The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2001 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I didn’t quite stagger to the sitting room but I wasn’t far from it and Danny had to help me. “Ma’am,” nodded the male copper, his female companion nodded and helped me to a seat.

They asked me if I knew a Ford Fiesta and reeled off the number. I admit I didn’t recognise the number but then I never do unless they spell a word or well known abbreviation. However, Danny did and he gasped then said, “That’s Auntie Stella’s car.”

The policeman nodded.

“What’s happened to her?” I asked.

“We’re not sure but that car drove off the harbour at about one o clock this afternoon.”

“It drove off the harbour?”

He nodded.

“Why would she do that?”

He shrugged. “You can’t think of any reason why she might do such a thing?”

“No, none at all. She was quite perky when she left earlier, even my daughters remarked on her wearing a skirt and makeup–she doesn’t often wear either these days.”

“I see, so you can think of no reason why she should do so deliberately?”

“No, none at all.”

“Are you going to be alright?” asked the woman.

I nodded. “Have you found her?”

The male copper shook his head, “No, she wasn’t in the car.”

“Perhaps she got out, then?”

“In twenty five feet of water?”

“She’s a good swimmer,” I added hoping she was.

“She’d have to be.”

But she’s a lousy driver, I thought to myself, even then I couldn’t see her driving into the harbour. They left me a card and told me to call them if I thought of anything else. I was so stunned I couldn’t even begin to think let alone pursue the activity.

“What did the police want, Mummy?” Trish was official spokesperson for the militant feminists of Channel View Farm, as the house is still called.

I decided it would be easier to tell the truth. “Auntie Stella’s car went into the harbour.”

“What–like under the water, harbour?”

“Yes.”

“Is she okay?”

“They haven’t found her yet.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t her car.”

“It was, they’ve recovered the car.”

“Well, maybe she wasn’t in it?”

“I don’t know, Trish–all I know is the car was seen to go into the harbour and she hasn’t turned up yet.”

“Oh dear, poor ol’ Auntie Stella.” She was just about to leave the room when Danny returned with a cup of tea for me, bless him.

“Is that right about Auntie Stella?” she asked him.

“Looks like.”

“Geez, I’d better tell the others.”

“Trish, leave it until it’s been confirmed–okay–no need to upset them.”

“But they’ll have to know?”

“What if she turns up meanwhile, alive and well?”

“From the harbour? Euuk,” she pulled a face and shuddered, “I wouldn’t even eat a fish from there.” Little did she know she already had several times.

She went off and I hoped her big mouth didn’t cause any further trouble, this uncertainty was bad enough.

“Are you gonna tell Daddy and Grampa Henry?” asked Danny.

“But what if she turns up?”

“That’s better than not knowing.”

I wasn’t convinced but neither was I functioning on all four cylinders or perhaps all two billion brain cells. I actually wondered if any of them were firing up at all, but in asking the question of myself, it proved they were.

Danny sat himself down opposite me, “D’you think it’s her?”

“I don’t know, Danny.”

“She coulda got out of the car couldn’t she?”

“She had a skirt and boots on, I doubt it,” I knew I couldn’t but then I’m not a very strong swimmer.

“I hope she’s all right.”

“Would you get my mobile, or better still bring my bag in here?”

“Okay,” he rose and gave me a moment’s respite from his inane questions. I know nothing more than he does, except I have no sense that she’s died–so I’m hoping that isn’t going to change.

He returned with my bag which he handed to me. “D’you want more tea?”

“Please, darling.” I smiled sweetly at him and he took my dirty cup and went off to refill it.

By that time I’d sent a text to both Simon’s and Henry’s phones, the same one– Call home, urgent, Cathy. Now I just had to sit here and wait for things to happen.

David came over and Danny sent him into the sitting room to see me. “What’s happened?”

“Stella’s car went into the harbour about one o’clock, they haven’t found any sign of her.”

“Oh no,” he said, “Are they still looking?”

“I presume so. I’ve just sent a text to Simon and Henry.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Could you do dinner tonight–nothing much for me–I don’t think I could eat anything.”

“Of course I will, I’ll just slip over and tell Ingrid.” He dashed off and ten minutes later I heard him bustling in the kitchen and finally Danny came back with my tea.

“Sorry, had to make a fresh pot.”

I nodded and thanked him. He’s a very caring young man.

My phone peeped, ‘Wassup, in meeting. S.’

I replied, ‘Stella’s car gone into harbour, no body found yet. C’

He responded, ‘Will ring asap, S’

Once upon a time he’d have placed a kiss after the S. I felt a huge void growing inside me and a few minutes later, I had to run to the toilet to be sick again. Danny came and found me bringing me a glass of water. He told me that David had sent him.

I got him to bring my bag and I went down to my study. I’d just got there when Henry called. “What’s going on, Cathy?”

“I don’t know very much but...” I related the story as I knew it.

“Okay, I’m on my way, does Simon know?”

“I’ve texted him, he’s in a meeting.”

“Okay, he’d only get in the way–I’ll see you in a couple of hours, tops.”

I went and asked David to be prepared for a couple of extra mouths–but not to do anything for me.

“You’ve got to eat, woman,” he admonished.

“If I feel hungry I’ll make myself something.”

He shook his head and left muttering under his breath.

I felt listless, I couldn’t do anything in case I was needed for this to identify a body or whatever. I didn’t feel like doing anything much either–my energy levels dropped off the scale, I felt challenged just picking up a cup of tea.

I walked over to the window and gazed down the drive. I still felt she was alive but what was going on? As I was about to go and sit down again a taxi came bowling up the drive and who should get out but Stella. I was astonished but delighted. I ran through the house to greet her.

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

“Shopping, what’s it look like?” she waved several carrier bags.

“But the police have been here–your car went into the harbour.”

“Some bastard nicked it–I hope they bloody well drowned. I had to get a taxi–eight quid to get back home–eight bloody quid.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2002 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“You could have phoned to say you were all right,” I accused.

“I didn’t know it was missing.”

“But you must have done–where have you been all day?”

“How would I? I was shopping.”

“All day?”

“Yes–you’ve done it too, so you should know.”

“But Henry’s on his way.”

“What for?” she paused for a moment, “You didn’t tell him I’d gone in the harbour?”

I remained silent and blushed.

“You did tell him I’d gone in the harbour?”

“I was working with what was thought to be the most likely situation.”

“But you didn’t think to check with me?” Now she was doing the accusing.

“How was I going to do that? Send out a carrier herring?”

“One of these–not seen one before, it’s magic, you press in some numbers and it rings.” She mocked me and at the same time speed dialled her father. “I’m okay, the excitement is over–my car was nicked.”

I presumed she called Henry who said something and she passed the phone to me.

“Cathy, what is going on?”

“I’m sorry, favourite pa in law, but it seems the police misinformed me and I passed on the information. Stella has surfaced and is playing hell, so if you could give me ten minutes I could make the first reports correct but in a sack not a car.”

Henry roared with laughter over the phone, “It’s tempting at times. So her car was stolen and she didn’t know?”

“So it would seem.”

“Well, I’m nearly there now so I might as well come and see you all.”

“I did ask David to expect visitors.”

“I shall definitely come then.”

I returned the phone to its owner who wandered off talking to her father. I collected my own mobile and sent a text to Simon who replied he and Sammi were on their way–he’d perform sororicide later. I had to check the meaning of that although I was pretty sure what it meant. Chambers dictionary confirmed my understanding.

I checked with David that dinner was in progress and also to discover what it was. It transpired he was doing a pasta dish with three different sauces–one was tuna sauce, so I knew which I was having. For dessert, he’d made some ice cream with real raspberries–so that was pudding sorted as well, and the entry was some soup he’d quickly knocked up. I was interested to compare it to my soups–his was tomato and basil.

I’d never known anyone called Basil that I could murder and shove into a blender, David obviously did. Oh well, the tomato would hide the colour of any blood. I shook myself–what stupid ideas passed through my thinking equipment–now tomato and Stella soup–I could have managed that with Simon’s help...

“Mummy, have you seen the kitten?” asked Mima.

“No, Meems, why is she lost?”

“I dunno, I’s wooking fow hew.”

I flicked on the decoder built into my ears and offered to help her look. We went upstairs calling her and found her curled up on Trish’s lap, who was lying on her bed reading something on her iPad.

“Mrs Thatcher is dead,” she announced.

“Who?”

“Mrs Thatcher–look,” she passed me her iPad and I read that the previous Tory PM had croaked, and that there would be ructions at her funeral. I only had vague recollections of her as the woman who sold off GB plc to the highest bidder along with council houses but prevented councils from using the money they got to build new ones. I knew I wouldn’t miss her.

“If they aren’t going to bury her for a week, isn’t she going to smell a bit?” asked Trish and Meems made suitably disgusted noises.

“No, they’ll keep her in the fridge.”

“In parliament?”

“No, whichever funeral director is doing the funeral or even in the hospital mortuary.”

“Wossa mowtwy, Mummy?”

“A mortuary is somewhere designed to store dead bodies, they’re usually kept chilled and they preserve the body, stopping it from deteriorating.” I wondered if I’d already said too much but she nodded, sat on Trish’s bed with her sister and began stroking the cat.

I handed the iPad back to Trish who returned the activity on it back to Kindle and began reading again, “Did Darwin really sail in a dog?”

“A dog? Oh the Beagle–very funny–look Grampa Henry is coming soon, so perhaps you’d like to tidy yourselves up somewhat and I can pretend we look after you properly.”

“Grampa Henry–oh goodie, c’mon Brambs,” she dropped her iPad on the bed and grabbing the kitten under her arm she proceeded downstairs. How the cat didn’t scratch her arm off, I’ll never know, but she didn’t even make an attempt to move, uncomfortable as her carrying position must have been. I only wished I’d had a disposition like hers, though possibly one or two of my family might be permanently absent now if I had.

I heard the doorbell ring and Trish with cat still tucked under one arm opened it. Obviously a stranger must have spooked her because she scrambled free and shot back up the stairs as I was descending them–either that or she wanted to read more about Darwin on Trish’s tablet. In this house you never can tell.

The other piece of livestock showed up and bounced all over Henry and the children who went to greet him. The girls particularly know how to play him like a musical instrument. It makes me seethe–only because I can’t–and they do it instinctively. I suppose I started to learn a little too late, it’s difficult to flirt with your dad if he thinks you’re a boy.

We sat in the kitchen, Stella was summoned and they hugged then chatted for a few minutes before we got to the main event and David produced the pasta–penne in a large pan which he scooped out and plopped on the plates, then he offered a Neapolitan sauce, a Bolognese and a Cathy-nese sauce, which caused me to blush and the rest to laugh loudly. I settled for the tuna.

Tom emerged from his study–I wasn’t even aware he was home, and he tucked into a small plate of each. I suppose if they’d have done a chicken curry flavour it would have been a Tom sauce, or would that involve a recently deceased male feline–or bits of–meat balls anyone?

Simon and Sammi appeared and decided to eat before squabbling or murdering younger sister–sororicide. A glass or two of wine later and Simon appeared to abandon or forget his violent aspirations and he and Henry discussed whether the car would be repairable or not.

“I’ve had it for ages, Cathy’s had about five since then,” complained Stella.

“Yes, but Cathy is my wife,” declared Simon meaning quite what, I’m not sure.

“Get me a Jag and you can marry me,” offered Julie bringing the conversation down to the usually bedlam.

“There’s an old one in the garage, can’t Auntie Stella use that?” asked Livvie and Danny, Henry, Julie, Simon and I simultaneously snapped, “NO.” It was as near to unanimous as we ever get.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2003 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The evening wore on and I cajoled the younger members of the family to their beds by agreeing to read a story. I left the girls still awake but drowsy as they thought about the latest dilemma their cycling heroine had landed herself in. I felt some similarities, although of course hers are fictional, while mine remain tainted by being real.

Henry and Stella were in deep discussion about something while Simon was chatting with Julie, shaking his head and laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked standing beside Simon squeezing his shoulder affectionately.

“This baggage seems to think that if she gives her Smart car to Stella, I’ll buy her something like a Jaguar.”

“Well, Smart cars are made by Mercedes, so wouldn’t that be a retrograde step?”

Simon’s eyeballs nearly popped when I challenged the pedigree of his car, then he got the message. “Yeah, I suppose it would,” he said, agreeing with me.

“What, Pinkie is a Merc?” gasped Julie.

“I thought you knew that–that Mercedes build and service them.”

“Like if I did I’d be asking you?”

I shrugged, I thought I was the one behind on contemporary culture preferring Beethoven to Snow Patrol or whoever was her latest fad.

“I’ve agreed to let Stella have the Corsa,” Henry called across to us.

“That settles that then,” I said quietly and squeezed Simon’s shoulder again.

“Looks like it,” he agreed and smoothed my bottom as I walked away. Perhaps we were finally over our tiff.

Henry announced he was leaving–he had an hour and a half’s drive home.

“You could stay if you wish, Henry,” I offered.

“Only if I get to sleep with the mistress of the house,” he whispered to me.

“You could sleep with her husband if you like,” I teased back.

“What? The court jester?”

“That was cruel–remember he inherited half of everything from your genes.”

“That’s the problem, he’s a half wit. Now, the original...”

“Lothario?” I offered in seeming innocence.

“You cut me to the quick.”

“Stay there I’ll get a bigger knife.”

He hugged me and pecked me on the cheek–“Ah, unrequited love–there’s nothing like it.”

“I thought nothing in it would have been more accurate.”

“Madam, you torment this passionate body.”

“Of course, a girl has to have her fun where she can get it.” I watched Stella as we fenced, she was sniggering and shaking her head. Simon had gone off somewhere, possibly to bed, or just to the loo.

“I must go, dear lady. Oh, the board would like some sort of report on our ecological standpoint for the next meeting.”

“When’s that?”

“Wednesday week.”

“That’s a bit short notice, Henry.”

“Just write something about the start of building at the wood.”

“Um,” I blushed, “I commissioned a new survey on that.”

“Why?” he seemed more curious than anything.

“Because it wasn’t the best place for it, I suspect we might have great crested in the pond they’d have to drain.”

“Great crested what? Grebes?”

“No, Henry, newts.”

“You have some drunks in the pond?”

“I’m well aware you knew what I meant all along, I’ve seen the wildlife and countryside act pamphlet on your desk.”

“Just because it was on my desk doesn’t mean I read it. If you recall, we had a royal visitor who would be impressed by such desk fodder. Anyway, a report on why you changed the site for the visitor centre would make a suitable paper for the meeting.”

“I’ll get on to it tomorrow.”

“Good girl, I must away.”

“Whit tae yer pit?” I asked in calamitous Lallans.

“Aye hen, tae ma pit. Guid nicht.” He pecked me on the cheek once again and grabbed his jacket. “Despite the rather chaotic nature of this unplanned visit, I’ve enjoyed my visit and my meal. I must poach David off you for the hotel.”

“I wouldn’t swap him for two hotels–not even on Park Lane.”

He shook his head and sighed, “I can’t keep up with your quips, girl, I must be getting old.”

“You’re not old,” I said rubbing imaginary fluff off his jacket, “just dignified.”

“Cathy, I love you–run away with me, leave this halfwit and elope with me.”

“Much as I value your offer, to accept would cause me to commit bigamy. I therefore decline.”

“Big of you? What are you one about?”

“Very funny, Henry–go on bugger off before it starts to get light.”

“Light? It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Twenty three hundred,” I suggested.

“I’m going, I know when I’m beat.”

“As in dead beat?”

“Something like that.”

Then I received a message from my mobile, I read it and commented on my text. “It’s from the survey team, they finished early, so the price is reduced. My site is so much better.”

“Well you’ll have to report that to the share holders. Sounds like an interesting study.”

“I’m sure it is.” This time I threw my arms round his neck and pecked him on the cheek and withdrew before he could grab me.

“I’ll never wash that side of my face again.”

My response was to laugh out loud–very loud.

“Ach ye scunner.”

He finally left us at eleven fifteen, the rate he was going he could have been in bed by now had he left when he first announced it. Oh well, that’s Henry, I can see where Simon gets it from. He did agree to let us know by text when he got home, so I’d take my phone to bed with me. Not that I didn’t always, but tonight I’d leave it switched on.

By the time I got to bed, Simon was fast asleep and I decided not to wake him. I cleaned my teeth and had a wee before changing into my nightdress, then slipped in beside him. he muttered something but I didn’t catch it so I let it go, which has to be an improvement–doesn’t it?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2004 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The weekend had passed and Stella was to have the use of a Vauxhall Corsa, a GM made car–do they have genetically modified cars in the US or genitally modified as Trish once called it. It was to be delivered on Monday, so when I got up on Monday, Si and Sam had gone to work and Stella was standing round peering through the kitchen window instead of helping feed the bus loads of starving infants we had queuing behind her.

I did manage to sort my lot out and because Phoebe used the moped thing, I somehow got Danny as well as the three mouseketeers in the car and out to school. This was his first day back after his ordeal and I begged him not to get involved in any fights if anyone said anything negative about him, Peter or even Billie.

“Mum, if they say anything nasty about Billie I’ll bust their mouths.”

“Where will that get you?”

“No one bad mouths my sister–no one.”

I appreciated his feelings but tried to explain him lashing out would do nothing to help anything. It’s hard to put an older head on young, testosterone driven shoulders. I gave him some money for his lunches, kissed him and watched him enter the school. He had his phone with him and I told him to phone and I’d come and get him if things got too bad.

He didn’t phone, mind you Stella’s car didn’t happen either. I collected the girls who sat squabbling in the car while we waited for Danny to exit school. He wasn’t expecting us and walked straight past the car, until Trish poked her head out the window and called him back.

He claimed things were okay so I accepted what he said, then had to listen to the squabble all the way home from the back of the car. Someone had taken someone else’s perfume stick–girls!

In the end I was glad to get them to bed before I sat down to watch the hour of red herring spawning they call, Broadchurch; a whodunit which stars David Tennant as the copper investigating the murder of a young teenage boy whose body is found on the beach. The beach just happens to belong to the Chesil Beach, which is a bit to the west of us in darkest Dorset. I happen to know that bit of the world quite well, and watching David T is always satisfying even if I’m waiting for the Tardis to appear at any moment.

I watched the penultimate programme no nearer solving the mystery and suspecting everyone in the town even if they had an alibi. If nothing else they’m all guilty o’ murd’rin’ a Darzit accent.

Having watched it I was about to suggest to the snoozing Simon that we went up to bed when the news came on and I was astonished to hear they’d had a bombing at the Boston Marathon. My blood ran cold but I suspected it wasn’t the usual suspects it was too clumsy.

I nudged Simon who took a few moments to come round and then he like me, watched it with a sense of disgust and disappointment–it was such a futile thing to do and achieved nothing except pain and grief of people who probably had nothing to do with whatever the bombers were upset about. However, that wouldn’t stop the bombers seeing them as legitimate targets. Wonderful the human brain–it can justify anything it wants to however unreasonable that may be to everyone else. I’m tempted to say just think of religion but then we go round in circles–although the majority of outrages seem to be justified on the grounds of politics or religion, with just occasionally–the voices made me do it.

We went to bed tired and saddened by the news report, and when they mentioned the Thatcher funeral and the London Marathon later in the week, it made everything seem even more futile than usual. However, the people organising the security for both events seemed to think everything was in hand–and they had just carried out a successful Olympiad, so they are probably correct.

I had the feeling that it the marathon bombing was carried out by local lunatics but I couldn’t say why or who. All I knew was that the FBI would be involved in a huge investigation where money would be no object, especially if they caught the perps.

On the Tuesday, I felt tears in my eyes when I discovered one of the victims was an eight year old who’d gone to watch his daddy run. How can some lunatic with a bomb justify killing that child? They couldn’t and I felt a mixture of sadness and anger. Then I heard some young woman of twenty three had killed her three babies and jumped off a multi-storey garage to her own death after a squabble with her boyfriend. The world was getting more absurd by the hour. I was tempted to go outside and check I was in the right house or perhaps that should have been, the right planet.

After taking the kids to school, I came home to discover Bramble had caught her first mouse and that Kiki had helped her kill it. The bad news was the mouse was the radio mouse from my computer which lay in bits covered in dog spit. I called the local computer chap who had a spare one which he’d keep for me and I’d collect on the way to get the girls.

There was no point in berating the dog or cat, the former doesn’t seem to understand she’s doing wrong when caught red pawed, and the second is simply a psychopath like most cats who don’t do wrong and who are simply mystified by the stupidity of humans to not understand their need to do as they wish at all times.

I almost apologised to the cat for not buying a mouse which was more easily killed, while thinking about designing one which delivered electric shocks when she tried to do so. Instead I sprayed oil of citronella around my desk–it might reduce her desire to go there–well it stopped her weeing under the stairs.

After lunch, the promised Corsa arrived and Stella was much taken by the light blue metallic paint and even more so by the young chap who delivered it, so much so she was still pleading ignorant of how to change gear on the windscreen wipers so necessitating further tuition from the delivery man. I left her to it when I went to collect my mouse and then the trio of nun-catchers.

Having collected my replacement piece of hardware, I drove to the school wondering if it was worse to be Trish trying to hold herself back when she considered the nuns were lying about things they clearly didn’t understand and she did, or being a nun facing an unbridled intellect from someone so young. As a teacher I can think of nothing worse than being told I was wrong then losing the subsequent argument because the child quotes chapter and verse the reasons for her case and its evidence. I should think anyone trying to explain the Creation to her must be heartily sick of quotations from Professor Brian Cox, the particle physicist at Manchester University, and who Trish dotes on even more than I do on Dawkins.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2005 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The next couple of days were primarily taken up by making a case for the re-siting of the visitor centre, and also the ways that alternative technology could be harnessed to maintain the place.

I’ve asked them to consider tenders for wood-burning stoves to heat the place, for photovoltaic cells on the roof to provide some of the electricity and solar panels to provide hot water. The design I’ve asked to be modified to be triple insulated, so windows and walls will lose very little heat, thus saving on heating in winter and cooling in summer–assuming we ever have another one.

The wood will be provided from coppicing hazel and birch to provide new growth and fuel for the heating. Spare could also be turned into charcoal though some sort of feasibility study on this would be needed including a costing for employed labour as well as work parties by volunteers; it being assumed that as a nature reserve, once people were informed and permitted to come to walk and enjoy nature, some will wish to give something back, so some sort of development officer might become necessary.

I gave an outline plan of how I saw the whole scheme developing with the more academic elements involving the university and the more scientific of the amateurs, and the rest being a facility for educating schools and children’s groups, plus other groups of the general public who wish to learn more about nature, or just bird watch, find fungi or walk their dogs.

Some thought had to be given to security and its costs and provisions, both to the building, its staff and visitors and to the woodland and its inhabitants–striking a balance is one of the hardest things in nature conservation.

The link with both the bank and the university should be kept to a low profile but present as both will have been generous donors, but the priority of the site is for nature conservation not commercial advertising.

The nature of the management and staffing needs to be arranged so as to allow for removal of anyone who is seen to be ineffective or failing to meet the ethos of the site, and a board of trustees needs to be set up to oversee both the management and the scientific aspects of the site. A charter for the trustees would need to be drafted, which would mean ineffective ones of those could also be removed.

While dead wood in a nature reserve can be burned or left for fungi and insects to colonise and feed, dead wood amongst trustees, management or staff will need to be removed.

I was quite beginning to enjoy myself–Genghis Khan had nothing on this girl. I nearly forgot to collect the girls one afternoon and Jacquie had to come and remind me. I was late getting there and the fact that it was raining was pointed out several times on the way home, though I won’t mention any names.

I showed the draft of my paper to Simon who advised me on some of the wording for the management and fiscal side of things, he also suggested that I send a copy to our legal friend for any advice he might offer. When I pointed out it would cost, he reminded me that I was working for the bank, and therefore entitled to use the legal team to check a paper being presented to the board. I also showed a copy to Tom but he was diffident about it, saying he wasn’t qualified to comment. I assumed he meant because I considered he wasn’t qualified to plan the centre.

I didn’t need his negativity over the scheme and once I’d presented the paper, I’d try and bring him on board–we needed resolution–I couldn’t cope with this sense of an elephant in the room all the time, and him avoiding me. Why should he–it’s his house after all.

That night after I’d sent off the draft by email to Jason to comment on the legal aspects, I made a pot of coffee and pouring two mugs of it, I went down to Daddy’s study.

“Daddy, I need to resolve this business of the visitor centre with you, because it’s eating away at our relationship. I don’t want to argue about it. We came to different conclusions about it, which as scientists and adults we’re entitled to do. I think we need to let it go and concentrate on repairing us–our relationship which is very important to me, to Si and the children. We need to be able to love you and respect you and you pushing me away is being noticed by the children. They want their grandfather back.”

He sipped his coffee. “’S guid coffee,” he said and sipped some more. He paused and then sipped some more. “I made a mistake, I’m sorry. I shud hae involved ye in thae plan.”

“Okay, I appreciate you saying that. I apologise to you for being a bit over assertive in pointing out the flaws in the original plan. I just got so cross that the original survey was done by the tooth fairy or someone with similar qualifications and was just so wrong from an ecological point of view that I went overboard on you. I’m sorry, Daddy, please forgive me.”

“I think it’s ye whae’ve tae forgive me.”

I gave him a hug, sniffed a bit to try and stop the tears flowing but it didn’t work, and I wept in his arms for several minutes. I didn’t like being bad friends with any of my loved ones and recently I’d managed it with both Tom and Simon. So maybe I was at fault.

Once I’d calmed down, I went to see Simon and sort out relationship number two.

“Si, can we talk?”

He looked up over the top of his newspaper. “Sure–what about?”

“Us.”

“Us? Like as in you and me?”

I nodded.

He looked mystified. “Shoot,” he said inviting me to sit beside him.

“The other night, I was out of line–I’m sorry.”

“I thought we’d done that.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to sort it out.”

“No–we sorted it.”

“When?”

“It just died a death–haven’t you noticed I’m back to my sweet self?”

I was tempted to say no just to see what happened, but I lost my nerve and nodded, it was safer to keep my treacherous mouth shut for the moment.

“Besides, if I was still angry with you I’d hardly have looked at your plan would I?”

I shrugged, “I suppose not,” I could have argued that he would because it was bank stuff, but chose not to.

“So there’s no problem is there?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good, let’s go to bed and sleep on it–after you know what.”

“I know what–what?” I played thick.

He rolled his eyes, “Some biologist you are if you don’t know about the birds and the bees.”

“Obviously–perhaps you need to teach me?”

“You’re the teacher, but just this once I’ll do the teaching–it’s a practical session so you might need to prepare for it.”

“What protective clothing and equipment, d’you mean?”

“Cathy, stop taking the piss and get upstairs and gerrem off.”

Sometimes he can be so commanding–and sometimes he looks a bigger twit than usual. I didn’t tell him this, I just trotted upstairs giggling–well we were reverting to stereotypes for the session weren’t we?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2006 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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By the next weekend I had polished the report and had all the bits back I needed to add as appendices, including the legal view. It was twenty pages long with the add- ons but I emailed it to Henry for his approval and or distribution. A couple of hours later I got a response–he liked it.

So that was two of the board happy, Henry and Simon–I hoped the others would be so accommodating. Last time I’d saved them a million pounds by altering heating in their branches and HQ, this time I was spending their money but more wisely than had originally been suggested.

Monday I was busy back at university running tutorials for some of the students who were struggling. At the end of the morning I was struggling–with sanity. Why do we accept students who can barely read and write–and I don’t mean those with a word or speech problem, I mean just plain dim. I was teaching them things they should have learned at A-level if not before then. I mean, how can you teach degree level biology to someone who is supposed to have an A level in it but can’t tell the difference between meiosis and mitosis. If their bodies are as stupid as they are, they won’t live long enough to complete the course.

I went to lunch with Daddy and complained the whole time about the standard of the students. “We’el, it’s a’ these dormouse fondlers who’re messin’ it up, we didn’ae hae a problem before.”

“Hoy, I heard that,” I said as he chuckled into his curry. “Besides, ecology is only one module per year on the biology course, and it would appear most of the ones I’ve spoken to wanted to do the full ecology course,” which was two modules per year.

“Aye, perhaps we o’er-extended oorsel’s this time.”

“That’s not going to do much for our reputation, is it?”

“We’el, oor reputation seems to be a’ aboot some dollybird wha makes wildlife fil-ums.”

At this point I started choking on a piece of tuna.

“Hae ye got bones in it?” he asked, teasing me.

I took a sip of water and cleared my oesophagus. The rest of the meal went more normally and I thanked him for my tuna salad. He told me I’d earn it. I knew what he meant, I was tutoring all afternoon, Stella having agreed to collect the girls.

I stopped for a coffee break and complained to Tom again, “Daddy this is ridiculous! They don’t even have the basics–look I’m going to run workshops tomorrow instead of tutorials anyone can attend. They’ll both be the same so if necessary they can attend both if it will help them pass their exams.”

He agreed and I sent an email round to everyone who was booked with me for the following day for a tutorial to come to my workshop instead. I had a whole load of confirmations before I went home. I also emailed those I’d already seen for tutorials. It was last ditch stuff for most of them, but I was prepared to try it to see if I could give lifejackets to some of the drowning.

I spent most of the evening sorting out a teaching plan and saving a copy of the various handouts to a memory stick–amazing, my first computer was huge with a tiny memory, this thing is smaller than my lipstick with a sixteen gig memory.

I was early in, taking the girls early and dropping them off at school, but I needed Pippa to help me do print outs of the handouts–they really were in words of one syllable–well okay two or three, but no more than that. Biology for dummies, it really was that bad.

I had a hundred students turn up for workshop one, including one creepy looking kid who I felt was undressing me as I talked to the group. He gave me a look which to my paranoid state seemed to be saying, ‘I love dominant women.’ He probably wasn’t, he was more likely trying to understand the difference between DNA and RNA.

I kept them at it for two and half hours when Pippa arrived with an armful of handouts and put them down in piles at the back. She disappeared and was back moments later with another pile. By the time she’d finished there was half a forest at the back of the hall.

I was exhausted when Tom came to collect me for lunch. I didn’t know if what I’d done would work or not. The exams next week would determine that–then I’d have some marking to do. I used to like the spring once upon a time.

Partly refreshed by my lunch–I had a chocolate mousse as well–some quick access carbs, see if it gives me a zip–I returned to the fray at two o’clock and we ran until five when I refused to do any more–I was so tired I could hardly speak or stand. Neal had to come and shoo them away, then he took me round to the lab and made me a strong cup of coffee. It enabled me to get home without falling asleep.

It was as I was eating my dinner–I wasn’t very hungry–I recalled I had to go to London tomorrow and present my paper to the board. I felt like shit warmed up and after checking my outfit was okay, I packed what I’d need for the meeting and went to bed–I think I was asleep before the girls went to bed. However, I woke about three in the morning having had my six hours and I couldn’t seem to get back off so I lay there for an hour listening to Simon snore before I gave up and went down to make a cuppa and hope that would help me return to sleep.

I sat at my desk with the files of my report and began to read through it again just in case I saw any mistakes. The way my heart was beating, I was secreting so much adrenalin I couldn’t concentrate anyway, however I heard a funny noise and looked round just in time to see a furry body fly up on to my lap and start pummelling as she purred. I picked her up stroked her and gave her a kiss and she settled down to sleep on my lap, which was preferable to claws going through my pyjama legs and into mine as she pummelled me.

I settled back to my task and the next thing I knew was Simon was prodding me, “Wake up, Cathy–what are you doing down here?”

I’d fallen asleep at my desk, the kitten was still curled up on my lap and my head felt like someone was trying to make it ring like a bell by striking it with a big hammer. “What time is it?” I croaked.

“Half past seven, I overslept.”

“Oh lord, I need to get the girls up.”

“Get yourself up, Tom’s taking them to school, remember? You and I are off to the board meeting, so up you get and shower.”

I was about to pinch myself to see if I was having a bad dream, but the kitten stuck her claws in my leg before hopping off to get her breakfast–I was wide awake and this was real.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2007 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I drove to the station in my car with Simon and Sammi, and it was quite pleasant chatting as we sat in first class drinking coffee and watching the countryside go by. All too soon we were heading into the built up areas of London and I saw the greenery give way to horrible grey yellow brickwork of half derelict buildings on which the graffiti vandals had been busy. I couldn’t call them artists because much of it is just sprayed initials of individuals or gangs. In some of the deserted properties not a single pane of glass survived the predation by vandals–an aspect of human behaviour I simply don’t understand.

I discussed this with the others and Simon asked me outright, “Haven’t you ever had the urge to just smash something to smithereens?”

“Why?”

“Because you could.”

“No, have you?”

“Yes,” he blushed, “and acted on it.”

“Oh, do tell us more,” I encouraged him while Sammi smirked.

“I was still at school–we had a summerhouse that the prefects used to use to have a sly fag.”

“Are we talking cigarette or some poor first former?”

“First former? What are you on about?”

“Fagging–you know at public schools?”

“Cathy, I went there in the Twentieth Century, not back when we still owned America.”

We both laughed at this and he continued: “They used to go there to smoke–sometimes a bit of weed, and a few drinks–all totally illegal, but the authorities turned a blind eye to it.”

“So the prefects were committing more offences than the kids they were supposed to be policing?”

“Yeah, natch, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t I what?”

“When you were a prefect?”

“I wasn’t a prefect–no one was going to appoint me as one–someone whom half the third form could beat up–come off it.”

“What about the Bristol fighting stuff, Mummy?”

“Okay, I’d devised a form of scrapping which involved using whatever was to hand and never considering you’re going to lose. You have to become the aggressor whatever happens–even if the odds are overwhelming. It also required doing things they weren’t expecting.”

“Like what?” she pushed.

“Well some kid was squaring up to me, legs apart to give me a pasting, so I jumped down at him, put one foot behind his leg and kicked his knee with the other.”

“What happened–did you break his leg?”

“No–he broke his arm falling and I broke his patella. It’s funny that although he made all sorts of threats against me, he never tried to enforce any of them. He used a stick in school for weeks–threatened me with it as well–until I kicked it away from him–accidentally of course–and he broke his collar bone.”

“Didn’t you get into trouble?”

“Murray was so incensed he nearly physically hit me.”

“Why–all you did was defend yourself?”

“Ah, sweet Sammi, I didn’t tell you he was the captain of the rugby team. Had he beaten me up, he probably would have got a scholarship. Alas, I didn’t I just acted all girly and asked in a simpering voice, did he really think, little ol’ me could hurt such a rough tough boy as Mintern? It worked. I was sent off with a flea in my ear that if I so much as touched him with my effeminate little hands again, Murray would expel me.”

“So he left you alone after that?”

“With one exception, somehow they got me onto a rugby field–you know wearing shorts and things and Mintern was on the other side. My side set me up, passing me the ball as he charged at me.”

“Goodness, what happened, Mummy?”

“I was smaller, lighter and extremely scared.”

“Yes?”

“So I simply sidestepped him, sold him a further dummy and left him trying to grasp air. I actually scored my one and only try that day.”

“Good for you, Mummy.”

I smirked. That wasn’t the end of the story by a long shot and Simon knew it.

“So their pack didn’t scrag you?”

“I didn’t give them the chance. I was set up again running with the ball only I passed it and dropped to the ground, Mintern fell over me and broke his other collar bone. I pretended he’d hurt me, he did give me quite a clout and lay still on the grass, I was eventually sort of dragged off–the games teacher having a good feel of my bum while he did so.”

Simon shook his head. “Serves the moron right, if you go out to hurt someone you usually end up hurt yourself–and the other guy usually has friends unless it was considered whatever he did was beyond the pale.”

“But I did, Si–I was the only girl in a boy’s school.”

“They didn’t try to set you up again?”

“No, Murray hauled me over the coals for damaging his captain again and I was told on no account was I to ever set foot on a rugby pitch again. I agreed and he threw me out of his office, he was so angry.”

A while later we were waiting on a tube station when I had a vision of some bloke dashing down the stairs and knocking a child onto the tracks. I didn’t think it was deliberate, more carelessness.

As we waited I gasped as the child, a little girl in a shiny waterproof coat with fairies painted all over it stood next to her mother. Sure enough, a minute or two later, this big chap came hurtling down the stairs and just as he would have collided with the little girl, I yanked her towards me and he ran smack into a pillar.

The little girl was crying, my grabbing her had frightened her, but her mother was really pleased I had. I could hardly say I saw it coming–five minutes before–could I? However when I looked behind me, I’d dropped my lap top which Sammi had seen and was desperately trying to get to work.

The paramedics coming to deal with the groaning lump still lying on the platform where he’d fallen meant the trains were stopped and we were beginning to run later than we’d anticipated.

Finally, we did get to the offices of the bank and Sammi hared off with my laptop to try and recover the contents of the hard disc. I was taken into an ante-room to sit and wait hoping she’d be in time. Simon pecked me on the cheek and went into the board room–I was due to present my report some half an hour after it started. I sat and waited, trying to see how I could improvise without the computer and my graphics. It’s not nearly as interesting with a flip chart and coloured marker pens.

For a moment I worried myself silly, then remembered I was a teacher and dealt with these situations regularly–I didn’t but I was trying to con myself–so should have the resources to make a decent fist of it come what may. They’d all have a copy of the report so really it was about fielding questions as they arose. Yeah, I’d cope.

“Dr Watts, if you could come with me,” asked a very fashionably dressed secretary, down to her six inch heeled platform shoes and tight skirt. I felt very drab compared to her ‘big hair’ and immaculate makeup–mine had been thrown on after my shower.

I set off to follow her and just in time heard a voice yelling, “Mummy, wait...”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2008 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Turning round I saw Sammi running up behind me. “Here,” she handed me a notebook computer and a memory stick. “Your presentation is on the memory stick, there should be a computer in the room, but have this one just in case.”

“Thank you, sweetheart, I’ll see you later.”

“Dr Watts, the board is waiting,” huffed the dolly secretary bird as she tapped one of her platform soles on the carpet. I said nothing, I certainly wasn’t going to apologise to her or her Jimmy Choos.”

“Ah, Cathy, glad you could make it,” was slight rebuff from Henry who was chairing the meeting.

“Yes, terribly sorry had a computer malfunction.”

“Okay, we’re a bit tight for time so please if you could go straight into your presentation?”

“Of course.” I located the computer from which the projector ran–gosh this was a smart one–it threw up images onto the glass table the board was meeting around, each one forming like a separate screen before each of the members.

I rattled off my stuff after showing a short clip of the woodland and some of the birds, then I showed them the two sites and the findings of the two surveys, the first which I considered to be inadequate and the second which involved me and was thus better–except I didn’t tell them that.

One snotty bloke of about fifty something, who looked as if he’d eaten too many corporate banquets kept looking at his watch. Finally I finished my presentation and asked for questions. He was first up, “Tell me, who is Billie King, the centre will be called after?”

I was gobsmacked–this guy didn’t do his homework. I was just about to go for his jugular when Henry stepped in, presumably to save a blood bath. “My granddaughter who tragically died at the age of twelve.”

“Thank you, Henry. My next question is, laudable as wildlife is, shouldn’t we be concentrating on shareholders, not saving squirrels or other irrelevant vermin? I mean the posters with the bimbo holding the rat was all very well, but my shareholders would prefer better returns on their incomes.”

I began to feel steam coming from my ears as my blood began to boil. I glanced at Simon who was clenching his fists.

Henry stepped in again, “Actually, since we sponsored the dormouse film our stock has risen by seven percent and the number of new current accounts amongst younger people and students has doubled. We are also the only bank with a green agenda which is attracting very good publicity.”

“I suspect an extra point five per cent interest would attract more.”

“I’m not sure it would, we have to fight fire with fire these days, and in these times of climate change and so on, to be the only ecologically responsible bank will pay dividends in the long run.”

“Long run, Henry, f’Chrissake, no one looks beyond six months in banking–get with the times.”

“George, I rather suspect that it was a similar sort of attitude amongst many of our fraternity which got us into this mess in the first place.”

“How much are we paying for this woodland and do we have timber rights for it?”

This time I decided to answer, “The answers to those questions are in my report–if you have difficulty reading it you should have notified the meeting secretary.”

He glared at me and Henry smirked. “How much are we paying you for this shit?” demanded George.

“Much less than they probably pay you for doing even less.”

That was a match to his blue touch paper. Even if I got sacked, it was worth it to see him almost pop and eyeball as he received my retort. One or two faces sniggered then regained control.

“I’ll have you know I represent a pension fund which invested a million pounds last year–what have your rodents contributed?”

Henry was about to speak when I glared at him and he let me represent myself. “I saved the bank more than that last year in energy efficiency–you should read your reports.”

“Is this true?” asked George, beginning to realise he wasn’t the most popular person in the room.

“It is, actually, and through Cathy we have also been reassessing security and that should save us another half a million a year for the next five years. In addition, through another of Cathy’s contacts, we’ve increased the computer security which alone in preventing much of the cyber fraud that goes on currently. We could be making savings of tens of millions of pounds every year.”

“With due respect, Henry...” which usually means anything but respect, “why do we need an ecologist–and why this one–shouldn’t we have gone out to tender to various universities?”

Simon clenched his fist again and looked very red in the face. However, Henry looked quite calm, even clinical–yeah, clinical–it turned out to be quite a prophetic term.

“You clearly don’t recognise Dr Watts?”

George shook his head and Simon smirked, he knew something I didn’t–like a coup de grace on its way.

“Dr Watts is a lecturer in biological sciences at Portsmouth University, being a lead on the field biology and ecology courses. She is also the lead on the recently completed first year of the mammal survey of Great Britain which is attracting a great deal of interest from the EU, and she is currently liaising with the EU to start the survey on the same sort of basis we’ve run ours. She is internationally recognised as a leading expert on the hazel dormouse and made the film the BBC have shown at least twice. She is currently researching one for the harvest mouse. The sponsorship we gave for the dormouse film provided us with a whole hour of publicity at peak time–to have run half a dozen adverts on commercial TV would have cost us at least three times as much, and been run while everyone was filling their kettle. They all saw our name at the beginning and end of the film.

“Dr Watts is also the model for the poster we did with the dormouse which has won us two awards–” that was news to me–“in addition, she is constantly seeking to improve our image with the public–who are after all, the people who loan us their money–in ways which cost us relatively little, but bring in new markets every time. Rather than questioning her salary perhaps we should be increasing it?”

A murmur of approval ran through the meeting with the exception of George who didn’t know when to quit. “I don’t recall anything in any minutes about appointing an ecological adviser?”

“There weren’t any, I appointed Cathy off my own bat and got her very cheaply, I thought.” A murmur of agreement followed his statement. Maybe I should ask for a pay rise? Only joking.

“I’m still baffled by how you chose to go for a wildlife centre to remember your granddaughter–why not a skate park or paddling pool–what’s the connection?”

“Tell him, Henry,” said someone close to his seat.

“I told you, Billie was my granddaughter, and I know she’d have approved of her name being associated with such a place–she really like nature.”

“So does my granddaughter, but I wouldn’t spend several million on such things even for her.”

“George, stick with pension funds–leave the clever stuff to me and my family.”

George looked bewildered.

“Cathy is Henry’s daughter in law,” said the woman sitting next to George–“you really should read your notes, George.” He went very red and glared at me, I beamed him a lovely smile while wishing he’d spontaneously combust–he didn’t, but his colostomy bag suddenly filled and began to leak. He gave his apologies and dashed out of the room leaving his spare bags behind.

“Thank you, Cathy,” Henry gave me my dismissal and I picked out my memory stick, and Sammi’s computer. Walking past George’s chair I picked up his spare bags and nodding to the meeting went out to the corridor. I stopped outside the gents and grabbing the first available man who was passing asked him to take them in to George.

He reappeared a moment later smirking. “A bit late I think–he’s covered in it.” I had no intention of seeing him humiliated like that now his threat had ceased so I asked the chap to find out what shirt size he was. He sighed but went in and asked.

“Seventeen,” he was about to go off when I stopped him.

“Had your lunch yet?”

“No, why?”

“Here’s sixty quid, go and get him a replacement shirt and you can keep the change.”

“Okay–you’re on.”

“Hadn’t you better tell him to wait and clean himself up. Oh and get him a white shirt. A pink tie on a blue striped shirt is so passé.” The youngster went back into the gents and I went off to find Sammi and some lunch.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2009 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“How’d it go?” asked Sammi after I gave her back her computer.

“A bit rougher than last time, I seemed to have someone who disliked me and the whole concept of ecology.”

“Oh how could they, Mummy–you’re simply adorable.” I caught sight of the woman across the office looking puzzled given I’m less than ten years older than Sammi.

“Obviously, I’m not to everyone.”

“Was that George Hugens?” asked the woman.

“I’ve no idea what his surname was.”

She clicked through something on her computer. “Yep, it’s him. He’s due for replacement soon, done his two years.”

“How come he sits on the board when his pension fund brings in so little income?” I enquired.

“Historical, they used to be a much bigger outfit, lost a pile when BP had the blow out down Mexico way and then the banking crisis pretty dealt them a killer blow. He’s a bit of an arsehole anyway, thinks he’s still important.”

“Sorry, that’s Sonia,” Sammi pointed to the woman, “this is my mum.”

“She musta been very young when she had you,” observed Sonia.

“I was,” I said breathily, “about eight and a half I think.”

Sonia’s eyebrows nearly left her forehead and she burst out laughing. “C’moffit, now tell me the truth.”

“It’s true,” I fibbed although in a way which she would find amusing.

“I’m adopted,” said Sammi.

“They don’t let kids adopt.”

“She is adopted, albeit in a very casual sense. She needed a mother figure and I got volunteered.”

“You didn’t resist, then? I mean adopting a teenage girl–could be problematic.”

“I wasn’t a teenager, I was twenty two.”

“A grown woman, and you got adopted?” Sonia’s eyebrows ascended again.

“Let’s say she had some issues at the time.”

“Mum saved my bacon and gave me a home.”

“She’s also prone to exaggerate.” I tried to avoid any details.

“No I don’t, do I Son?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“C’mon you, let’s get some lunch,” I cajoled.

“Isn’t Daddy taking you out, or even Gramps?”

“No, they’re still in the board meeting.”

“Omigod, I just worked out who you are,” said Sonia blushing. “You’re the chairman’s daughter in law–aren’t you? You’re Lady Cameron.”

“Yeah, like didn’t you know?” Sammi’s eyebrows began lift off–what is it about this place and eyebrows?

“Know? I didn’t know I shared an office with adopted royalty,” Sonia stood and offered us a rather ungainly impromptu curtsey. Sammi groaned and I felt like doing so but stayed silent.

“Hey, can Sonia come to lunch with us?” Sammi asked me in front of the poor woman.

“I can’t, kiddo, someone has to mind the office–in case the ship starts to sink.” She stood and saluted and pretended to be sinking as she lowered herself back down to her seat. “Tell you what, bring me back a beef roll or something similar.”

Relieved I agreed to her request. Sammi grabbed her coat and we left, “One of our IT techies is having a look at your puter.”

“Thanks.”

“He thought he might be able to fix it.”

“That would be very good–let me know what I owe him.”

“Muuum, he works here–it’s what he does–there won’t be any charge.”

“Does he drink?”

“Like waddya mean?”

“I thought I could send him a nice bottle of wine for his efforts.”

“Don’t worry, the company pays him whatever he’s working on.”

“But I don’t exactly work here do I?”

“You’re family.”

That line was beginning to annoy me, although I was glad of Henry’s help when cross examined during the meeting. We passed the toilet just as the young man and George were exiting the gents. “That’s the lady who paid for your shirt,” declared the young man.

“Dr Watts, I’m in your debt.”

“Not at all, you were in need.”

“I was that, you’re a real Christian, Dr Watts. I shall repay you for your kindness.”

“Please, don’t bother Mr Hugens, I’m sure you’d have done the same if the positions were reversed.”

“I don’t know if I would have done, but I know from now on I will. You have converted me, the good Samaritan, God bless you, Dr Watts and your dormice.” I shook his hand and he kissed mine, blessed us again and returned to what was left of his meeting.

“What was that about?” Sammi began her cross examination which lasted all the way to the restaurant in the next block. I was pleased to see they did tuna jacket potato and ordered one plus a pot of Earl Grey, Sammi went for the same.

While she was poring over the menu I had a quick look at her. She had come on so much since she came to me, not that I did much except to give her a secure place to live and experiment in being who she wanted to be. Simon had bought her several outfits and she looked quite the junior exec. Her hair was neat and tidy and growing like mad, her makeup was flawless–all of which I suspect owed itself more to Julie’s tender mercies than anything I did. I could see nothing off the boy I’d taken in, just the young woman he’d blossomed into. I poured her some tea.

“Who’s Sonia?” I asked.

“The IT manager’s PA–she’s alright.”

I shrugged, it was of little concern to me. “She didn’t know you had family connections?”

“Uh no, I tried to show I was there because I knew what I was doing.”

“But she must have known of Simon’s involvement in getting you the job in the first place?”

“No she didn’t, she was on holiday because I did some of her typing that first week.”

“That was a pretty rapid ascent then from temp to assistant manager in IT.”

“I think I’m doing a good job and worth the money,” Sammi looked as if I was trying to take her down a peg.

“According to Si and Henry, you’re doing a brilliant job and I’m sure you are worth the money. I was just remarking on the fact that you were grateful for any job and then found a nice niche for yourself and have settled in really well.”

The look she gave me was slightly suspicious. The waiter interrupted, bringing our meals and I asked him if they could do a beef roll to take out. He gave me the options and I went for granary bread with salad and horse radish with the beef. Sammi nodded at my choice, “She’ll like that.”

“Oh good–you realise that she’s going to give you the third degree when you get back. She’ll want chapter and verse on your issues.”

“So, I’ll tell her the truth.”

I nearly choked on my piece of spud, “Is that wise?”

“I’m gambling a bit here but I doubt she’ll believe me, so then I’ll say I had a bit of breakdown at university and you helped me to get over it–which is nearly true as well.”

“You’re getting sneaky, daughter mine.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been in training with the best in the business–my adopted mum.”

At this point I coughed tuna and potato everywhere.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2010 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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After letting our lunches ‘go down’ and a fresh pot of tea, we went back to Sammi’s office. I apologised to Sonia for the delay in her delivery and thus wouldn’t accept any payment for the roll–not that I’d noticed what the price was anyway.

The air had felt warmer as we walked back and my red Armani suit with its tight skirt had felt a little overdressed. While I chatted with Sonia, Sammi went off to see the progress on my computer. She seemed to be gone rather a long time so I sat down at her desk and began doing the Guardian crossword, Sonia having popped out to eat her beef roll in private. While Sammi was out the phone on her desk rang and rang. It finally stopped and my heart rate began to ease before it started up again and kept ringing. I felt like picking it up and asking how I was supposed to solve a crossword by ‘Paul’ when the blessed phone kept ringing. It eventually stopped and once again I relaxed and actually got a clue, but not one which gave me any first letters–bah.

Next thing, Sammi’s phone went off again. Its insistent ringing really irritated and I picked it up. I was tempted to do a mock of a recording, you know...please speak after the tone... however, I didn’t. This was hardly the place for jokes.

“Hello?”

“Is that Sammi?”

“No, this is Cathy, may I take a message for Sammi, she should be back shortly.”

“Cathy who?” asked a male voice.

“Cathy Watts, who are you?”

“Neville.”

“Neville who?”

“Neville you mind, tell Sammi to call 297 as soon as she can.”

“Your jokes are worse than mine, Neville.”

“I don’t do jokes, Cathy.”

“That’s what I meant, Neville, or whatever your name is.”

“The last girl who gave me lip got her cards the next day.”

“Is that so, bit of a bully-boy are you, Neville?”

“I don’t take lip from anyone.”

“You will from me, Neville, if you have any sense.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I shall crap on you from on high.”

He laughed. “I don’t think you know who I am, Cathy.”

“I have no idea who you are and care even less.”

“Prepare to collect your cards, girl.”

“As I don’t have any, that might be difficult.”

“What?”

“Shall I repeat it, I’m not an employee here.”

“What are you doing answering a phone for then?”

“Because some moron keeps ringing it.”

“Security will be up there in two minutes to escort you from the building–I shall enjoy that.”

“How much would you like to wager on it?”

“I wouldn’t like to take your money.”

“You won’t, don’t worry.”

“So you don’t intend to pay?”

“I don’t intend to lose–but were I to do so I would pay up. A lady always pays her debts of honour.” Never quite understood how is was honourable to gamble away the family fortune.

“A likely story.”

“I’m going to put the phone down now, Neville as you seem scared to gamble.”

“A hundred pounds says you’re out of here in ten minutes.”

“Make it payable to the Mammal Society, Sammi will collect the cheque for me.”

He laughed and put the phone down. I returned mine to the cradle just as two men in security uniforms entered. “There she is,” the one pointed to me.

“Come on, Miss, let’s be ’aving yer.”

I showed him my pass. That caused an element of head scratching.

“Who asked you to escort me out?” I enquired of the increasingly red faced security guards.

“Mr Norman. Thing is Dr Watts, you don’t really ’ave a pass to come in ’ere–these offices is off limits to visitors.”

“I’m merely waiting for my daughter to return with my computer which she was having repaired for me in your IT department. Which department is Mr Norman in?”

“Um–accounts innit, Fred?” he asked his colleague.

“Nah, salaries innit?” replied his friend.

Just then Sonia returned, “What’s happening, chaps?”

“Mr Norman just asked us to escort Dr Watts ’ere out of the offices, as her pass don’t give ’er access, like.”

“Tell Mr Norman to sit on it,” she replied smirking.

“I don’t think so, Ms Cooper.”

“D’you have any idea who this lady is?”

“Yeah, Dr Watts, that’s right innit, madam?”

“That’s my professional name, yes.”

Fred looked a bit confused. So Sonia continued to enlighten him. “Have you ever seen Lord Henry or his son really mad?”

The two guards looked at each other and nodded, “Just once, when he fired that bloke in personnel.”

“That would be akin to a sparrow farting compared to the thunder escorting this lady would generate. Do you get my drift.”

Fred looked even more confused, “Um–not really.”

“You know Lord Simon?”

“Yes,” they both nodded.

“This is his wife, the Lady Catherine.”

Fred’s colour dropped from red to ashen in seconds.

“Is this right, your ladyship?”

“It is, Fred, and I’m waiting for my daughter, Sammi.”

“Well technically, we could ask you to leave but seein’ as MsCooper ’as verified your identity, I think we can trust you not to conduct any negative business while in ’ere.”

“Technically, Fred, I suspect you’re right, but as it would piss off Mr Norman no end and a charity stands to gain a hundred quid from him, I think you see my viewpoint.”

Fred didn’t. So I explained it and Sonia roared with laughter, then Fred chuckled and so did Bill, his mate. Seems Mr Norman can be a pain in the bum and has few friends.

After seeing the two flunkeys out, Sonia asked me if I was game to make Mr Norman’s life more interesting. I nodded. She then rang Henry’s secretary and outlined her plan. Then repeated, “Twenty minutes–fine.” She replaced the phone and said to me, “Tea or coffee?”

Feeling a little sleepy, I opted for coffee and she went off to make some. She’d just come back when a young woman from personnel rushed in with an envelope. Sonia opened it and held out a new ID pass, ‘Dr Catherine Watts, Director, Environmental Department. SL 9.’

“What does SL 9 mean?”

“Security level 9, one below the boss. Theoretically gives you access to everything except customer records–for that you’d need a special clearance–but everything else, including staff records will bow down before you, as long as you have that on.”

“But it looks as if I’m in charge of drains or drinking water?”

“It had to be vague, you’re the ecological adviser, he’d never have bought a director of ecology so I went one wider.”

“And you reckon if I go down to his office and demand my payment, he’ll be so embarrassed he’d be quiet for the next few days?”

“Oh I think anyone who witnesses such an event will remind him of it for weeks or even months to come.”

“Until he finds out it was a sham?”

“He’s unlikely to ever find out.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Hilary, Lord Henry’s PA is involved–it will all stop at her desk.”

I drank my coffee, had a wee and refreshed my lipstick. I then let Sonia escort me to Mr Norman’s office. He was tapping away on a computer when we entered his office. “Yes?” he asked as Sonia tapped on his door and strolled in.

“Dr Watts is here to collect her cheque for the Mammal Society–that’s right, isn’t it?”

“It is.” I smiled back to her and at him.

“Who the hell are you?” he stood up and looked at my ID badge. His demeanour changed immediately, if not quicker. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even know we had an Environmental Directorate. I stand corrected–um–Dr Watts.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a chequebook and made out the cheque.

“If you put your address on the back they can claim tax back on it as well,” said Sonia turning the screw. He did as she told him and handed it to me.”

I received it and offered my hand, “No hard feelings, eh, Neville?”

“Neville?” said Sonia, “His name’s Arthur.” We left after I’d placed the cheque safely in my handbag. When we got back to Sammi’s office she was back with my computer which was now working better than ever.

“Gramps is looking for you, Mummy.”

Oops–looks like I’m going to get my comeuppance. “Where’s his office?”

“His suite,” emphasised Sonia, is the whole top floor, they’ll be expecting you.”

“I see you later, kiddo.” I picked up my handbag and my laptop in its carry bag gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek, shook hands with Sonia who pointed me towards the lift and wandered towards the flashing display. I pressed the arrow for up and a couple of moments later a nearly silent cabin arrived and I got into it and pressed level thirty. What seemed like seconds later the door opened and I stepped out and faced a security guard. I showed him my original ID and he waved me through with a nod.

I went through a large office where I was met by Judy, the chairman’s secretary who shook my hand and led me through to Hilary’s office which was even larger and had several computers and flat screened televisions or display units on the one wall along with several clocks showing different times and names of various financial centres over the world.

“Good to see you again, Cathy,” said Hilary shaking my hand warmly.

“I hope our prank hasn’t caused you any problems with his nibs,” I nodded towards Henry’s door.

She shook her head, and escorted me through to his office, he was standing at the window watching the view of the river and its activities. “Lady Catherine, your lordship.”

Without turning round he said, “I love this view, there’s always something happening–it’s a bit like you, isn’t it?”

“I try to keep busy, Henry.”

“So I hear–accepting a directorship–isn’t going to be too onerous then?”

I blushed and felt a rivulet of sweat run down my back. “I can explain, that Henry.”

“I’m all ears,” he said turning round, his face impassive.

I explained what had happened and he nodded. “So whose Idea was it?”

“I have to take the blame for it. I’ll resign of course.”

“Will you now. Who are you protecting, Cathy? Let’s see, Sonia shares with Sammi, so it’s odds on her, plus you’d need the help of an accomplice from this office–such as Hilary or Judy. So once again, I ask who you’re protecting?”

“No one, I stand alone as the guilty party and have offered my resignation with immediate effect.”

“Please sign this form.” He asked his hand hiding most of the text, “And this one.” It was the same.

“Does this count as my resignation?”

“What d’you think?”

“I don’t know, Henry. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you or upset the system here.”

“You really don’t know what has happened, do you?”

“I’m sorry?” I felt close to tears, “What more can I say?”

“You could offer to elope with me and leave that dozy husband of yours.”

“What?”

“Welcome, Dr Catherine Watts, Director of Environmental Affairs–you’re now a board member of this noble institution.”

I felt sick, “What?” I had left the director’s badge on his desk.

“You’re going to need this.”

“But this was a joke,” I said waving the badge.

“What you didn’t know was that the members were so impressed with you they proposed that we invite you onto the board to deal with all environmental aspects concerning the bank.”

“How can I do that, I can barely cope with things now?”

“Don’t worry–once you set up two managers, one with a biological background like yourself and another to deal with more mundane things like building maintenance, all you’ll need to do is attend the odd meeting and receive briefings.”

“But I don’t have time, Henry, touched though I am by your invitation.”

“You’ve already signed on the dotted line.”

“Only because you hid the forms from me with your hand.”

“Would I do a thing like that, Cathy. Come let me introduce you to your PA, Cynthia, though she uses that awful American diminutive of Cindy.”

“Is she American?”

“Canadian I believe, come with me.” Shaking my head I followed him out of his suite and down to the lift. I had no idea how I was going to deal with this but I’d talk it over with Simon tonight and explain why I was resigning. I’m sure he’ll understand.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2011 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“So it’s life in the fast lane for you then?” said Pippa as we munched our salads at the university cafeteria.

I shrugged. “You’d have thought Simon would have had more sympathy with my situation, he knows how busy I am.”

“Why, what did he say?”

“He just said, ‘Do you realise what an honour and privilege it is to be asked to become a director of the oldest bank in Britain?’”

“What? It’s older than Barclays an’ the rest of ’em?”

“Apparently, but as a merchant bank up in Scotland. It survived and prospered mainly in Edinburgh for nearly a hundred years before it came south to London, where it set up its first English counting house. It stayed small, but elegantly wealthy.”

“Elegantly wealthy? Wossat mean?”

“God knows, but that’s how they described it, a depository for the more genteel client, or some other similar nonsense. But it worked. They had too many assets to be scooped up by one of the other banks so stayed aloof from much of the various troubles including the great depression, and stayed the same until Henry steered the board into buying up Commercial and Commonwealth and rebranding it as High St. It hasn’t looked back apparently and is the third biggest of the clearing banks.”

“An’ you’re a director?”

“Apparently so.”

“Can’t you claim you were tricked into it?”

“It would be my word against Henry’s, and his is worth more than mine. Besides, it would do nobody any good to make an issue of it.”

“So, we’re gonna lose you?”

I shrugged, “They negotiated with the university before they asked me, they agreed they could release me for four days per month.”

“You’re gonna, like run a department in a bank in four days a month?”

“That’s forty eight a year.”

“What’s the pay like?”

“A hundred.”

“What per day? That’s pretty stingy for a bank, isn’t it?”

“Thousand.”

“Hang on, a thousand a day–not bad rates–I’ll do it for that,” she joked.

“A hundred thousand.”

She froze her fork half way to her mouth. “That’s two thousand a day.”

“Plus bonuses.”

“What d’you have to do for those murder the opposition?”

“No, presumably sell our green credentials, and use it to improve marketing while trying as well to make economies in use of carbon fuels and so on.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“One idea I have is to quantify the size of the carbon footprint and plant an equal number of trees–mostly broadleaf but also some quick growers to harvest for paper.”

“You’re not going to make your own paper?”

“No but we could sell the paper mills the wood to make it, and of course recycling every scrap of it–paper that is.”

“What old cheques and statements?”

“Yes, I plan a collection service to a central point where every piece of paper is shredded beyond recovery and then used to make pulp.”

“What for paper?”

“Yes, what else?”

“Well with you around, who knows?”

“I’m not sure if that was a compliment or what?”

“It was an orwot.”

“Gee thanks. Mind you, depending upon how much there would be, we could possibly turn it into fuel for stoves to heat the branches.”

“Would they allow that?”

“Doubt it–just brain storming.”

“Or you could make papier má¢ché things like they use in hospitals.”

“Could do, I suppose.”

“If you do, do I get a bonus?” asked Pippa.

“Yeah, a cream bun on my birthday.”

“Sure you can afford it?”

“Dunno, will depend on the price of cream buns.”

“Will you still be the bank’s ecology adviser?”

“I don’t know–didn’t ask that?”

“So will you get paid for that as well?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh well, moneybags, you can pay for the teas.”

Back in my office I sat trying to concentrate on my paper for the conference but I just kept on thinking of what other people would say or feel about me–it wasn’t very positive. They’re all going to think I sold out for the money. Typical champagne socialist–criticise the rich until they let me join. Except it wasn’t true–I didn’t ask for the job and only Simon’s pleading with me stopped me resigning before I’d taken up my position. He said that Henry would be really upset if I didn’t at least try to do it. He couldn’t seem to understand that I wasn’t too pleased the way that Henry conned me into doing it.

“He knew if he’d asked you openly, you’d have said no.”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“So he decided to inveigle you in the hope that once in, you’d see how much good you could do.”

“Simon, it’s a bank not a charity.”

“We give away a surprising amount to charity.”

“Like my wood?”

“Um–partly, but we also donate to charities and advise them on investments, run their accounts for nothing and so on.”

I wasn’t convinced–banks are there to make money. They’re quite good at it, but they can never seem to do so consistently, hence the crashes every so many years. The exception being Cameron’s Bank or High St, which didn’t get as badly hit as Lloyds and RBS or even Barclays, because they didn’t buy bad debts from morally questionable banks in the US. They did however, get it wrong with Simon’s purchase of the bank in Kansas–not the one Dorothy had an account with or Toto–even though he did redeem his position and show he was the victim of a fraud–a large fraud. He even managed to recover some of the money. However, it was a bad call and he made it and was these days doing his penance in the retail arm of the bank–the actual eponymous ones on the high street. I never thought I’d end up working in a bank, even as chief dormouse adviser.

A throwaway remark I made a while ago has come home to haunt me. I playfully suggested that instead of a coat of arms on their logo, they should have a dormouse. My department or directorate as I should describe it, has a dormouse climbing over the coat of arms and the motto, ‘Protecting what we hold dear,’ corny or what?

I asked them to save postage stamps on incoming mail to be given to charity–looks like I’ll end up with charitable work under my direction if I don’t keep quiet. I only suggested it because we do it at the uni–okay, it was my suggestion, but we handed over a sack of stamps to them which they sold for thousands of pounds. Philatelists apparently like them–although they were complaining that the Royal Mail does too many commemoratives. Dunno, don’t collect them–far too exciting for a couch potato like me–I’ll stick to cycling for my kicks–if ever I have time to ride a bike again before I retire.

I looked at the business cards Simon had given me last night: ‘Dr Catherine Watts, PhD, MSc, BSc. Director of Environmental Affairs.’ It gave my office address in Canary Wharf and a phone number, together with a fax number and an email address. I was going to have to be careful or I’d never get clear of this establishment of unbridled capitalism–mind you, a cottage or villa in the South of France would seem a decent reward for a few years work playing with other people’s money. Maybe I will think about it rather than act rashly.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2012 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I collected the girls from school, still musing on my recent appointment, and wondering if I’d sold out to the enemy–but then Simon and Henry, although ridiculously wealthy are actually liberals even socialists. They don’t believe in a welfare state which supports the idle, but they do believe those in genuine need should be looked after properly, not skimped on. So in their world, no old age pensioner would wonder whether they could eat or stay warm–they’d have enough money for both unless they wasted it, in which case they’d get stamps for heating and food.

They both work very hard and expect all those who can should do the same, presumably for less than they earn, or me for that matter. How was I going to manage to get to London four days a month? Was I expected to attend meetings as well or did that count in the forty eight days?

Tom’s words were still ringing in my ears–“Ye realise noo yer a big shot executive thae university will want ye on its committees?”

“Oh no–not that–I’m not sitting in a dusty, airless room listening to a bunch of old farts snore while the only one awake preaches some sermon about educational standards, which hark back to the nineteenth century because that was the last time he had any touch with reality.”

“Aye, ye wull, or they’ll wi’draw thae leave thae gi’ ye tae attend meetings at thae bank.”

“I could always leave.”

“Whit aboot yer tree rats, an’ yer students?”

“I can’t look after them forever?”

His eyes practically bulged out of his head, “Whit did ye say?”

“I can’t...” then realised he’d heard it which was why the overreaction to wind me up.

I had teaching to do the next day, I’d already given up a share of my classes to another woman ecologist and she was very good, but she didn’t have the rapport I did. I knew that I’d have a sell out tomorrow–the word was all three classes would be squeezing in-in case it was my swan song–the word of my appointment had flown round the grape-vine and like Chinese whispers, it was wrong. Apparently the story was that I was going as managing director of the bank. There was even rumours they were doing a collection for me–sweet, isn’t it?”

Simon didn’t know about my meetings counting as release days from university or if I’d have to use up leave. Wonderful, so I’m selling them my holidays now. There’s only my body left–and unless they do that by the kilo, it won’t be worth very much.

The girls picked up on my tension and played up–don’t they always–then Trish poked Mima who retaliated by biting her sister on the hand–who then demanded a rabies shot. How does an eight year old know about hydrophobia?

The rest of the evening was just as bad and I did a Tom, retreated to my study and locked the door–where I managed to put the finishing touches to my notes for tomorrow. Once that was done, I got Julie to put some highlights in my hair and to trim it for me–it’s ages since I had anything done to it.

Next morning, after showering with a cap on my newly tidied locks, I pulled on a booster bra and a top which revealed loads of cleavage–if you’ve got it flaunt it–if you haven’t, get a padded bra. I wore the same red suit from the board meeting and did my makeup and hair just so. After rousing the others I put on some jewellery and perfume and slipped into my heels. The girls were all agog with what I was doing while they had to go to school.

Simon, who had a late start, nearly went into convulsions at the breakfast table. “If you’d worn that combination to the board meeting, they would have elected you chief executive,” was his only comment once his pulse had quietened enough to reduce the risk of angina.

“Where are you going looking like a high class tart?”

“Work, I told you last night.”

“Why the–uh–OTT approach?”

“I like to make an impact on the students I teach.”

“Just don’t ask any of the male ones to stand up–okay?”

“Why?” What was he on about–there’d be too many to do any of my usual stuff anyway. This would be a straightforward lecture–except for the outtakes I’ll show them to reinforce the right and the wrong way to do field work. Some very clever editing by Alan had meant I had a film show which wasn’t quite what it seemed, but it got over the points I was teaching, I hoped.

“Health and safety,” said Simon.

“What is?” I asked forgetting I’d asked him a question.

“The reason why you shouldn’t have any of the men stand up.”

“Why?”

“Use your loaf, Cathy.”

“What’s it got to do with bread?”

“Let me explain in words of one syllable. If you bend over to show them something on the front desk, these kids will go from having a baguette to a full sized French stick.”

Danny nearly choked on his cereal he was laughing so much. The girls also laughed but I’m not sure any of them got the joke–in fact I think I’d prefer it if they didn’t and were just laughing because their elders were. I didn’t laugh I just went bright red and felt very hot for a few minutes.

Knowing that I needed to stay alert during my lecture, I did manage to force down some tea and piece of toast with banana on it. Simon took all the kids to school in the Mondeo and came back to get his car for work. I left at half past eight and got fouled up in the traffic, so my plans of an early start came to nought.

Neal was assisting me that morning and he insisted on talking to my chest, not that I was surprised and he wasn’t complaining about it either. All the boys would remember my lecture–or the day I wore a revealing top–they probably won’t remember anything of what I said about black walnut’s poisoning the ground around them to increase their reproductive chances. Some of the aloes drop seedlings into the ground–they have sharp pointed ends which stick into the soil and have a head start on the competition.

However, they would remember when I asked them how females of some species might increase their reproductive chances by seeing off the competition of other females–hence the plunge bra and the revealing top. I wondered who would be first to suggest that was what I was demonstrating? Even if I can’t have them analysing bat droppings or looking for colonies of bacteria in each other’s groins or up their noses, I can still make a lecture different for them.

I showed them the clip of the owl chasing Alan and asked how a male owl might overcome his potential mate’s aggression–some wag suggested buying her a drink. He was close, not as close as the lad who said take her some chocolates–I told them that it would work for me, and another asked which ones I liked and would I wear that top? Sometimes I forget I’m teaching young adults because so few of them behave like they are; this morning was no exception.

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

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Tom took me to lunch and spent the whole time staring at my chest.

“Daddy?”

“Aye, hen,” he said without moving his eyes from my cleavage.

“My face is up here,” I said pointedly.

He went scarlet and avoided both eye contact and viewing my thorax. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I dressed provocatively because I wanted to make an ecological point–though I suspect most of the boys were too thick to appreciate it.”

“Oh aye?”

“Yes, that of reproductive strategies.”

“I dinna think ye’d best say any more.”

Now it was my turn to blush.

We ate in an embarrassed silence, and the only noise I made apart from thanking him for my lunch was the clicking of my heels as we returned to the car. I drove us back to the university and parked in my reserved space. As we were about to leave the car, he suddenly said, “I think ye look bonny.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Aye, weel, back tae thae grindstane.”

“I suppose–Daddy?”

“Aye?”

“You don’t think this was over the top, do you?” I pointed to the low cut top.”

“Ye’ll no be young f’ever, enjoy it while ye can.”

“Thank you,” I pecked him on the cheek and we wandered into the biological science block.

“Oh my giddy aunt, Kim Kardashian eat your heart out,” was my greeting from Pippa.

“Who?”

“Some American woman who’s famous for being famous.”

“Ah, a genuine celebrity.”

“Eh?” she gave me a puzzled look.

“Well, if you’ve done something then that’s what you’re famous for, unless you’re a royal of some sort.”

“Or a Cameron,” she interjected.

“Very funny–no, if you’re famous for just being yourself–then you’re a true celebrity.”

“Helps if you have big tits,” she retorted.

“Probably.”

“Tea?”

“Oh please.” I followed her into the little room they use for making tea and washing up. “There is a reason for my being dressed this way.”

“Cathy, if you want to seduce every male on campus who’s neither gay nor blind, that’s your affair.”

“It would be if I did.”

“Did what?”

“Seduced someone.”

“What are you on about?”

“It would be an affair if I seduced anyone other than Simon.”

Her look went from puzzled to bewildered. “You’re not having an affair, are you?”

“No, of course not–I was just picking up on what you said, it’s my affair.”

“Did I say that–but you’re not, having an affair, I mean?”

“Of course not–let’s face it–I’m hardly in the very desirable category am I–so he’s got no worries on that count.”

“What? Cathy, f’Chrissake, look at yourself–you’re a living goddess. Half the men here would jump your bones in a second.”

“Only half?” I teased.

“Yeah, the other half would probably be unable to get their trousers off because of something standing to attention.”

“Don’t talk rubbish–here,” I handed her a mug with a teabag in it, “make the tea.”

“You making tea?” called a male voice.

“Russ–do you know Cathy?” asked Pippa and a man I’d never seen before walked into the room. “Watch his pants,” she whispered at me.

“Cathy? No I don’t think I–well hello, you must be Cathy?” Moments after he wandered in to the room I casually glanced at his pants and he had something large hiding in the front of his trousers and it was growing by the look of it. I felt quite shocked.

“Cathy, is a teacher here and she runs the mammal survey.”

“What here?”

“No, country wide from here, she’s also involved in the European survey and there’s talk the Americans might be using it as a model. She devised it all.”

“So not just a pretty face and body then? How come I’ve never seen you before? What d’you teach?”

“Field biology and ecology.”

“You’re the dormouse lady?”

I blushed, “Yes,” expecting him to mention the you tube clip.

“That was a lovely documentary and I believe your courses are several times over subscribed?”

“So I’m told.”

“I wish you’d do a film on microbiol, then maybe we’d fill our courses too.”

“I’d have thought microbiology was quite popular?”

“It used to be–but with all these kids doing soft A levels in media studies–I ask you, what is that supposed to mean? The media? It’s so nebulous it means something different to everyone.”

“I have no idea, but most of my students have done some biology.”

“Then you take ’em for a walk in the woods?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He blushed, “You have a reputation for doing something different for every lecture you do. Didn’t you take one class out to the woods?”

“And another to the foreshore to demonstrate ecological principles, yes I did.”

“I wish could get away with that.”

“Why don’t you? See what they can find floating in the harbour.”

“By Jove, what a good idea–thank you, Cathy.”

“I did once do the ecology of a bird bath for one class–amazing what microbiology turned up there–from rotifers to all sorts of nasty bacteria.”

“What a capital idea–you do some microbiology then?”

“Even I can distinguish a rotifer from an alga–but one of your colleagues did the identifications back in the lab.”

“Well if you want to share a class sometime? Maybe I could learn a trick or two from you.”

I shrugged.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said to Pippa and to me he said, “The delightful, Cathy, adieu.” He bent over took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Enchanted,” he said and left. I was gobsmacked.

“Did you see his pants?”

“Yeah, brown corduroy.”

“No the bulge in the front.”

“Perhaps he wears his sporran on the inside on a cold day.”

“Ha ha–he was in lust with you.”

“A bit old fashioned in his dress and manner.”

“Not your sort then?”

“Nah–I’ll stick with Simon. Sometimes I like the Neanderthal bit when he drags me back to his cave by my hair.”

I shouldn’t have said that while she was in mid swallow–we had to clean the photocopier afterwards–amazing where some ejected tea can get. By the time we finished I had to go and collect the girls. We came back to the labs because they asked to see the dormice. One or two were awake and feeding on fruit and nuts so they did get to see some. Spike was still in hibernation mode, so we left her alone, much to Trish’s disappointment. It was clearly her plan to handle a dormouse and Spike was the obvious candidate. We left the lab with her wearing a face that suggested she’d just heard Christmas had been cancelled.

“’Snot fair,” she kept muttering as we went back to the car.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2014 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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By the time we got home David had the dinner ready and Simon and Sammi were home, as were Julie and Phoebe, so I just took my jacket off and sat myself at the table. Simon looked at me and then whispered, “If you drop any dinner bags I lick it off.”

Instead of replying and therefore encouraging his schoolboy humour I went and got an apron from the drawer and pulled it on–it reduced the area available on which to drop my dinner. He sat and frowned at me mouthing, ‘spoilsport’. I smiled back with a look of total innocence which belied a number of things including my irritation with him.

When we got to bed that night I was tired and only wanted to cuddle for a few minutes before I went to sleep. He of course was excited by the revealing top I’d worn. I was not impressed.

“Why did you wear the bloody thing if you weren’t up for it?” he complained.

“Oh, so now I have to explain why I wear different clothes do I?”

“Well, let’s face it–you don’t usually wear anything quite as risqué, do you?”

“Risqué? Is that what you think it was? It was simply a top I bought for work.” That was a bit untrue–well okay, a total, outright lie–but he didn’t know it.

“You don’t usually wear that sort of outfit to work.”

“How would you know, you’re usually on a train to London before I’ve decided what I’m wearing to work?”

He shrugged unsure of what to say. “You looked very sexy in it, smart sexy and I fancied you like mad.”

“Did you?” I tried to sound uninterested, I really couldn’t be bothered with sex tonight, I was too tired.

“You know you did.”

“Did I?” I yawned.

“Cock tease,” he muttered.

“That’s not very gentlemanly, is it?” I snapped roused my slumber by his insult.

“Well you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My irritation was growing at an inverse ratio to my libido, which was shrinking.

“You dress very provocatively with absolutely no intention of doing anything other than teasing me and other men.”

“When I dress, I do so for myself–not for what others think.” I turned over and faced away from him. He was absolutely right but I wasn’t going to grant him the satisfaction of knowing it. I’d dressed to excite the male members of my audience–perhaps I should rephrase that–I dressed to provoke the male students I was teaching to get them thinking about breeding strategies in biology. Some are quite bizarre, including some male marsh harriers which imitate female plumage to prevent dominant males picking on them. Don’t know if that counts as transgender or just survival strategy. I certainly don’t think it applies to Sammi in a human equivalent because she gets loads of offers from boys, most of which she turns down. I don’t blame her, she’s still waiting to get fixed down below so could be at risk if she did accept the dates.

“No wonder women get attacked by men, flaunting all their attractions while saying don’t touch.”

“Simon–how could you?”

“What did I do now?”

“What you just said. If that reasoning was logical then just by wearing expensive clothes and driving an expensive car you should expect to be robbed–flaunting your money.”

“Hang on a minute; exposing your body provocatively and exciting a man is just simple biology–getting robbed isn’t, that’s illegal to begin with.”

“So is forcing anyone to have sex with you despite how provocatively they’re dressed. If they say no, to try and coerce or cajole them into an unwilling act is assault, just as mugging someone because they’ve got more money than you have. I surely have the right to wear whatever I want to without fear of being groped or worse because of it.”

“You have a responsibility too.”

“To do what?”

“To avoid raising men’s blood pressure when you have no intention of delivering the goods.”

“I’m responsible for my words and actions, you’re responsible for yours. If I say no and you continue to try and have sex–that’s sexual assault or attempted rape.”

“Even if you did have your boobs hanging out of a top?”

“Even if I was stark naked.”

“That isn’t as sexy as being revealingly clothed.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” or should that have been bare it in mind, as he did or said he did. Men do apparently undress women with their eyes–if I’m in the mood, then I don’t bother with such rituals, I just start pulling his clothes off. Damn, he’s tickling the small of my back, now my bum–that's so nice–the bastard.

“See you are in the mood aren’t you–you just didn’t know it–but they say women have to be encouraged while men are nearly always ready for bit of rumpy pumpy.”

“What?”

“You know–nudge nudge, wink wink.”

“Simon either say what you mean directly or not at all?”

“Okay. You wanna shag?”

Not really but it’s the only way I’m going to get some peace, “Yeah, okay.”

I read somewhere recently that some men fake orgasm. I don’t know if it was an April fool’s joke, because I’d have thought it was pretty obvious if they did or not. That I was standing in the bathroom wiping various fluids from my nether parts tends to suggest it was inaccurate for one man anyway. It also meant I was now wide awake with a cool wet flannel soothing my burning bits–can you get friction burns down there?–while Si was snoring his head off his dirty underpants probably lying on the floor under his side of the bed. He can jolly well pick them up because I’m not.

God, he was like an animal tonight. No concern about how I might like to be seduced, it was wham bam, thank you, mam, tonight–like a randy mink. According to zoologists, male mink are quite capable of gang raping a female and have even been known to drown her, so carried away with lust were they. The same can happen to toads, who get so excited that they grab and mate with whatever they can, including other males, who have a release call.

In the days when I used to help toads across the road–they used to come down from some woodland to mate in a reservoir across a busy road and get squashed in their hundreds–I used to go out at night with other volunteers and pick them up in a bucket and then drop them over the fence by the reservoir. If you had half a dozen randy males in the bucket, it was nothing to hear some them squawking at the others that they weren’t females–presumably having been grabbed by another male.

Nature is wonderful but it can be a bit hard on us females at times. Still, I suppose I should be grateful I’m not a toad or worse, a mink.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2015 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The alarm woke me far too early. I felt like I’d only just got to sleep. I cracked open an eye lid and peeped at the clock–it was seven. I reached out for Si and he’d already gone. Poo, I crawled out of bed, I was still sore and the shower while helping, only made me cleaner. After towelling myself dry I checked myself in the mirror, everything was a bit pink and slightly swollen, so I gingerly dabbed arnica cream on various bits before donning bra and panties and then some top clothes–I opted for a soft pair of trousers in green and a pale green blouse. I pulled on a pair of thin socks and added some slip-on shoes with a low heel.

Next job was to rouse the mob and get them ready for school, after which I could finish doing my hair and a little makeup. I was teaching today, so I wanted to be there in reasonable time. If my students were looking for a repeat of yesterday, they’d be disappointed.

We waved good bye to Julie and Phoebe who left together, but their journeys were to different destinations by different transport–Phoebe was using the scooter/moped thing which she quite enjoyed as it gave her some independence, and Julie of course in her pink Smart car off to the salon.

A few minutes later, I took the girls to school and after dropping them off went on through the traffic nightmare that is rush hour Pompey. I wasn’t actually teaching until ten, but through till twelve–a good way to lose weight.

I checked through my notes then went down to the lab to see if Neal was going to help me–he was and so was my personal assistant who’d finally woken up and was stuffing herself on dried apricots. Okay, it was lowest common denominator stuff, but I was too tired to think of anything more attention holding–so for the second hour we’d do the ecology of dormeece, something I can possibly do in my sleep–we might even find out later.

Neal set up the projector and I plugged in my laptop–sorry, my new improved laptop, since the guy at the bank fixed it, it goes much better and he shoved in some more RAM, or should that be he rammed in more shove? Whichever, it’s going better.

The first hour was on the applications of ecology, so if ever any of this lot get a degree, which is questionable, they might be able to use it to find work–probably doing a paper round or stacking shelves in Tesco or Asda–or less probably as an ecologist, usually with county councils or government bodies like English Nature.

The first few started to trickle in as Neal and I sipped the tea which I’d made just before we’d finished setting up. He’d pop back in an hour with the star of the show and I’d let them get a good look at her before she went back in the cage.

I would also demonstrate the method I used for taking a mouse from the nest box and weighing it and replacing it in the box and reattaching the box to the tree or post. We had a post which stood in a weighted bottom–a bucket full of cement–to which the nest box was attached. Neal would bring it out during the short break I gave them between the two sessions. We’d also use a different dormouse to Spike, because it’s unfair that she should have to cope with all the handling, especially as she’s quite elderly now.

At two minutes past ten, I launched into my ecological applications and bored them silly. Nah, they all stayed awake and more surprisingly, so did I, or I was talking in my sleep. I tried to see if any of them had read any of the textbooks they were supposed to and invited them to show the principles of the application and how they might set up a survey or advise a client about the way the law might require them to check an area for certain animals or plants which had protected status. Seeing as most clients have no idea about checking for protected species from crested newts to bats and in some cases licences are required for things like bats and dormice, so most people can’t disturb them without risking prosecution at a thousand pounds per offence. So prosecutions are rare, cautions aren’t and many developers and landowners have not enjoyed someone like me turning up with the police to stop them disturbing bat colonies or ponds with great crested newts. Tempers can get quite frayed which is why the police are there.

So we did some role plays as well which kept them awake, then we stopped for a five minute break while Neal and I had another cuppa and I went for a wee, while he produced Spike and the nest box on the post.

I showed them some slides and stood close to them with my little angel in her cage. That was passed around the room while she ate a couple of hazelnuts–well she is a hazel dormouse. That got them all listening and wanting to join the survey team.

Ever the show-woman I showed them the procedure on film for doing a nest box check. Essentially, you cover the hole at the back with your hand, slide the roof of the box to see if there’s any nesting material, and if there is you unhitch it without moving your hand from the hole and pop it into a large clear plastic bag. Then you take the lid off the box and poke about in the nesting material and see if anything pops out. Hopefully it will be a dormouse.

I then showed them how to do it for real. Of course it’s so easy they could all do it better than I could. Oh yeah? I replaced the nest box with one which the mouse couldn’t escape through the hole because it had a gauze over it on the inside, but they didn’t know that. I picked a young woman volunteer to do that one and then we weighed it and sexed it and noted everything.

Some boy in the back row said he thought it looked too easy, so we brought in a box number three. I didn’t tell him there was no mouse in there but it was booby trapped. He strode down confidently and I invited him to show us how it was done. He peeped inside after putting his hand over the hole in the back whereupon something touched his hand and he jumped pulling his hand away. I made him cover the hole in case we lost a valuable dormouse. I cautioned him that these were boxes from a woodland and there could be anything in there and if were a wood mouse, they could bite. He said he’d cope.

Blushing he continued and unhitched the box after declaring there was a nest in the box. Then he placed the box in the bag and took the lid off, then poked about in the nesting material. Something moved and he jumped again. Blushing he went back to the task and Neal pressed the button on the remote and just as he put his hand in the box, something grabbed his fingers and he squealed, pulled his hand out, squealed again and ran off.

I’d by now placed a dormouse up my sleeve and fished in the nestbox and pulled him out. The class all went from gasping to laughing to gasping again. Neal appeared with a cage and I placed the mouse in it. No one was aware of the switch and it demonstrated my point that when you put your fingers in one you’re never quite sure what’s in there.

With that I concluded the lecture and sent them off. We’d overrun by ten minutes, but once again, they all went out buzzing. Neal checked that our escapee student was okay and once he learnt he’d missed out on handling a dormouse he was a bit miffed.

I helped Neal clear up and went off with Pippa for a sandwich, still buzzing from my performance earlier and still smirking from the prank we’d played successfully. There’s always one overconfident one who needs to learn there are risks, albeit small ones–though if you meet with a vole, a wood mouse or even something like a weasel, you could get bitten.

We had two remote apparatus one which pushed a bit of fur fabric against the hole in the back, and another which moved two small bars together almost grabbing the finger of the unfortunate guinea pig. They always jump and I take over with my concealed mouse and show them it was nothing. Works every time.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2016 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The afternoon went quietly after the ‘show’ with the dormice. I did some marking of assignments, a bit of lesson planning and on the way to collect the girls realised I hadn’t had any lunch–too late now. Back at home I made some tea and had a couple of digestive biscuits, the girls went off to do their homework and I fell asleep in my study with the kitten sitting curled up on my lap. I hadn’t even been aware she was in the room, let alone that she was on my lap. When I roused myself, she purrped at me and then stretched, sticking her claws in my leg. I squeaked and she jumped down to have a scratch after which she began to lick her bum. Well she certainly wasn’t going to kiss me after that manoeuvre.

David called us for dinner and I quickly detoured to the cloakroom and rinsed my hands and face. At dinner, some braised steak, which almost dissolved on your tongue, Daddy asked me if I’d met Russell Stanley.

It took me a moment to remember the name of the chap who was taken with my low cut top that was Russell something. I asked him if he was in microbiology and Daddy nodded. I told him in that case we had met.

“Whit did ye think?”

“About what?”

“Aboot him.”

“I didn’t have much time to form an opinion, why?”

“He’s nominated ye f’ thae faculty management committee.”

“I get the option of refusing it.”

“I’d prefer it if ye didnae.”

I felt like telling him that I was likely to implode if anyone asked me to do one more thing. “I don’t know if I have time for some boring committee.”

“As they control yer fundin’ it micht be a guid time tae tak’ an interest.”

That’s telling me, I said I’d think about it and moved next business.

“Whit’s this aboot someone near haein’ a heart attack in yer lecture?”

I didn’t recall anyone keeling over while I bored them to death. Then I remembered the lad with the fake nest box. I explained what had happened and he chuckled then told me I’d better not do it again in case someone did come to grief. It would be a few years before I could reuse it anyway–they’d all know about it.

Simon seemed very subdued and quiet all evening. When we went up to bed I asked him what was wrong. “We had a robbery today.”

“Gosh,” was all I could say.

“One of my staff got themselves killed.”

“Oh my goodness,” I mean what can you say.

“A young woman with three kids–she tried to intervene when an old man was hassled by the robbers and one of them stabbed her–she died minutes later. I’m meeting her husband and children tomorrow.”

What could I say? “Would you like me to come with you?”

“You’re so busy at the moment, babes.”

“I’m never too busy to support my family.”

“That would be really helpful.”

“Okay, which branch is it?”

“Bedminster.”

“Okay,” then the penny dropped. “Bedminster?”

“Yeah–why?”

“That’s Bristol.”

“I know.”

“What time?” I asked trying to escape my inattentiveness.

“Eleven.”

“Okay–how d’you want me to dress?”

“Smartly, you’re the chief exec’s bit of fluff and an aristocrat on top of it.”

“Okay. I’ll wear the navy suit.”

“Yeah, fine–just leave your tree rat at home.”

“Spike is at the university.” I wasn’t quite sure what he was on about.

“Well, it’s gonna be a sombre moment, I don’t want a bloody dormouse cleavage diving at the most embarrassing moment.”

“Simon that happened years ago and was a one off.”

“Yeah, well make sure it was.”

Does he really think I walk round with dormice stuffed in my bra? He’s probably just stressed–poor woman–what a thing to happen? Then I was seeing the odd detail of the little girl who was abducted and presumed murdered at Machynlleth–that was so harrowing and the accused, against whom the evidence appears to be mounting says he can’t remember what he did with her body. Is he just playing games with her parents who presumably would love something to bury and grieve over. He’s told so many lies already I can’t believe anything he says, but I suspect five minutes alone with her father would put him in a more receptive frame of mind. I hope she didn’t suffer too much, puir wee soul.

I went to sleep feeling very down and had strange dreams, from one of which I awoke in the middle of the night and had to go to the loo. By the time I was back in bed I’d forgotten what it was all about.

I showered and dressed and Tom agreed to take the girls to school until Jacquie volunteered, as she had some shopping to do, I told her to take the Mondeo and told her where the keys were. That took a little pressure off me and I was able to put on a light amount of makeup–essentially some waterproof mascara and eyeliner, with some pink lipstick. Then we went off inmy car–he thought it was a better more caring image than his devil may care sports coupe.

It was Friday and we listened to Desert Island Discs, though I didn’t take on board anything that was said, including who the guest was. I heard it insofar as it was audible, but I didn’t hear it, at least not consciously–it was simply a noise.

I think I might have fallen asleep at one point but Simon had the sat-nav just in case I got lost–in Bristol–no way. It was ten thirty, and for some reason Bedminster had been moved–well it wasn’t where I always thought it was–or had been.

We reverted to the sat-nav and arrived there at ten minutes to eleven, just enough time to pick up the branch manager and a huge bouquet of flowers which fairly filled the boot.

The branch manager was a woman called Heidi. She was very pleasant and we chatted on the way to the unfortunate woman’s house. The next part was not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination and I began to wonder if I’d been too hasty in volunteering my services. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I do grief better than he would, and I mean, what do you say to the children of a murdered woman? I hoped I’d be able to muddle through and in doing so help Simon to pass on his personal and the bank’s less personalised version.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2017 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Who was the lady who died?” I asked Heidi.

“Marcia Holloway, she has three children, two girls and a boy, Justine is eight, Rob is six and Alice is two. Her hubby’s name is Matt.”

“My goodness, how’s he going to cope with three youngsters?” I gasped.

Simon gave me a look which as much as said, ‘No.’ Not that I would have wanted to take them on, I have more than enough now.

“The bank will give him a grant towards childcare seeing as she died serving us,” offered Heidi.

“How much?”

“Five thousand a year–should help towards child minders and so on. Plus she is entitled to a hundred thousand life insurance pay out, or her husband is.”

“That should help somewhat–I mean the poor chap may not be fit to work for weeks after a shock like this.”

Heidi agreed with me by nodding.

“We do try to look after our staff, Cathy,” said Simon almost testily. I know this wasn’t a pleasant task to fulfil but he seemed more than usually bad tempered. We arrived at a fairly smart semi-detached house with a neat garden.

“What do we do now?” I asked, this being new to me.

“Lord Simon and I will speak with Matt and I have a cheque for him to keep him going in advance of the insurance payout, as that can take a few weeks. If there’s no one to look after the children, Lady Catherine, perhaps you could distract them. I have a bag of goodies for them–comics and sweets.

“Sure,” though I expected a grandparent or friend would be there to help the poor chap.

We got out of the car and I followed the other two down the path by the side of the drive holding the bag of goodies. The door was opened by an older woman who had red eyes and looked very tired. She also had something wrong with her chest–COPD–yep, that’s what it was, and it wasn’t doing her heart any good. Alas, I was unlikely to have an opportunity to say anything to her, and I suspect she didn’t care much for her own life any more, she had to be the dead woman’s mother.

“Hello, Mrs Cord, this is Lord and Lady Cameron from the bank, I’m Heidi the manager of the Bedminster branch–I was Marcia’s boss.”

“You’d better come in,” she stepped aside and we trooped in and she shut the door. “Matt,” she called and man of about thirty two or three appeared. He was grey, not his hair, but his skin–this man was ill and it wasn’t just bereavement. “People from the bank.”

“Hello, Matt, I’m Heidi, Marcia’s boss, we met at Christmas the year before last.”

“Hi,” he said.

“Sorry, this is Lord and Lady Cameron, from the bank.”

Matt nodded but neither walked forward nor said anything. I could feel energy being drawn towards him but I needed closer contact. I stepped forward, “Hi Matt, I’m Cathy, why don’t you come and sit down and I’ll make us a nice cuppa.” I put my hand on him and he winced.

“Who are you?” he said but it was more about the energy he felt than wanting to know my name.

“I’m a friend, Matt, come to help you cope with the kids for a bit longer.”

“Why do I feel hot?” he asked me as he sat down on the settee and I sat beside him.

“Because you’re healing yourself.”

“I can’t, it’s terminal.”

“Bear with me, Matt, they’ve been wrong before and they are this time.” I could feel the energy coursing through his veins and into his bones.

He sat back and seemed to go into a sleep, his mother in law saw him and gasped, “My god, he’s not dead as well?”

“No, he’s fine, he’s just resting–he’s going to recover you know.”

“That isn’t what the doctor says.”

“They often miss things and the chemo was more effective than they thought.”

“But they said it didn’t work–you’re not a doctor are you?”

“No, but I can help him.”

I nodded at Simon and he grabbed Heidi and he muttered something about insurance–they bundled Mrs Cord out of the room and I got to work in earnest. “Matt, listen to me–I’ve been sent to help you.”

“No one can help me now–why did it have to happen to Marcia–it should have been me–I’m the one who’s dying, so what difference would a few weeks make?”

“Matt, I can’t answer why Marcia died and why you’re going to live. I just do what I’m told and I’ve been told to heal you.”

“Don’t bother, I don’t want to live without my Marcia.”

“You don’t have choice, Matt, the universe needs you to be there for your kids–Marcia needs you to be there for them. She says she loves you and she needs you to get well and raise your children.”

“She said what, she’s here?” He opened his eyes, “Where?”

“She’s standing beside you and wants you to know everything will be all right but it’s going to be hard at first. She’s telling you to work with me.”

“You can see her?”

“Yes, she’s wearing a blue cardigan or jacket–she said, ‘tell him John Lewis.’”

“My god, you can see her, can’t you?”

“Yes, she’s very close–she said it was her time to go, but yours isn’t for a long time yet and to take good care of the children, she loves you all.”

“Tell her I love her too, I miss her so much, so much,” he began to weep and my heart was breaking.

“She knows, Matt.”

“Is she still here?”

“No, she’s gone.”

“But I can’t live without her.”

“You have to, Matt.”

“Tell her to come back.”

“I can’t, Matt, she used up all her energy coming to see you. Now relax and let me help you.”

“I don’t want to be helped, I want to die as well.”

“If you do you won’t be with Marcia.”

“Of course I will, she’s my wife.”

“She will be so disappointed with you that I doubt she’ll have anything to do with you.”

“But she loves me and I love her.”

“I know she does and he used up all her remaining energy to come and tell you to take care of the children.”

“But I can’t, I’m sick–my bloods are off the scale–I’ve got weeks, that’s all, weeks. What use is that?”

“Matt, I know you’re upset, but I keep trying to tell you but you’re not listening. You wouldn’t even listen to Marcia, would you?”

“Yes I did.”

“That isn’t how she told it. Now for her sake, listen to me now. I can save your life so you can look after your children and do what she wants you to do, or you can carry on and die and your kids will go into care–is that what you want?”

“No–course not.”

“I’m glad to hear that and so is Marcia.”

“You said she’d gone.”

“She has but she can sort of hear what we’re saying.”

I stood up and walked round behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, he jumped a little then just fell back. Sometimes it’s easier if the energy reduces their resistance first. He go so hot I thought he was going to catch fire and the sweat was dripping off him. Then suddenly the room got very cold and I knew we had an uninvited guest.

“Good work, Catherine.” I looked towards where I thought the voice had emanated and for a split second I saw Billie, she smiled and waved then she was gone.

It took me several moments to compose myself, the energy had stopped and the room returned to normal, so had Matt’s colouring. I tapped his arm, “Uh,” was his response.

“I’ve got some comics and sweeties for the kids, where are they?”

He opened his eyes, “I just had the strangest dream, I saw my Marcia and she was telling me what to do.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“What?”

“What she told you to do.”

“Er–yeah, she said I was going to be alright, well enough to look after the kids.”

“Good, give them these, won’t you?” I handed him the bag.

“Er–yeah, thanks.”

“You’re welcome, while I’m here I need to speak with Peggy, your mother in law.” I excused myself and sent the other two into speak with Matt, while I sat with Peggy.

“Tea?” she offered.

I nodded and then after she put down the teapot I took her hand and she looked at me in astonishment, then beyond me. “Marcia,” she gasped and the room went colder. I rose and went round behind her and put a hand on her back and one on her upper chest. She was still looking at something I couldn’t see but which she thought was her daughter. The energy absolutely blasted between my hands and I was half surprised not to see scorch marks on the older lady. I stepped back and she had an almighty coughing fit. She spat into tissue and suddenly she could breathe normally.

“Look after Matt and the children, won’t you?”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“A messenger.”

“That’s what the word angel means, isn’t it?”

I shrugged, “It might do–I have to go–you won’t remember my being here, neither will Matt but you’ll both know something special happened and that Marcia asked for it to happen.”

“She’s a good girl,” offered Peggy dreamily.

I found Simon and Heidi and we left. I knew that she’d only recall seeing Simon that morning–funny thing memory.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2018 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I drove us back from Bristol. Simon seemed to need some time to reflect upon his morning. We’d had a nice lunch in a pub on the outskirts of Bath and seeing him looking pensive, I offered to drive. He passed me the keys and got into the passenger seat.

We were half way home when I observed, “You’re very quiet.”

“Mmm, yeah, just nothing much to say.”

“Did you see the children?”

“No, I think they were at a friend’s.”

“That would explain why I didn’t see them either. Matt didn’t say very much, did Peggy?”

“She talked a lot but said very little of coherence.”

“Different people cope with grief differently.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do. It’s funny but every time I see or hear of something like this, when someone dies prematurely–you know short of their three score and ten or even four score years–it brings home how short life can be for some of us.”

“It’s not something I think about if I can help it. If I do I just think about Billie and it makes me sad or angry.”

“I can see why, but surely that will get easier with time, won’t it?”

“I don’t know, Si–she was there today.”

“Who was?”

“Billie, she showed herself for a split second after I sorted Matthew out.”

“That wasn’t just wishful thinking, you know being in the presence of recently bereaved an’ all that?”

“It could have been, but it didn’t feel that way–she just waved at me as if to say she was alright and that things were progressing as they should–at least that was how I saw it.”

“In which case go with it.”

“Oh I intend to, now what’s eating you?”

“Seeing what happened when someone got involved with thugs, it reminded me that you’d already been stabbed and nearly died...”

“Yeah, but I didn’t, did I?”

“You also nearly died in the car crash.”

“Okay, so that’s two of my lives used up. I’ve still got seven more,” I joked.

“I suspect you’ve used them up as well–Cathy, you’ve done the most outrageous things, dealt with gangsters with guns, with knives and all sorts of things. You’ve been stabbed and run off the road on bikes and cars, they’ve tried bombing you and I don’t know what.”

“So, I’m difficult to kill.”

“Cathy, please–I don’t think I could carry on without you.” I saw a tear drip down his face.

“C’mon, Si, it’s not going to happen, is it? I mean, things have been quiet for some time and I’m a bank director now–I mean, I have to act respectable–you know wear knickers and things.”

“It’s not a joke, Cathy. I love you too much to want to go on living if anything happened to you. I saw how devastated Matt was after Marcia died–I’d be ten times worse than that.”

“Matt had leukaemia.”

“Oh–I didn’t know.”

“He hasn’t now, it’s in full remission.”

“You did that for him?”

“I’m purely the agent, I was sent there to heal him so the children could grow up in their own home.”

“You were sent there? By whom?”

“I don’t know–the goddess–Shekinah–or whatever; I don’t really know. If I understand it one iota, it’s as the universe needs me to do something for it and it gives me the tools to do it. I do what it requires and I see Billie for a few seconds.”

“So that’s the carrot is it, to see Billie?”

“That’s how it seems to happen. I could be misjudging everything, but it seems to happen that way. Today a female voice told me I’d done a good job. then when I looked from where it had come, I saw Billie.”

“Could it be a trick?”

“It could be the first signs of madness for all I know–the voices made me do it, and all that.”

“Why not see Anne Thomas?”

“Because she probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Your priest friend, Marguerite?”

“She might understand, but I don’t find it a problem enough to seek her counsel or opinion.”

“It’s not a problem that you’re driven all over the place performing miracles–what’s it all about, Cathy? Why you–I mean it’s not as if you believe any of it is it?”

“I don’t think it works like that. It doesn’t require me to believe or understand, simply to cooperate and act upon its behest.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t, but that’s how it is. I know when it wants me to act–it gives me information.”

“Like what?”

“Like I knew Peggy had COPD.”

“What’s that?”

“A lung disease.”

“Oh, so how come she could talk for so long without taking a breath?”

“Very funny, Simon.” My tone showed I didn’t think it was so.

“Maybe you’ve seen it before and diagnosed it from that, rather than some mysterious voice telling you what it was.”

“And Matt’s leukaemia?”

“Heidi could have told you without you registering it.”

“I suppose.”

“Well it makes more sense than mysterious voices.”

“True,” I agreed then a couple of moments later I heard the voice saying, ‘Get off the motorway–now.” Without thinking I turned off at Hungerford and then down towards Salisbury.

“Where are we going?”

“I got fed up with the motorway.”

“But it’s so much quicker.”

“We’ll make up the time after Salisbury.”

“But this is crazy, I knew I should have driven.”

“It’s okay, I know where we’re going.”

“Yeah, so do I, a long way for a short cut.”

“Sorry–next time you can go on your own. then you won’t have to deal with my lateral geography.”

“Lack of direction you mean.”

“So, I know where I’m going.”

He patted his legs in desperation, “I suppose the voices made you do it?”

“Actually, yes they did.”

“Cathy, I think you need to see someone about this.”

“Switch on the radio–local station–press six, I think that tunes us in automatically.” He did as I asked him and we’d not gone more than couple of miles when the radio announced traffic congestion on the M4 near Newbury caused by an accident. Apparently the motorway was closed and tailbacks were approaching two miles.

“Obviously, Heidi must have told me about this,” I said and he blushed.

“Coincidence,” was all he said.

Of course it might have been, but when we saw the pictures on the news that evening I saw a foreign truck which had crashed into a car and the truck, WHICH was just passing us as we turned off–it was huge thing. Even in my Jag we’d have been flattened. I pointed this out to Simon who went white and said very little, he obviously recognised it too.

“D’you always listen to the voices?” he asked at bedtime.

“Not always why?”

“I think I’m rather glad you did today, that truck passed us as we turned off, the car that was hit was just ahead of us.”

“Accidents happen.”

“The driver has been charged with causing death by dangerous driving–they reckon he fell asleep.”

“It happens, Si.”

“Yeah, but we were that close to it happening to us,” he held up his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. “That was too bloody close.”

I kissed him and turned over to sleep, I felt very tired as I went to sleep I offered a silent thanks to whatever had made me turn off the motorway. It didn’t matter what it was, only that we were safe and well.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2019 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Mummy,” said Billie sitting by the side of me.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m glad you helped to make Matt and Peggy well again. They’ll be able to look after Marcia’s children and she is so relieved to know that they’ll be in capable and loving hands.”

“Yes, sweetie, it was sad she had to die and leave them.”

“That’s what she said, but it was her time to go.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Oh, I know about things like that.”

“Do you now? So how long have I got until my time, because your father is always worried I’m going to get hurt or killed and leave him with you lot.”

“I think he’d manage, though not as well as you do. You have a long time to go.”

“Oh well that’s good then, I can tell him that can’t I?”

“Um–not really, Mummy. You see you won’t remember most of this dream.”

“Won’t I? Well that’s what you think, young lady–it isn’t a dream, this is now and it’s happening.”

“I have to go, Mummy. I love you and milady is very pleased with you.”

“Have to go where, Billie, Billie where are you?”

I felt someone holding me and then I heard Simon saying, “Cathy, c’mon, you’ve had a bad dream, it’s okay now.”

“Bad dream? I was with Billie but she said she had to go–we were having such a lovely chat and she looked so well and happy. But she had to go–where did she go?”

“Cathy, look at me.” Simon held me facing him.

“What for?”

“Billie is dead, remember? She came off her bike and had the brain haemorrhage.”

“But I was talk...I dreamt it, didn’t I?”

“You said you thought you saw her earlier, it must have triggered the dream–you were calling for her in your sleep.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“That’s okay, are you alright now?”

I nodded but I wasn’t and on the pretence of going to the toilet I went into the bathroom and sobbed my heart out. I let her down, okay she needn’t have died, I’m sure I could have healed her if only I’d known about the aneurysm. Poor little mite.

Having made my eyes all red and sore, I had a wee and washed my hands and face and went back to bed. It took me ages to go back to sleep, I kept seeing her waving in the distance and I so wanted to hold her just one last time.

I woke up when Simon got up. It was a Saturday and he’d simply gone to the loo. He returned to the bed a few minutes later looking very elegant in a tee shirt and underpants–actually he looked like a middle aged student, no one would think he was about the tenth wealthiest man in England.

“Oh you’re awake–sorry.”

“That’s okay–I woke you earlier, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you dreamt about Billie again.”

“I know.”

“How about we take some flowers up to the grave later on.”

“That’s a lovely idea. Some days I’m so glad I married you, Simon Cameron.”

“You mean like the days the bills arrive?”

“Well there’s that as well... but that isn’t the main reason.”

“Oh, what’s that then?”

“Because I know you’re going to go down and make some tea and bring it back up for us.”

“It’s five o’clock on a Saturday morning.”

“So, I’m thirsty.”

“No, it’s Saturday, go back to sleep.”

He lay back down facing away from me. Right you bugger. “Siiiii?” I gently whined.

“Go back to sleep.”

“But I can’t sleep–I need a cup of tea.”

“Go and make yourself one.”

“But, Siii,” I want you to make it for me.”

“Why, what’s in it for me?”

Stating the bleeding obvious–he’d get some peace and quiet for starters–but this is Simon we’re talking about–you know, the one who met the pieman...

“You’d know that you made me very happy–and I know you like doing that.”

“Go back to sleep.”

I raised myself up and began to lick and chew his ear, “Make me a cup of tea, there’s a good chap.”

“Cathy, for goodness sake, go back to sleep–jeez, you’re worse than the kids–and they’re bad enough.”

“Now I know you don’t love me,” I pouted to his back.

“No I don’t, go back to sleep.”

“I’ll have to make my own then.”

“Yes–now go back to sleep–Cathy, where are you taking the duvet?”

“Well it’ll be cold downstairs,” I pouted, Having wrapped myself in the duvet while standing by the bedroom door.

“Okay, I’ll make your frigging tea–it’s quicker than serving a life sentence...” he muttered as he went downstairs. All I could do was chuckle–mission accomplished. Now to get back into bed and pretend I’m asleep when he comes back up.

Unfortunately, the best laid plans... I stepped on the end of the duvet as I went back to the bed and fell over, angingbanging my bonce on the bedstead. I sat there seeing stars for a moment, then the pain started and the tears came soon afterwards.

“What’re you doing sitting on the floor?”

“I fell.”

“Oh, you okay?”

“No, I hurt my head.”

“Where?”

I pointed and he examined it, “You’ve got quite an egg coming up, better get some ice on it.”

I couldn’t get up–no it wasn’t concussion, it was just the way I fell, trapping myself in the duvet in such a way I could hardly move. I suppose it served me right for teasing him. I tried to wriggle free but I was stuck firm.

“Here’s the ice. You still sitting down there?”

“I can’t get up.”

“Oh, have you hurt something?”

“Apart from my head and my pride, no. I’m just stuck.”

“Okay, lean back.” He pulled one end of the duvet and I rolled out like a ball bearing, smacking my head on the end of the tallboy. I saw stars again and began weeping again.”

“Oops, sorry, babes.” He walked over and handed me the ice pack, which I held to my head, ouch, it ruddy hurts. “Get Trish to look at it later.”

“That’s not going to stop it stinging now, is it?”

“Well whose fault is that?”

“One of them was yours, in fact if you’d got up and made the tea when I first asked for it, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Neither would it if you’d gone and got it yourself in the first place instead of waking me.”

“But you woke me up.”

“A likely story, I went to the loo, that was all. You usually manage to sleep through a barrage.”

“So? I sleep quite heavily.” I rose to my feet somewhat unsteadily and he had to grab me to stop me going down again.”

“Sit on the edge of the bed.”

“I want to go for a wee.”

“Sit there, I’ll help you up.”

“Simon–I need to wee.”

“Just wait a second and I’ll take you.”

“I need to go now, “I stood up and went down like an obsolete chimney stack, banging my head a third time. Somehow he leapt over the bed and picked me up like I was a rag doll.

This time he carried me to the bathroom and sat me on the loo. I just about managed to pull up my nightdress and my knickers down before going. Then he took me back to bed and I went off to sleep–I never did get the cup of tea that started it all.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2020 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Cathy, Cathy, wake up.” I felt someone shaking me gently and calling me. “You try, Stel.”

“Cathy open your eyes, Cathy, this is Stella, now open your eyes.”

I could hear her but I didn’t feel inclined or perhaps able to comply with her instruction. She told me to squeeze her hand, but I couldn’t do that either and I had this awful headache which felt as if my skull was about to explode because my brain was growing inside it.

I heard Stella say, “Get an ambulance and quickly,” and somebody presumably ran off. Nothing but my ears seemed to be working–well I supposed my heart and kidneys and other bits were doing their bit still, but I couldn’t control any of my voluntary muscles. I wonder if this is what it’s like being dead. Shit–my head is absolutely splitting–but I can’t tell them. I can’t be dead, it hurts too much.

“Okay, Cathy, this is what we’re going to do.” She related they’d called the paramedics and depending upon their diagnosis, I could end up going to hospital probably for a scan, “Oh and you’ve got a lovely shiner over your right eye.”

I seemed to drift in and out of sleep–or whatever it was. When I was asleep things didn’t hurt so part of me wanted to go back to it, but somewhere in the back of my head suggested it wasn’t good to go to sleep with a head injury. Oops, got that wrong.

I heard strange voices and someone shone a light in my eyes–god, that hurt my headache. Next thing I know I’m being lifted onto a gurney, and several bumps later I feel myself shoved into the back of a van and driven off with lots of noise. I wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t enjoying being bounced about on the bloody trolley either. However, a joke by Eric Morecambe came to mind as I heard the sirens, ‘He won’t sell many ice creams at that speed.’ I wanted to laugh but my body seemed to have forgotten how to.

I think I must have gone to sleep then because when I surfaced, well, became aware of anything, and I still couldn’t work my eyelids, I was lying in a bed with sheets and blankets over me.

Oh well, not dead yet, though I did begin to wonder if Billie got it wrong with her prediction. Sensing I was more awake I heard Stella and Simon talking to me. They were both speaking together and I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Inside my head, my brain was still aching but it was also screaming, ‘One at a time, I can’t understand you.’

It went on repeating this phrase until I actually heard it–then realised my mouth had worked–my ears didn’t because it went quiet, then I realised they’d both shut up. A new voice arrived, “Hello, Mrs Cameron, I’m Mr Hartley, I’m a trauma specialist in head injuries–come up from Southampton just to see you. We’re just going to put you through the scanner to have a look inside your noggin’, it will make a lot of noise but doesn’t hurt.”

I felt the bed being moved–this is the life–being moved about in a bed–the height of luxury. I could walk except my legs have forgotten how and I can’t see anything either, so I’ll stay in bed.

Who says the scan didn’t hurt–huh. That thing you lie on is used by Indian fakirs once they want a bigger challenge than a bed of nails. And the noise–ye gods–it sounded like a wasp the size of a Harrier jump jet which has got caught in a metal drum and is trying to release itself with a hammer.

Eventually, the noise stopped and I suppose they took me back whence I came–or at least up to the ward. I slept again I think–I didn’t know. The doctor came back and chirpily said, “We thought you had a clot or a bleed but it’s just a bit of swelling, we’re going to put you on steroids and administer cold to it in the form of an ice bag, so don’t jump out of bed you’ll only end up back in here again.”

I heard Stella speak, “I don’t know, Cathy, I spend more time in here since I met you than I did when I worked here.” She chuckled to herself. “Si’s gone for a cuppa he’ll be back soon, so if there’s any goss you don’t want him to hear you’d better say it pretty quick.”

I couldn’t think of anything–my head felt a little better and the steam hammer had gone–they were now using my head to break rocks. Stella sat down and started to tell me about my children–why? I wasn’t in some deep coma just a bit of a headache.

“Lady Cameron,” I heard a familiar voice say and recognised it as Ken Nicholls, then I realised he was talking to Stella. They must have stepped outside because I could only hear an echo not what they were saying–I went off to sleep again.

Later on–I supposed it was later–I felt an electric shock run through me and my whole body was buzzing–I knew who that was. “Hello, Mummy,” said Trish and Julie’s voice and I guess they each held one of my wrists and were trying to kick start me. The headache started up again and I felt very sick, very very sick.

“Gonna be sick,” I heard myself say and Trish told Julie to roll me onto my side while she shoved a papier-mache receiver under me. Of course, I missed it and it went all over the bed and the floor and Julie who cursed her younger sister.

I vomited again and this time a female voice spoke to me and seemed to know what it was doing–a real nurse perhaps? “Oh you mucky pup, you missed the pot, come on–sit up–here hold the bucket.” I felt something being shoved into my hands and I grasped it and held it up to my face and puked again–this time into the pot.

I opened my eyes and saw a young woman mopping the floor around my bed, then two others arrived bearing clean bedclothes.

“Sorry about this,” I said and they smiled.

“Back with us, then?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“You’re Stella’s sister?”

“Sister in law.”

“What you married into the Camerons? What are you nuts?”

“Probably, or I am now.”

She laughed, “How d’you feel?”

“Like shit, but the headache has gone.”

“Good, right we’ll finish changing you then your girls can come back in–the older one got a bit of sick on her and she’s dancing around like she was on fire.”

“That’s Julie, she is a bit of a drama queen.”

“What is she going to do when she has kids, f’ god’s sake?”

“She might have outgrown it by then.” I could hardly tell the truth, could I?

“The little one, she seemed to have a bit about her.”

“That’s Trish, she’s off the scale in IQ tests.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Don’t start talking about quantum theory–it’s her pet subject.”

“Um–I think I can promise not to do that.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2021 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I had been suitably cleaned up and the girls were allowed back in to see me. Julie appeared with a nice wet patch on her skirt where I presumed she had washed out my vomit.

“If this skirt is ruined you can jolly well buy me a new one,” she declared standing by the side of the bed.

“I’m sure if you wish, I could get the nurses to loan you one of these,” I pulled at the hospital gown–one of those with the three ties up the back.

“I’m sure I’m going to walk through the car park with my bum hanging out of one of those.”

“You could always wear it back to front,” teased Trish.

“I could always use it to strangle my younger sister as well,” came the retort.

“Girls please,” I asked and they both shut up and blushed. “Now how is everyone at home?”

“Okay,” said Julie, “except they’re all worried about you. But Aunt Stella said since David came, she’s not half as worried about you.”

“That’s because she doesn’t have to do any cooking,” Trish had worked out what was going through my mind as well.

“She’s so caring,” I sighed.

“She saved your bacon this morning by all accounts,” Julie informed me.

“Nah, we just saved Mummy, not Auntie Stella,” protested Trish.

“If they hadn’t got her into hospital, there’d have been nothing to save. That was because Auntie Stella called the ambulance.”

“But we healed her,” Trish wasn’t prepared to share the limelight with anyone.

“Girls, please, my head is buzzing.”

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Ken Nicholls strolling in, “girls,” he added and they both smiled at him.

“Can I go home now?” I asked.

“Um–not for me to decide, ol’ girl.”

“But you’re a doctor?”

“Yes, but I’m not your consultant.”

“Well who is?” I asked.

“Dylan Hartley, the chap from Southampton.”

“Can we send for him?”

“Hardly, he went home hours ago–after he saw the scan results.”

“If he can go home, why can’t I?”

“As far as I know, he didn’t have a head injury and lose consciousness.”

“I didn’t did I? I was just asleep.”

“It was a pretty deep sleep, as in unconscious.”

“But I could hear everything.”

“People who are unconscious often can.”

“Look can we ring him and ask him?”

“He’s off duty now.”

“Can I discharge myself, then?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, if you collapse again you could be in real trouble.”

“I won’t, I feel fine–honestly.”

“Sorry, Cathy, I won’t discharge you.”

“Jules ring your dad and ask him to come and get me and ask him to bring in some clothes to go home in.”

“I think you ought to listen to Mr Nicholls, Mummy.”

“Why? I don’t usually and I haven’t died thus far.”

“Is she better, now, Mr Nicholls?” asked Trish, “We healed on her and she was sick.”

“Yeah, all over me,” complained her sister.

“Well take your skirt off if it’s that wet.”

“I’m not walking round here in my panties.”

“Lend me your phone,” I held my hand out to Julie.

“I haven’t got it, it’s in the car recharging.”

I didn’t believe her for one minute. “Okay, let me use yours, Trish.”

“I didn’t bring it–Daddy said they don’t like you using mobile phones in hospital it can affect people’s racemakers.”

Ken looked away trying not to laugh.

“Pacemakers you ninny,” Julie corrected her sister.

“Oh, is that what they’re called?”

“I’m afraid it is, Trish.”

Trish shrugged, “I don’t care,” the look on her face seemed to echo what she’d said and Julie rolled her eyes.

“Okay, can someone loan me a coat and I’ll bloody well walk home.”

“Don’t be silly, Mummy, you haven’t any shoes with you.”

I looked at Ken, “I’m a voluntary patient here, right?”

“Of course.”

“So I can leave when I like?”

“Yes.”

“So, I’d like to go now.”

“Could we have the drip stands back after you’ve finished with them?”

I looked and realised I had a drip in each arm. “Why am I on these?”

“You’ve had antibiotics and steroids pumped into you, it might explain why you feel so much better.”

“We healed her,” complained Trish.

“I’m sure you helped as well, young lady, but your mum was actually improving before you arrived.”

“I was sending her healing all day.”

“I’m sure you were, but we had her on drips soon after she arrived.”

“Why?” that was me.

“Why? Because it was decided that you needed them.”

“So can you take them off?”

“I could but I’m not going to.”

“Ken, I’m asking you nicely.”

“And I’m declining equally nicely.”

“Why have I got to spend a night in this prison cell?”

“It’s possibly not as comfortable as your own bed, but as single hospital rooms go, I don’t think it’s too bad. I have to go and you should be about due something to eat, Lady C.”

“I’m on hunger strike in protest at my false imprisonment.”

“Suit yourself, I’m off, bye ladies.”

“Bugger me,” I said feeling exasperated.

“I’m trying to give it up,” responded Julie.

“Eh?” With what? went through my mind but I refused to give her the satisfaction of asking it.

“You can’t do it–you haven’t got a wotsit anymore,” said Trish rather loudly.

“And neither have you, so I’d keep your stupid voice down,” Julie snarled back at her.

“Mummy, she’s threatening me.”

“Girls please, why don’t you go home and tell your father to come and get me?”

“That man said no.” Trish looked very concerned.

“What does he know?”

“He is a doctor, Mummy.”

“So?”

“I think you should stay.”

“I agree,” said Julie.

“So, just tell your dad will you?”

“Um–no can do, Mummy. We can’t afford to have you collapse on us if we got you home.”

“What? I’m not going to collapse except by boredom in this dump.”

“I’ve got your iPad in my bag.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I didn’t like to say anything in case they’re not allowed.”

“Sod that, I can Skype Simon.”

“He’ll be in later, I’ll get him to bring in a nightdress for you.”

“Make it my jarmies and a pair of hiking boots and my bicycle.”

“What?” roared Trish. “Jarmies, hiking boots and a bike? That’s silly, Mummy.”

“I guess it is, okay tell him my bicycle, some cycling shoes and my cycling kit.”

“He won’t bring those in.”

“Why not?”

“He would say you’re being silly, Mummy.”

“No he wouldn’t,” corrected Julie, “he’d say you were friggn’ nuts.” A few minutes later she added, “We’ve gotta go,” then bent over to kiss me on the cheek.

“Lend me your clothes, I’ll come straight back with them.”

“No way, Mummy, don’t even think about it.”

“An’ mine are too small,” smirked Trish.

“Traitors,” I accused as they waved and left me in this madhouse.

“Your tea Mrs Cameron,” in walked a nurse and plonked a plate containing a jacket potato and grated cheese on my bedside table, then added a cup of tea. “Enjoy.”

She was gone before I could tell her I was on hunger strike, so I ate it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2022 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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After finishing my tea and the cheesy potato I reached down for the iPad and discovered that Julie had obviously taken it back with her. I’ll murder her when I get home, and I have the perfect get out–a head injury. If I kill one or two others as well just to make it look good–nah, I’d end up in Broadmoor probably in the next room to Ian Brady–back to the drawing board.

I was still plotting, only with my eyes shut when Simon arrived. “How d’you feel?”

“Fine but frustrated.”

“Oh, well as it’s a private room, if I bung the sister a few quid perhaps we could do something about your frustrations.”

“Simon, there is more to life than sexual frustrations.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I was–and I can genuinely state I have a headache.”

“I was thinking a bit lower down, that still working.”

“No, I have a catheter in.”

“Oh f–!”

“Actually, that is one thing I won’t be doing tonight: now, did you bring me in some clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Oh good, what’s in there?”

“I don’t know do I? Julie packed it for you.”

“What?”

“Julie packed it for you.”

“I heard what you said, why did you let her?”

“She’s got a better idea of what women need in hospital than I have.”

“I shall unadopt her as soon as I get home.”

“She’s not an MP.”

“I know exactly what she is, little tart.”

“Steady on, she’s a nice kid–you’re always saying so.”

“That was before she refused to loan me her clothes to escape from Colditz.”

“Colditz?”

“Yes, they intend to keep me here, but I won’t talk.”

“Eh?”

“I won’t reveal the secret ingredient in Great Aunt Bertha’s strawberry jam.”

He shook his head. “I doubt they’re that interested.”

“But her jam was of national renown, she won the preserves prize four years running at the Bristol and West show, and got a highly commended at Chippenham. Hartleys and Robinsons were always after her secret. Hartley, that’s it.”

“What is?”

“Will you listen, Simon–that’s your problem you don’t listen.”

“I am listening, you’re just not making any sense.”

“I’m a university lecturer and expert in communication skills, are you sure it’s not you who’s at fault?”

“Quite sure.”

“Well listen this time, the chap who’s keeping me imprisoned here, well his name is Hartley. Don’t you see, they’re still after Great Aunt Bertha’s secret ingredient.”

“Is there a secret ingredient?”

“D’you think I’d make this sort of stuff up?”

“Yes.”

“Oh ye of so little faith.”

“I am well aware that you can be ten times more sneaky than Stella and besides you’re far more intelligent–but then so is the kitten.”

“Hey, Stella is lovely–on occasions.”

“She saved your life, apparently.”

“I think you’ll find she sent for the ambulance–the paramedics usually do the rest, and the hospital is claiming to be the origin of such life saving miracles.”

“I don’t care if it was Trish and Julie...”

“They’re also claiming copyright over the whole business of raising the dead. I think they may find St Paul got there first. Just imagine how different the world would be if they’d had Twitter in those days?”

“Um, that’s a bit too surreal for me.”

“Well they’d have had no need for the Holy Ghost, facebook would have done for that, and would JC have tweeted for forty days before doing an ET and phoning home?”

“How would I know?” Simon looked alarmed.

“He couldn’t, it was a trick question.”

“It was?”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t have got wi-fi in the sepulchre, would he?”

“Why don’t we deal with what Julie packed?”

“Oh, changing the subject are we?”

“No, I have to go home tonight and the way you’re going on we’d still be waiting for Ascension Day by breakfast time.”

“That’s on Thursday.”

“What is?”

“Ascension day.”

“Is it?”

“Take my word for it.”

“I always take your word, Cathy.”

“So how come you didn’t bring in some clothes you could take me home in?”

“I wasn’t aware you could go home, the girls said they wanted you in overnight for observation.”

“Julie didn’t say that.”

“How d’you know?”

“She’d have said to keep an eye on me.”

“She did. You must be getting better.”

“Better? How can you improve on perfection?”

It took a moment for the penny to drop then he smirked.

“What have they been giving you–lemon juice?”

“No, why?”

“You’re rather sharp tonight.”

“Come on then open the bag.”

He unzipped it and pulled out two nightdresses, a lightweight dressing gown, some slippers toiletries and tissues, some money, my MP3 player, a cuddly toy and my iPad.

“At last–now I can inform the police about them detaining me here against my will.”

“I’m afraid you can’t?”

“Why?”

“The battery is flat–when did you last charge it?”

“I don’t know–they run forever.”

“Um–they don’t, Cathy, you have to charge them–this one is flat–see?”

It seemed to be the case.

“Did she pack my phone?”

“Er–no.”

“So how am I supposed to let you know I’ve been released?”

“I’m sure they will phone for you.”

“Not until I spill the jam.”

He shook his head, “Sometimes I think you’re quite mad.”

“There are two things I’d challenge in that statement.”

“What?”

“Sometimes and quite.”

“Anyway, I’ll take the iPad back home and charge it for you.”

“What with, riotous assembly?”

“Oh very good, that was almost funny.”

“Compared to your jokes that was really funny, Simon Cameron.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“I have to go, Babes, early meeting tomorrow.”

“Right, so it’s back to building a glider then to get over the security fence.”

“What?”

“Well that’s what they did in Colditz.”

“But you’re not in Colditz.”

“That’s why they’ll be so surprised.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about the bang on your head, Cathy.”

“I’m perfectly alright, but no one will believe me except Billie.”

His eyes opened very wide, “Is she here then?”

“Why? Can’t you see her?”

“Would I be asking if I could?”

“I don’t know, Simon.”

“Oh thanks. Anyway I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tomorrow sometime.”

He bent over and kissed me. “Bye,” he waved and turned to leave.

“Aren’t you going to wave goodnight to Billie then?”

“Where is she?”

“Over on that seat.”

“Bye, Billie,” he said waved and left, I nearly collapsed laughing.

“What’s so funny?” asked the staff nurse bringing me in a cuppa.

“I think I’ve just convinced my husband that I’m crazy.”

“Is that such a wise thing after a head injury?” she retorted collecting up my dirty dishes.

Oops.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2023 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Oops indeed–I hadn’t thought it through when I played with Simon. He’s just a bit gullible–well okay, very gullible where I’m concerned. I lay in bed thinking about what had happened.

Thankfully, the headaches had stopped and the drips had been taken down–I could now hydrate myself and whatever drugs they’d had me on, appeared to have worked and I felt much better.

I had my MP3 player which had an FM radio in it and I sat listening to that, at least I could keep up with what was happening in the world, though any coverage of the Giro was going to be very limited.

I sat lost in my thoughts when I happened to glance over at the corner–there standing with her arms folded and tapping her foot was Billie, looking anything but amused.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“You are, that’s what.”

“Why?”

“You do lots of good and milady is really pleased with you, then you go and do silly things and end up in hospital where you play even sillier games. When are you going to grow up, Mummy?”

I glowered at her. “When I need advice from a ten year old, I’ll give you a shout. As for growing up–I hope never–so tell that to wossername.”

She shook her head and just faded away. I immediately felt guilty and had lost a chance to converse with her, which annoyed me–but, I’m not going to be told how to act by a child, even one plugged into wossername. So I now sat there in high dudgeon.

Sometime later the nurse popped her head round the door, “You okay?”

“Not really, I’ve upset pretty well everyone, including my deceased daughter.”

She gave me a funny look, “Right,” she said and closed the door rather too quickly. I suppose she was now convinced I was barmy. They’d left a commode in the room for me, but there was no way I wanted to use something which could smell all night when I could easily walk to the loos. I slipped out of bed and put my slippers on, then wandered down the corridor.

“And where d’you think you’re going?” boomed a voice behind me. I nearly wet myself.

“To the toilet.”

“We put a commode in your room.”

“Would you use one?”

“I don’t need to,” said the amazon in a dark blue uniform.

“Neither do I, so where are the toilets?”

“Go back to your room at once.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said, Mrs Cameron.”

“I will after I’ve been for a wee.”

“You’ll go now,” she stepped towards me.

“If you lay one finger on me I’ll sue you for your pension and your house.”

“Are you threatening me, Mrs Cameron.”

“No, just pointing out consequences.”

“If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life on antipsychotics, you’d better do as you’re told lady.”

“If you don’t want to spend the rest of yours in traction you keep away from me.”

“Oh, I think I can handle a pip-squeak like you.”

“Never underestimate an opponent.” I said this and she did just that, she made a grab at me and I stepped back and took her hand and bent the wrist against the joint, she was soon whimpering to a different tune.

“Let me go or you’ll pay for this.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with do you?”

“A rich bitch.”

“Oh you do, with emphasis on the bitch part. Now I’m going to let you go and you’re going to go and do whatever it was you were going to do before you grabbed at me. I am going to go to the loo and then retire to my bed. You have my word on that. If we act like none of this happened, then both of us can continue with our lives–if you wish to make an issue of it, just be warned, you’re not playing with fire. I’ll come back at you with the heat of ten thousand suns and not stop until I’ve scorched everything you hold dear. Your choice.”

I let her go and she immediately tried to hit me, which I parried and stepped away. “I thought you had to have a few functioning brain cells to become a sister–obviously not on current evidence.”

“I’ve got a degree,” she said indignantly.

“That was still an attempt at assault. You’d better apologise quickly or resign. Nursing doesn’t need bullies.”

“I think they’ll believe me against someone with psychotic tendencies.”

“We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we. Just go and write your resignation and you might keep some of your pension.”

“You’re known to be acting strangely–they’ll probably believe me when I say you tried to attack me and I had to hurt you to protect myself–say another head injury.”

“Oh piss off.” I turned and walked away spotting the toilets. She came rushing after me, I simply ducked down and she fell over the top of me hurting her shoulder as she fell. This was going to complicate things but I had to wee and quickly. I ran into the toilet and shut the door. For a moment I couldn’t go–then I managed to and the relief was astonishing. I wiped and washed my hands and went back out to the corridor.

The sister was sitting on the floor with two other nurses with her. “There she is, grab her.”

I just ran for it with one of the nurses in hot pursuit. Not knowing the geography I ended up in a blind alley blocked by the nurse. “Will you call the police please, I wish to prefer charges against that nursing sister for attempted assault.”

The nurse laughed at me. “You wish to prefer charges–she’s the one that got hurt.”

“That’s because my defence was better than her attack.”

“She broken her shoulder.”

“Fine, I’m going after the rest of her through the courts.”

“You are as crazy as they said, aren’t you?”

“If that’s what you think, fine–but crazy or not, I won’t be bullied or assaulted by bullies.”

“You’re lying.”

“She’s not,” an old lady limped her way towards us.

“Go back to bed, Mabel.”

“Sister Gosling attacked her.”

“Had one of your dreams have you, Mabel?” The nurse looked at me and said quietly, “She’s as mad as you are.”

“No I’m not, nor am I deaf,” the old lady continued.

“You’re not in school now, Mabel–and I’m no school girl.”

“It’s a pity, I might have taught you some manners, young woman.”

“Oh, that’s fighting talk, Mabel. One puff of wind and down you’ll go. You don’t wanna break the other hip now do you?”

“I wouldn’t have broken the first one if that horrible woman hadn’t pushed me.”

“What horrible woman?” I asked her, “What Sister Gosling?”

“The very one.”

“Do you have any proof?”

“Just my word against hers–they believed her because I’m old–but I can still do quadratic equations and translate Juvenal.”

The nurse was moving towards the old lady, who limped back a step and nearly fell. I pushed past the nurse and went and helped my ally. It appeared she had the room next to mine–on the way back the energy was flowing through me and into her.

“What are you?” she whispered.

“A friend.”

She let go of me and walked normally. “A good friend–there’s no pain anymore.”

“One good turn deserves another.”

We went back to her room and I helped her into bed, then spotted her mobile phone. “Might I borrow this a moment?”

“Of course,” she said.

Two minutes later, I was explaining to Simon what was happening. “Don’t let them touch you, I’ll be there with the police in twenty minutes.”

“Who was that?”

“My husband–he’s going to bring the cavalry.”

“Oh good-o, I love horses,” she clapped her hands with glee. I grabbed her stick and shoved it through the two door handles of her room. The pounding on the door began.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2024 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Mabel’s wooden walking stick wasn’t going to last very long as a man’s voice joined the cacophony outside. “Mrs Cameron, this Doug Masters, I’m general manager of this hospital, I demand you open the door and come out.”

“I will when I have someone there I can trust and who I believe has sufficient brain power to make talking worthwhile.”

“I can have you arrested, Mrs Cameron.”

“On what grounds.”

“Assault, grievous bodily harm, kidnapping an elderly patient and holding her against her will.”

I glanced at Mabel who sniggered, “Exciting, isn’t it?”

“I could have done without it.”

“Who’s the little girl?”

“Probably Billie, my daughter, she died last year.”

“I’m sorry, oh she’s gone.”

“She tends to do that.”

“This stick isn’t going to last much longer.”

“Try this,” she handed me her metal elbow crutch. I slipped it between the door handles. I wondered how long Simon would take, I hoped he could get Andy Bond.

The banging on the door stopped and I heard voices outside. “Cathy, it’s me, open the door and let the old lady out.”

“What for? This is her room? I’ll come out.”

More discussion. “Okay.”

“My husband is here, we should be able to sort this now.” I withdrew the barriers and opened the door and was immediately grabbed by a policeman. “Hey, what is this?”

“Catherine Cameron, I’m arresting you on a charge of assault, further charges may be preferred. You don’t have to say anything...” I looked at Simon who shrugged and mouthed, ‘Kit’s on his way.’

“But I’m the innocent party here.”

“Get her out of my hospital,” said a man of about forty, who was balding and blushing very red.”

“Get something for your blood pressure or you’re going to have a stroke,” I said to him, but he refused to have any eye contact with me. “Oh well, perhaps they’ll get someone decent when you do.”

I was wrapped in a blanket and led out to a police car in handcuffs. I’ve been here before. The drive to the central police HQ didn’t take very long and I was checked in and then led to a cell. I hope Simon followed behind with my stuff and that Kit wouldn’t be too much longer arriving. At least I was wearing my own pyjamas–a hospital gown would have been too much to bear.

“Cameron, you’ve got a visitor.” The woman PC unlocked the door and let in Kit, my counsel. He gave me a huge hug and said, “Now what have you gone and done?”

“Nuffink guv’nor, I was fitted up, straight up, guv.”

He roared. “So far they’re looking at common assault.”

“Can we counter with threatening behaviour and actual assault.” I explained what had happened including leading everyone to think I was barmy.

“Why did you do that?”

“It was a bit of fun, but it stopped being humorous when blue demon attacked me–honestly, I was just going to the loo. The old lady in the other room next to mine said she pushed her down and caused her to break her hip. I want her out of the hospital and better still, out of nursing.”

“With a broken shoulder she might just be doing that, but on damages from us.”

“But she’s no better than a thug and a bully.”

“I believe you entirely, Cathy, but your word isn’t necessarily enough to satisfy a court of law.”

“Oh dear.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The hospital manager has just had a stroke driving home.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I warned him when I was arrested, he declined to listen to me. His wife will blame me I expect, but it was an accident waiting to happen. Oh well, that’s his game over.”

“You know something else?”

“He died.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I just do.”

“So what is going to happen–do you know the outcome of this?” he pointed to the ground.

“Yes, your cleverness is going to get me off this trumped up charge.”

“My cleverness is rather finite, Cathy, and doesn’t feel very clever at the moment. I can get you bailed but this could drag on for some time.”

“But the silly cow hurt herself, she fell over me trying to hurt me.”

“So you said.”

“I gave her the chance before to stop her nonsense, but she had to try it on. I’ll bet there’s been a whole pile of incidents in wards she’s run.”

“We can try and find out–it might give us something to use against her.”

“I expect they’ll find plenty to use against me–of a violent nature.”

“What dormouse wrestling?”

“You know what I mean–the mafia stuff.”

“You were exonerated of what went public.”

“I live in dread it could all come out again and tabloid go digging–let’s face it, my life would make quite a story.”

“Yeah, I should think at least two thousand installments,” he smirked.

“Just get me out of here and then destroy the opposition.”

“Just like that?” he said waving his arm.

“Yeah, why not, Mr Super-lawyer.”

“I must stop changing in phone boxes, I’m getting too fat.” He pecked me on the cheek and left.

An hour later I was being driven home by Simon, who said very little after, “Don’t start,” when I wanted to know how come I got arrested, not the nasty nurse or her buddies.

Having spoken with all the children and sent them up to bed I was sitting enjoying a cuppa and a biscuit with Stella. I told her what happened and she asked who the ward sister was.

“Gosling–yeah, I’m sure it was.”

“Not Brenda Gosling?”

“We weren’t introduced, she just shouted at me and then went for me.”

“I’d have thought she’d been struck off by now, talk about power crazed. She was a student nurse when I was. She decked a bloke at college who said something she didn’t like. There was also something about an assault on a patient back a few years ago–she was lucky not to get struck off then. No one wanted to work with her because she was such a bully. I’m surprised she got back in here.”

“Could you tell all that to Kit?”

“For a price.”

“If it comes to blows, give her a kick from me–she should have been a storm trooper not a nurse.”

“But of course.”

I went up to bed and Simon and I chatted for a while. I explained that my joke of appearing crazy got out of hand. He chuckled to himself. “I’m not quite as daft as you think, Cathy; I was well aware the concussion had passed but seeing as you wanted to play games I played along too.”

“You what?” I was going to have to watch him in future because he was either brighter than he showed or a better liar–perhaps both. Damn!

“Two can play at games.”

“Yeah, you and Stella: until I met you two I didn’t do any of it.”

“I seem to recall a certain young lady telling me if she hadn’t met Stella and been catapulted out of her comfort zone, she’d still be languishing in a bedsit at the university, not collecting accolades and a criminal record.”

“Don’t joke about it, Simon, it’s doubly vexing because I didn’t actually do anything except get out of her way, it’s hardly my fault she fell over me and broke her shoulder.”

“Quite, now how about a quick shag?” His foreplay was still following the Australian model.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2025 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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We were lying together in the afterglow–well until something started oozing–right, too much information. I wanted Simon’s suggestion on how we could protect Mabel, who appeared to be our only witness. Sadly, by the time I got back from the bathroom Simon was lying on his back, mouth open doing his impression of a black hole. I put my cold hands on him, but he was too far gone to feel that–so there was only one thing I could do. You don’t want to know what, but it involved his dirty socks which were still reclining on the bedroom floor despite him promising to put them in the laundry hamper. He didn’t notice for probably two hours when he sat up and started coughing and spluttering–I was fast asleep, natch.

It was difficult to stay asleep the noise he was making scrubbing his teeth and gargling with mouth wash but I managed to keep up the pretence while he got back into bed. It was when he slapped my bum and I squealed he knew the culprit, so he slapped me again and I lay there giggling. Two hours sucking his dirty sock–hee hee.

“Bitch,” he said, then turned over and a short time later he was fast asleep again whereas I lost about half an hour–couldn’t stop giggling. “It’s not funny,” was his parting shot before he went off to dreamland again. I thought to the contrary, it was hilarious–it could do two things: make him put his dirty clothes in the proper receptacle; and possibly keep his mouth shut when he sleeps.

The next morning he was gone before I woke up, how he manages on so little sleep baffles me, but then his constitution is possibly the eighth wonder of the universe. He can be legless one night and still gets up for work the next day without a hangover. As far as I know he doesn’t drink so much these days but I do wonder about business lunches and he is showing a bit of middle aged spread.

I’ve been watching what I eat and drink–not that I have much alcohol–but I do like the odd fruit juice and loads of tea. There is of course the odd thing like chocolate, but it’s a well established fact that chocolate and ice cream contain no calories, so you can eat as much as you like–just don’t swallow.

It was a rush to get the girls to school, but I managed it, just and received their scorn for them being last into the building. It was building up to be one of those days. I arrived at the university to be told by Pippa that I had a committee meeting this evening and Jeff, one of our junior lecturers had gone sick–could I do a session on taxonomy–my answer? It’s classified–taxonomy? Forget it.

I suppose with the advances in DNA analysis it’s easier to know if species are related, but seeing as we share about forty per cent of ours with a banana or something, when you really start to analyse it, it becomes very different though shared sequences will occur–probably most living things share some sequences–after all, we all arose from similar ancestors in the primordial slime. Yeah–it has a lot to answer for.

Two hours is a long time to amuse the better part of a hundred sub-adults and I usually try to play games with them–as in my own classes. I got Neal to collect some sequences of different species and stick them on a slide and we had a bit of a quiz. That took up about twenty minutes, especially as the sequences were quite similar. We gave them a list of the species they came from and they had to guess which was which.

Then of course I went on to evolution, and would you believe it, we had a couple of creationists in the class. The world is no more than six thousand years old, that sort of stuff. Okay so they accept Archbishop Usher was wrong–but not his basic principle–how can you deal with this sort of fundies?

We argued about natural selection and about carbon dating–they accept neither. I tried to get them to understand that generally when things are found in deeper rocks it’s commonly accepted that they are older than the rocks on top, except where folding occurs–which is sometimes obvious–they have some wonderful stratification at Lulworth Cove in Dorset, where rocks have been folded. They also have a petrified forest of the remains of giant fern trees.

The rest of the class seemed to side with me but those two held their ground, not being intimidated by force of numbers or by slide after slide of evidence we have to show the dinosaurs happened millions of years before humans, and that humans had ancestors in the hominids of up to three million years ago–modern humans appearing somewhere about forty thousand years ago, which is seven times longer than our two dissenters agreed.

I wondered if Jeff had gone sick with stress from teaching these two, because I actually asked them outright, “Why are you doing a biology degree when you don’t believe half the information we give you?”

They apparently wanted to see the evidence for themselves so it enabled them to refute it. I asked them for their evidence and they waved a Bible at me. ‘All the evidence I’d ever need.’ I was still bouncing off the ceiling when I went to lunch with Tom.

“What’s this committee meeting I have to attend?”

“The university scientific standards committee.”

“What?”

“It makes sure we’re all above board and not tormenting too many of your tree rats.”

“Like an ethical committee?”

“More encompassing than that–Pippa has the back numbers of minutes–better read some this afternoon instead of sleeping in that office of yours.”

“Sleeping! I saved your bacon this morning by teaching Jeff Small’s class.”

“Oh aye, whit wis that aboot?”

“Taxonomy and evolution.”

“Aye–nae problems?”

“Only two fundies who believe in Adam and Eve.”

“Oh aye,” he said but his eyes twinkled.

“You knew that didn’t you?”

“Meee?” he said, then burst out laughing.

“Bastard,” I hissed at him though it lost its sting when all he did was laugh.

“Ye were getin’ tae complacent, wi’ ye ecology superstardom–ye needed some testing.”

“I see, and did I pass?”

“Oh aye.”

“I’ve a good mind to leave you to walk back this afternoon.” We arrived in my car.

“Oh aye? An wit wull ye tell thae dean aboot ma absence?”

“Bugger.”

“Cathy, ye’re an inspirational teacher but we all need tae be kept on wir mettle. Ye’re still awfy guid.”

“You set me up, didn’t you?”

“Yes an’ no, Jeff went sick and ye we’re most available.”

So it was after lunch when my addled brain thought of Mabel again and how to try and protect her. I sent an email to Kit, who said he’d had someone interview her and take a statement. He was also seeing if they could transfer to a nursing home for convalescence–the bank apparently has shares in one–why doesn’t that surprise me?

He’d also received an email from Stella, and his team were amassing data about our least favourite ward sister. Seems there no shortage of volunteers, though we could only use things we could verify and that would take some time. If she went to court, we’d have to ask for a postponement which shouldn’t be a problem. If only ten per cent were true, she was in deep doo-doo.

At least someone was on the top of their game even if I wasn’t.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2026 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I asked David to keep some food warm for me as I had the meeting to attend. I wasn’t sure how to dress for it, so in the end wore a longish tablecloth type skirt, with four corners pointing to the ground–only it stopped mid calf, and I wore some boots with a three inch heel. The main colour of the whole outfit was black with bits of red here and there to take the sombreness from it and I wore a red scarf to lift the top as well, though my red coat would have done that in the first instance–until I took it off.

I had a folder of minutes from this committee and had spent two hours looking back over past issues and themes. It was going to be as boring as hell and as I walked down the corridor, to the committee room, peculiarly enough, I felt like I was condemned to trial by boredom.

I knew two of the others, John from Biochem and Steve from admin–apparently they have to be represented as well as they have access to stuff we don’t, like financial matters. I know Tom has to balance budgets but as his biggest costs are staff salaries, he has little actual control–he can’t just sack people because he wants to save money–he has to have a proper reason; which apparently doesn’t include incompetence–or we’d have quite a few less staff. I’m rather glad I don’t have to do that job, sacking someone would really mess with my head as I know it does with Simon’s.

We sat down with a cup of university coffee and I opened my notebook and began to scribble the odd note which I’d append to the minutes later, because let’s face it, minutes are well cleaned up before they’re circulated–I’ve done it myself as a secretary of a committee, albeit a cycling club one.

For the next two hours we talked round and round topics and once or twice I nearly stood up and screamed. Apart from the paid admin assistant who took the minutes, I was the only woman there, so was mostly ignored by the group of eight men, none of whom could make a decision to save their lives. I abstained, pointedly, at every vote to stop unanimity which I felt was rubber stamping some less than useful practice.

I also penned my resignation giving as grounds that I couldn’t spare the time to watch paint dry, or rearrange deck chairs on Titanics, as I felt the iceberg had been hit some time ago, I was, as a woman, albeit an ignored one, taking to the lifeboat and I wished them a happy swim home. I handed my note to the chairman, a Professor Kent, and left an hour before the meeting was due to finish. It was the only way I could stay awake.

My parting shot was, “As you’re all ignoring me and my views, I might as well leave now and put my children to bed.”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask the chair if you can leave?” called one of the men.

“If I talked to the table I’d get more response.” I pulled on my coat and grabbing my stuff, flounced out. They’d remember me in future if only for all the wrong reasons. Tom was furious when I got home early, though he did admit they were a bunch of stuffed shirts. I told him that every time I had something to say I was ignored until I stood up and walked out effectively telling them what they could do with their committee.

“Sae if thae Dean wis tae tak tae ye, ye’d tell thae truth?”

“Of course, I’m not in the habit of lying,” except when it suits me.

Which is what happened. I was sent for by the dean and He seemed rather concerned that my voice was ignored but also that no decisions were made about previous issues.

I showed him my notes which he asked what ‘BS’ stood for after several supposed discussions. I told him it was bovine excreta. He actually smirked at that for a moment, then stopped in case it indicated approval.

He gently chided me for leaving the meeting but said he understood my reasons and he hoped it wouldn’t stop me being nominated for further committee posts. “Scientific committees, yes; anything else probably not.”

“But you’re a director of High St Bank, you must therefore have a reasonable tolerance of committees?”

“A management board is hardly an ordinary committee is it? They’re mostly high powered types who may possibly be a bit too cut and thrust to make it comfortable for women, but I hope to have a civilising influence on them.”

“I’m sure you would, Dr Watts. So you’re happier with directorship level are you?”

What was that all about? “With the bank, perhaps.”

“Good, I’d like to nominate you for the university management board, please say you’ll accept the nomination.”

“What?”

“I’ve been trying to get someone from our faculty on the board for several years. We now have a chance. As you probably know, we have quotas of women on most committees reflecting the ratios of the teaching staff. Norma Harrington is stepping down next month and I’d like to have you replace her.”

“But shouldn’t that go to a professor?”

“Not necessarily, we have people from outside as well or like yourself people with joint positions here and elsewhere, besides, your bank has been very generous to us over the past few years–in fact, I’d hazard a guess, that about as long as you’ve been a member of staff.”

“I’m sure the bank would refute any such coincidence as simply that.”

“Quite, but I’d like to see the coincidences continuing, so please say yes.”

“D’you mind if I speak to my husband about it and with Daddy and my father in law. I don’t want any conflict of interest issues, personally or in the press.”

“But of course, please let me know as soon as you can.”

“I’m still bemused that someone with such a relatively lowly position as Senior Lecturer, would be appointed to the board.”

“Yes, did I not say we’re upgrading you to Reader status.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Professor Agnew is supportive of the promotion and we have funding for such a post.”

“But that means I’ll be supporting post grad research rather than teaching undergrads?”

“Normally yes. Certainly you’ll be supervising our ecology post graduates, but seeing as we only have one at present, I see your main focus in that area in getting a few more through the baccalaureates and on to masters.”

“The fact that I have the largest intakes isn’t a factor, is it?”

“Your harvest mouse film would be a very welcome addition to the reputation of this university, as well as to your own CV.”

“Ah, so now we’re getting to the nitty gritty, I bring in lots of students so you want me on the board, which hopefully would enable the bank to look more kindly upon us?”

“They currently hold our accounts for us.”

“Then I have to decline on the grounds of conflict of interest.”

“I don’t accept your refusal, please think again and speak to your father in law, who is I’m sure the oracle when it comes to such things.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Dean, I have to go and collect my children from school.”

“How are they?”

“Cleverer than half the intake of first years.”

“They take after their mother–it’s in their genes.”

I removed myself without correcting him, unless he meant jeans, in which case it could be true, though from a cheaper designer label.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2027 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Whilst driving from the university to the convent I wondered about the nature of intelligence and if the basis is inheritance or nurture. I suspected it involved both. If nature gives you the tools through inheritance and you’re able to develop them, then you win on both fronts. If one is missing then sadly you won’t fully realise your potential. Other factors must be things like motivation, general health and drive plus access to new ideas, mentors and teachers and so on. I was reasonably bright, moderately creative and motivated. Then the final influence–luck or opportunity.

I was fortunate, I was brought up in a reasonably caring family, who wanted me to do well, so I got a good education and went on to do something I enjoyed–dormouse wrestling.

That I was transgender and as it transpired AIS was a setback and created conflict within my family and could have destroyed me on several occasions and could certainly have done so professionally. I was fortunate to have found support and encouragement from Simon and Stella and from Tom and the university. They helped me to be me and to re-allocate the energy that I’d been using to try to keep the lid on my transgender urges. Once I could relax that and be myself–a female–I could devote myself to greater things.

It was interesting that Turing, who was given oestrogens to supposedly curb his sexual urges, claimed that the hormones destroyed his mind and his creative abilities. I, like thousands of other transsexual women, have taken them for far longer than he did, so is my little mind only half as clever as it once was? Not sure I want to know the answer to that. Then we have the Daily Wail suggesting that the Victorians were cleverer than we are by up to fourteen points on an IQ scale–so how come they didn’t have jet aircraft and global warming?

I collected the girls and Trish asked me what I was cogitating, so I told her about the article in the Mail. Her almost instant response was, “Of course they were cleverer, they had a hundred years start on us.” Sometimes the answers are so obvious I can’t see them.

Back at home I went to my study to try and find out what I could about the role of the university board and whether I thought it was a good place for me to join or if I was a good candidate to be there. If they were going to ignore me or my views, then it was a waste of time–but I wouldn’t know that without trying it, unless I could speak to someone about it, who knew what it was all about.

I called the university office and think I got the duty woodlouse, when I asked how I might contact Dr Norma Harrington, they didn’t know who she was. Was I doomed to make a similar impact? In which case why bother?

I was still there wondering how to speak to her when Tom popped his head round the door, “Sae ye’re goin’ f’ thae board–guid lass.”

“Um, I don’t know, Daddy, it’s a bit scary.”

“Och, ye’ll be fine.”

“I wish I could talk to someone about it, like the woman I could be replacing, Dr Harrington.”

“I’ve got her phone number somewhere.” He disappeared and reappeared two minutes later handing a scrap of paper with her home number on it.

“I wonder if she’ll talk to me?”

“Och, gi’ me yon phone.” I handed him the cordless handset and he punched in the number and then after introducing himself chatted away for several minutes, then he asked if his ‘dochter’ could have a wee word. She must have asked what about and he told her, about the executive board of the university, and that I’d been nominated to replace her. Then he handed me the phone.

“Hello, it’s Cathy Watts, the dean asked me if I’d stand as a candidate for the university board, I wondered if I could ask you some questions about the position?”

“So you’re Tom Agnew’s daughter?”

“By adoption.”

“Ah, that explains it, his girl died didn’t she some years ago.”

“In a motor accident.”

“That’s right, drunk driver–she was very clever by all accounts?”

“She was studying as Oxford.”

“I thought so.”

“I hope they didn’t elect you on grounds of gender?”

“Oh the quota female?”

“Yes.”

“Yes they did–but don’t let it bother you–it enables you to step over dozens of men who’d kill to do it.”

“Do they treat you with respect?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I recently resigned from the standards committee because they ignored me because I was a woman.”

“Why didn’t you make them listen?”

“I did, I created a scene, told them what they could do with their committee and flounced out.”

She laughed loudly, “What a pity they don’t video these meetings.”

“If they do the same on the board, there’s little point in me allowing the nomination.”

“What d’you teach?”

“Ecology and field biology are my specialist subjects but I also help out with biology in general.”

“Didn’t one of your lot do a film on dormice?”

“Yes, that was me.”

“Wear that outfit and they’ll take notice of you, but not in a positive way.”

“I think I can deal with the clothing, it’s the politics which worry me.”

“You’ve obviously got communication skills, who wrote the script for you?”

“I wrote, presented and directed the film.”

“Good for you, so you can present a reasonable case. I presume you can hold your own on a stage, in front of a frightening audience?”

“I’ve lectured to classes of three hundred, I’ve done public lectures to more and I played Lady Macbeth on the stage last year.”

“What about serious audiences?”

“I’m on the board of High Street Bank.”

She said something which sounded like duck. Then added, “So why are you asking me for advice–how did you get into the Scottish mafia?”

“Easy, I married the heir.”

“You married a Cameron?”

“Well, he married me as well.”

She laughed, “You sound so refreshingly naíve but you can’t be. Introduce yourself as, what is it, Lady Cameron?”

“Yes.”

“They’ll take note of you, especially if you can get special terms for grants and things.”

“That’s another area that worries me, conflict of interest.”

“Just do what’s best for you.”

I wasn’t sure that was what I wanted to hear. “I wasn’t planning on revealing that, initially, as they might think I’d bought my position.”

“Good point, and you didn’t I take it?”

“Of course not, I’m half tempted to decline the nomination, I’d rather teach than do politics.”

“Don’t you dare, girl, they need some fresh blood.”

“You make it sound like they’re a load of vampires?”

“Oh they are, all seeking to increase their empires at anyone else’s expense.”

“Is there nobody I can trust there?”

“The vice chancellor is okay, he’s a retired bishop.”

“Oh wonderful, that’s all I need.”

“You have a problem with clerics?”

“Sometimes, I’m a Darwinian.”

“Ah, a Dawkinsite?”

“Not entirely but closer to him than any sky fairies.”

“Don’t worry, he’s a good man and honest–he also did a degree in chemistry years ago, so he’s okay with scientific method and he doesn’t push his religion.”

“Thanks for talking to me.”

“Look, why not come to dinner tomorrow?”

We made arrangements and she told me where she lived, near Winchester. I accepted and wondered what that engagement might bring.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2028 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I’d spent the day on relative tenterhooks, not helped by the girls playing up at home once we got there. They didn’t see why I couldn’t have dinner with them then go to have dinner with Dr Harrington afterwards. This was not helped by the fact that Simon and Sammi were going to be delayed getting back from London.

Trish was particularly obnoxious, accusing me of putting my pleasure before their welfare–what has she been reading now? Jacquie stepped in and took her away from me before I pole-axed her. I was sitting at my dressing table trying to do my makeup and she kept on and on about me going out.

As I so rarely go out at night I couldn’t understand why she was so worked up about it. I called Livvie and asked her.

“She worried that horrible nurse is going to come and get you or take us away.”

“She’s got a broken shoulder, I don’t think she’d be in much of a position to do anything to any of us, do you?”

She looked at the carpet, “You put that old lady in a home and she was your friend. Trish is worried that you’ll put us in a home so you can go to your meetings.”

“What old lady?”

“The one from the hospital–you put her in a home in case she said anything against you.”

“Is that what you really think?” I was almost heartbroken that they could even conceive of such an idea.

I saw a tear drip off her chin and onto the carpet. “No, Mummy.” I opened my arms and she rushed over to me and we hugged.

“D’you really think I’d do anything to harm any of you or let anyone else do so?”

“No, Mummy,” she sobbed on my shoulder. I handed her a tissue before she shrank my top and it was tight enough already.

“The old lady from the hospital was being taken to a nursing home to protect her in case any of the nasty nurse’s friends worked at the hospital. She finds it far nicer than the hospital and the food is much better, so she said.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy.”

“That’s okay, I hope you can explain to Trish that I’m only thinking about the university committee because it’s a huge honour to be asked to do it, and it would mean I’d be trying to make sure the university was run as efficiently as we could for staff and students.”

“I’ll try, but she was so sure you would send us away if we got in your way.”

“You’ll never get in my way, sweetheart, because nothing could be that important for that to happen. You lot and Daddy are the most important things in my life, and I think Daddy feels pretty well the same. No one is ever going to take you away from us unless it’s what you want to do.”

“Never,” she said forcefully holding on to me so tightly it actually hurt.

“I’ve promised you before haven’t I?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Well, I’m reiterating that promise now.”

“What does that mean, Mummy?”

Sometimes I’ll be glad when they grow up–“It means saying again.”

“Okay, I’ll speak to Trish.”

Jacquie must have said something similar to Trish because the two girls came back holding hands and Livvie said to her sister, “Go on, tell her.”

There was a painful silence with only faint sobs heard. “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

I looked over at the two of them, Livvie also sniffing holding her sister’s hand. I’m not sure if that was to stop a getaway or to support her. I preferred to believe the latter.

I hugged them both for a few minutes and they agreed that they didn’t mind me going out for dinner. I had to change my top in the end–I had wet patches and snot over it, and that was just from me–what deposits the girls left on it, I hated to think.

I went out wearing a silk blouse in a very pale blue over a matching silk camisole, with brushed cotton trousers in a cornflower blue and a blue jacket. My makeup was quite sophisticated–but of the ‘less is more’ school of thought. I also wore some of my Coco perfume, spritzing some of it over me before I left. Simon and Sammi arrived just as I was collecting my coat. The weather had gone back to cold and I began to wonder if the dormice would ever surface in the wild. The weather was getting worse and worse by the year, so perhaps that was how the planet was going to control populations of the two legged vermin, by making it difficult to grow enough food by either deluging or desertifying the agricultural areas. If that made a land grab necessary, then the powerful nations of the earth would take the lion’s share and the poorer ones the crumbs–thereby ensuring a warfare of resentment for the next couple of generations.

Oh well, deal with it if and when.

“You look smart, Mummy?” said Sammi as she cast her eye up and down me.

“Yes and all my own work,” I smirked back. She and Julie act as if I’m clueless at presenting myself despite the fact I’ve been a woman longer than both of them put together.

Simon snorted, so he knew what I was getting at. I kissed them all goodbye–that took longer than it should have done, so I had to motor a bit to get to my hostess’s house on time. I came away from one of David’s risottos, which I adore–I love Italian food–so I hoped the alternative menu was going to be as good.

I grabbed the bottle of wine Simon had recommended from the car and locked the car. Then it was a few short steps to the porch of her thatched cottage to ring the doorbell.

I heard footsteps and a late middle-aged woman opened the door. “You must be Cathy?”

“Yes, good to meet you.” We shook hands.

“I’m Norma, now then, I assume you knew about Tom’s daughter–her gender thing?”

“Yes, of course, he told me.”

“You don’t have any problems with gender benders, I hope.”

“No–why?”

“It’s okay, darling–she’s cool with it.”

“Okay,” was called back by a vaguely male voice.

“My um–hubby, prefers to wear a dress at home.”

“No biggie. Why don’t you introduce me?”

“You will keep this under your hat, won’t you?”

I felt a bit insulted, but then they didn’t know me–obviously didn’t know me. “I shall take it to the grave with me.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary, but thank you.” She squeezed my hand, and then led me down the hall and into a very luxurious sitting room. “Darling, this is Catherine, Lady Cameron, aka Dr Cathy Watts.”

From an adjoining room emerged a tall, elegant ‘woman’ with a short bob cut of blonde hair and a very expensive floral print silk dress. I held out my hand and it was engulfed by a large mitt with expertly painted nails. “I’m Cathy.”

“Prudence,” said the slightly masculine voice, “but most people who get to meet me, call me Pru.”

“Pleased to meet you, Pru.” I squeezed the handshake back.

“And I, you. I saw that film you made of dormice and longed to meet you in person.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you she was a groupie of yours, did I?” Norma said from behind me.

“Darling, you’re embarrassing our lovely guest,” responded Pru and I did blush. How could they not know my history? But somehow they didn’t, and unless it came up in conversation, I felt no need to explain or apologise. Been there done that, if you missed it–tough cheese. No, I’d try and keep the conversation, except about the committee, to polite feminine stuff and try and treat Pru as if she were an ordinary woman.

Well, I knew it was going to be an interesting evening, just not quite how interesting.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2029 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The meal was very nice, though I refrained from any alcohol and declined an overnight stay. Drink isn’t that important to me. Instead I had an elderflower presse, which was delicious.

We chatted about our work, our families–mine with myriad children–got a few curious looks. The Harringtons were much more conventional, two point four children and a lop eared rabbit. They had two daughters who were familiar with their father’s ‘foible’ as Norma put it and who didn’t seem to be anything than normal. She welcomed it because, while he was a tartar in the board room, he was a pussy cat in the house and did much of the chores. He prepared and cooked the meal.

I tried to move things off my life, sticking to the dormouse film and my children to keep the probes off me.

“So you’re married to Simon Cameron? Sorry, I just twigged,” said Pru. “I’ve known him for years, though he’s calmed down in recent years and is an even tougher negotiator than he was. I remember telling him so after we’d agreed a deal–his bank was funding something or other–and he said, be careful or I’ll get the wife to negotiate the next deal, she makes me look like an amateur. Are you as fearsome as your reputation?”

I blushed to the roots of my hair. I also made a mental note to kill Simon at the first opportunity. The wife, indeed. “I don’t think so,” I managed to splutter.

“Wasn’t it you who stopped the equipment being stolen by that gang, the one with the huge bloke?”

“I thought we were going to discuss the university board?” I flung the largest spanner I could find into the direction of what I hoped was the works.

Either it wasn’t or my aim was worse than I thought because Norma said, “Goodness no, your crime fighting is so much more interesting.” I hope they don’t get onto the mysterious healer–then I will rush out screaming.

The upshot was we spent the next hour talking about one or two of the things I got involved in, including the timber thefts in the woodland. Then, I was exposed.

“It’s you on the you tube clip with the dormouse, isn’t it?” Pru had suddenly remembered it–don’t know why, I’d shown it at the beginning of my documentary and admitted it was me.

“Cathy wrote and directed that film,” Norma informed her spouse.

“What the you tube one?”

“No, you old tart, the dormouse documentary.”

“Ah, gotcha. Not just a pretty face, then?”

“Where d’you buy your dresses–that one has such a pretty pattern?” I tried to run some interference.

“This old thing?” said Pru.Ebay, I think.”

“It fits you very well,” I said trying to keep the conversation away from my Batman and Robin days.

“So it should,” said Norma, “he’s got padding round his bum, and a corselet thing, plus the bust padding.”

The use of the male pronoun annoyed me, the person sitting opposite me was presenting as female so I tried to accord them that status, at least when talking to them. “Don’t you find it rather warm?” I asked.

“The wig was the hottest bit, so I was glad to grow my own hair and be able to ditch it.”

“How d’you manage in ordinary life?”

“Oh I just slick it back with gel, look a bit like Heseltine.”

“Who?”

“Goodness, that makes me feel old, girl.” Pru looked sad for a moment. “Lord Heseltine, previously Michael Heseltine, a Tory cabinet minister and deputy Prime Minister, helped to bring down Thatcher.”

“That one I have heard of,” I confessed.

“Well seeing as they practically closed London to bury her a few weeks ago, you should have heard of her.”

“She didn’t do anything for women, did she?” I suggested, though my history was vague in this period, so I was repeating what I’d read in the Guardian. I suspect the Daily Telegraph would have had a different perspective.

“Unless you accept role model,” suggested Norma.

“Not one I’d follow,” I defended my original statement.

“She didn’t, pet,” agreed Pru.

Norma shrugged. She looked at her watch, “We’d better do the business stuff as Cathy has to get home.”

“Very well, why don’t you adjourn to the study and I’ll bring you in some coffees?”

“Thank you, darling. This way, Cathy.”

For the remaining hour of my visit, we drank very mellow Columbian coffee and discussed the board of the university. It seemed that the majority were men who saw women as unwelcome intruders, except the vice chancellor–the ex-bishop who considered quotas important and enforced them. Consequently, there were two women and eight men on the board, plus the vice chancellor. I suppose without the quota there’d be no women at all.

She showed me minutes and told me what really happened in the meeting–hardly recognisable from the minutes. I wasn’t sure I really wanted anything to do with this group of sociopaths whose primary aim appeared to be boosting their empires or egos.

“I was under the impression that many university types were lefties, you know paid up sandal wearing Guardian readers?”

“Ah, those with a genuine concern for improving young minds probably are. If they stick to teaching, they’re okay, once they see what everyone else is up to, they tend to resign and retire to a monastery to cultivate turnips or they succumb and join the capitalist elite, or think they have.”

“Which group were you in?” I asked candidly.

“I was a fence sitter who kept her ammunition dry until it suited me to take sides or fight both of them.”

I nodded.

“I like to think I kept my integrity, which meant I was frequently sidelined. It’ll happen to you as well; so pick your battles, girl and keep your integrity.”

“I feel less and less happy to be nominated–I just don’t like dealing with such a roomful of tossers.”

“Which is why you have to get the place.”

“But I’ll be a voice in the wilderness?”

“So, someone might hear you, and you can retaliate.”

“How?”

“Through the bank. Let them find out just who you are for themselves, once they do, they’ll become very attentive. If they mess you about, chuck your weight around, squash one or two as examples, the rest will respect you better.”

“No thanks, I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Talk to Simon, see if he can change your mind–we need independent thinkers on that board–and we need women. You fit both groups, so get on there and start to reform them, I’m sure with your bank experience you’ll be able to handle them quite easily–some of them fancy themselves as entrepreneurs. They couldn’t sell water in the desert, but you, I think, will whip them into shape, especially if they find out who you really are.”

At this point I just held my breath.

“The caped crusader–well okay, capes are passé, perhaps the pashmina crusader?”

I left there half an hour after this conversation, my head buzzing with the effects of the discussion, the meal and the coffee. It was a long drive home, but not in actual miles.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2030 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Simon was watching the end of some French film on Sky, Julie and Sammi were with him and all three were in tears–did I mention Simon isn’t always macho? “Tell him you love him, you daft cow,” Sammi called to the television.

“I love him,” I said but they all just scowled at me. I retreated to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and poured myself a cup trying to reflect on my conversation with Norma. I really didn’t think it was my scene at all. Simon finally appeared all red eyed and sniffing. “Been peeling onions, have we?”

“Ha ha, any more in that pot?” he asked. I nodded and he got himself a cup and I poured it for him. “How was your dinner?”

“The meal was delicious, her husband made it, he’s quite a good cook.”

“Meaning?” he asked looking for some hidden agenda–I began to see why he was good on committees and why I wasn’t.

“Just that–he’s a good cook. The chat afterwards with her was less satisfactory.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t think I’m designed for all this skulduggery.”

“Why not?”

“Well, she explained what went on in the meetings, how they’d tied things up before they met and how she was frequently sidelined or asked to make the tea. Once, apparently, when the secretary was absent they asked her to take the minutes making her less a participant in the meeting. She said the minutes she wrote were rewritten by someone else because she told the truth.”

“But this goes on all the time in committees.”

“Si, this is the management board of a university.”

“So? Wait until you have a few bank board meetings under your belt before you criticise too heavily.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for either of these, I think I’d best resign.”

“Before you do think why you’re supposed to be there.”

“Well, I’m on the bank’s board because my pa-in-law and my husband voted me on.”

“That’s how, tell me why?”

“Why you voted me on?” I felt a little confused.

“No, why you’re there.”

“I told you why, because you...”

“And I told you that was how you got there not why.” He got quite shirty with me.

“I don’t know what you mean, do I?”

“Okay, what would you do if you could at these meetings?”

“Give all the money back to the poor people from whom you extracted it.”

“Oh well the bank wouldn’t last long with you on the board would it?”

“At least I’d be able to sleep at night.”

“So why aren’t you–sleeping I mean?”

“I dunno, too much going round my head including these stupid board games.”

“Very good, yes, board games, I like it.”

It was an unconscious pun and I didn’t see it until he explained it.

“So what would you do, given a free hand?”

“Act with honesty to protect customers and shareholders alike, or in the case of the university, to protect the interests of both the university and its students.”

“Will you be able to achieve this without being on the board?”

“Not quite as powerfully.”

“So, do you still want onto the board?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, you can always resign, but try it for a couple of years first.”

“What about my teaching commitment?”

“That’s unimportant...”

“To you, perhaps. To me, it’s vital.”

“Look, do you prefer to talk to the organ grinder or the monkey?”

“That’s silly.”

“No it isn’t.”

“As a board member you are entrusted with representing the groups who elected you.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was elected to the bank board.”

“You weren’t you were appointed by the meeting, so the board elected you.”

“So who do I represent then?”

“The planet. It’s up to you keep us on the environmental straight and narrow.”

“Oh.”

“And to do as I tell you.”

“Phweerrrp,” I blew him a raspberry.

He smiled, “Isn’t reverse psychology fun with adolescents?”

I was tempted to kick his shins and hard but smiled beatifically instead–it confused him.

“What about the university?” I asked.

“The same–you have power to vote against things.”

“One against eight or nine–that’ll make a difference.”

“It will if they’ve previously been unanimous. It’ll show in the minutes.”

“Not necessarily. Norma said the minutes weren’t anything like accurate.”

“So you vote against them at the next meeting.”

“Won’t they just see me as a trouble maker?”

“You won’t make any friends, but unless that was your intention, you’ll be staying honest and keeping your integrity. I suspect they’re important to you.”

“They are.”

“Good–you’re still the same innocent I married, so if my money and sexual magnetism couldn’t corrupt you, then these boards won’t.”

I nearly fell off my chair laughing. He pretended to be hurt for a moment but then he joined me in laughing. Julie and Sammi came out to wish us goodnight. Julie seemed disgusted with her dad. “How can you sit there laughing after that film?”

“Which film was it?”

“Some Frog thing with subtitles.”

“Ah, that’s why your eyes were red, straining them to read the subtitles?”

“Yep.”

“But it was sooo sad,” said Sammi almost starting to sniff again.

“Yeah, they all died,” said Julie.

“We weren’t laughing at your film, sweetheart, we were talking.”

“A likely story–you just don’t like the French, do you?”

“I have nothing against the French, even if Danny might.”

“Oh. Oh okay, we’re off to bed,” she bent over and pecked us both on the cheek. Then they went off up the stairs talking quietly except I could still hear them.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Have you met Norma Harrington?”

“I can’t remember, I could have.”

“I’ve a good mind to invite them for dinner.”

“Fine, better check with Tom though.”

“He won’t mind he knows her, has done for years.”

“Who’s them?”

“Her and her husband.”

“Okay. Wednesday is a good night for me.”

“If I tell you something in confidence will you keep it secret?”

“Is it where Shirgar is buried?”

“He ended up in two tons of lasagne in Tesco, I told you that years ago.”

“So you did–so what’s this mighty big secret.”

“I’m going to invite Norma’s husband in his alter ego.”

“Who is he, spiderman?”

“No, nothing so bizarre.”

“Fine, invite away.” He looked at me, “He’s not a transsexual is he?”

“No.”

“Fine, invite away.”

“He’s transvestite.”

“Well it’s not like our kids aren’t used to a bit of gender swapping–yeah it’s fine with me as long as he doesn’t resemble a pantomime dame.”

“He doesn’t, he’s actually rather elegant with a good dress sense.”

“I won’t fancy him, will I?”

“You’d better not,” I glowered which caused him to snigger.

“I’ll send her an email.” I rose from the table and went to my study, checked my diary and found the address she’d given me earlier and sent a message inviting her and Prudence (tell her to wear her best dress) to dinner next Wednesday evening.

I happened to be checking some in my in box when I got a reply.

‘Prudence and I would be delighted to visit your home next Wednesday evening, she’s already jumping up and down saying she needs a new dress–bloody women!’

It made me smile.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2031 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

A new day dawned–allegedly–and Messrs Humphrys and Evans were filling my auditory senses with facts and figures from the Commons’ Accounts Committee. At times I wonder if I’m actually living in Bongo-bongo land, the things that these committees come up with. They showed Amazon to be a bunch of tax avoiders, looks like Google aren’t much better, saying everything is based in Ireland and thus not subject to UK tax laws–except they sell far more in the UK than in bloody Ireland. No wonder there’s more millionaires in London than any other city on the earth–they all probably pay their taxes in Ireland–you know, the Celtic Tiger across the sea that went tits up when someone examined the books–oh and it rains there even more than over here.

If I sound anti-Irish, I’m not–well not really. Simon has gone on ad nauseum about their banking habits–all of them bad, and I was bullied by an Irish girl when I was at Sussex.

It’s funny, I haven’t thought about her for ages, pity I couldn’t have sustained the amnesia. Her name was Kelly, Kelly O’Malley I think. She was small with very dark hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She was absolutely beautiful, but like some beautiful objects all her niceness was on show, inside she had a heart of pure stone and a malicious streak a mile wide. She could be cruel for the sake of it and it explained why some of her countrymen are still fighting wars through terrorist activities that no one else wants. But it only takes a minority to do nasty things and everyone becomes involved, willingly or otherwise.

Before I decided to try cycling as a source of exercise and fitness–including trying to keep my waistline–I thought about doing aerobics. Kelly was the secretary for the Aerobic Exercise club. I saw her in the refectory one day and went up to her. The conversation went something like this.

“Are you Kelly from the aerobics club?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I thought about trying it to keep fit.”

She seemed to look me up and down.

“Are you that thing from the biology department?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Can’t make her mind up if she’s male or female.”

“What?”

“You heard, now piss off, there’s a good girl–we don’t need your sort.” She turned her back and waltzed off sniggering. I was left there nearly in tears.

“Wossup, Charlie?” asked Denise, a fellow student from the biology department.

“Nothing,” I said trying to hold back the tears.

“You weren’t trying to chat up the banshee, were you?”

“Who me?”

“No of course not–you don’t do girls, do you?”

“Nor boys,” I added quickly.

“Pity, I’m sure there’d be plenty who’d find you attractive–you’da made a pretty girl, Charlie. You’ve got lovely hair, too.”

My locks were growing again–I’d tried to go straight when I went off to Sussex, cut my hair quite a bit shorter, but not entirely so, it was only down to my shoulders not half way down my back as it had been.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, why were you talking to the banshee?”

“Is that what they call her?”

“That’s the polite name.”

“What are the others then?” I was intrigued.

“I’m not saying, they’d drum me out of the Ranger Guides if I did.”

“I didn’t know you were in the Guides, Denise.”

“Why, d’you want to join?”

“I–er think there might be problems with that.”

“Yeah, they have girl scouts but no boy guides–pity, you might have started a trend, though they’d never have noticed with you. Have you ever thought about wearing makeup and dresses?”

I blushed.

“Ooh, so you have–don’t worry, your secret is safe with me–if you pay for the cuppas.” Blackmail in one so young.

That conversation was thankfully interrupted by several more of our lot coming over for lunch. We were doing dissections–not my favourite form of pastime, tracing the nervous system of dogfish or playing with the brains of a rat. However, I was very good at preparing slides and at one point I was almost making it an industry, selling slides to my colleagues, mainly the boys, who were too heavy handed or lazy to do their own. Dr Cobham, our lecturer in microscopy knew what was going on–it happened most years. “Why is it always some girl who’s good at doing it and not one of the boys?” When I overheard that, I began to wonder if he knew something or if he was as myopic as they said. However, put a microscope in his hands and he was brilliant–publish dozens of papers on techniques and staining slides. Nowadays, you don’t even have to draw what you see, just attach it to a computer and you can make as many images as you like and alter them to show the best light. In my day, it was drawing or if you were wealthy enough, a special adapter for a SLR camera. Okay, so I had one of those too.

Fortunately, Tom doesn’t know about my murky past in microscopy or he’d be asking me to do the basic stuff with the first years–how can they come on a biology course without knowing anything about it? Just thought, if I’m a reader not just a lecturer, then I won’t have to teach first years–just keep an eye on post grad students. You know stop them selling off the department’s computers to pay for a round of drinks or a worse habit.

There is a footnote to Kelly O’Malley’s story, she got herself up the duff to one of the professors, or so it was rumoured and being a good Catholic girl, she couldn’t have a termination–except she wasn’t good and did pay a visit to some quack in Brighton over a weekend. However, her parents got to hear of it, and they were devout–she was taken home the next weekend and never heard from again. I think she was an architecture student–so if there’s a niche for designing torture chambers–she’s probably filling it. The foetus she lost probably had a lucky escape.

I eventually tore myself from my bed and the radio and nipped into the shower in the hope that it was only the dirt that was keeping my eyelids closed. It turned out it wasn’t, they felt as tired as they did before I got all wet and soapy. I dried off and went back to the bedroom–Simon was still in bed. Had he died in the night and I hadn’t noticed?

“Finished?” he asked and got out of bed with the biggest–too much information, I know.

“You don’t normally wait for me to finish.”

“You don’t normally get up at seven o’clock on a Saturday.”

“Shit–is it Saturday?”

“All day, babes.”

I sat on the side of the bed and felt like weeping–I could have had another hour in bed.

‘...And in the Giro d’Italia, Mark Cavendish won his fourth stage and his one hundred and first win. On to the racing...”

Oh good, something’s going okay then, the Manx Missile is back on song.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2032 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

So after all the hype, Wiggo is out of the Giro–oh well, better luck next time. The weekend went by in a blur–they always seem to, is it possible for time to run faster on weekends? I suppose if I were working in a shop or factory where I had to work on a Saturday or a Sunday, or heaven forefend, both; would I see the weekends in the same light, and would the time drag or fly?

David had the weekend off so guess who got to do the cooking? Wrong, we went out on the Saturday and on the Sunday, we went out again, just for a change. The Sunday was a traditional roast dinner with a couple of vegetables. It was a disaster. I mean, how do you mess up a roast dinner? Somehow, they had and in return got black looks and even blacker reports.

I had never seen Simon so angry with something as mundane as a meal. Had the manager been a bloke, I honestly think Si would have punched his lights out. Instead we had a reduction of the bill. Mind you it was pretty dire, and to think we could have gone down the road to a Harvester and had a carvery meal, it would have cost less and tasted better–or better still, next time I’ll cook. It’ll be cheaper and the quality will be good. We’d have had a better dinner at a transport cafe.

So suddenly, it was Sunday evening and I was thinking about what I had to do in work tomorrow–plenty. I had to sort out cover for my lecture and tutorial groups for next term. Usually this was the head of department’s job, but being promoted to reader meant I could share some of the admin. At least in the States I’d have been called an assistant professor–but then that gets a bit like Hogwarts, where everyone was a professor. What would I be? Professor of dormouse juggling and protection from the dark exams? I wanted to laugh out loud but then they’d think I was enjoying this.

Monday was really busy, apart from the retimetabling I was doing for different members of staff–which was a bit like a three dimensional chess game–shifting my own stuff seemed to have lower priorities and suddenly I felt like the headmistress of a large school–oh, if so and so isn’t available, I’ll cover that one. But I couldn’t, I had to keep time available for the university management board meetings, and they went on all morning, especially when budgets were being discussed–riveting stuff, yawn.

“Norma steps down in July and I take up the position from then. Officially the board only meets every couple of months unless there’s some crisis–like tuition fees isn’t one?–or it’s required to for some specific objective. It’s very unlikely and the board meets once during the summer vacation, which is when I expected to take up my position and replace Norma–if voted in.

Simon and Tom thought it was a very good move by the dean, and when I spoke with Henry, he agreed. He thought it an excellent time to do it and the bank board as it would enable me to borrow from each to inform the other. That sounded good in theory–but then most things do until you try to put them into practice. He also offered to loan me a book on running meetings. Apparently they should all follow certain protocols and what item of order has primacy over another. I knew the old one, point of order takes precedence over most things and that a point of information was very secondary but still a good way of affecting a meeting unless you do it too often and the chairman overrides it. I would have to try and keep a sense of balance and only disrupt those things I thought were very important. The first time I did it would be vitally important because it would set the scene for the rest of my time on the board–in periods of three years.

Three years–bloody hell, I’d have got less for murder from the Metropolitan police, they’d have probably let me off with a caution if the victim was black or gay or a woman.

When I got home on the Monday evening, I spoke with David about the meal for the Wednesday. I wanted something really nice.

“How about lobster, could do you a nice thermidor?”

“Ugh–I don’t want to eat something that was still alive when it went into the water.”

“That counts out crab as well then.”

“I don’t like crab anyway, or lobster if it comes to that.”

“Oysters?”

“God, they’re still alive when you eat them?”

“So is salad.”

“I don’t think cucumber has quite the same sensory equipment as a lobster.”

“Don’t you believe it, I’ve heard them scream when I sliced them for cucumber sandwiches.”

“I suppose the bread yelled a bit as well?” I added sarcastically.

“Only until the oven gets so hot it dies.”

“At this rate we’ll be having stale bread and water.”

“It’s cheap,” he smirked, “in this age of austerity.”

“Bugger that, I want a really nice meal, now either you’re going to cook one or I’ll do it my bloody self.”

“Poultry or game?”

“Do a salmon, a whole one or two if we need it.”

“Okay, starter?”

“Something light–um–pate?”

“Yeah–fine.”

“On thin toasted bread.”

“Sounds good.”

“Pudding–lemon and strawberry roulade.”

“Lovely.”

“Cheese board afterwards?”

“That would be good–though I hope I’ll be too full to indulge.”

“Nuffin’ like a good bit o’Cheddar,” he joked and I asked him to arrange some of that, a blue cheese and a soft one such as Brie.

“Wine?”

“You’re always accusing me of doing that,” I joked.

“I didn’t know you were a homophone,” he riposted.

“Only until I become a grammar,” I replied. We both laughed and then I killed him. Nah, he got away with being hanged, drawn and quartered but not on the same day.

The meal that evening was infinitely better than the Sunday roast had been and Simon actually smiled after eating it. It was braised steak with new potatoes and three vegetables. He said he enjoyed it and complimented David on a good meal.

David, who was in a funny mood, teased him and nearly got sacked. He told Simon that he’d come to an agreement with me whereas he’d only work Mondays to Fridays in future. Simon was not amused and David had to apologise. It was the first time that I saw a difference between family and employed persons, even though I’d tried to keep everyone in one bunch and called it, family. That faintly disturbed me–a year or two ago it would have greatly disturbed me–had I changed? I supposed I must have.

While the others were busy chatting after their meal, I was deep in thought. Had I changed, and by how much? Was it an evolutionary thing? By that I meant was I changing by growing into the role of a laird’s wife and also that of a university director teacher and bank director. Did it mean I was becoming removed from everyday people and thus decisions about them? That worried me considerably because I felt that once I saw individuals as simply numbers–they’d lose their humanity or I’d lose mine and they’d become collateral damage as the military terms it when some have to be sacrificed for the greater good. It’s peculiar how that always works in the favour of the power firing the bullets or dropping the bombs.

I had a feeling it could be a long night.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2033 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

My worries about it being a long night were wrong, I slept like a baby and woke the next day feeling fine. In fact I woke about ten minutes before the alarm started and thus was awake enough to hear the news headlines before going to shower. So the Tories were going to self destruct over gay marriage. I didn’t understand the problem, and I suspect most of them don’t either.

Marriage is surely an institution entered into by two people who wish to spend their lives legally bound to each other, why should it be about procreation of children? I knew several married couples who didn’t want children or couldn’t have them: so are their marriages invalid? It’s all fundamentalist guff by small minded types who don’t have enough real problems to deal with. I can’t honestly think of any reason why any two people shouldn’t be married provided they are both entering into it freely and cognisant of what they were doing.

It seems that in Iraq, dozens of people have been killed or injured by sectarian violence. This is Moslem killing Moslem and as pathetic as Christians killing each other a thousand years ago–they need to grow up and examine what they’re doing to each other–that must be breaking some code of Islamic belief–such as, ‘One drop of blood of an innocent is worth more than whole armies of believers ,’ or words to that effect. Who do these people think they are killing but bystanders who are probably innocents.

The world has gone mad, people are dying for all sorts of stupid reasons beside natural or manmade disasters. A top woman politician has been murdered in Pakistan, Hezbollah are supposedly helping Assad in Syria and in France some bloke is accused of killing his own children by cutting their throats. I really don’t understand how someone can do that to anyone’s child let alone their own. Oh and in Wales, April’s disappearance is still being debated in a court as the man accused of abducting and murdering her says he didn’t abuse or touch her and he can’t remember what he did with the body–what a bastard, not even allowing her parents to bury the body–so they won’t be able to let go and get on with their lives.

I tried to calm down and got on with waking up the girls and other denizens of the little house on the prairie before making my way downstairs to start sorting breakfast. Bramble had obviously upset Kiki and was now in fear for her life as the spaniel chased her up and down the kitchen until my patience could stand it no longer and I shouted. They each ran off in different directions. I’ve noticed the children do the same when I get cross.

Julie came down and made some teas while I went back upstairs to see where the girls were–squabbling over some article of clothing. I shouted again and they squealed–they were so busy arguing they didn’t hear my approach. It seemed to resolve the problem and they ran downstairs ahead of me. Was I in a funny mood? I wasn’t sure. I thought I’d started the morning calmly enough but listening to the news had sort of set me off.

I tried to understand it. It was triggered by the stupidity of my fellow man and their inhumanity to each other. We have enough difficulty surviving in a hostile world full of things which want to harm us–so why do we have to up the ante by killing each other? Life is so short, how dare someone deign to shorten it for their own heinous reasons. I felt like cursing all the wicked people on this earth then let go the idea as being unrealistic. A curse would imply some power on my part and a belief in afterworlds–I didn’t believe in either, so kept my silly idea to myself–I don’t have a candle, a bell and a book either–which according to the Jackdaw of Rheims, I’d need. Are Anglican curses any different to Catholic ones? Are they a waste of time? Probably.

“Mummy, we’re going to be late,” Livvie poked and prodded me and I came out of my reverie and snatched up my coat, bag and keys then led the dash to the car. The sun was trying to shine but it was actually raining–the day wasn’t becoming any clearer. It felt as ambiguous as everything else. Life was acting rather strangely or my perception of it was.

I got the children to school and instead of going to work, I phoned in sick and went home–then back to bed. Catherine decided to join me and we had a lovely cuddle before we both fell asleep.

I woke an hour later, the baby had gone. Presumably she hadn’t fallen down the stairs or they’d have woken me. I pulled on some clothes again, brushed my hair which wanted to stand on end, and went downstairs.

“Are you okay?” asked Stella who’d been chatting to David and Ingrid.

“I really don’t know–it’s just everything has felt strange since I got up this morning.”

“You haven’t got up yet ya daft bugger.”

“What d’you mean?” I asked but was interrupted by the radio which announced it was seven o’clock and the news headlines were... Weird or what?

I staggered out of bed and into the shower hoping this was not a dream, or I’d be doing an update of Groundhog Day. The water cascaded over my body and I felt it beginning to wake me up. Had I dreamt all the rest? It certainly seemed like it. I roused the children and dried my hair. I wasn’t sure I felt rested exactly, but things weren’t going to get better so I had to get on with it.

I supervised the girls showering and left them to dress warning them not to be late–they weren’t, although I had to tidy up their hair when they came down for their breakfasts.

Danny seemed very grumpy this morning and I asked him what the problem was. He told it me it was nothing. I wasn’t convinced but left him to it. If he wanted to talk he knew I was prepared to listen–he didn’t so I couldn’t.

He went off to school just before we did, that is the girls and I. I’d not long got to work when Stella called on my mobile. “Where’s Danny?”

“In school.”

“Not according to his school, he hasn’t been going there for a week–and seeing as they hadn’t received a note of any sort, they were getting worried.”

“But he went off to school, did his homework last night–what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, he’s obviously going somewhere, but where is anyone’s guess.”

“He’s not at the library?”

“I don’t know and I can’t just drop everything to go and look, Cathy.”

“Okay, I’ll pop across and take a gander.”

I told Pippa what was going on and drove over to the central library. I checked everywhere he could be except the gents toilet. He wasn’t there. I called his mobile and it was switched off. Where the hell was he and what was he up to?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2034 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I sat worrying in the car. Where could Danny be and why was he skipping school? I suspected it had something to do with the French visit but without speaking to him, I could only speculate.

More out of desperation than anything else, I drove over to Peter’s house. His mother answered the door, “Oh, how nice to see you; do come in.” I stepped into the house.

“Have you seen Danny?” I asked her.

“He came in yesterday and they did some homework together.”

“Did you not find it strange that he came during school time?”

“No he said he had permission.”

“How is Peter?”

“Up and down, still can’t decide if he’s a boy or a girl.”

“Is he getting therapy?”

“Oh yes, every week–don’t know if it’s helping that much–it can’t undo what happened and his reaction to it.”

“If Danny should turn up again, please call me on this number and keep him here until I collect him.”

“He’s not in trouble is he?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t been in school for the past week.”

“Oh dear, he’s such a nice boy.”

“He is, I’d best get back to searching for him.”

“Good luck,” she called as I trotted down the drive to my car and set off again. I drove to the school, it only took a few minutes. Once there I asked to speak to the headmaster and he told me he only knew as much as I did, that Danny hadn’t been there for the whole week. They’d asked his friends where they thought he might be but none of them said they had any idea and assumed he was off sick.

I tried to drive in a circle around the school, slowly increasing the diameter as I went. I had no idea where I was going, but just hoping to either spot him or pick up his energy. An hour later, I had to abandon my search and I passed a small cafe. Just up the road I spotted a parking place and thought a cuppa and sandwich might help.

I walked briskly down to the cafe and pushed open the door, ordered a pot of tea and tuna salad sandwich on wholemeal bread, paid for it and then looked around for a table. I nearly died, sitting in a corner was Danny–I was sure it was Danny. He hadn’t spotted me, but then he was looking at something on the table. I indicated I’d use the table he was occupying and before he could run off, I closed in on my quarry.

He hadn’t seen me when I dumped my bag on the table. The look on his face was priceless. “Mum?” he gasped.

“I think we have something to discuss.”

“Um–can it wait until we get home?”

“What so you can have time to invent an excuse?”

“Um–no, I’ll explain everything.”

“Have you eaten?”

He looked sheepish and there was an empty packet of crisps lying beside and empty glass. He shrugged.

“Would you like something to eat?”

He nodded, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. “Sorry, Mum.”

“We’ll talk in the car afterwards, have something to eat now.”

“Okay,” he said sniffing back the tears.”

I ordered him a plate of egg and chips, which I knew he’d enjoy and still keep his appetite for dinner. They arrived the same time as my sandwich and tea and he tucked in with gusto. If anything it was I who didn’t really feel like eating but I forced the sandwich down and followed it with a couple of cups of tea.

At about half past one we walked back to the car, Danny walking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. I checked we were okay to stay there then decided we’d go up onto the downs and chat there. Even though no one could overhear us on the street, I decided there were too many distractions and we drove up to the downs.

We parked in a viewpoint and I switched off the engine. “Okay, young man, perhaps you’d care to explain why you’re not in school?”

“I got picked on.” He stared out through the windscreen refusing to look at me or engage any eye contact.

“Picked on?” I queried.

“Yeah, it seems some of the Neanderthals hadn’t heard about what Peter did to himself or the business in France. They decided I must be queer too and they’ve been making my life hell for the past two weeks.”

“Tell the school.”

Tears were beginning to flow down his cheeks, “That’s a waste of time–they don’t care.”

“It doesn’t matter if they care or not they have a legal obligation to try and prevent bullying.”

“D’you know the names of the boys bullying you?”

“No,” he said rather too quickly for it to be true.

“So what d’you want me to do?”

“I dunno,” another tear trickled down his cheek.

“You went to see Peter.”

“Yeah, he’s not sure what he wants or what he is anymore.”

“Not a nice place to be.”

“No.” Another drop fell of his cheek onto his lap.

“Is that how you feel?”

He shrugged.

“Do you want to see Stephanie again?” He hadn’t been to her for a couple of weeks.

“What for, it’s pointless.”

“It will be if that’s what you think about it before you go. I can always find another therapist for you. Would you prefer to talk to a man?”
“No,” he said very loudly.

“I appreciate how difficult this must be for you...”

“How can you? You don’t know what I’m feeling.” Then before I could say anything he jumped out of the car and walked away. I stayed there feeling totally crushed, he was absolutely right, I had no idea what was going through his mind.

I watched as he stood looking down over Portsmouth to the Solent, his shirt sleeves rippling in the breeze. He must have been cold but I couldn’t say anything, not for the moment at least.

He probably stood there for ten or fifteen minutes before he turned and walked back to the car, getting in without saying anything. “Home?” I asked and he nodded. I drove us home. The tears were still streaming down his face and his eyes were all red. As soon as he got in the house he ran up to his room and I heard the door shut.

“What was all that about?” asked Stella.

“I don’t know, I haven’t got to the bottom of it yet.”

“France?”

“I honestly don’t know, Stel, when I do, I’ll let you know.”

“You gonna collect the girls?”

I glanced at the clock, “Oh shit, I’ll have to dash.” I did just that, running to the car and charging down the drive in it trying to avoid the censure of two eight year olds and a seven year old. Of course I got stuck in road works that hadn’t been there that morning and I was late arriving. Trish immediately criticised me and Livvie wasn’t far behind.

I burst into tears, whatever I did seemed to go wrong.

“Don’t cwy, Mummy, we stiww woves you.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2035 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I sat in the car and wept for several minutes, Trish and Livvie staying rather quiet with only Mima trying to comfort me. Eventually, I calmed down, dried my eyes and managed to drive home. The three wise monkeys in the back all decided to speak no evil, or anything else for that matter.

“What’s the matter?” asked Stella as I plodded along behind the children, she’d obviously spotted my red eyes.

“Oh nothing, I just feel a total failure.”

“Yeah, people who have more degrees than most of us have brain cells, run a household only slightly smaller than the White House, and been a mother to half a dozen very damaged children and at least three needy adults, and looked after ten zillion students and twice as many dormice–yeah, you’re definitely a failure.”

“You forgot crime fighter, healing angel and general good guy,” said David who looked as if he was doing something very tricky with pastry.

“Actress and inspirational speaker and teacher,” said Jacquie.

“You must introduce me to this fantasy figure you all seem to know, I need to change,” and I escaped their attempt to cheer me up. I went upstairs and changed out of my working clothes, a trouser suit from Debenhams designer collection, and slipped into jeans and a sweat shirt. It struck me as crazy that I’d gone through so much to be able to wear a skirt when I wanted to and then nearly always wore trousers.

I could hear the girls talking in their bedroom, but I crept past them and up to Danny’s room. He was lying on his bed listening to music and I sat down beside him. “If there’s room for two failures on there, shift over.”

He looked at me with a bemused expression and I lay down on the bed with him. After a short while he snuggled into me and I put my arm round him and felt him rather than saw him, weeping silently. I gently stroked the back of his neck and cooed to him. “You know we all love you whoever or whatever you seem to think you are, or want to be. It doesn’t matter to us, your family–we accept you as you accepted us. No one is alone in this family or household, we all love and protect each other.”

He sniffed, wiped his nose and said, “I know, Mummy.”

“One of the things we can never say often enough is, I love you. So, young Daniel, I love you as my child.”

“I love you too, Mummy–I’m sorry.”

“Hush now, just lie quietly and relax, my child.” He adjusted his position and I heard him yawn, a little later he gave a little shudder and I think drifted off to sleep. In a couple or so weeks, he’d be a teenager, an adolescent officially and here he was acting like a much younger child because he was frightened or insecure and presumably reverting to behaviour which felt safe. I was here as his doting mum so he was safe to revert for a short comforting period. I looked at my watch, it was half past four.

About six o’clock, Jacquie came looking for me. I’d nodded off myself but had been awake for about ten minutes trying not to think of anything, because as soon as I did, my mind would be filled with all the problems we seemed to have at present, and I had more important things to do–comforting Danny was one of them.

“Oh there you are, Mummy, Daddy’s phoned from the station. They’re going to be late, some problem with the train, so we should go ahead with dinner and they’ll get home as soon as they can.”

“Is David ready to serve?”

“Fifteen minutes, he said.”

“Okay, round up the rest will you and make sure they wash their paws. I’ll deal with sleeping beauty.”

She sniggered and went to sort out the girls.

“C’mon, Prince Charming, Cinderella needs to go to the loo.”

Danny stirred and looked at me in surprise, then he obviously remembered that he’d fallen asleep cuddling me, blushed and rubbed his eyes. I meanwhile slipped from my supporting position and rose up off the bed and stretched lazily.

“C’mon, kiddo, dinner’s ready.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Fine only eat half a ton, then.”

He chuckled at that and I smacked his bum and told him to get up and wash his face and hands. I went off to my en suite and did the same, probably wiping off makeup on my towel–but so what? When I looked in the mirror, I remembered I hadn’t put any on that morning–the towel was saved.

Danny followed me down the stairs, we were both yawning and still tired despite our naps. David had made a pile of turkey and vegetable pasties in puff pastry, plus creamed potato and salad. It looked and smelt delicious. Despite my lack of appetite I was determined to try one of the pasties.

Danny really was off his food, he only managed to eat four of the pasties, the girls all had one with creamed spud and salad and I had pretty much the same. They were really tasty and I put half a dozen into the slow oven of the Aga to keep them warm for Si and Sam. Twenty minutes after they’d arrived, I was placing the empty plates and dishes in the dishwasher and Simon was looking pleased with himself after eating his fill and drinking a glass of Guinness.

“That was good, babes,” he said before sipping his stout and burping.

“Save your compliments for David, he made them.”

“I know, but you set the menu.”

I could have lied and agreed with him but I chose to tell the truth, “Only when there’s something special coming up or he’s not available.”

“What, you’re skimping in your wifely duties?”

“Yeah, wanna make something of it?”

“Not at all,” he said blushing and possibly sensing I wasn’t up to joking. I made some fresh tea and Stella took hers off to the lounge–she’d suddenly discovered discretion, or was there something she wanted to watch on the telly?

“Okay, what’s bothering you?” asked Simon checking there were none of the others about. I got up and closed the kitchen door, a sign I didn’t want to be disturbed. I told him about Danny and he shook his head slowly. “What should we do with him?”

“With him, I think treat him as normal but give him some extra love; what we should do for him–I think we need some advice there. He’s very insecure and unsure of himself. He even missed a football match in school on Tuesday evening.”

“Oh, want me to go and talk with him–male solidarity, an’ all that?”

“No, just let him be.”

“Last time we did that he tried to hang himself if you recall?”

“I don’t think I shall ever forget it, darling. I have great faith in him not trying something like that this time.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“I can’t be sure of anything, but I didn’t sense despair in him, more confusion and fear of what conclusions could bring.”

“What, you mean if he’s a poo...gay, you mean?”

“Simon, I don’t care what he is, I’m his mother and I’ll love him come what may.”

“Don’t you think that applies to fathers as well?”

“No I don’t think that at all, I believe you’ll love him unconditionally as well, but in telling him so you’ll probably cause him to run off to a Trappist monastery, he’ll feel so embarrassed.”

“That good, eh?”

“It’s his birthday next month, he’ll be thirteen, what should we get him?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“You were a thirteen year old boy–once.”

“Twice actually.”

“What?”

“I did a lap of honour at twenty six–but that was before you knew me.”

“I think I’m rather glad it was.” This discussion could take some time.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2036 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I slept fitfully that night having discussed Danny with Simon until he fell asleep. It makes me cross that he can talk about very important things and then close his eyes and sleep as if he wipes his memory banks until the morning, whereas I toss and turn until exhaustion knocks me out. Such was my night and I suppose I eventually zonked in the wee sma’ ’oors. I know I was tired when the radio reminded me there was a world out there and despite my best efforts to keep it out there, it was knocking on my doors and demanding entrance.

It took a shower to wake me enough to focus my eyes on anything further away than about two feet. My eyesight is excellent, but my eyes felt like they’d been lubricated with carborundum. When the water suddenly ran cold I shrieked and nearly fell out of the shower. That certainly woke me up. The water then ran warm again but by that time I was standing on the bath mat and drying myself.

Dressing quickly I roused the girls and after supervising their showers, I set them off to dry and dress. I checked on Danny, he was lying in bed reading a Gaby book, which worried me a little. “You can stay home today but I’ll phone the school and get them to email me some work for you to do.”

“Okay,” he said without the slightest hint of enthusiasm.

“There’s nothing to stop you having breakfast with the rest of us, you know?”

“Are you working today, Mummy?”

“I have to do this morning–exam invigilation, why?”

“I wondered if we could have a bike ride together.”

“You’re supposed to be in school.”

“I know but sometimes going for a ride helps me to think, and I thought we could talk.”

“I’ll see; I have to go.”

After dropping the girls off I went to work and took my laptop and some work to do while I sat and watched a hall full of sweaty undergraduates wrestle with the papers and their consciences–they wouldn’t have to if they’d spent as much time working as they did down at the union. We try to support students with any sort of learning disability with the exception of laziness, the most common form.

It was a boring morning, and I spent half the time trying to stay awake, walking up and down between the rows of tables to try and energise my body–it wasn’t cooperating. Finally, the pinger went–I take my kitchen timer in with me–and I called for pens to be put down and papers checked for identifying names and numbers. Can you believe people forget to put them on everything they hand in.

At twelve thirty I’d sealed the papers into a large envelope and signed through the seal, then collected up my stuff, took the exam papers over to the office and went home. I was shattered and the last thing I needed was a bike ride but Danny asked again and appeared to have done all the work I sent him via the school. We had a sandwich and a cuppa then changed and got the bikes out.

He checked the tyres and brakes after I showed him what to do and he also pumped up the tyres which needed a bit of air, then we were off and heading towards Portsdown hill. Why we went that way, I have no idea but I just followed him so when he grumbled later I could tell him it was his own fault.

I think I was puffing and panting more than he was–it felt like I was so out of condition–but pure bloody-mindedness kept my legs turning the pedals. It was with some relief that I saw him stop at a viewing place and get off his bike. Sadly the ice cream van wasn’t in evidence so we had to make do with the drinks in the bottles on the bike, otherwise known as water.

We sat on the seat with the bikes resting on the back of it watching the view over the Solent and the ships coming and going–it’s quite a busy stretch of water.

“Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Would you still love me if I were gay?”

My tummy flipped and my eyes welled up with tears. “Of course I would, so would Daddy and everyone else.”

I waited for him to speak again. It was some time later that he added: “I don’t know if I am or not.”

At twelve I certainly knew I had the wrong body but was in denial or partly so. I didn’t have a clue about my sexuality so I could believe he wasn’t sure either or still dealing with the potential ramifications. “Do you want someone to help you work it out?”

“I don’t know at the moment.”

“Okay–there’s no rush–you’ve got the rest of your life to find out.”

“The other boys in school think I am because of what Peter done, you know, to himself.”

I felt like saying that their opinions didn’t matter, but they did. They had the capacity to make his life a living hell or tolerable. I suspected the former was more likely but said nothing.

“Peter was very upset and I suspect he regrets what he did.”

“He told me he didn’t regret it, he was proud did it.”

What? Is the kid some sort of loony?

“If he starts seeing girls he might well regret it.”

“He is a girl.”

“I think it takes a bit more than an accident to your wedding tackle to make you a girl.”

He shrugged.

“I hope you’re not thinking of a similar accident?”

He went pale and flinched, “No way. I might be gay but I’m not a girl.” Was that a Freudian slip or a hypothetical? Does it matter? Not one bit–not to me–but it might to Danny.

He said nothing much more so we rode home and I changed my shoes and went to get the girls. It was the Friday of a bank holiday weekend and half term; they’d be like bottles of pop–of the shaken variety. Danny almost offered to come with me but I didn’t encourage it, once the girls were with us no serious conversation could really take place without them chipping in. Don’t get me wrong, I’d have loved to talked with him but not in front of the others as I wouldn’t any of the others in front of him.

It’s astonishing that adolescents have such thin skin yet hurl abuse at each other with joyful abandon, but then adolescence is such a paradoxical time with more than its fair share of ironies.

The girls got into the car, “You goin’ for a ride, Mummy?”

“Um–no, just got back from one.”

“May we do one?” asked Trish.

“During half term if it stays fine.”

“It better had,” threatened Trish–but unless she knows more powerful magic than I do–she was peeing in the wind.

I was so engrossed in what was going on with Danny that they all shouted because I’d driven past the house again without noticing. Blushing I turned the car round and took them home.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2037 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Siwwy Mummy, passed ouwa house,” chuckled Mima to Stella as we came into the house.

“Should we get a bigger sign?” she smirked at me.

“I was distracted,” I rested my case–well my handbag, actually.

“By a car load of banshees?”

“No they were quite good,” I wasn’t going to blame them for something they didn’t do.

“By what then?”

“I was thinking of a conversation I had earlier.”

“With whom?” she pressed.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Oh come off it, Cathy, who was it?”

“I’m going to shower,” I rushed from the room even though I’d have liked a cuppa. I didn’t bother. It was none of Stella’s business what went on between my children and me. My reticence might give her enough clues to guess but my lips were sealed until there was something she had to know.

Reaching my bedroom, Danny stopped me at the door and I invited him in and shut the door. I stripped off my top leaving me dressed in shorts and sports bra. “You’ve still got quite a good figure, Mum.”

“It used to be better, put on some weight recently,” I was being honest and as I was approaching thirty I suppose some of it was inevitable.

“You look better ’an Peter’s mum.”

“I think I’m younger than she is.” I hoped so, she looks about fifty.

“She’s thirty eight.”

“There you are then, she’s nine years older than me.”

“Yeah, but she looks like, twenty years older.”

“That’s a bit unkind, Dan.”

“Well she does.”

“She’s had a bit of worry recently.”

“Yeah, and you ’aven’t, you ’ad Billie die, you’ve been attacked by the mafia, dealt with Auntie Stella’s illnesses, looked after a whole pile of us and still coped with Dad’s snoring.”

“You can’t hear him can you?”

“Not very loud, but occasionally he sucks the drawers out of my tallboy.”

He looked quite serious and then he snorted and we both laughed like drains.

“One night it was so awful I told him to put a sock in it, he didn’t but I did.”

“You put a sock in Dad’s mouth?” his eyes were like dinner plates.

“Yes, don’t tell anyone.”

“What happened?”

“He woke up and snorted, and threw it on the floor and went back to sleep.”

“Did he snore again?”

“He might have done, I was asleep by then so didn’t notice.”

“How can you sleep through that?”

“It’s amazing what you can get used to.”

“I wonder if Peter is–you know–gettin’ used to–” he glanced at his groin and winced for a moment.

“Not everyone is worried about it,” I said smirking.

“Yeah, but you’re a girl, he isn’t–he’s an idiot.”

“I think he might come to regret it in time.” I knew he would, even if he were transsexual he’d be short of tissue to create a vulva and vagina. He’d be a bit like the hijira or eunuchs of India who usually ended up with a puckered piece of scar tissue through which they peed. Though I expect he’ll still remain a boy. In time they might be able to fashion some sort of replacement but it won’t be very functional, especially for sex.

“I’ll bet he does every time he goes for a pee.” Danny had a point, unless Peter was gender dysphoric and I didn’t feel he was particularly, in which case once you get used to it spraying everywhere, you feel quite proud each time you go for a wee after surgery as it confirms your new status to you and anyone else who wants to know. The only downside was finding jeans rather hard against a very tender spot for quite a while–though I wear them okay now.

“He’s going to need friends like you, you know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I can cope with being seen with him. They were calling me Danielle the maiden in school.” Tears began to run down his face. Being in a state of semi undress I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to hug him or not. In the end he almost fell into my arms and I held him while he wept. At one point I had tears running into my cleavage–not the most comfortable of sensations–but at least he didn’t try to wipe them up.

“Look, if you wish we can arrange to send to another school.”

“What, St Claires?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that especially unless you particularly wanted to go there.”

“What?” he looked at me as if I were crazy, “No way.”

“I was joking, you know?”

“Yeah, well it ain’t funny.”

“Sorry, it was you who suggested it.”

“No I wasn’t, I was saying I couldn’t go there.”

“They were talking about taking boys next year.”

“No way–if I went there they’d all be calling me a poofter.”

“You suggested they did anyway.”

“Yeah, but like then it would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”

“Only in your eyes. Despite my knowing what’s happened to you, I don’t think about you any differently than I did before.”

“Yeah, well you’re my mum.”

“True, but I don’t think I would anyway.”

“But you’re very tolerant anyway–you tolerate things I wouldn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Um–I can’t think at the moment.”

“Like Manchester United beating Chelsea?” I joked.

“Hey, we won last time.”

“I need to go and shower, so off you go–oh put some cold water on your eyes.”

“Yeah, okay.” He went to the door, “An’, Mum...”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thanks for bein’ there.”

I winked at him and he smiled as he left. In the shower I tried to work out what he was going through but it didn’t compute, I’ve been fortunate to have never been sexually assaulted; though I read an article about South Africa where girls of eleven expect to get raped at some point in their lives. That is both sad and disgraceful and with what seems to be happening in India at the moment, it seems this world is a very dangerous place for women.

I towelled myself dry and as I did my groin I was acutely aware of the conversation we’d just had and my thoughts spinning off it. I glanced in the mirror–I was proud of it, a cleft between my legs which gave me reasonably successful female status almost anywhere, unlike the previous incarnation of which I felt either shame or embarrassment. Thank goodness it evolved with a bit of help into this. I gave it one last glance before I pulled on some panties, yeah, I was proud of it.

“Mummy–oops, sorry.” Trish burst into my room as I was semi-naked. She dashed out just as quickly. I put my arms through my bra straps and then did up the clasp at the back–never quite understood how some people do it up and then slip their arms through. Mind you I do it the same way my mother did, when I was a small kid, I watched her several times–she thought I was asleep–even then I knew I’d end up wearing one.

I finished dressing and went and found Trish, all she wanted to say was that David had made some fresh ice cream for pudding. At eight years old, I suppose it might be quite important.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2038 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The ice cream which had excited Trish so much was delicious although I had a very small portion and my main course was quite moderate as well–it being one of my favourites–I recognised the sacrifice if no one else did, except David; the rest had their snouts too far in the trough to notice much at all.

The main course was a goulash, which I love and David makes an exquisite one which we had with Jersey Royal potatoes, spinach and baby carrots. I’m not that fond of spinach, it always makes me think of Popeye, but it’s supposed to be good for you and it’s in plentiful supply at the moment.

While we clearing up David came back for something and said, “You tryin’ to lose weight, girl?”

“Could do with losing a bit, the hills are getting steeper.”

He laughed then left going back over to his cottage which he shares with Ingrid and her daughter Hannah. Unfortunately, it’s not just a little weight gain that I need to reverse to get fit again, I also need to increase my exercise levels.

The mornings are light by half past four, so if I were to rise at six, I could do a ride and be back in time to organise the kids and then get off to work. Not sure if I really want to sacrifice an hour of sleep to get fit, but I can’t see any other way of doing it. I don’t have time at lunch or after school, and besides the roads are easier in the mornings.

The weather hasn’t been good, we’ve had the coldest spring for yonks, migrant birds are in small numbers and the dormice are later than usual. I don’t remember seeing many butterflies, so if the insects are down, it might be just as well the migrants who feed on them stay away as well. The thought that many might be perishing on their migration crossing deserts and so on, went through my mind.

I see Dr Brian May of Queen fame is campaigning against the proposed badger cull. I don’t think the government will listen, they’ve decided that the farmers tend to vote for them, and it’s a sop to the farmers. My opinion is the same as that of the Mammal Society, it’s a mistake and could well rebound as well as being unnecessarily cruel.

I never understand why we aren’t vaccinating cows and badgers which is surely the only way to diminish or eradicate the disease, the same with foot and mouth. The enemy is the disease not the wildlife and what happens after they’ve killed all the badgers? Are foxes and deer next, then bunnies and whatever else they can shoot?

Why do we always do everything arse backwards in this country? The government are a laughing stock but sadly even clowns can be dangerous.

I set my alarm for six and somehow struggled out of bed. I dressed and set off on the bike by twenty past and did a ten miler with a couple of climbs and was back just before seven, where upon my normal day started.

“You been riding?” asked Danny as I called him to get up.

“Yeah, why?”

“Can I come next time?”

“If you like.”

“Yeah, oh an’, Mum, why are we getting up so early, it’s half term, innit?”

I went and checked with the girls and he was right. Damn, I still had to go to work, so I set them chores each to be done by the time I got home. Trish and Danny were to help David in the kitchen, Mima was to help Jacquie look after Cate and Livvie had some furniture polishing to do. They all grumbled but agreed they’d do what they had to do which included some homework to be done by next week.

The sun was actually shining as I dressed for work, then realised it was a bank holiday–what is happening to me? I went in to check the dormice only to find Neal there. He didn’t look very happy.

He’d already done the dormice and other animals so I made us each a coffee. Sitting down I asked him what was wrong.

“Ever since the baby arrived, Glo hasn’t been interested in anything but the baby. She’s worn out at night so our sex life is null and void and I’m getting tired of it.”

“Sorry to hear that, I know when I took on Cate, life was strained especially with Simon, and he’s such a patient type.”

“I try to patient, Cathy, but it’s so bloody hard especially as I don’t get any attention at all these days.”

“She does cook for you?”

“Sometimes, but then there are days when she says she was too busy or too tired and the house looks like a tip. Thank goodness you took on Phoebe for us or I’d be in a mental hospital by now.”

“Would you like me to ask Phoebe to come over to babysit for you–could give you an hour or two to yourselves?”

“Nah, nice idea, but Glo and Pheebs don’t get on, so she’d be the last one she’d ask to babysit.”

“Give me a shout if you change your mind.” I rose to collect my stuff and leave when Neal asked how Danny was. “He’s having a few problems in school. You heard about the other boy who was assaulted?”

“I heard something about him cutting off his todger–that’s just gossip though, isn’t it?”

“He did a complete clearance of the area.”

He winced, “Bloody hell, why?”

“I don’t know, but I suspect it might be because he ejaculated during the assault.”

“What–he enjoyed it?”

“I think rather that when he was raped pressure on his prostate caused it to happen. He was so ashamed, he cut it all off to stop it ever happening again.”

Neal looked quite pale. “But that’s crazy, especially if it wasn’t his fault.”

“My thoughts exactly, but obviously not shared by him.”

“Poor little bugger, so he’s what–a nothing now–is he?”

“No, he’s still a boy. Eunuchs don’t cease to be their original sex except in India where they form a sort of group of their own and I think are being officially recognised as a third sex.”

“Why can’t they be seen as women, I mean you...” he stopped suddenly and went very red.

“I’m not a eunuch, Neal, I’m a woman and legally female.” I felt hurt, I’d always thought he had crossed that little Rubicon and accepted me as I was. Apparently, I was wrong. I moved towards the door.

“Cathy, look I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. I never think of you as anything but a very attractive woman–a very attractive one.”

I moved away from him, “Yeah, for a eunuch.”

“I said I was sorry, look, I’m so messed up at the moment I’m not sure what I’m doing or saying. You haven’t got room for another lodger, have you?”

“Sorry, Neal, I’m sure things will get better as Gloria feels less tired. Give her my best wishes won’t you?”

I smiled and walked briskly away feeling a mixture of sadness and anger. Perhaps to those who know our histories, we never quite cross the divide, no matter what the government says or does to our status. Perhaps I’ve been lucky so far with my family, though I suppose they’ve never really seen me as a boy, even Tom said that and he had to put up with me for some time before my transition.

I drove home feeling all sorts of emotions wondering if I wanted to be at home or somewhere where nobody knew me and just accepted what they saw–it wasn’t going to happen.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2039 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I spent the rest of the day amusing my children, perhaps keeping them occupied might be a better description. They did their chores and homework, by which time I was home and bearing gifts–well, something from the bakery at my favourite supermarket–for everyone. I bought a dozen assorted cakes, keeping the one I wanted separate–an apple and fresh cream turnover. By writing my name on the bag, I was able to keep it for me–the rest of the cakes disappeared very rapidly behind now smiling mouths.

"Can we do a bike ride, Mummy?” asked Trish. I’d already done one and Danny had gone off on his bike to see Peter, so it as going to be a short slow ride for the girls. I agreed, going to change into something suitable to wear on my mountain bike plus some cycling shoes.

The girls all disappeared to change and they arrived in the garden giggling and laughing at something which I’d obviously missed. We checked over the bikes and I pumped up some tyres before we set off up the cycle path. I warned Trish that if she disappeared off the cycle path, I would lock up her bike for a whole year and her computer/iPad for a month. The look she gave me was not friendly.

The weather forecast wasn’t exactly friendly either and the stiffening breeze began to feel decidedly cool. Rain was forecast for later, but there wasn’t much sign of it yet. In fact we were home and eating dinner before the first drops of wet stuff happened, so out bike ride was uninterrupted except for an ice cream stop–no wonder I put on weight. We all had an ice lolly called a Mivvi, which contains ice cream in the centre of a fruity outer coat, I thoroughly enjoyed mine and hoped the weather would permit a ride again tomorrow, it looked unlikely.

The evening was spent doing some mending–Danny had come off his bike and bashed his knee. He got away with slight grazing the knee of his jeans taking the brunt, hence my patching of it. He wanted to keep the tear as they’re apparently very fashionable. I decided we’d do it my way and he could have a patch–either of matching material, ie denim, or a contrast patch. He opted for the latter and ended up with a bright red piece of cotton corduroy showing in his jeans. I tend to keep various bits of material for mending or sewing, though it’s so long since I did any I forgot just what I had in the box.

While I was in sewing mood I repaired some hems on Danny’s school trousers and one of Livvie’s skirts. I also stitched closed a small hole Trish had in her blazer sleeve. It looked like she’d caught in on something.

If I told Pippa I’d spent the evening sewing and repairing the children’s clothes she’d have called me a tightwad. I know we have plenty of money, but that isn’t the point. If the clothes can be repaired fairly easily and still fit, why buy new ones?

I was just finishing and my eyes were beginning to hurt a little when Julie spotted the sewing box. “Mummy, can you fix something for me?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

“Um–okay–would you fix it?”

“I still don’t know what it is you want fixed.”

“My favourite bra–the strap is broken.”

“Just that?”

“Well, I’ve got some other things that need mending...”

“Just the bra now–what colour is it?”

“Red.”

“Okay, go and get it, but that’s all I’m doing.”

“Okay.” She dashed off up the stairs and returned with the damaged garment.

The seam had split on the edge of the cup and the underwire was poking out. It only took about ten minutes to repair and she went and made me a cuppa as my reward. “I thought I taught you to sew enough to have repaired that,” I handed back the brightly coloured piece of lingerie.

“Yeah–well, you’re quicker and better.”

“Only because you never do any.”

“Why keep a dog an’ bark,” she sniggered and ran off before I could think of a witty retort.

“You spoil those kids,” said Simon sitting reading the Guardian at the kitchen table.

“She spoils us all,” declared Stella coming into the kitchen looking for some cream crackers.

“Mummy, can I have a word?” Phoebe looked quite serious.

“Certainly. I packed up my sewing box and went down to my study with her. “What’s worrying you?”

“It’s Neal.”

“Oh?”

“Glo sent me a text,” she showed it to me.

‘Hav u seen Neal? He went out after tea not back yet, not like him. Glo.’

“It’s so unlike her to send it to me and it’s so unlike him to wander off like that. I’m really worried.”

“Okay, flower, I saw him at work this morning, he wasn’t very happy–a bit jealous of the baby, I suspect.”

“He doesn’t like sharing people.”

“Have you replied to her yet?”

“No, I thought I’d speak to you first.”

“Send him a text see if he’s okay.”

“If his phone is switched off, that won’t work will it?”

“Okay, try calling him then.”

She did and it was obvious he wasn’t answering. “Get your coat,” I instructed her I went off to get mine.

“Where are you off?” asked Simon still sitting at the table accompanied by Stella who was eating cream crackers and cheese–it looked as if he’d already had some.

“Taking Phoebe to see Gloria, why?”

“Just wondered, that’s all.”

“We shouldn’t be too long.” A rather stupid statement to make since it said nothing at all.

At Neal and Gloria’s house, we got some more information. They’d had a big row after dinner and he’d stormed off. I tried to suggest he was jealous of the baby but she couldn’t see it. “I’m tired all the time an’ all he wants is bloody sex, babies are hard bloody work.”

“I know.” I acknowledged and Gloria gave me a very dismissive look.

“Cathy has breast fed a young baby too, Glo,” said Phoebe, challenging her sister in law’s attitude.

“It’s not just breastfeeding, it’s the disturbed nights an’ the rest of it.”

“Who d’you think did that with baby Catherine?” Phoebe was still protecting me.

“But...” Gloria looked at me. “You’ve got people there to help you.”

“I still do much of it myself.”

“More fool you then, if I had a houseful of servants, I wouldn’t.”

I reported that I’d bumped into him at the university that morning and told her we’d go and see if that’s where he was. He didn’t go down the pub according to Gloria, though that wouldn’t necessarily prevent him seeking solace in one tonight.

We both had a little hold of the baby and went off to the university and down to the labs and the technician’s room. Neal was there setting up some apparatus to check it. There was also a half empty bottle of rum beside him.

“Gloria is very worried about you,” I started.

“Yeah? So why isn’t she here, not you?”

“She doesn’t have keys or know the alarm codes any more does she?”

“So, she could have called me,” he pointed to his mobile.

“It’s switched off, stupid,” Phoebe laid into her brother.

“Yeah, to stop her phonin’ wasn’t it?”

“So how could she call you?” Phoebe was really going at him.

“So, I forgot–big deal.”

“C’mon, Neal, let’s get you home.”

“No point, I’ll sleep here.”

“That could get you sacked, Neal.” I cautioned him.

“Only if you tell them, bloody goody two shoes.”

“There’s a security man walks round every night.”

“He still here?”

“As far as I know.”

“Oh shit.”

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” I tried again.

“I gotta finish this apparatus.”

“Neal, you’re tight as a tick and half of it is upside down, c’mon out to the car–go home and sort out your relationship.”

“Bloody women,” he muttered as we almost frogmarched him to my Jaguar.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2040 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

During the drive to Neal’s house we had to put up with him declaiming that the baby had damaged his marriage and Phoebe putting him right.

“Bloody kid, if I’d known what problems it would cause, I wouldn’t have let her stop the pill.”

“No sex you mean?” challenged Phoebe.

“Yeah, if you wanna be crude about it.”

“Just remember big bro, it was sex that got you in this mess in the first place.”

“Hang on, it was her stoppin’ the pill was the problem. I shouldn’t have let her.”

“You shouldn’t have let her?” Phoebe was almost as hot and bothered as I felt. “What gives you the right to decide what someone else does with their body? Or is it a case of women as chattels?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“We’re sentient creatures in case you hadn’t noticed, we control our own bodies, we’re not a man’s property.”

“What you on about?” he looked bemused.

“I think Phoebe is questioning the statement you made about allowing Gloria to stop taking the pill–presumably it was a joint decision?”

“Yeah, we agreed before’ and that she’d be the one to look after contraception until we wanted a kid. She decided she wanted a kid and I said she could have one.”

“So kind of you,” was Phoebe’s sarcastic rejoinder.

“What d’ya mean, I let her do it, didn’t I, and look where it’s got me.”

“I think it’s simply a case of the language you’re using that Phoebe is taking issue with.”

“Don’t she speak English, then?”

“Better than you, you oaf.”

“Please, Phoebe, name calling won’t help anything.” I glanced at Neal, “Men and women use language differently and obviously have different perspectives on certain issues.”

“You tryin’ to tell me I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” chipped Phoebe from the back seat.

“No, I wasn’t,” I continued, “but because you’re stating just your side of the situation, it sounds a little condescending.”

“What?” he gasped going very red in the face.

“However, it’s only because a woman would have said, we decided I’d stop the pill, we wanted the baby, instead of just the one side, if you see what I mean?”

“Yeah, I’m not that pissed.” There was moment’s silence as he mulled over what I’d said. He was being a totally condescending twat, but telling him so wouldn’t have helped any, so I was trying to stop Phoebe ramping things up. “Yeah, we made the decisions between us, not just me.”

“Exactly, as I thought you had.”

“Yeah, we’re a team,” he said clenching his fist and shaking it.

“That wasn’t what Gloria seemed to think,” offered Phoebe trying to puncture his balloon.

“What d’ya mean?”

“She said she was very tired with the baby and that you’d both got upset and she was worried about you.”

“Yeah, she does get tired.”

“Caring for a new baby is hard work, I’ve done it.”

He looked at me initially in astonishment then he remembered I’d taken on baby Catherine. “Yeah, you took on that girl who killed herself, her baby, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and I don’t regret a single moment of it, except the tragedy of the rest of her family.”

“Don’t think I could do that, look after someone else’s kid.”

“Why not, they have exactly the same needs as your own would.”

“But they’re not your flesh and blood, are they?”

“No, they’re defenceless, innocent and very vulnerable children who need someone to help them regardless of whose responsibility they are. We’re all to some extent responsible for the children of this world, helping them to reach their potentials, to grant them the basics of food and shelter and the right to education.”

“So is that why you did it–out of duty?”

Ouch. “Not entirely. I’ve always liked children and I ended up looking after Mima and Trish purely by chance.”

“I thought they were wished on you?” piped Phoebe from the back seat.

“Mima was dumped on me but we bonded so quickly and I didn’t want to surrender her to social services because I thought I could give her more love than a children’s home.”

“Bloody right there,” was Neal’s opinion, “Just turn ’em into petty criminals if they go to a home.”

“I don’t know if it’s that bad,” I tried to keep it neutral rather than a party political broadcast for UKIP.

“Oh it is, I was in school with a couple of the blighters and they were trouble.”

“That’s right tar everyone with the same brush,” quipped his sister.

“I’m only sayin’ what I saw in school.”

“I ’spect they were gay and gypsies as well, were they?”

“Nah, but they were both coloured.”

“I’m not trying to make excuses because I wasn’t there, but there is quite a lot of discrimination against ethnic minorities, even now.”

“Look those two were evil, okay? They threatened to kill some old woman’s cat if she didn’t pay them every week.”

“Did she pay?”

“Yeah until her daughter found out about it.”

“What happened?”

“She stopped payin’ ’em and the poor pussy passed on.”

“What, they killed her cat?” gasped the younger Allen.

“I reckon they did, but the cops couldn’t prove it.”

“The buggers!” exclaimed Phoebe.

“Yeah, they were probably into that as well in a children’s home,” Neal replied dismissively.

I wanted to slap him, he was still applying generalisations based upon minimal evidence, much of which if examined critically would probably prove to be pure conjecture and a pretty one sided one at that. We were saved by arriving at his house.

“Oh so you decided to come home, then?” was Gloria’s opening salvo.

“I wish I bloody well hadn’t, I only did ‘cos Cathy more or less insisted.”

“You’ve been drinkin’, I can smell it on your breath,” the bombardment continued.

“So what, I’m over eighteen.”

“You wouldn’t know it to hear you talk.” If she was laying down a barrage prior to an attack, she couldn’t have done a better job with a battery of artillery.

“You’re only jealous ‘cos you can’t.”

“Yeah, well breast feeding the baby is more important than self gratification.”

“Oh bugger off, I’m goin’ to bed,” he nodded at Phoebe and me and staggered up the stairs.

“Where was he?”

“He was in work.”

“At the uni?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“You’d have to ask him that,” I tried to distance myself from their situation, it really
wasn’t my problem. “Anyway, this young lady has college tomorrow, so we’d better get back.”

Phoebe was about to correct me when she realised I was making up an excuse to leave before we got embroiled or worse took sides.

“Yeah okay, thanks for bringin’ him home.”

“You’re welcome–don’t be too hard on him, he’s struggling with the whole idea of parenthood and it’s taking him a little time to adapt, Simon did for a while.”

“Yeah, he’s not a bad sort really,” Gloria conceded.

We hugged and air-kissed and left.

“They both need their heads banged together,” huffed Phoebe sitting with her arms folded and a pout on her face.

“They have some adapting to do and it is hard with a little one.”

“You mean they need to grow up?”

“I’m not sure what I meant,” I lied, I wasn’t going to give her any further grist for her mill and it was too late to get into heavy discussions about this sort of thing.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2041 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So what did Gloria want?” enquired Simon as we snuggled in bed.

“Oh, storm in a teacup, you know.”

“If I knew would I be asking?

Knowing him, yes. He knows where his socks and underpants are kept but he still asks me. “She and Neal had a bit of a row and he went walkabout.”

“Haven’t they got a new baby?”

Well strike me pink! “How did you know that?”

“Phoebe mentioned it the other day, I got the impression she wasn’t too enamoured of Neal and Gloria as parents.”

“I don’t think sixteen year old girls are easily impressed by anyone over twenty five unless it’s the latest boy band.”

“Were you into boy bands at that age?” he asked.

“Not especially–well, take that were okay I suppose, or the Stylistics, but I’d just as soon go to a symphony concert, but not Stockhausen.”

“I see some guy offered Abba millions to reform–if they did I’d go and listen.”

“It’s not going to happen, is it?”

“No, sadly.”

“Just think how much money the Beatles were offered to reform, multi millions.”

“If they could do it now, that would be a trick worth megabucks,” he said with a laugh in his voice.

“Very funny–I meant before that idiot shot Lennon.”

“D’you remember it, then?”

“Remember what?” I asked.

“When that Chapman bloke shot Lennon?”

“Hardly, it was before I was born.”

“I barely remember it and I was five–Dad got quite upset and had to explain that someone whose music he liked had been gunned down in New York because they allow any nutter to have a gun over there.”

“I think we’ve discussed guns in the States before.”

“Yeah, two percent of the world’s population, fifty percent of the guns.”

“You don’t need guns to kill people, two women die per week from domestic violence in this country, I doubt too many of them are shot.”

“You don’t think Gloria’s at risk do you?”

“I doubt it, Neal may be a bit insensitive but he’s not the violent type.”

“I see they convicted that bloke up in Machynlleth for the murder of that little girl, did you know she had cerebral palsy?”

“No, have they found the body?”

“Nah, he’s disposed of it possibly even burned it, they found skull fragments in his wood burner.”

“Her poor parents, at least we had a body to grieve over–how can he not tell them where he dumped her?”

“Because he’s a prize bastard, and he likes playing mind games. Give me five minutes with him and I’ll find out where she is.”

“Simon, you’d happily kill him, wouldn’t you?”

“Yep–can’t abide his sort–paedos who kill.”

“Simon, wouldn’t that make you just as bad?”

“No, I’d be acting for the common good not to satisfy some perverse desire.”

I wasn’t convinced but said nothing. About ten minutes later just as I was drifting off nicely to sleep the phone rang. I grabbed at it to stop it waking the children.

“Hello?” I said sleepily.

“Cathy, it’s Gloria–I don’t think she’s breathing,” the voice was Neal’s and he sounded frantic.

“Check for airways and start CPR–oh, call an ambulance first, I’m on my way.”

I leapt out of bed suddenly wide awake. “Where are you going?” asked Simon.

“That was Neal, Gloria’s been taken ill.”

“No more babies–okay?”

I was too busy to argue pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt then socks and trainers, before rushing downstairs, grabbed my bag, a jacket and car keys and ran down the drive as fast as I could. Thankfully, I’d left the gates open when we came back from Neal’s so I lost no time there. I drove as fast as I could–certainly more than the permitted maximum but I was lucky, there were no speed cops about and I passed no speed cameras.

Within ten minutes from the call I was walking into Neal and Gloria’s house, or running might be accurate. “Neal? It’s Cathy, where are you?” He called from upstairs and I simply followed his voice.

Upon entering the bedroom I saw Gloria lying on the bed, her lips were blue. “Where’s the ambulance?”

“I didn’t call it.”

“Get it now–but help me get her onto the floor first.”

“What for she’s gone,” he began sniffing and whining and I slapped him sharply across the face.

“Help me,” I demanded and he reluctantly assisted me to get her on the bedroom floor. “Call the paramedics–well go on.” He looked at me in a daze and then walked out of the bedroom to the phone, I could hear him speaking.

While he was doing this I was hoping I still had some of the blue energy with me and felt it coursing through my body and into hers. That gave me an incentive to try and revive her, if the energy seemed to think it was appropriate who was I to argue?

“Hi, Gloria, it’s Cathy, c’mon girl, I need you to start breathing for me.” I pushed back her head to open the airway and began a couple of breaths, then it was bouncing up and down on her chest to Nellie the Elephant. Two more breaths, then another sixty compressions–bloody hell this is hard work.

“Get in here, Neal, start doing the breaths,” I ordered him and he knelt down and blew twice into her mouth. I went straight into chest compressions and the energy poured into her. Something was happening, I could feel the energy changing, she was either dead or her heart was restarting, I hoped it was the latter.

Blue lights flickered through the bedroom curtains and the sound of a diesel engine announced the arrival of the paramedics and in a couple of ticks they were dashing up the stairs laden with all sorts of bags of equipment.

“Thank goodness,” I sighed.

“Keep goin’,” said the first one, “it’ll take a minute to set up.

“Oh shit,” I gasped and did another set of compressions humming the tune in my head.

He cut her nightdress with some scissors from his belt pack and attached electrodes. Then he switched on his defibrillator. “Okay, she’s got some cardio, take a break.” A break? If I did any more compressions he’d be treating me for exhaustion–I was knackered, not to put too fine a point on it.

“What happened?” asked his mate, another of the green clad emergency team.

“She fell and banged her head,” said Neal.

“Where?” asked the paramedic.

“Against the wall over there.” Neal pointed to a section of wall near the bed.

“No, where did she bang her head, back, front, side?”

“Oh, I dunno, I wasn’t watching but it made quite a bump and she went out like a light.

“Okay, did she stop breathing?”

“I dunno, she might have, I called Cathy.”

“You should have called us first, Mr...?”

“Allen, Neal Allen.”

“BP’s very low, some CSF left ear.”

“Okay, immobilise then we’ll get her on the stretcher.” He ran off while his friend wrapped a collar round Gloria’s neck. I continued to send the blue light into her.

His mate returned with a stretcher and they lifted her onto the device and went to pick it up. “She’s going to be alright, isn’t she?”

The paramedic nodded, “You coming in the van or by car?”

“I’ve got a young baby here.”

“Go with them, Neal, I’ll take the baby back with me you can collect her later.” Simon will threaten to kill me, but what else could I do?

Neal went off in his car after the ambulance telling me to just slam the door when I left. I got the baby and made up a package of nappies and other clothes, food and some milk Gloria had presumably expressed earlier. I filled up the boot of the car with stuff, and as the baby was sleeping in a carrycot I placed that on the back seat of the Jaguar and put a seat belt round it. Then it was back to my house and the uncomfortable feeling that Gloria didn’t fall, she was pushed.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2042 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Simon must have heard my car pull up to the house because he came down in his dressing gown. “I thought I said no more babies.”

“Tell her that,” I said handing him the carrycot.

“What’s her name?” he hissed at me.

“Lizzie I think.” While he carried the baby into the kitchen I grabbed a pile of nappies and clothing. While she slept away on the kitchen table, we laboured to bring in all the stuff.

“How long is she staying?”

“How do I know? Her mother’s in hospital with a fractured skull, she was unconscious and not breathing when I got there.”

“Oh wonderful, brain damaged, then.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, she revived quite quickly.”

“I thought you said she was unconscious?”

“She was–I meant she started breathing and her heart started again by itself.”

“While you were there, sure it did.”

“I might have helped it a little.”

“Cathy, you’ve raised the dead more often that that bloke in the Bible.”

“Yeah, very funny.”

“I didn’t mean it like that–but you have.”

“Perhaps I need the practice.”

“What are we going to do with Tiny Wee?”

“Take her up with us.”

“Not in our bedroom, we aren’t.”

“Okay, so where would you put a strange baby for one night?”

“In the garage?”

“That’s not funny, Simon. What if she died in there?”

“Okay, but why our bedroom?”

“You can stay down here if you like but I’m taking her with me.”

“C’mon then, let’s go up and get it over with.” He took the carrycot and started up the stairs. I was going to suggest we had a cuppa first but that would simply mean I had to get up to go for a wee later. I moved the baby’s stuff off the table and went up to the bedroom.

Simon had placed the carrycot on top of a chest of drawers and I checked the baby was okay and still asleep before changing back to my pyjamas and getting into bed.

“You can’t keep it, it has to go back tomorrow,” said my lord and master as I got into bed.

“Aw, you spoilsport,” I whined and that woke up our sleeping visitor. I rushed over to her and shoved her dummy back in and she sucked on it a few times before seeming to settle down. I returned to bed and had just got comfortable when it happened again. This time the dummy didn’t work and I had to take her downstairs for a feed, Simon remained in bed.

As I carried her down the stairs she was searching for my nipples, locking on to one through my pyjama top. I stopped, pulled up the top and she practically swallowed my whole breast. I’d thought my milk had dried up because I didn’t feed Cate very often these days–just no time and she was coping quite well with solids, albeit liquidised ones. However, my breasts must still work because I could feel the milk flowing as she sucked me dry then fell asleep still attached to my nipple.

I stroked her face and she started sucking again, I transferred her to the other breast and this time she took a few sucks and zonked, my nipple still in her mouth–at least she didn’t have any teeth yet.

I changed her and burped her–not necessarily in that order, then put her down to sleep, it was three in the morning. Thank goodness it was Saturday tomorrow, then I had think–no it wasn’t, it was Friday–damn.

The alarm woke me from some not very nice dream but as I awoke it faded and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. Simon had gone–I’m sure he’s some sort of robot–it would certainly explain a few things. I dragged myself out of bed and without waking Lizzie, woke up the rest of them. I showered quickly and dressed, pulling on a nursing bra with some pads, my nipples were leaking just a little.

I went down to the kitchen and explained to Tom what had happened, or what I thought had happened. He was quite upset to think that Gloria was quite poorly and that possibly Neal was the perpetrator. It was obvious that Neal wouldn’t be into work for that day and depending upon what happened regarding Gloria’s injuries, he could be unavailable for some time.

“Sae wha’s lookin’ efter thae bairn?”

“Guess,” I retorted.

He nodded, “I’ll tak’ the lassies tae school f’ye.”

“Thanks, Daddy, that would be really useful.”

“An I suppose ye want thae day off?”

I flung my arms around him, “You’re so good, Daddy.”

“Aye, when I dae whit ye want.”

“Of course,” I hugged him again and he held me for a moment.

“Hoo lang will she be staying?”

“I don’t know.” I related what I knew of the story and how I found Neal’s story a bit strange and his actions or lack of them even stranger.

“Ye think he did this?”

“It’s an assumption, but it feels right.”

“Aye, gie a dug a bad name...”

“Okay, I’ll wait and see what happens.”

He nodded and poured himself a cup of treacle like coffee and I went to check on the children. Danny was just coming down as I went up, he wished me a good morning–or he grunted for the requisite number of syllables–so I assumed what he said rather than heard it.

Of course once the girls realised I was fostering Gloria’s baby they had to see her which woke her up and I had to sort her out before she’d go back to sleep. I drank a glass of water and started to feed her–if you want to breast feed you have to be well hydrated or your milk dries up.

When Phoebe discovered her niece was staying with us, she cancelled her day at the salon to stay home and help me, she was on half term holiday from college. She watched me feed her and sighed.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Well, she’s my niece and you’re the one who’s feeding her.”

I thought she was going to say, ‘I’m the real girl and can’t feed her, so how come you can?’ She didn’t thank goodness, so perhaps I’m just paranoid. I expressed some milk and shoved it in the fridge. “If I have to go out, use this,” I pointed to the two small bottles in the fridge, “If that’s not enough, see if Stella has any.”

“What in her fridge?”

“No, in her breasts.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“I’m her auntie and seem to be the only female here who can’t feed her. It would be just my luck for Trish to be able to do it before I can.”

As Trish is unpredictable I decided not to pooh-pooh her ideas, but it did seem somewhat unlikely. Instead of suggesting she was exaggerating, I helped her bring the baby downstairs where she could breakfast and keep an eye on her. Multi-tasking the easy way.

I called the hospital to find out how Gloria was and they wouldn’t tell me, not being a relative. When I explained I was looking after her daughter, they softened a little telling me to put her on the phone. I explained she was six months old.

“In that case, I can relate that she hasn’t become conscious yet and is scheduled for further tests and possibly surgery later today.”

“For a skull fracture?”

“Yes, how did you know that?”

“One of the paramedics mentionsed CSF, I know that requires an injury such as a fracture of the skull to have it leaking from her ear.”

“You know as much as I do then, just a word of warning, don’t count on giving back the baby today.”

“Why ever not?”

“I think the father is in custody for assault.”

“Oh.” Was my response.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2043 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I needed to see what I could do to help Neal and Gloria. Could he have hit or pushed her? It seemed so out of character but he was tipsy, then he followed the ambulance in his car. I suppose the experience of thinking your wife was dead or dying would be somewhat sobering, but they might also do him for the motoring offence of drink driving.

I called the police head quarters and enquired about Neal. As I wasn’t a relative they wouldn’t tell me anything. I asked if they’d tell his sister and they agreed they would. I put Phoebe on the phone.

It appears he was charged with driving under the influence and because his wife’s injuries were suspicious, they were holding him pending further investigations. It appeared he hadn’t asked for a lawyer. That didn’t matter, I got Jason to send one of his best assistants to try and bail him.

What puzzled me most was his bewildered attitude the night before when he didn’t act like an ordinary person would, by calling an ambulance. And why didn’t he try CPR if he thought she’d stopped breathing? None of it made sense.

I asked Phoebe if she had a key to Neal’s house and she said she didn’t but she knew the code to the key safe as an emergency. She wrote it down for me and I went over to the house to make up a bag for Gloria to take to the hospital. I’d take it in later during visiting time–although if she had to go down to theatre, she’d be out of things for some while.

David was busy in the kitchen and Phoebe was looking after the baby, Stella and Jacquie were looking after my little one and her two, so I had a few minutes to myself. I held onto an item of her clothing and tried to tune into Gloria to see if I could send her some healing energy. It’s always a bit hit and miss, but when it works it does really help.

I felt I was swimming in some very deep, dark pool which had some sort of current that was trying to suck me down deeper. It was as much as I could do to resist it swimming upwards as strongly as I could. The current got stronger and I focused on trying to see what was going on and I imagined I was bathed in the blue white light. Although I was sinking, I felt the energy building up and suddenly my whole body seemed to be one scintillating light, like I was covered in very strong LED lights. That was when I saw it, some enormous monster like a cross between a squid and some sort of bivalve and the current was being created by it waving its tentacles around, drawing stuff into its mouth like a giant sea anemone. To my horror, Gloria appeared to be rather close to being sucked into that ravening mouth.

Now common sense would usually recommend that I swim as fast and as strongly as I could away from that awful thing, but as you’ll know only too well, I don’t do common in any shape or form, including sense. So instead of swimming away I struck out for the ugly creature and hoped that by the time I got there I’d have some idea of how to stop it eating my erstwhile colleague.

Thinking on ones feet is probably not an apposite aphorism while swimming but given the circumstances, it was the best I could do. I was hatching a plan but it depended upon several things, none of which were necessarily likely especially if squid-face ate my friend.

Why I didn’t need to breathe in the water didn’t occur to me until afterwards but it seemed I was able to either breathe in the water or whatever the fluid was, or hold my breath for an extremely long period of time, something like a whale.

I snatched at Gloria and managed to grab an ankle which I pulled towards me and away from the monster. Although there was quite a current lower down, once we got to the floor of the pond, I was able to lay her down and concentrate on working out how we might escape.

I didn’t particularly want to hurt the thing but if necessary I would, but apart from being extraordinarily ugly, it didn’t seem that nasty, just dangerous. It continued waving its tentacles to suck things into its gob, making my search for a suitable distraction more difficult and Gloria also floated off the bottom and towards the mouth again. I clearly had to do something and quickly.

I found a lump of what looked like coral and managed to lift it. I then walked round to the front of the monster and while dodging the tentacles I lobbed it towards that fearsome orifice. Of course it fell short and I spent some time swerving and ducking to enable me to grab it again.

A tentacle grabbed me as I reached to throw the rock again–it wasn’t going to plan–and I now had no option but to do whatever I needed to, to save myself first and then Gloria. I let it draw me closer to the mouth then hefted the stone for all I was worth. It went straight into the basket.

Nothing seemed to happen and I desperately tried to free myself, because it looked as if I was next on the menu followed by Gloria who was similarly held but wasn’t struggling.

Squid are reputed to be quite clever creatures, as are octopuses, sadly this one appeared to be the exception. I’d given up all hope of escaping but was reduced to trying to bite my way out of the tentacle–I wouldn’t recommend it, it was tough as old boots and tasted like fishy rubber.

Suddenly the tentacles started waving frantically and Gloria and I were flung away from the mouth, then the rock I’d chucked into its mouth was ejected like a bullet, fortunately we were some distance from it by then. Obviously, it took a few moments for its nerve cells to communicate with the rest of its body–a bit like some of our first year students.

I once again grabbed Gloria and this time we were far enough away to be able to make it to the surface and a short time later I dragged her free of the water and onto a warm sandy beach. Exhausted I sat down beside her and talked with her.

“C’mon, kiddo, you’re safe now so how about opening those peepers? The sky is a beautiful azure blue and the beach is golden–go on take a look.”

I watched her eyes move under the lids and I urged her to open them again. I saw them flutter and she looked around. “Cathy, what are you doing here?”

“Just passing through.”

“But you’re glowing.”

“Yes, of course I am, ladies glow, men perspire and horses sweat–didn’t you mother ever tell you that?”

“No, you’re glowing like a light, like some fancy star.”

“That’s me, I like to be the star of the show.”

“Am I dead?”

“Dead? Of course not, just temporarily incapacitated. What happened?”

“I don’t know, the light was flickering and Neal had gone to sleep in the spare room, he was drunk and therefore pretty useless. I stood up on the bed to see if the bulb was loose, it was but in sorting it I got a bit of a shock and fell of the bed, I think I may have bashed my head. I don’t remember anymore until now.”

“Rest now, I’ll be in to see you later.”

“Can I stay on this beach, it feels wonderful.”

“Sorry, kiddo, they want you back on earth.” With that I woke and found myself sitting in my study, exhausted and I had sand on my hands–weird or what?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2044 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I brushed the sand off my hands onto the blotter on my desk and then scooped it up onto a sheet of paper and put it in a small specimen bottle I had in the drawer. Things were getting weirder by the day. I’d heard of various magicians and supposed holy men being able to apport–that is produce material things out of thin air–but it had never occurred to me that I’d experience it.

I wrote the date on the label on the bottle and just the word, sand followed by a question mark. I assumed it was sand, it certainly felt like it and looked like it. As far as I knew I hadn’t touched any before or during my experience with Gloria, so quite whence it came, I had no idea–being somewhat opposed to the idea of manifestation on the grounds of sanity. My sanity, Harry Potter I wasn’t, nor did I see myself as Portsmouth’s answer to Sai Baba. I placed the bottle in the drawer again and shut it.

Shortly after sorting myself out from this my phone rang and Jason called to say that the police were being awkward with Neal, and despite his insistence, they would neither charge nor release him pending their continuing investigation. So for the moment bail was being challenged.

“Bugger, that means I need to check the dormice,” I said towards the end of this conversation causing Jason to chuckle. I explained that if Neal wasn’t working then I needed to go in and check them in the laboratory.

David was about to make omelettes for lunch and I was sorely tempted to stay and eat first, but decided I wouldn’t, I could always grab a sandwich later and to be honest, I wasn’t that hungry. I casually asked Phoebe if she wanted to come and saw she was very interested–well, it’s dormice, who wouldn’t be? She looked at her niece lying in the recliner and said she had to look after her.

Stella however, intervened. “Go on, I’ll watch her for an hour or two.”

“Are you sure, Auntie Stel?”

“Course, but any longer and we feed her to the dormice.”

Phoebe looked confused, “But I thought dormice ate acorns an’ things.”

“That’s what she wants you to believe,” she pointed at me, “because it’s easier to sell them on the awww factor, you know cuddly and sleep in teapots, that sort of thing when really they’re voracious predators.”

I snorted at this wondering if Stella had taken her medication this morning.

“You’re teasing me, they eat nuts, don’t they?”

“Yes they do, they ate her nuts–it’s why she had to become a girl–ask her.”

There was a loud clang as David dropped a pan on the floor and everybody laughed. “Best theory I’ve heard for gender dysphoria yet,” he said picking up his dropped pan.

“Except she usually says it about squirrels,” I offered as I picked up my bag.

“Well, you’re always telling me to keep my hat on because there are woodpeckers about,” Stella retorted.

“C’mon, Pheebs, this lot are all crazy.”

“She is funny though, isn’t she?”

“Especially when she forgets her medication.”

Phoebe looked at me as if she wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. I smirked and said, “Joke,” and she relaxed and smiled. “I wouldn’t leave my own baby there now would I?”

“No, I s’pose not.”

“Let’s go see some dormeece,” and twenty minutes later we were doing just that. Phoebe, like every adolescent female on the planet thought they were adorable, with their little hands and feet and the way they held nuts or dried fruit when they ate it. She was totally smitten, and when she got to hold Spike for a moment or two while she nibbled her way through a hazelnut, she smiled and smirked the whole time.

“She was tickling my hand,” she chuckled as we walked back through the admin block just in time to bump into Tom, who was emerging from his office.

“I didnae expect tae see ye,” he said after a sigh of surprise.

“I had to check the dormice.”

“Wi’ a bodyguerd?”

“I thought she deserved a break for a hour from baby custody.”

“Aye, weel c’mon tae lunch.”

Despite our protests he would hear none of it, so we had to go to lunch with him–in my car–the old buzzard, it means he can have a drink and a snooze this afternoon. As we entered the usual restaurant, the manager greeted us like long lost friends.

“Professor, Lady Cameron how nice to see you again, and who is this lovely young lady?”

“Phoebe,” I informed him but volunteered no further information.

“Usual, please,” said Tom and the waiter nodded.

“Tuna salad for madam?” he enquired and I nodded.

“And you young lady?” he looked at Phoebe.

“Tuna sounds fine,” she said.

“To drink?”

Tom ordered a Guinness and I went for a pot of tea–Earl Grey, which Phoebe decided to share.

I brought Tom up to date on Neal’s predicament.

“I can’t believe he hit her,” said Phoebe, “he’s a twit but he’s not violent.”

“Aye,” agreed Tom.

“He didn’t hit her, she fell off the bed trying to fix a dodgy light.”

“How d’you know, Mummy?”

A waiter brought the drinks and did a double take of me as the mother of someone more than half my age. We waited until after he’d gone before continuing.

“Let’s just say I know.”

“Hed ain o’yer visions?”

Phoebe looked perplexed.

“Cathy sees things we ordinary mortals canna.”

“Do you, Mummy?”

She knew about the healing and she’d been there when I saw her mother in the cemetery, so why was this news?

“Yes I saw it. Sadly, it’s not admissible as evidence.”

“But when Gloria comes round, she’ll be able to clear him, won’t she?” Phoebe looked to both of us for support.

“If she remembers, heid injuries are funny things,” offered our resident geriatric.

“I hope so,” I said guardedly.

After lunch we returned home, Tom having agreed to collect the girls, we got ready to go and visit Gloria. “Shouldn’t we take the baby for her to feed?” asked Phoebe.

“They probably won’t allow it, too risky for babies in general wards,” was the wisdom of one who’d worked there.

“Phone and ask them,” I suggested. She did, and found that the policy was no babies on wards other than children’s.”

I got the breast pump and a couple of empty bottles and washed out the sterilising fluid then popped them into a clean plastic bag. Phoebe saw what I was doing and nodded her approval. If Gloria was able to express milk then I could give mine to ‘Jaws’–Cate now had quite a few teeth and sometimes nipped me just to hear me yell. She thought it was very funny, I didn’t and it was one of the reasons I didn’t feed her as often.

I collected the bag of stuff I’d got from Neal’s house and we set off to the hospital, wondering what we’d find and also if we’d be able to free Neal over the weekend.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2045 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The hospital car park was quite full and it took us a while to find a space. “Is it usually this busy?” asked Phoebe.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “I usually visit in the evenings.”

We enquired which ward she was on at the reception desk and then went off to find it. The lift was being repaired so we had to trudge up three flights of stairs. Sometimes I wonder if they do this on purpose to make people exercise.

We eventually found the ward and on asking were directed to a four bedded unit half way along the ward. We soon located Gloria. She was the only one without any visitors, and the noise of several people talking at once was reminiscent of a flock of parrots chattering away, though round here, gulls might be more familiar.

She was asleep when we arrived and I stood by the bed watching her while Phoebe went off looking for seats for us. I touched Gloria’s hand and she opened her eyes, so at least she was conscious. “I brought you in a few things.”

“Oh it’s you, thank you. Where’s Neal–looking after the baby?”

“Um not quite...” at this point Phoebe arrived with one chair said hello to Gloria and went off in pursuit of the second.

“Where is he then and who’s got the baby?”

“Lizzie is okay, she’s at my house being spoiled to death.”

She eyed me suspiciously, “You can’t keep her you know?”

“I don’t want to, I want you to raise her with Neal.”

Her expression hadn’t changed and at the back of her mind was the incorrect assumption that I acquire other people’s children because I can’t have my own–a bit like the archetypal witch figure in Grimm’s fairy tales.

Phoebe walked up with another chair and placed it next to mine so Gloria could see us both at the same time. “Hiya,” she said to Gloria who acknowledged her with a smile. “Little Lizzie is a lovely baby,” she said, “We asked about bringing her in for you, but they won’t let babies on general wards. How d’you feel?”

“Awful, where’s Neal?”

“The cops have him.”

I blushed and she glared at me.

“What for?”

“He was drunk when he followed the ambulance and they were suspicious of your injuries.”

“What, they think he hit me?”

“Or pushed you.”

“Neal isn’t like that.”

“We all know that but the police don’t.”

“So that’s why you’ve got my baby?”

“Yes. I took her because Neal wanted to be with you and I assumed he’d be along later to collect her. When he didn’t arrive I called the hospital in case you were still unconscious and he was staying with you and we were told he was in custody while they made further enquiries about your injuries.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Gloria voiced angrily.

“I know that, but we have to work within the rules and the police can be very bound by red tape.” I don’t know why I felt so guilty, I’d only tried to help so none of it was my fault.

“So has he got a lawyer?” she asked.

“Yes, I got one of Simon’s friends to send one of his team.”

“But he’s still down at the cop shop?”

“As far as we know, yes.”

“But that’s stupid.”

“We agree but until we can offer them evidence, we’re fighting a losing battle.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Of what actually happened.” I knew what had happened but I didn’t know if she did.

“I can’t remember.”

“D’you remember anything?”

“Being mad with him when you brought him home, then he went off up to bed rather than face me.”

“What happened after that?”

“I don’t remember until I woke up in here.”

“Anything else you remember?”

“I had this strange dream which was so vivid–you rescued me from some sort of fish thing which was going to eat me.”

“Uck, horrible,” Phoebe screwed up her face.

“Anything else?”

“I found myself lying on a beach talking to you then there was a lot of pain and I woke up in here.”

“Sorry about the pain bit.”

“Why? You didn’t cause it did you?”

I shrugged.

“And there was all this sand in the bed. Looked like I’d been lying on a beach–Cathy–it wasn’t a dream, was it?”

I shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

“You saved my life, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps–I don’t know.”

“Mummy’s always doing that,” said Phoebe and Gloria’s eyes nearly popped out.

“Does Neal know you’re calling her mummy?”

I sat there and blushed very red.

“It’s none of his business what I call Cathy. It was my decision. I needed a mother and she was kind to me.”

“Got another one, then?” she aimed at me.

“I offered Phoebe somewhere to stay and she liked and got on well with Julie.”

“Who started life as John, I believe.”

“So what? That was a mistake, Cathy allowed her to become Julie.”

“Of course she did.” Gloria wasn’t my favourite person at the best of times, now she was repaying my help with her usual selfish take on things because she thinks I want her baby.

“Look, we’ll have to go soon, I’ve brought the breast pump and some bottles, so if you’d like to...”

“What’s the matter, Cathy, can’t you feed her then?”

“Actually I did last night but I thought you’d like her to feed on your milk not mine.”

“What formula stuff?” queried Gloria.

“No you moron,” Phoebe was getting cross with her sister in law, “she feeds her baby herself.”

“Her baby–hah–she can’t have babies, she’s a boy,” she spat.

“If you’d like I’ll call social services and they can take Lizzie into foster care. You’re obviously unhappy about me helping you. If you wish I’ll also stand down our legal people.”

Gloria’s jaw dropped.

“An’ next time you die, she won’t save you–you ungrateful cow.” Phoebe stood up and walked off carrying the chair.

I turned to follow only to have Gloria call me back. I turned to face her.

“Don’t put Lizzie into care and please help Neal get free–he didn’t do anything, I’m sure of it.”

“I know he didn’t, but I’m doing this for him and that delightful bundle of joy. I’ll come in again tomorrow to hear what you have to say.”

“Did you really save my life?”

I turned and walked away without answering, leaving the empty chair by her bedside. I felt hurt and angry, but a sort of cold anger. I had to leave because otherwise I’d have said something very nasty to her. As I left I sent love to her, she was lonely and scared and angry with everyone but herself.

Back outside the hospital I caught up with Phoebe who was so angry she couldn’t face me or anyone. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“How could she be so awful to you, Mummy?”

“She’s scared.”

“Of you?” she looked very disconcerted.

“Not especially, I think I was just a convenient target.”

“But you saved her life, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore.”

“And what’s it to her what I call you?”

“Perhaps she doesn’t think I deserve the epithet.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Because I’m obviously not a proper woman in her eyes, I can’t be a mother–the rest I think is fairly obvious.”

“Mummy.” She spoke deliberately her eyes bright though her cheeks were tear stained. “I never thought I’d call anyone else that, but I saw how you looked after your adopted children and I needed some of that. I also liked you very much and could see you were a kind and loving woman, much like my birth mother. When I asked her what she thought, she was happy that you should finish the job she began in being my mother. I’m happy you let me call you Mummy because that’s who I feel you are. Just because you can’t have babies doesn’t mean you aren’t female or a woman. You’re much more deserving of the epi wotsit than that stupid cow in there,” she nodded back towards the hospital.

“C’mon, kiddo, let’s go home and feed her baby.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2046 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Back at home I emailed Jason for news of Neal and he suggested they were close to arranging bail which I agreed to guarantee. I also told him Gloria was conscious and perhaps some sort of statement could be taken as an affidavit or the police invited to see her themselves. He told me he’d get back to me as soon as Neal was free.

Given my reputation with the forces of law and order, at least in this neck of the woods, you’d think they’d listen to me or my representative–but no–I suspect they actually fancy getting one over on me–but it ain’t gonna happen.

Stella had already fed little Lizzie so all Phoebe had to do was clean her up–she had no idea–so guess who had to show her how to do it. The milk was still in the fridge so Stella obviously gave her organic milk straight from the source–wonder if it counts as organic?

When Tom arrived with three rather smug looking schoolgirls we knew he’d called in to the ice cream shop en route. My computer beeped as Trish was telling me this long involved story of how she’d out manoeuvred one of the teachers in a science lesson. Did I tell you she’s thinking of offering to stand in for Professor Brian Cox at the university of Manchester when he’s next busy doing television work? Her ego might even be bigger than her brain.

Simon texted to say they were running late and to go ahead with dinner without them. I sent one back saying we’d keep it warm for them. The it turned out to be Chicken Kief with garlic butter and mushroom stuffing. We ate them with new potatoes dripping with butter–oh not just any old potatoes, but Jersey Royals–a side salad based upon watercress and celery with cherry tomatoes and fresh egg custard tart for dessert–delish!

Jason emailed to say bail had been granted at five thousand and he signed a cheque for that amount on my behalf. I replied to say I’d come and collect Neal immediately. About twenty minutes later Phoebe and I collected him outside the police HQ and he actually cried when we hugged him.

He pleaded guilty to the driving while under the influence but not to any assault on his wife. Jason told us that the police had been to see Gloria whose amnesia didn’t help anyone.

Once we got back to his house, Neal went up to shower and change before I ran him to the hospital to get his car where it had been since he was arrested. I hoped they hadn’t clamped it as well. He would drive home and have something to eat before going to see Gloria and then he’d come and get the baby.

I asked him if he’d like to leave the baby until the morning so he’d get a proper night’s sleep and he didn’t know what to do. I left it up to him but to let me know. I said nothing about my conversation with Gloria, but Phoebe wouldn’t be hushed, and she told him about it in no uncertain terms including her calling me, Mummy.

The poor chap admitted he’d committed a faux pas with me a few days before so he understood how easy it was, however he would speak to Gloria if she was still being transphobic. I wasn’t sure that’s what she was, rather just angry projecting all her resentment at me as a convenient target, and the one area where I was vulnerable–my inability to have children, whereas real women could–yeah, sure.

We took him to the hospital and a note was left attached to the windscreen telling him proceedings would be taken out against him because he was displaying no parking ticket. I took it off him and said I’d deal with it.

After this he thanked me for being a true friend and that he’d sort Gloria out. I warned him about his phraseology and it took him a minute to see what I’d meant.

“Cathy, you’ve been an absolute brick right through this and you’ve stood by us despite all Glo’s nastiness over the baby. I’m really grateful for all you’ve done especially taking care of Lizzie. Ever since I saw you that day you came in to tell us about your change of lifestyle, I thought you were a good looking woman, I still think that and you’re one of the nicest, kindest people I know.

“Phoebe thinks of you as a second mother and I can see why, I’m sure our mum would have been pleased that you took over bringing her up. I don’t mind what she calls you, but I’m glad to call you friend.” We hugged and he went home and we went back to our place.

There the place was in uproar as Cate had been sick all over Tom–he was sitting her on his lap and bouncing her. At first she burped and laughed and then it was a techicolor burp–all over him. As I’ve told him before I didn’t have much sympathy for the auld galoot but I got landed for laundering his clothes. Thankfully he tends to buy his stuff in M&S so it’s all machine washable.

I spent time with the kids after they finished their homework and I got them all to bed by a quarter to nine–as it’s still light then–they don’t really want to go. I was fair wabbit as the Scots say, meaning tired. Visiting time would be over soon so we’d know what Neal wanted to do with the baby in the next half an hour or so.

I went to the kitchen to make myself some tea when Phoebe and Julie came down and asked if they could feed the baby. I decided I’d do it because my breasts felt full and were oozing a little, they shrugged but left it to me.

I was in the middle of feeding the little darling when the phone rang. Jacquie answered it and held it out to me, “It’s Gloria?” I nodded. “She wants to talk to you.”

I sighed and held out my free hand for the cordless handset. “Hello?”

“Is that you, Cathy?”

“Yes, Gloria, what’s the problem?”

“I’m worried about Neal.”

“Why?”

“He came to see me and we had a right row–they threatened to throw him out. He was defending you and I really went for him. He stormed off in high dudgeon but I’m worried about him. He’s not answering his phone or the landline. Would you go and check he’s okay?”

“That would explain why he hasn’t come for Lizzie, who I’m feeding at this moment.”

“As soon as you finish, could you go and check on him, and give her ladyship a kiss from me. I’m really sorry about what I said, you’re a real friend, Cathy. I can see that now. I’m such a fool but I do love him even if he deserves better.”

“Okay, I’ll pop round as soon as madam has stopped sucking me inside out.”

There was pregnant pause on the phone before, “I’m glad you’re feeding her, I hope to be out in a day or so, so could you keep a hold of her until then, I don’t think Neal would cope at the moment?”

“Course I will.”

She rang off and switched Lizzie to my other breast, the little bugger wanted to sleep more than feed and I called Julie down. She took the baby while I expressed milk into a bottle and she could feed her the rest. I told Phoebe I was going to try and calm Neal down and she asked to come as I thought she might.

We drove round to his house and his car was in the driveway. Things didn’t feel right and I tried the front door, it was unlocked. We both walked in and I called out to Neal who it was. There was no sound except the refrigerator buzzing away in the kitchen.

I began to feel very uneasy and started to climb the stairs calling his name loudly, it was then I saw him, or his feet swaying over the stairs. I screamed to Phoebe to call an ambulance and rushed upstairs. I stood under his body trying to take the weight off his neck. She came rushing up stairs and screamed.

“Get a neighbour, we need someone to help get him down–hurry!” She ran off and moments later two young men came rushing back with her. One had a knife and we cut through the tow rope he’d used. Then it was pull it off his throat and start CPR.

The second man tried to comfort Phoebe while the one with the knife and I tried to resuscitate poor Neal. I could feel the energy pouring into his body but I had my doubts about it working. I did the breaths and the man did the compressions. Could we keep him alive or were we already too late? I didn’t know, I really didn’t.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2047 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Sirens sounded the arrival of the paramedics who told us to keep going while they set up–I was getting used to this. Next they slapped on electrodes and attached them to the defibrillator, “There’s some cardiac activity, so you did well, you two.”

“BP’s shit,” said the other paramedic.

“Okay, I’m going to zap him, stand clear.” Unlike the films where people jump when they’re defibrillated, in real life they don’t move. It didn’t work and I began to feel really anxious for poor Neal. I threw energy into him while the machine analysed and decided to do him again. Nothing. The two paramedics went at the CPR like demons making our efforts seem very amateurish. The machine reported it was zapping him again; as it did I threw as much energy as I could at the supine lab technician and somehow the machine registered a cardiac output–his heart had started. I hugged the neighbour who’d helped cut him down and bounced up and down crying my eyes out. I knew we had a long way to go, but at least he had a slim chance now.

I continued throwing energy at him and the paramedic looked at his machine. “’Ere, Mark, we’ll ’ave to swap this machine it’s doin’ funny things.”

“His BP is almost up to normal–what’s going on?”

I felt the energy was being sucked out of me by my colleague and I tried to get into his mind to tell him to relax and I’d guide him home, but it was too noisy and too busy for me to be able to concentrate, so instead I told him to follow the light and my voice and it would get him safe.

Paramedic Barry was looking at a printout from his computerised defib machine and he couldn’t understand how the energy registered in Neal was twice what the machine was capable of producing, he showed it to Mark who agreed. However, they had cardiac output which was increasing with each beat of his heart. They didn’t know this but I did. I also powered up his brain to restore any lost function and heal any damage. His throat was badly bruised but it would heal itself eventually, though he could have a rather gruff voice when it did.

Despite her shock, Phoebe had packed a case with his pyjamas and a few personal items while all this was going on and she elected to go in the van with the paramedics. I would follow behind in my car still throwing energy at him to try and stop brain damage or kidney failure. I reckoned we’d got there just in the nick of time; a few minutes later and he’d have been too badly brain damaged for even my magic to work.

About three quarters of an hour after we’d rescued him, Phoebe and I were sitting in the waiting room looking at the same tired posters or ancient magazines I’d read so many times before. Maybe I should take them in some Cycling Weekly, even if the nineteen ninety five copy of Country Life had an article on dormice with some cute photos. It somehow found itself falling into my handbag–it was one I didn’t have.

The doctor on A&E came and spoke to us. “You found him?”

I answered that we had.

“You’re relatives?”

“I’m his sister,” said Phoebe.

“Okay, I’d like permission to do a scan, it’ll take about an hour to check out as much as we can, but mainly head and neck.”

“Sure–carry on.”

“They’ve got a better vending machine up in the restaurant, why not go and get a coffee, you can’t do anything for an hour?”

That wasn’t strictly true, I’d been constantly sending love and energy into him trying to heal him as quickly as possible–I didn’t need another baby any longer than was absolutely necessary.

As we walked up to the restaurant, Phoebe looked at me and said, “What do we tell Gloria, and when?”

“I don’t know but the more pressing question is...”

“Is what?”

“Whether I have chicken soup or Bovril?”

“Cathy, be serious.”

“Where food is concerned I’m always serious.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away shaking her head. I opted for the soup–it was a mistake–it was like something we used to get at the swimming baths when I was a kid being teased by my companions because I had small boobies to their pancake flat chests.

As I sipped the grey tinged fluid which had little floating bits of some long desiccated vegetation I was taken back to my early school days. “You sure you’re not a girl, Watts?” demanded Dennis Waters as he poked me in the tit. “I don’t see any bulge in your bathers.”

That was possibly because we’d been standing in the corridor for ten minutes since leaving the pool and I doubted his was much bigger in the cold draught blowing in from the open window.

“Cathy, Cathy,” Phoebe said loudly and poked me–but not in the boob.

“Uh, sorry kiddo, was miles away.”

“What’s the soup like?”

“Dreadful, why?”

“I’ll have the cappuccino, then.” I heard her inserting money into the machine and then the small plop as the cup was released and the rushing of all sorts of fluids or powders into it. “Not too bad,” she concluded after a couple of sips. “Is he going to make it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can’t you ask your sources?”

“Like how?”

“How would I know? You’re the miracle woman.”

“I don’t feel very miraculous at this moment.”

“I could see all the energy you were shoving into him.”

“You could see it?”

“Yeah, as soon as you touched him.”

“I wonder if any of the others did?”

“They didn’t say anything.”

“No but I upset the machine the paramedics used.”

“Wow, so it’s measureable?”

“What is?”

“Your energy output.”

“I have no idea, but I have messed up the odd electronic device.”

“Like computers?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Better keep away from my iPad then.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve modified the energy so it doesn’t do it any more.”

“How did you do that?”

“I told it I wouldn’t use it again if it messed up another device–it hasn’t done so since.”

“What about the defibwhatever?”

“It didn’t mess it up, just gave a reading far higher than they were expecting.”

“But they’ll think it’s faulty?”

“That’s their problem.”

“Finished?” she asked and took my empty cup and dumped it with hers in the bin. I stood up and burped getting a sort of aftertaste which was about as far from the flavour of chicken as I was from Homo erectus.

We wandered back down to reception to be told Neal was still in the Diagnostic Imaging Department. In other words he was still stuffed in a dustbin while someone ran a lawnmower around it.

“Are you stealing that magazine?” she asked me with a horrified expression.

“No, merely relocating it. It has an article about dormice.”

“They’d all be pensioners now, wouldn’t they?” she giggled.

“Probably all dead by now, they only live about five years, probably less in the wild.”

“Aww, poor things.”

“Life is brutal I’m afraid and dormice don’t have much defence against it.”

“They’ve got good teeth, can’t they fight back?”

“The only thing I’ve known them bite is survey members and your brother.”

“What, they bite people?”

“Occasionally, why?”

“I was holding one earlier, if you remember.”

“Yeah, the one who bit Neal.”

“What?” she gasped and looked at her hand before going rather pale and keeling over before I could grab her.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2048 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Fortunately Phoebe flopped against a wall and I caught her on the rebound and helped her slither to the floor gently. A man who’d been sitting across the room came over and asked if she was okay. He helped me lift her up on to one of the chairs and she slowly came round as I rubbed her hand and cheek.

“Oh,” she sighed and opened her eyes, “that was so weird.”

“What was, sweetheart?”

“I saw some strange woman who was standing behind you and obviously helping you.”

“I think you might have imagined it, sweetheart, you passed right out.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, the man over there helped me pick you up, you were as limp as three week old lettuce.”

“Ugh,” was her response to that. “She was standing behind you wearing a dress that seemed to be made of sunlight, it glowed a golden yellow and shone like the sun does as it rises in the sky.”

“I think your mind was playing tricks as you keeled over.”

“She said Neal would be alright because you had acted so promptly and so selflessly. There was a girl standing with her who looked at you with such love.”

Oh boy, this was starting to freak me out. “It was an hallucination, okay?”

“If you say so, Mummy, I don’t mean to upset you.”

“Good, well let’s say no more about it, shall we?”

“It’s just that she looked like the girl in the photo in your purse.”

“I thought we agreed?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Do you feel okay now?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what came over me.”

Just in case it was the thought of being bitten by a dormouse, I said nothing and we sat in silence until the doctor came out and spoke with us again. “We’re going to admit him overnight, so you could tell any family what’s happening. He’ll be seen by a duty psychiatrist before we release him tomorrow–it’s standard procedure when it’s a genuine suicide attempt and this would have worked had you not found him and started CPR.”

“Can we see him?” asked Phoebe.

“Be brief then, he’s coming to but very woozy.”

I nodded and he pointed to a cubicle. We pulled back the curtain and Neal was lying there looking much better though he looked very tired.

“Hi, Neal,” said Phoebe walking up and touching his face.

His eyes opened and he took a moment to focus. “Hi,” he sort of croaked back.

“Don’t ever do that again, ever,” she said her eyes filling with tears descended her face, dripping off her chin.

“Okay,” he croaked. He looked at me and smiled. “Shoulda known you’d be there.”

“Only just, we nearly missed you, but not as much as a little girl would have done. For her sake, don’t you ever do anything like this again, okay?”

He nodded pointing to his throat.

“Keep a look out,” I said to Phoebe and then began gently rubbing his throat. “That should feel easier,” and he nodded again.

“Times up,” announced the young doctor, “porter’s here to take him up to a ward.”

We both kissed him goodnight and left.

“What do we tell the wicked witch of the west?” asked Phoebe as we got into my car.

“Nothing.”

“But won’t she find out?”

“She might. I said I’d look in on him I didn’t agree to report back to her.”

“Isn’t that a case of semantics or whatever they call it?”

“Perhaps, but I’m going home and after a cuppa I’m going to bed.”

“Good idea–why d’you think I fainted?”

“Perhaps you stood up too quickly?”

“Could be,” she shrugged and pulled on her seat belt while I started the car and drove out of the hospital.

I was turning into the drive when she said, “That was Billie, wasn’t it?”

“What was?” I played dumb.

“The girl.”

“What girl?” I knew perfectly well what she meant.

“In my faint, the girl I saw standing next to the goddess.”

“Was it? You’ve seen the photo in my purse which could have stimulated the image.”

“It was the goddess, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see her did I?”

“But you know her don’t you?”

“How could I know someone I don’t believe could exist?”

“You’re very stubborn aren’t you? She said you were.”

“She?”

“The goddess lady. She said not believing wouldn’t make her cease to exist.”

“Yes but the corollary of that is, believing in imaginary things doesn’t necessarily make them exist either. Just because the Pope believes in a god doesn’t mean he’s right. He still can’t produce any evidence which could be checked.”

“But isn’t that what belief is all about? You choose not to believe, that’s your belief, his is the opposite–the Pope I mean.”

“If you like–look, I’m tired and after a cuppa, I’m off to bed.”

“The Shekinah, that’s her name, said that you wouldn’t progress until you understood and if you refuse to acknowledge her, you won’t understand.”

“Fine, if she understood, she’d leave me in peace and pick on someone more gullible and accepting.”

“You were chosen long ago.”

“Oh pull the other one, I’m going for my cuppa.”

“One day you’ll understand.”

“Yeah sure, where’s that tea?” I dismissed her. Gods and goddesses just cluttered up the mathematics of creation as per Professor Cox, it’s all about the second law of thermodynamics, not fairies from the Old Testament, and the science can be tested.

“Where the hell have you been?” asked Simon.

“Was your dinner warm?” I answered with another question.

“It was fine, thank you; now where were you?”

“At the hospital.”

“All this time?”

“No we started off at Neal’s house.”

“How did that turn into the hospital?”

“He had an accident.”

“Accident?”

“Why are you simply repeating what I’m saying?”

“I’m not, what sort of accident?”

“He’s okay. I’m having a cuppa want one?”

“What sort of accident?”

“Nothing, okay?”

“So if it was nothing why can’t you say?”

“What would it prove?”

“I don’t know until you tell me.”

I rinsed the teapot with the boiling water to warm it then added some teabags and filled it with water. While it was standing, I got two cups and some milk. Then poured the teas after stirring the pot, added some milk and handed the stronger one to Simon.

“Why are you evading my question?”

“There’s nothing to tell, he’d had an accident we called the paramedics and followed to the hospital then waited while he had a scan.”

“So he’d had the accident before you got there?”

“Yes.”

“Lots of blood?”

“No there was little if any.”

“So what sort of accident was it?”

“An accidental accident.”

“That is rubbish and you know it.”

I sipped my tea. “Look, I’m very tired and need to go to bed. Oh bugger, I’ll have to check the baby first.”

“Stella fed her about,” he looked at his watch, “an hour ago.”

“Sometimes she really contributes.”

“And this accident–what happened?”

“If I tell you, will you shut up about it?”

“Cross my heart.” He drew a cross on his chest with his finger.

“Okay, he fell out of the attic.”

“Jeez that could have killed him,” gasped Simon.

“Yeah, only the rope round his neck broke the fall.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2049 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“The rope? You mean he tried to kill himself? What sort of idiot is he?”

“One who was daft enough to fall in love with Gloria and now perhaps regrets it.”

“What, she drove him to this?”

“She could drive more than the entire staff of Eddie Stobart.”

“What?”

“Eddie Stobart, you know transport company–biggest in Europe.”

“I know perfectly well what Eddie Stobart is or was.”

“Of course, he’s dead now, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but what is this about Gloria?”

“She gave him loads of grief including about my looking after the baby. Seems she thinks I acquire babies like some sort of collector.”

“Did you tell her I’d forbidden it?”

“No too much laughing would have made her worse.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Simon, you have no right to forbid me anything–I’m an adult, remember? You like to think you’re the lord and master of this house, but the reality is we’re a marriage of equals–or I’m outta here.”

“I was meaning in a symbolic way.”

“Oh, well that’s different.”

“It is?”

“Oh yes, I can cope with you being full of piss and wind as usual but not trying to lay down the law. I’m off to bed, it’s been a long day.”

“Full of pi...” I heard him rant at my description which was deliberately provocative, possibly symbolic–you know, but by then I was nearly half way up the stairs. I glanced in at the girls, they were all asleep looking like angels but only because the bed clothes were hiding their horns and pointed tails. I checked on Cate and she was fast asleep though she smiled when I touched her cheek. Little Lizzie was also well in the land of nod and I tucked her in. The days were warmer but the nights still had quite a chill about them.

“What happened to you?” asked Simon who was already in bed. “I thought you were tired?”

“I am, I just wanted to check on the children–or the younger ones.”

“Oh–they all present and accounted for?”

“As far as I know.” I undressed and went to the bathroom to wee and clean my teeth. Returning I slipped into bed and shivered.

“That’s not of some cosmic importance is it?”

“What?”

“You shuddering when you got into bed with me?”

“No, I’m simply cold–it’s quite nippy.”

“I might be full of piss and wind but I’m warm, so if you want a cuddle...”

“If that’s all we do, that would be nice–thank you.”

He switched off the light and I spooned into him, feeling his hand about my waist and golly he was warm bringing me up to a comfortable temperature in minutes.

“How is it that nearly everything I say offends or upsets you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know, Si, but you seem to have a knack for doing it, especially when I’m tired and less able to keep my own gob shut.”

“Maybe we should seek some advice.”

“Maybe, I’m so tired now, d’you mind if we just sleep?”

“Night,” he said and kissed me on the back of my neck and minutes later I suspect I was asleep.

I had one dream I remembered because it was rather unpleasant. In fact, thinking about it now makes we sweat. I found myself entering a house and calling out hello, going upstairs and finding Simon hanging from the attic only he was too heavy for me to cut down and a woman I assumed was the goddess character that Phoebe described was watching but refused to help until I understood what it was all about.

I got very exercised, calling her names and wanting to hit her but she just dodged me and pointed out I had agreed to serve her. I just kept yelling, “When? When did I agree?”

I didn’t get an answer because I woke myself up. Simon was snoring or simmering, not sure which–I suppose he could have been purring–but he doesn’t raise his bum when I run my hand down his back, so don’t think he can have been purring exactly–it just sounded like it.

I discovered I needed to rid myself of the cuppa I’d had before bed and slipped out from under the duvet and out to the bathroom. I didn’t bother to pull the cord to switch the light on managing to make do with the moonlight and any street lights that would have been close enough to help. I was weeing when I thought I caught sight of Billie. Then when I couldn’t see her I decided I must have imagined it.

However, after washing my hands I turned round and she was standing there looking very unhappy or disappointed. The message was clear but I only wanted to go back to sleep rather than puzzle over enigmatic visitors. It took me ages and I felt a resurgence of the hurt I’d felt when she’d died. Silent tears ran down my face and I thought I heard her voice telling me not to grieve, she was okay. Whatever it was it didn’t prevent me from crying myself to sleep.

In another dream, I saw Gloria as a giant spider trying to entangle me in a web she was spinning. “I’ll teach you what being a woman is all about,” she snapped at me and it was only when I woke up that it occurred for me to respond appropriately. I really had no idea how I was going to speak with Gloria, or indeed if I was going to talk with her. I’d done what she asked me to do which I accept was responsible for saving Neal’s life. I felt no responsibility to report back to her about anything and it might be better to leave it to Neal to tell her what he tried to do and why. Cowardice–maybe, but that was how I felt.

The alarm sounded too early until I remembered it was a Saturday and switched it off before it could make much noise and snuggled back down under the duvet. Simon muttered something but it was in his sleep. It was an hour later before the girls decided to come and see where we were.

I left them trying to get Simon up–he was pretending to be either fast asleep or dead, not sure which, while I went down and started the breakfasts. Tom was making himself a proper porridge with salt not sugar and so on. I might be Scots born but I can’t say I’m overly impressed with their culinary skills. I made my bowl of corn flakes and a cup of tea and sat down to eat it. Of course he wanted to know how Neal and Gloria were and I brought him up to date. He wasn’t too happy with my description of Gloria, which wasn’t in excelsis deo.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2050 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I’d just finished feeding the five thousand, oh it’s been done already hasn’t it, and the guy had a better publicist than I do. Anyway, I’d fed the brood and was going up to shower when the post arrived. The one in a large brown envelope addressed to, ‘Dr Catherine Watts,’ took my eye and I popped the rest of the mail down while I opened what looked like a quite thick load of paper. It was, it was the plans for the re-jigged study cum visitor centre in my woodland reserve. Boy, artist’s impressions, energy saving devices, wildlife friendly–you name it they seemed to think of it. If I read it all correctly, it was only requiring my signature to become real. They would do the ground work in October and have the main part of the shell up by Christmas with it being ready to be used sometime in late March early April.

I showed it to Simon and Tom. He’d stopped showing any resentment and was pleased to see the improvements I’d suggested, so the Billie King woodland centre was just four months away from becoming manifest. I was so excited I burst into tears and Simon had to hold me for several minutes until I calmed down.

Jacquie made a fresh pot of tea and I drank some before I went up to shower. Trish decided she wanted to shower with me and perhaps I ought to say no, I don’t. As we stood there dripping wet, it was obvious that the small dose of oestrogens she was taking were having an effect and her body was beginning to form a waist and hips. She hadn’t noticed but I certainly did.

She’d be nine soon and if the changes continued at the same rate by the time she was fourteen or so she’d have quite a body. Was I jealous? Yes, to a small degree. I’d been lucky in not responding to androgens so developed a female shape a bit later. She’d have one from her teens and the chance to grow into the role that life projected me into kicking and screaming.

Looking back over my life, from nursery to junior school and through high school there were so many times when it should have been obvious that I was gender troubled; but no one picked up on it except those with negative views who used it to pick on me or as grounds for teasing or physical assaults. I’d kill before I’d let that happen to Trish.

After dressing, it was time to feed little Lizzie and by the time that was done it was nearly lunchtime. I was playing with the girls when the phone rang and Jacquie handed it to me.

“Hello?” I said unsure of who it was.

“Cathy, it’s Gloria.”

My heart sank and I hushed the girls who were squabbling. They carried on making a noise so I went to my study. “How are you now?”

“Being discharged tomorrow, I hope.”

“Oh good, let me know what time you want me to bring over the baby.”

“Um–could you hold on to her a bit longer?”

“You sure?”

“Yes, if you could.”

“I could, but I thought you were worried I’d try and keep her.”

“Cathy, I have things to sort out with Neal. Did you know he tried to kill himself after we rowed?”

“Oh, did he?”

“You called the ambulance, didn’t you? You saved his life.”

“If I remember correctly, you asked me to go round there. So perhaps you did as well.”

“Cathy, I’m the one who caused it to happen–the suicide attempt. I don’t deserve anything but scorn.”

“That’s a shame, I’m fresh out of it.”

“Neal told me what happened and how you’d brought him back from a very dark place...”

“Well it was night.”

“Cathy, you know perfectly well what I mean, stop trivialising both it and what you did. You saved two lives that night because without my Neal, I wouldn’t have wanted to go on so you might have ended up with another baby.”

“Simon has told me to collect something else.”

“Cathy, can you be serious for a moment?”

“Why?” I asked.

“So I can tell you what’s happening with Neal.”

“Go on.”

“Your hotshot lawyer seems to have got the police to drop the charges against him. I refused to press any against him, anyway, he’s not someone who would lay a finger on me anyway.”

“Gloria, you fell off the bed–you were trying to fix a bulb that was flickering.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I sort of picked up on it when I collected some clothes for the baby.”

“So how come I can’t remember?”

“It might have something to do with banging your head on the wall as you fell.”

“Fell? I don’t understand.”

“You were standing on the bed, got a small shock from the light fitting and overbalanced bashing your head against the wall as you fell.”

“Can’t you tell that to the police?”

“No because they wouldn’t understand or accept it as anything more than conjecture.”

“But if you saw it?”

“I saw it in my mind, not for real.”

“Oh, are you pretty psychic then?”

“Pretty isn’t a word I’d use to describe myself, Gloria.”

“Neal thinks you’re beautiful, when you changed over he was a bit shocked but said it made sense when he thought about it. I felt threatened.”

“You felt threatened–by me?” I was surprised by this revelation.

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“You were prettier than I was, I wanted Neal but he fancied you.”

“You’re joking?”

“I wish I were.”

“How could he fancy me–he knew about my past?”

“Because you’re beautiful, and in those days had a sort of naíve vulnerability about you which some men find very attractive. Neal was one of them. We had quite a few rows about you then you took up with Simon Cameron and I felt so glad, now I had Neal to myself, except he only had eyes for you and stayed that way until you married Simon.

“He was heart-broken, I thought it absurd that a boy could become Lady anything.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.

“I was clearly wrong, and I’ve spoken with a psychiatrist here today who was seeing Neal. He didn’t know you so I asked about people who have gender problems, he was quite well informed saying it was probably caused by hormone exposure at the wrong time in the womb or possibly some genetic origin. He said your brain was wired up like a female not a male one. I realised I’d made a huge mistake and wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Okay, Gloria, I accept your apology but please concentrate on getting you and your husband back to full health and come and get this babe of yours back, she’s sucking my chest inside out.”

“Is she a problem then?”

“No, I’m only joking–she is sooo good, so you take as long as you need–and don’t worry, I’ll be happy to give her back just as soon as you’re ready.”

“Okay, I’d better go–I’ll be in touch when I’m ready, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is.”

“Bye, Cathy.”

“Yeah, take care.” I said back.

It was apparently the last thing anyone said to her, she hanged herself in the stairwell using a bandage she stole from a nurse’s trolley. She wasn’t missed for half an hour and incredibly no one used the stairs while she did it.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2051 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The first we heard of Gloria’s demise was a police car came up the drive and two officers emerged, a man and a woman. I immediately tried to think who was out and could something have happened to them. Simon was playing golf, Danny was at Peter’s house and all the girls except Julie were at home, Phoebe electing to stay at home and help look after her niece rather than go to the salon with Julie.

As they approached the front door I went to answer it with fingers crossed that it wasn’t about Simon, Danny or Julie. They couldn’t be coming about Neal being discharged, because they wouldn’t come to me, they’d surely just let him go.

The bell rang and I waited a few seconds before answering so it didn’t look as if I was curtain twitching. “Could we speak to Miss Phoebe Allen?” asked the woman.

“Do come in, I’ll go and find her.” I ushered them into the lounge and dashed off to the kitchen where Phoebe was talking to David. I told her the police wanted to see her.

“But I haven’t done anything wrong,” she protested.

“I don’t think it’s about that sort of thing, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, don’t say something’s happened to Neal?” she gasped as we approached the lounge. “Will you come in with me, Mummy?”

“If they’re agreeable, of course I will.”

We asked and they asked who I was. I’m pretty sure they’d know who lived at this address and while there are a few women here under thirty, I suspect my attitude suggests I’m the top banana–or maybe just bananas?

When I told them I was Cathy Cameron, they both looked as if they’d sat in something wet, but they allowed me to stay at Phoebe’s request.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Miss Allen...”

“Oh god, Neal–what’s happened to Neal?”

“Neal? Um no–we’re here to report the death of Mrs Gloria Allen.”

“What?” we both gasped, “I only talked to her an hour or two ago,” I added, feeling absolutely shocked by the news.

“Oh, what time was this?” asked the woman and her colleague prepared to write down anything I said.

“Just before lunch, I’m looking after their baby with Phoebe’s help, and I was just feeding her.”

“With a bottle?”

“No, from the breast.”

She gave a little start and then regained her composure, “I see, and would you mind telling us what the conversation was about?”

“Yes, I told you we’re looking after little Lizzie, their baby and she asked if I minded looking after her a little longer because she and Neal had some issues to work out. I was surprised that she decided to ask me to do that, but they were having problems of communication I suspect, and I agreed I’d have her a day or two longer if it was necessary.

“She was in the hospital because she fell off her bed and banged her head against a wall, causing a skull fracture, but she was making good progress and she expected to be discharged later today.”

“How did her mood seem?”

“Conciliatory, we used to work together, and we didn’t always see eye to eye.”

“Yet she asked you to have her baby?”

“Not originally, she was unconscious and Neal went off to the hospital and asked me to watch the baby. I told him I’d bring her home with me and he was fine about it. When Gloria found out she wasn’t best pleased, but then after they spoke she agreed to it.”

“And you still have the baby?”

“Yes, as I said I was expecting her to come and collect her today, but then she phoned and said otherwise. You said she’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How is Neal, he’s in hospital himself.”

“I don’t know, we were just told to come and tell Miss Allen, as there aren’t many other relatives to inform.”

Phoebe was sitting on the settee in total shock.

“What happened–to Gloria–I mean?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that, Mrs Cameron.”

“Surely it wasn’t illness–was it?” I probed.

“I can’t say.” She looked at Phoebe, “Miss Allen, if there’s anything we can do to help, please do contact us.” She handed her a card. “She may need some bereavement counselling,” was added before the two coppers went back to their duties.

As soon as they’d gone I called the hospital and finally tracked Neal down to a different ward. I explained to the ward sister that I was calling on behalf of Phoebe and that we had the Allen’s baby, and that the police had just called to see us. Was it possible for me to come and speak with Neal?

“I see so you know about his wife’s death?”

“Yes, the police have only just gone. I need to speak with him about the baby and to see what help he’s going to need for funeral arrangements.”

“He’s deeply shocked and under sedation, he’s not going to be able to speak with you until this evening at the earliest.”

“Could you tell him I called and will be coming to see him at the first opportunity.”

“Of course, but don’t hold your breath for this evening–he’s right out of it.”

“I’m not surprised–it’s a huge shock to us as well. Phoebe, Neal’s sister is devastated.”

“I’m sure.”

I rang off and went back to Phoebe who needed me to sit and hold her while she vented her grief. “Why am I crying, Mummy, I couldn’t stand the woman?”

“Shock, sweetheart. You thought it was Neal. Now we know it isn’t, but that complicates things for the baby and you’ve grown fond of her already.”

“She’s lovely.”

“Yes she is, but now we’ll have to work with Neal to try and compensate for the loss of her mother.”

“Will you adopt her, too?”

“No, certainly not, she’s still got a loving father–we’ll just have to try and support them both as best we can.”

“What happened to her–Gloria, I mean?”

“I don’t know–she sounded alright on the phone, so it must have been something sudden, like a clot somewhere.”

“I didn’t like her, but poor little Lizzie–what’s it going to mean for her?”

“I don’t know, Pheebs, we’ll just have to do what we can to help and what Neal wants us to do. She’s his daughter so what he says goes.”

“But he won’t cope, will he?”

“I don’t know. Once he’s got over the shock–we’ll have to see, won’t we. I’m sure he’ll do his best.”

“Does that mean I have to look after her for him?” She looked really worried.

“If you mean does it mean that you have to sacrifice your life to look after the baby? No, not unless you want to, and even then I’d try and talk you out of it. The baby will need a mother substitute of some sort but it could well be that just a good dad will suffice. There are plenty of single fathers doing a great job of bringing up their children–you don’t have to be female.”

“No, but it helps,” she said wryly and I shrugged.

“I refuse to prejudge the issue. I think Neal has the capability to do a great job.”

“Yeah, but he won’t, will he?”

“Let’s not prejudge him. Now c’mon, let’s go and have a cuppa and see what we can do to look after our motherless waif.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2052 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Episode 171 doz for the dodecaphiles.

I began to distribute the news around the family. I also needed to find out what happened to Gloria’s parents, or even grandparents and let them know. Most of all however, was a need to talk with Neal, knowing full well he’d be unable to help very much at the present. I could arrange a funeral for Gloria and allow him to fine tune it, but that could be complicated, and I didn’t want to be seen to be taking over yet another aspect of his life.

I was musing on this when Trish called me to her computer. “Seen this, Mummy?”

I looked at the screen and on the local paper website was the following short piece:
‘Hospital staff questioned over suicide of woman patient. The thirty year old woman was found hanging in one of the stairwells by a bandage she must have taken from a store room or nurse’s trolley. The hospital has announced an enquiry into the circumstances surrounding the death. Police are not seeking anyone else in connection with this event. The unfortunate woman’s family have been informed. Post natal depression hasn’t yet been ruled out as the cause of the incident.’

I called Phoebe and she read the notice and gasped. “She killed herself? Omigod.”

“It doesn’t actually say it was her, but it seems unlikely to be anyone else. No wonder Neal’s under sedation.”

“That's why the police were asking about your conversation with her,” Phoebe suggested.

“It would certainly make sense, yes, you’re probably right.” I glanced across at Trish, “How did you happen to see that?”

“Oh I check their site quite regularly, gives me a chance to see if any of the nuns have been arrested as paedophiles.”

“Trish, that isn’t funny.”

“No, especially if they’ve taught you.”

“That’s happened has it?”

“Yeah, Sister Constance was caught with a girl in the toilets.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it was only last week.”

“They’ve kept that very quiet,” I mused out loud.

“They’d hardly put it in their prospectus or syllabus would they?” said Phoebe sounding very cynical.

“Okay, I’ll speak with Sister Maria next time I see her.” I hoped that would be some distance away and we could all forget it. I had enough to think about for the moment.

“Check the baby, would you Phoebe?”

“Check her for what?”

“See if she’s still breathing–doh,” muttered Trish and Phoebe gave her a hard stare, which is somewhat wasted if you’re looking at a computer screen and don’t see it, as Trish was. Phoebe went up to check the baby.

“Don’t be so sarcastic, Trish, Phoebe hasn’t had much experience with babies compared to you.”

“Yeah, all of it bad,” she sighed and I knew she was taking the rise out of me.

“Well, you could go and play with your dolls a bit more often and you might know a bit more yourself.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t do dolls, Mummy, except to find their total destruction point–that’s quite interesting, soaking them in nitro and setting fire–do they go bang or what?”

“Trish that is gross.”

She giggled–had I created a psychopath? Or what they tend to describe as a person with severe or pronounced sociopathic traits or tendencies or similar personality disorders. Apparently, psychopath was a legal term not a clinical one, now it’s only used in tabloid papers to describe anyone who’s been accused of something nasty. Basically, it suggests someone who isn’t driven by remorse when they’ve done something awful, they just ignore the fact and disconnect their consciences whereas the rest of us would be feeling huge amounts of remorse, especially if we had deliberately hurt someone.

David made a dinner which I don’t think any of the adults really wanted to eat, we were still dealing with shock and possibly grief. Certainly that applied to Tom who had known Glo for a lot longer than I had. Apparently, she and Neal had been appointed about the same time which was the year before I arrived on the scene as a person of questionable gender, presenting as male but with difficulty–the difficulty being in the mind of the perceiver–who usually concluded my name was Charlotte not Charles.

After an hour of pushing food around my plate I announced that Phoebe and I were going to the hospital to see Neal. I left the others to clear up and asked Stella to keep an eye on the baby, whom I’d just fed at the table–well, it was her dinner time, too.

I changed into something a bit tidier, though quite why I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if Neal would be the slightest impressed by me, nor would anyone else, but perhaps it gave me confidence. Recent research apparently suggests that women dress up for their women friends or rivals not for their boyfriends. What happens with gay women, I haven’t a clue–perhaps they do the same or not.

I wore some black trousers with a pink top and my black velvet jacket, Phoebe had a short dress with leggings on underneath, Ugg boots and a tiny cardigan completed her outfit. I wasn’t sure if I liked that style.

We didn’t speak during the drive over, each perhaps reflecting upon what we’d say to Neal, assuming he was conscious. I parked the car and we walked quickly to the main hospital and then took the lift up to the required floor.

He’d been moved to a single room and he was lying in bed, awake, but distracted by his grief, or so I assumed. Tears were washing down his cheeks and every now and again he made like a whimpering noise. It was distressing to see.

“Neal,” I said loudly and he jumped a little before looking at me and then going back to his weeping. “Neal, we need to talk to you.”

“Go away, I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Neal, you have a daughter, remember? We need your cooperation to look after her until you’re able to take care of her.”

“Oh keep her, I don’t want her–I just want my Gloria–my beautiful Glo.”

“We’re sorry to hear what happened to her, but your daughter needs your help too.”

“I don’t want a daughter, I want a wife–a wife d’ya hear?”

“Neal, please try to think beyond now, when you’ll have recovered from this shock and look to start living normally again.”

“Live normal–hah. I should be dead now if you hadn’t interfered–you’re always interfering, aren’t you, can’t leave anything alone–can you? Take the bloody baby, that’s all you wanted anyway–go on take the bloody child–see if I care–bloody baby snatcher.”

I didn’t see Phoebe walk closer to him, but I heard the slap she gave him. “You disgusting pig, how can you talk like that about the only person who’s consistently tried to help you? Apologise to her now or I’ll never speak to you again.”

I was about to intervene when she raised her hand up to motion me to be quiet.
She continued to glare at Neal who tried to avoid eye contact. “Well?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, Cathy, I didn’t mean it. Everything’s got on top of me for the last few weeks and this is so awful, I can’t get my head round it–I still feel she’s gonna come through that door and tell me to get off my arse and do something. But she isn’t, is she?”

“No, Neal, I’m sorry.”

“What am I going to do, Cathy? She was my life.”

“You have another young woman to build your life around and she needs you more than Gloria did.”

“I don’t think I could cope, you’d better keep her.”

“Neal, I have enough children of my own, I don’t need yours as well, generous though the offer was, she needs you, her dad to rear her. We’ll help but she needs you.”

“I don’t know, Cathy, that’s a pretty big agenda.”

“You won’t be on your own, we’ll be there to help.”

“And Mummy’s got experience of looking after babies, so you’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, sure. I feel tired now.” With that he closed hls eyes and went off to sleep. We waited for another ten or fifteen minutes and then left. Not the best evening I’d ever experienced.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2053 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Well that was a waste of time,” said Phoebe as we got into the car.

“Perhaps, he’s still very shocked.”

“But he’s got a baby to care for–enough of him, what about her?”

“That’s sometimes the difference between men and women...”

“Yeah, we’re left holding the baby.” I nearly laughed out loud at what she said, but she was completely right on this occasion. “Why can’t he see it the same as us?”

“He was upset before this happened if you recall–and he was upset with her and she with him.”

“Yeah but why did she have to do that? I mean I’m, like upset with him, but I’m not gonna kill myself–I’m more likely to kill him.”

“Yes I noticed the left hook to his kisser.”

She smirked, “Yeah, I enjoyed that.”

This trend of violence amongst young women was worrying, especially when they claim to enjoy it.

“Have you ever hit anyone?” she asked me.

“A few times.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did it feel like?”

“I didn’t enjoy it–well maybe once or twice–but then they asked for it.”

“Oh like when you rescued that woman who’d been trafficked for sex?”

“Possibly.”

“Is it true you once hit Daddy?”

“Um–probably–why?”

“Julie mentioned something about you laying him out.”

“Did she now?” I’ll have to have words with elder daughter.

“Yeah, she said you were arguing and you hit him or something.”

“I showed him a flying kick–he didn’t believe it was as good as I’d said it was. Unfortunately I meant to pull it but he stepped forwards and I knocked him out.” It was total fiction. We were squabbling and I dearly regretted it now. Simon might at times be a total ass, but I loved him, long ears an’ all.

“What do we do about the baby?” Phoebe was flitting from subject and back like a butterfly.

“Continue to care for her until someone in authority tells us to stop.”

“Or my bro.”

“Yes, exactly–but he’s in no position to do that for the moment.”

“The moment?” she gasped, “At the rate he’s going she’ll be a granny herself before he knows his arse from his elbow.”

How I didn’t hit the car behind as I reversed out of the space, I’ll never know–possibly the warning thing beeping away helped. Phoebe has this penchant for saying things I don’t expect–this rather blunt summation of her brother being one of them.

“Do I need to stop my course?”

“No,” I said firmly though on reflection it might have come over as me snapping at her. “You need to get on with your own life, I’ll organise something provided Neal is happy with it.”

“He barely knows which way is up.”

“But he will in a few weeks.”

“So, are they going to keep the body in the freezer until he gets his act together?”

“I don’t know. There’ll have to be a post mortem and the coroner will decide when the body can be released for disposal.”

“You make it sound like an industrial process.”

“Pheebs, it is, or it would be if our friendly neighbourhood undertaker wasn’t there to soften the edges. Let’s face it, there are far too many of us on this small planet and as we haven’t yet discovered the secret elixir of life, so we still die in quite significant numbers. The bodies have to be got rid of, and that means burial or burning, or we’d be knee deep in corpses.”

“Luv-ly,” she sighed. “It sounds like it’s the same as chucking out a bag of rubbish.”

“It is in some respects.”

“Respect–aren’t we supposed to respect the dead?”

“I think we do, or some of us do, at any rate.”

“Yeah, but not everybody does or they wouldn’t paint stupid things on war memorials.”

“The mentality of some of those people doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“My other mum always said we should respect the dead, especially those who were generous enough to die to protect us.”

“Absolutely.”

“So people who deface those memorials need locking up.”

“I agree entirely. Usually they seem to be people who were out of their heads on drugs or booze and I suspect have been put up to the act by someone with much more sinister motives.”

“Like the mad muslims?”

“They could just as easily be neo-Nazis trying to stir things up between communities.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Neither do the tabloids. For them, someone spray painting the WW2 Bomber Command memorial, is a heaven sent chance to stir up all sorts of things.”

“Yeah, makes me sick–bloody tabloids.”

I’ve been on the receiving end of them–it isn’t very nice.”

“Why would they be after you?”

“I suppose I’m one of those people things happen to or near, and I’m forced to act.” As if on cue, two cars drove straight into each other scattering debris all over. Somehow, I managed to retain control of my car and got through the accident. “See?”

“Yes I do, Mummy. What do we do?”

“Lock our bags in the car, take our mobiles and be ready to call the police and ambulance. C’mon, let’s see if we can help.”

I locked the car as we dumped our bags in the footwells and rushed over to the worse damaged car. It didn’t look very good–no airbag, possibly wasn’t wearing a seat belt and I suspect was the guilty party, as the car seemed to cross the carriageway into the path of the other one. Phoebe made for that one.

An old man was slumped over the steering wheel and there was blood all up the windscreen. An old lady was sitting in the passenger seat looking completely dazed. I reached in and switched off the engine. There was no pulse for the man–but I knew that before I opened the door. I checked her. She was still alive, but very badly shocked and possibly had a neck injury. I dialled triple nine and called for help.

I left her as someone came to help and went to assist Phoebe who was in tears, a young woman was slumped back in her seat with blood on her face and a baby was screaming somewhere from the back seat. The mother was alive but unconscious. She had an airway so I left her to look for the baby. The engine had stalled but a radio was playing awful music so I switched it off.

We located the baby–she was jammed under the driver’s seat–having presumably been thrown out of the seat on the back of the car. Her crying meant she was still alive, but it would take experts to rescue her.

A police car arrived and two officers came running up to the scene. As we were telling them what happened, the first ambulance arrived. I showed the paramedics the baby stuck in the car and they said they’d have to wait for the fire tender with cutting equipment to make sure they didn’t do any further damage. They then concentrated on looking at the mother and then the old couple in the other car.

Before we were sent from the scene, we saw the dazed young woman being extracted from her car into an ambulance before some burly fireman ripped her seat out of the car and gently lifted out a baby who was handed quickly to the paramedic. I threw blue light at all the victims, including the deceased old man. He’d died from a heart attack a split second before he lost control of the car–it could happen to anyone.

“Can we go, Mummy?” asked Phoebe, “I’ve had enough death for one day.”

“Yes, of course, sweetheart.” I put my arm round her and escorted her back to the car. “You did really well, helping look after that young mother and baby.”

“Will they be alright?”

“I think so.”

“Was the old bloke–you know–a goner?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Your blue light couldn’t revive him then?”

“Not if it was his time to go, no.”

“Is that decided then–and by who?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know, but I know it won’t help those who appear in that position.”

“How d’you know?”

“Nothing happens.”

“That’s it, nothing happens?”

“Exactly–now let’s get home before Simon sends out a search party.”

“That was kind of exciting but horrible.”

“Yeah, life is messy.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2054 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

When we got home Phoebe went up to her room and I thought I heard crying when I went past a little later. I knocked and entered, she was sitting on the bed weeping. I sat beside her and put my arm round her.

“Why do people have to die?”

“Because it’s what happens–the body ages and eventually ceases to maintain vitality or something catastrophic happens beforehand and the life span is even shorter. Like everything we know, we have a beginning, a middle and an end.”

“Seeing those people in the accident reminded me of what had happened to Gloria.”

I said nothing but gently stroked her back.

“I mean she was too young to die, why did she have to die–especially with a young baby?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I can only surmise that something was troubling her which she felt was overwhelming her and in her distorted view, she took what seemed a way of stopping it.”

“But it was such a horrid thing to do.”

“It was to us and anyone not involved, but to her it made some sort of sense. People don’t commit suicide for anything other than pressing reasons, that they might be confused or deluded, is always another possibility, but at the time they think it’s the right choice.”

“Have you ever thought of doing it?” she asked slicing through my platitudes like a rapier.

“Yes.”

“Oh–not recently, I hope?”

“No, it was some time ago and I actually tried it–I shouldn’t be here now but I was found despite my best efforts to avoid it–I was taken to hospital and sorted.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“I’d been beaten up by my father–quite badly–and I decided to end it all.”

“What, Gramps beat you up?” she was horrified.

“No not Gramps, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. My real father, who’s now dead, he had problems with my gender dysphoria and when we argued one day he lost it and beat me black and blue.”

“But why would he beat his daughter? That’s dreadful.”

“He wanted a son and thought he had a son, when I failed to live up to his expectations he got upset and anything I did which showed my femininity drove him wild.”

“How could he see you as anything but a girl?”

“He did.”

“Silly man, was he prosecuted?”

“No but I refused contact with him for some time.”

“I’d never have spoken to him again–ever.”

“That was what I thought I wanted, then my mother died just after I’d transitioned.”

“Transitioned?” she looked askance at me.

“I was born a boy, not a very good one because my body didn’t recognise testosterone so it never masculinised, so I was bit girly but I tried to humour him and did my best but I was never comfortable trying to be something I wasn’t. Then Auntie Stella hit me off my bike brought me to her cottage saw I was as much girl as boy–I had breasts and my hips were spreading, plus my hair was long. She encouraged me to let her dress me and do my hair and makeup and I met Simon and he fancied me.”

“I can’t get my head around you being anything but a woman.”

“Well, in spirit I was always female but my body didn’t quite get the message until I took hormones and then it all happened. I was still living as boy but didn’t feel much like one. Then after the incident with Stella I found myself walking about in skirts and people accepted what they saw. I was a post graduate student then working under Gramps’ supervision and he saw me walking down the street being pestered by a couple of yobs from my student accommodation. He intervened and insisted I take tea with him and when he said he knew about me and wondered when he’d meet the real me I was gobsmacked. I never went back to pretending to be a boy.

“My mum died soon after with a heart attack and I went to the funeral in my new role–he’d seen me as a girl before–they made me act as Lady Macbeth in school and I had to wear dresses while it was being rehearsed and performed.”

“What on stage?”

“No round the school as well.”

“Was it a mixed school?”

“No, it was a boy’s school.”

“And you had to wear dresses?”

“For a month or so.”

“Boy, talk about standing out like a sore thumb.”

“The headmaster had issues with me, he couldn’t stand having someone he saw as queer messing up his perfect school, so he tried to pressure me into leaving.”

“Why did he see you as queer?”

“I was quite feminine with very long hair and looked more like a girl than a boy–quite deliberately.”

She chuckled, “They were all wrong weren’t they?”

“Yes, as it happens, they were.”

“I’m glad, I like having you as my second mum.” She put her arm around my waist and pulled me close to her. “Were you sad when your mum died?”

“Yes, I saw her moments before she died–she didn’t recognise me.”

“Because you were a girl?”

“She was dying and I suppose she couldn’t see the old me.”

“But your dad did?”

“He saw me and again at the funeral.”

“You went to the funeral as a girl?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t say anything?”

“He was a bit more amenable, I think he was glad to have me there in any shape or form–I think he suddenly realised I was all he had–then he had the stroke and his world was turned upside down. He had to accept me as I was because for the first time he needed me. I went to see him in hospital and he seemed to accept me–eventually we got on quite well, he even agreed to Simon marrying me.”

“Wow, that was big change.”

“We took him out to the pub in a wheelchair and he and Si got on quite well. Simon knew he’d hit me a few times and was prepared to stand up to him but he was too feeble to try anything. I hope he’d begun to understand, but I can’t be sure. You can never really tell what someone else is thinking, can you?”

She shook her head. “I’m so glad that sort of thing never happened to me. I’m just so glad to be an ordinary girl.”

“That was my ambition.”

“What–to be a girl?”

I nodded, my eyes filling with tears.

“But you are, Mummy, you’re a very pretty woman and everyone loves you. Don’t cry,” Now she was rubbing my back.

It’s ridiculous but no matter how successful we are in changing over–and I’ve been as successful as anyone I suspect–there’s always this void, which no matter how hard you try to fill it remains empty and proclaims loudly, but only to you, ‘you’re not real, you’re a fake a facsimile,’ and it still hurts.

Stella’s voice called down the landing, “Are you going to feed this baby, Cathy?” and my reminiscence ended.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2055 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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It was several days later that I’d had to go into town for something for one of the children and I realised I was going to miss out on my lunch so I dashed into a small cafe–I ran because it was tipping down–we were back to a typical British summer.

I surveyed the dining area and pretty well everywhere was full, I was just about to leave and try to cope with my gurgling tummy when a waitress approached me.

“Is it just you?”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t mind sharing, there’s one in the corner.”

“I don’t mind.”

“This way,” and she led me over to the table which was occupied by an elderly lady who was eating some sandwiches and had a pot of tea in front of her. To save time I gave the waitress my order as we walked over to the table, double egg and chips with a pot of tea.

I nodded at the old lady and she nodded back. “Horrible day,” she commented before sipping her tea.

“Isn’t it, looks like we might have had our summer.”

“I hope not.”

I took the book out of its bag and began to examine it. It was one of those Japanese anime things that Trish had asked me to collect from Waterstones, in which the hero is transformed into a heroine–yeah like such things happen–and certainly not wearing the soft porn costumes they always have in these things.

I caught sight of the old lady reading the synopsis from the back cover. “For my daughter,” I said.

“It’s about sex changers is it?” she asked.

“I wasn’t aware it was until just now; just harmless fiction, I guess.”

“It’s not fiction though, is it?”

Wondering if I’d been exposed or had she seen something about me somewhere and was about to tell the world? I wasn’t sure what to do. The waitress interrupted us by delivering my pot of tea, some milk and a cup and saucer.

Undeterred by the interruption she looked me in the eye and I felt sure the coup de grace was coming. “My granddaughter is one of those sex changers.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said almost sighing with relief.

“My granddaughter–she was born my grandson, they had nothing but trouble with her, then in desperation the doctor sent her to a special psychiatrist and he confirmed it, she should have been born a girl.”

“Oh, well I suppose they can sort that these days,” said one who knew it for a fact.

“I worry about her every time she goes out on her own; that some bloke or other doesn’t grab her and discover that she isn’t a proper girl.”

“Only in one place,” I defended this granddaughter I’d never met.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, she’s quite a pretty girl and so clever.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen, they had to send her to that posh convent place–the only place that would take her–thank goodness the council pays for it.”

“St Claires?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“It’s supposed to be a good school.” I ventured not daring to inform her that I had three there.

“They’re very generous to Cindy–her name’s Cynthia–was Colin originally. They have a fund, a scholarship thing–apparently some famous actors did a play there last year and earned thousands for the school.”

“Macbeth.”

“Who?”

“The play, it’s Shakespeare.”

“Yes I know, I might be old but I’m not completely daft you know?”

“I’m sure that Cindy is very proud of you for supporting her.”

“It was a bit of a shock, but she’s settled down quite a bit since–still not sure what I think about it–a grandson with breasts and long hair.”

“I’ll bet you still love her though, don’t you?”

“Of course, she’s my flesh and blood.”

“Which is what matters, that you love her whether she’s a boy or a girl, she’s still your grandchild and needs your love and support.”

My food arrived and as I sprinkled salt and vinegar on it she looked at me with some concentration. “Would you say that if it was one of your family?”

I paused, having just dipped a chip in the yolk of the egg. “I can say categorically, yes.”

“That sounds as if you have some experience.”

“I know someone close to me who is transgendered, yes. I don’t have the slightest problem with it or them.”

“And this is a young person?”

“Yes.”

“The one you bought the book for?”

She may have been elderly but there were no flies on her. “Yes.”

“I feel better now.”

I looked at her in astonishment. “Why?” I blurted out before shoving in an eggy chip.

“I know there are a few of these kids about, you read things in the paper or see them on the television, but it’s different to meet someone real who’s met the situation as well. Makes it all seem more real.”

“These children don’t choose to be in this situation, it’s probably congenital, so they should be supported in the same way we would any child with a problem–except it isn’t a problem–save in the way some people react to it, and usually they have no direct contact anyway–but bigots like to make a fuss all the same.”

She looked hard at me again and I found it a little unnerving. “I know you from somewhere.”

“You’ve possibly seen me about the place.” I tried to dismiss her suggestion and gobble down my lunch and get back to the office.

“I’ll think of it eventually.”

I said nothing but shoved in another chip and then a lump of egg, almost swallowing it without chewing–I was going to get indigestion anyway–what I didn’t need was for her to identify Trish through me.

I finished my lunch and drank the remains of the cup of tea. “Nice to have met you, I have to dash back to my office.” I wasn’t telling lies–well, I did have an office–okay, a broom cupboard which I called my office and I did have to get back.

“I know I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“Goodbye, I hope your granddaughter does well at her school.” I dashed off before she could say anything else and hoped she forgot who I was if ever she worked it out in the first place–well, I knew what I meant.

Back at work I did all I had to do–mainly sorting out the animals which took me exactly an hour, then it was off to school to collect the animals–the three mouseketeers. While waiting I bumped into Sister Maria.

“Could I have a quick word?” I asked the headmistress.

“Of course.” I followed her back to the office and she closed the door. “Is there a problem?”

“No, I don’t think so...” I related my conversation with the old lady. “Now I’m well aware you can’t tell me anything about this girl, but could you confirm it is this school that accepted her?”

“I can’t tell you that, Lady Cameron.”

“Could I put a hypothetical situation to you?”

“I’m not sure where you’re going, but okay.”

“If, and only if, this girl attends this school and is assisted by the scholarship, if there ever became a problem in finding the fees she needs to continue here–that you’d let me know because I suspect the bank could be imposed upon to help. If not then one or two of its directors could.”

“You mean you and Simon?”

“It’s a hypothetical case and I couldn’t possibly say in order to protect identities.”

“But of course,” she said then snorted.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2056 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The girls were surprised when I appeared with the headmistress. “Are we in trouble?” asked Trish when we drove off and were thus a safe distance from the school.

“Why what have you done?”

“Nuthin’ ’onest.”

The guilty look she gave me tended to make me feel that wasn’t the entire picture but the edited highlights or airbrushed version.

“Trish Watts, what are you holding back from me?”

She looked very sheepish and said, “How d’you always know?”

“Because I’ve been around a bit longer than you–now spill.”

“Um–okay, I intervened when one of the nuns was telling off Cindy Highsmith.” How I didn’t bash the car I’ll never know. Could this be the same Cindy whose grandmother I’d been talking to earlier.

I stopped the car and turned round to face her. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story.”

“Okay. We have some girls who are scholarship girls, their families can’t afford to send them to the school without help.”

“Yes I know, that’s one of the reasons we did the play to raise funds for the hardship fund, and I did a talk as well.”

“Of course you did, Mummy, well Cindy is one of the scholarship girls and the nun was calling her names, saying she didn’t deserve their charity and so on.”

Very Christian, not, I thought. “So what did you do?”

“I asked her what she thought Jesus would have said in such circumstances.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said he’d have agreed with her because she and Jesus thought alike.”

“Interesting,” I said while thinking, is hubris a cardinal sin?

“I told her she was being arrogant as well as blaspheming.”

“Oh yeah and what happened next?”

“She stuck her in detention, Mummy,” added Livvie before Trish could say anything.

“I wasn’t aware you were late,” I wondered how long I’d spoken to the headmistress.

“No, Sister Maria cancelled it, agreeing with me; I wondered if she was telling you about it.”

“No, she didn’t mention it.”

“Who’s this girl Cindy?”

“Oh she’s in year nine.”

“So she’s about thirteen is she?”

“Yeah–I suppose she must be.”

“So is she often in trouble?”

“Some of the girls think the scholarship girls are inferior because they’re poor.”

“And what d’you think?”

“I think she’s okay, but not Sister Ruth.”

“That was the teacher who was criticising her?”

“Yes.”

“I think you need to be very careful what you say to any of the staff, remember they are older and have more experience of life than you do.”

“Not Sister Ruth, we all think she’s a zombie, anyway.”

“Please show her a little respect.”

“Why? She didn’t show me any.”

“Trish, it doesn’t work like that. She’s a teacher, so regardless of how good or bad you think she is, you must show her respect and some courtesy.”

“I did,” she said her eyes welling up. “It was her that was dissing us.”

“Yeah but you did sorta rub her nose in it, didn’t you?” Livvie was adding a new dimension to the scene.

“What does that mean?” I asked, “You rubbed her nose in it?”

Trish started to snivel and Livvie supplied the rest of the commentary. “She told Sister Ruth that she shouldn’t pick on Cindy for being poor, because compared to our daddy, most people were poor; and it was our mummy who got funds for the scholarships playing Lady Macbeth–what had she done to raise funds for it?”

“I see. That was hardly what I’d consider remaining courteous–what d’you think?”

Trish began to sob and her two sisters consoled her. While I sympathised I couldn’t condone disrespect towards her teacher, even if some of them seem undeserving of it.

“I’m sorry, Mummy,” Trish eventually got out in between sobs and sniffles.

“Okay, providing you don’t do it again, I won’t say any more about this.”

“Thank you, Mummy.”

“I appreciate it’s difficult and I agree that bullying someone because they’re poor is wrong and perhaps should be reported or even interrupted. I almost approve of the way you turned her bullying back on her by asking what Jesus would have done, that was clever of you. However, by then bragging about how rich Daddy is, made it rather lose its message. D’you understand?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Okay, let’s go home and have a drink and a biscuit.” I had her book in my shopping bag but I thought I’d make her wait until the morning before I gave it to her so as to avoid sending mixed messages, if I wasn’t doing so already. Morality is such a difficult area anyway, but at least they now knew how I felt about flaunting wealth.

While we were having our biscuit and drink in the kitchen with Stella and Jacquie, Livvie suddenly said, “Did you know nuns take a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience?”

“And what d’you think that means?”

“It probably means they’re too poor to buy a spare key for their chastity belts.”

For a moment I thought we were going to have to call an ambulance as Stella inhaled a mouthful of tea and couldn’t stop coughing, but she finally managed to get her breath back, blaming Livvie’s interpretation for nearly killing her.

It was a classic by any standard and when I told Simon that night as we cuddled down in bed, he nearly fell out of it he was laughing so hard. “Maybe you could do a fund raiser for that?” he said when he’d stopped crying with laughter. “Could the first one be called an opener–and do they need keys or a can opener?” He lay there roaring with laughter and in the end he had to get up and go to the loo because he was in danger of wetting himself through laughing. And there’s me thinking it was only women who do such things–obviously not.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2057 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“So are you planning to make contact with this Cindy girl?” asked Si getting back into bed.

“If I do it could blow my cover plus that of Trish, so I won’t unless it becomes absolutely necessary. Besides, she needs to grow up in her own world, her own family without knowing lots of transgender people.”

“I thought you might keep a watching brief for her.”

“Why? She’s probably done alright this far.”

“I just thought you had a mission to protect all transsexuals and dormice.”

“Nooo,” I said with emphasis, “just transsexual dormice.”

“Ah, I was close.”

“And anachronisms like endangered Scottish aristocrats.”

“Anachronism? You hateful woman you.”

“Yeah, I have to take care they don’t become extinct, so I have to check their breeding equipment every so often, make sure nothing is worn beneath the kilt.”

“Oh, it’s all in perfect working order,” he said his voice rising slightly in pitch as I moved my hand...

He was fast asleep by the time I returned from the bathroom and a little wash, I was wide awake and sat watching him sleep for some time. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately describe how much I love this man, though at times I could willingly murder him.

Take for instance last week. I sent him out to get a case of toilet rolls–there are quite a few of us and several toilets, so I wanted something like forty eight rolls, he came back with a batch of four rolls and a case of wine–it was on special offer. I told him that unless he wanted to wipe his bum on a bottle to go and get me another load of toilet rolls and nothing else.

This time he got sixty rolls and two pounds of Gruyere cheese–it was on special offer. He’s hopeless–the week before he came back with a dozen tins of cat food. We have a kitten who takes days to eat one tin. He accused me of underfeeding her. If she has any more she’ll need castors on her belly to move it around, she’s getting quite plump.

After the toilet roll fiasco, I found a place on line that will deliver such things, free of charge for orders over fifty pounds. Given that I got discount for bulk buying, I bought two hundred. It nearly filled my bike shed.

Talking of bikes, I did manage a short ride before the rain started the morning I met the old lady. A quick ten miles, nip into town for Trish’s book and a present for Father’s Day. Actually, I had to buy two, one for Tom and one for Si.

They’re both difficult to buy for, they have most of what they want but I did find some inspiration in the Guardian, and got Simon a British Lions rugby shirt–he likes to loaf about in them at weekends. Tom, I bought a new blotter for his study and he thinks he lost his favourite fountain pen, but I ‘borrowed’ it and sent it off to be serviced. It came back this morning, I followed the Royal Mail van into the drive when I came back from my ride.

David agreed to do a really nice dinner on Sunday for the two men and I told the girls what we were doing. I know Julie had bought them both something small, Tom some new secateurs to trim his roses–well my roses, to be exact–but I let him look after them for me. Simon, I think she said, was getting some obscure DVD of an Abba concert back before I was born, I think. I told her I thought he’d like it and to take a chance on me. Sadly, she missed the joke but then she’s more interested in Robbie Williams and Adele, neither of whom I’d give house room. Then, music is a question of taste, which means if you like the same things that I do, then you have taste–if you don’t, you are singularly lacking in it.

I mused again on this Cindy girl. I think was right to leave her alone, if she’s survived this long without being part of the scene, then I think she should be left alone to find her own way. It could also compromise Trish’s status, which recently has been harder to keep secret simply because her intellect is making her noticed, as were her footballing skills.

Given that she makes Isaac Newton look a bit dim, and she can bend it like Beckham, she is becoming noticed. Part of her thrives on it, part of her is quite shy. So this run in with the teacher won’t have done her any favours.

No matter how much I ask her not to question everything they say, she does. It’s going to backfire on her one of these days and she could end up being expelled. Despite her huge brain size, she seems unable to see things right in front of her. I remember once trying to get her to see a bird she hadn’t ever seen before. By the time she was ready it had long since flown. She kept looking all round but where I was trying to show her, over complicating things when simplicity is best.

However, she seems to drink up their bible-classes and has become quite an authority in her own right–hence the arguments with the nuns, several of whom are rather fundamentalist in their interpretations and she runs rings round them–partly because she can memorise pages of the bible especially if it’s something current in their arguments.

She did quite a bit of research on Deuteronomy when she knew it as coming up and she was able to give estimates of dates and so on. She was as up on Tyndale as Lord Bragg, who did a programme on him the other week. It was very good as most things that Melvyn Bragg turns his hand to are.

I was surprised to see that they were predicting Tony Robinson was going to receive a knighthood in the queen’s birthday honours–he apparently said he’d kill any dragons he met and rescue any damsels in distress. I suspect he’s funnier in real life than in fiction.

And how did I know about his gong? I couldn’t sleep and ended up with my MP3 player on the radio–the World Service and they reported it. Oh well, maybe I can sleep now?