The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2301 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Arriving home Danni snatched up the envelope with her name on and tore it open. “It’s my contract,” she said with glee.

“I’d like Jason to look at it before we sign anything.”

“What for, it’s only so I can play football for them.”

“I think you’ll find it’s a bit more involved than that.”

“But that’s all I want to do.”

“Danielle, sweetheart, we’ll have a look through it in a moment—now why don’t you go and change into your old clothes and I’ll get a cuppa and we’ll read through it together.”

She reluctantly agreed and trotted upstairs in her school uniform. At least she hadn’t complained about having to wear a skirt and tights as I thought she would. I had just settled in my study with a cuppa and her contract when she came and sat beside me.

Being a minor, it’s either Simon or I who have to sign it on her behalf. That miffed her immediately. I spotted several paragraphs that concerned me, including the fact that she can’t play for any other team without their consent and that means any team. So if she wishes to play for the school, or was chosen at county or international level, the club would have to agree to it. However, I couldn’t get her to see how encompassing that could be.

There were other things about gagging clauses and advertising sponsorship which concerned me as well, seeing as they won’t actually be paying her anything unless she makes the senior team.

Then when I told her I wasn’t signing any of it until Jason had seen it she flipped completely.

“You don’t love me, you’ve never loved me. All I’ve ever wanted to do is play soccer, but you never came to see me. It’s all your fault that I’m having to live as a stupid girl, you and all the other fuckin’ queers in this house.”

To say I was upset was a bit of an understatement and was grateful that Stella happened by as Danielle was in mid tirade.”

“Danielle, that’s enough, I think you’d better go up to your room and think about how you’re going to apologise to your mother.”

“My name’s Daniel, I’m not a fuckin’ girl, an’ she’s not my mother,” she screamed at Stella.

I stared in disbelief at Danielle. Then Stella slapped her. The shock shut her up before she gasped, “You hit me.”

“I know I hit you, you were hysterical. Now apologise to your mother and go up to your room.”

“You hit me.”

“I’m well aware of what I was doing, now unless you’d like me to hit you again apologise to your mother and go up to your room.” Danni just stood and stared at her rubbing her cheek. “NOW, young lady.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and went to walk away.

Stella was having none of it. “Apologise to your mother properly.”

Danni went absolutely scarlet and I wasn’t sure if it was temper or embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mummy, I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

I nodded my acceptance of the apology and she fled the room and ran up the stairs where her bedroom door was heard to slam a moment later.

“Did I miss something?” asked Stella as she closed the study door and sat next to me. I explained about the contract and my refusal to sign it before Jason had seen it. She agreed with me and told me that she’d seen nurses and medical staff tied up in contracts which shouldn’t have been allowed and which took a great deal of time, effort and money to resolve.

When I’d calmed down I went up to speak with Danielle, and no matter how much she might deny what she now was, she was a girl for the foreseeable future. If you remember I said she needed to do six months and if she was still unhappy, I’d see what we could do to reverse things—not that I felt we could really but I had made her a promise and would stand by it.

I knocked and entered her room, she was lying on the bed with mascara in rings round her eyes like someone from a silent film. I sat beside her. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you, but I’m trying to protect your interests not damage them.”

“I know,” she said very quietly.

“Also, I don’t feel it’s my fault that you have to live as a girl, or anyone else’s here. It’s just the way things turned out.”

“I know,” she said quietly again.

“I want you to be happy and I know how important football is to you, and I’m glad for you that you have this interest and I’d like you to play for a good team which enable you to develop your skills and potential to their optimum—but not at any price. All I want is for a legally trained person to look at the contract and advise us on whether or not we sign it or try to negotiate a better one.”

“Okay.”

“You’re agreeable to me doing that?”

“Yes.”

“Danielle, look me in the eye and say that.”

She remained lying prone on the bed. I had a very strange feeling about her. I touched her and knew immediately that she’d taken something. “How about some dinner?” I said moving away from the bed.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“I’ll go on ahead,” I said then dashed down the stairs. I found Stella and said what I thought had happened.

“What could she have taken?”

“I have no idea, the only thing she has is her oestrogen.”

“How many?”

“She has a month’s supply at a time.”

“If she took all of those they could kill her.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Get her sitting up and grab a bucket, I’ll bring up some salty water.” I ran into the kitchen grabbed one of the plastic buckets and dashed upstairs, Danni was lying as I’d left her.

“C’mon, kiddo, sit up for me,” I said as I manhandled her into a sitting position, Stella arrived a moment or two later and between us we forced her to drink the saline solution whereupon a minute or two later she threw up into the bucket—mostly. Floating among the food particles were a pile of pills, which being enteric coated, hadn’t dissolved.

For the next half an hour we stayed with her as she cried and vomited, but we saved her life, much to her apparent disgust. When we’d all calmed down I held her as she wept in my arms. I’d keep her home tomorrow and get Stephanie to see her as soon as she could. I told her she could stay home the next day and she began crying again.

“What’s the problem?”

“I don’t wanna stay home tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got soccer practice after school.”

“Very well, but I’m coming with you.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“C’mon, dinner’s ready.”

“I’m not very hungry, Mummy.”

“Neither am I, kiddo, but David has spent hours cooking it so the least we can do is eat it. C’mon, have a try.”

She ate more than I did, but I did fax the contract through to Jason who replied an hour later and told me not to sign anything. He redrafted it and sent it back to me. It looked very similar but was far less constraining than the original. I signed it and told Danni I’d give it to them tomorrow, she cheered up visibly. I didn’t have the heart to tell her we'd altered it.

Tomorrow, the animal waste product would make contact with the atmospheric oscillator. I certainly can’t complain that my life is boring.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2302 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I spoke with Stephanie immediately after dinner. “I thought she promised you no more suicide attempts?”

I blushed, how come she could remember this and I couldn’t? “Now you mention it, she did.”

“Well then, call her on it.”

“Is that wise, it’s all been rather traumatic today.”

“I hope you tell her as well that she won’t get any more pills until the end of the month and then you’ll dole them out one at a time. It’s not a guaranteed way to top yourself anyway.”

“None of them had dissolved through the enteric coating.”

“Got you all running round like headless chickens.”

“Meaning ?”

“It was a parasuicide. She registered her displeasure.”

“Oh,” I thought about the way she’d stage managed it all. Yes she’d taken pills, but then I can’t remember how many we saw and how dangerous they’d actually be. She acted as if she’d taken something which was affecting her more than the pills would have done. There can’t have been more than half a dozen so Stephanie could well be right. I’m rather glad we made her drink the salt water, serve her right.

“What’s for dinner tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, but I could tell David we have an extra.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” she threw at me.

“Danielle has soccer practice after school.”

“Fine, I’ve patients all afternoon, so I’ll pick up Emily and we’ll be over sometime after six.”

“Thanks, Stephanie.”

“It had better be a good dinner.”

“I’ll get him to kill the fatted cat.”

“Cat? Shouldn’t that be calf?”

“Good lord, no. Wouldn’t get one of those in the oven.”

“Right, cat it is then.” She said with no enthusiasm at all. Perhaps I’d gone too far. One day I will.

I found Danielle doing her homework but she was on her own, so I sat opposite her in the dining room. “I thought we had an understanding, young lady.”

She looked up with a frown, “What d’you mean?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t try to harm yourself again.”

“You told me I would always be able to play soccer.”

“I’ve kept my word.”

“But you wouldn’t sign the forms.”

“I have signed the forms.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t earlier.”

“That was before I spoke with Jason.”

“You’ve spoken with him.”

“Yes.”

“So I can play tomorrow?”

“If it’s a training session, you might not play very much.”

“Okay, but you know what I mean.”

“I can still tear up the forms.”

“But you said you’d signed them.”

“You told me you wouldn’t take any further overdoses or other forms of self harm.”

“I was upset.”

“So was I, but I didn’t try to hurt myself. Now unless you promise me that you won’t try anything like that again, you can kiss your soccer career goodbye now.”

“I promise.”

“That’s not good enough. I’m going to draw up an agreement which we’ll both sign. If you mess me about again, like you did tonight, I’ll withdraw my agreement for you to play football again and make you join the netball team.”

“But I’m crap at netball...”

“All the better.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is worrying Auntie Stella and I to death.”

“I’m sorry, Mummy.”

“Save the crocodile tears, just remember, if you don’t keep your word there will be consequences and I’ll make sure you don’t enjoy them.”

She nodded. I left her to finish her homework and went off to my study after leaving David a note on the fridge door. I felt angry with Danni but knew that I couldn’t show it without setting her off to do something more likely to cause herself harm. I couldn’t win this without showing a restrained but firm, tough love. Despite all the accusations she made, Danni knew jolly well that we all love her. In fact she played on it, as teenagers will. She’ll now learn there are consequences.

That night I watched her go to bed without making it obvious. She is still a bit of a powder keg, so needs some careful watching and guiding. After she put her light out I went and did some research on the internet for tomorrow. That went quite well.

In bed alone, I had an awful dream in which I went to get her up and found her cold and stiff in bed. I think I felt physically sick when I woke up in a cold sweat. I went to the loo but wasn’t sick. I did however, check on Danielle and she was fast asleep. It took me ages to get back off again. When I opened a bleary eye after the alarm went off I knew it wasn’t likely to be a good day. I struggled out of bed and roused the others, making sure that Danni was both alive and well.

She it seems had slept quite well and got up and dashed into the shower before I could get the others under the warm stream of water. She was positively zinging along as she contemplated the evening’s game or practice session. I felt like piece of wet rag and I suspect I might have looked the part too.

Somehow, I got them all to school and then nipped home and did some more survey work before trundling to the hairdresser’s for a tidy up. When I got home and sorted the little one, I sat down with a cuppa and fell asleep in the chair, little Lizzie cooing and yelping in my lap.

At the training session I watched her with the other girls and it was obvious she had something special. Even a non-footballer like me could see it. I spoke with the secretary of the team and told her I wasn’t prepared to sign the original contract so had got my lawyer to drawup a fresh one. That clearly impressed her and she took the contract and slipped off to see the chairman.

He came back looking very suspiciously at me with the contract still in his hand. “What was wrong with our original?” he asked.

“It was rubbish and gave you all the advantages.”

“A team is more than just one player.”

“I accept the premise but in practice, it is about one or two players and Danielle is the best player there, which of course you already know.”

“We’re looking to develop them all.”

“You forgot to cross your fingers, now you’ll have to turn round three times while saying some hail Marys.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs—um—Cameron.”

“You told a lie.”

“Now look here.”

“Wheesht.” I demanded holding up my finger. “Just keep quiet.” I insisted. I then explained that I’d watched his side train earlier and they had all the talent of a bottle of rancid beer compared to my daughter.

“You forget a team isn’t about just one player.”

“Tell that to George Best because Manchester United were built around him and Dennis Law.”

“You look a bit young to know about such things.”

“My dad was a football nut.”

“I see. Okay, we’ll accept your redraft but I want her to sign for two years.”

“And what will the retainer be?”

“Retainer? This is a school girl we’re talking about, who might well get herself pregnant and leave anyway once she’d fifteen.”

“She’s the best player you have, she just doesn’t know it quite yet. Once she does, you’ll be hard pressed to keep her for a fee, because other clubs will offer something more substantial.”

“We’ll offer her twenty pounds a week if she turns up for training and matches.”

“Done.” I said and offered my hand which he took and shook very gingerly.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2303 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I collected my thoroughbred from the group of assorted carthorses after she’d showered—one advantage of being post op. I was being a little cruel in my estimation of her colleagues, they all had some idea but not much talent. There were two others who showed more skills than the rest but were still behind Danni. Effectively, she played like a boy and the others like girls. In her defence she was used to playing against boys so was more physical and committed in the contact area, and played with an element of fearlessness. I wondered if this would change as residual amounts of testosterone ran out. Only time would tell, from my own experience, my competitive spirit hasn’t diminished but possibly my capabilities have as far as cycling is concerned; some of which I appreciate is from lack of time spent on the bike.

“Coo, like your mum’s car,” called Daphne Critchell, her mum had a Kia or something like that.

“We’ve got an old one in the garage, an S type,” replied Danni.

“Dunno what that is.”

“Special, worth loadsa dosh.”

“C’mon, we’re going to be late for dinner.” I urged her to get in the car. “Most girls don’t have much interest in cars.”

“Yeah, so? They don’t have a Jaguar S type in their garage.”

“Even if they did, I suspect most wouldn’t be too interested in it. I know you’re different, the way you play football is different, so be careful because people will be watching you and putting two and two together.”

“Can’t do much about that.”

“You can’t stop people noticing things or talking, but you can reduce their opportunity to observe things by not acting so flamboyantly.”

“I wasn’t was I?”

“Look, they know you’re good, they’ll also soon realise that your family has money. That will attract attention as well.”

“I can’t help that.”

“I know, but don’t flaunt your skills or your money.” She looked suitably penitent. “Oh, by the way, I got them to pay you something.”

She was looking out of the windscreen as we drove towards home and didn’t register what I’d said. “You what?”

“They’re going to pay you twenty pounds a week for attending training and playing.”

“Wow, how did you manage that?”

“I negotiated your contract.”

“But they weren’t going to pay me anything, I mean, I’d play for nothing.”

“I know you’d play for your love of the game, in which case they’d exploit you. I decided to show that I wasn’t going to let that happen. It’s only a token amount but at least by putting their hands in their pockets, they’ll remember you’re there.”

“I’d never have been able to do that.” She looked a little crestfallen.

“This was why I was saying last night about signing the contract after we renegotiated it.”

“An’ I was pretty dumb about that, I’m sorry.”

“We’ve dealt with that for now, if you’ve learned from the experience it was worth it, if you haven’t, I shall be very disappointed.”

“Oh I’ve learned, Mummy. You’re much cleverer and sneakier than I’ll ever be.”

“That’s a back handed compliment if ever I heard one,” I said and we both laughed. Once home, it was decided by the majority, that we’d eat before Stephanie saw Danni. That subdued her a little though her buoyancy about being a semi-pro woman footballer, helped her to grab a little kudos during the meal. Of course there was some teasing as well.

“If Wayne Rooney gets a hundred and fifty thou a week, you should be worth at least twice that.” Sammi gently pulled her younger sibling’s leg.

“I am, but I’m giving most of it to Mummy to hold for me, so I can retire at fourteen and have a big house and flash cars.”

“You won’t be able to drive ’em,” declared a triumphant Trish who’d finally managed to get into the conversation.

“I’ll pay a chauffeur,” was the reply.

“You can pay for your own boots as well,” I said quietly.

Danni and Stephanie disappeared into my study and I had a crafty nurse of Emily before I organised the clear up of the splendid meal David had cooked. It was pork cooked in a cider and cream sauce with apple and mushrooms. It was served with rice and baked tomatoes.

“Are the Chinese leaving you alone now?” I asked Sammi.

“For the moment. The usual source of trouble is Russia, since Ras has been president again, it’s got worse.”

“Ras?” asked Simon and Sammi and I sniggered. “C’mon, what’s the joke?”

“Who’s president of Russia?” I asked.

“That little pygmy, the balding one who fancies himself more than Narcissus did.”

“Yeah, but what’s his name?”

“Putin.”

“So add the Ras.”

“Eh?”

“If you prefix his name with Ras, what d’you get?”

“Eliminated?”

“Very funny.” The cheeky sod had got it the first time.

“Why do the Chinese want to attack you?”

“They like to gather information and it isn’t a group of hackers, it’s organised by the government. They start at the same time every day and finish at the same time. Typical civil servants.”

“But why attack the bank?”

“They want to buy us out.”

“To money launder?”

“Primarily, but they also need western currencies.”

“I thought the Russians did as well?” I continued to try and improve my understanding.

“They do but invading Ukraine doesn’t seem a good way to get it.”

“Couldn’t it all boil up into a war?”

“Don’t think anyone has the stomach for a major conflict,” was Simon’s take on things.

“So they’ll take out sanctions on a couple of dozen men?”

“Yep—all symbolic.”

“I suppose the Russians overrunning the Ukraine’s naval headquarters was symbolic too?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Einstein, if you understand what’s happening there, please explain to me why the Malaysian aircraft disappeared?”

“Oh that’s easy, it ran out of fuel and crashed into the Indian Ocean.”

“Si, that explains how it disappeared not why.”

“I don’t know that bit, do I?”

Obviously.

“Probably shot down by Pistorius.” He said a moment later.

“What?”

“The bullet he shot through the roof of the car finally hit something.”

Sammi sniggered and shook her head.

“He shot down an airliner with a handgun firing dum dum bullets?” I asked him.

“Yeah, it was only flying at five thousand feet.”

“He was hundreds of miles away.”

“Thousands,” Sammi corrected me.

“Yeah, it was a lucky shot.”

“The shot through the car roof was a long time ago.”

“I told you, it was a lucky shot.”

Sometimes I wonder what goes on between his ears. However, as the mystery over the missing airliner continues, Simon’s theory has as much credibility as some of the more outlandish ones. I suspect we may never know quite what happened other than it cost the lives of hundreds of innocent people, which to my mind will never be justified and is pure mass murder.

“Have they found the plane yet?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“So they may well have hijacked it to fly off to Venus.”

“Is that before or instead of Pistorius shooting it down?”

“Yeah,” he said and left the kitchen chortling to himself.

“I sometimes worry about Daddy,” said Sammi pouring us some tea.

“Only sometimes?” was my response.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2304 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Is there a spare cup of that stuff?” asked Stephanie marching into the kitchen.

“Oh, you’ve finished?”

“Yes, I ran out of toenails to rip off.”

“She has the same number of fingernails,” I offered.

“I know that, I’m a doctor, remember?”

“Ah, that’s why we invited you.” I said bumping my forehead with the heel of my hand.

“Tea,” she said as Sammi got a spare mug and poured her some.

“I have to check my emails,” was Sammi’s polite way of leaving us to talk.

“So?”

Stephanie sipped her tea for a few moments. “I needed that.”

I waited for her to start.

“If I’d known I had a pro footballer on my list of patients I’d have put my fees up,” she said smirking.

“Go on.”

“She is fine.”

“So why did she pretend to overdose?”

“Easy, she wanted to punish you and draw attention to herself—she’s a teenager, they do such things. Didn’t you?”

“No, I was twenty two when I tried to kill myself, only it wasn’t an attention grabbing stunt, it was for real.”

“So how come you’re still here?”

Fair question. “I was living in a student bedsit and I took a pile of pills after my father beat me up quite badly. Fortunately or unfortunately, the caretaker came in and found me—he was doing an electrical appliances test.”

“Fortunately, I think.”

“What?”

“You being rescued.”

“Perhaps.”

“No perhaps or maybes about it, at least not from the perspective of the half a dozen or more children you’ve helped.”

“There’s ten at the moment and I didn’t do it on my own.”

“No but without you none of it would have happened, would it?”

“You’d have to ask Simon about that.”

“Ask me what?” he asked coming through the kitchen door.

I motioned for him to close the kitchen door, a sign I didn’t want to be disturbed. “I asserted that we were lucky that her attempt to join her ancestors was unsuccessful, especially from the children’s point of view. She suggested she didn’t do it by herself, but I insisted she was the driving force. She told me I should ask you.”

“You know the answer to that already.” Was his response.

“We are lucky,” reasserted Stephanie.

“I’m the luckiest man on this earth, without Cathy my life would have been so different, so lacking. We have these wonderful children and young people, and Tom and this lovely old house.”

“That sounds pretty definite to me.”

“If I might suggest that I’m the lucky one, I’m married to the most wonderful man on this planet who has learned to cope with me and my strange needs. I’m also blessed with the finest group of children and young adults anyone could have assembled and with the nicest adoptive father I could wish for, plus really super inlaws.”

“I’m happy to extol the virtues of my wife and children all day long, but why are we having this love-in?”

“I was trying to explain what was going on with Danni.”

“She’s okay?”

Stephanie nodded.

“So I can cancel the order for the straightjacket and padded cell?”

Steph rolled her eyes at Simon’s attempt at humour.

“Danni is a nice kid who is dealing with her life experience which can best be described as between traumatic and bizarre, to say the least. At times she finds it difficult and to draw attention to it, she plays you up. If she were a boy, she’d be vandalising somewhere or fighting.”

“At one point last night she said she was a boy.”

“She isn’t and is well aware of that fact, it was said for effect.”

“Does she need to become one again?” I asked aware of how real the statement had seemed.

“What, a boy?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t see or hear any indication of it. She’s still adjusting to being a girl but as natural females can take most of their lives to do that, I think she’s doing really well. The football is a good link to her past, one she was good at and still is by all accounts, so allowing her to keep it is good.”

“It comes at a price—because it’s a link it could be used to trace her.”

“To her past?” asked Steph.

“Yes.”

“Everything has risks, the more worthwhile the bigger the risks usually.”

I thanked Stephanie who went in search of Emily and found her being nursed by Julie who keeps trying to tell me she doesn’t like babies. Mind you, Mima was with her, in a supervisory capacity of course.

The next hour was spent getting the children to bed and it was apparently my turn to read the story. We’d just received the latest Gaby book, so I read them chapter one and then made them go to sleep.

An hour and half after that I was being told to come to bed by Simon. A short time later we were lying there cwtching together when he suddenly said, “I came across the paper I put to the board when we approved the project for the mammal survey. D’you remember that night?”

“How could I forget it? It was the first time we ever slept together.”

“You nearly told me about yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes, though I don’t know how you’d have taken it?”

“In all honesty, I suspect not as well as when you did tell me.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” I said holding onto him more tightly.

“Hey, no need to grip so tight, I’m not going anywhere—unless you come as well.”

I kissed him, “I love you so much, Simon.”

“Do you remember what you did when I came out of the shower?”

I did but I wasn’t going to admit it. “You tickled me and I wet myself, I had to go home sans panties.”

He sniggered, “I’ll bet that felt a bit bracing.”

“Bracing, it was bloody freezing in the skimpy dress I had on.”If it hadn’t been for the fact that everything was glued up inside me, it could well have frozen off and saved the surgeon a job.”

He chuckled, “I’m glad it didn’t, I’m quite fond of the recycled bits.”

“They have their uses.”

“If I recall, I touched your breasts and then...” he leant over and began rubbing and sucking my breasts—I forgot all about the previous occasion and was very firmly in the moment as they say. Of course we progressed to full blown consummation and lay there basking in post orgasmic bliss. “You brought me off with your hand, d’you remember?”

“Did I?” I asked thinking more about going to the loo than about the past.

“Yes, the first time I’d ever had a hand job, and then you tasted it.”

“Tasted what?” I couldn’t remember.

“My—um—sperm.”

“Did I?” No big deal, I was a girl, they do things like that especially for men they love.

“Yes, you’ve never said anything about it since.”

“Si, I’ve given you fellatio since then, I think I possibly said something about that.”

“Yeah, sorry. Like I said, I came across the original proposal and it triggered memories.”

I felt him blushing.

“Simon Cameron, you old romantic, you.” I kissed him and told him I loved him, he kissed me back and...

I was glad I wasn’t cycling the next day.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2305 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I was determined I wasn’t going to walk funny or sit down awkwardly or Trish would be laughing at me and saying I’d had sex or a good seeing to—which would be perfectly true. I didn’t mind them knowing I had, or we had, it’s just the childish manner in which she spouts it to all and sundry. Then she is only nine years old, I keep forgetting that intelligence does not equate with maturity. She’s the most intelligent person in the house but has little common sense. Show her a problem and she’ll come up with a solution—not always the most practical one because much of that is based upon experience and at nine is obviously limited. Show her something and she remembers it, then so do Livvie and Mima. Little Cate seems to be quite bright as well, though I suppose having all these bright sparks around may help her develop quicker than she might otherwise do, if only to survive. I don’t mean that literally, but in a competitive environment things either buck up or perish. While that wouldn’t happen in a human community, not in a sophisticated one like the developed nations, it would tend to help her develop faster, which I suspect she is, as are Puddin’ and Fiona, Stella two little monsters angels.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have had siblings. Obviously a sister would probably have been easier to live with than a brother. I suspect given my history, a boy would have found it harder to cope than a girl but I can’t be sure and it would depend upon their individual concepts of what was and wasn’t acceptable.

People who change sex will never be completely accepted even though at times it seems epidemic and I probably agree that transsexualism is a disease caught by transvestites and is highly infectious. I personally believe transsexuals are relatively rare beasts, while lots of men like to crossdress. Why was I thinking about this? I wasn’t sure, possibly I was thinking about Danni—I wasn’t convinced she was really transsexual—unless it was going back from girl to boy, so her life might always have an element of challenge to it. If she stays as a girl, which is probably the best solution, as she’ll become increasingly female in body shape, I wonder what sort woman she’ll become. She seems to fancy boys, but when she first came here as a boy, she was always looking at the girls and making boyish statements. Was she actually sussing out the girls like I did, learning gesture, language and so on rather than seeing who had the biggest tits and wanting to play with them.

My head was hurting. Simon had gone to work and woke me up as he left with Sammi. How he gets by with so little sleep astounds me, why I woke and didn’t go back off concerned me, usually that’s what I do but not today. I didn’t know why.

Instead of torturing my mind any further I got up and showered, It was only half past six when I’d dried myself and my hair and clad myself ready for work. Since the mammal survey had gone Europe wide, I’d been deluged with records complete with yeas or nays from the local experts we’d set up. I was often the final arbiter which gave me loads of power but also equal responsibility.

I spent hours every week collating statistics, circulating them after having them checked for statistical accuracy, and then correcting them if there were any great discrepancies or disagreements from the local experts. Most of the time it worked possibly because I had old records to guide me. What caused all sorts of problems were human made situations like the invasion of Ukraine by Russia.

I admit I was somewhat biased against Russians having had them try to kill me and my family. It seemed to be a country governed by bandits which I didn’t understand because Britain had dumped the peasant farmer some couple of hundred years before, if not longer. The Nineteenth and early Twentieth centuries had still been slightly feudal as the Tolpuddle Martyrs and the writings of Thomas Hardy showed, but not like tsarist or communist Russia.

I glanced at the clock as I heard the radio come on and stopped my musing to rouse the children. Of course having got myself tidily dressed, Lizzie demanded feeding, so I left the others to their own devices and took the baby down to feed her. She was still suckling when Trish arrived with Danielle to have their breakfast.

They were discussing the football from the weekend, Danni was a bit triumphalist that Chelsea had stuffed Arsenal by several goals to nil while Trish seemed quite pleased the Man United had won. Neither really interested me but how Cavendish fared in the Milan—San Remo on Sunday, would. It’s a tough race but the best of the classics for a sprinter and though he underplays his prospects these days, he’d love to win it again.

Breakfast over I took the girls to school, Danielle seemed to be fitting in quite well, better than either of us had expected, so I hoped she would settle down and get reasonable grades—she’d improved no end with the private tutoring and I felt the girls school was more likely to maintain that standard than her previous one—not that she could have returned there as a girl. Her life would have been impossible.

I watched them trot into school before driving off to the university and my survey work. Hilary watched me looking at bits of paper and fiddling with the computer occasionally cursing both when they produced results I wasn’t expecting. She brought me a cuppa about half past ten.

“This the famous mammal database?” she indicated with a nod towards my computer.

“Yes and sometimes I wish I’d never seen it.”

“Why?”

“It’s so much work.”

“But surely it’ll give you, like, loads of data about all sorts of mammals.”

“Or show us how much more we need to collect.”

“But that’s a positive in lots of ways.”

“All of it can be seen as positive, but appending records is so tedious. I came down here to study dormice not decide if some sort of weird field mouse in Sweden is a valid record. I also expected to be out doing fieldwork not sitting at a desk.”

“’Cept it’s better than being outta work like so many are.”

“That is very true.”

“Still you’re okay, your family is wealthy, so you could survive being a housewife and mother. Mine isn’t and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have this job.”

“What I’ve seen of you in the dormouse tending and helping with the microscopy last week, I suspect the job is yours as long as you want it. My only condition to that would be, if you see something you want to do more elsewhere, go and do it. Life is too short to miss opportunities and there is no guarantee they’ll present themselves again.”

“Yeah, you sound like my ex tutor at Manchester, she was always telling me to go for it—then the funding ran out and I had to get a job as best I could. This was it.”

“Don’t let fear stop you taking occasional risks.”

“Oh I don’t, though when my friend was killed surfing, it sorta put me off a bit.”

“You go surfing?”

“Yeah, try to get down to Cornwall as often as I can.”

“Despite what I said, be careful on the bit of wood.”

“I will, I mean great whites haven’t got this far north yet and I survived in Australia despite all the shark attacks there.”

“I suspect undertows and currents are far more dangerous than large fish.”

“Yeah, they probably are.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2306 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The bossman invited us to lunch, I almost felt like saying no, but then he’d get upset, even though we have breakfast and dinner together most days, but then he is my adopted faither, so I’d best be a dutiful dochter and go.

“Are ye al richt”, hen?” asked some woman as we took our seats in the pub—our usual one was being refurbished,

“Aye, I am jest braw,” I answered and Hilary’s jaw dropped.

“You’re not a haggis smuggler as well, are you?”

“I blushed, “I might be, why?”

“I know Manchester is full of them, but I’d have thought Portsmouth was too far south for most of them.”

“Whit’s the Sassenach saying?” asked Tom from behind me, he had drinks in his hands but had obviously heard what Hilary had said.

“Is Cathy Scottish?”

“Aye as an Arbroath smokie,” Tom smirked back.

“But she sounds so English.”

“She’s frae Dumfries.”

“Dumfries?”

“Aye whaur Rabi Burns is buried.”

“Oh is it? So should Scotland separate from England?”

“Whit muckled heided scunner thocht o’that idea, he needs his brains biled.” Tom was having fun with our technician.

“What’d he say?” she whispered to me.

“No.”

“Right,” she said nodding.

He laughed and went back to converse in Lallans with the woman at the bar.

“So when did you come down here—I mean you’ve got no accent or anything?”

“I came down here when I was twenty two.”

“So how come you don’t have an accent, like Tam O’Shanter?” she indicated Tom with her thumb.

“I was in Bristol for most of those twenty two years.”

“So you’re English?”

“No, Daddy was right, I was born in Dumfries.”

“Which is Scotland?”

“Very much so.”

“Braveheart an’ all that?”

“Not quite, William Wallace was a bit further north.”

Tom asked about our menu choices. I settled for a tuna jacket and Hilary had a chilli con carne.

“I didn’t realise he was your dad?”

“Who?”

“The prof.”

“He’s my adopted dad, yeah.”

“Don’t you find that a bit difficult, I mean working so close with him?”

“No, should I?”

“Seems a bit of nepotism?”

“Not really, my dad died a couple or so years ago, and Daddy,” I indicated Tom, “had lost his wife and daughter, and we sort of filled a gap in each other’s lives. He sort of needed a daughter and I thought a parent would be handy as both mine were dead.”

“You don’t find that a bit creepy?”

“Creepy? Why? He’s the most wonderful man, kinder to me than my birth father.”

“Oh, just a bit strange to be adopted at twenty two?”

“Hilary, you might have been hunting mountain lions at that age, I was very naïve, and immature, I needed a parent to guide me, Daddy sort of offered and I accepted. I don’t regret it one bit.”

“What does your husband have to say about it?”

“He quite likes it, and as Tom sort of adopted my sister in law as well, it seems to work really well. We all live in his old farmhouse.”

“Wow, so how many of you live there then?”

I counted on my fingers, “ About fifteen, why?”

“Fifteen? How big is the house?”

“I was originally five bedrooms we now have eight plus another I can use as one when necessary.”

“Eight bedrooms? That’s not a house that’s a mansion.”

“It’s quite big since we built the extension.”

“Blimey, how the other half live,” she shook her head in disbelief.

“Look, come for dinner at the weekend and you can meet my girls.”

“Your girls, you sound like Jean Brodie.”

“My girls are the crème de la crème,” I said in an accent that was nowhere near as effective as Maggie Smith’s.

“No boys then?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Gave up after the football team then?”

“Something like that.” I didn’t feel a need to explain why I had so many children or why some of my children were only a few years younger than I was.

“Okay, which day should I come?”

“Sunday at one.”

“Okay, you’ve got a deal, do I need to bring anything?”

“Ainly yersel’,” I said lapsing into Lallans—dunno why.

“You sure you lived in Bristol for twenty years?”

“I did spend three years at Sussex.”

“Don’t they have a good biology department?”

“One of the best.”

“After here, of course,” she smirked.

“Their facilities are better than here.”

“Even with the influence of The Dormouse Queen?”

I glared at her then stuck out my tongue. I do sophisticated very well.

The food arrived and we set about eating it and Tom joined us for his curry—a beef one this time—they’d run out of chicken. The conversation turned to things departmental and Tom asked Hilary how she was settling in.

“Well, Prof, I’ve got this demon boss, or she pretends she is, but really she’s as soft as butter, but I can’t tell her that or she’ll get tough with me.”

“Aye, nivver telt yer boss she’s tae easy on ye.”

“I am here,” I said feeling like the elephant in the room.

“Ooh, goodness, where did you spring from?” gasped Hilary pretending not to have seen me.

“Ha bloody ha.”

We finished lunch and Tom took us back to the university where I did a tutorial with some strugglers, Hilary sat in on it with my agreement and that of the students involved. Same problem as usual, they haven’t done enough basic biology to keep up with a few of the more complicated processes and they don’t seem to have the gumption to go to the library and read up on it or even call up Wikipedia. So that’s what I recommend they do—get off their little bums and work. Once they show willing to do so, I’m prepared to help or delegate someone they can ask for help. As a reader cum senior lecturer, it isn’t my job to teach the basics any more.

“I could help with some of that?” offered Hilary when the offenders had left.

“They come thinking biology is easy, even if they have very little science background. Can’t be too difficult, look at the bimbo on the TV with a dormouse down her bra, if she can do it...and so on. They don’t realise I was doing a doctorate when said dormouse did her rather famous swallow dive.”

“They’re just kids, Cathy.”

“Hilary, they’re in their twenties, they’re here to learn not party. If they can’t make the grade we have no responsibility to wipe noses and arses.”

“I suspect the ones you’ve just spoken with will either buck up or buck off.”

“Too rough, was I?”

“No—well, you could have been a bit more gentle.”

“I have four daughters at home who do more homework than that lot did.”

“Regular slave driver are you?”

“No, the kids are actually quite good, they have a routine and tend to stick to it.”

“I stand corrected.”

“I also encourage them to do it. Three of them are very clever, one exceptionally so.”

“Seeing as they’re your kids, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

I decided not to say anything else, she’d meet them on Sunday and she could make up her own mind. I just hoped she wasn’t too into Quantum Mechanics or she could be bored to death by Trish.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2307 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

On the Saturday before Hilary’s visit I really was a slave driver making everyone contribute to tidying up the house. It wasn’t knee deep in cobwebs or anything, but it needed a touch of elbow grease to shine polished surfaces, vacuum carpets and mop other floors. I also managed to get the girls to tidy their rooms and bring their washing down.

It sort of stayed fine, well enough to mostly dry the washing the rest of which was done in the airing cupboard on the top floor. It’s more like a laundry room with a hot water tank in it and much bigger than in a modern house, if they have an airing cupboard at all. These new combi boilers do away with the need for a hot water tank, or so they claim. Personally, despite them being more environmentally friendly, I prefer the old fashioned system with the hot water tank—yeah you could say, I like being in hot water.

For Sunday, David and I had discussed a menu and agreed on a suitable one. Most people have a roast on a Sunday, we were going to, but a roast salmon. David has this amazing way of doing it with foil in a special sauce he makes which includes dill and parsley—it is delicious. I checked with Hilary that she ate fish—not everyone does, nor do they eat salmon, however without revealing too much more about lunch, I couldn’t ask any further questions.

She arrived on Sunday on time in her old car. Trish couldn’t wait to see what she looked like. I told her she was a big fat hunchback with an ugly face. When she saw that I’d misled her she grumbled but was delighted how normal Hilary looked. Then she looked at me, and muttered something about looking normal was no guarantee as my appearance would prove.

I decided I wouldn’t pursue the idea as she can get worse as well as better. She spoke of a headache, which could only be a migraine sort of pain complete with visual distortion, the way she described it. I’d never known her suffer from migraines before, so wondered what had caused this to happen. If they persisted, I’d have to take her to the doctor. Not being a headache person, nothing much up there to hurt, this was all new to me.

The migraine had started as she went to bed but stopped an hour or so later when she was sick. I asked her about things she’d eaten and she’d had some cheese and dark chocolate the evening before, so either of those could act as a trigger as could a number of other things. As I could easily be looking for needles in the wrong haystack, I decided to leave it to the doctor to sort if it recurred.

I believed some girls got it when they started a period, but that wouldn’t apply to Trish, so I scratched that one off the list. She seemed bright enough when she was rushing about to greet Hilary, so I assumed she was okay.

Once in the house, I had to introduce her to the four mouseketeers, then to Cate. Julie managed to wander through still in her pyjamas and then feigned embarrassment that I hadn’t told her we had a visitor. Phoebe knew all about it, so I was pretty sure that Julie would too. She dashed upstairs and showered and changed.

Phoebe was sitting reading the colour supplement from the Sunday paper and acknowledged Hilary’s presence with a wave. Jacquie was looking after Lizzie and was a bit too busy to indulge in a small talk—Lizzie had just pooed herself. The smell of it precluded lingering with her.

David told me, ‘fifteen minutes’ before he’d bang the gong. Which enabled Sammi to appear looking for a dictionary, as she couldn’t find some word online. I had three or four in my study assuming no one had borrowed one. A Chambers, an Oxford, a Collins plus a Webster’s. I believe he was one of the people who caused American and British English to differ—silly old fool.

“You have a study?” asked Hilary, then answered her own question. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

“Why?”

“Well you’re loaded and live in a big house.”

I couldn’t fault the logic.

“May we see it?”

“My desk wasn’t very clean, though that was partly from a rush of sightings of different rodents over the previous weekend and partly because I’d not had time to sort everything neatly away. Normally, I file everything in order, partly because it means I might find it again and partly because the files now fill half a four drawer filing cabinet and that was just on rodent sightings. Plus the thousands of records I had on mice in general stored on discs and other devices. Normally I could identify a previous record in seconds, so if a question of a previous report being quoted twice arose, I could usually track down an original in moments, especially with the software Sammi had modified to do such things. She devises or designs data bases and their protection so what seemed like miraculous to me was no effort for her level of skill.

She was still in the study when we arrived and she had to take more interest in our guest. I left them chatting for a few minutes while I checked on the meal. It was ready for eating.

We ate in the dining room, which is what it’s for, but with nearly twenty places up for grabs the table looked like a banqueting hall. Trish and Livvie laid the place settings. That sounds posh, it isn’t it just meant a place mat with eatin’ irons. Tom sat at the end of the table, at the head and Stella and I sat below him, mainly so I could organise distributing the meat I’d asked him to carve. I was also nominally the hostess or mistress of the house. Despite it being the twenty first century, we were quite old fashioned in many ways.

Luncheon was served with a small amount of paté as starter, with this came a couple of small biscuits which David had actually baked this morning. Those were beautiful and were like thin unleaven savoury cakes.

Next came the salmon with new potatoes and tender stem broccoli, green beans and baby carrots. That was lip smacking gorgeous. For dessert he provided a fruit puree thing with Greek style yoghurt. I ate two of them they were so moreish. Finally, we had cheese and biccies with coffee to follow. It not only impressed Hilary, it did the girls too—they actually were quiet over the meal, so my fears of Hilary being buttonholed by Trish demanding her take on Quantum Physics was uncalled for. Trish was feeling sick as a parrot while I ate myself silly.

However, I knew that Trish was just waiting for a moment to launch another attack and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to prevent it. Oh the joys of clever kids...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2308 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It was during coffee that Trish launched her attack, I was in the kitchen bringing out the jug of coffee and when I returned she and Hilary were in deep discussion about waves and particles. I threw up my hands—once I’d put down the tray—naturally.

“I’m sorry about this, Hilary,” I said offering her a cup of coffee.

“It’s fine, kids have to learn,” she said and went back to her discussion.

What I perhaps should have said was, ‘She knows already, what she’s doing is learning how much you know.’ I got involved in something Livvie was doing for a school project about global warming. While I was talking to her about things, I had to feed Lizzie and Hilary’s eyes came out on stalks.

“She’s your baby? I thought she was um—Jacquie’s.”

“She’s actually your predecessor’s but her mummy died in tragic circumstances and he’s still ill, so I’m fostering her.”

“If you’re feeding her, you must have been feeding your own baby earlier.”

“I was feeding Cate,” who hearing her name came rushing in and only Simon’s alertness stopped her crashing into a table leg. He snatched her up and hugged then tickled her. She giggled.

“I didn’t think you know...”

“That I could have children?”

She blushed as her response.

“You’ve done your homework.”

“It’s no big deal. There was a girl on my course who started as a boy. You’ve hardly kept a low profile.”

“Why should I?”

“Quite.”

“So why are you surprised?”

“About breast feeding?”

“I shouldn’t have been, should I?”

“Except most boys can’t do it, can they?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead—but now you say it, probably not—though I’d have thought a few of the right hormones and I don’t see why not.”

“Mummy didn’t take any hormones,” offered Trish.

Hilary looked bemused. “She must have, milk doesn’t just flow.”

“It can, and did.”

“Really?” she looked sceptical.

“Really. As you will appreciate none of the children are my biological children.”

“There are lots of adopted and fostered children, someone has to look after them why not you?”

“Exactly. Little Cate here was left to me in a friend’s will.”

“What?”

“It sounds strange but her mother knew she was dying and left a note for me to look after her.”

“How sad.”

“It was dreadful.”

“Mummy an’ me found her,” said Trish and I hoped she wouldn’t say anything else.

“Look, Hilary,” said Julie joining the conversation having sat quietly through it so far toying with her phone, “Mummy is special.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“No, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

I groaned inwardly, please don’t say anything about the blue light.

“I haven’t?”

“No, speak to me in a year’s time and you’ll understand.”

“Why can’t you tell me now? I mean I know she’s special, she used to be a boy and now she has a dozen kids, as well as being a beautiful woman with a good job who makes films and is worth loadsa dosh. Have I missed anything?”

“Oh yes, but you’ll find out, just stay close and watch what happens—things happen around Mummy.”

“What sort of things?”

“Just things.”

Hilary looked at me, “Like women giving you their babies?”

“That happened once.” I acknowledged.

“Twice if you include me, Mummy.” Now Livvie was involved.

“Your mother gave you to Cathy?” Hilary was astonished.

“My mum asked Mummy, that’s Mummy Cathy, to look after me for a few days while she went to speak to my dad, only they quarrelled—they always did, and he killed her and then himself. Before he did, he asked Mummy Cathy to look after me, and now I’m adopted, so she really is my Mummy.”

“That’s extraordinary,” observed Hilary, “you gather up needy children and give them a home—amazing.”

“That makes me sound like a children’s charity, I’m not. All of these young people have crossed my path, or their parents did and asked me to care for their children. They’ve all needed a home and a family, we—that is Simon, Tom and Stella, have been able to offer them one. I feel very privileged.”

“You’ve got your own children’s home,” Hilary observed, somewhat erroneously, Jacquie and then Trish put her right.

“This is not a children’s home, Hilary, this is a family and Mummy and Daddy helped me deal with the consequences of being in a children’s home for many years. I owe them my life and my sanity.”

“I was in a children’s home too, I got bullied and pushed down the stairs, Mummy helped me to walk again—she’s the best mummy in the world.”

“When I first knew Cathy, we dated for a while before I knew about her past,” said Simon. In some ways I felt a bit cross all this was rearing its head again, it was ancient history and I didn’t have to justify anything—least of all to a relative stranger.

Simon continued, “When I found out I had quite a shock.”

“What that she used to be a boy?”

“Cathy was never a boy, she just had a plumbing problem.”

“That’s one way of putting it, but couldn’t that just be a bit of delusion to make the truth easier to accept?” No one had asked that for a long time.

“No. You’ve worked with Cathy, didn’t you feel she was a normal woman?”

“Um—yeah, and I knew the truth.”

“The history you mean?” Simon fired back.

“Isn’t it the same?”

“No—I maintain that Cathy was never a boy except in a legal sense—she didn’t have a boy’s puberty, she’s never shaved or had a deep voice, she has a lovely figure—she’s a woman who had the wrong external genitalia, and that was sorted some while ago.”

“Okay,” shrugged Hilary, “It isn’t a problem for me, if it was I wouldn’t have come here, would I?”

“You could have many motives for doing that, including just needing the job.”

“When I applied for the job I researched the place and discovered who the main staff were, papers published, facilities and so on.”

“Of course,” Simon agreed.

“I discovered Cathy was on the staff and while researching her, I found all sorts of things including that’s been involved in rescues and crime fighting as well as having been brought up as a boy. Were the two related, I mean the rescues and things—more boy stuff than girl.”

“No, she got the baby out of the burning car because she’s a woman, a man might not have risked it or even noticed.”

“Most firefighters are men, they go into burning buildings after babies and others.”

“They’re trained for it and usually have specialist equipment, Cathy heard the baby cry and wriggled into the car after the baby. She had to be rescued herself.”

Before Hilary could comment about causing two casualties when one was one too many, I spoke. “It was an impulse, I couldn’t leave a baby to die in a car if I could save it any more than you could. I heard her crying and next thing I was in the car trying to get her out. I released her from the seat but was then overcome by smoke and fumes and a man pulled me out still holding her.”

“So you didn’t need to be female to do it, that’s what I was saying?”

“I was the only one small enough to squeeze through the window.”

“But that’s a size thing not a gender thing.”

“Cathy also risked the publicity because she cared more for a child’s life than her own privacy.” Simon championed me again.

“Wouldn’t most normal people.”

“I don’t know, Hilary, I really don’t know.”

Things went quiet after that. I wasn’t sure if the case had been made by either side and I wasn’t sure what I felt about Hilary, perhaps she felt a similar uncertainty about me.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2309 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So that’s Neal’s replacement is it?” asked Simon as we cuddled together in bed.

“Yes, what did you think of her?”

“She’s wasted as a technician.”

“I agree and told her as much.”

“So why did you appoint her then?”

“I didn’t, Daddy and one of the other lecturers did.”

“Yet you supervise her?”

“I run the dormouse breeding programme, she has is based there so is nominally under my control. I also have priority for her time when I’m teaching.”

“But that’s a seniority thing?”

“Yeah, I’m a reader or senior lecturer, in the States I’d be on assistant professor scale.”

“Not bad at thirty.”

“Compared to some, but then Tom was a professor at thirty five.”

“You might be one as well—you’d be a natural to replace Tom when he retires.”

“I don’t know if I’d want to.”

“Why not?”

“Lots of politics and business. I don’t want to be more concerned with balancing budgets than educating young minds.”

“That’s a fact of life these days.”

“I don’t have to agree with it.”

“Isn’t that a bit ostrich like?”

“No, I’m aware it happens and I have to keep some controls on spending on the dormouse programme and the other bits I run like the ecology courses.”

“Do you still teach them?”

“I share some of it with Amber Wilkins.”

“Who’s she?”

“Tall girl, dark hair bit of a moustache.”

“Oh that was Amber?”

“Yeah, what’s funny is when people remember we have a trannie in the department they usually think it’s her.”

“You don’t have a trannie in the department, do you?”

“Yeah, me remember?”

“Have you been dressing up as a man then?”

“No—don’t be silly.”

“You’re a woman, if you remember you were officially cured when you got your gender panel thing back recognising you as female. You were no longer transsexual, your birth certificate says female. As far as I’m concerned you are female full stop.”

“You know what I mean, I can’t deny my history even if it’s been ‘rehabilitated’ by the Gender Recognition Panel.”

“I’m not going to argue the semantics, the facts are that you have been legally recognised as a female, and you are also a legally married female and adoptive mother of several children. You’re a beautiful woman and a wonderful wife and mother so let’s just forget the past mistake shall we?”

“Mistake?”

“On nature’s part giving you the wrong plumbing.”

“Hilary had a point.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, the part about referring to the wrong plumbing could be seen as a way of hiding an element of homosexuality on both our parts.”

“We’ve discussed this and also spoken to Anne Thomas about it, she agreed that those who held that view wouldn’t alter it if you could categorically prove them wrong, they’re like fundamentalists in religion. Fixed in their view or blinded by it. In a theoretical argument they could have a point but as Anne said, they don’t know you or me and we know it isn’t true. It’s like these morons you see on blogs or other stuff on the internet who shout, ‘show us your ovaries,’ most ordinary women couldn’t do that without a scan, so what are they proving other than how stupid they are? Women who’ve had them removed or didn’t have any in the first place aren’t any less women are they? Being a woman or a man is more than just reproductive cycles, that’s just biology being a human being of either sex or gender is much more complex—isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Look, Cathy, my wife, my lover, the mother of my children—I don’t give a toss what Hilary or anyone else thinks—I know you intimately—and believe me you are all woman, right down to the PMS and difficulties parking a car.”

I snorted at the last part.

“I can park a car,” I protested.

“Yeah in an empty car park.”

“So? Lots of men can’t park cars either.”

“Okay, maybe I should have said read maps.”

“That’s not fair.”

He chuckled.

“You got pulled into the argument with Hilary,” I suggested.

“Well yeah, I’m not going to let some Mancunian tyro insult my wife.”

“I don’t think she meant it as an insult, she was surprised to see me breast feed and she doesn’t believe I didn’t take hormones to cause lactation.”

“That’s her problem, we all know you didn’t.”

“Thank you for fighting my corner.”

“You’re my woman, what am I supposed to do except protect you.”

“Hmm, interesting way of putting it.”

“What is?” he yawned.

“Calling me your woman rather than your wife.”

“Well you’re both, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“So I am, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yep multitasking again.”

“But so do you.”

“I can’t, I’m a bloke.”

“You can, you’re my man, my husband, the father to my children, and my soulmate.”

“Oh yeah, perhaps I can.”

“Can what?”

“Multitask.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Simon, you’re a bloke.”

“But you just said I was all these different things.”

“So, they’re not all at the same time are they?”

“No, I suppose not. So neither are yours then.”

“Yes they are, I’m a woman remember—I can fulfil more than one role at a time.”

“Oh, well that explains it.”He yawned and dropped off to sleep. I wanted to scream that my argument was cobblers but he’d surrendered to sleep so I turned over on my side and he snuggled into the back of me and I eventually fell asleep too.

At breakfast, everyone except Trish told me they didn’t want me to invite ‘that woman’ again. I asked why and they thought she sounded intolerant and old fashioned. I didn’t think she was either, just curious and possibly had some preconceived ideas which were tested and found wanting. She’d been a good support at work but my gender wasn’t questioned there anymore and I suppose seeing me doing something I shouldn’t be able to do surprised or even shocked her.

I dropped the girls to school and went on to work, I saw Hilary at lunch time and we had lunch together. “Thanks for a lovely day yesterday, I really enjoyed it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You breastfeeding really caught me by surprise.”

“I think we all noticed that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that—I was just curious.”

“We noticed.”

“Sorry—but I don’t know any other transsexuals.”

“According to the Gender Recognition Panel I’m female not transsexual.”

“Oh—okay, but can a bit of paper change your biology?”

“Having gender dysphoria isn’t about biology, it’s about self identity”

“But you said you were cured now.”

“Yes, as far as I and the powers that be are concerned, I am.”

“Good, now what d’you think of the Voice?”

“What Pavarotti, I thought he was dead?”

“No the programme on telly.”

“I have no idea, I’ve never seen it.”

“You really are an aristocrat, aren’t you?”

“Because I don’t watch television?”

“Yeah, that as well.”

“No I just have better things to do.”

“Oh, so that infers the proles don’t?”

“Not at all, it’s all about taste and personal preference which isn’t about social status.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No I don’t think it is, though education might be involved.”

“Don’t tell me, you prefer radio and classical music?”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“Won’t tell me what...?”

It looked like a long afternoon was in prospect.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2310 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“You look tired, Mummy,” said Livvie as we left the car. Neither Trish nor Danni had noticed it would seem.

“Yes I am, been a hard day in work.”

“Oh, can I take your bag for you?”

“No, sweetheart, you’ve enough to carry.” She was quite laden with schoolbag and gym kit.

“Did you have to work with that Hilary woman?”

“Some of the time.”

“I’m so glad you’re my mummy not someone like her.”

“If that’s a compliment, I shall accept it.” I was actually blushing with pride.

“Well, we’d never get anything out of her, would we? You’re much nicer and give us lots.”

Now I was blushing with embarrassment for being an easy touch—doh!

Thankfully, David had worked today so I didn’t have to think about feeding the five thousand. He saw me come in and said, “Kettle’s boiling.”

“You couldn’t make a pot could you, I’m just nipping up to change.” I was back ten minutes later in jeans and sweatshirt. “That feels better.”

He shook his head, “I could never understand why women paint their faces and squeeze themselves and their feet into tight clothes and shoes.”

“Because we do.” I suggested, though I’ll bet he didn’t before he jumped ship.

“But why?”

“Because it makes us feel better about ourselves, so we feel more confident, because we’re in competition with each other. Oh I don’t bloody know.”

“So why d’you do it then? You said you felt better in jeans, so why wear a skirt and heels to work?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Bit of a cop out, don’t you think?”

“Why does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t, I don’t have to do it, do I?”

“No, that’s why I asked.”

“I never wanted to do it, to feel pretty or whatever.”

“I suspect that is becoming slightly obvious.”

“I presume you did?”

“Since nursery.”

“That long, eh?”

I nodded.

“Me?” he asked and I nodded. “Probably, though I wasn’t as aware of it then, it was like Topsy, just growed.”

“As soon as I knew there was a difference I knew I was on the wrong side.”

“Well they say gender identity forms about that time.”

It was strange talking to someone who looked like an ordinary bloke, bearded and balding albeit a bit shorter than most, and perhaps with bigger hips than most yet knowing he was the opposite of me. He’d got rid of ovaries and womb to become a man, whereas the bits he wanted I’d dumped. If only those could have been transplanted or swapped: except there’d be a surfeit of the male bits as statistically more biological males would like to be female than t’other way round. Why is that, I wonder, because I’ve never understood why?

I can understand that cross-dressing is primarily a male thing because males objectify things more easily than females do, apparently the male brain works differently to mine. I’m never going to develop a fetish about an article of clothing or footwear or even part of the body. How can anyone do that? Beats me, but they do get turned on by a foot or a type of shoe or whatever. I mean, while I’m very fond of a small part of Simon, I don’t think about it or similar things and feel randy. It has to be attached to Simon for that to happen. I can think of Simon and feel so, or even Des or Gareth and want them to make love to me, but even then, most of them would have to work to turn me on. I suspect even Kevin, the bit of rough from the garage would have to do more than just kiss me. I felt my heart flutter—nah—that’s nostalgia, gotta be, hasn’t it...

“You all right, missus?”

“What?”

“You sort of zoned out for a moment.”

“Sorry, tiredness I think.” I hope.

“I’ve done a lasagne, which is in the big oven. There’s a stewed fruit and ice cream for dessert. Your tea is over there.”He pointed behind me and I nodded my understanding. “Gotta go, Hannah has a parent teacher thing and I said I’d take Ingrid down the school.”

“Okay.” I turned round to collect my tea and he waved and went off to his cottage. The tea was good and almost revived me.

Phoebe was first home and she pecked me on the cheek before dashing upstairs to change. She was soaked to the skin by a hail storm as she rode home on her scooter thing.

Next was Tom followed by Julie who rushed in just getting caught by a shower as she crossed the drive. The showers of hail were increasingly heavy. Julie also went to change as her hair got a little wet and Julie always likes to look tidy, unlike me who is content to scruff about at home or even sometimes in work if we’re doing dirty work.

Alan phoned about setting up a meeting to continue our film making on the harvest mice. He’d procured some more or the promise of more and wondered if we could use the greenhouse again. I asked Daddy who nodded that we could. I felt like a teenager at times getting permission for her friends to come round. Sometimes I wished I was—nah, not really—adolescence is not a lot of fun. Well mine wasn’t, it was horrible.

My mind escaped to memories of being abused in school by Murray, the headmaster. “Ah, Miss Watts, how nice of you to come.” I’d been sent for after I’d been seen being beaten up by Keith Watkins a classmate but not a friend. He sat behind me in our form room, the form master had arranged us alphabetically and I was next on the list after him. He was a regular psycho and used to pull my hair, which I’d been growing for several months and kept in a low ponytail.

The squabble had started because he tugged on my hair and I, being fed up with it, pushed his hand away and slapped him—yeah, like a girl. He laughed at me, as did the others who saw it, then hit me in the stomach. I doubled up and he hit me on the back trying to knock me down so he could kick me. I refused to fall down, so he pushed me away and kicked at me which somehow I dodged and his ankle caught the side of a table and he swore. He hobbled round trying to catch me but I’d run for it, smack into a teacher.

“Where are you going, Watts?” I was easily identifiable by my long hair.

“Um—nowhere, sir.” Of course a moment later Watkins hobbled in pursuit of me.

“Ah, Watkins—now it makes sense.”

“Sir, Watts kicked me on the ankle.” He lifted up his foot and his ankle was swelling slightly.

“Did you, Watts?”

“No, sir, he kicked at me and hurt himself.”

The teacher, Mr Orton, escorted us both to the headmaster, all the way Watkins was looking daggers at me. Murray wasn’t there he was over the other side of the school so we were let go by Orton, but he must have reported us because I was subsequently sent for.

“Watkins tells me you kicked his ankle.”

“No, sir.”

“You didn’t kick him?”

“No, sir, I was trying to avoid being kicked.”

“And why would he want to kick you, Miss Watts?”

“He was pulling my hair, sir, and I told him to stop.”

“Perhaps if you got it cut he wouldn’t want to pull it.”

“No, sir.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Watts.”

“I don’t want to cut my hair, sir.”

“You’re a disgrace you filthy queer.”

I said nothing as he continued a tirade of abuse which was only correct when he called me Miss Watts, the rest was nonsense or just his excessive dislike of me. I felt his spittle on my face once or twice, though I wasn’t listening to him. He’d bawl me out then tell me to take my ‘disgusting being out of his sight.’ It was always the same and I’d slink away back to my class where they’d all snigger as I arrived late and was then told off by the teacher who might also call me Miss Watts or Charlotte. Watkins would utter more threats about what he was going to do later on but it happened so often I took little notice. On the day in question he pushed me forwards into another boy who made some insulting comment at me and pushed me back and I staggered backwards and stepped on Watkins ankle. He howled and I jumped forwards was pushed back and it happened again.

Watkins stayed home that afternoon and never hit me again for some reason.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2311 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Another day dawned and with it the usual struggle to get a car load of girls ready and to school in time for their brains to be expanded. Apparently because Easter was late this year the schools would all be breaking up a couple of weeks before and most would be returning a day or so after the Easter Monday bank holiday. We’d had a few fine days, one or two had got quite warm for the time of year, it was still March and although the equinox had come and gone, so theoretically the days were longer than the nights—by a handful of minutes. What made this more apparent was the bi-annual messing with the clock.

In north America they call it daylight saving, here they call it British Summer Time or even European Summer Time because all the clocks go forward across western Europe. I know it’s coming because it happens on the last weekend of March and the reverse will happen during the final weekend of October. Unfortunately, I needed the hour’s sleep back before then, I was shattered.

I tried to work out quite why. The weekend had been good—dry and largely sunny although accompanied by a cool breeze. I was told to go for a bike ride by my hubby as he and the older girls would look after the younger ones for a couple of hours on the Sunday.

Once I’d dealt with the surprise, my next thoughts were gift-horse and mouth. After breakfast, I changed into my cycling kit and while Si kept the others distracted, I slipped away. I was out for two hours—two hours of muscle aching bliss as I climbed up the Ridgeway and onto the edge of the Downs, the chalk escarpment that runs across much of Southern England petering out eventually in Dorset.

By the top of the rise I was blowing hard, feeling as hot as a new baked loaf and sweating like a navvy—sorry, glowing like an ember. Stella keeps trying to tell me that horses sweat, men perspire and ladies glow. Well somehow I could feel the glow occasionally trickling down my back and my vest was sticking to me. My face was probably glowing like a stoplight and the sun beat down on me with no mercy. It was wonderful. Perhaps it’s the boy in me still, but just now and again I thoroughly enjoy getting physical, pushing my body to its limits—which because I hadn’t ridden too often recently—were lower than they used to be. I used to be able to cruise at fifteen or more miles an hour, now that really was an effort and climbing was something else.

The best climbers are like stick insects with lots of long fibre muscle built for endurance. I was sort of in between, I could climb reasonably but not compared to the real hill specialists and one passed me half way up the hill, even managing to encourage me as he glided past me, so maybe the Team Sky on his shirt was real and not just a wannabe copy like my replica team kit, this time HTC High Road, yeah Cav’s old team who were disbanded while they were about the best in the world. That’s pro cycling, always at the mercy of the sponsors.

I crested the hill and took a long drink from my bidon or water bottle, mine wasn’t a French bottle but a good ol’ Tour of Britain one, I’d bought a few years ago when I was marshalling. I’d heard they wanted marshals for the TdF in this country but I didn’t have the time to spare although I might see if any of the girls wanted to watch it and we might escape for a day or two. I’d love to see the finish in Harrogate, they reckon it could be a bunch sprint and that Cav could be in the running for the maillot jeune if he pulled it off. It’s probably the best chance he’ll ever have and in front of a home crowd, too.

As I dreamt of seeing the Le Tour again I turned towards home and began the descent back to Portsmouth, against the wind—boy it was cooler coming down the gradient than it had struggling up it, even so I was reaching forty then forty five miles an hour and the wind was becoming a cross one—cross winds are dangerous.

I dipped below the hedgerow and the wind eased but my velocity increased, then as the road seemed to rise a fraction the shelter was gone and the vicious wind returned determined to have me off the bike, while I was equally intent on remaining on my trusty yellow steed.

With eyes that were filled with tears caused by the cool breeze I failed to see the pothole and for a split second I lost control of the bike wobbling out into the road just as a large car came past me sounding his displeasure with a loud blast on his horn. That nearly had me off as well as I wobbled nearly into the hedgerow. The panic only lasted a matter of a couple of seconds but that’s about as long as it takes to get yourself killed and I managed to regain control of the bike and then myself, the elation of my ride palling as I realised it could have been my last sojourn on two wheels.

Ask anyone who uses the roads their opinion of the state of them and most will tell you they are dreadful. Some potholes are measured in metres across—hit one of those on a bike, especially on a wet road and you’ll come off. Even at low speeds that can be dangerous, at forty miles an hour, it may well be fatal.

I stopped at the crossroads and threw up my legs were like jelly and my whole body was shivering and it wasn’t due to the cold. I was tempted to call home and get someone to come and collect me in the car but that could mean I might lose my nerve and never ride again. The way I felt at that moment, it wouldn’t have bothered me. I was still trembling when a familiar voice sounded. “Cathy—you all right?”

I turned and saw Anne Summers, her of the triathlons, perched on her bike, one foot on the road. “You okay?”

I shook my head and vomited again.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Pothole,” I said before the final part of my breakfast flew into the hedgerow.

“Is the bike okay?” she asked leaning her own against a hawthorn bush and looking at my front wheel. “Looks okay.” She felt the tyre and nodded, “Hasn’t punctured.” I suspect as a nurse she’d also given me a quick once over as well. I briefly explained what had happened and she nodded knowingly—most cyclists experience it at some point—the lucky ones live to tell the tale.

After I’d had another drink to try and rinse my mouth, she offered to escort me home. I felt such a wimp but was glad of her company, my confidence had been shattered and needed reassurance. By the time we got home I felt much better and I thanked her profusely. We hugged and she rode off not even accepting a cuppa—she was on a training schedule so I really appreciated her breaking it to rescue me.

The rest of the day was quiet and I recovered from my fright, and here it was Monday morning again and I was disgorging my daughters at their school, my legs still stiff from their exertions the day before and my fear not entirely allayed as I waved to them and set off towards the university and my biology group—yeah, that was even more frightening than my bike ride—their ignorance, that is.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2312 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I entered the university and was greeted by Pippa, she was such a fixture there that I always felt things were as they should be when I saw her. We chatted for two minutes during which time Tom came out of his office and scolded us for not working. We ignored him and continued talking.

“We pay you to work not talk,” he said firmly.

“We are working,” I retorted.

“Yes, I’m bringing Cathy up to date on everything.”

“Oh,” he said and retreated back to his room.

“Will you be all right?” I asked offering to go and smooth his ruffled feathers.

“Course I will, I’ll take him some coffee in a minute. I know how to handle him.”

Being an attractive young woman, Pippa knew perfectly well how to handle him. Tom was a sucker for young, attractive women. It was how I’d survived this long here.

I made my way to the labs and my office, gave Spike a couple of nuts and a piece of dried fruit, checked my time-table and went off to the large lab which we were using for the basic biology class. One of the girls, a geography or history student was having real problems with using the reagents. We were showing them their own DNA from a mouth swab. The blessed Brian Cox showed a very basic method using vodka and Fairy Liquid. Ours was practically the same but using industrial meths instead of the vodka—less chance of them drinking it.

Hilary showed the girl once again what to do. She still didn’t seem to understand. Everyone else had long chains of DNA forming in their test tubes, except Cheryl, who was very pretty but seemingly also pretty dim.

Finally, I showed the clip from Brian Cox’s series about the origins of life. I got her to slosh some saliva round her mouth and spit in the test tube like Professor Cox had done... it worked. She was an earthling, she had DNA, like the rest of us.

We stopped for a coffee break and Hilary made us each one. “That was hard work, Cathy.”

“Wasn’t it? I do sometimes wonder about the wisdom of taking on non-science candidates, especially if they think it’s all about poncing round in front of a camera while wringing the neck of a dormouse.”

Hilary laughed, “Your film and reputation have attracted so many more female students who think if you can do that and still look sexy, then that’s what they want to do.”

“Why have they got to look sexy?”

“Because you do.”

“Thank goodness Cheryl Cole doesn’t teach biology.”

Hilary laughed at my statement. We continued chatting until the students started to drift back. As they’d isolated some of their own DNA, the second part of the morning was the heavy stuff—about what DNA did and why.

I taught them about what the current theories were about the origins of this nucleic acid polymer, with its double helix structure which is so stable on the whole, normally forming mutations about once every four billion divisions. It explains why most cancers occur in middle or old age.

This stuff is so exciting—the first time you hear it or teach it. I had lots of slides and short videos of what it does and how we think it works, even one on the discovery of the helix formation by Crick and Watson. Sixty or seventy years ago we knew so little by comparison to today with all sorts of microscopic imaging and other technologies. Young Cheryl must have come from another planet, she didn’t understand what an electron micrograph was when I showed her one of mitochondrial DNA from a human cell.

“Can we see that with our microscopes, Dr Watts?” she asked and I began to wonder if she wasn’t just taking the urine.

“If we had a scanning electron microscope, we might.”

“Is that different to these then?”she pointed at the microscope box sat on her bench.

“Only by about a couple of million quid,” suggested a boy from the back.

I showed her a photo of a SEM at London University. She went very red and apologised. She asked to come and see me after the class, which I agreed, even though it would shorten my lunch hour. I asked Hilary to get me a tuna roll from the refectory. Cheryl followed me back to my lair and sat alongside my desk.

“Dr Watts, I don’t think this course is for me.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Transfer to a history degree.”

“What made you want to do biology in the first place?”

“I wanted to know more about how things worked and I saw your dormouse film.” This is usually followed with, ‘I could do that,’ or, ‘I thought I could do that, or like to do it.’

I felt like saying, “No you can’t, it’s actually quite difficult.” Mainly because in order to do it properly you have to understand what is going on in the film with the species you’re trying to show. I’m not saying someone couldn’t present a programme without knowing much about the subject under discussion, but I don’t think it’s as good as one with an authentic presenter who knows her stuff.

“Have you thought about looking at the history of science or different bits of it. The discovery of evolution and its evidence is a fascinating one, especially the convergent thinking between Alfred Russell Wallace and Charles Darwin. They both happened on natural selection by very different routes.”

“Did they?”

“Oh yes, just do a bit of basic research on the two. They became good friends and such was Darwin’s status, Wallace waited to publish his own ideas instead they sort of joint published assisted by Thomas Huxley, who was Darwin’s main cheerleader and protector. The fall out, especially in America, was phenomenal and still causes problems there.”

“Why?” she asked.

“The US is very much more a religious nation than we are, very much the result of the rise of secularism in Europe brought about by scholars seeking and finding earlier texts of the Bible which showed beyond doubt that the Bible was the work of man who also edited it and left out the stuff he didn’t like.”

“Really?”

“So when Darwin suggested all life evolved from common ancestors and new branches grew off the tree from later common ancestors, which enabled branchlets to grow and in turn do the same again. So humans and the great apes had a common ancestor so many million years ago.”

“Yeah, I met him down the union a few weeks ago,” she said quietly smirking.

I smiled, I think he’d had a room a couple up from me in the hostel place I lived in before I moved in with Tom.

“Will you be teaching this stuff on the course?”

“Yes, I do one on evolution through natural selection, usually gets boycotted by the god-squad when they know I’m doing it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I sighed.

“Why?”

“Because there are people who are brainwashed by their religion to believe in Adam and Eve and so on, they’re called creationists and they try to get their madcap ideas accepted onto university courses.”

“Shouldn’t that be on a religious studies course not biology?”

“They won’t do it, they consider the creation as an allegory now beginning to be explained by science not magic or mumbo jumbo.”

“This is much more interesting than spitting in test tubes.”

“It can be, depends upon all your baggage and the teacher.”

“Oh I think we have a very clever teacher.” She beamed at me and I blushed.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2313 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“I think I’ll wait to change my course for a few more weeks.”

“I’m afraid you’d have to if you wanted to hear my lecture on evolution and natural selection. I can’t do it this close to Easter, the fundies would see it as provocative.”

“Fundies?” she queried.

“Fundamentalists.”

“Oh, the Pompey Taliban,” she said and sniggered.

“Pretty well. It’s sad that people who have no interest in expanding youngsters’ minds seem to think they have a right to protest at something they take no part in.”

“You sound irritated by it.”

“I suppose I am. I’m probably just as intolerant as they are but in the opposite direction. I want to make science inclusive, they seek to exclude anything that challenges them.”

“Do you believe in god?” she suddenly asked me, blushing as she did.

“I’m increasingly sceptical—so I guess that counts as a no.”

“I’m not sure,” she said still blushing.

“That’s not a bad place to start your search.”

“You’ve done that, haven’t you?”

“Just a bit,” I smiled.

“And that led you to believe less?”

“You could say that, but each of us has to walk their own path to make their own discoveries. Some find positive evidence of deities, I didn’t.”

“Does it matter?”

“Probably not in the greater scheme of things.”

“Doesn’t that imply there is a god planning it all?’

“I suppose it could be seen that way though it wasn’t intended. You see, I believe all sorts of things have a form of consciousness which would include such articles as magnets, which receive and react to energies from another magnet and attract or repel them. It’s wrong insofar as it’s all done without consciousness being involved yet an inanimate object reacts to another—isn’t that similar to a very simple organism and doesn’t it tend to indicate how many of these things happen. We know unconsciously because we have bits of these things inside us. Pigeons have small particles of magnetic material in their brains, we don’t know if it helps them to navigate, or not.”

“So how come we don’t see them hanging by their heads to bridges and other metallic structures?” she asked tongue in cheek.

“Aluminium isn’t magnetic.”

“They don’t use aluminium for bridges do they?”

“I doubt it.”

“Oops, look at the time, I must get some lunch—thanks for the pep talk.”

“Here you are your ladyship, one tuna wholemeal roll.”

“Thanks, Hilary.”

“Did you realise that as soon as they were asked by someone from biology for a tuna roll, they asked if it was for you.”

“No, how d’you mean?”

“They saw my ID and asked if the roll was for lady dormouse? When I nodded they said, ‘we’ll add extra salad then’.”

“I didn’t know that—not sure what I feel about it.”

“Enjoy it, you’re a celebrity.”

“I don’t want ‘Hello’ poking about in my dustbins or wanting to film my bathroom.”

“Why would they?”

“It’s what you see celebrities doing these days, trying to get one up on their rivals by showing off their designer bogs and waste disposal showers.”

“Cathy, I suspect you might be exaggerating.”

“Not by much.”

She gave me an old fashioned look and we both ended up rolling about laughing.

“You mean you don’t have a designer bog?” she pretended to be disgusted.

“Well I presume somebody designed it, but not of note.”

“You mean it’s not a Crapper special or at least from the drawing board of WC Fields?”

“WC Fields? He was a film star cum comedian, wasn’t he?”

“So I believe,” agreed Hilary.

“Wasn’t he the first one to talk about liking children but he couldn’t eat a whole one?” I suggested.

“I have no idea, but he might well have been.”

“The mammal survey beckons,” I said with little enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget your tutorials.”

“What tutorials?”

“Those who can’t wait for Xmas.”

“What?”

“Easter, then,” she blushed a deep pink colour.

“What are you on about?” I asked her.

“Your students who feel they would benefit from a one to one with you but aren’t prepared to wait until after Easter.”

“We’re giving students a choice these days?” I asked incredulous.

She gave me chapter and verse adding, “Pretending to.”

“Pretending to what?”I asked.

“To give them a chance to convict themselves.”

“You’ve lost me, go back to what happened after, ‘Once upon a time.”

She laughed then controlling herself she explained what she’d meant. It was to do with some students claiming they had commitments and thus were leaving early, often omitting key assignments which were due to be marked before next term.

“How many d’you think are struggling?” I asked.

“According to the grapevine, about twenty.”

“Could you get me their names?”

“I can but try, what are you going to do with them?”

“See if we could get some extra tutorials in for them.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to drop them?”

“Easier yes, but we’d lose funding and they might never finish a degree thereby wasting a year or so of their lives.”

“Who’s going do the tutorials, you can’t do them all.”

“I’ll have to see who’s a available—if we’re short—and I suspect we might be, would you be interested in helping one or two? I’d have to check there was money in the pot to pay you, but in principle—would you?”

“I don’t have my master’s yet.”

“This isn’t formal teaching, it’s sort of mentoring—you’ve got a bachelor’s in biology, so you’ve done the basics, that’s what I suspect is causing so many problems. I’m going to suggest we stop packing the courses with non science students.”

“That’s going to lose you some funding.”

“It will also make teaching the rest of them much easier. They’ll get better degrees so our averages will rise, instead of the others scraping through with bottom twos and threes.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“To doing some mentoring?”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

“Thanks, Hilary, you might have helped me stop some giving up.”

“Doesn’t it just postpone it, won’t they leave during or after year two?”

“No, because then they do ecology and that’s easier to understand than the biochemistry and classification.”

“Cheryl came out of your room with a spring in her step, what did you do to her?”

“Do to her? I did nothing but merely pointed out the history attached to the theory of evolution by natural selection and suggested she might find it interesting.”

“What? It’s as dry as dust.”

“If you’re a biologist it is because the arguments are rather one sided because the evidence supports evolution, but if you’re a generalist then Clarence Darrow’s defence in the Scope’s Monkey Trial, is quite interesting. I’m thinking of borrowing the Spencer Tracey film, Inherit the Wind.

“Oh, I haven’t seen that, when was that made?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied so we checked on Wiki and found it was made in nineteen sixty, years before I was born, in fact over fifty years ago.

“How did you come to see it?” asked Hilary.

“Someone at Sussex saw it advertised on television and taped it, about thirty of us went and saw it down the union. It’s as much about McCarthyism as Darwin but I’m hoping it might show that biology is more than just test tubes and microbes.”

“Won’t it suggest that if they want a more exciting life than that they should switch to law?” Hilary offered tongue firmly in cheek.

“American law maybe, British law is as dry as dust but someone has to do it.” I thought back to my experiences with the fostering of Mima and Trish and was very glad that someone had done it, especially that judge.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inherit_the_Wind_(1960_film)

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2314 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“I’m thinking of showing, Inherit the Wind to my class next term.”

“Whit’s that when it’s at hame?”

“A play based upon Clarence Darrow’s defence of Scopes.”

“Whit?”

“The monkey trial.”

“Monkey?”

“Daddy, the one in America where someone was charged under the State law about actively teaching evolution.”

“Och, that one.”

“Yes, with Spencer Tracey as Darrow.”

“Why are ye showin’ it?”

“It’s part of the history of the understanding of evolution.”

“Aye, the McCarthy version o’ it.”

“That as well.”

“As long as ye teach them whit’s required as well, I hae nae problem wi’ it.”

“Good, that’s settled then, I’ll see if I can find a copy of it on DVD.” I went back to my office and found a copy for a fiver on Amazon and ordered it. I suspect by using the multinational I was driving more nails into the coffins of small scale vendors, but then I saw something about a major rival that was even less edifying.

I would now have to watch the video and consider how I could use it as a teaching aid, have a series of questions to ask them either to do as an essay or in discussion groups or whatever. As long as it got them thinking about the process of evolution and how nature has used the system as natural selection to get to where we are now.

Humans tend to think of themselves as the top of the tree, the most sophisticated creatures alive. In some ways we are, but even marauding elephants cause less environmental damage than the average human. Surely if we were really sophisticated we’d be as efficient as we are but with less damage to the planet, instead I suspect we’re just greedy rapacious and ruthless predators and despoilers with the ability to transcend our baser natures but little motivation. Climate change when it’s far too late, may provide that motivation just before we become extinct.

On that pleasant thought I went to collect the four mouseketeers. They were getting excited as school finished on Friday. I tried to remind them that exams started when they went back, and although none of them were doing important exams, such as GCSEs, all exams were important. Trish wasn’t worried, Livvie was pretty competent as well, Meems was quietly confident and Danielle seemed the only one who was at all worried.

We dropped her off at football practice, I would collect her two hours later after I’d sorted out the rest of the bunch. David, hopefully, had created some delicious grub for dinner and it would be ready for all of us to eat on Danni and my return from the soccer team.

Trish was concerned by the religious homework, she had to compile a list of the ten commandments and seven deadly sins without using the internet. I was sure they’d be listed in the bible or Encyclopaedia Britannica—Daddy had a set in the lounge, though they weren’t used as often as they should be. There’s something very satisfying about researching for something in books, using indices and turning over pages, making notes and so on. Just clicking on, print on a computer screen might be easier and more convenient, but how much do people remember? If you have to make notes, you might retain a bit more.

I discussed where they might find information with Livvie and Trish as they both had to do the exercise, and were allowed to confer. Using books was something of a novelty to them except to read them as an end in itself. I had no problem with the latter exercise and both of them enjoyed reading, but neither was very confident about recording data extracted from books. I sat and helped them, showing them how to list a bibliography at the end of their work. At least we weren’t guilty of sloth, but there might have been an element of pride in my case as they grasped the concept of research very quickly. I wished some of my first year students did so half as effectively when it occurred to me that some of them had possibly had no training in research techniques or using a library. I’d speak to Tom about it tomorrow.

I noted that the missing aircraft was still missing and expected it to slip off the radar as a news item until something was found or something new relating to it happened. The media systems with their need to consume new news stories in order to provide for the twenty four/ seven news bulletins had moved on. Two stories which caught my attention, one with anger the other with a bit of self-righteousness was the poisoning of birds of prey in Scotland, mainly red kites; and the decision by government to not consider continuing the badger cull in England. The most recent evaluations had demonstrated what the critics had suggested from the beginning. It was ineffectual, badgers weren’t killed quickly or humanely and numbers were pure guesstimates. It had cost a lot of money to prove what the experts had said from the beginning, why government departments can’t see the bleeding obvious is mind boggling but not surprising. How senior civil servants can claim bonuses when many of the things they do ends in such a farce is scandalous. Why they should get bonuses in the first place is ridiculous and before they bring in performance related pay to teachers perhaps MPs and civil servants should be put on it, paying them the standard salary when they met their targets and not when they didn’t. Start at the top of the tree before they cascade it down to lesser mortals.

David had made us a very tasty risotto. I suspect we forget that the Italians make things other than pasta dishes and risotto is one of my favourites—especially the beef variety, which was what we had. It brought back memories of the Vesta packs of the same when I was a student, especially when they were on special offer in supermarkets. I ate probably more than was good for me, but they were easy to make if you had a frying pan and a knob of butter.

“What’s the orange stuff?” asked Trish as she stirred her meal with a fork.

“Paprika,” I answered her question.

“What’s that?”

“A mild pepper.”

“Oh, that’s all right then,” and she tucked into her dinner.

“Actually, it’s rust off the cemetery railings,” suggested Julie.

“Ewch,” said Trish now back to stirring her meal.

“It gives the food more body,” continued Julie teasing her sibling.

“Body—yuck,” said Trish and put down her fork.

“Please eat your dinner, David took some time to make this for us.”

“I’m not eating dead bodies,” Trish declared.

“Well live ones would jump off the plate,” suggested Danni smirking.

“Just eat your dinner, Trish; Julie please stop teasing your sister.”

“But it’s good fun, okay I lied, Trish.” Julie watched her sister pick up her fork and load another lot into her mouth before saying, “It’s not rust from the railings, it’s rust from the nails in the coffins.”

“What, toenails?” said Livvie with disgust and Trish promptly threw up over herself and part of the table.

It certainly didn’t help my appetite one bit.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2315 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I won’t dwell on the details of who eventually had to clean up the mess. I wanted to make Julie do it as she’d been primarily responsible for Trish throwing up in the first place. However, she had to run off and chuck up her herself—fortunately, in the cloakroom toilet. In the end it was Tom, Stella and I who did it—perhaps we’re less squeamish. It certainly brought an end to the dinner except for Sammi and Si who arrived just after we’d finished cleaning up and I dished up the portions David had saved for them.

Despite Trish being sick, I enjoyed my risotto and would ask David to do it again. It was infinitely superior to the packet stuff I used to eat as a student, and I used to enjoy that.

The Friday arrived and the girls were all like bottles of pop. To start with, Danni had a football game for the school the next day, her first official one. We decided that as she had a female looking body, and was taking oestrogens we wouldn’t mention it and Sister Maria did the same.

The girls had a long service and seemingly longer sermon much of the morning, or so they told me all about the importance of Easter the crucifixion and resurrection and so on. As a long time disbeliever in all of it, I began to wish I’d let the girls stay home instead of inflicting such boredom upon them. This year Trish didn’t challenge the guy in the dog collar, which had to be an improvement. Apparently last year she was seated just under the pulpit and when he went on about the death by crucifixion she said in a loud voice that it usually took a few days to die from it. At this the preacher told her that he was stabbed with the spear if she remembered. She told him that wasn’t sufficient to kill him and that the stabbing was only because the next day was the Jewish Sabbath.

“But it did kill him,” insisted the priest.

“How d’you know, were you there, was he seen by a doctor?” she replied and the place was in uproar.

“Because it says so in the holy gospels.”

“Yeah, but they’ve been altered and half of them left out.” Either she’d heard me in action or read deeper than I first thought. I did however, agree with everything she said, and approved of her applying logic to the mythology which may or may not pass the test. In this case it didn’t.

They finished school for the term at lunch time and I went and picked them up after doing some extra tutorials during an equally boring morning. I did suss one or two students out about using the ‘Scopes Monkey trial film’ and they all responded in a positive way which made me wonder if my teaching had lost some of its magic. It hadn’t according to most of them. Three of them even suggested that I was the best teacher in the department, better even than the hallowed professor himself. I suspected they told that to any teacher who’d listen to their eyewash.

I collected the girls only to be told of the soccer tournament on the ride home. “Is your kit clean?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“It had better be or you’ll spend this afternoon washing it all.”

“Huh,” she huffed by reply and I tried not to be seen smirking in the rear view mirror. But as soon as lunch was over we checked her kit only to discover her boots needed cleaning and so she set to with them. It took her half the afternoon, which was a pity because the weather was glorious, a touch of spring before winter swept over us again. Hopefully it was a temporary glitch and sunshine would be returned as soon as could be seen to be reasonable. For me that meant after no longer than two milleseconds. Had Simon been home he’d have been mowing lawns and grumbling.

I sent Si a text explaining that Danni was playing in the tournament and he sent back to say he hoped to be there. Danni was like a dog with two tails after that. It was still two weeks to Easter and I had awful problems trying to get Mima to accept that as the case. She thought I was trying to pull a fast one to save on Easter eggs. While Danni washed her boots the others were out in the garden helping Daddy spread manure before he dug it in. I didn’t stay out with them because the smell was something else.

I was busy trying to repair her school kit which had got torn at the football club on Tuesday evening and she’d forgotten to tell me about until I made her wash it. She was lucky, I almost made her mend it as well.

It rained on the Saturday which gave St Claire’s a slight advantage over the first placed team, St Margaret’s which was called Maggies and had a magpie as its motto. The magpies played on an all weather pitch which remained dry in all but the direst weather. Today the play was on a real grass pitch and Danni’s lot were much more used to playing on it than the uploaders.

The pace of the games was fast and furious and if you blinked you’d miss a move or even a goal. It was possibly just the goal keeper blinking which led to the first goal. It was crossed from the right wing into the centre of the penalty area and Danni burst through and smashed it on the volley into the top of the net. We barely saw it and we were watching our precious daughter play. After that they marked her closer than before and that meant another of the St Claire’s team was allowed to run through the gaps left by the defenders shadowing Danielle and goal number two happened.

The magpies got one back but a foul on Danni in the final moments just in front of the goal led to a penalty and as she got to take it, Claire’s won by two goals. Suddenly, they were favourites and Danni looking to be the player of the tournament. It meant she’d have defenders sticking to her like glue, so she forced gaps and errors and her team-mates made the best of it and scored goals quite freely.

The only downside was the rain, which meant she was wet through after game one and despite wearing a waterproof while she waited for her next game, she started to get cold. I hauled her into the car and made her drink a mug of soup to warm her up. I also helped her change some of her wet kit for dry ones.

The final happened after lunch. I left Simon in charge while I dashed into town and bought her more fresh shorts and a new shirt. I also called by the house and brought a large bath towel with me to wrap her in to bring her home.

Warmed and wearing dry kit she sparkled and showed why she’d get the ‘man of the tournament’ award. It was like an adult playing with children, she tormented and teased Gosport’s de la salle team, winning free kicks galore. Usually they came to naught as they were too far away from the goal mid way through the first half, she took a direct free kick and curved it round the wall of defenders who ducked rather than blocked the ball to open the scoring. The goalie had no chance and it became very obvious this kid had something special, very special. If she’d stayed as boy, she’d have likely turned professional and made a fortune, instead as a girl, nobody would remember her in a couple of year’s time.

“She’s like Beckham at his best,” declared Simon screaming his head off most of the time in support of his daughter. When she scored again, I thought he was going to have a coronary or a stroke he was making so much noise and his face went red. But it was goal number three which gave her top scorer and best player awards, which is like taking the yellow jersey and the king of the mountains shirt during a bike race. It does happen but not too often.

St Claire’s won four nil, the other goal being given as a home goal from Danni’s header. The goalie fumbled it and dropped it between her legs where it rolled over the line.

It was a good day for Danni except the constant wet and cold caused her to get a chill and the following Monday, our GP diagnosed pneumonia and she was taken into hospital as a precautionary measure. I sent a snotty email to the school and the football club weren’t too impressed either. Sometimes it never rains but it pours.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2316 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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She was quite ill for a day or two but when she came round, Simon presented her with a copy of the report in the Echo and she was pleased as punch with that. Those of you who have either had or nursed pneumonia will know it can take weeks to recover. The football team were talking about ending her contract until I called their bluff and suggested we would talk to Southampton if they did, and get a better fee and prospects from them.

I had no idea if it was true or not but such is the rivalry between the two south coast teams, that they’d do almost anything to stop the other stealing a march on them. The other thing was that they wanted Danni’s talent, she was something special and I hoped one day she would play for England Ladies, she deserved to have something as a reward for all the trauma she’d received during her short life

It was also ironic that she spent her first holiday at St Claire’s in a sick bed, and with luck would be well enough to go back to school after the holiday. She had another two weeks or so to go. Cindy came round most days and spent an hour or two trying to cheer up her friend—which largely seemed to work.

It was towards the end of the first week that Cindy came up to me and asked if she could speak to me in private. I steered her into my study and shut the door.

“How can I help, Cindy?” I hoped I didn’t sound too much like someone from Asda.

“Have you heard the rumours?”

“Which ones are they this time?”

“About Pia.”

“Our little friend Pia,” I said ironically.

“She’s no friend of mine,” said Cindy in disgust.

“Regardless of that, what about her?”

“They reckon she tried to kill herself.”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked as I’d heard nothing about it.

“One of the girls at school, her dad’s a copper.”

“He’ll need to be careful or they’ll sack him for breach of confidentiality, especially about a minor.”

“I thought you’d be interested,” she sighed.

“Oh I am, and thank you for telling me, but please don’t say anything to Danielle”, I don’t think she’s well enough to hear anything about Pia.”

“I might not be a brain box like Trish or Livvie, but I’m not stupid neither.”

“I know jolly well you’re not stupid, Cindy.”

“Well just ’cos I don’t talk posh don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Who has been calling you, stupid?”

“Several girls in school do. They used to accuse me of being a boy until Trish intervened.”

“Oh yes, I have a memory of being told about that—it was bit OTT if I remember.”

“I dunno, it was looking to get quite nasty.”

“I’ve never understood the proclivity of some young women towards violence. You didn’t hear of it years ago, so I don’t know why it happens now unless it’s to do with an upsurge in tribalism and youngsters forming gangs.”

I suspect my philosophical musings went over her head because she changed the subject. “Could she and Danni watch the Voice?”

“What’s that exactly?”

“It’s a singin’contest thing.”

“A talent contest?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“A reality talent contest?”I ventured.

“Yeah, it’s really good and has Kylie in it.”

“Kylie Minogue?” I clarified.

“Yeah, the little Aussie woman.”

“From Neighbours?”

“What she’s a neighbour?” asked an astonished Cindy.

“No, she made her name in the Australian soap, Neighbours.”

“Did she?” her enthusiasm was—um lacking.”

“Though I remember her as a waitress in Dr Who in a Christmas special. She died.”

“I don’t remember that one,” Cindy admitted.

“They were on some sort of space ship called the Titanic and it crashed into a meteor or some such thing, all I remember was she saved David Tennant’s life, so I could forgive her almost anything.”

“You don’t like that Scottish geezer, do you?”

“I’m afraid so,” I blushed.

“But he’s so old.” she whinged.

“I don’t think so.”

She looked at me as if I was some demented old biddy. I let her go and she went in to cheer up Danielle. I hope she did a better job than she did for me.

I heard the television on a short time later and when I looked the three mouseketeers were in watching it with Danni and Cindy. It was a repeat they’d found on Sky I suspect, because I knew enough to know it was usually on during a Saturday evening.

The weather seemed to have broken, or the nice spell we’d had and we were back to rain and strong breezes. Yep, it was a school holiday time, no wonder so many went abroad, even if it was a rip off, at least they had a chance of some nice weather.

David, him in the kitchen, had the day off so I was doing the lunch. Cindy told me after the Voice had finished, that one of the girls in school was going to Tenerife for the Easter hols. “We never seem to go very far at all, only to Auntie Marge’s at Eastbourne.”

“I took you to Scotland if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah, that was the furthest I’ve ever been.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to explore the world yet, Cindy.”

“I know, but I just feel ashamed I ain’t been nowhere.”

“You’ve stayed in a castle—not many could say that.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that—that was good fun.”

“I wish I was rich an’ famous like you.”

“Go to university, study some photogenic animal, preferably small, and become an expert; then make a film of said animal. The day after they show it, you can’t even collect the kids from school without people pointing at you.”

“That must be fab, being famous.”

“I’m afraid in my case, it palled very quickly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I was bored by it two seconds after it started.”

“What? I’d love it.”

“I’m not sure you would once you’d experienced it for a few minutes. It gets old very quickly.”

“I dunno, David Beckham seems to do okay, him an’ his missus.”

“I think David Beckham is very special.”

“What, you like him?”

“I’ve only met him once, but he seemed very nice then. For such a celebrity he is very grounded and I suspect his wife is too.”

“You’ve like met Beckham?”

“Once I think.”

“OMG,” she said, “can you like get me his autograph next time?”

“If there is a next time, I’ll try to.”

“Oh wow, your mum has met David Beckham.”

“Yeah, so’ve I.” Danni was travelling up the status ladder like a rocket.

“When?”

“He was signin’ books in London an’ Mummy took me up to get one. He was okay.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“No, I was still a boy then.”

“Oh, I wonder if he was a good kisser...” I shut the kitchen door at that point having heard enough of adolescent crushes. Mind you, he did seem like a nice bloke but I’ve got my Simon and I wouldn’t swap him for anyone, not even David Tennant or Colin Firth—well maybe for both of them...

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2317 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I let go the fantasy of a bit of troilism with Messrs Tennant and Firth and went back to my ironing. I had to do some because I felt pressed. Okay my laundry jokes are a bit wet. Well Bramble thought they were funny, she had to lick her bum to stop herself laughing out loud—that’s what she told me. Didn’t I tell you, I’m really Dr Doolittle? “If I could talk to the animals...”

“If you’re thinking of auditioning for the Voice, don’t.” That was Danielle’s advice as she went to the loo.

“Charming.”

“I am, totally,” she threw back at me as she went into the cloakroom.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I threw back at her but i suspect she missed it as she shut the door. She looked much better and I hoped the pneumonia would clear up fairly quickly given she was young and fairly fit.

“Are you goin’ to watch this bike race thing in Yorkshire, Auntie Cathy?”

“Eh?” I don’t know if I was more astonished at the question or the form of address, given she usually called me Dr Watts.

“I don’t think I’m going to have time, Cindy, much as I’d love to see Mark Cavendish take the yellow jersey.”

“What colour does he usually have then?”

Danni seemed to be taking quite a long time in the loo. “Just a second,” I went to the cloakroom. “Are you all right in there?” I called through the door.

“Yeah, I’m having a poo.”

“Okay,” too much information. I went back to Cindy and explained about how the leader of the race wears the maillot jeune and that the best chance Cav would have to do that would be on the first stage as it was considered to be likely to end in a bunch sprint and provided his team, Omega-Pharma-Quickstep, get their act together and lead him out, he was a reasonable bet. He likes to perform in front of a home crowd and always pulls all the stops out.

“So how fast does he go, then?”

“Depends upon all sorts of things but a short sprint finish can reach speeds of forty miles an hour.”

“Won’t they be breaking the speed limit, in a town centre?”

“I sincerely hope so.” I smiled wishing I had time to go and see it.

I finished my ironing and went to the study to check my emails. I had one from Mark Eustice at York Uni. Given I’d been talking about Yorkshire not that long before, I opened it with my heart beating a little more quickly.

‘Hi Cathy,
A few rodent records for you. Are you coming up for Le Tour, Yorkshire is going mad and it’s still three months away. If you are, I can get you preferential rates at my sister’s B&B, but I’ll need to know in the next few days.
Kind regards,
Mark.’

I must have talked to him about bikes while I was up there or was my fame as the cycling dormouse woman spreading up towards Hadrian’s Wall?

I wondered how many she could accommodate? His sister, that is. I’d need to take Danni, Trish, Meems, Cate and Livvie as well as Lizzie and Simon. That’s pretty well a houseful, it was probably too many. However, I sent him a reply asking how many rooms she had available, we’d need at least two, possibly three. I felt that would probably put the kibosh on it, but I sent it anyway. I can dream, can’t I?

I was looking through his records, which are some of the best organised ones I receive when my ’puter peeped indicating a new email.

‘She’s got two with three beds in each, but she can’t keep them clear for long. She’s prepared to do both rooms for a hundred a night.’

That seemed extremely good value to me, even three hundred would be reasonable for the two rooms. I asked him to provisionally book them while I rubbed myself around Simon’s legs, purring. I booked for the three nights, the Friday, Saturday and Sunday, we travel up on the Friday and back on the Monday. It would mean I’d miss much of the Monday stage from Cambridge to London, but seeing two stages, especially if we could get to the finish of stage one and watch the sprint—it would be total magic. We saw him win on the Champs-Élysées, it was totally brilliant. I closed my mouth after realising I was almost drooling.

I sent a text to Simon telling him I’d book us a B&B for the Yorkshire stages of le Tour. He sent me one back asking what had taken so long and were we putting the girls into a cattery. I replied no, a nunnery. His response was a laughing face and the three letters, LOL.

“Get thee to a nunnery,” I said out loud as Stella was coming past.

“I beg your pardon?”

I blushed, “Sorry, I was thinking out loud.”

“Thinking what?” she gave me a very queer look—hardly surprising given what I’d said.

“Bits of Hamlet.”

“I won’t go there, except to say, I thought I was strange...”

“Until you discovered Smirnoff,” I completed.

“No, I was going to say, until I met you.”

“Gee thanks, Stella. Just don’t forget you taught me all I know.”

She winced, “Don’t remind me—oh, the crazy bit I reckon came from drinking all that dormouse poo in your tea.”

“What?” even to someone as crazy as me, that didn’t make sense. Dormouse poo in my tea? Then the penny dropped, Through the Looking Glass or whatever, and dormouse in the teapot.

“Don’t tell me you missed my literary allusion?”

“I suppose it’s about as literary as you get, Stella.”

“Oh, Cathy, you cut me to the quick—all that money Dad must have wasted on my lack of education.”

“You got to ride a horse and...” I was going to say, ‘shag Des.’ I was so glad I didn’t.

‘And what, Missus?”

“And escape the mundane realities of us plebs.”

“You’re no longer a pleb,” she said firmly.

“Ah, but I was then.”

“You’re going to say you were a boy then too, weren’t you?”

I was already in over my head so I just agreed with her, more evidence of the old adage, when in a pit stop digging or it’s better to stay silent and be thought a fool than open your cakehole and prove it beyond any reasonable doubt.

“You were never a boy, Cathy, just a girl with a bad haircut and a plumbing problem.”

I hugged her and we both chuckled.

“Simon is taking me and the younger girls to see the Tour de France.”

“Got your passports ready?”

“For Yorkshire?”

“I thought you said the Tour de France not tour of bloody Yorkshire.”

“I did, it’s starting in Yorkshire.”

“Why do they call it the Tour de bleeding France”, then?

“Because that’s what it is?”

“How can it be if starts in ‘trouble at mill’ country?”

“Are you a Lancastrian, per chance.”

“A bike, a bike, my kingdom for a bike,” she retorted walking round like Quasimodo with a rupture.

“Shouldn’t that have been, ‘Now is the winter of our discontent...?”

“Oh bugger off, you and your Shakespeare, show off.” She loped out of the room still in Quasimodo mode. All I could do was laugh, my sister in law is stark staring bonkers.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2318 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I felt quite excited about seeing Le Grand Départ as they were calling it, though it was too late for me to volunteer to help marshal it. Oh well, can’t have everything. It would be brilliant to see Cavendish take the first stage and would Froome be able to win it again—that would be three times in a row for the Brits. Just like buses, you wait years for one and then three come along together.

I blushed, I hadn’t taken a bus since I was a student and I’ve still got the umbrella that kindly driver gave me when I caught one during the summer storm. If I remember correctly, it was slightly broken on one or two of the ribs—they’d come off the fabric of the brolly and I managed to fix them back in and sew the eyelets in them back to the fabric. It was probably a nicer umbrella than it looked.

Goodness, when I think of how far I’d come since that day, or the few before it when Stella knocked me into a parallel universe where it was okay for me to be female. How much she, Simon and Tom had done for me and I hoped I’d repaid to an extent.

I shook myself and tried to deal with the issues of the day. I felt sad when I heard the Bob Geldoff’s daughter had died aged twenty five. I’d never met her but I felt that given her history of drugs and sadness—she lost her own mother when she was eleven—it seemed doubly sad that just when she should be settling down for the sake of her children, she suddenly died and at present, they don’t know why. Apparently, some of these sudden death things can be very difficult to determine. A very pretty girl whose life seemed to be snuffed out as it was blossoming, and I thought I had things to complain about.

We never know what’s coming to us or for us, do we? Perhaps that was just as well, would we want to live if we knew we were to die horribly? Ugh, move on to more pleasant things. What am I going to do with the children today? I have no idea.

While I was in this undecided mood, the phone rang, it was the architect of the study centre, Billie’s centre. He invited me to come and see the progress they’d made now it wasn’t actually raining twenty four seven. I should have taken more interest in this project, but I felt so overwhelmed recently by life that I’d delegated things to an assistant. Remember Dan, yeah the technician who posted that clip on youtube? Well he’d returned from Southampton and I’d managed to get him to take on the job of project manager for the centre. Then if we could get away with it, I wanted him to run the centre for me as the effective operational manager while I retained the role of director—setting the policy and overall activities of the centre.

It was to be primarily an ecology centre but would also run some breeding programmes. This would mean that we would do things like organise ecology trips for local schools and other bodies like local naturalists’ trusts and charities. There was going to be a strong link with the university so we’d have undergrads and post grads doing research here, obviously in small numbers and I would supervise them up to bachelor and masters level. In time I might even take on doctoral supervision but probably only on the field element of the degree.

I had four girls to accompany me, Stella had agreed to watch Cate and Jacquie was taking Lizzie out for a couple of hours. Stella had a few days off from her nursing and although she had some reading to do, she was happy to spend a couple of hours looking after her two and my youngest. Phoebe, who as Lizzie’s closest relative seemed to have little desire to look after her and was far more interested in helping Julie in the salon and thus practicing the skills she was acquiring at the college, she only had one term left before she qualified and was certainly going to push the business element of things.

I dressed appropriately for a wander in the woods/ building site in jeans and walking boots and then helping the girls to choose something equally suitable. I wasn’t sure if Danni was up to it but she wanted to see what was happening at Billie’s centre. Once they’d all shoved their wellies in plastic bags in the boot of the Jaguar we set off. Despite it being school holidays the traffic was fairly light and we got to the forest earlier than I expected, however, the architect a John Ronson, was early as well. I presume when he saw a white XF arrive he assumed it was ol’ money-bags herself, and he was spot on, it was me.

I pulled on my walking boots and gaiters, promising the girls a walk in the woods if Danni was up to it, and waited while they pulled on extra socks and their wellington boots—not the best thing for walking any distance in but pretty standard fare for dealing with muddy paths and leaf mould.

Mr Ronson introduced himself and we shook hands and I then introduced my daughters and he shook hands with each one, Meems stealing the day by scrambling his name in her customary way. She blushed but looked so innocent she stole my heart and I knew what a little monster she can be.

As we entered the site a woodpecker drummed nearby and I hoped we might see it on our walk—I told the girls to watch out for a bird with undulating flight and demonstrated what I meant with my hand.

Out guided tour showed that the walls were completed and the roof was being finished. Next they’d secure the building by either inserting the windows or boarding them up while things like plumbing and electrics were done then the walls would be plastered and fittings and fixtures would be added. He suggested they’d nearly caught up with the delays through the weather—and the tree which collapsed on the one wall during the gales of Valentine’s Day. A few more trees had been removed to reduce the risk of further damage and while I was saddened by the loss of what would probably have been healthy trees, I appreciated the dangers of building too close to them. On a whim I asked if we couldn’t put a beech hedge round the car park which would give an extra area of potential nesting places for smaller birds like thrushes, once it grew a few feet. He beamed and agreed it was a good idea. They were going to put nest boxes up all over the place once it was finished and we’d have loads put up in the woodland as the centre developed—hopefully getting volunteers from conservation bodies to help in providing the manpower to do so.

It was interesting that some of the rooms seemed larger than when I’d seen them on paper and others seemed smaller. My office was bigger than I thought it would be, and the library smaller. I suggested they switch them round but Ronson explained the reason for a large director’s office was that when not in use by said director it would function as a meeting room, provision for security of files and equipment being included in the design.

The lab areas looked very good as did the study rooms and the multipurpose room which we’d use for teaching groups. We spent a good hour looking round the place and another hour tramping round the woods. The woodpecker turned out to be a male great spotted variety, which we saw as we returned to the car from our woodland trek. Danni was beginning to tire somewhat but she’d enjoyed the fresh air.

As we were about to get back into the car, I mumbled to myself that Billie would have been proud of what we were doing in her name. “Oh she is,” observed Trish.

“What? You saw her?”

“Oh yes, Mummy, she walked round with us, she thinks it’s wonderful.”

I felt sad as I shut the door and started the car up to drive home.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2319 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Why is it that everyone bar me can see Billie when she appears? I’m not frightened of her, I loved her alive so I love her in any way I’m able. I hope she knows it. I still can’t go with this life after death stuff. Perhaps what the others see is something that’s created in my mind and projected into theirs? It might explain why I can’t see her yet the others do.

I drove home hoping that she’d have been pleased to have a centre named after her. We might just have to explain to any American visitor that it’s named after my daughter not their ageing tennis star.

The trees that had been felled would be cut into logs and used in a wood burner to help heat the place in winter. There would also be solar panels and a few other energy generating or saving features. The hot water would come from capillary tubing panels on the roof, it’s amazing how effective they can be, especially on sunny days, which is when we’re most likely to have most visitors.

Back at home, the girls divested themselves of wellie boots, which somehow they managed to con their grandfather into cleaning for them. Danni went for a rest while the others went for a bicker in the garden. I decided to let them sort it out themselves and instead fed Lizzie who seemed to be growing at a rate of knots.

While I fed the baby, Cate and Puddin’ played quietly together on the rug in front of me with an old tea set of Trish’s. I’d have killed for one when I was a young un. I did eventually con my mother into allowing me to buy one when I pretended to want play at cafes, except I would be the waitress in my own imagination. The wonderful thing about imagination is that it happens inside your own head and without specialist equipment no one knows what you’re thinking. In some ways I hope that never changes although they reckon they can guess from the different parts of the brain being active. Knowing my luck, all they’d find is my brain is mostly designed for shopping or counting dormice.

I thought back to the Christmas when Billie and Danni arrived, at that time I had no idea how things were going to turn out, especially as Danni was so boyish. I suspect that was how he really is and the girly stuff is adapted behaviour in the same way that I could pretend to be a boy in school because it helped me not get beaten up quite so often. But it wasn’t my natural behaviour such as I displayed in nursery and frightened the nursery care staff and my parents. It must have been so obvious what I really was but no one would take it on board preferring to believe I was gay, and a good woman would sort me out. They were right, a good woman did sort me out, Stella, knocking me into the middle of next week. How she didn’t kill me is nothing short of miraculous.

The palm of my hand itched and I glanced at it while I scratched it. I looked at my life line. I couldn’t remember which line was which and surely all that guff about reading palms and so on can’t be true—we aren’t fated to have this or that happen except by our genes and social/cultural programming. While events might not be by pure randomness, we might cause something to happen without knowing it such as telling someone we were at home one night and then being surprised when they called by.

As for life after death—I didn’t see how it could be. I’d never believed in it even though those who campaign for reincarnation and there are some quite intriguing stories about children saying things to their parents they shouldn’t know about, believe it proves their case. While all of it is mind blowing, I suspect unconscious learning is much more likely to be shown to be the cause than being a previously existing spirit which gets recycled—not that I have a problem with recycling things—it’s a good idea.

I’d taken some photos of our expedition to show Henry and Si how things were developing at the centre and I'd uploaded them to the computer when the doorbell rang. No one seemed to hear it so I had to go and deal with it. It turned out to be Cindy—could have done without her here today and so could Danielle who looked very tired when we got home.

“Are we going to have any lunch today?” asked Trish as I was speaking with Cindy. Glancing at my watch I realised it was half past one, no wonder she was hungry and making rude enquiries.

Cindy had had her lunch before coming over. I sent Trish up to tell Danille that Cindy was here and to come back and help me do some lunch. We had some sliced ham in the fridge and plenty of bread, so I did some ham salad sandwiches. Cindy managed to eat one despite not being hungry, as did everyone else. Stella and Jacquie it seemed waited until we came back rather than get one for themselves. At times it really did make me cross. “I looked in the fridge but thought I’d better not eat the ham in case you had something in mind for it.” Was how Stella denied her laziness.

I was reminded that David was due back to do dinner. He should have been back at breakfast but he got stuck somewhere in Cornwall—the car played up and they had to have a garage look at it. As I cleaned up the dishes so his car pulled into the drive and he parked behind his cottage. Hannah came over and brought me some clotted cream fudge, which I shared with everyone. That way we'd all get fat rather than just me.

An hour or so after this, David arrived in the kitchen and began collecting bits for dinner. I made some fresh tea and withdrew to the dining room where Cate and Puddin’ resumed their waitressing and I had to drink countless cups of pretend tea as well as the real one I had beside me. I also had to pretend to eat invisible cakes and say how yummy they were and the two little ones squealed with laughter each time I did, a familiar scenario to anyone who’s raised girls.

Simon and Sammi got home early for some reason and after he’d changed and we were waiting for David to finish in the kitchen, Simon asked me about the visit to the woodland centre.

“I can do better than tell you, I can show you,” I said remembering the pictures I’d been uploading when Cindy had arrived. He followed me through to the study and I rebooted the computer and called up the photos.

At first I began to think there was something wrong with the camera because on pretty well every photo there appeared to be like a ball of light, which I assumed must be some sort of internal reflection in the camera.

However, when we got to the end one which featured a group photo taken by the architect of the girls and me, there alongside me was the light again and inside it a smiling face of Billie. The hair on my neck stood on end and I felt quite ill.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2320 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“What’s this light thing?” asked Simon looking at the pictures.

“I have no idea.”

“Is it worth getting the camera checked—which one was it?”

“The little Pentax.”

“They’re usually pretty good.”

“As any other make.”

“Wonder if the mark can be photoshopped?”

“You’d have to ask Sammi about that.”

“This one of the group is pretty good pity about the light thing again.”

“I thought the light thing looked like a face to me.”

He stared at it for several minutes. “Just marks in the background behind it.” I looked again and what he’d said seemed to be the case. Perhaps I’d imagined it.

By the time Sammi came to look at them they’d all faded to practically nothing and she didn’t consider it worthwhile to try and alter the pictures, they were then likely to look artificial, whereas now they didn’t. Some were actually quite good.

I printed them off and showed them to the girls. They recognised all of them liked the one with the group photo. There was now no light distortion or anything else irregular. How could something like that fade?

After dinner and we’d all enjoyed seeing the photos, I went back to the study and Trish followed me. “Did you see Billie in the picture?”

“Where?” I challenged and she indicated exactly where the face in the light had been. “You can see her?”

“It’s a bit hazy but she’s there all right.” She took the photo and held it under the desk light twisting it to get different angles of light. “Yes, look here, Mummy, the pale blue figure.

I tried to see what she was but for some reason I couldn’t. We went onto the computer and even she couldn’t see them there and finally when she examined the photographs again, she couldn’t see it either.

“I’m sure I saw her at the centre, I know I did. You’ve messed with the photos haven’t you? You don’t believe in any of this stuff do you? Well I saw her, she was there with us.” Following the outburst, Trish fled the study. I was tempted to go after her but I didn’t, anything I said now was unlikely to help anything but reinforce her doubtfulness about me. Had my scepticism caused the energy in the photographs to fade? Pretty clever if it were true. Of course it isn’t.

I called Sammi down to look again at the pictures and those on the computer. They now showed no sign of light balls or even heavy ones. The photos were quite normal. Sammi went into photoshop but couldn’t make the images appear as I’d originally seen them or how they’d been when she’d first seen them. “That is weird, seriously weird.”

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t do it deliberately.”

“Mummy, seeing how rubbish you are at computers, I know you didn’t.”

I smiled, “You say the loveliest things, darling.”

“Whatever,” she muttered and retired back to whatever she’d been working on upstairs.

Vindicated by my incompetence—has a lovely ring to it especially if applied to politicians.

I went up to see Trish who was lying on her bed reading. “I believe you either saw or thought you saw Billie.” I told her.

“But what happened to the photographs if you didn’t alter them?”

“I don’t know, Trish, you probably have as much of an idea as I do.”

“But she was there.”

“I admit I thought I saw something too.”

“But you didn’t say that earlier.”

“I didn’t want to influence anyone else, I wanted them to say what they thought. Daddy thought the face on the last one was just the background showing through the light thing.”

“What did you think it was?” asked Trish.

“I thought it could be a face, but I can’t be certain.”

“I saw her, she walked all round the centre with us, she was so excited about everything, especially having it called after her.”

“Did she say that to you?” I asked.

“She didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to, she seems to be able to make me feel what she feels without saying anything.”

I shook my head. I’d have loved to have seen her again and better still to talk with her or hold her. But she never appears to me, or rarely.

“She’s worried that if you saw her you’d be upset.”

“How d’you know that?” I asked.

“She told me it ages ago.”

Was that a valid reason? I suppose it was as good as any, did my disbelief in things paranormal make a difference as well? I liked to think it was a healthy scepticism that didn’t accept things at face value because they frequently weren’t as they appeared. Quantum Mechanics shows us about such things at a sub atomic level, so why not on the macro scale? I wasn’t enough of a physicist to consider that in sufficient depth to have a valid opinion.

“Did you agree with her?” I asked Trish hoping I wasn’t distressing her.

“Sort of.”

“So you think I’d be upset if I saw Billie again?”

She shrugged non-committally.

“If I was it would only be because I love her and miss her.”

“She knows that, Mummy.”

“Have you seen Grampa’s late wife and daughter?”

Her facial expression tended to make me think she had. “I might a done,” she said, “when we’ve up at the graveyard place.”

I wondered if she was reading Tom’s mind, seeing what he was seeing in his head when he was at the grave, but that is just as fanciful as suggesting there’s some sort of life after death. There isn’t any real evidence to show it, just subjective stuff which can’t be tested.

Until it can be demonstrated beyond any reasonable doubt, I can’t believe it so my previous experiences of seeing dead people are probably explained by some sort of emotional need which created it inside my head and made me feel it was happening outside. Effectively some sort of hallucination—yeah, that was probably it.

“Would you like a drink of milk before you go to bed?” I asked my daughter.

“Yes please, Mummy, oh please may I have a biscuit, too.”

“I expect so.” She followed me down and before long I was making drinks for everyone.

Sammi came down for a coffee and asked me if the pictures had come back and I said as far as I knew they hadn’t. “Weird that, I’ve never known that happen before and have no idea what it could have been. Can I see the camera and the card.” I collected them and gave them to her, she took her coffee and both of them up to her room with her.

An hour or two later Simon and I were going to bed and I saw her light still on. I tapped on her door and asked if she had any answers.

“About your disappearing face?”

“Yes, why what did you think I meant?”

“Oh, I wondered if you meant about the unicorn.”

“Unicorn? What are you on about.”

“A unicorn you know, single horned animal, usually white and only seen by the pure in heart.”

“So how did you see one then?”

“Oh mother, you cut me to the quick.” She feigned severe hurt.

“Stop fooling.”

“How did you know I was fooling?” she said keeping a dead pan face.

“Uh? How about unicorns?”

“Well I thought it was better than the gorilla in the forest behind you.” She showed me the photo and sure enough just behind us was a seven foot tall gorilla.

“They don’t grow that tall, so I know you photoshopped it.”

“Yeah, but the others won’t, will they?”

“You be careful, if you frighten Meems I’ll be less than pleased.”

“I won’t don’t worry.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2321 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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If I heard Sammi singing, The Teddy bears picnic once more, I think I would possibly strangle her. ‘Íf you go down to the woods today...’ had become a real ear worm, which I believe is what they call a tune you can’t get out of your head. Her joke with the gorilla in the photos was well received and Mima possibly laughed the loudest. She also complained she hadn’t seen the unicorns—I must admit, I’d loved to have seen them too—that would have made a good record for the mammal survey.

I got an email from Tony who saw an article about dormice being released all over the country but especially in places like Yorkshire and Lancashire by the PTES. I was fuming, especially when I saw the failure rates were more than half. That was a lot of deceased dormice. I sent PTES a snotty email suggesting they might like to contact the university next time as we had some experience of successful releases.

I expected to get a reply telling me to mind my own business, in which case I might offer a letter to the Daily Wail, or whichever paper it was in, suggesting the imprudence of such large release schemes when small is better, especially when it enables better monitoring and support of such releases. The wisdom of reintroductions is also a moot point with talk of doing so with wolves and even lynx. Farmers with sheep won’t be much in favour.

I remembered on one bike ride about this time of year seeing a dead lamb in a field the head of which was covered in blood where the crows had had its eyes out. I just hoped it was dead before they did it. It still made me shudder. But then I’m possibly a total hypocrite because I don’t relate the little woolly things gambolling round fields with the meat served up on plates with mint sauce.

I cobbled together an email to PTES asking for more details of their release scheme and offering my expertise for future releases. I showed it to Daddy, who thought it quite well written and then sent it. My future reaction would depend upon their response. If they didn’t know they were dealing with the dormouse queen, which would tend to demonstrate their ignorance—I would soon remind them.

I was pleased with Danielle’s seeming recovery from her pneumonia. She’d been tired from the fresh air and exercise as we wandered round the field centre and the woodland reserve, however, she had recovered quite quickly and seemed to be in good spirits today. I agreed she could go to Cindy’s for the morning and gave her the bus fare.

I didn’t know about her tiredness but I felt somewhat exhausted by a lack of sleep from a combination of Simon’s snoring and the antics of a certain cat who’ll remain nameless, but who spent half the night or so it seemed, trying to catch two moths who found their way into the house. Perhaps I should have remembered to use Burns’ poem the one which asks about things which go bump in the night and finishes with the line, ‘Guid Lord deliver us.’ The number of things which went bump or crash in the wee sma’ ’oors became beyond counting as Bramble jumped and chased after the two moths. Between them they broke an antique tea pot, the glass in two pictures and a sculpture by Tom’s first daughter. Seems she was good at art as well as languages—me? I’m good at eating.

Simon had to go back to work on the Monday but I held onto the fact that next week had a bank holiday on Friday for Good Friday. I would avoid all contact with those who felt it was what Christianity was all about, death and resurrection or rebirth through the process. My memories of Easter weren’t very good ones as a child because even then I couldn’t understand how God could resurrect some bloke two thousand years ago but not my hamster which had died the week before and which affected me as a six year old much more than some old guy dying all those centuries before. In all honesty, the situation hasn’t changed very much at all, except possibly for the worse. Could I have been agnostic at age six?

I spent the morning doing some housework where I shamelessly exploited the girls in helping me on the proviso that if they didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to spend any time with them until a week next Tuesday.

The post showed the irony of being relatively well known in a narrow field. Some are quite pleased because someone recognised them, I hate it, but as usual we were being assailed in all directions by mail from people too far away to have ever met me but through various bits I’d done on telly and elsewhere felt they had some claim on me. I got Easter cards by the bag load—I don’t celebrate it because I don’t think it ever happened except in a symbolic sense and that doesn’t please many Christians. However, we stand them on the sideboard in the lounge and they go for recycling on Easter Monday. I sound very hard bitten, I’m not but just can’t believe in something I see more as impossible than miraculous.

I had some more Easter cards, three to be precise, all from people who’d heard me talk on the radio or bought the dormouse video and thought they were cute. I doubt they thought I was cute, although Simon said I was, but that was a couple of years ago.

After the film I had grumbles from male students, a minority, about not wearing the same outfit for work as I did in the film. They meant the shorts, although most of the time I wore trousers as I did in work.

Usually, the response encouraged by Erin was to send them a handwritten note thanking them for their support and interest in my career. If we had spare photos we’d send one of those which I signed. Usually this was off the picture used in the bank poster and which the bank very kindly produced at no cost to me or the other workers.

Trish came into me and I was a bit short with her because I was trying to sort out how we’d respond as the photos had recently run out—the bank had promised a reprint was imminent but so far nothing. It was only after I finished doing the bit with the photos that I tried to recollect what had upset her. I discovered much to my disgust that she had the headache back again, so I spent much of the rest of the day sitting with her and trying to help her feel a bit better. Young children shouldn’t get headaches, so I felt a bit concerned for her.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2322 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I called Sam Rose’s secretary and after a quick chat with her I asked him to call me back, she said he was very busy but she’d ask him anyway. I was busy watching Trish snooze on the sofa when the phone rang. It was Sam.

I explained that she’d had this recurrent headache which was disturbing her enough to tell me about it. He told me to bring her in that afternoon at four. It was coming up to lunch time and I could hear David working in the kitchen. Lunch was a sandwich, which suited me fine. The girls grumbled until he produced Greek yoghurt with strawberries and mandarin orange pieces in it. Even I decided I felt hungry enough to have some.

I did some more ironing and at three o’ clock I went up to change and to coax Trish to have a little wash and dress before taking her to see Sam. She clearly wasn’t her usual self and I wondered if she was incubating something, but it had been going on for over a week. I was getting no feedback from her at all, even when I placed my hands on her head, she received no relief and I got no information.

While we were sitting waiting for Sam, she was cuddled into me and all sorts of awful things were going through my mind from a need for glasses to a brain tumour. She couldn’t explain where it was exactly other than to say her head felt tender and sore especially when she lay down. That was no help to my untrained diagnostic skills, hence us waiting for Dr Rose to use his experience and knowledge to help my child return to full health.

At ten past four, Sam called us. Trish was nearly asleep and I had to half walk half carry her to his room. She had a temperature. He examined her from head to foot and even rolled a glass over her belly as there appeared to be a small rash there.

He left her lying on the couch, apparently asleep and beckoned me through to the far end of his office. “I’m not a hundred per cent sure, but I’m fairly convinced she has viral meningitis.”

I felt my heart sink down into my boots. This was a killer of children and young people, or could cause loss of limbs or extremities like hands and feet. I felt my head swim and Sam had to help me to a chair I felt so shocked.

“I’m going to admit her, I’m going to give you a shot and I want your GP to inoculate everyone else in the house. I’ll call him and you can set up a time when you can get everyone there.”

“Everyone? Adults as well?”

“Just to be sure, yes. It can kill adults too.”

He rang someone and asked for two treatments of the vaccine to be sent up immediately. Ten minutes later he gave Trish a jab and then me. “If you get any side effects see your GP. I’m going to admit her, she’s becoming quite poorly.”

“I’ll ask Jacquie to bring in some nightwear and toiletries and some books and things.”

“I doubt she’s going to want books for a week or two.”

“Oh,” my heart sank into the concrete of the floors.

“She’s very poorly.”

“Can I stay while you admit her and settle her in?”

“I don’t see why not. If you’ve any of your blue stuff, now might be a good time to use it. The next twenty four to forty eight hours are going to be critical.”

“She’s going to be all right though, isn’t she?”

“I hope so, Cathy, I sincerely hope so.”

He carried her up to the children’s unit and the nurses busied themselves stripping her off to a nightdress they had there and putting her to bed. A drip was set up to keep her hydrated and antibiotics were given via it presumably to keep secondary infection risk down. Once she was put to bed, I was allowed to sit by her side and hold her hand. I felt sick with worry.

Jacquie arrived about an hour later with a card the other girls had signed and we displayed it on her locker. She was either asleep or unconscious, it was hard to tell. It turned out to be asleep, and she woke briefly, smiled at Jacquie and I and went back off. The nurse came and checked her temperature, she had one of those things on her finger for pulse and oxygen levels. As anticipated with a temperature, her pulse was raised.

A second nurse arrived and took a blood sample, Trish grumbled a little but went back to sleep. I bathed her face with a cool flannel, she looked very hot. She was, it was over a hundred in Fahrenheit. I sat beside her and took her hand and went into meditation mode trying to draw down enough energy to resolve this crisis.

Trish and I were walking through a lovely garden. “I’m going to die, aren’t I, Mummy?”

“No, darling, you’ll get through this, well all help you.”

“Dr Rose thinks I am, doesn’t he?”

“Dr Rose is doing his best to help you, sweetheart. We’re all rooting for you.”

“I’m not frightened, Mummy.”

No but I am, what do I say to her?

“I love you, sweetheart, and we’re going to do all we can. All I ask is that you hold on and let us help you as much as we can.”

“What if it’s my time to die?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The nuns were telling us we all have a time to die which is set before we’re born.”

“I don’t believe that, darling. The only thing that’s written is your genetic code which might leave you open to certain illnesses.”

“Or make me want to be a girl.”

“You are a girl, my darling.”

“I don’t think it matters anymore, Mummy.”

I turned and looked around and she faded from my sight. I screamed and a nurse came in to see what was happening. Jacquie had fallen asleep and she jumped so much she nearly fell off her chair.

“What’s happening?” asked the young staff nurse and I recognised her Bristol accent.

“I nodded off and had a bad dream.” I blushed profusely.

Trish looked over at me and smiled weakly. “It wasn’t a dream, Mummy.”

“What d’you mean?” I asked but she slipped into sleep again.

“What did she mean?”asked Jacquie in barely a whisper.

“She thinks she’s going to die.”

“Oh, Mummy, don’t let her—you’ve got to stop it.”

I know what I’ve got to try and stop, the only problem being—how?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2323 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I spoke briefly with Jacquie away from Trish’s bed. “My energy doesn’t seem to be getting near her, ask Julie to come in as soon as she can.”

“What about Danielle? Can’t she do the healing too?”

“She’s been ill herself recently, I don’t think she’d have the strength to do very much and it could make her ill again.”

“Okay, Mummy, I’ll send Julie in.” She went off quickly to try and find her sister. I suppose I could have phoned Julie, but I didn’t want to talk to her other than face to face. Jacquie could do that for me. I knew Julie would be here as soon as she could.

I trudged back to the bed, Trish was fast asleep and I sat with her, holding her hand or gently stroking her cheek. She smiled but remained somnolent. The nurse checked her, her temperature was still high. Somehow we had to break the fever, which is often when the crisis occurs and the patient either recovers or...

I talked quietly to her and touched her gently just to let her know I was there. At one point she seemed to jerk and twitch and her eyes were moving rapidly under their lids. I thought for a moment she was having a fit but she calmed down and went back to a more normal sleep. Julie arrived with Simon.

“What’s going on? Jacquie says she’s got meningitis.” Simon said tersely. I left Julie to sit with her while I steered him away from the bed.

“She may be able to hear you, you great knuckle head.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry. But what the f...is going on?”

“She had this headache for a couple of days I called Sam and he examined her and admitted her with a diagnosis of viral meningitis. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Bugger. Want to go and get something to eat or drink? I’ll sit with her for a while if you do.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I need to try and zap her with Julie’s help, but I suspect we’d both be grateful for a cuppa in about an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll bring some down.”

“I love you, Simon, but Trish needs me more at the moment.”

“I know, babes, go and do what’s necessary. See you in an hour.”

I kissed him and he left waving to Julie as he went.

“What do I have to do, Mummy?”

Once more I moved away from the bed and explained my plan. It was easy, if my energy wasn’t right for some reason, then I had to do it through a third person who would also look kindly upon our subject. Julie was the third party.

I sat her next to the bed and holding hands with Trish while I sat the other side of Julie and held her other hand while trying to call up as much energy as I could. I was lost to my task drawing down a sun’s worth of light, unaware of nurses, the hospital or even Trish. As I drew it down I chanted Hebrew god names to help me focus and keep me awake.

I lost all track of time and it was only when Si came down with a tray of teas and sandwiches I returned to real life. It took me a moment to work out where I was and then I spoke to Julie and Simon. Julie said she looked a little less ill but her temperature was still high and her breathing quieter. I said I thought the crisis was approaching.

I was grateful for the tea and while not exactly hungry, when I discovered the sandwiches were tuna, I thought I’d better eat them or else. I told Julie why my energy wasn’t working on her.

“Why’s that, then, Mummy?”

“Because I’ve saved her life before.”

“But you’ve saved Stella as well a few times,” interjected Simon.

“Not with the blue energy.”

“Oh, I stand corrected then.”

“Nothing new there then,” I retorted almost in unison with Julie. I thought it was hilarious, Simon didn’t.

“It was mainly common sense and first aid that saved Stella, not this stuff.” I threw off a little and liberated, it flew to a child and she began to cry. Her parents were ecstatic, they jumped up and down and hugged. Apparently, she was expected to die but now she wasn’t going to.

Refreshed, sort of, Julie and I set to again. Sam got permission for us to stay there as long as we wished as Trish was categorised as critical. It was probably some two or so hours later that it became obvious that either the fever would break or I would in my attempt to force it. At that moment I suspect the odds were evens.

I felt the energy breakthrough like a slice of ice I’d been standing on broke and I’d fallen into an ancient sea. I started chattering but within seconds was burning hot as the energy in me went to and fro. Trish apparently wriggled and jerked as we forced the issue and moments after it happened Sam Rose appeared and told us the temperature was reducing—my plan might have worked.

We took another break and Sam insisted we go up to the hospital restaurant and eat and drink, he was going to be examining Trish while we were away, so we reluctantly rose and went off for another cuppa and sandwich.

“Are you Lady Cameron?” asked the oldish lady in the restaurant.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Dr Rose asked me to do you a meal, this is what he ordered.” She produced two plates with rice and a stew. I thought I was more likely to throw up than eat it but it was delicious and I told her. We were both back at the ward about twenty minutes after leaving it.

Sam was waiting for us. “Did you enjoy?” he asked smiling.

“Yes, thank you.” I gave him a hug.

“The good news is, her temperature is coming down. We’re not out of the woods yet but she needs a good night’s sleep now and so, I suspect, do you. So off to bed with you, I’ve arranged for you to be able to come in first thing in the morning. Now go and rest.”

“I’d rather stay,” I protested, “She might need me.”

“Go home, Cathy, she needs you alert and strong. Take her home, Julie.”

I surrendered and after giving Trish a peck on the forehead and telling her I’d be back in the morning, I went to leave.

“Back in the morning? Mummy, it’s one o’clock in the morning now.”

“Oh bugger, no wonder I feel tired.”

We walked out to the car park and Julie had parked next to my car, I followed her home hoping I didn’t nod off while I was at the wheel. I didn’t but when we got home I was too tired to have a tea or anything. I left Julie to explain to Tom and Stella how things were while I went up to my bed. I was exhausted. I lay on it fully dressed and fell asleep in seconds.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2324 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I awoke about six o’clock the next morning. I was in my nightdress and panties. Simon was lying beside me fast asleep. I slipped out of bed, went to the loo and showered then grabbed some clothes and dressed in the bathroom, combed my hair and nipped downstairs.

I was quite surprised I had the place to myself, normally Tom was up at this time getting ready to walk the dog. I checked, Kiki was still fast asleep in her bed. I made myself a cuppa and went into my study. I needed to think, why had Trish contracted the virus? Why couldn’t I help her directly? Was she going to recover without any lasting damage?

I’d formulated the questions, but I had no idea of the answers nor knew of anyone who would. I sipped my tea. I’d closed the study door because I didn’t want to be disturbed yet I had a feeling that I was being watched. I didn’t want to give into it but almost mechanically my head turned round to look behind me. There just inside a closed door stood a beautiful woman bathed in a golden light which seemed to pulsate.

“Milady,” I said not being able to think what else to say. I slowly stood up expecting it to have disappeared and for me to feel even more unstable. Instead she was still there and when I bowed, she acknowledged my act of subordination.

“You asked me to come,” she said in my head.

“I did?” I gasped confused.

“You had questions.”

“Oh yes, they relate to my daughter who is gravely ill. I need your help, milady, to save her.”

“It’s annoying that you only summon me to ask favours.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“So am I, Catherine.”

“Will you help me, milady?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re a female and you don’t wish to see children suffer and she is likely to serve you in the future.”

“I hope she does a better job than her mother.”

“I apologise for my shortcomings.”

“I should think so.”

“Very well, save your precious child.”

“Milady, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“I didn’t do it for you, I did for the scrap of a child who follows me around nagging me remorselessly. It’s the only way I shall get any peace.”

“Might I ask if I could embrace the child who assists you, one more time.”

“If you must.”

She faded and before stood Billie. I couldn’t even say her name I was so choked. I opened my arms and she fell into them and we hugged, me weeping like it was going out of style. I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew, Simon was rubbing my shoulder.

“Hey, babes, how d’you feel now?”

“Um—what?” I opened my eyes and I was in bed, in my nightdress. I sat up with a start. “But I was downstairs,” I protested.

“When?” asked Simon.

“Just now,” I saw the goddess and she helped me to save Trish and allowed me to hug Billie.”

“Ah, that explains things.”

“It does?” I asked.

“Yeah, you were crying your eyes out and yet you were smiling at the same time.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah, but it was the talking in your sleep that woke me.”

“Sorry.”

“Who’s milady when she’s at home?”

“The goddess.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in gods and goddesses?”

“I don’t.”

“So how come you’re talking to one in your sleep?”

“I was obviously worrying about Trish.”

“I gathered that much. It’s all a bit double standards, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”But if it saves my baby, I’ll believe anything, even a dozen impossible things before breakfast.”

“Your baby?”

“Yes, Trish.”

“Hardly a baby.”

“They all are to me.”

“Okay, pardon me for breathing.”

“Men and women see things differently.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“Si, you can be so...”

“Double standards?” he offered.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“I’m a banker, remember?”

“I hadn’t forgotten.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

I glanced at the clock, it was six in the morning. A sense of déjà vu went through my mind, then I turned over and with Simon’s arm around my waist I drifted off to sleep again. He let me sleep until ten, and this time I really did shower and dress and comb my hair.

I discovered that Tom had taken the others out for a walk with the dog and that Simon had taken a couple of days off to do what he could to help. He spent any spare moment on his computer or phone, but he was where we needed him—with us. I knew Trish would appreciate it, as did I.

I ate a light breakfast and got myself ready to visit Trish, Julie had gone to the salon to try and deal with the Easter rush. Why is it people have to have their hair done for Easter? I could understand the churchgoers, they’re all in some sort of competition for being the most pious and best turned out, but the others...?

I collected my coat and bag and set off for the hospital, Si suggesting that he’d watch the kids if Tom ever brought them back. At the ward, Trish was sitting up in bed talking to a houseman about Quantum Mechanics, “Hi, Mummy, this is Dr Downes, he used to do A-level physics, said he’d bring in some exam papers for me to look at, isn’t that kind?”

“Isn’t it?” I replied not sure what I felt other than she must be feeling better. After they stopped chatting I spoke to the doctor on his own. “How is she?”

“So much better we wonder if Dr Rose might have made a mistake.”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, so how can she recover so quickly?”

“She’s got phenomenal healing rates.”

“So I see.”

“It’s just unprecendented, VM takes weeks to get over.”

“Trish recovers very quickly, I did say earlier.”

“Who was the woman they thought they saw in the middle of the night, she apparently glowed golden?”

“How am I supposed to know, I was fast asleep home in bed.”

“Lucky you, I had to deal with a neo-natal with some complications.”

“Lucky me, absolutely. I feel I’m the luckiest and happiest woman alive.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2325 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

When Dr Downes had gone, I sat with Trish. “How d’you feel, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay now though until the lady came in the night, I felt very strange. I remember you and Julie trying to call me and I was looking for the blue light but it seemed a long way away and I couldn’t reach it.

“I felt like I was floating in this dark place, I knew you’d come to get me but I was beginning to feel very frightened. Then the lady came, she was dressed in gold and I thought I saw Billie with her so I knew she was all right. She asked me if I wanted to go home and I told her I wanted to go home to my mummy. She told me to think very hard about my mummy and I woke up in this bed. The nurses were surprised because they didn’t expect me to wake up so quickly. They told me I’d been very ill and should rest. Then they told me off because I got out of bed to go for a wee—well, I mean, I’m nine so I don’t wet myself like a baby, do I?”

“You do not,” I agreed.

“The nurse told me off for going to the bathroom, but it was that or wee in my knickers, and I didn’t want wet knickers, did I, Mummy?”

“Absolutely, girl.”

“I like it when you call me, girl.”

“What else should I call you? Um—piglet?”

“No, silly Mummy. I just like it when you call me a girl.”

“That’s all I’ve ever called you.”

“I know, Mummy, but I still like it.”

We hugged and I sat holding her hand.

“Was the lady in gold an angel like you, Mummy?”

“Um—not exactly.”

“So what was she?”

“The Shekinah.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a Hebrew goddess said to represent the female aspect of god.”

“But God’s a man, Sister Vagina, said so.”

“Sister who?” I gasped.

“Sister Virginia but we all call her Sister Vagina.”

“Isn’t that a bit rude?”

“Yeah, but it suits her. The older girls said she was a bit of a twat.”

“I don’t want to hear you calling anyone that again, d’you hear me?”

“What, a twat?”

“Yes that, it’s very vulgar.”

“Does it mean a c...?”

“Don’t you dare say any more.”

“I was going to say a cow.”

“Not quite, but let’s leave it.”

“Sheki wotsit is a female aspect of God, she can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Sister Vagina—oops—Virginia, said God was male and anything else was mistaken or lies.”

“If I said she was mistaken, would you believe me.”

“Who’s mistaken, Mummy?”

“Sister Vagina,” damn she’s got me saying it now, “Sister Virginia.”

Trish was lying on the bed convulsed with laughter at my Freudian slip. “You said it too, Mummy.”

I blushed like a stop light. “Only because you confused me.”

She laughed again. “Of course I’d believe you, Mummy.”

“Good. The Bible suggests god is in all things and is all things, is that correct?”

“I don’t know, haven’t read that bit.”

“Okay, how about we are all created in the image of god?”

“Is that the same as God created man in his own image?”

“Yes.”

“Oh good.”

“So if god created us in his own image, and that applies to other women as well, then it must mean that part of god must be like a woman or female.”

“Oh yeah, you’re too clever for me, Mummy.”

“No, just more experienced in argument.”

“But Sister Va—ginia is wrong.”

“Let’s just say, she’s mistaken because she didn’t have the benefit of a university education so she’s less likely to challenge nonsensical doctrine.”

“Um, I think she did go to university.”

“Did she?” I was genuinely surprised at that.

“She said about when she was up at Cambridge and I said Cambridge is lower than most of England, so shouldn’t it be down at Cambridge. She laughed at me and said being up at Cambridge was being at university there.”

“So she’s an Oxbridge graduate, that does surprise me.”

“Why, Mummy?”

“Because I’d have expected her to have a more open mind on things....”

“Why, Mummy?”

“Cambridge university is in the top ten in the world.”

“Where is Portsmouth?”

Twenty five millionth—“Um, ooh a long way down compared to Biology at Cambridge.”

“Yeah, but they don’t ’ave my mummy teaching there.”

“That is very true.”

“Am I gettin’ better at arguing?”

Sometimes too much—“Yes, darling.”

“Did I tell you Dr Downes likes physics?”

“I think you might have done, darling.”

“He doesn’t have a Jaguar like you, he has a motorbike.”

I suddenly had an image of Dr Downes on his motorbike sliding under a large lorry. Next moment the afore mentioned physician appeared. “Right, Tricia, I’ve spoken to my boss and he said you can go home if you take it easy for a few days.”

“So you won’t have to go up the chimney until next week,” I joked.

“Oh at least two weeks for that and three for down the mines,” added our visitor.

“Dr Downes—could I have a word?”

“About Tricia?”

“Ah—not exactly.”

“Of course.” He led me to the nurse’s office and shut the door.

I blushed, “I’m not sure how to say this...”

“I’m engaged, Mrs Watts.”

I blushed nearly as much as he did, “It’s not about that.”

“Oh, sorry—I er got the wrong impression.”

“I’m happily married.”

“Of course you are to Mr Watts.”

“No to Mr Cameron.”

He gave me a very peculiar look. “The PM?”

“PM?” I replied aloud, then it struck me what he said. “No, not that Cameron, no Simon Cameron.”

He looked at me even more oddly, “Simon Cameron the banker?” I suspect he thought I’d just escaped from an institution of some sort.

“But Tricia’s name is Watts.”

“So is my maiden name, my working name is Dr Cathy Watts.”

“You’re a physician?”

“No a biologist—at the university.”

“Oh—sorry, I thought for one moment...”

“I was some sort of retard?”

He blushed furiously and nodded.

“You might think that again in a moment.”

“Oh why?”

“Something is telling me to caution you when riding your BMW motorbike.”

“What d’you mean, something?”

“I just get these ideas in my head.”

“Where else would you get ideas?”

I blushed, it did sound a bit Irish and his question challenged it.

“Look, I just got this image of you having a crash on it with a lorry, and you came off second best.”

“Well thank you for your concern, but I take every caution on the bike.”

“Does the name Jack Varnish mean anything?” I asked him.

“Where did you get that name?” his smug attitude faded rapidly and I’m sure he looked rather pale.

“Only that he seems insistent that I make you listen. Is he someone you know?”

“He’s my uncle.”

“Oh, don’t think I know him.”

“You wouldn’t, he died about five years ago doing a TT at the Isle of Man.”

“Oh. Perhaps the message is genuine then?”

“I’ll take extra care, Mrs W—Cameron.”

“It’s Lady Cameron,” corrected the ward sister as she came into her office looking for someone’s notes.

“Sorry, Lady Cameron.”

“Please do be careful.”

“I er will.”

I went back to Trish’s bed and she was dressing behind the curtain ready to go home.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2326 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

As we drove home I wondered if Dr Downes had really listened to what I’d said or just been polite in humouring me. Trish looked at me, “What are you thinking about, Mummy?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I smiled at her and her face lit up.

“What were you thinking about, Mummy; you looked ever so serious.”

“Did I? I was thinking about whether someone listened when I gave them a warning.”

“Was that Dr Downes?”

“It was, how did you know?”

“You went off to talk to him while I was dressing.”

“But that could have been about anything.”

She smiled disarmingly and coupled it with a look which said, ‘Pull the other one.’

“Okay, so I was warning him to ride carefully on his motorbike.”

“Did you see him have an accident?”

“Yes,” I blushed, this kid can read my mind.

“I saw it too, Mummy, with a big lorry.”

I pulled into our drive and parked. “Don’t tell anyone you have these visions, okay?”

“But if it helps them keep safe, Mummy.”

“Okay, be very careful who you tell because others may think you’re weird.”

“What like a witch?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“So why did you tell Dr Downes?”

“I owed somebody a favour and I think that was what they wanted in return.”

“The gold lady?”

Jeez, she’s done it again. “Yes.”

“Was that for saving me?”

“No, I borrowed a cup of sugar from her last week. C’mon, the others will be waiting to jump all over you.”

“We’ve got plenty of sugar, Mummy.”

“Must have been something else then.”

I almost dragged her into the house where they all hugged and jumped up and down, with much squealing and waving of arms—and that was just Stella. Okay, it wasn’t her but she did point at the kettle and I nodded. She made tea while the others went off to the lounge, my caution to Trish to rest fell on stony ground.

“For someone who’s just had meningitis, she looks remarkably well.”

“So, she’s a quick healer.”

“Or you are.”

“Yeah, the miracle healer went into her while I was in the loo.”

“Cathy, she’s one lucky girl.”

“Okay, so I shortened the odds a bit in her favour.”

“A bit?”

“Yeah, a big bit—satisfied now?”

“You’ve probably performed more miracles than Jesus.”

“Don’t be silly, I don’t perform miracles and I suspect if he existed, he didn’t either.”

“Yes he did, he turned water into wine.”

“That could be a mass hallucination brought about by suggestion.”

“Like hypnosis?”

“Yes, the same with the feeding of the five thousand.”

“If you could do the same, we all lose a bit of weight.”

“Stella behave.”

She sniggered. “You have awful problems about religion, don’t you?”

“I’ve told you about my parents ramming it down my throat every chance they had and the bible thumpers who preached at our church, it was all hell and damnation.”

“And you were at an impressionable age, so you’ve done really well to question it.”

“I’m glad I did or I could have been screwed up for ever more and still sitting in my bedsit fretting.”

“Maybe me knocking you off your bike was an act of God, then?”

“I doubt it.”

“It could have been, they say He works in mysterious ways.”

“Mysterious not devious.”

“Nah that’s you, he’s definitely the tall dark and mysterious sort.”

“How d’you know?”

“I done Sunday school too, Miss Smartie pants.” She said this in a real Pompey accent and sounded like a fishwife.

“Did you ever go up the Tor at Glastonbury when you were at school?”

“Yeah, loads of times, we used to go up there for a drink an’ a ciggy.”

“You didn’t smoke did you?” I was horrified.

“Nah, tried it a couple of times made me cough; you?”

“Don’t be silly, my dad would have killed me.”

“And you were too girly to try it, be honest.”

“How d’ya guess?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“He never said that.”

“Who?”

“Sherlock.”

“What are you on about?”

“You said, ‘Elementary, my dear Watson.’ He never said it in any of the stories.”

“So what?”

“I was just saying, that’s all.”

“Oh while you were out there was some transwoman on the radio complaining about using public loos.”

“Why are they dirty or something?”

“No, apparently they have a problem in the US and well I suppose it filled up a quiet day.”

“Quiet day? There’s that plane still missing, that ferry capsized in South Korea and Putin’s playing brinksmanship with Nato—nah, nothing much happened compared to someone not being able to use the right bog.”

“I thought it was an issue for all yo—um trans people.”

“I think it might be for those who are a bit too masculine to pass very well, though I don’t remember hearing anything about it much.”

“You wouldn’t would you? You weren’t a member of any group, were you?”

“No, but it gets in the local paper.”

“It would round here, that’s for sure.”

“There was that awful clip on Youtube of that girl in America getting beaten up by two women in a McDonalds when she went to the loo. That stirred things up a bit here, and I suspect the legislation we’ve had here would make it more difficult to involve the police.”

“Still happens according to the woman on the radio.”

“I haven’t experienced it, neither have Julie, Trish, Danni or Sammi.”

“Because you all pass really well as female.”

“They do, certainly.”

“We’re not playing games again, Cathy; besides I’m surprised you weren’t kicked out of the gents before you transitioned.”

“I was a few times. The first time was when I was still at school, Siân and I went shopping at the Horsefair in Bristol, we went for coffee and she went off to the ladies and I went to the gents and some old chap told me quite sweetly I was in the wrong loo. As he was watching me I had to use the ladies.”

“And no one challenged you?”

“Only Siân, she came out of the cubicle as I walked into the ladies so I had her cubicle. She thought it was hilarious.”

“I’ll bet. I take it you had your long hair in those days?”

“Yeah, but it was only shoulder length. Lots of boys had long hair.”

“Lots of boys don’t have your feminine features or they would have problems in the gents.”

“A la Danny and Peter?”

“Exactly.”

“On one occasion I went with my parents somewhere on the motorway, we stopped for a drink and a wee. Well they went for a wee, I went to get a newspaper to read about the latest stage on the Tour de France, the Guardian carries a daily report. I went to go in the gents and this woman cleaner or caretaker stopped me and said, ‘That way, young lady.’ I was so embarrassed I did as she instructed me and managed to avoid my mum. Boy, did I get hot and bothered that day.”

“But that was all that happened?”

“Yeah, fortunately.”

“And you were in boy mode?”

“Yeah.” I felt myself getting hot.

“Sounds like one of your Gaby stories.”

“Gee, thanks, Stella.” Her response was a cackle.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2327 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

After lunch, the children wanted to go out in the sunshine—yeah, sunshine at Easter in England, okay it’s not quite Easter, they forecast rain for Easter Sunday, so back to normal. No wonder the Brits talk about the weather so much, we have more varieties of it than Heinz. Back to my story, the children wanted to go out and Trish also wanted to go. When I said no she got tearful and then threw a tantrum, shouting and banging things. Stella and I tried to ignore it and suddenly it stopped. I checked on Trish, she was sitting in the lounge looking exhausted.

“Tired?” I asked and she nodded. “Now can you see why I said no?” She nodded again and we had a little cuddle during which she apologised for her behaviour. “I’ll accept your apology and say nothing more provided it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t, Mummy,” she said and cuddled into me again. I was aware that she was re-energising herself from me, but whether it was a conscious thing or not, I didn’t know. I let her do it until I felt my own levels starting to drop and then closed myself down—I just imagine a blanket covering me which is energy impermeable and it stops leaking from me. Trish finally curled up on the sofa and had a snooze for an hour.

The others came in red faced and clamouring for drinks which Jacquie got for them the noise they made, somewhat akin to a colony of gulls, woke Trish and she came out to the kitchen yawning.

“You shoulda come out with us, it’s brill in the sun,” urged Danni.

“I told you all that Trish has to take it easy for a few weeks, she was very ill only a couple of days ago,” I said loudly and it was sufficient to kill the suggestions.

“Oh, okay, but we can still go out can’t we?” was Danni’s response to my reprimand.

“If you behave yourselves.” They all dashed out leaving me with Trish who yawned again but seemed to have learned her lesson—for now, at least. “I have some shopping to do, would you like to come?”

“Not really, Mummy, but I’ll have drink and read my book.” Jacquie made her a drink and I asked what she was reading. “Not quite sure, it’s something like, Contemporary Quantum Theory.”

“Just something light then?”

“Yeah,” she laughed and went back to the lounge.

“Can she actually understand a book on that level?” asked Jacquie rinsing the glasses.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“But I mean most girls of nine are reading silly romance stories or Famous Five.”

“She reads those as well, but she has a brain which seems to require constant challenge. Remember she has a remarkable IQ, so I suspect she understands more of her physics than I would.”

“Isn’t she in danger of missing out on childhood if she’s building nuclear bombs an’ things.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her and try not to let detonate any she makes, though finding enough Plutonium might be an issue. I keep telling her to design a reactor for nuclear fission rather than fusion, but so far she hasn’t been interested.”

“You’re taking the piss, Mummy.”

“Me?” I was but she started it.

I went off to do the shopping grabbing the list David had given me. He’d popped back to his cottage for an hour but was due to return to do some fish dish for us on appropriately, Good Friday. Seems an odd name for the day the Romans are supposed to have killed Jesus. I mean what’s good about it? Then what do I know?

Being mid afternoon the frenzied shopping we usually have seemed to have died down and things weren’t too unbearable. In Waitrose I bumped into Sister Maria and as we were both pretty well finished shopping we opted to leave the groceries in the car and go for a coffee together.

I insisted on paying as I’d consumed several cups of hers at the school at various times and she accepted with good humour. Sitting in a corner of the coffee shop, she asked after the children.

“They’re all okay though Danni is still recovering from pneumonia and Trish from meningitis.”

“Oh, good God,” she said, “that’s really serious.”

“Yes, but she’s on the road to recovery providing she rests enough.”

“That’s hard for a nine year old.”

“Tell me about it, we had a tantrum earlier when the others went out to play.”

“Oh dear, it’s very difficult.”

“Isn’t it just, but she exhausted herself and ended up having a snooze on the sofa.”

“I’m sure that’s what she needed.”

“She said she was going to read as I was coming out.”

“What may I ask is she reading?”

“Something light.”

“Oh good.”

I smirked, “I think she said something like Contemporary Quantum Theory.”

“And she’s just nine years old, bejabers, she’s a girl an’ a half that one.”

“She’s a little girl with a brain the size of small planet.”

“I remember the Hitchhikers Guide, too.” She smiled, “Forty two, if I recall correctly.”

“You are quite correct, though in his case the magic number was forty nine.”

“I don’t follow?” Sister Maria looked puzzled.

“He died at age forty nine.”

“Goodness, that’s young by today’s standards.”

“Quite apparently he had a heart attack caused by a narrowing of his coronary arteries, which was unsuspected as he was a relatively fit person. In fact I believe he died after leaving a gymnasium.”

“So does exercise do us any good?” she asked.

“I have no idea if it actually does any good except most of us feel better for doing some. I know I always feel better for a bike ride.”

“I wonder when you’ll start to bring the girls to school on bicycles.”

“When the driving skills of the homicidal maniacs called motorists improve by about five million per cent.”

“Oh, that bad is it?”

“Actually, no. That was an understatement. I suspect half of motorists had lessons from the Royal National Institute for the Blind, if my experiences are anything to go by. None of them seem to see cyclists and believe it or not being on a cycle path won’t necessarily protect you.”

“Goodness, how is that?”

“People park on them while dealing with mobile phone calls, they swerve up on to them to get round things, bits of damaged cars end up on them, they throw littler on them... shall I continue?”

“Ah no, I get the message, though I don’t park on them or drop litter or bits of my car on them, but I get the message.”

I blushed and considered myself told off, I suppose I had let go a bit of a rant but then I felt I had reason to as a significant number of drivers are total scum bags driving with no consideration for any other road user and dropping litter wherever they like. I consider they’re in the same category to those who dump old fridges or mattresses in hedgerows after dark being too lazy to go to the tip.

“I’m sure you don’t, but others do and it’s up to us who don’t to try and stop others doing it because it spoils the countryside and those of us who enjoy it.”

“I won’t disagree with that.”

I looked at my watch and suddenly realised what the time was, “Heavens, I have to go, David is waiting for some of the stuff I have in the car.” With that I bid her goodbye and rushed off.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2328 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The weather prior to Easter Sunday was amazing and the girls, with the exception of Trish, because she’d been ill, were starting to go brown from being out in the sunshine. Me, I go pink and peel—my ancestors were probably Vikings who didn’t see daylight for six months of the year, so had fair skin with freckles. Yeah, those brown spots which look cute on a six year old but not so much on someone of thirty.

Simon says he likes them, but he’d say that anyway to cheer me up, he knows I still have very little confidence at times which I know is silly, but that’s me.

I suggested going to a car boot sale to get some plants for the garden on the Sunday morning. What an idea that was—duh. It absolutely precipitated all over us. Simon stayed home with Trish, Meems and Cate; Jacquie was looking after Lizzie so the remaining yoofs, viz. Danni and Livvie escorted Tom and I around the car boot.

It wasn’t raining when we got there, but within five minutes and we were about as far from the car as we could get, the skies emptied. I had my Barbour with a hood, the girls had hoods on their coats too, but poor old Tom had his fleece and a cap on. He got a wee bit drookit. However, we also got some lavender and a ceanothus, a blue flowered shrub which apparently hails from America where they call it the corn thistle or something similar, although it’s actually a buckthorn not a thistle of any sort. We had one before but it died for some reason unbeknown to us.

I suppose plants do tend to have life spans and we all realise than annuals flower seed and die, whereas some trees can live for hundreds of years, possibly longer. In our garden at home in Bristol we had a broom plant which was called bacon and eggs because the flowers were yellow and a pinkish brown. I bought it for my mum one mothering Sunday and planted it for her. For the next four or five years it grew huge and flowered with abandon, then suddenly died. It was only when I looked it up in a gardening book I realised they only last about five or six years. I felt quite let down by it but decided not to replace it with another.

We were all a bit damp when we returned from our car booting, although the way the deluge came, car boating might have been more apposite, it was awash before we left and those cars which had parked on grass might have had some difficulty getting away. We all went in the Mondeo and Tom elected to park on the road and walk, which we did.

On the way back we collected the Sunday papers, the Sun for Simon—he likes his seamy news—the Observer for me and the Sunday Times for everyone to leaf through at some point. If my brain allows me, after doing the Observer, Everyman crossword I sometimes try the Sunday Times cryptic one. As David was doing the lunch, I did the two crosswords one before eating and t’other afterwards. The girls played nicely and Simon tittered at his smutty news.

“Someone here wearing a corset thing who wants a sex change,” he called over the top of his paper. “Looks a right mess.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t feel the same way I did.”

“No, but at least you looked the part—sorry, I think they’re making a mistake.”

“You were quite dismissive of Maureen at one point.”

“She doesn’t look ninety three and wasn’t posing in silly underwear.”

“Isn’t that secondary to what she wants to do? If she feels female why shouldn’t she have the opportunity to live in congruence with her sense of self?”

“Well, I think it’s a mistake.”

“We’re all entitled to our opinions, Si, it’s supposed to be a free country, after all.”

“Oh oh, Pistorius is accused of taking acting lessons for the court.” Where does he find these stories?

“Here ya go, Daddy, a place in Park Lane, only thirty two million,” quipped Julie.

“I didn’t think they had that much money in a Monopoly set,” he fired back.

In between musing on crossword clues, I did so on the price of property—it’s like Monopoly money these days. How young people find enough for a mortgage, I hate to think. Maggie Thatcher gave away the council houses to sitting tenants and they wonder why there’s not enough social housing.

I know we’re all right because if everything else failed here we have enough to buy something else. But many people aren’t in that sort of position and it worries and annoys me. At least the properties I own are let, so they’re being used and I don’t think the rents are exorbitant compared to some places. I don’t think I’ll bother to lease Steven Spielberg’s place at Malibu, it might be nice but the rental is thousands.

Mind you what would this place be to rent—quite a lot, so I should count my blessings. Talking of money what’s a Naira got to do with rhinos? I checked and rhino is a slang term for money, naira being currency in Nigeria. Somehow I had the peace to complete both puzzles before my single functioning brain cell went on strike.

I was half way into a good snooze, eyes shut—mouth open, you know the sort when Trish tapped my leg and asked what was for tea and why didn’t she have any Easter eggs.

“You know we don’t do Easter eggs because they’re such a waste of money.”

“Cheap skate,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon, young lady.”

“Sorry,” she blushed and because she was still recovering from her illness I let her get away with that. However, I didn’t tell her there was a bar of chocolate in the fridge with her name on it. “So what’s for tea, Mummy?”

“Ask David.”

“He said you were doing it.”

“Am I?” Huh, since they stopped allowing us aristos to have serfs, standards have been falling. Now I had to kick start my only neuron and find something for tea. Easter, I suppose something with eggs would be appropriate and there should be a couple of doz in the fridge. I got up and went to check.

“How come you got a Lindt bunny?” Trish accused me seeing it on the kitchen table.

I checked it, “It’s from Daddy.”

“I didn’t get one.”

No so you don’t have to do certain things to earn it. “He buys me one every year.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I am his wife.”

“So, I’m his daughter.” I can’t fault her logic.

“He got you a box of little Lindt eggs.”

“But I ate those after breakfast.”

“Well, Miss Greedy guts, that’s just too bad because there are no more.”

“Can I’ve a bit of your bunny then?”

“No, you’ve already eaten your share of chocolate, go and lay the table for omelettes, knives and forks please.”

“No, do it yourself, meanie Mummy.” With that she stormed out of the kitchen and when I looked my bunny was gone too.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2329 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I waited until after making the omelettes and serving them with a salad before going in search of my chocolate bunny. Trish hadn’t come down for tea and Simon ate her meal. I had called her but she declined to come. She must have known that I would eventually go to see what happened to my bunny and that some form of retribution would follow. I let her stew while we ate and then went to see.

I went into her bedroom and found her under the bedclothes, still fully dressed save for her shoes which were lying by the side of the bed. She was reading. “Why didn’t you come down to tea?”

“I didn’t want any.”

“Why not?”

“Not hungry.”

“Is that because you’re full of chocolate rabbit?”

“It might be.”

“It would serve you right if you were sick.”

“Already been sick.”

“What recently?”

“Yeah, I was in hospital, remember?”

“I’m hardly likely to forget, am I?”

“Why are you asking silly questions, then?”

“Perhaps because I care about you.”

“Not enough to share your bunny with me.”

“I thought you’d had enough chocolate for today.”

“I didn’t.”

“Obviously.”

“However, taking something you know to be someone else’s is theft.”

“So.”

“There have to be consequences.”

“Like what?”

“First of all, I’d like an apology for taking it.”

“Prove I did.”

“Trish, stop playing games, I’m tired and cross, so don’t make things worse for yourself. It disappeared at the same time you did, no one else came into the kitchen, therefore you must have taken it.”

“That isn’t proof, it’s circi-wotsit evidence.”

“Circumstantial evidence.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“It would be enough to convict in a court of law.”

“Mummy, this is my bedroom, not a court and I’m trying to read my book.”

I was speechless for a moment. “Okay, where is my bunny?”

“I have no idea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you had it, where did you put it?”

“Dunno.”

For five minutes I searched her room, there was no sign of the wrappers or the chocolate. I was tired and hot from poking about under beds and in drawers, it didn’t help my temper one bit. “Okay, you little imp, where did you put it?”

“I could have thrown it out of the window,” she smirked and I felt like hitting her.

“You have a minute to tell me where it is or I shall start confiscating your laptop, your iPad and phone.”

“You forgot my iPod.”

“That as well.”

“Big deal.”

“I shall take them all for a week.”

“So what.”

Before I did something I’d regret I picked up all her electronic toys and carried them down to the study and locked them in my cupboard. As I turned round to leave my eye alighted on my desk and there was my chocolate bunny, still in its wrapper. She’d obviously moved it to wind me up and presumably make some point or other which was lost on me. I put it in my desk drawer, the one with deep sides like a filing cabinet and locked it.

She knew I’d lock her stuff in my cupboard which was probably why she put the bunny there. I decided I’d go for a wind up on my own and pretended I hadn’t found it.

I was sitting in the kitchen reading the paper when she appeared. “Please may I have my stuff back.”

“Where’s my chocolate bunny?”

She sighed and went off to the study and I followed her. “It’s here—oh.” She stood before my decidedly bunnyless desk.

“So you did take it?”

“I moved it to here because you were so mean to me.”

“So why isn’t it here now?”

“How do I know? That’s where I put it.”

“If you put it there why isn’t it there now?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why should I give you your stuff back?”

“Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t eat your stupid rabbit.”

“But you took it, so I took your stuff.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t, I’m afraid.”

“But you took all my stuff.”

“You invited me to.”

“But I haven’t got your stupid chocolate.”

“You said you hadn’t taken it, which was a lie. How do I know you’re not telling me more lies?”

“Because I’m not.”

“Go back and read your book and if you ask me nicely in the morning, I might give some of your stuff back assuming my rabbit turns up intact, of course.”

“But I don’t know where it is.”

“Well you’d better get to bed anyway and look for it in the morning.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Is that because you didn’t have any tea?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I wasn’t hungry then.”

Part of me felt like sending her to bed with no food but that seemed excessive as she’d owned up and I’d found my chocolate, although she didn’t know it. I was hoping that if I could show her up to herself as doing something stupid, she might lose a bit of her high handedness—okay, so I believe in Father Christmas.

I let her have some cereal and a drink, then made her go to bed. I sent the others a short while later. It was early, but they’d had a couple of late evenings so an early one might be in order. I think the others might have grumbled at Trish because when I went up to my own bed, she was in it.

Simon carried her back to her own bed and I tucked her in, then returned her toys and put my bunny back on my desk. The morning seemed to have prospects of an interesting time.

At eight o’clock the aliens came in with their cold feet and interrupted my sleep. Thank you for giving me back my stuff, Mummy. I’m sorry I was naughty yesterday.”

“If you mess me around like that again, you’ll lose your stuff for at least a week, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mummy. Your bunny is on your desk in your study.”

“Is it?” I pretended to ask sleepily.

“Who put that there then?”

“I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t you then?”

“No, Mummy.”

“Must have been the fairies then.”

“What fairies, Mummy?”

“The ones who find lost things and return them to their rightful owners.”

“You’re pulling my leg, Mummy.”

“Well how else did it get there?”

“That’s very poor logic, Mummy.”

She was right, it was, but it didn’t stop religion from doing it for the previous two or more thousand years. “C’mon, let’s go and get some breakfast,” I suggested changing the subject.

“Can we dust your bunny for prints?”

“Certainly not, I don’t want to eat something that’s been covered in dust.”

“I wondered if we’d find fairy finger prints.”

“What would you do if you did?”

She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Send the pictures to the Sun.”

I looked at her and wondered if she was only nine or was she really some sort of dwarf or elf.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2330 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I answered the phone when it rang. “Is that Stella Cameron?”

“No it’s Cathy.”

“Is this the right number for Stella?”

“It might be, who’s calling.”

“Roger Mitchell.”

“Hold on, I’ll see if she’s available.”

I sent Trish off to see if Stella was about. She dashed back saying she’d gone to work and had put Puddin’ in the crèche.

“I’m afraid she’s not here, would you care to leave a message?”

“Is she at the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, without knowing who you are, I’m not prepared to say where she is.”

“Okay, I’ll try the hospital but please tell her I rang.”

“I certainly will,” he rang off and I wrote a quick note to remind myself of his name. The girls were going back to school on Monday, it was now Wednesday so I got them to try on uniforms to make sure things still fitted. Shoes were the big problem, they all, except Danni who had new ones a term ago, needed new ones.

I left Cate and Lizzie in Jacquie’s capable hands and took the others into town and finally managed to reach a compromise with the three horrors that they could have a bar shoe with an inch heel. They all had the same style—so there would be no jealousy—and the bill was a hundred and fifty quid. They all got new socks, including Danni, two pairs of long socks in white and four pairs of ankle socks—It is supposed to be coming into summer, although since Easter, the weather has become quite unsettled. It is only April and temperatures have been mild, there can still be a chill from the wind. It began to rain and as we didn’t need any further shopping, we went home where I asked them to make sure they didn’t have any homework outstanding. Much to my surprise, Danni had done hers, so had Meems but Trish and Livvie had an essay to write on the beginnings of the Norman conquest. They weren’t very happy about it until I reminded them we’d been to Battle and I also managed to find them a video which suggested that the historical sites were unproven if not wrong and that the most likely site was now a busy road junction. If Time Team couldn’t find evidence at the traditional sites, then it looked possible that their assumption could be correct and it was at the road junction. I left all of them watching the video.

I was in the kitchen drinking tea and talking to David when Danni decided she didn’t care where the battle of Hastings was fought as it was, ‘like so many years ago, who cared?’

I could sympathise with her attitude but the battle was a key moment in English history, so needed to be understood.

“Dunno why you think it was so important, Mummy.”

“It changed the ruling classes and hence the direction of the culture of the country.”

“Were they all frogs, Mummy?” asked Livvie.

“Yes, William was Duke of Normandy, but as Normans means Norsemen, they were of Viking descent.”

“Goodness, you do know a lot, Mummy.” Danni was either thicker than I thought or much cleverer.

“Not really, sweetheart, just well educated.” Actually, I do know quite a lot compared to the kids of today, but they seemed to know more about computers than I ever will.

It almost seems innate that they press a few buttons and off they go. Trish and Livvie leave me behind when they start talking about computers. I don’t really care how they work as long as they do work when I want or need them to. I don’t need to know how a car works to drive one.

“We could do with you on our pub quiz team,” David said at me rather than to me.

“Not really, David, I don’t know anything much about pubs.”

He laughed at me, “It’s not about pubs, but it follows a pub style format.”

“What they water down the questions, you mean?”

“Hey, keep that under your hat, no one is supposed to know about that.”

At about five, Stella drove in with Puddin’ in the baby seat in her car. “I could kill for a cuppa,” she said.

“Did anyone phone you at the hospital?”

“Yeah, loadsa people, why?”

“Some guy phoned here.”

“Who?”

“Dunno, I left you a note by the phone.”

She got up and walked over to the phone and picked up the note from the board alongside it. “Roger Mitchell, who the hell is he when he’s at home?”

“I have no idea except he had quite a reasonable speaking voice.”

As if to maximise its effect the phone rang as she walked away from it and we both jumped which made David roar with laughter. She was nearer so she picked up the handset. It turned out it was this Roger bloke again.

“Do I know you?” she said quite loudly down the phone. It appeared she did because a few moments later she said, “Oh that Roger Mitchell.” This was followed by, “I could be, what tonight?” She then covered the mic and whispered, “Could you babysit tonight?” I was sure we could and nodded. “What time tonight?” Yeah, seven thirty’s fine,” this was followed by a description of the house and directions to get to it.

“So, who is he?”

“No one special, why?”

“So why are you going out on a date with him then?”

“He’s in the area and was at a loose end tonight.”

“You don’t normally drop everything for some mundane bloke, do you?”

“So, I’m doing it different tonight if that’s all right with you?”

“Of course it is, but who is he?”

“I met him on a course couple of years ago.”

“What sort of course?”

“Bugger off,” she said rudely and walked away.”

We’d all had dinner except Stella who was eating out with the mystery caller. She wouldn’t say anything more about him but he was punctual and collected her in his big black, newish BMW. So we couldn’t see him, she trotted off down the drive and they drove off moments after she got into the car.

“Who was the guy in the Beamer?”asked Julie who drove into the drive moments before they left.

“Roger Mitchell, apparently.”

“So is Auntie Stell gonna get rogered tonight then?” asked my eldest.

“I have no idea, she usually get plastered not laid.”

“If she plays her cards right she could get both for the price of a couple of drinks.”

“Julie, I hope you’re joking, if you think about her record, the last thing we need is another illegitimate child here.”

“Sometimes, Mummy you are so old fashioned.”

“Only sometimes, have I let my standards drop then?”

Her answer was to laugh at me. Trish appeared a minute later. “Got it, Mummy.”

“Got what?” asked Julie.

“The car number, was clear as daytime with the image intensifier.”

“Eh?” asked Julie.

“If anything happened to Stella, at least we could show some evidence.”

“Is it likely to?” Julie seemed dismissive of our idea. I had to admit in the cold light of day, probably not.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2331 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“Why can’t Auntie Stella have a bit of fun without you wanting to pour cold water on it?”

“You mean like agreeing to babysit for her?”

“No, but you are suspicious when she does go out, you shouldn’t be the only one allowed a night out.”

“Julie, I haven’t had a night out in months.”

“See, that’s why you’re taking it out on Auntie Stella.”

“I am not, I don’t mind her having some fun.”

“So why are you complaining.”

“Because I don’t need any more nieces or nephews.”

“So you’re the only one who’s allowed sex?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Am I? You stopped me with Leon and have stopped me since. You stopped Sammi and now you’re criticising Auntie Stella. But it’s okay for you and Daddy to make the springs creak.”

“If you don’t like it here you could always move.”

“Like how could I afford to buy or rent, I’m trying to build a business?”

“Have you looked?”

“Not recently.”

“Little Cate’s house is available.”

“What? You want me to rent a house from you? That is beyond sick.” She stormed off and up to her room.

“She disnae see why she shood pay fa’ somethin’ she gets fa’ free.”

“Only because Simon, you and I pay all the bills, Daddy.”

“Aye, it’s a sair fecht but youngsters nivver appreciate whit their parents do fa’ them.”

I thought back to my teens, I probably didn’t appreciate it either, but then I didn’t ask to be born or choose my parents, they chose to have me so had to pay the consequences. Then again, I suppose I chose to invite Julie to stay. I just can’t win, can I? “I suppose not,” I agreed with him and felt myself growing hotter by the moment.

“Sometimes I think Julie is out of control, then she shows she isn’t and does or says something which is particularly astute and I’m left floundering again.”

“Aye, she’s nae sae dumb as ye a’ seem tae think she is.”

“I know, Daddy. I realise she doesn’t have Trish’s academic type of cleverness, but then Trish doesn’t have Julie’s down to earth, streetwise intelligence. I doubt Trish could run a business.”

“Och, gi’ ’er time.”

“I don’t think it’s her sort of bag, it would bore her and she’d starve to death quite quickly.”

“Dinna underestimate thae power o’hunger, an’besides wouldnae it depend on hoo she wis shown tae see business an’makin’money. Simon would hae a different model frae ye.”

“Probably, I’m disappointed in the way I deal with Julie at times, we seem to be at cross purposes or even at odds on occasions. I’m only ten years older than her but at times it feels like centuries.”

“Aye, ye’re a mither an’ that maks an awfy difference.”

“Does it or am I just old fashioned, still screwed up by the way my parents taught me to behave? It all seems so different today where parents have no control over their children and the children have no respect for anyone including themselves.”

“I dinna think it anythin’ new, there’s always been bairns wha ran wild an’parents wha couldnae control them. We jest seem tae notice it more.”

I wasn’t convinced by his argument but couldn't be bothered to debate the issue further. I left him and went up to see Julie who was busy texting someone. “Yes?” she said to me when I knocked and entered.

“If I upset you I apologise as it wasn’t my intention.”

She shrugged, “You didn’t exactly upset me, but sometimes you act like you’re everyone’s mother, including Auntie Stella and Daddy.”

“Sometimes it feels like I am. The problem is you all treat me like one when it suits you, then when I voice concerns about something you want to do, I’m made to feel like I’m in the wrong.”

“Sometimes you are wrong.”

“Because I care?”

“No we all know you care, perhaps too much at times, but it can be seen as constraining, it restricts too much.”

“Which is how I was brought up.”

“Yeah but you said your parents were two old fuddy-duddies.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“Okay, maybe you just implied it.”

“They were strict because they had strong feelings about how we should behave in public. I happen to agree with much of what they said. I find it ridiculous that if you can remember what happened the next day, you haven’t had a good time or enough booze. When I drive in town at night I see girls falling about the place because they’re drunk, I see them sitting or lying in the gutter unable to stand up let alone protect themselves. If that makes me old fashioned, I’m glad to be so. Very little in modern culture attracts me be it the total absorption with the pursuit of money or pure hedonism with no regard to anyone else which seems to apply to behaviour generally especially when driving. No one seems to give a shit anymore, and I don’t like it or wish to encourage it. I do care and I’m proud of it.”

I went to turn to leave and Julie said, “So do I, Mummy.”

I spun around, “Eh?”

“I care too, perhaps not as passionately as you do, but I care for those I love too. I’m also sickened by the way people act. I threw some woman out of the salon today because of the way she treated the girl cutting her hair.”

“What—you asked her to leave?”

“Ask would be a polite way of describing it and I certainly didn’t say please.”

“She was unpleasant?”

“She treated Gretchen like dirt, just because she’s Polish, she thought she was inferior—like some lackey. Told her to get her a cup of coffee. I got cross and told her to take her custom elsewhere.”

“Good for you, sweetheart.”

“That’s what one of our regulars said. I wasn’t so sure just in case she decides to make trouble for us. I asked Sammi to watch our facebook page, just in case.”

“Why does a social media page seem to be involved in everything?”

“It’s just the way it is, wait till you have to put Billie’s centre on it.”

“No way, Jose.”

“You’ll have to or miss out on half your client group.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah, we will.”

“Mummy, this is the twenty-first century. If you’re not on the ball someone else will run off with it. People who try to slow things down will be left behind.”

“In commercial things, maybe, in other things perhaps not.”

“It will be, Mummy, you’ll have to move with the times or get left behind. Ask Daddy, he’ll tell you. His bank’s got a facebook page.”

“Well of course they have, they want your money whether you’re a student or chairman of a company employing thousands.”

Julie shook her head, “If you can see it for that, why can’t you see it for other things? Don’t you want dozens of people to say they went to your nature centre and had a good time or learnt this or that?”

“Of course I do.”

“I which case you’ll have to do facebook or something similar.”

Oh bugger, does that mean I really will have the sort of cretin who announces they just had a shit to all and sundry, or is that twatting or whatever they call it?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2332 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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Julie sat with me while we waited for Stella. It does sound like I was acting like her mother, but the last few times she’s come home she’s been as inebriated as a certain amphibian, and I don’t want to see her have an accident while in such a state. I admit that there’s an element of curiosity burning in me as well, who is this Roger Mitchell who has suddenly emerged after two years of not seeing her, and what was the course. Was she nursing then? I don’t think so, so what course? It gets curiouser and curiouser as Alice once remarked.

I was going to bed at midnight and if she came in after that, she’d have to get herself to bed whatever her state, I needed my beauty sleep and I could just about cope with seven hours knowing that Lizzie would probably have me up for a feed or watering during the night. I didn’t have bags under my eyes, more suitcases, or it felt like it.

Julie and I chatted as I sewed and she laundered her salon uniform. She’d introduced them because the girls were starting to wear whatever they wanted and it was getting too random for her, so she found some nice light blue tunics to wear with dark blue trousers. She wears a clean one each day, so has five of them to wash, dry and iron each week.

I was sewing a dormouse for Lizzie at Trish’s insistence—all my girls had a mutant dormouse—so, while Lizzie isn’t mine exactly, I seem to be stuck with the little darling until Neal is well enough to look after her. Last week I took Dan up to see him and he was horrified. I saw no progress at all, it’s as if he’s given up caring about life since Gloria died. He seems to be waiting to die and at no more than about thirty, he could live another fifty or sixty years.

I tried to show him some pictures of his daughter, he wasn’t interested. He just stares at a picture of Gloria he has by the side of his chair and cries rather a lot. Phoebe won’t go to see him anymore, she finds it too distressing. I’ve tried the blue light, but it doesn’t seem to help him at all. It’s a crying shame it really is.

We stopped for a cuppa on the way back and Dan was visibly shaken by his ex-colleague’s appearance and behaviour. He thanked me for taking him but said he couldn’t do it again if I paid him, it was too painful. The upshot was, Neal didn’t get many visitors and when he did he couldn’t wait until they went. As far as I know the bank is still paying his fees which can’t be cheap, but I do wonder if he’s in the right place or whether his illness is now his norm, and any difference in therapy be a waste of time.

I spoke to Julie about it and she shrugged, “Has he had some sort of seizure or is that his way of dealing with his grief?”

“I suspect it might be the latter. Glo’s death was pretty awful and very traumatic for all concerned.”

“Oh yeah, she hung herself at the hospital, didn’t she?”

“Hanged herself, yes. Very strange that, I don’t think anyone was expecting it though she did ask me to look after Lizzie for her, so perhaps there were signs of it, except no one was looking. I mean, when a young mum asks you to look after her baby, you expect it to be for a matter of days or a week or two at most.”

“That’s two babies who’ve ended up here through their mothers topping themselves, isn’t it?” observed Julie switching the kettle on for a cuppa as she finished her ironing.

“Yes, Cate happened that way too. I can still see Maria Drummond lying there in her wedding dress.”

“Weird or what, Mummy? I mean topping yourself in your wedding dress.”

“She was making a statement of love for her lost husband. Reminding herself of their special day together as she slipped into unconsciousness.”

“You make it almost sound romantic.”

“In a way, it is very romantic albeit a tragic one.”

“What, people dying, romantic? I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on, Julie; think Romeo and Juliet, Cathy and Heathcliffe, Antony and Cleopatra—all tragedies but with much love in them, where the one loved the other so much they couldn’t bear to be separated. Not entirely sure about Cleopatra as she was a hard arsed woman who had her own family killed to maintain her control of the throne, but Shakespeare paints her as one of the world’s great lovers and her relationship with Marc Antony as one of the great romances with suicides to finish it.”

“Wasn’t that ’cos the Romans were coming to get ’em?”

“Yes, Octavian, later Caesar Augustus, was after them after Antony reneged on their agreement.”

“Seduced by clever Cleo?”

I shrugged, “I can’t remember, it’s a long time since I did history.”

“Yeah, you’re like so old, Mummy.”

“Less of the old, you young hussy.” I stretched then rubbed my eyes, it was after eleven. Julie handed me the mug of tea.

“You don’t watch much telly, do you, Mummy?”

“No, never have, ’d rather read a book.”

“Or sew.”

“I’m sick of these things, I must have made half a dozen of them now.”

“And that all started with Mima?”

“Yeah, when she was in hospital after being hit by a van. I wonder what happened to her parents.”

“Wasn’t there some story about her mother deliberately trying to have her killed by the van?”

“I can’t believe that, Julie. I saw Janice with Mima and she did care for her.”

“Enough to dump her on you.”

“Was that such a bad decision? Mima doesn’t seem to think so.”

“She still takes her dormouse to bed every night, Mummy.”

“I know, I tuck her in every night.”

“D’you know why?”

“I presume she’s fond of it.”

“Yeah, because you made it for her. She saw it as an act of love from you and as long as she has it she believes you’ll always love her and won’t make her go away.”

“Where did you hear that?” I gasped.

“Livvie told me the other week.”

“So Mima, despite being adopted, worries that I might send her away?”

“Or you’ll go away.”

“Like her first mother did, I didn’t realise she was still worrying about it.”

“Nor me.”

“Why would any of you think that?”

“Apart from the frequent threats you make, you mean?”

“Okay, I did threaten to donate Trish to the cat’s home along with that monster feline which seems to have attached itself to her.”

“Bramble is rather fond of her.”

“Rather, neither of them will go to bed without the other.”

A car drove up the drive, the headlights skimming across the wall of the kitchen. We heard voices and a minute or so later Stella came in through the back door. “Oh, you’re still up?”

“Yes, it’s the first opportunity I’ve had to do some sewing.”

“Oh the dormouse—remember that one you made for Mima?”

“We were just talking about it.”

“Oh, ah well, I’d best get to bed. You couldn’t sit my two tomorrow could you?”

“Tomorrow? Providing it isn’t going to be every night, I’ll do tomorrow.”

“Thanks, it’s Roger’s last night in the area.”

“What does he do then?”

“He works for the government.”

“And runs a BMW—shouldn’t he have a Jaguar?”

“How would I know, but he knows all about you, dear sis in law.”

“Why should that be?”

“I think he’s in the security services.”

“Security services—what MI5 and all that?”

“I think so.”

“Can’t you ask him?”

“Yeah, but then he’d have to kill me.”

“Oh, very James Bond.”

“Funny, he described you as Jane Bond, said they could do with people like you in the service.”

“You go on a date and talk about me?”

“Yeah, story of my life—I’m off to bed—night.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2333 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“So, he’s in the security services,” who’da thunkit? Mused Julie.

“So he says, but what course was she on when they met?”

“Knowing Auntie Stella, how about a collision one?”

“Yes, very good.” She smirked at her joke, I jabbed my finger with the needle and decided to quit for the night.

“It bugged me, that Roger Mitchell, or whatever his name was, was so happy to disclose his occupation. I assumed they just pretended that they were civil servants. They could always say they were attached to the Home Office or elsewhere. I suppose MI6 is under the control of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, which is where the most famous spy of them all hangs out, 007, him with the licence to kill.

Seeing as MI6 operate abroad as an espionage unit, I can’t see how we can licence people to kill in other people’s countries. I know it’s fiction and possibly all nonsense. Does it glamorise the secret agent knowing he can kill as he needs? I don’t think so, Bond is as much an assassin as anything else and these days the government play down the use of such folk, claiming to be whiter than white. We know they’re not so why bother? I suppose they have imaginary standards to keep up which enable them to point the finger in mock indignation at others.

As I was about to go to bed I sent a text to Jim Beck asking if he knew of a Roger Mitchell in the security services. I was just nodding off when I got a reply.

‘My contacts have never heard of him, either he’s lying about his name or he’s a fantasist. Either way stay well clear of him. Jx’

Oh great, that’s really going to help me sleep. I tossed and turned much of the night remembering bits of that silly film True Lies with Arnie and Jamie Lee Curtis. Where Arnie was a spy and some bloke she worked for pretended he was but wasn’t. Isn’t she AIS or something?

I eventually fell asleep thinking how I might explain to Stella that her friend wasn’t what he said he was. Hopefully he’ll crawl back under the stone from which he emerged. I just hope he isn’t a gold digger. If only I could get a picture of him, then I remembered the car number Trish had got. When I woke up, I sent it to Jim and he responded half an hour later with what I half expected, it was a hire car. So he could well be a con man. Just what we need and if I appear to poke my nose in, Stella will accuse me of preventing her from choosing who she wants to date. It’s nonsense of course, providing they’re bona fide suitors, I wish her every happiness.

At breakfast she was full of Roger this and Roger that. I suggested she introduce us to him. “So you can spoil it for me again?” she said almost petulantly.

“Stella, I should love you to find your soul mate and lasting happiness.”

“So how come you spoiled my last two relationships, it was you they wanted, I was a poor second best. You’re not going to have this one preferring you, just so you can boost your ego by taking blokes off a real female.”

I was horrified and felt my eyes grow moist. Jacquie was appalled and said so. Stella flounced off in high dudgeon. “She can be so hurtful, Mummy.”

“She’s got this bee in her bonnet that I’ll try to seduce and take her blokes off her.”

“Why?”

“Because she thought that was what happened with Des and Gareth.”

“But it didn’t did it?”

“No, of course not. I found both of them very attractive as did loads of women but I never tried to cause a split between them. It’s very sad she imagines this each time because nothing could be further from the truth. I love her as a sister and want to see her happy.”

“Could Grampa Henry help?”

“I don’t know, I think we have to wait and see if this continues after tonight. He's maybe what he claims to be, but I have my doubts.”

“Does Auntie Stella have much money, then?”

“I don’t know how much she’s actually worth but she has loads of shares which could be worth millions.”

“Wow, some catch, then?”

“Now you see why I’m worried.”

“Oh gosh yes,” she nodded furiously.

We had to wait and see what happened but I was suspicious of her friend and Stella was suspicious of me. Even if I told her what I’d learned she’d either be furious with me and call me a liar, or she’d think I wanted him for myself. How do I get myself into these situations? Part of me just wanted to sit back and let her get on with it but I knew that if it subsequently went wrong she’d possibly end up back in her depressed state and this time she might succeed in killing herself. Why has life got to be so complicated?

Stella came down for lunch which I was making as David had the day off. I did egg salads, hard boiling half a dozen eggs for the three of us and doing a green salad—well okay, opening a packet of assorted salad leaves and some cherry tomatoes with some fresh bread if anyone needed it.

During lunch I tried to find out more about him, Roger, that is. “What was this course you met him on?”

“What’s it matter?” she said dismissively.

“I’m just intrigued, especially if he’s in the security business.”

“It was a painting one I did when I was at the clinic.”

“What walls and doors and things?” I returned facetiously.

“Oh yeah, I was sick not unemployed.”

“I know.”

“Course you do, you took me there.”

“Stella, despite what you think, I love you as my sister and I only want to see you happy.”

“So back off about Roger, then.”

“If I was sure his intentions were honourable, I would help you as much as I could.”

“Of course they are. He’s only seeing me tonight, then bye-bye.”

“If that’s the case I apologise for seeming suspicious.”

“You don’t think he’s after my money? You do?” she gasped as I blushed. “It’s all in trust, he can’t get at it—I can’t get at it. Ha ha, what a joke.”

I didn’t think so, and I was sure if you tie money up, then it could be untied in time and with some sleight of hand. I’ve also heard of men borrowing against an heiress’s money leaving them virtually penniless while the bloke goes off after his next victim. It could also compromise the security of the family’s share of the ownership of the bank, which might please some of its competitors or its enemies.

All in all, I knew virtually nothing about this guy, Roger Mitchell and depending upon what happens tonight, I may or may not ask Jim to take a look at him and his affairs. If I did, I’d involve Henry and Simon. Stella would be furious if ever she found out, so we’d have to make sure she never did. Just the sort of basis on which to build family loyalty.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2334 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It had been a trying day, Danni got involved in a squabble with another girl who said her brother said she was a boy. Danni got very upset and the other girl pushed her over and yanked at her panties only to discover her mistake. I had to go and get Danni, who was still upstairs lying on her bed and crying.

Apparently the girl had been suspended for unladylike behaviour. When I spoke with Danielle she simply said she couldn’t go back there, it would be too embarrassing.

“So you’re going to let some bully win, are you?”

“She pulled my panties down, in the playground. Several girls saw it.”

“Saw it?”

“My fanny.”

“So, no one is going to believe that you’re anything but a girl, are they?”

“But it’s so embarrassing.”

“Why did she think you weren’t a girl?”

“She said her brother played football against a boy call Danny Maiden, and my name being Danielle was too big a coincidence.”

“Yes, but it’s Danielle Cameron.”

“She wouldn’t listen to that. I’m not going back and I’m certainly not playing soccer again.”

“What about the other players?”

“Stuff them.”

“And the ladies club team.”

“They weren’t much good anyway.”

“So you’re just going to walk away from the things you love because some girl bullied you.”

“In front of others, Mummy. She humiliated me.”

“No, you’re the one humiliating yourself letting a stupid girl win. The girls who saw you, assuming they actually saw anything, will spread it far and wide on the school grapevine, that you’re all girl—which you are.”

“I can’t face them.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a proper girl am I?”

“You’re certainly whining like one.”

“What?”

“You sound like a six year old who’s had her dolly taken off her. If you had an ounce of the boy you used to be inside you, you’d be fighting back.”

“How?”

“By turning up in school and acting like nothing happened and by continuing to play soccer to your best ability. Make team captain or top scorer or something, make a positive impact.”

“But it was the soccer that gave me away.”

“Did it? It might have caused her to suspect something but as it’s a well known fact they don’t do gender reassignment on children, you can’t have had that done, ergo, you must be a normal female.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Obviously. Look, Danielle, I spent my whole life wanting to be a girl, then when I got there, or started the transition, I spent most of my time hoping no one would discover my dreadful secret. In the end, the only people it really mattered to were Daddy, Simon, and you kids. Simon was the most difficult because he obviously felt I’d deceived him, although I hadn’t deliberately, and after thinking it through over a month or two, he decided he still loved me—which was good because I loved him to bits.

“I spent a couple of years dreading being exposed, but even when it happened, people were either very good about it or it didn’t matter because they weren’t important to me or my family.

“I know your road to becoming female was different again and that since you’ve been ambivalent at times, but for the moment you’re in a female body, or as good as, so you have to make things work or life will become intolerable. You’re young enough to develop a very female body shape, so you have a potential to be a very convincing young woman; in fact, a very attractive young woman. Make the best of it, stare down those who doubt you and be the best you, you can be—and Daddy and I will support you every step of the way, as will all your sisters.”

She looked at me with tears running down her face. “I’ll be the best I can, Mummy, as long as you’re there to help me.”

“Do you doubt I will?”

“No, Mummy, I don’t.”

We hugged and she came down and ate with the rest of the litter, who were very interested in verifying the rumours they’d heard of the playground encounter. When they did, they were outraged and I had to advise them that any of them doing anything about it other than being astonished that anyone could doubt their sister was anything other than a girl, would be counter-productive. The girl who’d attacked Danni had been suspended, so the school had dealt with the discipline element, and their job was just to support their big sister. I think they understood, I’d find out in the next few days.

With that happening, my fears about Stella went on the back burner until she tarted herself up and went off with dear Roger again. This time Trish, who was still angry about what happened to Danni, went out with a camera and hid in the drive way—in my bike workshop to be exact, and managed a photo of Roger the dodger, when he collected Stella. She was rather pleased with her cleverness, so perhaps a career as a sniper or paparazzo was calling her.

If he was a spy, he obviously wasn’t a very good one, and we sent off his likeness to Jim to circulate and try to identify. Personally, I’d be surprised if his name was even Roger, but perhaps it was and she’ll come in saying it was nice while it lasted but he’s gone back to his wife or whatever and she’ll be back to normal.

Of course, what I want doesn’t happen unless I give exact instructions to the universe, and I suppose in dealing with Danielle’s little contra temps, I must have forgotten because Stella came home with eyes sparkling saying she was engaged. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear and I congratulated her and cringed inside. I sent a message to Jim and also one to Henry. If I was wrong, Stella would probably never talk to me again, nor would she understand or appreciate my motives, which I believed were honourable—more than I suspected of Roger, or whatever his name really was.

It was late when I went to bed and received a text from Henry thanking me for my email, I also sent him a photo of Roger, and he’d keep it quiet for now although like me, he was aware of Stella’s previous fragility on matters romantic. Perhaps she will get to kill me this time, it would mean I wouldn’t have to do it again, so every cloud has a silver lining however small.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2335 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I spent an uncomfortable night feeling like I’d betrayed Stella. In some ways I suppose I had. I was like a stool pigeon, feeding back information to the police state, or in this case, Henry. Shouldn’t she be allowed to make her own mistakes? If that was all it was, yes: but if it’s a set up, she’s being steered into something she’ll regret. Given the status of the family, she could unwittingly cause ructions for loads of people, the family, shareholders and other investors—who knows where that could end. There could be a run on the pound or in my stocking and that could lead to all sorts of things.

I needed Jim to find out who this guy was and what he was after. I mean why did they talk about me on their first date? Surely, I couldn’t be the real target—nah, that’s just overblown egotism. Could I be seen as the major threat to their scheme? More likely, so he tells Stella to avoid me. Has possibilities, but is she that dumb? Looks like it.

At breakfast, the glee she’d shown the previous evening had vanished. “So has he got you a ring then?” I asked.

“What for?” she retorted.

“You said last night you were engaged.”

“Yeah by the NHS, speaking of which, I need to get to work.” She grabbed Pud and Fiona and went off to her consulting room. It’s not actually hers but obviously the one she uses which is attached to the urology clinic. The girls don’t go to help her, but to a crèche in the hospital, hopefully preparing them for school when they come to that age. I assumed her playing down the engagement was because he told her to, especially to me. I know her better than anyone else, and being a woman, spot things men miss; though it’s also possible they’d spot things I’d miss, but not much.

Jim put a trace on her mobile which showed she called him twice during the morning and he called her once. His mobile number was on a disposable phone, hardly likely for a Series five driver, but then we’d established the car was a rented one. So, who was this guy?

While she was at work, Jim called, he thought he had a make on the guy calling himself Roger Mitchell, he wasn’t MI5 or 6 but Special Branch. We were under suspicion by the looks of things but what for? I was pretty sure it wasn’t for my occasional email to the Guardian decrying the imbalance between men’s and women’s sport. Why were they asking about me? Everything I do is in the public domain, so unless they suspected I was doing something other than I declared, they’d have little reason for accepting their kind offer.

I tried to think what I’d said but my memory failed more than usual. Unfortunately, I’m not such an egotist that I record everything I’d said or wrote about work or other folks so I have no idea what they’re looking for, I mean I don’t remember doing anything which could be construed as terrorist. In fact, I like to think of myself as patriotic insofar as supporting things British are concerned, like Cav or Wiggo or even adopted Brits like Froome or Mo Farah. With regard to supporting the government—that’s not so easy, as I disagree fundamentally with most of the things they’ve done from privatising the NHS to slashing benefits probably so they can cut taxes for the super rich. I know, I’m married to him, but that doesn’t mean I support it. As for pulling out of the EU, that is pure madness, the same would be for Scotland to vote for independence—turkeys voting for Christmas; besides, I’m old enough to remember that the only reason Tony Blair’s government legalised gender reassignment was because the European Court told him to. I’m also of the opinion that Ukip is a party for Sun readers who can’t manage words longer than about four letters.

I’m obviously a threat to the safety of the country, wanting to prosecute farmers who have warnings about a bit of land being awarded SSSI status and who destroy it before it can be scheduled. I’d also ban hunting with hounds permanently and ban guns of all descriptions—this after banning motor vehicles, save public transport, in town centres, promoting bicycles and cycling by cutting VAT on all things bicycle, increase vehicle excise duty but make all public transport free. Only the most dedicated couch potato would cling to their car after all that.

Naturally, I’d make universities free again or give grants to students again and reverse the cuts in the NHS and the armed services. How would I save money, cut subsidies to MPs and also their expenses, renationalise the utilities so the money they made went to the country not shareholders, and only subsidise farmers for conservation works. I’d also ask some very searching questions about the EU and cut their salaries and expenses and increase taxes on the very rich, especially bonuses. See, I’m a Guardian reader not a subversive, or should that be a subversive Guardian reader?

So, Mitchell or whatever his name is, is an undercover cop, but why have they targeted Stella or this family. I asked Jim to inform Henry, see what influence he had with the boys in blue at that level. I’m sure he’d be quite concerned as I am, this looks like a deep undercover job, which I thought they weren’t supposed to be doing any more—but why us?

Henry sent me a text to meet him at Fleet services. It took some organising but I did so though I had to take Cate and Lizzie with me. He wandered over to my car and told me to drive back out onto the motorway. Essentially what we did was go round in a big circle pulling back into the services about half an hour later. It would have been very difficult for anyone to over hear what we were saying and he ‘swept’ the car before we left to prove there were no bugs on or in it other than those on the windscreen.

“What is going on, Henry?”

“I don’t know, Cathy, but whatever it is, it’s quite sinister.”

“Is anyone at physical risk?”

“Stella is most at risk, she’s highly vulnerable.”

“Could it be that this guy genuinely likes her and just coincidentally works for Special Branch?”

“So why doesn’t he tell her his real name?”

“Oh, do I want to know this?”

“Yes you do, your vigilance brought it to light. It would seem somewhere in the political elite we have enemies who are preparing to march against us.”

“That sounds more like Russia or even the US where they employ dirty tricks people, not downtown Belgravia.”

He roared with laughter, “Cathy, you are such a delight to be with, but I have to go. Keep me informed if you can, but don’t do anything which endangers you or the kids. I’ll try and keep you out of the firing line when we start fighting back.”

“Is that literal fighting or just dirty tricks?”

“Mainly destroying reputations, but it could get quite bloody.”

“I’ll keep well out of the way, do try to protect Simon, won’t you?”

“If I can, dear lady.” I pecked him on the cheek and he kissed both babies before leaving. He was followed by a large black Lexus, which I’m sure he spotted.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2336 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I was still trying to understand what was going on. Special branch are usually on the political stuff, terrorists or anti-establishment groups, like animal protection groups or even anti GM crops protestors. We, to a large extent were pro establishment, that was where the money came from and was loaned to. Governments are the bank’s biggest customers and because they repay slowly, they pay dear for what they borrow. They try to set terms and conditions but the banks largely get what they want.

So, given that the UK and various other government owe High St or Cameron’s Bank probably a few billion pounds, why are they watching them? Shouldn’t the banks be watching the government—they’re far less reliable. It doesn’t make sense. Even Henry wasn’t sure what was going on, and he’s plugged into the intelligence services. So what chance did I have of making sense of it?

Jim phoned at tea time and said he’d pop in later, he didn’t say how much later and as my brain was still wrapped around the problem, I forgot to ask him. Stella announced that Mitchell was coming to take her out when she returned from work.

“I thought he was leaving the area?” I challenged.

“He’s taken a day’s leave to come and see me.”

“Why doesn’t he come and meet with the rest of us?”

“Why should he?”

“I thought he’d proposed to you?”

“Um, not quite.” She blushed. “I exaggerated the other night to get you going.”

“You said he was in security?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s quite a big field.”

“So?”

“So which one’s he with?”

“Why?”

“I mean is he in MI5 or does he stand behind the checkouts at Asda?”

“Oh yeah, and drive a 5 series Beamer?”

“That could be rented.”

“Why are you asking all these questions?”

“I have a hunch that he’s not what he claims to be?”

“You and your hunches, Cathy—or is it just a way to stop me having a man of my own? If you can’t bewitch him, you discredit him. Why don’t you just fuck off and leave me in peace?” She stormed out of the kitchen and David stood there blinking.

I’d forgotten he was there and I apologised to him but asked him to keep it all under his hat. He shrugged and asked what as he hadn’t heard anything. I patted him on the shoulder and asked if he could do me a cake for when Jim came. He invited me to make it myself and share the oven with him. I therefore could say to Jim, “I knew you were coming so I baked a cake.”

And so it came to pass. After Stella avoided us all like the plague, she disappeared off out with Mitchell just before Jim arrived. I made coffee for him and delivered my punch line as I offered him a slice of cake. “Did you make this?”

“Of course.”

He took a bite, it was a basic Victoria sandwich, two layers of sponge with a filling of jam and cream. “It’s delicious.”

I smiled, I knew it would be and took a piece because I knew it would disappear as soon as the kids and Simon knew it was there.

“Is Stella about?” he asked.

“No, she went out with Mitchell about half an hour or so ago, she was miffed because I asked a few questions about Mitchell.”

He winced.

I picked up this discomfort in my solar plexus, “He’s not kosher, is he?”

Jim shrugged.

“C’mon, Jim, level with me.”

“I spoke with Henry earlier, he’s been in touch with his contacts quite a way up the tree...”

“The Home Secretary, you mean?”

“Like I said he’s been in touch with a high up source and they don’t know what’s going on.”

“Or say they don’t.”

“That’s possible but it doesn’t feel right, somehow.”

“Mitchell is a rogue cop, isn’t he?”

“It’s beginning to look that way.”

“Stella is out with him, is she in any danger?”

“I don’t know, I guess as long as he doesn’t think anyone is on to him, she should be all right.”

“This the Russians again?”

“Could be,” he shrugged.

“Why aren’t they tied up with Ukraine?”

“They are but if the sanctions start to bite they could retaliate by destabilising a major UK bank.”

“Why not a US one?”

“I suspect High St is just the right size to cause widespread panic and enable them to negotiate with the UK to stop supporting Ukraine or face another financial crisis.”

“Would that happen?”

“Oh yeah, it sure could.”

“I think I’m allergic to Russians.”

He smiled, “They’re not all like their Fuhrer...”

“What Ras?”

“Ras?”

“Yeah, Ras Putin,” I smiled.

“Cathy, that is awful—but quite apt.”

“Creepy little man.”

“Okay, let’s not get too personal about this.”

“But why Stella?”

“If he could worm his way into her life she wouldn’t suspect him if he was told to kill or kidnap her.”

“If he lays a finger on her I’ll kill him,” I threatened.

“Uh no, Cathy, he’s mine.”

That sort of shocked me. Jim was a professional, a professional killer; trained by his country to deal with separating its enemies from their lives. To him, this could be just one more enemy to be despatched.

“Did Henry ask you?”

“I can’t answer that on the grounds of client confidentiality.”

“So he did.”

Jim said nothing but finished his cake.

“What can I say to Stella?”

“You can’t, if Mitchell becomes suspicious, then Stella is at increased risk.”

“Can’t they just arrest him?”

“No, we have to let him have room to prove his treachery. As soon as we have enough evidence, they’ll pull him in.”

“What if a colleague tips him off?”

“Plan B.”

“What’s that?”

“The terminator.”

“What you?”

He shrugged and I knew it was him.

“I didn’t think governments did such things.”

He shrugged and told me he had to go before Stella got back or Mitchell would know he’d been rumbled.”

“What car are you driving?” I glanced down the drive.

“The usual, I walked through the orchard.”

“This frightens me, Jim, especially for Stella, why do they always pick on her.”

“When you wage war you always pick on easy targets, fewer casualties on your side.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Jim, especially if they hurt her. Henry will be very angry and Simon will be homicidally so.”

“Know what, Lady Cameron?”

“What?”

“They’re not afraid of Simon or even Henry.”

“They should be.”

“Why?”

“They could cause loads of grief with their money and influence.”

“So?”

“Surely no one in their right mind would want to take on either, would they?”

“It isn’t Henry they’re frightened of.”

“Simon, my Simon is a...”

“...Pussy cat.”

“What?” I gasped.

“The only one even your little friend Ras is afraid of...”

“Yeah, is who? It’s you is it?”

“No, far more deadly than I am.”

“Well who is it? Do we need to hire them?”

“No Cathy, you don’t—it’s you. You’re the one they really fear.”

“Me?”

“Yes you.”

“What for?”

“Two reasons, you’re an implacable foe and perhaps more importantly, if you did one or two of your miracles in the open, you’d command twenty million Christians who would see you as an ironic second coming.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“They know about the dead bodies you restored to life.”

“They weren’t quite dead.”

“A minor point, they had no cardiac activity and yet you got them walking again.”

“They know about this in Russia?”

“Cathy, you saved two or three Russians—they know about it in Whitehall.”

“Oh shit.”

“The one thing you’d have to watch out for is if you did play the second coming card...”

“The Vatican.”

“Quite.” He pecked me on the cheek and left, walking up through the orchard.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2337 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Me—the second coming? Ha, that is so funny. Me the risen whatever, and arch sceptic. If there was a god, his main attribute would be irony. Clearly, I am not now, in the future or past, any sort of messiah is reflected in me in any way. That any could consider it thus, only demonstrates how terminally stupid they are. I make no claim of any supernatural involvement unless I consider it would help a patient I was trying to heal; then I might claim to be an angel. Were there such things, I would ask for them to be manifest, at least to my patient’s eyes.

I looked at the time, it was ten o’clock and I checked the washing machine, the cycle had finished and I transferred the various blouses and undies into the drier. It was a school day tomorrow and I had to help Danni deal with it. Some days I wondered about overload, or was that my normal state?

Simon was away and because I didn’t know if things were safe, I couldn’t call Simon or Henry to discuss the topics which were of concern to me. It may well be that Mitchell is acting alone but he could have friends. I left the drier to do the clothes and went up to lay out the things the girls would need for the morning, blouses, camisoles and a bra for Danielle. It wouldn’t be much longer before Trish and Livvie needed training bras, if only to protect their nipples from rubbing or protruding. The tyranny of the bra—once they’d started wearing one, it was likely to be for life.

As I laid out their clothes for the morning, I considered how I’d have loved to have been able to express my girlishness at their ages. I left out Danni’s bra, how I longed to be able to wear one and to have something to fill its cups. Now my cup runneth over, especially if I don’t feed or express often enough. The discomfort in my breasts felt like I needed to reduce the pressure and volume. Part of me would have loved to take off my bra as I did my shoes when I came home, most of me knew I needed the support of one these days, not to mention marking my clothes with my secretions.

Be careful for what you ask, you might just get it. I did in D cups, the D possibly standing for dairy. Lizzie became restless as I checked on her and I took her down to the kitchen and fed her. Then I cleaned her up and changed her and let her watch me ironing for an hour before I took us both to bed. Tom arrived home from his meeting and I quickly brought him up to date as I understood things, he nodded and retired fa’ his wee dram and I called goodnight and went to bed taking the dozing Lizzie with me.

Pud and Fi were fast asleep, as was little Cate. I did my ablutions and was in bed some ten minutes later. Try as I may, sleep wouldn’t come as I found myself listening out for Stella’s return. She woke me at two, giggling to herself as she staggered up the stairs. At least she was home and safe for the moment.

The next morning the girls all seemed to be a bit dopy and I virtually dragged them from their beds and into the shower. Then it was dry hairs and put into ponytails, I didn’t have the energy to plait them. Danni was practically quaking in her shoes when I said I’d come into the school with her.

Cindy and her other friends came to see her and within a few minutes she seemed at ease and went off with them. Sister Maria called me to her office and handed me a note. I opened the envelope and inside was note from the girl who bullied Danielle apologising and saying it was obvious she was a proper girl. There was also a note from the girl’s mother apologising to me suggesting her daughter wasn’t usually like this and she hoped I would forgive her.

“Well?” I asked showing the letter to Maria.

“Given a certain amount of poetic licence I suppose she isn’t really. I’ll suspend her for a week longer, so she’ll have to work hard to catch up, assuming you feel the punishment fits the crime?”

“Sounds okay to me. If she goes within ten feet of Danni, I’ll sue.”

“Um, who?” Maria swallowed.

“Any one and every one.”

“Even the school?”

“Possibly, if I can prove neglect.”

“I hope you can’t then.”

“Actually, so do I.”

She smiled nervously at me but I gave permission for the note to be given to Danni and for her to be informed of her attacker’s revised punishment. I didn’t think she’d feel overly happy, but that’s life.

That evening, as I returned with the girls the BMW shot out of the gate, Stella was sitting with a silly expression on her face. It looked as if Mitchell had given her something to feel rosy about. As long as she used contraception of some sort, I didn’t mind until I realised he might have checked out a number of things, including why I was so much in demand.

I was most worried he’d have had a chance to check out the layout of the house and in the case of an attack, he’d know where everyone and everything was. That annoyed me and I started talking about spring cleaning and that included moving furniture about. The kids helped but Stella remained aloof much to my irritation. She seemed to be in thrall to the man and just walked about with a silly expression on her face. I felt really bad for my part in the plot to catch this rogue copper and his accomplices.

Perhaps like Danni’s experience it suggested it would be worse than it was and she declared she wouldn’t be scared of the girl again. Cindy told me that no one doubted Danni was all girl. I hoped the euphoria and support lasted once the bully came back to school. Time would tell.

The rearranged furniture made everyone’s life miserable, so I put it all back to normal. We’d have to take our chances if we had any intruders. I did check my bow and order some extra arrows. Like the Girl Guides, I was trying to be prepared.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2338 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

We’d resolved, or appeared to have resolved Danielle’s problem at the school and she seemed happy to be going again. For all her grumbles, even Trish seems to enjoy going to the school and mostly the teaching is at least as good as a state school. It appears that some of the so called, ‘free’ schools, which were introduced by this government, are in trouble with teaching standards. The idea was that group of people could get together, put together a business plan, which if accepted by the Department of Education, meant it received direct funding from government and the local authority had little or no say in its running or funding. It immediately attracted all sorts of religious groups and the number of Islamic schools had mushroomed. Personally, I think religious schools should be banned—I know, total hypocrisy—especially those which are based on foreign cultures.

Recently, it’s been shown that several Islamic schools weren’t fit for purpose and have been closed. It didn’t surprise me, and while I might sound like a UKIP supporter, I’m not by the way, I believe that if people want their children to have an Islamic education, do it separately keep the schools secular with some sort of multi-faith appreciation, but keep religion out of the classroom. Also why are they practising Sharia law in places? The law of this country is one of the most respected in the world, if people come here to live, why can’t they accept the legal system rather than bring their own. It certainly isn’t allowed in Islamic countries, why should we be any different?

This didn’t help me sort out what to do with Stella’s little friend. Perhaps I should get Trish to develop some neurotoxin, like curare and make a blow pipe and shoot Mitchell—nah, it would have to be slower acting than curare, or we’d have a dead body on the drive and a hysterical Stella. Poor old Stella, talk about unlucky in love.

I wondered what Jim had found out beyond what we knew yesterday, and what really worried me, what would Stella do when she found out that everyone knew except her that her devoted boyfriend was actually a plant and probably in the employ of a Russian group. I don’t even know if his name is Mitchell, I suspect not.

Nothing happened that day or the next. He didn’t come to see her but they spent over an hour talking on the phone—I suppose it’s easier for him to deceive her by phone, fewer nonverbal to hide.

Danni’s schooldays continued unabated by bullying or other interruptions and she played for her school team and scored a couple of goals which won the match. She also continued to play for Portsmouth ladies and scored for them before being ‘taken out’ by one of the opposition defenders. I managed to sort her ankle and set Jason after the other player who made no attempt to play the ball. It was recorded on film by the team coaching staff and I’m instigating a private prosecution for assault perhaps GBH. The referee did red card her, but having seen Danni’s ankle with stud marks and bruising, I wanted some sort of legal compensation to stop her playing ever again. It could take months but I don’t care if we stop her.

I was mulling this over and looking at the photos we’d taken of her ankle when Stella came into the study. I showed her the photos. “I thought you’d fixed her ankle?”

“I did, this what it looked like before.”

“The bitch, nobble their best player and stop them winning, primitive and dishonest but effective.”

“Dunno, they lost despite crippling Danni.”

“Oh good, serve ’em right.”

“Think I’m gonna stop for a cuppa, want one?” I said pushing the computer keyboard away.

“I’ll make it,” offered Stella popping off before I could even stand up let alone take a step. I got the impression she wanted something—baby sitting—I expected.

She came back about seven or eight minutes later with two mugs of tea. We adjourned to the sofa. “Right, now you can tell me what you really want.”

She went a deep scarlet and nodded. I waited for her to speak, which made a silence of a couple or three minutes so interminably painful, I nearly interrupted several times.

“It’s about Roger,” she began and I nearly died.

“What about him?” I tried to ask casually.

“D’you think he’s kosher?”

“With a name like Mitchell, he could be Jewish, I suppose, why?”

“No, not Jewish—I mean on the level.”

“Like a gold digger or something?” I asked still trying not to seem terribly interested.

“Not exactly, but he gives me some strange mixed signals.”

“Such as...” I asked.

“Like he phones every day but he won’t allow me to call him.”

“He did say he was in the security services or police or something, didn’t you say?”

“Yeah, I did say.”

“So that could be difficult to take personal calls.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She finished her tea, “Thanks, Cathy, I knew you’d be able to see through it.”

“Why is he hiding from us, bring him in to meet us sometime.”

“He’s a bit shy.”

I wasn’t one bit convinced of that. “James Bond never struck me as a wallflower.”

“What? You’re comparing fiction and real life.”

“No, I suspect most spies and coppers are able to deal with most situations and therefore can’t believe he’s shy unless he’s avoiding us.” I suddenly realised I couldn’t say too much without tipping her off.

“I did tell him you were a bit of a Rottweiler.”

“Gee thanks, Stella—I thought they only ate babies.”

“I hadn’t finished, a rotty with a heart of gold.”

“Not sure if that’s much more of a recommendation.”

“I could hardly say you were an angel, could I?”

“If he’s patched into the security services he may already know.”

“Oh, he seemed quite interested in you when we went out the other night, perhaps that’s why.”

I shrugged pretending I’d talked enough then as a final remark added, “He seems to know all about us, yet we haven’t even seen him let alone spoken to him.”

“Okay already, I’ll see what I can do, all right?”

“Yeah, I’m really curious to meet him now.”

“Well hands off, this one is mine.”

“I thought you had a few qualms about him.”

“Yeah, well until I resolve those don’t frighten him off by healing his fallen arches or reversing his vasectomy or...”

“I promise I won’t do any of those.”

“Or anything else, if you chase this one off, I’ll kill you myself.”

My tummy fipped.

“Now why should I do that?”

“Because you did before because you’re prettier and more vivacious than I am.”

“Stella, you are drop dead gorgeous, so stop whingeing and make some more tea.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2339 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I confided in Simon that evening that Stella had mentioned some uncertainties about Mitchell. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“Duh, what d’you take me for?”

“That could mean she won’t fall apart when the denouement occurs.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, she as good as told me she’d kill me if she lost this one through my intervention.”

“Oh, that could be unfortunate.”

“Quite.”

“I mean, with you dead and her in prison or Broadmoor, who’s going to watch the kids?”

That surprised me a little. “Perhaps you’d have to become a house husband.”

“Bugger that for a game o’ sojers. I’d get someone in.”

“Good to know I’d be missed.”

“Absolutely, it could cost me a veritable fortune and no one sews on a button like you do, wifey.”

It doesn’t look as if he’s going to get his wicked way tonight, not unless he works very hard for it—sews on a button—pah!

“Might it be worth speaking to Henry?”

“Why, he’s not going to look after the kids, is he?”

I do wonder about Simon some days. “To speak to Stella.”

“To ask her not to kill you or the babysitting?”

“No, to speak with Stella to explain there’s something not very savoury about our friend Mitchell.”

“What, now?”

“Whenever he thinks it appropriate,”

“If he tells her now, she’s going to tip him off.”

“I doubt she’s that much in love.”

“No, you nit, Cathy, she’ll unconsciously give something away and as he’s been trained to pick up on it, he’ll either run or get nasty with her.”

“Personally, I think she’d play him along, especially when she realises he’s probably working for the Russians.”

“What happens if she lets something drop when they’re miles from anywhere—he could hurt her.”

“And skedaddle. Not a nice scenario.”

“But I’ll speak with Dad when I get a moment.”

The next day, which seemed much like any other school day, comprised of me getting four children ready for school, none of which seemed in a mood to cooperate. By the time we’d breakfasted and got to school, I was ready to strangle someone—I didn’t mind who.

As we left for school, David called after me to get some more garlic—the previous lot had gone funny. I agreed I would and went to Waitrose on the way back from dropping four, seemingly tired, schoolgirls at the convent. I had never seen such a queue at the checkouts and I felt quite irritable before waiting my turn to pay, so by the time I got to the checkout, I’d almost lost the will to live. The young man on the till apologised for keeping me waiting and beamed me such a smile, I’d have forgiven him for anything.

As I walked into the kitchen David asked if I’d got his garlic. I threw it to him, “That cost me one pound twenty and an hour of my life,” I grumbled.

“Did you have to dig it up then?”

“No, I had to queue for it and they only had two tills working.”

“Wish I could afford to shop in Waitrose,” he complained.

“Why, you’d be complaining that you got stuck behind a stupid woman who’d be castigating her son, ‘Tarquin, stop dribbling in Daddy’s avocado dip.’”

“I know that woman,” he said to me.

“Which woman? I retorted.

“Tarquin’s mother?”

“Yep.”

“How come?”

“I’m sure I once got stuck on a train with her and her idiot offspring.”

“Did it shorten the journey?”

“Did it hell? She told him off virtually the whole journey. I nearly offered to throw the kid out of the window to reduce his sufferings.”

“Very compassionate, I’m sure.”

“No, you’re Cathy, just concentrate. Shaw was an Irish git with a huge beard.”

“It was also an alias of TE Lawrence.”

“What Florence of Arabia?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right he re-enlisted—strange person.”

“He was a bit strange, but I remember reading a biography of him and it explained a few things. He was illegitimate to start, gay and possibly masochistic, or that might have been his sense of guilt because of his sexuality.”

“Did he ever do it then—with another bloke?”

“The biography I read thought not, he desired it so much but was probably stuck in the closet.”

“What about the Turks, didn’t one of them—you know...?”

“Not according to that biography, he was a British officer and treated with respect. It was suggested the whole thing was fantasy.”

“Well it happened in the film.”

“So?” That meant nothing in terms of historical accuracy.

“It was in the film, that’s all.”

“I cycled down to his cottage a few years ago, it’s called Clouds Hill it’s owned by the National Trust, strange place. He’s buried in Moreton churchyard. The old school is now a coffee shop bistro place and they have the funeral bier there.”

“What, in the bistro?”

“Yeah, they had cakes on it.”

“Luvverly,” he said meaning the opposite.

“Did you know he was born in Wales?”

“Who was?”

“Lawrence.”

“No—I thought he came from Oxford.”

“He went there with his parents and studied there.”

“Archaeologist, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, David, that’s how he came to get involved with the Arabs, he was out in the Negev desert or something supposedly on a dig while covertly surveying for the War Office.”

“How come you know so much about him?”

“I read the book, remember?”

He shook his head.

Despite being very busy I did manage to speak with Henry and told him what Stella had said about having some doubts about Mitchell. He agreed with Simon that we said nothing to her in case it warned him off or endangered her.

I wasn’t best pleased with his decision but agreed to abide by it on the understanding that he explained the truth to her once things happened. To make me feel worse, Stella came to my study and announced, “Ta da...”

“What?”

“That was a drum roll or a fanfare.”

“What was?” Half my mind was still on categorising records for the survey.

“Ta da,” she repeated.

“Why would you need a drum roll?” I asked feeling as if I’d missed something—important.

“Roger is coming tonight.”

“So?”

She gave me a really funny look, “He’s coming tonight.”

“I hope you’ll have a pleasant evening.”

“Here tonight.”

“To collect you?”

“Nooo—here tonight,” she pointed at the floor.

“Sorry, Stella, you lost me about five minutes ago.”

“Roger is coming here, to the house to meet you all.”

“Oh,” I said rather diffidently.

“What’s wrong now? What have I done now?”

“Nothing, Stel, it’s me, I was hoping for a quiet night in.”

“Ha, you expect me to believe that?”

“It happens to be true—up to you if you believe it or not.”

“You kept on about meeting him...” she pouted.

“I know, okay, we’ll meet him. Is he coming for dinner?”

“No, we’ll go out to eat, wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble seeing as you don’t like him and you’ve never even met him.”

“That‘s unfair, Stella, it was you who had worries about him being something other than he portrayed.”

“I did not,” she declared.

“You did, you asked me if I thought he was kosher because you weren’t sure.”

“Did I?” she blushed. “Anyway, he’s coming to say hello so wear something half decent and don’t put the kids in rags or let them make mud pies or slaughter something, I want him to think we’re almost normal aristocrats.”

“Normal or normal aristocrats?”

“Pass,” she said, “I gotta go and sort out my outfit.” She dashed off and wondered what was going to happen next, and why was he coming, was there an ulterior motive?

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2340 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I collected the girls after school and asked them to wear their best playing clothes, Danni asked if that meant her Chelsea strip. I knew I should have stayed in bed that morning.

David was making the dinner which looked very complicated—turned out he was boiling his hankies—I know too much information. I thought I didn’t recognise the saucepan (or sospan, if you’re Welsh). In response to my asking if we were having boiled bogies for dinner, he had to run out to the loo.

It transpired we were having meat loaf, which is my fault as I asked him if he knew anything about them as they feature in loads of American books and films. I presumed this was his response to my question. The hankies smelt mainly of bleach and soap powder, the smells emanating from the oven were much more wholesome, so possibly I might try some of the Yankee fare—apparently, the term Yankee tends to annoy a significant number of ’Mericans—a hangover from the Civil War, the Yankees being the Unionist troops/supporters as opposed to the Confederates from the more southern states.

Of course the English Civil war happened much longer ago, and it’s also a misnomer as it was fought in Wales and Scotland too, though the major battles were fought on English soil. There were ramifications in Ireland as well, and Oliver Cromwell, as Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of Great Britain, carried out a rather ruthless campaign in Ireland which is still mentioned today. It seems some people have longer memories than others, or is it folk memory? As they seem able to talk about ‘Butcher Cromwell but can’t remember the name of the priest who was abusing children a few years ago.

I recalled in Bristol a teacher who when I misbehaved in junior school put me over his knee and spanked me. It upset my dignity more than it hurt. He was jailed for paedophilic activities, so my imagining a lump in his trousers as he smacked me was based on reality. Glad one of us enjoyed it, I didn’t but then I didn’t become a hardened masochist until I went to grammar school.

Was Henry right in my not saying anything to Stella about Mitchell, or whatever his name really was—Ernst Stavro Blofeld, for example—I was concerned that if she was the only one not aware of what he was up to, assuming he was up to something, she had a higher risk of falling apart than if she did know. Well, that’s what I thought, but they never listen to me anyway.

I hid a web cam in my study just in case we went in there, with the large number of books on shelves there, I thought it would be easier to conceal. If he spotted it, too bad. I could suggest I’d left it running from practising some script from my next film.

At six he arrived followed by Simon and Tom. They spoke for a moment in the driveway as they parked cars and wondered what their impressions would have been. All three men arrived in the kitchen and I switched on the kettle and invited them to have a cuppa. Surprisingly, Mitchell said he would which meant the others would have to as well. He was polite if nothing else. He chatted amicably with Simon about cars, and Si asked him about the BMW he was driving and they chatted about cars while I made and poured the teas.

“I’ve never met a spy before,” I said before I could stop the words falling out of my stupid gob. The look Simon gave me was probably best described as withering.

“Cathy, isn’t it?” said our visitor and I nodded. “I’m not a spy, I’m afraid, just a simple civil servant.”

“Pity, that doesn’t sound half as romantic,” I sighed playing the game.

“It isn’t, I spend much of my time analysing data, it’s tedious in the extreme.”

“So do I, Roger, but I find it quite interesting.”

“Oh?” he said.

“Yes, I’m one of the analysts for the national mammal survey.”

“Ah, the dormouse lady, I enjoyed your film.”

“Nah, more Lady Dormouse,” suggested Stella, “an’ that’s Lord Dormouse,” she indicated Si, “and Professor Dormouse,” she introduced Tom. They shook hands.

“So where you taking my sister?” asked Si.

“That Italian place near the Spinnaker, I’ve heard it’s quite good.”

“Don’t think we know that one, do we Cath?”

“Didn’t know there was one there,” was my informed opinion.

“Went there with a colleague when we were on a training course about six months ago,” qualified Mitchell.

“Oh from the spy school,” I said and blushed.

“If I answered that, I’d have to kill you,” he said back smiling, except his eyes weren’t smiling—he meant it. I’d have to avoid giving him the chance. This man was just as ruthless as Bond, even if he didn’t have double 0 status. Mind you until I read James Bond at about eleven, my only experience of double rating applied to my electric train set which my father had more fun from than I did.

“If you do kill her, can you leave the body somewhere we’ll find it, makes an insurance claim easier,” Simon’s joke wasn’t very funny and Mitchell gave him a momentary sneer. If this guy was a killer, Simon may well be above me on the hit list.

“Aye, weel hae a guid meal, I’m awa’ tae ma study.” Tom excused himself.

“I’d better go and get changed, some bloody shitehawk crapped on my bonnet, have I got time to do it before dinner, babes?”

“I can give you half an hour,” I replied feeling that Stella was definitely at risk, my solar plexus was spinning like a windmill.

“Be back in a mo,” said Stella dashing upstairs.

“I’d better get that washing on, nice to meet you, Roger,” I offered him my hand and the energy I received back felt like it was made of used axle grease it was so dark. I shot up the stairs after Stella and caught her on the landing.

“Be careful, Stel, there’s something nasty about young Roger.”

“You what?” I repeated what I’d said and she gave me a disdainful look, “You’re at it again, aren’t you? Never satisfied with what you’ve got, always got to go for my man, haven’t you?”

“Stella, please, I don’t want him, but watch him, there’s something about him that isn’t nice.”

“Well you’re not going to spoil this one, you man eater.” She stormed off.

“Oh well done, Cathy, tell her why don’t you? Don’t you ever bloody listen?”

“He’s not nice, Simon.”

“We all know that, you numpty.”

“No, I mean tonight, I suspect he’s got anything but honourable intentions towards Stella.”

“ How d’you know that?”

“He’s carrying a gun.”

“Ah, is he licensed for it?”

“I doubt it, darling.”

“Somehow, I suspect you’re probably right.”

We heard the car start and it drove off. “Stella’s in grave danger,” I said feeling quite ill.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2341 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“If Tom and Jacquie can watch the kids, I suggest we take a trip to the Spinnaker.” Simon’s suggestion was as good as anything I could offer. Jacquie was to organise the servings of the meal David had cooked while Simon and I sat in the Mondeo eating a bag of chips. The big BMW was in the car park of the restaurant and when I’d walked past with the hood of my coat up, they were both in the restaurant sitting at a table and Stella was gazing into his face. Oh boy, how are we going to tell her that Roger the dodger is a crook? Or worse. Why is he toting a gun round with him?

None of it made sense. As far as I knew, we had finished with the Russians, then out of the blue, according to Stella, they saw High St as a weak link and attacked us. I was struggling with the idea that they had some intention of buying us cheap while trying to play the innocent card. But just what were they afraid of? Was Mitchell there to kill any of us or just one or two?

I decided, possibly erroneously, that Roger wasn’t there to lay waste all of us. If he was he’d find it particularly difficult to get everyone, especially Trish. Then, it would be just our luck to have Trish walk blithely into something and end up getting popped by Mitchell.

Thinking of this didn’t assist my appetite which had been much affected by the tensions which pervaded everything. I let Simon finish the chips while I wiped my hands in a wet wipe. The way he wolfed them down made me feel a little embarrassed—how could I teach Trish or Danni to eat delicately if he stuffed like someone force-feeding an industrial shredder.

We stayed in the Ford waiting to see what happened. Nothing of any consequence seemed to occur except Stella and Mitchell having a nice meal and apparently enjoying themselves. Unfortunately, we couldn’t see the car and inside the restaurant at the same time and neither of us fancied standing about in the cold watching one or the other, so every half an hour we checked they were still in the restaurant.

Two hours later and my feet were getting cold. Simon did switch the engine on now and again to defrost the screen and warm us up. The engine was running when we saw them emerge from the rear of the Italian and walk to his car. Stella looked towards us but I don’t think she recognised the car. Had it been one of the Jags, she might have done, especially my white one. Simon followed a discreet distance behind the big German car. It wasn’t heading towards our house, but then it was only ten o’clock, although I was yawning and wishing for my bed.

“Where d’you think they’re going?” asked Si.

“I’ve no idea, a pub somewhere?”

We followed for a couple of miles and they headed up on to the downs which could mean they were going to have a passion session or he was going to kill her away from witnesses. My stomach flipped at the thought of either. What if he shagged her first and then killed her—nah, he’d leave DNA behind—unless he used a condom—oh hell. They turned off down a narrow track and we drove past in case they realised we were following. Simon pulled in a few yards further on and then quickly turned the car pulling up just beyond the turning but facing towards the turning.

As soon as he stopped the car I jumped out. “Where d’you think you’re going?” he hissed at me.

“I need to see what’s going on.”

“What if they’re—you know?”

“I’ll come straight back.”

“That track could go on for half a mile.”

“Doubt it.”

“You know it do you?”

“No, but it would have been wider.”

“How d’you work that out?”

“They’d need passing places for lorries or tractors to pass.”

“That’s a point...”

“While we’re talking he could be killing her and dumping her body in the bushes.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you stay here and be ready if I come a running, be ready to collect me.”

“What if he drives out but you don’t—you know?”

“Follow him.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Simon, shut up and wait here.” Before he could say or do anything I trotted across the road and down the track. It was quite dark after the lights of the car and although I had small torch in my bag, it would warn them I was there, so I walked quickly along the edge of the path keeping to the bushes to minimise the chance of me being seen.

I saw the car about two hundred yards ahead becoming quite steamed up and it was then that the rain began. Someone up there must really love me—not. I had an umbrella with me but I really didn’t want to stand about half the night in the pouring rain while Mitchell gave Stella a good seeing to. Apart from the weather, the thought of being a voyeur turned my stomach and I went back to Simon and clambered into the car.

“He hasn’t murdered her yet then?”

“Not yet unless he’s um sh...ing her to death.”

“You’re so romantic, Cathy.”

I was about to lean against him for warmth as much as anything else, having removed my damp coat, when headlights emerged from the track, but it wasn’t our love birds.

“How many cars are down there?” he asked me.

“I only saw the one.”

“Oh great, no wonder you can’t find dormice if you can’t find limos in the dark.” I wondered if it was our two I’d stood and watched for that few moments—what if it wasn’t, and I don’t mean the privacy thing.

The next thing I knew Simon was driving across the road and down the track despite my protests. We spotted Mitchell’s car and it’s fogged up windows and Simon managed to park the Mondeo in a space under some trees from where we could watch without being directly in their view, presumably the space the departing car had left.

The place looked like the remains of a quarry with bushes and scrub consisting of bramble and buddleia with occasionally taller bushes or trees of birch and hazel. Had we not been busy, it would have been nice to explore the site to review the ecology of it and how nature was reclaiming it from man’s despoilment. It would have been far more interesting than following Stella around. I asked Simon to lock the car and then cuddled into him.

After about an hour it seemed our lovers’ passion abated and we heard the big car’s engine fire into life and as soon as they went past Simon followed them without any lights on. We followed them home and had to travel beyond the drive so I could run back and dash in before Stella went in. I only just made it, with Tom wanting to know where I’d been. “Ye cudda phoned ye ken.”

I apologised saying that we were trying to keep Stella safe and so far we’d succeeded—we hoped.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2342 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Stella came in after about ten minutes and I heard the car drive off. Her clothing was slightly askew and her makeup smudged. “Good meal?” I asked.

“Okay,” she shrugged.

“Only okay?” I said as much rhetorically as anything.

“That’s what I said, parrot face.”

“Ooh, get you.” I responded. We have these deep meaningful conversations.

“If you’re going to be silly, I’m going to bed,” Stella moved towards the door.

“I just wondered what the restaurant was like, that’s all.”

“It was okay, nothing special.”

“What did you have?”

“I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Uh, it would be the Italian Inquisition, or Opus Dei.” I corrected her.

“I had pasta, okay?”

“Stella, there’s about five million types of pasta and twice as many toppings, which one did you have?”

“Lasagna with ice cream to finish.”

“No soup then?”

“No.”

“Life is a minestrone...” I started singing, some ancient dirge by 10CC or something.
“What?” gasped Stella.

“Oh it’s an old song my friend Con, used to like.”

“Con?”

“Yeah, Con.”

“As in Conman?”

“What Conman the barbarian?” I retorted, knowing it was wrong.

“Who is Con?”

“She was a girl I met through Siân, in the same class as her.”

“Oh, tell more.”

“Not a lot to tell, we used to go round to her place and I suppose with my long hair, her mother thought I was another girl and we used to listen to music in her bedroom. Her dad had loads of vinyls and we used to sit and listen to them.”

“And do each other’s hair and nails,” chided Stella.

“Occasionally.”

“Honestly, Cathy, you were such a girl.”

“I know, it was the others who didn’t.”

“And her mother never questioned your identity?”

“I was introduced as Charlotte and then that was shortened to Charlie, so it was assumed I was a girl. I didn’t do anything to correct the misapprehension.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t, getting into a girl’s bedroom.”

“What d’you mean, Stella?”

“Nothing,” she blushed and turned, “I’m off to bed.”

“Thae same sort o’ thing happened tae ma Catherine, except we only found oot aboot it efter she’d telt us a’ aboot hersel’.”

“I suspect there are quite a few of us with similar stories to tell, Daddy.”

“Aye, whaur’s Simon?”

“I don’t know, he was waiting for Mitchell to go before he came into the drive, but he went ten minutes ago.” I went out of the back door and looked down the drive, there was no sign of the Mondeo.

I switched the kettle on, I hadn’t intended having more tea but as I was going to wait to see where Simon was, I thought I might as well. Tom sat with me and drank one as well.

He told me more about his daughter. Apparently the first inklings that Cameron wasn’t happy as a boy were when they had some friends round with their daughter who was roughly the same age and the two kids squabbled over whose turn it was to push dolly in the push chair. Daddy and Celia discussed it and asked Cameron the next day if he’d like a doll and apparently without any self consciousness, he said yes. So they got him one. He played with it much more than cars or guns and other boy toys, so from then on they watched the girlish characteristics unfold.

Then when some article appeared in a magazine about someone having a sex change, they found the magazine in his bedroom and when they asked about it he told them he was going to do that, have a sex change. That was when they sought advice and a year later Cameron became Catherine.

I felt such a warmth for this old man and wished my own parents could have had his sensitivity and compassion, but then if they had, who knew where I’d have been now, probably not here. I mooted this point and he smiled telling me that I was where the universe needed me to be. He reminded me that I was special, but no one seems able to tell me why.

We were talking for an hour when Simon came home. He tailed Mitchell, or so he’d thought until the man took him out onto the motorway and led him round in circles for the hour. He was furious, so was I, with him.

“Si, the bloke is supposedly trained to recognise a tail.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So he spotted you and gave you the run around.”

“He lost me on the return to Portsmouth, that bloody Beamer shifts a bit, though if I’d had the Jag, I’d ha’ stayed with him.”

“Except he’d have spotted you even earlier.”

“Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes and Daddy snorted. “You were on at me not to give the game away but haven’t you done the same?”

“It might scare him away if he knows we know.”

“It might also cause him to take some sort of action earlier.”

“Like what?”

“How do I know, Si?”

“I’m going to bed,” he said with a sigh and I knew he’d taken on board what I’d said even though he didn’t like it and might even disagree with.

I followed up to bed a few minutes later. It was after eleven—probably closer to twelve and I was starting to fade. Once in bed, he said, “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“I can think of worse things.”

“What like shooting him?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t imagine you shooting anyone, Si.”

“Nor me, have to get you to do it,” he said and blushed.

“I’m trying to give up such activities, darling.”

“Of course you are,” he said pulling me very close to him.

“I’m not proud of having shot someone, Si. In fact, I wish almost every day that I hadn’t.”

“I can understand that, but if you hadn’t you could be rather dead and so could several of the kids.”

“That’s the only thing which makes it tolerable. How people cope in the armed services, I have no idea, with bullets flying all over the place. Must be awful.”

I waited for a response and got one eventually—a long snort followed by him snoring. One of these days...

I had that dream again where they shoot at us and they drive into the loch and suddenly emerge again to come after me. I shoot them again and this time see body parts go flying and see blood on my hands. I think the symbolism is pretty obvious but at least this time I didn’t wake up screaming, just sweaty and with heart beating nineteen to the dozen. I went for a wee and saw it was after two. Thankfully, I slept after that though morning came too soon, as it tends to these days.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TriugW72QZY

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2343 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The next morning I had a call from James. “What the hell were you two up to last night?”

“Trying to make sure we kept Stella safe.”

“By chasing Mitchell round southern England?”

“That was Simon.”

“I know it was Simon, what was he trying to do?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“The only good thing is that while he was playing wild goose chases with Simon, I was able to have a shufti round his room.”

“I suppose if I’d had one, I could have planted a bug on his car.”

“What like a beetle or an aphid of some sort.”

“Are those the names of tracking devices, then?” I asked naively

“No, they’re common or garden bugs, as a biologist I’d have thought you’da known that.”

“Actually neither are true bugs, that refers to the hemiptera,” I retorted trying to recover the initiative.

“I stand corrected.”

It was irritating that he couldn’t see me smirking at the far end of the phone. “What happens next?” I asked.

“Providing he keeps the same car, we know where that is but if he doesn’t we can only act on the intel we have.”

“Just what are they up to, Jim?”

“I’m not entirely sure except they decided it was your bank they were going to hit and that Stella was their entry card.”

“That’s just brilliant, Jim. I pay you how much and I could have told you that.”

“See, great minds think alike.”

“I’m not sure your mind would be thinking what I am at this moment.”

“Ah, I think that might be a hint.”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Yeah, sun’s come out again, byeee,” he rang off presumably to dislodge flea from auditory organ and then do some work.

Stella brought me in a cuppa a little later, “What are you after?” I enquired pausing to look up from the lap top.

“Oh, is it that obvious?”

“Don’t tell me, Mr Mitchell has invited you out again?”

“Goodness, Cathy, you must be psychic.”

“Stupid is more like it.”

“Why is that?” she smiled as innocently as any convent girl who’d just come back from committing every sin under the sun behind the bike shed.

“Because I probably will agree to babysit, or delegate it.”

“You are definitely psychic, Cathy, I was just going to ask you if you wanted a biscuit as well, but yes, I would like you to babysit, if you could.”

“Just this once,” I agreed trying to invent some excuse for saying what a creep her latest guy was. “I hope his intentions are honourable.”

“His are fine, it’s mine which might be just a tad dirty,” she gave a cackle and wandered off. It was nice to see her happy, even if it was all going to end in tears. I just hoped we could help to hold her together when it happened.

While David laboured in the kitchen I did some more survey work, some mad woman from Dorset sent in more records of tiggywinkles, with grid references. They were mostly of expired types, having met with a vehicle while crossing the road, but also of live ones in her garden in Dorchester. Why can’t the old bat just say hedgehog? Judging by her name, she’s Welsh—hang on, it sounds familiar, don’t I have some Gaby stories...? Must check later.

Tiggywinkle indeed, bloody Beatrix Potter has a lot to answer for, though she was a very good botanical illustrator.

Oh look, some Peter Rabbit records...grr.

This survey business was doing my head in.

David called us for lunch and over a sardine in batter over a rustic potato salad—one where the potato is not peeled, we chatted about everything and nothing. Jacquie, who’d been watching Cate and Lizzie asked what I thought of her training as a midwife. I looked at Stella who rolled her eyes.

It seemed that she missed not being able to have her own babies and I asked if she’d seen the reports of them creating and implanting wombs from stem cell cultures. She hadn’t, and went off to research them after I’d suggested that we might consider helping her find out if it was available in the UK. She left the table with a smile and a spring in her step that wasn’t there before.

I don’t know if such procedures would ever be offered to transgender women, or even considered appropriate, but for a natural woman who has been damaged by the abuse of trust and power, I think it should be and funded by that power—to wit, the Home Office. I must speak to Jason, see what he thinks or perhaps that would be the new Justice department, as it was a secure children’s unit.

David mentioned the girls being kidnapped in Nigeria and that now the Brits, French and Americans were giving support, they might find them. I stated, that as a feminist, I believed in education for all regardless of anything and that these morons who suggested that Western education was evil, showed how shallow and evil their interpretation of the Q’ran was. The problem with all fundamentalists is their existence, once that ceases so does the problem.

We sat talking so late I had to dash off to collect the girls and arrived a few minutes late. They asked why I was late and I told them about our discussion regarding the kidnapped school girls.

“Vat’s not gonna happen to us, is it, Mummy?”

“Don’t be such a dumbo, we’re not in Africa, are we? Those numpty kidnappers live in Africa, in Nigella or somewhere there,” berated Trish. I had to reassure Mima that it was most unlikely in England while trying not to think of Trish’s mincing the country’s name and supplying that of the TV cook. Every now and again she drops a really funny clanger.

When we got home Stella was upstairs tarting herself up for her evening out while I looked to see what was for dinner. I was delighted to see it was a beef risotto and not a Vesta pack in sight. This was real Italian food albeit made by a Brit.

While we were eating it I tried to point out ot them that this was real food not the rubbish they get from pizza palaces, some of which look as if they had been scraped off the pavement. As you may gather, pizza is not my favourite Italian meal, I much prefer pasta or rice dishes, though the kids do like pizza. Perhaps my attempts to cause them to loathe the pizza is having the opposite effect? If I was just to feed them pizza every meal, that might do it—but they’d have left home before that worked.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2344 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Where are you off to tonight?” I asked Stella as she primped in front of the hall mirror.

“Not sure, he’s supposed to have some friends in Gosport.”

“Right, if he’s taking you to meet his friends, sounds like he likes you.” I said smiling while wondering what his friends were.

“I suppose so,” she said more diffidently than I was expecting.

“You don’t have to go, you know.”

“I do, there he is—byee.” She opened the door and disappeared into the dusk. I immediately fled to the phone and dialled Jim.

“She’s just left,” I gasped down the phone.

“Fifty yards behind,” he said and cut me off. I felt a little easier when I knew he was following her.

I continued with my evening chores, clearing up the remains of the risotto, getting children to bed eventually and feeding little ones before putting to bed and changing pads in my bra. Simon helped by keeping out the way and watching some obscure Brazilian film with lots of nudity. I didn’t realise he could understand Portugese. Turned out he couldn’t, but he found the subtitles distracted him from watching the totty. Glad he told me, I’ll be asleep before he gets to bed—serve him right.

The survey, who were paying me, continued to get some of my attention plus I know the university wanted me to lead a dormouse count to teach some new survey members. It was still bringing in new students, particularly female ones, who were inspired by a certain film. Life seemed to be busy at the moment. I t was about to get a trifle busier.

About ten o’clock I’d just made a cuppa and was about to return to number crunching for the survey stats when the phone rang—actually, my mobile rang. It was Jim. I picked it up and clicked the button.

“Jim?”

“Hi Cathy, can you get your derriere over here pronto?” He gave me an address and I checked it quickly on the internet maps. I knew roughly where it was and calling to Si to watch the babies, grabbed my bag and jacket and ran out to the car. As I jumped in he got in beside me.

“Where the hell are you going at this time of night?”

“Jim just called,” I said turning down towards the Gosport road.

“Why?”

“I thought you were watching South American beauties?”

“Got boring after a while.”

I nearly did an emergency stop and rushed him to the hospital, instead I continued out to the address Jim had given me. About twelve minutes later we approached the industrial estate and he flagged me down not far from the place where they make all the drinks cups—export them all over the world I believe. I knew someone who worked there until she won the lottery—nice woman.

“Hi, Cathy, oh hi, Simon.”

“What’s going on?”

“Not really sure but it’s not a spot I’d expect to bring someone for a social outing.”

“Nor me, so why are we here?” asked Simon looking less than happy.

“They went in through that door over there,” he pointed out where the car was parked. “Normally, the CCTV is on, but they’re repairing it still after the gales in February.”

“What does Rushprint have to attract a supposed Special Branch copper and my sister?”

“I’ve done some checking while Chas an’ Dave do a reccie.”

“And?”

“It’s owned by a Russian company.”

“Ah,” said Simon and my tummy flipped.

As we watched a shadow stole towards us and a few moments later Chas appeared. He nodded to us. “There’s six maybe seven of them, plus Lady C.”

“Men or women?” I asked.

“Men.”

“Are we going to call for the cavalry?” I asked.

“On their way,” Jim said patting Chas on the shoulder and he moved noiselessly back into the darkness.

“What d’you want us to do?” asked Simon.

“I don’t know what they’re doing in there, so Dave is placing mics around the place to see if we can get some intel.”

A convoy of vehicles came speeding along the road and stopped a dozen or so uniformed police assembled on the pavement and started handing out weapons. A SWAT team, and Stella’s inside.

“Lady Cameron, nice to see you again.

“Commander,” I replied, “This is, Simon, my husband.”

“I know, Lord Cameron,” they shook hands.

“I’d like you to stay here until we know what’s going to happen,” said the Commander as his officers continued to tool up and pull on helmets and flak jackets.

“Stella’s in there,” I said firmly.

“Yes, we know. If it gets physical we’ll do all we can to keep her safe.”

I watched as he set his men at different points to cover the whole building and Chas and Dave withdrew a little and crouched watching. I could hardly bear to watch and what would happen to Stella? My tummy was now churning like an industrial butter factory.

I tried to concentrate on sending Stella any protection the blue light could spare. I was probably wasting my time but it gave me something to do. A door in the building opened and the coppers all dropped to the ground and we shrank into the shadows of the wall surrounding the factory. A man walked out of the Rushprint factory and I watched in total fascination as Dave stole up behind him and yanked him silently to the ground where two policemen helped to subdue him. They carried him away and one of them stayed with him.

A foreign voice called from the doorway and Commander Jacobs gave the go ahead. Suddenly all hell let loose, stun grenades were lobbed and shots fired. We were urged to stand well back. I saw another door open and the policeman watching it was hit by a burst of fire and he went down his gun clattering on the tarmac of the roadway.

The SWAT team stormed the front door and two men emerged dragging Stella with them. She was shrieking at them and trying to break free. I could stand still no longer. I pushed past the commander and ran towards the injured policeman.

One of the two escapees ran towards me pointing a gun. The wounded copper tried to reach for his gun but the attacker fired at him several times. I dived behind the wall at the edge of the car park and shards of brickwork flew over my head and body as the attacker fired at me. Shots were flying all in from all directions and more bangs and flashes emanated from the direction of the print works.

I crawled behind the wall to the gateway where the wounded police officer lay. He was groaning, besides him lay the attacker, himself shot by presumably one of the police. He lay absolutely still. I heard more screams as the remaining attacker tried to shove Stella in a car and was astonished when she back kicked him and caught him completely by surprise.

He staggered backwards and although her hands were tied, fortunately in front of her, she kicked him again and this time as he staggered further from her, a shot rang out and he sank to his knees and then fell on his face with a thud.

I ran to Stella and hugged her.

It took a few minutes for someone to cut the cable tie on her wrists and once they did we really hugged. “You took your time,” she said to Commander Jacobs.

“They sent us to the wrong factory,” he said shrugging.

“What?” I gasped, “You knew Mitchell was a fake.”

“Cathy, I sussed him on the course, and when I mentioned it to Daddy he introduced me to Commander Jacobs.”

“But Henry seemed to be unaware of what was going on,” I protested, “I met up with him.”

“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” said Jacobs, “no one below cabinet level knew what was going on except Lady Stella, and she was sworn to secrecy.”

“You let her act like tiger bait?” I ranted at him.

“We had her under surveillance most of the time, she was pretty safe, you know.”

“You lying toad, she could have been killed if that guy had got away with her.”

“But she wasn’t, was she?”

“Only because she fought him off.”

“How’s the wounded officer?” asked Simon as I paused for breath.

“Pretty bad, the air ambulance is on its way.”

“Want me to take a look,” I offered and walked towards him and as I did I saw a small light rise from his body and float upwards. I knew then he’d died but I tried to help him all the same. The paramedics tried for half an hour before they pronounced him dead.

About that time we were escorted back to my car and told to follow the police car to the main police station to give a statement. It was midnight and I wanted to be asleep and in bed not sitting on a hard seat sipping coffee which I knew would keep me awake, reliving the night’s activities in my head as I described them to a woman police officer.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2345 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

We did get home at stupid o’clock and thankfully, Tom and Jacquie let us sleep on but only because I’d filled two bottles with double cream the day before, so the little milk vampires were sated for the moment. It was about ten when I realised the sun was up. Simon was showering from the noises in the bathroom which had probably woken me up.

I used the loo and went into the shower as Si finished. It helped to wash away the cobwebs and I felt a little more human. As far as I knew I didn’t have to go anywhere except collecting children, so I dressed casually in polo shirt and jeans with a fleece jacket—it wasn’t too warm—in fact it was sheeting down. Stella was seated at the kitchen table when I made my tea and sat beside her. We mumbled a greeting to each other. Finally, when we’d both finished our breakfast, I said to her, “I can’t believe you knew what was going on without breathing a word to us.”

“That’s your hard luck.”

“You said you knew when you were doing the course, pottery wasn’t it?”

“Ceramics.”

“Okay, ceramics. How did you guess?”

“He was too friendly, claimed he was divorced yet he had a white mark round his ring finger. If he could lie about his wife, what else would he tell porkies about?”

“Goodness, well done, you.”

“I spoke to Daddy and he mentioned it to Commander Jacobs who told me to let him know if Mitchell contacted me again.”

“He was a renegade Special Branch officer.”

“Was being the operative word,” she said not displaying one bit of emotion.

“Did you not feel anything for him?”

“Why should I? His job was probably to abduct and kill me, my kids, you or yours. I decided from the start that I’d play it like an actor would. So it was all role play.”

“You had me fooled—most of the time.”

“Some people are easier fooled than others.”

“So it would appear.”

“Did you see him shot?”

“No, thankfully. As soon as the bangs and flashes began, they hustled me towards the fire escape door. I think you saw it from then on.”

“I came to try and help you but the guy saw me and if that dying copper hadn’t moved, I might not be here now.”

“Oh yeah, he shot the copper again, didn’t he.”

“He fired at me too but one of the police got him.”

“Yeah, they did.”

“And you scrapping with that bloke in the car park. I see you haven’t lost your touch.”

“I’ve been practicing whenever I could. Glad I did now.”

“So am I, sis.”

“It sounds very dangerous to me,” offered Jacquie.

“It was, they were using real bullets,” I confirmed.

“If you knew that, why did you expose yourself to the risk instead of waiting for the police to clear them all?”

“You were at risk and I wasn’t prepared to let that go wrong on you.”

“I’m a big girl, Cathy.”

“I know, but I couldn’t stand by and let them hurt you.”

She placed her hand over mine, “Nor I, you. Bless you, little sis.”

David arrived and after making more tea, began to prepare something for lunch. “Any fresh bread?” he asked and I checked, we didn’t so I set up the machine to make a loaf.

“What are we having?” I enquired.

“Something tasty and easy, bacon sarnies but with the magic ingredients of home cured bacon and homemade bread.” I found myself salivating, it just doesn’t get any better.

I called the university and left a message for Tom to say I’d collect the girls as I was now back in the land of the living. He called back to tell me he wanted me to see the new volunteers for the dormouse survey tomorrow morning and take them out on site to show them what to do.

I had to check my stuff. Essentially, it’s quite simple. A large clear plastic bag. A smaller one preferably of known weight, a balance of some sort—mine’s a spring balance, a Swiss made one with a clip on the bottom and weighs up to fifty grams. That would be one big dormouse. Then I have the chip reader and finally a lens to check any nuts or acorns for dormouse tooth marks. I usually keep a couple of little plastic pots or boxes to store those, especially if I’m doing a survey on a new site.

A map and compass are useful if working in a new area, especially if I’m trying to note where things were. I also take photos if I need to, so take a camera with me when I remember. Occasionally when you find a torpid mouse, it’s nice to get a photo as it’s about the only time they’ll sit still for you. Dormice can move pretty quickly for small, plump critters and they climb like, well like dormice.

By the time I’d got my mousing gear together it was time to get the girls from school. They were waiting just inside the entrance for me—it was raining lightly and they grumbled all the way to the car. In the car they were complaining about some girl who’d been caught cheating in an exam. She apparently had a smart phone disguised as a calculator but was spotted by the headmistress. She was sent home immediately and her exam paper cancelled for cheating. If her parents weren’t in cahoots with her, then they must feel awful. Will she be allowed to sit any others or will she be excluded? The girls weren’t sure, but I was—they’d kick her out and disqualify her for any she’d already taken—just in case.

It happened when I was doing my A-levels, a boy was found with bits of paper shoved up the cuffs of his shirt. I would have had difficulty with that because I was wearing one of Siân’s spare dresses. Murray had decided that if he made me wear the girl’s uniform I’d fluff my exams. I didn’t, and besides the dress I was the only boy there wearing enough mascara to sink a battleship. When he walked past me I couldn’t resist batting my enhanced lashes at him. He just managed to stay in control of himself because there were other people about who would be witnesses if he had done anything.

In the end it all backfired on him. For once in an exam I felt relaxed and nearly filled in my name as Charlotte, because that’s what everyone was calling me—except me. I called myself, Catherine. I did very well in my exams and Sussex confirmed my place. The rest as they say is history.

How Murray didn’t actually kill me, I’ll never know. We played this game of brinkmanship all the time, and sometimes he won it sometimes I did. He was a monster and shouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near a school but things were different in those days. Nowadays, my school is co-ed and if you’ll recall, they asked me to speak to them a year or two ago. I suppose I have done quite well since leaving there.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2346 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I stood surrounded by the seven students who’d decided they’d like to see a dormouse. I couldn’t actually promise one, but we had a reasonable chance. I was leading the survey today, my usual leaders were there but ceded to me—well I had trained them.

Suffice to say that I explained what we were at and how we went about it. We had two hundred nest boxes to check and that they needed to do as we’d shown them. We had a dummy box fitted to tree with plastic coated cable and I showed them how to check the box covering the hole at the back first, then if nesting material or a dormouse was seen to take the box off the tree, pop it in the large plastic bag and wait for a supervisor to come.

I showed them how to check any nesting material—essentially, you stick your finger in it to feel for warmth and dryness. Sometimes the dormouse or other incumbent will have jumped out at this stage, but not always, especially if there are young present.

If there is a dormouse then we weigh it and see if it’s been chipped and we can record a definite individual. The box number is also recorded. If it hasn’t been chipped, assuming it’s big enough, we might do that and record it. Then the mouse is returned to the box and it in turn is replaced on the tree. Seeing as they can be recorded several times over the years, it would appear careful handling and even chipping seems to do little harm to the animals. We remind our would be surveyors that the animals are protected and thus they were working under supervision of someone with a licence.

Finishing my spiel I asked for any questions. A blonde haired girl who I’d not seen before asked, “Was it you who made the film about dormice?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that you used to be a boy?”

Is this never going to disappear?

“Would it matter if I had been?”

“Yeah, my dad fancied you after watching the film. He wouldn’t if you were a boy.” There were mutterings in the background and eyes were rolled especially by the supervising students—it was old hat to them.

“Denise, I can’t say it worries me if your father does or does not fancy me. I’m happily married with several children—does that answer your question?”

“You still breast feeding Neal’s little one?” asked Tudor Thomas, one of the supervisors.

“Yes, though the little monster is teething and chews on everything.” I let him digest that for a moment.

“Ouch,” was all he said and they all smiled.

We all clambered aboard the university minibus and Tim drove us out to the first site, which was when it rained. It was still raining when we alighted at the first survey area and I delegated students to their supervisors and we worked in four teams. Denise somehow ended up in my team.

“I’m sorry about the personal questions.”

“As far as I know we don’t give degrees for knowing facts about the teachers but about the subjects they teach.”

“Well if you’re breastfeeding a baby you can’t be a boy can you?”

“Do I look like a boy?”

“No, Dr Watts.”

“Let’s go and find some dormice.”

Over the next hour we did just that. We were all wet and muddy by the end of it but between us we had five dormice—a good day’s hunting. Everyone had seen a true, wild dormouse, none were releases, and everyone got to handle a mouse. Hopefully, they were all happy with what we did and the drive back at lunch time was cordial and noisy—somehow, they always get a buzz from finding the first one and handling it.

“Good day?” asked Simon as I got home.

“Yeah, got five dormice.”

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Suppose so, it’s what you do, oh great hunter of dormice.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” It was true, being out in the woods or countryside watching nature or measuring it, is what I do best.

“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?” Damn, he’d picked up on that too.

I shrugged.

“C’mon, babes, tell me—what happened?”

“One of the women students asked if I was a boy.”

“Why?”

“Apparently her dad fancied me when he watched my film.”

“Tough—I mean he’s hardly gonna have the class to make a pass at you anyway. Did you tell her how expensive to run you were?”

“Uh—no, Tim asked if I was still breast feeding.”

“Ah, good call by him, remind me to buy him a drink sometime.”

“It gets so tedious, Si, it really does. Will they never forget?”

“I can’t say, babes, but the Daily Wail did a story about that woman who was impaled by the stag without mentioning she was trans.”

“Goodness—are you sure?”

“Yep, read it twice, so perhaps the media and the rest of them will let it go for you too.”

“They were quite kind about my film.”

“Well yeah, it was about dormeece not you, you just presented it.”

“In tight shorts and top.”

“Did you? I hadn’t noticed.” This was the man who’d watched the film so often he wore out the DVD.

“They gonna be any good?”

“Eh?”

“The students.”

“Oh, oh yeah, I expect so. Once we turned up a dormouse, their spirits rose amazingly.”

“They are rather cute.”

“So is someone else I know,” He grabbed me and carried me upstairs like I was about ten pounds not ten stones.

“I’m all muddy, Simon, put me down.”

“So, we’ve got the technology to refresh you.”

“Have you now?”

“Aye, indeed we hae,” he replied in as poor an accent as I’ve ever heard south of Watford.

We ended up showering together, which was fun and so different to how it was only a couple of years ago.

“Never let anyone say you were anything but a woman, or I’ll punch them on the nose.”

“I can’t deny the truth, Si. It happened.”

“Don’t you believe it.”

“Si, I can’t deny the truth.”

“Why not, other people do, all the time.”

"But I..."

“That’s their problem, don’t let it become yours.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2347 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“When will your new dormouse surveyors be in action?” asked Simon as we dressed.

“I’ll get them out in a couple of weeks and see if they remembered anything we did today.”

“You sound as if they’re all Alzheimer patients.”

“Worse, they’re students. A couple of years ago I had a group who wanted to handle dormice. They were all girls and first years, I gave them a time, a date and a grid ref and never saw them again.”

“I presume you were at the grid reference at the appointed date and time?”

“Of course.”

“So they’re not still wandering round the woods?”

“Woods? They’d never heard of a grid reference let alone the Ordnance Survey. We have the best maps in the world, how come our youth have never heard of them?”

“Same reason they don’t know about Shakespeare or Mozart. We’ve let them down, Cathy, they have such a poor level of general knowledge because that seems to become diluted by every generation. They know how to put things on facebook but how to bake a cake or grow some spuds—they haven’t a clue.”

“This like three generations of the same family who’ve never worked only claimed benefits, so they don’t understand the concept of working for a living. The downside of the welfare state.”

“Weren’t Sammi’s original family a bit like that?”

“Crikey, she said something about them many moons ago—didn’t think it was very complimentary.” I had a vague recollection about it and how they’d abandoned her. “Where is she today?”

“Staying at my flat.”

“Has she found a new playmate?”

“How would I know?” he said trying to avoid the question.

“Because she confides in you.”

“Does she?”

“Si, she tells you everything.”

“Not everything.”

“But most things, especially the important things, like she’s found a new love in her life.”

“How d’you always know these things?”

“I’m a woman, Si, we know these things,” or notice might be a truer statement.

“Okay, some guy from the auditors is taking her out—satisfied?”

“No, what’s his name, how old is he, how senior is he, what are his prospects and does he know who she is—I mean, being a member of the family.”

“You make it sound like the Mafia.”

“We’re worse than them, Si, they stop when weapons are fired or they run out of money—we don’t and we won’t run out of money.”

“I hope not, Babes, or I’ll really be up shit creek without the proverbial.”

“What toilet paper?” I pretended not to understand his aphorism.

“That as well, but I was thinking paddle.”

“You can’t wipe your bum on a paddle, can you? Or is a canoe some sort of euphemism for your bum?”

“What are you on about?”

“The saying, paddle your own canoe.”

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with toilet paper?”

“That’s what I wanted to know.”

“You’ve lost me, babes.”

“You were on about shit creek.”

“Yeah, up shit creek without a paddle, that’s the saying.”

“I know, but never really understood it.”

“If you have no paddle how would you steer your boat?”

“With my ha... um, why is it called sh—you know?”

“You get my drift?” he smiled at my uncomfortable expression.

“Yeah, drifting would be an alternative to paddling with no paddle.” I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans, just talking about getting them all dirty made me want to shower again. The pig noticed and laughed at me.

“So Sammi has a new boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Frank Liscombe.”

“Have you done a search on him?”

“No, what for?”

“After what happened with Stella, don’t you think you should?”

“No. Look, he’s worked for us for about four or five years.”

“He could be a sleeper.”

“Only insofar as he’s probably sleeping there tonight.”

“What? You’re letting them sleep together?”

“Cathy, they’re both over twenty one.”

“But he might have some awful social disease.”

“Like what?”

“Um—distemper?”

“Isn’t that what dogs get?”

“Um—I meant venereal disease.”

“Not venerable disease—wasn’t that what Trish called it?”

“Yeah, only caught by archdeacons.”

“Is that a protestant joke?”

“Dunno, don’t they have archdeacons in the Catholic church?” I honestly didn’t know. Not many dormice appear to be catholic.

“Ask Sister Maria.”

“Will she know, I mean she’s a teacher not a priest.”

“She’s a nun as well, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so, never asked her—I suppose she’s in a teaching order not a preaching one.” How was I to know, I’m not even a practicing Christian let alone a Roman Catholic.

“I thought she was a friend of yours.”

Is she? She’s the headmistress of the school that four of my girls go to. We’ve done a few things together—mostly her exploiting me for the school—but she has looked after my girls, so maybe she is as much of a friend as a nun can be. “Yeah, but we don’t talk about such things.”

“I suppose you’re afraid it could be habit forming.”

“Ha bloody ha,” one of these days I shall murder him citing his puns as provocation. They might just give me probation, unless Stella gets him first. Poor old Stella, she really surprised me over that business with Mitchell. I mean how could she keep a secret that long, especially from Henry? She obviously has hidden depths.

Simon paused as he did up his shirt buttons, “I can’t get over Stella not telling anyone about that business with Mitchell.”

“I was just thinking about that.”

“Well that just proves how like minded we are.”

“I wonder what David’s done for dinner?” I said changing the subject.

“I don’t remember seeing him today.”

“God, it’s not his day off, is it?”

“Dunno, babes, I leave all that to my harem of women.”

He’s more harum-scarum than seraglio but I don’t remind him unless he really upsets me. “I’d better go and see what’s in the cupboard then.”

“We could always order in a pizza,” he offered.

“If we do that the kids will think we like them.”

“Oh, shouldn’t we?”

“Shouldn’t we what?”

“Like them?”

“No, I can’t stand them.”

“Shouldn’t you have said that before we adopted them?”

“Why?”

“Well, you just should have.”

“What, that I don’t like pizza?”

“Pizza? I thought you meant the children.”

“What? Are you stark staring bonkers?”

He looked shocked.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2348 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“I see the kid who raised all that money has died,” said Stella as she came into the house with her two wains.

“Oh, I hadn’t seen that—the cancer chap—you mean?”

“Yeah, raised three million, didn’t he?”

“Something like that—I suppose it gave some sort of purpose to an otherwise seemingly pointless death. Nineteen, wasn’t he?”

“Something like that—too young.” She gave Puddin’ a drink and sat Fiona in the high chair before giving her a drink in a small bottle.

“How was life in the zoo, today then?”

“You would not believe how stupid some people are.”

“Try me,” I invited waiting for the hospital equivalent of Ripping Yarns.

“This guy was sent over from A&E, he’d only stuck a pen down his urethra.”

“Would it be silly to ask why?” I wondered if perhaps he didn’t have a breast pocket in his jacket.

“He thought he was weeing too slowly, so he reasoned that if he stretched his urethra he’d pee more quickly.”

“Yeah, I can accept his logic.”

“In which case can you explain why he then shoved a Bic up his doodah and then couldn’t remove it because it became too sore to touch.”

“I was meaning his logic of stretching something he thought was too tight.”

“They do it for people with urethral stenosis, which he didn’t have.”

“Stenosis—a narrowing, isn’t it?”

“Spot on, give the lady a coconut,” said Stella quite loudly and Fi’s bottom lip puckered and she burst into tears. It took her far longer to calm her than it did to upset her—one of the injustices of having kids. It’s like, why does it take twice as long to clear up a mess than it does to make it? Sod’s law, I suppose.

“So what was wrong with him then?”

“Apart from being a total dick head?”

“I meant urologically.”

“Nothing—until he tried using it as pencil case—a sort of Bic in a dick. Hey, that’s quite good,” she said repeating it. I hoped Pud wasn’t listening.

“Putting lead in his pencil, so to speak.”

She groaned, then burst out laughing, “Yes, a good one, Cathy.” I agreed with her but said nothing.

“You know, you’d be surprised how often some idiot does something like that.”

“I can’t imagine doing it, it strikes me as vaguely masochistic.”

“For some of them, I’m sure that’s very true, then his nibmanship was more likely into sexual stimulation.”

“Does that mean he’s likely to do so again?”

“Only if he’s more stupid than I thought.”

“Is there a scale for stupidity?”

“Probably.”

I decided I’d heard enough and changed the subject. “How are the girls coping with the crèche and the nursery?”

“Fine,” she answered very quickly, perhaps too quickly.

“I think they have a nursery at the convent.”

“I work two miles away, Cathy, and if they finish at lunch time I’d be jiggered.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” I agreed. “Have you spoken to Jacquie about looking after Fiona?”

“Why? The nursery at the hospital is okay.”

“It was just an idea.”

“I thought Jacquie was doing that course.”

“She is but she’d have worked round it if you’d paid her.”

“Paid her? She’s family.”

“She’s going to need quite a bit of money to go to university.”

“Well tell Simon to fund her.”

“I suspect she’ll get more sense of achievement if she has to work for the money.”

“What? Are you crazy? If she can spend her time swotting instead of working for money, she’ll get a better degree.”

“That isn’t guaranteed.”

“No, I realise that but if she can spend her time studying, she should do better than if she’s working somewhere as well.”

“I want them all to value money and the best way to make them do that is to make them earn it.”

“That is just so old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned or not, it’s the best way to teach them.”

“You’ll be flogging or hanging them next.”

“I doubt it. I don’t believe in capital punishment.”

“It does tend to sound a bit naff in this day and age. I find it ludicrous that they shoot someone during the arrest then they have to wait until he’s well enough again to hang.”

“Sounds more like the States than here.”

“Oh it was, Cathy. Their sense of justice is based more on retribution than redemption, which I’d always assumed was the object of Christian worship. Instead they kill ‘em. Very Christian.”

“No you’re confusing things, Stella. They’re an old Testament country, eye for an eye and so on.”

“I think you may be right.”

“I am, Stella.”

“Didn’t they have some execution go horribly wrong the other day?”

“Yeah, lethal injection, took the man forty minutes to die so they said in the Guardian.”

“Isn’t that because British companies aren’t allowed to supply the chemicals any more?”

“Something like that, the government wouldn’t grant export licences.”

“How could you live with yourself if you knew the components you were supplying were used to cold bloodedly kill someone?”

“I couldn’t,” I replied knowing I’d killed several times. I seemed to be able to hold double standards quite comfortably ever since, though I did dream about things for a while after it happened. Did that make me as bad as some American governors?

In some ways, I hoped the lives I’d saved were some redemption for those I’d taken, sort of redressing the balance, but I wasn’t sure how the system worked. Perhaps it was as my reductionist self ultimately believed, and there was nothing sacred about life and it was purely a cosmic accident which had developed its own momentum once it took off coping with extinctions and creating new formulae as it went along. Ultimately, life here is doomed because the sun is and without our sun, life would be very difficult if not impossible. But it wouldn’t be the eternal winter which would sterilise the planet but the turning of the sun into a red giant which would probably expand beyond the area of the orbit of the earth and scorch everything within range. It’s not expected for about five billion years, so I haven’t cancelled the papers.

“Cathy, I was talking to you,” said Stella angrily.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“That much was obvious.”

I shrugged.

“What were you thinking about?”

“The end of days.”

“What, Judgement Day?”

“Rather more fundamental than that.”

“Okay, I’ll buy it.”

“I was thinking about what will happen when the sun goes into its terminal cycle having burnt up all its hydrogen.”

“Why?”

“Dunno, just flitted through my brain.”

“So what will happen?”

“The sun will get up to two hundred and fifty times larger.”

“Wow, things will get a bit warm here then.”

“Life will have been extinct here long before that, the seas and atmosphere will have burnt off long before.”

“So how will you save your dormice?”

“Stella, dormice could become extinct in the next hundred years, so I’m not going to worry about five billion years away.”

“Oh well if it’s that far away, I can start watching reruns of Downton Abbey, then, can’t I?”

I cringed and she smirked, knowing I hate the total nonsense it is.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2349 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I considered that if we had about five billion years before the sun killed us all, it was probably worth starting a new book. I went off to hunt for one and in doing so found Mr Whitehead’s scrapbook. I hadn’t looked at it for months and I wasn’t sure what I felt about it. It seemed that he’d developed an obsession with me, working out what
I was and then processing it by gaining more information, almost stalking me. That was well weird.

Opening the book at random, I saw a report of one of my school escapades. Remember, I had hair down to the middle of my back, which was usually in a ponytail, but this one morning I’d allowed Siân to plait it and instead of having it drape like a ponytail, she wound it round my head at the hairline. “You’ll get me murdered,” I told her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them to arrest the whole school.”

“Gee thanks, that’s a great consolation.”

“Knew it would be,” she smiled back at me.

Of course, it was inevitable that I’d bump into Murray as soon as I set foot inside the school. We didn’t even get to school, he spotted me walking along the road with Siân and told me to either put my hair back into a ponytail or wear something more suitable to my hairstyle. I was to report back to him as soon as I got to school.

Siân took me home and dressed me in her old uniform while her mother tutted in the background. Then, she undid my hair and did two plaits, quite fine ones, on either side. Most of my hair was put into a high ponytail and the two plaits were secured underneath it. It was very girly and she smirked at her cleverness. Then it was on with the eyeliner and mascara, a squirt of some smelly or other and she dragged me back to school, pecked me on the cheek in a girly air kiss and pushed me down the drive.

As I trudged down the driveway, my slightly heeled, bar shoes clopped along and my body felt warm under the two socks filling my bra—well Siân’s bra. I could feel the straps pulling on my shoulders under the straps of my ‘Care Bears’ backpack. Boys watched from the classroom windows and I saw them calling others over to see the arrival of the Queen of Sheba, the music from Handel’s oratorio ringing in my ears, though the truth were told, I much preferred Zadok the priest, the coronation anthem of George II in 1727.

When I knocked on Murray’s door, I was told he’d gone off to a meeting at the council offices and to go to my classes. Once there, maths, not my favourite subject nor teacher. “Ah, Miss Watts, so kind of you to grace us with your presence,” said Quacker. His name was Duckworth and he had a sense of humour which was based around humiliating schoolboys. I was a gift and he asked me several questions, each time calling me Miss Watts or Charlotte, and referring to taxing my beautiful head to answer him. Being acutely embarrassed my mind was in locked mode and I probably couldn’t have answered my name if he’d asked me, let alone the answer to his algebraic problem.

On replying that I didn’t know, his response was, “They say that girls find maths harder than boys, listen young lady and you may learn something.” He asked one of the computer brained set who gave him chapter and verse. I began to think calling Murray’s bluff was a mistake as a rivulet of sweat ran down my back under my bra strap.

Whitehead had written, ‘C turned up in school wearing the girl’s uniform and when challenged told the teacher that she’d been told to wear it by the headmaster. It brought the usual taunts from a thousand inmates of this asylum. She really does look like a girl, the way she walks and carries herself—there’s no sign of a boy there. This child really does have to be guided on what to do with her life before it gets too late and masculising hormones become too plentiful. If she’s going to become a girl, she needs to do it soon.’

Underneath in a different coloured ink was written, ‘Heard today that C has finally decided to join the fair sex. She’s doing a master’s degree at Portsmouth. I hope the strain of her changeover doesn’t distract from her studies. Why she took so long to become herself, is a mystery. I saw her some months ago dressed supposedly as a boy, but it was obvious to all and sundry what she is, a very lovely young woman.’

I remembered that day only too well, not so much for the lewd suggestions of a thousand sex starved boys, but of Murray’s reaction when he saw me. He was incandescent. “Just what d’you think you’re playing at, you unnatural creature?”

“Just doing what you told me to do, sir.”

“I suppose you think this is funny, do you?”

“No, sir,” I said blushing as brightly as a heat lamp.

“You’ll wear that uniform for the rest of the week, understand?”

“Is that wise, sir?”

“Are you questioning me?”

“No, sir.”

“Do it, now get out of my sight. Oh, and Watts, report to me or the secretary every morning in your uniform before you go to assembly.”

“You want me to go to assembly, sir?” I was beginning to feel this was a mistake, just wait till I see Siân, I’ll give her school uniform. The stir that would cause would guarantee I’d get loads of grief for ages.

“Yes, Watts, or should I say, Miss Watts.”

My parents weren’t impressed and my father called the headmaster to complain but somehow Murray got him to agree to my punishment for trying to be too clever. Perhaps I deserved it, but surely not the extreme humiliation of being called out before the whole school while dressed as a school girl and have it announced, “Miss Watts is visiting with us for the rest of the week. She is to be accorded every courtesy a visiting schoolgirl could expect to receive. If I hear of any discourtesy, there will be trouble for the perpetrator—that I can promise.”

I could feel my tummy convulsing as I relived that scene from my history and wondered how he managed to get away with being such a sadist and practising so much abuse on so many boys and me. But he did. I supposed his warning to the others about according me courtesy as a visiting schoolgirl, was a way of pretending to protect me, whereas it was a covert signal to the bullies to be less open about victimising me. They might not have been very subtle but they could operate below the radar and I got plenty of beatings and threats unwitnessed by teachers or prefects.

I closed the book and returned it to the shelf along with the sometimes painful memories it contained.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2350 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Another day, another school trip. I was down to invigilate from ten so when Sister Maria asked me to go with her, I wasn’t best pleased. I’d resolved to do some number crunching while students sweated over their exam papers, so my laptop and the university wi-fi should have been all I was concerned with.

“I really don’t have much time, headmistress, I have to invigilate an exam.”

“This won’t take a moment, Lady Cameron.”

I sighed but followed her to her office where she bid me sit. I deliberately looked at my watch. “We’ve been asked to enter a school’s quiz competition.”

I nodded wondering what it had to do with me.

“It’s mainly aimed at senior girls but I’d like your permission for Trish to take part.”

“What sort of quiz?”

“Oh, a team one, think University Challenge, but for sixteen year olds.”

“She’s a bit young to be associating with sixth formers.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Have you asked her, yet?”

“Not yet, I wanted your approval first.”

“When is it?”

“Beginning of July, it’s being held at our sister school in Southampton.”

“What just one day?”

“Yes, five or six schools take part and it’s like a knock out, with about three stages in it, the last being between the two remaining schools. Winner gets a trophy for a year and each of the four in the team get a small shield to keep.

“How are you going to choose your team?”

“We’ll have a series of quizzes for individuals to do with written answers, the best six scores will then be invited to join the team.”

“So you won’t field the same team each round?”

“We might, but it would be good to have a couple of reserves.”

“All right, but I suspect she won’t be too hot on popular culture.”

“They have a broad spectrum of subjects, so hopefully something for everyone.”

“When are you running your heats?”

“In June after the A-levels and GCSEs have finished.”

“You might find it worthwhile to invite Livvie to participate as well.”

“We’ll have a competition for younger children, but I don’t expect many to get very high marks.”

“Okay, you can invite my horde to try, but don’t be disappointed if none of them have the depth or breadth of general knowledge required.”

She thanked me and I dashed off to the main campus to park, collect some papers and a cuppa, then off to my torment for two hours. A colleague took the first hour—I should say colleagues because there’s usually two of us, a man and a woman in case someone needs to go to the toilet or some other emergency occurs. I’ve seen people vomit with nerves and once someone got their knickers twisted so tightly, they passed out. I hope that doesn’t happen this morning.

I finally got my act together and arrived at the hall they were using for the exam. I took my place at the desk in front of the candidates and powered up my computer. The exam was a botany one and it was at first year level. I had a quick look at it and decided I might have scraped a pass although I haven’t pottered with plants for about ten years—though I’d have gone with the phloem. That’s a botany joke—now you know why I did zoology and ecology, the latter is habitat forming. All right, so science jokes aren’t always the funniest though they did an article on them in the Guardian last year and some of them were very clever. A blowfly walked into a bar and asked, “Is this stool taken.” Okay, so it was rather shitty but I liked it.

I got into my own work and was quite involved with it when I became aware of someone standing by the side of me. “Cathy, I think we could have a bit of a problem.” It was my invigilator partner.

“Oh, what’s happened?”

“The girl in the red jeans, I think she might be using some sort of device.”

“What a computer or smart phone?”

“Yes, disguised as a calculator.”

“What do they need a calculator for in a botany exam?”

“God knows, but they’re allowed them in all science exams as you well know.”

“Yeah, but they’re university ones.”

“I think she could have swapped one.”

“Okay, I’ll take a look.” Such was my joy at being the senior member of staff, I was a reader to her senior lecturer status.

I approached the girl, “D’you mind if I borrow this a moment?” I picked it up and it was a standard university scientific calculator made by Texas instruments. I did a few calculations on it and it seemed in order. I thanked her and handed it back to her. As I wandered back to my desk it crossed my mind that as soon as she saw my colleague come to me, she’d swap her dodgy one back to the standard one.

That would mean it was on her person as she hadn’t bent over to her bag. Instead of sitting out the front I now wandered up and down the rows of candidates, mainly watching our prime suspect. I needed to find some way of challenging her. I spoke briefly with my colleague and she agreed to my suggestion.

The bell sounded and I told everyone to stop writing. I then asked them to turn their papers over, stand up and walk away from their desks. There were murmurs of surprise but most of them did so. Our suspect didn’t. When I insisted she did, there was a clatter at her feet caused by a calculator, except she still had one on her desk.

The device wasn’t a calculator at all but a smart phone made to look like one and information on it suggested she’d cheated. The rest of the papers were collected while we sent for the dean. It was horrible, I hate it when students cheat, because they’re only cheating themselves ultimately. When you catch one, it makes me feel sick—I’ve just destroyed someone’s dreams and career—or they have.

The young woman was suspended and her paper disqualified. She’ll be asked to leave very shortly—silly girl.

As I was leaving my broom cupboard to collect the girls from school, the girl with the red jeans confronted me. “What’s your problem with real women—jealousy?”

“I don’t have any problems with men or women—but I do with cheats. The degrees we award require the students to actually do some work during their time here. We don’t take kindly to those who try to beat the system, which has been tried and tested over the years.”

“I don’t believe you, you tranny.”

“I suggest you apologise. I did nothing wrong, it was you who broke the rules.”

“What d’you call wearing women’s clothes then when you’re really a bloke.”

“If the best you can do is to make malicious accusations, then I suggest you leave now.”

“Just wait, I’ll tell the Echo.”

“If you do, I’ll have the university say why you were sent down.”

“You can’t do that?”

“Can’t I? There were seventy five other students in that room, at least half of them saw you drop your phone—all of them feel angry that you tried to cheat and beat them. I’ll ask one of them to explain to the local rag, they’re not covered by the same confidentiality clauses. You, young woman, are history. Now leave or I’ll have you removed by the security staff.”

“You think you’re so clever don’t you?”

“No I’m not, I worked hard for my degrees.”

“I worked hard for my degrees,” she mimicked me in a silly voice.

“I wasn’t that clever, but I was a bloody sight smarter than you, now piss off.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2351 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I was quite irritable when I got to the school, catching the girl and then having the second contretemps did little to improve my mood.

“We’re going to have a quiz, Mummy?”

“Yes, I know sweetheart.” I can’t honestly say I wanted to discuss something which won’t happen for another month or so.

“How do you know?” asked Trish.

“Sister Maria told me about it this morning.”

“Oh—what for?”

“Why is that important?”

“Just wanted to know.”

“She asked if you girls could be included in the competition.”

“Why ask me, I don’t know nuffin,” said Danielle reminding me she was with us.

“You know lots about sport—well football an’ F1.”

“Mummy knows evweefing,” was Mima’s opinion.

“Compared to you she does,” was Trish’s riposte.

“That’s enough, Trish, it won’t happen for a month or so, therefore you’ll have to wait a bit yet.”

“I’m gonna mug up on facts,” stated Trish.

“That’s fine if you know which areas to research,” I tried to stop her wasting her time.

“Nah, I’ll just learn everything—be as clever as you then, Mummy,” she said poking fun at Meems indirectly, which the latter failed to see. Sometimes Trish can be quite cruel to those who are younger or more ignorant of something than she is which is doubly unfortunate. First, it might make her feel superior but makes her no friends and those who really are superior never have to show off. Second, Meems isn’t as daft as Trish makes out, but her interests and skills lie in different areas and directions. Trish is cleverer but that doesn’t make her superior.

“No one can know everything,” was Livvie’s contribution which sounded very logical to me, “’Cept God of course, He does know everything.” Bang went the logic. Even in mystical terms, at least in a Qabbalistic model, the three veils of negative existence are beyond the knowledge of God. So the all seeing, all knowing divinity only exists in the minds of kids and the uneducated—I include fundies in the latter. Education broadens your mind, fundamentalism shrinks it assuming it ever grew in the first place.

We finally got home and after giving them a drink and a biscuit sent them off to change and do their homework. I came across an article on the Guardian website which nearly had me in tears about transgender prostitutes in a poor area of Queens in New York. Oh boy, have I been lucky by comparison. Then flicking through the television section, I discovered a documentary on Channel four about a group of gay and transgender people who are so abused they live in a drain in Kingston, Jamaica.*

What is wrong with the world? Why do the majority have to impose their will upon minorities just to show who’s in charge, when for most of them, the existence of the minorities is a point of ignorance. Why can’t we all just live in peace and harmony, or is that too much to expect from the naked apes that run this world? When are people going to realise we can achieve almost anything when we cooperate and nothing when we don’t—except long casualty lists.

Sometimes the stupidity of human beings makes me want to cry, other times it almost wishes some epidemic would thin us out dramatically, because all we do is spend our time destroying things, including each other. How anyone can consider us as spiritual beings defeats me, we’re nasty, selfish and aggressively greedy apes with technology.

With the intolerance shown in the article and what I expected to see in the television programme, together with the trouble with the botany student earlier on, I almost felt like going to bed and staying there. Of course I couldn’t. I’m a mother with millions of babies—uh no that’s a lobster, but you get my drift—enough children to lose count, so I have responsibilities and duties.

Stella brought me a cup of tea. “When you hide away, there’s something bugging you—wanna talk?”

I showed her the Guardian article and the television guide, then told her about catching a cheat. She understood why I didn’t want to talk to most people.

“You have to believe things are getting better, Cathy.”

“Here they are, but I despair for people in the States.”

“Americans seem to think differently—if you’re poor you haven’t worked hard enough, so serve you right.”

“I think that’s a little simplistic, Stella, but what do we know about the realities of life for so many people?”

“I don’t know, we’ve both met with discrimination because we’re women, and they make up half the world. You’ve also been abused for being a different woman to some. It happens even in leafy Lincoln or lovely Lancaster. That’s people for you.”

“Now you can see why I prefer dormice.”

“I’ll bet they inhabit a world of dubious politics, adultery and megalomaniacs.”

“They do, but all of those are humans.”

“Speak for yourself,” she said folding her arms. I shrugged, thanked for the tea and drank it.

“We’re so lucky to live in the UK, aren’t we?” I suggested.

“Yep, best climate in the world.”

“You what?” I gasped and laughed.

“Well it is today.”

“Yeah, apparently they’ve got awful flooding in Bosnia and parts of Eastern Europe.”

“They in the European Community?”

“Dunno, but we need to count our blessings.”

“That’s what Simon was totalling up the other day.”

“Uh no, Stella, that was his millions and how much of it you and I have spent for him.”

“How dare he?”

“It is his money.”

“So?”

Sometimes I wonder if I understand the working girls of Queens more than I do my sister in law.

“You going to watch this programme on Friday?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Living in a drain—it sounds like that sketch from Monty Python about living in a hole in the road or a shoe box.”

“Yeah, that was ironic comedy, this is real.”

“I know that.”

“I remember reading an article once before about gays and lesbians being murdered and abused in Jamaica. They reckon part of it is the legacy of the British Empire, and its inherent homophobia.”

“That was seventy years ago, Cathy, has time stood still since then? C’mon, girl, if the Tories can legalise gay marriage, things have really changed—here at least, so things will there eventually.”

“Yeah, I suppose so but how many have to suffer or die until that happens?”

“That, dear sister, is the unknown which defines the speed of progress, now what time is dinner?”

*Unreported World 7.35pm Friday 23rd May, Channel Four.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2352 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

The weekend came and went with the fine weather we spent much of the time outdoors, the girls in bikinis or shorts and crop tops and me covered up with tons of high factor sun blocker. “Why don’t you put your bikini on as well, babes.”

“Darling, I’m too old to be strutting my stuff in a swim suit, especially when there’s no water nearby. I’d just look silly.”

“What? You look brilliant in a bikini.”

“Too bad.” I said going back indoors to help David with the lunch. Tom did find and assemble the paddling pool but there was a large tear in it. Si helped him take it down again.

“Why can’t we have a proper swimming pool, Daddy?” asked Trish.

“Because they cost too much to run and your mother would be angry at the amount of water they need to fill them, the chemicals they need to keep them clean and all the other incidentals like having it built.”

“But you’ve got plenty of money?” she fired back.

“I wouldn’t if I listened to you, young lady.”

She made some sort of dismissive noise and went off up the garden.

“I agree with your reply wholeheartedly,” I said handing him a cup of tea.

“Good,” was his reply and he sipped his tea while I went inside to drink mine.

The Sunday was actually the warmest day, living up to its epithet. The girls were once again in very skimpy clothing and rubbing sun blocker into each other. Even Daddy was in shorts, giving us a wonderful view of his varicose veins. I had on a sun dress.

Simon and Daddy had decided to do a barbecue for lunch, David having got the stuff for them in the week. This wasn’t burgers and sausage but steak and onions with wholemeal baps and a salad I’d made up while they were lighting the barbecue.

I’d been tempted to part cook all the meat but Si refused, telling me he knew all about barbecues and making sure the food was properly cooked. This was news to me and I decided I’d have a cheese and salad roll instead.

The rest of them told me I didn’t know what I was missing and they tucked into their steaks with gay abandon. It was too hot to do any chores, so I did some survey stuff and then looked at the script I’d written for the harvest mouse. He’d managed to do some filming and all I needed to do was some voice-overs and some shooting of me in similar looking fields plus some of actual fields where the harvest mice were, showing a disused nest and so on. These things are so small they make dormice look huge and they’re not very big.

I was so busy with my script trying to visualise the sort of backdrop it needed or if I could just do a narration when Meems came in grumbling about a funny tummy. A short while later she was sick, followed an hour later by Trish, then Cate, then Stella’s two, Danni, Phoebe and Daddy. Simon and Julie somehow were unaffected as was Stella—who hadn’t had a burger just a salad roll.

The probable diagnosis was food poisoning through incomplete cooking. Simon insisted that if were true, how come he wasn’t affected? I had no idea, there were obvious reasons, perhaps some meat had been infected and not other packs.

As David had got the meat for us, Simon went over to his cottage to read the riot act, except David wasn’t there, he’d taken Ingrid and Hannah off for the day. I got advice on looking after my patients and providing they didn’t dehydrate, they’d be okay in a day or two. My main fears were the youngsters but they pulled out of it quicker than the older children.

When David came back he sent the packets the meat had been sent in to the public health lab and asked them to see what had happened. We suspected salmonella but would have been wrong, campylobacter was the culprit and we had a couple of very messy and uncomfortable days. At one point I sent Si into an ironmongers to get some more plastic buckets—it was that bad.

Of course they were too sick to go to school who didn’t want them there just in case they were still infectious. Only their humour was.

I had to take time off work to look after them, Stella was advised she might carry bugs so was told to stay home as well. Jacquie missed all the fun. She’d been at Southampton doing some bits for her course. Was she glad and was I pleased to have her back, Stella was still next to useless. I tried to point out that looking after sick people was a nurse’s job and she nearly bit my head off.

“I’m a clinical specialist nurse, don’t do basic care.”

I felt like telling her that I was a doctor but of ecology, not medicine and I needed her help. If she didn’t know how to do the basics, I was sure I could find someone to show her. That finally worked and in three days all of them were better and able to start light diets.

The weather broke on the Monday night with flashes and bangs as a celestial firework display entertained us for an hour. It certainly became cooler and I was quite glad to return to a few more clothes, donning jeans and a thicker top.

Pippa called once or twice and I had to go and collect papers for Tom to sign. He took the longest to recover but then he is the eldest by some margin. Pippa then called to say the network went down—the whole university, that is, before she called to say it was thought to have been caused by a Russian or Chinese attack. It seems they want different things, the Russians want to cause chaos and the Chinese want secrets.

I can remember my father grumbling that various governments were giving all our technology away or selling it. And it was interesting to see the US giant Pfizer’s attempt to buy AstraZeneca was declined by the board of the UK-Swedish company despite amounts being mentioned that to me sounded more like the numbers astronomers talk about. It was all about the US company trying to dodge some taxes by relocating to the UK, but concerns about the takeover involving loss of research funding and drug development meant politicians and doctors seemed against it.

The downside was that seven billion pounds were wiped off the share price once the bid was rejected. That’s almost as much as Simon earns a week—only joking.

I think I was relieved it didn’t happen, the takeover, I mean. The UK has already lost some of its expertise in the research and development in new drugs, so it was important to protect this company. I assume Pfizer will have to pay its taxes or find another company to attack. I’ll stick to dormice I think.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2353 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Of course the weather didn’t last and by Monday we were having showers and some thunder and lightning. Most of it was along the channel occasionally over the Isle of Wight. I felt quite glad we didn’t buy the Palmerston fort because that would have been in the middle of the storm. I’m not generally frightened by thunder storms but being stuck off shore in a concrete block, would not have made me a happy bunny.

The girls had been to school as usual and after collecting them I was asked by Trish and Livvie if they could go and visit their friend, Rowena who lived just outside Portsmouth, and who had some baby rabbits she wanted to show the girls.

As they’d behaved quite well in the car and done their homework soon after arriving home, I could hardly say no. I got them to phone her and then spoke to her mother to make sure it was alright for us to visit about seven o’clock. Her mum sounded quite nice and assured me they weren’t trying to sell the rabbits.

So, at about twenty to seven we set off to see the baby bunnies, following the directions Rowena’s mum had given me. Things were fine until we were on a country road and the van in front of us ran over a dead badger causing it to roll over and its tongue lolled out of its mouth. The girls saw it and shrieked in horror. I must admit even though I knew the poor thing was already dead, it was quite gruesome to witness. Then of course they started to cry and by the time we got to Rowena’s they were red eyed and hiccupping.

I gave them a moment to control themselves and wipe their eyes but it was obvious they’d been crying. Rowena must have been watching out for us because a minute or so later she came out of the house and looked at us over the gate.

She was a tallish girl, certainly at least two or three inches taller than my two, with long dark hair. Her eyebrows were like those of the supermodel Cara Delvigne and tended to draw the eye towards them. Then a moment later the three girls ran round the rear of the house leaving me standing by myself just inside the gate. I wasn’t alone for long, an older version of Rowena appeared at the door. “Cathy?” she enquired and I nodded. “Charity,” she said she was called, though most people shortened it to, Char. I nodded my understanding, and having given a diminutive of my own name, I could hardly do anything but agree to call her Char. “Do come in and have a drink. Tea, coffee or something stronger?”

It will come as no surprise that I opted for tea. Waiting for this I looked at the paintings on the hallway wall. They were quite attractive, mostly bits of buildings like a window, a chimney or doorway. Even I could guess they were of Venice even though I’ve never been there. Canaletto they were not but very pleasant all the same. I remarked upon them and she explained they were done by a local chap, ex navy who died the previous year. She’d met him several times including doing a couple of weekend courses he ran but she still couldn’t paint for toffee. I told her my own painting skills were better suited to emulsion than watercolours and she chuckled.

As we drank our tea, I related the episode with the dead badger, and although I’d swerved around it, the girls had become upset seeing it move. She sipped her tea and nodded. “I think I’d have been a bit squeamish as well,” she admitted and I agreed with her.

She suggested that there seemed to be so many of them killed on the roads these days. I told her that research had suggested most of them were male animals but we didn’t know why they wandered on to roads in such numbers.

“I’ve just realised where I’ve seen you before.”

“The school?”

“Have I?” she asked suggesting she hadn’t.

“A supermarket?”

“No—it was on television—you did a film on dormice. It was you, wasn’t it?”

I could hardly lie, could I?

“Depends upon which film you mean,” I tried to muddy the waters somewhat.

“Has there been more than one?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you did one, didn’t you?”

“I was involved with one, yes.”

Just then Trish dashed in, “Come and see these bunnies, Mummy.”

“Trish, where are your manners?” I pulled her up.

“Sorry, Mrs Chapman.”

“That’s all right, Trish. Say, did your mum do a film about dormice?”

“Yeah, she wrote and directed it and presented it, she’s an expert on dormice even the school had her talk about them.”

“I saw that advertised, but you used a different name didn’t you?”

“I teach using my maiden name.” I said blushing furiously.

“Yeah, she’s Dr Watts or Lady Cameron,” threw in Trish embarrassing me even more.

“Lady Cameron? Goodness I am in esteemed company.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a castle up in Scotland...” prattled on Trish while I began to think if she didn’t shut up she was going to end up deader than that unfortunate brock.

“Bunnies,” I said trying to regain some control.

“Down here, Mummy,” she scampered off down the garden.

“My, you are special aren’t you, Lady Cameron?”

I pretended not to hear her and followed my offspring down the garden to a large shed inside which was a hutch with a glass panel in the nest box through which I could see a lop eared bunny with four little ones, all with their eyes closed, so they were very young.

We watched the devoted lagomorph caring for her babies for several minutes accompanied by sighs and gasps of various children.

On the return journey Trish announced she might like to try breeding rabbits and I just licked my lips. “What, Mummy?” she said spotting my obvious gesture.

“Just thinking, I haven’t had rabbit stew for ages.”

“Rabbit stew?” she gasped. “You can’t eat my bunnies, they’ll be pets.”

“Yeah, well if we let you have rabbits, the day you fail to look after them we have them for dinner.”

“But that’s not fair—you can’t eat my bunny.”

“You haven’t got one yet, and by the look of it, one of those big lop ears would probably feed all of us at least one meal—I’d have to ask David...”

“Noooo,” they both squealed from the back of the car.

“Perhaps, having rabbits isn’t such a good idea,” I suggested and they were beginning to agree. I didn’t tell them I’d had guinea pigs before so knew how to look after these things. It also reminded me of the story about a woman who lived next door to a family who had a white rabbit and one day while they were away her cat dragged in a dirty, dead, white rabbit. She was horrified and got her husband to hop over the fence to see if the rabbit was missing from next door. It was. The little corpse they had was filthy dirty so she washed it and dried it with her hairdryer and got her husband to place it back in the hutch before their neighbours came home, which he did.

A few days later her neighbour spoke to her over the fence. “We had a really strange thing happen last week. The rabbit died and the kids were naturally upset, but we buried it and put a cross on the grave and then took them off to the beach to help them deal with their grief, came home and somehow the rabbit was back in the hutch. Bizarre don’t you think?”

“Oh, is that my phone,” replied the cat’s owner and dashed indoors.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2354 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

Tuesday, after the fog lifted, it wasn’t too bad a day. I could have been riding except I was in work and the computers went down—everything, the wi-fi, the lot. I had invigilating to do and using my laptop, I could write some emails or other stuff but not send it—until I got home. I could also play spider solitaire though guilt stopped me doing that, so I did the Guardian crossword which was set by ‘Paul’ one of my favourite compilers. The morning was spent doing a few clues, walking up and down the rows of the condemned just in case we had another cheat. These were first years, so if they managed to get their names right we gave them a pass. There are supposedly more kids with top A level grades, so how come they can’t read and write properly? Their spelling is pathetic, their punctuation non-existent, and grammar is someone married to grampa. Bugger, I’ll have to mark some of these.

I went and did some more crossword, ‘Big Mac and fries,’ was an answer to one of the clues. Oh well I shouldn’t complain, I had got it. The morning dragged on, especially after I completed the crossword, and the quick crossword in G2. I did some more patrolling.

Then it was over and went off with Pippa to get some lunch at the refectory. We chatted over our rolls and when I grumbled about the wi-fi being down, she told me they had three or four engineers there trying to trace the fault, plus a rather dishy computer guy, who was dealing with some nasty which eluded the anti-virus and malware defences.

“Pippa, I’m a happily married woman.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t do any harm to window shop.”

“Where is he?”

“Last seen in the Prof’s office.”

I finished my lunch, swallowing down the last of the tea and grabbing chocolate biscuit for later, I accompanied Pippa down to her office. Tom was still at lunch with the dean, and Pippa popped her head in his office. The IT chap was still there.

“I’m making him a cuppa, you want one?” asked the queen of the keyboards, except she couldn’t do much with the system down.

“I expect I could force one down, I’ll be marking all afternoon.”

“I’ll call him out when it’s ready.”

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Got a card here somewhere.” She fiddled about on her desk, “Here,” she said handing it to me before going to make the teas.

I took it and nearly fell over. ‘Dr Marc Absolom’ and his string of qualifications were listed on the front of his business card.

“You okay, Cathy?” asked Pippa bringing out a tray of teas.

“I might know him.”

“So?”

“I haven’t seen him for about sixteen or seventeen years, if it is the boy I’m thinking of.”

“Ooh, were you his first girlfriend?” she teased.

“Something like that.”

“Ooh, this could be fun.”

“Perhaps I won’t have the tea after all,” I rose to leave.

“Yes you will, now siddown and shurrup.” She handed me a mug and I sat down. “Tea’s up,” she called through the door.

“Okay,” called back. I didn’t recognise the voice but then he was a boy back then, mind you so was I, or supposedly so.

The door opened and this tall fair haired man emerged. He was good looking and it was Marc, my old friend—oh poo.

“Marc, isn’t it?” asked Pippa.

“Yep.”

“I’m Pippa and this Cathy, one of our readers.”

We shook hands in a polite way. Now what do I do—aw hell—I’m sick of hiding my past. “You look familiar,” I said and Pippa settled down to watch with a big grin on her face.

“Sorry, you have the advantage,” said Marc trying desperately to figure out who I was. “I’m sure I’d remember someone as beautiful as you.”

Why are they always so corny, men I mean.

“Did you ever live in Bristol?”

“Yeah, years ago I did,” he grew more curious and he was desperately trying to remember all the girls he knew back then. There can’t have been many.

“Did your house flood one year?”

“Yes—how did you know that—oh my god—it’s you.”

“Yeah, though it’s Cathy now. Your parents were right.”

“Bloody hell, how—I mean—Jesus—wait till I tell them I bumped into you again. Jeez, just look at you—and you’re a reader here—in what?”

“Ecology and Biology.”

“When she isn’t making films,” added Pippa.

“Films, what sort of films?”

“Did you see the dormouse film last year?”

“My god, was that you? That was brilliant.”

I blushed.

“Are you down here for long?”

“Another day, I suppose, then back to Brum.”

“Would you like to come for dinner this evening, meet my husband and family?”

“If I can get this lot to a certain stage by then, I’d love to. So you’re married?”

“She’s the wife of a lord.”

“Eh?”

“She’s Lady Cameron, married to Simon.”

“Simon Cameron as in multimillionaire banker?”

“’Fraid so.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“It must have been those wellies I borrowed from Siân—she’s a GP in Salisbury nowadays.”

“Oh the girl you used to knock about with?”

“Yeah, the one who used to loan me her uniforms.”

“That’s right, used to drive old Murray Mint mad. Didn’t he make you wear them for a month?”

“Altogether it was about three months in the last two or three years.”

“Was it, I knew half the kids fancied you and the other half wanted to beat you to a pulp. Didn’t you do a play or something?”

“Macbeth.”

“That’s right, you played Lady M, didn’t you?”

“She’s reprised it since then.”

“What?”

“I did it at my daughters’ school to raise funds for their charitable fund.”

“Wow, I can’t believe this, little Charlie Watts has turned into a beautiful woman.”

“Is it so surprising, your parents thought was a girl when I helped with the flood damage.”

“So they did—thought you were my girlfriend, which seeing as you came to lend a hand when no one else did, they liked you.”

“She still walks the extra mile, Marc.”

“I can’t get over this—you, I mean.”

I wrote down my address and post code plus phone number. “I must go, marking to do, see you at eight.”

“Yeah, Char—I mean, Cathy.”

I left him talking to Pippa hoping he’d finish what he had to do tonight and get over to the house for dinner. At the same time, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cried off—not everyone can cope with such changes to someone they knew, though I’d hoped he would after the flood clearance episode.

I went down to my office and after warning David that I’d invited someone to dinner, did two hours marking. There is only one good thing about marking—it makes invigilating seem like fun.

Next stop to collect the quartet of mousketeers and to brief them not to give Marc a hard time if he actually comes—I have some doubts—but I owe him a fish and chip meal for old times sake.

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2355 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I told the girls I was expecting a visitor for dinner and I wanted them on best behaviour.

“Who is it?” asked Trish.

“An old school friend of mine, called Dr Marc Absolom. Did i ever tell you about the friend whose house flooded and I went to help them clean it up?”

“An’ they thought you were a girl?” recalled Trish.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“’Cos you had girl’s wellies?” was Livvie’s contribution.

“That’s right my own had a hole in them and Siân loaned me a pair,” which I don’t think I ever returned—oops.

“You had girw’s wewwies, ’cause you werwe a girw, Mummy.”

“Yes I was but not everyone knew it, though Marc’s parents thought I was a girl because I had long hair.”

“An’ you were pretty,” added Livvie.

“And the wellies,” said Trish.

“Didn’t your friend say anything?” asked Livvie.

“Afterwards he did. At the time they thought I was his girlfriend, so that gave him some kudos, plus it seemed I was the only one who went to help even though several knew of the flood.”

“Woss kudo?” asked Trish.

“Kudos in this respect would mean they thought more highly of him because they thought he had a girl coming to see him, and to help clean up.”

“He did have a girl go to help him, Mummy.”

I glanced at Livvie in the rear view mirror and smiled at her, she beamed back at me.

I got them to go and change into something fairly tidy and asked them to stay clean and tidy. They ran off tittering, all except Danni. “Okay, what’s on your mind, young lady?”

“I saw Carly today.”

I had to think for a moment who Carly was, “Peter’s sister?”

“Yeah,” she blushed.

“Okay, what happened?”

“Nothin’ much.”

“Did she recognise you?”

“I think so.”

“How d’you know?”

“We like passed in the corridor an’ she like said she liked my eye makeup.” I hadn’t even noticed she was wearing any. This happens when you see them every day and they nearly always have eyeliner and mascara on, so you notice more when they don’t wear it.

“I thought she went to your old school?”

“She does but they had some project they were doing at St Claire’s with other schools.”

“That was all she said? Nothing about Peter?”

“Nope, just my makeup.”

“Sometimes girls compliment each other on things like that.”

“If they know each other, and she’d know what Pia done to me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, I doubt she’ll say anything.”

“I don’t care anyway, I’m a girl now.”

I didn’t believe her nonchalance for one moment, she did care why else say anything? Plus, I wonder if she’s having more regrets about being a girl. I know she liked Carly. Well she could do with some more girl friends even someone whose sibling was a psycho.

I had a cuppa and spoke to David about having a guest. He was doing leg of lamb chops, so he’d just cook a few more of everything. I thanked him and after drinking my tea, went up to change—this time to dress up not down—well, okay, smart casual. I wore a skirt and top with boots. It wasn’t always that warm in the evenings so I had on a light green silky jumper with a green tartan skirt—not a kilt and black boots. I redid my makeup and added some jewellery then a couple of squirts of Coco and I was ready.

Phoebe was next home and Trish sent her off to change telling her, “Mummy’s old boyfriend is coming to dinner.” No wonder she gave me some funny looks. I did speak to Si who would have explained to Sammi what was happening and I asked Pippa to tell Tom as she’d see him before I did.

Julie was briefed by Trish before I could get to her—I’ll shoot that girl one day. As I’d explained to Phoebe, I asked her to tell Julie who was coming to dinner. “What about your old boyfriend?” She laughed and ran off before I could say anything. Bloody children.

Marc arrived on time carrying a bottle of decent wine and some flowers. Trish immediately took those off me and went to arrange them. “Pippa said you had several children,” he gasped when I introduced him to everyone except the littlies.

He nodded at Tom and then looked curiously at me when I called Tom, Daddy. Simon and he shook hands vigorously—why do they do that? I told Sammi that Marc was sorting out our computer problem and they immediately went into a discussion about systems and other jargon.

Over dinner which was delicious, Marc and I relived the day I went to help clean up the flood damage and he went to his laptop case and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Simon who looked at it and it was then passed down the table, finally coming to me.

“When was this taken?” I asked.

“Dad took it after lunch when his hands were still clean, I asked him to email me a copy. It was a picture of me with an apron on over my jeans and those wellies. With my very long hair in a ponytail I didn’t look much like a boy, I had to admit. I had on big rubber gloves and was sweeping the mud out of the house helping Marc’s mum who was shovelling it into a bucket. We looked like two women, or a woman and a girl. That it didn’t do the rounds at school was a tribute to Marc, somehow, he was one of the few that respected me as different. I said so.

“Cathy, I had no reason to dislike you and then, when you came to help us after the flood, and worked all day, I liked you even more. No one else came to help, even though I’d have thought some of them were more my friends than you were. My parents were absolutely knocked out when you came, especially when they could see you were a girl.”

“But...”

“Cathy, you’ve seen the photo, now tell me that was a boy,” he countered my protest.

“That’s what most people thought,” I said but without much conviction.

“Marc, I keep telling her that she was never a boy, but that not everyone could see it.” Simon reiterated what he frequently said.

“You know, until that day, I’d only seen you as a weirdo, who was harmless and frequently bullied. You were girlish or feminine and a target for the bullies, and I never liked bullies. That day when my mother saw you as a girl, I revised my opinion of you too, though I didn’t dare say anything because I didn’t know how you felt about things. I should have realised the fact that as soon as she accepted you as a girl, you acted like one meant becoming one—I mean becoming a proper girl—as you have was almost inevitable. I suppose because we moved a few months later meant you were out of sight and out of mind.

“I did occasionally wonder what happened to you afterwards, but then I went off to Warwick and did a degree in computers, added a masters and then did a PhD while I was working with the company I’m still with. Never in a million years did I associate the beautiful woman who did that dormouse film with the girl who helped shovel mud from my house. I’m really glad we’ve met again and really pleased for you that you’ve done so well for yourself.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2356 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“Marc, it looks as if you’ve done pretty well for yourself as well.” I offered, thinking we’d talked enough about me.

“I’m not complaining, Char—I mean, Cathy.”

“What did you tell your parents to get the picture?”

“Oh that? I just asked for the photo of the girl he took helping us when we were flooded.”

“Didn’t he ask why?”

“Of course, I told him I’d bumped into her again and was seeing her for dinner.”

“And?”

“He said to pass on their regards and that you were welcome at their house any time.”

“That’s very kind of them.”

“They really liked you because you were the only kid from school who came and helped us.”

I blushed and shrugged my shoulders.

“Aye, oor Cathy is a regular guid Samaritan.”

“I can quite understand that, Professor. She helped me with English and Biology when we were in school, and I helped her with maths.”

“Sae ye were friends?”

“Yeah, I got a bit of stick for it at times but I was big enough to hold my own and they left me alone. Sadly, they didn’t always with Charlie, did they, kiddo?”

“I survived.”

“They say girls are tougher than boys.”

I shrugged.

“Have you never married?” asked Stella.

“Never found the time or the right girl. How Cathy has found time to do all she’s done astonishes me.”

“I’ve an army of slave labour, all these children think they’re here because we love ’em, they’re here to work, I have them up chimneys an down the mines before and after school every day,” I joked.

“Not just the children,” complained Stella and Simon nearly choked on his wine. I guess just one more example of empty vessels making the most noise.

“Goodness, look at the time, I’ve still got stuff to do to your system tomorrow, Professor.”

Daddy nodded.

“If you do what I suggested it should all feed back through the server to your satellites.” For a moment I assumed Sammi was talking about Star Wars or something, then realised she was talking computers.

“I might just try it.”

“It’ll work, I promise you.”

“Yeah, okay. Better go, thanks for a great evening, lovely to catch up with my first ever girlfriend again.” He pecked me on the cheek and went off to his car, a large BMW, I think. I waved him off and watched his car disappear up the road.

Clearing up Sammi helped me carry some of the dishes out to the kitchen. “So, whaddya think?” I asked.

“Pretentious dick.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, the I’ve got a PhD stuff. He might well have one but I could have sorted your system quicker, he hasn’t got a clue.”

“Oh.” I had no idea if that was the case or not, except Sammi wouldn’t lie to me normally, so I believed her.

“Sounds like you need to finish your degree and do some contracting.”

“Nah, the degree bit, yeah—part time stuff is slow, but I’ll get there. Contracting—no way, too uncertain, besides I like working at the bank dealing with cyber attacks and so on—it’s a new challenge each day.”

“Glad you like it, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I learned my lesson before when people, including me, thought I was something that I wasn’t really.”

“You mean the modelling?”

“Absolutely, I’m so glad I escaped all that.”

“You’d have made a very beautiful model.”

“Yeah, but at what price?”

I smiled pleased she’d seen a little bit of wisdom and used it.

“How come they never asked you, Mummy?”

“Meee? Too short, too ugly and too fat.”

“I suppose you may be a bit short but you’re beautiful and have a super figure.”

“I don’t think so and besides I don’t want to be a walking clothes horse. I’d much rather count dormice.”

The phone rang. “Who on earth is that at this time of night?” It was half past ten.

“It’s for you, Cathy,” called Stella, who characteristically had disappeared as soon as any work was required.

“Hello?” I said into the handset.

“Oh hi, Cathy.”

“Erin? It’s a bit late for social calls isn’t it?”

“This is not social, Lady C, this is business. I’ve just had the BBC on the line.”

“Yeah, so?”

“They’ve got an article on dormice coming up on the Today programme tomorrow, could they do a telephone interview with you as an expert?”

“What time? Remember I have to get my girls to school.”

“About quarter past eight.”

“I suppose so, what’s it about?”

“I’ll email you the brief now.”

I rang off and went to my computer. As I anticipated it was about a development on an area which contained dormice. Nothing new there then, but instead of listening to one of the Today presenters chewing up some politician, I was going to be in the firing line—oh boy. Why do I do these things? I’ll probably be awake all night now.

I read the brief again and then did some research on the internet on the place concerned. I checked with our data base, there was a definite for dormice and also some rare orchids. I checked the local university data base, they had loads of information on it and I read it with great interest. At least now I’d be able to offer a reasonable argument against the development, especially as there was a site of equal size available on a derelict factory two miles away, so why couldn’t they build there?

“Are you coming to bed?” asked Simon as I read through the data I’d printed off.

“In a minute.”

“Good.” He turned and left. I started going through the text with a couple of different coloured hi-lighter pens, trying to make things easier to find. Essentially, I’d have a minute or two to make my case, although the confirmed presence of dormice should mean the planning authority will reject the application, sadly what should happen and what does happen aren’t always the same thing. I wonder who’d be up against me for the development—some big-shot barrister or equivalent. Oh well.

“You said, ‘a minute,’” said Simon from the doorway.

“Mmm,” I continued my highlighting.

“It’s now twenty, stop that and come to bed.”

“Yeah,” I replied without listening.

“Cathy, come to bed.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Catherine—NOW.”

I almost dropped my pen. “You sounded just like my mother.”

“Eh?”

“She always used my full name when she was cross with me.”

“Well come to bed then.”
I put the cap on the pen and stood up. “I’m coming.”

“What were you doing anyway?”

“Some stuff for an argument I’ll have to put tomorrow.”

“Argument?”

“Yeah, as in argument for or against something.”

“I see, and what is this argument for or against?”

“Trying to stop a developer using a site which has dormice on it.”

“Oh, which one?”

“There’s more than one mouse, and I don’t know them all individually, you know.”

“Doh—which developer?”

“Hang on—Nuhouse, or something.”

“Oh dear.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s one of our clients—a big client.”

“This should prove interesting, then.”

“Shouldn’t it.”

The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2357 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

I managed to stop Simon interrogating me about the development, and I was aware of the conflict of interest both in the family sense and as ecological advisor to the bank, not to mention a non executive directorship of the same bank. I decided I would write to Henry the next morning as ecological advisor and point out the legal position and that even if were in the bank’s best interests, I could not countenance advising anything but against the development.

So at seven o’clock the next morning I sent Henry an email and waited for the proverbial to hit the oscillating device. Then it was crazy while I got the girls up and ready for school, leaving them with Jacquie to finish breakfast while I took a cup of tea and some toast down to the study and waited for the BBC to call me.

Eight fifteen came and went, so did eight twenty, and eight twenty five. Trish appeared at the door, “We’re going to be late, Mummy.” I glanced at my watch realised the time and quickly swigged down the last dregs of tea before collecting my jacket and bag and calling the girls to follow me out to the car.

The drive to the convent was awful and we were late, the girls were cross with me and said I’d speak with the headmistress, which I duly did. “Look, I’m sorry the girls were late this morning it was entirely my fault. I was expecting a call from the BBC for a topic on the Today programme and they didn’t call.”

“Oh dear, I wonder why that was?”

“I have no idea but seeing as I’d sorted out a mass of data for it, I was quite well prepared and part of me was looking forward to the challenge.”

“So the law of SOD applied, did it?”

“If you mean as in Sod’s law, yes.”

“I do indeed.”

“I expect something else has taken their interest.”

“Probably.”

“Anyway, the girls were late through my fault, not theirs.”

“Worry not, Lady Cameron, I shall see they’re not penalised for it.”

“Thank you.” I left and drove to the university and upon checking my diary discovered I had two tutorial groups which I’d forgotten about and which I can’t say filled me with delight. Still, it’s what they pay me for. I fortified myself with another cuppa and at ten, I carried my laptop in its bag and a pile of files and wandered down to the room we use for group tutorials.

The group strolled in in drips and drabs and waited until they were all there before commencing. “Any issues since the last tutorial?” I enquired.

“Something more of a query than an issue.”

“About the course?”

“Not directly.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was listening to some radio programme this morning and they mentioned a development held up by dormice and they had some professor guy from Sussex, I think he said, somebody Herbert. He sounded a right Herbert, told them they shoulda talked to you as the expert on dormeece, an’ the BBC or whoever said they’d tried to call you without being able to get an answer or you weren’t available.”

“I wasn’t available?” I couldn’t believe the BBC had tried to call and the phones were engaged.

“Yeah, that’s what he said, so talked with this guy from Brighton who didn’t have much clue because he said he hadn’t had time to investigate the matter.”

“Well someone has got it wrong, because I was available and done my homework but they didn’t call.”

“Oh, perhaps you’ve got trouble with your phone lines.”

“Perhaps.” I’d speak to Erin afterwards and see if she knew what happened. I suppose I should have listened to the programme instead of just sitting there with my notes, but it’s difficult to do that when about ninety five kids are squabbling.

The tutorial then went onto more mundane things and I cajoled and threatened each of them to do a few things. To submit decent work, to do so on time and to keep it relevant to the subject in hand. Too many of them rambled off topic and this was supposed to be a science course and degree.

I had the joy of entertaining another group in the same room, so at least I didn’t have to wander about the building with my laptop and handbag. I only had half the files I’d carried there and with luck I’d be devoid of the rest quite soon.

Another student asked about the radio programme and I offered the same reply, I was there and available to speak with them but they didn’t call. “Someone tell ’em not to call you?”

“I have no idea, let’s look at issues arising from your previous tutorial...” I steered them back to work and the hour dragged past. Apparently, one or two got something out of it, I must have blinked at that moment because I couldn’t see what it was if anything.

Lunch was next and I called Erin from my mobile. “No idea,” was her response.

I checked my emails and had a reply from Henry. "Hello favourite daughter in law. I decided you were too close to the subject to talk about it on national radio. I mean what would you have said if they’d asked you a question on personal interest?”

“The same as I told you, the law must be upheld or more people will try get round it or ignore it all together.”

“So it’s all above board?”

“I think so. What was the result of the argument today?”

“Oh Esmond Herbert did it for you but with the phone freeze we couldn’t let you know.”

I supposed he was telling the truth, though occasionally he’s a bit light on actuality.

“Right well thank you for showing me the error of my ways.” I said in as servile a tone as I could manage.

“Cathy, don’t be mad about this one, just let it go.”

“Just let it go? If this development goes ahead we could lose a dozen dormice.”

“It won’t.”

“Plus there are early spider orchids there, only about a handful of sites in all of England.”

“Cathy, your dormice are safe—I cancelled the funding.”

“Why?” I was genuinely surprised.

“Because I didn’t want the family appearing to be estranged over the matter.”

“D’you think that could have happened?”

“I don’t know but didn’t want to take the risk of alienating you or Simon.”

“Would that have happened?”

“Yes, you’d possibly have arranged a public enquiry which you might well have won—the law protects against disturbance to dormice. However, I’d have overturned that in five minutes and the development would have gone ahead albeit a year or two late. I’d have lost money initially but after a year or two, I’d have recovered my position through the continuing rise in house prices.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.

“Right, I have to go, people to fleece, deals to do.”

“Bye, Henry, and thanks for being so honest with me.”

“Dear girl, I’m always honest with you—now dump the dum dum and elope with me?”

“All right.”

He laughed and put his phone down. I sat there wondering why I tried to do anything to save the planet when people like him were around.