The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1901 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I have no idea what time it was when we got to bed. Ingrid and Hannah were all for leaving that night. I asked them to wait and David stayed with them. The girls were scared, and Tom went up and read to them until the four of them fell asleep.

I spoke with Simon about offering Ingrid a job. “Oh yeah and five minutes later she’s calling you Mummy and we have an even bigger family.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What I have in mind is for her to work with David some of the time and to do general housework the rest of the time. I intend to ask Stella for a contribution towards her salary. We throw in the cottage as a tied one and that gives Jacquie the chance to enrol in an access course to go to university.”

“Ask her to come in,” he said, and I went and fetched her. “My wife has made a suggestion to me which I shall put to you as a proposition–you’re not obliged to answer tonight, especially as we’ve been just a trifle distracted.”

“Yeah, moppin’ up blood is real good fun.”

“I think cleaning up yours would have been even less so.” Simon indicated she should remember that I’d saved her life–possibly.

“Okay–what’s this proposition?”

“We offer you a job, working with David in the kitchen–so he can teach you some cookery–and working in the house, helping with housework and childcare. In return, we pay you ten thousand a year and throw in the cottage. It would be unspecified hours, but some days it would be quiet and others it could be quite intense.”

“Wow–I dunno if I feel safe here after tonight.”

“I also thought we could possibly get Hannah into the same school that my three girls attend–I think we could arrange a scholarship with a top up. Obviously, if you leave here, I’m afraid we’d not be able to continue the top up.”

“I dunno–not sure she’d fit in a posh school.”

“The girls there are not all posh ones and the education is very good. I’m sure you’d like to see her make something of her life, an education is the best way of helping her.”

“Why are you being so nice to me–us?”

“Because I can, and because we all hate bullies and abuse of anyone. Furthermore, I’d like to see Hannah have a chance at life, and although I’m not for one moment suggesting you couldn’t give her one, I think I could help you. I lost a daughter about her age.”

“I’m sorry.I dunno, I’m still not sure about how safe I feel.”

“The men didn’t break into the house they entered because someone opened the door. The doors are all security doors, even with a battering ram they’ll give you a few minutes to get away. All the windows are reinforced safety glass. I can’t say no one would get into your cottage, but it would take them a few minutes and it’s unusual for no one to be in the house here.”

“What if they cut the phone lines?”

“Everyone has a mobile these days. No one trying to get you will have the technology to block those. Besides, the gates are usually closed and they’re electronic and we do have CCTV on the outside of the drive and the house and the cottages are also alarmed.”

“Can I think about it–you know–talk it over with Han?”

“As it’s Christmas in a couple of days and we’ll have loads of food, and we usually have plenty of fun as well, why don’t you stay until after Christmas and give us an answer then? You can help David or me, and Hannah will have someone to play with.”

“Can I say a provisional yes to the Christmas bit?”

“If you have alternative plans, that’s fine. We can drop you at a National Bus stop or the station.”

“Can I speak with Han, first?”

“Of course.” She gathered her daughter, and David escorted them over to the cottages. I glanced at the clock, it was nearly three. I yawned and Simon copied me.

“Is she going to stay?” he asked me.

“I would for the package we were offering.”

“Bugger, and I thought I had to marry you to make you stay.”

“Either that or learn to use the washing machine and the microwave.”

“That’s women’s work,” he said and ran up the stairs.

The next day we were a bit slow to get going. I left Simon in charge of the kids while Stella and I went into town and bought a few more presents for Ingrid and Hannah. “You going to give them these anyway?” asked Stella as we added to the treasure trove in the boot of the Jaguar.

“Yes, these I will, the laptop maybe not if they don’t stay for Christmas.”

“There’s a laptop as well? Bloody hell, Cathy, you’re gonna kill ’em with kindness.”

We had lunch out and when we got home discovered that Jacquie had got the lunch, as David had taken Ingrid and Hannah out to do some shopping. Simon was quite peeved–we had to have something from the freezer and shop bread.”

I pretended I was playing the violin to accompany his tragedy, then had to step back smartly as he swiped at me. “Fancy David deserting his post?” he remarked.

“Come off it Simon, you could open a tin of beans and make some toast. You weren’t going to starve–Trish would have told you what to do, or even Sammi–where is she?” I looked around and she was noticeable by her absence.

“Gone to meet Julie and Phoebe at the salon, she was getting a trim I think.”

“How are they going to get three home in Julie’s car?”

“How would I know?”

“I’ll send her a text.” I did and she said Sammi had gone to do some shopping and would find her own way back.

David, Ingrid and Hannah returned mid afternoon and he immediately set about making dinner. A short while later Ingrid and Hannah came over and Ingrid helped David in the kitchen while I got Hannah to assist the other girls in decorating the Christmas tree–yeah, I never learn and I am determined I’m not going to get pine needles in a personal place this year.
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Simon and Danny set about cleaning out the fireplace and bringing in a whole basket of logs which they stacked against the wall, still in the hearth, then repeated the exercise another three times. If we lit a fire, no one would have to go out for logs for days. He brought in a pile of kindling and stacked that in the hearth with some newspaper.

The girls finished the tree and this year the lights worked. Si and Danny, supervised by Tom, then put lights in a couple of small trees in the drive. It was beginning to feel like Christmas might happen after all.

Andy Bond arrived just before dinner and I almost coaxed him to stay. “I’ve been sent as a peace envoy.”

“Oh?” What could this mean?

“Yeah, it’s unlikely they’re going to charge you with assault, as the depositions and statements suggest you were defending your family/household against what could have been a fatal attack. The marks on Ingrid’s throat demonstrated he was using quite a lot of pressure. However, if you’re found using a bow again, they might not be so lenient next time.”

“Okay, I’ll get a Kalashnikov–I think you can buy them for a few hundred in Pakistan.”

“Cathy, be reasonable. You’ve shot about ten people here now.”

“Each one of them deserved it and I didn’t start it.”

“I know, I know–look, like I said, I’m just the messenger.”

He went off with a couple of bottles of wine as a Christmas present from Simon. When I asked Simon if he thought a crossbow would count as something different and he suggested it wouldn’t, they’re already considered offensive weapons and besides, they take too long to reload compared to a longbow. He had a point.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1902 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The Sunday and Monday following were just manic as we cleaned the house from top to bottom; Ingrid showing a bit more enthusiasm than Jacquie or Sammi. She’d talked things over with Hannah and had decided they would stay over Christmas and make up their minds about Simon’s offer. It was my offer, really, but I let everyone think Simon had thought it up.

I learned that Ingrid could also drive, so I could have someone to share the school run when I went back to teaching. She seemed to have calmed down after she learned her ex-partner had been caught trying to escape the night of the attack. He was the getaway driver, apparently not feeling up to taking an active part in what we later discovered was intended to be a ‘lesson’ to me. They were supposed to sexually assault me, and then slash my face, and perhaps do the same to Ingrid. I felt even more justified in using the bow for my defence, and told the police I would continue to protect myself and my family with whatever I damn well wanted.

I also sent a message via Henry to the Chief Constable that if they prosecuted me and took away my weapons and I subsequently lost to injury or death, a member of my family, I would chase him and whoever else was involved through the courts as long as they lived or were bankrupted. Henry was shocked at my vehemence, as was I when I learned of the threat to me from Ingrid’s ex. The thought of someone slashing my face to teach me a lesson gave me a cold shudder.

When Simon found out he wanted the guy damaged in prison and was prepared to find someone to arrange it, but I stopped him. If ever it was discovered we’d conspired to do such a thing, he’d be in real trouble. Instead I suggested he aim for a private law suit to bankrupt the miscreant with a claim for damages for emotional and physical harm done by him and his friends, to all the members of the family and our guests. He rubbed his hands and went off to speak to his legal friends.

Christmas Eve, the Monday following the attack we set up the house for the fun of Christmas Day when we’d be entertaining a houseful. Pippa and her boys were coming, so were Henry and Monica. The dining table was extended to seat twenty, we had to get the folding chairs from the attic and the spare canteen of cutlery from the pantry.

By the time we, that is Simon, Tom and I went to bed, we were knackered, not to put too fine a point on it. I hated to think how much wrapping paper I’d used up, but the tree was almost buried under the pile of presents, one lot of which we’d keep until after dinner. I’d agreed this with Ingrid as well, and she was quite happy with the arrangements.

On Christmas morning, which seemed to happen far too soon after we went to bed, we were woken by three aliens giggling as they jumped into bed with us. Simon grumbled a little as cold feet were shoved on his bad knee–he made it worse detaining one of the attackers–silly bugger jumping off a table.

The girls tried to lie still, it was only six in the morning, but they were as fizzy as bottles of shaken cola and their wriggling and giggling had me choosing between multiple puellacide and getting up. The latter had a shorter sentence attached, so I opted for it.

As usual, I insisted on everyone having a proper breakfast of either toast or cereal or both. I knew David would be over to start cooking the turkey by eight, and probably Ingrid would come with him and where she goes, Hannah follows. I’d noticed that despite their different backgrounds, David and Ingrid seemed to be getting on rather well, which partly prompted me to make the offer of a job to her.

I managed to draw out the present opening until eight o’clock by insisting we all had showers and wore tidy clothes. The girls complained and whined during the whole process, but it at least enabled the others to come across from the cottages.

David set up the oven and the kitchen for cooking the meal, then came in and we exchanged presents. He was chuffed with his new shaver, and Ingrid and Hannah were absolutely overwhelmed by the laptop I got the girls to give to them. Sammi gave it the once over and pronounced it a very good all-rounder and offered to help them set it up later, as I’d hoped she would.

I wasn’t expecting anything from our guests, but I received a bottle of Coco eau de toilette from the two girls and David, which made my day–one of my absolute favourites. Simon gave me some more Opium–the perfume not the narcotic–and Tom added to my jewellery with a gold chain necklace.

Once the main presents had been distributed we left the rest until our visitors arrived and set to tidying up–wrapping paper everywhere–and making last minute checks for the table settings and dinner. Ingrid went into the kitchen with David, and I managed to snap a picture of them under the mistletoe I’d hung there earlier this morning, with my new camera. Talk about flustered didn’t begin to describe it and this was before anyone had any alcohol.

Our visitors arrived at one o’clock, Pippa parking her modest car alongside Henry’s huge Audi thing, which I knew Monica would drive back to the hotel where they were staying–Henry enjoyed his tipple.

More presents were exchanged, although I got everyone to agree we’d open them after dinner so as not to interrupt the start of the meal. David did us proud and I kept a beady eye on Henry in case he tried to talk him into going to work at the hotel. It was raised but David turned him down, saying he loved working with the family here. In fact he walked round with a silly grin on his face most of the day, as did Ingrid, so I suspect they were in agreement over the subject of mutual affection.

Just as dinner was being served and Tom was carving the turkey, Henry dashed out and came back with half a case of champers–not yer Moet et Chandon stuff but Bollinger. Turkey and all the trimmings doesn’t do justice to the meal David produced, it was sumptuous.

Prawns on a bed of sliced orange and lime to start; then turkey with cranberry, bread or any other sauce you could think of; the vegetables were wonderful, glazed carrots, mushrooms in a light batter, broccoli and new potatoes together with roast potatoes and parsnips, mashed swede and aubergine–it was too much. I suspect I gained a pound just inhaling the aroma of all that food. The dessert was Christmas pud for the traditionalists with brandy butter, I settled for just a small dish of ice cream, but there was a large trifle and mince pies as well.

Simon and Tom produced bottles of Merlot and Chablis once the champagne had been drunk and it was probably three o’clock before we finally got round to opening the rest of the presents. I gave David a hand with clearing the table and keeping Kiki out of temptation’s reach before sitting comfortably on the sofa with Simon and falling fast asleep. David got his own back taking a picture of me lying back with my eyes closed and my mouth open–not a pleasant sight.

I know Si gave David a bonus for the Christmas meal, which was so richly deserved and we all toasted him after the meal to acknowledge his skill as a chef.

So how was your Christmas?

Merry Christmas to all our readers, Angharad, Bonzi & Whizz

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1903 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Pippa and her family left after supper which was after Dr Who, I did manage to stay awake for that, although the kids watched it from behind the sofa–carnivorous snowmen–whatever next?

The children were still fizzing like bottles of pop after Pippa and her boys went until they suddenly seemed to run out of steam about nine o’clock, a feeling I knew myself. I took them up to bed, read them a story while The grownups talked, drank, snacked and watched a rerun of Lord of the rings, I’ve seen them all before so I let Frodo wander on his own this time. I also wondered how the small group of heroes could bash so many orcs without getting tired. I’m knackered after chopping up a few bits of kindling.

Talking of which Simon lit the log fire in the lounge, so they’ll be falling asleep with the effects of warmth, full tummies and alcohol. I went down after seeing the little ones were asleep and the three girls were also in deep slumber. Danny was in his element watching the battle scenes from Helmdeep and still wide awake while Simon snoozed alongside him.

The elder girls, Julie, Jacquie, Phoebe and Sammi were sitting in the kitchen drinking spritzers, I did allow them a small amount of alcohol although Jacquie, Sammi and Julie are over eighteen, they respected the younger Phoebe who isn’t. I quite admired them for their abstinence.

In the dining room Tom and David were in deep discussion about something or other and Ingrid sat watching them with Hannah asleep on her lap. The looks Ingrid was giving David tended to indicate they had something going and it wasn’t cookery skills. I wished them goodnight and went off to bed after speaking to the girls and to Simon and Danny; Danny having promised to go to bed straight after the film finished.

I cleaned my teeth, had a quick wash and went to bed–my Christmas ended soon afterwards as I zonked out, tiredness and a couple of glasses of wine taking their toll.
I neither heard or felt Simon coming to bed–apparently it was about two o’clock when he woke up with some ancient movie playing on the telly and realised Frodo had gone back to his hobbitation for the night.

He also let Bramble out of the conservatory and she must have come up on the bed because she was curled up with me when I woke up the next morning. I moved when the radio came on–only to switch it off–and she made that purrp noise cats do when they’re disturbed in a safe place. I placed my hand down on the noise and was rewarded with a lick from a sandpaper tongue and then being climbed over by a purring mountaineer. I gave up and got up when she sat on my head and started pummelling me. I knocked her off and she must have landed on Simon who gave a loud snort turned over and went back to sleep.

I left him to it and sneaked downstairs where Tom was making himself coffee, “Kettle’s jes’ biled,” he said so I nodded and made myself some tea hoping I had time to drink it and return to full consciousness before the children woke up.

“I see Ingrid is makin’ eyes at David,” Tom said quietly.

“Perhaps they both need a new start in a relationship.”

“Aye,” he nodded and sipped his coffee while Kiki sat at his feet waiting for her walk. “Why d’ye no come f’a walk wi’us?”

“And who’ll feed the children when they discover what time it is?”

“Stella an’ thae ither girls or their adopted faither?”

“He was still in a coma, even the purring banshee couldn’t wake him this morning.” I’d fed the cat and she was now looking for mischief so I shut her out in the conservatory.

“Sae, go an’ dress an’ come f’a walk?”

He gave me a look of pleading that wouldn’t be lost on the spaniel, that I agreed and finishing my tea dashed upstairs and dressed quickly carrying my shoes down instead of putting them on to lessen any noise. A couple of minutes later we were walking down the drive, our arms linked as the dog trotted ahead on the extending lead.

We were fortunate to get back before a nasty shower lashed its droplets against the windows and as I took off my coat and shoes, I was greeted by several children who seemed to think I’d been kidnapped or something equally horrid. Their squeals of joy probably seared through Simon’s skull as he held it in his hands and asked them to be quiet.

My walk with Daddy had been quite a philosophical one, him asking me what I wanted to do with my career and my life. Beyond Simon and the children I wasn’t sure what I really wanted to do.

“Sae whaur’s thae woman wha’s goin’ save thae world gone?” he asked me.

“I don’t even know if I could save the dormouse, Daddy.”

“Ye must go on, ye’re on o’ thae best communicators I’ve seen, dinna waste yer talent.”

“So you keep telling me. I really don’t know what I want and until I do, I won’t find it, will I?”

He shook his head in agreement.

“Will ye return tae teaching?”

“I have to honour my contract in the new year but after Easter, I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’d like to go on a cruise in the hope that I was shipwrecked on a desert island to give me time to think and reflect.”

“Aye, and whit we all dae without ye?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I pushed my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat. I wasn’t that cold but neither was it that warm. He wrapped his arm around me.

“Ye’ve done a wonderfu’ job wi’us all, mebbe we shud, gi’ye some time tae yersel’.”

“Come on, Daddy, let’s go home, my tummy’s rumbling.”

“Aye a’richt.”

Breakfast followed and Simon sought sanctuary in my study while the children played noisily with their new toys, and despite saying he didn’t want one, Danny loved his remote control helicopter and frightened the kitten half to death when he buzzed her with it. Kiki came to her rescue and playing at ground to air missiles, she shot his contraption down meaning he spent half the morning trying to find someone to re-solder a broken connection. I promised to do it after lunch, which I was doing, David having time off until dinner. It got me some assistance in the kitchen from Danny who normally only eats here or takes food out of it.

Between us, and with help from the older girls, I made a large pot of soup with bits of turkey stock and vegetables which I then attacked with the hand blender and served with the bread Danny had helped me make in the machine. I also took some homemade rolls out of the freezer and after a quick turn in the microwave went into the hot oven on the Aga and backed up the fresh bread.

By mid afternoon on Boxing Day, I returned the kitchen to David and Ingrid and went over to my bike workshop with Danny and his flying contraption. I hope it taught him a lesson, bullying the kitten and then having to wait to enjoy himself and work to get a favour from someone else, to whom his pleasure wasn’t a priority.

Thankfully, my efforts worked and he spent the rest of the afternoon buzzing his way round the large garage which used to be a barn, until his batteries ran out–or should that be the helicopter’s batteries?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1904 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Christmas was receding fast as we progressed beyond Boxing Day to the Thursday. I got my Guardian and discovered that the percentage of people okay with gay marriage was increasing, even 52% of Tories were in favour. So how come the Archbigot of Westminster, ranted and raved about it? I have no problem with him practising his religion, but I do with it becoming political, and let’s face it his church spent most of the first millennium AD by persecuting anyone who thought differently. Goodness knows what he’d do to me if he had his way, and the faggots he’d have in mind would probably be of wood, as would the stake.

I passed the newspaper over to Tom, thinking if I had any brain cells still functioning later on I might have a go at the cryptic crossword. I had a quick flit round the internet and discovered that a young woman had been murdered in Carmarthen in West Wales and a young man had been charged. She had three children so he’s spoilt five lives if he did it.

They say that the number of arguments in families is greater during the season of goodwill than any other. It could well be. People get together who might not have seen each other for months or even years and they drink and squabble. Some even get to fighting or killing each other.

Crazy isn’t it? Sometimes I reckon the only reason we’re not extinct because of our ability to breed, because there can't be many more warlike species than us unless you consider various groups of insects like the Hymenoptera or the bees, wasps and ants. They all have wasp waists like they’re wearing corsets and some of them parasitise on other species, or attack other colonies to steal their young or their food or both. Or like the army ants of the tropics, kill anything which isn’t quick enough to get out of their way, including some slower vertebrates.

Most bee stings are modified ovipositors–they evolved to lay eggs but the eggs weren’t developed as a queen so they became the defenders of the hive or nest. They were intended to be used for fighting off other species of bee or wasps who threaten the nest or hive and not really for thick skinned bipeds who should know better. Obviously we’re not the only predators of bees. Bears and apes, badgers and birds go after the honey or the grubs, but most bee stings are ineffectual against thick skin or hair, such as bears or badgers. In Africa there is even a mammal called a honey badger. I haven’t had one recorded for the survey here yet, but...

So given all the negatives of Christmas and there are plenty, it’s nice to think of all the positives as well. Charities like Shelter and St Martin’s in the Fields–the field is Trafalgar Square–run annual events for the homeless. Food banks have distributed loads of spare food to needy people, and local charities have also done loads. However, one particular story on the BBC website caught my eye and gave me a warm feeling. A nine year old girl helped her mother open their cafe on Christmas Day to feed the homeless people in Dewsbury, in Yorkshire. She did it because she knew her dad had wanted to do it, but he'd died from a fall in August. They gave meals to thirty six homeless people. What a wonderful way to share your success with the community?

What did I do by comparison? I tried to give a Christmas to an abused woman and her daughter. Relatively, it probably cost as much as thirty six meals, with a computer and various other bits thrown in, but to see their faces on Christmas when I handed it to them was just wonderful.

Since then, Sammi had set it up on our broadband connection with some safeguards like a block on child porn or any hardcore stuff, like the phones had a block on premium rate numbers because they can get ridiculously expensive.

Oh yeah, the morning had started early with a mother and father of a thunderstorm banging over head and the lightning flashing. It set off Simon’s car alarm but he let it peep until the rain eased off. It gave new meaning to torrential, the wet stuff came down like a curtain splashing up from the drive and within a couple of minutes the drive disappeared under a couple of inches of water.

Okay, it’s not like the storms they have in the States and have had this holiday time, but several feet of snow in New York State isn’t going to flood my kitchen or wine cellar, but a cloudburst in Hampshire is.

We have a step up to both main doors and the various sets of patio doors around the building, but it isn’t very high, and it came very close to rising over it. Tom and Simon of understanding my worries pulled on waterproofs and carried over some sandbags from the ‘old barn’ where Danny had been flying his helicopter the day before. It took probably twenty minutes to protect the main doors. The drive slopes down towards the road, so we only needed to divert the water flowing past the front door, down the middle of the drive, so we built a sort of weir with sandbags to shift it away from the house. It meant the road would have extra water a little more quickly than usual but that was too bad. Our priority was to protect the house.

After the pair had been soaked in their work, Si suggested that they get a drain built into the middle of the drive. Tom disagreed, saying that it wouldn’t cope with the flow of water, it just came so fast. I agreed with him. Perhaps a channel cut down the centre of the drive and covered with metal grids would work, but it would be another job to keep free of leaves and other debris.

I know there are other ways of protecting doors with barriers that fit runners and so forth, but hopefully we’ll have to estimate risk before spending loads of money. The house is a listed building being part Georgian, if not earlier, so we’d be limited as to what we could do, but I suspect some sort of barrier would be allowed to stop flooding and thus damage to this lovely old place.

Fortunately, the cottages are on the higher side of the site and were pretty well out of the danger area, but at least we didn’t have any power cuts this time, so the freezer and the computers, not to mention the television and the heating clocks didn’t need resetting, because that usually happens and then like altering the clock for summer or Greenwich time, you always forget one and something unhelpful happens.

Oh Si managed to switch off his car alarm to the relief of all at the farmhouse. The only casualty–one of Mima’s wellingtons, which had been left outside the back door and had been washed away. Despite a good search we never did find it and so I’ll have to get her some more–at least the shops are open if I can get past the bargain hunters of the sale crowds.

I also dealt with a dip or pickpocket, but I’ll tell you about that another time.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1905 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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When I go shopping in peak times like the post Christmas sales, I take a special handbag which has a purse included on a strap to the bottom of the bag. It is possible to detach it but I don’t bother, as I don’t use it too often.

I left Trish and Livvie playing with Hannah, and took Mima with me to get her some new wellingtons. The rain had slowed to a deluge, and by the time we got to town I was all in favour of coming home. I managed to park in the Waitrose car park and we trotted into town, pulling up the hoods on our coats with one hand the other holding each others hand.

In the first shoe-shop we encountered, Mima saw some pink wellies with fairies on them. They were so over the top saccharine that they made me feel ill. The wellingtons weren’t actually in the sale goods, except to declare, ‘buy one get a second pair half price.’

They had some in Mima’s size and she was stamping round the shop like the Incredible Hulk, and if she was practicing for some puddle stamping she’d be making a mistake, because when you do, the water shoots straight up and hits you in the groin. It’s even worse when walking on mudflats, then it’s sticky, gelatinous goop which makes it look like you were doubly incontinent.

I stepped outside the shop and called home, I knew everyone there had enough gumboots, but did Hannah? She didn’t, was a size two, and she’d like anything girly according to Ingrid.

I got her some yellow ones with butterflies on. Meems opted to wear her new acquisitions and found out that my theory of puddle splashing still held water, or rather her knickers did now. We dashed back to the car and I gave her a spare pair to put on–anyone with small children, always carries a spare pair of panties–then we off to the shops again.

It was in the crush on the main street by John Lewis that someone had a go at my purse. I was bending down to hear what Mima was trying to tell me when I got propelled forward, only just managing to stop my head hitting plate glass. I simultaneously tightened my grip on my bag and was glad I did, because I felt that being torn away from me.

Astonishingly, I held on to my bag and even more remarkably, Mima belted the would be thief with her umbrella, in a very delicate place. He started to run for it and I grabbed her umbrella and flung it at him, catching him on the back of his head, I also called, “Stop thief,” well, it works in the movies.

It did here too, he ran straight into a copper, who attempted to apprehend the villain but instead got a punch in the face and fell down. “Stay with the policeman, Mima,” I said, and charged off after our miscreant.

I caught him. He suggested I was mistaken, and told him that fingerprints on my bag would prove if I was lying or not, and what about the policeman–that was a serious offence, decking a plod.

He seemed to be checking something over my shoulder, so I suspect his support team were gathering. I was so glad I had trousers on. I felt someone grab my arms from behind which enabled me to lean back and deliver two kicks, one to stop him breeding, the second to stop him from getting away, to the side of his knee. The impetus from the kicks had pushed me into my other attacker and we both went sprawling, me on top of him. He let go my hands and I elbowed him three or four times wherever I could make contact. He swore at me and wriggled free, spun round and grabbed his leg as he tried to make off. He didn’t. He rose to his knees and I pushed him from behind and he headbutted a third member of the team in his family jewels.

All three of them were rolling about on the wet pavement by the time the police arrived, with Mima who enjoyed her ride in a squad car. Loads of people had captured the action on their camera phones, and I just knew my You tube fame was about to be rekindled.

Some woman had seen me catch the bloke up and him attempt to hit me, with his friend’s help, it also captured my street-fighting technique–anything and everything goes. The copper chuckled as I took out the second one and the film showed the second disabling the third. They arrested them on the spot as known offenders–sadly, Romanians, who seem to be rather better at street crime than employment.

I gathered Mima and we went back home via Waitrose where I got a few things for the larder. “Mummy, you’s got a howe in you twouses.”

I checked, she was quite right, I’d put a hole into the knee of my trousers. I dumped the food and we ran into John Lewis where I grabbed a pair from the sale which fitted perfectly. Then it was back home before the phone started ringing.

I explained to Simon and Tom and the others what had happened, and that several people had filmed in on phones. It seems they encourage a form of voyeurism, rather than offering assistance.

Of course it was no more than an hour later when the phone rang and someone from the local paper who had the pictures wanted to confirm who it was in them. Simon denied all knowledge of all of it.

It was apparently already on You tube entitled, ‘Portsmouth woman deals with three thugs.’ I saw it and was horrified. It didn’t show my face clearly, which was the only good bit, but the size of the three men–they were huge. If I’d realised that I’d have let them go.

Andy Bond arrived a little later, “I’m beginning to feel a bit like one of the royal liaison officers, only dealing with lesser nobs.”

“So I’m a lesser nob, now am I?”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant it to say–look, when they know you’re involved in anything, they find me and send me off to calm things down.”

“What needs calming down?”

“Our little Romanian friends are suggesting they might sue you for damages for assault.”

“Are they still in custody?”

“No, they were bailed.”

“Pity.”

“Why?”

“I was going to suggest you tell them to ask the judge for a long sentence and then deportation.”

“What for?”

“Because the next time I see them I’ll kill them.”

“Cathy, you can’t go round saying such things, especially in front of a police officer.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t an idle threat, as long as they believed it. No I’ll need to find out where they live and terrorise them for a few weeks.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” Andy Bond looked horrified.

“The look on your face is priceless, Andy–you stopping for a cuppa?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1906 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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After our friendly plod had pushed off leaving me two cups of tea and several plain chocolate Hobnobs lighter: I sat down to read the paper, Tom having done the easy crossword, I thought I’d have a go at the cryptic. It felt more challenging than usual because I hadn’t done one for weeks. So to build myself up to it, I glanced through the paper.

I read about the two female medical students in Delhi who’d been attacked by a gang of men while riding home from the cinema on a bus. One had been critically injured being raped repeatedly and then beaten with iron bars. It seemed I had some misapprehensions about India. It’s a huge country and parts of it are very poorly developed so one assumed if this sort of thing went on it would be in the hills somewhere with a general lawlessness, not in the capital.

Seems I was wrong. According to the article, women in Delhi take awful risks in travelling at night, even reasonably high caste young women as these must have been and that women are treated as very much second class. This apparently in the largest democracy in the world. I suspect it opens up a whole new meaning to the word democracy, and none of it would be acceptable to a modern European woman.

I sat and reflected at the anger I felt as a woman, on behalf of these two young women, one of which had died. The public were demanding action and riots had happened, though I suspected nothing would happen other than lip service like the US with supposed racial integration and lynchings up into the Sixties and perhaps later of black men.

The world has been populated by humans of one sort or another for 400,000 years, unless of course you believe Archbishop Usher in which case it’s about six thousand years. Personally, I suspect the good cleric was mistaken in his calculations and I’m sure his modern day successor would have no difficulty in agreeing with me. Either way, we should be ashamed of ourselves as a species, we stopped evolving morally about the same time as we stopped living in caves.

I looked at the paper and everywhere there was mayhem and murder. Twenty odd soldiers in Pakistan executed by the Taliban–why? What does it prove, except militant Islam is as disgusting as militant anything else?

The shootings in that school in America, one or two since and the intransigence of the gun lobby to understand logic; but then, if you need ten guns to feel safe in your home, you might be living in the wrong place.

In Mexico and other Latin American countries the death toll from drug wars is hundreds of thousands–it’s unbelievable. Even in damp but relatively safe England, we aren’t really safe. A couple of people have been murdered since Christmas, one an elderly organist going to church to play for midnight mass. What for? How could killing a sixty eight year old man achieve anything but a short term power trip for a couple of thugs, one of whom is about fourteen? It defeats any coherent thought I can offer except pure disgust.

And to cap it all, the frigging IRA are at it again, planting a bomb under a copper’s car–they don’t like people enjoying peace and quiet.

What is wrong with people? None of this could happen if most of us practised what we preached, instead we hold double standards because our main interest is ourselves and our greed for power or resources while we preach against those we fear or dislike or use to distract against too much attention while we feather our own nests.

If ever there was a time for a cleansing by a divinity, I should think we’d be about due again. Never mind Sodom and Gomorrah, we are far more sophisticated and educated now, and we know so much more about right and wrong. I despair for humanity because we have ideas above our station, we are apes. Apes with technology. There is no god of any sort and if there was, greed would have killed him off long ago.

So why do we care about hiding our nastiness, why don’t we just go and take whatever we want and ignore any morality whatsoever–it would make life a bit easier. Instead of worrying about the sick and starving in Africa we could just let ’em starve or die, use the money we’d save to buy more things we don’t need, like more guns–we’d probably need them because the Chinese would be on the march, needing our resources to fund their excessive need.

Eventually there would be a huge and catastrophic war probably with weapons of mass destruction which would achieve one good point–it would thin out the two legged vermin for century or two. Instead, I think I’d almost welcome an asteroid strike and hope it killed me and my family immediately, because I wouldn’t want to live in the aftermath and I’m not sure how much longer I wish to in today’s climate.

Hypocrite? Probably, I mean I live comfortably from a system which I believe is corrupt but it enables me to do small acts of kindness when I can. It’s all a total waste of time because the forces of darkness seem always to grow stronger whatever happens because they only exist in men’s hearts–this I know. Only man has the capacity to distinguish between good and evil, because it’s the duality of our natures. It has nothing to do with all the bollocks of religion–it’s pure human stuff–but then so is religion. Those who can’t see that haven’t smelt the coffee and I don’t mean the stuff Tom makes–though that is pretty evil in itself.

I caught sight of my own face in the window, reflected in a slightly distorted way by the double glazing. I could almost feel the anger reflecting off myself–what was the point of existence–just to make up the numbers–or to allow those who had religion to smile smugly in their conceit of understanding? There wasn’t one–except as Richard Dawkins’ said–‘procreation’. Yeah, like that makes no more sense than the religious nuts.

I was feeling lower and lower, almost ready to expire from a broken heart. Had all my optimism, my struggle to become myself, my desire to love and be loved been a waste–a vain glory?

The rain lashed against the windows and Tom dashed in with Kiki and several soaking children–even feeding the ducks was now negative.

“Whit a storm,” he declared shaking his coat while trying to stop the dog bouncing about the place with her large dirty feet.

“Mummy, we’s aww wet,” declared Meems and I stirred myself from my lethargy to get some towels.

“Whit’s thae matter?” asked my perceptive adopted dad.

“I think I’m tired of this world.” I offered distributing towels to the children and accepting an armful of wet coats and anoraks to hang to dry.

“Whit?” he looked at me in astonishment.

“You heard me, the wickedness of men–at times it’s too much.”

“Oh, is it noo? Sae whit are ye goin’ tae dae, just sit here and let it come f’ ye?”

I shrugged my shoulders–I had no plans.

“Frankly, I’m disappointed in ye. Ye’ve the most wonderful bairns to bring up and ye’re goin’ tae chuck in thae towel? Just like that–no attempt to stop it.”

“I’ve spent my whole life fighting it–it’s all a waste of time and effort–the system is run by men who perpetuate the darkness.”

“Aye, but ye’ve ken’t that f’years.”

“I’m tired.”

“Too bad–d’ye think I’m goin’ tae let ye jus abandon these children because you feel tired? We all get tired, those of us who can see whit is really going on–those of us who try tae spread love and decency–because we honestly believe in them. D’ye really think I’d let ye?”

I felt my eyes well up with tears and I shook my head.

“Well then, pass me anither towel an’ stop bein’ such a dunderheid.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1907 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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A bit later after I’d lost my anger, except with the weather which was as normal, throwing it down. I made us lunch, tuna salad sandwiches. The children seemed to finish theirs quite quickly and went off to watch cartoons or some children’s film. Sammi had taken Jacquie up to London for the day as they were bargain hunting in the sales. Julie was working and so was Phoebe. Stella had gone out with her two to see Henry at the hotel and taken Danny with her–he wanted to go swimming or use the gym. David and Ingrid had gone out with Hannah, so the place felt rather quiet compared to the usual mob we have here.

“Is it just me, or do we seem to have problems with eastern Europeans? I mean how many times have Russians tried to pop us off, and we’ve had problems with Romanians before.”

“They seem to cause great problems with stealing metal,” agreed Simon.

“Aye, it’s that bloody Common Market,” offered Tom, “ever since we allooed them in, we’ve had problems.”

“But we don’t have gangs of French or Dutch picking pockets or taking up phone lines or railway power lines, do we?” I challenged Tom’s unexpected racist remark.

“No but thae stupid Frogs and thae ithers, let the Romanians in, did they not?”

“I expect we got to vote on the membership as well, and it has contributed to sixty years of peace, in that time, as long as it isn’t football, we’d have beaten Germany twice.”

“Aye, only remember, they nearly beat us last time, even with the American’s late help.”

“I thought the Americans were on our side?” I gasped.

“They were,” Tom looked at me in astonishment.

“So why did it take so long?” I asked.

“Because the Nazis were very efficient and had several years to dig themselves in much of continental Europe, the Allies had to fight for almost every inch of the way.” I didn’t know Simon was so into history.

“Didn’t they have to fight on two fronts?” I was sure the Russians were attacking them from the east.

“Yes, Hitler was impatient, and like Napoleon, not half as clever as he thought.”

“Didn’t I see some programme a while back about some spear of invincibility he annexed Austria to filch?”

“The Spear of Destiny–supposed to have been used to stab Jesus on the cross. It’s a fake.”

“Yeah, that’s what the programme said. They let a metallurgical historian look at it and most of it was late medieval. A bit of crap made up by Charles the Great, king of the Franks.”

“Who?” asked Tom.

“Charlemagne,” got in Simon before I could demonstrate my genius.

“You saw the programme too?” I almost accused.

“No, I read some stupid book on a very boring flight, years ago.”

“You know that all the stuff about King Arthur and Glastonbury is just as much a load of cobblers?” I offered to demonstrate my genius again.

“Aye,” encouraged Tom urging me to continue.

“The Normans weren’t all that comfortable here and the Welsh had their legend of Arthur who would return to throw off these foreigners.”

“I thocht Arthur wis Sassenach no Welsh.”

“Daddy, Sassenach means Saxon, which was derived from scrammersax or some such word which was a small throwing axe. Arthur led the war against the Saxons–he was a Briton or a Romano-Briton.”

“Aye, okay.”

“So the Normans were worried it might give the natives a rallying point, because if you remember, Arthur’s body was mysteriously floated away on a barge with mystical women on it. So there was no grave to go and dig up and say–he’s well dead so won’t come to help you.

“As it happens, Glastonbury and Canterbury were vying for seniority for churches in England and when Edward I visited Glastonbury–least I think it was him–you know, kills Wallace in Braveheart.”

“Thae scunner,” spat Tom much to Simon’s amusement.

“Did he get Grommett as well?” asked Simon, and Tom looked daggers at him.

“Please,” I asked for order and continued my yarn. “It is thought that while rebuilding at Glastonbury they exhumed some bodies which had been there for years. One was thought to have been a very tall man, and possibly his wife. As Edward was very tall, he was able to claim not only had they found King Arthur’s body but that he was probably related. They built a very nice tomb and placed the bodies there. It all went wrong because Canterbury still got seniority–although that is wrong too. The Welsh had been Christians for several hundred years before the English were. So the Archbishop of Wales should be the senior prelate and Llandaff the senior diocese.”

“Sae hoo come it isnae?”

“Saint Augustine happened–he talked the Celtic church into deferring to Rome, and himself into the first Archbishop of Canterbury.”

The back door opened as I finished my exposition and in trotted David and Ingrid with Hannah close behind. “Look what we got?” Ingrid was waving her hand about and something was glistening on her finger.

Tom lightly grasped her hand and took a closer look, “Congratulations,” he said which prompted me to stand and have a look, a small diamond cluster–quite nice.

“Yes, congratulations,” I echoed pleased to see the two of them grinning like Cheshire cats at the same time hoping that David wasn’t about to move on.

“We gotta wait until my divorce is through, but I got my solicitor filing for it already.”

“Well done, lad.” Simon slapped David on the shoulder, “Let’s have a drink to celebrate.” Tom agreed and shuffled off to the wine store to get something suitable. I went and put the kettle on, I didn’t want champagne, I wanted a cuppa, and as I admitted, I wasn’t sure how beneficial the news was to us–but it was I who introduced them–so I have to take the consequences–bugger. I thought it was rather hasty, and wondered which of the lovestruck pair set the agenda–my money would be on Ingrid.

Tom arrived back with a bottle of bubbly, just Moet et Chandon, so the Dom Perignon was still there–not that I enjoy champagne that much anyway. I quite enjoy Asti spumante just as much and a cuppa far more.

Simon opened the bottle and Tom got out the goblets–yeah, we’ve got fluted glasses or goblets and I was embarrassed into drinking a toast to the new couple before excusing myself to sort out the girls.

“What was the pop, Mummy?” asked Trish eyes still glued to the telly.

“David and Ingrid have just got themselves engaged. Gramps was offering them a drink to celebrate.”

“Oh goody, do they need any bridesmaids?” she quipped, glancing over her shoulder at me.

“Yay, bridesmaids,” echoed Livvie and Meems.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” I said under my breath and slipped upstairs.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1908 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Whilst I was happy to help the girls offer their services as rentamob bridesmaids I was concerned that David and Ingrid’s romance had happened like the proverbial whirlwind–and I suspect could be a mistake. He was desperate for a girlfriend and she’s probably looking for security. I don’t know how fast a divorce can be petitioned but it will probably take months. If it’s a long engagement, so much the better. I don’t wish to see the path of true love hindered, but I would prefer to see it develop more cautiously. I mean, I didn’t fall in love with Simon for at least a couple of months, not a couple of days. Simon, of course, reckons he fell in love with me almost immediately. I was so tempted to take him to the vet to get his eyesight checked.

I was tidying upstairs when Si came to find me, “Why are you hiding up here?”

“I’m not hiding, I’m cleaning.”

“Couldn’t it have waited until David and Ingrid had gone?”

“No, I shared in the toast to them.”

“And then left.”

“Simon, I have things to do.”

“They could have waited an hour, surely?”

“I preferred to get them done.”

“You worried she’s going to lead him away from here?”

“No.”

“Yes you are, you’re blushing.”

I was now, I’d been bent over picking up his dirty socks and the fact that he mentioned it tends to make it worse. “I am not. I’m red faced bending over picking up your dirty old socks–why can’t you put them in the laundry bin?”

“I do...”

“...Eventually. I wondered what the funny smell was–your manky socks.”

“That’s good, honest sweat.”

“It might have been when it was fresh, last April.”

“Ooh, don’t exaggerate so, they’ve been there a day at most.”

“So you’ve worn four pairs of socks in a day?”

“Maybe a day or two then.” Now he was blushing–deservedly so. He went for distraction. “You don’t want David to marry Ingrid, do you?”

“It’s nothing to do with me.”

“If you gave your real blessing, it would mean so much to them.”

“It’s nothing to do with me.”

“Of course it is–they work for you and live in tied accommodation–of course it has loads to do with you.”

“Simon, it doesn’t–they are free to do as they wish within certain limitations of their contracts.”

“So why won’t you give your blessing?”

“It’s got nothing to do with me.” He accompanied me in saying this in a silly voice.

I bent down and picked up his dirty underpants and threw them at him. They landed on his head–pure chance.

“Ugh, what’re you doin’?” he gasped pulling them off and casting them on the floor again.

“Put them in the laundry bin, not there,” I said sharply. He blushed picked them up and dumped them where they should have been in the first place.

“Happy?”

“No, you should have picked them in the first place.”

“Okay–point taken.”

“You say that every time, Si. I don’t believe you any more.”

“Okay, I mean it this time.”

“You said that last week and the week before.”

“Alright–look, if I do it again, I’ll buy you something nice–how’s that?”

“I’m not a child, Simon. I don’t need bribery. I need you to change your disgusting habits. It isn’t my job to go around picking up after you.”

“Okay, I’ll get Ingrid to do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, can’t you see how stupid that would make you? It’s like prince Charles purportedly having someone to squeeze the Royal toothpaste on the royal brush.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, I don’t want strange women in my bedroom.”

“She’d be domestic staff, you’re lady of the manor.”

“I don’t care if I got to be queen, I still don’t like it and besides, she’s got better things to do than fetch and carry for you.”

“It would be for you, babes.”

“No for you–you’re the one who should do it in the first place.”

“Okay, for me then–I’ll be paying for the privilege.”

“No you won’t because I forbid it,” I was feeling irked.

“You forbid it?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, I do.”

“Aren’t we forgetting ourselves a little?”

“What? It’s you forgets things like picking up your dirty pants, not I.”

“Yes, but I am your husband and, I do sort of have rank on my side.”

“Simon, I cannot believe you said that–so I’ll give you two minutes to think about it and if you don’t withdraw it, then it will be interesting to see whether Ingrid or I can get the quickest divorce.”

He started to laugh. “Cathy you are so sweet when you’re angry.”

“I’m also very dangerous, so I advise you to leave this room now, unless you’re coming to apologise for being a total arsehole.”

“You what?”

“Piss off, Simon–now.”

“But we haven’t discussed the forthcoming wedding.”

“Would you prefer to discuss the upcoming divorce–Cameron vs Cameron instead?”

“Babes, this me–your lord and master.”

“Simon–go and take a running jump–but do it NOW!” I screamed the last bit at him and he looked confused for a moment and then left. I then locked the bedroom door and stayed there. On a good day he was so understanding and helpful. On a bad one he was a total prat. Today was definitely the latter.

I really didn’t care what David and Ingrid did–it was their business. I just felt for David’s vulnerability–he isn’t versed in the ways of women even if he was one a long time ago. In the same way Ingrid is also vulnerable, but through a very different route. I wouldn’t like to see either of them hurt, hence my desire for a long engagement. I just hope they’re not rushing headfirst into a disaster because it could cause them lots of trouble.

Then I got cross with Simon for his assumption that we’d lose a good cook. I’d find another–I got this one–and perhaps Simon also forgets that I introduced David and Ingrid, and I have no intention of introducing them to Simon’s dirty pants and socks.

I dusted round and tidied my wardrobe–there were one or two things Julie or Jacquie might like that I’d finished with. I pulled them out and laid them on the bed for them to sort through. I undid the door and went through to see if they were home yet.

Unbeknownst to me, Simon went into the bedroom saw the clothes on the bed and assumed I was leaving him. He came dashing up to me, dragging me off into my study.

I kept snapping at him to let me go and he assumed I meant to go as in leaving. “Babes, you can’t leave–I’d–I mean, we’d never cope without you. Please I’m down on my knees, begging you to stay and apologising for what happened earlier. Please stay.” There were tears running down his face.

“What? Get up you knuckleheid,” I used one of Tom’s favourite expressions. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But the clothes on the bed–you were packing–weren’t you?”

“No, I was sorting through my wardrobe–the stuff on the bed is for the girls to sort through–the big girls–I’ve worn it enough.”

“Oh,” he went as red as a Welsh rugby jersey. Then I had to help him up off his knees. Some days, I do wonder about him.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1909 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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After dealing with Simon’s embarrassment and extracting a promise that he would no longer drop his dirty clothing on the bedroom floor–I told him I’d bin it, and not in the laundry bin–I sent him off to play with the little ones while I invited the larger girls, all of whom were now home, to come and pick what they wanted from my wardrobe surplus.

Only Julie is as buxom as I am, so she got the pick of the crop. Sammi and Phoebe were too skinny and Jacquie didn’t fancy too much. She’s less girly than I am and given more to wearing trousers than skirts or dresses. I didn’t bother with Ingrid, she’s too short, though in the height stakes, she’s about the same as David, so shorter than I am. It always strikes me as anomalous that male hormones cause stunting in biological females, so lots of FtoM transsexuals are rather vertically challenged. The same doesn’t seem to happen t’other way round and certainly didn’t to me.

However, at twenty nine, I wasn’t going to grow any taller, which didn’t worry me one bit. Five foot six or seven was tall enough although Simon towered over me anyway at over six foot tall. Danny was catching me up, being about an inch shorter and Livvie and Trish are about the same height, though I’m aware that Trish’s Y-chromosomes could cause her to leave her sister behind anytime after about twelve. We’d have to wait and see, because there’s nothing we can do.

The down side of adoption is that unless you know the family, you can never be sure of how big your kids will grow or how fat they might become–it’s a bit like buying a puppy, and the little runt with the cute bark grows up to be measured in hands and eats postmen, with a bark which sounds reminiscent of the primordial scream of a tyrannosaurus. He loves to show you his new trick of carrying the baby around in his mouth and you pray he doesn’t cough or bark while you find something to eat, and swallow your youngest, whole.

I was just closing up my wardrobe when the kitten scrambled up a coat and climbed out onto my shoulder, giving me a purp and rubbing her head against my ear. Why do they always have to dribble–and how did it get in my ear? Then when Kiki barked at something, Bramble leapt off my shoulder and into the top of my wardrobe, leaving take off marks on my shoulder as she went.

The stupid dog barked again and the kitten buried herself in the top of my wardrobe and it took me half an hour to find her. At one point I felt like borrowing one of the decorative swords Tom has hanging on the wall of the lounge, and begun poking the clothes in the wardrobe to see if any miaowed. Then just as I was about to give up hope of ever finding her, I was standing on a chair poking about in the top of the cupboard and she shot out from the bottom, entangled with a pair of barely black tights.

She hit the chair leg with such force the chair wobbled and so did I, culminating in me grasping at the straw of a sliding door which of course pulled off in my hand and deposited both of us on the carpet with quite a clatter, thereby frightening the feline, who shot under the bed, spat at me and hared off down the stairs.

I was unable to move, the sliding door had trapped me against the bedside cupboard and somehow got itself jammed under the edge of the bed. I was also very uncomfortable. I yelled for Simon, but he was busy watching something in the lounge and the television was on rather loud.

I screamed and banged on the floor but no one came to find me. My arm was now so uncomfortable that my eyes were watering and I could no longer feel my fingers. I recalled the story of that chap who got his arm trapped under the boulder and he had to amputate it with his own Swiss Army Knife. I couldn’t even reach the emery board in the drawer of my bedside unit.

It was Danny who found me some twenty minutes later, by which time I was verging on hysterical. He rushed off to find Simon and Tom. I yelled as they freed me and then I yelled at them for having the television on so loud. I had a massive bruise on my left arm and I wanted to go to bed.

Of course Simon had to try to repair the sliding door and it was only when I cried as I asked him to leave it, that he realised how shaken I was. He offered me a cuddle, but all I wanted to do was try and rest my arm and neck, both of which hurt abysmally.

Trish came up to see me, but I asked her to go and get the other little ones to bed. I was asleep before them. The next morning, early, I woke with Trish lying alongside me, her little hands on my bruised arm. It was still in full Technicolor, but the pain had eased and I could move my arm more freely. She’d come in and healed on me for a couple of hours in case I wanted to get rid of the cat. I was tempted, but realised that small dumb animals do small dumb things–one of which was taking a flying leap onto the breakfast table as Livvie was pouring cream on her cereal. I don’t know who was more surprised, Livvie, as the cat landed in her dish–or the cat who got half a carton of cold single cream over her head.

I took great delight in washing off the foolish feline in the kitchen sink, though it took three of us to hold her down while I sprayed her with warm water. It did, however, teach her to keep away from the table and the work surfaces.

We had to get Maureen in to fix the sliding door and she suggested next time I get a small step ladder to go mountaineering, not a dressing table stool. She also told me that had I left the cat, she would have found her own way out, probably after a short snooze and that rattling her dish would have provided much greater incentive for her to leave than trying to grab her–that would be like hide and seek–and cats love it.

I began to understand the woman who knocked the cat into the wheelie bin.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1910 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I watched Catherine chasing Bramble. The kitten could easily out run her but she didn’t, she let the toddler catch her pick her up, shove her in her dolly’s push chair before jumping out and starting the process again. Catherine squealed at her, then giggling began her pursuit afresh. Sisyphus and stones came to mind.

She was now over two years old, in fact heading for two and half. I’d stopped feeding her now, the milk had dried up and my boobs were back to normal–well not quite. They were bigger than they used to be and my nipples were very much bigger–not that Simon complained. She was often in cahoots with Stella’s pair of reprobates and the three of them, the notorious Toddler Gang, were famed for their acts of robbery and petty larceny together with occasional vandalism.

This was my fourth Black Berry, two of which had been flushed down the toilet by one of the three toddlers. Stella lost her iPod, it was chucked out of an upstairs window onto Daddy’s car, chipping the windscreen.

Puddin’ crashed her little bicycle into the fridge and buckled the wheel and dented the fridge door. The day she rode it down the stairs–I can see it now and still makes me feel ill–was probably the worst stunt.

The three of them had been playing quite nicely with their dolls, sharing a joint and couple of bottles of beer–like they do. Stella and I were busy trying to hang new curtains in Stella’s suite–remember she has a bedroom, bathroom and sitting room. She’d had the rooms redecorated and had ordered new curtains but needed help to put them up.

Jacquie had gone out for something so Stella and I were the only two adults in the house. The girls were playing happily as far as we knew and we were busy with the curtains which were proving a bigger job than they should have been. The rufflette tape, the strip of tape through which the hooks hold the curtain was poorly made and trying to get the hooks through was a real trial.

In the end I had to go and get an awl from my tool box to push through the tape. This of course was out in the workshop and took me several minutes to find. I shut up the workshop and was heading up the stairs when to my astonishment Puddin’ rode her bike to the top of the stairs on the landing. I didn’t even know it was upstairs, or in the house for that matter.

Although she was giving it some welly on the pedals on the front wheel, everything seemed to happen in slow motion as she took off from the top step and literally started to fly–mainly in a downwards direction.

I was possibly half way up when this happened and I shouted for Stella as I dived forwards trying to catch the squealing toddler who thought it was great fun. Her little trike banged down the stairs and I managed to snatch her just before she hit the banister rails on the outside of the staircase.

The trike crashed over my body as I stretched forward, the stairs hitting my breasts and hips and legs, while my arms and hands cradled the head and body of the three year old. I lay still as the trike continued its noisy journey down the stairs finally hitting the antique desk at the bottom with a clunk. Puddin’ was now shrieking her head off with fright and I was aware my head had hit one of the stair risers and was making me feel quite sick.

Stella rushed down the stairs and retrieved her precious child and I tried to pick myself up and do a damage assessment. Except I couldn’t move–something in my back had gone and I just lay there in severe pain not helped by the fact that the awl had stuck in my leg and blood was dribbling down the side of my jeans.

I let Stella try and calm down Pud before she came to help me. “C’mon, Cathy, up you get,” she urged, then she saw the blood on my jeans and the awl sticking out from the side of my leg. “Oops, we gotta situation,” she said like someone from a B movie.

“I can’t move,” I said suspecting I’d over stretched and pulled something in my back.

“I’ll get help,” she said and ran back down the stairs to phone. About ten agonising minutes later two paramedics arrived to assist me.

Between us Stella and I managed to say what had happened. I was lying prone with a nice bruise coming up on my cheek, blood still oozing from my leg and my back felt like I’d been stabbed with a very sharp knife–my feet were also tingling.

In what felt like hours, they immobilised my head with a collar, my chest with another corset like device and my legs with splints. Then they flipped me over onto a board and slid me down the stairs and lifted me onto a gurney and whipped me off to the hospital.

The duty trauma surgeon was my old friend Ken Nicholls. “What have you been up to?” he asked shaking his head.

“I fell up the stairs.”

“That’s better than falling down them.”

“Puddin’ was doing that, having done an Evel Kneivel off the top stair on her trike. I threw myself forward to catch her.”

“Well, as I don’t see any children here, I take it your diving catch was successful?”

“I suppose so, I don’t honesty know, the bump as I hit the stairs and the pain in my back has sort of distracted me.”

“Okay, we’ll do some X-rays and check you out.” So that was what happened. I had pulled some muscles in my back to which they applied ice packs. As far as they could tell, I hadn’t broken anything and I had a dressing on my right leg and the awl was handed back to me in a sealed specimen bag. “Exhibit A,” joked Ken as he handed me back my tool.

A little later a physio helped me to mobilise myself and I was well enough to be sent home by taxi awhile afterwards. The driver had to help me from the car, my back was so stiff and sore, and Stella helped me into the kitchen to sit in a wooden carver from where I hoped I could stand again later.

“How’s Pud?” I asked when I’d got myself safely ensconced in the chair.

“She’s fine, a bit shocked at first but she was more upset by the fact I locked her trike up in the garage than she was about her flying lesson. I told her that you’d hurt yourself trying to save her and she just laughed.”

“Next time I’ll wait for the bounce first.”

“How are you?” Stella asked me. Catherine had come rushing in and wanted to be picked up–only I couldn’t bend down to lift her.

“My back is hurting, so is my leg.”

“Mummy–blood,” she said poking my wound.

“Yes I know, sweetheart, please don’t poke it.”

“Mummy, hurty,” she poked again. With that Stella picked her up and plonked her on my lap. “Mummy, hurty–blood,” she said again, “Tish mend it.” Then she chuckled away to herself before poking my leg again. “Tish mend it.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1911 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I suppose everyone must think that this house is absolute chaos with madness and mayhem all day every day. It isn’t, well not now that David does the food and Ingrid does the cleaning with a bit of help from the rest of us. Okay, I’m still the boss, insofar as David and Ingrid answer to me, and we discuss menus and cleaning schedules. I also provide the money for replacements of equipment and so on. Ingrid works hard and gets top money–ten pounds an hour for domestic work is good and she’s contracted for a minimum of twenty five hours per week–so before tax she earns two hundred and fifty quid. She said she hasn’t known such riches since she was single. I also know she was promising Hannah all sorts of treats once she had paid off her debts.

Those we discovered were quite large–about ten thousand pounds large–so she was in trouble financially before she met us. I mentioned this to Simon and he sent her to see a debt counsellor he knows and they consolidated all her debts into one and he arranged a cheap loan to pay off the other creditors. She came back full of the joys of spring. It was going to take her three years to pay it all off but at a reasonable rate–and it was deducted at source, so she couldn’t default on it.

Now clever as I am, I don’t do wages and taxes, I pay someone at the bank to do that for me–or Simon does–so they only need to speak to me if they have a query or I agree they did overtime. I do a form online and they get paid the extra next month.

So our domestic affairs run reasonably smoothly providing everyone is well. When David was ill recently, Ingrid and I shared the cooking until he was back amongst the living. Sadly, if I’m ill there’s no one to cover my stuff except Stella and possibly Julie who has lost a lot of that laddishness she showed earlier on. She is both beautiful and elegant even though she doesn’t really appreciate it yet. She’s probably too short to be a model, but she’s certainly beautiful and has a figure to die for.

Sammi has been head hunted by a modelling agency and while she was flattered for a few days, when they suggested she get a portfolio done, she chickened out preferring to stick with computers, with which she is an absolute whizz. The bank is paying her quite a lot of money to run their cyber-security and she’s doing a course at UCL one afternoon a week as well.

When the modelling was mentioned, all the girls were telling her to go for it but she had made enquiries about doing a portfolio and discovered it took hours and cost loads. If she’d made it as a model and I’m sure if she’d wanted to she could, she’d have left the bank in the lurch and she took those responsibilities seriously. I know Simon was impressed with her loyalty and got her a couple of thousand a year more for that alone.

I made those who were working, so Julie and Sammi in particular, pay something for their keep. They weren’t initially happy, but I pointed out that Simon, Gramps and I paid for everything, but we didn’t consume everything. When I showed what those two actually consumed, at first they wouldn’t believe me, but then a day or so later realised that my figures were quite accurate–then they paid up. I got Simon to set up an investment account which buys shares with the money I get each month and any profit go back into the account to buy more shares. If any of the kids get into financial trouble in years to come, we have a safety fund to use instead of having to bail them out ourselves–except none of them know about it, so it will be a real surprise. If no one needs it, say in ten or fifteen years time, I cash it in and we’ll all share in the windfall. As the others get older and earn money, so they’ll be asked for some money for their keep as well, which will go in my pot too.

I know we’re very fortunate in that we’re all in employment or full time education, even Jacquie is now doing an access course for university. I saw Ingrid talking with her a few days ago with a starry look in her eye. Jacquie brought home a list of courses the adult education people do and she was seriously thinking about doing some to make her think again. I told her I’d help her fund them if she passed them. She looked bemused so I explained.

“If you do say a GCSE in maths or English or whatever, if you pass it, then I’ll refund half the course fee.”

“If I fail it?”

“You pay for it.”

“But that doesn’t seem fair,” she whined.

“Subtle it isn’t, but I want to reward your effort, because I think you’re clever enough to pass a few of those and it would also look good on your access course if you decide to go to university.”

“I fancy doing nursing.”

“A very worthy profession, speak to Stella, she was a nurse specialist.”

“Wow–why did she stop?”

“She was ill and they weren’t very supportive of her–plus she had the babies.”

“And she doesn’t need to work.”

“Not really, though I happen to think it keeps you younger and healthier.”

“It certainly seems to suit you, but then you’re somethin’ else anyway.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re like that rabbit thing which keeps going when all the others have had their batteries run down.”

“Oh the Energiser Bunny?” I blushed, because for a moment I thought she meant another sort of rabbit which also used batteries–although I’d never actually used one.

“Yeah, that’s the one–you know on the telly.”

I nodded and suspected that the other wasn’t usually shown on telly as far as I knew.

When Si and Sammi came home that evening, David was just putting the finishing touches to the dinner. Si went up to shower and Sammi came and whinged to me.

“What’s the problem, kiddo?”

“That stupid agency.”

“The model one?”

“Yeah, I bumped into her again lunch time when I went out for a sandwich.”

“And?”

“She told me I was wasted as a computer tech.”

“But you’re not just a tech, are you?”

“No–I know–but she won’t leave me alone, keeps telling me I could be earning millions.”

“For you or her?”

“Yeah, of course–I forgot about her.”

“It sounds to me as if you haven’t really put this to bed, have you?”

She blushed and shook her head. Julie seems to think I should have done it.

“Do you want to live in a goldfish bowl?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“If you made it big time as a model, your transgender status would come out, which might initially help, but you’d have to keep yourself as thin as a rake, which even Pejic finds difficult. Plus you’d be surrounded by luvvies who either want to be seen with you, shag you or rob you. If that’s the world you really want to live in, that’s fine but don’t expect too much help from us, because none of us know anything about it.”

“Daddy would be disappointed too, wouldn’t he?”

“He’d be heartbroken.”

“I’ll tell her to go away next time I see her.”

“That’s up to you, Sammi, but it sounds like the most positive thing to do.”

“Did no one ever ask you to model for them, Mummy, because you’re so beautiful.”

“Don’t be silly, dormice don’t wear clothes.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1912 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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It was about mid morning when it kicked off. I was up to my armpits in writing a lesson plan–I know, you thought I just went out there and spoke inspirationally and had them all swooning in the aisles–yeah, well think again. I do the same as everyone else, work to a plan–the inspirational stuff comes from the interaction with the audience. If they’re all asleep, I tend to tip toe out so as not to wake them up–unless I’m feeling buoyant in which case, I’ll get very loud and wake them out of their slumbers.

Anyway, there I was deciding how I’d explain some dilemma or other, when the phone rang and I answered it. It was sort of annoying me from about two feet away, so I had to answer it or chuck it out the window. The latter was quite tempting as I was just about to solve my teaching dilemma, instead I answered the phone and changed the world for ever. So? Don’t you ever exaggerate?

“Hello, Dr Watts?”

“Ooh, Babes, I just love it when you're all academic–let’s make love in your gown and mortar board.”

“Simon, you are crazy–I’m in a meeting with the dean.” I wasn’t but he didn’t know that.

“Oh–um–sorry,” I could feel the heat from his blush over the phone.

“Is it important?” I asked pretending to apologise to someone in my imaginary meeting.

“Um–yeah–I suppose it is, look can you get David to organise something special for dinner? I’ve got a fellow director coming home with me this evening.”

“So why can’t you speak with David?”

“Look you know much more about what to eat and so on than I do.”

“So who is this mystery guest?”

“It’s no mystery, it’s a guy called Geoff Arthurs.”

“D’you want the children present or not?”

“That’s fine.”

“What is?”

“The kids, just make sure they’re tidy, won’t you?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yeah, but this guy is quite a big cheese in another bank as well as ours.”

“I hope I’m not supposed to seduce him or anything.” Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.

“Certainly not. You can seduce me, but wait until after the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to borrow a room for after dinner.”

“Why are you having a meeting at home?” I wasn’t sure I was very happy about this arrangement.

“I’ll tell you later–wear something nice won’t you?” Before I could ask why he rang off.

I called David and asked if he could do a special dinner with an extra guest present. He indicated he could, did I want three or five course? I confirmed three course with possibly cheese and biscuits as well. He was fine about it and I suspect relished the challenge just a little. I’d try to tidy up my study when I got home and they could use that if they could keep Catherine or Puddin’ out. One of the little horrors had pinched the key, so the door didn’t lock anymore. I had a, ‘Do not disturb’ sign which I hung on the door if I was busy in there.

At lunch I went out for a roll with Pippa and let Tom know what Simon had requested. “Och, they cud use ma study,” he declared and went off for his curry. Pippa and I strolled over to the staff cafeteria and ordered a roll and a cuppa.

“How’s the lesson plan coming on?” she asked nibbling the end of her baguette.

“Okay, I guess. It’s so boring compared to actually teaching. It’s all abstract.”

“What the teaching?”

“No the planning. Once I start interacting with the audience, it brings its own sort of energy and guarantees that no two lectures are the same.”

“Which bit you writing?”

“Introduction to ecology. I’ll have them wandering round the lecture theatre before they finish.”

“I’ve heard your lectures are quite good fun.”

“They’re supposed to be corrupting, I mean expanding, young minds.”

“Is that why you have twice as many attenders as anyone else?”

“Nah, they’re all just hoping I’m going to do a rerun of the dormouse juggling.”

“So, how is it we have students from outside the faculty coming to your lectures?”

“Do we? I just tell ’em to sign in, I never look at the sheet afterwards–they come to you.”

“We’ve got them from Biochem and Physics attending your stuff.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since last year, after your film went out.”

“Why?”

“They’re all hoping you’re going to wear your shorts and that skimpy top.”

“In January?”

“They are adolescents, Cathy.”

“Yeah, but we expect them to be able to tell what day it is.”

“See, your sexual magnetism just overcomes all in its wake.”

“What?” I said choking on some tuna.

“You’re the most popular teacher in the university.”

“Don’t be silly–how can that be?”

“You’re a celebrity, you’re a sexy woman or a role model for wannabes, and your lectures are entertaining by all accounts. I must come and watch one some time.”

I felt as self-conscious as the first time I walked in here in a skirt–the university–I mean. Tom made me go down the labs and deal with the rumours, Neal was so helpful that day and now I’ve got his younger sister staying with us. I was almost too embarrassed to stay in the cafeteria.

“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” I asked after recovering from my inhaled tuna.

“No, you know you’re popular.”

“I know we have loads of female wannbes who just wanna handle a dormouse.”

“D’you know that they sell two hundred of those toy things every year in the university shop.”

I didn’t, I’d suggested we got a company to design a small furry thing that resembled a dormouse, which I’d hoped would be small enough to use as a key fob. They weren’t, but at four pounds, I suppose they made nice little presents with Portsmouth University printed on the bottom. So the shop was in credit as well–I know they cost about thirty pence to make in China–the design was the hard bit. They’re all based on Spike, complete with tiny quiff, but she can take the publicity. Thank goodness, they didn’t do ones of me–that would have me running off to a monastery in the Pyrenees.

After this revelation I returned to my little broom cupboard of an office–maybe I should ask for something bigger, as the star attraction–but any thoughts I had of continuing my teaching plan was overshadowed by my self-consciousness. I felt like one of the undergrads again–oh shit.

At three o’clock the phone rang, “Aren’t you going to collect your offspring?”

“Hell, is that the time?”I answered Pippa’s question, “I’ve got to dash–oh and thanks.”

“You were really shocked lunch time weren’t you?”

“Sort of, I don’t know why–I suppose a bit like not wanting to look in the mirror in case you aren’t too bad looking or in case you are.”

“Poor, Cathy–you are beautiful you know.”

“I’ve got to go,” I said blushing profusely, part of me hated being told it and part of me hated being it. To no one in particular, I announced as I got in the car, “They pay me for my fucking mind–my fucking mind.” I got funny looks from one of the porters but so what.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1913 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I collected the girls and told them we were having a guest to dinner who was important to Daddy, so I would change them into tidy clothes and they would have to behave. If they didn’t, Daddy and I would be so cross, they wouldn’t get a birthday present until they were at least twenty five. The latter threat seemed to focus their little minds.

“Twenty five, that’s like ancient,” gasped Trish.

“It’s older than ancient,” agreed Livvie.

“Do you mind, I’m twenty nine and far from ancient,” I added.

“Aaarrrgh,” they both squealed and Mima squealed as well. I was surprised the windscreen was still intact, Jaguar must make tougher ones than I thought. Sadly, God doesn’t and my hearing felt like I’d just walked into a stun grenade.

I think my ears had just about recovered by the time we got home and I sent the girls up to change and do their homework. When Danny strolled in looking like two teams of giants had used him as the football in a match which involved kicking him through a muddy hedge, I sent him straight up to shower. While he was in the shower, I took his dirty clothing down to the washer.

David was looking very pleased with himself. “I hope your guest eats pork.”

“Why?”

“I’ve just cooked a suckling pig.” It smelt absolutely delicious.

“How did you cook it here?”

“I didn’t, I got them to let me do it at the hotel in Southsea–it’s amazing how your name opens doors?”

“What Cameron?”

“No, your name, Lady Catherine.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to say, “How come?”

“Because you’re so nice to them and give them all good reports, they want to please you.”

And keep their jobs, I didn’t add. “I shall write and thank them for their assistance.”

“No need, they hadn’t done a spit roast for ages, so I sort of did a free teaching session for them.”

“Where did you get the poor little piggy?”

“It was already deceased.”

“Poor thing–fancy being born so some two legged oik can kill you just for food.”

“In nature, the oiks are usually four legged and roar quite loudly.” David reminded me that life is a precarious business if you’re young and tasty.

“So, is everything ready?”

“It is, just waiting for his lordship to arrive–I’ll carve and Ingrid will serve, so you lot can all sit down together.”

I felt uncomfortable with this arrangement–I didn’t like to think of them as servants, rather just my staff or helpers. “When will you get to eat?”

“Don’t worry, Ingrid, Hannah and I will eat in the kitchen, don’t worry, we’ll have plenty.”

“I don’t like this very much,” I said my egalitarian conscience declared.

“This is a special occasion for Simon. You treat us really well, so on the odd occasion, neither Ing or me worry about touching our forelocks, milady.”

“Thank you,” I nodded and blushed. He went back to the kitchen chuckling. Even the bloody servants run rings round me.

Danny wore the clothes I left out for him and I explained this was important to Simon for it to go well. He said he understood and would behave himself. I chased the girls up to change and wash–not necessarily in that order. Their homework was complete and Danny went off to do his in my study.

At six, Julie and Phoebe arrived and I chased them up to change into decent outfits–they ran upstairs squealing with pleasure–they love dressing up.

Stella shrugged and put on a dress, Pud and Fi were already quite nattily dressed. I asked Jacquie to wear something decent as well and she rolled her eyes but went off to change.

“What about you, Mummy, are you wearing jeans?” asked Trish.

I glanced down–oh poo, and I’m sure I heard Simon’s car arrive. I dashed up the stairs and stripped off, flinging clothes everywhere. I washed and re-combed my hair putting it up in very quick sweep. I chucked on some eyeliner and mascara and some lippy, then pulled on an olive green velvet dress with short sleeves and a scooped neck. I slipped into black court shoes and threw on a few bits of jewellery and a squirt of No 5. I was downstairs in ten minutes. It was Tom.

He was very reluctant to change, having just come from a meeting with the Professorial committee. I pleaded with him and he shook his head and went off to put on a clean shirt and tie–one without chicken curry down it.

Simon eventually arrived with his colleague who was a man of about thirty six, with a good head of dark brown hair and a goatee beard. He introduced us and I suddenly had a little worry about the dinner. Simon was playing thick as I tried to induce him away from his guest to discuss the menu.

Just then Stella entered with her two little uns. “Geoff, is that you?” she gasped.

“Stella, Stella Cameron, what a delightful coincidence.”

“You two know each other,” seemed superfluous. I left them to it and dragged Simon into the dining room where David was putting the final touches to the table. “He’s a Jew, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but so what? You’re the last person I’d expect to be anti-Semitic.”

“I’m not, but it would have helped if you’d told me earlier.”

“Why?” he looked bemused.

“Because David has spent all day cooking a bloody pig, that’s why.”

“Yeah, so.”

“Pigs aren’t kosher, are they?”

Simon gave me a funny look and then the penny dropped, “Oh shit.”

“He’s going to look a bit silly having an omelette while the rest of us are eating pork. You find out if it’s a problem, while I ask David what he could do quickly as a back up.”

Simon swallowed hard and went out to try and part his guest from Stella who was in deep conversation with him.

David had some steak he could do which wouldn’t take long, it was pin-bone. I thanked him and he thought it was so funny no one had wondered about religious eating habits. I said I’d give him the nod to do the steak if necessary.

I wandered out and found Simon and Geoff, as he like to be called, in animated discussion. Geoff laughed out loud, “Not a prob, old man–had bacon for breakfast.”

After the last minute crisis, the dinner was superb. The poor little piglet was delicious and everyone had loads of meat, including Geoff, who was a lapsed Jew. He sent his compliments to the chef, which pleased David no end–it also meant Simon would give him a bonus at the end of the month. The same with Ingrid who wore a white blouse and black skirt to serve at table, David being in his official chef outfit complete with floppy hat.

“How the other half live,” commented Geoff, “I couldn’t afford to run a chef and waitress.”

“Oh half the staff are off tonight,” said Stella, lying through her teeth.

“Goodness, Chez Cameron is well equipped.”

“Oh yes, Geoff, the two nannies are off today and the maid is also away with the butler,” offered Stella and I nearly blew it by choking on my wine.

When the two men went off to Tom’s study to do business, I collared Stella. “What’s with all the bullshit about servants, and how do you know him?”

“His brother is a doctor, they’re the most stuck up arseholes you could ever meet. The most fun I ever had with either was giving his brother Oliver a shot of penicillin because he’d caught a nasty after sleeping with some girl at a party.”

“So you don’t like him?”

“Like him? Do you mind–he’s about as likeable as plague.”

“But you seemed to be making eyes at him.”

“I want Si to get the business whatever it is, once he does, I’ll tell Geoff what an arsehole I think he is.”

“Just wait until the ink’s dry, won’t you?”

“I think I’d better take my two little ones off to bed, don’t you?” With that she made what is commonly referred to as a tactical withdrawal.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1914 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Being the hostess, I got lumbered with waiting until the men had finished their meeting, and seeing Geoff off to his taxi.

He was effusive in his praise of the meal and the house. He pecked me on the cheek before leaving. As soon as he was in his taxi, I was off and up the stairs. It was midnight and I couldn’t wait to get washed and changed for bed. Not to put too fine a point on it, I was knackered. I’d just got comfortable in bed when Simon slid in behind me–I was lying on my side.

“That went well.”

“Good,” I yawned back to him.

“We’ve done about five million pounds worth of business tonight.”

“Yeah,” I yawned.

“At this rate, I’ll have earned a bonus of a couple of million.”

“Yeah,” I yawned again then turned over and said, “What?”

“My bonus should be really good this year.”

“How can you justify that amount of money on top of your large salary? There are people being thrown out of their homes because they can’t pay their mortgages and you’re going to get some obscene amount–how can that be fair?”

“I didn’t say it was fair, babes, life ain’t–but it’s what happens. I’m in a privileged position I know, but to give up my bonus because someone else is broke makes no sense. I can’t help everyone or even want to, I’m not an altruist like you; but I can ensure no one in this house will go without–and that is how I see my role. I’m sorry if you feel differently.”

“I know, Si, I’m glad your meeting went well and I appreciate what you provide for all of us. I suppose it also means we can afford to employ one or two people which has to help the economy too.”

“Yeah, exactly–anyway, Geoff was quite taken with you–he thought you were beautiful.”

“What about Stella?”

“Yeah, he was pleased to see her again. He also thought we had some lovely daughters.”

“Sometimes I think being seen as beautiful is a curse.”

“What? How can you say that? It’s done you very well.”

“It means men only see their own sexual fantasies, women are jealous and no one assumes you have anything to say worth hearing, unless it’s ‘yes’ to their improper suggestions.”

“Oh c’mon, Babes, it’s done you wonders. Everyone wants to help you, just to be seen with you.”

“I don’t think so unless it’s to bask in reflected glory, I can’t understand it at all.”

“We all like to see beautiful things, including people–or especially women.”

“I’m not an ornament, Simon, put here to add a bit of gloss to some saddo’s life, I’m a woman who wants to do things for her family, friends and even for herself. I have my own agenda, and that isn’t as a poster girl for High St Banks.”

“I know that, love, you have a mission, we all know that–but why can’t you be beautiful and still do it–surely that means fewer people will try and obstruct you? And if they look deep enough, they’ll see that your beauty isn’t just skin deep, it runs right through you, like writing in a stick of seaside rock.”

“You old flatterer,” I said pecking him on the cheek.

“Even a dickhead like Geoff Arthurs, who is a total jerk, was aware of the beauty you project–it isn’t just a physical thing–it’s a spiritual thing as well.”

“How could you invite someone you despise so, to our house?”

“I needed to get him to relax, and you lot distracted him enough to enable me to add a million to the cost of the contract. He’ll whinge tomorrow and I’ll take it off.”

“So it’s only worth four million then?”

“No, babes, the five mil is after I take the one off I added.”

“What are you doing that’s worth five million?”

“Saving his bacon–and his bank.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“They are about to close two hundred branches–we are going to offer facilities to their customers, eventually we’ll absorb them.”

“So how are you saving his bank?”

“Because a bank isn’t buildings on the high street, it’s about money and financial confidence. After HSBC and Barclays, we are the third most respected bank in this country, we’ve shot past RBS, Lloyds, and HBOS. We’re more solvent and have a broader portfolio. With City & Commercial using us, we should be even stronger in no time.”

I kept thinking, Kansas, but he obviously didn’t pick up my vibes–I just hoped he wasn’t buying into another pig in a poke or scam. “What does Henry say?” I asked.

“He told me to negotiate the best position I could.”

“Did he?” I yawned again as sleep encroached.

“No, he said let Cathy negotiate for you.”

“So you did a good job, I’m glad.” I yawned again, “He said what?”

“I think he was right, but I knew you wouldn’t be interested.”

“Too true–I’ll shoot that pa-in-law of mine.”

“I’ll borrow a gun for you,” said Simon and sniggered–I could feel the bed moving.

“Good night, Simon.” I turned over and quickly was lost to sleep.

I dreamt that Geoff Arthurs had my children and I had to negotiate a fee to have access to them. I woke up in quite a sweat, saw it was three o’clock and after a quick wee, I managed to get back to sleep. Simon as always was dead-o. Nothing seems to keep him awake.

He’d gone before I woke, I went to check if Sammi had gone as well and she had. It was half past seven and I had to rush to get the kids up for school and Julie to work, plus Phoebe to college. I did it with only moments to spare–thank goodness the girls were eating school meals now instead of me having to make them a packed lunch.

I got to my office at the university a few minutes late. “Nice of you to join us, Dr Watts.”

I’d gone to speak with Tom about the dormouse programme. I looked a bit blank at the dean. “Ye didnae read yer email, ye scunner.”

I obviously hadn’t because I had no idea what he was on about. “Um, no.”

“Ye’re invited to sit on the academic committee of the biosciences faculty.”

“Oh,” I scanned the august company gathered in Tom’s office. There was an empty seat. He pointed at it and I pointed at myself, he nodded and told me to shut the door while I was on my feet. I blushed and apologised, there were a few smirks but nothing else and the meeting continued.

It was boring, I was only there because my courses were more popular than anyone else’s, and they wanted me to try and help the other less popular courses expand–or face oblivion–there is no sentimentality in universities.

I had no magic wand to wave, and one of the departing men said, “I know, if we want to get all these young women who sign up for your courses, we need to engage some young bimbos and get them to make fluffy documentaries while wearing very few clothes.”

“No perhaps you just need to dump your dinosaur collection into the palaeontology department, and adopt some twenty first century methods of teaching.”

“Good for you, Cathy,” said the dean very quietly as he walked past, obviously hearing his chauvinistic colleague. Tom who’d also heard it winked at me–he tapped his watch–lunch at twelve thirty–here, he mimed at me. Oh well, if he’s buying...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1915 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

For an hour I sat and fumed in my office–there top of my emails–an invitation to attend the committee and to discuss the popularity of some courses and lack in others. How could I have missed it, and why didn’t Tom remind me last night?

At twelve thirty I wandered back to his office where he was coming out of the door. “Ah, Cathy, ye can drive.” So I did. We went to his usual watering hole and we ordered the usual, a chicken curry and a pint of Guinness with my tuna salad and a glass of water. I have ice if I’m on the hard stuff. I remember declining an offer of ice in my water because it would dilute it. The waiter went off looking bemused and Tom nearly choked to death. I guess I’m just dangerous to be near.

“You could have reminded me about the meeting,” though in fact reminding would have been incorrect because I didn’t know anything about the invite.

“I did, ye had yer knickers in sich a twist, ye didnae hear me.”

“I suppose I was a bit distracted last night.”

“Aye, jest a wee bitty, mind ye, it wis a wonderful meal.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“I thocht David did it?”

“He did, but I asked him to.”

“Ye asked him tae dae a sucklin’ pig?”

“No, I asked him to do something memorable.”

“Aye, t’wis that alricht.”

“What about the meeting?”

“Whit aboot it?”

“Well, if Lanseer treats his students like he did me, no wonder he gets few takers.”

“Aye, he’s a bit o’ a dinosaur–but ye pit him in his place.”

“Well he asked for it.”

Tom smiled, “Palaentology department,” he sniggered as our food arrived.

“He was being a male chauvinist pig,” I complained as I squeezed the lemon slice over my salad.

“Aye, I widnae disagree, hen.”

“And as for being considered a bimbo just because I’m female and under ninety–that was sexist and perhaps I should have reported him.”

“Och, that only makes ye enemies. Ye pit him doon sae he’ll no try it again wi’ ye.”

“I mean, if he thinks it’s so bloody easy to make a documentary, why doesn’t he do it?”

“He tried and failed years ago.”

“Oh, when was that?”

“Och, it wis lang before ye came–he tried tae mak’ some training videos for biochemical techniques–it wis like Acorn Antiques.

I sniggered. The above mentioned was a spoof on soaps made by Victoria Wood with a brilliant cast including Julie Walters and Celia Imrie, which was so funny. Like every soap’s nightmare the sets shook, props didn’t work, actors forgot their lines or cues–you name it, it happened and it was just hilarious. So a training video with that sort of quality would be a disaster.

“Didn’t Fawlty Towers start off as a training film or was it the other way round?” I asked Tom. He shrugged, but he indicated he knew that John Cleese made training films, which were always comedic.

After dinner and I drove us back to the university, Tom was nearly asleep in the passenger seat. “We’re here, Daddy,” I announced and he sat up with a jolt.

“Och, ye culd hae telt me,” he gasped.

“I did, Daddy.”

“Aye, alricht, I’ll gi’ ye thae benefit.”

“Like you reminded me last night.”

“Reminded ye o’ whit?”

“Exactly,” I said exiting the Jaguar.

He went off to his office muttering under his breath something about women, and ‘dochters’ in particular. I sniggered all the way back to my broom-cupboard. Once there, I did an hour and half’s hard slog on my teaching plans and then left to collect the three mouseketeers.

It had been fine until this time and suddenly, or it seemed sudden to me, but then my office has no decent window so I tend not to see much out of it. I did have a pigeon fly into it one day when I was there–the bump made me jump and I dashed outside where the stupid bird was shaking its head before it flew off apparently unhurt.

Anyway, as I departed the department a heavy drizzle transformed itself into a downpour of seriously wet proportions and I ran to my car beeping the remote as I went. Still, I was quite damp by the time I got myself and my two bags into the vehicle–my handbag and my laptop.

Of course, Christmas now long past, the school traffic was appalling and it took me ages to get to the convent and my three girls. There were no other cars about so I was able to park close to the school and dashed from the car to the entrance to the school as fast as I’d ever done it.

I half expected my three to be sat just inside near the cloak rooms, grumbling as I arrived, but they weren’t. Slightly alarmed I walked down the corridor my soft rubber soled shoes making minimal noise. As I approached the Headmistress’ office I heard familiar voices and laughter.

“Ah, Lady Cameron, do come in, your daughters have been entertaining me with stories of their concert a couple of Christmases ago.”

“Oh, the nursery rhyme one?” I prompted.

“Yes, Mummy, do you remember it?” asked Trish.

“I think, Grampa Henry recorded it on his camcorder–though whether he’s still got it, is another matter.”

“I hope so, I’d love to see it,” declared the smitten Sister Maria, “Your children are something else, aren’t they?” she said to me and was immediately challenged by Trish.

“We’re not somethin’ else, we’re children, little girls,” and she pouted for emphasis.

“I don’t think, Sister Maria meant it as an insult, on the contrary, she meant it as a compliment.”

“Oh, that’s alright then.”

“What did you mean?” asked Mima who looked a little adrift of the conversation.

“I meant that you are something special, because most children of your age couldn’t produce and act in a concert as well as you did.”

“Auntie Stewwa hewped us.”

“I’m sure she did, Jemima, but you had to do the performing.”

“Danny and Billy helped too,” I said, remembering how happy we were at that time only for us all to have to deal with the pain and sadness of losing Billie, as she became, to the horror of the aneurysm.

Sister Maria must have seen my pained expression and on mention of Billie’s name smiled knowingly at me. I nodded my acknowledgement of her expression and she suggested I might want to get home for my dinner.

“We had ducklin’ pig, last night,” Trish informed her headmistress.

“That’s an interesting combination,” was the teacher’s response.

“Combination? No, it was just a piggy-wiggy,” replied the puzzled pupil.

“She means, suckling pig.”

“Ah,” nodded the teacher, “how on earth did you cook it in your kitchen?”

“We didn’t, David, our chef, took it over to the hotel in Southsea and did it in their kitchen.”

“Goodness, a celebration of some sort?”

“No, a business dinner for Simon, he had a client with him.”

“Yeah, a jerk named Geoff, according to Auntie Stella,” Trish suggested.

“Sounds like there might have been more than one poor little piggy present,” responded the headmistress.

“Aye, and all wi’ muckle lugs,” I added which made both of us adults chuckle. “C’mon girls, let’s awa’ hame,” I added and they laughed at my puir Scots rendition.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1916 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Does Grampa Henry still have the film of our concert?” Livvie asked as we drove home.

“I don’t know, Liv, phone him after dinner and ask him.”

“Okay,” she said. Hopefully by then he’ll be free and able to speak with her.

They went off and changed into their playing clothes and did their homework while David did something for dinner, quite possibly something with cold pork. It was, the rest had curry while I had a sort of pork fricassee with rice–it was very tasty and I thanked him.

Simon and Sammi were late back so had warmed up meals–apparently someone stepped in front of a train near Basingstoke. My tummy churned when they told me this–what a horrible way to die–smashed to pieces by a thousand tons of fast moving steel. And what of the driver? They’d have to live with knowing they’d killed someone, and also with seeing it happen.

Simon was tired, his early start and the rigours of his meeting last night, seemed to have got to him. He declined his coffee and went up to bed while I was getting the girls ready. I read to them then went to see how Simon was. His breathing seemed odd. I put on the light and his colour looked awful, he was also clammy skinned. I called for Stella who took one look at him and dialled triple nine for an ambulance.

“Better see what you can do, girl, I’ll go and let the paramedics in when they get here.”

With shaking hands I scanned his body–somewhere near his heart–a coronary artery perhaps wasn’t right. I started pouring in the love and light, he suddenly opened his eyes, gasped, “I love you,” and died.

I felt like screaming instead, I dragged him out of bed and onto the floor and started CPR–at least the compressions. I don’t know how long I was doing them, nor did I hear what Stella or the paramedics said–I was just pumping his chest up and down until someone pulled me off and helped me out of the room.

I woke up some time later in Stella’s bed, she was sitting in the chair, fast asleep beside me. For a moment I felt completely disorientated–what was I doing in her room. It was two in the morning. I sat up and she woke with a start. “How d’ya feel?” she asked.

“I don’t know–where’s Simon?”

“In coronary care–you kept him alive–d’you know that?”

“How?”

“Your CPR, they defibbed him and his heart restarted. They’re were talking stents tomorrow or even referral to Southampton for a bypass.”

“The blue light didn’t work, Stella.”

“You said it doesn’t always–but good old basic first aid did, eh?”

“I suppose it did. Anybody with him?”

“Daddy is, he flew down as soon as I told him what had happened.”

“Have I lost it?”

“What?”

“The healing gift?”

“I don’t know, seeing as you do nothing but complain about it, perhaps the franchise holder took it back.”

“Yeah–what? What are you on about? Franchise holder? This isn’t McDonald’s we’re talking about.”

“I know, if you’d offered him a burger, he’d have come round–he loves ’em.”

Feeling irritated by her silliness I said I wanted some tea and went downstairs. I passed the bedroom door but I couldn’t face going into the empty room. In my head I could see Simon open his eyes speak to me then die. If he didn’t pull through, I’d never go in that room again.

I was only in the kitchen a couple of minutes when Tom arrived, then Stella and finally, Julie. They all looked as tired as I felt. “Tea?” I asked and when they all nodded, I made us four mugs of the reviving fluid.

None of us spoke, we just sipped the hot fluid all rapt in our own thoughts. Then as if in some well rehearsed comedy sketch we all started to speak at the same time, then laughed. Stress does funny things.

“D’ye wish tae call thae hospital?” asked Tom.

“It’s two thirty,” I said looking up at the big kitchen clock.

“Aye, weel ICU are staffed twenty foor seven,” he replied.

“I’ll do it,” Stella went off to find the phone.

“I can’t believe he’s had a heart attack,” I said to no one in particular, “He’s thirty four.”

“It happens, Mummy,” Julie offered stroking my arm.

“The blue light failed me.”

“You don’t know that, Mummy.”

“Yes I do, if it hadn’t, he’d have been up and walking around now, wouldn’t he?”

“Julie’s richt, hen, it micht hae made a difference–ye canna tell, yet.”

“Normally I feel it rushing out of my body, today there was nothing. When someone is as sick as he was, I’d be getting impressions of what was wrong and how the energy was sorting it. There was nothing. He just lay there, then for a moment he opened his eyes, told me he loved me and stopped breathing.”

“Oh, Mummy,” Julie burst into tears and I followed her lead.

“I just dragged him out of bed and started chest compressions. I couldn’t think what else to do.”

“He’s very poorly but he’s stabilised. He’s sleeping at the moment, so is Daddy,” reported Stella.

“If he can sleep in one of those chairs, he’s a better man than I am, Gunga Din,” I said remembering the times I nodded off in the hospital chairs and regretted it when I woke up.

“Why don’t you go back up to bed, Mummy, you look all in?” Julie continued gently rubbing my arm.

“Yeah, okay,” I rose and stumbled up the stairs.

“C’mon, in here,” Stella nodded at her room and a few minutes later we were cwtching in her bed, her wrapped around the back of me.

“I’m really frightened, Stel,” I said feeling a tear run down onto the pillow. “I really love him and I didn’t get a chance to tell him.” I sat up, “What if he dies, Stel, and I didn’t tell him I love him?”

“He knows, Sis, just lie down and rest. My brother might not know very much, but he knows you love him. Even though he doesn’t know why.”

“What d’you mean? He’s one of the kindest, loveliest men in all of England.”

“I know you think that, Sis, but he isn’t always aware of it–he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world.”

“Meee? Now I know you’re telling fibs.”

“I’m not, Cathy, he’s told me umpteen times, and how much he loves you and that you’re too good for him.”

“How I can I be too good for him? He’s an aristocrat and a millionaire for Chrissake.”

“Yeah, but being rich and privileged doesn’t make you good or worthy–it hasn’t done it for me, has it?”

“What do you mean?” I turned over on my back. “Stella, you’re a wonderful woman, with two gorgeous kids–we all love you to bits, you know that.”

“If I’m wonderful, you must be off the scale, Cathy. You are up there with the angels, you know. Compassionate, generous and loving–everyone who meets you loves you.”

“Not everyone, Stella, Mr Cortez being a case in point.”

“Yeah, well he’s a fool.”

“I don’t think he’s that either, but the longer he stays in South America, the better.” I yawned and closing my eyes seemed to slip into a strange sort of sleep, where it felt as if I was floating, but quite where I wasn’t sure.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1917 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I continued to float, like a piece of driftwood caught up in an ocean current. I stopped struggling and went with the flow, after a while I almost felt pleasurable as if someone else was in charge and I didn’t have to worry–not for the moment, at any rate.

I found myself being washed up on a tropical beach and as I staggered ashore, the sun warmed me through the soaking wet dress I had on. I’d lost my shoes and was quite surprised my dress was still more or less intact, as were my bra and knickers.

I felt thirsty and watched as a coconut fell off a tree and rolled at my feet. I picked it up–now if only I had my trusty Swiss Army Knife–and the thing appeared in my hand–right. I managed to sit, and wedging the nut between my knees, knocked two holes in the end of it and sucked out some of the milk, which tasted delicious.

I wished Simon was with me, and there he was sitting a foot or two away. “What a gorgeous day,” I said and he nodded. I offered him the coconut and he took it and drank the rest of the milk. After that we smashed open the nut and began to eat the flesh–well, we were hungry.

“How d’you feel?” I asked him.

“Fine, why?”

“You had a heart attack earlier.”

“You told me I didn’t have one, being a banker–remember?”

“I was joking.”

“What about the heart attack?”

“No, the banker bit.”

“Oh, so I’ve had a heart attack?”

“Yes.”

“So how come I feel fine?”

“This is a dream.”

“Oh–so how come you’re in it?”

“I’m in all your best ones.”

“So you are, but we’re not usually talking, we’re–um–sh...”

“Simon, forget sex for a moment or you’re going to set the alarm off on the monitors and then we’ll have to stop the dream.”

“Does that matter?”

“Yes, but only if you want to live.”

“Oh–of course I do–what a dumb thing to say.”

“Yes, usually you get the stupid lines.”

“I what?”

“Now keep calm, husband, or this isn’t going to work.”

“What isn’t?”

“Oh shit, here it comes.”

“What?”

“Death.”

“Death? Waddya mean?”

“It’s simple, it’s got you down for a collection and I’m here to stop it.”

“How are you going to do that?” He peered round me, “What the hell is that?”

“I told you.”

“Oh shit, you’ll never be able to keep that away from me.”

“Well, I’d like to try if you don’t mind. So keep still and whatever you do, stay silent.”

“’Kay,” he whispered.

I stepped away from him hopefully hiding him from its gaze. It was large spectral dog, a black thing with red glowing eyes and neon teeth, from which emanated a frightful stink.

I’d thrown a shield of blue around Simon and one about myself. The dog walked towards me. It had to be four feet at the shoulder and it was quite intimidating, except I wasn’t in the mood to be frightened by anything, except failure.

“Nice dog, sit,” I said and it walked up to about a yard from me and sat down, then it howled and my blood ran cold. I could feel Simon’s fear behind me–he was terrified.

I picked up a stone and threw it, “Fetch,” I shouted but the dog just slavered and by some sort of telepathy asked where Simon was. I told him it was just him and me there, and if he didn’t go I’d call the dog warden. The dog actually laughed at me–well it was a dream.

“You know he’s here, I know he’s here, I’m not leaving without one of you,” said the dog, which surprised me, especially as he sounded just like John Wayne. I was tempted to address him as ‘Pilgrim’.

“Oh well, you’d better take me then–if you can.”

“Oh I can take you, Angel Catherine.”

“Can you now.”

“Yes–let’s stop the games, where is he?”

“He’s not here.”

“Angels aren’t supposed to lie,” the dog reproved me.

“Dogs aren't supposed to talk.”

“Spectral dogs can.”

“Angels don’t lie.”

“So you’re not an Angel then?”

“That could be one implication,” I agreed.

“But...?” he added.

“But, if he isn’t here, I’m not lying ,and therefore may still be an angel, and do you really want to mess with me?”

“No, I just want Simon Cameron’s soul, which is what I have been sent to get.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re going to be empty handed this night.”

“So, he isn’t here?”

“I told you that.”

“Prepare to die, Angel Catherine.”

“Bad dog,” I said then realised how futile that was. The dog stood up and stepped towards me, I was about to try and stop it with whatever I could but instead sat down in front of it. As it stepped even closer and I could smell its rank breath–phew what a stink–I drew my wings around me–it’s a dream okay? I felt the dog’s maw close to my head and I imagined drawing down all the love in the universe. My heart began to swell, and suddenly it seemed to burst, showering both of us in an eruption of rose pink light.

For a split second nothing happened, then the dog began to shrink, “Depart in peace and love,” I said, and wished it away. It simply faded from sight.

I rose and looking at Simon could see he was shivering. I picked him up and we flew on my wings back to the hospital, where I returned him to his body–his heart had stabilised and I could see he was still surrounded with the blue light.

“Yes, who are you?” challenged a nurse and I simply disappeared, my work was done. I heard her calling as I felt myself returning to my body and sleep.

“C’mon, sleepyhead, time to get the kids sorted,” Stella was rousing me. I felt knackered but complied. Answering the questions of, ‘Where’s Daddy, his car’s here?’ were more difficult than organising breakfast.

“He wasn’t very well last night, so they took him into hospital,” I finally answered Trish as we drove out of the drive.

“Did you fix him, or do I need to do it?”

“Waddya you think?”

“Okay, I was just askin’,” she shot back.

“You can go tonight,” I informed her.

“Can we all go?” asked the girls.

“We’ll see.”

“Is he going to be alwight?” asked his favourite.

“Course, Mummy’s an angel, in she?” I began to wonder if I needed a chat with her English teacher.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1918 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

After dropping the girls in school and Phoebe at college, I went off to the QA to see Simon. He was looking much better and his face lit up when I entered the room. I bent over and kissed him.

“Glad you could make it,” he said.

“I’m glad you made it, too,” I said, and kissed him again.

“They’re moving me to the high dependency unit later on.”

“You won’t be there long.” It just slipped out of my mouth.

“They said a week.”

I shrugged.

“I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Medication, I expect.”

“No, babes–well I suppose it could have been–but it was so clear, and I remember lots of it.”

“Medication or endorphins.”

“Dunno–you were in it.” Oops, looks like we had the same dream.

“I am in lots of your dreams–you say I’m the girl of your dreams.”

“Yeah, but not like this one.”

“Go on,” I pretended to be interested at the same time I was trying to avoid giving the game away that we’d probably shared a dream–if it was a dream.

“I turned up on this desert island.”

“With eight gramophone records?”

“Cathy, please.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You were already there and drinking a coconut which you shared with me. Then we were chatting and you saw death coming to get me. Then you covered me in blue light and told me to stay quiet. I peered through the curtain of light and you were talking to some huge dog–which looked like something out of a gothic horror story or the Hound of the Baskervilles.” He paused to sip his water.

“Then, when I wondered if you were going to zap him in some way, you just sat down in front of him and folded your wings around you. He had your head in his huge mouth when there was this flash of light and he just disappeared. I don’t remember much else except you carrying me across the ocean, and we were flying.”

“I think you’re confusing me with Superman.”

“No he has a cape and red wellies, you had wings.”

“Wings? Don’t be silly, Si, how could I have wings?”

“You did, you pulled them round you before the dog tried to eat you.”

“I know you think I’m a birdbrain, but wings? C’mon, Si, this is hallucination stuff.”

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“The nurse saw something fly out of here in the middle of the night.”

“A moth or something.”

“It was a human sized moth, then.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. For a moment she wondered if I’d died–she says she’s seen all sorts of weird things in the unit. She says if she didn’t know better she thought she saw an angel, just fleetingly.”

“Well, it was late at night, so perhaps she’d nodded off.”

“She’d been dealing with an emergency in the next cubicle.”

“Who knows what she saw, then–adrenalin does funny things to the eyes, apparently it increases peripheral vision but reduces central vision so nothing can creep up on you.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Like I said, it can do funny things to your eye...What?”

“It was you.”

“What was?”

“The angel.”

“Si, you’re getting as bad as the girls.”

“Babes, I’d be dead if you hadn’t pulled on your wings and saved me–wouldn’t I?”

“If I had anything to do with saving you, it was starting CPR when you stopped breathing.”

“Did you? Is that why I have a bruise on the back of my head?”

I blushed, “Um could be, I had to get you out of bed and on the floor rather quickly.”

“I forgive you.”

“You’re too kind.”

“How did you make the dog disappear?”

“What dog?”

“The one that wanted to kill me.”

“Eh?”

“In my dream.”

“How do I know? It was your dream.”

“You were there, I know it. I could feel you–I just know it was you, not just a dream.”

“Look, at best, you probably imagined me there because of my healing abilities, and it made you feel better, safer. You were pretty ill. I was also probably sending you healing, but I can assure you I don’t have wings–I’m sure I’d have noticed when I put my bra on.”

“Very funny–I know it was you.”

“In which case, I won’t try and dissuade you because it will achieve nothing.”

“Why did the dog have blue teeth?” he asked.

“They were green ...” Shit, he’d caught me out.

“I knew it.” He looked very smug.

“You told me they were green earlier.”

“No I didn’t–you were there–I knew it.”

“I’m not admitting to anything, but while I’m here I suppose I’d better see what I can do to speed things up.” I sat holding his hand and asked him to lie quietly and think of the blue light. There was a huge download of energy into him and I wondered if it would short something but it didn’t. I heard him groan, but kept on as I was in full download mode. Unbeknownst to me, one of the nurses sat and watched and took a photo on her mobile.

I found out about half an hour later when the cardiologist came to visit and she showed it to him. He brought it in to me and asked me to explain. I asked to see it, and while I was holding it the memory card somehow wiped itself.

She smirked and said she’d already sent it to her computer–I didn’t like to say, she’d need a new one. “What was that?” asked the consultant.

“What was what?” I played stupid.

“The blue light on the photo.”

“Probably static from the machines–remember it’s all electronic–background radiation.”

“Okay, let’s try it with mine.” He stepped back and as he drew out his camera I asked for help from the energy. His photo showed a white aura over the machines. “Oh, you could be right.”

“She is a scientist, doc,” offered Simon, realising the risk.

“Yeah, but there’s also odd things being reported in this hospital, kids being healed...” Suddenly Simon flopped in the bed and the alarms went off. The cardiologist flew into action and called the crash team. I was ushered ou, and for a moment thought he’d relapsed, but something in the back of my mind told me the energy was just protecting itself. A few minutes later his heart stabilised itself, the fibrillation had stopped and he was recovering. Half an hour later I was back in with him, they’d done an ECG and his heart was in perfect fettle.

“Was that you?” Simon gave me a nasty look.

“No, leastways not deliberately.”

“Get me out of here–I’ve got things to do.”

“Yeah, well making a full recovery is the first one of those–so lie quietly and behave yourself.”

“Bring my lappie in will you, and my dongle?”

“No way, Simon, they shouldn’t even have had mobile phones here with all this equipment.”

“But I’ll go crazy in here.”

“No one will notice any difference, darling. I’ll be back later with some of the kids. I’ve brought you a change of pyjamas and some toiletries. Oh, and some magazines.” I handed him the bag with the fishing and sporting magazines.

He looked through them, “No New Scientist or New Statesman?”

“There’s a Private Eye on the bottom.” I kissed him and he pouted.

“Get me out of here later–please.”

“You rest, I’ll see you later.”

As I walked out I knew his heart and coronary arteries were clear, so they’d be discharging him soon anyway–he was healthier now than he was a year ago. Alright for some, isn’t it? The cardiologist had a shock coming, he had a growth in his bowel–it was benign–so I didn’t tell him, I might in the next year before it turns nasty.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1919 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Simon was discharged later that day–they did all sorts of tests on him–which tended to show the original ones were wrong. I went to get him, the cardiologist asked me to see him in the ward office. I went somewhat reluctantly, I knew what was coming.

“Mrs Cameron, please explain to my simple mind how a man, your husband I believe was admitted last night with absolutely typical signs and symptoms of a myocardial infarct and today, he seems as fit and healthy as I am.”

“He’s healthier than you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He doesn’t have a neoplasm in his colon.”

“I wouldn’t know if he did or not, it’s not my area of interest.” He paused while he obviously thought about what I said. “Just a moment, are you implying I have one–a neoplasm–I mean.”

“Yes.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“You have a grey area here, if it was black you’d be dying, if was red it would be infected.” I pointed to an area of his abdomen.

“You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Did I? To what purpose? All I can say is that you have less than a year to sort it before it becomes malignant and it will metastasise very quickly.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’ve told you, I’m obliged to do nothing else. If you act soon, you’ll make a full recovery.”

“This is like witch-doctory.”

“If you say so, please don’t tell anyone I informed you, will you or it will become worse much more quickly.”

“Now you’re threatening me.”

“Doctor Hart, please listen because I will say this once. I don’t know where the information comes from, all I know is it is never wrong and it does save lives, providing people heed it. You are obviously intended to carry on your good work but you won’t if you ignore the warning. I ask you not to tell anyone about it because it will not be messed with.”

“Who are you?”

“A messenger.” He turned to look for the nurse and I sneaked out behind him. I took Simon home a short time later without meeting the good doctor again. A cardiologist called Dr Hart–I ask you? Am I dreaming all this? I half expect to wake up lying in a ditch in a thunderstorm back in 2007, or having recovered from a coma arising from the collision with Stella’s car.

“Well you could look pleased to have me home?” Simon challenged me as we arrived back in the drive. I hadn’t said anything since we’d got in the car, I was lost in my own thoughts.

“Yeah,” I said without really hearing what he’d said.

“Cathy?”

“Yeah?”

“You are glad to have me home?”

“Of course I am, how could you think any other?”

“You seem rather preoccupied?”

“Yeah well I have to go and collect the girls, can you let yourself in?” I handed him his overnight bag and got back in the car. He stood there in bewilderment as I reversed and drove off to the convent to collect my three charges.

I was few minutes early and bumped into the headmistress. “Lady Cameron, you are well I take it?”

“I’m okay. Sister Maria, how do we know this isn’t all a big dream–life I mean?”

“Oh start me with an easy one, why don’t you?”

“Sorry, just something with which I’ve been wrestling for the past hour.”

“I won’t ask what brought this about–I don’t think I want to know. As for your question–I don’t know–but I’ve seen the Matrix as well and you are the chosen one.”

I looked at her, “I’m what?”

“Well the main character, Nero, or whatever his name is, that’s what they say to him, he’s the chosen one. I thought it appropriate to say the same to you.”

“Daddy is always going on about it too–I have no idea what he’s on about. I’m just an ordinary housewife...”

“...Superstar?” she added and chuckled.

“Hey, that’s Dame Edna, I hope I’m not being compared with a drag act?”

“Of course it is, isn’t it? I’d forgotten that, he seems so natural in the act.”

“I don’t think so, but then I avoid any contact with the character at all costs–sorry, but drag acts however well done, upset me.”

“Why ever does that happen?”

“I find them offensive to women–most seek to demean us by often unsubtle caricature.”

“Goodness–d’you think so?”

“Yes.”

“Are you being perhaps a trifle oversensitive?”

“I might well be, but that’s what I feel.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, Lady Cameron, but I wonder if you should relax a little more, you sound like one of my elderly colleagues, here.”

I found myself blushing. I’d read a dreadful article in The Observer about how one polemicist–a female with definite transphobic ideas–had described transsexual women as dicks in chick’s clothes and other provocative phrases–all because her pal, another woman journalist had used a poor analogy in an article earlier and got into a slanging match on Twitter with some militant transsexuals.

In reality, I suppose it was a storm in a teacup which the second writer had elevated to a kitchen sink drama and the comments online were upgrading it to a full kitchen drama. I was just horrified at the depths of the bile which were plumbed by the second writer in what was just a tirade or rant. As one commenter added, if the word Jew or Black had been used instead of transsexual, the author would have been facing a prison sentence.

Maybe I just felt thin skinned and tired. I had full female status, was a married woman with adopted children and even a title, beyond Mrs. I learned that might also mean I couldn’t claim special protection as a minority, because I was now a female–in other words, a member of the largest minority of them all. It was all mind-boggling.

I wasn’t quite sure about the protection thing, not that it worried me–I’d done the legal thing with the Gender panel and had no regrets about it–all I’d ever wanted to be–as long as I could remember was to be a female. I’d achieved that, so quite what the argument was, passed me by. I wasn’t an activist, but I was a feminist despite Julie Burchill telling me otherwise. I couldn’t read it again, it was in the kitten’s litter tray–which was probably where it belonged.

The three girls came rushing up to us. “Mummeee,” yelled Trish and the others took up the cry. With that sort of endorsement, why should I worry about Dame Edna or Julie Burchill?–they aren’t real people anyway–and my children are.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1920 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I hugged my children and wondered why I kept having these existential crises–these loving children and their siblings were what life was about. It’s all very well to save the planet but what if we lose our humanity in doing it? I was tempted to say our souls, but Richard Dawkins wouldn’t like it. Mind you I’m not sure if he’d like humanity either–it tends to imply we’re something special compared to the other animals. We are–it has nothing to do with imaginary sky gods or earth goddesses–it has to do with our compassion, our kindness or ability to empathise: perhaps as well it’s to do with our foreknowledge of death, despite our mythologies to pretend it doesn’t happen; we know it will happen to us and our loved ones–it’s the only certainty in life.

We drove home and the girls were chattering in the back about all and nothing, though I wasn’t listening, I was living for a moment almost in the now–being so aware of being alive and being amongst those who loved me and whom I loved.

Life isn’t about money or power, or even academic achievement: it’s about love and relationships, being connected to friends and family. It’s also about honesty and integrity–oh boy, my soapbox was growing.

I went in and hugged everyone, even David and Ingrid who looked at me as if I was having some sort of manic episode–perhaps I was. I just felt full of love. I eventually calmed down and sat with Katie on my lap and read her a story. I also showed her pictures of her previously family and she pointed at them when I asked her about them. I wondered how I’d manage in years to come when it dawns on her that we’re not her family by blood, just by love. Each of the others had given a commitment and elected to join the family, to become siblings–she hadn’t and it would be a few years before she could, and then only in the most basic way. I wonder when she’s a teenager, will she throw me the line, “But you’re not my mother, are you?” when we have a falling out. It will happen, all teenagers and their parents have squabbles–it’s part of the growing process–if a rather difficult one.

I wondered if I should put my career on hold for a few years and just enjoy my time with the children? It would be nice, but in a year or two, this little baggage will be in nursery and then there’ll be just me and this big old place. No, I need to keep my career, especially as the university practically allows me to do my own thing about hours and courses. I’ll still teach something about ecology and will do the film on the harvest mouse if only to educate the masses and remind the university that I’m one of its prime assets. Prima donna?–absolutely, but look at the freedom it gives me.

Katie became restless and went off to play with Puddin’ who was pushing a pushchair full of dollies around the place. I went and phoned Alan.

“Hello, Cathy, good to hear from you.”

“How’s the set coming along for the harvest mouse?”

“It was doing alright until we had a mini tornado come through and wreck the greenhouse we were going to use.”

“Oh. What if I was to get one built here, in the garden?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“How big does it need to be?”

“Big enough to grow some wheat–so twenty by twenty feet.”

“Was that the size of the previous one?”

“No, that was ten by fifteen.”

“I’ll have a word with Tom and our handyperson, Maureen. I wondered if we could build something which could be used as a greenhouse afterwards, and that would be industrial size. But then Danny seems to be quite interested in making things grow, so he might want to use it with Tom. I’ll need to get some costings and get back to you.”

“Fine. How’s the family?”

“Okay, we have our moments but then so do all families.”

“Quite. I’d better go and start looking through the stuff I’ve already got–I might try and get down to you in the next couple of weeks so we can review it.”

“Okay, give me a bit of notice and I’ll get David to make something nice for lunch or dinner.”

“Lunch and dinner–did you say?”

“If he does I’ll be asleep all afternoon.”

“Oh, see ya then.” He rang off and I pulled out my file of notes–I’d got loads of information, what we needed to do was build a narrative and try and get the film we needed to display it. Talk about courtship, nest building, breeding, and feeding the young. I envisage trays of corn which we can move around or isolate to get the sort of shots we need. Tiny cameras in the nest to show the birth and suckling of the babies interspersed with panoramic views of corn fields and combines showing how modern farming techniques is making the harvest mouse an endangered species, and how if we’re not careful, it will go the way of the corncrake, which really only hangs on on some Scottish islands or bits of the coast. The whole point of the film will be to remind the viewer that extinction is for keeps, and that we need to act now or be prepared to sacrifice those things we love about the natural world–because the need to act is getting very close.

I’ll need to liaise with our record keepers to see if the last few poor summers have had an effect and would captive breeding and release have an effect to maintain populations, even marginal ones. Henry will be pleased if we do finish the film, and I think, I will too, although I know it will invite requests for others. If they want one on killer whales–I’ll happily do the narration but I’m not freezing my bum off standing on a boat in the bloody Antarctic while they show them eating sea-lions.

David called me to dinner and Simon arrived back with Sammi whom he’d collected from the station. He was supposedly on sick leave until the end of the week, although we all knew he was well enough to go back–we didn’t speak to Henry, who just gave Si a few days off.

It looked as if Si and Sammi had had words in the car. She went up to change and he led me back to my study. “She’s only gone and got a portfolio done for that friggin’ modelling agency.”

“Oh–that’ll please Suzanne Moore.”

“Who’s she?”

“Some woman who writes in the Guardian–not always terribly well–and we’ll have to get Sammi to become Brazilian–that would really make her day.”

“What are you on about?”

“Nothing–well something that happened in the Guardian and on Twitter last week culminating in an article by Julie Burchill in the Observer.”

“Not the Julie Burchill I’m thinking of, is it?” he said.

“Probably.”

“The poor working class, I’m a lesbian feminist one?”

“With the squeaky voice.”

“What the hell are you reading her for?”

“The headline of the article had transsexuals in it.”

“But she hates you lot, doesn’t she?”

“Just a little–like with her whole heart.”

“Well that’s lots then isn’t it?”

“No, her heart is tiny–but still twice the size of her brain and about a tenth the size of her mouth.”

He started to laugh. “So where is this here article?”

“Um–in the cat’s litter tray.”

He looked at me, then doubled up with a huge roaring laugh.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1921 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I had a word with Tom, who agreed I could build a large greenhouse in his garden, down towards the orchard. I next called Maureen and asked her if she could organise a large greenhouse. She promised to come the next day to discuss it with me.

Then I went and had words with Sammi, who was hiding from me. I knocked on her door and entered. “Oh, it’s you, Mummy,” she blushed.

“Who were you expecting?”

“No one, well, I wondered if Jules might come by.”

“You know why I’ve come?”

“I can guess.”

“Why did you do the photos?”

“I wanted to.”

“And you kept the initiative?”

“Yeah–as much as you did.”

“Sammi, the tabloids were going to publish something about me anyway. I went to the BBC because I had a friend there and maintained some degree of editorial control, and it went out live. All you’ve done is to do exactly as they wanted.”

“They said I could make a fortune.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll receive one, and it’s all speculative. The bank was paying you rather well, so you’d make a nice living there with no exposure, and I suspect you’d get a chance to finish your degree.”

“I’d be thirty by then.”

“So? It’s hardly old, is it?”

“It is to me.”

“So when are you going to resign your job?”

“Not until they offer me a contract.”

“I see, so if they do, you’ll just chuck in your job with Simon and the bank.”

“It’s the chance of a lifetime–admit it.”

“That would depend upon what your ambition was. Personally, posing in front of a camera except to educate while making films, is not my idea of fun, especially not wearing ridiculous outfits.”

“Yeah, well you don’t need to–you’re rich enough, and you’re famous.”

“Famous? For what, juggling a dormouse down my blouse–that’s hardly a credible form of celebrity, is it?”

“You’ve done all sorts of things, including making a film and catching crooks, fighting the mafia. You’re a celebrity.”

“I don’t see it like that. Okay, my film could be seen as a bit of exhibitionism, but I didn’t want to do that–the presentation bit–I was talked into it.”

“You were brilliant–so sexy.”

“I had no intention of appearing sexy, Sammi, I’m a married woman with umpteen kids and a very important husband.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I think you’re making a big mistake–the computer security is far more important than being pawed at by grubby old men and sticky fingered kids.”

“I won’t be touched by grubby old men.”

“Once your photos are in the public domain you have no control over what happens to them.”

“Well Andre Pejic seems to be okay?”

“Perhaps he enjoys his work, I thought you did.”

“Modelling would be more exciting.”

“What, hanging around for hours while some dick head designer works out what stupid makeup and clothing, or lack of, he wants you to exhibit? Exciting? I’ll stick to my dormice.”

“Well, I’m going to give it a go.”

“If you do, then I think you’re making a big mistake, and it will disappoint Simon very greatly.”

“I’m sorry, but I feel it’s my destiny.”

“To make a fool of yourself.”

“I think it’s the right thing to do.”

“I think you’re wrong. You’ll be welcome here unless I believe you’re using any drugs. If I suspect you of that, I’m afraid you’ll no longer be welcome.”

Her expression showed shock at that statement. I got up and left. I have no tolerance of recreational drugs and said so. I would also know as soon as she entered the house if she’d been using them.

“Where’ve you been?” asked Simon.

“Talking with Sammi, the little fool.”

“So you didn’t convince her?”

“No, it’s her destiny, apparently,” I made inverted comma marks with my fingers.

“Perhaps it is then.”

“Perhaps.”

“You lost it with her, didn’t you?”

“No, I just said if she used drugs, she wouldn’t be welcome here.”

“You can’t do that–she’s calling us her family.”

“I just did.”

“Cathy, you can’t do that–you’re almost daring her to do it, whereas she might not have even thought of it before. How could you?”

“The fashion world is full of stick thin kids who snort coke or take uppers to keep them thin and awake. If she couldn’t resist the pressure to get involved in modelling, how will she manage when the coke is being passed round, or some other recreational substance.”

“Won’t she need you more than ever then?”

“I don’t know. Simon, you gave her a chance to earn good money and follow her dreams with IT. She’s betrayed you.”

“No, she’s experimenting with her dreams–don’t all young women want to be models?”

“This one didn’t.”

“But you still became the bank’s pinup.”

“Not willingy.”

“Okay so you were different. Most other girls would give their eye teeth to make it as a model.”

“Why?”

“You’re the woman, you tell me. I expect because it reinforces their image of being sexy and attractive to others. It also can make loads of money and brings fame. They all want to be famous.”

“Until they realise they can’t walk down the street with the dog or to the shops without some paparazzo taking photos of them looking like shit warmed up.”

“Yeah, well, she’s young. She can’t see the full picture yet.”

“I’m not that much older than her, how come I can?”

“You’ve been around, kiddo, and you’ve already achieved your ambition of marrying me and having loads of babies.”

“Very funny.”

“I mean it–what did you want from life?”

“To be a woman and to–oh I don’t know–I hadn’t got beyond the first stage and it all happened around me.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Well then. Perhaps this is happening all around Sammi.”

“I still think she’s making a mistake.”

“Isn’t that what growing up is all about.”

“She’s twenty–she’s a young woman–not a kid.”

“She’s been a young woman five minutes–she’s seduced by the whole glamour thing.”

I’d never heard Simon sound so philosophical about any of the kids before. “What if it all goes wrong?”

“She’ll comes back to us and we hold her until she gets over it. Isn’t that what you taught me about having children?”

“Did I?” If I had, I’d obviously not read the lesson plan properly, because it had passed me by. “Okay, but I have a bad feeling about all this.”

“They have to be allowed to make mistakes, Cathy, that’s what life is all about, and if she makes a success of it, just think how proud you’ll feel of her?”

“I don’t know, Si, I just fear for her.”

“We’ll still be here to help her, with all the rest of the family, she’ll be okay.”

I wasn’t at all sure about it and I hoped my suspicions were unfounded, but there was this nagging doubt. Yeah, a very definite nagging doubt.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1922 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I intended to rise early with Simon and either speak with Sammi or just hug her, but I took forever going to sleep and thus slept until the radio woke me at seven. I suddenly realised that the bed was empty beside me and a quick trip to Sammi’s room meant she’d also left for work with Si. Their conversation on the train would be quite interesting to say the least.

I busied myself with rousing the rest of the troops and getting them to where they were supposed to be. By the time I’d got back from the school run and made myself a cuppa, I felt exhausted. Stella wanted to talk, but about nothing in particular. She does this every now and again, just waste time by chattering about gossip or nothing. I get bored stiff, but even yawning doesn’t shut her up once she’s in gossip mode.

She went on about several people I’d never heard of, who it transpired were either celebrity cooks or equally vacuous individuals who’d appeared on Big Brother or some other reality show. I find the use of the term reality has to be ironic because most of them are about as real as the shroud of Turin. Either that, or my sense of reality must be different to theirs.

I know the school of thought which says each of us has a different form of reality, which seems to make comprehensible how humans can do all sorts of spiteful deeds while pronouncing their god said they could do it or even instructed them to do it. Whereas, I accept responsibility for all the nasty things I say or do, I don’t need to blame sky pixies.

“Sammi is probably going to try modelling,” I said interrupting Stella’s flow.

“That seemed obvious from dinner last night.”

“Oh, did it?”

“She’d make a good model, she’s pretty, she’s skinny, and quite tall.”

“And has big feet.”

“Has she, I hadn’t noticed.” My goodness, Stella was slipping.

“I still don’t approve.”

“So I see, you’re positively bristling.”

“Can one bristle positively?” I asked.

She shook her head, “Cathy, c’mon, get it all out–let’s sort it.”

I shrugged, “I don’t think there’s much to sort. She wants to do it, I don’t, because I can see the consequences.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes of course. I don’t want her to become so famous she can’t go to the local shops, and I certainly don’t want her becoming disillusioned with the so called ‘beautiful people’ and end up doing drink or drugs.”

“She won’t if you support her.”

“How can I support her–I’m here she could be anywhere in the world. How will she cope with them finding out she’s transgender?”

“Well those who are seem to cope, don’t they, and the androgynous ones as well–who’s that beautiful boy who did the bra advert?”

“Andrej Pejic.”

“Well he’s more girl than boy, if you ask me.”

“He might well be, Stella, but he isn’t a member of my family.”

“Are you jealous of Sammi?”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“Well she’s like a model.”

“Stel, I don’t want to be a model, I’m content with my lot in life, except when one of the kids does stupid things.”

“Is it stupid.”

“It’s a very predatory world–the fashion industry–where young people are sucked in by the surface glitz, sucked dry of their virginity and youth, and cast out onto the streets with drink or drug problems.”

“Are they? Wouldn’t the authorities be taking an interest if that were the case?”

“How do I know–all I know is that for every one who makes it–hundreds don’t.”

“In which case won’t she back with her tail between her legs pretty sharpish?”

“Possibly, but will the bank still want to use her? Simon went out on a limb to employ her, she’s earning a huge salary for a kid. Isn’t this betrayal of his kindness?”

“Has he said so?”

“No.”

“Perhaps it’s only you who thinks of it that way, Cathy.”

I stopped for a moment, maybe she was right and I was overreacting.

“Your impulse to protect is very laudable, but in order to become a princess you have to kiss a few frogs.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, experience is what we call our mistakes.”

“Thank you, Oscar Wilde.”

I blushed, “I didn’t claim it was original.”

“Good job, it would be difficult to defend a law suit for plagiarism against a man who’s been dead for the best part of a hundred years–I mean imagine the smell if they brought him in to testify?”

“Stella, have you taken your tablets this morning?”

“Of course, why?”

“Just asking.”

“So, should I buy the blue shoes or the red ones?” She adeptly switched the conversation.

“I thought you had red and blue shoes.”

“Cathy, I knew you weren’t listening...”

“Yes I was.”

“Well how come you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“I–er–don’t know.” I blushed again.

“The topic was Puddin’ and should I buy her red or blue shoes?”

“Why don’t you buy both–it’s not as if you can’t afford it?”

“I could do–well done, girl–youse solved me problems.”

“Fine–so perhaps you could solve mine.”

“Which one is it this time?”

“Sammi–duh–I told you, the modelling.”

“Oh that? Let her do it, pick up the pieces afterwards, kiss her better and send her back to work with Si.”

“You don’t think she has what it takes, then?”

“No–she has what it takes, except in poise and gesture.”

“So she doesn’t then?” My heart felt lighter.

“They can teach them that–do you honestly think those floosies that strut their stuff do it naturally–they’re taught.” My heart dropped like a stone.

“I don’t want Sammi to become a floosie,” I said, feeling tears running down my face.

“Oh, Cathy–she won’t–you wait and see, she won’t. These modelling courses cost a fortune, so you know she won’t be able to afford it. See, when you look at these things with several pairs of eyes, they are never as insoluble as you think at first.”

I took heart from that and managed to keep going through the day collecting the girls and even doing a bit of lesson planning.

Tom was first home of the adults and he pecked me on the cheek. Next was Julie who’d had her hair cut very short–it suited her but I didn’t like it. Sadly my expression couldn’t hide my feelings and she went off in tears. Finally, Si came home.

“Where’s Sammi?” I enquired of him.

“Gone to modelling classes.”

“What?” I gasped.

“You heard, woman.”

“How can she afford that–they cost an arm and a leg?”

“Um,” he blushed.

“You paid for them, didn’t you?”

“She was due a bonus.”

I nearly fell over backwards. “Si, how could you?”

“How else is she supposed to have a chance of succeeding in something she wants to do?”

I felt sick–did no one see the dangers? Was I the proverbial voice in the wilderness? I went down to my study and shut the door–I needed to think. Was it just me or was the rest of the planet blind as well as stupid?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1923 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I went and made my peace with Julie. “You don’t like it, do you?” she said, pointing to her hair.

“It was a bit of a surprise, that’s all.” That bit was true.

“You think it makes me look like a boy, don’t you?”

I studied her for a moment. “Actually, it doesn’t–it’s quite a good cut, and the bit falling over your left eye does soften it.” It would drive me mad, I can’t stand hair over my eyes.

“So what d’you think?”

“It’s okay, let me get used to it before I say any more.”

She shrugged, “Okay, did I hear Daddy come in?”

“Yes, go and see what he thinks.”

“Oh I already know he won’t like it.”

“How can you say that?”

“I can just see him now, ‘What the hell have you done to your hair?’” We both chuckled as she pretended to talk in a deep voice. Despite this she took the plunge and went downstairs where Simon was reading something.

“Hi, Daddy,” she pecked him on the cheek for which he bent his head down.

“Hi Sweetie,” was all he said, and she rolled her eyes at me and we both began to laugh.

“What’s so funny,” Simon looked up from his letter.

“Nothing,” I shrugged and he looked at me strangely.

Julie was still chuckling and he looked at her. “Okay, what is so–what the hell have you done to your hair?”

“Spot on–verbatim,” I said, and chuckled again. Julie of course, also laughed.

“What is so funny?” He was looking bewildered to say the least.

“Julie predicted what you’d say, word for word.”

“Oh, I’m that predictable–am I?”

“Sometimes.” I tried to soften the joke.

“Look at this stupid thing–they want me to go on jury service.” He waved the letter at me.

“Can’t you decline or defer?” I offered.

“Done that before. I mean they say they compensate for lost income–if I ask them for ten thousand pounds for each day–d’you think they’d pay me?”

“A tenner, perhaps.” I laughed.

“It’s not funny–that’s what I’m worth.”

“Si, that would make you worth–let me see three six five times ten–three million six hundred and fifty thousand–you don’t earn that much–do you?”

“Yes. Now d’you see my problem?”

“Bloody hell, Simon–that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s the going rate–when I was doing commodities I could make that in a bonus.”

These amounts were like something from an astronomical calculation. No wonder Stella had few qualms about spending it.

“You look surprised,” he said, presumably looking at my jaw touching the floor.

“Uh huh,” I said nodding.

“Mind you, I pay loads of tax on it.”

“So you should–proportionally, a hospital porter pays more of his income in tax than you do.” I was now in Guardian reader mode.

“That depends upon how you do the calculation, seeing as I pay more tax a month than he earns in a year.”

“He pays twenty percent VAT on everything the same as you do, but with far less to start with.”

“Yeah, that bit is not nice–but that’s the Tories for you, tax the poor to feed the rich.”

“And you happen to be a beneficiary of it?”

“Yeah–I know, a champagne socialist–but someone’s gorra do it.”

“I will, Daddy–can I have a new car?”

“What’s wrong with the old one?”

“Nuthin’ why?”

“No you can’t have a new one.”

“Meanie,” she said and left the room.

“Yep, that’s me, Miser Cameron, my ancestry showing.”

“That is total tosh and you know it.”

“Course I do. I don’t see why I’ve got to buy her a new car though. If she thinks all she has to do is ask for anything she wants, where’s the incentive to work for it? I work damned hard for my money.”

“I know, darling, but wait till she finds out that Sammi’s got modelling lessons.”

“She’s too short to be a model, and too curvy–unless she does glamour modelling.”

“Over my dead body,” I said with clenched teeth.

“Quite.”

“Want me to tell you how much you earn a minute, Daddy?” said Trish entering the room.

“Not really,” I said for him.

“It’s more than I get for pocket money.”

“Tough–you get enough, missy,” I challenged.

“Yeah, but Daddy makes six point nine four four recurring pounds a minute. I get five pounds a week.”

“That’s before tax.” I sighed.

“I don’t pay tax, do I?” she queried.

“I meant Daddy.”

Simon looked rather sad, “I thought I earned more than that.”

“You do, darling, she just divided everything by twenty four and then by sixty. You don’t work twenty four hours, do you?”

“Some days it feels like it.”

“I’m sure it does, especially with the euro-crisis.”

“Oh that blessed thing.”

“Have you seen Julie’s hair?” asked Livvie entering the arena.

“Yes, we have,” I replied.

“Well I haven’t,” pouted Trish.

“It’s well kewl, she’s had it cut short,” and with that Livvie and the human calculator went to see their big sister.

“Why is it everyone wants a bit of the action so long as it’s someone else’s money?”

“Not everyone, darling.” I hugged him and he kissed me.

“No, there’s an exception to every rule and you’re usually it.”

“Not always, sometimes I’m after your money as well.”

“Yeah, but for good reason–new clothes for the kids or food, or carpets or whatever.”

“I also still have your credit card,” I smiled.

“I know, and you’re a lot more restrained than my idiot sister.”

“If I needed lots of money, it would be for a good reason.”

“I know, babes, I trust you implicitly.”

“So, I need two hundred thousand by the end of the week.”

“Sure y’do.”

“I mean it, Si.”

“What for?”

“To stop someone suing me for much more.”

“What? Just what did you do to them.”

“Broke his jaw.”

“What?”

“And his arm.”

“How?”

“And his leg.”

“Why?”

“And most of his ribs.”

“When?”

“Yesterday he pushed in front of me at Tesco.”

“And you half killed him.”

“I’m sorry–he was rude when I told him off and raised his hand–so I let him have it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot? How can you forget beating someone half to death?”

“I was involved with Sammi and her modelling.”

“And he’s agreed to settle out of court?”

“Yeah, Tesco are a bit unsure what they’re going to do.”

“Did you speak to Dad?”

“Yeah, he said he’d see what he could do.”

“Two hundred grand–see if you can get him to accept instalments.”

“He won’t–they made that clear to me this morning.”

“Even I can’t just magic up a big sum like that.”

“I sold the S type.”

“You what?”

“I sold the old Jag.”

“Oh no, Cathy; how much did you get?”

“Five thousand.”

“Five?” he raised his voice, “She’s worth five times that if not ten.”

“I was in a hurry.”

“This is like a bad dream, Cathy.”

“That’s not the worst of it.”

“There’s more?” He sat down. “Let’s have it.”

I sat alongside him looking at the floor. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you might be crazy but I still love you.”

“So you’ll help me with the money?”

“Once I’ve involved our legal people to speak to his. What’s the other thing?”

“I tell lies to my husband.”

“Oh,” he paused, “like what?”

“Like that.”

“Eh?”

“I don’t need your money because none of that happened.”

“You mean, you didn’t sell the Jag?”

“Of course not.”

“Thank God for that.”

“What about the rest?”

“The money is replaceable, that car isn’t.”

“You’re not cross with me for winding you up?”

“Only if you had sold the Jag.”

I kissed him and hugged him but I didn’t understand him. It’s only an old banger, albeit one of some value and doubly so because of Mr Whitehead’s love of it. Seems like my hubby has the same passion for old cars.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1924 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So, what time do we expect Sammi back from this course?” I asked my husband, lover, partner, other half, umm–wossisname–oh yeah, damn I’ve forgotten it again.

“Friday evening.”

“What? She could be a drug addict by then.”

“Cathy, I think you might be acting a trifle hysterically.”

“Well they all smoke like chimneys, use cannabis and snort coke–all to stay thin and suppress their appetites.”

“I don’t think they all do it, but if one believes the stories in the press, it does seem some have drug or alcohol habits.”

“Alcohol is fattening, dope isn’t.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point but as we agreed the other night, she has to be allowed to make her own mistakes and deal with the consequences.”

“You said it was our job to help her deal with the consequences.”

“Yeah, but we give her a chance to deal with them first or at least realise there are some. Most of the kids of today have had it too easy.”

“I’m not sure you could say that about anyone who’s gender dysphoric.”

“Okay, but you know what I mean–let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only half past eight, Simon, Danny and Julie are still watching the telly.”

“So–providing they switch it off–does it matter?”

“Yes, Danny has to go to school and Julie has to work tomorrow.”

“Okay, wait here.” He walked off to the lounge, “Don’t be late to bed–you, young lady, have to work and–you, sunshine, have school.”

I heard the muttered response. Simon reappeared and we went up to bed.

“Where is Sammi staying while she does this course?”

“It includes accommodation–they do it in some central London hotel.”

“I don’t like this one bit.”

“Cathy, for goodness sake, she’s been away at university–she can cope–she’s a big girl now.”

“No she isn’t, she’s a novice.”

“Oh well, she’ll get some benefit out of the course then won’t she, even if she doesn’t do modelling afterwards.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic, although I felt uneasy about his subject. We went to bed but I couldn’t relax enough to let him have his wicked way–in the end I relieved him, and then went off to wash my hands. He went off to sleep a short while later and I lay there trying to send a covering of light to my absent and wilful daughter.

I think I fell asleep because Simon sneezed loudly and woke me up–he was still asleep. I hope it was Si who sneezed–can you sneeze whilst asleep? There was the sneeze again and Simon was fast asleep–it wasn’t him. Oh poo.

I slipped out of the bed and crept to the bedroom door, opening it almost silently. There was another sneeze and I pulled open the door and Danny who was wiping his nose on a tissue almost jumped into the air.

“It’s you who’s sneezing?”

“Yes, Mum, sorry, did I wake you?”

“Yes you did–what time d’you call this?”

“Midnight.”

I thought it was later than that. “Why are you so late?”

“The film was longer than we thought.”

“Get off to bed then, and no mucking about in the morning, you’ll need to be up and out.”

“Yeah, okay.” He went off to his bedroom up the next flight of stairs and I heard his door close quietly. I went for a wee while I was up and then back to bed. I now felt quite cold and was glad to cwtch with my lord and master–he’s like an electric blanket. I did finally go to sleep when I got warm, so half an hour or so later. Danny and Julie were predictably difficult to get up. Julie is an adult now, so she can stay up if she wants to–she doesn’t usually; but Danny is still a child despite his insistence that he isn’t. He tries too hard sometimes to be the man of the house when Simon is away. I do try to point out that Tom is still here and it is his house, but Danny is beginning to assert himself–so there will be a few battles to come with him and the girls.

He was now coughing as well as sneezing, and I did think about keeping him home but he had some test or other to do and was insistent about going. For a moment I did wonder if the right kid had come home last night.

They sent him home after lunch, well they phoned home and I went to get him and bring him home. He looked and sounded awful. I dosed him with lemon juice and honey in hot water and gave him some vitamin C pills to take, then sent him off to bed–he must have been ill, he didn’t protest.

When I got home with the girls, Trish dashed up to see if she could help him with her healing powers–I don’t know if she did, but the next day, he felt better and she had it–the cold I mean. I kept her home from school that day–which became a week and still she was quite rough and began running a temperature. At which point I gave her Calpol and called the doctor. He called by just before he went to his evening surgery.

He told me to carry on as I was but to keep an eye on her, and if she got any worse I was to start giving her the antibiotics he’d prescribed. That meant someone had to go to the pharmacy and get them. I got Jacquie to keep an eye on the lot of them while I dashed down to Boots and filled the prescription. If she didn’t improve in twenty four hours, I was to send for him again.

I moved her into the spare room to avoid giving it to the other girls, but she did and within a day, I had a houseful of patients, the work load of which doubled when Simon got it as well. Florence Nightingale I am not, more your Florence from the Magic Roundabout.

However, I kept going, and was the only one of the family not to catch it–I was taking zinc tablets and perhaps it was them which prevented me catching the bug–I suppose I’ll never know.

Sammi arrived home on the Friday evening which slightly surprised me. “How was the course?” I asked hoping to try and mend some fences.

“Oh don’t, Mummy, the first day there I went down with the Noro virus and was projectile vomiting everywhere.”

“Luvly,” I said. I must have done, I heard it quite clearly. “So you haven’t done the course then?”

“I did the first morning and you were quite right, Mummy, I hated it.”

“Sometimes I know best,” I said and she nodded, what she didn’t hear was me adding under my breath, ‘and sometimes I’m as lost as a sperm in a fallopian tube.’

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1925 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“What’s been happening here?” Sammi asked me.

“I’ve been nursing all of them with some sort of cold virus, they’ve all been coughing and sneezing.”

“But you didn’t get it?”

“No, I reckon my antivirus program must be working.”

“Yeah,” she paused then looked at me, “What are you on about?”

“The antivirus program, it seems to be working, I put the box over my head when I look after the others and so far I haven’t caught it.”

She looked at me in astonishment. “You are absolutely bonkers, Mummy.”

“You noticed, perhaps I need to put the box on my head again.”

She roared with laughter and we hugged when she’d finished. “I missed you an’ Dad’s humour.”

“What like a hole in the head?”

“No, seriously...”

“How can you have serious humour?” I interjected.

“Muuuum, please let me finish. All of the tutors and their sycophantic helpers were so far up their own arses, that I knew I’d made a mistake within an hour or two. We had lunch and I was taken ill. I went back to the hotel and stayed there, sleeping when I wasn’t upchucking. Then the last day or so, I did some work on my laptop for an idea I’d had about one of the bank’s security software–I think it closes a potential weakness in the access codes, but I’ll need to speak to my boss about it. I’ve been using Python 3, it’s quite good for solving problems.”

“Can’t say I know much about herpetology.”

“What? Herpes? What are you on about?”

“Reptiles, I do mammals remember–know very little about pythons–they had one at uni they called Monty, for obvious reasons–until she laid some eggs.”

“Python is a programming language.”

“Oh, I thought you were talking about snakes.”

“No–I can’t stand snakes–all slimy and horrible.”

“Um–actually they’re not at all slimy, they can have quite rough skins in places, but they’re dry unless they’ve been swimming.”

“Swimming? I thought they wriggled along the ground?”

“Some do, some swim in ponds and ditches like grass snakes, and some swim very well, such as sea snakes which are very venomous.”

“I don’t think I’ll go swimming in the sea again–there isn’t a swimming pool snake is there?”

“Apart from the trouser variety and they tend to shrivel up in the chlorinated water.”

“There’s a trouser snake? Why do they call it that, it doesn’t climb up people’s trouser legs does it?”

“Why don’t you look it up?” I said trying not to smirk. Like Trish, this kid is very bright, but so uninformed at times it’s hard to believe she can tie her shoelaces.

“Anything to eat? I’m starved.”

“I could do you a jacket spud.”

“Brilliant, I’ll go and change.” She went upstairs and I went out into the kitchen, where David and Ingrid had gone early–they were having a day off tomorrow and as no one was very hungry, I sent them off early. It didn’t take me more than a couple of minutes to pop a large spud in the microwave and zap it. While it was cooking I go out the pack of grated cheese and when the pinger went, I checked the potato was cooked and cut it open, dropped in a knob of butter and then sprinkled the cheese into the gash. I finished it off with some salad garnish and a couple of cherry tomatoes. Sammi came down as I placed it on the table.

“Oh that is great, thanks, Mummy. Have we any pickle?”

I handed her the large jar of Branston and asked if she wanted some tea. Her mouth was busy munching Maris Piper, so she nodded. I switched the kettle on.

Over a mug of tea we chatted about her life in general. She was mostly happy but part of her had wanted to show she could be just as beautiful as bio women, and just as sexy. As usual, it’s this deep streak of inferiority we have about our pedigrees. I know I do it–you must all be aware of it as well–I’ve documented it often enough. Despite my own inadequacies in dealing with it, I tried to suggest that Sammi was every bit as lovely as most other pretty women and didn’t need to overcompensate on the sexy or beautiful bit.

“It’s alright for you, Mummy–you are female and beautiful with it.”

“I’m female–but only because I said I was and the gender panel agreed with me.”

“But you look so natural, and the breast feeding–I mean–you’re a woman, everybody knows it.”

“I’m sure they think the same about you.”

“I had some guy rubbing my bum on the tube the other night.”

I felt angry about this. “What did you do?”

“I moved my computer bag rather sharply and his eyes watered. He moved along a bit afterwards. One of the other women said 'Well done' to me, he was pestering her before.”

“How did you know it was him?”

“The trouser snake gave him away.” She blushed.

“Ah, so you looked it up.”

“Yes, I must be so dumb–I mean it’s obvious.”

“So was I. I remember being at a party and they all thought I was a girl.”

“You are.”

“Yeah, well back then I was wearing jeans and polo shirt.”

“Oh, see–even when you weren’t trying, your femininity shone through.”

“It was my long hair, I expect. I got it cut to go to uni but immediately started growing it again.”

“It is very lovely hair, Mummy.”

I shrugged–it was nice and thick I suppose and grew like wildfire. But you tend to take things for granted when they were ever thus. “Anyway, this guy had me practically cornered and it was a few minutes before I realised he was chatting me up.”

She smirked, “It’s not just me then?”

“No. I couldn’t get away and he said, ‘Have you seen my impression of a one eared elephant?’ I had no idea what he was on about, so I shook my head. With that he pulled one of his trouser pockets inside out and started to undo his flies. I understood then and before he could expose himself–whether he would have done or not, I have my doubts–that he’d embarrassed what he thought was a young woman, meant he’d achieved his aim. I left the party moments later.”

“A one eared elephant? I don’t get it, Mummy.”

I couldn’t believe it, no one could be that naíve could they? It appeared they could be. I stood in front of her. “Pretend I’m a bloke–okay?” She nodded. I pulled out my jeans pocket.

“Yeah, where’s the elephant?”

“It’s coming, this is the ear, okay?”

“Okay,” she still looked bemused.

I unzipped my flies, and pretended to fish about in my knickers to pull something out and the penny dropped.

“Oh shit, that is just so unfunny,” she blushed smirking.

“My feelings entirely.”

“You didn’t meet the guy again?”

“Yeah, he didn’t recognise me, he was pretty well three parts to the wind at the party. Besides, he only taught me for a term.”

“He was a lecturer?”

“Yeah, in biochemistry. He got some girl on his main course pregnant and her parents made such a fuss, he resigned and went abroad somewhere–Canada or Australia–can’t remember.”

“What a twat?”

I nodded, but the world is full of them, so avoiding them is sometimes difficult.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1926 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“The forecast doesn’t look good for tonight,” I said to Simon when we woke up.

“What, more rain?”

“No, the dreaded white stuff.”

“Oh–at least they get to use the sleds we bought, was it last year?”

“I think we’ve bought some every year–they’ve all got one, the girls and Danny, that is.”

“Why d’you want one as well, then?” he asked and nearly fell out of bed.

“No thank you.”

“We could call up Bath University and you could see if they had a spare dinner plate.”

“What?” I asked sitting up.

“That thing the girl won the medal for in the Winter Olympics.”

“I think it’s called a luge.”

“Yeah, about the size of a dinner plate.” He lifted the duvet and pretended to look at my bum. “Might need one of those they use for carrying a turkey.”

“Eh?”

“Your arse is bigger than hers.”

“Oh thank you, Si, that really helps my self esteem. I don’t go round telling you to buy maternity wear, do I?”

“Men don’t need it, we just go up a size in pants.”

“Huh, I’m in danger of crush injuries if we ever make love again, assuming little Simon can actually reach me.”

“I think I can guarantee that–wanna check, just in case?”

“I don’t think so, thank you, I’ve got to get up and get the kids to school.” It was certainly colder and I thought back to the previous snow episodes, when people had got hurt. Perhaps if I stayed away from the sled runs, it would mean no one got hurt. Or if they did, at least I couldn’t be accused of causing it or sorting it.”

“If we have snow tonight, will you take them out to play with their sleds tomorrow?”

“If I can’t get in to work, I suppose I could. Years ago I’d have taken my sleeping bag and a rucksack full of food and spare clothes to work. Now I’d prefer to come home to my wife and kids.”

“I hope that’s because you miss us, rather than you don’t fancy sleeping on the office floor.”

“I’ve got a bed settee in my office, I don’t need to sleep on the floor.”

“When did you get that?”

“After I slept on the floor last time.”

“Is this a bit of age showing up?”

“No, I just decided I wasn’t going to rough it any longer.”

“Can’t say I blame you, I gave up camping for the same sort of reasons. I’d prefer to sleep in a proper bed with a bathroom nearby.”

“Oh well with four of them and a cloak room here you should be able to find one at night.”

I found one and went to shower after a wee. I dried my hair and dressed then roused the girls. While they were showering, they know what to do now, I just check now and again; I got Danny and Julie up. It was only when Sammi poked her head out of her room and said, “Mummy, it’s Saturday.”

“Is it?” I went back to our radio controlled clock and she was right. They were all up now, and Julie had to go to work anyway. She gets well paid for working a Saturday and she appears to be a popular stylist.

David had ordered loads of stuff from Tesco online and they would deliver it later on. The girls were too awake to go back to bed so I decided we’d have a quick look round the remains of the sales. They each had some money to spend from Christmas, so they got quite excited about spending it.

We had breakfast, and wrapping up warm, and taking Catherine with us, we went off to see what the shops had to offer. By lunch time I’d seen nothing I wanted or fancied. The girls had seen plenty and it was only by some clever management that I persuaded them not to part with their precious pounds in return for rubbish.

Finally they did buy something each, but it was better quality than the things they’d looked at earlier. Coming back through M&S I spotted a pair of ankle boots which looked quite good and the price was excellent–so I bought them and some underpants for Simon, Danny and Tom. They were all reduced in price, so I felt they were a good buy.

Simon, we discovered, when we got home had taken Danny to see Southampton play Spurs or some other big club. I suspect it was expensive, football is–people paying fifty or sixty pounds a ticket for premiership league matches. I didn’t think Bristol Rovers or City were likely to get themselves promoted but I think near neighbours Cardiff were leading the championship league by ten points or something like it. So they’d have a good chance of promotion if they could keep it up.

For those who don’t have much idea of the British football league, there’s the Premiership with the massive clubs like Manchester United, Spurs, Chelsea, Arsenal and so on. Next comes the Championship, with teams like Cardiff aspiring to be promoted to the Premiership. Below that is League One, two and three, and below that various semi-pro or non-league teams. Football is very popular still in this country, even though I tend not to watch it.

David had received and put away the shopping and had also bought a pile of meat from a local butcher, so the big freezers were also full–we have one in the basement and one in the utility room. Given the number of occupants of this habitation, we need to bulk purchase. We also have two large fridges–I mean large–like they have in restaurants, so we can store quite a lot of food. Just as well if it’s going to snow.

David had also started making bread the old fashioned way. Okay, it’s probably nicer than even the bread machine makes but it also takes a long time, proving the dough and everything, which the machine does for you while you do other things.

He usually does it when he’s spending a long time in the kitchen and can then knock out a few loaves, which don’t last long in this house.

Ingrid was busy in their shared cottages, cleaning or something, or she might have been spending time with Hannah, who comes over and plays with the girls sometimes, or she gets one or two friends from her school to come and visit her. She’s one I don’t have to pay to educate.

Did I mention we were going Europe wide with the survey. This didn’t mean I had to visit individual countries because they were doing the same as we’d been doing here, but individually. However, they all fed their results into our study and one of our clever IT people wrote a program which could number crunch huge totals. So we’d be able to produce a Euro-survey result, which was quite exciting. I was especially excited to see dormice results on the continent, which really encouraged me to want to go mousing over there.

The boys came back from their footie game and Simon came to see what I was doing. I had all sorts of printouts and graphs all over my desk and the floor. “What’s all this?” he asked looking at a couple of papers he picked up.

“Careful, you’ll mix them up.”

“Aren’t they collated?”

“Some bits are, we’ve only just got the graph and maps sorted.”

“Sammi,” he called and she loped into the room–she has very long legs–no wonder they wanted her as a model.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Can you collate all this stuff for your mother?”

“Depends upon what’s wanted.” We sat and discussed it and in the end we had two systems running, one which showed comparisons across Europe of individual species and a volume for each country which had taken part.

It took her most of the evening and all of Sunday to organise, but before I went to bed on the Sunday evening, I had twenty five books of reports and statistics and a memory stick of the total survey. It was huge–the data not the stick–well it was thirty two gigs.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1927 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The snow didn’t last long for which I was grateful, although we’re not out of the woods yet as there could be more about, though being close to the sea usually means it doesn’t last.

I got the girls to school and went to see Pippa. We had to organise either a conference or a virtual conference to share the data we’d collected and hopefully processed. Tom was free from mid morning so the two of us went to see him.

“A conference wuld be guid, efter thae exams in thae summer.”

“I’ll circulate the data we’ve got. Aren’t we too close to the summer to organise a conference–they’re usually organised years before.”

“No fa somthin’ as specific as this–we culd use thae biology lecture theatres an’ a few either rooms, ask yer pa in law if ye culd use his hotel.”

“I suspect it would be booked by now but I’ll ask him. Couldn’t we do the whole thing there?”

“Aye, but it wid be cheaper tae dae it at thae university, I wonder if we’ve got a hall of residence available fa delegates.”

I shrugged, he asked Pippa to organise the enquiry and told me to work on possible timetables. It would have to be a weekend one. Wonderful–just what I needed to do. I went down to my office and began brainstorming. Pippa rang an hour later, “I’ve provisionally booked the bio block and hall of residence.”

“What about meals, there’s no canteen there?”

“We can use the main student cafeteria. We’re looking at Friday afternoon and evening, a dinner on Saturday as well as brekkies and lunch, Sunday brekkies and lunch and send ’em off home. Tom suggests the major attenders will be British from the unis who’ve helped. He suggested we limit the numbers to a hundred, and we’ll need a guest speaker on the Saturday and a disco for afterwards plus a bar.”

“A guest speaker with six months to go, what date?”

“Twenty ninth of June.”

“Who does he suggest?”

“You.”

“Very funny–who does he suggest really?”

“You–he thinks you should do your outtakes talk.”

“I hope he’s joking, we’re talking about the most celebrated mammalian zoologists in Europe, not some fund raiser for the local school.”

“I think he knows that, but he told me for you to think about upgrading your talk for them.”

“I’d rather see if the Attenborough was available.”

“He isn’t, Tom tried him earlier.”

“What about the minister for wildlife?”

“Would you want to listen to a politician?”

“Not really.”

“Well then, neither will your colleagues.”

“Tell him I’ll speak to him later.”

“Oh he also said that you’ll be expected to present a paper on the British experience of running the survey.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“Sit and listen to your presentation of it, I think.”

“Shit–I’ve already got enough to do without having to write a paper as well.”

“Yeah, well think about me, I’ve got to circulate two hundred universities in twenty five countries and organise the accommodation and deal with a system of registration and so on. I’ve also got to cost it with Tom and tell people there are only a hundred places.”

“We could probably fill that with...”

“Our English dead?” she laughed down the phone at me.

“Oh yes very good–I wonder if it would be easier looking for another job than doing this?”

“That had crossed my mind, too.”

“I wonder what they pay on the checkouts at Waitrose?” It had to be less stressful than working with Tom.

“Good idea, Batgirl,” came back a chuckled response.

“Batgirl? I’m dormouse woman, Batgirl indeed.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, DW. But back to the conference. Have you got the timetable done yet?”

“No–I’ll need to circulate the various contributors and ask for papers to be read.”

“I’ve drafted that already, what we wanted from you was when you wanted to speak, and do you think three papers a session is too much?”

“That would be nine papers altogether, six on Saturday and three on Sunday. I suppose I could do one on Saturday morning. We’ll need chairmen for each talk or session.”

“His lordship wants me, talk to you later, Cathy.”

“Pippa–I’ll ask Henry if he would open the conference on the Saturday, seeing as the bank contributed to the survey costs.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Who, Tom or Henry?” I asked, but she’d rung off. I felt wrung out

A bit later I was told to report to Tom’s office with my outline timetable. I did so and was told we were going to lunch at his usual place, and this included Pippa.

I had my usual tuna jacket with side salad, Pippa had a cheesy jacket and we all know what Tom had. We discussed the conference and Tom revealed he’d secured a few thousand from the university towards the running costs.

“Does that mean we get paid for working that weekend?” I asked him.

“Ye dinna, but Pippa will.”

Oh well, that was not unexpected, but it did mean we could organise a good bar and a decent disco for those who wanted to jiggle their dinners after being bored to death by my outtakes. Oh well, at least they’ll be able to see why I turned down the UN job.

We discussed the sort of papers we wanted for each session–usually you set a theme, so mine will be the experience of organising the survey, when I’ll tell all sorts of lies about how cooperative all my fellow academics were, and the support we received from the other agencies, professional and amateur–without saying how hard I lobbied them all to take part.

I’d also be able to explain how we drew up the distribution and density maps and some of the unexplained results–including the silly ones, liked the escaped hippo and the number of supposed panthers we have in England. I’ll have to scan some of the pictures sent me and hope they work with the projector.

In the end we decided each of the sessions would include a paper on running the survey, analysing the data and finally using the data to plan conservation programmes or lobby governments to do so. It would be a comprehensive programme, except for the entertainment on the Saturday evening. What was Tom thinking of.

I got the girls after school and was so glad David was there to do dinner. I felt exhausted. In fact we changed the format and I phoned several universities to ask individuals to present a paper of a certain kind. I was successful in finding eight other volunteers to do, so it isn’t just me, who’s daft. These were people I’d liaised with over the past year or two, mostly by email or phone call, but those who I thought would do the best job. Of course the papers would be presented in English, so at least I’d understand them–not sure about Tom–he rarely speaks the language these days.

After changing for dinner–I just had to get my work stuff off and into jeans and sweater–when I heard a lot of noise downstairs. The pack of hyenas commonly known as my daughters were teasing a solitary male lion, presumably before despatching him and feasting on his flesh–um perhaps not, partly due to my intervention.

“Okay what’s going on?” my approach is so original you have to admit.

“Danny’s got a girlfriend,” sang Trish, dancing round her brother. He sat there blushing and seemingly unable to move.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1928 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So, Danny’s got a girlfriend, what’s so unusual–some bloke in Japan married his mobile phone.”

They all thought that was even funnier than an adolescent boy being attracted to adolescent girls. They still had all that to come, and it would be interesting to see which sex, if any, they found attractive. All the girls flirt with their dad as one would expect, but that won’t necessarily mean they won’t prefer girls as their bed mates once they get a bit older. Pubescent girl often have crushes on other girls, then grow up to be heterosexual women, boys the same–have crushes on other boys then go on to date and marry girls. Life is about experimentation. Without wishing to seem repetitive, if you remember, I thought I was asexual, then seemingly awoke from my neutrality after a kiss from Kevin, to subsequently fall in love with Simon and in lust with several men since–although I’ve done nothing about it, nor intend to do so, unless something happened to Simon or we broke up for some reason.

In some ways it’s pathetic that I’m terrified that I’m not female enough for him because I can’t have babies; and he’s terrified that I’ll leave him for whatever reason he considers a threat this week. Actually, I’m the neurotic one, so perhaps that’s a bit of projection.

“Did some bloke really marry his mobile, Mum?” asked Danny.

“It was either that or his computer game, I can’t remember now.”

“Weird or what?” he said.

“Different cultures have different values. It wouldn’t be allowed here, one can only marry the opposite sex at the moment, although the government is looking to change that, but is making a total fudge of it.”

“I wike fudge,” Meems licked her lips.

“It isn’t just the sweet, Mima, it’s also a word which means a total mess, so that in the end nothing useful comes out of it.”

“The priest was saying that same sex marriage was an abomination in God’s eyes,” offered Livvie.

“I wonder how he knows that,” I said, thinking allowed.

“Priests have a direct line to God, Sister Theresa, said so,” Livvie continued.

“Is that why BT is always in such a mess?” I said and regretted it.

“They don’t use a phone, Mummy.” Trish seemed indignant.

“Pity, you could have got me the number and I could have complained about the weather.”

“Silly, Mummy.”

“So what’s this direct line thing then?” I asked wondering if any could explain this cliché, which the church hides behind so often.

“They pray,” suggested Livvie.

I decided not to change the spelling and ask if that was on children, but it would have been lost on them and somewhat biased. “So, you can pray as well. Don’t you have a direct line, too?”

“No,” Livvie replied, “God only talks to them.”

“Is that what they say?” I asked feeling an argument coming on.

“Yes,” agreed Trish.

“They are mistaken. If there is a god, and you all know I don’t think there is; but if there is one, he would talk to anyone who listened. Priests have long told these fairy tales that they held the only way to God, yet according to Jesus, only those who went through him could contact the father, and I believe if you pray to Jesus you are supposed to speak to him.”

I could see bewilderment spreading across their faces. “So were the priests lying?” asked Livvie looking very concerned.

“I hope they were just mistaken.”

“Me too,” added Trish, “I like to pray to Jesus when I’m by myself, and I think He listens to me.”

“I’m sure he does,” I agreed. I’m sure there are many of the priestly class who are genuinely decent people, but there are many who are not, either from their own bias or upbringing, where we become prisoners of our culture. The Catholic church acquired much of its power by claiming that anyone wanting to contact god had to use them or fail, which gave them a monopoly by dint of poor education and superstitious fear held by the population. Nowadays, radical evangelicals are using such power trips to incite hatred and fear in parts of Africa like Uganda.

“Can I have some fudge, Mummy?” asked Mima.

“I haven’t got any, Meems. I was using the term to describe the government’s attempt to bring the church into the twenty first century but it would rather remain in the medieval period, because it could control people’s lives.”

“I don’t think I’d want a same sex marriage,” observed Danny who had remained with us despite the teasing earlier.

“They’re not compulsory, but don’t you think that if two people love each other, regardless of their sex or gender, they should be allowed to state the commitment publicly by getting married?”

Danny had to think about that, “Yeah, course they should, after all who else’s business is it?”

“Bravo, young man, my thoughts entirely. And why should it be the concern of the church?”

“Because marriage is for the prostitution of children,” said Trish, “it says so in the Bible.”

“I think you mean procreation of children,” I corrected her.

“Wossat mean, Mummy?”

“In their eyes it’s all about making babies.”

“What–sex?” How is it that this young woman is so obsessed with sex–or is that me?

“Yes and no.”

“I thought babies were born after sex?” said Trish.

“Sometimes, but when Daddy and I got married we knew we couldn’t have babies, so does that mean we’re not married?”

“You’ve got us, Mummy,” Trish put her arm round my waist.

“I know that, darling, but we didn’t create you did we?”

“No,” she started to sniff, “Does that mean you’re not really married?”

“We are married and I don’t give a toss what it says in the Bible or Prayer Book. Your daddy and I love each other–that’s why we got married and I hope it’s why you all get married, rather than just to have children.”

“Why do they say it then?” asked Livvie who’d obviously been thinking hard about the topic.

“Because years ago, lots of children made the church very powerful. In places like South America, it still is and they still want people to have more babies even though they can’t really afford them.”

“Why?” asked Trish.

“Because–and this is my opinion–because they practice more politics than theology.”

“What’s the-wossit?”

“It’s the study of god.”

“So priests should do the-wossit not politics?” checked Trish.

“If they did, I’d have a bit more patience with them.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll say that to Fr Montiverdi.”

“I think you’d be better keeping it to yourself for the moment, sweetheart.”

“He doesn’t believe the Higgs boson is the god particle–big dummy.” Trish proclaimed and they all laughed. “He’ll have shock if he finds God is made of them,” she said and laughed even louder.

He won’t be the only one.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1929 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I rescued Danny from the pack of girls, asking him to come and reach me down some stuff from the pantry. None of the girls thought it odd, despite him being slightly shorter than I am.

“What d’you want lifted down?” he asked walking into the pantry.

“Nothing.”

“Eh? You said you did.”

“I just wanted a little chat.”

“About what?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“Oh that?” He blushed like an Aldis lamp.

“Yes, that; sit down.”

“I haven’t done anythin’ wrong,” he said denying in advance anything of which I might accuse him.

“I didn’t say you had.”

“Oh.” He still looked rather sheepish.

“Is it the girl from Morrison’s deli counter?”

“Um–no, she was too old for me.”

“I’m not entirely surprised.”

“So who’s the replacement?”

“Carly.”

“And how d’you know her?”

“She comes to watch the football matches.”

“To see you?”

“Not originally, like, she came to see her brother play.”

“And he’s a friend of yours?”

“Yeah, sorta.”

“And through him you met her?”

“Um–not quite, some prat on the other team kicked the ball into touch and it hit her, knocked her down. I went and picked her up.”

“Ah, the gallant knight on his white charger–I’m pleased to see the Age of Chivalry isn’t quite dead.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t it like that, you picked her up and she fell in love with you?”

“No, I picked her up and she began to beat me up.”

“Why?”

“She thought I kicked the ball, din’t she?”

“Oh–so how come you got to go out with her then?”

“Pete, her brother, played ’ell with her and I told ’im to stop. I also told him I quite fancied her and she told ’im to give me ’er mobile number.”

“How sweet, is she nice?”

“Yeah, well I think so.”

“Why don’t you bring her round?”

“Here?” his voice went up in pitch as well as volume.

“Where else?”

“With all you women about–no way.”

“The girls would probably like to get a look at her, and so would I for that matter.”

The look he gave me was not inviting. In fact, it was more one of the opposite, a dismissal. “No way, Mum.”

“That’s up to you, anyway, I hope I don’t need to remind you–no hanky panky.”

“Geez, Mum, I’m not stupid.”

“I know, Dan, but I’d be at fault if I didn’t remind you, wouldn’t I?”

“Was there anything else?”

“Which school does she go to?”

“The same one as me, unlike the nunnery, we have a mixed sex school. I’ve got homework to finish,” he said blushing and rose from the table. I knew he was telling fibs, but he’d had enough.

“Who’s his girlfriend?” asked Trish coming into the kitchen for a drink.

“Why don’t you ask him if you’re that interested?”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t know.” I got up and made her a drink, my back to her so she couldn’t see me blushing because I lied to her.

“Ha, so you don’t know everything, then?”

“I’ve never claimed to have done so, Trish,” that sounds more like you.

She took her drink and went back to her computer. As things were quiet, I changed and went over to the garage and spent half an hour on the turbo. Not my favourite form of entertainment, but it burnt off some energy and I hope a few calories when I got off on legs of jelly.

“Where’ve you been?” demanded Simon. The fact that I had cycling shorts and shoes on might have given him a clue.

“What’s it look like?”

“You’ve been out on your bike, it’s dark.”

“Yes I know, it’s something to do with the fact that the sun sank in the west a couple of hours ago–but don’t worry–I’m assured it’ll be back up again tomorrow.”

“What?”

“The sun, it rises every morning and...”

“I know.”

“I thought you might, even minimal observation would ensure that.”

“What are you on about woman?”

“The fact that you know the sun rises every day.”

He looked at me as if I was stark staring bonkers adding, “The kids were looking for you.”

“They do have another parent, allegedly.”

“Not one who can sew on a button.”

“Who’s pulled off a button?”

“Livvie.” He went out of the kitchen and called her. “Livvie, I’ve found your mother.” I wasn’t aware I was lost.

She marched into the kitchen, “Mummy–have you been out on a bike–it’s dark?”

“Yeah well, cyclists like to ride in the dark, it makes us harder to see.”

“But you always use all sorts of lights and stuff.”

“I was being ironic, Trish.”

“Ironic, moronic, ironic, moronic...” she chuntered to herself as she left with her drink.

“Please may I have a drink?” This time it was Livvie.

“Of course, darling, you know where it is.” I only got Trish hers because I was hiding from her.

“So did Danny tell what his girlfriend’s name is?”

“If you want to know so badly why don’t you ask Danny?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” she almost said in astonishment.

“So maybe that is telling you something.”

“How can it be telling me something if no one is telling me anything?”

“Livvie, just think about what I said.”

“I am, Mummy, and it isn’t meaning anything.”

“Sometimes what is said is more important in the way it’s said than the actual words.”

“That’s silly, Mummy.”

“Is it? If I said to you, please close the door, or said loudly, shut the door, would that tell you more than just asking you to close the door?”

“Yeah, it would probably say you were cross with me.”

“Not necessarily, it might just mean I needed you to do it quickly in case the baby got out or something else got in or possibly it was just cold. It could also mean you’d left the door open and I was a bit crabby. But can you see, the tone or pitch of what is said is as important as the words.”

“No I don’t.”

“You will when you're older.”

“Everything is when I’m older, why can’t I understand things or do things now?”

“You sound like Trish.”

“Well, we both feel we’re always too young to do anything we want to.”

“It’s possibly because you aren’t big enough to do things which require a grown up’s strength or size, or experience or just understanding. Our brains grow as well as our bodies, and that means we understand things better than when we’re young.”

“Huh, they always say that.”

“Going back to my example about closing the door, which one would make you close the door more quickly?”

“The cross one.”

“The loud one, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Which means you do understand, but not at a conscious level.”

“I know, cause I’m too young–bleh,” she flounced out of the kitchen and she still hadn’t shown me what the button had come off. I called her back and asked her what the button had come off and she went and got her coat and the button. I took it to my study and sewed it back on a few minutes later. I gave her back her coat and she checked the button.

“Thanks, Mummy, that was quick.”

“Yeah well, I’ve done it a few times over the years, and practice makes perfect–or in my case better. C’mon, bed time now...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1930 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The next day Danny came home from school asking if his friend, Pete, could come over at the weekend. “For the day?” I asked in clarification.

“Oh yeah, don’t wanna do sleepover things like girls do.”

“So you don’t want to paint your nails and watch DVDs or play spin the bottle?” I smirked as I teased him.

“Not bloody likely.”

“Please don’t swear.”

“Sorry, Mum,” he blushed, “but I wanted to emphasise the fact.”

“Okay, I’ll let you off this time. Is Pete going to stay for lunch?”

“Dunno, just thought we’d have a hang out, play some computer games on the Play station–ya know.”

“I didn’t know, which was why I asked you, but let me know in advance if you can, because David is off this weekend and I have to do the cooking. Which day did you think he’ll come?”

“Sattadee,” was what he said, Saturday is the correct spelling, but then all of them but Livvie and Meems (for obvious reasons) borrow books from the ‘li-bree’ and this remains the same however many times I tell them it’s library. Only Livvie says it properly. Language has got so slovenly in recent years, so much so that half the time you can’t understand what people are saying on the television or radio, because they have such strong accents.

“Right, I’ll expect to feed another mouth on Saturday. Let me know if there’s anything he doesn’t eat.”

“Yeah, ’kay.” He sloped off to his room.

So this is the boy whose sister he wants to date, or has done so a couple of times. I suppose they meet with their friends or find somewhere private and have a little fumble–young love. I found myself smirking at how embarrassed adolescents can get because they’re so self conscious. Then I remembered that I was even less experienced than he was.

At his age I was supposedly a boy, but didn’t feel like one and was so confused in where I thought life would go, I didn’t have time to think about boy or girl friends. In reality, I only had one friend in school and that was Siá¢n Griffiths. She, if you remember, was such a support during the days when Murray tried to get me either to leave or expelled for being a feminine boy. It didn’t conform with his map of the universe, but in those days–only fifteen or so years ago–if they’d sent me to the girl’s school, even as a punishment, there’d have been ructions of enormous proportions. They did send me once, and I had to play netball, at which I was a total disaster unlike Trish and Livvie.

So Siá¢n was my only friend, and she was a misfit as well, trying to sort out her sexuality but seeing my true gender. I don’t think she had many friends, although she was a very pretty girl and very intelligent–but that puts some people off. I was fairly bright, but had to work to get reasonable grades. She didn’t, it came easily to her, which was probably just as well if she was trying to work out what life was all about. For me, school work and then university was a way of avoiding thinking about such fundamentals and in the end I suppose we each arrived where we wanted to be, but by our own routes.

After dinner, I did some more work on the conference for Tom, which he approved. It was slowly coming together. A little bit more and I could go back to sorting my teaching schedules and lesson plans. Part of me wanted to get back to doing ecology again–my reputation for weirdness came from that teaching and my methods, which were sometimes unconventional. The first years who came in and were challenged to produce a process for the ecology of humans, went out I hope, feeling much more confident in understanding what ecology is. Some of the girls were upset I didn’t pull a dormouse out of the hat–but then I wasn’t wearing one.

The week went by, snow, rain and even some sunshine appeared and disappeared. It was worse elsewhere so I shouldn’t complain, except that wouldn’t be me, would it? I got wind of a series narrated by Professor Brian Cox, the particle physicist from Manchester University about the origins of life. He’s very anti creationist, so that should prove interesting–all I’ve heard so far is, ‘It’s all about the second law of thermodynamics.’ I’ll have to let Trish watch it so she can explain it to me.

On ‘Sattadee’, Pete, Danny’s pal turned up and he was a bit overawed by the house and the fact that I had two titles. Once the girls had given him the once over, a bean pole with freckles, they left him alone. He was polite and after we decided he’d call me, Dr Watts, he went off to play on Danny’s PS2.

“Is your mother a doctor then, I thought she worked at the university?”

“She does, she’s a scientific doctor–has a PhD.”

“Oh, she’s clever then, my mother works in Tesco–in the office,” he hastily added before they went out of earshot. I’m not a snob in that regard, people do what they can and there are plenty with degrees working at stacking shelves in supermarkets because there aren’t enough jobs to go round. I remember one of my mother’s friends who had a degree in ancient Hittite–hardly something which would get you a walk-in job. If anything, times are far harder now than they were for my parents–especially with this government setting it all up for a triple dip recession. Oh well we’ll have something to remember them for–all of it bad.

For lunch I did jacket potatoes and cheese with a salad garnish. There were one or two grumbles but it all disappeared, as did the egg custard tart I made for dessert. The boys finally went off for a bike ride and the girls I had doing some more sewing. Only Meems was really interested, although I know they have to do some needlework in school.

“I’m gonna be a scientist, why do I need to learn how to sew?” complained Trish.

“Because even rocket scientists need to know how to replace a button or stop their knicker elastic breaking.” The latter got a fit of giggles and it broke down the resentment Livvie and Trish had brought with them. “Also, I had to learn how to sew, so I think you should, too.”

“Who taught you, Mummy?”

“My mother,” I replied to Livvie’s question.

“Even though she thought you were a boy?”

“Mummy was nevva a boy,” declaimed Mima.

“I think she knew what I was really, and although my dad would have stopped her indulging it, she did so surreptitiously.”

“Wossat mean, Mummy?”

“Slyly, so my dad didn’t realise what she was doing. She pretended to be showing me bits of mending I might have to do at university, but when would that have involved making curtains or cutting out material to a pattern, or using a sewing machine?”

“She was teaching you how to be a girl, Mummy,” declared Trish.

“Not directly, because my dad would have intervened.”

“No, surrey-tipously,” she mangled the Queen’s English yet again.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1931 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Danny came home from his bike ride without his friend, who’d gone home. “Good day?” I asked him.

“Yeah, s’okay, I s’pose.”

“Your friend seemed a nice boy.”

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“Well I thought he was quite polite.”

“Yeah, he liked you too–thought you were sexy–his mum’s about ninety five.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Danny, if he’s the same age as you, the oldest she could be is about fifty and I suspect probably much younger.”

“Compared to you she looks so dowdy and old.”

“I probably have a better clothing allowance.”

“But you still have your hair cut nice and haven’t got as fat as loads of other parents have.”

“Sometimes that’s a matter of luck.”

“Yeah, if you’re lucky you won’t eat so much and become a pig.”

“I don’t like this conversation any longer.”

He simply shrugged and went up to his room.

Sunday, came and went. I watched Brian Cox’s documentary and enjoyed it. He was quite right, life is all about energy potentials and gradients–quite literally. Once they happen they produce the opportunity for the rest to happen–natural selection and evolution do the rest. The superstar geek got to visit umpteen different countries including the Philippines and Borneo. I think it helped to have some idea of chemistry and physics, especially the second law of thermodynamics which is about heat transfer and entropy reaching equilibrium if I recall, it’s a while since I did it. He maintains living organisms/systems take in pure high grade energy and give out heat, which is poor energy, however, we retain enough of the quality energy to replicate our DNA which only makes one mistake every billion characters–DNA being resistant to change under normal circumstances. All good stuff, he also demonstrated evolution by isolation of a lake in the Philippines where the golden jellyfish is found. It’s different to any other jellyfish because it has done away with its stinging tentacles and instead has absorbed algae which it then exposes to sunlight. The symbiotic relationship means the algae is exposed as much as possible to sunshine during the day, the jellyfish track the sun swimming into whatever light is available, and in return the algae produces glucose which the jellyfish needs to fuel it. Darwin would have loved it, I did.

Monday was back to the routine–Simon and Sammi went off to town to work–this after he brought the investment bank to Portsmouth, then gets saddled with running the retail arm. As I mentioned before, Phoebe went off to Neal who called her just before I was due to take her to college. He came and collected her and I called the college to explain why she wouldn’t be in.

She had some misgivings about going, not to the cemetery, rather to staying with Neal, especially now that Glo had a baby.

I got on with organising the dinner. I was doing a huge cottage pie and had half a ton of potatoes boiling, having spent ages peeling them. While they were boiling, I cooked the mince with mushrooms and onions and plenty of garlic, which I adore in savoury food. It’s supposed to have all sorts of medicinal properties but I just like the taste. I don’t drown the food in it, but I doubt the local vampire would want to eat it.

Over the next half an hour I mashed, then creamed the potato, then tipping the mince out into a large baking tin, I spread the potato on top of it, added some sliced tomato and put it in the oven to brown the top. It would have about twenty minutes. Then I’d dish up about twenty portions some of which would go into plastic tubs for the freezer.

I’d feed the kids when Julie came home, but would wait for Simon, Sammi and Tom before I had mine. While the pie was browning, I heated a whole kilo bag of frozen peas. We cook on an industrial scale.

As soon as Julie had arrived and changed, I began dishing up and the stampede to the table began. It was quiet while they ate, but only Julie asked why I wasn’t eating and when I explained, she nodded. “I coulda waited.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Where’s Phoebe?” she asked.

“Gone to Neal’s for a couple of days.”

“She coulda said.”

“I think it was all a bit short notice.”

She looked at me as if I wasn’t telling her everything. I wasn’t.

“What’s she gone for?”

“I told you a couple of days.”

“Why?”

“They were having some sort of headstone put up for their mother.”

“Cor, that’s taken a long time.”

“I believe it does. Anyway, they were driving up to Salisbury with Glo and dedicating the headstone or whatever people do.”

“Okay, mind if I watch some telly.”

Simon and Sammi arrived almost simultaneously with Tom. He’d been in a meeting all afternoon, whereas I’d knocked off in time to collect the girls. I pulled out the plated portions of cottage pie and added peas to them. We’d just settled down to eat when I saw headlights in the drive and a minute later Phoebe came in, she looked upset. I put my meal back in the slow oven.

“Problems?” I asked and we went down to my study.

“Neal is a pig and Gloria and that bloody piglet just got up my nose, so I came home–is that all right?”

“Of course–have you eaten?”

“Um–not since lunch time.”

“C’mon, I’ve got some spare cottage pie if Simon hasn’t eaten it all.” Fortunately he hadn’t, but only because his mobile went off as he finished his first trawl of the food. I rescued my own plate before it dried up after dishing up some for Phoebe.

“Where’s Jacquie?” she asked looking round the table.

“She’s gone off on a course–I finally managed to talk her into going.”

“What’s she doing?”

“She’s doing an intensive access course at Salisbury.”

“I didn’t know they even did them.”

“Yeah, she’ll be tied up for about two weeks if she can stick the pace.”

“I sometimes wonder if I’d have been better off going back and doing my A levels.”

“I did try to persuade you to do just that.”

“I know, it’s too late for this year so I might as well stay where I am–at least I’ll have a fallback position.”

“And you’ll be sure if you do go back that it’s what you really want to do.”

“Yeah, I s’pose. Sometimes I think I’d like to study something completely different like biology.”

“Better get mugged up on the second law of thermodynamics then.”

“I said biology not physics.” She sounded a bit irritated.

“Absolutely–I recorded Brian Cox’s programme last night–I think you’d be advised to watch it, it’s about the building blocks of life.”

“Yeah, what has that to do with thermal dynamos?” The misquote was quite deliberate and designed to provoke me.

“Because it’s how life came to happen here.”

“Oh, even dormice?”

“Even dormice.”

“I’d better go and watch it then,” with that she departed the table and went into the lounge.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1932 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I woke as the news headlines came on, two people in their early thirties had been killed while riding a tandem in Bristol. I wondered if I knew them. Apparently the bloke who killed them was disqualified from driving, driving without insurance, and had been told to pull over by the police who were following him. He hit another vehicle, caught the tandem and then fled the scene. He later handed himself in, which is little consolation to the families of the deceased couple, who’d a few days before been told they could commence fertility treatment.

The driver has been charged with two counts of causing death by dangerous driving plus several lesser charges of driving offences. He should go to jail for it, which will make a change from some recent cases where the driver has got off except for a fine.

Usually, they do them for driving without due care, rather than dangerous driving, which is often what actually happened, but is harder to get a conviction on because it goes to a jury trial and they don’t seem to like cyclists.

After taking the girls to school, I checked on the internet. Lower Hanham Road, I’d ridden there a few times over the years. Poor buggers, probably never knew what hit them–they died at the scene, so it was very likely he was going too fast as well as driving erratically–presumably trying to escape the police because he knew they’d do him for all sorts of driving offences. Now look where he’s got himself, but he’s only got himself to blame. I wonder if they’d been riding individual bikes if they’d both been hit then. Idle speculation I know because they weren’t, and they were.

It still concerns me when someone is killed on a bike–it shouldn’t happen–but it does because most humans aren’t really safe to drive a car–it requires skill and judgement and they’d usually prefer to play with their car radio or send text messages than actually concentrate on what they’re doing.

Every day I see people driving and using mobile phones–it’s been an offence for several years with a fine and penalty points. The fine should be thousands and they should be banned from driving for at least six if not twelve months. The bloke who hit that woman journalist from the Times was on his phone and didn’t see her–she’s still in a coma and badly brain damaged. We get too familiar with cars and lorries, too comfortable and too casual which is when we forget they are lethal weapons and kill hundreds every year. Worldwide it has to be hundreds of thousands if not millions every year.

I’m not saying they should ban cars, like I think they should ban all firearms, but perhaps they should make new drivers before they pass their test, see what hitting someone with a car does–yeah show them the blood and guts, it might just make them think twice about how they drive. Mind you if they had to take some test of intelligence, very few would pass.

Something which some cyclists say is that everyone who applies for a driving licence should be made to cycle for six months to make them aware of cyclists. I don’t know if it would work, because most of them are too stupid to make the connection–sure, we all know cyclists deliberately ride under vehicles or crash into car doors opened in their paths. One guy got off recently because the Crown Prosecution Service or the trial judge decided that opening a car door isn’t a driving offence, even if it kills someone. I think they should just go with murder.

Surely, if someone has just driven a car and then opens the door of that car to exit without checking to see if someone is coming up behind them and about to overtake, isn’t that still part of driving? If they sit in the driver’s seat after drinking they can be done with drink driving. The law is an ass. While they’re making new drivers ride a bike for a time, perhaps they should make some judges do the same. If they got squashed by the new drivers, it would save the country millions in pensions, which could be used towards the cost of imprisoning the lethal drivers.

“If your expression is anything to go by, you’re about to start World War Three,” quipped Stella.

“Yeah, some cyclists got killed on Sunday in Bristol, and I think I might have known one of them.”

“Oh, sorry. Which one?”

“The wife.”

“Pretty girl.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling that Siá¢n knew her and I knew did through Siá¢n. Her name was Clare.”

“Makes it even sadder if you did know them.”

“It does.”

“Cars and bikes don’t mix terribly well,” she sighed. I was tempted to suggest that was especially the case when she was driving. However, I wonder what would have happened if I’d stopped and sheltered instead of riding through the thunderstorm that fateful day when Stella launched my career as a female. It’s idle speculation and that won’t get my chores done.

“How’s Tom’s conference coming on?”

“I’ve done what he asked me to do, organised the list of speakers and suggested a timetable. I’ve still got to write my own paper, but I have some ideas about it, so will do a draft in the next few days and then get him to check it.”

“I have this feeling that the European survey wasn’t supposed to start yet,” said Stella.

“You’re quite correct, it was due to get going in 2015 but they began the rehearsals with so much new data that they moved it forward, hence the conference.”

“So, Dr Watts aka Lady Cameron aka Dormouse girl, crime fighter extraordinaire aka the healing angel, will become an international celebrity as a consequence of this conference.”

“God, I hope not.”

“I thought you said, Brian Cox proved there was no god just energy gradients?”

“He didn’t quite say that, he said there was no need for a supernatural to have created life, the universe did by providing the exact physical requirements of minerals and other environmental factors, such as acidic water and warmth, then provided an energy gradient. It’s as he said, all in the second law of thermodynamics.”

“Like that means anything to me.”

“Well get off your bum and do some research then–it’s all on wiki.”

“Certainly not, we have a houseful of biologists, so you can explain it to me instead.”

“Stella, I just did.”

She looked behind her, “When?”

Some days you just know everything is going to turn to poo, don’t you?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1933 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The week seemed to be passing at an increasing rate. Once upon a time I’d be waiting for the weekends so I could get out on my bike or hide in my bedsit and play with my makeup or paint my nails while wearing a skirt of course. Now, the weekends come so quickly and they’re gone even more quickly. Ironically, I can wear skirts, makeup or nail varnish any time I like but I can’t be bothered unless I’m going somewhere special.

When I teach, I’m often in jeans although Tom has said he doesn’t approve of them for the staff, there is no actual code of dress except when doing certain lectures or obviously meetings or representing the university elsewhere. Then I do dress up and nowadays have the wardrobe and resources to show that I can do girly–posh girly.

I remember Tom picking me up for wearing jeans. “Ye look like ain o thae students,” he complained.

“D’you know how much these jeans cost, Daddy?”

He shook his head.

“Two hundred pounds.”

“Ye wis robbed,” he chuckled to himself.

They didn’t, but he didn’t know that–I got them in Debenhams for thirty quid in the sale, so they were a cut above the market stall trader and comfortable. They were also green and I wore them with a green shirt and knitted waistcoat. I thought I looked tidy enough. I wore a little makeup that day–I was teaching a new set of students–so wanted them to see me favourably, although my lecture would account for most of that. As I was resorting to maximum influence, I had my best teaching aid with me–and she was sleepy after stuffing hazel nuts for the past hour.

I performed to standard if not a bit above, and I always have them doing something different which I change with every lecture so they don’t learn about it from another class. This time it was: “I’ve sprinkled a sample of things around the room, I’d like you all to have a wander and collect some and then we’ll have a discussion was to what it is, what it would mean and so on. You have five minutes.

The boys are always the more adventurous but not necessarily the better guessers. This time one of them got lucky. I asked for a volunteer to tell me what the things were–they were all the same but different.

“Looks like bits of dead insects,” said one of the girls.

“Very good. Now use that to tell me what they could be.”

“Looks like a load of crap,” said one lad within hearing distance although I suspect he hadn’t meant to be so.

“Good–now what does that tell you?”

He blushed like a light bulb.

“C’mon, you’re supposed to be some of the elite doing higher education, use that fat between your ears for the first time–think.”

“Some sort of droppings?” asked a girl from the back.

“Excellent–now what sort?”

“Something that eats insects, I suppose,” she replied.

“Okay, what eats insects?”

“Loadsa things.”

“Let’s have a list shall we? Okay who’s first?” I stepped towards the white board and began writing things down.

Birds; spiders; swallows; shrews; flycatchers; dormice–they’d obviously seen the film or read the book–bats; lizards; other insects.

Now I made them work. We established that the bits of insects were mainly the wings and wing cases of beetles, which would be indigestible. The droppings were dry, which I told them was how they would be when fresh.

We eliminated spiders and other insects and one boy suggested lizards would produce wet droppings as would birds. He was actually doing really well.

One of the girls said because I’d put them there they had to be dormouse droppings. They weren’t. Another worked out they had to be bat droppings. As everything else had been eliminated, she got the prize for being the only one awake.

“Yes, they’re bat droppings, which are usually dry.” Some boy made a comment about constipation but I ignored it. I made them suggest in what sort of habitat they’d expect to find bat droppings. They all went for buildings and were surprised to learn that many bats roost in boxes put up by biologists, in hollow trees, abandoned mines, under bridges and many other places. They also had different roosts for summer and winter hibernation. A deep cave or tunnel remained stable in temperature at about 10C or 50F.

After an hour I’d extracted everything they knew or could imagine about bats. I dealt with the myths–they get tangled in your hair; and the realities–they can be infected with rabies. They are all protected under the Countryside and Wildlife Act.

Finally, I let them go setting them an essay on the ecology of bats and telling them I expected to see at least three new facts which we hadn’t discovered in the lesson. They all went off groaning. I got one of the technicians to clean up the mess from the droppings and left. I had over a hundred students–who says you can’t do interactive with big numbers. I had a large box of bat droppings I’d got from a church belfry so we could afford to throw some away.

The next group would get scattered shells, some eaten by dormice, some by woodmice, some by squirrels, nuthatches and voles. Voles don’t climb as well as the others so tend to eat fallen nuts or acorns. I hoped the first group would say what they had because the next lot would be put off their guard–okay, I’m an evil bitch–what took ya so long?

Did I tell you we had so many enrol for ecology after the dormouse film, mainly girls, that we had to split them into two groups and again for practical work and field trips. The groups were too big to do any sensitive work, but at least they got outdoors and if they were lucky got to see or touch something wild–usually a slow-worm, or strange plant like sundew which is insectivorous–so they’d have something to remind them of the course.

Some complained expecting to see or touch a dormouse–with a group that size–it’s not on unless they called by the labs and saw some captive ones. The dormouse was part of the woodland ecology we did in the second year and it got a great deal more detailed with only fifty places available.

After wandering over an old rubbish tip, a sewage farm and a church, some of them decided ecology wasn’t for them. Who was I to argue, but my courses seemed to remain the largest in the biological sciences department.

I saw several faces I recognised from St Claire’s from amongst the mob who talked me into doing Macbeth. At last I had a chance to revenge myself–you don’t really believe that do you?

Goodness; my mind had wandered a long way from the conference to some past experiences–mostly good ones–especially where Spike attended and stole the show–well she is so beautiful compared to me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1934 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I found Trish searching all the national paper websites for articles on transgender or transsexuals. She found plenty on The Daily Mail and surprisingly quite a few on the The Guardian. Then, when I thought about it, The Grauniad carries regular stories usually of a sympathetic nature, although its sister paper, The Observer, did run that Julie Birchill diatribe the other week which caused all sorts of ructions.

I wasn’t exactly worried that she was reading the articles but I did wonder why, so I asked her. She blushed, “Um–shouldn’t I be, Mummy?”

“It’s a bit unusual for an eight year old girl to be reading about such things, yes.”

“Oh,” she blushed even brighter. “I’ll stop then.”

“Why are you reading them?”

“I dunno–just felt like it.”

I had hoped that in transitioning so young she’d be able to leave much of the baggage I have behind. She’d have a proper girlhood unlike my occasional bits. I just wanted her to be as normal a little girl as she could. It seemed in my case, that you couldn’t take the girl out of the transsexual, nor it appears can you take the transsexual out of the girl.

The problem is, Trish is not your average eight year old, she’s precocious and although that’s mostly at an intellectual level, her emotional life is at best an eight year old, possibly at times even younger due to the abuse she had at home and then in the children’s home.

She’s a lovely little girl much of the time, but occasionally she gets spiteful or superior, and then we clash and I can’t afford to let her win. She will one day, and that might mean she’s ready to fly the nest, because I probably won’t be able to guide her any further. Livvie is pretty bright too, but in a different way. We’ll squabble when she becomes an adolescent, but they won’t be the battles I expect with Trish. Livvie is less needy of success, and at times happy to play second fiddle to her sister, whereas Trish will only compete if she’s sure of winning.

I was more like Livvie, probably because I was so used to being in my father’s shadow as a child and also as a non-sportsman with my peers, I was often last to be picked for teams and never got to captain them.

I may have been brighter than some of them, especially in a girly way. I remembered playing five aside in a PE lesson, one group of mainly larger boys announced they were going to cream us. Each game only lasted until the first goal was scored–that meant it hit an upturned bench. We went out and I called for the ball as the team of thugs were lining up to cripple us, and with my first kick scored a goal. The game was ended before it got started and none of my team got hurt. Even the gym teacher thought it was clever, though he’d never tell me–I was the class fairy. I preferred to consider myself a class act–which I proved with Macbeth.

That wretched play seems to dog my life–perhaps reminding me of my Scottish origins–because I can think of nothing else which has a reason for it.

“You’re not listening to me, Mummy,” Trish said indignantly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, what did you say?”

“Why should I repeat it? You weren’t even listening.”

“I should like to hear what you said.”

She sighed and then told me, “I was reading about the transgender people because I want to know why I am one.”

“You’re not any longer, you’re a bona fide young lady.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bona fide it’s Latin and means good faith, but it also tends to mean legitimate. So you are as legally a girl as Livvie or Mima.”

“Or you, Mummy?”

“Or me.” I gently ruffled her hair. “Why is it important to you?”

“Because it is. I know why Mima and Livvie are girls, they have two X chromosomes whereas I have only one and a Y. So why did a boy’s body want to be a girl’s one?”

“No one actually knows, though if you visit enough websites you’ll find ones which suggest there is research to show that certain parts of men’s and women’s brains are different and in that respect transsexual women resemble biological women, so some would suggest we have female brains.”

“Do you believe that, Mummy?” she obviously picked up on my doubts.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. It’s all a bit rarefied for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s all esoteric–um–too technical.”

“I thought you were a scientist, Mummy–and a biologist one?”

“I am, darling, but not that sort of scientist. Besides, I’m not sure I care what made me who or what I am–I think it’s more important to get on with my life than worry about how I got here.”

She looked puzzled, “Don’t you want to know?”

“What’s it going to change?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t feel a need to justify who I am. I’m aware that my path to womanhood was different to many women, but I consider we’re all equal and thus should support the cause of women’s equality.”

“But we’re not all the same are we, Mummy. We can’t have babies, can we?” I saw tears forming.

“Not all women can, some need fertility treatment, and some still can’t carry children after that. Not all women have ovaries or wombs.”

“Why is that, Mummy?”

“All sorts of reasons, including being insensitive to hormones or having an odd genetic makeup. There’s all sorts of reasons.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I seemed to have suffered from Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome, which meant my body didn’t have a male puberty, though it wasn’t enough to stop me forming a male type genitalia–although my testes didn’t descend and were very small.”

“Does that make you a woman, Mummy?”

“I don’t know how much of a factor it was in anything, except when I took female hormones, they gave me a female puberty and I became quite a female shape.”

“You’re beautiful, Mummy, I hope I’m insensitive, too.”

“It won’t matter because your main supply of androgens has gone.”

“Oh, them?”

“Yes. So any puberty you have will be female.”

“I’m glad about that, aren’t you?”

“Very much, Trish, very much.”

“Am I transsexual, Mummy?”

“Not any more, sweetheart, you’re a young woman in as many ways as you can be.”

“Are you sure?”

“Come with me.” I led her to my study and after rooting about in a filing cabinet pulled out a file. I flicked through it and handed her a birth certificate. “What does that say?”

“Birth certificate.”

I shook my head, “Whose birth certificate?”

“Patricia Watts, this is mine, Mummy. It says I’m a girl.” She bounced up and down, “I’m a girl, Mummy, a girl.”

“I know, sweetheart, I tried to tell you that earlier. So go off and play and stop worrying about anything.”

She hugged me, “Thank you, Mummy.” She turned to leave but then turned back, “Have you got one of those as well?”

“Yes I have, everyone has one.”

“What a girl’s one?”

“No, a birth certificate. Mine says female as well.”

“I’m really glad, Mummy.”

“So am I, sweetheart, so am I.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1935 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Trish went off with a skip in her step–so for five minutes, at least, she’ll feel normal not some sort of weirdo. I listened to people on the radio debating gay marriage, mainly feelings against it, because of traditionalism. It was traditional for people to die once they got an infection or for lots of men to beat their wives–it probably recommends it in the scriptures–but we’ve moved on. Why can’t the pros and cons be just a matter for the two people concerned irrespective of their gender or sexual orientation. What’s it got to do with priests and politicians, who are the only groups to prosper by pointing out our differences–that says it all as far as I’m concerned and I have no room for either.

If you were able to look in the various houses in any typical street anywhere in the world, it would be quickly noticed how weird we all are, with little quirks and foibles of all sorts of things. Some are acquired in childhood from parents or peers, either by accident, or trauma or possible mimicry. Does it matter if the bloke up the end likes to wear his wife’s panties when they’re making love–it might to her, but it concerns no one else. Why should we criticise the woman next door who has to wash her hands a hundred times a day, or who can’t eat her meal unless the salt and pepper are arranged in a specific way?

I can’t stand bingo and soap operas–although at times my life feels like one–but I accept they are the mainstay of many other people’s lives. They get really involved in their fictional character’s lives and upset when bad things happen. How can old ladies sit listening to some berk calling out numbers for small cash prizes, several times a week? They do and enjoy it–quite how or why is beyond me–but that’s their prerogative as to how they spend their money and their time. Personally, I’d rather go and fiddle with a bike or true a wheel, which I’m sure makes me a very small minority. We’re all odd, there are only very generalised norms, such as all wanting somewhere to live and raise our children–assuming we want them. To be allowed to dwell in security and to earn a living without undue interference from others–these are norms.

Most of us don’t walk down the street shouting at others or threatening them, most of us don’t feel threatened by our neighbours because we usually have enough in common to be prepared to tolerate each other until something which makes people question their core values–some of which they haven’t done before.

This might be wearing the clothes of the opposite sex or wishing to identify with it; being attracted to the same sex as themselves; being of a different ethnic group or just being different. I know because I’m a weirdo, I can’t throw stones not that I’d want to, but providing they’re not hurting anyone I do tolerate them and try to accept them. If I suspect abuse of any sort, my attitude would very likely change.

I don’t know how I’d feel if they built a rehab place for drug abusers, next door–probably uneasy if not alarmed. Why? Probably because it isn’t something I know about or understand. Having had plenty of issues myself I’ve possibly been lucky not to need alcohol or chemicals to cope with them. I’m not condemning those who do, we all deal with things the way we think is best at the time, I just don’t understand them and perhaps on a bad day, see them as weak, giving in to use of such things instead of dealing with the problem–but I’m not in their shoes, with their baggage, so I try not to judge, even though I know I do. Some of that is my baggage and some a fear of them being out of control or perhaps more honestly being out of my control.

I was musing on this when Julie came to see where I was. “Trish hasn’t got hold of any of your happy pills, has she?”

“What?” I only caught the bit about happy pills and given my previous thoughts, it struck me quite hard.

“Trish, she’s elated about something.”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Would you care to share?”

I sighed, “She was getting anxious about being transgender because she was different to other girls.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’d hoped by having a girlhood, she’d not have the same baggage I had, and that she’d have a more normal womanhood.”

“Yeah?”

“But it didn’t seem to be the case.”

“No well it wouldn’t, would it?”

“Okay, so I was wrong–but I had to give it a try.”

“Yeah, okay–so what did you do to her to make her happy–hypnotise her?”

“No, I simply pointed out her legal position.”

“What being adopted?”

“No, being female.”

“That gave her a big cheesy grin?”

“I simply showed her her birth certificate which shows her as female, her legal status, the same as you and I and half the population of this country.”

“But we’re still different.”

“I know, Julie, but let her work that out for herself and enjoy the sense of belonging and being normal, like everyone else.”

“Okay–no prob. You want a cuppa?”

“That would be nice, darling–what are you after?”

“Maybe I just thought you’d like a cuppa.”

“Yeah and maybe I just thought you wanted to talk about something?”

She gave me a very old fashioned look. “Okay, I’ll make the tea first.”

I’m beginning to know these kids like their mother–that makes me feel good.

We sat down on the sofa in my study and I shut the door. I didn’t push the issue and it was several minutes before Julie began to talk about her situation.

“I’ve met a boy,” she began and I just nodded. “He works in the pub opposite the salon. I think I like him rather a lot and I hope he feels the same about me.”

I nodded.

“Well say something, then.”

“What would you like me to say?”

“To–I don’t know–tell me to be careful or something.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because you're my mother.”

“Oh okay, be careful or something.”

“No you silly bugger–I don’t know what I want you to say.”

“I thought you simply wanted to tell me that you’re fond of a certain boy and you want my approval. You’re eighteen, you don’t need it, but I’d like to ask one or two questions if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, ’course.”

“What’s his name?”

“Aiden.”

“How old is Aiden?”

“Twenty two.”

“What’s his job?”

“He’s a barman.”

“So he’s going to be working some evenings and weekends?”

“Yeah.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s about five ten, twelve stone, dark hair and brown eyes.”

“Does he smoke?”

“I think so.”

“Not sure I care for that.”

“Yeah, okay but otherwise?”

“He sounds like most other young men. He might be the one, he might not–to find your prince you have to kiss a few frogs. Why not bring him round for dinner?”

“I’d rather bring him down to breakfast.” She blushed because she knew she was pushing my buttons.

“If you’d been going together for months not just weeks, that might have been okay.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yes, I think so–why the surprise?”

“I thought you were a bit of a prude.” Perhaps I don’t know these kids quite as well as I thought I did.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1936 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Julie’s in love,” I said to Simon who was sitting in bed reading some financial journal or other.

“Yes dear,” he said back to me.

“She’s going to call the baby Alice if it’s a girl and Roger if it’s a boy.”

“Is she?” he said. He clearly wasn’t listening.

“Her boyfriend is an astronaut.”

“I’m sure,” he replied.

“He’s going to Mars next week–just for a couple of years–might have to stay there.”

“Good lord,” he suddenly exclaimed.

“What?”

“Teddy Fraser has retired.”

“Who’s he?”

“Chairman of Van Stallin hedge fund.”

“Is that important?”

“I’ll say.”

“Would you say it was more important than your children?”

“That would depend upon the criteria being used.”

“I was trying to tell you about Julie.”

“That’s she was pregnant and married to an astronaut from Mars.”

“Listen to yourself.”

“Oh, okay you were lying.”

“You weren’t listening.”

“Okay, I am now–what about Julie?”

“She’s got herself a boyfriend.”

“Is that good?”

“She’s eighteen so it isn’t up to us.”

“Oh yeah.”

“He works in a bar across the road from the salon.”

“Not much of a catch then?”

“I don’t know, for all I know he’s waiting for a job confirmation from NASA.”

“He isn’t is he?”

“I don’t know, I doubt it.”

“Well at least he’s got a job.”

“He smokes.”

“Perhaps she’ll make him stop.”

“I have no idea, but I hope she’s strong enough not to try it herself.”

“At her age, she’ll have already tried it and not liked it.”

“She might get seduced into it by peer pressure.”

“Yeah, except you know that won’t happen.”

“I hope not.”

“Cathy, she’s not stupid.”

“I know but girls do stupid things at the behest of boys.”

“So what stupid things have you done at the behest of boys? Apart from marrying me, that is–thought I’d get it in first.”

“Very good, Si.”

He smiled his response.

“Except that wasn’t something I did at the behest of a boy; I married you because I wanted to.”

He looked surprised. “But I asked you to.”

“But I agreed to it.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t behest mean, at my request or invititaion?”

“Yes, but it was my decision–I could have said no.”

“But you wouldn’t have got such a generous offer anywhere else, would you?”

“Probably not–but I’d have got lots of bike rides with Kevin.”

“Oh that’s right throw that bumpkin in my face, why don’t you?”

“I’m only joking, Si.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t too funny from where I’m sitting.”

“You’re jealous, Simon Cameron.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

I smirked. “I’m glad I married you.”

“So ’m I.” We kissed.

“I had an email from Jacquie earlier.”

“How’s her course?”

“She’s staying in Salisbury.”

“Yeah, for a few weeks.”

“I think it might be longer.”

“Oh–why?”

“This is pure intuition, but I think she’s in love as well.”

“It is coming up to St Valentine’s Day. What’s his name or don’t you know?”

“I have a feeling it might be, her name, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Some gossip you are.” He picked up his journal again then laid it down. “She has a girl friend–you mean she’s gay?”

“I think she could be.”

“Oh well, whatever floats her boat.”

“I think she’s staying with this girl, so she might not come back.”

“Is she going to be missed?”

“Of course, but her help round the house was less than perfect compared to Ingrid.”

“I take it she’s still with David?”

“Of course.”

“So that’s all right then?”

“I suppose so–they seem very happy together and Hannah seems content, too.”

“Don’t see her over with our girls too much, do we?”

“She comes over now and again, but they don’t seem to get on that well which surprises me.”

“Oh well, let’s get some sleep, Six Nations starts tomorrow.”

“Oh, does it?” I knew any sort of help I needed would be less than forthcoming. “Who’s playing who?”

“England and Scotland and Wales and Ireland.”

“Oh, who’s going to win?”

“Seeing as England beat the All Blacks before Christmas, I suspect we’re going to take a beating.”

“There’s a surprise.”

He gave me a scowl.

“What about the other two?”

“Wales have home advantage but Ireland are in better form, so I suspect they’ll just sneak it.”

“I see the England ladies lost to Sri Lanka last week.”

“At rugby?” he squeaked.

“No, cricket.”

“Oh that, yeah–bit of a surprise–might do ’em good, put them on their mettle.”

“Si?”

“Yes, Babes?”

“If decided that things were getting too much for me...”

“What d’you mean?”

“I feel so tired all the time and I have no time to do what I want any more.”

“That’s what happens when you have a family.”

“If I was to give up my job at the university?”

“That would be up to you but if you wanted to stay as ecological adviser to the bank, it would be harder without some academic standing.”

“I’ve got a PhD, what more do they want?”

“Someone who’s working in an academic institute or university.”

“Oh well, the money was nice while it lasted.”

“What about your films or is Brian bloody Cox going to film harvest mice?”

“Quite honestly, I couldn’t give a toss.”

“What about the breeding programme and the dormouse research?”

“It doesn’t need me–someone else could do it.”

“Cathy, are you all right?”

“No,” I sniffed, “I just feel so tired all the time and I miss Billie so much.” He put his arm round me and I wept uncontrollably.

“Why don’t you take a sabbatical?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t go back.”

“You might miss it after a while?”

“I doubt it–I feel so tired all the time,” I yawned as if to emphasise the point.

“I suppose we could manage on my salary,” he said quietly and I nearly laughed hysterically–he earns a couple of million a year if you remember. “But what are you going to do with yourself with all that time?”

“Sleep,” I answered my eyes closing.

“Yeah but that would only last–oh you’ve gone to sleep,” I felt him in the distance talking to me and lowering me back on to my pillow whereupon I turned over and went off to sleep very quickly.

“I hope you know what you’re doing girl,” I think he said but I might have dreamt it I felt so tired part of me wanted to sleep forever.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1937 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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When I woke the next morning, Simon had gone off to work. I didn’t feel refreshed from my night’s sleep and would quite happily have gone back to sleep except I knew that I had children to organise, a house to run and a job to do. I really did think about just getting back into bed and going back to sleep. Instead I struggled out and staggered to the bathroom feeling very woozy.

I used the loo and again nearly fell over on rising. I stripped off my nightdress and managed to get into the shower hoping the warm water would help wake me up. It did but not for long, for as I was towelling myself dry I nearly pitched forward and had to grab the side of the bath to stay upright.

My head was spinning and I had some difficulty focusing both my eyes and my concentration. Somehow I got some clothes on but was feeling very hot by the time I did. Staggering out onto the landing I called the children to get up and my head became extremely dizzy and I had to call for help.

I felt a real fear of falling headfirst down the stairs because I could hardly stand up. Danny was first to respond to my yell and he grabbed hold of me, shouting for Julie or Stella to come quickly. They both arrived a minute or so later, when I began to wonder if I was going to cause both Danny and me to plunge down the staircase.

Stella took charge and the three of them led me back to my room and laid me on the bed. I now felt sick. Calling for a bowl or bucket to catch whatever was going to come up, I was handed a plastic carrier bag–not quite as good as a bucket, but thankfully one without holes in the bottom.

Then I began to shiver, although I was well aware I was also sweating. Stella and Julie stripped me off and after pulling on some pyjamas they manhandled me back into bed. Trish came rushing in with a bucket and placed it where I could reach it and she told me, “Gramps will take us to school.” At that point I really couldn’t have cared less.

Stella returned with a drink of water and some paracetamol which is an antipyretic–it lowers temperature in the case of fevers. “I’ve got to get the children sorted, Julie is going to help me, you stay there and I’ll be back with a cuppa later. Tom said he’d take the girls to school.”

“Yes, I know Trish told me when she brought the bucket. God, I feel awful.”

“What sort of awful?” Stella the nurse was asserting herself.

“My head is pounding, everything aches and I feel so dizzy and so cold.”

“Okay, sounds like you’ve got a bug or something, stay there and I’ll be back with a cuppa later. Okay?”

“Thanks,” I said and lay back on the bed and found myself drifting off to sleep in no time. I have no idea how much later it was when Stella returned with some tea and a piece of toast. I did just about manage to sit up, although the room felt like I was on a small ship with a heavy sea. Despite that, I did drink the tea while she sat and talked to me, and eventually I agreed to try and eat some of the toast which was cold and chewy by this time.

“David has just come over to do the dinner, he said he’d make you some soup for lunch.”

“I don’t know if I feel like eating much, but thank him anyway.” I handed her back the empty mug.

“Oh you’ll eat it okay,” she smiled evilly, as only Stella can–no wonder she was such a successful nurse, she frightened the proverbial out of her patients. They got better to avoid her.

“Maybe,” I squeaked and slid under the duvet until only my eyes were peeping out at her. She growled at me, and collecting the dishes on the tray, left me to rest.

I seemed to vary between hot and cold, one minute I felt like I was going to catch fire, I felt so warm; the next I was shivering and wondering if I would freeze to death. If I’d been able to reason it through, I’d have seen that I’d caught a flu like bug. Instead I just felt like poo and my cognitive functions were practically switched off.

Stella came up a bit later and switched the radio on from my radio/alarm, she retuned it to a music station and I became aware of a quiet accompaniment of classical music every so often. I woke up to Wagner’s, Valkyrie and turned it up a little while I waited for the helicopters to attack. “I love the smell of napalm in the morning,” I thought to myself remembering eventually that the film was, Apocalypse Now, an anti-war film.

My private nursemaid cum enforcer returned with a bowl of fresh chicken soup and piece of still warm bread. She sat on the bed until I was sitting up and ate it. Then she smiled at me, and in return I gave a huge burp–which made us both laugh.

I spent most of that day and the next in bed, which meant that when I did get up the following day I was quite wobbly for an hour or so. I also felt very tired, however, I did do a little bit of work on my presentation for the conference, I also spoke to Pippa who’d taken over most of the organising.

When I drove to collect the girls, they were really pleased to see I was getting better, which I admit I felt happier about as well. Trish was perplexed by the fact that she tried to use her healing powers on me without success. She didn’t seem to appreciate that I had been very stressed and tired and thus some rest and David’s chicken soup were all the help I needed, oh, and sergeant major Stella frightening me into getting better.

When talking with my dear sister in law a couple of days later, she admitted she’d enjoyed nursing me and thought when the children were older she might resurrect her career. I hoped she did because she’s actually quite a clever old thing and the return to her career, would I was sure, make her feel much happier.

We heard from Jacquie, she was staying with her girlfriend on a semi-permanent basis, but hoped she could come back if it didn’t work out. I was pleased she was forming relationships which might enable her to heal some of the pain the juvenile detention centres had caused her. I’d thought for some time that although she got on reasonably well with Simon and Tom, if she did have a relationship, it would probably be with another girl, her experiences with men until coming to us were mostly unfortunate ones. As long as she was happy, then so was I and I wished her well and told her to come and see us soon and to bring her partner with her. She promised she would.

The bad news was that Julie’s relationship with Aiden foundered. He seemed unaware that they were an item, and when she saw him with another girl and made a scene, he told her to go forth and multiply. She was upset for a few days and then vowed she’d never have a relationship with a boy ever again. However, she didn’t count on a rather handsome young man calling into the salon with a delivery of hair care products–it was lust at first sight and they have their first date tomorrow. I am so glad I found Simon, otherwise my hormones would have been driving me mad.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1938 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The next day I was well enough to go back to work where more conference stuff awaited me. Pippa and I sat and did two hours work before withdrawing to a cafe for a bite of lunch. Tom had offered to take us both, then had to dash off to a meeting he’d forgotten to add to his diary.

“So how are the family?” asked Pippa.

I began by saying that Jacquie had shacked up with some girl in Salisbury. She looked surprised, but only because Jacquie hadn’t struck her as that sort. I was tempted to challenge it, then decided against–it would have only achieved bad feeling and we needed to work together for some time to come. I was disappointed however.

“The three mouseketeers are in fine fettle, Danny is playing regularly for the football team in school and is the top scorer in their league. Catherine is teething and tottering.”

“Don’t you mean toddling?”

“No, she falls over as often as she gets anywhere.”

“And Julie?”

“Ah, Julie is desperate for a relationship.”

“Hormones?”

“Possibly, she thought she had someone but it fell through last week, though someone new has just appeared on the horizon so we’re all waiting with bated breath to see what happens next.”

“I don’t think I’d like to be an adolescent again, would you, Cathy?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Were you boy crazy?”

“Me? Nah, just crazy–used to squabble with my parents all the time.”

“About boys?”

“Boys? No about anything–actually often about religion and girls.”

“Girls?” she gasped, “You didn’t have a lezzie phase did you, lots of girls do?”

“No I didn’t.” I waited for the meal to be placed at the table and asked for some salad cream. After it arrived I continued, “Most of the ructions were about me being a girl.”

“Why?” She obviously had some sort of memory deficit.

“They thought I was a boy, remember?”

She blushed, “I forgot, I’m sorry. You seem so natural-you are natural, your parents were wrong.”

“So it would seem.”

“Why couldn’t they see it?”

“We never can when we live with the problem. I know my dad was reconciled to it and I think my mother had an inkling–I mean she taught me how to keep house, to sew and cook, how to choose and make curtains–all sorts of things I wouldn’t have thought were normal boy fare.”

“Perhaps she thought you were gay and might need to know all that.”

“Maybe–she wasn’t too pleased when they made me dress as a girl to do the Macbeth thing.”

“Who made you?”

“The headmaster, who was a nasty bit of work. He persuaded my dad to force me to wear a dress to school while I was playing Lady Macbeth in the school play.”

“You did that recently, didn’t you?”

“I did it at the convent school, a year or two ago.”

“Wow, I saw you–it was good stuff.”

“Thanks, I got good reviews the first time too, and either Murray’s scheme worked or I was naturally feminine, because they refused to believe I was supposed to be a boy. Mind you we had some fun, my friend Siá¢n and I. She encouraged me to camp it up a bit, so instead of wearing the long dresses I had in the play, I borrowed her spare uniform and went as a school girl to school, with painted nails and makeup. Murray nearly had a stroke.”

“What did you do for hair, wear a wig?”

“No, I refused to have my hair cut and it was down below my shoulders. I had to keep it back in a ponytail–they made me wear a bright pink scrunchie to try and embarrass me into getting it cut–but I refused. I found out later that half the sixth form fancied me–mind you, to balance things, the other half wanted to beat me up.”

“What for?”

“I was different–that apparently is cause enough.”

“I’ll never understand boys,” she sighed and I nodded in agreement. We continued eating and she asked, “How long did they make you dress as a girl?”

“For a month, but I also got caught a few times and had to do it again. They also sent me to the girl’s school to do netball on one occasion, but I was rubbish at it.”

“Had you played it before?”

“No.”

“Not surprising then, was it?”

“I suppose not. That was one of the most humiliating things they did to me.”

“I can’t believe they got away with such abuse in a school, if you’d gone to the police they’d have been in all sorts of poo.”

“So would my dad. He, bless him, thought he was doing the best for me. It wasn’t of course–he thought the exposure would make me recant and want to stay as a boy–but I wasn’t one and it just confused me even more.”

“But good practice?”

“In a very limited way.”

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t exactly living as a normal girl, not in Stalag Brissel. The only time I was a normal girl was at weekends, when I went out with Siá¢n for an hour or two. That nearly drove my dad nuts. He thought I’d be glad to get out of the long dresses, and then the school uniform–well I was, except I then put on a skirt or dress and tarted myself up even more. It wasn’t how he’d planned it at all.”

“Weren’t you embarrassed?”

“Of course–at first I was–but he was more so than I. My mother tore him off a strip and pointed out he’d been hoist by his own petard.”

“What does that mean, I mean I know what it means, but what’s a petard?”

“A bomb.”

“A bomb?”

“Yes, they used them to blow the gates of castles and things. The problem was that the guy carrying it was often shot by musket or arrow by the defenders and blown up by his own bomb–it was a very risky occupation. Remember in those days it was all rather crude, no electronic timers then, it was all suck it and see stuff. If the fuse was too short, you didn’t get a second chance.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would. So the hoist bit was being blown up in the air was it?”

“Could be, if there was enough to see stuck up a tree or whatever.”

“Ugghh,” she said shaking her head, “How’s Simon?”

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“He’s a lovely chap–if ever you get fed up...”

“I thought you had a new man?”

“I do, but he’s no Simon Cameron.”

“No, my Si is a bit of a one off.”

I called for the tab and paid it, then drove us back to work. “This is such a lovely car, Cathy.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is, now I’ve stopped people trying to scratch it or steal it.”

“Goodness, maybe I’ll stick to my Corsa after all.”

“I would, Pippa, these can be a bit thirsty.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1939 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Later that day, Phoebe came to speak with me. She’d been using Julie’s old scooter about which I had second, if not third thoughts. Julie so nearly came to a sticky end on it and since then I’d developed a bit of a phobia about it.

However it was Julie who said she could try it, and she liked it. The college isn’t that far away but it only needs six inches of road for something to hit you, and like bikes, scooters don’t have much in the way of protection against heavy, fast moving vehicles, especially the scooters which are glorified mopeds and only do about 25mph maximum speed.

“Mummy, when I’m seventeen, can I learn to drive?”

“I expect so.”

“Oh good. I like the scooter but a car would be really kewl.”

“What would you like, an Aston Martin or Ferrari?”

“A Porsche 911.”

“They’re all death traps.”

“What Porsches?”

“Fast cars in general–only people who can afford them are pop stars or footballers and they tend to crash them with monotonous regularity.”

“Aww, Mummy, you’re no fun anymore–you’re no one ’till you’ve driven your supercar up a tree.” I began to get the distinct impression that Phoebe was taking the urine.

“Or into a ditch.”

“Eh?”

“I drove my Porsche into a ditch.”

“You had a Porsche, Mummy?”

“Yes the Cayenne, I crashed it trying to avoid a deer.”

“Oh wow, was Bambi okay?”

“I believe so, I wasn’t I nearly died hanging upside down from my seat belt.”

“Wow, what happened?”

“I was driving home from Salisbury after visiting friends and a deer ran across the road as I came round a bend.”

“Were you speeding?”

“I wasn’t looking at the speedo, so I could have been, it was very deceptive for speed.”

“And you crashed?”

“I swerved and the car went through a hedge and down an embankment and into a ditch with a stream running through it. I was unconscious for a day or two.”

“A bloke on some radio prog recently implied anyone who’s been unconscious for more than a few moments has likely suffered brain damage.”

“I probably have then.”

She looked horrified for a moment then laughed. “You’re so funny, Mummy.”

“I was being serious.”

She laughed even harder. “You’re super clever.”

“So, just think how much cleverer I’d be if I hadn’t tried driving a 4by4 on its roof.”

“Did you actually hurt your head?”

“I couldn’t tell you but I did have concussion.”

“Oh.” She paused for few moments.

“What is concussion exactly?”

“An injury to the head which has some effect upon the brain–so it can be mild to serious.”

“What was yours?”

“Moderate.”

“Yeah, that figures.”

Charming, I thought, but said nothing.

“So I can go?”

“Go? I think I missed something.”

“I can start driving lessons.”

“Yeah, when you’re seventeen.”

“You weren’t listening,” she protested and I had to wait for her to describe what life would be like with a girl playing GTA. It came a few moments later. “There’s this bloke who for a hundred quid will allow underage drivers to play with the cars on his farm.”

“I don’t know if your insurance would allow you to do that–you know loads of animals about and they are mega expensive.”

“Do you like, have to be insured?”

“Yes, it’s a condition of driving, so if you had some reason why you wouldn’t need insurance, I’d like to hear it because insurance for young drivers is often more than the value of their car.”

“Oh dear.”

“It sounds a bit fishy, let’s kids play with cars on his land–I wonder if he’s insured, because with inexperienced drivers, it could be dangerous. Does he offer tuition, or just provide an off the public highway space?”

“It doesn’t sound a very good idea, does it?” she pouted.

“It doesn’t really, Pheebs,” I agreed. “Look, why not wait until you're seventeen and we’ll get you some lessons–let’s do it properly and safely.”

“I s’pose so,” she conceded and went off.

“Phoebe, are you insured to ride the scooter?”

“I dunno–I thought I was.”

“I’d better check, so wait a minute.” I called our insurance broker at the bank and he told me she wasn’t but would add her to the list immediately once I gave him details, which I did. I told her she could ride the scooter but to be careful, she hugged me and pecked me on the cheek. It’s funny they only ever seem to do that when they get something they want–or am I getting cynical?

I still didn’t like her using it, and decided I’d get rid of it before the others got old enough to use it, though somehow I can’t see Danny riding a pink scooter–can’t see me riding it either, and I suspect Trish would only be satisfied with a full on motor bike–a Japanese arse rocket or one of those overpriced American things–which I am assured look very smart but use stone-age technology–a Harley Davidson. There’s more technology in my Specialized bike, so they do produce the odd useful thing.

Danny asked me for some money to take for school meals. I thought I’d already given him some and when I queried it, he told me I hadn’t. I gave him the ten pounds I always do but went off to find the girls. If I’d paid them, I was sure I’d also paid Danny.

I found them placing their homework back in their satchels. “Did I give you your school dinner money?” They nodded and went back to loading their learning. Their situation was a bit different. I paid for the whole week in one go and they were entitled to have a meal from the items on offer on the day. They got a book of tickets for the week. The downside was those who got there first had the best choice of menu, but the girls didn’t complain too often.

Danny on the other hand had to pay for portions of various things unless he wanted the set menu meal, which he described as rubbish. I’ve a feeling he went down the chip shop quite regularly though he didn’t ever say anything about it.

Thinking about it, Danny did this to me last week as well. So did I pay twice? He’s usually so honest I can’t believe he’s defrauding me, so am I getting forgetful? I decided that I’d write down the day I paid him for his school dinners in my diary and then I’d have some sort of reference point if it came to a dispute. If he was scamming me, what was he spending it on? That worried me more than the loss of the money.

I’d have to make some observations over the coming days and see where it took me, something I could have done without.

Battle of Britain commemoration.. (aka Bike) Part 1940 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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(Photo of Hawker Hurricane courtesy of wikipedia.)

The children all have accounts with the bank, mostly savings accounts but also a current account. To make sure they can’t abuse this or lose the money to fraud, there is only ever a couple of hundred kept in these accounts–so they can buy presents or the odd thing for themselves without needing to ask permission. They would usually withdraw money from the bank or hole in the wall ATMs, and to keep it safe they can’t withdraw more than fifty pounds at any one transaction or in any one period of twenty four hours. That’s the theory, the practice has never been tested–perhaps I should add–so far.

I sent Si a text asking if Danny’s account has had any unusual activity in recent days. I got a phone call back. “What’s he spent a hundred and seventy five pounds on?”

“What d’you mean?”

“A fortnight ago he had two hundred, he’s now down to twenty five pounds–what’s he spent it on?”

“I have no idea–we need to talk about this when you get home.”

“Okay, I’ll get a statement printed off.”

“Thanks, darling, I’ll see you later.”

I was interrupted by Trish, “Have you seen this?” she called.

“Seen what, sweetheart?”

“Your friend Cav could win the Tour of Qatar.”

“Oh, could he?” I hadn’t looked at a cycling website for a couple of weeks, which won’t be the case when the TdF starts. She called me to come and look and sure enough, he was in with a shout, a good shout, at winning the whole race. While sprinters don’t usually win stage races, which this is, Tom Boonen has won this race before and would probably have won it again had he been racing. So his loss is possibly Cav’s gain.

I took them to school and avoided the headmistress who I fear is always trying to inveigle me into some scheme or other to help the school. Recently, I’ve managed to avoid anything. I did try to divert attention for the governor’s post to Tom, but he was ill and declined it. So far she hasn’t come back after me–perhaps I should have taken the UN job, not the conservation advisor but the Secretary General’s one, it would easier dealing with the middle east crisis than Sister Maria.

Back home, I turned policewoman and searched Danny’s room for any new items which could have cost nearly two hundred pounds–there were none that I could see. So where had the money gone?

I tried to think what would a youngster spend it on–I didn’t think it was booze or fags, or even drugs–I’m sure I’d have noticed any of those–but seriously, would I? I began to doubt myself and worry–were we failing him?

What else–football kit or gadgets–he does like his gadgets. Then he’s got himself a girlfriend. I know this is a reality because he’s begun buying himself deodorant spray and using far too much. Trish commented that she was glad he didn’t come to school with her because she’d die from the fumes of his antiperspirant spray before they got to school. To Danny, Lynx is the height of sophistication like Old Spice and Brut used to be to earlier generations of young men. I suppose I could buy him some decent stuff for his birthday, I did suggest he used less of it; trying to explain that the object was to reduce sweating and subsequent odour not fumigate his armpits. It didn’t seem to make much difference, he still smelt overpoweringly unnatural.

While I don’t like body odour on me or anyone else, I do enjoy smelling some of Simon’s body scent and you may recall I used to enjoy smelling his shirt in the days before we lived to together. It made me feel good and was a combination of his toiletries and a bit of his body smell–but in combinations which complemented each other. I’ve heard stories of men sniffing women’s panties and getting turned on, the thought of sniffing Si’s underpants would do anything but excite me as i usually don a biological protection suit to collect them from the bedroom floor or shove them in the washing machine.

Not having the mk1 version of female genitalia, I doubt my panties would interest Si in any case, although the kitten got tangled up in a pair while I was doing the washing last week–she ran round the house wearing them over her head with me in hot, giggling pursuit. Eventually they went in the machine–the knickers only, not the kitten.

I remember seeing a picture on the internet of a vending machine in Japan which apparently sold hermetically sealed, soiled, women’s panties. I always knew eating whale meat was bad for you–seems I was right. Over here we are having a problem with manufacturers seemingly unwittingly adding horse meat or products derived from equines to processed meat products, the latest is beef lasagne. I’m not sure what the fuss is all about, I’ve been taking Premarin for years–or am I just taking the piss?

As I emerged from Danny’s room, I bumped into Stella. “You seemed to be in there a long time,” she observed.

“Just giving it a quick tidy, you know what boys are like?”

“Yeah, noisy and smelly.”

“No, I meant how casual they can be. I have to check to make sure he hasn’t hung up his dirty stuff and put the clean in the laundry basket.”

“If he puts anything in the laundry basket he’s better than Si, as I recall from the days in the cottage. When we moved from there, they found a pair of underpants and some socks under his bed which I reckon had been there for at least a couple of years.”

“Well he hasn’t done that here so far–to my knowledge.”

“No, because he’s got you to do it for him, although I know you complain about it every so often, so I don’t suppose he’s got the message yet. I reckon it would be easier to train Kiki than Simon.”

“I don’t want Kiki putting his pants in the laundry basket–yuck–they’re occasionally a bit dam...”

“Too much information, Cathy, far too much,” she rushed off down the stairs with Fiona.

I had an image of Kiki picking up Simon’s pants and popping them in the laundry basket–or of him training her to do it. I also had one of her refusing to go near them on the grounds of health and safety. That one was funnier especially when it included his socks as well.

Poor Simon, we do lead him a song and dance on occasion–though sometimes he richly deserves it. Then I remembered the day Stella put his pants in the freezer–he was not amused, especially when he went commando and we teased him. I chuckled out loud and Stella called up the stairs that I sounded like I was crazy, laughing to myself. I couldn’t tell her why, she might do it again and then the girls or Danny might copycat it–that would lead to World War 3 and life is difficult enough already.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Britain

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTs9m3qiP4w

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1941 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

At dinner, I could feel the tension rising. Simon and I hadn’t had time to discuss Danny’s account, and I suspect neither of us could suggest a nice explanation such as regular donations to the local cat or dog’s home. No there was something going on and the sooner we sorted it the better.

Si and I went down to my study and after a few minutes summoned Danny. I closed the door and he knew something was up.

“Can you explain this?” I asked showing him the bank statement.

He went on the defensive, “I thought this was all supposed to be private?”

“Only after you’re eighteen.”

“But this is my business–it has nothing to do with you or Dad.”

“I’m afraid it does young man. Your account has held about two hundred pounds for the last couple of years, except at Christmas, when we expect money to be spent. So where has it gone?” Simon entered the fray.

“I spent it.” Danny tried to brazen it out forgetting that we had more experience of neck than he did.

“On what?” I asked.

“I can’t remember.”

“Well you have exactly ten seconds before I stop your allowance and close your account.” Simon was not taking prisoners and didn’t like the cheek and obstruction he was receiving from our son.

“So how will I be expected to pay for my school dinner?” His face was bright red yet he was trying to remain defiant.

“I see, right your mother will make you sandwiches, you can take a packed lunch.” I felt my eyebrows rising but not as fast as my anger. However, I managed to stay quiet and bite my tongue.

“Well?” demanded Simon.

“Well what?” asked our son.

“Are you going to tell us how you spent a hundred and seventy five pounds in the past few days?”

“Nope.”

“Go to your room, you will not play football this weekend either–or until I say you can–do you understand?” Simon was laying down the law and perhaps getting a little over enthusiastic. If he mentions hanging or flogging, I shall have to intervene.

“But the team are depending on me,” Danny protested.

“Too bad, they’ll know that you’re unreliable now, won’t they. I’ll phone your headmaster tomorrow.” Simon was really taking no prisoners.

“But you can’t,” squealed Danny who was now very upset.

“Okay, last chance to bargain–tell me where the money is?”

“I can’t, I don’t have it,” Danny sobbed. He sat down on the floor after sliding down the wall and he sobbed giving a huge shudder after a few minutes. I would have stopped before this, Si was after answers and wasn’t going to stop until he had them.

“So who has it then?”

Danny sat and sobbed.

“Tell your dad who’s taken your money, or have you spent it on your girlfriend?”

He continued sobbing but shook his head.

“Does that mean you won’t tell your dad or your girlfriend doesn’t have it?” I asked.

It took him a moment to get control enough to say, “She doesn’t have it–okay?”

Simon was about to reprimand him for shouting the last bit at me, but I stopped him. “Look, son, we’re not trying to punish you, we’re trying to find out what has been happening–that’s all.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” he said his voice croaking with emotion.

Simon went to intervene and I stopped him again. “Son, we’re doing this because we love you.”

“My old mother used to say that before she used to hit me. I going to bed–I hate you both.” He suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room. Simon went to go after him but I stopped him.

“I won’t have a child talk to me like that,” he said angrily.

“Simon, let him go–you’ve done enough damage.”

“Aw thanks, I don’t think–so if you didn’t want me here why did you involve me?”

“I needed to know if his account had been affected.”

“Well it jolly well has, but if you need me to beat a confession out of him, I’m off too.” He simply stood up and walked out while I sat there absolutely gobsmacked.

I thought I’d better deal with things now rather than wait. I went up to Danny’s room and tapped on the door. I got no answer so I tapped harder and turned the handle. Nothing happened. I turned the handle again and shouldered the door. The door stayed closed with no sound from inside the room. I called Simon. Nothing happened there either. I then shrieked Simon’s name and he called back from downstairs. I called him again and he came dashing up the stairs.

It became obvious that I couldn’t open Danny’s door, so Simon tried and failed. He really threw himself at the door but it didn’t budge. “C’mon,” he said and ran downstairs with me a few steps behind him. He ran to the garage and I followed where upon we both grabbed the ladder and ran back to the side of the house and began to erect the ladder against Danny’s bedroom window.

Simon climbed the ladder while I stood on the end to stop it slipping. He got to the level of the window and the next moment he pulled it open and disappeared inside. I gasped. Then his head reappeared and he called–“he’s not here.”

I didn’t understand him, of course the boy was there, where else could he be? I ran back inside the house and up to the room. A chair had been wedged under the door handle.

I searched the room, even looking under the bed–Danny wasn’t there. So how did he get out of the room after wedging the door shut? He couldn’t–well not through the door. I looked out of the window into the darkness beyond. He either flew or climbed down something. Just about reachable was a down pipe from the bathroom next door, and to do that he must have balanced on the window sill. He must have been terrified or so angry he couldn’t feel anything else.

Simon came back with a torch and when he shone it on the pipe we could just about make out some finger marks on it. Great, now what do we do?

I went outside and checked all the out buildings, even the old wood store which was full of insects and spiders. He wasn’t in any of them. “I think we’d better call the police,” suggested Simon and I could think of nothing better to do. He couldn’t have been away longer than a few minutes–well, half an hour. I checked his bike–that was gone too. Where could he go? Hell, what was his girlfriend’s name and where did they live?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1942 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“He said his girlfriend was the sister of his friend,Peter. A girl called Carly.”

“Carly what?” asked Simon.

“I don’t know, he didn’t tell me.”

“Could he have gone to their house?”

“He could have gone anywhere. He’s on his mountain bike, so he could be cycling across fields for all we know.”

“Okay, I’ve called the police.”

“God, I hope he’s alright.”

“I expect he is.”

My eyes felt moist and I wanted to cry but that would just give me a headache, apart from making me feel stupid.

A short time later I had to deal with two police officers, a woman who was taking details of him and a man who was looking at his bedroom. Simon was dealing with him.

“What was he wearing?” asked the woman PC and I told her as best I could remember. “And his bike is missing?”

“Yes, a Giant mountain bike with grey and white frame.”

“Does he have lights on it?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a photo of him, preferably a recent one?”

I went to my computer and printed one off for her. She thanked me and asked if I could email one to the address she gave me. Two minutes later I was back, having sent it.

“Your son is pretty agile. I don’t think I’d have liked to swing out onto that pipe and scramble down it, especially in the dark.” The male PC had returned with Simon. “How long has he been gone?”

“Half to an hour. Once we saw he’d taken his bike we thought we’d best contact you.”

“Has he got his mobile with him?” he asked.

“We’ve tried calling that,” I said, but wrote down the number anyway.

“He’ll probably come back once he gets hungry, they usually do. Did you have a row or something?”

“Not exactly,” I said blushing. “He asked for school meals money and I thought I’d given him some, but I wasn’t sure. Just in case he was spending more money than usual, I asked Si to check his bank account, he’d withdrawn a hundred and seventy five pounds in the past few days–normally he wouldn’t spend that all year.”

“What did he want the money for?” asked the copper.

“He wouldn’t tell us, which was what the conversation was about. He felt we were picking on him but we were just concerned about why he was spending the money.”

“Does he ever drink or take drugs? Sorry but I have to ask.”

“Not as far as anyone knows. He’s a keen footballer, so he abhors anything like drugs, performance ones or recreational. He doesn’t drink, except sometimes a spot of shandy if Simon is having a beer.”

“I see, so where’s he likely to have gone?”

“I have no idea, we don’t really know any of his friends, except the one boy who came here the other week.”

“Who was that?”

“Peter–he didn’t give me his other name.”

The policewoman had been outside and she came back to speak with us. His phone has been used in the last hour, we’re trying to identify the number it called.”

I thanked her and asked if they wanted any tea–it gave me something to do. I came back with a tray of teas and they’d both gone. “They got an address.”

“Oh,” I put the tray down and offered a cup to Simon, then took my own. “Where, did they say?”

“Portsmouth.”

I nodded and sipped my tea. I wasn’t really thirsty but it provided a distraction for my hands and mouth.

I was just clearing the tray and cups up when a car came back into the drive. The two police and Danny came to the door. I swept him up and hugged him, weeping profusely.

“Where was he?” I asked the police.

“I was at Pete’s, I was going to ring later.”

I thanked the two coppers and Simon handed them each something–a bottle of wine, I expect. They left shortly afterwards–mission accomplished.

“Please don’t do that ever again, will you?” I asked Danny, who was red eyed and blushing.

“Okay, can I go to bed now?”

“Yes, where’s your bike?”

“At Pete’s, he’ll ride it to school tomorrow and I’ll bring it home from there.”

“Have you got your lock?”

“Yes, it’s on the bike–can I go to bed now?”

Simon was bursting to say something but held his tongue. He gave Danny a hug as well, before the boy went up to bed.

Tom and Stella were already in bed but came down to see that Danny was safe, as did Julie and Phoebe. I felt exhausted and suggested to Simon that we had an early night. He agreed and we went up after the others.

“D’you reckon he was going to come home, tonight or punish us?” asked Simon once we were horizontal.

“I don’t really care. The police found him and returned him safely, everything else is irrelevant. As long as he’s safe, I don’t care.”

“They did a good job, I’ll admit that, babes.”

“Yes, I’ll write to the chief constable tomorrow and thank him for their effort.”

“I wonder if they told him how they found him?” mused Simon.

“I hope not, but he’ll probably work it out before too long.”

“Meaning?”

“If he ever does it again, he won’t use his phone.”

“Let’s hope he remains in ignorance, then.”

“I won’t tell him, other than I mentioned his friend’s name and the police went from there.”

“If you have access to the network operators, I suppose it’s quite easy to find out if they called anyone.”

“Someone had to think of it in the first place.” I was too worried to think very clearly, so it wouldn’t have been me.

“So? I’d have got there eventually,” said Si.

“Sam or Trish would have been light years ahead of us because they use the technology all the time. They might even have been able to hack the network and identify the number.”

“I told ya, babes, I’d have done the same, but it would have taken me a bit longer.” Simon was adamant he’d have used the same method once he’d thought of it: whereas I was happy to admit my ignorance of such things. I could have considered it but not while I was in full worry mode, by which time he’d probably have been home anyway.

If it hadn’t worked, I wonder what we’d have done–thankfully we didn’t need to find out.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1943 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Sitting at the table, I waited for Danny to come down for breakfast, he wasn’t in any hurry. The girls were bickering over something or other–last week it was a CD of disputed ownership–in the end I confiscated it and became the common enemy. While they were in school I copied it and gave them each one of the copies, but I retained the original. It was Adele, and personally I wouldn’t bother listening to her, let alone buying her CDs. However, we’re all different in our tastes and opinions, and while it’s tempting to think those who agree are right or possess taste, I try to let my kids develop their own.

The girls went off to squabble elsewhere and finally Danny appeared. He looked tired. “How did you sleep?” I asked him.

“Bloody awful. Where’s Dad?”

“Work, why?”

“I thought he’d have the rack and branding irons out by now.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I wouldn’t tell him why I’d spent the money.”

“He was worried that you might be being intimidated at school.”

“What?” he almost screeched, “Ya jokin’ in ya?”

“No, extortion is not that uncommon in secondary schools. They tried it when I was a kid.”

“Ya didn’t pay, did ya?”

“No–they managed to rob me once or twice, physically taking the money off me, but it took two of them and after that, I stopped carrying money–or so they thought.”

My mind went back to those less peaceful times. I could remember it almost as if it were yesterday that Thomson and Sanders had threatened me. “Look ’ere, you big pansy, if you don’t pay us fifty pence a day each–we won’t be responsible for what ’appens t’yer.”

I refused and ten minutes later Mudford came looking for me. “What’s this about you sayin’ you fancy me, Charlotte?”

“I didn’t say any such thing.” I blushed because of what this implied. I didn’t fancy anyone or anything–except my cat.

“Ya big fairy,” he belted me in the stomach and then punched me on the side of the face as I doubled up. I went down and only the intervention of Mr Whitehead prevented me getting a good kicking as well.

“Are you all right, Watts?” he asked me.

I was so busy trying not to cry I could barely answer him.

“Go and see the nurse, get some ice on that face.” He instructed me and sent the other boy off to see Murray, who’d let him off with a flea in his ear. In fact he sent for me and lectured me on my sort and my unhealthy predilections.

The next day, Thomson and Sanders ambushed me and after a roughing up, Sanders held my arms behind me while Thomson took everything out of my pockets, flinging anything that wasn’t money onto the ground–which was wet and muddy. After they’d taken the two pounds I’d got for my lunch, I was flung onto the ground and the mud as well.

I got hell in school and also back at home when I got there. I told everyone I slipped on the mud, but you know what really happened. After that, I used to tape my money to my tummy with some wide parcel tape, at least until after lunch. A couple of times, Thomson and his partner in crime grabbed me again, my pockets were bare. They hit me and let me go.

I did get my own back later on. They were both passing under a window and a couple of cricket balls just dropped from the sky. Thomson got hit on the head and ended up with concussion, the other it hit on the shoulder and broke his collar bone. Funnily enough, he didn’t seem quite so tough with his arm in a sling, though I didn’t endear myself when I ran smack into him, accidentally of course, and hit his bad shoulder. He was off school for a week after that and they didn’t bother me again.

I don’t believe in violence as I’ve said so often but there are times when survival requires it, when it should be clinical and quick. I wonder what they’re both up to today, probably high court judges or other pillars of the community. I doubt they followed my lead and became a housewife and mother.

“Muuum,” protested Danny.

“Yes, son?”

“You’re not listening.”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I was going to tell you about the money.”

“Pease do.” I sat more upright and attentively.

“We ’ad these posters in the school about animal cruelty.”

“Yes,” I nodded to indicate I heard him.

“Well, they needed money or dozens of dogs and cats were gonna be like, killed at the weekend.”

“I see, so how much did you raise?”

“They needed five thousand to get through the winter.”

“And how much did the others give?”

“We’re supposed to be rich.”

“How much did the others give?”

“We raised the five thousand.”

“And you gave a hundred and seventy five?”

“Yeah,” he stared at the floor and a tear ran down his face. “They were gonna kill ’em.”

“Okay,” I placed my hand under his chin. “What you did was very compassionate, but you should have come and spoken to us.”

“You’da stopped me.”

“I’d have stopped you emptying your bank account, yes, but I might have given you something towards it.”

“I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay, now get some breakfast and off to school, and don’t ever do anything like that again, okay? Come and talk to us.”

“Yes, Mum.”

After I ran the girls to school, I transferred a hundred pounds into Danny’s account. I also phoned the school and checked he’d been telling the truth–okay, that was showing a lack of trust–but if he’d really been in trouble, he could have lied like I did when Thomson and Sanders were making life difficult for me. He was telling the truth and the school had raised nearly five thousand pounds. I asked how much short they were, two hundred and forty three pounds. I sent them a cheque for that amount. I hope Si never finds out, he’ll accuse us both of being soft in the head–but as soon as animals or children appear in trouble, I can’t resist trying to put it right. Seems Danny is the same.

Si pestered me for an answer for days about Danny’s money and I pretended I didn’t know. Finally he left it or forgot. He said someone had deposited a hundred in Danny’s account but without a name they didn’t know who. I paid in cash with one of his paying in slips, and used the machine in the bank, where you just deposit it in an envelope–I didn’t sign the slip.

It’s half term here, you can tell because it’s got colder and it rains most of the time. The weekend was total washout, so after my chores I did some work on the survey. Yeah, it’s still running, and will do for the next five or ten years, plus we’ll have comparisons with Europe and hopefully one or two US sites, although their fauna is a bit different to ours–plus they seem to spend more time shooting than counting it.

I just saw they’d had a big blizzard in New York–wow–it certainly can snow there, hope it doesn’t come this way.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1944 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I came to, disturbed from my slumbers by the radio–why I wasn’t sure, as the girls are on half term. I had to think hard, I felt stupefied having not slept very well last night. I think I heard foxes in the night or perhaps it was the kitten squealing, whatever it was, I woke up went for a wee and couldn’t get back to sleep again. Oh poo, Danny is still in school and of course Julie is still working and I think Phoebe was helping at the salon today–well it’s some pocket money for her.

I struggled out of bed, and listened to all this stuff about the Pope–what’s he done now? Silly old fart. It sounded like he’s retiring–oh good–then the bad news–his replacement is likely to be a clone of him because he’s created so many cardinals of his own conservative viewpoint. Oh well, we all know that climate change and the collapse of capitalism is all due to transsexuals–so that was me and who else? I tittered as I went to shower. Nothing like a good titter first thing in the morning.

They were still on about the bloody Pope–apparently because he’s tweeted once or twice they think he has a clue what day it is–ha ha. You could give an iPad to a monkey and it would still be a monkey, the same goes for his loneliness.

I roused Danny and the two older girls, then went down to put the kettle on–one day it might fit. I made tea as they staggered into the kitchen. “Good night was it?”

“Oh don’t,” groaned Julie–at least she hadn’t taken her car, her deliveryman friend had collected her and Phoebe and they’d been out until quite late, well midnight, which I think is late enough when you have to work the next day.

“Oh hell, I’ve got Mrs Walrus in for a perm today,” groaned Julie, “she’s ’orrible, with a capital O.”

Phoebe laughed, she obviously hadn’t imbibed as much as Jules. “Who’s Mrs Walrus?” she asked.

“Should I have her in my mammal survey?” I asked jokingly.

“Why, are walruses mammals, then?”

“Of course they are, what did you think they were, fish?”

“Hadn’t really thought about it.” Then to Phoebe she said, “She’s a big fat lump like a seal, only she has this huge moustache which goes down the sides of her mouth–hence Mrs Walrus.”

“Oh my god,” offered Pheebs, “Why doesn’t she get rid of it–doesn’t she know we do hair removal?”

“How do I know, she looks like that Mexican bandit.”

I had to deal with Catherine who was squawking as she came down with Trish, “She woke me up,” grumbled megabrain.

“So, you staying up or going back to bed?”

“I might as well stay up now.”

“Where’s Danny? Trish, can you go and check he’s up?”

“I only just got here,” she grumbled but went back up the staircase. Two minutes later she was back, “He went back to sleep.” This time she stayed for breakfast. I made a pile of toast and it disappeared as did the teapot full of tea.

Tom came back from his walk with Kiki. “You having coffee, Daddy?” I called.

“Aye, I’ve somethin’ tae dae first.” He went out to one of the outhouses and went off down the drive carrying a shovel. I carried on with the breakfasts including my own, banana on toast–it keeps me going longer than cereal.

Tom returned and washed his hands. “What was that all about with the shovel?” I asked him.

Danny arrived and asked for cereal. I handed him the packet of cornflakes. “A big dog fox got hit in thae road, I scraped him up an’ chucked him o’er thae hedge.”

“Gramps, I’m eating,” protested our champion drinker.

“I wis tellin’ yer ma, not ye.” He winked at me, “There wis blud an’ guts all over thae place,” he continued and Julie took the bait again.

“Was there?” I asked quietly.

“Not a mark on him, I shifted him afore there wis.”

I nodded.

“You’re going to miss the bus aren’t you?” I asked Danny while looking at the clock.

“Oh hell, I am, too.” He rose from the table only having eaten half his breakfast.

“Sit down, I’ll take you, just don’t make a habit of it.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“That’s okay, I need to go to Waitrose anyway.”

“Can I come?” asked Trish.

“Run up and quickly wash and dress then.” She was off before I could finish the sentence.

“She’ll make me late now,” Danny pouted.

“No she won’t, and besides, if she hadn’t checked to see you were up, you’d still be in bed. Now finish your breakfast and stop whingeing.”

Trish was still pulling on her Ugg boots as she came down the stairs. Julie and Phoebe left, Phoebe still laughing at the Mrs Walrus caricature.

A few moments later we walked briskly to the car and took Danny to his school. Why they can’t all have the same holidays? I don’t know–possibly it’s because the girls actually do longer hours each week, so have to do fewer weeks–I’ve no idea.

Waitrose isn’t far from John Lewis, so we did the food shopping and left it in the boot, then went off to the department store. I wanted to see if they had some more panties for Trish, for some reason the tumble drier decided to scorch them all–or at least all the ones of hers that were in there. The engineer chap is coming later to check it over. It gets loads of work so might need replacing–though like the washing machine, it’s a commercial size, not one you’d normally see in a house.

Having purchased a pack of panties, we were just coming out when we ran into Mrs Alcott, if you remember the bible thumping retired teacher who bashed my car but only coughed up after I helped her to see again.

“Lady Cameron, our angelic aristocrat, how are you?” she effused all over me.

I’m well, Mrs Alcott, and yourself?”

“You should know better than I,” she said and laughed. I felt shoppers looking at us as they went past.

“Hello, Tricia,” she looked down at Trish, who beamed.

“Good morning,” she said adjusting her hand on the bag of panties.

“Been buying up the store?” she addressed to my daughter.

“Nah, only a few knickers–they get ruined after sex.”

Mrs Alcott gave me a horrified look and went into the shop. I dragged Trish out and asked her what she meant.

“After I use my thingy–the iodine stuff stains my knickers.”

“That’s dilating, Trish, not sex.”

“That isn’t what you call it when Daddy dilates you, is it?”

I think I was still blushing when we drove out of the car park.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1945 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

After Trish’s intercourse with Mrs Alcott, I couldn’t wait to get home and the opportunity to drink a cup of tea in peace and quiet. I thought who would be at the house, just the girls, Stella and her pair, baby Cate and David with his two room-mates.

Then I realized that Hannah would still be in school. It seemed only St Claires were on holiday, or other private schools like them. I never saw Ingrid taking Hannah to school but she obviously did, unless David did it for her–that wouldn’t surprise me, he seemed rather taken with Ingrid and her daughter. Oh well, that’s their business, I refuse to ever do matchmaking again after what happened with Jenny and Caroline, or whatever he is calling himself now. I still couldn’t believe that someone as nice as Jenny had been could become the scheming shrew she became. The more I tried to help her, the worse she became. I hope she’s happy now because what she did nearly broke my heart. My relationship with Ingrid is very much less familiar. She is my employee and although we do things informally, and in a friendly manner–I’m still her boss and that’s how it’s going to stay.

I do wonder if I’ve tried too hard to be nice to everyone, to see them as equals when clearly we’re not. I don’t mean that in a superior way. I’m wealthier than they are, I’m better educated, and I’m happily married. I pay them well and they work hard and well for me. I’m not going to lord it over them, because I prefer to ask people to do things for me. They rarely refuse and most would I think prefer to be asked than instructed to do something, even if they’re being paid for the privilege. Civility and courtesy may be less common these days, and call me old fashioned, but I hope they never go out of fashion.

“What would you prefer to eat tonight?” David asked me as I made myself some tea. “Horseburgers and chips or spaghetti equinase?”

“Neigh lad, I want horse’s d’ouvres.”

We were joking about what could be quite a serious matter of misrepresentation, which a complicated way of meaning fraud. I have no idea what the price per kilo of horsemeat is, as it isn’t usually sold for human consumption in the UK, but I suspect it does abroad and is also used in pet food, much of which is also manufactured abroad.

I know it’s pure sentimentalism on my part but somehow I don’t see horses as part of the human food chain, though it’s more based on reading Black Beauty and watching too many cowboy films, than logic. Horses are noble creatures who dedicate themselves to serving humans–yeah, sure. Sounds like Animal Farm before the revolt. The reality is that they are big dumb herbivores just like cattle, and could therefore be eaten as such–though I’m not sure Clint Eastwood would necessarily agree.

We just don’t eat horses here, and I admit I don’t like the idea of being sold something as beef to discover it included horsemeat, especially if the latter is cheaper. That they’ve discovered pork in supposed beef meat balls, and there are suggestions chicken products aren’t always what they purport to be means this deception is going on on a large scale and stinks of organized crime.

That the Pope is retiring just as the meat scandal is emerging is probably coincidental, but where is the latter going to end, probably not at the Vatican, though I suspect Christianity died there a couple of millennia ago.

I took my tea down to my study and passed the dining room where Trish was holding court and telling the story of her encounter with Mrs Alcott. I could have intervened and told them what happened and how rude I thought Trish was. Instead I ignored it because that way it would die a death and be forgotten in no time. However, I decided that Trish was growing up quite rapidly and she was winding me up not being the innocent she pretended to be. So I’d need to work out how to deal with it–probably best by just ignoring it, and trying not to appear shocked. She really is a little monster, but a very clever one.

I dealt with some emails and then took a phone call which I wasn’t expecting.

“Cathy?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Erin, are you free next week to do a wildlife programme on Radio 4.”

“I don’t know–what sort of programme?”

“One about British mammals, this story about the fox eating someone’s baby in London has given them a chance to form a programme about mammals. Professor Harris from Bristol is taking part.”

“Well he’s the expert on urban foxes, he was on the radio the other morning talking about them, suggesting that a cull wouldn’t work–it would if Boris was the target.”

“Ha ha, don’t say things like that, will you?”

“Okay, I’ll just go on about the Pope resigning shall I?

“Don’t you dare.”

“Who else is on it?” I enjoyed teasing her.

“Oh some bloke I’ve never heard of.”

“Like who?”

“Some bloke called David Attenborough.”

“You’re joking?” I gasped, if he was on it, I’d do it for nothing and in the nude.

“Damn, you guessed,” she cackled down the phone.

“Bitch.”

“You started it.”

“What’s the fee?”

“A hundred plus travel–it would give you a chance to talk about your survey.”

“I know that, which is why I haven’t said no already.”

“Chris Packham is on it.”

“Why?”

“To balance all you academics.”

“All two of us?”

“Oh didn’t I say that Professor Freeman from Swansea is also on it?”

“No you didn’t–he’s a marine biologist.”

“I know, Cathy, I’m his agent too.”

“Oh, pity.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“He’s a prat.”

“He’s an expert on marine mammals.”

“My arse he is, he’s spent most of his time studying turtles.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Erin, turtles are reptiles–they lay eggs for Godsake.”

“Oh, are they?”

“If he’s there I won’t be.”

“I thought you like Professor Harris?”

“I do, he’s a lovely chap and very knowledgeable about urban foxes and badgers.”

“And you’re the survey queen–you probably know more about the distribution of mammals in the UK than anyone else.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So you know about fox populations.”

“No I don’t–I know about fox distribution–that’s different. I know about dormouse populations but as far as I know, they don’t go round biting baby’s fingers off.”

“Pity.” She paused, “Look, can’t you just cope with him for an hour or two?”

“Who?”

“Prof Freeman.”

“No way.”

“Why?” she pleaded.

“It’s a free country, I don’t have to do it, do I?”

“He might be a prat, but he’s quite a pleasant one. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I’m sure she could see me blushing, and she was spot on. We did have some history.

“There is, isn’t there?” she crowed.

“Okay, so there is.”

“C’mon tell your Auntie Erin all about it.”

“Okay, about five years ago, no it must be longer than that–I was still an undergrad at Sussex. One of my colleagues was due to give a paper on the Atlantic Grey Seal. He went sick at the last minute and I was persuaded against my better judgment to read it instead. I read the paper and fielded a few questions including one from Freeman, who knew a bit more about it than I did. He tried to humiliate me, but he wasn’t as clever as he thought, and in getting over confident he left a small crack in his argument. Despite the adrenalin I managed to stay focused on what he was saying, and spotted the flaw in his argument and came back at him. It backfired all over him. You see, he mistook a paper on Harp seals for one on Atlantic Greys. He misread the figures and because I’d read it on the way to Cambridge, where we were speaking, I was able to turn it round and fight back.

“You make it sound like it was personal, surely it wasn’t?”

“It was, I overheard him in the bar later talking about the little fairy who embarrassed him. He embarrassed himself while trying to humiliate me. He’s a homophobic or transphobic arsehole.”

“Is he–he never seemed that way to me.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t know you were going to ask me?”

“He does, actually, he rather fancies you after your dormouse film.”

“Yuck–he obviously didn’t recognise me from before then–I suppose he didn’t know I was now at Portsmouth and doing dormice.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t confuse the dishy dormouse dolly-bird aristocrat with some feminine looking boy undergrad, would he?”

“I don’t care if he does, I’m not appearing with him.”

“It’s radio, Cathy.”

“I don’t care what it is–the answer is no. I have to go, Erin.” I put the phone down. I’d lost a chance to publicise our survey because of personal prejudice–mine. Oh well, too bad.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1946 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Sussex students are revolting,” said Stella, breezing into the kitchen. “Oh, could you make me a cup too?”

I turned round from kettle and said, “Hey presto, you’re a cup.”

“Very funny, now make a cuppa, Watts, or are you going to revolt as well?”

“Why should I make you a cuppa when you impugn my alma mater?” I fired back at her, at the same time reaching for another mug from the rack.

“I wasn’t, it’s all in here,” she passed over the Independent digest, which goes by the name of the ‘i.’ Value for money, it’s amazing, it’s twenty pence compared to the cost of a Guardian at one pound forty. I still like my Guardian, even though I don’t have time to even read the back page while Tom slurps coffee all over the front of it.

I flicked through the tabloid sized newspaper and found the report she was mentioning–it was about Sussex University wanting to contract out some services to save money, and the students had occupied some building as a protest. I probably agreed with them, universities are places of learning not businesses.

“So are you revolting too?” she asked when I handed her back her newspaper.

“I prefer to see myself as a revolutionary,” I retorted, with, I hoped, some indignation.

“Oh yeah, Che Guevara with tits–yeah, that’s you okay.”

“Oh thanks, Stella, he had a beard as well.”

She glanced at me and then pretended to do a double take, “My god, you’ve shaved it off.”

“What has Mummy shaved off?” asked Livvie walking into the kitchen looking for a drink.

“Nothing, darling,” I replied.

However, Stella decided to up the ante. “Yes you did, you told me you’d shaved off all your pubic hair.”

“Stella,” I complained, but Livvie ran off laughing. “Now they’ll all be wanting to shower with me tomorrow to see if I have.”

“I’d run upstairs quickly then, and do it before they demand a pitch inspection.”

I shook my head and sipped my tea. That woman could be classified as insane if she wasn’t so crazy. I caught movement from the corner of my eye and now had three schoolgirls and a toddler wanting to see my supposed bare snatch. I had jeans on, so they were wasting their time.

“Please, Mummy, my we have a drink?” asked Trish, and I told them to help themselves. I make them ask, because if I let them just get on with it they drink far too much juice, which can affect tooth decay.

They stood around gulping their fruit squash when finally, Livvie asked, “Does it itch, Mummy?”

She was staring intently at my groin so it became somewhat obvious what she meant. Stella thought it was highly amusing.

“I haven’t shaved anything except my armpits, Liv. Auntie Stella was joking.”

Livvie looked lost for a moment.

“Don’t believe her, girls, she’s just too embarrassed to admit it.” Stella stirred her cauldron, and I felt like bashing her on the head with it. The girls were now unsure of who to believe.

“Stella, stop this nonsense.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much. That’s Shakespeare, so it’s bound to be right, isn’t it girls?”

The three children looked bewildered by Stella’s insistence.

“He also got a character to say, ‘Odds bodkins,’ but it doesn’t mean anything,” I protested.

“Odds what?” asked Trish.

“It’s a saying from that period, it’s just an exclamation like Gramps sometimes says, ‘It’s a sair fecht right enough’.”

“Yes but what does it mean?” demanded Trish.

“It doesn’t mean anything, it isn’t meant to.”

“Why say it then? That’s like saying hoist the main brace on a submarine,” Trish took the conversation to new depths–no pun intended.

“Put your tumblers in the sink and go and play,” I instructed them.

They all went off giggling while Stella snorted.

“And you, Missus, can stop that sniggering,” I said like an outraged school ma’am, which of course, only made her snort even more, and then she had to wipe her nose–ugh–bogies.

“Huh, who stole your lollipop?” asked Stella.

“Perhaps I’m just tired of silliness and silly games,” I rose from the table and Stella’s expression was a mixture of indignation and fury.

“You play them as often as anyone, so take the mote out of your own eye.” She suddenly stood up and flounced up the stairs. Just great.

David arrived and began lugging in loads of shopping which he stacked in fridges and freezers or the pantry. Sometimes this house looks like a restaurant, and quite a sizeable one.

“Got a bargain on the minced beef,” he smirked, “It’s the DNA tester kit which was expensive.” He chuckled to himself as he went back out to his car. I went back down to my study and regretted being unable to publicise the survey. It cost a lot of time and money, it’s a resource–people should know about it. I was about to call Erin back when I stopped, I’d still have to deal with that prat from Swansea–“Oh why can’t he just have a heart attack and die,” I said to myself, then berated myself for my childishness.

We had lunch and I went to do some more stuff for the conference. I dunno, I seem to work harder at home than I do in work. It was half past two when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Cathy, it’s Erin.”

“Hi, I’m not doing it.”

“You can now.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Professor Freeman had a heart attack and died lunch time today.”

“What?” I gasped.

“He died–so are you free for this programme?”

“He died?” I felt my head spinning.

“Yes, he had a heart attack–the paramedics couldn’t save him.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“Sorry, you couldn’t stand him?”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t wish him any harm,” I lied and felt my face burning–I’d not many hours before done just that. Had I killed him? Had the blue energy heard me and acted? I was devastated.

“Cathy, are you listening to me?”

“What?”

“You’re not listening to me–can you do this programme?”

“I–er–don’t know.”

“I’ll put you down for it, I’ll email all the bumf to you.”

“What if I…”

“What if you what?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Are you okay, Cathy?”

“Yeah, just a bit shocked about Freeman.”

“Yeah, but you will do the programme–it’s just what you need to get some publicity for your survey.”

“Yeah,” I said but my mind wasn’t on the conversation. “I have to go,” I said putting down the phone.

He died lunch time–had I killed him? If I had, what sort of monster was I? I sat there in a daze for probably half an hour when Stella came in.

“The girls have been calling you.”

“Yeah,” I said without hearing what she’d said.

“Cathy?”

“What?” I tried to summon up some concentration.

“What is the matter with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, shake yourself.”

“Yeah, alright.” I said but continued to sit there.

“Cathy, what is the matter with you?”

I sat there with tears running down my face.

Stella bent over me, “What’s the matter?” she asked concerned.

“I think I might have killed someone.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1947 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“What d’you mean you might have killed someone?”

I explained what I thought might have happened, and she sat and cogitated for a few minutes. “I think it most unlikely that you killed him. It’s probably simply a coincidence–they do happen.”

“I know they happen, Stella, but it was right after I wished him dead.”

She picked up the phone, looked at the calls I’d received and dialled Erin. “Hello, Erin, it’s Stella Cameron, yes that’s right, Cathy’s sister in law. Look this is going to sound strange, but do you know when this Professor Freeman died? Yes I know it was today–about half past ten. Okay thanks–no you don’t want to know, yeah, bye.”

She replaced the phone in its charger base, “What time did you curse this guy?”

“I didn’t curse him, I just asked why he couldn’t just have a heart attack and die. Next thing Erin is phoning me to say he did just that.”

What time was it?”

“Before lunch, I think.”

“Well he died about ten thirty, which was when you were bragging to the girls about your plucked pubes. You didn’t kill him unless you were sending him naughty thoughts to bring about a heart attack.”

“Okay, so I didn’t kill him. Thank you for that.”

The phone rang and I answered it, “Cathy, what is going on?”

“What d’you mean, going on?”

“You know what I mean, why did Stella call me just now?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Cathy–what’s it all about?”

“Okay, I was telling her that I’d liked to have publicised my survey work but couldn’t because I didn’t wish to associate with Professor Freeman and his homophobic friends. I told her that if he wasn’t on the programme, I’d probably agree to do it.”

“So that’s a definite is it?”

“Definite what?” I asked feeling I’d just dug a hole for myself.

“For the radio show.”

“When is it?”

“Next Wednesday after Woman’s Hour. Hey, I wonder if they’d like you on Woman’s Hour?”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Be at the Natural History Unit for ten, I’ll see you there.”

“Erin, could I bring one or two of the girls with me, just to look around?”

“I don’t know, they’d need someone to watch them.”

“Well, you’re going to be there.”

“I’m not sure how long for.”

“In which case I’m not sure I can make it.”

“Cathy, you’re a monster.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’ll speak to the producer–if you bring Trish, keep her away from anything electronic or she’ll be splitting the atom or some other such thing.”

“I think you need some sort of particle accelerator to split atoms.”

“Okay, but you knew what I meant.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ll get back to you–but I can’t promise anything.”

“Neither can I then.” I was lying but she might not realise it.

“You be there or I’ll come and get you.”

I laughed my response and put the phone down.

“So you’re going to do it, then?” asked Stella.

“It’s a way of selling the survey.”

“What about the kids, which ones–don’t tell me, Trish and Livvie?”

“Yes, they’d get more out of it than Mima or Catherine.”

“Julie might have enjoyed it, so would Phoebe.”

“They’re busy.”

“So are the girls.”

“No, they’ve got a longer half term.”

“Danny would be in his element.”

“Danny will be in his element–he’s doing a soccer school.”

“I suppose I’ll have to look after Catherine and Mima?”

“That s so kind of you to offer, Stella. I’ll take the other two with me on Tuesday evening and we’ll have less of a fight to get to the studios on time.”

She gave me a glare that should have welded my eyeballs together, then she smirked–"You owe me one, Catherine bloody Watts.”

I beamed back a beatific smile. All I had to do now, was to decide what to wear–smart casual–obviously, I’m a biologist not a managing director, but I’m also an aristocrat’s wife–oh poo. I nipped upstairs and checked out my wardrobe.

I quickly glanced at ten thousand items and decided I had nothing suitable to wear. Then thought, it was ridiculous. I looked again, I picked out my CK jeans, with a DK top and my Burberry jacket and my M&S ankle boots. Yeah that would work with a nice scarf and handbag. I’ve got a Prada one somewhere, I think.

I sent Steve Harris an email saying I was looking forward to meeting him again. He replied saying much the same and asking if I was bringing the infamous Spike. If I did she'd steal the show and the poor old fox would be an also ran. I told him I would if he brought a fox or badger. I got a one word reply, ‘Touché.’

I felt better already and while it wasn’t raining, I took the children out for a walk, Cate in her push chair, which Meems decided she wanted to drive. There were a few moments of argument with Trish, but I stamped on it and we managed a nice walk to the harbour and back, by which time they were all a bit tired despite the ice cream I’d bought us at the harbour. I gave them a drink and a biscuit and made myself a cuppa, then settled down in a comfortable seat to drink it.

“You killed me, you bitch.” Freeman was looking very angry.

“Calm down, you’ll have a heart attack,” I said forgetting he’d just had a rather large and terminal one.

“Just so you could have a radio programme to yourself.”

“I won’t be on my own, Steve Harris will be there.”

“Spoiled my chances again, haven’t you?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Like you embarrassed me at that seminar in Cambridge.”

“You embarrassed yourself and got what you deserved.”

“At least I’m not some bloody fairy poncing about in women’s clothes.”

“Neither am I, I’m a married woman.”

“How can you be married, you’re a man.”

“Perhaps they’ll have hearing aids wherever you’re going, you must have misheard me–I’m a woman, you know, female of the species–wife and mother–that sort of thing. Perhaps they don’t have them in Swansea.”

“How dare you, Watts?”

“How dare I, what, Professor?”

“Come here wearing those clothes?”

“Because if I didn’t it would be seen as improper, and I suspect you wouldn’t want to see my body anyway.”

“Too right, you bloody fairy.”

Then he stepped forward and began tearing at my clothes, somehow my efforts to resist were futile, my limbs seemed immoveable. He pulled off the last stitch of clothing and stepped back to admire the view. “Bloody hell, for boy you’ve got a good shape.”

“I’m female, Freeman.”

“Sure you are.”

With that, Cate appeared toddling up to me and raising her arms to be picked up. I did so and she began to suckle at my breast.

“How are you doing that?” he demanded stepping closer.

“Mamma,” said Cate and sucked some more.

Freeman stepped back. “You’ve tricked me,” then he clutched his chest and fell down dead for the second time.

I held Cate firmly and began walking down the high street completely starkers except for my shoes. People were staring and laughing, but I didn’t care, I had my baby with me and I suspected they were all jealous.

“Mam–ma,” called her little voice.

“Yes dear,” I muttered.

“Ma-mma,” she shrieked and pulled on my jeans.

I sat up quickly and realised that I was sitting at home and had fallen asleep in the chair and had just poured a mug of cold tea over my leg–wunnerful.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1948 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Needless to say, I changed my jeans, washing them before they stained, along with some other coloured clothing I saw lying in the wash basket. I told Tom that I’d agreed to do a programme about the survey and he was pleased–at least that was the impression I got from his beaming smile.

The rest of the week went on as usual–you know, mayhem and madness with all the usual suspects. I just managed to stop Trish throwing the kitten out the window to see if they could always land on their feet–from that height she’d have broken her legs or done serious injury.

Meems tried to take Cate out for a walk in the pushchair without any adults with her. She got quite annoyed when I called her back and nearly pushed the chair out into the road–in an act of temper. I have never run down that drive so quickly in all my life.

Livvie somehow managed to put the end of the vacuum cleaner extension thing through the television screen. She was really upset, although it was an accident. Simon was even more upset but he had a new one sent along the same evening.

Danny had his bike stolen from school when he went to the football workshop they were running there over half term. It turned up at a car boot the following Sunday–we had the frame serial number and called the police. So that ended happily. I made him take a U-lock after that.

On the Tuesday afternoon, Livvie and Trish accompanied me to my house in Bristol, together with a pile of cases containing some decent clothing for the three of us. The sun shone making the driving far from easy–we were heading west–which meant we were driving into it the whole way.

We stopped at the supermarket on the way and bought milk and a few other bits and pieces, including some bread for breakfast. By the time we got there and unloaded the car, there was time for a quick cuppa and then we set off for the chip shop for our tea–we all had fish and chips. Usually what I do is to buy two adult portions and they have half each–and that night was no exception. I know it’s hardly healthy eating, but we don’t eat it that often and we all seem healthy enough on the diet we eat. We finished off with some fruit and they watched the telly while I decided which of the four lots of clothing I’d brought, I would actually wear.

The children had decided before we left home, although I also added a couple of other things just in case. In the boot of the car, I had a bouquet of flowers to place on my parent’s grave, and perhaps it was that which had me dreaming of my mother that night, either that or the fish and chips.

You may be aware that I sometimes have weird dreams–the one when I had pleurisy is possibly one of the more bizarre, bouncing across a desert on a space hopper, but then I was delirious. Sometimes I have seemingly prophetic dreams and sometimes I have dreams I don’t recall at all. I suppose if you don’t recall a prophetic one it becomes more pathetic than prophetic.

Occasionally I have nasty dreams and sometimes I have nice ones. That night was one of the latter category. I dreamt I was with the two girls at the cemetery and we’d just put the flowers on the grave when I turned around and my mum and dad were standing there holding hands with Billie.

I gasped, especially when the two girls rushed up and embraced their sister and then their deceased grandparents. I followed them cautiously but my need to embrace Billie was overwhelming and I know I was crying when I did so. I didn’t want to let her go, ever again but my mother coughed politely and I stood up and gave her a hug and also my dad. He could speak and act normally–in fact, for three dead people they looked very well. Yeah okay, but they did and it was a dream.

“So, Catherine, you’ve done very well for yourself,” I see, said my mother. “A wife and mother, like I said you would be, and doing very well considering all things.

“Mummy, you trained me very well, even if Daddy wasn’t aware quite what was going on most of the time.”

“I didn’t want to believe what I could see with my own eyes–that my Charlie, was actually a Charlotte–but I thought if I taught you all the skills of housekeeping, whatever happened, you’d be self sufficient.”

“I’m glad you did, Mummy, they’ve come in so handy ever since.”

“She’s a good mummy, Gran,” said Trish which Livvie supported.

“She’s the best mummy I ever had, I was so happy with her,” said Billie and made me sniff a bit.

“How come you buried Billie with Celia and Catherine Agnew instead of with your natural parents?”

“So I could visit the grave more easily.” Even in my dream I knew I was lying and my mother gave me one of her, ‘Oh yes,’ looks, which meant she didn’t believe one word of what I said.

I returned to hugging Billie when I could prise her away from Trish and Livvie.

“We see Celia and Catherine now and again, two delightful women,” my father entered the conversation. “They think the world of you and your kids.”

“I got that impression from just standing at the grave.”

“So you’ve met them?” he continued.

“Not quite, it’s more just an impression.”

“Catherine, all the women in our family are a bit psychic–just go with it, don’t keep looking for scientific evidence, some things are still to be discovered and may take many years.”

I shrugged, even in dreams I remain somewhat sceptical.

“Where are you going?” My mother called to my dad.

“Be back in a moment,” he shouted back and rushed off.

I continued chatting with my mother and hugging Billie who came to me several times for them. After one such hug, I glanced up and saw my dad returning with two women, one middle aged and the other about my age. He didn’t need to say, I knew exactly who they were.

In a greeting without words we just embraced and all three of us had tears in our eyes. “We meet at last,” I said hugging my namesake. She was a very attractive woman, prettier than I remembered from the photo in Tom’s wallet.

“I suppose we’re sort of sisters.”

“I suppose we are. You’re very pretty,” I said hugging her again.

“I might be, but you, dear sister, are simply beautiful.”

If you can blush in a dream, I did so. “She looked very pretty when she was doing that stupid play,” offered my mother, “more so as a schoolgirl than Lady Macbeth.”

“I couldn’t see it then, which I deeply regret,” said my father and I hugged him and told him I forgave him. He shrugged, “It was wicked of me, but I just wouldn’t see it–how stupid can you get?” I kissed him on the cheek and he grabbed me in a huge hug. “I did love you, Cathy, even if I got it all wrong.”

Celia thanked me for looking after Tom, saying that she knew he was in good hands. I thanked her, and we all hugged and kissed again before they all went off together, Billie holding the hand of my namesake.

“See, I told you she was about, didn’t I?” Trish said tapping my arm.

“Yes, dear,” I replied sleepily.

“Wake up, Mummy, somebody is trying to steal the car.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1949 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Wake up, Mummy,” she hissed at me nearly pulling me out of bed.

I sat up and hissed back at her, “What’s going on?”

“Someone is trying to steal your car but if you’re not too bothered about it, I’ll go back to bed.”

It took a few seconds for the central processor to warm up, “What?” I almost shrieked and scrambled out of bed and picking up the phone en route to the window, I dialled triple nine and asked for police.

As I spoke to someone in the police control room, I peeped out between the curtains. He was still there, though quite what he was doing, I couldn’t see. He was wearing a thickish coat, like a donkey jacket, under which he wore a hoodie which covered some of his face. On his legs he wore jeans and below that I thought I glimpsed trainers.

The police were on their way. I just tried to keep him in view, though it was so tempting to chase him off. Instead I pulled on some jeans and jumper over my pyjamas. Then I noticed there was a second one. This one in just the hoodie and jeans. I scuffed on my shoes.

The police car came flying into the close with just blue lights flashing–it was well after midnight. The two men spotted them and started to run for it. Two police jumped out of the car and chased after them and I went down to see if I could assist.

The one would be thief was quickly subdued but thief number one, was dancing out of the reach of the police officer. The copper lunged forward and it was then I saw the flash of silver and he was stabbed by the villain. He staggered about for a moment and fell heavily, the thief almost dancing triumphantly as the copper lay bleeding on the ground.

It was at this point I got involved. I needed to do two things. Disable him and get to the injured policeman. I told Trish to call an ambulance and I grabbed my father’s walking stick, a stout length of ash, quite a hard wood yet reasonably light. It had the customary hook on the end for a handle. I ran straight at the gloating thief who was probably on some sort of drugs the way he was waving the dripping knife around.

Policeman one was still trying to cuff his quarry, so it was essentially up to me. I confronted the thug who waved his large bladed knife at me. “You’re next, bitch,” he sneered.

“Maybe,” I responded and we circled each other, him slashing wildly at me and me standing well clear. What happened next caught us both by surprise as Trish sneaked up behind him with a bucket of water and threw it over him. He jumped in shock and spun round and I whacked him on the wrist holding the knife which he dropped. I then caught him in the guts with the end of the stick and finally delivered a high kick to his chin which laid him out.

Trish was back at the house giggling, I presume with nerves–she has more than I do. The other cuffed the dazed knife wielder while I looked at his colleague. He was dying, and there was so much blood around it was easy to see why. The poor chap had been stabbed through his vena cava, the main vessel bringing blood back to the heart. He was unconscious and gurgling rather than breathing.

I pulled off my sweater and tried to use it to staunch the wound although it was the internal bleeding which was worse. Throwing all the energy I could into him, I felt a huge surge flood through my body and he actually opened his eyes, tried to sit up, screamed and fell back.

I saw his colleague standing looking at me with his mouth wide open doing an impression of goldfish. He seemed unable to move. A second surge happened when Trish came to help me and I smelt burning as the light attempted to weld his vessel back together. His chest rose and fell and continued to do so showing he was breathing on his own–though quite what he was using for blood, defeated me. Ugh, I was kneeling in it.

The ambulance arrived with a second cop car. “What happened?” asked the new arrivals. The goldfish copper, whose name was Pete, shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

The two villains were bundled into the second car while the injured police officer, who was called Doug, was trundled off in the ambulance.

Somehow, the shocked copper, Pete, came into the house and I asked Livvie who was now awake to put the kettle on and to bring me some clean clothes. I changed in the downstairs loo and flung my clothing into the washing machine on a cool wash after rinsing them out. So much for looking cool at the BBC–those were my designer jeans in the wash.

“What were you doing to Doug? What was that light? For a moment I thought another car had arrived. You saved his life, didn’t you? Who are you and what are you?”

“I have a gift which sometimes enables me to heal people. It isn’t controlled by me, it comes when it wants and today it came–another time it won’t. Your friend was lucky it answered my call–he should have bled to death.”

“I thought he was dead until you knelt over him.”

“Not quite, but I managed to stop the bleeding–the knife caught quite a big vessel.”

“They’ll see that in hospital, won’t they?”

“No, they’ll see the minor vein which was also cut and which produces plenty of red stuff but they can sew that one up. They won’t know about the big one, just tell him how lucky he was. I need you to keep this between us.”

“I can’t do that, I’m duty bound to report what happened.”

“If you do say what you saw, you’ll probably destroy my life and that of my children–is that what you want?”

“No, of course not.”

“I also won’t be able to help people because my life will a perfect hell of pursuit by others looking to be healed. I can’t save them all, even Jesus couldn’t do that.”

“I don’t know, you’re asking me to withhold evidence.”

“No, I’m asking you to consider your own son.”

“What’s he got to do with this.”

“He had cerebral palsy, didn’t he?”

“How d’you know that?” he looked very agitated.

“I know, let’s leave it at that.”

“Don’t you harm him.”

“I haven’t, but the energy picked up your thoughts about how you’d have loved him to be whole and wonder if I could sort him. I have but it won’t last if you tell anyone about what you saw tonight, other than the thug trying to kill your friend and my stopping some of the bleeding.”

“You’ve cured Chris?”

“I didn’t, the love you have for him and your help for me tonight has.”

“How do I know you’re not conning me?”

“D’you honestly think that?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Good, I have more good news, your father’s arthritic hip has healed itself. Now, let’s have another cuppa and do this statement, shall we?”

He left an hour later promising never to tell anyone what had happened or how his family had received some miraculous cures. I didn’t tell him his wife’s ovarian cancer had also been zapped–neither of them knew about it and I think it might have pushed him over the edge. As it was he went off in something of a trance which I suspect the energy might have helped him forget one or two things he saw.

It was after three when I got back to my bed which was occupied by two aliens who snuggled up to me before I managed to get back to sleep.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1950 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Did you have the funny dream, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“And which funny dream would that be?” I asked.

“The one in the cemetery.”

“Cemetery?”

“Yes, where we met your mummy and daddy and Nanny Celia and Auntie Catherine with Billie.”

“What happened?” I asked knowing full well what happened in my dream.

“We all met up and talked and hugged each other and you got on really well with Nanny Celia and Auntie Catherine. They asked you to continue taking good care of Gramps.

“And what did I say?” I teased.

“You said you would.”

“See, I’m a kind lady really, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Mummy,” she laughed.

Trish coming back from the loo asked what we were talking about. “We were talking about you.”

“Me?” she asked he eyes lighting up. She seems to have the same opinion as Oscar Wilde–‘The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.’

“No, I was asking Mummy about the funny dream.”

“Oh, she’ll have had it too, she always does when I have one like that, Billie makes sure of it. That was when I heard the bad guys trying to steal her car, when I came in to speak to her about it.”

“I wonder how the policeman is?” I mused aloud.

“He’ll be okay, we both worked on him.”

“That was very clever of you to bring the bucket of water and throw it over the man with the knife.”

“That was my idea,” said Livvie her body almost visibly swelling with pride.

“It was very clever, all the same, if a bit dangerous.”

“Well, we don’t have a gun, do we–cos I coulda shot him,” offered her sister.

“I think the police would have taken a dim view of that,” I suggested.

“Their bloke wouldn’t have been stabbed then, if we’d shot ’em both.”

“I think there are quite enough people being shot without us joining the madness.” My views on guns and shooting people were well known, but then I had actually shot someone. The memory made me shiver as I recalled the car trying to kill us while we were in Scotland and how I fired back without much idea of what I was doing, but then the object of machine guns is to point and fire until you hit something. Snipers are the ones who know what they’re doing in the killing game. I’d met a couple of them, one from the SAS and the other SBS–they seemed pretty normal, but they’d also been professional killers–more so than ordinary troops–highly trained and skilled.

“C’mon, we need to get up, I’ve an appointment at the BBC, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” giggled Trish and set her sister off by making a silly face.

We all showered and dressed and by the time we’d dressed, dried our hair and had breakfast, it was nearly time to go. I had a few minutes and hung the clothes from the washing machine on the line–as far as I could see, the blood had washed out of them.

So what did I wear? Not the shorts and top from the dormouse film, instead I had a skirt suit and a blouse on. The suit was in olive green linen with a beige blouse in silk and I wore a diamond and gold dormouse brooch on the lapel of the jacket, which Simon had had made for me for Christmas.

I took my iPad with me for any information required about the survey, it’s one with 64GB memory. I prefer laptops, but these notepad things are really convenient and so quick. They do them with even more memory, but this was okay for me and with the retinal display, whatever that means–load of balls, I suppose–eyeballs.

I wore the suit with brown courts and a matching brown bag–they were a present from Stella–can’t remember what for this time, but they were very nice and such soft leather, sadly my iPad case didn’t match, that was a greyish black colour, but it was leather.

The girls had their iPads in their backpacks so I reminded them not to drop their bags or throw them around because we wouldn’t replace any that they broke. It wasn’t quite true because they were all insured, but they didn’t know that; and it’s good to remind them that five hundred pound toys don’t grow on trees.

At the BBC natural history unit, we met with Erin and after getting our visitor stickers, we were led to a hospitality room for coffees while we waited for the studio to be made ready. Someone had obviously told Prof Harris that I was bringing in two of my kids because he turned up with a small soft toy of a fox and one of a badger and presented them to my girls. They were so excited.

They spent the half an hour we had in the hospitality room showing their stuffed animals to Erin and then Trish pulled out her iPad and showed all these clips of film of badgers, foxes, weasels, stoats, dormice–wonder where that came from. That she knew something about all of them including some data on distribution she must have taken from the survey website, and status of each animal–either increasing, decreasing or static in terms of range and numbers.

Professor Harris was gobsmacked. “What are we doing here? She knows it all better than we do?”

“They couldn’t afford her, her rates are twice mine–she’s a mean negotiator,” I said quietly and he chuckled.

The producer was really kind to the girls and in return they were better behaved than usual. They sat and watched us–we were in a small studio with glass surrounds, so they could see us all the time. They sat still and waited, in return, because they were good, the producer showed them round the technical side where the editor sits and the sound technician and so on.

As for the show, as they termed the programme, we chatted about the risk of foxes in towns–they’re wild animals and should be left alone. If you feed them, just put the food out and don’t try to tame them, and keep your doors shut.

I agreed with that. We have them in the garden at home, as well as badgers and they get some scraps from time to time. Foxes help to keep rats and mice down, badgers unfortunately tend to do the same with hedgehogs, but not as successfully as motor cars. I was able to plead for people to try and leave rough areas in their gardens for hedgehogs and to be careful with bonfires-they sometimes hibernate in the pile of rubbish being stacked for bonfires.

The presenter, Jane Clough, asked me, “Well, Cathy, we can’t leave without you telling us about dormice–we all remember the film you made last year, which was so informative. So how are dormice doing?”

I did my stuff, referred to the mammal survey and asked for volunteers, as we were hoping to keep it running for several more years. I told her about the data we had for dormice and what we needed to do for them and several other species, but doubled the plea for hedgehogs which were declining so rapidly.

“And, I hear you’re doing a film on the harvest mouse?”

“It’s in the preparatory stages, still sussing sites and my colleague, Alan White, is looking at the technical elements of filming them.”

“Will you present it–I hope so, and my husband is hoping you’ll wear the same shorts.”

“I haven’t considered what I’ll wear yet, but I’ll discuss it with the producer.” Prof Harris nearly fell off his chair when she asked the question and sat there sniggering while I got very hot and very red.

The girls and Erin were listening outside and Erin snorted at my answer about the shorts. Trish asked why and she replied, “Ask the producer, my hat! She is the producer.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1951 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Mummy, are you going to wear shorts for your next film?” asked Livvie.

“I haven’t decided yet–I might just wear a bikini, stay up stockings and high heeled shoes.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you be cold?” Obviously irony doesn’t work with Livvie.

“It would certainly increase your audience in one direction, perhaps we could do some glamour shots for page three for the day before.” Erin wasn’t impressed with my teasing.

“Shall we go and get some ice cream?” I offered as a reward for the girl’s good behaviour.

“Ooh, yes please,” was the unanimous decision of the girls.

“I think this should be my treat, don’t you?” Erin topped my offer. “And your mummy and I could have a nice cup of coffee.”

I followed Erin and we pulled into a couple of spaces alongside a row of shops and a cafe. She led the way and we took a table near the window. The sunshine was lovely but that wind was cold. However, it didn’t stop the girls eating their ice creams and having a fizzy drink while we settled down to empty a pot of Earl Grey tea.

“How did you think it went?” I asked Erin.

“Yeah, it went okay. You got over your survey website, and also answered a few questions. I don’t for one minute believe it will stop Boris from shooting urban foxes because they don’t have a vote and can’t answer back. So they’re an easy target.”

“I suspect you’re right. I wish there was some way of pointing out the truth to him, but there isn’t–he’ll do what he thinks will get the most votes when he seeks re-election, whether or not that is based upon fact, is probably irrelevant.”

“Foxes are an easy target unless the will of the people says otherwise. Boris is a populist, if he thought it would cost him votes, he’d change tack.”

“But we’ve told him this, Steve Harris was on radio the next day telling people what he said today. Foxes aren’t the problem, humans are.”

“So can we ask Boris to start shooting people? I have a few he could start with...” offered Erin.

Trish looked very seriously at her, “You can’t go round shooting people–it’s against the law–though Mummy did it.”

If Trish spoke in a quiet voice, it would be okay, but she doesn’t. She talks loudly and assertively. I blushed hotter than my tea. I wasn’t sure if Erin knew about this aspect of me–Cathy Watts mass murderer.

“With a camera, I expect,” she said and showed she didn’t know about it.

“No–a Kalashnikov.”

Erin looked suitably astonished.

“Didn’t you, Mummy?”

“I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss this,” I said firmly to my daughter, but she wasn’t to dissuaded.

“She saved us from some bad men who shot at us and injured two policemen, didn’t they, Mummy? Mummy fired back and the car drove into the loch, didn’t it, Mummy?”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t want to discuss it, so just drop it will you?” I was feeling embarrassed, and aware that everyone in the cafe was looking at us. On a scale of one to ten, I felt about level twelve.

“So, Cathy, is this a new departure?”

“I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Oh, okay,” is what she said, but her expression said that she’d love to do nothing better.

“Mummy helped the pleece catch two robbers last night.” Trish was on broadcast volume again.

“Trish, please.” I tried to hush her, but she’d started, so she’d finish.

“They were trying to steal our car. I heard them and woke Mummy who called the pleece and then she went to help when of the baddies stabbed one of the pleecmen.”

Once gain I was sure the whole cafe was listening because any background conversation seemed to go quiet.

“The man was trying to stab Mummy an’ Livvie suggested throwing a bucket of water over him to distract him. So that’s what we did–well, I did...”

“It was my idea,” protested her sister.

“Yeah, but it was me who done it,” Trish insisted showing that school fees might have been wasted.

“Brave girls,” commented Erin. I was trying to get the floor to swallow me.

“Mummy done one of her high kicks and knocked him out, then she saved the pleeceman who’d was stabbed.”

“Well, well, all three of you are very brave,” was Erin’s pronouncement, and the rest of the customers in the cafe began to clap–talk about embarrassed–I was off the scale.

I was soaking wet with sweat when we managed to escape the cafe and I thought I’d never go back there again.

“You must tell me about the Scotland business some time,” was Erin’s parting shot.

My muttered response was, ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’ I mused on it for a moment. It wasn’t something I was proud of, killing people never can be, because it’s about the worst thing anyone can do. Even in self defence it’s unpleasant. However, I lived with it and felt at the time it was justified because I was trying to save lives and was the only thing I could do. So while I regretted having to do it, I felt it was necessary, so it didn’t cause me sleepless nights. At the same time it isn’t something I wish to talk about–like I don’t really want to talk about my SRS–it was necessary but not a conversation piece.

We drove to my parent’s house and got the bedding in and I was pleased it was dry and reasonably aired. I put it in the airing cupboard where it would stay dry and the warmth from the tank below the shelves stopped any dampness. I think I’ve mentioned I leave the heating on low and the hot water also gets a boost every day. The cost of the gas is probably less than a repair for a burst pipe and the redecoration necessary.

I had texts from Simon and Stella to say they’d enjoyed the broadcast and Tom apparently was very pleased to get the department mentioned–plus, I mentioned him by name as head of the survey–well he was the titular head, I did all the work.

By four, we’d packed everything up and I locked up the house again, and we set off for home. The two girls fell asleep with the motion of the car, plus the excitement of the night with the attempted robbery and I mused once again on the day and Trish’s penetrating voice giving the whole world a running commentary on things you’d prefer they didn’t know about. She’s extremely clever, but still only eight years old, which is easy to forget. She seems so advanced and precocious then does something which rocks you back on your heels and suddenly you realise she isn’t a midget adult, she’s very much a child at times, and her brain is super quick but lacks maturity and experience and those are only gained the hard way.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1952 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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December 1st 1952:
o The New York Daily News carries a front page story announcing that Christine Jorgensen, a transsexual woman in Denmark, has become the recipient of the first successful sexual reassignment operation. (wikipedia)
December 3rd: The authoress of this interminable saga was born in Cardiff.

~~~~~

Back in Portsmouth, the two sleeping beauties woke as soon as I switched off the engine, which seeing as it’s pretty quiet, means it was probably the lack of motion which woke them.

“C’mon sleepy heads, let’s unload the car and see what David has made for dinner.” They followed me into the house each carrying a bag of some sort and muttering. Stella came into the kitchen.

“I’m glad you’ve arrived home at last, David has got some sort of bug, so you’ll have to cook.”

I was tempted to suggest fish and chips, but we had those last night and I won’t countenance pizzas. If David was ill yesterday, they probably had them then.

“When did he become ill?”

“Yesterday afternoon, he began vomiting and I had to send for pizzas.” Or you could have cooked something, Stella.

“Put the kettle on, let me get my bearings for a few minutes and I’ll see what’s what.” I finished unloading the car and by that time Stella had made some tea which I sat down and drank.

“Your broadcast was quite good,” she offered as I drank my refreshing beverage.

“Oh well, it’s done now.” I finished the tea and wandered over to the fridge, according to the menu, David had intended spaghetti bolognaise for dinner yesterday, so if the ingredients necessary were still there, that’s what we’d have tonight.

I checked inside the fridge and we had the necessary including a lump of Parmesan. After washing my paws, I set to making the sauce, frying the mince to seal it before adding the mushrooms, garlic and onion then finally the tomatoes. I stirred the simmering cauldron and refilled the kettle.

Grating the cheese into a dish, I checked the sauce, which was fine, and my cup–which wasn’t, it was empty. So the kettle went on yet again, though I washed the smelly cheese aroma off my hands before drinking any more tea.

Once that was drunk, it was a question of calling David, or at least the cottages, which was what we called the old stables where he and Ingrid lived, to enquire after our much missed cook.

“A lot better, now, thanks, Cathy. With luck I should be back tomorrow.”

“I’m doing the spag bol, if you lot would like some, I only have to add some more pasta to the pot?”

“That’s very kind of you, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“Would I say it wasn’t if it was?”

“Sorry, boss-lady.”

“That’s better, I’ll bring some over in a bit.”

In the end, I had to use two pans to make enough pasta, which was just finishing cooking when Simon and Sam arrived with Tom just behind them. I called for wannabe diners to wash their paws and come and get it. A veritable stampede occurred–I guess they like spaghetti bolognaise.

I served it up then after putting mine in the oven to keep warm, I popped over to the cottages with the leftovers. David looked tired, but he assured me he felt much better. Ingrid and Hannah so far hadn’t caught whatever it was he’d had. They joked it was probably his cooking. I took my leave to go back and eat mine before Simon found it and ate it for me.

“I think I prefer your spag bol to wossisname’s,” declared Simon.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good, Mummy,” added Trish and Livvie while Mima continued spraying the sauce over the bib she had on. Danny nodded, his mouth full of dinner–he’d been last to the table. Julie and Phoebe couldn’t tell which was better, and thought we should run a competition, which made Stella laugh–until I told her she could do the washing up. Simon roared and Daddy smiled without saying anything.

I’d chopped up some of the pasta into small lengths and added some sauce, so Catherine and Puddin’ were scoffing it like it was going out of fashion, and even Fiona had a bit.

Of course we had to have Italian wine with the meal, and Simon opened a bottle of Chianti which I admit I enjoyed drinking. Okay the food in Brunetti stories is probably better, but I still think I make a fair shot at it, though we were fresh out of aubergines and focaccia.

Meems was a bit clingy when it got to bedtime and I hoped she wasn’t coming down with whatever David had had. She wasn’t, it was just her way of saying she’d missed me. It’s funny, that she was the first of my adopted children to find her way into my life and yet she usually prefers to be with her daddy if he’s about. Tonight, she wanted to be with me, or for me to cuddle with her for a little while before she went to sleep.

I mused on where her parents might be and what they might be doing. I got no feeling about them at all, so they could be dead or so detached from her now that I could no longer tune into them via her. Possibly, she’s detached herself from them. It’s been several years since she was dumped on me–a dirty trick to play on a child, but I hope Simon and I have more than made up for it, in the love and affection we’ve given her.

In bed, I discussed the children with Simon who was tired and had difficulty staying awake, so in the end I left him to it and fell asleep myself while still musing about the birth parents of all our children.

The next morning the weather had taken a turn back towards winter and became significantly colder. The plans I’d had to take the kids out somewhere were curtailed. Danny went off to his football course for the last time–he’d really enjoyed himself.

The three schoolgirls helped me clean through and do some laundry until lunch time, for which David produced the most exquisite cream of celery soup and the machine made some nice bread. Then while he laboured over dinner I took the three mousketeers and Cate out for a walk. We all wrapped up really well, especially the little one in her push chair, and we found a cafe open which sold ice creams and while they froze their tongues I indulged in a cup of latte coffee.

The walk back was just as cold if not worse, and a bit of a fret was coming in off the sea, which seemed to make it feel even colder. Then as we walked home we heard the fog horn which is now all part of an automated lighthouse system, so even if I fancied running off to work as a lighthouse keeper, I couldn’t–all the best jobs are going or gone. Then again, they don’t have too many dormice in lighthouses, so that might pose a bit of a problem and I suspect the broadband connection might be less than satisfactory compared to the one we have here–fibre optic and pretty fast.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1952

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1953 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Crikey,” I shivered running from bed to the bathroom. The easterly wind seemed to find every crack and chink in the house and then pass a draught through each one so it felt like a veritable gale.

The bathroom was reasonably warm and I showered and dressed then sorted my hair. It felt warmer to wear it down–lag my brains a little. It was the last day of school holiday and they’d all be back noses to grindstones on Monday with just the two days of the weekend left

I went to rouse the girls, to see if there was anything they wanted to do and also to call Danny for his last day of the soccer school. For a change I decided to call Danny first. I quietly walked up to his room and thought I heard a sniffle. I listened at his door and I was right, he was crying or it certainly sounded like he was.

I knocked and entered, he quickly turned away from me. “What’s the matter, son?”

He remained turned away from me, but something was worrying him enough to cry.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, “Whatever it is, you can share it with me, you know; and they say a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”

He shook his head.

“Come on, shake a leg otherwise you’ll be late for your football.” I tried to cajole him into feeling better.

“I’m not going.”

“Yes you are, it’s only Friday, it’s the last day today.”

“I’m not going, so leave me alone.” He pulled the covers over his head.

“I might expect this sort of behaviour from Mima, not someone who’s nearly grown up. I also paid good money for you to do the course, so you’d better tell me why you aren’t going before I phone them up, or worse, go over there and find out what’s happening. So sit up and tell me–now.”

I pulled back the duvet and he sheepishly sat up. “I was banned.”

“What for, drinking too much energy drink?”

“Fighting.”

I sighed–he was always in trouble for fighting. “What about this time?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It must have been to make it worth risking the last day.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Daniel, I don’t believe you. So tell me the truth or I’ll ban you as well.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I’ll stop you playing until next season.”

“You can’t do that–they’re relying on me.”

“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do. If I tell the school you can’t play football until next season, they are obliged to accept my ruling.”

“But you can’t do that.”

“Watch me–or tell me what happened yesterday.” I waited a moment then stood up, “Okay, do it the hard way.” I walked towards the door.

“Wait, Mummy, please.”

I turned and walked back to the bed, “I’m waiting.”

“Okay,” he paused and wiped his nose on his pyjama sleeve–where do they get these horrible habits? “It was about Billie.”

My tummy flipped. “How can it be about Billie? She’s dead,” those words sliced through me as I said them.

“One of the kids on the course remembered her, or her as a him and asked me if I was that poofy kid’s brother. I told him she was dead, and to respect her. he just laughed at me–she? He said, 'That figures, bloody fairy,' and I just lost it and whacked him one. The teacher saw me and sent me home telling me not to come back today.”

“Okay, who was the teacher?”

“Mr Samuels.”

“And the boy you hit?”

“Ricky Germaine.”

“Get yourself up and ready for your course, and get a move on.”

“I can’t, he banned me.”

“He can’t, or I’ll ban him. Hurry up, you need a good breakfast.” I left him and called the girls. Julie and Phoebe were cussing because they were late. I pointed out that they had alarm clocks so it was their own fault. I then got the younger ones up and went down to have my own breakfast.

Half an hour later I took Danny to the school and a short time later was heading for the teacher like a guided missile, only much more dangerous than mere weapons.

“Excuse me, are you Mr Samuels?” I asked politely.

“Yes, madam, who are you?”

“I’m Lady Cameron.”

“How can I help?”

“You suspended my son yesterday.”

“Your son? I don’t think so–I don’t actually recall anyone called Cameron on this course.”

“Daniel Maiden.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite connecting on this one.”

“Daniel is my adopted son.”

“Ah, now I’m with you.”

“You suspended him.”

“Yes, he was fighting–they all know from day one, any fighting and off they go.”

“Do you know why he was fighting?”

“I’m not interested–they know the rules.”

“I’m going to tell you anyway, and then you’re going to either suspend the other boy as well, or reinstate him.”

“I don’t think so. Look, Lady Cameron, I make rules and stick to them.”

“The other boy started it.”

“The other boy didn’t touch him.”

“He provoked him.”

“Sorry, that doesn’t count. They have to learn to control their tempers on the field and off it.”

“So you won’t reconsider?”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll just carry on with my complaint. The police will be here in an hour and you’ll be suspended and possibly dismissed within a matter of weeks–and unable to work in teaching ever again.”

“What?”

“Good bye, Mr Samuels–and say the same to your career.”

“Now hang on a second, just because you’re wealthy doesn’t mean you can just go around throwing your weight about.”

“Can’t I? I make rules too, Mr Samuels–anyone who affects my children negatively, with no good reason, I destroy.”

“You’ll be taking on the union.”

“Mr Samuels, you’ll be homeless by tea time–what union?”

“Homeless?”

“Yes, I’ll call in your mortgage.”

“You can’t do that?”

“Watch me.”

“You bitch.”

“Ah but you have rules, Mr Samuel, you mustn’t rise to the provocation, or is that just for the children?”

“I’ve a damn good mind to slap you.”

“Feel free, but I must warn you I shall defend myself.”

“What with posh lawyers?”

“No, I’ll lay you out.”

“You?”

“Yes me. Better men than you have tried it. I’m off, I think I’ll destroy your wife’s career as well. Yes, that should be fun.” I turned, he stepped towards me and swung. I ducked and caught him behind his knees–and down he went.

“You were warned–I take it you’re now going to suspend yourself–or shall I just call the police?”

“If I go the course is over.”

“I gave you an alternative.”

“To reinstate Danny?”

“Yes, or suspend the other boy as well.”

“But he didn’t do anything–least not in front of me.”

“Get up and walk with me a moment.” He did as he was told, and I explained what had happened and how Billy became Billie and how protective Danny was of his sister.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“So what is your decision?” I asked him.

“What is yours?”

“If you either reinstate my son or sack the other boy as well, I’ll be satisfied.”

“Which would you prefer?”

“It isn’t my decision.”

“Okay, he can come back but if they clash again I’ll send them both home.”

“That I can live with. Oh what position does Germaine play?”

“Goal keeper, why?”

“I take it on opposite sides to Danny?”

“That could be arranged–why?”

“Shall we just say, I’d prefer to let Danny’s footballing skills speak for him, rather than his fists.”

“Where did you learn that thing–you know–where you dropped me?”

“I was bullied as a child, Mr Samuels–I learned to defend myself–I let you off easy, I could have seriously hurt you, but I was making a point. Provocation is every bit as bad as retaliation–I’d never have carried out the threats I made, but I needed to wind you up to make my point. We all have vulnerable areas, mine is my children. Good day, Mr Samuels.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1954 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Mummy,” yelled Danny rushing into the house.

I was in the study reading some papers on dormice from a seminar on mammal behaviour held in Aberdeen a couple of months ago. “I’m in here, son,” I called back.

“Guess how many goals?” he said excitedly as he charged into the room. He looked like a mud skipper, one of those primitive fish that live in Africa and bury themselves in the mud of ponds to survive the coming drought.

“How many goals where?” I still wasn’t sure what he was on about except he’d probably scored them. “Just calm down and tell me from the beginning.”

He looked downcast for a moment then realised I was enabling him to declare all his glory to me and I’d listen to it all as a dutiful mother should.

“Mr Samuels reinstated me and he kept Germaine and me apart, which didn’t worry me, he smells anyway. We done the practice things like passing and tackling, then we had two games, an’ I scored in both against that fathead.”

“Well done, so your boots talked for you.”

He looked bemused at this for a moment then the penny dropped. “Oh yeah, like they did didn’t they?”

“So how many?”

“How many boots?” This time he looked really bewildered, “Two–I’ve only got two feet, Mum.”

“I wonder if that’s why we’re called bipeds?” I mused out loud.

“What?” Now I’d really lost him–oh boy, this is harder work than it should be.

“Bi–meaning two, ped–meeting foot or footed, biped–two footed.”

“Oh yeah, I get you now, I thought you meant some sort of bike.”

“I suppose bipedal could relate to bicycles, because they have two pedals. How many goals did you score?”

“I was telling you–Germaine was in goal against me in both games. In the first I scored twice, one was a header, Mum, he wasn’t expecting me to go for it. I dived and flicked in the corner over his head. He looked a right idiot.”

“And the second?”

“Right through his legs, he looked even more stupid then. We won five three, an’ I made one of the other goals.”

“Well done.”

“Then we ’ad lunch and David’s pasty was brill.”

“I wasn’t aware what he gave you.”

“Yeah, it was good an’ then we played the second match.”

“You played two matches of ninety minutes?”

“No, twenty minutes each way, so forty minutes per game.”

“So what took so long?”

“Well you can’t run about on top of a meal, can you?”

“True, so what did you do?”

“We watched a coaching film about picking out your players to pass to, and marking your opponent’s players to stop them doing it.”

“Perhaps they should show it to the England team?”

“Nah, they win now and again, and they won last time against Brazil.”

Beginner’s luck possibly, though I didn’t share my thoughts with my son. “What about the second game?”

“Oh yeah, we kept the same sides as before and this time I put two past him and then took a penalty.”

“Did you score?”

“Didn’t I just. They showed us a film on penalty taking this mornin’ and Geoff Hurst and Gary Lineker were some of the best penalty takers ever. Hurst used to smash them into the top corner out of the goalie’s reach and Lineker used to put them all over the place, so the goalie had no idea where it was likely to go.”

“And where did you put yours?”

“I could see he was going to dive to his right, so I just tapped it gently the other way, he was lying on the floor when it rolled in by the post. He looked a right narna.”

“Did you have fun playing?”

“Oh yeah, it was absolutely brill, Mum–thanks for getting me back on the course.”

“Perhaps you’ll learn to control your temper in future. If it happens again, I won’t help you again–understand?”

“It won’t, Mum, I learned somethin’ about that.”

“It’s always better to save your energy and make it count when it will have most impact. Is this boy in your school?”

“No, he lives in Gosport, but we play his school next month in the cup.”

“In the cup?”

“Yeah, the Portsmouth and District under fifteen’s cup.”

“I see, so you fancy your chances, do you?”

“Yeah, especially with pig-breath in goal.”

“Never mind calling him names, save your energy for scoring goals. Now, have you had a drink?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes thank you,” I corrected him.

“Yes thank you, Ma-ma,” he said and I glared at him.

He smirked and I sent him up to shower. I wonder how many Trish would have scored in the same circumstances?

The girls seemed very quiet and when I looked they were playing on the Wii thing, football, would you believe? Trish and Livvie were watching while Puddin’ and Cate tried to play the game.

The phone rang and Stella answered, she chatted for a while then called me. I wondered if it had been her call initially as she spent quite some time talking. “Hello?” I said picking up the handset.

“Hello, Mummy, it’s Jacquie.”

“Hello, darling, how are you?”

“I’m fine, look I won’t keep you too long–but we’re gonna get a civil partnership thing?”

“Oh, is that wise seeing as they’ll be bringing in some legislation on same sex marriage before too long.”

“That could take like years, Mummy.”

She was quite right and I was stalling for time, she’d only known the girl a few months. “Yes but I think it would be so much nicer.”

“For who?” she retorted obviously not pleased by my response.

“I would hope for everyone, but if you want a civil partnership, that’s up to you–you know we’re delighted whatever you do if it makes you happier.”

“You don’t sound it, Mummy.”

“It’s a bit of a shock, darling, that’s all–it seems so sudden.”

“Well we love each other.”

“I know you do, sweetheart, look why don’t you both come to dinner on Sunday and we could discuss it then and see how we could help you with it.”

“Help us?”

“Yes, you know, with some money towards things–are you planning a reception or party afterwards?”

“Hadn’t got that far.”

“Well, we’d love to discuss it, sweetheart, and I’m sure Daddy and Gramps would like to hear about it too.”

“I don’t know, it sounds like you might be trying to stop me.”

“I can’t, sweetheart, you’re over eighteen, you can do as you wish–I’d just like to be involved a bit, as your mum, and I know all the girls would like to be involved.”

“You don’t have bridesmaids–there’s no bride, Mummy, it’s not a wedding, remember?”

“Yes but they’d like to dress up.”

“Well don’t expect me to, you know me–don’t do frillies and dresses.”

“No, but you would look nicer in a decent trouser suit.”

“Mummy, that’s for girlies–we’re doing it our way.”

“Fine, but can’t you come and tell us all about it on Sunday? I’ll ask David to cook something really nice.”

“I dunno, I’m quite busy with coursework and stuff.”

“Too busy to tell your mum about your special day plans–we’d like to share in it with you, sweetheart.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“That won’t give David much chance to organise a nice dinner will it?”

“He’ll be doing one anyway, won’t he?”

“Yes, but with two extra places, that’s quite a bit of food.”

“No it isn’t, no when he’s cooking for the five thousand anyway. I’ll ring you tomorrow, byeee.” She rang off and I felt totally outmanoeuvred–bugger.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1955 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Jacquie is planning on doing a civil partnership with her girlfriend,” I said to Simon who was reading the paper after dinner.

“If France beat England and Wales beat Italy and we beat Ireland, the Six Nations would be wide open.”

“I’m going to get a rugby ball tattooed on my left tit.”

“Yeah, okay–none of the pundits give France a chance–what did you say about rugby balls?”

“Does anyone really care about a silly rugby match?”

“Silly? it’s better than those idiots on bikes rushing round in circles.”

Damn, I’d forgotten the track championships were on. I’d have to look on the internet later.

“Did you hear what I said about Jacquie?”

“Of course I did, though why she would want a rugby ball tattooed on her tit defeats me.”

“That was me?”

“You what?”

“The tattoo.”

“Tattoo? Cathy you can’t stand tattoos.”

“I was trying to catch your attention.”

“You had it all the time, I was listening.”

“Simon, if you’d been listening you’d have heard me tell you that Jacquie wants to do a civil partnership with her friend.”

He looked at me for a moment trying to take in the information I’d just given him. “What for?”

“What d’you mean, what for? They live together as lovers, I’d have thought it was obvious.”

“Do they, what’s her friend’s name?”

“I’m not sure, she calls her Jerry so it’s probably Geraldine.”

“Um–Irish catholic I expect, oh well that should piss off the pope.”

“Simon, what are you on about, what’s the pope got to do with anything?”

“Nothing, he won’t marry them anyway.”

“Of course he won’t, he’s celibate.”

“I meant perform the marriage.”

“It isn’t a marriage, Si, it’s a civil partnership.”

“Oh, I thought namesake had brought in same sex marriage?”

“I think it’s got through the Commons, but still has to get through the Lords and that’s where the bishops sit plus one or two other sky pilots.”

“That’s an old army term.”

“What is?”

“Sky pilots.”

“Is it?” I wasn’t too concerned if it was invented by Donald Duck except I couldn’t do his silly voice, though at times I seem to be as crabby as he is.

“So why are they having this civil wotsit? And can’t you talk her out of it, she usually does what you tell her?”

“Not this time. I’ve asked her to bring Jerry or whatever her name is over on Sunday to meet us and discuss the arrangements.”

“Discuss them–don’t you mean talk her out of it?”

“She’s over eighteen, Si; she can do as she wishes.”

“Doesn’t she want to be a blushing bride with half a dozen bridesmaids?”

“Think about that for a moment, Simon, when did you last see Jacquie in a dress of any sort?”

“I have no memory for that sort of thing, when was it?”

“When Julie did a makeover on her.”

“When was that?”

“When she first came.”

“She’s not a girly girl like you then?” He smirked just in time to save his life and I glared at him. “Ooh, Little Miss Grumpy, I do believe,” he said and chuckled to himself because I wasn’t laughing. “Why d’you find that so insulting?” he asked and I wasn’t sure I knew the answer.

I shrugged instead and hoped he didn’t ask. When I was child, I’d have loved to have been bedecked in frills and ruffles but I guess I just grew up. Being a woman isn’t being covered in perfume and petticoats but an attitude of mind, a declaration of something inside not the external fripperies which are more likely to say, ‘I’m immature and need a parental figure in my life.’

It’s fine for others, don’t get me wrong, I don’t care if other females or some males want to dress up like that, that’s their affair but it isn’t for me. I do wear very female clothing on occasion when I want to emphasise my gender or even sex, but mostly I wear practical clothing, usually trousers and tops because it’s easier. I still feel female and care about how I look but I don’t need to flaunt it. Simon knows what’s under my jeans so I dress for comfort.

Mima is the girliest of our lot with possibly Julie in second place. Livvie can be girly but as she has to wear a skirt to school she’s happy in trousers the rest of the time, so is Trish. They do occasionally play with dolls but not very often, if you recall when Cate bit the head off Trish’s Barbie, it was weeks before she got another one. As far as I know it’s still in the box in her cupboard.

They each have a cupboard which has a combination lock on it so only they know the number to enter their cupboard and their toys or prized possessions. They all sleep together–in separate beds–but in a shared room, so some sort of privacy for their possessions is essential.

Meems’ bed is like Noah’s ark with soft toys and dolls stuffed all over the place. There’s barely room for her to get in some nights. Livvie and Trish have some soft toys, but nowhere near as many. Meems also likes to play with her dolls and likes to help with the little ones in the house. I suppose she might grow out of it, but it could also indicate she has leanings towards being a mother. Having said that, I didn’t get to play with dolls very much I sort of waited until I had real kids to play with–not that I had much choice.

“Now who’s not listening?” Si enjoyed getting his own back.

“Sorry, I was thinking about something.”

“I think that was rather obvious, anyway aren’t you supposed to be able to multitask?”

“That’s a myth.”

“Yeth, only mitheth can do it,” he said in a silly voice.

“So what do we do about Jacquie and her friend.”

“What can we do, are they coming for sure?”

I shrugged, “She said she’d think about it and phone tomorrow.”

“That’s kind of her.” His voice conveyed a sense of hurt which he then elaborated, “Without your help she’d still be sitting in a room sucking her thumb.”

“I don’t think she was that bad.”

“Come off it, Cathy, you did a lot of work on her, she had no self esteem and she barely knew which way was up. Now look at her, completely different, doing a degree and getting on with her life.”

“Isn’t that how it should be?” I asked.

“Yeah, but she could show a bit of gratitude to the woman who gave her back her life.”

“Children don’t necessarily show gratitude to those who help them once the initial moment has gone. They’re too wrapped up in themselves.”

“But she’s not a child.”

I wasn’t sure about that, so once again I shrugged.

“If I answer the bloody phone I’ll give her a piece of my mind–how dare she do this to you?”

“Please don’t.”

“Why not, she deserves it.”

“Because if you do we’ll lose her forever.”

“It might be a case of good riddance.”

I felt my eyes tear up and a drop of boiling water ran down my cheek.

“Now what have I done?”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1956 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“I don’t think you realise how traumatised that girl is,” I said quietly to Simon who’d been concerned when my eyes started leaking.

“I know she’s been through a rough time,” he admitted.

“She takes a long time to trust anyone.”

“Especially men,” he showed he was still awake and thinking.

“Yes, even ones as nice as you.”

“Thanks, babes, that’s made my day.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how she must have felt as a five year old–barely more than a baby–to be betrayed by her family and the justice system and how that must have impacted upon her.”

“I did offer to fund an appeal.”

“But that would have involved her disclosing who she was and all the problems that would cause.”

“You did get that copper to own up to what he did wrong and to confess his interest in it being his son who drowned. And the home secretary did issue a pardon.”

“But no compensation nor any for the rape and subsequent abortion and hysterectomy–the bastards.”

“Yeah, that was bad.”

“And moments ago you were saying good riddance.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about the fact that she owes you loads for rescuing her.”

“She owes me nothing, I just repaid a little of what the system owes her.”

“Yeah, but that’s the system, not you.”

“Si, we are the system–even if we disagree with it–it is done in our name.”

“In which case I resign–I want nothing to do with a system which tortures little girls.”

“Then you’d have to change it from outside which is far harder than from inside.”

“You’re a real subversive, aren’t you?”

I blushed, I wasn’t, I was about as compliant as they come–up to a point. I wouldn’t be driven, only led. “No, anything but–however, I am an individual and prefer to make up my own mind about things.”

“Helped by the Guardian.”

“It does have some similarities with some of my thinking,” I agreed.

“Bloody champagne socialist,” Si said, but it was a tease, because the title applied to him even more than to me.

“Pots and kettles,” I said and he chuckled.

“I suppose it was a bit unsophisticated unlike my lover.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yeah, she’s a woman of mystery.”

“She’d have to be, your wife would kill her,” I suggested.

“Nah, my wife is a nice woman, sophisticated, generous of spirit...”

“You’re only saying this because I gave Daddy a case of Laphroaig.”

“Generous of spirit–dear god,” he groaned.

“I thought it was quite good and it happens to be true as well.”

“How come he doesn’t share it, the miserable old sod?”

“That you’d have to ask him that yourself.”

“Maybe I will one of these days.” Simon blustered but I knew he wouldn’t.

We lay there cuddling and he added, “So what’s the plan for Sunday?”

“I don’t have one, she hasn’t said she’s coming yet.”

“But you always have a contingency plan.”

“Not this time.”

He sighed as if he was disappointed. “Not even a small one?” he asked.

“Not one of any size at all.”

“Geez, I must be in bed with my mistress, because my wife always has a plan however risky it is–she’s a compulsive planner.”

“Oh is she, it must be something we have in common, then.”

“I don’t understand women, and my wife in particular.”

That last remark, even if said in jest, made me flinch.

“Perhaps you try too hard?” I suggested even if I knew it wasn’t true.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Men and women are just different.”

“Yeah, Mars and Venus, I know.”

“That is pure psychobabble.”

“But you just said men and women are different.”

“Yes, but not that different.”

“You can’t have it both ways.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not fair.”

“So, when has that mattered?”

“You claim it all the time.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re changing the rules again,” he complained.

“So?”

“Well, it’s not fair.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m not playing this stupid game any longer, when you have something useful to say, let me know.”

“I don’t know if Jacquie is coming yet, she’s supposed to phone tomorrow to let me know, but I don’t know if she will.”

“Will what? Phone or come?”

“Either or both.”

“How can she do this to you? you’re the one who rescued her.”

“Si, we already discussed this, she’s very damaged, and does things in a rather haphazard way, sometimes I think she’s possibly testing us.”

“I think I just failed the test,” he said. Then he turned over and went to sleep.

I didn’t find it quite so easy to compartmentalise things like that, it’s supposed to be a man thing–which I don’t know is true or not. So, I lay there and worried probably for an hour or more. During this period I tried to see why Jacquie was acting as she did but I think it was simply a consequence of being emotionally very damaged.

I suspect apart from her family, this girl, Geraldine, is the first person she has felt safe with, but the first bit of trouble they have she might come running back here for her bolt hole: which is one reason why I’m not sure about her civil partnership. Admittedly, it does show commitment but it also causes more red tape if she does need to bolt–and that concerns me. I tried to visualise her bathed in healing blue light and hoping that she understood that we only wanted her to be happy, not to spoil her fun.

I must have drifted off to sleep while I was trying to heal her because I once again saw her as a five year old watching the little boy drown–it was heart rending and I woke myself up crying. Fortunately, Simon didn’t wake so I was able to go to the bathroom, have a quick wee and wash my face and hands. It meant I lost another half an hour’s sleep but I then slept very well and when I woke on the Saturday morning, it was to three aliens climbing into bed–Trish between us; Livvie on my side and Meems with her dad. Of all the children, she has probably taken most to him as a father figure–she loves him to bits, and he does her.

“Are we doing anything today?” asked Livvie.

“I don’t know yet, sweetheart,” I said without opening my eyes.

“Can we go shoppin’?” asked Meems.

“What do you need to buy?” I asked her.

“Cwothes for my dowwies, they need new ones for da spwing.”

“We’ll see, Meems.” I said and tried to go back to sleep and pretend she hadn’t said anything. It was probably some ten minutes later the phone began to ring.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1957 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“’Ello,” said Livvie snatching the phone off the base before I could move. “No, I don’t want to buy insurance, go away.” She turned towards me, “He asked if I wanted to buy insurance.”

“I think we got that far by ourselves, Liv, I replied wrapping her in a hug as she clambered back into the bed. I glanced at the clock, either it had stopped or he rang from abroad because it was just coming up to seven o’clock. It hadn’t stopped as I heard the pips on the radio alarm as the seventh hour arrived. And John Humphrys and Evan Davis started to chatter about news stories. I leant over and switched it off. The consequence of this was that we all fell back to sleep and didn’t wake until half past eight when the phone rang again.

Once again Livvie grabbed it, I was too dopy and yawning. “’Ello,” said Livvie loudly and I yawned again, and I don’t know if everyone is the same, but when I yawn I can’t hear anything clearly. “It’s for you, Mummy,” she repeated and sighed as I asked to repeat what she’d said.

I sat up and took the phone from her, “Hello?”

“Hi, Mummy, it’s Jacquie.”

“Hello, darling, you’ve caught me on the hop, we all went back to sleep.” I yawned again as if to emphasise the point.

“You want me to ring back?” offered Jacquie.

“Could I ring you in ten minutes, I need a wee.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I handed the phone back to Livvie to replace on the base and scrambled out of bed to the bathroom, asking Si to make some tea. He grumbled but I think he did actually get out of bed as I closed the bathroom door. I washed after emptying my tank and quickly threw on some clothes–my usual of jeans and top–scuffed on some slippers and dashed downstairs where Simon was just making the tea and trying to supervise the kid’s breakfast. I grabbed my mug and walked quickly down to my study and called Jacquie.

“Hi, Mummy,” she said after my greeting to her. “It’s like this, we can come for Sunday lunch but Jerry has to be back by four o’clock.”

“That’s fine, I can get David to cook for twelve or half past, can you get here for that?”

“Yeah, but no cross-examinations, okay?”

“Promise,” I said hoping that would do.

“Fine, we’ll see you at twelvish?”

“Okay, sweetheart, look forward to it.”

She rang off. I suddenly wondered if there was anything that Jerry didn’t eat, then decided I’d ask David to do a leg of pork, at least with a name like Geraldine, she wasn’t likely to be Jewish or Moslem.

After drinking my tea I returned to the kitchen where chaos was doing a better job of influencing things than Simon. In two minutes, well two minutes after I shouted and threatened to destroy all known life forms in the kitchen, the children sat down and started behaving like children who’ve been semi-civilised, rather than feral ones.

“And?” asked Simon.

“And what?” I threw back at him.

“Is she coming?”

“Yes, but Jerry has to go be back by four o’clock.”

“Oh, okay–did she say why?”

“No and I didn’t ask.”

“Okay, I only asked,” he said defensively.

I switched the kettle on again and made a pot of tea, Stella came down as I poured the first cup–I swear she smells it. I handed her one and she plonked herself down at the table and sipped it. I refilled Simon’s mug and finally my own–it was stronger than I really liked but I did wonder if the caffeine would help wake me up, I was still yawning.

“Jacquie is coming with her girlfriend,” Simon announced to the sleepy Stella.

“What, today?”

“No, for Sunday lunch.”

“What we having?” she asked.

“I thought a leg of pork.”

“Cann’ive cracklin’, Mummy?” asked Trish and they all wanted some, even Danny who seemed sleepier than ever.”

“Aren’t you playing football today?” I asked him.

“Nah, their pitch is waterlogged, been postponed.”

“Right then, you can strip your bed and shove it in the machine along with your towels, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied sullenly. Danny did not like doing ‘women’s work.’ I made him do some to show it wasn’t just women’s work but everyone’s job to help. To prove it I asked Si to strip ours and stick it in the machine as well. He recognised what I was up to and agreed to do it, thereby proving even adult males helped occasionally.

“The Six Nations is on at two, so do any noisy stuff before that, will you?” Simon asked in return for doing me the favour of stripping the bed.

Pushing my luck I simply suggested if he remade the bed after stripping it, I could get on with the vacuuming and his precious rugby would be safe from noise–except the lot he and Tom would be making. Astonishingly he agreed, so I asked Danny to make his up too. He sighed but agreed as well.

“I’ll take the girls out this afternoon and you can have the lounge to yourselves–just don’t make a mess in there or I’ll make you clean it up.”

“You watchin’ the rugby, son?” Simon asked Danny.

“Could do I s’pose.” Simon’s face lit up. “Who’s playin’?” Danny asked.

“Italy Wales, then England France.”

“Can I go into town, Mum?” asked Danny.

“After you’ve made your bed, assuming you’ve done your homework, yes. Be back by one for lunch.”

“Okay,” he finished his breakfast and went back up the stairs.

Just as I was eating my banana on toast, he yelled down the stairs, “Mum, where do I find the clean stuff?”

“Go and show him, Liv, will you?” She nodded and set off up the stairs to explain what an airing cupboard was for. His was easy enough to identify, it was in his beloved Chelsea FC colours of blue and white. Cost me a fortune last Christmas.

The rest of the morning was spent cleaning, I had the girls helping too, dusting and vacuuming while I cleaned the kitchen–mopping the floor before David came over to do lunch.

After an interesting lunch of ham and tomato omelette with a side salad, the girls accompanied me to town, Stella agreeing to watch Cate while we were out. I’d agreed a lunch menu with David for Sunday and he went off to get a large leg of pork from his butcher friend–no his friend wasn’t more butch than David, he worked as a butcher–you know, chopping up dead things–or is that a pathologist?

We went to the toy superstore and this time didn’t encounter any problems and Meems got her doll’s clothes–she spends her own money, too. Trish looked at some chemistry sets but decided she could get better mixtures of explosive substances online. She only said it to wind me up and my glare stopped the conversation with Livvie stone dead.

It was about five when we returned and the girls were as shopped out as I was. The boys were still watching the rugby, Wales had beaten Italy and Si was hoping France would beat England, then if Scotland beat Ireland–and pigs would fly–Scotland could share in the championship.

I went to speak with David in the kitchen, he’d gone but left us a lovely stew in the slow cooker and the potatoes and other veg were ready to cook on the top of the cooker. I switched on the gas under the potatoes and went up to change.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1958 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The stew was delicious and Simon got his hands on my dumplings–well, I’m not too keen on them and he is–and they’ll be furring up his arteries instead of mine. Afterwards, in bed, we discussed the following day and what it could bring.

“So, what’s she like this Geraldine woman?” asked Simon as we lay back after reading for a bit.

“I have no idea, but I suspect she’s likely to be slightly older than Jacquie.”

“You have no idea about the woman your daughter is planning on getting hitched to?”

“No, Si, I have no idea, but I’m sort of intuiting that she’s a graduate of some sort and slightly older, but that’s it.”

“What if she’s much older?” he threw back.

“Then she won’t need me, will she? She’ll have found a permanent mother figure.”

“Isn’t she supposed to go for a father substitute?”

“Yeah, but the only eligible bachelors of your sort of wealth and status are Arabs.”

“I suppose they are, or Russian oligarchs with their own oil wells.”

“Compared to them, your money is relatively honest.”

“Gee thanks, Cathy, that was a back handed compliment if ever I heard one.”

I blushed and giggled, I hadn’t thought about it before it came out of my mouth, he did start tickling me, but that always makes me wet myself, and when I climbed on top of him and dared him to tickle me then, he changed his mind and kissed me instead. I won’t detail what happened then because it’s none of your business and this isn’t a porn story.

The next morning I was still a bit sore from our gymnastics, so settled for a quick bath–before I could finish, I had at least two aliens sharing it with me, and when I got out, the third got in. I suspect Cate would have scrambled in as well, except I promised her some breakfast and her stomach rules her life.

Breakfast seemed to take forever, normally, it’s all over in about half an hour and then the cleanup takes another twenty minutes, especially if Fiona is chucking her food about–amazing the range she has for something so small.

David had come in to check on the pork joint which had been cooking all night in the slow oven, he basted it and shoved it in the faster oven on the Aga to begin forming crackling. It was going to be delicious, I just knew it.

By the time we’d cleared up and left him to sort the dinner, and I’d changed into something half decent–no not a skirt–but a pair of cords in royal blue and matching, in colour at least, scoop necked top with long sleeves. Simon was also tidily dressed as were the children.

It was now after eleven and I didn’t want to start doing anything and have to leave it, so we opted to lay the table which took longer than usual, Livvie and Trish squabbling over what went where. Then Meems got involved despite me asking her not to and she got upset and flung her doll at me which to everyone’s amazement, I caught before it demolished a decorative fern I had in the dining room.

In the end I asked Si to light the fire in the sitting room which he wasn’t too keen on–“But it’s Scotland Ireland this afters,” he protested backing down when he thought I might murder him.

“You can always watch it over the internet.”

“Yeah but, your computer has a fifteen inch screen and the one in the lounge has a forty two inch.”

“If you felt that strongly about it why didn’t you get tickets and go and watch it?”

“They don’t have action replay and my wife said I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Play away.”

“How wise of her,” I suggested and glared at him.

“Whit are ye twa fechtin’ oer, this time?”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to guess at what he said or ask for a translator before I pleaded anything. Simon seemed to understand him and told him what I’d asked him to do.

“Weel, whit are ye waitin for? An’ mind I want tae see yon match tae.”

I think he told Simon to get a move on, I almost asked for the action replay so I could decipher every word. Either way, it was a result and I left him to it, Daddy almost appearing to supervise–though why, I wasn’t sure as he can’t light it either. Danny did it last time but he was finishing his homework. It was funny how he discovered he had some to do after he came back in yesterday rather than before he went out.

It was now half past eleven and the butterflies were beginning to gather and they made the autumn collection of Monarch butterflies in Mexico to over winter there, insignificant in comparison. So I did what I always do when faced with this level of anxiety–I put the kettle on.

The smell of the meat cooking was heavenly, I nearly dragged it from the oven and ate it with my bare hands it smelt so good and I realised I’d had no breakfast, just made sure everyone else did. So much for multitaskling.

I made tea and poured David a cup. He was making some sort of roulade for dessert and whipping cream, not a la Indiana Jones, but more Nigella–oh boy if I told him that he’d be disgusted with me.

The joint was in the fan oven to make the crackling which the kids were all asking for. I usually resisted the urge to gain half a stone from one meal, because crackling is sort of charred skin and fat, which is chewy, crunchy and very sweet and about ten thousand calories per mouthful. I suspect it might be a British thing because you never see it mentioned in American literature but then they eat squash and grits or is it squits and grash? Either way it sounds awful no wonder so many come to live over here.

A car came trundling up the drive but I didn’t recognise the man who got out–man? That couldn’t be Jerry then, unless Jacquie was holding out big time. Daddy went to see what he wanted. It transpired he was delivering a new phone directory or two.

David was showing me a way to whip cream with a whisk and how to make it whip more quickly when another car came up the drive–he glanced out of the window and sprayed cream all over my top. I could have cried or hit him or both. Instead I gasped then ran upstairs to grab something else before everyone else saw Jerry before me.

It turned out they did. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t what we got. She was a bit older than Jacquie, I’d say about my age–mother substitute? I wasn’t sure. She was elegant and quite beautiful, wearing a very nice pair of DK jeans with an angora cardi over a lovely silk blouse. But that wasn’t what you noticed immediately, neither was the fact she was black. It was the fact that she was about six feet tall and in heels, she was as tall as Simon if not more so.