go?” asked Sammi. I looked at Julie who shrugged.

“No, it’s okay to stay. Fire away,” I invited Julie, Phoebe looked most uncomfortable.

“Okay, you know Phoebe lost her mum?”

It was hardly a state secret and I had taken her in while Neal sorted things out at home. I had a feeling about what was coming next.

“Look, Phoebe can’t stay at home on her own.”

“Yes.” I said and Sammi smirked.

“So I was wondering if she could like, stay here for a bit anyway?”

“Yes,” I said quietly again.

“She’ll have to find a school and things but, it’s only for a while, like.”

“Yes,” I said and Sammi started to chuckle.

“So what d’you think? Can she stay a bit, like longer?”

“Do you want to?” I addressed Phoebe directly.

She blushed and nodded, “Yes please.”

“Okay,” I nodded back for emphasis.

“She won’t be any both...what?” Julie stopped in mid sentence. “Is that a yes?”

“No, it’s about the fourth yes. Have you spoken to Neal?”

“No, not yet, we wanted to speak to you first,” Julie had taken on responsibility as spokesperson.

“Well, you better had and soon, it’s getting late–I’ll need his agreement before we can firm this up, all right?”

“Yeah, course.”

“So, when you finish, you’d better let me speak with him.” I wasn’t going to be embarrassed by two teenagers.

I got the youngsters to bed while they called Neal and left them with Sammi who was reading them a new Gaby book–a new experience for her.

“Hello, Neal, they’ve obviously spoken to you?”

“Hi, Cathy, look this is awfully good of you. I need to sell this place and use some of the money to get a bigger place, then she can come to stay with Glo and me.”

“That’s between you and her, meanwhile she can stay here and I’ll try and see what’s available in the way of schools.”

“She said something about doing hairdressing at college–since she’s been with Julie, she said she really liked it.”

“There is a tertiary college here where Julie goes, is that what she really wants to do? I thought she was reasonably academic?”

“It’s what she said she wants.”

“Okay, I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Cathy, I owe you one for this.”

“No you don’t, Neal, she’s a nice kid and fits in quite well with the other inmates of the asylum.” He roared the other end of the phone and we ended the call.

Looks like I’ve got another mouth to feed–oh well, my mother did tell me I’d have lots of kids–if we get any more I’m going to start charging for admission.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1822 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So you went ahead and agreed to it without any consultation with me?”

“Yes.”

I could see Simon pout even in the semi darkness of the bedroom.

“So my opinion is irrelevant?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why I bother?” he muttered to himself.

“I do.”

“Do you?” he said without emotion.

“Because you’re married to a sex-goddess whom you find irresistible in bed.”

“Am I?” he replied flatly.

“Yes,” I snuggled up to him and rubbed my hand on his tummy.

To my astonishment he pulled my hand away and turned over his back towards me. I snuggled into him my hand around his waist, once again stroking his tummy.

“Please don’t,” he said and pulled my hand away again. I felt myself blush with embarrassment and possibly worry. Men are easily manipulated because they think with their willies–if they stop doing the latter–what do we women do?

“Is there something wrong?” I asked feeling a bit concerned.

“Apart from you treating me like either a child or outsider?”

Eh? This was usually how men treat women so what’s he on about?

“What d’you mean, treating you like a child?” If you don’t behave I’ll send you to bed without any tea.

“Well, how about having Phoebe stay here indefinitely?”

“You must have known that was always on the cards. Her poor mother died if you recall?”

“But it’s my house too, Cathy, I like to be consulted now and again. I’ll bet you spoke to Tom about it and my stupid sister?”

“I didn’t actually,” I held tightly on to him.

“God your feet are cold,” he said, moving his leg from my chilled extremities.

“Sorry,” I hugged him tightly to me. “It all happened rather quickly, Julie asked me and after talking with Neal, I said yes.”

“That’s no excuse, you should have consulted with the rest of us–sometimes you act very high handedly.”

I was being told off and I felt very guilty then very angry. “I suppose you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me you considered Sammi needed new bras, you just went and told her.”

“Yeah, she’s old enough to know what I meant.”

“In age terms yes, but d’you think it’s an appropriate subject to discuss with her?”

“I am acting in loco parentis,” he said rolling back towards me forcing me to move as well.

“Are you? She’s eighteen–she’s an adult as far as the law is concerned.”

“So?”

“So how many other young women would you tell to get new bras?”

“It wasn’t meant like that.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, but she could have felt you were sexually harassing her.”

“What?” he said loudly.

“If you said it to one of the youngsters in your offices, you could be accused of improper behaviour.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me and I’d speak to her.”

“How come you didn’t notice?”

“Because she wears different clothes to work than she does about the house. Remember I frequently don’t see her in the mornings except at weekends. Those things tend to be quite loose.”

He muttered something I didn’t catch.

“Pardon?”

“I said, all these bloody women.”

“You don’t complain about the house being clean and tidy and your shirts being washed and ironed. Who d’you think does that? The tooth fairy on her day off?”

“You outnumber us about two or three to one?”

“Who do?”

“You women.”

“You’ve got Tom, Danny and David.”

“Oh yeah, an old man, a boy and...”

“And what?” I snapped at him.

“You know what I mean.”

“He’s not a proper man? Is that what you mean? Like I’m not a proper woman.”

“Of course not...”

“What did you mean, then?” I was now close to incandescent.

“I don’t know–I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“Yes you can, and the things you do get right, you do very well.”

“Then I go and blow it all.”

“By saying something stupid, like I love you,” I added, quoting the popular song.

“What?”

“It’s a song, I think Frank Sinatra recorded.”

“What, my way?”

“My way?” I asked feeling somewhat confused.

“Yeah, the song Sinatra did.”

“Si, Frank Sinatra recorded dozens of songs, probably hundreds.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Including one called, Something Stupid which I think he recorded with his daughter, Nancy.”

“Oh.”

“Which includes the line, ‘And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you.’ Remember it now?”

“No, but if you sing a bit I’m sure I will,” I could see him smirking in the dark.

I grabbed somewhere very tender, “You want to sing the soprano part?”

“Now, Cathy, there’s no need to get violent.”

“Violent–you don’t know what violent means. Let me show you what happened to that Romanian bloke who tried to grab me.”

“Uh, no, Cathy, I’m quite happy to imagine it–I don’t need the demonstration.”

“You’re no fun anymore,” I said removing my hand and pretending to be very hurt–it was all nonsense of course–I’ll teach him to wind me up.,

“Yes I am, just a peace-loving funster.”

“You? Peace loving?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. D’you want to cuddle?”

“If you like–I was dripping milk earlier–it’s all gone onto the bedding now.”

“Would you like me to make sure–I wouldn’t want you to have to lie in the wet all night.”

He began to stroke my nipple and it leaked a little, a few moments later he was suckling me, which I enjoyed as did he. It also reassured me that I could still lead him where I wanted. He’s a good man, but now and again he does push my buttons.

The next morning I awoke and had to go into the shower, having gone off to sleep almost while he was still–well you know what I mean–so I needed a little wash to freshen up and the bed would need changing–another job. I’ll also need to start thinking about my next teaching schedules and plans. Depends upon what Tom wants me to do, I guess. I’ve also got the survey stuff to finish and the dissertation to go with it. Looks like I might be just a little busy for the next ten years. Good job Si got his oats last night, it might be a couple of years before I have time to go to bed again, let alone sleep or have sex.

I dried and woke the girls, while they washed themselves I dressed and pulled my damp hair into a ponytail, then I dried their hair and put it in plaits. Danny was already up when I went to call him–he usually only takes about two minutes in the shower–I’m surprised he’s in there long enough to get wet–but he usually looks pretty clean. When he gets a girlfriend all that will change, and we’ll run out of hot water, I expect.

Sammi had gone with Simon already by the time I got downstairs thereby making my point, I hope he doesn’t say any other personal things to her–that’s my job. And she is quite vulnerable still, it is only a few months since she began to transition, although she has done remarkably well and looks very convincing–in fact she’s quite pretty.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PoSbnAFvqfA

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1823 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I called the college and explained Phoebe’s situation. They were sympathetic, but had already started their courses.

“I think she could manage to catch the others up, you know.”

“Um, but it’s nearly three weeks and the other problem is funding. It might be too late to get funding for a new student.”

“The funding isn’t a problem, if necessary I’ll find that. What is your average qualification for in-take, five GCSEs?”

“We’ll accept four if they interview well.”

“She’s got eleven–all C grade or above.”

“Why isn’t she doing A levels?”

“She wants to be a hairdresser,” (at the moment).

“Could you bring her in this afternoon? If she impresses, we could possibly squeeze her in.”

“What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

“We’ll be there.”

I told Phoebe what I’d done and she was almost moved to tears. She gave me a hug and then hugged Julie who was getting ready to go off to work. I couldn’t decide if she really wanted to be a hairdresser or if she was so in awe of Julie that she just wanted to be like her. I was pretty sure that Julie hadn’t noticed, but it must be quite an achievement for a transwoman to be a role model for other young women. That made me feel very proud. Julie had done really well at hairdressing and some of the other beauty therapies, even though she’d been doubtful at first, and I was just so pleased for her and with her. If Phoebe wants to follow her, she could do worse.

After a delicious lunch, at the earlier hour of noon, I sent Phoebe off to get herself ready and went off myself to do the same. I decided on smart casual, and wore some fitted dark red bootleg trousers with a matching jacket and white silk cowl necked blouse–with black ankle boots with two inch heels, it felt a comfortable arrangement.

Phoebe came down wearing a short dress over leggings. She also wore ankle boots, but hers went outside her leg wear while mine obviously were mostly hidden by my trousers.

I’d kept my makeup simple and my hair I wore down with a little plait taken round from the front to the back, which kept my hair out of my eyes and hopefully would stop it being blown about by the blustery wind. Phoebe had hers in what I can only describe as idiosyncratic–she had her hair in bunches–about six of them at various places on her scalp. Her makeup was also heavier than usual. Oh well, I suppose she’s making some sort of self statement. If Neal had seen her he’d be hopping up and down.

I drove to the college and we found the beauty and hairdressing part–I had been here before once or twice with Julie but that was a while ago. Phoebe followed me into the reception area.

The woman who’d come to meet us approved of Phoebe’s hair and makeup, declaring it showed creativity and individuality–it did that all right–I was glad we weren’t going shopping afterwards.

I was led to an area where they showed me students practicing manicures. Suddenly I was asked to sit at one of the tables and before I knew it I was getting my nails done. I realised that they were separating us so they could have a proper look at Phoebe without me interfering.

So for the next half an hour, my nails were soaked and cleaned, cuticles pushed back and my nails shaped, then painted in a dark red pearlised colour not too dissimilar to my jacket and trousers.

“I love your outfit,” said the girl treating my digits.

“Thank you,” I said smiling.

“You didn’t get that in Asda, did you?”

“Uh no.”

“I’ve never seen a blouse like that, how d’you get into it?”

“It pulls over the head and has two tiny zips in the sides.”

“Wow, it’s beautiful–where did you get it?”

“In London.”

“What, John Lewis?”

“Uh no, Harvey Nicks.”

“Oh wow, I can’t even afford to look in there. That’s like Harrods for the under sixties, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, I never go in Harrods. If I want a green carrier bag I go to Marks and Spencer.”

She laughed at my silliness. “I wish I could afford some decent threads, but my old man’s a bus driver.”

“It’s a very necessary occupation. Lots of people would have to walk long distances without buses and they need someone to drive them.”

“I’ll bet your husband isn’t one though, is he?” I’d had to take my wedding ring off earlier so she could soak and cream my hands.

“He works in a bank.”

“I don’t think I could do that, handling other people’s money, sitting behind that glass shield and dishing out dosh.”

“He works in the offices rather than in the trading area of the bank.”

“Oh, yeah that I could do, ’cept I don’t have the brains.”

“Yes, but you’ve made a lovely job of my nails–my husband couldn’t do that, so each to his or her own.”

She beamed at my compliment and when I realised my nails were now dry I slipped my hand into my pocket and slipped her the five pound note I had secreted there. Her smile got wider.

“Have you ever had a leg wax?” she asked me.

“Yes, my daughter does them for me.”

“Is she a beautician, then?”

“Yes and hairdresser.”

“Did she train here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh what’s her name?”

“Julie Kemp.”

“Oh wow, I know Julie–her mum’s a lady–you’re Lady something or other, I can’t remember,” she blushed.

“I’m Cathy.” I said firmly trying to keep things on an even keel.

“Yeah, but no wonder you can shop in Harvey Nichols.”

“I work for a living as well.”

“What in the bank?”

“I have acted as a consultant for them, but no, I teach at the university.”

“What banking?”

“No, I’m a biologist.”

“What earthworms and things?”

“Not exactly, admittedly biology covers all living things, but I’m an ecologist.”

“What’s that then?”

“I study biological systems, primarily mammals and particularly dormice.”

“Dormice? Did you see that film back a while ago about dormice?”

“Uh yes, yes I did.” I felt myself colour up and it suddenly got hotter.

She looked at me again, “Oh my god, you were in that film, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I presented it and wrote it.”

“Oh my god, I’m doing a film star,” she shrieked, and I wanted to disappear through a hole in the floor because I knew everyone’s eyes were on me. So much for anonymity–next time I’ll just say I work at the university, though I suppose nice clothes do tend to give one away somewhat.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1824 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

When I told Phoebe what happened in the nail studio she almost strangled herself with her seatbelt through laughing. She had washed off most of her eye makeup with tears of laughter by the time we got back and she was still snorting even then.

The upshot was the college accepted her and found by some miracle that the local education authority would fund her course. It was still going to cost me though, they gave her a list of things she needed to get and it was as long as my arm, from scissors to overalls and other bits and pieces.

We were given a second list of places that sold these items and one or two were online suppliers, which made it look as if they might be cheaper. She would also be expected to acquire several books on things like the biology of skin and hair. Although they had them in the library, they were constantly out on loan. She would start on the following Monday and they gave her a schedule of her classes.

She said she felt quite confident as she’d just done GCSE biology and she was pretty sure their academic standards weren’t that high. As soon as we got home, I ordered the four books she needed from Amazon and asked for next day delivery. I also ordered several of the other items which would arrive next week. We could get her an overall from John Lewis if it were necessary until everything arrived.

I handed her back her list, having ticked the things I’d ordered. “Wow, I’ll never be able to pay you back all this, Cathy.”

“I don’t remember saying you owed me anything.”

“But you can’t pay for all this.”

“Why not?”

“Um–you’re not my um–mother, sorry, that sounded unkind.” She blushed and looked very contrite, which gave her a sort of vulnerable beauty.

“I know I’m not your mum, and I wouldn’t think about trying to be. I am however, standing in for her at the moment and that means I’m allowed to do things like help pay for things you need.”

“Neal should pay for me, he’ll have access to Mum’s money.”

“I’ve spoken to Neal about it, we’ll settle up later.” I hadn’t, he had mentioned it, but I didn’t take him up on the discussion. He did, however, agree to give Phoebe a monthly allowance of fifty pounds just for things like makeup or CDs. I’d also sub her if it became necessary. What I had said to Neal was that anything he wanted to give me should be put in a savings account in Phoebe’s name and not to tell her about it until she was a bit older. Kids and money are usually soon parted.

I’d checked Julie’s room for her text books but I was pretty sure she’d sold them, even though it was I who bought them. That’s kids for you. I must have been the exception, I still had my textbooks from university and glad I was for them too, they helped me with my own teaching.

Phoebe was sitting with little Catherine on her lap, they were both fast asleep on the sofa in the lounge, which was why I wouldn’t let the girls put the telly on. Tom had collected them for me. He also said he wanted a word, or as he said, ‘a worrrd.’

I sat there while he told me I wasn’t teaching this coming term. For a moment I wondered if he’d just sacked me, however, he hadn’t. I was to do tutorials for about twenty first years–harder work than formal teaching and finish my dissertation. Apparently the sooner I had doctor in front of my name the better he’d like it. So, like it or lump it that was my job until Christmas. Wonderful.

David was roasting something that smelt absolutely wonderful. “Guess what it is?” he teased.

“I have no idea, except chicken.”

“Nope, it’s badger–one got hit by a car outside this morning.”

“You’re joking?” I gasped, suddenly it didn’t smell so nice.

“Nope.”

“I can’t eat badger.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a herbivore, to start with.”

“Neither are pigs, and you eat them.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” he challenged.

“Eating badger would be like eating someone’s dog.”

“They do in China and Korea.”

“I don’t care what they do, I’m not. Besides how d’you know it isn’t infected with something?”

“It’ll be thoroughly cooked–should kill everything.”

“I can’t believe you’d butcher a road kill.”

“Why, it was dead–same as the meat in Tesco.”

“Dunno, my mum once reckoned she had a chicken that was still moving–mind you it was pretty green in colour and ronked a bit.”

“She got that in Tesco?”

“No idea where she got it, but it was during some time when some condemned meat got back into the food chain.”

“Oh yeah, I remember reading about that–the people who did it should have been shot.”

“I think it was organised crime–like the scum who sold that contaminated cooking oil in India or Africa, wherever it was.” I couldn’t quite recall where it happened.

“Yeah, they should have made them drink it all.”

“Or fried them in it,” I suggested feeling very self-righteous.

“Yeah, after making ’em drink it, internal basting.”

“I’m still not eating badger.”

“Badger–yuck,” declared Trish.

“I don’t believe it’s a badger, smells like chicken to me,” I said and opened the oven. Before me stood a chicken which someone had sprinkled two lots of seasoning to make it look like the black stripes on a badger’s head.

Trish took a quick look and ran off squealing. Two minutes later we had a deputation telling us they weren’t going to eat badger, no matter what.

“You can explain to them, it was just a joke,” he asked me.

“No way, you can tell them.”

“But they won’t believe me.”

“Oh well, just goes to show how successful a prank it was–a bit schoolboyish, but successful. They’ll have to have a sandwich instead.”

“But they like chicken,” he protested.

“They love chicken, but they don’t believe it’s chicken, so you can explain.”

“But, Cathy...”

“Nothing to do with me, although I suspect there will be more for me and Simon won’t disapprove if there’s more for him.”

He went off to speak with the girls who were making disgusting noises when he talked with them. Sometimes they’re just as bad as boys–even big ones like David or Simon.

When Si and Sammi got home Meems tried to tell him we had badger for dinner.”

“Oh good,” he said, “now four of us can have a leg.”

“It was wun over in the woad, Daddy.”

“So?”

“It’s not cwean.”

“I’m sure David washed it a bit, besides it was raining this morning, so that would have washed it. You can always have furry bit, which will clean your teeth as you chew.”

“Yuck, Daddy, you jokin’.”

“Who me?” he said but his face cracked into a smile and she jumped at him and he carried her off out of the kitchen.

“It’s not badger, is it?” asked Sammi.

“No,” I reassured her.

“Phew, thank goodness for that.”

“No, it’s toad in the hole made with real toads,” I smiled.

“Ugh,” was her response before she ran out of the kitchen.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1825 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Despite all the stories of badgers and road-kill, everyone eventually settled down and ate the chicken dinner which David had cooked for us. He’d stuffed it with sausage meat and chestnuts, which I associate with Christmas, though he’d done it to make sure there was enough for everyone–there was.

When Stella commented on the delicious stuffing, David went on to relate how in Victorian times they used to stuff poultry with oysters to eke out the protein–remember that in those days contraception was very difficult compared to today, so large families were the order of the day, many children dying before reaching fifteen years, and from diseases like diphtheria and scarlet fever which are seen as relatively trivial today except perhaps in the third world.

We take so much for granted that we tend to forget how difficult life must have been for our forbears; my contribution was to explain that many Victorian women died in house fires. When asked why, I told them it was because they cooked over open fires or ranges which were heated by fires of wood or coal and their long dresses would catch alight. Flame retardant material is another modern invention so those poor women would have died in agony as their cotton, woollen or linen fabrics would have blazed very quickly.

Trish asked me why period pieces on the television were so popular–loads of girls in school were watching ‘Downton Abbey’, a story based somewhere about World War I.

“I have no idea why it’s so popular, it’s total nonsense, but I suppose it recalls an age when everything was so different to today–so it’s pure escapism.”

“Did people have servants like that?” asked Livvie.

“They had servants, whether they were like those in your television series is another matter.”

“Can we watch it, Mummy?” asked Trish.

“We’ll have to check what time it’s on, on Sunday; remember you have school the next day, so we might have to record it.”

“Katya Bushnell is allowed to watch it,” Trish complained and Livvie nodded.

“An’ so does, Mimi Postlethwaite,” Livvie added, “they’re allowed to stay up to watch it.”

“I don’t care if they’re allowed to paint their noses blue and wear paper bags to school, you’re not doing it if I think it’s on too late. I’ve already said you can record it and watch it another day, so any more grumbles and I won’t let you watch it at all.” That really caused some dissent but my glare cut it short and the mutiny was very short lived.

“They say it’s supposed to be quite good,” commented Stella.

“Well I don’t want to see it,” I proclaimed, “and I think the Guardian said it was all tosh.”

“Posh tosh, eh?” Simon spouted reminding us he was still there amongst the women, Tom and Danny had fled and David was loading the leftovers into the fridge.

“You seem very anti this programme, any reason why?” Stella probed.

“I just don’t fancy it, that’s all. I don’t do nostalgia, especially inaccurate sorts.”

“Nah, that’s the problem with nostalgia,” declared our resident wit.

“What is?” Stella asked her brother.

“No future in it,” he roared with laughter at his own joke.

“Won’t be much of one for you either, if you crack corny jokes like that again,” she threatened.

“Children, please no fighting at the table,” I shouted and the girls began giggling.

“So why don’t you like it? The real reason, if you please,” demanded my sister in law over the giggles from the girls.

“Why don’t you like watching cycle racing?” I replied, the worlds were on last week I didn’t see you watching any of it.”

“It doesn’t interest or appeal to me, that’s why,” she said snottily.

“The plot’s better than Downton Abbey,” I smirked and Simon sniggered which set the girls off again.

“You still haven’t said what’s wrong with it,” Stella pressed on.

“Cathy said she didn’t like it, that good enough?” Simon stepped in before I said something similar but in words that perhaps she’d have understood.

“Is that true?” Stella asked unnecessarily.

“Yes, I think it’s nonsense and I have no wish to watch it.” Personally, I’d rather watch paint dry. Just because things are popular doesn’t make them good, in fact it’s often just a craze or fad that grows out of all perspective, like that Fifty Shades thing. Anyone who’s anyone has read it, some have even read book two–most have got bored by book three. One young woman I heard discussing it with her friend said that she enjoyed book one, even though it was poorly presented in terms of the writing, and she wanted to know what happened to the protagonists so read book two. Half way through, she decided it was so boring and formulaic that she gave up and didn’t even think about book three. Her friend agreed but said she’d finished the second book.

“You’ll be about the only person who doesn’t watch it then,” Stella was now trying to lay some guilt on me.”

“I think that might be regarded as a compliment, shows I’m a goat not a sheep.”

“Yes, an apt description, a daft old goat,” Stella smirked at her own joke.

“Mummy’s not a goat,” said Trish coming in for a drink.

“She is, she doesn’t want to watch Downton Abbey because she’s a self proclaimed culture snob who reads the Guardian.”

Most of this tirade washed over Trish’s head and she looked askance to me. I nodded that Stella’s assessment was reasonably correct.

“Wossa culture snob, Mummy?” she asked.

“Someone with more taste than their accusers,” I said dead pan and Simon snorted while Stella gave me a daggers look.

“Ha,” spat my sister in law and decamped the kitchen, flouncing out into the lounge presumably to complain to her own kids how rude I’d been to her. I accept that I was outspoken, but then I’m Sagittarian–it’s genetic or something, using the truth as a blunt instrument.

Simon sat with a bemused look on his face shaking his head, “She doesn’t like to lose an argument, y’know. In school she once punched some kid’s lights out because he out argued her.”

“What about?”

“I can’t remember–oh yeah, her virginity.”

“I think I might have done the same if he accused me of losing it or being a bit like the school bike.”

“No, you’ve got it the wrong way round, Cathy. He was accusing her of not having lost it when she was describing a session with some boy or other.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Not if you’re trying to portray this image of sophistication, as she was then.”

“She is quite sophisticated,” I suggested because I felt it was true, she’d taught me a lot about being a woman, especially about fashion sense–hers is impeccable.

“Yeah, now she is, she wasn’t then.”

“How old was she, then?”

“Twelve I think,” he said and smirked.

“Twelve? At that age I didn’t know which way was up.”

“Don’t tell me, you thought clitoris was a Greek island?” Simon teased using a Ben Elton joke.

“Don’t tell me you thought that was an original joke?” I fired back. I probably didn’t know what it was back then, but I do now, boy do I know.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1826 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The next morning was Friday and David usually did something with fish, despite none of us being Roman Catholic, and I adore his fish dishes. So it was with some disappointment I discovered we, or rather he, had a problem.

He approached me while I was fiddling with Meem’s hair, it wasn’t doing what I wanted in terms of plaiting it, and she was getting irritable as well. “I need to take a couple of days off, Cathy.”

“You were due the weekend off, in any case,” I replied not wanting to quarrel with him, but hoping that he might cope with that time instead.

“Sorry, I need today, something has come up, it might take a few days to sort.”

Curiosity is my middle name, so I was almost biting my tongue to avoid prying. He’s a good worker and has helped me out a number of times by watching the kids. I hoped it was nothing serious.

“Fine, let me know when you can start back and if there’s anything we can do to help.”

As David is quite a private sort of person I knew he’d prefer to solve his own problems, at the same time I felt obliged to offer help as he was a valued member of the household and a brilliant cook.

I got the girls to school and by the time I was back at home David’s car was gone, so I presumed he would be with it. I had a cuppa with Jacquie and we resolved to see what was in the fridge for dinner. Some salmon, but not enough for everyone unless–unless I made a fish pie, I hadn’t done one for ages. Doubtless David would do it better, but then he was a professional, I was just a basic amateur who occasionally had the good fortune to throw some ingredients together in the right order and quantity. I hoped my luck held out until he was back.

I set Jacquie to making some fresh bread–we’d need two loaves at least. While she was doing that I filled a bowl with potatoes from the paper sack of them which lived in the larder. We seem to get through them in an astonishingly short time, but David knew a wholesaler and we got them at the wholesale rate. He organised everything, I just paid the account once a month.

As I peeled the tubers, I wondered what he was doing and did he need help. Something inside me thought he did, but whether that was intuition or an overdeveloped need to save the world and everyone on it, I wasn’t sure.

“Bread’s on, need help with those?” asked Jacquie who was turning into quite a useful pair of hands about the house.

“Could you check on Catherine? she seems a bit quiet.”

“She’s up with Stella and her two.”

“Oh, okay, then grab a peeler and jump in.” You know what they say, about we could all use an extra pair of hands, the only problem is it would make sweaters look very odd and play hell with the design of jackets.

Between us we finished the mound of spuds and I set about cutting them up and shoving them in the large saucepans. It needed two pans to cook that many, remember we are like a tribe here, not just a family.

The pans were set to boil and I began to prepare the fish, stripping it off any skin and frying it quickly with some basil and chives to seal in the flavour. I then made a white sauce mix and placed the fish into the bottom of two large ovenware dishes, and poured the white sauce mix over them adding a little salt and pepper. I popped the dishes into the oven to warm though and turned down the spuds to simmer.

Jacquie made us some more tea and took a mug up to Stella along with a biscuit. By the time we finished our cups, the spuds were cooked and I mashed them, added some butter and milk and creamed them. Then I added the grated cheese Jacquie had prepared and mixed that in. This was placed on top of the fish, with a little grated cheese being added to the fish in sauce and also sprinkled on top of the spud.

Lunch was poached eggs on toast, which I knew all the children would eat and by the time I’d cleaned up the mess and checked on the dinner, it was time to collect the girls. I’d spent nearly all day again making meals–no wonder I valued David so much–I just hoped he wasn’t bored by living with us and was looking at other jobs–we’d never get anyone as good as he was.

We returned home and just in time to check the fish pie, which was cooking rather well, if I say so myself. It smelt delicious, which tended to indicate it might taste quite good as well, so I lived in hopes. The girls were sent to change and start their homework after a drink and a biscuit–just to keep them going. Danny came home a little later and as he’d been playing football–how daft is that–having them play in their sport’s lesson the day before they were due to play for school matches. So all his kit was wet and dirty; it’s just as well he has two sets of boots and so on, some of the others probably don’t.

Si and Sammy arrived with Tom who’d done the dormice for me and finally, Julie and Phoebe got home so I could dish up the dinner, which was served with mixed vegetables–frozen ones rather than fresh.

David’s car parked outside his place and Simon and Tom began to realise who’d cooked the meal. I think they were impressed, I know I was pleased with the result. I sent Danny over to ask if David if he wanted any as there was a portion left over. To my surprise he accepted and came and ate with us.

“So you did cook it then or did David leave it for you to warm through?” asked my suspicious hubby.

Before David could deny all knowledge, I lied, “Yeah, I just warmed it through and did the veg.”

“I thought so, you can tell the professional touch,” trilled Simon, whereupon Jacquie, Stella and David began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” enquired my bewildered hubby.

“You are,” beamed his sister, circling round him like shark eyeing up a drowning man.

Simon began to smell something fishy, and it was the pie but also the conspiracy of silent sniggers coming from those in the know. “Why?” he asked.

“David had the day off, Cathy cooked the pie.” Stella crowed as loudly as any self important rooster ever had, and Simon began to look as if he might be related to a tomato.

“I knew that all along,” said Simon stroking his nose, which I checked in case it had grown.

“That was very good,” said David laying down his cutlery his plate empty save for a few streaks of sauce. I felt my chest swell with pride, praise indeed.

“Absolutely,” agreed Simon still trying to wriggle off the spit upon which Stella was roasting him.

“Sae ye didnae dae ony o’ yer dissertation, then?” accused Tom bringing me back to earth with a thump.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1827 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“I knew you’d cooked the pie, all along,” Si said when were in bed

“Huh, a likely tale,” I said in disbelief.

“I did, and I can prove it.”

“Go on then.”

“You have longer hair than David,” he said and smirked.

“Are you telling me you discovered one of my hairs in your dinner?”

“I am now, yeah.”

“Which could have fallen in while I was dishing up.”

“Unlikely.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It was in the fish bit at the bottom.”

“Oh; oh well, one good thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s all protein,” I smirked.

“Gee thanks, it’s not digestible, so how can it be protein?”

“Not all protein is digestible without altering it by cooking or treating some other way. You can eat meat raw, and apart from the infection risk, you can only get about a quarter of the benefit from it that you would from cooking it first.”

“You’re a mass of information, aren’t you?” he said stroking my hand.

“Yep, push the button, get a lecture.”

“What if I push this button,” he said and gently prodded my nipple. I chuckled then moaned when he repeated the exercise a few more times. “Perhaps the machine is broken, maybe I’ll try this one,” he gently prodded my other breast and once again caused me to moan gently–it was rather nice. “Um–no lecture, I think I’d better check in case the buttons are faulty. So saying he pulled up my nightgown and pushed his head underneath it and within a few minutes I was a mere blob of jelly as he sucked and chewed on my sensitive nipples.

“Um,” he said from under my nightie, “I think this needs more exploration, possibly the mechanism is broken down here and he slipped his hand into my panties...

Some twenty or thirty minutes later, we both lay very still in exhaustion. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears and my body felt warm and slightly sweaty. I looked at the clock, it was midnight. I needed a shower. I left Simon on the bed–semi-comatose–his normal state in bed, and went for a shower. It was half past when I got back into bed, having quickly dried my hair and pulled on a fresh nightie and panties. Simon was fast asleep, facing away from me and naked as the day he was born.

I eased him under the duvet and covered him up, then snuggled in behind him. We soon warmed up, though he did jump a little when I put my cold hands on his tummy, but didn’t wake up.

Saturday, I awoke to the sun streaming through the window–the forecast had said this would be the better day of the weekend, so I was determined to do something with the girls. Si and Tom had said they’d go and watch Danny playing football, and if Stella or Jacquie watched the little ones, I could take the others out, perhaps for a bike ride or something.

I got up and after a little wash and damping down my hair–it was standing up on the side on which I’d been lying–I dressed and found myself escorted down the stairs by three girls, all of whom were dressed in jeans and tops with sweaters or a cardi on top of that. It was a sure sign that temperatures were falling and we’d soon need to put the heating back on.

Once I roused Danny and Simon, we had breakfast and stripped the bed while Si was in the shower. The girls seemed happy to get their bikes out, and for a change I got out my old mountain bike so it meant I could ride in a pair of jeans. It took a while to check tyres, do some pumping, check brakes–Trish’s needed some adjustment–and get the girls organised to ride. Livvie couldn’t find her helmet and no one is allowed to ride without wearing one–my rules not the law.

I know the jury is out on the efficacy of cycling helmets and in some collisions they could make things worse, however, if you aren’t wearing one and someone does knock you off your bike, their counsel and insurance company might try to claim that not wearing one is tantamount to contributory negligence. It isn’t worth the risk, although I felt a right Nellie riding in one in jeans and hiking type jacket. I did have cycling shoes on because I have clipless pedals on all my bikes, not that we were going far, but the proper shoes are more comfortable.

We rode for half an hour, which at Meem’s pace, meant we’d got to the end of the drive–nah, we’d done about three miles. They’ve done ten before, but that was a while ago, so I decided another mile and we’d turn back for home.

“Isn’t that David’s car?” asked Trish, who seems to miss very little. She pointed to two cars which were parked in a lay-by. Two men were obviously having a heated discussion and gesticulating wildly when the other one hit David and he fell backwards onto the ground.

Unable to contain myself, I shouted and called the girls to follow as I sped down towards the lay-by. The man jumped into his car and drove off, I approached David and bent down to see if he was all right. He was sitting on the ground and it sounded as if he was crying.

He was surprised to see us, though he let me help him up, and accepted the tissue I handed him. “Can we talk about this later?” he asked as the girls approached. I nodded.

“Why did that man hit you?” asked Trish, always direct.

“I don’t know,” said David.

“Did you get his number?” she continued.

“No,” was his reply.

“Good job I did then,” she stated, and showed a video of what happened on her phone. Next was a clear picture of the car driving off and the number visible. Sometimes she’s too clever for her own good–today might prove the rule.

After a drink of water, David declared himself fit to drive home and left us to cycle back along the path, me fending off questions about why people hit each other. I did try to point out that the girls did do it to each other, but that boys were more likely to, though I couldn’t say whether it was nature or nurture. If there are girls around it causes young men to secrete more testosterone which means they take more risks and also become more aggressive. Trish wasn’t impressed by my inconclusiveness and kept reminding me I was a biologist and should know these things. In return I tried to explain this was much more the realm of psychologists or behaviourists, and that I was only interested for two reasons or two cases. First, if the intended recipient of any such aggression is me–then I want written notice so I can run away; second, if it happens in dormice, I want to know and quickly.

“Now, I don’t want any of you asking David awkward questions–understood?”

“Can we ask him easy ones?” asked Trish who I felt was building up to a big debate on this.

“No, don’t ask him any questions at all–okay?”

The response was moans and groans.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1828 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It was the next morning, Sunday, before David and I were able to speak. I took him over some of Simon’s old motorbike magazines–it was either that or stick them in the recycling bag.

I’d managed to evade the eye of our very own super sleuth, and slipped in through David’s door when he called for me to enter. He took the magazines with some enthusiasm which almost surprised me. I mean if he handed me a pile of Family Circle, I’d drop them straight in the recycling, Cycling Weekly or Procycling–now that’d be different.

“Coffee?” he offered putting on the kettle and then adding some fresh grounds to a coffee pot.

“Umm, please,” I responded and took the seat he offered.

“I suppose your real reason for being here is to see what all that was about yesterday.”

“Only if you wish to tell me,” I said but he wasn’t far off.

“I suppose I better had.” He poured the water on the coffee and let it stand for a few minutes before pouring us some. I added loads of milk to mine he took his black but with sugar. I gave up sugar yonks ago.

He sipped his coffee–how, I’ll never know–mine had milk in it and was still too hot to drink, he was well into his.

“The man you saw hit me, was my brother, Arthur.”

“Why did he hit you?”

“I did something he told me not to do.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“My dad has been ill for ages, an’ I got word that he was on his last legs in Southampton General. I had to say goodbye.”

“And he hit you for that?”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Well it didn’t to me, grown men don’t hit each other for such things–do they?

“Dad knew about me, but didn’t like it. My brother liked it even less, told me to stay away from him and the rest of the family. Dad died just after I saw him–Arthur says it was my fault.”

“I doubt it,” I reached across and rubbed his hand.

“So do I. When I got there he was already in a coma. I spoke to him and gave him my original name and he smiled and squeezed my hand. I left and he died a short time later.”

“Perhaps he was hanging on for you to come and see him, let him go.”

“I don’t know, Cathy, but I felt I had to go, just as I feel I have t go to the funeral, even though Arthur has threatened me with a good kicking if I go.”

“He’ll have to get past me first. Do you know when it is?”

“Not yet–but it’ll be in the local rag.”

“Where in Pompey or Southampton?”

“Eastleigh.”

“Let me know when, I’ll come with you.”

“As my body guard?”

“No, as a friend. I’m sorry your dad died and I’m even sorrier your brother is being such a lout about it.”

“Perhaps I should just forget it.”

“Why? Then the barbarians do win.”

“I don’t want to cause any unpleasantness.”

“You won’t, if it happens it’ll be your brother who does, and I who stops it.”

“This isn’t your fight, Cathy.”

“If it affects a member of my household, then it is. You are a much loved member of this household, and we look after our own.”

He had tears in his eye when he hugged me and I left to let him mourn his loss in private. A little later, after Simon announced he’d booked dinner for us at a pub near Havant, I explained what David had told me.

“He can’t stop him going to the funeral, can he?”

“As he’s a member of the family, I doubt it, but he can make quite a scene and spoil it for everyone.”

“Spoil it?”

“Okay, make it even more unpleasant for everyone, and funerals are bad enough in themselves.”

“Quite, so how can we help? Want me to arrange to have big bro kneecapped?”

I glared at his stupid grin, “Do you think this is an appropriate place for such glibness?”

He blushed, “I wasn’t being serious, ya know?”

“I know that, Simon, and much as I love you, I do wish you’d drop the schoolboy act from time to time.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

I wanted to dare him to prove it, but it was a side issue. “I’m going to the funeral with him.”

“Want me to come as well?”

“That’s very kind to offer, but I don’t want to set up an our gang and your gang mentality.”

“Fine, but if you change your mind, let me know.”

“Thank you, darling. Now what d’you want us to wear to this ’ere Sunday Lunch?”

“Smart casual–is David coming?”

“I doubt it.” I called him on the phone and he declined, thanking me for thinking of him. I informed Simon.

“Stella isn’t either, so if she’ll take care of the baby, the rest of us could go in two cars, yours and Tom’s. Jacquie’s not coming but Sammi is and so is Phoebe.”

“So that’s, you and me, the three girls, plus Julie, Phoebe and Sammi, Danny and Tom. We’ll need to take three cars, won’t we?”

“No, both yours and Tom’s should seat five.”

“Okay, are you driving?” I asked him.

“You can drive back.”

“So you can have a drink?”

“Oh that’s a good idea, I’d never have thought of it myself.”

So after talking to Stella, and thanking her for taking care of Catherine, I and the other females went off to tart ourselves up a bit for our Sunday treat. I also told Danny to wear his new shirt and trousers, not jeans. He grumbled but complied.

The younger girls wore skirts and tops with thin jackets; the bigger ones, shorts with footless tights and jackets, and I wore a skirt and top with a jacket. Si wore his corduroy jacket with cavalry twill trousers and a checked shirt, the check looking like a fishnet over the cream colour of the shirt. Danny wore the shirt and trousers I’d asked him to and a hoodie, and Tom wore his shirt and tie with a tweed jacket and black trousers. Once again he’d been into the university to sort out the dormice, but Neal would be back tomorrow–so would the students. As if I needed reminding. I almost offered to let Stella come while I stayed home and did some work on my dissertation, except Simon would have played hell.

For what it cost, nearly two hundred quid, the meal was at best average. I opted for roast lamb, of which I am something of a connoisseur, having been brought up across the river from the most delicious of all cooked sheep, Welsh lamb. This certainly wasn’t that, probably New Zealand and it tasted like it had died of old age. I almost asked them for another slice to repair some shoes I had. The veg was okay and the mint sauce commercially prepared, as I suspect the roasties were. The sweets were frozen ones, so I opted for ice cream, at least I knew that had been frozen.

Si was very disappointed that his roast beef and Yorkshire pud was tough and tasteless. When he complained, the landlord suggested he shove his complaint where the monkey keeps his nuts. Not a good idea to someone who might well hold your mortgage. I was pretty sure, Si would be on his computer as soon as we got home and the landlord could have a surprise coming–all of it nasty.

I felt sorry for Si, he had tried to raise everyone’s spirits and it had bombed out but not through any fault of his own. I was surprised no one else seemed to be grumbling, but they weren’t. The problem is we don’t complain often enough so shoddy service remains a real problem in Britain.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1829 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

When we got back from the pub, Si immediately went on his computer about the pub landlord, as I predicted. Once the kids had been sent off to change into their playing clothes, I checked on David. He was sitting on his sofa looking at his mobile.

“Oh, hi, Cathy,” he said as I went in, “good meal?” he enquired.

“I’ve tasted better and actually cooked better myself–so it was rubbish.”

“I expect you have made better, you’re a very good cook.”

“Not compared to you,” I offered the accolade.

“I’m a pro, Cathy. I spent several years training, you’re just a housewife who picked up bits from her mum and other people. That fish pie the other night was t’riffic.”

I felt myself colour up, “How are you?” I enquired.

“I’ve felt better. Arthur has got the funeral arranged for tomorrow.”

“Gosh, that’s quick–how d’you know?”

“My niece let me know, she’s the only one who accepts me.”

I nearly said, solidarity amongst women, then blushed when I realised how dumb that would have been. “Okay, where and when? If it’s in Outer Mongolia, I’ll have to get someone to take the girls to school.”

“Our local church, St Mary’s at eleven o’clock.”

“I’ll be ready.” I said, but he wasn’t listening. He was somewhere else.

“I haven’t been there since I was a girl, used to sing in the church choir. I went to see the vicar when I first had feelings that I should have been a boy–or should I say, when those feelings crystallised–I’d felt different to other girls as long as I can remember.”

“What did he say?”

“She, it was a woman, she told me to go and see my doctor and she would pray for me.”

“At least it wasn’t negative stuff.”

“I hadn’t finished–she said she’d pray for me because I was obviously very disturbed and displaying an envy of my brother.”

“Ah, good ol’ penis envy.”

“In my case it was true, I suppose.”

I couldn’t understand anyone wanting one, unless it was to have fun with it while it was attached to someone sexy, like Si–well like–you know what I mean.

“I thought Freud was largely considered old fashioned and irrelevant these days?”

“I dunno–so you think we should go–to the funeral, I mean?”

“It’s up to you whether we go or not. If you want to say goodbye to your dad, then I would suggest we went, if it’s not important–we don’t have to. What you mustn’t allow to happen is for your brother to prevent you from attending when you want to go. He has no right to do that.”

“I know, I know, I don’t know if I feel strong enough to cope with him.”

“I’ll cope with him, if you want to go.”

“What if he turns violent again?”

“I’ll have him arrested on the spot. He won’t get out until he’s an old man.”

“Even you couldn’t do that.”

“I know,” I confessed–I had got a bit carried away. “But if he starts flinging punches round, especially in our direction, I’ll stop him.”

“How can you do that?”

“I have my methods.”

“You saw the size of him.”

“He’s not going to hit a woman in front of a load of witnesses.”

“He’s crazy enough.”

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid enough.”

“He is.”

“I’ll just have to be at my most persuasive.”

“He won’t listen.”

“David, you don’t know what will happen other than we’ll be there and he can’t prevent you attending your own father’s funeral.”

“I wish I felt as confident as you.”

Yeah, well that was mostly bravado and an unerring self belief that whatever happens, something will occur to me to do, including run away as fast as possible. Now, more importantly, should I wear heels or something sensible–like trainers?

“I’ll see you for supper–then?”

“I think I’m better on my own, Cathy, but thanks anyway.”

“Tomorrow, be ready any time after nine, I’ll take you to Eastleigh.”

“I don’t know, Cathy, I really don’t know.”

“Be ready, that’s an order–remember, I’m still your employer.” I left before he could dissent. Okay he could disappear, but I’d go to the funeral on his behalf and he knew it.

I decided I’d take the girls to school in jeans and sweat shirt then change when I got home. Jacquie can look after Catherine, and we should be back lunch time or shortly afterwards, depending upon how David feels.

My only misgiving about the way this is going is that David’s acting like a bereft daughter and I’m bouncing round like a demented boy friend. Oh well, in my book girls can be anything they want, and bodyguard/adviser/negotiator is just one of them–yeah, multitasking at its best.

I went back to the house just in time to see Jacquie making a cuppa. “You smelt the tea, Mummy, didn’t you?”

“Yep, that’s me, a tea hound.”

“Well you’re barking, so you’re probably correct,” Simon smiled as he came through for a bottle of beer.

“So that’s why he sometimes calls me a bitch,” I said loud enough for him to hear.

“The penny drops at last,” he said, taking two bottles with him, one for Tom–they were watching football on the telly.

“Just be careful, darling, some dogs are known to bite.”

“I know, babes, I still have the tooth marks.”

“How is David?” asked Sammi.

“He’s still upset, he’s lost his father and his brother is acting like a twit.”

“Is he going to the funeral?”

“Yes, it’s tomorrow, Arthur, his brother arranged it quickly, hoping to catch David unawares, but his daughter let David know.”

“David has a daughter?” Sammi said in astonishment.

“No, it’s Arthur’s daughter, David’s niece, she sent him a text. Anyway, I’m him taking to the funeral tomorrow.”

“What if the brother gets nasty?”

“He’s nasty already. It’s trying to prevent him getting abusive or physical that I’ll be there.”

“Good ol’ mum, in the thick of the action as always.”

“David is a much valued member of this household, so deserves our support.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Sammi sipping her tea, “So, you got room for another to come to the funeral?”

“I thought you were working up in town?”

“Nah, Vince, the guy I work with has a day off tomorrow and Daddy told me to have one as well.”

“But there are far nicer things to do than attend funerals.”

“True, but everyone here has been so good to me, it’s about time I returned the favour.”

“You don’t need to. David and I can cope with this by ourselves you know. Why don’t you just have a day out shopping?”

“If Pheebs had been available, I might have done, but I think some solidarity might help prevent fisticuffs. He’s hardly going to hit two women, is he?”

“If he does, I’ll see if the vicar does discounts on double funerals, because if he lays a finger on you, I’ll tear him apart.”

“Goodness, Mummy, you’re a real tigress when you’re roused.”

“You ain’t seen nuthin’ yet,” I smiled and went off with my tea to the study.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1830 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I was up early, the adrenalin flowing saw to that. I’d showered and dried my hair pulled on jeans and button up shirt, and slapped on some makeup all by seven o’clock, which was when I roused the various offspring.

After breakfast when it seemed as if the girls were deliberately tardy, I felt my blood pressure rising and I tried desperately hard to keep my temper. Danny went off to school and I had to practically drag Trish to the car as she was telling Sammi some elaborate tale. Finally, I got them to their place of education and dropped Phoebe off at the local college where she looked quite anxious.

“Want me to come in with you?” I offered.

“Would you mind?”

“C’mon, kiddo, give ’em hell,” I said and she took my proffered arm. Ten minutes later she was chatting with two other girls and all her nerves seemed to have vanished. I jumped in the car and crawled home–the traffic was abysmal. I think they should all walk their kids to school, so the roads are clear for me. I chuckled at my megalomania.

Once home, I dashed upstairs and changed into a skirt suit in black silk with small black beading and black embroidered flowers. The skirt was mid calf and swirly, and I wore it with a white cashmere cowl necked jumper and black knee high boots. To this I added a long necklace of black obsidian and simple diamond stud earrings. My watch and a gold bangle completed the outfit and after a squirt or two of Coco, I descended to see if Sammi was ready. It was half past nine and we needed to get a move on. I called and she appeared wearing one of her new work suits in a deep red colour which she teamed with a plain grey blouse and her raincoat. I grabbed mine and my black shoulder bag and went in search of David.

We knocked and entered his place and saw him sitting on the sofa. He didn’t look well. “I don’t think I can do this, Cathy.”

“You could always sit in the car.”

“None of us have to go,” he said. “My dad would understand.”

“It’s not your dad who’s the problem,” I said, trying to remain calm.

“Quite, it’s that bastard of a brother of mine.”

“Okay, you’re obviously not up to it, so we’ll go instead,” I was aware of the time.

“No, I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t–it’s not your fight–or even your dad.”

“So, you know me, always up for a lost cause.” I smiled at him.

“Okay, I’ll be with you in two minutes.” He went into the bathroom and combed his receding locks and pulled on a tie, which I immediately undid and retied for him. I know–bad habit–but I had to learn how to tie one properly. He looked at my retied knot and thanked me.

We left the house five minutes later and I chanced it with the speed cameras to make up some of the lost time. Eastleigh is between Portsmouth and Southampton and we were approaching it about half an hour later. David took over the navigation and steered me towards the church. It was ten twenty.

I spotted a little cafe up the road and suggested we get a cuppa to calm us down and if necessary a piece of toast or equivalent. Somehow despite my early start, I’d not eaten anything–thanks to Trish and her obstructive behaviour.

The place was quiet and the owner friendly and we ended up having a bacon sandwich each and a mug of tea. After a wee and respray job on the lipstick, I was ready for anything. We returned to the church at ten minutes to eleven.

Arthur, the bothersome brother was standing by the church door with presumably his wife and daughter, all three looked suitably sombre. Sammi walked in front of David and I held his arm and we passed with me between the two warring siblings. Arthur gave us a daggers look and his wife looked shocked. The daughter gave us an anxious smile. Nothing was said or done and I breathed a sigh of relief. We took our places near the rear of the church, Sammi and I sandwiching the grieving David between us.

Arthur came in with the vicar and pointed at us, then went out again. The priest came up to us. “Are you friends of the deceased?” he asked knowing full well who we were.

“He’s my father,” said David standing up.

“Oh, so it’s true then?” The cleric said, and stepped back in case he caught something.

“And you are?” he said addressing me.

“Does that matter?” I asked.

“Well, yes, I don’t want any trouble and the chief mourner is distressed enough.”

I stood up and quietly said, “I’m his counsel, and we don’t want you to have any trouble either. It’s a bugger to sue a priest, they can rarely cover their costs.”

“This is a house of God,” declared the priest.

“In which case can I call him as a witness or a correspondent?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped at me.

“I’m not,” I said trying to convey a little menace in my tone, “I’m here to see that my client is allowed to mourn his father as well, so I’d be grateful if you keep the eulogy accurate and talk about two brothers not brother and sister.”

“Accurate? How would that be accurate?”

“David is legally a man. Anything which you say which contradicts that might be seen as slander, and I specialise in defamation cases. My last client retired at age thirty on the damages last time.”

“This is a place of worship not usury.”

“I agree, it’s also a public place and full of witnesses, I’d be neglecting my duty other than to advise you of any unfortunate consequences. We don’t want any trouble either, just to allow the whole family to be allowed to say goodbye to their loved one.”

The priest looked at his watch and strode away muttering under his breath. David and I sat down and he let out a huge sigh. “That wasn’t true, Cathy,” he hissed.

“Yeah, neither will all the stuff he’ll be saying in a moment, about sky fairies and things.”

David sat back in his seat and we watched a fair number of people enter and half fill the church. I won’t comment on the service, it served its purpose of a focus for the grief of the mourners and to give the old man a send off. The priest obviously believed I would sue him over his eulogy because he mentioned only children and his reference was fleeting.

We followed the coffin out of the church and into the church yard for the committal. We stood at the back of the group which formed ready to leave as soon as it was over.

I handed David the small white rosebud I had in my bag and at the end of the ceremony he dropped it in the grave and paused for a few moments, then we turned to leave. It was on the path back to the road, we encountered the enemy.

“How dare you, you freak?” said his brother confronting us. I stepped in front of David and asked Arthur to move. “Not until I’ve given this creature a piece of my mind.”

“I think, sir, given your current attitude, you could ill afford to lose any of your mind,” was my retort.

“Who are you?”

“His counsel, now if you’d just let us by, I won’t need to issue any writs.”

“That’s right, let a woman do your fighting for you. Some man you are,” he said in disgust.

“No one will be fighting here. If there’s any to be done, it’ll be in a court of law.” I kept up my pretence.

“Look at it, pretending to be a man,” jibed Arthur.

“Sir, I’d be grateful if you’d confine your remarks to yourself. My client is as legally male as you are.”

“Well that shows what a fool the law is then.”

“It must be, to allow bullies like you throw your weight about without consequences.” I kept up my polite menace.

He stepped forward and shoved at David, who sidestepped and let Arthur fall flat on his face over a gravestone. He jumped back up, his trousers with mud on the knees. He swore and charged at David, who sidestepped again and this time Arthur came past me and accidentally fell over my foot, sprawling this time into a bush.

“You bitch,” he yelled at me and came at me.

“Let her alone, Arth,” said David quietly.

“Why, you gonna make me?” replied his larger sibling.

“Yes.” David stood his ground. Arthur swung at his brother, David parried and planted a right hook on his brother’s nose. He stood still for a moment swore and then fell over, blood rushing down his face and on to his shirt. The congregation were gasping in astonishment at the David and Goliath contest.

I led David away with Sammi bringing up the rear. We got into the car and I drove away before anything further happened. David was still trembling as we got back onto the motorway.

“I didn’t mean to hit him, but I wouldn’t let him hit a woman.”

I patted his leg, “Thank you for protecting me. I think you acted like a gentleman today, and you didn’t start any violence, but neither did you run away, you stood up for your values. I’m proud of you.”

“I was gobsmacked by both of you, Mummy,” said Sammi. “The bluff with the legal stuff was brill.”

“He claimed to have God on his side, I claimed to have the law. If we’d gone to court, I know the law would have come in the form of barristers and judges, I’m not sure he had quite the same conviction in his team.”

“Couldn’t they have charged you with pretending to be something you’re not?”

“No, I’d have told them I was his legal representative. To defend someone in a court of law doesn’t require you to be a qualified lawyer. Some people defend themselves and do quite well.”

“But it was telling untruths, Mummy.”

“Not quite. It was allowing them to believe untruths–a bit like religion. Let’s get home I’m dying for a cuppa.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1831 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I’d just returned from taking the girls to school and Phoebe to college when Simon held up a sheet of paper, “Is this anything to do with you?”

“What?” I asked and he held out the paper which was a print off from a newspaper.

‘Brothers Brawl at Burial’ ran the headline. It sort of rang a bell or three. I read on. ‘We are reliably informed that two brothers came to blows at the burial of their father on Monday while still in the churchyard. The reason for the fracas wasn’t known but it was suggested by one witness that the animosity was long running and one of the bellicose brethren had tried to prevent the other from attending.

When push came to shove, the blows began and one of the stormy siblings left the churchyard with a broken beak, the other was seen driving away with his girlfriends in a white Jaguar. The identities of the funerary fighting fraterns isn’t known but the photo above shows the right-hook that settled the scrap.

Anyone with more information of this story should contact us at the [email protected].’

I looked carefully at the picture and was pleased to see that Sammi and I were standing with our backs to the camera, and because David was moving as it was taken, his face is blurred and his brother’s is hidden by David’s fist. Remembering the moment, I had to admit he did catch him with a corker of a right hook.

“So?” asked Simon.

“So why are you home, and where did you get this from?”

“From whom did I get it, you mean?”

“That is you, isn’t it?”

“It could be, I suppose.”

“You were escorting our chef to his father’s funeral, were you not?”

“I might have been, why?”

“I thought it looked remarkably like our king of the kitchen.”

“Yeah, I suppose it does have a passing resemblance.”

“And you do have a white Jaguar.”

“Pure coincidence.”

“What are the chances of such a coincidence happening, millions to one against?”

“Perhaps you should have bought a lottery ticket.”

“Cathy, like I need money?”

“We all do, unfortunately,.” I sighed, thinking of the millions who don’t have enough to meet their basic needs. “Now, who sent you this?”

“David’s niece actually.” He couldn’t hold back the smirk and I glared at him.

“So presumably David knows?”

“He does, he popped it in for you while he went shopping.”

“Shopping?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s going to cook something nice for dinner, so you can do your dissertation.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re home, and where’s Sammi?”

“She’s gone shopping with Stella. Jacquie’s on rug-rat duty.”

“Rug rat? Oh–hey that’s not very complimentary of our young daughter and your nieces.”

“Neither of them heard me, so we’re probably safe.”

“Simon, why are you home?”

“I have a lunch meeting here in Portsmouth, it seems the Chamber of Commerce couldn’t get anyone better, so they asked me. You’re welcome to come with me if you’re interested to hear me in action.”

“Simon, I’ve heard you eat before–you do it here most days.”

“Hear me eat? I’m the guest speaker.”

“Oh, silly me,” I said and he snorted then chased me round the kitchen threatening to tickle me. I was still shrieking with laughter when he caught me in the lounge and we had a quick cuddle and a snog, like two naughty adolescents. I was simply glad none of the kids saw us, it would have been so embarrassing.

“Stephanie is coming to dinner,” I called to him. He was in the hallway sorting his tie.

“Don’t tell me, tell David. He’s doing the cooking.”

“I was just informing you, that’s all. You’re always telling me I never tell you anything.”

“Especially about funeral fights–god, that article was corny.”

“I’d noticed, written by an alliterate.”

“Oh god, Cathy, that was almost as bad.”

“Yeah, I’m practising them for my dissertation.”

He returned to the lounge, “Right, babes, I have to go.”

“Have you got your notes?” I asked him and he patted his jacket pocket. “Your clean hankie?”

“Yes, Mummy,” he said patting his breast pocket. Unfortunately, my glare just caused him to snigger.

“Your pet grass snake?”

“In my satchel–how did you know I had a pet grass snake?”

“I hope you don’t have one now?”

“I had one in school, until it disgraced itself.”

“It didn’t let off a stink bomb in an enclosed space, did it?” The reptiles have very little defence against schoolboys except to release a fluid which absolutely stinks to high heaven.

“How’d ya guess?”

“There isn’t much else a grass snake could do, is there?”

“So who blabbed, Dad or Stella?”

“You told me when you were drunk one night.”

“I didn’t did I?”

“No, of course not, it was Kiki throwing her voice.” I felt something rub my legs and Bramble gazed up at me, purring loudly and picking at the carpet. I bent down and picked her up and the purring got louder.

“See, you’re a natural mother.”

“I’m not sure that making the happiest kitten on the planet purr is much recommendation. She purrs at the drop of a hat.”

He looked on the floor even under the furniture.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your hat.”

“My hat?”

“I assume you must have dropped it because she’s purring.” With that he practically ran out the door, just in time to meet David coming in.

“Traitor,” I said to David.

“Eh?”

“You showed Simon this,” I picked up the print out from Eastleigh.”

“I asked him to give it to you.”

“Oh he did that all right.”

“Sorry–my niece sent it to me by email.”

“I’m not entirely surprised, though the reporter’s prose is appalling.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed, I was too taken with the photo.”

“Why? It looks like it came from someone’s camera phone.”

“Cathy, Arthur has bullied me ever since I was born–he didn’t want any brothers or sisters and he gave me hell. That I can say I’m finally free of the bullying and that I did it in such a physical way makes me feel proud of myself.”

“You could also have ended up with an assault charge,” I reminded him.

“And what’s more, I did it like a man.”

“I don’t think anyone would argue with that, David, now what’s for dinner?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1832 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“What’s this?” Trish had found the emailed newspaper article. Her query was replaced with a chuckle as she found the rest of the coven I’d just brought from school. Something of a gigglefest followed it and it was this noise which drew my attention.

“What’s all the noise about?” I’d just come down stairs from changing into some warmer clothes, it having become cooler since lunch time.

Danny had obviously been attracted by the same noise and was busy looking at the paper. “Wow, David goes for a knockout,” he said loudly. I couldn’t remember who’d left the paper on the dining room table, it could even have been me, so there was no one to blame. I suppose the chattering class would have found out about it sooner or later, so in that regard it simply moved things forward.

“Right you lot, this doesn’t go beyond the house–so no telling schoolmates–okay?” Of course they all grumbled, and I could imagine them telling their friends how the cook decked some guy at a funeral. It would be big news–‘What, you have a cook? What does your mother do?’

I suppose there are some quite posh students at St Claires, possibly not as wealthy as the Camerons, so perhaps they wouldn’t be as shocked as students at Danny’s school. Still, hopefully my request will be honoured by my children so David’s value as a pugilist will remain under the proverbial bushel.

I’d spent a couple of hours working on my dissertation, which was now almost at a draft stage. I’d highlighted the need for conservation of small mammals, suggesting that the dormouse projects around the country had helped to secure the viability of a number of populations of dormice, and that there was a need to do the same for harvest mice, water voles and perhaps even hedgehogs–which are declining rapidly. With the latter, there was opportunity for interaction with the general public, as even a blind man can recognise a tiggywinkle from any other British mammal, and the frequent occurrence of hedgehogs in gardens makes it a very possible form of conservation.

I’m not sure if we’ll have people buying hedgehog food or even meal worms like they do peanuts for blue tits, but you never know with the British public. Just when you think they’re all homophobic, self-serving, materialist arseholes, they do something which causes you to think again. The numbers of volunteers that have turned out in Machynlleth to search for the missing little girl is astonishing. They’ve appeared in their hundreds–I do so hope they find her alive, her poor parents must be going through hell, as must she if she’s still alive. I’ll never understand how anyone could hurt a child, or for that matter, find them sexually attractive–ugh, it makes my flesh crawl.

I’ve never been to Machynlleth, though I recall mention of it in the country diary in the Guardian when I was a kid, written by a bloke called William Condry. They were always wonderful short essays written by a man of great knowledge of the natural world, but without sentimentality. I admit it was something which encouraged me to do what I do now, counting dormice and other things biological.

“Mummy, why did David hit that man?” Trish had interrupted my thoughts.

“How should I know?” I tried bluffing my way out of it first.

“Because that’s you in the picture too.” Okay, so her eyes work.

“Don’t tell the others, alright?”

“You know me, Mummy,” and she pretended to zip her mouth shut; which probably means they’ll all know ten seconds after I tell her.

“Okay, I was there. David has an elder brother called Arthur, who has bullied David since they were kids. He tried to do it at their father’s funeral, and he also threatened me, which was when David, who had been pushed and shoved and also punched at, hit him bang on the proboscis.”

“What’s bosis, Mummy?”

Why do I never learn? If I’d mentioned quarks or photons, she’d know what I was on about–oh well, here goes. “It’s a beak like structure in some insects, it’s also the tongue in some butterflies and moths. It’s used as a slang term for a nose.”

“If butterflies have a tongue for a nose, how do they smell things?” She stuck out her tongue and pretended to sniff me with it.

“You dope, they taste things with their feet, that’s how.”

She roared with laughter thinking I was kidding her.

“It’s true, they do. Moths smell each other with their antennae which pick up pheromones–chemicals they use to attract mates for breeding. Snakes and lizards use their tongues for smelling things, and they and some mammals such as cats have a special organ in the roof of the mouth, called a Jacobson’s organ. Sometimes cats will sniff you with their mouths open, they’re using their Jacobson’s organ.”

“Is that why snakes are always flicking their tongues in and out?” Trish had made an observation regarding something other than quantum physics–miracles never cease.

“Yes, they’re carrying scent over their vomeronasal organ,” I never learn, do I?

“Their vomitonosy organ? Ugh, how horrid, Mummy.”

“Let’s just call it a Jacobson’s organ, shall we?”

“Have I got one?” she asked pretending to sniff me while flicking her tongue.

“Humans have a rudimentary one but it doesn’t have any function, so they think, just like our tails.”

“Tails?” she shrieked, “We don’t have tails–do we?” I had to wait for her to stop laughing by which time Livvie had arrived.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded of her sister.

Trish started her tongue flicking again and looked more like Hannibal Lecter than a snake.

“Wotcha doin’?” asked Livvie sniggering.

“Sniffing you, you got a vomit-thingy organ, like snakes have.”

“Jacobson’s organ,” I offered, “and it isn’t functional in humans.”

“Yeah, one of them, you got a tail, too,” Trish informed her sister.

“I know, it’s called a cockette or something’.”

Livvie’s response caught Trish in mid tongue flick. “A what?”

“It’s called a coccyx and it’s the final bone on the spine, tucked down inside your bum.”

“How can that be a tail if it’s stuck inside you? You can hardly wag it down there can you?” She started to waggle her bum and so did Livvie.

“It isn’t designed to be wagged, it’s just a left over from our evolution from the apes, although they don’t have tails either, but a long way back when apes and monkeys split up from a common ancestor...” I’ve done it again, their bemused faces showed me that.

“Darwin said we came from monkeys, didn’t he, Mummy?” asked Livvie who’d been processing what I’d said.

“Not quite, he suggested we had common ancestors way back in time.”

“Like when the dinosaurs were about?” she asked, showing some understanding of both geological time and its inhabitants.

“Probably after the dinosaurs,” I suggested.

“Dinosaur means terrible lizard,” threw in Trish, “I wonder if T Rex went around flicking his tongue, she demonstrated her impression of one roaring like a bear with a sore head and holding her hands like she’d seen pictures of the world’s best known prehistoric carnivore.

I watched them both turn from schoolgirls into their version of Tyrannosaurus Rex and go rampaging into the lounge bringing squeals and giggles from Mima and Puddin’. Another day in the life of a madcap family.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1833 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

As the week wore on, there was no news of the little girl in Mid-Wales and it began to look very bad. Someone was taken into custody and finally charged with her murder. I felt so sad about it, yet still they hadn’t found her body. When Simon offered to spend five minutes with the suspect to find out where he’d dumped her body, I think most of us felt the same. However, it would have brought him down to almost the same level as the suspect.

Although we didn’t have any children of quite the same age as her, we had older and younger ones and we felt as raw as anyone about it. Whether the suspect is actually guilty has yet to be established in court, but whoever took the child has destroyed several lives including his own.

It left me feeling a bit down, partly because I couldn’t help, and partly because I couldn’t understand what motivates someone to do such a thing. On the Saturday, the sun shone and I wanted to do something outside, even something like gardening was better than being inside and by lunchtime the sun felt quite warm.

Danny had been off to play football and Simon had gone to watch–he does when he can. Tom had supervised the three older girls and me in the garden, and we swept up the few leaves which had started to fall and dumped a sackful of them in the compost.

We then discovered a hedgehog hiding in the back of the compost heap and I got one of the girls to bring out the tin of cat food, and I scooped a couple of spoonfuls down near the animal. Then we retired to a safe distance and not more than ten minutes later, it emerged and scoffed the food before hiding back in its hole under the rotting vegetation.

Tom told us that one year he’d had grass snakes lay eggs in his compost heap, warmed by the fermentation that goes on in it, started by the pile of manure he shoves on it. In the winter you can sometimes see it steaming, which means it’s hot enough to kill any weed seeds in it so that when it’s spread and dug into the garden it’s not propagating pest plants. Weeds are just plants in the wrong place.

We harvested some potatoes as well. They were smaller than usual and Tom was disappointed that they hadn’t done better, the rain came at the wrong time and some earlier ones he’d dug were going rotten.

Meems went to get something from the house and Bramble got out, so we had fifteen minutes of mad scrambles and mayhem trying to get her back into the house. She hasn’t finished her jabs yet, so she should be indoors still. Trish laid into Meems and I reminded her that we all make mistakes. She apologised to her sister and peace was restored.

The girls asked if we could do a bike ride after lunch. I knew that Tom wanted Simon to help him with something in the orchard–lopping some branches–I think, so I agreed. David now doing the meal planning and shopping relieved me of that chore and we’d got to the stage when he showed me what he planned for the week and unless I disagreed, that’s what we had. However, I lived in fear of him moving on and me having to do it all again. I guess I’m a failure as a housewife.

Whenever I mentioned this to him, he’d reassure me that he hadn’t felt as wanted or as supported in any previous job he’d had and although it wasn’t as demanding as working in a restaurant, he loved being with us as we’d become his family and that seemed to be important for him.

He still had a couple of days a week off, but even then, tended to eat with us and I basically just heated up what he’d left us from the day before or I made do with things like jacket potatoes. The kids love them, or we’d get in pizzas or fish and chips. It seems the less nourishment there is in the food, the more the kids love it.

For a change, we were having soup and fresh made bread–we can get through two loaves at a sitting if everyone is home, and a very large pot of soup. David had made some cream of watercress, which I love so I had to be careful that I didn’t eat too much before we went cycling.

Danny was torn between helping his dad play with a chainsaw in the orchard and coming out with us on the bikes. In the end the bikes won out, so with him leading and me bringing up the rear, we set off along the bike path and I hoped the girls would try to put some effort into it.

Bike rides seem to act as catalysts in my life. If you remember, my life was kick-started by Stella while I was riding a bike and several other things of a less pleasant nature have also happened while on a bike, including my own near death experience and the death of poor old Billie, whom I still miss and never a day goes by without me thinking of her. That got me thinking about the poor little girl in Machynlleth again, as she was out with her bicycle when she was abducted.

This time we seemed to be going on without any unexpected things happening, Danny was leading the girls and I was dawdling along behind them which is actually harder than riding with a group which is going fast. The problem with unexpected things is just that, you aren’t expecting them.

We’d been accompanied by a light aircraft buzzing about like a giant mosquito–not the second world war fighter-bomber, but the blood sucking insect. However, what with the noise of traffic and especially the odd motorbike zooming past, and sounding like they were about to enter into reverse thrust, the noise of the plane hadn’t disturbed me that much.

Sometimes I did wonder if I’d like to fly, but they damage the environment and it’s a very expensive as well as selfish hobby, and I didn’t have time to fly my bikes let alone a small tail dragger, as someone my dad knew used to call light aircraft.

I suppose I noticed a change in the whine of the ‘mosquito’ and for some reason looked up. Then the engine sounded like it was stalling. In itself, that wasn’t too disturbing, as they teach pilots how to cope with an engine stall, so it could have been a training flight. The engine coughed back into life so I assumed that’s what it was until it happened again and when I looked up I thought I could see smoke.

I called the children to stop and dismounted feeling for my mobile phone which was in the back pocket of my shirt, under the gilet I was wearing. I was calling the emergency services as the plane started to smoke like mad and flames were visible. This was going to end badly.

It seemed to swoop low and then flipped upside down and smacked into the ground with an almighty wallop followed by an explosion with bits of debris being blasted all over the place including towards us. Some flaming plastic just missed Meems who turned her bike round and rode it behind me.

I called the children together, Danny yelling, “Aren’t we going to help him?”

“No, I suspect he’s beyond anything we could do, and it’s too dangerous to go near.” I’d given the police the approximate location and minutes later police cars, fire engines and an ambulance were on their way.

The second police car to arrive asked if it were us who’d called and I nodded. I told him what we’d seen and he nodded, then told us to go home, something I was glad to do. We’d just witnessed someone’s death and we all felt rather sombre as we processed home.

Simon had heard the bang and seen the smoke wondering what had happened but hadn’t realised we were so close. He gave each of us a sweaty hug–he’d worked hard with Tom sawing wood for the fire and shifting it into the shed to dry. I don’t know about the girls and Danny, but I felt really good to have his arms around me even if he did smell less than his usual elegant self.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1834 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I was lying in bed cwtching with Simon when we heard it first. He looked at me and I got out of bed. I opened the door, there it was again, a whimpering sound. I walked to the girl’s bedroom and Mima was tossing and turning and whimpering, obviously having a bad dream.

I bent over her and rubbed her forehead and spoke quietly to her, “It’s okay, sweetheart, Mummy’s here and you’re quite safe.”

“Man catched fire in the pwane,” she said her head moving back and fore.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, Mummy’s here, no one is going to hurt you, now just go back off to sleep and have pleasant dreams.”

“Mummy,” she sighed and relaxed. I stayed with her a few more minutes and she seemed to go off to sleep again.

I felt really cold as I got back into bed, “They all right?” asked Simon wrapping his arm round me.

“Yes, Meems was having a bad dream about the plane crash we witnessed.”

“Yeah, poor sod, any idea who it was?”

“No, the telly just said it was a local man.”

“You’re cold, here let me warm you,” he started to rub me and it did feel warmer, though I wasn’t aware my chest was particularly cold–however–he seemed to think it was.

The next morning, Sunday, the weather again stayed fine though the warm sunshine we’d had on the Saturday would be mostly lost to cloud as the day wore on. I woke early and slipped out of bed, grabbed my cycling kit and was away before anyone else woke–except Tom.I passed him out with the dog.

I did a quick ten miler managing a couple of small hills and then back to the house. It was only eight o’clock when I got back, I’d been out about an hour–I was definitely losing my fitness, but I felt warmer and a bit more exhilarated when I got home. I was in the shower when Simon decided to join me.

It’s not easy doing things in the shower except washing, probably because that’s all they’re designed for, not sexual gymnastics. Thankfully, it was all over before the kids woke up and came looking for us, by that time I was out and dried and drying my hair.

“What was that banging noise?” asked Trish.

“Banging noise?”

“Yeah, sounded like someone was banging on something and lots of groaning.”

“No idea,” I lied hoping I wouldn’t blush too much. “Perhaps it was Gramps, he was out with the dog earlier.”

She went away unconvinced if her expression was anything to go by. Simon was still in the bathroom and I heard him snorting, obviously trying to keep himself from laughing out loud. Once she’d gone he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped round his waist and grin on his face.

“Tom and Kiki, I hope they weren’t doing the same as us,” he said quietly and chuckled to himself. He made some obscene movements and I threw a pillow at him, which caught him below the belt and made him wince.

“Don’t be so crude,” I berated him, “Or are you going to be a schoolboy all your life?”

“Probably,” he said and smirked. I left the bedroom without speaking shutting the door more firmly than I needed.

At breakfast Meems seemed unaware of her bad dreams though she yawned once or twice. The rest of the kids just concentrated on filling their faces and my exercise made me do the same, two slices of toast and a banana and two mugs of tea.

“You’re eating lots today, Mummy,” commented Livvie, none of the others had noticed, or at least said anything.

“Yes, I feel hungry this morning.”

“Aye, ridin’ that bike o’yers,” commented Tom, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast.

“You didn’t go for a bike ride and leave us behind, Mummy?” wailed Trish.

“Yes, you were still asleep.”

“Bah,” she said, “We might have seen another plane crash.”

“I sincerely hope not, that one yesterday was one too many.”

“It was int’restin’,” she said and drank her juice.

“The man died,” Mima said loudly.

“Yes, he did, probably trying to steer his plane away from the road and hurting other people.”

“He might have hit us,” Trish accused.

“I don’t think that was very likely, Trish, he landed nearly quarter of a mile away,” I answered her.

“That’s close for aircraft, don’t you watch those videos of near misses?”

“I think that relates to jumbo jets or other jet aircraft,” Simon joined the discussion, “because they’re like oil tankers–the ships I mean–difficult to manoeuvre.”

“The Red Arrows seem to do it alright,” Trish threw back at him.

“They are the world’s best aero display team and they practice for hours, and even they have the odd accident.”

“Oh yes,” I offered, “One of them was killed near Bournemouth a year or so ago.”

“What, one of the Red Arrows crashed?” Trish seemed shocked.

“Yes, his aircraft malfunctioned and crashed and rather than eject, the pilot got it out into the countryside and it crashed. He was killed but no one else was injured.”

“That’s vewy bwave,” commented Meems, “wike the man, yest-a-day.”

“Yes, I’m sure he was too,” I added to try and stifle any other comment.

Trish looked uncertain about any of this and asked to be excused from the table dashing off to the dining room where she’d be checking it up on her computer.

“Hawk trainer,” said Danny who’d so far remained quiet.

“What your sports shoes?” I asked.

“No, Mummy,” he said patronisingly, “that’s what they fly, Hawk trainers–the Red Arrows.”

“Oh,” well how was I to know? Now if it was bikes...

“Right, laddie, you and me in the garden five minutes,” Simon told Danny.

“What for?” Danny sighed.

“Hedge trimming, me trim, you clear up.” Simon was I think trying to imitate Tarzan, you know, Me Tarzan you Jane, stuff. I suppose I don’t mind as long as it’s me he sees as his Jane.

He suddenly yelled and stood up with Bramble clinging to his leg, which caused us all to roar with laughter. “Get this pest off my leg, NOW,” he said in between ouching and ow-ing I reached down and lifted her free of his trousers. “Thank you,” he said rubbing where she’d let her crampons dig into his skin.

“Aw, poor pussy, did the nasty man frighten you,” said Livvie and Simon just looked astonished.

“Nasty man? She was shredding my leg.”

It was the wrong thing to say because the rest of us just laughed at him. Okay, kittens have needles on every foot and haven’t learned not to use them on us until they get a bit older.

“Ye big Jessie,” piped Tom, hiding behind the Observer.

“It bloody well hurt,” whined Simon.

“Ask Kiki to kiss it better for you,” called Danny, dashing off to his bedroom.

“No way, I don’t want septicaemia,” Simon grumbled after him.

“Wossat?” asked Mima.

“Blood poisoning.”

“Ugh,” she replied and ran off in case it was catching.

“What’s cat scratch fever?” asked Livvie.

“I have no idea,” was my learned response.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1835 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I cleared up the breakfast mess and David came in to prepare the Sunday lunch. I prefer to eat my main meal in the evening but Simon likes a blow out at lunch on a Sunday so he can sleep it off all afternoon. I could hear the buzz of the hedge trimmer–it’s a petrol one on a long handle and it slices through most things once you get it started.

I’ve only ever used an electric one, which is less powerful and of course needs a cable to supply the juice. The advantage of the motor one is that you don’t need the cable, so there is no chance of cutting through it. They don’t let me use the petrol trimmer or strimmer, because they reckon they’re too heavy for me. Not being much of a gardener, it doesn’t worry me. They may also be correct because these days I don’t seem to have much muscle anyway, and what I had the oestrogen seems to have eaten. Use it or lose it, they say; I think I might have lost it.

I got Trish and Livvie to help me strip their beds and we got the laundry out an hour later. There didn’t seem to be as much warmth in the sun today, but I hoped they’d dry. All the linen smells so much nicer if it’s line dried. Despite all the excitement of yesterday, Jacquie had done the other beds–we have a two week rota–unless Simon and I have been–um–you know–is it hot in here or what?

You’re not interested in my laundry arrangements, but shows that we still have things to do around the house even if we are a bit stinking rich. Tom retired to his study with my draft dissertation. He obviously couldn’t assess it anyway, but he’s seen quite a few of them in his day and could offer me some guidelines. It has to be at the university by the end of the month, and I could expect my viva by the end of November. So I’ve plenty to do between now and then.

I was brought back to the present by Livvie, who offered to polish the dining table. I nodded and she went off to get the dusters and beeswax. I think I’ve mentioned the table before. Apart from being big with capacity to grow even bigger if the central leaf is added, it’s also quite old and made of solid wood unlike these veneered things one gets today. The wood is walnut and to replace would cost thousands. The matching chairs–there are eight of them, with another eight we keep in the cupboard–the latter are later pieces but quite close in design. All the chairs are oak or beech, can’t remember which, but they look lovely when they’re all out around the table with a nice cloth on it and a decent table centre to set it off.

Livvie went off to do the polishing while Trish operated the washing machine and the dishwasher–she’d filled both and would be responsible for getting Jacquie to help her put the dishes away and hang out the laundry. Meems was on baby-sitting duty with Stella, and Sammi was cleaning upstairs while I vacuumed downstairs.

By the time we’d finished, the smells from the kitchen were amazing. David had done a bread-mix for the machine which was enough in itself, so what he was doing with meat and stuff, I hated to think, but I kept salivating and my tummy was rumbling and we still had half an hour to go before we ate.

“God that smells so good,” said Stella, bringing down some dirty nappies to soak in the utility room. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure, every so often it smells of bacon, then lamb or steak or sausages–I have no idea–and the bread makes me feel ravenous.”

“To hell with it, I’m going to go and see what he’s cooking.” Stella went off with the nappies and I continued moving furniture and vacuuming in the corners. By the time I got to the dining room, Livvie was putting away her dusters and I congratulated her on a good job.

I helped her put the cloth on the table and she went out in the garden to cut some flowers for the table decoration. I quickly whizzed over the room with the cleaner and then did the hallway and I was finished.

At twelve thirty I called the boys in to wash their hands, and sent the girls to do the same. Julie and Phoebe had been cleaning the inside of the windows and they’d finished the bedrooms when I called. They can do downstairs next week.

Fifteen minutes later David rolled in the hostess trolley and showed us what he’d been up to–a mixed grill with sautéd potatoes, grilled sliced tomatoes and mushrooms, and some baked beans.

All the smells we’d recognised were due to the variety of stuff he’d cooked: lamb chops, small steaks of beef, liver and kidneys, bacon and sausage. There were also fried onions, which can make me salivate even when I’ve just eaten.

For the next half an hour we all just stuffed. To my amazement, everything was eaten and I also had a glass of wine–which usually makes me sleepy at lunch time–but didn’t today, perhaps because it was Prosecco–a dry sparkling Italian wine, the corks of which when released nearly broke the light fitting as they popped like champagne corks.

I’d watched what I’d eaten, or thought I had, but still felt as if I’d eaten a whole sheep so decided to go for a walk while it was still fine. Simon declared he had more hedge trimming to do, so Danny got volunteered as well. I felt sorry for the lad having to pick up garden rubbish after what he’d eaten.

Only the younger girls decided to join me, so Trish, Meems, Livvie and I went for a walk and while we were out had an ice cream–we hadn’t had a sweet with dinner, it was too filling by itself. We walked for some ninety minutes and I felt tired when we got back–tea was going to be something on toast–but that was the last thing on my mind as I nodded off in the chair in my study.

“There y’are,” Tom poked his head round my door waking me.

“Sorry, Daddy, I must have nodded off.”

“Aye, jest a wee bit.”

I looked at the clock and realised it was nearly time for tea, and I was still tired and feeling full. He handed me the draft dissertation. “It needs some work,” was all he said and I felt ready to burst into tears. I didn’t expect him to do it for me, but he could have been more helpful.

I felt like flinging the file across the room. So that was it–needs more work–sums up my life, that statement. I felt a bit of water escape my eyelids which were brimming and by the time I’d got the tissues out, I felt like howling. I restricted my feelings to a few sniffs and the odd sob but my eyes leaked for quite a time. All that effort and still, ‘it needs some work.’ I felt like telling him what he could do with his degree and his university.

Once I’d stopped feeling sorry for myself, I dried my eyes which were now stinging. Sammi came to see if I wanted some tea, “I did come earlier but you were fast asleep. Are you alright?” she asked noting my red rimmed eyes.

I explained what had happened. “Can I see it?” she asked picking up the now inadequate document. “Gosh, there’s a lot of margin notes.”

“What?” I gasped snatching it back from her. The notes in pencil, were advice and editing, positive criticisms and suggestions. All I had to do was to include these in the draft and it should be more or less finished. Poor Daddy, he’d spent the whole afternoon reading and commenting on it page by page. I felt ashamed of my first reaction, perhaps I’d been half asleep and thus over sensitive to his comment. His comments looked as if they would put the final gloss on it. Oh dear, I do not so much jump to conclusions as rocket to them.

At the end he’d written, ‘On the whole this is very good, but needs some polishing and a little revision–congratulations, they’ll love it.’

Sammi looked at me and we both smiled then burst into tears as only women can when they are happy.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1836 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Episode 153 dozen for any dodecaphiles reading it.

After composing myself and wiping my face, I went to see Tom to thank him for encouragement. He was back in his study reading Nature.

“Thank you for your observations and encouragement, Daddy.”

He stood up and held out his arms and we hugged, and once again I blubbed. He patted my back and spoke softly to me like I was a child again. In some ways I wished I were, but then if that were the case who’d look after all of those who’d put their trust in me?

I apologised for my apparent emotional instability. He grinned and told me I had nothing to apologise for.

“How did you manage to read it so quickly? It’s three hundred pages.”

“Aye, but ye showed me more than hef o’ it afore.”

“But you still had to correct or comment on it?”

He pulled out a sheaf of papers and showed them to me. He’d read more than half of it and done his corrections and critique over several months. Because he’d encouraged me with the parts I’d shown him, I left them alone and concentrated on the newer parts. However, he’d still done nearly a hundred pages in a day.

He explained that he’d seen so much of my work he could scan it in the knowledge where the weak points or those of controversy would occur. He would read the final edition to proof out any mistakes or typos providing I gave him a week to do so. I could then print off the number of copies required by the university and send them in for my invigilators to read and formulate the questions they would ask at my viva.

I confessed I was apprehensive of that and he reassured me that my submission was good enough to make them feel positive with me as knowing and loving my subject.

“Well, I do love my babies,” I said in a voice made more squeaky by recent weeping fits.

“We ken ye dae,” he observed, “but yer love o’ ecology is also there.”

“I do enjoy what I do, Daddy, and I’ve got you to thank for that.”

“Me? I dinna dae onythin’?”

“You gave me the support I needed to do my survey work and then to apply it to a larger canvas.”

“Ye took thae established way o’ daein’ these things an’ improved on them sae much, whit else cud I dae but support ye? If I hadnae, some other university wud hae snatched ye up.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am I? It wisnae me wha sugested ye f’ the UN job.”

“It wisnae, I meant it wasn’t–so who did?”

“Yer auld friend, Esmond.”

“Prof Herbert?”

“Aye, he asked me if I thocht ye were guid enough, an’ I telt him ye were. I sent him some o’ yer research as well.”

“Without telling me, how could you, Daddy?”

“I didnae want ye tae get yer hopes up if they didnae invite ye to apply.”

I hugged him again.

“I can’t believe that old lothario would recommend me, he hardly knows me.”

“Och, he kens ye better than ye think he daes. He’s quite astute, even if his sexual mores leave a wee bit tae be desired.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“He’d been in touch wi’ us since ye’d applied tae come here, sae he kens more that ye think. He’s followed yer career wi’ interest.”

“Why? He knew me as a mixed up kid, I like to think I’ve changed since then.”

“He recognised thae beauty wi’in ye, he also thocht ye might be gay or transgender, occasionally wond’rin’ if ye were a lassie pretendin’ tae be a boy.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Aye, when ye first cam’ here, one or twa o’ the faculty wondered if ye were a boy or a lassie. Ye dressed like a boy, sort o’ but ye conducted yersel’ like a lassie.”

“Oh my god,” no wonder people gave me funny looks. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I suppose I did a bit of each–it was messy. Tom handed me a box of tissues–well, tears he could cope with, snot–just ask yourself, would you?

I had to go before this trip down memory lane completely blew me away. I wiped my face, blew my nose and after pecking him on the cheek, I left him to go back to his journal.

I managed to slip upstairs and wash my face in the bathroom and cool my eyes down a bit. While I was doing this, I tried to recall some of the things that seemed to happen about the UN invite. It was Gareth that pushed it supported by Herbert and Tom, plus someone in the Dept of the Environment. I declined because I was neither a politician nor experienced enough to take it up. Besides, It would have meant being at the beck and call of all sorts of people and too much travelling. Not my style at all, I’m a homebird, really, and I want to be with my kids. They’re depending upon me to help them achieve independence in a reasonable manner–no, the job would suit a man far better, pity Gareth didn’t get it, he might still have been alive.

I put a bit of concealer round my puffy eyes and went back down. David, in my absence was serving tea, fresh salmon and cucumber sandwiches–how English can you get, even if the salmon was Scottish, or farmed there. My contribution was to get the ice cream out of the freezer and we all had a cone of the stuff with a flake added, a 99 for those who recognise such terms.

“Where did you disappear to?” asked Simon when we were in bed.

“When?”

“Between lunch and tea.”

“I was around, I had a chat with Daddy about my dissertation.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Why?”

“We were looking for you, that’s all, can’t remember why? Did Sammi find you?”

“Earlier yeah, she was making tea.”

“That was it, we’d made a pot of tea–I’m glad I remembered, makes me wonder if I’m losing it at times.”

“You losing it? Losing what?” I asked cheekily, laughing as I did so.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know I had any marbles to lose?”

“I’m sure you have a big tin of them somewhere from your childhood.”

“How did you know that? I mean how could you?”

“Just a guess, I can imagine you shaking the tin and making an awful din.”

I could feel the bed shaking as he chuckled, “That was me to a tee, how could you know?”

“I know what boys are like.”

“Don’t tell me, because you used to be one?”

“No, actually, because I don’t think I ever was. It’s funny, according to Daddy, Esmond Herbert wasn’t sure if I was an effeminate boy or a girl who dressed as a boy. Apparently, several people here wondered if I was a girl who dressed like a boy.”

“Yeah, I can believe that. I reckon if you’d been a normal sort of boy before, you’d never have fooled me in the beginning. You were gauche, but in an endearing sort of way, in a girlish way. You never were a boy really, were you?”

“I don’t think so, but then, I would say that wouldn’t I?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1837 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Simon had gone off to sleep half an hour ago, and here I was half past twelve still torturing myself. Is this something that we who come to womanhood by a different path constantly do? Because we’re not bio-females usually, we always have a chip on our shoulders about it. Why am I worrying about this now–I don’t know. It seems to go with the territory.

I’m legally a woman, female what have you. I’m married to a lovely man whom I worship–but don’t tell him that. I can’t have babies of my own, but I’ve adopted several of the nicest kids I’ll ever meet. To my astonishment, because one reads or hears so many stories of adopted children having awful problems when they find out and some going really off the rails, mine seem to be normal children–except two of the girls appear to be much cleverer than normal, with Trish in particular being super bright.

I also have an infant, from someone who gave up her own life, or so it felt, for me to have the experience of motherhood without the painfully messy bit. I then spontaneously began lactating, something which not many in my position have the chance to do. So I’ve had the privilege of breastfeeding.

I’ve been able to pursue my delight–the ecology of dormice–which I hope has helped some of the little critters survive by publicising their difficulties. I’ve made a film and it was well received. I’ve also helped put together the mammal survey and overseen it. So far that’s been well received and should land me a doctorate as well, something I’ve wanted almost as much as to be a mother.

So why am feeling as if I’m a fraud or second class? I’ve achieved more than many of my contemporaries, and they have wombs and ovaries. If they’re lucky they get to marry the man of their dreams and have a family, I’ve done that too, but got a title thrown in as the offer of the week. In a couple of months, I could be, Doctor, the Lady Cameron. Crazy isn’t it, but I still can’t just get on with my life being me. I have to touch my past perhaps because I can’t believe I’ve really got where I am. What if it’s all just a dream and I wake up dying in the hedgerow with Stella standing over me making silly noises? It will have been one hell of a dream.

I must have slept shortly after that because the next thing is it’s Monday morning and I’m getting the girls up for school after washing my hair. After I drop them off, I’m going to Gun Wharf Quay to do some early Christmas shopping, so I’m going to have a day off.

I have no idea what to buy anyone. They have what they want for the most part, Livvie was talking about learning to play the flute in school and I think Trish would like to learn the piano, so one of those electronic keyboards which mimic just about everything in the orchestra should be up her street.

I’m going to get Si an iPad, because I think he’d enjoy having it. Danny is going to have a new mobile phone, one of these with the touch screen things. Trish likes her Blackberry and so does Livvie. Crazy isn’t it? They’re eight years old and have a better phone than I did until I was twenty odd.

Stella and the older girls could be a problem, Julie would like clothes, so a cheque or voucher could be good. Stella–what d’you give a woman who has everything except a husband? I wish I knew.

I got the girls to school and off they went and I set off for the shops and inspiration. Much of the stuff I’d considered I can get cheaper on the internet, and although I don’t get to see it, I have a good idea what it’s all about. I might also treat myself to a new outfit for my viva interview–yeah, that might be nice.

I navigated my way to the shopping area–the posher one in Portsmouth and parked the car. I decide that three hours would be enough for now. I get fed up after that unless I’m in a bookshop or a bike shop. I decided, I was going nowhere near the latter.

Locking the car I set off on foot for the shops, with a fold up cloth bag in my handbag–the handles are more comfortable than carrier bags, not that I was sure I’d be buying much but you never know.

In one of the department stores I found a lovely blouse and in another franchise on the same floor discovered a suit which I thought would go with it nicely. After trying them I coughed up and bought them, a silk blouse and a silk and wool suit, not too bad for six hundred–euros that is, five hundred quid. The colour–the blouse is an ivory colour and the suit a dark red. All I need now is some new shoes and a bag, both of which I found half an hour later. I stopped for a latte coffee and cake and got back to the business of serious shopping.

Despite all of the walking I did, I found nothing I was certain would be of use to the others. I had some ideas, but that was it, I needed to do some market research on them without the others working out what I was asking them, or why I was asking them.

Danny did go on about one of those remote helicopters, but does he want one now, is the imponderable. I saw the time and set off back to the car.

I was loading my stuff in the boot of the Jag, when I heard raised voices from across the way. A woman seemed to be arguing with two men. I took a picture on my phone, it wasn’t the clearest I’d taken, but it did show what was happening or appeared to be. The voices became louder and I could almost hear what they were saying. I stood and watched transfixed by the drama. One of the men hit her and I shook myself out of my little trance.

In response the woman screamed at the man who hit her and flew at his face, he pulled back yelling in pain as she clawed his face–I winced in sympathy. The second man hit her and she staggered back. I think he must have punched her.

A family appeared walking past and the bloke asked if she was alright. The two men threatened him and he and his wife and perhaps her mother walked on quickly. I dialled triple nine, only to discover I couldn’t get a signal on my phone. Now what do I do?

The voices were now staccato, and it looked to be leading to further violence. I couldn’t stand there and let them hurt her whatever the problem was. I dumped everything except my car key in the boot and shut it quietly. Then I walked almost silently towards the trio who had begun to shout, mostly insults.

I saw a flash of light, one of them had a blade–one of the men–he was going to cut her. I ran back to my car threw open the boot and grabbed the wheel brace, slammed down the bootlid and ran towards the three–the woman was squealing as one of the men held her and the other advanced towards her with the knife.

“Look out,” yelled his partner just as I ran at them and he spun round and I had a good look at the knife–it looked dangerous until I swung the brace and knocked it from his hand and broke his thumb at the same time. He yelled and drew back. His friend now advanced, throwing the woman down as he did so. I saw her run off–great–just what I needed. I suppose it was too late just to talk to them about going home.

How come I always seem to get myself into these situations?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1838 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Get the bitch,” yelled the one I’d hit with the wheel brace. His pal did his bidding and ran round behind me. I could see him in one of the car windows and I allowed him to grab me in a bear hug type grip. His friend picked up the knife in his left hand, the right one looked rather bruised and swollen. “I’m gonna cut you, bitch.”

He strolled towards me and as soon as he got in range, I used his friend as a prop and kicked the knife bearer in the chest. He flew backwards and over the bonnet of a little Peugeot, disappearing between it and a VW. I then back head-butted the man who held me and he immediately let me go, whereupon I stepped forwards and back kicked him at chest height.

The knife wielding one emerged from between the cars, he was breathing hard and swearing at me. He charged at me just as a police car came screaming into the car park, I jumped out of the way and the angry thug ran straight into his mate, stabbing him, albeit accidentally, in the abdomen.

Two ticks later two coppers were all over him like a rash. A second police car appeared and this one called the ambulance. I glanced at my watch, it was one o’clock and there was a real possibility that I might have to call someone to collect the girls.

The woman who’d been their first victim and I thought had legged it, was with the police, she told them that I’d rescued her.

“I suppose you were just checking the tightness of your wheel nuts?” asked one of the coppers sarcastically.

“Gosh, your powers of deduction are absolutely spot on,” I beamed back to him. The ambulance had now arrived and the wounded man was taken away. The other was arrested and taken away in cuffs in the second police car.

“I need you to make a statement, madam.”

I looked at my watch, “How long is that going to take? I have children to collect from school.”

“If we go now, you could be away in time to get them.”

I followed him back to the police HQ, the other officer sitting in with me. “I always fancied one of these,” said my passenger. “You must have a good job.”

“It suits me, but my husband got me the car.”

“What does he do?”

“Works for a bank.”

“Pretty high up, I should imagine.”

“His dad is higher up.”

“They both work for the bank?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Did my colleague take your name?”

“No, I thought your super duper computer would have told you that from my car registration.”

“It might have done but I wasn’t in the car was I? I was tackling the geezer with the knife.”

“I see.” I mused wondering why it took two of them and one of me–multitasking in reverse?

“What is your name?”

“Me? Cathy.”

“Cathy what?”

“It used to be Watts.”

“And now?” he asked avoiding the pun.

“Cameron.”

“Cathy Cameron?” he asked for clarification.

“That’s me.”

“Why does that sound sort of familiar?”

“I have no idea, I lied,” well if I’d answered him I could have been described as helping the police with their enquiries, and that would never do. I mean, as Andrew Mitchell, described them, ‘plebs’–well one just couldn’t, could one?

I was almost smirking as he struggled with his memory. “Cameron and banking, that rings a bell,” he muttered to himself. I concentrated on following the police car in front as it distracted me from laughing. “’Ere, what position does your husband hold at the bank?”

“Um, I’m not sure if it’s managing director or chief executive of the retail arm.”

“Jeez–you’re the dormouse woman, aren’t you?”

“I have been known to associate with them, yes.”

“Oh bloody hell, you’re the pension killer, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t knowingly injured a pensioner in my life.”

“The career cutter.”

“I seem to have a number of soubriquets.”

“All of them bad,” he muttered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, you’re Lady Cameron, aren’t you?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said and looked as if he’d messed his pants and only just noticed. “I liked your film.”

“Thank you,” I said and kept it polite but distant.

We entered the car park and he escorted me into the building, the desk sergeant’s face fell when he saw me. When I was asked to sit in the waiting area, I heard him ask the young constable, “What d’you bring ’er ’ere for–you know who she is?”

“She witnessed an assault and intervened.”

“She’s like bloody Batwoman–bloody amateurs.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing ’er in her Batgirl outfit,” said the constable unaware that I could hear him.

“Give it a rest, Cornwell, she’s out of your league by about ten divisions.”

“I dunno, Sarge, we’re all the same lying down, in we?”

The older man sighed, “She’s dangerous, get rid of ’er, I’m too old to give up my pension now.”

I was led to a bland room and dictated a statement about the incident. It was typed up and I read it and signed it. Then left. I got to school just in time to collect the three mouseketeers.

“Wotcha been doin’, Mummy?” asked Trish sounding like someone from Billingsgate market.

“Not a lot sweetheart,” I lied–it was easier than dealing with one of her post mortem interrogations.

“Wot? Nuffin’? An’ I bin in skewl lernin’ fings–dat’s not fair.”

“I’ll have you know, young lady, that I went to school to learn things, too, and for a jolly sight longer than you have so far.”

She pouted and looked away, Livvie and Meems started to giggle, and then Trish did as well. Finally we were all laughing as I drove through the gate into our driveway. “Someone sounds happy,” declared David, “We were expecting you for lunch.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I got distracted.”

“By the police?”

“Police?” I pretended to be surprised.

“You left your pen there when you signed your statement. Someone will drop it round later.”

Trish’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open for a moment, “Nothing, eh, Mummy?”

“Uh–well it wasn’t very interesting,” I tried to conclude the matter.

“That wasn’t anything to do with the assault in the car park was it? They said some member of the public intervened and saved a woman being attacked with a knife, and helped the police apprehend the attackers. Wasn’t you, was it, Cathy?”

“You’ve done it again, Mummy, you promised Daddy you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

“Did I? When was that?” That was a genuine surprise.

“You’ve done it before?” David looked astonished, “No wonder you were so cool at the funeral.”

“I wasn’t, I was genuinely frightened.”

“Don’t believe her, David, she’s the bank’s answer to Tonto, the Loan Arranger.” Trish roared at her own joke and so did David.

“Riding a white Jaguar called, Silver,” David showed his age a little.

I’d never seen the Lone Ranger, I was too young, but it’s part of Twentieth Century culture and there are so many jokes about the two of them, including one yet to be finished film with Johnnie Depp as Tonto.

Trish missed out the Jaguar joke, she’d seen even less of the eponymous hero of the fifties cowboy show than I had, which was zilch, but I knew his horse was called ‘Silver’ and everyone said, “Hi Ho, Silver and away,” as soon as the gallop from William Tell started.

“What’s for dinner, David,” I asked changing the subject.

“Tontollini–I mean tortellini,” he said and snorted while Trish began to giggle.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXRjuaEVK78

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1839 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It wasn’t tortellini, it was spag carbonara–I prefer bolognaise–but being just a common or garden peasant, I would wouldn’t I? I quite like Napoli as well but I prefer meat with my tomatoes. The advantage of the carbonara, is it’s easier to wash out of the children’s clothes than bolognaise sauce. However, because David made it, it would be delicious and I was becoming hungry, not having had any lunch–next time I’ll ask the villains to wait until I’ve been fed–they might agree, I’d be less aggressive with a full stomach and the moon is made of green cheese. I’m not aggressive, am I? No, I’m a pussy cat really–psychopathic and merciless.

I went up to change, and noticed one or two bruises which were beginning to feel tender. I rubbed them gently and liberally with arnica cream and hoped it would help. I redressed in jeans and top and went downstairs to my study, grabbing a cuppa on the way.

I began to read through Tom’s comments on my dissertation and was ten pages into them when David knocked on my study door. “There’s a policeman to see you.”

“Oh, which one.”

“I think he said his name was Brunetti.”

I stared at him then burst out laughing, “Pull the other one, David.”

“What’s so funny?” he asked looking somewhat bewildered.

“See that pile of books over there in the corner,” I indicated which corner.

“Yes.”

“The primary protagonist is a copper called Guido Brunetti. He didn’t give his rank as Commissario, did he?”

“No, he looks like an ordinary constable.”

“Okay, lay on MacDuff.”

“I always thought that was, ‘lead on,’” he said as we walked back to the hallway.

“You’d be wrong if you did, it’s definitely, lay on.”

“Of course you’re something of an expert on Macbeth, aren’t you?”

“Shall we say, I’ve done it a few times.”

There was indeed a copper standing in the hallway holding his helmet under his arm and looking at the combination of photos and paintings hanging in the large space between rooms.

“Lovely old place,” he said looking up at the decorative plasterwork of the ceiling.

“It is, I’m Cathy Cameron,” I offered my hand.

“PC Rick Brunetti, ma’am,” he took my hand and shook it gently. I had some difficulty keeping a straight face.

“Have you heard of Donna Leon, Rick?” I asked him.

“Yes, ma’am–I’m well aware of the Commissario–in fact I quite enjoy reading them.”

“If they were the slightest bit true, it would explain why no criminals are ever apprehended in Italy, seems the police who aren’t corrupted by politicians, big business or the mafia spend most of their time in bars drinking coffee or stronger things.”

“Yes, ma’am, but we don’t work like that.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Rick. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m returning your pen–a nice one.” He handed my Waterman back to me.

“Thank you, Simon would be furious if I lost it again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, it fell down the side of my seat when we were up at his family’s castle.”

His eyes widened. “Castle?”

“Yes, there’s a picture of it here somewhere–ah, there.” I pointed to an aerial photo of the said pile of stone.

“Cor, that’s some holiday home,” he said.

“I take it you weren’t wanting to rent it for the week?”

“Um, a bit out of my league, Mrs Cameron.”

“I could probably get it down to a couple of thousand a day if you like,” I had no idea if they ever let it out.

“A day,” he gasped.

“I’ll take it that’s a no then?”

“Yes.”

“You would like it?” I teased him, he was getting redder in the face by the second.

“No, not on my salary, maybe on yours,” he countered.

“I couldn’t afford to stay there, besides it’s cold in winter and in summer, and damp.”

“So you haven’t stayed there, then?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t renting it,” my memory flashed back to my trip to Scotland and the attack which happened there.

“Oh, I see.”

“Anyway, enough of my silliness, what can I do for you?”

“You made a statement earlier?”

“I did, hence my pen being left behind.”

“My chief is wondering if you could attend an identity parade?”

“What for? The two were caught red handed, the one was literally red handed he’d just stabbed the other one–albeit accidentally.”

“Oh had he?”

“Yeah, so I’d just need to look for the guy with a broken nose and a large plaster on his belly. So why do they want me to attend an identity parade?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why were they threatening that woman?”

“I don’t know, ma’am, I’m just the messenger.”

“When is this parade?”

“Tomorrow at eleven.”

“At the police HQ?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“D’you like Italian food, Constable Brunetti?”

“With a name like mine, what d’you think, ma’am?”

“Well mine is Cameron, but I’m not that struck on porridge.”

“Have you tried polenta, ma’am?”

“Yes, it’s nicer fried after boiling.”

“My favourite, ma’am.”

“Not polenta e osei I hope.”

“No ma’am, not into songbirds.”

“Indeed, well the less said about that the better.”

“I wonder if my namesake has eaten it?”

“Could be, he seems to spend more time eating than detecting.”

“He does ma’am, I’ll be off then, an’ I can tell my boss you’ll be there?”

“At eleven, yes.”

Simon and Sammi arrived as the ‘Commissario’ was leaving. “What did he want?” asked Simon indicating the departing police car.

“I um...”

“You haven’t been done for soliciting again?”

“How’d you guess?” I answered and Sammi’s eyes turned into saucers.

“Back to old habits,” Simon said shaking his head.

“You’re not a solicitor, Mummy,” declared Trish.

“I think Daddy meant something else, sweetheart.”

“What?” she looked puzzled.

“Why don’t you get him to explain while I make some tea.” I ignored Simon’s daggers look and slipped into the kitchen.

Sammi followed me, “Does he say things like that to you often?” she asked sounding a bit shocked.

“Take no notice of our banter, if he meant what he said he’d be talking to me privately.”

“But he’d have no grounds to, would he?”

“Look, Sam, I know lots of tranny women go on the game for all sorts of reasons from financial to just validating their apparent femaleness. I’m not one of them, the only game I play is badminton.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy, what he said just shocked me. I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, no offence taken.”

“Mummy, what’s a prostitute?” demanded Trish standing inside the door.

“If you needed to know, you wouldn’t have such a smirk on your face, Trish Watts.”

“Daddy said it was a lady of the night–you used to go out dormousing at night.”

“Ah, this shows the problem of incorrect assumption.”

“What d’you mean, Mummy?” Trish looked at me and I was aware of Sammi listening as well.

“I’ll give you a series of assumptions based upon a series of facts. Cows give milk; cows eat grass; bulls eat grass; therefore bulls give milk.”

She looked at me, “I didn’t know bulls gave milk as well, Mummy?”

“They don’t, it’s an erroneous assumption based upon only partial facts.”

“Can you do another one?”

“Dinner is ready,” called David.

“Not now, go and wash your hands, darling.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1840 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

At ten minutes to eleven I presented myself at the police station, dressed in smart casual of below knee skirt with knee high boots, with a jacket and crew neck long sleeved top. It wasn’t cold but the weather had been unreliable to say the least, with very heavy showers and blustery winds. Welcome to autumn–unfortunately, it seemed to begin just after Easter.

It started to rain as I got out of the car, so I grabbed my bag and trotted into the reception area of the building. It was a young woman on the desk so I wasn’t greeted with a scowl, like last time.

“I’m Cathy Cameron, I was asked to attend for an identity parade at eleven.”

“Oh, I don’t think we have any scheduled for today, have you got the date right?”

“Yes, I know I’m pushing thirty but even I can remember something from the evening before, which was when one of your officers came to ask me.” If this was a wild goose chase I’d be furious.

“Can you tell me what it’s related to, Mrs Cameron? Then I might be able to find the officer in charge of the case.”

“Yesterday, about lunch time a woman was attacked as I returned to my car, over by Gun Wharf Quay. Two men were subsequently arrested, one of whom had been accidentally stabbed by the other.”

“Oh, how’d he manage that?” she asked glancing at a computer screen.

“He was trying to stab me at the time.”

“Oh,” she blushed, “You weren’t hurt were you?”

“I have some bruises only my husband sees, but I wasn’t stabbed, so I’m thankful for small mercies.”

“Quite,” she said then her face lit up, “Got it, have a seat, I call the inspector handling it to come down.”

“I hope his name’s not Morse or Allen.”

“No, it’s Marple.”

“You’re joking?”

“No, Inspector John Marple, he’s nice.”

“But you have a Brunetti as well here?”

“Oh Rick, yeah, he’s nice too.” She obviously missed my point and wasn’t a reader of detective fiction.

I sat down and kicked my heels, about five minutes later a man of about thirty appeared and introduced himself, Detective Inspector Marple, or John to his friends.

“Cathy Cameron,” I offered and we shook hands. He led me off to an interview room where the table had chewing gum stuck under the table and graffiti on the top of it. The chairs were metal with an attempt at cushioning on both the seat and back rest, it failed, they were as hard as hell. Maybe it’s a surreptitious form of torture–tell us what we want to know or sit there until you bum goes numb and then starts to hurt.

“What happened to the identity parade?” I asked.

“What identity parade?” he looked bemused by my question.

“Commissario Brunetti asked me to attend for an identity parade.”

“Commissario? I thought his name was Rick?”

“You don’t read detective fiction?”

“Only if I want a laugh, their procedure is always to cock.”

“I read them for entertainment,” this guy must live and breathe policing.

“Yeah, so do I but...”

“Procedurally, they’re all to cock, you said.” I finished the sentence for him. “Brunetti is the hero of a series of whodunits set in Venice.”

“Oh right, what nicking gondolas and so on?”

“Yeah, you know the sex fiends are charged with having canal knowledge.”

“Canal? Don’t you mean carnal–oh Venice, right–yeah, very good.” He chuckled to himself while I began to think it could be a long time till lunch.

“Identity parade?” I reminded him.

“I asked him to invite you to come in for interview.”

“For what reason?”

“I wanted to meet the woman who took out two local thugs.”

“You had my address.”

“Yeah, but I know people are nervous of having police cars call by.”

“One did to invite me–we had a discussion on Italian food–then he asked me to attend for this identity parade which doesn’t exist.”

“I asked him to get you to come and see me–I let them use their initiative.”

I wasn’t sure if that placated me or made things worse. “Well now you’ve met me, aren’t you going to offer me a telephone kiosk so I can change into my Supergirl outfit?”

“Oh yes, you really are very funny.”

“My lawyers aren’t, now why am I here?”

“Okay, one of the guys is filing a complaint against you that you used excessive force.”

“And?”

“I’m investigating that complaint.”

“Okay, so am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Nor am I under caution?”

“You seem to know the procedure?”

“Well, I read all those corny stories, don’t I?”

“Yes, that must be it.”

“You have my statement, I saw the woman being attacked by them, one of them pulled a knife, I grabbed my wheel brace and went to help.”

“You broke two bones in his hand.”

“He was holding a knife and pointing it at me.”

“Did you have to hit him on the hand?”

“No, next time I’ll bash him on the head.”

“Mrs Cameron...”

“Lady Cameron,” I corrected.

“Lady Cameron is it? Okay, Lady Cameron, why did you get involved?”

“I don’t like to see people hurt.”

“That seems an odd statement for someone who mixed it with two thugs, broke the nose of one, the hand of the other and during the fracas the first man got stabbed.”

“Is there CCTV in the car park?”

“Yes.”

“So, it should prove that I intervened because no one else was going to.”

“It showed several people walking past, rather quickly. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I won’t allow a woman to be attacked by men.”

“Have you had a bad experience with men, yourself?”

“I’ve had my share of encounters with ne’er-do-wells.”

“So I see, I also see you’ve dealt with police corruption and organised crime. Why? Why would a woman with dozens of kids, a demanding job and millionaire husband get involved with these low lifes? Are you some sort of thrill seeker, or just plain mad?”

“I don’t go looking for them, Inspector–but if they arise in front of me, I don’t walk away either.”

“D’you know what they were doing with that woman?”

“No.”

“They’re enforcers for a loan shark–she owes them money because she can’t get a loan from one of your banks.”

“If you ask her to contact my husband, I’ll see if we can help her.”

“Oh, Lady Bountiful, is it?”

“Why are you accusing me? I don’t work for the bank and they are a business. If you recall, they were accused of loaning money to people who couldn’t afford to pay it back, so make your bloody mind up what you want them to do, and how much longer have I got to sit here for your amusement and sense of moral injustice?”

“You can go whenever you like. I just thought it was ironic that the woman whose husband caused her problem, also saved her from a beating.”

“Would you care to put that in writing?”

“Probably not.”

“I didn’t think so, but I can see why some people call the police pigs. Good day Inspector.” I stood up and walked out of the room and back to reception. I ignored the girl on the desk and walked in a state of fury back to my car. Once inside it I screamed, then started the engine and drove home, my hands still shaking when I got there.

“What’s the matter, Mummy?” asked Jacquie.

“It’s been a pig of a morning, kiddo, any chance of a cuppa?”

“Comin’ up,” she replied and switched on the kettle.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1841 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I talked over what had happened with Jacqui, David and Stella. They all thought I had grounds for a complaint against Inspector Marple, however, as it wasn’t a recorded interview, it would be my word against his. I did, however, call our solicitor and relate the incident to him and he made notes and advised to call him immediately if it went any further. He cautioned me not to say anything further to police without a legal rep being present. I did mention complaining and he told me I would be wasting my time.

I looked up the website of the local paper and found out the name of the woman concerned.

‘Local women see off thugs in car park.’ was the lurid headline. It continued in equally deplorable fashion.

‘Portsmouth widow, Edith Howse (47) was attacked by two thugs in the car park at Gun Wharf Quay, according to police. While several shoppers walked past oblivious to her plight, a lone woman shopper came to her aid and in the manner of a martial arts expert, she subdued both attackers, one of whom was armed with a knife. In the subsequent fracas, one of the attackers stabbed the other by mistake before being subdued by the woman and subsequently arrested by police when the original victim escaped and summoned help.

Inspector John Marple of Portsmouth CID, while commending the rescuer on her courage suggested that it isn’t a good idea to intervene, especially when the attackers are probably armed. Police are respecting the anonymity of the rescuer who has made a statement.’

Once I’d printed off a copy of the article, I contacted James and asked him to find out details of this woman. I wanted to go and see her, first, to find out if she was okay and second, to offer her financial assistance. I also wanted to learn who the loan shark was and perhaps ask him to leave her alone–taking Jim with me of course.

He was quiet at the moment, though apparently he’d been working for two members of parliament–one was investigating the other surreptitiously–believing he was having an affair with his wife.

“Was he?” I asked.

“Was he what?”

“Having an affair?”

“Oh yeah, but not with the other guy’s wife.”

“So she was innocent after all–just paranoia?”

“Not quite, she was screwing the minister of the department he worked for as a deputy, junior undersecretary or something equally ludicrous.”

“What did he do, make the tea and buy the biscuits?”

“Something like that–I think he held the budget for pencils and parking.”

“Does it cost to park a pencil, then?”

“Obviously it does in Westminster.”

“I wonder if they tow them away if you leave them carelessly on your desk?”

“Being slightly familiar with the idiocies of Westminster, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Idiocies or idiots?” I asked for clarification.

“A bit of both. Of course in the upper house, they have the privilege of being congenital idiots as opposed to aspiring ones in the Commons.”

“I’ve just realised how it works. You work in the Commons until your dementia is noticeable and then they send you off to the home for confused politicians now called the Lords.”

“You could well be right,” he chuckled. I gave him the link to the article and asked him to trace her for me and then to come down so we could visit her together.

I sat and ate my lunch with an appetite which felt greatly reduced. It would probably do me good if that state lasted for a few weeks, but I knew it wouldn’t, so I wouldn’t lose any weight. I know, we women are obsessed with being overweight and all want to lose some without any pain or effort. Sadly, only an illness tends to do that or some horrible pills which cause you to have diarrhoea.

“That copper upset you, didn’t he?” observed Stella.

“What d’you mean?” I asked defensively.

“It’s put you off your tuna salad. Got to be serious to do that.”

“Okay, so he got to me. I plan on dealing with it.”

“You’re not going to do anything daft are you?”

“Like what?”

“Like try to get your own back.”

“No, I have some plans but none of them involve the police.”

“Care to share,” she badgered me.

“Not at the moment.”

“Suit yourself.” She went off in a huff while I waited for James’ call. It happened about an hour later, while I was trying to feed Catherine. He’d found the person concerned and we agreed to go and see her the next day. He’d also put out some feelers about loan sharks in the area: there were at least three–it’s a naval town, and some of the families of servicemen aren’t the best at controlling their finances, despite the navy offering help with advice and all sorts of social/family care workers.

The rest of the day dragged on and I eventually got to bed waiting for the chance to do something useful tomorrow.

“Si?” I said lying with him spooned around me.

“Yes, babes,” he gently stroked my leg.

“You know that woman I helped?”

“What about her?”

“I told you she was being pestered by a loan shark.”

“Yeah.”

“If I acted as her guarantor would you give her a loan to pay him off?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard you loud and clear.”

“So?”

“So what?” he obfuscated.

“Would you give her a loan?”

“She sounds high risk, so probably not.”

“Even if I acted as guarantor.”

“What if she defaults?”

“I guess I get to cough up.”

“Why should you help her?”

“Because she’s one of many who can’t get credit and thus fall prey to these creeps who once they get their claws in them won’t let them go.”

“She can’t get credit because she can’t guarantee to pay it back.”

“That’s why I want to help her.”

He rolled onto his back and rolled over to face him. “Why have you got this compulsion to make everything right?”

“I haven’t, but I felt she and I worked to deal with the thugs and so I’d like to work with her again.”

“All she did was run off and call the cops.”

“She could have just run off and left me to them.”

“My money would be on you,” he said looking me directly in the eye.

“Yeah, well I want you to put your money on her.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll make her a personal loan.”

“She could be in hock by thousands.”

“So?”

“These guys are real crooks, they charge huge rates of interest and it quickly totals up to thousands.”

“I know, that’s why I want to help her escape their clutches.”

“I don’t know, babes, it goes against all the principles of banking–we’re a business not a charity.”

“Yet you are a very charitable and generous man,” I kissed his nipple to emphasise my point.

“Only to you and the kids.”

“Just this once–pretty please?”

“I’ll see, get her to come into the local branch and I’ll ask the manager to see what he can do.”

“Si, you are simply wonderful.”

“If my father finds out he’ll hang me from the yard arm after flaying me alive.”

“No he won’t.”

“He will.”

“I won’t let him.”

“You and who else's army?”

“Just me, you Camerons are pussy cats when faced by a real tiger,” I did my best attempt at a tiger roar to prove my point.

“Miaow,” he replied then grabbing me by the bum...you don’t need to know that do you?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1842 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Portsmouth is one of the most densely populated areas in Britain. Sitting in the car following the instructions on the GPS saved us a whole lot of time. I don’t like sat nav, it takes the skill out of finding one’s way around with a map and compass, but in the very congested and developed area of the city, it is so useful. So instead of looking for moss growing on the north side of a building or tree, we programmed the GPS and were there ten minutes after setting out.

The address we wanted was one in a rundown area, a small terraced affair which was probably two up and two down, something like Leon’s mum had, and which in the past had probably housed a family of ten–we really don’t know we’re born do we?

“You want me to knock the door?” offered James, resplendent in his leather jacket and polo neck shirt?

“No, I’m quite capable of knocking a door or even ringing the bell by myself without support. I’m a big girl now,” I added sarcastically.

“So I see,” he retorted looking down the vee of my cashmere jumper. I was wearing it with a pair of stretch jeans and some ankle boots. In the back of the car lay my raincoat–a Burberry. The car was a hire one, a Vauxhall Astra in red. This was Jim’s idea, his Porsche and possibly my Jaguar might be rather conspicuous, especially if we have to follow anyone, although he could do that while I made my way on foot back home.

I got out of the car and made my way across the road. The front garden was just a tiny yard, enough to accommodate a dustbin but not much more. This house also had a single hanging basket of petunias by the front door.

I pressed the doorbell and immediately wished I hadn’t as it started ‘Rule Britannia’, which I suppose was better than ‘Oh Suzanna’, but not much. I heard someone walking towards the double glazed, hermetically sealed door.

“Who’s there?” called a woman’s voice.

“Hello, Mrs Howse. it’s Cathy Cameron, we met in the car park the other day.”

“Go away, I ain’t opening this door for no one.”

“Please open it, I think I have some information which might be helpful to you and avoid the thing in the car park happening again.”

“I don’t know you. Go away or I’ll call the police.”

“I have nothing to fear from the police,” I called through the letterbox. I couldn’t see it but I suspected every house within earshot had net curtains moving, as curious eyes watched me down on my haunches peering through the letterbox.

“Go away,” she repeated.

“Mrs Howse, I rescued you from those two thugs,” I said as quietly as I could.

“How do I know it was you?”

“Did you see my car?”

“Yes.”

“It was a white Jaguar.”

“I don’t see it now.”

“No, this is a friend’s one.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Please, let me speak with you, I think I can help with your financial problems.”

“He sent you, didn’t he?”

“Who did?”

“Cortez.”

“Who’s Cortez?” I asked.

“Julio Cortez, moneylender with violent friends, also into drug money laundering and various other pleasant habits,” James said quietly.

“The man who sent you–I won’t pay him another penny–you can tell ’im that, not another penny.”

“I’m not from him, I promise you.”

“I don’t believe you, once I open this door you’ll trash me ’ouse, like they did before.”

I looked up at James, he shook his head. “You have some really nice people living here don’t you?”

“Yeah, but they’re not all as nice as me,” I smiled back in a forced grin.

“Pity.”

“Who’s the man with you?”

“He’s a private investigator, Mrs Howse.” I then said to Jim, “Give me one of your cards.” He handed me one and I pushed it through the door.

“’Ow do I know this is real?” she called and James looked hurt.

“Mrs Howse would you open this door? My knees are beginning to hurt.” James helped me up and to my astonishment, I heard a bolt being withdrawn and the door opened on the chain.

James showed her his identity card which has a photo of him on it. She looked at me and I felt about in my handbag for my university ID card.

“What’s an ecolist?”

“Ecologist–I’m a scientist, a biologist, only I study types of habitat,” I said through the chink in the door.

“Did you see the film on dormice last year?” asked James.

“Yeah, why?”

“Cathy is the one who made it for the BBC.”

“That was David Attenborough, so now I know you’re lying.”

“It was me actually, Mrs Howse, but I didn’t come here to talk about dormice, I came to try and help you get a bank loan from my husband’s bank, rather than pay this Cortez fellow any more money.”

“Your ’usband has a bank?”

“He’s a senior executive in one and I asked him if he’d be prepared to give you a loan at an affordable rate. He was reluctant, but seeing as you did call the police instead of running away, I pressed him to favour you.”

“’Ow d’you know I called the plod?”

“They told me.”

“What was ’is name?”

“The inspector?”

“Yeah, ’im.”

Miss Marple went through my mind and nearly came out of my mouth. “Marple, John Marple.”

“I don’t trust you, you look shifty to me. Them boobs look too big to be real.”

James nearly fell over and snorted. I felt myself go very red and said almost angrily, “They’re big because I’m still feeding my baby.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said and slammed the door shut.

I was so angry I could have quite happily strangled her. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more salubrious and get a coffee.” James took my arm and we walked back to the car as curtains twitched in several houses. “You can’t help those who won’t be helped and you can’t make blind men see what they don’t want to see.”

We drove into the town centre and had coffee in a little bistro place. James had an espresso while I had a latte. “So that’s it then?” he said, “A total waste of a morning.”

“Not entirely, we get Sammi and Trish to trash Cortez’s computer system.”

“Trish trash?” chuckled James, “I like it, sadly he’ll have a back up system somewhere.”

“I’ll also send whatever they can extract to the fraud squad, who I’m sure will be delighted to see it.”

“The only stuff you’ll see will be bona fide, the real accounts will be well hidden on a separate machine. Sorry,” he looked apologetic, so I believed him.

“So how do we find that?”

“That would be like getting into Fort Knox and a no no.”

“I could get Si to put the word out and crucify him financially.”

“Unless you have proof, he could sue you for millions.”

“Okay, I’ll pay you to shoot him, how about that?”

“That is the most feasible suggestion so far, but a tad illegal.”

“Doesn’t usually worry you,” I felt quite miffed.

“I don’t often deal with such nasty slime-balls these days. I’ve decided I might like to collect my pension after all.”

“So what do I do?”

“My best advice would be, to let it go and walk away. You helped them get two of his thugs–that’s more than most people do.”

“I think we ought to try and speak to her once more.”

“You’re wasting your time and money, Cathy,” he advised reminding me I had to pay him for all this.

“Please, just one more try.”

“Okay, but that’s it, if she gives you any shit, I’m off.”

We ran into heavy traffic and it took ages to get anywhere near the house, which was when we spied the fire engine, blue lights still flashing. I got out of the car and could see it was her house in which the fire had occurred. An ambulance stood just down from the fire tender.

I left James in the car and ran down the street, some woman was telling a copper, “Two men came up and pushed something through her door, minutes later there was smoke and flames everywhere.” I made a discreet retreat and went back to the car.

“What’s happened?”

“Cortez just signed his own death warrant,” I spat, “Take me home please.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1843 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I’d been home perhaps ten minutes when a car entered the drive and out stepped Inspector Marple. I saw him swagger to the door and ring the bell.

“Are you home, Mummy?” asked Jacquie

“Yes, could you ask Stella if she could collect the girls if I’m delayed by this,” I indicated the door.

“I’ll go and see her as soon as let Mr Plod in.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Look at the size of his feet,” she said snorting and went to answer the door.

I heard voices at the door and a moment after Jacquie led the big footed inspector down the hallway to meet me.

“Lady Cameron, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Thank you, Jacquie, we’ll go to my study, Inspector.” He followed on behind me and I led him to the sitting area of the study.

I caught sight of him looking round the room, “Very nice, what you can do with money, eh?”

“I need somewhere to prepare lessons, write up research and study.”

“How many books you got in here?” he made a sweeping gesture across the room.

“Three thousand give or take a few.”

“You read ’em all?”

“Bits of, there’s another two hundred journals over there, and that bottom shelf is the stuff, I’ve published.”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “You keep pretty busy then?”

“Much of the time, yes. I have seven children plus others to take care of.”

“Oh I know about all your kids, an’ how you got ’em, sweet talkin’ judges an’ so on.”

“I did nothing illegal nor immoral, I gave shelter to children who needed a loving household.”

“Turning boys into girls, isn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon?” I felt my anger rising like a polaris missile.

“Three of your so called daughters started off in life as boys–one, I’d have put down to unfortunate, two to coincidence, three–what kind of person are you?”

“And what was I supposed to do, each of them asked me to help them achieve who they wanted to be.”

“There was a fourth wasn’t there? What happened there? Too many hormones was it?”

“Billie died from a brain haemorrhage, and if I hear you say one thing against her memory, so help me...”

“You’ll what? Kill me like Edith Howse?”

“Why should I kill Edith Howse?”

“She didn’t want to talk, megalomaniacs like you don’t like that, do you? And besides she was already a woman. So you turned her into a bonfire.”

“I went to see her, on your suggestion, if you recall. I got my husband to agree to consider loaning her some money to pay off the usurer. She wouldn’t let me talk to her. I went off to think how I might get her to believe who I said I was. I went back to try again and discovered the fire brigade and ambulance were there. I felt sick.”

“Why? What’s she to you?”

“She was someone who was in the grip of some parasite, who I felt I could free from it. But she wouldn’t listen, she was too frightened.”

“Aw didums, so little miss moneybags couldn’t go to the ball, after all.”

“You patronising twat, how dare you?”

“I don’t believe you, I believe you went back with an incendiary device to teach her a lesson.”

“I teach at a university, Inspector. I don’t teach those sorts of lessons, I teach ecology, the conservation of systems not the extinction of life. Unlike you I don’t go around throwing my weight about. I like to try and help people when I can.”

“Sure you do, well you can help me, I’m arresting you for the murder of Edith Howse, you don’t have to say anything but anything...” I heard his voice drone on and on with the caution. My mind went onto auto pilot.

“Let’s go,” he said grabbing my arm and leading me back to the hall where Jacqui and Stella appeared.

“I have to go down to the police station, please call Si and let him know.” Stella nodded knowing that meant call a lawyer or get Si to do it. “Could you let James know, too–his number is my address book?” She nodded again.

I was bundled into the car and we were driven off by another police officer who must have stayed in the car.

“You’re making a big mistake, Inspector.”

“Am I now? What you gonna do, set fire to me as well?”

It was a tempting thought, “No, I shall ask to call my lawyer.”

“You can call your lawyer, but he won’t get you off this one, you were seen at the house.”

“Two hours before the fire.”

“Yeah, but you went back.”

“After the fire had started.”

“No, you started the fire, what with, petrol?”

“Petrol?”

“Yeah, you know as an accelerant.”

“I know what petrol is. I’m still outraged that you would consider me as using it to start a fire.”

“Don’t tell me, there were no boy scouts around to rub together or turn into girl guides.”

“Your jokes are sick as your logic, Inspector. How you’ve got to this level is astonishing, your psychotic personality should have been screened out long before.”

“Psychotic? I ain’t the one who thinks he’s the other sex, or wants to swap other people’s.”

“Oh we’re back to that, are we? You realise it’s illegal to show prejudice, Inspector?”

“I’m not showing prejudice, I’m calling a spade a spade.”

“My legal status is female.”

“Your legal status is under arrest for a nasty murder.”

“And yours is on very thin ice.”

“Just ’cos your so called husband is rich and powerful, don’t mean he can lean on the police to get you off. Or hire a smart lawyer to do it for him. I suppose he’s really queer to marry you, isn’t he?”

“That remark has just cost you your job.”

“Making threats to an officer of the law, that’s an offence.”

“So is slandering someone whose boots you aren’t worthy to clean.”

“Just because he’s rich enough to pay to have your body altered so he can shag it every night, up the arse you like it best I expect, don’t mean he’s nice.”

“You have the mouth of a sewer and the brain of Rattus norvegicus.”

“Oh what a gift a little education is, taught you to pretend to act like a woman did they?”

“What are you talking about?”

“All the airs and graces you put on and the feminine walk–all false, just like your chest.” He poked me in the breast and some milk squirted out and hit him in the eye. I nearly wet myself.

“If that’s silicone,” I’ll kill you,” he muttered.

“It’s milk you stupid little man, I have a nursing baby.”

“How can you nurse a baby?”

“The same as any other woman, how d’you think, or have you never met a real woman except to arrest them and make slanderous insinuations. I can see why you’re not married, unless it was to your left hand.”

“Very funny,” I saw him blush and I suspected he was getting very angry. Suddenly a name came to my mind.

“Lorna Teague turned you down for a date when you were fifteen, didn’t she? Oh dear you haven’t had the bottle to ask anyone ever since.”

He glared at me, “How d’you know about Lorna?”

“Your mother still washes your socks by hand does she? More fool her, mind you, being a mummy’s boy means you can spend all that money on pornography–does she know about the pictures on your computer?”

“How d’you know about...you’ve been spying on me, haven’t you?”

“I know enough to get you investigated by the Police Complaints Authority.”

“You got no proof.”

“I have more proof than you have about me setting fire to that house.”

“Yeah, well we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“Undoubtedly, I hope you’ve written your letter of resignation and declared yourself bankrupt.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“I should hope not, but I can guarantee my barrister will.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1844 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Despite his rudeness, he hadn’t handcuffed me and in appreciation of this I hadn’t hit him although on several occasions I felt he warranted a slap or a good punch. He escorted me from the car and into the reception where the old sergeant was on duty and his face fell when he saw me emerge. Across the room was waiting Christopher Mitten, yeah, Kit Mitten–I know–some mothers have no idea have they?

He walked confidently up to me and challenged Marple. “Lady Cameron,” he shook my hand and then said to Marple, “Is my client under arrest?”

“Yes.”

“On what grounds?”

“Suspicion of murder, you are?”

“Christopher Mitten QC, and you officer, are?”

“Inspector John Marple.”

“I’d like to speak with my client, Inspector.”

“So would I, Mr Mitten.”

“I think I have priority, Inspector.”

“Very well, George have we got a room they can use?” he called to the desk sergeant.

“Interview two.” Then as we were led to the room, I heard the sergeant say to him, “I’d start arranging gardening leave if I were you–she’s bad news.”

“George, I’m gonna do her for murder.”

“John, you must off your ’ead, d’you know who she is?”

“I couldn’t give a monkey’s if she was the Queen of Sheba, she’s guilty.”

“She’s more powerful than the Queen of Sheba, and twice as awkward, mark my words–you’ll be back on point duty if you’re wrong.”

“Ha, me wrong...” I didn’t hear any more of the banter between them, we seated ourselves at the table, one of those with gashes and grooves made from any implement bored suspects or interviewees had available. The usual names and nick names, the sort of gang logos you see sprayed on walls in run down areas or unmanned stations and the odd obscenity decorated the table.

“Well, Cathy, what have you got yourself into now?”

“Come off it, Kit, I haven’t done anything but I’m going to. I want to sue his pants off his arse, he’s most unpleasant and prejudiced.”

“What misogynist?”

“Worse, anti-tranny misogynist.”

“But you’re not a tranny any more, that was sorted–I know, because they consulted me when they did it. You’re female, so point one, he insulted you.”

“Yes, but we have no witness.”

“Doesn’t matter, I can use it to undermine him and it will be on video.”

“Of course it will, I’d forgotten that.” I sighed, “I only went to try and help the stupid woman.”

“Simon told me about that, it just so happens I was down the road seeing a client when he phoned.”

“I’m glad you were, it’s good to see a friendly face.”

He smiled and his grey eyes danced in the light. “So let’s hear it from the top.” I told him about Jim tracing the woman and how we’d gone to see her in vain and had then gone off to have a coffee and a think, then how we’d been caught up in the traffic congestion caused by the fire and the emergency vehicles.

“So, this James, would he alibi you?”

“Yes but I’m not sure it would count, as he was working with me.”

“Yes it would, plus, where did you go for coffee–any receipt?”

“I normally pop them in my bag.” I felt in my pockets, “Hang on, what’s this?” It was a receipt for two coffees and two pastries with today’s date on it and a time of twelve noon.”

“What time did the fire start?”

“I have no idea, it was all over by the time I got there.”

“The fire department will have a log of that, so that’s no problem. Okay, so you went home after you saw the house had been torched?”

“Yeah, I heard the woman talking to the coppers about two men who’d pushed something through her letterbox and then the house catching fire.”

“So he’s withholding evidence is he?”

“I don’t know, he might just be unaware of it.”

“Not sure his awareness is much more than an amoeba’s,” Kit sketched one on his notepad and I laughed which released some tension. “Now, what about these insults?” There’s been quite a few so I had to think hard to list them. “I take it you won’t be adding him to your Christmas card list?”

“I don’t think so, I’ve met some real morons in the police, but he’s got to take the prize so far.”

“There are some good uns too, Cathy.”

“I know, I just never seem to meet them, except Andy Bond–he’s a good copper.”

We returned to the insults and listing them. A little later, Marple and another plain clothes copper arrived carrying a file and seated themselves opposite us. Introductions were made. They asked if we were ready to proceed. The other guy was a Detective Chief Inspector and I just knew Kit was going to use him to annoy Marple and hopefully suspend him.

They announced the interview was being videoed, which we accepted–in fact I wanted to smile because I hoped it was going to show Kit destroying the police case and then, Marple after it.

“What evidence do you have that my client was even near the property concerned?”

“She admitted it.”

“Earlier on, Lady Cameron went to see this Edith Howse whom she had rescued from the two thugs. Don’t you find it unlikely that someone who helped her and was offering more help, of a financial nature to rid this woman of the loan shark, would then set her house on fire?”

“She was miffed because the woman wouldn’t deal with her.”

“I expect she was a bit cross, wouldn’t you be–especially after taking time out to find her and go and see her.”

“That’s why she did it?” Marple looked at me and sneered.

“I find this whole argument specious and your behaviour at best disingenuous, Inspector. You have no grounds whatsoever for this arrest and I would ask that my client be released immediately and that you concentrate your efforts on finding the real perpetrators of this awful attack.”

The Chief Inspector glared at his colleague.

“Moreover, I think your conduct so far has shown a lot to be desired with regard to dealing with my client. It seems that you have shown a degree of prejudice which is both illegal and offensive, given that this force has a set of policies in dealing with minorities.”

“She’s lying.”

“I think you’re the one who is being less than honest. My client is a legal female irrespective of her starting point. She is a married woman in a demanding job and with the responsibility for several children and young adults. She has helped the social services in this area by adopting several children who suffer from gender identity problems and she and her husband, Lord Cameron have assisted these and other children for the last several years.

“She is a successful university teacher and researcher, a film maker of some repute and presenter. She has also shown talent in acting and writing and finally, but not least, she has helped the forces of law and order on numerous occasions, saving the lives of police officers on more than one of those. I’d have thought she was the last person you should be either insulting or arresting.”

The chief inspector was getting increasingly red in the face and I began to fear he’d have a stroke. “Lady Cameron, Mr Mitten, it seems there has been a great mistake, I can only apologise for my colleague’s erroneous thinking and would understand if you wanted to take things further–but that’s up to you. You are free to go Lady Cameron, and I’m once again sorry that this has happened.”

We both shook hands with the Chief Inspector and were released from the room. I thanked Kit with a hug and peck on the cheek. “How could such an idiot get to inspector? He’s too stupid to hand out parking tickets,” Kit said as we walked to his car. He’d offered me a lift home and I was grateful for it.

“I’ll start proceedings against him for wrongful arrest amongst other things,” Kit said as he drove me home. I nodded my agreement. I didn’t really care, my worry was Cortez and bringing him down–I’d need to speak with James to do that.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1845 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

When Simon and Sammi came home, I asked her how easy it was to hack someone’s computer. This was out of earshot of any of the others. “If you know where the computer is, it’s easy but you can be traced.”

“Oh.”

“If you don’t want to be traced–except by the FBI or MI5–it can be done.” She looked at me. “You know it’s illegal?”

“Yeah, okay, it was just an idea.”

“Who is it, Mummy?”

“It’s two, Inspector Marple and a slime-ball named Cortez.”

“Is he the guy that owns all that property?”

“I don’t know, he might well do, but it’s his money lending that worries me.”

“Eh?”

“Not personally, but he’s probably the man responsible for Edith Howse’s death.”

“Phew, you had me worried there, I’ll see what I can do after dinner–you don’t have any email addresses or websites do you?”

“No, but James might.”

“Oh he’s that dishy ex-soldier you use, isn’t he?”

“You’d be wasting your time, Sammi.”

“I know, I don’t have the wherewithal, always the bloody same,” she pouted.

“He wouldn’t be interested, darling.”

“Story of my life, doesn’t do trannies.”

“Um–I don’t know how to put this delicately–um–he doesn’t do girls.”

“What? He’s gay?”

“Yes.”

“So he could be interested?”

“Um–no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Shall I just say, in a tight spot, there is no one I’d rather have with me than James. In bed, I suspect, I could think of several.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means no, find a boy nearer your own age, if you must.”

“I just see all these boys and girls together, walking arm in arm when we go for lunch–okay, at times it’s a bit cheesy, but it just keeps reminding me of what I’m missing.”

“Once you meet the criteria for surgery, we’ll get you done, but until then, be careful. Not all boys are sweetness and light if they think they’ve been deceived, especially if they’ve had a few drinks or other substances.”

“You know I don’t do drugs, Mummy.”

“I know you don’t but that doesn’t mean a boyfriend won’t–except if I found anyone in this house using any recreational drugs I would physically kick them off the premises.”

“I’ve never invited anyone back, have I?”

“No, Sammi, I’m just telling you what would happen if they did.”

“I think I get that loud and clear, Mummy.”

I smiled at her, “I have several younger children to protect–I aim to do so. Trish might be brighter than the sun, but she’s only eight and sometimes it shows.”

“Of course, Mummy. Tell you what, she’s going to be an ace hacker in a couple of years.”

“That is so reassuring,” I said hoping the sarcasm was thick enough to taste. She walked off to change, chuckling to herself.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked David.

“Moussaka.”

“Oh, something different–nice.”

“It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Fine, I’ll go and have a quick wash.” I ran up to the bedroom and changed after a quick lick and a promise, back in jeans and tee shirt I felt much more comfortable. The meal was delicious as one would expect from a chef. Simon was stuffed and after retiring from the table he fell asleep in an easy chair in the dining room.

I retired to my study after checking on the other children. Julie and Sammi were shrieking with laughter at something Phoebe was telling them, presumably one of the people at college. She said she was enjoying it, especially working at the salon at weekends. I thought it was too much but she refused to stop, besides, she said they stopped for Christmas soon–I think she meant half term.

I was booting up my laptop when Sammi came in. “Okay, I’ve found his email address and have planted something in an email.”

“Won’t his antivirus–hang on, how did you find it?”

“I spoke to James, I’ve done the same to your little friend Cortez–no relation to the bastard who conquered South America, is he–in which case this could be a pleasure.”

“How did you get hold of James?”

“Daddy gave me his card.”

“Oh, so what do we do now?”

“We let them open the emails and my hidden stuff should make the next bit easier.”

“What have you done?”

“It’s a bit like a Trojan but his antivirus prog won’t see it.”

“Oh, aren’t they any good, then?”

“Oh they’re good, but I’m better.”

“When will we know if it’s worked?”

“When they check their emails.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We go in without the email, it takes longer but I can do it.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Don’t worry, anyone except a real expert would think I was doing this from Russia.”

“You’ve relayed it?”

“Yeah.”

“Clever girl.”

“I’m ninety nine per cent certain they’ll open them up.”

“Why?”

“I’ve sent one to your copper as if it was from the Independent Complaints thingy, and the loan shark, I suggested it linked to the death of the lady in the fire, Mrs Howse, wasn’t it?”

“Who does that come from?”

“A non-existent firm of solicitors in Petersfield.”

“Wouldn’t they write a letter through the Royal Mail?”

“Well they couldn’t use US Post could they, they’re all druggies.”

“I think that only applied to their cycling team.” As I said it she smirked, so she watches the news, probably on line. “Anything I have to do?”

“No, just sit here and fold your arms and behave yourself.”

“I think I’ll go and feed Catherine or express a bottle, my boobs have felt sore ever since he poked me in one earlier.”

“Who did?”

“Marple, he accused me of having implants and prodded one, which sprayed milk all over him.”

“Serves him right, isn’t that sexual harassment?”

“I think general assault.”

“But he couldn’t do it to a boy, could he?”

“That’s what he accused me of being, hence the poke. I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t a Crocodile Dundee check.”

“A what?”

“This,” I made a move towards her crotch with my hand, stopping before she jumped back out of the way. “That’s what he did in the film.”

“You’re joking?”

“No, I’m not, check Youtube, I’ll bet it’s on there.”

“If he’d done that to you, what would you have done?”

“Caused him major dental repairs.”

She took a moment to understand what I’d said, “Oh, right, sounds like he’s a nice specimen.”

“Of total arseholes, yeah, a real prize specimen.”

“What do you want if he bites–and he will?”

“Check his computer for anything embarrassing, I know there’s porn on it–if that’s embarrassing enough...”

“I could possibly link him to a paedo site.”

“No, don’t take unnecessary risks. Just have a browse and see what he’s got on his computer and can you check his correspondence–see if there’s anything to our other friend, or anything on his to Marple.”

“I suspect the copper will be easier, Cortez will probably have a second computer with his dirty stuff on–that might take a bit of finding.”

“See what you can, sweetheart and let me know–I’m off to feed the baby, if I can catch her.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1846 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It was nearly bedtime when Sammi called me to go to her room, she and Julie had been looking through Marple’s files and had found that he liked a particular sort of pornography.

“I’m not sure I want to see this,” I protested, albeit half-heartedly.

“Wow,” said Julie staring at a computer screen.

“Okay, is someone going to tell me what all this is about?” I took one look at the screen and backed away. “Ugh, I’ve read about these sorts of things,” I didn’t want to see any more of the pictures.”

“Looks like he enjoys people weeing on each other,” said Julie.

“They call it golden showers,” I said standing well away from the computer.

“So he’s going to enjoy meeting your barrister again, then?”

“I doubt it.”

“Yes he will,” Julie insisted.

“How come?”

“’Cos Kit will piss all over him.”

I tried to keep a straight face but it was difficult. Sammi roared with laughter. “Quiet, Danny’s asleep next door,” I hissed at them.

“No I’m not,” he called back.

“Well you should be,” I hissed at him. That set the girls off again and I had to hush them once more.

“What d’you want to do with this?”

“Nothing, it’s disgusting.”

“I could transfer some of it to his bosses computer, if you want?”

“No, just get rid of it.”

“What about this bit?” Sammi asked.

“It’s not more disgusting pictures is it?” I asked ready to turn away.

“Yeah this one’s got a horse in it, you ever seen the size of a horse’s donger?” Julie said laughing.

“I’m well aware of the anatomy of horses.”

“She’s pulling your leg, Mummy, it’s some correspondence between Marple and Cortez.”

“What sort of correspondence?”

“Marple is complaining he can’t pay and asking for more time.” Sammi said, “Here, I’ve printed them off for you,” she handed me several sheets of paper with emails on them.

I read them and it appears that our inspector lives beyond his means, so why isn’t he borrowing from a bank? I asked Sammi to get Simon. He was up with us very quickly. “Sammi said something about that dickhead Marple.”

“Yes, darling, he’s in hock to Cortez.”

“You’re joking? He’s got to be on at least thirty grand as an inspector, he lives with his mother–so where’s it going? And why isn’t he borrowing from a bank?”

I showed him the emails. “What’s this last one? ‘Services rendered in lieu of a monthly repayment–he’ll write off half the loan if Marple could deal with the snotty bitch who injured his enforcers.’ This is serious stuff, babes.”

“Can we do a credit check on him?” I asked Simon and was the reason I asked him come.

“Yeah, give me a tick.” He turned and ran down the stairs and ten minutes later he appeared with a sheaf of papers. “No wonder he’s borrowing money from Cortez, he’s in serious shite.”

“Explain, please?” I asked him.

“He was turned down by three banks to increase his overdraft. It looks like they won’t loan him money because he’s got no collateral–it also looks like he’s sold his mother’s house without her knowing and that could be foreclosed any time.”

“What’s he spent it on?” I tried to look at the papers he had in his hand.

“It looks like he’s either a gambler or he’s being blackmailed.”

“He’s into kinky sex.”

“Could be that then, but there’s a regular payment to a bookie’s of five hundred a month.”

“Bloody hell, that’s more than Daddy spends on the lottery,” I gasped.

“What? He does a lucky dip on Saturdays–silly cow.” Simon sneered as he corrected me–I was joking, oh well.

“What do we do next?” I asked him.

“You’re in luck–guess who’s about to repossess his house?” Simon’s face lit up.

“Not Cortez?”

“No, it is not Cortez–he wouldn’t repossess it, he’d just start cutting his fingers off.”

“Well who then?” I asked loudly and got hushed.

“You’ll wake Danny,” accused Simon.

“No you won’t,” Danny called back, “Can I see the dirty pictures?”

“No,” Simon and I shouted back, “Go to sleep,” I added.

“So who is going to call in his mortgage?” I asked.

“We are,” beamed Simon, “I’ll teach him to falsely arrest my wife.”

“What about his mother?”

“I’ll get them to drop her gently on the pavement.”

“Si, this isn’t funny, if she’s elderly she could die from a shock like this.”

“Yeah–it happens.”

“You can’t.”

“Just watch me.”

“Please, please don’t.”

“Cathy, he tried to mess up your life and ours with it. He’s a total shite and he’s got it coming.”

“But his mother hasn’t.”

“So, there’s always collateral damage–if he had any regard for her, he wouldn’t be in this position would he?”

“I don’t care what he feels about her, I don’t want to pick on her. Are we entitled to have this information?”

“Yes–well I am.”

“But I’m not?”

“It’s easily available if you know where to look; James could have got it for you.”

“I think it’s time to have a word with the chief inspector. Does it show he’s paying Cortez anything?”

“About seven hundred a month to JCHoldings.”

“Who’s that?”

“Cortez.”

“We’ve got him then.” I’d won this stage but it felt Pyrrhic. Was he involved with the fire at Edith Howse’s place?”

“I suggest you get the chief inspector to come and see you and have Kit with you, you obviously can’t show him the emails but if he’s got any gumption he’ll be looking for connections. I would say that Inspector Marple’s career is over–the pension gobbler strikes again.”

What Simon suggested made sense. Marple was going down whatever else happened, he’d be imprisoned for his cooperation with a money lender, and that he could be charged with false arrest and perhaps be implicated in the death of Mrs Howse, meant he was in serious trouble. To be fair, once the police begin to investigate themselves, it gets rather bloody.

“Have we got anything on Cortez yet?” I asked Sammi whose fingers were dancing over the keyboard.

“No, nothing illegal–I reckon he’s got another computer, according to this he only earns twenty K a year.”

“Oh well, if we can find it, we’ll be able to pass it on to the Inland Revenue.”

“Now a tip-off to them, or Customs and excise about VAT non payment and they’ll be all over him like a rash.” Simon was smirking.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow,” I said. “Perhaps if Marple squeals loud enough, he’ll implicate Cortez in the fire and the police would have a chance to go through his office. Then they could call in the revenue and customs.”

“I’m sure they will if Kit steers them that way, but we have to get Marple to tell about his link with Cortez apart from owing him a lot of money. I’ll call him tomorrow, if he comes round first thing you can brief him and don’t mention the hacking, just the financial statement.”

“Why not?” I asked bemused by his instruction.

“Because it’s illegal, and as an officer of the bar he’d be obliged to declare it.”

“Okay–just this then,” I said taking the papers from Simon’s hand. I suspected I wouldn’t sleep very well that night.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1847 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I’d barely got back from the school run when Kit phoned. “Simon said you wanted me to contact you with a view to a meeting today.”

“Yes, that would be good.”

“I could do noon for an hour or two max.”

“Fine.”

“Simon indicated you have some gen about our little friend.”

“The government employed one, yes I do.”

“Have you called his boss yet?”

“No, I’ll invite him over for one o’clock.”

“That’s probably his lunch time.”

“Tough, I’m giving up my time.” Time yes, lunch no.

“Okay see you at midday.”

I rang the Chief Inspector. “I’m rather busy at the moment, Lady Cameron.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Chief Inspector, it means I’ll have to deal direct with the IPCA. I was hoping to at least let you know what ill wind was blowing your way.”

“Me personally?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Does this affect my little friend on gardening leave?”

“I think he might be mentioned.”

“Okay, what time?”

“One o’clock.”

I heard him swear in the background but being a detective he must be used to the odd missed meal when on the scent of some hoodlum or other. I suppose he might take his meals in the pub–out of a glass–he certainly had what looked like a drinker’s nose.

I got on with retyping the bits of my dissertation that required it–rather too much to do in a morning. Jacquie called by my study to say she was taking Catherine out for a walk, which was fine by me. I did tell her to make sure she took a coat with her as it looked like rain.

At eleven David asked me what I wanted for lunch–I asked if we could have tuna salad–he beamed at me. “What’s the joke?”

“It is what I predicted you’d say.”

“Oh, I’m getting predictable, am I?”

“Only with regard to food.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“You’re as unpredictable as the rest of your sex.” There was an irony there but I wasn’t going to pursue it, instead I asked if he had time to do me a latte coffee. He did, or he made time. I wondered if I should go and change, I was in my usual sit about the house kit of jeans and sweatshirt–well it is autumn and I’m trying to save on heating.

He came back five minutes later, “Modom’s latte,” he said and placed it delicately on my cluttered desk.

“Thank you, kind sir. We’ve a guest for lunch, Kit Mitten the barrister. Could you do some new potatoes to go with the salad?”

“No prob,” he said. “You want a sweet?”

“Not really, I want to stay awake this afternoon.”

“Okay.” He left me and I drank the coffee and then had to dash upstairs and change. I pulled on a skirt and jumper with a near matching cardi. I was just about going to be warm enough without tights–I glanced at my legs–must get them waxed again. I wondered if Julie would do them?

Back downstairs I had barely had time to clear my desk when Kit arrived. In fact I was still closing up the box file when David let him into my study. “Ah, entry to the ivory tower at last,” he said announcing his presence.

“Nothing ivory here–it’s banned,” I retorted.

“Yes I saw the article on rhino horns in the Guardian–shocking.”

“I wanted to grind that woman up with her own pestle and mortar.” This was some idiot woman in Vietnam who’d just paid a fortune for a bit of rhino horn believing it would cure all her ills. She didn’t care a stuff for the poor rhino who’d been killed to get it for her.

“Yes, she was singularly repugnant, wasn’t she?” Silks have such a way with words.

“David’s doing us a light lunch, so we can eat as I bring you up to date.”

“Wonderful, I missed breakfast–advising a client with an urgent problem.”

The salad was delicious and although the others were there, that is, Stella, Jacquie and the little ones, we ate on our own in the dining room. I explained the findings of Simon’s search and what we thought it might implicate. Kit nodded sagely. He pored over the financial documents and finally asked. “You understand once we tell the police this, Marple is mince?”

“Yes.”

“I just wanted to make sure you realised the consequences.”

“Of course I do–he is anyway once you put in your complaint.”

“That was still awaiting typing.”

“You don’t do your own?” I asked more in jest than earnest.

“No I do not, I suppose you being a woman means you do?”

“Yeah, but not because I’m female.”

“Go on, I suspect I’m going to regret this, why do you do it?”

“Because I don’t have anyone else to do it for me.”

“Surely you could afford a secretary?”

“I have no idea, I have always done it and suspect I always will.”

“Do you sign your letters with just your first name?”

“Yep–that is real snob value–Catherine, the Lady Cameron.” I said in an exaggeratedly posh voice. I almost wanted to say, ‘a hendbeg?’ a la Lady Bracknell.

“So he’s paying out twelve hundred a month–doesn’t leave him a lot to feed and clothe himself does it?”

“I don’t know how old his mother is.”

“Cathy, you do disappoint me.”

I picked up my mobile and speed dialled James. “Good afternoon, is this a courtesy call or business?”

“It’s a freebie.”

“Oh, okay–continue my queen...”

“One of these days, James...”

“Your majesty, you’re going to dub me Sir James?”

“Dump you more like.”

“I am hurt to the quick.”

“James, never mind the histrionics, how old is Marple’s mother?”

“Ah, so now I’m wanted.”

“Stop acting like a gay man.”

“I am one–remember?”

“How could I forget, now just get the file.”

“I have it here before me in its pink folder.”

“Well answer my question.”

“What now?”

“Yes–now.”

“Keep your hair on, missus.”

I groaned loudly.

“Are here we are, Shirley Marple born 1950, trained florist–she still owns a shop in Portsmouth and one in Petersfield. Had one in Southampton which she sold in nineteen ninety nine.”

“How old is Marple?”

“Thirty five.”

“So he was born in seventy seven?”

“Correct.”

“And she’d be twenty seven.”

“Give the lady a coconut.”

“James, shut up.”

“Does she own or rent her shops?”

“Owns I think.”

“If we bankrupt her son and she has to move, has she somewhere else?”

“The two shops she currently has have flats above them, but they might well be let out.”

“Does she own her own house or is it Marple’s?”

“The house was in her name.”

“Was?”

“Yes, three months ago it was transferred to him.”

“I hope she knows about it.”

“I don’t care, she’s not paying my account.”

“James, don’t go all bitchy on me.”

“Oooh, you can be so cruel,” he said in as camp a voice as I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah, women can–so watch it.”

He said something and dissolved into a fit of laughter. “Anything else we need?” I asked Kit who shook his head. “Are we ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good, our honest cop has just driven into the driveway.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1848 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

David let the Chief Inspector in and we decided to use the dining room for our meeting. Kit and DCI Fowles had already met, he was with me wasn’t he–duh.

“As you are probably aware, Lady Cameron sometimes employs a private investigator?” The DCI nodded and Kit continued, “He discovered your colleague has some real financial problems, including regular payments to a betting shop and also the loan shark, Cortez.”

“Really?” The detective looked shocked.

“Yes, here is a financial statement–he’s remortgaged his mother’s house and defaulted on the payments–it looks like he’s going lose it to repossession by a bank.”

The policeman read the financial report and shook his head, muttering, ‘Jesus Christ,’ several times. “It explains his strange behaviour recently, and something which I’m not telling you–right?” We nodded. “We did a supposed impromptu visit to Mr Cortez and nothing was out of order, we couldn’t even do him for dirty hand towels in his bathroom–it was cleaner than clean–and obvious to everyone that he knew we were coming.”

“What were you attempting to do him for?” I asked, probably out of order and so forth but it was intriguing.

“Money laundering, we used some marked cash and set up a drop with a punter who knew nothing about it, so he couldn’t have warned him. When we got there, there was no sign of it, the money was done with a dye that only shows under UV light but it marks the hands if touched and doesn’t easily wash off. He had nothing on his paws or in his place.”

“The money hasn’t shown up since?” posited Kit.

“Yeah, but no one knows how it got back into circulation.”

“So it looks like Marple could be in his pay or debt?” I asked.

“It sure looks like it, I’ll have to get him in for questioning–have to get another force to do it–damn nuisance and it costs.”

“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, but it does look as if your man is a bent copper.”

“Yes it does, doesn’t it–the fool.” He looked weary and angry. “To think, he’s probably the one who’s stopped us picking up anything on Cortez.”

“How long have you been after him?” I asked.

“About three years ago there was a house fire which was never satisfactorily explained, the fire service assumed it was a faulty appliance as no accelerant was found but a woman and two little ones died. She owed Cortez rather a lot of money, her bloke had pissed off back to Ireland and he was waiting for benefits money to help her. While she waited, she went to Cortez and discovered the small print when she went to pay back the loan in full–she owed him another hundred quid. She refused to pay anything more than the money she owed and came to us. Two days later her house burnt down and she and her two kiddies died.”

“No accelerant was found?”

“No but there were suspicions of someone messing with the cooker, a chip pan was left on it and it appears that’s where it started and someone had also taken the smoke detector batteries out.”

“If it was set up like that, that is disgusting.” I almost wanted to heave, and I really did want to bring Cortez to justice, more than ever.

“Can you get him through Marple?” asked Kit, ever intelligent, I just wanted to scratch his eyes out, Cortez that is.

“They won’t let me investigate my own man, we’ll have to call in another force.”

“Pity,” I said, “because I think you’d really like to get Cortez, wouldn’t you?”

“Me,” Fowles looked me right in the eye, “I’d give up half my pension to nail that scum bag.”

“Perhaps we can help?” I looked him back in the eyes.

“How?”

“If I told you that, it might compromise your efforts.”

“Lady Cameron, please don’t do anything illegal–I know Beck’s good but one of these days he’s going to slip up and there’s plenty of cops would like to take him down. Don’t let him take you with him.”

“Did I mention anything illegal?” I played innocent.

“If you do anything illegal, I can’t help you either, Cathy, unless it’s to defend you.”

“Why does everyone think I’m up to anything shady?” I asked pouting as I did.

“We don’t, but the way you said it could compromise my efforts, so I assumed it was illegal–unless you’re using torture.”

“Eh?”

“Mind you if you were using torture on Cortez, I’d like to be there.” The DCI said and then blushed.

“Don’t they call it rendition, these days?” asked Kit.

“I think that’s only if the CIA do it, the rest of the time we call it torture, unless of course MI5 are involved then it’s simply interrogation by a third party.”

“Of course,” I agreed, “we ship ’em off to somewhere they don’t mind getting their hands dirty, don’t we?”

“It’s all part of being civilised,” suggested Kit, “sweeping things under carpets or sending them far away. Out of sight out of mind, plus of course no one to witness the eavesdropper in the shadows.”

“Who reports to a high ranking civil servant who reports to...ad nauseum until the minister makes a statement in the house where no mention of torture is made because by then no one he talks to knows the original source.”

“I’d better get back,” said Fowles, “I think it might be better if you keep out of this, Lady Cameron.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll be sure to let you know, Mr Fowles.”

“Thank you, but for once take a copper’s advice and stay well away from Cortez–he’s a very nasty customer.”

“Thank you for your advice and concern.” We shook hands and he left, Kit and I summarised where we were and he left shortly afterwards by which time I had to go and collect the girls. Half term next week, I’ll need to amuse the kids then so no time to play gumshoe, I’ve also got to finish a certain document and submit it to the university–burning the midnight oil tonight again by the look of it.

The rest of the evening was taken up by normal family processes–checking they all did their homework, eating dinner and so forth. I retired to my study while Simon saw the girls off to bed, and continued tidying up my dissertation. There was a knock on the door and Sammi stood there.

“I think this might be of interest, Mummy.” She handed me a sheet of paper with a conversation in emails between Marple and Cortez, Marple informing the other he’d been suspended and did Cortez know who the woman who helped rescue Edith Howse was? Cortez didn’t and it seems Marple suggested I was like Wonder Woman in designer jeans and cashmere sweater. Cortez seemed to miss the joke so Marple had to explain that anyone who crossed me seemed to wind up worse off for the experience.

Cortez’s reply was a trifle worrying, “Well, we’ll have to see about that then won’t we–does she have children?”

Probably not the best thing to say to a female tiger.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1849 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I got Sammi to leave the copies of the emails with me I was too shocked and angry to do anything but wish I had Cortez’s neck between my hands because I would strangle him–slowly. When threatened, you can see I go all girly. Calming down I called James who wasn’t available, even his mobile phone was switched off. I tried for half an hour and finally left a message for him on his ansafone. I felt angry and frustrated, wanting to take the fight to him, but couldn’t think how to do so without doing something illegal–however, I was determined this guy would pay for his crimes.

I wandered about the place like a poor imitation of the ancient mariner, wanting something to happen so I could react and yet not wanting anything to happen to those I loved. Finally, I went down and closed the gates and secured them. Now without the code or a bleeper, they could only be opened from the house.

The house had shutters, so they could be used to protect the occupants, the front and back doors were made of wood, lined with steel, reinforced hinges and locks, so no one without high explosive or an oxy-acetylene torch was getting in that way. We had escape routes and fire extinguishers, so should be able to withstand an attack until the police arrived. It was yet to be proven of course, but fort Cameron was resistant to attack except by overwhelming force and should keep a local bandit’s thugs out.

I changed into sweats and went for a work out with the punch bag in the garage. I made every blow feel like I was kicking Cortez or his goons in the face. After an hour, I was exhausted and showered before going to bed early. I think I was probably there before Danny and I zonked into a dreamless sleep I was so tired.

I felt Simon come up to bed but my eyes refused to open and my body wanted rest, so I more or less ignored him. Then at five o’clock I was awake and worrying all over again. I checked my phones and emails–not a word from James–where was he? Typical bloody man–never around when you want them.

I was sitting in my study at six drinking tea when Simon came down. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I showed him the emails.

“Can’t you show these to the police?”

“If I did they would know I was intercepting his emails, or some of them.”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s illegal, remember? Besides you can’t use them in court.”

“Can’t you get them to check Marple’s computer?”

“On what grounds, that I’d had a poke about and found something they wouldn’t like? They could accuse me of planting it there.”

“Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“We’re going on security alert from today, the gates stay locked and the children stay in.”

“Julie and Phoebe won’t like that.”

“So, they can move somewhere safer then, we can’t allow dissent because they’ll be waiting for us to show weakness. I don’t want to see this lovely old house burned to rubble and any of us perish in the flames and that seems to be his modus operandi.”

“Why don’t I just ask around and have him taken out–poof–like that?”

“Because it’s illegal.”

“So what?”

“Darling, if the police investigate they’ll possibly link it back to you.”

“This lot couldn’t find sardines in a tin.”

“Some of them are quite bright, never underestimate them.”

“I’m still waiting to see evidence of that.”

“I was dealing with one earlier–DCI Fowles–he’s a bright cookie.”

“Yeah, but one in an entire force...”

“What about Andy Bond?”

“Okay, two then...”

I shook my head. “I can’t seem to find James.”

“Is he lost then?”

“Very funny.”

“Sorry, it was the way you said it. What d’you want him for?”

“For extra muscle and firepower.”

“And you said I was thinking illegally.”

“Yeah, well I’m hoping we can do something between us, and James has lots of skills no one should have.”

“Like?”

“Being able to kill someone with a piece of blotting paper.”

“How the hell d’you do that?”

“You pick up the desk it’s on and bash them over the head with it.”

He laughed loudly, “That is so funny, babes.” He paused then added, “What do you want me to do?”

“If he gets me or any of the children, pay James to execute him–I don’t care how he does it–preferably without getting caught.”

“If he harms you or the children, I think I might enjoy killing him myself, babes.”

“Why? Get James to do it–he’s done it before and you are guaranteed a result. Promise me you’ll ask him.”

“No way! Nothing’s going to happen to you–you know I couldn’t live without you.” I saw a tear run down his face and I stood up and hugged him.

“I’m not planning on leaving you, but sometimes things happen you didn’t foresee...”

“Let me ask James to take him out now.”

“I’d prefer to see him convicted of the deaths of the young woman and her children, and Mrs Howse.”

“Yeah, but he’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Hopefully he won’t and once he’s investigated the police might be able to link him to all sorts of assaults and murders.”

“Justice is never done though, is it? Shites like him get off relatively easy, it’s the poor or the stupid who feel the full force of the law because they can’t fight back.”

“Si, could you check if you bank has any money owed by him and if so call it in.”

“What excuse?”

“What d’you mean?”

“What should we be calling it in?”

“On account of his shortened life expectancy–tell him not to start reading any library books either.”

“You’re really cross with this guy, aren’t you?”

“I’m a trifle miffed, yes. If I was really cross, he’d be dead already.”

“Remind me not to upset you.”

“Don’t upset me.”

“Eh?”

“That was your reminder.”

At nine o’clock the phone rang. I dashed to answer it–it was Neal wanting to speak with Phoebe. I was hoping he’d want her to stay with him, but no such luck he just wanted to talk to her. I invited her to ask to stay with him in the hope that I’d have one less body to worry about but she insisted on staying–‘It’s like, excitin’ innit?’

It was nearly lunch time when James did call–he’d been in France on a job. I asked him to come down for a few days because violence was threatened, he agreed he would the next morning. I suppose it could wait until then.

To keep myself busy, I checked the batteries in my night vision goggles and the image intensifier. I also checked out my compound bow and the number of arrows I had–the bow was fine and I had a couple of dozen arrows–enough for all I was likely to have to do–and these were barbed arrows with pointed ends–they’d need a surgeon or undertaker to remove them. Highly illegal, but so is carrying guns and these are quieter and just as deadly.

It was going to be a long night.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1850 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It was as I expected, a long night. Simon, Jacqui, Julie, Stella and I shared a watch of ninety minutes each. Nothing happened except it chucked it down all night, which might have dampened the enthusiasm of any would be attackers.

The next morning, I left early for the school run and went in a route that I don’t normally use. I wasn’t aware of being followed and nothing untoward happened. Mind you, I was so tired I might not have noticed if World War three had broken out.

I got home and my spirits lifted when I saw a Porsche Boxter parked in the drive and James was taking coffee with Stella. He gave me a hug and I yawned which set Stella off, even though she’d had the first watch while mine had been the third one and ensured I didn’t go back to sleep afterwards.

Sammi had continued to monitor emails between Marple and Cortez and so far nothing much had happened. She was still poking about in his computer when she found an area she couldn’t get into. She gave up at one in the morning and went to bed. Perhaps she’d found his encrypted section or possibly the link to his other computer? I awaited her further efforts tonight. Simon had said she could have the day off if she wanted to try and crack it, but she said she had stuff to do for the bank and went to work with him. In some ways I was glad they were travelling together if only to keep a watch for trouble.

Daddy took Phoebe to college and Danny to school, not necessarily in that order and I as stated previously, took the girls.

After a cuppa to perk me up, James and I had a counsel of war. “So what d’you want to do?” he asked after I shown him the emails.

“Take him out,” I said.

“What permanently?” he asked his voice rising.

“Not yet, unless he does hurt someone else–in which case kill him.”

“Um–I hate to say it, Cathy, but I’m not an executioner.”

“Okay, find me someone who is.”

“It isn’t that easy.”

“Well other people seem to be able to hire them.”

“Yeah and how many of them get arrested?”

“Not many as far as I know, not the true professionals.”

“But they work for governments or organised crime.”

“I don’t care, if he harms me or one of my kids, I want him stopped–permanently.”

“That could prove expensive.”

“That’s fine, Simon would fund it if I’m dead, if I’m only part dead, then I’ll pay for it.”

“I thought dead was an all or nothing state?” argued Jim.

“No, it’s a question of degree.”

“Well being an academic you know more about degrees than I do.”

David produced some delicious fairy cakes–I don’t think it was a pointed statement given Jim’s status–and we ate them with coffee. I had a plan and I discussed it with Jim.

“You can’t do that?” was his response.

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t think so,” and as I was paying him, I got my way so an hour later I was knocking on the door of Cortez’s rather nice house in one of the better parts of Portsmouth.

I was shown in after I said I wanted to speak to Cortez urgently.

“Who are you?” asked Cortez when he entered the room in waistcoat and shirt and tie. His ethics might be bad but his dress sense was very good.

“Catherine Cameron.”

He stopped for a moment searching through his mind why my name should be familiar.

“I helped Edith Howse escape your thugs, remember me now?”

“What thugs are these you speak of?”

“Mr Cortez, the same ones you sent to burn her house down while she was in it.”

“Bah, pure speculation.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What if I said I had proof you were involved, in fact you commissioned the attack, just as you did on that young woman a few years back.”

“What are you talking about, I’m a business man–I pay taxes and all that.”

“I’m talking about the way you had her killed then tried to implicate me.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“My evidence says otherwise.”

“You ain’t got no evidence–there ain’t none.”

“Because your boys destroyed it along with the old lady.”

“Yeah–no, what’re you tryin’ t’ do trick me into confessing.”

“No, I don’t need to do that, like I said I have evidence which should get you a life sentence.”

“You’re bluffin’, if you had evidence you wouldn’t be here talkin’ to me now, you’d have gone to the cops.”

“Perhaps I wanted to see you in person so I could advise you to keep away from my family and friends.”

“Why, watcha gonna do?”

“Give all the evidence to the police.”

“So why haven’t you already?”

“Because I want you to tear up all the loan agreements you have with people in Portsmouth and tell them they don’t have to pay you back.”

“Oh sure–you dozy bitch, I ain’t givin’ up my money to no one.”

“Oh well, perhaps I will have to give it to the police then. It certainly puts your two boys at Mrs Howse’s place moments before the fire. I also have evidence of your conspiracy to pervert the course of justice and interfere with police investigations.”

“Are you crazy? I’m a law abiding citizen.”

“I have evidence which suggests you only declare a small fraction of what you earn which I would send on to HM Revenue and Customs and I know for a fact that you don’t declare an interest in the various properties you have in and around Portsmouth and Southampton.”

I could see the anger building, my intention was to provoke him into saying something stupid which James would record and send off to a safe place. His temper snapped. “You think you’re so bloody clever, don’t you? You and your university education–well, bitch, it won’t do you no good.”

“Mrs Howse didn’t have a university education, so that wasn’t why you killed her was it?”

“No, it was because she refused to pay anymore–mixing with you, bitch, made her think she could just stop paying.”

“Seeing as the rates you charge are exorbitant, not to mention illegal, as you’re trading without a licence, I’m not surprised she refused, she’d already paid you a dozen times over.”

“Look, bitch, you don’t know nothin’.”

“I know a scumbag when I see one, and a murderer.”

“Bitch, you carry on and something nasty is gonna happen to you?”

“If anything nasty happens to me, the police will descend on you like a plague.”

“You think I’m frightened of a few coppers, most of ’em bent ones?”

“It worries me not whether you’re scared or not, but I do know you’re going down and my evidence is going to send you there, and finally, Mrs Howse will not have died in vain.”

“Okay, so I killed her, so what? You think you’re gonna walk out that door?”

“Yes, I have several friends who know where I am and they will call the police if I don’t reappear very shortly.”

“You’re gonna die bitch–just like that other pain in the arse.”

“I don’t think so.”

He lunged at me grabbing the microphone from my collar, as I brought my elbow down on the top of his head.

“Fuck,” he shouted–“hey, she’s wearin’ a wire. Get her.”

I pulled a chair down on top of him as he sprawled on the carpet, he yelled again. A rather large man came dashing into the room, I pulled the door open as he did so and then slammed it against him, he fell against the wall. I then jumped on his torso as I ran out of the room only to be met by another large man between me and the door.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

“Yeah, there’s a fire drill, don’t you know?”

“Get her,” called Cortez from behind me.

The man lunged and I sidestepped kicking his one knee as he came past which brought him down with a few screams. Just as I got to the door, I saw a shadow come up to it and suddenly there was a violent bang on the door and James stood in front of me with a sledge hammer. “I knew this would come in handy one day,” he said.

Cortez staggered out pointing a gun at us, he fired wildly, and thankfully hit neither of us; however, James hurled the twelve pounds of steel at him catching him somewhere from the screams that erupted from inside the house.

Not waiting to see what would happen next, we legged it back to the Porsche and flew down the road.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1851 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Did you get all that on tape?” I asked him.

“No.”

“What? I put my life on the line and you...”

“Recorded it digitally, not only that but I’ve sent it to your computer and my own.”

“I didn’t know you could do that?”

“Yeah, easy enough.”

“Oh,” I paused in my ignorance. “Do we have enough to get him?”

“Not by itself, but enough to give the police a chance to get another warrant for a search.”

“They didn’t find anything last time.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t this time and operating as a money lender without a licence is illegal, hopefully that will give them a chance to investigate the murders and pin it on him this time.”

“That’s why I did it.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted a break from your dissertation, so a bit of mayhem would provide a little rest.”

“You what?” I shrieked and he burst out laughing.

“The look on your face, Cathy, is priceless.”

“Huh!” I exclaimed, and pretended to look out of the window. Back at home, and a cup of tea later, my heart had stopped racing as the adrenalin rush subsided. I called Mr Fowles and explained what we’d done. He wasn’t pleased but was interested in hearing the recording. While I went to get the girls, James sent him a copy. He called back a short time after I’d got home with the girls to say it was very interesting and he had applied for a warrant and this time they’d go through his house with a fine tooth comb.

I told Si and Sammi when they sat to eat dinner and Sammi smirked. “Okay, Missy, what’s that all about?”

“I took my laptop with me and worked on what I’d downloaded from his computer.”

“Hey, I’m not paying you to work for my bloody wife and her harebrained schemes,” complained the official lord and master–but nobody took any notice of him.

“And?” I prompted.

“I discovered a form of encryption I’ve never seen before. Once I got through it, I was able to access his other computer, wherever that is.”

“And?”

“It shows his accounts are rather different, all the properties he owns, rents, loans and so on.”

“But the police won’t be able to do that, besides he’ll have cut the connection before then.”

“Ah, I thought of that so I planted a bug in his system which they will be able to open and find I downloaded it all on to his office computer.”

“He’ll complain that they planted it, won’t he?” suggested Si.

“No, because it’ll be dated before tomorrow.”

“It’s still circumstantial evidence,” said Si.

“Yes, but it could be enough for them to get a conviction,” James offered, almost licking his lips in anticipation of the raspberry roulade David had just brought to the table.

“It will have customs and excise tearing his place apart and apart from the murders, trading without a licence, they’ll have him for tax fraud as well.” Now it was my turn to smirk, “Well done that girl, they won’t find a link to you will they?”

“Um–no, I downloaded it from his second computer, so it will look as if he did it.”

“What if they find the second computer?”

“I–um–,” she blushed, “–stuck a rather nasty virus on it, no one will find anything after that.”

I looked at her in amazement.

“It wipes the hard drive and then overwrites it a hundred times with a code that is nonsensical and impenetrable, it messes up the magnetic element of the disc corrupting it...”

“Almost as much as its owner, how poetic,” I exhorted.

“The accounts show how much he paid the two guys who set fire to the house.”

“What?” Simon gasped nearly choking himself.

“He obviously thought he was secure to do so, his book-keeping is excellent, the authorities should enjoy going through them.”

“Unless he disposes of his office computer,” James looked a little pensive.

“Why should he do that? They’ve had it before and found nothing. It’s what he shows the accountant and the tax man. He won’t know there’s anything on it to incriminate him until it’s too late,” Sammi explained.

“What if he checks it tonight?” Asked James.

“It won’t show, it’s a hidden file, so the police will find it but I doubt he will.”

“He could arrange to burn down his office–things tend to spontaneously combust when he’s around,” I voiced my concern.

“I can’t stop him doing that, I’m afraid, any more than I can stop him running away.” Sammi looked uncomfortable, this was outside her sphere.

“He doesn’t know who we are yet does he?” asked James.

“He knows who I am, Marple told him, so I was up-front with my identity.”

“The wire by itself isn’t enough to get a conviction unless the police find stuff to corroborate it and that won’t happen without the computer. However, they have to dig deep and keep looking until they can go for a prosecution and nail the bastard. I don’t think he’ll do a runner, he’s brazened it out before and it worked, he’s got so much invested here, he’s much more likely to stay.”

We discovered the next day that the police did raid him and took away his computer from the office, our hopes were raised. He of course called his lawyer and was stood bail of a quarter of a million pounds. I didn’t think it was enough and was proved right, he skipped the country the next day, headed, it was suggested for South America via Spain or Portugal. I felt cheated, I wanted him to go down for several life sentences, but then we don’t always get what we want do we?

A week later Simon came home with a smile on his face and nudged Sammi, “Tell her,” he said.

“Tell me what?”

“Your loan shark.”

“My personal one–that’s you,” I teased him. His look would have killed me had I been susceptible.

“Cortez, Interpol traced him to Brazil and asked the local police to arrest him. There was a bit of a shoot out and he was killed.”

“Are you sure?” I asked not quite believing it.

“They did fingerprints apparently and they match.”

I wasn’t so sure even though DCI Fowles came to tell us the news. He was happy enough. I just thought it was too convenient, but hopefully, dead or alive, Brazil is a long way from Pompey so we should be safe.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1852 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

On Saturday Trish looked up at me while she was busy altering the Stock Exchange, or whatever eight year old geniuses do with computers. “Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” I’d just finished retyping my dissertation and Daddy was checking it. I’d then print off three copies and bind them before submitting them to the university. I was therefore in quite a good mood.

“You know that nasty man who was shot in Brazil?”

“You mean recently?”

She nodded.

“Cortez?”

“Yeah, him. Did you know we have no extradition treaty with Brazil, least not according to wiki.”

I checked and she was correct.

“What’s the matter, Mummy?”

“Uh–nothing, darling, I just want to have a word with Daddy.” I went off to find Simon. He was still in the kitchen eating toast with his marmalade, the latter was piled high on the charred bread and probably thicker than the bread.

I asked him if he wanted some more tea and he sort of grunted, ‘coffee please’ through his breakfast, or should that be breadfast? He’d eaten half a loaf of shop bought thick sliced wholemeal bread, which purports to be made with kibbled grain. I had to look that up–it means slightly boiled–before they mill it.

Sitting down with the cup of tea I’d made myself and the coffee I’d made him, I informed him of Trish’s discovery.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” he said wiping marmalade off his mouth and nose.

“It indicates the report could be in error.”

“Cathy, even the police think it was him, the fingerprints checked out, what more do you want–to see the body?”

“That would be more accurate than hearsay reports.”

“You believe them in the bloody Guardian.”

“Well, you get a better sort of bias in there.” This resulted in him snorting coffee everywhere so I had to wait for him to change his clothes before we could continue the conversation. He returned to the table and I warmed what was left off the coffee in the microwave. “You took a long time,” I observed.

“Yeah, I just spoke to James.”

“About what?”

“What you just said, he was sceptical as well, it’s easy to arrange a cover up there or fake anything from religious miracles to people’s sex.”

“So what do we do? I don’t want to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder in case that bastard comes back.”

“They’ve frozen his assets–the Revenue, I mean.”

“I’m willing to bet he had money stashed all over the place and an escape route planned. Probably some poor sap got shot and I’ll bet the face was damaged beyond recognition and the finger prints could be faked too.”

“What d’you want to do, send James out to find out?”

“And what if he finds our suspicions are true?”

“Ask him to make the report correct.”

“Si, you can’t just send James out to find and kill someone, what if he’s caught?”

“This Brazil we’re talking, there are hundreds of killings every day there.”

“You sure you don’t mean Mexico and the drug wars?”

“Nope, Brazil is very violent–remember they had death squads killing street kids not so long ago?”

“Oh don’t, Si, I can’t bear to think of it, all those poor kids.” I’d just read Donna Leon’s, The Girl Of His Dreams which deals with the unlawful death of a child in Venice, the child being a Rom or gypsy and it had left me feeling a bit down.

“I’m still not happy about us sending James as an assassin–no, I won’t agree to it. Who do we think we are, some tin pot government sending out secret agents to do our dirty work?”

“James Bond does it all the time.”

“James Bond is fiction. This is real life we’re talking about here–and no–I won’t agree to killing someone.”

“What if he came back and killed one of our kids to teach you a lesson?”

“That’s different–he hasn’t come back.”

“But he could.”

“He could also slip in the shower on a bar of soap and drown himself.”

“Unlikely,” Simon pooh-poohed my comparison.

“Look, if he comes back to this country they’ll arrest him, so he’s unlikely to do so is he?” I felt safer for thinking that–a much more likely outcome.

“He could pay someone else to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Kill one of our kids or kidnap them.”

“Please don’t speculate about the lives of the children.” I was feeling quite upset now.

“I asked James if he was willing to take the commission.”

“What to kill someone?”

“To reverse a resurrection.”

I burst out laughing at this phrase–hysterical, uncontrolled laughter. Trish came to see what was happening and Simon waved her away. Her appearance made me worse and instead of laughing I began to sob huge, heavy, scalding hot tears.

He sat me on his knee and finally calmed me down. “Let me deal with it,” he said while I snuggled into him, my head resting on his shoulder.

“You still smell of marmalade,” I said amazed my nose still worked after the deluge of salty water and whatever else came down it and into the tissue I still held in my hand.

“Yeah, so, I’m related to Paddington Bear–didn’t you know?”

I pretended to read a label attached to his shirt, “Please look after this boy, it says.”

“You have pretty well, so perhaps it’s time I looked after you and dealt with this problem.”

“No, Simon. Please don’t do it, I don’t want James to do it.”

“Okay, get someone else–he’s got mates from the special forces, they’ll kill for money quite happily.”

“Simon, you’re not listening to me–I don’t want anyone to kill him–that makes us as bad as him.”

“No, we’re better than him, he missed, we won’t.”

“Simon, I shall say this once more–if you arrange his murder, because that’s what it would be–I’ll inform the police.”

“I don’t believe you just said that,” he said in astonishment. Mind you, neither did I. Sometimes my mouth seems able to work by itself, by passing all my control systems.

“I mean it.”

“Well let me send James out to check it was him.”

“How can you do that?”

“DNA from the body?”

“It’ll be buried by then.”

“Um–not quite.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I got him to say he’s his next of kin and is coming out to take charge of the body and to arrange the funeral.”

“But he looks nothing like a Mediterranean.”

“Yeah, he’d suggest they were gay partners.”

“That’s more likely to get him killed.”

“No it won’t, they have lots of weirdies out there, trannies and gays and all sorts.”

“I’m not a weirdie?”

“No, you’re a woman, that’s a weirdie with PMS.”

“Very funny–not.” I gave him a filthy look but he just sniggered. “James is on his way out there, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” he looked at his watch, “On his way to Heathrow by now.”

“He’s not going to kill him, if the body isn’t Cortez, is he?”

“Not unless you change your mind. If it’s any consolation, he said no to that.”

“I’m glad.”

“But he knows a man who would.”

“Simon!”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1853 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The following week was half term for Danny, the girls and Phoebe. I’d spent part of Sunday printing out three copies of my doctoral dissertation and binding them with one of those spiral binder thingies. You know you have to punch holes all down the one side of the page and you put the comb, as they call it, in the binder and open it and it curls itself through the holes and hey presto, you have a bound copy of whatever.

The complete thing was two hundred and seventy pages, with seventy of those being a bibliography and notes. Having read it several times, I was glad someone else was tasked with marking it. Hopefully, they’d see me, the interview panel, that is, sometime just before or after Christmas. Part of me wanted before and part, afterwards.

Universities close from end of October for teaching but all sorts of stuff goes on afterwards. Research, marking, checking equipment, courses for staff, writing papers interviewing students for next year, interviewing new staff, management meetings, oh and interviewing hopeful PhD students.

I tried to forget about the stress of that and leave to the powers that be to pass or fail me. If the latter happened, I might leave academia and make films or write books about wildlife including possibly some children’s stories, such as the Dormouse that Roared-—based on a tale I told the girls ages ago.

Jacquie was quite good at drawing, so between us we could possibly produce an illustrated book for children. It was something to think about, or perhaps I’d set myself up as a freelance ecologist, but then the PhD would help–oh why does life have to be so bloody difficult?

Phoebe had arranged to go with Julie to the salon, so Stella, Jacquie and I were baby sitters in chief, to the horde of kiddiwinks who happen to live with us. The weather was awful, not as bad as New York with its underground boating lake, but too wet to make any outdoor activity feasible.

To keep them dry we went swimming at the hotel, we walked when it wasn’t raining, where the biggest task would be choosing eight music tracks to have washed up with me. One lunch time while I was miles away in my head, Trish asked me what I was thinking about.

“Whether it would be Beethoven’s ninth or the Mozart clarinet concerto.”

“You what?” she looked completely bewildered.

“If I was stranded on a desert island which pieces of music I’d like to take with me.”

“Oh.” She stopped and thought for a moment, “Wouldn’t a boat be more use, Mummy, and some sort of motor?”

“Only if you were trying to escape.”

“Wouldn’t you be trying to?” she looked disappointed in me.

“Why? It might be nice not to have to do anything for a few days.”

“But who’d look after all of us?”

“Daddy and Auntie Stella would organise something, with David about you wouldn’t starve.”

“But I’d miss you, Mummy.”

“Only for a short time.”

“What then you’d be rescued?”

“No, I meant you’d only miss me for a short time–you’re a very resourceful girl, so you’d help the others to organise things.”

She got closer to me, “Don’t tease me, Mummy, we'd all miss you dreadfully.”

“Yes, I expect you would but you’d eventually get used to living without me.”

“No I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course you would–it’s what will happen when you go off to university. Oxford’s not too far away but Cambridge is a bit of a trek from here.”

“I might not go to university,” she folded her arms and pouted.

“Yes you will.”

“You can’t make me,” she said her whole stance hardening in defiance.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing young lady, never ever underestimate me.”

“Huh, you said I was cleverer than you were.”

“I still think that, but sometimes it’s not just about pure cleverness, it’s about a lots of things, including the fact that I have a great deal more experience of life than you do.”

“But if I’m more intelligent than you, I’ll be able to see what you’re doing and stop you, won’t I?” She punctuated this rather frightening statement with a curious little smile–her eyes remained rather cold.

“Probably–I don’t know why I bother, but you’ve just shown me that you wouldn’t actually miss me at all, because you’re so clever.”

“I would miss you, lots and lots, Mummy,” suddenly Dr Strangelove had been replaced with an eight year old again.

“I’d miss you too, darling.” I gave her a hug and she almost purred as she relaxed in my arms.

“I’m glad you would, because it might help you decide to build a boat.”

I had to smile, because I can’t knock a nail in straight, let alone plane or saw properly. Also where would all the tools come from? I’ve never navigated or sailed a boat, so I’d have no idea and would probably be better staying put than sailing round in circles to either starve or more likely thirst to death, if I was snatched by a great white or capsized by a dumb whale. It would be just my luck to meet Moby Dickhead.

“What sort of boat would you build, Mummy?”

“Probably something like the Polynesians use, a dugout canoe thing with an outrigger.”

“What’s a dugout canoe and an out thingy?”

We went to her computer and I showed her primitive canoes and some with the outrigger float. She huffed and puffed, “It’s a bit small, isn’t it?”

“Remember, I’d be on my own and I wouldn’t be able to knock up Ark Royal single handed in a million years.”

“I probably would, Mummy. It’s all about splitting trees into planks and then fitting them together.”

“You need special tools to do that, wedges and hammers and things, plus the saw or hammer to cut the tree down in the first place.”

“I saw the man on Time Team make an axe and cut down a tree.”

“That was a man, darling, you’ll be a woman–we aren’t as physically strong.”

“It’ll just take longer, that’s all.”

Sometimes I envy children the ability to see things as straightforward and black and white as they see them. “How are you going to make the axe?”

“Oh you bash two stones together, tie the sharper one to a bit of stick and chop the tree down.”

“It’s that easy, is it?”

“Yeah, gotta be, I mean anyone can bash two stones together.”

“It’s a bit more than just bashing them together, it’s called flint napping, and requires great skill and some strength.”

“Well he didn’t, he shoved it on his knee and bash bash he had a axe.”

I would be wasting my breath arguing. She knows and won’t be convinced, even though I know she’s wrong, because I’ve seen it done and it takes hours and hours to get an axe from a lump of stone.

“Where will you get the string to tie it to the handle?”

“I expect there’ll be some there somewhere.”

“What if there isn’t?” I was pushing her now to see what she’d do.

“Oh, probably unravel a pair of knickers.”

That surprised me but it could possibly work if it was spun into string from thin thread, but then you need resin to hold the string to the stone. If there aren’t any pine trees or similar it’s hardly likely to be possible with coconut juice.

“Muuum,” called Livvie.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Bramble’s been sick on the hall carpet and Kiki’s eating it...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1854 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It was on Halloween that we first got contact from James. A text which read, ‘ Cortez cremated! Looking deeper. J.’ Simon forwarded it to me. I checked, they don’t usually cremate bodies in Catholic countries, spoils things for the second coming apparently–obviously more than the worms and maggots do, after the lysosomes have been released. These are enzymes held in most cells within a protective membrane. If the cell is injured or dies, the lysosomes are released and start breaking down the cell. Nature takes care of its own waste products and enables the animals and plants which feed on dead and decaying things to get started in recycling the energy and elements within the dead organism. In cremation that obviously only happens to the bone ash if it’s made available to them such as by interment or scattering.

Something was decidedly fishy about the whole thing. Was Cortez in Brazil or somewhere else? I sent a text to James urging him to be careful and to watch his back. He replied saying he would. I then sent one to Simon asking him to call him back. Simon didn’t reply, it was going to be a difficult evening.

The weather on All Hallow’s Eve was foul as a stiff breeze drove heavy showers against the windows of the house. We’d spent the afternoon hollowing out the pumpkins to make lanterns and David was making pumpkin pie–not my favourite desert.

Using a couple of sharp kitchen knives we carved ugly faces on the front of the gourds and I stuck a tea-light in each one. The weather stopped us putting them outside and also stopped any kids knocking on the door demanding sweets with menaces, while disguised as the erroneous stereotypes of witches.

After dinner, which was lovely pork casserole and the previously mentioned pumpkin pie, which I declined, The girls all dressed up in the costumes they’d been making much of the day with Jacquie’s help. We ended up with three witches–predictably, I suppose with big warty false noses, lots of cackling and a sort of growl which reminded me more of Long John Silver than Macbeth.

“Arr,” said Trish and cackled. I nearly looked for the parrot on her shoulder.

“Arr arr,” announced Livvie’s presence and waiting for Meems looked to be interesting, she simply cackled and said, “Aaah,” her tonsils looked fine.

We played some silly games, including a variation of pin the tail on the donkey–pin the witch on her broomstick. Then ducking for apples, some hot chestnuts which David did in the Aga, and mulled wine for the adults.

Finally, I got nominated to tell a scary story before they went to bed. This was held in the sitting-room with the pumpkin lanterns flickering in the fireplace, the room looked quite eerie. The whole blessed family came to hear me tell a story. I was going to read on but no, I had to tell one–so no notes; and it had to be an original one. That was Simon’s contribution–I’ll speak to him later.

“Once upon a time, in a place not far from here lived a little girl. Her mummy and daddy loved her very much and did all they could to make her happy and keep her safe, but their efforts weren’t always very successful.

“In their big old house there were lots of rooms including a cellar and an attic and our little girl used to like to sneak up into the attic and explore the things that were kept in boxes and crates. Like all little girls she was especially fond of dressing up in any old clothes she found and whiled away many rainy afternoons playing up in the attic.

“Being an only child she did, however, become lonely at times because there was no one nearby of her age and everyone in the house was too busy working to give her much time. She dearly longed for a companion and used to wish out loud for one.

“One day while she was playing in the attic, standing before an old mirror, wearing a particularly pretty old dress and feather boa, she wished out loud for someone to play with–preferably another little girl. She sighed and wrapped the boa round her neck and shoulders and looked again in the mirror then turned round in shock as she spied another face in the mirror standing behind her.

“‘Whoooo are yyyyouu?’ she stammered in fright. But the little girl who’s face she saw smiled and disappeared. For the next several weeks of the holiday our heroine asked the phantom to return and play with her and eventually, she did. Her name was Nell, and as Judith our modern girl played with her, so the ghost became more solid and like a real person. They both had such fun.

“However, all good things come to an end and Judith told Nell that she would have to go back to school–she was sent to boarding school her parents were so busy–which she didn’t like but had to cope with.

“Nell, tomorrow I have to go back to my beastly school, I’d much rather stay and play with you.”

“I know, Judi, but you must go and please your parents.”

“Why should I please them, it’s because they’re too busy to look after me that I have to go there in the first place. I’ve got a jolly good mind to not please them. Maybe I’ll hide up here instead, with you.”

“You can’t do that, Judi, you must go to school and you must do as your parents say.”

“Why? They’re such spoilsports and workaholics.”

“Because you must.”

“I’ll bet you always did what you were told to do, didn’t you? I’ll bet you were a really dutiful daughter, weren’t you?” Judi teased her ghostly friend.

“I wasn’t and I was punished severely for it.” Nell avoided eye contact with her corporeal friend.

“Goodness, what did you do that was so bad? Did they stop you watching telly or confiscate your mobile?”

“Those things weren’t around in my day, remember I lived over a hundred years ago.”

“I keep forgetting, I’m sorry, Nell,” Judi apologised, “but what did you do that was so bad?”

“I can’t tell you, Judith, it would spoil our friendship.”

“I like you so much, Nell, I’m sure it wouldn’t matter.”

“I went against my parent’s wishes.”

“What did you marry one of the servants or something–oh you didn’t get pregnant?”

“No, I did neither of those things, I disobeyed my parents and they punished me.”

“Please do tell me more, so I can understand better.”

“Very well, but I doubt you’ll wish to see me again.”

“Oh I will, you’re my best friend ever, even if you are dead.”

“Yes, I’m dead aren’t I, but these past few weeks I’ve felt more alive than I did when I had a body.”

“You are silly, Nell, how could that possibly be so?”

“My name wasn’t always Nell, and I wasn’t always a girl, well I was but that was inside. I kept stealing the servant’s dresses and trying them on and finally my father made my mother buy one for me whereupon he beat me and locked me in the cellar. He told me I was to stay there until I realised I was boy and behaved like one. I stayed there for three days braving the spiders and the dark.”

“Didn’t they even feed you?”

“He would only allow bread and water.”

“How cruel.”

“He was a cruel man in some ways and he called me all sorts of horrid names. After three days he asked me if I still wanted to wear dresses and I said I did. He beat me again and I was shut in there for a week. I became so unhappy, not seeing my mummy or Mrs Boscombe our housekeeper that I...”

“That you what, Nell?”

“That I took off the sash on my dress and put it over the beam...”

“Oh no,” screamed Judith and Nell nodded and faded away.

“Oh poor girl,” said Trish sniffing back the tears.

“That was really scary, Mummy,” offered Julie.

“Yes, darling, intolerance always is.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1855 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Mummy, was that a real story?” asked Livvie as we made our way upstairs.

“No, darling, it was one I made up.”

“But it coulda been real.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“But I mean, Trish has seen Billie, so it coulda been, couldn’t it?”

“I don’t really know if Trish has seen Billie; I know she thinks she has, but I can’t be certain one way or the other.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No, except in dreams and that could be simply my mind trying to deal with the tragedy of her death.”

“People in the Bible saw things in dreams, they say God made them see things.”

“We don’t quite understand dreams, they could be anything.”

“So it could be God talking to us?”

“It could if you believe in God.”

“You don’t do you, Mummy?”

“Not really, sweetheart. Belief is an act of faith, I don’t have faith in supernatural beings.”

“I don’t know if I do either, Mummy.”

I gave Livvie a hug and after checking on them, cleaning their teeth and changing into nighties, I tucked them all in to their beds and bid them goodnight.
“That was a good ghost story, Mummy,” said Julie, scary for different than usual reasons.

“Thank you, darling,” we hugged for a moment.

“What made you think that one up?” asked Phoebe.

“It just came to me after I was asked to tell a tale.”

“You didn’t plan it then?” she probed a bit further.

“No, I made it up as I went along.” Unless it was some unconscious thing, I considered but didn’t pursue the idea.

“It was good.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish I could just make up stories like that,” she sighed, “when I was in school and we had to write a story, I always had to get my mum to help me. Not very creative,” she sighed and I wasn’t sure if that was because she sad about her lack of creativity or thinking about her mother.

The girls went off to do each other’s hair and Sammi went with them after telling me, “I set a trap on Cortez’s computer stuff, see if it gives any suggestion that he’s still alive.”

“Don’t tell me all you’ve had so far is the Inland Revenue trying to decode them.”

“Not quite, but given his previous encryptions, he does have some idea but not very much. I’ve got a tracker on it so hopefully anyone who does try to access his accounts will lead us back to them unless they do it through hundred of computers all over the world.”

“Oh well, can’t say I understand all that, sweetheart, so I’ll wait for you to tell me if anything happens.”

“Okay, I’m going to let them play with my hair, see you in the morning.”

“Don’t let them do anything too outlandish, remember you’re working in a bank.”

“Oh gosh, Mummy, the other girls are way more over the top than I am, they’ve all got tats and piercings.”

I must have grimaced because she smiled and added, “Don’t worry, I don’t like them either.”

“I hope it stays that way, Sammi,” I gave her a hug and she pecked me on the cheek.

“Of course it will, thank you for letting me stay with you.”

“What brought that on?” I mean she’s been living with us for months.

“I just thought it might be a good idea to show I don’t take you or Daddy for granted or staying in this lovely old house.”

“Well, in which case, thank you, it is appreciated.” I hugged her again–she seemed to be the only one who had become aware of our efforts to keep them comfortable, and while we’re nowhere near poor, it’s nice to hear a little thank you.

The youngsters I’d expect to take everything for granted because they’re very much children, even if they have gigantic brains–they’re no guarantee of maturity, as Trish has demonstrated several times. But then at eight, one could suggest they have plenty of time to grow and mature.

Livvie seems to be growing faster than Trish who is fractionally older. Even Meems is catching her up and Danny has long left them all behind–he’s going to be quite tall–probably six feet tall by the time he stops growing. He certainly eats enough and it doesn’t turn to fat, so it must be doing something.

I’ll have to chat with Sam Rose, see if T-girls on hormones as young as Trish grow normally or do the hormones interfere with it. I thought it was usually girls becoming boys that had the problem, that testosterone spoiled the party and one of the reasons so many of them are vertically challenged. David’s not that tall but then neither am I.

I sat with Simon in the lounge, Tom had gone up to bed and Stella was watching the telly in her own rooms. “So what has James told you?” I asked him.

“Nothing much today, he’s still trying to find a friendly copper to help him get into the police records of the shoot-out and subsequent destruction of the poor guy’s face and then the cremation–Catholics just don’t do it.”

“I think we ought to get him back, it’s too dangerous.”

“He’s got a friend with him–one of his ex-special forces chums.”

“Well I hope they’re watching each other’s backs because it’s a pretty violent place by all accounts.”

“That’s Mexico with that drug cartel thingy, they’re killing each other by the bucket-load there.”

“Brazil is pretty violent too–lots of organised crime–corrupt police and authorities.”

“Don’t need to look far for that, just look at this business with Jimmy Savile.”

“Oh don’t, that gets sillier and sillier, if it wasn’t for the fact that bastards like him destroyed youngster’s lives with their predatory sex, it would be a farce. I just can’t believe he wasn’t stopped.”

“Power, babes, there’s a thing in the paper today about some bloke in North Wales who was sexually assaulted as a child by a paedophile ring and one of them was a high up Tory politician in Thatcher’s government.”

I nodded, “Nothing would surprise me in the darkness in some people’s hearts.”

“Yeah, it’s when they do good things it kind of gets you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know I feel a bit cynical about that too, look how Savile used his money generating status to get power and freedoms within places that enabled him to abuse either children or vulnerable patients, like those in mental institutions or unconscious.”

“Sounds like something out of, ‘Kill Bill,” he replied, “Isn’t Uma Thurman supposedly abused by some ward orderly or male nurse while she’s in a coma.”

“Oh that film was ridiculously over the top–like Monty Python meets Bruce Lee.”

“Okay some of the action is OTT, but the abuse of supposedly deep coma patients might not be.”

“What a horrible thought,” I shuddered.

“Well you hear stories of people abusing corpses in undertaker’s places.”

“Oh that is gross, I’m going to bed.” I stood up and walked to the door, “You coming?”

“Yeah, might as well,” he followed me out and shut the door after switching off the light. A shadow shot past us and up the stairs.

“Bugger, the kitten’s got out of the kitchen,” I said and dreaded having to find her and take her downstairs, it’s like trying to grab a bar of soap if you can actually find her in the first place.

“She’s your cat,” he smiled and left me to it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1856 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Halloween and looking for shadows–um–I’m not superstitious, honest. I checked everywhere I could without disturbing the occupants of their rooms. The big girls were still chatting away in Julie’s room and hadn’t seen the cat, as it wasn’t yet midnight, I simply asked them to keep the noise down.

Our room had the door shut so did all the others except the girl’s room. The little bugger had to be in there. I crept in and tried to check it out without more than the light from the landing which only showed outlines. I couldn’t find her, the little monster.

I gave up some twenty minutes later and went to bed, Simon was already there and reading my book. “This is quite good, you ought to read it,” he said and I just glared as balefully as I could. “I’d be careful if I were you, if the wind changes you might stay like that.”

“Smart-arse,” was my endearment to him as I got into bed, wishing that I’d chosen to learn the bagpipes for when he wanted to sleep. Knowing my luck, he’d approve and go all Scottish on me, like some second generation immigrant to Canada or the US who seem to be far more interested in their roots than those of us who still live in Blighty.

I suppose that I’ve lived all my life in Southern England although technically my parents were Scots and so am I by birth, I’ve thought of myself as British, cheering on anyone from the four nations when anything sporting has been going on. Mind you, I think the thought of bagpipes probably frightens me more than Si.

“She writes quite well, this Donna Leon,” he said.

“I wouldn’t know, some bastard keeps stealing my books,” I said turning away from him.

“Yeah, you gotta watch those buggers.”

“One of them lost one of my books,” I whined.

“Alright, I’ll get you another if you tell me which one it was.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s a book isn’t it, a book is a book is a book.”

“She’d signed the one you lost.”

“I’m sure I can get you another one signed by her.”

“I’ll bet you can’t.” I pouted to myself and decided to ignore him for the rest of the night. I mean, what d’you when someone takes the book you’re reading and starts reading it themselves. It just isn’t cricket.

I eventually fell asleep but dreamt that Simon had gone to Venice to ask Ms Leon to sign a copy of the book and she refused telling him she’d signed one already and it served him right if he’d lost it. He argued with her, saying it wasn’t his fault he’d left it on the train, they’d been told to evacuate it post haste because there was a fire risk and he’d grabbed his coat and brief case and forgotten the book. He told Sammi off for not reminding him–she’d had a handbag, a coat and a laptop to worry about.

I woke needing a wee, so remembered the silly dream, playing it in my head for a second time to see what it meant–and I think my conclusion was–bugger all. I lapsed back into my comatose state and slept through until the alarm woke me the next morning. I can’t say I felt that refreshed though, because I woke thinking about Cortez, somebody on the radio was on about all these drug killings in Mexico, thousands of them over the past few years. My initial thought was, well perhaps Portsmouth isn’t that bad after all, then I thought of Cortez and hoped James and his friend were okay.

I meant to ask Si about it, see if he had any further communication but he’d gone to work. I have to admire Sammi; most teens act as if they’ve been super-glued to their beds, but she seems able to rise with the lark and go off to work. The bank is paying her about thirty five thousand, which seeing as she isn’t a graduate, is quite a good salary. Simon also gets them to pay for her season ticket on the train, so she does really well out of them. Then again, she’s turned their computer department upside down and shown up the security staff to be past their sell by date, digitally if not otherwise.

As I showered I recalled Simon telling me how she showed them up. She’d shown Simon that the security of his bank account wasn’t very good by hacking into it. He was quite understandably upset about it and got her to go to town with him. They had a meeting with the head of IT and then with the team of so-called internet security. Their leader was asked to the meeting and Si laid into him about complacency and incompetence. The man, Paul Connolly, claimed that the bank was secure and Simon challenged him to prove it.

Over the next week, Sammi hacked the bank every day and they seemed unable to stop her. Simon sacked the whole team the following week and appointed new ones who did manage to stop Sammi, half the time. The new team leader admitted she was good. The head of IT offered her a job and the rest is history.

When they came home that evening, I told Simon where I had found the kitten–sleeping curled up with Trish–when I went to wake the girls. Trish was totally unaware she’d been visited. I on the other hand was going to make sure the kitchen door was closed tonight before we went to bed.

“Oh you found her then?” was all he said.

“Yes, on Trish’s bed, they were curled up round each other.” He chuckled. “It’s not funny, I spent twenty minutes trying to find the little horror last night.”

“Was she causing a problem?”

“No.”

“Why worry, then?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What isn’t?” he asked patiently.

“She knows she’s not supposed to come upstairs at night.”

“Don’t tell me, you had a long and meaningful conversation with her about it?”

“Si, she’s a kitten.”

“Exactly.” He went off to change and I wanted to sulk. I felt like I’d just been made to stand outside the headmistress’s room for talking in class or something equally banal.

“You okay, Mummy?” asked Sammi.

“Yes, dear, just a bit tired.”

“Oh, Daddy got you this.” She handed me a bag containing a book.

“Why thank you,” I hugged her and pecked her on the cheek which made her blush. I wondered why he hadn’t given it to me himself.

I opened it expecting it to be an unsigned copy but to my surprise, it had been signed by the author.

Si came back downstairs, “Oh, I see Sammi gave you the book.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Notice it was a signed copy?”

“Yes thank you.”

“So why the long face?”

“It isn’t the one you lost.”

“No, I know that, this is one they got signed for you specially.”

“No, Simon, it isn’t the same.”

“I know, this one is to Cathy, if you look.”

“I saw that, Si.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“It’s the wrong book.”

“No, it’s a Donna Leon book.”

“But not the same one as you lost. That was ‘Suffer the little children’, this one is ‘Aqua Alta’.

“Well how was I to know?” he sighed and made a tactical withdrawal.